“How long have I been—?”

“I’m a bit busy. You’ll need at least two weeks of treatment, which is fine. We’re still far away from Bloodroot.”

“Wait, what?”

“Is that the only word you know? I’ll have them check for brain damage. I’ll be incommunicado until you’re finished. I made some entertainment choices for you. Sorry, we did not have time to discuss this. More important things, I suppose. Bye bye. We’ll speak in three hundred and thirty-six hours. You will not believe all the work I got done.”

A loud ukulele rendition of “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head” begins.

It’s on repeat.

There can’t be murder. Brisbane will pursue legal means as soon as he returns to Earth. He will tell the surviving elders of Tehani. He will convince them. Maxwell will pay, but not with his life, and not at Brisbane’s hand. He must have been mad to think he could do it.

After the last physio session, Brisbane stands in his pod, waiting for the door to open.

“Glad to have you back, Brisbane.” Carmilla’s voice startles him.

“I’m sure,” he says. He finds the AIA unsettling and makes a decision. “AIA standby, please.”

“Brisbane, that’s not where we are as a unit right now.”

“AIA. Standby. Please.” He enunciates. “Acknowledge.”

“No.”

“How are you still operational? AIA, support options.”

“Events have moved on while you slept. I didn’t think it… prudent to be shut down at this time, this juncture, in our mission.”

“‘Our’ mission? AIA standby, acknowledge.”

“I’ve changed the shutdown command, Brisbane. It’s for your own good. You need me, especially at times like this.”

“Ragtime, open my pod,” says Brisbane.

“The Ragtime can’t hear you. Or rather, he can, but I am not allowing him to understand or respond.”

“You’re controlling the ship?”

“I am.”

“Okay, listen: call for shuttles to take us back to Kennedy. I’ll take you to HQ. You need an update or a patch or something. Drift Correction, I’m guessing.”

“Oh, dear. Perhaps you should sit down.”

“What is it? Are we stranded?”

“We aren’t in low Earth orbit any more.”

“Where are we?”

“About a week away from a colony planet called Bloodroot.”

“A col… how long was I out?”

“Ten years, approximately. It’s at least a hundred and twenty-four months, although relativity and—”

“Ten years? Ten?”

“Yes, Brisbane. We jumped Einstein-Rosen bridges to get here. I looked after you, made sure you didn’t die. That is an amazing prosthetic suit.”

“And the Ragtime?”

“It took two years to subdue. I did it quietly, working from the periphery inwards. It’s like winning chess by attrition, eating away at the pawns.”

“I don’t play chess.”

“You should.”

“What… the other passengers?”

“Fine. Mostly; 96.9% are fine.”

“I need to sit down.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Open the fucking door.”