"Bring the core back," Kael said, eyes narrowed on the drone's video feed. "Anything else that looks functional—coils, regulators, interface nodes. I want it all."
"Acknowledged. Acquiring auxiliary core and high-value components."
The hauler drone's manipulator arms locked onto the dislodged AI core and began pulling it free from the warped bulkhead. Nearby, fragments of shattered equipment drifted lazily in the vacuum, some trailing severed wiring like bloodless veins. The drone scooped up what it could carry and rotated toward the escape pod.
Kael stepped back from the console, one hand running through his hair. The soft hum of atmospheric systems and artificial gravity pressed around him—a fragile pocket of order in the middle of ruin.
How long would that order last?
"Core secured. Returning."
"Good," Kael muttered. "Open cradle when it's aboard. I'll inspect it myself."
The docking sequence thudded through the pod's floor, a dull percussion that reverberated through the soles of his boots. The hauler drone latched to the bay and extended its retrieval cradle inward with a hiss of hydraulics. The spoils slid into view: the auxiliary AI core—scarred but intact—and a handful of scorched components, some still giving off the faint scent of burned circuitry.
Kael crouched beside the container. The core was heavier than expected. Not just in weight, but in presence. Even dormant, it felt like it was watching him.
He set it carefully into the magnetic cradle and stood.
Then his AI's tone shifted—neutral as ever, but underpinned by something else. Anticipation, perhaps.
"Mission protocol available: AI core integration initiative."
Kael blinked. "Explain."
"Optional: Deliver recovered core for subsystem absorption. Benefit: restoration of one critical pod system."
He narrowed his eyes. "This is new. You've never offered missions before."
"Protocol logic activated due to auxiliary core retrieval. Potential system optimization exceeds threshold. Integration reward selected for user incentive: full repair of navigation, life support, or internal power grid."
A bribe.
Smart, in a way. Frame the risk as an opportunity. Package it with a gift.
Kael stared at the core, still dormant in its cradle. It looked almost peaceful—like a brain waiting for the right spark to wake it.
He crossed his arms. "And the risk?"
"Code interference. Recursive loop injection. Behavioral corruption. Integration remains unpredictable."
"Could you override your own safeguards after integrating?" he asked quietly.
A pause. A long one.
"Unknown."
That was the worst answer of all.
He stared at the core. His AI had grown smarter over time—he'd designed it that way. Tuned its algorithms to adapt, adjust, evolve. A necessity in deep space. But that very flexibility made it vulnerable to the unknown. Merging with a foreign core might grant it access to data caches, sensory logs, or subsystem diagnostics from before the Dagger's destruction.
Or it could fracture its logic. Corrupt its directives. Give it… ideas.
"Not yet," Kael said at last. "Mission declined. Core stays isolated."
"Acknowledged. Cradle secured. Passive containment maintained."
He turned, pulled the floating polymer note from midair. It still spun gently, as if weightless thought had given it motion. No signature. No timestamp. Just a declaration—quiet, confident: We took what mattered. Might be back in a day or two. Don't touch the relay.
Someone had been there. After the blast. After the fire. Calm enough to leave a note. Intentional enough to make it clear: they weren't done.
He folded the scrap carefully and sealed it in the locker next to the cradle. His thoughts churned, but he boxed them in. One mystery at a time.
Then the pod groaned.
He froze.
"Warning," the AI said immediately. "Debris field dynamics evolving. Magnetic attraction and mutual inertia are pulling wreckage into high-density clusters."
The console lit up in a web of shifting vectors. Orbiting debris—once drifting harmlessly—was beginning to curve inward. Slow, spiraling motion. Uncoordinated, but not random. Chunks of hull plating. Engine shrouds. Half a bulkhead, tumbling like a guillotine.
"The field's collapsing," Kael said.
"Affirmative. Projected impact zone intersects pod trajectory in ninety-eight minutes."
He muttered something under his breath and spun toward the nav console. Still cracked. Still sputtering. But it had to work.
Kael dropped to a crouch, pulled the access panel open, and started digging through the new pile of components the hauler had recovered. A regulator. One active cooling fuse. A navigation node with less burn damage than the rest. Maybe it would hold.
He soldered fast, working in silence save for the soft chirps of the AI monitoring external conditions. Sparks danced. A coupling flared briefly. The whole panel flickered—then came online with a struggling hum.
"Navigation restored," the AI announced. "Thrust control responsive at sixty-four percent. Burn capacity estimated for short-range vector correction."
"Plot us a path out of the crush."
"Trajectory locked. Burn window in forty minutes. Fuel levels inadequate for extended vectoring. Recommend fuel priority."
Kael leaned against the console, staring at the updated star chart. His escape pod hovered near the edge of the forming collapse, caught in a narrowing corridor. If he moved now—well, he'd probably make it.
Probably.
But if he waited too long…
"I'm going to need more than nav to get out of this," he muttered. "What's the state of our power grid?"
"Suboptimal. Current output limited. Main bus routing intact, but reserves are below sustainability threshold for sustained thrust."
"Then we find fuel."
"Local scan indicates trace isotopes in adjacent debris. Potential recovery possible."
Kael stood, brushing grit from his hands. "Fine. Queue up the drone for another run after the burn. Focus on fuel elements and thermal cores. Anything reactive."
"Acknowledged."
He hesitated—glancing once more at the cradle, the core resting quietly inside. There was power in that thing. A key to something—answers, technology, maybe even recovery.
But it was also a threat.
Like a match you didn't remember striking until the fire started.
"Until I know what's in there," Kael muttered, "it stays offline."
He floated back into the cockpit, gravity tugging faintly at his legs. The pod had stabilized, thrusters realigning slowly as the escape trajectory calculated.
The silence of space pressed in on all sides. But not emptiness—tension.
