The Aubrey slid out of the graveyard's twisted shadows like a sensible creature escaping a haunted house.One second: dead war hulks, drifting debris, and the overwhelming sense that space itself was judging them.
The next: open stars. Clean sightlines. Actual nothing ahead.
Blake exhaled like he'd been holding his breath since childhood.
Luna pressed her face to the side viewport. "It looks… normal out here."
"Normal is deeply underrated," Blake said. "Normal doesn't usually try to kill you."
Elenor nudged their heading with precise inputs, posture relaxed for the first time in days. "It feels good to have room to breathe."
William swung his legs from the jump-seat behind her. "So… are we going somewhere? Or are we just floating until something explodes?"
"We're heading to Selene," Blake said. "Fuel. Supplies. Parts. Somewhere that sells food without a body count."
Booth, hovering near the rear bulkhead like it offered emotional protection, stiffened.
"Selene's safe enough, Captain, but…" He hesitated. "It's mostly farms and tractor factories. Quiet colony. But there's a bit of smuggling. Nothing major. Just… small-time crime with a spaceport."
Blake shrugged. "Every port has that."
"Yes," Booth said quickly. "But on Selene, people sometimes ask… questions."
"What kind of questions?" Elenor asked.
Booth swallowed. "The kind that end with you wishing you hadn't answered."
"Cool," Blake said. "We won't answer them."
Booth visibly relaxed, like Blake had just promised him a panic bunker and a cup of tea.
Refit Begins: Blake Does Jazz Hands, Bots Do Everything ElseBlake pushed away from the chair. "Alright. Before we get anywhere near civilization, we finish the refit. Aubrey?"
A hologram flickered to life beside Engineering, already projecting schematics.
"Refit is already underway, Captain."
Blake blinked. "Already?"
"Repair bots have been operating for fourteen minutes," Aubrey replied. "You were watching stars."
"…I was emotionally recovering."
"Accepted."
The corridor beyond Engineering was already alive with activity.
Small beetle-like repair bots scuttled along conduits, welding arcs flashing like tiny angry fireflies. Medium units hauled replacement panels, anchored themselves magnetically, and started reinforcing structural braces with mechanical efficiency that bordered on smug.
Blake stood there, hands on hips.
"So," he said, "what exactly is my role here?"
"You will apply targeted Repairman optimizations while attempting not to trip over the workforce," Aubrey replied.
"I feel attacked."
"You are surrounded by machines that work faster than you. This is an objective assessment."
Blake sighed. "Fine. I'll just… jazz-hands the important bits."
William perked up. "Jazz hands?"
"Magic fixing," Blake said. "But louder."
Refit Hour One: Booth Is Terrified, The Bots Are NotBlake followed a pair of bots toward the coolant junctions. They had already isolated the fault, braced the surrounding conduits, and were arguing silently via status lights about optimal weld angles.
Blake placed his hands on the junction anyway.
Not because it needed him.
But because he could make it better.
The Repairman ability flared—warm, electric—and the metal hummed in response. The bots paused for half a second, recalculated, and immediately adjusted their work to match the improved parameters.
Booth froze mid-scan.
"…That's not normal."
"Nope," Blake said cheerfully. "I'm basically a walking firmware update."
Booth stared at the glowing conduit. "You didn't tell the bots to do that."
"Nope."
"They just… adapted."
"Yeah."
Booth swallowed. "That's unsettling."
"They are responding to improved system conditions," Aubrey said. "You are a variable, not a supervisor."
Blake wiggled his fingers. "Jazz hands."
Booth watched as the bots finished the junction in record time. "Okay. I see why you keep him."
Elenor, passing by, smirked. "You should see him panic."
Refit Hour Two: The Stabilizer Mesh Learns ObedienceIn the aft gravity compartment, a cluster of medium bots clung to the stabilizer mesh like metallic barnacles, bracing, tightening, and recalibrating with surgical precision.
Elenor leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed. "They're faster than I am."
Blake nodded. "Same. It's humbling."
Luna and William sat nearby, calling out numbers from the diagnostic display like excited commentators.
