Baby Steps:
I take a breath, pushing the doubts aside. Deal with them later. Right now, I have work to do.
"Alright," I say, clapping my hands together and turning to Maggie. "Enough drama. Let's get you started."
Sara checks her watch. "I've got that supply run. You good here?"
"Yeah. Go."
She gives me one more look—the kind that says we're talking about this later—then heads for the door.
Leaving me alone with Maggie.
"Okay," I say, keeping my voice gentle. "Let's start with some basic stretching. Nothing intense today—this is just to get you comfortable. You're going to be dealing with G-forces, zero gravity, extreme physical stress eventually. But we start slow. We build the foundation carefully."
Maggie nods, moving hesitantly to the mat. Her movements are uncertain, almost apologetic—like she's afraid of taking up space.
I demonstrate a simple hamstring stretch, making my movements slow and clear. She follows, awkwardly at first, her pale limbs folding into position. Her flexibility isn't terrible, but her body language screams discomfort—not physical pain, but the discomfort of being watched.
"You're doing fine," I say quietly. "There's no wrong way to do this. Just focus on what feels right for your body."
She glances at me, those pinkish-red eyes—almost the color of cherries in the low gym light—searching for signs of mockery or impatience. Finding none, she relaxes. Slightly.
We move through basic stretches—hip flexors, shoulders, gentle spinal twists. I guide her through each one, demonstrating proper form, encouraging her when I see hesitation.
"Good. Now let's try some modified exercises. We'll start easy."
I walk her over to the wall. "Wall push-ups. Hands on the wall, shoulder-width apart. Lean in, push back. Nice and controlled."
Maggie places her hands on the wall, mimicking my position. She leans forward, arms bending—
And immediately her arms buckle. She catches herself, blinking in surprise.
"Again," I say. "It's okay. Your muscles aren't used to this yet."
She tries again. This time she manages two before her arms give out.
"I... I can't..." she starts, frustration creeping into her voice.
"Yes, you can. Try again."
Her jaw sets. That determination I saw earlier flickers back to life.
She positions herself again. Push. Her arms shake. Push again. They tremble violently.
And she doesn't stop.
Three. Four. Five shaky, barely-controlled wall push-ups before she finally stops, breathing hard.
"Better," I say. "See? You can do more than you think."
A tiny smile crosses her face. Pride mixed with exhaustion.
We move on. Assisted squats, holding onto the bench for balance. Her legs shake on the way down. She grimaces but doesn't quit. Again. And again.
Then a plank—on her knees, not her toes. I count down from thirty.
"Fifteen seconds," I say.
Her whole body is trembling. Her breath coming in short gasps.
"Twenty."
"I can't—"
"You can. Hold it."
"Twenty-five."
Her arms give out. She drops to the mat, gasping.
But when she looks up at me, there's something different in her expression. Not defeat. Not embarrassment.
Determination.
"Again?" she asks, her voice small but steady.
"Again," I confirm.
We work through the routine for the next hour. Slowly. Patiently. I correct her form when needed, demonstrate alternatives when something's too difficult, push her just enough without breaking her.
By the end, she's flushed—her pale skin showing actual color for the first time. Sweat dampens her white hair, plastering it to her forehead. Her breathing is ragged, her limbs shaky.
Now I can see the confidence. Just a spark of it. But it's there.
"Not bad for day one," I tell her, tossing her a water bottle. "We'll do this every morning. Your body will adapt. It just needs time."
"Thank you, Laura," she says quietly, genuine gratitude in her voice.
"You're part of this team now, Maggie. We build each other up here. That's how this works."
She nods, something vulnerable and hopeful flickering across her face.
We spend a few minutes cooling down, stretching out the muscles we just worked. Maggie's movements are slower now, tired but less uncertain. She's starting to understand her body better. Starting to trust it.
My phone buzzes.
I pull it out, glancing at the screen.
Marcus:Outside. Ready when you are.
"Alright," I say, standing. "That's enough for today. Go clean up. We're heading to the lab."
Maggie's eyes widen slightly. "Now?"
"Now. You need to see where you'll be working."
She nods, pushing herself to her feet with visible effort. Her legs wobble slightly, but she steadies herself.
Twenty minutes later, we're outside.
Marcus's car pulls up to the house. I open the door and climb in, Maggie sliding into the back seat.
"Thanks for the pickup," I say.
Marcus nods. "No problem, Director. Heading to the lab?"
"Yeah."
"I'll drop you off and head back to get Sara."
"Sounds good."
The drive is quiet. Maggie stares out the window, watching the city pass by. I can see her processing everything—the training, the funding news, the massive change her life just took.
