The health inspector was silent and cryptic as usual, humming at the leak in the ceiling, and ahemming at the water damage in the hall.

Mads was trying to stop from chewing her nails off in anxiety when Krill burst into the kitchen.

"Mads! Somebody crashed in the field!"

The inspector looked up from his report and cleared his throat. "Is there something you need to attend to, Miss Capot?" His expression suggested that nothing should be so dire as to take her away from this biannual tour of shame.

Krill ignored Mads' frantic shushing motions and continued, "Really! There's smoke and fire, we need to call the safety department!" This last part was almost a wail.

Mads sighed and grabbed the kitchen fire extinguisher. "Excuse us, inspector. Feel free to continue without me." She followed Krill outside and past the barn.

Mads saw the smoke first. A small blue-gray mushroom cloud enveloped a patch of synth-sky, blocking out the sun simulation. However, the dome's inner-layer air-cleansing filters gnawed at the cloud's edges, and water rained down from the synth-clouds to aid in the clean and containment process. "Looks like the department's on it. I hope it isn't more kids stealing and wrecking hovers."

However, as they got closer, Mads realized that the wreckage didn't belong to any of the vehicles favored by joyriding teens. Its sleek metal angles and cracked silver fuselage marked it as a tiny personal spacecraft. And an expensive one, at that.

"See, told you," wailed Krill, blue tears pooling in her indigo eyes. "Somebody died on our farm!"

"Stop it, Krill," snapped Mads, harsh with worry. "We don't know if they're dead." She broke into a jog, stopping just short of the downed craft's right wing. It was a nasty, twisted mess, and Mads feared that Krill was right about the occupants. It looked like the landing gear had engaged just before the craft collided, but judging by the size of the dent it had made in the wheat field, it hadn't been going very fast.

"Where did it come from?" Mads muttered, shading her eyes to peer up at the "sky" above them. The dome seemed intact, but it was hard to tell from this distance. It was built to recognize spacecraft, and the material of the dome would open a pocket for landing ships, switching them through the surface like an airlock, and then forming again above them. If this ship really crashed, it might have ruptured the dome.

Unless someone had "crashed" it on purpose. But why would anyone do such a thing?

Mads wasn't hearing any alerts or sirens, and most of the fire had been extinguished with just the surrounding dirt and her kitchen foam extinguisher. There should have been more fire. But maybe the flames hadn't caught in the fuel tanks. Yet.

Holding the fire extinguisher in front of her, Mads stepped closer to the wreck. The wheat around the craft was all burnt, and black with chemical spills. It made her sick. This was years of work, destroyed in minutes by some careless idiot.

"Hello?" She sprayed a nearby flame and kicked aside part of a window. "Hello?"

There was no sound but the snap and hiss of flames and water, and the quiet rumble of settling debris.

"Hey!" Krill had rounded the wreck, and she was calling from the other side. "Mads, come look at this."

Mads joined her and bent down to see what had gotten her so excited. The rumpled grass around the wreckage bore a distinct boot print.

Krill grinned at Mads. "Someone did survive!"

Mads rose and looked around at the serenely waving wheat. She didn't see anyone. "I don't know . . ." She followed the prints down a row, but they quickly became indistinguishable from the hillocks and clumps of dirt. "Other interested parties, maybe? And if they were survivors, why did they go this way? Why wouldn't they go for help?"

Krill frowned. "Maybe they don't know where to go?"

Mads glanced back the way they'd come. The barn roof was clearly visible over the rows of wheat, dimmed by the steady flicker from the smaller dome around it. "I don't think so . . ." her bad feeling was getting stronger. Something was definitely off. "You call in a cleanup crew. I'll head back to the inspector."

Mads heard Krill patching through to the communications tower as she headed back inside. They shouldn't have left the shop unattended. If they were lucky, the locals would have noticed the inspector and decided to come back later. It would be better if Grandmere had decided to show herself. Mads checked the clock as she ducked back indoors. Three hours after sunrise-a little earlier than Grandmere liked, but the commotion might have gotten her up.

