Oliver_de_jesus
He/Him- 26,145
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- #1,481
After their brief conversation, the group parted ways, each with their own thoughts on the main ship. Roxanna, however, remained aboard the vessel that they are scout it: a space freighter, officially designated CPV-Redgrain 7, though its crew affectionately called it The Thresher.
The Thresher wasn't enormous by interstellar standards, but for a transport of its kind, it was spacious, roughly the size of a two-story residential complex. Inside, it retained its rudimentary industrial structure: steel walls, modular panels, and long rows of blinking lights that hummed softly overhead. It smelled of engine grease, thermal residue, and a faint aroma of coffee, likely coming from the main console, where cups often clinked from the shuddering engines.
Roxanna was positioned near the cargo port, a cavernous section wedged into the starboard stern of the ship. The floor was covered in reinforced plasteel, scratched and worn from years of dragging heavy containers. Overhead, cranes and retractable loading arms dangled like metallic spider legs, dormant for now, but ready to awaken at any moment. Automated rail systems hummed faintly beneath Rox's boots, hinting at their potential to transport goods with uncanny precision.
The cargo hold itself rose nearly two stories of vertical space, giving it the feel of a warehouse rather than a ship's chamber. Dozens of stacked crates, some hermetically sealed with plasma locks and others marked with half-peeled labels, surrounded it in tightly packed rows like sleeping giants. Each bore a faded inscription: "Hydration Capsules", "Deuterium Cells", "Synthetic Fiber Fabrics", "Experimental Alloys", and one with the ominous label "BIO-HZ-13": Do not expose to atmosphere. This one was cordoned off, tucked away in a dark, secluded corner where environmental regulators were working overtime. It wasn't just cargo back there; it was a vibrant archive of movement, trade, and survival, a physical history of every destination this ship had visited. Much could be learned simply from the dust or from the stickers plastered like graffiti on the metal beams.
The Thresher wasn't enormous by interstellar standards, but for a transport of its kind, it was spacious, roughly the size of a two-story residential complex. Inside, it retained its rudimentary industrial structure: steel walls, modular panels, and long rows of blinking lights that hummed softly overhead. It smelled of engine grease, thermal residue, and a faint aroma of coffee, likely coming from the main console, where cups often clinked from the shuddering engines.
Roxanna was positioned near the cargo port, a cavernous section wedged into the starboard stern of the ship. The floor was covered in reinforced plasteel, scratched and worn from years of dragging heavy containers. Overhead, cranes and retractable loading arms dangled like metallic spider legs, dormant for now, but ready to awaken at any moment. Automated rail systems hummed faintly beneath Rox's boots, hinting at their potential to transport goods with uncanny precision.
The cargo hold itself rose nearly two stories of vertical space, giving it the feel of a warehouse rather than a ship's chamber. Dozens of stacked crates, some hermetically sealed with plasma locks and others marked with half-peeled labels, surrounded it in tightly packed rows like sleeping giants. Each bore a faded inscription: "Hydration Capsules", "Deuterium Cells", "Synthetic Fiber Fabrics", "Experimental Alloys", and one with the ominous label "BIO-HZ-13": Do not expose to atmosphere. This one was cordoned off, tucked away in a dark, secluded corner where environmental regulators were working overtime. It wasn't just cargo back there; it was a vibrant archive of movement, trade, and survival, a physical history of every destination this ship had visited. Much could be learned simply from the dust or from the stickers plastered like graffiti on the metal beams.
