Aiden stayed in his suit.
The helmet seals were still green, the oxygen flow was steady, and the filters were running at baseline efficiency. He had not even considered opening it yet. Not after what he had already seen outside.
He squeezed another tube of nutrient paste into his mouth. It was beige, thick, and faintly metallic, engineered more for efficiency than comfort. The paste delivered dense, high-quality calories, balanced proteins, and rapid-absorption sugars meant to keep the body functional under stress.
He swallowed and exhaled slowly.
The control panel in front of him flickered, its light dimmer than it should have been. Not offline, nor was it failing.
The ship had shifted into emergency conservation mode, running on battery reserves and stripped-down systems only. Every circuit was throttled back, every display muted, like the vessel itself was breathing shallowly and conserving what little strength it had left.
"I need to check the inventory, assess the damage, and come up with a plan to survive..." he muttered quietly to himself.
Aiden pulled the ship's status window, this time forcing himself not to skim it this time. Before, he had only checked what was necessary to keep the ship from killing him. Now he finally had the space to examine everything properly.
This vessel was not built for combat. It was a government-approved research logistics ship, designed to carry sensitive equipment and specialized materials into survey zones that most civilian craft would avoid.
It did not have heavy armor or weapons, but it was built with backup systems, easily reconfigurable cargo rooms, and enough interior space to transport large sections of a research facility when needed.
It was big, but not absurdly so.
Roughly the size of a small building laid on its side. Long enough that walking from bow to stern took effort when injured. Wide enough that the central cargo spine felt more like a corridor than a hold.
The layout was simple and efficient.
Forward section: control cabin and navigation systems
Midship: living bay, medical locker, environmental controls
Central spine: cargo storage and fabrication access
Auxiliary storage rooms: two, mounted off the main corridor
Rear section: maintenance systems and fabrication rigs
The ship was designed to run lean, with systems meant to handle most tasks on their own. It required only a minimal crew, relying instead on automation to manage navigation, power distribution, cargo handling, and routine maintenance, allowing it to operate efficiently without constant human oversight.
Which was why he was alone.
This run had never been meant to be complicated. A standard logistics route from Earth to a regional hub, restock food and water there, then continue onward to the research staging area. The warp jumps were well-planned.
And most of the work was not even his. So it was suppose to be a smooth sailling first mission outside the galaxy.
"J.E.M. handled the math." he said quietly, chewing at his lower lip as his eyes drifted to the unresponsive AI interface. Warp calculations. Corridor drift. Exit vectors. All of it.
J.E.M. was more than a ship AI. It was his work. Aiden had built it from the ground up, designed its architecture, and written its adaptive routines. The government had approved it after months of testing, and his father had personally insisted that it be installed on this vessel.
That alone told Aiden how important this mission had been meant to be.
Which meant one thing was now unavoidable.
He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the console and forced his thoughts back into order.
The reason this ship carried so much research equipment was not an accident either. Since this vessel was effectively a delivery platform for a much larger operation. The equipment onboard had been requested specifically for the next phase of a planetary survey that was recently discovered.
His father was an Environmental Mech Specialist.
Not the kind that built weapons. The kind that built machines capable of stepping into places humans could not survive. Land poisoned by chemical storms, oceans under crushing pressure, upper atmospheres laced with radiation, vacuum-adjacent debris fields filled with unstable particles, and many more.
His father fixed and improved the machines that checked dangerous environments before anyone else dared enter them.
He was good enough that if humanity had a list of its top researchers still alive, his name would be somewhere in the upper hundred. A man trusted to sign off on whether a place could be touched at all.
His mother worked alongside him, but her focus was different.
She was a Planetary Environmental Survey Director. She did not just catalog planets. She observed them over time. Studied their cycles. Their chemistry. Their life, if life existed. She was careful where others were eager, patient where others rushed.
She had discovered enough new elements and compounds that several were registered under her name. Not because she chased credit, but because she was thorough enough that no one could dispute it.
Together, they were in charge of evaluating and preparing newly discovered worlds for exploration and long-term development.
The target planet was harsh and hostile in several respects. But preliminary scans had revealed mineral signatures that could drastically change warship development, materials that were lighter, stronger, and far more resistant to energy stress.
Aiden had even been able to review the material properties himself, after his mother allowed him to study the first sample sent back to Earth, long before the findings were made public.
And that was why Aiden had been trusted with the delivery route. He knew the systems. He knew the equipment. And J.E.M. made the entire operation efficient enough that no escort was required.
