Chapter Text
“Get off the roof! Get off the roof,” Clint muttered to himself in a panic as he scrambled into the lifepod. Another explosion ripped through the ship, sending Clint skittering to one side, but thankfully into a lifepod. It wasn’t his lifepod, but the PA system overhead was edging on his haste and of not giving a damn.
“Attention. Hull failure imminent,” chimed the far too perky voice as Clint practically fell down the hole and into the lifepod. He landed at the bottom of the ladder with a whump that erased all his air for a moment before he scrambled to his feet. He’d been alone, so he knew no one else was joining him in this lifepod. Another explosion nearly knocked him off his feet, but he made the seat, slamming his finger down on the button to launch the lifepod even as he yanked the harness down over his head, the lifepod automatically clicking it into place. “Launching in 3.” Clint scrabbled with the handholds for the harness for a moment.
“2.” An electronic whine went straight through his hearing aides as the engine revved up.
“1.” Clint braced himself, feet flat on the floor, pushing back into the seat. The jolt from the lifepod detaching from the main ship rocked him. He could see everything shaking inside from the rocky departure. He looked up, watching the ship he’d been calling home for a while now as it receded, mostly intact but screaming down to the planet.
For a moment, everything seemed fine, but then he saw a bright flash, and a jagged tear ripped through the hull near where he’d just been on the ship. Clint swallowed dryly, hoping that no one had been in the same area he was. It had been unlikely, he kind of remembered that the crew quarters were in the belly of the ship.
The shockwave hit the lifepod next. If Clint had thought the initial break was a little rough, catching the edge of the explosion in a pod built to take explosions was much rougher. The pod’s speed towards the planet’s surface increased. Panels jolted loose, swinging free of their moorings. The fire extinguisher appeared to be possessed, rising out of its holder. Clint almost didn’t see the panel when it smacked him in the head hard enough to knock him unconscious.
Warning bells sounded in Clint’s head. No, strike that, it was outside of his head, but absolutely adding to the throbbing sensation. He inhaled, then choked, which made his eyes fly open, darting around the small compartment, only half realizing that it was on fire. Training took over, and he tugged the harness. It wouldn’t budge. Right, he had to use the buttons. He looked down, then selected the “unlock” from the lit up screen. The screen made a forlorn “meep” noise at him, but the restraints didn’t move. Clint tried again, panic edging in slightly. It made another “meep” noise at him. Clint decided the only way to get any electronic to listen to him was the good old-fashioned way. Clint punched it with his fist.
Punching did the trick. The harness snapped up on release, helped along by Clint’s free hand shoving at it. He was out of the chair in an instant and diving for the fire extinguisher. The internal ventilation kicked in before he choked to death on the carbon dioxide.
After he’d killed every lick of fire he’d found, he dropped the fire extinguisher with a groan, slumping against one of the curved walls. It did not for a good prop make. Clint nearly hit his head on the curve when he straightened and took stock of his surroundings.
He’d only toured the lifepods once before, during a hands-on introduction that he’d wrangled from one of the security guys, who let him open the top hatc, climb in, and take a picture. It was nice to know all life pods were the same. He technically had one assigned to him near his crew room, but he’d been returning from the cafe near the Officer’s Quarters where he’d been chattering with Craig when the call had come out to get to the nearest lifepod. He didn’t even know if his lifepod had survived the initial explosions.
The lifepod was typical. Two seats that faced each other, one end had a storage cabinet, the other end had a radio. Next to one chair was a medkit fabricator that he wasn’t sure had any power to it, and the other chair had a materials fabricator on the wall. Above the storage bin was a large screen, displaying the statistics of the pod. He read over the information carefully, noting that it said the air outside was breathable, if a little thin. He peeked out the hatch he’d fallen down, and saw blue sky. He checked the radio; it was broken. The main power systems were offline, telling Clint yet another thing was broken. Hull integrity wasn’t great. Floatation devices deployed?
With a broken radio, the life pod’s ability to send out an emergency broadcast amounted to nil, making any kind of retrieval slim. Having taken stock of his surroundings, Clint heaved a small sigh of relief. He was okay for the moment, he hopped.
Clint took only a few minutes to think his way through what he was about to do, before he climbed up the ladder in the center of the small, squarish pod, and unlatched the hatch. He heaved upwards, then scrambled up the rest of the ladder, nearly sliding down the sloped sides once he was perched on the edge of the hatch.
Intense blue water greeted him, the sun glinting blindingly off the waves, completely surrounding his little life pod. Clint shaded his eyes to peer dead ahead at the other view that snagged his attention. The Ronin, the ship he’d been riding the universe on, sat high over the water, on fire. A large gash in the hull bisected one of the engines, possibly the reason for the crash. Clint wouldn’t know until he could get on board and check it out for himself.
