Star Scrapper, page 1
Copyrighted Material
Star Scrapper Copyright © 2024 by Variant Publications
Book design and layout copyright © 2024 by JN Chaney
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing.
1st Edition
CONTENTS
Don’t Miss Out
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
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1
Debris clattered onto the metal floor in front of me and slammed against my back, the thick jacket providing only a modicum of protection. One chunk of dirt crunched on my headlamp, knocking it ajar and coating my facemask in dirt. I fixed the light, the beam pointing down the decaying starship toward my prize. Or theoretical prize, anyway.
I had bid on this scrap site because it was the only job available when I checked in this morning, but when I read the description, I immediately knew why none of the other scrappers had bid on it: Actium IV was a huge, high-density planet with no life, and it was on the far side of the Sector. Barren and inhospitable, the only thing it had going for it was the fact that the atmosphere was breathable.
And this scrap site.
Pushing deeper into the ship, I glanced around for anything of value. Unfortunately, this one was old. Really old. My adoptive father, Lutch, had taught me how to eyeball the age of the technology, and I could usually get it to within a decade. This ancient vessel looked to be 200 years old. The couple of bullet striations streaking the walls that I had seen on the way down bolstered my suspicions: it was from the Old War.
Metal groaned when I stepped on a panel in front of a closed door, and more dirt and bolts crashed to the ground. One screw that had been jarred loose rocketed downward and punctured the alloy floor.
Good thing that wasn’t my spine, I thought, jamming the crowbar into the crack at the door and pressing my shoulder up against the metal. The high gravity here wasn’t only potentially deadly, it also made everything more difficult. Each step took the energy of a dozen, and pulling the crowbar to pry open the door felt like trying to lift a car.
When the door popped and swung open, revealing another length of corridor, the ship around me moaned again. It had been buried over the last two centuries, and the earth above was threatening to consume it at any moment.
I had to get out of here. Grab whatever there was to loot and return to the surface and back to my own ship. So far, this job had been a bust. Some old, desiccated rations, a few time-ravaged uniforms, and a handgun more rust than metal. The only thing of value was a bottle of wine, but I suspected that it was past the point of “aged” to now be deemed undrinkable or, more likely, hazardous for human consumption. Probably not the kind of thing you want on a wine label.
I snapped my head back up the way I had come, listening and staring into the dark. There was no movement. No sounds. I was alone.
My ship’s short-range scanners hadn’t detected signs of life here, and most everyone in the galaxy knew better than to ambush a scrapper on a job, though it wasn’t unheard of.
A skeleton sat slumped against the wall, the metal at its back stained a dark brown. The body was wearing the ancient Consortium armor that I had seen at the museum the one time the orphanage had arranged a field trip there in order to impress some inspectors and keep their accreditation.
This was from the Old War, all right.
Turning my light, the darkness in front of me seemed to consume it, leaving the beam to dissipate into the void just before my face. Every heavy step bent the panels beneath my feet, causing them to moan with crackling echoes, and it felt like a matter of time before I was going to crash through. And it wouldn’t be the first time.
Another sound from behind me sent a chill up my spine and I stopped entirely, as if Medusa herself had gazed at me. Hardly a breath escaped my lips as I listened.
Nothing.
After a long moment, I kept pressing forward into the void, heart pounding against my ribs and hand ready to pull the weapon from the holster at my side. I hardly had to use the old handgun, but I liked to know it was there.
When Lutch had given it to me for my sixteenth birthday, he had squinted his massive front eyes at it before turning to look at me. “Point it to make your point. Shoot it in the air to scare. Use it only if someone uses theirs on you first.”
He had been unbearably proud of himself when he said it, and I had done what all teenagers throughout the universe did at their father’s sage wisdom. I rolled my eyes.
Looking back now, it’s clear that I had taken the lesson to heart. The stomper at my side had only ever been used in self-defense, and more often than not, when one of the large projectiles was fired, it struck the ceiling above my head to make a point. And mostly I kept it slung at my side to be intimidating.
Not that there was anything to intimidate here.
A wall appeared in the beam of light just in front of me and a door with the words Hanger Bay written across it.
Now I was getting somewhere.
Dragging my body forward, I lifted the crowbar once again and jammed it into the gap between the sliding panels before opening it enough to force the rest of the way with my side. Once it was ajar enough to squeeze through, I fished a small metal wedge from one of the many pockets in my jacket and then dropped it on the floor. It landed with enough force to dent the frame and fire a loud clang through the ship.
