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Personal Data Pad

Maren von Westefeld

Date of Birth: 6th of December 795 A.S.

Nationality: Rheinland

Political Party: None

Husband: None

Children: None

Former Residence: Planet Nuremberg

Gender: Female

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Eye Color: Dark Brown

Height: 1,72m

Occupation/Qualifications:
Completed MND Intelligence Training
→ Demoted to: Process Handling
Tertiary Combat Pilot

Medical Data: Suffers from Neuropathy
Addiction to Cardamine

Traits: Stubborn
Trusting
Inquisitive
Astute
Generally Benign Personality

Criminal Record: ►Insulting a Superior
►Watching Sports Events on an MND Terminal
►Insulting the Chancellor
→Evidence Still Needed
►Sleeping during Workhours
►Playing Blackjack during Workhours
►Using MND Assets as Ante in Blackjack
►General Inappropriate Tone When Alone
►Showed Compassion to Hessian Prisoners
on Nuremburg
►Stealing a Military Grade Combat Vessel

Status: Alive

Owner: Maren v. Westefeld - If Found, Please Return to the Owner

Introduction:

If I ever read anything on this thing in my later years, when I'm old and grey, let me just apologize to myself at this point. If you, future me, came here to hear a story, I'm sorry to disappoint. I'm sure this will devolve quickly into an eldritch sequence of me being the universe's favourite chewing toy. If someone else finds this for some unknown reason, then please don't read this. You wouldn't want to read a girl's diary, would you? Well, I might as well begin all the way at the start...

I was born in the Nordgau Klinik to Reiner von Westefeld and Luane Streicher on the 6th of December 795 A.S.. In my young years, I showed mediocre musical talent and was thus encouraged by my parents to learn at least one instrument, though they quickly found out that their child's avid handling of numbers and social sciences outweighed their desire to raise a virtuosa — sounds like self-praise and it absolutely is. Due to talent and rigorous enforcement of my parents, I was able to secure a private scholarship for myself and study criminology on Nuremberg. After completing my studies, I applied for the Marinenachrichtendienst bureau in Munich, which accepted me in 819 A.S. Weren't we proud, huh?

After a bit more than two years in which I had been acclimatized to my new work environment, I suffered an accident on my way to my parents, which, at the time, lived on another continent of the planet. It probably was my own fault; shouldn't have pressured that taxi pilot into taking potentially dangerous maneuvers to reach a fast food restaurant we otherwise would have missed. Though not life threatening by any means, my injuries and the ensuing treatment thereof caused lasting nerve trauma specifically to my arms and I henceforth suffered from neuropathic pains whenever using my hands for anything that would require precision manual work. This turn of events made me unfit for a career as an agent for space missions and the MND required I repurpose my skill for administrative tasks at home, which was a nice way of saying: "you're useless now".

So, after betting banished behind a desk in a small, dusty office where I would dig through useless tosh that nobody was going to read anyways because nobody cared about Nuremberg to begin with, I began making use of my free time. I was almost always done before my deadline, so it was better than sitting around twiddling my thumbs until the neuropathy kicked in. It was a slippery slope, really. One moment I started doing minor things, like using my terminal to do... stuff that was unrelated to work, the next moment I sat in a conference room with some colleagues gambling. Okay, it did take several years, but you get the point.

Needless to say, I ticked off some people in the end. On the 8th of March 823 A.S. I found a message on my work terminal, which shouldn't be there. Someone, Lazrius Hawkins, as I now know, had relayed it to my console from the Lokaldirektor's executive terminal. It contained orders to my Abeilungsleiter: I was to be dismissed or to be sent into the Omicrons on a recovery mission to retrieve black boxes from some MND pilots who had gone MIA several days prior. Most would say that this would not be a big deal, but I had A) no interest in getting killed in some godforsaken part of the Omicrons and B) even less interest in staying on Nuremberg. I mean, have you been there? If not, imagine industrial complexes the size of metropolises polluting the air while dark matter eats away the planet's atmosphere.

So I did what every logical and well behaved person would do: steal the Lokaldirektor's private Wraith and make off into space. I knew of a jump hole leading to Sima 13 relatively near by. At the time, it seemed like a good idea to leave Rheinland. In hindsight, I probably should have just left. Someone once told me that I was not a smart person when I really mattered. I really didn't have the heart to gainsay.

Personal Data Logs:

Friday 10th of March 823 A.S.

Finding the jump hole to Sigma 13 wasn't all too hard. One would think that anyone would try and keep an eye on these things, because, well, if I can go through there unseen, so can criminals. Speaking of which, I encountered two thereof on my way out. This cloaking device does have its uses.
I needed to get a sizable portion of Stabiline so my hands wouldn't drive me bloody insane. Just hope Atka accepts my docking permission still.

Saturday 11th of March 823 A.S.

Got lost in Omicron Minor. Damn system disrupts all sorts of stuff on my ship. I happened upon the planet... Toledo, this guy later told me. We talked a bit and he told me about creatures called Nomads which had apparently destroyed the derelict ships I happened upon frequently when meandering around aimlessly. This gate... it was unholy. I can still see it as if its image is burned into my retinae. Then the sphere. He said he'd return and tell me more... I hope he does.

Tuesday 15th of March 823 A.S.

