You don't see that anymore. Not with all the displays, holos and vox systems you get these days. I've still got those records of the days when the words were printed, bound and covered - 'cept for the papers 'course. Tha's what they'd do -
Page 1
EXCLUSIVE ! MARTIAN ELVIS POSES AS PRESIDENT TO FATHER MY MUTANT DOLPHIN BABY ! ! !
(Continued on page 2,3,4,5,7,8,9,11-24 and back page.)
'ey don't do that anymore. Shame really. I am drunk. You'd be too, if you weren't my reflection. You're a good listener though, I like that. How many times have I heard that before. The listener, not the reflection thingy. Usually after siphoning enough booze to sink a battleship in zero-G into someone-or-other so I can f-i-i-i-i-nally get to the story. I fly like a brick at 100 times gravity, the only thing safe from my shot is the thing I'm aim'n at but, without fail, I'll get the story from you. 'Cause the story's what 'm good a'. Didn't someone once say "that the story, not the medium, is all that matters." ?
. . .
. . .
. . .
But anyways, BREAKING NEWS !
I
AM
DRUNK ! ! !, no . . . wait, that's wrong.
I am drunk . . . . but that's not the story. And the story's all that matters. Naughty ! Started a sentence with a conjunction ! Rebel ! But I can't tell you my story yet, not just because I'm drunk. Done it again and a comma splice for good measure. Did you know though that I don't drink that often? That's probably why I'm slashed now. "slashed". Bad choice of phrase considering. That scar 'cross me face was a slash by that nessiosaur from a bad trip's nightmare. Oops ! Ignore that ! Or not. I suppose the scar's why I'm cele-ele-ele-brating ! Well, not that but the other thing with the guy today.
BREAKING NEWS ! Interview with the . . . watchamcallit. Thingambob. Whatsitsname. Ironic really. Spend all this time learning how to get secrets out to keep the story alive now I have to do the opposite for the same for mesel'. Not too big a deal though. Any good journalist'd tell you that you never, ever, ever reveal your sources. Or pay for lunch until you've got good material and know how they're happy to be quoted. Or forget your towel.
What was I saying? Towel. Yeah, that's right. Have to dry hands, apply psuedothingy to face and hope it stays on 'till my spacewalk of shame's been and gone the morrow! As for the rest of it . . . it's
Events do move fast. Ow! Sooner I cut the last of . . . EERRGH ! . . . this off the better. Then I can take another dose of the . . . well . . . you already know as you're my reflection. Doesn't seem to be helping the-E-E-E-E-se bits that are . . . YOUCH ! . . .already black but it's slowing the spread to the healthy bits. Had to stop for the night, my pseudo-skin patch nearly slipped off talking to a police officer on the way through New London . . . @*^&ing OW ! ! ! Where'd that bit go !?!?! Oh, there it is. I don't want to imagine what'd happen if I didn't keep the dead bits I've cut off here on the ship. I'll just drop it into the plasma injector once I'm done. No trace that way. Enviro-sensors on the station might pick up on anything I can't cover with my patch and it only sticks to the . . . healthy tissue. I-I-I-I-E-E-E-OW ! Okay. Done. Time for a a quick "smoke", take the edge off.
Yes. That's much better. Xavier, wherever you are right now, you're a genius. Looks like a cigarette holder even to station scanners but it has a micro forcefield generator that allows me to load the hierba naranja into the holder, use the holder normally and get a blend the nicotine I want with the other dose I need and leave no suspicious chemical traces in the air to boot ! Stuffing my stash around the weapons systems was also sage advice my man. I didn't know, even when the ship's powered down and idle, the weapons draw enough juice and create enough flux that scans can't pick up whats close around 'em. Thanks man. I feel great ! Much better ! Then there's the hope of tomorrow !
Tomorrow. That's right. Gotta prepare. I felt when I last talked with my new friend (not that the guy I 'spoke' to before wasn't helpful but it's just easier when the other guy talks to you not through you, y'know?) he might've thought I was holding out on him, holding back somehow. I hope he knows I'm playing it straight here because everything rides on this. Hang on. I did tell him everything, everything I knew for a fact anyway. Not the best idea to start talking to people with that kind of power with half baked theories and possible results from possible data grabbed from unreliable sources.
