Victoria’s office felt unnaturally quiet. Open panels, cables, diagnostic modules—everything lay exactly where she’d left it before her shift. The space was typical of Lagrange-Echo—functional, austere, devoid of comfort—but over the years, Victoria had made it her own. On a shelf by the wall sat a half-empty bottle of wine, cracked open with Darina last week when they’d stolen an evening together. A reminder of a home they hadn’t quite built. Next to it, a pack of dried mango—Darina’s army habit, which Victoria couldn’t stand but hadn’t tossed after her latest visit. Funny how these little things conjured her presence. Darina dropped by often—her clearance allowed it, unlike the high-security labs where Victoria spent most of her time. This office was a personal nook, a buffer between the tech zones and admin halls, and Victoria never hid how much she loved it when Darina popped in. They didn’t just bicker over music or snag coffee here—sometimes they’d sit in silence, soaking in this odd in-between world where their jobs didn’t split them across security lines.

  Now the room felt empty, too tidy, as if life had exhaled with Darina’s departure. Only those random traces—mango, a coffee-stained mug tossed carelessly, a tactical tablet charger on the shelf—whispered she’d been here. And, if luck held, it would be again. Amid tools and tablets on the desk lay a holographic bracelet, one Darina always left behind before missions. Superstition. She’d say leaving something personal guaranteed she’d come back for it. Victoria used to laugh, but now she clung to that scrap of metal like a talisman. Its tiny display blinked today’s date, and below, a faded, nearly erased message:

  “If I don’t make it, chuck this out the nearest airlock. Only way.”

  Of course, Victoria wouldn’t. Never.

  She squeezed the bracelet in her fist, held her breath, then set it back gently. In her jumpsuit pocket rested a tiny metal button—a silly relic. It had popped off Darina’s jacket at their first meeting, when Victoria, on autopilot, offered to fix her gear post-training. Darina had brushed it off with a quip—real soldiers don’t sweat the small stuff. Victoria picked it up anyway and kept it. Now it was always with her—cold to the touch but warm with memory.

  She sighed and forced herself back to work. She pulled up her current project—calibrating the reactor core’s thermal circuits. Neat lines of code, temperature graphs, projected stress loads. Routine stuff that always grounded her. Except today, it didn’t. Her hand froze over the panel, wrench gripped tight, knuckles whitening. As if that grip could hold the part of her already chasing Darina. She took a deep breath, diving back into the familiar rhythm: check fittings, sync sensors, run the checklist. Movements honed to muscle memory, a lifeline to yank her from her head. Almost. While her hands moved, her mind drifted to that morning’s goodbye. Darina walked away without looking back, knowing a glance would root her in place. Her usually steady fingers tighten that last second, memorizing every touch. And Victoria, instead of “stay,” choking out, “Come back.” She shook her head, banishing the image. Work. Only work could keep her afloat now. She zeroed in on the schematic, shutting off emotion like a faulty module—decisive, no hesitation.

  Victoria didn’t hear the door slide open. She only realized she wasn’t alone when a cup of coffee—hot, with milk, just how she liked it—landed on her desk.

  “Don’t you dare bury yourself in work till you’re half-dead,” Jai Kajura, her colleague, said with his signature crooked grin. “We all get it—you’re feeling like shit. But if you crash, who’s gonna keep this system afloat?”

  Victoria exhaled, wrapping her hands around the mug, a faint smile breaking through. The warmth seeped through the ceramic, tugging her back into her body.

  “Thanks, Jai. I’ll manage.”

  “Bullshit,” he shot back, blunt as ever. “But I’m not prying. Just hang in there, alright? And don’t forget you’re not alone here.”

  He clapped her shoulder and left, leaving behind the scent of coffee and a fleeting shadow of human care. Victoria sat alone again, took a sip, letting the familiar taste flood her senses. She turned back to the panel and dove into work—not just for herself now. Darina, Jai, the whole team—they were her world, and right now, she had to hold it steady. Work saved her, but only for so long.

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  Beyond her office, the station hummed with its usual life. Lagrange-Echo spun on, systems updating, sensors pinging their signals. Victoria slipped back into being Holland—the engineer doing her job. It kept her tethered. But her fingers still drifted to the button in her pocket now and then.

