My name is Seismic Stan and for some reason I am the CEO of Greenbeard’s Freebooters. Not that Greenbeard has gone anywhere; he left me in charge whilst he went off on a jolly around the galaxy before coming back with plans that only he is privy to. Which seems to include leaving me to do all the paperwork.

Now we’ve relocated to an area of low-security space claimed by the Curatores Veritatis Alliance where we are attempting to carve ourselves a niche. With his return, Greenbeard has obtained a couple of shady goons in the shapes of Long Jack and Karpov Katyusha, who always seem to be skulking nearby.

I’m not sure what part they, or indeed I, play in the machinations of my former CEO, but in an effort to increase my chances of survival, I’ve changed the batteries in my implants to get the grey matter working again. That’s had the added advantage of reminding me how to read and write, so I’m going to write it all down so once the dust has settled, the backs have been stabbed and the blood has dried, we’ll know who to blame.