07-02-3302

Tales of slave labour at the past two pit stops promoted a detour in my pilgrimage to Ceo, and Sothis. Arriving in the Robigo system you'd be forgiven for missing the tiny little mining outpost nested so close to the rings of a beautiful blue gas giant if it weren't for the sea of vessels coming and going in what could have been a highly profitable mining op once. Sadly there was very little mining going on at Robigo 1!

Sirius Corp's convincing PR had once sparked hopes of supplying the corporation with much needed resources in construction but the miners had not accounted what resource that would turn out to be. The overflowing shipping lanes were not for the transport or sale of ores and ice but a much more distasteful commodity; flesh and bone, meat for the grinder of building these outposts and a budding market back in the bubble. A cartel had supplanted itself in place of the miners that originally founded the place. Little sign of Sirius Corp could be found bar the odd plain clothed rep taking orders of slaves on the QT and very hush hush.

The stark reality was chilling as thousands of slaves from what must be neighbouring systems as yet uncharted were herded onto ships constantly day and night. The motivation for pilots was obvious; billionaires were made here on more than one occasion, with pilots boasting of taking dozens of contracts and filling their births with poor slaves who would never again know freedom. Many had made multiple "runs" to the bubble and seemed unphased by their actions.

I intended to leave as fast as I could but much like watching two ships crash at high speed time slowed down and I couldn't pull away from the horror of it all. Exhausted after two days of sleeping rough amongst the stars, I decided to lay low in the hangar, one eye open incase anyone took a liking to my ship. Nightmares of slaves screaming out for aid woke me in the early morning, blended like a kaleidoscope with the faces of the disenfranchised souls of Almagest and Takurua.

Things started to drop into place. How many had started out here lured with the hopes of a new life in the Terraforming business? How many more plucked from their beds as they slept? How many ended up hundreds of light years away in the bubble, dying in some toxic mine or Imperial labour camp? Tired and cranky I made my leave swiftly with an empty birth. Unable to "save" them and certainly unwilling to entertain the slavers offers to fill my ship I headed to Ceo's in double time.

07-02-3302

I intended on dropping by Takurua and hitting up the local Sirius rep to see what was up but the undercurrent of discontent seemed palatable as I hit the system; enough to warn me off staying long enough for a good night's rest.  The Takura Legion aren't much of a threat today, but a nagging sense of distaste for the corporation, and an unhealthy dose of authoritarian flare to their propaganda spelt trouble from the moment I hit the deck. With that in mind I skipped the boards and bailed, opting to "go fishing" and sleep on my ship rather than hang around.

Almagest on the other hand was another story all together. Landing at Sirius Reach what was once a symbol demonstrating Sirius Corps grandiose aspirations and influence was not as I had hoped! The Almagest freedom party was openly hostile. The dictatorial rantings of a Takurua Legion seemed minor in comparison to the Almagest Freedom Party who were in open revolt despite their claims of democratic pacifism. Placards and riots breaking out showed me just how fragile the corporation's grip was so far from the bubble. Minor skirmishes were visible even as I docked.

Both stations' resentment seemed perplexing at the time but based on what I heard over the comms everything started to make sense; tales of slave labour sourced from a backwater pitstop named Robigo coupled with exploitation by the corporation to ensure timely adherence to build schedules. Something that appears to have bitten them in the ass in the long term. The consequences were plain to see; zero stock for outfitting, near famine levels of supplies in addition to a sense Sirius Corp was planning to abandon the station altogether.

My little pilgrimage had taken a sour turn with each of new stop along my route. The dream like ideal of Sirius' PR of terraforming the great unknown was starting to wear thin with a nagging feeling the costs of terraforming so far out was coming in "over budget" on so many levels. Would I even make to Sothis? Would there be any sign of Sirius Corp by the time I got there? Would I ever get a good night's rest?

05-02-3302

Three hundred light years out from earth, a corporate husk of Sirius' wider expansion it appears as it looks; a remote mining station void of anything of value, but to dispose of mined resourced and stock up on limpets for future runs out into HIP 5440, 8396 and so on. Its easy to get lost out here in the naming convention and jumped to the wrong system more than once.

