The adrenaline crash hit me harder than the G-force of the launch. One moment I was staring at the curvature of the Earth, feeling like a god; the next, I looked at the clock on my microwave. 02:14 AM.
"I have to work in five hours," I groaned, rubbing my eyes. The cosmic wonder evaporated, replaced by the crushing reality of a looming Monday morning meeting.
"Sleep is inefficient," Archi commented, seemingly already bored with the slow drift towards the satellite. "While you are unconscious, I can run simulations on the ion thruster geometry. I need your brain's processing power for the background calculations."
"Absolutely not. You get zero percent of my brain. Goodnight."
The week that followed was a bizarre blur of mundane torture and high-tech exhilaration. Monday was a nightmare of coffee and spreadsheets. My boss, Mr. Hanke, was talking about "optimizing synergy effects in Q3," but all I could see was a wireframe overlay of a Soviet Cosmos satellite being dismantled atom by atom, projected directly over his bald head.
"Look at that corrosion," Archi whispered in my mind while I nodded politely at Hanke. "The solar panels are degraded by 40%. I'll have to recycle the silicon wafers completely."
"Mhm, interesting approach," I mumbled.
"Glad you agree, Surgrim," Mr. Hanke said, looking pleased. "I'll put you down for the lead on that project."
"Wait, what?"
By Wednesday, the double life was taking its toll. I was dodging lunch with colleagues to nap in the server room, checking my smartwatch like an addict. The progress in orbit was steady but slow. The nanomachines had consumed the satellite's shell. A small, ugly blob of grey matter was floating in the void, slowly reshaping itself.
Then came Thursday evening. I collapsed onto my sofa, tie loosened, beer in hand. "Status report, Archi. Is the chassis finished?"
"We have... a problem," Archi admitted. His voice lacked its usual arrogance. It sounded almost offended.
"A problem? Did aliens shoot us down?"
"No. The internet lied to me. According to the technical schematics I downloaded from the Russian archives, the Cosmos-series hull is made of high-grade aluminum-titanium alloy. But this..." He sounded disgusted. "This is garbage. It's cheap steel mixed with impurities. And the radiation damage makes it brittle."
I took a sip of beer. "Welcome to the real world, Archi. Budget cuts exist in space, too."
"This changes the mass calculations. If I build the full hull plating as planned, the ion engine won't have enough thrust-to-weight ratio to move us efficiently. And we definitely won't have enough material for the nanite production vats."
"So, what's the plan? We need that factory. I can't launch a rocket every time we need more bots."
"Improvisation," Archi said darkly. "We prioritize function over form."
When Friday finally arrived, I hurried home, ignoring the invitation for after-work drinks. I needed to see it. "Show me," I commanded, activating the holographic HUD.
What I saw floating in Low Earth Orbit wasn't the sleek, sci-fi cruiser I had imagined. It looked like a technological skeleton. The central spine was solid, holding the precious nanite production tanks—the heart of our expansion. The solar panels were unfolded like glorious, dark wings, drinking in the sunlight. But the rear? The ion engine was completely exposed. Coils, magnetic containment rings, and fuel feeds lay bare to the vacuum, glowing faintly blue. It looked like a hot rod where someone had ripped the hood off because the engine was too big.
"It looks... unfinished," I commented. "Like a patchwork monster."
"It is lightweight," Archi defended his creation. "And the cooling for the engine is now 300% more efficient because there is no hull trapping the heat. It's not a bug, it's a feature."
"Sure, Archi. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"I don't sleep. I build. The nanite factory is online. Production has started. We are now self-replicating."
I watched the ugly, beautiful machine drift against the backdrop of the stars. It was a mess of recycled Soviet junk and god-tier technology, held together by hope and compromised physics. "Does it have a name?"
"Designation: Scavenger One."
"Fitting," I nodded. "Okay, Scavenger One. It's the weekend. Let's find something bigger to eat."