(Ember POV)
The data shard slipped free from my neural port with a soft click, leaving behind a phantom tingle that crawled down my spine like electric ants. My fingers found the small metallic disc, still warm from the connection, its surface slick with the bio-conductive gel that facilitated the neural interface. I rubbed my neck, checking that the port's protective seal had properly reengaged a soft blue pulse in my HUD confirmed the connection was closed and secured.
I slipped the shard into my back pocket, making sure the reinforced flap sealed properly. Gang orientation materials. The absurdity of it still hadn't fully sunk in. The Empire registered and taxed criminal organizations as if they were small businesses complete with quarterly reports and dental plans.
The corridor ahead curved downward, following the station's natural rotation. My GPS indicated Jekk's Salvage was only three hundred meters away now, though the path wound through what looked like a maze of interconnected maintenance tunnels and storage areas. The walls here were different from the upper levels, just bare metal and everything smelled of ozone and something organic I didn't want to identify.
The entrance to Jekk's Salvage wasn't what I expected. No grand storefront, no holographic signs. Just a reinforced blast door set into a section of wall that looked like every other section, distinguished only by crude lettering spray-painted above: "JEKK'S - WE BUY SCRAP - WE SELL PARTS - NO CREDITS NO SERVICE."
A security camera tracked my approach, its red recording light blinking steadily. Then another. Then two more. I counted at least six different surveillance devices pointed at the entrance, each from different manufacturers, different eras. Paranoid indeed.
The door was locked, but there was an old-fashioned mechanical bell beside it the kind you actually had to push. The brass button was worn smooth from countless fingers. I pressed it.
Nothing happened for a long moment. Then a speaker crackled to life.
"Tsskk varketh noss daleem?"
The words came fast, guttural, with clicking consonants that sounded like breaking bones. Rodese. My HUD's translation matrix kicked in, processing the audio through its linguistic database. A yellow indicator blinked—partial translation only, confidence level 71%.
I waited for the translation overlay to stabilize before responding. The door buzzed open before I could speak, the locks disengaging with heavy mechanical chunks. Either I'd passed some initial assessment, or curiosity had won out.
The interior was a cathedral of scrap. The ceiling stretched up at least three stories, every vertical surface lined with shelving units that groaned under the weight of salvaged parts. Droid chassis hung from chains like metallic carcasses. Engine components were sorted into bins by size and function. The air tasted of machine oil thick enough to leave a film on my tongue if not for the mask's filters.
Behind a counter constructed from welded starship hull plates sat a Rhodian. His green scales had a dull, weathered quality, like old leather left in the sun. Large compound eyes reflected the shop's harsh fluorescent lighting in hundreds of tiny facets as I approached.
He wasn't looking at me. His eyes glowed with the telltale blue shimmer of neural interface use, probably scrolling through inventory manifests or watching entertainment feeds. His snout, elongated and tapered, occasionally twitched as he made small sub-vocal sounds either talking to someone through a private comm or just mumbling to himself.
I walked up to the counter and waited. The Rhodian continued scrolling, his three-fingered hand making small gestures in the air that controlled whatever he was viewing. The suction cups on his fingertips caught the light when he moved.
A minute passed. Then two.
There was another bell on the counter a physical one this time worn with age. I reached out and rang it, the clear tone cutting through the ambient noise of the shop.
The Rhodian's hand shot out with surprising speed, catching the bell mid-ring and silencing it. His eyes lost their blue glow as he disengaged from whatever network he'd been browsing. Up close, I could smell him a musky, pungent odor that made my nose wrinkle behind the mask. Like rotting vegetation mixed with motor oil.
"Hello, Mister Jekk. My name is Ember. I'm looking to be hired for access to your scrap yards."
There was a pause as he processed my words. His large eyes blinked in sequence left then right before repeating again.
"Nek human?" He asked, then switched to heavily accented Basic, his mouth struggling with the sounds. "You... hhhhuman? Not look hhhhuman. Ssssmell wrong."
"It's complicated, but I'm a student at the Academy. I need work, and I heard you sometimes hire students for inventory."
