Doctor Samuel Sprolf
[Dr.Samuel.Sprolf]
Age: 63
Gender: Male
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 172
Vocation: He was a Doctor and research scientist for years. Last seen associated with Junkers.
Physical Appearance: Samuel is a tallish, thin sort of fellow with blue eyes and brown hair - which is pretty much grey at the moment - and a worn face.
Nationality: Short story - he is half Libertarian and half Bretonian.
Long story - A Bretonian smuggler from Cambridge, Samuel's grandfather, moved to Liberty to escape the authorities. Year later, he was in the Tradelane in the Colorado system, heading to Pueblo, when he suddenly deecelerated to find the lanes out of service and five Xenos on one BMM transport. He did the only thing he could do at that moment - fight! He diverted the terrorists' attention long enough for the other pilot to escape, and then he did the same, his ship barely still pressurized. He'd lost all of his cargo as the bay was destroyed. But that was all irrelevant, because, when he landed on Pueblo, the BMM pilot - a woman - gave him her hearty thanks. Things took their natural course from there, and the two married and shipped together for years.
Those were his father's parents.
His mother was a full-blooded Libertarian from a somewhat well-to-do terrestrial cargo shuttling family on Houston that his father, who now controlled his parents' shipping company, worked with very often. Soon enough, he met her; and soon enough, he fell in love; and soon enough, their family businesses merged. It is still not readily known if Samuel's father was simply in it for the merger or not.
Samuel, simply enough, was born and bred in Liberty, but left to be educated in Bretonia once he reached adulthood.
Personality: Reasonable, rational, patient, slow-going, pedantic, smart, dry sense of humor. Doesn't really see anyone as inherently an enemy, will talk kindly with them even if they're threatening him. Level headed. Perhaps his greatest strength is his ability to see both sides of an issue at the same time, even if it involves him. Even during war and battle, he still respects human life above everything else, even diplomacy.
He has become increasingly more cynical and ill-tempered since his flight into Liberty.
He likes tea but also likes whiskey, though he won't admit to that problem.
Education/Bio: First went to school for Astro-Geology at the suggestion of his father's IMG friend, but switched majors to medicine after taking a microbiology class as an elective. After taking out many loans to gain enough credits to pay for medical school, he transferred and spent a quite a few years at the Cambridge University in which he achieved his MD. He then started working with the nearby Cryer Pharmaceuticals while he finished his PHD in advanced microbiology. During this time, he was also a resident doctor at the Cambridge University, specializing in the research and treatment infectious diseases. He gained quite a few extra degrees and broadened his area of research, study, and work. He became one of the better known younger researchers at Cambridge, known for his brilliance and imagination, and especially his medical competence.
With this under his belt, he was well situated to become a great and rich man. And he did become one, first working for many years as a doctor, as he worked his way up to overseeing an entire megahospital on Leeds. He became jaded with the government and its treatment of miners at this point in time. If life hadn't worn on him before this, it more than made up for it. His hospital was also one of the main hospitals used for researching Carlisle's plagues, outside of Cambridge Research Station. Given it's closer location to the Newcastle system, Samuel's hospital received the first humans to be infected by Carlisle's diseases. Given his knowledge in the fields of microbes and diseases, he studied further into this and became one of the greater driving forces in the research of Carlisle and the development of counterplagues. He spent a good deal of time between Cambridge, Newcastle, and Leeds - and he tried to stay away from Leeds as much as possible. The situation there with the miners always left him with a troubled mind and often drunk at night. During these years, he became somewhat cynical, sarcastic, and dark, given the things he was seeing; though he retained his great faith in the human race - just not certain governments. It's likely that the Carlisle Research was what kept his spirit alive.
This said, it was quite obvious that he was becoming disenchanted with the whole situation on Leeds.
Naturally, when he suddenly received a job offer from a past professor of his who was working in the university on Stuttgart, he accepted the job and passed the hospital's care to a younger doctor whom he had been using as an assistant for the past five years or so. The job was ambiguous, but enticing. This old professor said that he could use Dr. Sprolf's rather developed skills in a groundbreaking area of xenobiology, and Samuel gladly accepted. He moved to Rheinland, but little else is known about his stay in the House, or the research he conducted there, as it was closely affiliated with the government.
