The room is dark. Wonderfully dark. It’s not like the black expanse that stares back at me through the front of the ship. After all, darkness isn’t so bad when you choose it. It’s when you can’t escape it that it becomes a problem.

The only light comes from a single control panel on the other side of the room, and even that’s so dim it’s barely visible.

The floor of the engine room is cool to the touch, but I can still sense the heat churning beneath the surface as fuel from the cells is extracted and converted. The whole place shudders with the gentle vibration of the filtration system hard at work. I lay with my hands tucked under my head, breathing deeply, as Boston plays over the ship’s speakers. I close my eyes. My body feels heavy as I lie there. Inhaling. Exhaling.

I let myself drift through the darkness, sailing aimlessly, like a ship untethered, through the abyss. I closed my eyes and I slipped away…

“Incoming hail from unknown vessel,” Chrys announces.

A jolt runs through me as my eyes snap open. I must’ve dozed off. It takes me a minute to remember where I am. I roll over onto my side and look around the room. I can’t see much. But that sound. I know that sound. I’m in the engine room. I can tell—the hum of the engine is loudest here.

“Incoming hail from unknown vessel,” Chrys announces again.

I let out a groan and push myself up into a seated position against the wall. Unloading all those cells took a lot out of me, and I spent a good half hour racked out on the floor, trying to muster the energy—or the will—to move, before I fell asleep.

“Put it through,” I say, stretching my neck from side to side.

There’s static on the line. From the sound of their comms system, the ship hailing us must not be anything too impressive.

“MASSA 50, do you read us?” the voice comes over the speakers.

“Yeah, I read you. What do you want?” I respond. I’m still groggy, and not in the mood for diplomacy.

“We are experiencing engine trouble. Requesting permission to dock with your vessel.”

Shit. You’ve got to be kidding me! Not even two hours since I left Olympia Station and now this? The last thing I need is a bunch of strangers on my ship. Hell, if there’s more than one of them, I’ll be outnumbered. I drop my head into my hands and rub my temples, thinking about my next move.

“MASSA 50, do you copy?” the voice comes again.

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I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I copy,” I say with palpable annoyance. “What’s your status?”

“Engine functionality is below 25%” comes the answer.

Damn. It looks like they really are in trouble.

“Where you headed?” I ask.

“Alpha 2,” the voice answers. “Mox said you were heading that way and might be able to help us out.”

Mox and his big mouth. Didn’t I tell him I wasn’t taking any passengers? I mutter a few choice words under my breath and remind myself to find a new supply guy on Olympia.

“I might be able to get you partway there. How many in your crew?”

“Three.”

It could be worse. Three isn’t so bad. And if they’ve got a decent engineer on board, I could put them to work.

“We’ll make it worth your while,” the voice from the other vessel says.

Ha! I doubt it, I think to myself. But despite my reluctance, I know I can’t leave them out here with their engine in such bad shape. Who knows when they’ll run into another ship. They could be dead in the water before then.

“Alright, go ahead.”

Permission granted, I guess. I know I’ve got to help them, but that doesn’t mean I have to be nice to them.

“Hey, Chrys, you got an ETA on that unknown vessel?” I ask aloud as I head to the bridge.

“Estimated arrival at Dock 1 in 12 minutes at present velocity.”

Twelve minutes. That doesn’t give me much time. But it shouldn’t take long to restrict deck access and lock Chrys’s main systems. I get to work, making sure I still have full access from my usual control panel at the helm while shutting down most of the others on the bridge. I don’t plan on letting them have free roam of the ship, but better safe than sorry.

“Unknown vessel arriving at Dock 1 in 90 seconds,” Chrys announces.

Twelve minutes went by fast. I finish up my modifications to the onboard control systems.

“Walk them through it, Chrys,” I call out and head toward the docking bay. We’ve only got one, so it shouldn’t be hard to figure out, but people’s stupidity never ceases to amaze me.

I watch the vessel as it approaches. I search the body of the ship but can’t make out any markings or a model name. It’s small, not much bigger than a shuttle. Engine trouble on a thing that size? They really would’ve been screwed. Forget the airlock, the whole thing can fit inside the bay. I watch to make sure they’ve got things under control before heading over to close the hatch and pressurize the bay. I take a deep breath.

It’s not too late to change my mind. I could just leave them out there and slide trays of food under the door or something.

“Everything good, Chrys?”

“Docking procedure successful.”

I let out the breath I’ve subconsciously been holding. Alright, this is it. The moment of truth. I twist the manual lock on the door of the docking bay, release the automated lock, and hit the “door open” button. The doors to the bay slide open, but before I can make out any of the crew, something comes flying right at me. I cry out in alarm, catching the object with both hands before it can hit me in the face. My heart’s racing. But it’s not a weapon, I realize. It’s not even hard. It gives in my hands, lumpy, grainy almost. It’s a package. A bag of…something. I turn it over in my hands, examining it, squeezing it carefully, oblivious to the three crew members who’ve just arrived waiting in front of me.

“100% Arabica” the package says. It doesn’t make sense. What’s Arabica? I give it another squeeze and realize there’s a scent coming from it, a deep earthy aroma seeping out of the seams of the package. Something familiar. I press it to my nose and inhale deeply. Coffee. Real coffee. I’m so stunned, I don’t know what to do, what to say. I look up and for the first time start to register the people standing in front of me, waiting to enter the ship.

I look from one to the other, and that’s when it hits me. It’s with a kind of horror that I realize the smell of coffee isn’t the only thing that’s familiar.

“You!” It comes out as an accusation more than anything.

That same hint of a smile from Olympia Station plays on his lips as he stares back at me.

“I told you I’d make it worth your while.”