I was given cause to visit my first megaship (the aforementioned Mjolnir's Wrath) today to put in for much needed (and rather unexpected) repairs thanks to a rather heavy landing on a rather picturesque planet in the otherwise drab and dreary section of the Pyraleau sector of the galaxy. Touchdown for my first foray into interstellar landscape photography was accompanied by the sound of various parts of my vessel's superstructure being violently wrenched about in a vigorous attempt by the Laws of Physics to otherwise bend my ship into new and exciting shapes. I can only blame the landing (or, rather, the impact) on the fact that over the last few years I have become overly familiar with the more diminutive dimensions of the Sidewinder and less so with the way the arse of the Diamondback Explorer drops down (much like greenhorn sanitation engineers at their first sight of Cubicle Three over at Hutton Orbital, I suppose) once the landing gear is deployed...

With my hull perilously close to no longer being a hull in any meaningful sense of the word (I'm sure that a decent sneeze in the wrong place would have my DBX venting atmosphere in a prolonged sneeze of its own) I plotted a course to the nearest facility capable of making the necessary repairs to the Mistakes Were Made so I could continue my journey back to Ratraii, and from there, to my triumphant (if very delayed) arrival at Fort Mug bearing Mugs and Gin for the hard-working ground crew.

I have to say, if Mjolnir's Wrath is anything to go by then the title of "Megaship" shows very little to be "mega" about it. The atmosphere was one of dull and sullen oppression (ably aided by the many surly individuals standing guard in strategic positions wielding weapons that were much larger than mine, I might add - I can only assume they were instructed to shoot on sight any slight chance of "fun" that may otherwise have occurred) and as for recreational facilities, forget it. I was completely unable to find any venue willing (or capable) of dispensing even the most crude of truck-stop coffees, and it's a sad state of affairs when the only escape (actual escape in this case rather than the more welcome virtual variety) was offered by an Apex Shuttles franchise booth where the dust of neglect was almost as deep on the customer service representative as it was on the counter itself.

The only good thing I can say about this gaze into the abyss is that the repairs to my ship were quickly rendered and reasonably priced. The grease monkeys at this forlorn outpost of "civilisation" were most diligent in their repairs, and enabled my quick escape from monotony and enforced sobriety.