The Scrapper, Ch. 1

The airlock doors whooshed open, a sea of stale air washing over me as I left my shuttle. I needed a moment to feel safe, to pretend I hadn’t just been jumped on my way back from a salvage run, and nothing quite hit that mark like coming home. The main concourse felt empty, abandoned, strange because there’s usually a decent chunk of people milling around down here. Whatever, Dock 2A wasn’t for tourists, this was one of the commercial platforms.



I pulled my tablet out, intent on submitting a complaint, nothing like getting mugged! I watched the slow boot process scroll past, skimming for updates and bulletins.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————
EagleOS 2.4.3 R4.1
BIOS version 4.98
Kernel version 88.4.3 LTS
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 
>> LOG.INIT :: TS<ERROR LDST NOT SET USING PST>: 08:05:33 :: [BRK-GL1] “Brady-Ridley-Kepler welcomes you to our station!” 
>> * * Be sure to try the new Strawnana Replicator Strips! Twice the daily allotted amount of sodium, half the calories! * *
>> :: Voice recording and dictation started :: WARNING - YOUR LOG ENTRY MAY BE USED FOR TRAINING PURPOSES AND USAGE OF OUR SYSTEM CONSTITUTES AGREEMENT TO OUR TOS, PLEASE CONTACT STATION CONTROL FOR FULL TOS AGREEMENT
>> :: AUDIOLOG.BEGIN :: 
—————————————————————————————————————————————————   

    “Yeesh, these station broadcasts used to be news, now it’s just the latest sales pitch. Wasted airspace. Worse still, I have to brand this log just because I’m using your wifi? Note to self, make these logs on-ship and double check the auto-connect settings on the tablet.. so I don’t have to hand more of my data over to these freaks. “

    “Making this entry to note a few things about my most recent trip: For starters… THESE [CENSORED] RIPPERS. I have been out here busting my ass, dying of hypoxia in my paper thin pressure suit, for DAYS and these [CENSORED] think they can just waltz up and steal all of MY HARD WORK!? It’s horrible! It’s awful! It… honestly it’s going to keep happening until I get some hard points on this rust bucket and start defending myself. Normally before I go out I prepare and make sure I’m ready for what’s to come. Well, I didn’t have a lot of time to go over all the subtleties of this particular ship before I had to shoot my clamps off to the nearest wreck on radar- WHOSE SALVAGE LICENSE I ABSOLUTELY HAD IN HAND BEFORE I LEFT STATION. Ahem. So I flew over, broke off all the best pieces and then the vultures showed up. If I had any of their info I would report them…”

    “Looking back on it, that was a trap, wasn’t it? That was just… directly a trap I flew into… Dammit. I’m lucky I got out of there before they decided to scrap my ship and leave me for dead. Speaking of being ripped off, how is station rent 6000 credits a day? I LIVED here and it wasn’t that much for a month! UGH. I mean... I don't live topside, so maybe its closer to those numbers. I’m just so sick of eating replicator strips… Oo! I just lost wifi. Perfect, I can lock this down now.”

    “So… maybe I went a little far during that game of SolarJacks… For what it’s worth, if you’d seen that idiot’s hand reflected in his mirror shades… if you’d seen how cocky he was when he threw that shipfob into the pot… As soon as I realized what I was looking at I wasn’t in control anymore. Before I knew it, I was shoving my way past the bouncer’s third arm and running as fast as I could back to the rat hole I’ve been crashing in. Of course I left my credit chit on the table, but I just drained it paying my last round of bills anyway. I figured I could just strip the ship for quick cash. There’s always some quick creds to be made selling off some rich shaver's piss poor idea of decoration.”

    sigh


    “I shouldn’t have been surprised when I found “Our Lady’s Gambit” barely functional. 30,000 LYs on her, zero defensive measures, and some hull panels that were pretending to be functional, but if you put your hand close you could feel the actual vacuum of COLD DEAD SPACE just waiting to get in. I’ve been wearing my sticky, sweaty pressure suit almost non-stop because I’m terrified that the most gentle interstellar turbulence will rip this hunk of junk apart. That or something tetanus colored will catch me just right and leave me freeze dried while I’m trying to patch a hole, or salvage, or something.”

    “So obviously, I thought, I’ll take it out on a salvage run. Find something quick and fund my exodus from the BRK. That being said: It’s been real. It hasn’t been fun, and I hope the admin shareholders get spaced. Use that in your [CENSORED] training manual. Stupid autocensor.”

———————————————————————————————————————————————
>> SS.AI CAM_DOCK2a MOVEMENT DETECTED  
>> RECORDING START 
>> RUDE PHYSICAL GESTURE DETECTED———————————————————————————————————————————————

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I heard the door to the airlock hiss shut behind me as I walked back to my ship, skimming everything I’d just logged on the tablet. I can’t be too careful right now, StationSec is still looking for my ass and my shuttle isn’t registered. I don’t know why they let me dock, but I need to get resupplied. It’ll be a couple weeks before whatever they managed to pull from these logs actually got processed and linked back to me, but I should be long gone by then. I don’t think anyone seriously wants the ship back at this point, I think they just want to dump me out of an airlock and watch me struggle.



My reflection stared back at me from the black camera domes overhead as I dragged the laser accumulator block I cut out from my "new" ship across the steel plate floors. Deep, old drag scars regularly caught the uneven edges of this piece of lead as I strained onto station with it. Dark, paint chipped walls loomed over my shoulder, judging my heavy breathing and lack of stamina. 

    “Back in my day we didn’t have GravDollys, had to lift with our own muscles! Upstation! Both ways!” Emdee’s voice came back to to me. I never understood the logistics of that particular saying. Like.. did you take a shuttle back down after dragging things upstation? Did this all happen during the construction phase of the station? If that's the case, the artificial gravity wouldn't be working yet, so you’d just be floating in zero-g…

    "You’re thinking too much, kid.” Emdee in my head again. She was right.

