Covered a few Kylies in the new beast now and felt the need to provide Zorgon Peterson with some constructive criticisms on the little idiosyncrasies of the beast. Received this response earlier today: -

Thank you to all Panther Clipper MkII pilots for your continued feedback. As always, we value your tolerance, patience, and—above all—your strong neck muscles.

Frame Shift Drive Thermal Event Report During FSD jumps, many owners have reported interior temperatures "resembling the surface of a G-class star." This is expected behaviour. The MkII’s expanded cargo capacity comes at the slight cost of turning the flight deck into a mobile sauna during high-energy transitions. We recommend keeping a fire extinguisher within arm’s reach—and your crew in minimal clothing.

Flight Deck Wiring Some Commanders have raised concerns about the exposed wiring behind the main console, particularly the occasional electric shocks when reaching for the landing gear switch. Engineering assures us this is a feature, not a flaw. The Clipper MkII was designed with “maximum modularity,” meaning the wiring harnesses are intentionally accessible, useful if you enjoy live electrical puzzles at 30,000m/s.

Command Chair Ergonomics Several owners have noted that the Command Chair's suspension system tends to "launch the pilot toward the canopy" during sudden decelerations or misjudged pad approaches. These high-tension springs are a legacy of the MkI’s “enhanced pilot alertness” program. While whiplash is not technically covered under warranty, we are exploring a patch involving optional head restraints and a five-point harness—available in the upcoming MkIIb variant.

We continue to refine the Panther Clipper MkII experience and encourage owners to submit further reports, medical scans, or charred control panels via the usual encrypted channels.

Fly safe. Or at least fly braced.

—Panther Interstellar Support Team

Later That Day Location: Fragrant Bottom Status: Awestruck, slightly overwhelmed, and currently lost somewhere on Deck 7

It has arrived.

The Panther Clipper Mk II has finally touched down and the landing pad actually groaned. Not metaphorically. It audibly groaned. Pretty sure I saw a support strut text a resignation letter to Station Control.

But who cares? She's here. All 1,200 tons of lovingly welded cargo-hauling magnificence. I just walked into the hangar and got hit square in the face with that glorious new ship smell, part aerospace-grade sealant, part recycled ambition, and just a hint of factory-fresh upholstery that smells like credits well spent.

I tried to do the ceremonial "run your hand along the hull" thing, but after the first 100 meters I gave up and called a taxi to the nose. I’m told it takes three days to walk from the bridge to the aft cargo bay. Zorgon Peterson thoughtfully provided a shuttle.

Highlights so far:

The hardpoints are actually on the outside this time. No more accidental hull vaporization when powering up the turret array. I tested it with a small volley — only took out one advertising holo and a pigeon. Solid improvement.

Deploying the SRV no longer initiates an unplanned ship liftoff. It’s almost… graceful. I didn't even have to explain to Station Authority why my ship was embedded in the ceiling. I nearly wept.

The bridge has a coffee machine. With presets. One is just labelled “Wake Up, Hauler Scum.” It understands me.

I've named her "Void Whisperer", because "Absolutely Massive Flying Wallet" didn't fit on the hull.

Tomorrow, I’ll take her out for her maiden voyage. Probably just a short hop, say 300Kylies or so, depending on how long it takes to accelerate. I may need a calendar update rather than a stopwatch.

End Log. (Panther secured. SRV docked. Ship’s cat already lost somewhere in Cargo Bay C. Life is good.)

Trembling with restrained glee and half a mug of synthnog

It’s Clippermas again, that magical time of year when hopeful commanders gather 'round the landing pad, swapping stories of burnt thrusters and unclaimed delivery bonuses, all while refreshing their pre-order status every five seconds.

Yes, I’m still here. Still waiting for my Panther Clipper Mk II. She's almost here. Probably. Maybe. The shipyard AI winked at me, either that or its proximity sensor glitched again.

The excitement is palpable. I’ve cleared a whole hangar bay, lit a few cargo canisters in celebration, and even practiced breathing in that anticipated new ship smell, a perfect blend of fresh alloy, unscorched wiring, and whatever polymer dreams are made of. I swear I caught a whiff this morning, but it turned out to be an overheated Sidewinder.

There is good news from the devs though! Apparently, they've finally sorted the hardpoint placement, so no more twin beam lasers slicing through the hull like budget cut bacon slicers. And get this, deploying the SRV no longer makes the whole ship perform an accidental vertical thrust impersonation. That’s right: no more emergency roof repairs every time you want to pop out for minerals and existential dread.

So now we wait. Clippermas miracles take time. But when that Panther Clipper Mk II finally arrives, I’ll be the proudest CMDR in the sector, gently caressing the throttle and whispering sweet nonsense like, “Who's got 1,200 cargo capacity and is finally physically coherent? You do, yes you do.”

Until then, I’ll just sit here, cup of rehydrated nog in hand, humming “O Cargo Bay” under my breath and dreaming of my future, slightly more aerodynamic love.

End Log. (Pre-order status: Still pending. Number of times I’ve hit refresh: classified.)

The crew is buzzing with excitement, and a fair amount of caffeine, as we count down the final hours before the release of the Panther Clipper Mk II. This majestic beast of engineering, described by those in the know as "part Thunder Cat, part Tree Frog," promises to leap between star systems with feline grace and amphibian stubbornness. Frankly, it sounds like a biological nightmare, but a cargo hauler’s dream.

