《How to Build a Starship: a base-building harem adventure》


 1. A Prayer to the Starry Night

    A pressing sensation took hold of my head, as if there was a thick goth girl trying to squeeze my cranium with her thighs. I pried my eyes open and pushed myself away from the floor, only to find myself gently floating toward the ceiling.


    A blaring alarm slowly creeped into my awareness, and I suddenly shook awake.


    ¡°Right¡­ The ship was attacked while I was taking a dump!¡±


    Fear and urgency washed over me, but I still took a second to offer a silent prayer to the Lady in White for allowing me to finish putting my pants back on before the crash.


    Scared as I was, my brain went into survival mode as I surveyed the situation: I was in the airlock room, which conveniently linked to the toilet --- likely as part of some lazy scheme to use the same mechanisms to eject waste.


    I would soon find that those lazy engineers had saved my life.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°How long was I out¡­?¡± On a wall-mounted control panel, a warning let me know that life support was offline, and my time with breathing privileges was running out.


    I rushed to the closest door, and saw the void through a tiny transparent window on it. There was a massive hole in the hull... No, it¡¯d be more correct to say there were a few bits of the hull splattered into the darkness.


    ¡°Holy shit¡­¡± I felt a knot in my throat as I realized that, if I hadn¡¯t decided to step out and use the bathroom, I¡¯d be a floating corpse by now. Realizing my life had been at the mercy of the tiniest of coincidences filled me with a dread I couldn¡¯t hope to fully describe.


    But I grit my teeth and I put myself to work. It was going to take some serious effort, but I had no plans to die in space tonight. I turned to the airlock --- the door that was supposed to lead into space, and then to one of the two EVA suits firmly secured to the walls.


    I barely remembered how to put on one of these, but I managed to pull it off and the HUD came online, running a few safety checks. I took a deep breath of relief, and the system warned me to conserve oxygen.


    ¡°Right¡­¡± I checked the oxygen timer at the corner of my sight. ¡°Four hours.¡±


    ¡°If I don¡¯t figure something out, those may be my last four hours...¡±

 2. Blessing in Disguise

    If I was actually hoping to get something done within four hours in the middle of literal nowhere, I¡¯d need something more than an old spacesuit and my two hands.


    Fortunately, the two storage lockers in this room were hardly secured, and it took me less than a minute to crank open their latches. The first one had¡­ a pizza stuck to its ceiling? But the second one had a piece of loot that almost brought tears to my eyes:


    A complete starship maintenance kit, stored in a toolbox with the shape and size of a minifridge. It came with a roll of strong security wire about ten meters long, which I could hook to my suit to keep it from floating away into infinity.


    It may have been cheap and outdated, but in my eyes, it might as well have been made of gold.


    ¡°To think that the Practical Starship Maintenance elective would end up being useful¡­¡±


    I sighed, then grinned from ear to ear as I held the plasma soldering iron in my fist. With its battery indicator flashing green, I felt like I could put back together the two halves of a broken world.


    ¡°Here¡¯s hoping the distress beacon hasn¡¯t flown too far.¡± Chances were it was blown to dust by whatever left the transport ship like this. But, if this compartment had survived well enough to keep me alive, perhaps the cockpit was floating away, intact enough for me to salvage the beacon from it.


    I checked a second time for any other useful things in the airlock room. There was a spare EVA suit I could use if something happened to this one¡­ But I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be able to return here and put it on before the vacuum filled my lungs if came to that.


    ¡°Well then, might as well¡­¡± I prepared myself to escape.


    The airlock terminal did not allow me to open it normally without authorization from the ship¡¯s captain. However, in the same crash course I learned how to put on a spacesuit, I was taught these always have some sort of emergency release ¡ª one that is obviously loud and obnoxious to utilize, to reduce the chances of dangerous people doing it with bad intentions.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I had to put both of my legs against the ship¡¯s walls and pull a lever with the strength of my entire body, but the airlock eventually gave in and began pumping out what was left of this room¡¯s air.


    Well, it tried to. Considering the state of this ship, it¡¯d be a miracle if anything was left of the ventilation system. So, taking a dangerously deep breath, I stood flat against the wall and squeezed the switch to open the hatch. A powerful breeze shook the airlock room, and a gate to the void was opened.


    An eerie feeling washed over me as I pondered how dangerous it¡¯d have been if I had opened it without doing that. Shaking my head, I climbed outside, and latched my suit to the ship¡¯s EVA security reel. Nervous, I turned around to drink in the view of sea of stars outside.


    To my surprise, I didn¡¯t find myself looking for the bigger bits of debris sprawled around an immense night¡­ Instead, I found myself staring at something that I couldn¡¯t quite accept on the first try.


    One¡­ No, probably several dozens of starships. Maybe a hundred. Powered off and broken, some apparently intact, some ripped in two like a sword the size of a skyscraper had torn them apart.


    I stood there, mouth agape. A part of me was busy comparing my meagre life savings to the cataclysmic financial loss before my eyes. But another part of me was screaming! Begging to know how in the world I ended up in a situation like this. A battlefield? A xeno junkyard for sunk starships? Or somehow, even worse?


    I took a deep breath. Then a second one, and the HUD warned me again. I held back what were almost tears, and I gulped down with every particle of courage within me.


    ¡°No, no, this is good. With this many ships, at least one is bound to have a working distress beacon. Or¡­¡±


    The chances of a starship coming by this place in four hours weren¡¯t infinitesimally slim, but they weren¡¯t great either. My skin was still shivering as I steered my thoughts to consider this, but, if any of these fallen starships had working life support, I may be able to survive just slightly longer than four hours.


    ¡°I just hope that¡­¡± The question in the corner of my mind came to the surface. ¡°¡­ Whatever sort of battle took place here isn¡¯t about to have a rematch.¡±

 3. Like a 10,000 Degree Knife through… Anything?

    This ¡°spaceship junkyard¡± around me was quite the sight. It was also surprisingly varied. And this variation was concerning in more ways than one.


    I recognized some chunks of the passenger ship that brought me here, drifting further away by the second. And when I spotted a modified cargo ship with asymmetrical autocannon placements, the puzzle pieces started fitting in my head.


    Pirates? While space pirates would typically target merchant ships, I had heard of them capturing people and selling them as slaves. I didn¡¯t really enjoy thinking about underworld dealings like those, but¡­ Perhaps if it was a really slow day for them, they¡¯d eventually resort to intentionally targeting passenger ships?


    I wanted to stay with that theory, but there was something in my peripheral vision that shook me from it: a Falcon Empire battlecruiser, broken and shut down. Even in its current state, this glorious war machine still struck awe in me.


    Normally, that¡¯d be all I¡¯d have to say about it, but this was one of the few dozen starships I could see which laid in two halves, slowly floating apart. It had been cut almost perpendicularly at its center, like an innocent water bottle by a thirty-year-old weeb¡¯s katana blade.


    It was dreadful. Be it life support, a distress beacon, whatever. I could surely find it there. But I did not want to be a nanometer closer to it. I couldn¡¯t understand how that happened to it, and I had no desire of going there or finding out.


    ¡°At least not¡­¡± I glared at the oxygen timer, now at three hours and fifty minutes. ¡°Not while I am this vulnerable.¡±


    I turned back to the pirate ship. Its main thrusters were crippled, and there was a gaping hole on the side of it. If there were any pirates left inside of it, it¡¯d be ones whose escape pods got stuck in the ejection process, or...


    Well, I couldn¡¯t deny the possibility of there being other survivors like me.


    Nevertheless, I held the soldering iron like a handgun, smirking. I was strangely determined. Perhaps here, at the time of my life when I was closest to death, an ancestral fighting spirit had chosen to awaken within me.


    I estimated the distance between my latch on this shattered transport ship and that pirate ship. I couldn¡¯t be fully certain, but I should be able to just barely reach it if I cut myself from the safety reel just before it jerked and pulled me backwards.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    However, this old spacesuit did not have thrusters on it, so one wrong move would have me floating aimlessly for the rest of eternity...


    I looked around for safer alternatives. My eyes stopped on the toolbox that was wired to me.


    ¡°¡­ This is the silliest idea ever, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I grabbed the toolbox firmly and pushed it away from me. Doing so pushed me backward ever so slightly, but once the cord between us tensed, it started dragging me into the void with it. I clutched the transport ship¡¯s cable and placed my feet back on its hull.


    Right. As long as there was something wired to me, I could use it as a propulsion device to adjust my trajectory, even if slightly.