I don't want any doubt in their mind(s) though. I'll give 'em what I've got on where that transport may have gone after leaving Manhattan and, hopefully, they'll look into what's happening to me. I'm not naive enough to believe that that'll be the end of it - I know I'm not even at the start. It may cost more than most people'd be willing to pay but . . . I'm not most people. Hell, they might even know something to do with what I suspect Glasgow was about. If they do . . . any price is worth paying. Study up. Get the data drive organised.
Umm, yeah. That was . . . something else. I feel a little foggy. Looks like I need to do some homework. Present was nice. Lets look at this again, be objective about all this. Most of my notes make no sense. They're just wild conjecture, trying to make things fit in ways they don't. Why are they like this?
( . . . You arranged them that way, you know that !)
What a mess, my notes are useless. The clock's ticking. Take it easy. Think. Where do I need to go ?
( . . . No, who do you need to put the pressure on ?)
Take it from the top. There was a transport. Look at the little things. It was on Manhattan. It was night. No identifying marks and could've been one of a hundred types of transport. It was round the back of medical. Wait, why didn't I see this before ? Of course ! That's why they did it ! It'd avoid the scans !
( . . . And ?!?! Stop looking at all the little things ! They don't matter ! What about means to an end ! What about the why behind the what ? What is wrong with you !)
Which means it'd have to be close by . . . real close by. Which eliminates lots of possibilities. Still leaves plenty left though. I need to look around, see what the lay of the land is, find proof. Have to be careful though, my little present is helping but people may talk if they spot it. Especially as it doesn't fit in the usual hidey holes that prying sensors can't see.
( . . . Why creep about ? Just break a few of your sources. Work 'em until they're no longer useful. That's what you do ! They've done something to you ! We are supposed to be identical ! In all but the symmetry of our image ! What did they-)
"Shut up, I'm trying to think here"
( . . . What ?)
"You heard me, shut up. Maybe my new benefactors have messed with my head, maybe I'm just stressed or maybe I'm just old fashioned mental. Either way I'm not you anymore. I need to work this out before my face rots off, I fail this test due to inactivity or I aggravate my new friends sufficiently to move to the top of their to-do list. None of which I want."
( . . . But what about all that's happened before ! You can't just-)
"Ow. I did tell you though. Now I'll have to sweep up. My luck can't get any worse so a broken mirror's no issue but my task is critical and time is short." Now, where was I, ahh, yes. There. I'll take a look there. With any luck, it'll be the one. Anyway, better get moving, oh, and empty the dustpan.
I've had better days. Every trick I've known, every contact I've worked with, every other resource I could use to track this place down and . . . nothing. In fact it's as if I'm wearing a sign telling everything and everyone to put as much distance between myself and them as possible. My accounts were frozen too and the stashes of credit I put aside for emergencies are drying up fast. Speaking of which, time to soak the patch again. Just a drop of the stuff in a lot of water and leave the patch to soak for an hour then apply. Been doing it twice a day and the scar's healed to the best it can. There's not much to keep me going though. I don't even know if I'm using too much, enough or too little or even how much was in my present to start with.
That's not the only thing I didn't know to start with. How dumb could I have been ! I thought that Cambridge or the Sigmas would be the ideal places to find out more about what a research facility would need in terms of supplies or on board equipment but, everywhere I went, I only had sat down in the bar before large people with larger guns were looking around for someone. I swear I was followed all the way to Kusari. Right into that KNF patrol. That was fun. In fact it was funny, I felt like a kid again, being chucked out of a club for trying to get in with a fake ID. "Illicit materials for personal use" is what they called it. Goes to show though that the good honorable people of Kusari might have the right idea. No fines or firefight, just leave the system for your folly.
