They aren't Users. They aren't Users or he'd have scrubbed them all some time ago: they are not Users for as long as they're crew instead. A logical extension of their new system--one he'd allied himself with.

The distinction is thin, is semantic, and will not stop him long now that they're without a ship. His real priorities are already reasserting themselves, choices narrowing in neat inescapable loops: it is not ideal, he has to fix it, and it had better be perfect when he's done.

But even if they can't be crew anymore, she herself is no User.

"Well, that's good." It's sudden praise, harsh with disuse; he coughs to cover it. "Isolating the remainders is important. Besides, there were life-signs this way and if they're lucky, they'll be thirsty or whatever else, instead of hurt."

A grotesque inference flits to the top of the queue: he may be digging for empty MIDs, unattached devices still crying for help.

...Impossible to be certain, when others aren't finished running the comparison against the official roster. Whatever cannot be verified cannot be analysed, therefore: irrelevant. He must continue--they are crew. Can't lose even one, not if he can prevent it.

But Yori's next words whip his head around and bring a practiced, deliberate genial grin to his face. A subsidiary function, self-chosen and small, and a salve against the relentless grind of directive:

"No kidding? That's what I actually do here--assess and repair crew-to-ship interactivity platforms and devices, MIDs in particular."

Pause.

"Uh--" wave of the hand like a visual question mark, "May I?"

If the asking is weird, it's in no small part because it's so new to him.