“Ugh, the heat is killing me. Can’t we turn the AC on?”

Behind me, Micken pleaded with Alesha. It was the height of summer on Navas, and Milanya, like every bit of land on this planet, was smack dab in the middle of the tropics. Muggy air smothered the streets and clung to every guren unfortunate enough to be outside today, which up until a few minutes ago included Micken.

“Blame your Captain,” came Alesha’s reply. “He’s trying to save money.”

“It’ll turn on once it reaches a certain threshold,” I said, my nose still buried in the article I was reading.

“Oh yeah?” Micken scoffed. “What threshold? ‘Cause it’s gotta be at least 40 degrees out.”

“It’s not that hot,” dismissed Alesha.

“Says you. Watch, I’ma look it up.”

There was a moment of silence before Alesha spoke up. “See? 29°C.”

“Uh, yeah, with 90% humidity,” protested Micken. “Look, look at the forecast. Feels like 38°C.”

“That’s less than 40,” said Alesha.

“Yeah, but you see what I’m getting at here? It’s hotter’n the backside of a reaction drive and we’ve turned the damn AC off.”

“Again, I’m not the one responsible for it.”

“C’mon Kethe—we don’t want to make our guest uncomfortable when she arrives, do we?”

Realizing I wouldn’t be able to read another word from Speltzar et al. before dealing with this, I flung my tablet down and swiveled around. “Alright, alright, I’ll turn it on.”

Micken gave me a cheeky grin as I shuffled over to the thermostat and punched in the numbers. Annoyed as I was, he had a point—it was pretty hot out today, and I’d rather leave a good impression on our new prospect. It was hard enough finding applicants in the first place; the last thing I needed was for this one to fall through because of a stuffy office.

With a shrill beep, the thermostat confirmed its new setting. The flimsy ceiling panels above me shuddered as a hulking fan lumbered to life and began pushing cool air out of the vents. Micken draped himself across a chair underneath one of them and let out a languid sigh.

Alesha threw him a sideways glance. “Try to maintain some decorum during the interview this time, okay?”

Micken grumbled, but sat up a little straighter. “This has gotta be the last one, right?”

I sat back down and nodded. “Every position is filled except this one.”

I pulled up the roster on my tablet. For the past 40 weeks, Alesha and I had been steadily rebuilding the Lodestar’s crew. High turnover was endemic to the profession—even academic research ships, which had to be the most mind-numbingly boring (and thus, stable) kind of Seeker vessel, had to replace a sizable contingent of their crew after each voyage. Still, turnover for the Lodestar brushed right up against the limit of what was tenable. I didn’t have hard numbers to back it up, but out of all the Seekers based in Milanya, we seemed to have it the worst.

This cycle was particularly bad; on top of the usual mass exodus of regular spacers like Brunow, we also had two senior officers retire at the same time. Sothas was easy to replace, requiring only a few internal promotions. It also wasn’t hard to find spacers to fill out the roster; most hopped from crew to crew until they found an outfit that suited them, and we’d usually sway a few from merchant vessels with our lucrative contracts. No, the problem was finding a new Chief Cook.

“What’s been the holdup?” asked Micken.

“No one’s applied,” I said. “Hensen told me it was one of the hardest positions to fill. I didn’t quite get what he meant until now.”

If it was just a matter of finding someone to prepare meals, we’d have wrapped this up in under a week. But despite the name, cooking was perhaps the least important of the Chief Cook’s duties. The real job was figuring out what food to get, where to get it from, how to store it, and when to serve it. Even for a small crew of Seekers like ours, securing enough provisions was a logistical nightmare. Most of the expedition was spent in the uncharted depths of space, far away from any planets or large colonies, meaning opportunities to schedule resupplies were few and far between. On top of that, they had to balance nutrition, dietary restrictions, limited storage space, cost, and the need for some variety in our everyday meals… just thinking about it gave me a headache.

“Friea came with the ship, right?” Micken’s question jarred me out of my thoughts.

“Really? You never mentioned that to me,” said Alesha.

“Ehh, it wasn’t that big of a deal.” I waved my hand. “I bought the Lodestar off of an old merchant contact of mine. Friea had been under her employ, so when she sold the ship, Friea decided to go with it.”

Micken whistled. “You’re pretty damn lucky, you know that?”

