Chapter 7: Derelict Operations

I can’t keep the datasheet, or access to my accounts but I can fill and keep the chip, which has a max capacity of 300 credits. Unfortunately, I find out that the robbers’ chips don’t contain credits but ‘scrips’ from a marketplace I have no intention of finding, at least not in this loop.

 

I still have an assassin on my ass. I an not sure if he has tracked me down yet but I have to assume he has since I’ve accessed my bank account. I have no illusion I could stop a professional with one taser and my attitude, so I use the power of money: secured limo, express train.

 

The Endernet is weird. It is compartmentalized, much more so than any national network of websites I know to exist on Earth. Here, the barrier isn’t just the language but citizenship, and credit access. Entire environments are locked behind IDs and that is just what I, as a nobody with no connections and no real awakening, can access.

 

The next morning, I leave a coldly polite Torl before pickled vegetables duty can begin. Nya asks for a donation. I am happy to transfer directly from my bank account seeing as I won’t use it this loop anyway. Her office is stuffy and decrepit during the day. It reeks of everlasting impermanence, like she’s never made it her own.

 

“Is this how it works? Protection for money?” I plainly ask her.

 

Nya’s scarred features twist with hostility.

 

“The Church of Mercy is here for everyone, but mercy should be answered with commitment. You are here for a reason, because of the choices you made that led you here.”

 

She pauses. I feel her emotions swirl like angry clouds. Shame rises to the front before she can force them back under her control.

 

“You can’t expect me to believe some people aren’t here because of the choices others made for them,” I tell her.

 

“Perhaps,” she answers. “But we expect those who decide to get back to the fray to compensate us… for the service.”

 

“Fair enough,” I reply. “Allow me one more question?”

 

“No.”

 

“Do any of you actually want to be here?” I ask.

 

She flinches. Something brushes against my skin, like pressure but without touch. It’s a little disconcerting.

 

“Be careful,” Nya growls, eyes low.

 

I stare. Somehow, I don’t think she will actually strike me and I’m willing to bet on it. I can afford to take minor risks.

 

“Adi doesn’t give a shit about asylum seekers getting robbed in the next alley; you only talk to your guests when it’s time to pay..”

 

“Get out.”

 

I shrug, My ‘limo’ has arrived anyway. I find it in the delivery bay where we usually load the crates of food we processed. It looks like a chrome brick that’s gone through two world wars and a cricket tournament.

 

The back door opens. I enter and find an eerily familiar setup, only the seats are impeccable in sharp contrast to the exterior.

 

“Steev Plentiss?” a voice asks from the front.

 

“Ah.”

 

I am talking to a sapient potato. An eye rotates from the creature’s center, then fixes me with unblinking intensity. Not a potato then, but a brawny, swarthy humanoid with muscular arms and a complete lack of neck. It really looks like a potato. Or a walnut, I suppose.

 

“Ah, yes. Do you need my ID?”

 

“Please, and yes,” the creature replies.

 

I notice that the driver uses a subservient version of formal Enderlithian. It makes me feel all fancy. I press my ID on a panel. A beep later and I am kosher.

 

“Thank you sir. We will now depart. The trip is expected to last 17 standard minutes.”

 

I recline in my seat, internally whining at the lack of bubbly. There are windows, or so I think until I realize they’re actually screens showing me the car’s exterior. I return my attention to the pilot who happens to have cables running down what I assume is its head since it sits atop its body.

 

“Say, do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

 

“In order to protect client confidentiality, I have been modified not to interact with, or remember interactions beyond the immediate scope of the drive.”

 

“Sounds like you do mind.”

 

“Not at all, sir, as I do not have the capability to mind.”

 

“Errr.”

 

I guess I’ll ask later. I wasn’t worried about Nya, but I’d rather not get dumped on the street right now. The limo, of course, flies. I shouldn’t be surprised, but the takeoff still makes me grip my seat. The simple walls of the church fall away to show the district in all its simple glory, lit by massive ceiling lights. I was expecting a dump from my brief experience getting run down by the local variant of chavs, yet it appears I let one bad experience taint my perception. This part of the Betweens is… fine. Not great, not a steaming pile of shite. It’s a bustling, well-lived in spot showing small shops, some larger buildings that might be administrative, restaurants from the eclectic humanoids sitting at tables, and just, well, people. Children with their parents play in a green sphere located near the center, with planters climbing all around. Clothes dry on hangers on the many balconies. It doesn’t smell too bad. It’s just a lower-middle class residential district that wouldn’t be shocking anywhere on Earth, were it not for the human variants and occasional splashes of high tech. Then the limo turns into an access gate open through a thick wall. A few other levitating vehicles dash in and out. We settle into a lane, and then I am slammed against the back of the seat.

 

“Are you alright, sir?” the potato-driver asks me.

 

“Just caught off guard, don’t worry about it,” I reply.

 

This place isn’t designed around people who don’t have physical awakenings. I really need to get on it. As soon as I can. The limo flies through a tunnel, the opposite cars just darts of lights passing us like falling stars. I just watch. I think I’ll grow jaded before this is all over but, right now, things aren’t too bad.

 

***

 

I see very little of the train station besides the fact it’s built vertically and absolutely massive. Narrow corridors guide me to my train with no time for pause. Everyone else is moving fast too, most of the time with little to no luggage. People are perhaps a little richer here than the place I just left so I’m getting stares again. A bald child with deep blue eyes almost talks to me before his father drags him away with a polite smile. I don’t think I mind that much anymore. The clothes I printed protect me from too much scrutiny, marking me as a local.

