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Ken
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Contact Us:
General
Family Album
Holiday Diaries
Andy
Amateur Radio
Archery
Computing
Professional Details
Role Playing
Art Narrative (MGH)
Ken
Tom
Trudi
The words and artwork on this page have been prepared and created by Mark Hirst. Full information and additional examples of his work can be found on his website.
The origins of the narrative were inspired by a few of the early pictures and reminisences of our role playing college days. Now tempered by more recent science fiction offerings the orignal worlds of Marks Traveller™ creation see life some 20 or so years since we adventured there in this continuing storyline. The cycle is now complete as the storyline serves as an inspiration for the artwork which originally spawned the story.
It is the charming and naive assumption of modern liberal thinkers that advanced cultures are inherently more civilised and benevolent.
Let me appraise you of the Lazloi.
This is a race of humans torn from their normal course of evolution in prehistoric times, manipulated and modified at a genetic level and then set to serve an alien culture whose nature and origins remains a mystery today.
Like the Ancients before them, that alien culture disappeared in a cataclysm. Unlike other human client races, the Lazloi did not stumble into barbarism. They took possession of powers and technologies bequeathed to them and began exploring the universe.
Whilst we were discovering agriculture and building our first cities, the Lazloi had been exploring the galaxy for millennia.
What happened next is uncertain. Something stopped the Lazloi and caused them to retreat. They became reclusive and no longer travelled openly. Perhaps they feared the other human races and their far greater numbers. The Lazloi have always been small in numbers and bear few children. In spite of their long life and immunity from disease, they began to fade and diminish.
Now they lurk in the darkness between the galactic rifts, harbouring their fabulous technologies and their many secrets. Perhaps they are resentful of their new place in the universe. Their disdain of the lesser humans is matched only with their willingness to extend their terrifying technological prowess for their own ends. We can look to the recent demolition of an entire island as testament to that.
That gesture was the slightest stirring of their smallest finger. We have yet to see the consequences of their clenched armoured fist...
-- Professor Alain Holsworthy, Mirokat University.
The Brotherhood of Ankhn did not die when Captain Rhand destroyed their island fortress, but the manner of that destruction, a Lazloi singularity pulse charge, drew much unwanted attention from their allies and apologists.
Amid the chorus of complaints and hand wringing about the rights of criminals, we were forced to flee in the hope that the unique and peculiarly fatal form of destruction would inevitably lay the blame with the Lazloi, a role they could take on with little fear of reprisal.
The Captain elected to head out of Imperium space and into a fractured, lawless sector, one where our unique craft would garner less attention from what authority existed there.
Any thought that I could return home were dashed when Rhand showed me the extent of the conspiracy. My connection with the disastrous expedition of Hycaron II would surely make me a target for the Brotherhood and their mysterious sponsor. Even disparate elements of the Imperium were contesting for what lay on that haunted world.
So our flight took us to the water world of Equitaine, a member of a loose confederation of planets. These non-aligned worlds lie at the crossroads of possibilities.
To spinward and rimward is the massed might of the Imperium, whilst vast swathes of non-human worlds lie in the trailing sectors. Coreward is the enigmatic gulf of space known as the Corridor, The Deep or the Tiesian Gap.
Captain Rhand says we must enter that void. She says that the alien blueprint that I found on Hycaron II will help us cross...
-- Cyana Bristo, formerly of the Imperial Scout Service.
Three days on this fracking* rock.
Three days of thirst, three days of rations, three days of silence.
Three fracking days since the screams over the comm net fell silent.
Being independants, we don't get the extras like the Black Eagle regulars. While they lord it up in fusion powered grav APCs, we got around on wheels, powered by good 'ol mag hydro turbines.
Fracking great. Fuel up every fracking morning 'cos our wheels burns gallons per fracking mile.
Lise saw it first looking back at the Rapier slipping behind the hills. Fracking lights like aurora borealis 'round the ship, little points of light shooting around in a fog. That's when the screamin' started.
Chan said we should go back. "Frack that" said Lise, she floored it and didn't stop till we couldn't see it no more.
Second day and we're outta gas. We figured there'd be other survivors but every fracking APC we found had this mist around it. Steered fracking clear of those.
Day three and Lise picked up a distress signal. Looks like a helmet transponder from one of the APCs, signal's weak but whoever's wearing it must still be alive... Maybe they know what happened.
Three fracking days man... I hate this fracking job...
-- Lindon Carlin, Forward Observer Team, Black Eagles Battalion deployed on Hycaron II.
Had no qualifications when I left school, none of us did. Why'd we care?
Factory closed years ago, nobody had jobs, nobody had a future...
Dad ran away when I was ten. Ma took it bad, took to drink. I hated coming back from school, she'd be on spirits by then. She'd scream at me and my brother, 'bout how hard it was bringing up us kids. She'd hit us sometimes, I'd have to go to school and pretend I'd fallen or somethin'.
I stopped going to school, but after a few days, teacher phoned Ma and I was in so much trouble. She shouted and hollered at me, it was real bad. She hit me hard, I think it was a bottle, I remember going to the hospital, people were real kind to me.
Never forgave her for that. Think I always hated her...
My friends drifted away. Some worked in the mine, some did drugs, walked the street. It was bad, seeing my friends like that. That's when my brother died, took an overdose.