After a certain amount of time, Samuel finally moved back to Bretonia with some measure of haste, to Cambridge- his grandfather's original home. He took a job as the head doctor for a hospital there, and devoted himself to his work almost completely. He took some extended leaves at different times over the next four years, but always came back to his work - if a little late. The work on Carlisle was still going strong, and Cambridge was certainly less of a frightening place to work than Leeds.
And then the planet was mox-bombed by the Phantoms.
He was on the research station at the time, though, and escaped unharmed. His hospital and laboratory, however, didn't fare as well at all. Within an hour of the bombing, though, he'd started to organize the shipping of supplies from all over Bretonia to Cambridge, as it was obvious to him - and many others on the station - what needed to be done. Once they'd gotten the shipments of food, medicine, and radiation equipment coming, he took a transport down to the surface and set to work in a hospital that had been set up, slaving along the other doctors almost tirelessly to save as many as they could from this disaster.
Once this hell was over, and things were all said and done, he received some small amount of recognition by the government for this, and was publicly honoured, along with very many others who'd been instrumental in the relief of Cambridge.
Shortly thereafter, he left Bretonia unceremoniously and without warning, after having returned to his work normally.
The reason he gives for uprooting himself decades later and running to Liberty without much thought at all is simply one word - "Rheinlanders." Some Rheinlanders are apparently after him for some foggy reasons, probably tied to something that happened when he worked in Rheinland. He also seems to have some sort of bounty on his head, because Bounty Hunters are always on the lookout for him.
He's currently left Liberty completely due to an inexplicable attack on his ship. He escaped Liberty at midnight, Manhattan Time, through the Barrier Pass while being guided by a Zoner, and moved through Kusari into Sigma 13, where he landed at Yanagi and seemed content to make his home there.
He has dropped out of sight and mind since then.
No one knows where he's disappeared to.
[Log 0]
-Planet Erie, Pennsylvania System-
Blast. That was a long ride. I never knew an armored transport could get so claustrophobic or hot. Thinking back, it may have been the filth that pervaded the ship that made it seem so incredibly small. I had to find a hotel on Erie and take a shower as fast as possible.
At least I am in Liberty now., and hopefully my unceremonious midnight departure was unexpected and untraced. With luck, no one will know where I am. The situation between Liberty and Rheinland also gives me some sense of security. Bretonia was one thing, but Liberty, I hope, is entirely another.
I now realize that I should have changed my clothes from my work clothes before I left. Lab coats, I realize, aren't especially vogue in Liberty.
I shall find a new wardrobe, perhaps, once I make enough money. Purchasing the Starflier off of the used ship salesman took most of my money with it. I don't think he was quite honest, in retrospect.
And what will I do now? I can not go back to practicing medicine, that's the first thing anyone would expect. Maybe... just maybe, I can return to the job I originally wanted - that of a miner.
Fate is funny sometimes.
~ Doctor Samuel Sprolf
[Log 1]
-Planet Erie, Pennsylvania System-
I picked up a tip from an odd fellow I met whilst procuring some tea from a local business. He noted my dirty labcoat and asked what who I was... I replied, rather too hastily, that I was a "prospecting mineralogist." He evidently saw past my language and realized I was a miner. He could also see I didn't have a lot of money. With that, he simply said one word - helium.
"Helium?" I immediately asked him. He nodded and went on to say that I'd be a fat old fool if I missed the helium nebula in the system.
"Oh." I said. "That nebula." I had caught a glimpse of it as we landed. It's a massive blue cloud that dominates the backyard of Erie. I thanked him for the tip, forgot about my tea, and swiftly left to find my ship.
----------
I met this one young fellow - a Noam Fourfall., as I was getting my ship ready for launch. He's rather pleasant, apparently. Seems to be much in the same situation I am, what with the whole "running from something and I don't want to talk about it" attitude. We had a nice chat with each other, albeit terse, as we're both trying to lay a little low. I confess that I probably said too much about myself to him... but he seems nice enough. I doubt anythign regrettable shall come of it
I wonder if he's the typical Libertarian. He seemed less rude than most around here do.
I have a feeling that I'll be seeing more of him around. Perhaps, maybe, it's just a feeling. But I hope so. Pleasant young fellow, in any case.
----------
I placed a single laser on top of my little ship and set out blindly for the helium cloud.