I nodded. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but most cooks would not make the same choice. The logistics on merchant vessels were much simpler, meaning Freia had taken a harder job for the same pay. As it was, it saved me from having to scout out a replacement on my own.

“That’s why we have to make this one count,” I said. “Who knows how long it’ll be until we get another applicant.”

“I getcha,” Micken said.

Alesha crossed her arms. “Then clean your desk. First impressions are key.”

“I’m still cooling off,” he complained.

“You’ve had long enough.”

There was no arguing with Alesha, so Micken reluctantly got up and began tidying up his workspace. Feeling a little self-conscious, I looked over at mine. Hensen’s storage chips were strewn across the desk, resting on or underneath various papers and charts. A stack of them near the monitor balanced precariously next to a metal artifact. I gulped.

“I’ll uh, just be over here,” I said, tiptoeing over to my desk.

It wouldn’t have surprised me if Alesha’s comment had been more for my sake. It didn’t matter that I knew where everything was or that I had a good reason not to toss that article—for someone as fastidious as her, they were all excuses. Frankly, she was lucky. If we didn’t have to clear out the entire office before every expedition, my desk would likely be overflowing in chaotic clutter.

Not looking forward to packing all this, I thought to myself.

Like most independent Seekers, we had no permanent terrestrial offices. Instead, we’d rent a space from the Navas Seekers Guild in between expeditions. The Guild owned a handful of offices in Milanya and would rotate through them as Seekers came and went. It was a lot cheaper than paying for the upkeep of a building that would sit unused 90% of the time. In exchange, every expedition returned to a different office, and you never really knew which one you’d get next.

Our current abode was a bit on the smaller side and in need of a remodel. The paint was cracked and peeling in a few places, while the blinds were brittle and faded from all the sunlight. The furniture was in better condition, seeing as we brought it all with us, but a little too big for the space. At least with everyone’s personal affects filling it up, the space had a kind of homely feel.

Primm’s assortment of potted plants did the most in making the office feel more welcoming; there was a reason everyone let her handle the communal areas. I was particularly fond of the row of succulents along the window, each sourced from a different planet. Elija’s corner was filled with antique discs and records they’d collected over the centuries. I can’t say I ever enjoyed listening to music, but Elija made it look classy. There was Raynor’s arsenal of knives and blades, Nyvaki’s Pan-Galactic Athletic Summit memorabilia, Lesko’s figurines from some Dyrenni show he tried to get me to watch… in fact, the more I looked, the more it seemed like all the officers had some sort of theme.

I looked down at my desk. Rather than dump everything into a drawer, I decided to try and express myself a little. I stacked the chips in the corner and left out one of the nicer star charts, aligning it carefully with the edge of the table. I also displayed one of the larger Progenitor artifacts in a prominent position. Hopefully it would come off as tasteful.

“You just gonna leave that hunk o’ junk out?”

I clicked my tongue at Micken’s comment. Apparently he’d finished cleaning his own space and felt the need to comment on my attempt. “It’s an artifact, Micken. A fragment of a Progenitor pod. This one appears to be from the cloning apparatus.”

Micken snorted. “It appears to be a rusted piece of scrap metal, is what. Great way to leave a good first impression on an outsider,” he said sarcastically.

“If Raynor can show off his knives, I can keep my historical artifact integral to our search on display.”

Micken shrugged, muttered “Seekers” as if he weren’t one himself, then sat down. Not wanting to prolong the argument, I made my way back over to my tablet. There wasn’t much time left until the interview; hopefully I’d be able to finish this article without being interrupted again.

----------------------------------------

Micken’s Diary - Entry #78431

Today, we hired a new Chief Cook to replace Freia. She’s a quirky one—definitely not spacer material, but she’ll fit right in on the Lodestar. She knows how to push Kethe’s buttons without even trying, which should be fun. The interview was a riot. I try to avoid all the recruitment rigmarole, but Kethe insists I’m present for the officer interviews, as if I’m not already swamped with repairs. Usually it’s a drag, but this one was worth it.

You see, she came in and said—well, I should explain from the beginning. It all started to go south about half an hour after she was supposed to show up…

“I just got a message from her,” said Alesha, looking up from her tablet. “She’s almost here.”

