Kimotoro - The Forge
I'm on my feet before I even realize I'm not in my capsule. It's been weeks since I've slept in a bed, and the soft, seemingly unfamiliar pinging of the NEOCOM in my quarters had been only moments before the screaming siren of my hull caving in under the assault of some dreamspace pirate. There are certain aspects of being a capsuleer that you never really get used to, and the dreams are one. They seem to get more vivid whenever I'm in port; the longer I'm not out in open space, the louder it calls to me.
They say the neural implant we have to thank for our immortality takes a snapshot of your glial tissue a split second before you even realize you're about to die. From that point of view, I've never actually died. Not once. But even if I can't quite articulate a description of what vacuum tastes like, I know-- we all do. And though the brain I carry in this archaic simian skull of mine isn't the one I was born with, something deep within it remembers exactly what happened to its predecessors. The dreams tell me so.
I shook myself out of that now-familiar funk and set about finding the source of my rude awakening. Looking over my feeds, I took note of a few corporate mails needing my attention, but it would appear that my wallet was this morning's offender. A significant draft had triggered the alert, but luckily there was no cause for worry. A courier had just delivered a rather important package I'd been waiting a number of weeks for at this point; the collateral they'd paid to secure the contract had been returned to them and I had a very large shipping container that I'm sure the dockmasters would be happy for me to relieve them of. I was certainly pleased to see it made it here in one piece.
Delve is a long way from The Forge. It was there I had been deployed with my former corporation, and where I had been forced to leave assets behind upon my departure. I had carried what I could in my blockade runner, but such a ship wasn't meant to carry something as large as the Ivy Mike; a Stratios-class vessel I'd built for hunting enemy scouts. It had taken a good portion of the profit from my recent expedition to convince a courier to return it to me, and there was still a significant risk it could have been stolen or destroyed in transit. Needless to say, I was overjoyed to have been awakened so.
After the brief business of taking delivery, I moved it to my hangar to tend to the purpose for which I'd gone through such great expense: refitting as an exploration vessel, with minimal destructive capability. Never in my career as a pilot have I ever done such a thing with a ship of war, and I couldn't help but appreciate the novelty. I took one last look at her as she was.
Four-hundred-four exquisite meters of sleek white, with a bit of red in all the right places, bristling with lasers and a belly full of lethal drones. She'd served me well, and I'm sure she would continue to do so until the day she becomes another of my many dreams. There was a certain sadness in removing her teeth, though her hidden claws remain and of those there are many. Where there were once devices intended to trap and kill there was now an assortment of scientific instrumentation, and more than a few wild cards for anyone that may seek to cause me harm. I may have taken a creed of non-aggression, but I am far from naive-- there are too many dangers in the wilds to go about unprotected. Even demilitarized, the Ivy Mike was a thing a beauty.
There was one last thing to attend to before taking her out for the second first time, and that was the name. Ivy Mike was a name tied to ancient history, as significant as the discovery of fire. But like fire, the very mention brings to mind destruction-- not at all a fitting name for a ship with intentions such as mine. I seek discovery, adventure, and of course the wealth that comes with the procuring of rare things. A ship that searches for the mythical and mysterious needs a name that suits such a cause. And I think I have the perfect one in mind.
This is Gunner Stahl, captain of the exploration vessel El Dorado, signing off.
END TRANSMISSION
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