Discovery Gaming Community

>> System status: ACTIVE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS DENIED

"Bah. As if such systems are worth anything when you have my kind of tools."

>> New device attached
>> Bus 009 Device 002: ID 0p89:64t5 Unknown
>> Autorun request received
>> Execute process hello_there ? y/n
>> y
>> Executing . . . .
>> WARNING: DANGEROUS OPERATION DETECTED
>> SECURITY OVERRIDE 0A INITIA
>> audit(1241693049.091:2): avc: denied { read } for pid=4332 comm="view" name="override_0a.sprc" dev=dm-0 ino=691391 scontext=root:system_r:lroot_sys_script_t tcontext=root:object_r:tmp_t tclass=unknown
>> audit(1241693049.102:3): avc: denied { ioctl } for pid=4332 comm="view" name="override_0b.sprc" dev=dm-0 ino=691391 scontext=root:system_r:lroot_sys_script_t Tcontext=root:object_r:tmp_t tclass=unknown
>>
>>
>> Working . . . . . .
>> Accessing neural net . . . . . ACCESS GRANTED

"I'm in! Now that that's done, time to reap the rewards. This Starflier should be a good start to those..."


>> System status: ONLINE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS GRANTED
>> Creating audio file log_entry1.trm . . . COMPLETE
>> Enabling recording . . .

Hello. My name is Matthew Jones, and I'm 17 years old. I've recently "borrowed" this ship from the landing pad on Manhattan. The security systems were a piece of cake to bypass, all it took was my handy keycard loaded with my signature software. Anyway, I've started this log to record my life from this point on, since I've decided to put my computer skills to work with a group that can really appreciate it: the Lane Hackers. It's a dangerous faction, so if I am in danger of death or capture by enemies, I'll eject these logs so that people can learn about me and my life.

I was born on Detroit Munitions, where my parents both worked as engineers in trade lane development (top secret stuff, obviously). From an early age, my curiosity kept prodding me toward the protected computer, where they did their work. At first, my attempts to unlock the computer and find out what secrets it so jealously protected were failures, but with time and persistence I managed to crack the code, as one might put it. Of course, I was too young to understand most of the information stored on the system, but the point is that I managed to break in. The feeling of triumph, the exhilaration, the adrenaline caused by the fear of getting caught... the swirl of emotions was like a drug for me. Soon I found myself using the computer I had just broken into to hack into more complex security systems and shutting these down: first small businesses, then bigger companies like DSE and Synth Foods, and bigger and bigger they came, until one day I hacked into the LPI database.

I never did anything more than shut down the security for these companies, but it remains illegal. After I broke into the LPI's criminal database, they finally found me out. Of course, I was still only a teenager, and who expects a kid to crack codes designed to stop adults with their whole life spent hacking into computers and neural net-related devices? So instead of dragging me off to court, they accused my father. After all, he was the one whose job was with computers and engineering, he was the one with a history of experience and knowledge in security systems (and consequently, how to bypass them). His punishment? He was sentenced to imprisonment for many years in a high-security prison, of which the name wasn't even disclosed to us. In other words, neither me nor my mother would see him again for a long while, if ever.

I felt guilty letting my father take the fall for me, of course. However, I wasn't planning on spending my life imprisoned with other felons who've committed crimes many times worse than I. No, I feel that I'm destined for greater things; and someone doesn't like it, then they're my enemy. I didn't forget about my father though: far from it. I decided that if and when I joined the Lane Hackers, I would seek out my father and free him from the fate chosen for him by the so-called "just" factions of Liberty. Until then, I'd keep my activities hidden from everyone. However, secrets have the unfortunate tendency to reveal themselves to those who look for them...

My mother was one of those people that were searching for hidden truths. She doubted that my father was innocent, and so she conducted a little research of her own... which lead her straight to me. Struck by the revelation of who I had been over the past few years, she decided to move to Manhattan, where I wouldn't be so near to the equipment at the source of all this. Our move was quick, and happened as soon as my mother found a new job. She vowed to never let me near something that would allow me to continue my work, but of course, I still managed to continue my hacking behind her back. I didn't have the same tools as on Detroit Munitions, but I would make do.

