I stare out the glass in front of me, tapping my fingers on the dash in time with the music, the inky black of space staring back.

Sweet talkin’ woman…where did you go?

With one elbow propped on the dash, I rest my head in my hand. I’m tired, but I know I have to stay awake.

I moments away from dozing over when suddenly, I hear someone call my name. I look around but no one’s there. Could I have imagined it?

“Chrys, kill the music,” I say, rising from my chair.

I walk slowly across the bridge. Something’s not right. I feel like someone’s watching me. Like I’m not alone after all.

The sound of my own breathing is loud in my ears. I look out into the hallway. It’s dark. Why aren’t the lights on? I peer through the doorway cautiously, as if waiting for someone to spring out of the darkness. Gingerly, I step over the threshold. But as I walk through the doorway, I don’t find myself out in the hall. Instead, I’m stepping back onto the bridge. How is that possible? I feel a shiver run down my spine.

“Hello?” I call out. “Is someone there?”

It’s silent. Not even the hum of the ship. But I know I’m not alone.

I’m still standing in the doorway, but I know I need to keep going. I have to find out who’s here. Someone is here. I can sense it.

I take another step, and then I hear it—heavy, panicked breathing. Not my own, someone else’s.

My blood runs cold, but I force myself to take another step, to turn, to look.

Someone is standing over the display screen at tactical. She’s scared. Trembling.

I see her lift her head and look out the glass. I follow her gaze.

Omen. The ship looms impossibly close, hovering like some cosmic monolith on the other side of the glass.

A sudden terror sweeps over me, and I’m seized by an insurmountable sense of urgency.

I have to do something. I know I’m supposed to take the ship and run, but I can’t. I won’t. Not now—they need me.

“Chrys, give me photons,” I say, running to tactical.

The figure that stood there before is gone. I’ve taken her place, because I am her, and I’m back in that horrible moment. My mouth is dry, and my heart is beating out of my chest.

I look up once more at Omen, the menacing ship on the other side of the glass somehow larger and more terrifying than before. It’s not a memory—it’s a monster.

I reach toward the control panel.

“Hailstorm warning!” I shout, my voice ringing loudly across the empty bridge.

And then I fire.

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I wake with a start. The sheets are clenched tightly in my fists, and I find it hard to let go. Relax, I tell myself. It’s over. But maybe it’s not. I take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. And I get the feeling that it won’t be over until I get the answers I’m looking for.

“We’ve got a problem,” Byer says the second I step onto the bridge.

Of course we do. We always have a problem.

“Hey,” he says, turning to look at me. “Are you okay?”

He sounds concerned. I must look like shit.

“I’m fine,” I say, running my hands over my face. “Just a bad dream.”

He watches me cross the bridge and drop into the command chair.

“So, what’s this bad news you promised me?” I ask, stretching my arms over my head.

“There’s a buoy. Radial. We’re on course—about 12 hours out.”

“Can we get around it?” I ask, though I can somehow already tell it’s not going to be that simple.

“Sure,” answers Byer.

“But?”

“But that’s where Chrys has placed the signal origin.”

I put my face in my hands and groan. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but I wasn’t prepared for it to be this difficult either. I get up and walk over to the control panel at the back of the bridge to confirm this new information. Though it can be a bit of an operational nightmare at times, it’s the one place I can view multiple systems in detail at once.

I pull up the signal feed, radar systems, and a map of our plotted course. Sure enough, Chrys has projected our course to pass right by the buoy. Even if we went around it and circled back from the opposite direction, we’d end up in inside the buoy’s ambit.

“Hey, when did we enter Epsilon space?” I ask.

“A couple of hours ago,” Byer answer from nav.

I must’ve slept through it.

I open the external sensor readings. Particle density shows as slightly elevated, but everything else appears pretty normal.

I check the signal readings. They’re mostly the same, but the strength has increased. I look at the ship ID. It still doesn’t make sense. Lotus and Chrysanthemum aren’t even the same class of ship. Could it be another MASSA-50? No, that doesn’t make sense either. I mean, how could Chrys not be able to tell herself apart from another ship?

Then I get an idea.

“Hey, Chrys,” I say, “Identify approximate coordinates for ship ID JM2408-G89.”

“Please specify.”

“What do you mean, please specify? I can’t get much more specific,” I snap.

“Please specify,” Chrys repeats.

“What is the location of ship ID JM2408-G89?” I ask, enunciating each character as loudly and clearly as I can.

“Please specify.

I shake my head.

“Forget it,” I mutter as I head out the door and toward the canteen.

I hit the coffee button on the synthesizer and rub my temples as I wait.

Why is Chrys being so difficult? I’m basically just asking her to read back the information on the signal display. The signal and its origin vessel share the same location, right? Why can’t she connect the dots?

I pull the coffee from the synthesizer and take a sip. It really does taste like shit. But shitty coffee is still better than no coffee.

I sit down at the table and rest my head on my arms. If Chrys is still somehow having trouble with the signal data, even with the help of the algorithm, why wouldn’t she just report her own location? What does she mean, “Please specify”?

As soon as the thought enters my mind, I realize how stupid I’ve been. I take one more quick sip of coffee and run back to the bridge. Maybe I can blame it on being over-tired—I almost can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner. Now I just have to test my theory and make sure I’m right.

“Chrys,” I say, heading straight for the back control panel. “Deactivate algorithm CCIL 01.”

“Algorithm processes deactivated.”

I navigate the control screen and watch the detailed signal data drop off the screen. I look over at Byer and smile. He looks back at me, confused but makes his way over to join me at the back of the bridge.

“Chrys, what is the location of ship ID JM2408-G89?”

“Ship ID JM2408-G89 approximate location Epsilon 1.0012 29°—”

“Thanks, Chrys,” I say, looking up at Byer. I see it register in his eyes.

“Chrys, activate algorithm CCIL 01,” I say.

“Algorithm processes active.”

Byer and I both watch the signal data light up across the screen, the same as before.

“Chrys, find ship ID JM2408-G89.”

“Please specify.”

I laugh disbelievingly. Chrys wasn’t the one being obtuse—I was. She told me what the problem was. I didn’t specify which ship location.

Somehow, though I have no idea how, Chrysanthemum is in two places at once.