Cmdr Sally Forth
Role
Explorer / Freelancer
Registered ship name
Felicette
Credit balance
-
Rank
Elite I
Registered ship ID
Anaconda SA-77Y
Overall assets
-
Squadron
RazorGoat
Allegiance
Independent
Power
Independent

Logbook entry

Five Thousand Yard Stare

08 Aug 2019Sally Forth
I'm watching from the observation platform with mixed feelings.

Below, the technicians at Xuesen Orbital have removed quite a lot of Purr's hull plates. Cranes slowly lift the main cargo rack out and set it aide for storage. In its place is going an object that looks at once familiar and alien. It's taken a fair chunk of time, money and a chance encounter to get this thing. Time, flying back and forth to Guardian space to obtain most of the components and money buying other parts and lost trading time. The chance encounter was a veteran pilot I met at The Prospect, who kindly offered to help me get hold of the blueprints I wanted.
So on the one hand, this is the culmination of an ambition: on the other, there's an odd feeling of helplessness when your ship is being worked on, for a little while you are essentially grounded.

Gabby is sat on my shoulders, as usual. Annie is watching the techs, tail twitching, and Mack is busy being a plonker by trying to walk along the narrow handrail.
There's a call from below, and the techs connect the new module to the Cobra's power systems. A curious hum starts and the hanger is filled with an eerie blue glow. At the same time, the cats all freeze and stare down at the newly-installed frame shift booster. The moment passes and the techs make thumbs-up signs to each other, and begin to put the hull plates back.
Yes. Purr is ready. My plan can proceed. I know what kind of ship I want next, and I know the best way to get the necessary moolah is exploration...hence the refit. The Cobra should now have a jump range in excess of forty light years - not bad at all...

I've just landed on a giant portion of ice cream.
Okay. It's a moon, but it certainly looked like a scoop of raspberry ripple on the approach. Purr is sat on the top of a frozen cliff, overlooking low, gloopy-looking, pink hills to the horizon.
I'm exhausted! Five thousand and eighteen light years and suddenly I have run out of steam. Got no more enthusiasm. I want to go home.

Home?

Where is that, now? This is my home, this little starship.  My mood has communicated itself to the cats; they seem listless and out of sorts. Going for a nice long kip.

I wake up at some odd time, disorientated. I flap my hand at the light control, finally making contact after three goes. I blink. The bed beside me is empty.  "Davis?" I whisper sleepily, "Davis, where are you?"
Clamber out of the bed, into the corridor. The other cabin is dark and empty. Where are my children?
I stagger into the cockpit. No-one there. Back to my cabin.
What's going on? Why am I on a spacecraft? Why aren't my family here?
A throbbing pain builds in my skull and I crumple slowly to the floor.

Consciousness comes creeping back. My vision is strangely washed out of colour, but remarkably sharp, given the darkness. I hope these eyes aren't on the blink. Haha.  It occurs to me what I'm actually looking at. It's a prone female figure, dreadlocked hair spread out like a messy halo. There are two cats there as well. A tortoiseshell is batting the woman's face, whilst the black one is meowing frantically into her ear. My viewpoint moves, bouncing off the bed and all the way up to her face. I see something at the edge of my vision. A grey paw.
I'm looking at myself through the eyes of a cat. It's a dream. It's just a dream. It's just -

I wake up with a scream and sit bolt upright. The cats, startled, scatter, but return straight away. I am shaking and cannot stop. Tears are streaming down my face.
Well, isn't this great? Of all the times to have a breakdown, it would have to be five thousand LY from the nearest human.

Annie and Gabby are in my lap, on their hind legs, mewling away. Mack is running in circles like he's looking for something, then bounds over to the closet, and begins pawing at the door. He becomes more insistent. I
crawl over and pull the door open.  Mack leaps inside and pats my old grey kitbag.  I chucked it in there, weeks ago.  There shouldn't be anything in it.  He lets out a loud wail. "Okay, okay...", I say.  Grab the bag, drag it out and slump on the floor again.  My muscles have no strength in them.  Mack springs back out, sits and looks at me, looks at the bag. I weakly lift it up, and fumble inside. There is something in it.  I produce a cube, six inches square, wrapped in brown paper. I detach a folded sheet of paper from the top and squint at the neat, precise handwriting:

Sally,
I do not know where they have taken you or what they are going to do. I intend to find out.  But you aren't getting the care you should be getting. I'm no expert, but there will be an emotional backlash at some point.
The enclosed should help get through it.
My thoughts are with you.
Angelo.

Unwrap the package to find a box labelled LifeCorp Medical Solutions. Synthomorphine. 12 doses plus injector.

"Oh Angelo," I mumble, picking away at the lid until it opens. Capsule. Injector. Arm. Hiss.  Then I am floating again, peace wraps itself round me. The cats leap back onto the bunk and wait until I crawl back under the duvet before snuggling up and soothing me to sleep with their purrs.
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