There are a lot of good ways to wake up in the middle of the night. Having a laser pistol stuck in your face isn't one of them.

Above me stands Gordon Bellforte, Mr. Po, and another gorilla I don't know. The ice cold Mr. Bellforte is the one holding the muzzle of said laser pistol against the bridge of my nose.

"Where in the hells is my daughter, Ryan?" Mr. Po asks with enough icy fury to make most people have continence problems.

Not really taking my eyes off the device pressing against my face I reply, "She wanted to join MARC after the way you treated her. MARC appears to have..."

"STOP with the MARC Bull! We both know it doesn't really exist!"

"I don't 'know' that, in fact I know the opposite."

"You lying WHOAHO!" he screams and I think our planetary OES commander is on the edge of needing his own psych evaluation. It would be funny if I didn't expect to have a hole through my head at any moment.

"Is there a problem here?" a familiar voice asks from the direction of the lift.

"This isn't your problem, leave!" Po orders and the gorilla moves out of my sight.

"Boss, you having problems with these folks?" That familiar voice belongs to Dean, I'm not inclined to get him into this.

"Don't sweat it, Dean. Just a misunderstanding that I got caught in."

There is a sudden sound of a scuffle and what might be a punch or two being thrown. There is a loud 'thud!' followed by Mr. Bellforte starting to raise the pistol off my face.

"Boss, you might tell them I don't take kindly to being threatened, and I don't put up with punks."

The laser pistol is moving, now, but the threat Bellforte is responding to is moving like a blur into my field of vision. As if swatting away a child's punch, Dean deflects Gordon's raised weapon and steps within his reach. The two are about equal in weight, if not quite size, but Dean's hand is suddenly twisting the Associate's arm at the elbow in a manner that appears to be painful...

"Drop it, bud," Dean says through clenched teeth and Gordon Bellforte complies.

"Tell him to stand down, Ryan," Po orders from somewhere nearby.

"Give me a good reason not to dislocate this chump's shoulder," Dean replies.

"We are OES. We are the government!"

Dean looks down at me and I nod. "Why were they threatening you, Mr. Ryan?"

"The one giving the orders thinks I've done something to his daughter."

"Where is she, Ryan?"

"Where do you think I would be?" another voice asks from the lift.

"So! You were here all along!"

"Hardly. But we knew you were headed here and my trainer suggested this might be a good time to face you."

"We?"

"You just don't get it, do you? MARC is real. I am training to be a Reporter now, something I'm likely to be very good at." I can hear Xin Po moving to face her father at close range.

"Dean," I say rather softly, "Please don't hurt Mr. Bellforte, he is likely to take it out on me at some point in the future."

Dean smiles down at me and then looks at the OES Associate, "Okay, but I'm watching you." He steps back and Gordon massages his elbow. I'm surprised, but he doesn't reach down for the fallen weapon.

I sit cautiously up and let my eyes find Xin.

Xin isn't finished with her father, "You taught me to be nothing more than a sex toy for draining information from men, you forgot that I'm a REAL WOMAN!"

Her anger explodes and I almost expect her to strike him. "I am not your SLAVE, OLD MAN!"

He is stunned at this turn of events and seems suddenly unsure of himself.

"I will become the best Reporter MARC has ever had, and if you DARE EVER come after this man or ANYONE else on account of me, I will expose things about you to the powers that be that will have your head on a platter before you can SCREAM! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!"

The force of her verbal assault on the man is enough and he sags back against a wall.

Under his breath, Gordon says admiringly, "What a woman."

All I can do is nod.

Xin leaves her father shattered against the wall and walks over to Dean, Gordon, and I.

"Ms. Po," Gordon says admiringly.

She glances his way and answers, "Mr. Bellforte." Next she eyes Dean, but before I can introduce her, she says, "Mr. Olivian."

"Ma'am... I didn't catch your name."

"Xin."

"Ms. Xin."

"Nope, just Xin." He nods and she continues, "You have managed to step into a hornet's nest watching out for his little garden here."

"Yes, Ma'am, seems that way."

"Surprised?"

"No, Ma'am, considering that his last managers got vaporized next door."

"You still planning to do that monk thing?"

"I don't know. Seems like there are a few things here that I would like to be sure of first."

Xin glances at me and then look back at him, "You realize that everything you do here will be watched and evaluated, don't you?" It sounds like less of a question that an observation.