Here aboard the Fleet Carrier Fragrant Bottom, we’ve begun the sacred ritual known as "clearing the decks." All remaining tritium stocks, souvenirs from our last misguided exploration jaunt into the far black, are being ejected with a mix of regret and mild relief. The gallium reserves, painstakingly gathered for that ongoing CCG (which none of us actually read the details of), are being offloaded faster than Ensign Jeff's dignity at last year’s Hutton Orbital Karaoke Night.

More dramatically, we’re stripping the Fragrant Bottom of its deep space support systems. Say goodbye to the science modules, the endless diagnostic panels, and that one lab tech who kept growing mould cultures "just for fun." All of it is being jettisoned, or converted into glorious, glorious cargo bays. We’re aiming for a sleek, streamlined, 25,000-tonne hauling monster. If it doesn’t creak ominously when we load it, we’re doing it wrong.

As for what remains aboard? Just 15 Titan Drive components, furtled away in the corner behind the emergency biscuit stash. Why? Because you never know when you’ll need them. Or when biscuits will fail you.

Tomorrow, the Panther Clipper Mk II pounces into our lives, all claws and chrome. Until then, we prep, we purge, and we pray the docking clamps hold when she arrives.

Captain out.

Finally, it seems, we have escaped the region so sparsely populated with systems that is was unnavigable by conventional ship.

I've been given the green light for launch which is an oh so welcome opportunity to indulge in some genuine me time out in the stars. Don't get me wrong, after so long out in the black the chatter of the crew was a welcome distraction, but enough is enough, I really need to get back out there!

So a quick dust down and some pre-flight checks, Crystal Tips and I will be back out amongst the stars. Given the extreme nature of our previous exploration exploits she's been stripped right back to basics. As we now appear to be entering less extreme space I might just appeal for her to be refitted back to her former glory.

So we arrived in a system of some interest and I was despatched to perform my duties as explorer. Gotta say thank the Lord for advanced docking computers as my head was still a little rattled from the partying the night before.

From successful launch though things started to go awry. System scan was fine and indicated a body of interest. As per my training I headed out to investigate what turned out to be a potentially very sexy ammonia planet with the potential for ammonia/carbon based life. Bad news was as I turned the ship around I received the very unwelcome new that landing pads on the Fragrant Bottom had been locked and they were orfsky. Now I don't wish to come across as precious or anything but seriously here WTF?

So I return to the previous location of the fleet carrier (now just empty space) and issue a call for retrieval, knowing full well this is gonna go down like a lead balloon with them as matters. Hey ho, what else can I do?

So here I sits, all system objects of interest mapped (just the one as mentioned earlier). Thankfully packed a cheese sarny prior to departure, something to munch on while I await the return of the carrier I guess.

I was woken from my very welcome malt induced slumber by the rumble of engines. The friendship drives were kicking in and I had no idea whatsoever why or where we were going.

Turns out it was a short jump (for the fleet carrier) to Gehe SY-P d6-0.

I gently rubbed my aching head and awaited the allocation of duties but none came. Apparently this current system is host to a single neutron star so there are no bodies for me to worry about going out and investigating.

This update was imparted in a somewhat condescending and dismissive fashion leaving me feeling, well, a bit like the ashtray on a motorbike to be honest. I guess it's my bad, I remember the days when the position of Commander came with respect, maybe even a level of deference. Sadly those days are long behind us. Now I'm just another washed up spacer with a joystick crabbed hand.

That nasty negativity behind us, life is so much easier now. Must be 5 o'clock somewhere, while I'm apparently off duty, where's that next single malt ...

Generally I'm a loner and, I guess, that's why deep space exploration has proven to be my natural career of choice. That said it was actually a huge relief to rendezvous back with our fleet carrier, the Fragrant Bottom, earlier today.

The usually irritating chatter of the crew was, for once, a welcome addition to my audio landscape.

The fleet carrier is impervious to attack and meant to be indestructible - a safe haven in any storm, but I can sense that the crew are on edge in this area of space. It's hard to nail down exactly why, we are certainly well clear of any Thargoid threat. Perhaps they worry about the increased Thargoid activity back in the bubble and the potential threat to their nearest and dearest. Perhaps its purely the fact that we've crossed the 10,000Ly from Sol threshold (currently 10,000.69Ly out to be precise) Maybe it's just the fact that we're way out in the black gazing upon a truly beautiful white dwarf that, perhaps, just perhaps, humans were never supposed to see.

I've genuinely no idea, but hey, I'm back on board the Fragrant Bottom. Time for a long warm soak and a fine single malt before I'm required to suit up and head out again.

I can't exactly recall the events leading up to this moment. I do have vague recollections of a Civil War and humiliating defeat in my home system of LTT 4772 but any hoo the past is the past.

Somehow I've ended up in an area of space designated the Norma Gap. Half the sky is devoid of stars, the other half filled with the cloud of the core. How can an area so close to the core be so devoid of systems? Using economical route plotting I'm getting no jumps less than 70Ly, if indeed the plotter will behave and deliver up a route. Neutron supercharging is rapidly becoming the norm.

I'm supposed to be gathering ELW data for the current Community Goal, but this area is so beautiful that the bubble and all its trials and tribulations seem somehow irrelevant ...