WELCOME TO JHENGE

RACHEAL

Etext Personal Notes Racheal Hiyatona (Ilyia Ikonvich)
Volume 1 Entry 19 Date 02/17/19
The bacteria calls to us all. In our sleep, through our worthless filters, it tugs at the mind. I know my true desires have been long hidden. The lady Gaia of
this word wants me to be part of her, the bactiria calls to me. Sometimes the maisma tints the dusk sky pale green, a sickly sight that reminds everyone of
the poison that touches their skins. And then the blackness descends and we all try to sleep.
Parents get upset over everything you do. My mother stormed around the apartment in a panic when I told her I had joined the RCIA.
"My only daughter! " she cried. "My only daughter now has a license to kill!"
"I do not have a license to kill. " I explained slowly and carefully. "I'm free to
engage in covert operations and I'm free to ignore others civil rights. I can't kill
anyone I choose. Only self-defense."
"That's supposed to make things better? You'll only get yourself hurt!" she continued, not listening to anything I said. "Meddling around on the colonies...
you'll be... I can't bare to think of it!"
Well, I thought. It was either the RCIA or the Yakuza. "I suppose you rather I'd join the Yakuza? " I blurted out loud.
Yahweh, I wish I hadn't told her that. I knew it would drag up bad memories for her. She started to tidy up around the room as if to mentally block out our
conversation.
"I'm going to the Heartland. " I stated. "I don't know when I can come back. "
No response. Mother's ploy. Get the guilt factor going. Nothing in this universe could make me feel guilty though. I left without a further word. By the
Empress, I should have joined the Yakuza after all. It's the same thing but pays better. I don't care where I go from here as long as I stay on Jhenge. It's
the most beautiful planet ever. I've been to the mainworlds. All stuffy claustrophobic messes and totalitarian rule. Mother will have to accept the fact that
this colony is where I am staying. And she won't be dragging me into secretarial work this time, oh no, my brother can push pencils on his own. There's
only one thing I can do now. Only one thing.

SMITTY

"Welcome to Jhenge!" he shouted across the port lounge, arms waving stiffly. The vile orange shirt suited his vile orange face. Smitty nodded to him
and pushed through the crowd, clutching a travellers knapsack which contained all he ever needed. Zippo lighter. Regency utility knife. Packed of
mints. Automag pistol.
The assan clutched Smitty's arm and pulled him out onto the street. He was furry, he was loud, he was forceful, but he was a best and only friend.
"Ack." Smitty winced. His first steps outside, and the brightness startled him. "Who turned the sun up? "
"Jhenge... " the friend started. "Thirty degrees centigrade by day and by night. Ninety percent oceans. The dream planet. Except for... "
He pulled two light filter masks from his shirt pocket and handed one to Smitty. "Except for the bacterial toxification! Yes, you too can experience mi
granes, hallucinations and painful convulsions at your friendly neighbourhood colony!"
Smitty grinned at the assan's mockery as he wrapped the mask around his face. Now his eyes were becoming aquainted with the light and Starport,
Heartland was revealed to him, previously only seen on colonial recruitment advertising. A lazy sprawl of ginger-white buildings and low walkways, dipping
tentatively into the blue-green ocean before climbing up akwardly into the crestfallen mountains. A single island of thousands, scavenged for every
available yard of flat land. The streets were bustling with pedestrians; so few cars you could count them. Although still under colonial administration, the
corporations had made their mark with flatscreen-plastered offices on every corner. Hydrovolatizer fountains and bushy squat trees were dotted about,
supposedly regulating the humidity. Smitty took short breaths of bewilderment.
"Cute buildings. " he observed.
"No room for anything larger than five storeys. Which is a good thing. No high-rises blocking the sky. " the assan said solidly.
"Do all you cats have claustrophobia? "
"Are all humans obsessed with building bigger and bigger? "
"Pretty much. " confirmed Smitty.
They laughed quietly to themselves as they strode onto the tram. Smitty eyed everyone, cautiously noting styles of clothing, body language, phrases.
Pretty soon he would have to start blending in.
"Does everyone carry a gun or is it my imagination? "
"Hah! My friend, on Jhenge you can get just about anything you want legally. Really only poisons and explosives are military only. There are more Yakuza's
and crime syndicates here than policing forces. We get rather a problem with slave trading and protection rackets too. But hey! That's what you're here for,
right? "
With a laugh, the assan slapped Smitty on the back, causing him to swollow his mint whole. As the choking subsided, the tram lurched forwards, water
bound.

