"So it's gone from salvage to rescue and salvage?" Joel mumbled after Aisling pulled everyone back into the mess with my discovery. He dropped down into his chair perhaps a bit more dramatically than was necessary. "That doesn't really make this any less of a trap, does it?" He grumbled. "It's not like this makes the situation any less suspicious, captain."

"No, it doesn't. But it's a new angle to consider." Aisling looked deep in thought herself, her eyes narrowed while she paced quickly around the table. She was trying to work out how best to handle the situation now that she knew the bizarre new fact that there was a life on the line. "You're positive there's no other ships in range, Meryll?"

"Nothing." I noted, checking my external sensors one more time to be sure I hadn't somehow missed something. "I could make a long range ping to get a better picture, but that would be like putting up a big sign that says 'here we are' to everyone from here to Jupiter."

"Let me get this straight, though. We are, in fact, going to salvage this ship, yes?" Shaw smiled widely. He seemed really excited about this, and I couldn't figure out why. Did he recognize the survivor's name? Or perhaps it was just his opportunistic business sense.

"We're going to entertain the idea of salvaging the ship to rescue a stranded person, yes," Aisling corrected sternly. We weren't at the stage where she was ready to commit to it yet. "Putting aside whether we should for a moment, can we even do it at all? Mouse?"

Mouse shook his head slowly. "If Theseus was in good shape, yeah, sure. Whatever. Problem is, we don't have a cargo bay door. The whole room is just a giant airlock right now, and the door isn't any bigger than the interior doors. A core module assembly is too big to bring through it, and if we open it out there, it depressurizes. I'd have to tear open the repairs I made at Venus to get it in here."

"And if it depressurizes, the lubricant boils them alive." Doc mumbled.

"Can we haul the module to Io as is?" Aisling asked. "Or better yet, the whole wreck?"

Mouse looked thoughtful for a moment, then motioned for Aisling's terminal. She slid it across the table to him and he began looking over my scans.

Doc shook his head. "Disconnecting it from the life support system leaves them with about two hours of oxygenation, maybe less time before it starts losing heat, and I doubt we can haul the entire system along with us."

"Definitely not." Mouse confirmed. "It's a miracle this ship's holding together what's left of itself. If we start hauling the entire chassis around, it breaks for sure."

"Then captain whatshisname is doomed, let's go," Joel grumbled.

I couldn't just abandon someone like this if I could help it, though. I spoke up again. "What if we took it out and then connected it to my life support systems before the lubricant goes stale?"

Doc hummed quietly, lowering his head and putting a hand to his chin as he seriously considered my proposal. "Maybe. Mouse?"

"I could probably make it work." Mouse nodded slowly. Something about it had piqued his interest and made him take the discussion more seriously. I think he viewed it as a challenge to his engineering skills. "Theseus is a modular ship. If we eject one of the spare crew rooms, I could fit it there and rig the fixtures to it."

"And then we just haul the empty crew room on the exterior. It's convoluted, but you're saying it can work?" Aisling asked.

Mouse grew a mischievous smile and looked straight up into my sensor array. "If Meryll doesn't mind me doing surgery on her while she's active."

I gulped. Was he still mad about what happened with Ray? Was this his way of venting, maybe? Either way, I didn't really have much reason to object, despite how disturbing the thought of having bits of my starship shell rearranged made me feel. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I could step away from the ship for a bit while it happened, like going to sleep through cybernetics surgery and waking up with new parts. But I would have to be fully aware of the whole thing. Ultimately, someone else's life was at stake, and I trusted Mouse to do things the right way and not cause me psychic trauma. "Yeah, of course. I can handle it."

"Alright." Aisling nodded. "So it's possible. That only means we can do it. Should we?"

"No." Joel grunted without a moment's hesitation, but didn't elaborate further. He must not have thought he'd need to. He probably didn't.

