The others rose from their drug-induced slumbers around the same time. Our pods gimballed. We swung to the opposite orientation from when we had first launched, and my inner ear registered deceleration.⁴⁹ When the lateral inertia ceased, the pods returned to their vertical positions and I was lightly pressed into the base, the welcome return of downwardpulling gravity. Our chambers rotated around the center axis of the pod, clanking loudly when centered. Right as I began to ask myself what would happen next, Patton’s chamber began to ascend. It pushed up through the floor until he disappeared.

This was bad. It had to be an interrogation, right? Patton was not a strategic thinker. Clearly, Aptat had figured this out. If there are checkers players and chess players, Patton is eating the pieces. He’s a pleaser – a disposition that would work to his disadvantage under cross-examination by an alien bounty hunter.

My anxiety was allayed when after a few minutes the chamber descended. Patton smiled widely to which I raised my eyebrows in question. His response was an enthusiastic thumbs up. Oh, god what did he do up there?

Clank. My turn.

When I ascended to the main deck of the Silent Child, Aptat was there waiting in casual black yoga pajamas, their face configured in what you might call koi pond chic. They gestured to my chamber, causing a gap to open in the glass between us. “How do you feel today, Flyguy?”

“My name is Ben.”

“And how do you feel?”

“Fuck you is how I feel. Is this a joke?”

“That’s all understandable. But no, this is no joke.” They held a large black ring in one hand. I eyeballed it. Aptat acknowledged the item, pivoting it almost like a tambourine. “I need to measure your coherence.”

“My what?”

“The degree to which you are yourself,” Aptat said, twirling the ring around three manicured(?) fingers. “This will be necessary for you going forward. Knowing your baseline could save your life. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“Trust you? Earthrbro_99?” I snorted. “No. Fuck off.”

“If I can’t evaluate your resting coherence, then you are worthless to me... and to your buyers.”

“Good.”

“Not good, Ben. Bad. I don’t return spoiled cargo to where I found it. I dump it. I’m all about that hustle, Ben. And mass is money.”

“You mean, you’d like, throw me out an airlock?”

“Do you know what it feels like to die in space?” Their voice was cordial, not threatening. I realized it didn’t have to be. The concept was enough.

I shook my head.

“It’s tortuous, but mercifully fast. All of the gas in your body rapidly expands and the liquid on your eyes, mouth, and skin boils off, vaporizing in seconds. Then you pass out and asphyxiate. It goes faster if you hold your breath, but I recommend against it as doing so makes your lungs explode. So. Do you acquiesce to a painless coherence assessment or shall we proceed to the airlock?”