I hear a sound near the wall and see that Mr. Po has settled into a seated position on the floor, still completely shell-shocked.

"Yes, Ma'am," Dean answers Xin's question without flinching.

She nods approvingly and finally turns her full attention my way. "Well, Shawn, if you have any more problems like this, I'll know pretty quick. You have enough to worry about as it is without pops over there going all ballistic on you."

"Gee, thanks."

"Don't mention it. Gloria wanted me to tell you that Hornek Tish has doubled the bounty on you, or at least on your corpse. Seems your little music session hasn't softened his position on your survival. However, someone spliced the holos of that little session from Habib's into a bootleg that is making the rounds in several circles of blues fans. If the Tev can get past his murderous intent and Carla wants to join you, you have the makings of a career change that won't be of any real interest to OES, MARC, or whomever is behind Tish."

I shrug at this news... though I have to admit, I wonder just how bad I look in it. "As for who is behind Tish, I think it is at least one member of the Senate Intel committee, Carl somebody. Senator Starrington might be in on it too, but I'm not so sure about her."

Xin nods and says quietly, "I'll pass that on to your case Researcher. I'm not working on you, I'm only here because my trainer was pretty certain that pops needed a talking to and that doing it in your presence was best for everyone."

She looks back at Dean and says, "By the way, everything you saw here tonight is classified, unless we tell you it's okay to talk about it, you can't."

"Well, other than with Mr. Ryan and at confession, I don't plan to."

"Confession?"

"I'm a postulate for a Franciscan order, violence isn't exactly allowed and I kinda took care of that guy," he gestures at the heap still lying on the flood, "and this guy," here he points at Gordon Bellforte before continuing, "In less that nonviolent means... it was before you showed up."

She nods, "You do know that Franciscan monks can't marry, right?"

He chuckles, "Yes, Ma'am."

She raises an eyebrow as if to ask a question that only he can guess.

Surprisingly, he answers, "Just because I'll go to confession doesn't mean that I've decided to take my final vows."

She glances my way and then back at him, "Choose wisely, Mr. Olivian."

"I plan to. And if you want me to call you 'Xin' then you need to call me..."

"Dean," she interrupts and he just nods. "By the way," she adds softly, "My pops over there was a big fan of yours, you could do a lot worse than to give him your autograph on something."

"Thanks, I'll take care of that."

Xin looks my way again and says, "You know, I never thanked you. Without your stubbornness and honesty, I would never have wound up where I am now." She unexpectedly leans forward and kisses my cheek. Eye to eye, she breathes, "Thanks, TOG. I owe you one."

The hangar rumbles with loud concussions that reach crescendo with the echoing BOOM! of nearby thunder.

"Time to go," Xin states rather matter of factly. To Gordon Bellforte she says, "Better get pops out of here quick or you'll be trapped for a while."

Gordon nods and answers, "Good to see you again, Xin."

She seems to recognize something she doesn't want to deal with, shaking her head as she turns away without an answer. Hurt paints his face and I think I see a bit of an unexpected emotion in his eyes... it sure looks like longing. Xin turns only when the lift door slides into place and what I can see of her face reflects her old cold self. Mr. Bellforte's eyes follow her across the hangar and he only looks away when the outer door has closed behind her.

"Well, while I don't want to seem a bad host," I begin and both Dean and Gordon look my way, "I didn't exactly stock the larder very well for four."

"You've got plenty in the freezer, Mr. Ryan," Dean offers with a disarming grin.

"We should go," an unexpected voice states from behind me. Well, unexpected because of the state I last saw Mr. Po in; I turn to see him upright and at least appearing to be in control of himself once again.

"Apology accepted," I say snidely, receiving an icy glare in response.

"Don't push it, Ryan."

"I told you the truth."

"Doesn't matter. I'm still me and you are still little people. And like she said, it is all covered by OEGC 2741-171 Section 4. Maybe MARC is real, but it doesn't make either of you any less OES sources... maybe now more than ever."

"Excuse me?"

"You know MARC better than my people appear to... I'll probably find a time where I want you to fill me in on what you know or find out."

Outside a massive thunderclap erupts and everything loose rattles, indicating that the lightning bolt must have struck close-by. We four all look momentarily startled, then I answer, "I thought I didn't have the tradecraft or whatever."

"Yeah, but you appear to have more honesty than I gave you credit for and I may need to make up for lost time... that makes you valuable to me. As for you," he looks at Dean, "That was pretty slick moving... you are the real Dean Olivian, aren't you?"

