Ivil Antagonist

Chapter Fifty-Three - Ship Scraper

Ship scrapping was a multi-billion dollar industry, one that was still, somehow, mostly run by smaller family-owned businesses in most planetary systems.

That did mean that the service one could expect varied wildly between good enough and god awful.

Ivil walked next to Twenty-Six, the younger woman was humming a little tune to herself while pushing her dolly along. There was a loud squeak every three-quarters rotation of its front wheels that Ivil wanted to do something about.

"Thanks for coming with me," Twenty-Six said.

"It's nothing," Ivil said. "I had an empty afternoon, and I'd much rather spend it helping you rather than loitering around the ship doing nothing."

Twenty-Six grinned up at Ivil. "Well, thanks anyway! I usually do this kind of thing all on my own. It's nice to have company."

"Do you not usually have anyone with you?" Ivil asked.

Twenty-Six shook her head. "Sometimes Hawke comes with me if I need something heavy picked up, and sometimes Missy will leave the ship with me, but most of the time it's just me on my own."

"That's... quite unfortunate," Ivil said. "And dangerous, no? Leaving the ship without anyone to watch your back feels like a recipe for sorrow."

"It's not so bad," Twenty-Six said. "The trick is to look so poor that it's just not worth trying anything." She gestured down at herself. She was currently dressed in very Missy-like fashion. Overalls over a loose t-shirt with a few old oil stains on it.

"I suppose. Though aren't you bothered by that? Passing yourself off as weak?"

Twenty-Six shook her head, then laughed. "Evelyn, I am weak."

"Ah," Ivil said. She glanced at Twenty-Six again. The younger woman seemed happy to put her weight into pushing her dolly along and humming her little song. Twenty-Six was... well, Ivil supposed that she was many things. Cute as a button, smart and exceptionally talented when it came to her field of interest. She was lively and upbeat as well. Ivil liked her.

But it was also true that in other circumstances, had Ivil just run into Twenty-Six out of the blue, she would have dismissed her without a second glance. Yes, she was cute, but she wasn't the sort of attractive that caught Ivil's attention. Even with the little grease smudge on the end of her little nose.

Sure, she was smart and talented, but Ivil spent her days on warships crewed by the best of the best. She was surrounded by the smart and the talented throughout the day. That didn't make someone stand out.

And Twenty-Six was weak. Her single core might help her a little now, but weak ferrokinesis wouldn't a warlord make.

It was sad, in a way, but Twenty-Six wasn't wrong about herself. She was, undeniably, weak. But she'd only remain that way if she wanted to. "You know, you don't have to stay weak," Ivil said.

"Hmm?" Twenty-Six asked as she cut off her humming. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you have one core already. It's possible to leverage that into more. Even assuming you weren't surrounded by friends who want the best for you, all on your own, you could leverage your skills and core and capabilities into more power."

"How would I do that?" Twenty-Six asked.

Ivil tapped her chin. "You'd need solid work, which I'm certain you could find. Split your core and set the earnings aside for some time. Work to grow a nest egg until you can afford a second, compatible core. Once you have two, you can constantly split one to earn enough to help yourself grow. Eventually earning more. It wouldn't be exponential, of course. The more you grow the more paranoid and careful you'll have to be, but by then if you have a handful of cores, your skills will be in much higher demand."

Twenty-Six stared for a moment. "That would take years, no?"

"It would. Or you could pass those years without making any real progress. One way or another, time will get a march on you."

"Oh," Twenty-Six said. She frowned a little. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to do all of that on my own."

"Well, in that case you're quite fortunate," Ivil said.

"I am?"

Ivil nodded. "Of course, because you're not on your own. I happen to think that Missy cares enough about you that she'd help you find work. Aurora might likewise assist you, and I'm not without my own resources. Even Pandergast seems to think highly of you, and she's a well-placed member of the Tech-Maids."

Twenty-Six blushed a little, then shook her head. "I don't think anyone thinks that much about me," she said.

Ivil sniffed and shook her head. If only she knew. "Don't sell yourself short. You're a talented young woman, and I'm certain you'll go far if that's what you want."

Twenty-Six was saved from further embarrassment as they made it into another station attached to Driftwood. This one, from what Ivil could tell, was only a temporary attachment to the station.

It was called the Callisto Junker, and it was a station that was mostly composed of large warehousing units and the hulks of some two dozen semi-disassembled ships in various states of disrepair.

The Callisto Junker was linked to the rest of Driftwood via a single long station arm with a few remote-operated tugs tied up alongside it. They paused at the entrance to that arm where a man in dirty clothes and whose odour was an affront to all that was good greeted them. "Here for something?" he asked.

"Parts," Twenty-Six said. "I've got a list."

"Hmph," the man said. He rubbed at his nose with the back of a hand, then nodded them in. "Go on. Don't bump the walls too hard, and watch for the gravity."

Ivil wondered what he meant for a moment before she cast her senses forwards. The long passageway to the Junker had gravity until somewhere along its middle, where the station's artificial gravity gave out suddenly.

"That might make it easier to carry things," Twenty-Six said as they started along. "I was a little worried about grabbing some things because they were too heavy."

"You don't have to worry about that," Ivil said. "I can lift heavy things for you."

She wouldn't admit it aloud, but Ivil secretly wanted to be seen lifting heavy things by Twenty-Six.

They made it to the end of the tunnel where Ivil carefully took over pushing the dolly for Twenty-Six. The moment they were out of the main station's artificial gravity the lift became something of a danger. It was better if Ivil took care of it since she could easily insist that gravity do as she wanted.

Twenty-Six floated along happily next to her, at least until they slipped into the main lobby of the Callisto Junker. There she schooled her features and tried to look serious as she walked up to the counter. "Hi, I have a list of things I'm looking for. Do you think you can help me?"

The next few minutes were a test of Ivil's patience as Twenty-Six had to deal with something that was somehow worse than the usual obstructive bureaucracy. Willful incompetence. The people who ran the Callisto Junker were, in a word, idiotic.

Their record keeping left much to be desired, their pricing scheme was based entirely on how much they thought they could rip someone off, and they didn't seem willing or capable of lifting a single finger to help anyone with anything.

She was tempted to rip the side of the station open to vent the lot of them, but Twenty-Six had the patience of a saint and managed to smile her way through all of the obstinacy before her. It wasn't long before she had the man behind the counter wrapped around her pinkie with a long-winded discussion about some particular kind of engine and its frequent need for repairs.

Soon enough, they'd gone over the list of parts that they were looking for, and Twenty-Six was bargaining over their price.

A worker brought them all over to a space to the side where Twenty-Six checked over the parts one by one. "This is no good," she said placing a small device to the side. "The contacts are dirty."

"Dirt can be cleaned off," the worker said.

"That looks like verdigris," Twenty-Six said. "And that'll only happen if the plating over the copper's worn out. I won't get more than a day or two out of that. But this filter's alright. It's been used, but not worn out."

"That's from a little freighter that we picked up a month back. It was in an accident."

"What sort?" Twenty-Six asked, immediately suspicious.

"Crashed into a gantry crane," the dealer said with a grin.

"Ah, okay."

"Does the kind of accident matter?" Ivil asked.

Both Twenty-Six and the dealer snorted, as if that was the most self-evident thing in the world.

Once the dolly was loaded up to capacity and the dealer was paid, they started to head out. "So, straight back to the ships, or can I tempt you into lunch first?" Ivil asked. "My treat."

Twenty-Six looked reluctant, but the gurgle of her stomach was anything but.

***