Data Log - Tranquility

Entry 1

Log 1: Where the wind takes us

Personal log, first entry. Captain Michael Raymond of the good ship Tranquility speaking.

Wonder if I should feel guilty about how glad I was to see the back of Earth? Ain’t prob’ly never gonna see it again, and good riddance. Whole place was... troubling. An’ that’s puttin’ it mildly.

Sure ain’t gonna miss ranchin’ cattle only to have ‘em all stolen an’ slaughtered by starving refugees. Idiots didn’t leave no breeding stock, meanin’ no more cows, meanin’ no more food... Safe bet they turned to eatin’ each other in the end.

Still… Tranquility ain’t exactly a step up from the ranch. I’m gonna miss big open skies and the wind in my face, that’s for sure. And I’m really gonna miss my dog…

But hell, I’m alive and we got food and good crew... Ain’t my concern if Katie wants to sleep next to the power core, or Glass keeps readin’ the same Bible over an’ over again like he’s tryin’ to memorize it.

An’ Sam? I ain’t never looked at a woman the way Sam looks at his rifle. He even named the damn thing, which is just weird. But I’m glad he’s on my side.

I guess we’ll just go where the wind takes us, so to speak, and do our best to scratch out a livin’. We ain’t the first folks to try an’ make somethin’ of a new frontier. We won’t be the last, either. It won’t be easy, but… we can do it.

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Entry 2

Log 2: Awful empty in my sky.

Things are goin’ well. Got more crates of electronics than we know what to do with, but that’s like the opposite of a problem. Except… it ain’t, because that’s space in the hold could be full of somethin’ we actually need. Like water, or hyperfuel.

I mean… What do you do when you have too much of something? You sell it, right? And you buy what you don’t have. That’s trade!

Can’t do that out here. Ain’t nobody around to sell to or buy from. But Sam reckons you have to be as dumb as a horse to leave resources lyin’ around when you find ‘em, and he’s right. So we brought over a stack of crates from that wreck we found yesterday and now our hold is full of even more electronics we don’t need and Katie’s still chunterin’ on about how we need more sticks for the core.

There’s gotta be some folks somewhere out here who’ve got more power rods than they know what to do with. And maybe they need circuit boards! Or maybe they need fruit! We’ve got lotsa fruit. Yeah. There’s gotta be someone out here we can trade with...

Guess the tricky part is findin’ em.

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Entry 3

Log 3: Honest dealings

Met some friendly fellas in white robes of all things. ‘Least, they were friendly until Glass called ‘em a cult. Then they got all kinds of riled up. Reckon the only reason we didn’t wind up tradin’ bullets is ‘cuz Doc has a way with words.

After things smoothed over and Glass was back on our ship, we got to talkin’ about surplus and supply and suchlike. Turns out our new friends the totally-not-a-cult were thirstin’ for fruit. “Well,” I said, “it turns out we’ve got more fruit than we can handle. Maybe we can come to some kinda arrangement.”

The rest was numbers. Doc worked ‘em out. So we’re flyin’ away a mite light on the fruit front but plenty heavy on water, hyperfuel an’, to Katie’s relief, energy sticks. Hell, the amount of water they gave us, they coulda grown as much fruit as we gave ‘em and then some.

Which got me to thinkin’... Maybe there’s a living to be made doin’ this. I figure, it ain’t more risky than anythin’ else we could try, so…

Why not?

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Entry 4

Log 4: Respectable persons of business

Things are goin’ pretty smooth. We’ve made a name for ourselves, and expanded Tranquility’s cargo hold. Took on a posse of extra crew, too. Buncha misfits, but so long as they pull their weight an’ shoot straight they’re family.

It’s startin’ to get how the biggest complaint folks have about us is how we’re on the move all the time, makes us harder to find. I guess I can see the point. Ain’t like the ultramart back home hopped around like a jackrabbit. We’ve had customers complain they near ran outta gas tryin’ to catch up to us and buy gas.

We ain’t opportunistic traders no more. We’re respectable persons of business. Folks come to us for a fair deal, ‘cuz they know we got what they need. A reputation like that means we don’t need to fly around lookin’ no more, the business comes to us.

Maybe it’s time to find someplace we’re easily found and stop moving. I think I saw a good spot a ways back.

...Yeah, here it is. <Coordinates attached>.

Seems to me like if we head over there and park up, we can be where the folks lookin’ for us can find us.

And at that point… Might as well just go ahead an’ sell the engines, I guess.

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Entry 5

Log 5: Not going anywhere

We sold the engines, like I said.

I’m pretty sure I’m richer now than I ever was on Earth. Still ain’t got the same elbow room like I did on the ranch - can’t buy back the sky no matter how rich I get - but hell, we have a *bar* now. With real alcohol. GOOD alcohol!

It’s… a little taste of what we lost. The best bits, anyway. An’ people come a long way to get a sample and trade. Ain’t no difference to us *what* they trade - guns, ore, food… there’s a fella down on the market deck sells nothin’ but jukeboxes and arcade machines. Not to mention all the services down there that folks can’t take home, like a haircut, or a little, uh, “affection…”

So long as the station gets its cut, I don’t care what folks sell here. Feels good. Feels like home, y’know?

Lotta room in this sky, though. And there’s lots places a long way from here ain’t got no central hub like Tranquility provides. I bet it’s only a matter of time before somebody else sets up a trade hub elsewhere in the sky, and from there… well. Human history basically boils down to tradin’ or fightin’.

Good luck to ‘em, I say. I can think of a few good spots where a trade station might make a real good living… Me, I’m gonna enjoy some more’a this fruit brandy then go see Vivienne and her girls for some’a their famous, uh… pancakes. <chuckles>

This was Captain Michael Raymond, CEO of Tranquility Hub. Happy trails.

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