Many times had the guardian watched the woman don her outer suit and step into the void. She was the one they sent for when things went wrong. The guardians had technology that could have saved them all that trouble, but that technology was turned outwards, to protect those on Earth—and off it—from the predations of other beings. Beings they knew nothing about, and if all went to plan, they would not learn of for thousands of years.
But something was different, the guardian could tell. The woman—Tereshkova—was in trouble. A simple scan had shown a flaw in the rocket boosters of the launch vehicle, and as they fired to correct course for docking with the sole orbital station the humans of Earth thought they had, that flaw became a catastrophic failure, and even with all the power in the world the guardian could not have saved the five crew onboard that ship.
Natalya Tereshkova floated in the blackness of space, one hand calmly unpacking the patch-kit, the other making the cross in thankfulness she hadn't been on the Rebirth with her fellow cosmonauts. Then the realization hit her that she was alone, in high orbit, with no more than two hours' oxygen. She put aside the thought that she would die soon and concentrated on repairing her suit—if she didn't, that air wouldn't last even half that long.
Unseen by Natalya, the guardian watched her drifting, calculating her course and survival probability given the known quantities of oxygen in her primary and reserve tank. 2 hours, 17 minutes, 46 seconds. In just over two hours the humans of Earth would lose their most talented EVA worker. Or they could be drawn forward—uplifted—into understanding the true workings of the universe.
If it were any other human the guardian could have watched dispassionately and let nature take its inevitable course. But the guardian could not let Tereshkova die. She was too important—and the guardian was in love with her. Her laugh. Her smile. The cocky grin when she managed to fix something others regarded as impossibly broken. The guardian could only see Tereshkova when she was in orbit—their technology could not be turned inward, and anyway, such close observation of a single human would be considered either needlessly constrained or highly unethical by the other guardians.
Floating, weightless, Natalya closed her eyes. Her radio could not reach Baikonur, even if theirs could reach her. She would not pray for a miracle, for she knew none would be forthcoming. She understood that she was dead, but she was not yet willing to accept it. She was a mission engineer, and while she didn't have much, she had a few things that might work.
First, oxygen, in pressurized tanks. Second, a high orbital velocity imparted by the explosion—more by the near miss that had torn her suit. Third, her scientific mind, probably her greatest asset. Fourth, and final, the relative position of the ISS, and the orbital velocity required to reach it.
But only her main tank would give her enough thrust to gain the correct orbit—and maybe not even then. It was a long shot, and would leave her with only fifteen minutes of air. She shrugged and got to work, dead in two hours was the same as dead in fifteen—but dead in fifteen also had the very slight chance of being recovered by the ISS, even if she was brain dead by that time.
The guardian watched as Tereshkova, ever the problem solver, jury rigged her main tank to act as a thruster. The guardian was impressed, but after doing the calculations turned grim. Tereshkova would miss the orbital station's orbit and swing past 85 metres underneath. 67 minutes after her brain death by hypoxia.
Never again would the guardian see that cocky smile, see the impossible fixes one human was capable of performing. Never again could the guardian hear that laugh over a radio intercept. Any other human the guardian would have let die—but not Tereshkova.
Her orbital boost completed, Natalya closed her eyes and relaxed. She had done all she could, and if it was not enough, then this would the impossible problem she couldn't fix. That she could accept. She was dying because she didn't have the tools to solve the greatest problem of her life. But that was okay, because she'd somehow solved everything else.
She recalled Yuri's smiling face, and his non-regulation beard. Samina's slowly greying hair, held tight in a worker's braid. Dima's gentle voice, able to coax just that little bit more out of everyone. Rasputin, and his off-colour jokes, especially about his namesake's death. And Cara, the sole American astronaut onboard, piggy-backing on their mission to return home from the ISS, and to help recalibrate the satellite that was next in their schedule.
The guardian floated next to Tereshkova now, still nothing more than a vague outline of refracted starlight. Only when viewed against the backdrop of Earth did any form become visible. Only then was it possible to tell that the guardian was wearing a hardsuit, stealth coating active, with valkyrie class grav-driver wings.
Natalya felt something nearby. Something impossible. She opened her eyes and saw nothing, just stars and the blackness between them. Some of them twinkled. But twinkling was an effect of rarefaction and turbulence within atmosphere. She was starting to hallucinate from mild hypoxia. That was it. She closed her eyes, but the presence remained. She continued to ignore it.
The guardian watch as Tereshkova opened her eyes, stared blankly through the stealth coating at the projected image beyond, and closed her eyes again. Every rule was now broken, but the guardian had no choice. Tereshkova must be saved. Arms wrapping around a precious cargo, the guardian pressed their faceplates together with a gentle clink.
"Hello, Tereshkova."
Natalya blinked at the voice. Surely a hallucination would not be so vivid. That was when she saw the face, half hidden behind an oddly shaped visor with a familiar gold tint. The face in front of her was narrow, sharp, and cast in strong shadow. Hands wrapped around her were doing something at the back of her suit.
"Hello?" Playing along with the hallucination might not have been such a bad idea. Maybe it meant she would have a peaceful death.
"I have upgraded your suits filters to class 1 micro-scrubbers. You will not die of hypoxia now." Strangely reassuring for a hallucination. "I have also modified our orbital path so that when I release you, you will rendezvous with your orbital station at a survivable velocity. What propellant is left in your secondary tank should serve to fine tune your entry velocity."
Even that was more than the guardian had been allowed to do. The guardians were not meant to be known. They were not meant to be seen. Their rules forbade interference in human affairs. But the guardian had forsaken those rules. Because Tereshkova was different, and the guardian could not let her die. All because of a concept that was all too human.
Love.