Billy-Bob gave a grunt as he left the range of the last human FTL music station in this sector. Reaching out he stabbed the entertainment console with a finger to turn off that damn xeno shit before it gave him a headache. None of that click clack bullshit for him. Hurt his ears. Thinking it over he turned his entertainment console over to his private collection. ♫Round round I get a round…♫ He grinned as the Beach Boys filled his cockpit. Real human music is what this was. Back when times were simple, and they only had to worry about nukes and commies. He had a whole collection of pre-contact music that he liked to play on his long haul routes. Most xenos hauled cargo in massive ships, with crews of around 50. They needed the companionship, and security of traveling in bigger groups. Plus they needed someone to grow food, tend to the sick, and sing songs, all that sort of thing. They tended to freak out if they didn’t have someone to fill each job position. But humans? Well humans didn’t mind strapping themselves to a giant rocket and firing off with a more midsized cargo bay all on their own. Being alone didn’t scare humans as much as it did all those xenos. Plus it was damn good money being the only ones to take the extra-long routes out to the isolated colonies that didn’t need a whole Atlas worth of cargo. The xenos had some sort of fancy title for this sort of position but Billy-Bob knew just what he was. All humans called this sort of job the same thing. It was a job as old as internal combustion, just now in space. He was:

*Billy-Bob Space Trucker*