Kael's stomach growled again, louder this time, echoing in the cramped cockpit of the escape pod. The last ration pack was gone — swallowed in a moment of desperation, leaving behind an emptiness far worse than hunger alone. Food wasn't just fuel anymore; it was survival. His body ached with fatigue, muscles trembling from lack of nutrients and the unrelenting stress of being stranded in the wreckage.
He tapped his helmet, bringing up the internal status readouts. Oxygen levels were stable, a small comfort in the otherwise dire situation. Power flickered steadily at thirty-two percent capacity thanks to the partial solar array repairs, and the nanite reserves were growing—slowly but surely—after the last salvage run. But then his eyes landed on the nutrition and hydration indicators, both flashing critical warnings.
The AI's voice sounded, calm and even, yet firm. "Nutrition levels critical. Hydration levels dropping below recommended minimum. Recommend immediate procurement of food and water to sustain cognitive function and physical endurance."
Kael exhaled slowly, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "Yeah, I know. I feel it." His fingers danced over the HUD controls, toggling the schematic of the fuselage. The map was incomplete and sparse, scarred by explosion damage and time, but the AI had pinpointed a nearby sector marked 'Storage Alpha'—one of the ship's original supply bays. It was within tether range, at least.
His suit sealed tight, the airlock hissed open, and he drifted out into the fuselage's cold, inert silence. The wreckage loomed around him like a fractured tomb, mangled steel beams and shattered panels strewn like debris from a nightmare.
Every move was calculated, a silent ballet against the void of space. He tugged on the tether, careful not to jerk it too hard, watching the LED line stretch taut. The storage bay was his goal—his best chance for finding usable food and water, and maybe more salvageable parts to feed the fabricator's hungry core.
Floating closer, Kael scanned the area carefully. His HUD highlighted potential metallic fragments—possible nanite sources—and containers that might have once stored supplies. His gaze drifted to the eerie emptiness of the wrecked corridors, the knowledge that scavenging wasn't guaranteed.
The bulkhead of Storage Alpha was twisted and scorched, the metal warped in the blast. Kael pried it open with a carefully aimed kick and a well-placed pulse from his plasma multitool. Inside, the bay was chaotic: lockers were dented and broken, supply crates splintered open, and a faint haze of dust hung in the air.
Kael's eyes quickly swept the area. Most lockers were empty, their contents long scavenged or destroyed. But near a collapsed support beam, something caught his eye—a battered emergency food pack, wedged tight between wreckage.
He reached out carefully and pulled the pack free. The packaging was scuffed and torn but intact. His fingers fumbled the seal, and the smell of preserved protein filled the cramped space. A small victory.
Nearby, half-hidden beneath a pile of crushed panels, he spotted a container holding several capsules of nutrient paste — emergency rations designed to keep someone alive but not well-fed. He gathered them quickly, stuffing the capsules into a pouch inside his suit.
The AI chimed softly. "Estimated caloric value: sufficient for 24 hours of minimal exertion. Recommend rationing for extended duration."
Kael nodded, but even as he gathered the food, another pressing concern nudged at the back of his mind — water. His helmet's HUD warned that hydration levels were dangerously low. The pod's water recycler had been leaking, a slow but persistent loss that couldn't be ignored.
He swept the storage bay again, searching for water canisters or emergency hydration packs. Amid the chaos, he found a half-crushed container marked 'Hydropack.' The seals were damaged, but the plastic reservoir inside seemed mostly intact.
With cautious hands, he extracted the pack, checking the tubing for leaks. A faint drip escaped, but the main reservoir held. He secured it in his pack and prepared to leave. Any water was better than none, but he knew it wouldn't last long without repairing the recycler.
Before turning, his HUD flagged a glint beneath some tangled wiring and debris. Curious, Kael floated over and carefully pulled out a damaged circuit board—corroded, scratched, but potentially rich in nanite materials. He added it to his growing cache.
His tether pulled taut, reminding him of the limited time before his air supply dwindled and the dangers of prolonged exposure grew.
The trip back was slower, exhaustion tugging at his limbs. Inside the pod, Kael collapsed into the chair, unsealing a nutrient paste capsule and forcing it down despite the bitter taste. It was fuel, nothing more.
The AI's voice softened. "Nutritional intake restored to minimal safe levels. Hydration levels at twenty-seven percent. Recommend further replenishment at earliest opportunity."
Kael grimaced. "Got it. No time to rest."
He turned his attention to the water recycler's diagnostics. The leakage was from a damaged seal in the condensation recovery unit—a component that reclaimed moisture from the pod's atmosphere. Repairing it would slow water loss significantly.
He checked the fabricator's interface. "Any chance of making a seal patch?"
"Affirmative," the AI replied. "Requires polymer compound or rubberized material. Current inventory: zero. Recommend scavenging for sealant materials."
Kael pinched the bridge of his nose. The list of needed materials was growing longer, and the pod's limits were closing in on him.
He opened the food pack, taking stock. Enough for another day, maybe two if he rationed carefully. Water, however, was more critical. Without the recycler functioning, every drop lost was a step closer to dehydration.
The AI suggested, "Hydration is critical for maintaining cognitive function. Dehydration beyond forty-eight hours risks severe impairment."
Kael nodded grimly. "Noted. I'm on it."
He accessed the nanite reserves and the fabricator's schematic. Feeding the fabricator more scrap meant more nanites to repair the solar array, life support, and hopefully, the recycler. But to gather that scrap, he had to venture back out.
He checked the map again, identifying a nearby corridor where sensor readings showed concentrated debris and possible polymer materials.
His body protested, but hunger and thirst sharpened his resolve. He suited up, secured the tether, and pushed open the airlock once more.
The fuselage was darker now, the sun's angle shifting, shadows creeping longer across twisted metal.
As Kael floated through the corridor, his helmet HUD highlighted small pieces of rubberized insulation clinging to fractured wiring. He carefully pried one piece free, adding it to his haul.
Further on, a half-burned storage crate revealed scraps of polymer sheeting—fragile but potentially useful.
Despite the slow progress, Kael felt the familiar mix of hope and desperation fueling his movements.
His helmet's HUD suddenly pinged—an alert from the AI.
"Warning: Ongoing water recycler leakage increasing at an exponential rate. Estimated water reserves will be depleted within 36 hours without intervention."
Kael's heart sank. Time was running out faster than he hoped.
He pressed on, gathering every scrap of polymer and metal he could find, occasionally stopping to catch his breath and sip carefully from his precious hydropack.
Back at the pod, he deposited the materials into the fabricator. The AI quickly began processing the polymer scraps, generating nanites to fabricate a replacement seal.
As the machine hummed, Kael ate another paste capsule, fighting the urge to collapse. His vision blurred momentarily, and the AI's voice gently warned, "Dehydration symptoms detected. Immediate rest recommended upon seal fabrication completion."
Kael forced himself upright. "Rest later. Finish the seal first."
The fabricator spat out a small, flexible patch—the perfect size for the recycler's damaged seal.
Kael suited up, venturing outside once again to apply the patch to the recycler's external port.
With careful movements, aided by the AI's tentacle manipulator, the patch adhered firmly, sealing the leak.
The HUD showed immediate stabilization.
"Water loss reduced by seventy-eight percent. Estimated reserves sustainable for an additional 96 hours."
Kael exhaled a shaky breath. It wasn't perfect, but it bought time.
Back inside, he allowed himself a moment to rest, the cold capsules and recycled air keeping him barely alive.
Outside, the endless wreckage waited—harsh, unforgiving—but now, at least, with a fighting chance.