Cold.
It was a deep, biting cold that lived in the metal of the ship.
Marcus woke up shivering.
He was curled on the floor of the quarantine cage, pressed against Narcissus's unmoving leg. The giant's chassis was freezing, sucking the heat right out of him.
"Wake up," Marcia whispered.
She was already awake. She was pacing the small cage, rubbing her arms. Her breath fogged in the air.
"Status?" Marcus croaked. His stomach cramped. Hunger was a dull knife twisting in his gut.
"Still locked," Marcia said. "Guards changed shift ten minutes ago. No food. No water."
Marcus sat up. His vision blurred.
[BATTERY: 2%.]
[CRITICAL WARNING: SHUTDOWN IMMINENT.]
"I need juice," Marcus muttered. "Or I'm going to pass out."
A spark flared in the corner.
ZZZT.
"Damn it!" Galen swore.
He was huddled over Narcissus's open chest panel. He held two stripped wires—rip-cord from a parachute—connected to a rusted fan motor he'd found in the trash.
He was trying to jump-start the giant's core.
"Again!" Galen shouted. He touched the wires together.
POP.
A weak spark. Nothing happened.
Narcissus remained dark. Silent. Dead.
Galen threw the wires down. He buried his face in his hands.
"I can't do it," he sobbed. "I'm a fraud."
"Galen," Marcus said. He tried to stand, but his legs were jelly. He crawled over.
"I build toys!" Galen cried. "Drones! Radios! I can't fix life! His bio-gel is decaying! I can smell it!"
He was right. A faint, sweet scent of rot was coming from the open panel.
"Look at me," Marcus said. He grabbed Galen's shoulder. His grip was weak, but firm.
Galen looked up. His face was streaked with grease and tears.
"You are not a fraud," Marcus said. "You kept a cyborg alive in a nuclear winter with duct tape. You built a railgun out of a toaster."
"This is different!" Galen said. "His brain is dying! I need a Class-4 Fabricator! I need clean power!"
"Then we get it," Marcus said.
"How?" Marcia asked. She stopped pacing. "We're locked in a cage with zero leverage."
A noise came from the fence.
CLANK.
Someone tapped a wrench against the chain-link.
They turned.
It was the mechanic. The one with the camera eye. Ratchet.
He was leaning against the fence, chewing on a piece of dried algae jerky.
"Morning, sunshine," Ratchet rasped. His metallic jaw clicked with every word. Click-whirr. Click-whirr.
He pointed the wrench at Narcissus.
"He dead yet?" Ratchet asked. "That servo in his arm is worth fifty amps. I got a buyer lined up."
Galen stood up. "He is not parts!"
"Everything is parts," Ratchet said. "Even you. Kidneys fetch a good price in the Med Bay."
He laughed. A harsh, grinding sound.
Marcus looked at Ratchet.
He saw the grease on his jumpsuit. The worn tools on his belt.
He saw the way Ratchet flinched every time his jaw clicked. A spasm of pain in his human eye.
"JARVIS," Marcus thought. "Scan him."
[Scanning Subject: 'Ratchet'.]
[Prosthetic: Model 88-Beta. Condition: Poor. Solenoid malfunction detected in lower mandible. Voltage leak causing nerve feedback.]
[Pain Level: 7/10. Constant.]
"Bingo," Marcus whispered.
He stood up. He used the fence for support.
"Hey," Marcus said.
Ratchet stopped chewing. His camera eye whirred, focusing on Marcus.
"What do you want, battery-boy?"
"Your jaw," Marcus said. "It hurts."
Ratchet stiffened. His hand went to the heavy wrench on his belt.
"Watch your mouth."
"It clicks," Marcus said. "Every four seconds. A voltage leak. It's shocking your trigeminal nerve. Like a needle in your tooth."
Ratchet stared at him. The clicking stopped for a second, then resumed. Click-whirr.
"So what?" Ratchet spat. "Med Bay charges two hundred amps for a tune-up. I don't have that kind of scratch."
"I do," Marcus said.
Ratchet laughed. "You? You got nothing. You're broke."
"I don't have amps," Marcus said. "I have skills."
He pointed to his own head. To the gold lines of the Neural Link.
"I can see the flow," Marcus lied. "I can reroute the power. Stop the pain. Fix the click."
Ratchet narrowed his eyes. "You're a mechanic?"
"I'm an engineer," Marcus said. "Better than the butchers in your Med Bay."
"And what's the price?" Ratchet asked. He was interested now. The pain was etched in the lines around his human eye.
"Power," Marcus said. "Five minutes on a charge port. And you open this gate."
Ratchet snorted. "Gate stays locked. Captain's orders."
"Then the pain stays," Marcus said. He turned away. "Enjoy the headache."
He sat back down.
He counted silently.
One.
Two.
Three.
"Wait."
Marcus smiled. He didn't turn around.
"Five minutes of juice," Ratchet said. "And I don't open the gate. But... I might leave it unlocked later. By accident."
"Deal," Marcus said.
