Personal Log 01
09 Oct 2020Gen1sis
Commander Gen1sis09/10/3306 – 08:05
LOC - R:174.006 / I: 245.970 / b: -8.926
**** Personal log – Entry 01 ****
“The best way to find yourself is to loose yourself in the service of others.” – Mahatma Gandhi
One hundred and three days. On the morning of my 30th birthday, I find myself at my 103rd day with Lavigny’s Legion – if the records from Inara are to be believed - the place where I found my purpose in this galaxy of ours.
This seems a better day than any to start entering some sort of diary, something to collect the memories of the trials and tribulations that I have found myself in since I hired that first Faulcon DeLacy Sidewinder. It has been so long that I cannot even remember what I named that hunk of metal. Needless to say, that wee thing was the stepping stone to where I find myself today.
Like many in the Pilots Federation, we get in over our heads. We sit in our brand-new Sidewinders and stare up at the stars with wonder and aspiration in our eyes. Many succeed and find steady work in the galaxy, whether as an independent pilot or through one of the major powers, many, however, do not. Whilst I was keen to follow in my grandfather's footsteps and lead a life of swashbuckling, honourable bounty hunting, that didn’t work out so well – it turns out that it’s a lot harder than it looks in the movies! So, I used what money I had made to buy a Zorgon Peterson Adder and give biowaste hauling a shot. No surprise that did not work out either.
As you can imagine, as a fresh pilot I was desperate for work, desperate for a purpose. At the end of my wits and barely scraping by but, fortune had found me at last. I was awoken one morning – having fallen asleep in the seat of my cockpit again – by the blaring CORVAS, a message. An old work friend of mine from back home had sent me some photos from the camera drones of his Anaconda with a subtle title, not quite in focus enough from the blackened abyss that swallowed the photograph. Sagittarius A*. The bastard had travelled 25,900Ly from home and here I was, passed out in the cockpit, drool-soaked shoulder and he was off having the time of his life. Before I started my morning routine avoiding the minefield of crisp and sweet packets, empty cans of juice and clothing, the COVAS beeped again. A voice message?
“Hey, Gen, long time no see! I hope you are doing well back in the Bubble. Look, I know this is out of the blue, but I’ve been reaching out to people that I know who own ships. Fancy coming to the centre of the galaxy with me?”
I stared so long at that message that I had forgotten how much I needed a piss. Well, it would have been rude to say no, no? I will not bore you with the details of that journey (I can already hear the sigh of relief from here), but I got there. I got to Sag A* with my 44Ly ASP-X, and man, was that an experience. A simple act of an old friend reaching out had changed the way I saw myself and my part in all this, but all things come to an end. Back to the daily grind of doing what jobs a man could get. Now, I wasn’t short on cash you understand, I had bought myself a Falcon Delacy Anaconda of my own from the exploration data I had made on that trip but, a man needs a purpose above scavenging wrecks for Imperial shielding, extracting the data from that poor bastard Jameson’s crashed Cobra or hoovering up shards from crystalline structures. I knew how much joy that journey had given me, so much so, that I dragged myself back to Jackson’s Lighthouse and here goes… nothing. Nothing at all. I couldn’t do it; I knew I was being rash. I was desperate.
“So, Gen, what next big lad?” I said to myself, as I gazed at the ebb and flow of the neutron star in front of me.
I found myself deep in Imperial space on my way back from that failed journey and happened across a system called Carthage. In that instance, a part of my brain gave me a shotgun blast of long-forgotten childhood memories. Memories of my father reading to me of a long-dead, ancient civilisation, the Carthaginians, murdered at the hands-on another known civilisation, the Romans. Well, I just had to stop off in the nearest station, Marker Depot, my mind giddy with the memories flooding me as I requested docking permission.
Yeah, there was no Carthaginians or Romans. Go figure. But there was a recruitment holo. A recruitment holo with a fella in a mighty nice suit.
“ENLIST TODAY! – Lavigny’s Legion BGS department.” The damned thing blared out at me. Those Imperials can sure raise their voice when required! My racing mind had gone from heroic scenes of the mighty general, Hamilcar Barca leading his legions against the might of Rome, to an all-together different type of Carthaginian legion. I clearly had a decision to make.
So here I am again - strapped to this damned seat in my Phantom - staring at the neutron star they call Jacksons Lighthouse, saying to myself ‘this used to be the beginning of an escape for me, away from a life I quickly felt hollow in.’ Now I have a duty to see through and fellow Legionnaires to stand with.
I brought up my Galaxy Map and punched in the co-ordinates for Carthage. Now ready to return home, but not before deploying my camera drones to snap one last photo of the collapsed star.
**** Personal log – Entry 01 END ****