Vasilia isn’t here, and that took some doing. By oratorical flourish, direct orders, and some bribery, she admitted that the care her husband deserved required her to take the occasional break. There are no shortage of volunteers to cover for her.

He sleeps well in Redana’s presence. He watches her rides through the viewports, following the fastest star in the sea. He watches her draw. He listens to the stories behind every sketch. He eats from her hand. He rests by her side.

He is quieter these days. Odd, isn’t it? That you could expect noise from Dolce, and stumble on the silence. But there it is. He is fine. He is well, considering the circumstances. He is not upset. He is not in pain. Just. Quiet.

“We could have never left.”

The observation comes unprompted. It has nothing to do with the intricacies of heroic tea parties. Maybe.

“The Starsong didn’t have to arrive when they did. Tellus didn’t have to have a ship you could commandeer. We wanted to go. We were blessed with the choice.”

His gaze stretches far. He sees the platforms. He sees the pipes. He sees the scraps, the only ones with orbits stable enough to remain. He sees the tiny sheds, tucked away in the tangle, where ancient tools still wait for their owners’ return. He sees a yellow dot, and he sees planets in the distance, so few of them left, and he sees, he sees, he sees. His mouth works, silently, as he struggles to put words together. His little chest heaves.

“That was my wish. Starting out. That everyone would have the same chance we did. Leave. Go. Find someplace, find people, get away. Get away, if they needed to. That was my wish. But I had to let it go, along the way.”

He finds Redana. It takes some doing.

“I don’t think it should get lost. I don’t know if somebody ought to find it. Don’t, don’t forget. Please. Don’t forget…”