Zeo Genesis Travelogues
Greetings, star-nomads! You can call me Trev. (You can also call me Trevallion Franklin-Ridgeway III, but I’d rather you didn’t). I’ve left behind my shallow executive existence to explore the Hundred Suns, to re-connect with insignificant voiders just like you. These are my travels. You’re welcome.
“Unh...what? Where am I? Huh, recorder’s turned itself on. Might as well make use of it, good cold opening, awakening in the driving seat of an unfamiliar spaceship, nought-point-one hep of fuel left, strange knocking outside and… the smell of smoke? Fire?! Oh no, panic averted, it’s just that smoldering corpse behind me. It’s coming back to me now. She promised to fly me to the mysterious Overgrowth region, but tried to take me to a one-way, up-close-and-personal, face-to-face meeting with her sun god. You scum-rat.”
“My friend Maybrick once told me, ‘Any captain wiv a grain’a sense keeps an ’andy hepwoth of fuel in the back.’ Given mine went up like cousin Kadie’s dress at the Breaktide Ball, I’m unsurprised to find none. Now, about that knocking.”
“It transpires my ship is stuck in a scrap line. Great lines of ruined and obsolete tech, from ships to shopping droids, tied together like a train, their front end gravitationally pulling the train into an incinerating sun.”
“Scrapper unions claim what they wish, and Arty here is a ‘nose,’ a scrapper with an impressive knack for finding unusual and rare things—like me! I’m riding in his zeo’s… papoose. An embarrassment. His team has already identified several components needed to get me moving and are already retrieving them. They claim such altruism is because unions help everyone, even if you’re not a member, but I know they’re secretly fans of their celebrity visitor, claiming ignorance to save their blushes. I’ll humor them.”
“Arty’s got word that the others have the required gubbins, so we’re on our way to a ship he’s spied. Apparently, it’s fitted with a large, transportable, Fenlon-class fuel vat. There’s still active defense drones, but with an additional pair of servo-arms, Arty says we can easily whack a few and increase his tally.”
“After handing me his tally-whacker and telling me never to call it that again, Arty piloted us into the decrepit husk of the Sanjūkyū Kaidan.”
“Even my supplemental papoose arms were impressively responsive and I think Arty was quite impressed with how I wielded my weapon, while he handled his meatier one above my head. The drones dropped like cousin Kadie’s knickers at the Pearlmoon Promenade and we extracted and transported the Fenlon back in no time. Thanks, lads, may whatever booty you score be forever sweet!”
“Stay zippy, star-nomads…”
- Port of Bello Scrappers Union
- Year of incorporation: 3 (local Bello calendar)
- Members: 14
- Monetary gains from scrap sales as per local tax authority: 869,363AH
- Notable salvage: 426-year-old star-whaler. Complete collection of stolen Chimpesky art. Functional genetics lab and 24 specimens. Ancient mummified head, believed to be of high-ranking but unidentified organised criminal.
- Scrappers League position: #1
These journals were recorded via Tymphony Aural Augmetics… TAA: Listen Up!
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