Kali and Codex rockin’ the Rock

You probably know the situation. You’ve been partying hard – and “partying” is a verb I hate to use, let alone inflect – and want a change of pace. Chances are you spirit yourself away to a new location, possibly with you special friend or enormous posse in tow. However, visitors to The Rock might just find all they need in one location because this new venue has three distinct dance floors all in one place, and switching from head banging with Ozzy to slow dancing with you favorite squeeze is as simple as walking across a bridge. There is also something called the Tower, which is, as the name suggest, a series of platforms that take you higher and higher above the fray, each with a number of seats and pose balls to let you and your friends simply chill. And no “velvet rope” – the Tower is for everyone, not a select few.

The creative wünderkinder behind the venture are builder/designer Kali Dagostino and tech wizard Codex Binder. The dynamic duo officially started the party at noon on Saturday January 19th, doing their bit to ruffle the fur of PETA fanatics by wearing between them enough leather to deplete a small herd of cattle. But boy did they look good! Codex took the opportunity to make use of a special fashion accessory – a whip. That and his bursts of flame just to keep things heated.

I arrived just before the grand opening to find the party already underway on the Volcanic Rock floor. The invite had offered L$500 each to the sexiest leather-clad male and female rocker so not surprisingly the dance floor was almost mooing. But then again, there’s nothing wrong with a seething mass of hot avatars in tight leather bumping up against each other to the sound of Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer.”

Willa rocks out

The actual dance ball is not a ball but – surprise surprise – a huge spinning rock hovering above the ground. Clicking on it pops up more dances than Fox News has right-wing anchors. Air guitarists and Guitar Hero players will be pleased to know that one of them gives you the option to release your inner Clapton and jam across the floor with twenty other rock god wannabees. And yes, I did.

I spent the first five minutes being bombarded by a steady stream of “hi’s,” “hooowwlllzzz” and “arooga’s,” as well as dodging some topless guy who seemed to have an avatar control issue. Bumping into someone on a busy dance floor is a common enough accident, but to systematically bump into everyone takes skill and planning. And without wishing to seem unusually cruel, he needed to know that his “six-pack abs” were more of a “keg” and would have benefited from being wrapped in a shirt – leather or not.

So after finding a relatively safe space on the edges of the floor, far enough away from “Wandering Willy” to stop my bump alarm ringing like a telephone, I had a quick word with Kali to get her impression of how things were going.

“I’m proud of the build, proud it’s finished. We’ve a fantastic team and a great party. Glitches? None at all. Unbelievably smooth, but we’ve worked hard the last day or two to get it just right.”

I asked if the music selection was up to the DJ.

“Yes, and she’s good isn’t she. We will have her regularly.”

Shaera will rock you

The DJ is Shaera Beck, spinning her streams from high above the floor, and doing her bit to ensure that no cow has died in vain. With low-waisted leather pants, double-belted sexy midriff, and a high-necked leather top, Shaera plays the music and the crowds. She joined SL on February 2007 and has been working as a DJ in SL for five months, but this gig was something of a milestone for her – the first time using a live mike. I wanted to know how she went about deciding on her musical set for this inaugural bash.

“They just said ‘rock’ So there is so much to choose from and it’s so wonderful to DJ because of that. I choose the first song, hear it, and then I choose another one that is matching to the end of the previous one.”

Building and running a club can be a Herculean labor of love and prims, but promoting the finished product is just as critical a component. Kali and Codex have been helped in this by the almost manically bubbly Monochrome Tomorrow, whose official title of “PA” scarcely does justice to her actual involvement. Marketing and promotion are a big part of her role, and she gets to “manage the part with the DJs and hosts,” with Shaera being one of her finds. There’s a wonderful word for describing what Mono is so good at – schmoozing. You don’t have to spend long with her to begin to feel that she should be added to your friends list.

Like all the people I talked to, she does what she does because she wants to have some fun. Sure the Rock has its share of stores tucked around the edges, and sure you can tip the DJs, the hosts and hostesses, but that in no way detracts from the delicious ambiance of the place. The assembled massed seemed to have had a hollerin’ ‘n’ hootin’ good time – even the dude with the bouncing belly.

And one last thing to check out while you’re there: The club is by the beach and there are opportunities to stroll with your partner and use the pose balls by the shore to spend some quality IM time. Let me know how that works out for you.

