Chapter Text
Commander Sophia Crane had spent so many years in space that Earth sometimes felt like the strange place. The stars made sense. Machines made sense. Physics made sense. People were far more complicated. Especially when they looked at her the way Maeve Mullens did. Sophia stared through the observation window of the orbital station Astraeus, watching the blue curve of Earth drift silently below. From six hundred kilometres above the planet, wars disappeared. Borders disappeared. Politics disappeared. Everything looked peaceful. It was a lie, of course. But it was a beautiful one. “Commander?” Sophia turned. A young astronaut hovered awkwardly in the hatchway, one hand gripping a rail. Maeve Mullens. Twenty-eight years old. Engineering specialist. First mission. Nervous as hell. Sophia could tell instantly. Maeve’s hair floated around her face in untidy waves. Her eyes were bright with equal parts excitement and terror. Sophia remembered feeling exactly the same way before her own first launch. “Yes?”
Maeve cleared her throat. “I finished diagnostics on the environmental systems.”
“And?”
“Everything checks out.”
“Good.”
Maeve nodded. Then continued standing there.
Sophia raised an eyebrow. “Was there something else?”
Maeve immediately looked embarrassed. “No.” Pause. “Maybe.”
Sophia smiled despite herself. “Go on.”
Maeve exhaled. “I just wanted to say…” She hesitated. “You were the reason I joined the programme.”
Sophia blinked.
Maeve looked horrified.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, that sounded weird.”
“It didn’t.”
“It definitely did.”
Sophia laughed. Maeve stared. Then she smiled too. The expression transformed her face. And for reasons Sophia couldn’t immediately explain, she found herself momentarily distracted. Which was ridiculous. She was the mission commander. Maeve was a crew member. End of story. Simple. Professional. Nothing more. Except something about Maeve made simplicity impossible.
Three months earlier, Sophia had received the crew manifest. Five astronauts. Eighteen-month mission. Construction and maintenance of the first deep-space relay platform. The most ambitious orbital project in history. Sophia knew every name on the list except one. Maeve Mullens. New recruit. Exceptional engineering scores. Outstanding problem-solving ability. Minimal mission experience. Her file was impressive. Still, Sophia hadn’t expected much interaction. Mission commanders rarely had time for personal relationships. Work came first. Always. Then Maeve arrived. And somehow became impossible to ignore. Not intentionally. Never intentionally. Maeve simply possessed a gravitational pull that drew people toward her. She asked questions. She listened. She laughed easily. She remembered things. Within days she’d learned everyone’s coffee preferences, birthdays and favourite movies. Even the veteran astronauts found themselves liking her. Sophia tried not to. Not because Maeve wasn’t wonderful. Because she was. That was exactly the problem.
Six months into the mission, things began to go wrong. Not dramatically at first.Small issues. Minor anomalies. Equipment failures. Communication delays. The sort of problems every mission encountered. Nothing unusual. Nothing dangerous. Until the meteor storm. Sophia was asleep when alarms exploded through the station. Red lights flashed. Warning sirens echoed through narrow corridors. Her eyes snapped open. Training took over instantly. “Report!” Crew members scrambled toward emergency stations. Maeve appeared from the adjoining module. Already suited. Already moving.
“Multiple impacts!”
Sophia pushed toward command. “Damage assessment?”
“Still coming in!” The station shuddered violently. Something struck the hull. The entire structure groaned. Sophia felt fear. Real fear. Not for herself. For her crew. For the people she was responsible for. For Maeve. The thought appeared without invitation. And stayed.
Hours later, the crisis worsened. A critical communications array had been destroyed. Life support remained stable. Power remained stable. But without the relay systems, they were effectively isolated. Cut off. Alone. Millions of kilometres from immediate assistance. Mission Control could communicate only intermittently. Repairs were essential. Immediate. Dangerous. Sophia studied the damage projections. The silence inside the command module felt oppressive. Finally someone spoke. “We need an EVA.” Nobody disagreed. The spacewalk would involve navigating damaged exterior sections while debris still threatened the station. Risky didn’t begin to describe it. Sophia already knew who would volunteer. Sure enough— “I’ll go.” Maeve. Of course.
Sophia immediately shook her head. “No.”
Maeve frowned. “I’m the best engineer onboard.”
“Still no.”
“Commander—”
“No.”
The room fell silent. Maeve stared at her. Sophia stared back. A challenge. An argument. Something neither understood. Finally another astronaut cleared his throat. “Sophia.” She looked away. Professionalism reasserting itself. Damn it. He was right. Maeve was the logical choice. The best choice. Which made it worse.
The EVA preparations felt endless. Sophia checked every system twice. Then three times. Then four. Maeve eventually caught her hand. “You’ve already inspected that seal.” Sophia looked up. Maeve smiled gently.
“It’s okay.” No. It wasn’t. Because Sophia suddenly realised something terrifying. If Maeve died out there— The thought alone made her chest hurt. The revelation struck with the force of a collision. Not admiration. Not friendship. Not concern for a crew member. Love. Somehow. Somewhere. During endless conversations and shared meals and stolen moments watching Earth through observation windows— She had fallen in love. Completely. Utterly. Uncontrollably. And Maeve was about to step into vacuum. To risk everything. Sophia’s hands trembled. Just slightly. Maeve noticed. Her expression softened. “Sophia?” The use of her first name sent a shock through her. Professional boundaries evaporated. For one impossible moment they were simply two women standing together before danger. Nothing else. “I need you to come back.” Maeve’s eyes widened. Sophia immediately regretted saying it. Too personal. Too revealing. Too honest. But Maeve didn’t look uncomfortable. She looked affected. Deeply affected. “I’ll come back.” Their gazes locked. Neither moved. Neither looked away. And suddenly there seemed to be an entire conversation happening beneath the words. A conversation neither dared speak aloud.Yet.
Maeve stepped through the airlock twenty minutes later. Sophia watched through cameras and telemetry feeds. Every heartbeat felt loud. Every second felt longer than the last. Outside, the stars stretched endlessly. Beautiful. Cold. Indifferent. Maeve moved carefully along the damaged structure. Professional. Focused. Brilliant. Sophia’s chest tightened with every metre. “Approaching relay housing.” Her voice crackled through communications.
Sophia swallowed. “Copy.”
Maeve reached the impact site. Began repairs. For thirty minutes everything proceeded smoothly. Then disaster struck. A warning alarm sounded. Sophia’s blood turned to ice. “What happened?”
Maeve’s breathing quickened. “I’ve lost tether tension.” The command deck erupted.
Sophia was already moving. “Explain.”
“I think debris severed the secondary line.”
Fear flooded the room. Spacewalkers lived by their tethers. Without them— No. Sophia refused to think it.
“Maeve.”
“I’m here.”
“Talk to me.”
Maeve took a breath. The calmness in her voice somehow made everything worse. “I’m drifting.”
Silence.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then Sophia made a decision. The kind commanders weren’t supposed to make. The kind people made.
“I’m coming out.”
“Sophia—”
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Not a request. An order. The first direct challenge Maeve had ever given her.
“You are not risking the commander for me.”
Sophia laughed bitterly.
“Too late.”
Because the truth was already undeniable. Too late to protect herself. Too late to pretend. Too late to stop loving Maeve Mullens. And somewhere in the darkness beyond the station, Maeve was beginning to realise she felt exactly the same.