The █ ship████ steals ██, like bird-song. You ████could never █ run █from sleep ██forever.\\ No, not from outside. ██████ Inside, wit█h █ the ru██shing wat█er. A sing-song voice██, sopor ███tugs, flutter of code███. One satellite, static of hibernation, strange superposition of the other dozen **ninety-nine** or so — [[turnsheet_sharing:thress:6:for|don’t let the riptides bite]]. \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ ====all==== All around you. 300 years have passed, and you are alone. Not just the Contingency, asleep, but more than that. Crisis detected in Mother-12, the code alerts you, static rushing in every channel all at once. They are leaving, the people, the River-climbers, are fleeing; evacuating, in huge droves, millions flooding onto transport, trampling one another (right?). You wink, and there it is, and you can see their faces, the families torn asunder, another endless disaster to [[turnsheet_sharing:thress:6:for#for|unmake a million lives]].