Bunny the Huntress

Under the cloak of midnight Bunny stirs
Her eyes accustomed to the dark
Awaiting in silence, sleek and edged
Seeking her newbie mark

Swiftly and surely the hunt is done
Her prey no longer in this sim
And on she goes through darkened wood
Tending her business, grim

So beware, oh newbie, lest you fall
In Bunny’s icey glaze
Wear your clothes on open land
And respect our SL ways

Or Bunny the huntress will seek you out
Her vengeance quick and bold
And when you return to the game
Your reception will be cold.

copyright (c) 2007 – Kris Dibou – used by the gracious permission of the author.

By Pixeleen Mistral, National Affairs desk

SL – RL furry crossover crossdressing fashion?

The Herald mojo wire made some strange sounds this morning and coughed up a furball of an RL fashion alert. It appears that some designers have been spending far too much time in Furnation, and it has begun to affect their work in RL – if this page at we-make-money-not-art.com can be taken seriously.

Our fabulous furry freak friends will want to study the entire gallery at NewsFashionWeek.com.

HMS Endeavour

[Editor's Note: Though the Herald navy had lost sight of Captain Tiny Newt's crew on the Endeavour in recent weeks, we rejoin them now as they commence their original mission: the exploration of virtual parts unknown...
--Walker Spaight]

Parte the Fourthe: In Which We Are Nearly Able To Begin

The crew was assembled on the fantail, awaiting orders. I looked aloft at the two eagles gliding gracefully about the upper spars. Crew members had affectionately named the male “Baldy” and his mate “Crewella,” as she was forever squawking at poor Baldy. They had built a nest atop the foremast crosstrees, 65 feet off the deck. Inspiring to behold, the handsome birds provided an excellent early-warning system for the ship. Heaven help any misguided vermin who came aboard.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” I began. “The pirate hordes in the area mean us little harm, or so it would seem. Still, I want each of you to keep a sharp lookout. Today, I would like us to return to Endeavour’s original mission, that of exploration and intercourse with the native population.” Though my crew is normally well disciplined, my last comments were met with a ripple of laughter for reasons that escaped me.

“Clasico, you take Sin and see if you can locate Pixeleen Mistral. As you folks know, she is the proprietress of the Vagabond Sailing Club and managing editrix of that blasphemous rag, the Second Life Herald. She is a definitely a mover and shaker that we need to talk to. You two know the right questions to ask. And Clasico, mind your tongue, you rogue; understand?”

“Aye aye Captain”, came his immediate reply. Sin smirked at Clasico and Clasico smiled back.

“Robin,” I said, addressing Gunner’s Mate Robin Sprocket, “you and I will head up the hill to the Jinsil Boat Works and see if we can obtain an interview with Chase Speculaas. You should all be familiar that name, he is the builder of this ship and many others.”

“But Sir,” exclaimed Clasico, with wry innocence, “isn’t he also Fleet Admiral of the Pirate group?”

“You are correct, Sir, but we won’t mention it unless he does. In the meantime, we are interested in his latest creation, that massive 14-gun square-rigger he just launched.”

The sharp-tongued Clasico Cassini

Sin Trenton, the navigator, now spoke up: “She has the lines of an early Spanish Galleon, circa 1550, or maybe earlier; she appears to be at least 800 tons. Has he named the vessel yet, Sir?”

“I don’t believe so, Mr. Trenton; we hope to answer those questions this morning. Mr. Cassini, please set the watch while we are ashore. Instruct the Officer of the Deck to fire a single round from the portside cannon, should trouble arise.”

“Aye aye, Sir,” Clasico responded.

Turning to Robin, I asked, “Shall we take your hot air balloon ashore? We might even shoot a few aerial photographs while we are at it.” But Gunner’s Mate Sprocket was dressed head-to-toe in camos, with an AK–47 slung across her back. ” Sprocket, you know we don’t carry weapons, especially ashore.” I nodded at her equipment.

“Yaar, let those rascally pirates show their faces; I’ll give ‘em a little taste,” she said with a growl, flipping her hair in agitation. As she walked away to change, the men of the crew appreciated her rolling stride even though the sea was becalmed.

