Follow the Queen Victoria and her crew on their odyssey through Sirius: This biography tells a story of adventure, intrigues, love and space cowboys! I will add new log entries and chapters several times a week. If you want to meet Logan and his crew in space, look out for the Queen Victoria in Bretonia, the Omegas and Omicrons. You might even catch her in Cortez, California or New York.
Almost every boy and every girl dreams of flying to the stars one day. Maybe because he or she lives in a large city, near a spaceport and there are hundreds of vessels taking off to the skies everyday. Huge, bulky freighters that slowly climb the atmosphere with tons of cargo from various sun systems. Small fighters shooting up to countless adventures, hunting pirates down deep in dangerous nebulae and debris fields. Maybe because he or she lives on a farming planet, thousands of miles from any city. And then, one day, a cruise liner drifts majestically across the sky, promising a life far away from the monotonous daily routines.
Logan and Lewis Sinclair had their own reasons to long for the stars. These reasons were quite smelly and to the nose of a child from the New London upper class probably insufferable. "Sinclair Sewer Services" had the responsibility and - as their father had always stressed - the great honor to ensure the proper disposal of everything the human body needs to dispose. And with two billion people inhabiting Leeds that' quite a lot of honor to earn. Their small, specialized familiy business led to an upper middle class lifestyle for the Sinclair family. However, that does not help if you're being bullied in school because of your rather peculiar fragrance.
After their father had died tragically in the self-inflicted decompression of a public toilet facility, Logan and Lewis inherited the familiy business. They sold it and reinvested: "Sinclair Shire Services" was their dream coming true. They now carried cargo for contractors throughout the Bretonian Empire and beyond instead of carrying heavy machines through the sewers of Leeds. The "Queen Elizabeth" and the "Queen Victoria", two ships from the first line of Shire Transports, became their new homes, each brother a captain of his own.
These are the personal log files recorded on the Queen Victoria by Logan Sinclair and his crew:
LOGAN SINCLAIR
Captain
Captain of the Queen Victoria, co-owner of Sinclair Shire Services and self-declared gentleman-trader. Likes to teach pirates lessons in Bretonian manners and is a little overconfident when it comes to women. Some crewmembers say he is a little too much into the whiskey from Dublin and Newcastle, Logan says he drinks only on special occasions. You don't argue with your captain.
PAUL KIRKPATRICK
First mate
A patriot through and through, Paul served several years as chief gunner on a BAF gunboat. However, his hand-eye-coordination was damaged in the destruction of his ship and now he's only a shadow of his former skill. He is the heart and soul of the Victoria, although he scents conspiracies against the crown a little too often.
SOLOMON
Chief engineer
The wizard in the engine room, Solomon's in love with the Queen Victoria. If he can't fix her, nobody can. Logan picked him up in a Junker bar near the Leeds spaceport. Don't tinker with anything on the ship without asking Solomon first. Nobody denies that he is crazy, but nobody wants to miss his extraordninary skills with his dynamometric screwdriver either.
MS. GATES
Weapon officer
Ms. Gates joined the Victoria's crew just recently. Logan promoted her to weapon officer instantly, though nobody knows much about her except that she lost an ominous job on Leeds a few days before she met Logan. She seems to be an experienced gunner, but that makes her only more mysterious.
Okay, that's it. Lewis is a madman. He may seem harmless, with all that paperwork he loves so much. But he's not. He's a daredevil, imprisoned in the body of a bureaucrat from New London. Don't scratch the surface, he might be jumping right at you when you're expecting it least. Like, say, when you're out to deliver terraforming gases to Harris and a Kusari raiding party is blocking your way.
"Outnumbered and outgunned." My weapon officer is good for nothing when it comes to shooting, but he does recognize a hopeless fight when he sees one. "Man the battle stations, bring our weapon systems online!" My brother does not. He charged (Can you say that, while talking about a Shire? Charge?) those rice-eaters. Hopeless. My weapon officer tried to provide some cover with our own turrets. He blew off one of the Elizabeth's cruise engine gondolas instead. The Kusari fighters hammered onto our shields, they were dropping slowly. Lewis was desperately trying to turn his badly hit ship around. "Recharge!" I shouted. There went another pack of batteries. Once Lewis had managed to set up a retreat course I tried to cover him with the Victoria. His shields were restoring slowly, my shields were dropping quickly. I ordered to reroute engine power to the shields since we couldn't activate our cruise engines anyway: Lewis' cruise was permanently disrupted thanks to my skillful chief gunner and those Kusari devils fired a few Hornets every time I tried to gain some distance. The situation started to look grim. Even Solomon, my wizard down in the engine rooms, suggested to surrender.
