When the alarm sounded, Chen Hao was kneading a piece of nutritional paste into a small ball, preparing to bounce it towards the ceiling for a tossing and catching game.

A flash of red light and a piercing sound caused his hand to tremble, and the nutrient paste fell onto the edge of the worktable, rolling half a circle before stopping.

"Not again?" He looked up at the main screen, where a line of text appeared: "Abnormal vibration of the port propulsion module, pressure feedback component failure."

Nana's voice immediately rang out: "The system has detected an imbalance in the thruster regulating valve reading, which is preliminarily determined to be a damage to a critical component."

Carl had already gotten up and rushed to the access panel, prying open the casing with his fingers. He glanced down at the internal wiring, his brow furrowing.

“It’s broken,” he said. “This thing is cracked and unusable.”

Chen Hao walked over and looked over his shoulder. The metal tubular component did indeed have a fine line, as if it had been pressed down by something.

"Wasn't everything fine before?" he asked.

“That gravitational fluctuation just now might be a sign that it’s starting to have problems,” Nana said. “I recorded a micro-vibration of 0.03G, which originated from the port propulsion area.”

Chen Hao stroked his chin: "So it's been acting strange for a while, it just hasn't exploded yet?"

“Yes.” Nana nodded. “The system automatically compensated thirty-seven times until it could no longer maintain a stable output.”

The cabin was quiet for a few seconds.

Chen Hao turned around and sat back in his chair, propping his feet up on the control panel, still holding the nutrient paste that hadn't been ejected.

“How many options do we have now?” he asked.

"First, shutting down the port thruster and operating solely on the starboard side reduces speed by 60%, decreases stability, and makes it easier to deviate from the course," Nana said.

"And the second one?"

"Second, we can try temporary repairs by reinforcing the damaged area with alternative materials, but this is risky. If the pressure surges again, it could cause the pipe to burst."

"third?"

“Third, wait.” Nana paused. “We’ll replace the parts when we reach a supply depot. Based on the current route, the nearest repair station is in eleven months.”

Chen Hao whistled: "That means there's no choice."

Carl squatted next to the maintenance hatch, holding a toolbox, his face looking rather grim.

“This thing isn’t a standard part, and there’s no spare on the ship,” he said. “The last time it was replaced was three years ago. I picked up a set from the Mars transit station, and you ended up using it to modify a coffee machine.”

"That's because the original heater kept getting stuck!" Chen Hao argued. "And who would have thought it would break down here? Didn't we just recharge the power? Can't fate stop playing these cruel tricks on us?"

“Complaining won’t do you any good,” Carl said, opening his toolbox. “We have to figure out a way to hold on.”

Chen Hao stood up, walked to the main control screen, and stared at the fault simulation diagram for a while.

On the screen, the red pipe is flashing continuously, indicating that the pressure is slowly increasing.

"How long can it last?" he asked.

“If no action is taken, the system is expected to be forced to shut down in four hours,” Nana replied. “If there is violent movement or gravitational disturbance during this period, the time may be shortened to less than two hours.”

"So, we can only fly at normal speed for a maximum of two hours?" Chen Hao grinned. "Then we'll start flying crookedly, like a drunken penguin?"

“The analogy is inaccurate,” Nana said. “The spaceship won’t ‘skew,’ but it will yaw periodically, requiring frequent corrections, which increases energy consumption and significantly reduces its sailing efficiency.”

"Same meaning." Chen Hao waved his hand. "In short, it's troublesome."

He turned to Karl: "Take it apart and see if it can still be saved?"

Carl had already put on protective gloves: "I'll disassemble it now, but you need to think carefully. Once you open the connection, you have to decide how to fix it immediately. If there's a leak, you have to seal it within a minute."

“Then take your time,” Chen Hao said. “I’m not in a hurry.”

"You say there's no rush?" Carl glared at him. "The ship won't be able to fly!"

“I know,” Chen Hao shrugged. “But the more anxious I am, the more likely my hands will shake. If they shake, the screw will fall into the pipe, and we’ll have to write our wills.”

Carl paused for a moment, then snorted, "You seem to know me pretty well."

"We've been partners for so many years, if you don't shake, who will?" Chen Hao chuckled, then looked down at his hands.

That hand seemed to tremble just now.

He clenched his fist without making a sound, then released it.

fine.

He cleared his throat: "Nana, is there anything that can be used temporarily? Like... high-strength glue? Insulating tape? Or the compressed biscuits I ate yesterday?"

“We do not recommend using food-based materials for structural repairs,” Nana said. “However, locker B-7 contains two rolls of nano-composite tape with a pressure resistance of up to 800 Pa, which can be used for short-term sealing.”

“Sounds more reliable than my cookies.” Chen Hao walked to the storage area, pulled out the roll of silver-gray tape, and tossed it to Karl. “Here’s a new task for you—make it live longer and walk more steadily.”

Carl took the tape and opened the outer packaging to check the texture.

"It's only a temporary measure," he said. "It won't last long, at most three days."

“Three days is plenty of time to get things done.” Chen Hao leaned against the wall. “We can use this time to find the nearest abandoned space station and try our luck to see if there are any replacement parts. Or… hack into the cargo hold system of a cargo ship and steal one remotely?”

“Illegal activities are not within the scope of my assistance,” Nana said.

