Episode 1

I am an old man; my memory is a little patchy when it comes to the years I’ve spent on this planet. My body is looking a little worse for wear, hardly surprising when you consider that I am, technically, millions of years old.

I can't remember yesterday or the day before; they all blur into a river of routine, but I can remember quite clearly the time before; time misspent in the arms of a civilised and technologically sound empire which, for all I know, no longer exists.

“Do you believe in God Martin?”
There are those who cannot resist asking about that which we shy away from.
I’m not sure if her question marked the moment when the course of my life was shifted or whether it is merely, after all this time, the last conversation with Zephyr that I can remember.
From the vantage my throne, my wooden perch, I can re-live the story of my fall in as much detail as I can remember (or fabricate from misremembering) and I wonder if I could have done anything differently besides refraining from being Martin Huis: arsehole.
Millions of years to travel from arsehole to godhead; albeit a godhead with no power but the contents of his own head.

Perhaps my fate was set from moment I was picked up by The Mantra Ray.
It would be comforting to me, here on my throne to believe that chance played a large role in my life; Chance and a bit of a bad attitude.
Some may find a delicate irony in my trajectory; but I’m sure that most who knew me would have put it down to poetic justice.
It is sometimes said that our lives follow the consequences of our choices, and that whether by active choices or by choices of omission we end up where we choose to end up.
Perhaps it was a random sequence of events that led to an inevitable conclusion.
Perhaps it is a conclusion that, in a random universe, was bound to come into fruition merely by some law of averages.
No matter the mathematics or quantum physics that constitute cause, choice, preordination or random chaos, the resultant symptom left me between two tectonic plates, metaphorically speaking.
As a result, I found myself suspended face down in the cargo hold of The Mantra Ray with a head full of Stat and liquid shit welling in the legs of my suit.

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