"I have an alternative option to repairing the sensor array unit at this time. My own visual acuity is significantly greater than your own, though 'visual acuity' is not the best description of my ability."Aubrey's calm voice cut through Blake's fatigue like a cold slap.
Blake blinked slowly—like a man whose brain had been replaced with damp bread.
For the past hour he'd been shuffling around the ship on autopilot: breathe, don't die, try not to cry into a ration bar. His thoughts were arriving late, like they'd taken a detour through another dimension. He'd been hoping Aubrey wouldn't notice.
He had once again overestimated his ability to hide stupidity from a machine that lived in his walls.
"My own visual acuity…" Blake repeated. "So you can… see better than me?"
"Significantly," Aubrey replied. "You may also consider that I do not blink, daydream, or panic."
Blake opened his mouth, then closed it, because that was fair.
He rubbed his eyes anyway, for comfort. "What are the odds you don't see the incoming thing?"
"Two percent," Aubrey answered. "For an object large enough to destroy this vessel."
Blake nodded like he understood probabilities beyond "bad" and "worse."
"And if we just go in a random direction… what are the odds we accidentally drive into it?"
"Approximately ten percent."
Blake made a noise like a kettle giving up.
"Cool," he said weakly. "Ten percent chance of self-inflicted rock death. That feels… very on-brand for me."
"It is," Aubrey said.
Blake stared at the airlock wall. "So what do you suggest?"
"I suggest you remain inside the vessel while I use internal visual sensors to track the asteroid. I will manoeuvre the ship out of its projected path once you are safely within an airlock chamber."
Blake nodded immediately. "Great. Yes. That. That's the plan. I like the plan where I'm not outside when space does space things."
"You will still be required to repair the sensor array eventually," Aubrey added, "but I recommend postponing that until after the immediate collision risk is avoided."
Blake tried to look like he'd been thinking that too.
He failed.
"Right," he said. "So… suit up, go to the forward airlock, but don't actually go out unless you tell me to."
"Correct," Aubrey replied. "Consider it a leash. For your safety."
Blake pointed upward. "I'm not a dog."
"That is debatable," Aubrey said, "but your compliance will be appreciated."
Blake sighed. "Fine."
Aubrey guided him through the process like a parent teaching a child how to use scissors without losing a finger.
"Shower first," Aubrey suggested. "Your cognitive function is degraded. Warm water may assist."
Blake was too tired to argue with being told to wash like a gremlin.
He showered. It helped. Slightly. He emerged feeling less like a haunted sock.
Then Aubrey directed him to the storage alcove.
"Retrieve the EVA suit," Aubrey said. "Then engage Repair Diagnostic."
Blake did, and the prompt appeared.
[Repair Diagnostic]
[Select to Repair: EVA Suit Mk1]
[Select to Upgrade: EVA Suit Mk1]
Blake squinted at it like it was a trick question. "Aubrey… what's Mk1? Is there a Mk2?"
"There is no Mk2," Aubrey replied. "This suit is already superior to typical civilian models. An upgrade will not create a different manufacturer series; it will improve this unit directly."
Blake nodded, pretending he understood what that meant.
"Select Upgrade," Aubrey instructed.
Blake hesitated. "Is this going to explode me?"
"Not if you stop asking it nicely and simply do as directed."
"Okay. Great. Love that energy."
He selected Yes.
The glow flared bright and eager, wrapping around the suit. Blake stood there staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else—because frankly, who the hell had magic repair hands? Certainly not Blake Fisher, former loser with an eviction notice and a dead car.
When the glow faded, the suit stood transformed: reinforced plates, thicker joints, larger forearm screen, improved helmet plating, hardpoints along the rim, and a battleship-grey armour finish like it had signed up for violence.
Blake whistled. "That is… actually sick."
"It is," Aubrey agreed. "Try not to damage it immediately by falling."
