No response. No, she wasn’t healed, just better. His voice was still gone from her head, from her mind, and with it, the stream of NAN data Althea was accustomed to. Despite her returned to relative health, she still would not have any precise control over her networks. Communication lines certainly would have been fixed by now… if that was at all possible.

Althea sighed, giving in. Nothing could be done about it, not here. She hoped the absence of pain now meant she wasn’t going to suffer more random agonies, sudden unconsciousness. She could live with that; but then, what choice did she have?

Finding Dorian’s case, Althea caressed its smooth metal surface, picked it up.

“Good morning Dorian.”

Good afternoon, his faint voice replied. How do you feel today?

“Much better,” she told him. “As well as I can be.”

I’m pleased to hear that. You had a visitor.

“I did?” She should have heard, woken up.

He did not enter the room.

“Oh?”

She found a note on the door, message scrawled in poor handwriting, signed Traejan: He and Kyso were starting work on equipment needed for her efforts – she should take whatever wished from their food stores.

Make my own meals, eh? Already tired of coddling me are you?

Thoughts of food brought a pang from her stomach; her wounds were erased, but her NANs were still demanding more fuel. Still, her fingers were thin, body didn’t flex and bounce quite as well as it should – a few more stomach-fulls should take care of it. Althea forced a smile, she should be happy, or at least relieved.

She pulled on her memsuit and adjusted it, slipped into her travel tunic, her boots, pocketed Dorian. Ready, passing one glance across the room to commit it memory, she headed out the door, closed it quietly.

The dilapidated resort’s hallways remained as chilly as the night before. She remembered Kyso telling her they had only a small ration of trilium to heat it. Her own couldn’t be wasted on luxuries.

Get used to feeling cold, you’re going to be here a while.

The kitchen was stocked with all the kinds of food that she’d been eating. A cursory search didn’t provide anything better, so she forced down the least repellent of the stock. On her way out, she nearly bumped into Traejan as he entered.

He was wearing what looked like mechanic’s work clothes. He was dirty, looked like he’d been crawling through an engine; smelled like it too.

Apologizing, she moved out of his way. He carefully passed by her, muttered a greeting.

“Good afternoon,” she replied – and when he didn’t answer immediately – added, “I read your note.”

He looked up, narrowed his gaze, then nodded.

“What are you working on?”

“Our lifter,” he told her, acting reluctant to talk, but wasn’t so rude as to brush her off. “It hasn’t worked in anna, but our sled won’t do for a trip down south. And since you have the trilium to power it…”

She nodded in understanding, anticipation. Her borrowed experiences might help with repairs. She was certainly finished with doing nothing but recuperating.

“Do you think I could help?”

Traejan shrugged dismissively.

“Maybe,” he offered.

“If I can, in any way…” she told him, trying to be cheerful, but not invasive. “Where’s Kyso?”

“In his workshop.”

She got the directions, nodded again, turned away.

“Sa Ram,” he started the formal address. She turned back to see him look away. “I know you are here to help us. I’ve been rude. Please accept my apology.

“Of course,” she replied lightly.