Tuesday at ten am seemed like a lifetime away — at least when you thought about it in fifteen minute increments. But he needed to take some time to get out of his head, he knew, or else he wouldn't be any good at all to Zelda or the Voyager or anyone. He needed to write to the crew and have them all come in to the Ministry to get screened. He probably should tell them all to look for work elsewhere, too, and tell the ships he'd been planning to escort to India to find another accompaniment — get things wrapped up, just in case. He could handle all of that by letter today, and then he could take the weekend for himself, and Monday for Charity, and whatever time he had left for the Voyager and her curse.

"Tuesday at ten," he repeated, heading for the door.

Assuming, of course, that he made it to Tuesday at ten.