LUN

Etext Personal Notes Racheal Hiyatona (Ilyia Ikonvich)
Volume 2 Entry 32 Date 04/01/23
I snuggle foetal in the passenger seat of the Stanhope, shaded from the heat of the nightsun. Without my mask, the air is like an hallucination in my
dreams. The vehicle's air contidioning blows freezing cold engine-stink wind onto my lips but I'm so tired. In my dreams I'm so damn loud to make up for
my even temper during the day; A dream of screaming and screaming.
Cut short by the shake on my shoulder.
"Racheal. " Lun hisses in my ear.
"I'm awake. " I yawn and sit upright. I feel like a zombie. "The cats are still guipure sniffing around my apartment and I had no-where to... "
"That's okay. " she says settling down next to me.
"So how are you tonight? " I inquire, fumbling for my mask. That was no casual question. I can see the despair in her face. "Not your usual chirpy self."
"Bad. Things are bad. That arrogant, pig-headed bastard!"
"Burchack? Or men in general? "
"Burchack... he won't have anything to do with me. I'm afraid he won't come back. "
"He wanted a lover not a friend. And your talk of castration didn't help. "
"I really threw off the handle. I've never been so mad! Yahweh, look at me, feeling sorry for myself now. "
"Well Lun, I tried talking to him, but the more I pushed him to talk to you, the
more he shut up like a clam. "
"I feel really bad about this... "
I think for a moment. "Look I'm leaving for the Ring Islands tomorrow. Chelh.
Come with me. You wanna go to Chelh? Time is a healer. He'll cool off. "
"You on a job? "
"Yeah. Don't worry, it's safe. You won't get involved. "
"I think it's too late. I've killed the friendship. "
I can't say anything after that. It's typical teenager angst. Lovers, friendships, finding your paths, finding 'which way your bread was buttered' as Tarbion
would put it. All trivial stuff to me. I nearly say: "Forget him and grow the hell up. ", the residue of a personality I used in my last job. But I had to be me
now, so I just sit quietly and smile.
"Okay, I'll go with you. " she sighs sometime later. "We'll see what happens."
We'll see what happens. What an interesting way of looking at life.

FRAGMENTS BEGIN

What was it that Tarbion had called them? Depressingly slow-moving platforms. Racheal smiled softly to herself, remembering her friends advice. "You
don't even have to run when one comes. Just stay calm and give yourself time to squeeze into a nook or crannie."
She stayed calm. She squeezed into a nook of verticle pipes, and hoisted her legs up off the tracks. Moments later a shadow passed by, throwing her
world into darkness. Her ears automatically doubled their efforts to make sense of her surroundings. A great rumble grew louder and then faded away
as the tram passed her by. The following wind vortex blew dust against her face causing her to wince, then all was quite again save for her slight breath
ing. Travelling along the tram lines was never fun, especially when you're not even on the tram.
"Okay, Smitty? " she hissed through the filter mask, climbing down from her nook. A glance over to the far side of the tram line gully showed the fellow
agent dusting himself off.
"Yeah. " he confirmed, raising a thumb.
This was their first job together and Racheal was still trying to size her partner up. Was he reliable? Would he break under pressure? If it came down to
it, would he risk everything or save his own hide? At least he's nimble, she thought,w atching Smitty catch her up, maneuvering over the ridges of the
track like a human ATV. Despite his weak frame and ageing, oval face he was in rude health. The bruises from the previous night's fracas had blackened
hansomely on his balding crown and Racheal was inwardly pleased as to his rapid recovery. The man had stamina and willpower of sorts.
"Okay what comes next?" he asked. His voice sounded like gravel through the filter mask. Racheal pushed her gloved hand into her jacket pocket and
pulled out a small black notebook. Thumbing through the pages, she eventually came to a page illuminated with frantic Jhengian scrawl.
"Hypocrits ambushed me. " she translated. "Eyes left, right and behind but still they swollowed me. My smoting sword tasted blood. Their swollen black
fingers barked at me, their curse ruptured my legs and I fell. "
"Wonderful. What does it mean? "
"It seems our schizo friend was jumped on by the government forces at the time. He resisted and they shot him. "
Racheal read a little more to herself. "I think they took him to a sewerage duct up ahead before he... get this... 'called upon the wrath of God to strike
down his captors.'"
"Which god? " Smitty asked.
Racheal had no answer to that. She combed one hand through her short dark hair which was now spiked with sweat and flicked her asian eyes here
and there. Smitty was reminded of a kitten he knew once, a little black and white cat with no tail, who was frequently alerted to non-existant events. He
would tense up, track something seemingly invisible through the air and pounce at it. No-one could really work out what level of reality that kitten was
on. That's what Racheal Hiyatona is like, thought Smitty. What on Earth did she keep seeing?


