It turns out, the Frontier isn’t entirely made up of independent stations and civilizations. Over the centuries of interstellar travel, three workers unions in particular earned and took a lot of power and influence in the Frontier. While there still isn’t any sort of centralized government, the Hauler’s Union, Doctor’s Trust, and Spacer’s Collective had become de facto peacekeepers in unincorporated space. When Helga asked how I wanted the explanation, I hadn’t realized that her ‘short version’ would still take a half hour.

The Haulers are those who carry freight from station to station, and planet to planet. It was easy to see why they were so important. Couriers and freighters were the lifeblood of the Frontier, since you couldn’t just warp trade goods from one place to another. Before they had organized, it had been far easier for them to be picked off by pirates and competing shipping companies. This also allowed them to maintain fair pricing, or, as Helga put it, keep themselves from getting ripped off. However, working with them could apparently be a bit of a pain for station owners, since if you didn’t play by their rules, you got blacklisted. Anyone caught trying to break a station picket line would either be turned into debris, or beaten within an inch of their lives. They were a net good for the Frontier, but any self governing body has problems.

The Doctors were, simply put, doctors. It was easy to see the benefits in unifying the medical profession in the Frontier. Sharing knowledge is the biggest strength that science has, and ever since the formation of the Trust, the quality in medicine across the entire Frontier skyrocketed. You didn’t have a proper station without a Trust Doctor in your medbay. You weren’t trusted as a doctor if you didn’t have Trust certification. Of course, non-Trust doctors were still plentiful, and certification could always be forged, but those tended to only be in the fringes of space, and on pirate-owned stations. I was assured that Dr. Skisk was genuine.

Last was the union I would be joining. The Spacers used to be a bit more nebulous at first, though over a few years and a lot of arguing, they were able to define what counted as a ‘spacer’ more effectively. Essentially, anyone who had a high enough level of zero gee work in their field was considered a spacer. Station engineers, ship mechanics, flux technicians, and non-Hauler space ship crews all fell under that umbrella. That last one was important. While the Spacer’s Collective was certainly a good thing for any spacer, as it helped them get fair wages and enforce regulations that kept them safe in zero gee, mercenaries and bounty hunters were also quietly accepted under that same umbrella. This turned the Spacers into something of a private military, and a few wars ended up being fought over how much power any one organization should have over the Frontier.

“That explains all these forms,” I said, when Helga had finally finished. The tablet I had been given was full of legal jargon and things to sign. “It feels like home.”

“Don’t get misty-eyed on me now,” Helga said with a smirk. “You can read all that if you want, or not. The simple version is that the Spacers will have your back if I ask you to do anything unsafe, and you tell me no.”

“Are you going to ask me to do unsafe things?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Helga snorted. “No. But as much of a pain these guys can be, they’re important. You have to pay dues, of course, but if you take a Spacer job anywhere else but here, you’ll be thankful you signed up.”

I nodded, then turned my attention back to the tablet. We had some protections against unsafe practices in Ulthea, but it all felt like lip service. If we didn’t have the budget for new zero gee harnesses, we had to use the old, frayed ones. We would load lifts above their capacity to get things done before deadlines, because failure just wasn’t an option. Speaking up just got you retrained. There wasn’t much reason to believe these unions were any different, but I signed the agreements regardless. Not like I had a choice in the matter. 

By the time I was done, it was nearly lunch time. Helga reviewed the forms to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, then nodded, and extended a hand across the desk to me with a smile. “Looks like you’re all set! Welcome to the crew.”

I shook her hand, mirroring her smile. It was a bit of a relief to have a job title again. “Do I have to call you ‘Boss’ now?”

Helga made a disgusted face. “Ugh, ‘Boss’? Is that what that sounds like in Ulthean?” 

That was the first time I realized that she hadn’t been speaking Ulthean. When she repeated the word ‘Boss’, she had said the Ulthean word, but the rest of what she said was in yet another language. I had already grown so used to the Intra-Lingua that it hadn’t registered until she made the juxtaposition clear.

“Wait, you’re not Ulthean?” I asked, flabbergasted. “You spoke it so fluently!”

“No offense, but that’s the last place I’d like to be from,” Helga said. She stood up and crossed the office to the door, gesturing for me to follow. “Where I was born isn’t something I tell people, but yes, I prefer to speak my own native language. Many do. I picked up Ulthean from an old buddy of mine who never got an Intra-Lingua, before I bought Brock Station. From there, picking up the rest wasn’t difficult.”