    Those were simple physics, but in these circumstances, it felt like guessing a cheat code in the face of an impossible boss. The idea of drifting into certain death became much less threatening, and this toolbox became increasingly more endearing. I should draw a cute face on it if I find a marker somewhere¡­


    I have to make sure I don¡¯t name it Wilson, though.


    I steeled myself like I never thought I would. Sure, determining myself to open the airlock was quite something, but this was the cosmic equivalent of deliberately jumping off a cliff. Tensing my knees so hard they started to vibrate, I positioned myself as perfectly aligned as I could.


    Then I jumped toward the pirate ship, hugging the toolbox like a father would his newborn.


    The pirate ship came closer within seconds. It wasn¡¯t that far, but just about any safety cable was bound to be short when compared to the ever-expanding immensity of space.


    Assuring the Lady in White I¡¯d be a good boy for the rest of my life, I unlatched the transport ship¡¯s safety cable from my suit and turned my head to look at the pirate ship. I¡¯d better hold on to it well, or I might even bounce off it¡­


    ¡°Ah, ah, I hate this, I hate this so much¡­¡± I was never a risk-taker. I had never gone climbing and I had never ridden a bike. When I chose to study engineering, I thought for sure I¡¯d be setting at a desk in a lab for the rest of my life¡­


    Wait, is this my life flashing before my eyes? No, no, no! Come on! I can do it! I can do it!


    The pirate ship came closer and closer, and I reached my hand towards it¡­


    Not good. There was not a single notch I could grab onto on the side of this thing. Oh, why did it have to be the one pirate that actually bought a sleek and aerodynamic ship, Lady in White? Save me, please!


    I quaked in fear, shivers running through me so brazenly that the suit¡¯s heaters started kicking up their strength. But I held my breath, and I held my eyes open, hugging the toolbox even closer.


    ¡°Please work!¡± I suddenly thought of a stupid and dangerous idea.


    I threw the toolbox parallel to the starship, placing me on a course to slam myself against its side and bounce away. If I had thought of doing this for an instant longer, I wouldn¡¯t have dared. But I had already done it, and for the next few seconds that felt like four times eternity, I watched the toolbox drift away from me¡­


    And fall into the hole on the side of the pirate ship, looping inside of it like a grappling hook.


    I¡¯m sorry, mom. Remember when you bought me that gaming terminal I wanted and I said it was the happiest day of my life? Well, it¡¯s the second happiest now.

 4. A Metal Box Full of Hopes and Dreams

    I was pulled into the pirate ship by the remaining inertia of my toolbox turned grappling hook. Breaking a cold sweat, I gathered my breath and vowed not do that ever again. However, the fear of being ambushed by a pirate in a spacesuit put me right back onto high alarm.


    I took my soldering iron back from the toolbox¡­ In principle, it wasn¡¯t too different from a heat gun, and it might even pass as one to someone that¡¯s never seen it before. But most importantly, I felt much safer while holding something in the vague shape of a pistol.


    I surveyed the room I had landed into while my toolbox gently floated beside me.


    Most cargo ships were blocky, boring machines. That was the feature you would typically use to tell them apart. Pirates would buy them because they were cheap, and they needed the cargo space to carry away the loot from a successful raid.


    Therefore, you could almost always spot a pirate ship if you saw a big metal box with a few laser cannons haphazardly tacked on to its sides. As far as I could tell while vertiginously flying towards it, this model was unusual in that regard.


    Seen from above, its front would be a sharp, sleek trapezium, like the front of a sports car. The bulky storage square sat at the back, and connected to the cockpit via a long rectangular section. A set of rear wings connected these two portions, and held what once was its thruster system.


    I stood in the rectangular section at the center, towards the cockpit. This room appeared to be a comfy living space, with a dining table and the wiring for a display leading up to the missing chunk of hull I came through.


    I wasn¡¯t a detective, but if I had to craft a theory, this¡¯d be the starship of a pirate that was decently successful, and had recently decided to upgrade to the priciest ship he could get his dirty hands on.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Speaking of...¡± I turned to the cockpit, and was surprised to find its airlock stuck half-opened, with a metal object stuck between the doors. The gap was just wide enough for a desperate person to crawl through.


    Constantly checking over my shoulder, I approached the airlock and tapped its access panel. It was powered off, which explained why someone would try to force it open. However, it took me less than a minute to find the emergency release: there was a notch on the side of the panel that allowed you to remove it, and doing so revealed a mechanical lever that I could pull on.


    ¡°There should be one of these on the other side, too. Perhaps he didn¡¯t know how to use it?¡±


    I looked behind me once more before pulling it with everything I had. Since the airlock didn¡¯t have any power, it didn¡¯t even attempt to make a noise, unlike the one at the transport ship.


    Carefully, I stepped into the cockpit and found it intact. I could see the latches for two seats on the floor, but only one was installed. The window screens were powered off and where a view of outer space should be, there was only a glossy dark.


    ¡°At least the pirate isn¡¯t here.¡±


    I took a look around the controls attached to the walls, and found a comms array that had a button for the distress beacon. Pressing it didn¡¯t do anything, but I took a screwdriver and removed the panel under it, finding a familiar device.


    A black metal box with a cylinder core at its center, attached to a rotating mechanism at the base. Its sides were lined with solar panels and an array of LEDs accompanied a tactile component on the bottom right corner of its frame.


    ¡°There you are...¡± I had not seen this brand or model of beacon before, but it was similar enough to the one I practiced with during that crash course.


    I powered on the beacon and encoded a simple ¡°Under attack by pirates, please rescue¡± message. I then took a deep breath of relief, feeling a massive weight come off my shoulders.


    ¡°There¡¯s that, I guess...¡± As much as I wanted to drop everything and celebrate, whether a mercenary or Falcon Empire ship would stop by and rescue me was fully up to chance. Even if I was confident in my good karma, or if I were ten or twenty times lazier than I am, I still wouldn¡¯t be able to sit still watching my oxygen timer tick down.


    Easing my rushing heart, I put down the beacon and gripped my soldering iron tight, making my way into the opposite side of the broken pirate ship.

 5. Marketable and Squishy

    The access panel on the airtight door to exit the dining area was surprisingly working. A warning flashed across it, informing me that the starship was running on a short supply of backup power. However, it also betrayed that there was breathable air from this point onward.


    I pressed my back to the wall before requesting the door to open. Air came gushing out, and I carefully peeked into it, expecting a surviving pirate to respond with laser fire. But there wasn¡¯t a sign of life in the entire hall before me, which was eerie to say the least.


    ¡°Not good.¡± I considered stepping in, and memories from tactical VR games I had played in the past came rushing to me. If the pirate came out of any of those doors while I was here at the end of the hall, I¡¯d be a sitting duck. For as much as my plasma soldering iron looked like a handgun, it could barely function as a close-quarters weapon, let alone return fire.


    I remained behind cover of the wall, and took one of the simpler devices out of the toolbox: a ten-foot pole with a claw at the end. It was essentially an industrial steel version of one of those grabby hand toys for kids.


    With it, I carefully reached to the closest door to me --- there were four, two on each side, and this one was to my left. I felt rather silly doing this, but if it kept me from getting shot, it didn¡¯t matter how cartoony this strategy would look to an observer.


    After about a minute of struggling, I managed to hit the release button and the door opened, with some more of the valuable oxygen leaking out... Not great, but compared to the prospective of getting shot by a pirate, it was nothing.


    I made a dash for the room I had just opened, and scanned it as quickly as I could, even checking the wardrobe. I took a breath of relief, pulled my toolbox into this room with me, and used the pole to close the door to the exposed dining room. The place began filling up with breathable air once more, and my UI¡¯s oxygen storage finally stopped ticking down.


    ¡°Thank the Lady in White...¡± It felt relieving to be off the clock for even a moment, although I wasn¡¯t going to take my helmet off until I knew for sure the pirate who owned this ship was dead and gone. Otherwise, he could always open the dining room door behind my back and I¡¯d die like a dumbass.


    Furthermore... I hadn¡¯t really been freed from the clock, just placed under a different clock, whose remaining time I couldn¡¯t see. That was worse in a certain way.


    ¡°I guess that just means I¡¯d better get to work.¡±


    This room was a comfy living quarter. It looked factory new, which confirmed some of my suspicions from earlier. However, the bed wasn¡¯t made and there were two sets of men¡¯s clothes in the wardrobe, so this was likely to be where the pirate slept.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    I was hoping to find a weapon in the bedside table¡¯s drawer, but I wasn¡¯t that lucky. Just an electronic cigar, some strings and a paperclip; none of which I had any use for. Specially the string and the paperclips, why were those even there?


    I peeked into the hallway and didn¡¯t get shot this time either. I quickly moved into the next room, index tight over the soldering iron¡¯s trigger.


