Mornings in space are mostly imaginary, but I still mark them. Coffee helps with that. One mug, drifting in a freeport, starfield slowly turning outside the viewport while my hangar inventory stares back at me like it’s judging my life choices.
The Helios sits there, familiar and unassuming. Cheap. Reliable. Invisible in the way that matters most in J-space. It has carried me through more wormholes than I can count, slipped past more dangers than it ever had any right to. No one looks twice at a Helios. That’s the point.
And yet.
Right below it, in the market listings, is the Odysseus.
Sleek. New. Expensive in that quiet way that doesn’t scream wealth, but definitely suggests it. I can afford it — that isn’t the problem. The ISK is there, waiting, whispering that ships are meant to be flown, not admired from a distance.
The problem is attention.
J-space notices things. It notices hulls that don’t quite belong, silhouettes that linger a little too long on d-scan. The Odysseus feels like an invitation to be curious about me, and curiosity out here can get you killed. I like being forgettable. I like being just another scanner passing through.
Still… the temptation lingers. Better performance. Better comfort. A small luxury in a life that’s mostly careful restraint.
I sip my coffee and tell myself there’s no rush. The Helios hasn’t failed me yet. But I don’t close the market window either.
Some decisions don’t need to be made right away. Sometimes it’s enough to just sit with them, coffee cooling in hand, stars turning slowly, and let the universe watch you hesitate.
Fly your way,
E
A Pixel Nomad 