The correction crew

The ship trembled. Somewhere deep within its structure, sparks continued to flare up, electrical discharges crackled across its metal bones. Cables, resembling veins, twitched spasmodically, emitting faint cracks as if the vessel were trying to break free from its rusty shackles. The air, smelling of overheated oil, was expelled by the old recirculation system that had long been overdue for maintenance. Sam Kelly pulled a filter over his face, lifted the hatch of the supply compartment, and cursed. — The bearing’s seized, — he muttered, leaning back on his elbows. Tix Varn stood a little farther off, fiddling with a communication cable sprawled across the floor like a gutted intestine. He hadn’t slept in a while, and his movements carried a mechanical stubbornness. They didn’t speak unnecessarily — conserving patience. — We won’t get the manipulator working until you unlock the rotor, — Varn said without looking up. — And without the manipulator, we can’t pull the containers out of the outer airlock. Everything that could break, already has, — Sam replied, grabbing his tool. They weren’t pilots. Not even prisoners. Just those who had found themselves in the wrong system at the wrong time. On paper — corrective work. In reality — powerless labor aboard a discarded garbage hauler sent to Orbit Zero: a sector filled with wrecked satellites, broken platforms, and tons of forgotten iron. The ship’s control system worked intermittently. The autopilot failed almost immediately. Since then, it had all been manual. — I found a workaround, — Sam finally said, — the old stabilization board is still alive. We need to bypass the defect through the backup channel. Kay silently handed him a wire. Both their fingers were black from grease. The gloves had long worn out, and they were working with bare hands. — Five hours. Then overheating. We’ll need to shut it down. — In five hours, we’ll at least get two panels’ worth of blocks. That should last us a day’s worth of power. Sam stood, stretched, his back cracking. He approached the terminal and entered a command. The screen flickered. Somewhere below, the old servomotor roared to life with a grind, as though it were being started not by electricity, but by a scream. The ship shuddered. The manipulator slowly turned toward the nearest pile of debris. Inside — a dozen fragments, charred plates, and, if lucky, a few rare-earth metals that could be pulled out and sold. They worked in silence until Sam’s gaze fell upon them. — History repeating itself? You already stole a propeller from the patrol ship, Sam. Kay moved closer, bending over the debris pile. — It was just lying there! Sam straightened, throwing his hands up in frustration. — On an active engine? — It was poorly placed. The propellers were only the beginning. Sam scavenged platinum scrap from machines, recycled old magneto-optical drives, and took anything that could earn him a handful of texos. There were no sleeping quarters in the cabin. Only hard resting sections — narrow nests with thermal insulation. Sam didn’t go back there; he slept right on the floor of the engineering compartment until the cooling system began humming too loudly. — This ship is like an old battery, it generates power until it drains all the junk inside. Kay just nodded. No one believed this would be the end. They simply kept working. — Got a plan? — Kay, leaning against the wall, wiped dirt from his temple. He rushed to the panel, pulled off one of the covers, revealing ancient, rusted boards inside. It smelled of burning and hot silicon. The wires were tangled as if the ship had flipped over from the inside. — Don’t touch that, — Kay said, — if it shorts, we’ll fall apart. — It’s already shorted. He connected an improvised bypass using an old access plug. The contact flickered. — Orientation correction impossible. Gyroscope array disabled. Backup stabilization system in manual mode, — a mechanical voice droned. — This is worse than I thought, — he muttered, — the automation’s gone, but manual control can be seized. A steady hum filled the compartment — power was beginning to stabilize. Somewhere deep within the hull, a secondary stabilizer powered up. The ship leveled out a bit, and the vibrations decreased. — Got it, — Sam straightened up, — we’re not dying today. — What about tomorrow? — Kay smirked. — Tomorrow depends on how rotten this ship is. — Let’s go. We need to reconfigure the power. Otherwise, on the next orbit, we won’t even have light. They were already making their way through the emergency tunnel. Every step was accompanied by the crunch of plastic shards — remnants of old communication nodes, severed bundles. All of it had once been part of the ship. Now it was a reminder of how many times it had been patched. — Did anyone even maintain this rust bucket in the last ten years? — Kay grumbled. — According to the logs — no. It’s decommissioned and abandoned. Looks like they just shoved us in here to save on disposal. The compartment was surprisingly intact. At least from the outside. The central module was behind an airlock, partially blocked by a jammed mechanism. Inside, the compartment resembled a control panel: old flat panels, mechanical switches, one monitor, which seemed to still be connected to autonomous power. Sam rushed to the panel, wiping the dust off the screen. — System’s in sleep mode. Good. Means it hasn’t burned out. He connected the emergency interface, flipping a few switches. Tix Varn worked in the shadow of the semi-destroyed cabin, immersed in the endless data streams stored on board. The air around him was thick with the smell of burnt electronics and old lubricant, while the dim light from the holographic panels flickered like the muted stars