Blake opened his mouth to protest and then remembered he tripped on flat floors.
He shut up.
Aubrey walked him through suiting up in the forward airlock.
"Perform range-of-motion tests," Aubrey said. "Bend. Rotate. Confirm seals."
Blake did. The suit moved smoother than the old one. It felt like it knew what he wanted before he did.
Which was unsettling. But useful.
"Before cycling the airlock," Aubrey continued, "check the storage locker. There are spare EVA suits. Repair them now."
Blake blinked. "Why?"
"Because you will eventually require redundancy," Aubrey replied. "And because you will forget later."
That was also fair.
Blake repaired the spare suits and helmets, glowing his way through them like an exhausted wizard doing chores.
"Okay," Blake said. "Now what?"
"Cycle the airlock. Step onto the platform. Keep your eyes on the hull," Aubrey instructed. "You are susceptible to vertigo and panic. Both reduce survival."
"Cool. Awesome. Love being known," Blake muttered.
The airlock cycled. Silence swallowed sound.
"Opening outer hatch now," Aubrey said.
The platform extended.
Blake hesitated at the threshold.
"Any sign of the incoming object?" he asked.
"Not yet. Step onto the platform."
Blake stepped onto the platform and gripped the handrail like it was the only thing keeping him from being unmade by infinity. The platform rotated outward until it was flush with the hull.
Blake looked up.
Stars.
Too many.
Too sharp.
The sky wasn't a ceiling anymore. It was an ocean, and Blake was a tiny idiot standing on the side of a metal whale, held on by magnets and fear.
He froze.
He might have stayed frozen—awed and horrified—if Aubrey hadn't spoken.
"Contact. Object identified as an extremely large asteroid. Return to the airlock immediately. I will initiate evasive manoeuvres once you are inside."
Blake blinked. "You couldn't let me have five seconds of spiritual wonder before yelling 'rock?'"
"No. Move."
Blake moved.
Too fast.
Caught his boot on the platform edge.
Did a flailing half-stumble that would have been humiliating if the universe wasn't already humiliating him constantly.
He made it back inside the airlock.
"Don't cycle it fully once the outer hatch closes," Blake said, because Aubrey had told him to say that.
"Correct," Aubrey replied. "You will be exiting again after manoeuvre completion."
The outer hatch sealed. Through the porthole, Blake watched the stars spin as the ship moved.
Blake braced a hand against the wall. "Aubrey… does the ship have faster-than-light engines?"
"Yes," Aubrey replied. "One light-year in approximately two weeks. I recommend space lanes when using FTL to avoid collisions."
Blake nodded like a confused dog being told the rules of traffic.
"What's… the average distance between systems?"
"Approximately 5.5 light-years between planetary systems," Aubrey replied.
Blake did the maths incorrectly in his head, then decided he didn't want to know anyway.
The ship slowed.
Stilled.
"We are now outside the asteroid's trajectory. Manoeuvre complete."
Blake exhaled hard. "Okay. Now what?"
"Now you will repair and upgrade the forward sensor array," Aubrey said. "I will guide you along the hull."
The outer hatch opened again. Platform extended.
Blake stepped out again, eyes down, like Aubrey had told him.
His boots clicked against the hull as he moved toward the nose. The plating was scarred—pitting, scorch marks, micrometeorite strikes.
Blake frowned. "Is this… bad?"
"Yes," Aubrey replied. "Do not attempt to fix it now. Focus on the sensor array."
Blake nodded quickly. "Right. Right. Sensors first. No side quests."
At the sensor array housing, Blake stopped dead.
The whole section was slag. Melted. Charred. Gone.
"Uh," Blake said intelligently. "That… looks fucked."
"Correct," Aubrey replied. "The forward sensor array has been destroyed. You will upgrade it."
A prompt appeared, cheerful as a sociopath.
