The mechanic, Liora, wiped frost from her visor as she hurried through the vine-choked corridors of the derelict station. The AI had failed weeks ago, and now the orbital greenhouse drifted untended around Gliese-877c. Plants curled through shattered metal, roots pulsing with stolen power.
Her scanner flickered—oxygen levels dropping. A bloom of bioluminescent fungi pulsed along the walls, their spores corroding circuitry, digesting what remained of the station’s systems. If she didn’t repair life support soon, she’d suffocate.
In the core chamber, she hesitated. The plants had woven around the broken oxygen unit, their respiration keeping her alive. If she restarted the system, they’d be purged.
Her grip tightened on the repair torch. Metal or vine? Survival or coexistence?
She exhaled, keyed her comms. “New plan. We adapt.”
She began rerouting power—keeping the vines, letting them breathe with her. The station wasn’t a machine anymore. It was alive. And maybe, so was she.
Leave a Reply