So the Masters of Industry set us out here with their plans and promises of a Great Expansion. Humanity's reach for the horizon, or some shit like that. In actual fact what happened was they sent ships out in every direction. Anywhere they could sus out a course to plot. Hoping to find something profitable…and thems that didn't find as such were basically just a line item veto. Acceptable casualties, as it were. In the meantime, those same told Masters got to disagreeing on this and that. Broke themselves apart into what are now the Great Nations of the galaxy. They set about dividing up the planets, each taking just as much as they could get away with and giving precious little away. Carved out a heck of a balance as they would tell it, though a child could smell the bullshit on that one before the airlocks cracked. Such as it goes it would seem. 

Problem is, for us anyway, those ships had people in 'em. Living, breathing and as it happens, fucking people. There got to be more and more of them annoyances too. That's probably cause of all the fucking, I reckon. 

So now, we're all here. Out on the edge of "civilization". See, in the process of divyin' up all that space, the Great Expansion fleet was left out of the proceedings. Seems the Great Nations either couldn't agree who owned what, or more likely, didn't care. It came to be decided that as long as they agreed to "come to the aid of our intrepid brothers in the event of foreign attack" then that was just all right by them. Officially, we're in what they call the Protected Colonized Sector, or PCS. That ain't what it is though. You, me and everyone you're as like to meet just call this Wild Space…

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