The cave had become Kelvin's home for the past eighteen hours, and he was beginning to develop the kind of intimate relationship with crystalline rock formations that nobody should have with geological features. His suit's diagnostics painted a cheerful picture of gradual system failure, with integrity holding steady at a robust forty-five percent—which in technical terms meant "still technically functional but probably shouldn't be trusted with anything important."
'Like keeping me alive,' he thought, watching the repair nanobots work their microscopic magic on the damaged servos in his left shoulder. 'But hey, forty-five percent is practically brand new by post-apocalyptic standards.'
The communication array had been his constant companion through the long hours, its displays casting blue light across the cave walls as he worked through layer after layer of interference patterns. What he'd discovered was both encouraging and absolutely terrifying.
