Is that it kind of writes you as the hero of a narrative as you play, even in beta. On Sunday this week as Lavecon was on, this happened;
The dull thump and kick to starboard told me the docking clamps had been released. I thumbed the lower RCS activation switch and felt the gentle nudge of gravity as we lifted from the pad. 5 meters, 8 meters, 15 meters, at that point, as is customary, I took a moment for a visual check. Inside the giant dodecahedral station radar can be a little flaky, so I took a few moments to check things out with a Mk1 eyeball. The station was relatively quiet, a cobra landing on a pad ninety degrees to me, a pair of sidewinders heading for the exit, that deceptive slot in the far wall. How many ships had got that wrong today? I wondered.
Then I saw it, emerging from the docking port, a colossal, metal leviathan. A Lakon type 9. I watched in awe as its commander squeezed the monstrous bulk into the station, less than a meters gap between the bulkheads of the station and the skin of beast. Passing from the black outside to the gaudy neon of the port, time appeared to slow as more and more of the ship became visible, its scale, jaw dropping. The tiny sidewinders thrusters flashing wildly, desperate to avoid the path of this oncoming metal goliath, they rolled out if its flight path.
I exhaled and realised I had been holding my breath as it docked. Still captivated, I watched as flares of blue flashed from several points along the ship’s hull as it began to roll lazily around its longitudinal axis. Whoever was flying the ship was clearly experienced at such a procedure, this metallic hippo of a ship pirouetting as if in a mechanical ballet, gracefully performing for the denizens of a theatre of steel and plascrete. The ship stabilised as it approached the orange day glow of the holo landing lights, momentarily blocking them out as it settled above the pad. Four flashes of blue and the ship began to descend, six more, brighter flashes, and the ship was down, the pad lights flickered to life, ready to begin unloading the mammoth.
A beep from the console refocused my attention; my departure timer was down to 60 seconds. No problem, I’ve left a station with less time than that. My fingers danced over the controls, gear raised, hold secure, thrusters to flight configuration, navigation lights on. I liked to set my hyperjump course before leaving the station; after all you never know who is out there and how quickly you need to “disappear”. I locked the nav beacon for the Aulin system. A short trip but a profitable one, I hoped.
I looked up, thrusting forward as I went, only to be confused by the lack of light, there were no neon hoardings offering their wares, no windows from the many habitat and industrial units that faced into the dock. Then the shadow passed into my ships lights, I cursed under my breath as I recognised what had caused the black out a split second before the proximity alarms went off screaming their alarm. Punching the lateral thrusters I yanked the stick to starboard, I was fast, but not fast enough. The sickening impact of metal on metal rang through the hull, the force of it throwing my ship into gut wrenching motion. The lights outside had reappeared but were now spinning violently, where they had been pinpricks of light, now they were long streaks, disorientating to follow. I reached out to shut down the main drive with one hand while frantically firing the RCS system in an attempt stop the rollercoaster. Several more impacts followed in rapid succession, I stopped trying to look out the window, the view too distracting. Instead I concentrated on the instruments, hull integrity down to 67%, 44%, then, slowly, miraculously the world began to slow and return to the stillness of a few moments earlier. My eyes settled on the console as the ship levelled and I felt I had last regained control.
Hull integrity at 32%, cursing under my breath I took the time to survey the dock outside. I had guessed correctly, one of the sidewinders, those tiny all purpose ships, had lost control when trying to avoid the Lakon as it docked. All that was now left of the ship were huge chunks of debris rolling through the near zero gravity of the station; it was one of the larger pieces that had hit my ship. I could only guess that it had either collided with the other sidewinder or part of the station, either way the result was catastrophic for the craft.
I opened the com and requested a landing bay, that short profitable trip would have to wait.
I'm hooked and the level of immersion you get is at the end of the day down to you, if you're there just to say you're in the "Elite" club, good for you!
if you want something more? That's there too. Me? I'm just trying pay my way round the universe man.
