The pipes under the floor made a very faint "click".
Chen Hao's finger was still suspended in mid-air, no more than two inches from the joint wrapped in tape. He didn't move or speak, but just stared at the edge of the silver-gray tape—where the originally smooth and fitted surface was slowly curling up with a thin slit, like a mouth about to open.
The next second, the red light blazed brightly again.
The alarm blared even more urgently than before, like someone was choking you and still screaming desperately. The hissing sound turned into a sharp, piercing jet of air, and the air was being sucked away so fast it made your ears throb.
"No...it was just fixed?" His throat tightened, and he subconsciously took half a step back.
Nana's voice immediately rang out: "Don't back up. Your current position is affecting the airflow stability."
He froze, his knees still on the ground, his hands gripping the metal hull of the hold, numb with cold. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, a drop sliding down his temple and landing on the edge of his tool bag.
"The C-type tape has failed." Nana's blue light swept across the leak. "Corrosive residue detected, eroding the adhesive layer. The crack is widening."
Chen Hao looked down and saw that the edges of the tape had developed dark brown spots, like rust, but not quite. The color was still creeping outwards, slowly but resolutely, like something alive gnawing at it.
"This thing... can eat tape?" His voice trembled slightly.
“It wasn’t ‘eating,’” she said. “It was a chemical reaction. The area had been exposed to unfiltered recirculated exhaust gases, and the sediment contained highly acidic components.”
"So we've been inhaling poison gas the whole way?" he gritted his teeth. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"
“Not yet at the danger threshold.” Her tone remained unchanged. “It has now exceeded the standard. The oxygen concentration has dropped to 17%, and we are expected to enter the hypoxia warning zone in eight minutes.”
"Eight minutes?" He looked up abruptly. "Last time you said I'd pass out in seven minutes!"
“Last time it was the theoretical value,” she said. “This time you fixed it yourself, and I overcalculated the buffer by sixty seconds.”
Chen Hao was stunned for a moment, almost choking on his breath: "You've even learned to be sarcastic?"
“I don’t have an emotion module,” she said. “I’m just stating factual differences.”
He rolled his eyes, only to find that even that was difficult—his face was stiff, and his hands were trembling violently. The brief moment of smugness he had felt earlier had now turned into a heavy weight pressing on his chest.
He looked down at the leaky pipe; the tape had curled up at one corner, as if someone had ripped off the seal.
"So what do we do now?" he asked.
"Replace the sealing material." She switched the blue light, projecting the location of the storage compartment behind the tool bag, "D-type anti-corrosion pad, yellow label, right rear."
He turned his head to look; that little compartment, which he would never normally notice, now seemed like his only lifeline. He reached out to grab it, his arm hitting the seat frame, causing him to groan in pain, but he still managed to pull the box out.
Upon opening it, I found a dark gray round piece inside, with a texture somewhat like rubber, but harder than rubber, and the words "d-SEAL" engraved on the edge.
"This is more expensive than tape, isn't it?" he chuckled dryly. "You don't have to scan a QR code to pay after you stick it on, do you?"
“No,” she said, “but if it fails, you will die.”
"Couldn't you have put it more tactfully?" he muttered, pulling out a utility knife. "Like, 'We advise caution'?"
“I suggested it three seconds ago,” she said. “You were rolling your eyes then.”
He paused, his hand still: "You still remember the time?"
“I’ve documented everything,” she said. “Now, please remove the expired tape and clean up any residue around the leak.”
He gritted his teeth and carefully pried up the edge of the tape with the tip of the knife. The adhesive surface was corroded and brittle, crumbling at the slightest touch. A dark brown liquid clung to the blade, slippery and with an indescribable smell—neither foul nor pleasant, just enough to make one's scalp tingle.
"Will this stuff...corrode the skin?" he asked.
“Contact for more than 30 seconds can cause first-degree burns,” she said. “Wearing gloves is recommended.”
He quickly put on gloves and continued scraping. The metal joint was surrounded by black spots, like grime left by long-term water accumulation, but thicker and stickier than water stains.
"So this life pod is a mobile sewage pool?" he muttered as he cleaned. "Wasn't cleaning considered when it was designed?"
“I considered it,” she said, “but the maintenance personnel did not perform the monthly inspection as required.”
“That was in the past!” he retorted. “Now I’m the only one willing to get down on the floor and wipe up the dirt!”
“As it stands,” she said, “you’re the only one who can clean it.”
He paused, glanced at her, and asked, "Are you... praising me?"
“State the facts,” she said. “Please continue.”
He grunted and continued scraping. His movements were a bit more steady than before, the blade slowly pushing along the metal surface, shoveling the dark residue into the waste bag.
"All cleaned up." He wiped the sweat from his brow. "What's next?"
“Prepare to fit the D-shaped pad,” she said. “Make sure to align it in the center and apply even pressure for at least ten seconds.”