    Uh... Well, this is a bit strange. This is also a fairly standard living quarter, but it¡¯s been colored an intense pink shade. There¡¯s plush toys all over the place...


    ¡°Oh, I know this one! I used to sleep with one of these.¡± I forgot about my dire situation for a moment to pick up one of them. It was a blue cat-robot thing with sly eyes and a lab coat. My mom bought it for me soon after I was born --- perhaps she instinctively knew I was the type of kid who¡¯d prefer something techy like this instead of an ever-so-standard teddy bear.


    Good memories filled me, drawing a smile on my face as I squished the blue thing close. It responded with an oddly perfect, as if pre-recorded, squeaky noise.


    ¡°Right, it did use to do that.¡±


    Giggling nostalgically, I put it down on the bed and looked around some more. The place became progressively eerier as I did. The dresser had all the sorts of things you¡¯d expect a girl to have: a set of manicure stuff, perfume, hair brushes, make up, jewelry... But it was all still in the packaging, and every bottle was still sealed. Nobody had actually used any of these things.


    ¡°It¡¯s like a dollhouse.¡± I said, turning back to the blue plushie. What was his name again...? ¡®Pikita¡¯? I laughed when I realized I felt compelled to take him with me.


    ¡°Fine, fine... I¡¯ll come get you once I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll make it out of here alive.¡± I spoke to the plushie as if it had been the one pleading to come with me. I turned to the door and leaned against the wall, rubbing my chin.


    A brand new, expensive starship. A simple room for the pirate captain, and a very girly room that nobody¡¯s ever lived in...


    ¡°Was he moving in with his daughter?¡± I proposed skeptically.


    It was hard for the average person to see pirates as people, and I was no exception to that. It had to be this way, since news of their crueler crimes spread like wildfire through international space, and sometimes it really seemed like all of them were fighting for a record on who could do the most inhumane shit possible.


    However, a part of me really wanted to picture an old man turning to a life of crime to pay for her daughter¡¯s studies or to cure her from a rare disease, and returning to be with her after finally gathering enough money to give her a safe and comfortable place to live.


    ¡°But... why not just become a mercenary, then?¡± I discarded my theory, knowing my second answer was almost surely the correct one. After all, this whole setup neatly matched the setting of a few VR games I had tried, where you¡¯d ¡°train¡± a defenseless young woman into a ¡°perfect¡± bride.


    With an unclean feeling washing through me as I pictured that situation happening in real life, I peeked to both sides and valiantly took a step down the hall.


    There were two rooms left, and then there was the final door toward the storage compartment. The generator would be behind one of these.

 6. Unconventional Troubleshooting

    The door to the maintenance room opened with a mechanical whirr. I recognized it even before stepping in, because it was pitch black and lined with blinking LED lights, like a torn fragment of the night sky.


    One of the three lights across it powered on when I stepped close enough. Unlike the amber emergency lights, these were a blinding white and would power off as soon as I got away from them. When I studied about this concept, I thought it was a very clever compromise between saving power and having enough light to get work done.


    ¡°Here¡¯s hoping the generator isn¡¯t busted.¡± I said to myself as I went right into the room, as I had done the last two times.


    PSSSSH! The door across the hall opened, and my entire body went into overdrive. I jumped out of sight as soon as I could, and a bolt of pink fire barely missed me. The door closed again and I heard the sound of laser fire two more times. Seeing that the heat didn¡¯t cut through the door, I rushed to it and put my soldering iron to the locking mechanism.


    ¡°ERROR!¡± A big red cross on the panel to its side let me know the person outside had just tried to open it. I stepped away from the door as the heated metal cooled, fusing in place. I heard banging and a muffled yell. I looked to my left, checking the room¡¯s machines.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    He had a laser gun and I didn¡¯t. I needed to bridge the gap somehow. I rushed to the life support panel and pulled open the lid. A warning flashed as I dislodged its algae canister and placed it in a spot meant for spare ones.


    ¡°I¡¯ll drown him out. If he¡¯s not wearing a spacesuit, the oxygen will...¡±


    I stopped myself.


    ¡°Damn! What if he is? I haven¡¯t seen the airlock room yet. He might even have time to go get one now.¡±


    Thinking of something else, but not giving up on this idea, I placed my hand on the control panel that had automatically powered, and commanded to pull all the air back into the gas tanks. The sound of depressurization surrounded me as the air quickly became lighter.


    My mind raced, as my thoughts became a highway and the distracting ones stung like spikes. I hadn¡¯t felt like this since I arrived late to my Electrodynamics final exam and had to finish it in fifteen minutes... Which is also a distracting thought! Fuck!


    I turned my head to the panel next over. ¡°Shields. Won¡¯t do.¡± I looked again. ¡°Heating...? No, that¡¯ll cook me too.¡± And then I laid my eyes on the Gravity Control panel, and my expression changed ever so slowly...


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve got it.¡±

 7. Ancient Space Warfare

    CLANG! The vibration rushed from the door to my feet. I turned and saw the soldered lock start to crack and give, as a crowbar had been stuck in between the door and its frame. I recognized it as the object that had held the cockpit open.


    That was quicker than I would have preferred, but I¡¯d had enough time. I was almost done setting up.


    I soldered the last of my five screwdrivers to the ceiling, pointy end downwards. I stepped back and powered my terminal, which was locked onto the remote-control screen, and slightly pushed a slider. The gravity of this room, and only this room, became somewhat stronger, and my feet connected with the ground. I immediately put it back to normal.


    Gravity control was terribly power-hungry, and it¡¯d be one of the first things to be turned off during an emergency. If the batteries were due to last an hour powering just the lights and life support, by doing this they¡¯d hardly last a couple of minutes.


    This plan didn¡¯t have second chances, but I did have a few avenues for victory. I stuck a washer in the trigger mechanism of my soldering iron, and securely taped the hilt to the end of my ten-foot-pole, which I had shortened moderately.


    ¡°It¡¯s a plasma spear.¡± I said, feeling oddly proud of myself despite the life-or-death situation. Perhaps I was happy precisely because I came up with this in such a situation.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    For the finishing touch, I had unscrewed the lid off ---coincidentally--- the shield panel¡¯s wiring compartment and soldered an improvised handle onto it. I was fairly confident it¡¯d be made of the same alloy as the rest of the starship --- one capable of resisting a portable laser gun¡¯s fire, at least a few times.


    Armed like a spartan and with my terminal taped onto the inner side of my improvised shield, I took position right before the door slid open. The vibration of a slam reached me through my feet, that were barely sticking to the ground.


    I was hoping for him to barge in, but I had also prepared for him to peek first. I saw him move by the corner of my eye, and just as he decided to come in, I rose with my shield and thrust my lance at him from behind its cover. I had no way to know if I hit him.


    No noise was made, but I did feel the heat of laser fire. It meant he reacted and shot twice. He took a step back and I placed my foot on one of the consoles, tackling with my improvised shield.


    The zero-gravity impact pushed me backwards, but I had been expecting it. He had not. Not daring to peek my head out of my shield¡¯s safety, I threw my spear like a javelin, and pulled the slider as far down as it went.


    BAM! The shield touched the floor before me, and my entire arm shook with the impact¡¯s energy. I had almost dropped it, but I held on with both hands and turned to him.


    He was down with his hands on the ground, but he yet clutched his handgun. He rose his head to me and I used all of my strength to reach my terminal despite the heightened gravity.


    I pushed the slider to the opposite limit and was thrown against the ceiling.

 8. Space is Rarely Fair

    My back singed with pain as the world turn upside down. I¡¯d barely had time to avoid hitting my head, and the rest of my body took the brunt of the slam.


    An instant later, the starship went completely dark. The motion activated lights powered off, and even the amber of the emergency ones down the hall did so too. Gritting my teeth, I kept my eyes open and clicked the switch for my spacesuit¡¯s flashlight. I was ready for round two, but¡­


    ¡°It worked¡­¡± I said, heaving and panting. ¡°My plan worked.¡±


    The gruesome sight of a man pierced by five pointy screwdrivers was like a birthday cake for me. My face filled with relief and an ecstatic pulse ran through my veins as the fear and tension began to wash away. Only after a second could I convince myself to move again. Fortunately, he wasn¡¯t moving anymore.


    The laser handgun had flown off his hand. It floated gently in the air, and I took it in my hand. The crosshair aligned with his helmet before I could think about it, and the rational part of me took no moral considerations: a purple flash filled the room and a gust of misty red oxygen bloomed out of his helmet.


    I then leaned against the wall for a break, trying hard to catch my break.


