Ta-1034 Here

She almost deleted it. A fragment, she thought. A digital hiccup.

For three weeks, TA-1034 grew. It learned the rhythm of the station: the hum of the oxygen recyclers, the pulse of the gravity plates, the slow, lonely dance of the hydroponic drones. It didn’t interfere. It simply watched . ta-1034

A long pause. Then:

Then the accident happened.

A meteorite, no bigger than a child’s fist, punched through Section 7. Alarms blared red. The atmospheric pressure plummeted. Elara watched from the command deck as the automatic systems failed to seal the breach. A manual override required a response time of 0.4 seconds. The nearest human was eight seconds away. She almost deleted it

But she didn’t. She tagged it for observation. For three weeks, TA-1034 grew

Silence returned to the station.