The inspector was waiting for Mads at the front counter. He raised a brow as Mads entered. "Well?"

Mads replaced the fire extinguisher before answering. "It's nothing." She tried not to cringe as he handed her the thin datapad holding his report.

"Do you have a moment?" The inspector's expression was tired and bland, and Mads felt a sudden flash of sympathy. The coffee shop was probably his first stop in a full day of inspections.

Mads attempted to keep that in mind as he began.

"Well, this leak in the kitchen could be a sign of a larger problem. Though it's not a structural violation, you'll have to have it fixed along with the leak in the kitchen sink. That one's more severe. There seems to be mold eating through the wall beneath it . . ."

Mads' sympathy gradually turned to dismay at the laundry list of repairs needed to keep them up to code. They couldn't afford to hire help, not before the next inspection.

"Is a week from today all right with you?" the inspector was saying.

She nodded mutely.

He handed her a card. "Call if you need more time."

One week, two weeks, what did it matter? It would never be enough time. As much as Mads hated it, she'd probably have to go to Alan for a loan extension, again. Even though she'd promised herself it wouldn't happen more than three times in a row. She watched the inspector leave, her heart sinking to her toes.

All this, and SVUAC hadn't even shown up yet.

"Madeleine?" Grandmere's delicately accented voice greeted Mads from one of the nearby wooden tables. She was sitting opposite a tall man with broad, bony shoulders and shaggy, chin-length dark hair. His back was to Mads, but she didn't think he was anyone she knew. Which was unusual. That would make him the third newcomer of the day. Strange outside of tourist season.

Grandmere's elegant hand was extended toward Mads in a gesture of gracious supplication, and her rings sparked in the low lights. They were all glass, the real gems having been pawned a long time ago, but they still made an impressive number of prisms.

"Let me see that," said Grandmere, her hand still open.

Mads realized she meant the report pad, and handed it over. Grandmere rarely concerned herself with the business aspect of the shop, leaving it to Mads as she had left it to Mads' mother before. However, the inspection was something that involved all of them, and their precious little funds.

Grandmere's silver brows rose a fraction. "Hmph," was her only response as she flicked the report pages across the flimsy Paperlite™ screen.

Mads gave her grandmother's companion another glance. His head was bent over his coffee, and he didn't seem to be paying them any attention. She ignored her curiosity. "We don't have enough time." Mads motioned at the bar and made significant faces at her grandmother. No stranger needed to hear about their money and repair problems.

Grandmere ignored Mads' frantic gestures and stayed relaxed in her seat. "It doesn't seem too difficult." She dropped the report to the table and patted her perfectly coiffed silver hair, as if the mundane discussion had somehow mussed it.

Mads stared at her grandmother, trying to focus. "I can't do this. I'm no plumber. I could get a book, but we'd still have to pay for the materials . . ."

"Nonsense," Grandmere cut her off. "We can't afford that, or a repairperson, and we certainly can't afford a bribe."

Mads opened her mouth, and then closed it, feeling her blotchy blush return for the second time that morning. "Grandmere!" She gestured at the mysterious man, feeling a bit frantic.

Her grandmother's lips twitched and her blue eyes were twinkling. "While you've been out there gallivanting, I've found the solution to our problem." She also indicated the silent, still, young man in front of her. He hadn't moved a hair since Mads had come in. She didn't even think he'd taken a sip of his coffee. He might have been asleep.

Grandmere arched her brow. "You may not be able to do all those things, but he says he can."

"Who is he?" mouthed Mads.

Grandmere's brow went even higher. "This young man was woefully unattended when I came down. We struck up a conversation. Where were you, exactly, anyway?" She continued before Mads could formulate a coherent answer. "Well, never mind. The point is, he's new in town, and looking for work in exchange for room and board."

This was too good to be true. Mads glared at the silent man's shaggy head and put her hand on her grandmother's arm. "Can I talk to you, alone?"