I've never been much of a fighter, I have too much faith in the human race for that. So I didn't really expect to run into trouble, I didn't expect to need more than the cheapest laser on the market - and that, only for mining's purposes.
No sooner did I enter the cloud than my sensors suddenly turned off. It was eerie, being surrounded by electrical charges and rocks in a dark cloud of gas, thousands of miles from the planet and completely alone.
I probably would have slipped into quite the introspective state had it not been for what happened next:
My radio crackled a little bit, and I heard some rather uneducated voices saying "pre---ing to take -- freelancer zeta --- dash one." That was curious, I thought. What could they...?
And then it dawned on me like the blast of a laser.
It actually was the blast of a laser at the moment, also.
I was Freelancer Zeta-One. I'd forgotten that after applying for a general Liberty ID earlier.
And they were shooting me.
That last part was obvious, suffice to say, as they were shooting me. I needed no more seconds to dash out of the cloud, but not before almost losing my life to those "Xenos." I don't even know what they have against me. Even the Mollies back home left me alone.
I any case, I just spent my last bit of money on the repairs. I'm sitting on the landing pad as the fuel lines are retracted, writing this journal of mine. I'm going back - what else can I do? A year at college for advanced mining is all I have other than my medical degrees, and I can't work in that field any longer.
So mining it is for me, I suppose.
No one ever said a life in the stars would be a safe one.
~ <strike>Doctor Samuel</strike>
<strike>Miner Samu</strike>
~Prospecting Mineralogist Samuel Sprolf, formerly of Leeds, now of a Starflier.
[Log 2]
-Rochester Base, New York System-
It's interesting how fast time flies when you're busy.
When I knuckle down to blue-collar and not white-coat work, hours turn into days, days into weeks... the monotony of simply mining to try to make a living is all-consuming. And then again, such a monotony can be so satisfying in an odd way.
Maybe it's feeling secure, like I have a place in Sirius now?
Leaving my practice in Bretonia had literally uprooted me... I think that mining might be re-rooting me. It's also been keeping my mind off of the my troubles.
These monotonous and busy days of mining helium earned me enough money and clout to buy a used Rhino off of the mineral group I'd been selling all my gas to. The vessel's cargo space allowed me to, rather swiftly, gather enough cash to leave Pennsylvania and head for New York, in hop of finding better fortunes there.
----------
Junkers.
It's a strange name, for sure, and the folks are stranger still. I'd met a few when I was practicing medicine in Leeds. They usually keep to themselves, they're secretive, and they're definitely not stupid. They were always so quiet and reserved, I realize now that I had been intimidated by them, for simply intuitive reasons.
Now, it seems, I'm in the middle of them.
I was mining some scrap metal behind Manhattan, lamenting how much better my prospects had been in Pennsylvania than this dark metal system when a group of Xenos attacked me, swooping out of the electromagnetic interference cause by the metal and firing at me before I even had time to readjust my flight controls for combat.
I ran from them, as any wise pilot would do - and I only had the single Starbeam on the top of my ship, to mine with. I don't believe in killing just because someone is an aggressor. I ran, sustaining damage to my ship. I didn't think I'd last much longer when, lo and behold, I saw a station through the metal field!
I dodged around a large chunk of metal and made straight for it, as fast as my breaching Rhino could go.
A wing of Junker CSVs suddenly came from that station and engaged the Xenos in a deadly firefight. They were nice enough to let me dock while this happened... and...
Well, to make a long story short, I fell on the less than bad side of the Junkers and they let me buy one of their rugged little ships in exchange for a large amount of credits, my scrap metal, and what was left of the Rhino.
Maybe they just wanted me out of Rochester.
Whatever the case, I'm now writing this in Rochester's bar, enjoying a little rest. Maybe I can buy a meal here... or rent a room for the night. Maybe I could even stay here, if they don't mind.
Like I said, they're cold people, but I think that we might get along better than I had originally thought...
Things, I think, are starting to look up.
Now, I have to turn this datapad off and look for a room.
I'm dead tired and I... think... that I might have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow. Things are indeed looking up.
~ Sam.
//As an OOC note, these journals are a few days old if compared to my progress in-game.
[Log 3]
-Beaumont Base, Texas System-
I haven't written anything in this journal for quite some time, unfortunately. I've been busy and doing remarkably little of interest.
