Number Three stops in place, dutiful as though their Father or Space had given the word. He's not in charge, but he has direction. Mostly, because Five is pulling out the communicator, and she feels the sudden squeeze of her ribs. Because it might be Space, too. It's been nervewracking wondering whether he would somehow contact them back on it, or they'd just bump into him if he jumped straight into action and came to scoop them up.

She's already straining toward Five and the device when Number One's voice suddenly comes out of it, a little tinny, but everything it should be. Tight control, and demand for ane explanation already in that one word. Five looks up, and mouth's that he's fine, and so she settles back on her heels. She scans the sidewalks for any of those annoying people who might try to collect around them again while listening.

It's a relief enough to hear his voice. For it to be more than those weird names on the little thing. That he's real and close, but like Five. Fact, and not supposition. She can wait for the answer to the question that really is all she wants to know, too. Are they going to him, or is he coming to them. Every other question falls into line behind that most important one.