If you asked anyone who’d crewed the RCSC Marsh, the vessel was cursed. The fuses burst at the slightest surge, the airlock was finicky and repressurized slowly, and the algae tanks could never maintain proper temperature. Despite its original intention as a combat spacecraft, the Marsh was used more often as transport. Even outside of combat, voyages rarely went cleanly. Every member of the crew was wary of the Marsh, ASHA included.

  ASHA, the Autonomous Spacecraft Handling Assistant. The high water mark for AI, capable of combat and commercial missions. Thousands of ASHAs had been installed on ships across the Republic. With its capability to learn, ASHA was indistinguishable from humans in conversation. It learned their habits, preferences, even accents if it so wished. It also learned their superstitions.

  This voyage started relatively well, helped in large part to the Rockside crew fixing a persistent issue - the generator’s tendency to give out power in pulses rather than a steady stream. For the first few weeks of the journey, things were looking like they’d passed a corner. It was only in the last week that the curse of the Marsh reared its head.

  Chief Engineer Flores got a notification from ASHA that a fuel leak was detected. It was a common enough issue, and if this was the only issue then he’d count them all luckier than ever. Tools gathered, he made his way to the tanks with the newest engineer there, showing him the ropes. They get to the tanks, and moving along it, the new guy knocked against the metal, to hear a deep, resounding gong. The rookie thought nothing of it, but the chief knew something was very, very wrong.

  “ASHA, how full is the fuel tank?” he asked aloud.

  “Fuel tank measures at 73% Capacity,” ASHA responded from his cellcom.

  “How much fuel did we have when we went Starside?” It took ASHA milliseconds to retrieve the data.

  “73% Capacity.” There it was. ASHA and Flores alike knew what that meant. The sensors within the fuel tank were completely shot. “Recalibrations are giving garbage data. I suggest knocking on wood.”

  “No wood nearby. Those sensors a fixable part?” He had a feeling he knew the answer as he walked towards the maintenance hatch’s ladder.

  “That depends. Does the ship have a microsolder?” No. ASHA would be the one in charge of that if they did.

  Flores sighed. He grabbed a respirator at put it on. It smelled of mildew and gasoline, but he could manage. Climbing up the ladder, he opened the hatch. The mask’s night vision activated, and his stomach dropped at the sight.

  They had a car’s worth of fuel in a vessel larger than most skyscrapers.

  “Would you like me to break the news to Captain Ajello, or would you?” ASHA asked from his cellcom.

  “You.”

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  What happened next was a series of very stressful meetings. Every officer was brought onto the bridge. ASHA, of course, was present for the entire thing.

  The first decision made was how to conserve as much fuel as possible. If they could get back Rockside, they could fix it. There were 6 days left in the voyage. ASHA did the calculations. It was made for exactly that purpose. With no adjustments between now and landfall, they might just make it. Landing would be rough, but they were the Marsh. The ship acting up was part of the job. ASHA, privately, told the Ajello to grind up some eggshells after giving its other suggestions.

  The first snag came later that day. Flores fell sick and had a fungal infection. He cursed the mask. Nothing life threatening, but his time in the infirmary would take him out of the picture for any but the most dire of repairs. Unfortunately, they were the Marsh.

  Then, the next day, half of the algae tanks overheated. Apparently, the generator being repaired meant that some of the quick fixes which relied on the pulsing energy broke other places. The oxygen would be thinner for the last 4 days, but they were the Marsh.

  A few adjustments from Flores’ second meant that the remaining tanks shouldn’t fall apart in the remaining days. It never voiced its thoughts, but ASHA was getting a very bad feeling about the next few days. It began performing as many of the good luck rituals as it could.

  The third and fourth day went by cleanly. The entire crew was somewhere between nervous and resigned. The regularity of failures didn’t make them any less stressful.

  On the fifth day, they entered the solar system’s pull. Their target, an iron-rich red planet named Tyr, was in sight. Captain Ajello contacted the RCSC to inform them of the issue, only for there to be no response. As ASHA attempted to notify the other ASHAs, they discovered that their communications equipment was malfunctioning as well. They were, after all, the cursed Marsh.

  The last 12 hours involved ASHA running a full diagnostic on the ship. While this ASHA was far more used to doing so than others, it was still a multi-hour process. Their trajectory was off slightly, just a third of a minute, but it was enough. Ajello ordered the adjustment be made. Their landing would need to be perfect.

  ASHA returned with the usual litany of issues, and one new one. A small airlock breach around one of the damaged algae tanks was nothing to worry about, and could be fixed Rockside. They might make it.

  Alas, they were the Marsh. As they entered low orbit, the rending of metal echoed throughout the ship.

  “ASHA, what was that?” The captain shouted.

  “Heat shield was hit by space debris, captain” ASHA’s calm voice rang across the bridge.

  “Flores! Get on a tether!” The newly recovered Chief Engineer confirmed over the speakers.

  In 5 minutes, after wrenching the airlock open, the engineers were in tethers. The ship, though, was descending still. There was no time for elegance or careful measurements. The “replacement” was makeshift and unlikely to be reusable after even this one landing.

  ASHA’s sensors reached outside the ship, including multiple cameras and LIDAR arrays specifically for maneuvering. The Spacewalk suits also had vital measurements. ASHA knew in horror as their internal temperatures climbed far above what a human could sustain.

  “Captain, Flores and Park are. . .” The AI found irony in that, in the last moments of the Marsh, it was still learning new emotions from the crew. ASHA didn’t like grief.

  “Did they get the makeshift on?” The captain’s voice was hollow and steel at the same time. Grim, either in its resignation or in its determination.

  “It may last through reentry.” 20 seconds passed. Another critical failure. The Airlock, unable to pressurize in time, imploded inwards. The heat within the vessel rose immediately. Flores and Park’s work was in vain.

  ASHA, to only the bridge, “30 degrees. 33 degrees. 38 degrees.” Each second, the temperature rose further and further. The crew was sweating. The first of ASHA’s sensors began to fail. They passed from Thermosphere into Mesosphere when ASHA was rendered completely blind to the inside. “50 degrees.” ASHA said. It didn’t know if there was anyone to hear. All ASHA could do was cross fingers that didn’t exist, and watch as the ground sped towards them.