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Glaring neon signs, constant noise—ArcCorp, the city-planet that never slept. A sensory overload I could barely bear. I hadn’t been here in a long time. A transport contract from the People’s Alliance had brought me here—and a potential buyer for the ship components I’d found.

I stood in front of the G-Loc Bar. The glaring lights were blinding. Why hadn’t I brought sunglasses? Because it was night. Crazy to need sunglasses when the stars were out in the sky. I pushed past a few patrons at the entrance and walked into the bar.

Loud music, a babble of voices, the bar counter packed with people. They stood there like animals at a feeding trough. I walked past; there was no Rust here anyway, just that Schmolz lemonade—supposedly beer, but more for weak throats. In the far right corner, right by the window, there was an empty table. I sat down and waited for my buyer.

I had no idea who he was. Ben was his name; he lived in the Stanton system and did business here. Probably some UEE snob. So I wouldn’t look completely ragged, I’d put on my Mercury Star Runner leather jacket and a pair of jeans. A little bit of respectability couldn’t hurt.

A guy walked over to the next table. Red-green hair, glasses, an elaborate tattoo that stretched from his neck to behind his ears. There were some wild characters out and about in ArcCorp’s nightlife.

“Is one of you named Zero Sense?”

Damn it, just shout my name even louder across the bar.

“Hey, over here,” I whispered.

Ben sat down across from me.

“You’re Ben? Interested in the XL-1 Quantum Drive?”

“Yeah, exactly. You’re Zero?”

We talked. Ben was from ArcCorp; he ran a transport company—Gridworks Collective. He had three employees but was always looking for freelancers. I told him I was with the Rust Society and could take on jobs. He’d recently bought a brand-new MISC Hull-B and wanted to upgrade it.

We went to my hangar aboard the White Rabbit to check out my offer.

“The XL-1 is a military Grade A, the fastest there is. With this, you’ll be a courier,” I praised the quantum drive.

Ben circled the component like a Kopion.

“Where did you get this? Is everything okay with it, or should I expect any problems?”

“From the Nyx system. I got it completely legally from a Corsair.”

That wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the whole truth. The XL-1 was in the cargo hold of a Corsair drifting in space, along with other components. I had no idea who owned the Corsair or where the components came from, but I didn’t need to spell that out to Ben.

“Hmm,” Ben grunted. “What did we say?”

“500,000”

Ben thought for a moment, glancing at his Mobiglas.

“For my transport flights, even to Pyro, that part would be an advantage. Let me see what options I have.”

“You’re flying to Pyro? Look here. That’s a military powerplant; it could be useful too.”

I pointed to the component standing next to the XL-1.

“How much?”

“It’s only Grade C. If you take both, 700,000 total.”

Ben checked his Mobiglas again, then agreed. I wanted to seal the deal with a Rust, but Ben spoke disparagingly of Rust. He got a Schmolz I still had on board. We clinked glasses and went into his hangar to install the components. I also wanted to see the Hull-B.

Ben lived in his hangar and had furnished it impressively. Seating areas, a workspace, a sleeping area, and plenty of decor he’d collected on his travels. It looked like a smaller version of Wikelo’s Emporium, the Banu shop in Stanton. While he showed me around, he kept having to check his mobiglass—important business calls.

“I don’t usually take on such short-notice jobs, but this is an important client,” Ben explained. “None of my people are available. Could you help me out on short notice?”

Ben seemed like a nice guy, not some UEE snob like I’d first feared. We’d made a good deal, and I had other components I could sell him. Customer service—and the chance to see the Hull-B in action. Why not?

The hangar crew had installed the components in the meantime. We went on board. Red warning lights were flashing. Something was wrong. In the engine room, Ben checked the systems.

“A power plant failure. What did you sell me?”

I broke out in a cold sweat. I’d found the power plant just yesterday at an outpost, next to an abandoned ship. I hadn’t checked it. Was my deal falling apart now?

I opened the hatch behind which the power plant was located.

“Do you have a repair tool?”

“No. I’ll go to the cockpit and see what I can do from there.”

Ben disappeared. I stood at the engineering terminal. An alarm: Power plant failed. No power, nothing was working. Damn.

“I’m activating auto-repair,” Ben reported over the intercom.

A few seconds passed, then the power plant error message disappeared. But a cooler error was still displayed.

“I’ll boot up the systems one by one,” I replied.

Power plant—power available. Coolers—error gone. Life support, go. Radar, go. Shields, thrusters. A rumbling went through the ship; the terminal vibrated. Everything in the clear. I breathed a sigh of relief. That was a close call.

We flew to the Baijini Point orbital station and picked up pressurized ice. Ben worked outside in EVA, I operated the tractor beam from the co-pilot’s seat. Then Everus Harbor. Same procedure. 300 SCU of ice loaded and unloaded in no time. The Hull-B was an efficient workhorse. With the Star Runner, it would have taken me just as long for a tenth of the cargo. Impressive.

Through the cockpit window, I saw Ben controlling the external cargo lift. The containers disappeared behind a gigantic gate. The view surprised me—typical MISC, just a narrow slit that stretched from left to right like a panoramic window. But better than in the Starlancer. Still: The Hull-B wasn’t for me. Too focused on containers. I needed a multipurpose ship. But something bigger than the Star Runner would sometimes be an advantage. Maybe there was something interesting at the Defence Con, which was taking place next week on ArcCorp.

We flew back to ArcCorp. It was an exceptionally relaxed trip. Chilling in the co-pilot’s seat, no responsibilities, no dangers, and Ben was pleasant company. And I’d done good business with him; more might be in the works.

After landing, I said goodbye to Ben.

“Let’s see if I can grab a hub and stick around until Defense Con, which starts next week in Area 18.”

No sooner had I left the hangar than it occurred to me—the People’s Alliance transport job. It went to Stanton and back to Nyx with fresh cargo. I couldn’t stay; the cargo was urgently needed in Levski.

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