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Contents 1 18th July 3006 2 19th July 3006 3 20th July 3006 4 24th July 3006 5 5th August 3006 6 8th August 3006 7 9th August 3006 8 16th August 3006 9 20th August 3006 10 24th August 3006 11 25th August 3006 12 26th August 3006 13 28th August 3006 14 31 August 3006 15 3rd Sept 3006 16 5th Sept 3006 17 8th Sept 3006 18 11th Sept 3006 19 15th Sept 3006 20 18th September 3006 21 19th Sept 3006 22 23rd Sept 3006 23 24th Sept 3006

[edit] 18th July 3006

...I suppose if I'm going to get asked questions like "how do you feel you've changed" and other such counselor-speak, I should really try and see if there's a pattern to the chaos. A log's as good a way to do that as any, though I hope if someone tries this promotion thing on me again, someone else hits them first.

Why does anyone think it matters? I don't want to give orders. I don't want to run things - that's the job of someone who can have a rifle aimed at them without fainting. Or someone who wants the job, which would be practically anyone else. It's a lot more likely to cause problems than it is to solve anything - I can just imagine the sheer magnitude of Dirionis' joy, for example. I hope I can keep on imagining it, too, because I don't think I want to be around to see it.

If you give me rank, I'll use it. That's what I told them, and I meant it. This place is falling apart, always falling apart, and someone has to get it fixed. Better to do it myself than whine because no one else is. Maybe they are, anyway, and I'm just elsewhere and don't see it. Lord knows there's work enough for a whole colony of engineers and then some on Hancock.

Ran into a Jackal yesterday. Very glad I didn't follow Malion, that day on the beach - the militia may not be a little slice of Heaven, but at least Diri's just an ass and not looking to throttle me in my sleep. God forbid you say "good morning" to a human. Rude people, very rude. I still don't know why Jantine's different - then again, Jantine seems to be on his own personal scale. I wish I could shake the certainty that he's going to wind up buried between two doors, if he gets a burial at all.

/sigh/ Exercises. Military exercises. On a mountain in the middle of nowhere, because of course that's the very first place someone would attack, right? I really do not understand the military mind. I suppose if it makes them happy, that's justification enough for going along with it, and at least I'm getting a solid refresher course in basic electricity and generator design. I wish these stupid mudos would make up their minds. Do they want to flex their muscles and practice shooting things in the middle of nowhere, or stay home and play video games? Who the hell hauls their video game console up a mountain, anyway? Aside from, judging by the evidence, everyone?

Khuy s nimi. It doesn't matter. If it comes down to it, "Urfkgar smash" seems to be a perfectly valid means of getting a point through a marine's skull, but maybe it won't need to go that far. Luna's gone, and this place is as well defended as a wet piece of tissue paper can make it. It'd be nice to think somebody else actually gave a damn.

...Oh dear. Shouting, again. Guess I'd better go see what's gotten broken, exploded, mis-wired or used as a ballistic missile.

[edit] 19th July 3006

....I'm starting to think the only thing worse than the repetitive dullness would be the sort of excitement likely to replace it. I feel like some sort of generator nazi, whose sole great mission in life is to make sure the things don't blow up. Not that I mind the refresher course in basic engineering, after all the work on the ion cannons, but this....is not training for me. It's the wrong step at the wrong time. Sure - whenever I'm not playing mama-hen at the generators, I'm doing the whole "here is a gun, here is a target, let gun + squeezed trigger = blasted target" equation. Over and over. It feels horribly fake - I know I'm not going to be shooting anyone, not really, and that if I manage to get myself together enough to take aim it's not going to be under these so-casual circumstances. It's the wrong step at the wrong time - for any of this to have meaning, I'd need to be on the far end of a few years of therapy.

I'd mention this to someone, except that a) I already did, b) I'm still here, c) Urfkgar thinks therapy means coming at me with a knife, and d) they're even teaching Vollistans how to shoot. These being the case, I'll just wait it all out. Though attempting to out-wait Urfkgar on a training kick seems counterproductive.

I told them I wanted to help. Be useful. I suppose making sure everybody's X-Box 3600s don't overload the generators so they have things like light and hot food is helping, but I have never had a greater urge to go up to a bunch of gun-toting, burly, adrenaline-drunk marines and smack them across the back of their helmeted heads with a wrench until their ears ring with it than I have lately. Bravo, New Luna, we're giving large guns to people with the common sense of protozoa. (no, no, of course I wouldn't actually do it. Never smack someone who can deck you with a punch. Don't fight, kill. That lesson I did not need to come here to learn.)

I keep thinking about that ship-eating ...thing in the Drift. I never knew things like that existed. It shredded that ship, and that ship was huge.

It probably says a lot of very bad things about me that I'm still wondering what would happen if one could (somehow) successfully tow such a thing to, say, wherever the bulk of the Republic's ships might happen to be parked...but that's between me and God, and God is thankfully paying me no nevermind right now. A Trojan Horse for the current era...

[edit] 20th July 3006

20 July

Oh, I am so glad to be back on Hancock. I could have sung showtunes, if that weren't a phenomenally stupid thing to do on a space station packed with military sorts. I even got to say hello to Taeren when I got off the shuttle, and watch a bit of basic ship repair. (I felt a little bit bad about not having taken care of it myself, but - what can you do, from a mountain meadow?)

He got me thinking about a few non-engineering-related issues, though. Like Justine. I cannot stand that woman, personally, even though I owe her for my acceptance into the Militia in the first place. Taeren asked me if I thought she might have taken the techscanner. My first impulse was to say of course - but that's my personal problems with her coming to the fore, and no true belief. She must be a good engineer. Taeren trusted her opinion of my education enough to take me on, at least. And just because I can't stand her, that doesn't make her a thief.