He swallowed, cleared his thoughts, and pulled up the inventory list, forcing himself to focus on what was left in the ship's storage and what he could still rely on.
"Let's see what's left."
[Multi-Function Engineering Tool (Standard Issue)]
- Primary cutting head capable of slicing through panels, cables, and composite plating
- Weld-seal function for patching hull seams and structural fractures
- Diagnostic interface compatible with most ship systems
- Power reroute clamps for emergency overrides
He lifted it from where it had been magnetically locked and rotated it in his hand. The casing was scratched, but intact.
"Good..." he said softly, a rare, fleeting smile etching itself across his face. Of all the tools that could have survived, this one was almost perfect for him.
[Drone Systems Assembly Module]
- Modular assembly jig for small autonomous units
- Micro-solder wand for circuit repair
- Actuator calibrator
- Spare rotors, joints, optical lenses
- Composite plating sheets
The status readout showed partial damage from the impact. Bent frames. Cracked housings. With a quick glance, he concluded there was nothing irreparable here.
Aiden let out a slow breath, he had not realized he was holding. Relief settled into his chest as recognition followed. He knew this module. He had personally secured it before departure, double-checking the mounts himself. It had been his father's equipment, transferred over for this mission.
It had survived.
He could already see the configurations in his head, the ways the parts could be rearranged, repurposed, rebuilt.
-Available drones and potential builds-
Ground survey drones
- Terrain mapping for safe movement routes
- Motion detection for nearby life or environmental shifts
- Sample pickup and retrieval without direct exposure
Aerial survey drone
- Overhead terrain scans
- Topographic sweeps for elevation and hazard mapping
- Short-range reconnaissance of surrounding areas
With the drone assembly module intact, he could also make other drone variants if materials allowed. Maintenance units. Sensor-focused scouts. Utility carriers. The limits were not the design.
The docking rails still held them. The indicator lights were dim, but green.
For the first time since waking up, Aiden allowed himself a real breath.
Then his eyes flicked to the missing entry.
There was no Long-range Sensor Probe.
Not the communications type. The other kind. The quiet one that could be launched and left drifting, feeding back data about heat sources, large structures, and biological movement.
He stared at the empty slot longer than necessary, already imagining how much easier it would have made survival.
"That would have been nice," he muttered flatly, then let the thought drop. Sadly, it was not here.
Another piece of equipment that caught his attention was the Environmental Analysis Equipment.
For a brief moment, relief surged through him, close to excitement. What surprised him was that it was not locked behind restricted access. These were general field units, meant to be deployed immediately when conditions demanded it. He could use this personally without needing authority access!
This tool was designed to test soil, water, and atmospheric composition before any human ever set foot on a new world.
Among its components was one unit that mattered more than all the rest.
The ENV-Spec Field Analyzer.
This was the kind of machine you hoped to have when everything else went wrong. A field analyzer meant precise answers. It meant he would not have to gamble with his life just to find out whether the air, the water, or the ground could be safe.
Its core functions were clear:
[Environmental Analysis Equipment]
- Air composition analysis, including oxygen ratio, inert gases, and reactive variants
- Aerosol detection for spores, pollen, and microbial density
- Trace toxin scans for corrosives, neurotoxins, and fine particulates
- Water composition analysis covering salinity, heavy metals, and microbial presence
- Soil scanning for pH balance, mineral content, and organic threat markers
Then his eyes dropped to the status line.
Status: OFFLINE. IMPACT DAMAGE.
Aiden's jaw tightened, teeth pressing together as his brows drew sharply inward. The brief lift of relief collapsed into focus. The tool was here, yes, but until it worked, it was nothing more than a promise he still had to earn.
This machine mattered more than anything else onboard. His suit oxygen supply was limited. Finite. It could not be replenished unless he could safely breathe the atmosphere and run reclamation.
"This should be my first priority," he said immediately. "No debate."
[Environmental Exo Mech-Frame Assembly Unit]
- Designed to produce replacement components for environmental mechs
It was a fabrication rig that was requested personally by his father.
Aiden did not need a mech. At least for now. Even with the machine here, he did not currently have any materials.
But the power cell readout caught his attention.
Battery module: intact. High-capacity.
He nodded slowly.
"You're not a limb factory for now," he said quietly. A power and parts donor. He could use this in a lot of ways.
After checking most of the tools and machineries; next was the food supplies.
He brought up the consumables tab.
This had never been meant to be a long trip.
Nutrient paste tubes
Compressed ration bars
Rehydration packets
Enough for roughly three weeks if he stretched it.
