Stouffville, Ontario Canada (647) 962-1997 gwstudios@rogers.com M-F 8:30am - 2:30pm & 8:00pm - 11:00pm

Tag: writing

The Obligatory 2021 Year in Review Blog Post.

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These are typically the type of thing that most people don’t bother to read, and I’m cool with that. As this sort of thing is for the poster rather than the audience. There was a definite shift in my workload and type of projects this year, compared to last year at least. Usually I would devote the majority of my off time to sculpting in clay or Super Sculpey®. Of which I did do some, but no where near what I have done in years previous. By that, I mean that I produced four this year. Two in plastercine and two in Super Sculpey® that I have yet to paint, though I did manage to get them baked and cured. My day job was fairly slow in the first half of the year, but I managed to pick up two new clients that have done a fair number of projects each, plus my returning clients all had work for me to do this year, which I am very thankful for. The big To-Do this year was Wood working. I was able to get out and into my shop and do a number of new and exciting projects this year in various types of wood. I have a good portion of Ash, Spalted Maple, Walnut, Pine and Cedar sitting around so those where what I worked in primarily. I was also able to add some textile work into the mix with Felt, Faux Leather and some real Sheep Skin Leather. I used the textiles on my dice trays, tool box trays, and to line the insides of my Harry Potter® Trunks. Below is the list of wood working projects from this year.

(3) Dice Trays – Lined in Felt or Faux Leather – Spalted Maple, (1) Die Tower – Spalted Maple, (2) Dice Vaults – Spalted Maple, (3) Harry Potter® Trunks – Pine, Cedar, Elm – Lined in Felt – Trimmed out with Ash, (1) Walnut Leather Working Tool Box – With (1) matching Tool Tray lined in Faux Leather – Trimmed out with Felt, (2) Walnut paper towel holders, (1) Pine Skid/Organizer for Pool Noodles and Towels, (1) Ash wheeled cart for old table saw, (1) Cedar box joint job box, (1) Cedar Porch Tray/Shelf that fits over the railing, (1) Elm Craft Supply box – Lined in felt, (1) Mixed Wood Antique Table that I am currently refinishing, (9) Cedar routered orchard signs, (3) Cedar name plates for gifts.

I have this feeling that I did a few more projects that I can’t immediately recall because I gave some stuff away to friends this year because it took me a while to sort out how best to approach some projects and I had to make more than I needed in order to be able to throw away the first iterations that were done incorrectly. A case in point, would be to use ply wood inserts for the base of the dice trays and trunks because real wood warps and twists after it has been milled flat in such a humid province like Ontario, Canada. I always hated the look of plywood, but a 3/8’s sheet with rich, thick felt glued over the top face is super sturdy and you’d never know unless you look underneath. A few years ago I refinished a rocking chair which was a lot of work, but also very satisfying, so I’m taking a crack at an old weather beaten table that was improperly stored at the cottage. I can’t make it look brand new, but I can make it look much, much better. Something you’d be proud to have in your home for playing cards on, or having a board gaming session.

Besides those things, we have done as much as we can to stay safe from Covid-19, I qualified to get a third dose early, and our youngest are finally eligible to get their first jabs in the coming weeks. I managed to get out while the numbers were low in October, to go and see Dune® in a D-Box Atmos seat late one Sunday night, and it was pretty great. It spurned me on to finish the first Dune® book, which was pretty dense but ultimately enjoyable, as I now look forward to Part Two in 2023! I was fortunate enough to get to read a bunch of great books this year. If I can find them I will write another post about them as a heart felt recommendation. Some of them were early Science Fiction classics written decades ago, and some of them came out this year or last year, so there’s a pretty good spread of the new and old in that reading list. The holiday season is baring down on us, and the new year approaches. I wish you all well, and hope that you are all safe & sound.

I’m also going to plug my book of short stories again, available through Kindle Unlimited.

