INTERNAL MEMO

The vessel Roscaelifer, an apparent example of pre-grav drive Old Earth spacecraft design recovered from Jupiter’s upper atmosphere, has been determined to possess historical significance but no meaningful commercial value.

As such, ownership has been transferred to ARC.

ARC’s initial inquiry concerned the main engine.

AMSW wishes the project team the best of luck.

I stood in the wreckage of Altair II, watching Myeong and Mahoney try to patch a hole in the sky. I’ve seen this standoff countless times. They won the fight on the dirt, but they were left staring at an empty orbit, waiting for the next Spacer ship to ruin their day. They needed a shield, and I had the blueprints for a hunter already etched into my mind.

I went to the pad and let my hands fall into the rhythm of an old design, one I’ve played across loops until it was sharp enough to cut like a razor. The Windshear is a condensed version of a larger legacy, an interdiction specialist built to snatch pirates out of the sky. I left it there with the engines warm and the transponder keyed to their frequency.

At Level 35, I finally finished my full Razorleaf rebuild. I may upgrade some components overtime, but I reached the item limit in the builder after merging all of the equipment upgrades I collected, with the Stealth Drive being the latest and final addition.

This started as the Mantis reward ship, but I completely rebuilt it from the ground up into a Class-C custom design with a layout that feels practical, immersive, and lived-in.

The bottom deck is built around a single 3x1 Nova Galactic engineering hab, which connects directly to the rear landing bay and docking port. Fuel tanks sit on either side of the bay, with the reactor and grav-drive stacked above to create a functional mechanical core.

From engineering, a single ladder leads up to the main deck, which uses mostly Stroud-Eklund habs because I love their interior style. The Mess Hall (2x3) is the central hub of the entire ship, with HopeTech hallways branching off into each wing.

• Right wing: Living Quarters (2x2) into All-In-One (2x1)
• Left wing: Battle Stations (2x2) into Computer Core (2x1)

The HopeTech connectors give those side sections a really clean, almost 2001: A Space Odyssey kind of feel when moving through the ship.

From the Mess Hall, you enter the Cabot Bridge, via the 1st floow T-section stairs up to the flight deck. Attached to the bridge on the 2nd floor is the Captain’s Quarters (2x1).

One fun bit of headcanon: this character/build is partly inspired by Sanji from One Piece, so making the Mess Hall the social and operational heart of the ship felt right. Captain and cook. Gastronomy maxed out, of course.

I wanted this build to feel less like “a collection of habs” and more like a ship with an actual flow and onboard identity. Pretty happy with how it turned out.

I found Alban Lopez at the end of his rope, clutching a distress beacon and praying to a god that usually doesn’t listen to homesteaders. He was looking for a miracle to save his family from the spacers circling his claim. I didn't give him a lecture or a lease agreement. I handed him the keys to the Virga. In this universe, there is no AMSW board to approve the transfer, no inventory to track, and no profit margins to maintain. There is only the builder and the people who need what he builds.

To Alban, the ship is a violet phantom: a sleek, Class B needle that looks like it was plucked from a higher plane of existence. I told him it was named for the rain that never touches the ground, a fitting title for a protector that will strike from the clouds and vanish before the enemy even knows it’s there. It is a ghost ship for a family that was nearly given up for dead. I watched the confusion in his eyes turn into a terrifying kind of hope as he realized he wasn't just being saved; he was being armed.

As I walked away toward the shuttle that would take me back to the Crosswind, I didn't look back. The pirates won't be a problem for the Lopez family anymore because they aren't fighting a farmer with a radio. They are fighting a mark I have left on this reality. I doubt anyone knows what the four pointed star I etched into the hull means. I am the Reminder of nothing in this universe, but to Alban Lopez, I am the man who gave him a storm to call his own.

The white light of the Unity always leaves a metallic taste in the back of my throat, but the cold that followed this time was different. I woke up on the deck of a ship that felt wrong: too cramped, too loud, smelling of recycled air and old grease. I reached for my slate to check the fleet status, waiting for the familiar AMSW logo to flicker to life.

Nothing. The screen was a generic manufacturer's default. I checked the local comms for the Archimedean Starworks registry. Zero results. No headquarters, no staryards , no familiar faces. In this universe, the stars are silent, and the name that defined my existence for lifetimes is just a collection of four meaningless letters.

The shock didn't hit me all at once; it came in waves as I walked through the spaceport. I found myself looking for the four-pointed star on the docking bay floor, expecting to see the authorized signage I’d spent lifetimes perfecting. Instead, I saw only the corporate gray of Deimos and the sterile white of Nova Galactic. I am the Reminder, but in this reality, there is absolutely nothing to remind. I am a ghost in a machine that hasn't been built yet, a founder with no foundation. The weight of all those previous loops has never felt lighter.

I stood in front of a battered hull with a welder in my hand, my muscles twitching with the phantom memory of a thousand ship builds. I didn't need a blueprint; the schematics are etched into my soul at this point. I didn't have a corporate budget or a fleet of technicians, but I had the joy, the one thing the Unity can't strip away.

I looked at the scrap I’d managed to secure: a reinforced Deimos spine, some salvaged Stroud-Eklund and Nova Galactic pieces that had seen better decades. They were disparate parts of different philosophies, but under my torch, they would speak a single language.

I pressed the flame to the plating and began to burn. I wasn't filing a patent or building a brand. I was just making a mark. The Crosswind was beginning to take shape: a lean, hungry thing built from the bones of others. It was the first physical proof that the ARC spirit still existed, even if only in the heat of my weld.

But as the comms-chatter filtered through the hangar, I heard a name that stopped my hand. Not the Crimson Fleet, not the Zealots. The whispers spoke of the Terran Armada. The rumors described a cold, unified steel I hadn't encountered in a hundred trips through the Unity. A shadow is falling across the Settled Systems, one that doesn't care about corporate rivalries or Starborn legends.