Misato Iwasa did not have time for this shit. She had been deep in conversation with the monster in her mind, the one that cruelly called itself “Mother,” and they had just been starting to get somewhere. Time. Time was in short supply, and she needed every single second available to her before . . .

Before it was too late.

There was nothing for it. Edison prowled outside the door, not knocking but lingering, and she could sense him easily through the cluster network binding them together; even without it, his noisy pacing would’ve given him away. And through that same network she repulsed him, letting him know firmly that she was not in the mood for visitors. She would never again be in the mood for visitors, not until she found a way to beat back the enemy and win the war raging in her head.

Mother. Ha. This thing was nothing like her mother.

She sighed and opened the door to him.

“The eternal optimist,” he said by way of greeting.

“And what should I do? Give up?” Edison towered over her, but he always seemed to shrink a little in her presence, as if faced with a disapproving teacher.

“No, no, that’s not like you. How’s that working out? The optimism.”

Misato had barricaded herself in the women’s crew quarters. At first she hadn’t noticed the forced lockdown Rayan had put them under, because she so rarely left the familiar comfort of their sleeping area. It had been the natural place to stay, a place she knew well while everything inside and outside of her unraveled and became unrecognizable.

She padded to the kitchenette to her left and ran the tap, then started up the 3-D extruder, choosing one of the preprogrammed modes that would print her a cup and a spoon. They were running low on coffee, probably because she did almost nothing but drink it and drink it and let the caffeine speed her thoughts. It helped, she knew, one small advantage in this mind war of attrition.

If Tuva were still alive, she would scold Misato for hogging it all for herself. She missed Tuva so much, even with the scolding. Such a serious girl, but sometimes Misato managed to make her laugh.

“Coffee?” she offered him. “No, never mind. You didn’t come here for that. Something is wrong. The salvager.”

Edison crossed to her, leaning against the wall and watching as she filled the newly printed mug with water and waited for the coffee to brew. She didn’t have long to wait, and soon the room filled with the earthy perfume of the grounds soaking.

“How can you drink so much of that stuff? Everything puts my stomach off,” he said.

“You have your humming,” Misato replied gently. “I have this to keep me human. Stop stalling, Edison, it’s bothersome. I was making progress before you barged in here.”

“I didn’t barge—”