Chapter Text
Elara hadn’t meant to wander.
One moment, she’d been quietly trailing behind Ruan Mei near the observatory, tracing the patterns on the wall with her fingers. The next, a flickering light down the corridor had caught her attention — a shimmer like the stars on her ceiling back in her room.
So she followed it.
The corridor curved left, then right. Soon the light panels grew dimmer, the familiar hum of the main station fading behind her. The walls here were quiet. Dustier. Less used.
She paused, the weight of the silence pressing in.
“…Mama?” she called gently. “Mama Ruan Mei?”
No response.
Her hands clutched the hem of her dress, heart beginning to race. She turned — too quickly — and her foot caught on the raised edge of a floor panel.
She stumbled.
The world tilted, and with a sharp cry, she fell forward. Her knees hit first, then her palms. A bright sting bloomed along her leg.
She gasped. Her lip trembled. Her tights were torn, and red began to smear just below the tear.
It hurt.
And suddenly, everything hurt. The silence, the cold, the way her chest tightened with each breath. Her eyes filled with tears. She curled forward, clutching her knee.
Footsteps rang out behind her — fast, sharp, echoing.
A woman’s voice followed. “Aeons—what on the station—?!”
Elara looked up with wide, tearful eyes just as a tall figure came into view — pink hair, a fluttering purple overcoat, and a lanyard that bounced as she skidded to a stop.
The woman crouched immediately, eyes flicking from Elara’s scraped knee to her trembling face.
“Hey—hey, it’s alright,” she said quickly. “You’re hurt, I see that. Deep breath. You’re safe now.”
Elara hiccupped. “I—got lost…”
The woman glanced down the corridor, then back. “This wing’s restricted during calibration cycles. No one’s supposed to be here. What were you—”
She stopped herself, softening.
“Never mind that. First things first.” She reached into her side pouch and pulled out a slim white med-kit. “This might sting just a little, alright?”
Elara gave a tiny nod, shoulders still shaking.
“I’m Asta,” the woman said gently as she cleaned the scrape with careful hands. “I run the operations on this station. And I definitely don’t recognize you.”
Once the bandage was pressed into place — a neat strip with pale gold stars — she sat back on her heels and looked Elara over again.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“…Elara,” the girl said softly.
“Elara,” Asta repeated, thoughtful. “Huh. That name’s not in any staff log, guest entry, or research file I’ve approved.”
She helped the girl to her feet, brushing off her dress. “Okay, mystery starlight. Let’s get you somewhere safe before someone has a panic attack.”
Elara clung gently to her hand. “Are you mad at me?”
Asta blinked. “What? No. I’m just… confused. Concerned. And definitely curious. But never mad at someone who scraped their knee trying to find their way.”
Elara sniffled. “I was trying to find the window. The big one. With the star maps.”
Asta smiled faintly, leading her back the way they came. “Well, you found a headache and a rescue protocol instead. But let’s call that an adventure.”
The lights of the corridor pulsed gently as Ruan Mei and Herta hurried through the central wing of the station, footsteps brisk against polished floors.
“She’s not in the observatory,” Herta said, scanning a holopanel mid-stride. “No sensor logs from the last eight minutes. Nothing in the greenhouse, either.”
“She was right behind me,” Ruan Mei said, voice tight with worry. “I only turned for a second. She must’ve followed the starlight reflections on the wall panels again. She always wanders toward light.”
Herta’s fingers flew across the interface. “She isn’t triggering standard proximity scans. Possibly another anomaly in her biometrics.”
“She’s not an anomaly,” Ruan Mei snapped. “She’s a child.”
“She’s both,” Herta said calmly. “Which is why we have to find her now.”
Just then, soft footfalls echoed from around the corner.
A figure appeared — quick steps, coat swishing, pink hair unmistakable.
Asta. And beside her, clutching her hand tightly, was Elara.
The girl’s eyes were puffy from tears, her steps uncertain, but she walked steadily under Asta’s gentle guidance.
“There you are,” Ruan Mei breathed, rushing forward as Elara let go of Asta’s hand and ran into her arms. “Thank the Aeons…”
“I got lost,” Elara mumbled, pressing her face into Ruan Mei’s shoulder. “I’m sorry…”
“You’re alright now,” Ruan Mei whispered, rocking slightly. “That’s what matters.”
Asta came to a stop a few feet away, arms crossed, but her tone was respectful. “Madame Herta. Madame Ruan Mei. I found her limping near Calibration Wing Delta. She’d tripped over a panel junction and scraped her knee — nothing serious. She’s patched up.”
