I dream of many things—of palm trees and broken glass and empty, winding hallways that never seem to end.

I dream of hidden passageways and rooms full of secrets and a strange, unknowable darkness.

I dream of a desolate planet hungry for life.

I wake in an unfamiliar room. Before I even open my eyes, I can feel someone watching me, the weight of their gaze bearing down on me. Even without seeing them, I can sense their presence. The faint raspy whisper of their breath is amplified in the otherwise silent space. It’s an unsettling feeling, being watched, made worse by the foreignness of my surroundings and my inability to discern how I got here. I open my eyes slowly and sit up, tentatively looking around the room. It’s a stark, empty place, and for a moment I begin to wonder if maybe I imagined the feeling that I’m not alone. But then a chill runs through me, and I turn to find that he’s there, watching me.

“Who are you?” I demand, meeting his unblinking gaze.

“I am C-CIL,” he says.

I shake my head.

“No, you’re not.”

He looks at me curiously.

“No, you’re not,” he repeats.

I clench my jaw in frustration. I don’t care what he says. He’s wrong.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I want to say. “You shouldn’t exist.”

He looks at me, cocking his head to the side, and suddenly, I get the feeling that he can read my mind. He knows exactly what I’m thinking and answers in kind.

He doesn’t ask the question aloud, but he doesn’t have to: “Are you sure it isn’t you who shouldn’t exist?”

I feel the anger, the frustration begins to rise inside me as my hands curl into fists.

“I’m the one who belongs!” I want to say. I was here first!

But the seed of doubt has already been planted, and I feel the question nagging at my mind no matter how hard I try to push it away.

The other looks back at me, his gaze oppressive, unnerving.

“Go away!” I want to shout. But instead, I squeeze my eyes shut, willing him to disappear.

When I finally open my eyes again, I’m back in a familiar room. I’m on the Chrysanthemum. In my own quarters. And I’m alone.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I lie still, trying to steady my breath and calm my nerves, and listen for the sound of the engine, the filtration system, the heat pump, the cryo cooler—the faint, almost imperceptible sounds of a ship gliding swiftly, smoothly across the great endless expanse. It’s quiet, but it’s far from silent. I stare up at the ceiling, puzzling over the strange vision of a few moments ago, and listen to the familiar sounds of the ship.

I try to focus my thoughts, but my mind keeps turning over the events of the past few days, flipping erratically, indiscriminately through dream and memory. I press my hands to my eyes in exaspertion. Trying to make sense of things feels like trying to gather the loose unnumbered pages of a book and put them back in order.

There’s no sense in trying to sleep anymore. Slowly, I climb out of bed, looking for some a sign, some kind of confirmation that this is in fact reality. I look around my quarters, taking stock of things, and jump as I catch sight of someone on the other side of the room. My heart begins to pound, and for a moment, I think there’s someone else in here with me. But it’s only a mirror hanging on the wall that caught my attention, I realize. It’s my own reflection I saw. I walk over to it, standing in front of it and examining the person in front of me. It’s the face that throws me off—it’s not the one I’m used to, it’s the one Shae gave me back on Olympia. I guess I’d forgotten. The eyes are still the same—or at least I think they are—but the rest of my face has been reconstructed in a way that I don’t fully recognize yet.

A funny thought occurs to me now. I guess I hadn’t thought of it before, but the reality is that no one here knows what I’m supposed to look like, or rather, what I used to look like. It’s a strange sort of realization, but maybe it’s for the best.

I get dressed and quietly make my way out into the hall, standing still for a moment to listen for the sounds of anyone else who might be up and about. It’s quiet, save for the faint, familiar sounds of the ship, and I come to the conclusion that I’m mostly like alone, especially given the early hour. In fact, there’s probably a good chance I can expect not to run into anyone else for another few hours. I walk toward the front of the ship, trying to move as quietly as I can, and stop briefly outside Shae and C-CIL’s quarters to listen for signs of movement. But I’m met with silence on the other side of the door, and continue on, glad for the solitude.

I stand in the doorway of the bridge, the air cool and refreshing on my skin. I step gingerly across the threshold, glancing behind me to double check that no one else is around before continuing forward. The last thing I need is for Jahdra to find me here. I’ve already managed to upset her enough without even trying, and I think it’s safe to assume that she wouldn’t be very pleased to find me lurking about on her bridge in the middle of the night.

Satisfied that the coast is clear, I walk slowly across the bridge, making my way to the very front of the ship. I stare out of the glass into the darkness, the vast celestial beyond. I stand there for a few moments, as if in some sort of trance, before eventually turning away. A series of control stations litter the bridge, most of them unmarked and unlit, but the layout is one I know well.

It's dark here on the bridge, save for the light of the navigation display, and I make my way to the lit control panel, glancing over my shoulder once more before lowering myself into the chair at the helm. I look at the display glowing softly in the darkness. I already know without even trying that the controls are locked—that’s something Jahdra wouldn’t neglect to secure—and minimal output is readily visible on the screen. Nonetheless, I lift a hand and draw a finger across the smooth, glossy finish of the panel. A feeling of warmth, of genial familiarity starts in my fingertips and spreads over me, and I find I can’t help but smile.

“Hello, old friend,” I say.