Deneb - Solar Array #204987-733H

  Date: 9.9.3204

  The request was simple: a stabilizer bracket for the power conduit on Array #204987-733H. Nothing exotic. It was the kind of part any functioning fabricator should be able to synthesize in minutes, provided it had enough raw material captured from the solar winds. Heph expected it to show up in the usual way: delivered by one of the array’s drones within a few hours.

  Instead, he got a surprise.

  Delivery ETA: 203 hours 43 minutes.

  Heph stared at the notification blinking on his HUD, as if glaring at it would make the number shrink. “Eight and a half days? For a stabilizer bracket? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  He checked the drone’s status logs, expecting to see some minor glitch or a backlog excuse. Instead, the delivery route caught his attention.

  Origin: Deneb Outer Shipyard - Fabricator D36

  The name sent a jolt through his mind. The Deneb Outer Shipyard had been offline for as long as Heph had been in the system. It was supposed to be a dead relic of an older era, its docks and assembly lines abandoned millennia ago. Once powered by the Dyson swarm, it had built some of the greatest marvels the galaxy had ever seen—massive ships that were still crossing the stars even now. But as far as Amazing Solutions Inc. was concerned, it was nothing more than a floating graveyard, and engineers like Heph were told to “avoid said area.”

  So why was his part coming from there?

  He opened a channel to the array’s local system. “Array 733H, confirm delivery route for stabilizer bracket request.”

  After a brief pause, the AI responded in its flat, synthesized voice: “Delivery confirmed. Route originates at Deneb Outer Shipyard - Fabricator D36. Estimated delivery time: 203 hours 41 minutes.”

  “Why not use the local fabricator?” Heph asked.

  “Fabricator resources insufficient. Shipyard Fabricator D36 identified as next available source.”

  Heph sighed, rubbing his temples. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  The local fabricators were supposed to synthesize parts by harvesting elements from the solar wind, but they were running low on key materials. That wasn’t surprising; the swarm’s maintenance had been spotty for centuries, and raw material capture rates were steadily declining. What surprised Heph was that a dead shipyard was apparently operational enough to process his request.

  “Eight and a half days,” he muttered, closing the console. “Guess I’d better get comfortable.”

  Date: 10.9.3204

  The next day, as Heph was patching up Array 204987-731C, his comm crackled with an incoming message. Erika from Station 314/B.

  “Hey, Heph. You look like you could use a distraction,” she said, her voice cutting through the static.

  He tapped his wrist console to reply. “I look like that all the time. What gave it away?”

  “Your logs. You’ve been poking at the Deneb Outer Shipyard like it owes you money.”

  “Just curious,” Heph admitted. “Had a delivery routed from there. ETA: eight and a half days.”

  “From the shipyard?” Erika sounded skeptical. “That thing’s been dead for millennia. What’d you order, a museum exhibit?”

  “A stabilizer bracket.”

  She laughed. “Classic. You’re stuck with ghost parts from a ghost yard. Perfectly on brand.”

  “Glad my misery entertains you,” Heph said, though he couldn’t help but chuckle. “How’s 314/B holding up?”

  “Same as ever. Drones are breaking down faster than I can fix them, the arrays are whining for attention, and I’m running low on coffee. You know, paradise.”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Sounds about right.”

  There was a pause, the kind that hung heavy between words, and then Erika added, “How’s it been? You know… since the crash.”

  Heph didn’t answer immediately. He stared out at the endless expanse of the swarm, his gloved hand resting on the array’s metal surface. “Quiet,” he said finally. “Too quiet.”

  “I figured. Look, I know it’s not the same, but if you ever need someone to talk to ...”

  “I know,” Heph interrupted. He didn’t mean to cut her off, but the thought of opening up about Bruna, Malik, and the others felt like trying to fix a shattered relay with duct tape.

  Erika sighed. “Alright, I won’t push. Just… don’t let it eat you alive, okay? This job’s hard enough without the ghosts.”

  Heph gave her a half-hearted smile she couldn’t see. “Yeah. Thanks, Erika.”

  The comm went silent, leaving Heph alone with the array, the stars, and the ghosts she’d mentioned.

