The moment the Sperm Whale slipped into the debris belt of the battlefield site, Lucia’s warning siren blared through the bridge.
"Warning. Multiple floating space mine groups detected on our heading. They are in active mode."
"Quite a welcome. Let's clear a path."
Countless red pips scattered across the radar on my monitor.
They were parting gifts left behind by the retreating fleet. While they were simple proximity mines, they packed enough punch to gouge through a ship’s hull and shields alike if we so much as brushed against them.
I tightened my grip on the control stick and brought the anti-ship pulse lasers online.
"Lucia, link the fire control system. Mark the targets, starting with the closest."
"Acknowledged. Target lock engaged."
In my field of vision, red frames began snapping onto the mines one after another. I pulled the trigger.
Beams of light lanced out from various points on the hull, silently carving through the dark void. With unerring precision, the lasers found their marks, blooming into a sequence of explosive flowers.
The vacuum of space swallowed the sound, but the shockwaves of the blasts buffeted our shields, sending tremors through the ship’s frame. The flashes cast long, jagged shadows across the wreckage, eerily illuminating the Graveyard of Iron.
"Mine group neutralized. ...Warning! Multiple heat signatures detected! Rapidly approaching from the cover of the debris!"
The surrounding iron scrap seemed to stir, tearing through the lingering smoke of the explosions.
They were automatic defense drones that had been lurking among the shattered remains of the fleet. A swarm of inorganic malice—spherical bodies bristling with sensors and gun muzzles—came rushing toward us.
"Just as I thought. They’re eager to say hello."
I calmly worked the controls and engaged the fire control system. There were a lot of them, but their armor was thin. Rather than picking them off with energy weapons, I had a faster solution.
"Lucia, activate the Gauss Cannon. Load anti-air buckshot!"
"Roger. Ballistic calculations linked."
The Gauss Cannon turrets on the ship’s flanks swiveled and spat fire. Compared to the massive bulk of the Sperm Whale, they looked like pea shooters, and I didn't feel even a hint of recoil.
The rounds we fired were flechette shells—canisters packed with thousands of tiny metal darts. Upon firing, the warheads detonated, unleashing a fan-shaped rain of iron that swallowed the incoming drone swarm.
Flash after flash erupted in the dark.
The paper-thin armor of the drones offered no protection; they were shredded into honeycombs before they could even attempt evasive maneuvers. One by one, they went dark.
"Aah! What a waste! Those sensor units would have fetched a fortune!"
Mina shrieked as she watched the monitor, but I ignored her. Survival came before profit.
"Next one's below us. Lucia, five o'clock, distance eight hundred. Fire on that debris."
"I’m not detecting a signature there, Captain."
"Just shoot. I’ve got a bad feeling about it."
Following my order, Lucia fired the pulse lasers. The moment they struck the seemingly empty hunk of scrap, a brilliant explosion lit up the screen.
A stealth mine.
My "gamer’s intuition" had caught the invisible death trap.
"...Direct hit. Confirmed sympathetic detonation of a stealth mine."
"Good. We’re pushing through!"
The Sperm Whale surged forward, punching through the drone wreckage and the fading embers of the mines as we moved toward the heart of the battlefield. Before long, a strange blip appeared on the radar.
"...A faint distress signal?"
"Cross-referencing identification signal... It’s a Regular Army escape pod. However, I am only receiving one response."
An enlarged image appeared on the monitor. It showed the mangled remains of several pods drifting in the void. Among them, a single unit had miraculously remained intact.
The others had likely fallen prey to the drones or the mines. Whoever was inside was lucky to be alive.
"Let's bring it in. We'll see if the occupant is still breathing, or..."
I deployed the tractor beam.
We connected the recovered pod to the airlock and cycled the hatch. A young man clad in a flight suit came tumbling out.
"Pah! Saved at last! I really thought I was toast that time!"
The man yanked off his helmet and took deep, desperate gulps of oxygen. He had short-cropped brown hair and healthy, sun-tanned skin. His friendly brown eyes and the mischievous smirk on his lips left a strong impression.
He had the lean, toned build of a pilot, and his movements were sharp and efficient. For someone who had been drifting in a graveyard, he seemed remarkably energetic.
"Yo. You’ve got some luck."
"You’re telling me! If you hadn't scooped me up, I’d be a dried-up husk by now. My thanks, Captain!"
The man stood up and offered a hand with a carefree grin. He wore a Regular Army pilot wings insignia, but he lacked the stiff formality I usually associated with the military.
"I’m Ricardo Vance, a pilot with the 3rd Mobile Air Unit. Well, my unit’s been wiped out, so I’m basically a freelancer now! No need for the stuffy talk—just call me Rick."
"...You're a real optimist, aren't you? I'm Akito, captain of the Sperm Whale."
To be cracking jokes after losing his entire unit—the guy either had nerves of steel or he’d snapped under the pressure. Still, it was better than dealing with a gloom-and-doom type.
I shook his hand and introduced the two girls behind me.
"This is Lucia, our operator—ignore the maid outfit. And over there is Mina, our mechanic."
"Hey there. ...I checked the logs on the fighter you were flying. That was a high-spec machine," Mina noted, her interest piqued.
Rick nodded enthusiastically. "Right? She was my pride and joy... Ah well, as long as I’m alive, there’s always the next one!"
I peered into the open escape pod and noticed several crates packed inside.
"Wait, are these..."
"Oh, those? Yeah, I crammed in as much as I could to survive. They’re military ration containers."
Rick patted one of the crates.
High-Nutritional Combat Ration Type-S.
These were high-end rations issued to elite units, designed to provide perfect nutrition without tasting like cardboard. They were premium goods that never made it to the civilian market.
"...Rick, let's talk business. I'll take you to the nearest Regular Army base or colony. In exchange..."
"Say no more! You saved my life, so these rations are all yours. I couldn't finish 'em all by myself anyway!"
Rick laughed heartily. I liked him already; he was a quick study.
"Deal. Welcome aboard, Rick."
"Happy to be here! And hey, there's no rush to get back to base. My unit’s gone, so I’m just heading back to file a report. I’m happy to wait until you’ve finished your business here."
"That works for us. We were just about to head for the 'main course'."
I pointed to the massive shadow on the monitor—the wreckage of a cruiser-class ship resting deep within the debris field.
"Ugh, are you serious? That's my mothership... well, my 'former workplace,' I guess."
Rick gave a stunned, somewhat self-deprecating laugh.
"I never thought I’d be returning home as a scrappy scavenger after getting shot down. Fate’s got a twisted sense of humor. ...Alright, I’ll help out. I know that ship like the back of my hand."
It seemed our castaway had no intention of being a mere passenger.
With a lively new companion and a fresh stock of supplies, we set course for the heart of the graveyard to begin the real salvage.