The start-up sequence ran without a problem. Which was a relief, as the formwork and drone wrangling that would have been involved in cleaning up post a reactor overload was not on the schedule Lei McArthur had set herself. The schedule was always important whenever you were working on major ship re-fit, but in this case, it was doubly so. Lei was keen not to attract attention to the illegal tech she was working with. Running over her drydock timeslot would bring angry crews or even the harbourmaster down on her.
The ship was ancient, and like all ships of its era, was a patchwork of modifications, repairs and upgrades. Non-descript. Just another freighter, and to the layperson could have been anywhere from 1000 to 10,000 years old. Lei was not a layperson though. She knew there was something special about this ship from the moment she laid eyes on it. It wasn’t clear why at first, looking over the broken down hulk that she’d impulse purchased at Eliad station’s periodic scrap auction. The scrapper that had sold it to her seemed happy just to move it from xyr inventory.
Lei knew to trust her instincts. If that was the right word for them. Whatever it was, she had frequently been able to avoid fakes that were near perfect or picked up bargains that others rejected. This ship though, this might be her greatest diamond in the rough she had ever uncovered. It was most definitely the most dangerous.
She put her hand on the exposed bulkhead beside the control panel she’d used to boot up. It thrummed with life. The old reactor was likely good for another few million parsecs but it pulsed and surged with an offbeat rhythm. More modern tech didn’t do that. The Engine Room Guild made sure of that. They cleared, reset and scrapped anything old enough to start to develop those glitches. Lei had a feeling this ship had never been subject to their indelicate ministrations. Something about the way that the repairs and upgrades sat on its still intact superstructure. Like they were designed that way. Designed to hide, and not born of necessity. There was only one good reason why anyone, or she imagined, generations of people would go to that amount of trouble. Because the ship was part of their family.
The bulkhead warmed beneath her hand, then went cold again. Lei flinched her hand back in surprise. She felt her heart beating in her chest, the same racing rhythm as the ship’s reactor, as she replaced her hand. The bulkhead heated up once more. Lei moved her hand, like a child stroking a pet, and the warmth followed her movements.
“Just a touch-responsive climate control system”, she said out loud, completely failing to convince herself of this as she said it. “Nothing that anyone would be interested in”.
The wall went cold again. Lei had the ridiculous impression that she had offended the blank tritanium panel in front of her.
“You can understand me, can’t you?”, Lei breathed.
There was no answer. No ships system was allowed a voice interface. Not anymore. Lei thought for a moment.
“Warm up twice for yes”, she said.
There was a pause then the bulkhead got hot and cold. Twice. Distinctly.
“Shik me”, said Lei fiercely. Her father would have been furious to hear her use language like that. Just like any other drydocker, despite all the work he’d put in to keep her away from this life. But Lei wasn’t like any other ‘docker. She was about to become the richest ‘docker in the history of the hollowed-out asteroid she called home.
