Dyson’s Game

Book 1: Salvage Claim

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Chapter 2

Efraim

The crashed ship was still steaming hot when the drone got there, its entire surface looking it had been slagged and frozen over. At the very least, that's what Bosh’lagi's sensors told me, the drone sending all sorts of interesting little tidbits as both of us gazed at the crashed ship, mind and machine working as one.

“Here we are.” I welcome the vista with a flourish, much to the unimpressed glares of the peanut gallery. I quickly shoot off an apology-cant, before continuing on, “Took about my entire shift to get little Bosh’lagi to the ship, but at least we could start performing remote observations now.”

With a wave of an arm over the holotank, the drone’s view was then superimposed over the latest satellite scan of the area, showing that some of the ship’s bits and pieces had been tossed along in a haphazard area around the crash site. A flick of my mind switches the view in accordance to the ambient temperature, and I could see some of the base’s crew balk at the sight.

“It’s hot.” I chip in, a telltale observation that the holotank chimed in with a readout of the temperature readout. Around 1500K give or take, which means that it’ll melt the drone’s electronics before it could probably even get inside. “Rest of the crash site’s still a warm and toasty 750K, but I recommend doing something to the ship first before we try and tow it in for salvage.”

“Rest of the ship looks fine, though.” Bossman chimes in, “Awfully intact for something that slammed into Bries like that.”

“Civvie sails are built to last.” Shisholi mutters, “Not to the extent of most mil-specs out there, but at the very least they get heat-proofed. Probably the main reason why the damn thing’s so hot in the first place – radiator paneling must’ve gooped up the moment the ship crashed.”

“Taking Bosh’lagi in for a round trip”, I call out, “Going to get a sensor map of the ship itself.”

An additional hour or four to do it while keeping track of any obstacles and staying far enough that the probe wouldn’t be cooked, but the detailed sensor reading would allow the rest of us to play around the model in the holotank without issue.

Of course, it wouldn’t stop any additional observations while I was busy running Bosh’lagi around the entire thing, given that the drone’s feed was still visible to everyone currently in the command post.

“That looks like an unknown freighter pattern.” I glance to the side, finding another technician snapping out of their discussion with a pad-tapper. My eyes zero in on their nametag, one that I hadn’t known for a while. Were they someone new that got swapped in on the last cargo run? “Made during the latter years of the Tesselation’s construction, judging by the bits of solar sail around the crash site. Jumped up drive cone too by the looks of it… Operator, can you pause?”

With a thought, the drone stops. “There, by the side. Zoom in on that.”

Another thought, and the drone’s feed focuses on the spot that the technician had specified, and I blink at the sight.

Bossman whistles at it, and I took a glance at him to find out why. The gesture made Bosh’lagi move its cone of vision away from the ship, and I quickly went back to setting a short little flight plan for it before I shut down my MMI and turned towards Boss’s direction.

“I know a weapon mount when I see one.” He replies, turning towards Shisholi while aiming a pass-cant in her direction. “Chief Tech, got anything else?”

“Looks like a module.” She hums back, eyes narrowing at the drone’s feed as she scaled the live feed up, “That means its relatively new. Civvie ship, armed freighter… All I’m getting from the catalogs is some kind of anti-asteroid mass driver.”

“Ci’roles-pattern.” The new technician cuts in, and I focus on their nameplate. Kaltar props up their own pad and tosses it in the center of the holotank, where the information is quickly piped up to the rest of the peanut gallery. “I recognize those mountings. Did some EVA work for installing extra braces on the modules on Bries Space Docks. The amount of recoil that you’re going to get firing that thing in extended bursts matches that of a damn railgun.”

“Expensive salvage, then?”

“If it’s intact.” Kaltar replies with a nod, sending a doubt-cant in Bossman’s direction, “I’d find it rather dicey, but any intact component we do find would sell for a lot of krannts.”

“Any ways to cool that ship in the meantime, then?” Bossman asks, “Because I’m sure that anything we do when the ship’s at that temperature is just going to reduce the salvage value.”

