Whenever someone mentions space travel, they’re thinking of ships — it’s always about the ships. What’s the point of a ship though? It takes you from one place to another. The ships aren’t important; the places they connect are. You wanted to experience the galaxy, not see it pass by through a view screen.
When you reached the age for enlistment, you joined the Imperial Navy. Everyone always tries to get into the pilot training program. You went for the construction battalions. CBs don’t have the glory or fame, but you didn’t care. You learned practical skills. The Imperial Navy gave you training and some of the toughest equipment known to play with. They even paid you for it. It was a dream job.
Your first job out of initial training was ground construction. You weren’t the fastest or the smartest, but you were the hardest working in your unit. Your superiors took note. Promotion didn’t come easy, but it did come. After a few years working on the ground you got the most coveted, and the most dangerous, job for a CB. You went to Zero-G Construction school.
Once you were in orbit, your true talents began to shine. You had an innate awareness, all too rare, of how objects move in space. Interlocking hab modules isn’t like piloting a starship — you have computers to help and robot arms to manipulate, but when it comes down to it, it’s you, your tools, and the void. People always think that fighter pilots have the dangerous job. Those pilots have no concept of the fear of really being outside — no ship, no help, when just a thin layer of plexi-fiber is all the protection you have in a micro-meteor burst. You acknowledged the danger, but you had a job and you never let the fear get in the way. Orbital repair yards, ship construction facilities, macro-storage — the Navy needed everything, and you found there was nothing you couldn’t build.
Your reputation was firmly established when the reductions came. Oh, there was a lot of talk of “drawdowns” and “force redistribution,” but in the end it was simple. The budget got cut and people had to go. You faced a decision: take the severance and the early out, or be prepared to languish in a gutted job. You got out. Your expertise, if no longer needed in the military, was a boon in civilian life. It didn’t take long before your initial investment grew into ownership of a leading construction company. You stood by the same guidelines you had in the military: charge a fair price, work hard, and build whatever was needed.
When the trade competition was first announced, you didn’t pay much attention. You didn’t trade goods, you built things. When the rules started filtering out though, you gradually took notice. The way the competition was devised, people would need stations. There weren’t enough to support what was going to happen. At first you thought you might be able to boost business by supplying needed skills to one of the competitors. After a little more research, you reached a different conclusion. You’ve got the skills to put up stations faster and better than anyone else. Thanks to your reputation and military background, you’ve got contacts and connections throughout the major trade routes. Sure, you could help someone win the competition. Or you could just go win it yourself.
You are the Builder. You’ve got what you need. Go build an empire.
- Stations cost $3
- Remote stations cost $3 x the jumpline
You can build more in a day than most Traders can in a week!
Normal stations only cost you $3, rather than $5.
You may build stations on worlds connected to your current location by a jumpline. The cost is $3 times the value of the jumpline: $6 ($3 x 2) if it’s a 2 (orange) line, $9 if it’s a 3 (red), and so forth.