Stumbling out of a rented bed the next morning was not fun. Realizing what his mouth tasted like was worse.The remaining crew of the Loon that were still on the station had all stopped by and bought him a round. Then another. Now he was in a haze of pain, flinching at the harsh artificial station-lighting as he made his way to the public cafeteria, where he could get an overpriced coffee and questionable sandwich to combat the hangover.

  He stopped himself from following through on that plan when he recalled Raquel’s offhand comment from the previous night. There would be no more treats, and no more overpriced station food, not when he still had a month’s worth of supplies on the Loon.

  Everything was riding on his savings until he could start completing some jobs, at least what pittance was left after the gouging Shipwright got his pound of flesh.

  Thinking longingly of the slightly congealed egg substitute, he forced himself out into one of the main station thoroughfares. With day and night as artificial constructs, a new Spacer would be forgiven from assuming stations like this were always bustling, jammed full with as many workers as they could get away with. Some of that was true. Visitors, and those that catered to them, were rarely on local time, and plenty of businesses operated around the clock.

  But on average, people needed more rhythm in their lives and their surroundings or they went off the deep end. Or out of the airlock, as the case may be. Despite the station’s movements being divorced from a usual planet’s rotation, there were still definite cycles. All of which Heath reminded himself of as he walked through mostly-empty halls. Most people were still in bed or on shift, except those that worked early. Or poor saps like him who could never sleep in after a night of drinking.

  He checked the time and picked up his pace. Official hours at the dockyards started in only a few minutes. Even if no one else was there, as the owner of the Loon he should have access. One quiet argument by the grumpy Guard at the entrance and he was in.

  Without the hustle and shouting of the previous day, he was able to take it in. His steps echoed in the vast chamber. Even in the backwoods of the backwoods like Madrigan station, a dockyard was an impressive sight. The promise of adventure lived in every strut and machined arm. There were only two other ships in dock today. A bulky liner and another cargo ship, one put together with more patchwork fixes than clean hull. Lazy, Heath thought. Though he shouldn’t judge the Captain’s efforts, not with what he was about to do. He did it anyway. There was a right way and a wrong way to fix a hull and that was most assuredly wrong.

  He jogged around the passenger ship. Contrary to common non-spacer belief, they tended to be bigger than the haulers. People couldn’t live in quantum storage. The massive vessel could carry hundreds at least. With signs of long use, but no obviously dangerous mods, he guessed it was a colony liner. The Empire was constantly shipping volunteers from the Core out to newly-terraformed planets and the stations dotting the supply lines along the way. Tax credits and cheap land, a chance at a Class on the wild frontier, or just a new start, it was an attractive offer for plenty of imperial citizens without another option.

  Behind the other ships, he found the Loon. The sight of the outer hull was a lance to his heart. The sleek white and black paint job, its feathered design suggesting the namesake wings, was scarred and scraped. Like the bridge but so much worse, there was not a bare foot of untouched hull. There was no sign at all their shields had done anything against the raging magic of the astral storm. She was battered and wrecked, but he would still take the Loon over any other ship he could find.

  Hopping aboard through the open airlock, he was surprised to find the Shipwright already inside.

  “Good, you’re here. We can get started,” the man said, not giving Heath any time to orient himself.

  “Agreed. Now then –”

  “First thing is the creds. Half up front.”

  This was a moment to remember, he realized. The first time he ever truly hated another person. From the smug look on the Shipwright’s tan, weathered face, to his half-kempt appearance, to the utter nonchalance as he demanded everything Heath – and Walt – had worked for. He made a note to himself, there would be no returning to this station. Not until he was a high enough level and a rich enough Captain to crush this asshole into nothing.

  He didn’t say any of that. Tapping his pad, he pulled up and approved a transfer of fifty thousand credits, the podunk station-bank taking a cut on the transaction.

  “Where’s the rest?”

  “What do you mean, that’s half?”

  “Nah,” the Shipwright drawled. “We agreed on 110.”

  “Like nine hells we did!”

  “Sorry kid. Get the rest or it’s no dice.”

  Heath forced himself to leave calmly, he wouldn’t prove himself the child everyone insisted on treating him as. It was that or see what assaulting a high level Classer felt like. He was fuming and only barely coherent enough to pull up the cargo jobs he’d saved the night before. No more thinking about the smart choice. Only one option was getting him the creds he needed to save the Loon. Along with a short-term loan for the balance with a criminal interest rate the local bank was all too happy to give out.

