Narrator X: (Everett) “Well, I’d offer you some canned bread,” Everett says, “but I know you’d hate it.”

Narrator S: (Micky) “Actually, canned bread sounds amazing right now. After weeks of eating nothing but vomit fruit, regular awful bread would be a feast.”

[Echoing hoofbeats and indistinct background conversation.] 

X: (Everett) “Oh jeez, Micky, oh god! Vomit fruit. But did it at least taste good on the way in?” 

S: (Micky) “Absolutely not. Hambing, how did you describe it?” 

X: (Hambing) “Uh, it was kinda like, uh, mushy grapes wrapped in warm fish skin, and also dog hair. Tons of seeds, too. Or maybe those were bones.” 

(Everett) [groans of disgust] “What the fuck, ugh! Here, you can take the rest of my jerky right now, Micky. I am making you the Stationary-style dog to end all Stationary-style dogs at the first opportunity.” 

Narrator M: Through the dark city, the crew– 

S: The entire crew, wow! 

M: –is walking back to the Stagecoach, using Cleo’s gradually dimming lights to reverse-engineer – backtrack – their route. 

X: Now that everybody’s back together again, there are not enough hosses for every person to ride. So, they are making a stroll out of their reunion, walking and talking, sharing many insane sun and city survival stories, and they’re all very glad to not actually be dead yet.

S: The dark city is actually significantly less dark now that the sun is glowing at full power, although the bedrock itself still drinks up the light with that eerie absorptive quality that it has.

X: The ground rumbles every so often from faraway quakes, and the sound of breaking and snapping echoes across the spherical distance as pieces of the city crumble into dust.

M: Steve is loping along, listening intently to the sun tales, as the sunular survivors wolf down all the fresh water and meager biscuits the ground crew can spare from the rations they brought with them. 

S: Rawfield has been making good use of the first aid kit from Ol’ Smoker’s saddlebag, administering fresh bandages and ointments to the recently re-sunburned sun team, freshly re-scorched from their recent sunbeaming. From the sun.

X: Tzila and Felix are looking by far the worst, having been blasted both into and out of the sun in comparatively relatively recent rapid succession. 

S: Felix in particular is not taking it well, physically or emotionally, and is constantly groaning in general pain as he jounces along atop a hoss. (Felix) “Just kill me now. Throw me in a suck-hole. Ugh! I need new skin.” 

X: (Rawfield) “And what about you?” Rawfield falls in beside Merlin, strolling along behind Ol’ Smoker in step with the Biological Man. “Still no sunbeam pain?”

M: (Merlin) “None, no. There was that whisper of what hot metal tastes like, but then it was gone again. One of the unexpected benefits of being bocular, I suppose: no epidermis to burn.” 

S: He winks one eye off and then on again. 

M: (Merlin) “Oh, I can wink now, see?!” 

S: He winks it some more, just to make sure she doesn’t miss it. 

M: (Merlin) “I’m so relieved to be back together. Though I wish I could have had some more time to study the sun. The things I could have learned! It’s a tragedy that we must leave this marvel behind. I’m never going to get over it.” 

X: Rawfield squints up at the sun shining vibrantly in the black sky above, blob belt swirling around it actively. Warmth radiates from the sun now, discernible here on the ground, faint but distinct. 

S: Rawfield looks sad for a moment, then angry, then sad again. She looks away into the darkness of the city. 

M: (Merlin) “There was nothing you could have done, Ripley,” Merlin says quietly. “Guy made his choice. It’s what he wanted. He wanted us to escape.” 

S: Rawfield shakes her head. (Rawfield) “I’m getting real tired of this sacrificial theme we seem to be developing here. It’s my job to prevent this kind of thing, Merlin. Too many people dying. Way too many people getting hurt.”

