"Nnngh!"
I leaned back in my chair and stretched.
My work had finally reached a stopping point.
My job was to collect data on this frontier planet.
The planet P-22i had as many as thirty satellites.
It had been a little over five years since I arrived at Ionus, one of those satellites.
Though I called it work, all I really did was provide an electronic signature for the data that unmanned drones automatically flew around collecting from the surface, and send it off to the central government.
It was an easy life.
"I'd like some coffee."
At my voice, the servant robot, Robin, immediately responded.
Robin was an excellent servant and also served as an essential caretaker who ensured my life at this observatory was comfortable.
I rested my weight back into the chair and looked up at the reinforced plastic skylight covering the ceiling.
Asking that there be no windows on the horizontal surfaces was my own request when I first arrived.
Anyway, outside there was nothing but a desolate landscape stretching out as far as the eye could see.
Satellite Ionus had no atmosphere, making the scenery visible with razor-sharp clarity no matter how far away it was.
The desolation of it was almost too much to bear.
This survey station was the only structure on the entire planet.
Through the skylight, countless stars twinkled brightly within the pitch-black void of space.
"Here is your coffee, Master."
Robin skillfully placed a cup on the table with its rigid arms.
Yet, strangely, there were two cups.
"Did I ask for two cups?"
Robin answered instantly.
"No, Master."
Then why were there two cups?
"Well, take it back then. And you should go run diagnostics. It's been nearly a month, after all."
"Yes, Master."
What might be a simple oversight for a human was different for a robot.
An abnormal action always had an underlying error, and leaving that unchecked on a satellite bordering the vacuum of space could lead directly to death.
Without Robin, I couldn't even manage the room temperature or air conditioning on this planet, where temperatures fluctuated by hundreds of degrees between day and night.
Though I called it maintenance, it just meant stepping into the adjustment chamber built into the observatory.
This standalone observatory was designed to be entirely self-sufficient.
Three days passed, a tedious stretch of time lacking any real change.
It happened when I asked for coffee during my afternoon break (though "afternoon" was just a feeling).
Robin slid its cylindrical body soundlessly across the floor and placed two steaming cups of coffee on the table.
A sudden chill ran through me.
I was struck by the strange sensation that someone invisible was sitting in the seat across the table.
"Your heart rate appears to be elevated. Are you alright?"
I looked at Robin, feeling a sense of unease.
"No, I'm fine. More importantly, why did you bring two cups of coffee?"
"I do not know. I am unable to trace the thought pathway."
You've got to be kidding me. Even though I just had it maintained.
Did Robin see two people sitting at the table?
Even though there was only me and Robin here—no, on this entire planet.
I stopped Robin just as it was about to leave to undergo maintenance for a second time.
"Hey, do you know what a ghost is?"
Robin answered without a pause.
"I know the word as a mere term, but its definition does not exist in my database. If necessary, I can download it from the relay base."
"No, it's fine. Never mind the coffee, just clear this away."
"Yes, Master."
Left alone in the room, I thought about my predecessor who had died at this observatory.
How had he coped with the loneliness, living all alone on this planet?
Perhaps that sense of solitude lingered even after death,
and he was seeking a moment to share a cup of coffee with me.
I looked up at the cosmos.
No matter how much science advances and sends colonization fleets to various star systems, it cannot prove the non-existence of ghosts or lingering thoughts.
"What is most important is invisible to the eye."
I murmured, recalling the words from a book I had read long ago.
When humans find value in things that cannot be seen, they become most truly human.
At least, it felt that way.
I thought about the thirty satellites floating in this sector of space.
They were invisible from beyond the window.
Only stars were glowing.
Yet surely, within the darkness covering the spaces between them, there were unblinking, dark worlds,
and on those surfaces, unknown comrades of mine were spending their lonely days in observatories.
This planet was one of them, and I was one of those people.
I closed my eyes and daydreamed of myself standing alone upon a tiny star.
The next day, Robin placed two cups of coffee again.
When Robin realized the mistake after setting them down and moved to take one away, I stopped it.
"It's fine. That's for a guest."
Robin tilted its head slightly as it left the room.
I reached out and gently tapped the two cups together—*clink*—and drank my coffee slowly while facing my invisible guest.
My predecessor, whose name I didn't know, must have dreamed of drinking coffee like this while chatting familiarly with someone who came to visit.
I felt like I could understand that.
This satellite was a prison planet, and I was a prisoner.
I would spend the rest of my life on this planet, doing the trivial labor of collecting data.
There were no rockets to take me out into space, only a loyal, lovable, and foolish robot.
I conversed quietly with the invisible presence.
Wondering if, someday, three cups might line up on the same table.