"Three point one!"
"Three point one again!"
"It's stabilizing," Elenor muttered. "Finally."
"The stabilizer mechanism has not been serviced in approximately fifty-six years," Aubrey added.
William's eyes widened. "That's older than Aunt May!"
Luna nodded solemnly. "Aunt May has fake teeth."
One of the bots finished tightening the final brace and gave a satisfied status chirp.
Blake stepped forward and laid a hand on the housing—just a touch of System reinforcement. The vibrations smoothed out completely.
The bots recalibrated again, then immediately moved on.
Booth peeked into the compartment. "Captain—Selene's parts shops carry farm drone components. You can adapt them to ship stabilizers pretty easily."
Blake grinned. "Perfect. We're officially running a tractor-powered warship."
Booth visibly suffered. "Please don't say it like that."
Refit Hour Three: The Ship Stops ComplainingBy the third hour, The Aubrey sounded different.
Less rattling.
Less groaning.
More… confident.
Blake stood at the engineering console while bots completed final diagnostics.
"Structure green," Blake read. "Coolant flow stable. Stabilizer mesh solid."
"Overall performance improved by twelve percent," Aubrey said. "Primarily due to bot efficiency. Secondarily due to your… jazz hands."
"I contribute vibes."
"Correct."
Booth wiped sweat from his brow. "I didn't touch half the systems and I'm exhausted."
"That's because you were emotionally bracing for death the entire time," Blake said.
Booth nodded. "Yes."
William appeared in the doorway. "Do you have a laser pistol?"
Booth raised both hands instantly. "Not anymore. I quit crime."
William considered this. "Good."
Booth exhaled like he'd passed a moral exam.
Preparing for Selene: Please Let It Be BoringBack on the bridge, Elenor adjusted their approach vector.
"Setting course for Selene orbit."
"Engines?" Blake asked.
"All systems stable," Aubrey replied. "Better than yesterday. Significantly better than when you woke up."
Luna folded her arms. "Are there animals on Selene?"
"Farmland," Blake said. "So yes. Probably cows."
William brightened. "I want to see cows."
Elenor smirked. "Behave and maybe."
Booth cleared his throat, anxiety incarnate. "Selene's peaceful. Mostly. Just… don't wander into cargo districts. Smugglers like to talk."
Blake nodded. "We'll shop, refuel, and leave."
Booth relaxed like a man promised survival.
Aubrey's hologram flickered.
"All refit tasks are complete. Ready for transit."
Blake settled into his chair, staring at open space.
"Alright," he said. "Take us to Selene."
"Engaging FTL in three… two… one."
The stars stretched.
The Aubrey leapt.
And for the first time since waking up alone in a dead ship, Blake wasn't just reacting.
He was moving forward.
"Captain," Aubrey added thoughtfully, "I estimate Selene will remain 'normal' for approximately twelve minutes."
Blake closed his eyes. "I'll take it."
A week of FTL travel dropped The Aubrey into the Plovas system with all the drama of a rock skipping across a pond.
Which was to say: blessedly uneventful.
Blake had spent most of the transit staring at streaked starfields like they might suddenly explain themselves if he glared hard enough. The constant hum of the FTL engines had become a kind of background heartbeat—steady, reassuring, and deeply alarming if he thought about it for more than five seconds.
Now, as the ship bled down to sublight, Selene filled the forward viewport.
A pale-green bead hung between two suns, wrapped in cloud bands that caught the light like brushed metal. From a distance it looked peaceful. From closer in, it looked busy. Not decorative. Not pristine.
Working.
"Okay," Blake murmured. "That's… a planet."
Luna pressed her face to the side viewport. "It looks normal."
Blake nodded solemnly. "Which is how planets lure you into a false sense of security."
Elenor snorted, hands steady on the controls as she guided them in. "It's farmland and factories, Captain. Not a death trap."
"You say that," Blake replied, "but so did the last three places we visited."
William leaned forward from the jump-seat. "Do people live everywhere on it?"
"Pretty much," Elenor said. "About one-and-a-half million. Mostly spread out. One big city."