I decided to leave. That's when I joined the Marines.
They gave me education, helped me with reading an' writing. I learned about engineerin', power train, transmission, 'lectrics, everything. I can work computers, lasers, radio, sat comms, had a real aptitude they said.
When I did my three terms, went back to the old town. My friends were still there, poor, pregnant, an' addicted. Left town for good, went freelance, joined a merc unit, a good one, real professional.
Thought it was all workin' out. Then Hycaron II happened, lot of things changed after that...
-- Elise Mackie, Forward Observer Team, Black Eagles Battalion.
As a combat medic, watching people die is part of the job.
Ambrakh was lying in a pool of her own dried blood when we entered the gully. The more persistent of the scavengers didn't want to let go so we had to do some persuading with our gauss rifles.
Three days of sun and the constant threat by predators takes a toll on the strongest soul. She could barely take the water we gave her and for a while she just lay in the makeshift stretcher we'd made without moving.
I did what I could for her arm and legs, but the raptors had chewed them up badly and infection was setting in.
Ambrakh managed to mumble directions but even then, it took some time to locate the APC. It sat near the edge of one of the deep fault lines that criss-cross the planet surface. Judging by the marks on the ground, it had landed fast but without much damage. Nice flying, girl.
We wanted to power it up but Ambrakh became hysterical. 'Don't turn on the fusion reactor, it feeds them'.
Later she started babbling about ghosts.
We'd seen lights weaving around the ship and the other APCs we'd found, but none of this was making sense. They were attacked she said. What the frak had she seen? Where the frak are the bodies?
Poor kid has fallen into a coma. Without a medlab, she'll be dead by morning...
-- Michael Chan, Forward Observer Team, Black Eagles Battalion, Hycaron II.
The humans have suffered great losses, far more than you predicted.
It seems they do not understand the threat. Are you sure they are a suitable proxy in the conflict that is to come?
The fusion reactor of the human starship radiates power over a wide area and draws sentinels from great distances. The sentinels grow stronger and are a considerable hazard. I can confirm that my ship does not attract attention despite running the power core at full output. I am certain that the sentinels are not alerted to our presence.
A human female has acquired critical knowledge that will aid the human struggle against the threat. Regrettably, she is dying and may not pass on what she knows.
I recognise that our hand is not to be revealed but it became necessary for me to protect her from imminent death before her rescue by other humans. I activated her helmet beacon to attract help but was forced to return to her location to ward off predators.
Unfortunately, she recovered consciousness and saw me.
Her fevered state meant that she interpreted me as a supernatural being or apparition. The shimmering effect of my personal shield may have reinforced that view. The enclosed surveillance recording shows a confused state of mind and scepticism by her companions of her story.
All the human survivors are still in danger and I am concerned that this injured female will die before serving her purpose. Further more, if the humans continue to act in this way, it is only a matter of time before the sentinels break free of this world.
I intend to rest a while and will leave the simulacra to guard my speedster.
Please send further instructions...
-- Transmission from Kleneptra ny Hybritta ny Karaenia, of the Lazloi Order of Pathfinders, assigned to Hycaron II.
I wake from the dream that plagues my sleep. My beautiful Tara sleeps next to me, oblivious to my thoughts.
They say knowledge is power, they say I have a gift.
I call it a curse.
In another time, they would call me prophetess, seer, or witch.
I see the true face of people around me, I see their deceits and fears, and I glimpse the path that lies ahead. This gift has weighed heavily on my life.
Surviving where others did not, eluding chance and danger with choices that I could not deny. I was dazzled because I saw the world too clearly.
Yet now I am blind. Now I only hear the voices, calling me from the void.
We sit on the edge of darkness, the last world before the Tiesian Gap, a rift so black and empty, even the most hardened fugitives will not go there.
If I close my eyes, I imagine I hear the icy winds blowing across my ship. The Thunderbolt creaks and groans as it sinks into the snow, weary of this quest as I am.
Perhaps it senses my blindness, senses that we may not return.
Tara… I'm afraid...
-- Siandhya Rhand, Captain of the Thunderbolt.
It was a needless death, one that I could have prevented.
The message was stark and clear, there could be no intervention in the natural cycle of life, and my previous act of interference in Ambrakh's fate, barely forgivable.
I know how cruel the natural cycle of life is. It has proffered me two sickly sons and a daughter. While Sylenia thrived, my sons died unknown and unnamed. I have shared three husbands with my Clan Sisters. They have come and gone, their fleeting and brief existence so very short. There will be others of course, the female life span is measured in lesser human lifetimes, and I have so many more lifetimes ahead.
Great is our handiwork, greater still, the works of our old ancestors. I have stood on the waters of the Far Havens, lit by the light of a second sun. A second star ignited by Aradhnwen herself, a glow that warms the waters of a world whose star had faltered. So much power, but we choose not to use it.
Oh Aradhnwen, The Silver Wheel, goddess of life; you brought life to that world. Why was Ambrakh's life cut short?
Must I watch the others sicken and die from want of food and water? What manner of cruelty makes us hide behind the lesser humans so the coming catastrophe does not harm us?
Has the fading of our race destroyed our hearts?
-- Kleneptra ny Hybritta ny Karaenia, of the Lazloi Order of Pathfinders.
