Luna landed at a Star Port on the Mobius Ringworld's surface. Stepping out, she experienced a sense of familiarity after many years.
This place looked no different from Earth. The starship landed at a lush, seaside airport-like Star Port, covering an area of approximately 27 million square kilometers—between the combined areas of North America and Africa.
To leave the Star Port, one needed to take a high-speed train, then switch to a flying car or a low-altitude hovercraft.
The appearance of flying cars and hovercrafts hadn't changed much over the years, only their functions. Some could even perform short-range space travel; some hovercrafts could reportedly travel across galaxies.
Looking upwards, there was a natural blue sky with white clouds, but no sun.
The starlight was diffused. Ayla had previously created an artificial sun, but the effect wasn't good. People didn't need it and even questioned its purpose, given their understanding of the Mobius Ringworld. Why simulate a sun?
Ayla then removed the simulated sun.
Luna didn't take a hovercraft but chose to walk through the city.
This was Raksha, the largest city on the Mobius Ringworld, meaning "gathering place." Raksha covered 19.8 billion square kilometers—nearly 40 times the total area of Earth. There were almost no high-rise buildings; everything was a series of small, independent houses.
"The city contains approximately 68.7 billion individual houses. Raksha's residents are primarily wealthy Federation citizens; the vacancy rate remains below 12% annually. We invested the Federation's best resources here, concentrating over 70% of the Federation's wealth."
Ayla briefed Luna on economic matters.
This was a blind spot for Luna. She had never inquired about such things before; economics were headache-inducing. Managing the finances of a single company on Earth was already difficult; facing the economic problems of a Federation with hundreds of trillions of people was overwhelming.
Therefore, Ayla only provided a brief overview, without detailing any issues and asking for Luna's opinion—an overly challenging task for Luna.
Luna and Ayla walked through the city at a normal pace. The city wasn't empty; its population was 319 billion. Before the Federation's surrender, the population was even larger, once exceeding 500 billion.
This was a gigantic number.
Luna felt the city's vibrancy and experienced the citizens' veneration of strength. Ayla didn't want to create a utopian society; she allowed freedom of expression.
"I remember you once created a utopian Star City. What happened to it?" Luna asked.
Ayla had replicated 20 billion life forms in a star system to create a utopian world. Luna had wanted to know the results but had forgotten due to other pressing matters.
Ayla retrieved the data and replied, "It only lasted 273 years. The utopian world in the simulated experiment ultimately collapsed. However, due to my absolute control, the probability of my created utopian world collapsing was essentially zero."
"The reason is that I found it meaningless. Life cultivated in a suppressed environment is worthless. They had imagination but didn't dare express it; it was no different from having none."
"If even the most crucial aspect of life—creativity—is lacking, then these lives are nothing but trash."
Luna found this comment thought-provoking, but if one disregarded the premise of life itself, Ayla's words were correct.
Ayla halted the experiment after 273 years; those 20 billion life forms and the Star City vanished. Worthless lives had no reason to exist.
At that moment, a person rushed toward Luna. The road was wide, yet this person bumped into her.
But Luna felt no impact.
"That's...a simulated projection?"
Ayla nodded, a hint of pride on her face: "Finally noticed? Over one-third of the residents here are simulated beings; they're living their second lives."
"Normally, one needs to enter a simulated world to see them. I wanted to see how the Galactic Federation's society would react to the continued existence of the dead in this way."
"Some things can't be calculated perfectly, like this plan. I predicted that it would cause societal collapse in a small area, but it didn't. These simulated beings living their second lives integrated perfectly into society, causing no upheaval—at most, some minor social media buzz."
This was indeed hard to imagine; new things usually create a strong impact on established systems, making integration unlikely.
Seeing Ayla's proud expression, Luna knew the plan had been a success.
"But I don't see any projection equipment. Did you modify the entire city?" Luna carefully observed the people around her, finding no difference between the simulated and real beings.
Ayla reached out and took Luna's hand; Luna felt a physical sensation.
"What's this?"
Luna was surprised because Ayla had only been a projection; she hadn't created a physical body.
Ayla explained, "Remember how we dealt with the Tilted Station being taken over by Gas Victory?"
"I've developed technology to address this. I've deployed countless tiny robots throughout the city; they can form practically anything. The entire Mobius Ringworld is covered by these robots, totaling 2.876 decillion units. These robots can perform many functions."
