It was near the end of the day when the next candidate showed up. Heath had already narrowed down some possible contracts and done all his resupply ordering for what they would need. A side benefit of a small crew was getting by without too much overhead, but they still needed ration packs and first aid equipment. Stocking up in a big port meant they wouldn’t be squeezed for credits out in the middle of nowhere.

  The spacer that walked in had Heath bracing for disappointment yet again. She had a neat utility outfit, with boots that gleamed in the low lights of the bar. The absolute stereotype of a greenie spacer, not even a smidge of wear on any of her gear. The only touch that wasn’t by the book was a floppy sun hat, edges of short-cropped brown hair peeking out around it. A hat which had not been effective, judging by the number of freckles muttered across the brown skin of her cheeks. She paused just in the entry and surveyed the entire room, before marching straight up to Heath. He had a moment of feeling self-conscious of his own well-worn attire and barely-combed sandy hair before she arrived in front of him.

  She thrust her hand straight out, almost toppling over one of the empty cups that now littered the table. “Jenny Mae Burtell, pleased to meet ya.”

  “Likewise, now –”

  “I’ve just graduated from the Marini 9 Class Academy with top marks. Due to my performance I qualified to have my Class awakened. I am currently a level 2 Administrator. This Class is considered the basis for a flexible subgroup of support classes.”

  “I know what admin Classes are, now –”

  “I received top marks in all courses at the academy, and can provide character references upon request.”

  “That’s great, now–”

  “My diligence and attention to detail will make me an asset to any crew. I’m excited for the opportunity to work my way up on a ship with as strong a reputation as the Wandering Loon.”

  When the madwoman finally paused for breath, Heath was too off kilter to ask his planned questions. “You’ve heard of the Loon?”

  “Well, I looked it up before coming to meet you. My condolences on your uncle.”

  “Uh, thanks.” He shook out his shoulder after the enthusiastic handshake, and reminded himself he was a Captain of a respected starship. In time with her recitation, Jenny Mae had sent a copy of her resumé to his pad, which he read over briefly. Assuming it was correct, she did have excellent grades, though that was rarely indicative of how someone would perform in the real world. His uncle had always had plenty to say about academies, especially those on the frontier. For crafter’s they might be helpful, but regular spacers needed to live the life.

  “Do you have any practical experience aboard a ship’s crew?”

  There was a crack in the confident exterior at his question, just a little, but it told him the answer before she needed to say it. “No, but I have been working towards becoming a spacer for the last several years, and I’m confident in my abilities.”

  Heath held back a sigh. The problem he was facing was one he’d figured out without Emerald’s help. The higher-leveled, experienced classers didn’t have any reason to sign on with Heath. Without training facilities or guaranteed dungeon runs, there wasn’t much draw. Even most of the more niche skills wouldn’t be useful on the Loon until they clawed back some of their former glory.

  His options would be the greenest of new spacers, or the people with some glaring red flag. Or both. Of the options Heath knew who he’d pick.

  He went over the resume in more detail. [Improved Organization] was a great skill, and she had it listed as level 2 already. Low levels would just make her a little better at processing, but at higher levels she’d be able to read and reconstruct a whole fleet’s manifest in the time it would take anyone else to open the file. Useful but not necessary on its own, but combined with [Navigation], it meant she would be the best person to optimize the routes of any cargo ship. That was definitely not a standard progression for Administrator.

  Classers with pathing Skills could add context and emotion to the routes that a normal ship AI just couldn’t process. On the other hand, with the Loon’s new abilities, it might not need a person to do any of that. But those were only her first two skills. The admin Class family was as broad as it was deep. The Skills she could gain, at high levels, would just make everything work better. The rest of the crew’s Skills would advance faster, their attributes would mean just a little more. And most importantly, any upgrades to the Loon would be that much more effective.

  But all that was only if he helped her level. At which point she would be free to leave and get snatched up by any other Captain with half a brain.

  “Tell me this,” he said. “Why the Loon? Admin classes are rare enough you should be able to get work on a better ship. One with facilities that will help you level faster.” If he’d been able to avoid posting those details he might have, but they were mandatory on all employment listings for good reason. No Classer would react well to finding out a Captain lied to get them on board.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “I’m too low-level,” she mumbled. Gone was the confident girl, giving her speech despite any attempt of Heath’s to get a word in edgewise. She leaned back in her seat. “I want to be a spacer. Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I wanted to see the stars. The ranch back home is amazing, but it’s not what I wanted to do for my whole life. And Momma always told us there isn’t a point trying to turn a rifle into a fence post.”

  Heath had no idea what she was talking about but motioned for her to keep going. He could at least sympathize with dreaming about the life of a spacer.

  “I applied to the academy and got a few scholarships. My parents cover the rest. Hippobream sells well but we aren’t rich, you know? So I did my best, and I did everything right. Then it was time to get a job, and everyone else had connections I didn’t. I got an admin class, and I was thrilled. But they are not very good at low levels. And the only people who hire low level admins are the massive ships, or the trade companies. Which would be fine if they didn’t also force you to commit to taking specific Skills and locked in an Attribute distribution. Your contract doesn’t have any of that.”