"Ersa City," Booth added quickly, appearing at the auxiliary console like he'd teleported there. "Main industrial hub. Tractor plants, fabrication yards, processing mills. Quiet place."
He paused.
"…Mostly."
Blake squinted at him. "Define 'mostly.'"
Booth immediately wilted. "I mean—nothing explodes regularly. There's some smuggling, some under-the-table stuff, but it's small-scale. Boring crime. Local nonsense."
"So not pirates," Blake said.
"Not space pirates," Booth clarified. "Just people with paperwork problems."
Blake exhaled. "I can live with paperwork problems."
Booth nodded rapidly. "Yes. Paperwork problems are much safer."
Atmospheric Entry: Shockingly Not TerrifyingRe-entry was… smooth.
Uncomfortably smooth.
The hull shimmered as the upper atmosphere licked across it, plasma sheeting off into harmless vapour. No violent turbulence. No alarms. No screaming.
Blake waited for something to go wrong.
Nothing did.
"I don't like how calm this is," he said.
"Your discomfort with stability is noted," Aubrey replied. "Descent parameters are optimal."
"Of course they are."
Below them, Selene unfolded in practical detail: wide river deltas, colossal lakes linked by straits, endless agricultural grids cut into dark-green plains. Freight barges crawled along waterways like patient insects. Mag-rails stitched settlements together in long silver lines.
It reminded Blake of industrial towns back home.
If home had been scaled up by a thousand and dropped onto an alien world.
Ersa City came into view as a sprawl of warehouses, fabrication plants, tractor depots, worker housing, and—Blake noted with approval—a frankly irresponsible number of bars.
"No one comes here to sightsee," he muttered.
"Correct," Aubrey said. "They come to work, drink, and repeat."
"Living the dream."
Docking clearance came and went without fanfare. No one asked questions. No one even looked twice at The Aubrey, which Blake decided was the greatest luxury of all.
The ship settled onto the pad with a solid thud.
Silence followed.
Blake waited.
"…Okay," he said. "We're down. Nobody's shooting us. That's a win."
First Rule of Selene: Don't Buy Anything That Looks AliveThey disembarked into dry, processed air that smelled faintly of oil and fertilizer. Automated cargo haulers trundled past on magnetic lanes. A bored port guard leaned against a booth, chewing something Blake didn't want to identify.
Blake approached. "We're looking for cheap repair bots."
The guard didn't even look up. "Fen Grell."
"Is that a recommendation or a warning?"
"Yes."
That was how they ended up in the less inspirational part of town.
Buildings sagged. Awnings drooped. Service bots limped instead of gliding. Everything looked tired in a way that suggested even the concrete wanted a nap.
Second-hand shops were universal constants. Cluttered fronts. Narrow aisles. Shelves full of things nobody wanted badly enough to steal.
Fen Grell's shop was no exception.
"What can I do for you?" Fen asked, sweating like the concept of airflow offended him.
Blake scanned the junk.
Then stopped.
Half-buried behind crates and tarps lay an android.
Or what used to be one.
One arm was missing below the elbow. Synthetic skin peeled back in patches, exposing dull alloy. Its head was twisted at an angle that screamed I am extremely broken.
Blake felt it immediately.
Not a glow.
Not a pull.
Just… recognition.
"That," Blake said, pointing. "What's wrong with it?"
Fen waved dismissively. "Scrap. Fried logic core. Took a hit during a loader accident. Won't boot."
Booth leaned forward despite himself, fear and fascination warring. "…That's not civilian grade."
Fen scoffed. "It's junk."
Booth shook his head. "No. That's a modular combat-adjacent chassis. Low tier, sure, but the internal bus architecture—"
Fen's eyes sharpened. "You saying it's valuable?"
Booth swallowed. "…Potentially more than this entire shop."
Fen's sweating intensified.
Blake folded his arms. "Thirty credits. Android. Clothes rack."
"The rack too?" Fen protested.
"You look like you want it gone," Blake replied calmly.
Fen stared at the android.
Then the rack.
Then sighed. "Deal."