The Company – A series of interconnected space short stories: Varied works of short fiction
by Amazon.com.ca, Inc.
Learn more: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B091JB3MG7/ref=cm_sw_em_r_mt_dp_QFEER8NFM58WZMAA90C6

The last big ticket project of 2021

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Well, that is unless I decide to trim out the basement bathroom, but that’s another matter. This project that I picked up again today is the screen door for the back of the house. Now I originally started this last year, or possible the year before that. I know the Ash took forever to flatten on my Busybee planer, and it pushed my Ryobi table saw to the near limit. Since my project is just shy of 2 inches thick, and i had to cut all the pieces down to just under four inches wide. The snipe on such heavy pieces was a real nasty pain to have to deal with, but I went longer than needed to try and limit that to the outer most edges that I could cut off, which kind of worked, but not as well as you might have expected. Plus my garage is tiny, and building an eighty inch long door, that’s about forty inches wide is harder than you might have guessed. But I took a day or two’s worth of time and milled it all up, and jointed the edges and then left it to sit in my garage for a year or so. Now, after all this time, I am once again, back at it. Today’s foray into wood working saw me using a SKIL® circular saw to cut the beginnings of my tenons on the long pieces of the door body. Took some getting used to holding the saw 90 degrees to the floor, but I see it done regularly by Youtube® peeps like the Samurai Carpenter, and his stuff always looks clean AF (Never mind he’s been at that sort of thing for a decade or two!). So after getting my heart rate back down to normal, I put on my head phones and goggles and I fired up the saw and took to making all eight of my cuts. At least, that was the plan initially. Then I quickly stopped after only four, because I’m shit with the circular saw, and want to see how I progress with a hammer and chisel to take out the meat of my mortise. If that proved to be a less dangerous affair then I would cut those out now, and get my nerves back for more circular saw cuts later on. One hour of hammering, shaving, peeling and general buffoonery with hand tools later, I had my first full through cut mortise completed. And she’s a dogs breakfast if ever I saw one. But I got it done, and I think I know how to improve for when I go back for numbers two through four. The tenons will be done on my radial arm saw, because that I’ve done before and I’m more confident there. I also need to leave more wood on the tenons so I can make a snug pressure/friction fit due to my shaky saw work previously. If I don’t manage to get the door together and up by November first, then it’ll be a May 2022 project for sure. Don’t aim for perfect, aim for done!

Having trouble visualizing the headspace I need

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to be in in order to write creatively at the moment. I have a couple of one off short stories rolling about in my head but I can’t seem to get them out on paper. I mean, sure I’ve done a very brief point form outline, but that’s not helping me find the voice of either set of characters. I have had a few spells of just plain day dreaming where I have thought up something fun, but then just couldn’t get it to come to life. Which is irritating to say the least, but at least I am not where I was a few months ago where I had no ideas at all. Here I was thinking that after I had published my book of short stories back in March, that I would wile away my time adding a couple thousand words more in the time I had before me. But besides three of four small posts here I haven’t written anything at all. I will amend my list of outstanding short stories as ideas come to me, and I hope that I will soon be able to work towards fleshing them out properly in my own idiosyncratic style.

Actually here I’ll just tell you what sort of short stories I have in my bag which I want to write out. I do usually tend towards micro short stories of about five hundred words or so, but if it really grabs me, I have been known to add on additional stories in that line of thinking. Sometimes there are multiple peoples perspectives in the same event, or just different people on the same side of a conflict having wholly different experiences. So the next three stories I intend to write revolve around the creation of the first AI in my interconnected space stories series, which revolves around a character named Kelvin, whom you may recall had a whole portion of my book; The Chronicles of Kelvin. I like him, he’s an interesting guy that has done some pretty weird shit. He’s also comfortable alone, much like myself. Now that story line could have one long but sort of abridged last chapter, or could be broken down like I have in my outline into five meaty chunks. But, you know, sometimes my eyes are bigger than my fingers and I can’t possible write interesting, character driven stories with that many chapters right out of the gate. I’ll have to build up to that, if I ever get a head of steam in me. The second story involves a father and his young daughter, where they are playing out of doors, in a forest, and the young girl is regaling her father with stories of mystical whimsy from her imagination, but the father is transcribing them and adding in all the sorts of details young kids leave out of their stories, but then she gets bored and he’s absolutely hooked, and she looses her train of thought in the middle of this fantasy of epic proportions (due to a vivid childhood imagination unencumbered by things like, logic, physics & linear thinking) and the father goes mental trying to tie it all together in the end. Which is a sentiment I understand completely. The third story is more anecdotal about one of many situations brought about by having Crohn’s Disease. It has a comedic bent to it, because how can you not when you are dealing with such a shitty topic. Ha. That’s all for ranting and whining right now. I’m off to get blood work done at the lab, so stay safe, and have a great autumn season.

