Rover jumped. That is, as far as its patchwork, scrap-metal engine would allow. But Dead-naught was notoriously far away.

  20% of the distance covered. 59 minutes until recharge.

  Lionel reclined for a moment, it had been a while since he had jumped out of The Dump’s orbit and his stomach churned. He gritted his teeth proud that he had managed to keep his lunch down.

  With a soft click, he unbuckled his harness, lifting automatically without the artificial gravity calibrated to the new atmosphere. He let himself float for a moment, weightless. Then he spun the lever above his head, manually activating the porthole and propelling himself forward to assess his landing zone.

  Outside, the aura from Rover’s jump was beginning to dissipate, curling bands of purples and greens fading into the dark. He spun around taking in the view and gulped. There was nothing outside—sheer endless emptiness and a silence that pressed against the glass.

  “Harriet, enable ship recalibration for our new atmosphere.” His voice shook slightly.

  Enabling.

  Lionel loved space, it held so many undiscovered secrets: new planets, new stars, new tech but he couldn’t prevent the shudder as he wondered what would happen if he was truly stranded out here. He subconsciously patted Rover.

  Recalibration complete.

  He dropped down to the floor, landing like a crouched cat.

  59 minutes. He returned to his chair, tapping the computer and bringing his navigation system to life. Unfortunately, the mysterious valuable item wasn’t remaining still, it was moving slowly.

  “How many different orbits will we pass through?”

  Our most direct route will take us past eight known planets, at Rover’s current capabilities we will be drawn into up to three more orbits for our landing zones depending on various variables.

  Three more planetary orbits, three more recalibrations, four more jumps. He wasn’t sure Rover had that in him.

  He drummed his fingers on the control board. Each charge time would increase exponentially. So it would take him almost 16 hours to reach Dead-naught.

  Too long.

  He pulled up his personal interface, comforted at the familiar ping as the screen appeared before his eyes.

  Upgrading the interface for Captain Lionel.

  It was a minor bonus for having a registered ship. Even one that he built himself would let him access new functions.

  Interface perks were dictated by rank but as a captain, there were a few extra features available.

  Firstly, he could send an SOS to his home ship. He briefly entertained the idea, imagining waiting here until Rylan arrived, long after their own scavenge had completed, with a smug look on his face that Lionel had needed a rescue. Then he immediately disregarded the idea.

  He was able to contact nearby ships (with their permission) but a glance out the window reminded him that it was a useless endeavour.

  Lastly, he was able to connect to any reports for joint scavenges. This rarely benefited him as he always captained solo but being part of an inter-ship announcement slightly changed things.

  He pulled up the announcement and was greeted by a string of additional information as detailed coordinates and images were actively being updated.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Would you like to access the initial CS 4897 images for Celestial Sea Recovery?

  He frowned at the question. Multiple ships rarely worked together, let alone the whole of The Dump collaborating. He selected yes and watched his screen fill with images, videos, maps and reports all arranged in an organised folder. Perhaps because the captains were expecting the empire in attendance, as well as the risk of bandits, working together for such a lucrative quest simply made the most sense.

  Lionel flinched, the scene of two dragons dominated the screen one impaled on the other. He leaned forward watching as the behemoth creatures slowly rotated drifting through space. He was completely entranced, they were truly majestic creatures. He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of scavenging them knowing everything would be taken, scales removed, blood siphoned, bones cracked.

  The same question rattling around his head was interspersed within the reports. Why would dragons slay one another? As far as any human knew they had no internal conflicts, choosing to remain mostly within their territory or work within the vanguard to patrol the skies. This was an ill omen.

  Eons ago when humans began colonising planets in earnest, the vanguard paid them a visit explaining the laws of their skies and enforcing the rules of living within space. Inevitably the first colonists broke their rules and the dragon’s destruction was unrivalled.

  Lionel learnt the oral histories along with every other child on The Dump. And the Dragon Massacre told how millions of humans perished, their ships and planets burned because of an unforgivable insult to dragon kind. So heinous that the incident had been scrubbed from their histories.

