“He has total control over the ship and its operations,” Santi says. “So even if we can’t get him to wake us up, we could get him to do something.”

“Like what?” Thora says sourly, stealing a sip of his lager. “Fix himself?”

Santi shakes his head. “He can’t even diagnose himself. He knows something’s wrong, but he can’t find out exactly what, let alone fix it.”

“Just like the rest of us, then.” Thora’s head drops onto her arms. “God, Santi. I really, really wanted us to get out. And not just so we could see what we came here to see. I wanted to get home again afterward. I wanted us to get back to Earth and be big fucking heroes and go on stupid TV shows and inspire kids to be astronauts. All that wonderful, wonderful bullshit. And I wanted to see the people I love. The real versions, not their echoes.”

He looks at her curiously. “Why are you talking in the past tense?”

“I just—” She shakes her head. “We have to be realistic about our chances. We’re running out of time. In real life, we have days.”

“But in here, we have a year.” Unbelievably, Santi is smiling. “Now you’re with me, we’ll find a way. I know we will.”

“I see,” she says with a bitter laugh. “I can’t believe, after everything we’ve seen, you’re still talking about a miracle.”

He gives her his most serene expression, the one she hates. “We see them every day.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure a magically refilling cup of coffee is going to end up being the key to everything.” She stands. “Come on then. Let’s go and check on how your beard’s growing.”

“So how does this work?” she asks as they weave through the crowded lobby of the Odysseum. “Do you have to break in again every time, or does the room stay open?”

Santi shrugs. “I haven’t tried since we broke in together last time.” To her incredulous look, he answers, “I was waiting for you.”

“At what point were you going to accept that I wasn’t coming?”

He looks at her as if that’s an irrelevant question. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“That’s not an answer!” They’re at the “Under Construction” barrier. Curious museumgoers stop to watch as they brace to pull it away from the wall. “I can’t believe—”

“Hey!”

Thora looks over her shoulder. A man in an Odysseum polo shirt stands watching them, arms crossed. “What are you doing?”

She sighs. “We are orbiting an exoplanet four point two light-years from Earth. We have lived more lives than we can count, and we are tired, and we are hungry. We do not have time for this.”

The man stares, lost. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You people never do.” Thora looks back at Santi. “Three, two, one—”