  She closed the terminal, stowed her tools, and lingered by the window overlooking the main module’s vast hall. The station buzzed with its evening rhythm: shift changes, techs trudging back from training, some hauling parts containers, others clutching hot meals in plastic trays. Same as ever. Typical evenings on Lagrange-Echo—where for a couple hours, you could forget you were drifting on the Solar System’s edge, in a metal shell where air depended on algorithms and heat on advanced math.

  Victoria stepped into the corridor. The soft hum of systems tracked her steps, steady light from panels casting long shadows. The station never fully slept—someone was always on duty. Techs sipped instant coffee by a diagnostics board, dispatchers murmured over internal comms, and walls scrolled with alerts—shuttle statuses, radiation levels, upcoming maneuvers.

  Muted voices drifted from a corner—laughter over fresh gossip, debates about IRIS’s latest regs. Nearby, the gym door slid open, spilling out two sweaty cyber-mechs digging for energy bars in their pockets. Station life—raw, unglamorous, a chain of small rituals stitching together its pulse.

  Passing a transparent corridor segment, Victoria paused. Beyond the glass, in the cosmic dark, the station rotated slowly to mimic gravity. Hundreds of lights, panels, antennas, external units—it was her home. Fragile, noisy, but home.

  Her footsteps echoed softly on the metal panels. She didn’t rush—there was nowhere to go, no one to see. Darina was gone, the lab would drain her dry come morning, and now she just wandered the familiar halls, sinking into the station’s evening bustle.

  Lagrange-Echo. Eight years of her life etched into this place. The Institute for Research of Intersystem Systems—IRIS—had long stopped feeling purely scientific. Behind that name simmered the Solar System’s political stew. UPN, corporate giants, the science council—all grinding their agendas here, cloaked in grand talk of progress. Victoria knew it well: beneath the research mission lurked a war—cold, covert—for influence, contracts, wormhole access.

  Erebus. Damn Erebus, the spark that ignited it all. IRIS was born for it—for the anomaly, the chance to leap beyond the system and claim a slice of new space first. Lagrange-Echo grew around that goal like coral over a sunken ship. A few labs and hangars at first, then housing blocks, commercial zones—until it ballooned into a metropolis on the Solar System’s fringe.

  Through the glazed corridor, Victoria glimpsed life churning in the void. Massive haulers towed modules for the outer ring’s expansion. Auto-drones buzzed around hull panels. In the distance, domes of asteroid settlements flickered—tiny biofarm lights, trade platforms, and habitats speckling the Kuiper Belt.

  This chaotic anthill was hers. Its grit and gleam, its endless talks, scandals, and emergencies. Some dreamed of escaping—to Mars, to Earth. Victoria felt woven into these walls, cables, antennas. She knew how many had died in open space with faulty suits. How many contracts were signed under duress when corps strong-armed scientists. And how many breakthroughs came here not because of, but despite it all.

  Still, for all its mess, this place was unmatched. No station in the system rivaled Lagrange-Echo’s tech. The best—materials, software—flowed here first. IRIS didn’t just run science; they wrote its rules.

  She stopped at a small cafeteria, grabbed water from the dispenser. It all felt mundane, but a thought gnawed at her—she could’ve been part of that history. Could’ve, but didn’t want to anymore. Once, she’d have leapt at the first wormhole expedition, ready to board a capsule today. Now, she cared more about waiting for Darina’s return.

  Victoria sighed, scanning the dynamic wall feed. Updates rolled by—someone seeking a virtual tennis partner, another selling a rare amp model, yet another hunting a lost comms unit. Station life, tinged with faint weariness.

  She turned toward the residential sector, quieter now. No lab clamor here—just the soft whir of ventilation and muffled voices behind walls. Her door’s scanner blinked as always, recognizing her and sliding open.

  Her apartment greeted her with silence. Everything as usual—a jacket slung over a chair, clutter on the table, old photos from station parties with goofy poses. And amid it all, traces of Darina.

  She shed her clothes, left in a tank top and underwear, and drifted to the window. The station kept spinning in the cold void. Somewhere out there, beyond her sight, Darina prepped for her mission. And Victoria stood here—not a scientist, not a pioneer, just a woman waiting, breath catching at every incoming ping.

  A diode on her terminal blinked. New message. Sender tag: IRIS.

  Her heart skipped again.