Entry 7: Back in (the) Black
30 Dec 2024Teltin
Logbook: CMDR TeltinDate: 29 Apr 3309
I stepped back into the cockpit today. Felt strange at first—like sliding into someone else’s skin. The Phantom’s engines rumbled under me, steady and strong, but it wasn’t just the Phantom anymore. She's earned the name Nighthawk now. It fit her. Nighthawks were birds back on Earth—sharp-eyed predators that hunted in the dark, always moving, always searching. They traveled far, always silent and watchful. That’s what this ship is now—something built to move through shadows but never lose sight of what’s ahead. She’s sharp, fast, and always watching—like I need to be.
The chair molded around me, but it didn’t feel like home—not yet. My hands hesitated on the controls, trembling at first. It wasn’t fear exactly. It was something heavier, like I was standing on the edge of a drop, unsure if I’d fall or fly. I sat there for a long time before I powered her up. Listened to the hum of the engines and let it wash over me. It was familiar, grounding, but it still didn’t feel the same.
The job wasn’t much—just a courier run out to a fringe system. Low risk, easy credits. But it wasn’t about the job. It was about getting back out there. About seeing if I still had it in me. Engines humming, thrusters pushing me forward—it felt right. Like waking up after too long asleep.
But the farther I flew, the more the doubt crept in. I kept thinking about Jules, about that message she sent. How tired she looked even when she smiled. She’s younger than me, but space and station life wear on you. She’s holding Oort together while I’m out here trying to hold myself together. And it’s not just her. It’s everyone I left behind.
The ship’s comm pinged halfway through the trip—an old contact. Marcus Thorne. Last time I saw him was on Rahu Station, a long way from here, just before I bolted out of that system. He was working security, walking that line between keeping the peace and skimming credits off smugglers like me. We weren’t friends, not really, but we watched each other’s backs enough times that it counted. The message was short—just coordinates and a time. No details, but that was Marcus. Never gave more than he had to.
I thought about ignoring it. Thought about cutting comms and pretending I never saw it. But the truth is, I needed something to keep me moving. Needed something to remind me why I got back in this seat in the first place.
I still don’t know if I’m ready for more fights, but I’ll keep flying. Because stopping? That’s not an option anymore.