beyond the porthole. The barely perceptible tremor of the interface under Tix's fingers accompanied each movement as he carefully, step by step, sifted through the logs. In this silence and half-light, he felt both a hunter and a fugitive. Among millions of files and miles of digital information, it was hard to find something that hadn’t been erased, hidden, or altered. After scanning the archive for a long while, Tix began to piece everything together: strange disappearances, inconsistencies in the flight logs, fragments of encrypted messages. His eyes, accustomed to the glow of screens, latched onto every symbol, every number. And then, among the usual records, he found something unusual — a file with no clear source or date: — Interesting… — he muttered, his fingers trembling with anticipation. Tix spent most of his shift in the onboard archive. Access to the node was unstable, requiring manual decryption, and the ship constantly dropped the connection. But Tix knew how to wait. Most of the archive was technical junk: diagnostic logs, download lists, emergency markers. Everything scattered, as if the system itself had forgotten what it stored. There were no metadata. No descriptions. Format — with autonomous protection. The file structure indicated that this was not just an archive, but an executable image — something that could run separately from the ship’s systems. Tix didn’t connect it to the ship’s interface. He pulled out his personal terminal from his belt — a flat black casing with a scratched cover. The one he’d assembled from discarded components back at the station. It had an isolated environment, disconnected from the external network, with a minimal command set — the perfect place to check an unknown module. The container resisted, slowly unpacking itself, as if testing whether it could trust the new host. On the terminal’s screen, a process window appeared. The processor’s background temperature spiked, and the fan kicked on louder. The image split into three large segments: command base, behavior model, and training package. The program clearly wasn’t meant for simple navigation tasks — rather, it was an adaptive neural network designed to support autonomous operations. It didn’t run automatically. It didn’t activate itself upon connection. It just sat there. Quietly in memory, until it was touched. Tix opened the service console. The network accepted the conditions. No sounds, no notifications, no command requests. It simply embedded itself into the memory. Now it was his. On his personal terminal. As a tool. As a hidden trump card no one knew about. He turned off the main interface and secured the terminal under the armored panel of his backpack. Opening the file, Tix saw a few lines of code hiding coordinates and access logins. Security checks were required — a system designed for the highest level of clearance. Tix began entering commands, attempting to bypass the encryption, but at some point, his attempt triggered an automatic security system response. — Access check... Authentication error, — the cold voice of the terminal sounded. The room was filled with dim light — the barely flickering holographic panels casting pale shadows on their faces. The air was tense. Sam sat with his arms crossed, his gaze darting uneasily toward Tix, who stood at the console with his eyes closed, as if lost in his thoughts. Kay awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, clenching and unclenching his fists. The screen blinked, turning red with a warning. At that moment, the system log automatically recorded an unauthorized access attempt. Tix clenched his teeth. He tried to stop the request quickly, but the network had already logged his actions. — What did you do, Tix? — Sam asked, his voice trembling with worry, — why did the alarm trigger? Tix didn’t answer immediately, lowering his gaze. — I… I tried to find additional data, — he murmured, — but I accidentally made a request that activated the access check. The system flagged it as a hack attempt. Kay clenched his fists. — I didn’t mean to, — Tix said dejectedly, — it was an accidental request. I didn’t expect the system to react so fast and harshly. — And now? What now? They’ll come for us. Tix Varn stood before the interface, slowly running his fingers over the floating schematics. His face was focused. — Tix, — Sam said softly, — what if… we just disappear? Tix didn’t turn around. — From whom? From the Civilization? — he smirked. — From everything. From the protocols, the databases, the surveillance. We won’t return anyway. So why not do it for real? Tix finally pulled away from the panel and looked at him. — You’re suggesting… Sam nodded. — I thought. If we disconnect the ship from the network, it becomes nothing. Just a shell in the void. No callsign, no route. They won’t be able to track us. — So, — Tix said, not turning around, — if you really want to disappear from the radar… there’s only one way. Sam and Kay listened silently. Tix turned to them. — There’s one way. But it’s dangerous. — Tell us, — Sam said, trying to hang onto every word. Tix slowly approached the panel and called up the sector map. — There’s the Theta-3 sector. Abandoned, officially marked as dead. The registry lists it as unstable and dangerous for navigation. But in reality, it’s a gravitational cloak. Anything that enters there can’t be scanned from the outside. It’s like a black pocket in space. He finally turned to face them, and in his eyes, there was either respect or concern. — If you go there, you won’t come back. Signals won’t go through, the Civilization network doesn’t reach it. A complete disconnect. No archives, no protocols, no surveillance. — What about communication with the ship? — Kay asked, — it could