The light from the illuminator went out completely.
Chen Hao leaned against the wall, his fingers still clutching the small, now-dead device like a last match. He blinked; everything was pitch black, a despair worse than finding his answer sheet completely blank before handing in his exam. The light he'd just received was barely enough to stuff the star core fragment into the cabinet and close the door; now he had to rely on his ears to even breathe—to hear his own panting, the muffled thud of the hatch being slammed in the distance, and the rhythm of wings flapping in the air outside.
"Luckily I didn't step on any electrical wires," he muttered to himself, his dry voice bouncing off the metal wall.
He remembered Nana saying the maintenance access was to the left of the control room, but whether it was a left turn or a right turn? Even the factory workers probably couldn't remember the blueprints for this wrecked ship. He crouched down, ran his hands around the ground, and his fingertips touched a protruding metal strip. He snapped it open with a sharp "crack."
"Oh no." He pulled his hand back. "I'm not responsible if this is an alarm."
There was no alarm. Only the raptor outside rammed the hatch again, sending dust flying from above.
He gritted his teeth and crawled forward, his knee scraping against a raised edge of the floor, almost making him cry out in pain. He held back, only managing to utter through gritted teeth, "With my size, crawling through a dog hole is a complete waste of space."
He finally found a low door, so rusted it looked like it hadn't been touched for thirty years. He used his shoulder to pry it open a crack, and got stuck for three seconds as he squeezed in, his waist aching from being pinched by the sheet metal on either side. When he came out, he fell on his backside and couldn't get up for a long time.
"If I die, don't send my body to the crematorium, just throw it into outer space." He rubbed his tailbone, "so they won't fight over my little bit of fat."
There was a faint reflection at the end of the pipe, probably towards the main cabin. He scrambled forward, kicking over some unknown part along the way; it rolled a considerable distance, clanging several times. The impacts outside paused for a moment, then resumed, even more rapidly than before.
"They understood me?" He lay motionless on the ground. "They know I'm a walking nutrient solution?"
He finally managed to slide down from the pipe opening, but his feet gave way when he landed, and he slumped into a corner. He reached out and grabbed at something, barely managing to grab onto a broken control panel to keep from falling flat. Looking up, he saw Nana standing in front of the door with her back to him, the red light of her suit flashing on and off in the dim light, like a clock about to run out of power.
"Are you alive?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
She didn't turn around, but her shoulder twitched slightly. "You're seventeen seconds late."
"I'm lucky I even made it." He panted and limped toward his backpack. "If you're any later, you'll have to stay up all night by yourself, and then you won't even have anyone to complain to."
He opened his backpack, and the first thing he saw was the metal pipe he'd brought back from the mine—one end was sharpened to a point; it was originally meant for prying rocks, but now it looked more like a makeshift baseball bat. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand; the weight made his wrist ache.
"Ready for the KPI sprint?" He walked over to Nana and placed the tube under the door crack. "Are we going to put on a live version of 'Humans Fight Back Against Raptors'?"
“The supporting structure needs triangular fixation,” she said. “You are responsible for applying the force, and I will calculate the angle.”
"Whatever you say goes." He gritted his teeth and pushed the tube upwards, the metal scraping together with a screeching sound. "Anyway, I don't understand any high-tech jargon."
Just as he got into position, the raptor outside suddenly rammed into him, causing the entire door frame to shake violently with a loud crash. The support came loose completely, and the backpack was jolted to the ground. Chen Hao instinctively lunged to protect it, but his knee slammed into the metal plate, causing him to feel dizzy from the pain.
"It's stuck its claws in!" he shouted, looking up.
A gleaming claw was wedged above the crack in the door, its curved beak swaying in the gap, as if tentatively trying to squeeze its whole head through.
Nana stared at the heat source readings, her voice calm: "Six seconds between the next impacts."
"What can you do in six seconds? Recite a poem?" He stood up, supporting himself on the ground, and raised the metal tube in his hand to shoulder height. "Come on, let's experience a moment of heroism."
“Audio simulation stopped,” she said suddenly.
The buzzing from inside the wreckage abruptly stopped. The fake engine sound that had been playing on a loop vanished, and the entire space fell into an eerie silence. The claws outside paused, and even the flapping of their wings slowed down.
