My unease at transporting my conciousness around - honestly I still wonder if all this is just residual electrical activity in my vitrified brain - has been made worse by our first investigation into 'ego-napping'. If a consciousness can be kidnapped, torn apart, retooled and used to 'patch' other, damaged conciousnesses, I'm not especially keen on making my consciousness vulnerable by beaming it left, right, up, down or wherever else.
This is also going to sound odd... but investigating a glorified kidnapping and 'organlegging' operation, however rewarding in terms of reputation and the goodwill of the anti-corp Barsoomians, seems a trifle... ordinary, when the other thing on our investigative radar is so much bigger. A stealthed wormhole gate, powered by a dangerous - and apparently massless - miniature protostar. That sounds far, far more exotic and interesting but then, perhaps, that's why the others seem reluctant to investigate it.
I'm not sure I'm cut out for this work, countering 'existential threats' (shouldn't that be eschatological threats?). I'm really not good in a fight and my contributions to the danger we've faced have been shooting a 'radio' and deliberately falling down the stairs. Not my classiest moment. Still, we put paid to the 'Asynch' who was behind the ego-nappings (words cannot express how disappointed I am to find out that Uri Gellar's nonsense has some sort of actual basis) and I have discovered that my knowledge, however patchy, of Pre-Fall Earth and 20th/21st Century pop culture is greatly valued. I have a feeling it's going to make me something of a minor celebrity, especially if I keep mingling with artists.
After being confined to the Earth for my lifetime it's strange how, already, being limited to the asteroid belt, to the solar system, feels confining.
Jon Darrow, signing off.