“Bartolomeo.” Then he hesitated, unsure. “Bartolomeo, do you want to know who your parents are?” “You know?” “Yes.” “How long have you known?” “Since I became captain.” I didn’t have to think about it long. I felt surprisingly little curiosity. “No,” I told him. “It’s too late for that. They’ve been dead and buried in space to me all my life. Better they stay that way.”