I happened upon this Freelancer, Noah, whom I'd met before near Atka. Don't know what made me associate with him but I ended up inviting him to a stroll through Minor. I don't know why I keep coming back to this place; it just seems... soothing, in a macabre way. Apparently, he's on Stabiline, too, and that for several years from what he said, though why I did not ask. We just... talked. I may or may not have acted more ignorant of certain issues than I really was — mayhap he'd reveal something about these Nomads that I didn't know yet? — but it had been somewhat unnecessary.
On an unrelated note: I found a place to stay on Freeport 15. So, yeah. Got that going for me... I really hate the Omicrons.

Monday 21th of March 823 A.S.

Waking up this morning felt like pushing a boulder off my chest while arm wrestling a bear who was very much into demestically abusing his housewife. My head hurt like crazy... and had I not reacted immediately — which is to say running and prostrating before the porcelain goddess —, I'd've vomited on the night stand. After that'd been dealt with, I took note that I was indeed in my rented room in Freeport 15, alright, but I had no idea what I'd done the last few days. I remember the sphere... Erika Keller, but it was all so blurry. Had I been drinking? Unlikely, since I don't do that. Taking a look at my ship later revealed that it'd been treated just as badly as my body, which is kinda bad for the ship, since nobody here probably has the slightest idea on how to repair these systems... No crying over spilt milk, though. If I need a new ship, I'll get a new one. I'm sure I can persuade some hapless chap to give me some credits for this. Lady perks, if you know what I mean.

Wednesday 23th of March 823 A.S.

Remember what I said about not drinking? Yeah, that was a lie it seems. Found a bunch of sake bottles under my bed. Wouldn't have found them if it hadn't been for the bloody smell of the stuff. Sake. Do I look like one of these slit eyed Kusari snakes? What was I thinking.

Saturday 26th of March 823 A.S.

Oh boy, the last day has been like a dream wrapped in pretty colors and... other things. I'd slept on Malta. I guess I could get some Cardamine while I'm here as well. Waiting for me on the landing pad was the new ship Lazrius had told me he'd get. Asked the administrator where it'd come from and he gave me a small snippet of paper that only read "Spice? Spice! Hope you like this ship. Only use for mischief.". Now I only need to get myself involved with Outcasts. According to him, it couldn't be that hard, but I kind of have my reservations. I mean, at least I would be weirded out if someone would just come to me and be like, "Hi, Maren, do you want me to murder or extort some people?" Let's just see where this goes.

Sunday 27th of March 823 A.S.

We took out the new ship for a spin. He'd dubbed it Spicerunner; what a playchild. We've... found someone, also. He or she was... uncooperative. Not anymore. He was asking for it.

I'm also starting to question my mental health at this point. Since Lazrius and I were in Munich, it feels like I'm hearing voices every time I am high. I need to ask him about this if I get the time. These Seraphim also replied to me, which I honestly didn't expect. I'm supposed to meet them either in space or on Munich, depending on whether they've already sent their ship by the time I'm clear to head there. It's times like this where I'm really glad I got rid of the Wraith. I should be alright, as long as I don't do anything stupid and as long as I don't carry too much Cardamine. Maybe I can do something to make it more difficult for scanners to detect.

Tuesday 29th of March 823 A.S.

I'm angry. Screw the Core, screw the Coalition, screw Noah and Inge. Goddamnit, why is it that people always think they can dictate what I may think. First the MND, now them. "Oh, but we saved you from the bad, bad people in Omicron Major so you have to listen to us. Cardamine is bad!" shut the hell up! At least Lazrius doesn't tell me what to do with my body or with others. Even as I manhandled that goddamn Kusari pansy he didn't stop me because he bloody knows that it's not his place to do so! So what if he died? He should've died when I blew up his ship. They wouldn't be so goddamn condescending if they'd seen this.

Friday 1th of April 823 A.S.

I contacted Leere today. Goddamn seizures got too much to bear; made it hard to even sleep that night. I guess I can be honest to myself here: Withdrawls aren't fun. I've known them for a long time. I mean, on Nuremberg, things often simply don't reach their destination and so it was quite possible that my dealers weren't around for maybe weeks. I was glad, at the time, that Stabiline was a thing. Now it literally does nothing anymore. We met... I feel like my eyes were opened for the first time in my life! I could jump, rejoice and scream in joy. I am so close to getting what I'd always wanted... Nobody will stand in the way of this.

Wednesday 6th of April 823 A.S.

Met Noah again yesterday. It was weird; he seems to really get worked up because of me and I can't for the life of me bring myself to feel anything about it but sadness. If I were to guess, I'd say that my actions directly contradict some deeply held believes of his, making me an anomaly that threatens his entire world view. I'm dangerous to him, because if he were to acknowledge what I say, he'd be left with nothing. He seems to think that I'm quote unquote "betraying what what I stand for", yet I never told him anything regarding this; he's laying words in my mouth. He might know a few things about me, but he doesn't know me. I tried telling him what I believed, though he wouldn't listen. The funny thing is that he thereby proved my point. We're vile, war-hungry, pathetic creatures eager to impose ourselves on others. He seems to think that a victory of humanity over the Spirits would be the best outcome, though I know that he knows deep down that it will only mean that humanity will turn against itself again.

I try and spend more time outside, though people are so... dull. Their words mean nothing, their actions mean nothing. They kill each other and it means nothing. I just can't bring myself to bond with any of them, really. Words just seem so... hollow, worthless, compared to what I've witnessed. I hope I'll meet Lazrius again soon, lest I go insane from all this banality.

Friday 8th of April 823 A.S.