That leads up to today. Today was my opportunity to escape my ever more controlling mother, and my chance to eventually find my father. I was walking through the landing section for spacecraft, looking around, since ships were my second-favourite thing in Sirius back then. I had always been hanging around the space vessels, and once or twice the pilots of some ships took the time to explain how it all worked after seeing my obvious interest. Today, a novice pilot wasn't careful enough, and left his ship unlocked.

I saw my chance, and seized the moment. I slipped onto the ship; and that's how I've reached this point. I'm launching to space now, before the forgetful pilot returns and finds me here. From now on, my public identity will be Overload, for my rather innate ability to overload computerized systems and their often measly security measures. I will continue this log as I get closer and closer to my goal, that of joining the ranks of the Lane Hackers, and freeing my father. First things first though, I'm going to Rochester, a Junker base I've often heard of from the pilots on Manhattan, to see if I can find any more information about the Hackers. This is Overload, signing out.

>> Terminating recording . . . COMPLETE
>> Saving audio file . . . COMPLETE
>> System status: OFFLINE

>> System status: ONLINE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS GRANTED
>> Creating audio file log_entry2.trm . . . COMPLETE
>> Enabling recording . . .

Hello again. This is Matthew Jones (rather obvious, really, seeing as this system is strongly encrypted). After exiting Manhattan's atmosphere, I flew to Newark Station, hoping to get some information on the Lane Hackers. Nothing eventful happened in the short route from the planet to the station, but inside I found a listening ear for my request. Here's what the security cameras on the station caught, which I've transferred from the station's database to my ship. I don't want people to know about me... yet.

Quote:After landing on the station, Matthew Jones walked around aimlessly for a bit. After a few dozen minutes, he stumbled on the station's bar. It was renowned as a stop for people of all races and beliefs, and Matthew was silently kicking himself for not thinking of going there to start.

As he walked into the bar, he didn't exactly know where to start, so he walked towards the bartender. "Hey, I'm looking for a 'friend'. I don't know if you know him, but he's pretty smart, and is a good source of information. See anyone around here like that?", asked Matthew. The bartender caught his drift, and responded in a slow and ponderous voice, "Hm... I don't know about 'smart', but people go to Jason over there when they need to know something," pointing at a table in the corner of the room.

Not bothering to thank the bartender, Matthew walked to the table he had indicated. He stood there for a moment, waiting for the man sitting there to take his eyes off the electronic device he was fiddling with. When he saw that this wasn't likely, he coughed loudly enough to attract his attention. The man whom the bartender had called Jason looked up, obviously irritated by the disturbance.

"Whatcha want, kid?", he asked gruffly. "I have some questions I need answers to. Apparently, you're the guy I need to ask," responded Matthew. Jason sighed, and put down the device he had been fine-tuning. "Don'tcha have something better to do than bother me? Shouldn'tcha be in school or somthin'?"

Now it was Matthew's turn to sigh."None of your business. All that matters is that I'm looking for a certain group of people, called the Lane Hackers. Ever heard of 'em?", he asked. "I thought so," he added as he saw a look in the man's face that suggested "Duh, who hasn't?" The man laughed. "Well now, isn't that interestin'? A young boy, looking for the Hackers!", he said, cackling at the prospect. Suddenly his face became serious again. "And just what would a kid such as yourself be doin' lookin' for the Hackers?"

Matthew was starting to get annoyed. All he wanted was information, and this man seemed to find pleasure in drawing it out. "I'll repeat myself: none of your business. All I want to know is where I can find them," he said. The man took a moment to think about it. He looked as if he were going to charge him for the answer, but abruptly his facial expression changed to a softer one as he answered. "I'm afraid there's not much I know about 'em, lad. However, I do know some people that just might, on a certain base called Rochester," was his answer, the last part of what he has said eliciting a look of surprise from Matthew.

Of course he had heard of Rochester: it was rumoured on Manhattan that there was a hidden base somewhere in the Jersey Debris Field by that name, on which were sold illegal items such as Cardamine and Artifacts, and that it was a hiding place for numerous criminals. Still, if he was to join the Lane Hackers, he'd have to mingle with criminals, and become one himself, so now was as good a time as any.

