The planet named MiddleWorld. How you got here? Is unknown. You are here and from here you will have to rediscover your past. Doctors at the St. Birks hospital have agreed that you have some type of amnesia, but a full recovery is highly likely. Are you native of the planet? Who would want to live here? Are you on vacation? Who would spend their vacation here? Are you an interplanetary trader? Not very likely. Or, are you part of the slime that gives this planet a bad name?

Seedy taverns that provide all-types of personal services. Corporate headquarters where individual rights mean nothing compared to the rights of the company. Blood arenas where soldiers of fortune fight - sometimes to the death - for the enjoyment of gamblers. Warehouses where illegal merchandise moves in and out faster than the jacked up bodyguards that oversee the transactions.

All the negatives of this planet are not going to help you. Before you can afford to leave this planet, you are going to have to find out who you are and what you are doing here? The MiddleWorld Guard found your unconscious body in an alley, without any scares or bruises and without any possession other than the clothes on your back.

You focus to the moment at hand and stare at your approaching doctor as he makes his way threw the underground solarium. A solarium on a planet with no sun. What will they of next? The doctor is carrying a package.

As he waves the package in your direction, he picks up his walk into a slow jog - "John, we might have some clues as to you true identity." Maybe they've found your wallet? Hope brightens up your mood. Could you finally be on your way home? It's only been 36 hours since they discovered your unconscious body, but every hour has been without meaning. Maybe these clues will give you more to think about than the misery of not knowing who you are.

As the doctor arrives by your side, you find yourself standing beside the white wicker chair that has become your only friend and excited at the possible news the doctor might be bringing.

The doctor hands you the package - "The guard recovered this package from a bum that confessed he had removed it from your possession while you were unconscious."

Holding the package tightly in your hands, you savor your last few minutes of anxiety before you find out your true identity. You open the package. Inside, you discover you truly do have an identity and hope flowed through your body. A wallet, a wrist phone, a disk and a portable AV disk player. The wallet contains your MiddleWorld passport and a personalized debit card. The passport has a picture of you with the name Agrivar Moridan.

"My name is Agrivar."

"Well, hello Agrivar. I'm glad to know that you’re uncovering your past. What planet are you from? Earth?"

You look at the passport again to find out what planet you called home. NA? Not applicable? Not available? What could that mean? Were you native of MiddleWorld? Were you without a native planet?

"The passport doesn’t show a planet?" You open the passport and show the unexpected 'NA'. The doctor grabs the edge of the passport and gazes in surprise.

"At least you have a name now. I'm sure it won't be hard to find out where you came from. You should be able to find out more from the bank that issued that debit card."

You sit back into the wicker chair while gazing at your few belongings. Relieved to find out that you do exist, you cannot wait to discover more of your past. You open the disk player and insert the disk. Surely the disk would contain some kind of hint about your past life? Maybe it contained video tracks of your family? A selection screen appears with eight options. The first option titled "Agrivar Moridan" contains an audio track. Seven other options, scrambled and unreadable. You activate the first track.

The doctor exits the solarium.

Your voice flows from the AV unit speakers - "Your name is Agrivar Moridan. You have 27,000 loons on your personalized debit card. You have an above ground apartment, room 712 at the Atrium. You have a blaster, a wrist phone, a MiddleWorld passport, a portable AV disk player, a wallet and this disk. Please account for all items in the next SeVeN hours and return to your apartment." The word "seven" was spoken in an automated voice other then your own.

Did you record this track? What blaster? That was your voice? Was the blaster at the apartment? Did the bum who stole your wallet keep the blaster? Had the police confiscated the blaster? Was the disk prepared knowing you would not know who you are? Why? An innumerable amount of questions cross your mind.

Brushing away your thoughts, you decide that finding the apartment would be the best thing to do. You stand up and start walking towards the solarium's exit. Then an image flashes through your mind. The image of a doctor bending down over your body that lays flat on the bed. The doctor is wearing a surgical mask and a bright light obscures the background. You hear him mumble something about being ready and the memory fades into nothingness. Was this a memory from the last 36 hours or a memory from your previous life? Which? Impossible to tell.

You continue through the exit and into the hospital corridors. Oblivious to your surroundings, you make your way up to the planet's surface. Not knowing where you are going, you ask a receptionist where you would find the Atrium and she provides you with directions. You exit the hospital and are now on the surface of MiddleWorld. What a planet? No sun. Always in the dark. Shadows are in vogue. Streetlights highlight the walkways. A sign with the subway icon points up the street. The crowds of people all seem to be coming and going in that direction.

