POV: Mark Shephard
The past two weeks have been quite the hectic run. I was only able to find respite in the time I spent with Lyra. After her adoption, Sister Elara and I talked for a while. We discussed my past, or what I was willing to share, like the fact that I, myself, was an orphan of a crop colony. When we finished our talks, she had suggested that I bring Lyra over to play with the other children here, maybe even attend the free school the orphanage offered.
I told her that I would think about it, and that I did. I spent that night twirling in my bed, debating on what I should do. By morning, I had made up my mind and determined that it would be best for Lyra's development not to be cooped up in a golden cage of my own making.
Sure, what I offered her was light-years better than what many parents could offer their children. However, a cage, even if made for protection, was still a cage. It would help her to learn and create emotional bonds with other kids her own age. So I would offload her when I needed to, and pick her back up when I returned from what I was doing, most of which was time spent taking shuttles from station to station to attend meetings.
As it turns out, the process of setting up your own private corporation is much more difficult than one would think. Not only is the required capital a much higher number than I thought it would be, but there were also some other hidden requirements, such as being pre-approved by your bank for a certain loan range.
The loan pre-approval wasn't an issue for me, after all, Platinum members of the Helix Intergalactic bank could get loans for up to two hundred and fifty million credits. The only catch was the exorbitant interest rate. They didn't have a low interest rate like my memories of Earth remembered, where even the highest rarely went past 10 percent. No, these guys had an interest rate of 37.5 percent.
And that wasn't even the worst of it all, no. What was even worse was the fact that this wasn't an annual interest rate, and even if it was, it's still outright robbery. The interest on any loan you took with Helix Intergalactic was compounded quarterly. And if that wasn't insulting enough, Helix was amongst the best banks in both IUC and VIC space. Other banks had interest rates that ranged from forty to sixty percent! And if that wasn't bad enough, the interest would compound either quarterly or bi-monthly.
It was more than clear to me that loans were only meant to be taken out by those who could pay them back in less than two months, four in my case. It was pretty evident that this universe was run by the corporations, which were only willing to barely play fair with other corporations. Needless to say, taking out a loan, no matter how big or small, was not in my plans.
The other crunch was needing to have a capital of 750 million credits to formally open your own corporation. The idea behind that wasn't bad, if I'm being honest. You had the ability to create a small corporation, one that did not have the right to call itself that, so it would instead be named an LCC, which stood for "Low Capital Company."
LCCs were allowed to expand under strict rules and laws. Yup, laws. Imagine my shock when I found out it was actually a law that you could only have one store for your LCC, only being able to open a second one "IF" you were generating over 500,000 credits in profit yearly with that single store. The same process was applied to opening other stores, meaning both stores would need to have a yield of at least 500,000 credits each.
So I settled for creating an LCC with the name Shephard Orbital Works, or SOW for short. The fee was only 20,000 credits, and taxes for LCCs and Corporations were set at 25%, a percentage I was familiar with due to having lived in New York City in my previous life.
I then proceeded to ask around for the cost of renting out the bay I currently had the Shepherd docked at. It was surprisingly only 300,000 credits to rent it out for a year, a relatively low price when you take into account that paying docking fees for a year would net them an easy 730,000 credits per bay. However, I didn't pull the trigger on it just yet, even if it had run me a good 28,000 credits.
I had tasked Marcos with finding me a place that wouldn't be too expensive and had a good yard space for ships to come in for repairs. Living amenities weren't really something I cared for, given the fact that I had the Shepherd to live in, and compared to it, I doubt there's much that can compete.
Lyra and I had spent the day at the orphanage, where she played with the other kids, and I had conversations about life with the Sisters who ran the place. It was already late into what would be night when we returned to the Shepherd, where I waited for Lyra to shower, then showered myself, and ate dinner. That was when Marcos informed me that he had found just the place, though its price to rent was 160,000 credits.
The next morning, I dropped Lyra off at the orphanage to play with the kids before going to meet with the owner. I was now standing in front of a small shipyard with 385,495 Imperial Credits left to my name and with the hopes that the yard owner was willing to negotiate a little on the price, something that would probably force me to use negotiation tactics I simply did not have.
The shipyard, named Kord's Orbital Graveyard, was less a graveyard and more a perpetually dusty emergency room for starships. It hung off the lower industrial ring, a section dedicated to heavy maintenance and filled with welding sparks.