"I'm glad I can't smell this air. " Smitty said, swinging the torch light here and there. Racheal paced around the landing, ducking under thin pipes, stepping carefully to avoid the treacle thick stream of sewage.
"Look for burn marks..." she suggested.
"Won't it have been repaired by now? " Smitty wondered. He reached the edge of the platform and pointed the torch upstream. A mazework of human
waste, a technological Styx, the metal grills and pipes leaning up and away into slick darkness.
"Repaired? " Racheal echoed. "No. "
She was distracted for a moment by an origami swan, carried along by the sludge. She watched it for a moment until it was pulled under. An omen, she
thought.
"No-one comes down here. " she explained, "The sewerage is centuries old. Built by the first colonists. There might be the odd gang though. And sewer
spiders. "
"This place is supposed to be secured. " Smitty remarked, "How could gangs get down here? "
Racheal eyed him a droll glance. "This is Jhenge. Just watch your back. "
For a while they stalked the darkness, keeping close to the increasingly shabby wall. Racheal was just beginning to enjoy the silence when Smitty
sparked off again.
"You don't have enhancements. " he remarked.
"What? " Racheal asked, unfamiliar with the term.
"Cybernetics. You have none. Why not? "
"I get called on a few aquatic missions. This is a waterworld after all. I don't want to sink like a ton of lead."
"Ah of course. You just don't seem to react as quickly as the agents back home. "
"Well now you know. And what's your excuse? "
"Nerve link rejection. My body would try to destroy the implants. "
"I should expect that's why you got transferred. Bad luck. "
"I don't know what I'm missing so I don't worry about it. You wanted burn marks. "
"Hmm? "
Smitty pointed a finger along his torch beam. The wall on the far side of the sludge had a jagged hole in it, as large as a detatched house. The edge was blackened like tooth decay. Racheal frowned.
"What happened here? Looks like a bloody H-bomb went off. "

It must have been an old assan structure that predated the coming of the Regency colonists. The sewer had been built around it, but the centuries old
explosion had created a new entrance that the two agents now scrambled through. Their torch lights played along the simple carvings in the rock walls,
primative messages that the archaeologists could have fun with once the report had been typed up.
"You afraid of anything, Hiyatona? " Smitty asked as they rested a while on a stone block.
"Of course I am. Why? " Racheal replied suspiciously. Smitty massaged his still-sore stomach, discomfort engraved into his wrinkles.
"I used to think nothing could scare me, but in the past few years I've be come very, ah, aware of the fragility of my body. "
"Yeah. Meat and bone. Squidgy stuff." Racheal grinned.
"Now I'm scared. Everytime I get in a fight, everytime I take a fall, I think this is it, I'm going to buy it. I fear death now. It makes me sick. " Smitty sighed,
"It's not like the old days anymore where I ran about sticking my neck out, risking all for the Regency."
"A fear of death isn't healthy in our business. We get payed for getting guns pointed at our heads. Are you sure you wanted to tell me all that? "
"What about you? What scares you? "
Racheal thought. What's he up to? Well it makes no difference if I lie or not, and I do need him to trust me. She cleared her throat. "Well sometimes, when
I've been undercover for a while and I've been using a different personality... "
She began to frown.
"Don't tell me if you don't want to. " Smitty said. "It's a dangerous question."
"Most of the time it's like acting, " Racheal continued, "and I can snap out of it when the job is done. But sometimes... sometimes I get stuck. It takes me a
while to get back to my own feelings. Sometimes I think I will become back from a job and I won't be Racheal Hiyatona anymore. I guess I can tell you
this. It's not anything anyone can use against me."
"That's twisted. " Smitty grunted. "Becoming the creation of your own mind. Talk about mental cases. "
"I would rather be dead that become a schizo split-personality straight jacked job. I shouldn't be talking about this. Forget I said anything. "
Racheal stood and began to continue the search.
"Forgotten, no worries. " Smitty got to his feet and offered something to his partner. "Here, have a mint. " he gestured. Racheal gingerly took one, palmed it into her coat pocket with one hand whilst pretending to eat it with the other.
I'm not paranoid, she told herself. Just cautious.


"'An eye like an archway', this must be it." wavered Racheals voice. "Now what?"
The schizo was right, it was an eye like an archway. The architect was a genius. Quite mad, but a genius. The stone curves projecting from the cold walls were arranged to touch like the folds of an eye. Beyond, in the hollow darkness, a prefectly spherical block of stone stared at them, the lines of pupil and iris carved in immaculate detail. The whole tunnel radiated with it's gaze.
"I feel sick. " Smitty breathed. His face was glazed as he twisted up against one wall, looking anywhere but at what looked back. Racheal glanced back at him and snorted.
"But what we are looking for should be here. "
"I can't look at it. My head hurts. "
Racheals frowning face poked into his flitting sight. "What is it? Claustrophobia? Or like a... a motion sickness? "
He snapped his head away. The last thing he wanted was concern. "Like things cutting up my brain. " he moaned bitterly and wrenched off his mask so he could take deep breaths. "I'll be okay... just give me a minute. "
Unmuffled by the filter his voice was resonant in the earthy blackness.
Racheals eyes widened, her head pricked up, her face blanched.
"What now?" Smitty whispered.
"Quiet. " she replied, head scanning like an alerted cat. "Wait. Here. " she added and stealthed away behind the archway. Smitty watched her torchlight
scythe from wall to wall until it went from sight completely. His own torch illuminated the stone eye. Their gazes locked.
"Some days... " said a hollow voice at the back of his thinking, "You just know you're going to die. "
Smitty had had enough. He wasn't one for curling up in fear. First he staggered, then sprinted, back to the sewer where he promptly lost grip on his
torch. It rolled along the platform and plopped into the malignant liquid, leaving
Smitty in his delirium. In the pitch darkness he screamed a name with the best his lungs could give him. He almost noticed that it was neither Racheals name
or his own.