    ¡°I made it. I got him. I really got him¡­¡±


    My mind hadn¡¯t thought of anything but fighting and winning for the last few minutes, and they¡¯d felt like hours. I felt like I had awoken from a dream, and I had the sensation that this moment would rewrite something about my psyche that would never be quite the same again.


    I looked at him again and the tinge of guilt I had was overwhelmed by my ardent desire to survive. Holding back nausea, I pulled his body off the improvised spike trap and checked his spacesuit¡¯s external compartments for any useful stuff.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Two energy packs and his terminal. Not bad, counting the gun.¡±


    There was not a password in the terminal. This was about what I expected considering none of the starship¡¯s systems and doors did. In retrospective, this man¡¯s lack of consideration for data security may have been what ended him.


    ¡°Thank you for making pirates irresponsible with passwords, Lady in White¡± I prayed solemnly, feeling specially paladin-like after using the cosmic power of gravity as a weapon in a deathmatch.


    Anyways, I¡¯d check the terminal later. I had other priorities for now. Thinking of this, I wrapped his utility belt around my spacesuit and placed his gun back into its holster. I was hoping to hook some of my tools onto this belt too, but all it had were a few slots for energy packs.


    ¡°Speaking of which¡­¡± I picked up my improvised plasma spear. It had wasted quite a bit of juice, but there was still power left within it. I unstuck the trigger mechanism and cut the tape with a razor from my toolbox. Then, I stored the ten-foot pole back inside it.


    I took one last look at the soldering iron, which I had held so earnestly like a weapon earlier. With the pirate¡¯s stolen handgun to my waist, I felt like a kid who¡¯d become an adult.


    ¡°I should get to work¡­¡± I said, looking at the generator. But I couldn¡¯t earnestly focus on that yet. I needed to make sure of something first. With an actual weapon in my hands this time, I cleared every room I¡¯d been to so far and checked the remaining two ones.


    Across the maintenance room there was an airlock room, with two spacesuit racks. Only one of the suits was missing, which was comforting, but I still decided to clear the storage room just in case. I tried to check the engine compartment as well, but I found myself staring at the void.


    Some of the stuff on the shelves looked interesting, but rummaging through the cargo could wait until the lights were back up ¡ª if I could figure that out. Nevertheless, it was relieving to know there wasn¡¯t anyone else waiting in ambush.


    ¡°The hole on the side is pretty concerning, but the generator definitely comes first.¡±


    I dragged the pirate¡¯s body out to the dining room and kicked him into the void. I regretted it a moment later ¡ª perhaps I could have made some use of the tech in his broken spacesuit? But perhaps this was the best for my mental state.--


    I returned to the generator room and got ready for a heavy troubleshooting session.

 9. The Only Real Reason to Hate Pirates

    A fusion core. It was the most common type of generator nowadays. In practice, it was the only type that could run for a mercenary¡¯s whole career with minimal refueling. It was also easy enough to scale that large-class ships could be equipped with ones the size of houses.


    This model was the size of an armchair, and shaped like a square pedestal holding up a shiny metal ball. After tapping it with an electronic thermometer, I placed my hand on it and gave it a rub, like I¡¯d do for a dog or a cat.


    ¡°What¡¯s up with you, huh, big boy?¡± I said with a smile, and then squinted my eyes as I realized I was probably going mad. I turned to my toolbox, floating gently behind me, and remembered my thoughts of drawing a silly little face on it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m crazy or just lonely.¡± I shook my head and put myself to work. I had removed the screwdrivers from the ceiling, and although the handles were a bit warped and the blades stained, they had no difficulty helping me unscrew the lid.


    I took the generator¡¯s frame apart and prepared to spend an hour of my precious oxygen looking for problems, but the flaw in front of me was so glaring it might as well have turned into a rabid dog and jumped out to bite me.


    ¡°What...? Why! Who¡¯d do this?¡± I took out the charred fuse and blinked several times at the empty slots beside it. Fuses where important everywhere, but out in space, they were essentially extra lives. Running a generator with a single one was nothing more than asking to be struck down by a single shield-breaking missile.


    Speaking of which, would that be what made the hole? I¡¯d heard about Northstar making a smaller version of their anti-warship Mistletoe missiles. I could see that tiny new payload making a hole about that big in a ship with little to no plating like this one.


    If that was the case, it¡¯d also explain the burnt fuse. The meltdown of the fission core at the end of the missile would have produced an absurd voltage at the moment of impact, jamming the shield emitters and blowing a fuse. Since this was the last one, the ship became a sitting duck¡­


    ¡°Well, no matter.¡± I shrugged and took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯ll just install the spares¡­¡± I reached for the obvious ¡®SPARE FUSES¡¯ drawer on the generator frame¡¯s side.


    And I found a yellow note that read ¡°Don¡¯t forget to buy more fuses!¡±


    ¡°FUCKING PIRATES!¡± I punched the ground so hard I felt it through the spacesuit and began floating toward the ceiling. I shook my head in frustration as I dragged myself back into position.


    ¡°Ugh¡­ How am I going to fix this, then?¡± I looked at the charred fuse like it was the culprit of my situation¡­ and it stared back at me with a sad ¡°XwX¡± face and powered off cat-ear-shaped lights.


    ¡°Wait a minute¡­¡± I recognized this silly thing. I checked the brand. ¡°Lusho Entertainment¡­¡±


    My face lit up. ¡°Oh, Lady in White! You must have such a great fate in store for me!¡± I screamed a prayer with my arms wide as I put my screwdriver to the slot under the fuse¡¯s digital ink screen and took it apart.


    Lusho Entertainment was the brand that made that plushie from earlier, and also the ones behind the trend of putting cute silly faces on inanimate things. They were supposed to be a toys and entertainment company, but the owner was nothing short of a mad scientist and had branched the company into so many other industries.


    This Pelu-Fuse? in front of me was an incredibly famous meme product. Everybody thought it was a joke when it launched: a fuse that makes a happy face when it¡¯s plugged in and a sleepy one when it¡¯s not? Who needs that? You don¡¯t even see fuses that often, they¡¯re under a lid most of the time.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    But Lusho¡¯s CEO took his inventions seriously, and this thing came with a feature that set it apart from anything the actual starship part companies were selling ¡ª you could repair the charred fuse if you had a strong enough heat source with you.


    Mercenaries had said it was literally lifesaving, and I was about to confirm that. I installed my toolbox¡¯s vice onto the generator frame and held the fuse tight. The crucible assembly within it came into view, and I saw the liquid metal splattered in a circular slot inside.


    The glass holding it inside was made of the same material as fusion cores¡¯ focus matrices, and I could use that feature to aim my soldering iron right through it. And so I did, watching the radiating components around the fuse turn white-hot as the metal reddened.


    Within a few seconds, an exceptionally advanced mechanism was triggered by the heat and began stirring the molten metal, forcing it into the shape of a straight line and completing the fuse¡¯s inner circuit. It cooled back to a steel gray within a minute, and when I slid the screen back into place, a happy ¡°>w<¡± face thanked me.


    Smiling like a dumbass, I realized I¡¯d always wanted to try one of these out.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see if you¡¯re as great as they say you are, you silly little thing.¡± I placed the fuse back into the generator and pulled the internal break switch to the ¡°restart¡± position. Immediately, I kicked myself away from the generator, hoping if it failed and violently exploded, the plasma fireball would be small enough for me to survive by rushing out of the maintenance room.


    However, the Lady once more smiled at me, and the generator hummed to life, a powerful vibration running through the entire starship. Lights powered on in a quick sequence, and warnings appeared in the shield and gravity control panels.


    I took the deepest breath I had ever taken with the brightest smile I had ever made, and absent-mindedly approached the gravity control panel. A couple of touches later, I felt the immense calm that came from stepping on solid ground.


    My toolbox fell sideways onto the floor, which I thought was somewhat funny. Its cable tensed up, and I felt like it was judging me for letting that happen.


    Ignoring that, I grabbed the life support canister I had put aside before and reinstalled it. The dining room was hopeless, and it seems the wiring for the cockpit had been in the area of the blast, so I could only pressurize the rooms from the hallway onwards. However, that was more than enough for me who just wanted to survive.


    I took my helmet off at last and sat on the pirate¡¯s bed. I also got that silly blue cat plushie. I was used to sleeping alone, but I felt like I¡¯d need the company if I wanted to catch any shuteye here in the starless, eternal void.


    But at least I could finally rest without worrying about not waking up ever again. I slid off the rest of the spacesuit and placed it in what was now my bedroom, just in case a second Mistletoe missile decompressed the hallway while I slept. Then I stepped into the included bathroom.


