A container transporter roared past, and he did not need to look at the screen. Despite its brick-like appearance and weight, the rented tab behaved like a frightened mouse. Whenever there was a loud noise, the system reverted to the welcome screen in the local language. Even loud swearing reset it, forcing him to silently count to ten to relieve his frustration. He pressed the three buttons to switch the few switchable interface elements to Standard and waited for the glacially slow second reset to set the rest to Standard. A Standard that had been translated by someone whose great-grandfather had heard Standard in his youth and then passed it down through the generations. One of the many reasons why not many outsiders came here. At least it meant less competition for independent pilots. Or so he had hoped.

Finally, the screen was back in something which did not look like it was written in cuniform. He pressed two more buttons to activate the search screen, entered the search term and waited for the list to init. The lethargic speed was probably a special setting for the rental company.

While the result screen built up line by line, he stared out at the cargo deck, lined with standard-sized containers. A typical industrial environment, not helped by the more infrared vision of the native Cobasians. In other words, it was bathed in a dull red. A short distance away, two huge Cobasians were handling a large cage holding an even larger animal. When it roared, he felt the vibrations up to here. And, of course, the stupid tab reverted to default for the umpteenth time. Since it had already reset, he cursed loudly. He didn't feel any better though, he was dangerously close to testing if the durability of the tab was really like a brick. Automatically, he repeated the actions to switch language, entered the search form and selected 'ship + jump', which was the closest search term that yielded any results. He scrolled down to page 3, but they were all the same. Or rather, different from what he was looking for. Even on page 3, all the job offers asked for 'construction and maintenance experience' and did not mention class C licences, ships, or destinations.

* * *

"Hey, young man!"

He looked up and froze. He had seen very few humans in this corner of the galaxy and none yet on this station. He would certainly have noticed someone like her. She was older than himself with leaf-green hair and yellow eyes - at least in the red light of the dock.

"Hi, er, I'm Marik, er, Marik Llandradroß."

"I am Jerka, just Jerka. Your last name does not sound very much human?"

"Oh, yes, er, Jerka, nice to meet you. Yes, I am from Fallerian. This is an insectoid world. Er, not near."

"Thanks, I know where it is. Origin and also the largest orbital exporter of Kranta."

“Oh, yes, Kranta, I like it.” He blushed. Why was he stammering like that? "Jerka, sorry, it's just that I haven't been there for nearly two years."

"Well, you rented a tab. That is a good start. Looking for a ride?"

He snorted. "Jerka, a ride? I am a C class pilot."

She looked at him and raised her right eyebrow. He felt like a six-year-old lying to his teacher.

"How old are you?"

He sagged, stupid humans always made him feel too young. "Jerka, I am 17, I have had the C-class solo licence for two years. I got it on the day my parent contract ended. Here." He held out his pad.

"Don't worry, I believe you," she smiled but took the pad regardless. "Repeating my name before each answer confirms that you have spent too much time with only a computer to talk to."

"Jerka, I"

"Huh!"

"What is?"

"I am impressed. You made almost 50 jumps in the last two years. Usually, humans don't reach C class before they are 20. And then their first trips are not halfway across the galaxy."

"Yes, I know. But I took what I could get. Jerka, even you said I was too young. So I had to avoid human systems."

"No, I was just surprised. You are the youngest human C class pilot I have ever met."

He was not sure if this was a compliment. He looked down at the tab in his hands. "Sorry, I only rented it until 1500."

She pointed at the tab. "Did you find anything?"

He sighed, "No, that," he took a deep breath, "Really stupid, uncooperative shit has nothing. The only thing with space and jump seems to be 'jump engineer' and they want 'construction experience'. Makes no sense. And it resets at any louder noise. Like now." He sighed again.

"Can I try?"

"Jerka," he stopped. "Sorry, yes, yes, please. And careful, heavy." He took his pad back and then handed her the heavy tab with both hands.

She cleared her throat and then spoke Cobasian, the words grunting, guttural and rassling, not far away from a coughing fit punctuated by heavy heaving. He was deeply impressed by how she could produce these sounds on purpose.

The tab responded quickly with a speed that he had not thought possible, at least not with the interface in Standard. This confirmed his suspicion that the rental company had deliberately slowed down the Standard interface. Now she pressed some of the cuniform-labelled buttons, typed some more text in that chicken scratch and only then switched the result screen to Standard. "Here, three offers."

The section was titled 'shipguide' as a single word. He would never have found that. He read the first offer in its awful broken Standard.

"Wow, they offer a one-way for Ji-ben-ta-ros. Two jumps, easy. And much nicer than here, I heard."

"Sorry to dampen your enthusiasm but I doubt that you will get such a big ship. See, this is a Cobasian company name, so no chance. What about the bottom one, freight, one-way to Ribbentoa. That company name is certainly not Cobasian."

He took his pad out and started the navigation app.

