Myathriri catches it. Catches you. Traces the little bleep of activity, some system listed as Shine-close where a shuttle of supplies are shunted somewhere else; but you are far from her, and further still from the one of you over Yerssa. Is it more sickening, knowing soon that you shall view the galaxy in patchwork, a hundred dizzying perspectives no Nassian was meant to see? Or is it worse, this single one, all that dead metal clinging to you like eyelash dust, blindspots like a sword looming above?

A vote for, a vote against.

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