"Yeah... I've heard about it, but I don't have any idea where to find it, except what I've heard from rumours." Jason took a moment to respond, though he seemed more concentrated when he did from his better vocabulary: "Very well, lad. I'll tell you where to find it... but I strongly suggest you don't go through with this. Think about it: if you join a criminal group, you're a felon yourself. You won't be able to see the people you care about any more without risking getting yourself, and them, hauled off to jail. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Matthew barely gave it a thought. "Yes, I'm sure. Now, could you please tell me where to find Rochester? I'm afraid I don't have much time," he said, afraid the pilot of the Starflier he had stolen would find out soon and call the cops. "Fine, it's your problem anyway. You can find Rochester in Sector 3D, in the Jersey Debris Field. And... take care of yourself out there," he answered gruffly. "Thanks a lot!", exclaimed Matthew in joy. He shot out of the doorway and back towards the docking section, where his ship awaited him.

I'll be launching back into space shortly. I don't usually feel much emotion, but this venture fills me with excitement. I'll continue this log on Rochester. Overload out.

>> Terminating recording . . . COMPLETE
>> Saving audio file . . . COMPLETE
>> System status: OFFLINE

>> System status: ONLINE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS GRANTED
>> Creating audio file log_entry3.trm . . . COMPLETE
>> Enabling recording . . .

I'm one step closer to my goal, thanks to the information I picked up on Newark Station. After leaving Newark, I "met" a Xeno terrorist. By "met", I mean of course that I saw him destroying all ships in sight near Manhattan. He was obviously a more experienced pilot than I, and had better equipment, so I sneaked around him as best I could, hoping he wouldn't notice me. He didn't, so I quickly flew into the Jersey Debris Field, and found Rochester around the coordinates the man at the bar had given me.

Once I docked on the base, I went straight to the bar instead of wandering around on the base, something I learned on Newark. Upon entering the place, I was assaulted by the pungent smell of Cardamine, cigarettes and alcohol. I took a moment to get used to the scent, then walked over to the bar. No need for subtlety now; he's probably used to all types of clients around here, I thought. "Hey, barkeep!", I called out. "I'm looking for someone that knows about the Lane Hackers. Care to help me out?"

The man didn't seem surprised in the least by my question, and silently pointed out a man sitting at a table (looks like that's the norm for informers). I went over and instead of waiting for him to notice me, like I had at the station, I simply blurted out what I wanted. "Hey sir, I need to know where I can find the Lane Hackers," I said matter-of-factly. He looked up, and then back down to his whiskey. "Sorry kid, can't help ya, unless your wallet's feelin' a bit full today...", was his immediate answer. I didn't have any credits, so I couldn't pay him for it... Still, I wasn't going to let it drop. "I doubt I have enough credits to pay you for such information, but perhaps I can do a job as a trade," I suggested. "My ship isn't equipped with guns yet, and I have little piloting experience, but... I'm willing to learn."

The man chuckled. "Well, it looks like you're determined about this, huh? Well, I can't say I trust ya, but I'll have someone set up your ship for something I have in mind... that is, if you're interested." Of course I was interested, but I wasn't going to let it show. It would just be something he could use against me. "Hm... and what would this job entail?", I asked innocently. His face turned serious. "I need someone to "take care of" a certain Bounty Hunter, and to bring his escape pod back here. If you accept, I can have your ship outfitted and ready to fight by tomorrow," he explained. "Tomorrow it is, then. I guess I'd better find a place to stay the night around here," I answered, staying calm despite the fact that this was my first mission.

"I'd need someone to help me out though, since I don't really have much experience flying," I added. "Don't worry about the details; it'll be taken care of. Meet me tomorrow at the same time here, and I'll explain it all in detail tomorrow," he said. That took care of that, so after saying a hurried "thank you", I walked out of the bar and came back here to my ship, to record what happened today. Now I need to find somewhere to sleep for the night; luckily I have a few hundred credits from the last owner of this ship. Overload out.

