Sleep never came.
Kael rested with his back to the curved wall of the pod, eyes half-lidded, but his mind refused to shut down. The hum of damaged machinery, the tick of cooling metal, the faint hissing of half-functional oxygen vents—it all kept him tethered to waking thought. When the system wheezed too long without cycling, his breath would hitch. A nightmare in real time.
His hands were raw from work, his throat dry. But he was still breathing.
He kept one eye on the dead drone. It had done its job—barely. The microdrone had sealed the worst of the microfractures in the hull and dragged back a few scrap panels before burning out mid-flight. Its battery casing was scorched, and its motor assembly was warped from a thermal overload.
But it had bought him time.
Time that was already running out again.
The power reserves were dipping. The reactor remained unstable. With the drone gone and material reserves nearly empty, Kael's next moves had to count. He needed more than repairs—he needed a way to sustain this fragile lifeline.
His gaze drifted to the viewport, where the salvaged solar panel now floated, tethered by a thin loop of polyline.
[EXTERNAL MODULE DETECTED]
CLASS: CIVILIAN SOLAR ARRAY FRAGMENT – INTEGRITY 63%
POWER UPTAKE ESTIMATED: 21–24% EFFICIENCY
RECOMMENDED INSTALLATION POINT: PORTSIDE INTAKE MOUNT — UNOBSTRUCTED PATH TO LIGHT ARC
Kael's breath fogged slightly in the cold air. "Portside intake," he muttered. "Figures."
That bracket had survived the impact mostly intact. It was originally designed for modular cargo mounts—now it might become the most important piece of the entire pod.
"Right," he said, already rising, joints stiff and sore. "Let's give the pod a little sunshine."
He cycled through the manual airlock—now reinforced with a makeshift seal he'd crafted from melted polymer stock and emergency foam. It wasn't airtight by design, but it was enough to hold for a few precious minutes.
Outside, the void waited. Silent. Black. The stars shimmered like flecks of frozen glass across the curve of space.
The pod clung to the field of wreckage like a broken barnacle. No motion. No propulsion. Just drift locked in place by Newton's will.
Kael worked quickly. He anchored himself using a stabilizer tether and pulled the solar panel toward the port-side intake bracket. It wasn't a perfect fit. The panel was warped and half-melted at the edge, likely sheared off during the initial blast. But the mounting points were salvageable.
He began cutting the scorched bracket down to size. Sparks flared and cooled into nothingness in the vacuum. Every second out here risked exposure—he could feel the chill seeping into his suit already. Even with insulation, the cold bit like teeth.
He fitted the panel against the intake frame and bolted it into place. The wiring had to be re-spliced by hand—no drones now. Just him, the welder, and the slow spin of space.
He linked the panel's output line to the pod's main solar intake bus and said a quiet prayer as he re-entered the pod and sealed the hatch.
[SOLAR PANEL INTERFACE DETECTED]
STATUS: NON-STANDARD MODULE – CALIBRATION REQUIRED
He sat down at the console and keyed into the diagnostics.
The panel wasn't optimal. Energy conversion was degraded—he guessed it had lost at least 40% efficiency—but it was feeding the battery bank now. He watched the gauge slowly tick upward:
0.4%
0.6%
0.9%
Better than nothing.
[REACTOR OUTPUT SUPPLEMENTED BY EXTERNAL PANEL]
BATTERY CHARGE SUSTAINABILITY: +6 HOURS AT CURRENT LOAD
SYSTEM RECOMMENDATION: ENABLE POWER OPTIMIZATION MODULE (POM-1)
Kael blinked. That was new.
He tapped the prompt, pulling up the schematic.
POM-1: Power Optimization Module – Level 1
Description: Basic software and capacitor upgrade to smooth energy draw between battery cells and prevent power spikes. Reduces overall energy waste by 11–14%.
Estimated print cost: Low
Required materials: Conductive alloy x2, capacitor component x1
He leaned back, tapping a knuckle against the console. That… could work. It wouldn't make the pod self-sufficient—not even close—but it would make the solar intake viable for longer stints. Buy him more time. Keep life support online without dipping into critical battery levels every few hours.
He ran inventory.
Material stock: Empty
Of course.
If he wanted the upgrade, he'd have to scavenge.
Again.
Kael turned back to the viewport. The debris field still floated beyond them—a frozen graveyard of slagged panels, twisted framework, and shattered systems. Somewhere out there was enough scrap to make this pod breathe easier.
"AI," he said, voice gravelly, "mark nearest clusters with possible salvage value. Prioritize electronics, alloy-rich debris."
"Processing," the voice replied. A low hum vibrated through the bulkhead as the limited radar pinged outward.
[NEARBY CLUSTERS – SCAN RESULT]
TARGET ALPHA: 34 meters – Stabilizer strut fragment, potential alloy
TARGET BETA: 57 meters – Unidentified drone chassis, minor radiation leak
TARGET GAMMA: 71 meters – Shattered engine housing, possible capacitor coil
Recommended: Target Alpha – safest EVA path
Kael studied the data, then pulled up the pod's power balance sheet again. The signal booster was still listed among available blueprints. Tempting—if he could broadcast a ping, someone might hear it. Maybe.
But with no propulsion, no nav beacons, and no alignment control, it was a long shot.
And it would drain what little power the pod had.
He stared at the line of code, then disabled the print option.
"No signal," he muttered. "Not until I can afford to shout."
He rerouted the remaining charge back into the fabricator buffer, just enough to prep the POM-1 schematic. Once he had the materials, he could slot it in and stretch the reactor load without frying the circuits.
But that meant going outside. Again.
Kael suited up for the second EVA of the day. His joints ached, and his limbs felt heavier than they should. Lack of water. Stress. Maybe radiation exposure. He pushed it aside.
Survive now. Rest later.
The hatch opened with a groan.
Kael gritted his teeth against the cold as he pushed off, tether clipped, boots floating clear of the pod's hull.
Target Alpha was closer than the last one. A piece of stabilizer strut—it jutted out of a floating piece of framework, glinting in the distant sun.
He reached it in two minutes, cut it loose with the welder, and latched it to his belt. Then he spotted something half-hidden beneath it: a curled length of conduit, scorched but intact. Kael snagged that too, feeling the weight of hope build behind his ribs.
He stayed out another minute longer than he should have, scanning the wreckage. He spotted the faint glimmer of a heat sink array and marked it in his HUD for later. No time now.
Back in the pod, he stripped the strut for alloy plates and cracked open the conduit for usable wiring. One segment glinted—a tiny capacitor housing, cracked but unburned.
"Jackpot."
He fed the pieces into the material port. The pod hummed in response.
[MATERIAL LOAD ACCEPTED]
SCHEMATIC: POM-1 – READY TO PRINT
ESTIMATED TIME: 38 MINUTES
Kael slumped into the seat beside the console. He took a ration bar from the wall kit, chewed slowly, and stared at the blinking status light on the reactor core.
Still unstable. Still hot. But holding.
He didn't need a miracle. Just enough improvements to keep the ship breathing. To buy time. To plan the next move.
Because sooner or later, he was going to have to go farther than a few meters into the debris field.
And when he did, he'd need more than a salvaged panel and some patched wiring.
The pod was holding together—for now.
But space was patient.
And it always waited for the moment you ran out of luck.