Designer's Note

I’ve been flying solo since the late ’90s.

Not in the original Elite, but in the worlds it inspired—Oolite, Escape Velocity, the X series. Games where you start in a beat-up ship with a dream and a handful of credits, chasing rumors of profit through quiet systems and pirate ambushes. Games where the galaxy doesn’t care who you are, but will absolutely notice if you make the wrong move.

When I first read the Breathless SRD, I didn’t see zombies. I saw burn gauges, overclocked shield banks, and emergency dockings in lawless sectors. I saw pressure—mechanical and narrative—and realized it could drive something more than survival horror.

It could drive a space sim.

From Breathless to Burn-Drive

Breathless is built around a loop of mounting tension: the more you act, the more fragile you become. Your best traits degrade, and eventually you have to catch your breath—but doing so reshuffles the board.

In Star Hauler:

• Skills and ship systems wear down the same way, but now you “dock and refit”—burning time and credits while the galaxy evolves behind your back.
• The pressure loop remains, but now it’s about whether you can deliver the cargo, dodge the patrol, or fix your comm array before the sector destabilizes.

It’s Breathless, but with a nav computer and an invoice.

Trade and Tension

I always loved the feeling in X2 or EV Nova when you realized a hold full of oxygen tanks could make you rich—if you survived the next jump.

So I took the loot die and turned it into a salvage mechanic: recover cargo, components, or alien tech, but watch the risk curve tighten. Items in a backpack became modular ship systems—each one vital, temporary, and prone to breaking down mid-mission.

You can install a mining laser, a stealth field, or a tractor beam—but don’t expect them to last. Especially not if you’re flying dirty through a system marked “Quarantine.”

The Right Skills for the Job

The Breathless skill set was urban, survivalist. But I needed something that fit a one-pilot show in a starfield.

That became:

• Pilot, Engineer, Navigate, Trade, Combat, and Network

Everything you do in a space sim maps to those: dodging plasma bolts, re-routing coolant flow, negotiating better rates, bribing an official, or following a strange signal into the dark.

It’s all risk, all flavor, and always a little more than you’re ready for.

Hull Over Heart

Breathless tracks stress; Star Hauler tracks Hull Strain.

When your ship hits 4 strain, you’re in critical shape. Failure might mean exploding, drifting, or black-boxing into local folklore. It’s not about hit points—it’s about tension. You know that feeling when your heat bar is maxed and the next jump could fry your nav array?

That.

From Maps to Markets

Star Hauler doesn’t give you a scripted galaxy. It gives you a living one.

• System Tags define what each location wants or fears
• Trade Routes reward route planning and reputation
• Factions remember your choices
• News Feeds change the board while you’re in transit

Delivering cargo changes economies. Smuggling weapons destabilizes regions. Docking and refitting is a tactical pause, not a rest.

Like in the best sims, you’re not just playing in a galaxy—you’re shaping it.

Flying Solo

Most of the games that inspired this weren’t multiplayer. They were personal.

That’s why I built a full solo engine into Star Hauler:

• Question and Risk Oracles help you stay surprised
• Session goals and encounter tables keep the story moving
• Faction arcs and market shifts give you reasons to care

It’s not a journaling exercise. It’s the same kind of run you’ve done a hundred times in Oolite—only this time, it’s all coming out of your head.

Why “Star Hauler”?

Because that’s what you are. Not a hero. Not a savior. Just a working pilot, hauling goods across unstable systems, scraping together upgrades, and maybe—just maybe—making a name for yourself.

If you’re lucky, you’ll survive long enough to sell your ship, buy a bigger one, and fly again.

If not? Well… space is full of wreckage, and every derelict has a story.