Darkness cracked open with a single breath.
Kael Verrick jolted upright as oxygen surged into his lungs, ragged and stinging. His body spasmed as he coughed, the air acrid with ozone and plastic fumes. Cold metal pressed against his spine. The world was red—emergency lights blinked in erratic pulses, casting broken shadows across the interior of the pod.
He wasn't dead. That was something.
His right hand trembled as it released the edge of the seat. He touched his head—warm, sticky. Blood. Not a lot, though. Just a scalp graze. His shoulder ached, probably bruised during ejection, and his tongue felt like sandpaper.
The pod groaned around him like a creature in pain. A low hum built beneath the floor, rising as the onboard AI stirred to life.
"Survivor detected," it said in a voice roughened by signal degradation. "Autonomous survival protocol engaged. System diagnostics initializing. Stand by."
Kael squinted against the flicker of the main display screen as it came online. The air felt thin. A hiss sputtered from a pressure vent in the wall, then stopped too soon.
"Come on," he rasped. "Don't fall apart yet."
Static crackled through the console. Then, a stream of information began to scroll. Kael leaned in, eyes narrowing as he read.
[ASP-17 ESCAPE POD – SYSTEM STATUS REPORT]
SURVIVOR: KAEL M. VERRICK | STATUS: ALIVE AUTONOMOUS SURVIVAL PROTOCOL: ENGAGED >> ALL SYSTEMS SCANNED | DAMAGE REPORT BELOW
> LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS — CRITICAL
[OXYGEN SCRUBBERS]
• Unit 1: Output at 28%. Carbon load increasing.
• Unit 2: Offline. Internal short circuit.
• Unit 3: Cycling pressure. Spikes every 9 minutes.
Kael winced.
"That's… bad. If two scrubbers die, I'm down to half-breaths and prayers."
[CO₂ SCRUBBERS]
• Auto-venting disabled. Manual purge required.
• Toxin saturation in 48 hours without flush.
[CABIN TEMPERATURE]
• Heat coils: 2/6 working.
• Internal fluctuation: ±15°C per hour.
• Frost buildup detected.
[WATER RECYCLER]
• Core intact.
• Biofilter degrading — contamination likely within 72 hours.
Kael wiped condensation off the wall with his sleeve and looked at the frost rim forming on the hatch.
"I'll freeze or suffocate. Dealer's choice."
> HULL & STRUCTURE — COMPROMISED
[HULL PLATING]
• Starboard breach sealed with emergency foam.
• Ventral microfractures — structural integrity at 38%.
• Armor delamination on 34% of outer shell.
He tapped the inner hull with two fingers. Hollow. Cold. The sound wasn't reassuring.
"If a pebble so much as sneezes in space, I'm a memory."
[VIEWPORT]
• Cracked — pressure holding.
• Recommend: avoid impact stress.
[AIRLOCK SEAL]
• Secondary gasket torn.
• EVA impossible without repairs.
> POWER SYSTEMS — MINIMAL OUTPUT
[MICRO-FUSION REACTOR]
• Core at 17% output.
• Cooling loop unstable — overheating risk if overdrawn.
[BATTERY BANK]
• Cell 1: Functional
• Cells 2–3: Dead
• Cell 4: Disconnected, cable sheared
[SOLAR INTAKE]
• No panels attached. Critical failure.
• Mount points intact but unpowered.
• Without solar input, reactor output alone cannot sustain life support and fabricator systems for more than 48 hours.
• Immediate repair or retrofit required to prevent total power failure.
"No panels, no lifeline. Without solar, this pod's a coffin with a heartbeat."
> PROPULSION & NAVIGATION — NONFUNCTIONAL
[THRUSTERS]
• Port A: Missing
• Starboard B: Leaking propellant — 12% output
• Rear Cluster: Obstructed
[VECTORING FINS]
• Jammed. Hydraulic failure.
[NAVIGATION]
• Primary nav AI: Corrupted
• Inertial tracker: Online, low accuracy
• Gyros drifting every 3 hours
"I'm a brick in orbit. One twitch and I start spinning."
> FABRICATION & REPAIR — PARTIAL ACCESS
[MODULAR FABRICATOR]
• Alignment: Good
• Charge: ~1–2 small prints remaining
• Material stock: Empty
[DRONE BAY]
• Cradle: Warped
• Repair drones: 0
• Blueprint access: Available
"If I can get a drone built, maybe I don't have to patch every hole with my own hands."
> COMMUNICATIONS — DEAD
[TRANSMITTER ARRAY]
• Antenna mast: Missing
• Amplifier: Melted
• Beacon attempt: Failed
[INTERNAL DATA NODE]
• Survival archives accessible
• Black box: Recording
"No one's hearing me. If I want out of this tin can, I've got to do it myself."
> SENSOR SYSTEMS — MINIMAL FUNCTIONALITY
[CAMERAS]
• Forward cam: 70% clarity
• Hull cams: 5 of 6 offline
[RADAR]
• Proximity radar: 52 meters max range
• Debris scan: Active
[LONG-RANGE SCANNER]
• Calibration drift: ±9 km
>> OVERALL STATUS: SURVIVAL LIKELY ONLY WITH IMMEDIATE ACTION Recommended Action Plan:
• Scavenge nearby debris for materials
• Prioritize hull and oxygen repairs
• Reboot drone bay to automate maintenance
• Begin modular upgrades as systems stabilize
Kael leaned back, exhaling slowly as the screen dimmed. The pod felt like a tomb, sealed with flickering lights and half-working systems. He swallowed, tasting metal.
A low chime pinged from behind the pilot seat. The AI whispered, "Manual override interface available. External scan complete."
He twisted around and pulled open the auxiliary panel. A secondary screen blinked to life—grainy visuals fed in from the pod's lone working camera. A field of floating debris stretched beyond the cracked viewport, a halo of shattered panels and slagged metal, all rotating slowly in a cold, endless sky.
His ship. Or what was left of it.
Kael swallowed again, jaw clenched. "Okay," he said aloud, voice steadier this time. "Think. You're alive. The pod isn't. But it's not dead either."
He scanned the list again, mind already sorting the priorities. Oxygen and hull integrity first. Then water. Then heat. Then, if he was still alive, power and fabrication.
He cracked open a utility panel beside the cockpit. Inside were three ration packs, a sealed flask of nutrient fluid, a worn toolkit, and a standard-issue multi-welder. Barely enough to call a survival kit, but it was a start.
The fabricator—he'd need materials. Maybe the debris field had something useful. But without EVA access, he was trapped inside a dying can. He needed to get the airlock working. That, or risk breaching the pod manually.
The idea made his skin crawl.
Kael ran a hand down his face and forced a breath through his nose. "Okay," he repeated, grounding himself. "Survival protocol. Rebuild. Upgrade. Breathe."
He moved to the fabricator, fingers trailing along the screen. No prints queued. He tapped through the blueprint catalog. Most entries were grayed out—too energy intensive or requiring rare components—but a few low-tier tools and drone schematics were still accessible. One of them was a hull-patching microdrone. It would take almost all of the remaining power cells just to print, but it could seal cracks from the outside.
Assuming he found materials. Assuming the drone worked. Assuming the pod didn't come apart before then.
Kael looked out through the cracked viewport, watching a mangled solar panel drift by in the darkness. He reached up and rested his palm against the cold glass.
"Still breathing," he whispered.
The pod creaked in reply.