Uh... for anyone reading this log, just ignore the date... it's not correct. Probably something wrong with the internals of this stupid PDP. Found it in the shell of a small transport that got whacked by a Rogue.
My name's Jake Cohen, a.k.a. "Hobbes". Medium build, thin. Got green eyes and brown hair. My ancestors were Irish and Welsh, which explains the faint trace of Irish accent when I get mad.
I'm a junker by trade. Get by on the scrap I can dig up from the wrecks of ships and stations. M' ship's the Grey Jackal, as I couldn't think of a more original name when I bought her. She's a CSF. Gets around nicely and pays the bills.
Don't know what else to write exactly... never had much free time to write.
Guess I'll write more later.
Tried to fix the system files that calculate the date. Think I did more harm than good.
Anyway, I'm sittin here in Rochester Base waitin on some coffee and my ship to be refuelled, so I figured I'd write some more.
I did some research on my family history. Turns out my ancestors didn't arrive here on the Bretonia. Apparently tickets for the limited spaces aboard the sleeperships were priced at outrageous sums or were reserved for government officials or scientists. If my research is to be believed, one ticket cost nearly 200Mil. This same source suggested that there may have been another sleeper that had been hijacked by the workers who built her when they realized they would be left behind. I haven't found any records confirming this, but I suspect if such a ship existed it would explain how my ancestors arrived in Sirius.
In addition, this would explain why I've found criminal records from my family line linking them to terrorist and anti-government groups... but now I'm just speculating.
What I do know is my grandpa was a registered member of the Mollys. My father was also a member at one point, though he left and joined the Junkers when I was born. There are days I've thought about continuing the faimily tradition and joining the Mollys. I've got my own bone to pick with the Bretonian government after all...
Well my coffee's here, so I guess I'll be putting this thing down for awhile.
Date function is still broken, and seems to be getting worse.
Had a small problem with the Jackal just after lifting off from Rochester. Seems someone forgot to close the fuelling port, so I started venting H-fuel into space soon as I lifted off. If that weren't bad enough, the H-fuel vapor that I was leaking combusted when I fired up the cruise engine, which force me to kill all shipboard functions to keep myself from going poof.
So here I was hurtling along at close to 345 units per second towards a busy tradelane with no way to safely change course. Fortunately Rochester saw the whole thing and sent out two CSV's to tow me back before I entered the lane. Upon arrival I gave the mechanic who'd refilled me an earful about him nearly killing me. I think he's somewhere in the bar now, nursing a broken nose.
Anyway, I'm stuck here again. Not only does the Grey Jackal need to be refuelled again, now I've got several burnt-out electrical boxes as well as engine components that need replacing. It's going to be a long night.
Well I'm up late and tired, all because of that stupid mechanic. Finally finished pulling out the shot electrical and now I'm taking a break before getting into the engine. From the looks of things, I'm gonna have to send away for the parts to fix this thing properly. Either that or I'd have to make due splicing and dicing a junker remedy together from the parts at the station. Problem with THAT approach is it'd make the Jakal even less reliable than it is now, and would probably make power usage much less efficient.
So now I've got a couple weeks to wait for those parts to get here. I expect these log entries will have to keep me entertained longer than I originally anticipated. But for the moment my break is over and I need to go yank some burned out compression and injection garbage from my ship's innards.
Well now I can't work on my ship either. Sliced my hand up pretty good while tryin to remove an internal protective cover for some of the more delicate parts of the impulse engines. Darn thing was bolted on with four bolts, two of which were stripped. Being the brilliant junker pilot that I am, I decided a crowbar would be the best solution. So I wedged that stupid thing in there and leveraged it with all my might and guess what? One of the bolts gave way. Only I wasn't expecting it to give in so soon...
So now I've got this PDP in my left hand, and a wad of bandages wrapped tightly around a deep laceration on the back of my right hand. Doncha just LOVE machines? The station medic took a look at it and told me that I might have damaged the tendon of my ring finger. Personally, I'm more worried about contracting some sort of disease.
At least I've got enough blood on my coveralls to compensate for nearly crying in public.
Alright, I know I was going to put this thing down and go to bed, but I can't just yet. I met someone and it's one of those things you just can't keep to yourself, so you share it with a friend or write it down.
I swear I didn't play up my injury. Ok, maybe I used it a little bit, but it really does hurt!