"I vote yes." I chimed in. "There's someone in there we can still save. We should at least try, right? It's not like anyone else is going to run into them."

"People die all the time in shitty situations like this... well, not exactly like this. Starving to death in the core module of a failing ship is a pretty unique way to go, I'd say. But we can't save everyone. If we put ourselves in danger for every lost cause, we're not gonna last that long ourselves. I also don't remember this being a democracy." Aisling folded her arms, and the room went quiet. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath before she continued. "That said, saving someone and looting their ship for everything it's worth is a pretty good combination of noble and practical. Let's do it."

Doc remained composed and neutral, only giving a shallow nod. Shaw let out a raucous laugh, Mouse's wicked smile widened ever so slightly, and Joel gave an irritated grunt.

"And if it's a trap?" Joel growled.

"It'd be the shittiest, most intricate trap ever." Aisling huffed. "We've been here for way too long for nothing to have happened. There's no reason an ambush wouldn't have kicked off by now. Nobody can plan far enough ahead to account for all the waiting and for Meryll's gift of talking to machines to get those manifests. There are a stupid number of coincidences here, but there's also too many complications for this to be someone masterminding our actions either. Either someone has manufactured a ridiculous scenario on the off chance we do exactly what they want, or we've actually just run into a ludicrously unlikely shipwreck. And I'm starting to lean toward the latter at this point."

"Just to be sure, how about we stop for a little while and see if anything happens, before anyone gets into environment suits?" I suggested. There was little reason to be less cautious than we needed to be about this, even if it was very unlikely this was a trap at this point.

"Sounds good." Aisling nodded. "We need to discuss the plan for the away crew, anyway."

I nodded into the void and opened my eyes to take a few seconds to relax. I'd been tensing up ever since I read that crew manifest. There was a human being, not augmented for the core module like I was, crammed into the void next to an ordinary core. That was undoubtedly a harrowing scenario for them. They'd probably never been inside of it before, and they were likely only there now in a clever but desperate play to stay alive just a little longer while their ship fell apart around them. The core wouldn't be able to communicate with them in any way, so they didn't know when or if rescue would come, and they probably weren't even aware we were here. I wondered if I could coax the core into doing something about that.

I began to decelerate as promised, but slowly moved into position alongside the derelict so that I could connect with it again before I stopped. I made an effort to isolate and protect my own systems so that it wouldn't assault me with queries and requests again, and then opened comms with it again. Once more, I explained that no one was answering along standard communication avenues, and requested more information on the sole survivor.

I received another polite message, explaining the same things it told me last time again, and I sighed. Of course it didn't understand. I tried a different route. I asked if there were any displays, either in the captain's possession or cybernetically attached to the core itself.

It began listing the specs of its augmentations and operating system, and I was glad to see that it had a similar array of cybernetics to my own. That meant there was a terminal built into it. I requested access to the terminal, explaining that the captain needed to be updated on the situation. It refused, citing a security protocol it had been given. This thing couldn't understand context. It didn't know how dire this situation was.

I instead asked if it could display this very conversation on its terminal, under its own systemic control, and it finally obliged. Showing off a conversation about rescuing someone in an emergency rescue situation probably made sense to it. My next message was 'Captain Morgan Collins, don't be alarmed. We've received your distress signal. We are not affiliated with any corporate entity, so your cooperation, as far as you can act in your situation, is appreciated. Due to circumstances on our own ship, we cannot currently remove you from the core module, and you will probably have to remain inside for up to a week before we can reach an atmospheric colony and break it open. Please brace for movement soon.'

