Fabian said. He stood beside Bart in the center of what Bart now referred to as the map room. “So what are we supposed to do if we don’t get that shield shut off? Find parachutes and hope they open?” Bart suppressed a smile. His roommate’s agitation was well-founded—having just learned that the people they had come to help had decided to blow them out of the sky. But that didn’t lessen what they were doing. Bart nodded at Sonya. “We understand.” Sarjenka had her tricorder out again. “Fabian, stop doing this. Your temperature’s up again.” Gomez stepped closer to her. “What’s happening?” “His core temperature is rising, and he’s exhibiting instances of labored breathing. Those things in his head are messing with his RAS.” “What’s his core temperature?” “One hundred and two Fahrenheit.” But Fabian was staring at the paintings. Bart came up beside him. “You still don’t see it, do you?” “Bart, I’ve been standing here for ten minutes and I just can’t see—”