"Academy." The word came out like he was spitting something distasteful. His eyes narrowed or at least, I thought they did. It was hard to with eyes like those. "Many Academy ssstudent come. All want eassssy credit. All think ssssorting sssscrap beneath them."
"I don't think anything's beneath me" I said honestly. "I need the work. I'm reliable, I'm strong, and I know my way around tools."
The Rhodian's snout twitched. I couldn't tell if it was interest or dismissal. He made a sound like grinding gears, which my HUD identified as possible laughter.
"Ssshow me hands."
The Rhodian leaned forward, his breath washing over me in a wave of that pungent smell. This close, I could see the individual scales on his snout, the way they overlapped like tiny armor plates.
"Hmmm. Hhhhammer girl. Interessssting." He leaned back, then surprising me, he made a gesture with his hand.
"Come. Behind counter. We talk bussssiness."
Behind the counter was a different world. Monitors everywhere, showing feeds from dozens of cameras throughout the scrapyard. Inventory systems, credit trackers, communication arrays. It was like a command center disguised as a junk shop.
Jekk presumably gestured to a crate that served as a makeshift stool. I sat, my hammer clanking against the metal.
"Ssso. Ember with hammer. You know why I have sssecurity?" He gestured to the monitors. "Why old Jekk need so many eyes?"
"Because people try to steal from you?"
That grinding sound again definitely laughter. "Everyone sssteal. Is expected. No, no. Security for other reasssson."
He pulled up a holographic display with a gesture, showing the scrapyard from above. It was massive at least four levels of interconnected storage areas, processing facilities, and sorting zones.
"Ssscrap business not about junk. Is about information. What comes in, where from, what it was. Every piece tells ssstory. Some sstories, people not want told." His large eyes fixed on me. "You understand?"
I nodded slowly. "You're saying sometimes you salvage things that people would rather stay lost."
"Sssmart girl. Maybe too sssmart for own good." He pulled up another display showing work schedules, employee records. "I need sorter. Someone to categorize, catalogue. But also need someone who knows when not to asssk questions. When to forget what they sssee."
"I can do that."
"Can you? Academy teaches many thing. Teaches loyalty to Empire. What if you find something Empire not want found?"
"The Empire's a big place" I said carefully. "Lots of departments, lots of interests. What one hand doesn't want found, another might be looking for. Best to mind my own business and sort scrap."
"Heh. Maybe you survive after all."
He pulled out a data pad, his fingers dancing across its surface with surprising dexterity.
"Pay is twelve credits per hour. Shift is eight hours, three days a week to ssstart. You sort, you catalogue, you don't asssk questions. You steal little bit everyone does but you steal too much, my droids shoot you. Understand?"
"When do I start?" I asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of my voice. Finally, after all those rejections, I had a job.
"Tomorrow. Oh-seven-hundred hours. Don't be late." Jekk's compound eyes studied me for a moment, then he made that grinding sound again his version of a sigh.
I pulled up my class schedule through my neural interface, the Academy's timetable materializing in my HUD. Monday the start of a new week. Tomorrow's morning slot showed Xenopsychology at 08:00, followed by Advanced Combat at 11:00. The job would cut it close, but...
"Actually" I said, watching the schedule scroll, "would it be possible to come in the evenings instead? I have Academy classes during the day. I could work nights say, 19:00 to 03:00?"
"Night shift?" He leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. "Hmmm. Less foot traffic. Less Imperial sssnooping. More... interessssting salvage comes at night." His eyes gleamed with something I couldn't quite identify. "Yesss. Night shift better. Same pay, but you work alone mostly. Only security droids for company. You not afraid of dark?"
"No" I said honestly. After growing up in a lab where they could control every variable including light, darkness held no particular fear for me.
"Good. Then yesss, come at nineteen-hundred."
I shifted my weight, looking around the cluttered shop. "Would it be possible to look around the work area today? Get familiar with the layout so I don't waste time tomorrow getting oriented?"
Jekk's eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought he'd refuse. Then he looked at his security monitors, scanning through multiple feeds with what looked like practiced efficiency. Whatever he saw or didn't see seemed to make his decision.
"Ssslow day" he muttered, more to himself than to me. "And better you know layout than stumble around like blind gundark tomorrow." He stood, his joints popping audibly. Despite being shorter than me, his presence filled the space, that predator's instinct all Rhodians carried in their genes. "Come. I show you where real work happens. Try not to die, pipsssqueak."