"Bretonian trading vessels, this is Bretonia Armed Forces heavy fighter patrol Gold-9. We picked up your emergency signals. Moving to assist you." This transmission from the BAF really was sort of a relief. But would our shields last long enough? Solomon down in the engine rooms had another opinion: "Out of batts, sir. Dem bloody bastards have us right where dem want us." Thanks for the info, I could see that myself. Those Kusari fighters were swirling my ship like mosquitos swirl a fat cow. I ordered to undock the cargo containers and shoot them, although I don't know exactly why I thought of blowing up 1,5 million credits. But it struck me as a good idea. The gas containers formed up a line as they drifted out of our cargo bay. "Just don't miss" I thought as I ordered my gunner to shoot the containers.
Boom! Boom, boom!
This time my weapon officer was more successful. The sound of those terraforming gases exploding was merely music to my ears. The Kusari ships had no choice but to evade the unfolding and then exploding gas clouds. Then the BAF patrol finally reached our position: "Trading vessels, head to the Leeds gate. We'll take care of these intruders." They sweeped in like a boxer's K. O. punch.
Lewis is on desk duty again, trying to find a loophole in our insurance contracts. The Elizabeth is at drydock at Scarborough Station. The Victoria's currently in high orbit above Leeds. Planetform does not want to renew our contracts. Mr. Magoon, our lawyer, is negotiating with them. We have a loss of 1,5 million credits and a Shire that's too expensive to repair. Plus, I need a new weapon officer.
Uhm... recording? Yes. Alright. I could get used to this log-system. Really useful to keep track of things and I was never fond of writing reports for Lewis. It was definitely a good idea to install a proper system after the disaster in Tau-31 one week ago. Speaking of disaster, Mr. Magoon is still negotiating with those desk monkeys from Planetform. I don't believe that we manage to keep our contracts. And the insurance hasn't paid for anything yet, too. On top of that, I had to disband half of my crew down to Leeds. I have nothing to do for them right now and I won't be able to pay them much longer, the upkeep of this ship is astronomous if you make no profits. So we're only 14 people left at the table when Dorothy's calling for dinner.
Paul, my weapon officer, was unusually quiet during the last days. I bet he blames himself for the outcome of that battle although he doesn't want to talk about it. I'll have to come up with a way to tell him carefully that I need a new chief gunner and that means he has to leave. At the moment he isn't exactly what you would call an explosion of self-confidence. I do have hope, though. Yesterday I heard about plans of Synth Foods to expand into the independent worlds market and that they are looking for shipping contractors. I'll rent a Hawk on Leeds tomorrow and head to Manhattan myself to see what deals are in for us. I mean, how could they afford to not hire a Shire?
That settled, I allowed me some drinks in the "Autopilot", a bar right next to the BAF spaceport on Leeds. Shabby place, but the whiskey selection is outstanding. I met a women there, a "Ms. Gates", and damn she was beautiful. And also drunk. Told me about how she had lost her job two days ago but didn't tell me what kind of job. "I'd take any ship to get away from here" she said. Being the captain of not any ship but the proud Queen Victoria, I offered her to hire her immediately as a - well, yeah - sort of crewmember or something. We talked about it after my fifth or sixth whiskey, you can't expect me to be reasonable then. She said she'll think about it. If she really does set a foot on my ship I am a lucky bastard, that's for sure.
Hey ma baby! Captain left dis mornin’ for Liberty and said I should take good care of you. As if I wouldn't anyways. You shoulda've seen dem scanner reports from da afternoon, all buzzing with Baflers. News said dey lost the Leeds gate. Now we have dat shiny battleship Derby in our neighbourhood. But don't ya try ta start a flirt, you hear me? Dat Derby is piloted by da same idiots dat lost the gate. How good can da ship be if da crew is a bunch of losers? Na, you better stay in da mooring.
I'm sorry about yo sister Elizabeth. Captain said dey can't afford da repairs. Don't know if ya can see her again, she might stay at Scarborough Shipyard longer dan expected. But don't ya worry, I'm sure she’ll be fine. I hope da captain manages to keep you. I spent dree years with you 'til the present day and I like yo smooth pipelines, mighty engines and hell, every inch of yo neural net circles. Newer ships may have better drusters or better turrets or a greater cargo hold, but no one's as reliable and at da same time beautiful as y’are. If it weren't for ya graviton shield generators we might've never seen today. Dose Kusari fighters were no real challenge for ya, ma baby, were dey?
