The Chinese ship gave Brian the creeps. It was daarker and dingier than the corridor by Uncle Miguel’s quarters, and Uncle Miguel’s place was in the roughest neighborhood on Hope.

Brian didn’t want to think about the dark liquid that dripped down the walls from the ceiling or the blurry black stains at joints and corners.

“Is that black mold?” Lu’s voice said in his earrings. “It’s a wonder Mr. Gao is still alive.”

He was still alive, right? Brian hadn’t just imagined the tiny old guy turning the wheel on the airlock and then scurrying away as soon as he came through it?

His imagination wasn’t that good. He didn’t think.

He ducked into a section of the corridor where the ceiling dropped, and he could...

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