She was faster. "Ribbentoa is four to five jumps. That should pay pretty well. And it is only two jumps from Fallerian. "

Indeed, now he had found the world on his pad too. "Wow, this is really long. Looks long even for five jumps."

"Think of the distance. That should certainly help you to get closer to D class."

That was true; but he had only done a three-jump trip once. All the others had been two jumps or even only one. Well, a young pilot did not often get the chance for long-range trips; for these the companies trusted the more seasoned pilots. Four, or even five jumps were a little scary. But yes, a four-jump non-stop journey was one of the requirements for a D class licence. Otherwise, he had already fulfilled the distance requirement for D class during the last two years with shorter jumps. And four jumps. He looked at the offer above.

"And how about the second, a return trip? That ship is then certainly in great condition."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"You don't want a Cobasian ship, you'd have to stand on their chairs to reach the controls. And anyway, they will only take Cobasians to make sure they return as soon as possible. No, number 3 or nothing, I would guess. And it says more than 200% on the coils, so the ship cannot be that bad. If it does not work out, maybe you’ll find something else tomorrow. Anyway, good luck."

That was not his preferred option. He wanted out of this system as soon as possible. The trip had been awful, he piloted a vessel brought here for its parts' value, arrived barely and was paid next to nothing. Good riddance. So he sighed. "Thank you for your help."

But he spoke to empty air. She had vanished when he looked up. He took a picture of the tab's screen with his pad and put the heavy tab gently onto the floor to avoid another reset. Then, he scrambled to his feet and ran out of his niche and looked left and right down the lane in front of the containers. But she was gone. There were still the two Cobasians with the cage, but no one else. The lift next to them was nearing the end of its countdown for the next car. But she had vanished like a ghost.

He quickly went back to the tab, which miraculously had not reset yet and still showed the screen with the three offers. Proof that she had been here. He read through all three offers again. But her reasoning had been sound. So, the long haul. He sent a message from his pad to the code given on the tab. The answer came immediately. They could meet in about 1530 at the company office at 38om-22al. That should be possible if he hurried, so he confirmed.

The rental company only returned half of his deposit, due to something untranslatable. Maybe there was a minimum charge. Or those bastards had guessed correctly that he was in a hurry and ripped him off. Well, the job should pay well, so he paid with gritted teeth and was now hurrying to 38om-22al.

Compared to the rest of the challenges which he had faced here, navigating the station was easy enough. For some reason, the Cobasians followed the standard station design. Most likely they had outsourced construction to a human-affiliated company even that far out.

Thus, he was soon enough in 38om, which was a rather neglected area. Not all rows of the gloomy red ceiling panels were working, making the area even darker. Turning into corridor 22, the few working red panels were reflected in puddles from a wall which had severe condensation issues about head-high. He could almost hear the rattling breath of the life-support system. Graffiti in various shades of red and grey fought a battle with some algae. Unfortunately, these areas were all too familiar to him. And he began to worry. Why would a company have an office here for a well-paying job?

'al' was the only office in the entire 22 corridor, actually the only entrance with a sign at all. Behind the door was a single room, three by three metres. Much too small for a Cobasian, and indeed, a humanoid of an unknown race was manning the single desk.

"Hello, you ale hele fol the Libbentloa ship."

He nodded, "Marik Llandradroß."

"Please, youl license key, Mistel Malik Llandladlos."

He handed over his key, wondering how an alien could survive here without even being able to pronounce an 'R' when the whole Cobasian language seemed to use sounds coming from even deeper in the throat.

"Scan is ok. You have wallet?"

He let him scan his wallet ID.

"Othel half on allival."

Moments later half of the money was in his wallet. It was indeed a half of the advertized sum.

"Now you have money. Buy plovisions. You have 300 cledits fol lepails and plovisions." The humanoid took something out of a drawer. It was a round thing, almost as big as his hand. "This is computel key. Also ship key. Ship is alleady loaded at 38-01om, you have to leave at 8800. Good Bye." He closed the drawer forcefully.

Marik took the round key. It was pitch black and heavy. He had never seen such a big key, heck, some main computers were smaller than this.

The humanoid nodded again towards the door. He wanted him to leave. Well, he had to prepare for the trip.

Just outside the office, outlined by the red gloom, stood Jerka. A small backpack hung from her right shoulder. She smiled at him.

"Hello Jerka. How did you find me?"

"Did you get the job?"

"Yes!" He held up the key.

Her smile increased in intensity. "I knew you would get it."

He became nervous. "Well, I sure wouldn't without your help. I am in your debt."

She laughed. "Don't you know?" It was a beautiful laugh. Then she became serious. "When do you have to leave?"

"Ship is at 38-01om and I have to leave at 8800."

"Plenty of time then. I will bring my own food. See you then!"

"You'll come too?"

