degree. That should do it. The girl confirms the new settings, and the ship shudders as its lateral thrusters fire. A short pulse, just a momentary vibration, then silence again. So much silence out here. She watches the ship’s trajectory change just so, then taps off the holoscreen, exits the program, and disconnects her link. She removes the cylinder on the bot’s neck and glides out of the cockpit. Back in her compartment, she gets her backpack and heads to the bathroom. She looks in the mirror, her face half her own, half an imposter’s. But since that last day on Mars, she wonders: Which is which? It feels like neither. It feels like both. How will she make him understand? She rubs the old putty off, the flakes floating in the air around her. When she’s finished, she gets the ship’s vacuum, switches it to zero gravity mode, and sucks up the mess. Then she unscrews a metal container, dips her finger into the cool, thick putty, and lifts it toward her face. Pauses again. Why bother? Why keep hiding who she is, when it is no longer certain who she should be hiding from? But no, one thing at a time. There may still be a way to not lose everyone she cares about. And so a half hour later she reemerges from the 41
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