May. 25th, 2011

I have an idea for where this will go now.

It was about ten days later when Swami buzzed us back. It was my turn to hide the comm bud, so I was thrilled in more than one way to receive his call.

"Hello?" I said, as soon as was sanitarily convenient.

"How are you, Jackpot?" asked Swami in his birdlike voice. He was always friendly, but there wasn't a lot of warmth behind anything he said. I used to think he was some of machine intelligence, but I've seen enough of his blood to know Swami's as biological as they come.

"Well, I'll tell you, Swami," I replied. "I've gotten to know my fellow Chulko inmates, and I think they're all fine fellows. They're all dumb as rocks, they live simple lives fueled by alcohol and a burning hatred of the Mastazi who have conquered their world, and they would have skinned and eaten Lopez several times over by now if I hadn't strongly disincentivized this activity. If the plan to spring us requires them all to die messily, I think I'll be able to live with that."

"Hm," said Swami. "Did you say they don't like the Mastazi? That's very interesting."

"Why is that interesting?" I said. Sometimes I don't get Swami and his strange non sequiturs.

"I think we'll want to be saving them," Swami said. "They may come in useful when we go after the horn of Khmamgdan."
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September 2012

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