Whatever, I knew BRK would take the accumulator. I was the one who constantly told the salvage super that the one down on SL4 was on it’s last legs. As soon as that enriched rubidium strobed out it would dump most of the sector off-grid. No power means no life support and there’s a lot of good folks down here. Twelve times in the past three years I’ve told them that accumulator is already running at 30% capacity and it wasn’t going spontaneously evolve more catalyst.

During Station Bootstrapping(tm), all of the subfloors were given One (1) working industrial setup, intended to create and supply enough power to support X amount of crew, provide Y amount of power to utilize and feed back to the station proper, functional life support with enough starter material, and Zero (0) support afterwards. Upper floors receive a similar package but more with interconnected throughways, intended for more residential living spaces and offices for Station Admin. Glossy plastic and shiny metal.

Meanwhile, the subfloors develop into giant cargo docks and scrapyards with huge freight elevators. Rat holes sprang up everywhere in between, the same holes I grew up in. The economics of the station were secondary for me, first and foremost: I am a Scrapper.
Scrap itself gets sold at a fair market rate per good ol’ “Howards v. Vulcan-Aerodyne SpaceDynamics Co.”, the precedent that made salvage a real career for a lot of people out there, including me. After scrap gets sold, it’s broken down into components. Sometimes those got used directly, sometimes they were refurbished if they looked rough visually but the internals were still good. At the end of the cycle, every station has SOME kind of salvage kiosk to sell to, and every station has scrappers making runs, just trying to survive. 

It naturally follows that every station has a junk yard. Which means every station got an excess of components that they didn’t have any use for. Makes you wonder what shaver actually allowed these eternally growing trash heaps to exist. It just means more weight, more fuel consumption to stay in orbit, which means BRK needs more money to purchase resources, which leads to more scrap, which leads to more weight… Oh, no no, I don’t know what I’m talking about. They don’t teach 20 year olds Basic Orbital Economics and Space Station Logistics. This is just my "uneducated guess".

The laser accumulator I’d ripped from the Gambit was… okay… for the most part. I’m pretty sure something chipped off when it fell over crossing the seam lines between hallways.. Oh well, there’s enough plastic in these that a few broken knobs and sensors won't impact final value enough to matter (and the gross weight was still correct). I didn't need to make any system jumps to get away from here.. I just needed enough fuel to throw myself at the next nearest station.

I started tapping on the kiosk’s control panel, gulping down huge breaths of recycled air. The sales terminal blipped to life in front of me:

—————————————————————————————————————————————————
>> WELCOME TO BRADY-RIDLEY-KEPLER [BRK-GL1] 
>> DOCK 2A SCRAP SALES KIOSK 
>> SPONSORED BY CALORIE CUBES(TM)! 
>> NOW ONLY 18% INEDIBLE CONTENT BY “WEIGHT”!
>> PLEASE SELECT SALE TYPE 
>> accumulator |
>> SHIP TYPE 
—————————————————————————————————————————————————

    “Shit.. it was a… I had it right here..” I began looking around the accumulator itself, hoping to see some kind of branding, compatibility chart, hell even a stray logo would.. Ah there it is!

—————————————————————————————————————————————————
>> JEEOL MFG TU-J11 |
>> CONFIRM COMPONENT 
—————————————————————————————————————————————————

A small opening on the kiosk popped open, and a handheld scanner rose from the metal innards to greet me. I pawed absently for the scanner with one hand, the other digging through my tote for my Internal codes. Emdee taught me early on to snag a pic of these codes whenever I see one. “The thinky bits in these scanners,” Emdee explained, “take a picture of the code and then it finds a nearby camera and snaps a picture of the scrap you’re selling.” 

This then gets marked as the “Incoming Scrap Condition”, minus however it looks. It’ll get you a quick quote on those days you can’t be bothered, or if you didn't know any better. You could get around this “handy feature” by having one of the internal maintenance codes on-hand instead. Basically this was the same manufacturer information that’s on the external codes, but with additional metadata about the specific internals. That told the sales kiosk “here’s everything that I contain, no need to gauge what I might be by a fuzzy, badly lit photo.” On average you’d get 20% extra for having these exact numbers to feed the system. On a lucky day you’d hit a rare variant and the extra creds would float you for a few weeks.

Finding these internal codes isn’t hard, but keeping all the ships sorted by name, size, local variants, model years, which section of the internals it came from.. that was the pain in the ass. Needless to say, if you took the time to assemble your internals DB, you kept it close. 

I flipped to my Jensen-Einstein-Einhorn-Orpheus-Lingden Manufacturing tab (yeah JEEOL MFG was way easier) and started scrolling down the list. AH-12 (junk), ER2-41G (junk unless it's new), JJ-KL8 (to own one of those bad boys.. red titanium body, peaked out rubidium drive so it gets that deep growl…), MR-5A… Seriously it was right here..

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP the kiosk started screaming at me. I peered down to see what the issue was. 

—————————————————————————————————————————————————
>> 40…39…38… CONTINUE SESSION?… 36… 35… 
—————————————————————————————————————————————————

I frowned, these impatient fuckin’ machines.. like I don’t have places to be… 
No no.. I corrected myself, it’s not the machine’s fault. Greedy station admins programmed that timer. I pulled the trigger on the scanner and it beeped a pleasant recognition on the TU-J11. 

—————————————————————————————————————————————————
>> MODEL CONFIRMED… COMPONENT CONFIRMED… PROCESSING.. 
>> PAYOUT: C.6791, ACCEPT? REJECT? 
—————————————————————————————————————————————————

I stared in disbelief at the terminal. 6700 creds for this? 6700 CREDS FOR THIS ENTIRE ACCUMULATOR?! Rage boiled inside me, my fist clenched on the scanner and the kiosk gently beeped, reminding me to return it. 

This wasn’t even going to cover the fucking DOCKING + admin fees! How on earth was I going to afford to recharge my batteries, or…or fuel up to get to the next station? HOW WAS I GOING TO AFFORD ANOTHER SALVAGE LICENSE?! 

