The overwhelming scent of cheap tobacco floods your nose the moment you step inside the storage room. The cramped area seems to be clouded with smoke, all of it emanating from the dark corner where your typical smoking partner awaits, slouched against the windowsill. That’s the problem about living in space: minimal ventilation. Such is why you two—the most avid smokers onboard—find more considerate places to indulge.

“Want one?” Spike chimes gruffly from the corner, smoke billowing from his mouth as he speaks. He looks like he’s already two sticks in. Rough day.

He doesn’t wait for your answer, he knows it’s the only reason you’re here. Instead, he simply tosses you his hefty pack of cigarettes, his gaze transfixed on the hovering specks of glowing white outside the capsule’s window.