Alek is sitting with Dylan in the mess, going over sketches of the engines.
A shadow. They look up.
Dr. Barlow leans over. Examines the sketches. Flips through them without asking. The brim of her boffin's hat casts shadows over her face.
"We'll win, you know," she says. Meaning the Darwinists. Meaning the war.
"You're very sure," Alek says, offended despite himself.
"With good reason. A machine," Barlow says, "isn't alive."
"Of course not," Alek says.
"Nor is it driven to stay alive, at all costs, in all conditions." She smiles. Gives the sketches back to Dylan. "So. Advantage ours."