  Like the snap of his fingers, he had an appointment scheduled in half an hour, a contract starting in six days, an a Merchant-backed agreement for the Wright. He stomped back onto the Loon, where the jerk was poking at a few broken hatchways. At least the man appeared to know his craft. Heath sent over a copy of the contract, with all the savagery he could pack into a virtual gesture.

  “You’ll get your money. Start working.”

  The oldtimer let out a long low whistle. “If that’s what you want. Good luck kid, you’ll need it.”

  Once more he was wandering through the Station. By now the ‘day’ part of the cycle was well underway, Spacers of all stripes moving back and forth to work or partake of the entertainments present at any port in the Empire.

  The instructions on his meeting led him away from the beaten path. Far away. He ended up in an access corridor, with station personnel filing back and forth, hover carts pulling massive pieces of machinery behind them. When he got to his destination he had to do a double take. And then another check of the invite, just in case.

  It was a closet. The label was right there, in plain Imperial next to the door. Then again in a scannable code which he checked with his pad. Feeling like an absolute idiot, he knocked on the door.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Yeah, come in!” a muffled voice shouted from the other side.

  The door slid aside to reveal the office within. The office that was definitely a former closet. One that had been expanded into the station walls, gaping holes in the sides where he expected smooth bulkhead. The sight put Heath’s hackles up. One of the core rules of being in space was that you never messed with the stuff between you and the void, unless you’re making it better.

  Realizing he’d been staring for far too long, he stepped inside. The door behind him slid closed, locking him inside. The woman across from him was not what he expected from a converted closet in a grungy station. She had an air of a perfectly manicured garden, olive-skin unblemished, hair in a flawless chignon, glossy nails tapping away as Heath continued to stare.

  “You’re the Captain that accepted my contract?”

  You could always tell when someone was mentioning a class. Something about the way the word resonated with the universe. She thought he was a Captain, not just a captain. Not that there were many captains floating around, not with how expensive the argo to stabilize a respectable ship was. Anyone who had that kind of wealth could get a Class, one way or another.

  “That’s me,” he lied. It would be true soon enough. “Heath Stewart of the Wandering Loon.”

  “Very well Heath, I’m glad you accepted.” Nothing about the smile on her face was friendly. “I’m sure this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship. Now let’s talk terms.”

  “I thought the terms were in the contract.”

  “They are, of course. But there’s always some flexibility, isn’t that right?”

  His nod was cautious but he realized he wasn’t being fair. There was usually some flexibility. He’d shadowed Uncle Walt to places more unusual than a converted closet to add some seasoning on top of an only-okay contract.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “The cargo contract stands, standard terms, half now and half transferred on confirmed arrival. Ten percent bonus for speed. But I have a couple of, delicate items I need shipped, and I don’t like trusting them to quantum storage.”

  “Drugs or guns?”

  “You wound me,” she purred. “Just a few odds and ends. Trinkets really. I can promise you an extra five thousand.”

  Heath reared back. That was a lot. Way more than what carrying a few extras off-books was worth.

  “Or,” she paused to let the bait dangle, “three grams of argo crystal. High quality.”

  He was being had. He knew that, and he was going to do it anyway.

  “Agreed, I’ll take the argo.”

  “I thought you might. With the state of your ship, well…” she clicked her tongue and trailed off. “My contacts on Haku will pay upon delivery. Instructions will come with the drop off when you’re ready to leave.”

  She pushed her hand out, and Heath took it, feeling like a fly caught in a web. “Pleasure doing business with you Heath.”

  As the unassuming door slid closed behind him, the energy built up in his Class began to swirl without his input. The realization sent him sprinting back to the Loon. He needed to be somewhere safe for this and nothing else on this station sprang to mind.

  The Wrights and the machinery of the dockyards was a blur as he stomped onto the Loon and into the Captain’s quarters, shouting for the doors to lock behind him.

  “What is wrong, Heath?” He heard the mechanical voice of the Loon but didn’t have time to answer. He’d already held the surge back as long as he could.

  Flopping onto the couch, he closed his eyes and released the tight control on his Class, letting the system notifications wash through his mind.

