// Jointed thread for four people. Allowed posters: Lunaphase, Magoo!, Sprolf, Salem Jansen. To all whom it matters: add subsequent posts for adventures had - but make sure to connect your posts with your primary post. Into the abyss we go. //
On your holo-screen, the image of this journal's author appears. He was sitting in the pilots seat, and appeared to be looking directly forward. You are forced to wonder where he was, as you saw very little of his surroundings, even though he was easily visible.
He spoke with a very formal tone. Hello, sir. My name is Salem Jansen. If you are watching this, then congratulations; you've caught the first public journal recording of mine! There will be many more to come as long as I keep sane. Anyway, I digress My assumption is that since you've bothered to watch this, then you must want to know more about me. Fortunately for you, this is the first Journal's purpose! Let us explore my story err from the beginning, shall we? Going back about thirty-five years, when I was a little relatively, at least child, raised by two Rheinlanders that were kind enough to take me in. At least, this is what I was told. I digress - that is the year things became interesting, because, for sixteen years, I had not known what I was, and that year I just happened to figure out I, somehow, was not from here, so to speak. The next two years of my life were spent specifically studying what I was, and where I might have come from, and working to become a space-fairing pilot. I had always longed to go to space in any kind of space craft and this had given me a reason! The author pauses. He reaches forward, and pulls a small stack of papers seemingly from thin air. Aha, you think, He must be in front of a desk of some sort! The author continues, I believe it was the 'summer' season of Hamburg when I joined the Rheinland Military. You see, I had the need to fly into space, and I thought 'Hey, going into Service would be a great way to do just that AND help out!' Gents I could never have been more wrong. Although I did find out exactly what I was, as well as obtain a relic from my.. Er... Culture that will be discussed later I also saw the evils of the Human Race in almost literal Boldface. The Military had me do some... Unexplainable things, for years, and I could not live with this knowingly... So I ran. Without so much as a goodbye to my parents, I ran as fast as I could from that horrible past. I had traveled through several jump holes, getting completely lost along the way. By the time I had come to my senses and stopped... I had made my way to what I now know is Omicron Delta. I can only imagine the surprise that wing of Zoners had when they found a young Rheinland pilot in a Wraith, wandering around aimlessly in such a dangerous place. They guided me, a lost soul without any sign of wit about him, to that fateful station called Freeport 11. It was there I learned about the Zoners, and I was, once more, excited about something.
The author pauses again, and looks over his papers, shuffling through the pages, until he appears to find what he was looking for. Sorry. My memory isn't THAT amazing, so I have to look over my old logs once in a while. Anyway, I-- The author is interrupted bu a loud bang emanating from his surroundings. A voice called out: Uh..... UH.... SALEM?! The author promptly facepalmed, then disappeared into the background. There is some heated discussion, before hearing the author shout, NO NO NO NO IT DOES NOT GO IN THAT W-- what you see and hear next is a large explosion, followed by the holocam tipping over, and cutting out. There is a several-minuet pause of nothingness, before, presumably, the recorder is switched back on. What you see is both startling an humorous: The author, looking rather cross, appears to be somewhat singed, and has bandages all over, as well as a broken arm. He speaks in a quiet tone, I don't like this ship. Not one bit. The engineers are useless for it.... anyhow where were we? The author shuffles through the same stack of papers with his good arm, and then states cheerfully, Ah! There we are. As I was stating earlier, I believe it was another month before I decided to join the Zoners. What a good, and inadvertently life changing decision I had made. For twenty eventful years, I lived my life out as a Zoner, sharing stores, defending Freeports, and even making my way into the Guard! For the longest time, I had completely forgotten about my past, at least until one especially conniving figure came about. He threatened me with my past, saying he would expose truths about my term in the Rheinland Military, and the unspeakable acts that I had done to the Zoners. Obviously I was afraid for my position, so I gave into his demands. Later, I was irked to discover the figure I had encountered was another Zoner, and that he had already told the Guard about my past. I had been betrayed, and I was promptly stripped of my Guardian status. This had severely impacted my trust with the Zoners, and it was degraded even further by the news that the Zoners were splitting right down the middle. I quickly grew tired of the constant mail from both sides, urging me to join them, and I refused to believe their proposals, anyway. At the climax of the month, I had had enough. I tied up some loose ends, and ceased 'being a Zoner.'
