Samantha had taken a plate of tasteless noodles to her station and was on the night shift beside her console. She had open on her screen a documentary about Omega's biology — specifically, species that hadn't been fully classified yet, and the conspiracy theories surrounding them. She was deeply absorbed in watching and taking notes.
"Doctor Verne was a genius," she murmured, writing with her free hand.
WISE interrupted at that exact moment.
"Organic decompensation alert."
Alex appeared at her side, running, in an instant.
"Start the timer. We're going to G205."
"Damn, again—" Samantha said under her breath, reluctantly pulling her eyes from the documentary to get ready.
"No complaining."
The navigator adjusted her glasses and they headed to the room. They moved through the Naetilus's long, cabled corridors while the lights flickered overhead and the hum of recycled air filled their ears. Right after boarding, Nadia had assigned the quarters: they were arranged in two rows, four doors on each side. The order went: Nero, Samantha, Alex, one empty room — and on the other side, Katherine, Birdie, Nicholas, and Nadia.
When they opened the door to Nero's cabin — using Alex's higher-clearance credentials — a wall of smoke met them as a thin insulating membrane lifted. Neither of them coughed, but Sam covered her nose against the sharp smell of alcohol.
"Quick. Make sure he doesn't hit his head. Check for bottles—"
Nero was convulsing violently and had fallen from the bed, but fortunately hadn't bitten his tongue or vomited. After clearing the floor to prevent injury, Samantha lingered a second longer than necessary, watching the foam and saliva collecting at the corners of the pilot's mouth.
"Sam, help me turn him on his side."
Alex took most of the weight as he rolled Nero, who was shaking. Samantha timed the convulsions.
As Nero's movements decreased in frequency and intensity, the two of them took stock of the room. Bottles everywhere — empty, half-empty, full. Medications of various effects. An ashtray packed with cigarette butts. And the nyasuk anticonvulsants — a strip of faintly phosphorescent calypso-colored pills, untouched, beside an empty glass.
"The captain needs to confiscate all of this," said Samantha. "This is getting repetitive."
"We can't treat him the same way we'd treat one of us," Alex explained. "Kate doesn't have authority over everything."
"He takes advantage of that—"
Samantha was cut off by Nero's dry heaves, and Alex rushed to find at least a trash bin — nearly tipped over in a corner of the room. But the vomiting didn't come. Gently, Nero settled into a strange calm, a peace that had never been visible when he was awake.
He was wearing only black underwear. Like that — hair spread across the floor, nearly bare, sweating, his convulsions finally quieting — he looked infinitely defenseless.
"There's been an upward trend since he came aboard," said Samantha, checking her notes and preparing the emergency dose in case things got worse.
"Is he taking the pills?" Alex asked, a little exasperated.
"Only when he feels like it," Samantha observed.
The tension drained from Nero's body; his muscles gradually returned to normal. His breathing became steadier, more regular. Samantha took his vitals and noted them on the tactile board. Another episode in a month. Alex stood up and pressed a hand to his forehead: he'd have to notify Katherine and ask whether she wanted to replace the pilot. They were already in open space — they couldn't just leave Nero somewhere. The nearest space station was several parsecs away.
"He's got a chain around his neck — loosen it a little," Alex advised.
"Yes — there's a ring on it," Samantha noted.
She also noticed a distinctly purple scar on the pilot's right knee, one that appeared to have been sutured. The skin there was thinner, the violet traces spreading in different directions, as if it had been through not one but several reconstructive surgeries.
Meanwhile, Nicholas had had a nightmare about his brother's disappearance, and he couldn't sleep. He'd been wandering through the ship, had come across Samantha's unfinished plate of noodles and the documentary still playing on her screen — conspiracy theories and unclassified species from Omega.
He felt the impact of Nero's body hitting the floor.
He heard footsteps in the corridor, made his way to the pilot's door, and stood there without a word.
Looking at the scene gave him something close to vertigo, as if his heart were trying to leave his chest. This had happened before — but it was the first time he'd had access to this much. He held his breath and pressed himself against the doorframe.
Katherine's voice filled the room through the intercom.
"Alex, is it Nero?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Activate the protocol."
"He's already calming down."
"I want a detailed report first thing."
Now that Nero was more stable, Alex moved to a corner of the room to speak with her through his smartwatch, low and fast.
"Captain, I need the pilot's medical file."
"I don't have access to it right now."
"Then I'm not in a position to do my job properly."
"Apply the protocol and report back."
"We still have time to replace him."
"You're not replacing anyone."
"What does he have?"
"Epilepsy."
"There's more than one kind."
"I don't need to know more than that."
"It's impossible he became a pilot like this. It's like being color-blind."
Katherine raised her voice.
"Don't question my decision. There was no one else willing to board the Naetilus. Is that what you want to hear?"
"So you took the first thing that walked in?"
"You think that's what happened?"
"When I'm done here I need to talk to you."
"I'm not changing my mind. Report with the details first thing."
Alex had the feeling something was deeply wrong, and that discomfort was getting in the way of doing his job.
