Logbook entry

I think I'm drunk. This bar is a new one, no one here knows me. Maybe it's all for the better. No one walks up to a crying stranger in a bar. They kinda nod and sympathize, but that's it. No conversation is necessary.



Chargaff, that's where I am...I think. The rescue pilot dropped me off here, I talked to my insurance company, and they're bringing out a replacement. But...how can you replace a part of yourself?



I know it's silly. At the end of the day, a ship is just nanofibered metal, circuitry, and such. Just things. Easily replaceable, manufactured by the thousands. The Asp Explorer is a popular design, and my fit is fairly common among Fuel Rats. Another one will be here in an hour, fitted in exactly the same way, with exactly the same components. It'll likely fly more smoothly, turn without making that annoying buzzing sound, and maybe the dash won't smoke so much when I'm scooping fuel.



But it won't be the same ship. Indefatigable, the Asp Explorer, EXFAS2017YU, first built in 3299 and used to haul biowaste before I got it in late May, 3301, my first multirole above 250 tons, and the ship that truly got me where I am now. I traded in my Type 6, Even Chance, for it and loved the decision. Running marine equipment and metals, I made a veritable fortune. It was also the ship in which I encountered my first pirate.



Like a good, defenseless trader, I powered down and let him know I wasn't there for a fight. The hold full of beryllium was burning a hole in my pocket. After a cargo scan, we started the negotiation for how much cargo, and I tried to talk him out of pirating me entirely. I was not hauling rare materials, there were bigger traders in town, and I was hardly worth his time.



It worked. He let me go without dropping any. 120 tons of profit.



After earning enough for a Type 7, I decided that I didn't want to sell the Asp just yet. My first exploration mission was still fresh in my mind but I knew the wanderlust would bite again. I saved it. To help some friends in combat, I set it up with some heavy weaponry and good shields, then left it in storage for a while. The need came up and I returned to combat patrols in the trader-turned-warship.



And I'm crying again. Yep, drunk.



My first real combat in the ship was in a ring system, when three Anacondas ambushed me. I don't know how I did it, but I wrecked all three. It was the best piece of flying I'd ever done, even though the Asp's hull was marked and venting from impacts. In that mission, I ended up taking on seven Anaconda-class vessels and a dozen others before running out of ammo. Simply spectacular. That was where the ship got her name; my friend coined it on the spot: Indefatigable. The baddest Asp in the galaxy, a lucky ship.



I moved on, of course. Bought other ships, sold them, lost them, or otherwise flew them into the ground. I broke out Indy when Starship One went missing. We found debris, faint distress signals, various hints, and even a gang war, but no sign of the late President Halsey were found by anyone.



In September, I took the ship back out into the Black with the Crab Nebula as my destination. Twenty thousand light-years round-trip. So many first-discoveries, including my first Earthlike. First black hole, first pulsar, the list goes on. The madness set in on my way home, but the ship didn't let me down. I got back safely, with millions in exploration data piled up. It was an overwhelming feeling to have gone so far and found so much...



Stored for a few more months, I brought it back out when I signed up for the Fuel Rats. One of the best decisions I made, I met so many commanders out near the bubble that were ever so grateful. It felt good to do good things for good people in a bad spot. I decided at that moment that Indy would be a ship of doing good. It had been so great to me, now it would be the instrument of charity towards my fellow pilots.



Until today. The mission required Indy to haul me out to Robigo. I never liked Robigo; the cartels there dealt almost exclusively with harvesting and transporting slaves into populated space in very illegal terms. The people that ran the missions had neutral morality; that was okay, but the area was also an exceptionally popular place to blockade. Pilots would take a combat vessel and camp out near the outpost, wait for an unsuspecting smuggler to draw close, and open fire for some reason I cannot fathom.



Turns out today was not my lucky day, and I encountered the latter pilot. Drawing close to Robigo Mines, the A-grade sensors didn't see any contacts. My eyes didn't pick up any sneakers either. I circled the station once, twice, then settled in to line up for Pad 5. Landing gear down, full checks, everything was good.



I don't know how he snuck that close. It couldn't have been silent running alone; I'd have seen him. It must have been an active masking system, because all of the sudden, the stars in front of me were blacked out by a Federal Assault Ship with weapons deployed.



For being caught at a full stop with gear down and no shields, Indy tried her best. I boosted away until I was out of mass lock, and had an escape vector to a nearby system set in. Silent running, heat sinks popping every twenty seconds, and I charged the FSD. I almost made it before the safeties clicked in and blasted me free of the ship. She exploded behind me, though I didn't see it. I always black out during ejection.



An hour later, a rescue ship grabbed me. And now I'm here. Everything is numb and it isn't the whiskey. The ship, my ship, that got me through so much, is gone. Gone to incomprehensible violence.



Rest in Peace, Indefatigable, the transport, the warship, the explorer, the donor. I'll miss you.