We stepped into the main corridor, and the scale of the place hit me all over again. The wide passage gleamed under strips of guide lights, and glowing panels displayed everything from station maps to schedules for incoming ships. I paused, taking it all in, this wasn’t just another training facility. This was Cali Station, the gateway to everything I’d been working toward. All those nights in care homes, staring up at stars through cloudy windows, dreaming of something bigger than myself—and now I was here, standing in a marvel of human engineering, a civilization suspended in the void.
Kerry, always a few steps ahead, stopped by a holomap and glanced back at us.
“Why do they move training out here?” I asked Rob.
“Size,” he said. “This is the largest station this side of Earth.”
“They also put us to work,” Sylvk added. “Nothing like slave labor, right?”
“It’s not slave labour; it’s training. Real missions, real jobs.”
Real chances for something to go wrong…. I thought but didn’t speak aloud.
“Residential Sector A is on the far side,” she said, scanning the display. “Think they could’ve put us farther from the docks?”
“Stop complaining,” Rob said. “You get a private bunk and clean sheets. That’s better than the bunk you had on the Mercator.”
“Yeah,” Kerry muttered, “but the Mercator didn’t make me walk half a kilometer after a shift.”
“What’s the Mercator?” I asked her.
“The best medical training facility,” Kerry replied.
“Best medical training facility with no budget for bunking.”
“Yeah,” Kerry admitted. “Their bunks did suck.”
As we moved, I caught sight of a group of engineers clustered around a diagnostics panel, their expressions a mix of concern and concentration. I slowed, listening in as one of them muttered about thermal regulators. My fingers twitched with the instinct to offer help, to show what I could do.
Sylvk nudged me, his expression knowing.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “You can fix all their stuff later… We come first.”
“Fair point,” I said, quickening my pace.
At the transport hub, we stepped into a capsule-like pod. Kerry leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Rob inspected the faint blue glow of the overhead lights.
“Why do these things always smell like ozone?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
“Better than what the hydroponics deck smells like,” Sylvk said. “You’d think someone spilled fertilizer in the ventilation system.”
The pod hummed to life, accelerating smoothly. The walls vibrated with a soft thrum beneath my palm, a subtle reminder of the complex systems keeping us alive in this metal outpost. Outside the window, the station blurred by in flashes of greenhouses, promenades, and observation decks. Rob pressed his face to the glass like a kid.
“Never gets old,” he said, watching the streaks of light. “Can’t believe we actually live here.”
Sylvk gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re the only one still romanticizing this. Some of us are here for the paycheck.”
“Some of us,” Rob replied, smirking, “need to learn how to dream.”
Kerry leaned toward me. “Don’t let them fool you. Sylvk’s first time on station, he cried when he saw Earth from the observation deck. Rob caught him and hasn’t let him live it down since.”
“And you?” I asked.
Her eyes flickered with something, a memory perhaps. “I threw up in my helmet. Not my finest moment.”
We all had our firsts. Mine was still unfolding, every corridor and chamber a new revelation. The pod slid to a stop at the residential sector. As we stepped out, the atmosphere shifted—quieter, softer. The walls glowed faintly, and the faint scent of recycled air mixed with something almost like pine lingered. We passed a communal space where a group of techs was arguing over a sports match. Kerry paused.
“Still playing soccer simulations?” she muttered. “They’ve got a whole universe to explore, and they’re glued to Earth sports.”
“Don’t knock it,” Rob said. “Keeps them from tinkering with things they shouldn’t.”
We moved past a small garden, and I couldn’t help but admire the setup. Someone had built a clever misting system for the plants—elegant in its simplicity, yet perfectly adapted to the station’s unique environment. I pointed it out.
“Nice work,” I said. “Simple, efficient.”
Sylvk groaned. “Can’t you appreciate it without breaking down the mechanics?”
“Not in my DNA,” I replied with a grin.
Finally, we reached our quarters. My door lit up as I approached, sliding open with a quiet hiss. I stepped inside, dropping onto the edge of the bunk as Rob and Sylvk lingered in the hall.
“You settling in?” Kerry asked from her doorway across the hall.
“Yeah,” I said, leaning back. “Just another day in paradise.”
Sylvk snorted. “Paradise doesn’t come with coolant leaks.”
“Not in my sector,” I shot back. “I actually fix my leaks.”
“Goodnight, Mr Tom,” he replied, rolling his eyes and walking off.
Mr Tom? I was so confused.
Rob gave me a thumbs-up. “Dream about engines, buddy.”
“You know I will,” I said, grinning as the door slid shut behind them.
The buzz of the station seemed quieter here, almost soothing. I leaned back and let it wash over me, staring at the rotating view of the planet on my wall. Earth looked different from up here—smaller, more fragile, and somehow more precious. The blue marble that had seemed like my entire universe for so long was now just one bright point in a vast darkness waiting to be explored.
