The expedition begins
20 May 2019Raxiel
We are ready. Arguably there are still more tweaks that could be made, a few kilo’s that can be shaved here, a little better efficiency there, but no, we’re ready.
Stacy has, sadly but understandably decided to cash out and resign. That rough landing on our shakedown spooked her, but it's been coming for a while. I've sponsored her application to the Pilots federation and expect to hear great things about her as an independent CMDR once we return to civilization. She didn’t leave me short staffed though, finally convincing my girl Kenya of all people to quit her job flying in circles for station security and sign on with me for a trip to the unknown.
Kenya Anderson... she even showed up ready for an interview, like I've not been trying to come fly with me for ages.
Stacy also introduced me to Elliot Mack. Not met her before but both the girls know her and regard her well. Elliot is registered with the PF as a competent fighter pilot, and officially that’s what she’s hired for, but I was more interested in her previous experience working for Gutamaya. The PF may claim their new automatons remove the need for a dedicated engineer, but with potentially months between ports ahead of us, I’m happy to pay someone to sit down there just in case. Another person to talk to is no bad thing either.
The ship has been abuzz with activity as we’ve prepared over these last few weeks, Visiting various specialists throughout inhabited space – and some parts less inhabited – fine tuning almost every component, much to the consternation of the local Gutamaya Servicing department, who despite their vocal objections to our deviation from the ‘Perfection' of the Cutter’s original design, have done sterling work, diligently ensuring every change integrates well with the underlying infrastructure, as well as installing a few ‘sanctioned aftermarket additions of their own...
Not least of which are the crew quarters. Having been originally designed for a minimum crew of 8, even re-partitioning the already generous cabins to give extra space to our small crew, there is still a great deal of room left for the storage of additional provisions and recreational space. We even have a POOL, not a huge one, and it needs to be sealed in Zero-G but a pool nonetheless. Eliot would be in there now, as she has been whenever possible since it was installed – if I hadn’t had to kick her out for launch!
We’re ready.
Sixty four tonnes of fuel and an 8A scoop to replace it in seconds.
Eighty one hundred auto repair cartridges, Twenty thousand rounds of Point Defence ammo. Thirty Heat Sinks, Expanded Radius Surface Scanning Probes, Synthesis materials to resupply almost all of that several times over as well as a hundred FSD injections and emergency Life support refills. No hull repair limpets, but I can synth them if we need them.
Six Gu-97 Fighters for scouting rough terrain, four Scarab SRV's for the plains, each equipped to gather composition scans and any materials we may run low on.
Five years worth of standard rations, but more importantly nine months of nice food (and drink) too.
And that doesn’t even include the main hold. We have Cargo racks for 64 tonnes - on the high side but that’s just how things shook out once the rest of the kit was fitted. I’d always intended those racks to remain largely empty, (save for 10t of Osmium we were hauling up to our first major stop in Colonia), they were available to bring back any curiosities we may find out there in the black, but that changed when I met Commander Jennifer Guy.
We’d been forced to interrupt our preparations when the Thargoids attacked Smith Reserve. As Stacy’s home station, we were compelled to pull the Beluga out of storage and join in the evacuation efforts. In that burning docking bay, in the midst of all the wreckage, we found the remains of an Asp Explorer Dancing Doris. Our little fleet of collection limpets gathered up the escape pods and other bits of salvageable wreckage into the safety of our hold. Once we’d reached the nearby rescue ship and disembarked our ambulatory refugees, we realised that while the passenger pods we held were still in good condition (if a little sooty) the commanders pod was damaged, and the jostling it received during pick up lead to an imminent failure of the life support. It’s not strictly regulation, but we cracked the pod open there and then in the presence of the medical team that had met us on the pad.
Once she’d regained coherence, Jen told us her tale. They had been one of three ships, carrying a group of extended families to Colonia, fleeing the Thargoid incursions. Dorris had been held up with a technical issue and the delay had cost them... Doris Died.
They had been carrying twenty five passengers as well as Guy’s ten year old son and several tonnes of cargo. The tale got worse as she went on. Their little expedition had been cash strapped from the start and they’d had to beg, borrow or steal what hulls or modules they could find and make do. Doris didn’t even have shields as she began her shortest ever journey.
In their desperation to leave the bubble they had even committed the cardinal sin of ‘fly without rebuy’ and weren't insured. She and her passengers had sunk every credit they had into the ship, and the only friends they had were already a days travel down the galactic well and in no position to help even if they knew. They had nothing, in fact it was less than nothing, as the Empire would expect them to pay for their rescue and they would be entered into indentured servitude until those debts were paid.
Perhaps I’ve been spending too much time on a Fed. Station, but I took pity on her. Foregoing our S&R fee and hauling the twenty five escape pods back to our home base on Ohm City and transferring them to the Bluenose. They’re staying on ice though, the tiny range cost of 25 pods won’t even add to the total number of jumps to Colonia, while cabins are a bit much for a freebie.
Jen however will sign on as the fourth member of the crew, helping square away some of the remaining cosmetic blemishes our various modifications have left across the vessel.
We're all strapped in, and everything is stowed. We ARE ready. SHE is ready.
I need to wrap this log up. Final departure clearance just came through from control. Maglocks have released, and I'm using the lateral thrusters to line us up with the slot. My mouth is a little dry. Once the traffic clears the tunnel we can push through to open space. She wants to fly, I can feel it. The slightest touch on the throttle gives a little kick to the back, I’ll have to keep her just above idle until we’re clear and then we’ll be gone. This station has been my home for years, I've come and gone so many times, this is just routine. But this time I don’t know when we’ll be back.
It's time to go.
CMDR Raxiel Silverpath, of the exploration ship Bluenose. Signing off.