Ratchet reaches up without thinking as York sags, one hand still on his arm and the other cupping carefully at the back of his neck, over the implant, in a protective gesture. He clears his throat a little when he realizes what he did but he doesn't move, and his voice is low when he speaks.

"He might be, still," he says. "And even if he isn't, that doesn't mean he's gone. Whatever ends up getting us home has a good chance of undoing whatever it did to get us here and reinstalling him. You'll be all right."