Kael braced against the narrow frame of his pod as another vibration rattled through the hull. The internal support struts groaned under the microstress of constant motion, and his fingers tensed around the panel's exposed wiring. He'd stripped back most of the insulation across the console, trying to reroute failing circuits and manually override the pod's damaged AI subroutines. A week adrift had eroded every margin of safety.
The rescued woman—Maren Talia, according to her faded ID tag—had already been handed over to Module 57. Kael had made the call without hesitation. Her vitals were stabilizing, but there was no room in his pod for passengers—especially not ones requiring medical support. Power was already at a premium. Cryostasis had been her only real chance until the module's infrastructure could support active personnel.
He pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the bundle of frayed cables in front of him. The last diagnostic from the AI showed that Permission One was locked behind a system-level authentication key—one tied to escape pod integrity. The engineers had designed these vessels with layers of redundancy, sure, but unlocking advanced functions meant proving the pod could handle the load.
That meant fixing what still wasn't working: the internal fusion core stabilizers, primary cooling conduit C-5, and the backup data-link node that had failed during the initial blast wave.
Three faults. Three barriers to unlocking the next tier of autonomy.
And he was running out of time.
"AI," he said, sweat trailing down his temple. "Status on cooling conduit?"
"Primary conduit C-5 remains nonfunctional. Bypass reroute at sixty-two percent capacity. Full core restart not advised under current load."
Kael muttered a curse under his breath. He'd already burned through half of his replacement fuses trying to jumpstart the conduit's pump cycle. If the coolant didn't flow properly, the fusion micro-core would overheat the moment he brought it online past emergency thresholds.
Still, he wasn't about to give up. Not when he was this close.
He shifted down into the pod's lower maintenance bay, wedging himself between storage lockers and a vent shaft. The panel access was tight, barely enough room to lift the housing without grazing the capacitors lining the wall. He popped it free, revealing a mess of heat-scarred tubing and half-melted control seals.
"I really hate you," he said to no one in particular, then pulled out his microtorch.
The air filled with the acrid smell of scorched polymer as he carefully trimmed away the worst of the damaged tubing. There was a replacement coil packed under the floor—meant for secondary coolant lines, but the diameter was close enough. He could force it into place with enough pressure and a little luck.
As he worked, his mind kept drifting to the others. Voss. Juno. Ivers. The frozen crew still locked in their cryopods aboard Module 57. All depending on him. Not just for supplies or salvage or hope—but for proof that this wreckage could still be fought through. That something functional could rise out of the dead shell of the Prospector's Dagger.
And maybe he needed to prove that to himself too.
The seal finally clicked into place with a hollow thunk. Kael exhaled, pulling himself upright.
"AI," he said. "Run a pressure test on C-5. Pulse check, sixty percent load."
"Beginning test."
The pod hummed as the coolant line vibrated to life, a low thrumming sound building beneath the deck. For a moment, it wavered—then stabilized. The pressure readouts spiked yellow, then eased back into green.
"Conduit C-5 operating within acceptable parameters. Warning: jury-rigged components may degrade under sustained load."
"They always do," Kael muttered.
One down.
He climbed back up to the command console, already keying in the diagnostics for the data-link node. Without it, he couldn't sync properly to external systems—not even the most basic long-range nav relays. Worse, it meant the AI had been running in partial isolation, unable to process updates or rebuild missing fragments of its logic mesh.
That might not matter if the AI were just a navigation tool, but he knew better now. The system behind this pod—whatever it really was—was more than software. It was watching, measuring, testing. It had withheld access to Permission One not because the system was locked—but because he hadn't been deemed ready.
He pulled open the floor plating beneath the nav console. The data-link node was tucked deep inside a casing surrounded by miniature shock mounts. The shielding was intact, but a microfracture had likely disrupted the internal power coupling.
Kael reached for his solder kit. "Isolate power flow. I'm going in."
"Routing bypass. Please exercise caution. Capacitor bank is active."
"Noted."
His hand moved carefully as he de-soldered the primary node, flipped the mini-module, and began replacing the cracked coupling with a salvaged one from a communications beacon he'd recovered three days prior. The fit wasn't perfect, but it would hold—long enough to prove system integrity.
He closed the panel and sat back.
"Reinitialize the data-link node."
A moment passed.
Then the lights flickered.
"Node reestablished. External comm sync at twenty-one percent. Rebuilding logic mesh… estimated time: seventeen minutes."
Kael allowed himself a breath. The hardest repair was still ahead—stabilizing the fusion core's power harness. Without it, everything would remain capped under emergency protocols.
He moved back to the core compartment and stared at the reinforced hatch. The interior heat had dropped, but the moment he started the procedure, it would spike again.
"Unlock access," he said.
The hatch released with a low hiss, revealing the angular, caged glow of the fusion chamber. The containment walls shimmered faintly, the blue of the energy coils pulsing like a heartbeat. He reached in and disconnected the primary regulator.
The power harness had warped under strain—slightly off-kilter, enough to introduce instability under load. He applied a recalibration frame, twisted it gently into place, and locked the internal coupling.
It took nearly ten minutes to finish the adjustments, but when it was done, the readouts came alive in bright, clean green.
He climbed back to the console and activated the core for real.
"System restart," he said. "Full sequence."
"Confirmed. Spinning up."
The pod trembled. For a second, Kael felt a jolt of panic—an old, familiar fear that something would blow. But the hum leveled out, and the systems began coming online in rapid succession.
One after another.
Power stabilized. Conduits held. Data-link node synchronized.
Then a new prompt appeared on the screen:
"Permission One Authentication Complete."
Kael stared.
The screen shifted.
SYSTEM ACCESS GRANTED
RESTRICTED COMMAND TREE UNLOCKED
Lines of unreadable code scrolled past. Then the screen cleared.
And across the center of the console, a final message appeared—stark, bold, and unmistakable:
WELCOME TO THE SYSTEM
AND GOOD LUCK—YOU'RE GOING TO NEED IT.