M: Merlin is about to offer some further consolation, some well-meaning philosophy, maybe even point out that their track record for people dying is actually pretty darn good in THIS cosmos, at least – 

S: But Rawfield holds up a bandaged hand. (Rawfield) “And speaking of preventing harm, Merlin: we need to decide what we’re gonna do about Steve. I’m not letting him on the Stagecoach until we clear things up with him.”

M: (Merlin) “Hmm. I suppose you’re right. We can’t just… leave him behind, can we?” 

S: (Rawfield) “That’s the same as killing him. I can’t do that. But maybe the threat of it is enough.” 

X: She narrows her eyes at Steve’s leapfrogging form up at the head of the hoss train. He is sproinging along next to the Granddaughter, conversing intently. 

S: (Rawfield) “He needs to understand that he’s not the one calling the shots.”

M: (Merlin) “Do we really know that Guy was telling the truth about Steve’s behavior?” 

X: At the look on Rawfield’s face, he hurriedly adds: 

M: (Merlin) “I-I know you were attached to Guy, and I’m sorry. But I must raise the question.”

S: (Rawfield) “What reason would Guy have to lie about Steve?” 

M: (Merlin) “I don’t know! I’m just saying: we don’t actually have any evidence that Steve did anything wrong.” 

S: (Rawfield) “Merlin, I’m ex-Trust. I know a victim of long-term narcissistic abuse when I see one. Steve is not a good guy! I mean, he was not a good… He was not good TO Guy.”

M: (Merlin) “Ultimately, there’s only one way to get to the bottom of this. Ready?” 

S: (Rawfield) “Oh, I’ve BEEN ready for a while.” 

X: (Steve) “That’s an important physiological difference between us, then,” 

M: Steve is saying to the Granddaughter. 

X: (Steve) “For me, it’s ALL manual: choosing to breathe, choosing to circulate blood, choosing to think. I can’t imagine the mercilessness of involuntary everything all the time, constant unceasing cognition, muscles and lungs pumping away no matter your intentions…” 

(Dot) “Many things would be so much easier for me if I could just stop my brain like you. I’m so envious, Steve.” 

(Steve) “Perhaps you can. I could probably teach you a thing or two, to some degree.” 

S: Steve is all geared up to hold forth with handy metacognitive tips, but Merlin and one of the sun people – that doctor person – hustle up beside him. 

M: (Merlin) “Excuse us, Granddaughter. Steve, may Dr. Rawfield and I have a word with you?” He gestures down a dark alley – only partly dark because of the sun – nevermind. “In private?” 

X: Steve turns calmly to the two of them. (Steve) “In private? Surely, anything you have to say to me can be said in front of everyone.”

M: (Merlin) “It was simply a courtesy, in case–” 

X: (Steve) “In case what you want to talk about is uncomfortable? I knew this was coming the instant I learned Guy was still alive. Listen, since we are all about to undertake an extremely risky venture together, we might as well, uh… what is the, the saying, the, uh, Everett’s, uh… lay all of our ‘carbs’ on the table. Please, Merlin, speak your mind.” 

S: Dot’s walk is slowing. 

X: (Dot) “What is this all about?” 

S: (Rawfield) “Fine,” Rawfield says. “Good, actually. Everyone SHOULD hear this. Circle up, everybody. We’re gonna have a chat with Steve.”

[Hoofbeats cease.] 

M: The others come to a halt, gathering round with curiosity. The sun team knows what’s coming, but the Biological Man, Everett, Cleo, and Dot have no idea.

X: Rawfield looks Steve up and down with a similar expression as when she surveyed the artifacts in Mr. Pesto’s museum, far away, long ago – resentment, anger, disgust. 

S: (Rawfield) “Guy was playing along on the teletheric for the safety of our crew, but he is not your loyal disciple anymore – was not. He realized what you did to him, what you were always doing to him, and he told us everything. Guy was only captured by the Sentinel because he did what YOU told him to do. It wasn’t an accident, it was your experiment to learn how much thinking you could get away with. He trusted you, and you knew that, and you abused that trust. He may not have died when you intended him to, but his death is still your fault.”

