"...you have inherited 1.7 billion credits."
25 Mar 2021Turk
"...you have inherited 1.7 billion credits."That's the important part of the message I received while working on the pads at Ray Gateway. My buddy had to pick me up off the floor and was getting ready to take me to the medbay before I stopped him. That staggeringly large number made me have to sit down, immediately, and I nearly forget that the message started with "We regret to inform you that..."
Turns out some uncle I never knew went missing in the black. He was part of something called the Xbox Corps and no communications had been received in years. Also turns out that this Uncle didn't have any family or heirs. The Pilots Federation, being the secretive, wide reaching, and apparently accounting-focused shadow organization that they are, couldn't just let this guy's credits sit on their books forever so they started searching for an heir and they found me. They're not keen on giving out real names so all I got was a callsign, his logbooks, and the 1.7 billion credits they had after liquidating his fleet.
Thank you, Commander PapaRappa.
Before that message, I had a pretty good life. I did well at school, got a good job working the docks for the Pathfinders Corporation (PC for short), had a nice apartment, even been off station a couple times. However, every day that I worked the docks and saw all these Commanders coming and going on their various business and in their various ships, I daydreamed of having my own ship. I could blast pirates in my Viper, I could haul cargo in my Type-6, I could explore the black in my Phantom, I could mine asteroids in my Python, I could do *anything* but be stuck on this station until the day I die. The worst thing about daydreams is that they end with you back in your reality, only now it's a little more bleak.
Of course, I had tried saving the credits needed to get in to the Pilots Federation Training Program but there was always something that got in my way. Rent going up, taxes going up, trip to the medbay, my parent's funerals...the rich get richer and the rest of us just try to keep on living. My friends always told me I should just be happy with what I've got, however the black always called. May be that runs in the family, may be I got the same genetic marker my uncle had? Well, thanks to said Uncle's unfortunate demise, here I am typing out this logbook entry on the Galnet computer of my very own sidewinder. I got my Pilots Federation endorsement by none other than Theo Acosta himself. All dark humor aside, I know my uncle worked his ass off to get these creds and while I never knew him, I have to respect that. I've got a hell of a head start thanks to him and I plan on going over his logbooks to see where his adventures took him and figure out what in the hell I want to do.
...right after I check out these Anacondas in the shipyard.
Signing Off
Sierra Alpha Lima