"York," Ratchet says, using his best sit-up-and-pay-attention field-medic's voice, though at a tightly controlled volume. "York, I didn't see anything. Look at me, please."

Ratchet's hand closes firmly on York's upper arm, squeezing carefully. Here's hoping York doesn't break his nose. He hasn't even had it for very long yet.

"I need you to calm down, York. If Delta is an AI implanted neurally, all the shouting in the world isn't going to make him show back up if he's already in your head. Just breathe for a moment."