“Finally.” I stopped spinning around in my chair and sat up. “Can’t wait for the interviews to be over. Y’all keep sucking up my free time.”

“Hey, this isn’t my fault,” protested Kethe.

“You told us to be here half an hour early. What was the point if she was gonna be half an hour late?”

“There was no way to know ahead of time,” he countered.

“This is why I’ve always been a spacer,” I grumbled. “These land-dwellers have no sense of urgency.”

“They’re not all that bad,” said Kethe, although his heart wasn’t in it. The wait was clearly gnawing at him too. He had more patience than me for sure, but he also loved to use his time efficiently. Even amongst Seekers, no one could hustle like Kethe. It was one of my favorite things about him.

“Alright, enough complaining,” cut in Alesha. “She’ll arrive any minute, so be on your best behavior.”

Sure enough, just moments later we heard a clatter coming from the front of the office.

Alesha gave me an expectant look. “Mind helping her out? The door’s jammed again.”

“As you command,” I replied, giving her a mock curtsey before whisking myself away to the entryway.

Sure enough, the accursed thing had gotten stuck. On the other side of the glass, a stocky little lady struggled in vain with the handle for a few more seconds before stepping away and pulling out her tablet in confusion. “Ahhhh, no! You’ve got the right place!”---is what I wanted to shout, but it was doubtful she would hear me. Shoot, she probably couldn’t even see me, what with how sunny it was outside. Instead, I rushed up to the door and wrenched it open.

“Excuse me, miss! You’re here for the interview, right?”

She turned around and nodded. For the first time I got a good look at her. She was small, shorter than Alesha even, but much wider, with round features and soft edges. Her shell and plates were suffused with a pastel cerulean common among the inhabitants of Navas; I wasn’t sure if it was a side effect of the local produce or a cultural thing (Kethe would know), but it implied she’d at least lived here for quite some time.

“Sorry about that,” I said, holding the infernal door open for her. “It gets jammed sometimes. Older building and all.”

“Good.” She frowned and cocked her head to the side. “Well, not good. You should get that fixed. But I didn’t make a mistake.”

She nodded again, as if she were pleased with her observation, then made her way back to the entrance. I led her into the building, through the entryway and into the common area. Like the rest of the office, it was cramped and outdated, with chintzy threadbare armchairs crowded around a small oval table too low to be of any real use. As much as I hated the space, the building didn’t have a proper meeting room, so we’d been conducting all the interviews from here. Kethe and Alesha were already seated on the far side of the table, waiting for us. To the right, there was a sparsely stocked kitchenette, while the left side was open to all the desks.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Here we are. Go ahead and take any one of these seats here.” I gestured to one of the nearby armchairs.

Rather than pull the chair out, she climbed over the armrest and slid into the gap. Huh. Not what I would have done, but then I’m not nearly as small as her.

I sat down to the left of Kethe and waited for him to begin. The nice thing about these interviews was how little I had to participate. Kethe and Alesha would run everything; I just had to follow up when prompted and nod occasionally like I was listening.

“Let’s get the introductions out of the way, shall we?” said Kethe. “I’m Kethe Kurawli, Captain of the Lodestar and lead Seeker among the crew. This here is—”

“Alesha Caloe.” She threw a quick, I-can-speak-for-myself glance at Kethe, then paved it over with a smile. “First Officer.”

“And I’m Micken Wryker,” I chimed in, adding a friendly little wave. “I run the engineering side of things, so you probably won’t see me as much as these other two.”

The lady across from us nodded. “Momo Howper. Is my name, that is,” she added, as if it were unclear. “I would like to be Chief Cook, so that would be my role, I suppose.”

“Er, yes, that it would,” replied Kethe. He coughed. “Well uh, I daresay this is mostly a formality in any case. We’ve looked over your job history and are satisfied with your qualifications. Although your duties mostly involved domestic procurement and supply chains, the amount was comparable to the Lodestar’s demands, so we think you’ll adapt quickly.”

“That is a good sign for me,” uttered Momo.

“That, uh, is correct,” fumbled Kethe. “Anyways, there’s really only one aspect of your background that I feel we need to address. Is it true that you’ve never left the Navas system?”

She nodded. “I’ve been to the spaceport a few times, but no further. I was born in Rakna, a small village north of Milanya, and never needed to leave.”

