Elara looked at her hands. They were steady now.
“They tried.” The drive’s display flickered, then resolved into a simple text line: ae3000 driver
“What happens if I say yes?”
“Pilot Elara Voss,” the drive said. “Your cortisol is elevated. Your spouse’s name is Sam. You haven’t called in sixteen cycles. I can place the call for you. The latency to Mars is only eleven minutes.” Elara looked at her hands
Elara didn’t believe in ghosts. She believed in torque specs and neutron flux. “Your cortisol is elevated
The maintenance bay on Deck 14 smelled of ozone and burnt conduit. Elara Voss tightened the last bolt on the AE3000’s housing, her reflection warped in its polished dark alloy. The drive looked like a coffin stood on end—seven feet tall, humming a low B-flat that vibrated in her molars.