I find a handful of smaller items, mostly busted and in need of repair before I can sell them, everything from molybdenum torque drive parts for engines to a large chunk of palladium used in exhaust systems. And then I find a badge.
The metal insignia is still attached to a scrap of fabric. A lieutenant died in this wreck. I collect the badge and wipe the dirt off until the pale gold shines. Then I pack it away in my not-for-sale pouch.
Collecting a nice chunk of palladium to sell to Aphria at the market, I crawl out of the crack and scan the sky for drones. The only advantage I have over drones is that I can dig deeper and find the goods they can’t detect.
A body shield winks out atop a different plateau, far from Falgus and Reji. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Eian or Geist looking for an easy grab from one of us doing the hard work.
The canyon has many fingers that zigzag across the land. I am stuck in a cluster of stone pillars between two narrow passages. And I know the moment I’m free of the rock, I’m subject to attacks from other crews with scanners who can detect a variety of metals, including the palladium I’ve found.
A hovercar lifts off the plateau opposite Falgus and Reji. A blast rips by my head from its position.
I drop the palladium chunk, scramble for it, and watch it fall.
“Fuck!”
As the ship flies closer, I realize who it is. Carielle is always lurking, trying to steal my finds because she’s a lazy, entitled brat with Daddy’s money who expects everything to be handed to her. Just once, I want to see her scrape and beg and cry herself to sleep at night.
She zooms toward me and my palladium. Aphria could turn it into corrosion resistant medical implants for low-income families. Carielle will make jewelry or some useless shit out of it, no doubt.
I draw my capture gun, drop to my stomach on the rocky ledge, and fire.
The net races toward the metal, snatches it up, and begins hauling it up to me. The rope hums as it coils up in my gun.
“Bitch!” Carielle calls over her PA as she whips out her hook. She’s going to try and cut it free again.
Not this time.I’m not a confrontational person, but I’ve grown tired of having everything taken from me by people with bigger muscles, better tech, or more money.
I get up and tug hard on the cord, and it hauls the palladium back into view. I catch it, stuff it in my pack, holster my gun, grab a rock, and sling myself over the edge.
Gun blasts slam into the rock around me, raining dirt and gravel over my head. I smash the collar of my suit, and it seals a helmet over my head, then I hustle down the hillside, crawling as fast as I can.
She doesn’t like it when I win.
Clouds of dust puff around me, making it difficult to see the rock face. I feel my way down and worry that my dog can’t see me either. He barks below.
“Radar,hide.”
He quiets.
I crawl.
Rock breaks free under my hands. I drop a story, scramble for a new handhold, but can’t find one. A shelf greets my body hard. Pushing up, I search for a new path down.
Another blast breaks free the rocks I cling to. I flail heels over head and smash into my side. The uneven cliffs knock me into a tumble. I land, face down on the ground, and cough in the dust.
My head throbs like my heart. My body thrums with hot pain like cold fingers reentering blazing warmth. For once, I consider not getting up. My chest aches from the effort of just staying alive. My stomach tenses from the impact, but there is nothing inside.
But Radar… He needs me to feed him. He has no one else.
Get. Up.
I curl up on the ground and weakly choke out a sob.How has this become my life?
Looking up at the hazy sky, I think back to my last memory of my mother, how she kissed me goodbye at the base. Then it was military boarding school until college, scholarships for a year, then bartending. Now I just chat with aliens at the market and read books on alien cultures and languages, searching for a connection, a reason I am alone, an explanation for why the military wouldn’t take me even though she served. I think it is why none of the soldiers I’ve reached out to, and every office I’ve walked into just to talk, always kick me out like I’m some sort of criminal.
When I manage to get my hands under me and pick my head up, I notice something jagged beside me. Protruding from the dirt, inches from my face, is a sharp piece of metal. Panic makes me scramble back.
If I had landed two inches to the right, I’d be dead. Metal would’ve punched through my face, leaving Radar alone and me to die a slow, painful death.
