Treasures of the Iron Graveyard
The Iron Graveyard—this massive tomb where we now floated had been here for ages. A cluster of enormous hulks drifting in the pitch-black void of space. From afar, it might look like a glittering band, but up close, the reality was a gut-wrenching wreck. Half-sliced ship bridges, xenoform guts spilling out and tumbling through the emptiness, and tens of thousands of orphaned debris pieces wandering aimlessly.
Anything of strategic or tactical value—military gear or high-end parts worth a fortune—had long since been scooped up by Federation recovery teams. Or stripped clean to the bone by hyena-like pirates and scavengers who'd beaten me to the punch. So why risk it all to dive into this hollow shell? Simple: the thing I was after was the kind of low-value junk no one else bothered with.
The rare metals and precision circuits that paid the bills? Gone. But the bulky, heavy stuff too cumbersome or worthless to haul away? That was still slumbering in these ruins. Ship fuel—the most essential yet stupidly space-hogging necessity for propulsion. And the most common battlefield ration packs. To a broke fugitive like me, this junkyard was a treasure trove.
"Ready, Eve?" I stood from the pilot's seat and glanced back.
"Yup! All set!" Eve chirped proudly, spinning in place. She was suited up in a form-fitting small-sized spacesuit. Lucky for us, the Federation included pint-sized races, so kid-sized suits were easy to snag. It'd been stashed in a corner of the warehouse, but the performance was solid. Through her helmet visor, Eve's face glowed with excitement—like a kid heading on a field trip.
Honestly, I'd agonized over bringing her out here. It was dangerous, and who knew what impulsive stunt she'd pull. But the Night Raven had no other crew, no heavy-lift cargo droids. We needed hands to haul fuel drums and pry off panels—even if they were slender girl arms like reeds.
They're reed-thin, sure, but damn strong. I checked her helmet seal and gave her slim arm a squeeze. Squishy. No muscle to speak of on that tiny frame, yet somehow she packed monstrous power. Black-market body-mods or augments always screamed "fake"—bulging muscles or hydraulic lumps under the skin. But Eve? Perfectly natural little human girl. Had to hand it to Apex Industries. Their biotech was top-tier, hiding her monster side flawlessly.
> Target coordinates reached. Relative velocity synchronization complete. Initiating docking sequence.
The main computer's dry chime rang out. A massive shadow engulfed us beyond the viewport. We'd arrived.
"Let's go." I offered Eve my hand, and she grabbed it tight with her thick-gloved one.
Thunk. A dull thud vibrated through the hull as the Night Raven clamped onto the target. Docking claws bit into steel, the screech traveling the frame. I adjusted the airlock pressure while scanning our attached ship on the forward screen.
Even half-wrecked, that's cruiser-class size. Old spherical design. Bridge gone, but the remaining hull still screamed grandeur. Faint Federation emblem on the side. Back in the day, she'd been the backbone of the fleet—carrying thousands of crew, strutting through space armed with cutting-edge main guns, cheered on by crowds at launch.
Now? Time rusts everything. Armor plates ripped off, skeleton exposed, pricey guts looted by scavengers like me. Glory faded to cold scrap drifting the void.
Lot like me. Once hot shit, now a useless husk. Swallowing a bitter chuckle, I cracked the airlock.
Hiss— Pressure equalized, revealing the cruiser's dark innards.
"Whoaaa...!" Eve gasped, ignoring my thoughts entirely. Her body floated up.
"Kal! I'm flying! Wheee!"
Power dead, the derelict was zero-G, of course. We'd walked on the Raven's artificial gravity, but here physics ruled raw. Eve swam the air like a fish in water—kicking off walls, bouncing ceilings to floors, giggling wildly.
"So fun! Look! Spinny-spinny!"
"Hey, careful! Don't go far!" I hastily checked our tether—the safety line linking my belt to her suit hook. Magnetic boots kept me planted, but she'd toggled hers off. One snag on sharp debris could tear her suit; getting lost in this maze-ship spelled disaster.
"No playing around. This ain't a playground." I yanked the line, reeling her in. She pouted but obeyed, hovering meekly over my shoulder like a balloon at my stern glare.
"Scan starting. Targets: engine room reserve fuel cells, galley preserved rations." I flicked on my helmet light and led the way. Military training and post-discharge ship-rifling experience shone now.
