(The autobiography of a young, self-centered Torbe, struggling through space to be the best doctor in the universe, as told through journal entries. Based on the rpg, “Stars Without Number”.)

September 13th, 3225,

I have spent the last three months applying as a physician among this low tech, perpetulant place of a planet, Belate, dragging from city to city in what they consider “high class” carriers, and staying in “five star” residencies, within the “upper class” part of town. I swear by the all holy prophet Tiberius himself, if I spend another moment in this forsaken Badland under belly, I will begin to lose I.Q. points.

I took a job as an “assistant” to a local physician, and he gave me a crude knife to to amputate an arm infested with Gangreblu! A knife, for Crohn’s sake! (What? Just because I don’t believe Dr. Tiberius was a prophet, doesn’t mean I cannot use his name in vain, if I choose to.) I can guarantee that patient would have preferred to be swallowed whole by the parasite counterpart to the Terran’s infamous “Gangrenous necrosis”, than suffer through the pain and agony that would ensue from the infections a crude knife would have given him, and eventually die of Gangreblu anyway!

Then, that foctling doctor fired me when I incinerated it! Oh, the science of the matter! I swear, I will get off this forsaken planet if it is the last breath this Torbe breathes.