Entry 1: Ghosts of the Void
29 Dec 2024Teltin
Logbook: CMDR TeltinDate: 03 Jan 3309
I don’t remember the day. Somewhere after the cycle turned. 3308 rolled over to 3309, and I spent it nursing cheap whiskey on Oort Orbital—the same tin can I’ve been rotting in for years.
That Sidewinder explosion still flashes in my head, like a bad holo-loop. I don’t remember how I crawled back to port with all my bits still attached. Medics mentioned a salvager, but I’ve been around long enough to know no one does something outta the goodness of their hearts. Not without a catch.
I bought a Krait Phantom after that. Thought I’d get back out there, make the void my own again. The risks? Plenty. The rewards? Systems brimming with credits waiting to be scooped up. Fights that left my blood pumping so hard I couldn’t sleep for a week. But when I sat down in that pilot’s chair, hands gripping the sticks... nothing. Just cold sweat and a short breath.
It sat there. Collecting dust and stacking up port fees like a bad habit.
I stowed it away in storage and turned to tending bars and back alley deals down in the guts of Orbis stations. Plenty of shadows in those places—enough to get lost in or make someone else disappear. The credits were decent. Good enough to buy a little loft in Zakera Ward. Place wasn’t much—bed shoved in a corner, a flickering vidscreen above a cheap table splitting the kitchen and the rest of it—but it came with a view. Paid a little extra for a window overlooking the docks. That way I could stare out at my Phantom and think about all the fees draining my account.
I should’ve sold it. Had plenty of chances. Credits wouldn’t hurt, what with gambling debts, drinking debts—hell, drinking money. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to let it go. It wasn’t just a ship. It was the last tether I had to the stars—the dream I clung to back on Earth, staring up at skies I’d never touch.
I’d go down to the storage bay sometimes. Walk under her wings, run my fingertips along her cold hull, picturing the heat of plasma burns and the shudder of railgun fire as she tore through pirate hulls. And then, without looking back, I’d turn around and head for the lift.
I thought I’d stay docked forever. I thought I’d rust in that station alongside her. But life doesn’t ask. It shoves you back into the pilot’s seat and straps you in. One call, one bad deal, one mistake—and there I was, booting up systems and priming drives.
Guess the galaxy wasn’t done with me yet.