| By Filio Chasioti | The room smelled of rubbing alcohol and lavender, silent and still, disrupted only by rhythmic breathing. Kira watched the dust dance in a beam of light. In the corner, Sam worked on the machine. He was checking the wires, as he usually did, in passing, making sure everything was plugged in. “She thinks I’m the captain,” Sam said. He pointed to the monitor screen. “She told me the crew was ready. She said the weather was bad.” Kira did not answer. She watched their...