Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. --Dylan Thomas . /* New Order "Round & Round" _Technique_ */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presents FUTURE IMPERFECT: CHECKMATE Benjamin D. Hutchins (c) 1994 Eyrie Production, Unlimited with special thanks to Larry Mann Johji Manabe and the whole #Eyrie crew NEW AVALON INTERSTELLAR SPACEPORT NEW AVALON, ZETA CYGNI DYSON SPHERE 14 MARCH 2394 "GENOM #909-GA, you are cleared to land on pad 44, approach vector niner four. Do you copy?" "Copy, Avalon Control. 909-GA out." GENOM #909-GA, an old-fashioned BTL-A4 Myrmidon hyperdrive- capable starfighter, touched smoothly down on pad 44, coming to a halt perfectly between the lines, and the ground crew came out to tie it down and service it. As they did so, the mirrored cockpit canopy slid back slowly, and the pilot removed her helmet, shook out her long, thick red hair, and climbed up and out, kicking down the folding ladder. "My God," the crew chief said, looking over the Myrmidon. Its steel-grey thermocoat was scarred and pitted in several spots. One micrometeorite impact had removed most of the port-side GENOM logo, a design which dated to the days shortly before the Old WDF's collapse. The numbers and what remained of the logo were faded, and the coaming under the cockpit canopy bore no name. "I haven't seen one of these things in decades," the chief continued, reaching out as if he didn't believe it could exist and touching the side of the craft. "Looks like you flew it through Hell to get here, miss." "You might say that," said the woman with a smile. "Take good care of it, will you? I've had it... for a long time now." "Sure thing, miss. Want us to recoat it for you?" "No, don't bother... just a good field servicing will do." The woman got a large, long bag out of the storage compartment underneath the side of the cockpit, then walked toward the terminal, pulling off her flight gloves as she did so and flexing out her cramped fingers. It had been a long flight... She raised some eyebrows when she entered the terminal complex; between her extreme attractiveness and the fact that she looked very tired and very tousled, she accounted for most of the people there. The rest were probably looking at her Old GENOM flightsuit, a century out of date and rumpled as hell, the cockpit connection hardpoints corroded. It looked as if she had stolen it from a particularly sloppy museum. She stopped and leaned elbows-forward on the desk which blocked her way into the main part of the building; presently a young man in a neat black suit came over and asked if he could help her. "I hope so," she replied, sounding tired and slightly distressed. "I need an entrance permit." "Citizenship?" "Um... United Galactica." He looked at her strangely. "Is there a problem?" "Miss, the United Galactica has not existed for over fifty years." She looked back at him, perplexed. "Er... I'm from Niogi, wherever that is now. Uh, and if you don't mind telling me, what's the date today?" "It's the fourteenth." "Of?" "March." "In?" "In?" "What year?" "2394." She looked momentarily stunned. "Miss? Are you all right?" "Uh... y-yes, I'm fine. I just... I think I must have a malfunction in my ship's hyperdrive. I mean, how could I forget about the UG!" She laughed nervously and continued, "I've been out beyond the Antares Maelstrom for a while -- longer than I anticipated, I guess there's something wrong with my ship's chron too. I'm a civ hunter." [Where did THAT come from?] "I see." The young man shrugged inwardly. He'd dealt with travelers who were a lot more confused, and most of them deserved breaks. Besides, whoever this confused girl was, she was cute. "Name?" "Um... " A vision, suddenly, a memory. An old man, wizened and wheelchair-bound, bitter-looking, and yet kindly. <Your name is Mian,> she heard him say. Snapping back to reality, she said, "Mian." "Surname if any?" <Dr. Mann, are you finished in there?> A darker voice, that one. Imperious. Cruel. <Yes, just about,> the old man replied. <She's almost ready.> "Mann," she said, before realizing she'd said it. "Mian Mann. Say, do you know Larry Mann, our local GENOM liaison? He comes through here all the time, flying back in from business trips out of the sphere." [That name!] "Um... he's my uncle." "Your uncle. I never knew the Doc had sibs... All right... and you say you're Niogan?" "Yes. Berlin." "Ah. Do you work for GENOM?" "I-- " She glanced down at herself. "I guess so." "You really should see a physician," the young man suggested as he tapped away at the computer. "We have two or three on staff here, I'm sure one of them would be happy to take a look at you." "No, that's all right," she said, too quickly. "I'm sure it'll pass. Like I said, it's probably hyperdrive shock." "Oh, is that your Y-wing? No wonder you can't remember anything. My uncle used to have one of those. He'd go for a trip in it and not remember who he _was_ the first day back. You'll feel a lot better in the morning. Purpose in visiting New Avalon?" he continued, not missing a beat as he slipped out of his anecdote and back into his official patter. "Erm... business, I think... " "How long will you be staying?" "I'm not certain. I might be staying permanently." "I'll give you a three-month permit, then. Before that runs up, if you plan to stay longer, you should contact the immigration office at the Government Building downtown, okay?" "O...okay." Was this it? No weapons scans? No crosschecks? Nothing? "Here you are. You're all set. If you want, I can refer you to a nice place downtown. Fairly cheap, too. Oh, but I imagine you'll be staying at GENOM itself, never mind... have a nice day." "Thank you." Mian took the papers the man was extending to her, walked through the gate, and left the building, not certain entirely what she was doing. [Cute kid,] the young man thought to himself. [Gotta be pretty uncomfortable in that flightsuit though. Looks like she hasn't been out of it in a year, and I think that was a tail in back there. If it isn't I don't want to know.] He shook his head, sighing. [Civ hunters. Why do they do it?] In the end, Mian found herself navigating to and checking into a Holiday Inn almost on autopilot. Instincts were returning to her, if no clear memories... she went up to the room she had rented, almost tore off her flightsuit, and took a long, hot shower, taking special care with her thick, heavy hair and matching thickly furred tail, which was cramped from so long stuffed in the back of that flightsuit. It was, after all, intended to be a fairly short trip... 2394?! Wasn't it supposed to be a short trip? Where the hell had she been going? Who -was- she? And why the hell had she almost instinctively told the man at the entry desk that she was a lost-civilization hunter? She didn't know much about herself -- her memories felt like jumbled plastic blocks inside her head -- but she knew she damn well wasn't any civ hunter. Turning off the water, Mian stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom and rubbed herself down with one of the soft towels. Wiping off the mirror, she stared for a while, contemplating the contemplative green-eyed face that stared back. It didn't appear the girl in the mirror knew what the hell she was about either, so she brushed her teeth and then, feeling much better, wrapped another towel around herself, went out into the room, and began to unpack her bag. On a desk in an office not far from the Holiday Inn, a telephon rang, and was snatched up on the second ring by a tall, dark man in a lab coat. "Mann," he said. The screen next to the handset blinked, and showed the young man from the spaceport. "Dr. Mann, this is Clark down at entry. I thought you might want to know that your niece arrived today. She's a little hypershocked, had trouble remembering things, but she should be okay in the morning. She's probably somewhere in the building by now -- they didn't already let you know, did they?" R-Type's brow furrowed. _What_ niece? "What did this person look like?" "Well, here's her picture," said Clark, reaching down. "She's pretty, if you don't mind my saying so," he said as Mian's face, scruffy and tired-looking, filled the screen. Dr. Lawrence Mann's heart jumped into his throat. [My God! That's MIAN!] "Uhm... thank you, Clark. I'll check up on her right away." "No proble...
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