ABe 1.7

The last straw ? Can you spot it in the haystack before it has everything capsized ?

Is a blade of grass noticeably different from another ?

Is it a matter of weight ? Density ? Hue ? Texture ? Length ?

Nobody knows before it's too late. The last straw is the last when it's too late. The long story ends short.

The world may end with a whimper rather than a bang, but my story aboard the Haniwa ended with a snap.

ABf 1.7

Je n'ai pas vu passer la semaine. Littéralement, doublement. Vu qu'on n'a pas vraiment conscience du temps qui passe ici. Je veux dire qu'il suffit de ne pas regarder les écrans et on échappe à tout ça. Ensuite, parce que mon emploi du temps était si serré (par Burkina "Fasto") que j'en ai oublié de dormir.

C'est une certaine Alice Turmann qui est venue me voir à la fin d'un cours de Techniques hydroponiques en milieu hostile pour me signaler "gentiment" que je couvais une impressionnante série de carences, ce qui l'inquiétait.

ABe 1.6

I was taking in my room (I almost wrote "surveyed" but that seems preposterous, given the circumstances) when a blur appeared in the air then settled into a faceless smile before I could say anything witty.

— You gotta be kidding me!

— Hello again, Byron Eldritch Clamorgan, a furry voice said, literally out of the dark blue. I'm glad you made it to the Haniwa.

ABe 1.5

I have no luggage per se, which is why I was surprised to receive a notice to go and reclaim it at Bay YB-16 - wherever that was.

I was surprised again when I realized that my notebook had disapeared from my rear pocket. That was particularly awkward as I had never taken it out. It was still unwritten. Who knows? Maybe that kind of article has an enormous value already. Or it is bound to have soon, and someone has already speculated on this.

It was not a serious loss, to put it mildly. But in some corner of my head, I knew I was entitled to look out for people with too many pens and crayons. It was not the kind of incident that could prevent me from staying aboard the Haniwa.

The next move was to find a place to settle down. I wanted to build one with my own hands, actually, although it seemed sensible to wait after the Launching. I went to Barracks XT-14, as shown, and billetted myself to a two-room flat, on ground level.

ABe 1.4

I don't like the hang of it: to be sent "back to Earth". No doubt some people would call this "going home". The favorite last line of so many American movies - at least, it was, until Hollywood went down the Pacific Drain, in 2048.

ABe 1.3

French Guyana happens to be one of the last peaceful places on Earth. Mainly because there are no staples depots to loot there. I mean, who in their right mind, would take the pain to attack an aerospace facility? Soldiers defend it everywhere, as well as boobytraps, cameras, sensors - hidden and open - at every corner, and they're all deadly serious. Until 2036, the French were rather leniant regarding their safety; but since the Chernobyl 50^th anniversary attacks, they have implemented their equivalent of Defcon 2 as a daily basis on their whole territory. Kuru receives special attention, now, and security members have been instructed to shoot to kill.

ABe 1.2

I knew it, and then I didn't want to know. Since the day I'd received that application form, I couldn't prevent myself from looking into my mailbox every bloody morning. I don't know what's worse: that it turned into a habit in less than a week time, or that I felt like taking up a habit for something I had never done before. Anyway, I soon found out that habit breaking can also be a chore. And to be blunt with myself, I had nothing else to do.

ABe 1.1

So, this message will be read, I reckon. By someone human? Probably.
I'm not sure I see what you want us to tell you, in order to convince you of our... Anyway. Let's say something about me, since that is the whole point.

Fathom.