At hour ten, the lights dimmed.

And somewhere, in the static between stars, the N.S.P. file deleted itself.

The crew gathered on the bridge without being called. Blue Toad wiped his eyes. Yellow Toad paused his forest video. Green Toad kissed the reactor’s access panel and whispered, “Soon, darling.” Magenta pressed her palm to the glass and smiled for the first time in three weeks.