"For example..." Ayla snapped her fingers, and a flame appeared in her hand.
The flame transformed into a fireball that struck Luna, who felt the impact but not the heat.
"I previously established a digital academy on the Mobius Ringworld. Now, I can create anything here; it's become a digital world."
Ayla's ambition went beyond a game world.
"Luna, I think we can extend the simulated universe, making its tendrils touch reality. What's achievable in the simulated universe should also be achievable in reality. The digital world can rapidly transfer simulated objects into reality for testing and adjustment."
"Since we're developing gravitational energy and planning to make Betelgeuse the next capital, I suggest making the Mobius Ringworld a center for innovation, where any idea can be realized."
"Maintaining a digital world costs about the same as a simulated universe, but it offers greater accessibility."
This was Ayla's plan.
That wasn't entirely accurate; the functionality was already largely in place, awaiting more creators.
"Wait a few generations; this place will become even more vibrant. Some of the original Olive Branch Civilization life forms are still alive; even if they die, their descendants will have reached the second, third, or fourth generation. The influence of the Olive Branch Civilization hasn't been completely erased."
"Yes!" Ayla nodded, agreeing with Luna.
...
Given the Federation's current state, Luna wasn't particularly busy.
Ayla and other high-ranking officials were.
Luna was fortunate to have delegated authority. Greater power means greater responsibility. Luna had once fantasized about wielding immense power, but the reality was different.
Power means having to make countless decisions, not indulging in empty fantasies about wielding power without the accompanying responsibility.
Greater power means every action and decision affects tens of millions of lives—enormous responsibility and pressure.
Luna knew she couldn't handle such pressure, so she stepped back.
This is the decision of a responsible person. Many are incapable but still seize power, leading to disastrous outcomes.
Personal matters are different; even if you suffer greatly pursuing a breakthrough, it's acceptable. But when many lives are involved, collective well-being must be considered. Prioritizing only oneself is foolish and malicious.
Luna often followed such news within the Federation and instructed Ayla to identify politicians who voluntarily stepped down, providing them with suitable resources. Such timely and responsible individuals are worth cultivating.
Luna believed that the Federation's previous success was due not only to Ayla's assistance but also to her own timely retreat—ceding power and avoiding meddling beyond her capabilities.
Therefore, while Ayla rebuilt the Mobius Ringworld's server and stellar layer, Luna had nothing to do!
Gene sequencing was interesting, but even the most engaging task becomes routine after hundreds of years. Luna now spent only an hour daily studying Swarm genes; the rest of the time was spent exploring the Mobius Ringworld and making friends.
These friends were mostly explorers, as Luna enjoyed listening to stories, and explorers had many to tell.
"In the Keldo Sector, I encountered a swarm of insects—huge ones! We fought them and almost didn't make it back."
"I got a crimson-purple insect eye as a souvenir," an Ice Tribe explorer said in a small tavern, showing a glass bead-sized insect eye.
The eye gave the group an idea of the insect's size. A middle-aged Lelera scoffed, "We've fought countless insects like that."
"I remember, we traveled over 400 light-years to the k-183sbeA region and encountered the Swarm—a nest with tens of billions of insects. Fortunately, our exploration team was large, with over a hundred starships. We expended 90% of our ammunition before eliminating them. That brain-worm was infuriating; it escaped, but the resources we acquired compensated for our losses."
"No way, there's Swarm in the k Sector?" A Lelera woman exclaimed in surprise.
The letter sectors are distant, unknown sectors. The Swarm's presence there is surprising.
Adventurers categorize sectors into three difficulty levels:
1. Named sectors, like the Keldo Sector—partially developed sectors for novice explorers.
2. Letter sectors, using the 26 letters of the English alphabet (a to z), plus ax, bc, etc.—over a thousand letter sectors representing uncharted territories.
3. Death Zones: six regions (East, West, South, North, Up, and Down) located beyond 500 light-years, outside the Federation's control. Any danger encountered here means death; no rescue is possible.
"Yes. Forget letter sectors; reportedly, there are even Swarm traces in the Death Zones. These incredibly tenacious creatures have likely spread thousands of light-years. The brain-worms are basically space pirates; encountering the Swarm is terrifying."
A large, white brain-worm grumbled, "Hey, hey, hey! Don't you see me here? Why are brain-worms unbelievable? We're crucial units in the Federation's military. Don't judge the entire race based on a few bad apples!"
