She dreaded leaving cold storage, her little haven, but eventually she would need to confirm their course. As much as she wanted to trust Edison and Misato, as much as they had proved themselves her allies, she knew there was still an unknown element inside them. They could pilot the Brigantine straight to Tokyo Bliss Station and assimilate millions of innocent people. And anyway, she owed Edison an apology for snapping at him over the coordinates. She couldn’t say for sure, of course, but it seemed wiser to keep the remaining crew on her side. They would never really be friends, couldn’t be, but it would be far worse to see them become enemies.

Edison accepted her linkup, and a tiny green circle appeared next to her pending message. Soon the thrusters would unlock, and they would be on their way to Coeur d’Alene Station. His icon on her display blinked and she pulled her face out of the water, reading his changed public profile. It was blank. No more dogs, jazz or whiskey.

Ouch.

Rosalyn shook her head and plunged her face back into the spray. Wise up, you moron, it’s better this way. Yes, better. Better to keep the crew at a distance. Better to harden herself now knowing what the inevitable was likely to be. Still, it stung, way more than she expected or appreciated. On a whim, as a starter apology, she opened her own public profile and added to it.

Vomiting profusely into helmets since 2269

Maybe it would help smooth things over. Maybe it would make him crack even a small smile after the horrors they had just survived. She stumbled out of the shower, kicking over her old jumpsuit as she did. The fabric pooled and toppled, and out came the syringe body and the badge Tuva had found.

And something else.

Rosalyn crouched, picking up the little hard-coded message her father had sent the day she left. She hadn’t listened to the whole thing, but now it seemed right. His indifference—his failures—couldn’t hurt her anymore. She had forgiven herself for everything that had happened with Glen. Staring down Piero’s madness, fighting him off, had felt like the best apology she could give to her old self.

Sliding down to the floor, she adjusted the respirator and pulled on a towel, then sat in the dissipating steam, listening as her father’s voice pierced the whir and hum of the little sterile room.