Chapter 8: The Scrap-King's Tax
Kaelen moved so fast Lyra barely saw him. In one smooth, economical motion, he was between her and the massive man, his body shielding her from view. His hand was near his hip, hovering over the heavy, modified rivet-gun he used as a sidearm.
"Rhox," Kaelen said, his voice level, but the rough, guttural accent was gone, replaced by a cold, clipped tone. "We're just here for repairs. Business with Twitch."
The man, Rhox, laughed. It was a sound like grinding rocks. He was even bigger up close. His armor was a patchwork of heavy plating, scavenged from cargo-loaders and military wrecks. One of his arms was fully cybernetic, a huge, piston-driven pincer.
"Business is my business, Kaelen," Rhox rumbled. He paid Kaelen no attention, his gaze still fixed on Lyra's pack. "And you're bringing loud business onto my rock. My 'tax' on loud business is very high."
Twitch, who had been watching from her workbench, finally spoke, not moving from her spot. "He's paid his landing tax, Rhox. He's my client. Leave him be."
"This ain't a landing tax, Twitch," Rhox sneered, stepping further into the light. Lyra could see a network of wires running from his cybernetic arm up his neck, disappearing under his armor to where an implant bulged beneath the skin over his temple. It glowed with a faint, sickly yellow light.
"I got me an ear for things," Rhox said, tapping the implant. "Old Architect-tech. Lets me 'hear' the good stuff. Most tech just hums. Power cores, ship engines... they all got a little song. But your girl..." He took a heavy step toward Lyra, forcing Kaelen to step back with her. "She's carrying something that ain't humming. It's screaming. Screaming like a star-child. And it's making my head itch."
He flexed his cybernetic pincer. The air snapped as it closed. "Show me. Or I take the arm, the pack, and the girl. Your choice, pilot."
Kaelen's hand tightened on his rivet-gun. "It's just a busted nav-core, Rhox. Architect-grade. I was bringing it to Twitch to scrap."
"Liar," Rhox said simply. He raised his pincer.
"It's a map."
Lyra's voice cut through the tension, sharp and clear.
Kaelen froze, shooting her a look of pure fury. She ignored him, stepping out from behind him, her hood still up but her chin high. Her hand rested on her pack, but not to protect it. To feel its steady throb.
Rhox's grin widened. "The little mute speaks. A map to where, little bird?"
"Aethelgard," Lyra said.
The name hung in the air, heavy and impossible. Twitch swore softly and crossed herself with a greasy wrench. Kaelen looked like he was going to be sick.
Rhox, however, just stared at her. Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter. "Aethelgard! A fairy tale! You're carrying a map to a myth?" His laughter died, and his eyes narrowed to slits. "You think I'm a fool?"
"No," Lyra said, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I think you're a businessman. The map is... complicated. It's just a key. It's useless without knowing the lock. And only I know that." This was a lie, but it felt true.
"But a key to a myth is still a key," Rhox mused, his greed warring with his disbelief.
"It's also a beacon," Lyra said, pressing her advantage. "The Purifiers who shot up our ship weren't chasing us. They were chasing this. They'll be here. They'll scan this whole rock. And I promise you, your 'ear' for tech is nothing compared to theirs. They'll find it. And they'll burn The Gutter to the waterline to get it."
Rhox's smile vanished. That, he believed.
"But," Lyra continued, her voice dropping, "my father... the man who found this... he didn't just chase myths. He found real things, too. Caches. Old-world supply depots the Architects sealed before the Fall. I know where one is."
Now Kaelen was staring at her, his expression a mix of confusion and dawning respect. She was bluffing, but she was good at it.
"A cache?" Rhox said, his voice now a low purr. "Untouched?"
"Full of pre-Fall tech. Weapons. Power cells. Ship parts. All preserved. Not junk, not scrap. Pristine," she lied, her father's old research notes flashing in her mind. He had theorized about such places.
Rhox studied her. He looked at Kaelen's desperate, angry face. He looked at the smoking hole in the Rust-Wren's hull.
"A key to a fairy tale," he mused. "Or a map to a treasure chest. I'll take the chest."
He pointed his pincer at her. "Here's the new deal. Twitch fixes your ship. You," he jabbed at Kaelen, "give me your high-gain sensor array. Both halves. Free."
He turned back to Lyra. "And you, little bird, you give me the coordinates to this... 'cache.' You give 'em to me now. I'll send one of my own crews to check it out. If it's real... I'll 'forget' I ever heard that screaming in your pack. If it's not real..." His metal grin returned. "I'll find you. And I'll peel you both open."
Kaelen opened his mouth to argue, but Lyra cut him off. "We give you the coordinates after the ship is fixed. When we're fueled and ready to leave."
Rhox held her gaze for a long, painful second. "Done. You've got ten hours. And I'll be waiting at the bay door."
He turned, his heavy boots shaking the floor, and left the workshop. The steel door slammed shut behind him, leaving a heavy silence.
Twitch let out a breath she'd been holding for a full minute. She walked over to a panel and slammed her hand on it, engaging a heavy magnetic lock on the door.
"You two," she said, her voice shaking with anger, "are the stupidest, most Miasma-addled lunatics I have ever met. You just bluffed the Scrap-King. He owns The Gutter. And you promised him a ghost story."
"You heard him, Twitch," Kaelen growled, rounding on Lyra. "What was that? 'Coordinates'? We don't have any coordinates!"
"Yes, we do," Lyra said, finally letting her own fear show. She unslung her pack and pulled out her father's battered old datapad. She'd backed up all his research onto it before fleeing her home.
"My father did find a cache," she said, her fingers flying across the cracked screen. "He just never had the ship to get to it. It's deep in the Miasma, in an unstable sector. It's a suicide run. That's why I didn't..."
She found the file. A set of coordinates flashed on the screen.
"It's real," she breathed, a note of hysteria in her voice. "I just sent him on a treasure hunt."
Twitch looked at the coordinates, then at the smoking hole in their ship, then at the locked door.
"Well," the mechanic snorted, picking up her welding torch. "I hope for your sake it's a long hunt. 'Cause that ten hours you bought? It's now twelve. And the price just quadrupled. I'm taking a risk just breathing the same air as you."
Kaelen didn't even try to haggle. He just nodded, his face grim. "Do it."