The mess hall isn’t much to look at. The tables are bolted down, the chairs attached to swivel arms that barely accommodate their intended purpose. Fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead, casting a pale glow over the room’s scuffed metal walls. A faint smell of disinfectant lingers—a constant reminder of just how closed-loop everything is on Caliban Station.
Despite its utilitarian design, the room feels alive. The crew is packed shoulder-to-shoulder, voices overlapping in conversation as they eagerly await the ceremonial first brew of the real coffee. The cargo crates from earlier have been stacked neatly against one wall, their contents rationed out and cataloged with military precision by Tessa-14 and her Buddy, Io. For now, though, the focus is on the makeshift brewing station at the center of the room, where Reya-9 has claimed the role of barista.
She handles the equipment with exaggerated reverence, her movements slow and deliberate as if she’s performing some ancient rite. The station’s coffee maker—a sleek, compact machine with a series of airtight slots and blinking indicators—hisses softly as it processes the first puck of real coffee grounds. Steam rises from the dispensing tube, filling the air with an aroma so rich and unfamiliar that the entire room seems to pause for a moment.
“There it is,” Reya says, her voice hushed with something like awe. “Liquid gold.”
Judas, leaning casually against the far wall, watches the scene with a faint smirk. “It’s just coffee, Reya. Not the Ark of the Covenant.”
Reya doesn’t dignify that with a response. She carefully attaches a vacuum-sealed pouch to the dispenser and presses a button. The machine emits a soft chime as the first bag fills with steaming liquid. It’s handed off ceremoniously to Caleb-7 duo Pax, who takes a sip and immediately grimaces.
“Bitter as hell,” he announces. “Perfect.”
The room bursts into laughter, and the tension that had been building throughout the day dissipates in an instant. One by one, the crew takes their turn with the coffee maker, each reacting in their own way—Reya savoring every sip, Caleb gulping his down like a life-or-death necessity, and Tessa-14 politely declining in favor of her usual decaf.
Judas waits until the crowd has thinned before approaching the machine. Instead of selecting the real coffee grounds, he casually slides in a puck of synthetic concentrate, earning a collective groan from Reya and Caleb.
“You’re drinking that when we have this?” Reya asks, holding up her pouch of freshly brewed real coffee like it’s a trophy. “Judas, you’re an affront to civilization.”
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“I’m a paragon of practicality,” Judas counters, watching the machine work. “To me, this is the real stuff. Yours is a bourgeois imitation. Conspicuous consumption. And it's gritty.”
“What the fuck is a bourgeois?” Reya protests, clearly offended, and a little disgruntled by a word she doesn't understand. “You're spending all your time reading dictionaries instead of working?”
“Statistically, it does have a higher likelihood of sediment formation,” Samson adds helpfully, his voice chiming through Judas’s implant.
“Thank you, Samson,” Judas says, deadpan. “See? Samson gets it.”
Caleb shakes his head, draining the last of his pouch. “You Plutonian types don’t know what you’re missing. This stuff—this is Earth in a bag.”
Judas shrugs, sipping from his freshly dispensed synthetic brew. “Earth’s overrated. And you're from Charon! We're practically neighbors.”
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The mess hall settles into a quieter rhythm as the excitement dies down. Some crew members linger at the tables, chatting in small groups. Reya has taken up a seat near the viewport, gazing out at the distant stars as she nurses her coffee. Caleb sits across from her, animatedly describing his latest VR project—a simulated garden inspired by the station’s hydroponic bays.
“It’s not much yet,” Caleb admits, gesturing with his hands as he talks. “Mostly just a couple of plots with kale and tomatoes, but I’m thinking about adding a tree. Maybe a lemon tree. Something to make it feel real, you know?”
Reya nods, her gaze distant. “I read once that Earth gardens used to be places of meditation. A way to connect with the natural world. I’ve always wondered what that feels like.”
Judas listens in silence, his mug of synthetic coffee cradled loosely in one hand. Samson, sensing his quiet, breaks the moment with a soft observation. “They’re trying to imagine something they’ve never known. Fascinating.”
“Makes me wonder what's wrong with the hydroponics bay,” Judas mutters under his breath. “You got something wrong with lettuce?”
The mess hall empties slowly as the crew drifts back to their stations or quarters. Judas lingers for a moment longer, watching Reya and Caleb pack up the brewing supplies with exaggerated care, as if they’re handling priceless artifacts.
“You could’ve at least tried it,” Samson says as Judas finally rises from his seat.
“It’s not about the coffee,” Judas replies, making his way back to his quarters. The corridors are quieter now, the earlier buzz of activity replaced by the steady hum of the station’s life-support systems. “It’s about the fact they’ve been looking forward to this for months. I’d rather let them have their moment without pretending I’m into it. Plus, more for them.”
Samson is silent for a beat. “That’s… unexpectedly thoughtful of you.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Back in his quarters, Judas settles into his bunk with a fresh cup of synthetic coffee and watches the stars through the viewport. The faint glow of distant sunlight barely reaches this far out, leaving the stars sharper and colder against the void. Earth - the place where coffee is grown. And that's not even true, either - it's just the place that receives from the greenhouse swarms and then deploys to the rest of the system. Earth...
“This is home,” Judas murmurs, not entirely sure if he’s speaking to Samson or himself.