  “Um okay, that’s a lot. Look, if you sign on, I won’t force you into Skills you don’t want. We’re running lean right now, but if you want, I can do a three month trial. We don’t have training facilities on board, but we are committing to funding crew admittance to training halls when we reach ports with decent facilities. Standard share spread for crew members, potential bonuses for dungeon runs or anything you sell on the side.”

  “I accept!” Jenny Mae said. “I mean, I’ll need to review the contract but I would like to offer a provisional acceptance. Is it a standard share from the Imperial Ratavan Standard or the Seventeenth Conglomerate Agreement?”

  “What?”

  “Are those not the right ones?”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. This might end up more than he bargained for.

  After going over the specifics, Jenny Mae left to head back to her lodgings to start packing up. Apparently the normal agreement every ship on the Rim used was a variant of the Ratavan Standard they taught in Jenny Mae’s academy. The reliance on skills like his [Personal Bank] and the distance from most Imperial infrastructure made the textbook options suboptimal, to say the least.

  He felt his shoulders relax as he watched the time tick over to 6pm. There would be two more days of sitting around for more crew members to offer themselves up, but for today, he was done.

  It was too much to ask of his willpower to eat a sad ration pack after the day he’d had. A bucket of fried chicken led the way into the mess hall, where he found Emerald already a few drinks in from what he could tell. Heath dropped the meal between the two of them and didn’t come up for air until two drumsticks and a thigh later.

  “Hired someone on a provisional contract. Admin class.”

  “Admin’s good.” Emerald grunted. They ate their portion of chicken down to the bone, leaving them picked absolutely clean and not bothering to wipe grease off their fingers in between pieces. “Not usually til rank two though. What level?”

  “Two.”

  They dropped the wing in their hand, letting it bounce off the table, leaving flakes of breading and grease behind.

  “You’re going to do this to me, aren’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?” Heath asked. He hadn’t sprung for the lemonade, it was an extra expense and he figured it wasn’t worth it, so he washed down his bite with water and regret.

  “You’re going to make me the wise old person amongst a crew of misfit children. You’ll tell each other your dreams of adventure, and then we’ll all be fucked when you all get in over your heads. It’s happening, I can feel it.”

  They thrust a finger at Heath, who was now entirely lost in the conversation. “Be careful, kid. It might work in the vids but that’s fiction. In real life the old person never has enough Skills in the bank to do anything about it. All my levels were earned as a Captain and I ain’t that anymore. You get in trouble, I’m not going to get you out of it, you hear me?”

  “We’re just hauling cargo?” His voice went up at the end like he wasn’t sure anymore. But that was ridiculous. “We’re just hauling cargo,” he said, this time with confidence. “No call to adventure, I promise.”

  “Damn straight.”

  They both went back to eating after that. Heath thought maybe he was supposed to have understood more than he did but, he was learning how to deal with Emerald and Captaincy in general. Slowly, maybe, but he was learning. If he wasn’t sure what was going on, silence was sometimes the best teacher.

  “I, for one, look forward to meeting our new crew member. Finding myself at a proverbial low-level, I can sympathize with someone at a new beginning.”

  “No.” Emerald said, voice still animated. “No sympathizing. We talked about this.”

  “I will sympathize silently, never fear, Crewmember Emerald.”

  They tilted forward with their head in their hands. Heath heard them mutter “we are so deeply fucked” before hauling the rest of the chicken towards themself and tearing into a wing.

  “How’d it go for you, any leads?” Heath asked, after waiting what he hoped was long enough for Emerald to calm back down.

  “Maybe. Syndicate’s taken over a lot more of the sector since I was last in the game. Looks like everything goes through them, but they’re always up for some new contacts to move things on the sly.”

  Heath gnawed on his lip as he thought about the option. The Syndicate had hands in a lot of pies, if the rumors were true. Their home planet was a few sectors over but they had muscled in on the local underground during Heath’s lifetime.

  “Uncle Walt always said they weren’t worth the time. Then he would grumble about them being wannabe gangsters before going off to be old with Masterson.”

  “Look kid, I never met your uncle, and I’m glad of the fact if he thought the Syndicate were small-timers. You can believe anything under the table that happens in the local sectors, they know about it, even if they don’t own it. Including whatever the fuck you were up to on Haku. Dangerous too. Nothing bad enough to get the Imperials moving, but they don’t give second chances.”

  “Why don’t they do their own smuggling, if they’re such a big deal? Would be more efficient.”

  “They don’t because they don’t need to. They get schmucks like us to go in there and take the blame and the bullets when things get hot.”

  “Do you think we shouldn’t then?”

  “Your call.” Emerald said, just like they had every time Heath asked since their first discussion.

  It was cowardly of him, an instinct leftover from when he was just the newbie pilot, always turning to someone else for the answers. But he was the Captain now, the answers had to come from him.

  He flicked his hand and a list of cargo jobs came up on the wall display. It was shorter than what he’d had earlier, a few of the better jobs already plucked by other crews.

  “This is the kind of stuff we can get. Slim margins.”

  “Slim is fucking right,” Emerald said in a low tone.

  “Call me kid if you must, but I don’t want to wait another twenty years to get the Loon back up to where it should be. Ping your contacts. We’re doing it.”