What I did next is a very interesting part of my story. I decided to become a generic trader. Sounds boring? It's not. Truthfully, there aren't many more dangerous occupations then that. It's not even just the pirates, but the houses as well! Naturally I distrusted Bretonia, so I never went there, but I never expected evils from Liberty! The author, once again, produces another item from the object in front of him. This time it was a Holodisk. The author places it into a reading device, and states, This video, caught by my ship's Guncam will surely make you want to DIVEST YOUR CEPHALIC REGIONS IN PRODIGIOUS VEXATION. The words seemed to carry a more-than-universal tone. The author seemed quite confused. J-.... Just watch the video...
The screen blurs, and you are soon viewing a Libertonian landing area from the expected Guncam perspective. You hear shouts, and several Liberty Naval Officers step out, aiming at nothing. Of course, this is when the author steps out, his hands raised high. He is immediately surrounded by the officers. They shout orders along these lines, Trader, you are under arrest for the sale of illegal commerce to Libertonian dealers! You will comply with everything we say, is that clear?! The author appears vexed for a moment, then begins to laugh. So the pirate stuck to his word, eh? It was now the Libertonians' turn to be vexed. What are you talking about? they demanded. The author replies, still chuckling, All I was hauling here was H-Fuel! Whoever told you about the contents of my hold is lying to you because I got away from him. One of the Libertonians appeared insulted, and stated to the author, That 'whoever' you are talking about is an undercover Liberty Officer! The author snorts, and replies, Then why was he taxing me? Why did he fire on me when I told him to buzz off? The Navy Officer retorts, He believed you are a flight risk! A FLIGHT RISK?! Not only am I unarmed completely, but I'm laid back enough to be in a coma! The officers glare at the Author. One points to his holster, and says, Then why do you carry a gun? The author is confused. What gun, He asks, all I have is my scan-. The author reluctantly, and, surprised, pulls a complex-appearing Laser Handgun. He looks to the sky and states meekly, ... Seriously? Moments later he is apprehended, and the video ends.
The screen, once again, switches back to the current view of this journals author, who appeared to be rather cross. See what I mean? In disgust! Anyway, this idolizes my distrust for Liberty... And trading. At this point I was so irked and frustrated that I was considering hanging up my wings at least, until I saw this curious figure. His IFF transponder stated Freelancer. I was intrigued for I had never actually seen one before. After getting a Kingfisher, I carefully followed this figure through California, Cortez, and into Coronado. Now, there is a Zoner system right next to Coronado, however, I never felt the need to travel there. Imagine my surprise when I found the fortress that is Barrier Gate hidden away in that ice cloud! I was immediately hooked on what was going on here, so I decided to dock and check it out. After the... Somewhat intoxicated patrons of the bar explained what a Freelancer is although quite rudely I was excited once more. The Freelancer's lifestyle seemed perfect for me. Along the way out, I met this interesting fellow he gave me a map to a strange system. I purchased yet another ship, and then departed from Barrier Gate. Interest in the map consumed me, so I followed it, meeting a lot of friendly people along the way most of them in Kusari. This is why Kusari is my preference to all the other Houses any more I digress, again. Lookit me ramble! Anyway, following the map, I found myself right next to the sun in Tau-23, facing a Jumphole, leading to a system that was identified as 'Orkney.' It hit me only as I was entering the Jumphole that I had just gone to Gallia. I decided to poke around go further in - and I met some very friendly, if not wonderful people.... But not the Brigands. Those creets robbed me in open space! Either way, I like Gallia too, aside from the Royals.
The author leans back, and remains silent for a few moments, as if gathering his thoughts. I believe that about covers my history. As of recent things I've been hired in Kusari more than anywhere else, so I've been learning a lot about it. I plan to stay for a long while, too. Aside from the occasional cry of 'Gaijin' faced in my direction, it's actually a fairly nice place. The people here are tolerable to say the absolute least. I've also managed to.... Make a few plans with some friends of mine. Let's see how that goes, shall we? The author pauses once more, and then proceeds to add, I've also managed to contact the Hogasha. Why, you ask? For a very important reason: space-fairing vessels. A Black dragon, to be blunt. I am still not sure if the request has been accepted yet, which is why I am still in this Crow. I also hope that you, Mr. Listener, plan to keep this quiet. I don't think it's supposed to be public. The author smiles at the holo-cam cheerfully. I believe that about covers.... Well, everything. For now, at least. I don't think I will be doing any more visual recordings, so be on the lookout for more sound files from me! Thanks for listening to me ramble, Mr. Listener. Until next time! With that, the author reaches forward, and switches the holo-recorder in front of him off, but not before another loud crash is heard.
In a dark chamber whose walls were bolted with steel plating which so commonly blemished the simple beauty of an asteroid's cavern walls. A hole was drilled into the stony ceiling, into which a bleak gray wire slithered from a lamp and tried its best to camouflage with the chalky surface overhead. The light cast from the feature revealed only a simple table, upon which sat a dusty metal box, and a man who studiously examined the seals and seams of the aforementioned. From no apparent source, a voice broke the man's rumination.
