Beep. Beep. Beep.
Damn, What is that sound?
The young man, barely nineteen, slammed his hand against his scrap alarm clock and squinted at the display.
"Shit. It's already 4:30."
Kai rolled out of bed and pulled on his safety gear. Luckily, he didn't have to scavenge with the others. He worked alone.
"Kai," a voice crackled through the video transponder mounted near the door. "Make sure you grab an energy nugget before you go. And keep an eye out for ash storms. The transponders say this might be the biggest one in forty moon cycles."
"I know," Kai muttered.
Kai and his family lived on Kharos IX, an outlier world of the Universal Imperium. It was an outlier for a reason. The planet was choked with ash, endless gray clouds that smothered the surface. Nothing grew here without help. It was all Ash.
Kai knew that better than anyone. He had been raised on this backwater ash world.
But Kharos IX was good for one thing.
Ever since the Great War, centuries ago, when the Imperium tore itself apart, the planet had become a massive mech graveyard. Buried beneath layers of ash were millions of scrap parts and broken war machines, waiting to be dug up and sold on the underground market.
Some people called the planet Kharos IX.
Most just called it Ashfront. I call it Home.
Kai stepped into the kitchen unit and grabbed an energy bar from the table.
"Love you, Mom. Love you, Dad," he said, already heading for the door. His family was all he had in this dead world.
Outside, he crossed to the shed beside their housing unit. This was where he kept his gear.
He pulled on a gray cloak, nearly the same color as the ash that eternally circled the planet. A respirator mask followed. He slipped a pair of gloves into his bag, grabbed his tool kit, and shut the shed door.
Before leaving, Kai pressed his palm to the lock. The biometric scanner chimed softly, confirming the seal.
Then he headed out into the ash.
Kai grabbed the keys to his speeder from the hook behind him and swung onto his red-and-white Titanicum Speeder. It was an older model, but he had rebuilt it by hand, using spare parts he'd scavenged and pieces that seemed to call out to him.
He loved the feel of the wind tearing through his black dreadlocks.
Kai glanced at his watch. 5:00.
He settled into the seat and pressed his palm against the ignition panel. The hand-recognition tech flared to life, and the bike roared awake beneath him. Kai felt the intricate workings of the machine humming together, every vibration familiar.
Alive. As if he could feel it's energy. He smiled at the notion.
Kai had always had a sense for machines.
Once, when he was younger, he'd broken his mother's transponder. With no training and no tools, he fixed it anyway. He hadn't heard instructions or seen diagrams. He had felt what was wrong, as if the machine itself was guiding his hands.
On a planet where all he truly had was his parents, Kai learned to appreciate machines. They didn't lie. They didn't leave.
He leaned forward and pressed down on the throttle. The speeder surged smoothly ahead.
And just like that, he was gone.