The ship’s AI, a faded ghost of a personality named Sess, flickered to life on a small holo-panel. “The secondary fuel regulator is fused. Again. Recommend replacement.”
Kaelen blinked. “How could you possibly—?” crilock
“You’re burning daylight, and coolant,” said a voice like gravel sliding down a chute. The ship’s AI, a faded ghost of a
“What is that?” Kaelen asked, a prickle running down his spine. Recommend replacement
“You’re not,” she said, not unkindly. She knelt, ignoring the slick of leaking fluid, and peered into the engine cavity. “E-9 series. Sloane Dynamics. You’ve got a dead regulator.”
“I’m fine,” Kaelen said, the automatic reflex of a solitary mechanic.
Kaelen looked up. The stranger was a woman, lean and sun-leathered, her coat patched with synth-leather and what looked like scales. A pair of goggles hung around her neck, and her hands—scarred, knuckles thick with callus—held a worn metal case.