The stars are not a place, but a question.

[CMDR_XOR]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.163 – docked at Trader’s Rest, Laksak

For a while, I wasn’t sure what to do next. A Fleet Carrier?
No – not now. Too much commitment, too many systems to maintain, and I don’t have the credits to keep one properly fueled and staffed anyway.
And besides – that’s not where my fire lies.

Still thinking like a miner – rushing for output, cutting corners. So I thought: Colonia. Straight shot. Get it done fast.
That turned out to be… very optimistic.
I took my new Mandalay Endeavour, shiny and barely broken in, and rushed it out toward Colonia via the Neutron Highway. The plan seemed simple enough: quick engineering, grab the materials, visit the few engineers out there, and get it all done in one sweep.
But of course, it wasn’t.

Out there, everything is different, scarcer, more repetitive. Why, in the name of the void, didn’t I gather the materials back in the Bubble before launching into the unknown like some overeager pup leaping into a river?
To top it off, I managed to wreck my fully A-rated Mandalay on a meaningless rock moon. A stupid approach, a miscalculation – and the next thing I knew, I was in my survival pod, listening to the sound of my own breath. I wasn’t in a rush anymore. Just afraid.

The Pilot’s Federation picked me up quickly. Still, I had time to think. I decided not to rebuild the ship out there. No. I’d make the long flight back to the bubble as a passenger and do it properly – in familiar territory. After all, what’s the point of five billion credits if you can’t use them to do things right?

I need to go back out there. I need to see wonders again – and this time, I have to guard against the trap: that dull rhythm of jumping, scanning, assessing, and moving on to the next. Not again. Not like that.
This time, the journey is the goal. It doesn’t matter when I get there. It doesn’t even matter where “there” is.

So, to get there: its Engineering. That’s the first step.
Endeavour has to get lighter, more efficient, more mine.
Back at Jameson Memorial, I brought my old mining Cutter out of storage – and occasionally flew my even older Krait Phantom. I went out, shot Braintrees, gathered whatever I could. I visited ole Commander Jameson’s crash site, scanned his beacons, and did long, boring loops around Dav’s Hope like in the old days.
I don’t know how many collection runs it took to refill my reserves. Too many. But the time passed, and the goal stayed in sight: to get out there again.
I finally acquired the last missing permit: Sirius. And surprisingly – thanks to the many rescue missions I flew during the Thargoid war – I found myself already allied with Sirius Corp. Didn’t even check!
One small win. A little light in the void.
Golf clap, please.

Some things never change. Material traders, for example – still the worst extortionists in the galaxy. We pilots risk our lives in asteroid belts, carving precious metals from rock and ice, while those traders sit comfortably behind terminals and trade our effort for scraps. But hey – who really wants to change the galaxy? It is what it is.

Yesterday I met Commander Doctor Dread. An old-timer – and I mean that with the utmost respect. Over a couple of beers, we talked late into the night – comparing stories from two very different lives among the stars.
Hearing what he’s seen, what he’s done, makes my past life as a miner feel even duller than I already knew it was.
He recommended I visit the SYROOMEOU FG-Y G8 or G2 systems.
Apparently, they’re among the highest stars relative to Sagittarius A* – way up above the core. Or is it technically below? I’m not even sure.
I’ve seen a few images. They’re staggering. Just imagining it: to be suspended in the dark, utterly alone, looking down on the heart of the galaxy – nothing above, everything below. That’s not just a view. That’s something else entirely.

He also told me about IGAU – the Intergalactic Astronomical Union – a wide network of carriers, support structures, and mapping efforts spread across the stars. That made me reconsider the carrier idea. If hundreds of platforms already span the galaxy, then maybe the right thing isn’t to own a home, but to follow the lights others have left behind.
Commander Doctor Dread – if you ever read this: thank you. You’ve rekindled something in me I thought I’d long since burned out.

And now, she’s ready. My new Mandalay Endeavour, cloaked in midnight black, stretches her jump range to 81 light-years. I even gave her some cosmetic touches – winglets, spoilers, auxiliary fins besides her stubby nose. She looks fantastic.

My Cutter Nostromo has again earned her place too! During the recent trade war, I moved just shy over 22,000 tons of semiconductors. The upgraded power distributor I received in return is simply perfect for exploration – smooth, stable, efficient.
And the credits I earned more than paid for the loss of Endeavour One in Colonia – five times over.

What’s left? Just one more run to fill up my raw materials for synthesis. Then I’ll install two Auto Field Repair Units, the repair limpet controller, and I’ll be done.
And then I’m ready.

My first course is already set: I’ll return to the systems I marked during the homeward leg of my last expedition – only marked on the star map and rushed past too quickly.
This time, I’ll scan them thoroughly. I’ll land. I’ll take samples.
Carefully. Slowly. With attention.

The galaxy hasn’t changed.
But I have.

Time to get back to work.
o7 – Tom Bacon out.

