He’d looked as lonely as she felt when he knocked on her door the night before quarantine. She’d let him in. She’d known what would happen. Their last chance to give up, give in to each other like they’d wanted to since that one kiss at the graduation party. Since that night under the juniper trees, if she were honest with herself.

They loved each other, but that didn’t mean they were in love. That night, they were two magnets tired of repelling.

Was it a kindness to tell him? If the Atalanta jumped and never made it back out, he’d gain a child only to lose one again a few hours later. Even if they survived, he’d still be over ten light years away for years unless he bartered a place on the first ship.

He’d miss the birth, first words, first steps. She didn’t know if he even wanted a child. Much less a world of children. To tell or not—which did less harm?

Valerie had always posed those sorts of questions to her. Or her and Evan, to spark spirited discussions at the dinner table. Naomi had once asked Valerie about the trolley problem when she came across it in some article. It was Thanksgiving of her sophomore year at Stanford, when Naomi and Evan were closer. They’d had an unspoken agreement not to let on to Valerie how friendly they’d become.

Evan hadn’t heard of the trolley problem. Naomi had explained the philosophical dilemma: “A trolley is pummelling down a track towards five tied-up people. You can pull a lever and redirect the trolley to a side track but there is still one person there.

“Which do you choose? Do nothing and five people die, or pull the lever, but still kill one?” Little did Naomi know that, in a few years, she’d have to make that choice with five cryogenically frozen people.

Valerie had asked Evan to answer first. He’d taken his time, puzzling it over as he moved bits of his vat turkey around his plate. His hair fell across his forehead, and Naomi resisted the urge to brush it back from his eyes. He’d deliberately worn his oldest T-shirt and most frayed jeans to annoy his mother. Naomi liked it. He looked just as he did on those countless late study nights, as they worked together in silence. The last study session, Naomi had grown too tired to stumble across campus to her own dorm. She’d ended up staying over, sleeping in his bed while Evan took the sofa. She’d borrowed one of his T-shirts to sleep in and wear home and hadn’t yet given it back.

“I’d have to pull the lever, I suppose,” Evan said, slowly. “Smaller level of overall harm.” The corners of his lips turned down. He took a sip of Coke.