Clint slid down into the life pod again and took one of the seats. A chime at his belt called his attention to a slim piece of metal attached to a pane of glass with a crack in it. With a touch of his thumb to the fingerprint scanner, the metal turned on, revealing his Personal Device Assistant in the form of small holographic lights that created a touch interface.
The Stark Industries logo popped up, the icon moving as it loaded. A voice from a hidden speaker stated, "Greetings Clinton Francis Barton. My name is Friday, and I will be your personal assistant. Please wait while I do preliminary scans.” A high-pitched whine sounded, before Friday cheerfully said, “You have suffered minor head trauma. This is considered an optimal outcome. I have attempted a transmission to <The Ronin> and have encountered Directive 313. I will now reboot in emergency mode with one primary directive: to keep you alive on an alien world. Please refer to the databank I have uploaded for detailed survival advice. Good luck."
Clint sat, flabbergasted. Friday fell silent, the PDA going dark while Clint sat, frozen. “Fuck,” Clint muttered, running a hand through his short, dirty blonde hair. Then, louder, “FUCK!”
Furiously, Clint tapped the PDA’s glass to brighten the display again. “Friday, what is the look out for rescue?” The SI logo turned, before Friday replied, “I’m sorry, but unfortunately <The Ronin>’s systems are in lockdown, and you do not have the permissions to override this. Please see Second Officer Jed Whedon for more information.”
Clint asked, “Is there land nearby?” Friday paused, searching, before responding. “Currently, systems are operating at a limited capacity. Emergency Life Pod 5 systems are operating on minimum requirements. Recommendation, fix the life pod.”
Clint groaned and slouched in his seat. “Can you at least tell me if any other life pods made it,” he asked in exasperation.
Friday’s response plummeted his heart into his feet. “Currently, <The Ronin>’s systems are in lockdown.” Friday hesitated, before adding, “This Life Pod has a damaged transmission radio. If you repair it, you might be able to contact the other life pods.”
“A goal. Great. Goals are good,” Clint muttered to himself as he stood.
The life pod was equipped with two exits: the one Clint unceremoniously fell down and the first one he’d tried to use to scan his horizons, and an exit in the base of the life pod. Clint opened the floor hatch.
The underside of the small life pod lit up with lights, showing fish swimming in and out of a small, coral reef-like structure. Sunlight filtered through the waves, gently caressing the rocks and the bright red flora. “Is this water even safe,” asked Clint as he scrubbed his hand through his hair again. “Does it matter,” Clint asked himself bitingly.
Clint sighed. He needed a plan.
Clint paced the tiny confines of the life pod as he talked to himself. “Okay. So. Goals. First. Fix the life pod. Get that radio up and running. Second, see if I can contact Second Officer Whedon. If not, there should be life pods. I can’t be the only person who made it. So what, third should be locate the other life pods? Fourth. Get. Off. This. Rock.”
A plan firm in Clint’s mind, he nodded. “Alright.” Friday chimed in, “You might want to check the fabricator. It has a few items that might be of use.”
Clint crossed to the fabricator and booted it up. After a moment, the fabricator showed a massive index of items. As Clint scrolled through it, he noted that they were sorted into survival items dependent upon the terrain. “Friday, can we highlight the items we think I’ll need for a water-based planet,” Clint asked.
The fabricator’s selection screen fuzzed out, then rearranged itself. “I’ve put everything else away. As we explore the local terrain, it might be possible for the fabricator to synthesize items, and in turn allow you to create more items,” Friday announced after a moment. Clint grinned. “You are a champ,” he told the AI. The AI almost glowed with the praise.
Clint scrolled through the items. A hand-held scanner, a repair tool… oh yes, Clint could use this. “I recommend you obtain a scanner, in case you’re here for longer than a few days,” Friday announced. Clint frowned. “A few days,” he exclaimed, fighting down panic.
“Your heart rate has elevated, Mr. Barton,” Friday announced. “I recommend breathing exercises.” Clint inhaled through his nose slowly. “Okay. So, just in case, right,” he asked. Friday chimed, “It pays to be prepared, correct?”
Clint scanned the material requirements list. “Okay. I don’t even know where to find this stuff,” he half-laughed, half-cried. Friday adopted a soothing tone. “Mr. Barton, if I may, the fabricator has a self-scanner. If you bring it local rocks, it should be able to sort the rocks out for items you might use.”
“Magic,” grunted Clint as he stared at the water. “Science,” Friday responded. Clint sighed. “Are you waterproof,” he asked, knowing the answer was yes. “My casing is rated for a depth of 100 meters,” she responded. “Great. Let’s go for a swim,” Clint sighed.
Clint sat in the chair and dragged his boots off. He stuffed his socks into them for safe keeping, then stripped down to his boxers. “Here’s to hoping the water is warm enough,” Clint said sarcastically as he pulled out his hearing aids. “Friday, I’ll be back, and I won’t have ears.” With that, Clint shoved his feet into the surprisingly warm water.
As he dangled his feet, nothing came to nibble his toes. With a deep breath, Clint dropped into the water.