Call me Base. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no isk in my wallet, and nothing particular to interest me planetside, I thought I would warp about a little and see the dark part of the galaxy. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to get to space as soon as I can... If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards open space with me.