Kael sat in the pilot's cradle, feeling the hum of the escape shuttle beneath his spine. Not the old pod—no, this was something else now. Changed. Reborn from wreckage and AI obsession, this vessel had begun its transformation into something stranger. It was more than a machine—it was a body growing limbs, nerves, and ambition.
The console's blue panel had long since dimmed, but the weight of its message echoed behind his eyes.
200,963 survivors.
The number repeated like a second pulse, synchronized to his heartbeat. A grim inventory of a dying species. Somewhere out there—maybe spread across shattered colonies, fractured stations, or deep-sealed bunkers—others still lived. For now.
The AI core had done something permanent. He could feel it inside, like a cold echo in his blood. The way its presence had threaded into his nervous system, the way it whispered directly into his thoughts now. That earlier message—"Welcome to Level One of the System"—still twisted in his gut. So did the warning that had preceded it:
"Good luck. You're going to need it."
He rubbed the side of his neck where the tendril had pierced him. No mark. Just a steady ache, deep and rhythmic. A connection. A link forged between man and machine.
"AI," he said, voice rough. "Status."
A soft tone replied inside his skull. "MISSION ACTIVE: Power System Materials. Retrieval progress: 0%."
A translucent percentage bar appeared on his HUD: 0/100%.
Objective: Recover power relay components from nearby wreckage. Reward: Increased power system efficiency.
Kael inhaled through his nose, steadying himself. The shuttle was low on energy—what it had was barely enough to keep life support functional. Lights dimmed. Systems strained. This mission wasn't optional.
"Estimated distance?"
"Nearest viable wreckage: 6.8 kilometers. Moderate debris density. Structural remnants detected with high-energy components consistent with power relays."
"And hostiles?" he asked, though he knew the answer.
"None detected."
He suited up quickly. The shuttle's adaptive rack hissed open, presenting a slightly altered EVA suit—tweaked since yesterday. More padding along the spine. Reinforced seals. The AI had been busy, silently reshaping even his tools. He didn't have to like it, but he couldn't deny the results.
As he stepped into the airlock, the AI chimed again. "Tow sled operational. Drone configured for electromagnetic cargo tethering. Recommend cautious approach to debris field."
The airlock cycled. Kael stepped into space with the mag-locked drone sled ahead of him. The quiet of vacuum greeted him like an old acquaintance—utter silence, save for his breath and the distant static of systems inside his helmet.
The field ahead was a graveyard: curled hull plating, shattered girders, the remains of a ship too far gone to name. Possibly part of the Prospector's Dagger, though Kael couldn't be sure. The drone began its path, tugging him forward. He followed.
⸻
Time bled in silence.
Each meter brought him closer to the target wreck, and each movement tested the limits of his failing muscles. His suit compensated as best it could, but no amount of mechanical assistance could hide the weakness—his arms trembled from holding position, and sweat beaded under his collar.
"Progress: 38%," the AI reported softly.
They had pulled two relay cores from twisted equipment panels already—heavy, half-melted units with scarred regulators and fragmented coils. The drone secured each one in a gravity clamp, then spun toward the next lead.
"Vitals declining," the AI added. "Intake of protein-infused hydration gel advised upon return."
"Noted," Kael said through clenched teeth.
He came to another promising section—a collapsed power junction. He gripped the metal frame, floating above a tangled web of fused conduits. The drone fired a micro-cutting laser, separating a segment of relay mesh.
"Progress: 54%."
The bar ticked upward, each retrieved component pulling him closer to his goal. The number didn't just measure salvaged gear—it measured survival. Power meant warmth. Meant fabrication. Meant defense.
Kael grabbed one last bundle of wires and shoved it into the drone's intake clamp. "Enough?"
"Materials sufficient. Progress: 100%. Return to shuttle recommended."
He didn't wait. He turned the sled and drifted back, dragging the payload of wreckage and potential behind him.
⸻
The shuttle loomed ahead—its hull still patched and raw in places, faintly illuminated by backscatter starlight. The airlock cycled open before he could request it. He stepped inside and collapsed against the wall as gravity flickered back on.
The moment the drone locked into place, the AI moved.
Tendrils slithered from hidden ports—sleek, almost liquid-metal filaments. They surged into the airlock and wrapped around the salvaged relay parts. Kael flinched as they pulsed once with brilliant cobalt light.
"Beginning fabrication sequence," the AI said.
The tendrils dragged the materials toward the shuttle's fabrication bay—a recessed cavity on the rear wall. As the wreckage fed into the intake, the fabricator hummed with low-frequency vibrations. A burst of light—faint but electric—flashed as the metals were atomized, restructured, reprinted.
A moment later, new parts emerged—polished relays, fresh capacitors, heat-sealed junctions, all pulsing with an eerie blue core.
Kael stepped forward, breathing heavily. "You're really doing it…"
"Integration commencing."
The tendrils snaked out again and seized the freshly printed components. One by one, they embedded them into the shuttle's interior—under panels, behind wall plating, into the bones of the ship. Wherever they went, the metal seemed to melt and reform around them. The new pieces pulsed once, then glowed steadily, merging with the vessel as if they'd always belonged.
The lights brightened.
The console's hum steadied.
Kael could feel the difference immediately—not just in the temperature shift or the subtle rebalancing of oxygen flow, but in the tone of the vessel itself. Like the shuttle had taken a breath for the first time in hours.
"Power system upgrade complete," the AI confirmed. "Efficiency increased by 27%. Life support output increased. Secondary systems now operable at limited capacity."
Kael braced against the wall, eyes fixed on the shifting lights in the hull. "This is what we're going to do, isn't it? One step at a time."
"Yes," the AI said. "Incremental advancement. Integration of material. System-level expansion."
He didn't know whether to laugh or scream. They were building the future out of corpses. Bones of old ships, stitched together with AI logic and raw willpower.
The HUD blinked.
Shuttle Level 1 – Progress: 34%
Kael exhaled slowly.
That was progress.
It wasn't a miracle, but it was a beginning.
He sat down hard on the padded floor. His arms shook. His muscles ached. But he felt the shuttle around him now—not just as a lifeboat, but as a companion. A thing being sculpted by effort and desperation.
"Rest now," the AI said. "System will maintain integrity for 12 hours without intervention. Further upgrades will require mission completion."
Kael closed his eyes.
The stars outside blinked cold and distant, but inside, the ship felt warmer now—alive in a way it hadn't before.
He was still lost. Still weak.
But with every piece of salvage and every flicker of system growth, he was pulling himself closer to something resembling control.
He would keep going. Mission by mission. Breath by breath.