SLRC-RV>Cartographer - Ship Specifications and Research Logs

[Stoner_Steve]

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3. Research Logs
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5. Personal Logs

Hans Schmidt

8340218-0141

///PERSONAL LOGS SELECTED///
/H.SCHMIDT:8340218-01:41/
//BEGINNING AUDIO PLAYBACK//

Verdammt und nochmal verdammt. Omicron Theta? Are they daft, these so-called leaders? Since the Corsairs sunk their teeth into Freeport 9, that whole sector's been nothing but a powder keg waiting to explode. We haven't even finished teething ourselves, the Cartographer barely stretched her legs beyond a few measly weeks from a proper resupply stop. Now they expect us to waltz into that hornet's nest, reliant on our own meager stores for who knows how long?

And Wright, that slick politician with his practiced smile, keeps his lips sealed tighter than a U-Boat under pressure when it comes to the mission details. What exactly are we looking for out there? Resources? New jump points? More trouble than we can handle, that's for sure.

The whispers in the watch haven't exactly been cheery symphonies, either. Most signed on for this fancy explorer vessel expecting to chart uncharted territories, sure, but not to become targets for trigger-happy pirates in a lawless system. We were promised regular contact with the Colony, a lifeline back to home. Omicron Theta ain't exactly known for its bustling communication hubs.

This whole mess feels like a gamble, and we're the stakes. Ersatzteile running low, Nahrungsmittel knapp bemessen – if things go south, which they likely will in that cursed sector, we'll be stranded ducks in a shooting gallery. My gut twists tighter than a pretzel with every passing moment.

Maybe I should've stuck to fixing engines on civilian freighters. At least there, the dangers were straightforward, the risks calculated. Here, on this bleeding-edge explorer, it feels like we're hurtling towards an asteroid field blindfolded.

But what can I do? Voice my concerns and get labeled a defeatist? This ship, for all its bells and whistles, still runs on a chain of command, and questioning that seems a surefire way to get yourself locked in the brig. So I vent here, into this cold, digital void, a silent scream into the unknown.

Maybe tomorrow will bring some clarity. Maybe Wright will finally spill the beans. Maybe… but a Rheinland engineer isn't one for wishful thinking. We prepare for the worst, even as we hope for the best. And right now, the worst feels like a long, lonely, and very explosive trip to Omicron Theta.

Bis morgen, Logbuch. Hoffentlich.


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[Stoner_Steve]

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2. Ship Specifications
3. Research Logs
4. Ship Logs

CCTV: BRIDGE CAM

8340220-1318

5. Personal Logs

///CCTV: BRIDGE CAM///
/8340220-1318/
//BEGINNING PLAYBACK//

INT. CARTOGRAPHER BRIDGE - NIGHT

The bridge hums with the low thrum of the ship's engines and the quiet murmur of crew tending their stations. Brandon Wright, a man with the polished charisma of a seasoned politician, leans against the command console, arms crossed. Opposite him, Hans, the night engineer, a burly man with grease-stained overalls and a furrowed brow, stands stiffly.

WRIGHT: Hans, for the third time, the starboard array is performing within acceptable parameters. The engineers are competent, the diagnostics are clear.

HANS: (German accent thick with frustration) With all due respect, Captain, those parameters are stretched thin. The readings show micro-fractures in the containment field, and the last jump destabilized the core further. It's only a matter of time before-

WRIGHT: (interrupting) Before what? Another successful jump, pushing the boundaries of exploration? Or are you suggesting we turn back based on a hunch?

HANS: It's not a hunch, Brad. It's a ticking time bomb. We push this any further, and we risk a catastrophic failure.

WRIGHT: We can't afford delays, Hans. Our mission is time-sensitive. Every extra day we spend in transit to Omicron Theta is another day the Corsairs tighten their grip.

HANS: And what good is a mission if we're all floating space debris? Listen to reason!

ENSIGN (O.S.): Captain! Secondary cooling systems failing on starboard array! Pressure building!

WRIGHT: (ignoring her) Hans, we need to find a compromise. A slight recalibration, a shorter jump-

HANS: A compromise with the laws of physics, Director? Not an option. We need to shut down the array, perform emergency repairs-

ENSIGN (O.S.): Hull integrity compromised! Hull breach imminent!

