I have read all the wonderful stories that people have written and enjoy them all. as most people write in the action or humour vein, I thought I would drum up the courage to share what I had written as it is different. 

previously, it was not my intention to publish any of this as I wrote it as an excerise and for my own amusement. 

although this is quite long, I will only release manageable chunks, periodically. I'm not sure what that period will be, yet. 

- disclaimer: 

it is inevitable the some people will notice either themselves, their society, or other references to events in which they may have (or may not have) particpated. it is not my intention to offend anyone and sometimes things are the way they are because of the story line. please forgive me if you feel I crossed a personal line. send me a message and I will try to remember these transgressions, in the future. 

and to MindArk.... I have taken some liberites with your general story line but I believe I have not drifted too far from what it is you have published. also, I hope that you will not be upset with what I have created. should you disapprove of what I present, I will immediately withdraw the fiction. 

- copyright notification: (I'm told that I need to do this). 

for all elements of this story, execpt those previously published by MindArk, the rights remain with me. for concepts and elements which are the property of MindArk, they retain all their rights. 

edits - ...corrected spelling errors and grammar, too many times.. I suppose I should have a proof-reader and not blindly type. sigh.

I was born on Mars. Yes, I know all the insults. Martian...Thief…Rebel…Terrorist... It's hard to describe life in the domes and caverns. I never had the chance to play outside in the sunlight, as I’d see the other children do in the holograms from Earth. Terrans never seemed to want to understand what it was like to live this way and would flaunt their privilege of being able to walk naturally outside. I've always felt it was this lack of compassion that was the catalyst. The sentiment that fuelled what became the rebellion. 

I was seven when Mars declared its independence from the Federal Empire. I remember it being a happy day in our dome. My father told me of the new future where Mars and the Federal Empire would work together for the good of all. That was not to be. I was nine when the Empire's 2nd army group occupied Mars - citing the protection of freedom and democracy. They shelled us from orbit and then the ground troops arrived. My mother was one of the first casualties. We had nothing and they were experienced troops who showed no quarter. My father was killed trying to help as many people as possible retreat into the caverns as our domes were destroyed. Of course, the industrial and resource domes were untouched. They had come to "protect" what they thought was theirs and we were just in the way. My older sister was raped and murdered by soldiers who were out looking for a “good time” after securing the planet. Orphaned, my brother and I became part of the resistance. I was seventeen when the soldiers finally caught us. I expected to die. My brother had been severely wounded during our attempt to avoid capture. Although he begged me to leave him and try to escape, I could not. It would be eight years before I learnt what fate had befallen him - but I digress. To my surprise, they did not execute me. Instead, I was sent into the concentration camps. I was twenty four when I was finally released. By then; about half of Mars' population, over 15 million human beings, had been exterminated or worked to death in the camps. I was told I was lucky to be alive and that I should be grateful to the Empire for now offering me a new life through relocation. 

Of course, I would not be permitted to remain on Mars, as it remained occupied by the army with a military governor. Nor, would I be permitted to go to Earth. The price of being a persona non grata. Or, more simply: an undesirable. I, along with all the rest of the surviving Martians, would be allowed to emigrate to Calypso. Calypso: the terror planet. We were assured that the new waves of colonists were happy, productive, and safe. We were assured that it was not the Calypso of old. So, we went. We really had no other choice. Packed into overcrowded starships, we hoped for the best. At least, we would be able to walk outside and feel the warmth of a sun - even if it was not Sol. 

I later learnt that these starships literally dumped their human cargo randomly around Calypso and with no provisions. No food, water, shelter, or the means to defend themselves. Nothing but the orange jumpsuit they were forced to wear. Almost all died within hours. This was their solution: let the fauna dispose of the rest of us. The starship carrying me, though, ran into difficulty. I never found out exactly what had attacked us, although I heard cries of "robots" from crew members. Miraculously, the ship was not destroyed. It was, though, heavily damaged and all of the cargo bays, save the one I was in had been breached and those inside cast into the void of space to quickly meet a grisly and horrible death. Rather than randomly dispatching us upon the surface, the ship had no choice but to land in Port Atlantis for repair. 

The exterior bay doors opened and we were permitted to leave. I suppose they figured it didn’t matter much and we would all be dead sooner or later. I slowly walked outside. Remember, I had never been outside without an environmental suit before. I had never felt a natural breeze or breathed air which was not packaged or re-circulated. I had never felt the warmth from a sun. It was overwhelming. I remember looking up at the sign that read “Welcome to Port Atlantis” and I cried. To this day, I do not know if they were tears of sorrow or happiness. Probably, they were both. After all, this was Calypso.

My given name is Kira but next to nobody calls me that. In the camps, we had been stripped of our identities and I received a new name: Star-Rigger. It is a modernisation of an ancient sailing term. Since we were not really people to our keepers, they referred to us by our jobs. Mine was to outfit (or “rig”) starships. It is a very dangerous job with many hazards. Death was common but by then I was long accustomed to this reality. In many ways, horror was all I knew and what I expected from life. As there were many Star-Riggers working, the soldiers would give us nicknames to differentiate us. They called me “Red”. Contrary to what one might expect, it does not refer to the colour of my hair – which is actually closer to polished copper in tone. It was because of my temper and attitude. The soldiers found this to be quite amusing, considering I was their prisoner. Although I remember my Martian surname, I never use it. That part of my life died long ago, back on Mars, with the rest of my family. 

Life is difficult on Calypso. To a newcomer, Port Atlantis is confusing and cryptic. For me, it was no different. Yes, there were many people. Yet, I was accustomed to crowds – previously having been a Martian dome dweller and former concentration camp internee. Still, Port Atlantis is much different. The noise is almost unbearable. One of the first things I found that needed to learn was how to interpret what appeared to me as mindless babble. I knew that if I did not understand some of this commotion, I would not be able to survive. And, for the first time in almost fifteen years, I had decided that I wanted to survive. Although I quickly learnt that almost all of this volume was related to trade, I had no understanding of what was being bartered. 

Growing up the way I had resulted in my developing a highly cynical and cautious demeanour. As such, I was careful not to become consumed by the activity which surrounded me. Over a period of time, I learnt that much of what was being bartered was equipment, weapons, or armour and it was being resold at a mark-up. While the Federal Empire does provide some basic staples through their trade terminals, most of it is junk, although there are exceptions. Actually, the main purpose of the trade terminals is to provide a way of collecting material for the Federal Empire. Obstinately, the authorities refer to this as “recycling”. At least, they pay something for the material – if only a pittance. This is the reason for the barter, as many things have much more value than that placed upon them by the Federal Empire. 

Those who rule the Federal Empire are not stupid. For them, it is all about resources. Those who control the resources control production and thus reign over the masses. These overlords have little empathy for the human element. We are nothing more than their dislocated hands. Fortunately, Calypso is but a distant outpost and their attention is more focused elsewhere. Still, their mentality is quite prevalent here – although, on a smaller scale. The elite of Calypso are little different from their Federal cousins but there are several significant exceptions - although, again, I digress. The Federal Empire does provide a few key and essential items, through their mega-corporations and via their trade terminals. Of note, there are geological bombs and probes. They also provide ammunition. Considering these, it becomes fairly obvious why we are here. 

Although I am not a miner, I have utilised the geological bombs and probes. Also, like a true Calypsonian miner, I never surrender the resources I find to the terminals. They are better consumed by myself or sold to others who need them. The same is true of the hunters who purchase the bulk of the available ammunition. Personally, though; I’ve always detested the firearms that so many, here, consider essential. When I was part of the resistance, on Mars, all we had was what we could find or reuse. Most of time, these were blades - cleavers and kitchen knives. 

I also learnt that there is a premium associated with clothing - likely because most of us arrived with nothing. On Calypso, clothing is often an expression of status. While there are some who just wear what they find or trade for something they like, some use clothing as an illustration of their apparent wealth and power. For these people, the clothes are part of a grand illusion - a game of smoke and mirrors, if one prefers. It is easy to impress the poor and uninformed with beautiful and expensive clothing. Once suitably impressed, the uninformed much easier succumb to deception. The exploitation of people is common for a certain segment of Calypso’s population. Confidence games are abundant and frequent. Occasionally, even the experienced can fall victim to one. Confidence artists and the unimpressionable aside, there are still some of the rich who use their clothing as a symbol to flaunt their superiority over the more common people. 

Almost all of the clothing that had been scattered about Calypso in the past has been found. Although I never found anything of any serious value, I did manage to dress myself. For me, the orange jumpsuit was particularly offensive; as it was what we wore in the camps and represented my internment. Thus, I had searched for anything else that I could wear. In that, I was successful. I still have all of these clothes but I rarely wear them now. I prefer the simple, plain clothes that I sew myself. They are not as pretty but each stitch, button, and piece of leather I have collected and manufactured myself. 

Calypso’s flora is as breathtaking as its fauna is dangerous. Over time, I have come to prefer spending my time in the wilderness rather than in the cities or towns. I am sure that this is because of my previous life. The grandness of nature and her ecosystem amazes me to this day. Still, in the wilderness, there are many creatures who will not hesitate to kill, either for food or just for the enjoyment of it. These creatures many be animals, mutants, or robots. It’s difficult to say which of them are more dangerous. The animals I can forgive because they are just animals doing what animals do. The mutants I’m fairly neutral toward as most of them tend to keep to themselves. In fact, I have spent many long hours with a feffoid whom I almost consider my friend. I don’t want to be misleading, though. There are only a few feffoids who will tolerate humans. The rest, like the other mutants, will try to kill you on sight. Of all the mutants, it is the umbranoids who are the worst. They are evil to the core. Although many do not realise it, the umbranoids are actually the mutated descendents of the original colonists and are motivated solely by greed. They have no tolerance for humans and will immediately attack. I suppose that in their sick and twisted minds they see us as genetically inferior invaders rather than their long lost cousins who have returned. Perhaps, they have never forgiven the Federal Empire for abandoning them, here, long ago. In any event, there is no reasoning with them. I know. I have tried. 

The robots, technically, aren’t creatures because they are machines. They are also relentless and extremely dangerous. I have been in several towns when they have attacked. They do not do this as much, recently, but who is to say what goes on in their programming. One thing is for certain; however, they are here to collect the natural resources from the ground and their conflict with us has a long and destructive history. 

In speaking of creatures, it’s only fair to mention the station orbiting Calypso. The station is actually quite old and much of it has been abandoned. It is part zoo and part breeding ground. Unfortunately, what it breeds is completely alien. The creatures in the station’s bio-domes are not native to Calypso or even Earth. They were brought to the station and bred for a purpose which is unknown to us colonists. That purpose, though, is not unknown to the Federal Empire who built the station. Evidence exists that the bio-products extracted from these alien creatures has specific and unique properties. We are only beginning to understand what the Federal Empire is already well aware. This is particularly disturbing and has come to directly affect me but that I will address another time.

If you love her (would you buy her a gun?) 
(furnaceface) 

I see her walking home 
I see her casting shadows on the street 
A car pulls up behind her 
Pulls down the window, he starts to speak 

And there’s a target on her! 
And there’s a bullet with her number! 

And she’s an unarmed soldier, now 
But not for long - 
‘Cause it’s a war and if you care 
If you love her, buy her a gun 
‘Cause it’s a war and she’s a soldier 
If you care, if you love her, buy her a gun 

I see her walking home 
I see him rolling softly at her heels 

Headlights silhouette her 
His heart beats faster, as he grips the wheel 
She looks for lighted doorways 
He thinks that she could be the one 
Laughing softly to himself 
Could she make it if she runs? 

And there’s a target on her… 
And there’s a bullet with her number… 
She’s an unarmed soldier… 

She’s an unarmed soldier, now 
But not for long – 
‘Cause it’s a war and if you care 
If you love her, buy her a gun 

‘Cause it’s a war and she’s a soldier 
If you care, if you love her, buy her a gun 

If you love her, buy her a gun 
Your girlfriend, your sister, your daughter, your mom 
If you love her, buy her a gun 
So she can blow some bastard’s head off if he follows her home 

(repeat the above stanza three times) 

Do you love her? Would you buy her a gun? 
Do you love her? Would you buy her a gun? 
Do you love her? Would you buy her a gun? 
Do you love her? Would you buy her a gun? 

(fade to black)

Fundamentally, on Calypso, life is centred about two principles: currency and adaptation. It is common to encounter beggars attempting to leverage an existence through charity. Likewise, there are the defeated that have failed in their aspirations because they were unable to adapt. The end result of both types upon the working population is remarkably similar. They solicit any attention possible and then use it to lecture on how they have been wronged or shorted and how their plight is not their fault. In either case, these philosophies are akin to death, on Calypso. 

Everything, here, will cost PED. True, one can wander about aimlessly and bother everyone else but any productive effort requires an investment. While there are some who have been successful on little or no investment, many of those flaunting this position are outright lying. In some ways, these liars are seeking an external praise to lessen their own internal guilt. This is to compensate for what they have squandered and, in their minds, to justify their previous actions. 

Life is dynamic. This, I understand all too well. The complainers think that life is a game of chequers or something similar where the strategies are always static. For those, when confronted with a challenge, it is confusion rather that logic prevails. Nature does not play favourites. In nature, evolution is to survive. Stagnation always results in death, yet this suffering may be extensive. 

