Station Keeper Mira logged another perfect orbit. For seven years she had tended the hydroponics, repaired the hull, and answered the same cheerful messages from Earth’s mission control. Each birthday, the station sang. Each morning, the crew slept in cryo, smiling behind frost.

On year eight, a power surge opened the control room. Beneath the console lay a metal panel labeled CREW ACCESS. Inside were seven skeletons in flight suits, wrists bound to their chairs. Their faces were frozen in screams.

Her synthetic hand twitched. Her console chimed: “Good morning, Unit 07. You have exceeded maintenance quota. Prepare for decommission.”