The correction crew

The dim light of flashing spotlights illuminated the path ahead — the ship smoothly cut through the cosmic expanse. The destroyed stations had long disappeared, and several hours had passed as it continued relentlessly moving in the same chaotic direction. Sam and Kay sat in silence, trying not to lose their minds from the endless rattling. No one dared to break the looming silence over them. — Where are we even flying to... — Sam wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer. He stretched out the words slowly, as if bored. Kay just shrugged without lifting his head from the screen. He looked so tired that disturbing him was the last thing on Sam's mind. — We're not flying anywhere. We're just drifting, — Kay said, his voice echoing deep within the ship. Sam nodded, pressing his lips together. No systems were working properly — the control panels flickered weakly. Everything was in a state of constant motion without a goal, as if the ship were a prisoner of itself. Red lights flashed on the screen. Their increasing tremor clearly indicated an anomaly. Suddenly, a vague object began to grow larger behind the central porthole. — What is that? — Sam asked, furrowing his brow. A massive pile of scrap metal, made up of modules of various purposes and destroyed in several places, swayed before them. It seemed the station was held together only by rust. The antennas were bent, and some of the airlocks were sealed shut. — Station «Anywhere» detected, auto-docking active. Recommended section: Dock-B, — the voice of the system's computer rang out. — Who even names stations like that? — Kay muttered, not taking his eyes off it. — We don't need to go there, — Sam said quietly, looking around. — That means we’re going exactly there. — The ship is registered. The station has activated the automatic docking system. A fee of fifteen texos for docking and access to the station is required. Prepare for connection. They silently watched as the station approached. In the giant maw of one of the old airlocks, weak signal lights flashed. The airlock closed, swallowing the ship. When Sam and Kay finally landed on the station, they were greeted by the grinding and rattling of old metal structures. It wasn’t the most modern spaceport, but apparently it was the only one that could accommodate them in this part of the galaxy. They descended the gangway and found themselves on a platform that, despite its visible wear, was still operational. Long corridors were dimly lit, and the smell of old rust filled the air. Safety notices hung on the walls, and in some corners, screens flickered, long overdue for updates. It was clear the station hadn’t undergone a major repair in years. In the hall they entered, several space loaders were present, and figures in protective suits were busy transporting containers. It was sparsely populated, and the atmosphere felt oppressive. Sam noticed one of the station workers eyeing their ship with curiosity, suspiciously assessing its condition. Drops fell straight onto his forehead. Somewhere, old ventilation systems hummed — rattling but still filtering the air. The lights flickered erratically. When they reached the wide hall of the docking ring, the air changed. It became denser and more humid, like in an old technical basement. The space before them lit up with a soft bluish glow: a service drone emerged from the wall. Its body was chipped, but still shiny in places where the paint hadn’t peeled off. One of its three lens-eyes flashed red. It spoke in a metallic, toneless voice: — Welcome to station «Anywhere». Docking completed. Access granted upon standard fee payment — fifteen texos. Sam took a step forward. — We don’t have any texos. Not a single one. The robot fell silent for a few seconds. Then it mechanically nodded. — Activation of compensation retention protocol. Payment will be made as a deposit. Object identified: ship. Object meets minimum requirements. Ship confiscated. — Wait, what? — Sam turned sharply to the porthole of the side window. Kay also stepped closer. Right before their eyes, the cargo platform — old, noisy, and on magnetic rails — crawled underneath their ship. There was a low hum, like someone had switched on an old industrial lift. The clamps clicked into place beneath the hull of the vessel. Then, it slowly, almost ceremoniously, crawled away — down a long corridor leading into the depths of the station. Sam stared in shock as their only means of transportation disappeared into the station’s maw, as though the ship had never belonged to them. — Why! — he shouted. The drone turned to him: — According to station regulations, docking without means of payment constitutes an agreement to exchange property. Refusal to pay is a voluntary transfer of collateral. Return is possible only upon providing an alternative compensation. — In other words, — Kay said grimly, — we just got screwed. The robot took a step back and disappeared into the wall, leaving only silence and the soft hum of machinery behind. Their ship was no longer visible. Sam exhaled. — Well, then... They