The Mech That Buried Nine Worlds

Chapter 9 - Salvage Value

Chapter 9 · 1,238 words

The confrontation happened in a corridor.

Tavian was heading back from his sixth off-shift session, suit scrubbed in decontamination, tools stowed, the navigation data still burning behind his eyes like an afterimage, when Captain Sloane stepped out of the junction near EVA storage.

The captain was not alone. Two senior crew flanked him, their expressions carefully neutral. Sloane himself was lean, weathered, with the particular stillness of a person who had kept a salvage ship profitable in frontier space by making decisions that didn't leave room for argument.

"Apprentice Tavian." Sloane's voice was level, controlled. Worse than anger. "Walk with me."

Tavian's stomach dropped. He fell into step beside the captain, his shoulders tightening, his hands going still at his sides. The corridor was narrow, the Drift's passages built for function rather than comfort, and Sloane's presence filled it.

"Routine activity check flagged an irregularity." Sloane didn't look at him. He was walking with purpose, the kind of walk that meant the conversation had already been planned. "Seven off-shift EVA excursions in the past six days. All to the same coordinates in the deep field. All unlogged."

Tavian said nothing. His pulse was loud in his ears.

"Diagnostic kit sign-outs match the excursion timestamps. Kit 7, portable. Signed out under your credentials, returned each time within four hours." Sloane's tone was conversational, the way a person discusses weather or maintenance schedules. "You've been making regular visits to a specific location in the debris field. A location that doesn't correspond to any assigned disposal task."

They'd reached the end of the corridor. Sloane stopped and turned.

"What did you find out there, Tavian?"

The question was direct. No leverage, no threat embedded in it. Just a captain who needed to know what was happening on his ship.

Tavian's mouth was dry. He could lie. He could say it was nothing, an interesting rock formation, a curiosity he'd been checking. But Sloane had the logs. Sloane had the timestamps. Sloane had the precision of a man who ran his ship by the numbers and noticed when the numbers didn't add up.

"A mech," Tavian said.

Sloane's expression didn't change. "A mech."

"Intact. Unknown alloy composition. Doesn't match any of the twenty known civilization signatures." Tavian's voice was steadier than he felt. "It was buried deliberately. Protected by the wreckage around it."

"And you didn't report this."

It wasn't a question.

"I —" Tavian stopped. The truth was complicated, and the truth was that he'd been afraid of exactly this moment. "I wanted to understand it first."

Sloane studied him. The captain's eyes were the color of the Drift's hull, gray, scarred by years of frontier light. "You connected to it."

Tavian hesitated. He could feel the navigation data pressing behind his eyes, the Lithari coordinates a secret he couldn't share. Saying it aloud would change everything.

"Yes."

"And?"

"It responded," he said carefully. "After I did maintenance work on it. Cleaned corroded systems, freed damaged joints. The mech started activating. Systems coming online."

Sloane was quiet for a long moment. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture relaxed in the way of a person who had complete authority and no need to demonstrate it.

"A mech from an unknown civilization," Sloane said slowly, "that responds to maintenance work by a zero-sync apprentice." He paused. "Do you understand what you've found?"

"I understand that it's intact. I understand that it's functional. I understand that it's providing navigation data."

"Navigation data." Sloane's voice sharpened slightly. "To where?"

Tavian held the captain's gaze. "A ruin site. Lithari."

The word hung in the corridor. Sloane's expression shifted, a calculation being performed in real time. Sloane saw salvage value. The calculation was already complete behind his gray eyes.

"This discovery belongs to the Drift," Sloane said.

The words were simple. The weight behind them was absolute.

Tavian felt something deflate in his chest. He'd known this was coming, had known it from the moment he decided not to report the discovery. The mech was on the Drift's operating territory. Everything found during a salvage operation belonged to the ship, to the captain, to the institutional framework that governed frontier recovery. He had no claim. No standing. He was a zero-sync maintenance apprentice who'd been making unauthorized EVA excursions.

"I understand," Tavian said.

Sloane raised an eyebrow. "You understand."

"The mech is on the Drift's operational territory. It's part of the salvage operation." Tavian kept his voice flat. "You're claiming it for the ship."

"I'm claiming it for the ship." Sloane's tone was practical. "And I'm assigning you to continue the work. You've established a connection. You've done maintenance that activated functional systems. That makes you the most qualified person on this vessel to interface with the machine."

Tavian stared at him.

"You want me to keep working on it?"

"I want you to keep working on it under the ship's authority." Sloane's emphasis was precise. "You'll report to me directly. You'll log all findings. You'll continue the maintenance and the interface work. In return, you'll have access to the Drift's resources: diagnostic equipment, EVA support, whatever you need to make this machine functional."

The captain paused. "In return, I evaluate the mech's profit potential. Understood?"

Tavian understood. He understood with a clarity that tasted like metal in his mouth. Sloane was a pragmatic man. The mech was an asset, possibly the most valuable asset the Drift had ever encountered, and Sloane intended to determine what it was worth. The maintenance work, the navigation data, the consciousness link: all of it was data points in a profit calculation.

"I understand," Tavian said again.

"Good." Sloane turned to the senior crew. "Log the discovery under ship authority. Classification: unknown relic, functional, high priority." He looked back at Tavian. "You'll start your next session tomorrow. Official this time. Full equipment access."

The captain walked away. His footsteps echoed in the narrow corridor, steady and unhurried. The senior crew followed.

Tavian stood alone.

His hands were at his sides. They were completely still, and the stillness felt like something he was holding together by force.

The mech was the ship's now. It had always been the ship's. He'd known that, had always known that someone with authority could take what he found. The surprise was that Sloane was letting him continue the work at all.

He'd expected to be removed. Replaced. Told to go back to dismantling wreckage while someone with higher sync and more standing took over the interface work. Instead, Sloane had kept him on. Because he needed Tavian's skill. Because Tavian's hands knew the mech's architecture in a way no one else's could.

He had lost the private relationship. The secret sessions in the debris field, the quiet stewardship, the growing familiarity between his hands and the mech's systems. All of it was now ship business. Logged. Reported. Subject to Sloane's evaluation.

But he still had access. He still had the work.

Tavian walked toward the maintenance bay. His jaw was tight. His hands were steady. He had lost something private and fragile, something that had existed only between him and the machine. But he had not lost everything.

The navigation data was still in his mind. The Lithari ruin site was still out there. And Sloane, for all his profit calculations, still needed Tavian's hands to make the mech functional.

That was something. It would have to be enough.

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