This is excellent. A joy to read. I am very happy that you ar finding your way and working out what you wish to accomplish next.

Keep at it CMDR, I await the next installment.

CMDR XOR

 

[Doctor Dread]

Yesterday I met Commander Doctor Dread....
He recommended I visit the SYROOMEOU FG-Y G8 or G2 systems.
Apparently, they’re among the highest stars relative to Sagittarius A* – way up above the core. Or is it technically below? I’m not even sure.

Above Tom, above.
Waiting for your better pics from the top, at the time I didn't know how to zoom out etc - and my "The Star of India" Conda does not have LakonView™.

Spoiler: Top of the World

Commander Doctor Dread – if you ever read this: thank you. You’ve rekindled something in me I thought I’d long since burned out.

You're most welcome, my friend. Thank you for your kind words. Same here.

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain's Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.166 – currently BLEAE THUA XM-W D1-108 (~500 LY Detour from Course)

Woke up from a glorious sleep aboard Endeavour. We had parked on an ice planet for the night, but by the time I’m writing this, I’ve already forgotten which system it was. I really need to get better at documenting the details. I’m not used to thinking like a scientist.

Still, it’s comforting to sleep within the familiar hum of the ship. I don’t know what Zorgon-Peterson did with the food synthesizers, but the coffee tastes better than on my old Cutter. Booting the ship up, firing the thrusters—it feels like the ship is welcoming me. It’s also a moment of control. All systems nominal. The hum builds to a hiss. The turbines come alive.

I’m preparing for the next jump. Galnet is full of conflict reports, this Time involving the Imperials.
And there’s speculation of the Thargoid war reigniting - nothing official. But: I wouldn’t be surprised. That Titan Cocijo’s message—it felt more like a warning than anything. The life forms of both our kinds are just too different to coexist in peace. Maybe this is evolution at work? If another war comes, it won’t be like the last. They’ve learned our patterns. And if we keep weakening ourselves with infighting, who knows what advantage we’re handing them? But I digress.

I landed on an ice moon — just a barren field of frozen nothing. EDI tells me we’re far enough to collect a sample.
What?
It’s been several systems since I even saw a biosignal. I think she needs a reboot—or an update.
Turns out it was my fault. I had forgotten to complete a Tussock scan. I skipped it, having seen the same species multiple times in this sector. Somehow, very similar organisms have spread across light-years. I’ve never heard of spores or seeds surviving space travel—but who knows?

Sometimes I feel like an overconfident teenager, racing the SRV across alien surfaces. Even here, in the biting cold, I can’t resist kicking up a few icy plumes.

And I need to learn that I can’t fly like I used to. The Mandalay is more fragile than the Corsair—but so much more agile. Fully engineered, she boosts to 575 m/s, and her response is lightning-fast. It’s a dangerous combination when flying close to rocks. Good thing I’ve got solid shields. But then...

Too fast on reentry. Hit the planet Atmosphere at 155 km/s. Bam—modules down 3%, hull down 2%. Not a disaster, but do I really want to start tapping into repair resources this early?

I decided to look for nearby stations or carriers. According to Inara, there were options. A 500 LY detour. I went.

The first carrier wouldn’t grant docking access. So I kept going.

In the current System I finally found a system colonization ship – stocked, staffed, and able to resupply and repair. Right next to it was another carrier: The Citadel. But even that one refused access. Despite Inara’s info (refreshed 15 minutes prior) stating both carriers were open to all, I got: "Authorization requirements not met."
Sad, really. There was a time no one in the deep black denied aid to another commander. If not for the settlement ship, I’d already be dipping into my reserves. So yes—maybe my trust in the old sense of seamanship has taken a hit. Pity. Even if my reckless flying brought me here, I still hoped for more.

Now, it’s back on course. I’ve got 40 bookmarks ahead before I cross into unknown territory.
We’ll see. Once I reach my final marker—ELLAIRB DH-S A6 1-D, the real journey begins.
Tom Bacon out

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.170 – Red Spider Sector RT-R C4-7

Three days in this system. Two spent on Moon 1B, twelve hours now on 1D.

Plenty of biosignals here – seven species on 1B, six on 1D. That Cactoida and Fungoida, especially on 1B, are a real challenge to find. Both moons are rocky, Mars-like, with deep valleys and terrain that makes landing a delicate affair. 1B, in particular, is a pain for my aging eyes – the ground is a dark, iron-red, and even the ship’s night vision barely helps. Loose debris scattered everywhere makes spotting anything biological feel like guesswork. 1D is easier on the nerves. Brighter. Almost welcoming. Light sand laced with red-brown ridges.

If I were to ever settle a system, I’d choose something like this. There’s wealth here – rich metal content in the rings of planets 1 and 2, eleven landable moons, two with ammonia atmospheres, and a solid, G-class sun anchoring it all. Sadly, not a single terraformable world.