I realized I have no idea where she's been - for weeks, now. Or what she's been up to. Doesn't speak well of me that my first reaction to that is relief. I don't want to deal with her. But until I know she's not with the Militia, I should at least have checked on her.

I don't think Taeren liked hearing that I don't compete, either. Truly, I don't. I would have told Justine that, if she'd ever stopped snarling at me long enough. Who cares who's senior engineer, as long as the job is done right? I certainly don't. If it mattered so much to her - as it evidently did (does?) - then she can have it. I'm all right with taking orders from people I can't stand, there's no way to get a high-level degree without kissing up to at least one professor with Issues. I just want to do my job. Whatever that job is this week. However many times I say it, no one at all seems inclined to believe it. Truly, I do not understand people. At all.

...More incentive to work on the Sidhe, whenever I get a few spare minutes.

The Vollistan marine came by today, the lady who only talks with thoughts. She wanted to be helpful - which I have to admit is a first from a marine who wasn't Jantine, and Jan usually offers out of boredom. It seemed unfair to have her hold wrenches and circuitboards and I'd already done several hours' of work on the ion cannon anyway, I took her down to the upper promenade. I remembered the hoverlift down there was malfunctioning - it just about bucked Taeren off it, one day, and who knows? Maybe knowing how to fix a hoverlift is a good thing for a marine to know.

Note to self: Bad idea. Turns out the damage was at least partly caused by a pregnant rat that was nesting in the lift, which gave the Vollistan a good chomp when we attempted to be humane about capturing it. And then I find out she's seeing the very short-tempered medic and I'm pretty sure I'm going to be Hearing About This later on. At least we caught the rat, so if it's got anything they should be able to find out pretty quickly what.

...At least that blasted hoverlift is fixed. Not the best day to have had though.

[edit] 24th July 3006

24 July

Apparently this 'rank' thing means more than I thought it did. People keep ...looking to me. Like I know any more about what's going on than they do. It's a few interestingly-assembled pieces of thread on my uniform, people, not the writ of God to man...

Apparently we've another new marine. I'm no longer the least bit surprised when it comes to light that someone's joined the militia with some personal predicament that amounts to "Hi, I'd like to help you fight, but I haven't the slightest clue how/am not able to/fall over at the sight of a gun."

I felt horribly apprehensive when I applied. I don't know whether I should be relieved or very worried that I am hardly an exception - indeed, I am almost standard for the average recruit. In my defense, though, I hardly thought of joining the Marines. One could reasonably expect engineers to not be on the front lines. Most of the time. And I am not expecting the militia to work around me, as such...well, at least, I don't think I have. I know I can't fight - well, then, until I can do something productive about that, my job is to not drag anyone else down or cause more inconvenience than is unavoidable.

...I've thought about therapy. If only because I do feel I should at least be able to defend myself, and not require others to step up on my behalf. My father would probably be shouting and throwing things by now about this. On the other hand, all available therapists appear to be Vollistans, and that's a whole different issue that I also probably need therapy for, as I'd sooner trust my psyche to a stoned ferretmonkey. So, for now, I suppose it's better that I resign myself to Urfkgar doing the "get over arachnophobia by being dropped in a spider's nest" method of therapy.

The work on the last ion cannon is going well. A few more days like today and I'll call it done but for the missing parts. After that - well, I guess it's on to the million and one busted things on the station.

[edit] 5th August 3006

5 August

I haven't written down as much as I should, but at least I have the standard best-excuse; I finally broke down and bought a PDA. It's aggravatingly average and I don't know when I'll have time or funds to turn it into something worth really relying on, but in the meantime it's an acceptable portable to-do list.

...I have such a long to-do list. I swear to God I turn having no life into an art form. Really.

Firstly - the third cannon's as done as it will get without a bucket full of parts, which means it's going to sit there until salvage or something turns up what we need, which means basically I've twiddled my thumbs by working on it for a few months. But at least it's done, and if it's not on the station it is now Not My Fault, which seems to me to be a valid consideration.

Secondly - my main duty is now outside the station, doing space-work for mounts for the cannons that ARE finished. (Seriously. Why did someone not tell me we had nowhere to put finished cannons? Does no one have any idea how to properly budget time around here? No. I sign on, I get told the cannons are The Priority - well bugger me if I couldn't have spent a lot of down-days working on the mounts for them if I'd known there weren't any.)

Anyway. It's a priority (at least, I've every reason to believe it is), so I spend a full shift in zero G these days. The superballs and spraycans are back on the belt, but in a sense it's almost like being home. In space, no one can hear you singing showtunes. Unless you've forgotten to properly set your commlink.

I spend second shift doing other work around the station. Back in gravity, back around people. Urf seemed surprised about that - but really. I've got one friend, and a to-do list longer than his full length. (This is a good thing.) Anyway - what is this 'life' thing and why do people keep acting like I should want it? Having a life involves useless extra clothes, spending money, and occasionally sand, dirt, and/or resident nonsentient life forms trying to nest on my person. I can do without it. The PDA's mostly to keep track of things I mean to repair, and what they need in order to BE repaired, and how close they are to being done.

...There are rats all over the promenade. Just barely smart enough not to come out of hiding when people are shooting guns around. Unfortunately, they're hiding in my machines, and I won't have it. I may actually gain some competency with this stupid pistol of mine, shooting at rats. Have to clean the things out of the area, to get things working again.