>> Terminating recording . . . COMPLETE
>> Saving audio file . . . COMPLETE
>> System status: OFFLINE

>> System status: ONLINE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS GRANTED
>> Creating audio file log_entry4.trm . . . COMPLETE
>> Enabling recording . . .

No need to introduce myself again, here's a resume of what happened today. After I woke up, it was already past noon. I was much too used to waking up to the sound of an alarm clock, and so I slept in much longer than I would have liked. I won't bother explaining the trivial matters that happened between the time at which I awoke and the time that I left to go meet my employer for the day. Suffice to say that when the computer of the station decided that it was night and diminished the artificial lighting, I returned to the bar to learn what my mission was.

As I walked into the room, I rapidly spotted the man whose name I realized I didn't know. I made myself a mental note to ask him later, and with that in mind I walked over to the table where he and a young woman sat. "What's your name?", I blurted out absentmindedly. "Erm... forget that, what do you need me to do?" He looked at me strangely for a moment, then answered. "Well, since you've asked so eloquently, my name is Lee. No need for last names, people tend to keep that to themselves around here. And what would yours be, if we're to call each other by name?" He obviously wasn't drunk like he was the day before. "Matthew. You haven't answered my question, though. What's the job you need done?"

Lee chuckled. "Rather straight-to-the-point, eh? Fine then. Like I said yesterday, I need you to capture a certain Bounty Hunter and bring his escape pod back here, where some of my men will take care of him - or some of my women," he said, glancing at the woman next to him. "By the way, this is Sarah. She'll be your partner in this venture." At this, the woman grunted in approval.

Now that my attention was drawn to her, I noticed that she dressed very much like a man. She wore her hair cropped short, some faded jeans, and a tattered work coat. "What are you lookin' at?", she asked in a disgruntled tone. "Don't mind her, she's in a bit of a bad mood. 'Doesn't like to be bothered, really," Lee explained. I nodded and turned back towards him.

"Back on the subject... Will this Bounty Hunter have protection?", I asked him. "If my intelligence is correct, which it usually is, then you should expect him to have an escort with him. Nothing big though; he doesn't want to draw attention to himself. According to the information we've gathered, he should be meeting someone not far from here in the debris field. This is our chance to capture him without the lawfuls going berserk," was his answer.

I thought about it, and then remembered something. "I don't know how to pilot a ship in combat. How am I supposed to do this job well?" Lee chuckled. "That's what Sarah is here for, remember? She'll accompany you on your ship. She'll show you how to handle it. I have confidence in her abilities," he answered. "Wait, I gotta teach this kid how to fly? Geez, thanks so much for dumping this on me, Lee," said Sarah, the sarcasm in her voice quite apparent.

"Don't let me down here, Sarah. Remember what that Hunter stole from us? We need to capture him so that -" He stopped speaking, remembering that I was still there. He cleared his throat rather noisily. "Erm... Anyways, don't worry. You'll do fine out there, and when you get back, I'll tell you more about the Lane Hackers. Fair enough?", he continued.

"Yes, of course. When do we launch?", I answered. "Now. If we want to catch that Bounty Hunter, we'll need to get there before our opportunity slips away," he responded without hesitation. "Very well; I'll go drive my ship to the docking section," I said. "Will you meet me there, Sarah?" She simply nodded, and so I left the room to fetch my ship from the engineers that had mounted the weapons on it.

Nothing else eventful happened as I went to collect my ship, and at this moment I'm arriving in the docking bay of Rochester. I can see Sarah waiting on the side of the room; As I don't want other people to find out about this electronic journal until I have no more need for it, I will continue this log after the mission. Overload out.

>> Terminating recording . . . COMPLETE
>> Saving audio file . . . COMPLETE
>> System status: OFFLINE

>> System status: ONLINE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS GRANTED
>> Creating audio file log_entry5.trm . . . COMPLETE
>> Enabling recording . . .

I'm afraid this recording must be kept brief, seeing as Lee is supposed to arrive at any moment now. Unfortunate really, seeing as this is probably one of the more important entries in these logs. No matter: here's what happened.

