It was night when Wrynn left the village with his destination set to return to his ruined vessel. Some kind of light source, possibly electric, lit up the hillside through the cutout windows of the community homes as the Ufuli started their nighttime rituals. The foot traffic had settled a little as families gathered for dinner but the streets were still active, though the small creatures kept their distance from Wrynn, his looming figure enhanced in danger by the dark.

Chief had offered to let him stay the night, but Wrynn needed to assess the damage and prepare for the journey tomorrow. His compass app pointed him straight back to the Knighthawk, but he was able to recall the landmarks to find his way on the path Vessa had taken him. There were two moons shining in the sky, and the night air stayed warm through his journey. He was reminded of a midnight walk through the streets of Misara, a time where he had been happy to end the night alone. Thirty minutes later, he reached the field where he awoke that afternoon, and the remains of his vessel awaited.

Shining his portable light over the exterior of the Knighthawk, he observed the broken windshields and crumpled frame. If he brought it to the garage in this state, his mechanic would have him scrap the thing for any salvageable parts and try to buy a new cruiser. Maybe one of the newer Fontaine Heavenswallows or a something with an upgraded vibramotor. But here he was completely stranded on this primitive planet with no access to resources to fix the only ticket he had off-world. He knew enough about spacecrafts to be able to patch a hull breach or rewire the energy supply, but there was no way he would be able to construct an entire vehicle from the salvage of his ruined machine.

He made his way on top of the Knighthawk to access the cockpit where the emergency hatch was still open after his failed ejection. The damage to the interior was less violent than the exterior, but it was nowhere near functional. Wrynn shoved the seat back into place from where it had fallen off its track, and took his all-too-familiar pilot’s position. He flipped the controls and switches in order as if he was preparing to take flight, but none of them responded. The electronics had all been turned to unresponsive junk by the failed warp and subsequent landing. He was lucky to have cleared out of the vehicle before it warped.

Disappointed, he pushed his way through the cockpit into the small cabin where he kept the emergency supplies. The door was jammed shut, but he managed to pry it open to reveal that most of the supplies were still in tact within various sealed containers and storage bags located inside and around the vicinity of mostly functional lockers and formerly hidden compartments. He pulled out everything he could find without exception, and tossed the collection up to the cockpit to take stock. After a bit of tidying up it seemed that the cabin was still fit for its purpose as a resting place, though none of the climate controls would be available.

Wrynn placed all the loose items in a sack and moved it to a safe spot outside. Then he went back to the cabin to pull open the hatch that allowed him to access the inner workings of the vehicle. It was easier to get into from the outside, but the entrance from the undercarriage was currently obstructed by the belly of the ship flattened against the ground.

As he flashed his light down into the vital organs of his vehicle, it was immediately apparent why the ship was unable to access power. All the cabling had been jostled by the crash and the retaining wall at the bottom of the ship had been crushed flat which pushed all the sensitive parts up against each other. Many of the connecting pipes were cracked and the wires were tangled.

Wrynn wiped sweat from his brow. He had already been salvaging the cabin for an hour and he considered leaving the monumental task for the morning, but he would not be able to sleep knowing the ship was in such a sorry state. He set to work pulling out the auxiliary components.

An hour later, he was able to reconnect the main battery to the life support system and a red glow surrounded him as the emergency lights clicked on. He fastened the wiring and roused his sleeping legs to make his way back to the cockpit. A sigh of relief escaped his lungs as he looked at the comforting points of lights, blinking neurons lighting up the brain of his trusty vessel.

“Diagnostics,” he ordered to the glowing display console. The cracked screen flickered and pulled up a schematic of the ship. At each critical area, there was a flag that displayed the status. OFFLINE was repeated an extraordinary number of times, pointing at the warp drive, oxygen supply, landing gear, and more. Some things might just take some rewiring, but the only current component that was listed ONLINE was the life support, but that had thirty-nine warning flags attached to it. He pushed into the life support and scrolled through the warnings, but his fear was confirmed as Emergency Communications was listed as OFFLINE.

Wrynn put his head down against the console, knocking it gently against the screen a couple of times. There was no one he could call, no way to even send a distress signal for the chance that a passing stranger would land in curiosity. Whatever hope he had left was starting to fade, but then from behind his eyelids he saw the screen flash green. Something just came ONLINE. He lifted his head from the console to look.

Survive.ai. The application that came pre-installed on every life support system. Wrynn recalled that the bigwig starship corporation had designed it to cover themselves for the multitude of lawsuits that came their way when their previous, poorly-designed life supports started leaving pilots stranded across the galaxy. But most pilots still considered this new system functionally useless as the unoptimized processing ate up precious battery power that could otherwise be used for keeping other things like oxygen saturation active.

In this specific situation, however, it seemed like there was nothing better to do with the battery power. “Boot Survive.ai,” Wrynn said to the ship. Moments later, a sound played through the speakers with passable audio quality.

“Good evening, Captain Wrynn,” came an unoffensive disembodied voice. Wrynn felt a slight rush as his ears picked up his name and title. “Welcome to Survive.ai, support for your life in the most difficult of times. How may I assist you today?”

Wrynn thought for a moment. “Can you get me coordinates for this planet? Galaxy or sector?”

The computer paused to process. “I’m sorry, Captain. It seems there is a malfunction with the location module. Have you tried restarting?”

“No, that didn’t cross my mind.”

“I’m detecting some hostility in your voice, Captain. Would you like me to perform an assessment on your mental state? I know this must be a challenging time for you.”

“Belay that,” said Wrynn, throwing his head back against the rest. “Can you pull up a list of what I would need to get this bird airborne?”

“Certainly.” The voice went silent for a minute and then came back with a strange sense of shock, “Oh, wow. There’s quite a list here. It looks like we’ve sustained significant damage. I’m sending what we need to your head-up display. The supplies to get minimally operational are top to bottom in priority.”

Wrynn pulled up the display on his holo-sight and scanned the list of several hundred items. “Can you put the base components needed to restore Comms up at the top?” he asked.

“Done,” said the computer with barely a second’s pause. “I’ve added a sorting option based on component or module as well.”

“Thanks.” This intelligence was proving surprisingly useful. Faster than trying to get an answer from his ever-dozing co-pilot, Jenkins, at least. “Are you able to run an orbital scan to see if I could source these materials from this planet?”

“A planet-wide scan may take a few days,” warned the voice. “Is that okay?”

“If you can really do it, then yes. How much battery do we have?”

“Reserve battery capacity at 98%. I’m calculating a 58% chance that the scan will work correctly right now. But I think we can boost that to 82% if you can place some satellite beacons in the proximity.”

Wrynn thought for a moment. His limited satellite beacons could have extreme utility later down the road, and he would not be able to protect them from thieves or curious birds once he placed them. “I’ll see what I can do. Are you able to do a local scan while I’m on the road?”

“I can sync to your visor, but you would need to maintain connection with the ship. I’m seeing a range of one-hundred kilometers currently.”

“Good enough.” Wrynn let out a yawn. “Activate power saving, Computer. I don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

“Yes, Captain. And may I suggest that you give me a name? Studies show that people can maintain sanity in survival scenarios by creating personas with whom to discuss their activities.”

The man leaned the chair back and put his feet against the busted console. “Yeah, I’m not doing that,” he said as he closed his eyes. “Power down, Computer.”