(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”.)

November 26th, 3225,

With the last 50,000 credits, I finally escaped the slum planet of Belate, only to dive right into the heart of death. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as the Terran saying goes, I suppose. Trudging through the black market (which is practically “the” market on Belate), I was able to find the grittiest smuggler around to sneak me onto the next ship that touched down.

I should have wired him the money when I was finally safe. We got just on the other side of the landing bay when he demanded his payment and bolted back over the wall. I also should have asked for information on the ship I was boarding, because if I had known that I was sneaking into a minor cruizer that belonged to the Sacrificial Protestent Kristans, I would have spent the rest of my credits on a whole medical crew. A brave one of course.

You see, the Sacrificial Protestent Kristans are a religious sect that, I was soon to learn, conquer and sacrifice entire planets to replenish their soldiers, empty zombie like corpses animated by cyberware known as revenant wiring, which allows the nearly dead or once living to attack and accomplish tasks given by a central AI.

Yes. Through a narrow vent, I snaked my way through their vast and complex cooling system, which I assume kept the specimens from decomposing prematurely, into the lower holding cells where the Not-yet-converted resided, until they were lifeless enough for the Ministers to perform the conversion process.

A process, by the way, which melds the cybernetic revenant wiring with the organic material by accelerated fission. A sight more beautiful than a binary star dance through a meteor shower.

After witnessing this event, I decided that I must experience and perform this process myself. After much observation, however, I did discover that the Ministers were able to perform this process by using their own psionic powers. A power I did not possess, nor would I want to. This mind was far too great to chance on losing from a terminal aneurysm or another “Scream”.

However, this did raise my interest in psionics. If I ever met one willing enough, I would at the very least love to hook up some wires to their head and watch the monitors light

up from their brain activity. At the most, slice up their brain into one inch samples to place and preserve in slides, so that I could study them for years to come. (Now, that is something this mind is worth trading for.)

Hiding behind the dead, and given the fact that I was lucky enough that I already smelled like the dead, a scent that never truly left me once I started carving up bodies, I avoided their senses long enough for them to travel through spike drive to the next planet. Then I stole a few specimens I had not yet studied, along with some reverent wiring, and hightailed it out of there.

I did lose a few inches on my tail, as well as the reverent wiring, on the way out the landing bay doors. At least my tail would grow back.

Now, I remain hunkered down under a mortuary, hiding for my life, until the Sacrificial Protestent Kristans give up in their search for me, and of course, the total domination of the planet.