And...just to get this off my chest...I wasn't very familiar with Vollistans before signing on here, but I am rapidly developing an active loathing for them. They're intrusive and unprofessional. Either that or they have more time off than anyone should ever have - the only safe place to encounter Scheur is on the upper promenade, or when she's completely by herself, because otherwise it's tantamount to walking into a porn video. I dislike, intensely dislike, that there is no social mask around them. I feel how I feel, damnit, and I'd keep their prying mental fingers out of my psyche if I could. As it is, perhaps it's fair. I have to put up with them knowing every little thing I think and feel, and they have to put up with the fact that I loathe them for it.

If I can't get this stupid first aid training because the Vollistans are off causing lightshows - it might take me a few days to word it politely enough but there are going to be formal complaints.

[edit] 8th August 3006

8 August

It's taken me this long to calm down. At least I now know I can make Vollistans change color with my anger. Meh. I'll have to watch that, I suppose. Humanoid mood rings, the lot of them.

Which is a roundabout way of saying Jan can be a phenomenal ass at times. I'm aware he was trying to be proactive - which is good, considering he tends to hang back a lot. And he did say he was told to act like an officer. Having met more than a few officers at this point, however, I would really like to know where his brain translated officer to arrogant, rude asshole. I really would. I'd have been annoyed at anyone taking a "hop it, you maggots" tone with me - having my best friend do it...gah. I really wish he'd paid more attention to how the officers actually behave, and why, because it's saying something to say even Urfkgar doesn't act like that.

Apparently Vollistans can't read every thought in my head. Or they're just as prone to stupidity as every other species, which may or may not be a relief. Scheur implying that I was angry because Jan pulled rank was just - frankly, I hope she needed painkillers after that. Jan deserves his rank. He just needs an occasional boot to the head about how not to use it. Which I will happily do for him if he's fine with it, but not when he's actually trying to be a leader. At least, not if he's trying to be a leader in front of other people. If it's just him and me, that'd be different.

Meh. Anyway. Double shifts is not a bad way to live, really. I haven't been bored at all since joining up, and it's nice - really nice - to know I'm doing something real even if it's something small. And when it's on my time, if I need to take a hike to clear my head, I still can. I went down to the planet today, as I'd (belatedly) heard the Masquerade was in port. Most of my familiarity with ships has come from textbooks, sims, and the very occasional run in the Riposte, and as it turns out the captains around here will get very touchy if they catch you looking at their ships. But the Masquerade is at least partly open, so I thought I'd go take a looksee to clear my head. Just see another ship, you know?

Firstly, I had to go through paperwork before a tour. Okay, fair enough. And a very polite man from Qua went with us, and I did at least get to look around. The ship is, of course, huge. And customized to hell and back. I had to keep my hands in my pockets, or I'd have had my utility knife out to go behind all the decor and take a look at the wiring and conduits like a shot. (Not to mention the control panels, really get into the heart of the thing.) I was good, but it was rather a wrench. I just - eh. When Masaka asked who I worked for, I realized if I poked too much he might think it was some kind of unofficial militia inspection, and it wasn't. Just me on my own time...*sigh* I don't really have my "own time", I think. Not for things like that, anymore. That's kind of sad. He was very polite about it, though, which was a nice change. And I got surprised with a very elaborate lobster dish at their restaurant at the end of it.

There's plenty of ships on Hancock for me to go over, at least.

[edit] 9th August 3006

9 August

...He said, "good work, Private". But it's not even done. None of it is done. *sigh* I don't understand people.

Decided to be proactive, or whatever the word is this year, about this trouble with psychics before it gets someone (quite likely me) killed. Cornered Volouscheur, tried to talk...might even have made progress/valid points toward not twitching every time I see a Vollistan, except at that point Cole came in not!swearing a blue streak, and by the time I'd clarified that the escalator work is just stuff I do in my open shift, Scheur had gotten cornered by Urf and really, my personal quirks don't rate.

(...He said "good work". I do not understand people.)

[edit] 16th August 3006

16 Aug [this entry is password-locked and heavily encrypted.]

I really shouldn't write this down at all. It's not paranoia - I tell myself that. It's not paranoia, it's simple common sense. Written logs can be stolen, codes cracked, and I don't know enough to ...well, to protect myself from what I do know. That's rather worrying. (And just a bit of a rush. I think being around all these adrendaline-drunk marines is getting to me. That's bad, very bad.)

...I've met Watchers.

There. I said it. Or wrote it, anyway. A collection of letters that completely fails to capture what it means. I don't know that anything could.

Only one of them seems to know me, and I'd love to know how or why. (Or maybe I wouldn't. I'm not sure what it means, really, to have one of the Watchers know you exist.)

I wish, sometimes, I had Diri's ego. I wish I could just...walk up and say "take me on". I'm aware there's some level of tooting your own horn that's just...well...required around here, but I can't bring myself to do it. I haven't done anything of note. (I babysit generators and repair escalators. Yep, the Watchers really need functioning escalators, I'm sure.) I've worked on things, yes, for months now, but they're not finished. I can't point to them and call it an accomplishment. And even if they were and I could, what of that? I'm doing what I was told to do, and the Militia needs these guns online. What acclaim gathers around doing what you're supposed to be doing in the first place?

(Ahem. Dear Universe: I can tie my very own shoes, and keep myself occupied without a direct order to not be bored. Gimme medals. )

• sigh* I've let them know I will help if I can. That's all anyone can do, I think, and more than most people get a chance to do.

First shift - outside the station on the gun mounts. Yay for zero-g.

