003 Training Arc 3: First Job
Fourth of ten chapters posted.
Parting ways with Meina, I arrive at the transfer port.
Announcing "Guild Storage Bay 10," I step into the pillar of light and emerge in the plaza of the storage bay section.
The transfer port seems limited to moving between ports only—no teleportation, apparently.
Well, it is the nearest port to the storage bay section, I suppose.
Following the map, I make my way to Guild Storage Bay 10.
This place looks like a storage bay for rented ships used by guild members—probably only gamemakers (star sailors) who need rental vessels come here. It's quiet.
Gamers would have their Personal Ships, so only those with damaged ships needing docking or ones like me building a Personal Ship from scratch would be here.
The door marked "Guild Storage Bay 10" slides open with a hiss, and I step into the waiting area.
Through the window, I can see the entire storage bay—my rental ship, number 10, waiting for me.
Standard mining configuration, two arms—let’s check it out. Length about thirty meters. Fuselage shaped like a spindle, with a massive main engine nozzle at the rear.
Two arms sprout from both sides, just behind the R10 written on the bow. Right arm has three fingers—designed for grasping things.
Left arm is a drill. The elbow bends into a T-shape—rotate it 180 degrees, and it becomes a three-fingered manipulator, same as the right.
On the port side, next to the waiting room window, a tube connects from the dock—probably the boarding hatch.
I walk to the airlock at the end of the waiting area. Big, bold letters: “Pilot suit required.”
I open the locker beside me. Pilot suit inside. Nice touch—already washed, with a laundry tag still on it. Can’t help but laugh.
Slips on easily—loose, but comfortable. Press the switch, though, and it shrinks instantly, molding to your body like some kind of… well, like an *erotic* suit, if you’re into that.
No helmet, but there’s a bulky protrusion at the back of the head—like a makeshift backpack thruster unit, fused right into the suit.
Probably meant to cover the head in emergencies. Standard procedure.
Open the airlock. Green light only—basic, expected.
Step in, close the hatch. Green light appears on the opposite side.
Open the hatch, step into the tube, close it behind you.
Walk through the tube. A grey hatch comes into view. Green light.
Open it, step inside, close it. Green light inside—now open the inner hatch. Finally, inside the ship.
Overkill with the safety checks, sure. But when you’re outside a hangar in vacuum, you kinda need this level of redundancy.
Wouldn’t want the air to just… vanish if something went wrong.
Call it double safety. Or triple, if you’re paranoid. Either way, it’s not a bad thing.
But I’ll skip the rest of the description for now.
Walking down the ship’s corridor, I enter the Central Intelligence Chamber (CIC).
No other crew members around. Just me—running this ship solo.
That’s why I’ve been training with the SFM and MPS controller.
I didn’t cheat, okay?
The CIC has a pilot seat installed—but no MPS controller.
Sitting down, my brain instantly feels it: this is a higher-grade neural interface.
The entire CIC is a sensor array. My brain’s directly linked to the ship’s neural core.
“Alright, let’s get moving.”
As I say it, the air inside the hangar vanishes.
The air’s gone. The forward hatch swings open.
I can see the rental ship No. 10’s neural core communicating with the control room.
『All clear. Rental Ship No. 10—permission to launch granted.』
I send the command—just an image in my mind—for the ship to move forward. The vessel slowly pulls away from the hangar, exiting into the safe zone.
The ship aligns its bow with the course. The route to the destination’s already been plotted by the receptionist.
A virtual screen unfolds before me—3D projections of the station, friendly ships, and asteroids, each color-coded, with the planned trajectory drawn in.
“Launch!”
At my signal, Rental Ship No. 10’s main engine roars to life, blasting into open space.
Since we’re on autopilot to the destination, I’ve got a little time—unless something goes sideways.
So I decide to work the manipulators, just to get used to them.
Fist flexing, arm twisting, drill spinning—pure body sense. Full control.
I imagine this body sense as a weapon. A close-combat defense laser, designed for debris destruction, activates.
I aim vaguely, lock on with my gaze. I feel the laser’s aim settle.
Seems like the weapon’s usable too.
After moving a bit more, I reach the quest’s destination.
Slow down just before, adjust course toward the target.
Combat’s happened here—enemy wreckage floats around.
I deploy the radar and all sensors on rental ship ten to scan the area.
Real-time footage appears on the screen ahead, overlaid with identification graphics.
I spot a few pieces of debris, but nothing valuable.
Given the ship’s storage capacity, can’t afford to haul junk.
Only collect the valuable debris—grab it with my arm, bring it in.
Like with the M.P.S. controller, I can automate the grab motion on the virtual screen.
Grab, stow in the central hold—repeat.
Use the laser to reduce worthless debris to atomic dust for航道 safety.
After working through the routine for a while, I glanced again—only to be stunned.
A diamond the size of a child’s head was floating there.
The ship’s brain marked it as worthless debris, but it was clearly worth hundreds of billions Earth-standard.
I grabbed the octahedron and stowed it away, then ordered the brain to update the identification graphic.
Suddenly, I saw a dozen or so diamonds drifting in front of me.
Naturally, I collected them all.
All the debris in the quest’s designated zone was cleared.
Smooth sailing, flawless navigation—I returned home, already looking forward to the appraisal of the recovered junk.
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