SLRC-RV>Cartographer - Ship Specifications and Research Logs

[Stoner_Steve]

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1. Ship History
2. Ship Specifications
3. Research Logs
4. Ship Logs
5. Personal Logs

Hans Schmidt

8340218-0141

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/H.SCHMIDT:8340218-01:41/
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Verdammt und nochmal verdammt. Omicron Theta? Are they daft, these so-called leaders? Since the Corsairs sunk their teeth into Freeport 9, that whole sector's been nothing but a powder keg waiting to explode. We haven't even finished teething ourselves, the Cartographer barely stretched her legs beyond a few measly weeks from a proper resupply stop. Now they expect us to waltz into that hornet's nest, reliant on our own meager stores for who knows how long?

And Wright, that slick politician with his practiced smile, keeps his lips sealed tighter than a U-Boat under pressure when it comes to the mission details. What exactly are we looking for out there? Resources? New jump points? More trouble than we can handle, that's for sure.

The whispers in the watch haven't exactly been cheery symphonies, either. Most signed on for this fancy explorer vessel expecting to chart uncharted territories, sure, but not to become targets for trigger-happy pirates in a lawless system. We were promised regular contact with the Colony, a lifeline back to home. Omicron Theta ain't exactly known for its bustling communication hubs.

This whole mess feels like a gamble, and we're the stakes. Ersatzteile running low, Nahrungsmittel knapp bemessen – if things go south, which they likely will in that cursed sector, we'll be stranded ducks in a shooting gallery. My gut twists tighter than a pretzel with every passing moment.

Maybe I should've stuck to fixing engines on civilian freighters. At least there, the dangers were straightforward, the risks calculated. Here, on this bleeding-edge explorer, it feels like we're hurtling towards an asteroid field blindfolded.

But what can I do? Voice my concerns and get labeled a defeatist? This ship, for all its bells and whistles, still runs on a chain of command, and questioning that seems a surefire way to get yourself locked in the brig. So I vent here, into this cold, digital void, a silent scream into the unknown.

Maybe tomorrow will bring some clarity. Maybe Wright will finally spill the beans. Maybe… but a Rheinland engineer isn't one for wishful thinking. We prepare for the worst, even as we hope for the best. And right now, the worst feels like a long, lonely, and very explosive trip to Omicron Theta.

Bis morgen, Logbuch. Hoffentlich.


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