How rare.
13 May 2016Asagao
Rajukru, we love you. You don't care who turns up, so long as they've got something - anything - to sell, even if that anything is sloshing around in its crate, growling, and needs to be handled with electrified prongs.(As an aside, I'm told Leestian Evil Juice doesn't leave you with a hangover. If it disagrees with your system to that extent, it just quietly digests your internal organs and you don't wake up. Not that I've put it to the test, obviously.)
On the way from Rajukru to HIP 80364, I received an unexpected communication. Back home, missives come in different forms. Most callers come to the front door, tap the gong and leave a message cylinder with the maid. Occasionally, someone will send an armed retainer to run silently across the rooftops, break in at a shutter, and leave an elegant note (attached to a spray of seasonal blossom) pinned to one's mirror with a jewelled dagger. The communication I received en route was a cousin of the latter type.
It appears I had somehow come to the attention of an honourable (if somewhat vigilante) organisation who wished me to join their ranks. Very flattering, but a goodly part of the reason for my new career in space was to remove myself from some members of my extended family who wanted to put a greater distance between my ears and my shoulders; a state of affairs for which I must take my share of the responsibility, admitting that - within the customs of my upbringing, at any rate - I don't play very well with others. And within this new sphere of life, I fear I'm too inexperienced to be of assistance to anyone else as yet. So for the foreseeable future at least, I will continue with my route around the stars, learning the ways of the spacers, until such time as I can afford a deep-space vessel, and turn to making my plans a reality.
Meanwhile, I'm looking forward to returning to Leesti. I think I'll send a care package home from there. For old times' sake.