A Trip Worth Taking, Part 2

Tripper stepped out of the licensing office.  No longer registered as a miner, he looked at his freelancer license.

“Man, I look like an idiot in my picture.”

Half an hour later, Tripper was sitting in David’s bar with warm beer in hand and the newly procured license sitting next to the half empty bowl of nuts. 

Dave picked up the card and inspected it with a suspicious eye.  He looked it over as if he suspected it was a fake, half thinking this was an elaborate joke.  “Well pant me green, you really did it.  You gone and did it.”

“Yeah, I originally was going to register as a mercenary, but my pop was adamant that I didn’t.  He said: ‘Mercs are villainous.  You will never find a more wretched group of scum and villainy.  Be a freelancer.  They at least have respect.’” Tripper shrugged his shoulders and took back his license.   “So, I did.”

“Scum and villainy huh?  He’s apparently never been to the Cortez system.”

Both the men smiled at each other.  Remembering the vacation they took to Planet Curacao a couple of years back.  They may not have been the villains, but from what Tripper could remember of the trip, he was sure they were the scum.  After a few moments Dave said: “Well, what are you going to do now?”

Tripper smiled.  “Well, I’m going to finish my other two beers, and go home.  Then, in the morning, I’m going to jump into space and see if I can find a job.”

Dave grunted, and started to wipe down his bar again.  “Well, if a job is all you wanted, I can pay you to clean the gum off the bottom of my bar.  But I don’t think that will pay enough to change the world.”

A few minutes later, Tripper had finished his beers and was fishing through his wallet.  He threw a some credits on the bar.  “Thanks again, Dave.  This is for you.”

“Wow, a whole three credits.  Thanks.”  Dave nonchalantly scooped the money up and tucked it in his apron.  “By the way, you look like an idiot in your picture.”

***

The next morning, Tripper was floating in space just off of Erie.  He was had already gone through the music selection he brought with him, and was counting the rivets on his console.   Three transports had come by in the last two hours, and none of them were interested in an escort.  Tripper had even contacted the Liberty Police, but they didn’t have any work for him at the moment.  Even the Liberty Rouges were nowhere to be seen; probably picking on some poor transport that wished they hired someone for escort.

“It’s this ship.” Tripper said to rivet number forty seven.  “No one wants to hire a freelancer in an ugly, small time freighter.  Screw this; I’m going to run some cargo.” 

He contacted a buddy who was looking to get rid of a bunch of ore, and plotted a course for the California system.  “If I’m going to do this, and do it right, I need a better ship.  And to do that, I need money.  And the only way I know how to do that is trading.”