CMDR Airman_Dan’s Log, 22nd September 3307

They swirl around me, shades of crimson and violet.  I can feel the heartbeat of the darkness and it beckons me.  Every star has its own sound, and as I pass them the building chorus finds a harmony unlike any other.  As unique as a fingerprint, this  b̷̡̡̛̛̪͔̤͍̫̭̞̅̔̂̾͋̓͜͡ú̢̡̜͉̮͍͇͙̓̒͊̅͆͘͘z̥͎̼̘̜̽́̍̂͠z̛̟͕͓̜̘̠̱̯̑͋͂͠ĭ̵̛͉̹̻͙̺̱͌̈͋̏̕͜͢n͚͚̟͔̝̺͈̬̽̉́̔͐̀͢͠g͉̖͉͚̺̞͍̹̒̈̀̄͆͝ͅ v̴̡̘͕͓̪̝̳̖̞̌͑͊͗͒͊̐̚͞i̮̺̝͉̟̳͉̍̍̐̃̆͜͟͡͞͝͝b̫̖̟̮̲̰̐̀́͌̕͜r̟͎̫̜̬̞̱͕͑̋̆̈́̈́̚͜ͅą̨̛̻͖̙͙̘̼̠̋̾̑̈̐̂͞t̸͕͈̤̥̟̟͚̽̄̆̒́͊̽̕͘͠ị̴̛̱̫͖̹̻͎͇̌͗̓͘͘̚n̷̨͈͇͍͙̞̖̽͛̉͆͆͜͡ģ̝͕̥̣̠́̋̈̋͌̋͝ s̪̫̥̹̟͕͗̆̆̓̃̐̿͘ḩ̶̨͖̬̣̃̃̎͆̒̚͝ā̵̧̛̠̩͉̤͉͎̫͎̃̌̉͋̿͛͝͞ͅk̷̨̘̪̺̣̯̪̿̒̊̉͢͠į̸̧̛̠͕̙̘̪̜͖͕̓͑̽͆̑ņ͇̖̰̥̗̎͌͋͆̍͜͢ģ̵̪͎̟̲͉̥̹̈́̂̒̑͆̊͢͝ͅ t̶̢̞͓̲͔̭̠̳̯̦̉͋̂́̿̑r̵̨̥͙̭͙̺̘͒̄̔͞͡ę̠̝̜̹͓͇̤̪̙̿̈́̄̍͑̈́̆͂̋͞m̤͓̩͖͇̜͇͎̿͊̇̓̔̓̚͜͜͡͠ǫ̪͕͍͔̗̟͈̽̋̓͋̿̕r̷̠̱̮̫͓͍̮͗̒̎͑͗̏̚s̛̯͈͉̻̦̖̅̽̂̋͋̃́̈̍w̶̮̭̰̞̰̦̝͔̖̆̇̌̀͒̃á̮͍̣̟̖̻̞̄̅̀͌̽͊̊̆̎v͙͍̹͖͔̾̾͒̑͗̉̚͜͡ę̨̛̠̫̜̯͎͕͆͊͊̔̄̅̈́͜s̯̯̱̳̰̔̈̀̆͒̊ c̶̛̮̪̪̣̺̰͔̤̠͉̒̇̂̌̈̄̒̉̕ŗ̸͓̺̟̟̥̒̔̌̂̉́͒̚̕͢ḁ̶̱̥͚̱̌̽̈́̑͌́͒͑̆͞s̢̼̲̣̜̠̖͉͚̀͛̏̔̍̃̌̆ḣ̵̼̭͔͎̻̋̿͗̎͒̿i̸̠̬̳̟̞̜͗̑̋̌͋̽͟n̵̛̰̗̘̺̼͈͉̩͗̉̓͆̆̌̚͟͠ģ̴͕̰̠̱̳͂̈́̀́́͂̏̾͢ ENERGY is visible to everybody, yet only I can see it.  I need you to see it.  I need them to see it.  To see me.

It’s why we’re here.  Why we keep going.  We’re not there yet, but we’re getting close.  I can feel it.  I can hear it.  Can’t you?

Of course you can’t.  It’s my song.  Give it back!  I’ll share it when I’m ready.

We found a Type 6 over the weekend, or what was left of it.  Not sure what they were doing out all this way, and they didn’t leave a note.  No survivors.  But then, if there had been something alive in there, it wouldn’t have been anything we’d recognize.  I grabbed a couple spare parts from the wreck—he wasn’t using them!—and moved on.

We’re at a pair of moons that won’t leave each other alone now.  I tried to jump from one to the next, but didn’t quite make it.  I’ll be back for more.  Space is starting to thin out a bit, and the neutrons that were once so ubiquitous are getting more rare.  The Fiat Lux is starting to show wear on the paint again, and it looks dignified.  The Katran came out for a spin for the first time a few days ago.  Finding a parking spot for that Corvette is always a pain, but it’s nice to show off once in a while.

