001 The Final Piece

“Hey there!” Daven yelled to two young men standing next to him in the crowded, bustling market street. Both of them wore more moderate clothes, not the rags that everyone, including Daven, wore around in the area. Daven assumed they were brothers by the way they looked a lot alike but he doubted they were twins, however, as one of them had what seemed to be early graying hair and clean shaven and the younger-looking one had a scraggly beard. “You two look like you could win a fight,” He said appraisingly as he squeezed one of the men's shoulders.

The truth was they didn't look like the sort at all. The two of them were fairly lean, but that didn't matter to him, just the fact they wore better clothes than the rest.

“Thanks,” the man whose arm Daven was squeezing said a little confusedly. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing really, just thought you too might be interested in perhaps taking up the big challenge around here.” As he talked, he pointed to the big hologram board high in the ceiling that was the sole thing casting light down into the Underground. It was advertising the fighting rinks in the middle of the district that was starting that night. As the two men looked up at the sign, he put himself between the two men and put an arm around each one's waist. Dreamily, Daven said, “Look at that thing, it's practically as bright as the Sun, and judging by the looks of you two, you could take that light in all of this darkness and find all the wealth you'll ever need.”

“Yeah, um, mister that sounds great but I don't think either of us would want that,” the scraggly bearded one said. “We aren't really from around here and we don't know the customs down here but I'd rather not get in a brawl.”

Daven quickly put a hand into each man's pocket grabbing a bag from each and deftly shoved his hands into his own pockets, backing away from the men. “Alright, fine, I get it. You two have a good day!” He yelled brightly before running through the crowded street, not bothering to hear if they replied. It didn't matter, as he brought his hand into his pocket and felt the two small pouches filled with credits, he knew he had gotten what he'd come for.

He went down the rest of the street, took a left, and went down two more blocks before taking a right where he went through the door of a little bit more rundown building than the rest of the rundown buildings in the Underground. As quick as he could walk, he went past the guard posing as a receptionist and up the stairs (the elevator had stopped working long before he was born) to the seventh level and into room 723.

The dark room became a slightly brighter yellow glow as he hit the light switch, revealing his little apartment consisting of a rolling chair with all of the wheels stolen next to a four-legged coffee table (with one side propped with ancient, yellow paged books to replace two broken legs), a doorway with no door that led to the bathroom, and finally a deteriorating bed. Atop the bed was the only thing of note in the entire place, a finely crafted, brown leather satchel with the engraving of a spacecraft that had the cockpit in the middle and two wings that came off both sides with engines mounted on both of them.

With a heavy heart, Daven picked up the almost as heavy leather bag and opened it. Inside was exactly 21,253 credits. He took out the two satchels in his pocket and opened them up before turning on the chip in his brain.

How many credits?

A UI popped up in the right corner of his vision displaying 1,531 credits inside the satchels.

He put the credits into the leather bag then put the two sacks into a pocket on the bag's side and then went to the bathroom. Much like the rest of the place, the bathroom was falling apart with the shower head and toilet both slowly leaking and the faucet's porcelain being cracked in half and taped to keep the counter from falling to the floor.

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Looking at himself in the old, fogging mirror, he grabbed the razor blade on the counter next to his gel. His face was gaunt and his hair long, hanging nearly to his shoulders. Swiftly, he shaved off his week-old beard and then turned the blade to his hair, scissors were a luxury he could not afford. Looking at himself now, he was clean-shaven and his hair was only a couple of inches long.

He put the razor down and lifted the gel, lathering his hands in the stuff and running it through his hair. Now that his hair was gelled back, he brushed his teeth as fast as he could while still getting most of the gunk off his yellowed teeth and then washed his mouth out with the off-white water from the sink.

He walked out of the restroom and grabbed his bag. Quickly, he opened the door and left the building, making his pace nearly jogging. He took a few turns, zig-zagging his way through the dense alleyways to make sure no one would follow him, before getting on a main street that was bustling with people and a few hovercrafts floating above. Holding tight to his pocket and slipping a knife from his pocket into his hand, he briskly forced his way through the crowd before the crowd thinned. As he pushed past the last person, he saw he was now at his destination.

The ship scrapyard.

The entire place was nondescript with a large black fence that went around the large pile of scrap and a small, white office in front where stood a thin man in a chair. The entire place was covered and lined in graffiti just like the rest of the city and to most people was just a simple dump. But to Daven, this was hope.

He went to the man at the desk and put his leather bag on the counter. “What do you want, Daven?” the man said at the counter in a deep, bored voice as he wrote on his inventory log.

“Twenty-two-thousand-seven-hundred-eighty-four credits,” Daven responded excitedly.

The man, Emanual, looked up from the log. “That's some money, what about it, Daven?”

“It is two hundred more than what a hyperspace driveshaft is worth.”

Emanual looked back at his log. “So, you want a hyperspace driveshaft, Daven?”

“Yes,” he said quickly.

Emanual slowly began a new log in his inventory list, detailing the transaction. Daven wanted to strangle Emanual. Just like every time he was here, Emanual had the same bored slowness, couldn't the man tell he didn't have time for this? He needed this part now!

“Okay,” Emanual said as he put his pen down. “I'm assuming you were talking about the one on the model X-390 that you were looking at last month?”

“Yes.”

Emanual got out of the chair and walked out of the office through the back door to grab the part.

Daven stood outside, one foot tapping the ground hard, his eyes shifting from side to side looking for anyone who might try anything. Though, he doubted it at this location, there were cameras located evenly around the office and along the walls. If anyone did something illegal here, it would reported and a hefty fine would automatically be put on the face it scans doing the action.

It'd be nice if the Anxia Empire would put those in places not owned by them.

There was a loud bang and Daven jumped, looking at where it came from. Emanual was sitting back in his chair, a massive hunk of metal on the counter between the two of them.

Daven rolled it off the table and nearly dropped it from the weight of it. He had never actually held one of these in his hands, none of the parts he had ever gotten from here he hadn't touched before until now. But he had scanned over instruction manuals on every single part of a ship hundreds of times over. It had always been his dream to become a pilot and explore the stars. But no matter how much he wished to join, he knew he'd never be allowed. No Undergroundiners were. The most they could ever be was an attendant but he wasn't going to get so close only to not be allowed to fly, that'd be like rubbing his face in the dirt.

So he had a better plan.

He carried the hunk of the old driveshaft through the crowd once more and went through the same alleyway he had come out of. He went down a slightly different way this time to not get followed once again and got to the same old, crappy building he lived in. But this time, someone was outside of it.

Shit.

“Well, hello Daven,” Howard said through the big cigar in his mouth. “You got your rent? Or did you...” He pointed at the driveshaft in Daven's hand. “Spend it all in one place?”