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+--- Thread: Neural Log - James Horwell (/showthread.php?tid=146135)
Neural Log - James Horwell - CH266172 - 12-09-2016
+DATE 9th DEC., 823 AS+
+BEGINNING RECORD+
Well, here I am. 24 years of age, a Bachelor of Legal Justice from the University of Cambridge and a basic Stargazer shuttle to my name ... and no bloody idea where I am going in life.
Not the best way to start of one of these logs, I know, but I had to get that off my chest. Where to begin?
OK, the basics first. James Horwell, 24 years of age. Born on New London, the capital of Bretonnia, son of Thomas and Susan Horwell (a BMM mining pilot and Bowex receptionist, respectively) and brother of Alexandria Horwell, ex-Lieutenant in the BAF. 'Ex' because, well …
+PAUSE – 15 sec.+
I'm sorry. My sister was a Lieutenant in the BAF; she was posted out to Leeds when the Gallians came roaring through out of Tau 31. She'd been posted as 'presumed KIA' for a little over two years. Mum and Dad didn't take it too well, and I was still out at Cambridge when the family got the news. So, I guess the whole thing is still a little raw – losing one's own flesh and blood would be for anyone.
Anyway, where was I? Ah yes.
I'd been looking to become a barrister here on New London right out of secondary school – legal studies was a subject that I did well in and it seemed like a good fit. It was a four year degree and I needed my own 'wings' to get between Points A and B, which explains the Stargazer shuttle. Libertonian ship design isn't entirely aesthetically pleasing, and a Stargazer isn't what you want to be caught dead in the day your number's up. But it's reliable and the dinky little thing packs quite a bit of a punch and survivability of its own, so I stuck with it.
Since Cambridge is only one Jump Gate away from New London, I often returned to the capital to help out my father at Thames in between studies. Normally, this was mostly dock-hand and warehousing work, helping to load and unload cargo from the various BMM freighters that passed through on their way to Dublin or Leeds. Occasionally, I got to fly on a few minor convoy runs, usually out to Bristol in order to drop off Mining Machinery and to take Berylium back. It's an alright job – discounting the upteenth time I'd get jumped by some Molly or Corsair - and I can't complain about the small amount of commission I'm granted for each run. But I feel like I can't keep doing this forever.
I've been doing some thinking about where I want to go from here. Piracy is obviously out and, while it's a decent enough living, being trapped aboard a transport or asteroid miner for the rest of my working life isn't exactly the best either. I've thought about going for the bar examinations, but that'll mean being planet-side for a good long while and barristers aren't in high demand in Bretonnia right now – maybe in Liberty or the recently-reformed Kusari.
Lastly, there's the Armed Forces and policing. The latter is tempting, particularly as it can allow me to gel legal theory with practice and the piloting work that has to come with it. The Armed Forces, however, have been on a drafting spree these past couple of years, looking for volunteers, auxiliaries and privateers to stabilise the Gallian front after we lost Leeds. Truth be told, I'm pulling towards it. Neither of my parents are eager for me to enlist; we've already lost Alexandria and they don't want to lose the last of their children, either. I mean, I care for them and understand where they're coming from, but I also feel that I can't just sit here while the RGN beats down our door. And if they take New London, then what will even happen to any of us?
I'll drop into some of the stations on the route from New London to Cambridge and see what I can dig up in the meantime – one-time jobs, mining, new trading opportunities. Good grief, anything!
+END OF RECORD+
+09/12/823 - UPDATE+
+BEGINNING RECORD+
On one of my returns from a run to Bristol, I temporarily stopped off at Southampton Shipyard to deposit some extra cargo I had picked up from after another Molly ambush. To my surprise, I ran into an officer from the BAF in the station's bar, a Captain Fiona … something; I can't recall her last name right now.
Anyway, I was offered a job to get rid of a Gaian squadron or two which were giving her superiors some headaches. Seemed simple on paper – especially considering that BAF also had a flight of fighters in the area – until she brought up the part about some nearby Weapons Platforms. Fighters, my shuttle can deal with (mostly!). Weapons Platforms, though, are hazardous for my health. Still, the 170,000 Cs up for payment seemed tempting enough, so I decided to take the job.
Hopefully, I'll get out of this in one piece …
+END OF RECORD+
+09/12/823 - UPDATE+
+BEGINNING RECORD+
For a first-time 'combat pilot', that wasn't too bad. I mean, aside from the shuttle's dinged and scorched hull plating, the 10 or so perturbed Gaians I had temporarily spaced and are now languishing in watch-houses on New London, and the mild bout of terror I'm still shaking off as I record this.
Not much I can really describe here – the 'clean house' job went smoothly and was all a blur to me. I will say this, though: the BAF have some of the best pilots in Sirius, and they really showed their mettle today. Had to tractor two of them aboard after the Gaians got the best of them, but they've been transported back to the HMBS Suffolk for treatment. I just hope BPA makes the crims' lives miserable in return.
All, in all, I have about 170 grand in credits to my name and a little appreciation about what the BPA and BAF do on a daily basis. As for what's next, I'll keep at the Thames-to-Bristol run for now. I'll also pop in on the Bretonnian core systems for additional 'freelance' work; it'll allow me to get some additional flying time under my belt and the extra credits wouldn't hurt.
+END OF RECORD+
+END OF DAY'S LOG+