The screen was filled with a dark, circular center, and the ship's hull seemed to be gripped by a giant hand and pulled inward.
Chen Hao's hand was still on the push lever, the light filament crawling up his fingertips to the metal surface with a hum. The control panel suddenly beeped, not an alarm or a notification sound, but like some stuck gear inside the system finally loosening.
“The thrust response is faster.” Nana stared at the data stream. “Just now, the command latency decreased by 0.3 seconds.”
"I didn't adjust it," Chen Hao said. "Maybe my hand slipped."
“It’s not slipping,” Nana said, looking at his wrist hidden under the control lever. “It’s resonance.”
No one answered. The space ahead had warped into a funnel, sucking in all the light, its edges shimmering with an iron-gray halo. The navigation indicated they were hurtling towards the center at 1.5 times the speed of the ship; the engines were still running, but the sound was intermittent, like an old fan about to fall apart.
“Seven seconds ahead and we’re in,” Nana said. “The no-escape zone.”
"Then don't go any further," Chen Hao gritted his teeth. "Pull him up!"
He slammed the control lever and simultaneously pressed the auxiliary pedal. The main engine roared, its nozzle emitting a burst of unstable flames, and the bow barely lifted by half an degree. But this angle was far from enough; gravity pulled them inward like a magnet attracting iron filings.
Carl lay on the ground, his ear pressed against the voltage regulator casing. "The voltage is unstable. If you charge it like that again, the circuit will burn out."
"Let's go for it one last time." Chen Hao looked up. "Nana, didn't you have some kind of model? What's it called again?"
“Pulse-type reverse jet.” Nana immediately brought up the interface. “Release maximum thrust briefly during the gap in gravitational fluctuations to create a jump displacement. The success rate is estimated at thirty-seven percent.”
"Just need to be higher than the dice roll," Chen Hao grinned. "Come on."
"Prepare three pulses." Nana quickly entered the parameters. "First, calibrate the timing; second, probe the window; third, break free with all your might. Twelve-second interval."
"Okay." Chen Hao put his hand back on the bar. "I'll wait for you to say 'start'."
"start."
Upon the first pulse start-up, the ship shuddered violently, and the thrusters spewed white flames, but these were extinguished by gravity after only half-exploding. Navigation indicated that the course had deviated by only 0.1 degrees.
“Failure,” Nana said. “The gravitational peak was not reached.”
The second time, they waited until the tenth second before triggering the thrust. This time, the thrust lasted longer, causing the ship to slide laterally for a distance, and the curvature curve briefly dipped.
"The window has appeared!" Nana raised her voice. "Third time, now!"
As Chen Hao pressed the button, the light filament on his wrist flashed brightly, and his entire arm became hot. All the green lights on the control panel illuminated, and the propulsion command bypassed the buffer layer, directly connecting to the engine core.
boom--!
A blue-white pillar of fire erupted from the hull, and the entire spaceship leaped upwards like a stone launched from a slingshot. The instrument panel flickered wildly, the attitude sensors malfunctioned, and the navigation map turned into a static mess.
The vibration subsided after a few seconds.
The main screen reloaded, and the dark area in the foreground shrank, transforming into a slowly rotating circular shadow in the distance. The star map returned to normal, though somewhat distorted, but no longer tilted in one direction.
"We... got out?" Susan asked in a low voice.
“It has broken free of its capture orbit,” Nana confirmed. “It is 6.8 light-minutes away from the gravitational source and is moving away.”
The cabin was quiet for a few seconds.
Then Chen Hao leaned back, slumping into his seat. "I thought there really was a toilet inside."
No one laughed.
The sound of dripping water came from above. A drop of clear liquid seeped from a crack in the ceiling, landed on the control panel, and slowly spread.
“Coolant leak.” Carl looked up. “The pipes upstairs are cracked.”
The moment the words were spoken, the main power tripped. The emergency lights came on, half of the screen went black, and only the navigation and life support system readings were still flashing.
“Power circuit interrupted.” Nana restarted the backup unit. “Critical systems have been restored to power, but all external sensors have failed.”
“The oxygen pressure has dropped by 0.7.” Susan checked the recirculation chamber. “There’s a crack in the shell; it’s slowly depressurizing.”