Folly, that's what this has been from the start. One guy'd be able to get the story of the century by him self in some super secret lab. One guy'd be able to fix some strange scar from a stranger scratch from an even stranger again set of circumstances. Talking to those . . . guys? People? Person? First I lose a stone and a half in my trousers when they just appear then, out of all the fight or flight in my head at the time I rage and ramble at them like a dribbling looney. Nice going. Great guesswork but terrible follow through.
That's also all I've been doing. Guessing. Why was I so sure about things before ? Have I always just been wrong ? Too wrapped up in myself to see I'm just not as good as I think, or thought, I am? Wait ! That's it ! I was wrong ! Wrong about who I'm looking for, the papers were wrong too ! Where is it ? I've still got one, grabbed it running through the back offices when I doubled back to the hangar. . . gotcha !
Look at you Mr Piece Of Paper. You're a very light green. The papers in that mystery place were white ! Of course they were ! Who's going to build a super secret lab and use corporate headed notepaper, but the paper itself . . . you can't just put in an order for delivery to 'No.1 Secret Lab, just off ring 4, Manhattan Trade Lane'. You'd deliver it somewhere else first then move it on. You'd have to use paper too, keep it as low tech as you could. That office I stumbled into, there were only 4 VDU's so only maybe one closed loop console in the whole place. If I could get a hold of some details on who's been ordering a lot of paper lately. No, wait a minute. I'm cut off from almost everything and everyone now. I'm radioactive. I'd never be able to go round all the low tech distributors and get the info I'd need.
Radioactive. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Well, actually 'cause everything's radioactive. That's how carbon dating and all that stuff works. Decay of . . . thing . . . and . . . umm . . . . something? I don't think I learned that at school. Did I even go to school? Odd. Can't remember that just now. Probably just with so much going on with the scar and the transport and the lab and all the rest. Shame I can't just carbon date all of that to get the answers. Scan it in and bingo ! All done ! Actually why couldn't I ? I might have been getting it wrong all this time, the answer's been staring me in the face ! Sort of. Different things at different places at different times. Nail down the timeline and I've got a shot at working out the rest.
Well, I can work it out but I'm gonna need some help. Two problems though. First I've been given a little gift to help me already. Second I'm not sure how happy they were after talking to me. Hardly the ideal conditions for them to be feeling generous. Then again, I've been wrong about so many things up to now, maybe I'm wrong about that too ? Only way to find out is to give them a call. Or, find out how to give 'em a call then give 'em a call.
Oh man. Feels like the first time in a long time I've had any time to think. Even hiding out in Buffalo wasn't enough in the end. Had to get out of Liberty altogether. Turns out that a few drinks in the right places buys you a heads up though. Otherwise the guys who came looking would've spotted me for sure. Different faces, clothes and packed pistols but definitely the same people with the same agenda. Looks like person or persons unknown have a case of not-a-happy-bunny-syndrome after the stunt I pulled. Ach, sod 'em. Youch ! The engine's still red hot ! Then again I shouldn't be shocked about that - I should be stunned rigid that I've not melted the engines to slag. I wonder if it's hot enough to . . . .
Hey-hey ! It is ! The exhaust is hot enough to light the next one ! Although I've moved to 1 No Fixed Abode, Kusari and I've not really even nailed that down the wee side trip to Malta was well worth it. As well as topping up on the essentials I had some time to take some steps to take some of the heat off of myself, hell, maybe the engines too ! Thank you neural net for being so damn big. People have talked about space and how truly mind boggling big it is. It is precisely zippity-nada compared to the oodleplex upon oodleplex of records that is the neural net. Monitored partially by a few, uncared, unchecked and unprotected by everyone else makes the net a great place to lose one's self.
Or in my case, get my name out there. Any person with any variation of my name be they living, dead, real or fake have now been tied up with my neural net account. A spectrum, ha-ha, of me is out there now. As there's no central neural net registry my little hack ought to irrevocably prevent further checks to easily track me down as, if they try now, they'll have so many results it'll be useless.