X: She steps closer, unintimidated by Steve’s large size. 

S: (Rawfield) “You were a cult leader. I have a feeling that wasn’t the first time you risked someone else’s life for your own benefit. But on my watch, it WILL be the last. What do you have to say for yourself, ‘Prophet?’” 

X: Everett’s eyes narrow, and she reflexively takes a step back from Steve, positioning herself between him and Micky. 

M: The Biological Man frowns in confusion and alarm, looking to Merlin for confirmation. 

S: Cleo is caught somewhere between shock and vindication, her mouth agape.

X: And Dot is… well, you know, neutral, expressionless, except perhaps for a very faint crease between the eyebrows.

M: Steve’s ferro-pupil swirls amorphously within his translucent head-bulb – for him, the expressive equivalent of sorrowfully downcast eyes.

X: (Steve) “Fine. I admit it. I persuaded Guy to illuminate his mind so that I could learn the safe parameters for survival in this cosmos. And yes, I did this with the knowledge that it could cost Guy his life.” 

S: Cleo looks over at Dot, trying to catch their eye. They’re already looking at her. The dark mica scabbard at Cleo’s hip sparkles in the bright sunlight like a miniature echo of the Ship. 

M: (Merlin) “Thank you for your honesty, Steve, but look. We will not permit you to board our ship again, and certainly will not grant you passage to our own cosmos, if you are not willing to match our values of cooperation, positive intent, or being willing to be wrong some of the time.” 

X: Merlin crosses his arms firmly.

M: (Merlin) “We have reason to be concerned that you are acting out of a singular selfish survivalism. We are prepared to leave you right where you are unless you can give us some kind of assurance that you don’t pose a risk to the rest of us.” 

S: Steve’s pupil scatters, tiny pinpricks of fold fixated upon each member of the crew in complex constellations of thought, of consideration, of intent, of patience. 

X: (Steve) “What I did to Guy, I did not do gladly or impulsively. Sometimes we must make hard choices to survive, choices that others may not understand unless they have been in the same situation.”

M: (Merlin) “We are in precisely the same situation–”

X: (Steve) “It isn’t the same. It isn’t the same at all. You cannot imagine the helplessness of orbiting that sun, unable to go anywhere, unable to learn anything, unable even to THINK. Out of fear, we were operating at such a level that we could barely meet the minimum requirements for survival. No fishing, no shelter, no conversation. It was unsustainable. Our only options were to regress into ignorant beasts and wither away, or take a risk and learn something.” 

M: (Merlin) “But to risk Guy’s life??” 

X: (Steve) “You would never put your friends at risk just to learn something? Is that really true, Merlin? Have you never done that, ever? In the entire course of your voyage of cosmic discovery?”

M: Merlin wants to protest, but he can’t. Embarrassingly, his crewmates aren’t exactly leaping to his defense, either. 

S: But Rawfield is already moving on. (Rawfield) “Do you even regret what you did to Guy?”

X: (Steve) “Of course I do! May you never have to learn what you would have done in my place.” 

M: He lets that sink in, as a tremor vibrates through the black ground underfoot. 

X: (Steve) “But if I hadn’t done what I did, I would not be alive now. And if I were not alive now, you would all be stuck here forever. It is as simple as that. Look, I’m happy to quibble over the morality of my past decisions all you like, but my facility with your Foldlight is something you need to get home. Perhaps you’d like to throw me in prison as soon as we get back to your cosmos. Go ahead. I’m used to persecution.” 

S: Rawfield’s mouth opens in a snarl, readying some brutal reply, when–

X: (Dot) “He’s right. We do need him.” 

M: Steve’s iris coalesces again to look at the Granddaughter, to perceive them with maximum attention.

X: (Dot) “I need him.” 

S: There is a moment of quiet, the bright sunshine illuminating the group in dawn-like radiance. 

