The Long Way Around The Sun

The station Aurelian Gate circled a quiet yellow star at a distance chosen for safety rather than beauty. From the outside it looked like a ring of dull metal and glass rotating with patient inevitability. Inside it was a crossroads where crews passed through on journeys measured in decades and where goodbyes were practiced more often than hellos. The corridors smelled faintly of coolant and citrus cleanser and the artificial gravity carried a softness meant to ease joints and hearts alike.

Sera Noll paused at the wide window overlooking the star. Light poured in steady and forgiving, not harsh like the white suns she had grown up with. She pressed her fingertips against the glass and breathed slowly. This was the last place she expected to feel calm.

She had been assigned to Aurelian Gate as a temporal navigator. Her job was to calculate routes that bent around gravitational wells and relativistic currents so ships could arrive close to when they intended. It was precise work that demanded patience and intuition. It also required long stretches of waiting while equations resolved themselves.

You will burn holes in the glass if you keep staring like that, a voice said behind her.

Sera turned. The man approaching carried a crate balanced easily against his shoulder. He had a relaxed gait and eyes that held a warmth that did not feel practiced.

I doubt the star would notice, she said.

He smiled and set the crate down. Fair point. I am Ilias Venn. Logistics and maintenance. You must be new.

Sera nodded. Sera Noll. Temporal navigation.

Then we will be seeing a lot of each other, Ilias said. Everything that goes wrong eventually becomes my problem. Everything that goes right probably involved your math.

She laughed softly surprised by how easily the sound came. They stood together for a moment watching the star flare gently.

It feels slower here, she said.

It is, he replied. Or maybe people just stop running.

Their first weeks overlapped often. Sera spent long hours in the navigation dome where projections of curved spacetime drifted like luminous fabric. Ilias passed through to repair sensors or recalibrate anchors. He never interrupted when she was deep in focus. He simply waited nearby until she surfaced.

One cycle she found a mug of warm tea beside her console without comment. Another time he adjusted the lighting to ease the strain on her eyes. These small attentions settled into her awareness quietly.

One evening as the station shifted orientation Sera calculations refused to converge. The projected routes shimmered uncertainly then folded back on themselves.

That is not right, she murmured.

Ilias stood behind her watching the patterns. Want another set of eyes.

She hesitated then nodded. He leaned in close enough that she could feel his presence but not so close that it crowded her.

The currents are pulling memory into the math, he said slowly.

She looked at him startled. How did you know that.

He shrugged. I listen when people talk about their work. You said time near the Gate carries echoes. Maybe those echoes are interfering.

Sera exhaled. That was exactly it. The station lay at a junction of heavily traveled routes. Residual temporal impressions layered and sometimes bled into calculations.

They adjusted parameters together. The projections steadied.

You have a gift for this, she said.

I just notice patterns, he replied. Machines and people are not that different.

As days turned into months Sera found herself lingering after shifts. Sharing meals with Ilias in the quiet cantina where travelers spoke softly as if afraid to disturb their own futures. They talked about everything except what grew between them.

Sera had lived her life by departure schedules. Childhood relocations. Academic postings. Short term assignments that never allowed roots. She had learned to love motion because stillness felt like loss waiting to happen.

Ilias had stayed. Born on a nearby moon he had chosen Aurelian Gate because it was where paths crossed and parted. He liked being the constant.

One cycle a transport arrived damaged from an unexpected temporal shear. Crew members were shaken disoriented unsure how long they had been gone.

Sera worked without pause recalculating safe departure windows. Ilias coordinated repairs moving steadily through chaos.

During a brief lull they met near the observation ring.

I am afraid, Sera admitted quietly. If I miscalculate someone could lose years.

Ilias rested his hand lightly on the rail near hers not touching but close. You are not alone in it. None of us are.

The words stayed with her.

That night the station lights dimmed into rest cycle. Sera could not sleep. She wandered to the outer ring where the star filled the windows with gentle light.

Ilias was there sitting on the floor back against the glass.

Could not rest either, he said without looking up.

She sat beside him. Silence stretched comfortable and deep.

Do you ever regret staying, she asked.

He considered. Sometimes. Then someone arrives exactly when they hoped to. Or someone leaves knowing where they are going. And I remember why I am here.

She watched his profile etched by starlight. What about you. Do you regret moving so much.

She swallowed. I am afraid that if I stop I will have to face everything I left behind.

He turned to her then eyes steady. Or you might find something worth staying for.

Their gazes held. The moment expanded then eased without touch.

The crisis came without warning. A massive convoy requested emergency passage. Their route calculations conflicted wildly. Temporal currents surged unpredictably around the Gate.

If they depart now half the ships will arrive decades apart, Sera said voice tight.

Command demanded immediate solutions. Lives depended on it.

Sera worked feverishly but the echoes around the Gate intensified. Memories of countless departures interfered with the math.

I cannot isolate the noise, she said hands shaking.

Ilias stepped closer. Listen to me. You are trying to force sti