The year is 2142. Captain Tanaka hosts an interstellar radio show aboard the Outcaster - once a battle carrier, now a maintenance vessel. With atmospheric music and the banter of her misfit crew, the podcast guides listeners through an unpredictable cosmos.
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The Outcaster crew gets some rare downtime at Kara-Silver Transit Hub while Captain Tanaka holds down the ship. As Outcaster Radio finds some unexpected new listeners, Tanaka shares a few stories about home, old memories, and the little things that keep us connected across the galaxy.
Outcaster radio. I don't know what to say over there.
SPEAKER_04
Good morning, Outcasters. This is Captain Tanaka, broadcasting from the Nandi sector's largest transfer hub, Cara Silver. It's August 13th, 2143. Four days ago, I handed off everything we uncovered on the Harbinger to the Federation. Not surprisingly, our unsanctioned but very much by the book side mission was met with mixed reviews. However, the reception from the locals has been warm and welcoming. For now, the Outcaster remains docked, refueling, resupplying, and waiting for a verdict. In the meantime, the Outcaster crew has settled into station life. While everyone is out enjoying a day off, I'm keeping things in order on board. Shoney is spending her time at the station's tattoo parlor, getting an old mark covered up. Cho has posted himself at the station's quietest cafe, hoping to track down a first edition copy of The Stars the Sea. He already owns three, but apparently that's not enough. If he finds a match, he's willing to trade. And more about finding a few like-minded souls to sit down and discuss it with. As for Chapman, he's gone missing. Not in a file-a-report kind of way, just in the way Chapman does. If security hasn't called me yet, he's either behaving or outrunning them. A trader refueling between jumps said the broadcast makes the quiet stretches less empty. A station tech admitted they've been tracking our signal for longer than I'd have guessed. I admire the Moxie. And an unnamed traveler passing through told me that our humble broadcast reminds them of home. Though they wouldn't say where that was. Back when our biggest worry was keeping drones from falling apart. You can blame my grandfather for my radio obsession. He used to keep these old boxy sets lying around. The kind that crackled and hummed with voices from places you couldn't see. Listening with him to frequencies from halfway around the earth was magic. For those listening aboard the station or tuning in from passing ships, welcome. The Outcaster won't be here long, but for today we share the same coordinates. Now let's start with something easy. Here's Pilara's Pit Stop by Damla Alber. A melody that settles slowly and stays with you long after it fades. They're more than docking bays and fuel depots. They're floating cities, full of people moving in all directions. You walk down a single corridor and you'll hear a dozen different languages. Some folks stop in just long enough to top off their tanks. Others get stuck for weeks, waiting on clearance that keeps getting pushed back. Turns out, Kara Silver's got a pub called The Rusty Fork, and every Friday a band plays Outcaster Radio Selections. They call themselves the Rock Outcasters. To everyone tuned in today, this one's for you. Here's the Rock Outcasters cover of Echoes Through Time. Wherever you are on the station, if you hear this, a fleet member just dropped off a care package for you. Says it's urgent. Funny how something so small can carry so much weight. It's not just the things inside. It's the fact that someone packed them, wrote your name, sent a piece of their world across light years just to reach you. My Obisan used to send me dried persimmons when I was in the academy. Always in the same old biscuit tin. Wrapped in cloth like it was something rare. And maybe it was. No name. No details. Just a short note. For those of us still figuring it out. Figuring it out. Aren't we all? Whoever sent this, I like to think you were in the station's cafe. Nursing a cup of something too strong. Watching ships dock and depart. Wondering which direction feels like the right one. Or maybe you were just passing through. Same as us. Some thoughts flow easier when they're anonymous. That's all for now, Outcasters. We're docked at Cara Silver for just a little while longer. But wherever we're headed next, I'll be right here. Same frequency. Same signal. Now, if you happen to spot any members of my crew, please point them towards the beautiful battle carrier we call home. As for Chapman, best to just let him find his own way back. He always does. As always, outcasters, stay sharp, stay safe, and remember, we may be far from home, but we're never alone. This is Captain Tanaka signing off.
