This is Lieutenant Commander Eastman, reporting with a tour of another ship from the fleet. This is the ISS Moon Rising, a Wayfarer-
I can't do this! This ship is a mess, just look at her! That's a crack right over the reactor shielding! She doesn't even have a real comms array! How am I supposed to advertise ships that look like they're halfway through being salvaged?
Don't even get me started on the fittings. SABOTS, really? That is a freighter, with shields fit only for asteroids and no armor to speak of. Why, by the stars below, would you strap those glorified scatterguns to it!
This ship is a death trap. They all are.
AND WE CANT EVEN FIX THEM, because apparently, in this day and age, it costs three salvage trips of profit just to procure a half-decent fuel injector.
And you know what? That shuttle pilot was drunk! That shuttle pilot was drunk and it was their fault for crashing into the command shuttle, not mine and I shouldn't be stuck doing this stupid job damn it, it wasn't even my fault, it's not fair!
I should be organizing logistics on a DOMAIN NAVY SUPPLY WARSHIP, like I was TRAINED to do. A well-coordinated, well put together ship with doors that work properly, and pipes that don't burn you when you put your hands on them, and reactors that don't irradiate you when you stand in the wrong spot!
Instead, here I am, two centuries in the future. Without a country, or family, or friends, rearranging proverbial deck chairs on ships that are not so much spacefaring vessels as they are LOOSE ASSEMBLIES OF SCRAP METAL.
Come work for Hallard Expeditionary. Or don't, I guess. I don't care.