- RP Date
- 10/1/YE41
- RP Location
- The Sojourner. Deep space.
Four months. Four, long months. That’s how long it had taken to get the UCS set up on their new home. For the people here, this was a staggeringly long time. For the UCS… it might as well have been millennia. The era that they now inhabited, this space-time, this… dimension… it was far from what they were used to. Still they maintained their machines. Still they kept building and kept hammering in nails into new homes, kept turning the bolts for the factories, kept driving stakes into the ground and slamming home new flags to preside over their worlds as if they were a beacon of liberty and happiness itself. But still, the machine of progress toiled on forever and ever; never resting… and always consuming.
Still, the UCS had constructed their station in a record breaking time for what they thought previously possible. Now, it stood as a monument to those that had lost their way, died, become wounded or fallen in the field of battle on their way here. Traders and emissaries from across the cosmos gathered here… at times. Most often it was local traders and traders heading from the NDC to the UCS or vice versa.
And for all this progress… the machine required more.
“C-V-S Sojourner this is U-C-S Hammer of Night. Current status and mission? Over.” The control spire on the station called out to the Sojourner as it began to drift towards the station.
“Hammer of Night, this is Sojourner. We are en route to dock with the station to pick up cargo, ambassadors, passengers and equipment. Current status reads green across the board. All systems nominal. Over.” Michael responded as the Sojourner began to close the distance a little more quickly than before.
It might have seemed strange to an outsider seeing so many large ships owned by civilians. Even what the UCS called a corvette was still six hundred meters in length and carried thousands of tons of cargo and supplies. “C-V-S Sojourner to Hammer of Night, requesting permission to dock with station. Authentication code is four, three, one, two, seven, niner, alpha, bravo, three, one, four, seven, niner, alpha, zulu, three, one. Over.”
“Sojourner you are granted permission to dock with station within docking ring four Charlie. Advise using RCS thrusters to maintain heading and bearing, drop speed to one kilometer per second. Over.” The station responded as the two began to proceed with the tedious task of docking.
Eventually however the umbilical from the station extended over and the Sojourner was safely moored in place; ready to begin exchanging passengers and cargo in order to keep the machine running. Michael had done… decently. He’d kept the ship funded and running at least. And the Sojourner had done well battling pirates and other such renegades in her time both here and at home.
He stepped into the umbilical, made his way across it and into the station where he removed his helmet and breathed a breath of fresh, recycled, filtered, station air. “It’s good to feel a little bit at home… at least as home as I can be.” He mumbled to himself as his boots clanked against the deck. Armor… of course… as always when he wasn’t in anything nice.
A few people clapped and cheered at the return of the sailor. After all, every ship that made it home in these treacherous times was a miracle to say the least. That and of course, Michael had been the one to broker the treaty between the UCS and NDC. Or at least negotiated it. He didn’t stop to admire the crowd though. He had business to conduct and Michael made his way, helmet underneath his arm, towards the embassy where he was certain there were more people waiting for him.
“God damn I hate being an ambassador…” he grumbled as he stepped into the embassy and began to look about for anyone that might want to clamor for his attention immediately. Or quietly wave… or whatever floated their boat. There were of course a few crew members nearby; perhaps one of them or more had followed him into the embassy?
Still, the UCS had constructed their station in a record breaking time for what they thought previously possible. Now, it stood as a monument to those that had lost their way, died, become wounded or fallen in the field of battle on their way here. Traders and emissaries from across the cosmos gathered here… at times. Most often it was local traders and traders heading from the NDC to the UCS or vice versa.
And for all this progress… the machine required more.
“C-V-S Sojourner this is U-C-S Hammer of Night. Current status and mission? Over.” The control spire on the station called out to the Sojourner as it began to drift towards the station.
“Hammer of Night, this is Sojourner. We are en route to dock with the station to pick up cargo, ambassadors, passengers and equipment. Current status reads green across the board. All systems nominal. Over.” Michael responded as the Sojourner began to close the distance a little more quickly than before.
It might have seemed strange to an outsider seeing so many large ships owned by civilians. Even what the UCS called a corvette was still six hundred meters in length and carried thousands of tons of cargo and supplies. “C-V-S Sojourner to Hammer of Night, requesting permission to dock with station. Authentication code is four, three, one, two, seven, niner, alpha, bravo, three, one, four, seven, niner, alpha, zulu, three, one. Over.”
“Sojourner you are granted permission to dock with station within docking ring four Charlie. Advise using RCS thrusters to maintain heading and bearing, drop speed to one kilometer per second. Over.” The station responded as the two began to proceed with the tedious task of docking.
Eventually however the umbilical from the station extended over and the Sojourner was safely moored in place; ready to begin exchanging passengers and cargo in order to keep the machine running. Michael had done… decently. He’d kept the ship funded and running at least. And the Sojourner had done well battling pirates and other such renegades in her time both here and at home.
He stepped into the umbilical, made his way across it and into the station where he removed his helmet and breathed a breath of fresh, recycled, filtered, station air. “It’s good to feel a little bit at home… at least as home as I can be.” He mumbled to himself as his boots clanked against the deck. Armor… of course… as always when he wasn’t in anything nice.
A few people clapped and cheered at the return of the sailor. After all, every ship that made it home in these treacherous times was a miracle to say the least. That and of course, Michael had been the one to broker the treaty between the UCS and NDC. Or at least negotiated it. He didn’t stop to admire the crowd though. He had business to conduct and Michael made his way, helmet underneath his arm, towards the embassy where he was certain there were more people waiting for him.
“God damn I hate being an ambassador…” he grumbled as he stepped into the embassy and began to look about for anyone that might want to clamor for his attention immediately. Or quietly wave… or whatever floated their boat. There were of course a few crew members nearby; perhaps one of them or more had followed him into the embassy?
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