Doc shakes his head. “No. You’re right. I can’t. But I think you need—” His hand moves to his neck, where his wireless communicator is embedded beneath his skin.

“No!” This is another argument we’ve had plenty of times before. Doc — and Elder too — neither of them understands why I refuse to get a wi-com. I know Elder wants me to have one because he cares and worries about me. And — it would be nice, to be able to talk to him whenever I like. Touch a button and I could ride the grav tube up to Elder’s level, com him, or just find out where he is on the ship.

A wi-com is the ultimate cell phone, always keeping you plugged in.

Always keeping you tied to this ship, this ship that is not my home. I won’t get a wi-com any more than I’ll lock myself up in this room. Wi-coms are just too… too… too not-Earth. I can’t just let myself be wired into the ship. I can’t let them cut me open and implant something not-Earth into me, beneath my skin, wiggling into my brain. I can’t do that.

Doc reaches into his pocket and pulls something out in a fluid motion that seems contrary to his usually stiff persona. He holds the thing out to me.

“This is a”—Doc pauses—“it’s a special wi-com.”

I force myself to look at the thing in his hand. It’s essentially a tiny button, not any bigger than a dime, with three wires coming from each side. In a regular wi-com, the button’s hidden underneath the skin behind your left ear and the wires burrow into your flesh. But Doc has braided the wires into a circle, making a bracelet. Tiny words are printed along the red wire, so small I can barely see them.

“Give me your hand.”

I raise my arm obediently, then hesitate, drawing it closer to me. Doc snatches my wrist before I have a chance to object and slips the bracelet wi-com over my hand. He tightens it quickly — not enough to cut off my circulation, but enough to stop it from slipping off my wrist. Before I can say anything, Doc secures the wires with a metal cinch.