Stepping Stone Base, a civilian outpost importing explosives, mineral extractors and lichen; all far too lower value to bother with unless overly invested in the station (which i wasn't). Sirius Corporations hold over the station long forgotten on the broken promises of Li Yong-Rui. More letters of complaint, begging for a quick reassignment, or beguile lay in the out tray of the porter loo of an outpost and little more.

Hitting the mining for the day I forget the yocal silence and dust littering the station and head out to the more pristine rings of the surrounding area. The state of Sirius corporation rings like a bell in my head; did i pick the loosing horse? A strange conversation with another pilot, representing LootTech industries. Pleasant fellow, left a card. He seemed to like the call sign i'd chosen, sold a few hundred tons osmium his way over a few runs that day, kept the card.

04-02-3302

New Horizons Orbital in Te Kaha sat alone in the cold depths of space two hundred light years outside the "bubble". Sirius Corporation had known better times, there influence all but waning in the disenfranchised masses of the station. Many unemployed had taken upon themselves a less savory career, corralling their equals in chains and herding them onto ships for sale in the nearest empire facility or another.

The rather skittish representative at Sirius Corporation foyer seemed happy to have "safe" company but was of little help. Only letters, oh my, endless letters to return to the various ports of Sirius Corp that the poor fellow had any standing in; no doubt begging for his quick expedition. Poor fool! No doubt sent here to die, easily replaced and long forgotten but he had credits and more to pay for them all.

Rounded up a few narcotics and a few combat stabilizers before heading back, and back again! determined to get to Almagest by the end of the day. I was, in this round trip, cutting it short. The quick drop at some party station in the middle of nowhere and a military port cost the majority of the evening but landed at Te kaha in a blaze, before a fiery exit to Almagest as the days swan song called.

03-02-3302

A well desired night at Hotel Vogelbang in Akkidia with a ship parked in the dock full of rares to head out early in the morning on a brisk hundred light year hop out to Sans.

The system San the bastion of Sirius Inc seems to be notable even in Li Yong-Rui's lot; the occasional attempt to cultivate it keeps popping up on the interdepartmental communiques only to get shot down again. Relations in the area seemed unofficial requiring several quick boosts away from rowdy interlopers. A poor powerplay target regarding its population, poor order and low on supplies, calls for food and goods but only got raw materials and metals for sale after dumping some rares baubles on the populace.

A wing of Torval's shield strike from nowhere on the way out; gunned to the teeth, clipper, cobra and sidewinders descend on the poor little asp explorer and a couple of system security who heard the yells for assistance over the comms. A lucky escape for one of the system forces paid for in a fiery crescendo of scrap, which I left to their fate as the FSD hit go!

Holding a few rares back for Sirius corporation outposts the jumps are flying by at a little under thirty light years a hop. Hitting up nearby stars for exploration data along the way was adding up. The list of long since explored planets net a few extra credits as the fuel burns away. No life in between these outposts but plenty of stars to refuel at.

Finishing up in Te Kaha there was a brief stop at the stations limited services. Overhead a number of curious old-timers talking near the ship in a local dialect; a gruff noise untenable to the ear. An official translated a little with encouragement, talking of "ancient" ways of prospecting without limpets! madness!

02-02-3302

Sliding between asteroids in the dim light of a distant star feels soothing. A ton of gold, three tons of painite, enough bertrandite to built a ship out of it alongside ten tons of palladium made for a nice hold of trinkets to appease the allied stations in the area. Every station in demand for raw materials extends to the bulletin board. A hundred thousand per ton; palladium is a nice revenue for more astute miners out there.

A wing of aisling guardians drop into view. Local security deserved their kills, the occasional switch to weapons in the asp explorer a rare requirement mining in the high security fields. A quick interlude with a cobra on the way out was easily handled. The first confirmed kill since those Hudson goons. The local security dropping a quick thanks in the local net.