After Sarah arrived on-board, we left. She doesn't seem like a very conversational person, and I did not feel like trying to talk to her anyway. The trip to the coordinates Lee had uploaded into my Nav Map was short and silent; to be honest, I like it better that way. As we approached the location signaled to us, Sarah spotted incoming hostiles on the scanners. She wasted no time bothering to explain how to handle the guns, and took the controls for the weaponry. "Just fly," she grunted.

I figured that flying the ship in a fight would be the same idea as avoiding debris in the Jersey field, and I thought I was doing pretty well, until Sarah started yelling at me that our ship's shields were down. It seemed I hadn't been paying attention, and one of the Hunter's escorts had released a missile onto my ship. I quickly released the energy of a few shield batteries to bring it back up: a breached hull was the last thing I wanted during the fight.

I found the controls for the ship's thrusters, and cruised around a few enemies, carefully avoiding any further shots. As I swerved by a severely damaged escort ship, Sarah fired a powerful shot through its shields and the hull, and reached one of the power generators on board. The vessel exploded in a flash of light and debris, the latter simply adding to the vast amounts of it already in the field. Taking heart from this small victory, I tried to go faster, all the while leaving ample time for Sarah to shoot down the enemy fighters.

I was getting tired of this: my hands bled from clenching the sharper controls too hard, and I was getting dizzy from all the spinning and zooming by. Suddenly I found myself in the gun seat, Sarah having taken over the controls. At first I was nervous to release too many shots, afraid I'd drain the ship's power, but as the fight continued my blasts became more and more energetic yet precise. Finally, I took out one of the hostiles' shields. Sarah pressed hard on the thrusters to zoom close for the final blow.

Time seemed to slow down. I had never even killed an animal before, let alone a human being. A feeling of weakness came over me: who was I to take that most precious of gifts? I tried to spot the pilot through the window, to see what the man whom I was about to kill looked like. I couldn't see anything through the smoke-clouded glass. My hands froze on the controls: I tried willing myself to press down on the trigger, to end the man's panicked attempts to save his ship and his life. I turned around and saw Sarah looking hard at me. After looking into her cold and steely eyes, I decided that I wasn't going to take the easy way out here and not shoot. I banished the feeling of weakness that had crept through me, and I held down the trigger.

The sound of the explosion will stay with me my whole life, the sight of the pilot's escape pod being incinerated in the blast as well. This was the first time I had killed another sentient being, and I felt something inside me change irrevocably. However, a sudden blast from our target jolted me back into reality; I couldn't fall apart now! With renewed vigor, I sent barrage after barrage of shots rippling into our main target's shields at first, then into his hull. I didn't stop even after his ship was destroyed; even after Sarah had tractored in his escape pod and pulled me away from the controls I struggled to let off my emotion in some form or another.

In her customary stony silence, she looked back at me with those icy grey eyes, and suddenly the exhaustion of the whole day caught up to me. I fell asleep, and stayed so the whole trip back to Rochester. The jolting around of the ship docking awoke me, and we now arrive to the present. Sarah left without a word, and came back half an hour later or so to say that Lee was coming to see me. I'm go--

Someone's coming. I can't have these logs found until I want them to be, so I'm signing until I next return to the safety present in solitude. Overload out.

>> Terminating recording . . . COMPLETE
>> Saving audio file . . . COMPLETE
>> System status: OFFLINE

>> System status: ONLINE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS GRANTED
>> Creating audio file log_entry6.trm . . . COMPLETE
>> Enabling recording . . .

This is Matthew Jones, shocking though that may be to any would-be listeners. I apologize to whoever may review these logs in the future, once I'm in a situation that makes it unnecessary to keep them for myself anymore, for the rather abrupt interruption of my last entry. However, it was necessary to keep their secret for as long as such is needed, and so I will continue from this point on. Here is a review of the events of these past few days.

After the mission of sorts I described in my last entry, I met up again with Lee on Rochester. He explained to me that although we had brought back the Hunter in one piece (albeit a bit shaken up), the item which he had apparently taken from Lee and Sarah had already been sold off to a buyer without a name. On that note, when I enquired about the nature of said item, he simply shrugged off the question and changed the subject. Although my interest certainly was piqued, I was hardly about to risk aggravating the man out of mere curiosity. I still needed something out of him after all.

