They snorted, though since they had only one nose, Elena wasn’t sure which one of them was expressing scorn. Janice said, “The nice thing about being torn apart and stitched back together wrong by Doctor Frankenstein Mengele Moreau, MD, is that everything bad that happens to you after that seems surprisingly fucking manageable. We’ve always been in a worse situation than the situation we’re in. Don’t worry about it. We knew signing on with Callie would dump us in the shit now and then. No offense, captain. But you do get into situations.”

“And I always get us out again,” Callie said.

The control panel in front of Drake and Janice blipped. “We’ve completed our scan of the night side. Looks like the planet is tidally locked in a synchronous rotation – that side is always dark, and the other side is always light. We’d like to cruise over and get a look at the day side. Should we wait until Ashok comes back inside?”

“Ashok?” Callie said. “You want to come in? We’re going to move the ship.”

“Aw, I’m having fun out here,” he crackled. “I’m checking the stealth projectors. How about I just hold on real tight while you change position? I’m tethered and mag-locked anyway.”

“We won’t go fast, and we won’t accelerate rapidly, so he should be fine,” Drake said. “We’re basically doing a slow drift and scanning as we go.”

Callie sighed. “I guess TNA safety protocols don’t really apply when we’re who knows how many light years outside their jurisdiction. All right. Proceed. Do you still want that drink, Elena?”

“Please.”

“Fraternizing with a civilian, captain?” Drake said.

“It’s only fraternizing when a superior officer is involved with one of lower rank, and we’re not in the military anyway, and, no, we’re just drinking because it’s a way to cope with the existential horror of our situation.”

“So it’s medicinal, then,” Drake said. “I’m sure even Stephen would approve. Enjoy it.”

Elena followed Callie down the ladder to the observation deck, where she had a flexible drinking bag stashed. “It’s basically a wineskin,” she said. “But it’s full of Callisto bourbon.”

“I thought in order to call it bourbon it had to meet a bunch of special criteria, like being made on Earth. Otherwise it’s just corn whiskey, right? Not that I’m complaining.”

“To be legally called bourbon, it has to be made on Earth, include at least fifty-one percent corn in the mash bill, and be aged in new, fired oak barrels. Plus a few other rules about alcohol percentage and such.”

“So it’s not really bourbon? Or it’s not really made on Callisto?”