Home Was Still There
Posted on 08 Aug 2026 @ 5:25pm by Alura Ryn
1,499 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
The Doldrums
Location: MWR Office
Alura Ryn frowned at the activity schedule floating above her desk.
“No.”
She tapped one entry, dragged it three lines lower, considered the result, and immediately dragged it back.
“That is worse.”
The small plush targ sitting beside her terminal offered no useful opinion.
Alura pointed at it. “You are supposed to be management support.”
The terminal chimed before the targ could defend itself.
**Incoming personal communication. Priority: Family. Risa.**
Alura’s expression brightened immediately.
“Saved by people with actual opinions.”
She accepted the transmission and leaned back in her chair as the Federation seal dissolved into the familiar faces of her parents.
“Hi!”
“Alura.” Selara Ryn smiled warmly from the screen. “You look well.”
“I am well. Busy, but well.” Alura leaned closer. “Why are you both sitting like that?”
Her father blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you’ve broken something and you’re waiting for me to notice.”
Joren Ryn glanced sideways at his wife.
Alura pointed accusingly at the screen. “That. Exactly that.”
“We haven’t broken anything,” Selara said.
“That is not the same thing as saying nothing has happened.”
Her parents exchanged another look.
Alura narrowed her eyes.
For as long as she could remember, her father had been terrible at concealing good news. Bad news he could deliver with all the careful professionalism of a resort administrator handling a plumbing failure during peak season. Good news turned him into a child trying not to smile before a surprise had been properly revealed.
“Papa.”
Joren lasted another two seconds.
“We bought it.”
Alura stared at him.
“You bought what?”
His smile finally escaped.
Selara reached toward something beyond the edge of the viewer. The image shifted abruptly, sunlight washing across the screen before the automatic compensation caught up.
Alura sat forward.
For several seconds, neither of her parents said anything.
They didn’t need to.
Beyond a wide terrace, pale stone steps descended toward gardens that had been allowed to grow a little too freely. Farther down, brilliant blue water stretched toward the horizon. A line of guest villas followed the curve of the coast, their roofs faded by years of sun. One building near the beach looked as though it had not hosted anyone in quite some time.
It was beautiful.
It was also, very obviously, going to be a tremendous amount of work.
Alura’s mouth fell open.
“No.”
“Yes,” Joren said.
“No.”
“Still yes.”
She stood so quickly that her chair rolled backward.
“You bought a resort?”
“A retreat,” Selara corrected.
“It has guest villas.”
“Yes.”
“A restaurant.”
“Two, technically.”
Alura stared.
Her father lifted one finger. “One currently has a functioning kitchen.”
“That does not help your argument.”
“It has a small marina,” Selara added.
Alura looked from one parent to the other.
“You bought a resort.”
Joren’s smile softened. “We bought our place.”
That quieted her.
For much of Alura’s childhood, people outside Risa had spoken about the planet as though paradise were permanent.
It hadn’t felt permanent to the people living there.
The great resorts had endured. Some had expanded. Others had reinvented themselves for changing generations of Federation travelers.
Smaller places had disappeared.
Some closed quietly. Others were bought, consolidated, or allowed to fade after years of declining bookings. Families that had spent generations welcoming visitors found other work. Their children increasingly looked somewhere beyond Risa when it came time to build lives of their own.
Alura had been one of them.
Her parents had stayed.
Her father had managed properties belonging to other people. Her mother had continued her work in Risan cultural history and Federation exchange. Through all of it, there had always been another property to look at, another possibility to discuss, another calculation that ended with not yet.
Not yet had apparently become now.
“How?” Alura asked softly.
“Years of planning,” Joren said.
“Years of saving,” Selara added.
“Years of your mother refusing to let me make irresponsible offers.”
“Someone had to.”
Joren ignored that. “The previous owners finally decided they were ready to sell. We were able to put together the financing, and…”
He spread his hands toward the view behind them.
Alura was smiling before she realized it.
“You actually did it.”
“We did.”
“Oh, Papa.”
Joren’s expression changed. The excitement remained, but something more serious settled beneath it.
“And now we need you.”
Alura’s smile faltered.
There it was.
She should have known there was another part.
“Need me how?”
