The pendant Serena carried turned out, in Naomi's world, to be the equivalent of a memory chip, storing critical information.
"Since the captain probably don't quite get what a luminous chart is, lemme spell it out," Osaka said. "Out in deep space, ya don't get handy landmarks. What ya do get are killer traps—debris belts, gravity wells, twisted electromagnetic zones, pockets of gas just waitin' to blow. One wrong step and ya toast. Then swing the other way and ya'll find black stretches where not even a single star shines for light-years. Nothin' but pitch-dark emptiness. Only way through safe is with a luminous chart. Folks also call it the navigation log."
According to Osaka, the luminous chart was basically a record of safe routes blazed by those who survived before. Ships could traverse the vastness of space only by sticking to it. To go without was like stumbling blind through a trap-ridden cavern for days, hoping to find an exit.
"Now then," Osaka went on, "soon as we touched down at this colony, I poked around the networks for updates. Word is, the Valdis Empire lost their luminous chart. Means the Nei-Vald Galaxy Empire can't even reach some colonies anymore. Ain't that somethin'?"
"Wait a second," Naomi asked, eyes wide. "If that's true, does it mean our arrival at Luna Beta was a miracle?"
Osaka chuckled. "Miracle? Nah. We made it 'cause I used the chart I been holdin' on to. Sure, if you crawl real slow on a short hop, maybe ya make it without one. But runnin' military ops? Nope, that won't fly."
Serena's voice was taut but sure. "Even if what I carried once belonged to my father, the Empire's homeworld of Perdegius would also have copies. If those are gone, then Mother or my brother must have destroyed them—so they would never fall into enemy hands."
There was no proof, but Serena's conviction left little room for doubt.
Naomi lowered her voice. "Listen, both of you. I realize now how desperately the Nei-Vald Empire must want those luminous charts and battle logs, and how dangerous they'd be in the wrong hands. But when we entered this colony, I used Serena's name. Was that safe? She's supposed to be dead, right?"
"...Ah!!" Serena and Osaka exclaimed together.
"Ya got a point there," Osaka muttered. "From their side, if the princess has either the luminous chart or proof of rebellion—even if they don't know for sure—better to shut her up for good. So! We sell what we can, buy what we need, and hightail it outta here fast. Got it?"
They left the rental dock, slipping a street deeper into the bay area. Here sprawled a junkyard: shop after shop, the air reeking of rot mingled with oil, thick and clinging. Naomi and Serena walked past storefronts lined with strange devices, some unrecognizable.
They stopped at one shop called Gold Rush. Out front, a stubbled man in oil-stained overalls—the picture of a back-alley mechanic—polished stock with careful hands.
"This place looks tidier than the others," Naomi said. "I want to try here first."
"Yes, I agree," Serena said. "A merchant who respects his wares seems more trustworthy."
Naomi stepped forward. "Excuse me, do you also purchase scrap?"
"Hm? Aye, I do," the man said, peering at them. "Are you two running errands? I'll warn you—this shop only deals in ship parts. No household goods or art pieces. For that, you'd best head closer to the center—"
"Oh, no, it's ship-related," Naomi cut in quickly, realizing he had taken Serena for a noble's daughter offloading estate junk. "But the volume is large, so you'd need to see it in person."
"Well now," the man said, scratching his chin. "Just how much are we talking?"
Naomi glanced around, searching for a comparison. "About... two truckloads worth."
"Two loads of that moss-green truck over there? That's no small haul. But if it's nothing but rubbish, I won't take it. Either way, I'll have to see for myself. Where's the stock? ...Ah, the rental dock? All right then. I'll come take a look. Show me the way."
He ducked inside the shop and returned with a younger man, likely his son, judging from their resemblance and the fragments of chatter. Leaving the boy to watch the shop, the father followed Naomi and Serena back.
The rental docks came in two main types. One was open-air, little more than a lot with cranes and tools—something like a parking structure to Naomi's eyes. The other, like theirs, was a closed warehouse, enclosing an entire ship for large-scale repairs or overhauls. Naturally, the rent was higher.
"Well I'll be," the junkman breathed, laying his palm on the hull of the Grim Reaper. "This ship looks to be two centuries old. Does it even fly?"
"It flies," Naomi said. "But the main engine's shot, and the oxygen generation system is useless. We need either a rebuild or replacements."
"Engines, eh? What model's she running?"
"Thermus-Valdick VA-200-TT thermal fusion reactor, the Hellhound type," Naomi answered without hesitation. "The compression pistons are wrecked, the sixth-stage control ring is cracked, and debris has cooled and lodged in the core chamber."
She recited the specifications smoothly. After scouring the graveyard for parts, every detail of the ship's failing systems was seared into her memory.
The old man's eyes lit up at Naomi's words. That spark of mutual understanding—two tinkerers talking shop—was something he couldn't miss.
"Well now," he said, grinning. "Swappin' out the whole thing'd be quicker, sure. But if it's pistons an' rings, reckon we can rig somethin'. Ain't the standard way, but if ya shave down some NRX-99 parts from Oberntzeis Heavy, they'll fit. Whatcha say, ya up for it?"
"The NRX-99... that's that big ol' beast they stick in heavy cruisers, right?" Naomi asked. "You actually got those parts lying around?"
Naomi dug into her memory, picturing the massive engine.
"Oh, I got 'em alright," the old man chuckled. "Been sittin' so long they're practically family. Pulled 'em outta a busted engine—thought maybe someone'd want the salvage. Turns out nobody's come knockin'. Just been clutterin' up the shop. If ya gonna use 'em, hell, take 'em free."
"Really? That's amazing!" Naomi's eyes sparkled. "The debris is killing the burn efficiency, but if I can fix the pistons and control rings, she'll run again. That's so much safer than relying only on the auxiliaries."
Naomi grabbed the old man's hand, unable to hold back her excitement.
"Whoa there!" he said, flustered but grinning. "Don't forget—you'll have to do the cuttin' an' grindin' yourself. But with the machines here, ya got this!"
Truth be told, the gruff mechanic didn't mind a bit of enthusiasm from a lively young customer.
"Alright then, I'll go haul the parts out," he said, turning as if to leave.
"Hold on!" Naomi called. "At least check the stuff I brought in for trade first!"
The old man scratched the back of his head, sheepish.
"Aw, hell. Forgot why ya even came in. My bad, my bad."