VINNIE

01/01/23
Colonial Surveillance Audio Transcript
T 0
V "Do it, I dare you. "
B "I was joking. "
V "You don't want to see what happens? "
B "I don't want to end up in BTT. "
V "I hear the nurses are real cute in BTT. "
B "What do you think I am? A Lech? "
V "I hear it's something you really have to experience. "
B "The toxins or the nurses? "
V "The toxins, man. "
B "I hear some guys twich uncontrolably for the rest of their lives after BTT. "
V "But that ain't gonna happen to you, will it? "
B "Hah. "
V "It wouldn't be a dare if their wasn't any danger involved. "
B "Let's both do it. "
V "Yeah? You're on."
T 31
B "Š don't feel anything. "
V "It's only been ten minutes. Come up and sit on the wall with me. There's a
great view of the hills. "
B "Shyeah right. When you get dizzy you'll fall off. "
V "Burchack you wimp. "
B "Vinnie you psycho. "
V "That chick that your girlfriend hangs out with... "
B "Yeah? She's [SECURITY DELETION] You know where? [SECURITY
DELETION]"
V "You know her? "
B "Not really. I think she works for the government. Fancy her do you? "
V "Nah!"
B "I know this cafe where they... "
V "Holy shit, Burchack, you can't be heaving already can you? "
B "No no it feels like something in my throat!"
V "This must be it! This must be it! Do you see anything? "
B "I can't... breath... "
V "You can't breath? Cool!"
B "Fuck you Vinnie, I'm putting my mask on!"
V "You can't wimp out now, it's in your blood. "
B "Fuck you Vinnie, help me! I'm dying!"
V "Hang in there, mate. The hallucinations come next... "
B "Help me!"
V "I can't..."
T END

VINNIE'S DREAM

Biological Toxin Treatment Clinic (Heartland) Patient Report 2972

 "Well there's this middle aged man with an uncurable disease which will kill him, but the doctors have no idea when. One day he befriends this spirit,

yeah? I don't know, just like a ghost or something. Sometimes the spirit comes to him as a squirrel, which only the man can see. Sometimes the spirit ap
pears as a seagull who annoys the man's familiy by waddling uninvited into their house and perching on their shoulders and stuff. The man doesn't really
mind though, he enjoys the spirit's company in his days of impending doom. The spirits name is Basil.

 "One day, the man asks her of she knows when he will die. Within the next six months, replies Basil. The man thanks her and carries on in the comfort of

knowing he wouldn't have to suffer for too long. Sometimes he would go mountain climbing with some of his younger friends, seagull perched on one
shoulder. Maybe he thought he would accidentally fall from a cliff or have some other... fatal slip. Basil and he enjoyed the time they had together. His
wife, however, became increasingly worried with the mans behaviour. Talking to non-existant squirrels, spending far too long in the hills, you get the picture?
She put it down to the disease playing tricks on his mind.

 "A few months later, the man asked the spirit again, when will I die? Basil scurried up his leg, sat on his shoulder, and whispered 'A few hours now.

Within the next few hours.' With that, the squirrel kised him lightly on the cheek, said 'Goodbye', changed to a seagull and flew away. The man felt her
absence, a physical thing. And in his emptyness he realised that he had loved Basil.

 "He returned to his family and wandered aimlessly through the house, suddenly aware of every sharp implement, every leaning cupboard, every electri

cal appliance, knowing that it might not be the disease which will kill him. Knowing that it could be an hour or just a second until oblivion. The tension
became so great that he thought he might loose his mind before his time came. Then his wife took him and sat him down, and they talked. They talked
of their children and how the man wanted to give them a good future after he had gone. They talked of his funeral arrangements. Then they talked of cities
and hills and food. He was filled with nostalgia, and began to tell his wife how he loved her, but he realised that he was dead. "

THE INNOCENT, THE PROFESSIONAL AND THE GUILTLESS

 The two agents were more comfortable now they had had a chance to informally greet each other. The briefing was awkward, with Colonial Agent Hiya

tona under the impression that it would be a solo investigation and unprepared for a new partner so soon. Colonial Agent Smitty was also uneasy, being a
newcomer to the planet and unsure of the protocol. However, all this was nothing a visit to the taproom couldn't cure. Now aquainted, they drove to the
harbour, picking up Citizen Lunarianir on the way.

