Trent

For the record my name is Edison Trent. I just go by Trent. It's easier that way.

As for my background, I've never had much use for the past. I do have my eye on the future, though. And right now that future hinges on my getting back a million credits this guy owes me. It's not entirely his fault, the station we were on got blown away...but a deal's a deal.

It was a sweet deal, too - a million credits for a shipment of rare ore that I picked up in the Borderworlds. I needed that money, I earned that money, I risked my butt for that money. The GMG rep, this guy Lonnigan, was about to finish the transaction when suddenly the whole place started to come apart. Sirens, fire, the works. We couldn't get to our ships and to make matters worse a support beam hit Lonnigan in the head. He looked bad so I grabbed him and pulled him into an escape pod, took one last look at my cargo all spilled out on the deck like that - and then yanked the lever. Five seconds later --Boom. It was all gone.

We got picked up and taken to Manhattan, in Liberty space. Not my favorite place, they've got rules and regs for everything. But I still have Lonnigan. He's my ticket...as soon as he gets out of the Medical Unit. I have plans for that cash. That's future enough for me.

Jun’ko

My name? My name is Jun’ko Zane. What can I tell you about myself?

You might have heard about my parents, John and Shikoku. They caused quite a stir in their day when they crossed the lines of political ideology and protocol to be together. They both were luminaries from very different houses; he was a test pilot turned political figure from Liberty and she, a woman of great power and influence - even in a male-dominated society like Kusari. We were raised with the best of both worlds.

Today I work for the LSF, in special operations. On the surface my job is just like any other: I deal with bureaucrats, politicos, company men and freelancers. I have a sworn obligation to uphold Liberty and its political agendas, both foreign and domestic. However there is another side to this that takes me into the field - sometimes deeply. It's out there that I feel like I do the most good, where my talents really come into play. You may not hear about this stuff in the news, but you'd know it if we weren't out there. If we didn't hold the line.

What can I tell you about myself? Nothing.

King

My name is Michael King, my rank is Colonel in the Liberty Security Force. My current assignment is classified.

I was born in Manhattan and I'm proud of it. I went to West Point, served in the military and was then hand-picked to join the LSF. I am proficient in high energy weapons, triple-blade combat and open space survival. I am also the only non-Kusari Sri-Lhan master ever.

This, simply boiled down, means that I am a total and complete bad ass.

It's funny, there's so little in my career that I can actually talk about. But with the military's recent declassification of "Operation Triple Spire", and since I don't work for them anymore, I think I can fill you in on some of the details.

On the surface it was a simple criminal weapons facility strike; we had orders infiltrate - then slash and burn. Things changed though when our detachment soon discovered that this particular group of Rogues wasn't just manufacturing small arms, but had built a large fusion bomb that it was planning to take down Fort Bush with. Intel's estimates of the Rogues' size and strength were way off too - and we were surrounded. It got ugly.

For eighteen hours we held 'em - and we lost some good people along the way. Finally, we managed to get extracted - but not before leaving them a "little love letter from Liberty". As we left, we set off their own weapon and vaporized the entire installation with all hands on board. Mission accomplished as far as I was concerned.

When I got back, I also took a bite outta the screwtop Intel O.D. who'd briefed us. I assure you his hospital stay was worse than my night in the brig. Needless to say there no charges filed. My people and my mission are what matter to me, period. When I have an assignment, the brass upstairs knows that they either need to help me or get the hell out of my way - because I'm going to get the job done.

Orillion

Orillion. It's a name you think you may have heard, but you're not sure. It is in my best interest to not be known, to never be seen by anyone on the outside. No one knows what I look like or even if I really exist, but there is a rumor ...a distant rumor spoken in hushed tones...that I pull the strings of the underworld. That I have plans within plans that constantly maintain delicate events and countermeasures to ensure that both the criminal element in Sirius and their opposing government agencies are at constant odds with each other, yet remain in balance. That I maintain the ever-present tug of war of so-called "good and evil", and from my hand I dispense a decisive victory here or critical losses there - yet I always retain some portion of both for the waiting coffers of "The Order". It is rumored that I have ties deep in the halls of power, yet my influence can also be felt on the outskirts of humanity. That from my seclusion, I see all.

As I said, this is just a rumor. But like all good rumors, there lies within a grain of truth.

Tobias

Richard Winston Tobias, Esquire – at your service…

“- I take great care to give you the best deal – anywhere”

I’m a tradesman by birth, like my parents – both of ‘em. I inherited my small shop on Leeds from them when they passed. Since then, I have faithfully cared for our customers...many of whom come from all around for the patented “Tobias Touch”.

Being devoted to my trade I never had time to marry, though let me say I am no stranger to the fairer sex either. However I knew if I was ever to find a woman to my liking, it would be my desire to have a son...someone fine and strong who would carry on the rich "Tobias Legacy". Well, the wife has yet to appear – though I do have several strong candidates in mind – I did, however, have the boy…a boy named Trent.