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Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
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As the upload started, the space station’s schematics flashing in front of me, I grinned again. <
Managing a space station was a monumental task that required a unique blend of technical expertise, leadership skills, and interdisciplinary knowledge. Mostly everything I was not. I found it interesting reading, though.
The ideal candidate combines technical mastery with exceptional leadership:
- Technical Foundation: Advanced degree in aerospace engineering or related field, with deep understanding of integrated space systems, orbital mechanics, and life support technologies
- Operational Experience: Proven record managing complex aerospace projects and navigating crisis scenarios under extreme pressure
- Leadership Excellence: Ability to direct diverse international teams, communicate decisively across cultural boundaries, and maintain composure in life-or-death situations
- Cross-Disciplinary Knowledge: Working understanding of space medicine, international space law, and the psychological impacts of extended isolation
- Critical Competencies: Rapid problem-solving ability, diplomatic skill in multinational collaborations, and the adaptability to make sound decisions with incomplete information in rapidly evolving situations
A knock at my door and I hit the open. “Heading to orientation,” Rob said. “Coming?”
I hopped off my bunk and slipped my boots back on fast. “Time flew,” I said, closing the data feed with a mental command.
We navigated the corridors to classroom 104. Inside were a hundred lockers. Major Sergeant Cotah stood with a stranger man, who to my surprise was the one to speak.
“I’m Station Commander Terra. This is my welcome message to you on this side of our wonderful station Cali. You’re in great hands with Major Kuba, but she is watching, as am I. You have free reign in any area marked green, anything else is either to be with a supervisor from the station or your direct command teams. This is non-negotiable. You get caught outside of your areas you’re out. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“That’s it, enjoy your stay, learn as much as you can, get home safe.” He turned to our command team. Professor Zhal had joined them and one of the other officers I’d seen around but not really spoken too.
It was the new officer who addressed us. “You’ve been assigned a locker number; you’ll find your suit and helmet from the academy. You may chuck your uniform in the stations wash chute. It will be cleaned and returned to your bunks for you. Your suit can also be cleaned every night, so it’s fresh in the morning. Hang it up, shut the door, boom, clean.”
“First up today is a short experience negotiating real Zero-G. Suits on, you’ve got five minutes to be through those double doors at the back.”
Everyone moved and moved fast. I found my locker and stripped off without thinking about it this time. My suit and boots on, and I was helmet in hand, joining the queue with the others in record time.
Once out into the room, there were locations tagged with our IDs on them. Everyone else was making their way to their tag, so I did the same.
“There are several rooms adjacent to this one,” Sergeant Major Cotah said. “Take your time, pick two to complete. You’re used to working as a team. This is no different, just different tasks. Complete your rooms, and then you can head to lunch and have downtime to explore our areas tonight only. After that, you’re in rotation every day to nail these tasks before your final mission. Those who don’t pass this will not be moving to the next year. You may if your sponsor allows re-sit though summer, but other than that, it’s a fail.”
“Go!” Major Kuba barked.
Everyone leaped into action. Rob, always cautious, paused to assess the scene. He nodded toward an open room, and we launched ourselves toward it.
Inside, a glowing platform stretched ahead of us, dotted with floating obstacles. Our objective flashed on the wall: Collect the gems.
I crouched on the edge of the platform, calculating the next jump. The maze shifted constantly, platforms blinking out like fireflies, mechanical arms swinging with purpose. The hum of the Zero-G generators thrummed through my boots—a reminder of how easily this could go wrong.
I pushed off, thrusters engaging enough to propel me forward. I sailed through the air, reaching for the next platform when my suit lurched. The thrusters sputtered, then cut out entirely.
Damn it.
The world spun as I tumbled uncontrollably, the maze lights blurring in my vision. My stomach clenched, but I forced my breathing to steady. Panicking wouldn’t help. Through the blur of motion, I caught sight of Andri watching from the observation deck, his expression unsettlingly satisfied. It’s too much of a coincidence to be equipment failure. Someone had tampered with my suit.
“Piotr, are you okay?” Kerry’s voice crackled in my ear, sharp with worry.
“I’ve got this,” I said, though my jaw tightened.
I clawed at the wrist console, fingers flying over the manual controls. Red error codes flashed back at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a figure in the observation deck—Andri. Arms crossed, that damned smirk plastered across his face. Whatever had happened to my thrusters, his expression told me he knew exactly what it was.
Focus.
Using momentum, I twisted my body into a controlled spin. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Coaxing the thrusters back to life, I steadied myself as the final platform came within reach.
I landed hard, knees bending to absorb the impact. Cheers erupted over the comms.
“That’s how it’s done!” Kerry shouted.
I glanced up at the observation deck. Andri didn’t cheer. He didn’t clap. Just that same icy stare before he turned away with a scoff.
I exhaled, forcing a grin for the team. “Alright,” I said, dusting off my gloves. “Who’s up for room two?”