Took a little time off today to traverse the Omegas a little. Don't actually know why, but I ended up staring at Planet Cambridge, thinking about Emiko the other day, or whenever it had been; I can't be bothered to remember right now. Stared way longer at the thing than was necessary. It didn't quite distract me from the fact that I probably only had a few weeks to live.

Well, after, admittedly, having wasted time, I headed towards Omega 3, where I met this quite loose-mouthed researcher from the Ingenuus Research Group. Heh, it was almost too easy getting him to talk about stuff. It's funny how people at times not even care for your name to answer your questions. Apparently, he studies things called "Baxter Objects", which are apparently quasi baby-wormholes/jump holes. Oh well, if he wants to spend his time this way, by all means. It was a blessing, really, that Sian Breacon, a girl (or "lass", how she'd probably say) from Dublin with a borderline incomprehensible vernacular replied to the transmission that I'd sent her one or two days ago in response to a chat we've had at Freeport 11 — sidenote: the hell is wrong with that place? It's filled to the brim with strange people, myself included. It's like the loony bin of Sirius.

Anyways, what came of that I've attached. Sian seems like a nice enough girl, even though I've probably scarred her for life. She asked for my motivations. I can't help it if they sound weird when vocalized.

Saturday 9th of April 823 A.S.

Remember that Dragon from last time? Yeah, turns out she's actually Emiko, though Emiko isn't really Emiko but rather "Yuki Hokama Hideyoshi", apparently ex-shogun of the Blood Dragons, some kind of royal and the reason why Kusari is in civil war. If that confused you, believe me, so was I.

Man, and the day had been so peaceful. Emi — I'll just continue calling her Emi. Way nicer — ran into me as I was on my way to Delta. Apparently, some Core cruiser whom I'd previously crossed was on her tail; she gave me a shout that he was probably waiting on the other side. We retreated to the Freeport in Omicron-74 where we had some peace and quiet. Imagine my eyebrows taking a stroll to the back of my head as her face literally changed before my eyes, revealing Emiko's face. Apparently, it's some sort of nano technology that helps her hide her features or something. How useful. On a sidenote: This girl is apparently only eighteen; I'm ten years older than her! According to her, she's got heart problems, so she'll probably die even before me!

Sian came along as well, as did this weird-ass lady Sapphire Raven and her slave Joshua Hunt. So, of course, it wasn't long before the Core was like, "Yo! Let's go snoop around these people!" Good thing there are private channels. Emiko felt threatened by them, I believe, so she kinda run. Good girl Sian got her to calm down while I sat by being unproductive, unable to deal with this kid. I escorted her home, which is when she told me about the stuff I mentioned at the start. If she's actually legit here, she's really bad at hiding stuff, like, she shouldn't have told us. Got ambushed on our way to the Dragons as well, by Dragons, funnily enough. Seemed like they want their wayward child back. Even though Emi got hurt pretty badly, we made our way to some Chrysanthemum battleship whose name I've conveniently forgotten. I left shortly afterwards, knowing that Emi would be in good hands.

Monday/Tuesday 11th to the 12th of April 823 A.S.

Tell me: What happens when a drug-crazed maniac and, well, I encounter Noah by sheer happenstance? If your answer involved any sort of connotation to violence, then I must sadly inform you that you were miles apart from the truth.

And that even though Leere and I were actually just taking a quasi stroll through the Omegas to Bretonia and back over the Taus to Malta. Oh well. I've actually forgotten why we'd even met; he probably just jumped me again, like he usually did. Game me some Cardamine as well, told me some more stuff pertaining to the Mindshare, because I'd gotten curious on how he'd explain it to me. Granted: I'd already heard enough of people to get a pretty good picture of how it worked, yet knowing it from Izah was something different.

Sadly, though, I'd needed to destroy his Cardamine in order to make a point to Noah. Of course he didn't believe me and to be fair: I wouldn't believe myself either in his position.

Thursday 14th of April 823 A.S.

I can't believe he actually contacted me about our brief talk yesterday. Knowing that my stuff was probably under surveillance by Leere, I told him about it as well, saying that I'd not appreciate any interference from his part; it didn't work out last time in Major, so why would it now? Bloody idiot came anyways! Consider this my last favour, Noah, and be glad I left before he found me and thereby you.

Wednesday 20th of April 823 A.S.

I pushed open the doors to leave the small, dreary restaurant/bar thingie I’d subjected myself to. I’d not thought that Gauls were that xenophobic, but man, that was just ridiculous. I’d arrived in Gallia today, as I’ve told Leere I would. I’d come alone, just as I said I’d be. It didn’t serve any graspable purpose besides me getting my head cleared of all the unwelcome thoughts that had crept up over the course of the last days.

I shook my head, zipping up my jacket and put up the hood whose brim was decorated with animal fur. I just hoped Aurora wouldn’t find me with this, lest she break my kneecaps with a blunt object. Crazy treehuggers. She was nice, certainly. Kind of a nutjob, though.

Starting to walk absentmindedly, my mind at work going over what we’d spoken about, it was easy to dismiss the disdainful glances that I received from the locals. Was it that obvious that I was a foreigner? I mean, I could understand that I may have exasperated the guy who was supposed to bring me something to eat, but goddamnit, is it so hard to learn English?

I must have run around like this for quite some time, because only as the light became a bit dimmer did I notice that I’d probably gotten lost here. Great. My years long experience with table top RPGs that I’d picked up while slacking at work kicked in and I remembered that it was always a bad idea to take the obvious path first, because there was bound to be something valuable along the sidepaths.

