Logbook entry

Arbilac / 25 Mar 3305
You know yourself


You read the stories; those that don't come back from scratchin' the itch. Those that do, and have these stories to tell. Those that are found, no voice left to tell, ship in bits or worse.

You know. You read it and you say to yourself: "I could tell. If I were losing it. It'd be obvious."

Maybe it is. Maybe that don't matter. Maybe when you know, it's too late.

I'll get to my girl in a minute. She's doing me proud, despite the region we're in. Yeah, I know it in my gut. It ain't her. I ain't one to tell ghost stories round a camp fire, but I just read a few and let me say this real quick. Ghosts are real.

As you'll know, I'm finding my way to the Zurara. That's my aim. That's my plan. I know where she is, too. I ain't the first to go and I won't be the last. Funny though, that some might not get much further than this. Heh. I really shouldn' be sat here talkin the talk when them Ghosts are outside my girl, in those dusty buildings, right now. I swear if I were to look long enough, I'd seem em. Real as you are readin' this.

Let me start at the beginnin'


Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta. I visited them sites in that order. Seemed about right given my route. Most a jump apart; one a little farther.

All the same. A beacon or two. Nothing spectacular nearby. Probably a good place to hide a research outpost.

Hah. Research. Them poor bastards.

All the sites still had active data points. You ride up, scan em, keep on trucking and if you're lucky, you get some data here 'n there. I managed to grab a few log entries too though. They weren't always in order, time-wise, but I got my girl to work it out and play 'em back to me.
First site, well, that was a show. Left there thinkin' some poor so and so got lost; maybe paid off to do a dead end job, then lost it to space madness.
Second site.. well, somethin' out here seems to have freaked 'em out. Eyes watching. Systems failing - power failing.
Third site.. same goddamned story. Power, death, canopy blow out
Fourth. Site. Death. POWER. EYES WATCHING.

Either those Children of Raxxla are out of their minds, or they are the worst practical jokers this site of Reorte. Either way, it ain't funny.

No one got home. That's obvious now. They may all be dead. Ain't no one out here to ask, no sign of it either. From what I can tell, these bases were that alone - but they took their ships; heh, sidewinders in some cases, out in the black to deploy those unregistered beacons. I've seen 'em. More of a quaint thing than more. Nothin' to scan; no logs. Just a beacon.

A beacon.

Beacons inform. Beacons summon. Beacons.

These are warning beacons. These should be your first warning sign. Leave. Leave now.

An' I'm still sat here.

I got me two options right now. Trust that this area is that old Earth "Bermuda Triangle" area of space, and get my ass out of here with a ship that hicups, or try to work it all out.

Thing is. That noise in my cargo rack was nothin'. Not a god-damned thing.

So I'm probably losin' it. I'm aware. I can feel it happening.

...heh, I can hear it now. There's a scratchin' outside the hull... almost funny now. Funny.


....






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