Selara turned the viewer again, this time toward the interior of the building.
The lobby was airy and unmistakably Risan, filled with natural light and sweeping curves. It was also sparsely furnished. Several planters were empty. A decorative fountain appeared to have surrendered long ago.
“We have the property,” Selara said. “Your father can handle operations. I can manage the cultural programming, partnerships, and restoration work.”
Joren nodded. “But the guest side needs to be built almost from nothing.”
“Activities,” Alura said.
“Activities,” he agreed. “Excursions. Events. Recreation. Wellness programming. Family programs. Seasonal festivals. Holosuite offerings. Staff training.”
Alura slowly lowered herself back into her chair.
“You have a list.”
“I have several.”
“Of course you do.”
“We could hire someone,” Selara said.
Alura looked up sharply.
Her mother’s expression was gentle.
“We will hire someone if we need to. We did not call because we expect you to abandon your life simply because we finally managed to do this.”
Joren leaned toward the viewer.
“But if we are going to make this place work, we need someone who understands more than resort activities.”
Alura folded her arms.
“I am almost afraid to ask.”
“We need someone who understands people.”
That landed differently.
Her father continued.
“You’ve spent years doing this on starbases, transports, and now a starship. You build programs for people who are tired, frightened, homesick, bored, overworked, or simply looking for somewhere they belong.”
A little of Alura’s practiced brightness disappeared.
Joren smiled.
“We don’t need our daughter to come home, Alura.”
He paused.
“We need our recreation director.”
For perhaps the first time in her professional life, Alura Ryn had absolutely nothing to say.
Her eyes moved toward the activity schedule still floating beside the communication window.
Dance night.
Crew fitness challenge.
Beginner holophotography workshop.
Movie night.
A dozen small attempts to make a starship feel less like somewhere people worked and more like somewhere people lived.
Then she looked back at the weathered villas behind her parents.
“You’re serious.”
“Very,” Selara said.
“I have responsibilities here.”
“We know.”
“I can’t simply leave the Arawyn.”
“We know that too.”
“There are people depending on me.”
Her mother nodded. “Then you should think about them.”
Alura looked at her.
“And think about yourself.”
Silence stretched between Risa and the Arawyn.
Her father finally broke it.
“For what it is worth, I think you’d be magnificent.”
Alura swallowed.
“That is a very unfair thing for a father to say.”
“I’ve had twenty-six years of practice.”
That earned a small laugh.
Selara leaned closer to the screen.
“You left Risa because there was a whole Federation waiting for you, Alura. And because, if we are being truthful, there wasn’t much here for someone your age who wanted to build something of her own.”
Alura said nothing.
Her mother glanced toward the resort around them.
“Maybe there is now.”
The words settled somewhere deeper than Alura wanted them to.
She looked again at the water beyond the terrace.
Home.
She had never thought of leaving as escaping Risa. She loved Risa. She loved its colors, its music, its warmth, the way hospitality had been woven so thoroughly into her childhood that she had somehow turned it into a career.
She had simply believed her future existed somewhere else.
Until now.
“I need time,” she said.
“Of course,” Selara replied immediately.
Joren nodded, though disappointment flickered briefly across his expression.
Then he brightened.
“Excellent. Because the opening festival is in six weeks.”
Alura stared at him.
Selara closed her eyes.
“Joren.”
“What?”
“You said we weren’t going to tell her that yet.”
“You have an opening festival?”
“Potential opening festival,” he corrected.
“You don’t have an activities director.”
“Which does present a complication.”
“Papa.”
He grinned.
Alura covered her face with both hands.
When she lowered them again, her parents were both smiling at her from another world.
Her world.
“I will call you back.”
“We love you,” Selara said.
“I love you too.”
“And Alura?”
She paused.
Her father gestured behind him toward the resort.
“Just think about it.”
The transmission ended.
The room became very quiet.
Alura remained seated for a long moment, staring at the blank screen.
Then she reopened the image her parents had sent.
Sunlit terraces.
Overgrown gardens.
Weathered villas.
An empty recreation pavilion waiting for somebody to decide what it could become.
Beside it, the Arawyn’s activity calendar continued blinking patiently.
Two schedules.
Two homes.
Alura reached for neither.
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