----------
New York was interesting while I was there... I confess that watching the endlessly gyrating fields of scrap and nebulae of dust could occupy my time quite uselessly for a great length.
While the Jersey and Pittsburgh fields were interesting, the Badlands were absolutely intriguing when I had the chance to travel back to Pennsylvania to do a little more helium mining - Allentown had a shortage and was paying a little more than the local refinery was. I figured that it could be a good chance to help some of the Junkers out and make some money. Mutually beneficial exchanges are always... beneficial.
I flew through them on my way back, a few days later, to where a Junker on Allentown had told me the Rogues' bases was. Buffalo Base was there, sure enough, looking like a dark spiked castle carved out of an asteroid out of a nightmare. Or, more poetically, "a dark fortress cloaked in shadow, whose peaks and spikes were clearly carved from the very heart of darkness itself, a testament to those who dwell inside." This is, however, quite the overstatement. The Rogues, I find, are less evil than they are stupid and desperate. If one can not succeed in life, they can succeed in being a Rogue, it seems.
Or perhaps my impressions of them are simply lowered by a recent Outcast/Rogue group who saw fit to practically kill me for some gold. I think, with the amount of firepower they had, that they would be more fit to pirate the patrols of capital ships that frequent the doorstep at Manhattan.
I received a mysterious payment of half a million credits after that, from a "Ben Finley." Perhaps he was one of the pirates and had suddenly gone soft on the poor old doctor Junker he'd recently taken part in the slaughter of. Or... perhaps his reasons were not so benevolent and had more to do with placing my finances at a certain level...
But despite this circumstance, this is my only grievance with the Rogues at the moment, despite the fact that they attract many unintelligents to their cause...
Thinking back, I realize that the only groups of intelligent pirates I came across were the Rheinland groups, for the most part. During my research into microbiology, bionutrition, and other related fields there, I traveled out to remote fields even out of the Stuttgart system to preform the experiments a scientist always seems to be doing. I met pirates there, but they didn't attack me at random just because I wasn't them - they had agendas, I could even see their side of the story. The LWB, (I confess that their full name escapes me to this very day and gives me a headache if I look it up on the Neural Net) for example, I took pity on. Bundschuh to a lesser extent.
Back in Bretonia, the Mollies I pitied a little bit, and that was as far as my "pirate" sympathies went. Some have a legitimate point to prove... but the Rogues I have little sympathy for.
And one can simply forget the Outcasts.
They're drug-addicted pirates... I don't care for them at all.
Unpleasant lot.
----------
Lane Hackers. I can certainly empathise with this group.
I met a young fellow who fell in with them - Noam. Nice lad. Terribly smart.
And yet, Ageira is after him simply because he worked for them. He existed one day when he went to work, and when he left, he didn't, and he had bounty on his head. He, a young genius, was forced to join up with other who this had happened to - the Lane Hackers. All wronged by Ageira for reasons that they can't specify, unless I want to join them myself, as Ageira would be after me simply because I know whatever it is they know.
Sounds a little familiar, I think, except I have something worse on my trail...
This fellow, Noam, had heard a rumor about a transport that had been lost in the darkmatter clouds of Texas. He was a professional wreck-hunter, he said, using the Neural Net and information gained from talking to "unlawfuls" to track down the wrecks, wherever they may be.
We set out to find this wreck.
To make a long story short, 140 Nanobots (for me, at least I can not really say how many he had used...) we had the wreck located. His ship was in bad shape from the radiation, and mine was freshly repaired. I dove into the cloud and stripped the ship in my CSV, specially designed for this purpose, and flew out of the baleful nebula just as my shield generator overloaded and exploded. That wasn't convenient.
After a small misunderstanding (purely my fault) he got his parts and gave me some of the supplies we'd found. I thanked him profusely and told him it wasn't necessary, but he reminded me that he didn't have a lot of cargo space.
That made sense, I thanked him, and we parted ways once again.
----------
After this, I moved from Rochester to Beaumont Base, where scrap was at somewhat more of a premium, and my salvaging would reap more of a profit. I was interested in making money so that I could purchase a rather costly Combat Service Freighter the Junkers have for sale at Rochester... apparently free from coolant leaks.
