The following day, I find myself with Lena, the nurse. She's a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a calm, steady presence. Her hair is streaked with grey, her face lined with the signs of a hard life, but there's a strength to her, a resilience that I can't help but admire.
We're in the bowels of the station, the air thick with the smell of salt and mildew. The water filters are massive, hulking machines that hum with a low, steady rhythm. I admit, there's something deeply unsettling about machines that are this huge. Especially being so close to them.
Lena moves with practiced ease, her hands familiar with the machinery, the controls. She shows me what to do, how to check the filters, how to read the gauges, how to spot signs of trouble. It's a delicate, intricate process, one that requires patience and precision. Two things I feel like I'm lacking in right now.
"Here." She hands me a wrench, pointing to a valve. "Turn this to the right. Gently, now. We don't want to force it."
I do as she says, my movements slow, cautious. The valve turns smoothly, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"Good." She gives me a small smile. "You're a natural."
I snort, shaking my head. "Hardly."
She laughs, a warm, pleasant sound. "You're doing fine. Everyone starts somewhere."
We continue working in companionable silence, the hum of the machines a steady backdrop to our movements. I'm grateful for the quiet, for the chance to focus on something other than the impending party, the tension with Alistair, the danger of the tide.
"I heard about the party." Lena says after a while, breaking the silence. Her tone is casual, but there's an underlying curiosity to her words. "What do you think of it?"
I hesitate, unsure of how to answer. "I think it's a waste of time."
She arches an eyebrow, her expression thoughtful. "Do you?"
I frown, not understanding her question. "Of course. We should be focusing on survival, not... celebration."
Lena doesn't respond immediately. She's quiet for a long moment, her hands moving deftly over the controls. Then she says, "What do you think survival is?"
I blink, confused by the question. "What do you mean?"
"Survival ." She smiles kindly at me. "If you were lying in a hospital bed, with full life support, you would be alive. Wouldn't you? And if you left us to live on the fungi and the dew in the cave on your own, you would also live. What is survival?" She leans against the machine, looking at me as if expecting an answer.
My lips press into a thin line as I try to figure out where she's going with this.
Lena continues, undeterred by my silence. "It isn't a trick question. How do you define survival, Sarah?"
"I don't know." I admit, feeling like I've just failed some kind of test. "Being alive, I guess. Making it to the next day."
"Live... by any means necessary..." She hums, looking down at the controls. "But if you want that, you can go back to the aliens and be processed." Her eyes find mine again. "Is that what you want?"
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My brow furrows and I look away from her, back to the wrench I'm holding. "No. I don't want to live like that."
"Right." She nods. "Survival isn't just finding supplies and a safe place to sleep. It's many things. And a lot of those things are what the heart needs. Hope, morale, community... even love. Sometimes a party is an important part of survival."
I frown at her. "Are you saying that in order to survive we have to throw parties?" I ask, skeptically.
"Ah, no." She laughs, shaking her head. "Maybe not that, exactly. But... mental health is as important as physical."
"We're not going to be 'mentally healthy' by partying." I respond, but there's less bite in my tone than I'd like.
"Mmh. I suppose not." She turns, walking toward a nearby catwalk. "This way." She instructs. "I'll let you in on a secret." She doesn't look at me, instead just starts walking, "I've been here for over twenty years."
"Twenty..." I stare at her. I suppose she has to be at least in her forties. It just. Sounds like such a long time. I...
She's been here longer than I've been alive. I can't even imagine it. "How did you survive that?"
She shrugs. "Day by day." She walks up the stairs on the catwalk, and I follow, trying to keep up with her. "With anger. And sadness. Believing two men with dreams bigger than mine." There's a tight, sadness in her eyes as she speaks of Ivan and the man before him that I'd never met. "And... a lot of parties snatched from the quiet moments between crisis."
"Really?"
"Oh yes." She laughs. "The night before we left the first base, Ivan got everyone drunk on some terrible, awful wine he'd made from fermented... I don't even know what it was. But it was horrible. I'd never seen him so happy." There's a fond smile on her lips. "That old fool couldn't hold his drink, but he wanted to laugh and smile so badly." She turns her gaze to me. "He spent two years trying to ferment something into alcohol, just to give us something to celebrate with."
I don't know what to say. My throat feels tight. "I..."
"Survival is a lot of things." She walks over to another machine, running her hand over it. "So if Anna wants to throw a party, let her."
I look away, back down at the machines, the wrench still in my hand. "And if I'm not in the mood for a party?"
"Then don't go." She looks back at me, her expression understanding. "There will be other parties. There always are. But..."
She reaches out to touch my arm, and I give a little start, turning my gaze up to see her eyes on me.
"Even if you don't participate, at least attend it."
"Why? I'd just drag it down if I'm being sour..."
"Because there are always more parties." She says, and that sadness fills her eyes again, "but the ones who have those parties... are not always there to enjoy the next."
I blink, and the wrench is suddenly too heavy in my hands. I set it down on a nearby table, and look away.
Oh.
I... don't like that. I don't like that at all.
She doesn't push me, just continues her work, humming quietly to herself. I watch her, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Sadness, guilt, and something else. Something I can't quite name.
I don't know if I'll go to the party. I don't know if I can. But I understand now why it's important, why Lena and Arden and Anna are so insistent on it. I... guess. I still can't stomach the idea of partying, of celebrating when my friends - when Ivan is...
"Come. Let's check the filters on the next level." Lena interrupts my thoughts, and I nod, following her to the next set of stairs.
