GuyInSpace

Entry 6            After landing on the sidewalk outside the mayor’s property, I noticed a small crowd loitering near her front gate, about twenty meters away. Apparently they were expecting something to happen soon. Maybe she would come out and make a statement? As I pondered this, I realized that some of them were looking at me. A few of them pointed. There was just enough daylight for them to get a good view.            If I were a more social person, I would have strolled up to the crowd and given them a riveting account of the day’s events. And if I were an owl, I would enjoy eating insects and mice. I turned away from th

Entry 5 Eastside Camp has a crude wall built around it, made mostly of tires and crushed cars. The camp is home to about fifty thousand people, so it’s a big one. It used to be a residential zone on the outskirts of the city, and still has a lot of the old houses, although none of the original power lines or water lines are working. The guys guarding the main gate took one look at us and waved us in. Everyone at the camp knew Jason, and soon they would all know he was back, because motorcycles are loud. We went straight to the mayor’s house, which was on the north end of the camp, very close to a creek. A servant came out to mee

Entry 3 The skirmish with the golems marked the beginning of the chaos that has become my life. As I look at what I wrote yesterday, I realize that you still know next to nothing. Here’s the most important thing you should know: for every possibility, there is a place where it is reality. Right now I am sad, and tired, and lonely. But I can take some solace by looking into the Form and seeing that I am also not any of those things. Some people seek refuge in memories. But memories are only as good as the life that wrote them, and the brain that conjures them. Memories fade, and memories lie. The Form does not fade, and it cannot lie. A

Entry 1 My name is Dana, and I’m starting this journal in the hope that it will help me stay sane in the midst of all the recent turmoil. I may decide to delete this before anyone sees it, like my last journal. But in case I don’t, and someone is reading this, I have a pretty good idea of who you are. You are probably a cryo, recently thawed, and you want to know something about the person who saved you from being a permanent popsicle. This is assuming Victor’s plan will actually work, and we successfully thaw cryo-bank Masis. Let’s go with that. You were dead for about three hundred fifty years. They may call it R