M: Dot is very still. 

X: (Dot) “I must protect the Ship as Artifice did if we are to escape alive, and to do this, I require Steve’s help.” 

M: Merlin doesn’t say a word, because this is something that he truly does not know or understand. But he HAS recently conversed with an entire sun, and having an alien with fold-for-brains as a chaperone did help, a lot, with that. He exchanges a glance with Rawfield, and although his own face conveys just a hint more politeness than curiosity in this funky sunlight, he sees a grim reluctant resignation on hers.

S: (Rawfield) “I’ve said my piece. The Foldlight is beyond my expertise, so I must defer to the Granddaughter. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Steve.” 

X: The Granddaughter looks around at them all, pink heart glasses reflecting haunted sunlight. (Dot) “We must be at peace with that which is necessary. Steve is coming with us to the Ship, and with his assistance, I am getting you all home.”

S: And although they speak quietly, their tone carries a whisper of that Motherly conviction that brooks no argument. Not a command, or an opinion – a simple statement of fact. 

M: Another tremor rumbles through the bedrock, this one closer, stronger. The bocular hosses stagger to keep their balance. 

X: (Steve) “Guy’s flare is hastening the cosmos’s demise.” Steve looks around at them all pointedly. “If we wait too long, the Delta-pit may collapse. We must go.”

[A change of scene. A shift in ambience.]

M: The Ship is as they left it: suspended in its droplet of fold like the twinkling trinket inside of a dark snow globe, its passages flooded with the inky fog, its windows overgrown with strange alien flora.

X: A school of those troutbananas flits through Control, disturbed by a rumble below decks, a tremor of the Stagecoach docking in the hangar.

S: Outside the Control windows, the bright sun is flashing, flickering, shooting sunbeams like a bug zapper on a particularly mosquito-y summer night, or a disco ball scattering reflections around a particularly desolate club, dispensing the Sentinel to and fro through the cosmos, incessantly capturing sunlit tearrors.

X: Guy, rest his soul, really lit this place up. And the Sentinel is keeping busy dealing with the aftermath. 

M: Hambing, clambering out of the Stagecoach, beholds this sun-drenched vista through the hangar walls. 

S: (Hambing) “Look at it go! With any luck, the Sentinel might be too busy to go for US right away.” 

M: (Merlin) “That would be nice, but we can’t count on it. We’ll be taking all available precautions – no openings, no lasers, no hesitation.”

S: Micky is first up the ladder shaft, floating zero-gravitally into Control with a bag slung weightlessly over her shoulders. (Micky) “Whoa.” 

X: She peels her way through frogs and vines. 

S: (Micky) “It’s looking more and more like the sun-jungle in here.”

X: Rawfield is close behind her. 

S: (Rawfield) “Didn’t we have a chore wheel? You guys really let this place go.”

M: (Merlin) “We’ve been a little busy, Ripley–”

S: (Rawfield) “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I can’t tell you how nice it is to be back aboard, alien ferns and all.”

X: (Hambing) “The Ship is a lot… smaller than I remember,” re-normal man-sized Hambing says, looking around with fascination. 

S: The dark glassy cylinder of the inactive Foldlight looms in the back of the control deck, bristling with fuzzy ivies and weird little stick insects, which the Biological Man starts gently removing. 

M: (Biological Man) “We will start a check on electrics and bocs.” 

(Merlin) “Agreed,” Merlin says. “Having moss growing in our power systems is… well, it could be a hazard. And as lovely as cacti are, we do need to be able to move around here without injuring ourselves. Yourselves.”

X: (Everett) “Eugh, I’ll weed these punch-disc interfaces,” Everett says. “I’ll get these if you get those, Micky. Oh god, it’s so nice to do tedious chores with you again!” 

M: Felix is next up the ladder shaft, followed finally by Steve, who drifts a little warily. 

X: (Steve) “May I…help?” 

