Moss replied, “Yes. I am.”
Torian started walking again, swallowing a yawn. “As long as I’m still breathing, Moss, you didn’t fail me. And even if I stop… I know you tried your best.”
Moss didn’t speak for a few moments. Then it said, “You will not perish from lack of food or basic necessities. In addition to the supplies you brought, there is extra food storage in the cargo bay. In addition, I am a renewable system. It is possible that together, we can repair the engine once we’ve reached our new destination.”
“Well, that’s something.” Being stranded in space sounded like the start of a horror movie, but Torian was quickly shifting her image into something more pleasant. She could launch an SOS, and in the meantime, she could decorate the ship. Cross-stitch something. Study alien engineering—there had to be some reference books here somewhere.
And it wasn’t like the isolation would kill her… not with Moss to chat with.
Might kill Celise, though.
And that was the crux of this. Torian couldn’t be stuck here—not when Celise would never know where she wound up. Not when her sister’s time was running out.
A quiet thought entered the back of her mind: Maybe Amelia was tracking her. She was the one who suggested this scenario: dead in space, no one to rescue her. There wasn’t really any reason for Amelia to track Torian’s new ship… but if she did, it’d mean Amelia did actually care about Torian more than she let on.
Torian wanted that, in her heart of hearts.
But then logic intervened, and frustration settled over the yearning. She shouldn’t be waiting for Amelia Perrosk to find her. She shouldn’t still be hoping that Amelia had feelings buried somewhere. Amelia had moved on six months ago. Whatever they might have been—she’d never know.
And that had to be okay.
Coffee. Then she could tackleoneof her existential crises.
Torian pulled out one of the coffee containers she’d stuffed in the cabinet last night, and glanced around for any kind of brewer. She’d just assumed a ship would have one—it was standard issue on most starships.
Here, she came up empty.
Well. Time to get creative. But as she pulled out a pot and poured water into it, Moss said, “Are you searching for a method of heating water? There is a ravla pot in the corner of the counter.”
“What the hell is ravla?” Torian asked, pausing in her efforts.
Moss sounded exasperated. “A nylarian staple. It is very similar to coffee, and is safe for humans to consume. Much like human wine, when properly sealed, it ages instead of souring. After one hundred and thirty-three years, it should be a delicacy.”
A light illuminated over a cabinet Torian hadn’t opened yet. She cautiously approached, abandoning her coffee beans for a jarof what looked like brown-black powder. When she uncapped it, a positively divine aroma filled the air.
“Humans have documented performance improvements when caffeine is involved. Ravla shares similar traits, but with few of the downsides. Whenheshared it with humans in the past, humans reported increased focus and motivation.” Moss paused. “It is to myimmensebenefit that you are functioning at peak performance. Please, consume the ravla.”
Torian sniffed again, barely containing a moan. “Oh Heavens, this smells incredible. Like chocolate, cinnamon, and coffee.”
“It is derived from the leaves of the ravla plant, on the nylarian homeworld. I cannot speak to its taste. Only its chemical composition, and how your body will process it.”
Oh, duh.
“If you think it’s safe.” Torian might die in the Kialoa Nebula anyway. Why not try the weird coffee alternative in the meantime—especially when it smelled likethat. “How do I make it?”
She half expected Moss to replyI am not your baristaor something similar, but it seemed to be in a helpful mood after everything. “Add hot water. The powder will dissolve.”
Five minutes later, Torian had a steaming mug—a metal piece with a thick handle—cradled to her chest and had sunk onto the comfy sofa beside the bank of windows. The nylarians must be similar in appearance to a human, because while the cushions were a bit deeper than she expected, she fit pretty well overall.
“This is gorgeous,” Torian breathed, taking a reverent sip of the ravla. Warmth slid through her veins, and almost instantly, she felt both relaxed and alert. It was a curious sensation, and far preferable to the precarious balancing act of coffee—drinking to wake up, without tipping into the negative physiological side effects of too much caffeine.
As her mind focused, she ran options, drumming her fingers on the side of the mug. “Okay. Maybe I can fix the engine before we get to the nebula. If we can diagnose the problem—”
“We will arrive in the Kialoa Nebula in three minutes.”
“What?” For the second time that day, Torian catapulted up like she’d been burned. Dark liquid sloshed against the edge of her mug, and she desperately course-corrected to save the drops.
Whew. Careful.