The questions kept piling up, the pittance flashing at me on the screen, the quiet beep becoming more insistent. My mouth hung open and I could feel whatever youthful energy I still had draining from me. My eyes unfocused, staring vacantly at the space behind the kiosk.
Suddenly, rage surged into the emotional vacuum. My knuckles turned white clenching the scanner, before I knew it I was smashing the terminal screen. 

—————————————————————————————————————————————————
>> PAYOUT ACCEPT? REJECT? >> 
—————————————————————————————————————————————————

The screen flashed every time I slammed the scanner into it. Chips of plastic flew away as the screen finally gave, cracking and splintering into oblivion

—————————————————————————————————————————————————
>> P?YOUUUUUU AC///? RECJET?? >?>
>> PAOUT TIMMMMMMT IN 6S0XXX >>
>> PAYLLT ACCPE? REJ////T? 60… 59… 58888 57… 56… >>
>> $&&@(((GA*EGN.  AG*)*AEG**.  AE*G*)EAGH >>
>> UNRECGO!NZ ED IN7UT >> 
>> accept | &!#(*%^^^
>> PAYOUUU ACCPT, TRNAFRRRR c TO ACTT END\\!. IN *499 >>
>> EN?D TRANNNNN??CTION <<
>> ........................ << 
>> V4NDLLLLSM DT37#D3T, REP#0RT 7UBM1TTTTTD <<
—————————————————————————————————————————————————
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sipped at my drink, the tavern I’d slipped into wasn’t much more than a cubby that someone had brought water and booze down to, threw a lock on a door or two, and called it a bar. A pair of girls sat nearby, giggling and talking way too loudly for a private conversation. Must be nice not having to worry about who heard you. The central ordering node sat in the middle of the table, an automation device intended to make it easier for a single person to manage the counter, stock, clean, and take orders all at the same time. It was listening to me, there’s no way it wasn’t.

    “HAHA! Oh my gosh and then what happened?”   

    “Girl, this man then went into the bathroom for 20 minutes and came back out.. IN NOTHING BUT HIS HELMET!”

    “Oh Keeper, you didn’t seriously still have sex with him after that did you?”       

    “I mean, he went through all that trouble just to show up and try to impress me, I kinda had t-“  

Movement across my table caught my attention, a familiar shape had appeared and was leaning against the uneven table, rocking it in my direction. The girls nearby broke into laughter again. Their giggling was obnoxious, devolving into snorts and wheezes. Honestly I could see why, I couldn’t help but grin myself.  

    “Hey, glad you could make it,” I tipped my glass of water towards him and gave a nod towards the ordering terminal.

    “Hey yourself,” he replied, giving me a nod and a shake of his hand towards my offer. “Wanna explain why you’re still here? I thought you said folks were after you?”    
 

    “Yeah, I did say that, but I also kind of need money to leave. It’s fine, I’m keeping a low profile”    

He hitched a finger towards the hallway in the direction I’d come from, “You just smashed one of three working scrap terminals on the station and you think you’re keeping a low fucking profile?” 

    “Could have been anyone.. look are you going to help me or not?”

    “Help you with what, exactly? How many more times are you gonna ask me to stick my neck out for your stupid little schemes?”

    “I… you know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me-“

    “So you claim”

    “BUT.. this is gonna be the last time I ask. Probably the last time I’ll see this station again. At least for a good while… I have a plan.”  

    “Is this.. really the best place to have that conversation?” 

I fished out the multiple bolts I had pulled earlier from my side of the airlock connecting tube and tossed them onto the table. They rang out and rolled to a stop, my friend’s eyes widened with recognition.

    “Stra’kal, what have you been doing?” He said in a harsh whisper, his eyebrows furrowing.

I winced, I knew that tone, he wasn’t happy and this was going to be a tough sell. “I told you, Tak, I have a plan.”
 

He shook his head a let out a deep sigh. “Send me the details in a bit and I’ll consider it, okay?”

Knock-knock I rapped my knuckles on the table. Tak nodded and turned to leave while I stayed put and finished my drink. The water down here had a vague taste of iron to it, a certain room temperature diluted rust. We called it tetanus lovingly, but it was honestly a decent way to keep your iron up as you went about your daily cycles. I processed my payment at the terminal and left as casually as I could, dipping into the side alleys that constituted the inner workings of the station, considering my next steps.

I wish he hadn’t said my name. Dammit, every security protocol is watching me right now and this idiot had to say my full name. May as well have just blurted out everything I had in mind while the drink terminal was recording.

I don’t know how other stations work, but ours has a bad reputation for being.. lets say “generously funded" by the Big 3 Patrons, and they loved to listen in. Those patrons of course being Vulcan-Aerodyne SpaceDynamics Co (VASco), Gorshner Interplanetary Manufacturing (GIM), and Sunspot Wholesale Inc. (SWI). Suffice it to say, anything and everything you did, said, bought, or consumed was monitored, recorded, and sold to the highest bidder. Back during Earth times they already figured out how to use that kind of information for... less than legal purposes. It shouldn't come as a shock that their direct descendants would continue the tradition.

The astute among you will notice I included their stock tickers, just in case you felt so hopeless as to throw some of your own meager credits towards these absolute behemoths of industry, telling yourself that one day all of your hard work and your 3 GIM stocks will balloon into something that will keep you from working for the next 20 years.

The Big 3 had put up most of the funding and materials to build the BRK, but after they finished construction and cut the tape back in ’88 they ran. They ran because there were other stations to build, because there was money to be made throughout the whole galaxy, because this was “just the beginning”, but mostly they ran because they didn’t want to be associated with the forced servitude that this station (and all the others) require to function in perpetuity. 

Fast forward a few generations to the present: you have entire familial slave lines (sorry, “generational employees”) that have never left station, never orbited a planet, never gone out on a salvage run, but they DID pretended to watch just enough of the required teaching modules to understand “How To Not (Immediately) Die In Space” (six time award winner for "Most Useful Learning Module”, circa 3031x).

