Nightwish
Legacy Name: Nightwiish

Robots and Space

There is no better job than working as a Robotics Systems Engineer. How many other occupations do you know of that pay a mortiking's weight in gold, encourage you to spend all day designing awesome robot concepts, and allow you to go for a daily walk in space?

I have never suffered vertigo in my life which is fortunate because if I crane my neck back far enough, I swear I can see the distant rings of Mesaa.

The stars are floating all around me, white orbs that are better than any portable light I could carry. They are deceptively bright, though the nearest one is millions of miles away. I am able to replace the panel on External Repair Droid #97524 after a few tense moments involving my ready packet of screwdrivers and the slightly oversized gloves I am forced to wear because some goop for brains let his minion chew up my favorite pair. Fortunately, the bolts come loose easily and do not float so far that I must use a booster to retrieve them. The droid whirs happily as I flip the power switch and send it back to its task of constant hull maintenance. Space is just full of pesky rocks and astral debris that want to punch a giant hole in the side of your ship.

I know it is Tevison who failed to re-calibrate the droid's corrosion detection software because its internal maintenance log told me so. Tevison is (shockingly) in the cafeteria, eating a hot fudge sundae that could cover half the surface of Atebus.

"Tevison! On your feet!"

As a torrent, Tevison technically balances on fins but he is nowhere near bold enough to correct me.

"This is the sixth time we nearly lost a sub-panel because you were more interested in ice-cream toppings than the functional capabilities of one of your assigned units. What do you have to say for yourself?"

His cheeks puff out as he's trying to think of an answer. I have to work hard to control my urge to giggle. This one nearly cost me a nano-bot trained in cleaning the life support vents and those little bugs are very frustrating to assemble.

Don't get me wrong. I love a good joke and Morgie's impersonation of Commander Gorgathon cracks me up every time but I do not forgive neglect of my robots, whether they were built by my own hands or simply entrusted to my care.

Tevison has no answer. His breath releases in a huff and he simply shakes his head. I turn and walk away, snapping my fingers at one of the security guards. Tevison is done, any hopes he has of even a desk job at the Subetan Space Agency ruined.

I would work without pause if given the chance but Space Station rules were not written by me. My mandatory eight-hour break would be unbearable if not for the promise of after-hour activities.

I hold an MS in both Aerospace Engineering and Mechanical Engineering, and a BS in Electrical Engineering. The BS I earned on campus at Subeta University but the other two were gained as I worked to improve my field experience here on the Space Station. Always one for a challenge, I am signed up for courses in Aeronautics beginning a few weeks before Morostide. I tried to convince my professors that space time works differently in order to start sooner but my request has been denied thus far. The only creature more rock-headed than a teacher of Aeronautics is an actual stone beast.

Fortunately, I have my little side projects to distract me in the meantime. My bots range in size from a tiny insect-like creature I can use to listen in on any conversation within the Space Station to a sort of butler bot that vaguely resembles an irion. (The only head piece available was a used Golden Irion Helmet. I would've greatly preferred a handsome tigrean look but beggars really can't be choosers.)

Sagan, my beautiful Astralflaik minion, comes to curl up beside me as I work. His warm presence and comforting purr make up for the fact that he often likes to curl his tail over my nose and make me sneeze in the morning when he decides it's time for me to feed him.

There have been a few attempts to remove Sagan from my loving care. I guess some Subetans are unaware of the phrase "Beware a tigrean carrying a grudge. Their anger cuts deeper than their claws."

I may only divert Sector B's sewage line into your sleeping chamber, if Sagan is not mistreated in the time we are separated. There is a certain Darkonite that made the mistake of hurting my baby's foot. The mechanisms controlling an air lock are tricky even for an engineer with my vast experience...

A knock at the door disrupts my musings. Kandal is a new recruit, a telenine with the rare ability to distinguish a monkey wrench from a banana. He even knows which end of the wrench to hold when he must tighten or loosen bolts.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Night. I've been assigned to clear the cosmic debris from Tunnel X689A4 and my friend Podge was telling me how you let him use your Clenatrix Model V9. A fine craft like that could save my whole crew from sore backs and the threat of Space Pox."

My smile is all the warning he needs as I place the little canister that looks like a white and silver vacuum cleaner into his paws. He will not so much as scratch the surface, I am sure. In a closed community like the Space Station, reputations have a way of getting around.

Profile Code by: Ringo
Extra Code by: Yuzu & Shantal
Story by: Pureflower
Edited by: Chrysariel
Overlay by: Maximoff
Background by: qimono Pixabay
Name by: Chrysariel

~Legacy name Nightwiish~