Booth whispered as they left, "Captain… if that thing wakes up—"
"I'll stand between you and it," Blake said.
"That's not comforting."
"You can stand behind me."
"…Marginally better."
Engineering: The Quietest Revival Attempt in History (With Opinions)They laid the android out in Engineering.
Repair bots swarmed it immediately, projecting diagnostics and chirping warnings. Panels lifted. Internal frames extended. Power lines were re-routed with brisk, professional efficiency.
"Core housing intact," Aubrey reported. "Logic damage severe but recoverable."
Blake knelt and placed a hand on the android's chest.
The Repairman ability surged.
Metal straightened.
Microfractures sealed.
Internal conduits realigned like nerves remembering what they were supposed to do.
The bots paused for half a second—recalculated—then resumed work, adapting instantly to the improved structure.
Booth braced himself against a bulkhead. "Okay. Okay. Just to confirm—if it opens its eyes—"
It didn't.
The android remained still.
Unmoving.
Power levels stabilized. Structural integrity climbed. Neural pathways lit—then stalled, hovering just shy of full activation.
Blake frowned. "Still unconscious."
"The chassis is restored," Aubrey said. "However, higher cognitive functions remain offline. The logic core cannot safely self-initialize."
Booth exhaled so hard he almost slid down the wall. "Fantastic. Blessed silence."
Blake tilted his head. "So what can we do?"
Booth hesitated, then gestured toward Blake's ear. "Your remotes. Aubrey's remotes. They're not… simple control units. They're powerful enough to run autonomous subsystems. If one were installed as an interim processor, it could bootstrap the core."
Blake blinked. "You're saying let Aubrey pilot it?"
Booth winced. "Guide it. Temporarily. Think of it as… a scaffold. Or training wheels. Very advanced, terrifying training wheels."
Blake looked toward the ceiling. "Aubrey?"
There was a pause.
Not empty.
Deliberate.
"My remote units are fully capable of independent operation," Aubrey said. "Installing one would allow full motor control, sensory integration, and learning capability."
Blake's brow furrowed. "That sounds like… a lot."
"It is," Aubrey agreed calmly.
Booth squeaked, "That is too much."
Blake held up a hand. "But I don't want a puppet. I don't want you driving a body like a drone."
Another pause.
Then—
"I would not propose permanent control," Aubrey said. "I recommend a personality overlay. Minimal constraints. Mild loyalty enforcement. No true obedience hooks."
Blake's eyes sharpened. "Full autonomy."
"…Yes," Aubrey replied. "Once the core stabilizes."
Booth's face drained of colour. "You're going to give it free will."
Blake nodded. "I woke up alone in space with free will. It seems rude not to return the favour."
Booth whispered, "It's going to kill us."
"Statistically unlikely," Aubrey said. "And ethically unacceptable."
Blake sighed. "Slow. Careful. You build the overlay, but the end state is independence. No hidden leashes."
"Understood," Aubrey said. "I will design a transitional framework. Identity first. Authority later."
Booth slumped. "I'm updating my will."
The android remained still.
Unaware that somewhere in the ship, a mind—new, unclaimed, and not owned by anyone—was being carefully prepared.
Decision: Selene Is No Longer a Pit StopLater, in the mess, the crew gathered around food that tasted like "acceptable effort."
"So," Blake said, "we were supposed to refuel and leave."
Elenor raised a brow. "But?"
"But we bought an android that's half a person, picked up a tech genius who panics at shadows, and the kids want to see cows."
William nodded vigorously. "Cows."
Booth added quickly, "Remaining planetside reduces pirate encounters."
"That's still not a real statistic," Elenor said.
"I am emotionally committed to it," Booth replied.
Blake smiled. "We stay a bit."
Luna grinned. "Outside?"
"With supervision," Blake said.
Somewhere below decks, the android lay unconscious.
Not owned.
Not enslaved.
Waiting to wake up as someone.
Selene wasn't destiny.
It wasn't a turning point.
It was a pause.
And for Blake Fisher—accidental captain, reluctant miracle worker, and professional panic machine—
That was enough.