Show Notes
Howdy Belters
Today we're going to talk about one of the stranger things about life out here on the raggedy edge, or at least gettin' out here to the raggedy edge. We're going to talk about Slipspace and the Angels that live there. It gets a little personal, so hopefully you'll indulge crusty ol' Chariot for gettin' on the soap box. Some things just gotta be said, y'understand.
More from Dead Belt: True Tales of the Gasping Frontier
You know, I hate to hear about folk on the float turning on each other when the turning of the verse gets cruel. But I sometimes love a good balancing of the scales. This one's a bloody tale of revenge. Bless y'all's heart.
This here's a big fish story I got from Harlan "Dusty" McGraw, the oldest Gashound I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Now, I typically discount the kind of stories that Dusty tells me out of hand when they come from anyone else, but I learned young and well to listen to folks who grow old in professions where most folk die young. Maybe y'all should, too.
Y'all may not know it, but I've got a job out here beyond just jawing. I'm not necessarily a search and rescue kind of guy, but every so often I gotta work for a living. And when I gotta work for a living, y'all best believe someone is having a bad day. I had misgivings about making this one public, but I think maybe y'all want to hear about a baby Belter having a rough day.
You know, the best thing about a Corp Job is that it ends. Unless it don't. Take a lesson from Doctor Addison Kincaid, formerly of Kilgore Mining. And once again of Kilgore Mining. Y'all read your contracts twice.
Been a long while. Hopefully y'all have been keepin' on in the same manner in which I left you. Cause out here, things do have a tendency to get worse.