So, I'm back on the Victoria after almost four days. My trip to Manhattan didn't turn out as promising as I expected. To be honest, it was a complete waste of time. Those Synth Foods jerks were looking for contractors that are either idiots or geniuses when it comes to efficiency. So either I have too much common sense or I'm too stupid for my business - I couldn't meet their price one way or the other. That's a problem. Mr. Magoon informed Lewis and me this morning that Planetform isn't going to renew our contracts for the Harris shipments because of the Tau-31 embargo. I'm afraid we have to sell the Queen Elizabeth - we can't afford the costs for keeping her in drydock any longer and we're far from raising the funds for the repair. Boy, that hurts. We need some new contracts for the Victoria. And we need them quick.
At least I managed to hire a new weapon officer: Ms. Gates. It's a crazy universe. I need a new chief gunner and the first woman I talk to in a bar turns out to have quite some experience with ship defense systems. I was really surprised that she sent a message after our little chat in the "Autopilot" at all. She can't be worse than Paul, can she? I'll give her a shot, literally. There's something mysterious about her and I don't mean the fact that she didn't tell me her first name yet. A beautiful woman in an Armed Forces bar who has just lost a job she doesn't want to talk about and who wants to leave Leeds so desperately that any opportunity is good enough. I like her. Probably it's not just the chance to leave Leeds that makes her want to join my crew...
Now, time to take a shower, her shuttle will arrive in about one hour. Ah, yes, speaking of shuttles, I almost forgot to upload the shot I took from the Victoria while a shuttle was taking me up to her again. Isn't she a beauty?
*** OPENING DATABASE ***
OPERATOR CONFIRMED: PAUL KIRKPATRICK
RECORDING FILE PERSONAL LOG-000001
... Was that already the rec-button? ... No, or... was it? ... What's wrong with that red light? ...
Blimey! Already recording! Well, yes. It's me, Paul Kirkpatrick, former first mate and weapon officer, now only first mate. I don't want to talk to crewmembers about tonight's dinner, but I have to talk to somebody about all this, so I decided to... uhm... give you a shot. You know. The log-system. At least you listen to me without giving stupid advices. So. There's this new girl aboard, Ms. Gates. Logan said he met her in a bar on Leeds a few days ago and he just promoted her to weapon officer 40 minutes ago. Now that's a bit hasty, isn't it? At least I brought him to terms and told him to leave her under my supervision. She might probably be a more skilled gunner than I am but you simply don't leave people in charge you barely know when you're not on the bridge. We don't even know her first name. She's quite tight-lipped in general. I don't trust her. I mean, she could be a Kusari agent or something, couldn't she? It's a matter of Bretonia's security to observe her. And Paul Kirkpatrick won't let the Queen down in these troubled times, that's for sure!
Now, where are my sleeping pills?
... Ah yes, here they are... Yuck! I'll have to take them with fruit juice next time...
... Wait a second - is that bloody thing still recor-
Memo to myself: I am a genius, thank you very much for you applause, I appreciate it. Tonight's dinner solved two of three problems. First of all, Ms. Gates - apparently she doesn't have a first name at all - agreed to take over the weapon officer duties from Paul. Secondly, I talked her out of the position of first mate that usually comes with the gunner duties on my ship. So I can keep Paul as first mate and have a weapon officer that actually seems to know what she's doing at the same time. That's perfect, the crew wouldn't have been too happy about a newcomer who is promoted to chief mate right away. Especially since Ms. Gates doesn't seem to be the most relaxed type, she's more the serious one. She immediately moved her stuff into her quarters and didn't return for the rest of the evening. I'll have to find a quiet minute to talk to her to her in private.
However, my third problem becomes a more and more pressing issue with each passing day: We still need a job for the Victoria. Lewis suggested to sell shares of our company to bigger players in the shipping business. I'm not very fond of losing my independence but he's right about some benefits: Selling shares means cash and likely new contracts. He still has to come up with a particular buyer for his plans though. I won't sell shares to a foreign corporation, that's for sure. Not after I met those bloodsuckers from Synth Foods. I we have to sell it's going to be a Bretonian company that buys our business out. That leaves only Gateway or Bowex, a Hobson's choice.
But before we do that, we'll try out a new route. I heard the miners at Graves Station are always looking for transports and you don't have to sign a contract for that. You simply buy the gold and sell it to the Rheinbank in New Berlin. And I'm sure the crew will be looking forward to a new trip, too. You grow tired of looking at Leeds and the smog clouds after a week in orbit.
This is Freeport 1, which we just left. Or should I say just escaped from?