Taking an alleyway to the side, only roughly in the direction I’d come from, I reached some sort of courtyard. A single tree, dismal and bleak stood there. At its roots, a fire burned with a figure wrapped in some sort of blanket sitting in a box staring into it, idly playing with something that resembled a Drehleier in her hands. Urgh, what was that in English? A hurdy-gurdy?

My step must’ve alerted her — a girl, as I could now see — and she dropped what she was holding and ran into another alleyway and disappeared.
“Wait! You lost something!” I called out after her, but to no avail.

Overcome by curiosity, I approached the camp. It really was a camp. Come to think of it, this entire part here looked seedy enough for me to be spitting bits of it out. Had I been that lost in thought that I hadn’t noticed I’d left the shadows of the opulent and imperial mansions that had framed the well-paved streets only an hour or so ago?

I picked up the Drehleier that the girl had dropped and turned it in my hands. It looked battered and beaten, yet as I cranked the lever, it played its scratchy, almost haunting notes as it was supposed to. It must’ve sounded terrible, but I did not care. The simple activity of playing this device besides a fire in an ice cold evening filled me with a feeling I could not describe.

As I played/failed thereat, I saw — though in the corner of my eyes — the girl poking out her head from the alleyway she’d disappeared into before she slowly shambled her way back to the fire. I smiled as best as I could, taking a step back to let her resume her place in the box.

“You suck at this,” she spoke quietly, her heavy Gaelic accent making the words sound eldritch, unnatural.

I stopped what I was doing. “And you live in a box. I think we’re even.” I offered her the device back.

“I didn’t- I—” She unpacked the blanket a little bit and I saw that she’d actually been holding an even smaller child, maybe two years old, to her chest, keeping it warm.

“I don’t think she’s going to make it…” she mumbled, putting a hand on the child’s forehead as if feeling the temperature. Noticing that I was trying to give her back her instrument, she shook her head. “Keep it. I found it in the trash and dug it up because it sounded funny.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t play it yet you know enough to say I suck at it?” I asked wryly.

“Oui.” She rubbed the child’s cheeks, perhaps in an effort to warm them. From where I stood, I could hear a weak, dismal cough. “Life isn’t fair, is it?”

“Why do you ask?”

She looked up to me; her eyes were blue as the ocean deep. “You look like you’ve had a rather nice life. I’m wondering if I’m alone saying this.”

I sat down beside her, not caring if the ground was dirty, frowning. “What are you doing out here?” I put the Drehleier between us, a bit more towards the fire.

“Where else should I be? Momma has died and dad is out there fighting for the Roi,” she answered.

“Aren’t there orphanages?”

She hardly acknowledged my words and instead kept staring into the flames. “There are none. At least not here. There once was one, but they were mean to me there. I didn’t like it.”

I didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry,” I finally uttered — a set phrase devoid of meaning. For a while, we just sat there, with only the sound of the fire consuming whatever she’d put in there whispering. “What’s your name?” I finally asked.

“Sans Valeur has no name,” she answered, still staring into the fire, occasionally shifting the child she held in her hands.

I cocked my head. “Then, what is Sans Valeur?” I asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar sounds of the language I didn’t understand.

Sans Valeur turned her head to me, looking me in the eyes, uttering the next words with an expression as if she’d repeated them many times, each time consuming a bit more of her soul. “It means worthless.”

We didn’t speak more after that. There was a lump in my throat that prevented me from speaking. A shiver had run over me that I was sure had not been caused by the icy wind that had kicked in.

To occupy myself, I gathered up stray twigs from the tree, junk, scrap, anything that would burn and tossed it into the fire. I yapped as I cut my hand on a particularly gnarly piece of wood, yet I refused to react to it in any way beyond that.

After having resumed my position, the light of day now being completely gone, Sans Valeur pointed at the Drehleier I’d put on the ground. “Why’d you enjoy playing with that piece of junk?”

“It… reminded me of a tale I’d once been told, about a man, a poet wandering the cold plains of ancient earth after his love left him for another.”

I picked up the Drehleier, turning it in hand. “He comes across a village and behind it, alone and near frozen, is an old man playing a Drehleier.” I held up the instrument to signify to her what I meant with the unfamiliar word. “The man is old, wretched and barefoot on the ice. Everyone hates him. He begs, yet nobody will show generosity and even the dogs bark at him. He is totally alone, yet he keeps playing, forlorn and haunting.”

I put down the instrument and leaned back so I could look at Sans Valeur properly. “So the poet decides to stay with the man, so that, at the very least, they can die in friendship together.”

“That’s… sad,” she replied tonelessly.

I smirked. “Rheinland's prose kind of has that at its core. We feel like we are obliged to shoulder the weight of the world, yes, maybe that it’s even our duty — a task no one’s asked us to undertake.” I said, looking at the cut in my hand. “Yet in the end it’s a task so pointless and full of self-absorbed patriotic egotism. In a way, we all know it will destroy us.”

Sans Valeur blinked, probably not fully comprehending what I’d said due to complex words. After a while, she asked: “Can you… keep playing?” She pointed at the Drehleier. “I liked hearing it even if you’re not good and it’s sad and stuff.”

I grasped for the thing. “For you? I can do that, even if I’m not good.”

