A Lonesome Galaxy
09 Sep 2018Gmanharmon
08 September 3304Col 173 sector OD-J b25-2 B 1
1300
It takes a special kind of person to make it out here in the black. You can't show fear. You can't grow attached. You can't be inflexible in any plan you put together.
All it takes is one second, and everything you've worked for can be ripped from right under your feet. The fall from the top is a long one, and when you hit rock bottom, it's a harder climb back up.
In my case, rock bottom wasn't financial. It was emotional.
Some folks just aren't cut out to be explorers. After more than 120 days out in the black, with one severe mental breakdown along the way, Brenna and I made it out to Colonia space and got our first real taste of civilization once again. Once I docked at the beautifully-appointed tourist starport in Benzaiten, she realized just how much she missed it all. We stopped at a posh coffee shop to put our feet up and relax, but Brenna excused herself to make use of the facilities. I waited for fifteen minutes, when the waiter refilled my mug and handed me an unmarked envelope. She looked at me for a second with sad eyes, and squeezed my shoulder gently as she left to bus a table nearby. There was more than just a letter inside; there was a small object within that gave the envelope some heft. I tore open a side and shook the object into my hand. It was the engagement ring I gave to Brenna. The letter was only six words long, but they cut to the bone.
I can't do this. I'm sorry.
I stared at the mottled, gray band of titanium I had hand-hewn on my father's mandrel, imbued with my own blood, sweat, and tears, the very first gift I gave to the love of my life. Now, just another chunk of pretty metal that may fetch a thousand credits at a pawn shop somewhere. I gave a heavy sigh, paid for my drink, and left the bistro, leaving the note and the ring on the table.
After departing Bisley Landing, GalNet was abuzz with news of a long-range hyperspace jump being undertaken by Canonn out back at the bubble, strangely given the go-ahead to explore a single system surrounded by permit-locked space for 200 light-years in all directions for reasons unknown. I read the article, then turned my eye towards Sagittarius A*.
I had nothing to lose.
Before boarding the Gnosis, I refitted the Constitution with upgraded thrusters and power plant, engineering as much as humanly possible. My ship's jump range plummeted from 56 light-years to 47, but now it boosted to 405 meters per second at full engine power. The prevailing rumor was that the Cone Sector is home to a new, more aggressive Thargoid variant, and there was a high chance for Xeno combat. The Constitution isn't fitted for that, but I'll take my chances with the thousands of other pilots flying in to take part.
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The Gnosis was never meant to make it to the Cone Sector. They sold us out and left us to die at the hands of those... things. A few of us managed to survive the extraterrestrial fusillade and scouted out two sites of interest on planet B 2 at the Gnosis' final resting place: a giant barnacle site and a Thargoid base. The experience was... something else.
With a pierced hull and a desire to be somewhere else, I aimed northward and returned to the bubble. A leak soon manifested itself in the cargo hold some time around 0400 Thursday, which required me to patch it up from inside with spare micro-weave sheathing and 90mph tape. Those damn Thargoids and their special lasers.
Jameson Memorial filled my view rather quickly, and I requested docking. To my port side in the mailslot was another Anaconda, sporting a familiar paint scheme. The three crewmembers on the bridge were solemn and manned their stations stoically, moving with a purpose that seemed final. I locked eyes with the captain, and for a second, I recognized a friend I hadn't seen in--
*clank*
The Constitution rung with an impact from the port side and bounced off the starboard grille. My shields flickered from the impact, having soaked up the majority of the kinetic transfer. I turned in my chair and saw the Clair de Lune tear off in a boost, playfully wagging its wings side to side. I threw the Constitution in full reverse and turned off flight-assist, cartwheeling out of the mailslot and rocketing towards her ship. We caught each other's eye once more, flying circles around our ships on the perimeter of the no-fire zone, then flipped our ships end-over-end so our bridges were nearly touching.
"Are you off for good, then?" I asked her over the hailer. "Where will you go?"
Wouldn't you like to know, she replied in her cheeky way, throwing me an upside-down raspberry through the transparisteel viewport. I shook my head and smiled. Same old Clara.
"Well, I'll raise a cup of coffee to you all at Jodie's when I get back. I'll miss you, truly."
You're a good guy, spacer. Stay safe. With a final wave-off between the four of us, the Clair de Lune glided out of my way, turned hard about, and made way for parts unknown as she spooled up her frame-shift drive. I gave a heavy sigh as the ship blinked off into hyperspace, possibly never to return.
Ridi, Pagliaccio,
sul tuo amore infranto!
Ridi del duol, che t'avvelena il cor!
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The Constitution is now in drydock at Jameson, being refitted to serve a more practical purpose and maximize jump range versus survivability. My specific use case requires I get my feet wet at the Guardian ruins, whatever those are, and obtain ultra-rare materials to exchange with a technology broker for the modules I need. Word on the street is a medium ship is the best bet, so I've taken up my Krait, Riskrunner, and headed off to the Col 173 Sector in search of information.
For now, I am flying solo. My wife has abandoned me, my best friend has retired to the far reaches of the galaxy, and all my old contacts have either died or disappeared into the void. It's us against the world now.