The main bay was cavernous, its roof a latticework of stress-bearing metal beams coated in decades of carbon residue. Currently, it housed a single vessel, a small IUC patrol gunship that had been stripped down to its bare bones, awaiting a hull refit. The rest of the space, the three remaining docks, the central repair deck, and the surrounding parts inventory sections, were empty, which was precisely the leverage Marcos had informed me about.
The entrance to the owner's office was a small, pressurized door cut into the side of the main docking bay, marked by a faded sign that read: "Silas Kord, Proprietor."
I keyed the buzzer. After a moment, the door hissed open, revealing a man who was just a tad bit shorter than I was. If I were out of the picture, then Silas Kord could be said to be a mountain of a man, his frame thick and muscular beneath a grease-stained jumpsuit. His face was a roadmap of scars, stubble, and weariness, and his eyes, a pale blue, were currently narrowed in suspicion.
"You a prospective renter?" Kord's voice was a low growl. He didn't offer a hand, only gestured me inside with a nod toward a cramped office dominated by a massive, ancient-looking terminal and a desktop covered in schematic hardcopies. The air in here smelled like cigarettes and cheap alcohol.
"My name is Mark Shephard. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kord." I said as I stepped inside. I didn't sit in the rickety chair he offered, preferring to stand. It gave me a slight physical advantage and emphasized the urgency of our meeting.
"Cut the pleasantries. I'm Silas. The price is one hundred and sixty thousand credits for the year, and that is not negotiable." Silas leaned back in his chair, which groaned under his weight. He didn't blink. He was testing me, measuring my reaction.
"One hundred and sixty thousand is for the full year, correct?" I asked, keeping my voice level.
"You deaf or something? That's what I just said, and it's a steal," he confirmed, stabbing a thick finger toward the overhead schematic of his yard, which was plastered with dusty annotations. "This is four thousand square meters of pressurized, climate-controlled bay space, two high-capacity magnetic docking clamps, and full industrial power feed. The yard down the strip wants two-fifty for the same footprint, and they don't have a plasma cutter or printers half as good as mine. I've kept my price low because I like running an honest operation, and because I need liquid capital now, not next quarter. So, is that figure in your budget?"
'In my budget?' I thought, fighting a cold internal smile. 'It's well within my budget, but it didn't mean I was willing to just fork over that amount willie-nillie.' Marcos had estimated the annual rent to be closer to 200,000, so 160,000 was a good deal. But I still wanted to save some money.
"Look, Silas," I started, leaning against the doorframe and trying to project an air of casual indifference. "I know the equipment is good, but I'm a startup. Every credit counts. How about this? If I transfer the full amount right now, no payment plans, no waiting on bank checks, would you take one-forty?"
Silas snorted, a sound like a clogged engine turning over. "One-forty wouldn't even cover my backlog of supplier debts. Like I said, kid, I'm being honest with you. I ain't trying to gouge you, but I ain't running a charity for wayward mechanics either. One-sixty covers my nut and buys me a year of peace and quiet on a beach in the Caelus system. I'm not renting it for a credit less."
He stared me down. There was no wiggle room here. The man wasn't playing 4D chess either. He just had a number in his head that he needed to hit, and I was the ticket to hitting it.
I let out a sigh, dropping the act of a suave businessman. "Alright. One hundred and sixty thousand credits."
Silas didn't smile, but the tension in his shoulders dropped about an inch. He grunted, tapping a sequence onto his massive, archaic terminal. A moment later, he shoved a greasy, thick tablet across the desk toward me.
"Standard lease agreement," he muttered, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "Just says you break it, you buy it, and don't use the premises for manufacturing illegal narcotics or unregistered weapons. The usual agreement slop."
I picked up the tablet. Its screen was cracked in the corner, but the text was still legible. I sat down in the rickety chair he had offered me earlier, which protested loudly, and began to read. Now, I wasn't a lawyer by any means. In my past life, I'd hired people to read things like this for me. But here, with my limited capital, I had to be my own legal team. So that meant that I would be reading every single line of text.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
I noticed Silas light a cigarette, the blue smoke drifting up to stain the already yellowed ceiling tiles. "Kid," he growled, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "It ain't 'War and Peace.' It's a damn rental agreement for a yard. You gonna sign it or memorize it?"
"Just being thorough, Silas," I replied without looking up, scrolling past a clause about waste disposal fees. "My money, my risk."
He grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "pain in the ass," but he let me finish. The contract was surprisingly straightforward. No hidden balloon payments, no weird clauses claiming my firstborn, and actually, a fairly generous allowance for power consumption. It was a simple, blue-collar contract for a blue-collar workspace.
"Looks good," I said finally, placing the tablet back on the desk.
I pretended to fish through my pockets and pulled my G-comm out of my inventory. Once in my hand, I linked it to his terminal's local frequency and authorized the transfer. It hurt a little to watch the number drop.
"160,000 Credits sent to Silas Kord."
"Remaining Balance: 225,495 credits."
I still had a decent chunk of change leftover, but running a shipyard was probably going to eat through that faster than I liked.
The terminal on his desk beeped, and Silas checked the screen. For the first time since I had arrived here, the man had a genuine, albeit crooked, smile across his face. He stood up, the chair screeching against the floor, and extended a hand. This time, I took it. He had a firm grip, which I equally matched.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mark," he said, suddenly much more chipper now that he was funded for his vacation.
He opened a drawer and tossed a heavy ring of physical keys and a keycard onto the desk. "Card gets you into the office and the main gate. Physical keys are for the storage lockers and the manual override on the mag-clamps. Don't lose 'em. I don't have copies."
He proceeded to grab a battered duffel bag from the corner of the room that looked like it had been packed for days.
"Codes for the crane and the printers are in the terminal. User manual is... somewhere on the hard drive," he said, waving a hand vaguely at the computer. He walked to the door, stopping just before he stepped out. "She's an ugly old yard, but she holds atmosphere, and the power grid is stable. I'd better find her in the same condition I left her, if not better."
"I will," I promised.
"See you in a year. Don't blow anything up."
And with that, Silas Kord walked out of his office, leaving me standing alone in the silence of my new headquarters. I looked outside the window to view the four docks, the cranes, the clamps, and the printers. "It ain't the prettiest sight, but I guess this place will be the birthplace of Shephard Orbital Works."
I grabbed everything Silas had given me and stored them in my inventory. I locked up and left the place, quickly making my way to the docked Shepherd. Once inside, I got clearance from traffic control to leave my dock and maneuvered her over to my new place. I parked her in one of the three available docks and made my way out, onto a bridge, and into the yard.
"Hey, Mark," I heard Marcos' voice ring in my ear. "You haven't forgotten all this cargo we have been ferrying around for almost a month, have you?"
"No, I haven't forgotten about it," I replied. "I'm planning on using them as material for the printers."
"I thought you were going to sell them?" he asked.
"I was," I agreed, opening the door and stepping into the office. "But then I thought about how I could probably use the material instead."
"Not a good idea," he replied.
"And why is that?" I asked while scrunching my face at the sight of all the things I was going to have to throw out and replace in this place.
"Well, raw materials simply cost much less than the cargo you have," he answered. "Although they are technically scraps, there are a lot of components in these scraps, and they have value. Hell, there are still quite a number of weapons in perfect condition from those freighters you took out. Not to mention, with how much money you'll be needing to expand as much as you want...."
"Yeah, yeah, no need to remind me," I waved him off. I knew he was referring to the Pirate Frigate, whose value could have more than helped me out right about now. I did feel a tinge of regret for destroying it, but it was something that I needed to do because of what I had caused.
I moved some things out of the way and tossed everything outside of the room, with the exception of the terminal. "Alright, I'm going to go get things sorted out for the sale of the cargo. In the meantime, do you think you can control the drones to rearrange this entire place? Also, place an order for a new terminal and enough metal to build a brand new frigate."
"I can do the first two, but you don't have the funds for your third request," Marcos replied. "The best we can do is buy enough metal to build a corvette."
I nodded as I had already locked everything up again and was currently making my way to the commercial of the station. "Ok, just prepare the order, I think we can get the funds after I finish selling our cargo."
"You're the boss," Marcos said, and the connection was cut.
After I reached the commercial ring, I made my way to the Trade Authority Nexus, a much bigger and identifiable place than when I was on B-147. I went through the same process as before, though this time I was already registered as a merchant and held a C-Class trading license.
The process took a little longer this time. With how big the station was and how much traffic it got, it was only a given that such transactions would take much longer. It had already been two hours since I had arrived, but I was finally informed by the man who attended to me that my cargo had been scanned and they had prepared an offer.
