Chen Hao was dozing off in his chair, his eyelids barely closed for a few minutes when he was jolted awake by a series of short, buzzing sounds. The sound was emotionless, coming one after another, like someone scratching a piece of metal with their fingernails.
He squinted at the control panel, where a line of red text appeared in the lower right corner of the screen: "Cooling system temperature abnormal, current value: 87.3°C, critical threshold: 90°C."
"So soon?" He sat up straighter and rubbed his temples. "I just finished eating, and you're already throwing a tantrum?"
Nana stood to the side, her optical lens slightly rotating, her tone still unhurried: "The coolant level is less than one bottle, and the circulation efficiency has dropped by 62%. If no intervention is taken, a protective shutdown will be triggered within 48 hours."
What happens after the system is shut down?
"Energy interruption, life support system downgrade, cabin temperature will drop to minus forty degrees within seven hours."
"Good heavens, they've arranged for me to undergo an ice burial." He sighed, got up from his seat, his legs were still a little weak, and he had to hold onto the wall after taking a few steps.
The propulsion suit was still draped over the chair back, the area on his chest so hot you could fry an egg in it—the aftereffects of forcing himself to walk back yesterday hadn't subsided. He casually opened the supply cabinet, rummaged through several layers, and finally pulled out a small silver-gray can—propulsion suit lubricant, labeled "High-Temperature Resistant Composite Grease," with a line of small print below: "Strictly Prohibited for Human Contact."
He shook the bottle; the liquid slid viscously, like some kind of solidified honey.
"Will this thing work?" he asked, holding it up.
Nana glanced at it and immediately brought up the data stream projection: "The viscosity is three times the standard, and the thermal conductivity is only 39 percent of the standard coolant. Direct injection may cause pipe blockage and pressure imbalance."
"But it's chemically stable, right?" Chen Hao unscrewed the bottle cap and took a sniff. A faint metallic smell mixed with the scent of engine oil entered his nostrils. "At least it won't explode."
“The risks are manageable in the short term.” She paused, “but we need to manually adjust the flow and establish a regular replenishment mechanism.”
“That means it works.” He grinned. “We’re not a research team anymore, we’re a scrap yard. We’re going to just use whatever we can.”
He crouched down beneath the star core fragment interface, removed the protective cover, and revealed a section of winding cooling pipes. A thin layer of dust had accumulated at the joints, indicating that no one had touched them for a long time. He took out a wrench and tried the screws, but they wouldn't budge.
"This screw probably hasn't been loosened in ten years."
“It’s actually two years and four months.” Nana handed over a heat gun. “I suggest you heat it up locally first to avoid breaking it.”
"You remember it so clearly?"
"All maintenance records have been archived."
"You keep better accounts than my own mother." He took the gun, heated the nut for more than ten seconds, and then twisted it until it finally loosened.
Next, he connected the three-way valve. The spare silicone tubing was a bit stiff, and it got stuck when he tried to insert it. He pushed it in a bit, and finally, it fit perfectly. He connected the other end to the lubricating oil tank outlet, tightened it, and clapped his hands.
“It looks like an illegally modified car.” He stepped back to examine it. “It’s just missing a ‘Caution: High Temperature’ sign.”
"The system is ready to receive new media." Nana brought up the parameter interface. "Before opening the valve, please confirm the seal."
Chen Hao took a deep breath and slowly turned on the bypass valve. The viscous lubricating oil flowed slowly into the pipeline, initially very slowly, as if it were too lazy to move. The pressure gauge on the dashboard trembled slightly, then gradually climbed up.
"Flow rate 0.3 liters/minute, too low." Nana stared at the data. "Adjust the valve opening to 45 percent."
He did as instructed, and after waiting another half minute, the pressure finally stabilized in the green zone.
"It's done?" He breathed a sigh of relief.
"It's temporarily stable," she said. "But the heat dissipation efficiency is insufficient, so it needs to be manually added every two hours, 50 milliliters each time, to prevent circulation interruption."
"Another shift?" He plopped back down in his chair. "I thought I was a survivor, but now I'm the one on duty."
"You can set up automatic reminders."
"Reminding me is useless. I can wake myself up by snoring, but I just can't wake up."
Nana paused for two seconds, then raised her hand and installed a small vibration module next to the control panel, connecting it to the alarm system.
"Now, the seats will vibrate in sync when the alarm sounds."