“Thank you, Asta,” Herta said, stepping forward to inspect Elara herself. “You handled it well.”
“I did what protocol demanded,” Asta replied smoothly. “Though I’ll admit I was… caught off guard.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to Elara — then to Ruan Mei. “I wasn’t aware there was a child aboard the station.”
“There wasn’t,” Ruan Mei said quietly. “Until recently.”
Asta nodded slowly. “Understood. Then… permission to update our internal safety parameters?”
“Granted,” Herta said. “Mark her as a non-staff resident with limited access clearance. We’ll provide her ID profile shortly.”
Asta tapped a quick note into her datapad. “And should I prepare a formal notice for the rest of the department heads?”
“Not yet,” Ruan Mei said. “Let’s keep this quiet for now. Just until we understand more.”
Asta nodded again without protest. “Understood.”
Elara peeked over Ruan Mei’s shoulder, her voice quiet. “I’m sorry I scared you, Miss Asta…”
Asta blinked, a little caught off guard by the sincerity. She gave the girl a small, reassuring smile. “Apology accepted. Next time, just ask before you go exploring starlight corridors, alright?”
“I just wanted to see the stars up close,” Elara said, a little embarrassed.
“Then next time, I’ll show you the main observatory myself,” Asta said, adjusting her ID badge. “It’s much safer. And far less dusty.”
Elara smiled a little. “Okay.”
As Asta turned to leave, she paused. “She’s bright. Curious. And she learns fast.”
“She’s… one of a kind,” Ruan Mei replied softly, holding Elara close.
Asta nodded once, then glanced at Herta. “I’ll coordinate the clearance updates immediately, Madame.”
“Good,” Herta said. “And flag her presence as low-priority for now. We’ll escalate if needed.”
With a final nod, Asta turned and disappeared down the corridor — efficient as ever, but perhaps just a bit more thoughtful than usual.
Left alone, the quiet settled again around the trio.
Ruan Mei adjusted Elara in her arms. “Your knee—does it still hurt?”
“A little,” Elara admitted. “But not bad.”
“Then let’s get you some tea and a blanket,” Ruan Mei said with a gentle smile. “You’ve had a very big morning.”
Herta brushed a hand over Elara’s hair, absent but tender. “Next time, say something before you vanish.”
Elara nodded. “Okay.”
As they walked back toward their quarters, Herta trailing just behind them, Elara glanced up and whispered, “I liked her.”
Ruan Mei smiled. “I think she liked you too.”
Back in the private quarters assigned to them, the small dining table was now graced with a gentle spread: warm noodles in broth, steamed vegetables cut into tiny star shapes, and a bowl of cooling fruit slices. Elara sat with her legs swinging beneath the chair, happily spooning her food while humming something under her breath.
Ruan Mei leaned back in the nearby armchair, watching with soft eyes. Herta stood near the console, arms folded, gaze flicking between Elara and a floating schedule grid she’d pulled up on the holoscreen.
“She’s four,” Ruan Mei said after a moment, her voice thoughtful. “Chronologically and physically, at least.”
“Developmentally… fluctuating,” Herta noted. “Some cognitive markers are advanced. Others align with her age group. Emotional regulation is inconsistent — she still cries when startled, but handles complex instructions with surprising ease.”
“She needs structure,” Ruan Mei said gently. “Not lab structure — child structure. A rhythm to her day.”
Herta gave a small nod. “I was thinking the same.”
Ruan Mei smiled faintly. “We really are turning into caretakers, aren’t we?”
“Statistically inevitable, given our current circumstances.”
Ruan Mei leaned forward, voice low so Elara wouldn’t overhear. “What if we start with something simple? After lunch, a short nap. Then maybe… quiet activity time. She likes sketching. Maybe some constellation puzzles?”
Herta tapped a command into the holoscreen. “Thirty minutes nap, followed by forty-five minutes of guided play or calm exploration. Snacks at mid-shift.”
“Healthy ones,” Ruan Mei added. “No processed rations.”
“Obviously,” Herta said. “She already has a preference for fruit-based textures.”
Elara, still chewing happily, pointed at her bowl. “These noodles taste like stars.”
Ruan Mei chuckled. “Good stars or scary stars?”
“Warm ones,” Elara said, smiling.
Herta didn’t smile, but she paused in her typing.
Ruan Mei watched her a moment, then added quietly, “And maybe we rotate learning activities. Light reading modules in the morning, hands-on observation in the evenings. Let her get used to things slowly.”
Herta nodded again. “And play intervals every cycle. Coordination games. Music. Nothing overstimulating.”
“She might like to help in the greenhouse,” Ruan Mei offered. “Touching soil, watching things grow.”