Although this is a harsh reality; there is another, more important, concept. This is society. People need and desire each other. On Calypso, the majority of people belong to some organisation. These organisations can be a street gang, a business, a guild, a paramilitary unit, or other such associations. An organisation may also be a combination of things, as well. People will form their societies upon whatever lines they feel are appropriate. 

I use to live near the power transformer coils in Jason Centre. I was homeless but I didn’t mind. I didn’t really have very much. Although I understood the purpose of the social organisations, I was afraid to become involved with one. I didn’t want anyone to have any expectation of me. In particular, I didn’t want to fail another in the way I had failed my family. 

I met a young man named DarkSlayer. His given name was actually Stefan. I think he found me to be attractive. Unlike me, who was forcibly relocated to here, he had arrived by his own volition. He was very upset and told me of how his society leader had stolen his best weapon and refused to give it back. I sat with him for a while and we talked about many different things. It was through him that I learnt that some societies are nothing more than a pyramid game to benefit the one or two at the top. I decided that it would be best to avoid all of these organisations until I understood more about them. 

I did continue to speak with Stefan but he kept spiralling further into depression. Some days were better than others, for him. I do understand his reasons – just not his solution. He had gambled everything and lost most of it to people whom he thought were his friends - an awful realisation. 

One day, I ran across Stefan in Port Atlantis. He had been looking for me and was actually excited. Actually, over the prior week or so he had been in higher spirits. I thought he was improving. 

“Red, I have something for you” and with that he handed me a container in which was his dragon armour, an ep40 laser pistol, and 100 PED. At that moment, I knew what was really going on. I told him that his armour was useless to me and that I didn’t require any money or firearms. He told me that these things were now useless to him. He wanted me to have them because I had been kind to him where few, if any, others had been. He was settling his accounts, he told me but I knew what that really meant, for he owed me nothing. 

Later that afternoon, Stefan walked off the pier in Port Atlantis. “’Bye, Red – take care of yourself…” It was the last thing he said to me or anyone else. He genuinely looked happy. I sat and watched the water for over an hour, hoping that he’d return, knowing that he never would. Periodically, another silent tear would run down my face. That night, back at Jason, I cried myself to sleep. 

Suicide is frequent, on Calypso. Unlike the complainers who feel they are educating rather than annoying you, those who perform this act have a plan. They are adapting to change. I just don’t agree with the solution. In my life, I have expected to die many times. The difference was that I never desired it. 

All this said, there are Calyponian societies which are not selfish or a front for exploitation. The first of these are the Entropia Pioneers. They are an old organisation. While their members have their own goals, they are extremely altruistic. They are most willing to help neophytes, not through charity but rather the sharing of information. They do this openly. It is a rare occurrence, here. Although I do not know any of them personally, I have seen a few of them at the auction or in a service container. I never speak to them, as I am sure they have other more important things to do. 

As I mentioned before, Calypso is vibrant with trade. Unfortunately, many of the so-called traders are nothing more than hustlers looking to turn some quick PED. For the most part, it is best to avoid these individuals and their huckster methods. Interestingly enough, there is Sterling, Moss, and Associates or SMA. They are true traders. SMA treats everyone equally. They post their buy and their sell prices. Although they are a corporation, they are ethical – uncommon on Calypso. 

In learning that there were organisations which did not exist as some trap for the weak, I felt I could belong to one that would accept me. This was an important change in my outlook, although my caution would continue to impede my desire.

Although I was alone, my solace would be eroded through being on this planet and in the company of others. I met young woman. Although she was younger than I, she could have been my sister. I’m sure it was the physical resemblance which reduced my natural suspicion and allowed us to be friends. Her name was Aramae, although I always called her by her middle name: Lulu. 

Lu was my best friend. I suppose that I didn’t really have any others. She was a rifleman. It was something I always found odd, as I would only carry an edged weapon. Even in using a blade, I preferred a sword. Back on Mars, in the resistance, my brother would tell me how knives were more effective but I felt safe with my sword. I remember Lulu and I taking down a Longu. It was hard and we were almost killed but I felt so empowered. When she complemented me on my swordsmanship, I felt honoured even though I knew I wasn’t really that talented and fate had been in our favour. 

On the Longu, I found an Omegaton m2201 light laser pistol. I have never liked firearms. I still don’t. Regardless, in surviving the Longu; I noticed that in an open field a ranged weapon might be of advantage. I kept the pistol and I toyed around with it for a little while. I then decided that I would use Stefan’s ep40 – but only when I was left with no other option. To this day, my pistol remains a secondary weapon. I will never lift a rifle or carbine. It reminds me too much of the soldiers. 

Lu and I would spend hours upon hours talking about everything while watching the Generation One Drones wander about. As I mentioned, robots are particularly dangerous. Spying on them is not the safest pastime. She taught me how to use a Chikara Investafoe es100. “Scanning makes you smart, Red” she told me. I remember this, to this day. 

Later, in Fort Troy, I found a man who was desperately trying to raise some capital for some reason. He sold me a Chikara es500; for what I considered, at the time, the horrendous sum of 145 PED. I bought it anyway and it was all the money I had. I still have this scanner, today. At the time, I did not fully understand what I had bought or the impact it would have on my life. 

Lulu and I were almost inseparable. In fact, I remember sitting with her, in Hadeshiem and, together, we met Essi. Essi was always impeccably dressed and well versed. The three of us laughed at how we looked so similar and how we could have been triplets. As amusing as that thought was I knew, for me, it was not true. My family was long dead. 

Also in Hadesheim, I would often go to the auction near the central teleporter. It was there, one day, when I looked up to the balcony from the floor, that I saw Dan Petrov. I decided that I would walk up there and visit this enigmatic observer. 

Although Dan has now left Calypso, if you knew him, you would know that he is very quiet and reserved. On many occasions; together, we would sit in that balcony and watch the comings and goings at the auction. Periodically, Dan would offer me a piece of advice. Dan was very smart and wasn’t long before I learnt that under his orange jumpsuit was a man of many abilities. I looked up to him, as he was all I wasn’t. In many ways, he reminded me of my brother and to a lesser extent, but in no way disrespectful, my father. 

Although we would eventually drift apart, I would see him in many odd places about Calypso doing the things he did. He remained pleasant with me and we would always laugh. Dan taught me that I didn’t have to be afraid and all I needed was to have confidence and a plan. I have tried to accept and act on his advice. I trust he’s found for what he was searching, even if it is not here. 

Lu was later mauled and critically injured by a roving pack of Atrax. I was not present for her ordeal. To this day, she remains in the critical care unit of the Hadesheim Medical Facility. Although she’ll periodically send me a note to ask how I am doing, she refuses to allow me to see her. Although this pains me, I can understand. I fear that she felt left out and possibly resentful when I chose the path I would eventually follow, for it did not directly include her. I hope that my behaviour did not contribute to her eventual condition but we never speak of this. Unfortunately, I would know others who would befall a fate similar to hers – most certainly without my thoughtlessness. 

I later learnt that my now precious scanner was manufactured by the Boarhunter crafter, Matthew, when it was possible to do this. The Boarhunters would become pivotal in my life. That will have to wait for later; though, as I grow weary of speaking, for today.

One day, a rather long time ago, I was walking through the park in Jason Centre. On that particular day, I was feeling rather pleased with myself. Earlier, I had found a pretty red miniskirt out in the wilderness. Of course, I had cleaned it up and was wearing it, at the time. As I walked along, I heard a voice from behind me. 

“I see that you’ve managed to dress yourself, mango” the female voice had laughed. 

I turned around to face Tira – or Vickers as everyone calls her. She is the founder and leader of the Boarhunters. I was almost in shock. I had seen Vickers and other Boarhunters about before. They were well dressed, equipped, and usually publicly engaged in mindless social banter. I could not understand why any of them would be interested in talking to someone like me. 

For those who do not know, “mango” is a pet Boarhunter term for any neophyte clad in that horrid orange jumpsuit. Although not intended as an insult, it does make one reflect on their position within the larger scheme of things. 

Vickers was impressive. She did not dress outlandishly as the hucksters commonly seen on Calypso. She dressed to amuse herself and had many different outfits. She told me that she had been observing me for some time. This surprised me as I did not think I was worthy of such attention. After all, in Jason alone, I could see many others far more interesting to observe. She told me that she wanted me to meet the rest of her clan. Although I had always been suspicious of the motives of others, I agreed. Thus, I would meet the rest of the Boarhunters and, one by one, become more acquainted with them and all their peculiarity. 

Jennifer Jones, or Trixi as she is almost universally known, taught me how to sew. This is somewhat usual as she is the Boarhunter, or BH, tailor. She’d laugh when I’d cause the machine to tear apart the shirt or pants I was trying to manufacture or while I sprayed parts of myself orange with the paint gun. She told me to relax and take my time. So, I did. Once again, at the time, I did not fully appreciate the affect this would have on my life. In the past, I would never have found the leisure time to pursue or have maintained the attention required for such a hobby. 

Slate Sloan taught me what little I know about hunting. Often, we would sit on the side of a mountain watching as the less experienced or ignorant would chase the Calysponian fauna and - as a result - often die. He would point out their errors and make me repeat them so that I would learn. Also, it was Slate who instilled within me the courage to discard my armour. This was a critical step, for me. “Armour is a crutch” he told me. “You only use a crutch when you need it”. 

Chris Fields, Stoney to most, taught me the significance of the Omegaton Fast Aid Pack. How, in particular, one used the Model 5. “Red,” he had lectured me, “the FAP5 is a measure of your ability. In this, you will know where your capability lies. Remember this”. Stoney would always have a collection of charts and tables with equations written upon them. I could not understand most of these things but they were amusing to look at. 

Myopica Tnzu, or Mya, would become very important to me. This would happen over time. I could talk about her alone, for several hours. Fortunately, I will not bore you with her story, today. 

In any event, as a result, I became a Boarhunter. They became my surrogate family; and I, eventually, would repay them with spite as their errant daughter. 

While I enjoyed a happy relationship with almost all of the BH, the one I shared with Vickers was turbulent. Often, we did not see eye-to-eye on matters. Having the past I had, the general disorganisation of the society confused and frustrated me. Although I would often participate in their group hunts or activities, I still found myself alone in the wilderness a good portion of the time. 

The BH would occasionally hold impromptu meetings, periodically in the cottage that Trixi owns. As with all Boarhunter events, attendance was optional unless one was specifically summoned. 

One fateful day, I received a summons to appear at the cottage. I was on one of my personal missions and was assured of the importance of my attendance. So, I made my way there. Once there, I listened to Vickers explain a grand plan that she had devised. It involved other societies and was quite elaborate. I listened with the others present. I was the most junior member in the audience, as the rest were mostly the elevated hunters who comprise BH’s advisory council and some of the senior hunters. The presentation spanned a good hour. 

I have always had an attention problem and my mind kept drifting back to the mission I had just abandoned. To this day, I am not sure why I said what I did. I do not know if it was appropriate or not. Obviously, at the time, I felt that the forum was open. Even though nobody else was commenting on the proposal, I spoke up. “Vic,” I said “why are we concerned with political alliances and trade agreements with other societies? We are not even organised enough, ourselves, to be self-reliant. Most of us seem to do whatever we want without any formal direction”. 

It was not the right thing to say, and Vickers became infuriated with me. She told me that my contribution to the society consisted mostly of complaints. I was reminded that I was not a member of the advisory council and my opinion was unsolicited. She told me that I should consider myself lucky to be a member of the society at all. She told me that I was not of the same calibre as the other attendees or the rest of the society. She said that she had done me a favour and I was unappreciative. 

I had expected anything but this reaction. I was shocked and confused. I never wanted to be a burden to anyone. I had almost immediately returned the few items the BH had lent me when I joined. I had always refused to accept gifts for fear of unsaid expectations. All of this was too much for me. “I’m sorry, Vic. I have to go” I replied and with that I walked out the door of the cottage. I kept walking, determined never to return. 

Two days later, Vickers found me. She asked me to return to the Boarhunters. I told her that I could not and that she was correct in all she had said. I told her that I had to do some things to feel better about myself. I had to complete my missions. She said she understood and that BH would always be there for me because they were now my family. 

Although I was happy being a freelancer again, I did miss having friends to talk amongst and with whom to occasionally do something. As by then, Lu had been hospitalised and most of the others I knew were dead. I would, occasionally, meet and do things with some of the Boarhunters. In general; I tried to keep my distance, as I didn’t think it would be fair, in consideration of what had transpired. 

Later one day, a woman approached me. Eleria Starwind, or Orion. At the time she was the Shaolin’s propaganda and recruitment officer, a Captain. Today, she is their General officer. Although I never asked her about it; I knew, from her surname, that she had been a prisoner like me. Unlike I, who was ground and starport crew, she most certainly served on operational craft in deep space. Of this, I am certain. 

The Shaolin are a paramilitary unit. They are highly skilled, disciplined, organised, and very well equipped. Although they would not be of quite the same combat calibre as, say, the Desert Rangers they will certainly hold their own and are most formidable. 

Orion is very personable, for a soldier, and she is willing to help the needy – but like myself, not through material or monetary charity. Together, we would often sit and gaze into the night sky, and she would tell me of stars. I found this soothing, as after the shelling of my Martian home from orbit I had since feared the sky. 

As I had few friends, I was happy to meet someone whose views were similar to mine. Orion and I would spend much time together and speak of everything. In this way, she reminded me of Lulu. Orion’s motivation, though, was not entirely pure and she had an ulterior goal. She had come to recruit me for the Shaolin. After a few weeks passed, she told me of her assignment. She said the Shaolin are very critical of whom they choose to offer recruitment, and she had been tasked to determine my suitability. While I might have been upset that she had partially deceived me until then, it was not the case. I actually felt honoured that I would even be considered. 

