“Come on,” she said, gesturing for Cassandra to exit ahead of her.

“After you,” the girl replied.

Something in her tone was still off, but Auger continued to put it down to her own nerves, amplified by the sighting of the Slasher vessel. She pulled herself to the airlock and, with well-rehearsed movements, drifted along the connecting umbilical.

At the far end, she was met by a pair of officials, both of whom wore pinstriped grey suits. She recognised one of the men as a high-level manager called August Da Silva. He was a small individual with a smooth, cherubic face and hair that was always impeccably combed and held in place with perfumed oils. Their paths had crossed before, over research budgets and minor procedural transgressions.

Da Silva made a show of separating Auger from the girl. “This way for you,” he said.

“I need to look after Cassandra,” Auger said.

With a gentle push, Da Silva coaxed her into a small, windowless waiting room. The door was immediately closed and locked behind her, leaving her alone with only the padded walls for company. Auger thumped on the door, but no one came back or gave any explanation as to what was going on. Half an hour passed, then an hour. Auger began to stew in her own indignation, rehearsing the things she would say and the people she would lash out at when she was finally allowed to leave. Nothing like this had ever happened before; there were sometimes delays due to glitches in the sterilisation procedure, but the authorities were always careful to keep her informed in such circumstances.

After another half-hour, the door opened and Da Silva poked his perfumed head through the gap. “Time to move, Auger. They’re waiting for you.”

She managed a defiant sneer. “Who the hell are they? Don’t you realise I’ve got work to do?”

“Your work will have to wait a while.”