I see the big man nod cautiously, "Yes, sir. Sorry I had to use so much force on your men, but I tend to feel a bit of loyalty for folks I consider friends."

"I liked your moves... well, I didn't like them at the time, but they were very effective. Looks like some of my guys need a bit more training, care to work for me?"

"No, thank you. It seems my current boss has need of a bit more assistance than I originally thought, and besides, I'm supposed to be learning a nonviolent lifestyle now."

For the first time tonight, I see what looks like a genuine smile on Shen Po's face, "Well, think about it. I suspect we'll see each other again, especially if you are going to hang around old trouble here." This last is said while gesturing in my direction.

My skin starts to crawl with electricity and I notice startled looks on my companion's faces that likely match mine.

In a brilliant flash, the copper ground for our lightning rod glows instantly to sun-like brightness as a direct strike hits my hangar... and though it is on the far side of the hangar near the doors, the concussion of the thunderclap outside strikes with the rumbling of an planetquake and the sound of a bomb. The lights wink out and only the hot glow of nearly melted metal lights the dark.

Emergency lights come on and soon the generator is running... but we each seem rather stunned. Only the acrid smell of smoke from something or other that had been too close to the ground finally breaks us out of our torpor; almost at the same moment, Dean and I break for the lift, then he turns to the sink for something while I grab the closest fire extinguisher. Whatever it had been, the fire is small and goes out quickly, though the scorch marks will likely be here until the building is no more and maybe long after that.

Meanwhile, it seems that Messrs. Po and Bellforte had decided to exit the hangar, probably to depart, but they are now standing at the open door without exhibiting any serious motion to actually leave. A further look their way shows why: outside, the rain is falling so hard that just beyond the overhang it appears more like a solid wall than any number of raindrops.

I smile and Dean follows my gesture to see them standing there, shoulders sagging with resignation.

"Well," I call out, "Might as well close the door, gents. I'll get some dinner, why don't you all sit down upstairs? Any ideas what we should do after we eat? Maybe some poker?"

"Ever play Bridge?" Gordon Bellforte asks with a hint of greedy intent.

Dean smiles rather diabolically, "Yeah, I've played a hand or two"

"I haven't played that since... well, must have been back in the twenties when I was..."

"Oh joy, now we get the life history," Mr. Po states rather sarcastically. He continues, "If you can play, then it's Gordon and me against the two of you."

I look over at Dean and shrug. He nods back and I say, "You're on."

…..

If you had told me a week ago that I would be sitting in my hangar eating sandwiches and drinking Guinness, swapping jokes and telling stories, and playing rather intense rubbers of Bridge all night with Shen Po, Gordon BellForte, and Dean Olivian... well... I might have suspected that you were short a thruster or two.

But as the storm rages outside, here the four of us sit.

"I'm going to have to call it a night," Dean states. He gestures at the gorilla sitting by the exit door, sullenly avoiding any attempt at interaction. "Maybe your extra man..."

"The hells you are," Shen interrupts with a growl. "Rubber match and I want to beat the two of you at something."

"You know, once the storm breaks," I say, "I'm probably going to have to get back to the stars myself. Since I'm not worth much if I haven't gotten any sleep, maybe this is a good time to call it a draw."

"Don't like your cards?" Gordon smiles a little too broadly.

Shaking his head, Dean states, "Never say I didn't give you a chance." He looks briefly again at the hand Po dealt... even though I have little doubt from his expression that he never needed to see them again... and declares, "Two Spades."

"Three clubs," Gordon quickly tosses his words at Shen.

I look down at my hand; I've only got two clubs, but one is the king, so even if Gordon has the ace I might have a stopper for his second play. With four spades to the queen, five hearts to the ace jack, and two little diamonds, I figure I'm safe going, "Three hearts."

"Pass," Po sighs.

"Four no trump." Dean has that wide grin that tells me we may be into slam.

Po groans and lays his hand down, all the while shaking his head.

"Five clubs," Gordon follows on, wearing a look I've only seen on grizzly bears in those holos where they are catching fish with their mouths.

I try to remember my bidding conventions... I think I'm supposed to tell him how many aces. I think that since clubs is already out, the one that will tell him I've got just one is "Five Hearts?"

Po looks at me with a grimace and snarks, "No tradecraft my ass."

I smirk back and ask, "Is that your bid?" I'll grant that I put as much tweak as I can in those four words.

