Cameron grimaced, his face contorted to reflect the state contemplative confusion that he felt inside of himself. He drummed his fingers against the lacquered wooden desk in front of him. It was constructed of dark mahogany, built sturdy and wide, with various knick knacks and picture frames strewn along the sides. The desk itself was inside of a stuffy office, which itself was inside an even stuffier building located at the center of Arsius Station’s main line; The GAC Office of Registration and Accounting. Cameron’s gaze shifted between a seemingly endless stack of paperwork, and Logan, who’s raised eyebrow and expectant look gave away the impression that he was anticipating a response. Cameron sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, as he threw his hands up in frustration.

  “Why is this so damn complicated?!” He exclaimed, exasperated.

  Logan chuckled, shaking his head, “If making a GAC was so easy, kid, then everyone would do it.”

  “I figured it’d be something like starting a small business or something! Not running a damn planet!”

  Logan sucked his teeth, leaning forward to grab a stack of forms, each page bearing the header GALACTIC ARMS COMPANY REGISTRATION, and began to thumb through it, speaking as he read.

  “I wouldn't go that far,” He said, “But it’s certainly not an easy process… Even I don’t know what some of this shit means. Like, what the hell do we need a ‘Line of Succession’ for? Also, these ‘Mandatory Requirements for Pilot Promotion’? They say it like we’re the ones promoting a pilot’s rank instead of the registry.”

  “See?” Cameron said, “I’m not an idiot, this shit is purposefully confusing.”

  “First of all,” Logan said, “You are an idiot. Secondly, this was your idea. You don’t get to sit there and complain. Third, why don’t you wait until the person we’re paying to actually understand this shit gets here?”

  “First,” Cameron replied, “That’s rude and hurts my feelings. Second, I will always find an opportunity to complain. And third, it’s not my fault this dude is late!”

  As if on cue, a man strolled inside the office, quickly shuffling past the two of them, before plopping down into the chair on the other side of the desk. He was an older man, likely early fifties, with skin the color of dried leather, and style salt and pepper hair, combed over and fighting for attention from the full bushy gray beard that hid the lower half of his face. His attire, while not particularly flattering, seemed to work for him. Sporting pair of cream colored slacks that hung loose around the ankles, and a matching ill-fitting blazer that swallowed his wiry frame. His green eyes narrowed as he took in the forms of Logan and Cameron sitting across from him. With a hacking grumble and sigh, he pulled on a pair of gold, wire-framed bifocals, before clearing his throat to speak.

  “Good afternoon gentlemen,” He said, his voice sounding pleasant and-if Cameron were to judge-a bit regal, despite his outward attire, “I am your station-sponsored arbiter who has been assigned by The Free-Space Council to help guide through the process of creating your Global A.R.M.S. Company, or GAC. My name is Garen Finch, though I’d prefer you refer to me as Mr. Finch, or Sir, as I will be extending the same courtesy to you. With that being said, whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

  Garen Finch looked between Cameron and Logan as he spoke, his head turning slowly, face perpetually fixed in a state of boredom. Logan was the first to respond, clearing his throat as he repositioned in his chair.

  “Logan Rake,” He said, matching the arbiter's tone of mundane indifference with one of his own.

  “Cam Ket,” Cameron said, mirroring Logan.

  Garen nodded curtly, satisfied, “A pleasure to meet you, gentleman. May I ask just how far have you gone through the process on your own?”

  “Erm…” Cameron said, looking sheepish as he scratched the back of his head, “I suppose… initial concept?”

  “Initial Concept?” Garen asked.

  “We’ve agreed to form one,” Logan said, “But as far as anything past that is concerned, we haven’t done much. This paperwork reads like a puzzle, so we thought it’d be better to bring it to a professional before moving forward…”

  To Cameron’s surprise, the arbiter actually smiled, looking a bit more lucid than before.

  “Excellent gentlemen. That makes my job much easier.”

  Cameron’s brow shot up, “Easier?”

  Garen chuckled, “Indeed. Most of the time, I wile away the hours, trying to fix the litany of formatting and grammatical errors you pilots make in the process of filling out this paperwork. The fact that you haven’t put pen to paper yet means this will be a lot less painful for both of us.”

  “Oh…” Cameron blinked, “Well that’s good… Hooray for laziness and confusion I suppose.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Now,” Garen said, ignoring the comment, “Tell me. What do you know about GACs?”

  “Not much,” Cameron admitted, “I just know that companies get a lot more pull in negotiations for wages and conditions as compared to individuals. I also know that more companies are willing to go to a GAC instead of an individual because it’s seen as more quote unquote ‘corporate’.”

  Garen nodded, running his fingers through his beard, “This is certainly true, however those aren’t the only benefits.”

  “Care to enlighten us?” Logan said with a slight huff, “If I’m gonna be pouring money into this thing, I’d like to know what all I’m going to get out of it.”

