Morning light cast long shadows across the debris field. Blake's boots crunched against loose gravel as he picked his way between twisted metal husks. His HUD highlighted a path through the wreckage, marking the shortest route to the coordinates Zephyr had provided.
The nanite-enhanced display overlaid his vision with useful data. Temperature readings, atmospheric composition, and a compass heading floated at the edges of his perception. A red marker pulsed in the distance, indicating his destination.
Blake paused at the top of a rust-covered container, scanning the terrain ahead. The junkyard stretched out before him, a maze of derelict ships and scattered technology. His breath came out in small puffs of condensation - the morning air still carried the chill of night.
The weight of his newly-bonded sidearm was comfortable in his holster. He kept one hand near it as he moved, ready to draw at the first sign of trouble. After yesterday's firefight, he wasn't taking any chances.
Not to mention that Chimera had been working overnight, and Blake was interested in seeing how his handgun had changed.
His HUD flickered briefly as it adjusted to compensate for a patch of electromagnetic interference. The marker stayed steady, though - about half a kilometer ahead. Someone or something was moving through their territory, and with Eland occupied maintaining the ship's systems, it fell to Blake to investigate.
He dropped down from the container, landing in a crouch. The impact sent a small avalanche of scrap metal sliding down a nearby pile. Blake froze, listening for any reaction to the noise. When nothing stirred, he pressed forward, keeping to the shadows where he could.
Eventually movement caught Blake's eye - a flash of cloth between metal sheets. He crouched behind a rusted panel, watching as a woman picked through the debris. She was alien, like the other scavengers, but he didn't recognize her from the group that had attacked the ship. Dark hair hung in a practical braid down her back, and she carried a backpack and prybar.
She worked methodically, checking specific pieces of wreckage as if searching for something particular. Her movements were careful, practiced - not the desperate scrambling of someone fleeing or lost. And yet she was also discerning. Blake watched her leave several valuable finds behind as she continued her meandering route toward Eland's ship. Anything valuable but too large for her bag was
Blake shifted position, staying in cover as he paralleled her path. The woman paused at a promising pile of tech, giving him time to circle around. He checked his sidearm one last time, then moved into position to intercept her before she could get any further.
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Metal shavings clinked against Mara's boots as she gently loosed another runic array chip from the wreckage. The sun beat down on her neck, and sweat trickled down her spine beneath the thick braid of her hair. She twisted the small plate free, examining the crystalline runework for cracks.
A shadow fell across her hands.
Mara's head snapped up. Her breath caught in her throat.
A man stood behind her—and not one of Rax's thugs. His leather jacket bore scorch marks and tears, revealing the universal gray of shipboard driftwear beneath. A pistol hung at his side, his fingers loose but ready on the grip. The sun had darkened his skin to bronze, and black hair fell in messy strands around a face that seemed carved from stone.
And his eyes. Mara had never seen eyes like that on any human. They blazed like molten gold in the harsh light. Something about that gaze froze her in place, the expensive piece of salvage forgotten in her trembling hands.
Her heart thundered in her chest. She couldn't move, couldn't look away from those impossible eyes.
"Who are you?" The man's voice carried the edge of a blade.
Mara's fingers clenched around the runic array. Her throat felt dry. "I am Mara of—" She swallowed. No, she wouldn't claim that clan. Not anymore. "Just Mara."
The man shifted his weight, and light glinted off his pistol. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking." Mara raised her hands slowly, showing the salvage piece. "For you, I assume. And your friend."
His expression didn't change, but something in those golden eyes sharpened. "Why?"
"You fought Rax." The words tumbled out. "Defeated him. His arm—" She shook her head. "I've been waiting for someone to stand up to him. He's made life hell for everyone who won't follow his bullshit new religion."
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The man's hand didn't move from his weapon. "You're with his clan."
"No. Yes. Ugh, no." Mara spat the word. "I married in, years ago. The clan was different then. But Rax twisted everything. Banned trade with other clans. Started calling outsiders 'interlopers.' Beat down anyone who disagreed with his ideas about our place in the world." She met his gaze. It had softened somewhat. That was good. "I want to help you. There are others who feel the same. We couldn't stand up to Rax alone, but…"
The man's shoulders dropped, tension bleeding from his frame. He pulled his hand away from the pistol, sliding it into the holster at his hip with practiced ease.
"Blake Connover," he said. His voice had lost its razor edge. "Come with me. There's someone you should meet."
Relief flooded through Mara's limbs. She tucked the runic array into her pocket, metal edges catching on the worn fabric.