“I’m absolutely amazed that you’ve managed to get away with that…

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For so long, I mean, it’s kind of disgusting… the smut that you write.” Barks the stout middle aged man whilst walking around in the garden of the slovenly seated man. He is sat slumped in a deck chair, bent low over his dirty keyboard, the man looks up from his cracked screen and blinks rapidly in the glare of the hot overhead sun. Both to moisten his eyes after staring for a long period of time, and to give himself an excuse to cultivate a scathing rebuttal. “It isn’t smut, fuck you very much, it’s romance. And I do not apologize for my romantic bent having a thoroughly sexual vein running through it. If you pardon my phallic pun of sorts.” Quips the pudgy gentleman from his rustic looking deck chair. “Who the fuck asked you in the first place? As I recall, Benji, I pay you to look after my gardens not to interrupt me when my pages are finally starting to come together!” Leaning back now in his cruddy wicker deck chair, stretching until his spine pops loudly between his shoulder blades the pudgy writer smiles and waves lazily at a mosquito buzzing by his ear. The garden isn’t huge, but it’s quiet and secluded with massive rhododendrons and lilac bushes, surrounded by forsythia and Russian Olive trees. The garden smells divine on this late spring afternoon. A big proponent of hostas and day lilies and all manner of shrubs, the writer is slowly rising from his chair. “What do you care anyway Benji? I didn’t think you even read my stuff.” Standing a few steps away, half buried in the overgrowth of a gargantuan rhododendron Benji quips “I fucking well don’t, but I caught Gary reading one in the tub last night and I could hear his breath catch in his throat. He moans ever so softly to himself when he reads anything racy. So I picked up the book to peruse the chapter he was reading and it was all about throbbing this, and heaving that, with glistening chests and wetness and moisture. Oh god! It’s so hackey, it’s like every tainted soft core porno trope wrapped up in a bow. I couldn’t believe Gary was so turned on by it!” Benji is sweating profusely under the partial cover of the shrub, not only because it’s thirty some odd degrees in the cloudless heat. “Gary reads my stuff? I’m touched. People keep buying it, so I’ll continue to write it. Also, as a side note, my mother wants you to deadhead my roses again this year, she likes to see the bushes in full bloom from her bedroom window.” Both men turn away from the rhododendron to face across the yard to the next house over, where a tiny ancient woman sits smiling and waving from her modest porch overlooking the garden. “Damn straight Benji!, my little Julian wants me to be able to see those roses in bloom! From my bed!” Benji’s face contorts between a smirk and a grimace. “Oh of course my dearie, any thing for you – you shrivelled hag” he mutters under his breath. “Come at me you bitch!” Blurts the elderly woman while waving both arthritic middle fingers around in a figure eight pattern. “You leave my lovely boys alone, you know how much my Gary and Julian mean to me!”

With the echos of the scream still bouncing off the protective shielding…

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The man falls heavily to his knees. The harsh bitter cold of the metal floor is bone chilling, and it seeps through the rough canvas coveralls at the point where his knees touch the ground. The thick icy grasp of the medical bay floor hits him quickly. With puffs of breath raggedly exhaled into the cold chamber the man is stricken with waves of fear. Bursts of crystallized breath plum out of his mouth with his dogged panted breathing. Outside of view beyond the protective barrier, ensconced in utter blackness, the rest of the medical bay appears to have deteriorated considerably. Heard amongst the rattle of his breathing are the insistent chimes of his wrist biometrics unit churning out error codes and warning notifications. Slowly rising to his feet, with a frail wobble to his steps, as though he hasn’t stood up in weeks or months the man stumbles towards the pale blue glow of the protective shielding he is standing within. The static fuzz ignites off of his finger tips, radiating through his palms and up above his elbows. The skin on his hands shimmers and pulses under the low voltage passing through it. Turning to sit with his back resting against the security shielding the man limply slides back down to sit upon the freezing cold floor. Feeling he harsh bite of the frosty metal against his rump. The static pulse of the shielding is accompanied by the shrill urgent chiming of the wrist biometrics notifications throwing up error codes and streams of data too small for the man to read. Looking down at the shimmering, rippling skin on his hands, his focus pulled away from the odd undulation of his flesh from the static from the security shield, he stares blankly at the wrist biometric unit. This is brand new he thinks soundlessly. “Yes… Yes it is”. Answers the empty darkness. Jumping to his feet, turning around, bare feet pattering the ground, the numbness now reaching his hips, the man screams again. A blood curdling, epic scream of madness. “Don’t be alarmed, we are you, that is to say, you are us. We are one. Do you understand?” speaks the disembodied voice, as clear as day, as though it were stood mere centimeters from his ear. Jumping with fright at each punctuated word, turning both this way and that, the man is frantic. Scattering bits of dust and debris, he searches the small med pod bay looking for the source of the voice. “No need to look for us, we are you, you are us, we are one. Together. Do you understand us. We know you speak a variant of the English language. Not American, nor British by Canadian English… yes?” speaks the voice in a slow drawl. Nod if you can hear us, do you understand the words you are hearing – Oh no. Here we go! Brace for impact… protect the head, protect the head! , make sure the tongue doesn’t slide back down the throat!”. The man crumples into a heap and promptly passes out. “Well, this is no good. We have to clear these notifications and sort out our access if we’re ever going to do anything useful with this vessel. We know, we know. Yes, I am aware of that. It does pose considerable challenges. No I am not currently aware of anything or anyone else quite like us, we… me.” The voices which can be heard sound muffled as though they were coming from another room down a shared hallway. Certain words are distinct but much of it flows together and is incomprehensible. Slowly everything fades to black, again.

