When I wake, Ester is standing over me, wearing surgeon’s scrubs. My temples throb. The back of my skull feels like it’s encased in ice.

“You’re in the sick bay,” Ester says. “You’ve been out for four hours. You need to rest—”

I roll sideways out of the bed, trying to find my feet. I step on Top, who yelps in protest. Ester grabs my arm to steady me.

“This is not resting,” she observes.

“I have to…the ship. Are we safe?”

From somewhere nearby, Nelinha answers, “For now.”

I try to focus. Multiple da Silvas swirl in the doorway. She’s wearing combat boots, a black-and-white plaid kilt, and a black hoodie, with black lipstick to match so she looks like a highlander commando. On her forehead is a puffy white bandage the size of a dollar bill.

I point unsteadily at her patch. “Are you okay?”

“Who, me? I’m peachy. When we went to cav-drive, my face had a disagreement with a crankshaft. How are you feeling?”

That’s a good question. My headache is generating an explosive yield of about fifty megatons. I’ve been unconscious for four hours. At least that saved me from four hours of ugly crying. My brother is alive, and a traitor, and a mass murderer.

“I’ll live,” I decide. “Who’s piloting the ship?”

“Well, Gem has the bridge,” Nelinha says, with less distaste than I would have expected, “but nobody’s piloting at the moment. We’re stationary.”

I struggle to process that. “How is the crew?”

“We had seventeen injuries,” Ester says. “Mostly minor.”

“With Franklin and Tia gone, we only have a crew of eighteen.”

“I know,” she agrees. “I was lucky. I have good balance. Also, Jupiter is fine. And Top is fine.”

Top wags his tail. Can confirm.

Ester prods my scalp with her fingers. Maybe she’s looking for holes in my head. She hates physical contact, but when I’m just a patient, she has no problem mercilessly poking.

“Your ancestor invented super-cavitation drive,” she says, “but he didn’t invent seat belts. We have three people with broken arms, two concussions, and one second-degree burn.”

“Who got burned?”

“Kay Ramsay.” Nelinha points behind me.

Kay is lying fast asleep in the next bed over. Her arm is bandaged from shoulder to fingertips. Poor Kay…I hope this med bay has some kind of skin-grafting technology.

I lower my voice. “What happened?”

“She got thrown against a cold-fusion coil.” Nelinha’s face tightens. “Those things get hot. Who knew?”

“We might want to install body harnesses,” Ester says. “Or at least give a little warning next time before we punch to cav-drive.”

I nod sheepishly. Even that motion hurts. “I need to get back to the bridge.”

“Not recommended,” Ester says. “You banged your head pretty good. I tried a scanner-type thingy on you, like a LOCUS for bodies—”

“So Nemo invented MRIs and CAT scans, too?” I shiver, hoping Ester hasn’t dosed me with ancient alt-tech radiation that will turn me into a fish.