Second shift -

• Check the Riposte over for Jan, see it's ready for flying. If there's time, check the others.
• Finish work on that blasted escalator, so I can get cracking on whatever's still wrong with the lighting on those decks.
• Drop in at the hospital at some point and see if that strange man is still there. I don't think he's my responsibility, but it's pretty odd having strange men I've never met only taking medication if it comes from my hand.
• Combat practice with Urf, whenever I see him or he corners me.
• Fit in at least one hour on the range for target practice.

Sleep will happen when it happens.

[edit] 20th August 3006

20 Aug

Do svidanya, Tasya.

I'm sorry I didn't understand sooner what was happening. I'm sorry I didn't really believe someone would shoot you in a landing bay full of people. I'm sorry I'm a lousy shot and couldn't have fired on him from that distance. I'm sorry...I didn't shout a warning.

I am not the least bit sorry for killing your killer. I am not the least bit sorry for avenging my friend, even if you didn't know you were.

I don't know what will happen now. I'd prefer not to die, of course, though I rather think that's out of my hands. Again.

It's stupid...it's so stupid I could laugh if it didn't hurt so much. All I can think about is her cybernetic hand, that took me so many weeks to fix for her, and whether...whether I could keep it, if she hasn't got family left. I'm so...fucking tired of there being nothing left....

[edit] 24th August 3006

24 Aug

....Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, Ruin. Start by being grateful you have a 'rest of your life'.

I listened. I did. Hell, being in the brig, I really didn't have much choice about that. How he was downed. Totally improper to shoot someone when he's down. (This? I do not get. My enemy is my enemy, and if he's down then that sounds like a perfect time to make sure he doesn't get up again.) I listened to how Tasya being my friend shouldn't matter, NLM people don't act like that. Or shouldn't. Or something.

Frankly, I don't think it made a lot of sense. Or, actually, any sense. When people are firing guns, the first rule is don't die. And it doesn't matter to me what uniform you're wearing. If you shoot at me, at mine, you're my enemy. I should kill you if I can. (The chaos in the corridors. No uniforms - except theirs - and no sides, half of them had no idea what universe they were in or wanted to be in, his face his face, as he pointed that gun at me with her body at our feet.) It hurt. It hurt so much. Yes indeed, Mr. Sergeant person. I shall endeavor to ignore my reason-to-fight dying at your feet, so I may kill just who and when you say should die. If you won't fight for me, why should I fight for you?

The militia would have executed me for avenging her. I'm actually half-sure she'd have backed that, too. Thinking about it too much makes it feel like my head's going to break open, though. She left me her hand, that I fixed for her, and her leg. I'll fix it, too. I don't know why - it just feels like I should.

They would have executed me, as I executed him...so who would execute them, for executing me? (Ah, yes. Murder is ever the perogative of the State, and only of the State, and as much love as I have for Luna, it's never loved me or mine back. We die in blown-up ships and embattled corridors, forgotten at best or cheered at worst.)

My focus has gone all to hell the past few days, and there has been no time to get it back. I need to work on that.

Jeff Ryan saved my life. There is no reason why he would make the effort. I haven't even finished putting the cannons on the station, like he asked me to forever ago. (And Brandon says my work was terrible anyway.) I fixed an escalator but didn't get time to report it. I was a PFC and aside from the execution everyone wanted me dead for, I did nothing of note. And still...he saves me anyway. I still don't think he even knows who I am. I can't even call it a random act of mercy - he argued for me. He put effort into saving my life.

...And then gave me a new life, and quite possibly a better one. I've never been to Demaria before. Always wanted to go. And instead of being executed...here I am. And Ungstir next, I'm told. And I'm to learn to fly the ships ...I'm going to actually live the life I thought I'd have before everyone died. And then some. (There's even a kitten on the ship - a totally adorable little kitten.) I can't actually tell anyone this, and that just makes it more incredible. How do you grant a dream when you have no way of knowing what the dream is?

He tells me I'm not to kill. That's a bit ...new, and somewhat baffling, but I'm not going to argue it. It would be nice not to have to. I'm just not sure it's practical. It feels a tad blasphemous, not to mention ungrateful, but I'm not sure how...there...he is. For the greater good? For the greater good, my home let my father's ship be blown up and not a word said about it. For the greater good, my mother died in front of me to a soldier's rifle. For the greater good, my university's doors were closed and I never did get that degree. The greater good wasn't at all keen on letting me leave Luna alive. The greater good is State-speak for "we're going to screw you over now, please bend over and don't hurt our ears with your screams", and I'm not at all sure as yet that Jeff Ryan doesn't do the same thing.

...Except it's Jeff Ryan saying it this time. Who tried to stop all that. Who at least saved me. I don't really know what to think.

Maybe I don't have to, either. He saved my life. I've sworn it to him. That would appear to indicate that, pretty much, all moral questions for the rest of my life are dropped in his lap, until he sees fit to carry out the militia's sentence or lets me go.

I wonder if this is how my father felt, when he flew.

[edit] 25th August 3006

25 Aug (Demaria)

...This place is gorgeous. I could see it being used as evidence for the existence of God. There is no way I'm going to believe pure, random chance evolves beauty like this, there's got to be a hand behind it. I wish I had a camera. A videocamera. I could film here for weeks, just recording.

I've made do with some drafting paper and some sketches. But firstly, I'm no artist. And secondly, a still frame does jack to capture the grace they move with. They're not afraid of anything. They don't cower before anything. I wonder how long we'll be here - I think this is the second time studying Demarians has picked me up. I'm sure they think I'm some sort of cutely trained pet monkey for my admiration, but I can't mind.