Thanks for checking this thread out.
The dull thump and kick to starboard told me the docking clamps had been released. I thumbed the lower RCS activation switch and felt the gentle nudge of gravity as we lifted from the pad. 5 meters, 8 meters, 15 meters, at that point, as is customary, I took a moment for a visual check. Inside the giant dodecahedral station radar can be a little flaky, so I took a few moments to check things out with a Mk1 eyeball. The station was relatively quiet, a cobra landing on a pad ninety degrees to me, a pair of sidewinders heading for the exit, that deceptive slot in the far wall. How many ships had got that wrong today? I wondered.
Then I saw it, emerging from the docking port, a colossal, metal leviathan. A Lakon type 9. I watched in awe as its commander squeezed the monstrous bulk into the station, less than a meters gap between the bulkheads of the station and the skin of beast. Passing from the black outside to the gaudy neon of the port, time appeared to slow as more and more of the ship became visible, its scale, jaw dropping. The tiny sidewinders thrusters flashing wildly, desperate to avoid the path of this oncoming metal goliath, they rolled out if its flight path.
I exhaled and realised I had been holding my breath as it docked. Still captivated, I watched as flares of blue flashed from several points along the ship’s hull as it began to roll lazily around its longitudinal axis. Whoever was flying the ship was clearly experienced at such a procedure, this metallic hippo of a ship pirouetting as if in a mechanical ballet, gracefully performing for the denizens of a theatre of steel and plascrete. The ship stabilised as it approached the orange day glow of the holo landing lights, momentarily blocking them out as it settled above the pad. Four flashes of blue and the ship began to descend, six more, brighter flashes, and the ship was down, the pad lights flickered to life, ready to begin unloading the mammoth.
A beep from the console refocused my attention; my departure timer was down to 60 seconds. No problem, I’ve left a station with less time than that. My fingers danced over the controls, gear raised, hold secure, thrusters to flight configuration, navigation lights on. I liked to set my hyperjump course before leaving the station; after all you never know who is out there and how quickly you need to “disappear”. I locked the nav beacon for the Aulin system. A short trip but a profitable one, I hoped.
I looked up, thrusting forward as I went, only to be confused by the lack of light, there were no neon hoardings offering their wares, no windows from the many habitat and industrial units that faced into the dock. Then the shadow passed into my ships lights, I cursed under my breath as I recognised what had caused the black out a split second before the proximity alarms went off screaming their alarm. Punching the lateral thrusters I yanked the stick to starboard, I was fast, but not fast enough. The sickening impact of metal on metal rang through the hull, the force of it throwing my ship into gut wrenching motion. The lights outside had reappeared but were now spinning violently, where they had been pinpricks of light, now they were long streaks, disorientating to follow. I reached out to shut down the main drive with one hand while frantically firing the RCS system in an attempt stop the rollercoaster. Several more impacts followed in rapid succession, I stopped trying to look out the window, the view too distracting. Instead I concentrated on the instruments, hull integrity down to 67%, 44%, then, slowly, miraculously the world began to slow and return to the stillness of a few moments earlier. My eyes settled on the console as the ship levelled and I felt I had last regained control.
Hull integrity at 32%, cursing under my breath I took the time to survey the dock outside. I had guessed correctly, one of the sidewinders, those tiny all purpose ships, had lost control when trying to avoid the Lakon as it docked. All that was now left of the ship were huge chunks of debris rolling through the near zero gravity of the station; it was one of the larger pieces that had hit my ship. I could only guess that it had either collided with the other sidewinder or part of the station, either way the result was catastrophic for the craft.
I opened the com and requested a landing bay, that short profitable trip would have to wait.
I'm hooked and the level of immersion you get is at the end of the day down to you, if you're there just to say you're in the "Elite" club, good for you!
if you want something more? That's there too. Me? I'm just trying pay my way round the universe man.
Thanks for checking this thread out.
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