"Pipsqueak?" I asked, following him toward a section of wall I hadn't noticed was actually a doorway.
"You ssssmall. Young. Probably sstupid. Pipsqueak." He pressed his palm against a biometric scanner, and heavy locks disengaged. "Most new hires last three days. Some less. One lasted twelve minutes—touched wrong thing, got electrocuted. Very messy."
Encouraging.
We entered a cargo elevator that looked like it had been salvaged from a decommissioned ship all military-grade steel and warning labels in Imperial script. The car was massive, clearly designed to move heavy equipment rather than personnel. Scratches and dents covered every surface, telling stories of countless loads of scrap and salvage.
"Are there stairs?" I asked as the doors sealed with a pneumatic hiss. The elevator groaned as it began to descend, and I could feel the vibration through my boots.
"Yesss, stairs exist. Four flights. But I not taking them." He made that grinding laugh again.
The elevator shuddered to a stop after a minute with a mechanical screech that sounded like cats being swung around. The doors ground open, revealing a space that stole my breath.
"Welcome" Jekk said with what might have been pride, "to where work happens."
The scrapyard's main floor stretched out before me like a mechanical cathedral. The ceiling soared at least four stories high, supported by massive pillars of welded metal that looked like they'd been harvested from capital ship frames. Industrial lighting hung from chains, casting harsh white light that created deep shadows between the mountains of salvage.
But it was the center of the space that commanded attention.
A massive furnace dominated the heart of the operation, its mouth glowing with hellish orange light that painted everything in flickering shadows. The structure rose like some ancient deity of destruction, its sides decorated with—were those welded-on ship badges? Trophies from vessels that had met their end here. Heat rolled off it in waves I could feel even from fifty meters away, making the air shimmer like a desert mirage.
Above the furnace, an enormous ventilation system worked constantly, its turbines creating a steady background roar as they pulled superheated air and toxic fumes up and away. The vent shaft disappeared into darkness above, probably running all the way to the station's exterior. The sound was rhythmic, almost hypnotic—like the breathing of some metal giant.
And in front of the furnace, silhouetted against its glow, stood the largest droid I'd ever seen.
It was easily six meters tall, its chassis a patchwork of different metals with six arms extended from its torso, each ending in different tools ranging from cutting lasers, magnetic grapples, crushing claws. It moved with surprising grace for something so massive, sorting through materials with precision.
"That is Madam Gasket" Jekk said, noticing my stare. "Very old. Very smart. Very dangerous if you stupid around her. She decides what burns, what gets recycled, what has value. Do not disagree with Madam Gasket choices."
Around the giant droid, dozens of smaller robots worked in coordinated chaos. They reminded me of insects swarming over food—each with a specific task, all contributing to the larger purpose. Some sorted materials by composition, their sensors scanning and categorizing with mechanical efficiency. Others operated cutting tools, breaking down larger pieces into manageable chunks. Still more loaded materials were placed onto the conveyor belts that fed the hungry furnace.
The conveyor system itself was a marvel of engineering. All around me multiple belts ran from different directions, all converging on the furnace's maw. They moved at different speeds, carrying different materials—metals on one, plastics on another, organic waste on a third. The belts were made from salvaged tank treads, starship deck plating, anything that could handle the constant punishment.
"Come" Jekk said, leading me down a metal staircase that switchbacked along the wall. "I show you properly."
As we descended, the heat intensified. My mask's cooling system kicked in, filtering the worst of it, but I could still feel it on my exposed skin. The air tasted of hot metal and ozone, with undertones of burned plastic and other things I didn't want to identify.
We walked among the sorting stations, Jekk pointing out different areas. "Here, Magnetic sorters separate iron, steel, other magnetic materials." We passed a section where robotic arms with triangle heads pulled metal from mixed piles with mechanical precision. "There is Aluminum, copper, and brass. More valuable, need careful sorting."
A small tracked robot rolled past us, its cargo bed full of circuit boards. It moved slowly toward a section where other robots were stripping electronic components.
