The wind had barely died down for two minutes, and Chen Hao's left arm was still numb, as if ants were crawling out of his bones. He lay on the ground, his right fingers gripping the edge of the cabin wall tightly, his fingernails filled with dust. When that bolt of lightning struck, he froze completely, not out of fear, but because his propulsion suit's neural feedback system twitched, and the current shot straight to the back of his head.
"Don't move," Nana's voice whispered in my ear. "The adhesive hasn't fully cured yet."
She crouched beside him, her robotic arm gently pressing down on the damaged area on the outside of his left arm to prevent him from tearing the newly sealed opening open again. Chen Hao tried to speak, but a shiver ran through him, and his teeth chattered, making a clicking sound.
"Should I... thank you for not sawing off my arm?" His voice trembled slightly, but he still managed to force a smile.
“If you want me to consider that option, you can swing your arm again.”
"No, no." He quickly put his arm back against his body. "My body is so frail, it can still be used if I fix it up. If I saw it off, you'll have to carry me back."
Nana didn't reply, but simply raised her optical lens and glanced at the sky. The clouds were still moving slowly, their color changing from brownish-red to dark yellow. The wind had indeed subsided, but fine sand still hung in the air, rustling against the metal casing.
“The prevailing winds have moved out of the area,” she said. “There are 47 minutes left for the storm to completely subside.”
"You really think you're a weather forecast station?" Chen Hao took a breath and tried to move his left elbow. The joint creaked, like a rusty door hinge being forcibly pushed open, making him gasp in pain. "Is this recovery? I think it's more like it's protesting."
“Currently, the function has been restored to 60%, which meets the standards for field emergency response.” She opened the back panel and took out a tool kit. “Now we need to disassemble the outer shell and replace the C3 bearing. Otherwise, the entire arm will fall apart next time you apply even a little force.”
"So, I'm not even good enough to be scrapped yet, and I have to be cut a second time?"
“You just need to cooperate.” She handed over a miniature wrench. “Unscrew the third fixing bolt, counterclockwise.”
Chen Hao took the tools, but as soon as he reached out with his right hand, his hand trembled. The wrench almost slipped and hit his thigh.
"Cold... my hands won't obey me." He gritted his teeth. "Do you think your robots even have a temperature sensor?"
“I don’t have a concept of cold.” She took a step closer, her robotic arm gently supporting his wrist. “But I can calculate the delay in muscle response in the human body at low temperatures. You’re trembling every three seconds right now, with an amplitude of 0.8 centimeters. I’ll help you stabilize.”
"Thank you, my human-shaped image stabilizer."
She neither laughed nor argued, but simply supported him steadily, allowing him to loosen the bolts little by little. Once the metal casing was loosened, Nana pinched the edge with her fingertips and gently lifted it open. Inside, a broken hydraulic pipe and several exposed wires, covered in sand and dust, were revealed.
“It needs to be thoroughly cleaned,” she said. “Otherwise, the new bearing will seize up when installed.”
Chen Hao reached out to grab it, but as soon as his fingertips touched the bottom, a sharp pain suddenly exploded.
"Ouch—! What's stabbing me?"
“A broken heatsink.” She glanced at it. “The edges are sharp; I advise against touching it with your hands.”
"Then bite it with your mouth?" He pulled his hand back and found that his fingertips were bleeding. "I don't even have tweezers right now."
“I have one.” She pulled a slender adjusting pliers from her toolbox. “It’s a nano-coated clamp that won’t scratch the internal components.”
"Sounds high-tech, but isn't it just a pair of needle-nose pliers?" He took it, took a deep breath, and began to carefully remove the fragments. With each movement, a dull pain shot through his arm, as if someone were gently tapping his bones with a hammer.
"Do you really have an entry like 'How to repair a tattered propulsion suit' in your knowledge base?" he asked while demonstrating.
"Emergency Repair Sop-17: Field Hydraulic Drive Unit Damage Handling Procedure," she calmly replied. "There are twelve steps in total, and you are now on step four."
"Does the first nine steps also include 'how to temporarily assemble something using chewing gum and shoelaces'?"
"That's rule number 18, which applies to tool-free environments."
"You should have said so earlier! My shoelaces are pretty sturdy!"
