The lighthouse on Asteroid 9K-Theta was automated—until Rae Cassian was assigned there. A former pilot, she now watched ships glide past the gravity tides, offering manual course corrections when the system glitched. It was a lonely post, but after losing her co-pilot in a flare storm, solitude seemed preferable.
One day, a distress signal crackled in. A cargo hauler off-course, autopilot shattered. Rae hesitated. If she miscalculated, both the ship and her station could be lost. She guided the vessel manually, her fingers tense over the controls.
The hauler passed safely, sending thanks. Rae exhaled, realizing her hands had stopped shaking. Maybe isolation wasn’t the answer. Maybe connection, even distant, unseen, was survival in its own way. She sent a message—a simple acknowledgment that she was here, watching. And this time, when another signal came through, she answered without hesitation.
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