My roommates are Gem, recovering from his head injury, and Dr. Hewett, who actually looks better than I remember. During the professor’s rare moments of semiconsciousness, he grumbles about his students’ substandard quiz scores. I never wanted to know what teachers dream about. Now I do.

Franklin tells me that the Nautilus seems to have ideas about how to treat pancreatic cancer. He isn’t sure what compounds the med-bay machines are producing, but they are slowly flushing the cancer cells out of Hewett’s body.

Since Nemo understood DNA 150 years ago, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. But as I lie in bed, I have time to think about what Dev said—about how HP could have used Nemo’s technology to save the world a hundred times over.

On the other hand, I’ve seen what Land Institute’s hunger for power did to my brother. Humans are still not ready for all of Nemo’s advances. I don’t know what Land Institute’s school motto is, but I want it to be This is why we can’t have nice things.

As for Gem, he stays in the sick bay with me probably longer than he needs to. Even when Franklin clears him for duty, Gem says, “Maybe I’ll rest here a bit longer. Head injuries can be tricky, right?”

Franklin frowns at him, then at me. “Yeah. Sure. Tricky.”

I laugh, which hurts my newly stitched side. “Gem, you don’t have to be on bodyguard duty anymore. I’m fine.”

He glances toward the corridor, which may be the first time I’ve ever seen him take his eyes off a target. “Not a bodyguard. Maybe I could just, you know, stay as a friend.”

A warm feeling spreads out from my sternum. I remember what Gem told me days ago, in Lincoln Base’s sick bay: I don’t have many connections. So the ones I do have are important.

I realize I am now included in that very small group of important connections, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Of course,” I say. “I’d welcome your company.”

Franklin starts to protest, “But Gem’s injuries aren’t even—”

“Franklin,” Gem and I say in unison.

“Right,” grumbles the medic. “I’ll go get some lunch.”

Our other casualties from the battle are, fortunately, minor. There were no deaths on either side, which in itself is a miracle. Thanks to the Orcas’ quick efforts, the entire crew of the Aronnax was rescued. Many of them were wounded. Some nearly drowned. Most will have chapodiphobia for the rest of their days, but they will all live. Battered and shocked, they offered no resistance as my crew herded them into Lincoln Base’s improvised holding cells.

On the fourth day after the battle, I feel good enough to go diving.