The knock on my door came at 0300, which alone should have been concerning. I blinked awake, disoriented, to find Kerry’s face illuminated by the corridor lights when the door slid open.
“Get dressed,” she whispered, grinning. “And be quiet about it.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, already reaching for my boots.
Kerry glanced over her shoulder conspiratorially. “Rob and Sylvk are waiting. We’re going to get you sorted in real Zero-G once and for all.”
I stared at her. “Now? In the middle of the night?”
“Best time,” she said, as if it were obvious. “No instructors, no pressure, no audience. Just us.”
Ten minutes later, I found myself being hustled down dimly lit corridors, Kerry leading the way while Rob and Sylvk flanked me like bodyguards. Rob’s eyes gleamed with the particular excitement he always got when up to no good.
“You really fixed the suit?” he asked me quietly.
I shot Rob a look of mock offense. “Not something we can really fix. But it did get a few upgrades, and at least at this time no one else is up to turn it into a death trap.”
“Upgrades?” he echoed, “That I would like to see, but not today.”
Sylvk’s deep voice rumbled from behind us. “Nothing explosive this time. I made sure of it.”
“That was ONE time,” Rob protested.
“You’ve been here together before?”
“Early in the year, yes, with Ackers.” Rob replied.
Kerry snorted, pressing her palm against a scanner at an unmarked doorway. “And it’s why we can’t use Training Room C anymore.”
The door slid open to reveal a cavernous chamber I’d never seen before. Unlike the sterile, brightly lit training rooms we usually used, this space was bathed in the soft blue glow of emergency lighting. The ceiling soared overhead, disappearing into shadow, and various obstacles—platforms, poles, and what looked like debris from old shuttles—floated in suspended animation.
“Welcome to the Pit,” Kerry announced proudly. “Old zero-G training room they used before building the fancy ones. Officially decommissioned, but technically still functional.”
“And technically off-limits,” Rob added cheerfully, already unzipping his duffel bag.
I took in the massive space, feeling anxiety creep up my spine. “I don’t know about this, guys.”
Sylvk’s heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “This is different than the other chambers,” he said simply. “No instructors yelling. No tests to pass. Just learning at your own pace.”
Kerry nodded. “The mission test proved you can handle it under pressure. But we need you comfortable in zero-G, not just surviving it.”
Rob tossed me a suit—my suit, though it barely resembled the one that had malfunctioned. The patches were gone, replaced by seamless repairs, and several new readouts glowed softly on the wrist panel.
“I’ve linked it to all our systems,” he explained, seeing my questioning look. “We can monitor your vitals and adjust the suit’s pressure on the fly if something is wrong and you can’t deal with it.”
<
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The revelation that my team had snuck out just to help me out—it hit me unexpectedly hard. “You guys didn’t have to do this,” I said, rougher than I intended.
“Yeah, we did,” Kerry replied, already halfway into her own suit. “Team sticks together. If one of us has a problem, we all have a problem.”
Sylvk nodded once, decisively. “Put the suit on, Piotr.”
Twenty minutes later, we were all suited up and standing on a small platform near the room’s center. Kerry tapped a sequence on her wrist console, and the artificial gravity began to fade, the sensation like slowly sinking into water.
My pulse immediately spiked, but before panic could set in, Rob’s calm words came through my helmet comm. “Easy, Piotr. We’re right here. No rush, no pressure. Just feel it out. Like you did in the other simulations.”
That was it, though; they were simulations; here, it was real and this was so very different.
I forced myself to focus on my breathing as we gently lifted off the platform. The familiar vice around my chest threatened to tighten.
“Your heart rate is elevated but stabilizing.” Came Rob’s warning. “Adjusting suit pressure to compensate. Try to focus on a fixed point ahead of you.”
I chose a floating panel about ten meters away and locked my eyes on it. “Okay,” I said, steadier than I felt. “What’s the plan?”
“First,” Kerry said, gracefully rotating to face me, “we get you comfortable just being here. Then we play.”
“Play?” I repeated skeptically.
“Tag,” Rob clarified with a grin I could hear even through the comm. He pushed off lightly from the platform, gliding past me with practiced ease. “But first, the basics. Push, don’t pull. Momentum is your friend until it isn’t. And for god’s sake, don’t flail.”
For the next hour, they worked with me patiently. Sylvk demonstrated the efficient, minimal movements that conserved both energy and oxygen. Kerry showed me how to use the environment to change direction without using thrusters. And Rob, predictably, taught me how to execute what he called a “combat roll” but was really just showing off.
