Page 8 of Adrift! (Cosmic Connections Cruise #2)

With Griiek’s four arms assisting, Ikaryo helped retrofit the Starlit Salon from spaceship lounge into something that Felicity called “cozy cosmic chic”.

They dragged most of the low couches into a rough circle, and votive lighting gave everything a warm, intimate glow with enough lumens for working.

Right before the would-be knitters arrived, the cruise director turned to the viewport where the energy anomaly had first manifested.

“Maybe too much cosmic?” she fretted. “What do you think about curtains?”

So he quickly rigged up a few extra tablecloths to hide the empty blackness of the Zarnax Zone.

Now some of guests sat cross-legged on cushions with skeins of yarn scattered among them, while others reclined on the couches with drinks in place of knitting needles, content with the company instead of the crafting.

Ikaryo moved discreetly around the perimeter, refreshing beverages and careful not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

He’d expected the knitting circle to be awkward at best, an anxious attempt to forget their plight.

But everyone seemed genuinely relaxed, more comfortable even than when they’d first come aboard, before the energy anomaly had hijacked their cruise.

“Let’s start with the basics,” Mariah said, settling into the center of the circle with a ball of shiny fiber. “Knitting is about connection. Continuous threads and interlaced stiches. Thoughtful knots and a touch of good tension. Creating something beyond any single strand alone.”

She began working her needles with practiced ease, the soft clicking rhythm oddly hypnotic.

“When we knit, we’re creating something that didn’t exist before, even if we’re following a pattern.

We’re choosing different elements of fiber type, weight and texture, pattern and color, and combining them into something new, something that can provide protection and comfort and beauty. ”

By the time Ikaryo had completed his third round, a few of the passengers had the start of their projects—some more successful than others.

One couple sat shoulder to shoulder, sharing a single skein from opposite ends.

With the Love Boat I currently unpowered and unmoving, the Tritonesse pilot Delphine had joined them, and she had already produced an impressive length of what might be a scarf.

“Here’s the really fascinating part,” Mariah continued, her voice taking on a dreamy quality as her own stitches expanded into wilder loops.

“Maybe you already know about quantum entanglement. When two particles become connected, they stay linked across impossible distances. Change one, and the other responds instantly, no matter how far apart they are.”

She held up her knitting, the metallic strands catching the light. “I think that’s what we’re really doing here. We’re not just working fibers—we’re creating connections that transcend space and time. Every stitch is a chance to link one moment to the next, one person to another.”

Transfixed by the shimmer and the cadence of possibilities, Ikaryo almost missed Remy sneaking into the salon, keeping to the back of the room, like she wasn’t ready to be looped into the group. And despite the calming whisper of moving threads, his pulse kicked up.

He’d thought she wasn’t coming, but here she was. Then he had to look again.

She was wearing… Actually, he wasn’t entirely sure what she was wearing.

To his eyes, the long tunic and short, flowing trousers had the subtle sheen of fabricator filament, but the new outfit also had a panel of the natural fibers from the dress she’d been wearing before.

The floral design that had decorated the front of her previous dress was expanded and twisted into vibrant geometric lines, like a fantastical star map.

The tessellation continued all around the hem and sleeves, the weave breaking into eyelets smaller and larger to reveal glimpses of her skin, as if she were walking through the floating depiction of some impossibly flamboyant universe—or wrapped in musical notation where the hints of her body were notes.

Instead of fuzzy orange socks, on her feet were low-heeled boots.

Fuzzy purple boots.

She sneaked all the way around the salon to his bar, avoiding the edge of the knitting circle, gaze averted.

But when he nudged a drink across the counter toward her, one eyebrow raised, she finally peeked up, her freckled cheeks bright.

“I tried recycling in the fabricator, but apparently it has fashion opinions.”

Despite everything—her disgruntled tone, his professional boundaries, the whole situation—he found himself smiling. Really smiling, not the practiced expression from his training materials.

With Mariah’s presentation complete, conversation had picked up along with a sprinkling of laughter and some cheerful complaining as people practiced their new hobby. Remy half turned to watch them, resting her elbow on the bar.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said.

“Plenty of yarn left. Purple, even.” He gave her a little grin when she rolled her eyes to him.