S: Steve asks. 

X: (Steve) “I have no intention of hampering anything, I promise you. I want to get out of here, too.” 

S: (Rawfield) “You can help the Granddaughter with the Foldlight,” 

M: Rawfield says, shooing a nest of shrimp out of a punch-disc rack. 

X: (Steve) “You really trust me so little that–” 

S: (Rawfield) “We’ll trust you a hell of a lot more once you’ve made good on all your lofty promises. The Granddaughter wanted you here, so you’re here. Go earn your keep.”

X: The Granddaughter is at the Foldlight, helping the Biological Man strip it of bristly fronds. (Dot) “You were going to teach me more about not thinking, Steve.” They beckon to him. “Please, at your convenience.”

S: Cleo shoulders her bulging, sticky backpack– 

X: Eugh. 

S: –and busies herself collecting various drifting punch-discs, wiping them down to remove all the tiny weeds and algaes encrusting them.

M: Bluegh.

S: At a distance, she watches Dot and Steve gather at the Foldlight. 

X: The Granddaughter is listening attentively to the frogtopus-alien’s dispassionate reflections on the dissolution of consciousness. Dot seems calm, at ease, watching Steve levelly from behind pink hearts. 

S: And their tranquility very much unsettles Cleo. It haunts her. It is deeply eerie. And try as she might to examine Dot for any sign of discomfort, there is none to be found – truly, none. 

X: The Granddaughter seems, for all the world, to be ready to die. 

S: And that is almost more than Cleo can bear. She scrubs punch-discs with redoubled attention, desperately trying to separate herself from the horrors, sawing away at algae with a rag. 

M: Just yonder, Everett and Micky notice her shiny-eyed feverishness, and they whisper something to one another before slowly floating toward her. (Micky) “Hey,” Micky says. “Hold up a second.” 

X: Everett takes the rag from Cleo. (Everett) “It’s gonna be okay.” 

S: (Cleo) “No, it’s not,” 

X: Cleo says very quietly. 

S: (Cleo) “But that’s nice of you to say.” Cleo very decidedly does not look toward Dot in this moment, an avoidance that Everett and Micky easily detect. 

X: Everett squeezes Micky’s hand. (Everett) “I thought Micky was gone,” she says. “But this weird old cosmos has a way of surprising you.” 

M: (Micky) “Good things do happen,” Micky agrees. 

S: Cleo takes off her backpack and carefully affixes it to the nearby workstation, strapping it securely down. She gives it a gentle pat. (Cleo) “I really hope you’re right.” 

X: There is a bittersweet, eerie atmosphere all throughout the Ship as the crew go about their various tasks. This is it: their last opportunity to prepare. There won’t be any more chances after this. They will succeed or they will fail, but until the moment they switch on that Foldlight, they can exist in this liminal space where both possibilities are still real. It’s peaceful, but it’s also painfully temporary. 

M: Too soon, the punch-discs are all polished, alphabetized, and pre-sorted in order of priority. The electrics are confirmed to not be full of moss, mostly. 

S: The Foldlight is weeded, cacti cut back, errant blobs of wandering pool water herded out the hangar. Micky has plotted the route to the exit chasm on her charts. Increasingly, it is time to go. 

X: The dawn-like light of the sun shines into Control brightly, starkly, especially now that the undergrowth has been culled somewhat, and that light illuminates the gathering crew. They congregate around the Foldlight, checking in.

M: Responding to a biological need, the Biological Man and Everett have rigged up this kind of pressure-cooker tea-infuser coffee situation, and they’re passing a strangely warm hot-water-bottle-esque bladder of cowboy coffee around to the floating crew. The coffee is strong, and weirdly chewy. 

S: Dot has still never tried coffee, somehow, even after all this time, and takes this opportunity to sample a tiny sip. 

X: (Dot) “Blech. Tastes like dirt.” 

(Everett) “Yeah,” 

S: Everett says proudly. 

