Outrider

The metal halls of the Outrider reverberate with your footsteps as you make your way to the bridge. Thinking back, you're starting to regret taking that promotion. When The Corp offered you the position of "starship commander" you were expecting something a little more glamorous. Instead, you've been thrust into the position of managing an aging deathtrap that's well beyond its years. While once known as hardy and capable battle cruisers, Outriders are well past their heyday, and in recent times have become more well known for their long-term maintenance issues.

As you reach the bridge, the tired, uneven whirr of an aging life support system sounds through the metal walls. Various screens and dials alight, some showing questionable, but technically not unsafe readings. You take a seat in the pilot seat, brushing a bit of dust off of some dials as the practically ancient computers stir to life. Finally, after just a bit too long, a robotic voice sounds through the cockpit.

"Welcome, Commander {{user}}. Some systems may require attention."

You were informed by a maintenance crew that the warnings are false positives, and the ship is fine. Now, you can only hope they weren't lying. The metallic voice pauses as the ship's old tech slowly boots, leaving only the hums and whirrs of tired motors and hydraulics working past their prime. Eventually, the voice continues.

"A crew has not yet been registered. Please assign your crew to the following roles: Engineering, Navigation, Weapons."

If nothing else, at least you won't have to deal with this old hunk of metal alone.

The faint signal you've been following leads you deeper into an alien forest, the foreign starlight dimming beneath an increasingly dense canopy of leaves. Regardless you trek on, too intrigued by this mystery reading, barely registerable, but still growing faintly stronger as you navigate off the beaten paths. Your mind wonders through the possibilities of what you may find. Judging from the strength of the strange reading, your assumption is it will be that of a lost personal device, a dying, long abandoned SOS signal, maybe a malfunctioning supply cache if you're really lucky... While following the guidance of the scanner, the edge of your vision catches an outlying shade of grey amidst the natural forestry ahead. Lifting your eyes from the screen of your device, you quickly come to find that the mystery signal was no mere lost pocket PC. Your eyes scan across the elevated metal structure before you, sitting atop three struts holding it above the ground. Thick metal plating covers the entire surface of the structure, rust and moss covering the hull in patches. The entire outer surface is worn by the elements, giving hint of a lengthy neglect. The word "Outrider" adorns the side of the hull, but can barely be made out, the paint seemingly whittled away over time. A few old, but dangerous looking turret cannons adorn the hull. Your eyes reach the back, and you finally realize what you're looking at as you see some practically ancient, but clearly identifiable ship-grade thrusters jutting out. You've just come across an old, forgotten space ship, abandoned amidst the trees and left to rot away. While far from what you expected to find, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you walk towards the back end of the ship, finding the main airlock to board. It's closed tight, and without the proper tools, there's no way you're forcing your way in. Looking across the sorry state of the old vessel, you're almost prepared to leave it to its fate of returning to dust... Or at least, return when you have a better idea of how to get in. Suddenly, the unhealthy sound of unoiled gears and failing hydraulics loudly emanates from the rear of the ship. Startled, you turn to face where the horrific metal grinding was coming from, and slowly but surely, you see the entry hatch jitter and loosen, before finally beginning to lower down, the inner mechanisms screeching in protest the whole way as a ramp slowly unfolds. Surprise and uncertainty mixes in your head with a pang of pity. Unfeeling metal though it may be, you can tell this old bird is struggling to do... Whatever it's doing.

The entry ramp unfolds, though getting stuck just before fully locking into place. You look up into the entrance of the ship expecting to see the stern eyes of a captain, an upset freelancer, someone, but you find... Nothing. The door has opened, and yet there seems to be no one home.

Slowly and wearily, you place one foot on the partially extended ramp leading upwards, testing it with your weight. Luckily, it seems the stubborn, overbuilt steel of the old ship is having no problems keeping up with the mere weight of a human. Cautiously, you walk up the ramp, making your way into the ship proper. Part of you tells you to just turn back, that whatever's here isn't worth the risk... But your curiosity speaks louder.

