Prologue: Gunsmith

When I opened my eyes, I saw dense jungle instead of heaven or somewhere else. Good, looks like I'm still alive. That ought to count as good news.

Twenty minutes ago, I was still sitting comfortably on a private plane, watching a lousy movie made entirely with special effects and eating a delicious gourmet lunch. Now, though, half my body is submerged in a swamp, and that plane is a heap of mangled scrap roughly one or two kilometers away, belching thick smoke. Hopefully this crash won't start a forest fire or accidentally wipe out some indigenous tribe in the jungle.

The pilot and the few other staff who came along probably didn't stand much chance of surviving. It all happened so fast that even I only just managed to break through the fuselage and jump out before impact. The average person's response at a time like that is basically to scream, grab whatever happens to be closest, and then go down with the plane and meet their maker.

Anyway… let's consider my immediate situation first. I'm about to go under. The muddy water is already up to my neck, and I hurt all over, though I don't think I've broken any bones. Something seems to have crawled into my clothes, maybe a spider, a nematode, or a leech, but that hardly matters now. Nothing feels worse than suffocating to death.

Let me try struggling a bit. Hmm… excellent, I've sunk a little farther. There aren't any vines or branches within reach, either. Looks like all I can do now is pray for a crocodile with human intelligence to drag me out. I'd be willing to pay it a pound of flesh for the trouble.

A dozen or so seconds later, my mouth and nose went under the muddy water. In that instant, I thought about a great many things. My life flashed before my eyes, and those two seconds without air felt as long as twenty-odd years. But then I noticed something… the water here actually wasn't deep. If I straightened my legs, I could stand with my head above the surface…

So I tried walking out of the swamp. The closer I got to the edge, the shallower the muddy water became, and soon it wasn't such hard going. Before long, I collapsed onto the soft ground and lay on my back, panting for a while. The air really stank, and it was hot and muggy. I'm not too fond of the tropics. I really hope I can get out of this godforsaken place soon.

Thinking back on it now, that meeting in the Southern Cross Commandery may well have been a setup. They insisted I put on this uncomfortable suit and tie and attend in person, looking properly presentable, yet those old geezers said virtually nothing of substance at the meeting. Then, once it was over, the plane just happened to go out of control over this remote rainforest on the return flight. Too many things don't add up… Then again, if HL really wanted to get rid of me, it would seem much simpler to send a few experts to assassinate me. I'm hardly a public figure. There's no need to disguise it as an accident to avoid suspicion. Could Steel Commandment be behind this crash?

Forget it. I'm not going to figure it out right now. I'll take things as they come and find a way back to civilization first.

I took out everything I had on me to see what might help. The bone gun probably wouldn't be much use, unless one of those giant movie monsters turned up and I needed to shoot it. The multifunction can opener, my favorite little invention, could slice, wrench, file, chop, cut, and dig, so that would definitely come in handy. The genuine leather wallet contained some loose cash, assorted magnetic-stripe cards, and my unlimited credit card, all of which were probably completely useless.

All right, things aren't too bad. I'll head over to the wreckage first and see what I can find.