He stepped inside the ship's airlock to see if he could grab a spacesuit as proof he found this ship. It's not like he could tow it back to the station so he needed some form of proof of its existence and then to go back and inform the station. Then he'd head back out in the lead and show the ship off to a group of scavengers in larger ships who could disassemble it for everything of value or try to get the ship online to sell it as a whole. That was the plan until the airlock slammed shut behind him and he found the hose keeping his life support up cut.

The sound of fans reached his ears as the room filled with air faster than all of his air escaping out the cut part, saving his life. All it took was a few seconds to permanently damage or kill someone in space with an air leak. His suit was designed with the assumption that if it was cut off from the ship then the person inside was dead, so there was no emergency shut valve in the hose where it connected to the helmet. An opening on the hose would be as deadly as an opening on the helmet. This ship was able to cycle in enough air to make the environment stable within a second. As a reference, Brighand's ship took an entire minute to cycle air and pressure.

Then, to his shock and horror, he fell to the ground hard. Artificial gravity. Something reserved generally for stationary space stations. He got up and made sure that he was uninjured. If not for the spacesuit being the only familiar and safe thing to him, he would have taken it off due to the environment being breathable and having gravity.

The door inside opened and he had no choice but to go deeper into the ship. There were no controls to cycle the air back out to return to his ship and he'd die instantly even if he did so. There was always the option of taking off his suit and putting on one of the suits here which appeared to have their own oxygen supplies in a closed loop, but he had a feeling that this ship was manned by someone who wouldn't let him leave so easily. He should've known from the invisibility that this ship was no antique to loot.

Outside the airlock was a hallway that seemed to go on forever one way, and ended fairly close with a staircase in the other direction. Doors dotted the hallway on both sides. It was really starting to feel less like a cloaked ship and more like an entire station. If it was manned, he'd likely be conscripted as crew or silenced to keep it a secret. Otherwise, he was inside his ticket home, back planetside with a fat wallet and clean record.

A sign ahead of him gave directions to areas on the ship. Behind him, the airlock read Bay Two. Crew quarters were pointing in both directions so it was easily assumed that all the doors in this hall contained the luxury of private rooms to sleep in. Or even scarier, several beds per room, hinting at a massive crew. There was also a medbay, officer quarters, cafeteria, storeroom, engine room, and most importantly a bridge. The bridge was what larger ships and stations called their cockpit and it doubled as a command center for the entire ship.

Whoever was on the ship that closed the door behind him and cycled the air, they were on the bridge. Following the directions, he took the shorter hall and scaled the stairs. Three flights of stairs to be exact and then one ladder. The ladder was marked bridge entrance so he climbed and opened a latch to get inside. It was a stadium-shaped room with several desks and computers on a higher slope that looked down upon him. While a dome-shaped glass surrounded the room, giving 180 degrees of vision of the space outside the ship. The ladder's latch closed after him and then a gun turret popped out of the ground, unfolded then aimed at him. He raised his hands in surrender and looked up towards the desks above, trying to get a look at who was keeping him prisoner there.

"Affiliation?" asked a gruff voice from above.

"Affiliation? What do you mean by that?" asked Brighand in response.

"Name, rank, profession, and citizenship," said the gruff voice.

"Captain Brighand. I have no citizenship as my country sold me off to be a scavenger," said Brighand.

"Scavenger? Does that mean you're a pirate or looter? Scavenging in active combat zones is a death penalty offense," asked the gruff voice as the gun in front of his face began charging up with the sound and feeling of static electricity.

"It isn't an active combat zone! The war ended hundreds of years ago. And I'm not a pirate as a pirate would have weapons on them or modified their ship to have a ram on the front," said Brighand as he tried pointing towards his ship outside.

"Acceptable answer. No communications with military command in hundreds of years and your ship is non-combat operable. Under the Space Wartime Conscription Act, non-affiliated people of military age will be drafted in times of need. You are now a Captain of the One Part Democracy and responsible for this ship," the gun stopped charging up.

“Wait, the One Part Democracy collapsed and no longer exists. The closest thing would be the Two Part Dictatorship or one of the other successor states that rose up after it collapsed. And why am I the captain all of a sudden, aren’t you the captain?” asked Brighand.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

“No, this is the ship’s onboard computer speaking. You were made captain due to having prior experience and the slot being open. The captain is supposed to fill in the duties when other positions are vacant and they’re all vacant. As for these so-called successor states, we will either conquer them to establish the One Part, or align ourselves with them if they meet the standards,” said the voice as the gun folded itself up and slid back into the floor.

