“I made enough that they can appear on the menu, but I’m making a special set for her.” Milly pointed at a small plate set to one side on a counter, two particularly beautiful cakes atop it, gleaming in the fluorescent lights. Niko paused to admire them before she stole one of the half-glazed cakes for a nibble.

Milly watched her expectantly.

Niko took another judicious nibble.

Milly shifted from side to side, watching as Niko deliberately licked sugar from her fingers. Finally she could no longer contain herself. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Niko asked.

Milly hissed out exasperation. “How is it?”

Niko grinned. “You know it’s delicious, you just want to hear me say it.”

“I do!”

“It’s delicious.” Niko shoved the rest of the cake in her mouth and added inarticulately, “Absolutely delicious.” She leaned to take another but Dabry removed the tray from her reach.

“Captain,” he said patiently. “Permission to go secure my eggplant?”

She waved him off. “Go, go.” Once he had turned, she grabbed another cake, winked at Milly, and went to check on the front room.

Currently the restaurant was closed, as it was for six hours of every cycle, in order to give the staff time to clean and prep. Aboard the space station, there was a multitude of time cycles, and Niko had chosen to forgo tying any of her food to a particular one, even the prevalent human norms, so there was no breakfast, lunch, or dinner, only meals.

She checked the lectern near the entrance to make sure it was free of clutter and that the flower atop it was fresh. They kept a whenlove plant blooming there, considered lucky by a fallen comrade.

So many memories in the restaurant, so many little rituals to mark the fallen. She touched the whorls of a fuzzy leaf and moved on.

No matter what time of day it was, the glowing ghosts wriggled through the space. Niko stood watching their light play over the tables, booths, and floating seats. Lore held that the ghosts were not sentient at all, simply dissolute life forces left behind when the beings passed, but Niko always tried to watch for some sign of intelligence, some portent that might show that memory stayed behind. Her maître d’, Lassite, claimed their patterns had meaning, but she’d never been able to parse it.

The slide of light against light was hypnotic. She stood longer than she had meant to, transfixed by the odd hieroglyphics of their trails as they wriggled and swam, doubling back and forth in the air.

She shook her head, clearing away cobwebs. The critic was due in a few hours, and Niko was more worried about their advent than she had let on to anyone, even Dabry.