• Well, the whole point of this story is to explain…things. When I can only say one thing about what happened when things went bad; ‘What in Gods name was I supposed to do?’ There’s nothing really to say about what happened at my station besides the fact that Boomer was, and always has been, on top of the ball. He always had enough information about each station and its inhabitance to know everyone by face, or, it always seemed that way. And even when he didn’t know that person in general, he knew their family history. He was like a walking, old, fagot demon genius.
    Oh! I almost forgot to introduce myself! My name was Discovery Jones back when I lived on my station. I’m the tenth wonder of the world, if you could call where I live a world. My station is somewhat farther from earth than anyone would guess. We were about ten miles in front of Saturn on its orbital.
    About Boomer, he used to be a good man, around a hundred years ago. He’s around a hundred and fifty, but doesn’t even look a day over thirty. That’s what we call good cosmetic surgery. I’m kidding, that’s what we call an age-defying-link. Anyone who owned or worked on a war ship with a high rank had what we called a link. It’s something hooked up to the brain so that the wearer can use special parts of it that will release power that normal people can’t use.
    Sure, links sound fun, but the surgeries are neurological, meaning one false move and you’re brain damaged. As in; you either can’t move a part of your body or someone’s wiping the drool off your face for the rest of your life.
    you live in space, a lot of stuff happens that need explaining. Technology there has been advanced to a level sometimes I don’t even understand. However, my story is one that’s very bizarre.