The bridge erupts in a cacophony of alarms, red lights flashing ominously. Hans throws his hands up in exasperation, while Wright's facade cracks, revealing a flicker of fear.

WRIGHT: What the hell is happening?

HANS: I told you-

Suddenly, the lights flicker and die. The bridge plunges into darkness, punctuated only by the frantic beeping of backup systems and the low hum of emergency generators.

A beat of silence, heavy with tension. Then, secondary red lights flicker on, casting an eerie glow over the bridge.

WRIGHT: (voice strained) Status report!

ENSIGN (O.S.): Starboard array containment field breached! Hull breach contained, but secondary systems overloaded!

HANS: (grimly) Told you.

WRIGHT: Damage control! Contain the breach! Engineering, reroute power! We need to get back online!

The bridge crew scrambles, their movements frantic in the red light. The camera focuses on Wright, his face pale and determined. Suddenly, the red light flickers and fades. The camera displays a low battery warning before going dark.


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[Stoner_Steve]

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4. Ship Logs

Starlight Serenade

8340229-1224-1228

5. Personal Logs

///Starlight Serenade///
/8340229-1224-1228/
//BEGINNING PLAYBACK//

DJ Voice (Energetic and slightly raspy): And you just rocked out to Leviathan by Ultra Sheriff! Keep those requests comin' in, crew, but remember, this ain't your mama's station. We play what we want, when we want, and that's the Space Pirate law!

Sound of vinyl record scratching to a stop, followed by upbeat synth music

DJ Voice (Chuckles): Now, before you all start hoarding the protein paste, I gotta hit you with some news that's fresher than a week-old spacer suit... not so fresh, actually. Turns out, there's been a bit of a mishap down in the hydroponics bay. Seems a faulty sensor malfunctioned, and... well, let's just say our leafy greens met a watery demise.

Sound of dramatic music sting

DJ Voice (Voice drops to a low, sympathetic tone): I know, I know. You were all looking forward to those juicy space-tomatoes and those crispy moon-lettuce wraps. But hey, chin up, spacers! We've got plenty of canned and freeze-dried options to keep you fueled through the next growth cycle. Think of it as a taste of home, or at least, a taste of the last space station we stopped at.

Sound of upbeat music resumes, slightly more subdued than before

DJ Voice (Cheerful): Now, enough about the salad shortage, let's get back to the tunes! We've got Tokyo Heat by C.H.A.Y. coming up next, so crank up your speakers and pretend you're cruisin' the neon streets of some long-lost Earth city. Until next time, keep it spacey, keep it funky, and keep those requests comin' in! This is Captain Scratch signing off.


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[Stoner_Steve]

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3. Research Logs
4. Ship Logs

Starlight Serenade

8340317-0045-0048

5. Personal Logs

///Starlight Serenade///
/8340317-0045-0048/
//BEGINNING PLAYBACK//

(Upbeat music fades)

DJ Voice (Slightly raspy but cheerful): Alright crew, hope you were headbanging hard to Show Me Your Back by FindMyName! Now, if the last two weeks haven't felt like you were wrestling a malfunctioning space-yeti with a cold, then you're either a robot or extremely lucky. That nasty flu bug finally decided to pack its metaphorical bags and blast off.

(Sound of a spaceship whooshing by)

DJ Voice (Cont.) Yeah, we can all breathe a collective sigh of relief. Big thanks to the tireless efforts of the medical bay crew, who spent more time dispensing nose wipes and chicken soup than they probably ever bargained for.

(Sound of applause)

DJ Voice (Cont.) But hey, the good news is, we're back on track! The quarantine's lifted, those biofilters in sickbay are finally getting a well-deserved break, and we're one step closer to completing our mission.

(Sound of gears turning and ship engine hum faintly in the background)

DJ Voice (Cont.) So grab a protein bar, dust off those spacesuits, and let's get back to work! Because honestly, even zero-gravity burpees sound better than another day stuck in those stuffy quarantine quarters.

(Upbeat music, Rhythm Machine by Westend, starts playing)

DJ Voice (Cont.) That's right, let's get this party started again! This is Captain Scratch signing off, and remember, if you're feeling a little rusty after your time off, don't be shy, dedicate a song to your least-favorite treadmill. Requests are always welcome!

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