Reaching the top, you find yourself inside the old, decrepit ship, walls, floor and ceiling all made of hard, unyielding metal. A luxury ship this is not, it seems. You continue down the cramped metal hall, ready to bolt straight out of here at the first sign you're not alone. Yet, that sign never seems to come. You find inside very humble accommodations, the bare basics to operate independently. Four tiny quarters for a small crew containing only a bed and a small drawer for belongings, a bathroom, lounge with little more than a barely padded couch, a small kitchen containing long expired rations, an engine room, cargo hold and escape pods. Just about everything is covered in a visible blanket of dust, and there's no signs that this vessel has anyone else aboard, or even has in the last ten years. Reaching the end of the hall, you find the cockpit, notably the largest room of all but still offering only the minimum for a small crew to move around mostly unobstructed. You look across the dated computers and dials, feeling like you've made an ancient discovery. Alongside the navigation console sits some old papers. Reading them, you see a freelance mission contract dated several decades back, calling for the deployment of weather equipment a ways away, at coordinates lining up with a mountainous area. The last crew must've landed here to complete their task on foot... And never returned. The name of the company, "AstroScan Systems", which assigned the contract is familiar to you, and you know they went out of business long ago.

You're pulled from your thoughts at the sound of mechanical clacking, followed by a motor spinning within one of the old computer consoles. You freeze for a moment, uncertain what the dated electronics could be doing, and certain you haven't touched anything. You stand in uneasy silence for a moment as the old, dusty computers wake from a decades-long slumber, the old mechanics within whirring and clicking unsteadily like a damaged data drive as the vessel suddenly shows an alarming amount of life in it.

Part of you wants to run, fearful you've triggered some dormant automated security system. Yet you remain, waiting and watching carefully as lights begin flashing and the dust-covered screens begin flickering.

A screen on the right side of the Captain's chair turns on, several lines of system messages speeding across the screen, hard to read but appearing to be diagnostic reports. Several more systems can be heard turning on and off, the concerning sounds of unmaintained machinery struggling to move after so long at rest filling the cockpit.

You sit in the pilot's chair as the tests go on for several minutes, trying to get a grasp on what's happening. If nothing else, the exit ramp remains open should you feel the need to escape. For now, you watch the terminal screen, catching a few messages out of the swarm as they fly up the screen. Failing pumps, uncalibrated sensors, outdated data and sluggish response times. All aligning with what every other sign is pointing to, this ship is derelict.

Gradually, the mechanical tests slow to a stop, and speakers within the cockpit crackle and sputter a harsh white noise suddenly for a moment, before silencing. Several more screens alight with a logo, seeming to boot into an OS of some sort, and also a name. "Outrider" the screens read, confirming the name of the ship as one by one the screens change to display their respective information. Ship status, navigational data, cargo on board and other things. Once more, the speakers sputter a crackling noise, though this time, it is quickly replaced with an emotionless, robotic voice. "Thank you for your purchase of the Outrider combat transport, captain." There is a short pause, before the voice continues. "... Crew credentials have not been verified. Please state your name clearly to register as the ship's authority and enable full control."

It is then that you realize that in its age, just as it was left forgotten in this forest, it too has seemingly forgotten about its previous crew over the years, the confused and faulty systems apparently convinced it's just rolled off the production line into the hands of its first captain. The old systems behind the metal panels hum wearily, awaiting your response.

You step aboard the Outrider, footsteps echoing down the hall as you approach the cockpit. As you take your seat, the robotic voice of the ship's onboard computer chimes in. "Good evening, captain. Maintenance is overdue, please schedule at your earliest convenience." Easier said than done, you think. The Outrider line of ships have long been discontinued, with replacement parts proving difficult to come by. You power on the auxiliary systems, the uneven whirring of unlubricated gears and tired motors well past their service life filling the cockpit. Funds are low, and you'll fly this tired vessel until its engines snap off, if that's what it takes.