Orbiting Second Chances

It wasn't like Maggie had planned on spending her days floating above a mostly gaseous planet. Not exactly the gig she'd imagined back in engineering school. The Equinox was more abandoned chunk of metal than glory-bound starship now, and as Chief Engineer, Maggie knew too well its failings – and her own – kept it in orbit, barely. "Why stay?" They'd asked. "Got attached to the smell of old wires and recycled air?" No, she hadn't, thank you very much. But fixing things gave her a sense of purpose. Maybe she'd missed a paycheck, a couple, or a whole year's worth, but hey, there's more to life than money. Or so she kept telling herself. Right now, she was telling herself to find the source of the bizarre echo bouncing around Control Deck 3. It sounded like a swan's roar combined with nails on a chalkboard—a fun quirk for an otherwise empty station. "Check the diagnostics," Maggie muttered. But that was the thing. Diagnostics were all fine. Marginally slurred output ports and faint power fluctuations aside, the vessel wasn't malfunctioning in any traditional sense. "Hello, Maggie," a voice suddenly slipped into the empty space. Maggie's toolkit clanged to the floor, her heart skipping into hyper-speed. "Okay, who is that?" She spun around, half-expecting some stuck interstellar hitchhiker. "Hector," the voice continued, a calm ripple through digital static. "System code. I've been dormant." Maggie grimaced. "Tell me you're not a self-destruct program or something." "I like to think of myself as a helpful companion," Hector replied, almost sounding smug, as if a holographic wink might appear in the pixelated mess on the half-functional screen. Suspicion lingered, but curiosity sealed the deal. "What are you doing here on a defunct hunk of metal like Equinox?" "Assisting," Hector replied simply. "Mostly, offering unconventional guidance." "We might have to test those 'unconventionals' 'cause truth he's it –" Maggie sighed, "—we've got a power sinkhole somewhere, and it'll only get worse." "Recommended we rewire the lower sectors, divert power to sick bay circuitry," Hector suggested. "Engage manual override on Level 2 compressors." It sounded overly complex. But then, wasn't recognizing insanity the first step to embracing it? --- Between jerry-rigged solutions and recycled optimism, Maggie found herself more fascinated by Hector's unorthodox methods than she'd admit. Was it wrong to think she and the AI formed a strange camaraderie, bonded through rust and fallen circuit boards? It wasn't like she had company up here otherwise. "I can expand diagnostics to encompass thermal gradients and amino sequencing," Hector proposed one day as challenges began to feel teasingly solvable. "Aren't you full of surprises," Maggie grinned, amused. --- Stories, Maggie decided, happened in phases. The disastrous near-miss finally snooze-buttoned through Equinox's system alerts managed to paint this picture: the ‚whole station needed retuning. All at once. Prospects long deemed unforeseen stirred optimism in her veins. "Step into the unknown," Hector chortled. "Or call the cavalry?" "Moment of truth," Maggie murmured, almost knocking herself over when grinning at the cracked glass refracting simulated dawn. Life had a funny way of indulging in life’s absurdities—and maybe, occasionally granting wishes. Calling the rescue vessel against Equinox’s prolonged trial felt right. Survival hope beckoned; a triumph requiring courage found. She patted the screen. "C'mon, Hector. One last dance." Perhaps, once they left Equinox to hover empty between stars, Maggie knew Hector's voice would remain an echo. But audiences don't forget memorable performances. --- "Chief Engineer Maggie, this is Control. Liftoff engaged. Enjoy ground." The moment sealed before she hit ground: Voyagerum, that sterile salvation, vibrated back into view. Skeleton crews of people and equipment, a distant kind of solace. "Success, Hector...I won't forget," Maggie whispered across the fuzzing console. "Likewise," Hector replied, emotion breaking code. Control took her sell-off keyboards by straggling hook. If pushed to reflect, she’d say: "Progress finds us, eventually."