December 16, 3300
Today was surprisingly inauspicious, considering it was the day I joined the Federation of Pilots. I had expected … fanfare, I suppose. Local gossip and rumor is rife with the news that the Elite ranks have extended their perquisites to lower ranks. I thought this meant that membership was dwindling, but the entire joining process was underwhelming. It was mostly paperwork and transponder coding. Whoever processed me didn’t even shake my hand, and all I got for a good-bye was a shout of “next.”
Of course, what I just realized is that if membership isn’t down and the upper ranks are bringing more pilots into their echelon, then that just means that something is afoot. Either the best pilots in the galaxy are dying, or they’re expecting to soon.
Maybe joining up wasn’t the smartest idea after all.
Of course I say that from the cockpit of the battered Eagle that I traded nearly everything I own and wiped out my savings to acquire. I even sold my telescope, which was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever let go of, as long as any of my exes aren’t reading this. If they (you) are, then I’m probably dead anyway, so they (you) can’t be too angry with me. I hope.
I’m stalling. Pre-flight checks are all go, I’ve aced all the requisite training modules (eventually, and not without some difficulty). Maybe it’s because I didn’t grow up station-side. Do we cultural terrestrials have a harder time finding our way without an up? But then, there’s only no up because there’s also no down.
Here goes nothing. Or maybe everything.
Computer, send departure request to tower control. No, don’t record that, end log. Close log. , did I not set up a voice command? Maybe this is the close swi
Supplemental
It turns out docking is slightly more difficult when a freighter is riding your [expletive deleted] because you’re in his blind spot trying to find your platform number while vectoring away from his bulkheads and the engine wash of the ship in front of you.
I guess out here in the black it’s sink or swim. I’m not sunk yet. But I’m certainly not finding my inner fish, so far.
I’ve got nearly a full day of cargo hauling under my belt. There aren’t many other jobs out there right now, and after crunching the numbers I can see that toting machinery and tea leaves is barely going to cover my operating costs with a little left over for other bills. It turns out that 4 tons is far less up here than it is down on the dirt. I don’t know if this is going to work. I can’t go back home, not after the way I left things there. I just… I can’t be that guy. Who knew that the fastest way to reach escape velocity was to burn all your bridges?
Although… that first time leaving the docking bay with the stars spread before me was simply unimaginable. How many hours did I spend as far from civilization as possible, huddling in the dark with an 11 inch mirror in a tube on a motor, collecting photons from thousands to millions of light-years away? How many times have I pointed out Vega and Deneb and Altair and their constellations? And now here I am, among them, but also closer to civilization that I ever was on my tiny planet, cut off from the goings-on above me. They don’t look any different, but they’ll never be the same. I’m not sure I will be, either.
Tomorrow, I’m going to burn some fuel and see a few things. It’s a waste of money, but I can’t come this far and not indulge myself at least a little. Not that credits are easy to spare after today’s efforts.
Still, I’m paid up on rent through the new year. So that’s nearly two weeks to find some way to make this wild idea viable. At least I have enough credits in my account tonight for a hot meal and a couple drinks. One day’s worth of rations packs and they’re already getting old. I wonder if they have cheeseburgers up here.
Today was surprisingly inauspicious, considering it was the day I joined the Federation of Pilots. I had expected … fanfare, I suppose. Local gossip and rumor is rife with the news that the Elite ranks have extended their perquisites to lower ranks. I thought this meant that membership was dwindling, but the entire joining process was underwhelming. It was mostly paperwork and transponder coding. Whoever processed me didn’t even shake my hand, and all I got for a good-bye was a shout of “next.”
Of course, what I just realized is that if membership isn’t down and the upper ranks are bringing more pilots into their echelon, then that just means that something is afoot. Either the best pilots in the galaxy are dying, or they’re expecting to soon.
Maybe joining up wasn’t the smartest idea after all.
Of course I say that from the cockpit of the battered Eagle that I traded nearly everything I own and wiped out my savings to acquire. I even sold my telescope, which was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever let go of, as long as any of my exes aren’t reading this. If they (you) are, then I’m probably dead anyway, so they (you) can’t be too angry with me. I hope.
I’m stalling. Pre-flight checks are all go, I’ve aced all the requisite training modules (eventually, and not without some difficulty). Maybe it’s because I didn’t grow up station-side. Do we cultural terrestrials have a harder time finding our way without an up? But then, there’s only no up because there’s also no down.
Here goes nothing. Or maybe everything.
Computer, send departure request to tower control. No, don’t record that, end log. Close log. , did I not set up a voice command? Maybe this is the close swi
Supplemental
It turns out docking is slightly more difficult when a freighter is riding your [expletive deleted] because you’re in his blind spot trying to find your platform number while vectoring away from his bulkheads and the engine wash of the ship in front of you.
I guess out here in the black it’s sink or swim. I’m not sunk yet. But I’m certainly not finding my inner fish, so far.
I’ve got nearly a full day of cargo hauling under my belt. There aren’t many other jobs out there right now, and after crunching the numbers I can see that toting machinery and tea leaves is barely going to cover my operating costs with a little left over for other bills. It turns out that 4 tons is far less up here than it is down on the dirt. I don’t know if this is going to work. I can’t go back home, not after the way I left things there. I just… I can’t be that guy. Who knew that the fastest way to reach escape velocity was to burn all your bridges?
Although… that first time leaving the docking bay with the stars spread before me was simply unimaginable. How many hours did I spend as far from civilization as possible, huddling in the dark with an 11 inch mirror in a tube on a motor, collecting photons from thousands to millions of light-years away? How many times have I pointed out Vega and Deneb and Altair and their constellations? And now here I am, among them, but also closer to civilization that I ever was on my tiny planet, cut off from the goings-on above me. They don’t look any different, but they’ll never be the same. I’m not sure I will be, either.
Tomorrow, I’m going to burn some fuel and see a few things. It’s a waste of money, but I can’t come this far and not indulge myself at least a little. Not that credits are easy to spare after today’s efforts.
Still, I’m paid up on rent through the new year. So that’s nearly two weeks to find some way to make this wild idea viable. At least I have enough credits in my account tonight for a hot meal and a couple drinks. One day’s worth of rations packs and they’re already getting old. I wonder if they have cheeseburgers up here.