Which reminds me, for a race that's supposedly so advanced, you'd have thought someone could create a decent tissue scanner. Time is, as always, ticking along and bringing change with it. However even with a change of scene, identity (sort of), and face (ditto) I'm no further forwards on pursuing the only lead I've got. I've left a bottle with a message in it in case my "friends" pick it up but the tech they use for transmission is waaay beyond me so I'm hoping my clumsy relay will somehow get my message back to them.
If not I'm going to have to find a way to get my hands on a more advanced scanner than the portable one I 'borrowed' from that passing medic. That's gonna be tricky though as the last thing I want is to be looked at too closely by a Doctor. Even one who works off the books. I don't think there's anyone around that I'd trust with my condition. Well, almost no one but there are few people that'd be able to treat it with the required discretion. Time was I could waltz in almost anywhere saying I writing a piece on something or other and the only suspicion they'd have is that I'd spelled their name properly.
However times are a changin' and, in ways I couldn't put my finger on right now, so am I. I suppose the methods I'd employ'll have to change too. How? Answers on a postcard, or stuck down envelope, to me if you've any ideas. In the meantime I've a berth for the night and it is late. Looks like the rush from the last 'smoke' has wore off too. Maybe something'll come to me . . . in time.
You find what you were looking for the last time. At least that's what happened to me today. I just leave the mooring point from Malta today and I spend some time chatting to an official curious about my little present. Considering the company they kept I was pretty sure that my condition was not going to be anything of a major shock to them. Ach, no I've started doing it too, lots of use of the plural by that officer when we were talking and I'm talking like there was more than one official there. Curious that, little turns of phrase say a lot.
What's more important is this officer seemed very knowledgeable on certain bits and bobs that made me more than certain that my trust was not misplaced. After going over the essentials I even got an offer to do a more detailed scan on my scar! Although I think I should send a bit of data on my self help regime out first as, sounds better for some reason, 'they' seemed rather interested in learning what I was doing to treat it and how effective it was. If they seem happy with the data and if I can ever get this portable tissue scanner to work I'll be a few steps closer to finding out exactly when I got scratched.
I think I lost them when I talked about that. I was all excited like a kid with access to too much sugar but, if needs be, I'll explain again. Clearly this time. Its not hard though. I need to find this place where I got to by hiding on the transport as my 'friends' obviously objected to the events I seen there. I know when I moved to hide on board the transport, and where it left from. I think I roughly know how long I was on the station for after we docked but before I was scratched. If I knew exactly when I was scratched I could work out roughly how long the transport took to get to wherever it did. It was on cruise the whole time and I don't think it used the trade lanes so, once I knew how long it was flying for, I could determine the area of where it could've covered in that time. That way I'd have a fixed list of places to look into.
Like I say though, if I can work out exactly when I was scratched I can do the rest. Or if I ever get this scanner to work. Come on, do something. Please? Pretty please with sugar on top? I've been at this for a few hours now with my face pressed up against this thing so it can scan me before I apply the patch soaked in the mixture. Lucky I'm not dying in the next five minutes as this has taken forever. Maybe it's broken? Why does modern technology, even now, have the ability to doubt everything you know? It must be broken or it'd be done by now. There must be something really, really wrong with this machine . . . .
Oops. There might have been something wrong with the machine OR someone, maybe me, forgot to push the big button marked "START SCAN". I knew that, yeah, I was . . . just testing it. Ach, who am I kidding, I screwed up. No big deal. One sec . . . and done. Now save that and, once I got the other one after wearing the dosed patch for a bit, I'll send the data across to the relevant place. Then wait and see. That. Is. Better. Okay, a little nap first maybe, then I'll put a report together.
Are usually the biggest load of rubbish anyone ever had to deal with. What seems at first to be a great exclusive turn out to be the dribbled rantings of a looney. Today though might've been the exception that proves the rule. After the recent announcements that Samura were on a big drive to get new employees to reinvigorate their mining concerns I thought the extra attention they'd be paying to signing up new recruits might leave some room for me to slip by unnoticed and progress further with my own task. Several open days were indeed running today and I even bumped into a familiar face whilst doing the rounds.
