Lost Among the Stars

I was halfway through another routine scan when the proximity alarm jolted me out of my daze. It wasn't loud, just a soft beeping, but on a station as quiet as this one, even the smallest sound felt like a shout. I blinked at the screen, trying to make sense of the blip that had suddenly appeared.

There, floating just outside the station's perimeter, was a body. I sat up straight, eyes wide. At first, I thought it was debris—space junk drifting too close to the station—but then I saw it: a spacesuit. A person. They were close enough that I could see the reflection of the station's lights on their visor, their body eerily still in the void.

My fingers moved automatically over the controls. I activated the external cameras, zooming in on the figure. The suit bore the insignia of a ship, though I didn't recognize it. No signs of movement, no attempt to signal. Just floating.

A thousand thoughts rushed through my head. How did they get here? How long had they been drifting? My mind raced, but protocol kicked in. I sent out a retrieval drone, watching as its mechanical arms reached out and gently latched onto the astronaut's suit. Slowly, it pulled them toward the airlock.

I ran down the corridor, my heart pounding in my chest, unsure what to expect when I opened the hatch. Was this person even alive? As the inner airlock cycled, I saw the body slump forward slightly. The visor of the helmet was dark, and for a second, I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

The door hissed open, and I pulled the astronaut inside. I fumbled with the helmet, my hands trembling as I twisted it off. The face beneath was pale, almost ghostly, but alive. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then locking onto mine with an intensity that made me step back.

"I... I thought I was alone," she whispered, her voice cracked and raw, like she hadn't spoken in days.

I stared at her, unable to speak for a moment. She was alive. Barely. But alive.

I guided her carefully to the health bay, supporting her as she stumbled down the corridor. Her limbs were weak, her movements sluggish, but she followed, muttering incoherent words under her breath. I wasn't sure if she was delirious from exhaustion or if something else had happened to her out there, in the dark.

The health bay wasn't much—just a sterile white room with basic medical equipment—but it was enough for an emergency. I helped her onto the examination table, my hands still shaking a bit from the adrenaline of the moment. She collapsed onto the surface, her breathing shallow but steady.

I stood there for a moment, staring at her. Who was she? How had she ended up drifting so close to the station, alone? I moved to the terminal and began running the basic diagnostics, letting the machine take over for a while as I collected my thoughts.

Her suit was ancient, worn and patched in places. That insignia on her chest—I couldn't place it, but something about it felt... off. The records on this station didn't list any nearby ships. No one had passed through this region of space for months, maybe years. She shouldn't have been here.

I glanced over at her again. Her eyes were closed now, her chest rising and falling slowly. She looked peaceful, in a way, but there was something underneath that calm exterior. Something haunted. I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever her story was, it wasn't a good one.

I sat down at the console, pulling up the station's database. I had to know who she was, where she came from. Maybe she had been lost in some sort of freak accident—a ship malfunction or something else. But deep down, I knew it wasn't that simple. People didn't just show up out of nowhere, floating alone in space.

As the machine scanned her vitals, I found myself wondering. What had she seen out there? What had happened to her crew? And more importantly, why was she the only one left?