Continued on page . . .

[Below Par]

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.

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