Logbook entry

Derpi / 31 Jan 3305

“Buy the ticket, take the ride. No sympathy for the devil. He always wanted to make that jump, 5000 meters straight down into the canyon in his SRV, I just helped him realize it,” I explained. “So when I shouted: Jump man! I mean, shit, why not? there was no argument.”

“As your attorney, I advise against making any further comment,” My co-pilot leaned forward with a growl. “Liability...”

We had been waiting at basecamp for the launch of the next leg of the journey out of the Omega Nebula, but having arrived late there was no parking left on the plateaus atop the planet’s mountain ranges. We had to settle for the cheap seats, and squeeze the Krait Phantom between the crags and boulders at the valley floor. That’s where it happened.

“His name was CMDR Dano. DangerDano.

“The SRV howled as it touched down; excess parts flying, tires imploding, glass cracking - but not shattering,” I continued. “There was a pause - a moment of gravity…

“Well, needless to say, Euphoria erupted from every pilot who saw that leap of faith. The microcosm of the whole trip, right?”

We were crowded into the canteen of Eagle’s Landing, a planetary pitstop on the side of the galactic highway. No reason to be there except that it was, and no reason to stop except to get fuel. And a drink. So stop we did.

What kind of person do you find in a place like Eagle’s Landing? We had found the answer packed into another deep space moonshine dispensary.

There were other staggering remnants of the Distant Worlds Fleet, to whom my story was regaling, but there were also a few locals... who were they?

Sure we had other highlights to boast of: playing chicken with the base of the Arkgamanon Mountain Range, discovering new planets, space crystals, and their grotesque spherical cousins... But pretty much every commander on this trip had seen these things.

I wanted to see other things: The Descent of DangerDano, The Noob Implosions at The View, These Grotesques of Eagle’s Landing, and all the other things that make you wince but won’t let you turn away.

And here we sit, waiting for fuel and repairs, 6,900 LY from the Bubble. Not even halfway to Colonia and so far from Beagle Point that it was utterly unfathomable.

We had climbed up to see if we could spot it, the edge of the disk, to put perspective on our trip.

“The thing we have to realize,” I said grabbing another shot of moonshine. “Having come this far, with so much more to go: we’re committed now. Cheers!”

Buy the ticket, take the ride. No sympathy for the devil; always keep that in mind.
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