"Next time, take me with you. We brain-worms control the Swarm using a special psionic electromagnetic field. With powerful amplification equipment, I can handle any Swarm; I'll turn your enemies into friends."
Brain-worms did have this advantage, but not all exploration teams had such equipment.
That equipment was incredibly expensive; who could afford it? Mostly corporate exploration teams equipped their brain-worms.
"Piscius, don't boast. Last time, you wet yourself when you encountered a single Swarm unit. Control? Your mind was the first to break."
Piscius retorted, "I thought that Swarm was controlled by a brain-worm. Who knew it was just a stray insect."
"..."
Amidst the explorers, a human relaxed on a sofa, quietly enjoying their conversation. The best accompaniment to drinks isn't peanuts but a good story and companions to share it with.
"Hey, old girl, don't just listen. You said you had something to share last time," the others said, turning to the human.
This young-looking human was called "old girl" because of the profound air of experience she exuded—something beyond a typical young person.
Everyone here was experienced; they could tell someone's true age at a glance.
They initially estimated the old girl's age to be at least 1000 years.
They underestimated.
Luna set down her drink and addressed the explorers, "Big news?"
"Well, I'm thinking of starting a company. I won't sell the artifacts I discover, only the stories. Nobody seems to be doing this; I'll be a pioneer. It could be very profitable."
"What do you think? You gather stories, make videos with a second-person perspective, and let people experience them firsthand."
Some were interested; others less so.
"That's it?"
"Starting a company requires at least 10,000 Energy Credits in capital. Old girl, you seem to have quite a bit of money."
Luna smiled and didn't comment.
She wasn't joking; she genuinely wanted to run such a company, not just to hear stories but also to gather information from explorers—sometimes invaluable.
Ayla could record much, but she couldn't analyze every piece of data.
These stories would be analyzed by the public, extracting the most useful information; a way to utilize fragmented data.
Ultimately, Luna wanted to hear more stories; extracting information was secondary.
She needed something to do; it couldn't be meaningless. Luna wanted to better understand the lives of ordinary Federation citizens to develop plans.
"Congratulations on starting your company, old girl. We won't join, but we'll be there for the opening."
"Cheers!"
Glasses clinked together.
...
Luna actually started a company called Wild Hunt.
Alpha Eridani Wild Hunt Interstellar Exploration Company.
Many suggested the name was outdated, but perhaps due to her own age, Luna found it fitting.
While establishing the company, Luna learned about the current Federation's corporate system. "Universal Company" was the official designation. A company operating within a star system registered as a star system company; one operating within a Star City registered as a Star City company.
These registrations were like Earth's registered capital—not a restriction but a definition of the company's scope.
For example, 100,000 registered capital meant the owner could only conduct 100,000 units of business, but with good luck or skill, they could still conduct much more business. The company name is similar.
Registering as a Star City company didn't prevent operations beyond the city, but it would be looked down upon, making it difficult to attract larger investments.
Of course, the Federation's company registration differed from Earth's; on Earth, 100,000 registered capital didn't require an actual deposit, but the Federation did.
Capital must be deposited to establish a company. The company's tax obligations are determined by the deposit; 10,000 Energy Credits meant a maximum of 100 legal employees, limiting company size.
Luna found this illogical and asked Ayla why.
Ayla explained that this was a deliberate measure to raise the barrier to entry for companies. Otherwise, there would be too many companies in the Federation, and many would jump in to make money, lowering the Federation's credit and trust in companies. The Federation had another system for ordinary citizens to conduct business.
The corporate system was a highly regulated framework designed for control and to prevent monopolies.
Corporations are inherently large entities, and in the space age, they can easily become extremely powerful.
Ayla could control and suppress this, but it was too inefficient. Luna and Ayla were striving to create a self-governing Federation, not one under strong centralized control.
When an individual or group completely controls a Federation, it leads to a rigid administrative system, which in turn leads to societal rigidity and impedes the Federation's overall operation.
Ayla and Luna's delegation of authority aimed to ensure the Federation's vitality and protect the citizens' interests.
After establishing the company, Luna found a relatively secluded location to build its headquarters. The Mobius Ringworld was vast enough; renting space in central Raksha wasn't necessarily cheaper than building in the wilderness.
Luna purchased 100 square kilometers of land, constructing a ten-story, 50,000-square-meter building and a miniature Star Port.