The glow from the powered-up nodes faded as we floated toward the next door, our thrusters humming softly. Kerry glanced back at me, smirking.
“Alright, genius,” she teased. “You saved our butts in there, but let’s see if you can keep it up. No pressure or anything.”
“Don’t jinx him,” Sylvk chuckled. “The last thing we need is for Piotr to start overthinking things. You saw him in that maze—one malfunction and he was spinning like a satellite on too much caffeine.”
“Hey,” I shot back, “I recalibrated mid-spin and stuck the landing. Can’t say the same for your Zero-G form back there, Sylvk. Looked like you were auditioning for a slow-motion ballet.”
Kerry snorted, and Rob laughed outright.
“Ballet? That’s generous,” Rob said. “I was gonna say more like a drunken space squid. Remember his first Zero-G simulation back at the academy? He hit the ceiling so hard they had to recalibrate the gravity plates.”
“That was one time,” Sylvk defended, though his lips twitched with suppressed amusement. “And need I remind you about your little incident with the emergency suit seals?”
Rob’s face flushed. “We agreed never to speak of that again.”
Kerry leaned toward me. “He accidentally triggered his emergency decompression protocol during a routine exercise. His suit inflated like a balloon. Took three instructors to get him out.”
“Careful, Rob,” Sylvk said, his smirk giving him away. “I’m not above sabotaging your thrusters in the next room. Let’s see how graceful you look spinning into a wall.”
Rob held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get violent.” He glanced at the glowing text over the next door and grimaced. “Although… if this ‘Survive the Course’ thing is as bad as it sounds, we might all end up spinning into walls.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said. “Really inspiring.”
The door slid open, revealing a vast chamber filled with floating obstacles, spinning platforms, and what appeared to be hovering drones equipped with flashing lights and, worryingly, what looked like stun sticks. The air tasted metallic here, charged with electricity that made the hair on my arms stand up beneath my suit.
“Drones?” Kerry said, tilting her head. “Seriously? Who designs this stuff? Space station or gladiator arena?”
“Probably the same sadist who put a maze and a power puzzle in the training rotation,” Sylvk muttered.
Rob squinted at the nearest drone as it zipped by. “Those things better not zap us. I swear, if I get shocked, I’m filing a complaint.”
“With who?” Kerry asked, raising an eyebrow. “The same station commander who threatened to boot us for sneezing in the wrong sector?”
Rob shrugged. “Still worth a shot.”
As we moved into the room, a low voice crackled over our comms. “Welcome to Room Three. Your objective: navigate the course and reach the exit without being tagged by the drones. Failure to evade will result in a temporary stun. Good luck.”
Sylvk groaned. “I knew it. Gladiator arena.”
The course stretched ahead of us, a chaotic mess of moving platforms, swinging obstacles, and patrolling drones. The drones were faster than I expected, weaving between obstacles with an unsettling grace.
“Alright, team,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Let’s strategize. Stick together or split up?”
“Split up,” Sylvk said immediately. “If we stick together, the drones will swarm us. Divide and conquer.”
“Conquer?” Rob repeated. “Pretty sure the only thing we’re conquering is our collective dignity.”
“Speak for yourself,” Kerry said. “I plan on finishing this course untouched.”
“Big talk,” Sylvk replied, smirking. “I’ll give you ten seconds before you get zapped.”
“Care to put money on it?” Kerry challenged, already pushing off toward the first platform.
Rob and I exchanged a glance. “They’re gonna get us killed,” I said.
“No doubt,” Rob replied. “But hey, at least we’ll go down laughing.”
I pushed off, weaving around a spinning obstacle and narrowly avoiding a drone as it buzzed past me. Behind me, Kerry’s voice crackled over the comms.
“Ha! Told you I’d—” Her sentence cut off with a loud zap and a startled yelp.
“Ten seconds,” Sylvk said. His grin spreading to his eyes, which sparkled. “Called it.”
“Shut up,” Kerry snapped.
Rob chuckled as he maneuvered around a swinging platform. “This might actually be worth the stun risk.”
A drone zipped toward me, its stun stick glowing ominously. I twisted, narrowly avoiding it and landing on a platform that shifted under my weight. “Alright,” I said, dodging another drone. “Let’s focus. You can gloat later, Sylvk.”
“Gloat?” she put a hand to her face in mock-innocent. “Me? Never.”
Another zap echoed through the comms, followed by Rob’s groan. “Well, there goes my dignity.”
“Welcome to the club,” Kerry quipped.
I shook my head, biting back a laugh as I leapt toward the next platform. “At this rate, we’re gonna need a separate training module for bruised egos.”
But even as I joked with the team, I couldn’t shake the memory of Andri’s smirk when my thrusters failed. That wasn’t an accident or random equipment failure. Whatever game he was playing, it was escalating, and I had a feeling this was just the beginning.
Next time, it might not be something I could recover from so easily.
The note was supposed to say.