Releasing the pressure, the door slid and stuck against the jamb and when I turned the light again, I saw nothing but dancing specks of dirt in the path of my light. I groaned but pressed forward.
I needed money. This job had to yield dividends.
The sound of my footfalls changed when I moved into the space. Rather than bouncing off nearby walls, the sound took time to bounce back. Lutch taught me to use all of my senses. He had compared scrappers to hunters who needed to understand their surroundings in order to find their prey. Hunting down valuable loot was no different. An acute sense of place and understanding of the environment made the difference between leaving with something valuable and leaving empty handed.
Not that my highly attuned senses were necessary now.
Taking another couple of labored steps forward, my light fixed on another skeleton, this one lying face down on the ground, a blood stain on the back of a frayed flight suit.
“What happened to you?” I wondered aloud before kneeling and checking the pockets. The fabric disintegrated to my touch and there was nothing to be found until I flipped open the holster on its side. I pulled the weapon out. An ancient energy pistol, by the look of it. I smiled.
This will fetch a high price, no question, I thought. Maybe this site would turn out to have some value after all.
I tugged on the belt, causing the loop to slip off the rattling bones before jamming it in the bag slung over my shoulder. One of the body’s arms had been reaching forward and I followed the direction it was going, gazing up to see a long, sleek shape just above head height.
I craned my neck, the beam of light revealing the nose of a one-man starfighter with the word Starblaster emblazoned along the side.
I chuckled to myself. No one worked too hard coming up with that one.
The ship itself was long and narrow with two short, triangular wings on each side, a cockpit at the top, missile batteries on the underside, and a gun at the front. It was in pretty good condition, and I started to wonder how deep I was under the ground and if it would be possible to bring my ship around and tow this back.
If Starblaster was still in working condition, it would be worth a lot. Even if it wasn’t, there were collector
s who coveted items from the Old War. I had heard rumors that some rich families had vast collections larger than those at the museums and would even dress up, pretending to be soldiers from the war and play at fighting with one another.
I couldn’t imagine being wealthy enough to collect things just to put them on a shelf that I didn’t even look at when I walked between the kitchen and the bathroom. And I certainly couldn’t picture having enough time to play at war. But the kind of people who served in Parliament or were elected to the Triumvirate were as different from me as any of the non-human species around the galaxy.
A ladder hung from the side of the ship, and I made my way over to it. Both the ladder and fighter were in good shape, given their age. Having been made with alloys from across the universe and built to withstand various planetary weather conditions in addition to intergalactic combat, it could retain its integrity for a long time. Fortunately for scrappers like me. After taking a sharp breath in, I pulled myself up, moving my feet from rung to rung laboriously.
I hate this place, I thought as my muscles screamed with every move. Next time, I’m bidding on a job on a planet made of pillows.
After heaving myself over the lip of the cockpit, I shone my light in to see if the controls were still in working order. For having been hundreds of years in the past, the control panel was like something out of the distant future. My eyes went wide as I looked at the technology within.
Large, sleek screens now little more than a reflection in black, holographic display imagers and neuralink receivers were set in front of the pilot’s seat. While many of these technologies still existed, they were different in the modern era. Since the outlawing of all artificial intelligence in the wake of the war, all computerized systems were nothing like what I was staring at.
Then I heard it and my head snapped up.
2
And this time, I knew it wasn’t the ship or dirt or my imagination.
It was the sound of clawed feet against metal. From the other side of the room, the chittering sound of Vekrass skittered into my ear as they approached quickly. The growing sound began to bounce around the hanger like an approaching swarm and I took one last look in the cockpit.
On the seat was a small metallic cube about the size of my palm which I reached out and grabbed, dropping it in my bag before clambering down the ladder. I would normally jump down from this height but, enjoying my kneecaps as they were, I decided against it here.
When I reached the deck, the sound was getting closer, and I shot a look into the darkness at the far side of the room. At first, there was nothing, but then I saw the red eyeshine. One set. Then another. And soon, the swarm was cutting through the dark in my direction.
I turned and ran the way I had come, my heart thundering as I slammed away, my body straining and sweat beading along my brow before being pulled to the deck below.
At the door, I tried to kick the jamb free, but the metal bent around it and there was no way to get it free without stopping and prying the thing out, and I didn’t have the time with the swarm closing in on me.
