AUTHOR: Malcom D.

I decided to start with my journal again.  Sometimes things
feel so damn wrong, beyond recovery, and keeping some
annotations on the daily frustrations seems to help.

Everything started roughly ten fortnights ago, when I
entered my current guild.

Back then I wanted some fresh air (difficult to find in
space, ha ha!), after my previous guild decided to change
the nature of their business.  I'm specialized in certain
kind of spaceships, and those new Xhoreargrf-based models
are such a hyped, complex mess!  I got lured by some
announcement on Rendezvous.  Hell, I even dismissed
Captain's credits bump offer for it!

I could not know it was a trap.  I should have stayed.

If only Ryba wasn't full of it when he claimed they've
invented a time machine!  I would now spend those extra
credits to get back in time and tell myself not to take this

Anyway, I started to work for these geniuses!  And guess
what?  Xhoreargrf components, again!  Well, that stuff is
popular, what can I say?  I should probably just get used to
it.  Everyone does business on Nznmba, these days and it is
Xhoreargrf everywhere.  It seems like nobody gives a rat's
ass about quality and mastership.

Here's the thing, though: even if I liked those components,
my current crew is full of noobs.  They don't know (and feel
free to ignore) all the details that make the difference
between a proper control panel and the sandbox where little
Tom plays.  Yet they call themselves experts.  Kids with
fancy tools and lots of arrogance.

I spent at least two fortnights trying to fix the synthesiser
in order to have at least some decent artifacts.
Impossible.  Everything is so cheap, and nobody seems to
know, or care.  After all, they don't pay fuel out of their

Eventually I decided I had enough of it, so it's time to
leave these kids.  If anything Janet won't bother to move to
another sector: she hates this place too.  And Tom is so
young he will hardly notice.