First off, it is worth mentioning that from the age of four to the age of thirty-six, Shradre absolutely hated space travel. He could never sleep onboard a ship without self medicating . It is also worth mentioning that the good doctor's most beloved hobby is self-medicating. Okay, lets get on with it. Maxwell was born on the Agricultural powerhouse and Tourist trap world of Smethells 3, located in the Smethells 119 system.. His grandfather served as the System's Patron Rep to Senator Cincinattus Blake and was for all intents and purposes a professional boot lick in the service of a Senator who, by the Shradre family estimation (and most anyone else who payed even a small amount of attention to Imperial Politics) was a shiftless and morally challenged nutjob who brought shame to the dignity of the position of Senator. Shradre grew up listening to his father complain about how -his- father was mistreated and over worked and made to snivel and scrape and bow before a man who should be quietly put down as a matter of course like one might put down a rabid dog: it was grim, serious and sad business, but it had to be done for everyone's protection. Shradre's father hated the Senator for Smethells so much that one day he set out to file an official complaint while Senate was actually in session and well attended. Max was fourteen when he watched his father board the transport that would take him to the center of Imperial power. Jerald A. Shradre exited his ship in the Oluf System and was never seen or heard from again. To this day max doesn't know what happened to the man.

Max went to college at the best school on the planet of Smethells 3. He graduated in two years instead of four, having majored in Pred-Med and was possessed with a seemingly boundless energy and a small fortune to play with. When he turned twenty-one the lions share of the Shradre family assets were transfered to him but he didn't care about the money...mainly because he didn't -have- to care about money. . He barely had any ties on Smethells 3...his mother was traipsing around the galaxy with her third husband and his blind little sister lived at a school that specialized in teaching and caring for children with special needs. He didn't know (no body does) that those children, including his sister, were/are being experimented on..their brains toyed with for reasons unknown. No coded letters ever get out of this place. The River Tam types are put to sleep. Anyway, Im off topic.

Max was going to spend a year seeing the sights the universe had in store. He had yet to lose his virginity and he wanted to work on that. Two out of three girlfriend's surveyed (not really) gave the same answer as to why they broke up with Max: Max was high strung, high maintenence, and was BORING. He had friends but they shared the same opinion of him as well. He didn't know how to have fun and just relax and take it easy. He always sat ramrod straight, his eyes were always clear and sharp and darting here and there as if trying to be aware of everything in the room at once. He was always two steps ahead of those he had conversations with. A person would be trying to make a point and Max would know what they were trying to say fairly quickly and he would often act impatient and disinterested with those around him. He was out of touch, socially inept, often tactless and incredibly lonely. The more he tried to address his social problems, the bigger they became. Birthdays and holidays were esepcially hard on Max. Shortly before graduating he even tried to reach out to his mother, just to hear a voice out of class, someone to talk to. She had given him the contact information of tunnel digging company from some such place. God knows where she was. When he graduated he was suffering from severe depression. HIs plan was to go to medical school immeadiately, he already had many offers. He decided to live a little first, hoping that would get him out of his funk and maybe learn how to loosen up. He definately wanted to have sex first thing.

Even though he hated space travel he stomached it (along with a bunch of alcohol and Somnomax) so that he could travel. His first stop was the Capital of the Empire. As it happened it was his last. He saw the sights, saw where his grandfather had taken a picture once in the great Forum, and he went to a lot of bars. He was getting to like alcohol. He solved his virginity problem straightaway at a professional and above board bordello and he had his pick of many enhanced ladies of the evening. He learned that money was a great way to find friends...just as long as your definition of friendship was fairly loose. After two months in the Achenar system he had scores of "friends". He knew that most of them would have little or nothing to do with him if he suddenly ran out of money and one or two of them would probably stick something sharp in him, front or back, if given two credits.