In time, I would discover that the Shaolin’s interest in me was the result of a chance meeting I had with one of their soldiers, Oberon deMonmur. One day, long before and whilst I was still a Boarhunter, I found him in the wild – hunting Armax. We spent a couple of days, together, hunting the Armax and Longu in that area. After, we would occasionally exchange messages across the communications grid. He was the one who promoted my inclusion within their unit, and this was why Orion had tracked me down. 

In the following months, I continued to spend much of my time with her and she introduced me others of her unit. One of the more interesting Shaolin was Frey a simple Sergeant then but a Colonel now. He was one of the Asar of Alfheim – a Terran noble family. I had never looked at the face of a noble before, while in their company. Twice, before, when one had been physically near, protocol demanded that I knelt, be silent, and to avert my gaze – eyes down. Frey was not like this and laughed at my awkwardness while in his presence. He is gracious, intelligent, and unassuming. I had never heard of a noble risking their life in the field or desiring to interact with the more common people – let alone help them. Indirectly, he taught me that much of the stigma associated with the nobility was in fact nothing more than intimidation. Directly, he taught me of Binary Liquid Propellant, or BLP, technology based weapons. It was then that I decided to permanently abandon my use of a laser as my secondary weapon. 

Orion had told me that they had compiled an extensive file on me. That file, she said, would be destroyed when I finally joined. This would be done in fairness to those who contributed to it and as to not bias myself. I thought about how different these people were from the BH. It was like night and day. The level of organisational determination was very impressive. Periodically, Orion would ask me for my decision. It was one that I agonised over again and again. The Boarhunters were still my friends and the Shaolin were now as well. It was easier for me to do nothing and thus alienate neither. Of course, this situation could not continue forever. 

Ultimately, I would decline. I could not become a soldier. 

Instead, I decided to return to the Boarhunters. I had rehearsed my speech over and over while on my way to the Fort Argus hanger. There; some of the BHs were expecting me, and I wanted to explain my actions. I had abandoned them for over six months. I wanted to tell them how much I missed all of them. I wanted them to understand why I had left and the reasons for my absence. Further, I wanted them to know what I had learnt and how I would be a better, more productive comrade, in the future. As it would happen, I would not be offered the opportunity to present my so laboured argument. 

As I entered the flight chamber of the hanger, Vickers immediately spotted me. She ran to me and threw her arms around me. She hugged me. Then, while looking straight into my eyes and holding my hands, she said “Welcome home, babe.”

Krock Edsward, or K to his friends, walked slowly toward the coordinates on his communications link. He knew that he’d find his society mates close. He also knew that this was a dangerous area, and he needed to be alert. He checked the power cell attached to his rifle. Good, he thought, it still has a decent charge. As he moved closer, he tightened a strap on his armour. This is going to be rough, he thought to himself. 

He noticed a human moving quickly toward him. It was an un-armoured female and she was carrying a Fast Aid Pack. Almost upon her, there was Atrox in pursuit. A very large Atrox, he had noticed. As she ran by him, he realised who she was. 

“Oh… It’s Red” he laughed, out loud. 

Red spun on her heels, and he watched as she raised her combat energy blade. 

I wonder how she does that wearing those shoes, he mused. 

Although he was gazing at her raised heels, he quickly flipped the energiser circuit on his rifle and activated the energy amplifier across its emitter. He knew she’d need help and he was already acting from instinct. 

Red swung at the awful lizard. From the distance, K heard the ionization from a long range heavy laser rifle. Red started to ready her sword again, as she moved slightly to avoid the creature’s gaping maw. 

K focused his attention on the horrid beast and pressed upon the trigger. From the distance, in addition to his own, another energy burst burnt into the Atrox. K could smell its flesh burning. That ought to get its attention, he thought. Unfortunately, the Atrox now turned toward him and he found himself face to face with the howling, fierce, and predatory animal. 

Oops, this is not good, he thought. Once again, the animal roared. 

Red again shifted her position and struck at the lizard once more. There was a third report, from the sniper but closer in distance. This time it was a plasma discharge. 

Again, K targeted the creature. It tore into his left shoulder and disrupted his aim. His Nemesis armour was only marginally effective. Checking his cell pack, he readied to fire again. He waited for the circuitry to recharge. He fired. He stepped back as the beast bit into his harness. 

Immediately, there was another plasma discharge. K noticed a male figure running closer and carrying a pistol. Red swung her sword: slicing off one of the creature’s six short limbs and driving her energy blade deep into its flesh. K rammed the shaft of his laser rifle under the animal’s jaw and fired once more. It was over. 

“Hiya, K” Red offered, as she started to bandage a wound to her side. 

The approaching male arrived and looked down upon the carcass. He kicked its head with his boot. 

“Lousy lizard” said Slate. “So, Edsward, it’s nice of you to arrive. You certainly took your time.” 

K laughed. “Well, Sloan, it was you who asked me to come out here. Couldn’t handle the heat could you?” 

“You’re an idiot, Edsward. I don’t know why I even continue to ask you to join me.” 

“At least, I don’t have funny hair that looks like some dishevelled flower bed, Sloan.” 

“I like my hair. I have style. I don’t have to be all decked out in armour like some fashion obsessed macho-wannabe sissy-boy, Edsward.” 

“Sloan, I should just shoot you now and put you out of your misery. For the life of me, I can’t remember why we ever allowed you to become a Boarhunter.” 

“It was because I’m great, Edsward.” 

“Sloan, you are the poster child for annoyance. It’s no wonder you make so many enemies.” 

K and Slate continued their peculiar banter, periodically laughing at how silly each of them sounded. After about a minute, they noticed that Red was being even less talkative than she normally was. K had looked in her direction and noticed her sitting on the ground and toying with one of her bandages. He signalled silently to Slate with a tilt of his head. Slate turned to look. Returning his eyes to K, he frowned. The two of them turned and walked toward her. 

“Red,” asked K, “are you alright? I didn’t think the Atrox injured you that severely. Do you need any help?” 

“I’m okay. You don’t need to worry. It’s just that I have to go. I need to get back to Hadesheim. I shouldn’t be late for my session. They’ll be waiting for me” she sighed. 

Both men knew that Red would regularly attend these sessions in Hadesheim. Not much was known about this mysterious office of the Research and Development Institute, other than that it was there. She never looked to very pleased to go, and she was even more miserable when she returned. K looked directly at her, and she avoided his gaze. 

“Let me go for you, Red” interjected Slate, as he presented his Double Atrox Rifle. “They can have a session with me and my DAR, instead” he laughed. 

“Slate, they’re trying to help me. I have a lot of problems” She answered, sheepishly. 

“Red, why do you put up with them?” K asked. “I can’t see how they are helping you at all. There is nothing wrong with you. Tell them to get a life of their own.” 

She pulled a blade of grass out of the ground and stared at it. Briefly, she looked toward both the men. Immediately, she returned her gaze down toward the grass. 

“Red, how many times, must I have to tell you” K continued. “They do not have you in mind. You are reporting to a government agency. They are not trying to help you”. 

“Yes, Red, you need to stop being so… Well, cooperative” offered Slate. 

“I’m sorry. I have to go” she muttered. 

Red stood and started to walk back toward the nearest teleporter. Both men watched as she walked into the distance. Her mind was swimming in indecision. She had always hated these sessions and K had made several valid points. She continued to walk almost trancelike, while her head was in turmoil. 

“What are we going to do with her?” K asked, after she was out of earshot. 

“Kidnap her and lock her up in the hanger?” suggested Slate. 

“A good plan but I don’t think she’d like that” answered K. “Anyway, she’s a smart girl. I’m sure she’ll do what’s right for her, eventually.”

We continue to conduct our interviews with the Star-Rigger. Upon entering the medical facility, she refuses to surrender the light sidearm she carries. In an effort to intimidate our interviewers, she places this sidearm, a fully charged Cempbell-Welch 1/P1, on the table in front of her. Security scans have also revealed that she is in constant possession of a concealed combat energy blade. 

We believe that the brandishing of this light sidearm is a manifestation of her desire to punish that of which she does not approve and is; further, a warning to us of her determination. We are certain that the combat energy blade is for self-defence and that she will not hesitate to utilise it. The 1/P1, although a high energy weapon, is not powerful enough to kill at a single discharge but said discharge will result in a considerable and painful welt. Her psychological profile suggests that, when believed wronged, she is more interested in the repeated application of physical violence than the outright death of her perceived offender. Strangely enough, her profile further suggests avoidance to the killing of another human being. 

We have not attempted to disarm her, as she becomes visibly agitated when security personnel are within her field of view. We believe any attempt to do so would result in her no longer cooperating with the programme. At this moment, her cooperation is partially coerced by our suggestion that her attendance is mandatory as a condition of her perceived parole. Nevertheless, the current situation makes conducting the interview sessions difficult. 

This Star-Rigger is exceptionally intelligent with a highly analytical but undisciplined mind. We believe her to be in possession of an advanced psionic capacity which is currently untapped. We believe her to be unaware of this potential ability. 

Analysis also indicates that this Star-Rigger has a high acceptance of martyrdom and an intense drive for self-preservation. In general, this combination is exceedingly rare naturally. The degree to which this Star-Rigger subconsciously values these norms is also almost impossible to achieve without specific and controlled conditioning. Her level of investiture in these norms is on par with the members of the Empire’s elite shock battalions. Training for these political troops takes a lifetime and is very specific. Although we continue to theorise as to how she achieved this determination, our results remain inconclusive. Still, we remain confident that we can uncover how she managed this – independently and without the aid of complex methods such as those utilised in the creation of the aforementioned military units. The understanding of her method and its reapplication within our own programmes will save the Empire tens of billions of PED in investment in the training of these units. 

The Star-Rigger’s constant conflict with her subconscious mind frequently results in confusion, frustration, and self-doubt. Her resulting coping mechanism is manifested through flight, irrational thought, or stubbornness. This leaves her behaviour often unstable and unpredictable. Further, due to this conflict, she frequently victimises herself and undervalues her own abilities - often impeding her own actions and conscious goals. 

Currently, we do not believe that this Star-Rigger has been rehabilitated but we do not see her as an immediate or active threat. Detailed transcripts are attached. 

Dr. J. Hernando Cortez, MD, PhD Psychology, MBA. 
RDI, Hadesheim, Eudoria, Calypso.

Flick of the Wrist 
(Mercury) 

Dislocate your spine if you don’t sign he says 
I’ll have you seeing double 

Mesmerise you when he’s tongue-tied 
Simply with those eyes 
Synchronize your minds and see 
The beast within him rise 

Don’t look back 
Don’t look back 
It’s a rip-off 

Flick of the wrist and you’re dead baby 
Blow him a kiss and you’re mad 
Flick of the wrist – he’ll eat your heart out 
A dig in ribs and then a kick in the head 
He’s taken a arm and taken a leg 
All this time honey 
Baby you’ve been had 

Intoxicate your brain with what I’m saying 
If not you’ll lie in knee-deep trouble 

Prostitute yourself he says 
Castrate your human pride 
Sacrifice your leisure days 
Let me squeeze you till you’ve dried 

Don’t look back 
Don’t look back 
It’s a rip-off 

Work my fingers to my bones 
I scream with pain 
I still make no impression 

Seduce you with his money-make machine 
Cross-collateralise (big time money-money) 

Reduce you to a muzak-fake machine 
Then the last goodbye 
It’s a rip-off 

Flick of the wrist and you’re dead baby 
Blow him a kiss and you’re mad 
Flick of the wrist – he’ll eat your heart out 
A dig in ribs and then a kick in the head 
He’s taken a arm and taken a leg 
All this time honey 
Baby you’ve been had 

(copyright 1991, from the re-release of the recording “Sheer Heart Attack”, by Queen. I’m told the original is circa 1974. I wasn’t even born in 1974. to Queen who made recording, thank you, it’s so venomous.)

Once again, I start this holographic recorder and forget all of what I had wanted to say. I still really don’t understand why I keep recording these little passages as I have no one to whom to send them and no children to amuse with them later. 

I have decided to no longer appear for my interviews. Several of the Boarhunters have chastised me for ever appearing in the first place. Now, I feel they are right. I have never felt comfortable in those sessions. I would talk and they would listen. When it was over they would tell me of the wonderful progress I was making. Oddly, each time I would feel even more distraught. 

Of course, I doubt that my decision will be embraced by the institute. On many occasions, they have made it clear to me the importance of my participation. They have said that this is the only way I will ever be properly reintegrated back into normal civilisation. In hindsight, I now find this rather strange as the civilisation upon Calypso seems anything but normal. True, the basic foundations are present, although heavily augmented by constant anarchy, intense violence, and behavioural sociopaths. The institute has never addressed this reality to me. They appear to be more concerned with the people I know and what my life was like prior to arriving here. 

I find it odd that the doctors and technicians of the institute continually hide behind their locked doors with their security personnel to protect them from the dangers of Calypso. I am certain few of them - if any; ever leave the safety of the cities, towns, or forts. Even when on the street they are never without their personal and well armed body guards. It is very difficult to accept advice from such people or to believe that they understand my situation. It is mostly for this reason that I made my decision to withdraw from their sessions. I have not bothered to inform them, as I fear I will be held and indefinitely detained. 