Gradually, the vice around my chest loosened. My movements became more confident, less desperate. When I successfully navigated a complex path through suspended debris without touching anything, Kerry cheered so loudly I winced from the volume in my helmet.
“Ready for the real fun?” Rob asked, hovering beside a stack of what looked like cargo containers.
Sylvk’s deep chuckle rumbled through the comms. “He’s been waiting all night for this.”
Rob dramatically pressed a button on his wrist console, and suddenly, the blue emergency lights shifted to reds and purples. From hidden speakers, music began to play—something old and pulsing with heavy bass that I vaguely recognized from Rob’s workout playlists.
“What is this?” I laughed, the sound surprising me after the tension of the past few hours.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Zero-G tag,” Kerry explained, her silhouette backlit by a purple light as she drifted higher. “With style.”
The rules were simple: one person was “it” and had to tag another by making physical contact. No thrusters allowed, only momentum and environment. The person who was “it” glowed red in their suit lights; everyone else glowed blue.
Sylvk was “it” first, which seemed unfair until I realized his size made him less maneuverable in tight spaces. What he lacked in agility, however, he made up for in cunning. He immediately pushed off toward Kerry, who darted away with a whoop, but it was just a feint—he changed direction at the last second, using a floating panel as leverage, and tagged Rob who had been laughing too hard to notice.
“Dirty trick!” Rob complained, his suit lights shifting from blue to red. He immediately locked eyes with me. “You’re mine, Argassa.”
What followed was the most fun I’d had in months. We soared and spun through the chamber, using the floating debris as shields and springboards, laughing breathlessly as we narrowly avoided collisions. The music throbbed in time with my pulse, but it was exhilaration now, not fear, that drove it.
At one point, cornered by Kerry, I executed a perfect roll through a narrow gap between containers, something I never could have done before tonight.
“Did you see that?” I shouted, unable to contain my excitement.
“We taught you too well,” Kerry grumbled, but I could hear the smile.
Hours passed in what felt like minutes. We only stopped when Sylvk, reminded us that breakfast call was in two hours and we all needed at least some fuel before duty and breakfast. Really he was just a mountain that had to eat one to keep going.
As we powered down the chamber and stored our suits in Rob’s secret locker, exhaustion finally hit me. But it was a good kind of tired—clean and earned, without the crushing anxiety that usually accompanied my zero-G sessions.
“Thanks, I really needed that.” I said simply, looking at each of them in turn. “I mean it.”
Rob punched my shoulder lightly. “Anytime. You’d do the same for any of us.”
“Besides,” Kerry added, “next time we’re in a real emergency, I don’t want to be worrying about you puking in your helmet. I’ve had enough puke for a while.”
“Practical,” Sylvk agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching in what, for him, was practically a grin.
We snuck back to our quarters, parting ways in the corridor with tired nods and half-hearted waves. But before I could enter my room, Kerry caught my arm.
“Hey,” she said, her usual bravado softened by fatigue. “You know why we did this, right?”
I nodded. “Because we’re a team.”
“More than that,” she said, squeezing my arm once before letting go. “We’re family now. The four of us. And family takes care of each other, no matter what.”
As I finally collapsed into my bunk, too tired even to undress, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in a long time: belonging. Not just to a mission or a cause, but to people who cared enough to help me face my fears in the middle of the night.
<
I smiled into the darkness. <
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***
The soft chime of my comm pulled me out of restless sleep. I tapped the interface, surprised to see Major Kuba’s name.
“Ashley?” I asked, using her first name cautiously.
“Piotr, can you come to my quarters? It’s important.”
“I’ll be right there,” I replied, sitting up quickly.
When the door to her quarters slid open, I was greeted by the warm glow of a viewport overlooking the station’s bustling traffic lanes. A small table was set near the window, a carafe of coffee and two plates of breakfast waiting. Ashley stood by the window, her hands clasped loosely behind her back, her posture softer than I was used to seeing.
“You’re punctual,” she said without turning.
“You sounded serious,” I replied, stepping inside.
She glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Come sit. We need to talk.”
I moved to the table, feeling oddly nervous as I took the seat opposite her. She joined me, pouring coffee into both cups before meeting my gaze.
“You eaten yet?” she asked.
“Not really,” I admitted, picking up the cup she’d poured for me.
