A.J.R. Citizen Log #002
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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 juicy 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 #002
Port Olisar
Local Time -- 0812 Hours, Star Cycle 2949.03.08.
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“Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.”
Whoever came up with this needs to be introduced to the commuters of Serling, who cross a hard night and day terminator like
Wake up - it's dark. Eat lunch - it's dark. Go to sleep - guess what? It's still dark. You might get lucky and catch an orbit that drinks in light for a few cycles, but, ultimately, you've got to find your own rhythm. And you can bet that systems that have been in equilibrium for eons don't care about your needs.
Time is relative out here, and nothing is a better reminder of that than the constant opera of mag-boots, sliding doors, and the deep percussion of travelers collapsing into their bunks after a long cycle. Looking at you, Hab-003.
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The rooms on Port Olisar are small by standards planet-side, and functional by any other scale. So functional in fact, that someone left their Shanghai photo and sticky-note as decoration. Even in space, people need their comforts.
But today wasn't about comfort. This cycle was about me, my Aurora MR, and Yela's icy rings. I pulled on my clothes, pat the door frame twice like any Rivera nomad worth his or her salt, and worked my way to the Shipmaster's control.
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 juicy 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 #002
Port Olisar
Local Time -- 0812 Hours, Star Cycle 2949.03.08.
---
“Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.”
Whoever came up with this needs to be introduced to the commuters of Serling, who cross a hard night and day terminator like
Wake up - it's dark. Eat lunch - it's dark. Go to sleep - guess what? It's still dark. You might get lucky and catch an orbit that drinks in light for a few cycles, but, ultimately, you've got to find your own rhythm. And you can bet that systems that have been in equilibrium for eons don't care about your needs.
Time is relative out here, and nothing is a better reminder of that than the constant opera of mag-boots, sliding doors, and the deep percussion of travelers collapsing into their bunks after a long cycle. Looking at you, Hab-003.
-
The rooms on Port Olisar are small by standards planet-side, and functional by any other scale. So functional in fact, that someone left their Shanghai photo and sticky-note as decoration. Even in space, people need their comforts.
 |
| My bunk in Port Olisar - small but gets the job done. |
But today wasn't about comfort. This cycle was about me, my Aurora MR, and Yela's icy rings. I pulled on my clothes, pat the door frame twice like any Rivera nomad worth his or her salt, and worked my way to the Shipmaster's control.
I skipped down the steps two at a time, ready to get my hands onto synth-gripped flight controls once more. I raced over the scuffed floors and practically dove onto the Port Olisar Terminal interface and tapped away my credentials.
Two minutes and twenty-four seconds to pull a ship from its docking clasps, check traffic, and be pad-side ready for launch. All things considered it felt like a lifetime.
I took the two minutes to scoop up whatever gear I could - in this case a P8-SC Ballistic SMG manufactured by BEHR. Its sleek white stock felt at home on my back, and made me feel a lot more confident with my course in life. Half the time that little assurance is all you need to get by out in the Verse.
"Dock B-03 ready for launch." Rang out through the station like a siren, a call I would heed drooling and drunken on any day that ends in "y".
It only took a few moments to pass through the airlock and proceed out to my baby, in all its metallic glory. I neared the port entry, and pressed the entry activation sequence on the buttonless touch-interface. Smudges and scuffs on the deep navy glass doors caught my attention. I lifted my finger to my tongue, ready to wipe away the dust and mars, only to clunk against my exo-suit visor.
I blinked, and cast a glance over my shoulder, hoping whoever was watching the cameras hadn't caught that. I quickly climbed in and settled my Aurora into flight readiness.
"S-Class Aurora MR, designation AT0616, you are cleared for launch. See you in the Verse. OC out."
"Acknowledged OC, AT0616 outbound and smiling" I fed the thrusters on the bottom of the ship and lifted off the concrete launch pad like a thrashing Valakkar. Too much.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." I pulled up the landing gear and fired the main engine, narrowly avoiding one of Olisar's yellow rotating rings as it attacked me only as fixed objects can.
Olisar Control left the channel open, all of his laughter pouring through like a burst sewage pipe, "AT0616, we at Olisar would appreciate if you practiced that launch sequence. OC out."
"Yeah, yeah. Practice. Got it." I muttered, pushing the Aurora to full thrust out and away from the port.
Once Olisar was nothing more than a dot against Crusader's iron bulk, I cut thrust and let drift's lazed hand take the controls. I tapped the mobiGlas interface on my wrist and scrolled through destinations, eyeing for the day's big break.
I blinked, and cast a glance over my shoulder, hoping whoever was watching the cameras hadn't caught that. I quickly climbed in and settled my Aurora into flight readiness.
"S-Class Aurora MR, designation AT0616, you are cleared for launch. See you in the Verse. OC out."
"Acknowledged OC, AT0616 outbound and smiling" I fed the thrusters on the bottom of the ship and lifted off the concrete launch pad like a thrashing Valakkar. Too much.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." I pulled up the landing gear and fired the main engine, narrowly avoiding one of Olisar's yellow rotating rings as it attacked me only as fixed objects can.
Olisar Control left the channel open, all of his laughter pouring through like a burst sewage pipe, "AT0616, we at Olisar would appreciate if you practiced that launch sequence. OC out."
"Yeah, yeah. Practice. Got it." I muttered, pushing the Aurora to full thrust out and away from the port.
Once Olisar was nothing more than a dot against Crusader's iron bulk, I cut thrust and let drift's lazed hand take the controls. I tapped the mobiGlas interface on my wrist and scrolled through destinations, eyeing for the day's big break.
 |
| Gaining altitude over Yela, carrying home a full load of Laranite for that sweet, sweet aUEC |
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| The terminator of Crusader, could hardly take my eyes off it. |
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