**Another new installment of the interconnected space serial from 2020: The Chronicles of Kelvin.

In the stark white brilliance of the medical pods internal lighting…

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My vision fades from inky blackness to a dazzling white hot fire. Through the fuzz of far too dilated eyes in sudden brightness I can just make out my greyed, and cracked skeletal hand pressed upon the domed glass. The sensation of a deep cold burning the palm of my hand slowly crawls it’s way into my thoughts. Jerking my weak and flimsy hand back off the glass while tearing off the finger pads with the motion. The tear of the skin is audible like a seam popping on cheaply made pants. In the stifling silence I realize that I am alive, barely, and I do not know why. Left upon the surface of the glass are five perfect finger prints which start to flake off the frozen glass before my eyes.

The once plush and padded all white interior on which I am splayed is now all grey and faded to a crusty brown, spattered with spots of orange, yellow and mustard coloured stains. As I wriggle around in search of the internal release latch, dust plumes fill the air making me cough violently. The claustrophobic tightness of the painfully cold harness, the dazzlingly bright white lights, and choking clouds of dust add to my confusion and panic. The interior of the med pod is freezing cold, so cold I can see whisps of breathe and a crystalline pattern on the domed glass matching the outline of my hand print, now contrasted greatly by the dust particles cascading off my dissolving finger pads. The radiant glare of the lights is awfully blinding. My eyes feel as though they are on fire, as though I haven’t blinked in weeks. My throat is parched and feels cracked. My tongue thick and numb inside my mouth. My breath rattles thickly in my chest. I can feel my ribs creaking beneath my coveralls. An audible rumble of my intestines disrupts the silence, punctuated only by the ragged short breaths I’m taking. Peering through the frosted glass looking outside the medical pod I catch sight of something that is down beside and below me, decayed and worn is an oddly familiar Edubot of an orange colour. It is in a terrible state of disrepair. The tank like track treads have worn through completely and peeled off the guide wheels. It appears to have crept over to the side of the med pod to manually interface with the pods override functions. It’s lone protruding finger pressed firmly against the med pod reset button. But why? What possible reason would the ships medical bay have for cutting off life support. All I can see within the medical bay is the small pale blue illuminated circle encased in our atmospheric protection dome. A shimmering curtain of pure energy. The ship must truly be in trouble for this last ditch security feature to have deployed. By the state of the looming darkness beyond, the ship has been derelict for quite some time. Finding and triggering the latch to release the pods internal restraints with a loud click. Reaching up to push the fabric harness to the med pod out of my way I can see the ghastly grey pallor of my skin beginning to fade, and a bluish tinted pink replace it. As I watch there is a certain plumpness that seems to fill out my emaciated hands and arms. A flush of warmth rushing to my extremities, filling my chest and clearing my head. A sudden chirp from the biometrics on my wristband has started to chime with notifications. An error code I don’t recognize is flashing double time on the small OLED screen on my wrist, I must plug in to the med bays internal computer to figure out what is going on. I have never seen such a code before. The interface on my wrist biometrics is brand new, and not a model that I’ve ever seen. Everything is so strange. Colours and sounds are off kilter, at once too sharp and yet fuzzy. My balance is shot even as I am laying down. My limbs feel foreign to me. I begin to panic while I can’t find my equilibrium. My heart is thumping savagely in my chest. As I thrash about inside the med pod I finally pull the main release latch and the outer dome sweeps out into the open room. A faint tinge of machine oil and stringent cleaners can be tasted on the stale air. Mixed with ozone burning off the protective energy shield. A massive cloud of dust bursts forth with the air pressure change. Trying to calm myself I swing my legs around to try and step out of the raised pod. The once soft padding crumbling under my shifting weight. The cloth comes apart like parchment paper. There is a significant lag between thinking about putting my feet down on the step just outside the pod and my limbs actually doing it. The sensation is uncomfortable, like trying to pilot my own body from seven feet in the air above my head. Trying to swallow my rising panic I have to reach out and put my weight down on the Edubot as I clamber out of the medical pod. The sole of my foot sticks to the ice cold metal step, and the pain of the icy burn races up my leg. Peeling my foot slowly off the step, skin sticking to the surface, the pain makes me focus. Looking around at the pale blue shimmering safety curtain of energy surrounding the pod my attention is called back to the insistent chime of my wrist biometric monitor. “What is going on?” I croak into the silence of the illuminated med bay. My voice, not quite my own, or how I remember it, reverberates off the powerful safety shielding. Looking beyond the sizzling ghostly curtain of the atmospheric safety dome I catch my first glimpse of my reflection. I am not myself. The surface of my skin is visibly crawling. I scream.

