“Okay. I’ll help you.”

Shae looks up from the book, resting it on her knee, and meets my eye.

“Thanks,” I say. I try to smile, but it’s never been my strong suit.

I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I stand.

“Are you going somewhere?” Shae asks, surprised if a bit amused.

“We’re going somewhere,” I reply. “But there are a couple things I need to take care of first. How soon can you be ready?”

The look of amusement on her face falls away.

“You’re serious,” she says.

“Of course I’m serious,” I reply.

Shae folds her arms and shakes her head.

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?” she asks, “Or why? Or for how long?”

She follows me toward the door.

I think for a minute, but I’m not sure what to tell her. She notices my hesitation and sighs.

“Why me?” she asks. “Can you at least tell me that?”

Because it’s your writing in the book, I want to say. Because I know you, and I know that I need you, even if I’m not entirely sure why just yet.

But instead, I say, “Ramy. He said that you could help. That you’re one of the good ones.”

It was the right answer.

“Ramy sent you?” Shae asks, her face lighting up at the name.

I nod.

Her eyes dart around in thought for a moment.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, meeting my gaze, her eyes bright with interest. “Give me half an hour.”

I smile.

“114,” I say as I walk out the door, “Through the south gate.”

Shae, who’s already begun busying herself with gathering her belongings, gives me a resolute nod.

“See you there.”

I make my way down to the main arcade. The station is packed with people. Kids run after one another, pushing through the crowds, shrieking with excitement, and the air is thick with a thousand different voices haggling, arguing, cursing. The scents of exotic foods waft through the air momentarily before being sucked up into the powerful ventilation system. The smells of thousands of people from across the galaxy pressed together mingle, but don’t linger.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

There’s a crowd gathered outside a shop, people pressing in close and standing on tiptoes to peak inside. “The Bot Shop” reads the sign above the door. I stop and stare for a moment, tempted to move closer, to see for myself what it is that fascinates these people so. But instead, I move on.

I head to the far end of the station in search of fuel. I don’t have much time, but I’ve burned through most of my stores, and it would be foolish to try and continue without procuring more. Luckily, the merchant, Mox, is knowledgeable, and despite his attempts to upsell a redundant set of filters guaranteed to double the mileage of my fuel, or so he alleges, I’m able to complete the transaction swiftly.

I’m about to head back out to the main arcade, when something stops me.

Mox’s voice booms across the shop.

“Let me guess—Ramy tried to cook,” I overhear him say with a thunderous laugh. My head snaps around as I turn and look back in his direction.

He’s talking to someone, someone who knows Ramy, apparently. I listen closely, trying to catch what I can of their conversation, when the realization suddenly takes me by force. It must be her—the captain of the Chrysanthemum.

I linger awkwardly by the door, anxious to get back to my own ship but at the same time eager to get a better look at this captain of Ramy’s.

Finally, she heads toward the arcade herself, stopped only momentarily by Mox calling after her. “Jahdra,” he calls her. The name is unmistakably familiar, and before I know it, I find myself following her, careful to maintain enough distance so as not to catch her attention or rouse any suspicion.

Eventually, she stops to look up at something. I follow her gaze to a sign that reads “Java Exotica.” I watch as she makes her way closer, seating herself at the counter.

I stare at her for a long time. Too long, probably. But I can’t seem to look away.

I can’t say how long I stand there watching her, but suddenly, unexpectedly, she gets up and starts walking toward me.

My heart begins to pound. I try to look away, but she forces her way closer, faster to navigate the crowd than I am.

“Hey!” she shouts, catching up to me and planting herself in front of me before I can get away. I swallow. What am I supposed to say? How do I explain myself to her?

She holds a hand out. I look down at it, then back up, meeting her eyes. They fix me to the spot—unafraid, unyielding. I look at her curiously.

“You gonna pay for the view?” she asks. “Nothing’s free on Olympia Station.”

I want to laugh, but I don’t dare.

I know you, I want to say. Almost as well as I know myself, it feels.

She’s there, in almost every memory, every dream. She’s locked away somewhere deep inside of me, a part of me that doesn’t understand but refuses to let go. I look deep into her eyes as this strange feeling, something like nostalgia, sweeps over me. I know you, Jahdra. Don’t you know me?

But it’s clear by the cold defiance in her eyes that she doesn’t.

So, in lieu of any other idea as to what I can possibly say to make her understand, I do the only thing I can think of and walk away.

Shae is waiting for me when I finally get to the dock, along with a pallet of fuel that needs to be loaded.

“You’re late,” she says accusingly, though her face betrays a lack of annoyance.

“Sorry,” I say. “I—got distracted.”

“It’s fine,” she replies with an easy smile, “We weren’t waiting long.”

“We?” I ask in surprise. I look around, but it’s just the two of us as far as I can tell.

Shae disappears around the side of the ship, and a few seconds later returns with someone. The moment I lay eyes on him, a horrible feeling begins deepening inside of me like a well.

“I am C-CIL,” he says.

I stare at him, stunned into silence as my newfound power of speech abandons me.

“No,” I manage to say. It’s the only word I’m able to produce.

Shae folds her arms and looks at me stubbornly.

“Where I go, he goes,” Shae says resolutely.

But she doesn’t understand. I'm not trying to be argumentative. I'm trying to reconcile what I see before me with my own eyes with what I know to be possible.

It's not “No, he’s not coming with us.” What I mean, what I'm trying to say is:

“No—he shouldn’t exist.”