What was far from familiar was what happened later. I'd managed to get into the "employees only" area under the pretense of being a candidate of some promise, making an excuse then slipping away to see if I could get my hands on some more advanced equipment to determine what I need to know. I didn't realise that, after today, finding an accurate scan of my scar would become the very least of my worries.
This is in no small part due to the fact that I found a full medical diagnostics console in one of the operating rooms in medical after I slipped away. It wasn't exactly portable as it was plugged into various I/O sockets throughout the room and, even once I disconnected the mess of cables, the thing weighed a damn ton despite its small-ish size. It obviously took longer than I thought.
"Hold it right there !" one of the two rent-a-guards barked at me. How stupid could I be? I didn't have the crowd cover of the open day back here and I wasn't dressed in any kind of uniform to explain why I was where I was, I must've been followed by the cameras from the first moment I stepped out of the interview room. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
"Hands on your head ! Turn around! Walk backwards, slowly, towards me without looking back at me!" the other gleefully shouted. The only thing running through my head at that point was this -
I.
Am.
Screwed.
Maybe not even as lucky as that. They're gonna notice my patch come loose when I miss my next treatment and I'll receive one of the swiftest and most thorough autopsies ever performed. They probably won't even bother to kill me first.
"Stop ! Put your hands behind your back ! NOW !" That's when it happened. I couldn't do it. At first I thought I had done as Security Guard Shouty had requested. Then I realised I was sending the signals to my arms to move and they weren't listening. Now I could chalk that up to the feeling of fear and utter failure that was my existence at that point but what happened next . . . I still don't know.
"Last chance ! Do it NOW !" I felt the cold barrel of the pistol dig into the back of my head. Then . . . things happened. I seen them, but I did not do them. As the man who wasn't trying to perform cranial surgery on me with his gun advanced, cuffs in hand, my arm moved. It grabbed the pistol, twisted to the side and, unbeknownst to me, my other arm as a co-conspiritor grabbed at the other man's pistol, still holstered. Two shots fired. One harmlessly fired into the wall, the other into the foot of the man who was about to cuff me.
A passenger in possession I could only watch as I spun, my body landing deliberately and heavily on the wounded foot releasing an anguished scream whilst cartwheeling the other man to the floor, hard. Almost faster than I could keep up with my body then chose to rend the pistol from the wounded man's holster then fired repeatedly at the prone guards head. So quickly neither I or the guard could expect to react to my weight shifted, still without my consent, off of the now sole living guard's foot and, before he could muster another cry I clamped my free hand around his neck and raised him clear off of the floor.
I watched powerful yet powerless as the man flinched, floundered, coughed and choked to death. My grip released and as it did I was released too. I stepped over the other, now dead, body and in a brief moment of clarity corrected myself from earlier -
NOW.
I.
AM.
SCREWED.
What in the name of all that's sane just happened here ?!?!? What am I going to do ? Oh no . . . not again !
This time 'I', apparently, was going walkies. One gun in hand, 'I' grabbed the second and went running off down a corridor, then another. 'I' stopped outside a door marked "Security Office" Strangely I do remember passing it before. After a shot to the entry keypad and several more to turn the office, its' consoles, and anything else in there into slag I get graced with the privilege of control once more.
"Look, up to now I think I've dealt really well with the geometric factors of weirdness that have incorporated themselves into my life from being scratched up to this point. This, however, I can't deal with. I'd very politely and respectfully ask that, until I get some major league help, don't do that again Mr death-dealing-possession-thing. Please?" Yeah. I was talking to myself. Deal with it. I'd like to see anyone else have that horror movie stuff actually happen to them and be all kittens and moonbeams about it.
The rest of today was rather dull compared to that. Double back, lift the scanner, ship, take off, get outta there so fast that engine lunges, crawl back to Cali at a speed so slow I probably could've spacewalked faster. On the upside I've had a smoke and a tall quad of a drink since then and I also, for a small fee and the 'donation' of a new diagnostic scanner to Cali's medbay I got the results I need without anyone seeing the results but me.
I was only on that forsaken transport for about ten minutes, fifteen tops, if my rough arithmetic's right. Also I fed the scan data of my scar into the ships scanners. If there is anything, anywhere in the search pattern that has a tissue sample anything like that of my scar, living or dead, I will find it.