M: The Biological Man nods enthusiastically. Merlin watches the coffee-bladder being passed around, somewhat wistfully. (Merlin) “All right. No more moss problems,”

X: he says, his voice quavering a little. 

M: (Merlin) “Foldlight electrics should be completely functional, once it’s, you know… on.” 

X: (Tzila) “No more fish living in the environmental gauges,” Tzila says, a little sadly. 

M: (Biological Man) “And punch-disc inputs have been weeded,” the Biological Man adds. “All discs accounted for, Cleo?” 

S: (Cleo) “Uh– oh– yes! All discs present and de-algaed,” Cleo says. “Including the weapons one, in case anybody else needs a sword. Hopefully not though, right?” 

(Felix) “There! I finally synced all my watches,” 

X: Felix grumbles, and then, quickly, seeing Merlin crank his head around with excitement bordering on violence – 

S: (Felix) “To each other! For all the good that’ll do. But at least now we can time out our, uh, our next moves more accurately.”

X: Rawfield is handing out little first aid survival kits cobbled together from remaining medical supplies and final emergency rations. 

S: (Rawfield) “And you’ve all got these. Here, one for you too, Steve. In case, uh, well… just in case.” 

M: In case she dies for real this time, she doesn’t say.

X: Or in case they get stranded or separated or trapped on the damn sun again, if one of them gets Sentineled again. 

S: Or in case of any number of other horrible outcomes that they’re all very much aware of but don’t want to verbalize at this time. 

X: (Everett) “Stagecoach is officially on quick-release,” Everett says. “It’s not gonna be pretty, but we will be outta here fast if we need to be. Oh shit, though – I think my coffee mug’s still in the co–”

M: (Micky) “No, no, no. I locked it up,” Micky says. “Mug is safe.”

X: (Everett) “Oh, thank god!” Everett laughs a little. “Look, it’s a Big Poff’s Rest Stop antique, y’all gotta understand. Everybody help me make sure Mr. Mug makes it home safe.” 

S: She bites her tongue. 

X: (Everett) “I mean– not– anyway. Sorry.”

S: Yeah. They just gotta get home safe. 

M: Dot looks around quietly at the crew, pink hearts sunlit. Beside them, Steve hovers quietly beside the slumbering Foldlight.

X: (Dot) “Okay,” Dot says. “Is everyone ready?” 

S: There is a silence. They are ready, but not ready. Can you ever be ready for something like this? Something like this, which seems to demand a certain… cost?

X: (Steve) “Are YOU ready?” 

M: Steve asks quietly, brain-bulb shimmering. 

X: (Dot) “Yes,” Dot says matter-of-factly, resolved. “I am.”

(Everett) “Fuck. This is so fucked up, Dot!” 

S: Everett breaks the silence. 

X: (Everett) “This– th-this CAN’T be what Artifice wanted for you!” 

M: (Merlin) “No, it cannot be,” Merlin agrees at once. “Exactly. Precisely. Thank you, Everett! That’s exactly the wording I was looking for.”

X: (Dot) “You don’t understand,” Dot whispers. “It is exactly what he wanted.” 

M: (Merlin) “You’re right: I do NOT understand, and furthermore, I profoundly disagree. I knew Artifice for many years, and–” 

S: He stops short. The Granddaughter is looking at him with a stillness that simply shocks him. 

M: Merlin has seen much amongst multiple cosmoses, and yet this image of the Granddaughter, standing before him with total calm on the eve of their annihilation, is almost more impossible than anything he has seen to date. 

X: (Dot) “Merlin, it is what I want, too.” 

M: And Merlin, once again, is speechless. And speechlessness is not a thing that Merlin enjoys. In fact, a confusion and sorrow and disappointment well up inside of him. How has it come to this? What have they missed? What has HE missed? Why wasn’t he able to devise a brilliant strategy that would avoid ANYONE having to sacrifice themselves? Surely, if he could just get back in his old body, his old brain, or incorporate his new body with the big sun-brain, he would’ve been able to figure this all out.

