Security Log Station – Be Nice to M.O.T.H.E.R.

In the dark hours after general curfew, station security control is bathed in shadow.
Quiet all decks. Shackleton’s tiny steel-enclosed world of some fourteen hundred fragile souls lies sleeping. A few rest peacefully, others not. All dream. Perhaps even MOTHER dreams.
With a soft repeated beeping, the watch officer’s screen wakens to life.
Down-scrolling letters reflect in the glass of a space helmet.
MOTHER calls, cryptic and insistent. Something is amiss.
MOTHER has something that needs doing.
On Shackleton a woman is sleeping. On Shackleton a woman awakes.
In the darkness, someone is weeping.