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15 Minutes Earlier?.
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After landing on the far side of Victoria Asteroid, Charlie Shaaaa powered down his candy-apple red, blupane-injected Ganj 2367 cruiser. He implemented a cloaking device, used one of his eight arms to unstrap the safety belt, slid out of the seat and rifled through a compartment in the floor in search of the perfect synthetic disguise program. "Shidd, mon," he muttered, "Nuttin' will do as well as my rig-operator uniform. Wish I had it." He pictured it hanging in his closet at home--exactly where he left it on the day after the mine collapsed.
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At the bottom of the compartment, Charlie finally hit paydirt. He extracted a tiny memory chip, held it up to the light and laughed heartily. It was the kind of laugh that Charlie was know for in the days before Mooreford turned rogue and set out to destroy everything he and Charlie had spent their entire adult lives building. If Mooreford was alive, Charlie wanted to find him. This little microchip might just do the trick. "Dere is more than one way to skin a Joononian. Yes, mon, dere is. Heh, heh, heh."
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"Moooreford, you're in trooble now, brudda!" Charlie slipped the chip into his breast pocked and released the airlock.
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