The sample mining was done.

  The observation lounge on the bridge was nearly empty, just the murmur of circulation fans and the soft thrum of the hull beneath. Jamaal sat slouched in a corner seat, staring out at the void. No stars were visible from this angle—just a slow drift of metallic debris blinking past the reinforced glass. He was still half in uniform, boots unlaced, helmet at his side.

  Ty's old helmet rested next to it. Scuffed. Cracked along the left temple. He hadn't touched it. Couldn't.

  Tomoko arrived with two synth-steep pouches and lowered herself next to him without asking. She handed one over, then leaned back, sipping her own in silence for a while.

  "I'm really glad you joined us," she said finally, eyes still on the glass. "I don't think we would have gotten this lucky on our first haul without you. A lot of us will be able to pay down our EMI debt now. If Monty is lucky, he might even get completely out of his contract."

  Her voice went on, casual but edged, threading through talk of long indentured contracts, the quiet grind everyone carried. Jamaal let it wash over him. He hadn't thought much about his own contract. He just knew one thing: he didn't want anything to do with EMI. But what else was there? Ty had always been the one with the plans, the future.

  Tomoko's tone shifted. "By the way... that song you made. 'Brothers in Space'.Ty said it wasn't really about you and Ty. That it could just as easily be about all of us—the brotherhood between people who work out here."

  Jamaal cracked the pouch open and took a sip. "What do you think?"

  Her smile was small but knowing. "I think you two have always been rebels. And clever ones. You slipped it through EMI metadata, saying it was personal, about you and Ty. But anyone who works on a +40 contract knows it's not. It's about all of us. That's why it stuck."

  Jamaal let the heat of the drink burn his throat before answering. He didn't trust his voice.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  For a while, they just watched the wreckage drift by, silent companions in the dark. Then Tomoko asked, so quietly he almost missed it:

  "You ever talk to ghosts?"

  Jamaal lifted the pouch, but didn't drink.

  "All the time," he said.

  Tomoko gave him a look - not teasing, not judging.

  He glanced toward her, as if weighing something, then turned back to the glass.

  "I see him. Ty. All the time."

  She waited.

  "Corner of my vision. In shadows. In glass reflections. I swear I heard him on a live comm channel yesterday, just for a second."

  Tomoko kept quiet.

  "Thought it was just stress. Lack of sleep. Guilt, maybe. But it's getting worse."

  He paused. The words were hard now. He was scraping them up from somewhere deep.

  "I think I'm losing it."

  Tomoko finally sipped her tea.

  "Maybe you are."

  Jamaal half-laughed, dry.

  "Great. Good talk."

  She didn't smile.

  "Or maybe he left enough of himself behind in you. It's normal. It's hard for the mind to comprehend something as final as death."

  Jamaal shook his head.

  "It's like my mind won't accept it, you know. Everything reminds me of him. But he's gone. I saw it."

  Tomoko looked down at the floor, then up at the viewport. A faint smear of condensation crawled down the inside of the glass.

  She pointed.

  There - just visible in the fogged trail, as if someone had traced it with a fingertip:

  4 – 2

  Jamaal froze.

  Tomoko whispered, "You didn't do that?"

  He shook his head slowly.

  Neither of them moved.