While most of my knowledge about mercenaries and their customs came from movies, I was certain they had a tendency to favor small, agile ships over the cruisers and destroyers that crewed the Empire’s fleets.

  The cargo drone slowly flew us over to one such mercenary starship, slowing to a crawl beside its main airlock on the left side. Fir was looking all around in awe, but I was wondering if it was possible for someone to have survived the damage I was seeing on the ship: its cockpit had been turned into swiss cheese, surely by a flak cannon — a shotgun-like weapon that fires shards of molten metal.

  With as much care as a killer robot handling a pack of eggs, we released our grip on the cargo bot and instead clutched our hands around the bullet holes on the cockpit — which had been there at least long enough for the metal to radiate away the impacts’ heat.

  Using my terminal, I directed the robot’s beam cutter to open us a way in. Moments later, a metal sheet with white hot edges struck the ground as I kicked it out of the way. I called it a “sheet,” but it was several inches thick with plating, insulation and wiring.

  I powered on my suit’s flashlight, allowing us to take a good look at the cockpit. Most of the consoles were destroyed, and the floor was also peppered with molten windows to the void. Fir floated beside me, clearly unused to the lack of gravity, but holding herself unexpectedly calm regardless. Noticing my gaze, she nodded to indicate she was awaiting my command.

  “So reliable.” I muttered, the uneasiness in my heart settling slightly. I asked her to wait and began to investigate everything I could.

  First, I double-checked that the airlock was sealed, and then tried to peek at a safe distance through the holes on the walls. Some of them peeked into the internal workings of the ship: the tubes transporting water, oxygen and power, as well as the mechanisms that handled certain moving parts.

  “This ship is done for...” Since the thruster block on this starship appeared intact from outside, I had held some hopes of repairing it. It wouldn’t be hard to reseal the cockpit with scraps from other ships. However, I’d much prefer to try the next ship we found than spend the time it would take to trace the damage from all these gunshots and reconnect all the wires.

  When I turned to Fir, I noticed she was intently staring at something. I followed her gaze and found the installation port for the pilot’s seat, which was missing. However, upon a closer look, I noticed that the seat hadn’t been removed but diagonally sliced off at the base of its support mechanism.

  “What in the world...?” It was certainly less terrifying than the bisected starships outside, but I didn’t appreciate a pattern of things being cut in two. I repeatedly told myself that if the culprit was the same, this starship would also be torn in two. That wasn’t necessarily true, though, and I couldn’t quite convince myself otherwise.

  I turned around. The copilot’s chair was intact, although I noticed it had spots of a different color. I increased the intensity of my suit’s flashlight and recognized the silhouette of a person, drawn in the chair’s original blue against the rusty red of old blood.

  “For the Lady... The pilot must have turned into tomato soup.”

  It was a grim sight. It reminded me of the white silhouettes of people that are burnt into asphalt when they are vaporized by a nuclear blast. Nevertheless, there weren’t any visible bloodstains on the steel floor, or any other metallic components in the cockpit. This meant…

  “Someone wiped the blood off the floor. Why, though?” I said, then turned to Fir.

  “Danger. Maybe, Pirate. Careful.” I did not really think there’d be a pirate here, but I hadn’t taught her any other word that could represent the presence of an armed, dangerous person.

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  “Pirate!?” Fir’s ears stood up and squished against the top of her helmet. She must have seen pirates as her mortal enemies, which made sense in retrospective. Perhaps if we kept contact after making it out of here, she’d one day ask me to help her find and strike down that “Gravemaster” guy.

  Heh, what kind of development is that? Little more than a day of high-stakes survival and I’m already seeing myself like some sort of action hero… Well, I guess it’s in a man’s blood to desire a situation like this, even if every rational neuron in me is screaming in fear about it.

  I was lost in thought when Fir pointed at something, exclaiming “Weapon!” I followed her eyes and found a decorative mount hanging from a wall — the type of display rack that an old Falcon Empire veteran would display his service rifle on.

  Interested, I pushed the ground and put myself at the mount’s height. It held a long, gray and navy sword with a rectangular blade. I easily disabled the attachment mechanism and took it out, holding it with the utmost care and pointed away from Fir and myself.

  She scooted over to see it and I began analyzing it closer under my suit’s light. At the end of the hilt, I found a slot for a standard energy pack. And, holding the blade in an uncomfortable, dangerous position, I was able to see the mechanism inside.

  It was a centrifugal motor hooked up to a linear assembly that would cause the blade to make a series of very small, yet very fast skips each time it turned. This rang a bell, but to be sure, I placed one of my spare energy packs into the hilt. Several LEDs began glowing on its thick, V-shaped guard. My thumb found itself over a switch, so I asked Fir to back away and turned it on.

  “Just as I thought. A high-frequency sword.” They were commonly called HF-blades or vibroswords, and their technology was cheap and reliable enough that they saw a lot of both civilian and military use. I was mostly familiar with them because of games, but I also remembered a kid from my junior high school that brought a high-frequency knife to school and almost got shot by the guard bots.

  “Fir! Weapon!” She pointed at herself enthusiastically. I tilted my head, although it was complicated to do so with this helmet. “You want this?” I shook the sword slightly after powering it back down. Fir nodded repeatedly. I was certain if she wasn’t wearing the spacesuit, I’d be able to see her tail swinging from side to side.

  “Danger. Careful.” I made sure to warn her before handing off the weapon. She barely seemed to listen, so I could only sigh and hope she wouldn’t hurt herself with it. After all, I already had the pirate’s laser gun, and the last time I tried to swing a close-combat weapon, I ended up using a set of screwdrivers instead.

  I taught her how to switch it on and off as well.

  “Thanks! Fir, happy!” Her beaming smile was contagious, and I felt a tinge of warmness in my chest looking at her hold the sword so proudly. I didn’t know why she liked it that much, but perhaps it was like that masculine urge one feels for things like warships, guns and mech suits. I didn’t know many girls with interest in such things, but with what I’d seen of Fir’s demeanor, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out she was a bit of a tomboy.

  Smiling warmly, I gave her a nod since I hadn’t taught her “you’re welcome.” I looked around one last time, but there wasn’t much else to look for here. So, I turned to the airlock, which would lead us to the second of this small ship’s 3-4 compartments. Holding my laser gun, I began to operate the emergency release and instructed Fir to keep an eye out.

  There was a chance a survivor would open the airlock from the other side and try to catch us by surprise. Careful to keep my guard up, I pulled the lever and the airlock quickly swung open, showing off the doors in this ship were of a more advanced model than you’d find in a civilian ship.

  Fortunately, only darkness awaited us in the next room. I took the time to check every corner, anxiously looking down the sight of my laser gun. Finally, I double-checked that the next airlock was also powered off and safely locked.

  There were a few interesting things in this compartment, but I wouldn’t dare rummage around until we were certain the ship was clear. If whoever cut off the pilot’s seat was still in the starship, that person would be behind the next airlock... which, judging by the size of this compartment, would be a rather unsafe combination of engine, maintenance and storage room.

  Fir was looking around the room, and I asked her to follow me. “Pirate. Danger.” I warned. Her expression tensed up as she gave me a nod, placing both hands on her sword. The blade’s silhouette became blurry as her thumb shifted the switch.

  I began to operate the emergency release mechanism and looked up to give Fir a sign. Just as I did, the airlock swung open on its own and a spearpoint surged from inside, rushing for Fir’s neck.