She came over to ask how I was doing. Her name was Melanie. Flaming red hair, green eyes, and fair skin. My but she was a pretty one. She was a Junker on a job from Vieques Shipyard. She was transporting superalloy for use in ship construction, and had stopped at Rochester to stretch before the final leg of her journey. We made small talk about ships and trade routes for awhile before she asked if I wanted a lift to Vieques. Said she knew people there who could help me with the Grey Jakal.
So now I'm sitting in the co-pilot seat of a Pirate Train named Grendel, sitting across from the most beautiful woman I've ever seen (at the moment), and the only thing I can do about it is go to my quarters and go to sleep. That right there is supreme torture.
Also, this gal is tougher than she appears...
Dang it, I need to stop staring at her. That's the third time she's almost caught me...
The Grendel arrived at Vieques later than anticipated. Seems the extra weight of towing the Grey Jackal increased the fuel consumption by just enough that we had to make an unexpected stop to refuel. We got in safely, however, and went our separate ways. I thought I'd never see that fair lass again, so I sneaked a picture of her with this PDP, only to find out that it can't take pictures anymore and all I had was a "memory corrupted" message.
Two days later, my hand was still sore, but I figured I could tough it out. Yeah right. Dang thing hurts like I had a compression wrench stabbed in it whenever I went to move my fingers. So I was workin on the Jackal from the underside, cursing the stupid ship, when I heard footsteps. I take a glance and see a pair of black spacer boots. I untangle myself from the hoses and wires, slide out, stand up, and my head connects with Melanie's jaw!
Needless to say she was stunned from the accidental impact, and I was equally stunned to see her. Plus I had a headache. I started apologizing frantically only to have her smack me across the face. Now it was my turn to stand in shock as she shuffled away holding her jaw. Needless to say, our "reunion" didn't go quite like I'd envisioned.
So I caught up with her and tried again to tell her how sorry I was. She didn't reply at first, so I ignored my better judgement and grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look at me. She had tears in her eyes. I felt so horrible, and so touched by her expression that I couldn't stop myself from planting a kiss on her forehead.
The only warning I had before I was slapped was her pupils narrowing. Then I remember waking up on the floor. Took me a moment to remember what had just happened. Then Melanie warned me that if I ever kissed her again I wouldn't be waking up, ever.
So of course I asked her to dinner.
The door chime just rang. Talk about timing. Guess I'll know how bad of an idea this was in a few hours...
Things took a much different turn than I expected. Dinner turned into dinner and a movie. Granted we weren't dressed up. Just me an her wearing our Junker work clothes, smelling of grease and engine coolant. Still, I think she's the prettiest lady I've seen. We had a simple dinner of rehydrated food packets and water, and then we talked.
Turns out Melanie isn't much older than me. I'm 22 and she's 24. She was raised on Denver as a child before her parents relocated to Manhattain. Her dad worked for the Independant Miners Guild and would leave for months at a time harvesting ore for the transports out of Penn. She was close to her dad, though they didn't see eachother much. Her mother died when she was 19 from a heart condition. She didn't seem to like talking about that subject.
Once she turned 20, she entered the IMG workforce as a rockcracker. She'd sit there in the asteroid belt, and extract the ore for the large transports. It was a secure job and she was happy with it. That is until her dad had an industrial accident. Turns out there was a few asteroids that had volitile methane pockets mixed in with the ore. Her dad made the mistake of shooting those rocks...
Anyway, she seemed like she was having a rotten day, so I changed the subject and asked her if she wanted to stay and watch a movie.
So now I'm sitting on the threadbare couch with Melanie asleep against my shoulder and Hapless Fools playing on the screen.
She's only 5'7", which is strange, cause she seemed much taller when she was glaring at me earlier. She's also got this grease smear running across her nose, which is strangely endearing. I feel oddly protective of her, even though she doesn't seem to need it...
A note from Melanie:
Dear Jake, a.k.a. "Hobbes", you are horrible at concealing your Personal Datapad. I wasn't asleep at all during the movie, I was simply pretending so I could spy on your writing. Now I'm sitting in my personal quarters aboard the Grendel typing this message for you.
You are sweet, but I don't trust you fully. I've met plenty of guys that seem sweet at first. Besides, I have other plans for my life, and getting involved with someone else isn't in there. Thank you for dinner, and for being so kind with your descriptions of me. I'll try to forgive the comments regarding your "endearment" for me.
Know that I consider you a friend and don't hesitate to ask me for help in the future.
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