I met one last night - patrolling the landing docks, I think, he said he was a Battleclaw, anyway. Made a complete twit of myself, forgetting half the things I've read about them, but he seemed amused rather than offended. He didn't think my sketches were too bad, but I didn't exactly say I was trying to see how Demarians fit together so I can build a little bitty one. I'm not sure how they'd take that, and I'm not really inclined to ask. Maybe I should just see if I can modify the design to make it more folk-tale, or possibly kittenish.

[edit] 26th August 3006

27 Aug (Timonae)

....New Luna, Tomin Kara, Timonae. Wondering, a bit, if I really should be keeping track.

Got into something of a fight on TK. As per usual with fights, I wound up flattened. Judging by the pain in my head, I don't think I fainted, though. Think I got hit with something. Kind of sad to think that's an improvement.

I should thank Urf if and when I get the chance to. That would've been a lethal shot if I hadn't been wearing armor - and I shot back. I didn't hit anything, but I did shoot back. Twice, even. Any month now I might even hit what I aim at.

Talked with Taeren while on NL. I thought he'd be so angry with me about getting discharged - I was assigned to his ship, after all. But he wasn't angry....I'd almost say he respected it. He offered to take me onto the Riposte - before Brandon and Solace made it clear I was committed. I feel flattered. I don't know, anymore, who's reliable or trustworthy. I don't know who's just trying to get something from me. But this - this having people, out of the blue, come to stand with me or help me without my ever asking....it's new, to say the least.

I told him what I knew about Tasya's death. What none of the officers ever thought to ask about...and I didn't tell them because I didn't want it to be seen as seeking justification or making excuses or pleading. My sentence is handed down and...I don't know enough people of rank to have much choice. I'm just glad he at least made it easier for me to believe I'd done something useful.

He said I'd learn what it was to be someone's crew. I hear that phrase a lot now - that I'm Brandon and Solace's "crew". It seems to translate as "theirs", with a side order of "their pet/servant", but that doesn't feel quite like it fits. He said Jan needed to learn too - I sent Jan a letter from a tavern here (very nice view there) and maybe they'll talk.

We delivered the packages we got shot, blown up, and concussed for. Solace told me some things about how it works here. If it's the truth, then when I can think straight it needs thinking about.

Right now I can't think straight. This entry alone has taken far too long. Maybe a nap will clear the fog...

[edit] 28th August 3006

28 Aug (Odari)

It's never then. It's always now. It needs to not be now.

Energy blasts. Bullets. Running, screaming chaos. Keep your head down, they said, and we did, and we ran...tried...and then the intersection. It had to just be a few seconds. Not even a few seconds. It can't take that long to shoot someone. It can't take that long for them to die. But it always lasts forever. The smell of burned flesh, the weight as she fell onto me. I fell over and there it was....uniform, gun ...the moment when he looked at me and aimed and I knew I was going to die, a split second (it had to be just a split second) that always lasts forever. The random shot that plastered his brains across the wall before he could kill me.

...Five seconds. At most. Five seconds. That don't matter to anyone but me. Stop it. Stop contradicting yourselves. I don't matter. I'm nothing. I get that. I'm not a priority. Worthless. Useless. Nameless. Spineless. Not even a footnote. I get it. So why, why do you bastards keep making the effort to lie? All I ask is that somewhere in your grand visions and great ideals you give me something to believe in. Some machine for the useless spare cog to be part of.

Dear Universe: I am not seventeen. I should be over this. Let it mend or break or whatever it's going to do, just let it end one way or another so I can get on with my existence. I am not a teenager and I lack the resources for extended emo fits. People are liable to take the moping as an invitation to shoot me, and do I really need to be extending invitations like that?

I got an invitation to Scheur's wedding. At least I'm assuming that's what it is. As I'm not sure Vollistans have a concept of monogamy, I have no idea what a wedding actually means. I have to remember to ask if we'll be on New Luna that day.

...I think I'm going to poke at the Sidhe today - barring crises, combat or complexes. I could use something bright and silly, and I really don't think I'm going to get any of that around here. (Or I will, but videotaping my captain being drunk off his ass doesn't sound particularly conducive to a long and happy life.)

[edit] 31 August 3006

31 Aug (New Luna)

Back on New Luna, somewhat to my surprise. Apparently the Haste is getting an upgrade - since it certainly doesn't need repair. I debated staying - that's an area of engineering I'd very much like to get into - but, well, Solace has been being Territorial and frankly I don't think I'm going to be working within my own field without express permission for a while.

Mostly been keeping to myself, and working on the Sidhe. Turns out there's built in webcams in the Haste, and I've commandeered one for my PDA so I can get footage of the kitten. Next time we're on Demaria, it's getting footage of everybody. I can use that data for more accurate 3D rendering. If it doesn't drive anyone nuts, I will probably work on wiring cameras in all the parts of the ship - when it's not filming kittens it'll probably do well enough for ship security. Don't know how well that'd go over, though, so for now it's just the one camera and my PDA, catching the kitten whenever it happens to be nearby.

On the plus side, we got back here in time for me to attend the Vollistan wedding. It was remarkably like a human wedding, except that apparently limiting it to just two people is somewhat unusual and there seems to be a built in "open marriage" clause that I don't recall hearing was any kind of standard for humans. Voliast in particular seemed somewhat edgy about it all, though I've no idea why. They certainly had a diverse attendance; I'd have stayed for the reception out of sheer curiosity except that my track record with any kind of party runs in the negative range. Besides - I really needed to unwind, and I wanted to find some company of broadly my own species for a few hours. I don't do public very well.

