“I am C-CIL.”

“Good for you,” I snap as I turn and stalk down the hall. I have nothing against C-CIL—yet—except that he showed up on my ship with that weirdo stalker freak. Who’s to say he’s not also some kind of psycho? I want to yell. I want to tell them all to get out, get off my ship and go back where they came from. Don’t lose your cool, I tell myself. If this is some kind of game, don’t let him win. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself, but I’m seething. I know it’s too late to kick them out on their asses, but right now, there’s nothing I want more than to send that creep flying out the airlock. I can’t. I know I can’t. It would be unethical, or whatever, and besides, it wouldn’t be fair to the rest of his crew—assuming they’re not all as bad as him.

I glance over my shoulder to make sure they’re following me. I didn’t actually tell them to, I just kind of assumed they’d take the hint. It looks like they did. The ship may not be as big as some others, but it wouldn’t be hard to get lost. And the last thing I want is people snooping around. I continue silently down the hall, moving quickly. Left. Another left. Right at the next cargo bay and down another hall. Finally, we get to the lift. Everyone’s still here. Good.

My jaw is clenched so tightly it’s starting to hurt. This probably isn’t the welcome they expected, but I’m too indignant to care. Maybe they’re wondering why the person who just let them onto their ship is being such a jerk. But whatever it is they’re thinking, whatever it is they’re feeling, I guess I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to be in their shoes.

But then there’s him. He’s clearly not bothered by my reaction. I don’t think he’s even surprised. In fact, I bet he’s got that same stupid smile—no, not smile—smirk. I bet he’s got that same stupid smirk on his face. But I refuse to look long enough to find out.

Why? What does he want? And why was he following me around Olympia Station? Was he just scoping me out to see if I was a sucker? Am I a sucker? After all, if he needed help, why didn’t he say something? He certainly had the opportunity to. Why wait until his ship was more vulnerable? Then again, how do I know they were really having engine trouble? Maybe that was a lie, a trick to get access to my ship. Shit. Did I really do the right thing, or did I just play right into his hands? I try to shake the questions out of my head. I’m not the one in the wrong here. I did what I had to do. I know the risks of letting strangers on board, and it’s a risk you have to take out here sometimes.

“So, do you—”

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“Get in,” I bark as the door to the lift slides open. I fold my arms across my chest and watch them each as they step in, eyeing them, one by one, from head to toe. Two men, one woman. They’re all older than me, I can tell that much, but I’m a bad judge of age. The woman reminds me of a mother. Not my mother. But there’s something in her face—something resilient, something that says she’s ready to protect with her life.

I continue to survey their appearance, gather what information I can. No monitors, at least no visible ones. So I’m probably not carrying a bunch of escaped convicts. That’s a promising start. But I should still probably run them through the database to be safe. No uniforms. No patches or insignia. Their clothes look pretty normal on the whole. Maybe not my style, but normal enough. No obvious bullet holes or burn marks. No one looks hurt. No limping or wincing. No blood stains, bruises, or casts. That’s usually a good sign. I see they haven’t brought much in the way of luggage. One duffel bag. Two rucksacks. A small hard-shell case. I look down and realize I’m still clutching the bag of coffee in my hand, squeezing it so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t burst. I should’ve binned it the second I had a chance.

Maybe I’m being unfair to them, looking for a reason to judge. Looking for signs they can’t be trusted. An excuse to send them back out into the unforgiving emptiness of space. One thing I’ve learned out here is that you can’t tell much about someone based on the way they look. But I’m taking a big chance by letting them on my ship, and I think I’m entitled to a healthy dose of paranoia.

I step into the lift after them.

“Deck 1,” I say aloud before Chrys gets a chance to prompt me for a destination. It’s awkward, the four of us in an enclosed space together, and I stare at my feet, too uncomfortable to meet anyone’s eye. No one speaks. We all stand in silence for a few moments before the doors slide open again.

I’ve decided to keep everybody on Deck 1. Sure, they’ll be closer to the bridge, closer to the controls, closer to some of the ship’s most sensitive components. But at least I’ll be able to keep an eye on them. I don’t want anybody wandering around, poking their noses where they don’t belong. On an unfamiliar ship, it’s easy to end up somewhere you’re not supposed to be, and what better excuse than “Sorry, I got lost!” Here, they’ll have access to quarters and the canteen. That’s all they need, right? Just to be safe, I’ve restricted access to Decks 2 & 3. I’ve left Deck 4 open for now—I’m not sure it would be fair to deny them access to their own ship—but even that’s provisional.

This whole thing is bizarre. And to be honest, I’m not sure I made the right choice.

But this is my ship. I’m the captain. And I have a responsibility to treat these people decently, especially the ones who weren’t stalking me.

We all file out of the lift and onto the Deck 1 landing. I can see they’re curious, and an interested murmur is all it takes to reawaken my sense of pride, not in myself, but in my ship. I unclench my jaw and drop my arms to my sides. Time to be the good guy, I guess. I try at something like a smile, like maybe I’m not totally miserable that they’re here on my ship.

“I’m Jahdra,” I say. “Welcome to the Chrysanthemum.”