Now, I never liked Zoners. Living reclusive on their remote space stations and colonies, claiming they're all neutral and they don't like governments. Always trying to keep that happy hippie image. Who would believe that, anyway? I knew that everybody is welcome on their bases, but I didn't know that armed criminals that want to kidnap your ship count as everybody, too.
We made our way to Graves Station in Dublin yesterday and invested more than 2 million credits to buy 4165 units of gold. Our destination is the Ring in New Berlin where the Rheinbank runs an office. That means we finally got to transport high-risk cargo again, the Victoria must look like a flying treasure chest to any pirate who scans us. We were lucky so far, a Police patrol escorted us all the way to the Omega-3 gate in Cambridge after they realized what we were hauling. Since then we were on our own. Dorothy was running out of kitchen supplies and Solomon wanted to check out the local Junker's range of refurbished engine components, so I decided to stay in the mooring of Freeport 1 for a couple of hours once we reached Omega-3.
I asked Ms. Gates if she wanted to go out for a walk to the port's biodome and we had a nice chat about the situation on the Victoria. The Freeport's cold metal plating was little prettier than the Victoria's hallways, but walking between plants and breathing their fresh air this far away from any planet was relaxing. We met Paul in the hangars when we returned. He said Solomon had taken over his watch on the ship and he wanted to stretch his legs, too. Silence followed, with Paul and Ms. Gates exchanging suspicious gazes. We headed back for the Victoria.
Only meters before the airlock they surprised us: Two Hessian pilots had been waiting for our return behind a container, they must have seen us when we were docking. One a monster of a man with a scarred face, the other small but athletic, with the coldest eyes I'v ever seen. Their black fighter pilot masks hung loosely on their uniforms. The giant grabbed Paul's neck and put a gun against his head, the other one pointed his photon blaster on Ms. Gates and me. "Geben Sie sofort auf! You surrender immediately! Your ship is Red Hessian property now, call your crew to open the airlock!" Before I could answer anything, Ms. Gates had already pushed me aside into a pile of boxes. She had her own blaster drawn now, don't ask me when she did that. As much as she surprised me she surprised the Hessians. Mr. Coldeye still tried to take aim when she had already fired. Paul screamed, a body hit the floor. She had shot the giant right between the eyes. Shocked by the death of his friend, the small Hessian missed and paid with a hit in his arm for that. He managed to shout something into his communicator before another shot hit him somewhere near his heart. "Get up guys, he called for reinforcements", Ms. Gates told us in a calm but serious voice. "Let's get away from here before their friends or a Zoner guard arrives."
And that was what we did. I'll have to send a transmission to the Freeport once we are out of short scanner range and explain why there are two dead Hessians in their hangar. Now even Paul can't have anything against Ms. Gates, she just saved his life. You simply got to love a woman who shoots down pirates without hesitation.
I wonder why she understood the Hessian though. "He called for reinforcements." I figured that out myself but she seemed to have understood him word for word. Looks like the amount of things I need to know about her is exponentially growing the longer she is aboard.
There we go. I did not expect these simply programmed log routines to resist me any longer. This is agent Sheila Nash, codename "Black Orchid". This status log will keep track of my efforts to hunt down agent Edmund Warwick, better known as "Ezekiel". Although I presented my detailed eye-witness reports to my superiors, I was told to quit any further research on the subject. But Ezekiel will pay for his outrageous betrayal, Glasgow will be avenged!
Ezekiel disappeared shortly after I had presented my reports and I have reasons to believe that this is a result of his connections to higher executives in our organization. Sirius may be big but he will most certainly not be able to hide from me forever. In order to cover my own tracks after I had deserted from the HQ, I took the opportunity to leave Leeds on an independent trading ship. The crew knows me as "Ms. Gates" and weapon officer. A useful position that will ensure that nothing important will pass me by unnoticed. Also, it provides me cover for the interrogation of old "contacts" on various space stations. I took the last cabin to the left in the crew quarters corridor. Few tools were necessary to convert parts of the cabin's plating into decent hiding-places for my equipment.
Everything went well so far, however, the ship's first mate does not trust me in any way. I will see what to do if he should become a real danger to my mission.
On a side note: I shot two Hessian pirates on Freeport 1 today that tried to take over the ship. A Hessian patrol that intercepted our course was intercepted itself by a Corsair gunboat. I took down one Hessian fighter before the incompetent captain of this ship finally mangaged to escape the Hessian-Corsair engagement. We are in Rheinland space now. If anything endangers my efforts it seems to be most likely the captain himself by getting his own ship blown up.
*** RECORDING TERMINATED ***
INITIATING ENCRYPTION
SAVING TO DATABASE