I spent one night in the SRV, just to feel closer to the place. Does that make sense? I want to hold on to the illusion that I’m truly the first here. But the truth is, the total darkness on the nightside gets into your head. The silence is more than absence of sound—it presses in. The kind of quiet that feels like weight. A distant crack from cooling stone, a whisper of wind, and the absolute certainty that in a billion-mile radius, there is no one else. Just you, your breath, and the void.

It’s unsettling. And liberating. A reminder that life is rare. And being alive… a kind of defiance.

1D A fascinates me. It orbits so close to its parent that 1D hangs enormous in the sky—immense and serene. Vast sulfur fields stretch around me like something from an ancient world, maybe the scar of a meteor strike. I found myself atop a sulfur-covered stone spire, wind howling around me, the Endeavour a speck far below. I reached out, hand raised to that massive moon above. For a moment, I believed I could touch it.

Lately, I think of family more often. We were never close. My father—Imperial Navy, through and through. My mother, some kind of classified logistics division—also military. My sister… well, she had the depth of a slice of toast. Any spread on top of her was smarter than what lay beneath. I ran away ages ago. Found my own path. Took time, especially coming from the Empire, but I found myself more aligned with Federation values. Winters, specifically. My father once struck me for saying her name at dinner. The Empire… dictatorship with nicer uniforms.

But that was another life. And now I’m here. Alone with my thoughts. Talking to a computer.

Strange how all this technology was meant to free us, but somehow we’ve built ourselves into the machinery. I think of Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe—don’t ask me why. But if I’m Crusoe, then EDI must be Friday. And the pirates who’ll rescue me? Pure fantasy. Out here, no one’s coming.

Maybe I need to recalibrate my oxygen mix. Or maybe that’s just what solitude does to you.

Still… I should install a library on board. I used to read a lot.

I’ll scan the remaining moons, then move on. This place, as fascinating as it is, has a heaviness to it. I need something brighter. I had a foolish thought about colonizing, but now I wonder when the first colonies will be abandoned. History tends to repeat itself.

Word is, a new Panther Clipper is in the works!
I won’t be around for the rollout. Shame. I’ve flown the old one a few times—it’s a beast. I’d love to own one.
And I heard, the Empire’s offering missile racks for enlistment in theire ironical fight against "Pirates". But this offer is Tempting. I’m missing out, it seems. Those Weapons would’ve come in handy.

Funny. Seems all these credits are starting to itch in my brain. But what for? A Clipper’s only useful if you actually plan to settle down somewhere. And I don’t. Not really. Still… the specs might be worth a look.

Enough rambling. Onwards!

Tom Bacon out.

 

[CMDR_XOR]

Great stuff!

I am 18,501.55 ly away from you, towards the core in Empyrean Straights.

 

[Yure]

Sir, this is a Wendy's.

ROTFLMAO!

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.174 – en route to ELLAIRB DH-S A6 1-D

I’ve covered nearly 5,700 light-years now. That brings my total journey to 48.5 thousand light-years — since I installed the SRV Survey module on board.
This stretch alone marks almost half the path along my old bookmarks, as I rushed back home the last time.
Since the TRAIKAAE sector, undiscovered systems have become more frequent, and so I’m scanning my way forward—slowly—toward ELLAIRB DH-S A6 1-0. Still around 4,300 light-years to go.

I do like the Mandalay.
Not quite as much as I liked my old Corsair—but maybe that’s just nostalgia. The Corsair was the first ship I bought purely for myself, with no practical need driving it.
Speaking of nostalgia - that I got to keep my Cutter at all was a gift from the mining corp I used to work for. Yeah, she is old and It’s still a mining vessel—but well-maintained. I even upgraded it recently—mostly for sentimental reasons. Who knows if I’ll ever go mining again?

BYUA EUQ HM-C B 13-8 is another fascinating system. Two fuel stars—both class M, relatively young, about a third the mass of Sol.
Five gas giants, three of which are nearly as big as their stars themselves—1.3 million Earth masses—each with rich rings.
There’s an icy planet with high gravity and seven moons—three of them showing signs of life.

I’ll be staying here for a while, looking for more of those quiet little wonders.

Just for fun, I took my SRV out across the ice plains of A5D—burned half a tank of premium fuel chasing a distant mountain range. Totally worth it. Now my name isn’t just etched into the system data—it’s left in the tracks I carved into that frozen ground.
I still can’t wrap my head around how organisms manage to thrive so close to absolute zero. Fields of Fonticula tower everywhere—so dense, I had to steer wide around them. Astonishing.

That reminded me of a planet I came across back in the TRAIKAAE region. Rocky-icy, smooth as glass, with an enormous crater near the northern pole—11.5 kilometers deep. At the bottom, there was a second crater another 1.3 kilometers deeper. When you stand there, looking up at those walls of stone, you realize just how small you really are.

After that, I decided to seek out a station or carrier that offers Vista Genomics services. Not that I care too much about credits at this point—but still, data’s data.
Thanks to the Inara database, I found a station called Observation Post Epsilon, in the TRIFID SECTOR IR-W D1-52. About 680 light-years from my position.
Checking in again upon arrival.

