“Welcome to the Chrysanthemum.” The words stick in my throat as I try to keep my voice from shaking, but I’m not sure they even heard me. The two Garda survey the room around them briefly, one glancing at his RTT instrument before tucking it back into his pocket. Their uniforms are gilded with armored padding, and they look like giants as they walk toward the doorway where I stand. I’ve never felt smaller.

“Where’s your captain?” the first one asks. I know the question is directed to me, but he looks past me. Through me. Like I’m not even there.

“I’m the captain,” I answer, straightening my back and trying to steel myself with all the confidence I can muster.

“Sure, kid,” he retorts with a laugh as the two shove past me and out into the hallway. I eye the dewguns mounted on their belts, the rifles slung across their backs—a reminder to stay on their good side.

“Let’s check out the bridge first,” I hear one say to the other. They’re headed straight to the lift, as I trail behind, like they already know where they’re going. But I guess they’ve probably been on dozens of MASSA 50s before. One can’t be much different from the others.

I practically have to run to keep up with them and barely make it past the lift door before it slides shut.

“Deck 1,” I say aloud, trying to keep my breathing steady.

The ride up is silent. I can feel the two Garda looking at me. Laughing at me. They think I’m an idiot, I realize with embarrassment. To them, I’m just some stupid kid who broke the airlock and can’t find the right transport codes. But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it gives me a chance to outsmart them.

The doors open onto Deck 1, and the Garda head for the front of the ship. I can hear them, talking to one another, laughing, but I’m too far behind to hear what they’re saying. My own mind is racing. I need a plan. Or a lie. Or more likely, both. Something to get them the hell off my ship.

“Anybody home?” one of them calls out as they walk through the doorway to the bridge. They look around at the empty chairs, the black control screens, the room darkened by the unrelenting vacuum of nothingness on the other side of the glass.

“Hey, maybe she is the captain,” says one with a chuckle as they perform an investigative lap around the room.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” one of the Garda asks, turning toward me, his massive frame looming in the dim lights of the bridge.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“They’re not here,” I say stupidly. “They’re staying on Olympia for a few days while I take the new fuel cells for a test drive. That guy Mox is always trying to rip us off with sub-par goods.” Sorry, Mox.

I glance at the comm box on the wall and wonder if they’re getting all this down in the engine room. I’ve never tried to set up a one-way comm feed before, but in theory, they should be able to hear everything going on throughout the ship. I guess if they had doubts about whether I was lying before, they won’t now.

The Garda nods slowly, but even through his stony expression I can see he’s not convinced.

“You pick anyone up while you were there?” he asks, walking slowly toward me. My heart pounds faster the closer he gets.

I shake my head, not daring to speak.

The tips of his boots are practically touching mine as he stands and stares down at me, his eyes cold and full of contempt. Does he know I’m lying or is he just trying to make me squirm?

I stand my ground, looking back at him, but don’t return his glare. Instead, I look at the crooked ridge of his nose, the cluster of scars under his left eye, the damp tuft of hair stuck to his forehead.

He steps to the side and gestures to the nav’s control panel, the only one I’ve left on.

“Unlock your central systems.” It’s a command, not a request. I don’t even know if I have what they’re looking for, but I know they won’t like what they find. I hesitate, trying to come up with an excuse, but he grabs me by the arm, fingers digging into my flesh, and all but throws me at the dash. The other Garda puts his hand on the dewgun at his hip. Don’t try anything stupid, kid.

“Let’s scrape the system logs and then go deck by deck,” I hear one say gruffly to the other as I fumble with the buttons on the control screen.

Maybe if I enter the wrong security code enough times, the system will automatically lock me out. I’ve never actually entered the wrong code more than once, but it seems like a pretty standard security protocol. It’s worth a shot at least. I’ve got to try something. The second they see my logs, they’ll know I’ve been lying. And what would I even say? “Sorry, Commander, I seem to have forgotten the rogue ship that docked here 12 hours ago.” Yeah, that’ll go over well.

“Invalid security code,” Chrys says as I stand over the screen. I can feel the glares on the back of my head in the menacing silence.

I fumble with the buttons a second time, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Invalid security code.”

My stomach twists as one of the Garda steps closer. The air on the bridge is cool, but I can feel the sweat sliding down my back. He puts one hand on the dash next to me, and I can feel his hot breath on my neck as he leans over.

“One more try,” he says, the words bristling my ear. And then what? I wonder. Is it worth it to find out? After all, I don’t even know the people hiding in my engine room. They could be criminals. Murderers. Why am I protecting them? Why not throw them to the wolves? That might be enough of a distraction to get the Garda off my ship before they keep digging. I could say they threatened me. Forced me to lie. Told me they’d kill me if I didn’t keep their secret.

I bite my lip, my hands trembling as I hit the buttons on the screen for a third time.

“Invalid security code.”

A jolt of pain shoots through my body, and I feel my legs give out from under me as the world darkens and I fall to the floor.