I will find that facility. I will get back in touch with Mr G. from Chester and get things toned down from freak-factor-nine. I'll also get the answers on what happened today and why. After my best attempt tonight to get some rest. Sleep'll be easy, whether it'll be restful is a different matter. It's all probably just in my head anyway. Eyewitness reports are useless.
I've always admired the ones who could do that. Live transmissions where everything is certain to go as wrong as it can as quick as it can and they stay cool. I had an audience of, at most, two today and I struggled. So many questions and, unlike before, where a retraction on page seven, hidden under a half page ad, would cover you I couldn't risk a misquote or false impression considering the help I've been given. I think I covered everything though . . .
"The data ! Oh %&^* ! I forgot to forward it !" Better do it now. To you-know-who, from me, quick message, attach data and . . . wait a mo'. Did he want the additional stuff too? Sod it. Add it anyway with a note that the comparison was before and after treatment with the 'formula' . . . aaaaaaaand done.
That way he can see how effective the formula is. The formula I've ran out of and forgot to ask for more of because I'm an eejit who was to busy trying not to mess up when answering all those questions . . . I'll have to ask another time. Until that time comes around I'll just boil up some of the normal stuff in some water and apply the mixture with a towel. Lucky I always know where mine is !
Luck is also with me that my friend's 'colleague' seemed to be up to speed on things. The more the merrier. It's weird though. Considering the people who are helping me and how they're portrayed it's a shock how much utter hackery is put out there about them.
I've also noticed how strangely calm I feel around them. Even when I talked about my recent odd behavior. More than I could with all these other people floating about at any rate. Maybe, given a bit of time, I could get permission to tell their side of the story as I've never seen a piece crying out more to be written. It'd have to be anonymous, of course, but it's the story, not the writer, that matters.
If I understand correctly though this writer will need to wait until I know which path my story takes. So far there seem to be many paths that I may be traveling. They seem to be able to see where the paths are and where they lead but I'm still blind as a bat. I'll stick with it though, the fog will lift, I'll see the paths, choose wisely and from further down the way be able to say . . .
"Live ! Reporting on the scene . . . it's . . . "
Until such a time though, my foot's went to sleep. I intend on catching it up.
I gotta fix the gyros on this thing. Urg. I'd also like to add blurgh, urp and blurp. Maybe taking . . . ooohangonasec . . . yuck. That was disgusting. It'll have the advantage though that there's no way I've anything left to bring up. Okay, I'm okay now. Better, in fact. I'm better now.
I've also got better today at other things. I said it myself earlier that it is odd that the people have been helping me have been far more helpful and civil to me than the people I was expected to turn to. Like that guy who opened fire on the one I was trading stories with today. "They're deadly !" I remembered responding "Ever tried just saying 'hello' ?" I've not been shot at once by those who are supposedly the ones I need "saving from". Then whilst employing the sole skill I have in when there's a firefight (i.e. being in the way of gunfire - although this was the first time in my life I did so intentionally !) he then opens fire on me !
Some savior. What was I thinking though ? I decked this thing out to look like I knew what I was doing, in reality I have trouble pulling up the navmap without activating the cupholder instead best time outta three. Acting like a human shield ? Then fighting back when he attacked me ? I give myself marks for courage but what was I thinking ?
More importantly - how did I do so well? If I hadn't got so excited about not dying instantly in a real live actual space fight and jammed the razors firing protocols before they'd had their cool down time I'd have hit him that one more time and it would've killed him. Another question, why doesn't that bother me? It just doesn't. I think it should. Or maybe not. I suppose he could've done with being tidied away, I mean it's just rude to try and kill people in the middle of a conversation.
What a conversation it was too ! Never mind a report, I'd need to write an encyclopedia on all the different paths my friends seem to be able to travel. Metamorphosis, like a butterfly. I did feel a bit stupid though. Her supercomputer of a mind must've looked at the xenoantique of mine and wondered how the hell she'd get a dope like me to understand anything. But there was no contempt or frustration from her. Unlike other groups of people I could think of. I think I even got a laugh when I explained that I'd forgot to ask for more formula.