The girl hummed along with me, catching onto my simple melody in a way that I couldn’t help but smile at. I wondered how I’d gotten into this situation. The MND, Leere, Noah... everything that I’d learned, all the vileness I’d seen and the comfort of knowing that the Spirits will deliver us of our own evil. The Drehleier played its last notes and I released the handle, a feeling of despair sinking into my gut. It was us. It was all us. Every bit of suffering in the colonies — caused by us.

“You know, if you hate it so much, why don’t you just stop?”

“Pardon?” I asked, my eyes burning.

“Your people, I mean,” she explained, cradling the sleeping child in her arms. “If it is so hard, why do you keep doing it if it’ll destroy you?”

My mouth was dry. My gut felt…wrong. Something I couldn’t name or even place, just something in general. Yet, trying to pinpoint its moment of origin was like trying to identify the exact moment you started to feel ill from a cold.

“It’s—“ I started, yet stopped as I saw the Sans Valeur’s young eyes, too young to comprehend. “— complicated for my people. I’m Maren, though, my own person.” I got up on my feet. “Thank you for showing me that.”

“Err, you’re welcome?”

I turned around. “I have to go. Thank you for this, Sans Valeur.” I set down the instrument with her and turned to go.

“Wait!”

I stopped.

“Before you go, could you… can I have something?”

I hesitated, then said: “Anything.”

“Can I have a hug?”

A chill ran down my spine. The weather, albeit harsh, was not its cause. I turned my head. “I- of course.”

I sat down again next to her box home and hugged her. She immediately grabbed my jacket and nuzzled into my bosom, the ice cold bundle she’s held the whole time between us.

After a time, I poked her, though I noticed she’d fallen asleep clinging to me. I managed to wring her off me, though not without taking off the jacket. I laid her down, my jacket as a blanket. The air was chilly but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.

The problem now, though, was that I couldn’t just let her steal my jacket. Plus this part of town seemed really seedy. I was sure I’d seen shadows hush around the corners from time to time… and what was that? An animal? It had seemed big enough to eat her…

So I just sat there, staring at the fire burning down before me, my mind turning with the implications of what I’d just learned today, of memories of Luane, Leere, Noah, Inge, Rheinland, the Spirits…

And it went on.

And on.

On.

…

Wednesday 3rd of May 823 A.S. — postscript

The wake of the Delta Disaster left the entire region somewhat on its toes. It's times like these where I'm really glad that I'm not that often on Freeport 11 anymore. Bloody fights must've left something quite explosive floating around in space and I, given that I'm just that lucky, of course flew into it.

My Sweetheart was nearby, probably avoiding the entire commotion in Delta altogether. Who can really blame him? I mean, people are quite wary of Makos since they bombed the Freeport. Getting my ship to Omicron Lost kind of felt like being in a desert with the feet chopped off crawling towards the only glass of water in said desert and the only thing that could make the day worse would be accidently spilling said water.

Chivalrous as he is, he let me dock and his henchmen went and fixed whatever was broken. Whatever I'd been expecting when I entered the Apahanta, what I got wasn't exactly that, though not unwelcome either, not at all. He's quite the lovable character.

I hope I can keep him.

Recording: Omicron Lost

Monday 9th of May 823 A.S.

In a surprising move, Leere contacted me. To be honest, I hadn't expected this at all. We met in Lost and-

[Corrupted Data]

Thursday 12th of May 823 A.S.

Harsh wind swept over me, dishevelling my hair and causing me to raise a hand to keep it in place. I was on Nurmberg, that much was certain. The wide, arid savannah and the giant, industrial city looming in the background was evidence enough of this. Narrowing my eyes, I tried discerning which one it was, yet the harder I tried, the more difficult it became to make out any features and my eyes began to burn.

“Quite quaint.” I heard a voice accompanied by the rustle of grass being stepped on. Looking to the side, I saw Sans Valeur wearing the same ragged clothes as the last time, though not carrying the bundle anymore.

“You again?” I asked, blinking in disbelief. “But I thought that—“

“That was Agent Leere, the last time,” she interrupted me. “His vicinity is not needed anymore for us, though.”

Making a disbelieving face, I stuttered: "But I- I thought... It was so real. How could I not have noticed that it was false?"

She wagged a finger at me as if scolding me. What did the little brat think she was? My mother? "To be fair, the girl was actually there. It just never came back after it ran away."

Nodding, I spoke, deliberately: “Then you are…” I trailed off.

“Oui.”

I groaned. “Can you please not show up if you’re bringing me back to this place? It ruins the immersion.” I started off in no particular direction, Nuremberg’s sun bearing down on me with all its ultraviolet might, though I didn’t care.

“I am trying to understand you, Maren,” the little brat continued. “I haven’t brought you here. You just never left.”

We passed some sort of tree, leafless and dying under the sun’s unrelenting rays and probably due to some excessive industrial pollution as well, to be honest. Even the grass here was yellow and dry. “What’re you trying to insinuate? That I’ve never grown up?” I shook my head. “I can assure you that I am quite over this place.”

“Then why are we here?” Sans Valeur asked in that childish voice that I started to violently dislike the more she spoke.

“You’re the one weaving these illusions. It is probably a safe bet that you’re trying to distract me while you’re doing something with my body.” I hopped over a crevice in the ground that looked like it had come from some sort of agricultural vehicle quite a while ago, keeping my eyes looking forward, unwilling to look at Sans Valeur.

I heard her hop over the crevice as well. “Hmm, not quite. We haven’t reached that part of your body yet that I’d need. Try again.” I reached a beaten path and started following that, unwilling to sully my unreal shoes with dirt anymore.