I’m refitting the Ad Astra as something of an exploration liner slash yacht.  Six sleeper cabins, an empire suite, a private spa, a gym, a theater, a galley, an office, stellar cartography, a science lab, a powder room and two full lavs, and still room for the fighter and the buggy.  And it’s got enough armament to keep commanders with sticky fingers out of my hair, all while still jumping over 40 light years at a pop.  Is there anything a Keelback can’t do?  Will have to grab a couple folks for a shakedown cruise soon.

The spa has a pool, by the way.  Don’t ask where I got it, but a gravmesh found its way into my possession and then the deck plating.  

You really can’t hear that?  Well.  We’ll be closer to farther sooner or later, but for now let’s enjoy the journey.  My opus will come into focus in due time.

CMDR Airman_Dan’s Log, 7th September 3307

I’m back.

And I’m on fire again.  Thought I’d show off a bit and take the Fragmen Stercore down to Monde de la Mort.  I’ve got a sizable fleet out here, both from my own collection of ships and of those out here with me.  I guess we’re a thing now — I heard about us on the radio and apparently we’re even in some newsletter circulating back in Sol.  The Wild Wild West expedition is what they’re calling us.  Fitting enough.

The irony, of course, is that this Eagle wasn’t even the ship I was supposed to take out today.  The Per Scientiam was up in the rotation, because I wanted to demonstrate that this Planet of Death could be conquered even by a flying hotbox contraption like the Type 7.  That was supposed to be Thursday.  But one of our crazy cohorts found a planet with 11 Gs to land on, and like many others I dutifully diverted in search of new and creative ways of s̢̼̹̳̥̺̾̓̿̄̀͢p̞̟̱̟̦͍̹̥̱̀́͌͌̀͘͠ͅḽ̛͖̞̩̰̄͗̓͑̇̋͠a̧̛͍͍̰̤͕̠͆̍̄͌̽̀̕͡ṯ̸̡̛̰̖̰͚̈́͛̑͜͝ţ͔̠͉̦̦̟̪̟͇̍̽̓̃͘ḛ̴̢̰̼͖̩̃̍̀̌͆̔͒͜͡r͖̰̼̜̯̘̘̲̬̖͛̆̍̐̅͛̕͘î̹̖̙̹͙̰̒̐̔̽͘͜͠n̢͓̣̮͓̘̰͛͆̾͋̕͟͜g̶̡̡̻̮̲͈̪͎͊͂̇̍̈̏͟͝͞ myself through the universe.  So the T7 remained safely docked today, and instead the Eagle came out to play for a little hide-and-seek near the Silver’s Landing.  One thing led to another and this papier-mâché pile came with me to play ding dong ditch with the devil.

Can I just stop for a moment and point out how profoundly disappointing the Eagle is on so many levels?  It’s shaped like a fighter, but isn’t fast.  It looks sleek, but poor planning produced a pudgy platform with perilous module placement.  It’s too fat for its own good, and because the hardpoints are jammed into the underside of the fuselage rather than bolted to the wingtips like any reasonable person would expect given the shape of the ship, there wasn’t room for a properly proportioned fuel tank or frame shift drive.  They’re both too small, and so not only can the ship not go anywhere, but it runs out of gas while it’s not doing it.  It’s impossible to overstate how astonished—and confused—I was the day I got it back from the outfitter and took the beam lasers out for a whirl, and found the came from underneath and above my seat instead of out the nose and wingtips like I’d expected.  Maybe I’d watched too many sci-fi vids when I was a kid, but cool-looking weapons were one of the few expectations I had of this ship, and even there it let me down.

All this is mostly to say this ship doesn’t get out much.  After the beam lasers brought out the sad trombone, I gave the ship its name—translation is left as an exercise for the viewer—and mostly mothballed it.  So no, I didn’t check it for heat sinks before I brought it out today, and now it’s on fire, and I’m in it.

You’re going to have to do better than that.

CMDR Airman_Dan’s Log, 19th July 3307

I stopped by Jameson’s crash site today.  Never been before.  From the rubble—a monument to hate, or at least fear—his voice spoke of love.  I don’t really know his story.  Only how it ended.  And what was I there to do?  An engineer told me the man’s surprise tomb might have some data he could use to make the guns on the Festina Lente more lethal.

So I robbed his grave.  Picked it clean.  All while I listened to its occupant lament the circumstances that brought us together.  What does it matter?  He’s dead anyway.  Not like he’ll mind.

Now I have a brick, and the brick is angry.  Let’s see what else I have to throw around.