You let KILO point the high-gain—the big-eared dish—using the same sun-and-IMU attitude that saved the arrays. Static becomes a watery voice, then a better one. A ground call sign you have drilled with.

“Starling, we see a partial beacon. We need time to fit your orbit. Do not burn. Repeat, do not burn. Storm is degrading the track.”

Jax mutes the speaker half a second too late for do not burn to feel like a hug. Mira looks at the clock to apoapsis, then at you.

“We can wait for their fit. We can also do the fit ourselves, because we have gyros and a clock and we were here when the engine quit.”

The handheld from Okonkwo: “Air good. Heat good. Do not donate that work to a queue.”

Earth is a beautiful boss. The periapsis is not on Earth’s calendar.