Before answering he took a long, grateful sip of water from the straw. “I don’t rem- uh, remember m-much,” he admits, sagging in defeat. Then he gives a dopey grin and adds with pride, “But I shot MaMa w-with your blaster, S-Sarah! You h-helped me!”

His eye tries to focus but can’t get it right; it does it again and again with an obnoxious whirr. As if noticing her tears for the first time, Techie raises a shaky arm and cups her cheek with his bandaged hand. “Wow,” he breathes, “Even wh-when you cry you’re b-b-beautiful.”