“I- You-“ I stuttered, not knowing how to respond to this. I mean, how would one react to being told… that in such a matter-of-fact way? Sighing, I turned to face her. “You said you wanted to understand me. Why?”

“Because I’m a part of you.” She gave me a pitying look. “As is this place. Speaking of which, I think there’s someone coming.” She nods in the direction we’d come from, where two figures were walking along the beaten path, one small, one not so much. They were evidently father and daughter, the father loaded with wooden parts and other stuff. My gaze fell on the girl.

“I know this day,” I whispered. “My father took me out into the wilderness as he’d called it to excite me. We gathered wood to build a kite.”

We stepped out the way as the two figures passed us by, Mini-Maren sometimes chucking some more twigs that were lying around to the older person to carry. She said something, but whatever it was, I couldn’t remember it anymore.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Sans Valeur from beside me, also looking after Mini-Maren and her father. “This must be important to you. Why is that?” she asked and I noticed that she was using the present tense rather than the past tense.

“It was important to me because he’d always been rather busy and it was therefore quite a treat when he had time for me alone,” I replied, starting after myself. I couldn’t believe that I’d actually been this ugly at that age. Oh my god, why was I wearing that garish dress!

Sans Valeur materialized suddenly in front of me, snapping her fingers once, and the entire scene froze. “If it was important to you, it could be any other instance where he’s spent time with you, so why this one in particular?” She leaned forward as she spoke, examining Mini-Maren’s frozen expression of mirth with her unreadable blue eyes.

I shifted uncomfortably, the dry earth crunching under my feet as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “It was the last time he did so. I never really understood why, but he started working really long hours a few weeks later.”

She gave me a short, incredulous look before trotting over to my father to inspect him. “Hmm, you’re uncomfortable talking about this. Alright, I have no need to bring you in a situation like this.” Fiddling around with his jacket, she continued: “You’re confused, I know. Leere certainly hasn’t helped a lot, which is why I’m here talking to you now. We don’t have to be enemies.”

She walked out of the way, snapped her fingers and the scene continued like there hadn’t been any interruption; Mini-Maren tripped over her feet, falling down. “Yet, if you’re unwilling to work with me, I won’t begrudge you, no.” Sans Valeur nodded over to where my father was now kneeling besides my younger self, inspecting the small scratch on her… my knee. Curiously enough I hadn’t cried.

“Yet you will puppeteer me.”

“Ja, but it would be quite comforting for you, I guarantee it.” She began taking steps away from the two and me. “I could lock you here. You’d assume the little one’s position and live your life. It’s the least I could do for borrowing your shell.”

She really had a knack for hyperbole. Borrowing would not really be the first word that’d come to my mind. “Why would I work with you? I know I’ve done it already, but that was out of my own volition.”

While we walked, I noticed the same tree we’d passed already, though before I could ask what this was all about, my companion skipped over to it and sat down at its roots. “Who says that it won’t continue to be your volition?” She folded her hands in her lap. “You’re way more valuable if you can continue on with the life you have. Our emotional nature makes it difficult for us to hide among humans at times. A certain degree of cooperation is required. We’d prefer to get your person, not just your shell.”

“What is the difference, though,” I began slowly, taking a few steps towards Sans Valeur, though not sitting down next to her, “between being controlled and being willingly subservient?”

Staring up at me, she smiled innocuously. “If you’re interested in the wellbeing of those close to you, you’ll believe me if I say that it’ll ensure everyone’s safety.” I followed her gaze to find the apparitions taking their leave, the smaller one visibly with no care in the world.

“You’re threatening me!” I hissed crossly.

She blinked. “Threatening you?” Raising her hands in a gesture akin to someone showing that they bear no weapon, she asked: “Am I really the threat here? We’ve never hurt you, yet you know that you’d be hurt if people knew about me. Pray tell: What would the Order do if they knew you’d been on Captain Handsome’s ship? You know their modus operandi.”

I bit my lip. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, really.”

She shrugged. “There’s always a choice. Some choices just lead away from the light. You’ll understand in time, and maybe we’ll show others as well. After all, you were once quite eager; I wonder what happened with that.” Clapping her hands, she sighed contently. “Speaking of Captain Handsome…” she trailed off. I blinked and I was back in the pilot seat of my Switchblade. The blinking light on the console in front of me indicated that the cloaking device was engaged. Ahead, I could make out the Apahanta and another, smaller ship. My eyebrows decided that it was probably a good idea to take a trip to the back of my head as I saw that the smaller ship was Gaelic.

“Go ahead and greet him. See it as a trial to test how well you’ve internalized what I said.”

Saturday 14th of May 823 A.S. — postscript

The meeting with the Lane Hacker that Vertiga and I had contacted was... unsettling to say the least. He didn't want us to use any names for the sake of security, though both Vertiga and I knew that this Hacker was very much aware of who we were. The fact that he showed us several critical flaws in how Vertiga had been doing things really didn't help either. Thinking back, Vertiga really is somewhat blue-eyed when it comes to telling people sensible information. One more reason he may not know about It...

Damn, at least we got what we came for. The encryption software, or so Vertiga told me, would work as intended but we were required to pay a price: Destroy a VWA agent, deliber the message 'The Lane Hacker send their regards' and leave the pilot to drift in space. Easy enough, I'd say. These bloody varmin are nothing more but bushwhackers who don't know their place anyways! Who'd even notice if one or two were to disappear?