With your blaster held tightly in your hand and concealed beneath the table, you eyed the wolfen approaching the booth. Wolfen resemble wolves very closely, but they are bipedal and many have little fur on their torso, groin and back. Beneath his overcoat, you saw the barrel of his rifle.

You were sitting in a dark booth along the back wall of the Library Tavern. The tavern was a seedy bar in the slums of Meddlebrook, a mining town on Mars. Only candle light and light from the automatic waiter units lit the dark, smoke-filled tavern. Nine booths line the front, the back and one side wall of the tavern, with twelve tables scrambled in the middle. Shabby earthlings and aliens looking to hire out their arsenals, occupied half the booths. Along the last side wall was a thirty-six foot bar where some twenty patrons drank themselves into oblivion. A door at the back of the bar continuously swung in and out, as the barkeep and his staff tended the customers too drunk to operate the automatic waiter units. Several large speakers fill the air with twentieth century psychedelic crap.

The wolfen continued his slow walk from the tavern door towards your booth. You had a two-day beard, a dark green suede jacket, dirty black jeans and worn light-brown cowboy boots. The toe of the boots singed from the blast that parted the boots from its previous owner.

You noticed a couple of earthlings at the bar eyeing the strange wolfen that invaded their favorite establishment. One of the drunken earth-men yelled out in a drunken language - "Dogs are not welcome." The wolfen did not give the earth-man any notice and continued towards the booth that was his destination. The wolfen stood at the head of the booth, eyeing you with his large eyes.

"Baba s'my name." The wolfen stood seven feet tall and three feet wide. The candle light illuminated his shiny dark brown fur. From his confident composure and the dangling rifle, it was clear this one had experience.

"What are your skills?"

Baba sat down at the booth - "I fly jets. I've flown five runs frrom Marrs to Euthorr and one from Brargrar to Middleworrld. I have level fifty rrarrtrrarr." Rartrar is a hand-to-hand combat tournament held on Brargrar, the home world of the wolfen race. Each year, only thirty-one fighters rank higher than level forty-eight and several hundred qualify for the tournament.

"Ten percent of the cut and you buy your own pack?" Your quick question caught the wolfen by surprise. Pack was slang in the runner culture for supplies and small arms. Baba thought for a moment before replying.

"Ten perrcent of what?" Wolfen, underestimated when in came to math, could multiply better then most earthlings could add.

"I'm getting 70000 loons to run cargo to Middleworld."

"How fast is yourr jet?" Baba keyed his order into the automatic waiter unit. A plastic glass dropped from the unit and a double whiskey poured into the glass.

"I'm flying a GEM Eagle." Stunned by your reply, Baba spilt some of his whiskey. The GEM Eagle was a military jet, armed to the teeth, normally used as a destroyer in convoys. The cargo bays held four short-range attack jets that could launch during light-speed encounters.

"Ten perrcent is good." With a GEM Eagle, there was little chance of raiding pirates and the return trip would only take a week.

You pulled an access card from your jacket and lay it on the table in front of the wolfen - "Meet me at the Meddlebrook port. Tomorrow morning. Early."

Baba got up from the booth and started towards the door. His footsteps rang loudly throughout the tavern. His presence was his greatest attribute. Your plans were finally coming together. A few more weeks and you would qualify for membership in the MiddleWorld Trader's Guild.

The MiddleWorld Trader's Guild was the most powerful trading cartel in the galaxy. Its membership was very exclusive and the benefits of membership were plentiful. You first contacted the guild for membership four years ago. The demands they imposed on pledgers were extremely costly. There was two ways to meet those demands - cash or blood, you had no choice but to meet those demands in blood. After twenty-three trading runs through the galaxy, you have lost two dozen friends and five ships. You were now friendless and down to one ship.

You thought back to your first run from Mars to MiddleWorld. Your first wife was the only crew and your ship crept from Mars to MiddleWorld in just over a month. Your cargo was the remains of a twenty-first century soldier that had died of a deadly virus called Strain Sixteen. The guild interested in replicating viruses. Why? You did not know or care. Your wife had been afraid that the virus may spread through the ship, but you had calmed her by taking her to a doctor who provided a vaccination for the virus.

Baba had left the tavern only a half-minute, when you noticed that the racist earthlings that had attempted to provoke the wolfen, were leaving shortly behind him. You jumped from your booth. A short alarm alerted you that payment was due. After taking the time to drop several loons into the coin collector, you sprinted towards the door. Good help is hard to find.

