The first hour passed in silence, broken only by the faint ticking of cooling metal and the occasional groan from the pod's wounded hull. Kael moved slowly, deliberately. Every motion had to count.
He crouched beside the fabricator, tool kit splayed open at his side, the multi-welder humming in a low standby tone. The cracked viewport cast a fractured light across the control panel, painting jagged lines on the floor. Outside, the debris field drifted like ghost bones.
No EVA. Not yet.
He had to patch the airlock first. The secondary gasket was torn—probably shredded during ejection. If he opened it now, pressure would rip what was left of the pod into vacuum. It was a cruel catch: everything he needed to survive was out there, but going out there would kill him.
Kael tapped the edge of the cracked control display. "Show me the override schematics for the airlock."
The AI responded after a pause, voice still glitching with static. "Airlock override available. Warning: internal pressure will drop to unsafe levels without structural seal. Recommend auxiliary patch before manual access."
"Show me the panel layout."
A schematic blinked to life. Kael studied it, frowning. If he rerouted power from Cell 1 and bypassed the safety interlock, he could power the inner seal separately. That would let him isolate the outer door—maybe enough to perform a field patch. Dangerous, but less suicidal than waiting.
"Mark this for manual access later," he muttered. "First, oxygen."
He pushed off from the console and drifted to the life support column, magnetic boots clicking as he anchored near the scrubber housing. Three units. Two failing. One dying. Kael popped the panel and leaned in, wincing as heat and the smell of scorched plastic hit him.
"Unit 2's a corpse," he said. "Let's see if I can bring Unit 3 back from the edge."
His fingers worked with the speed of familiarity, even as his muscles protested. It wasn't the first time he'd cracked open a scrubber assembly. The burn marks near the pressure valve suggested a surge. Probably from the power draw during pod separation. The filters were still cycling, but the rhythm was off—uneven pulses like a damaged lung.
He traced the line to the main circuit and found the problem: a fused contact node. Melted right through. Kael leaned back, sighed. He dug through the toolkit, found a copper splice, and used the multi-welder to cut and patch a new connection. Sparks flared briefly. The hum of the unit steadied.
Not perfect. But better.
A soft chime followed. "Scrubber Unit 3 output: 54%. Pressure cycling normalized. Estimated breathable air supply extended by 11 hours."
Kael allowed himself a breath. "Good enough for now."
He closed the panel and floated back to the central console. The AI brought up a fresh system report. Oxygen levels were stabilizing. Cabin temperature still fluctuating—he'd deal with that after water. Or maybe not. The frost on the hatch was spreading. Another hour and the internal coils might give out completely.
He eyed the broken vent near the rear bulkhead. Heat coil #5 was behind that panel. Maybe, just maybe, he could reroute current through it.
But first—he needed a drone.
He drifted toward the fabricator again and pulled up the blueprint catalog. The hull-patcher microdrone was still viable, though barely. Estimated power usage: 81% of the remaining battery cell. One shot. No room for error.
Kael hesitated, thumb hovering over the confirmation panel.
What if it failed?
What if it printed wrong?
What if the drone shorted out the moment it touched vacuum?
But the image of the cracked hull, the venting propellant, the dying systems—it was all piling up in his head. Without outside repairs, the pod would degrade past recovery.
He pressed the button.
The fabricator groaned to life. Internal servos hissed and clicked, arms descending to piece the drone together from raw feedstock. The machine was old, and the power flickered as it worked, but the process completed in under three minutes.
The finished drone—a small, beetle-like bot with magnetic clamps and a micro-welder arm—sat inert in the tray. Kael reached in and pulled it free.
He activated its command sequence. The drone's lights blinked green, then steady blue.
"Drone unit online," the AI reported. "No external material stock available. Recommend salvage operation."
Kael turned to the cracked viewport. The mangled solar panel he'd seen earlier was still drifting in slow orbit, less than thirty meters out.
Too far to reach without EVA.