And if that wasn't enough, the bloody Gallics invaded California. If we had dallied even an hour, we would've gotten caught in this mess. I heard the Royal Navy has more vessels than all house millitaries combined. If that is true, I really don't see how California will hold its ground unless they destroy the Jump Gate to Magellan, which, to be fair, is what I would do.

I really should stop thinking too much about this. I still haven't quite recovered from this cold and my head still keeps aching at times; it's especially bad at night. Leere wasn't helpful either in that regard. "Your body just doesn't know what is good for it." Yeah, when was he ever really useful? At least he gave me what I wanted. It is better than eventually overdosing on Cardamine, and I would very much enjoy staying around a bit longer.

Tuesday 17th of May 823 A.S.

This girl I'd seen snoop around the Apahanta, this Nancy Sweetwater... Weird girl. I found her talking to Vertiga on the Apahanta; apparently, she had been assailed by an Order agent only minutes prior to my arrival. She seemed off, in a way. Said that she doesn't remember much, which sort of made her a very lame person to talk to, to be honest. I didn't believe her at first, though that changed during the course of the next hours. And what a set of hours they were.

Someone brought up the idea of inviting her for dinner; I can't quite remember who it was, he or I. The entire thing was abysmal. This girl had some serious problems even talking to us. I was pretty sure that this wasn't even our fault. She just seemed sad for no apparent reason and we therefore called it quits before the entire thing could get any more awkward. Offered her a place to stay on the Corvo, the CV-Hoffnungsschimmer (DE: glimmer of hope), which she accepted. Why though? If you didn't want people around, one would assume you would try to get away from them.

She was still asleep in the morning, or so we thought. I mean, given how she'd conducted herself the day prior, it was no wonder that she might desire some privacy. We didn't think anything about it and left to look for a new ship for me. My Switchblade was literally falling apart at this point and I may or may not have been too lazy to dust off the interior from time to time. Got a nice new Sabre. Since my sugar daddy paid for it, he got the honor of setting the callsign, and, of course, he called it Sweetheart. While I did appreciate the sentiment, it really would be weird if people hollered: "Stop right there, Sweetheart! You're under arrest!" or some variation thereof.

Upon returning, and still not seeing anything Nancy-shaped run around the ship, that was the point where we figured that something might have been wrong. After all, it had been around fifteen hours. Of course, being the woman, I was entreated to mosey into her room and check if everything was alright. She didn't answer me hollering at her through the door, thus I invited myself in. Well, nothing really glorious. She was still asleep, though I kind of worried that her circulatory system might collapse due to her not having eaten or drunk much yesterday, thus I woke her. It was then that we learnt about her proper, how she woke up, years of her former live lost, that mysterious note, her bar code scanner, et cetera. I tried to be as good a listener as possible, though I must admit that I am terrible with people.

Once we'd stopped being sappy, it was night (or the space equivalent thereof) again, thus we called it quits. That was, until one of those bloody service robots dragged me out of bed because Nancy had apparently sleepwalked and tried to get in Vertiga's pants. The skank! I was this close to gouging her eyes out, but I reminded myself that she was ill. Also, she had apparently had another memory lapse, thus she didn't remember us anymore. Great. We told her some story about having picked her up in a bar on Leeds, but she didn't really buy it, and wanted to leave, which we kind of couldn't prevent her from doing. Of course, being the lucky people we were, she collapsed. Wonderful.

Long story short: Since she'd not really able to leave on her own, we semi-promised to look out for her. She now has free access to the Hoffnungsschimmer if she so desires. Welcome Nancy, I guess. It would've been easier if you had just asked to begin with.

Sunday 29th of May 823 A.S.

It is done. The entire business with the Core and probably dying miserably during the course of breaking his chains — done. Vertiga had left two days ago, before I even woke up, and all I found was a bloody post-it note saying that he was going to do it today. To say I was livid was an understatement; we'd been on Curacao only one day prior and I'd heard the three magical words. Ugh, such a knobhead! It is times like these where I really hated not being able to influence things the way I want them to go. Not yet, no. Not yet.

Watched mostly TV because, well, what else was there to do except wait. Went out a bit and met Noah in his weirdly named transport and started chit-chatting with him. He seemed a lot less emotional than he was when last we met, or any one time we had met prior to that for that matter. It almost seemed like he was about to do something stupid. In a way, it had felt as if our roles had been reversed and it was now I who told him he was being unnecessarily stubborn. If people could just articulate what is bothering them. That would be great. Ended up inviting him to dinner, though. After all, I'm not one to hold grudges. Vertiga seemed rather hesitant about that, but I think he would probably not punch his nose if I ask nicely.

At least I think so.

The next day I got the comm that everything went as it should've and that he was now awaiting clearance to dock and repair the Apahanta at Lividia. At least that brought some sort of elation with it. I'd felt weird the entire day, as if something was watching me besides It. Oh well. Since Nancy had told me where she stayed, I moseyed on over to her and we ended up talking seductive lingerie before the entire thing escalated and the topic shifted to that of Cardamine. I could really slap myself for letting it go as far as it did. Shouldn't have made her curious about it — such a gentle soul, she. Being a good friend, though, I tried to satisfy her curiosity in a way that was safer than risking her running around looking for shady people to sell her Cardamine. Instead of deterring her, I think it had the opposite effect. Damnit! Why can't things just go the way I want them to!