"Bite me, spacer," he says with a grimace and shake of his head. "Pass."

"Seven spades," Dean announces.

Gordon glares at him, but I think I detect a touch of smile underneath it. "Pass."

"Pass," I add.

Po is still shaking his head; he looks up and with about as silly an expression as I've seen him wear asks, "So I guess seven no trump isn't a realistic option?" Everyone laughs and he continues softly, "Pass."

Gordon shakes his head, does his best Cheshire cat smile, and leads the ace of diamonds. I lay my hand down to dummy and see Dean grin. Gordon still looks triumphant. Little diamond from me, little diamond from Shen, two of spades from Dean.

Mr. Bellforte erupts, "You have GOT to be kidding me!"

Dean smiles, "Nope. A sixth grader could make slam in spades with..." here he points at me, "His hand added in."

I can see Gordon quietly exhale, "Do you have any clubs?"

"Nope. I'm guessing you have nine or ten."

Gordon slumps and opines, "Should have quit when we had the chance, Mr. Po."

"Now you tell me."

"I'm going to the head," I say, rising from the table, certain my partner has it all under control.

"Want to take my cards with you?" Po jokingly queries.

"Pass."

They all laugh and I chuckle.

…..

Morning is halfway gone when the rain finally lets up enough that the three OES types decide to rough it. I open the hangar doors to shorten their sprint to a waiting 'Lancer, but it is obvious that by the time they reach its shelter that they are all completely soaked. Wet cats are probably happier than they were, though at least I did feel that I had given them a good hot breakfast to head out with.

Dean stands beside me as I let the doors slide closed, cutting off the sounds of the engines firing up.

"Well, they are at least real people," he comments.

"At least some of the time."

"Yeah, that 'little people' remark did rather speak of a nasty side... but I do think they relaxed a bit."

"Hope so."

The external speaker on the M50 comes to life, "Shawn Ryan, you've got an incoming call from some lizard or another." Duncan seems to be into a rather less than complimentary subroutine.

"Who is it, Duncan?"

"Kree'Gna, who else?"

"Um, I'd rather you delete that little euphemism from your database."

"Which one?"

"The one about an incoming call from a lizard."

"Database entry deleted as required."

"Patch it to my mobi, please."

Duncan sourly says, "Patched," just as the mobi chimes.

"Kree'Gna, Shē'sueren."

His expression seems formal, but I can't really see the environment to gauge the reason, "Shawn Ryan, Shē'sueren. I will be ready to depart for Sol again in one hour."

"I'll be there, though it is rather stormy here right now."

He nods, "I can wait an additional hour if needed."

"I'll be there," I reply, thinking about the deluge outside and wondering if my M50 can make it or if I need an ark.

…..

The hangar doors have slid open and I look at the downpour that has only slightly diminished. Preflight is complete, but I have to wonder just how well the light racer will handle in this soup. I should have left yesterday before this had a chance to arrive, but that's all shoulda, coulda, woulda now.

"Duncan, latest weather sat for the Torre Nor, please."

"Ya, sure, you betcha," Duncan says with just a hint of attitude. The display energizes and I see a time-lapse holo of the front moving by, the angriest of the thunderheads towering eighteen thousand meters, but already safely to my east.

"Hey, Dean," I shout down to the man standing a safe distance away. It looks like he can't hear me, I guess I won't make the foolish remark about having him clean up my wreckage before Jurdi gets back. Honestly, I'm not even sure why I wanted to share that one in the first place.

I bump the directionals and lift us into the air, then with a five degree up angle, I head for the rain. Contact! Lift suffers instantly and I'm struggling to even keep level as the force of tons of water bear down on my little ship. I fight the sudden loss of lift with my directionals and begin angling for a steep climb... sharper and sharper the angle becomes until I'm accelerating straight up. Gravity has me seeing red, but I dare not ease off of fighting for greater altitude as quickly as I can.

I'm into the clouds.

The rain is easing. Quickly, flight becomes more normal and I'm able to reconfigure for a more comfortable ascent.

I'm through the clouds into a deep blue sky that is rapidly growing darker as I climb. Soon, the Great Banner replaces the clouds overhead and beneath me the white billows and anvils of the storm-front's tops look quite peaceful and placid.

"Shawn Ryan is calling Kree'Gna."

"Shawn Ryan, Shē'sueren. Are you in space yet?"