"You really understand me." He smiled wryly. "When I was late for exams, my mom would hit the bed with a slipper. It's pretty much the same principle."
She put a label on the lubricant bottle that read: "50ml every 120 minutes. Do not drink." The handwriting was so neat it looked like printed text.
"Don't worry, I won't drink this even if I'm starving." He put the bottle in its special holder. "Unless all the wild vegetables die one day."
After the system ran for ten minutes, the temperature dropped from 87.3°C to 84.1°C. Although it hadn't returned to the normal range, it at least stopped rising. The alarm light turned from red to yellow, and the cabin lights returned to their normal brightness.
Chen Hao leaned back in his chair, feeling completely drained. The previous maneuver had taken a lot of effort, and his knees were aching, as if they might give out at any moment.
"Do you think this thing can last three days?" he asked, pointing to the pipes.
“The probability is 68.7%,” she said, “provided there are no external disturbances and the quality of the lubricant remains unchanged.”
"It's only slightly more accurate than rolling dice."
"The success rate of human betting is usually less than 50%."
Are you implying I'm unlucky in a roundabout way?
"State the facts."
He rolled his eyes and was about to retort when he suddenly heard a "beep" sound, indicating that the timer had started.
"First refueling countdown: 1 hour 59 minutes and 47 seconds."
"Well, they don't even give me a moment to catch my breath." He muttered as he pulled out his notebook, drew a table on it, and marked the time points. "I'm the life pod's nurse now, and I still have to feed it oil on time."
Nana glanced at him: "Your analogy has a logical flaw. Lubricating oil does not provide nutrition."
“I know,” he yawned, “but I’m not feeding a child, I’m feeding an ancestor.”
The cabin fell silent, broken only by the low-frequency hum of the instruments. He closed his eyes, trying to doze off again, but his mind was filled with the countdown numbers, buzzing around his ears like a fly.
Half an hour later, he opened his eyes and found that Nana was still standing in the same place, the camera flashing slightly as it continued to scan the system parameters.
"Aren't you going to take a break?"
"My standby mode consumes less power than the human metabolic rate during sleep."
"Wouldn't that be a better deal for you? The company only needs to hire you."
"I have no salary requirements."
“That’s true.” He smiled. “I not only want a salary, but also overtime pay.”
He lay back down, but this time he didn't dare to sleep soundly. In his half-awake state, he kept hearing an alarm ringing in his ears. He didn't know how much time had passed before the timer finally went off.
He sat up abruptly, grabbed the lubricating oil bottle, unscrewed the cap, scooped out 50 ml with his measuring cup, and poured it into the filler port. The liquid slowly seeped into the pipeline, the gauges showed a slight increase in pressure, and the temperature remained at 84.0°C.
"First refueling complete," Nana said. "The system is stable."
"This is only the first time." He put down the bottle and stretched. "There are still more than twenty to come."
"A total of thirty-six refuelings are required according to the plan."
"Could you please stop giving specific numbers? It's like you've been sentenced."
"Information transparency helps with psychological preparation."
"I'd rather live a little more oblivious."
He sat down again, staring at the silicone tube connecting to the lubricant reservoir. The yellow liquid flowed slowly inside, like a lazy snake. Suddenly remembering something, he looked up and asked:
"What if this pipe bursts?"
"I will detect pressure fluctuations 0.8 seconds before rupture and initiate the emergency shutdown procedure."
"Then you'd better keep a close eye on it."
“I’ve always been here.”
He nodded and said nothing more. The wind outside picked up, causing the cabin to tremble slightly. He touched his still-warm propulsion suit, then looked at the pile of wild vegetables he had just picked on the table, and suddenly felt that this place was neither home nor shelter, but rather a makeshift repair shop.
He was the repairman who was forced to take the job.
The countdown for the second refueling begins: 1 hour, 59 minutes, and 58 seconds.
He washed the measuring cup, put it back in his tool bag, and then pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his backpack. He wrote the words "Duty Roster" on it, and listed a dense array of time points below it.
After he finished writing, he stared at it for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed.
"Do you think it would count as doing a good deed if I posted this chart on the wall?"
Nana did not answer.
She simply took a step forward, placing herself between the star core fragment and him, as if afraid that the thing might suddenly explode.
Chen Hao saw it but didn't ask any further questions.
He only said one sentence: "Remind me next time to bring a novel to my shift."
He picked up the water glass, took a sip; it was lukewarm and had little taste.
The cup made a crisp sound when it was put down.
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