After getting me more formula, and after the interruption was dealt with we parted. Not before I seen one of the big guys. Man they are big. I mean colossal, titanic, n-dimensional big. It made me wonder how much stuff one of those guys must use when they get hungry. One that note, I could do with a snack myself. I've been snacking a lot, haven't put any weight on though. Must've been from all the running around. By tomorrow the gyros'll be fixed, I can head back to Malta for a refill on the essentials and check out a few things.
I really thought, for once, just once, today was gonna be a quiet day. Head over to Malta, pick some essentials. Done. No problem at all. Go double check the sensors by the site in Colorado. No biggie, realign the one knocked out of whack by a bit of stray debris, still no further hits on activity but maybe after the incident they're not keen on using that place for a while. Check for messages from any of my new friends. Nothing yet but sometimes no news is good news. Formula's working like a charm, the last bits that were rotting fell off and it's all healthy tissue as far as the readout from the last scan I done tells me. I suppose as long as I've got formula I've got a fix for the moment.
And, for a moment, I thought that for today that'd be it. Then the cruise engines decided they would only activate when they were in the mood to. It was during the time I attempted an in flight repair (admittedly by staring at the controls pleadingly as that'd magically repair the damaged systems) that a broadband transmission came in.
I used the word transmission in the loosest possible term. First my first name, mispronounced, then static. Second "wait" then static. After a lifetime of experience I realised that this is not going to be a pleasant experience regardless of how things develop from here. Let's not forget I'm in the Taus with a broken engine and half the known universe in range of the vocal. "I want to buy something from you."
There it is ! For all to hear ! This person is referring to the only thing in my hold that I cannot hide from prying scanners. My formula donated by those helping me. Not "Good evening, perhaps we could talk privately, I have a proposition for you." Not a tightband ship-to-ship transmission, just loud and proud, in front of all and sundry and my thoughts just grip tightly to the single thread of comfort in this situation.
Thank whatever powers that be that he didn't refer to the 'formula' by it's actual name. As, if he did, it'd be plain to see with whom I was associated and, therefore, would give an unofficial license for anyone and everyone to murder me to death on sight.
Whilst swearing in ways that have certainly excommunicated and damned me for eternity from every know religion internally, stalling with disinterest on comms externally and hitting everything as hard as I can in my proximity, the cruise engines, at that moment, decide to explode into life.
Ship, I love you. And, for those uneducated in matters of the heart, that's what love is - It's any person/thing/whatever that, when the proverbial has hit the fan, and it is more than you can deal with . . . they are there for you, to the exclusion of all else and they back you up all the way, no matter the cost.
If I didn't get that guy out of comms range with all listening and he mentioned my formula by name . . . the cost'd be pretty damn high. Also the proverbial'd be hitting me, there'd be nearly unlimited amounts of it, and the fan'd be getting off scot free. I'd already made almost all the distance towards the nearest jump gate from the engines kicking in to my focus snapping back to the here and now. He followed. Despite my earlier outburst of expletives, someone still is watching over me.
I hoped they were still keeping an eye out as I made the jump, then hit the first available lane, looking for one of those beautiful points where you can do a quick double back. He followed. Begging, almost pleading, finally mentioning it by name but, by then, safely out of range of anyone else hearing. With my responses restricted to various variations of 'no', he finally got the point and left.
Free from the unexpected encounter I realised the greater irony of the situation. I expected my end to come from being unable to talk to most about my condition, those that could help would be unwilling to talk to me or the people cleverly following me maybe being too clever. I traversed all those problems with ease but one person brazenly blurting out, in almost unintelligible sentences, nearly caused my discovery and certain death.
Death. It used to scare me, not so much now. It just feels like it'd be untidy to leave my story unfinished, not tell the tale from the path taken. Anyway smoke, snack, sleep. Time for one of each.
![[Image: JSK7ZDm.png]](http://i.imgur.com/JSK7ZDm.png)