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[color=4c81a7]— [i]'Julius Caesar'[/i] (IV.ii.269–276)
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[color=Gainsboro][justify][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][color=E3E8FF]"Captain's log. Earth-date: [i]March 27, 2178[/i] — Adrastea-1."

"I can't say we've set the stars ablaze just yet."

"The convoy escort was steady work — three haulers dragging themselves between Callisto and a few outer rocks. Our job was to dissuade raiders, and to snuff them out if they got too close, which they didn't — more trouble than the cargo was worth — anyone with enough firepower to take down [i]the Dullahan[/i] has bigger fish to fry. Anyway, it wasn't the [i]glorious[/i] maiden voyage I'd hoped for, but the crew did their jobs, no one panicked, and the ship didn't fall apart in orbit. For a dry run, I'd call that a success. Teeth: cut. That said, the pay was meager. Daily burn’s just shy of ħ4,000. This run cost us ħ27,853; payout was ħ35,000. On paper, a touch over ħ7k in the black. In practice, it's all runway, not profit. We need enough to keep breathing until the next hit, so: no prize pool. Everyone knew that was on the table. Next time the crew will expect more. So now we raise the stakes."

"We've docked at Adrastea. It's not much more than a dustball with a refueling spire, a few grease-stained hangars, and some bars where miners feed their scrip into rotgut. The crew have scattered to stretch their legs: half of them will probably end up in the same place as the off-duty miners. Voith and I are weighing our next move. He's got a nose for chatter, and if there's any unique opportunities to be found among the ore-haulers, he'll sniff it out. Otherwise, I'm nudging my contacts in Europa via comms to see if they have anything interesting for me. Hopefully, one way or another, we'll have a lucrative job opportunity by this time tomorrow."

"I told the crew this first job was just a test of our mettle, and that bigger things are coming. And I meant it. I know what this ship is capable of; what [i]I'm[/i] capable of. Time to start carving out our legend."

"[i]End Log.[/i]"[/color][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/justify]
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[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify]Flickering hazard-strobes blinked across the near-side of [i]the Dullahan[/i], illuminating the patchwork of plating fused into the ship’s hull; scar tissue borne of inelegant, economic medicament following years of deterioration. The ship had its charms, which were found more readily and enthusiastically by its captain and crew, but were easily betrayed by its appearance. The discoloured, pockmarked exterior was, once upon a time, a pristine Sol Federation cobalt-blue. After the ship's commandeering at the hands of pirates, it was embellished with black paint in visual analogue to its repurposing. Now with pigment decayed by solar winds and many years of grit, [i]the Dullahan[/i] had dulled to a bruised blue-black. Everest could’ve had her painted when the repairs were done, but he chose not to. He was endeared to her imperfections; the rust blooms on the panel seams, the scoring of char-streaks across the flanks, the micrometeor abrasion on the dorsal ridge, and the purplish heat-flash discolouration around the thrusters. There was something [i]living[/i] about a ship like this, and Everest was keen not to let it die. Indeed, it might’ve been considered by some as a kind of [i]corpo gentrification[/i], but his sentimentality was, in his own eyes, uninfringed by corporate schooling. He had never liked the sterile minimalism often found in the upper city of Galileo. He was happy to instead have a ship littered with excentricities. [i]The Dullahan[/i] had it’s own voice; an ensemble of idiosyncratic hums and sighs that Everest found far more comforting that the vacuous ambience of a state-of-the-art Europan vessel. The deck plating creaked underfoot in certain spots, and there was a low, throbbing thrum in the walls: a pulse that quickened when the drives were hot. A heartbeat of sorts. All these things, in addition to countless other quirks Everest had not yet discovered, told a story; of adventure, of life and death, of fortune.

At this particular moment, Everest was at his desk in the operations wing of the upper deck — audio log complete, mind in a brief, transient state of day-dream-like absence. The upper deck felt somewhat disconnected from the rest of the ship, and not only due to its detachable functionality: it was sleeker and cleaner than the ship’s begrimed belly, where the crew toiled day-to-day, dirtying their hands with oil and blood. [i]The Dullahan[/i]’s ‘command deck’ was less of a warehouse or a barracks, and more of a bureau. It was a place for administration, logistics, and navigation. It was here that Everest conducted most of his work, at the rear-side of the bridge — his ‘office’ — an old, repurposed nav alcove where crewmembers would be summoned for formal, one-on-one discussions. The desk sported one of the few up-to-date pieces of tech on the ship, which Everest had requested to be installed: a curved holo-interface that projected various data-readings, schedules and telemetries. It was compact, organised, and perhaps among the [i]cleanest[/i] corners of the vessel. Montalban and Voith had their own desks in the room: smaller, tucked-away consoles where they could work in peace, but both gentlemen spent less of their time pencil-pushing than Everest, with their duties often leading them to the other decks. While Everest would often make the rounds of the ship, observing crew and ‘checking in’, the bulk of his time was spent either at this desk, or in the gimballed and worn synthleather co-pilot seat beside Araya — though, he was prepared to quickly vacate the cockpit and make room for a more competent co-pilot, such as Anavansi, in the event of a dog-fight scenario.