Dum Dum Dum it thumped, alpha waves beta waves invading the air. Dum Dum Dum the whole car vibrated.
"Turn it down, for goodness sake. " grimaced Smitty.
"But that would defeat the object! " shouted Lun.
"Play that crap at home, not in my Stanhope! How am I supposed to concentrate on driving? "
"It gets the 'ol adrenaline flowing!" Lun laughed.
"Racheal!" Smitty looked over to the back seat in the hope of support. The woman just gave her enigmatic smile in return, and then continued to admire
the scenary. Dum Dum Dum. How can they stand those bass frequencies churning up their insides? Smitty grumbled to himself. Dum Dum Dum Ch Ch Ch Ch Dum.
"Dammit Hiyatona, she shouldn't even be with us. Are you going to take full responsability if anything happens to her? "
"What am I? " Lun snapped, "A six year old? "
"This is just a historical records clearing up matter. " Racheal explained. "It's not even worth our expertise. She'll be fine. "
"Are you going to take full responsability then? " Smitty pressured.
"Yes. " came the calm answer. Dum Dum Ch Dum Dum Ch.
"So if she gets blown away by some punk because of our investigation, you can take responsability of that? Could you really handle that? "
"Yes. "
Lun span back to glower wide-eyed at her patron. "Don't you care about me? "
"We risk death every second. Smitty could crash and we'd all be killed. A trash kid could gun us down outside the hotel. If you died and it was truly my fault, then I..."
Words seemed to fail her. Smitty grunted.
"I hope for your sake that your friend here won't be hurt. "
"I won't be! " Lun ensured.
"I truly hope so because guilt is a real killer. "
Racheals smile faded a little. Guilt, she thought. What an odd concept to apply to me.
Dum Ch Dum Ch Dum Ch Ch CHUCHUCHUCH.

When the white sun had finally sauntered below the horizon, everything was gone. Lun peered over the railings on the poopdeck into the moonless Jhen
gian night. Black sky and black sea swollowing the horizon and everything else. Were it not for the slosh of water and the few specks of stars above, Lun
would have sworn that the universe had vanished, leaving the brigantine float ing in void. Thinking about such absolute nothingness made her feel ill, so she
pushed herself away and wandered back into the lounge with it's rugged lights and merciful air cooling.
Racheal had found the bar and was relaxing over a mug of coffee, her eyes flicking around the lounge scanning for nothing in particular. Lun slouched down on the stool next to her.
"You caffine addict. " she grunted, pulling off her mask.
"Keeps me alert," Racheal explained, "Did you see the stars? "
"Yeah a few. Thankfully. "
"My mother used to say that it was an omen, when you could see the stars."
"Good or bad? "
"Can't remember. "
Racheal finished her mug with a quiet shlurp. As she turned around Lun caught a glimpse of black metal in the folds of her coat.
"You're packing? " she hissed.
"Sure. It's legal. "
"But on a transport? " Lun was frantic, looking around defensively.
"Yeah. I never wear this coat without an Automag in the inside pocket. "
"But you always wear that coat... "
Lun was now squirming uncomfortably.
"Yes I always wear this coat. It's a nice coat, I like my coat. It keeps me cool in hot weather and keeps me dry when it rains. Its tatty so I don't stand out in
a crowd. It's got lots of pockets to keep things in. It hangs nicely over my shoulders. It protects me from bruises if I take a fall. And the inside coat
pocket is just the right size for an Automag Bullpup."
"Oh. "
Racheal gave a slight smile.
"I won't shoot at anything, I promise. Here, see what you make of this."
Along the bartop, she pushed an A5 notepad. Lun sat down to examine it. She decided it must be at least fifty years old; the leather binding had been battered to oblivion, the pages mostly cack-brown with age.

She decided that Chelh was pleasantly busy, loud and colourful at night. Yeah, so she had no money but you don't need that for a good time. At the
moment her street was filled with an orange yellow glow as a fire-breathing ostrich cyborg showed it's skills. Two spike-headed girls were zipping around
the crown on gravity-repelling Lihtans, singing drunken tunes. Wavering earth music thumped from the Real-Earth-Food resteraunt behind her,where she
had promised to meet her two companions. Oh yeah, she was happy.
Bony things grabbed her arms. Fingers. They pulled her away from the sanctuary of her doorway and relaxed their clutch. Lun looked up into his indu
rate face.
"Burchack... " she recognised, the process of identification numbing her for a
second.
"Why did you leave? " Burchack snapped.
"I don't know... " Lun stumbled, still shocked at seeing his face. Burchack grabbed her arm again (he always seemed to do that) and flung her with ease
against the alley wall. Wind knocked out of her, her knees failed and down she went amidst flakes of loose brick.
"I had to come all this way... " the man grunted, and reached down.
"Please... stop... " Lun gasped, thrusting out a shaking hand in confused defense. Burchack grabbed that arm again and dragged her to her feet. He
looked around and spotted a trash skip further down the alley. Lun was tossed against it, the metal denting with her impact. She was a rag doll, and Bur
chack a fustrated sulking child.
"You owe me the travel fare! " he added. Lun closed her eyes as she felt broken ribs grate and slide, sinking to the ground. 'Please' she tried to utter
but thought failed to issue the word. Burchack's fist met her jaw with a meaty crack. She felt nothing. Unconsciousness had arrived mercifully quickly. Yet
still she heard the Earth music swim in her mind. Tainted love, went the lyrics. Nothing but the daybreak cuts two ways. She didn't understand or care any more, though.

