Borzukhan

[Groshyr]

Invergordon Salvage Yards, some time ago

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"Well, this thing certainly won't heat up until it's properly repaired," said the mechanic as he exited the engine room. Traces of oil, still utilized even in the distant future, covered his orange suit, and the man himself exuded a potent mix of sweat, said oil, and burnt wires. "I couldn't start it up even for double the pay."

He conversed with a stern man clad in a uniform that bore a military air, distinguished by a red triangle insignia on one shoulder and a fiery skull on the other. Likely a member of the Liberty Insurgency, perhaps Battlegroup Gladius — that's as much as the man in orange could surmise, given his minimal interest in the world beyond the station.

The captain of the ship let out a weary sigh. Aboard the aging vessel, he and a handful of passengers were ambushed while escaping Veracruz in search of safety. Their cargo, consisting solely of valuable equipment and goods intended for sale, became a target as they navigated away from the encroaching Liberty forces and the dwindling Insurgency. However, their plans were thwarted by Xenos fighters concealed within the asteroid field near the jump rift to Inverness.

"Alright, I got it," said the Captain a few moments later. He had no time to waste and certainly didn't want to risk being caught by enemies or spotted by allies. His only desire was to escape, sell the goods and the ship, and retreat to a world on the outskirts of known space, buy a house, and live a peaceful life on the surface, with his only concern being what to plant next season. The endless revolutions, constant wars, and fighting for survival had not only shattered his mental state but also drained him to the point of contemplating ending his life. Each time, something—or someone—had intervened to talk him out of it. Now, one of those people was with him on the ship, and he wanted to take them both as far away as possible. "Would you trade this ship for another, preferably smaller one?"

The Junker briefly smirked and scratched his bushy, untended beard. They always had a ship for sale—the real question was how long it would stay intact before falling to pieces, and usually, the answer was, "It depends on how much you're willing to pay." As they made their way back to the bridge, they passed through a cargo section—a lengthy bridge that spanned the entire area, with parallel roads offering a view of a vast room filled with assorted containers, ship parts, light firearms, and even some marked "Fragile," hinting at something truly exotic inside. "I can help you offload these too, but it'll cost you a cut of the profits."

The offer was enticing, but those who had previous dealings with the Junkers knew that fairness was not in their vocabulary. Nevertheless, the Captain was less concerned about that; escaping to safety, to his dream, mattered more than a surplus of credits. Let the Junker choke on them. With a subtle nod, the Captain gave his command.

"Find me a buyer and a vessel for me, one that can make it to Omegas intact and bears no criminal records in Bretonia."

The Junker's face was lit with the smile of anticipated profit and a glint of greed. He had already tallied the credits he would earn from the goods, unbeknownst to the military. The ship, after some repairs, could take to the skies once more, albeit with a new captain and crew. It was timely, considering the mechanic's previous vessel had rendered unflyable following a turbulent journey through a dense asteroid field, with pirate fighters in hot pursuit. The Salvager, once a sturdy ship, ultimately had to be stripped for parts after its many services and escapades.

* * *

Within days, the ex-Insurgents departed the station on a Dromedary, covertly taken from the docks of Bethlehem Station. They successfully reached their destination, establishing a quaint hamlet shielded from the gradually freezing environment of Gran Canaria, living happily ever after—until another party decided to stake a claim on the planet. Meanwhile, the Junker and his crew acquired a ship, which required repairs before it could depart from the drydock once more.