**A continuation of the interconnected space serial from 2020: The Chronicles of Kelvin. – Follow along over the next few weeks (hopefully) for the remaining installments of the story.

The bug has hit…

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Storyboarding out the next five additions to my interconnected space short stories. It has been more than six months since I have contributed to the series, besides a one off short I released yesterday, which ultimately seemed to dislodge some cobwebs and allow me, mentally, to align my thoughts and make a coherent story emerge out of my head. But don’t worry, my themes of isolation, confusion, future technology are all going to be well represented. I looked over my notes which kept on getting longer and longer and realized that instead of one ridiculous seven thousand word dump of text, I could break it down into smaller and more manageable pieces and explore each new chapter of the story with aplomb. I had tried several times over the last half of 2020 to plot out some new work and the dastardly covid fugue, or pandemic fatigue was making that near impossible. I don’t know how long this kick in the pants will last but I feel better all ready.

Plot outline for new chapters.

I’m guessing this new literary kick started because I now have three pounds of clay on my desk with a new armature built, and designs for several wood working projects for my wife and children ready to start. We’re into a new lockdown with nowhere to go, so I guess this is how I will try to remain sane with the whole family home 24/7 , and the coldest stretch of the year upon our doorstep keeping us indoors for much of the day. Isolation was far simpler when you could just go swimming in the sunshine to while away a few hours each and everyday. Not so much fun when it gets down to minus twenty degrees with the windchill. Anyway, not that I have an enormous readership, or that there are more than a handful who have read all of the interconnected series from cover to cover, but I’ll be back at it soon enough. I hope you’ll join the returning cast and crew of The Company: A Series of Interconnected Short Stories.

Don’t get discouraged if I pepper in some non-fiction(ish) one off stories in amongst the serialized stuff. Some times my kids do funny or relatable stuff that makes for humorous micro short stories. Wheels up!

Starting to get annoyed with myself…

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After a very strong start to the year for creative writing I am finding it damn near impossible to formulate any kind of coherent story in my mind that I could even try to commit to paper. Went back through some of my micro short stories to try and jog something free, and it just isn’t happening. Which makes me both sad and angry. Angry because I have the time to write at this point in my life, and I’m not really doing so, and sad because I had thought back in early 2020 that I might actually crack 100,000 words of creative writing this year. Not that just shy of 60,000 is terrible, but I haven’t produced anything of note in several months. Not only that but I haven’t sculpted much of anything this year either, not completed either of the two model kits I assembled. Read fewer books this year, and haven’t watched anywhere near as many new films (the pandemic hit Hollywood, so that isn’t really a surprise). But still, the void can be felt. No painting to speak of either. Have done a few minor wood working projects so I’ll count that as a plus, but now that we’re into December the likelyhood that any items will get finished or be good enough to give as gifts are slim to none. As a creatively minded person I have very little personal work to show over the last five months. Did some exciting paid work, which I am proud of, but beyond that, very disappointed in my output and subsequent apathy. Not going to sit and stare at empty paper or screens as that doesn’t help. Tomorrow is a new day, and perhaps I’ll clue in to something I can work with then.