  The days stretched on in their usual rhythm: wake, work, and wait. Heph bounced between arrays, patching up collectors, replacing failing relays, and dealing with the never-ending backlog of repairs. Each job felt like slapping a Band-Aid on a gaping wound, but he kept going.

  The silence of the station was the worst part. Once, the halls had been filled with the voices of his crew—Bruna’s sharp wit, Malik’s terrible jokes, and even the background hum of conversations over comm channels. Now it was just him.

  Sometimes, he’d catch himself turning to say something, only to remember there was no one there. He’d cover the lapse with a muttered joke or a frustrated sigh, but the weight of their absence never left.

  Not long after the crash, when the initial chaos had settled, Heph had taken a marker from the maintenance locker and written their names on the wall of the crew quarters. Bruna Takashi. Malik Horne. Sita Ramone. Lyle Kesler. Each name was printed in neat block letters, just below the station’s repair schedule.

  He’d done it after receiving Amazing Solutions’ reply to his report of their deaths—a curt acknowledgment with no mention of compensation or memorials. “Personnel missing in action. Proceed with assigned duties.” That was it. No mention of who they were, what they’d done, or the fact that they’d been his friends.

  So Heph wrote their names. It wasn’t much, but at least someone would remember them. Even if that “someone” was just him.

  Sometimes he thought about logging them back into the system as active engineers, just so their names would show up on the duty roster again. Maybe then it would feel like they hadn’t been erased completely. But he dismissed the thought every time—it wouldn’t bring them back, and it’d only mean more work when the system tried to assign them tasks they could never complete.

  His own quota was impossible enough without the station expecting ghosts to carry their weight.

  Heph often lingered in the crew quarters after his shifts, staring at their names. Sometimes he’d mutter things like, “Bruna, you’d have loved this mess,” or “Lyle, you’d have found a way to make this worse.” It didn’t change anything, but it made the silence feel a little less crushing.

  Then he’d head back to his bunk, ready to start the cycle all over again.

  Daneb - System

  Date: 17.9.3204

  Eight days after he submitted the request, Heph piloted his shuttle back to Array 733H. As he docked with the array, his HUD pinged with a message.

  “Drone arriving. Delivery imminent. ETA: 00:04:22.”

  “Finally,” he muttered, suiting up and stepping out onto the array’s surface.

  The drone arrived exactly on schedule. Heph spotted it from a distance—a massive, hulking machine bristling with manipulators and thrusters. Its size immediately struck him as excessive for the job. The stabilizer bracket he’d ordered was small enough to fit in a standard tool kit, but this drone looked like it was built to deliver entire structural components.

  “What the hell did they send you for?” Heph said, half-amused, as the drone approached the damaged conduit.

  The drone hovered above the array for a moment, its manipulator arms extending with surprising precision. It carefully lowered the stabilizer bracket into place, retracting the damaged part and slotting in the new one with smooth efficiency. Heph ran a diagnostic, and the system hummed back to life, the power conduit realigning itself as the array resumed its energy collection.

  “Job well done, big guy,” Heph said, patting the drone’s cold metal frame.

  As the drone prepared to depart, Heph turned to head back to his shuttle. That’s when he heard the soft clunk of something being dropped. He turned back to see a small, sleek device lying on the array’s surface.

  “What now?” Heph muttered, walking over to pick it up.

  It was a small black box, about the size of his hand, bearing only the same spiral insignia he’d noticed on the drone. Heph turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. There was no display, just a single button on the side.

  “What are you for?” he asked aloud, as if the device might answer him.

  The drone, seemingly satisfied with its work, powered up its thrusters and drifted away, leaving Heph alone on the array. He stared after it, the little box still in his hand.

  He didn’t know what to make of it. The device didn’t seem like a spare part or anything remotely related to the job, and the drone had dropped it deliberately. Was it a mistake? A malfunction? Or was someone—or something—trying to send him a message?

  Heph’s helmet beeped, a sharp alert pulling his attention back to the task at hand. His HUD displayed a flashing notification: another urgent problem flagged on a nearby solar array. He stared at the alert, shook his head, and muttered, “Whatever you are, you’re going to have to wait. I’ve got a solar array to stop from crashing into another one. You’re a later problem.”

  He pocketed the mysterious device and climbed back into his shuttle, pausing for one last glance at the departing drone before setting his course for the newly flagged array.