The man looked at Marce like he was an idiot. “They don’t want to know. A ship goes in the Flow and doesn’t come out and they say, oh, pirates got them before they could report in. Or there was some problem shaping the bubble inside the Flow and they just disappeared in it. There’s always an explanation that doesn’t mean the Flow is the problem. They don’t want to believe it. And if they don’t believe it, then who is going to tell the Interdependency? You? Me? Like they’re fucking going to believe us.”

“They might.”

“Well, you try it and let me know. What I’m going to do is go home. I got kids. I want to see them again.”

There was a thump and the shuttle landed in the Yes, Sir’s bay.

“You’re not worried that something might happen to this ship on the way out,” Marce said, while they waited for the air to be pumped back into the bay.

“I figure this ship is safe. I didn’t want to hang around after that.”

“Why not?”

“My friend on the Tell Me’s heard that this stream—the one out of End—is getting shaky.”

“How so?”

“How do I know? It’s a rumor, man. They don’t come up with a science report. But my friend is anxious about it. He even considered jumping ship and coming with us. But the Tell Me’s whole crew is grounded for legal depositions and he didn’t know where to get reliable forged IDs. It’s hard to fool the biometrics.”

“I’ve heard.”

The man nodded. “So he’s stuck. And he’s worried he’s going to be stuck here forever.”

“There are worse places to be stuck than End,” Marce said.

The man snorted at this. “An open planet is no place for humans. Give me a decent ring habitat any day.”

“Earth was an open planet.”

“And we left it.” The door to the shuttle opened and the new crew began to file out.

“What’s your friend’s name?” Marce asked the man. “The one on the Tell Me.”

“Why? You going to send him a condolence note?”

“I might.”

The man shrugged. “Sjo Tinnuin. And I’m Yared Brenn, in case you’re at all curious.”

“Kristian.”

“No, I’m with the Interdependent Church. Mostly.” Brenn shuffled off before Marce could correct the confusion.

An hour later Marce had what passed for an orientation and was assigned his quarters, a tiny, sealable bunk in a room with fifteen other crew members. Each crew member had their own bunk and locker, with a common lavatory and living space, the latter of which couldn’t possibly fit all sixteen of them at the same time. As the newest crew member, he got the worst bunk, the highest of four nearest the lavatory, at the same altitude where the lavatory fumes gathered.