In places like this, "finds" were often buried deep. That went for both ingredients and technology alike.
"Port entry permit confirmed. Sperm Whale, proceed to dock at Block 4, Heavy Cargo. ...Welcome to the party, big guy."
The transmission from the control tower lacked the clinical, businesslike tone of the regular army; instead, it carried a distinct, overly familiar ring.
Once the ship was secured in its berth, we descended the ramp. Our excursion party consisted of myself, Lucia, and our guide, Professor Stein. Mina had opted to stay behind, claiming she "wanted to start gutting the Interdictor wreckage," while Emulgand had holed up in his temporarily assigned quarters, insisting he "couldn't move another inch."
Stepping onto the dock, the air was thick with the pungent scent of oil and exhaust fumes, underscored by the sharp aroma of various spices.
"Alright, first order of business: turning this scrap into cash. Professor, I assume you have a lead?"
The Sperm Whale’s cargo hold was currently packed to the brim with armor plating salvaged from the pirate military ships, thruster components, and dense slabs of rare metals. If we walked into any random junk shop, we’d likely be taken for a ride and forced to settle for pennies, but the professor apparently had an ace up his sleeve.
"Indeed. I have an old acquaintance in the area. ...The proprietor is a bit of a character, however."
Professor Stein led the way, his cane tapping rhythmically against the deck. He didn't lead us toward the glittering main thoroughfares, but instead into a series of dim, narrow back alleys where exposed piping snaked across the walls like veins.
Ignoring the shifty electronic drug dealers and the cybernetic pimps loitering in the shadows, we eventually reached a shop tucked away at the end of a lane. The sign above the door simply read: Salvage, Appraisal, & Miscellaneous.
"Pardon the intrusion, Gordo," the professor announced as he swung the door open.
The interior was a chaotic landscape of junk. From behind the counter, a massive man emerged, his body almost entirely replaced with cybernetic parts. His right eye was a bulbous composite sensor, and his left arm was a heavy-duty manipulator that looked more like construction equipment than a limb.
"...Well, if it isn't old man Stein. You still kicking?"
"How rude. It’s not as if I’m researching immortality. ...I’ve brought guests today."
The owner, Gordo, fixed me and Lucia with a piercing, analytical glare.
"That's a high-grade maid. But just so we're clear, I don't deal in human trafficking."
"You've got it wrong. This is what we’re here to sell," I said, tapping my handheld terminal to bring up the manifest of salvaged goods.
Military-grade composite armor, electronic components, high-end fire control system chips... none of it was the kind of stuff that circulated through legitimate channels. In this part of space, it was considered boorish to ask where such things came from.
Gordo’s prosthetic eye flickered with a red light as he scanned the list at high speed.
"...Hoh. Old Federation Army cruiser class, by the look of it. And the cross-sections on these damage points are remarkably clean. You took these apart with a delicate touch."
"I guarantee the quality," I replied.
"Fair enough. I'll take the lot at thirty percent above the current market rate. ...But I have to say, old man, I’m surprised to see you bringing in such rugged hardware. You used to only have eyes for 'unethical culture tanks' or 'prohibited genetic samples' and other such monstrosities."
"Hmph. Research simply requires a certain degree of sacrifice and a healthy broadening of legal interpretation. ...As for now, I am acting as something of a patron to this young man."
I see, I thought. So that’s how the professor knows this place. A mad scientist and a black-market fence—it was a "danger: do not mix" chemical reaction if I ever saw one.
The negotiations proceeded without a hitch. The final offer was even higher than I’d anticipated. It wasn't just enough to cover our ammunition costs; it was more than enough to serve as a substantial operating fund for the near future.
"So..." Gordo’s voice dropped an octave just as we were about to shake on the deal. "What are you planning to do with the 'big prize' that isn't on the list?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked, playing it cool.
"Don't play dumb with me. If you brought back the remains of that fleet, there should have been a much more interesting toy in the pile. ...Something like an Interdictor Core."
Sharp. As expected of a professional buyer in a place like this.
"Unfortunately, that's not for sale. Our engineer took a liking to it, so I decided to let her keep it as a plaything."
I gave a casual shrug. An Interdictor was a powerful piece of tech, but it was also incredibly dangerous to move. Selling it would leave a massive trail, and more importantly, Mina was currently guarding it with her life, drooling over the prospect of "absolute analysis."
Selling that thing would probably cause more of a mess than if I tried to hawk my own kidney.
"Tch. What a waste. I have plenty of clients who would pay a king's ransom for one of those."
Gordo clicked his tongue in disappointment, but he didn't push the issue. Knowing when to back off was the mark of a true professional.
We left the shop and headed back into the bustling, sordid alleys. My pockets were heavy with credits. I was just about to suggest we find an information broker to start digging for our real target—the "Star Tuna"—when it happened.
"—I have been expecting you."
A man in a sharp black suit stepped soundlessly from a corner of the alley. He wore a featureless mask over his face. He didn't move like a common thug; his posture was refined and disciplined.
"...Who are you?"
I tensed, my hand drifting toward the holster at my hip. Lucia immediately shifted into a combat stance, her hand moving toward the telescopic stun baton concealed beneath her skirt.
"I have no hostile intentions, I assure you. ...I take it I am addressing Captain Akito of the Sperm Whale, and Professor Stein Hound, a man of great standing within Techne Prime?"
The man gave a bow that managed to be both polite and incredibly haughty. He reached into his breast pocket and produced a pitch-black envelope.
"This is an invitation from my master: 'The Spider,' a member of the Oasis Administrative Council."
"...The Administrative Council?"
The shadows that ruled the Oasis underworld. We hadn't been in port for even an hour, yet their intelligence was already this fast.
"The prowess you displayed in single-handedly dismantling the fleet that plagued the Sea of Vol Ga Do, coupled with the professor's arrival... My master has taken a keen interest in you both. We would be honored if you would join us for dinner."
Dinner?
Right on cue, my stomach gave a quiet growl.
"...If there’s food involved, I’m willing to listen."
I took the envelope. Inside was a reservation slate for a high-end restaurant located in the Top Layer Sector. It seemed that simply selling our scrap and moving on wasn't going to be an option.
"Well, Professor, I guess this is what they call the price of fame."
"Hoh, the Administrative Council? If it's their table, I expect something far superior to the synthetic sludge served in the rest of this city."
The professor’s curiosity regarding unknown gourmet delicacies clearly outweighed any concern he had about a potentially dangerous summons. We exchanged a look, both of us curling our lips in a co-conspirator's grin.
An invitation from the masters of Oasis. There was no reason to say no—it was the perfect opportunity to see exactly how well people ate in this corner of the galaxy.
If you enjoyed the chapter and are looking forward to the next one, please hit the "★" button!
It might just help Akito’s dinner tomorrow get a bit of a gourmet upgrade. Thank you for your support!