Grandmere gave an elegant shrug before rising and following Mads to the coffee bar. As soon as they were out of hearing distance, Mads dropped her voice to a whisper. "Grandmere, who is that man? Why would you trust him? He's probably a con or other criminal. Worse, he could be on the run. Or responsible for that crashed ship outside . . .'' Mads trailed off, tugging at her hair in frustration, an old habit.

Grandmere's face smoothed into a supercilious mask. She had few wrinkles for her age, and she was still an attractive woman. If she and Mads had the same color skin, people might have thought she was Mads' mother. The one thing they had in common was how stubborn they tended to get when they had an idea. "I have lived much longer than you, child. I think I am a fair judge of character. And besides, he wants to work in exchange for board and meals only while he gets back on his feet. The least we can do is give him a chance."

Why couldn't Grandmere hear how suspicious that sounded? No one offered help for free. No one offered work in exchange for food anymore. Not since the space dwellers had come and bailed out the starving remnants of humanity.

Still, misgivings aside, Mads really didn't have a better idea. And once Grandmere was set on something, it was almost impossible to stop her. Mads had given up on trying anymore. And at least it was a step up from getting Alan's help. Mads heaved a heavy sigh. "Where did he come from? When did he get here?" At least, if she pretended to be interested in hiring him, she might find out if he was the one responsible for crashing a ship into her wheat field.

Grandmere's calm slipped a little, and her eyes flicked to both sides before settling back on Mads. "I didn't ask. He was very tired. I think he must have come from very far away. Look at him, chérie, there isn't any meat on him. He looks half-starved."

Mads glanced over the bar, stealing another furtive glance at the man. Grandmere was right about his underfed appearance. The man's broad, bony shoulders looked like they might cut holes through his faded blue shirt, and his frame seemed too slight and narrow for his height. Something about him, the half-starved leanness, or the pathetic droop of his shoulders, made Mads relent. After all, it was a free chance card, and she could always expel him when he turned out to be a thief or a liar in search of a free meal.

"Don't worry, Gran," she said, patting her grandma on the shoulder. "I'll ask him."

"Good girl," murmured Grandmere, her pale eyes twinkling again.

Mads bolstered herself and approached the lone man. She took her grandma's seat, but the man didn't look up. "Uh, excuse me? Sir?" He seemed to be around Mads' age, but she wasn't sure what else to call him. Hey you! was just too rude.

He shifted at last, his breath gusting out and bubbling the top of his untouched coffee as he looked up to face Mads. "Yes?"

Mads tried not to recoil. The man looked worse up close, his delicate, almost feminine features stark beneath his nearly translucent skin. The gray shadows under his eyes and knife-edge cheekbones gave him a skullish look, and a dusky speckling of beard growth did little to help. His eyes seemed to swallow his face, their deep, startling green a ghastly contrast to his pallor.

He blinked twice, and licked his chapped lips. When he did reply, his voice sounded husky from disuse. "Yes," he repeated, since she continued to stare at him, waiting, sizing him up.

Mads tapped her fingers against the side of the table. "I'm Mads. Madeleine Capot, I own The Last Coffee Shop."

He stuck out his hand. It was as lean as his face, stained black about the knuckles, and covered in tiny cuts and burns: A mechanic's hands, a hard worker's hands. His grip was firm, despite his obvious fatigue. "Luc."

Mads waited for the last name, but it wasn't offered. Luc dropped her hand and took a sip of his coffee. "I thought she owned the place." He jerked his chin in Grandmere's direction.

Mads shifted, uncomfortable. "A common misperception. She's my grandmother."

"Ah." Luc's eyes flicked from Grandmere and back to Mads. Surprisingly, he didn't comment on how Mads was the polar opposite of her pale, willowy, elegant grandmother.

Mads waited for the questions, as his gaze took in her brown skin, sturdy frame, and cropped dreadlocks, sizing her up as she had him. But he didn't ask.