"Our ship's this way." Blake turned, gesturing toward a hulking shape that rose above the surrounding debris. "Eland will want to hear what you have to say about Rax and his people."
Mara brushed metal shavings from her knees as she stood. "Eland. The Stokrine?"
"You've heard of him?"
"Word spreads fast out here." Mara fell into step beside Blake, careful to maintain a respectful distance. "Especially about cultivators."
Blake's boots crunched against broken glass. "Let's see what we can do about your Rax problem."
Mara matched Blake's pace through the winding paths between towering scrap piles. Her boots kicked up clouds of metallic dust with each step. The stranger moved with purpose, picking routes that avoided the deeper drifts of debris. His confidence put her at ease—a welcome change from the constant tension of life in the clan.
Wind whistled through gaps in the wreckage, carrying the familiar scents of rust and oil. Shafts of sunlight pierced gaps in the heaped metal above, casting strange shadows across their path.
"No, I'm not going to ask her that," Blake muttered suddenly, his tone sharp with annoyance.
Mara's steps faltered. She hadn't said anything.
Blake's face flushed as he caught her confused look. "Sorry." He tapped his temple with two fingers. "Got a... bunkmate up here now. She's still learning social boundaries."
"Oh." Mara kept her eyes fixed on the path ahead. "I see."
Heat crept up her neck, and she tugged at her collar. Her mind raced with possibilities of what Blake's companion might have wanted to know about her. Personal questions? Intimate details? She'd heard stories of outsiders and their... different customs.
An AI assistant, she decided. Had to be. Like the ones featured in her old clan's tales, whispering in their master's ear through neural links or quantum channels. The kind of technology that always ended up stripped for parts long before reaching clan territory.
Mara's fingers brushed against the simple runic array in her pocket. Here she was, scrounging for basic components while this stranger walked around with a living computer in his head. Such riches never fell into scavenger hands intact—at least, not into honest ones.
Mara's mind raced with possibilities. These strangers had working AI, advanced weaponry, and at least one cultivator. With allies like these, her quiet resistance might actually stand a chance. No more watching Rax's thugs shake down the elderly for their meager supplies. No more children going hungry because their parents refused to swear loyalty oaths.
The technology alone could shift the balance. Most of the clan's best gear came from stripping half-buried wrecks, leaving them with cobbled-together systems that barely functioned. But these outsiders—they had working tech. New tech. The kind that could give her people a real fighting chance.
Their ship had to be magnificent. Perhaps one of those sleek vessels she'd seen in old holovids, all gleaming metal and pulsing energy fields. Or maybe something even grander—a warship from beyond known space, bristling with weapons that could make Rax's cyber-enhanced bullies think twice.
The path widened into a massive depression in the scrapyard's surface. Broken metal and shattered crystal crunched under her boots as they descended into what was clearly an impact crater. Mara lifted her gaze, eager for her first glimpse of their vessel.
Her steps slowed. The ship hunched in the crater's center like a wounded animal. Its hull plates were scorched and buckled, with entire sections missing or hanging loose. One engine nacelle had nearly broken free, held on by a mess of cables and structural supports. The other was simply gone, leaving a jagged wound in the ship's flank.
"This is it?" The words slipped out before she could stop them. Fearfully, she turned towards Blake. Thankfully, he was chuckling at her reaction.
"Yeah, she's in a state all right," Blake said. "Decks are all askew, there's holes in the hull, the pillows are all too thin, and we've got a cultivator strapped to the fuse box to keep it all from exploding. Top of the line."
Mara traced the ship's outline with her eyes, taking in each dent and scorch mark. Most of the damage looked old—plasma burns weathered by time, impact craters filled with rust. But that gash in the hull near the stern... The metal edges gleamed raw and bright, untouched by corrosion. Recent damage. Very recent.
Her gaze followed the path of destruction up to where cables spilled from the wound like mechanical entrails, leading straight to—
Wait.
Her mind caught up with Blake's words.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice climbing an octave. "Did you say you have a cultivator strapped to your core power system? To prevent explosions?"
That had to be a joke. A powerful cultivator jury-rigged into a ship's power system like some kind of biological surge protector. For that to be necessary, the containment system would have to be in some kind of uncontrolled feedback loop… Her knees felt weak at the thought.
"Yeah," the man next to her responded flatly. "Something like that. A bit above my pay-grade, but you can ask the big man himself."
Blake walked towards the damaged portion of the hull, waving Mara to follow. Numbly, she did.
If the ship were going to go critical, running now wouldn't save her anyway.