Personal Log 23.11.08 // Everything Changes
23 Nov 2022Gaz Ubermick
+// Log Entry Start+// [Date: 23.11.3308]
+// [Location: The Millennium Budgie, Iah Bulu]
Hyperspace Dethrottle Engaged.
I involuntarily clench absolutely every muscle I have the millisecond the words appear on my HUD. I’ve been banging around this galaxy for over 20 years. Faced down pirates, assassins, the Federal and Imperial navies, and quite a few Thargoids in that time. Yet of all the warnings my ship can throw at me, that’s still the one I hate the most. That moment when you exit hyperspace, but your intestines and organs for one brief moment feel like they want to just keep going.
The damned Uszaian Tree Grubs stayed in place, at least. I need to have a word with Bastion about making me eat those things.
I’d arced the Budgie away from Iah Bulu, a quick skim topping off her tanks, before heading for Metcalf. I’d gotten a call from an old Lughian war buddy from the Crimson State days who's out here now as one of the local faction administrators, asking for a hand with some shite kickers he was having trouble with. As usual the system was crammed with carriers, commanders vacuuming up the rich pickings from the poorly defended settlements here. Some of the local mining settlements here were well known for being staffed by indifferent guards and employees, rich off extraction pay, who leave their goodies lying around for unscrupulous lads to pilfer.
I can’t talk, I’d done it myself once or twice. That combat Dominator suit I was about to throw on didn’t upgrade itself. There aren’t many saints left in this galaxy.
To be honest, letting some of the anger out seemed like a good idea right now. For me anyways, not the poor bastards I’d be tasked with flatlining. I’d tried a couple of weeks of Xenobiology, scouring planets for patches of mould and fungus. Quain swore by it, and he’s one of the most relaxed people I know. Can’t say that it scratched my itch, though.
From time to time I still feel the imaginary wound in my back from where my old squadron had stuck the knife. I’m a big believer in change, and it probably should have come as no surprise that my goal of having a small elite band of comrades went sideways when I got caught up on that big move job and took my eye off the ball. Nedos wasn’t big enough for some, and too big for others. Some only wanted to see Thargoid blood flow. I’m not one for pampered egos, and I’m sure as hell not willing to do any pampering myself, so after some heated words I walked.
Got a transmission from my old pal Zero – seems he walked too. Good for him. He was never one for drama either, and I REALLY need to have a Kongaa with that guy soon. Mental note to reach out to him after I’m done here. Hell, Kalous too. Last I heard he was one of the suriviors of HIP 22460, and the crap that went down there. Hope he’s alright, he’s one of the good ones. I’d fly with those two anytime. Did too in the Emporium days, before things went south there as well. More big egos and notions of empire building. Seems like a recurring theme. Think Kal's still there actually, keeping them glued together.
Thinking of that last conversation with him has made me even more uneasy. Those anomalies had appeared rocketing towards us from Barnard’s Loop not long after. Now there were eight of them, and one was kissing the bubble. Humanity hadn’t just kicked the hornet’s nest, it decided to strip naked and sit on it afterwards. Makes me wonder if taking the nameless combatants off the chessboard later on will matter a damn thing in the long run.
Damnit, this isn't the mindset I need before a wetwork job.
But something’s coming. Something big. And I genuinely don’t know if the few things I have left in this galaxy that I care about will survive it.
Screw it. For now, there’s work to be done.
+// Log Entry Ends