Water reserves
Water was non-negotiable on any vessel.
The total onboard reserve was enough for roughly two months if rationed carefully.
It was not much, but it was enough to ensure he would not starve anytime soon.
[ Weapons Tab ]
Compact plasma pistol (civilian-government issue)
- Designed for wildlife deterrence and emergency defense
- Compact and lightweight
- Short-range effectiveness
- Limited charge cell
- Remaining uses: approximately 30 shots.
Each shot required a recharge, and every recharge drew from the ship's already strained power reserves. Power he could not afford to waste, not when he did not even have enough supply to bring the ship back to normal operation. Right now, energy is needed for essentials.
Life support. Systems access. Even opening internal hatches demanded power, and without it, he would be facing tons of sealed steel he had no hope of lifting by hand.
After a moment's hesitation, he clipped the plasma pistol to his waist tool belt instead of returning it to the locker. He had no intention of using it unless forced to, but having it there, within reach, gave him a thin sense of security he was not willing to give up.
He returned it to the locker room next door and checked it as well.
[Cargo-lift Exosuit]
- Basic exoskeleton designed for warehouse and storage work
- Assists lifting and dragging heavy objects
- Not combat-rated
- No armor
- No speed enhancement
It would let him move what he otherwise could not.
That was enough.
Medicine locker
He forced himself to count.
Pain suppressants: 12 doses
Broad-spectrum antibiotics: 8 doses
Coagulant injectors: 4
Anti-inflammatory tablets: 18
Burn treatment gel: 2 tubes
Stimulant ampoules: 3
Basic wound kits: 6 sets, including bandages, sealants, disinfectant
It was not a generous supply, but it was not cruelly insufficient either. Just enough to keep him going if he was careful, disciplined, and avoided unnecessary risks.
He carefully repacked everything and secured it back in storage, aware that each item could mean the difference between walking away from a mistake or not waking up at all, a second life waiting for him in the moments when everything else failed.
Finally, the sealed room he was so curious about. He was informed that only his parents could open this place.
[ Storage Area: Restricted ]
He tried his access anyway, more out of stubborn habit than hope. The panel responded instantly.
[Access denied]
It was protected by government-grade encryption, layered so deeply that any manual override was effectively impractical, bordering on impossible, even with full system support.
He scrolled further, eyes narrowing as the breakdown appeared. More than ten encryption layers, each one designed to escalate in complexity the deeper you go. Breaking through the first would be time-consuming. Breaking through all of them would be an exercise in self-destruction.
"Hmmm. If I brute force it," he said softly, almost to himself, "I'm looking at months."
He did not have the time or the power to spare for it, nor did he even know what waited inside that room. Survival came first. With a quiet click of his tongue, Aiden pushed the thought aside and refocused on staying alive.
He closed the window and let the interface fade, his gaze drifting back to the unresponsive AI display. The silence there felt heavier than any locked door.
"So I need you, J.E.M.," Aiden sighed again for the umpteenth time today, only now fully realizing how important the AI truly was.
He activated his Wrist-mounted Command Slate.
A personal field device. Government standard.
A faint projection screen unfolded above his wrist. He called it his memo-band. With practiced motions, he began typing, recording every detail of his inventory check while it was still fresh in his mind.
Priority one: lockdown. Seal leaks. Stabilize systems. Make the ship livable.
Priority two: repair the ENV-Spec Field Analyzer. Air first. Always air.
Priority three: stabilize J.E.M. Not a full repair. Just enough to regain access and automation.
He already knew how he would fix the analyzer.
He would disassemble parts of the [Environmental Exo Mech-Frame Assembly Unit]. Cannibalize the components, then redirect the power.
Two days, if nothing went wrong.
He swallowed another mouthful of paste and forced himself to think more.
The worst-case scenarios were not sudden or explosive. They were quiet and easy to overlook, the kind that crept in slowly and killed you long after you thought you were safe.
What he was worried about were things that could not be seen at a glance. Toxic spores drifting invisibly through the air. Neurotoxic gases with no smell or warning. Reactive oxygen variants that felt breathable at first but slowly damaged the lungs over time.
There had been countless cases like that on newly explored planets, worlds that appeared habitable on the surface but proved lethal once people let their guard down.
"It's no time to skim," resolved Aiden once again.
He saved the log and pushed himself upright, pain flaring through his body. He acknowledged it, then set it aside, refusing to let it slow him down.
"Alright," he said quietly.
"It's time to work."