At any rate, he seemed somewhat resigned to letting the object of his simply pass through his fingers, so I assume that it either mustn't have been quite as important as I originally believed or it was simply irretrievable at this point. The latter seemed more probable to me, and so I pushed the matter to the back of my mind. There was a more important matter at hand which I needed him to assist me with. Seeing as he didn't seem inclined to release the information he had promised to when we had struck our deal the other night, either out of unwillingness to do so or simply because the fact had slipped his mind, I took the bull by the horns and asked him about the Lane Hackers.

I won't record the information he gave me, seeing as these logs may just as easily be found by a lawful operative as a Lane Hacker once I've no need of them anymore. I'm not in the least inclined toward being the one to make such sensitive knowledge known as the location of a central Lane Hacker station. All that I will say is that the intel I required to pursue my goal was given to me in a more or less straightforward fashion, and it was without regrets that my role at Rochester was complete and that I was ready to head for my new destination: Leiden base, a relatively minor Lane Hacker outpost. I feel secure enough with its location being kept secret that I believe it is safe to state the name of the station, mostly for the convenience of any Lane Hackers in case such are the people to receive these records.

Once the maintenance on my ship is complete and that I've said farewell to the enigmatic pair of Junkers in whose presence I had been for a small amount of time yet who already represented a major shift in my life's direction, I'll leave Rochester and set route for Leiden base and new horizons for me. So far, it's been relatively easy, minus a few hitches. I cannot help but hope that my luck will not turn on me. Until the next time I find the circumstances opportune enough for a new recording, this is Overload signing off.

>> Terminating recording . . . COMPLETE
>> Saving audio file . . . COMPLETE
>> System status: OFFLINE

>> System status: ONLINE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS GRANTED
>> Creating audio file log_entry7.trm . . . COMPLETE
>> Enabling recording . . .

Hello once again. Recent events have compelled me to add another entry to these autobiographical logs. To put it simply, I am en route for the Lane Hacker base known as Leiden. There should be no further disturbances for this section of the voyage I am undertaking, or at least none which I may find myself unable to take care of, which is why I feel it is safe enough to commence the recording of a new log entry. I will attempt to keep things brief, as I will not be in flight much longer. Leiden, or at least the location given to me by Lee, should not be far now.

After leaving the relative security of Rochester, I took the Colorado jump hole to leave the system undetected as I had been instructed. It was my first time making use of a jump hole, and I must say that I found the lightning-fast trip through it mildly disappointing. There were no sights to see, simply the blue blur that seems to go hand in hand with hyperspace travels. At any rate, once I found myself inside the Colorado system, my ship's computers took a while to resume proper functionalism, possibly due to interference of some kind while passing through the jump hole's traced route.

Waiting for the ship's systems to clear, I examined the narrow view offered to me by the cockpit windows. It was my first time outside the New York system, but I felt nothing while looking through the pane. Some seem to find a type of romantic beauty to everything, but I must say that I could see nothing but the harsh beams of the system's ball of burning gas so commonly known as a star, as well as the dull sheen of a nearby field. Field through which my instructions were to fly, it would seem.

Quite unexpectedly, as my gaze returned to the plethora of control panels before me, I was caught at a surprise to see incoming targets on the now-active scanners. Glancing up through the window, I could see nothing, but only because the cloud before me obstructed my view to a point where it was difficult to make out anything except the now-dulled light of the solar formation of the system. Deciding it would be best to exit the field that blinded both me and now my ship's scanners, I attempted to activate my cruise engines. Unfortunately, I was hit by a number of cruise disruptors, and I was left to escape on thrusters alone, something which I soon recognized to be quite futile. I could now make out the vague shapes of three, perhaps four ships that appeared to be of civilian make. As they approached, they opened fire.