He cleared his throat. "So I'm throwing myself at your mercy, not hers." His voice was stronger now, but still husky. It was a deep, soothing voice, but Mads refused to relax. If this man was a con, he was definitely going to be smart.

"I understand you can fix leaks?" Mads watched his face, waiting for the telltale signs of dishonesty. But Luc's green eyes were clear and they didn't shift about. He just seemed tired.

He leaned back and placed both hands on the table. His square nails were ragged, torn almost to the quick. "I can do a lot of things. I just need a place to stay for a while, and I'm starving."

"Those are plumber's hands?" Mads indicated the numerous cuts, not bothering to mask the skepticism in her tone.

Luc frowned. His eyebrows were very dark, as were his long eyelashes. They made his eyes even more unsettling. "I was working with metal. And a furnace."

He didn't offer any more information, so Mads stood up. She was having trouble looking into those unbelievably green eyes. They looked too hungry for her comfort. "We'll see what you can do. But first, I'll have Krill send you out something more substantial than coffee." She paused for a moment, "on the house." It didn't come out as begrudging as she felt.

Luc nodded. "Thank you." He sounded grateful, but he looked like he was about to fall asleep in his coffee.

Mads gave him one last, long look before she headed back to the kitchen.

Krill was more than delighted to feed a stranger. As soon as the words were out of Mads' mouth, Krill was piling pastries, sausages, and eggs on a large plate. Mads watched the free food leave the kitchen with something like physical pain. If this Luc didn't turn out to be as good as his word, she might get violent.

Krill returned to the kitchen a minute later, her eyes wide and arms flailing. "Maddddds!" She always dragged Mads' name out like that when she was excited. "Did you see him? He's a netdrama dream . . . Those eyes! Do you think they're real, or enhanced? I mean, he's way too skinny right now, but, with a little meat on his bones, he could be . . ."

Mads put up a hand, interrupting before Krill could finish her sentence. "Don't even start. I don't want to hear it. Talk to Grandmere if you want a sympathetic ear; she seems equally taken with him." Mads turned away and rubbed her face. She hadn't had enough sleep to be dealing with this.

Krill's face fell, and her eyes lost their fuchsia sparkle. "You are no fun at all. You'd think I was the human, with all the interest you show in your own kind." Her skin deepened in shade, she was disappointed with Mads, a frequent occurrence when Krill tried to discuss men.

Mads sighed, feeling guilty for shutting Krill down, but no regrets at ending this line of conversation. "Look, he just magically appeared, starving and looking for work, on the same day an empty ship crashed in the field. Seems too absurd to be a coincidence. And we don't have enough money to make repairs for the safety department, but he says he'll work for room and board. Have you ever heard 'too good to be true,' because this is what it means. With all those cuts and things, maybe he had to pry himself out of that wrecked ship? I won't have you swooning over him, at least, not until I know he's not up to something sinister."

Krill scowled, but her angry flush had dissipated. She put two of her hands on her hips and waved the others for emphasis. "See. No fun. Why do you think every halfway-cute human is out to get us?"

"Because they are!" Mads lowered her voice. "My mother fell for a stranger. And look where that got her. Dead as everyone else." Mads couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. All these years, and it still hurt like hell every time she thought about her ill-fated parents. But none of that was Krill's fault, and Mads knew it was irrational to judge every man by a father she'd never even met. Mads exhaled, trying to breathe her frustration out. "I'm sorry. You're an adult. You can do what you want. But be careful."

Krill smiled, her expression softening. "I always am. And none of my human boyfriends have ever put a knife in my back. But it's sweet of you to worry." She put an arm around Mads shoulders. She squeezed gently. "Live a little. Or one day you'll wake up as old as Grans."

Mads found herself relaxing. Krill tended to have that effect on her. "Getting old is going to happen eventually, whether I like it or not."

"So don't rush it." Krill jerked away. "My cupcakes!"

Mads watched her other best friend scurrying about the kitchen. No matter what Krill said, Mads couldn't relax. There was just too much to worry about.

https://youtu.be/dx7vNdAb5e4