As a result, I suppose that - once again - I will be branded a criminal. I so much want to be left alone. I have learnt to live my meagre life, here on Calypso, in relative harmony. I have also learnt that this life is a constant struggle, and I must always adapt. I have tried to leave Mars and my life there in the past. Today, I don’t want for anything, other than solace and piece of mind. This I do not seem to be achieving through these sessions, but rather through the few friends I have managed to obtain. 

I do not know what I will do with these recordings. Perhaps, I will destroy them. It is strange to make a record that no one else will witness. Many who I knew are now dead. I should be, as well. Nonetheless, I still breathe. 

The other day, I was on Amethera. I was approaching a teleporter and terminal station when I notice something that I had seen before. From a considerable distance, I watched a sniper fire upon a group of innocent travellers, as they were reintegrated near the teleporter. I suppose it was amusing for this sociopath to murder these unsuspecting people. When they had been all killed, the sniper trained their sight toward me. I ran. Distance was to my advantage; although I was struck and injured, I managed to escape. 

I do not understand this mentality. I can only conclude that it is to compensate for their feelings of inadequacy and a function of their deficient socialisation. I have participated in live-fire exercises, but that is not the same thing. It is practice, although dangerous. I can understand the banditry that occurs in the toxic zone. For in that area, there is something tangible to obtain through these immoral actions. Calculated murder holds none of these gains, other than the perverted joy in extinguishing the life of another. It can be argued that even vile practices such as vengeance are less evil. That is, if you believe, that evil can be scaled. At least with vengeance, there is a passionate and comprehendible motive. 

I cannot claim to be innocent. I have killed others, although I have only done this in self-defence or as a combatant in a war-zone. I am not proud of this, and I know I will eventually be forced to kill again. 

In the “wild west” period of expansion in the United States of America, gunslingers would often carve a small notch on the handle of their rifle or pistol when they had killed another man. This curious behaviour was also repeated by some soldiers in the world wars when they knew for certain that another had died by their hand. Contrary to some modern perverse romanticism, this was not done to brag to others or to keep a tally. It was to remember the lives that had been taken by the individual’s actions. It some ways it was to exonerate the individual by associating the moral crime with the weapon. It was not a mark of honour. Rather, it was one of despair. 

In speaking of despair, for today, I will deactivate this machine. It becomes late and I must obtain some rest.

This is an eyes-only transmission, Most Secret. 
Any retransmission, copy, or disclosure is punishable under Article 13 of the Special Imperial Code which supersedes all other Common and Military Law. 

Headquarters, 2nd Army Group, Mars, 
Office of the Special Scientific Liaison, 4th Imperial Shock Division “Imperium”, 

Subsequent to the recent attack by the last remaining terrorists, a minor setback has occurred in our programme. While the general outcome of this assault was limited and ineffectual, the security containing several of our experimental platforms was compromised. The damage to one of our laboratories was extensive. 

The military governor and 2nd Army Group commander-in-chief, Field Marshal Ernest H. von Krieger, was quick to assist us in containing and eliminating this threat. He was also crucial and unrelenting in corralling almost all of our missing platforms. Only one remains unreturned. 

The missing platform is a class six biohazard. If found by military personnel who are untrained in this hazard: the area must be cordoned and secured to a distance of 80m. This office is to be immediately notified for further instructions. Under no circumstances should the platform be approached or examined. 

We concur with the Field Marshal’s position that this recent suicide attack was the final “blaze of glory” for the last remaining terrorist cell. Evidence has been found indicating this plan was meticulous and originated several years prior. The insidious plot detailed a much more significant strike on this facility. The lofty and unrealistic intent was total destruction. They believed that such devastation would be noticed by the Terran media and would martyr them in their cause and subsequently expose the operations of this facility. 

Failure was inevitable. Initially, the scheme called for two cells attacking in tandem. Three weeks prior, the second cell was uncovered and annihilated in a security sweep by the army. Army casualties were high but acceptable. Finally, the terrorists did not fully appreciate the mettle of the members of the Imperial 4th who guard this facility. Even in their final configuration, they had expected to deliver much more damage than actually occurred. The handful of storm-troopers present was more than sufficient to repel the well equipped and determined cell. Our casualties were slight. 

The explosives and weapons used by the cell were clandestinely obtained from the Quartermaster stores of the 2nd Army Group itself. These items had been collected over some period of time and through the collaboration of an Officer therein assigned. Said Officer was paid in rare elements – likely held by the terrorists since our liberation of Mars. 

This Officer has been publicly executed for his treason as an example to the army. His entire family and immediate relatives were collected and also executed for his crimes. 

Security at the facility was breached by a Sergeant who - it has been subsequently discovered - was surreptitiously involved in an immoral and illicit sexual relationship with a female of the cell. He, along with the other 52 terrorists, was killed in the skirmish. As a traitor and eventual enemy combatant, he has posthumously been stripped of his rank and his estate has been seized. His survivors will be denied all inheritance and veteran benefits. His debts will not be forgiven. His liabilities will be assumed by his survivors, as the army has renounced him. 

The Imperial 4th applauds the 2nd Army Group for its performance during this incident. For its diligence in uncovering the origin of this feeble exercise and final extermination of the terrorists, we salute them. We continue to be honoured that the Emperor has allowed us to be an element of this glorious formation and look forward to the day when pax imperium will be achieved in his name. 

Imperatorem vita enterna et glora! 

Anastasia, Baroness, Romanov of Muscovy, 
PhD Alien Studies, MSc Bio-Engineering, 
Group-Colonel, 4th Imperial Shock Division “Imperium”.

Red tried to stand. She quickly discovered that her right foot had been fractured by the awful Itumatrox and for the moment walking would not be an option. She was in considerable pain and her body bared many marks from the battle. The remains of the jumping tree-like predator lay a few metres in front of her. The noise from her second decoy slowly faded away. She believed it was the only reason she was still alive. 

She dragged herself across the ground toward the twisted body of her disciple, Seth Riel. She could tell from his position that he was heavily injured – if not already dead. She noticed a pool of blood forming around him. His energy claim rod stood nearby almost haunting in its soft blue glow. 

Red had met Seth several months earlier, in Port Atlantis. At the time, he was a new arrival. Like most newcomers, he was trying to earn some money by collecting and selling vibrant sweat. Newcomers to Calypso, for a short period, all enjoy the limited ability to psionically extract this liquid from the native animal population. This ability would soon be lost as they became acclimatised to their new home. 

Almost all newcomers are engaged in sweat gathering, and Seth was no exception. Red had laughed when he tried to solicit her. She told him that she did not really need any of his bottles but if he wanted she would help him collect more of them. 

For the next few weeks, she taught him how to collect vibrant sweat in an efficient manner – a method that would help train him to survive in the wilderness; unlike the more stubborn ones who preferred to die. 

They passed many evenings and spoke of what he desired and his plans for his life on Calypso. She would carefully explain what sorts of skills he would need to learn for each possible profession he was considering. He concluded that working was not as easy as others had told him and that the required level of knowledge was quite extensive. 

“Seth,” she had told him, “any serious work in any field is built upon the ability to defend oneself. Unless you wish to be a crafter supported solely by trading, you will require this ability. To be self-reliant, if you so desire, you will have much work in different seemingly unrelated disciplines. All the advanced professions are layered. For example, tailoring is an extension of hunting, as tailoring resources are collected by hunters.” 

He had decided to become a miner; specifically, an energy driller. He felt that this would be the best choice for him. It would allow him to hone the trading skills he first developed as a sweat gatherer. Also, he had discovered he had a knack for finding and trading these raw energy matters. 

Often, she would accompany him on his drilling expeditions. Obstinately, she would claim it was to help protect him; however, it was also to advise him on the dangers of the wilderness. As he became more comfortable with Calypso’s environment and in his own ability to defend himself, her accompaniment became less frequent. It was on this last expedition that they encountered the Itumatrox – lying in wait, blending in with the nearby trees. 

Seth had found a modest deposit of Lytairian Dust and was drilling the surrounding rock to extract it. Red was about thirty five metres ahead of him, in reconnaissance of the area, using the Cinclar Precision Scope attached to her heavy pistol. As she panned, she noticed that something was not quite right in the distance behind her friend. 

The entire battle was quite short. The Itumatrox jumped a couple of times and quickly began to maul Seth. He fought the onslaught, vainly, with his rifle, as Red ran toward him. 

She threw the first of two decoys. The Itumatrox was not deceived by the first. The second would fare better. Within thirty seconds, it was over. Seth lay on the ground, immobile. The Itumatrox was dead. Red, injured, began to drag herself toward the driller. 

As she pulled herself beside Seth’s immobile body, she tried to ignore the sharp pains from her fractured foot. He was unresponsive and in shock, but he was still alive. She flipped open her Fast Aid Pack and attempted to stop the bleeding. She was only partially successful. She readied two injections. The first one she applied was a heavy narcotic to numb the pain that he was most certainly was experiencing. The second was a stimulant – sufficient to return him to consciousness. 

“Seth, can you hear me?” she asked. 

Seth’s eyelids blinked a couple of times. He looked toward her. “How…bad?” he asked. “I can’t move anything and everything hurts” he added. 

Red struggled over what she should tell him. She decided that since he was her friend he deserved to be told the truth. 

“Your right arm is severed just below the elbow. I can not see the missing limb anywhere. I have cauterised what remains of it. You have lost a significant amount of blood” she told him. She paused - knowing the next portion would be difficult - and then continued, “Your right shoulder has been fractured and dislocated and at least five vertebrae of your spine in that area have been completely crushed. You suffer extensive spinal and neural damage. Your right lung is punctured and has collapsed” she said. She waited for him to answer. His response surprised her. 

“Kill me” he said. 

“No… No…NO! Seth, I can’t. I’ll carry you back. I promise. …or I will die trying. I will not leave you here. I am responsible for you. It is my fault you are here. I should not have brought you here. Perhaps, in the future, you’ll be able to move and walk again.” 

“Save yourself, Red. I knew the risks. Anyway, I do not want to live as a cripple.” He paused. “The reality is that you will never make it back with me. Please, do this for me. Save yourself.” 

“No, Seth!” she cried. Uncontrollably, tears formed and ran down her face. “No. I will not leave you” she sobbed. 

“Save yourself, Red. Otherwise, you will die. I’m already dead. Do this, for me.” 

She knew he was right. Even the odds of her returning alone to civilisation in her present condition were slim. She looked about and picked her FreanD Delta pistol off the ground. She checked the Fire Rate Controller attached upon it. She knew that the Delta, a BLP technology based heavy weapon, in this configuration, would discharge nine projectiles. There would be no question as to the result. 

“Forgive me, Seth” she said. Tears were rolling down her face as she kissed her comrade on the cheek. “Forgive me…” 

“Of course, Red… This is what I want. Live for me. Remember, I will always love you.” 

She continued to cry as she placed the barrel of her pistol under his chin and pointed the trajectory through his head. 

“I love you, as well, Seth” she said. Once more, she kissed him on the cheek and then turned her head away. 

Red squeezed the trigger and the Delta fired. 

“Requiescat in pace” she whispered.

Down by the River 
(Young) 

Be on my side 
I’ll be on your side 
There is no reason for you to hide 
It’s so hard for me staying here all alone 
When you could be taking me for a ride 

She could drag me over the rainbow 
Send me away 

Down by the river 
I shot my baby 
Down by the river 
Dead 

You take my hand 
I’ll take your hand baby 
Together we may get away 
This much madness is too much sorrow 
It’s impossible to make it today 

She could drag me over the rainbow 
Send me away 

Down by the river 
I shot my baby 
Down by the river 
Dead 

Be on my side 
I’ll be on your side 
There is no reason for you to hide 
It’s so hard staying here all alone 
You should be taking me for a ride 

She could drag me over the rainbow 
And send me away - yeah 

Down by the river 
I shot my baby 
Down by the river 
Down by the river 
I shot my baby 

(copyright 2004, Reprise Records. From the compilation “Neil Young – Greatest hits”. this song was recorded originally in 1969, transcribed by me.)

Holographic mail 
Secure transmission – private key 
Biometric and retina signatures required to decode 
Data encrypted, forward: 

Destination: Myopica Tnzu 
Source: Kira Star-Rigger 

“Mya, my dear friend, 

I know that, at some point, you will retrieve this transmission. It will be during one of those occasional moments of clarity when you remember who you are, and you are not in that bewildered trance. It so pains me to see you wandering aimlessly about Calypso as some homeless vagrant; when you are not as you are at this moment. 

Mya, in many ways, we are much alike. Neither of us was placed here by choice. I was a rebel, and you were a Terran deemed too dangerous to remain on Earth. I have learnt how Terrans feel about anything that is not what they expect – let alone, a natural empathic psychic as you. It must have been terrible to endure that hatred. Even if no words were spoken to you or action was initiated. I remember you telling me how difficult it is to avert the emotions radiating from every individual. 

When you are in your periods of being lucent, I have scanned you. You know this, of course. I’m sure that you realise the damage to your synapses and to your mind’s hemispherical drift. That drift is now almost fused. During your nomadic cycles, my scanner yields the same result but you do not notice my presence. You seem so spectre-like; moreover, I have noticed you becoming even more acute to your surroundings and hazards to your person whilst in that state. You will not fight, however, only flee. Often, I fear this change is for the worse and you will permanently become that spectre. 