Nero began to wake. His blue eyes — cold, penetrating — scanned the entire room before he slowly sat up on the floor. He saw Samantha's impassive face, and Alex's impatience. The two of them seemed to be waiting for something from him. His body felt sweaty, every muscle tense, a pulse hammering in his temples. His fingers were trembling, and when he tried to stand he nearly pitched forward, still finding his way back to consciousness.
He sensed someone else nearby. He couldn't name the feeling.
"Again?" he whispered, disoriented, his voice strange even to himself.
"Were you drinking?" Alex asked.
Samantha moved to take his temperature and Nero pushed her away. She raised her eyebrows.
"I wanted to sleep."
"The captain isn't going to like this," Alex warned.
"What are you doing here?" Nero said, wiping his mouth roughly with the back of his hand, dragging his words.
"Take your pills. It's not that complicated."
Nicholas shifted in the doorway. He heard Nero's sigh clearly — the impatience in it.
"There's someone else here," the pilot said.
"We need to take your vitals."
"Nobody's touching me."
Alex tried a conciliatory tone.
"Hey. You're sick. We're just—"
"You. And you. Out."
The gunner lost his patience.
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
"You haven't seen half of what—"
"You have no idea what I've seen. Change your attitude. That's all."
Samantha registered then that the smell of alcohol and damp was coming from Nero's body, from his breath.
"Alex," she said slowly. "He's still drunk."
"OUT! Both of you! OUT!"
"I never thought I'd say this," Alex murmured to Samantha as they left, "but I prefer him when he's lucid."
Nero grabbed one of the empty bottles and threw it after them, but didn't reach either one. It shattered with a tremendous crash. Outside, Nicholas flinched.
The mechanic could hear the pilot murmuring something that didn't make much sense.
Already still, the muscle spasms gone, still exhausted, the pilot dropped onto his bed — telling himself he had a few hours yet before the alcohol wore off and he'd need to be fit to fly.
"The idiot doesn't want help," Alex added, resigned, as they walked away.
"Is he alright?" Nicholas asked, waiting for them, his voice barely there.
"He's drunk," Alex explained.
"He doesn't know what he's doing," Samantha offered.
Alex kept walking toward the upper decks to continue his rounds, shaking his head.
Nicholas stayed beside the door, watching Nero for a few more minutes, unsure whether to go in — offer water, maybe. The light in the room was fading as the motion inside it did.
"I know you're there," Nero said, still slurring.
The mechanic held his breath. He stayed, but stopped trying to hide.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Nightmares?"
"Yes."
"Come in. I don't bite." Nero laughed at his own line, checking the corners of his mouth for saliva or foam.
Nicholas didn't find it funny. He took one step so Nero could get a better sense of the actual distance between them — as carefully as he would have approached a wild animal.
"Was it about your brother?"
"Yes."
"Come on. Sit down."
The young man couldn't stop thinking about the fact that this same nyasuk, moments ago, had thrown an empty bottle at his crewmates. Shards of glass glittered on the floor. He started picking them up, careful not to cut his hands.
"No, thanks."
"Are you scared?"
"No."
"Leave that. It's dangerous."
"You can't do it. You're—"
"Drunk," said Nero. "Tell me about the Naetilus. About the observatory."
Nicholas, midway through picking up one of the larger pieces, went still.
"I thought you weren't listening."
"I pay attention to what interests me."
"I can't get in with my credentials."
"That's strange. As a technician—" Nero said, trying to focus, post-seizure and mid-drunk— "you should have access to everything."
"Well," Nicholas admitted, with some embarrassment, "I don't."
"Remarkable. When do you want to go, then?"
The mechanic looked at the pilot, not entirely sure he'd heard right.
"What?"
"What I said," Nero confirmed. "It's easier than you think."
"I'm going to — I want to get rid of this," the mechanic said, holding up the glass.
Nero looked at him as if he'd said something deeply offensive, or worse. Nicholas looked at his own hands.
"You cut yourself, kid," the pilot said sharply.
All at once the drunkenness and the bravado were gone.
"Come here."
Nero held out the bin for the glass, then looked at Nicholas's bleeding palm. He pulled him through to the bathroom and washed it under warm water, as carefully as if it were his own hand. The mechanic tried to understand what was happening.
"It's not that deep," Nicholas observed.
"I told you to leave it," Nero said, without stopping.
When he realized he hadn't let go of the hand — even though it was already clean and had stopped bleeding — Nero released Nicholas abruptly.
"Go to bed."
"I can't sleep."
Nero looked at Nicholas with a different quality of attention. For the first time he noticed what the boy was actually wearing: a worn cotton t-shirt and underwear. Nothing else.
The pilot turned off the tap and stood in front of him, taking in all of it.
The dyed hair. The piercings — ear, nose, lip. The uncertain way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"If you don't sleep, you'll stunt your growth. Now — go back to your room."
"Are you going to be alright?"
Nero didn't answer. He looked at him with an expression Nicholas had never seen before, and smiled.
Nicholas looked down and headed to his cabin.