"Kree'Gna, Shē'sueren. I'll be at the Embassy in twenty stamin."

"Very good, my friend. I will be waiting a klick off the dorsal spires."

"I'll be there shortly. Kree'Gna, athlē-korr."

He answers, "Shawn Ryan, athlē-korr."

…..

"Xi'An A7764 and Terran 171-4DLR17, this is Grimms Leader from ArcCorp System Security Division. Please stand to and identify yourselves and your purpose in this system."

We have just entered Stanton after being at Sol for a day and a half of mind numbing boredom.

"Kree'Gna, Deputy Diplomat for Emperor Kray on Imperial diplomatic business."

The patrol that has stopped us isn't the Navy, after all, this is Stanton. Instead, today it is a five ship security patrol from ArcCorp, backed up by a Hurston Dynamic's tagged corporate Idris, floating about fifteen klicks out.

My turn, "Shawn Ryan, registered with Xeno Affairs as a Xi'An diplomatic contractor, escorting Deputy Diplomat Kree'Gna."

"Please stand by for confirmation."

This is one of the minor drawbacks of Stanton; while this is UEE space, the Corporations generally rule here. Patrols are corporate employees or sub-contractors, the Advocacy is around, but usually isn't very public about it. Likewise the Navy.

"7764, Diplomat Kreega, you are confirmed. LR17, Shawn Ryan, we need to do an inspection scan of your craft, please power down your shields and weapons and stand by."

"Duncan, please power down shields and weapons."

"You got it, boss." The systems wink off and Duncan comments, "Getting too lazy to reach out and touch the glas to turn them off yourself, huh?"

"Yup, that's why I have you."

"I would say it's hard to imagine that you've sunk so far, but it isn't all that hard, really."

"Gee, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Bite m e."

"LR17, Boss wants to know if you will sell that M50? He says he'll swap you a '41 Phoenix for it, straight up."

"He a Cup fan or something?"

"Nah, I bet he figures it would be worth three or four times that to some of the engineering companies on ArcCorp... off the record, I bet he wants to get the '44 Phoenix as soon as it hits the showroom and figures he won't get as much trade-in from a dealer as he'll want."

"Well, I don't know what I would do with a pleasure boat, I'm not likely to be able to do what I do now with an albatross like that."

"Hey, I've asked like I was told to; no harm, no foul. Anyway," he takes a breath and launches into the usual canned speech... or perhaps it's more of a sales pitch: "Welcome to Stanton, we hope you enjoy your stay. Services and shops on ArcCorp are especially suited to knowledgeable pilots like yourselves, please feel free to visit and purchase any of your many needs and wants. You're both free to go."

I almost expect him to end the sales pitch with "Have a nice day" but fortunately he spares us this final insult.

"Throttles up?" I ask on our sequence.

Sounding just a hint impatient, Kree'Gna replies, "Yes, throttles up."

The Xress' thrusters all glow to life and the craft accelerates away from me. I light my engines up, too, and flash merrily after him.

…..

Once again, Hurston is close enough to our crossing lane that I can see the haze that dominates its atmosphere. We are looking at the planet with almost three quarters of it in the night side, whole areas lit with the cheap pink light of ionized sodium arcs. What a hell that must be, even for those who will be allowed to go home at the end of their year.

I look away, instead soaking in the awesome view of the Great Banner. Many of my favorite constellations are missing here, especially the Great Goose, but I do find the nose "star" from her head, the M81 galaxy, and it feels just a bit relaxing to see it floating there... so near looking but really so very very far away. I wonder if we will someday find a jump that links us with it or any other galaxy other than our own. Bet it won't be until long after I'm gone.

The jump to Pelles is now only a couple hours away, how I wish we were there... nothing good ever happens in Stanton... heck, nothing at all ever happens out here.

…..

We arrive at the Pelles jump point to find a small line and a six craft merc patrol that has Hurston Dynamics authority tags.

In front of us a pair of Hull-C with a pretty good escort of four Super Hornets and two 325s is staged to cross over. The two Origins go first, maybe twenty seconds apart, then the Hornets follow, one after another at maybe fifteen seconds delay. As the last one crosses into the anomaly, a Reclaimer with its ancient Python gunship escort slips up behind us and joins the line. After giving the fighters about two minutes to secure the area the first Hull-C is sucked into that magical rabbit hole... the second follows just over a minute later.

It isn't all that uncommon for there to be a line here.

