“Permission granted for docking at the Atala Imperial Spaceport, berth 155C. Estimated time to landing, 15 minutes.”

  “Thanks Loon.”

  Heath double-checked his harness one more time. Emerald had grumbled but eventually ceded to Heath’s newly-forged obsession with ship safety. They hadn’t pushed back on his assistance and Heath was embarrassed at how much he appreciated the understanding.

  “Let’s go over it one more time,” he said.

  “Look kid, we’re ready. We both have our jobs, no need to harp on it.”

  “Ahem.”

  “Sorry. All three of us have our jobs.”

  “Humor me.” Heath insisted. “I’ll start. First stop is the jobs hall. I’m going to flag the best cargo runs I think we can string together for a profit. Once I’m in the hall, our postings for crew positions will go live. If we can get a couple more people, we’ll be able to handle more jobs and riskier routes. Plus I’ll get to sleep again.

  “If we’re lucky, between all of us we’ll have enough combat abilities to field a delving team and hit up some of the low-leveled dungeons on the way. ” Heath stretched in his seat. “Gods it would be so much easier if we could just post them to the net from here. It’s a stupid rule.”

  “It is a stupid rule,” Emerald agreed. “But it never works out if you try and go without it. Disaster every time.”

  “Come on, that’s a superstition. Why would it ever be a problem that people don’t have to waste time?”

  “No one understands why, but it never works out. You take away the human touch, eventually no one even leaves the ship, just automates everything. And then, bam, disaster.”

  “Name one time –”

  “The Trevally explosion.”

  “Coincidence, that doesn’t prove –”

  “Partoz flagship scuttled, the last stand of Aroquis, Gravleton Station.”

  “The Kadian Temple fiasco.”

  “You too, Loon? Fine, I get it. The job halls are important. But stop distracting me! Emerald you’re up.”

  “I’m going to skulk around the dangerous people and find us some stuff to move.”

  Heath waited but their mysterious companion refused to elaborate, despite not being quite so mysterious anymore.

  “Want to add any details. Like the extremely important stuff we talked about?”

  The sigh he got for that was award-worthy. Literally. He’d started keeping a running list for the top ten sighs he’d heard from Emerald and that one had just taken the eighth spot.

  “No.”

  The noise that came out of Heath at that point wasn’t something animals should be capable of.

  “Hells kid, okay okay. No drugs that are too dangerous. But we can take the fun ones. Nothing that’s designed to destroy cargo vessels. No weapons if we can avoid it. Basically anything that we can make some extra creds on that won’t get us tossed in a deep, dark prison if the Imperial authorities notice.

  Speaking of which…” they trailed off and made a flicking motion with their pointer finger.

  Heath felt the telltale ping of a skill activating. Following the pattern they’d established, he concentrated on returning the credit transfer to Emerald, without opening his [Personal Bank] interface. Emerald had been vocal, when they learned it was one of the Skills Heath had chosen. Muttering for days about rich kids without survival instincts worth a damn. Then they’d made it very clear there would be no smuggling agreement if Heath then slacked on getting it to level five, where it would start providing branching options in the Skill tree.

  Luckily for Heath, they were also way older than they looked, and knew the best way to force some early levels in the skill was to make small transfers over and over again. And over. And over. It was working. He’d just hit level three, and if everything went well, he’d hit four or five before they left Atala.

  “It’s gonna be a good one today, I can feel it.” Heath said.

  Touchdown went smoothly, as per usual. The Loon’s handling and Heath’s piloting ability were both improving since they took over. Emerald and Heath parted ways, with plans to check back in at sundown on the ship. Emerald had offered to pay for dinner at a real restaurant but Heath insisted. He was a Captain now, and that meant making some responsible decisions. Including eating the sad rations and not wasting credits on the fun stuff. The mail and other small jobs they had picked up on the way to Atala would keep them fed, but the Loon needed improvements, which meant saving for argo.

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  He pulled the map with the job halls marked and started walking. While he went he plucked a frond off some plant and absently started tying knots with it. His fingers always appreciated something to do while his mind wandered.

  The first few halls he went past without bothering to stop in. Locations close to the port proper were always a fun time, but too much of a party for the image he was trying to project of a responsible Captain. Each was full to bursting with Spacers on leave, who often took the shortest possible path from their ships to a gaming tables, alcohol, the questionable fried food you might find in such a place.

  Atala was the biggest port in the sector, and it showed. Spacers of every stripe imaginable streamed back and forth between business and pleasure. Heath walked past a man in a neon pink suit, with wires coming out of his head and digging into the back of his hands in some obvious magitech mods, aruging over the price of a plate of noodles off a nearby food cart. He turned down a street to cut a few blocks off his journey, and walked between two buildings, one entirely orange, from glass to brick to door paint, and the other yellow. A pair of women in the same color scheme chatted across the balconies two stories above Heath’s head.

  On and on it went. A shop selling personal mods at frighteningly low prices, a drug deal, a flower garden built into the side of a wall, a street that was inexplicably a stream for two blocks, forcing him to traverse a series of thin bridges. Far above, the air was clogged with hover vehicles, individual devices, and the rare Classer that had a true [Flight] skill.

  Amongst all of it were the job halls. Emerald and the Loon were right, different vassal states and frontier sectors had tried cutting out the necessity to be physically present to set or accept a contract. Across every era and every cosmic power, each one crashed and burned dramatically. Something about the in person interaction was necessary for a thriving population and economy.

  On Atala, that appeared to mean they put a job hall on every corner. Or at least that’s how it felt to Heath. And they were all different. On the smaller stations, the different halls were mostly the same utilitarian layout, with differing degrees of dinginess for patrons to deal with. But in an old, established port, personality seeped through. There were brightly colored paint jobs or carvings etched into the walls. Some had stages for live performances. Different food and drink were offered at each as the operators strove to stand out from the pack.

