io9 is delighted to showcase an extraordinary work of science fiction, brought to readers courtesy of *Lightspeed Magazine*. Each month, as part of this ongoing collaboration, we highlight one carefully selected story from the magazine’s current issue, offering audiences a glimpse into bold narratives at the intersection of imagination and storytelling craft. For this month, the featured tale is Kel Coleman’s haunting and poignant piece, *Last Meal Aboard the Awassa*. Prepare to experience a narrative that is as emotionally resonant as it is conceptually daring.
**Last Meal Aboard the Awassa**
*by Kel Coleman*
Gardener immersed her spoon into a thick, dark-violet porridge, slowly filling her primary digestion sac while staring out the vessel’s wide viewport at the infinite abyss of space. Beyond that black expanse shimmered the faint, ghostlike blur of the planet their mission had been dedicated to studying. The repetitive act of feeding herself—simple, rhythmic, and unadorned—provided a strange comfort, particularly after enduring an arduous and painstaking morning spent tending to a section of the growth bay. That section had erupted in riotous bloom, demanding her steady hands for delicate pollination, a process requiring focus and patience. While her fellow shipmates busied themselves with the standard fare hastily chosen for their break, Cook had gone out of her way to steam and spice osard grains, preparing this customized dish before retiring to rest. It was an intimate kindness, one that meant more than Gardener dared to say aloud.
When Gardener and Cook had joined the crew four solars earlier, she worried that such unmistakable favoritism from the kitchen might generate embers of resentment. Life aboard a vessel as small as the *Awassa* thrived on balance and camaraderie, and she knew well that alienation could make the long months between ports unbearably lonely. Ships like this were more than work assignments: they were floating families. Crew members shared personal histories, celebrated birthdays in cramped but joyful spaces, and conducted vid-night sleepovers beneath the stars visible through the observatory glass. But Cook, unlike Gardener, was far from a novice in these long voyages. With characteristic foresight, she had researched the cultural and culinary backgrounds of her colleagues, recreating familiar tastes—family staples, festive snacks, or street foods remembered fondly from distant worlds. The result was immediate: she endeared herself to the crew, and Gardener, through proximity, discovered a surprising warmth as she gradually allowed herself to embrace their collective affection.
Satiated and scraping the last remnants of porridge from her bowl, Gardener lingered at the communal table. Her moment of calm was abruptly shattered when the mess hall’s speakers erupted with three piercing, urgent tones. Around her, crewmates abandoned their meals and conversations, instinctively shifting into states of readiness appropriate to their physiologies. Gardener herself straightened her limbs and turned toward the nearest screen, which had already switched from routine Union broadcasts to a live bridge transmission.
There, the captain appeared, wings folded tightly against their thorax, their five complex eyes reddened and blinking rapidly. In four solars of service aboard the *Awassa*, Gardener had never once witnessed this commanding presence display unguarded fear. The captain’s voice, overlaid through crew members’ translation devices, confirmed Gardener’s unease. Her own earpieces not only interpreted meanings across languages but also highlighted tonal subtleties—amplified inflections that betrayed fear laced with a hint of bitter indignation.
With solemn precision, the captain explained what had occurred: contact with the away team dispatched to Gulsan-6 had ceased two hours earlier, not long after their probe had entered the gaseous depths of what they had believed to be a planet. Upon exhaustive review of data, scans, and footage, it became evident that Gulsan-6 was no planet at all, but instead an immense, protean organism—an alien lifeform of incomprehensible origin. Not only was it capable of existing unshielded in the vacuum of space, but it had also awakened from a dormant state with startling ferocity, resuming its advance in an ever-transforming form too vast to quantify. It annihilated matter by stripping it down to its most basic particles. Engineer Ulli and Physicist Andel, along with the shuttle carrying them, had already been consumed. Worse still, the creature had now oriented itself toward the *Awassa* with clear intent to devour the entire vessel. A countdown to impact appeared instantly along the bottom corner of the screen, a cold measure of their dwindling lifespan.
Gardener felt her two hearts beating out of sync, her emotions fracturing into confusion. The expressions of those surrounding her mirrored what her ears could not quite parse—an acceptance laced with futility, the pragmatic hopelessness of beings who knew their fate was sealed. The captain ordered senior officers to the bridge, and for the rest there remained but one directive: contact your loved ones while you still can. For Gardener, the single thought that crystallized was to seek out Cook.
She found Cook among hydroponic rows, her dark skin textured with raw, irritated hives painted orange across its surface, her whiskers wilting with stress. She plucked herbs methodically, guiding fragrant leaves into a handwoven basket. Gardener called her name softly, but Cook’s response was brisk. The gesture of harvesting, however, rendered words unnecessary. This was how she coped—with her work, her passion, her calling. And Gardener knew better than to interfere.
Cook continued gathering produce with composure that bordered on serenity, choosing to dedicate her remaining hours to the task she loved: preparing food for others. Gardener, lost for a moment in waves of memory, called to mind the private endearment she associated with her childhood and her caretaker—a word approximating *beloved*, though untranslatable outside her native tongue. That word had followed her across galaxies, from her lush birthworld to the freezing outposts where she once cultivated seedlings in hardscrabble greenhouses, to that serendipitous meeting with the vibrant, slick-skinned chef who would later become her partner. Together, they had carried that bond aboard the *Awassa*, into countless moments of laughter, gossip, family-like togetherness, and even her very first spacewalk. The sudden recollection of Engineer Ulli, who had accompanied her that day and whose life had now been extinguished in the alien’s hunger, jolted her back to painful present.