It was only after I sent the message that I realized that being trapped inside the core module for that long was probably a terrifying prospect to them. I needed a little more information. I asked the core how long the captain had been contained in the core module already, and it replied that it had been approximately 36 hours, standard time since last insertion. At least that meant the attackers were likely far away by now, but it did complicate the survivor's health. I sent another long message intended for Morgan: 'Please understand that the core module can keep you alive for an extended period. Ordinarily, a human body should be kept in there for a week, maximum, before related health complications can emerge, but you may have to endure for slightly longer. We have a doctor who can assess you when you emerge. The lubricant can keep you hydrated and provide oxygen indefinitely once it's been attached to our ship, and while it may be uncomfortable, you can safely sleep inside the module. The only major concern is food. You will require far less sustenance, but at about day three, you will begin to feel hungry. At approximately day seven, you will begin to suffer the effects of moderate starvation. It is unlikely we will be able to get you out before then, but provided you were not already severely malnourished, your body should be able to survive until we do. We will provide emergency rations when we arrive at our destination. Hang in there, we will get you out.'

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I couldn't help but be satisfied with myself for the bit of research I'd done on maximizing my time spent within the core module. Under normal circumstances, a human being could technically survive for much longer than one would think without food; a person could last multiple weeks or even longer if they had to, provided they had all their other needs covered. And that was greatly extended in the total sensory deprivation of the core module. I was more worried about the health complications. Atrophy and delirium would probably pose greater problems. A normal human didn't have a complex digital world to keep themselves occupied in the void or whatever was in my unique neurology that allowed for extended restful torpor, and I didn't want to think about what that would do to their sanity. I just hoped that they saw my message and didn't do anything drastic. Or at the very least, I hoped they understood that they were being rescued once we started moving them around.

I took another look at my external sensors, and began a slow, tight orbit around the broken ship so that nothing could approach in a blind spot while I remained in network range, then turned my attention back inward.

"Doc, you're staying on board. And obviously, so are Ray and Meryll." Aisling ordered. "Mouse, how long is it going to take to detach and load the crew module onto the exterior cargo rack?"

Mouse glared thoughtfully at the floor for a moment, then tilted his head and hummed. "Two... three hours. Two, if I have the extra hands out with me."

"Fine, let's just get it over with. The less time we're here, the better." Joel grumbled.

"Alright. We wait for one hour to make sure no one's going to jump us, we spend two hours rearranging Theseus, two hours retrieving the core module and fixing it to Theseus, and another two hours hauling in whatever we can pull off this wreck. Then we bail."

"Leaves us with four extra hours of oxygen, just in case. And a full day's work." Joel muttered. "This better be fucking worth it."

"If it's not, you can take it out on Shaw." Aisling smirked.

Shaw held his arms out and looked offended. "We're not even using my plan!"

"You still started it." Joel smiled mischievously. "I'll take you up on that offer, Captain."

Shaw gaped at both of them. "Well, fine, see if I ever give you lot any advice ever again."

"Good." Joel groaned, walking out into the cargo bay alongside the others as they made their way toward the engine room to gather the environment suits. It would take a little while to get everyone ready.

—

In that hour, no attack came. Nothing new showed itself on the fringe of my external sensors. There were no unexpected interactions with the Demitrius core, and the derelict did not destructively explode while I was in its vicinity. The assumption that it was a trap had been almost wholly brushed aside entirely by then, Aisling reassuring everyone that as unlikely as finding a wreck like this was, it was only improbable and not impossible, and sometimes unlikely things just happened. I think there might have been at least a little bit of reckless optimism in her that we may have found a serendipitous solution to our financial problems, though.

The two hours after that were the most bizarre part of the day for me. I had to be rearranged. I was used to Theseus being shaped a certain way, and I'd already experienced major damage to the ship when the cargo bay was torn apart on our way to Venus. But Mouse ensured me that less violently pulling me apart would not cause me to suffer the same psychic trauma. The grafting process had ensured that Theseus was a part of me and that I was a part of Theseus, but what defined Theseus as a whole in that regard? Turns out, as long as the core module remained intact, it would be anything that was integrated into its internal network. So removing a part would make it inert, no longer a piece of me, but reattaching it later would make me feel it again. That didn't make the removing part any less disconcerting.