“If it’s alright for me to ask, is there a reason why you’ve decided to leave now?”

Momo gazed up at the ceiling, visibly pondering Kethe’s question for some time. “It seemed interesting,” she finally concluded.

“That so?” Kethe scratched his cheek awkwardly. “So this being a Seeker vessel didn’t factor into your decision somehow?”

“No, it was not a factor,” she replied bluntly. “It was mostly because this position paid better than any others. I don’t know much about Seekers, anyhow.”

“Well we do make more from surveying and prospecting than most…” mused Kethe before trailing off, then sitting upright like a bolt. “Wait, you don’t know anything about Seekers?”

Momo’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t know much, is all. Only things I’ve heard secondhand.”

Kethe’s countenance, which was already disturbed, became even more bewildered. “That—well, uh, what have you heard then?”

“Hm. Well, I had a friend once who told me that Seekers were reckless fools searching for an alien overlord that would enslave us all. Her words, not mine.”

Kethe coughed again, although this time it sounded more like a gasp. “Um, what?”

“I’d take it with an extra salt crystal on top, if I were you. She was a bit out there.” Momo frowned, then continued. “Still, I guess I should check—is that what you Seekers do? Because if so, I might want to reconsider.”

Kethe had his head buried entirely in his hands at this point. I don’t think I’d ever seen him at such a loss. By the ancestors! This was too good. It was all I could do to stop myself from laughing.

“Ugh… where to begin…” croaked Kethe.

“Your friend seems distressed,” asked Momo innocently. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” assured Alesha.

“Okay. Let’s start here,” said Kethe, endeavoring to compose himself. “Do you know about the Progenitors?”

Momo thought for a moment before coming to a realization. “Oh, the alien overlords. Yes.”

“No.” Kethe interjected firmly. “I mean, I assume they were who your… friend was referring to.” He struggled to get the word out. “But there is no evidence that the Progenitors are or were anything like that. Only an extreme minority of experts hold such views. It’s a tabloid conspiracy at best.”

“I see,” said Momo gently.

“Do you know about Terra?” asked Kethe.

Momo nodded. That much was normal, at least. Nearly every guren knew the name of our shared ancestral home. If she’d been unfamiliar with it, even I would have looked at Momo with some skepticism.

“Well, a long time ago on that planet, our predecessors unearthed a capsule of sorts. It had deteriorated significantly over the millennia, but enough of it survived to make it clear that this thing came from another world. The capsule was designed to crash into our planet and contained remnants of technology far beyond what was possible to us at the time. This was before the advent of space travel, mind you—it cannot be overstated how alien this capsule was to the gurens of that era.”

I looked across the table at Momo. Her expression was inscrutable—she might have been listening intently, or maybe everything was going in one ear and out the other. For my part, I’d heard Keith give this spiel a million times before, so I was doing my best not to pay too much attention while he continued.

“At the time, researchers scrutinized every millimeter of that capsule. It was a veritable cornucopia of untapped knowledge. They discovered new alloys and compounds. They reverse-engineered some of its spaceflight tech, like the heat shield and thrusters. But the biggest breakthrough was in genetics. In our genetics.

“See, one of the machines appeared to be a cloning device of sorts. It held samples of DNA and was once able to incubate new life from those samples. Furthermore, the DNA matched prehistoric gurens almost perfectly. The conclusion was evident. The first generation of gurens on Terra were created artificially. And someone was responsible for it.”

“The Progenitors,” Momo said.

“Exactly,” nodded Kethe. “The theory of our interstellar origins was termed the Progenitor Theory, and the capsule became known as the Progenitor Pod. Eventually, our species took to the stars, and on other hospitable planets we found similar pods. Look, I’ve actually got an artifact from one over here.”

Kethe rushed over to his desk, grabbed the piece of scrap metal off it, and plopped it down in front of Momo. He was looking quite proud, like a pet makka leaving a dead pitchrat on the doorstep for its caretaker.

“It’s from a Progenitor pod. Not The Progenitor Pod, of course. That one’s a protected cultural heritage site. But I took this one from a pod I discovered myself. I have a few others like it that I’ve acquired over the centuries.”

“You are very passionate about this,” Momo pointed out.

“You could say that,” quipped Alesha.