Tom Bacon out.

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.174 – TRIFID SECTOR IR-W D1-52

That Neutron jump? The longest I’ve ever made. 321 light-years in one go.
I arrived at an asteroid station—modest, but welcoming. No outfitting services, unfortunately. I had hoped to upgrade my Auto Field Repair Units. But honestly, I haven’t needed them much so far—so maybe I’ll manage just fine with what I have.
I offloaded my exobiology data—held onto the stellar cartography for later. It’s good currency for reputation, once I’m back in the Bubble.

Did it matter whether I sold that bio-data here or later? Not really. I think I just wanted to hear station chatter again—even if it meant enduring the smugness of the Vista Genomics staff.
Maybe I just wanted to see a face.

I was never much of a social type. Still, I caught myself smiling at the dumb excuses other pilots made to avoid being scanned, or at the grumbling over scratched paint from botched landings. “Computer malfunction”–right. That one never gets old. I guess I missed all that.

So I’m taking a short break here. Hit the bar. They’ve got actual Irish whiskey—Glenmorangie, straight from Earth. I´ll pay the premium: 1,500 credits for a glass. Whoa!

I’ve now completed half the journey toward ELLAIRB DH-S A6 1-D.
This new slowness—this pace that’s become its own kind of rhythm—it’s growing on me. I’m starting to notice the wonders that are already here, not just chase after the ones that overwhelm.

That SRV climb up the mountain earlier that day—the view from the summit, the crackling of ice, that makes the whole planet to ring beneath your boots—that is a wonder!
No less than any nebula or black hole.
Maybe I’m getting old. Or maybe I’m finally paying attention? Ah, whatever, see? Its time for a Whiskey!

Great stuff!

I am 18,501.55 ly away from you, towards the core in Empyrean Straights.

Thank you. Dont know, if our ways cross one day - but maybe one time this old Austrian Earthling will waggin his wings to you in person?
Until then: One Whiskey is for you!

Sláinte.
Tom Bacon out.

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.180 – Ellairb DH-S A61-0

First milestone reached.
This is the final bookmark I dropped on my frantic retreat during the end of my first expedition.
Or rather, the first one—since this new journey now follows its echo in reverse.

Of the last hundred jumps, I charted forty entirely new systems. Many first footfalls, many bioscans. It feels like I’m not just tracing my old steps, but digging deeper into the same path—like walking a familiar forest trail but finally turning over the stones.

Midway since the last log, I found what I’d almost given up on: crystalline anomalies. Two of them, floating in space like frozen music—sharp, fragile, alien. They shimmered in the dark like they’d always been there, just waiting for someone to finally stop, look, and truly see.
Funny, isn’t it? The universe hides miracles in plain sight. You might cross the same system ten times and miss the wonder, simply because you weren’t ready to receive it. Sometimes it’s not the place that changes—it’s your attention. The most familiar ground can still surprise you if you let it.

And i´ve found my biggest System so far: 68 Bodys! Took a time to scan that.

I landed on 1A—a meaningless, frozen chunk drifting in permanent night. And now, I face a decision.
Do I turn toward Colonia, take the long detour, see people again, tinker with modules, enjoy the comfort of human voices? Or do I dive headlong into the real unknown—the galactic core?

Strange how safe I feel on this fractured moon. As if marking this system weeks ago somehow makes it less wild. It’s like walking old streets in your hometown—where every corner holds a memory, even if nothing has changed but you. As though the destination itself determines whether a journey becomes an adventure… or just remains a route.

I’m leaning toward Colonia.
Maybe that’s cowardice.
Maybe not.
Part of me just wants that safety—the illusion of control.
Maybe I’m just an old man looking for a familiar sunset.

But then again… another part of me—the darker, hungrier part—wants something else entirely. Not safety. Not comfort. Just meaning. Fulfillment. A sense that I’ve reached something I’ve never had. That I’ve earned what no one ever gave me.
And I don’t know how to reconcile that.

I’ve had adventures. I’ve seen war. I’ve faced the incredible. But most of it was obligation. Duty. It was never really for me.
And family? Even friends?
Not really.

The stars out here ask more questions than they answer.
I’ll decide tomorrow.
For now, I sleep.

Tom Bacon out.

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.181 – PRU AIM WD-K D8-4526 – en route to Colonia

Seven hours since the last entry.

It doesn’t matter what I do - or how I do it.
All that matters is that I do.
I was never made to sit in a lakeside house, waiting for a robotic fishing rod to catch something a drone will gut and fry for me. Even if it tastes perfect, it wouldn’t be real.
Sure, I could learn to do it myself. But that’s not me either. That life doesn’t wear right on my skin.