Steeling herself, Gardener joined Cook among the rows, relieving her partner of the shears and taking over the task herself. “This is my role,” she told Cook simply. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”
When their harvesting was complete, Cook reluctantly handed food preparation to enthusiastic crewmates inexperienced but eager, so that she might call her family one last time. Gardener, in their quarters, lay restless under heavy blankets, trying to muffle the sound of Cook’s distant, heart-wrenching farewells. To distract herself, she raised the bridge transmissions to an almost painful volume. Scientists analyzed the alien more closely—they had learned much from observing its devouring of a second probe launched to gather samples, yet none of this knowledge offered hope of salvation. All they could do was deploy additional probes as decoys, stealing mere hours from an inevitable end.
When Cook returned from her calls, she surprised Gardener with quiet satisfaction, remarking, “More time to cook.” Soon afterward, she gathered bottles of clear, potent liquor she had been saving “for a special occasion,” and with one affectionate nuzzle against Gardener’s cheek, she left to orchestrate what would become the crew’s final feast.
Meanwhile, Gardener herself—rarely one to record personal logs—composed a goodbye transmission. She adjusted the fur surrounding her eyes and introduced herself: “This is Gardener Ketri, aboard the *Awassa*.” Speaking not to family but to an unknown future observer, she acknowledged the grim truth—that an alien consciousness was approaching with destructive intent. Yet instead of indulging fear, she chose to share something more enduring. With sincerity, she described the unparalleled wonder of her vocation as a gardener on a science vessel: the miracle of nurturing life aboard a ship, coaxing greenery into existence with the right blends of light, water, and soil. She spoke of how Cook frequently challenged her with germination puzzles tied to crew members’ nostalgic cravings and of the rare joy when she achieved perfection on the first attempt. She wanted whoever watched in the future, especially the young, to understand the pure happiness embedded in this work.
In the observatory, rhythmic music vibrated as crew members already gathered to watch the alien’s approach. Scientists to the core, they could not resist the grandeur of what was unfolding, even if it spelled their own destruction. To be consumed by such a phenomenon would be, they mused, a historic death. Others would write research papers on their fate; they themselves would not. Gardener ended her message with genuine encouragement: if you ever considered joining the fleet—pursue it. Do not let the unlucky fate of the *Awassa* deter you.
An unspoken consensus soon emerged: tonight would be lived not in mourning but with communal warmth. Following their customary vid-night etiquette of sartorial comfort, they repurposed empty crates to form a long makeshift dining table. The arrangement echoed traditions called “family-style” dining—where platters of food overflow and everyone eats until appetite is defeated. The feast Cook unveiled was breathtaking in scope and artistry. Sparkling blossoms stuffed with savory fungi; deeply smoked leaves serving as both plates and flavoring; fruits ranging from mouth-puckeringly bitter to sweet and overflowing with juice; roasted amphibians nestled in corn patties alongside fragrant rice; raw tentacles shaved into hair-thin slices paired with incendiary red seasoning; osard presented across a spectrum from raw grain to jet-black rolls; tightly wrapped herbal smokes; crystalline bottles of potent drink. Every dish carried a memory, a cultural gift, or a gesture of respect for a crewmember.
The night became a tapestry of indulgence and intimacy: dancing in corridors, whispered prayers, confessions of secrets, and raucous rounds of a favorite shipboard chant. Partway through the revelry, they collectively observed the last probe vanish, absorbed into the alien’s vaporous immensity. In silence, Gardener leaned against Cook, their hands intertwined, each unwilling to let go. Someone, drunk and defiant, attempted a cheer. Nervous laughter rippled briefly, then fell still. Gardener, surprising herself, began another round of the crew’s chant with trembling voice, and soon every voice echoed her, turning once again away from fear and back toward life—toward the moment.
—
**About the Author**
Kel Coleman is an Ignyte Award–nominated speculative fiction author whose works have been published in and are forthcoming from *FIYAH*, *Beneath Ceaseless Skies*, *Solarpunk Magazine*, *The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2022* and *2024*, among other distinguished venues. Deeply rooted in their Maryland upbringing, Coleman currently lives in Pennsylvania with their family, a beloved stuffed dragon named Pen, and an eclectic collection of eccentric objects. More about their writing and projects may be found at kelcoleman.com.
© Adamant Press
For more evocative and inventive science fiction and fantasy, visit *Lightspeed Magazine*. This story first appeared in the September 2025 issue, which also features talented voices such as Jake Stein, Cadwell Turnbull, Filip Hajdar Drnovšek Zorko, Bogi Takács, C.Z. Tacks, Isabel J. Kim, Stephen S. Power, and more. Readers may enjoy serialized online selections or purchase the complete ebook issue for $4.99, with subscriptions available for those who wish to receive future installments seamlessly.
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Sourse: https://gizmodo.com/a-spaceship-crew-faces-doom-in-this-surprisingly-tender-sci-fi-story-2000653167