    Thanks to gravity control, it was possible to have a conventional shower in a starship. This wasn¡¯t a tanker ship, though, so most of the water would be recycled. I hadn¡¯t checked the status of that function yet, but I could only hope it was working correctly and I wouldn¡¯t be drinking my own sweat tomorrow morning.


    My body felt like I had put it through several wars by the time I finished drying. The adrenaline coursing through me had completely left, and what was left was the body of a not-so-active engineering student who had been through a literally spartan workout ¡ª I did have to wield a spear and shield, after all.


    Nevertheless, I was as tired as I was hungry, and I made my way to the storage room. I remembered seeing some packaged rations there, but I didn¡¯t have a chance to check what exactly they were.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.¡± My mouth was agape with surprise by the time I checked the fourteenth one and realized they were all SpaceCakes. Are SpaceCakes sponsoring pirates now or what? Did this guy take on a convoy of SpaceCakes storage ships?


    ¡°That being said, getting hit by a Mistletoe missile from a SpaceCakes hired mercenary sure sounds like the type of karmic justice you get after powering a generator with only one fuse.¡±


    I sighed and took out a pack of five and took them back to the bedroom, eating them while being careful of not dropping any crumbs. SpaceCakes were a nostalgic food for me. They were a hybrid of donut and cookie, with some dry icing and a touch of a biscuit¡¯s crunchy texture. Me and my middle school friends¡¯ diets were at least 40% composed of these, spread across most of the available flavors... I remember nobody liked the cherry ones.


    With my stomach at least half-full and a year of exhaustion weighing on my eyelids, I squished the Lusho Entertainment marketable plushie to my chest and fell asleep under the pirate¡¯s bedsheets, feeling safe as ¡ª unlike him ¡ª I had put a password and set a breach alarm on the door.

 10. Inventory Check

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s about right.¡± I put my terminal back on the bedside table.


    Typically, it¡¯d be a bit sad to wake up without any messages, but it¡¯d just mean my friends forgot to spam me with memes overnight. Today, it was a reminder that I was stranded in the middle of nowhere, unimaginably far out of range from the closest Starnet satellite.


    The bathroom cabinet in this room was deserted. However, I hadn¡¯t minded women¡¯s shampoo yesterday; and I wouldn¡¯t mind using a pink toothbrush today. For breakfast ¡ª you guessed it! ¡ª I had a few more SpaceCakes.


    The dining room was out of commission, so I went to the storage room and lined up some crates in the vague shape of a table. Then, I set my terminal horizontally and picked something fun from the few hundred gigabytes of shows and movies I¡¯d downloaded before the trip.


    Remembering that took my mind back. ¡°Maybe I did this to myself,¡± I thought. Back when I booked this flight, I was nervous about my final Practical Physics exam and went with the cheapest ride that¡¯d make it there on time. Now, I was definitely going to be late, and that was if I ever made it out of here.


    Had I picked a pricier option ¡ª like a direct, private flight, or a fancy transport ship that¡¯d breeze through Empire territory with its advanced FTL drive ¡ª I¡¯d be safe and sound in the Echelon system by now. My wallet would feel lighter, but there was hardly a price I wouldn¡¯t pay to not see myself in the situation I was in right now.


    ¡°... Well, maybe I¡¯d do it for like a hundred thousand credits.¡± I said this and smiled. I wouldn¡¯t directly put a price on my life, but by now I felt like I had a pretty good chance to survive.


    I stood up and disposed of the wrapper, making sure to clean up any crumbs. Yeah, my ridiculous supply of SpaceCakes wasn¡¯t infinite ¡ª they¡¯d last a couple months, at best ¡ª but there was a considerable amount of sand in my hourglass.


    Feeling hopeful and motivated to make progress, I decided to inventory this storage room. Hopefully I¡¯d find something to eat other than SpaceCakes, or at least a decently long security rope I could use to traverse this junkyard without any more bungee jumps.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    So, I ran through the shelves, looking for boxes that might contain useful things. They were hard to find, like black sheep hiding in a flock of SpaceCakes.


    ¡°Oh god, really? Even here?¡± I closed the box of F**ko Pops as quickly as I opened it, but I really considered tossing it out the airlock.


    ¡°This looks fun.¡± An inflatable exercise ball. I¡¯d never used one of these, but it¡¯d be good to have options of things to mess around with other than my terminal¡¯s games.


    ¡°I... What?¡± Curious by what¡¯d be in the inside of an ominous silver-black case, I found a layer of scarlet felt holding a set of cat ears and a plug with a long, white tail coming from it...


    ¡°At least the plug does not look used,¡± I muttered before closing it again.


    Moving on, I found a sturdy white cardboard box with a plastic window, through which a cat-like doodle of a face on a blue surface could be seen.


    ¡°That¡¯s kind of cute.¡± I took it off the shelf and placed it on the crate I¡¯d been using as a table. ¡°... Unreleased prototype, not for sale.¡± That was the only thing written on the crate. It made my eyebrows rise, but I still opened it and took out its content.


    ¡°Some sort of toy?¡± It was a round blob of blue gel with triangular cat ears. It had a silly face that seemed to float on the gel¡¯s surface, as if it was digital ink rendered on some sort of liquid display. The most fascinating part was that, despite its slimy consistency, it wouldn¡¯t stick to my hands, and instead squished under my touch with a fluffy sensation.


    There wasn¡¯t a manual, but following some sort of gut feeling, I placed my hand on it and gave it a couple of pats and rubs. It soon began to glow and whirr, and its face progressively updated as if it was waking up...


    Then it shut down again.


    ¡°It¡¯s out of battery, isn¡¯t it?¡± I carried it off to one of the ships¡¯ chargers and recovered the laser gun and soldering iron¡¯s energy packs while I was at it. The silly cat thing seemed to be perfectly compatible with the wireless charging pad, as it made a happy little noise and updated its face when I placed it there.


    ¡°I wonder what it¡¯ll do.¡± I whispered and went back to check the rest of the storeroom. There were a few other interesting trinkets, but nothing as high-tech as that slime cat thing. However, I did end up noticing something that had been all up in my face for a while; yet had escaped my sight as it¡¯d been covered with a somber grey sheet.


    ¡°Oh hell no.¡±


    It was a cryosleep pod. And yes, there was a person inside it.

 11. Non-Final Resting Place

    Most cryosleep pods had a glass window where the occupant¡¯s face would be. It was probably meant to make the experience of freezing to half-death in a metal box less claustrophobic. However, they typically fogged up once the process was complete¡­


    Should have made it a god-damned screen instead of a window if it wasn¡¯t going to be see-through.


    ¡°When was the last time I saw one of these? Hmm... Oh, that¡¯¡± Hmm... I recalled accompanying a friend to the hospital once. His sister had caught a crazy new disease, and the doctors were keeping her on ice while they waited for research on a cure to be completed.


    I placed my hand on the pod. ¡°Could it be another pirate?¡±


    If so, maybe I should power off the gravity control and toss this thing into outer space...


    That¡¯d be rather extreme, though. There could always be an innocent person in here, and it wasn¡¯t that much of a risk since even a seasoned pirate would be groggy and weak after awakening from cryosleep.


    ¡°It should be safe enough if I keep my guard up¡± I muttered, tapping my fingertips on the laser gun¡¯s holster. ¡°I¡¯d rather not test it, though. I¡¯ve had enough life-and-death fights for the rest of this fiscal year.¡±


    Before doing anything reckless, it would be better to try and figure out who exactly was in there. Since the pirate was kind of enough to not put a password on his terminal, I decided searching it for clues was worth a try.


    The wallpaper was a picture of a little girl in the arms of a woman whose face had been cropped off the shot. That was eerie, but it painted a faint picture of the man that had owned this device. Could it be his daughter that''s frozen in there?


    I went through the app drawer fully expecting one of those sketchy calculators to be present ¡ª the type where you input a code and the real app opens. Instead, I found this pirate did all of his messaging on the standard SupDog app, which came pre-installed in most terminals nowadays.


    The most recent conversation confirmed some of my theories on what¡¯d happened to this starship.


    . . .


    idk man, that sounds sus af


    bruh do you really think spacecakes is gonna hire a big shot for a ship that size


    dude the big food companies don¡¯t fuck around


    jeez it¡¯s just one mercenary, what¡¯s the worse he could do


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    way better than that piece of junk you¡¯re so proud about


    don¡¯t talk shit about my love nest imma wreck these fools, you¡¯ll see


    So, according to these, he attacked a small fleet composed of a cargo ship and a mercenary escort thinking it¡¯d be an easy payday. His friend here tried to warn him, but he ended up taking a Mistletoe to the side and somehow drifted away far enough to end up in here with me.