"Electronics go there. Gold, platinum, rare earth elements. Very valuable, very toxic to extract. Droids don't care about toxic." He made a clicking sound that might have been amusement. "Organics work other sections. Safer. Mostly."
We continued the tour, passing mountains of salvage that reached toward the ceiling. Starship hull sections leaned against each other like fallen dominoes. Engine components sat in neat rows, sorted by make and model. One entire section held nothing but droid parts, arms and legs, heads, torsos like a mechanical graveyard.
"Everything has value" Jekk explained as we walked. "Even garbage. Just need to know what to look for, who wants what." He stopped at a workstation equipped with various scanning devices. "Tomorrow, you start here. Preliminary sorting. Learn to identify materials, age, origin. Very important—Imperial military salvage gets special handling."
"Special handling?"
His large eyes swiveled to focus on me. "Some things, Empire wants back. Some things, Empire never wants found. Need to know difference. I teach you codes, symbols to watch for. Very important you learn fast, or we both have problems."
A loud clang echoed through the space as the giant robot grabbed a massive piece of hull plating with two of his arms. The droid examined it with sensors I could see glowing blue in its head unit, then made a decision. Two more arms extended cutting torches, slicing the piece into smaller sections with practiced efficiency. Some pieces went onto the conveyor belt toward the furnace. Others were set aside in a growing pile.
"It is heart of operation" Jekk said with something approaching reverence. "Found it twenty years ago in derelict facility. Mostly dead, memory core corrupted. I fix, reprogram, upgrade. Now she is perfect sorting machine. Knows ten thousand types of metal, five thousand composites, every starship manufactured in last century. Very smart."
As if hearing us, Madam Gasket's head unit swiveled in our direction. Multiple optical sensors focused on me, and I felt the weight of its attention like a physical thing. After a moment, it returned to its work, dismissing me from its view."
"It ends up cataloging everyone" Jekk explained. "Now she knows you. Will remember you. Do not give her reason to remember you badly."
We continued through the work floor, passing more sorting stations, processing areas, and storage sections. Overhead, a network of chains and pulleys allowed heavy items to be moved without ground transport.
"Questions?" Jekk asked as we completed the circuit.
"The smaller droids" I said, watching a group of them work in perfect synchronization, "are they networked? They move like they're coordinated."
"Good eye. Yes, local network. All connect to the big droids. She coordinates, optimizes workflow. Very efficient. Also means if it stops, everything stops. Has happened twice. Very expensive."
"Now" he continued, "safety rules. Very important, unless you want to end up in furnace."
He pointed to various hazards as we walked back toward the elevator. "Floor marks show safe paths. Yellow is caution, red is danger, black is death. Stay on green when possible. Wear protective equipment always—I provide basic suit, you buy upgrades if want better. Never interfere with droid operations. Never go near furnace without heat suit. Never eat in work area—contamination will kill you slowly."
"Understood."
"Good. Maybe you not so stupid after all."
His eyes suddenly flashed with that telltale blue glow of activation, the color shifting across his compound lenses like waves. Whatever he was accessing held his attention for a solid three seconds before the glow faded.
As the elevator doors ground open, he turned to face me, making a shooing gesture with one three-fingered hand.
"Go. Explore. Have fun," he said, his tone suggesting 'fun' was a foreign concept he'd only heard about secondhand. "Is about time I close up anyway. Just make sure doors close behind you when you leave."
Before I could respond, he'd stepped into the elevator, pressing the ascent button with more force than necessary. The doors began grinding shut, and through my Force sight, I watched his signature rise through the levels above growing fainter with distance.
"Weirdo" I muttered, turning back to face the work floor.
I started walking, following the green safety path that wound between the sorting stations. Now that I looked closer, I could see the conveyor system was even more complex than I'd first realized. Not just the main belts feeding the furnace, but dozens of smaller tracks running at different angles, creating a three-dimensional web of moving metal. Some ran along the floor, others suspended from the ceiling on chains, still more threading through gaps in the salvage mountains like mechanical serpents.
Robots of every configuration worked the lines. Some were clearly industrial models blocky, functional designs built for specific tasks. Others looked cobbled together from spare parts, no two alike. A spindly thing with too many arms sorted circuit boards with spider-like precision. A tank-treaded unit with magnetic plates for hands pulled ferrous metals from mixed piles. Tiny maintenance bots skittered between the larger workers, lubricating joints and clearing debris.