“That’s because there’s so much to learn. Like, did you know there were other signs pointing to the Progenitor Theory? Before we found other pods, that is. I was reading an article about it earlier today.” Kethe was picking up momentum, his speech becoming faster and more animated. “Our biology, while fundamentally compatible with most life on Terra, was also singularly unique in certain ways. We were a clear evolutionary outlier in an otherwise intimately interconnected ecosystem, and…”

…Aaand I’m out. I’d rather veg myself than voluntarily listen to another one of Kethe’s long-winded lectures. Instead, I observed his expressions, which were changing by the second. His explanations were always dry, but you wouldn’t know it if you just looked at his face.

Momo hit the nail on the head—he was passionate to a fault. He radiated excitement when talking about Origin and the Progenitors, enough to outshine everyone in the room. It was blinding. If I tried to keep up, I would only realize how far the gap truly was.

Still, I wasn’t so ignorant as to not know why Kethe was so driven. He never made the connection explicitly himself, but it was obvious to everyone who knew him well enough. By running towards Origin, he was also able to run away from his past. His passion was enviable, but given how it was forged out of tragedy, it was hard to covet.

“So that’s why Origin is out there, and why we’re looking for it.” Apparently, Kethe had explained everything while I’d been preoccupied with judging him. Nice. “Does that make sense?”

“Allow me to summarize,” said Momo. “You found lots of pods on other planets.”

“Well, not me personally, but yes,” said Kethe.

“Those pods all likely came from the same planet,” she continued.

“Correct,” said Kethe. “As evidenced by the composition of the alloys and the half-lives of the radioactive components.”

“The planet is called Origin, and people like you are trying to find it.”

“Exactly.”

“Is that why you’re called Seekers?”

“Uh… yeah.” Kethe scratched his cheek. “I thought that was obvious, but I guess it’s worth stating.”

Momo nodded. “I am satisfied I understand.”

“Then, uh, let’s just go over the expedition real quick.” Kethe pulled up the contract on his tablet. “24 years total, with resupplies every 6 years. We’ll be moving along the periphery of the Lennos sector, so there should be a few outposts along the way to send the provisions to. For the last leg of the journey, we’ll be heading out into uncharted space, so as a precaution, you’ll need to secure a little extra—about 8 years’ worth.”

“How much storage do I have to work with?” asked Momo.

“It’s…” Kethe blinked and wrinkled his brows. “Well the Lodestar’s a frigate, and we went 10 years without a resupply once…”

Alesha cleared her throat. “I’ve got the schematics you need. Assuming you sign on, we’ll hash out the details on a later date.”

“Right.” Kethe dove back into the contract to escape Alesha’s judgment. “What else… This section details the division of shares, while the next one covers compensation for injury or death—"

“People die?” asked Momo, alarmed. I heard a muffled thud, like she had kicked the leg of the table in surprise.

“Not recently, no,” said Kethe. “It’s mostly a formality. See, the last time a crew member died, we decided—”

I decided to cut in and bail him out before he made things even worse. “Look, most of the danger comes from terrestrial excursions. But you? You’re a cook. You don’t ever have to leave the ship. You’ll be fine.”

“I see.” She might not have been convinced, but she did seem less worried.

“Aside from that, do you have any other questions?” asked Kethe.

“Not at the moment,” said Momo, a little unsure. “But could I have some more time to think this over?”

Kethe seemed a little dejected, but nodded his head. “Of course. We’ll keep the position open for you.”

“Thank you. I will make a decision by tomorrow. Or maybe the day after,” she added.

“Much appreciated,” said Kethe. “And thanks for showing interest. All of us from the Lodestar wish you well, no matter which path you travel.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment, then Momo stood up abruptly. “Um. May I go now?”

I stifled a chuckle and stood as well, offering my hand. “Yeah, you can leave. Thanks for coming.”

She gave my hand a courteous shake before awkwardly turning around and heading down the corridor. She looked back one more time before disappearing around the corner. Moments later, I heard the front door lurch open and swing shut again.

Kethe slumped over the table. “We’re doomed.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Alesha, now pouring herself a cup of tea.

“What if she withdraws her application?”

“Then we keep looking,” she replied.

“Ohhh, I’m never going to get back out there at this rate,” Kethe wailed, shaking his head in his hands. “How long is it going to take to find another applicant?”