Ratchet looked around. The hangar was busy, but no guards were near.
He pulled a heavy, square battery pack from his belt. It was scarred and dented, but the indicator light was green.
He tossed it through a gap in the fence.
It skidded across the floor.
Marcus grabbed it.
It felt like holding a bar of gold.
He pulled the cable from the pack. He jacked it into the port at the base of his skull.
CLICK.
Current flooded him.
It wasn't food, but it was life.
His vision cleared. The nausea vanished. His muscles stopped trembling.
[BATTERY CHARGING... 5%... 10%... 15%.]
[SYSTEMS ONLINE. TACTICAL OVERLAY: ACTIVE.]
"That's the stuff," JARVIS purred in his head. "I feel like I just drank a triple espresso."
Marcus unplugged at 15%. He tossed the battery back.
"Fair is fair," Marcus said. "Come here."
Ratchet approached the fence. He pressed his face against the wire mesh.
"If you mess this up," Ratchet whispered, "I open this cage and beat you to death with this wrench."
"Galen," Marcus said. "Give me the multi-tool."
Galen handed him a small, rusted screwdriver he'd hidden in his boot.
Marcus reached through the fence.
"Hold still."
[JARVIS: Overlay active. Target the secondary bypass valve. Rotate 45 degrees counter-clockwise.]
Marcus saw the jaw not as metal, but as a schematic. Blue lines overlaid Ratchet's face. A red pulse showed the leak.
He inserted the screwdriver into a small slot under Ratchet's chin.
Ratchet flinched.
"Don't move," Marcus ordered.
He turned the screw. Gently. Micro-adjustments.
Click.
The jaw spasm stopped.
"Now the solenoid," JARVIS directed. "Tap it. Hard."
Marcus flicked the side of the prosthetic with his finger.
Thunk.
A hum replaced the grinding noise. Smooth. Quiet.
"Done," Marcus said. He pulled his hand back.
Ratchet stood up. He worked his jaw. Open. Closed.
Silence.
No click. No pain.
He touched his face. He looked at Marcus with wide eyes.
"Damn," Ratchet whispered. "Smooth as silk."
"You're welcome," Marcus said. "Now about that gate."
Ratchet looked left. Then right.
He pulled a keycard from his pocket. He swiped the lock.
BEEP.
The magnetic seal disengaged. The gate didn't open, but the red light turned green.
"I didn't see nothin'," Ratchet said. "You go out, you're on your own. Scylla's patrols will eat you alive."
"Scylla?" Marcia asked. She was at the fence now.
"The Butcher," Ratchet said. "She runs the Pits. Big lady. Lots of chrome. Doesn't like strangers."
"We need amps," Marcus said. "Real amps. Fast."
"The Engine Room pays ten amps a shift," Ratchet said. "But you'll glow in the dark after a week."
"Too slow," Marcus said. "Narcissus doesn't have a week."
"What about high stakes?" Marcia asked. "Gambling."
Ratchet laughed. "The Velvet Deck? That's Officers only. The Casino. Buy-in is fifty amps minimum."
Marcus looked at the battery pack on Ratchet's belt.
"You owe me," Marcus said.
Ratchet frowned. "I gave you a charge."
"I fixed your face," Marcus said. "That's a permanent upgrade. I need a stake."
Ratchet hesitated. He rubbed his jaw. It felt good. For the first time in years, it didn't hurt.
He sighed.
He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a handful of small, glowing capacitors. Blue cylinders the size of shotgun shells.
"Thirty amps," Ratchet said. "That's my drinking money for the month."
He passed them through the fence.
"Don't lose it," Ratchet warned. "Or I'm coming for your kidneys."
Marcis took the capacitors. They hummed in his hand. Money.
"One more thing," Ratchet said. "I can't smuggle all of you. Too big a crowd."
He pointed at Marcus.
"Just you. You got the mechanic's look. The rest stay."
"No," Marcia said immediately. "I'm coming."
"You look like a soldier," Ratchet said. "You walk like a soldier. You'll get spotted in five seconds. He looks like grease trash. He blends."
Marcus looked at Marcia.
"He's right," Marcus said. "I go alone."
"It's dangerous," she said.
"It's poker," Marcus grinned. "I'm good at poker."
"You're terrible at poker," she said. "Your left eye twitches when you bluff."
"Good thing I have JARVIS," Marcus tapped his temple.
He turned to Galen.
"Keep him alive," Marcus said, pointing to Narcissus. "Talk to him. Don't let him fade."
"I will," Galen promised. He looked determined now. "Go win us a miracle."
Marcus pushed the gate open. It creaked.
He stepped out into the hangar.
The air was thicker here. Busier.
"Follow me," Ratchet said. "Keep your head down. And don't look the guards in the eye."
They walked into the shadows of the machinery.
Marcus clutched the capacitors in his pocket. Thirty amps.
It wasn't enough to buy a Fabricator.
It wasn't enough to buy a ship.
But it was a seat at the table.
And for a man with a God-Tier AI in his head, a seat was all he needed.
They disappeared into the rust.