Soon, we were rising sedately into the cloudless sky, beneath two brightly colored gas-bag balloons. With a blast of fuel, Robin set the burners roaring. She leveled off our wicker platform a hundred feet above the masthead. The slowly rotating propeller nudged us forward at a stately pace. We enjoyed the bird’s eye view of the ships assembled below.

Plying the skies

“Do you realize Robin, that everyone of those vessels was designed, constructed and sold by our Mr. Speculaas? I’ve watched him at work; he is fast and accurate.” I knew Robin’s interests lay in building. She, herself, had won an important prize for the construction of an amazing clockworks which now resides in Bruno Buckenburger’s Museum.

At that very moment Robin gave a gleeful squeal. “Look below Captain. Cruwella has laid two eggies. Baldy’s about to become a poppa,” she said excitedly.

Sure enough, two brightly mottled eagle eggs lay in the nest beneath us. A worried Baldy glided in at high speed to eyeball us close up. “Move on out, Gunny, before he gets upset,” I said.

Gradually, we came within range of the shoreline and the derelict two-story shanty the pirates use as a clubhouse. The old Admiral Ben Bow Inn looked like it had seen better days. As we approached the shipyard, Robin began bleeding off gas for the descent. Our forward progress halted as the propeller shut down. We sank gently to a landing beside the vessels under construction.

“Let’s have a look around,” I remarked. She went off in one direction; I went the other. Minutes later, we climbed back aboard her lighter-than-air ship, not having found Speculaas.

“Let’s locate Clasico and Sin. See if they found Ms. Mistral,” I said. “But before we do, let’s just see what’s over top of this hill.”

Robin had no sooner lifted off and turned the gondola to the southwest than we heard the far-off thump of a cannon. I saw from the direction of the cannon smoke drifting off in the wind, it was the Endeavour’s starboard bow gun. Now, we heard other cannon fire, thundering in rapid succession. From our floating vantage point we saw three Brigantines, out on the bay, circling one another, blasting away, each trying to send the others to Davey Jones’ Locker.

“Can your young eyes see if they are attacking our ship, Robin?” I asked.

“Doesn’t look like it, Cap’n, they are well clear.”

Closer at hand, we heard loud shouts from down the hill. The unmistakable clang of steel against tempered steel reached our ears seconds later. We heard the high-pitched scream of an incoming, red-hot cannon ball, which plowed harmlessly into the sand, a scant hundred yards from the shanty.

“THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT, THOSE GUYS ARE IN TROUBLE,” yelled Robin. While I had been looking seaward toward the ship, she had thrown a line over the rail and rappelled to the ground in record time.

“ROBIN!” I yelled after her to no avail. “Can’t keep that girl from a good fight?” I made my comments to the empty air. From the sound of clashing metal I knew this was a significant engagement. Below, I saw the unarmed Robin, running downhill as fast as she could go.

I was about to abandon the balloon myself when the strangest occurrence overhauled me; the entire sky color changed to a washed-out tomato red. I could move not a muscle nor utter a single sound. I had become inured to the frequent lags that beset the seas on which we sailed, but this was different. I was still moving! The balloon, the basket and I were all moving at a slow crawl, however, inexorably and in the wrong direction, away from the skirmish and on over the hill. I pounded at the controls, unable even to quit the world. Suddenly, everything went black. Pirates? Not at all, but something worse: this was clearly the work of the notorious Griefers, the terrorists that are the real scourge of land and sea in Second Life. For the moment, we were sargasso’d.

To be continued…

Meet Roberto, quite an eye-catching avatar who is one of the more interesting characters that can be found frequenting random areas of the Second Life world that we explore from day to day. Above Roberto’s head is a floating, spinning, square picture of his real-life self. This floating image of himself is something he calls a “tip hat”, where people can pay a small donation to receive a party hat, and witness Roberto doing a dance in return for their kindness. Some of the contributions Roberto receives go toward the cause of making his avatar look as much as possible like his real self. This, however, raises a few questions: Isn’t there an easier way to raise the money? Why is it so important for him to look like his real-life image? And what’s his motivation for setting out on such a time-consuming and ultimately unrewarding task? The answer is simple: Agoraphobia.