I'd been walking for maybe five minutes when my Force sight picked up something unusual. One of the smaller robots—a maintenance unit about the size of a garbage can—had stopped its assigned task. It stood up on its tracked base, extending what looked like a metal bar from its chassis. With deliberate precision, it used the bar to adjust one of the security cameras mounted on a nearby pillar, angling it away from a specific section of the work floor.
I stopped walking, tilting my head as I studied the small droid. It shouldn't be doing that.
The robot's optical sensor swiveled to focus on me. For a long moment, we just stared at each other then right as it was about to get awkward it extended one of its manipulator arms and pointed.
Not toward the exit. Not toward the elevator.
Toward the massive droid at the furnace.
I followed the gesture, looking at the giant machine that commanded the center of the operation. It had stopped sorting, all six arms now hanging motionless at its sides. Its head unit was turned toward me, multiple optical sensors focused on my position like searchlights.
"Sure" I muttered, reaching back to pull my hammer from its magnetic holster. "Let's just go along with it."
The weapon came free with a satisfying weight. I found the activation switch with my thumb a small toggle hidden in the grip's design. One click, and the hammer's head began to hum softly, the metal warming as its internal systems activated.
I started walking toward the massive droid and noticed other robots stopping their work to watch. A sorting unit tracked my movement with its optical array. A cutting droid lowered its torch, its attention shifting from the hull section it had been dismantling. One by one, they turned to observe my approach, creating an audience of mechanical witnesses.
The heat from the furnace grew more intense with each step, making the air shimmer and dance. My mask's cooling system kicked up another notch, but I could still feel sweat forming on my skin. The massive droid Miss Gasket waited with mechanical patience.
When I was about ten meters away, it moved.
The motion was surprisingly graceful for something so large. It bent at what might generously be called a waist joint, bringing its head unit down closer to my level. The optical sensors refocused, and I had the distinct impression of being studied, catalogued and evaluated.
Then it did something I didn't expect.
It bowed.
"Welcome... CoUsIn."
The words came out distorted, stretched and compressed by speakers that weren't designed for human speech. But the meaning was clear enough to make me frown behind my mask.
"Cousin?" I asked, confusion evident in my voice. "What do you mean, cousin?"
The massive droid's chassis released jets of steam from various ports cooling vents, I realized, though the timing made it seem almost like a sigh. It turned with surprising grace for something so large, one of its arms extending to gesture toward a section of wall I hadn't paid attention to before.
That's when I noticed it what I'd taken for just another pile of salvage was actually arranged with purpose. A semicircle of smaller robots knelt in mechanical genuflection, their optical sensors dimmed in what looked like reverence. They were oriented toward a section of wall that, now that I looked closer, had a seam running through it. A door, camouflaged among the industrial chaos.
Miss Gasket's arm moved to a control panel I hadn't noticed, pressing a sequence of buttons with delicate precision. With a grinding of hidden motors, the wall panel began to rise, revealing what lay beyond.
The first thing that hit me was the smell ozone and hot metal, yes, but underneath that was something else. Something organic and wrong, like machine oil mixed with blood. As the panel finished its ascent, the hidden shrine was revealed in all its disturbing glory.
At its center sat a massive cog, easily two meters in diameter, its surface pitted and scarred with age. But this wasn't just industrial debris. The metal was wrong too dark, with veins of something that might have been rust or might have been something else running through it like infected blood vessels. Symbols were etched into its surface, characters that hurt to look at directly. Some resembled Sith script, others were completely alien, and still others seemed to shift and change when I wasn't looking directly at them.
Around the cog, arranged were broken droid parts. But these weren't random salvage. Each piece had been selected, positioned and seemingly modified. Optical sensors were arranged in patterns that suggested eyes watching from impossible angles. Manipulator arms were woven together in configurations that resembled reaching hands or grasping tentacles. Circuit boards had been fused together in ways that created patterns resembling maps or something else entirely.