Earlier, I pulled up the galaxy map. One more argument for Colonia—beyond the pull of human voices and half-decent whiskey—is how the stars cluster between there and the galactic core. Denser fields, shorter jumps. More chances to discover something that’s never been named.
At least, that’s what I want to believe.
Truth be told, there’s a strange fear in me—irrational, perhaps—that once I reach the top, above the core, and look down on everything… that it’ll be too much. That I’ll see it all—and feel nothing more. No awe, no longing. Just… done.

So maybe the detour is about keeping the wonder alive. Stretching the journey, preserving the thrill. That’s what I tell myself.
But maybe I’m lying.
Maybe I don’t know at all.

I could rush straight in. I'm sure I’d make it. But I’ve chosen Colonia as the second waypoint on this road.
And I’m beginning to think this isn’t just a roadtrip.
It’s a search. For something that won’t show up on a scanner. For something I can’t buy at a station or engineer into a module.
Maybe… for myself.

Out here, the silence is gettin´ louder.
Thoughts grow teeth. Old ghosts stir.
That old question—“Who am I?”—it’s not rhetorical anymore.
It echoes deeper than it ever did back in the Bubble.
Yes. This is more than a journey.
Maybe… a pilgrimage. Not to a "god" but to myself.

The route resumed as it always does: one milestone behind, the next on the horizon. Plenty of new systems logged. No biosigns worth mentioning—until now. PRU AIM WD-K D8-4526, first life signatures in 1,000 light-years. Twenty-two biological signals. Jackpot. I’ll be spending a few hours here at least.

Endeavour is holding up well, though her hull is beginning to show the marks of the journey. She looks a little rough around the edges now—weathered, like a ship that's truly been somewhere. I’m considering reverting some of the modifications on her thrusters, aiming for a more balanced engineering approach. In narrow canyons, she’s almost too responsive—too quick to leap forward at the slightest input. It can get dicey, especially when I’m scanning for lifeforms down in deep ravines. Still, I’ve got plenty of time and light-years ahead to think it through.

Otherwise, no notable anomalies to report.
Just the hum of Endeavour and the stars whispering secrets in a language I may never fully learn.

Tom Bacon out.

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.184 – System KYOALL IJ-E C395 – Odins Hold

Milestone Two: reached.
I made it safely to Colonia.

I Dug around in the guts of my modules and fitted two Grade 5A Auto Field Repair Units. I also downgraded my thrusters from 5A (Grade 5 engineered + experimental) to 5D (still Grade 5 engineered). The Endeavour is only slightly slower now, yet she no longer leaps like an overexcited pup on approach. In hindsight, I probably didn’t need to augment the new thrusters up to 5 in the first place — but that’s how we learn, Next time I know better, like it is everytime. Philosophical, isn´t it?
The way of growth is plastered with fails and mistakes.

Endeavour now jumps about three light-years farther than before. Negligible, I know. But I’ll take it. We all do. Because every extra mile, every little edge — however small — feels like another argument against the void.

I can’t say I like Colonia.
The sector itself — yes. The nebulae here are glorious. The sheer breadth of unexplored systems is staggering. But the settlements? No.
The engineers here are little more than gatekeepers. You still need to have earned their favor back home in the Bubble to even get a proper invitation here.
It defeats the whole point of coming this far, doesn’t it?
I wonder why it is, that 3 or 4 Engeneers are necessary to upgrade my Suit or on foot-weapons? Others can do many different things to grade 5 - but Suits?
The markets and outfitting around here are… mediocre, at best.
I got what I came for — but if it’s adventure you’re after, say, pirate hunting… you won’t find much worth chasing here.
Not really. Not unless you brought the right tools with you from the Bubble in the first place.

Colonia feels like a corporate vacation home. A nice enough place to visit, but nothing you’d ever truly call your own.
That thought stayed with me longer than it should. Maybe because the same could be said of me.

Since deciding to make Colonia my second milestone, not much has happened.
VSS scans have become second nature now — almost mechanical.
I’ve passed up landing on many planets, even when they showed signs of life. Sometimes I took an orbital scan just to log it. My new SRV Survey plugin has gotten so good at predicting what’s down there, I already know what to expect before I even touch down. And after the hundredth Bacterium Acies, it’s hard to muster the same excitement.
There’s a strange irony to it: here I am, flying across the galaxy to find wonders, only to discover the same bacteria clinging to rock after rock, ten thousand light-years apart.
Did the Guardians plant them? Were they gardeners? Or is this just the universe’s way of reminding me that nothing here belongs to us — and maybe nothing ever did?
How the hell do these bacteria get from one planet to another?
Someone care to explain?

Near Colonia, I flew through many already-discovered systems. Systems others passed through carelessly, even just weeks ago (Thank you SRV Survey!), without deep scans.
I found entire planets — rich with biodata, especially Stratum Tectonitas — that no one bothered to catalog.
And so, because of others’ laziness, I planted my name in their soil. First footfalls with pretty high value. I Take it.

There’s a certain quiet satisfaction in that. Proof that even in a place where everything seems already claimed, there are still cracks to slip through. Still places where you can leave a mark.