But maybe… just maybe…
He opened the auxiliary panel again and activated the manual interface. The pod's lone forward camera swiveled. He could now direct the drone through the external port—a narrow gap near the damaged thruster cluster.
It was a long shot.
Kael brought the drone to the hatch, unlocked the external launcher port, and set it into place. A soft click confirmed it was magnetically docked. He linked his datapad to the drone's camera feed. Blackness filled the screen, slowly resolving into a grainy field of metal and light.
The drone floated free.
"Steady," Kael whispered.
He adjusted the drone's vectoring fans, guiding it gently toward the closest chunk of debris—a curved hull plate, maybe from the cargo bay. It spun slowly, tumbling end over end.
The drone latched onto it.
Kael's hands moved quickly. "Run analysis. Alloy type, mass, surface integrity."
The AI spoke. "Composite plating. Outer mesh layer stripped. Still viable. Estimated yield: 3–5 fabrication units."
Not enough for full hull repair, but enough to reinforce the weak point near the airlock. It might hold long enough to depressurize safely.
"Retrieve and return," Kael ordered.
The drone obeyed, dragging the fragment back through space like a beetle carrying a leaf. Kael watched every second of the journey, jaw tight. One jolt. One bump. One flare of radiation from the nearby wreckage, and—
The drone slipped through the launcher port. Success.
He grabbed the panel tool and carefully removed the plating, stacking it in the fabricator's intake tray. The machine hummed again, beginning the breakdown process.
Kael sat back, exhaling for what felt like the first time in minutes.
Halfway there.
He checked the timer. Cabin frost buildup was increasing—internal temp already dipping below 5°C. The heat coils wouldn't last long. His hands were going numb.
"Override heating priority," he said. "Divert power from Cell 1 to Coil 5."
"Warning: battery output below safe threshold."
"Do it anyway."
The pod vibrated slightly as power rerouted. A dull warmth spread through the floor—barely noticeable, but enough to hold back the frost for now. He'd bought time.
Not much. But some.
The drone's next mission was ready: patching the starboard hull near the foam-sealed breach. The AI marked it in red on the schematic. Kael uploaded the repair routine and launched the drone again.
This time, he didn't watch the full feed. He stared at the viewport instead, his breath fogging the glass.
Beyond the pod, the stars drifted past, cold and uncaring. A sun far in the distance lit the edges of the wreckage, casting long shadows. Somewhere out there, the main ship—the Prospector's Dagger—was gone. Destroyed. He still didn't remember exactly how.
Only that he was here.
Only that no one else had answered the emergency ping.
Kael clenched his fists. "One thing at a time."
A new chime sounded.
"Drone reports: hull breach patched. Structural integrity up 11%."
He smiled, despite the ache in his jaw. "Good drone."
He retrieved it and set it to recharge, though the battery wouldn't hold long without solar intake. That was next.
His gaze returned to the drifting solar panel.
If he could just—
Another alarm. Not from the pod this time.
From the AI.
"Warning," it said. "Object detected. Trajectory: intersecting. Debris velocity: 14 meters per second. Impact in—"
Kael twisted to the viewport just in time to see a jagged cylinder tumble past.
Not past.
Toward.
The impact was minor—a dull thunk—but enough to jostle the pod. The lights flickered. Gravity shifted.
Then something hissed.
A new breach.
Kael shot up, grabbing the patch kit from the toolkit. He followed the sound to the aft corner, where a hairline crack had opened near the damaged thruster cluster. Air hissed in a steady stream.
He slapped sealant foam over it, then reinforced it with the last of his emergency tape. The sound faded.
The AI recalculated. "Pressure stabilized. New breach sealed. Recommend full hull assessment."
Kael collapsed against the wall, heart pounding.
No time to rest. The universe didn't care if he was tired.
He closed his eyes for a second.
Then stood again.
"Drone," he ordered. "Ready for next sortie. We're not done."
Not yet.