Just when you think things are getting to be normal, everything goes to space.
First, the rocks I had staked out for myself all turned out to be worthless. It was the most rotten kind of luck: asteroids that look like they're full of Niobium, but really only have a thin shell of it: not even enough to fully pay for the deed to them. Back to square one. Suddenly, mining isn't so much fun anymore.
Second, I got another mysterious message. This has become almost routine for me. For some reason, people like sending me mail with no return address. As usual, this one is both menacing and maddeningly vague. Worst of all, it cracks open a chapter in my life that I had thought long closed. Here it is:
Quote:Mr. Seldon, if you are listening to this message, I like you to know that I'm already dead. The other thing that I wanted you to know is that the reason why you didn't die in that hospital is also dead. At least, I believe he's expired now for breaking rule number four.
From one dead man to another, I'll tell you this. Run. Run, and never come back.
They're after you, Mr. Seldon. And they hold grudges very well. Remember that you know too much...
With graciousness and sincerity,
Lambert North
PS:
I broke rule number 8: Productivity at all costs.
Here we go again, I thought. Strangely, there was almost no sense of fear or paranoia. Still, I thought, idly readjusting my sidearm, it won't hurt to be a little extra careful for the next little while.
Unfortunately, the day wasn't over yet.
It happened on the observation deck of Java Station. I was busily devouring the best sandwich I'd ever come across: it even had fresh ingredients from the Freeport in Tau-37. The bartender told me it was a recipe as old as his family: he called it a "Reuben." He also charged a hefty price for it, but it was worth every credit.
A spry old man with long white hair walked into the bar. He was tall, thin, probably in his late seventies, and had a familiar look about him that I couldn't quite place. While I tried to figure out what about him was so familiar, he strode to the bar and ordered some Bretonian Whiskey. He waited until it was poured, and then whispered something to the barkeeper. I use the term "whisper" loosely: it was far too loud, although I still couldn't make it out from the other side of the deck. All I could tell was that it was some sort of question. The bartender listened, then looked straight at me... a question in his eyes. Good man, I thought, then shook my head. The bartender looked back at the old man and shook his head in turn. I heard him say "Sorry, I'm afraid he isn't here tonight." The old man visibly slumped, quaffed his whiskey, then turned for the exit.
I chewed thoughtfully on the last bite of my sandwich. So someone was looking for me. In light of the message I'd received earlier, caution was in order, but this old codger hardly looked like an assassin or bounty hunter. He was certainly tougher than he looked, but not that tough. Only one way to find out, I thought, then quietly got up and followed the old man out of the room.
He descended a few levels, into the cramped and dusty motel that had been built into Java station. It still existed because sleeping on a dusty bed in a tiny cabin was still slightly better than a bunk on a mining vessel. For a lot of IMG guys, this was luxury.
He swiped his card to open one of the rooms, and stepped in. I moved quickly, managing to slip in just before the door slid shut. My gun was already out before he had finished turning around to see what the noise was.
"Who the space are you?" I demanded, pointing my sidearm at his chest. The old man wore an expression of surprise and fear, mixed with... amusement?
"And who are you?" whispered a feminine voice right next to my ear. I froze as a gun barrel was placed in the small of my back, then quickly obliged by lowering and dropping my weapon.
The old man recovered from his initial shock, smiled, and said, "My name is Roger Fenning. I believe you know my son."
--
I can barely write... I'm utterly exhausted. I'll have to finish recording what happened next after I catch some sleep. It's hard to sleep when someone else is flying your ship, but I think I can trust Jysalia to keep the Aedos on course for at least a few hours.
![[Image: aedos_mini.jpg]](http://students.cs.byu.edu/~sushi/aedos_mini.jpg)