I rested a little in Colonia. Took care of Endeavour.
Then I left. Almost immediately. Unexcited, as if I stopped at a drity Station, just to get fuel, a meal and Rest.


The core calls.
At first I’d planned to push “above” the galaxy quickly — plotted a route that would take me climbing at a 45-degree angle on a about three thousand light-years leg, aiming to rise high above the plane while closing in on the center.
But about a third of the way in, something in me shifted. Instinct, maybe. Or just stubbornness.
I decided to stay low — close to the galactic plane, where the Stars stay more dense. And "climb" later at the cores Bulbus upwards.
There’s something about staying close to the heart of it all.

Onwards!

Tom Bacon out

Picture 3: Colonia - 5 Jumps to go

 

[Tom Bacon]

Out of Character (OOC)

This is excellent. A joy to read. I am very happy that you ar finding your way and working out what you wish to accomplish next.

Keep at it CMDR, I await the next installment.

CMDR XOR

o7 Cmdr XOR!

I have now done everything as described in the "new Members Checklist" on your Discord – except for the in-game requests (that will be done today).
My question: My Discord name is completely different from my Cmdrs Name – I can't change it either, because I need my username on various other Discord servers (I have a podcast that my name refers to) – is that a problem, or does it not matter?

I found the answer. Sorry.
Also I edited the Post, where i mentioned Commander Doctor Dread as my new Inspiration (wich he is) - but I completely forgot to mention you. I am really sorry, because your advice was absolutely worth every word in Gold. I am now ingame/Discord/Inara/EDSM Member of the IGAU Squadron! A Happy member!
Thank you very much!

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.187 – Kyloarph BM-M C23-1275

So far, the journey has been… smooth. Almost too smooth.
I’ve started catching myself hoping for surprises — anything to break the pattern.
Every system I drop into is undiscovered, but none feel remarkable. Too many of them are empty. Some with nothing but three or four stars, dancing around one another.
When a system does have planets and moons, it’s often 25, 30 .. sometimes 40 or more bodies.

There are biosignals here and there — but nothing new to note. Bacteria. Fonticula, Concha, Tussock, Stratum… rarely Tubus. I almost wish the galaxy would show its cards already, instead of handing me the same old suits over and over.

The bigger systems slow me down. They interrupt the flow of the jumps. There’s something almost meditative about jump–scan–jump when it hums along at pace… and something oddly frustrating when that rhythm is broken by sprawling, bloated star maps full of empty rocks to chart.
It’s funny — I used to think the endless rhythm would bore me. Now, when it’s broken, I find myself wishing it would return. Maybe that’s the danger of routines: they seduce you. And yet, they’re all that holds you steady.

Two hours ago, a message came through: I’ve officially been admitted into the IGAU Squadron.
It feels… good.
Not just the badge, or the name — but knowing that every scan I send back, every little white dot I fill on the map, matters to someone.
It feels a little like home. Even if the comms stay quiet. Even if I’m still a thousand light-years away from anyone.
Being part of something bigger — even when you’re alone — gives the silence a kind of meaning.

Following Cmdr. XOR’s advice, I’ve started using the EDAstro interactive starmap. Fantastic tool. According to it, about halfway between Colonia and the galactic core, there’s a DSSA fleet carrier stationed — the Hugin.
I’ve marked it as my next waypoint. Forty-one jumps from here. That’ll take me a few days, given my habit of scanning everything, checking every biosign, and lingering over any decent view.

Strange how this rhythm has become not just familiar, but almost comforting.
I used to think the wonder came from the extraordinary — from the spectacular moments. But I’ve begun to realize the wonder is also in the steady, quiet routine. The stars don’t change much. But we do.

Still, I’m looking forward to docking with the Hugin.
Who knows who I might meet there? Another lone soul like me, maybe. Or maybe no one. But even then — it’s enough just to know it’s there.

I’ll finish charting this system tonight, then find a quiet place to sleep.
One of the panels in the cockpit has come loose — probably shoddy work back at the Colonia service dock. Needs fixing. And EDI definitely needs a reboot — she’s gotten cheeky lately, spouting innuendo at the most inappropriate times.

"I love a good insertion," she quipped earlier.
I’m not sure an AI should say things like that.
Still. It made me laugh.
Even out here, the stars are easier to chase when something makes you laugh.

Tom Bacon out.

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.188 – System Schee Flyi DN-I D10-8604 – aboard DSSA Fleet Carrier “Necfc Huginn”

Wonderful how this works.
I found the position of this Deep Space Support Array carrier through EDAstro — where IGAU, DSSA, and STAR commanders keep their carrier positions synced live. The advantage is obvious: these carriers are open to all, offering repairs and Vista Genomics services. Again: Thank you @CMDR_XOR

Being part of IGAU doesn’t just feel good — it matters. Because out here you’re never quite as alone as you think. Sure, it means a detour now and then, but when your ship groans, it’s good to know someone’s close enough to hear it.

