Foreword
Calder Drake insists this is a terrible idea.
He’s said it repeatedly. Before we left Earth. After we left Earth. And again while explaining — very carefully — that if this book ever leads to legal trouble, existential consequences, or another bounty on his head, that would be entirely my responsibility.
“If you write this wrong,” he told me, “I’m putting your name in the apology. Assuming there’s time.”
Calder had already decided to leave Earth behind. He made that clear. Earth was done. The past was done. Looking back was optional and, according to him, rarely productive.
Which made it confusing when he decided to bring me along.
I asked why.
He said, “Because you listen. And because you look like someone who won’t make me sound heroic.”
According to Calder, this arrangement is temporary. I’m supposed to hear a few stories, write them down, and then — this part he emphasized — be returned safely to my own home on Earth. He assured me he would use the Tesler cabin to place me exactly where he found me.
“Same house,” he said. “Same chair, if you want. Might be a few hours later. Or earlier. Hard to promise. But definitely your house.”
This was meant to be reassuring.
Calder doesn’t tell stories. He releases them. Usually late. Usually halfway through a drink. Always at the exact moment you think the night might finally calm down. He raises his glass — not quite a toast — and starts talking as if the beginning is something you should have already heard.
He calls them bad stories, like that settles the matter.
When I pointed out that some of them were funny, others violent, and a few deeply uncomfortable, he shrugged and said, “Yeah. Bad.”
What follows is not a clean record. Some names have been changed. Some details were removed at Calder’s request. A few more were taken out after he leaned over my shoulder, read what I’d written, and said, “No. That one gets me killed.”
I was supposed to go back to Earth.
Calder insists that’s still going to happen. He says he’ll know when he’s finished talking. When that moment comes, he’ll use the Tesler cabin, put me back where I belong, and pretend none of this ever happened.
Until then, he keeps talking.
And I keep writing.
— Rene Bayne
Recorded, edited, and occasionally censored