"Alright, Meryll." Came Mouse's voice over the internal comms in his environment suit. "I've stripped the armor from the module. How's it feel?"

"Itchy." I wasn't sure how else to describe it. It was hard to equate it to a human sensation. But 'itchy' felt like the right word to use. A nagging mild irritation that just made me want to scratch at to make it go away. A vulnerability. Of course, I had no equivalent to scratching this itch. I figured I would just have to get used to it for the time being.

"The fuck's that mean?" Joel asked with a mocking laugh. At least he was in a better mood now.

"Look, I don't know. It's like having the top layer of your skin scraped off and just being exposed to air makes it feel weird." I tried to make a better effort at relating it to human feelings. "This really is the equivalent to a topical surgery for me."

"It's about to be a lot less topical." Mouse muttered. "Next step is disconnecting it from your systems. I have no idea what that's going to feel like, but I imagine it's not gonna be great."

"I know what I signed up for." I swallowed, suddenly feeling uncertain about that decision. I couldn't back out now, though. "Just walk me through what you're doing, please. I want to brace for it."

"Fine. First is going to be disconnecting life support and atmospherics. I already secured the interior door. Let me know if anything goes wrong inside. We don't want to depressurize the hallway."

There was a short pause as I watched Mouse work as best as I could, but I didn't have sensors pointed at the delicate gaps the four people in environment suits had worked to open up in the past hour.

Thankfully, Joel broke the tense silence. "This your first time working in vacuum, Shaw? You don't look so great."

"No, it's the third." Shaw objected. "It just doesn't get any easier. How do you people take so easily to this... floatiness?"

I felt something poking at me inside of that itchiness, and I was trying my best to distract myself from it. "You should try getting in the core module sometime. That's an experience in 'floatiness'."

"I'll take you up on that experience." Shaw gave a smarmy chuckle. "Locked naked in a tiny sphere with Meryll..."

"By yourself, you ass." I would have rolled my eyes if I had them open. "You know what? Never mind. Invitation revoked. You would somehow find a way to leave your stench all over the inside of a sterile machine."

Shaw gave an offended scoff. "Are you saying I smell? I keep myself very clean, thank you!"

"We know, you dandy," Joel muttered. "You don't even do anything around here and you've still used up most of our soap. I've seen you shower twice some days."

"It's more of a slimy aura than anything physical." Aisling added.

I was about to make my own addition to the ribbing when I felt it. A partial numbness that made me whimper silently into the lubricant. I opened my eyes and looked down at my abdomen and then my arms to make sure there wasn't something wrong with a part of my human self. I couldn't tell the difference between system and organ failure anymore. I took in a deep breath, closed my eyes again, and reassured myself that it was just Mouse.

"Mouse, did you do that?" I asked.

"Disconnected life support, yeah." He grunted as he pulled at something else. "You're ready for a system disconnect. You shouldn't be able to feel the module anymore after this. Ready?"

No. I wasn't ready. This already felt invasive and strange, the mechanical equivalent to being awake while my chest was open and I could look down at my own beating heart. I suppose this module was hardly something so vital, though. It was functionally just an empty room, after all. It was more like a rib being removed. A structural point, but not a significant organ on its own. "Fine. Do it." I finally managed to say, and I braced myself for pain.

But what came next wasn't pain. It was numbness. I felt empty where my body told me an intangible part of myself belonged. Like a phantom limb. It didn't hurt, but it felt wrong that there was nothing there. I felt nauseous, and I had to open my eyes, doubling over and desperately examining myself one more time. Nothing was wrong with my body. I had to keep telling myself that. Nothing was wrong with my human body, anyway. My starship shell was being violated. I took in deep breaths, telling myself to stay calm.