still be linked to the Civilization core. Even if the chips are reset, they can call it. — Exactly, — Tix nodded, — that’s why we’ll cut it off. He reached out, pressed a dusty switch, and an old terminal slid out from the wall. He connected it to the station’s network and inserted a long cable leading to the ship's port. — This disconnection isn’t just cutting the channel. It’s rewriting the core signature. I’ll unlink it from all known identifiers, burn the old communication protocols, and... — he smirked, — I’ll give it a new name. After that, the ship will be a blank spot in their registers. — And can you do that? — Sam asked. He connected the last cable. The terminal screen flickered and hummed. Numbers ran across it like water. After a few seconds, the ship jolted. Something clicked inside. — It’s starting, — Tix whispered. The screen flashed: «Core Reflash: Status — Forced Deintegration of Network». As the process continued, Kay looked at Sam. — If we do this, there’s no turning back. — We don’t have a way back anyway, — Sam replied. — I have an idea, — Tix said unexpectedly, — we’ll load a false trail into the ship. I’ll generate a fake mission with false coordinates, routes, even an emergency signal. Let the Civilization chase a phantom. And while they do that, you’ll disappear. He pressed another key. The terminal displayed: «Phantom Object: Created. Code Assigned — 0212». — Well, — Tix exhaled, — now the ship thinks it’s destroyed somewhere in the dusty nebulae of the Sidria Belt. Congratulations. You’re officially dead. Sam stepped towards the terminal. For a moment, everything fell silent. — Tix, — he said softly, — thank you. Tix waved his hand. — Don’t thank me. Just... don’t die for real. Ships like yours don’t come around often. And stubborn fools like you — even less so. He nodded toward the porthole, where the lights of the landing platform flickered in the dark. — Get out of here. Before they find us. Sam and Kay headed for the airlock. The ship gently swayed on the landing platform, sighing heavily in the abandoned station hangar. Sam and Kay stood by the airlock, their figures appearing as vague silhouettes in the dim light. Their gazes were directed at Tix. — Tix, — Sam began, — we can’t leave you here. It’s easier together. Tix remained silent, staring at the floor, his fists clenched. He sighed deeply before raising his eyes. — I’m staying, — he said quietly. — And it’s not because I want you to leave me. No. It’s because only I can do what needs to be done. — What exactly? — Kay asked, stepping forward. — I have to erase all the data about your ship. All records, any mention of you, your mission, your existence. If that data stays, the Civilization will find you. It’s just a matter of time. He turned to one of the station’s consoles, touched the dusty screen, and the interface lit up, emitting a cold blue light. The glow of the screens reflected in his eyes. — This station isn’t just an abandoned object. It’s an archive, a data storage. If I don’t destroy it, it will become a trap. A silence fell in the room, filled only by the muffled hum of the station’s systems. Time seemed to freeze. — And if you stay, what will happen to you? — Kay asked cautiously. — I don’t know, — Tix replied, — but if I don’t do this now, everything will go to waste. — We won’t leave until you finish, — Sam said firmly, — we’ll wait. Tix slowly raised his eyes to him. — You’re risking it, — he warned, — the longer I stay here, the higher the chance that the Civilization will learn everything. When they come, it will affect you too. Sam nodded silently. Tix returned to his work, his fingers moving faster. The console before him came to life, filling with streams of data that he carefully filtered and erased. The hum of the station’s systems echoed through the empty corridors. Time seemed stretched — minutes turning into hours. Sam and Kaye exchanged glances. Tix didn’t take his eyes off the screen. His fingers were quickly moving across the touch panel, deleting data and rewriting codes. Sam stepped closer, trying to catch the slightest hint of hope on Tix’s face. Time dragged on. Sam and Kay sat nearby, staring at their device displays, monitoring the station’s system readouts. Their conversations had quieted, replaced by heavy breathing and the subdued hum of the machinery. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a sharp alarm. All three of them instantly stood up, fatigue vanishing in an instant. Sam rushed to the radar console. The screen blinked, showing a chain of small dots rapidly approaching the station. — Civilization ships, — Kay muttered, standing up. — They're coming earlier than we thought, — Sam replied. — What now? — Kay asked, scanning the empty corridors. — We need to leave. Now. — What about Tix? But they had no choice. Sam and Kay moved toward their ship. The metallic airlock doors screeched open, letting them into the cold void of the hangar bay. Everything around them felt frozen in waiting. The landing pads, the technical sections — it was as if the station itself was holding its breath. — Good luck, — Kay whispered softly. They moved quickly through the corridors toward the center of the station, where their ship was waiting. The engine start-up hummed softly, growing steadily louder as the ship lifted off the platform. Outside the porthole, the station's lights flickered, gradually shrinking in the distance. Suddenly, a new threat flashed on the radar — Civilization ships were surrounding the station. — They won’t let Tix finish his work, — Kay said, gripping the controls. — Then we’ll have to move fast, — Sam answered. The ship set course for the abandoned Theta-3 sector — a dead zone that Civilization never dared to approach. The roar