[The videostream starts up again in a dark, cramped room, presumably back aboard the ship. Small, outdated monitors hang from the ceiling. In view, there’s the upper part of a white, bunk-like object. It looks to be an ISEKEI medical pod, model and generation unknown. Fin Taban is slumped on the floor next to the pod, still in his exo-armor and helmet. There’s the sound of sloshing. A suspended shape (Daley’s) is lying supine beneath the darkened glass of the pod, being churned around in the liquid like an old rag.]

[Taban slowly eases himself up to look at the readouts on the medical pod.]

HARE: Would you like me to play music?

Taban: No.

HARE: Understood.

Taban: Thanks.

HARE (processors whirring): . . .

HARE: I have other selections that are better suited to your tastes.

Taban: Still no. I’m not a big fan of—robot singing, or whatever it is.

HARE: Stellar-synth. It converts the wavelengths of nearby stars into sound. Many people enjoy it.

Taban: Yeah, well, I don’t. Sorry. (tapping on glass) Daley? Can you hear me?

HARE: USER Daley is still unconscious.

Taban: His eyes are open. I can’t fucking read these monitors. My inlays are useless.

HARE: Do you require assistance?

Taban: What do you think?

HARE (processors whirring): I am unable to answer your query at this point in time.

Taban: (kneading his temples) . . . Just tell me what it says, please.

HARE (focusing on medical pod readout, which blurs with electrical interference): System relay of nitrous oxide and oxygen. Intravenous supply of Rad-X. Symptoms of patient: decelerated heart rate, catatonia, increased neural activity—

Taban: Will he be okay?

HARE: USER Daley has a 62% chance of recovery, if given the proper treatment protocols.

Taban (removing his helmet): I don’t know those.

HARE: You are not required to. The medical pod will administer.

Taban (running hand over face): Oh. Good. Good. I, uh—I don’t have any medical training besides CPR. You’d think they’d require that for this job.

HARE (examining readout): USER Daley has a preexisting heart condition.

Taban: Yeah. I know. (pulling off his gloves) Jesus. Look at me. My hands—

HARE: Do you require medical assistance?

Taban: No, I’ll be fine. I was just—scared. I thought he was going to die. If you hadn’t come back so fast and helped—I didn’t even know you had medical programming.

HARE: Even the oldest HARE models do.

Taban: Guess that makes sense. You could be rescue operatives in hostile environments and such. Keep victims stable until help arrives. Kind of like St. Bernards, with the stupid barrels of rum around their necks.

HARE (processing): I don’t understand.

Taban: Never mind. Just—thank you. For saving him. If he had died, we would have been stuck on this planet forever.

HARE (processing): You do not have flight training.

Taban: That’s right. And the comm system is out, so . . . we’d be on our own. Daley is our only ticket out of here.