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Some Archival Material on the 2198 Stellar Expedition Richard Parks Revenge is often a complicated business. Such is the case in Richard Parks’ story of an expedition gone bad. * * * * My name was Michael Danning. I used to be a starship pilot; I’m not sure what I am now. If I had to guess, I’d say a memory. One shorn of its context and reason for existence, and yet remains despite that. Rather like an old hoverflit rusting away in a junkyard. It’s still a hoverflit, but you could hardly call it transportation. So I call myself a memory, just not a living one. I didn’t return. I want to get that straight right from the start. Whatever else it might be, this is the account of someone who did not survive. There’s no light here, but I can see. I have no eyes, either, but I can still see. It’s impossible, but that doesn’t change the fact. I’m writing all this down. That’s impossible too. More likely I’m recording this in some other fashion: direct memory port, voc recorder, binary translation, something. I don’t know. Don’t care, either. It’s the account that matters. At least, I think it does. I’m having trouble remembering yesterday, or the day before, but I do remember the expedition. I’m supposed to record
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