A manhatten please, extra mint." Freelancer and salvager Evan Whitmore ordered at the Manhatten bar.

"Coming right up sir." the waitress said and turned and walked away.

"Boom! Went the Electromagnetic Storm common in the badlands." someone was saying in the booth behind him.

"The green LPI officer slowly edged his small Patriot closer and closer to the derelict station. BOOM! Went another flash."

Obivously,the man behind him was telling a scarry story to someone, the type of person that spends the hole days in bars exagerating legends to get an audience.

Evan listened in anyway.

"He noticed strange scrathces on the hull, but he couldnt tell what did it." the man went on.

“The station was Cochrane class, and old research station.” He said. “He thought he could probably salvage something from it and sell it, after all, the LPI paid its employees very little credits.”

“The station when in use was mostly automated, run by a researcher and his support staff many years ago. Somehow, one day, Libertt, presumed to be destroyed by rouges. After getting no hostage demand, they realized they were all probably dead, and had ransacked the place.”

“The entire docking wing of the station had been blown off, the Bridge to the docking bays exposed to the cold, calculated,” the man purposely darkened his voice. “Vacuum of space.”

This man was obviously an old person, of senior age, probably just a senile, harmless, yarn-spinner.

But something was wrong.

It was in the story, surreal it seemed.

“He suited up in EV equipment and positioned his ship near where the corridor level bridging the main station to the Docking Bays.”

“He opened the hatch and stepped out into the Heckish void of Electromagnetic storms and freak chemical asteroids.”

He imagined his listeners in the booth side opposite of the storyteller’s eyes widening bigger than a Jump Gate.

“He didn’t even need to find an airlock yet. He just went in from the blown out section of the Bay bridge. He slowly entered the dark corridor lit up only by the twin EV suit lights he wore and the sudden and frequent crash of the Electromagnetic storms that make the Badlands their home. If you were looking at him from his ship, he would vanish into the corridor about now as he walked further. Then, came on the com-line, the most frightened, blood-curdlining scream for help and mercy you will ever here. And then the line went dead. The computer recoreded all of this. But, when the LPI investigated the station. There was no body. No signs of anyone ever being there. And after they sent this message. They too,” the man paused in suspense. “Were never heard from again!”

Some people gasped, others were just wide-eyed at the story. And one small child walking by with his parent exclaimed, “COOL!” The mother promptly scolded him and they went on.

“To this day, no research or invegtigative team has ever returned. Some say there is a horrible radiation on the station. Others, say there is a brain-eating monster you wont find any where else but at Ithaca. Others, well, their too frightened to talk of it. And no one, goes near Ithaca station who has ever heard, the story of, THE HAUNTING, OF ITHACA STATION.”

Hmm. That sounded intresting. Evan wondered. Would it be worth checking out, after all, he was a salvager. He had a CSV of his own after working for the Junkers some. The next wreck he was going to was in Whitney asteroid field in California. Maybe he would make a detour to check out Ithaca on his way there. He finished his drink and set off for the equipment dealer to tell him to get his ship ready.



When all else fails, tell them you want world peace.