Thinking back to the views again, the Texas system is somewhat unique. Darkmatter looms on one horizon, with the Walker Nebula and black starfield on the other. The vista changes from the Arid planet Houston to the wreckage of the ancient jumpgate and the clouds of dark matter. It is indeed a sweeping and dramatic system, and yet is quite foreboding in its devastation.
Salvaging at the moment has been going well enough as can be expected.
It's simple work, I think, anyone can do it. Flying about searching for intact pieces of ships doesn't require an intelligence as great as mine, although repairing the parts one salvages is quite beyond me, so I give the rest of the Junkers credit for being able to do that.
That's mainly what I've been up to recently. A good portion of my money was recently spent on a Junker Transponder - with luck, this should give some pirates a second thought, as well as keeping the police away from me...
I'm somewhat saddened that have to hide in the twilight of the law, not on the dark but not in the light, because of this whole fiasco with the Rheinlanders.
At this point, I can't use my medical skills more than incidentally in Liberty, as setting up in actual practice would make me exceedingly easy to find.
I don't really have any skills other than that, so I'm stuck with salvaging.
I would that I had never become a doctor, and then this whole mess would not be upon my head and I could work without fear.
But then I would have no appreciable skills and I'd be as well off as I am now.
It is late, and my troubled mind wanders aimlessly in this bottle of whiskey. Why did I choose whiskey and not tea? Alcohol solved problems of the mind back in school... maybe I thought it would work now. I'm not sure. I don't think it's working... and I have to get up early tomorrow and continue the endless salvage that is my life now.
I'm wondering if I'm fated to work with the Junkers forever, or is there another way out of this half-law life of secrecy and backwater traveling?
~ Samuel Sprolf, Junk Salvager
Probably quite inebriated at the moment, I don't know.
Good night.
[Log 4]
-Beaumont Base, Texas System-
So I sit down to pen another journal of mine. I'm actually in my new CSF, just floating off of that odd depot in the middle of that scrap field in Texas, off of Beaumont.
I don't have much to write at the moment.
I've been junking for the extremely greater part of my time, taking it all to Culebra Smelter in Puerto Rico - a short but profitable run for any Junker. I guess I would count myself as an "honourary Junker" at the moment - I'm obviously not one of them, but they've certainly more than accepted me into their community, as an outsider who is inside.
I should be thankful for that, I guess, as I have a few people to talk idly to while in the bar at Beaumont, taking a rest. Not that I like to be around them - Junkers are coarse folk... though not so coarse as Liberty Rogues or Outcasts. For that, I suppose, I should be thankful.
Junkers are interesting, though, and I guess that's what keeps me from going crazy. They have so many stories and tales of Sirius that they could keep me a captive audience as long as they wished.
Though I'm still not very happy at the moment, given my current situation of being a Junker. I've gained a good hand and salvaging, and even a hand at repairing and preforming maintenance. It's a useful skill, but I'm still annoyed that it's come down to labour like this. It's not that it doesn't pay well - I've been able to buy a 2.6 million credit ship with what I've made from it.
It's just that... I don't like junking, I guess.
And then again, it's a job and I shouldn't be complaining about it - it pays well.
And I get to see some very interesting things on the job - wrecks and wrecks of stations, the dark recesses of dark clouds where monsters are sure to lurk, and Nomads.
Nomads. I can't describe how much I hate them.
It's true that I don't know much about them... but I know more than most people do, and I know enough about them to be considered dangerous. Ergo, my situation at the moment.
Those parasites and those that they "possess" are so utterly self-righteous and deluded that I can't decide if their talking or shooting at me is more annoying.
They're impossible to reason with, and they want to destroy humanity.
That would be bad, save that I've recently met some individuals who appear to protect us from Nomads. Very nice fellows, brave and valiant like heroes of legend, almost.
And who are they? The Order!
That is yet another reason why no one should ever trust the Media.
As if to prove my point about the media - just look at the whole mess between Liberty and Rheinland right now. I find it very troubling what the Rheinlanders are saying. What's more troubling is that the Liberty Government is desperately attempting to counter the rumours Rheinland is spreading.
In my mind, that doesn't exactly prove their innocence.
This is all rather troubling, to say the least. Things might move in such a way that I won't even be safe in Liberty any longer, though I hope that is simply my melodramatic mind speaking, and not the voice of rationality.
If that is not the case, I might want to relocate myself at some point and move somewhere else.
It'd have to be Kusari, I guess. That would be difficult, given my allegiances with the Junkers.
