There was this man, a security officer, sitting in
the bar of a starship. He didn't remember how he had got
there, his arrival was too many drinks back.
He sat there, just starring in his half filled glass,
when the waitress tapped him on the shoulder.
"There's a man asking your name. He sits over
there" said the waitress and nodded towards a man
sitting in the shadow. "He says his name is
Blake. Robert Blake".
"My name?" he whispers at first before abruptly
turning 90 degrees in his bar chair, grabbing her wirst, twisting it brutaly around. "My name shouldn't be known to anyone alive today. Blake is dead, you're one of them aren't you?"
The waitress, being used to the mans sudden mood swings,
broke free and said "Hey, I'm just the messenger
here. You talk to the man. Or you don't. Your
choice."
So, the man stands up, grips his cane and steadly walks over to the mysterious character.
Robert Blake sits in a shadowy corner, his eyes obscured by the darkness cast by a large synthetic hat - beneath his high arched collar and trim gotaee is the steely glint of sleek metal.
The man stops in front of the table. "Robert Blake is a name I haven't heard in 40 years time" he whispers as he puts the cain on the table, pointing at the figure in the shadows. "Now, you tell me where got that name from."
A slight movement in the shadows tells the man that the figure has picked up something with his left hand.
With a clink, Blake places the gold badge from a Security Officer on the cold table. "Wounder where?" Blake echoed.
The badge was old and battered, the text on it was almost unreadable as if someone had traced it with their fingers, while reading it over and over again. The old security officer picked it up and turned it over in his hand. He stood silently while staring at the badge.
"Sit down and we'll take a walk through memory lane, you and me" said Blake. "It's time I told you what realy took place at Lh'owon. As you know, there is always more than one side to a coin. Let's start with Waterloo Waterpark"
**End chapter 1**'
A trigger had been pulled, the memories flew back. The
air was humid, the sound of lapping water, the
silence. Then the rage.
In the distance, sounds, voices twisted into their own
howling reality, and the continuing revirbration from
that cold shot.
Wiping my face on my sleeve, I groaned, gun in hand. I was left alone, with my fears and my thoughts. I marked a pause in the constance of my running. The echoes of my footsteps were being blow away by the winds of L'howon. I stank. The marshes stank, the walls and the rocks. I looked at the sky, thanked the wind, and departed, howling.