“I think it’s kind of messed up that they came all this way…

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Exposed themselves to us but then said nothing. They just hung there, two miles up and motionless. Like some kind of blockade. Not against us, but to keep a third party away from making landfall or making contact. It was very strange. One day the sky is clear, then the next an armada of massive ships turn up, of all sorts of different designs and such. Just hanging out, they disrupt our satellites and telecommunications, the internet and casually gun down a countless number of other ships trying to come down here to us. Now we have know idea if either party had hostile intentions, or were being benevolent toward us. We intercepted enormous quantities of encrypted chatter and messages, but those will take decades to break. The languages were like nothing we’ve ever dreamed of. They stuck around, up there for fifty one months and then fled as quickly as they came. All we now know is that we are not alone in the universe, but that we are essentially powerless against them. In their wake they left the atmosphere cleaner, and the area around the earth free of debris and all that space junk. Several million new stars had become visible to us, just with the naked eye. But beyond those astounding revelations, we have yet learned nothing new. Life goes on.”

The harsh crunch of gravel on sand underfoot reverberates through my jumpsuit…

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Inside my helmet my breath comes in fast and ragged. I am sweating profusely under the brilliant shine of the triad of suns high overhead. We all struggle to keep our heart rates down, and our blood oxygen levels nominal. This scorching hot planet hangs with a red tinged sky. This horrid environment has little cloud cover, and is rocky, sand covered and almost entirely barren. The few scattered pieces of scrub brush are either a deep bruised purple or a sickly mustard infused brown. Through our helmets we can’t tell you what they smell like, but according to instrumentation we know they give of carbon monoxide and a mixture of cyanide and ammonia also. The team of scouts are being buffeted by a gale force wind. The rust coloured dust flies up hot as embers burning us through our environmental protection suits, clattering off our helmets and masks like white hot metal shavings. If we stand still for more than a couple of heart beats the soles of our boots begin to melt. The three suns range from a deep angry red to a near purple of absolute cosmic violence. In the distance of the horizon a herd of wild wandels can be seen racing hither and yonder. The tell tale sign of their presence are the mansteroud dust clouds that they kick up as they run. The uv blasted fines hang in the air, listing miles up into the stratosphere. The native beasts have to run everywhere in order to find food and to survive the intense heat once they venture out of their deep cave warrens. After our landing party had encountered them initially we determined them to not be a threat to us. The four legged over sized dog-bears had long thick tubular ‘hairs’ that they use to dissipate heat and keep cool. Tastiest beasts I’ve ever had the pleasure of finding on a back water planet. Not that we needed it, but the deep underwater aquifer that their warrens attach too allows the wandels to retain gallons of fresh water in a bladder under their bellies. Located in the only spot they can shade them from the over bearing sun light and oppressive heat. But we aren’t here to eat wandels, we’re here to find a rogue AI that has attempted to go off grid with her new found best friend. A crippled Pengar with only five limbs instead of six. Tiny miscreant of a thing. But a more brilliant ship wright and mechanic you will never encounter. Seems the Pengar named Errabor has developed a close relationship with our rogue AI Katayna, and we’ve been employed to locate them for the Company black ops sub contractor, one Mr. Boreck Kartcher. We’ve been paid handsomely, and I do not believe it was out of charity, but because he expects a good many of my fire team to die in the process. With great risk comes great financial reward.

Our first major clue to their whereabouts came from one of the tight beam communications repeaters that get sent off across the galaxy to try to maintain contact between every known quadrant of intelligent space. A random black box transponder ping from a supposedly decommissioned Falcon Heavy-Class star hopper went straight to the top of my in box marked most urgent. The second clue was the destroyed anti poaching gun platform that orbits this world being nearly obliterated by a head on collision with something super colossal. Put those together and we have a pretty good lead on our rogue elements. Scanning for life forms doesn’t really help us out, due to the protected wandels, sorry conservationists we ate two of them. Didn’t read the sign on the way down. Our bad. Plus the spec’s we got on Katayna says she isn’t classically defined as ‘alive’ , so much as sentient, and homicidal towards humanity. Hence the exorbitant pay we recieved for tracking her down and possibly bringing her back to Mr Kartcher.

PART THREE The Company: Sisters in Arms