The Necfc Huginn sits almost exactly halfway between Colonia and Sagittarius A. Another 5,500 light-years left to the core.
I finally feel like I have the right ship for journeys like this — and more importantly, I’ve learned how to fly her. I’ve also learned to take my time. I’ve been skipping the neutron boosts, keeping my modules at 100% all the way to this carrier.
Slower? Yes. But how many first footfalls and discoveries would I have missed otherwise?
In the end, the only thing that matters is arriving intact — wherever the road leads.

Endeavour now wears the [IGAU] prefix proudly — and she lives up to her name.
There was an old entertainment series, wasn’t there? The one where they said: “to boldly go where no man has gone before.” - or something alike.
The ship had another name, but the idea’s the same.
I like to think of the [IGAU] Endeavour as a spearhead — cutting a path through the dark, leaving a map for others to follow. That thought… sits right with me.

The last 30 jumps were almost boring.
Hardly any biological signals, plenty of systems without a single planet. Progress came faster than I’d anticipated.
It makes you wonder — is that a good thing?
The slower you go, the more you see. The faster you go, the more you leave behind. It’s a tradeoff — and every commander has to decide which way his compass points.

I’m still deciding if I’ll stay here a day or head straight on.
Truth is, I don’t care much for lounging on observation decks — even if the view is spectacular. Shame there’s no bar here.
I think I’ll take a nap, tighten down that loose panel in the Mandalay, and set out again.


Sagittarius — I’m coming for you!
Tom Bacon out.

 

[Aashenfox]

and the question is...

Can I eat them?

 

[Tom Bacon]

and the question is...

Can I eat them?

I dunno. You tell me what “them” is, and I’ll tell you what sauce to pair it with. At this point, I just assume everything out here is edible. At least once.

 

[Aashenfox]

I dunno. You tell me what “them” is, and I’ll tell you what sauce to pair it with. At this point, I just assume everything out here is edible. At least once.

This is very cool, I apologise for inserting my randomness, which was a response to the thread title, I now realise what's happening here and it looks interesting, I'll read more of it at a later time, stay safe in the black cmdr. o7

 

[Tom Bacon]

This is very cool, I apologise for inserting my randomness, which was a response to the thread title, I now realise what's happening here and it looks interesting, I'll read more of it at a later time, stay safe in the black cmdr. o7

No need to apologise, Commander — a little randomness is healthy out here. Keeps the black from getting too quiet. Thanks for the kind words, and safe travels to you as well. o7

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.189 – PHROI FLYUAE ES-Y C2-6784

Today, for the first time, I heard a wind that didn’t just blow — it sang.
On Schee Flyi DD-D C28-6765 A 2 a, the wind whipped through the canyons, making them hum. Sometimes it rose into a kind of eerie, spherical wail — like a distant choir with no mouths, no lungs, only air and stone.
I’ll admit, knowing I was alone out there… it unnerved me. But at the same time, I couldn’t help but listen. It struck some deep, quiet chord in me, and I don’t mind saying — it moved me. I almost curled up there on the cold rock and just… let it.
An otherworldly experience in the truest sense of the word.

I’ve come to enjoy the glitter of sharp-edged rocks on ice worlds.
Here in the half-light of planet 5 in this system, while chasing yet another Vesicula spore barely visible against the dark ground, I caught sight of scattered glints — tiny crystal shards flashing like the lights of distant towns on sparsely-settled planets. A kind of promise of warmth… yet cold and unwelcoming all the same, because I remain a stranger. Tempting though — like St. Elmo’s fire, beautiful but dangerous to reach for.
Out here, in the crackling silence broken only by the far-off groan of shifting ice, that little sparkle was oddly comforting.
A reminder that even in all this cold, there is still life. Or at least the reflection of some distant star pretending to be.

I’ve given up photographing every iceball and bare rock I land on.
A loose string of near-identical shots doesn’t really say much — and it means even less.
From now on, I’ll save the lens for the views that move me, the perspectives that mean something. The stations on this journey that stir something inside.
After all — what’s the point of a gallery that doesn’t speak?

All systems nominal and at 100%. Endeavour is holding up beautifully. And so am I.
Colonia taught me something about easy livin’. That laissez-faire attitude you can only have when you’ve stopped pretending the galaxy can be tamed. People there enjoy a good standard of life, they celebrate the small, remarkable things.
Maybe that rubbed off on me. I even upgraded my food synthesizer, just to get the most exquisite coffee I’ve ever tasted. I don’t know if it really comes from some place called Brazil, wherever that is — I’ve never been to Earth. But if they know coffee like this, then maybe they got at least one thing right down there.
Little joys.

Perhaps that’s what keeps you warm in the void — the little joys.
And maybe the stars have always been singing - and we’re just too loud to notice.

Tom Bacon out.

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.190 – System Phraa Flyuae OG-Y C16-3672 – Planet A6

According to my logbook, I’ve traveled 168,000 light-years in my lifetime.
4,890 hyperspace jumps. 3,900 systems visited.
I suppose most of that was after my so-called retirement. Funny how that works.