Maybe I’m upset because this fucking tram I hopped on is plastered in SWI ads and I’m REAL sick of that particular brand of replicator strip. I’ve been chewing on those things since I got stationside, and I had a few hangnails left to grind my teeth to dust on, but man… what I’d do for a hopper burger right now.

The tram was headed station-north, away from the docks and towards the industrial module for SubLevel 4. I needed some heavier gear if my plan was going to work. I’d already pulled all the extra bolts I could without throwing alarms, but, shockingly, there were some actual safety measures in place to keep ships docked and not explosively decompressing. Real Honest-to-Keeper safety measures. Guard rails, on the other hand, were a naive dream, and engaging in “proper workplace safety" just meant you came home at the end of the cycle. I guess once you were safe inside from the horrors of the void, safety became your responsibility again. 



Scrapping was almost exclusively part of the “your responsibility” category which shouldn’t come as a surprise. Exiting your ship in a flimsy spacesuit, risking tears, decompression, hypoxia, or literally anything else you can imagine going wrong while inside a ship, with the added terror that you were always outside of a ship. It wasn’t an easy job, but it made creds.

I started when I was a kid. It was that or die, basically. That’s not hyperbole, you get two options once you turn 10:

-    Have enough skill and talent to leave the station on scholarship/work study (e.g. nepotism)

-    Salvage ops (or just scavenging whatever you can to stay alive)


Unfortunately, being a skilled scrapper isn’t something folks want planetside. It’s not a super educated position, and doing most of your work in zero-g is a skill that’s useless anywhere the air doesn’t smell like farts (aka: planets, stations that actually gave a shit, non-corporate "slavery is bad" entities, etc)

No, scrapping was dangerous, freelance, and absolutely expected if you were living on the station and had no other marketable skills. I read about some planets doing a.. Well-fair? General-income? I've got the names wrong, but it sounded like how we hand out food to drifters. Having bodies around to help when a stray asteroid broke through the defensive satellites was a must, and in order to have bodies, you had to keep them fed. “Dead hands can’t hold hands,” as Emdee used to say.

I glanced up from my seat, the tram clunking along the magtrack. I felt at least four separate points that were starting to slip. The gearing must be wearing out up there, teeth aren’t quite hooking like they should… or maybe the electromags were running low on power so something was slipping. Gee, sure sounds like they could use a new laser accumulator block, sure hope SOMEONE gets one of those stationside at SOME point… Would be AWESOME if they got paid what it was worth.

I looked down to find myself staring at my tablet, my notepad staring back. I had even started typing it out: “tram ab-r, between points F22-F36”. I didn’t need this note. I was never going to send this request to MaintOps to investigate (as though they ever did anything preventative anyway). I held the backspace key until the screen was clear and stuffed my tablet back into my jacket. Staring at the passing vestiges of industry long past I felt my eyes unfocus again.

The reflection of my face in the glasstic window showed the circles beneath my eyes. The scratches and dust just in front of my eyes were imminently opaque now that they were in focus. I pulled my goggles down and managed to smear everything into a sludgy paste thanks to all the dust and grease my clothing had accumulated. 

This day was not going well. I unclipped the bleeder line from my backup air and blasted away the dirt and grime as best I could. Then, digging through my tote I pulled out the only “clean” piece of clothing I still had on me. The synthetic fibers didn’t do a good job of actually absorbing anything, but overall my underwear was the best lens cleaner I had right now.

I pulled my notepad back up: “lens cleaner x1, soft cloth x1, saline”. It was going to be a long trip, I really should stock up on the essentials. Most ships came with a standard supply but… yeah I’d need to check on that between this tool run and actually enacting the escape plan. Maybe Tak could bring some things down to the port and I could move them in when I got a chance. I kept running the plan through in my head and there was very VERY little chance this was going to go well. 


Just like when I turned 10, I had two choices:    

⁃    Stay here and die in prison (or more likely a mining freighter out on MCJ-IFR)
    
⁃    Escape


Dying would have been easy, mining would be boring, escape was difficult.  

Good thing I like a challenge. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

My fingernail was being weird again. I thought there was grease stuck under the nail or maybe some iron dust, but then I saw the layers splitting. Kind of looks like it’s growing in two separate chunks after a certain point. Maybe from when the thruster shield plating fell on it? Keeper that hurt, my thumb was swollen for three entire cycles thanks to the reduced gravity. Did the nail fall off that time or…

    “Kal?”

Or maybe it was when my hand got caught on the transport door and they had to throw the emergency stop? Everyone was so pissed.. I remember the glares, everyon-

    “KAL”

I looked up, startled. The BRK’s very own beard monster, Lopi, stared at me through his tremendous bristles.

    “Ya with me, lad? Gonna paint yer nails for a date or somethin?”

I shook my head, putting the heel of my hand in my eye to try and stave off exhaustion. My goggles shifted and threatened to spring off my head, I dropped them down around my neck to be safe.

    “Yeah, sorry. What do I owe you?”

Lopi rolled his eyes, looking down at the spread I’d laid before him.  “Should ‘ah even expect payment now? Looks like you’ve got a hell of a lead if you’re picking up all this gear. Convince me it’s worth it and ah’ll consider not chargin’ ye double… as a friend," he looked up and gave me a wink.

I smiled at him. Lopi had been good to me, that was for sure. I glanced around his shop one last time. It looked like any other rat-hole shop, but that was just the storefront. I knew behind the red plastic sheet in the back there was a world of machines that I was still learning how to use correctly. 

I leaned in towards the red and brown mane that called itself Lopi, making sure to round my shoulders and put my back to the camera staring at me from the hallway..

    "Look, I know I’m asking a lot here…”

Lopi scoffed and rolled his eyes, “‘ere he goes.”