I should visit her soon. Tomorrow, hopefully. I need to talk to her about this, but in the end, I don't want to force her to do anything. There's something else that needs doing today, though. After that, everything should be set.

Monday 13th of June 823 A.S.

I really should do these on a more regular basis, I feel like. It is just somewhat difficult to get enough time for myself to articulate all of this without either Nancy or Vertiga moseying into the room. Since we've arrived in Omega-49, this sort of thing has become quite annoying at times. I don't even know how long we will stay there and nobody else seems to know either. I remember distinctly that there has been a plan to move the Apahanta to Puerto Rico — apparently not? Vertiga seems to trust this Junker of his, Bill or whatever, but I'm not too sure about that. Call me a pessimist, but stereotypes about certain groups of people do have a root in some sort of truth.

Then again, I wouldn't mind if they disassembled the Apahanta instead of repaired it. I told Vertiga that I don't believe that he will be able to keep out of fights with it. It is a battleship, a machine made to wage war, to kill, main et cetera. He seems just so reluctant to acknowledge this simple fact and it's driving me insane. He could just sell it, settle down somewhere and be happy with me, but no. Some weird sense of chivalry seems to make him believe that he is responsible for the entirety of the Edge Worlds' population! Am I the only one who is somewhat down to earth here?

It's just the way he is, I guess. He's not the most intelligent man one could envision and certainly one who has a tendency to see certain things in a binary manner, but I can't keep being mad for long. He has a certain affinity for making me smile when I need it and I love him for these reasons. Ugh, for all my verbosity, saying something like this always seems woefully superficial to me. I'm not good at expressing how I feel subjectively about things.

Oh, yeah, Nancy finally reached out to the IRG to get help regarding her head. Almost burst out laughing when I was told it'd be Thallia Thorn who'd be the one looking into Nancy's noggin. I actually met Thallia in Minor five days ago. Quite the comedic situation it was. Being the reasonable person that I am, I offered the Core puppet to leave the system — all the while acting like Thallia didn't know me and didn't want this outcome over private channels — because I know how bloody excruciating it is to perform combat maneuvers, but of course, the guy didn't listen. Off he went, I guess. I really can't be blamed for this outcome, though.

Thinking about it again, it was sort of ironic that he chose to end in such a way after having spoken to a certain Jack on the Sirens Bell about the Delta Crisis and non-violence. Some people just can't be redeemed, I feel. Thallia, though... she was different. To deceive the Sirens Bell in case it was still nearby cloaked, we put on a show in which I cajoled Thallia to leave Omicron Minor. In actuality, we had agreed to meet again later at a certain set of coordinates to speak a bit more. I hadn't expected her to be so amicable, to be perfectly honest. She has a way of making people do things and in my case, I revealed myself, knowing I could trust her. Then again, It made sure she wouldn't pull something dumb.

In the end, I offered her to stay with us on the Hoffnungsschimmer, to which she agreed, although it would only be a temporary arrangement. Well, one needs to chase other forsts to explore, I assume. She has the same problem as Vertiga — always on the run, never stopping, never sitting; I just hope it won't get her killed. Basically, this arrangement was quite convenient since, as I said already, Thorn would be looking into Nancy's head issues.

We picked her up four days ago. I know she also has some business with Vertiga, though I felt like it wasn't really my place to question what it is. Hmm, I probably could just ask Thallia herself. There is also the issue of her hands that I need to ponder a bit more. It certainly is interesting — I've never seen something like this and some clarification as to where this came from would be appreciated.

I wouldn't want Vertiga to see that. I am not quite sure myself what I'm dealing with and I fear that he might do something rash and uncalled for to Thallia. He is already suspicious of her. There must be some way she can gain his trust.

Honesty might be a good start, come to think of it. All in due time.

Tuesday 14th of June 823 A.S.

We got this new guy on the Hoffnungsschimmer, Leon Isley, and let me tell you: I've never met someone who could be as headache-inducing as this guy. Didn't really help that Ezrael and he seemed to have ingested copious amounts of alcohol to celebrate their reunion. Like, what the hell? I was minding my own business — which just so happened to not be in our room — and the next second I am being manhandled by that brutish thug. Ugh, I hope he can at least fix stuff that the robots are too dense for. That kind of reminds me: He can go screw off the cloaking device of my old Switchblade. I mean, people who act as if their balls are bigger than their heads should bloody well be able to work as hard as they act.

Left the ship shortly afterwards, since I was quite sure Leon would be quite capable of sobering up alone and Ezrael had taken to looking after him in the meantime. Dr. Thorn actually interdicted me on my way to my ship and asked whether we could talk in private. I quite like Thallia; I do think she'd make a better permanent addition to the Hoffnungsschimmer than Leon, but that's beside the point. We meandered around a bit, but Thallia seemed on edge the entire time. Seemed to me like she felt unsafe talking even though we were on private channels in Frankfurt. Took her to Munich. I mean, nobody really cares about that system anyways, so chances of encountering someone there were relatively slim.

Having expected that this would be about her hands, she evidently thought that I would be able to help her in that regard. Certainly, it was somewhat confusing at first, but I think I was able to put her mind at ease about this. After all, I am pretty sure that this is something she's wanted for quite some time. Poor girl. Thinking about this reminds me of what she said about her stuttering. I can't imagine how that must be like for a person, thus I promised to never tell a soul about this without her permission.

We returned to Omega-49 shortly afterwards and I could almost swear that we were friends.

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