“So, you gonna show me around?” Kash asks, collecting the plates from the table and taking them back to the synthesizer.

“You sure you’ve had enough to eat?” I ask teasingly.

“More than enough,” he replies with a grimace.

We do an obligatory lap around Deck 1—rec room, conference room, observation—nothing particularly interesting. But I get the feeling it’s not really about the ship.

We walk through the door to the bridge where Byer’s still in the nav chair, studying the display in front of him.

“Kash, this is—” I start to say but catch myself at the last second, remembering that we still haven’t decided how far we’re willing to trust a relative stranger, “—my pilot,” I finish a bit awkwardly. Byer gives a nod of greeting.

“Byerley,” he says, introducing himself.

What happened to no names?

“Byerley, huh?” Kash repeats, amused. “No shit. Like in the book?”

“What book?” Byer asks, his face back to its usual inscrutable expression.

“The Asimov book.”

Byer looks at him and shrugs.

“Forget it,” Kash says, waving him off. “It’s great to meet you, Byerley. I’m Kash. Nice flying out there.”

Byer nods, looks at us both for a minute as if waiting to see if we’re planning to stay or just passing through, and turns back to the display screen. I wish I could say he’s being weirder than usual, but unfortunately, I can’t really say that’s the case. That’s just how he is.

“Nice ship you got here,” Kash says, looking around as we head back out into the hallway. “You got any hidden passageways or secret rooms on this thing?” he asks with a smile. I think to myself for a minute. It’s not like I’m about to tell someone I barely know about our super-secret definitely hidden secondary engine room. But we do have something most ships don’t.

“Ta-da!” I announce as we walk through the door of what used to be Cargo Bay 4.

“Oh man, if I had any doubts before, now I really know you’re from Meridian,” Kash smirks. “Look at this place!”

On one side of the room two basketball hoops stand about 20 meters apart, leaving the space between them completely open, while a couple of goal nets sit shoved into a corner. I haven’t set foot in here for weeks. In fact, I’d practically forgotten it even existed.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“What’s that thing?” Kash asks, pointing to the netted enclosure on other side of the room.

“It’s a batting cage,” I say, as if the answer should be obvious.

“Of course it is,” he says with a laugh. “Who doesn’t have a batting cage on their ship?”

As I look around the room, I feel a wave of sadness come over me, a loneliness I’d been trying hard to ignore. Suddenly, I don’t want to be in here anymore. I find myself heading back to the door, waiting for Kash to join me.

We mill around Deck 4, but the rooms down here aren’t much worth going into—decom, filtration, various storage. I steer him away from the section of the ship that houses the secondary engine, just to be safe. Call me paranoid, but I’ve taken enough chances lately.

“I’m running out of excuses to stick around,” Kash says as he leans against the doorway to the dock. “Should I go throw a wrench into my engine or something?”

I try to laugh, but the truth is, I’m sad that he’s leaving. I don’t want him to go. But I can’t think of a reason for him to stay either.

“You’re coming back to Pajorat, right?” he asks.

I shift uncomfortably, avoiding his eye.

“Come on, J, you’re killin’ me,” he says.

“I mean, yeah, eventually,” I concede. “I have a couple of crewmen who might kill me if I don’t.”

“They’d have to catch you first, and I think you know I’m not gonna let that happen.”

His eyes soften as he says it, and I find myself smiling again.

“Hey, can I tell you something?” Kash asks in a low voice, taking a step closer.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that you,” he pauses, “really like me.”

I feel my cheeks flush as I laugh, and all my nervous energy comes spilling out at once.

After all, he’s not wrong.

“Did he say anything about the other two ships?” Byer asks as soon I walk back onto the bridge.

Shit. I didn’t even think to ask.

“Scrapers maybe,” I answer. “Nobody worth worrying about.”

I’m not convinced they were scrapers. But luckily, even if they were, they didn’t get anywhere near close enough to access our logs and scrape our systems—if they did, they would’ve had a field day trying to figure out whether to extort us for everything we’re worth or sell us out to the Vanguard. I guess it’d depend on who’s got deeper pockets.

I drop down into the command chair but get back up after a minute and walk restlessly over to the glass. As disappointed as I am to see Kash go, I know it’s for the best. He made me forget for a while what it is I’m doing out here. It was nice to have someone to talk to and laugh with. It was nice to pretend that nothing’s wrong, that the biggest uncertainty is whether or not someone likes pineapple on their pizza. It was nice to be just J.

But it is just pretend, after all, I remind myself. There’s more to Jahdra than just J, and there’s more than scrapers out here in the dark. There are secrets and lies and questions. There are fears and ugly truths and things I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to face.

I look over at Byer and suddenly feel immense gratitude for his quietness in times like this, his silent acceptance of everything that is and everything that isn’t.

I stare out the glass, and as I watch Kash pull away from Chrysanthemum to head back toward Pajorat, I get a strange sinking feeling.

“Everything okay?” Byer asks from the nav chair.

“Yeah,” I mumble without looking away. “It’s just…I don’t know. I feel like I’ve seen that ship somewhere before.” I search my memory, trying to think of where I could recognize it from. I’ve seen hundreds of ships. Thousands. Why does that one stand out?

“Hey!” I turn to Byer, suddenly remembering something. “Why the hell did you tell Kash your real name? I though we agreed we weren’t gonna use them around strangers.”

I’m surprised that Byer of all people would be so careless. It’s not like him.

“I didn’t,” he says flatly.

“What do you mean?” I ask, equal parts frustrated and confused. “I heard you—"

He shrugs.

“That’s not my real name.”