She ignored him and instead brought up the diagnostic interface, connecting to the propulsion suit's data port. "Next is sensor calibration. The interface is only 2 millimeters wide; a deviation exceeding 0.3 millimeters will trigger a system lockup."
"So now I'm going to have microsurgery?"
“No need for such an exaggeration.” She handed over a sensor wire as thin as a hair. “Just insert it.”
Chen Hao stared at the small hole for three seconds, then smiled wryly: "I can't even hold chopsticks properly now, and you want me to play with precision instruments?"
“I will assist you.” She extended her mechanical arm and gently placed it on his wrist holding the wire. “Slow down your breathing, once every three seconds. Tell me when you’re ready.”
He closed his eyes for a while, and when he opened them again, his gaze was finally more steady.
“Come on,” he said. “We can just crash together, no matter what.”
The first attempt was off-target, and the wire end hit the edge of the connector and bounced away.
"0.4 millimeters to the left," she noted.
“I know,” he muttered. “I’m not blind.”
On his second attempt, a gust of wind suddenly rose again. Although it wasn't strong, it was enough to make him shake his hand, and the thread end went straight into the groove next to him.
“Wrong,” she said.
"I can see that!" he said, a little annoyed. "You think I didn't want to succeed on the first try? My hand wasn't shaking because I wanted to!"
“Emotional fluctuations can exacerbate muscle tremors.” She remained calm. “I suggest pausing for ten seconds and readjusting your rhythm.”
Chen Hao leaned against the bulkhead, panting heavily. Cold sweat streamed down his forehead, mixing with dust and leaving streaks on his face. He raised his still-mobile right leg and kicked a small stone hard at the foot of his foot.
The stone flew five meters away and hit the abandoned cargo box with a "clang".
"Feeling better now?" she asked.
"I'm feeling better."
"Then let's continue."
This time, she increased the pressure, almost fixing his entire hand in place. The wind stopped, and the air was still for a few seconds.
“Now, push it forward 0.5 centimeters,” she whispered.
Chen Hao held his breath and slowly applied pressure with his fingers.
"drop--"
With a soft click, a green indicator flashed on the propulsion suit screen: "Left arm function restored to 68%, basic controls available."
He paused for a few seconds, then slowly raised his arm. The movement was still sluggish, the joints creaking, but it moved, it truly left his body.
“Hey…” he grinned, “It’s still alive.”
“It’s only temporary,” she said. “The bearing is expected to last 72 hours, after which the entire module must be replaced.”
"Seventy-two hours is enough for me to survive." He flexed his elbow; it hurt, but it was much better than before. "At least I don't have to rely on you to drag me anymore."
"You're overweight, so it does take up a lot of electricity to drag you around."
"Hey, we just went through a life-or-death ordeal, can't you show us some compassion?"
"Warmth doesn't save energy."
He rolled his eyes and was about to retort when he suddenly felt a tremor under his feet.
"Not again?" He looked up nervously.
“It’s not the wind.” She scanned her surroundings. “It’s ground subsidence, probably caused by the foundation loosening due to the recent storm.”
"So we're going to fall into a crevice together later?"
“The probability is 1.3%,” she said, “which is lower than the probability of falling.”
"Your way of comforting people is truly unique."
He leaned against the bulkhead to stand up, his left arm still able to support some of his weight. Nana put away her tools and stuffed the remaining supplies back into her backpack.
“The prevailing wind belt has completely moved out.” She checked the data again. “The external threat is over.”
"So...can I rest now?"
“You can relax.” She glanced at him. “The system is currently stable, and you have completed the necessary operations.”
Chen Hao didn't speak, but slowly moved to the inside of the porch and slid down against the wall. He looked down at his left hand, tried to clench his fist, and then open it. The movement was clumsy, but he managed to do it.
"These tattered clothes..." he murmured, "at least they didn't abandon me."
Nana stood beside him, her optical lens flickering slightly, entering low-power monitoring mode. Outside the cabin, only the sound of sporadic grains of sand colliding could be heard, like someone gently tapping on sheet metal in the distance.
He looked up at her, grinned, and said, "Do you think... we can really make it through all this?"
She didn't answer, but instead raised her arm and pointed to the door—
On the distant horizon, a crack is slowly closing, as if the earth has just swallowed something it shouldn't have eaten.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com