Thargoids, And The Mechanic From Borr
01 May 2017XxHyde840xX
As I wake from my nap, the first sleep I've had in nearly a week, the sterile cabin lighting of the "Black Sakura" greets my bleary eyes. We've been all over the edges of inhabited space, packing up and moving from Lambda Arae to Diabak, recruiting new members to our cause, and chasing CMDR Nakamura as he raced towards his final destination in an effort to protect him. DT snores lazily at the foot of the bed, his paws, nearly as big as a mans hand, stretched over the edge. I gently flick one with my hand. No response. I debate waking him for some breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, or whatever meal it may be time for, but I decide to just let him sleep. No doubt the past week has been rough on our canine companion. As I slowly get up, rubbing my face, I remember I still have to deal with the intelligence file on the Thargoids that CMDR FeverishAtom sent while he was conducting business in Maia. I reach for my jeans, crumpled, light blue, and faded. A shirt can wait, but a cigarette cannot. I light one and inhale deeply, the acrid smoke pleasantly burning my lungs. As I exhale, I think of Mars. The red soil tends to give crops grown on the terraformed planet a unique...something, due to the mineral content.
I crack open my laptop and the screen flickers instantly to life. The quantum communications messaging system beeps in the lower left of the screen and I tap it, taking another slow drag of my cigarette. Thin wisps of smoke begin to pool, and waver, as they collect and dissapate. After a brief load and security confirmation, I flick the air circulation system on, and engage the purifiers. I'm certainly not getting fined for smoking in Federal space. I chuckle, but the color soon fades from my face, and the smile leaves my lips as I open the footage that CMDR FeverishAtom has relayed.
Seven. Not one, not two, but seven hyperdictions by a Thargoid vessel of unknown origin. They've certainly taken an interest to him, and potentially to us, I muse to myself, as I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I'm not afraid of them, more curious, but the fact that we know so little about them an their intentions puts me in a state of unease. As I click through the videos, the similarities in the situations are striking.
The hyperspace conduit becomes unstable, and I watch intently as CMDR FeverishAtom's ship, "Old Greg" drops out of hyperspace. His systems fail, seemingly forced to shut down. The ship rocks and tilts slightly before coming to a stop, the thrusters and controls unresponsive. Life support remains functional in all cases. I make a note of this as it seems the Thargoids must know we require oxygen and are dependent on this systems functionality for long term space travel. Each time they "scan" his ship, veiled, shimmering tentacles seem to thrash his vessel, though no damage is sustained. The sound emitted from the Thargoid craft is particularly unsettling as well. Sound can't travel in a vacuum. As I ponder this I hit the sixth video, preparing for another round of the same story, then something completely out of the blue.
In a fit of rage at not being able to communicate or follow the craft, even through multiple attempts at rapid fighter deployment, CMDR FeverishAtom growled in frustration at the vessel as his systems blinked back to life. Nose pointed at the Thargoid vessel, he slammed his thrusters on, hoping again to catch up and by the looks of it even attempt to traverse the wormhole. As the wormhole began to open CMDR FeverishAtom yelled in exasperation, "What in the bloody hell do you want!?" Furious at the lack of progress in the investigation, and escape attempts he battered his fist against the control panel. A thin blue line streaked from the front of his ship, just as quickly vanishing but it had hit. "Shit...hoo boy...." I heard over the communications relay, his breathing becoming sharp and fast as he realized that he had discharged his beam lasers on the craft when he had hit the control panel.
The cigarette falls from my lips, little more than a limp pile of ash by this point. I grab a shirt and jacket and replace DT's water bowl with fresh, cold liquid, and fill his food bowl, dumping a couple treats on top. As I head out the hatch and through the airlock towards the local bar, a familiar hand clasps my shoulder and I turn around, dumbfounded. Our mechanic friend from Borr, nameless as ever and beaming from ear to ear looks me over and says with a smirk, "Been a while, friend, looks like you could use a drink."
OOC: Shucks, Howdy! How y'all doin? I'm a little late this week with my log but we've been heckin' busy. I hope anyone following along with these logs enjoyed the read, and as always WE'RE RECRUITING! The Leviathan is a talented, and ever growing group of friendly CMDRs hoping to make a name for ourselves so if you're around the Diabak system, pop in and say hi. If you'd like to talk to us in regards to joining us on our adventures as a part of the Leviathan Scout Regiment, you can message me on here, Frontier Forums, Discord, or Xbox Live @ XxHyde840xX. My handle is the same for all of 'em. See you Space Cowboys, and Stay Schwifty out there!
o7
XxHyde840xX
Commanding Officer
Leviathan Scout Regiment