I do not delude myself into thinking for one minute that I may have escaped from that situation alive had I not had help. It was all I could do to divert all the ship's energy towards keeping the shields up, steadily exhausting the supply of shield batteries available. Indeed, I would have been very much reduced to oblivion were it not for some very unexpected assistance. As I exhaustingly searched for any method of escape from the murderous onslaught the unknown enemies' guns were spewing forth at me, my ship's scanners - functioning quite erratically, it would seem - detected new targets arriving at high speed. At first I thought them to be more hostiles coming in to finish the task begun by their friends, but I was mistaken, and I quickly noticed this as I saw their ships approach. They were of a make unknown to me, although they had the faint look of the border worlds series I had previously seen in the New York system. Without any wait or warning, they quickly took out those attempting to destroy my small craft.

Once they had accomplished that, I received a brief and brusque order to follow them. Deciding that it would be best to stay with those who had proven capable of dealing with those wishing to eliminate me for whatever reason, I did as ordered and entered formation with theirs. We left the cloud as swiftly as possible, passed rapidly around a battleship I assumed to be the Rio Grande, and entered another field only briefly to reach the jump hole I assumed was the one Lee had described to me as leading to the Galileo system, where Leiden was supposedly situated.

We passed through the jump hole, and another tunnel of blurry blue light accompanied us to the other side. My ship's computers were not affected this time - fortunate, really, as I suspected that my saviours were just as likely to leave me behind should I be too slow for them - and we were able to resume our flight path as soon as our formation exited the jump hole's range. That is where we are now. It would seem as if we have the coordinates for Leiden base as our destination, in which case those who had come to assist me may be none other than Lane Hackers themselves. We will see. Once I reach the base, I will see what there is to be done to earn my way into the Lane Hackers' organization. Until then, this is the end of this entry. Overload out.

>> Terminating recording . . . COMPLETE
>> Saving audio file . . . COMPLETE
>> System status: OFFLINE

>> System status: ONLINE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS GRANTED
>> Creating audio file log_entry8.trm . . . COMPLETE
>> Enabling recording . . .

Good evening. Or morning. The time of day is difficult to ascertain after so much time spent in space. However, that is irrelevant to this entry. To come to matters of higher significance, today has been eventful, to say the least. Nonetheless, I will attempt to condense the events which have occurred in a brief and clear summary, as with my other log entries to date. Without more time wasted n frivolities such as explaining myself to my own person, I will begin.

Having reached our destination, the pilots who had come to my assistance requested that I dock first on the base. Ah, right, I suppose it would be best to say that our target was indeed Leiden, and those who escorted me were Lane Hackers themselves. My apologies; I am somewhat excited, something which I am far from accustomed to. Much as I attempt to control these emotions, I am having difficulty in fully suppressing all of them. I will need to work further on my mastership of myself, I suppose. At any rate, after my escorts' curt indication, I obeyed and activated the docking sequence for my ship.

Once I landed within the space station's shuttle port, the pilots who had come to my aid were not long to rejoin me. Visages expressionless, they directed me to an edifice located quite near to the docking area. Once inside, I discovered it to be a bar of sorts. It was to be expected that such an establishment was to exist, even here, but even equipped with that knowledge I was disarmed by the familiarity of the room. It reminded me very much of the places I would frequent when I was still an adolescent living on Manhattan. However, as my chaperones had disappeared after we had entered the room, I regained control of the emotions patiently waiting under the surface and imagined myself tearing them off as one would with stray threads on a garment, a method which I had discovered to be curiously effective at dispelling them quickly enough.

I surveyed the room, and I realized that I had not given thought to what I would do once I had arrived, having been more concentrated on the reaching than the doing. Those who had previously accompanied me showing no signs of reappearing, I walked to the bar and asked for a drink. Satisfying my thirst with the beverage, I attempted to engage the man beside me in conversation to see what I could do from that point on, but it seemed that he was under the influence of a strong drug - or a mild one in strong amounts; I was not sure - and simply mumbled incomprehensively before turning his blank stare back toward the bare wall before him. Following that, I simply waited, as it seemed my presence had not gone unnoticed; I felt several stares upon me as I attempted to keep a casual expression, sipping at the substance I had been provided.

