Entry 1
The Phoenix shuddered awake from its slow-burn cycle. The sensors finally pinged a legitimate distress signal, not just the usual cosmic chaff. A freighter, designation 'Ironclad Wanderer', was limping along near the Gathos Rim. Their comms were a mess of static and panicked squeals, but the gist was clear – critical fuel shortage, systems failing. Standard salvage rights applied, but I wasn’t keen to just leave them to drift. My old girl needed the work, and I wasn’t made of stone. Figured I could make a decent mark-up on the fuel I had left.
Engaged thrusters and set course. Watched the Wanderer grow larger on the viewscreen – a battered hulk, clearly seen better days. Their distress signal was almost screaming by the time we docked. The crew looked like they’d seen a few too many nebulae without a cup of synth-coffee. Haggard faces, eyes wide with fatigue and a hint of desperation. They were practically falling over themselves when I offered them fuel. We negotiated terms quickly after that. Their credits weren't great, but the premium they were willing to pay for the jump-juice was hefty. Added to that, they were willing to sell a surprising large portion of their cargo at a steal. Seemed they’d been hauling some sort of pre-processed ore they had no more use for. I quickly agreed. More than enough to make the trip worthwhile and put a few extra credits in my pocket. Felt a pang of something akin to satisfaction when I saw the relief wash over them. They were a lucky bunch.
Entry 2
Docked at station Zeta-9. The marketplace was buzzing. Made a solid deal with the Xylos mining conglomerate. They were willing to pay above-average rates for that ore the Wanderer was desperate to sell. Seems they needed it for some specialized alloy. Sometimes being at the right place at the right time pays off, more often than not. I love the thrill of trading. It's a high, better than any synth stimulant.
Okay, here are some diary entries capturing your day, from the perspective of a space trader with a bit of an edge:
Entry 3
The day started much like any other – the hum of the Phoenix's engines, the endless black canvas outside the viewport, and the monotonous beep of the comms array. Then the encrypted message came, the one from Kael. I’ve dealt with him a few times now, always… let's call it ‘mutually beneficial’. This time it was a rush job: 'Urgent need, transport, high value.' The kind of language that screams ‘mercenaries.’ And that’s exactly what they were when they appeared on my holoscreen for the initial parlay. Hunkered in their power exosuits, faces like carved stone, all sharp angles and cold resolve. Not exactly the chatty sort, but the credits made it worth my while. They need immediate transit to some backwater planet drowning in a civil war. Fine by me. I'm not picky; I just move freight. They are aboard, crammed into the Hydra and Mule cargo ships, and now under my wing. Their fragile flesh inside my steel cages.
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Entry 5
The jump went smoothly, no unexpected spatial anomalies, thankfully. I'm now approaching the contested system. And, to no surprise, what looks like a blocking force has emerged. Their fleets look heavily salvaged, no doubt a mercenary band. Knowing its just a commissioned force I decide to proceed. I was informed the rebels have no substantial fleet, mostly heavily d modded ships. The government tied down most of their forces anyway. My frigates, and phoenix should be enough to make the trade.
As they emerge from the asteroid field I send my frigates into a light escort mode near the cargo transports. I piloted the Phoenix to take the lead with Claw, and bite covering my engines. The enemy send a lot of fighter jets, than any really threat. They are small crafts, designed to cripple weapon and engine systems. They likely just want to slow us down. My Mining drones are released and dog fights with them. My point defense handles the rest. Noticing their fleet is really just composed of carriers, I charge ahead, frigates following closely.
Its in this moment I think back. My contact, Kael, assured me that these mercenaries wouldn't risk my ships or my life. In the off chance they rebel, I can seal the holds or release airlocks. Their life is in my hands.
After crippling a carrier and a few frigates, I see a weakness in their formation and charge out. Creating a path for my transports.
I have no desire to engage in a full conflict.
Entry 5
The skirmish was… efficient. I'll give them that. I managed to cripple a few of their fighters, turned two of their carriers to flaming debris, before warping out of their formation. Nothing too dramatic, just enough to make a point. I didn't lose any of my own ships, and I made it clear who's in control. I watched the tactical screen. As I warped away I could see the mercenaries’ transport ships, like lambs caught in the headlights, realizing how fragile their transport was compared to my war driven ships. A strange kind of pride swelled inside me to witness that moment. The irony is that these 'soldiers' are more reliant on me than I am on them. It made me smile. I am getting them to their location, alive. Their lives in my hands, dependent on the whims of my ship and my crew. There’s a certain satisfaction in that.
Entry 6 Cargo Bay, Planetfall
Planetfall was anticlimactic. A desolate and hostile landscape, the war-torn planet below us. The mercenaries disembarked, all terse nods and serious expressions, their exosuits disappearing into the chaotic landscape. The contact on the ground confirmed the transaction. The promised credits have already arrived in my account. Another job done, no questions asked. I’m already setting a course for the next trading hub. There's a long list of potential clients waiting. I need to check my ship diagnostics and check if the mercenaries left behind any unwanted software or tracking devices. My Phoenix is more than just a ship; it’s my mobile fortress, and I intend to keep it that way.