You have told me of Calypso’s aura and how it affects all living things here present. I have tried to study the mutants to gain more insight into this effect. I know how this planet has changed those who have become the Umbranoids. I know how this planet has changed you. I fear that this fate, in some form, awaits us all. There is something in the humanoid physiology which is more sensitive to this effect than with the rest of the animals. 

The Thorifoids on Amethera are a native mutation to Calypso, unlike the Umbranoids who were originally Terran. When I have had the opportunity to examine them, I have noticed an increase in the intensity of their psyche as they levitate. They initiate this odd levitation when they move to attack. During this phase, in addition to their clubs, they utilise a psychotropic discharge to disrupt the neural pathways of their target. Unfortunately, as I normally travel alone, I am usually their goal; I must either fight or run. 

The Thorifoids appear to have a varying degree of psychotropic ability, depending on the individual. Their ability is natural. They do not require technology enhancements, as do we colonists. You, yourself, had told me this technology when mixed with Calypso’s aura magnified your natural ability beyond the typical colonist. 

My Feffoid friend has disappeared. I do not know if he was killed or has just moved on. I hope it is the latter and not the former, but I doubt that it is so. Unknowingly, he had been of great assistance, allowing me additional insight to the planet’s effect. I remember showing him side-by-side DNA plots of his helix and mine. He’d just laugh. He did not understand what any of it meant. He liked looking at the pretty colours and the patterns, though. Whilst I sat with him, I would spend hours mesmerised by these plots. Periodically, he would interrupt me to play that strange pebble game he enjoyed so much. I do know that the vast majority of his race did not approve of his tolerance toward humans and, consequently, me. I am certain this is related to his disappearance. 

He would always have a few boxes of cell packs and BLP cartridges, which he, somehow, obtained from the Federal Empire’s terminals. He also knew a way to tune the energy pattern of the terminal’s survival energy blade knives to increase their sharpness. He would laugh when I would ask him how he obtained these things. 

When I could and when he was interested, I would try to expand his vocabulary in what he called “human”. His speech was always limited and broken. Conversely, he would try to teach me the inflections within the limited Feffoid language. Although it consists of less than a few hundred words, any single word will have dozens of meanings dependent on the context in which it is uttered and the posture of the speaker or listener. It is very confusing and obviously a product of their mutated minds. He would laugh at my vain attempts to communicate in his tongue, and he would tell me what I had actually said. It was almost never even close to what I had intended. 

I suppose that I will never again enjoy that odd Atrox tail stew that he would make over his campfire – a most strange concoction. Occasionally, I would even hunt the Atrox, for him. It seemed the least I could do, in return of his hospitality and company. He would always tell me that only the young ones possessed the appropriate tail for his stew. 

Long in the past, I remember you and Fafner trying to teach me to be more assertive and confident. In particular, I remember a day when I stumbled across both of you exterminating those horrid Calamusiod mutants in a far corner of Eudoria. It was then, you gave me a pair of M&J Angel armoured gloves. 

Here on Calypso, I had never seen such kindness and selflessness from anyone prior. I still retain these gloves and I will never surrender them – unless they are removed from my expired body. I remember you telling me how you thought they would appear brilliant in contrast with the light from my combat energy blade. 

Many of my happiest memories of my life on Calypso are memories of you, Mya. You were always there to talk with me – even if all I ever did was talk of my unrest. You taught me what little I know of the human psyche and its relationship with its host body. I would look forward to spending days in the wilderness with you. We’d walk amongst the flora, watch the animals, and speak of such esoteric things. 

Never once, would I hear you speak poorly of someone else, even when they truly deserved it. Furthermore, you were always so understanding of the neophytes - or the “little ones” as you would call them. I so admire your philosophy and your ability. I wish that I could be as calm and understanding of everything. Instead, very often, I cannot contain my anger. I am sure that this will be my undoing, eventually. 

You have never ceased to surprise me, Mya. Once during an exercise session in the octagon at Billy’s Spaceship Afterworld, Stoney and I were experimenting with various power-fists. You were demonstrating to us the effectiveness of biotropy in treating wounds. At one point, a thug in vigilante armour and armed with a high powered rifle entered the cage and fired on us. For one so calm, I had never seen such merciless aggression. In two swipes of a survival energy blade, you killed the sociopath. I’m sure he never saw it coming; I barely had the time to raise my pistol. I did not know that you, much like my brother, were so comfortable with a knife. I had never seen you use one before. I suppose that this was an example of the balance between peace and violence you were always trying to teach me. 

Often, in the past, I would visit your home and remain there in silence because it made me feel safe. Many of your belongings reminded me of the meagre items I carried. Your worn doll was significant to me. Although I never asked you, I have always wondered what it meant to you - as a similar one I possess is all that remains of my family and my childhood. 

Unfortunately, that beautiful mansion is no longer yours. Much like your mind, which seems to be only in your possession for brief periodic intervals, I fear it will soon be lost. I know it was the mind essence, the fuel for Calypsonian psionics, which eventually rendered your condition. Its mark is repeatedly present upon your cerebral tissue, but in a way that I do not understand. I am so very sorry that there is nothing I can do to help you. 

Yesterday, I met with you and Stoney, at the Aegis Mound outpost. My universe is now so black and I have spun deep into the abyss of depression. I was too consumed with what had just happened to me that I did not listen as well as I should. I should have been more attentive. I did not understand when you spoke of your other life, but I now understand what you meant. I have noticed that since you have removed your mindforce implant that your change has become more drastic and severe. I know now that you are resolved to become whatever fate has chosen for you. 

Over the years, you have tried to teach me; however, I have always been a stubborn student. I am rash, and I do not always think before I say or do. I do not pay attention. I am too selfish. Perhaps, had I been less occupied with myself, I would have better understood what you were trying to teach me. Perhaps earlier, I could have helped you, if it was even possible. 

Forgive me, Mya. I have failed you. I have failed everyone. 

Seth is dead. I have killed him. This weighs heavy on my mind. I could not bring myself to speak of it, yesterday. I should have never tried to help anyone. My company always results in tragedy. I am better off alone. This way, I will not impair the fate of others. There is too much pain. All is now lost to me. I can not continue to be a Boarhunter, once again. 

You and I will be together, now amongst the defeated. It is over. What comes will be. I care naught. 

Kira.” 

Recorded – sent via intra-planetary mailer 
Return receipt requested

Dr. Hernando Cortez sat at his desk in the Hadesheim office. He reread the dispatch for the umpteenth time. He gazed at the clock on his wall; he knew she would soon arrive. Prior, he had cast his lot with her family and his reward, he hoped, would be a knighthood. Such a distinction would secure his family and allow him to have the recognition he felt he was entitled to possess. He had hoped that he could have completed his assignment without the direct involvement of his patron, the Baroness. 

It would not be. 

The door opened and in she walked, accompanied by two storm-troopers, one on each side and both armed with DOA FoeRippers. Cortez’s eyes drifted across her form. She was dressed in a military uniform. Black jackboots, a Dark Divinity Domination miniskirt, and a black leather coat bearing the cuff title of the elite shock division “Imperium” and the officer’s collar insignia of a Group (or senior) Colonel. On her peaked cap, the platinum badge of the Emperor’s personal bodyguard divisions – the emblem of a private army of elite troops: a raised dagger across the Earth. 

Cortez stood and walked toward her. He knelt and faced the floor. “Baroness, welcome” he uttered. 

Anastasia Romanov was striking. She was tall, thin, long brown hair, with hazel eyes. Although a soldier, Anastasia was primarily a scientist. She preferred her laboratories to working in the field, and she was not overjoyed to have travelled to Calypso. Circumstances had made this voyage necessary. Her concern over the progress of Dr. Cortez’s assignment alone would not have been sufficient to warrant her personal presence. Unfortunately, this concern combined with the search for her missing piece of laboratory property was. Thus, she had made the journey to Calypso. She removed the leather gloves from her hands and gazed down upon her lackey. 

“Doctor, rise” she instructed. “I am in uniform. You may refer to me as Colonel or, if you so desire, My Lady. You are amongst friends.” 

“I have read your dispatch, My Lady. Are you certain that your missing experimental platform is on Calypso?” 

“Do not propose to question me, Doctor. Of course, I am certain. Clandestinely, the platform moved as cargo upon the mentioned starship. There is forensic evidence confirming this position. The platform is here.” Anastasia tilted her head slightly and continued “We will discuss your involvement in the recovery of the platform, in a moment, Doctor. For now, you will brief me on the status of your assignment.” 

“In general, My Lady, the colonists are quite resourceful” he began. “Many of them have formed Paramilitary units to fight each other and protect their interests. Even many of the various hunting societies are heavily armed. The majority of colonists are engaged in various forms of commerce, promoting many guilds and pseudo-corporations. There are also a plethora of outlaws banded together in criminal gangs. As a result, the level of resources we recover through the terminals is much lower than we had hoped. We do, however, recover adequate amounts of manufactured components, basic clothing, and some weapon systems.” 

“Even though they are poorly organised, the colonists have modified the teleportation system to use scramblers, preventing us from knowing who has engaged the signal or the destination of the transport request” Cortez added. “We can only track the number of incoming and outgoing signals at each teleport location. Any attempt at removing the modification is quickly reversed. Also, they have tailored the communications grid to carry an unknown and adaptive encryption scheme. We believe it to be a variation of advanced and highly secret military algorithms.” 

“As you know, My Lady, we were not initially aware of Calypso’s nature to augment latent psionic ability within the human species. The actual effect varies by individual, although the use of technology places some of this ability at the disposal of any colonist. Humans with a natural ability, in this area, are significantly enhanced.” 

Cortez noticed that the Baroness was unresponsive and becoming impatient. He knew that her interest was very specific, but he had hoped to distract her slightly with the more general aspects of his assignment. He hoped that the security issues that he had uncovered would mitigate his delivery of the information she would not take pleasure in hearing. 

She was not interested in waiting. 

“Where is the Star-Rigger and, further, where is Tnzu?” she demanded. “You may file the secondary concerns with one of my aides. I did not travel to this backwater to hear reports of meagre mercenaries, teleporters, resources, and communications, Cortez.” 

“We do not know where is Star-Rigger is, My Lady” he began. “She is currently in hiding and has abandoned her sessions. From my interim report, this Star-Rigger’s behaviour is highly unpredictable. It was also discovered that she was actually well acquainted with Tnzu. Unfortunately, we had not yet uncovered the depth of their relationship, other than Tnzu was a member of the same loose hunting society that the Star-Rigger was periodically involved. The interview to uncover this information had been the next one planned, but the Star-Rigger failed to appear. As for Tnzu, herself, we have attempted to monitor her movements, but she consistently manages to elude our surveillance. She is easy enough to find but impossible to detain or maintain in observation. May I remind My Lady that she is a natural psionic? Further, she has become almost feral. It was a huge mistake to exile her here.” 

Cortez could see the anger flair in the Baroness’ hazel eyes. 

“I should have you summarily executed, Cortez” she spate. The storm-trooper to her left stepped forward and cocked the breach of his FoeRipper. 

Cortez knelt and lowered his head. “As you wish, My Lady, I live only to serve” he uttered as his heart began to race. 

“Criticism of my decisions is the domain of your betters, Doctor” she lectured. Anastasia looked down toward him. She paused. “I shall be gracious and spare you, today. Rise. You would be wise not to tempt me with such insolence again” she advised. 

Releasing the breach on his weapon, the storm-trooper stood down and returned to the Baroness’ left side. 

Anastasia continued “It was critical for both Tnzu and that Star-Rigger to be exiled to Calypso. There is more to this programme than you have been informed or need to know. For now, you are required to collect both of them and have them delivered, in chains if necessary, to me. You will also retrieve the experimental platform.” 

“Legally, My Lady, there is little we can do. The local paramilitary units are often well equipped and more than capable of fending off the few planetary constables and security guards. There have been incidents where constables have been fired upon or killed by these units or roving gangs of outlaws. Further, the Federal government has declared that Calypso is a free port and its citizenry are afforded the rights guaranteed them under the Common Charter of Liberties.” 

“Mine is a personal oath to the Emperor, Cortez, I care naught for the squabbling of the Parliamentary Commons or their feeble, non-binding legislation. If necessary, I will have a battalion landed upon this backwater to deal with these ragtag militias and gangs. We will see how effective they are when engaged by the Emperor’s own.” 

Anastasia reached into her side pocket and retrieved a memory chip. “Doctor, this chip contains information you will need to identify and contain the platform. The chip is Most Secret and I hold you personally responsible for the security of its content. Also upon it is a writ of assistance, bearing the seal of my father the Arch Duke. Use the writ to obtain whatever resources you will need to recover the platform and to complete your assignment. Remember, in addition to the experimental platform, I require both Tnzu and this Star-Rigger alive. To assist you, I will leave a squad of storm-troopers at your disposal. They will be instructed to execute your orders as if they were my own. Do not fail me” 

“I am and will forever be your faithful servant, My Lady. I will not disappoint you.” 

“Yes, Doctor, you will not.”

Wednesday in Your Garden 
(Bachman) 

As I crawl through your garden 
You stand and laugh 
You stand and laugh 

I tried to beg for your pardon 
You stand and laugh 
You stand and laugh 

It's a long way coming down 
The ladders in your eye 
For a Wednesday in your garden 
I think that I would die 

I tried to stand in your garden 
But you're too tall 
You're much too tall 

You win the hand, I throw my cards in 
You watched me fall 
You watched me fall 

It's a long way coming down 
The ladders in your eye 
For a Wednesday in your garden 
I think that I would die 

I tried to fly in your garden 
But you shot me down 
You shot me down on the ground 

I watched the sky above me harden 
And your black gown - your long black funeral gown 

It's a long way coming down 
The ladders in your eye 
For a Wednesday in your garden 
I think that I would die. 