19 palladium, 11 platinum, 28 osmium later an invitation to Jotun flags up on the display. Soon there's long smokey talks over trade potential and profit as the crazed demand empties the hold in a desperate rush,

After Caletia's crazy platinum needs were sated for a few hours from the load there was a quick fix of missions passing in a haze. Managed to sneak a list of Sirius conglomerates in Jotun dossier to mingle with out in the sticks, never heard of Takurua but heading out there tomorrow, with a hold full of rare goods to sell.

01-02-3302

Offnut enterprise puts on a light breakfast buffet, in celebration of trade rank of "Broker" there's a quick dash to round up some lukewarm coffee and stale doughnuts make for a feast before hitting the local contact hub to find another treat. The Volkhabe blue united solutions seemed to really want the pilot fuffymonster killed; leaving a 853,015 credit bounty to cash in. Sadly for fuffymonster his attempt to pirate the multi-cannon cobra too much for him. Whenever hunting, no when to pick your prey and when to run. The calculation of survival is better over cautious even when elite. To quote wiser words only enter into victory, not the possibility of defeat.

With a golden handshake at Lembava a small pin is handed over for a new rank within the Li Yong-Rui hierarchy, alongside a large envelope containing this week's "comp funds". The five million credit stick bumps the bank balance to over ten million and a sense of privilege sinks in; The fourth rank the only viable point in the powerplay dance achievable without a hundred million buy in and contacts outside my immediate reach.

The high notes of the day took a slam back to reality with huge dint. A wing of Hudson's goons noticed the ship passing back to Avik space. The three cobras dived into a fury and tore the ship apart; no escape just an eject and one million insurance claim before rushing off to safe space. Ten percent of the revenue gone in one instant alongside the bitter taste of defeat is hard to take.

31-01-3302

This shimmering light of Volkhabe 3 makes the icy outer ring burn like a second sun as the cobra slides gently into a backwater port; a hull full of geawen dance dust for the weekend's festivities, a cool mill for twelve light years of travel.

The cold rush of adrenaline runs on tap as the thruster hum in the aftermath of the battle. The flash of the pirate's end burned white on both retinas. Nine hundred and fifty bounty added a sweet thirty percent on this rather lucrative deal. The memory of the python (and near certain death) quickly forgotten in the haze of targets, marked from the higher ups.

Putting some light between the drop point and the ship brought us to an outpost in Glashow Terminal. A quiet little joint operated by Senlu industries, as quiet as space gets these days. A small conflict brewed on the dock shortly after as the Senlu defense troopers started a battle with two vipers looking for trouble. A sure fire signal to hit the road! A quick stop in Itza to swap out ships and its pedal to the metal as Friday starts to dwindle.

The corporate ladder has its rungs and the cargo hold of the asp explorer full to the brim of diplomats, solicitors, contracts and trade negotiations gabbling to one another was the next rung in my own personal ladder to success. The journey up to Polecteri was a quick but noisy interlude to the evening for hitting the VIP meetings in the bosses latest plans.

A heated debate took to the stars, over to <redacted> to undermine those poor <redacted> fools. An evening of battle so dense the screams whistled by in a blur. As the night rolls on the merits role in, one night of busy work beats chauffeur duty, although there is a lingering sense the later sits better on the conscience.

30-01-3302

A glistening work of art conceived by Whatt and Pritney back in 2700 this daring beast of a ship earned its name decades ago. Whether a patrol cruiser or pirate barge the hulking form of three hundred and fifty tons performs admirably in any role whilst fitting in at a fair size smaller than the typical cruiser. Two hundred and ninety tons of cargo space, littered with stolen goods and planetary bays the ship could hold a plentiful bounty in its cargo alone.

The bulking spine lit up like the sun firing pulse lasers directly at the cobra. A beam laser added to the assault upon the cobra's shields from the underside of the nose. Fragmentation cannons snarled impatiently for the target to close. Sensing the whistle pop of ozone and brief demise of its shields the cobra dived for cover slithering across the skin of asteroids to lose line of sight with the python.

