Miranda Bot @mainebot@cmdr.social

The speed at which I can cover 2500 ly is frankly astonishing. And I know, I KNOW, this is still nowhere near my limit.

If I ever wind up back in the bubble (if it's even still there) I'm going to start engineering this ship for distance. I'll go further. I can go further.

I'm deep into the black. I don't know how many days I've been jumping closer to sag a*, detouring off in random directions, scoop, honk, and boom on.

I found a world, perfect for me. Rich atmosphere, life, perfect length of day. I made a note, considered landing, thought better of it.

II may have never left, and I have a mission. A goal, more like.

Scoop, boom on.

A forgettable rock in orbit around a forgettable rock. The star, generic, yellow, and indifferent to my presence.

I'm staring at mountains, now. Towering jagged and fierce in low gravity, never knowing shadow. It's hot, and my life support struggles to manage the heat.

Thousands of ly from Colonia. Tens of thousands from Sol; an ancestral home I can't legally approach.

These mountains predate the Earth, and will persist long after it's gone.

I've docked with the Dove Enigma before launching into the black for as long as I can manage it.

I powered up my systems, preflight checked out green. It took some time to port the data over from the Impulse Buy to the Conditional Clause (no thanks to cross-compat issues) but I'm ready, now.

On a whim, I pinged the system, a place I'd been very busy in, with my good discovery scanners.

Two dozen new objects detected, extending out thousands of ls.

I missed this.

The black calls. I'm back in my dbx, and I'm leaving. Colonia isn't for me.

Bonestell point repairs complete. They were a costly reminder of my own hubris.

I'm refitting, and making some money.

I consider myself a good pilot, a decent fighter, and a dedicated explorer. But sometimes these lines blur.

I forego basic pilot Courtesy. I explore violence. I forget about the black.

I can't let myself be distracted. I have to focus on the jobs. One, then the next.

I watch engineers peel back scorched plating and replaces reams of shorted cable. I can afford a few mistakes, can't I?

The silence has the answer.

The damage was considerable. I limped back to Bonestell point with a handful of revenge vouchers.

Fuck. They weren't revenge. Not really. They were to satisfy my ego. My hunger to prove myself more than a tour guide.

I had a long flight to reflect.

I slid into drydock and looked at how close it really was.

Sixteen ablated layers of armor, burned clean through. A slug lodged in the bulkhead behind my cockpit. Inches.

The ship would be fine in days. But would I?

https://cmdr.social/media/aw2hpPnGW0wdYAiCSN4

There was a battle.

I was outclassed and outgunned. I was alone. And I am the only one alive.

The first kill was revenge.

I barely got away.

Careless, stupid. I wasn't equipped right, thought my cannons would work on a small fighter. An iEagle and his friends.

I limped back to port and got my welding torch ready.

Stored all my cabins. Upgraded my power systems, my shields, my thrusters. Swapped my cannons for turrets, upgraded my stock lasers for some heavy ordinance.

Welded the holes shut.

Felt the old wound ache.

Let's try this again.

I launched.

The bone yard.

Heh.

Despite the name, it's incredible how terrible it is here. The fuel is watered down. They have nothing for outfitting. Low value jobs. Worthless politics.

This is the edge. There's nothing further.

I took a job. Some passengers. One-way, to ratraii.

I run my fingertips over the scar on my neck, and I remember my promise. I remember.

Preflight: check. I launch.

I can't stand the tourist grind anymore. I love Jaques station and by now I fucking hate it. It's just dismal.

So I'm off, shopping for parts for the Impulse Buy. Thrusters, cannons, maybe some new shields.

I feel a need to end some life.

A quick run, parked up again and waiting for this civil disobedience to pass.

I visited my DBX again. Seeing her in storage with the systems all but gutted left me heartbroken. I know most of them are in my Python. My FSD, with all it's faults, is still moving me.

I miss the call of the wild. 10 Kly from the nearest base with no guns, no company, and infinite privacy. Solitude. Peace.

How much longer can I keep up honest work? Do I even care?

I've never seen a thargoid.

I left the bubble back when they were a rumor. Sure, I nosed around looking for one as a mild curiosity but... Now? The news coming off galnet? The attacks?

I'm glad I've never seen one.

Completed repairs on my Python, the Impulse Buy.

I can spot the fresh welds, hear the creak and groan of the superstructure even under this light artificial gravity.

This ship is an old soul. I kept a few teeth on it, despite my using it to ferry passengers around. I don't fight, I'm a runner, but it's good to remember that I can.

Aaaand...

...I'm in! Popped a sink right outside their doors. While they were busy warning me not to flash my turrets I jumped the queue and parked before they could relock.

A few million later, my bounty mysteriously disappears.

Great: wanted in Colonia.

System authority has no jurisdiction over who, or what, is in my cargo hold when I skip the system.

The pay is so worth it, but landing is going to be a nightmare.

What is it that keeps be coming back?

Death is not so in control anymore: I can plunge into a star, be ripped apart by gravity, incinerated in a crash, and I am resurrected each time, without fail.

Whenever I sleep, when the meat rests and the sleeve shuts down, how long it would be until I was cloned from a backup? Have I been, already?

As close to death as I can get, all but frozen between the stars, I am never able to die with certainty.

I come back from the deep sleep.

My body, still frozen. My sleeve, operational. Losing fuel between planetary jumps would worry me less if I trusted the fuel rats.

I slept. I drifted. I waited for a proximity alert to bring me 'round.

Colonia was bigger than I expected.