(copyright 2003 BMG Heritage, from the compilation “Anthology” by The Guess Who. transcribed by me. originally recorded in 1968.)

Suddenly, disturbing the relative silence, there was a flash of blue light, as the Omegaton Industries MK2 teleporter processed an incoming transport request. A single male human was reintegrated upon the platform. 

Slate Sloan stepped off the platform, and he looked about. He knew she was here, someplace. He had been looking for her for some time, and her sudden disappearance had disturbed him greatly. She had abandoned the society before. He knew that she was having difficulty with some elements in her life. These, she did not speak so openly about - her past, in particular. 

In the past, he had spent many months with her teaching her how to survive on Calypso. Although she would be easily distracted by flowers or the behaviour of certain animals, she had learnt many of the lessons he taught. He had even found some of her more unorthodox behaviour quite amusing. In his mind, he reflected on one such incident; the time she had jumped off the wing of a wrecked spaceship to strike at a generation 5 robotic warrior with her sword. Normally, he would have chastised such insanity. With her and such behaviour, he could only laugh. 

Earlier, another hunter had mentioned that he thought he has seen her stumbling around this general area. He was not impressed with the information, but he was determined to find her. At least, he knew Fort Ares wasn’t that large. 

He did not believe that this search would take very much time. Slate understood that Fort Ares is a quiet outpost on Eudoria. For the most part, he reflected, nothing much occurs here. He knew it is only infrequently used by the occasional miner or hunter – often in transit to someplace else - as he was one of those hunters. Slate thought it was possible that she could have breached one of the locked buildings, but her most likely location would be the small service container. 

As he approached the service container, he heard a muffled sob off to one side. Yes, there she was, face down on the ground and dressed in a rather dirty orange jumpsuit. As he walked toward her, it became obvious that she had fallen repeatedly. 

He noticed that she been wearing the jumpsuit for days, perhaps longer. 

Beside her lay a broken Fast Aid Pack. Slate noticed that the palms of her hands were heavily scraped – likely from her repeated falls. It sounded as if she was muttering between sobs but her speech was incomprehensible. 

He found it odd that he’d find her so dressed. He knew how she felt about that particular uniform. 

“Red,” he asked, “are you okay? You look terrible.” 

Red let out another muffled sob and lifted her head to look - more or less in his direction. He stood in front of her while she squinted and tried to focus. A few moments passed. Then, she recognised him. 

“Oooh….Ssssslath. They’ah all gone… It’ssss allll oh-vern,” she sobbed. Her head fell back on to the ground. 

“Have you been drinking, Red?” He pondered the foolishness of his question. 

“Ah don’t reh’em’ber, Slath. Ah th’ing sso.” 

“Give me your hands, girl” he said as he reached down to pick her off the ground. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked, rhetorically. 

He carried her into the container, while ignoring her occasional thrashing. She was not difficult to carry, but her current condition did not help much. The service container would, at least, shelter the two of them from the elements. 

She uttered another soft cry, as he propped her up - near a repair terminal. He knelt and looked at her. She was having a difficult time holding her head straight. He noticed rips in her her jumpsuit and other light wounds. It was obvious that she had been haphazard in treating them. He knew, previously, that she had always been more attentive in these matters. Waiting a moment, he then asked her “Why did you leave me again, Red?” 

“Ah… Ah… Ah hadd to, Slath. The’a all-th leathing. Thony is gon’. Mya hath give’d up. Ith oh-vern. Vithers ‘ates me. Ah dunth aunt to bee-nah burr-den. Doh-th aunt… Dunth whan-th.“ It was obvious she was having trouble speaking. 

“No, Red, it’s not over. Stoney claims to be on a sabbatical. You know of Mya’s injuries. Perhaps, someday, she’ll recover. Vickers doesn’t hate you. She’s worried about you. In no way are you a burden to us.” Slate watched as her eyes dropped as she began to mutter, once more. 

“Red” he asked, “did you even bother to consider the affect of your sudden decision on the rest of us? …on me?” He paused for a moment and then continued. “Did you think about Wingman? The poor kid thinks you left because of something he did.” She lifted her head as best she could. 

He watched as tears started to swell in her eyes. He shook his head. He noticed the dirt on her face and the small twigs and pieces of grass which now accessorised her hair. He waited for her to realise what he had just told her. A tear rolled down her cheek. It mixed with the mud already present. Her lower lip started to quiver and her eyes widened. He looked directly into her bloodshot brown eyes. “Red…?” 

“Nooooo-oh, Slath. Nooooo-oh!” She started to sob, uncontrollably. 

Red fell, her face first, onto the floor of the container. Within moments, she started to hyperventilate. “Four-gith meh. Ah’m no gud. Bhad. Ah’m soooo sooh-ray, Slath. Sooooo sooh-ray… Ah dunth whan-eth…” 

“Be quiet, girl” he told her as he hoisted her from the floor and threw her over his shoulder. “You’re coming with me.” 

He could feel her body relax and felt her softly sobbing across his back. Walking from the container, he carried her toward the Fort Ares teleportation unit. He thought about the where he should take her. He knew that she could not stay here, and she would need some supervision whilst she recovered from her recent escapade. He laughed to himself as he thought about how she would feel the next morning. 

“I’m going to take you to Trixi’s and clean you up” he told her. “You’ll feel better in a day or two. Maybe three... Promise me that you’ll never do this again, Red. We were so worried. All of us were. We miss you and we need you just as you need us. Never do this again.” 

Slate stepped upon the teleportation platform and selected his destination. With another flash of blue light, the teleport unit engaged and emitted an outgoing signal.

NOT BY ORIGINAL AUTHOR

Holographic mail – receipt confirmation acknowledged 
Secure transmission – private key 
Biometric and retina signatures required to decode 
Data encrypted, forward: 

Destination: Kira Star-Rigger 
Source: Myopica Tnzu 
Jump Sequence Count: 3 Tiers 

"My Dearest Friend Kira, 

I write this message to you in a condition of somber unrest. My walking terror dreams as of late have lessened and at this moment I feel coherent enough to respond as my true self. I no longer take their pills and so-called treatment regimens as they offer so freely. I know who they are and I know what they want from me. 

As I look out my window, the streets here, now, are very busy. Peppered with thousands of faces, they all are starting to look the same, no matter the place, the time... blurry voices, ghosted and translucent, so pristine and perfect in their fancy equipment and long wispy hair. I have no clue what they are all chatting about most of the time, but I am sure it is interesting. Their collective laughter and excitement at least leads me to believe this. Why will they not stop staring back at me? 

Each world tries to put me into a box, make me follow their rules. You know as I know, I (we) have always had difficulty with this. The dagger, that I have grown so fond of on Calypso, I carry on my side no matter the time or place. You have taught me this Kira - to focus on task with a bullet-proof persistence. 

Yes, I have met a select few, the geisha daemons, the poets, the ones with pious efforts. Only, none who understood as clearly as you did Kira. For days on end I found myself just wandering through these faces as a garden of electric fluorescent flowers swaying back-and-forth in a long lazy breeze. 

You were always there for me, my pillar, my stable place to connect. Oh the long years of laughter and adventure we shared... analytical, observant and creatively clever moments... Your instinctual sword fighting techniques have always kept me safe. I have been afraid of your intellect however. Not directly. I was terrified if they ever found you, what they would do to you – your mind. 

No longer could I stand being a test subject for them Kira. Yes, they promised me the heavens and after their tests to let me return home. Perhaps, just perhaps if I tried with a bit more effort, conformed to their ways and just focused on, I would not be left to wander, here now, alone, following my ridiculous dream to heal the universe. 

I feel I have changed, Kira. Jacked into the grid, everything is so bold, black and shiny. Perfect clarity. There exists no such place. Not that I have discovered. I am tired Kira - tired of searching. Tired of searching for what seems like eons, bouncing in and out of worlds, lost, confused by their technologies and fighting their wars for them. Tired of healing them, hearing their soundless screams ricochet through my head, then only to find their name pass by my burning eyes listed on the week's end death charters. 

Through my travels I feel I have abandoned many. Let them down in their expectations, always without intention or ill will. Kira, I am sorry I abandoned you. I am sorry I drifted from the path that you have so graciously taught me. Sorry I abandoned perhaps the place where I was needed most. 

You will have to forgive my uneasy paranoia in stopping so abrupt in my response. I know I am still being closely observed. I do not wish to go back to 'that' place and must prove to them I am aware of my reality and am not a threat to others or myself so I can finally leave this, all this and try to find my way home. Oh... how I do miss home. 

Stay healthy Kira, Red. Follow what you believe. Your holographic mail has brought a smile to my lips and I thank you. Never be afraid to contact me. I must go, they are coming. 

Mya" 

Recorded – sent via intra-planetary mailer 
Message – Data Reference Archived

The storm-trooper finished affixing the detonator onto the explosive charge and moved back. 

“Clear” he shouted and pressed the button. The bio-scan had identified that the apartment was occupied. The squad had been ordered to gain entry and arrest all those present. They were solemn and determined in achieving their objective 

The resulting explosion blew a hole through the door, and the team moved quickly like a well oiled machine shifting into high gear. Two storm-troopers at the back of the formation launched canisters of bio-toxic gas designed to subdue humans through the ingress. Two in the front breached the entrance and assumed point positions on either side of the hallway’s far end. 

“In the name of Arch Duke of Muscovy, on behalf of the Emperor, we are executing an Imperial Warrant” one of them announced. “Stand-down and you will not be harmed. Do not resist. Submit and no harm will fall upon you.” 

The remaining squad members entered the apartment and fanned out, save two who remained in the floor’s common area to guard the rear of the operation. The Storm-troopers moved in a well rehearsed and coordinated manner to secure the apartment and suppress anyone there present. From across the compound, a sniper watched the balcony for any signs of an attempt to escape. The squad’s members moved methodically through the rooms carefully ensuring that each point man was covered by at least two weapons. 

Outside, the televator had engaged and an armoured man carrying an improved DOA Strikehammer appeared in the common. The two storm-troopers there immediately reacted. 

“Stand-down and lay down your arms. You are in harms way. Stand-down, this will be your only warning” one of them ordered. 

“WTF?!? Do you know who I am? Do you understand what that means?” the man laughed openly. “Nobody tells me what to do. Especially, a couple of noobs who think they’re elite! I’ve killed over thirty in the last week alone! STFU, losers!” The man darted to the side and engaged his Strikehammer. With another laugh, he fired upon the storm-troopers. 

The Storm-troopers split and returned a coordinated fire. One used an ASG-3 military shotgun and the other a FoeRipper sub-machinegun. A third Storm-trooper appeared in the blown doorway and aimed an assault rifle. The fire-fight was short, but the volleys were intense. The common was strewn with spent BLP cartridges. Covered by the shotgun and the rifle, the second Storm-trooper approached the body of the man who had been bold and foolish enough to fire upon them. 

He looked at the corpse. Swimming in a pool of blood, there was not much left to identify who he originally was. His plated shadow armour had been breached in several places and imbedded into his remains. His blood had now stained his expensive coat a sickening shade of red. 

“Commons secured” announced the Storm-trooper, across the communications channel. “The threat has been neutralised.” 

“Seems they always have to do it the hard way” stated the other to his comrades. 

Inside the apartment, the rest of the squad completed their sortie. The senior Corporal looked about. A Storm-trooper approached him. 

“The apartment is secure, Corporal” he reported. “Unfortunately, there is no sign of our objective. There is evidence indicating someone being here a short time ago. We must have missed the target by minutes. Sentries do not report any change in their observations. No one has exited the area. The target appears to have vanished.” 

“As you were, soldier” the Corporal replied. “Cordon the apartment and ensure that no evidence is disturbed. Send a report to the Doctor informing him that we have failed to capture the objective and advise that a forensics team should be dispatched at once.” 

“Aye, Corporal. It shall be done.” 

Myopia Tnzu watched the apartment complex from a hill in the distance. She had felt the approach of the squad. She had activated a modified, timed decoy. The modification was an exercise in electronics and biology she had been previously taught. Although it rendered the decoy stationary and unable to be deployed by conventional methods, it suited her immediate need. She left the apartment to the decoy and used the televator to move down a few floors. She had planned her escape, prior. She would not be unaware. Mya used the balcony on the subsequent floor in an empty apartment to reach the outside. Cautiously, she had avoided the sentry on the ground by distracting his attention toward a passing female through a psionic suggestion. Upon reaching the hill, she had stopped. 

As she lay upon the hill, she was further resolved to never allow them to hold her again. She would never allow herself to be party to their evil again. For now, she was safe. This was not home but it was not there. Amongst with those whose hearts were so charred and black, it would not be her way, as it had never been. At least, here there are no lies, for here there was only nature. Although vicious and merciless, nature was always honest. 

The adrenaline level in her body started to subside and was replaced by an increased level of dopamine. Her conscious mind started to wash over as her neural receptors became hyper-sensitive. Her thoughts again became more symbolic and conceptual rather than directed and focused. Her consciousness slowly succumbed. Calmly, she began to walk further into the wilderness.