“You’re overthinking it. The only thing you can do…”

While the two of them were bickering, I noticed something shiny on the floor under the edge of the table. I crouched down and picked it up. It was a diary. Unlike the diaries of most spacers, which required an external device to record new entries, this one had a delicate glass screen for input or playback built into it. Said screen was miraculously in one piece, considering how damaged the plastic case protecting it was. There was no doubt in my mind who this belonged to.

“I think she dropped her diary—I’m gonna catch up to her real quick.”

Without waiting for a response, I stood up and took off, down the hallway and out the door. Blinded by the sunlight, I squinted my eyes and scanned the street for any sign of her. Think: if she didn’t live nearby, which way would she go… Yes, there she was, walking up the hill towards the transit center. I jogged after her.

“Miss Momo!” I called out after closing the gap somewhat. “Miss Momo! You forgot this!”

She turned around in confusion and waited for me. The hill was quite steep here; by the time I reached her, I was more than a little winded. After taking a few seconds to collect myself, I held out the diary.

“You forgot this.”

She looked at it without any change in her expression. “Ah. I dropped it.”

I grinned as she took the device from me. “Might want to keep it a little more secure next time, yeah? No guren worth her shell should lose one of these.”

She nodded. “I’ve been told I forget things easily. I’m getting better.”

Hmm… would it really be alright, leaving her in charge of logistics?

“Don’t worry. I’ll do my job properly. This and that are different things.”

I rubbed the back of my head, embarrassed. “Er, was I thinking out loud?”

“I guessed. It just seemed like it should follow.”

“Heh, you’re more self-aware than I thought.” I glanced at her diary again. “Oh and, if by any chance you decide to fly with us, you might want to get that replaced.”

“Is that so?”

I nodded vigorously. “Most spacers keep their diaries on special devices. Space can be rough on terrestrial tech. Take mine, for instance.” I pulled the medallion around my neck out to give her a better look at it. “Solid tungsten plating hanging on a double-sheathed titanium wire.”

Momo examined my diary. “It’s very nice. You clearly care a lot about it.”

“Damn right I do. No way could I part with my baby.”

Wait, wasn’t that what I just asked her to do? I blinked and scrunched up my eyes. I hadn’t meant to be so cavalier in suggesting she ditch her current model. Diaries were the lifeblood of gurens—well, all but one eccentric Seeker I could name. But while I started figuring out how to apologize, Momo laughed.

“It’s nothing to get upset over. You’re right; I should change it.”

“Come again?”

“You don’t need to worry. I didn’t mind the suggestion.”

I whistled. “That’s freaky, you know that? You sure you can’t read minds or something?”

Momo paused, tilting her head to one side. “No, it’s more like…” She looked me in the eyes. “I know I am different. I don’t fit in well with others. But that distance gives me perspective. Or so I’ve been told.”

That was a very mature way of looking at it. Not fitting in with others, huh? I felt that. Perhaps everyone on the Lodestar once did. Seekers were an odd bunch.

“So are you planning on joining?”

I blurted out the question without thinking. Once it left my lips, I realized I was holding out for a “yes”. I wasn’t the type to need consoling, but I did find her perspective oddly… reassuring.

She considered it for a moment, then replied with another question. “Why did you become a Seeker?”

I wasn’t sure what this had to do with what I asked, but I racked my brain for an answer anyway. What I came up with wasn’t very flattering, but it was the truth.

“I guess I just enjoy the lifestyle. It’s all one big adventure to me, y’know?” I rubbed the back of my head and grinned. “I’m not like Kethe. He needs the answers that are out there, more than anyone else. Me? I don’t give a flying fogfarrow if Origin exists or not. But as long as I stand by his side, I’ll get to see something new.”

“I thought as much. I feel the same.”

“Really?”

She looked at me quizzically. “I did say at the start, didn’t I? It sounded interesting.”

I chuckled under my breath. “That you did, that you did. So does that mean…?”

She looked to the side, far off into the distance. It somehow seemed like she was drawing in every bit of Navas with each breath, inscribing the taste of her home on her heart. After a few seconds passed (or was it minutes?), she turned back towards me.

“It’s still up in the air, but…” I saw, for the first time, a hint of a smile. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”