Photos from Olympus

Olympus Station hovered in geosynchronous orbit above what was once Greece, a gleaming ring bristling with observation domes and solar panels. Down below, the continents sprawled in green and gold—the cradle of civilization now reborn as a wilderness. Up here, fitness nuts and historians mingled, lifting weights between artifact scans, running laps beside digital renderings of ruined temples.

Cleo ducked beneath a floating yoga mat, grinning as she caught her breath. Her smartwatch vibrated: ten thousand steps before noon. Not bad for an archaeologist. She glanced over at Milo—her workout partner and the station’s lead physical trainer—who was finishing his circuit of “ancient games,” tossing a weighted discus through zero-gravity hoops.

“Last one to the observation lounge does pushups until sunrise!” Milo called out.

“You’re on!”

They launched themselves through the corridor in a flurry of laughter and sneakers.

---

After their sprint, Milo sprawled beside Cleo against the wide viewport. The sun edged over Earth’s horizon—a thousand rays painting golden streaks across the Mediterranean.

“Ever think about how people used to live down there?” Cleo mused. “Running marathons in Athens or wrestling in Olympia? We recreate it up here but… it’s all just echoes.”

Milo tugged something from his duffel: a slim gadget with rounded corners.

“Check this out. Found it in the supplies drop last week. Thought it might help you with your project.”

He handed her the portable photo printer. “Syncs to your tablet via Bluetooth or NFC,” he said proudly. “Zero-ink tech—just pop in your pics and it spits ‘em out. Plus they’re stickers.”

Cleo’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been dying for something like this! We can stick photos onto artifact cases or training logs… Or just make collages for fun.”

She snapped a quick selfie of them both—sweaty, smiling, with Earth glowing behind—and tapped print. Moments later, a warm 2x3 sticker slid from the Kodak Step Wireless Mobile Photo Mini Printer.

---

A month later, Cleo’s quarters were plastered with sticky-backed snapshots: Milo balancing on his hands atop the gym’s replica Parthenon column; Cleo mid-cartwheel by the hydroponics bay; close-ups of ancient coins they’d reconstructed together during late-night cataloging sessions.

Every photo told their story—a chronicle not only of revived culture but of burgeoning affection.

Milo started making training charts using photo stickers: before-and-after shots of fitness progress, ancient exercise poses mimicked by modern bodies, group shots after competitive runs around the inner ring. The crew loved seeing themselves immortalized next to relics from long-lost civilizations—a fusion of past and present that stuck (literally) to every corner of Olympus.

---

The night everything changed began with thunder—mechanical, not meteorological—as Olympus shuddered under an unexpected meteor strike. Emergency lights flickered; alarms blared; Cleo scrambled through the corridors searching for Milo among shouting crewmates.

She found him pinned by debris near Gymnasium Bay 4, bleeding but conscious. His first words: “You made your steps goal today?”

Tears blurred her vision as she tried to free him. "Don't joke now," she whispered.

“Promise me you’ll keep printing photos,” he said quietly as medics rushed in. He pressed something sticky into her hand—their very first selfie together.

---

The repairs took weeks; Milo didn’t make it through surgery.

Grief hollowed Cleo’s chest as she drifted through daily routines—logging relics, leading fitness sessions for the shaken crew—but she kept her promise. Every day she took new pictures: teammates rebuilding the damaged gym; sunrise over Earth’s blue curve; tiny victories amid loss and longing.

At each step, she printed memories on those little sticky-backed photos: Milo teaching planking form beside a marble bust; his lopsided grin after beating her in sprints; their hands clasped over an ancient coin they’d pieced together one careful night.

She lined her cabin wall with these snapshots—a running timeline stretching from their earliest days to now—a silent testimony that history wasn’t just what had been lost but what was still being made.

One morning, as the station spun over dawn-lit Sparta, Cleo led a memorial workout for Milo: ten thousand steps around Olympus’s ring track in silence. Each participant received a photo sticker afterward—a snapshot Cleo had printed from her archives: Milo at his happiest, alive in motion.

They stuck them to lockers, water bottles, heart rate monitors—a constellation of memory that moved with them wherever they went.

---

Maybe loss was another kind of endurance test—a marathon measured not in miles but moments remembered and shared. On Olympus Station, history lived on not only in ancient artifacts or reconstructed rituals but also in tiny printed mementos passed hand to hand: proof that even in orbit above an old world, love could still leave its mark.