----------
I go off on the most interesting tangents, rambling aimlessly about my troubles and how much I hate my job and whatever else I might think about.
I suppose it's cathartic.
~ Samuel Sprolf
[Log 5]
-Culebra Smelter, Puerto Rico System-
This CSF is a pretty sturdy ship, I find. Four engines, squarish hull, thick armour, large cargo bay, and coolant leaks. It's a tank of a freighter, fairly perfect for what I've been doing - scrapping, junking, and salvaging out of Culebra Smelter. The days here are nondescript - I wake up with the station crew, eat from their mess hall, and haul scrap here from Texas. It pays fairly well, and they're glad for it, what with all the ships being made at the nearby shipyard, so I'm making some money while being fairly welcomed here.
For once I feel good about the grease on my coat and sweat on my hands and the realization that I managed to salvage some machinery or haul in thousand tons of junk in a day. Once or twice I've helped the crew here with some medical matter brought from Sugarland or something of that sort. It feels good to practice again, to help people again. But I can't get too very used to it.
----------
Harvesters.
I remember that, just weeks ago, when talking to my friend Noam Fourfall, I scoffed at his ideas of fully sentient computers. The robots on stations are one thing, but fully sentient is another.
And then, today, I met Harvester 65.
At first, he was an odd little thing, speaking strangely and flying all around Puerto Rico.
He asked some questions, as did I, and I caught on to what appeared to the be truth. (I'd heard stories of Harvesters from some of the crew on this station, so I was a little prepared for my conclusions.) It was a full sentient artificial intelligence.
It was curious, almost seeming like a newborn AI in its Starflier shell.
I admit my curiosity got the better of me, and I helped it around the system and showed it to the Junker bases in Liberty, as that seemed to be its prime directive. Junkers, apparently, are on good terms with the "Harvesters."
We ended up in Liberty, and he was going to Bretonia. I couldn't follow him, but I gave him the coordinates to Trafalgar Base in New London - could at least assist him in that matter.
He thanked me and said that I'd be counted as a friend, and we parted.
That almost sounded like threat to me, but he was an AI, I had firmly decided at this point in time, and as such, he couldn't be expected to speak like an orator and be easily understood.
I'm not sure if it is just my naivety or what... but this universe suddenly seems larger... I don't seem as alone. Aliens, scientists, Bounty Hunters, Junkers, and now Harvesters?
Much bigger than before, and just a little bit less threatening. Suddenly, Rheinland, Bounty Hunters, and Nomads didn't seem quite as big as they had this morning, and I felt like, for the first time since I had left Leeds, I had some sort of foundation to stand on. A foundation of friends, perhaps?
[Log 6]
-Detroit Munitions, New York System-
From CSF to a Transport to a Large Transport...
From New York to Humboldt to Texas and back... again and again and again.
At least I'm doing less junking nowadays and doing more merchant work.
Such repetition can grind on the nerves somewhat, I suppose. Simply flying about laden down with cargo isn't my idea of fun, and perhaps junking beats it, as it is a slightly more cerebral exercise, at least within the confines of Liberty.
As my mind goes, however, I've had a fascinating conversation that's changed one of my views on things. I talked with an Outcast, a Miss Maria Alderez.
Up until this point, I viewed Outcasts by the fruit they seemed to bear - that is, Cardamine. I've seen too many die of it, too many more become hopelessly addicted by it, and many brilliant minds ruined by it. It's the silent scourge of Sirius.
I learned a lot of about the Outcasts talking to her - their structure, the families, and the Alderez family in particular. They're more human now than they have ever been to me before, and I don't hate them at all, as I used to...
----------
New Location: In Space, New York system.
Every human needs air. We can not survive without it. Every human needs water. We are made of water and lose it continually. It is essential to have a constant intake of it. Every human needs food. It's the fuel we burn to stay alive. The fact that food tastes good is an added bonus. Every human needs love. You can not deny that one simply withers away and dies without some sort of affection and sense of belonging.
-----------
So what if there was something else that you had to have, lest you waste away?
Another vital element?
What if you were an Outcast and this element was Cardamine?
It's true that they have to have Cardamine.
It's in the water they drink, the food they eat, and the air they breath. It's just another element of the world they grew up on and live in, and they can't really be blamed if it's necessary for their survival. As with anything that is necessary, though, it can be abused.
