The moment the hatch closed, Chen Hao slid down the frame of his propulsion suit, like a sack of potatoes thrown into a warehouse, collapsing onto the metal floor, panting heavily. His left arm was still stiff, the power module in his right leg was barely warm, and his shoes left two wet streaks on the ground—meltwater from the ice mixed with sweat.
"The temperature control system is activated." Nana's voice was completely flat. "The indoor temperature will rise to eighteen degrees within seven minutes."
She crouched down, her mechanical fingers precisely removing the protective plate on the outside of her calf, and taking out a heating element that glowed with a dark red light. The thing was still slightly warm, like a piece of charcoal just pulled from a fire.
"Wouldn't you call this self-harm?" Chen Hao grinned, his teeth chattering. "You're taking parts out of your own body to do my bidding."
“Non-essential functions have been disabled,” she said, placing the component into a slot on the workbench. “Current priority: Repair the cooling system.”
On the table sat the sealed jar, its surface glistening with a pale blue liquid that shimmered like an oil film. Chen Hao stared at it for two seconds, then suddenly reached out to grab it.
"Don't touch it." Nana raised her hand to block it. "Your body temperature is 35.2 degrees Celsius right now, and your finger nerve response is delayed by 40%. It's not suitable for operating delicate procedures."
“I just wanted to touch it…” He pulled his hand back and muttered, “It’s a treasure that we risked our lives to dig up.”
Nana ignored him and started wiring. She pulled out a few discarded data tubes from behind the control panel, cut off the connectors, and soldered them to the heating element. She then rummaged through a pile of scrapped equipment and found a small liquid reservoir—a container that used to store spare lubricant. She wiped it three times with alcohol and left it upside down under the light to dry.
"Where did you get all this stuff?" Chen Hao propped himself up and leaned back in his chair. "You didn't just collect all the junk I picked up last time and turn it into a treasure chest, did you?"
“Maximize resource utilization.” She fixed the liquid storage chamber to the table. “Of the seventeen non-functional components you brought, nine can be modified into temporary tools.”
"So, in your eyes, I'm just a scavenger."
"To be precise, it's a 'mobile waste recycling station'."
Chen Hao rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched, and he couldn't help but laugh. After laughing, he realized his face was stiff, as if he hadn't done that action in a long time.
Nana opened the sealed container, carefully poured the liquid into the storage chamber, and then turned on the heating circuit. A parameter setting popped up on the screen: preheat for sixty seconds, raise the temperature to forty-two degrees, maintain for three minutes, and then slowly cool down.
"Can't we hurry up?" Chen Hao stared at the countdown. "I feel like every second we stay here, that damn system will smoke one more time."
“Burning too quickly can cause the components to decompose,” she said. “The previous cargo ship’s log recorded three cases of failed refining processes, all of which were caused by excessively rapid heating, ultimately leading to pipeline corrosion.”
"You actually remember this little-known fact."
"Knowledge base classification number: FL-7492, Coolant emergency handling specifications".
"Next time, could you make up a rhyme? Like, 'Simmer the soup slowly and don't rush, or you'll end up with a mess of poop.'"
Nana didn't respond; she simply pulled down the protective shield.
After heating began, the liquid slowly became clear, and a small amount of grayish-black sediment settled at the bottom. Suddenly, several small bubbles appeared on the surface, followed by a "pop" sound as they pushed the protective cap upwards.
The alarm went off.
"Pressure abnormality!" the system notification popped up. "Gas accumulation detected. Immediate pressure reduction is recommended."
Chen Hao instinctively reached for the manual release valve, but as soon as his hand extended, his fingertips went numb, and he bumped into the voltage adjustment knob next to him. The screen flashed, and the power output jumped to 120%.
"Stop!" Nana shoved his hand away and pressed the lock button at the same time, "Automatic mode take over."
The moment the panel switched, the heating power dropped, and the pressure curve gradually flattened. She turned to look at him: "Your success rate for that move was 0.37%."
"My hands are cold!" He shook his wrist. "Besides, I didn't do it on purpose."
“I know,” she said, “that’s why I set up redundancy protection in advance.”
Chen Hao snorted, shrank back into his chair, draped his arm over the armrest, and looked as if all his bones had been removed.
