- This journal could be found inside his safe vault, at his apartment at the Monolith - February 1st 2016 #1 entry So, a journal. I have tried writing one before; let us see if it works this time. Kluex, why do I decide to do this stuff at the worst times? I mean its 4AM local time and here I am, in my apartment at the Monolith writing on a damn leather journal. A bit of an old timer, I guess. Moreover, somewhere in the dark a bloody mosquito is trying to bite me through my feathers. I do not even know how the fucker got in; someone must have brought them from Ragnarok. So, a journal. Ok, I will not write down everything from the start, but let me introduce myself to, well, me. I am Kalidasa Swapseeker. Son of Kashyapa Swapseeker, a traditional trader of silk on Avos. Let me not forget about my mother, Daksha. She was a weaver, a very skilled one. Although her hands made beautiful pieces of cloth, she will always live in my memory as the protective women straightening the feathers on my head and giving me lessons on praising Kluex. Anyways, back to myself. My father taught me on the ways of the commerce, and as early as I can remember, I was helping him run the store. With very few grey spots, my early years were good. Years went by, and my father contracted a crippling disease, leaving me to manage the shop by myself. Around my twenties, thefts and such started happening on the district, including in my own commerce. I turned to the mob for protection, but things escalated quickly. They had driven me into their ways, and gotten me in all sorts of trouble. Momma would not have been proud, but I eventually bought a starship with the money from the store. I sold it after she and my dad died. He did not get a peaceful death… It was painful, and long. Whatever fell upon him did not let go easily. Every night I made my prayers to Kluex, to relieve my father of his suffering. He did not listen, I do not know why, but he did not move a finger to help my family. After the passing of my old man, I stopped praying. I distanced myself from my mom, and that disgraces me to this day. It was a matter of weeks before she died from the grief. I promised to myself that was the last funeral I would attend. One or two years later, the Stargazers caught up with my track. They took the vessel from me, and after a few weeks living undercover, I managed to escape with an old pal’s freight ship. It was not an honorable move, but I did what I had to. Kluex knows how it would have went if I had stayed on Avos. After those series of incidents, I decided to leave those stars behind me, and fled into the unknown. Those were hard days, and I barely made it out alive until I arrived in the fringe of Council Space. Perhaps among these new systems I could find deliverance, I thought to myself. However, I will leave it to another day. Right now, I need to get some rest.
- The journal was now located along his belongings in a hospital of unknown location - July the 15th 2416 Who would’ve thought this could survive the explosion. Well, the last time I’ve put my talon on it, it had been laid to rest inside a safe, so it was truly safe. Rodrick surely must have put it among my belongings on purpose, planning ahead when I woke up. If I did, that wasn’t certain, I would certainly have nothing to do but write at this old piece of leather and paper. Hospitals, after hundreds of years, are still boring, no matter how many thousands of channels are available at this holographic 3D projection. Anyways, time to remove the dust which has been piling up here since February. Much has happened in that meantime, and I have no time or will to attempt to remember and record it all. Let us, or rather myself, do some recapitulation. I came to this sector as a beggar, then started relying on the smuggling and scavenging ‘business’. Dark days, a shameful past indeed. But, as I often tell myself, an Avian must do what he must. In a matter of a few months, I managed to pile up a good stack of credits. It was something around 15 thousand, but nothing close to what I’d need for my next adventure. I’ve come to know a good amount of people while I was at those shady activities. Volare, the red lovebird, Karo, such a reliable friend, Oak, the only floran I could ever trust, and then Rodrick. I’ve never dug too deep into his past, and of course there were reasons for that. First, I wasn’t proud of my own and therefore couldn’t ask him to share his. And second, well, Rodrick wasn’t ever much of a talkative one. But I had some good moments with him, even if the first ones were on business, and eventually we came to somewhat trust each other. We made an agreement, and our plans seemed to interest a big shot in the Council. It was too risky for the Council to attempt to send any troops to the frontier, or even exert more influence and presence in the area, which seemed somewhat hostile to a faraway authority. So, we signed a contract with them. The first erchius crystal power plant in the fringe was ours. If we did our best to call the populace to our orderly embrace and housed any troops they might occasionally send, the Council administration would happily finance our enterprise. And they did. About 80 percent of the construction costs had been paid by Council credits. In about a month, the place was ready to go. Monolith Industries Incorporated, something to call my own. Finally, I could run a proper business again. Rodrick was no less important, but the financial matters weren’t completely his concern. His role was to oversee the workers, handle the security personnel and labor contracts in general. We had opened our sails and glided through warm waters for a good few months with a reputable number of visitors. Eventually, other lights began to shine in the fringe, and like moths, the frontiersmen were drawn to these new colonies. There was Upside, along with the ignominious Underside. Around such time, I had begun to work more strictly, and wouldn’t pay much more attention to nothing other than my company. The Monolith Industrial Complex closed its hangar to visitors, and would only allow business related visits or desperate medical emergencies, since the Artek Hospital was still open. Guard expenses came to a minimum, and most of our Power Cells were being sold to colonies in less sparsely populated sectors, which made our income somewhat constant after the initial expansions. The Conglomerate and Miss Tagal could no longer be seen among nearby stars, but our contract with the Tagal Mining Syndicate had been honored so far. New crystals were flowing in and old ones were discarded, all was going smoothly. Linus Brél, the Chief Engineer, and myself ensured the quality of such crystals upon arrival. The cold and harsh weather of Tartarus Rest 1 wouldn’t bother me so much, and the lack of new acquaintances didn’t matter at all. The people and the workplace I had around me sufficed. Things couldn’t run like that forever, of course. Rumor must have come out of my plans on expanding production and even perhaps moving towards a more central location in the galaxy. I can only think of that act of sabotage as a direct consequence of my ambition. Writing so far has been a good exercise on my memory, for before I opened this leather cover, I could not even recall the explosion. Now it all comes to my mind. A fine load of new crystals, ready to be installed at the generators. The pilot of the ship had been changed, but at the time that was irrelevant. If I could remember enough of his human face, perhaps I could discover who was responsible for that. But vengeance isn’t the path I’m seeking, and justice won’t be done either. Next, upon the return to my office, Veronika, my secretary, told me of a gift waiting for me. The box containing such object couldn’t be larger than her apex head. From the other edge of the room, I told her to promptly open it and show me what it was. If it had been another action figure sent from Susumu as a token of good will, I would’ve simply thrown it down the trash can. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. As soon as she pried open the package, a blast of heat and fire invaded the room. Veronika was no more, and within half a second, my desk, and me behind it, had been pushed towards the wall. The next thing I remember is a white ceiling above my head, and a body so weak under my neck I could barely move. It is nice here, despite the odds. This place seems to be formed of a multicultural team of rejected members of all the main six societies. Brilliant doctors, nevertheless. They must be, after all I’m paying them dearly for such professionality. Even Floran witchdoctors have I spotted wandering through the corridors. Thankfully none came to this room. Rodrick must have duly noted my preferences on service. They told me he rescued me from the flames and wreckages of my office, suffering some injuries of his own. Tough bastard recovered quickly, it seems. Left me here alone with this empty book, full of blank pages. I truly hope I won’t stay here enough to fill them. Doctors say I have been in coma for a week. I feel like it’s been a year. Some strange visions came to me while I was at it, but that’s for another time. My wrist already hurts of all this writing. Time to leave the pen aside and watch some shallow Core TV show.