Due to their resemblance to human-sized rodents from Earth, early human colonists had been cautious around the Vekrass but now, the two most populous species in the universe worked together. The Vekrass had many representatives in Parliament and had been elected to the Triumvirate on several occasions including the first.
Like with any people, they had their bad actors too. The Junk Rats, as they were called by the rest of the Universe, were the black eye of Vekrass politicians. Rather than working with the Scrapper’s Guild, these scavengers simply descended on sites and took whatever they could before disappearing into space. Depending on the crew, they would either subdue or kill any scrapper they came upon.
A shot rang out, and a bullet hit the floor somewhere behind me.
Just my luck to have been intercepted by a crew who didn’t seem interested in leaving any survivors.
Pulling my own weapon free, I twisted my body to aim it in the direction of my pursuers. Though, “aim” is too strong a word as the weapon was waving wildly.
I was about to pull the trigger before remembering protocol.
Running as quickly as I could but feeling as though I was moving in slow motion, I forced the words from my mouth through my gasping pants. “This is Scrapper Twenty-Seven. I am at this requisition site with the permission of the Scrapper’s Guild under the protection of the Consortium. You are in violation of Universal Law and must leave immediately or I am authorized to use deadly force.”
Was I legally obligated to shout this before opening fire?
Yes.
Did it actually matter in the heat of the moment or stop the Scavengers from descending upon me?
No.
But now that I had said it, I was free to pull the trigger in the direction of the bodies in the dark at my back. Still pushing forward, I contorted my torso to point the stomper behind me at the pursuers. It was awkward and difficult, but it would have to do.
Muzzle flash filled the hall for just a moment, illuminating hooked claws and patchy fur, gnashing teeth and patchwork armor. I had tried to arc my shot, but the bullet slammed to the ground harmlessly in front of the throng, stopping them only a moment before they continued to surge toward me.
Pointing my hand higher, I pulled the trigger again, but this time, the bullet punctured the ceiling and did nothing to stop the creatures pursuing me.
It was a surreal chase, all of us heaving to drag ourselves forward as though we were running at the bottom of a swimming pool. That did nothing to assuage my fear as they were closing in on me. The beam of my headlamp swung wildly back and forth when I checked over my shoulder and squeezed the trigger again.
Keeping the weapon raised was becoming nearly impossible, my arm burning and screaming for rest. Each heaving step made it feel as though the muscles in my legs were going to tear apart, but I kept moving, and soon I saw the stairs at the hatch I had entered through.
The pinpoint of light in the distance grew larger but the sound of the Vekrass was nearly upon me. When I fired off the shot this time, I heard a shriek followed by confused chatter. Gripping my gun, I slammed both hands onto the railings, using my combined upper and lower body strength to drag myself up the stairs. The narrow walkway worked to my advantage as my pursuers had to file in one at a time with each of them wanting to be the one who took me down. They clawed and scratched at one another as they attempted to keep pace, but I started to lose them.
Or, at least put a little bit of distance between me and them.
At the top of the stairs, I wheeled around and pulled at the crowbar I had wedged in the door, yanking my hand free just before the heavy metal slammed, trapping my pursuers on the other side. There were enough of them to be able to reopen the door quickly, so I had only bought myself a little time. But hopefully, it would be enough to escape.
Rushing through the cavern that the scrapper scout team had blown into the earth to reveal the ship after detecting it on their scanners, my eyes burned as they adjusted to the bright light above and the reflected brightness of the yellow stone planet below.
Once again, I wished that I could afford goggles with night vision and light acclamation adjusters rather than the hard plastic ones I was wearing that did nothing more than keep dirt out of my eyes and all too frequently fogged up.
With each blink, the world around me grew a little bit clearer, and I could see the Buzzard where I had left it two hundred paces from the cavern’s mouth. My ship was large, designed for use by a full scrapping crew though I hadn’t been able to afford one of those for a long time. It was brown with grit and rust, the original paint having long peeled and flaked away. Two retractable claw arms flanked a gangplank at the front and a tow magnet was mounted above another boarding ramp at the aft which led to a large scrap storage area.
It had a few meager facilities, like a kitchen and washroom, as well as heavy guns on the top and bottom. Of course, they required gunners to operate and, since we hadn’t had a crew for years, they served no purpose. The only weapon I had at my disposal was a small micromissile cannon at the front of the ship, mounted just below the cockpit which I could fire from my control sticks.
