Kael crouched beside the pod's main hatch, meticulously checking the tension on the secondary tether. The first tether held fast to a twisted metal strut floating some meters away, but relying on a single anchor was a risk he couldn't afford. The catastrophic explosion that had torn the Prospector's Dagger into countless pieces had taught him one lesson above all: nothing in this drifting graveyard was stable or safe. Every scrap of metal, every fractured beam, threatened to break away and vanish into the void at any moment.
His breath hissed steadily inside the helmet as he clipped the tether's new anchor to a more stable beam jutting from the wreckage—a thick support girder bent into an unnatural angle but still holding firm. With both lines secure, the pod finally felt less like a fragile capsule and more like a moored vessel in a ghostly harbor. The feeling was fleeting, but it gave Kael a much-needed sense of stability in an environment defined by chaos.
"Backup tether secured," the AI announced softly, its voice calm and methodical.
"Good," Kael replied, voice rough but steady. "Now, let's just hope neither snaps when the solar winds kick up."
He rubbed his gloved hand over the pod's cold outer hull, sensing the faint vibrations of power flowing inside—the fragile pulse of life support systems battling to keep him alive. Slowly but surely, the pod was coming back from the brink of death. The earlier addition of the solar panel had boosted power output significantly, but the real work had only just begun.
Inside the cramped cockpit, the AI busied itself managing power distribution and optimizing life support efficiency. Kael's eyes scanned the console readouts, watching as energy levels stabilized, oxygen recycling systems hummed steadily, and water reclamation trickled in small, precious increments. Every little fix was a small victory against the relentless void outside.
Before launching his next effort, Kael moved toward the drone cradle. The haul drone lay dormant, its frame fractured and missing several limbs—yet another casualty of the ship's violent disintegration. He opened the maintenance hatch, carefully extracting the damaged components, wary of jarring fragile parts loose.
"Time for a tune-up," Kael muttered under his breath.
He fed the drone's core into the fabricator. The chamber glowed faintly as swarms of nanites poured over the shattered limbs and circuitry. Metallic tendrils from the AI's core extended into the assembly chamber, manipulating each broken piece with surgical precision. The air inside the pod thrummed with latent energy as severed connections were repaired, worn servos replaced, and the chassis reinforced with adaptive alloy engineered to absorb stress and shock.
"Haul drone repair at ninety-three percent," the AI reported. "Initiating system integration."
The drone's power cells hummed to life, sensors flickering open like synthetic eyes waking after a long sleep. Its limbs flexed smoothly for the first time since the explosion. A soft blue glow pulsed along its chassis—the unmistakable signal of successful pairing with the AI core.
"Drone systems online and synchronized," the AI confirmed. "Enhanced haul capacity enabled. Ready for deployment."
Kael allowed himself a brief smile behind his visor. "Perfect. We'll need you to carry everything we can salvage."
Outside, the AI activated the drone's thrusters. It rose with newfound grace and speed, moving quickly toward a cluster of tool lockers and supply crates—remnants of the ship's engineering section frozen in time. Kael monitored the drone's feed through the viewport, watching it scan lockers and carefully select containers with usable tools: wrenches, plasma cutters, modular power cells, and specialized equipment vital for pod repairs.
The drone's enhanced carrying capacity meant it could gather everything in fewer trips, reducing exposure to the drifting debris field. Fully loaded, it returned to the pod, skillfully weaving through the labyrinth of floating wreckage.
"Cargo retrieval at ninety-seven percent completion," the AI reported. "Tools and parts catalogued. Estimated increase in repair efficiency: thirty-four percent."
Kael began unloading supplies, his movements methodical. These new tools would transform the painstaking patchwork repairs into reliable fixes, easing the strain on his dwindling water supply and fragile life support. Each crate was a tangible step closer to survival.
Suddenly, the AI interrupted.
"Kael, I detect a faint energy signature within the upper debris field—approximately 2.7 kilometers from current position. The pattern corresponds to an emergency beacon."
Kael's pulse quickened. "Show me."
A holographic display flickered to life, pulsating with the digital heartbeat of the beacon. Its signal was unmistakable—a standard distress code. Yet something about its steady, too-perfect rhythm unsettled Kael. The signal's source registration was absent from the Prospector's Dagger manifest. No known passenger or crew member matched the beacon's ID.
"So it's a ghost signal," Kael said, frowning.
"Possibly," the AI responded. "There is a non-zero probability the signal is artificially generated or forged."
Kael leaned back, his mind racing. A beacon without registration could mean many things: a survivor desperately broadcasting for help, a trap designed to lure scavengers into danger, or something else entirely. The memory of the explosion and the scattered debris was a constant reminder of the unknown enemy that had shredded the ship—and maybe, just maybe, they still lurked here.
"All right," Kael said finally, his voice steady but wary. "We don't touch it yet. Send a drone to scout. I want eyes on that signal before I move closer."
"Understood. Deploying scout drone now."
The scout drone launched silently, gliding like a shadow through the void. Kael watched as it slipped behind broken hull segments, heart pounding. His fingers twitched on the console, each second stretching into an agonizing wait.
Moments later, the feed returned. The drone hovered over a small debris pocket—a shattered life pod suspended inside a fractured airlock housing. Its outer shell was scorched and blackened, but the beacon pulsed steadily.
"Any signs of life?" Kael's voice was tight, barely masking the tension coiling in his chest.
"Negative," the AI reported. "No power source remains within the pod. Beacon signal is maintained via external remote transmission."
Kael frowned. Remote transmission meant the signal was broadcast from elsewhere—either a lure or a warning.
"Keep monitoring," Kael said. "Maintain distance. If this is a trap, I don't want to be caught off guard."
The drone pulled back slowly, the beacon's pulse continuing like a ghostly heartbeat in the vast emptiness.
Kael scanned the endless field of drifting debris—twisted metal, shattered panels, and forgotten memories of a crew lost in the cold silence. Somewhere beyond the shattered wreckage, answers waited. But so did dangers he could barely imagine—silent, patient, and deadly.
He swallowed hard, steeling himself against the void. This was no longer just about surviving . It was a test of survival against an enemy still shrouded in shadow