Qianlong followed the male staff member to the left, entering a room with a strange egg-shaped machine. Inside the shell was a cockpit.
"Sit inside and grip the control stick. There's a button on it—if you feel unwell, press it immediately to end the test. Don't try to tough it out. If you push yourself to death, we won't compensate you." The worker's tone was indifferent, as if he'd repeated this speech a hundred times.
"Understood."
Qianlong climbed into the cockpit. The shell slowly sealed shut around him.
A holographic display flickered to life.
"Ready? We'll begin now."
Sitting firmly in the seat, hands on the controls, Qianlong replied calmly, "Ready."
All at once, the cockpit's indicator lights blazed to life. A crushing weight pressed down on him. Numbers flashed on the screen—
1.01
1.02
…
1.21
Soon, it passed 1.61.
Outside, the previously bored staff member's eyes widened. This kid's holding up well.
Qianlong's breathing remained steady. The Fenlos Stress Index on another screen soared past 500.
When the gravity simulation hit 2.1G, Qianlong pressed the button.
The pressure vanished instantly.
The eggshell opened. The worker approached, impressed. "Not bad, kid."
"Did I pass?"
"You'll need a full medical scan first. If you're disease-free, then yes. With numbers like yours at your age… shame you can't join the Defense Corps. Your adaptability's good enough for a shot."
"Thanks."
Qianlong knew what he meant. Most "resource scavengers" piloted Reaper Mechs—retrofitted, secondhand machines. Though outdated, the job still demanded two-thirds of a standard pilot's physical specs.
The planets they mined were hellscapes—extreme climates, unstable terrain. The mechs' life-support systems couldn't fully shield them.
And the real dangers weren't just the environment.
Strange creatures lurked on these worlds: insectoids, xenomorphs, and the deadliest—Behemoths. (Note: Behemoths consist of an outer "cloak" that can morph defensively and regenerate rapidly, and an inner "core." Only destroying the core kills them.)
Encounter just a few, and you're done.
"We got a live one?" The woman from earlier—Jela—hurried over, excited.
"Kid's stats are solid. His entry medicals were clean too, but protocol says we rerun the tests—"
"Let me see." She snatched the digital report, skimmed it, then waved dismissively. "Two-week-old scans are fine. Kid, with me."
"That's against— Eh, whatever."
Qianlong followed her into an inner office. She yanked a thick contract from a drawer.
"I'm Jela. Deputy Director of Resource Extraction, Logistics Division. Military rank: Lieutenant Colonel. Now, answer honestly."
"Understood."
"Name?"
"Qianlong."
"Do you understand the risks?"
"Yes."
"Are you volunteering?"
"Yes."
"Read this. Key points: Once signed, you're locked in for 3 years unless medically unfit. Early termination incurs massive penalties. After 3 years, you can renew or leave. First month is training—you'll still be paid. Any objections?"
"None."
"Good. The rest is in the clauses. Read and sign each section."
Qianlong scanned the contract. It wasn't generous, but not outright exploitative either.
Soon, he signed.
"Per terms, I'd like the first month's pay in advance."
"Fine. Credits will hit your registered account by tonight. Report tomorrow—9 AM sharp—to C1-Sector, Sixth Street, Building 7, Room 802 for training. Don't be late."
"I won't."
"Any other questions, ask the staff outside. Welcome aboard, colleague."
To his surprise, Jela smiled and extended her hand. Qianlong shook it—her grip was small but firm.
As she left, he exhaled. Maybe this won't be so bad.
Walking back through F-sector, a child's voice called out:
"Big Brother!"
He turned. It was the little girl from the ship, her mother holding her hand.
Qianlong smiled. "Need something?"
"Did you find a job?" The girl tilted her head.
Her mother pulled her back, embarrassed. "Doll, don't bother him—"
"It's fine. I did find one."
The girl's eyes widened. "Is it hard? Daddy can't find work. He's sad."
Kneeling, Qianlong said gently, "Just be good. Your dad will find something."
The mother mouthed thank you.
"Big Brother has a gift for you."
"What is it?"
"Wait here."
He strode to a vending machine, input his ID and passcode.
THUNK. A crate of 100 nutrient bars (cost: 50 credits) dropped into the tray.
He carried it over and set it before the girl.
"For you."
The mother shook her head urgently. "We can't accept—"
The girl echoed, "No, Big Brother!"
"Take it." He ruffled her hair and walked off.
Behind him, the mother called out again. Qianlong just waved without looking back.