I knew Trent's parents well, I did. A great tragedy...they were cut down before their time in a shipping accident, leaving behind their young son. Well, there was simply no one else to look after him...so in their memory, I took him in and made him my own. I gave the lad a good home and a good trade – but now he’s a young man...with a mind of his own. He's stubborn like his father was. He's gone off to seek his fortune outside of this “backwater place”, as he calls it.

…Ah, I shouldn’t worry, he’ll be back. -Mark my words…

Walker

Name: Walker, Marcus B.
Rank: Captain
Serial Number: B25364

I've been assigned to the Liberty Cruiser Utah as her skipper for the last five years. My crew and I are stationed in California and together we play a key role in Liberty's defenses against illegal activity, particularly pirates and smugglers. That's the official line, but there's more to it than that...We like to think of ourselves as Liberty's first line of defense. Anything bad from the outside world coming in - and we're there.

Example: There was this one time, three years ago - we'd received word from High Command that there was a group of Rogues moving a shipment of pirated gold through California. We knew the route and where they were coming in, and we waited. The drop time came and went but nothing was happening. Suddenly, I got this coded message from an LSF operative that our Intel was wrong. The agent gave us new coordinates. I was skeptical at first but the agent's security clearance checked out and HC gave us the go ahead. I moved Attack Group South into a new position --and surprised a huge smuggling ring. The largest we'd ever seen. They were Rogues alright, but they weren't moving gold - they were moving Cardamine, dangerous narcotic drug, into Liberty. We crushed them that day.

Ultimately, we received a commendation from the LSF and High Command...and that was also my first encounter with LSF Agent Jun'ko Zane. A relationship that we maintain even today.

Kendra Sinclair, that's Doctor Kendra Sinclair.

You want to know about my work? Heh, that's a switch. Usually people could care less about Xenoarcheology. But, if you really want to know, I'm researching the remnants of a culture that predates modern man by millions of years. That may sound dull to you, but when I'm out there I feel alive.

When I think, as I stand in the ruins of an enormous amphitheatre or walk the dust-filled catacombs of a vast underground network of streets, that in that very spot lived an active and thriving culture it fills me with a deep unquenchable thirst.

I have a thirst for their knowledge. I need to know their story - of who they were...of what happened to them and why. I want them to quietly whisper their secrets to me - out there in the darkness as I explore their cities. I'm close....I feel like I'm only missing something...a piece of the puzzle... some knowledge or key that will unlock all of their mysteries and lay them open before me.

...Then all the years of digging in the dirt will be worth it...of being eclipsed by the "The Great Quintaine". Then he will have to admit that I was right and that he was wrong.

When I find this piece, they will all know.

Roland Quintaine

Hello, I'm Roland Quintaine. Professor Emeritus of Archeology and Pre-Human Colonization Cultural Studies at Cambridge University. I have combined Phd's in archeology, anthropology, metallurgy and biology. For the last seventeen years I have immersed myself in the study of the artifact record left behind by a race of beings that inhabited Sirius for millions of years. In that time, I have headed numerous expeditions into some of the darkest recesses of the galaxy to try and unlock the secrets of the ruins unearthed there. My findings indicate that the technology and accomplishments of this race were so advanced that we would scarcely be able to fully comprehend it...and yet for all of their achievements they seemed to have suddenly - and inexplicably - vanished almost overnight.

Foolishly, there is a trade that has developed in recent years ...a fad really...of so-called art dealers who taken it upon themselves to harvest some of the lesser remnants of this race...shattered shards of their culture, which are loosely and quite simply refered to as "artifacts", and sell them on the open market. I have protested this on many levels, but either through political bribery or greed or sheer stupidity on the part of our leaders, the sale of these precious items remains unprotected throughout most of the galaxy. One of my deepest fears is what might happen if we were to ever recover something fully intact ...of any significant power... and by virtue of our short sightedness, let it be peddled to the wrong hands. It might be a Pandora's Box that we could never close.

Dexter Hovis

Yeah, my name's Hovis. Dexter Hovis. I was once a sad excuse for a human being - like you. Every day I'd make the shipping runs from different ports o'call in Sirius...each time goin' farther n' farther - goin' into and comin' out o' the most dangerous parts of the galaxy...without even so much as a scratch. It's like I was unbeatable...I just kept lookin' for the next challenge, the next thrill. Got to the point that even the credits didn't matter anymore. You make a lot you know, when you go where no one else will. I was pretty sure that I'd been everywhere and done everything - and then, on an old abandoned Bret battleship that the Molly's crippled up, I found "the race".

Asteroid racin' makes your blood boil and makes you feel alive. There's nothin' like the mano a mano struggle of two racers speedin' in and around millions of tons' of movin' rock and ice. -And when usually only one of them survives, it don't pay to be no second best.

Sure it's illegal, but the IMG don't care and no one else knows we're here - 'cept other racers - and they're not tellin'. They hear the callin' too. They come from all over to race each other - and me - to find out who's the best. It's not about the "rat race" anymore, it's this kinda race that makes life worth livin'. You ever get the callin' and feel like you got a pair - you look us up on "The Hood". I'll be waitin'.