Logbook entry

Back In The Pilot Seat

09 Jul 2018Chaff
I gotta say, having legs like these really makes you appreciate a spacious cockpit. My Vulture? Definitely not a Mantrin-friendly ship. The Anaconda? I can do laps in that thing (Note: Mantrins do not actually do laps - running is not a thing with these legs). The FAS is a bit cramped but not as bad as the Vult.

Speaking of the FAS, I did some bounty hunting with Krell last night. It's been a while since the last time I flew, and it was nice to get back into it. The last couple of months have been rough.

A few months ago, I helped out at Armstrong Enterprise in Bhal after it had been attacked by Thargoids. I bought another Asp Explorer and dove into that mess over and over. Evacuated people from inside the station, recovered black boxes, escape pods, personal effects... The shit I saw, and heard, and felt... it wasn't okay.

"Search and rescue ships we need status updates immediately!"

"This is flight control! All traffic wave off!"

"We couldn't get the rest of the survivors, we gotta get out of here before it-"


That last one was right as an Anaconda with 150 souls on board was caught in a fuel explosion in the pad it was docked at, as I flew over. The explosion pushed my ship through a couple of escape pods (reducing them to very hot scrap) and into a control tower that was on fire (like most things in that docking bay). The sound of heat sinks deploying, a terrified traffic controller telling me they weren't sure the pad docking clamps were disengaged, cries for help over the radio, the sounds of explosions and structural supports giving way from the intense heat... I hear them still when things get quiet.








Uh, anyways. That got a bit more heavy than I intended.

Anyways. Again. That all haunted the shit out of me and really exacerbated my fear of space. I went down to Napier Keep in 20 Op and spent a while there. Got a security job, carried a gun and looked menacing, broke up brawls, escorted VIPs, dragged idiots to the brig, whatever. It paid, and it wasn't in space, that's all I cared about. I was drinking at the Bloody Bucket one night and managed to make friends with a therapist of all people, I started seeing her (as a therapist, not, like... dating) regularly, and she's helped, actually. She managed to convince me to take a shuttle back up to Chargaff and get back on the horse, so to speak.

The guns are bigger, the pay is better, but it's still the ol' game of dragging the same idiots back to the brig over and over again. I'm lookin' at you, Robert Paulson.
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