Is it just me, or is all this going by too fast? Or is it simply that I’m still not used to this pace — after all those years crawling between ring debris in what now feels like a flying dinosaur?

Phraa Flyuae OG-Y C16-3672 is just another one of the many dull systems I’ve passed through lately. Scan after scan — always the same signals. Bacteria. Fungi. Cacti. Stratum. Rarely something different, usually just a color variant of something I cataloged a hundred jumps ago.
More and more, I find myself almost relieved when a system shows no biosignals at all.
Sometimes I only land to put my boots on a rock and claim the First Footfall, then move on.
Five million credits are still five million credits — but the numbers piling up in my account make that seem negligible.
Not worth creeping through some stony canyon in the SRV for another patch of fungi I’ve already seen.

I don’t land for the credits anymore.

Same goes for fumaroles, geysers, lava fields… isn’t life itself a kind of endless repetition? Maybe that’s just the nature of it — even the rocks start to feel familiar after a while. Red deserts, brown mountains, frozen plains — always some variation on the same theme.
Though I’ll admit — ice worlds still have a way of pulling me in. There’s something about them.

Every approach still demands full concentration — since I swapped out the Supercruise Assist for a repair limpet controller.
Twenty thousand light-years and I haven’t needed it once.
Should I just pull it out and fit a Cruise Controller instead? But then again — where? Carriers don’t stock modules like that. And I’m not flying all the way back to Colonia just for a little convenience. Maybe it’s better to keep that sliver of security. You never know when you’ll need it.

I’m now 8,443 light-years out from Colonia, with 2,970 left to Sagittarius A.
There’s a STAR fleet carrier waiting near the core — I’ll stop there when I arrive.

Since leaving Jameson Memorial, I’ve covered over 35,000 light-years — through the edge of the Norma Expanse, Colonia, Odins Hold. My [IGAU] Endeavour is holding up perfectly. All systems and hull at 100%.
Even this old Commander, though a little bored, still stands firm.
Onward to the next First Footfall — or some moldy spore.

Tom Bacon out.


Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.191 – System Phraa Flyuae WM-W C17-7122 – Planet 9 A

Stopped here among the fumaroles and lava fields to top up some materials.

I’ve started to enjoy the long distances between planets.
Flying out 15,000 light-seconds to a lonely rock feels almost like riding an old tube shuttle from one city to the next — half journey, half quiet waiting, and somehow, all the more satisfying for it.
I could engage the Supercruise Overdrive. But why? I’ve got nothing but time.

Only 29 jumps left to Sagittarius A.
I’ve kept below and aside from the main routes so far — hugging the same plane Colonia sits on. But from here, my approach changes. Hard to port. And up. Into the blazing heart of the core.

And yet… I’ve felt it creeping in lately — a faint boredom. A quiet dullness. Perhaps that’s the danger of staring at stars for too long: you start to see yourself in them.
But so close to the first great milestone now, the spark is back. There’s still wonder waiting in the light ahead. I can feel it.

Onwards, Commander.

Tom Bacon out.

 

[Tom Bacon]

Captain’s Log – Commander Tom Bacon
Stardate 3311.192 – System Sagittarius A – docked aboard the STAR Carrier Solaris TBG-1XV

Made it.
I’m here.

The first true milestone of this journey.
No discovery, of course — hundreds have stood here before me, and hundreds more will follow. But still… this is mine.

It was something to watch the stars change as I drew closer over the last 5,000 light-years — from the crisp golden glow of Colonia’s skies, where the Milky Way still lies as a distant, glowing band — to the murky, veiled light of the core, wrapping everything in a nebular haze.

And then came the final jump.
Sagittarius A already visible from afar as a grey, perfect disk. And when the jump ended…

The void bent.
Light itself warped like glass under heat, folding in on itself.
I expected something else — a hollow wound in space, streaked with wild light and surrounded by a roaring horizon.
But instead, here it stood: grey, smooth, immense.
A perfect mirror, swallowing the galaxy in silence.
I couldn’t stop looking.

And even now, safely docked on the Solaris, I find myself a little dazed — as though I’ve left some part of myself hanging in the lightless depths.
What does it mean, this milestone?
Perhaps it’s not just about reaching so far from what you know — but realizing how much further there still is to go.
The center of the galaxy… and yet not the end. Just another point on the line.
The stars don’t care that I came here. The black doesn’t care that I’m here now.
And yet — for me — it matters.
Funny, isn’t it?
For the first time in my life, I’ve arrived somewhere that’s further from everything than I thought I could ever be — and yet closer to who I really am.

There’s no bar here, of course. No one to clink a glass with.
Just me, my ship, and the quiet hum of someone else’s carrier keeping the lights on.
So, synthetic whiskey it is — straight from the dispenser.

Here’s to the black. Here’s to the silence.
And here’s to the next horizon.
"We chase the stars not because they care — but because we still do."

Tom Bacon out.