  [Class Upgrade Available]

  [For obtaining ownership of a functioning vessel, and securing work for that ship, your Spacer class has the opportunity to evolve into Captain. Existing skills and levels will be kept. Unspent Skill or Attribute points will be retained. Progress towards the next level will be reset.]

  [Do you wish to evolve your class?]

  [Yes]/[No]

  Heath slammed the yes option so fast it was barely finished forming in his mind. This was the moment. The argo dust that had accumulated in his spirit formed around the core that represented his Spacer class. Heath watched as a larger, more complex formation crystalized, using Spacer as the seed. Captain had arcs and branches, thin filaments and strong roots that Spacer, with its utilitarian flexibility, lacked.

  Hours or moments later, the transformation was complete. Heath pulled up his status before he opened his eyes.

  It was all still there. There were rumors, ghost stories floating around about Class evolutions that reset the Classers to level 1. No Skills, no experience, the only thing that would stay in those cases was the attribute points previously spent. The argo that infused the body wasn’t able to be removed. Those were just stories, as far as Heath knew. No one he’d known with an evolved Class had ever mentioned something similar. But the stories had to come from somewhere.

  It didn’t matter because he could see nothing had changed except his class. His levels were present, as were his Skills. Even the hard-earned progression in [Knots]. Maybe because Captain was such a natural extension of Spacer. All of the skills could reasonably cross over.

  Speaking of which, he poked at the Captain skill tree to see what had been unlocked. It was about what he expected. The ship maintenance and sailing trees were still there. A few of the options that had opened up were ones he didn’t remember from his last look as a Spacer, but they were all things either his uncle or one of the crew had mentioned before.

  It was the new trees he was interested in. Crew Support and Merchant. Both important skillsets to have but not ones open to the average Spacer. He sighed with relief. Occasionally, the skill trees available to a Classer might be different than the normal options, by random chance or personal inclination, no one knew. But these were the standard.

  He had one option in each. [Leadership] started the Crew Support tree, the rest hidden in a grey fog. Uncle Walt’s directions had been very clear. No matter what, that was supposed to be his first skill choice when he became a Captain.

  The Merchant tree had a wider base. Plenty of Classes overlapped for that skill tree, from Merchant and its evolutions for specific products from Entertainer to Explorer, plenty of people had use for haggling or one of the myriad other skills that might become available depending on need.

  The [Personal Bank] skill was one that Heath was also supposed to pick up at some point. Not needing specialist institutions to make money transfers was a crucial skill on the Rim, when contracts were sometimes just word of mouth and a handshake. It also opened up the path to [Contracts] in the future. Beyond that, there were supposed to be methods to stretch Loon’s quantum storage that his uncle had always said was invaluable. Allegedly, high-enough levels and the right Skills let you keep living things in the pocket space, though that could have been a Spacer myth, like so many other things.

  Unable to delay any longer, Heath opened his eyes and sat up.

  “Congratulations Heath.”

  “Thanks Loon.”

  “You do not seem pleased, was the evolution not what you hoped for?”

  He never thought he’d see the day a ship AI could sound hurt, but here it was. Heath’s life was never going to be normal again.

  “No, it’s great. It’s even earlier than I expected. Uncle Walt was pretty confident I’d hit Pilot at some point before rank two. I’m just…” he trailed off. How to explain this kind of emotion to a newly sentient AI, with long years of memories but only the equivalent of a few weeks of emotional experience?

  “I just...wish my mom was here. I wish Uncle Walt was here. It...it's supposed to be a big thing. Most people never get classes, let alone evolutions... I thought I’d be level 25 before I even got a whiff of Pilot, let alone Captain. I’m literally living my childhood dream, I just wish we both didn’t have to lose so much to get it.”

  “I see. Thank you for explaining Heath. Know that, while I cannot take the place of your loved ones in this moment I am proud of you. To me, you are family.”

  Heath felt his eyes tear up at the heartfelt declaration. As bad as things were for him, they were worse for the Loon. Waking up just to feel when your bonded person was suddenly gone, facing death or violation and having to choose between, then being saddled with a Captain so green he could pass for a Botanist. His resolve solidified.

  “You’re my family too, Loon. I promise, no matter what, it’s me and you.”

  Heath just hoped he could keep it.