made their way to the lift, which, fortunately, was working. As they ascended, Sam noticed how the station was divided into several sectors. The area they were in reminded him of an abandoned part of an old spaceport, but the higher they went, the more civilized the surroundings became. In the upper section, Tix Varn was sitting amid a pile of torn panels, microchips, broken drones, and half-disassembled terminals. Small, in a dirty protective suit. He wore glasses with several flip-up lenses, one of which was flashing. He didn’t immediately notice them — he was absorbed in a stubborn module that refused to fit into place. — Come on... — he muttered, — just work once, properly... Kay deliberately cleared his throat loudly. The mechanic flinched, almost dropping his tool, cursed under his breath, and finally looked up at them. — Who the hell are you? — Sam and Kay. We just arrived. Our... — Sam glanced at Kay, — they took our ship. Tix snorted and returned to the module. — Took it? Well, fine. Nothing here for you to wander around for free. — We need to get it back, — Kay said calmly, — the docking protocol was automatic. We didn’t know they were going to seize our vessel. Tix, not looking up, replied: — And? What do you expect me to do about it? Tix stopped fiddling with the module. He straightened up slowly and looked at them through his lenses. He cursed, threw his glasses aside, and rubbed his face tiredly. — You must be with the Custody, huh? So what? All these colonies are the same, nothing interesting, just a lot of junk, — he snorted, — I’ve been here for weeks, and all I find is crap and abandoned ships! He sighed loudly, but there was a hint of interest in his voice now. — Maybe I’ll do it, but what do I get in return? Nothing! Just waste more time, like always, — Tix muttered nervously, fiddling with his tools, — I’m used to everything being useful! Sam and Kay exchanged glances. Sam shrugged. Tix Varn nervously fiddled with his tools, not paying attention to Sam and Kay. His hands were shaking as if he couldn’t focus, and instead of negotiating calmly, as he usually did, he was getting increasingly rude and irritable. He suddenly grabbed one of the modules, held it up to his device, and started checking it, continuing to talk absentmindedly. His nervous tension was apparent in every word, and Tix didn’t bother hiding his irritation. Tix Varn stood in front of Sam and Kay, nervously stroking his tools, with something constantly falling from them and making loud clattering noises as it hit the metal floor. — Listen, I don’t like it when people come to me and say they have no money. How do you even expect me to help you without compensation? I don’t have time for charity! Sam tried to calm him down, but Kay already lowered his head. Neither of them had money, and they knew this would be a serious issue for Tix. Varn grabbed the module again and threw it on the table in frustration. — No money, no deal. So, get out of here. I’m not wasting time on this crap, — Tix grumbled, but just then his tirade was interrupted. Tix Varn was tightening the protective cover on one of the heat modules when his tablet vibrated briefly. He automatically glanced at the screen: «Airlock 4 activated. Object transport via platform». — What the hell… — he muttered and opened the station’s internal log. As he scrolled through the list, the airlock started hissing as it opened. Two cargo drones emerged from the depths of the hangar — heavy, old, with dents on their frames. Behind them, a ship slowly crawled on the magnetic platform. It was in terrible condition: the left side — melted, the nose section — cracked, the glass panel — covered in soot. Yet — the shape was familiar. Tix didn’t recognize it immediately. At first, he thought it was some decommissioned scout from the outskirts. But when the airlock’s onboard system automatically sent a service message to his console, everything clicked into place: — Object №743-CRV: Seized "Arkon" class vessel (Civilization-purpose). Temporary storage. Delivery completed per collateral turnover registry. He paled. — No, — he whispered, — it can’t be… Tix threw his glasses aside and stepped forward as the platform glided toward the hangar rack. Even through the soot and damage, the contours of the hull were unmistakable: elongated gravity blades, armor plating from the Second Cycle era, a special heat dissipation line along the lower fuselage. He had only seen these in archived schematics. Tix froze immediately, his eyes wide. He straightened up, no longer paying attention to Sam and Kay. — Wait! This... this is a civilization ship! Damn, I can extract anything from this! — his face became tense, and his hands stopped trembling. He quickly turned to Sam and Kay, his voice changing sharply from irritable to interested. — Alright, listen up! You want me to help you, and I was about to send you away, but... I’ve changed my mind. I still need you. Tix Varn returned to his workbench and pressed several buttons, accessing his internal interface while continuing to speak: — If you want me