“Edwin…” Lan finally said. “Do you ever miss home? Not here. Home home.”

“Yes,” Edwin said quietly. “But then the war started. And there was so much…”

Edwin paused.

“I miss our school. But it’s gone now.”

“Edwin?”

“It’s okay. I’ve already cried a lot. And I need to help Aunty now. But first—” Edwin gave Lan the tray he had been holding.

“I noticed you were sitting at this table, so I brought you this.”

This table? Lan looked around and realized that she had automatically sat at Shizuka’s favorite table.

And then she looked at the tray.

“I thought you’d like a half of an Alaska Donut. We can save the rest for next time.”

“T-thank you, Edwin,” Lan managed to say.

Lan recalled the first day she had met Shizuka. The most beautiful creature she had ever seen, so desperate for the bathroom.

She had ordered an Alaska Donut, just like this.

No … not exactly like this. That donut had been replicated and a few hours old.

Well, this fresh one would have to do.

Lan looked at the empty chair, then out across the city.

What was Shizuka up to now?

Music, of course.

Music.

It was then that Lan realized that for all her opinions and thoughts on music in general, she had never heard Shizuka Satomi truly play.

Weeks ago, Shirley had found recordings of Shizuka’s performances in the ship’s database. Why hadn’t Lan listened? With everything she had told Shizuka, of traveling across the galaxy, of the Endplague, of Shirley …

Lan finished her half donut and went to her room. She lay down and opened the data files Shirley had linked.

“I don’t care, I’d fuck her.”

“Faggot. If it came around me I’d fucking crack its skull.”

Shirley was deleting more comments from the Internet. At times like this, there were advantages to being cybernetic. Some of the most offensive people found their accounts mysteriously deleted, merged with their business accounts, or transferred to America Online.

“No. Just no.”

“Someone put it out of its misery.”

These people reminded Shirley of everything they were leaving back home. But what baffled her was that their rage had nothing to do with the universe collapsing. They were saying this simply because a girl playing the violin was transgender. So stupid. So insignificant.

Shirley deleted another account.

So … fixable.

That night after practice, Katrina took the projector from her studio to her bedroom. She and Shirley would often talk and gossip and share before Astrid reminded Katrina to go to bed. Katrina had never shared a bedroom with a sister before—these late night talks were something she looked forward to all day.

Tonight, though, Shirley seemed unusually excited.

“I’m sorry I did not think of this earlier!”

“Think of what?”

“How to make you a girl.”

“What?”