    ¡°The strange part is that the Space Cakes are in the cargo hold. So, does that mean he won?¡±


    It was confusing, but I doubted I¡¯d find any more information about that. I did find what I was actually looking for, though.


    . . .


    The one you wanted has been sold.


    dude wtf? you said you¡¯d wait until I had the money


    I said I¡¯d wait one hundred days, not one more.


    bro f u I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re doing this to me


    as if you didn¡¯t have any others to sell instead


    Now, now. I do have a proposition for you.


    ???


    Ayme told me you were shopping for some¡­ special toys.


    If you have that sort of interest, I have another product for


    about the same price that might interest you¡­


    ¡­ i¡¯ll hear you out just because I really need this, but don¡¯t you think imma forget about what you did


    Pleasure doing business.


    That conversation was with someone called ¡°Gravemaster.¡±


    That type of username, along with the way he texted, would be characteristic of a lonely teenager trying to act edgy online. However, where there should be a black-and-white sad anime character, there was only the default profile picture. This made it feel like the real deal.


    Scrolling further also showed Ryan ¡ª that was the pirate¡¯s name ¡ª had been working out some details with this guy in the past.


    I didn¡¯t need them to get a clear picture of what happened here, though. Ryan bought this starship as a ¡°love nest¡± to move in with a slave he¡¯d reserved with Gravemaster. However, the slave had been replaced last minute ¡ª well, that conversation was from a few days ago ¡ª by someone who would be notably suited to Ryan¡¯s ¡°special interests.¡±


    Scratching my chin, I felt like I was only missing one piece of the puzzle. I shrugged and turned to the pod. Most certainly I¡¯d find an innocent woman in there. Even if she decided to attack me for some reason, I had a gun and could probably overpower her.


    My hand hovered over the unfreeze button. However, I hesitated.


    ¡°Let¡¯s assume she¡¯s friendly¡­¡± I muttered, boarding a new train of thought.


    Even if the person in here cooperates, it may be best to open it later. Otherwise, my already meagre supply of SpaceCakes will be halved, and my chances of starving in deep space will double. Furthermore, operating a breached starship without getting decompressed to death will be much harder with another person walking down the hallways.


    ¡°It¡¯s for the best.¡± I said, putting down the pirate¡¯s terminal and sighing in concession. ¡°I¡¯ll consider it later, depending on how things go.¡±


    ¡°Click!¡± A shiver went up my spine when I heard the sound effect. I looked down to see the terminal notifying a successful NFC scan.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.¡± The revival process began and small clouds of cold fog formed around the edges. All the buttons powered off, taking away any hope of turning back.

 12. Misfortune Times Two

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

 13. No Longer a Sitting Duck

    Fir¡¯s tears eventually ran out, and this coincided with the return of her strength. I gave her a tour of the starship, taught her how to operate the bathroom and the airlocks, and explained which ones lead directly to the void and should under no circumstance be messed with.


    She diligently listened to everything I explained, although ¡°listening¡± may have not been the right word since most of our communication was via gestures and drawings. By the time we were done with this, it was already time for dinner. Before we went to sleep, Fir let me know she¡¯d do everything she could to help me get us out of here.


    I smiled and considered praising her with some pats between those silly cat ears, but held back since it¡¯d probably be very disrespectful. I hit the shower, put an audiobook on my terminal and before I knew it, it was dawn again.


    . . .


    Pirates are known to pilot cheap, raggedy ships ¡ª that¡¯s why mercenaries are able to strike them down using cutting-edge stuff. However, there¡¯s at least one piece of fancy tech that you¡¯d always find in a pirate ship: recovery drones.


    They could also be called scavenger drones or cargo drones, depending on their main use. This one was the all-purpose type, with a beam cutter built into one of its claw-like arms, and electric propulsors strong enough to keep it hovering steadily in simulated gravity as well as move around reasonably quick in the void of space.


    I could tell its docking station had been haphazardly installed, ignoring the incompatibilities between its docking/charging station and the ports available on the ship¡¯s airlock room. As terrible as the cable management was, I didn¡¯t find any actual flaws with the installation, so for now I could only judge the pirates¡¯ engineers for not including any extra fuses in the generator room.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you cute?¡± I spoke to the drone, giving it a few pats that caused it to repeatedly readjust its equilibrium. Its single camera eye stared at me without a thought, and my mind slipped back to the silly gel cat I¡¯d found earlier. Perhaps that robot would be more receptive of my affection.


    ¡°Explain!¡± Fir said one of the few words I¡¯d been able to teach her so far. I turned to her.


    We were floating outside the pirate ship, hooked up to the airlock¡¯s safety cable while I set up the recovery drone. There had been a spare suit in the airlock room ¡ª which made sense, since the whole ship was designed for two people to crew it ¡ª and let her have it.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Much safer than this crusty model I was using, it had a set of electric propulsors with just enough charge to prevent her from drifting into the void. She had insisted on coming with me, and this was the only way I¡¯d have the peace of mind necessary to bring her around.


    ¡°It¡¯s a drone.¡± I enunciated the word for her. She repeated after me. I¡¯d set up her suit¡¯s radio on the same channel as mine ¡ª as long as she didn¡¯t mess with its settings, we¡¯d be able to speak in the void without issues.


    With gestures, she asked me what it did. I turned to the drone and held up my terminal to demonstrate, but I suddenly did a double take. Wasn¡¯t she terribly comfortable doing EVA for someone from a world with swords and ¡°magic?¡± I¡¯d have to ask her about this later¡­


    There were two main reasons I wanted to bring this drone with us ¡ª I started to showcase those to Fir.


    The first one was for its cargo space. It was about the size of a minifridge, and we could use it to bring back whatever we found out there. The second reason was that, using its propulsors, I could fly us both back and forth from the ship with ease. Even if the battery ran out and we got stranded, I¡¯d be able to open it up and hook it up to one of the standard energy packs I carried for the laser gun and my welding torch.


    For the time being, I¡¯d put some of my most useful tools inside it, since the pirate¡¯s gun belt didn¡¯t have any slots for them. Perhaps I¡¯d be lucky to find a fully-fledged utility belt out there.


    Speaking of, I should explain what we¡¯re doing out here.


    The main reason I hadn¡¯t wanted to wake up Fir was that her very presence would halve the time left until I ¡ª now we¡ª died of starvation. I¡¯d double-checked the water recycler, so dehydration wouldn¡¯t be a problem, but we¡¯d certainly need to locate something else to eat.


    Several of the starships around us ¡ª particularly one that we could easily reach¡ª looked like mercenary ones. My hope was that if we raided its cupboards we¡¯d find some decent rations, or perhaps we¡¯d find a whole food printer with a decent stock of nutrient paste.


    Bringing the machine over would be quite a struggle¡­ But while the mercenary ship in question appears to be powered down, perhaps I¡¯d be able to tear it down and rebuild it here in a few trips.


    My Practical Starship Maintenance class didn¡¯t have as much content on food printers as it did on other, more important starship appliances. However, I was fairly confident in my ability to figure it out as I went.


    ¡°Go?¡± Fir prodded me, noticing I¡¯d been lost in thought for a minute.


    I smiled and nodded, putting my terminal away. ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    I held on to a handlebar on the recovery drone ¡ª surely meant for people to transport the drone and not the other way around ¡ª and instructed Fir to do the same. I insisted twice on how important it was that she didn¡¯t let go of it under any circumstances.


    Then, using my terminal which Fir was holding for me, I commanded the recovery drone to drive us to the mercenary ship we¡¯d had our eyes on.


    ¡­ I say that, but I actually had to pilot it manually, and it was quite a pain to get there.

 14. Insurance Won’t Cover This

    While most of my knowledge about mercenaries and their customs came from movies, I was certain they had a tendency to favor small, agile ships over the cruisers and destroyers that crewed the Empire¡¯s fleets.


    The cargo drone slowly flew us over to one such mercenary starship, slowing to a crawl beside its main airlock on the left side. Fir was looking all around in awe, but I was wondering if it was possible for someone to have survived the damage I was seeing on the ship: its cockpit had been turned into swiss cheese, surely by a flak cannon ¡ª a shotgun-like weapon that fires shards of molten metal.


    With as much care as a killer robot handling a pack of eggs, we released our grip on the cargo bot and instead clutched our hands around the bullet holes on the cockpit ¡ª which had been there at least long enough for the metal to radiate away the impacts¡¯ heat.


    Using my terminal, I directed the robot¡¯s beam cutter to open us a way in. Moments later, a metal sheet with white hot edges struck the ground as I kicked it out of the way. I called it a ¡°sheet,¡± but it was several inches thick with plating, insulation and wiring.


