POV: Mark
A whole week went by, and I still hadn't gotten a damn customer. I was beginning to seriously consider the idea of selling the 400,000 credits worth of metal I had just bought. According to Marcos, I could easily resell it for 95% of its value, recovering 380,000 credits and calling it a day. It would bring my balance back to 642,145 credits. Then I could just become a full-blown mercenary, create my own mercenary company, become the mercenary kind, conquer the stars, yadi yadah.
Maybe I could even save up until I could afford the capital required for a real corporation, bypassing the LCC limitations entirely. The rules surrounding LCCs were a choke chain. Being limited to one location and forced to turn over a 500k profit required for the next expansion was a good idea... on paper. At this rate, I wouldn't make 500 credits, let alone the 500,000 profit.
I spent Monday and Tuesday tearing down the IUC patrol gunship in Dock 4. The work felt therapeutic. The simplicity of physical labor, where I just cut, salvaged, and stored, took me back to the time I spent with Anahrin scrapping that destroyer. I also felt like I needed to have at least one thing under my control, and this was helping me with just that.
Marcos also helped me out. He controlled the drones to help me manage the plasma cutter, guiding it as we cut it into pieces.
It was Wednesday, late in the afternoon, and I was covered in carbon grease while sitting in the pristine office, reviewing the schematic for a new engine I was designing in my spare time. The new design was the same one that I had implemented on Sean's ship, the Triton. However, I now had more time on my hands and no rush, allowing me to refine my work.
My new creation was about 14.7% more efficient, making it 24.7% more efficient than the SPS Class 2 engines they were based on. But there was a slight catch, and that was that it required much more complex internal machining. It was something that could be easily replicated by my nanoprinters. However, the average nanoprinter in humanity's repertoire was not up for the same task. All I had to do was build a working prototype…
Bzzzt.
The office buzzer, connected to the exterior bay door, screamed to life. It was a jarring sound that hadn't been heard in over twelve days, when I had been the one to buzz it. I froze momentarily, looking around before asking.
"Marcos, are you trying to mess with me?" I asked.
"As much as I would love to do that," Marcos replied, his avatar's face appearing on the screen of the terminal I was using and his voice escaping from its speakers. "I'm not that much of an asshole. You've got an incoming visitor, and from the looks of it, they appear to be a station maintenance worker."
"Alright, what are you waiting for then? Let them in," I instructed, scrambling to pull down my stained jumpsuit and trying to look like a professional entrepreneur instead of a greasy mechanic. I could have simply instructed my pendant to clothe me, but ever since Marcos had stated that there was some sort of being in it, I felt it more appropriate to only call upon it during emergencies than to have it as my everyday clothing.
The pressurized door hissed open, and a man stepped inside. He wore the standard uniform of the station's general maintenance crew: a faded gray jumpsuit with a utility belt. The man had a nervous, haggard expression on his face, and he was carrying a large, heavy-duty rotary drill whose casing was cracked, and the plasma bit looked dangerously misaligned.
He looked around the spotless office, then glanced through the window at the huge, empty bay, the Shepherd docked next to the massive piles of raw metal, and the distant, partially disassembled patrol gunship. His eyes narrowed, clearly struggling to reconcile the sight of a major shipyard with the tiny, solitary office.
"Uh... SOW? Shephard Orbital Works?" he asked, shuffling his feet.
"That's us," I said, adopting a calm tone. "I'm Mark Shephard, proprietor. What can SOW do for you?"
He looked even more confused when he heard me spout the corporate-sounding title. He shoved the broken drill forward.
"Look, I know this is a... a shipyard and that you handle ship repairs... but the Tech-Mart down the block is backed up six days, and I need this for my shift tomorrow. It's a standard-issue industrial rotary. I hit a stubborn durasteel conduit, and the casing cracked, throwing the alignment. Can you... fix it?"
He was nervous, clearly expecting me to laugh him out of the place. But instead, I walked over, took the drill, and instantly felt the weight of a tool designed for heavy work. I analyzed the thing, my mind trying to work on what I was seeing for the first time in my life. The crack seemed simple, and the alignment was probably just a matter of recalibrating the internal gyroscopes. I factored in the materials and time. After watching a tutorial and being guided through it by Marcos, I was sure I could have it ready in about twenty minutes, tops.
This was the complete opposite of what I intended my LCC to be. I was supposed to be manufacturing cutting-edge engines and patching starship plating, not fixing broken drills. But he was a customer, he was revenue, and most of all, I had to start somewhere.
"Yeah," I said, turning the drill over in my hands. "I can fix it. You'll need a new casing component, which I can print right now, and a quick gyro realignment. Give me an hour, and I'll have it ready for you. That'll be five hundred credits."
His eyes widened in relief. "Five hundred? Tech-Mart quoted me eight hundred for a replacement and two thousand for a rush repair."
"Well, good thing I'm not Tech-Mart," I said, gesturing vaguely at the empty bay. "As you can see, I'm running a very small operation at the moment. It's also been slow lately. I have the tools to get the job done. I just need an hour, and it'll be good as new. You can even wait here if you like."
