Upgraded by Peter Watts, Greg Egan, Ken Liu, Robert Reed, Elizabeth Bear, Madeline Ashby, E. Lily Yu Page A

through the remaining puppets. “You are dead.”
    “People keep telling me that,” you say.
    And maybe they’re right.
    The puppets come at you in a wedge. All seven. It’s trying to overwhelm you.
    You use the machete to cut through the jungle of flesh, leaving arms and limbs on the ground. And when you stand in front of the Satrap, it wriggles back away from you in fear.
    “Let me tell you a memory,” it begs through speakers, using the machines now that it has been shorn of biological toy things.
    “It’s too late,” you tell it. “I’m dead.”
    You drive the machete deep. And then you keep pushing until you have to use your fingers to rip it apart.
    There’s a sense throughout the habitat that something major has shifted. Free humans are bunched together in corners, and others are dazed and wandering around. The rumor is that the Satrap has suddenly disappeared, or died. But what if it comes back? What happens when other Satraps arrive?
    You find the docks and a row of deBrun’s crew with guns guarding the lock. They stare at you, and you realize you are still covered in blood and carrying a machete. Everyone on the station has given you a wide, wide berth.
    “If you wanted to steal fuel, now’s the time,” you tell them. “The Satrap’s not going to be able to stop you. Everyone out there doesn’t know what to do.”
    There are some other alien races sprinkled in throughout the station. But they seem to have locked themselves away, sensing something has gone wrong.
    Smart.
    “Who did the captain leave in charge, if he died?” you ask. They don’t answer, but take you back into the ship, and the first mate comes up.
    “You’re in charge?” you ask.
    “Yes,” he nods. “I’m John.”
    You frown. “He called you Jay on the bridge, when I came out.”
    The first mate smiles sadly. “John deBrun. The junior John deBrun. Jay because we don’t need two Johns on the bridge. Though . . . I guess that won’t happen anymore.”
    “He gave you the coordinates, in case he was taken.”
    John’s son nods. “You were taken with him, by the Satrap? You were there?”
    You pause for a moment, trying to find words that suddenly flee you. You change direction. “You have three hours to steal as much fuel as you can before forces from the planet below arrive. We should both be long gone by then. Understand?”
    “Three hours isn’t long enough.”
    You shrug. “Take what time you have been given.”
    “You don’t understand, we’re taking on extra people. People we didn’t plan to take on. That adds to the mass we need to spin up. We have the other ships docking hard, and we’re taking refugees from Hope’s End. People, who if they stay, will be back in thrall at the end of those few hours. We won’t have enough fuel to get where we need to go. Maybe, three quarters of the way?”
    And out there in space, you were either there or not. There was no part way. No one was getting out on foot to push a ship. Those are cold calculations. They come with the job of captain. Air. Food. Water. Carbon filters. Fuel.
    “Sounds like you need to shut your locks soon,” you say. “Or you risk throwing away your father’s sacrifice.”
    “I will not leave them,” John says calmly. “He may have been able to. You may. But I will not. We are human beings. We should not leave other human beings behind.”
    “Then you’d better hope your men hurry on the fuel siphoning.”
    You have no use for goodbyes. You leave him in his cockpit. But you stand in the corridor by yourself in the quiet. Your legs buckle slightly. A wound? Overtired muscles sizzling from the performance earlier? You lean against the wall and take a deep breath.
    When you let go, you stare at the bloody handprint.
    You lost it all. So close, and you lost it all.
    And now what? What are you?
    You’ll never have those memories. They aren’t you anymore. You are you. What you have right now, is you. What you do next, will be you. What