At almost exactly the same time, Smitty was mugged.
No-one in the busy street rushed to Smitty's aid, almost as if the action was happening on television and they could just switch the channel.
One moment he was trying to get his bearings under the white light of a street lamp, the next moment he was dragged away by thick arms, a newspaper
pulled tight over his face. As unknown hands tried to rip away his knapsack, he twisted away freeing himself of the hands and the paper. From one dark
ness to another; he was now in a steamy alleyway, the only light from the main street blocked by the silhouettes of his assailants. A hefty shove sent
him to the ground, the contents of his knapsack sent tumbling across the hot concrete.
"Don't bother fighting. " grunted the shadow and it came at him again. Smitty was too old for acrobatics. His scratched arm sweeped across the ground and
retrieved his pistol. Even as a heavy boot crushed his abdomen, his finger found the trigger and delivered a fatal shot. There was a split-second of seren
ity as the big guy stood momentarily, sending a trickle of blood onto Smitty's leg. Then he dropped, burying Smitty under stinking rags and dead flesh.
Three bangs flashed as the deceased's friend fired back in traditional gang land retribution. The bullets thudded into the corpse which shielded Smitty,
before it was rolled off with a mutter of thanks. His finger squeezed again, a few snapshots in the hope of keeping the foe at bay, suppressive fire being his
only defense. There was an attempt to roll over to a rain barrel but as he moved there was a horrendus pain in his gut as blood churned from his stom
ach to his throat.
"Fuck it. " he managed to cough before doubling up and choking up what felt like his entire digestive system. He thanked whatever needed thanking for
inspiring the gun-thug to flee, half hearing the man stumble into a trashcan. He thanked whatever needed thanking for allowing some kind person to notice
him and call a hospital. Or whatever it his that you call it, he thought, on this lousy cat-infested backwater excuse for a planet.

She had asked people if they had seen a young blonde girl hanging around. Someone had. Said they had seen a man join her and they left to
gether. Racheal returned to the hotel, went to her room, and dialed up a coffee on maximum caffine setting. Maybe Lun would turn up by morning. Made
a new boyfriend already. It was times like this that she would normally call Tarbion, but she heard he was undercover on Abstract somewhere. He (or
she, sometimes) was her only true friend. She had been trained to only have false friends, so that it would hurt less when she inevitably lost them. But mu
tual near-death experiences had brought Tarbion close to her than even her own family. Was it the same light they had seen as they died? A string of
swirling riddles, infinite in luminescence, converging and burning her retina to charcoal. What they had seen took them beyond friendship and love.
She saw him perhaps twice a year nowadays.
Smitty still hadn't got back by the time she had read the schizo's notes all the way through. The poor agent probably still thinks he's on Earth,
she thought. The days are three hours longer over there. He stumbled into the hotel room just as the sun peaked over the watery horizon. Clutching his
stomach, thin grey anorak damp from alley muck.
"You look in a bad way. " Racheal frowned, helping him into an armchair.
"Got jumped on. " he coughed.
"Oh Yahweh. Shall I call the chief? "
"No. No... I don't think they knew who I was. Damn, I was transferred here to get away from all the violence. "
"You fit enough to carry on with the investigation? "
"Yeah just slap some sprayskin on. I'll be fine. "
Racheal went to the bathroom to find a medical kit, and flipped close the cover of her diary on the way. Smitty snapped his eyes open and saw the cover title.
"No Recall. " he read out loud.
"Pardon? " Racheal called from the bathroom.
"No Recall. " Smitty repeated.
"Always aggression. " Racheal replied as she wandered back in with a medical pouch.
"Eh? " Smitty grunted, confounded.
Racheal showed him the first page of the diary.