Don't know how long we're here. Maybe I'll be able to catch Jan this time. Maybe someone that can tell me ...something, anything, about what I'm supposed to be doing now. Everyone tells me to find something for myself. Thank you, universe - personally I think I'd like a little one-man ship of my own, light and fast, with a really good computer that I could put the Sidhe into. Of course, I'd have to have the money to buy a ship and keep it in fuel and parts, and I'd have to learn to fly it - but that's what I think I'd like to do. I just don't see it happening anytime soon, so I wish people would quit asking me. Maybe do work as a trader for the cash...hm. That reminds me, I need to get cracking on that route algorithm. I could, conceivably, make a living at this if I sink some processor time into it.

[edit] 3rd Sept 3006

3 Sep

....Day that has gone completely fubar, let me ennumerate the ways....

• Going for a psychiatric visit to what turns out to be a medical doctor.
• Getting to see far, far too much of someone else's personal life.
• Being ordered to play the obedient footman to a Sivadian.
• Justine resurfaced.

...It looks like Brandon's going to make her crew. I have no idea what for, but she smiles and jiggles and he's het, so I probably don't really need to look further than that. "Voice your objections" means "say what you think so that I am then free to ignore it", I suppose - but I'm going to set the Sidhe to watching that woman while she's on board the Haste, just the same. I have never seen her lift a finger to help anyone else, in word or deed, nor seen her ever think of anyone or anything as being more important than her precious self. And she tells me that the people who tried to help her just wanted to sleep with her? Somehow I doubt Tasya ever swung that way, and Tasya tried to teach her only to get some very shrill abuse in return.

• sigh* Brandon will probably sign her on, because this is the way my luck runs, but with any luck she'll jiggle at the wrong moment and Solace will gut her. She's a remarkably territorial Timonae, and I'm fairly sure Brandon has "property of Solace" stamped on him somewhere.

Highly disorienting to find the Sivadian's the easier one to deal with. But then, the Sivadian wasn't interested in jiggling at me, or even jiggling in my presence, and that my brain is endeavoring to imagine what that looks like is a strong indicator I need more sleep.

...Must log more time on the simulator. My being able to fly this ship may just turn out to be a vital skill a lot sooner than I thought.

Landed on Odari late. Took a break from Justine being emotionally backward to poke at my research. Very glad I decided to do this; I'm already finding some unprofitable deals. I'd assume we're going to hit Sivad next, and I should be able to confirm it there.

[edit] 5th Sept 3006

5 Sep (Vollista)

....I have no idea what prompted that. But I hope to God they had a good reason. An incredibly good reason. They are militia. This is not their world. And they killed civilians. I'm amazed Vollista hasn't declared war on New Luna for this - what were they thinking?

I really, really hope whoever the Controller was was pushing them to that. I hope that's what it turns out to be. Then again - it's Lucius. (And what balvan actually told him about it anyway? I sure didn't.) I ask for one transport, and volunteers to get those who want to flee out of the way. And Taeren really fit that bill nicely - it didn't need a big combat-boot-stomping army, it really didn't, and the Vollistans were really clear about not wanting one.

I would love to know how "One transport and volunteers to help get refugees offplanet" turned into "send assault teams - bring many guns". I would particularly love to know this before someone thinks to ask what the NLM were even doing on Vollista. If the brigadier general's furious about it - well, frankly, I'd not blame him.

....If psychics are harder to dominate than us normal folk, why were only psychics dominated? Show of force, or something else? Is it easier for a Vollistan to dominate another Vollistan - like knowing which window you can jiggle open in an otherwise secure house?

And now I'm more or less confined to ship, because my citizenship transferred to New Luna a few years ago and we're all violent and crazy. I'm finding it very difficult to argue with that assessment. And it's not over. Whatever's going on - it's not over yet. Nobody's said anything about pegging the guy who was controlling those people. Which means we're going to hear from him again - or at least Vollista is.

(I didn't faint. I didn't fall. Didn't even hit flashbacks. Then again, psychic battle is a new one and none of the bullets were coming for me. And that nutcase took a child as a shield. If I hadn't been so angry I'd have been disgusted.)

Leodhais is still free to move. He's not militia, or a citizen of New Luna, and he wasn't involved in the fight. I hope he can get some answers, but he was muttering about some assignment to Mars and I really would be stunned if Brandon just says "sure, we'll take you there".

• sigh* All I can think is I've screwed up again, and people are dead again. There's got to be a better way than this.

[edit] 8th Sept 3006

8 Sep (New Luna)

[Entry has been deleted/edited]

Dear Self: Get over yourself. If you can't read what you write without wanting to punch the author, this explains a great deal about where all those mysterious anvils come from.

Notes:

If reassigned:

• find out who the new boss is and what it is I'm to do. Or not do. Somehow, I can't see the brigadier general doing pink pirouettes at having to find a place for me again. Although some time to find out what the blazes I'm fighting for would be nice. If "Watcher" translates to "personal trouble-making squad" I am going to be ferociously disappointed. On the other hand, I was in the NLM before this. So really, it could be worse.

(Gah. My taste for vintage media is going to kill me. Watchers = Scooby gang. No. Bad brain. Bad, bad brain. No laughing while covered in burns. Ow.)

If not reassigned:

• Brandon evidently wants to lure Vollistans out. Somehow, I don't think it's going to be a simple matter of waving evidence they might be lying about. The universe is full of liars, I've met half of them in the past 24 hours, politicians make a living at it. Frankly, getting whoever's behind all this offworld is unlikely to impossible at this stage - there's no reason for them to leave.