Corridors were trashed—buckled bulkheads from blasts, floating gear, and... mummified corpses? Don't think it. We hit engines first.
"This way." Main tanks? Drilled and drained, as expected. But greenhorns miss the backups—auxiliary cells hidden behind bulkheads for emergencies. Torch in hand, I sliced the wall.
There. Four dust-caked but sealed fuel cells, pristine.
"Eve, gotta move these. Can you drag 'em?"
"Yup! Leave it to me!"
Two grown men would grunt to lift 'em planetside, but zero-G killed weight—mass and inertia remained. Starting a heavy object took force. Yet Eve yanked one handle one-handed, light as cotton candy.
...Never gets less wild. She strung two like balloons and towed effortlessly. Fuel run? Way smoother than planned.
Then monotonous grind—hunt cells, shuttle to the Raven. How many trips? Finally, galley sector.
"Food! Food! Food!" Eve's hum crackled over comms, way peppier than fuel duty.
Galley was chaos: tables, chairs ripped free and drifting; trays, forks, dented cups filling space like a galaxy.
"Whoa... all food?" Eve gulped audibly.
"Nah, junk. We want preserved emergency stores—usually freezer next to kitchen..." Scanning the map, I moved—then Eve froze.
"Kal."
"What?"
"Smell."
"Smell? In a suit?"
"Smell-like. Yummy!" She sniffed, pointing not at the kitchen but a dim corner—officers' lounge.
"There! Super yummy smell!"
"Officers' mess? Probably looted dry... Hey! Wait up!"
Before I finished, she kicked off and flew. Tether snapped taut, yanking me after.
"This is real!" Half-buried VIP lounge amid rubble. Torn furnishings everywhere, like the enlisted mess. Eve rummaged, unearthing a metal case from the corner.
Emergency preservation unit.
"Heh." I snorted. Not for grunts—this was captain/admiral grade, independent power.
If juice held, contents might be fine.
"This! Smell from here, wanna eat!" Eve shook it.
"Hold up. Probably locked. I'll grab hack tools..."
She crumpled the alloy like foil.
That strong? Glutton... Fine, physics beats hacking.
Door tore free—white frost billowed. Preserver active. Inside: vacuum-packed luxuries someone couldn't finish or saved for special days. Wine, steaks, and...
"Cake?" Perfectly preserved—white cream, red strawberries intact.
"Whoooaaa..." Eve's eyes sparkled like gems. Lightyears beyond meat or nutrient slurry—this sugary spectacle fried her brain.
"Mine!" She lunged.
But zero-G. And her power control? Amateur.
Hand shot out—smack! on the side.
"Eh?"
Cream cake couldn't take her strength. No grab—instead, bomb-blast. Boom! Cream, fluffy crumbs, strawberries exploded into zero-G blizzard. Sweet storm engulfed the corner.
"Waaah! My cake!" Eve wailed, flailing for globs. But her thrashing windswept them farther.
"Kal! Help! Food's flying!"
"Unbelievable." Forehead slap. Solemn salvage turned slapstick.
Then—Eve reached for her helmet valve.
"Stop! Crazy?!" I yelled. Vacuum here—open it, asphyxiation instant. Even her Apex origins wouldn't save bare skin in space.
But food-blind, she ignored.
"Mouth! Eat with mouth!"
"No! You'll die!" I reeled the line, flying to her. Knocked her hand away pre-lock.
"Idiot! Wanna suffocate?"
"But... cake..." She pouted at drifting bits. A cream blob splatted her visor. Tongue out—licking inside glass. No dice.
"Ugh... can't reach..." Tongue-smearing sad face? Laugh or rage? Energy gone.
"Sigh... Give up. Can't eat it."
"Uu... okay..."
She slumped. I scavenged remnants from the unit, dangled 'em.
"See? Some left. Don't mope."
"...Really?"
"Yup. Back to ship, helmets off, chow time. Deal?"
Eyes relit. Waved bye to debris, hugged the case.
"Kal, hurry! Hurry!" Now she towed me through cream clouds.
Long ago, this cake celebrated someone's birthday. Owner dust now. But today, it gifted us joy.
Heading back, Eve hummed on my shoulder. Cream smear on her helmet gleamed like a badge each turn. I chuckled, grateful for surviving this handful's antics. Fuel, cake, Eve's grin—not a bad haul.