By Rixxan

Telepresence was a wonderful thing, wasn’t it?

A magical technology that allows a person to transmit themselves instantaneously, without delay, to anywhere in the galaxy… or anywhere they could program. It allowed people back in the so-called “Bubble” of Human space to explore the deep reaches of the galaxy at no risk to themselves - for a price, of course. Those CMDRs who plunged into the black weren’t crazy enough to explore out that far without the promise of some type of payment.

What they were crazy enough to do, however, was to go at all, far from human civilization, and explore, on journeys that could take them as far as 46,000 light years from the nearest outpost of humanity. A mass journey of over 10,000 independent, unaffiliated pilots in all manner of craft to broaden the frontiers of humanity, and expand the reach of human civilization and her colony stations, backups of humanity. It had been realized to keep all these CMDRs alive, a safety net would have to be devised. The Hull Seals were born.

Rixxan had joined the Dispatchers of the SEALs, who organized the group and sent help where it was needed. His ship was safely on a planet’s surface as he keyed the telepresence, sighing as the light of the UI took him far away from his ship, to the computerized void. It reminded him of a place called ‘Zion’ from an ancient film, the title of which he could not remember. He had no sooner keyed in than a call came in across his virtual UI.

<\ Request Confirmed: Repair
<\ Current Status: 20%
>> *Hull Levels Critical.*
>> Transponder Confirms VIP Client - Tier Three.
<\ Requesting Nearest SEALs

A Tier Three Repair. That was unusual. Rixxan eyed the request, moving his simulated hand over and waved up the details of the call. Only a select few CMDRs had qualified as Tier Three SEALs, and at this time of day, those numbers were few and far between. The two nearest responders were over a thousand light-years away from the client, and that was bad. For the newbie organization, a lot of things could go wrong out here, this far from a station or shipyard. The two responding SEALs were just numbers to Rixxan, as all the data he had was. 36J-DW and 5LY-DW were their names. Now came the wait - an insufferable wait as Rixxan knew he could do nothing, having to trust in the two faceless data points as they made their way toward the client in need - without becoming clients themselves. He didn’t want to risk contacting them, lest he distracts their work, but the wait was intolerable. Half a Sol Hour later, he got the news - Mission Complete. Hull Repaired.

Rixxan allowed himself a small smile as he acknowledged the report, ordering the responders back to their stations. His feeling didn’t last long. Another CMDR had lit off the proverbial flare, a light in the darkness, pleading for help.

Time to get back to work...

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