Palm trees, a cocktail and pearly white sand. Reminds me of my days living in the Australian landmass on earth. Still have a house there, somewhere. But this time I thought I'd splash out on Mars. I can head home next time I get leave. Thought I'd put pen to paper (yes, literally. Had to scour the galaxy for an actual paper notebook, so might as well use it) and actually start a diary. Not my ramblings on the Pegasus' log, but some little interesting stories.
Today, I think, a little about myself. I doubt anyone will actually read this, but you never know. I was born in Eta Cassiopeiae to a naval officer and my mother, a political envoy. Pretty quickly, we shifted to Sol, My father got promoted, and was off on a Farragut, while my mother became a congresswoman. We moved to Earth. The landmass once known as Australia, actually. Somewhere on the east coast. Nice beaches, and damn beautiful weather. Lived there until I turned 17, and followed my Dad (rest his soul) into the navy. I know my way around an F63 as much as I know my childhood neighbourhood. There's nothing as free as plunging into a combat area in a fighter, knowing that you can outrun and outmaneuver anything. Even now, 20 years later I still leave Pegasus in the good hands of Major Williams to fly the fighter.
Speaking of which, there's a letter on my desk... I've been avoiding opening it, but since I'm back at the starport tomorrow morning, I'd better read it.
I wish I hadn't. I simply wish I hadn't. Miranda is dead... Crashed a taipan in a canyon run. Who knows who I'll get for a fighter pilot now, but for now I'm putting this diary on hold. Where'd I stash that brandy...