“Good. You’ll need your strength.” She motioned toward the plate in front of me. “Go on. I’m not letting you leave until you’ve eaten something.”
I chuckled softly, picking up a fork. “You know, you don’t have to keep looking after me like this.”
Ashley hesitated, fingers briefly tightening around her coffee cup before meeting my eyes again. “Maybe I want to,” she said softly, as if admitting it took more strength than any military operation.
The vulnerability caught me off guard—this wasn’t the commanding officer I’d come to know. This was someone else entirely. “Ashley…”
She shook her head, though I noticed the way she straightened her shoulders, pulling back behind her professional mask. “Don’t read too much into it, Piotr. Just eat your breakfast.”
As we ate, the conversation shifted to the mission ahead.
“Your first real mission’s going to be tough,” she said, growing serious. “You’re ready, but the stakes are higher than ever. This isn’t about passing your tests anymore. It’s about proving we can stand up to whoever’s behind the sabotage.”
“I know,” I said. “But what if they escalate again? What if…”
She leaned forward, cutting me off with a gentle look. “You’ve done everything you can to prepare your team. Trust them—and trust yourself.”
I nodded. “I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“You won’t,” she said firmly. “I’ve watched you grow into a leader, Piotr. Your team believes in you, and so do I.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I felt my heart ache in a way that had nothing to do with the mission. “That means a lot, Ashley. More than I can say.”
She smiled faintly, her eyes holding mine for a beat longer than necessary. “Good. Because you’re going to need every ounce of that confidence later.”
After we finished eating, the conversation grew quieter, more personal.
“Ashley,” I began hesitantly, “can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
“Why do you trust me? I mean… really trust me?”
She studied me for a moment before speaking, a shadow passing across her features. I could see her weighing how much to reveal, the careful calculation in her eyes.
“Because you remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who cared more about others than himself, who fought for what was right no matter the cost.”
“What happened to him?” I asked softly.
Her gaze drifted to the stars outside the viewport, pain flickering across her face. “My brother died trying to protect people he cared about,” she admitted. “When I look at you, Piotr, I see the same determination—the same heart.” Her fingers trembled slightly before she steadied them against the table.
The vulnerability in her tugged at something deep inside me. Before I could think better of it, I reached across the table, covering her hand with mine.
“They will,” I said quietly. “I promise.”
She looked down at our hands, then back at me, her eyes soft but searching. “You’ve got a good heart, Piotr. Don’t let this place take that away from you.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
For a moment, the tension between us was electric, the world beyond her quarters fading into nothing. But then she pulled her hand away gently, her composure returning, the professional mask sliding back into place.
“You should go,” she said, standing. “You have more practice as a team today. “
I hesitated. “You think we’re doing okay?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Keep on doing as you are and you’re all going places.”
It was her ‘all’… I wouldn’t be going anywhere with anyone. I nodded though, rising from my chair. “Thanks for the breakfast. And for… everything.”
She walked me to the door, her expression warm but guarded. “Take care of yourself, Piotr. And remember—you’re not alone in this.”
“I know,” I said, stepping into the corridor. “I’ll speak with you later, yeah?”
Her smile lingered as the door slid shut between us, leaving me with a strange mix of determination and something far more personal.
<> Doli said.
<> I replied. <
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I paused, startled. Doli’s question was oddly human, her tone gentle. An AI asking about human pain—another reminder of how much she’d evolved beyond her programming.
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Walking back to my quarters, I couldn’t shake the warmth of Ashley’s words, or the fleeting moment of connection we’d shared. She’d always been a force to be reckoned with, a commanding presence who could steady an entire team with a glance. But today, in the quiet of her quarters, she’d been… different. Softer. More human.
It wasn’t the first time I’d felt the pull toward her. It had been growing for weeks, a quiet niggle in the background of every interaction. But today, that niggle had turned into something louder, undeniable.
I sat on the edge of my bunk, staring at the far wall. The station worked around me, its rhythms a presence that usually faded into the background. Not today. Today, every sound seemed sharper, every sensation heightened.
Her words echoed in my mind: You’ve got a good heart, Piotr. Don’t let this place take that away from you.
She believed in me. Not as a leader, but as a person. And that belief felt like a lifeline, grounding me amid the chaos of everything we were facing.
But there was something more to it. The way she’d looked at me, the way her voice had softened when she’d said my name—it wasn’t just professional respect. There was something deeper there, something I didn’t dare put a name to yet.