Marcus's car pulls up to the research facility—a nondescript building on the edge of the industrial district. Nothing fancy. Nothing that screams "secret space project." Just another research lab among dozens.
Perfect.
"Thanks, Marcus," I say, opening the door.
He nods. "I'll head back to pick up Sara. She texted—supply run's taking longer than expected. Call when you need a ride back."
"Will do."
Maggie climbs out after me, still wrapped in that dark cloth, her eyes scanning the building's exterior. I can see the uncertainty in her posture—the way she holds herself smaller, like she's trying not to take up space.
Marcus drives off, leaving us at the entrance.
I unlock the door with my keycard, and we step inside.
The hallway is quiet. Sunday afternoon—most of the team has the day off. But there are always a few dedicated souls who show up regardless. The kind of people who live for this work.
The kind of people I can count on.
We walk down the corridor, past empty offices and dark laboratories, until we reach the main research floor. I push open the double doors, and the familiar hum of equipment fills the air.
Three people are scattered around the space, working at their stations.
Dr. Rohan's hunched over a computer terminal near the far wall, running simulations. His dark hair is messier than usual—probably been here since early morning. Dr. Shane's at the workbench, soldering something delicate, his movements precise and focused. And Dr. Lena's by the spectrometer, adjusting calibrations while her daughter plays on the floor nearby.
Miri.
The little girl is maybe five years old, sitting cross-legged on a mat with crayons scattered around her. She's drawn what looks like rockets and stars on a large sheet of paper, and she's currently trying to balance a tiny screwdriver on her nose.
I've seen her here before—Sundays, mostly, when Lena's parents can't watch her. The kid's quiet, well-behaved. Usually stays close to her mother, coloring or playing with her toys while the adults work.
She's never really talked to me, though. Always a bit shy when I'm around. I don't blame her—I'm not exactly warm and fuzzy when I'm working.
Lena's husband is deployed overseas—Marine, I think. So Miri tags along when needed. Nobody minds. Honestly, her presence makes the lab feel a little more human.
"Director," Dr. Rohan notices us first, straightening up. "Didn't expect you today."
"Change of plans," I say, stepping further inside. Maggie stays close behind me, practically hiding in my shadow. "I wanted to introduce someone."
Dr. Shane looks up from his work, and Dr. Lena turns from the spectrometer. Their eyes land on Maggie—or rather, on the dark cloth wrapped around her, the pale hands clutching it, the white hair peeking out.
But their expressions don't change much. Curious, maybe. But not shocked. Not staring.
Just... normal.
I feel Maggie relax slightly behind me.
"This is Maggie," I say. "She'll be joining the team. Starting training today."
"Welcome," Dr. Rohan says with a nod.
"Good to have you," Dr. Shane adds, offering a brief smile before returning to his soldering.
Dr. Lena walks over, wiping her hands on a rag. "Nice to meet you, Maggie. I'm Dr. Lena."
Maggie nods slightly, still half-hidden behind me. Her voice is small. "Hello."
Then I notice Miri.
The little girl has stopped playing. She's staring at Maggie with wide eyes, her crayon frozen mid-air. Slowly, she gets to her feet and walks over to her mother, clutching Lena's leg shyly.
I'm a bit surprised. Usually when I'm around, Miri keeps her distance. Stays quiet. Focuses on her drawings. But now she's watching, curious.
Maggie notices too. She shifts behind me, pulling the cloth tighter around herself.
Miri peeks out from behind her mother's leg, her eyes locked on Maggie's white hair, her pale skin. The child's expression is pure wonder—no fear, no judgment. Just... awe.
"Mama," Miri whispers, tugging on Lena's pants. "Is she an angel?"
The lab goes quiet.
Dr. Rohan glances up. Dr. Shane pauses his work. Lena looks down at her daughter, surprised.
I feel Maggie freeze behind me.
Then, slowly, Maggie steps out. Just a little. Just enough for Miri to see her properly.
Maggie's face is soft. Almost vulnerable. And when she speaks, her voice is quiet but genuine.
"You're the only person who's ever said that."
Miri's face lights up. She beams, releasing her mother's leg and taking a tiny step forward. "Really?"
Maggie nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Really."
I stand there, watching. This is... unexpected. Miri's never approached me like this before. Never been this talkative when I'm nearby. But Maggie's presence seems to have changed something. Made her brave enough to speak.
"You're really pretty," Miri says, her shyness melting away. "Like in my storybook. The angel has white hair too."
"Thank you, you look cute too," Maggie says softly, then hesitantly pats her head.
