“Sorry for bringing a little conscience to the conversation,” she said.

“Fortunately, I lack a conscience. My mind is unchanged.”

“I’m not trying to change your mind. I’m just trying to understand it,” she said. “Let’s have a look at those Vortu suits in case we’re lucky enough to have actually landed somewhere near to the Timelance.”

Leaving Izairis at the ship’s console, Naecia and Aptat headed down to the cargo deck where they’d stowed the salvage from the Terror’s Glaive. Naecia ran her fingers over the pieces of equipment that Aptat had cut out of the ship, still piled in nets and strapped down. Vortu engineering was of the conventional sort, but different enough to be interesting. Her idea of a fun time would have been tucking into one of the hulking components and dissecting it down to the last diode. Another time maybe.

Aptat found and unstrapped the boxes that held the voidsuits. Together, they unfolded them from inside and began the tedious exercise of checking seals. Naecia watched Aptat work. Focused. Efficient. Mind seemingly on nothing but the task. Seemingly. She would love to know what was going on inside it. Her own mind was full of questions and she opened her mouth only to remember being nearly choked out the last time she’d broached the subject of Aptat’s past.

“Go ahead, then,” Aptat said, scanning a wrist connection on one of the suits, then looking up. “What is it you want to know?”

Naecia swallowed the question and shook her head.

“No, it’s fine, really. We’ll all be dead soon and so this may be our one chance to really get to know one another,” said Aptat, holding up their hands. “Look at us. Sitting here like a couple of besties. Circle of trust down here. Ask me anything.”

“You know what I’m going to ask,” she said.

“I do. But you have to ask it.”

“Who else was here? In this ship with you. There was another person, wasn’t there?”

“Mother.”

Naecia shivered. “Mother?”

“Mm.”

“I thought you were... assembled?”

“Is gestation of offspring a prerequisite to motherhood?” asked Aptat.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”