Trader's Journal:

From the log of the Spinning Jenny, Independent Trader. Licensed by the Sung Corporation, 2370. Decommissioned and re-licensed as a privately owned trade ship, 2403.

Entry One:

Bad dreams.

I always have a few on the last jump to Krig. Don't know why. Hyperspace has always made my dreams more intense, and the last jump on this trip always makes them bad.

Maybe it's the loneliness. There's no one out here, no one for six jumps around. You hop out of the rabbithole, scoop some fuel from the upper layers of a gas giant that no one has bothered to name, and hop in again; you have to do it three times to get to Krig, even in a Far Trader like Jenny. You don't even bother turning on the comm; all you get is the eerie howl of deep space, screaming like the wind across a frozen plain. Listen to that for too long, you go crazy.

The Order told me the rules when I signed on for this run, almost two years ago. No crew comes with me; I man the ship myself, all systems on automatic except the ones I can handle alone. Pick up supplies all along the Chain, and fill out two cargo manifests along the way-a fake one for the harbormasters, a real one for the Order. The Dawnies don't want anyone to know they have a base on Krig, so they have their base at Valerian-5 sign me in and out at around the time I should be there-but the Spinning Jenny really makes sail for the Krig system, way out here in the Big Black.

They sure made it sound easier than it is. Keeping my mouth shut isn't the problem, and I know how to run two sets of books. And sure, I'm not squeezing through a naval blockade or having to open up my guns on privateers three times a week. But these empty places in the universe, where mankind hasn't left a trace of himself yet-they get creepy sometimes.

I need this milk run, though. I need a break from war-hell, the whole human race needs a break from it. Back when I left Earth thirty years ago, I thought I was leaving the worst part of my life behind me-the food riots, the crime, the hopelessness. There's 10 billion people living on the edge back home, with the remains of World War III still staring them in the face-just big round radioactive lakes where most of the world's great cities used to be. It's been 200 years, you'd think they'd clean up some of the mess.

I understand why they banned war on Earth. After the human race crapped in its own nest that badly, you can see why they'd stomp down hard on anyone who tried kicking up another fuss. And all the Corporations have their high-faluting spiel about why war is counter-productive, and blah blah blah, life is just a big business deal...but that sure doesn't stop 'em when it comes time to "protect their interests" out here in the colonies-or hey, maybe just take a big bite out of the other guy's interests. Because really, who's counting? All's fair out here in the bush. Last I heard, there's three- and four-way brawls going on all over this sector. VOLSAAB, Kenji Industries and Neotech are slugging it out on Meridian-4; Globecom and Vortex are at each other's throats on New Pamplona, with S-Core scooping up everything that the big two are too weakened to protect. And the Church is no different-the OND has at least five wars in various stages of completion going on, from Mars all the way out the Chain.

Fortunately, nothing ever happens out here on the way to Krig. I'm glad of it; I need a milk run. I'm sick of the fighting; World War III didn't teach us anything except that you shouldn't blow up your own Corporate hq. Men and women are dying out here in greater numbers than ever before, but no one cares—life is cheap. They don't even have to pay 'em much to come out here and fight. Just the promise that you never have to go back to Earth is good enough for most of these dumb kids.

Read Entry Two