Dispatches
Engineering documents from a ship that does not exist, built to a standard that does.
Vehicle specifications, procedure extracts, and the occasional finding that contradicts something published earlier. Every figure traceable to a named source or a script you can read. When something is wrong, the correction is credited to whoever found it.
One dispatch every week or two. No more than that, and nothing else.
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General arrangement
One page of sixty-five
P-26 — taking a faulty battery module off the bus
Six hours, one person, nothing irreversible.
Top half: five things that must be true first. The important one is endurance after isolation must exceed four hours. Comes out lower, the procedure refuses. No rank aboard can override it.
Bottom half: eight steps.
- Agent
- who’s allowed. Not “the crew”. At 0300 with four awake, “the crew” is nobody.
- Verify on
- the channel that proves the step happened. No channel, no step.
- Abort here leaves
- stop anywhere, and this says what you’re left with.
There are sixty-five of these, written the way flight procedures actually get written — because you’re 184.6 minutes of light time from anyone who could help.
In the game, this is what you run.
How it plays
A signal moves. You find out why.
Four consoles, 7,375 channels, and a procedure that will not advance until you have actually looked at the right thing.
The button does not work
Steps close on evidence, not on clicks. Open the wrong camera mode and you can hunt for as long as you like.
Everything costs something
Crew hours, machine hours, propellant, dose. An EVA is eight hours of somebody’s life and it stays on their record for twelve years.
The ship runs without you
You stand one watch in three across 4,383 days. What the others did arrives in the log — and once in a while, it is wrong.
Every number is real
The physics is derived, cited, and checkable. When the science says a thing cannot be done, the ship does not do it.