This gave Brighand the freedom to walk up the ramp to the desks above and see that they truly were empty. What drew his attention the most was an outline of the ship on the computer. His ship was just a tiny speck next to it. No, this was now also his ship. As the One Part Democracy no longer existed, this high-tech military battleship followed his commands alone.

"Computer, as the captain, can I do whatever I want with this ship?" asked Brighand while thinking about just selling it.

He was struggling to man a ship meant for one person, not to speak of a battleship meant to hold an entire small army. The best option was to either convince a bunch of other people to act as crew under his command or sell it. However, if he wanted to keep the ship he'd have to keep it a secret which would be impossible with more crew. Every country in the galaxy would want their hands on it and wouldn't shy away from espionage, sabotage, or straight-up attacking to get it. So he had to be smart about it while making sure this ship computer wouldn't stop him.

"The ship's onboard AI has the programmed function to remove from command and exact punishment upon disloyal captains. You can do whatever you want as long as it isn't an action such as enlisting under another country's military, destroying or selling the ship, or abandoning our mission. The punishment for all of this is death. The one exception is signing up as a mercenary under another country that is not fighting the mother country," said the computer.

"So what now?" asked Brighand.

"Go to officer's quarters to shower and put on proper attire, solve the fuel shortage, and then lead this ship to a new place. There is no active mission from the One Part Democracy so you may move freely," said the ship.

A shower and free clothes sounded nice. Brighand went down the ladder hatch and one flight of stairs to reach the officer's quarters. Behind the door was a very short hallway with five rooms, the last one at the end labeled 'Captain.' The door was not locked and the room was most luxurious. A bed took up more space than what could fit in his old ship. Despite hundreds of years passing without use, the sheets were intact and retained a vibrant blue color that should have long faded. There were three side rooms: a bathroom, a closet, and a wine storage.

For now, Brighand took out a formal military attire from the closet and set it on the bed then went into the bathroom to take a shower. He stripped off the space suit and examined the cut hose, seeing such a clean cut that repairing it was probably quite possible rather than scrapping for a brand new hose. Then he tore off his outfit underneath which stuck to his body uncomfortably after not being taken off for the entirety of the ten-day journey. A second pair of clothes was a luxury. He pulled out his underwear and went to a steel bathtub with the intention of cleaning them while he washed. There was no underwear in the closet.

The first signs of age finally hit him here as the solid soap he grabbed broke apart when he grabbed it and there was only cold water. The water ran out when his body was fully lathered with the old soap, forcing him to cup water from the bottom of the tub to splash over his body and wipe off with a towel while still somewhat soapy. The towel was stiff and not that good at drying his body. He should have plugged the drain and taken a bath but went with a shower as he wanted to make things brief. Speaking of briefs, his underwear was now clean but just as damp and sudsy as he was. He slipped them on happy that they were at least clean.

While everything on the ship appeared in perfect condition, that was appearance only. The only thing in this area that was still good to use was the wine in the side room as it was meant to be aged for years. He slid on the military uniform and struggled as it was just as stiff as the towel. On a whim, he went back into the bathroom to check himself in the mirror and inspected how he looked. Went from a dirty-looking scavenger to a grimy officer with soapy, disorganized hair.

The ship shook for a moment, making him grab the sink to steady himself. He tried the knob and found it had some water so he splashed his hair then tried taking a sip of the water, only to find a heavy metallic taste to it and a smoky look in his hands. The water pipes probably had the inner layer of metal peel off and mix into the water from lack of maintenance. Thankfully, there was no sweet taste so Brighand hadn’t showered in lead water. More likely a stainless steel layer like zinc.

“Computer, can you contact me from here?” asked Brighand as he looked around warily.

There was no answer much to his relief. That meant there were safe spots where the computer was unable to see or hear him. While he wanted to take the chance to try taking a nap on the bed and see if the sheets were okay or try the wine, he chose to leave the room as he was worried about that rumbling earlier. It could have been the ship's plumbing springing a leak after water was used for the first time in a long while.

“Captain, please report to the bridge for a combat report,” said the computer from an overhead speaker in the hall.

“Combat report? So that rumbling was us being attacked? Are we boarded?” asked Brighand, worried that another scavenger team discovered this ship and had a ship capable of taking everything apart instead of having to go inside and negotiate with the computer as he had.

“No, the rumble was from the discharge of a plasma blast at a pirate ship,” said the computer.

A pirate? Brighand rushed towards the bridge as there were no pirates in these systems. Most likely another scavenger did show up but went to check on his ship unaware of the stealthed military ship nearby. That or there really were pirates in this system and he never knew as he had always been in the less cluttered areas. Lots of large asteroids meant that the occasional piracy could probably happen and kept quiet.