The solar storms had stripped the sky of color over Calyx-9, leaving engineer Lydia Voss alone in the glass ruins of the Arboretum. The oxygen generators had failed that morning, and the last green life on the station curled and browned before her eyes. She adjusted her rebreather, staring at the shattered dome, where vines had once climbed in artificial sunlight.
A faint buzzing filled the air. The pollinator drones—long idle—activated one by one, their programming clinging to old routines. They hovered over wilted petals, attempting a task that no longer mattered. Lydia knelt, gently reprogramming them through her wristpad. If she could reroute their systems, they could patch the failing ventilation lines, buy time.
One by one, they obeyed, drifting toward the vents, repurposed. Watching them work, Lydia felt something stir—perhaps hope, perhaps sorrow. Alone in the dying station, she found connection in machines built to nurture life.
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