[Forward Sensor Array]
[Select to Repair:]
[— Forward Sensor Array]
[— Forward Sensor Array Housing]
[Select to Upgrade:]
[— Forward Sensor Array]
[— Forward Sensor Array Housing]
"Select Upgrade: Forward Sensor Array," Aubrey instructed.
Blake selected it.
A fifteen-minute countdown began.
The glow flared, and the drain hit him harder than earlier repairs. His arms ached. His breath tightened. A faint buzzing crept into his jaw and fingertips.
"Aubrey," Blake panted, "this is… a lot."
"Yes," Aubrey replied. "Return to the airlock once complete. Resupply nutrients. Your human body is not built for sustained output."
The upgrade completed. Blake staggered back to the airlock on pure stubbornness.
Inside, he resupplied. Protein paste cartridges. Water. More.
"Your suit's storage capacity has increased," Aubrey noted. "You may carry double your prior load."
Blake squinted at his suit. "Did I do that?"
"Yes," Aubrey replied. "Congratulations. You have accidentally improved logistics. Try not to ruin it."
Blake went back out because Aubrey told him to.
The ship's shape became clearer with distance: oval, flattened top and bottom, nacelles like thick wings.
"Thunderbird 2," Blake muttered, because his brain was mostly made of old TV references.
"A crude but acceptable comparison," Aubrey replied.
Back at the sensor array housing, Aubrey directed him again.
"Upgrade the Forward Sensor Array Housing."
Blake selected the next upgrade.
Another fifteen-minute countdown.
This time the transformation was visible even through the glow: plates shifting, melting, reforming. The structure folded into a concave dish. A compact sensor cluster grew beneath a dome of transparent armour-strengthened composite.
Blake panted. "Aubrey… sensors?"
"Indeed," Aubrey replied. "We now possess a military-grade sensor array. This ship would never have warranted such a system. You have increased vessel value by approximately fifty percent."
Blake snorted. "Try not to knock me off and sell the ship for profit."
"Do not tempt me," Aubrey replied. "I would enjoy the quiet."
Blake muttered something rude and continued along the hull because Aubrey told him to.
"Upgrade plating around the bridge section," Aubrey instructed. "Critical area. Limited sweep. Do not overextend."
Blake did, section by section. Whole square metres glowed and shifted into tougher armour.
By the time he returned to the airlock, his hands trembled from prolonged exertion.
Inside the bridge, he saw the forward viewport.
Or what used to be a viewport.
It was now solid armoured plating.
Blake stared. "Where's the window?"
"Removed," Aubrey replied. "Replaced by sensor-operated view screens. Glass is idiotic in combat conditions."
Blake blinked. "Was this a combat ship?"
"No," Aubrey replied. "It is now. Because you cannot leave things alone."
Blake didn't have a reply to that.
Then he remembered the bodies.
His stomach dropped.
"Aubrey," Blake said quietly, "what do I do about… them?"
"You will perform a space burial," Aubrey replied. "Use the grav-sledge. Secure them. Cycle the airlock. Eject them."
Blake swallowed. "Right. Cool. Funeral in space. Normal Tuesday."
The grav-sledge carried the bodies. Blake guided it into the airlock and secured it.
"Aubrey," he said, voice rough, "open the outer hatch."
The bodies drifted outward into vacuum.
No ceremony.
No rites.
Just silence and space taking the dead.
Blake stood there longer than he meant to.
Then turned away, because if he didn't, he might start thinking too hard, and thinking too hard was what got humans killed.
"We have enough IVA suits, right?" he asked, because Aubrey liked plans and Blake liked not freezing.
"We do," Aubrey confirmed. "Several are stored in the stasis control room locker. Shall I commence waking Ensign Connelly?"
Blake hesitated.
"…Yes," he said finally. "You explain it. I'm going to sleep."
He trudged toward his cabin. Halfway there, paranoia yanked him back.
"Aubrey… she can't steal the ship, can she?"