  Heath kept walking. The first set of halls was too lively, the second set he passed by because those were where, per Emerald, the ‘real mean bastard’s would be hanging around. After a solid half hour of walking, Heath determined he was far enough and ducked into the next job hall he walked past.

  It was one of the tamer variants, which he was thankful for. It had been a while since he’d been in a port close to this size, and he’d forgotten how overwhelming it could be. Uncle Walt preferred the medium to small ports, ones that got serviced less frequently and were always happy to see another hauler pass through. Which worked for his uncle but not for Heath.

  He slipped inside and found a table with his back to the wall, another caution from Emerald he hadn’t needed to be told, but still took to heart. The instant he was within the bounds of a job hall, his pad interfaced with the digital board and his postings went up. His body tensed. This was it, his first real act as Captain. A test he would pass or fail on his own, without the Loon’s help or Emerald there to catch him if he screwed up.

  Nothing happened. He wasn’t exactly sure why he had expected responses immediately but he felt blood rushing to his cheeks now that he realized it. With great effort, he forced the window closed, rather than fall into a trap of refreshing every other second to try and gauge if the view count had changed. The listing said he’d be here, people could find him if they were interested. And if no one was, well they would deal with it.

  Forcing himself to do something productive, he opened the cargo jobs and started filtering them down. All the while his hands played with his frond. When it was worn down to nothing, another strand came out of his pockets and he started tying it into knots.

  Two empty pints sat in front of him when the first applicant trailed in, a third half full in his hand, though he’d switched to a lime soda for that one. He appreciated Emerald, but they provided just as many cautionary tales as good pieces of advice.

  Heath’s willpower was only so strong, every time someone walked into his current hall, his eyes snapped up to watch them. It meant he had a few moments’ advantage when the first candidate walked in and searched around for Heath.

  He was big, covered in thick slabs of muscles and the kind of healthy tan that spoke to regular direct sunlight. At least half a foot taller than Heath, he moved in a way that announced he was unclassed. Attributes, even at low levels, enhanced everything. There was the obvious of being stronger and faster, but the little things changed as well. Classers were almost always a little more graceful, a little better balanced than regular folk. Exceptions existed, but after years bouncing between systems and stations, Heath had picked up on the tells.

  His [Leadership] Skill felt no resonance with the man, which wasn’t a perfect measure but usually meant he wouldn’t be a good fit for the crew. But beggars shouldn’t be choosers, Heath could give the man a chance.

  At least he thought so until he opened his mouth. “I went and looked at your ship. Kind of a piece of shit huh?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I get it man. I’m just starting out too.” His smile morphed into an arrogant smirk. “You’ll be lucky to have me aboard.”

  Just for that, Heath determined there was no way this guy was going to be part of his crew. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “I know the sector maps like the back of my hand. Have contacts all over Atala. Being a spacer is in my blood. Father owns one of the best transport businesses in the sector.” He ticked off his so-called qualifications on his fingers, looking pleased with himself for basic knowledge and nepotism.

  “Why aren’t you joining with your father then?”

  “They have all sorts of rules about how I have to level and evolve my class. I mean look at me, do I look like a regular Spacer? Nah. Combat Class or bust, I say.”

  “Nothing wrong with being a Spacer. We all start there. But can I take that to mean you don’t currently have a Class?”

  “Look man, give me a little while and I’ll be the best delver you’ve ever seen. I figure I'll hop on to a few crews, get some levels, get some time in the training halls, then I’ll be ready to take the family in a different direction when I take over.”

  “I wish you the best of luck, but I don’t think this is going to work out.”

  The man’s smirk slid into a sneer at Heath’s words. “Whatever. Not like you're getting anyone better.”

  He stormed out, never having even given Heath a name. For the first time a frisson of unease slithered through Heath’s mind. He ruthlessly stamped it out. There were millions of spacers on Atala. The next one would be a good option.

  Never had he been so swiftly kicked in the teeth by fate for his optimism. The next applicant was not a good option. Nor was the one after that. Both were like the first guy, totally inexperienced but full of themselves anyway. None had any Skills worth a damn on a spaceship.

  The woman in front of him now, Niala, had all the right qualifications: Spacer, middle of rank one in levels, just like Heath, with a few contracts under her belt. She wore a practical jumpsuit, like she was ready to hop on board and get to work. Heath even recognized one of the Captain’s she’d served under as an acquaintance of his uncle’s. Plus, she was willing to work for the admittedly meager salary that Heath could promise. He was hopeful shares would ramp up quickly, but without specialized cargo or a massive quantum space, they weren’t going to be rich any time soon.

  She would be perfect. Except for the electric blue lines spreading out from the corners of her eyes and along the back of her hands. Heath felt bad, but there was no way he was hiring a haze addict. Maybe he’d be willing to give her a chance if she was clean, but the same blue clouding over what he thought were green eyes said she was high right now. He turned her away as he had the others, though it left him squirming with guilt.

  “Not your fault, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid.” He snapped. The reply to the waitress was automatic, and he regretted it as soon as he saw her lips purse. “Sorry. This isn’t going the way I hoped.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” She dropped another pint in front of him. Water this time and not the soda he’d been quaffing all afternoon. Probably a good thing. “Niala’s been hanging around the neighborhood for a while. We think sometimes when she’s deep in the haze she forgets a bit and falls back on looking for jobs by reflex. She hasn’t been off-world in years.”

  “Seems like someone should help her.”

  “Someone does. She’s clean and there’s a bed she can sleep in every night. Beyond that, well, some folks don’t want help. Now look lively, you’ve got another one on the way.”