I force myself to watch, to hear the gasps of horror, to absorb the screams that dissolve into liquid gurgles as the boy is reduced to a puddle in a very short minute. It appears Duet is even more virulent than I am when it comes to the Sick.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.
It's a long time before anyone says anything, but it's Chime who breaks the silence.
"What the hell was that?" I'm certain from the look on her face, her posture, she meant the words to come out with authority, but instead they whisper from her mouth as though she can't catch her breath.
Beckett is on his feet, standing between me and her, blocking off Chime's view of Duet, but not of the remains of her crewmember.
"We can explain." He hesitates. No, he can't. Not really.
Chime's seen enough to make the connection herself anyway.
"The Sick." She's regaining volume as well as anger, though her fear feels much stronger. Not just in her, in all of them, so thick I can smell it. "She gave him the Sick."