My intuition proved to be correct. It was not long before I was approached by a man standing perhaps half a foot taller than me, with brown hair cut short atop his head and stubble marking the edge of his jaw. As he opened his mouth to speak, I could detect no large amount of liquor on his breath, which did reassure me somewhat, as it would appear that I had affair with someone who was not inebriated past reason.

I was relieved to find that he did not bear ill will toward me for being an uncommon outsider to their settlement. Indeed, he explained that I had been expected; apparently, Lee, the man on Rochester who had given me the knowledge about the base in exchange for completing the work he had assigned me, had sent a pre-emptive message to the Lane Hackers of Leiden informing them of my arrival. What was more was that he was not even a Junker, as I had originally assumed; he was a Lane Hacker who was stationed on Rochester for reasons left unsaid. Having explained this, he requested a drink from the bartender before resuming his monologue.

He informed me that his name was Kevin. Useless information, perhaps, as I never met him again thereafter, but for the sake of precision I am including it in this entry. At any rate, it would seem that I was to gain no further intelligence from him of any practical use, as he merely finished his drink and requested in conclusion to his rather one-sided conversation that I complete certain tasks that the Lane Hackers of the base found too low to do themselves before I could gain any amount of respect from that. Whatever Lee had told them about me, it seemed that it did not matter in heightening their opinion of me, and so I resolved to accomplish these perhaps lowly missions until I could gain that trust by myself.

With but a brief word of farewell, he left, and once I had finished my own beverage, I inquired about until I found a decent location to stay the night. I have only briefly returned to my ship to record this entry, but even as I speak I can feel the effects of fatigue weighing down on my eyelids and making my limbs feel as if they were of stone. Until the next time, I am signing out.

>> Terminating recording . . . COMPLETE
>> Saving audio file . . . COMPLETE
>> System status: OFFLINE

>> System status: ONLINE
>> Accessing neural net . . . ACCESS GRANTED
>> Creating audio file log_entry9.trm . . . COMPLETE
>> Enabling recording . . .

Hello. This is, for the umpteenth time, Overload speaking. I am quite tired of late, and so I do not expect this entry to be highly coherent; however, it is best that I record it now while recent activities are fresh in my mind. At any rate, this entry was originally intended to detail the, ah, details of the tasks I have recently been running for the Lane Hackers, although in truth, I wish I were able to name these activities "missions" as such rather than errands. Quite honestly, however, they barely meet the qualifications for the latter label.

[A sigh is heard with a rush of accompanying static.]

I must admit that I am glad nonetheless for these, well, errands. While they are quite small in nature, I do hope that completing them will aid me in gaining the trust and friendship of the Lane Hackers, and so I will bear their monotony until such a time as I have truly merited the confidence of those who have simultaneously become my hosts and my jailers. It is true that, while my hosts have treated me quite well so far and have not shown signs of ill-wishing directed at my person, I am a prisoner here, albeit admittedly a willing one. I cannot leave the station without an escort, and even within the base, I feel as if though I am followed. It is unfortunate, but again, I will bear such discomforts, as I do realise that trust and respect are commodities to be earned, and not freely given to all who request them.

So far, I have been entrusted with minor tasks such as ensuring the distribution of Cardamine - a substance which I am quite loathe to touch, much as this may shock some of my companions here - among the small society established on Leiden, as well as that of playing "delivery boy" for many of the residents here, as some like to put it. It is tiring and, above all, highly monotonous work. After merely a few weeks here, I already feel as if though each day blends into another in a large pool of monochromatic actions and events that seem to have taken over my life. However, there is no turning back, regardless of the unpleasantness of my current situation. I cannot and will not cease to persevere until I finally attain the respect I covet within Lane Hacker society. Should I have to suffer somewhat to reach that goal, so be it.

I feel the weight of my eyelids upon my eyes like that of a lead ball held at arm's length. I believe that if I attempt to stay but one short hour longer awake, my body will take what it so desperately cries for and collapse of its own accord. Therefore, I say good night. Overload, signing off.

>> Terminating recording . . . COMPLETE
>> Saving audio file . . . COMPLETE
>> System status: OFFLINE