"7764 and LR17, this is Pardner representing Hurston's security group. Ya'll identify yourselves, please."

I guess things are a little less rigorous on this side of the system today. Does seem odd that they don't have our data from the ArcCorp patrol, but who am I to explain the what or why of these folks.

"Kree'Gna, Deputy Diplomat for Emperor Kree on Imperial diplomatic business."

Before I can answer, Pardner comments, "Nice ship, looks fast."

Kree'Gna's silence speaks more than words might. He is probably tired and not really in the mood for any inane banter.

There is no reason to think something is wrong.

"Pardner, This is TOG in LR17. Name is Shawn Ryan, I'm registered with Xeno Affairs as a..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know all that, just checkin'. Ya'll go on through."

I power up my jump drive, setting the emitter to the jump's needed frequency by the navicomp's presets for Stanton to Pelles. and my sensors pick up Kree'Gna's jump emitter. I usually enter ten seconds before him to be in position on the other side, and I throttle up to hit the opening jump.

There is a brilliant flash maybe a few hundred meters above the jump point and my emitter status starts blinking the warning: Wave Collapse!

A jump mine!

It takes just a moment to know this is an ambush. "Kree'Gna, GO!" I scream, turning towards the patrol who are likewise turning towards us, their lasers dancing across the short gulf between our craft. Kree'Gna's thruster's glow brilliant blue and he is accelerating into a six or seven G flash as he shoots out into space past the now absent jump point.

I also push my throttle to try to rush past the fighters, but behind me the gunship has opened fire and I lose my port thruster before I even can get moving.

But move I do, and though now I'm on just the starboard engine, I am still accelerating after Kree'Gna's ghostly trail. Sensors show that at least two of them are also trying to follow the rapidly disappearing trail, maybe I need to play with them first...

I have a surplus of power from the now unused left powerplant, my twin Ominski VI start spitting light at one of them, his shields flashing from the strikes.

"Duncan, rear shields at full."

Not a moment too soon, as I am the center of attention for the remaining four fighters. I dance for all I'm worth, but if I'm to make sure the two pursuing Kree'Gna aren't going to keep their effort up, I have to stay pretty much on the same course.

Something back there is using a mass driver and my sensors show it is right on my six. I have to make him earn this... nose down suddenly, looping around at him with so much force that I'm seeing red... need to be careful or I'll black out...

Throttle back enough to hold me in the red a bit longer and then return me to normal, running right back at the pursuit.

"Duncan! Shields forward!"

Laser fire dances across the void, back and forth I go, never letting them get a missile lock, never letting them get a clear shot on a dead stick. I may have lost half the thrust, but I dance her for all she is worth and she flies circles around them.

Part of me knows this dance is just to give Kree'Gna time. I can't keep it up indefinitely and I no longer have the raw thrust to get away. Maybe if I get back to the traffic lane I can get help from someone.

"Missile lock," Duncan announces emotionlessly.

I corkscrew us, trying to break the lock... but my luck seems to have run out.

"Four missiles, all locked."

I turn us away from them and hit my remaining afterburner.

"Fuel limited, you may not be able to roast all the darts if you continue at this rate."

"And I'll be dead if I sit still," I begin, only to realize that I'm taking fire from above... a Gladius is even with me and raining slugs down into my path...

"Shield generator damaged, shields have failed!"

I feel like I've been here before.

I dodge left and down, evading the incoming rounds. "Missile range?" I ask.

"Thousand meters... Nine-fifty."

I reach to my throat, press the MUD packet, and feel the juice jab into my neck. I have just thirty seconds or so before I begin to loose control. I start a twisting corkscrew away from the closest fighters.

"Missiles?"

"Five hundred meters."

"Nice riding with you, Duncan."

"Have a nice trip."

"Eject now, now..." and before I finish with a third "now" there is a loud Chank! as the canopy blasts away. A heartbeat later, the morthozine propellant launches my chair and I rocket from the dying M50... the chair a ballistic missile; but as g-forces and the MUD in my bloodstream threaten to knock me out, I push off from the solid seat, changing its vector and mine also.

I'm dimly aware of the huge fireball where my M50 must have been, then I distantly feel searing pains in my right hand and left leg. My tumbling has protected my helmet, though, so whatever damage I've taken, I won't die. At least not yet. I hope. My mind is simplifying. The MUD is doing me. I'm not sure where...

Banner is beautiful. Welcoming...