Personal Log, Galactic date 1.1.3308

Happy New Year, self. I sit here, staring off into the depths of deep space, some twelve thousand light years from home, and I have to ponder what drives a man into this life. Fifty some years of life and thirty five of it dedicated to the Navy and ships; theirs, mine, any ship that will cart my aging butt across the stars. I've always thought I wanted a family, but my family always seems to be me, my ship and my cat. Why?

It's not that I love the solitary life of jumping from system to system, delving into the dark to find strange new worlds or forgotten relics. Much of that seems tedious. It's not that I hate people. Well, I actually don't like most people and don't like being around most people, but that's not really it either. It's not that I don't want intimacy, I really do enjoy the company of a good woman. So what is it? For some reason, I just get pulled back into the black, time and again, to seek the unknown and the forgotten.

So, now I sit in space, looking at the derelict mega ship Zurara. I've looked at each of the settlement sites (ie ghost towns) and read their logs. Then I finally found this ship, deep in the black and listened to the sad story of one of the crew. Someone should really pay for the crime of leaving all these people to die.

As a side note, mind the gravity at the Delta site. I managed to forget myself and jumped off one of the hab platforms. Spent an afternoon nursing an ankle in the med unit on my ship. So note to self, pay more attention to planet details after your scan.

Anyway, having reviewed this sad story of ships and crews sent out on promises of riches, just to kill them after the mission is completed, really gets to me. And I sit here, staring at far off galaxies and not many stars in our own; so far out our own galaxy looks foreign, and I wonder what it's all for. Why do I do this?

This second leg was a challenge. I couldn't rely on the nav computer. Every time I tried to get it to plot a course to this gods forsaken system, it wouldn't do it. Thankfully one of the mapping programs enabled me to set a number of way points to cross the void out here. I could try going further out, push my ship to it's limits. But should I wind up jumping to a system, low on fuel only to find the data on the destination wrong and I end up at some Tauri star, or a brown dwarf, then I'm screwed, dead in the water, to borrow a Navy term.

Maybe it's the risk, the challenge of the galaxy trying to kill me and me giving it the finger. Either way, time to start the third leg. Time to start trekking around the "east" side of the galactic disk and out to Beagle Point. This will undoubtedly be the longest leg of my journey.

Angela sent me another photo through the Galnet of my cat. The fat furball is laying belly up in her easy chair staring at her vid screen. Yep, she's spoiling him.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma

Personal Log, Galactic Date 12.31.3307

I successfully completed the first leg of my exploration trip out into the black. After leaving the Farsight station in the Heart Nebula, I headed out to RS Persei. I heard it was big. Holy Moses, BIG is an understatement. Not quite as big as Betelgeuse, but close. Trying to get a scan of the planetary bodies took a lot of flying to get around this behemoth. Two planets, no atmos, easy landing. So I picked A1, of course. Why not land as close to the supergiant as I can.

Wow, A1 is right in the auto refueling range of the star. Of course you know I had to do it. I just had to zip up my suit and step outside my ship. Galnet was indicating someone else had done it. Guess some of us stick jockeys just aren't that bright. To say it was hot would be another massive understatement. I think I cooked some meat. After a few seconds outside the protection of my ship (and air con) I'd had enough and gritting my teeth I charged back into the ship and straight to the aid station. Fortunately I regularly take my Iodine pills to keep that pesky radiation at bay.

After cooking myself I made my way to the Formidine Rift abandoned settlement sights. They are creepy ghost towns and the flight logs left behind by some of the expedition flight crew are sad and spooky. It seems something out here drove them to Space MaDnEsS. I guess if my ship were experiencing strange power fluctuations and system malfunctions then suddenly blowing up, I'd go a bit crazy too. Not that I'm not already crazy, I mean, I am heading out into the black, ... by myself, ... in a stripped down Asp Explorer, ... with no weapons.

On the upside Angela (the neighbor girl taking care of my cat) sent me a photo over the Galnet messaging system. She's treating him with whip cream. I'm going to get home to a very fat and spoiled cat.

Now I'm off to find the edge of the galaxy.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma

Personal Log, Galactic date 12.30.3307

Earth New Years Eve is upon us and I'm nearing completion of the first leg of my exploration trip. After arriving in the Flaming Star Sector and making a pit stop at the Flaming Star Logistics Center I decided to take a detour. For some reason I can never keep myself on a set course and am always distracted by something shiny or an intriguing new path. So instead of heading directly for GCRV 2334 and checking out the Carbon Star, I ended up going over to the NGC 7822 Nebula. (Oh look a Squirrel.)

