A.J.R Citizen Log #001
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My name is A.J. Rivera and, without going into levels of gray both you and I would be better off without, I am a chronicler.
A chronicler of times, of ways, of truths, of lies. I write them all. To get to the more succulent tales, the ones that would make even a Thorshu Grey Fish hide in the shallows, I've dabbled in many fields: science, medicine, business (under all shades), aviation, even a few xeno-martial arts here and there. But most importantly, I'm an explorer, a dreamer of stars unseen and friends unknown. Throughout everything I've witnessed, I've found that names are the only thing that hold any value passed UEE controlled space, for they own all the legends in the Verse.
These Citizen Logs are those stories, compiled and relayed for all to see, and all to judge.
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A.J.R. Citizen Log #001
Port Olisar
Local Time -- 0547
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Port Olisar, mankind’s haven treading the deep, rushing waters of Crusader’s orbit. I’d like to say that I take to Olisar’s crystalline floors solely for its character, its polished shine that rises above the untold number of pilots, mercenaries, crates, and supplies that scuff and mar its floors.
Instead, I have pointed my astrolabe to the stars, finding my heart amongst them, all but diving headfirst into their brilliance. The same faithful plummet into the unknown that Lief Eriksson, Zheng He, Yuri Gagarin, and Neil Armstrong made so long ago.
For I have always been an explorer at heart.
---
“What can you tell me about the Aurora MR?” I said to the shipmaster today.
A man of few words, he sat absorbed by his terminal until that simple question crossed his counter. His withdrawn gaze consumed itself and lit up like a nova, burning away any boredom he might have had.
"Her spirit is as strong as her engines, maybe even brings a brighter burn."
He turned and waved for me to follow as he cut a straight line towards the armory. Two EVA suits and a few minutes later, we cycled through the airlock and were left alone with our comms and the heavy metallic clunk of mag boots.
We hoofed our way to the docking bays, where a few of the ships he had ready to go were parked, awaiting their chance to disappear into the void. He told me of the Aurora’s specs like a lover of decades, painting a portrait of a sleek and homely ship that would be the envy of any space faring collection. He told me of its light arsenal that held just enough bite to keep to pirates at bay, and the UEE unconcerned. He praised its high cruising speed, pointing out its stock advantages over its more exotic cousin, the Mustang Alpha. Not once did he dodge my questions about the ship, in fact, he was more than ecstatic to see a customer who had done their research.
“What brings you this far out?” He asked. The man looked like he would readily answer the question himself, so I took the bait.
“Oh, figured I’d be the next Barbarossa of the stars, run and gun and all that.” Sarcasm may not be the best tool to reach for with strangers.
Silence stretched between us like a trapis wire, strong and unwilling to be broken. A smile crept across the shipmasters face.
“Really?” He pointed over his shoulder towards a larger landing pad, “Then the Connie over here may suit the needs of a power hungry space pirate such as yourself.”
The Constellation Andromeda sat like an armored mantis, poised and armed to the teeth with quad Behring M6A Laser Cannons, dual automated turrets, and enough missile pods to make the most steadfast captain shake in their hull.
“In another life, maybe.” I looked back to the Aurora. It caught Crusader’s reflection like a sail in the wind, bending its glow around the sharp edges of its hull. “I think it’s about time I saw what the Verse has to offer.”
My name is A.J. Rivera and, without going into levels of gray both you and I would be better off without, I am a chronicler.
A chronicler of times, of ways, of truths, of lies. I write them all. To get to the more succulent tales, the ones that would make even a Thorshu Grey Fish hide in the shallows, I've dabbled in many fields: science, medicine, business (under all shades), aviation, even a few xeno-martial arts here and there. But most importantly, I'm an explorer, a dreamer of stars unseen and friends unknown. Throughout everything I've witnessed, I've found that names are the only thing that hold any value passed UEE controlled space, for they own all the legends in the Verse.
These Citizen Logs are those stories, compiled and relayed for all to see, and all to judge.
---
A.J.R. Citizen Log #001
Port Olisar
Local Time -- 0547
---
Port Olisar, mankind’s haven treading the deep, rushing waters of Crusader’s orbit. I’d like to say that I take to Olisar’s crystalline floors solely for its character, its polished shine that rises above the untold number of pilots, mercenaries, crates, and supplies that scuff and mar its floors.
Instead, I have pointed my astrolabe to the stars, finding my heart amongst them, all but diving headfirst into their brilliance. The same faithful plummet into the unknown that Lief Eriksson, Zheng He, Yuri Gagarin, and Neil Armstrong made so long ago.
For I have always been an explorer at heart.
---
“What can you tell me about the Aurora MR?” I said to the shipmaster today.
A man of few words, he sat absorbed by his terminal until that simple question crossed his counter. His withdrawn gaze consumed itself and lit up like a nova, burning away any boredom he might have had.
"Her spirit is as strong as her engines, maybe even brings a brighter burn."
He turned and waved for me to follow as he cut a straight line towards the armory. Two EVA suits and a few minutes later, we cycled through the airlock and were left alone with our comms and the heavy metallic clunk of mag boots.
We hoofed our way to the docking bays, where a few of the ships he had ready to go were parked, awaiting their chance to disappear into the void. He told me of the Aurora’s specs like a lover of decades, painting a portrait of a sleek and homely ship that would be the envy of any space faring collection. He told me of its light arsenal that held just enough bite to keep to pirates at bay, and the UEE unconcerned. He praised its high cruising speed, pointing out its stock advantages over its more exotic cousin, the Mustang Alpha. Not once did he dodge my questions about the ship, in fact, he was more than ecstatic to see a customer who had done their research.
“What brings you this far out?” He asked. The man looked like he would readily answer the question himself, so I took the bait.
“Oh, figured I’d be the next Barbarossa of the stars, run and gun and all that.” Sarcasm may not be the best tool to reach for with strangers.
Silence stretched between us like a trapis wire, strong and unwilling to be broken. A smile crept across the shipmasters face.
“Really?” He pointed over his shoulder towards a larger landing pad, “Then the Connie over here may suit the needs of a power hungry space pirate such as yourself.”
The Constellation Andromeda sat like an armored mantis, poised and armed to the teeth with quad Behring M6A Laser Cannons, dual automated turrets, and enough missile pods to make the most steadfast captain shake in their hull.
“In another life, maybe.” I looked back to the Aurora. It caught Crusader’s reflection like a sail in the wind, bending its glow around the sharp edges of its hull. “I think it’s about time I saw what the Verse has to offer.”
 |
| Turns out the shipmaster was right, this little ship's got spirit. |
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