“How’s the engine holding up, Chrys?”

We’ve been in Antinomy space for less than a day, but it feels closer to a lifetime, the seconds drawn out into minutes either by the temporal distortion or, more likely, my own imagination. Just knowing we’re not supposed to be here puts me on edge.

In addition to the elevated particle density and radiation levels, wonky instrument readings, and shadow ships that constantly appear and disappear from the radar, we now get to contend with some kind of augmented gravitational force coming from the same direction as the signal, meaning it gets progressively stronger the deeper into Antinomy space we go.

“Engine functionality at 80%,” Chrys responds.

Good enough. We’ve reduced speed, sticking to the primary engine system, but our filtration system seems to be taking a beating. I’m hoping we can recover some functionality once we get out of here, but It’s times like these I really start to wish we’d brought C-CIL and Shae along. Hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t just miss having them around.

It feels eerie, forlorn out here. And yet I get the strange feeling that we’re not really alone. There’s nothing unusual about going days without seeing another ship or station or planet. That’s all par for the course as far as space travel goes. But there’s just something unsettling about this place, like we’re in some kind of alternate reality.

“What’s on your mind?” Byer asks, as I stare through the glass out into the hollow expanse stretching out in front of us.

“Chrysanthemum is out there somewhere,” I say, the thought making my skin prickle.

“And somehow we’re the best shot she’s got—the only ones stupid enough to risk our necks coming out here.”

Byer gives me a weak smile but doesn’t comment.

“I kinda hate to admit it,” I say, looking down at my feet, “but there’s a part of me that wants to turn around. Just forget we ever came here and go back to Pajorat and find C-CIL and Shae and—”

I shake my head. There’s no point in even saying it.

“Just say the word,” Byer says, “and we’ll go.” I know he means it. In fact, he’d probably prefer it.

“Even if it wasn’t Chrysanthemum out there, I couldn’t—I can’t just abandon them,” I say. “Not without at least trying.”

I look at Byer, hoping for a sign that he agrees, or at least understands. He nods but stays silent.

“Anyway, it’s part of the job,” I say solemnly, folding my arms across my chest and gazing out ahead. “We have to help the people no one else is willing to.”

“People like me?” Byer asks.

The question catches me off guard, and I turn to look at him in surprise.

“Sure,” I say. “Sometimes.”

It strikes me as a strange thing to ask in the moment, but it’s true, that’s part of what we do on Chrysanthemum. We help people like Byer—people who are told they’re not “real enough,” not “human enough,” whatever that means, or people who are somehow “too real,” “too human,” as if that makes any more sense. I shake my head at the thought. It’s something I’ve never understood. I mean, why give someone life just to turn around and tell them how to live it? Why give someone humanity just to dictate what you think it should mean for them to be human?

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But none of that matters right now.

“Whoever’s out there, we’re not gonna let them down,” I say resolutely.

I turn to look at Byer, meeting his gaze, and notice something there that I haven’t seen before. There’s a pain, a sadness in his eyes as he looks at me.

A sudden wave of uneasiness comes over me. Why is he looking at me like that? I want to turn away, but there’s something in that look. He knows something I don’t.

And that’s when I realize it—something that hadn’t even occurred to me before.

It’s not just Chrysanthemum out here. It’s me.

It’s me on that ship, stranded in the middle of this hellhole. It’s me out there alone in the dark sending out a distress call and waiting, praying for someone to show up.

It’s me, it’s always been me. Byer just realized it a lot sooner than I did.

A pit begins to grow in my stomach, and I get the unshakable feeling that something terrible is going to happen—or maybe already did happen—and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I try to swallow the lump in my throat and push the thought away.

I’m gonna find a way out of this. I’m gonna find a way to save Chrysanthemum, to save myself, no matter what it takes.

“Captain,” Byer says suddenly, his voice bringing back to the present. “I think you should take a look at this.”

I step behind Byer to look at the display screen over his shoulder.

“There’s a vessel on the radar,” he says, “but it’s not like the others.”

He’s right. There’s a vessel off our starboard, its approach slow but unwavering.

“It’s…real,” I say, taken aback.

I’m not even sure how to react. Do I hail them? Ignore them? Run? I wasn’t anticipating encountering anyone out here. After all, what reason would anyone else have to be out here? It’s not like you can just wander inside of a buoy perimeter without noticing, as we already learned ourselves.

No, whoever’s out here is out here for a reason. And the only reason I can think of is that they’re responding to that signal.

They could be looking for someone, like we were, hoping that the signal would lead them to someone they lost—someone as precious to them as Lotus is to me. In that case, I doubt we have anything to worry about. They might even come in handy.

But what if—the thought comes unbidden but unignorable—what if they’re not here looking for a friend. What if they’re looking for someone else.

My stomach twists as the thought begins to take form. What if they already knows that it’s Chrysanthemum sending out that signal, and that’s why they’ve come here. What if they know the ship is vulnerable, and they’re not here to help.

A sudden fear grips me, and my heart begins to beat faster and faster.

“Look, I don’t know who that is, but I think we should—,” I start, but Chrys breaks in before I can finish.

“Incoming hail from unknown vessel.”

Shit. Maybe I should just ignore them, pretend I didn’t get their hail and make a break for it. With the increased particle density and grav pull, getting out in a hurry might not be an option, but that doesn’t mean I have to just sit here and wait.

Byer looks at me, his brow creased with doubt as he waits for my response to Chrys.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, I tell myself, trying to steady my breath and slow my heartrate. You don’t even know what they want yet.

I slowly lower myself into the command chair, trying my best to remain calm.

You’re the captain, Jahdra. Act like it.

“Put it through, Chrys,” I say, trying to project a sense of confidence, despite my hands tightly clenching the armrests of the command chair.

I wait for a response, my mind racing with every terrible possibility.

Then comes the voice over the speaker.

“Hey, MASSA-50, you look a little lost.”

My heart skips a beat, and I release the breath I was unconsciously holding as the tension immediately begins to drain from my body.

“Kash?” I say incredulously. “What—how—” I stutter, overcome by a mix of surprise and relief.

“Hey, now, watch it with that ‘Kash’ stuff,” the familiar voice answers. “I’m on duty.”

“Sorry,” I say with a nervous laugh, still trying to recover from the shock. I can hardly believe my luck at running into one of the few people I’d actually be glad to see right about now. “So, what do I call you?” I ask, loosening my grip on the armrests and leaning back into the chair.

But my relief is short-lived, and I find myself instantly regretting I asked.

“Just call me Omen,” he says.