Eleven
Keelin had turned the bridge of the old Hermes into her quarters. She had an old fold-out bed from one of the stores wedged in by the commander’s chair, a quick food station on the floor next to the tech’s position, with a micro-fridge next to it.
It wasn’t much, but with all the doors and hatches sealed, and the sensors running on full alert, she felt safe. She could sleep, sometimes for hours. And the nightmares didn’t always come.
But she didn’t want sleep at the moment. She sat in the pilot’s chair—her chair—and took a deep breath before plunging into the Hermes’ systems.
It welcomed her. Routines synchronised with her lattice, and the hull of the craft wrapped itself to her skin. She eased into the sensors, and became one with the Hermes. Her Hermes.
As always, there w
