Milly and Gio had asked to have their cabins merged—easy enough aboard a bioship. They explored only a little beyond its confines, but only a hallway away, they found a bubble window that looked out onto the vastness of space, marked by the odd colors and distortions that showed they were in Q-space, traveling faster than the speed of light.

“Out of the basket cooker and into the grease,” Gio signed.

Milly said, “Dabry and the captain didn’t seem too worried.”

He spat onto the corridor floor, where it was immediately absorbed. The ship analyzed the fluid and found his health well within expected parameters. “They never do. They don’t like to show it, think it would upset us. And they’re right, it would, sure enough.”

“Will we be imprisoned?”

“Maybe? No proof other than we showed up saying a phrase. Can’t believe that bastard did that to us. Dirty trick.”

“People do odd shit when they know they’re dying. My great-aunt killed my uncle when she found out she had three months to live, said she didn’t want him hanging around after her pretending to mourn but being satisfied inside.”

Gio made a face, signing, “That’s twisted. Your folks take grudges too far.”

“I don’t,” Milly said. “That’s why I didn’t stick around but signed up as soon as it could get me off-planet.”

Gio nodded. They both knew he’d done the same. Old Earth was an environmental disaster, and had been left so as an object lesson, despite what it did to those inhabitants who couldn’t afford to abandon it and find a new world. Gio would already have outlived all but the youngest of the chimps that he’d left behind. Both chimps and humans were condemned there; only the dolphins and whales had managed to remove the entirety of their species. The few of those who had chosen to linger were long dead, while their fellows swam between the stars in vast water-filled ships.

“Captain and Dabry got me and the rest of the crew out of that,” he signed. He raised his hand and they touched knuckles, white feathers and black fur colliding, as she signed back, “And they will again.”

They stared out at the stars.

The ship considered their words. All of this had no bearing on what would happen; the destination was preprogrammed and the ship had no more real control over where they went than one of them did if their body chose to sneeze.

Skidoo found a water storage room and plunged in, joyfully coiling and writhing in the water, extending her limbs to lengths she normally could not stretch, the protective layer dissolving and flaking away after a few moments. The ship noted that the three longest limbs were eight meters, the shortest three and a half meters. The other six varied in length within that range.