I stare out the glass in front of me, fingers linked behind my head, the inky black of space staring back. Music plays quietly over the speakers, drowning out the low, steady hum of the engine and the already nearly imperceptible sound of fine-tuned machinery and automated systems. I kick my feet off the dash, spinning around in the nav chair and almost losing my balance in the process. I grab the dash with both hands as I come back around, steadying myself. Stop messing around, I tell myself. You’ve got a job to do.

“Everything good out there, Chrys?” I ask aloud.

“Particle density is minimal. No radiation detected. Exterior temperature is 2.7 Kelvins.”

“And?”

“No incoming vessel signatures detected.”

Business as usual.

I let out a sigh. I can feel my mind trying to drift, trying to take me somewhere else, somewhere exotic. Interesting. Somewhere other than the empty bridge of a ship sitting stationary on a lake of cosmic nothingness. But I can’t give in. I have to stay focused. I give myself another spin in the chair before coming back around to study the abyss stretching out in front of me. Watching. Waiting.

And then, it happens. Something catches my eye. A glint in the distance. I check the radar on the nav panel. Nothing.

“Chrys, are you picking anything up?” I ask. But I don’t wait for an answer. “Hail Lotus, Chrys.”

There’s something there, I know it. Even if Chrys hasn’t detected it yet. Someone’s coming.

“Chrysanthemum to Lotus,” I say, trying to keep my voice from sounding as anxious as I feel. “Look alive, Lotus.”

There’s no response for a moment, and then Ramy’s voice comes over the line.

“We read you, Chrysanthemum. What’s up?”

“Lotus, we’ve got a falling star.” Even as I say the words, I see something creep onto the edge of the radar. There it is. I knew it.

I hear Ramy swear under his breath.

“We need a little more time, Chrysanthemum,” he says.

I watch the object edge fully onto the radar display. It’s headed this way.

“The stars are falling, Lotus,” I say, my voice getting tense, desperate. “You don’t have more time.”

Little by little, the object on the radar inches closer. But there’s no reply from Lotus.

“Chrysanthemum to Lotus,” the words come out in a shout, “Do you read me?”

My heart begins to pound in my chest. Why won’t they respond? Do they think this is some kind of game?

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Chrysanthemum to—”

“We read you.” Instead of Ramy, it’s Dad’s voice this time. “Chrysanthemum, you need to get out of here.”

What? He wants me to go without them? No. No way. I shake my head, even though I know he can’t see me.

“Lotus, just wrap it up and—”

“That’s an order, Jahdra,” he snaps before I can finish.

I try to swallow, but my heart is in my throat, lodged there tightly. I can’t swallow, can’t speak. I won’t leave them. I know I promised, but I won’t. I can’t.

“Drop whatever you’re doing and get back here!” I want to yell. But the words won’t come out. I feel like I’m choking. My palms start to sweat, and my collar feels tight around my neck. I grab at the fabric, try to loosen it. But I can’t. It’s digging into my flesh, twisting tighter and tighter. A sense of dread starts to seep into me. I know what happens next. I feel the hot breath on my neck and the tip of a swift pressed into my side. I want to scream, to cry out. But nothing comes out except a raspy sound as I gasp for air. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. I feel the electricity shoot through me, and my eyes open with a jolt.

I look up at the ceiling. I’m in my quarters, in my bed. I press my hands to my eyes and try to steady my breathing. Deep, slow breaths, I remind myself as I push the dream from my mind. You’re gonna be fine. I’m not sure I believe it, but it’s a nice thought.

“How’s it going up here?” I ask as I walk onto the bridge. C-CIL is at the comm station, studying the display. After we hit a dead end with his mystery signal, I spent most of yesterday teaching him how things on the bridge work. He already has most of the knowledge for this type of technology and understands all the underlying principles, but navigating the systems and interpreting the data is another matter. Still, it was easier than it would’ve been to teach a normal person. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t try my patience from time to time.

“Chrys is teaching me how to create my own algorithms to interpret data from her systems directly,” says C-CIL. I’m impressed not just by his ability to communicate with Chrys, but by his ability to communicate with the rest of us. It’s a world of difference in just a couple of days.

“Oh, boy,” I say, sitting down next to him. “That sounds like fun.”

C-CIL looks at me with obvious concern.

“Captain, I am taking my work very seriously,” he says. “This is not fun.”

I let out a laugh.

“I know, buddy” I say with a smile. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”

He looks at me, clearly unamused by this remark.

“I am already having a hard time.” He says it with a straight face, but I can’t hold it together any longer after that one. I laugh for what feels like an hour. Every time I’m about to stop, I look at C-CIL’s face, so full of confusion and concern, and it starts all over again. I feel a little bad for laughing at him, but I really, really needed that.

“I’m sorry, C-CIL,” I say when I finally catch my breath. “You’re doing great.” He looks unconvinced. He may not have a sense of humor yet, but he definitely understands what it is to feel annoyed.

“I’m gonna go get something to drink,” I say, stretching as I get up to leave. “You need anything from the canteen?”

“No, Captain, I do not need anything,” he answers. I guess I don’t know what I was expecting him to say. I mean, I hardly expected him to ask for a bowl of cereal, but he seems so human, it’s hard to imagine him just not eating or drinking. He could have a system for extracting energy from organic matter for all I know. Who am I to make assumptions?

“Captain,” he calls before I’m able to walk out the door. “Good morning.”

I look at him quizzically.

“Good morning?”

“Yes. Shae says that it is polite to say ‘Good morning.’ She told me that I should say it to you. So, good morning.”

And I thought this guy didn’t have a sense of humor.

You know, it’s funny, the more I talk to him, the more natural it feels. The more I interact with him, the more familiar he seems. I know it doesn’t make sense—he’s “new,” after all—but sometimes it almost feels like we’ve met before. It’s a strange feeling, like some kind of déjà vu.

I pause before I walk out the door, looking back to smile at him.

“Good morning, C-CIL.”