Roberto Salvatierra, aka SL resident Roberto Salubrius, is a medical student from San Jose, Costa Rica, who suffers from the fear of open places and being out in public that is known as agoraphobia. He told me that at first, his main reason for making his avatar resemble his real-life image as closely as possible was to help him in curing his affliction. By seeing himself in a simulated 3D environment, Roberto feels he can become more comfortable with unfamiliar open spaces. If we were to look at this as a meaningless exercise, however, we would be mistaken. Speaking of the real impact of the Second Life environment on his first life condition, Roberto recalled his initial experience of the virtual world: “When first I came in here, I teleported to a forest, then I fell over a hill, running. At that exact moment, I got so anxious, I felt like I was there, running down the hill. But the anxiety came down fast as soon as I felt that I was in my house at a safe place, so I thought okay, the real problem is actually my perception of my environment.”

There are many misconceptions about agoraphobia: that it’s caused by lack of intelligence, or a lack of courage. Roberto is lacking in neither of these things. He is a member of Mensa, and has fought his illness to attend medical college, where he is the top student in his class. Speaking of these misconceptions, he explained to me that “agoraphobia is a condition [that] not many people understand. They think that we don’t do things just because we don’t want to. It’s a condition, a disease, it needs to be treated and cured. It’s not about courage. For instance: you can’t go out and tell a diabetic, ‘Hey man, make your pancreas make more insulin.’ The problem is that [with] a diabetic you can test their blood sugar, and see that it is up. There is no test to see if you have agoraphobia, so even your family thinks it’s lack of courage, but it’s not, we are sick. People just don’t get it.”

Interview with the agoraphobic

Roberto explained to me that unfortunately for him and people like him, agoraphobics don’t have support groups like alcoholics because of the nature of the condition. He has found that the internet is a great resource in bringing agoraphobics together, which is why he set up a website for people like himself to talk about it. But now he feels that a 3D environment like Second Life can “go way beyond that”. Being interviewed on the issue for a Columbian national newspaper, among other things, has made Roberto an important spokesman for the treatment of agoraphobia using the Internet.

With the money that he has raised so far in Second Life he has set up an in-world group called the “Agoraphobia Support Group” which he hopes other people with agoraphobia will join to discuss their shared difficulties. In the long term, with the money he raises through his tip hat project, he hopes to perhaps buy a small section of land in Second Life to build a place where agoraphobics can go to share ideas on this pioneering method of fighting this illness.

So if you see an avatar that resembles a Costa Rican man in his underwear, smoking a cigarette with a spinning picture over his head, it’s more than likely Roberto! The work that he’s doing within Second Life could certainly be seen as pioneering and has the potential to help a lot a people with a very difficult condition. So throw a few Lindens his way, you could really be helping someone — and the dance is too good to pass up!

SL resident ZATZAi Asturias has announced the first Second Convention, to he held in Second Life, March 1-3. No word yet on how or whether you need to register in advance, but if avatars don’t choke Artificial Isle to a crawl, it could be a fun few days of sailing, speechifying, fun-poking, partying and hawking of wares.
–Walker Spaight

If you’ve been worried about the detritus that builds up in Second Life as a result of prim drift and Tiny sex, worry no longer. Resident Mooba Sienkiewicz (aka Greg, the myRoomBud crew’s dad) sends word that he’s created a virtual Roomba for use in-world. “One day a real Roomba’s gonna come along and wash all the scum off the Grid,” Mooba says. Actually, I made that quote up. But he did build a Roomba for SL. Catch a video of the virtual Roomba in action on the myRoomBud SL page.

Attentive Herald readers will remember iHerald Enterprises groundbreaking RealFrogger event held at last year’s SXSW Interactive festival. This latest development holds more promise for the virtual world: RealFrogger in Second Life? We should be so lucky.

— Walker Spaight (cross-posted from 3pointD.com)

[Editor's Note: We sent Herald reporter Jimbo Quality out to cover the Second Life racing scene. His report below is presented as the first installment of his Traveling With the Idiot series. You'll soon see why.
--Walker Spaight]

The author wonders whether he’s made a wrong left turn

To avoid looking like a complete nerd, I ditched the free SL Herald reporter’s hat they gave me before heading out into the grid on my first story. My assignment was simple; bring the thriving SL motorcycle community to life for our readers. I planned to spread the story out, start with the racers and then move to the bikers then start making up crap after that. “I can do this!” I thought as I started to work my special brand of magic on the search box.

“I totally suck at this!” I thought after a few searches had yielded no obvious motorcycle groups. Unbeaten and unbowed, however, I did what every other good Herald reporter does: I blamed it on the latest update and set out to make shit up.