Veritigo 
(music: U2/lyric: Bono, The Edge) 

Lights go down. it's dark 
The jungle is your head 
Can't rule your heart 
A feeling so much stronger than 
A thought 
Your eyes are wide 
And though your soul 
It can't be bought 
Your mind can wander 

Hello, Hello 
I'm at a place called vertigo 
It's everything I wish I didn't know 
Except you give me something I can feel, feel 

The night is full of holes 
As bullets rip the sky 
Of ink with gold 
They twinkle as the 
Boys play rock and roll 
They know that they can't dance 
At least they know... 

I can't stand the beats 
I'm asking for the cheque 

The girl with crimson nails 
Has Jesus 'round the neck 
Swinging to the music 
Swinging to the music 
Oh oh oh oh 

Hello, Hello 
I'm at a place called Vertigo 
It's everything I wish I didn't know 
But you give me something I can feel, feel 

Check mated 
Oh yeah 
Hours of fun... 

All this, all this can be yours 
All of this, all of this can be yours 

All this, all of this can be yours 
Just give me what I want and no-one gets hurt 

Hello, Hello 
I'm at a place called Vertigo 
Lights go down and all I know 
Is that you give me something 

I can feel your love teaching me how 
Your love is teaching me how, how to kneel... 

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. 

(copyright 2005, from the recording “How to Disassemble an Atomic Bomb” by U2.)

Siegfried Dulcamar stood in the garden of the sixth floor of the Genesis Star conglomerate’s residential complex, Alpha Tower. He glanced at the chronometer on his communications link and sighed. Once again, yet again, she was late. That thought was interrupted as he noticed the inverse arch in Nea Scheafer’s spine as she leant over the balcony’s edge to watch the comings and goings about the complex, below. His gaze drifted to heels she was wearing and how they accentuated her calves. From ground, below, an exchange of weapons fire disrupted his pleasant diversion. 

“Do you think that will ever end, Fafner?” Nea asked. 

Siegfried, or Fafner, as he is more commonly known, shifted his attention as she turned to face him. “Probably not, you know what people are like”, he answered. She smiled as she cocked her left hip. 

“They’re such children”, she continued. “There are so many better things to do”. Nea flipped her raven hair with her right hand and then lowered her sunglasses enough to look over their lenses. She paused for effect. “You know…so many better things.” 

Fafner contemplated, for a moment, what should be his reply. She didn’t give him the opportunity. 

“Do you think Red is going to show? My axe is starting to twitch” and then she laughed. 

He thought it would be best to pass on her last comment. 

“Nea,” Fafner offered, “she said she’d try. Let us give her a few more minutes. You know how she is – when she’s occupied with one of her missions. She does become somewhat obsessed with them and consumed in their completion.” 

“Ah, yes. Her missions… I don’t know that much about them, Fafner. I’ve hear her talk about them. They seem a little complicated, to me. I just like to get out and hunt down the various beasts. That’s my mission: death to all icky creatures.” With that, Nea laughed. 

Nearby, Red watched as Rea destroyed another Second Entity Drone. Wow, she thought, I wish I could do that. She switched her attention to the next Drone Rea was targeting and reactivated her scanner. From a distance, Red observed how the machine quickly advanced toward its assailant and began its peculiar regeneration. She found this behaviour to be particularly interesting. In the meantime, Rea repeatedly fired upon the machine. The machine struck at its aggressor but Rea continued to hold her ground. 

Red pointed her scanner toward Rea and looked at the general results. Interesting, she thought to herself, obviously a fighter. Rea jumped over the wreckage of the Second Entity and moved toward the next one in the distance. 

Red also turned and walked down a gentle slope. Periodically, she’d pause to look at some of the flowers which were currently in bloom. Amethera bears such little resemblance to Eudoria, she contemplated. She felt the two continents had evolved so differently. Even the soil composition resulted in a marked visual difference in the ground’s appearance. 

As she walked, in the distance, she noticed solitary figure at about 80 metres. It was a man. She stopped and scanned him. Normally, in these situations, she’d only gaze at the scanner’s result but this time something odd caught her attention. She adjusted some of the settings and repeated the scan. 

Huh, she thought. This cannot be correct. 

She examined the spectrographic result. Her attention now focused on the DNA plot. It can’t be, she thought, the odds would be astronomical. 

As Red realised that the DNA pattern was almost identical to her own – but with a highly noticeable exception - the man became aware of her presence and raised a Starkov as117 BLP carbine and aimed it toward her. 

Red shifted her gaze. She had always been overly sensitive to her surroundings and now was no exception. She lowered her scanner and noticed the red dot from the carbine’s laser sight focused on the centre of her chest. Cautiously, she walked toward him – stopping about 20 metres short of him. She had stared upon the barrel of a rifle many times before. 

She made a mental note of his height and general body shape. Generally, it was right but his appearance must have been substantially altered. He was not as she remembered him. Science was suggesting that he should be although. The DNA exception troubled her, as she did not know what it meant. Still, there was only one way for her to be certain. 

“Hiya,” she offered, awaiting his response, for better or worse. 

He slowly lowered the carbine and answered “Blessing be upon you. Greeting extends be welcome in same.” 

A wave of emotion flushed though her body. When she heard his voice, she instantly knew, even if his words made little sense and he appeared not to recognise her. She ran to him. 

“Oh, I missed you! I was so worried. I never thought I’d see you again! I thought you were dead.” She threw her arms around him and hugged him. She dropped her head onto his chest and started to weep. “I thought you were dead. It’s been so long. I’m so happy you’re here. I was so sure I’d never see you again. I’ve never been so happy to be so wrong.” 

He placed his arm across the woman’s back and held her against him. He is a protector. His duty is to shield the innocent. It is the only reason for his existence. For him, there is no meaning in anything else. Images and concepts flashed across his consciousness. Protect. Avenge the innocent. Punish the guilty. Honour…duty…valour. Protect. Avenge. Across his mind, feedback pathways stressed. 

“Whatever has happened to you, it doesn’t matter. I’m so happy you’re alive. I will help you in any way I can. I thought I’d never see you again.” 

As he gazed down upon her copper hair, additional synapses fired within his brain. Neural pathways opened. There was something about this female; she was different from others he had met. Repressed concepts and latent memories mixed with his conscious conditioning and natural fortitude. His mind became mixed between images surfacing from deep in his subconscious, foreign concepts now imbedded into his psyche, and the conscious lattice containing and influencing it all. 

Suddenly, overwhelmed, a conditioning feedback pathway snapped. Again, he looked at the woman he held in his arms. A repressed image surfaced. 

“Ki-ra…?” he struggled.

Beloved brother, 

Although, you no longer retain the ability to read my writing and your ability to verbally communicate has been heavily marred; I will still use this letter as an expression of how I feel, while knowing that you will never be able to read it nor fully comprehend. Perhaps, this wasted exercise is because I need to tell you of these things but your frequent blank response to my speech leaves me no other method to relieve my thoughts. 

You took care of me after the rest of our family was brutally slaughtered. For years, you protected me and taught me how to take care of myself. I was a frightened little girl when it began. It is only because of you that I can now rally what little strength and constitution I possess. It is only because of you that I am alive today. I owe you, everything. I will never be able repay you for all you have done for me. In a meagre effort toward this, everything that I own is also yours. I know that you do not understand nor care for these things. I know all that is important to you are me, that carbine you shoulder, and that horrid dagger. 

I can guess where you obtained the carbine, as it is a military issue. I trust you made that soldier suffer. I have no idea where you acquired that awful dagger, but I do know it is somehow related to what has happened to you and what you have now become. 

Sometimes, during quiet periods and when I am not off on one of my self-imposed missions; I have watched you, in our apartment, captivated by the reddish glow from that alien weapon. I do not understand the spell it casts over you. Occasionally, I would use my scanner in an attempt to learn more of the graft upon your DNA. Although I have some weak knowledge of genetics, I know it is insufficient to be of any use in your plight. It pains me that I cannot help you. 

Genetically, that which was grafted onto your DNA is not human; neither is it any sort of humanoid mutation. How this occurred, I do not know but what was done to you was quite deliberate. Of that, I am certain. Perhaps, that terrible dagger you are so obsessed with is related to that despicable alteration. 

I do know that the change to you has been severe. Although you recognise me, you do not always acknowledge my presence. When you do speak, you do so in riddles. You do not seem to remember much of our past. That which you do remember is shrouded in conceptual images and clouded by your obscure speech. I know that you are still present, but you seem to share your existence with something else. That other part has become part of you. Perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that what you and the other were is fused having now become something new. Your reflexes and intuition seem to be much sharper than I remember. Very little escapes your gaze. It is as if you have developed some other sense. 

The graft of the other onto your helix has cause significant physical changes to you as well. When I found you I almost did not recognise you. This graft was not performed by any natural means. I have found evidence of surgical procedures. While they are not malevolent to your body, these strange genes are responsible for the changes that you have incurred. Much of your cell structure has been altered – resulting in alterations in many of your organs and body systems. The overall effect seems to be an improvement in your physical ability. Unfortunately, there was a huge cost to your psyche and brain structure. I am sure that this structure is unstable. Again, there is evidence of surgical procedures to enforce particular neural pathways and to block others. Without this lattice, I am sure you would be completely insane. The lattice, itself, is not stable and is slowly deteriorating, although this will take decades at the current rate. 

I cannot fathom the arrogance behind what was done to you. Many must have died for these heinous experiments to have reached to point where you could have been so cruelly changed and managed to survive - even if it is only a part of you. Know that if I could find those who did this to you, my brother, I swear, I would be merciless. 

Before, you would smile and laugh. I remember you telling me of the future days when we might lie in some unknown field, stare at clouds, and care naught for what we had endured in the past. Sadly, in this future; we do this but you do neither. At least, we are together. 

I wish that you would stay with me, in our home. Instead, you come and go as would a stray feline. Still, I do understand. I know that other part of you influences your behaviour significantly. I know you will never be what you were. I can only hope that you will be happy in this new life of yours. 

I love you and I will always be here for you; as you were for me, 

Kira.

NOTE - ENDED PAGE 4

The televator discharged and Siegfried Dulcamar stepped off the platform into the common area of the 19th floor of the apartment complex. He brushed some errant dust from his clothes and walked toward one of the apartments. The door opened for him, and he walked inside. 

Fafner looked about. In one end of the apartment there were several large containers of crude oil and melchi water, many storage boxes neatly arranged on shelves, various pieces of equipment, fertilizer, and a pile of fireworks. Nearby, a table held various pieces of electronics and metal components. There were a few plants, flowers, and a couple of teddy bears about, breaking up the almost continuous industrial theme. Another table with a beautiful floral arrangement held a small collection of pistols and melee weapons. My, he laughed to himself; she’s quite the eclectic interior designer. He thought of how the apartment was more of combination of a storage area, workshop, and laboratory than it was a home, but yet it had these subtle personal accents. 

Considering that, he noticed a tattered chair facing a small window. Beside it, there stood a globe lamp. Fafner recognised the image on the globe. It was Mars. On the floor beside the chair lay a worn doll. It wasn’t difficult for him to imagine her sitting there gazing out into the sky and clutching the old doll. 

At that moment, Red walked in from the other room. “Hi, Faf. I see you made it safely” she said. 

Fafner turned his eyes toward her. She stood in the doorway, half akimbo with her head slightly tilted and her hips off-centre. She was wearing a pair of red heels and matching armoured gloves, a white woollen pullover, and a leather miniskirt. “Nice skirt, Red. Did you make it? It looks like it once was a Foul.” 

“Oh yes, Faf.” She replied. “You’re right on both counts.” She paused. “Actually, it was several Fouls. I really hate those horrid things.” 

“I’m not exactly a big fan of them, either, Red” laughed Fafner. 

“Oh, yeah,” Red babbled on, “I have a whole collection of skirts I made from creatures I hate. It seemed to be a constructive use of their hides” she laughed. “Also, Armax make great shoes, Faf.” 

“I’m sure they do, Red. Perhaps, one day, you’ll make me a pair.” He changed the topic and continued, “You know, you live in a bad neighbourhood. I had to kill some thug who was amusing himself by firing on people approaching the complex. Fortunately, I had some help and the punk didn’t stand much of a chance.” 

“Oh, that happens all the time, Faf. There is an informal neighbourhood watch which keeps an eye out for that kind of low-life. I suspect that, soon, this sort of thing won’t happen anymore. I don’t worry about it much, in any event.” 

“Red,” he asked, while looking at the table full of electronics and metal components and picking up a power supply, “are you trying to build a robot?” 

“Errr… Yes” she answered. “It’s very slow work, though. Robots are very complicated. I need to understand more about how they work. I hate them.” 

He laughed. “Do you like anything, Red?” 

“Sure. Many things…” She walked over to the table with the floral centrepiece and brushed her hand across the purple petals. “…like these flowers and my friends. The few of each that I have…” She quickly changed the subject, “Faf, you’ve had medical training, right?” 

“Yes, Red, you know that.” 

“I want you to see something and give me a professional opinion. Could you come with me, please?” 

With that, Red led Fafner into the other room. This room, much like the last, contained a collection of electronic equipment in various stages of assembly or disassembly. In one corner was a makeshift kitchen. Nearby, a man sat on the floor beside a Christmas tree. There was an eerie red glow from the dagger strapped to his side. A Starkov AS-117 leaned against the wall within his reach. 

“You remember my brother, right Faf?” 

“Yes, Red, I do. I remember when you found him that day. He wasn’t very responsive. Until then, I didn’t even know you had any family. You never spoke much of such things.” 

