“I know that one,” Rosalyn said idly, picking through Tuva’s things. A small ball of string, a necklace, an old and cracked VIT chip. “The Late Nodes, right? My old salvaging partner was obsessed with them. The covers especially.”

“Didn’t mean to bother you. It just helps.”

“I don’t mind,” she laughed, wry. “Just as long as it isn’t the Unpronounceable Sound.”

“Never. I would never, never do that to you,” Edison said solemnly. That made her smirk and glance his way. Again, he was caught for an instant by her consuming eyes. “You’re a music person?”

“Sometimes.”

“Like what?” he asked, watching her study the broken VIT chip.

“Oh, mostly women screaming into the microphone. And Beethoven. I like Beethoven.”

The voices below them grew louder and they both fell silent, listening. The floor was too thick to make out any distinct words, but Edison’s head pounded, full of terrible noise. His face grew hot, and he shivered, feeling, seeing and hearing only flashes of the argument.

He wouldn’t do that. You’re lying. No, no, no! Listen to me, listen to me . . .

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the noise lessened and his head felt unusually empty. Stillness. Footsteps. The lounge below resonated with nothingness, and for a moment it was quiet except for the buzz of the engines and the FTL core. He yearned to hear a bird chirping or a siren, something, anything that would remind him of personal stillness on Earth. Now it was only that dull hum, a sound that he imagined might come from the center of the world.

“It wasn’t Piero,” he said finally. “It was Rayan. They’re gone now. They were arguing; he doesn’t want to believe what Piero did to Tuva.”

“Why did you believe me?”

The question came quickly, but it cut through to him somehow. Edison stared at her, confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. You barely know me. You didn’t believe Misato about Piero, about her suspicions that he was up to something and attacked Tuva,” she pointed out. Reasonably, in his eyes.

“I should have believed her,” Edison said. “That was a mistake.”

“So why did you believe me, then?”

Edison sat on one of the bunks a few down from Tuva’s. Leaning forward, he rested his wrists on his knees, still watching her. “Misato is fighting this, like you said. Staying connected to her seems to help me keep Mother at bay. The music helps. And . . . you help. Your humanity. Your youness. Foxfire still doesn’t know what to do with you. I can’t get this feeling out of my head that I know you somehow.”

She laughed a little, then snorted. It was endearing, but Edison tried not to notice.

“What if I’m the last human you ever meet? God, that’s a depressing thought,” she muttered.