Star's Domain
Kinda edgy, not gonna lie. But, truth be told, the name is quite fitting. Star's Domain is my ship—personally bought, not some company-issued, factory-bred scrap. A vessel built for salvaging... or scavenging, depending on how you wanna see it. It's loaded with state-of-the-art systems: fire control, atmospheric entry, hell—even life support!
Well, kidding aside, it's meant for retrieving remains. Doesn't need a damn weapon system that couldn't even tickle a military-grade fighter, much less a fucking capital ship. But hey, this bad boy makes up for it with a localized Alcubierre Drive. You don't see that on personal ships.
Alcubierre Drive.
Unlike lightspeed, this tech actually makes conventional sense. See, instead of accelerating to light velocity and dealing with time dilation, it wraps the ship in a space-time bubble—bypassing physical restraints. Kinda like bending the law of physics itself.
Why don't personal ships use it?
Because they can't. Not without a strong magnetized counterforce to repel the immense, localized gravity it generates. Without that, your bones would liquefy before you even blinked. So yeah, it's not that states are just gatekeeping the tech...
Well, actually, they are—but it's not without reason.
That reason? A blackhole.
Not exactly a blackhole, but an exotic material called Quanta. It naturally pushes against gravity. Some space scholars figured this out while poking around near gravitational anomalies and... whatever bullshit blackhole math they were doing.
Turns out, Quanta is what prevents some blackholes from collapsing further—acts as a sort of gravitational countermeasure.
In micro-scale, it's harmless. It's used in Alcubierre drives and grav weapons. But when distributed irresponsibly?
Mass destruction.
We're talking planetary scale. That's why its distribution is heavily regulated. Which, indirectly, limits its use in personal crafts.
Except mine, of course.
---
[George Heimdall. What a stupid name. Where'd you even get that?]
Oops. Duty calls.
"The fuck do you want, Mister Hanz Caesar? Kinda disappointing to hear such a mighty name being wasted on corporate trash. Imagine slaving off for those bloodsuckers."
The light from my viewport flickered as I expanded the UI to see the asshole I was talking to.
[Rea-Mio surveillance team found floating debris within the Ersex V77-B01 system. They want you to salvage the parts.] A few windows popped up as Hanz continued. [The tech's highly classified, so no questions. They're bumping your contract fee by 600%, with bonus pay depending on what you bring back.]
I kept my cool, though my gut nearly danced in excitement.
"Uh-huh. And the cut?"
[Nothing. The corp gave me incentives for finding you and pushing a clean transaction.]
"Shit, got yourself a leash? That's dangerous business. Thought you were a risk-free man."
[Got me by the throat, dude.]
"Jeez. What else they take from you? Your life? 'Cause right now, I see your rep tanking. Might even be our last call."
[Ha~ fuck, you're really pouring salt in an open wound. Nothing I can do. But hey—least they paid me enough for this to be our last mission too.]
"Shit. Ain't I in luck. Alright, anything else I need to know? Threats? Misc costs? Insurance?"
[Corp says it'll handle the rest if the mission succeeds. If not—you're on your own.]
"Sounds fair enough. Alright, I'll take it. Not like I'm selling my soul like you."
[No. Contract's short and standard. Just... absurd pay.]
"Alright. Heading there now."
[Good luck. You're gonna need it. Out.]
I closed the viewport. Another UI popped up—a self-navigating panel calculating the ship's trajectory and required power output to ensure I don't overshoot or fall short of the destination.
This ship cost me a damn fortune. Might as well give it a proper run. Maybe even baptize her the old-fashioned way.