I don't know if I'll ever be able to celebrate anything again. Not after all that's happened. But... I can try to understand. I can try to be there for the others, even if I don't join in. Because Lena is right. There might not always be another chance.
The rest of the day passes with far less heavy conversation, and so it seems to slip by almost in a blink. We finish up all of the inspections by the time the sun sets, and Lena bids me a polite farewell before she goes of to do... whatever it is she is going to do with the data.
After a day of working with Lena, I'm exhausted. My mind is buzzing with thoughts, with emotions I'm not ready to confront. I find myself wandering the station, my feet leading me without conscious thought. I end up in one of the upper levels, in a room with a large window overlooking the sea.
The moons are high, their light casting a silver glow over the water. It's beautiful, but there's a sadness to it, a melancholy that mirrors my own mood. I lean against the window, my forehead pressed against the cool glass, my eyes tracing the patterns of the waves.
I'm not sure how long I stand there, lost in my thoughts. But at some point, I become aware of a presence behind me. I turn, expecting to see Arden or Lena, but instead, I'm met with the sight of Alistair.
It's... somehow...
I'm not that surprised.
He's standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. He's quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on me, then he moves, closing the distance between us.
"Hey."
"Hey." I respond, my voice quiet. I don't know what else to say. After last night, after his argument with Arden, I'm not sure where we stand.
He stops next to me, his eyes on the sea. "The filter thing go well?" He asks, his tone casual, as if nothing happened.
"Yeah." I nod, turning my gaze back to the window. "It was fine. Lena's nice."
He hums in response, his hands still in his pockets. We stand in silence for a while, the only sound the distant crash of waves. It's not uncomfortable, not exactly, but there's a tension between us, an unspoken question hanging in the air.
"Arden..." He starts, then stops, as if unsure how to continue. "He's not wrong. About the factory. It's a suicide mission."
I glance at him, surprised by his admission. "You think so?"
"Yeah." He lets out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. "But I still want to do it. Stupid, right?"
I don't answer immediately, my gaze returning to the sea. "No. Not stupid." I admit, "I'd go with you."
He laughs.
The sound is so sharp in the room that it startles me. I turn to look at him, and his gaze isn't on me. It's out the window. He shakes his head. "That's the thing. No chance in hell I'd let you."
I frown. "You're the one who invited me to go and do it in the first place." I point out.
"Yeah. Well. I changed my mind."
I bristle, straightening up from the window. "Excuse me? You can't just decide that I'm not-"
"I don't want to see you die, Sarah." He finally turns his head and looks at me, and his hazel eyes are dark. "Is that a problem?"
I open my mouth, ready to argue, but the words die on my lips. There's a raw honesty in his eyes, a vulnerability that I've never seen before. It catches me off guard, disarms me.
I stare at him for a few moments, searching for words, before I finally speak again. "Maybe I don't want you to die, either." I say, and it feels like a concession.
He stares at me. There's an intensity to his gaze as he holds mine. He takes a step closer to me, so sudden that I nearly take an equal step back. His height is... suddenly very apparent as he stands near to me. His hands, still in his pockets, shift as he stops in front of me. My heart is beating too fast, and I'm not sure why.
"Haven't. Had anyone care about that. In a long time." He says, voice a low rasp.
I don't know what to say to that. My fingers curl into fists at my side, because it's just... it's ridiculous. Of course people care. I care. A lot of people do. But I don't know how to say it. I don't think those are the right words.
"Well. I do." I whisper.
He doesn't answer, just looks at me, his eyes searching mine. I can't read the expression on his face, can't tell what he's thinking. And then, slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing against my cheek, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw.
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. I should pull away, should tell him to stop. But I don't. I can't. His touch is gentle, hesitant, as if he's not sure of my reaction. It's a question, unasked, unanswered.
And I...
I want to answer.
Before I can, before I can make a decision, a voice calls out from the hallway. "Sarah? There you are." Arden's voice is a sudden intrusion, breaking the moment.
Alistair's hand drops away, his body tense, his expression shuttered. He takes a step back, putting distance between us, his eyes now fixed on the doorway.
I turn, my heart still racing, my mind reeling. Arden is standing there, his expression neutral, one hand on the doorway. "I know it's late, but I need your help with something." He glances between us, his gaze lingering on Alistair for a moment. "If you're not too busy."
"Not at all." I say, maybe a little too quickly. I clear my throat. "What's going on?"
"Cal broke his wrist, I need a hand getting him to the medical bay." He jerks his head to the side. "Let's go."
"I can help with that." Alistair says, his tone flat, unreadable.
"No. I need you on ground floor with Maren. Cal was helping her with the hatches when he fell." Arden's gaze fixes on him. "Get back to it. I've got this."
Alistair's jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might argue. But then he just nods, his expression blank. "Fine." He turns to me, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. "See you around, Sarah."
I nod, unable to speak. He walks past me, his shoulder brushing against mine as he exits the room. I watch him go, a knot of confusion and regret twisting in my stomach.
"Sarah." Arden's voice pulls my attention back to him. "You coming?"
"Yeah." I force myself to move, to follow him out of the room. But my mind is still on Alistair, on the touch of his hand, on the look in his eyes.
I...
I don't know what the hell just happened. I feel a little dizzy. I don't know if I'm... excited or...
I'm not thinking straight.
That's all I know. For now... it's better to just focus on getting Cal, whoever that is, to Lena.