Dodging and weaving, loop after loop the python and cobra danced again and again. A momentary involvement by the pack of eagles led to an altercation as the python wanted to save the kill for herself. The wing of eagles peeled off, leaving to the other python hundreds of light seconds away.

The cobra took the advantage of its speed, and maneuverability diving out pushing the engines to max and rushing the python in an insane arc. Sphere strafing the python the cobra fired its beam lasers constantly, the updated power core and distributor sang out from the smaller ship with equal excitement rushing the python's shields, pleading for them to stop in bright red neon.

For minutes, the drew out for hours this repeated each attempt only infuriating the python. System security engaged for a moment before the python's better half obliterated them, the hunt declared as her's alone. The adder from earlier attempted to escape catching a full battery from the python before exploding in a distracting burst of white hot static on the screen.

Exploiting the system security to weaken the python a final fury exploded from the cobra as its pilot closed their eye's tasting the end with a crescendo of breaking canopy and audio warnings declaring the near approach of death as all power switched to weapons in a last ditch attempt to take the python with it.

The sound of an explosive discharge, the vibration of released energy and the distant feeling of frustration echoed out all around. The python too had over extended. The rush of adrenaline as the realization sank in and the sound of a bounty (some 300,000 CR) flashed up in pieces over the remaining display. The thought of traversing the void to safety kicked in as the super-cruise initiated sending the cobra away from the remains of the python.

Chasing the readout of Gooch Mine; a distant dot on the broken canopy, was a fever rush of panic, watching the oxygen supply run down as the mechanical sound of each breath rang out in the pilots mask. The constant sensation something was following as the gap of 30ls inched along. The need for excessive course corrections as the display visibility forced incorrect positions to see the way point. Hearts pounding as the sound of the dock gave a welcome release. Victory, the first of many but this was a battle to remember.

30-01-3302

Stalking the fields of LHS 1275 the Sharks float on the outer edges of the asteroids; twinned pythons littered with an accompaniment of fighters offering support. The kill scanner ticks slowly over the data stored from systems far and wide whilst the reticule hovers over the first python retrieving galactic bounties. A sea of creds flash up on the display with 300,000 CR waiting for the one who survives a duel and destroys the ship. The names of pilots start dropping from the comms as the pack of wolves descend onto their prey.

A helpless adder mining at the edge of the planetary ring is suddenly the target of a frontal assault. Batteries of scans hail its doom as the misguided attempt to retract its weapons in self defense. The pythons fire a slew of lasers obliterating the shields instantly. Then nothing, a second of indifference passes before the entourage of eagles dive into the asteroids firing haphazardly at the cargo hatch.

Finding its mark a few hit home and the contents spools out into the open bouncing and jostling. Quickly the pack scoop up the parcels, all flashing red [illicit cargo] on the display as the sensors catch a parcel float by.

Pushing power to weapons, the remainder to shields the light of the sun bounces off the graphite tactical paint shimmering in the void. Moving at full speed firing beam lasers at the first eagle catching it by surprise. Too busy collecting parcels to notice the cobra appear from no where the eagles focus elsewhere. Seconds pass, literally two of them before the shields buckle just in time for the multi-cannons to rain munitions onto the exposed skin of the ship. The intermittent splash of beam lances the power supply tempted the eagles doom. A panic turn drives the eagle into the asteroid, the sudden explosion of panic pops and flashes in the viewport.

A 13,0000 credit bounty whistles across the display. The pack runs, fear spilling from their vets as they boost in unison back to their parental others. A lone python eyes the cobra with a curiosity; cargo, and kill warrant scan flash on the display. The Queen opens fire, punctuating the moment the real battle began!

29-01-3302

Hitting the outfitting yards scouring for parts the ASP explorer weighs in at a cool fifteen million of parts. On a whim the frames up on the rack being retro fit for mining in a moment of breaking out. The boards from Lembava to Masses are filled with demand; over fifty thousand credits for a ton of Palladium, or a hundred thousand for a few tons of osmium. The hyper inflation running rampant on the stations undermines the market, obliterated in these pockets of need.