This would pass. It would start to feel natural after a few moments. My internal mapping of my systems would rearrange themselves around the gap, and in a week, after we reached Io, I could have it replaced and back the way it should be again. The way it's supposed to be. I shuddered. A week like this. At the moment, it felt like a daunting task, but I'd endured things I thought would be impossible to acclimate to before. The three day wait for my implants to settle was the obvious comparison. I took in an unsteady breath and closed my eyes, but had to look away again immediately. The four were holding handles at the edge of the module and coaxing it out from beneath my armor. I couldn't watch. It was like watching my own severed arm being pulled away from me. I switched my attention to exterior sensors on the other side of the ship and tried my best to ignore the strange emptiness I felt.

I wondered if this was going to be something I'd have to become accustomed to in the future. After all, Mouse had said that Theseus was highly modular, and if we needed specific large-scale equipment added to the ship, or to make major upgrades, it would necessitate adding and removing many different pieces. I thought back to what I'd been told about the namesake of the ship. From what I understood, it was about a pre-colonial naval ship back on Earth, made to sail the vast ocean rather than the endless expanse of space. Its parts were gradually replaced, one at a time, over and over, until nothing of the original ship remained. So was it even still the same ship it was when it was built? I knew that I could adapt to new systems being added and make them a part of my machine interface structure with time, but I wondered if there was a point where my mind would stop registering it as the ship grafted to my mind. Altered enough, would my mind eventually reject that the ship I was attached to was still me? Would my brain fail to register Theseus as a part of me if I was the only original part that remained? I'd have to ask Doc about the logistics of it later.

"Meryll?" Came Aisling's voice. It lifted me up out of my existential stupor. "You okay? You went quiet there."

"I'm fine." I lied. This wasn't fine, but it was something I had to endure. A disturbingly typical part of being a starship, I supposed. "It's just a little disconcerting, is all. No, it's really disconcerting. Imagine you just watched your pelvis get removed. But I'll be fine. I'm not hurt. I'm just feeling queasy."

"Well, that's a fun image. Thanks for that." Joel grumbled.

"If I'm going to vomit in my enclosure, I'm sharing that experience." I shot back.

Shaw huffed. "Well, that's hardly fair. Yours is self-cleaning."

Aisling cleared her throat. "Focus, people. We want this thing on the cargo rack within the hour."

I sat holding myself into a tight ball, drifting into an unsettled torpor while I felt one of my crew modules slowly and methodically being tied to the undercarriage of my hull, trying to keep my emotions in check by reassuring myself that this was temporary, that it would pass, and that I wouldn't feel this profound sense of loss over a very small part of myself for very long. I was going to be okay. I knew I would be. I tried to tell myself that this was silly. It was like missing an appendix or wisdom teeth. That didn't help the feeling go away.

Before I knew it, I heard Aisling call for a check-in after the module had been securely mounted. "Yeah. I'm here." I answered. "Just trying not to think about it too hard."

"You're still watching for bogeys, right?" Joel asked.

"Sensors will ping me if something sets them off." I reassured them. "I've got my eyes up, despite how distracting this is."

"Alright, good. Next step is we move to the Demitrius. Don't think we'll need to, but just in case, once we're attached to it, you're clear to move Theseus if you have to. Otherwise, stand by."

"Got it." I nodded to myself and shuddered again as I moved my sensors to watch them. The detached crew module strapped lifelessly to my underside, disconnected from my systems entirely, was disturbing to see, so I tried to look away. The four figures of my crewmates became smaller and smaller as they approached the remains of the destroyed ship. I controlled my breathing to keep myself calm. I could handle this. It wasn't a huge deal. I watched as they disappeared into the wreck, navigating their way toward the center of the Demitrius to retrieve the heart and brain of that vessel. I couldn't help but wonder how disoriented the core felt right now, and how it would feel when it was so gently disconnected from all that remained of its starship shell. Like pulling a ghost out of a body.

But just as I was about to settle back into another uneasy silence, reflecting on my state as a collective of replaceable pieces, I was pulled from my thoughts by a wave of fear and anxiety as the black field in the corner of my interface lit up with static.