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Mr.Fabulous · (This post was last modified: 01-29-2017, 05:14 AM by Mr.Fabulous.)

::: Harrington Logs 2 :::

"... Well now..."

In her bomber, high above Planet Manhattan's orbit, just beside Trenton Outpost, Harriet has one eye on her passive scanners, while the other's on the holographic monitor floating beside. For the past several moments as the scanners were turning up empty, she browses the list of general sites, rumors and locations she's personally gathered through both the general neuralnet and Primary Fleet's databanks. Things such as general Nomad excavation/dig sites, rumors and sightings of Nomads and the Wild, mysterious disappearances non-linked with any pirate group, contacts to interview regarding all things Nomad and Daam K'vosh, etc.

So far, the list is small and a bit of work in progress, but at least they gave her some insight on where to go from here:

notes

And she would've watched more, when a sudden bleeping on her sensors catches her attention. Two fighter-class Rogue vessels came into scanners. She groans to herself, when she finds one was a bomber, and the other a Very Heavy Fighter.

Great... Time to call for some backup.

::: 25 January, 824 A.S., :::

"... I'm getting too old for this."

Harriet cranes her neck to the side, sore from having experienced yet another explosive decompression. Even with having Widowmaker there for support, she got herself handed to by one of the Rogue Very Heavy Fighters. Granted, bombers don't usually win against VHF's, but still...

"Ugh, how embarrassing. Fieldson, ya used ta dance around these pirates no problem... You're losing yer edge, Fieldson, heheh."

Now back at West Point, she slumps onto her chair, and sighs into her hands. Feeling a little defeated, she takes a deep breath...

... and presses the comms button on her bench. "Hezra, please reschedule 1400-1600 hours as my personal snubcraft simulation training."

"Right away, Admiral," a smooth, female voice replies back through the speaker. "Shall I reschedule your 1500-hours classes to 1630-hours?"

"That'll be mighty-nice of ya, thank you. Harriet out." The Admiral stops the comm and leans back onto her chair.

After a moment, she swivels around and turns on the monitor, revealing again her Nomad info-gathering bucket list. Looking at it, she takes another deep breath, and lets it out slow, but heavy.

... Her eyes well up a bit, until a stray tear escapes the corner of one eye.

"Oh, Travis. I shoulda gone with ya to ESRD, when I had the chance..."

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