Everest ran a hand through his hair. Blue holo-light illuminated his face. His eyes were locked on the screen, but his mind was elsewhere. It felt strange now, things being still. The ship being mostly empty. It had only been [i]ten Earth days[/i] since [i]the Dullahan[/i] took to the stars for its maiden voyage, and yet it felt like this was the way things were meant to be all along — he’d stepped off the map, and the stars had redrawn it around him. While, yes, it was true that a distant, existential stress hung over him regarding the logistics of generating enough profit to pay off his employees, and more importantly, his loans, he remained energised. And while his exile from Tarleton Interstellar, and by extension the Corporate heart of Europa, was most certainly not self-imposed, he had begun to convince himself that the twist of fate he had encountered was predestined. He wasn’t [i]supposed[/i] to sit behind a desk in Galileo for the rest of his days. He was [i]supposed[/i] to captain [i]the Dullahan[/i]. The stars called his name, and he held out his arms to them in zealous rapture. At least, these were the soothing thoughts that balmed his ego whenever an uncomfortable memory slithered into his mind. Perhaps, deep down, he knew his dreams were closer to delusive comforts than [i]destiny manifest[/i]: but that was a psychological knot he refused to acknowledge, never-mind untangle. Before his subconscious could meander further, he snapped himself away from reverie. First, he reached for his coffee mug — a teardrop-shaped container that tapered to a pinched spout to prevent zero-grav spillage — though he quickly found it to be dry; emptied by him inattentively during his flow state. Instead, he rose to his feet and made approach to the starboard viewing window. It was [i]away from[/i] the station, not toward, that he peered. He had no desire to gaze upon the grey-orange bulk that was Adrastea-1.

This little old moon was nothing remotely special. It was the final destination for [i]the Dullahan[/i]’s escort contract — had it not been, [i]the Dullahan[/i]'s crew would likely never have set foot upon its regolith-dusted surface. It was a certified backwater; beside essentials, fuel and liquor, there was little in the way of imports. Nearly everyone here was a miner, and there was no real industry otherwise. And yet, despite it all, Everest was truly grateful to have visited, despite not yet having stepped foot off his ship. For Adrastea’s most notable quality was not its mines nor its hangars, but its relationship to Jupiter. Of the giant’s many dozens of moons, this one was the second closest in proximity. Thus, while the rock upon which [i]the Dullahan[/i] sat was nothing to marvel at in itself, its view most definitely was. Adrastea was tidally locked to its master — a moth bound to a lantern, forever facing the light — a bearing in a turbine, turning only because the giant turned and graciously permitted its subservience. Jupiter engulfed the sky, filling over a third of its width — a towering wall of unmoving, banded cloud, and a churning, cyclopean eye that gazed upon the void, with no expectation of the void's reciprocation. Such a gargantuan sight was terrifying; electrifying; awe-inspiring. It was for this reason that Everest found himself peering out of the starboard window, and not the port. He was, as usual, looking to the sky with stars in his eyes, and not to the mundane ground below. Perhaps later he would venture into the station, or perhaps not, but until the ship's next contract was secured, he hadn't the luxury of lounging in a bar. He would, however, for a moment or three, grant himself the sublimity of basking in Jove's orange glow.

While Everest mused and [i]the Dullahan[/i] slept, the crew dispersed. Some remained in their familiar haunts within the ship; others relished the chance to escape its constraints. While yes, the grimy bars and second-rate markets of Adrastea-1 were barely worth visiting, they were, at least to some, preferable to another day restricted to the same four walls. An opportunity to stretch the legs — or, for those with a disposition for alcoholic beverages, a chance to share more than a few [i]cheap[/i] drinks with their new colleagues for the first time — without the overshadowing of Everest's policing, nor the burden of responsibility.[/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/color]
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