"Are you acting out a crash?" Chen Hao asked in a low voice.
“It creates the illusion of a system crash.” Her gaze remained fixed on the doorway. “It will come closer to confirm.”
Sure enough, a few seconds later, the raptor slowly poked its head into the hatch, its neck feathers bristling, its eyes fixed on the energy lamp on Nana's chest. The light was still flashing, but much slower, like a dying struggle.
“Right now,” she said.
Chen Hao swung the metal pipe and smashed it with all his might against the raptor's cheek.
With a dull thud, like hitting thick leather, the bird jerked its head to the side. Before it could even finish its cry, it lost its balance, tumbling and falling several meters away, leaving a long trail in the sand.
The other two immediately circled and rose, flying low around the wreckage, no longer approaching.
"I hit it?" He gasped for breath, almost dropping the tube in his hand. "I actually hit it?"
"Hit the rostral nerve plexus." She glanced at the scan data. "Temporary dizziness, estimated recovery time is two minutes."
"Two minutes is enough for me to lie down and take a nap." He plopped down on the floor, leaning against the wall, his legs shaking uncontrollably. "Does this count as setting a record? Fatty took on an alien bird one-on-one and won?"
“The tactics were successful,” she said. “The defenses are temporarily stable.”
He grinned, then frowned halfway through his smile: "But I feel like I have half a broken rib."
“No fracture detected.” She turned around, her optical lens scanning his entire body. “Soft tissue contusion; it is recommended to reduce strenuous activity.”
"Suggestion received." He raised his hand to wipe his face, which was covered in sweat. "Next time, could you let me eat first before fighting? I'm starving."
"Energy supplies are in the second layer of the backpack."
He struggled to unzip the package, pulled out half a flattened energy bar, the packaging still covered in the dust he had just rubbed off. He took a bite; it was as dry as chewing cardboard.
"Why do you think these birds keep staring at us?" he asked between chews. "I'm not some rare species."
“The star’s core signal has been shielded,” she said. “The current attraction could be the electromagnetic remnants of the debris itself, or the noise generated by our activity.”
"So they weren't after me?" He swallowed, then suddenly chuckled. "I thought it was because I smelled so good."
She didn't reply, but simply restarted the audio simulation. The low-frequency hum sounded again, softer than before, like the sound of an old refrigerator running.
The raptors outside began to circle, keeping their distance, occasionally diving to test the defenses, but no longer attempting to break through.
Chen Hao leaned against the wall, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. That last strike had exhausted his last bit of strength, and now even lifting a finger felt tiring. He looked down at the metal tube in his hand, lying limply beside his legs like a carelessly discarded broom.
"Do you think... what if they wait until we fall asleep before they attack?" His voice softened. "Then they'll take turns pecking me into a sieve."
“I will remain vigilant,” she said. “You can rest.”
"Then don't turn it off." He closed his eyes. "If you stop, I'll really become a delivery driver."
A few minutes later, his breathing became long and heavy, his head bobbed up and down, eventually tilting to his shoulder as he fell into a deep sleep.
Nana stood still, the energy indicator light on her propulsion suit turning from red to dim yellow, indicating nine percent of the battery remained. There was a noticeable crack in the outer shell of her arm, and her left shoulder joint was slightly dislocated, but the core sensors were still functioning. The optical lenses continuously locked onto the heat source outside the door, recording every change in her flight trajectory.
Outside the wreckage, three birds of prey paced on the sand, their wings folded, their eyes fixed on the broken door.
One of them lowered its head, pecked at the ground, picked up a small piece of metal, and then let it fall.
Then, it raised its head and let out a short cry, which was not like a roar before an attack, but rather like some kind of signal.
The other two immediately spread their wings, took off, circled once above the wreckage, and then simultaneously increased their altitude, disappearing at the edge of the clouds.
Only one remained in place.
It slowly approached the hatch, stopped two meters away, and quietly gazed at the dimly lit space inside.
Nana's eyes flashed with a faint blue light.
She raised her intact right arm and slowly but steadily wedged the metal tube back into the bottom of the door gap.
The raptor stared at her for five seconds.
Then, it turned around and walked steadily into the depths of the wasteland, leaving clear claw marks on the sand with each step.
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