Your subway train was speeding along in the underground tracks of MiddleWorld when your dream fades and you awake to the present. The train was bouncing from side to side as you brushed the cob-webs from your head. An Ogre was sitting across from you with an audio player that was polluting the air with the banging of some mavien adrenaline rock. Mavien’s have made a mockery of rock.

The rush of blood to your head and the combined racket of the train and music had the psychological effect of increasing your alertness and energy. A digital sign informs you that your stop is next. As the train came to a halt, you think about the dream that invaded your sleep. Were you a smuggler? That would explain your presence on MiddleWorld, the center of the smuggling universe. As you step off the train, more questions spiral through your mind. Who was Baba? If your dream was a memory, then you finally found some answers. Did you really own a GEM Eagle?

Before checking out the room, you questioned the security guards. They said you rented the apartment a month previous, but this was the first time you returned. Your retinal scan proved that you rented the apartment in person.

You open the door to the apartment. Barren. Very little furniture and no personal items. You check every closet and every room for some possible clue that would help solve the mystery of who you were. Nothing.

You had a room, a passport and your retinal records were on file. That means that you were somebody and maybe tomorrow you would know who that person was.

You make your way into the bedroom and decide that today was a day well spent. Lying down on the bed, you close your eyes and pray that another dream will enlighten you. More tired than you thought, you begin to daze as your head hits pillow. As you fall asleep, another dream brings your memory into full bloom.

Blaster fire rang through space as you piloted your attack jet around the GEM Eagle and the invading fleet of pirates. A burst of fire. Dodge. Keep moving, lest the enemy gets a lock on your position.

This run started as a simple shipment of food stuff from the Earth to several mavien planets. The run seemed simple and the money was too good to be true. You know what they say about "too good to be true." The food stuff turned into food stuffed with cocaine and heroine. When several pirates found out about the payload, the run became a scramble across the galaxy as pirates tried to outguess you between ports.

After the second raid, you figured you had better check the cargo and whammo everything made sense. You tried to confer with your contact, but he had disappeared off the face of Earth. Until you make it to the drop point, you were on your own. The thought of selling the cargo came to mind, but double crossing a drug cartel is a fast way to make yourself dead.

You blew a third pirate jet into oblivion. That left the GEM and three attack jets against two remaining pirate jets. Hopefully, the battle can end without any more losses. You hate anything to happen to your wife.

You remembered the first time you met her. She was running small game between Earth's moon and Mars. You were finally making big money running larger runs to MiddleWorld and some Gand planets. Topper, an arms smuggler, introduced her to you at the Library Tavern. You were to participate in a very big run where she front ended the run from to Mars and you took it to MiddleWorld where the buyer was waiting.

Not understanding why you needed a front-man or woman in this case, you followed her back to the moon and chaperoned her ship back to Mars. Luckily for your precautions, pirates attacked her ship and you flew in for the rescue. With her ship disabled, she agreed to transfer the cargo and run with you to MiddleWorld. A romantic beginning that sometimes paled to the excitement that followed.

The last two pirate jets converged and looped around the battle area. You pursued them, seeing your chance to take out two jets while conserving ammo. As you looped overhead, you made sure that her attack jet was in good position. She headed in a parallel course that would give her a good chance at taking out the pirate jets.

The two pirate jets started to pull out of the loop and into a head-on encounter with her jet. You had a surprise for them. Before they pulled out of the loop you sent a volley of blasts in their direction and eliminated a fourth pirate jet. One to go.

The last jet pulled into head-on course that would see it go one-on-one with your wife. With the pirate jet on its heals, she sent the first burst at the enemy. A miss. The pirate jet steadied its course and blasted the attack jet. NO!!!

You awaken in a bath of sweat.

After reviewing the AV disk, you remember that you are missing a blaster. How necessary is a blaster? You also note that the second track has been time activated and that this audio track is playable.

You play the track - "By now, you are remembering small events from your past life. They are unimportant, but eventually your memories will return in full. Your first task is to find and eliminate an individual named Hank Thompson. Your memory will continue to return when you complete this task. Return to your apartment in 13 hours for your next task."

Find and eliminate? Were you an assassin? How could anybody think that you would kill somebody? Could they really stop your memory from returning? Should you alert the MiddleWorld Guard? How would you find this Hank Thompson?

Your wrist phone beeps and you drop all the question and press the answer button - "Yes?"

"Is this Mr. Agrivar?"

"Yes![?]"

