The imaginatively named Port 12 did absolutely nothing to distinguish itself. Public spaceports for civilian use were built for efficiency, economy of space, and generally decades ago at the very least. 12 was no exception.

Gaylen passed two women going the opposite way as he walked in, and that was the extent of the current traffic. Since the local hour didn’t exactly have much relevance when it came to spaceflight, he took it to mean that the place was generally little used. It certainly would explain the dim lighting and the occasional metallic rattling as he put his foot down.

He reached the little office booth that served as a choke point between the different docks. Inside was a thin, middle-aged fellow whose hair seemed to have leaked down to dangle off the back of his head. The highly crumpled state of his clothes was a fine indicator of just how much oversight this here public worker was under. At least he had a friendly enough smile.

“Well, hello there,” the fellow said. “Welcome to Per’s little kingdom.”

“All hail the king,” Gaylen replied, and pressed a finger on the DNA scanner. “I’m here for the Addax. I understand it’s already been signed over to me.”

“Yup,” Per said. “Your friend is already here. Though there’s still the issue of the docking fee.”

“Absolutely.”

Gayle counted out a few fibre bills and slid them across the counter. He was pretty sure the fee had already been covered, but types like this didn’t earn much. Which was all the more reason to make sure they were happy while alone with your ship.

Their eyes met and Per smiled. There was a general understanding about these things in lesser ports.

“3 is right that way,” the thin, ageing fellow said and pointed quite unnecessarily at the well-marked door.

“Right,” Gayle said and walked off. “Thanks.”

“And congratulations on your new ship!”

Gayle twisted about as he walked, and grinned.

“Thanks.”

The door admitted him with a hiss, then closed behind him with another hiss. There was a fair amount of loose space in the dock, accounting for larger ships. And right there in the centre of it all sat the Addax. It was a modestly sized civilian freighter, longer than it was wide, and mostly white in colour with a bit of brown thrown in.

A happy thrill lit another smile on his face.

Finally.

Gaylen dragged his hand along the side of the hull, then knocked on it as he reached the open airlock.

Don’t make a big deal out of this, you drama queen, an inner voice told him. But he couldn’t resist stopping a moment, before slowly and deliberately putting his foot over the threshold and stepping inside. Then he took a deep breath. He’d found that ships tended to pick up a distinctive scent as they aged.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

He walked further in, then came to a stop. On his right was the door to the cargo bay and to his left was the engine room.

“Hello!” Gaylen shouted.

The faint sounds of tinkering stopped, and out of the engine room stepped Jaquan. He’d already switched into his sturdy mechanic’s suit, with affixed knee and elbow pads and loads of pockets and pouches and clips for tools.

“Welcome home,” his friend said, and spread his arms wide before doing a slow twirl. “What do you think?”

“Well, what do you think?” Gaylen said.

“Kirian model civilian freighter,” Jaquan said. “The Mark II series, put together thirty-two years ago.”

Gaylen nodded and looked around. There was some wear and tear to be seen, but thirty-two was a good age. Ordinary people simply didn’t privately own new ships.

“Built for lesser shipping,” Jaquan went on. “It’s a nimble little thing, but sturdy for its size. I’ve only had an hour, but I’ve gone over the core wiring. The gravity cables have been replaced recently.”

He stomped on the floor plates for emphasis.

“But the rest of it is a bit old. Not dangerously so, but we should make replacing it an early step in this whole thing.”

“And the engine itself?”

“It’s mostly in quite good shape.”

“Mostly?”

“The rak-coils haven’t been replaced in a while. I think I’d better install new ones.”

“Keeping a ship alive is always going to be a long-term project,” Gaylen said.

“Well, exactly.”

He looked pleased with himself.

“And an engineer is always going to be useful.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Really, it’s great.

“Yes.”

“You should take classes. It’s not too late.”

“I don’t have the patience,” Gaylen said. “Now stay on topic.”

Jaquan allowed himself one last grin of playful smugness.

“The original weapon has been replaced with a Mark III Tevlan Defence Cannon.”

The man sort of shrugged.

“It wouldn’t be my choice. But the swivel works fine. I couldn’t do a test shot, obviously, but everything is connected properly.”

He shrugged again.

“Other than that, everything looks fine. Life support is fine. Water systems are fine. We’ve got ourselves a decent little ship, and after a couple of scores we’ll have a good one.”

“And that’s what it takes, for flying free,” Gaylen said.

He shook the bag off his shoulder, then closed the inner airlock door.

“But before we do anything else, we need to hide these.”

He took out the three cylinders.

“So, that’s the job,” Jaquan said.

“One of them is. Look, here’s what I’m thinking...”

He tapped the red apple sticker.

“We’ll hide this one in a locker, somewhere it’ll be easily found.”

He tapped the blue square sticker and the yellow X.

“Then we’ll seal these off behind separate plating or something, in case of someone smart enough to be suspicious of ease.”

“Sounds good,” Jaquan said. “Just one tense, scary job to do, and then we’ll be off.”

“Off into the sea of stars,” Gaylen said. “Unhindered, unbound.”

He held his hand up in an arm wrestling pose and Jaquan grasped it solidly. They shared a happy grin.

“We’re going to do this, Jaquan!” Gaylen said happily. “No bosses, no entanglements, no getting shot at. We’ll pick our own friends and enemies and jobs.”

“Damn right we will,” his friend replied.

“Now let’s hire a crew.”