It was here at a sleazy bar on the planet of Capitol that Max's life changed forever. He was drunk, coming down off of Semexol and Raxadexaphine, waiting for a Hooker to make it to their 'date' that evening when suddenly he was roughly and very quickly hustled out of the bar and into the neighboring patch of darkness where it would be hard to see his attackers, but, more importantly, itwould be hard for others to see what his attackers were doing to him. Three sharply dressed men who all wore the same cologne, Max remembered, and all seemed to have the same wide, barrel chest and muscled arms hidden under casual urban shirts proceeded to beat the hell out of him. Max did what he could to fight back, which wasn't much. He tells people that he conneted with a right hook and broke a man's nose but in truth he grazed the man's chin and it probably hurt Max's fist more than the man's chin. At any rate it wasn't long before he was on the ground, curled up in a ball, fairly certain that he was going to die that evening, convinced that he had run into some of those "Wild Urban Youth" gangs he had always heard about on Smethells 3...He felt a rib crack and then a blow to one of his kidneys that he was pretty sure would need medical attention if he survived. Then he started to think about his grandmother, of all people. He recalled with a startling clarity the last Thanksgiving the old woman spent with the family. "I just get so worried for my Maxie sometimes....because...you know...on account of the wild urban youth gangs that roam that the streets there on Capitol. I hear they do sex drugs and attack young women -and men-!! Right on the street and do terrible things to them, right on the street! Can you imagine!? Right out in the open! Right on the street my Maxie could..." He remembered the woman starting to cry loudly and uncontrollably in front of surprised and increasingly awkward looking family get together. Family members tried to dsitract themselves from the awkward scene with forced conversation that was off the cuff and very nearly as awkward as the old lady sobbing in front of a Giant, genetically modified and perfectly cooked Moby-Bird that the old lady had forgotten to start cutting as she was too preoccupied with the prospect of Rape Gangs marching into the Senate itself and raping everyone and everything in sight, including her dear Maxie. Max thought, "Finally...I think I'm going into shock!" with much relief. The blows began to soften and then they stopped, or at least he thought they did. He really wasn't sure if he was still awake or if he had been knocked out. He couldn't rightly recall if he had been hit in the head or not and he didn't now if that was a symptom of being hit in the head too many times or drinking too much alcohol. On some level he realized that his brain itself would not be able to tell the difference. He could, however. He hadn't been knocked out. He knew this because he could hear himself sobbing softly, a low, monotone, nasally whine thick with fear and deserpation, punctuated by his wet, sniffleing and bloody slurping as he drew in breath slowly. Something that brought about a tremendous starburst of pain from his three or four broken ribs not to mention the various and sundry internal injuries that were casuing him to cough up a thick wad of saliva and blood every thrid or fourth breath. He wept like a child but in his mind it was still that day when he was thirteen, standing there in the sun lit dining room, holding a plate with different side dishes piled on, standing in line with his cousins and aunts and uncles, waiting for the scene to conclude, waiting for his mother or father to take his overly medicated and mentally delicate grandmother from the table or at least off to the side so that the family could proceed with the forced ceremony and rote tradition that this holiday required of them all. As his mother cooed distracted nothings at the distraught woman in a poor and phoned in attempt to calm the woman as any loving child would do, Max remembered thinking, "Wait..what is she crying about? Is she worried about Grandpa being raped by paralegals and couriers or is she worried that they might not rape him behind closed doors like decent, Emperor loving citizens would?" Max still didn't know the answer to that question.

Max Heard talking now. His assailants were talking in the loud, boisterous and harsh sounding (to his ears) accent of "Homefolk" as the "homefolk" of Smethellls 3 put it, meaning "Born and raised on planet". Then a third voice sounded,. It was deep and rich sounding and it commanded respect. It was the kind of voice that expected obediance as a given and was accustomed to getting it. This voice was at odds with the loud, crude, and choppy sounding burly's that had beaten him to a probable death. It was soft where theirs were loud. It was calm where theirs were stressed and on the verge of frantic. The voice was spoken with a crisp annunciation that belied an underlying annoyance, "That is quite enough. Any more and you might kill him by accident." The voice was more than the voice of a leader of men. The voice was like hearing the voice of Achillies or Perseus, or that ancient Earther who somehow made those awful syndicated Sci-Fi episodes watchable...Max couldn't remember his name. One of the Homefolk asked in an overly respectful tone "Will that be all, err, uhh Sir? " Max spit out a thick stream of blood, along with a long low moan. The man with the commanding, Godlike voice waited until Max was quite done with his pitiful animal mewlings before he said "Yes, Yes, off you men go. The Armitage[i][/i] is being redeployed to take over patrol duties at Slink's Eye. If I were one of you gentlemen, and I really should take time out of every day to reflect on just how lucky I am not to be, I would drink what I could and spend what money I had left on whatever it is you men spend your money on in these parts of the planet because you will be recalled five hours and twenty two minutes." His voice sounding amused and upbeat, rolling off it's speaker's tongue effortlessly. What troubled Max was the man's voice was not amused at the men, obviously some random naval toughs the man had hired to beat him. The man was amused and even satisfied sounding, at Max's bloody moan of agony and primal, gut liquifying fear. The realization almost illicited another moan from Max but he cut it off and instead tried to focus on trying to find a way of breathing that didn't make him wish the Pride of the Imperial Navy had done a better job and killed him.

Max heard the toughs shuffle on and then he heard the mysterious man approach closer. He opened his eyes but this didn't help. He saw a figure squating down next to him. No details were discernable through the tears streaming from his eyes. He squinted as the man reached out. He flinched and let out a soft moan of fear and pain. The man's hand rested gently on his forhead. Max felt him brush some of his hair out his face in an almost affectionate way. Max moaned again, louder, and certainly more frightened, his Grandmother's sobbing face behind the big cooked bird looming before him. He knew her fear then in a much more personal way. The man said softly, "There there, Maxie...There there..." The voice was soothing to Max. It was...a voice from his past and it put him at his ease faster than any drug could. The man gently stroked Max's cheek. Lovingly. "G-Grandpa?" Max managed to gurgle out in a hoarse whisper. "Shhh..shh..Maxie. Be quiet now. You will be okay..." Max could hear the sirens now..He let himself go, then and was being tucked in, nice and tight by a man with kind eyes and a shock of white hair, hands like gnarled tree bark. "Goodnight, Maxie..." the man said. Max squealed in laughter as the lamp next to his bed was turned off. The man laughed too.