• That said, the boss hates being told he's being stupid. So if luring the kingpin out isn't possible or probable, I need an alternative to offer. Which I think I need to talk to Scheur about.

• All of which has to wait until I can walk more than thirty steps, or nod. And someone tells me who I'm answering to today. Or tomorrow.

• Final note: ....Sometime I need to find out what Timonese think of Jan. Someone who does not have bad luck, but nevertheless causes bad luck in other people...hn. Wonder what Solace would say to that.

[edit] 11th Sept 3006

1 Sep (New Luna)

...It's almost restful. I feel rather like a lunite tamale - raw, wrapped, and dipped in hot sauce - but if I don't move too much it doesn't get too bad. The leaves help a lot, and if I feel like I've got hot peppers rubbed into full-body paper cuts...well, at least I know I have nerve endings. And maybe I'd rather look at leaves than at the mess I must be underneath them. Never would've thought my PE credits at university would do me this much good.

Urfkgar and I agreed on something. That's a little - well, odd, really, I'm used to not agreeing and then finding out where I'm wrong later on. Then again, if the burned hand teaches best then I probably just bought a few doctorates. He left me a datachip full of military manuals. Light reading for him, but for me it's....well, it's an education is what it is. I hope I find the glossary for the acronyms and jargon soon, but in the meantime it's certainly a worthwhile use of my enforced downtime.

Met someone new, a Ren Arnassis who seems to be an associate of Brandon's. He certainly fits what I'd expect of someone he'd call an associate - not so much diamond-in-the-rough as coprolithic. Then again - getting past his abuse of Standard, he was actually talking a great deal of sense. A surprising amount of sense.

Revolutions are done by the people - not to the people.

I wanted to get that down. I want to remember that that's where I heard it first. I can't put words around all the reasons why it's so important, but I know it is and I know why and that's probably enough to start with.

There's a lot that has to be learned, to know if we should be interfering. But if we do have to interfere, we need to think outside the box. Psi-blockers are effective but an act which may be worse than the crime. And we may not need to go that far. I need to run some ideas past Scheur. That lady in the cavern did an incredible number of things at once, but Scheur's a New Lunite and I think that might work in everybody's favor.

[edit] 15th Sept 3006

15 Sep

Dr. Freyssinet came by last night. So did Governor Seale. I think I'm now clear on the fact that something Big - as opposed to flashy - is going on. I've also got the strong feeling that the big thing is a rapidly descending anvil. Because the universe loves me, and occasionally attempts a forceful snuggle.

I know she's a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist, but talking to Dr. Freyssinet really does help. I don't have to worry much about keeping secrets, she already knows more than I do. I suppose I must have been more wired than I'd thought, though, to tell her all my worries.

Discreet? Me? I'm tired and worried and covered in leaves. I don't know ...anything, about anything, and at the same time I can feel the pawn-moving hands in the air around me. I'm a piece, being moved on a board, utterly sacrificable...and I don't even know who's moving me or why. And I'm whining again. I really have to stop doing that.

I was initially told I'd be cleared to go tomorrow. And I do feel better, but it's almost a relief that Voliast is nowhere to be seen - even if all the other doctors avoid my leaf-coated self because they've no idea how traditional treatment would work with my new green 'skin'. Once I'm well, and marginally fit to be seen in public by members of my own species...that's when I'll have to find out whether I still have a place to go. If the Haste really is still my ship. And if it is, where it's bound. I hope it is, if for no other reason than that I don't think I could handle another interview with the brigadier general along the lines of "you screwed up and people want you dead." Brandon's chaotic and quite possibly insane - but this is where I have been placed. I should do my best.

...Leodhais, a politician. And a flirt. Well, I guess that clears that bit of confusion up.

Dr. Freyssinet asked about my engineer's ring. I should send her the Oath. Just for anthropological reference. Let's see...

I am an Engineer, in my profession I take deep pride. To it I owe solemn obligations. Since the Stone Age, human progress has been spurred by the engineering genius. Engineers have made usable Nature’s vast resources of material and energy for Humanity's benefit. Engineers have vitalized and turned to practical use the principles of science and the means of technology. Were it not for this heritage of accumulated experience, my efforts would be feeble.

As an Engineer, I pledge to practice integrity and fair dealing, tolerance and respect, and to uphold devotion to the standards and the dignity of my profession, conscious always that my skill carries with it the obligation to serve humanity by making the best use of the planets' precious wealth.

As an Engineer, I shall participate in none but honest enterprises. When needed, my skill and knowledge shall be given without reservation for the public good. In the performance of duty and in fidelity to my profession, I shall give the utmost.

....Okay, I think I'm seeing some difficulties, here. 'Brandon' is not filed under 'ethical', for one thing.

But I did pass the test. The real one. That engine was on fire and I made it work anyway. I had to make it work - and I could, and I did.

I can't wear this ring anymore. It got too damaged. But I can wear it around my neck, and I think I will. I have at least done this much, done it right this far. I think it's safe to be proud of that. I am an engineer.

...Just, possibly, a ferociously unemployed one. For now.

[edit] 18th September 3006

18 Sep

I'm out. And Jan was kind enough to bring me clothes from my flat, so although I'm a few years behind, I am at least covered. Heh. A university jacket for a university that's closed its doors, and I haven't seen it in years anyway. Oh, well. The main thing is that it lets me wear the bandages without them showing too much, until my skin's finished healing enough to handle daily clothes. The shots are less fun, and for the next month, but the main thing is I'm not stuck in that bloody ward all the time.