  Garen inhaled deeply, before going into his presentation, “GACs, unlike on EarthGov controlled worlds, are seen as their own independent body. Think of it like a family, with the owner being the head of the household, and the employees being the spouses, offspring, distant relatives, etc. In regards to the place you reside, I.E. Free-Space, the head of household will have say in their dominion alone. As long as they’re not breaking any laws of abuse or neglect, and pay their dues on time, you and your employees are relatively free of council oversight, unlike many freelance pilots out there. Additionally, you will be able to attend and vote on council issues and rulings. Here in Free-Space, companies, not countries, control the economy, social standing, et cetera. Should you become GAC owners, your voice will matter as much as any other owners.”

  Logan nodded, reaching for the papers he was perusing through earlier, “That’s all well and good, Sir, but what about these things concerning line of succession and promotion requirements?”

  “Ah, yes,” Garen said, “The latter is rather easier to explain than the former, so I’ll answer that first. Employees under your charge are a reflection of yourselves, and the reputation that your GAC holds. With the amount of money most companies can throw around at their employees in order to secure a contract, it can be easy to just overkit less experienced pilots with a veritable armada of weaponry. Now if said pilot can accomplish their mission, then that’s terrific. But if not, and stars forbid they hurt themselves or anyone else, then that not only reflects poorly upon that company, but all GACs as a whole. To counteract this, we have instituted a system in which, once under the care of a GAC, pilots may only advance in class and rank when deemed appropriate by their supervisor. Additionally, we have imposed a ranking system for GACs as well, in order to promote a little… friendly competition.”

  “What kind of ranking system?” Cameron asked, feeling a headache starting to form from information overload.

  “Same as the pilot rankings, Mr. Ket,” Garen said, “Alpha through Omega class, though our criteria for promotion is a little different. If I may ask, how many potential employees do you have right now?”

  “Two” Cameron and Logan said in unison.

  “Ah and what are their ranks as opposed to yours?” He asked, looking down to scribble a few lines on a datapad.

  “Heh, no, sir,” Cameron said, “We mean, just two. Logan and myself. But I’m a Beta-Sirirus, and He’s a Gamma-Logos,”

  Garen stopped writing instantly, looking between the two pilots as he narrowed his eyes, “So… just you two?”

  “Yep.” Logan said with a nod, “At least for now, who knows how many we’ll have in the coming years.”

  Garen sighed, pushing a stray hair back from his forehead, “While I don’t know that figure, Mr. Rake. I can tell that, seeing as your… company… is so small. I can only issue a probationary license for you. You’ll have a year to recruit a minimum of three additional members in order to maintain compliance. If not, your license will be revoked, and your earnings for the probationary period sanctioned.”

  Logan’s eyes went wide, “I get revoking our license, but you mean to take our earnings too?!” He said with a growl.

  “Indeed, Mr. Rake,” Garen said, “As stated before, the benefits to being in, and owning a GAC are quite numerous. Free Space keeps a tight leash on small scale GACs in order to prevent duos or trios of pilots from reaping the rewards without contributing to the piloting community. Should you succeed in your employment endeavor, you will be granted anywhere from between an Alpha, or Beta class license.”

  “Wait,” Cameron said, “Why not Gamma? Would it not go by highest rank?”

  “No,” Garen said, his look of boredom slowly returning, “GAC ranks are determined by the main rank of two-thirds of the pilot population within your company. Mr. Rake could be an Omega-Logos, but if the rest of your company were all Alpha classes, you would receive an Alpha class license. Does that make sense?”

  Cameron nodded, while Logan merely huffed a response, before speaking, “Can’t say I like being on a time limit here. Can we even guarantee that we’d make more silver as a GAC than we could solo?”

  Garen shrugged, “While I can’t guarantee future employment, I can say the GAC owners with even an Alpha license have seen increases in revenue of up to three hundred percent.”

  Logan’s eyes widened as he let out a whistle, “Are you serious?”

  “Indeed, Mr. Rake. I don’t joke. I’m not very funny.”

  Cameron snickered as he watched Garen crack a smile, before turning to Logan, “Well? What do you think?”

  Logan stroked his goatee, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Cameron, “I think we’re gonna need a name.”

  “Indeed you will,” Garen agreed.

  Cameron smiled, then blinked, “Fuck.. you’re right. Any ideas?”

  Logan shrugged, “It’s your money kid, you pick the name. Just don’t make it something stupid, yeah?”

  Cameron sat in silence for a long time, looking back and forth between the two men as his mind raced to think of something unique and interesting. Something that could be a symbol that not only he, but everyone could get behind. After a while, he looked up, snapping his fingers as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head.

  “Whatcha got, kid?” Logan asked.

  Cameron smiled, “What do you think about Hounds of Orion?”