"I know," Chen Hao laughed. "I was just saying it to relieve stress."

“The way you express yourself actually increases my workload,” Nana said, looking at him. “Because every time you say ‘it’s just talk,’ you actually do it.”

"That's because I have strong execution skills." Chen Hao patted his chest. "Someone has to take responsibility for the team's strengths."

Carl had already begun disassembling the damaged parts, his movements were very steady. Each screw he unscrewed was placed into a magnetic tray to prevent it from floating.

Chen Hao stood by and watched, occasionally handing over a tool.

"How could this thing suddenly break?" he asked.

“Long-term fatigue damage.” Nana pulled up historical data. “This component has been working continuously for 4,321 hours, far exceeding its design life. During this time, it experienced multiple emergency accelerations and space jumps, causing microscopic cracks to appear in the metal structure, which eventually expanded to the critical point during the vibration just now.”

"So it died from exhaustion?" Chen Hao exclaimed. "It could withstand more strain than I could."

“You don’t work,” Nana said.

"I'm in charge of providing emotional support." Chen Hao pointed to his head. "Without my jokes, you guys would have all become depressed and retired long ago."

“I can’t tell if it’s true or not,” Nana said. “But the last time you told a corny joke, Carl sprayed water into the control panel.”

“That was an accident!” Carl said without looking up. “Who told him to suddenly say, ‘Why do robots never break up? Because they don’t care about you!’”

"That's a classic meme," Chen Hao retorted. "Even the emotional module can resonate with it."

“My emotional module is still loading,” Nana said. “Progress is 62 percent.”

“Look, she’s improving,” Chen Hao said smugly. “And you, all you can do is spray water.”

Carl ignored him and focused on removing the last retaining bolt. The cracked regulating valve was finally removed and placed on the workbench.

The fracture is clean, but the edges are black, as if there was overheating inside.

“It’s not just aging.” Carl pointed to the inner wall. “There’s carbon buildup here, which means the fuel flow was uneven and the temperature was too high in some areas. This thing should have been replaced a long time ago.”

“The problem is that no one reminded us.” Chen Hao looked at Nana.

“I don’t have the authority to manually replace non-lethal wear parts,” Nana said. “Unless a red alert is triggered, the system will continue to run by default.”

"So we should thank the warning before the explosion?" Chen Hao smiled wryly. "It only told us it wasn't feeling well when it was about to die?"

“Similar,” Nana said.

Chen Hao sighed, picked up the broken part, and weighed it in his hand.

“It served us for a long time,” he said. “It deserves a eulogy.”

“No need.” Carl cut the new tape into pieces. “Get to work.”

"Alright." Chen Hao put down the part. "Then I declare that its last meal is dust and exhaustion. Rest in peace."

He had just finished speaking when the main screen suddenly jumped.

The red light flashed again.

The three of them looked up at the same time.

"What's wrong?" Chen Hao asked.

“Warning cleared,” Nana said. “That was a false alarm from the starboard temperature sensor. It has been recalibrated.”

"You scared me!" Chen Hao patted his chest. "I thought something bad had happened again."

“Your heart rate increased by 0.8 times,” Nana said. “You’re overreacting.”

"As long as I don't die, that's fine." Chen Hao sat back in his chair. "Now it's up to Karl's skills."

Carl didn't speak, he was cleaning the debris from the joint with a scraper. His movements were slow, each cut precise.

Chen Hao stared at the work in his hands and suddenly asked, "Did you want to be an astronaut when you were a child?"

“I want to fix a car,” Carl said. “One of those big trucks on Earth. Four wheels, no need to worry about vacuum leaks.”

"Now repairing spaceships is much harder than repairing trucks," Chen Hao laughed.

“But the pay is high,” Carl said, “even though you always skimp on it.”

“That’s performance evaluation,” Chen Hao said seriously. “Being late once means losing a breakfast; telling a lame joke that causes water to get into the equipment means cleaning the toilets for a week.”

“You set the rules.” Carl wrapped the spare connector with tape, “Now shut up, I’m going to connect it.”

Chen Hao raised his hands: "I won't say anything, I'll support you on silent the whole time."

Carl took a deep breath, put the temporarily repaired parts back in place, and tightened the last screw.

"Alright," he said. "Try starting it up."

Chen Hao looked at Nana.

Nana nodded: "Start the low-power test."

She pressed the button.

The system hummed, and the propulsion module lit up with a green light.

The data is slowly rising.

The pressure is stable.

"Did it work?" Chen Hao asked.

"Initial operation is normal," Nana said. "No leaks or abnormal vibrations have been detected."

"I told you there wouldn't be a problem." Chen Hao grinned. "Where I am, bad luck will avoid me."

As soon as he finished speaking, the main screen went black.

It will recover after three seconds.

All readings were reset to zero, and the system was reloaded.

"What's going on?" Karl suddenly stood up.

“Brief power outage.” Nana quickly scanned the screen. “The power supply unit is not faulty, but the central processing unit received an erroneous instruction, which is suspected to be caused by internal signal interference.”

Chen Hao stared at the screen; the brief darkness just now reminded him of something.

Vibration during steam eruption.

The silence before the power outage.

And his slightly trembling hand.

He slowly placed his hand on the control panel.

My palm is pressed against the metal surface.

Cold.