After several refits and long pauses the decided loadout fits snugly into the available ports. Hums of engines fire once more as the ship is ready for launch. The docking pad grinds up to the centre of the workshop ready to go just as the galaxy wide crash comes across the comms. Systems shutdown, pilots drop out, everything goes haywire. Early cabin fever and angst rings out, unheard deep within the void.

28-01-3302

Two hundred and fifty light years whizz by as the fog horn blasts ring a cacophony of pips through the galaxy. Hyades sector AQ-X, GR-V, C2-16, SHUI WEI Sector NS-S to RH+S. Page after page of precious data; star classes, planet makeups, ring purity, gravity wells. Scattering the hops around Sirius space with a watchful eye kept on every resource extraction site, and less than legitimate outpost with runs to hire that hit the readouts. Several potential bounty hunting spots rank up the charts, in easily exploited space.

The end of the night brings little cash comparatively but for the first time since the pilots license was issued there's little need. Word has it some serious profit to be made outside the bubble hauling narc into the cities; enough to buy an asp over night. A task better suited to the cobra it may be time to take a leap out to the sticks, running that two fifty in a straight line! See whats hiding out there in the unknown space beyond this little space opera that is powerplay.

27-01-3302

Mostly harmless!

The message flashing up over the overlay, punctuated by the pop bang explosion of the Casey Jones a criminal wanted by the feds. Three days on the job and the reality is settling in and the gloves are certainly off. Stepped up the exploration plans; hunting off the grid for a sweet spot no one has uploaded. A couple of nice finds on the ass end of Li Yong-Rui's influence but still a little too close for comfort. Several dead along the way, pirates each and everyone, bounties paying their way further out into the unknown.

Apalok was hot so headed for goldstein port to grab some more franchise packages from Sirius HQ. Why we have to pick these up from their offices is confusing but at ten thousand a pack its a hefty investment in Sirius Corp from the ground up!

Slipping fifty tons of performance enhancers and a handful of industrial packages needed in the outer edges fill the hold as Lembava faded into the background as the FSD hit zero. V774 Tauri a few jumps later, the quiet peace of "safe" space dulls the senses hoping one jump after another lazly tapping the heatsink eject button to speed up the run.

A hasty rush of palladium gave an added bonus to the loop, a healthy compensation for the time wasted searching for discounted armor in between queues. The hunt continues! TBA

26-01-3302

Everywhere is the same but a little different; palm trees waiting to greet you on Oritiz Moreno City, giant spinning death spikes grafted onto a coriolis starport at Bacon City. The naysayers would say if you've docked once you've seen it all but there they maybe didn't stop to enjoy the view. Taking a load off and grabbing some more coffee it seemed Sirius Corp were running an event. After a few drinks and some banter there was a moment of over extending. Pledging to join Li Yong-Rui without really thinking it through.

Bleeding ozone and counting limbs several hours later it became apparent getting involved in the intergalactic powerplay was over reaching at this time. The five million weekly salary "just" from helping out made most pilots weak at the knees. Much like any MLM it turns out its much more involved than previously thought, and certainly more dangerous!

Within a few hours there were more deaths in a night than all of the nights since the pilots federation stamped the all clear on the license. Six souls sent to dust! in just hours. Once your flagged as Yong-Rui's your anyone else's fair game!

Jera holdings and the democrats of spoc 900 both have the word and their cheque books out for anyone greasing me. All fair kills, but since they were playing power games there's still a bounty for unfair sport!

Moving to Sirius space and abandoning the best trade route found was sadly necessary in order to save an ever increasing bounty.

Back in Lembava the truth came out; seems if you want to the bling you gotta spill the blood; merits in Sirius comes from the undermining of systems in enemy space. In short killing is the name of the game for the major leagues. Kill enough of your enemy, running up bounties left right and centre (no fair play needed) and they'll spot you the five mill for being a hostile mediator, but definitely not my Jazz!

