I blacked out for a few seconds when the ship jumped.
Or maybe it was minutes. I couldn't tell. My stomach was twisted into knots, my head spinning like I'd been tossed in a blender. When I opened my eyes, everything was shaking.
Warning lights flashed red. Sirens blared. A voice that sounded like a dying toaster was repeating the same line over and over again:
[Stabilizers offline. Manual override required. Stabilizers offline. Manual override—]
I rolled off the metal bench I'd landed on and hit the floor hard. No gravity. I floated for a second, then smacked into a wall.
"Shut up!" I yelled at the voice.
It didn't shut up.
I flailed around until I grabbed a handle, then kicked off toward the front of the ship. The screen up there was a mess—cracked in the corner, glitching out. But I could still see one thing: stars. Hundreds of them, packed tighter than I'd ever seen. Some were blue. Some were red. One was just... pulsing like it was breathing.
We weren't anywhere near Earth anymore. That much was obvious.
Another screen lit up beside me. This one showed a planet. Not a big one—looked like a frozen rock. Dark, barely any sunlight, and surrounded by asteroid chunks floating in slow motion.
[Random Warp Complete.]
[Current Sector: E-93 // Outer Rim Region // Unregistered.]
[Nearest Known Civilization: Unknown.]
[Warning: No fuel detected. Emergency reserve activated.]
[Estimated Travel Time at Current Speed: Infinite.]
"Fantastic," I muttered.
I floated over to the console. The buttons were scratched up, some were missing, and a couple were sticky. I found one labeled "Gravity" and slammed it.
With a heavy clunk, the ship shook, and gravity snapped back on. I dropped like a rock and groaned when I hit the floor again. Better than floating, I guess.
I sat up and looked around. The ship was a mess. There were empty storage crates stacked in the back, all dented. One corner of the room looked like someone had tried to install a shower and then given up halfway through. I spotted my starter kit jammed under a bench.
Inside was exactly what the voice promised: seven vacuum-sealed meal packs, a pair of gravity boots that looked two sizes too big, a busted repair kit with half the tools rusted over, a navigation core that looked like it came out of a museum, and a chip labeled "AI Unit."
I plugged it in.
Nothing happened.
I sighed and kicked the console. The screen flickered.
Then a voice came out. Flat, robotic.
"AI unit is offline"
"AI unit can't be integrated to the Ship."
Figures. Probably a broken chip. Or maybe the ship was too old to even recognize it. Either way, no AI, no help. Just me and this busted tin can.
I tossed the chip onto the floor and sat back against the wall. The ship creaked around me. Somewhere deep inside, something hissed like a leaky pipe. One of the lights above kept flickering like it couldn't decide whether to live or die.
This was it. My grand start.
Stuck in the middle of nowhere with a frozen planet outside, no AI, barely any fuel, and enough food to last me a week if I didn't eat like a normal person.
I pushed myself up and went back to the screen showing the planet. Zoomed in a bit. Nothing fancy. Just ice, rock, and more ice. It wasn't even spinning fast. It just hung there, dead and gray.
But I didn't have a choice.
The ship's emergency reserves wouldn't hold out forever. And I wasn't about to sit here and starve to death in a floating metal coffin.
I pulled open the side locker. Found a basic EVA suit folded up like a trash bag. No helmet—just a retractable visor built into the collar. It looked like it had been chewed on by rats. I zipped it up and hoped it still worked.
I slapped the airlock control. The doors hissed open slow, like they were scared of the cold outside. The ramp extended with a metal groan. Freezing air rushed in like it had been waiting to punch me in the face.
I took a breath. Then another.
And I stepped out onto the surface.
The ground crunched under my boots. Thick ice, uneven, slick. The planet was dead silent—no wind, no animals, nothing. Just the sound of my own breath and the whirring of my suit's air system.
I looked back at the ship.
The Starhowler.
My ship.
It looked even worse from the outside. Rusted plates, chipped paint, burn marks on the side like it had been through a war and lost. The name was printed in faded white across the hull, half of it scratched off.
But it was mine.
And right now, it was the only thing between me and the vacuum.
I turned back toward the open terrain and started walking. No clue where to go. No map. No signal. Just a gut feeling and a frozen planet to poke around on.
I needed something.
Scrap. Fuel. A signal. Anything.
Hell, even a rock I could sell for a single coin has worth.