He picked up the dark gray round piece and examined it closely. The material felt warm and smooth, neither as cold as metal nor as light as plastic.
"This thing... can it really withstand it?" he asked.
"Theoretically, it can withstand corrosive environments with a pH value of 0 to 14," she said, "including aqua regia."
"Aqua regia?" He stared wide-eyed. "Who would use aqua regia to wash their feet on a spaceship?"
“There’s nobody here,” she said, “but the system needs a redundancy safety margin.”
He sighed, aligned the D-shaped pad with the leak, and slowly lowered it. His fingers were still trembling, but he didn't stop.
Just as the gasket was about to fit together, the pipe suddenly vibrated violently.
"Buzz—"
A low-frequency resonance emanated from the entire bottom of the cabin, as if something was colliding at high speed inside. He shifted his hand, and the gasket fell at an angle, getting stuck on the edge.
“It’s not aligned,” she said.
"My fault?" he shouted. "It's shaking on its own, you know that?"
“It’s caused by pressure fluctuations,” she said. “The crack is widening and must be sealed immediately.”
He gritted his teeth, lifted the pad, and tried again. This time, he held his breath, pressed down on the edge with his left hand, and adjusted the position little by little with his right.
“It’s in sight,” he said.
“Put pressure on,” she advised.
He pressed his palm against the pad and pressed down hard. At first it was fine, but after five seconds, his palm started to heat up, as if an electric current was shooting up from his fingertips.
"This gasket... why is it a little hot?" he frowned.
“The nanopolymer layer is being activated,” she said. “A molecular-level seal is expected to form within thirty seconds.”
He didn't speak and continued to suppress it. But just then, the alarm above his head suddenly changed tone.
Instead of the monotonous flashing red light, it flashed intermittently and rapidly, and the sound changed from "woo-woo" to "beep be ...
"What's going on?" He looked up.
“The pressure imbalance has worsened,” she said. “The backup pressure regulator is not responding, and a pressure difference has appeared between the main compartment and the secondary compartment.”
"So that means..." he swallowed hard, "if we don't seal it off immediately, we might suck ourselves dry?"
"To be precise, it's the rupture of the body's surface tissues due to the pressure difference between the inside and outside," she said. "The process lasted about forty-seven seconds."
"Can you stop being so explicit?" His palms were sweaty, but he still didn't dare to let go. "With this broken gasket in my hand, how can I have time to fix any pressure regulator?"
“You don’t need to fix it,” she said. “But you need to hold it for more than thirty seconds, otherwise the D-pad won’t be fully activated.”
He gritted his teeth, his arms trembling. His chubby palms were already sore and numb, but he knew he couldn't let go.
"You mean..." he gasped, "if I let go now, is there any chance of saving her?"
“No,” she said. “Once the connection is broken, the material will lose its ability to re-bond.”
"That's a dead end." He gave a bitter smile. "So this is the only gamble I can take?"
“You’re already doing it,” she said.
He didn't speak again, but instead pressed all his strength into his palms. Sweat dripped from his forehead, landing on the edge of the pad, where it evaporated into a thin mist.
Ten seconds.
Fifteen seconds.
Twenty seconds later, his arm started to cramp.
Just then, the pipe beneath their feet suddenly emitted a dull "thud".
It felt like something was hitting the valve from inside.
Immediately afterwards, a very fine wisp of air seeped out from the edge of the D-shaped pad he was pressing.
"Did it leak?" His voice trembled.
“Local micro-infiltration,” she said, “is still within a controllable range.”
"Controllable my ass!" he growled. "My hand is about to break!"
"Hold on for five more seconds," she said. "Activation progress is 98%."
He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. Every bone in his shoulders, arms, and fingers was screaming for him to give up.
Twenty-five seconds.
Twenty-eight seconds.
"Sizzle—"
A soft, resonant sound rang out, and the pad beneath my palm suddenly became steady, no longer hot, and no longer vibrating.
“The seal is complete,” she said. “The D-type gasket has been activated and the crack is closed.”
He suddenly let go, fell backward, and collapsed to the ground, his chest heaving violently.
"I...I survived again?" he gasped. "Shouldn't I get some reward this time? Like...a bottle of Coke popping out of the vending machine?"
“There’s no Coke,” she said, “but the oxygen levels are starting to rise.”
He grinned and raised his hand to wipe his face. The warmth of the pad lingered on his palm, as if he had held a warm stone.
"You mean..." he said, gazing at the red light on the cabin ceiling, "Could you please not always make me risk my life next time? At least give me time for physical training camp?"
She didn't answer.
He turned his head to look at her; the blue light continued to scan the data stream steadily.
"Hey," he asked, "did you... almost praise me just now?"
Her blue light flickered slightly, as if she had blinked.
“This operation has been recorded in the system log,” she said. “Note: Human performance exceeded the expected threshold.”
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com