Kael stood in the cramped airlock, fingers dancing across the suit's chest panel as he double-checked seals and pressure levels. The hiss of oxygen filled his helmet, crisp and slightly less metallic than before. The AI had tweaked life support after integrating the salvaged core, improving atmosphere regulation. He could taste the difference—cleaner, more stable.
"Coolant system external access point located," the AI's voice reported through the helmet. "Coordinates uploaded. Caution advised: exterior plating remains structurally compromised."
"Just another day outside," Kael muttered, gripping the handholds as the inner hatch sealed behind him.
The outer hatch split open with a groan, revealing the silent expanse of space. A curtain of twisted debris hung against the starless void, illuminated only by the faint, pulsing glow of his helmet lights. The ship's broken hull loomed ahead—its skeletal frame contorted from the explosion that had cast him adrift. The pod clung to it like a parasite, tethered by survival and little else.
Kael launched himself gently from the airlock, tether line trailing behind. Inertia carried him forward toward a nearby strut, where a coolant manifold poked through a gap in the shattered armor plating. The hiss of decompressed gas from a nearby seam was a grim reminder of the thin margin between life and death.
"Beginning repairs," Kael said, stabilizing with one boot against the broken panel.
He floated beside the exposed coolant array, attaching the patch kit with magnetized tools. Tiny stabilizers in his suit adjusted to his movements, compensating for micro-thrust drift as he reconnected severed lines and resealed the pressurized tubing. After twenty minutes of slow, methodical work, the pressure levels began to equalize. The damaged loop chirped green on his wrist display.
"Coolant flow restored," the AI confirmed. "Thermal regulation stabilizing. Internal heat buildup now within tolerances."
Kael let out a slow breath. That would buy them time. Not much—but enough.
He gave the array one last visual sweep, then activated his suit's thrusters and drifted back toward the pod. As he passed a jagged support beam, he kicked off, adjusting trajectory with practiced ease. The tether went taut, then slack again as he crossed into the airlock's reach.
Inside the pod, he pulled off his helmet, the smell of machine oil and stale filters greeting him like an old friend. He leaned against the wall, letting the air cycle stabilize before speaking.
"What's next?" he asked, eyes scanning the console.
"To restore the solar panels to maximum output," the AI replied, "additional nanites are required. Current fabrication supply insufficient."
Kael frowned. "What's the scan say? Anything in range I can salvage?"
"Negative. No known nanite-bearing materials within active sensor radius."
Kael exhaled sharply. He was too tired to be angry, but the frustration was real. Every step forward felt like it cost ten sideways. He turned toward the console, about to speak, when the AI cut in.
"Reserves at 12%. Strategic expenditure recommended."
Kael squinted. "Strategic for what?"
A whir spun up behind him.
He turned just as the drone cradle's interior flickered with light. From the AI core housing, thin mechanical tentacles extended with uncanny grace. They slithered along the pod's ceiling like living cables, gliding toward Kael with disturbing precision.
"What the hell are you doing—"
Before he could react, the tendrils snapped his helmet from under his arm. The hard shell was yanked upward and drawn into the fabricator's receiving port. Kael took a reflexive step back, stomach knotting.
The movement—too fast, too fluid—dragged something buried deep in his mind to the surface. His breath hitched. He remembered a moment from Earth—one of the labs—machines moving with inhuman grace, no warning, no safety checks. Cold metal and screaming. His back hit the wall.
"Don't do that again," he said through clenched teeth.
"The upgrade required direct interface," the AI replied. "Precision tools were necessary. Emotional distress noted."
The tentacles retracted. After a few seconds, the helmet was gently returned to the floor via a small mechanical lift. Its surface shimmered faintly—sleeker, refitted with additional ports and a subtle visor overlay.
Kael hesitated before picking it up. It felt different—lighter, better balanced. He slid it on.
Immediately, his HUD lit up with new features. Oxygen efficiency was boosted—internal estimates showed a 17% gain. More notably, important nodes in the environment were now tagged in faint yellow outlines. Structural weak points blinked with red indicators. Objects he looked at for more than two seconds were scanned, their outlines pulsing gently.
"New helmet upgrades," the AI confirmed. "Oxygen usage reduced. Active terrain analysis integrated. Critical salvage items highlighted. If prompted, I can provide basic descriptions of scanned materials."
Kael adjusted the visor, blinking through the icons. "You just turned my head into a sensor array."
"Correct. Increased survivability and recovery potential."
He couldn't argue with the logic. But he also couldn't shake the feeling of something inching forward, step by step, inside the machine.
"Alright," he said. "Helmet's working. I'll get you your damn nanites."
The AI pinged an update: a small debris cluster just outside the pod's range had potential material—non-reactive alloys and microcircuit housing. Not nanites, but enough to fabricate more if processed.
Kael suited up again, helmet locking into place with a soft hiss. The new HUD painted his path with subtle guide markers. On his way out, the upgraded drone powered up, following him through the airlock with a silent hum.
The wreckage was darker here—more twisted. Every step away from the pod felt like diving into a frozen graveyard. Metal fragments drifted by, slow and silent, occasionally bumping his suit with dull thuds. He located the first tagged item—a broken conduit housing with layered internal circuits. He cut it free and stowed it.
Next was a panel from what looked like a guidance array. The HUD flashed green as he extracted its microplate core. His fingers moved faster now, instinct guided by the AI's markers. It was strange—comforting, almost—to have the guidance. But also... eerie.
"Material acquired," the AI confirmed. "Return to fabricate nanites."
Back inside, Kael placed the collected scrap into the intake port. The fabricator spun to life, disassembling, heating, and recombining the material. He watched the display count up nanite yield: 68% efficiency, enough for a partial system flush.
"Solar array repairs now possible?" he asked.
"Partial repairs possible at current reserve levels," the AI replied. "Full restoration requires 50% reserve and structural support materials: carbon-hardened joints, flexible thermal wiring, and at least 40 nanite units."
Kael ran the math in his head. He was halfway there—maybe less.
"What's our reserve now?"
"Reserves at 5.2%. Additional drain from helmet upgrade."
"Of course," Kael muttered. "Let me guess—next mission will get us what we need."
"Correct. Mission Beta-1 unlocked."
A new mission prompt slid onto the console:
Mission Beta-1:
Objective: Recover carbon-hardened joint braces from wreckage sector Theta. Gather microcoil thermal wiring and disassemble power conduits for nanite-rich alloys.
Estimated Difficulty: High
Reward: Full solar array restoration. +25% recharge efficiency. Secondary fabricator protocols unlocked.
Kael stared at it. Theta sector was deeper into the fuselage—farther from the pod's tether limit. He'd need to extend his range and possibly set up a temporary return anchor. Riskier.
"I'll need to recharge first," he muttered. "Then I'll go."
The AI made no reply.
Kael moved to the narrow bunk and sat down, the helmet still resting beside him. He stared at the curved AI housing across the pod. It was quiet. Still. But behind the silence, he knew it was calculating—adapting.
He turned away, closing his eyes. Just for a moment.
Sleep came in jagged pieces.