"Open the box, if you please, Mister Gomes."
He began to object.
"Open - the box, please."
Mister Gomes shifted uncomfortably before fitting two fingers from either hand into their opposing slots on either side of the mysterious rectangular device. Primeval air coughed from the seams as it was released from their decade long prison and it tugged a brown-gray mist in its wake. The device clicked and hummed to life as the lid was lifted along hinges hidden within its confines.
A small ring lit, and from it rose two beams of light which began to spiral one another.
Jesus, this was an old model.
A figure flicked to life and a remarkably well preserved audio recording began to play. Mister Gomes heard one final instruction, but he knew it wasn't for him, and he didn't care either way. Intrigue had superseded
"Run the audio on this recording, make sure its our friend."
Well! You're either me, or one unlucky devil; and I know what I'd think if I were me. Damn, I looked good all that time ago. Ah, but how much time has passed? Well, only you know. Or I know. If its me.
Sigh... Now then, I'm sure you're eager to hear about the legendary Sawu Alin's hidden treasure, no? Ah, but to tell of a result only begs for the journey, and that is exactly what you'll listen to if you, or I, want to find the treasure. You'll find there is no fast forward button, unfortunately for you, or me, so listen closely! Bloody kids...
No sense in telling you my sob stories, so I'll cut to the chase. I was a bad kid... Kids! Stupid kids, no culture! With their electro-bop music and their whirlygigs. Back in my day, we only had the land - or steel - beneath our feet. The stations were bigger then! Less efficient, you know, so the machines needed more space! You know what its like to walk six miles to get a hololog so I could teach myself aboard that damned Freeport? All the while those bloody technicians couldn't manage to fix the gravity, so we were operating at four G's all the while! Give me a wrench and some elbow grease and I could have patched it right up, but those gearheads and Port administration refused!
Eh? *ahem* Bad kid! Got into that 'drug' scene, but none of that "Cardamine" you kids are into these days. I just mixed my synth straight with breath mints and iron shavings, and went crazy with my straw. Oh yes... My straw. Five years, I used that straw. Through thick and thin, in sickness and in health! There were enough diseases on that straw to wipe out half of New Berlin. Bloody Krauts. You know one of them came sailing into Port years ago? Sure, he left. Like me. Bad kid. Sam was his name or... Sally or some such.
Anywho, youthful drug fancies invariably lead to trafficking in your later years, and my case was no different. I was hired out by one of those rock-digging Corsair folk to haul their purple haze to and fro. Well, needless to say I went to Liberty for supplies, and... Well... The Corsairs don't have very many friends there. My ship was spiked and hauled into the ehm... Cloud. Black cloud. Not that 'Aztec' Corsair's second cousin, but in New Amsterdam. Or, "New York" if you prefer, you uncultured twat.
Well, shock collars and scrap metal aside, I was "found" by the Rogues - the Liberty Rogues - who only kept me alive because they were privy to the artifact trade (ssh, don't tell their Outcast overlords). They put me in a Bactrian and checked the receivers one last time before setting me loose. Well, I suppose I should rephrase. I woke up with me ship in Alcatraz and was set to work.
So the next thing I know, I'm operating out on some remote lane when a Spanish gold fleet came sailing through. Oh, you can only imagine what the scanners read, but I could nearly taste the coppery twang. No blood yet, even. But we succeeded, long story short, and my beautiful Bactrian had five hundred crates of gold bullion. Now, twenty-four thousand IPI and a magnet set against a quintet of Bloodhounds and a collar and you think I'm about to fly back to Alcatraz? Piss of, Chicken Little! It was just a matter of messing with the electronics a tid bit and a tug of the trigger to make my fortune. Sure, I had second-degree electrical burns, but its a hell of a lot better than being unconscious or dead. Unconscious then, dead now.
And... Well, here I am. Living with me freighter off of a sole crate of gold. The rest I buried just to spite the sons of kittens. And you. Unless you're me. But if you're me, and I'm you, then there wont be any spite because I-You-Us-We know.
We know
A long beep comes from the device.
There are no new messages.
Shuffling can be heard from the inside of the dark chamber, likely from another room entirely. The voice came again.
"Thank you, Mister Gomes," he then whispered to his invisible compatriot, "Inform the rest of the Quintet. He is alive."
![[Image: lcrealthingportable.png]](http://img44.imageshack.us/img44/5383/lcrealthingportable.png)
![[Image: processingapng.png]](http://img268.imageshack.us/img268/6306/processingapng.png)