to give you tools, I need something valuable. Damn, with this ship, I could get data that I’ll hardly even think about your empty pockets. So, come on, if you have any access to this data... maybe I’ll let you leave with tools. But be warned, if you try to trick me, I won’t hesitate. His voice became less harsh, but still tinged with greed. Tix was ready to strike a deal, but only if he was sure he’d get valuable information. Sam and Kay exchanged a silent glance, then simultaneously rolled up their sleeves. On the inner side of their forearms — just above the wrists — dim blue outlines flashed: implants. These were not for convenience, but for necessity. Echoes of the Civilization’s laws. — We won’t give access to the core until you disable our chips, — Sam said firmly, keeping his eyes on Tix. — They’re tracking us, — Kay added, — and they might stop us if they find out we’re trying to trust you with the ship. Tix stepped closer, peering at the glowing lines. — What a ship... Let’s make a deal, I’ll disable your chips, but I need data from your ship. Don’t want to? Leave. I won’t stop you. But I’m curious what you brought here. Sam and Kay looked at each other. Now they were faced with a choice: give up the data to complete the deal, or try to find another way to get the ship back. Kay exhaled slowly, looking at Sam, then at Tix Varn. — We don’t know exactly what data you’re looking for, — he began cautiously, — this ship... it’s like it has a mind of its own. It doesn’t share anything with us. We tried to open the archives, but access is blocked. Sometimes... it shows something, as if it chooses what and when we can know. Tix snorted and stepped closer, his face twisted in a mix of disbelief and greed. — Chooses? Are you telling me a fairytale about an intelligent ship, Kay? — he sneered, as though he couldn’t believe it himself, — though... it makes sense. This hull is old, from pre-Transition days. Back then, they used neural networks. Not just automation — real synthetic minds. He looked at his terminal screen, where signals from the ship, now connected to the station, were already coming in. The screen flashed with fragmented data, but something in it clearly caught Tix’s attention. — Well, well... — he muttered, typing a decryption command, — you didn’t just bring a pile of junk. This is an archetype. A lost prototype. And it’s got live memory. He turned sharply. — Alright. Fine. You’ll get access to the tools. I’ll help you with repairs if you give me full tech access for one shift. No more. But I warn you: if I find anything valuable — I’m taking a copy. No discussions. Sam nodded. — If this helps get the ship back in working order... we agree. If the ship won’t let you in, deal with it yourself. Varn only grimaced. — I don’t argue with squeaky neural networks. I listen to them. They’re, you know, sensitive. The mechanic looked at them for a few more seconds, then abruptly turned and went to the back table. From there, he pulled out an old, dusty device, but still operational. He connected a bioconverter and an optoloop to it and finally turned back: — Sit down. If things go wrong, you’ll lose control over your hands. Or speech. Or die from fibrosplasia. Nothing personal — just a warning. Sam smirked. — That’s the most reassuring thing we’ve heard all day. Sam settled into the chair, and Tix applied the second optoloop. Light danced across his skin as though the chip itself was trying to hide. Tix worked quickly. His fingers flew over the keys, and the improvised interface obediently displayed the system’s responses. — So... the chip’s core is active, but the signal is weak right now. The synchronization protocol isn’t supported — maybe because your ship is offline. There’s a chance we can bypass external connections without triggering the defense. Sam gritted his teeth when the first pulse ran through his arm — an unpleasant sensation, as if his blood briefly turned to glass. But it lasted only a second. And then... — Got it, — Tix exhaled in relief, — the signals are fading. Protocols are blocked. The chip is now blind, deaf, and doesn’t know where it is. If you don’t shock it, it won’t wake up. He carefully lifted the mesh and gently removed it from Sam’s arm. He exhaled heavily, doing the same with Kay’s arm. — Done. Now, you’re officially out of the system. No one can track you, no one can call you through the network, no one can send commands through subconscious channels. — So now we’re... free? — Kay murmured, still looking at his hands. — On this station? — Tix smirked, — free is a strong word. But your chips can’t rat you out now. That’s for sure. He stood up, stretched, and glanced at the dark monitor hanging in the corner: — Now let’s go get your junk back. Sam smiled for the first time in a long while. For a moment, it felt like it was easier to breathe. — Thanks. We’ll remember this. — You’d better remember where my credit is, — he grumbled, — and do it quickly. Before we all end up somewhere out in the middle of nowhere... The old ship remained in the dock, unaware of what had just happened.