Actually, I picked a place that looked promising and clicked my trusty steed, Teleport. I landed at a shop that sells motorcycle racing apparel. I browsed, took their freebies, and wandered around outside, thinking that this might be a long day after all. Just as I was about to give up and have another go at my nemesis the search box, I spotted a place that advertised Go Kart Racing. “Ah ha!” said I, already having mastered the lingo of reporting the news.

Being a good reporter, and fearing that this might be as close to motorcycle racing as I might get, I explored the Go Kart place. Being a cheap bastard, I explored it even more carefully once I discovered the sign advertising that they were “Under Construction, Free Racing Until January 15th.” As near as I could figure however, this freebie is only good if you own your own go kart, or if you feel like it might be fun to make your avatar run around the track. Neither state of being applied to me, so I prepared to move on.

Our intrepid reporter at the Go Kart Track: “But the caution tape was like that when I got here,” he claims.

My next search yielded an actual racetrack, the Fairgrounds Speedway, so I went there. (And you can too, via this teleport link.) I was busy reading the extensive welcome card when another traveler popped in and landed on my head. I said “ouch” and she apologized and I noticed that she was very cute and very much not dressed for racing.

“You’re not dressed for racing!” I quipped.

“Is this a racetrack? Oh Jeez, I’m so lost. I’m looking for garden tools,” she said. And thus began my relationship with the one person in SL who the search box hates worse than it does me.

Jenny (pictured at left) packed up and continued her search for garden tools and I went back to reading the notecard from the Fairgrounds Speedway, which is, I should add in the hopes that they’ll buy me a car, sponsored by the wonderful people at Pontiac. Reading the notecard the second time through yielded no new clues, and certainly produced no experiences as life changing as having Jenny the Lost land on my head, but it did introduce me to the word “pitywhoring.” I’m not sure what that is, but I love the word and I’m glad that the good people at Fairgrounds Speedway are stomping it out. I’m excited about this, it’s kind of a pure Pontiac excitement. . . .

Wandering around the track, I dicsovered that I had found my way to a place where they race stockcars. They’re not motorcycles, but at least they race here. My search skills are definitely improving. Just as I was about to embark on another search, I spotted a young gray fox named Nick and asked him if I could ask him some questions.

[14:38] You: hi nick
[14:38] Nick: hello
[14:39] You: do you race here?
[14:39] Nick: sometimes
[14:39] You: i want to write a story about if for the sl herald, can i ask you about it?
[14:40] You: you ok?
[14:40] Nick pops back and merfs “I’ll live”

Yes, dear reader, somewhere along about 14:39 a car came screaming down the track and poof! Nick went from interviewee to screaming hood ornament hurtling down the track. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in SL.

So, for Nick’s sake, we moved off the track and the interview resumed.

[14:40] You: wow, that was intense!
[14:40] Nick: that’s why i was suggesting we step outta traffic lol
[14:41] You: is that was you were typing when you were, uh, hit by that car?
[14:41] Nick: yesh
[14:41] You: so what can you tell me about racing?
[14:41] You: how long have you been doing it?
[14:42] Nick: well i started yesterday

This, in my mind, made him the perfect person for me to interview. It’s his first full day of racing and my first half-assed attempt at reporting. Match made in heaven.

“A Firebird sure would be nice…”

It seems that down there at the Fairgrounds Racetrack they race at all hours for fun and excitement. There’s a little track and a big track, and thanks to people like me and Nick, there’s an obstacle course that occasionally screams. Nick is very excited about racing and has already purchased two cars, as they run different types of cars on the different length tracks. I talked to Nick for quite a while, and he filled me in on the ins and outs of the sport very impressively, especially considering that not long before he’d been hit by a car going 200 miles an hour.

I was most amazed that the sport is so cheap to get going in; a good starter car can cost as little as 100 to 150 Linden dollars, and the track is available most of the time. When I was exploring, there were perhaps three or four cars racing around. Apparently there are also big races that are fun to attend. My new friend Nick is sold on the sport and hopes we will be too: “People should come down, buy one of the cars and try the racing,” he says. “It isn’t too expensive and it is a lot of fun to come and do.”

Nick in his new “street stock.” While there are clearly defined categories of cars at the Fairgrounds Racetrack, such as this “street stock,” the author wasn’t bright enough to write anything down so he could tell you anything about them.

