Logbook entry

Episode 133, New Arrivals

14 Dec 2024Ryuko Ntsikana

Fleet Carrier
Alrai Sector PI-T b3-1 System
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All I knew was that it was late by the time Tara and I returned to the carrier. I didn’t even check the time—just sent an order to the bridge to jump us into a new system and let Captain Akio know we were back onboard. Exhaustion hit me like a freight hauler; all I wanted was sleep before dealing with whatever awaited.

The soft ceiling lights of my suite cast a dull white glow as I blinked into focus. I didn’t even remember crawling into bed, but here I was, half-covered and staring at the ceiling. Tara was curled up next to me, her body softly rising and falling with each breath. Unlike a human, she didn’t need to breathe—not exactly. It was more for temperature regulation and mimicking human physiology. Still, it was oddly reassuring.

A faint vibration hummed through the ship as I reached for my data tablet, magnetically docked to the nightstand. Mid-morning, relative system time. Several messages waited for me, but I needed to get my bearings before diving into potential issues.

The carpeted deck felt good under my bare feet as I shuffled into the washroom. A hot shower worked wonders, though the water vibrated against the glass a few times—unusual. Either we’d jumped into a system near a black hole, or something was off with the ship. Whatever it was, I’d need Chief Thompson to look into it. But first? Coffee.

Tara was still in maintenance mode when I emerged, refreshed and dressed in a clean flight suit. I bypassed the galley for the kitchenette, far preferring the quiet convenience of my own space for the first cup of the day. The automated brewer didn’t disappoint, and I sat down to review my messages with a steaming mug in hand.

The first message brought a grin to my face. The long-awaited Cobra Mk V was onboard, fully outfitted with the salvaged modules. Captain Akio and Chief Thompson had taken it out for a test flight and were thrilled with its performance. They wanted my confirmation to put the stripped ships—the Mk III, Diamondback Explorer, and Krait Phantom—on the market. Fair enough.

The second message confirmed the rumors: the Fleet Carrier Administration had released official plans for expanding module storage from 200 units to 600. Both Chief Thompson and Chief Farouk had their teams working on the upgrade. That explained the micro-vibrations I’d been feeling. No doubt those two were like kids let loose in a candy store.

The third message earned a smirk. The bridge reported a successful jump into the new system—not exactly new, but one we hadn’t inhabited in some time. Beau wouldn’t have missed the news of our return. My real thoughts, however, lingered on Ceri. How she’d react when she realized where we were… well, that was a bridge we’d cross soon enough.

That she’d once belonged to Beau wasn’t my concern. She was part of my crew now. If Beau had an issue, I’d deal with it in the way only someone with my past could. What I wanted was to confront this head-on—for both of their sakes. Whatever demons this location stirred in Ceri, I needed them squashed. Bottled-up pressure had a way of exploding at the worst moments, and I wasn’t having any of that onboard.

The fourth message caught me by surprise—or maybe it shouldn’t have. Tzafrir. His congratulations on my “alien-hunter” status came with a side note: he was pleased with the progress Jabir and Lianna were making under Zaria’s wing. Apparently, they were out in the black, getting their rough edges polished.

That was all well and good by me. Beau and Ceri might have been one reason for returning to this part of the bubble, but they weren’t the only one. There were other matters to settle—namely, the disposition of three more ships on my potential chopping block: the Orca, Beluga, and Diamondback Scout.

The Orca had proven itself as a fast and efficient evacuation vessel. With a blistering boost speed of 646 meters per second, Raven had used it to rescue 90 survivors per trip while easily outrunning pursuing Thargoids. It wasn’t as capacious as the Type-8, which could haul significantly more, but the Orca’s speed made it invaluable in hostile conditions. The lumbering Type-8, by contrast, was little more than a flying bullseye when facing alien ships.

The Diamondback Scout was another standout. As a stealth ship and Thargoid scout hunter, it excelled where discretion was required. Fully powered up—even with shields active—it maintained heat levels between 14% and 17%, keeping it virtually invisible to Thargoids and undetectable to most human ships, which needed a minimum of 20% heat to register on scanners. It was the kind of ship you wanted when slipping in, striking fast, and vanishing before anyone knew you were there.

The Beluga was a harder sell—figuratively, at least. It was less a tool of necessity and more a glorified, humongous status symbol. But beneath its gaudy reputation, it held a pragmatic value. In a pinch, its price tag alone could fund the carrier’s operational costs for several months. It also had niche utility: ferrying crew to shore leave on earth-like worlds and transporting high-value business clientele in regal comfort. That kind of decadence had its place, even if it didn’t align with my usual style.

Each of these ships had carved out a purpose and demonstrated their worth. Letting them go would be a hard decision. But for the other three—the Cobra Mk III, Diamondback Explorer, and Krait Phantom—the choice was clear. Their redundancy outweighed their value to me.

I typed out a confirmation message authorizing their sale. Each had served its purpose well but was now little more than clutter. Better they find new owners who would put them to good use.
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