“Wait for nighttime?” I suggest, “Temp goes below ice-freeze after that. Wouldn’t have to lug around silver blankies after that.”

“That’s in a week.”

Bossman clicks his tongue, and I let out a sigh in response. “Boss, that ship’s not going anywhere unless we’re beaten to the punch by another team. That ship’s still going to radiate away its heat over time, so it’ll probably cool down given enough time.”

He hums, though it most certainly sounded like grumbling to my ears, as he leaned forward and placed two of his hands on the holotank, the other two forming a half-hearted thought-cant.

We all stood at attention, even if I used the time to check back on the rest of the drones to see how they were doing. Marrsha’nai was already three-quarters of the way back to base, but had suffered a malfunction on one of the tires that would probably need to be fixed.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Grimaldi looked like it had found something, so I set it on a course headed straight toward the lip of a crater. Hopefully it had found something important, or else I’ll probably just recall it back to base to be swapped out with another drone.

And of course, Bosh’lagi was still doing fine on their journey, going about a quarter of the way around the ship and taking detailed scanning data of its outside shell.

The glow of my MMI dies down as Bossman clears his throat, catching all of our attention at once.

“We’re waiting till nightfall.”

Inwardly, I let out a sigh. But Bossman wasn’t done yet. “We go back to normal operations in the meantime, but make sure that we have at least one drone around that crash site at all times.”

Our pads beep all at once, and I take mine out to read the notification that popped up on the screen.

Time for the night shift.

I step away from the holotank, waving my pad in Bossman’s direction. “Swinging by Osfjor’s room to see if the Crownworlder’s still getting light-lag. That alright with you?”

“Your free time, your choice.”

That’s as good as a ‘yes’ from Bossman that I can get. I nod, filing along with the rest of the other people in the command post as we got cycled through the airlock, then went out separate ways.

Sadly, someone began tailing me right after, even as I took the opportunity to browse the System Weave for new bits of news. “Shisholi?”

“Yup.” She greets, seemingly cavalier about the fact that she was no doubt snooping up on me once again. “You going for rations or cooked meals this time around?”

“Rations.” I immediately reply, watching with a grin as my friend looked like she had been punched in the cloaca, “You know me. Cooked meals when I’m just starting a shift, quick fly-by down the MREs when I’m done. I really can’t be arsed to wait for a fucking meal when I’m starving and have my local cycle of news to attend to.”

“Should really change that.” Shisholi mumbles along, even as I hummed in response and brought up my tab, “Gavi’sha isn’t that bad of a cook, you know? He’s been getting a little antsy over the past weeks, asking if you just hate his food on basic principle or something like that.”

I snort at that. “He doesn’t do polite.”

“Cooks rarely are.” She agrees, “Even worse if they think you’re dissing their cooking.”

“You could just get me one while I swing by and get Osfjor.” I suggest, “Kill krinkos with a torch and all that.”

“Alright. Don’t traumatize the poor boy too much, yeah?”

“I’m not that bad. Am I?”

Shisholi barks out a few peals of laughter, but we eventually split up at the next hallway as I trotted along to Osfjor’s room, humming a few beats all the while. The halls were relatively deserted, what with only a dozen or three people stationed here at any given time, and it meant that I was given free reign to browse the news while I made my way to our newest hire’s cabin.

Revolt in one of the orbital gas refineries around Elada. Installation of the collection centers that could be used to power the magnetic dynamos had been halted until Clan Lada'shol could put it down.

Scavenged containers with intact space cows had been found floating around the Di’Serrie Belt, and the lucky bastard had managed to take a trip to the Crownworld with their newfound wealth. Good for him.

Skirmishes between Clans Okmo’shi and Ikkala around the Aktinn-la Station, mostly to break the blockade. A courier ship from the Crownworld had been burning towards the station in an attempt to mediate negotiations… but I’m not sure that it would change things that much.

With a shake of my head, I reach Osfjor’s room and knock on the door. I couldn’t hear anything, especially with the thickness of the walls around the base, but it took quite a while for the door to slide open and our newest hire to stagger out.