"Where is it located?" Chen Hao asked.
"Mid-starboard section, near the propeller shaft connection." Nana scanned the entire ship. "There are three structural tears. The most serious one needs to be sealed immediately, otherwise it could trigger a chain reaction of damage within two hours."
"Where are the materials?" Karl wiped his face.
“There are only two pieces of high-temperature alloy left.” Nana listed them out. “Priority: thruster linkage shaft, curvature stabilizer, shell repair.”
“Two pieces aren’t enough to repair three places,” Susan said.
“You can use a cut-off piece of a discarded protective panel as a replacement,” Nana suggested. “The performance will drop by 30%, but it will last for a while.”
"Then let's cut it." Chen Hao stood up and sat down again, feeling extremely dizzy. "Who's going to get the tools?"
“I’ll go.” Carl got up. “Susan, can you pass me this?”
The two crawled into the equipment compartment. Chen Hao wanted to follow, but his legs went weak as soon as he stood up, and he leaned against the wall to catch his breath.
"You look terrible," Nana said, looking at him.
"It's nothing," he said. "I'm just a little hungry."
He sat back in the driver's seat, his hand resting on the control lever. The light spots were still flashing, but the frequency was faster than before, like a beacon of an unstable heartbeat.
The repair work began. The clanging of tools echoed in the cabin, occasionally interspersed with commands. Carl used a cutting torch to cut the protective plate into small pieces, while Susan held them in place. The first patch was welded to the outside of the propeller shaft. When it was finished, sparks flew onto the wound on her arm. She frowned but didn't say a word.
The second piece is installed at the curvature stabilizer interface. The seam is not very tight, but there will be no energy leakage for the time being.
The last piece was supposed to be for the outer casing, but they found the crack was too large and the protective plate wasn't big enough. They had to temporarily seal it with sealant film and then wrap it tightly with another layer of insulating tape.
"How long can it last?" Chen Hao asked.
“I don’t know.” Karl wiped his hands. “If we don’t encounter a strong gravitational field again, we might be able to reach the next transit station.”
"The question is, where are we now?" Chen Hao looked at the navigation map. "How much off course are we?"
“Eleven percent,” Nana replied. “It cannot be corrected automatically; manual adjustment would take at least four hours.”
"Then let's not move for now." Chen Hao leaned back. "Anyway, we don't have anything else to do."
The cabin fell silent again. Only the intermittent beeping of the instruments could be heard, like a broken metronome.
Susan sat down against the wall, still clutching her toolbox. Carl squatted at the equipment hatch, inspecting the wiring, his fingers trembling. Nana stood in front of the control panel, the data stream scrolling continuously, but her speech slowed, each word seeming to linger for a moment.
Chen Hao stared at the tattered screen and suddenly said, "Don't you guys think this ship is starting to look more and more like a corpse?"
No one responded.
“I mean, it used to be alive, right? It could fly, it could dodge, it could sound an alarm. And now? It’s leaking everywhere, parts are scattered, and even the lights aren’t working properly.” He chuckled. “We’re basically driving a junkyard now.”
"It can still move," Nana said.
“Yes, he can still move.” He nodded. “It’s like a person who is about to die is still taking their last breath.”
He remained silent for a moment, then raised his wrist to look at it. The light spot was still flashing, and it was getting brighter and brighter.
"Nana," he asked softly, "do you think what I'm doing... is related to the ship?"
“We cannot determine the correlation at this time,” she said, “but your biosignals do affect the response efficiency of the control system.”
“That’s relevant.” He withdrew his hand. “I should have bought insurance.”
The repairs were complete. The three returned to the main control area one after another, without saying a word. Exhausted, even anxiety seemed superfluous.
Chen Hao remained seated in the driver's seat, his eyes open. Fuel was down to 34.2 liters; emergency mode was off, and normal navigation was barely achievable. The ship's speed had dropped to 0.6 times its normal speed, like a wounded fish swimming in the deep sea.
"What do we do next?" Susan finally asked.
Chen Hao did not answer.
Nana continued monitoring the data stream, Carl bent down to organize his tools, and Susan leaned against the wall with her eyes closed.
Chen Hao's hand rested on the control lever again.
The light seeped out, spreading along the metal and leaving a faint mark on the control panel.
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