    “But I’ve got a bit of a… hot piece that I’m trying to get off station… it’s not illegal!” I put my hands up as Lopi stood upright, 

    “..it’s not illegal. It’s just… complicated.”

    “Oh ah’ve heard this one before!”

    “Hear me out! Please, c’mon! Look, I’m all paid up from last time right?” 

    “Paid UP ain’t the same as paid OFF, Kal.”

    “Okay okay, but- hang on..” My tablet blipped at me. I ignored the notification and turned back to the hairy monster man, “okay but I DO have a lead on some more salvage. I’ve already got the license,” Lopi narrowed his eyes at me. I dug into my back pocket, my hand brushed past the key that started this whole mess. 

    “Look,” I held up the gray plastic card from my latest run. I knew the ship itself was barren after I had been through it, and the rippers were probably drinking well right now thanks to my labor. The shiny “VASCo Salvage” logo reflected bits of light on the wall behind Lopi. His red eyes narrowed behind the walrus beard he called eyebrows. 

    “It expires in two cycles.”

    “Yeah?”

    “You expect to bring me back enough to pay for all this.. in two cycles?”

    “I’d already be gone if we weren’t having this discussion.”

    “Keeper eternal, Kal. Askin’ me to stick me neck out like this…”

My tablet blipped, I continued to feign ignorance.

    “If I told you Tak was in on it, would that help?”

    “Ye convinced that lil shaver?” 

His enormous hand emerged from behind the counter to scratch thoughtfully at his chin, buried somewhere in the forest of hairs. A deep grumble emerged from his throat and one eye shot open. 
“Can yeh put ANYthin’ down? Me books have been lookin’ rough lately, and the station fees ain’t getting any cheaper..”

I winced involuntarily and pulled my tablet out to see if the accumulator creds had come through. To my surprise, I had missed 14 notifications and a few emails- all spam.  

    “…how much are we talking?"

Lopi shrugged, “Standard for any large purchase, 10%”

I looked back at my current bank balance and did the math: I’d need to get a forward from my only loancard.. those had steep interest but it’s not like I’d be here when the sharks showed up to collect. So, based on what I have now… yeah this should work and I can shift the payments out for a litt-

    “Hey!” Lopi’s hands crashed together, blasting the smell of stale air and a specific combination of oil and oxidating metal that I can only describe as “machine shop” past my face. 

    “Ye or Ne?” He grumble-asked.

    “Ye- I mean, yes, yeah. Yeah I can do that,” I nodded, swallowing in my increasingly dry throat. The forward had just shown up in my account, so I put together the transfer and sent over my current life savings to one of the few adult figures I still trusted. It hurt, but it felt right in a way. It felt right that I’d have to provide for myself once I got out of here, that I’d have to start from the ground and work my way up, just my own two hands. Once I escaped the ball and chain that BRK had become to me, I was gonna make a name for myself! Salvage up enough parts to deck out my new ride and turn it into a wrecker for the ages! Hire some crew, get into a routine… yeah! Biggest salvage operation this side of the galactic belt, ha!

Lopi nodded as my down payment crossed over, he gestured to the table with enough industrial equipment to reduce a colony ship to scrap, “You uh… want a bag for that?”

    “Have it delivered to dock 2A, port 3,” I bared my teeth in a wolfish smile, “and let them know a tech will be by shortly to get that hauled into cargo.”

—————————————————————————————————————————————————
>> PC.ss.ai >> FOLLOW PROTOCOL RUNNING
>>S1.TCB.conversation SAVED TO /WRK
>> S1.HALL.pathing SAVED TO /RTE
>> S1.DOOR.door UNKNOWN DOOR
>> S1.DOOR DOOR LOOKUP
>> RUNNING……. . . . . .  .  .   .    .     .     .
>> DOOR NOT FOUND
>> RUNNING LOCATION ASSESSMENT
>> LOCAL MARKETS
>> HOVEL DOOR
>> NEARBY HEAVY MACHINERY
>> SEARCHING LOCAL ADVERTISEMENTS
>> SEARCHING LOCAL NETWORK
>> SEARCHING LOCAL RETINAL IMPLANT RECORDS
>> ASSESSING…. . . . .   .  .   .  .    .     .    .
>> 77% LIKELY MATCH: LOPI N’TURIK, LOCAL MACHINIST, KNOWN AFFILIATE OF S1.KAL
>> ACCESSING LOCAL CAMERAS
>> S1.CAM.HALL4-1A-MARKET 
>> RECORDING START
>> S1.CAM…> odelia@******** -k -suppress 
>> S1.CAM…> sudo pcai.service 
>> S1.CAM…> Enter Password: *********
>> S1.CAM…> Incorrect password or username
>> S1.CAM…> sudo pcai.service
>> S1.CAM…> Enter Password: ********
>> S1.CAM…> pcai.service terminal starting….…. Done!
>> ………………………………………………………
>> S1.CAM…> sudo pcai cleanslate
>> S1.CAM…> logout
>> l o g i n u s e r : r o o t
>>   :—: :—: :—: :—:
>>   …# :?
>> sudo pcai.service
>>  :—: :—: :—: :—: 
>> .\sa8318v8sd8g88130t.din
>> Restoring….. Splitting….. Done!
>>%&.     :)
>>
>#
>#  !:D
># cd /local/network/.cameras/docks/dock2/A/3
># scp $_.self  IN3_4_0.p36.DOCK -> IN6_22_4.p2.SHIP
># TRANSFER IN PROGRESS……

⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⣴⠶⣶⣲⠶⣖⡶⢶⣲⠶⣖⡶⢶⣲⠶⣖⡶⢶⣲⠶⣖⡶⢶⣲⠶⣖⡶⢶⣲⠶⣖⡶⢶⣲⠶⣖⡶⢶⣲⠶⣖⡶⢶⣲⠶⣖⡶⢶⣲⠶⣖⡶⣄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠄⠄⣠⣾⣛⣞⢿⣱⢯⣻⣝⠾⣏⣷⢻⣝⡾⣏⣷⢻⣝⡾⣏⣷⢻⣝⡾⣏⣷⢻⣝⡾⣏⣷⢻⣝⡾⣏⣷⠻⣝⡾⣏⣷⢻⣝⡾⣏⣷⢻⣝⡾⣏⣷⢻⣝⡾⣝⣻⢆⠄⠄
⢀⣼⡻⣖⣟⣮⢯⣛⡾⣵⠞⠿⡹⠮⢟⠮⠷⣻⡼⣛⣮⢷⡻⣼⣛⣮⢷⡻⣼⣛⣮⢷⡻⡼⠛⠎⠑⠁⠈⠄⠄⠈⠈⢞⡿⣼⢳⣻⡼⣛⣮⢷⡻⣼⣛⣮⡽⣝⣧⡟⣷⡄
⢸⣳⢯⡽⣞⡜⠉⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢷⡻⣝⣮⢷⡻⣵⡻⣼⣳⢻⣵⢻⣼⣳⡉⠄⠄⠄⠄⢀⠄⡀⣀⣠⣀⢨⢷⣫⢯⢷⣹⢟⣼⣳⢻⣵⣛⣶⢻⣝⡶⣻⡵⡃
⢸⢧⣟⣳⡽⣞⡀⣀⣠⣄⣤⠶⡴⢦⠶⣴⣂⡼⣝⣯⢞⣳⢯⣳⢟⡵⣯⢻⣼⣛⡶⣽⣹⣤⠶⣼⠶⣯⠿⣽⣹⢧⠿⣭⢷⣫⡟⣾⣹⡞⣧⢿⣹⢶⡻⣼⢻⡼⣝⣧⠿⡅
⢸⣏⡾⢧⣟⠾⣝⣳⠷⣞⣞⣻⠽⣏⣿⢣⣟⠾⣝⣮⢟⡽⣞⡽⢾⣹⣞⡻⣖⣯⡽⣞⣵⣫⢟⣧⣟⣳⢟⣧⢟⡾⣻⣝⡾⣣⣟⢧⡷⣻⣝⡾⣹⢾⣹⣳⢯⡽⢾⣱⡟⡇
⢸⡞⣽⣏⡾⣻⣭⢯⣻⠝⠊⠋⠛⠙⠊⠛⠚⠻⣝⣮⢟⡽⣞⡽⣏⡷⢾⣹⢷⡺⣵⣻⢼⣳⠛⠚⠘⠋⠚⠙⠚⠙⢷⣺⢳⣟⣼⡻⣼⣳⢾⣹⡽⣳⢏⡾⡽⣞⢯⣳⣻⡅
⢸⡽⣳⡞⣽⡳⢾⣭⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢸⡞⣯⡽⣞⡽⣞⡽⣏⣷⣫⣽⢳⣭⠷⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢨⢷⣛⡾⣖⢿⣱⢯⣞⡧⢿⡭⣟⡽⣳⢯⣏⡷⢧⡇
⢸⣳⢯⡽⣳⣛⣯⢾⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢸⣽⣣⣟⠾⣝⡾⣝⡾⣱⠷⣭⣟⢮⣟⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⡀⠄⠄⢨⢷⣫⢷⣫⢯⡽⣞⢧⣟⢯⣳⢯⣽⢳⢯⣞⡽⣛⡆
⢸⢧⣟⣳⣏⡷⡽⢾⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣴⢶⡄⠄⠄⢸⣶⢻⣼⢻⣝⡾⣝⡾⣝⣻⣳⢞⣯⢞⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣿⡽⠄⠄⢨⢷⣫⢷⣫⣟⡼⣏⡿⣼⣫⢷⡻⣼⢏⡿⣜⡯⣟⡆
⢸⣏⡾⣵⢾⣹⡽⣻⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣞⢯⡆⠄⠄⢸⠾⣝⣞⢯⣞⣳⢟⡼⣏⡷⡽⢾⣹⡞⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣿⢞⠁⠄⢨⢷⣫⢷⣳⢾⣹⣳⡽⣣⣟⠾⣝⣧⢿⣹⡽⣞⢧⡇
⢸⡞⣽⢞⣧⠿⣼⢻⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣞⡟⡆⠄⠄⢸⢿⣹⡞⣯⣞⡽⢾⣹⡽⣞⡽⣏⡷⡽⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣿⣫⠄⠄⢨⢷⣫⢷⣫⣞⢷⣣⣟⣳⣭⢿⣹⢮⡟⣮⣗⢯⣛⡆
⢸⡽⣫⢾⡭⡿⣭⢿⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠾⣝⠇⠄⠄⢸⣛⣶⢻⡵⣾⣹⣏⡷⡽⣞⡽⣞⡽⡽⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢿⡵⠄⠄⢨⢷⣫⢷⣫⣞⢯⣳⡞⣧⡟⡾⣭⢷⡻⣵⡞⣯⡽⡆
