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Impenetrable brown clouds of gas. That was all that could be seen through the cockpit window. The White Rabbit glided smoothly through them. Then the first contours emerged from the soup—asteroids, at first vague, then clear. Finally, the shape of an aging brown space station. The decay was clearly visible from the outside.

Despite the prevailing conditions, I was glad to be back in the Pyro system. Stanton had become alien to me. The UEE and the megacorporations pretended to give us freedom. In reality, they invaded our minds. They told us what to do, what to think—don’t race, don’t stand still, don’t trade with E’tam—it didn’t feel like freedom. Pyro was dangerous—and yet I felt freer here.

The rough voice of air traffic control came over the radio—clearance to land. Seconds later, the White Rabbit touched down in the dimly lit hangar. The hangar doors closed with a squeak and a groan. I fell back into the pilot’s seat and closed my eyes for a moment—done. Another valuable delivery safely brought to Pyro. The routes were risky, but lucrative. And I was able to help people—free people—who lived outside the control of the UEE and were not provided for by any authority.

After the White Rabbit was unloaded, I flew to the Patch City space station. I had stored Diamond Laminate there. It was an extremely valuable commodity that promised great profits. However, pirates also knew the places where it could be sold profitably.

The Prowler Utility, which had been provided to me by the Rust Society for a delivery, was still in Patch City. The stealth ship was ideal for transporting the diamond laminate to Jackson’s Swap on the planet Monox.

A warm feeling of home came over me as I descended with the Prowler onto the reddish-brown sandy surface of Monox. The desert planet had grown dear to my heart and become a place of retreat.

As I approached Jackson’s Swap, several radar signatures appeared in and around the settlement. Any one of them could be a pirate. Nervously, I looked at the scanner. The ships were deserted. Everything seemed quiet—for now.

The settlement and the first ships quickly came into view. A Starlancer Max, its wings broken off. Then an Argo RAFT, two landing gears missing. An uneasy feeling crept up inside me. Jackson’s Swap was a trading post, not a junkyard. Then I saw cargo containers lying around everywhere. Something was very wrong.

I circled slowly above the buildings. I couldn’t see any danger and landed. Dust swirled up as I jumped off the ladder and my boots landed in the sand. My gaze wandered over the settlement. Now I had to act fast. I hurriedly moved the containers with the Diamond Laminate from the Prowler to the freight elevator. Finally, I stood at the elevator’s control console—the last critical moment.

Sand lay on the display. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and squinted my eyes. The sun reflected off the display. Suddenly, I heard a screech—a Marok was circling above me. I shook my head and pressed the button. Squeaking, the platform descended, transporting my goods to the safety of the underground.

I sold the diamond laminate in the trading building.

“What kind of chaos is going on out there?” I asked the dealer.

“There was a raid—again,” he replied with a shrug.

“And the pirates didn’t take the containers?”

“Only the valuable stuff, they left the rest behind. Now we’re waiting for the people from the scrap yard in Sunset Mesa. They’ll clean up.”

“I’ll fly there now. I can tell them you’re waiting.”

Shortly afterwards, I landed in Sunset Mesa, a few kilometers away, and met Gerald.

“Zero, good to see you,” he greeted me warmly. “Let’s sit down, I want to talk to you.”

We went to a quiet corner where two chairs stood between several plants.

“Zero, you’ve been a great help to us over the last few months,” Gerald began. “With supply flights, salvaging, and repairs.”

He paused for effect and looked at me with a smile.

“The local group on Monox would like to see you as a member of the Rust Society,” he finally said in a solemn tone.

I was stunned. The Rust Society – the organization of transport and salvage operators that shared information, mentored newcomers to both fields, and served the dangerous freight routes. I remembered my first meeting with Gerald, when he told me the history and background of the Rust Society.

“I think that’s an honor,” I said thoughtfully, sitting up straight in my chair. “But aren’t you close to the UEE? If I remember correctly, the Rust Society stepped in when military supply lines were cut during the First Tevarin War.”

“You’re right,” Gerald replied. “At that time, the civilian population lacked basic goods because many pilots avoided deliveries to systems threatened by the Tevarin. The members of the Rust Society stepped in and transported food to heavily rationed communities. These missions impressed the military so much that after the war, they approached the Rust Society and advocated for its expansion. Today, we have local chapters in many UEE and non-UEE systems. Including the Nul system.”

“My home,” I said quietly.

“I know your aversion to the UEE, Zero. You can demonize or fight the UEE—you won’t defeat it. But you can help the people who are underserved by the UEE—even if it means indirectly helping the UEE. And in the Rust Society, we now leave politics to the politicians. So you can be neutral with us and help where help is needed.”

“Hmmm,” I grunted, leaning back in my chair thoughtfully.

“And even if you stay away from all UEE contracts and systems, you can still help and reap benefits. We share information about systems, dangers, and lucrative trade routes. You can offer services in places that are ignored by corporations. You’ll get help from other members of the Rust Society, and you can stock up at the outposts you fly to.”

“With your help, I could help the free peoples completely independently of the UEE?”

“Absolutely!”

“And your name goes back to the consumption of rust?”

“Yes,” Gerald said with a laugh.

“Hmm,” I muttered, scratching my beard. “Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

Gerald jumped up and fetched a box.

“Here, put this on,” he said cheerfully. “Our welcome gift. We wear red and brown outfits to symbolize our affiliation.”

Seconds later, I was wearing a brown space suit and brown chest armor. Both had “Rust Society” written on them.

“Brown—the color of the desert. If that’s not a sign,” I said with a laugh.

The rest of the evening was boozy—traditionally with a few cans of Rust.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)