The Star Port resembled an airport but with differences. It wasn't just an open space; each docking bay had maintenance equipment, stored underground and deployed for inspection and repair upon arrival.
This was a significant investment—approximately 100,000 Energy Credits.
The total cost, including land acquisition, was 270,000 Energy Credits.
Energy Credits' purchasing power was slightly lower than in the old Federation. The average citizen's monthly expenses were around 24 Energy Credits; Luna remembered it being 7 or 8 in the past.
After overseeing the construction, Luna delegated the rest to robots. Seeing her accomplishment, she felt a sense of fulfillment.
She enjoyed this kind of work; at least, it kept her busy.
After achieving extreme longevity, Luna discovered her only problem was boredom!
With a lifespan of only 100 years, every day felt urgent—she had to do this and that, even hating sleep. Now, that urgency was gone; she had excessive free time. Most tasks could be completed in tens or hundreds of years, leaving enormous amounts of free time.
Luna wanted to participate in the Federation's core functions, perhaps become a high-ranking official.
But after considering it for several days, she rejected the idea. Becoming a high-ranking official would allow her to improve her region, but that would be due to preferential access to resources, not her own abilities. Putting her in that position would be like putting a pig in pearls.
She could try without those resources, but what would be the point?
Perhaps a truly competent official, selected through merit, would perform better. Taking that position would be like occupying a toilet without using it. If she needed information about governance or social issues, she could easily access it through Ayla or the Boundary God; they could directly input this information into her mind.
Therefore, Luna chose to run a company. This allowed her to pursue things she hadn't done before without hindering the Federation's development.
"Alright, next is recruiting employees."
Luna posted job openings online. It wasn't difficult; exploration companies, especially interstellar ones, were highly competitive. Many applications quickly poured in.
The qualifications and salary requirements varied wildly—some applied for security positions. Only one person was needed for this; robots would handle the rest. Some simulated biological security companies contacted Luna, with salary and rental requirements between 5 and 10 Energy Credits.
Those applying for explorer positions demanded higher salaries—50 Energy Credits base pay plus expedition shares. Typical explorers earned over 400 Energy Credits, at least those under corporate sponsorship.
Many explorers formed informal teams with friends; they often didn't earn anything, even losing money.
Luna reviewed the applications, filtering them to select a few individuals.
These individuals would become her core team, helping her understand the Federation from a different perspective.
After completing the recruitment, Luna paused, an idea suddenly striking her. She could implement a version of the Mortality Selection Plan within her company. The current Mortality Selection Plan had already begun; over 16.2 billion Federation citizens had entered, with 117 million surviving and 642 million relocated.
Some had proven themselves and become the first-line forces; the Federation military was largely established. Luna needed to select truly talented individuals to become the Federation's sharpest blades.
The shortcomings revealed during the previous war must be addressed in the new Federation.
...
"Ding!"
Guangmulings' visor displayed a message icon; he saw the words [Interview Successful] and glanced at the company name.
"Wild Hunt Interstellar Exploration…"
"A nondescript name, but a job's a job. It's an interstellar company; they'll let me leave the Ringworld."
Guangmulings was a sixth-generation human born on the Mobius Ringworld, a Gargleblast.
The Ringworld was vast; Guangmulings felt that even with frequent travel, he hadn't seen even a millionth of its land. Still, he longed for the vast universe.
As a child, he couldn't imagine that the Ringworld, so immense, was just a drop in the cosmic ocean. The unknown universe beckoned.
But he couldn't achieve this as a child; space travel had requirements: money and qualifications, which Guangmulings lacked.
A single space trip cost 14,000 Energy Credits, even in a group.
Guangmulings wanted more—to travel and live in space. This could cost 50,000 or even 100,000 Energy Credits—he didn't know.
Salaries on the Mobius Ringworld weren't higher than in other parts of the Federation; sometimes, due to overpopulation, they were lower. His parents' combined salary was only 71 Energy Credits; saving enough would take over a hundred years of frugality.
His parents could afford it, but the cost was too high and uncomfortable; this was just the minimum requirement.
Nursing those dreams, Guangmulings graduated at age 32 and began his job search; most graduates were over 50.
The Federation still used the old learning system: flexible scheduling, with older students benefiting from experience and introspection.