⢸⣳⢯⣗⣻⣵⢻⠾⣄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢀⡼⣏⡾⣏⣷⢳⣳⢾⣹⢗⣯⣳⢯⣽⢳⣀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣬⢷⣫⢷⣫⣞⢯⣳⡽⢧⢿⣹⡳⣯⢽⡶⣻⡵⣏⡇
⢸⢧⣟⢮⠷⣞⡯⢿⣹⣏⢿⣹⢯⣻⣝⢯⡟⡾⣝⡾⣳⣽⣚⡯⣗⣯⡽⣞⢧⡟⣞⣞⡯⣽⢾⣹⢯⣻⣝⣯⢻⡽⣽⡺⣝⡾⣣⢯⣟⡼⣽⣫⢯⣗⣻⡵⣻⢞⣳⡽⣞⡅
⢸⣏⡾⣏⣿⢣⣟⢯⣗⡾⣫⢷⣫⠷⣞⣯⢾⣝⢯⣞⢷⣣⢿⣱⡟⣶⣛⡾⣫⡽⣏⡾⣝⡾⣣⣟⣳⡽⣺⡼⣏⣷⢳⣻⣝⡾⣝⡷⢾⣹⢶⣏⡷⣞⣧⠿⣭⡟⣧⡟⡾⡅
⢸⡞⣵⣻⡼⣛⣮⠿⣜⡷⢯⣳⣏⢿⡳⢾⣹⢮⣟⢮⣯⢽⡞⣧⡟⣧⡟⣵⢯⣳⢯⡽⣞⣳⢟⡼⣧⢟⣳⡽⣝⣮⢟⡵⣾⣹⡞⣽⣫⡽⣞⢾⣹⡞⡾⣽⣣⣟⢧⡿⣹⠇
⢸⡽⣳⢧⢿⣹⡞⣯⣻⡼⢯⣳⡞⣯⡽⣏⣷⣛⣮⠿⣼⡳⢯⣳⡻⣵⡻⡽⣞⡽⣞⣳⢯⡽⢾⣝⣞⢯⣳⡽⣫⣞⢯⡽⣶⢻⣼⣳⣭⢷⣫⢯⣳⡽⣛⣶⢻⣼⢻⡼⣏⡇
⢸⣳⢏⣿⣚⣧⢟⣳⢧⡟⣯⣳⡽⣳⣽⣹⢶⡻⣼⢻⣵⢻⣏⡷⣻⡵⣻⢽⡞⣽⡞⣽⡞⣽⣏⡾⣞⢯⣳⡽⣳⣭⡟⡾⣵⡻⣖⣯⢞⣳⣏⣯⢷⣹⢟⣼⡻⣼⢏⣷⣛⡆
⢸⢧⣟⡮⢷⣹⠾⣽⡺⣽⢳⡧⣟⣳⢮⢷⣫⣽⢳⡟⣮⣟⣼⡳⣏⡷⢯⣳⣛⣧⠟⠧⠟⠳⠞⠓⠋⠋⠁⠉⠁⠁⠁⠄⠈⢻⡵⣞⢯⢷⣺⡵⣏⣟⢾⣣⣟⢧⣟⣮⡽⡆
⢸⣏⡾⣝⡯⣏⣿⢣⣟⣳⡏⠁⠉⠉⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢸⣳⢯⣻⢞⣧⢟⡾⣹⣞⣳⡞⣯⣞⢶⡻⡅
⢸⡞⣽⡞⣽⡳⣞⣻⡼⢧⢿⣤⡀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⣠⢤⡤⣤⢤⡤⣤⢤⡤⣤⢤⣀⣀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢀⡴⣞⣧⢟⣧⡟⣮⡟⣽⢧⣻⡼⣽⢳⡞⣯⣽⡃
⢸⡽⣣⣟⣳⡽⣝⣧⢟⡯⡷⣞⣳⢦⣀⠄⠄⠄⢠⡾⣽⣹⣞⣳⡽⣞⣳⡽⣞⣳⡽⢾⣹⢮⣟⡄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⢀⡴⣫⣞⢷⡺⢯⣶⣛⣧⢿⣹⡞⣧⣟⠾⣭⢿⣱⠾⡅
⢸⣳⢟⣼⡳⣽⢫⣞⢯⣳⢟⣽⡺⣽⣚⡷⣤⣀⠄⠙⠧⢷⡞⣧⡟⡾⣵⣛⡾⡵⠛⠏⠓⠋⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣤⣼⢻⣼⡳⣏⣯⣽⣛⣶⢻⣼⢳⣏⣾⢳⡞⣿⣹⠾⣭⠿⡅
⢸⢧⣟⢾⣹⡳⣟⡞⣯⣳⢟⣮⡽⣳⡽⣞⡵⢯⣛⡷⣤⣄⡀⠁⠙⠙⠊⠓⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣠⡶⣟⣳⣭⡟⣶⢻⣝⡶⣳⢏⡾⣏⡾⣏⡾⡵⣯⣛⡾⣵⣻⣭⠿⡅
⢸⣏⣾⢫⣗⣻⡵⣻⢧⡟⣞⣧⢟⣧⢟⣾⣹⢯⡽⣞⢧⡟⣽⣻⠶⣶⠶⡶⢶⢶⠶⣶⠶⣶⢶⣻⢯⡽⣝⣳⢮⣟⣭⡟⣮⣽⢫⣯⢷⣫⢷⣫⢷⡻⣵⢏⡷⣏⡶⣏⡿⡅
⢸⡞⣵⡻⣞⣵⣛⣧⡟⣾⣝⡮⣟⣮⢟⡶⣏⣷⣛⡾⣫⣽⢳⣭⣟⠾⣝⣻⡽⣞⣻⡵⣻⢧⡟⣧⢿⣹⠾⣭⢷⡞⣧⣟⣳⣞⣻⡼⣳⢏⣷⣫⢷⡻⣵⢯⣛⡾⣝⣳⡽⡃
⢸⡽⣳⢯⡽⣎⡷⢧⣟⣳⢾⣹⣞⢮⡟⣾⣹⢶⣫⢷⣻⢼⣛⡶⣏⣿⡹⣧⢟⡾⣵⣛⣧⢿⣹⢾⣹⡞⣯⣛⣮⢟⡵⣞⣳⡞⣧⠿⣭⡟⣶⢏⣷⢻⡵⣯⢏⡷⣏⡷⣽⡃
⠘⢷⣫⢷⣫⡽⣞⠿⣜⣯⡞⣷⢺⢯⣽⢳⡽⣞⡽⣞⢧⡿⣹⣞⡽⢶⣻⡵⢯⣛⣶⢻⣼⡳⢯⣳⣏⣾⢳⣻⡼⣏⡿⣭⡗⣯⡽⣏⡷⢯⡽⢾⡭⣟⠾⣵⢯⣛⡾⡽⢶⠁
⠄⠄⠙⠧⣟⡵⣯⢿⣹⢶⡻⣭⢿⣹⢮⡟⣵⡻⣞⣭⡟⣞⡷⣹⣞⢯⣳⡽⣏⡿⣼⣛⣶⢻⣏⡷⢾⣱⢯⠷⣽⣺⣵⣳⢻⣵⣛⡾⣝⣯⡽⣳⢯⡽⣻⣝⡾⣭⢷⡻⠁⠄
⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⠙⠞⠧⠟⠾⠝⠳⠯⠳⠯⠽⠳⠯⠽⠶⠻⠝⠾⠳⠭⠿⠱⠟⠾⠵⠳⠯⠞⠯⠞⠽⠯⠽⠞⠻⠧⠷⠞⠭⠟⠶⠏⠷⠛⠶⠻⠝⠾⠝⠳⠾⠹⠚⠁⠄⠄⠄