He nodded quickly, pulling out his G-comm before I even finished the sentence. "Yeah, yeah, I'll wait. I'll pay the five hundred credits now. You have no idea how much of a lifesaver you are right now."
I took the payment, and the small chime of the credit transfer felt like a victory bell after the previous silence. The separate business account I had opened up with Helix Intergalactic finally had a bit of cash in it, its balance shooting up from 0 to 500 credits.
I spent the next twenty-five minutes in the back room, an extension to the office I had created during the boring week I've had. In it, I had my smallest printer, the 3x3 meter one, along with a good amount of soldering, welding, and other repair tools, effectively creating my very own functional workshop.
I isolated the required component casing in the old terminal's schematic database, which I had moved back here, and sent the print job to the printer. Such a small job was easy work for the printer, and it only took about a minute of watching the alloy section materialize perfectly. I then pulled up a tutorial and didn't even need to have Marcos guide me through the few minutes of simple manual realignment.
I had finished the entire job in about 15 minutes, with most of that time having passed while watching the tutorial, and the drill was as good as new.
When I handed the man the working tool, he was ecstatic. He thanked me profusely and was surprised at the fact that I got it done so fast. I simply asked him to spread the word. He said he would, and took his leave while I was left with a clean 500 credits and a lingering sense of weirdness.
"Marcos," I called out, holding the damaged drill casing. "We just had our first customer, and they were very satisfied with our fix of a busted rotary drill."
"Seems so," Marcos replied drily. "I have logged the transaction under 'Small Electronics Repair.' This is significantly below the anticipated revenue stream for your goals, Mark."
"I know, I know. But, hey, you gotta start somewhere," I sighed, putting the damaged part on the desk. "It's proof of concept, in a profoundly depressing way. I can fix things."
---
The rest of the day and Thursday were silent again. The high of the 500 credits I had made quickly dissipated, and I found myself spending my time manually checking the structural integrity of the main bay's magnetic clamps, a task that needed to be done but generated no profit.
I had thought of a better use for my pendant, and that was to become some sort of analyzing tool. I thought having it be some sort of goggles I would have around my head and could just lower whenever I needed information on something. Marcos did me the favor of creating the schematics for something like it, which gave me the understanding of how it would work to allow the pendant to change form into a useful accessory. Once it changed forms, I ran some tests with Marcos, having him try to connect to the pendant, which granted him access almost immediately.
It was Friday morning, and I was wearing the pendant in the form of goggles on my forehead. I had just arrived in the office and hadn't even sat down for two minutes, still nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee, when the buzzer rang for the second time this week.
Bzzzt.
"You got another visitor. However, I can't identify her civilian profile," Marcos alerted.
I straightened up, trying to look busy but approachable. The door opened, and a petite woman in brightly colored leisure wear stepped inside. She didn't look like she belonged anywhere near the industrial ring. In fact, she looked slightly lost and faintly disgusted by the smell of ozone and burnt metal wafting in from the bay.
"Is this the new repair place?" she asked, her voice high and breathy. "The maintenance guy two sectors over told me you were fast."
"Welcome to Shephard Orbital Works," I confirmed, offering a small, professional nod. "We specialize in fabrication and repair. How can I help you?"
She held up a small, sleek chrome panel, the component of some luxury synth-cooker, probably.
"My Chef-Synth 9000 broke this morning. Its harmonic regulator for the protein replicator is not working," she said, sounding utterly distraught. "The replicator is essential! I can't cook without it, and the repair shop for the 9000 model is off-station. Can you look at it? I need it for dinner tonight."
I sighed internally. I thought I was about to get some shock and have her ask if I could work on her starship or something. But this was even lower than a drill. It was a glorified kitchen appliance that the woman was holding like it was a wounded child, and I... well, I needed the money.
I took the regulator, which was light as a feather. Sure, my body was augmented, and pretty much everything was light as a feather for me. But I was still able to gauge the average weight of something and tell if it was heavy or not.
I moved back to a counter I had on the corner of the office room, behind my table. I then took a closer look at it.
"Marcos, what am I looking at?" I asked in a low voice that made it seem like I was just talking to myself.
"Give me a second, I'm scanning it right now..." Marcos responded in my ear. "The component seems to use a proprietary harmonic crystal array. The primary failure appears to be a simple micro-fracture in the crystal insulator, likely due to a minor power surge. A non-critical fix. We can manufacture a superior insulator and reseal the crystal in an inert gas environment."
"That sounds like a plan," I said. "How much time do you think it will take me?"
"Most likely fifteen minutes, Mark. We already have the required gas and alloys," Marcos replied.
I turned back to the woman and talked to her. "I think I can have this fixed for you in about forty-five minutes. I'll just need to fabricate a superior insulator and reseal the crystal. Due to the high-precision components involved, that will be three thousand credits."
She didn't bat an eye at the price. The luxury cooking synth was probably worth more than my entire bay lease.
