The wind hit hard as the motorcycle sped along the outer highway. The city lights were left behind, replaced by a landscape of abandoned factories, rusted cooling towers, and roads cracked by time. David drove with an almost arrogant ease, as if he knew every fissure in the asphalt.
Derek held onto him without thinking too much about it. It wasn't fear; it was a necessity difficult to name. The roar of the engine drowned out any attempt at conversation, and for a moment, that shared silence felt strangely comfortable to him.
The Sea of Ships appeared on the horizon like an impossible shadow. Even from a distance, it commanded respect: a gigantic crater filled with metallic skeletons, transport hulls, and remains of space stations that never made it home. The place where scrap and death coexisted without distinction.
David slowed down.
"From here on, speed isn't good," he said without turning. "The sensors still work in some zones."
Derek nodded, even though he knew David couldn't see him. He adjusted his helmet better and rested his forehead on David's back for a few seconds. The gesture was brief, almost involuntary, but it didn't go unnoticed by him.
They parked the bike behind a collapsed structure, far from the main access points. The silence of the place was different from the city's: heavier, charged with ancient echoes.
"We walk from now on," David said. "I don't want to attract attention."
They advanced between piles of twisted metal and plates scorched by old atmospheric re-entries. Derek watched David closely: how he moved, how he scanned the environment with calculated distrust. He didn't seem nervous. This wasn't his first time.
"How many times have you been here?" asked Derek.
"Enough to know when to leave," he replied. "And to know there are no heroes in this place."
They reached a deeper zone of the crater. In the distance, small lights moved among the ships: other seekers, local gangs, or something worse. Derek pressed the metal box against his chest.
"If something goes wrong," David said, "run. Don't look back."
"And you?"
David looked at him for the first time since they had arrived. His expression was serious, but not harsh.
"I'll manage."
Derek wanted to say something else, something that didn't have clear words. Instead, he nodded.
They continued to a makeshift platform made from the remains of an old shuttle. A short man waited there, his face partially covered by cheap implants.
"You're late," he grunted.
"We arrived alive," David retorted. "That's plenty."
The man fixed his eyes on Derek.
"Is he new?"
"He learns fast," David replied. "And he knows how to shut up."
Derek felt a mix of discomfort and strange satisfaction upon hearing it. He handed over the box without a word. The man took it carefully, as if afraid it might bite him.
"Good boy," he said. "Payment arrives tonight."
Without saying goodbye, he disappeared among the metal scraps.
"Let's go," David said. "I don't like this place."
As they returned, Derek looked one last time toward the center of the crater. For a second, he thought he saw a silhouette watching him from high up, motionless, as if it knew his name.
"Something wrong?" asked David.
"No," Derek lied. "Nothing."
They resumed the walk back. The Sea of Ships was left behind, but Derek knew it wouldn't be for long. Something had been set in motion that night, something that no longer depended on him.
And, although he wouldn't admit it, he didn't mind not walking that path alone.