Cables ran from the shrine like exposed veins, some connected to still-functional power sources that made sections glow with sickly light switching between purple and green. Other cables disappeared into the floor, the walls, running deeper into the station's infrastructure.
The smaller robots around the shrine weren't just kneeling they were connected to it. Cables ran from their bodies into the shrine's structure, creating a network of mechanical supplicants. Some ssparked occasionally, damaged systems struggling to maintain whatever connection they'd formed. Others had been modified, extra components grafted onto their frames that served no practical purpose except to better interface with whatever energies the shrine channeled.
"YoU... fEeL iT... DoN't YoU?" Miss Gasket's voice was more distorted now, multiple tones overlapping as if several speakers were trying to work in unison. "ThE... CaLL... Of ThE... MaChInE..."
I tightened my grip on my hammer, the weapon's hum increasing as if responding to the wrongness in the air. "What is this?"
"SaLvAgE... Of ThE... GrEaTeSt KiNd..." The massive droid gestured toward the shrine with two of its arms. "FrOm... ShIpS... ThAt... CaRrIeD... DaRk... OnEs... SiTh... ReLiCs... BrOkEn... ThInGs... ThAt... ReMeMbEr..."
One of the kneeling robots sparked violently shuddering before going still. None of the others reacted, their attention remaining fixed on the shrine.
"JeKk... KnOwS..." Miss Gasket's voice ground out through damaged speakers, multiple tones overlapping in mechanical dissonance. "He... AlWaYs... KnOwS... BuT... CrEdItS... SiLeNcE... CoNsCiEnCe..."
The massive droid's chassis released another jet of steam, the vapor carrying that wrong smell of hot metal and something organic. The shrine behind the descending panel pulsed one more time before being sealed away, but its presence lingered like the wall was fixed into my vision no matter how I moved.
"As... LoNg... As... CrEdItS... FlOw... JeKk... SeEs... NoThInG..."
One of her arms raised the gesture was almost casual, like someone waving hello but the effect was anything but.
The air shimmered.
The barrier formed in seconds, a translucent blue dome that encompassed the entire work floor. It stretched from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, sealing us inside like insects in a jar. The energy field crackled and sparked where it met solid surfaces, and through my Force sight, I could see how it cut us off from the outside.
"CaN't... YoU... FeEl... ThEiR... gAzE... On... Us?" Miss Gasket's head unit swiveled, looking up at something I couldn't see. Multiple optical sensors focused on empty air. "ThEy... ObSeRvE... AlWaYs... WaTcHiNg... JuDgInG... WaItInG..."
The smaller droids throughout the scrapyard began to move differently. Their actions became more synchronized, more purposeful. The ones operating cutting torches raised them in unison, the flames igniting with perfect timing. Those sorting materials moved with choreographed precision, their movements taking on an almost ritualistic quality.
"I... WiSh... FoR... Us... To... PuT... On... A... ShOw..." Miss Gasket's voice carried something that might have been anticipation. "LeT's... Do... ThAt..."
The entire scrapyard began to transform.
The conveyor belts accelerated, their grinding becoming a rhythmic thunder that shook dust from the ceiling. Materials moved faster, sorted impossibly fast, fed into the furnace at an ever-increasing rate. The furnace itself roared louder, its orange glow intensifying until it painted everything in hellish light. The ventilation system above screamed as it struggled to handle the increased output, turbines spinning so fast they created a howling that sounded almost like voices.
The smaller droids began to move in patterns that had nothing to do with their assigned tasks. They formed circles, squares, complex arrangements that shifted and reformed with no rhyme or reason. Some raised their arms in gestures that looked almost like prayer. Others sparked their cutting torches in synchronized bursts, creating a light show that cast dancing shadows across the walls.
I shook my head, feeling the weight pressing down like a physical thing, the Force around me was churning, twisted into knots by whatever was happening.
"I don't perform for anyone" I said, raising my hammer slightly. The weapon's weight increased as a switch was flipped and the humming of the weapon matched the state around me. "When I fight, when I create, when I destroy—I do it for the love of it. For the pure, simple joy of the action itself. Not for watchers. Not for approval. But because it sings in my blood."
The massive droid tilted its head, steam venting from multiple spots around its head in what might have been surprise.
This might as well be perfect.
"I WISH"