“Chrys insists that there is no signal,” C-CIL says with a frown. “She is very stubborn.”

I look over at Shae, who I can tell is trying not to laugh. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks there’s something funny about seeing him get all worked up and try to pick a fight with the ship’s computer. It’s good to see her smile. She’s seemed a little lost with C-CIL spending so much time on the bridge.

“Maybe Chrys thinks you’re the one who’s stubborn,” I say, unable to resist the urge to goad him.

“Captain, I assure you, there is a signal. Do not let Chrys persuade you otherwise,” he says seriously. Chrys is hardly trying to persuade anyone of anything, but in three days, a signal has yet to show up on any of her instruments, and C-CIL is growing increasingly frustrated by this disparity.

“Give her a break, C-CIL,” I say, suppressing the itch to instigate further. “Even Chrys has her limits.”

“Then perhaps she should adjust her limits,” he replies curtly. “If she is willing to comply, I would be happy to help perform a—"

“Look, I hate to break it to you, C-CIL,” I interrupt, “but Chrys isn’t like you. She’s a computer,” I shrug. It almost hurts to call her that—especially when I think about everything we’ve been through together, all the hours I’ve spent trapped on this ship with no one but Chrys for company— but it’s true. Of course, I like to think that she’s an individual, that she has a personality of her own, but whether she actually does or not is another matter.

“Chrys,” C-CIL says thoughtfully, “is a computer.” He considers this idea for a moment. “And what am I?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

“You’re…you know,” I say, struggling to find the right words. “You’re like me,” I look at over Shae. “Like us.”

C-CIL looks between me and Shae.

“I see,” he says thoughtfully, processing this information before speaking again.

“But perhaps, Captain,” he says with a smile, “it is you who are like me.”

“Are we there yet?” I groan, wiping the sweat from my forehead. The secondary engine room is warm. Way warmer than the rest of the ship.

“Sixty-one hours remaining until destination,” Chrys answers.

I let out another groan. Can’t this thing go any faster?

I check the readings on the control panel, trying to find some wiggle room, some output factor I can adjust to give us a boost. But at this point, I’ll be relieved if we make it there before the plasma engine gives out. We could always give it a rest and shift back to the primary engine system, but that’ll slow us down. And I don’t want to slow down. Besides, I had to dump a bunch of fuel when someone decided to mess with my filtration system, and I’m not sure I’d have enough left to get us all the way there. I know I should just be patient and ride things out, but 61 hours feels long. Too long.

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Actually, now that I think about it, it is too long.

I head out of the engine room, swinging the door shut and locking it behind me.

I step out onto the landing of Deck 1 to be greeted with a loud repetitive banging, something like the sound of someone hammering.

Why. Why did I let these people onto my ship? It used to be so quiet.

I decide to ignore the sound for now, heading straight to the bridge to look for C-CIL. No luck. So I follow the banging sound to the canteen, where it stops just moments before I walk in.

Shae is leaning against the counter, watching Byer pour something from a press-pack into a pot on the heating element. A piece of metal pipe lies on the counter next to a mess of brown grainy…something. I, too, would like to know what he’s doing that requires so much noise, but I’ve got other matters on my mind right now.

“C-CIL, did you change our course?” I ask. It’s an accusation more than a question. I already know the answer.

“Yes, Captain,” he replies. “I am certain that our new course will lead us closer to the distress signal. In fact, I am confident that—”

“Change it back,” I snap. Geez, just when I thought I could trust him, he goes and pulls a stunt like this.

“Hear him out,” Byer breaks in without looking up from whatever he’s meddling with on the counter.

I chew my lip. God, this guy really knows how to get on my nerves. After days of sulking around the ship, not speaking a word and barely showing his face, he has the nerve to show up just to tell me that I’m wrong about something he knows nothing about. But much to my annoyance, he has a point. I do owe it to C-CIL to at least hear what he has to say for himself.

“Go ahead,” I say, crossing my arms across my chest.

“Captain, I am confident that our new heading will bring us closer to the distress signal. This will give Chrys a chance to detect it and allow us to identify its origin.”

Okay, so he does have a pretty good reason after all. Damn. I was really hoping to get back en route to Herminia as soon as possible.

“Captain,” he says, looking at me with concern, “I believe someone out there needs our help.”

“Alright,” I say, dropping my hands to my sides. He’s won. There’s no point in arguing. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Byer looks up at me suddenly now. He’s surprised. He didn’t think I’d actually say yes, but he’s trying not to show it. He looks down at the cup in front of him, spinning it absentmindedly. He wants to say something, I can tell. But he stays quiet. Good.

“Herminia will have to wait,” I say. “Let’s go find C-CIL’s signal.” C-CIL seems satisfied by this, but it’s clear not everyone agrees with my decision.

Byer, who hasn’t said another word, walks up to me, pressing the cup into my hand, and with a “Captain,” walks out the door. God, he’s weird.

The cup is hot in my hand. I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. Coffee. Real coffee. The smell is intoxicating. I look down into the cup and see tiny flecks of ground coffee floating on the top. So this is what he was making. I blow on the steaming beverage gently before taking a sip. It’s divine. I mean, it’s not quite like the stuff I had on Olympia, but it’s still about a thousand times better than the synthesized crap.

I’m about to take a second sip when suddenly, I feel the whole ship shudder beneath my feet. The coffee sloshes over the side of the cup, burning my fingers.

“Shit!” I yell, shaking my hand and wiping it on my pants. “What the hell was that?”

I swear, if the plasma engine is going already…

“Captain,” says C-CIL before I can finish that though, “I think someone is shooting at us.”