NO RECALL ALWAYS AGGRESSION

Etext Personal Notes Racheal Hiyatona (Ilyia Ikonvich) Volume 2 Entry 1 Date
00/18/22
Observing today. No contact. So we follow him around but he doesn't go anywhere. Just round and round the city, never eats or rests. Tarbion reckons
it's implants and I want to find out so we pay a third party to go over and make conversation. Just some girl off the street, tarty clothes but seems okay other
wise. The target is standing at a curb waiting to cross the tramline, head darting left and right. Our girl goes over and starts talking. I turn up my ears and listen in.
"Why are you wearing that long coat in boiling weather like this? " she says.
An odd thing to start off with but maybe it's better that way. The target looks over at her.
"This coat is the only thing I have in the world. "
Quite a chirpy, pleasant voice for such a morose face.
"Oh sorry... " the girl flusters. "I didn't realise you were... "
Her voice trails and she fumbles in her jacket for some change.
"I don't want your money. I don't need money. " he says simply. The girl looks puzzled, hand hovering at the entrance to her pocket in some limbo state.
"How do you buy food? " she asks.
"I don't want food. I don't need food. " he begins to smile. The tram has passed by now, and the target begins to step forward.
"Go on, ask... " Tarbion hisses, mouthing my thoughts.
"So what do you do then? " the girl blurts out. Tarbion holds his breath. The target stops and smiles again.
"I am an unlabelled man. I'll show you. "
He holds out his left hand, plam down. The girl's eyes seem to widen ten inches. The hand becoms a fist. My fingers instinctively dance for my pistol,
expecting blades to slide from his wrist. Tarbion smacks my hand hard. No contact. Observe.
The fist turns and opens again. The girls eyes twinkle, a smile creeping over her painted face. Tarbion and I stare at each other for a second, and then
back to the black lotus in the target's hand. The guy was a magician as well as a murderer. He snatches the stem of the flower between two fingers and
places it in the girls hair. She grins stupidly at him.
So we take the flower for forensics and brainwipe the girl. Real black lotus's are rare. Finding out wherever it is just a construct or not should give us a lead.
"What do you think? " Tarbion asks me, back at our Stanhope.
"The implants or the flora? "
"That bug we placed on the girl showed no EM emissions. That means no microservos and no nanobots. "
"So we're talking totally biological implants then. "
"Yeah so you don't have to get so jumpy everytime he clenches a fist. As for the lotus... "
I pout. "Let's just presume sleight of hand for now, shall we? "
Tarbion grunts and drives us over to Anglade's. Tarbion trusts my aware ness impeccably. If I say it was just a stage magicians trick then that's good enough for him.
Later I think back and back on the event. Back and forth his hands never met. His sleeves were rolled up, as is the style nowadays. Forth and back. I'll sort out that little puzzler later.
In the meantime, I'll have to sort out my jumpiness. I've never trusted cybernetics and flinch at the slightest unusual gesture. Am I paranoid?

Etext Personal Notes Racheal Hiyatona (Ilyia Ikonvich) Volume 2 Entry 2 Date
01/18/22
So he was fat and ugly, this guipure sniffer. I meet him in this real old stone building with a spire and frilly architecture and stuff. Inside it's cold and hollow,
pillared, aisled. Rows of long wooden seats. He's sat at the one furthest in, slobbed out on algae ale and chips, staring up at this big stone cross. The
cross is short at the top and long at the bottom. I'm sure I've seen the design someplace before, so I ask him.
"What is this place? "
"Are you Ilyia? " he slurrs, looking up at me like I was the cross or something.
"Yeah. Guipure, I presume. "
"I was expecting someone beautiful, but you'll do. "
"So sorry I'm not blonde haired and blue eyed. "
"You could've at least worn makeup. Don't you ever wear lipstick? I like lipstick. "
"I do sometimes. It depends on who I'm pretending to be. "
"And who are you pretending to be right now? "
My eyebrows knotted. What kind of sniffer was this?
"I'm pretending to be me." I told him.
"Just pretending? " he asks, amused.
"Just pretending. " I confirm.
"Make-up looks good. " he continues. What is he? A make-up fetishist or something? "I like lipstick. "
He begins to stand, his bulk giving him some difficulty.
"Well wear some fucking lipstick then. " I snap and walk away. If Anglade wants to deal he can contact me himself.
"Where are you going? " the sniffer slurrs.
"I was expecting someone beautiful. " I shout without turning. In front of me, the huge oak doors swing shut. I don't bother to make a dash for it. I let them
slam. I march back to the fat ugly who is now standing akimbo in front of the cross like he think's he's the Empress
"You are from Anglade's, are you not? " I demand.
"Who's Anglade? " he frowns.
"Oh great, so who are you then? "
"I'm the guipure. Who are you? "
"So you _are_ the sniffer then. "
"Hell no, I'm from Anglade's. "
"I need to meet the sniffer... where is he? "
"I'm the sniffer. "
"So you are the guipure sniffer sent by Anglade? "
"Who's this Anglade? "
I really couldn't be bothered with this. My forehead meets his nose and he staggers backwards, hands flying to his bleeding face. They usually laugh now.
He gives a grim laugh and mops the mess with his cuff.
"A heavy peel of thunder came to waken me." he announces like some great thespian, staring right at my eyes. "Out of the stunning slumber that had bound me. "
Now he starts to smile with sweating lips. "Startling me up as though rude hands had shaken me. "
"Shuttup. "
My TekPharm coat turns white as anger heats me. I'm rarely irritated like this, but I can't abide this type of nonsense.
"Anglade told me you were rational! " he protests.
"I'm being rational. I'm going to kill you. " I lie, pulling out my Automag. Put the fear of the Empress into him, I thought. But something bizarre occurred.
We simultaniously grinned at each other. Fate, I guess. The pistol goes away.
He looks kind of flustered...

