Lore of Yore
Histories of the known universe... and beyond
Confined to the maladies and viruses circulating a single planet of the cosmos, a doctor of medicine might have their work cut out for them. When the field of potential and very possible disease is opened to countless galaxies and even more countless worlds, it's a wonder there are any physicians still left in practice.
The Sanatorium for Chronic Maladies, Distempers, and General Ill Spirits is a humble institution found on the Hendevour Belt of Presin Major. One of the planet's more affluent municipalities, Hendevour hosts all manner of beings from across the Fifteen Galaxies, and naturally many of their lingering diseases as well. The Sanatorium, one of thousands in the British Empire alone, has a workload that would put your average planetary scaffolder to shame.
Plucking a random date from the institute's records (13th June of the year gone) we can see what the doctors have had to contend with:
Clearly, the cosmos would be lost without the dedicated and highly patient staff of clinics such as the Sanatorium for Chronic Maladies. The centre boasts one of the highest success rates in the Armillary Sphere, and more often than not its outpatients leave with a spring in their step, a shake to their tail, and a susurrus across their polyps—with the exception of Mr. Pespic, who unfortunately slipped off his hook and was briefly mistaken for an unusually vocal doormat.
The inter-quadrene diamond trade is, as they say, going places.
Having discovered volanium in the Colombo Gap, the Saturn Mining Company became a galactic player, and its parent company, the Free Agoran Trade Conglomerate, became drunk with power—and even more drunk on a variety of celebratory Venusian alcohols.
The Trade Directorate followed in the footsteps of the British Empire and began a campaign of aggressive expansion, laying claim to the entirety of Saturn's ring network as well as all sixty-six of Jupiter's moons—the incident that vaporized Pasithee was written off by the government as a "misfiring of experimental thermo-nuclear warheads developed for the purposes of intensive soil fertilization".
The Conglomerate kicked several indigenous species off their moonlets to stake claims on every precious mineral in sight. Only one of the displaced native species was foolhardy enough to file a law suit: The Eponis of Sinope, a somewhat backwards race as it was, came out of the court ruling with a single asteroid to their name: It was sixteen cubits wide and decreed fit for habitation for all seven thousand and nine members of the species. The Eponis, Latterly of Sinope, have not appeared in the galactic records since.
Mining operations became famous across the system, with ore tankers shipping out across the Albion Reach and into the Armillary Sphere. However, stories of the Conglomerate's cut-throat business dealings also earned infamy, and for freelancers such as cargo pilot and occasional mercenary Jax Farrago, it became wise to keep one's head down during his transits. Some of his fellow haulers didn't, and Jax began to realize just how quickly a revolving door policy could operate—especially if that revolving door led out into, say, a pool of lava eels from Pyyrus I. He hoped to eventually leave the Conglomerate with a tidy sum in his account, and maybe a volanic gemstone or two stuffed into his britches.
That was, however, before Overseer Spick closed down Saturn's central facility, and, in attempting to sneak into the tunnels to learn the truth, Jax discovered something hellish at the heart of the Diamond Mines....
The soldiers of Vorgak Command were installed on Vorgak 3 primarily to oversee supply drops from the Albion Reach, and maintain a token military presence on the outward colony world. Occasionally Commander Lunk was required to break up a punch-up over at Patty’s Knob, or stop a horde of lagonasps from eating a crop of vorgatubers.
Then, colonists began dying. At first, Vorgak Command chalked it up to a bad diet of foreign food, but more settlers turned up dead on the commander's doorstep; too many for the field doctor to contend with.
Captain Bertram Smythe of the 51st Colonial opened an investigation, suspecting foul play, but came up empty-handed. Smythe was last seen embarking on well-deserved leave towards the Naggy valley, beyond the British embassy.
Days passed, and the brief surge of excitement experienced by the listless soldiers of Vorgak Command soon quieted. Life on Vorgak 3 returned to normal, and seemed unlikely to change.
It wasn't as if the aboriginal Vorgak were about to turn up out of the green.
Histories of the known universe... and beyond