Hundreds of years ago, a great space battle happened in a certain sector of space. To the scavengers, it did not matter who fought or won but what was left behind after it was done. There were no habitable planets nearby and most of the debris slowly drifted into the nearest gravity wells, stars inundated with so much junk that they all developed makeshift rings. Fuel, twisted metal, and circuitry sat dormant in space, just waiting to be dug up and restored, reforged, or recycled.
Immediately after the battle ended, it was a treasure trove so wealthy that scavengers and pirates fought wars over it, adding much less valuable wrecks and junkers. Then like a fine comb, everything of real value was dug up and stripped. For around a few hundred years, it laid dormant as the scavengers and pirates moved to better grounds. As technology became better, it became easier to recycle old materials into usable materials as a reaction to old mining areas running dry. And all those old ships that were junkers became antiques that the rich vied for in order to restore and show off. Old documents revealed the presence of lost technology from the war hidden in the wrecks of old battlegrounds.
The scavengers came back and began making their rounds along all of the systems that the stuff from the war drifted to. In the spot where the actual battle took place, they built a base as it was a convenient central position for sorting out the finds, melting down the junk, and resupplying the ships that went out. It also served as a trap to keep them confined to that area as no ship was given enough fuel to reach the next closest colonized system or space port so they were forced to buy and sell only there.
Most scavengers were underaged or past retirement age. Planets with rampant overpopulation would actively sway those deemed useless to head off planet for "new opportunities." In the case of anyone with a criminal record, by force, until they earned enough to pay off their fines. This left scavengers with plenty of recruits but not enough ships for them all. The lucky ones would be packed like sardines, five in a ship meant for one.
One day, one of these small-scale scavenging ships meant for one person struck disaster. One of its crewmembers was sick but was too poor to seek medical aid or take time off. This sickness turned out to be contagious and soon enough all of the crew had the same sickness. It was normally not a deadly disease, simply a strain of the common cold that managed to accompany humans even to the space ages stubbornly. However, two old men, a teenager and two kids cramped together and malnourished in a small space made the disease impossible to fend off. Heading back early meant death as they were all too poor to buy food or medicine. All they could do was take turns piloting the ship and heading out into space in a specialized suit to grab as much stuff as they could, irregardless of actual value, before heading back to base.
One by one, they succumbed to death or unconsciousness. By the time the vessel reached the base, only one crewmember was left alive but unconscious. The slowly drifting ship was dragged into port and searched by the local authorities, security personnel and mercenaries jointly hired by the bigger scavenger groups with big stakes in the base itself. Finding death and disease, the ship was quarantined, the bodies burned, and the survivor was given to medical to check if an epidemic was occurring.
Normally, the security crew, no better than thugs would take advantage of an unconscious or dead crew to steal everything not nailed down. However, just a year prior, a major mining settlement on an asteroid belt several systems away had almost all of its population killed off by a disease so sickness was not treated lightly. There was a time and place for pilfering and a sick man's ship was not one of them.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The only survivor was a sixteen-year-old young man by the name of Brighand. Their last name was once Cooper, but was removed after committing a crime. Criminals would have a long string of random numbers and letters doubling as an identifier as a last name until their fines were paid off. His crimes were theft, trespass, and public indecency. Which left him with either fifty years of service under the scavengers or a fine big enough to buy a military-grade battleship off the black markets.
Three days after the incident, Brighand woke up in a quarantine ward in the base's medical section. There, he panicked at the sight of expensive medical monitoring equipment and a needle in his arm. He could not afford such treatment and this triggered a stress panic attack, causing one of the machines to start beeping. After a few minutes, a doctor instead of a nurse walked in with a tray of food. His nametag read Dr. Ripperov and he had a streak of old browning blood across his chest.
He went around unplugging all the medical machines one by one. Brighand wanted to speak but there was something stuck in his throat and his arms were numb, unable to be moved. The doctor took off his gloves, washed his hands, before putting on a new pair of gloves at Brighand's side.
"It appears that you're gaining some tolerance for the sedative. It's been enough time I suppose for your revival and miraculous recovery. Did you know that our budget has gone up ten times since you got admitted here? Sanitation only got a five-times boost. Best of all is that security avoids this area like the plague, no more ransacking our drug stores," said Dr. Ripperov as he swapped out an IV bag before sliding a needle in to add something to the mix.
"A mild stimulant to shake off the rest of the sedative. I assure you that they don't negatively react to each other. Now let's get this out so you can talk," said Dr. Ripperov as he removed a feeding tube from Brighand's throat.
After it was removed, he coughed a bit before feeling started to return to his arms and he rubbed his throat. The doctor raised up the medical bed so that Brighand was in a seated position before bringing over the food and setting it out of reach.
"Where are the others?" asked Brighand with a raspy voice.
"Well, Captain Brighand, they're all dead and cremated. You lived, they didn't," said Dr. Ripperov.
"Captain?" asked Brighand, his eyes drifting off.
"Yes, yes. The ship is yours now. Instead of taking the ship for collateral on your medical bills, the higher-ups paid for everything. The ship and its cargo are both in the bay waiting for you. It's out of fuel though. I've heard and you'll have to pay for that yourself," said Dr. Ripperov.
"I feel so hungry, can you move the food closer?" asked Brighand as the smell of freshly cooked food just at his feet reached his nose. He hadn’t eaten such foods since he was still a kid planetside.
"Before that, tell me what disease you had in that ship?" asked Dr. Ripperov.
"Disease? Wasn't it just the common cold? The ship's onboard computer told us that from the atmospheric filter scans. We died because there wasn't enough food for us to recover and we overworked ourselves for a fast haul," said Brighand, wondering if the computer had gotten things wrong somehow.
"Wrong answer. I cannot give you this food until you find the right answer," said Dr. Ripperov.
Brighand sat there for a few moments trying to think of all sorts of different diseases to say until the doctor was satisfied but he was sure it was a cold. Eventually, he just answered honestly as he couldn't focus on anything.
"I don't know," said Brighand.
"Correct answer. That is what you tell anyone who asks. I don't know, ask the medical department, my computer glitched and the logs are unavailable," said Dr. Ripperov as he pushed the food in front of Brighand and let him eat.