"A package is waiting for you at the Atrium security desk?"

"I'll be down to pick it up."

"Do you want us to scan the package?" The scanning of packages for biological viruses, chemical bombs and poisons, is normal practice on MiddleWorld.

"Yes." Hopefully this package would solve some of your questions.

After picking up the package, you returned to your apartment. You place the package on the coffee table in your living room. Looking over the package you assume that it can't be dangerous, less the security would have picked up something when they scanned it. Opening the package reveals that the package is a brief case. The brief case has a retinal lock. Placing your eye in front of the retinal scanner, the locks click open. Could this finally be the clue that would bring back a rush of your memories? You open the brief case only to discover that the puzzle is going in a direction that you hoped would not come to fruition. The brief case contains a blaster with all the accessories that an assassin would desire. A targeting laser. A telescopic sight. A barrel extension.

Around every corner you seem to find another clue that confirms you were scum. Even your thoughts were beginning to betray you. Dreams of killing and smuggling. It better end soon. Or has it just started.

Hank Thompson's name was in the MiddleWorld phone directory. He even had a home phone number at an underground quad, number 855. The least you could do for now is to track down this Hank guy. A random search on the planetary net for Hank Thompson's name produces a picture with the caption "President of Houghton and Steinbicker Trading Partners." Houghton and Steinbicker was one of the biggest trading organizations on MiddleWorld. Word on the street had it that they were the largest trader not affiliated with the Trader's Guild. The Guild is a very tightly wound organization that does not like outsiders moving in on their territories. Houghton and Steinbicker were looking for trouble and it would seem that you were trouble.

These facts rolled out of your mind, almost as if you had researched the entire topic yesterday. Maybe your amnesia was clearing. But how do you remember so much about trading guilds and street talk? Hopefully this would become clear when you present yourself to Thompson.

After showering, shaving and packing the blaster into the brief case, you make your way down to the surface and head towards Hand Thompson's quad.

You sit at a coffee shop across from Hank Thompson residential quad. Drinking coffee and eating biscuits. The first thing that you notice is that Hank's residential quad is only three quads down from the Houghton and Steinbicker corporate office.

Thirty minutes pass without any sign, but finally a big corporate limo pulls up to the entrance. The corporate president steps out dressed in a black stuffy business suit. The typical corp jock. Corp jock was the street name given to corporate big wigs. The corp jock walks immediately to the escalator that leads to his residential quad. That sure didn't leave you much time for action. Hank did not even stop to smell the roses or the smoke cigarette filled air.

You get up from your table at the coffee shop and head across the street to the Hank's Thompson's residential quad. As you descend the stairless escalator into the quad you immediately note that the quad is paved in gold. Even the reception area is a spectacle. You approach the security desk.

"I’m here to see Mr. Hank Thompson." The security guard looked through the schedule on the computer.

"Mr. Thompson is not expecting anyone, who should I say you are?"

"Agrivar Moridan." You're still not completely certain of that. The guard picks up the phone and keys the phone number. The guard waits for an answer.

The guard speaks into his phone - "A Mr. Agrivar Moridan here to see Mr. Thompson." The guard waits again. "Yes." The guard looks up at you. "O.K." And he hangs up. "I've been asked to do a retinal scan. Could you please stare into the retinal scanner." The guard points to the scanner. You comply. The guard waits for the results. As the results print on his screen and then the printer, the security guard presses a button under his desk that unlocks the doors that lead into the quad.

You make your way to the elevator and note the quad's redundant video cameras. Two security guards await your approach.

Hank Thompson was watering some plants in the garden - "Agrivar Moridan... Interesting... A very popular name... An earthling named Agrivar Moridan was born 150 years ago... Funny, your retinal scans match..." Six body guards stood on each side of the elevator door. "Coincidence?" Hank put down the watering pot.

You wake up in a room at the Knight’s Club. How did you get here? You get up from your bed and proceed to the bathroom to shower.

"AV on."

The AV turns on - "...mavien government had threatened to cancel the peace treaty. The Great Gand Chief apologized for the incident and the mavien government backed off. Elsewhere, Hank Thompson, president of "Houghton and Steinbicker Trading Partners" and twelve security guards were found dead in Thompson’s apartment. The quad’s security has released video of a suspect that left shortly before Thompson was found dead." Video of you leaving the quad appears in the upper right corner of the video display. "The suspect goes by the name of Agrivar Moridan. A reward of twenty thousand loons is offered by the family for any information leading to the apprehension of the suspect."