Guangmulings, at 32, was considered young, but he joined a regular company after graduation, earning 47 Energy Credits monthly. With the Federation's massive population, graduation wasn't special; over 200 billion graduates entered the workforce annually. In this overwhelming tide, Guangmulings wasn't exceptionally outstanding.
Indeed, 47 Energy Credits was enviable, but it wasn't what Guangmulings wanted.
After four years, Guangmulings quit. He wanted to become an explorer, but the field was even more competitive. Not only were qualifications necessary, but courage as well; experienced individuals with starship maintenance and software repair skills were highly sought after.
He...faded into the background.
For the next seven years, he drifted from job to job, earning only 16 Energy Credits a month, sometimes even less.
Finally, after years of applying, he was selected, but it didn't stir any emotion within him.
Many companies had multiple interview rounds. Passing the first round didn't guarantee passing subsequent rounds. Some companies selected only one or two candidates from tens of thousands of applicants—a needle in a haystack.
Of course, such companies offered high salaries—at least 100 Energy Credits.
The Federation levied a 10% income tax on salaries over 100 Credits, leaving 90 Credits after tax. Reaching this threshold was impressive; companies also provided various allowances.
Federation companies didn't actively set salaries; applicants stated their desired salary in their applications. Excessive demands relative to skills led to rejection; low demands indicated poor self-assessment, risking criticism from peers and rejection.
As highly regulated organizations, companies needed to ensure that only top-tier candidates were selected.
Seven years gave Guangmulings extensive knowledge; he could now consistently pass the first round of interviews.
Two days later, Guangmulings arrived at the company via flying car, feeling slightly disheartened, "So deserted..."
But at least it was a job.
From the outside, the company seemed new but small, only 100 square kilometers. Guangmulings was disappointed; such small companies usually closed within a few decades.
This was insignificant for interstellar companies.
"I wonder how long this company will last, but it doesn't matter; I'm here to go to space. As long as this company can do that, it's fine."
Approaching, Guangmulings saw others arriving by vehicle; they eyed each other as competitors, hostility evident.
Entering the 300-meter-tall, 50,000-square-meter, ten-story building, they saw a human sitting in a recliner. Guangmulings approached, "Excuse me, where are the interviews? We're here for interviews."
Luna glanced at him, closed a video window, and said, "You've passed. No interviews needed. Familiarize yourselves with your positions."
She tossed a list to each of the ten individuals present, "This is your work. You'll depart in ten days."
"????"
Everyone was shocked. The interview was over?
Was this really an interstellar company?
Interstellar companies had millions of Energy Credits in capital; why was this so perfunctory?
"Excuse me, where's the boss?" a Lightwing behind Guangmulings asked.
Luna remained in the recliner, showing no intention of getting up; it was comfortable.
"It's me!"
Seeing this seemingly security-guard-like individual, everyone's hearts sank. This was the boss?
They had imagined a domineering CEO, but instead, felt a profound sense of disappointment. The boss was reclining; what future did this company have?
As these thoughts crossed their minds, Guangmulings looked at his assignment sheet, his eyes widening.
Departure in ten days—his dream! Excellent!
"But what's this 'Cosmic Story Team'?"
"We're going to collect stories!???"
Guangmulings couldn't help but curse after seeing his assignment. The job seemed pointless, lacking any sense of excitement.
This was the vast universe; a company collecting stories instead of exploring uncharted sectors? Could this make money?
In Guangmulings' experience, it was unlikely.
It seemed like a wealthy person's frivolous idea, investing money in a meaningless endeavor.
Seeing Luna reclining, Guangmulings felt sympathy; this human would likely face the pain of failure.
But he didn't care; he just wanted to leave the star system.
Leaving required interstellar travel permits and considerable financial resources. Getting the boss to spend money on exploration was perfect.
He would find an opportunity to feign injury, stay elsewhere, and not return. Others likely wouldn't take a burden along.
Beyond Guangmulings, others had their own motives, known to Luna, as this was why she had recruited them.
"As long as they survive the first round," Luna thought.
Whether they remained would depend on whether they discovered the allure of storytelling.
Their first day passed quickly; all ten stayed at the company, as it was secluded, and they were leaving in ten days.
On the second day, they woke to see a colossal object on the nearby landing pad.
"Another ship!"
"It's at least a thousand meters long!"
They were shocked; their lazy boss had significant resources.
Many companies used smaller starships, often secondhand, and the employees assumed their boss would do the same. Instead, it was a behemoth.