S: The Biological Man sees it all, too: both Dot’s eerie resolve and Merlin’s disturbed stupefication. Tears are leaking from the Biological Man’s eyes, though he isn’t sobbing, and seems almost innocently perplexed at what’s happening to him.

M: (Biological Man) “I am feeling a great deal of pain, though experiencing no injury.”

X: Rawfield hates this. She just hates it. 

S: (Rawfield) “If any one of us older folks could take your place, we would, without hesitation.” 

X: (Dot) “You cannot.”

S: (Rawfield) “It’s horrible that this has to fall to you. Is there anything I can do?” 

X: (Dot) “You can look after the crew if anything goes wrong. If I fail.” 

M: (Steve) “Nothing is likely to go wrong, and you will not fail!” 

X: Steve says. 

M: (Steve) “The Granddaughter is prepared, and I’m ready to assist them.” 

S: Hambing sniffles, shakes himself, trying to summon similar optimism from within himself. 

X: (Hambing) “I’ve always lacked the fear of the Fold that most other people seem to have – or lacked common sense, as my mother always said. We’re on the ride of a lifetime, and we’re all still alive. I mean… almost all. You know what I mean. Life is an adventure. You never know what’s gonna happen. And I think my attitude has played a part in MY tearror experiences, so I’m gonna keep on being optimistic for ya, Dot. I’m gonna believe you don’t have to leave us. There’s gonna be a way. There’s gonna.” 

S: Felix shifts awkwardly. (Felix) “Um… I know it’s hard to keep doing your job when everything that once made it feel important has disappeared. You just have to make your own meaning. Maybe that was the only meaning that was real in the first place. Ah, fuck, I sound just like Zoron. I think I understand Zoron. Fuck.” 

M: Tzila looks nervous, shaky with adrenaline – but interestingly, does not look quite so sad as everyone else. In fact, she examines Dot with an expression of kind wonder, curiosity, almost a knowing, as though she has seen something like this before and has made peace with it. (Tzila) “Mothers don’t know everything, Dot,” 

X: Tzila says. 

M: (Tzila) “We already know the way Artifice did it isn’t the only way. This, whatever this will be, is gonna be our own way. When you’re young, people older than you are always trying to tell you they know better. But it just turns out that everything is made up. There’s so much we just don’t know.”  

X: (Steve) “And you will not do this alone, Granddaughter.” 

S: Steve gathers himself, head-satchel sloshing. 

X: (Steve) “I promise you, all of you, that I am with you in this, and I will do everything in my power to guide us out of here and lead the Granddaughter successfully to their communion with the Foldlight, to their ultimate purpose in delivering you home, in whatever form that takes. This Ship is going home. You’re all going home.” 

M: The Biological Man cocks his head. (Biological Man) “Are you saying, Steve, that you’re going to help Dot… die?” 

S: Steve and Dot both look at the Biological Man evenly. 

X: (Steve) “Yes,” 

M: says Steve. 

X: (Steve) “That is correct.” 

S: (Rawfield) “Yeah, that’s kind of your thing, isn’t it?” 

X: Rawfield mutters, gazing out at the flaring sun. Then, at a sudden rise in voices from the crew, Merlin raises a hand. 

M: (Merlin) “Please, everyone, we have covered this. Now is not the time. We are going to trust you, Steve. And Dot… we will do our best to accept your decision.”

X: Steve nods his cerebro-bladder. (Steve) “Thank you, Merlin. Yes, you’ve all repeatedly insinuated that I excel at helping others along to their demise. If that is the case, as you suggest, then I am exactly who you need – who the Granddaughter needs.” 

S: Rawfield bristles. (Rawfield) “What kind of fucking–” 

X: But Dot holds up a gloved hand. (Dot) “He’s right.” 