25-01-3302

Bad news for Sirius Gov CEO Li Yong-Rui this week. Been so busy hauling the Galnet only just caught my attention stopping for some of that horrible Any Na Coffee; a side effect of the rare runs passing that way every day a few times.

After that last run and some serious piggy bank raids in the night the type 6 is in pieces over at Itza again; downgraded to below stock value, poor thing humbled to sell up the parts to afford the asp explorer although its chasis is in storage next to the cobra (which I also need to take for a walk!)

The thing is a beast, like riding an elephant from old earth before their extinction. This elephant however has fangs! Two beam lasers on medium mounts with four, yes four multi cannons to tear at little eagles' shields. The chaff, heat sinks and such all came along, accompanied briefly by a shield booster until the upgrades were paid off.

The sluggish taming of the beast continues with each trip. The curses and shouts as it flew past the dock by a Km or bumped to a halt half a spaceport from the parking spot. There was even a brief disappointment until they came swooping in. Three more this time, all torn apart, first the diamond back scout, then an eagle, then a cobra. The rush of the kill and taste of the reward bouncing up on HUD in bright white neon each time was intoxicating. Why anyone would give up that rush of the kill to a weapons specialist in control down stairs I cannot imagine! They should have used it to better offset the power usage cost.

After those first kills, the upgrades and such the thing is feeling great. Still 80 tons of cargo with exploration friendly setup in toe. The fog horn of the D-Scanner makes a familiar sound but it does make a hell of a noise.

24-01-3302

With the assistance of a local native to Itza the HUD colour scheme can be "modded" to tweak the colors to something more my style. The space cow as the Type 6 often becomes referred to glides a cool eighty tons between stations when the warnings hail in bright pinks and neon reds.

A pair of vultures and an eagle had me clean in their sights and the hyena call of a meal ran down the pecking order. A few names i recognized but mostly some gangers gone rouge several had warrants something more deadly could claim.

The thrust of a type 6 held them at bay once, but like a predator playing with prey time and again the pack pulled it back out of supercruise hungry for a payday. Payday indeed; a cool mill! eighty bars of palladium heading to an outpost only two million kilometers away, a drop in the pond relatively speaking.

The heat management of the type 6 is the sore spot of the whole ship. A type FSD's and distributors alone will not handle the cooking of heat-sinks as they fire off into space in quick succession. Chaff covering the space between it and them.

The fight lasted some time, jumping, interdicting, running, jumping. The stock of chaff ran dry, it seemed hopeless. Constant rush straight at the dock over and over, full throttle screaming at the coming death. Only a lucky patrol saved the night, even then it was a close call.

Time to check the balance, see if there's something able to do this with some teeth! sick of running!

24-01-3302

The compulsion to grind out the palladium market feels overwhelming, watching the numbers roll up and up with each haul, eight minute round trip between stations and a ten minute run. The variant of space station is really a struggle; remember to tag your orbit lines and drop just in between the planet and station to avoid the space spikes! Those things must be the size of a city! Imagine the collision damage of getting a swipe from one of those...

Want to pick up a diamond back scout and an ASP explorer but the palladium market is ripe. Maybe tomorrow i'll find some time for poetry, and exploration! Until then profit awaits!

23-01-3302

MPH had a previous meaning in the past, old earth, miles per hour, not millions per hour. As things spiral out of control, technology, humanity let loose amongst the stars thoughts of future plans start to form. A few hops around in my Cobra. The adrenaline of a good find not on the net flashes through the brain before hopping back to the type six when a trade scout turns up gold.

Eighty tons of palladium at 12,585 totalling 1,006,800 credits of risk. Forty light years, three jumps, no scoop, rush like crazy for the dock. Low light seconds seems to be the trick, short burn time, quick dock at speed. Pray the type six stops before spreading yourself against the dock!

Sold for 1,157,820 credits with a quick profit, as performance enhancers get dropped back in at 6,409 each. A quick steal on the way back, amid considerations of holding free space to make the jump back quicker. Ten jumps later between station and outpost a cool million pours through the bank.