Miri giggles, then holds up her drawing. "Do you want to see my rocket?"
Maggie crouches down slightly, leaning in to look. "It's beautiful. Did you draw the stars too?"
"Uh-huh! Mama says we're going to space someday. Are you going to space?"
Maggie glances up at me, uncertain.
I nod. "She is."
"Wow," Miri breathes. "You're so lucky."
Lena chuckles, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Alright, Miri. Let them get to work. You can show her more drawings later."
"Okay!" Miri waves at Maggie. "Bye, Angel Lady!"
"Bye, Miri," Maggie says, her smile lingering.
Miri skips back to her mat, already starting a new drawing—probably another angel.
I glance at Maggie. There's something different in her expression now. Not quite confidence, but... relief. Like a weight has lifted, just a little.
The team didn't stare. Didn't whisper. Didn't treat her like a curiosity.
And a five-year-old called her an angel.
Maybe this will work after all.
"Alright," I say, turning to the rest of the lab. "We'll be doing a quick tour. Maggie needs to familiarize herself with the equipment."
Dr. Rohan nods. "Let me know if you need anything, Director."
"Will do."
I lead Maggie deeper into the lab, past rows of workstations and equipment racks. The space is organized but lived-in—papers pinned to boards, coffee mugs on desks, cables running across the floor in organized chaos.
"This is where we do most of the preliminary work," I explain, gesturing around. "Simulations, calculations, material testing. The real experiments happen in the back sections."
Maggie follows quietly, her eyes taking in everything.
I stop at a workbench covered in components. "Spectrometers, thermal sensors, pressure gauges. Standard atmospheric analysis equipment. You've probably seen most of this before."
She nods. "In the university lab."
"Good. Then you know the basics."
We move to the next section—a larger space with reinforced walls and ventilation systems. "Environmental testing chamber. We simulate different atmospheric conditions here. Temperature extremes, pressure variances, radiation exposure."
Maggie's eyes widen slightly. "For the suits?"
"Among other things."
I walk her through the rest of the floor—centrifuge for material testing, clean room for sensitive assembly work, workshop for fabrication. She's quiet, absorbing it all, asking the occasional question.
Then we reach the back of the lab.
And there it is.
The telescope.
It's massive—far larger than anything a typical research lab would have. Custom-built, heavily modified, and connected to a network of computers and monitoring systems that take up half the wall.
Maggie stops, staring up at it.
"What... what is that?"
I step beside her, looking up at the telescope. "This is how we track them."
"Them?"
"The objects in orbit. Debris, satellites, experimental payloads." I pause. "And other things."
She doesn't ask what "other things" means. Smart.
"This telescope is linked to a network of sensors. We monitor trajectories, analyze compositions, predict collision risks. It's how we know what's up there."
Maggie's eyes trace the length of the telescope, following the cables, the support structure, and the massive lens.
"I've never seen anything like this," she murmurs.
"You wouldn't have. We built it ourselves. Custom optics, adaptive tracking, real-time data processing." I glance at her. "This is the heart of the operation. Everything else supports this."
She nods slowly, still staring.
I let her take it in for a moment. Then I check my watch.
We've been walking around the lab for over an hour, and Maggie's absorbed more than I thought she would. She's quiet, but attentive. Asking the right questions. Not overwhelmed, just... focused.
Good.
"That's the basics," I say. "You'll get more familiar with everything as we go. For now, just know where things are."
"Okay, Professor."
I turn back toward the main floor. Dr. Rohan's still at his terminal. Dr. Shane's finished his soldering and moved on to testing circuits. Dr. Lena's packing up her equipment while Miri colors happily on her mat.
Maggie glances back at the telescope one more time before following me.
"Director," Dr. Lena calls as we pass. "Heading out?"
"Yeah. Long day."
"Drive safe." She smiles at Maggie. "See you around, Maggie."
"See you," Maggie says softly.
Miri waves enthusiastically from her mat. "Bye, Angel Lady!"
Maggie waves back, that small smile returning.
We leave the lab, stepping back into the quiet hallway.
As we walk toward the exit, I glance at Maggie. She's still wrapped in that cloth, still cautious. But there's something different now. Something lighter.
The lab accepted her. Didn't judge her. Didn't make her feel like an outsider.
And a little girl called her an angel—and Maggie reached out on her own. Didn't hide. Didn't hesitate when it actually mattered.
I didn't know how to keep her past trauma from interfering with the work. Turns out the answer was simple—put her somewhere it doesn't have to.
Everything worked out well in the end. At least for now.
***