The clerk spun a holographic display around to face me.
"Based on the assessment of the raw materials, the intact weaponry, and the salvageable electronic components, the Trade Authority values your cargo at four hundred and thirty-seven thousand, four hundred and ninety-two credits," he droned, his voice devoid of any emotion. "For the sake of expedited processing and immediate transfer, we can round that to a flat four hundred and thirty-seven thousand. Do you accept our offer?"
I stared at the number floating in the blue light. 437,000 credits.
My jaw didn't drop, but my mind certainly reeled. That was nearly double what I had left in my account. Combined with my current funds, that would put me well over the half-million mark.
For a split second, a seductive thought wormed its way into my brain. "Why bother with the stress of manufacturing? Why bother dealing with overhead, employees, and rental agreements? I could just hunt down pirates, strip their hulls, and live like a king."
It was a tempting loop. Kill, loot, sell, repeat. It was the standard adventurer lifestyle. But then I thought about the Shepherd taking a hit to the reactor. I thought about Lyra waiting for me to come back, only to receive a notification that I was space dust in some asteroid belt because I got greedy, or worse, having her with me when I bite the dust.
No. It was too high-risk. Manufacturing, building a corporation, and having time to spend with Lyra, that was stability. That would also be a legacy I could eventually leave her.
"I accept," I said.
"Alright, we need authorization, so you can either tap your G-comm with your banking app opened or swipe your card," the clerk said.
I tapped my G-comm against the scanner and heard the chime of a notification just a second later.
I looked at my G-coom and saw the notification in my banking app.
"+437,000 Credits."
"New Balance: 662,495 Credits."
"Pleasure doing business," I muttered, turning away from the counter before I did something stupid like grin like an idiot in the middle of the place.
As I walked out of the towering glass-and-steel structure of the Trade Authority, I tapped my comms.
"Marcos?"
"I am here, Mark," he replied. "They already took the cargo, and I put in the order as soon as I saw your money increase. The cost was 400,000 credits. The supplier scheduled for the materials to be delivered to Dock 2 at Kord's... excuse me, Shephard Orbital Works... by tomorrow morning. The terminal will arrive this evening. Your remaining funds are 262,495 credits."
"I guess I'm officially in the ship-building business now," I said.
"More like running a fancy scrapyard?"
"What?"
"Nothing."
I chuckled a little. "I'm going to get Lyra."
I cut the link and headed toward the transit shuttles. The ride to the residential ring where the orphanage was located gave me a moment to breathe. The stress of the rental and the exhilaration of the sale were starting to mix into a strange cocktail of exhaustion and excitement. I had a yard. I had materials coming. I had a ship. Now the only thing I was missing was customers.
When I arrived at the orphanage, the evening cycle lights were dimming to simulate twilight. The main recreation room was filled with the soft hum of children playing, and I saw Sister Elara supervising from a bench, looking exhausted but content.
I stepped through the doorway, scanning the room, and it didn't take long before-
"Paaaaapa!"
A blur of movement shot across the room. Lyra, her hair tied back in somewhat messy pigtails that I assumed a volunteer had attempted, was sprinting toward me full tilt.
She slammed into my legs, wrapping her small arms around my thigh in a vice grip. I chuckled, patting her head. She may have physically been eight years old, but the joy radiating off her was pure, unfiltered toddler energy.
"Hey there, kiddo," I said, crouching down to her level. "Did you have fun?"
Lyra pulled back, her eyes wide and sparkling. She bounced on her heels, pointing frantically toward a corner where a pile of colorful blocks lay scattered.
"I build big tower!" she exclaimed, the words tumbling out fast, slightly slurred but more connected than before. "Big, big tower! Then... then Jory hit it. Boom! Fall down!"
She mimicked an explosion with her hands, giggling wildly.
"Oh yeah?" I smiled, brushing a stray hair out of her face. "Did you build it back up?"
"Yes! Sister help!" She nodded vigorously, then grabbed my hand with both of hers, tugging me. "You see! You come see tower!"
"Okay, okay, I'm coming," I laughed, letting her drag me toward her architectural masterpiece.
Watching her, I felt the last lingering doubt about the business vanish. The safety my new line of work would provide would allow me to experience more moments like this one. It also made one thing clear to me: I couldn't fail.
I needed to build an empire so she could keep doing exactly this.
---
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