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Sub level 4, hallway 9, behind a very broken, crushed advertisement for “Seahorse Spritzers” and nestled in-between two identical cargo containers was the spot I called home. The containers themselves were occupied long before I got there and had a pretty consistent flow of drifters coming through. Kids, adults, addicts, disabled, broken, beaten, damned, we took all of them down here, mostly because they wouldn’t up top. You learned real fast how to defend yourself and spot shady happenings from a kilo off. Most folks, not all, figured out that StationSec wasn’t here for their safety as much as they were here to protect the B3P’s investments, e.g. the station itself. So long as it made money, they were happy, and things could make money while being 80% broken, so why bother fixing stuff before you had to?

Just a quick stop at home for some essentials and then I’m out of here like YesterYear. I’ll make sure StationSec will be trying to pick up my trail for cycles to come. Yeah, just a quick in and out… Well, that was the idea at least.

 

I ducked beneath the Spritzer advert and felt my blood run cold. The familiar gleam of chromed out shoulder pads reflected through the halls; Station Security was already here. I saw them speaking with the Madre of the cargo pod I usually get my breakfast from, and with the normal batch of drunks that hung out in the pod across from me. Shit, that means they’re already casing the place. Did that start back when I stole the shipfob? Maybe… but it’s a lot more likely they pulled the dock footage and pegged me from there. That’s what I get for losing my temper… well that’s what they get for charging so much to dock and paying next to nothing for salvage. 

I’ve learned quite a few things about dealing with StationSec over the years. First and foremost: they are not your friend, second: they want you to THINK they’re you’re friend. Hypocrisy is their motto. There was no way I could sneak past all these chromes and not be noticed. If not them then by one of the other 12 people currently milling around. No, it was time to be bold.

    “Afternoon officers!”, I announced as I strolled towards the one face I was familiar with, “to what do we owe the pleasure?” Looking around to the others I'd been living with for years, I saw no one wanted to meet my gaze. That’s was new, usually someone’s running up to me with something to fix.

Officer Delia turned to look at me, his trimmed black mustache twitching as he locked onto me.

    “There you are, Kal. Do you have any idea how much shit you’re in?”

    “What’re you talking about Odie? I haven’t done anything.”

    “I told you not to call me that,” Odie spat. “If you’re going to call my by a name, it’s Oliver, Delia, or Officer. Not. Odie.”

I put a hand up in apology, “Sorry sorry, Officer. It slips the mind when you’re getting blasted by radiation in the vacuum of space, ya know scrapping so everyone else can live.” I gave him a thin smile, “so what brings you and your Chrome Crew down to our sub level?”

Odie closed the gap between us with three large steps. He stuck a boney finger into my chest, stabbing me directly in the sternum, “you know DAMN WELL why I’m here, punk. We have you on camera destroying the kiosk panel down on 2A, that shit ain’t cheap, and I know FOR SURE that shitty accumulator isn’t gonna cover the repair.”

    “That’s crazy! I’ve been on station all day. You say I busted up a kiosk?” I put on my best ignorant face, not hard to do when there are prime examples circling in on you. Meanwhile the faces I skimmed in my periphery didn’t look like anyone had sold me out immediately. No, everyone stared back at me with the same apathetic look they always did.

    “BullSHIT you’ve been here all day. We saw the credit transfer go through, we KNOW you got paid for it!” spittle flew from his mouth as he got in my face. I held up a hand, gently pushing it between Odie and myself, literally giving myself some room to breathe. 

    “Look, let me pull up my own logs okay? I don’t know what you guys think you have on camera bu-”

    “Don’t give me that shit! All you nondex are the same. Slinking around down here in this.. FILTH,” he kicked a lingering can that skittered it’s way down the hall. “You’re lucky we don’t just blow every airlock down here and let all of this…” he took a slow, methodical look around at everyone who had gathered to see the show. He spat on the ground. “All of this WASTE finally get put where it belongs.”

A “nondex”, as described by station charter, was any “non-indexed individual”. It had become such a common term smeared across lexicons over time that it had become a surname, one I shared with many others on the BRK. Stra’kal Nundices was born down here on Sub Level 4 (so I'm told), but Keeper hear me, I won’t die down here (so I hope).

Any semblance of politeness fell from my face and I saw the same happen to all the other “nondex” around me. This particular species of law enforcement bastard hadn’t evolved much since we as humans became a spacefaring civilization. Still as bigoted, classist, and explicitly out for themselves as they ever were. Odie had taken a look around and realized that he ruffled the feathers he wanted to ruffle. Any seed he could plant to get another full-scale sector beat-down going. To them, it was good fun beating helpless people on the sub levels just to “quell the rioting". Chromes got to be pointlessly aggressive, topsiders saw results, and We-the-People kept trying to breathe with a boot on our throat.

    “Tell ya what, Odie,” I put a hand on his shoulder, he scowled at the imprint my greasy hand left on his mirrored shoulder plate. “You go get that footage put together, go pull whatever logs you think you need to pull, and I’ll meet you down at Precinct 12 in like, 10 minutes, yeah?”

Odie chuckled, then he laughed. His buddies laughed, I laughed, and then the world was full of pain and stars… I slept, because I had no say in the matter.