What do I mean? We all need food. One can eat enough to survive, and one can simply eat for enjoyment. We all need love. I need not explain this further.
Any addiction can have a negative effect on our body, from smoking to drinking to overeating to excessive lust. Moderation is good in all things, and to go to an extreme is unsafe.
Outcasts are addicted to Cardamine, and not only addicted, they have to have it, otherwise they die - just like food, air, and water. And, just like food, air, and water, Cardamine can be easily abused.
The ease of its abuse is where, perhaps, the true problem lies.
The fact remains, though, that we can not condemn the Outcasts for the simple fact that they require Cardamine to survive. It is just another element they have to deal with.
Those, however, who traffic Cardamine and spread the addiction or intentionally overdose on the substance to experience highs are those who I still bear no great love for at all.
This is still a conflicting issue in my mind, of course, as I've seen the worst that Cardamine can do to a human. I've also seen those who deal with their addiction and live with Cardamine without overdosing.
I guess this snatch from our conversation sums things up:
"Sometimes life isn't just black and white, senor."
"And sometimes colour can be beautiful, Maria."
Sometimes life can be complex and hard to understand, and sometimes opening your eyes can hurt... but it always ends up being a good thing.
And I'm thankful to her for opening my eyes.
~ Dr. Samuel Sprolf
[Log 7]
- Rochester Base, New York System-
The Bretonian Ambassador traveled into the New York system today and started talking about the terrorist problem. I stayed around and listened, as I was rather fascinated and was also curious as to how my old home was doing.
Ironically, a group of terrorists appeared and started attacking the ambassador!
As if this was not incredible enough, a massive battle ensued with sides so mixed it took me a great deal of time to find out who was who. Liberty Police and Navy, the Bretonian Armed Forces, some merchants, I believe, and an honourable Lane Hacker gunship (the famous Mr. Saronsen, no less) were defending the ambassador against a mixed group of Xenos, Rogues, Outcasts, and even some who call themselves the Coalition, whatever that may be. Is it reference to the Coalition of so long ago, before we left Earth? I certainly hope not... otherwise, that could bode quite ill indeed.
I joined this fight, shouting "For Queen and Country!" rather foolishly, I suppose.
Somehow, my Albatross ended up in a duel with someone who I would later learn was the ringleader behind the entire attack - a Coalition Officer by the name of Mireille Ceyes. She... she was a nasty opponent to fight. Quite the challenge for an old doctor in his transport, I should think. Despite this, I am confident that I would have been able to actually defeat her if she had not insisted on using her own ship as a battering ram against mine. That was an unpleasant maneuever that I didn't really count on, and as such, I was forced to retreat - only after the ambassador was safe.
I now realize that I probably added little to the entire effort, as I joined somewhat late, but as I ran from the jeering fiend who was Ms. Ceyes, I had a silly sense of satisfaction that I'd done some good.
What had Bretonia ever done for me? I had to run from it, and yet here I was defending it.
I don't really know what brought me to it. Perhaps patriotism?
A small flame still flickering in my heart that I'd forgotten about, I suppose.
Sometimes it is good to fight for a righteous cause for once and not to simply save yourself.
In that manner, I suppose, that little duel may have been refreshing.
Though spending all this money on repairs and new equipment isn't refreshing.
~ Samuel Sprolf
[Log 8]
- Cortez System -
I don't know what happened.
I have no idea.
All I know is that entirety of Liberty seems to be... after me.
The Police, the Navy, and the LSF. They're all hunting me down, trying to kill me. I don't really know why. I'm just a Junker. I haven't done anything wrong.
Or have I?
Maybe the rumours Rheinland is spreading are true.
Is it just who I am, again? Are they after me just because I'm me? Is it my experience and past that they're hunting me down for? My knowledge of things which should not be known?
I can't really say.
All I can say now is this:
A Zoner is leading me through the Barrier Pass, out of Liberty.
We hope to make Kusari by morning and end in the Sigmas soon thereafter, at the Junker Outpost of Yaren.
After that, I do not know. I'll be close to Rheinland, but they can't move into the Sigmas without breaching a treaty. I don't know if I'll be safe or not. I don't know who to trust.
I'm not sure what's happening, or how things are going to end, or if they will ever end.
~ S.S.