Welcome to the Journal of Now and Forever. This Journal is a collection of my Star Control and Star Control 2 fiction. Note: Some of this material is, by necessity, extrapolation from the slim information provided by canon sources.

New fiction is posted first at My Livejournal before it appears here. This story is in response to 15 Minute Ficlets' Picture Challenge #4.

This will be my last journal entry for several months. I've been called for basic training.

I knew – I think we all knew – that it was necessary and that we'd all have to go through it. I suppose I fell into the "I'm an exception" mindset that so many others find themselves in.

Which isn't to say I won't go. That's without saying. But – given the choice – I'd rather not. I'd really rather not. It's so... physical. (Re-reading that last part, I realize that I sound oh-so-delicate, like some fainting flower. But that's why my journals are spoilsport-protected.)

Let me see if I can explain. I am designed for brainwork – aren't we all – and I like to think I'm good at it. And I just can't see myself digging trenches or carrying a thirty-kilo pack. I don’t know for sure what the weight is, but I saw the 'troops' recently on maneuvers and I can't say I'm looking forward to it. I am a scientist, a lab researcher, not some soldier to carry weapons and storm the rooftops, or however the saying goes.

Accidents happen, after all. I know we Androsynth are hardy, we're tough, but suppose something goes wrong? Suppose I'm maimed during training? Of course, the obvious response to that is: Be careful and don't get hurt.

I've done some serious thinking about this since the draft notice came. We all know – 'we' being the Reproductive Research team – that we're spinning our wheels until we get some Earthlings, or at least Earthling parts, to continue our work. In my previous entries I've noted that we knew someone was going to get shuffled off, unless Dina was able to keep us around. I suppose she was able to keep me on, but the draft notice – that's not anything she has any control over. It's one thing to say your worker is indispensable and can't be transferred to fieldwork. It's another to say he should be exempt from mandatory universal conscription. (Oh, they don't call it that, but that's what it is.)

So, I'm stuck with it. At least I won't have to listen to Aron complaining about the temperature in our living quarters while I'm gone. More likely it'll be me complaining about the heat when we're doing pushups in the sun, or whatever they'll have us do. Well, perhaps not complaining – I don't want to get in trouble with the trainer.

There's talk that some Androsynth have tried to get out of service, but no dice – the only one so far is one who physically can't do it in the first place, and I don't think any of us want to deliberately maim ourselves to that extent. Among other things, it seriously limits your future options. I don't know what standards we'll be held to in order to reproduce, but I suspect self-mutilation knocks you clear off the wait list.

Better go, I've still got to load extra spoilsports on my computer before I go. There'll be public access microcomputers available during training, but I know better than to try messaging myself for journal entries. So there'll just be a blank space of several months. Maybe less than six, if I can do a good job and get out of there that much faster. If there's one thing I am, it's a dedicated worker, even if I do say so myself.

~Personal journal of CRC-16 "Grif" Reproductive Researcher

Comments? Email me: laridian at aol dot com