Three empty cups sat on the table in the galley. Next to them, a pot of coffee brewed. The rich aroma of the dark drink filled the lower deck of the ship so strongly that it could already be tasted without taking so much as a sip of java. Penny always found something calming about the smell of coffee. It made her think of lazy Sunday mornings back on Earth when she was just a little girl. The fragrance would waft through the house, penetrating the walls of her bedroom and waking her. She would come downstairs where her father would be sitting at the kitchen table and enjoying a mug of the caffeinated drink. She'd ask for a sip, and he would always give it to her despite the fact every time she barely managed to choke it down. (She never did care for the taste.) Her mother would then give Penny a glass of cold milk which she would gulp down to soothe her burnt tongue.
Penny inhaled deeply, letting the strong smell fill her lungs before she let out a sigh. Between her thumb and forefinger, she lazily swung a tea infuser on its chain as if she were a hypnotist swinging a pendulum. She always felt as though tea lacked the homeliness of coffee. A simple pot of coffee was unpretentious, modest. Tea was something drank at special parties where women wore frilly dresses and flowery hats; they ate little cakes, lifted their pinkies, and made small talk about the weather. Coffee, however, was forever associated with sitting on her father's lap in their Santa Fe home. Regardless of how she felt about tea, she was still responsible for making it, and make it she would, but her father's coffee was her biggest priority in the morning. Although it was such a simple task, Penny did not take it lightly. She believed coffee to be the backbone of the entire expedition, and her mother confirmed this philosophy the day she fell ill.
"Penny, can you do me a favor?" Maureen had asked. She laid on the bed in the cabin her and her husband shared. Her face was pale and her voice weak.
"What is it, Mother?" Penny asked.
"Until I feel better, when you get up in the morning, will you please make some coffee for the men?"
"Of course." Penny immediately left to begin making the first cup of many more to come.
"Good morning," Judy said when she eventually got up. "What are you doing?"
"Making coffee." Penny couldn't help but hide the pride in her voice. It pleased her that their mother asked her to make the coffee as opposed to asking her older sister. Penny also felt that she would do the best job because she alone understood the importance of it. Judy didn't understand the significance and Will making coffee was out of the question. He had always said it was a "woman's job" and Penny agreed. Boys like Will did not possess the precision of Penny and Maureen that was required to make a truly good cup of coffee.
"Do you want any help?" Judy asked
"No, I think I can manage," Penny replied. Judy simply nodded and began making breakfast.
The tea infuser slipped between Penny's fingers and landed on the table with a chink, snapping her out of her thoughts and bringing her back to reality. She looked around, half expecting to see Judy, but soon realized she was alone in the galley. She was always alone in the galley these days, though she never felt alone. The scent of coffee was a comforting one, especially when she was making it for her father, and it made her feel like she was a part of something. Penny glanced over at the coffee maker and notice the coffee was finished. She took one of the empty cups and began filling it with the dark drink. The first cup was for her father; she always started with his.
John Robinson took his coffee black. It was the simplest way, very straightforward and easy to understand. Penny felt this reflected the man. Her father was very strong minded, and so he drank coffee in its strongest form. He was very frank and wouldn't sugarcoat the truth. To match this attitude, all sugars or sweeteners were withheld from his drink of choice. He was also a very honest man, and for this no milk or cream was added either. No, it was pure, honest, unadulterated, black coffee. Penny couldn't see the man taking it any other way.
She finished filling the mug, and set it off to the side before grabbing the next empty one and filling that too. This one was for Don. Unlike Penny's father, Don preferred a little milk in his coffee. This she also found fitting. The major was less open than John, and took his coffee so. Milk diluted the drink so it no longer was as sincere and straightforward. It also masked the bitterness, and Penny felt Don was more embittered than he let on. She was sure he was always angry at Smith, and sometimes she suspected he resented her father, but unless something specific happened to anger the man, Don managed to maintain a more composed and easygoing demeanor. Penny filled the cup, but left some space at the top for the milk. As milk ran into the mug, she watched as the pure white liquid disappeared into the black drink. It reminded her of light being swallowed up by a black hole, and she watched as it formed little nebulas swirling and dancing in the mug before they settled, diluting the black drink to a light brown.
Though the coffees were done, Penny continued to sit at the galley table to wait for the tea's water to boil. The first time she made the morning coffee, Dr. Smith threw a fit saying that she made it too strong, and real gentlemen drink tea (a sentiment she neither agreed with nor understood.) The best explanation she could come up with was perhaps he was an anglophile. Either way, he wasn't satisfied with the coffee she made him, and she was disappointed her first day as chief barista didn't go over as a complete success.
"Mother, Dr. Smith doesn't want any coffee. He says he'd rather have tea," Penny informed her mom upon returning to her cabin..
"He usually doesn't drink anything," Maureen noted. "But sometimes it's easier to appease him than argue. Make sure you get Dad and Don their coffee first, then, if you wouldn't mind, him some tea."