Someday, I really will figure out whether Jantine is very accepting or just wilfully blind. I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that I'll find out by accident. He says the station's hard up for engineers - which, really, hello guilt trip. I told him to pass on that I'll do work for the NLM whenever I'm on New Luna, if they'll get me shuttle clearance. Brandon doesn't like landing there. I don't like it, that my choices hurt them like this, but done is done and...really, I'm not sorry I shot the guy. Just sorry about the fallout, which is more than a little childish.

Leodhais...*sigh* I do not know what's up with that man. He's so visibly a little peacock, but who does he decide to fixate on? The specialist's grandson, currently as attractive as a ferretmonkey's ass. Maybe it's just that he likes knowing I won't be drawing attention away from him, or something. (Good Lord. A Sivadian. I mean really. That entire portion of my brain just seems wired for perversity.)

But it's not as if a kiss constitutes any sort of ...well, anything. I've got work to do, he's got work to do, looks pretty much like entirely different sections of the Orion Arm are involved, and no telling where or when we'd ever meet up again.

On the other hand, it might actually work out. These things seem to like happening in pairs of similar names. I meet Jantine, who's in most respects a pretty good guy to know, and then I meet Justine, record-holding mandavoshka. I meet Leodhais, a remarkably decent man, and then I meet Louie, world-class zhopa. God help me if I ever meet Brandon's mirror half, I think the two of them in the same starsystem would cause a nova.

....That was odd. Louie, I mean. It's not that I haven't met complete wastes of genetic material before. I have. The only winning move is not to play, as the saying goes. What's odd, now I've distance to think about it, was that I think I gave Scheur orders. Which is...I mean she's special forces, and I wouldn't out rank her even if I still wore uniform. But I gave her orders...and more than that, she followed them. I hope they weren't the wrong ones, that being the case.

I wonder if being military is like catching a cold, and you just catch it off people if you're around them enough. God, I hope not. Lucius might be a terminal case, and I have to share ship with him.

[edit] 19th Sept 3006

19 Sep

"It allows criminals to handle its militia. It allows terrorists to walk freely on the planet, murderers to command men."

....It's starting again. This is why Lunites don't hold Luna. This is why we only hold New Luna on sufferance - we hold it because nobody's really tried taking it from us.

We are the Lunites. We are the completely bugfuck batshit insane. It's not enough that half the universe thinks we're breedable Specialists. It's not enough that we command no respect from anyone. No, we've got to go and prove everyone right by tearing at each other's throats, even when we've got more than enough to do just defending ourselves from everyone else.

And I'm no better, and I know it, and I hate it.

I'd better go see how my university jacket fits over my flak jacket. When people start talking like that, bullets aren't far behind. And someone's going to be shooting at me sooner or later, if those are the criteria being used. It's chush' sobach'ya like this that had my father laughing into his vodka.

No. That's it. That's it. Enough of this. Stop talking - do.

[edit] 23rd Sept 3006

23 Sep (Ungstir)

[entry has been edited/deleted]

We have normality. Anything you still can't cope with is therefore your own problem.

• See Doctor Freyssinet when back on NL, re: meaning.

• Engineers missing their eyebrows, large patches of skin, and/or body parts, are either insane or stupid. Both is not impossible. Bear this in mind.

• Conduct thorough preflights. This cannot be stressed enough.

• Whining into a logbook is suicidal. Doing what you were told isn't. Learn.

Berezhonogo bog berezhot.

[edit] 24th Sept 3006

24 Sep

A man's called a traitor or liberator
A rich man's a thief or philanthropist
Is one a crusader, or ruthless invader?
It's all in which label is able to persist
There are precious few at ease
With moral ambiguities
So we act as though they don't exist...

The brigadier general was here today. I think it cleared up a few things. He wanted to recruit Raisa, said she could teach me...but I don't think she wanted to go, and I don't think that it's right to coerce her. I owe life-debt, but I don't think she does. She certainly didn't seem at all happy to see him, or the Haste. I, for one, didn't expect the brigadier general to turn up on Ungstir in a bathrobe, but life is full of surprises.

Kind of a crowd on the landing pad tonight. I really need to brush up on my Demarese, half the talk tonight was in Demarese. Goldenfur was probably inches away from getting skinned, too, which confirms my suspicion that he doesn't know when to stop. I didn't understand word one of what was said, but I know the stances and tones well enough by now to recognize Brandon-DefCon-2 when I hear it.

A lot of talk about the Kamir. And who's a Kamir. I listened, for the most part. Most of it was news to me. Solace had one of her Moments about it all. My own take is that even a godling isn't going to wish insomnia on herself. She's trying to be human, or stay human, and I could see well enough that it's getting harder for her. Knee-jerk reactions all around, with a side order of paranoia. I guess I'm not afraid of Kamir...since I was told I should have died, I haven't really been afraid of much of anything. After all, to kill me, or manipulate me, control me, or abuse me...really all gets filed under Been There, Done That, Take A Number. All that varies is scale.

Brandon and Solace fought afterward. One of those screaming matches that rank up there as public entertainment you can't actually avoid. Got some nice acoustics in the landing cavern, too. I think I know, now, who Brandon used to be - things Solace said, and Goldenfur, and a few other people in the past few weeks, along with things he's said and done. It doesn't feel like shock. More like it felt in college, when a problem would hang me up for a while. Go to bed, wake up, and there the answer would be...

If I'm right, then I guess this is full circle; the path not taken on the beach that day, came round for another go. But it seems he doesn't remember. It's just as well.