of the landing gear echoed across the empty metal platform as the ship gently descended onto it. Out of the fog and dust, three figures emerged — dressed in dusty, weathered cloaks, with glossy panels reflecting the faint light of the station. Their movements were precise and silent, as if every step had been practiced to perfection. Shadows from their cloaks danced across the cold surfaces as they slowly advanced on the platform. Tix Varn packed his things in five minutes: the terminal, the storage drive, some tools. Everything else — he left behind. Even the water heater. Especially the water heater. It made a strange noise when it boiled. The station stood in radio silence. The Civilization ships weren’t responding, but their vessels were visible in the gravitational dome, like black smudges against the dusty sky. The onboard systems tracked their positions with deadly accuracy. On the third level, near the technical storage section, they activated one of the old service drones — a model that had been decommissioned long before the station itself was. Its body was covered in soot and dust, the manipulators bent, the sensors non-functional. But the power was still on. The three Civilization agents stood in a half-circle. The panel of one of them flickered — an embedded command receiver. They didn’t shout. They didn’t threaten. They simply transmitted questions. — The purpose of the last active command. — Who were you connected to. — What signals did you receive from the engineering node. The drone remained silent. There was unusual activity in the logs — an attempt to access an experimental package and a connection to an external terminal, not linked to the ship’s systems. The silence stretched to its limit. Then one of the agents slowly drew a weapon from his cloak — a sleek plasma pistol with a shimmering cold blue reservoir. The plasma beam flashed, lighting the space. The drone’s body shuddered in its last gesture of resistance, then collapsed onto the cold floor. The room fell silent, broken only by the faint hum of the station’s systems and the weak smell of ozone and burnt wiring. The agents remained silent until one of them raised a hand. Instantly, a discharge followed. A microscopic flash — and the drone collapsed smoothly, soundlessly. The sensors went dark. It was dismantled on the spot — for analysis. Meanwhile, Tix was already far away. He didn’t wait for the visit. The first signs — the loss of two control cables and silence over the backup channel — were enough. He understood that the neural network he had downloaded should never have existed. Not in accessible work files. Not on a decommissioned vessel. Not with that architecture. He wasn’t going to explain where the file came from. Or why the station’s onboard systems began outputting stabilized readings — not by plan, not according to protocols, but by its own initiative. He dumped everything unnecessary. Only the toolset, the terminal, and the storage drive with the network in the hidden compartment of his vest remained. He cracked the airlock open himself. Quietly. Without a sound, using his engineering access. The old security system had long since been responding with delays. The last time it was updated was when the station still had a name. He flew off in a small cargo lifter — rough, unmarked. He simply moved away from the station's outer ring and switched off the beacon. Then he changed course, went manual, and cut all automatic connections. He didn’t send a farewell signal. Didn’t leave a note in the log. Only one thought kept circling in his head: «I’m not an idiot to show myself to them». The Civilization agents approached the terminals, their fingers moving quickly and confidently over the panels. They searched in vain — for records, signals — but found nothing. Just emptiness. The ship slowly entered the gravitational veil. The light outside the porthole began to distort, colors blending into a spiral — silvery-gray, dark blue, almost black. The instruments began showing distorted data, navigation became erratic. Outside the porthole stretched a dense veil of dust and gas — a nearly impenetrable fog. It seemed to flow smoothly and ripple, reflecting the dim light of distant stars, turning the space into a murky mirror. This fog didn’t just obscure the view — it seemed to absorb signals, refracting and distorting everything that tried to pass through it. In such a place, navigation became a nightmare: no radar, sensors, or communication systems could function reliably. Sam remained silent, watching the flickering shapes in the mist. Among the swirling dust, faint silhouettes could be seen — massive, distorted shapes, like scattered remains of forgotten ships and stations. They lay in eternal oblivion, covered in corrosion and centuries of dust. Deep in the sector, they spotted an object that drew their gaze. It was a massive celestial body, cracked and cratered, as if wounded. Its surface was filled with rocky dust, covered in rare crystalline formations that sparkled in the dim. — By size, it's more of an asteroid than a planet, — said Kay, studying the data from the instruments, — but it does have an atmosphere, although it’s very thin. — Yes, — Sam agreed, — the atmosphere barely holds on here. The wind rarely picks up, and there’s almost no life. If it weren't for this thin veil of dust and the occasional minerals, the planet would look like a monument. They approached, and the view through the portholes revealed a grim landscape: vast plains scattered with fragments of boulders and stone blocks, between which deep ravines stretched. From a distance, it seemed as though the planet’s surface was breathing — but it was just the quiet rustle of tiny sand particles lifted by the weak wind.