Personally, I probably will go back and try racing because it looked like a helluva lot of fun. I probably won’t do it soon, though, because I forgot to get a landmark and have well document issues with the search function. On a related note, dear readers, you will be happy to learn that my new friend Jenny was able to find some garden tools, and another racer at the track provided me with some names to look up for my upcoming article on SL Motorcycle racing.

Until then, friends, have fun and remember to always bring a towel on your travels.

[Editor's Note: When last we heard from him, sea captain Tiny Newt had lost one pirate ship and then recruited the presumably fetching Robin Sprocket to crew his next foray into the dangerous waters of Sanchon. . . .
--Walker Spaight]

Parte the Thirde: In Which We Are Totally Immersed

An expert in both weaponry and sailing, my old friend Robin Sprocket joined me as I sought my revenge against the pirates of Sanchon, but a new battle had already been joined, and there was no time to instruct her.

My “sit on the deck” command was lost to her: She sat on a cannon. This is common with other equipment — and, of course, in other contexts in Second Life. But the ship, because of her scripting, came to a screeching halt. It took me precious minutes to understand what had just happened. Before I could say “Bluebeard” we were sitting on the bottom amidst smoke and ruined sails. Robin couldn’t understand what had happened. “We’ve been sunk!! That’s all. Ha-ha,” I said with a sneer.

Back at the dock, everyone gathered for the final battle. The sexy Robin had stirred up the interest of the salty dogs assembled. As the time was short, a new battle plan was implemented. We changed corners and crews, but Robin stayed with me.

Within minutes, cannons were blazing away and chaos resumed. A musket fired. It sounded as though someone had broken a brittle stick behind my left ear. The zing of a white-hot musket ball whizzed by my forehead. This must be what real warfare is like: total immersion.

Total immersion. I had my hands full steering the ship, which had become unstable because I carried too much sail for the wind conditions.

We were taking savage broadsides. Black holes opened up along the rail. The sea rushed in. Thankfully, Robin had learned the cannon. She was firing the guns on both sides of the ship but complaining bitterly about not being able to see.

“WE ‘RE HIT!” Robin shouted. The ship had slowed but had enough headway for one more turn into the wind. Our sails looked like Swiss cheese.

“FIRE!!!!” I commanded. We heard the cries of anguish from the other ship over the roar of our cannon. The acrid smoke billowing from our burning decks mixed with theirs. “WE ARE GOIN’ DOWN! ABANDON SHIP,” we heard JonyBlade Codesmith yell. Their masts disappeared beneath the waves. All that remained was smoke. “YOU DID IT, ROBIN,” I cried. “YOU BLASTED THEIR ASS!

I heard a very unladylike “YAARRRRGGG!”

Back on the dock, Admiral Speculass thanked everyone for their participation, although he did grouse that it was akin to “herding cats”. He promoted Nox Chamberberlin to Captain on the spot. Chase (if I may be so bold to refer to the admiral by his first name) awarded prizes to the winners of four different engagements. Each received a sailing ship of their choice, though one of somewhat obsolete technology. All heartily agreed it was the best skirmish to date, then flew off to rejoin their lives in the “real world.”

I invited the few remaining people to join me on the deck of Endeavour. By the time we got back to the ship, the sky was dark and the stars had come out. My lieutenant, Classico Cassini, had left several lanterns lit. The ship’s crew was asleep. Three or four of us gathered on the weather rail to rehash the events of the afternoon’s battles.

A calm moment aboard the Endeavour

Now we were no longer pirates but simply tired and happy pals. Chase Speculass was animated and talkative. I watched him pace the deck, holding forth on some technical matter. I had marveled at his ability to play at such a battle. Chase told us that it had taken a year to make it all come together. I recalled that almost everything in the world of Second Life flowed from it’s inhabitants. So indeed, it was Chase who had scripted the ship’s abilities to react to the wind and obey the laws of physics so realistically.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but as in real life, just when you arrive in the company of greatness, everyone gets tired and goes home. I blew out the candles in the lanterns, de-rezzed the ship, shut down the computer and went to bed. As I lay there in the darkness waiting for sleep. I ran my hands through my hair and I caught a whiff of something from on my fingers. What was that I smelled? Gunpowder??

Read Parte the Fourthe