Commander Jared Watson. August, 31st, 3301.
Years ago
I was born on an Orbis station in Thosiao. The station's name was Foster Orbital, and I remember how brutal life was there. She was in orbit around a water world....And I remember looking out of the massive centrifuge, my face sunken from hunger, to the ships arriving and departing. Someday, I thought, I would leave this tin can. Someday, I would leave the hungry grasp of Thosiao, and become an Elite pilot, under his majesty himself. Every day, I would tell myself that. Every orbit around the planet, it seemed someone would drop dead from hunger. Our station was very needy, not receiving the imports that it so desperately needed. Every day I was faced with violence, as my area of the ring was one of the poorest. I was an early orphan, required to steal in order to live one more hungry day. Stabbings were common, and I have to admit I have been on the delivering end on...quite a few... *Clearing throat* Anyways, it eventually ended up with me signing up for the Pilots Federation...As, that was my only chance to leave this tin can with a ship. By this point, I was of age, and have...Acquired...Enough money to afford needed supplies. I graduated from the academy, with a small,smelly, loaned sidewinder and 1,000 CR (Which I have saved).
Nine months later.
I worked up a decent amount of money from bounty hunting and trading. I slipped out of the sidewinder, and into a Cobra MK III. I ditched the weapons in favor of further jump radius, and reluctantly returned to Thosiao, as, my ship's trade calculators indicated that a profitable route stemmed from here. The Empire insignia was emblazoned on the station, and, reading reports, the economy has changed....slightly. Traders began to take note of Foster's needs, and exploited it to large sums of CR. I guess I was no different. I looked to my left, tapping on the Faulcon DeLacy brand keyboard. I sent out a brief docking request, and the monotone voice of my ship replied that my permissions have been granted. I began to spin my ship, matching the rotation of the station, and plunged into the letterslot, watching my speed, and radar. My landing gear deployed with a groan, and my engines cut back by about 20%. I used my thrusters to allign myself above a landing platform, and decended on top of the vector. My ship docked, and I unloaded a large sum of Palladium from my former home system of Tawilo.
To be continued.
Years ago
I was born on an Orbis station in Thosiao. The station's name was Foster Orbital, and I remember how brutal life was there. She was in orbit around a water world....And I remember looking out of the massive centrifuge, my face sunken from hunger, to the ships arriving and departing. Someday, I thought, I would leave this tin can. Someday, I would leave the hungry grasp of Thosiao, and become an Elite pilot, under his majesty himself. Every day, I would tell myself that. Every orbit around the planet, it seemed someone would drop dead from hunger. Our station was very needy, not receiving the imports that it so desperately needed. Every day I was faced with violence, as my area of the ring was one of the poorest. I was an early orphan, required to steal in order to live one more hungry day. Stabbings were common, and I have to admit I have been on the delivering end on...quite a few... *Clearing throat* Anyways, it eventually ended up with me signing up for the Pilots Federation...As, that was my only chance to leave this tin can with a ship. By this point, I was of age, and have...Acquired...Enough money to afford needed supplies. I graduated from the academy, with a small,smelly, loaned sidewinder and 1,000 CR (Which I have saved).
Nine months later.
I worked up a decent amount of money from bounty hunting and trading. I slipped out of the sidewinder, and into a Cobra MK III. I ditched the weapons in favor of further jump radius, and reluctantly returned to Thosiao, as, my ship's trade calculators indicated that a profitable route stemmed from here. The Empire insignia was emblazoned on the station, and, reading reports, the economy has changed....slightly. Traders began to take note of Foster's needs, and exploited it to large sums of CR. I guess I was no different. I looked to my left, tapping on the Faulcon DeLacy brand keyboard. I sent out a brief docking request, and the monotone voice of my ship replied that my permissions have been granted. I began to spin my ship, matching the rotation of the station, and plunged into the letterslot, watching my speed, and radar. My landing gear deployed with a groan, and my engines cut back by about 20%. I used my thrusters to allign myself above a landing platform, and decended on top of the vector. My ship docked, and I unloaded a large sum of Palladium from my former home system of Tawilo.
To be continued.