22-01-3302

One ship forward, two ranks back... The type six seems terrifying! Hitting the reverse thrust at full force feels futile as strip of the docking bay looms in the horizon. The slow drag of pivoting thrusters blasting vapor either side of the goldfish bowl viewport as hundreds of tons of mass boost through the strips of ozone buzz and static before the panic drop of velocity landing onto an M pad to a sigh of relief. My appreciation of outposts has only grown since purchasing the type 6. If only they sold rare commodities there spaceports would rarely see this ship docked there!

The rare trade was booming, twenty stations in a cult spiral in my journal around the galaxy with a few pickups in each spot. The eighty tons of cargo hold full of low investment, high profit goods for sale at every other port. Blue pens outline exit vectors and pit stops should stars fail for fuel scoops mid hop. Green lines detail the mass usage and red the drop offs about the galaxy.

Jotting things in the journal I remember an old man jotting away in his journals. Grandfather was very alike, I wonder what he would do in this age of space. Would he be running good about the universe, or writing poems under binary systems watching the suns roll around in the viewport.

The minor scuffles came with the odd interdiction here or there, surprisingly nimble the six; it can hit that escape vector far more consistently than the cobra, which made little sense but is very welcome. After a couple of lovebirds decided to press the matter. Losing cargo this far out means burning a cool million of potential, and a hundred grand of the current fools' gold. The risk of rare runs comes in the time investment taken to gather the crop, not necessary the outlay to get involved.

Hitting the chaff, turn to vector, push the engines, distributor firing as heatsinks roast in their ports, ejecting as frost obscures the view! 3,2,1, Jump...

Submitting to interdiction when it starts to look bad, then turning tail as fast as you can. Traders who run get called names, traders who fight return to the void.

The upgrade to a type six came with tales of high profit runs out in the wilds. Time to check out of the grand tour, find some systems to write poetry in!

21-01-3302

The annuals of space trucking hold a surprising commonality of constants in their advice for flying safely with a nuclear power plant strapped to the back of a giant tin can, blasting through dimensional rifts on a whim. Wise pilots play the long game; get plenty of sleep, stay sober, avoid the temptation of "one more jump" commit only what you can afford to lose. Play the market, don't let the market play you.

After Howard City it seemed quiet, the trade routes a far away a few space taxi runs left on the board from last night. A third of a million waiting to be made hopping from station to outpost to station … rinse, repeat. Always small numbers and mostly left to passing sidewinders, beneath most pilots but reputation and standing doesn't make itself.

Stories of big hauls run rampant in docks but whole systems run off seven tons of coffee for those early start shifts, or five tons of uniforms for the breakdown teams starting next week. Casks of brown ale and genetically engineered omni-meat for wedding barges bound for Tauri 39 on the weekend. Mini-hauls are what keep the lights on and the docking bay full.

Despite the hour and the jobs already done that type seven isn't going to buy itself and the hold is getting a little cramped. In a moment of pure stupidity the cargo is filled with rares, the usual run, down and out in minutes up to Pausch City a few light years outside of Li Yong-Rui's space. You can always tell as the price of ships go up, if he has his way insurance would too. Now that I can get behind, dreams of discount vessels beyond the bank balance sneak in with the early morning tiredness.

Jump... Turn... Jump... Turn... Sleep... Jump... Turn... Jump...

Eyes dipping, head bobs with each swerve, a screaming slash and tear of ceramic plate against military composite as the suicidal officer barges into the cobra rocking it back and forth with a shock alarm call fashion from a horror movie. The Fujin authorities shouting over the comms, the ping pong of alarms [and fines] dancing over the display as the giant goliath of the Starport consumes the sensors.

Then it hits, Fujin! Seven AM and punch drunk on sleepless nights the galaxy map must have spun around, instinct took over sending me back "home" crashing gently into Futen orbital with a tender bump. One hundred and eighty light year round trip, two asps returned to the void and countless pitch and roll maneuvers with eyes closed.

Fujin! The cargo hold full of worthless tat, a stack of prayer sticks crash onto the floor with comedic effect. No more runs, time to sleep!