Greg Shap’s Journal Entry 2

I dream. I dream every time I sleep. It terrifies me.

The Earth Alliance Marines thought it put a fire in my belly, a little bit of psycho in my head. They said it gave me a purpose. They put me on the frontier, enforcing EA law on the stations, asteroid colonies, junker cities and the ship traffic. My squad sought out the lawbreakers and put them out of business. I did my time and I did it well. The Marines were right: it gave me a purpose. But I knew there were too many people looking for a way around the rules that bind civilization and too few of us trying to stop them. I could have fought forever and the battle would never be won. So I retired and turned to a quieter life as a deepspace cargo hauler. The Marines, however, still keep open the ties that bind—still consider me active. That’s the price for the fancy hardware in my body and the few special things, like my awaysuit, that they let me carry out the door: they can pull me back anytime. And they still expect me to enforce a little bit of order over barbarity when I encounter it. I do what I can. I cannot stop. Because I still dream terrifying dreams.

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