Two HARVs, One Swing
===Recovered personal log fragments from BaneThunderwolf from stardate 160924===
2200. It's nearly time to launch and I'm the only pilot at the fort. I've done what I can to improvise bags from the scraps left behind from the deep space mission. JVH Trinity is prepped and loaded for any eventuality. I begin to fear the worst as I initiate fort stasis procedures ahead of the launch.
The sound of a class one sonic disruptor announces the arrival of Wombat. Plans are modified as he preflights his ship and we allocate the remaining duties. We make haste to the launch pad in order to meet the on-time mission objective. There, Launchpad protocol is performed expeditiously and we launch into the chill autumn night.
The spaceways of the Union Constellation are nearly as empty as our ranks. Rumors of a Fluffbeast seen in the area must have scared off the usual civilian adventures. I don't think such a thing exists, but I'd packed peanut butter, just in case.
2227. Our first destination was Project Mum, where we warmed ourselves by the fire spinners and inspected the cultural offerings of this temporary conclave. Trinity's laser arrays wooed many — too many really. Fear of being unable to dislodge MUM from the thrusters caused the fleet to make this a quick stop.
2241. Distress call. It's been an age since the last time one was received; I was shocked the indicator light on my console still functioned. A few space minutes later and the fleet responded to the source, Metro Pedal Power. Aviator beezwax invited us to partake of savory snack molecules and steering dampener. (The fresh, hand-pressed apple cider is worth a special note.) She was hosting an intimate soiree for a friend's 50th orbital and the fleet was treated to the warmth of a campfire where civilians entertained us with guitar and vocal song.
2304. The event was winding down and the hour growing ever later. Many light years still remained on the mission, so we bade our farewells and started the search for a swing. We meandered past and through several parks with no luck. Instrumentation was useless, visual inspections were required. Rumor spread among the fleet that the provisional governments in the area must be extra protective of their swing technology and were performing their research in secret.
2345. I call off the swing search and focus instead on our destination of Castle Island. The small fleet size means we can move quickly and we'll make it there in record time. (At least it would be if we kept records of that kind.) Along the way we encountered a set of Galactic STs who were directing space travel. I offered a high five to one of them, but was brushed off.
0017. The fleet runs silent as we approach our destination; we find ourselves the only occupants. The chill night is enhanced by the clear sky and ever present breezes from shore. The stars themselves are alight like we've never seen them, some visible even over the skyline. Wombat and I take shore leave to rest and consume more steering dampener. Wombat nets a medal of Sans-a-Spacesuit while a brilliant, harvest crescent moon peeks over the horizon.
0053. With two remaining objectives, the fleet makes its exodus from the island and winds its way back through South Boston. Some civilians are stunned, stopped in their tracks; others "need this in my life" and yet a few others were hostile, one telling us to go back to Somerville. Chaos was rampant as we reached downtown. Wombat having more familiarity with the area temporarily took navigation. The mission's technical rating skyrocketed as Wombat skillfully navigated the fleet through an ever shifting maze of semi-gridlocked transports and intoxicated civilians. After finishing the gauntlet of bar-o-clock, Wombat took the fleet through the Charlestown locks to the nearby playgrounds, with both HARVs remaining aloft the entire stretch. Medals of Valour were awarded to both pilots for their tenacity and skill at riding through near death followed immediately by near death via nebular immersion.
0230. We still haven't found a swing. This mission is too small to fail! Internet rumors suggest the Esplanade playground, so we set a course. This also allowed us to race our "kinetic sculptures" a couple of times over water, completing the remaining mission objective. A left turn in Cambridge and a zag over the pedestrian bridge and the fleet was at the playground in no time. Photographic evidence was recorded and so we took a leisurely path back to the fort, passing in close proximity a majestic heron along the way.