Smitty stopped reading.
"I can't look at this, it's an infringement of security. " he suddenly realised.
Racheal shook her head.
"Security's gone to the dogs. It doesn't matter anyway. "
"But it's personal... I feel uncomfortable... "
"Just think of it as a fictional story. "
Smitty opened the diary again. "Is it a comedy or a tradgedy? "
Racheal grinned at him. "It's a farce. "
At those words, Smittys hands went limp.
His eyes glazed over. Sudden liquid. Racheal watched him faint into the chair. She checked his pulse, but he just seemed alseep.
A few hours rest later, he seemed awake and fit although politely hesitant to discuss the reasons for the faint. Racheal let it slide. Unable to wait for Lun any further, they both set off for the tram line.

FRAGMENTS FALL

He woke from a nightmare. It wasn't one of those clean 'bolt up in bed and scream' wakings he had seen in flims. He realised his eyes were open, as if
they had been staring at the ceiling whist he slept. There was a point of pure dread lasting zero seconds, gone before he could feel it. Rolling to one side,
he tried to vomit, but brought up nothing but a pounding forehead.
"We have brain activity in number four. " someone said. He couldn't see.
Eyes trying to focus on seperate white things. He couldn't feel, whole body dead, lolling about like a corpse. The coughs came and the corpse began to
sting with pins and needles, feeling like sticking his tongue on a battery.
"Can you hear me, Johan?" said a different voice. To him? Couldn't be.
Another sting pumped into his arm, but it was lost in the dancing nerve-endings. A gritty thumb pulled up his right eyelid. "Johan? " It was
speaking to him. He found his arms and pulled himself into a seated position on the matress. Eyes began to co-ordinate and focused on a face. A woman.
Old. A nurse. An old woman nurse.
"My name is Smitty." he said, throat as dry as those damn tram lines. The head turned, whispered to someone else. "You must have the wrong patient. I
am Smitty. I think I must have had an accident in the sewers... "
"You are Meloha Johan. Regency name, Marcus Hayami. You are a mental patient in the Roget Institute. You..."
"No that... not right." he interrupted. "I am Smitty. Just Smitty. I'm with the RCIA. Racheal must have taken me here. Check your records. Racheal Hiyatona."
The nurse was shaking her head. "You mentioned her when you were awake last month. You are still suffering from the same delusions, Johan."
"Last month? I've only been on this bloody planet for a week. Get me a phone, I'll sort this out."
"We had hoped we had cured the delusions at last, but it seems not." She sighed, passing something to him. Bits of card. Photographs. He flicked
through them. Photo of him in straight jacket, unshaven and beaten. Photo of him sat at table, drooling, glazed look. Photo, blurred, him shouting, wild eyes.
Photo of him, younger than now, standing with some people he didn't know.
He couldn't look any further. None of this had happened to him.
"Johan, you've been with us now for nearly eleven years." the nurse explained.
Johan screamed.

DAY PLUS EIGHT HUNDRED AND ONE

The day that colonial agent Racheal Hiyatona (Ilyia Ikonvich) arrested the terrorist-for-hire Costello, the last seed of revolution had died. The
Regency marine corps transports, bright and sharp from spindle line frost, were shining points in the night sky. Heartland was grim under the tight control
of the marine garrison, ready to quell hostilites between Earth's colony and the Ring Island monarchy.
"It's an omen when you can see the stars. " Racheal pointed out to Costello as they waited their turn in the police station's foyer. Costello rubbed
her heyfeverish nose, the handcuffs making quiet metal noises. "If security wasn't so slack, " Racheal continued, "There would be non of this rebellion
nonsense I've been hearing about. "
"Those marines from Earth smell bad. " Costello said. Despite her arrest, she was passively happy. In her own mind she saw war breaking out,
with anarchy keeping her employed for the forseeably future. She was a demolitionist.
Had been jumping from one group of terrorists to the next, fighting for whatever was the cause-of-the-day. "Those marines can't stand this heat. Peacekeeping force... hah! I say the colony is for colonists. "



etc, I never really got anywhere with this, and it was mostly just background stuff for our RPG anyway.
Plus I abandoned the whole Johan/Smitty thing after I found that Philip K. Dick had been writing about that kind of stuff thirty years ago.