The scorching sun beat down on the Olympus City Municipal Spacecraft Graveyard, an expansive wasteland of decommissioned ships in varying states of decay and disrepair. Kashima tightened his grip on the plasma torch, expertly slicing through aged titanium paneling to expose circuits underneath. It was the 47th craft he had broken down for valuable parts this month.
The monotonous tasks allowed his mind to drift back over previous scavenging gigs - dangerous spacewalk extractions from a deteriorating fuel transport, six days crammed in an EVA suit assisting an engineering battalion dismantle Crimson Fleet battlecruisers, even the unsavory job of emergency life support activations on vessels found adrift with overdue final expenses in the cold debts of space.
None quite compared to the uncomfortable two weeks undercover on an active dreadnought with Zaoul though. They had posed as new salvage recruits earning officer trust to secretly identify and liberate high-value components.
By day, model petty officers. By night, scheming like petty thieves. Too many close calls and meal cubes later, their payload finally secured a decent payout. But more crucially, deepened the bond between fellow paupers from the slums now relying on street smarts to navigate the shadows of higher society. Brothers in scrap.
Wiping sweat from his brow, Kashima downed the last warm drops from his canteen then closed his eyes to focus. He slowed his breathing while attempting to will any sensations to his marked palm. The sigil remained dormant no matter how he tried reigniting the unique energy sequence from altering past tactical situations. either his stress levels, dehydration, or sheer frustration now disrupted any fledgling command of his gifts…
Moments later, a gravelly voice interrupted his failed meditation. "Amigo! You planning on mentally filling our quota through sheer willpower over there or should we actually work for this payout?" laughed Zaoul. He leaned casually against a battered engine block but his playful demeanor hinted hard labor in this extreme heat tested even his robust alien physiology.
Zaoul was a Zerakyn - vat-grown enforcers from a planet whose brutal conditions weeded out the weak at inception. Rumours said they possessed the cunning of a jackal, the viciousness of a shark, and the adaptability of a roach. As Kashima's long-time salvaging partner though, he simply knew Zaoul displayed unquestionable loyalty and a work ethic nearly Unbounded.
"Unless you've cracked remote disassembly through psychic scrapping waves, but looks a bit less productive I'd say," Zaoul continued, wiping oil on already filthy overalls. He gestured to the vast rows of husks surrounding them. "O-Mil wants four dozen dynamic pressure modulators off these grade 3 attack ships by sundown."
Kashima grinned sheepishly. "Unless wishing obsolete fighters to magically dismantle counts?" But he dutifully activated his exo-suit's strength amplifiers again and resumed slicing into the next marked vessel. Zaoul meant well in his motivation. And he wasn't wrong - their contract mandated tight deadlines for promised payments...credits that eased monthly debts hanging over them both.
The day wore on, banter filling slower moments hauling heavy components to anti-grav sleds or during rehydration breaks in meager shade. At long last as the orange sun dipped behind distant city spires, the friends finished their labor, exhausted but satisfied by jobs done properly. Stationed military overseers scanned their recovered stash, unable to hide impressed surprise at such volume and efficiency delivered well under deadline from two rag-tag scrappers.
They gladly authorized bonus vouchers alongside standard pay credits.
Zaoul heartily shook his supervisor's hand before they transported back towards the urban center as shadows stretched across deserted scrapyards. Passing the towering fortress walls of the Olympus Military Academy triggered an unusual question from Zaoul as automated mass transit zipped them homeward.
"Why do you never consider applying technical skills somewhere more respectable than scrapyards or shady fixers, brother?" Zaoul inquired sincerely. "That big brain deserves authority and resources. I know the military would eagerly commission an engineer as capable as you for the space program if enlisted."
He waved his hand outwards toward softly lit neighbourhoods with pristine towers housing spacious living quarters instead of cramped tenements.
"I mean no judgement, Kashima. We all have reasons that seem to make sense in the moment after hardship. But do those hold up under closer reflection?" The maglev's route turned, the starry night sky became visible as they passed by the Ion District, where ritzy inhabitants enjoyed glittering city ambience that obscured views of the constellations above.