S: Rawfield looks like she might punch Steve. (Rawfield) “We are NOT going to–” 

X: (Dot) “–make it home, if Steve does not assist me.” 

S: Dot completes Rawfield’s sentence. 

X: (Dot) “I agree. We will not – unless I have Steve’s help.” 

M: It is clear that several members of the crew want to push back on this, but Dot remains steadfast. 

X: (Dot) “I have made my decision, and Steve can help me navigate TO that decision. And with my choice, you – all of you – will get home. Please. It is time.” 

M: A deep breath in. A deep breath out.

X: God, what a fucking journey it’s been.

S: And with that, they break, heading to their stations.

X: There is one person Dot has not talked to yet, who lingers. They’ve been, well, we shouldn’t say Dot’s been avoiding her. They’ve been saving her, for last. (Dot) “Cleo?” 

S: Cleo has been making a truly valiant attempt at holding it together, but this was sort of contingent on not looking at or talking to Dot. 

M: This small nudge is all it takes for the dam to break. Tears immediately start welling up in Cleo’s eyes, and her lip starts trembling. 

S: (Cleo) “I know you asked me to accept this, and I’ve been trying, I really have been trying, but– [sobbing] I can’t! I can’t! This sucks! Why do you have to do this? Why does that have to be you? What if Steve is tricking you? It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

X: Dot removes their glove, and their hand hovers over Cleo’s tentatively, as though testing the temperature of hot water. (Dot) “It is the only way to get back home. The only way to get YOU back home, Cleo.” 

S: (Cleo) [whimper] 

X: Cleo heaves a sob. 

S: (Cleo) “What’s the point of getting back home if you’re not there?” 

X: And Dot wraps their arms around her, pulling her close. 

M: Cleo squeezes them back, clenching her fists in the black cloth of Dot’s robe. They float, clinging together.

X: (Dot) “You know, Cleo, the first time I saw you clearly, I thought it was Realization.”

S: (Cleo) [sniffs] “What’s Realization?” 

X: (Dot) “The most important thing a Granddaughter can experience… or so I thought.” And Dot releases the embrace, just enough to cup a hand around Cleo’s cheek and tilt her face toward them. 

S: Cleo looks at them breathlessly, undergoing a rapid realization of her own – actually more of a feedback loop between realization and disbelief and realization and disbelief that pointlessly continues right up until the exact moment that, right in front of everybody, Dot presses their lips against hers.

[A bittersweet synth melody.]

For just a moment, there is a surge of light as Cleo’s bioluminescence blooms like a miniature sun flare, her hair a radiant pink cloud around their faces. It brightens to technicolored brilliance before dimming down to nothing again, like a sigh, like a momentary pulse of an aurora. 

M: Everyone else in Control is watching this happen. For a few of them, this is the dramatic culmination of a reality TV show that they’ve been covertly enjoying since day one. 

X: [clearing throat] Everett and Micky.

M: For others less romantically attuned, it’s a complete curveball. Merlin makes a dot matrix printer noise and busies himself with unnecessary re-checks of the discs, while the Biological Man watches, deeply moved. 

X: Steve observes inscrutably, his opinion on the proceedings completely unreadable. Who knows if he even comprehends what kissing is or what it signifies. 

S: It is the gentlest of kisses, but it leaves Cleo completely breathless after Dot pulls away. At least she’s not crying anymore. Several other people are, though.

X: [clearing throat] Everett and Micky.

S: Felix surreptitiously wipes the corner of his eye. 

X: Dot examines Cleo fondly. (Dot) “I was always going to disappear from your life sooner or later. At least this way, I can do something to help you.” 

M: They lean in towards Cleo’s ear, dropping their voice to the barest whisper. 

X: (Dot) “And since I will die before becoming a Mother, at least I will die still caring for you.”

S: One more kiss, on Cleo’s forehead. In zero-gravity, it’s much easier for them to reach. 

X: Time to go.