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From: harrij4@nason111.its.rpi.edu (Joshua James Harrison)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: Descent Into Darkness
Date: 10 Sep 1993 23:23:31 GMT
Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy, NY.
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Distribution: world
Message-ID: <26r29k$6nk@usenet.rpi.edu>
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		FROM THE JOURNAL OF 'CHANCE' MCRAE
~Date: Unknown, early evening.
Place: Unknown

	I don't know what this is intended to be, but considering all of the bizarre things that have happened to me recently, I thought for some reason it would be a good idea to record my experiences here so that when I get home (let's be honest, _if_ I get home) people won't think that I've just inhaled too much of the fumes wafting across the spaceport launchpad on Ardel VI. I guess it`s also for me as well, trying to keep sane and prove to myself that it isn't all just a bad dream. We all need something to h

elp cling to reality, and I guess this is mine. Since this is the beginning of my journal, I had better explain just who I am and how I got into this mess.
	My given name is William Arnold McRae. I hail from Ardel IV, which is a colony world on the fringes of the Interstellar Treaty Zone. It's a pretty dull rock, concerned mostly with mining and research. There's a little agriculture, but the soil doesn't support plant life very well. As a result, the colony is still dependant on Regna V, the center of the Zone government. I haven't been back to the rock in years, so I don't know if the situation there has changed. I doubt it has.
	I am, by profession, what is known in the Zone as a C-Runner. That means that I pilot a hyperspatial cargo ship from world to world in the Zone, ferrying food, tools, medicine, military personnel, and just about anything else that you would want shipped between the stars. Supposedly, we Runners are under contract with the Zone, and we're only supposed to run goods for the government. I'll tell you now, that very few (I'd say one in a hundred) Runners limit their activities to just Zone jobs. Since the Zon

e is a rather dictatorial government, there is always call for people willing to deal in a little bit of contraband, whether it's drugs, guns, or mercenary troops to aid in one of the dozen rebellions that always seems to be happening somewhere in the Zone. Of course, the public newsnets all claim that these rebellions are purely terrorist extremists, ignorant of the benefits that living under Zone protection entitles them to. I know from experience that these claims are false.
	Man, do I know. That's what got me into this mess.
	It all started fairly innocent enough. We were just drifting (most Runners, despite rumors, spend a great deal of time drifting between jobs), waiting for a job to come in that we could accept, whether it was legit or illegal. Dartan, my copilot hailing from Atros V, was passing the time playing a strategy game against our Shipboard Artificial Navigator, or Sandy, as we called her, and I was watching the public broadcasts, waiting for the results of the Recball playoffs to be broadcast.
	It's getting too dark too see what I'm writing. I'll pick this back up later.