“You’re assigning her to botany?”
“I’m giving her a moment to feel normal.”
Herta didn’t answer at first, then quietly said, “I’ll add it to the list.”
They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the quiet hum of the room and Elara softly slurping her noodles.
Then, unprompted, Elara turned in her seat and asked, “Can I have story time too?”
Ruan Mei blinked. “Of course.”
“Every day?”
Ruan Mei smiled warmly. “Every single day.”
Herta shifted her arms. “We’ll need a collection.”
“I have access to the station’s archival library,” Ruan Mei said, already pulling up the catalog. “I’ll curate a mix. Science fables. Ancient myths. Something with constellations.”
Elara’s eyes sparkled. “And songs?”
“Songs too,” Ruan Mei promised.
Herta stepped back from the screen. The schedule now glowed in soft blue light: gentle blocks of structure wrapped in care. Nap. Snack. Drawing. Reading. Exploration. Learning.
It didn’t look like a research protocol.
It looked like a life.
While Elara was curled up on a plush armchair under Ruan Mei’s shawl—half-listening as Ruan Mei gently read a story about starfish who dreamed of flying—Herta stepped out into the hall without a word, her coat swishing faintly behind her.
She paused just outside Elara’s room. The space was still tidy, functional… too functional. Sterile walls. Standard-issue storage crates. A plain cot with a starlight projector casting faint lights overhead.
Not unacceptable. But not enough.
With a flick of her wrist, Herta summoned one of her assistant puppets — its orb-like body blinking to attention with a soft chime.
“I want the following added to Room 03-17,” Herta said briskly, projecting a list onto its interface. “One low-standing bookshelf. Soft-wood frame. Rounded corners. Fill it with illustrated learning materials—level 1 through 3 comprehension. Include constellation fables, beginner logic puzzles, and poetic narratives. Emphasis on tactile engagement.”
The puppet chirped.
“Also: child-safe seating — one floor pillow, one adjustable cushion chair, both in non-primary, calming hues. Add a modular play mat with sound-dampening properties. Subtle textures, nothing overstimulating.”
Two more puppets arrived. Herta didn’t pause.
“Install a fold-down drawing desk and secure a filtered crayon set. Non-toxic. Replace the bedding—softer quilt, patterned if available. Include a weighted comfort plush. Medium size. She seems to favor fabric textures with thermal retention.”
The puppets spun off to fulfill their orders without question.
Behind her, Ruan Mei’s voice carried faintly through the wall: “…And the little comet twirled through the sky, laughing all the way…”
Herta’s gaze lingered on the doorway for a moment.
Then she added quietly, “Install a nightlight. Moon motif. Set it to low glow.”
The last puppet gave a chirp of confirmation before gliding silently down the corridor.
Within an hour, Room 03-17 no longer resembled a spare auxiliary chamber.
The cot had been replaced with a proper child’s bed, cushioned in pale lavender with a soft moon-patterned quilt. A twilight blue armchair sat near the window. The floor had a soft mat laid across its center, covered in softly shimmering constellations — playful, but not distracting.
A low bookshelf stood in the corner now, stocked with colorful spines and gently blinking interactive readers. On the desk lay neatly arranged crayons and drawing paper, a pencil holder shaped like a tiny telescope. A plush galaxy fox sat curled at the foot of the bed.
A soft, ambient glow bathed the corners of the room. Not sterile. Not clinical.
Lived-in.
Warm.
Elara wandered in sometime later, small feet padding across the mat, her violet eyes going wide.
She turned slowly in place, taking it all in. “It changed…”
Ruan Mei smiled from the doorway. “Herta thought you might need a room that’s really yours.”
Elara stepped up to the bookshelf and ran her hands along the spines. “There’s stories.”
Herta’s voice came from behind her, calm as ever. “They’re organized by subject and reading level. You may rearrange them if you wish. I’ve added blank labels for your use.”
Elara looked up at her, quiet for a moment — then ran over and wrapped her arms around Herta’s waist, burying her face in her coat.
Herta stood stiffly for a second… then rested a hand on Elara’s back.
“You forgot something,” Elara mumbled.
Herta blinked. “What?”
Elara pointed to the top of the bookshelf. “It needs a star.”
Ruan Mei laughed gently. “We’ll make one tomorrow. Maybe together?”
Elara grinned. “Okay.”
She clambered into her new bed, hugging the galaxy fox tight.
Ruan Mei dimmed the lights. Herta adjusted the projector to cycle through soft constellations.
And for the first time, Elara’s room didn’t feel borrowed.
It felt like hers.