He shrugged. "We've stopped."
"I think you've been hurt," Phoebe said, "your medalert's flashing. Can you get up?"
"I think so."
Alphon braced himself, and extended his hand. Once she'd taken it, he pulled her up and got her back into her seat.
"All right," Phoebe said, "now what?"
The woman glared at Alphon, who was now seated next to her. "Aren't you that guy on the news?"
"Aren't you hurt?" he replied, deflecting the question. "Your medalert seems to think so."
"He's right," Phoebe said, "do we need to call in an emergency?"
She shook her head. "No, it's linked to my phone. They'll already-- where'd it go?"
He reached down in front of his seat, picked up the shattered device, and put it on the center rest. "It's dead. You're not. What's more important? Do we call emergency, or see about getting us out of here?"
"Out of here?" she said, weakly. "How? We're miles from the station in a locked pod?"
"What's your medalert for?" Phoebe pressed.
"Pulmo. The drug I'm on makes me susceptible to clots. The thing monitors my blood chemistry, so I've probably got one already."
"But is it an emergency?"
She looked down at herself for a moment. "I don't hurt. They said the bad ones would hurt. How do we get out of here?"
Alphon glanced at Phoebe before answering. "You may have noticed," he said tentatively, "that we've been moving kind of slow for a Hyperloop."