The refining process continued. Ten minutes later, the liquid had turned a clear, pale blue, like melted sky dripping into a glass bottle. Nana turned off the heating, allowing the solution to cool naturally, then used a micro-pump to extract the supernatant and inject it into another sterile container.
"Ninety-one percent complete," she said after scanning. "Impurities have been mostly removed, and it can be connected to the main loop."
"Finally usable?" Chen Hao sat up straighter. "This thing is even harder to get than a college admission notice."
“An interface adapter is needed.” She walked to the tool cabinet and pulled out a piece of scrap alloy sheet. “The existing pipe diameter is not compatible.”
She used a laser pointer to draw the outline, then cut it with a cutter. The metal bent and deformed under the high temperature, and she adjusted the angle as she repaired it, finally creating a crooked transition joint that looked like a child's clay toy.
"Your skills..." Chen Hao stared at it, "...how long can they last?"
"The theoretical pressure resistance is 30 percent higher than the system's operating pressure," she said. "It can be used for at least 72 hours."
"Okay, as long as it doesn't explode while I'm sleeping."
She soldered the connector on, connected the pipe, and then gestured for Chen Hao to help secure it. He gritted his teeth and stood up, one hand holding the pipe, the other pressing down on the support. His body was still trembling, his knees were shaking, but he didn't let go.
"Injection program started." Nana pressed the switch.
The pale blue liquid slowly flowed into the cooling circuit, moving forward along the transparent pipe. The temperature reading on the dashboard began to drop: 87…76…63…51…finally stopping at 38, and the green light illuminated.
The alarm stopped.
The entire cabin fell silent, with only the fan humming softly. The lights, no longer flickering, returned to a uniform, bright white.
Chen Hao stared at the lamp for a long time, then suddenly said, "Can I take off my clothes now? This propeller suit is making me feel like I'm being marinated."
"I suggest you replenish your body temperature first," Nana said, handing him a vial of nutrient solution. "Your body temperature hasn't fully recovered yet."
He took it, unscrewed the cap, and started drinking. He stopped halfway through and said, "Do you think... we'll have to do this again in the future?"
“The coolant needs to be changed regularly,” she said. “Depending on the rate of consumption, the next maintenance interval is approximately twenty-three days.”
"So, you have to risk your life once a month?"
"If a stable supply source can be found, the collection frequency can be shortened."
“It’s ‘If’ again.” He threw the empty tube into the trash can. “Why do you robots always leave things hanging when you talk?”
"This is the basic logic of risk assessment."
"Couldn't you just say, 'Don't worry, I'm here'?"
"It's no use telling me; you'll still worry."
Chen Hao was taken aback for a moment, then burst out laughing, slightly out of breath: "You know me quite well."
He stood up, staggered to the control panel, and stared at the slowly flowing blue tube as if it were a living vein.
“At least now… I can get a good night’s sleep.” He said, turning to walk towards the rest area, but stopped halfway there. “Hey, do you want to take a break too? You’ve been standing all day.”
“I don’t need to rest,” she said. “But I can turn off some of the sensor modules and enter a low-power state.”
"Then shut it down." He pulled out the folding bed, threw himself on it, rolled over, and buried his face in the pillow. "Anyway, no one needs your help right now."
The cabin lights were dimmed. Nana stood by the control panel; the blue light from the optical lens slowed its rhythm, flickering regularly like breathing.
As Chen Hao was drifting off to sleep, he heard her say, "Next time you collect samples, I suggest bringing a larger capacity sealed container."
He didn't open his eyes and mumbled, "Why don't you tell me to lose weight? To save some oxygen."
"The relationship between body weight and oxygen consumption has not yet reached the intervention threshold."
"You really are..." He didn't finish his sentence before he started snoring.
Nana didn't speak again. Her fuselage stood still, with only a panel on her chest slightly warm—the thermostat was still operating, retaining a trace of the chill from the depths of the glacier.
Outside the window, the gray-yellow horizon was swallowed by the night. The cabin trembled slightly, as if a breeze had blown by, or perhaps just as the metal naturally contracted due to the alternating temperature changes.
Chen Hao's hand dangled from the edge of the bed, his fingertips still ten centimeters off the ground, and trembled slightly.
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