 

The trip is short by virtue of the train being really fast. We’re very close to the edge of the station. Sometimes, we see the outside through gaps in the surrounding walls, and the planet below. It’s night there again. There are lights, but there are also fires, entire lines burning like soft embers. I find myself wondering what sort of hell it must be on the ground if we can see it from up here. There had been mention of a war, but I haven’t had the time to research it yet.

 

My destination is around fifty kilometers away.

 

It’s the docks.

 

***

 

I’m not leaving the station, at least not right now. The docks are situated near its middle, a spherical opening with structures extending out like the long lashes of a titanic eye, the purpose of which I can only guess. An impressive number of spacecrafts wait around it, endless motes visible only by their lights on the starry background of space. Once again the proportions and distances mess with my earthly brain. My best guesstimate is that most of them are ‘kinda far’ but there is a tail of inert ships extending out in a messy cloud until I can no longer see them. Most of those are fairly small relative to the impossible frame of Enderlith, but there are a few exceptions: a luxurious liner here, a massive, stocky cargo ship there, and slick silvery blades showing the sword of Law, one of the gods, on a white background. I assume those must be the local army. Or police. I haven’t found out where everyone stands for now. I follow directions and lifts through utilitarian tunnels, glass panels sometimes showing me grotty shanty towns made of old ships floating not far from the docks themselves. My destination is a side office near one of the many warehouses, a simple metal box only marked by the company’s name in neon sigils: Sethri Derelict Operations.

 

***

 

I think Sethri and I both surprise each other. His derelict operation is a small business, hence why he’s interviewing me himself in a dimly lit, narrow office that smells faintly of burnt herbs. He’s an old man, from his wrinkled skin and the white hair of a wispy beard. The rest I’m not sure how to interpret. First, he’s over 2m30 so I basically reach his solar plexus, but he’s also very thin. His eyes are unusually wide, his skin pale, and his ears remind me of a bat’s. There is a soulful quality to his gaze that I find a little relaxing, even with droplets of perplexity seeping from his soul.

 

I wait. He checks my ID again. I wait some more.

 

“So, Mr Plentiss, do you have any proof that you have reached a soul awakening?” he begins with a soft voice, softer than I expected, and higher pitched too.

 

I send my soul towards his.

 

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Hi.

 

The jump is spectacular and I can confirm that he is, indeed, really freaking tall.

 

“You… how did you do that?”

 

“Second awakening?”

 

“Second soul awakening? That is… quite rare.”

 

He looks at me again as if I were a snake. I know that look. He wants to know why I’m not fitting in his boxes.

 

“Look, I’ve been trapped in a place with no ambient ki for a very long time. I’m just trying to rebuild my life right now.”

 

“I see. Is that why you have no physical awakening at your age?”

 

“That’s correct,” I reply.

 

“Are you… from a great family or something?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Is anybody going to come for you?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

 

“I don’t think so and if there is, they’ll definitely kill me and no one else,” I reply, skirting the truth.

 

I don’t want to look for another job. This man may be an alien but he’s human enough that I can taste signs of despair. Too many pieces of electronics that have seen better days, a cluttered desk with stacks of papers wrinkled by worried hands, the guarded look, they all conspire to paint me a rather clear picture. Sethri’s biz isn’t going well. My friend Liz would have said it’s a red flag but that’s ok. I’m only here for a year, max. If I don’t die first.

 

“Well…”

 

He sighs, then softly swears in a language I don’t understand. He shrugs in a gesture akin to a surrender. Hope mixed with resignation radiate from his soul in a way that tells me I already have the job.

 

“Do you know what we do here?” he asks.

 

“Your offer said you needed someone like me to process derelict ships.”

 

“Yes. Well, we don’t technically need you but recent regulations mean we need someone with a soul awakening whenever processing any ship larger than a shuttle.”

 

“How old is the regulation?” I ask, curious.

 

Sethri gives me a measuring glance but I’m already in, so I know he’ll give me what I want anyway.

 

“A month old. After the tragedy…”

 

That’s how old the job offer is, which means they haven’t had any large prizes in over a month. Might be nothing but I’m guessing it must be biting into the margin of a small team.

 

“Tell me about the accident,” I request.

 

“I suppose I’d better get this outta the way,” he continues. “Have you heard about Aberrant Space horrors?”

 

“Hmm. No. Sounds bad.”

 

“You don’t say,” he says with gritted teeth. “Take your worst nightmare. A horror is worse by far. Only reason why they’ve not killed us all is that they don’t reproduce that we can tell and they’re, well, not that smart. I assume you’ve noticed the refugee flotilla around the dock?”

 

“They’re hard to miss.”

 

“There’s not just escaping the Three Crowns down below. You also got asteroid prospectors that lost their jobs, pirate attack survivors from one of the outer colonies… Founder, there’s even people who came here via voidships. Spent a fortune skimming through space only to be left out to drift like so much flotsam.”

 

I frown. That doesn’t sound right.

 

“Surely there’s space on the station?”

 

He huffs, then looks at me again. Those large eyes and soft voice make him less intimidating than he should be.

 

“Ah, you’re serious. You really were cut off then. What, offworld?”

 

“Yes,” I confirm. “I’m new.”

 

“You sure picked a shit time to show up. Just so you know, Enderlith is a nice place to be so long as you’re near the surface, but go deeper, and…”

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Lots of forgotten stuff. Lost people, it is said. Monsters. Tombs. Traps. The generators that keep the place running. Treasures!”

 

He leans forward.

 

“I think the tomb of the Founder himself is there!”

 

He catches himself.