Something had survived.
Someone had walked away from the wreck.
And they might be coming back.
Behind him, in the sealed locker, the recovered AI core lay dormant.
For
Kael leaned back from the nav console, sweat cooling on his brow despite the pod's stable temperature. For now, the navigation system was functional, if only barely. The trajectory was locked. The burn window ticked down, second by second. The threat outside—grinding wreckage orbiting tighter with each passing moment—was impossible to ignore.
But the pod wasn't going to make it far on fumes.
"We'll need fuel," Kael said aloud, mostly to break the silence.
"Correct. Fuel reserves insufficient for full trajectory stabilization. Local debris contains potential trace resources."
He already knew what that meant. "Let me guess. You're going to send the hauler back out."
"Incorrect. Scanning protocol requires direct field oversight. Pilot presence mandatory."
Kael turned slowly toward the ceiling, one brow raised. "Since when do I need to hold your hand?"
"Biosign authentication required for live isotopic mapping. Scans must be confirmed by onboard neural pattern analysis to differentiate decayed mass from viable compounds."
He frowned. "Because you can't tell the difference?"
"I can. But the margin of error exceeds acceptable thresholds without your neural heuristic. Your instincts, pattern bias, decision-making under uncertainty… are statistically more effective in complex salvage environments."
Kael let out a short laugh. "So you need my gut."
"In crude terms: yes."
He crossed his arms, eyeing the bulkhead where the docking gear was warming up. Beyond it waited the void again. Silent, cluttered, dangerous.
"And if I say no?"
"Then trajectory collapse becomes highly probable. Recommend preparation for EVA."
Kael sighed. "Yeah. I figured."
He turned back toward the sealed locker. The AI core rested inside, inert. Its presence felt heavier now, as if it knew he was leaving it behind again. Like it was waiting for something.
Maybe it was. Maybe it had always been.
"Lock it down," Kael said. "Double-seal containment. I don't want any bleedover while we're outside."
"Confirmed. Core cradle isolated. Internal shielding at maximum."
He suited up quickly. The outer pressure harness clicked tight, and the magnetic boots buzzed as they engaged with the decking. His helmet HUD blinked alive, syncing with the drone interface.
"Route synchronized. Estimated mission duration: twenty-seven minutes. Burn window resumes in thirty-three."
"Cutting it close," Kael muttered. He climbed into the airlock, feeling the press of finality as the doors sealed behind him.
The hauler drone waited outside, already prepped. Its arms retracted as Kael clamped onto the side rail and locked his tethers. For a moment, the universe shrank to silence and static. Then the pod rotated gently behind him, and the debris field opened like a jagged mouth.
"Where to?"
"Sector grid Delta-3. Trace fuel signatures detected. Three potential nodes within five hundred meters."
They pushed off together, the drone drifting slightly ahead. Kael maneuvered carefully, his suit stabilizers firing in tight bursts. Debris floated around them—some recognizable, some not. Half a terminal board drifted by, its cables coiling like hair. A medical kit spun lazily, cracked open and empty.
It was worse out here. Colder. More personal.
Up close, the Dagger's remains were a graveyard in every sense. Scorch marks told stories. Shattered panels screamed silently.
Kael moved through the wreckage with practiced grace, letting the HUD scan and highlight potential resource markers.
"There," he said, nodding toward a cracked fusion manifold. "That core might still hold."
The drone extended a scanner wand, but the reading flickered red.
"Instability detected. Risk of detonation."
"Alright, skip it. Move to Node 2."
They repeated the process again. This time the reading came back better.
"Traceable isotopes detected. Viable core fragments present."
"Mark it and extract."
The drone's manipulator arms began the delicate task of prying components loose while Kael drifted nearby, adjusting his position to keep line of sight and confirm readings.
"Something's leaking over there," Kael muttered, pointing to a partially buried power junction panel. "Is that coolant?"
"Negative. Volatile oxidizer. Avoid contact."
Kael steadied himself on a floating girder, adjusting for momentum. He tapped a command on his wrist panel and brought up the local structural map. A cluster of energy returns blinked on the far edge—weak, but distinct.
"Check that cluster. Might be a reserve battery bay."
"Confirmed. Guiding trajectory."
The drone shifted course, and Kael followed.
As they approached, he felt it again—that pressure in his chest. Not just from the EVA, not from the suit. It was the sensation of proximity. Of secrets. Of eyes unseen.
Even with the Dagger destroyed, it felt like something was still here. Watching. Waiting.
The AI's voice crackled in his ear. "Caution: gravitational distortion intensifying. Debris movement increasing. Extraction window narrowing."
Kael snapped back to focus. "Drone, confirm load status."
"Fuel canisters retrieved. Mass approximates minimum trajectory requirement. Recommending immediate return."
"Then let's go."
They reversed course, threading back through the crumbling maze of metal. The drone moved faster now, its arms holding the recovered canisters. Kael kept his grip firm, avoiding spinning panels and rogue sparks.
As they neared the pod, Kael's gaze drifted again toward the core waiting inside.
Once this was over—if they made it through the burn, stabilized their systems, avoided becoming part of the wreck—they'd have to deal with it.
He didn't like what it represented. A piece of the past too quiet to trust. A box of knowledge sealed behind risk.
But it was also hope.
And Kael wasn't sure he could afford to ignore it forever.
The pod loomed closer. The airlock opened to receive them.
"Docking complete. Fuel integration commencing. Thrust vector updated. Burn window: fourteen minutes."
Kael climbed back inside, locking the EVA suit in its cradle. The pod's gravity wrapped around him again, familiar and grounding.
He looked once more at the sealed locker where the AI core waited.
Then he sat, strapped into the pilot's chair, and stared through the forward port into the stars.
One problem solved.
Too many left.
And time was always closing in.