Sunken eyes, drooping shoulders, and his scales looked like he hadn’t even cleaned up after himself. Overall a bad look, especially when he ordinarily looked like he was dressed to impress.

“My shift already?” He asked in a raspy voice, and I quickly shook my head and began dragging him by the arm, “H–Hey!”

“You look like shit.” I reply back, watching as Osfjor untangled himself from my grip and warded off my hand. He took a glance at his quarters, his MMI beeping in turn, and the door closes with a clunk before he begins following me once more. “Then again, that might be the job taking its toll on you. The least you could do in your off-time is to fucking sleep and eat some rations for goodness’s sake–”

“Not that.” He rasps, eyes set in a frown as he catches up with me, “Not that. I was… well, have you seen the news?”

“The system’s going to the shitter?” I replied with a raised brow, sliding my pad’s contents over to his with a beep of my MMI, “Everyone knew that. You could trace it all back to the Tesselation, since that’s what everyone’s complaining about these days.”

“No, no, not that. The Tesselation’s a good thing, in my opinion.” Really now? “It’s the… you know the Akkin-la Blockade?”

“Just caught up with the news”, I waved my pad for emphasis, “Skirmish between Clans Okmo’shi and Ikkala, Crownworld mediators sent to ease tensions while the two sides were licking their wounds.”

“Yeah, that.” Osfjor grumbles, “Turns out my dad’s part of the entourage, but he only contacted me as soon as the ship was burning off.”

“Cargo ship’s not coming till next week.” I drawl, “Still couldn’t have stopped him even if you tried. But still, ‘dad’?”

“More like my mentor once I passed basic, but yes.” He sighs, “I can’t follow after him. Still doesn’t stop me from being worried sick when he’s sent to a potential conflict zone.”

“Enough to stop you taking care of yourself?” I sniff. “You look like you hadn’t taken a rinsing for a while.”

“Water’s hard enough to come by. Learned that on my first week.” He shrugs, and I let out a cackle at the memory. “I’ll probably trim myself up once I’m done with my shift.”

“You sure about that?” I ask, “Could just ask Bossman for me to take a double-shift while you rest. I’ll even ask him to give my pay during that shift to you.”

“No, no, I need something to clear my mind.” Osfjor shakes his head, “Working the command post would do me some good. I’ll just– I heard that there’s a crashed ship in our sector. That true?”

“Maneuvered Bosh’lagi on a sensor sweep around the damn thing. Bossman says that we’ll be waiting till nighttime before we could go on the surface to salvage it. Usual operations in the meantime, though I think I’ve sent Marrsha’nai back to base for us to store that sample, so you’ll probably have to bring those two drones in maintenance out to work in the meantime.”

Osfjor nods along as I spoke, only chiming in once I stopped talking. “Anything else?”

“Use manual.” I immediately reply, “Switching on MMI while you’re distracted inevitably results in you fucking up and accidentally splattering a drone over an embankment. Then you’re going to have to work your ass off for years before you could repay the costs back.”

Osfjor gave me a grin at that. “Speaking from experience, ma’am?”

I stop in my tracks, eyes glancing to the left to find out that we were already by the galley.

“I’ll kick your ass.” I reply instead, watching as Osfjor barked out a peal of laughter before he continued past the galley, headed towards the command post.

With a sigh, I watched as the young sod glanced at his pad every now and then, before I shrugged and decided that he wouldn’t be my problem for the time being. Instead, I take a look around the galley, seeing Shisholi aiming an attention-cant in my direction, and I stride over towards her while sniffing out the meal for the day.

Space cow steak. Vat-grown, though I suppose I can’t really complain all that much. Who's having a juv-nat celebration, though? These things are expensive, even vat-grown.

Still, even as Shisholi and I engaged ourselves in our little small talk, I find myself glancing back towards the command post, wondering if Osfjor would do fine in his current state… at least, until I took a bite out of the steak.

The new kid would be fine. Probably.

Besides, if he screws up, then Bossman would set him straight.