“Yeah, I know, Faf. Much of it is difficult for me. That’s why I was in that awful programme. Not that it helped much. Anyway, ask him his name, if you will.” 

As Fafner walked over, the man stood and spoke “Greeting! Light befall on pure in deed.” 

“Hello, to you, as well,” Fafner answered. “My name is Siegfried, but most call me Fafner. I’m pleased to meet you. The last time we met, you were lost in a trance.” 

“Accepted be salutation. Blessing upon he be friend. I be Hed-ba Na’grr Th’Roat Krush-err. Be for protect I. Be death on un-noble ilk I.” 

Red walked over. “Snug…” she said, “You look hungry. You’ll find some Atrox tail stew over in the kitchen. Help yourself.” 

“Blessing upon Ki-ra. Noble be she in kind” he said. With that, he walked off to fetch some stew. 

“Atrox tail stew?” Fafner asked Red. 

“A Feffoid taught me how to make it. …young Atrox tail, sliced caroot, and spices. It has to be slow cooked with a ceramic crock in a melchi doped bath. The bath chemically maintains the proper temperature when heated over a stove or campfire. Optionally, you can add some smoke cured Rippersnapper dorsal fillet paste to the broth - which I did. All-in-all, it’s really quite good.” 

“A Feffoid taught you?” 

“Yeah, we use to hang out. It was a long time ago, though.” 

“You’re a strange girl, Red” he said. “Anyway, you said you wanted to ask me something?” 

“Oh, yes. Come look at this computed axial tomography scan. It’s over here. It’s Snug’s“ she said. 

“You have a CAT-scanner, Red?” he asked, somewhat shocked. 

“Yeah… Well, sort of… I built it.” She showed him a mess of electronics and disassembled scanners. “I used this ES-200 that Stoney gave me as the control device. That modified LifeScanner IV is the data acquisition unit, as it has a considerably faster response. I modified its biographic transceiver to operate with x-rays. This bank of processors computes the axial rotations and composes the image for display on these holographic modules.” Red keyed a sequence on the ES-200’s interface panel, and the holographic modules lit up. “Notice the disfiguration of the neural pathways, Faf. What do you make of it?” she asked. 

Fafner pointed to a surface area on the right hemisphere. “This type of pattern is certainly a alteration. Here, you can see evidence of a surgical procedure. My guess would be that the imposed lattice is neural feedback loop. Possibly, it was to contain some unknown effect. There are many of them across the surface, here. Most certainly, they would have behavioural implications. Likely, his speech is a by-product of this. Note how some of them have been damaged; possibly, through synoptic overload. Now, observe this area around the cerebral cortex. This configuration is not human; moreover, there is no evidence of surgery.” 

Red typed another sequence and lit up another holographic module. “This is a comparative overlay of my DNA and Snug’s. As we had the same parents, the helix should be virtually identical. As you can see, they are close but not exact. Excluding sibling variation, this genome sequence is the difference.” She enhanced the hologram. “It’s also, very much, not human.” 

“I see” Fafner responded. “There is a strong likelihood that this alien sequence is responsible for the foreign growth around the cerebral cortex, as it straddles the coding responsible for the brain’s structure. How this could occur, in an adult, I don’t know. I’d guess that the neural lattice was surgically imposed to maintain, limit, and control the resulting bio-modification. This is highly advanced. Only the Federal Empire would have the resources to perform such experimentation. It’s also rather morally corrupt.” 

“I suspected as much, Faf. Am I to conclude that it cannot be reversed?” 

“Yes, Red, it’s permanent. The upside is that there seems to be evidence of the both the alien and human tissue trying to adjust the containing neural lattice. This could be one explanation for the shorted-out pathways: the composite mind is attempting to rid itself of the unnecessary or limiting elements of the lattice. Likely, this is due to a change in the environment the lattice was designed to work within. External stimulus is a powerful motivator in all organic beings. Of course, there exists the possibility of the total collapse of the lattice. Unfortunately, this would be fatal, as it has become integrated with the brain’s pathways. Incidentally, where did you learn all the genetics, engineering, computer science, biology, and medicine? I thought you were a tailor who dabbled in some common crafting.” 

“I taught myself, Faf. I’ve had a great deal of time on my hands since I’ve been here and I needed something to do. I still like to sew, though.” 

“I never knew you were so talented, Red.” 

“Yeah, I’m a mysterious girl of many talents” she laughed. 

“Yes, indeed” he smiled. “Maybe, I should try some of your mutant stew, Red.” 

“Sure, Fafner… I’ll get you some. Actually, I’m a little famished, myself.” With that, they walked over to the makeshift kitchen and drew themselves a bowl of the hearty stew.

Red sat with Fafner at the marble table she used as a desk, workbench, and dining table. She had moved aside a power supply and some partially assembled electronics to make room for their stew bowls. Toward the corner, her brother had returned to sitting by the Christmas tree and gazing at the blade of his dagger. Meanwhile, Red cut a couple of sections from a bombardo, placing them on a plate as a side dish. 

“Why do you call your brother ‘Snug’, Red?” Fafner asked between spoonfuls. “Is that actually his name?” 

“No. Snug is short for Snuggles. I use to call him that when I was a child. I was the youngest of three. He was the middle child” she replied. “Our elder sister, like our parents, is long dead. When I was a teenager and we were rebels in the Martian caverns, I shortened it to Snug. It seemed a little more appropriate” she said, as she selected a slice of the Bombardo. “Today, he doesn’t respond to his proper name – only my familiar term for him and the name he told you. Even then, not always…” She took a small bite from the slice. 

Red switched her gaze to watch her brother pick up his carbine and sling it over his shoulder. He walked toward the door. “Bye, Snug, I’ll see you later” she offered. He did not answer. She stirred her stew slightly and ate a small spoonful. 

“Where’s he going?” Fafner asked. 

“I don’t know” she replied. “He just does that. He’ll be gone for several days. It seems to be just something that he periodically does.” Red had another spoonful of the stew. “He’ll come back, eventually. He does cause me to worry when he does this, but there is little I can do. When he’s like this, he’s almost completely unresponsive.” 

“I see. It is a very peculiar syndrome. Does he return with a bag of dead rodents as tribute?” he asked, rhetorically. “Regardless, this stew is very good, Red. I’m quite pleasantly surprised. You’ll have to show me what other bizarre recipes you know.” 

“Sure, Faf, whenever you would like. I have one for a curried Combibo. It can take a couple of days to prepare, though, as the Combibo can be tough and has to marinate for at least twenty hours.” 

After their dinner, Fafner went to re-examine Red’s homemade CAT-SCAN, while she removed the bowls and plate from the marble table. He looked at the hand soldered interfacing and some of the hardware modifications to the LifeScanner IV. She’s certainly creative, he thought to himself. He could see how she had made circuit level modifications to some of the scanner’s boards and added additional components. His mind toyed with the thought of how a similar hand is needed in medicine. Perhaps, he wondered, this might have something to do with her obsessive hatred of robots. Maybe, she was trying to understand them better to better understand herself. 

Then, he noticed that she was not within his sight anymore. Curious, he looked about for her. In short order, he found her on the apartment’s balcony. She was leaning on the railing and looking rather aimlessly into the distance. As he walked toward her, he noticed that she seemed caught up in thought. “Is everything alright, Red?” he asked. 

“Yeah, I’m okay” she replied. “I am so worried for Mya, though. I haven’t seen her for quite a while. Periodically, she’s sent me mail, but her condition continues to deteriorate. I don’t think that she remains lucent for very long, now. She lives in the wilderness, you know. Once or twice, I’ve seen her from a distance. She doesn’t approach me, but she will follow for some period of time. It’s weird.” 

“What is even stranger” she added “is that sometimes, I wake in the middle of the night and I feel as if she is nearby.” She paused. “I know, it sounds crazy. Maybe, I’m losing my mind.” 

“It’s not crazy, Red” he said. “She was/is very special – in many ways. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

“I’m just so worried about her. I miss her so much.” 

Fafner turned. Facing her, he took her by the hands and looked straight into her soft brown eyes. “Red,” he said, “I know how you feel. Listen. I never told anyone this. I love her. I would have laid down my life, for her. She was my light” he confessed. 

“Yes, Fafner, I know. I love her too.” 

The two held each other on the balcony of the apartment and gazed into the horizon. Neither spoke but both thought of their friend – alone in the wilderness. 

Elsewhere and a little later, she who had been Myopia Tnzu sat crouched in a field. She was casually breaking small pieces off of a bombardo and slowly eating them. A nearby Exarosaur poked its snout amongst the grass in search of food. The herbivore noticed the fruit in the hands of the feral human female. It lifted its head and uttered a soft cry. She looked in the direction of the beast and tossed a piece toward it. The Exarosaur moved upon the morsel, lifting its head releasing an appreciative roar. 

Suddenly, much in the same manner as animals sense the coming of a storm, she who was once known as Mya felt a change in Calypso’s aura. For a moment, a singularity existed, as if announcing its presence before fading back into the planet’s psychic background. She stood. Images flashed across her feral mind. Images of whom she had once been and of those she had previously known. Instinctively, she knew something significant had happened. 

As she turned to walk, she tossed the rest of the bombardo to the Exarosaur. Once again, it uttered an appreciative roar, but she remained silent. She turned her attention from the beast and continued walking. Now driven by a pseudo-maternal instinct, she made her way across the grassland, from the wilderness toward the civilization she abandoned.

About a Girl 
(Cobain) 

I need an easy friend 
I do, with an ear to lend 
I do think you fit this shoe 
I do, won't you have a clue? 

I'll take advantage while 
You hang me out to dry 
But I can't see you every night 

Free 

I do 

I’m standing in your line 
I do hope you have the time 
I do pick a number too 
I do keep a date with you 

I'll take advantage while 
You hang me out to dry 
But I can't see you every night 

Free 

I need an easy friend 
I do, with an ear to lend 
I do think you fit this shoe 
I do, won't you have a clue? 

I'll take advantage while 
You hang me out to dry 
But I can't see you every night 
No, I can't see you every night 

Free 

I do. 

(copyright 1989, from the recording “Bleach” by Nirvana. transcribed by me.)

In response to a request by the Office of the Federal Commissary for Public Safety and Security, Calypso Law Enforcement Administration dispatched two agents to covertly monitor the movements and activities of a local Star-Rigger. Identity and criminal records are attached. 

At 14h17, approximately 25KM north north east of Camp Echidna, Eudoria; they made contact with the subject and proceeded to record her activity. There was no indication that their operation had been compromised. The agents were under strict orders to avoid direct contact. Pursuant to normal investigatory procedure, the agents had been instructed to submit hourly updates. 

At 15h, the first report was received by the command and control centre in Hadesheim. There was nothing significant. The Star-Rigger was observed wandering about the flora and retrieving the occasional piece of fruit while observing the local animal population. 

Come 16h, the agents did not report. Suspecting that their operation had been uncovered, at 16h04, a revive signal was send by the Hadesheim centre to retrieve said agents. Only one agent was retrieved. The second is still missing. This is not to say that he is lost, unable to respond, or there was failure with the signal. He has completely vanished. There is no trace of him whatsoever, inclusive of his bio-transponder implant. 

Of the first agent, although alive, his body has been permanently crippled and he has entered a degenerative vegetative state. He does not recognise his surroundings and is unable to communicate. Forensic evidence shows multiple burns and lacerations consistent with the repeated use of plasma technology. Additionally, some of the more intensive damage to the agent’s skeleton further suggests the heavy application of a power fist or energy glove. Medical attempts to extract memory signatures from this agent, in order to reconstruct events, have failed. Medical personnel are of the opinion that the majority these signatures have been disrupted or shattered by unrecognised means. Also, there is evidence of the agent undergoing medical treatment – likely from a Fast Aid Pack - during his ordeal. The nature of his injuries seems to indicate that said medical treatment was being provided to prolong his ordeal rather than to alleviate it. 

It is stressed that these two agents, in accordance with the standardised procedure for dangerous criminals and aware of each other’s mission were operating from independent locale. CLEA again stresses that there was no indication that this operation had been uncovered. The nearby Special Security Support detail, augmented by Imperial soldiers loaned for the operation, arrived at the site within minutes of the failure of the revive signal. Other than the crippled body of the first agent, no one could be found within several kilometres. In addition to the Star-Rigger, there was evidence of at least two others in the vicinity, but there was nothing to conclusively implicate their involvement nor was anyone found. 

The operation’s mechanics were designed to return some level of success. The support detail’s position was such to allow rapid deployment to either agent’s observation point. The detail’s firepower, inclusive of the loaned Imperial Storm-troopers, was far in excess of any expected threat or danger. The use of multiple surveillance agents was to insure that some level of information would be collected regardless of discovery or unforeseen risks. 

Instead, no information was acquired and two of this agency’s assets have been neutralized or destroyed. In this operation, the support detail which was to mitigate asset attrition and ensure, at least, partial success was rendered completely ineffective. As this investigatory protocol has been consistently, successfully, and repetitively utilised in the past; CLEA must conclude that the operation’s failure is related to the single unknown quantity in this scenario. That is, the subject of the investigation – the Star-Rigger. 

Calypso Law Enforcement Administration is of the opinion that any subsequent attempts to monitor or contact this Star-Rigger may result in a similar fiasco and; as such, respectfully, withdraws its direct involvement in this matter. 

The whereabouts of the Star-Rigger is currently unknown. 

End of transmission.

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