Kashima paused pensively before answering slowly. "I stay because the risk seems...manageable I guess. Because path dependence and familiarity breed their own kind of efficiency too. Even when part of me recognises I perpetuate merely surviving over truly elevating possibilities." The farms and factories of agricultural belts whizzed past as they neared the dense central districts again. "But destiny ties me to other purpose I have yet to fully decipher as well…"
Zaoul pondered his friend's answer but knew this fork in self-reflection must travel an inner road only Kashima could walk himself when ready. As the elevated rails swung into Cenagora station above their hardscrabble neighbourhood, they stood shoulder to shoulder surveying the lively night market below.
"I should let you get rest before another blistering shift at the mech boneyards my friend," Zaoul finally said, giving one last reassuring pat on Kashima's sturdy back. They parted ways on the stairs downward.
As Kashima walked alone on the broken sidewalks, his swirling thoughts came into clearer focus. For every bold dreamer that escaped into a better life, a hundred more remained in the ninth district bowels. Too many memories, too few alternatives, and a lack of self-confidence.
What separated the destined from the damned?
True capability or just courage to apply that potential fully? Kashima honestly didn't have definitive answers. Only growing questions on whether he shortchanged himself by avoiding risks for security. If his true calling lay out there awaiting discovery beyond atmosphere instead of forced contentment choking in perpetual smog...
Kashima's steps felt heavier the closer his decrepit apartment complex came into view beyond the flashy lights of competing storefronts. Aquilla often worried when Kashima came home restless from the space graveyards. While he earned decent digital wages, she could see his spirit felt empty inside at times.
Was this future she and his family had sacrificed so much for him to attain? Where did relief end and resignation to one's limits begin along the tired trudge of daily survival? His marked palm tingled slightly - was that sign of truth struggling to breach doubts...or mere phantom imprint playing psychological tricks to fan false hope?
Steeling his nerves, Kashima pivoted on a foot and abruptly changed course. He would visit the Council Data Pantheon instead for any existing records on scavenging discoveries that unearthed galactic secrets. Surely among petitions and mining claims some clue awaited on those rare salvagers who recovered more than mere machine parts. If his destiny awaited somewhere upon the stars, first he must study how others uncovered theirs accidentally until opportunity manifested purposefully.
The Metro carried him past tightly packed towers littering District 913's furthest border into the cultural hub surrounded by magnificent ancient pillars symbolizing justice earned through perseverance. Stepping off onto the polished walkway, Kashima felt his malaise lifting slightly. The soaring architecture here inspired, hinting at hidden reserves within himself yet to be tapped. Some part connected to those mystical markings whose full meaning continued eluding his grasp…
As Kashima ascended the Hundred Stairs of Insight toward the breathtaking Constellation Council archives, his comms unit shuddered in rapid pulses. An urgent message flashed across the cracked screen - Kashima received an urgent priority message marked with the iconic "V" of the Voltar Clan elite forces.
With a mixture of curiosity and caution, Kashima answered the call. To his surprise, Lyra's holographic projection emerged, casting a bluish glow in the dimming twilight. Her image carried an air of enigmatic confidence.
It seemed Lyra sought his services once more. Perhaps agreeing quickly this time rather than negotiating over contracts would finally shift fortunes in his favor.
"Kashima, your unique skills are required," Lyra's projection conveyed with a certain calm authority. "No rush, my friend, but an important meeting awaits at Voltar Tower in the Business District. Bring your insights, not weaponry. Your presence is invited, not compelled."
This cryptic call's timing seemed fate offering clarity through action - the night ahead may reveal truths if he braved uncertainty beyond the safety of tired roles.
The holographic message hung in the air. The city's neon glow bathed the room in cyan hues as he pocketed the message. The Voltar Tower beckoned in the business district, promising answers and uncertainties. As he embraced the call to rendezvous with Lyra, the scavenger felt the winds of change whispering through the city, propelling him toward an enigmatic meeting in the heart of Olympus.
Invigorated by pivotal second chances dawning, Kashima rapidly set a return course to District 913, renewed eagerness displacing dread for tomorrow's challenges. Fresh purpose filled the marked scavenger's gaze...