Nice nebula, found a nifty planet about Earth size, and promptly belly flopped my Asp while trying to get the auto pilot to engage. Shields went down and I took a bit of hull damage. (sigh) Not enough to ruin the ship, but enough to make me worried each time I attempted a new planet. Eventually I managed to make it to the C-star and a couple other systems with some cool black holes, but I find those boring. I do love me some nebulae.

Next stop, Heart and Soul nebulae. Base Camp in the Soul Nebula is a nice place, rustic, rugged. Dare I say primitive. And security at some of the settlements really need to lay off the caff. Stopped by a settlement for some "local entertainment", had a guard scan me and dammit, I forgot I had an e-tool in my pack. Damn rent-a-cops immediately started shooting ... IN THE BAR. Barely made it out of there with my life. They even took the shields down on my ship and did some more hull damage. Fortunately the techs (and the cops) at Base Camp didn't ask any questions.

So feeling not so welcome I headed over to the research facility, Farsight Expedition Base over in the Heart Nebula. You know, on a few of my jumps along the way I've found some plants to sample and hand in to Vista Genomics. Little did I know some of that stuff makes decent booze. But here I sit, in the pub in the Farsight station, and I'm really hoping the energy drinks I have on board my ship will keep the hangover I know is coming at bay. Wow, these back water hicks really know how to make a potent drink.

Any way, I'm rolling out of this dive and heading for the famous Project Dynasty remnants. Perhaps I'll find something to write home about; if there was anyone at home other than my cat. I wonder how the neighbor girl is taking his loud demands for grooming and treats and his odd habit of being a voyeur while she's in the refresher.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma

Personal log, Galactic date 12.28.3307

Well, I'm finally ready. At least as ready as I can be. I'm loaded up on all the raw materials I'll need to boost my fuel for longer jump range. Reduced as much weight as I can get away with and not be flying an aluminum foil pan. Maintenance is done, a fresh coat of paint and she's fueled up. The Golden Hind is once again ready to head out into the black and see what the galaxy has to offer.

I've got meager fleet locked up in Jameson Memorial and the auto cleaning bots will dust them off once a month. The apartment is tidied up with dust cloths covering the furniture up. Dropped the cat off with a neighbor girl. Fridge and freezer are defrosted and turned off and the lights are out.

First I'm headed to the Formidine Rift. There's some nebulae I wish to see. Then it's the long trek around the right side of the galactic disk and out to Beagle Point. This is going to be a long trip. Longer than my three or four trips out to Colonia and back. So I'll put some energy drinks in the mini fridge next to my bunk, put some coffee on to brew, take a deep breath and crank up the FSD.

So long Bubble, Hello Deep Space.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma

Personal log, Galactic date 12.28.3307

Normally I'd say I hate thieves. I guess I hate thieves who steal from me or those I care about. But this Winking Cat dude is just weird. So he steals a mess of stuff from some dude then sets up a wild goose chase scavenger hunt for people to go around and collect it.

I just fly my little ship, do my little things and don't really pay much attention to what's going on in the Galaxy. I mean really, why should I care about the price of tea on Founders World. The wings of a butter fly on terraformed Mars certainly doesn't influence the combat zones in IX. So when I heard of his shenanigans I didn't think much of it.

But then I started hearing through the grapevine of people clearing hundreds of millions of credits, ships and weapons. So I figured why not, I'll check out Galnet. And then my brain leaked and I just didn't get what the heck these hacked poems meant. This Cat could sure use a therapist.

But thanks to Astro over at Terra Ex, I was able to find all six cashes. I've increased my fleet and most importantly my bank account. All just before heading out into the black. At least I'll be able to afford to upgrade my Explorer.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma

Personal log, Galactic date 12.27.3307

I'm sure everyone feels the same; farming materials for feed to the engineers blows big chunks. And these damnable brokers who help sort out your material inventory, those bastards are robber barons. But we needs the materials.

Engineers need the materials to build their gizmos and gadgets they install on our beloved ships to improve them. But we also need them for our ships synthesis systems to generate ammo, heat sinks, fuel and other such stuff. So we're constantly going through them. You'd think one of these Material Traders would break down and accept credits for goods rather than barter with other materials.

