Player: Ricard Campbell
E-mail Address: mrartist@javanet.com
Character: Alexander Sporades
Race:
Class: ?
Social Class/Rank: ?
SECLAR: ?
Height: ?cm; Mass: ?kg; Hair: ?; Eyes: ?; Apparent Age: ?; Gender: Male
Appearance (AP): ?
Demeanor: ?

Level: 1
X.P/Threshold: 10,100/20k

Monits/Credits:

30 Han S.D. 5119 of the Fifth Empire. Time: 23.31

Alexander sat alone in the lounge in another of what seemed like an endless stream of outer orbital stations. He was tired. He'd been up for seventy two hours. Thank God the visual hallucinations had quit. He flinched. The audio hallucinations had not stooped.
"Damned tuber," he thought he heard. He would never get used to the bigotry against genetically engineered transhumans.
"Fucking splice." He imagined someone sitting a few tables away, looking at him. He stood up from the table and walked into the terminal area and let the din drown out his voices. A screen above a row of vending machines told what time the next shuttle to the surface of Phaon departed. Four display cases with rehabilitated prisoners on sale as indentured servants for the duration of their sentences slapped his mind back into focus as if vanquishing some euphoric state of mind. Most beings wouldn't think that a genetically engineered transhuman could be subject to the normal weaknesses of humanity. But, that was the genius of the Kashind genetic breakthroughs. They strengthened the human strengths rather than removing the conditions that had evolved into the human experience over thousands of years. The little nuances of mood and ego alter ego, the epic struggles between Anima and Animus were all present in transhumans. And Alexander felt a pinch of anxiety on some level just below the surface of his skin when he stared at the display cases.
`Damned Mikonos reforms,' he thought. They were the reason why he was now on the other side of the law. He was a good operative at the agency, practicing the skills he loved, surrounded by people he liked and trusted. He had a real sense of purpose in life until councilman Mikonos started his inquiries into the existence of the agency and certain departments whose operations were beyond the scope of what Kashin sensibility would accept as reasonable culpability. When some of those friends had vanished like a blip on a scanner and his access to the building denied one day, Alexander did what came natural for a black bag man. He ran, assuming another identity and began to earn a living on the fringe of the law.
" Damned Mikonos reforms," he whispered, staring at the display cases.
She came out of nowhere and she startled him, the little girl. He had taken note of everyone on the flight from Firenze and he recognized her. It was all over faster than Alexander could comprehend what was happening. He was caught off guard.
She slipped her liliputian hand into his saying, "Please take this to the planet for me. There will be a man in a green jumpsuit at the terminal. Give it to him for me please. Then take what he gives you. I will contact you again."
"What the …?" he thought. He looked around to see if anyone had seen this exchange and when he had satisfied himself that no one was paying attention, he turned back to the little girl, but she was gone. He clinched the item in his hand watching the little girl answer her mothers inquiry with a shake of her head.

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