Jameson C. Smith

The Archivist

By Jameson C. Smith

You nearly fall through the door of the ship’s command deck but manage to catch yourself against the back of the empty copilot’s chair.
“Hop in.” The pilot doesn’t look at you, dark eyes fixed on the controls.
“I-I’m an archivist.” Still, the chair is probably safer than standing when the ship’s this unsteady.