I'm planning a trip to Beagle Point and taking the long way around. While my exploration ship, Golden Hind, gets just over 63LY in a jump, I'll need fuel boost when I get to the deep stretches out by Beagle Point. So I need materials. Raw materials. And the best place to get them is a couple systems over 17,000LY from the bubble. Like holy crap. I've spent the better part of the past three weeks making trips out, loading up, coming back to a material trader to barter for materials that aren't out there, then heading back. Four trips now to HIP 36601. Ugh! All this crap and it's my birthday, today.

Then once I'm done out there I need to hit up a few other locations and load up on some manufactured goods and data, just to be sure I have everything I could possibly need out in the black. Now if I could just load up on enough coffee and BBQ ribs to last a year, then maybe I'll survive my quest.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma

Personal log Galactic date 10.01.3307

What is with the fascination of small children with big machinery? Whenever I go cruising by in my rock hauler, I see them with their faces plastered to port windows, fogging up the glass. As I pull into the docking bay, I can spot parents trying to keep them in check as they want to come look.

The teens and young adults seem to be attracted to the sleek fighters; they like the speed and the body lines. Old men tend toward the larger battle craft or cargo and passenger ships either for their promised income or military nostalgia

But small children, particularly boys, seem to be attracted to the big, bulky working ships. I watch them staring after the unloading equipment, fascinated with the process of loading and unloading my Type Ten. I see them staring at me, in my dusty hat and dirty flight suit and I have to wonder at their wonder.

Then I think back, to when I was a small boy, how I would stare after the big working trucks and ships, hauling rock, or freight and how I would look up to the men and women who could control such beasts in tight spaces and make such hard work look easy. They were heroes; everyday, working man heroes. So as I walk past them, I make sure to smile and wave, understanding that some day, that small kid will one day be the captain of a big mining ship, or piloting a massive freighter through tight spaces, docking and brushing off the dust while another generation of would be pilots look on in wonder and fascination.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma

Personal log Galactic date 08.08.3307

Sigh Hauling freight, hauling equipment. There's got to be a better way to make a decent living. I guess one has to be super tech savvy, like my wife. Scientists, programmers, ... Nerds. I'm a nerd, always have been. But I'm a jack of all trades and of all the trades I'm good at, hauling freight pays the best. But I'm done humping it off the docks and onto my rig. Heavy equipment is the way to go, just drive the damn thing on. Haul it from point A to point B and hope no one tries to nab it, or run into you.

So I poke around at the local outfits, looking for that right job. Something that pays well and has some decent bennies, like retirement and health care. Of course, that will be less time at home and more time on the road. But if you want to make money, you got to work at it.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma

Personal log Galactic date 07.16.3307

Boy, talk about a bunch of stuck up snobs. These engineers act as if they are Gods gift to pilots. They demand weird payments (like what the heck are they doing with a million creds worth of Fed combat bonds), then they won't even give you what you want without having them tinker around for a week first. On top of that they don't even have the materials they need for the work and the pilot has to run around all over the place scavenging for them. How about you just charge for your service and then use the money to buy the materials you need for the work. That's how the rest of the galaxy does it. And don't even get me started on the drunks and drug addicts. I mean, do I really want someone who chugs a case of Lavian Brandy to work on my ship?

And they talk a big ship load of crap about how awesome they are and how balls the ship will be when they're done. But when you get out into the black or into a combat zone, you hear strange noises from your power distributor and the lasers stop working. Not to mention some of them give themselves highfalutin names. Like this stolen valor twat. Calls herself "Colonel" while her uniform clearly shows Sergeants stripes. I swear, if I could get my hands on the tools and a shop, I'd do the work myself.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma

Personal log Galactic date 07.07.3307

After a few weeks of trying my hand at mining, I feel the need to replace my big girl, the Cagafuego. She's a Type 9; a decent ship with lots of cargo space, and as a miner she's ok. But the damn pirates are hungry for free Void Opals and without a decent way to defend her I felt I needed to replace her. So I traded her in for a Type 10. I kept the same ID number, but she's the Cagafuego II, now. She's doing ok for mining and though I have much reduced cargo space (thanks to all the defensive gear) I can at least have my lovely crew member manning (womaning?) a ship launched fighter to watch my back. I've managed to make at least one successful run and make a decent profit and of course there's a lot of dead pirates. Prospector limpets are an issue, but I'll work that out. At least now I don't have to worry about being attacked while mining.

Marcus Apollo St Martin-Sepert AKA Sir Puma