"Yes, Mother." Penny then returned to the galley to make her first cup of tea. She instantly took a disliking to it. While the coffee, modest as always, was served in simple, plain, white mugs, the tea was supposed to be served in little cups painted with ornate designs trimmed with gold and served on matching saucers. It seemed as though the tea was trying to be something it wasn't with its overly ostentatious presentation when in actuality, it was a drink no more special than any other.
Despite her attitude towards tea, it seemed perfect for Dr. Smith. He was unlike anyone else aboard the Jupiter 2, so it seemed fitting he didn't want coffee like the other men. He lacked the modest sincerity the rest of them shared, and instead carried himself with an air of grandiose, like he was above the others. Yes, it was fitting. They were all coffee, but the good doctor was tea. The only difference was Dr. Smith was not as distasteful as tea—depending on who you asked, of course. (Major West was bound to disagree.) Penny liked Dr. Smith. He long since abandoned his more malicious side and was now a good friend of both her and Will, so regardless of how she felt about tea, she made it for him every single morning.
The galley soon filled with the loud whistle announcing the water was boiling. Penny again was forced to abandon her thoughts so she could finish making the morning drinks. She removed the tea pot from the burner and the whistle gradually silenced. She poured the hot water into the final empty cup. When she finished, the set the kettle back on the table and dropped the infuser into the teacup.
Finally, she could deliver the coffee. She took the two coffee mugs, one in each hand, and carefully walked to the lift. She eyed the top of the coffee as she walked, making sure it didn't spill out over the rim. The lift rose, bringing her to the upper deck, then opened to let her step off. Will sat on the flight deck alone. His feet were up on the console, and he stared out the window into the never ending sea of stars. He didn't move when he heard her come up.
"Good morning, Will," She said. He ignored her. She walked forward, and set the two mugs on top of the console. "I brought coffee for Dad and Don." She watched her brother for a moment as she waited for a response, but he made no sign that he even heard her. She continued, "I made it just for them, so you better not drink it again."
Will closed his eyes for a moment, and sat there motionless before sighing and looking up at her. "Penny, I've asked you a million times to stop making coffee."
Penny frowned. "Mother told me to make it until she gets better."
"Yeah, but, Penny..." He stopped. There was no point. She really hadn't the slightest idea why he didn't want her to bring up coffee every morning. Not only that, but she looked hurt that he didn't appreciate her efforts. "Nevermind," He eventually said.
She smiled. "I have to go give Dr. Smith his tea," She said. He ignored the statement. There was no point in arguing with her. She turned, and walked back to the lift. "I love you!" She said, before it disappeared.
"I love you too," He said, although she was out of earshot. Once she was gone, he picked up the coffee intended for their father and sipped it.
Every morning she brought up two cups of coffee, and she always left a cup of tea on the floor outside Smith's cabin. He used to get mad at her because he would trip over it and get tea on his pant legs, but she would get mad at him for kicking over Dr. Smith's tea. He kept telling her over and over again that she only needed to make one cup of coffee for him and that was it. She would insist that she needed to make one for Dad, one for Don, and tea for Smith because Mother asked her to since she was sick.
Will remembered when his mother fell ill. Though it was fourteen years ago, he remembered it in perfect detail. She grew sicker everyday for about two weeks until she finally passed sometime in the night when the rest of them were asleep. After that it had been one thing after another: an explosion, a malfunction with the airlock, a deranged alien, Don just disappeared without a trace on some planet, and one day the Robot turned off and wouldn't turn back on. Will managed to move past all of it, but at some point, Penny lost her mind.
In a way, he envied her. She happily lived in her own world of delusion. She seemed to have no idea that they had been alone for the past two years. He had tried time and time again to explain to her she did not have to keep making coffee and tea because nobody was there to drink it. She told him he was crazy, and the next day the conversation would repeat.
This morning was just like every morning. After going back to the lower deck and leaving Smith his tea, he would knock on the door to his cabin, pour herself a glass of milk, then go and sit in her own cabin for several hours. Will would sit in his father's chair drinking his father's coffee as he watched them move through space. When he finished, he would take both mugs downstairs, and dump Don's into the sink along with the tea. For Will, this was getting it out of the way so it didn't get spilled; for Penny, this was proof the rest of the crew came out of their cabins at one point and drank it.
Though in a small way he envied Penny, he mostly pitied her. It hurt him so to see her the way she was. She was so smart and talented, yet all of that wasted away because of her delusion. She seemed to be repeating the same day over and over again, though it didn't really matter. They had been out of fuel for seven months and were now drifting. Nothing differentiated one day from another. The past seven months had melted together in his mind so that if the computer didn't keep track he might have guessed it'd been one month or several years.
From the lower deck, he could barely hear a small knock followed by Penny sliding the door to her cabin open then shut. Everything was silent. He took another drink of the coffee in his hands, then stared into the mug. Maybe one day their ship would be intercepted, or they'd be drawn into the gravity of another planet. Something—anything—needed to happen to break the monotony of their lives. Perhaps that would fix Penny and she could finally accept what had happened to their family. Until then, she would continue to waste away until she was no more than a shell of her former self, and he would continue to spend day after day sitting on the flight deck alone; the only thing to look forward to was the cup of coffee his sister brought him every morning.