"So the very same month I leave after causing a disease scare, an actual disease spread. Is there any way to cure the disease or prevent me from catching it?" asked Brighand.
"On the right side of your gun, there is a setting normally used as a safety. It instead changes the ammo type. There are 3 syringes loaded into the gun with a cure and vaccine when switched up. Switched down and it fires lethal energy bullets. Keep it on lethal as the syringes are limited while you'll have to fire a lot of lethals before you run out of them," said the computer.
Brighand turned the gun over and touched the switch, "Does that mean I need to switch it to syringe and shoot myself? Or is the disease slow enough that I'll just get cured when I'm back?"
"The disease will not affect you due to your military implant. After all, the reason why the ship identified the disease so fast is because the One Part Democracy made it. Grand Consulate bioweapons were always a lot more deadly and noticeable. Our bioweapons aimed at troop morale and weakening without killing. Well except for this disease as it does eventually kill," said the computer.
"What exactly should I expect when we get there?" asked Brighand.
"Depends on whether or not they properly quarantine the diseased. You could either have a functioning space port with a bunch of people being either in jail or forced into their ships, or a dysfunctional one with everyone infected. The disease increases aggression so if they're freely walking about, expect to see a lot of fighting. If there is nothing else, leave the air lock so your old clothes may be delivered and the space suit retrieved. While comms will be cut off, it's still possible to send messages to this ship's console. Depending on the state of the port we might need to switch from stealth to being loud," said the computer.
Brighand left the airlock, then grabbed his old clothes and left the captain uniform in the airlock. From then on, things were silent as he turned on the ship and started flying it back towards the scavenger base. He had just gotten used to communicating after over a week of silence and now the silence was back. He could still see the stealthed ship's outline, keeping speed just a hair behind his scavenging ship.
At this point, he gave up thoughts on selling the ship and genuinely wanted to fix it up and live in it. If the pipes got fixed, he'd have enough food to last for years. With more fuel, he'd be able to go anywhere he wanted rather than be trapped in the monotonous back and forth life as a scavenger. He could become a trader, or more likely a smuggler, a mercenary, continue being a scavenger but with a mobile home base, or even fight to restore the One Part Democracy.
Five days passed uneventfully other than a daily report from the stealthed ship's computer about everything being optimal. A few times while eating, Brighand was tempted to return to the other ship and use his captain privilege to have the refiner make him something delicious tasting. He wanted to save such an experience until after he succeeded.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Unfortunately, the first obstacle occurred at this halfway point. The ship's engine failed. Not the military ship, but the small one he was in. Without a filter, the engine got gummed up by the coal and other contaminants. After he turned it off and pulled off the cover, bits of metal scrap and plastic were everywhere. The quartermaster obviously lied about the quality of the fuel.
Literal trash was crammed into the center of the coal to save on costs while maintaining the same weight as if it was completely coal. If the point was just to save on costs, then it’d just be trash and food scraps. The metal scraps were added on purpose so it’d pass weight inspection. Had the coal been properly inspected with a hole dug to the core like Brighand was told, then this would have been discovered.
A message popped up on the ship's console. The computer noticed something was wrong as he hadn't once turned off the engine or stopped during this trip even while sleeping. Brighand typed a message back explaining the situation. Soon enough, the ship was moving forward at the same speed as before, except with the engines still off. As soon as the computer heard about the issue, it sent out a drone to grab it and have it dock to the main ship.
As everything but the small scavenging ship was invisible, to outsiders it looked like the ship was flying through space normally. The only disconnect was that it maintained its speed and direction too well, too perfectly for such a dated vessel. As it was docked, the airlock could be opened and Brighand could freely talk with the computer from the hangar and sleep in the captain’s quarters.
In the next five days before reaching the space port, Brighand spent most of his time taking the engine completely apart to wipe down every piece and hammering out every bend and dent from the metal pieces literally exploding in the engine. There were some parts that literally could not be fully repaired due to having a bunch of holes in them or being a tiny precise part. However, he was able to make it run as long as it was kept at a low speed. This was fine as you weren’t supposed to go fast near the port anyways to reduce the risk of crashing and to have more control when docking.
Once they got close enough, Brighand stored away the captain’s outfit that he resumed wearing for comfort, made some preparations, and went back to the scavenger ship and undocked. The engine started without complications thanks to a drone helping remove all the garbage from the coal. He purposefully kept the speed low and sent out a message asking for permission to dock at the space port. There was still about an hour before reaching the port and normally a message from the console wouldn’t reach that far, but the space port had advanced telecommunications and radar for spotting potential threats and communicating from far away.
No doubt that they knew he was getting closer hours ago, but this was the minimum distance to communicate. Of course, the stealthed ship would have been able to send out a message well before entering the detection range. An oddly written response came back after a few minutes.
“The Custodial Union approves Captain Brighand’s docking request. Report to 63x57 for docking and decontamination,” was stated on the console.
“Custodial Union? The disease got so bad that the janitorial staff unionized and are in charge of checking incoming ships? Shouldn’t that be the security team’s job?” asked Brighand aloud in confusion.
He decided to keep his questions to himself and simply sent back a confirmation that he read the message and continued steadily towards the hangar. It was much harder than before to keep steady as the engine often stuttered or let out popping sounds while shaking. Thankfully, he could finally cut the engines and let a magnetic arm guide him to where he was to be docked once he reached the port. During the wait, he slid a hand to where he hid the pistol and was ready to start shooting if things went South.