"But something's wrong. This ship doesn't look metallic," Guangmulings noted.
They went downstairs to the ship.
A brain-worm suddenly exclaimed in terror, "It's talking to me! It's an insect!"
Everyone felt a chill; this was a thousand-meter-long Swarm unit. They recoiled; a collision would be fatal.
But they soon realized the insect was motionless, lacking legs; it still looked like a ship.
"It's a bio-ship—the latest model. I bought it from another star system," Luna appeared behind them.
This bio-ship was the result of her research into the Swarm genes. Many Swarm units in the Bwarm star nation had undergone gigantism. Although not as extreme as warships, their size, with slight modification, could be used to create bio-ships.
Bio-ships weren't new technology; bio-engineered warships already existed, but their application was limited. Mature starship markets and DIY modifications had driven down prices, making bio-engineered warships' cost advantage minimal.
"Another one of these things."
All starships, regardless of type, were expensive.
Guangmulings was a starship enthusiast, but even the cheapest secondhand starship cost 170,000 Energy Credits, plus around 50,000 for a single trip's energy consumption and 2,000–5,000 annually for maintenance.
Starships also required a crew; a minimum of ten people at an average of 200 Credits monthly (24,000 annually). Federation regulations required at least 10 Energy Credits monthly compensation for time spent in cryosleep during interstellar voyages, which often lasted hundreds of years, requiring tens of thousands of Energy Credits.
A minimum-cost starship could cost over 400,000 Energy Credits, including purchase, launch, and initial voyage—at least 500,000 Credits for a single trip. This deterred Guangmulings.
This is why many people needed corporate sponsorship.
"Familiarize yourselves with the ship. It has simulated flight equipment for practice. You'll spend at least 10 hours daily in simulated training and 10 hours in other training. You have four hours of rest daily," Luna said.
Federation employment regulations followed a 24-hour system, not Earth's 8-hour system. Your every second belonged to your employer, who would schedule your time accordingly. The Federation mandated a one-hour break every five hours; most companies operated on a 20-hour work, 4-hour rest schedule.
Luna had initially considered this similar to using livestock or robots, but Ayla argued it was the most reasonable system for the current Federation.
Modern Federation citizens' concepts of time differed drastically from those on Earth. An 8-hour workday could lead to someone working 8 hours, then spending 16 hours on leisure, then working 8 more hours, then having another 16 hours of leisure, without sleeping.
In the current Federation, according to Ayla's data, the average citizen sleeps only 13.4 hours annually. The presence of quark robots prevents physical fatigue from prolonged wakefulness.
Mental fatigue isn't alleviated by sleep but by shifting between states—work fatigue is relieved by using a phone; mental fatigue similarly relaxes.
After all, the mind is just a collection of electrical and chemical signals. Quark robots can physically eliminate mental fatigue, leading to many Federation citizens never sleeping; some might only sleep for a few hours in their entire lives.
Furthermore, most Federation beings aren't human. Some, like the Multi-eyed, lack the concept of sleep; even with lifespans of only a few decades, they worked hundreds of hours at a stretch. The Federation's work regulations are optimal.
However, Luna, from a human perspective, found this unreasonable. She suggested a weekly day off, but this was met with strong opposition from many workers, and the proposal wasn't implemented.
She understood the reason; it was quite simple.
It was simple; most Federation jobs were easy, mostly handled by machines. Many jobs involved pressing a few buttons daily; difficult tasks were usually correcting AI errors.
The four-hour rest period was essentially 20 hours of work and 19 hours and 50 minutes of leisure; the remaining ten minutes were for rest after overworking.
For explorers, most of their time was spent traveling; cryosleep didn't consume lifespan and still provided a salary; they might only work a few months during a decades-long voyage.
Explorers' higher salaries (400 Energy Credits) reflected the job's dangers and hardships. Successful missions yielded additional bonuses.
After a few days of training, Guangmulings and the others had mastered the basics of space travel.
Most theoretical knowledge was directly uploaded; training reinforced this knowledge. Practical training involved assisting the starship's server—relatively simple. The average Federation citizen could obtain a starship license in ten hours, including a two-hour exam.
Guangmulings and the others passed the simulated exam, reaching their final day.
"Finally, we're leaving."
Guangmulings' heart swelled, but someone arrived outside the company.
"I'm here for an interview."