"Three thousand? Perfect! Can I watch you work?" she asked, already transferring the payment.
"I prefer to work without someone around me. Allows me to focus more," I said. "I would prefer it if you could wait here."
She nodded with an understanding look, and I took the payment, which was accompanied by another chime of victory and an increase to 3500 credits in my business account.
I then retreated to the back, and for the next twenty minutes, I worked on a kitchen appliance with the same precision and effort that I had put into making the Shepherd. I had realized that the money wasn't just money, but rather a confirmation that someone needed my skills and was willing to pay for them.
I took another 10 minutes to make it seem like it was harder than it looked. Don't get me wrong, it was a complicated job, but my mind worked differently, adapting to everything I did over a hundred times faster than the average person. I then walked out with the regulator in hand and gave it to her. She tested it with a diagnostic device she had on hand, and its lights glowed green.
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed, nearly hugging the component. "You're a lifesaver! I'll tell everyone on my ring about this place!"
She left in a cloud of expensive perfume, and I watched her go, leaning against the doorframe.
"Marcos," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I think we just became the station's premier high-end appliance repair shop."
"Ha. Ha. Yeah, one with a weekly revenue of 3500 credits, or 182,000 a year, that is, without counting money spent on the materials used," he replied drily. "Mark, I have to insist you keep your focus on starships. Our current operating model is not sustainable for the long term."
"I know, Marcos, I know," I muttered. "But thirty-five hundred is way better than zero. And maybe... maybe she will tell someone who matters. Maybe one of her friends owns a yacht that needs an engine replacement, or better yet, wants a reactor refit."
The idea was ridiculous, but I had to cling to something.
Saturday was quiet once again, and Sunday I took off, spending the full day with Lyra. We went to the station's vast, simulated park. It was a massive enclosed dome filled with real trees, grass, and a simulated sky. She was fascinated by a small fountain, watching the water cycle, and telling me elaborate, confusing stories about a space pirate named 'Captain Sparkle.'
The time with her was vital. Whether it was her little smile or her big eyes that stared at me with full-blown trust, he way her curly hair bounced up and down as she jumped in excitement, or the cute little pout she made when she wanted something and I wouldn't give in, or the stories she weaved. They all recharged my resolve, pushed me to keep going, to acknowledge the fact that Rome wasn't built in a day, but it still didn't solve the business problem.
Monday came around, and it was late in the afternoon when I heard the buzzer ring again.
Bzzzt.
"Incoming," Marcos announced. "Male, appears to be a junior security tech, and he's carrying a specialized piece of equipment."
A young man who was probably in his early twenties walked in. He had a stressed and sweaty look, waddling along as he carried a complicated, blocky piece of equipment.
"Is this Shephard Orbital Works?" he asked, breathless. "My supervisor sent me. His daughter mentioned how fast you worked."
"Hey, welcome to S.O.W. I'm Mark, and you could say I work fast," I replied, standing behind the desk.
"Great! My name is Jacob," he said. "This is a high-grade atmosphere filtration unit from the Gamma Sector residential block. Don't know what happened, but the main chemical sensor array is fried. We're in a rush and need it back online by 0800 tomorrow for the sector inspection. Can you fix it? The official contractors won't even look at it until Wednesday."
I took the unit. It was definitely heavy, weighing maybe 100 pounds. It also seemed to be complex and clearly proprietary IUC technology. Now this was starting to speak more my language, though in a garbled slurr, since my technical capabilities were more aligned with starships.
"Marcos, work your magic," I said in a low voice while slapping my goggles on.
"The sensor array is physically intact, Mark," Marcos stated. "The failure appears to be a result of a cascade power failure in the signal isolator circuit. It's a delicate soldering job and would require the replacement of two custom micro-resistors. Total material cost is negligible, though you could easily charge 10,000 for this job. It should take you about an hour or two."
"Hmm, give me a few hours," I told the young tech. "I'll need to fabricate some replacement micro-resistors and perform a handful of circuit repairs. It'll run you 7500 credits, but I think I can have it ready for you in about three or four hours."
He looked relieved. "Oh wow. I thought it was going to be much more. 7500 credits is nothing compared to the fine we'll get if that sector fails inspection. Do you want me to pay up front?"
"If you would," I nodded.
I watched him go, then stared at the money.
Helix Business: 11,000 Credits
Helix Checkings and Savings: 248,495 Credits.
I watched him go, then stared at the money.
I only had 3 customers, and I've already made over ten grand!
I ran the numbers again in my head. I started off with 433,495 Credits, paid 20k for the LCC registration, lost 28k in docking fees, spent another 160k to rent the shipyard, made 437k from selling all the pirate weapons and scraps, then ordered 400k worth of metals and other materials, which includes that new terminal, and I also spent an extra 10k on initial setup and utilities. Then there was what I had paid for the last two weeks, which racked up to about 4k before I made 11k. That should put me at around... 259,495 Credits.
Not too shabby, all things considered.
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