Now that I was paying attention, I could hear her language under the Intra-Lingua’s processing. It was both musical and guttural, and sounded much more natural than when she had been speaking my language. I got up to follow her out of the office, where she was looking up at where it said ‘Boss’ over the door.

“Boss,” she scoffed, in Ulthean. 

“So… It doesn’t say that?” I asked, squinting at the word. Something seemed odd about the edges of the letters.

“No, it says Boss,” Helga said.

My mind twisted itself into a knot to hear both words at the same time. “…Cuennasht?”

“I appreciate the attempt,” Helga said with a faint smile. “Stick to Helga.”

“Is this the Intra-Lingua again?” I asked.

Helga nodded. “Speech and script. Anyhow, we’d better get going. It’s the crew’s lunch time, and I’d like you to meet them before you start.”

We set off down the maze of corridors again, Helga leading the way. Brock Station definitely felt bigger than a lot of the orbital stations I had been on before, but with each step, it also felt more familiar. By now, I had lived on orbital stations for most of my life. The echoes down the corridors, the smell of recycled air, was just like in Ulthea. Of course, there was the occasional spike of anxiety upon seeing anyone in an armored suit, but didn’t that happen to everyone? Even that felt like home, in a way.

Eventually we came to a large double door, labelled ‘Canteen’. It opened to a fairly large room, where what appeared to be station employees were hard at work relaxing. Almost all of them wore a similar white jumpsuit, though I noticed differently colored trims in each group. I looked at my own sleeve. The trim on my jumpsuit was black, and looking around, I saw a group of similarly colored jumpsuits in the far corner of the room, seated around a table.

“Figured it out already?” Helga asked.

I looked up at her. There was that small smirk again. Was she teasing me, or did she like that I was observant? “Black and white is engineering?” I asked.

Helga tapped her long snout. “You got it. I won’t bore you with the others, you’ll figure it out.”

Heading towards the table, I noticed I was getting a lot less attention here. Most of it seemed to be focused on Helga, though I still got the occasional nod or half wave. They were a far cry from the leering Frontier folk in the corridors, feeling much more like the familiar acknowledgment of a new coworker. I hoped that would be a trend.

“Everyone, this is Casey,” Helga announced to the twenty-odd engineers when we reached the table. “She’s your new ship wrench.”

I gave a shy wave. Half of the crew had been in the middle of taking a bite, while the others stared owlishly at me. In fairness, that was a pretty standard greeting. There were a few mumbled hellos and returned waves — save for Listher, who gave me a three-eyed wink before returning to his sandwich — but one of them jumped out of her seat and offered a hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Casey! Digging the eyepatch, very rugged. I see Listher set up your braces well!”

I blinked in surprise at the enthusiasm, but remembered myself just in time and returned the handshake. She was a race I recognized, a Priman, with their characteristic bald face and hands, and flat snout. Her long, thin tail shifted with her balance as she gave me a once over.

“Um, yeah, they’ve been interesting to get used to,” I said. “Sorry, you’re—”

“Oh! Excuse me,” she interrupted. “I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Reggie, I’m the Head of Engineering here.”

“I’ve told Reggie a bit about you already,” Helga said. “You ought to fit in just fine.”

“Yes, but she hasn’t told me how long you’ve been working ships,” Reggie said, giving Helga a playful glare. She leaned towards me conspiratorially. “She told me you’re pretty experienced, but I like to know a little more than that about my mechanics.”

“That can come—”

“Oh, just about eleven—”

Helga and I cut each other off. Looking up at her, I saw her eyes were shut in a grimace. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Eleven? Months?” Reggie asked. “Tell me you don’t mean days.”

“No, years,” I said, turning my head back to her with a confused expression.

Listher spit out his drink. The murmured conversations at the table stopped as everyone turned to stare at me. Reggie appeared shocked. “Eleven years?”

This was far from the reaction I was expecting, but I nodded.

“But you look so young. I thought Ovians had pretty standard life cycles.” Reggie said. 

I could feel my temper rising, but I tried to keep a lid on it in front of my new coworkers. “Yes, we do. I’m twenty one. Why is everyone so surprised?”