"Yes, I thought you had offered. It's a long journey alone. But no need to change the manifest, no worries. See you then."

She hugged him. He was completely confused, stood frozen. "How would the Cobasians ... " But he spoke to empty air, she was gone, again. Vanished on the spot. Maybe there was a hidden passage here. Or she was fast, as dark as it was, he could not see that far.

He went through their conversation again, but he was not sure when he had invited her. But he wouldn't say no to a friendly passenger, even more to a human, especially on such a long trip. And since she spoke Cobasian, she must know how to get around the authorities. But whatever, he had work to do, get his papers right, get his few belongings from the temporary storage and then go to the ship. So he shouldn't worry about Jerka until everything else was ready for departure. If he got this job with the help of a friendly ghost of a human woman, well, there were more unpleasant ways to lose one's marbles.

* * *

The main airlock opened slowly but smoothly, almost without a hiss. A promising start. The interior was a little cold, but he could change that once he had the AI running. He went upstairs, which was traditionally defined as the direction to the cockpit. Once there, he inserted the disc-like key into a matching recess in the console. It was soon replaced by status messages in local cuniform and then the big screen was lighting up with further information in the same scribble.

"AI, hello, I am Marik Llandradroß, please use Marik," he spoke in Standard.

"Marik, nice to meet you. That is a Fallerian name. I have never travelled with a Fallerian before. Should I switch to Fallerian?" He was relieved, the AI had a nice soft voice and spoke perfect Standard.

"AI, no stick to Standard, please. Besides, I am human. Do you have a preferred name?"

"Marik, I had 437 names. For human names, I have been called Simon, Luisa, Jarellia, Sventlana, Haert, Chen, Kimihirandiri, Kal-"

"AI, thank you, Simon is nice. You are now Simon."

"Marik, thank you. Do you want the status?"

"Simon, yes, but first set the temperature to 295 K, oxygen to 25.0 kilopascal partial and humidity to 40% or more. Fill the rest with nitrogen."

"Marik, I see. Close to standard human. Atmosphere will be ready in 0050. Here is the repair list, ordered by severity."

As expected, the ship was maintained just enough to get insurance. Unfortunately, this was all too familiar. The only ships that he had got so far, had been ships near the end of their lives, in similar or more often in worse condition. The insurance standard was the only thing that separated wrecks from ships. And even his last jump to Cobasian had been on the latter, on an uninsurable, so yes, this here was one of the better ships. Well, for five jumps it had to be.

"Simon, our destination is Ribbentoa, we have until 8800. Please search for a route with a maximum chance of safe arrival. And give me the status screen."

First, he scrolled to the propulsion section. On the plus side were the coils, they were at 284 %, four fully working ones. Actually, the whole propulsion section had a major overhaul less than five years ago in whatever time frame. But a lot of secondary and subsystems were in dire condition. He scrolled through the long lists of warnings sorted by Simon and swiped off a lot of them, as many pilots probably had before him. But he had no choice, given his 300 credits for repairs and provisions.

"Simon, how old are you?"

"Marik, the logs go back 77 ship years. With relativistic effects, maybe close to 80 years, depending on your frame of reference. I noticed that you declined repairs to some important systems. How many credits are there for repairs?"

"Simon, 300 for food and repairs."

He was almost sure the AI sighed too. "Marik, please order food. I will adjust my list. How good are you at repairs?"

"Simon, I cannot change a fusion core, but I have fiddled with many secondary systems. I had helped with a coil alignment once. I can also do a little welding."

"Marik, thank you. I would think we need at least 285 credits for spare parts for a less than 0.05 % chance of arriving in limbo."

"Simon, order them and give me a cheap food catalogue."

"Marik, thanks again, I look forward to travelling together. Here is your catalogue."

Well, luckily Fallerian instant food was a cheap commodity all over the galaxy. Fallerian was a huge orbital producer and Kranta (or its copies) could be found throughout the galaxy, mostly cheaper rip-offs made in local orbitals. Due to his upbringing, he did not mind cheap Fallerian food. However, nothing was really cheap on Cobasian, another 312 credits from his account went for the food. And that was just for one person.

Next, he inspected the cargo hold. The manifest said only 'Cobasian spare parts, crate 1 to 37'. And indeed, 37 quarter-size containers filled the entire hold, properly sealed and secured too. He still wondered what kind of machinery Cobasian exported for which spare parts had to be sent across the galaxy. All the tech that he had seen on the station was slightly outdated standard tech, more like Cobasian did not have much of an innovative industrial base. He strongly suspected some weapons or other smuggling, considering how well he was paid. But there was nothing he could do, the cargo had been cleared by the local authorities. And the crates were sealed and even insured, so he could not just peek inside.

With that done, he started some small repairs with the few parts that were left. He wondered why the previous pilot had not even done these basic repairs. But Simon respected the privacy between pilots as it was the unwritten rule among AIs and told him nothing.