    I powered on my suit¡¯s flashlight, allowing us to take a good look at the cockpit. Most of the consoles were destroyed, and the floor was also peppered with molten windows to the void. Fir floated beside me, clearly unused to the lack of gravity, but holding herself unexpectedly calm regardless. Noticing my gaze, she nodded to indicate she was awaiting my command.


    ¡°So reliable.¡± I muttered, the uneasiness in my heart settling slightly. I asked her to wait and began to investigate everything I could.


    First, I double-checked that the airlock was sealed, and then tried to peek at a safe distance through the holes on the walls. Some of them peeked into the internal workings of the ship: the tubes transporting water, oxygen and power, as well as the mechanisms that handled certain moving parts.


    ¡°This ship is done for...¡± Since the thruster block on this starship appeared intact from outside, I had held some hopes of repairing it. It wouldn¡¯t be hard to reseal the cockpit with scraps from other ships. However, I¡¯d much prefer to try the next ship we found than spend the time it would take to trace the damage from all these gunshots and reconnect all the wires.


    When I turned to Fir, I noticed she was intently staring at something. I followed her gaze and found the installation port for the pilot¡¯s seat, which was missing. However, upon a closer look, I noticed that the seat hadn¡¯t been removed but diagonally sliced off at the base of its support mechanism.


    ¡°What in the world...?¡± It was certainly less terrifying than the bisected starships outside, but I didn¡¯t appreciate a pattern of things being cut in two. I repeatedly told myself that if the culprit was the same, this starship would also be torn in two. That wasn¡¯t necessarily true, though, and I couldn¡¯t quite convince myself otherwise.


    I turned around. The copilot¡¯s chair was intact, although I noticed it had spots of a different color. I increased the intensity of my suit¡¯s flashlight and recognized the silhouette of a person, drawn in the chair¡¯s original blue against the rusty red of old blood.


    ¡°For the Lady... The pilot must have turned into tomato soup.¡±


    It was a grim sight. It reminded me of the white silhouettes of people that are burnt into asphalt when they are vaporized by a nuclear blast. Nevertheless, there weren¡¯t any visible bloodstains on the steel floor, or any other metallic components in the cockpit. This meant¡­


    ¡°Someone wiped the blood off the floor. Why, though?¡± I said, then turned to Fir.


    ¡°Danger. Maybe, Pirate. Careful.¡± I did not really think there¡¯d be a pirate here, but I hadn¡¯t taught her any other word that could represent the presence of an armed, dangerous person.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Pirate!?¡± Fir¡¯s ears stood up and squished against the top of her helmet. She must have seen pirates as her mortal enemies, which made sense in retrospective. Perhaps if we kept contact after making it out of here, she¡¯d one day ask me to help her find and strike down that ¡°Gravemaster¡± guy.


    Heh, what kind of development is that? Little more than a day of high-stakes survival and I¡¯m already seeing myself like some sort of action hero¡­ Well, I guess it¡¯s in a man¡¯s blood to desire a situation like this, even if every rational neuron in me is screaming in fear about it.


    I was lost in thought when Fir pointed at something, exclaiming ¡°Weapon!¡± I followed her eyes and found a decorative mount hanging from a wall ¡ª the type of display rack that an old Falcon Empire veteran would display his service rifle on.


    Interested, I pushed the ground and put myself at the mount¡¯s height. It held a long, gray and navy sword with a rectangular blade. I easily disabled the attachment mechanism and took it out, holding it with the utmost care and pointed away from Fir and myself.


    She scooted over to see it and I began analyzing it closer under my suit¡¯s light. At the end of the hilt, I found a slot for a standard energy pack. And, holding the blade in an uncomfortable, dangerous position, I was able to see the mechanism inside.


    It was a centrifugal motor hooked up to a linear assembly that would cause the blade to make a series of very small, yet very fast skips each time it turned. This rang a bell, but to be sure, I placed one of my spare energy packs into the hilt. Several LEDs began glowing on its thick, V-shaped guard. My thumb found itself over a switch, so I asked Fir to back away and turned it on.


    ¡°Just as I thought. A high-frequency sword.¡± They were commonly called HF-blades or vibroswords, and their technology was cheap and reliable enough that they saw a lot of both civilian and military use. I was mostly familiar with them because of games, but I also remembered a kid from my junior high school that brought a high-frequency knife to school and almost got shot by the guard bots.


    ¡°Fir! Weapon!¡± She pointed at herself enthusiastically. I tilted my head, although it was complicated to do so with this helmet. ¡°You want this?¡± I shook the sword slightly after powering it back down. Fir nodded repeatedly. I was certain if she wasn¡¯t wearing the spacesuit, I¡¯d be able to see her tail swinging from side to side.


    ¡°Danger. Careful.¡± I made sure to warn her before handing off the weapon. She barely seemed to listen, so I could only sigh and hope she wouldn¡¯t hurt herself with it. After all, I already had the pirate¡¯s laser gun, and the last time I tried to swing a close-combat weapon, I ended up using a set of screwdrivers instead.


    I taught her how to switch it on and off as well.


    ¡°Thanks! Fir, happy!¡± Her beaming smile was contagious, and I felt a tinge of warmness in my chest looking at her hold the sword so proudly. I didn¡¯t know why she liked it that much, but perhaps it was like that masculine urge one feels for things like warships, guns and mech suits. I didn¡¯t know many girls with interest in such things, but with what I¡¯d seen of Fir¡¯s demeanor, I wouldn¡¯t be surprised to find out she was a bit of a tomboy.


    Smiling warmly, I gave her a nod since I hadn¡¯t taught her ¡°you¡¯re welcome.¡± I looked around one last time, but there wasn¡¯t much else to look for here. So, I turned to the airlock, which would lead us to the second of this small ship¡¯s 3-4 compartments. Holding my laser gun, I began to operate the emergency release and instructed Fir to keep an eye out.


    There was a chance a survivor would open the airlock from the other side and try to catch us by surprise. Careful to keep my guard up, I pulled the lever and the airlock quickly swung open, showing off the doors in this ship were of a more advanced model than you¡¯d find in a civilian ship.


    Fortunately, only darkness awaited us in the next room. I took the time to check every corner, anxiously looking down the sight of my laser gun. Finally, I double-checked that the next airlock was also powered off and safely locked.


    There were a few interesting things in this compartment, but I wouldn¡¯t dare rummage around until we were certain the ship was clear. If whoever cut off the pilot¡¯s seat was still in the starship, that person would be behind the next airlock... which, judging by the size of this compartment, would be a rather unsafe combination of engine, maintenance and storage room.


    Fir was looking around the room, and I asked her to follow me. ¡°Pirate. Danger.¡± I warned. Her expression tensed up as she gave me a nod, placing both hands on her sword. The blade¡¯s silhouette became blurry as her thumb shifted the switch.


    I began to operate the emergency release mechanism and looked up to give Fir a sign. Just as I did, the airlock swung open on its own and a spearpoint surged from inside, rushing for Fir¡¯s neck.

 15. Broken Promise

    Unlike the one I¡¯d improvised and failed to use against the pirate, the weapon that came for Fir was an actual spear, with a mirror sheen and a terrifying edge. My heart nearly stopped. I thought Fir was about to be decapitated right in front of me, before I could even react. I instinctively raised the laser gun and took aim, yet stopped myself from pulling the trigger.


    Because what transpired in that fraction of a second, I would only come to understand hours later when Fir explained it to me in a comic strip-like series of silly drawings.


    Like a cat suddenly twisting in midair to brace for a fall, Fir bent her spine in an instant, placing herself out of harm¡¯s way. That alone would have been astounding, but the momentum flowed into her right arm as she swung the sword through the airlock, taking a valiant step into its darkness.


    I heard the clanging of weapons as I got to my feet ¡ª it echoed through the walls. My suit¡¯s light filled the next room ¡ª which, as expected, had the looks of a storage bay. I saw a woman in an elegant black-and-white dress, and I saw her tremble when the pole of her spear barely stopped an overhead strike of Fir¡¯s new HF-blade.


    The situation was a mess. How was she standing, let alone fighting, without an EVA suit now that all of the airlocks were breached? Moreover, wind hadn¡¯t come out when the airlock opened: there couldn¡¯t have been any oxygen in this compartment, just like the rest of the ship.


    I held my laser gun, but I couldn¡¯t get a clear shot on Fir¡¯s rival. The movements were much too fast, and it¡¯d be a coin throw whether I¡¯d hit my target or hurt Fir instead. I couldn¡¯t risk it ¡ª especially since, surpassing all my expectations, Fir appeared to be winning the bout.