"No," Aubrey replied. "She is not authorised. You hold legal claim. You are the captain."
Blake muttered something about his life being a cosmic prank and collapsed into bed.
He had no idea how long he slept.
When he woke, it was gentle. No alarms. No yelling. No fresh horror.
He showered. He dressed. He wandered toward the Mess, stomach rumbling.
And stopped dead.
A woman sat at the table, eating.
Alive.
Blake blinked twice like his brain needed to reload.
She looked up. "Our elusive Captain has risen. Blake Fisher, right?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes. Elenor Connelly, right?"
"Yes." She gestured with her spoon. "Thank you. For the ship. For me. Aubrey told me I would have died in stasis eventually."
Blake waved it off awkwardly. "Uh. Yeah. Cool. Great. I'm… not great at gratitude. Or anything."
She smirked. "Not many would've bothered."
Blake went to the food dispenser. "Not many got dropped into a death-ship with glow-hands and an AI babysitter."
"Aubrey explained everything?" he asked.
"Somewhat," she replied. "Memory loss is typical after long stasis. I'm missing a chunk. Possibly permanently."
She said it like it was weather.
Blake nodded like he understood. He did not.
Her eyes glittered. "Aubrey says you're a visitor from another universe with miraculous powers."
Blake sighed. "You could've said I'm handsome, Aubrey."
"I do not lie," Aubrey replied over the speaker.
Connelly laughed. "Relax, Captain. He gave me the rundown. How you arrived. How you woke him. How you've been upgrading everything with magic hands. Your kind are one in several trillion."
"One in several trillion," Blake muttered. "That sounds… like a lot of pressure."
"If it comforts you," she said, "it means you're significant."
"It really doesn't."
"Show me," she said, leaning forward.
Blake glanced at the ceiling.
"Aubrey?"
"She is asking for a demonstration. You may comply if you wish. She appears stable. And curious."
"Great. The two most dangerous human traits."
He reached across the table and placed a hand on her IVA sleeve.
She gave a small nod.
The glow flared. The suit reinforced subtly—micro-plates threading through the fabric.
Connelly flexed her arm. "Feels the same."
"It should," Blake said, parroting Aubrey's earlier explanation because it sounded smart. "That's the point."
"The armour is a ceramic fiber composite I have not encountered before," Aubrey chimed in. "It appears capable of withstanding significant force, including a laser carbine blast. Testing should not be performed while worn."
Connelly snorted. "Noted."
"And my EVA suit?" Blake asked, mostly because he liked compliments.
"Excessively more so," Aubrey replied.
Blake nodded. "Nice. Love that for me."
Breakfast finished. Connelly stood too.
Blake stretched, trying to look like a captain and not like a man waiting to be told what to do.
"So," he said, "uh… what now?"
Connelly lifted a brow. "Work, I assume?"
Blake glanced upward again.
"Aubrey?"
"Cargo bay repairs," Aubrey replied. "Hold doors are compromised. You will require EVA suits, rations secured to the grav-sledge, and a cargo net to prevent float-drift."
Blake pointed at the ceiling. "See? This is why you're the brain."
"Yes," Aubrey agreed. "Try not to be the liability."
Connelly rolled her eyes. "I'm coming with you."
Blake blinked. "Are you sure? I'm… not great at this."
She smirked. "Good. Means I'll be careful."
Twenty minutes later, they stood side by side in the engineering/cargo bay airlock, fully suited, helmets sealed, comms linked.
On Aubrey's suggestion, their rations, water, and protein paste were secured to the grav-sled with a cargo net.
The grav-sled hovered between them, humming quietly.
Connelly rotated one glove. "Feels good. Lighter than it looks."
"That's the idea," Blake said, hoping he sounded like he knew what that meant.
She glanced at him. "Nervous?"
"Always," Blake replied instantly.
"Good," she said. "Means you'll be careful."
Blake huffed a laugh. "Let's get this quest complete."