She snorted. “Yeah, because I need another crafting fail.”

“Is it a fail though when the fit is so fabulous?”

“I could make you a pair of boots.”

“Um…”

She laughed, not loud but the low percussion of it seemed to match his slightly elevated heartbeat, waves of energy stitching together.

He’d been listening to too much Mariah.

“I wouldn’t torture you like that,” she assured him, even as he wondered how purple fuzz would go with his uniform.

“Speaking of torture…” She glanced around the room again.

“Everyone seems to be enjoying being stranded in space.” After a sip of her drink, she cast a sidelong stare at him. “Maybe something in the water?”

The suggestion hit him like a cold splash. “I would never.”

She winced, reaching out to touch his hand.

“No. I didn’t mean your drinks. I just meant in general.

Even our cruise director, who was giving me serious anxiety by proxy vibes when we boarded, is chilling happily with”—she craned her neck—“well, I don’t know what she’s knitting, but it’s very colorful. ”

Still nonplused, he followed her gaze around the circle.

She wasn’t wrong. The passengers who’d been huddled fearfully in the lifepod while the ship’s lights flickered not so long ago weren’t just calm now—they were almost blissful.

Couples leaned into each other, some passengers swayed gently to Mariah’s rhythmic knitting, and everyone seemed to glow with the same joy that radiated from Felicity’s button.

“Too happy,” Remy repeated quietly, echoing his own growing unease.

“Just because you aren’t—” As soon as the words started to emerge, he cut them off, hearing the inadvertent cruelty. “Remy…”

She stiffened. “I’m gonna go grab some yarn.” Spinning on her purple heel, she stalked off, leaving behind the special drink he’d mixed just for her.

Just as well he hadn’t told her that.

She settled cross-legged beside Mariah, her tunic pooling around her like a spilled rainbow.

She must’ve apologized for her tardiness because Mariah waved away her words and slung an arm over her shoulders for a quick hug.

Even from across the room, he saw the tension in her spine…

and then the release as Mariah took advantage of the confining gesture to tuck a skein of yarn—thick and purple—into her hands, a teasing laugh chiming through the Starlit Salon.

With shameful difficulty, he forced his gaze away, anywhere but her.

Just because he had a job on this Cosmic Connections Cruise didn’t mean everyone had to be on board with its romantic mission.

Even if he was wanting to believe it himself.

When the knitting circle gradually wound down, the passengers drifted away in pairs or small groups, holding hands or cradling their knitwork, Mariah admiring each project as it passed her.

The little Earther woman also thanked him for his help. “I know these are troubling circumstances, but is it wrong to say I enjoyed it? I’ve never had such a magical circle.” She beamed up at him from under a floppy-brimmed knit hat embellished with curlicue stars. “It was almost…transcendent.”

Too happy? Remy’s skeptical observation lingered in his mind like a discordant note.

When only a few stragglers remained and Felicity gave him a nod, Ikaryo began his cleanup, stacking and wiping and straightening.

Not as beautiful as Mariah’s art, but the return to order was pleasing in its own way.

Since Griiek had been called away to other duties, he exerted his augments to tug the couches back into place.

When only the awkwardly shaped corner unit remained, Remy walked up to the other side. Everyone else had gone, leaving just the two of them, and he wondered why she’d stayed.

She thrust out a purple square. “For you.”

He blinked rapidly through a few filters in his ocular implant. “Is it…the pair of boots you promised me?”

“Threatened you,” she corrected before squinting at the square, as if uncertain herself. “Does it look like boots?”

“Not particularly.” When she started to lower the offering, he reached across the empty cushions to snag it from her fingers.

“It’s a dishrag.”

He smoothed out the nubby fabric across his palm, feeling the unevenness of the tension making the stitches resist and wrinkle. “Thank you.”

“Maybe wait on the thanks. Mariah called it ‘texturally interesting but structurally challenged’.”

Despite everything, even with the image of her walking away from him still stuck in his mind, Ikaryo found himself tangling his fingers possessively through the fringed edges.

“The color is perfect to hide almost anything I might spill.” He folded it gently to tuck it into his back pocket and smoothed the dangling fringe down his backside.