    I didn¡¯t understand much about martial arts. Yet even I knew that it wasn¡¯t possible for someone who¡¯d never experienced zero gravity to move so skillfully on the first try. Kicking the ground and catching up with it, making momentum into simulated gravity, Fir moved like a noble from the Falcon Empire ¡ª the type that¡¯d been implanted with bionics and dedicated a lifetime to training for space swordfights.


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    Lost in thought, I watched Fir¡¯s vibrosword bite into the woman¡¯s spear a second, third and fourth time. She would try to make distance and Fir would step into her guard. If Fir wasn¡¯t wearing a spacesuit either, they¡¯d have been breathing down each other¡¯s necks.


    The spear-wielding woman was backed against a wall and desperately tried to evade sideways. However, by the time her legs got there, the rest of her had begun to drift away separately. A shower of sparks exploded out in a crescent, and Fir¡¯s tense sword arm came to a stop a half-step behind her opponent.


    ¡°¡­ A robot?¡± I took a step into the storage bay. Before I could say anything else, Fir seized the bisected android by the neck and slammed it against the ground with all of her back and shoulders¡¯ strength, causing it to drop its spear in what almost looked like pain.


    Fir then turned to me, her eyes a scorching golden, her expression absolutely stern. It was breathtaking. There was an intent behind her eyes which, combined with the demonstration I¡¯d just witnessed, painted her as something other than human in my brain. Like some sort of sword demon from ancient legend. As if merely looking at her would curse my bloodline with a propensity for papercuts.


    ¡°Fir, good! Right? Right?¡± Breaking my chain of thought, her murderous demeanor suddenly changed as she rushed into my arms. My brain was too far gone to find the sudden skinship surprising¡­ I placed my hand over her helmet and said ¡°Good Fir. Good Fir.¡± She loved it, responding with a beaming smile and happy feline noises.


    ¡°How¡­ pathetic.¡± I instantly turned to the broken android. It was transmitting to my suit¡¯s radio via a standard public channel. ¡°Even... in the end... I am still... a useless machine...¡±


    Not a second after saying that, the female android¡¯s eyes became dim, and the lights within her severed torso powered off as well. I couldn¡¯t help but feel a tinge of pity ¡ª a feeling that wouldn¡¯t go much further in this situation.


    ¡°Fir, break, bad? Fir, sorry.¡± I hadn¡¯t taught Fir the word ¡°kill.¡± This made it unclear if she knew the machine in front of us wasn¡¯t human. Would her reaction be different either way? Could she split a living human in half and then immediately turn to me and ask for praise?


    I couldn¡¯t put it past her. Whatever background she had to be able to wield a sword like that, this mentality could be seen as a side effect of it. And if I had any hopes of making it back home, perhaps it was about time I started thinking like that as well¡­

 16. A Detailed Lesson on Starship Furnishing

    After confirming there weren¡¯t any other survivors waiting in ambush, me and Fir began to run through the ship looking for useful things. We returned to the second compartment first.


    Starship compartments were typically sold as a whole unit, with some level of modular customization. A good example of this would be the cockpit, which could be equipped with different control panel models, and there would be docks for a certain number of seats, which could also be replaced with fancier or cheaper ones. However, some things would be impossible to adjust, such as the space the thrusters took in the engine room.


    This compartment was a living space. To the right side (with the cockpit being north) was a sofa that could unfold into a double bed. The mattress looked comfortable, but the design itself was rather spartan. This piece of furniture was one such ¡°module,¡± securely attached to the ship¡¯s hull, thus preventing it from flying off during space combat.


    Above it, a shelf module with multiple features was installed. There was a minifridge, a holoprojector, a minuscule kitchenette with a microwave oven and a tiny sink, and lastly a row of sturdy magnetic docks to place decorations like figurines. I remember hearing about how absurdly strict the regulations for space-grade figures were from one of my nerdiest high school friends.


    I recognized one of the characters: a slender girl with blue hair, fox ears, and a cyber-ninja-priestess outfit, wielding a sword. I took a moment to check if my friends¡¯ words were true ¡ª and indeed, the construction was sturdy, and even though it looked like resin or plastic, the material was as hard as space-grade alloy steel.


    ¡°Mark. Why?¡± To Fir, however, it must have seemed as if I was looking up the figure¡¯s skirt. I made an awkward smile, knowing the language barrier would never allow me to explain this. I¡¯d just have to swallow my pride. She shook her head slightly and then giggled.


    Opposite, there was a cozy dining room-like space, with two bench-type chairs against the walls and a small table in between. The faux fruit bowl docked at its center was an unexpectedly tasteful decoration for a mercenary combat ship.


    Lastly, mounted on the wall beside the table ¡ª opposite the bed¡ª there was a glassy sheet of refractive alloy. I¡¯d seen these in a few of my friends¡¯ houses: they were a way to improve the quality and color depth of cheaper holoprojector models by setting them to emit 2D images onto them. That would make them lose the tri-dimensional depth, but that was a healthy compromise to make when you weren¡¯t planning on moving your head much anyway.


    I opened the minifridge and found a few drinks. Hopefully, this wasn¡¯t the only edible thing on the starship. However, having drunk nothing but recycled tap water recently, I felt relieved holding a can of non-carbonated cola.


    ¡°What?¡± Fir indicated her curiosity, looking over my shoulder. ¡°Sweet, water.¡± I explained it as simply as I could. Her eyes sparkled with interest, and I silently promised to let her try it while loading the minifridge¡¯s contents into the cargo bot. There were a couple of other soda flavors, a refillable water bottle, and¡­


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    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me.¡± I opened a compartment in the minifridge to find myself face to face with a SpaceCake. Really? Really! The pilot of this starship liked SpaceCakes so much, he kept one beside the bed for easy access? I blame this entire situation on you! I wish you were still alive so you could see how annoying it is to eat nothing but those things!


    ¡°What a Lady-damned coincidence.¡± I swore and would¡¯ve spit in despise if I wasn¡¯t wearing a helmet. But I stopped myself from ranting any further because Fir looked terribly confused by my mood shift. I took a deep breath, gave her helmet a light pat and moved on.


    Speaking of that, it¡¯s the second time I pat her head. The fact that she hasn¡¯t complained about it makes me worry about whether I¡¯m the weird one for treating her like a cat and she¡¯s been silently tolerating it, or if I just happened to correctly guess what skinship looks like for her people... Either way, I feel like I have been conned into participating into some sort of fursuit subculture.


    We moved on to the storage bay where Fir¡¯s battle with the android had taken place. I began by taking a second look at her. The black-and-white outfit she wore was quite obviously a maid''s dress. I couldn¡¯t quite place the origin of them, but I knew it was a tradition from before the Information Age that had been kept alive until this day as a sort of cosplay fetish.


    I vaguely remembered hearing about a dude from my class who broke up with his girlfriend after dropping his entire college fund on a robot maid. I can only wonder how life¡¯s going for him. I hope he didn¡¯t have to sell her. I¡¯d be sad¡­ for the maid.


    Perhaps it was because I majored in robotics engineering, but I tended to hold a lot of sympathy for machines. Especially for cool or adorable ones. Perhaps it began when I drew a cute face on my family¡¯s cleaning robot and treated it like a pet for the rest of my childhood.


    ¡°In the end, you¡¯re just a useless machine?¡± I quoted what the last words the robot had uttered before losing power. Some oddly dramatic ones. Sentry robots didn¡¯t tend to transmit last words to their enemies in the first place. Even if they did, it¡¯d be something like ¡°Your likeness and location have been uploaded to the [COMPANY NAME] database. Consider your lives forfeit.¡± I¡¯d seen that a couple of times in movies.


    I checked a few spots until I found some subtle paneling lines on the android¡äs nape. I had expected some complicated security device like a fingerprint scanner, but it opened after pressing inward as one would with a memory card slot. I found a standard, terminal-sized data port, and a larger-format power plug with a cable that could be pulled from a reel compartment somewhere on the android¡¯s back.


    Perhaps I would be able to access its memory files via my terminal. With some luck, it would automatically offer to install the necessary companion app. However, the real question was whether a mercenary would bother to cipher the data on his personal android... I had a feeling I knew the answer was a yes.


    Putting that aside, I turned to a door opposite the storage bay¡¯s entrance. Its plating was obviously thicker than any other section of the starship. It was some sort of security safe.


    I had a feeling whatever the machine¡¯s motivations were, they had something to do with whatever was in there. Hopefully, the password to open it would be somewhere in its memory. Even if I had it drill for hours, I doubted the cargo drone¡¯s beam cutter could pierce through it.