  Eventually, dragons bequeathed the humans a planetary zone with strict instructions to remain within it and now remained as distant legends. But the horror they left behind was generational and no one wanted to interact with them.

  It’s why a dead dragon was beyond unheard of in their lifetimes. Even during the massacre, Lionel wasn’t certain whether a human had even successfully killed one.

  Lionel let the on-screen images draw him from his reverie. His fingers shifted, pushing the interface map to Rover’s console for closer examination.

  Various miniatures representing the Empire ships pinged onto the map, technically they had the right of way but once any ship claimed a spot it was hard to argue. He scrolled through blueprints of various cargo ships as they arrived recognising their closed neighbours: CS 4892 and CS 4888. Surprisingly even the auction house sent a representative ship although it appeared to be monitoring from the edges as opposed to joining the fray and it explained why crests from the six noble houses had appeared too. This was no minor endeavour. He couldn’t access their ship logs but The Dump’s records already recorded a few scavengers returning to base due to damage. Apparently, the underhanded tactics had begun before reaching the site.

  Lionel searched the map spotting the likely culprits, four bandit ships cornered the site although he imagined there were several more lying in wait. It was doubtful that they would scavenge for themselves but that didn’t mean they would leave empty-handed.

  He zoomed in to inspect their unusual ships. While the others prioritised size and safety, the empire's ships even went as far as with expensive modifications such as diggers, slicers and a small army of robots, the bandits' ships were built for one thing: speed. For everything else they relied on their crew of mercenaries.

  He eyed the sail of the bandit's ship and it weaved around a pre-set patrol sight, dodging and shifting in a way unparalleled by the larger ships. And it wasn’t only their dexterity, bandit ships could jump. He needed Rover to move like that.

  He shot out of his chair an idea forming. Rover was easily adaptable but even he would struggle adjusting the nose or adding sails in his zone of nothingness. But perhaps there was another option.

  “Harriet, is it true that bandits use water ice to travel so fast?”

  I am uncertain about the exact mechanisms, although it is a popular rumour.

  “Could we use it to travel faster?”

  Theoretically yes. With the correct electrolysis procedure, it could be converted into an advanced fuel, however, Rover’s pipelines are not configured to process such a fuel.

  “Theoretically, what would happen if we used that fuel on Rover?” He asked innocently.

  Rover’s pipework would likely be compromised and would require a deep cleansing. Without any unforeseen difficulties, this would take 3 days, 12 hours and 28 minutes.

  She was quiet for a moment.

  It is not recommended.

  He frowned. Now why would she feel the need to add that last part?

  2 minutes remaining until recharged. Would you like to prepare for your jump?

  Was she trying to change the subject?

  “Change of plans Harriet.” He was pacing across his flight deck. “Does one of the eight planets we pass have rings?”

  Yes.

  Since when did robots speak so reluctantly? He sighed, he’d taken too many liberties with adjusting her core programming.

  “Schedule our next jump to land there, we need to speed up our journey and upgrade our fuel.”

  Lionel, there are high risks involved.

  He stopped his pacing looking up at one of her pods. “Did I fix you correctly?”

  You programmed me to challenge your ideas and provided the largest amount of interactive freedom possible. I frequently use this to judge your choices.

  He rolled his eyes. It was true, the other Harriet’s were too rigid and agreeable. He couldn’t fathom why people seemed to like that with their robots.

  I will continue using your favourite language.

  Now she was trying to placate him?

  “My mind is made up.”

  Scheduling jump to Octoring.

  She chose not to wait for him to reach his chair, activating the jump where he was standing. His whole body tipped to the side and he instinctively grabbed a handrail. The pressure built enough to make his ears pop and Rover vibrated beneath him as the engine rumbled to life. In a flash of spectral colours Rover disappeared leaving no trace of his presence in the abandoned spacescape.