Reginald Percival Smythe XXVII

average looking, 6', 180lbs, black hair, brown eyes, well-groomed, smiles a lot


My name is Reginald Percival Smythe XXVII, the last in an overly-long family history. There has always been a child of each generation named after that illustrious ancestor of ours, RPS I, that did something or other. It’s impossible to tell exactly what, nowadays, as the original documents had faded past readability some generations ago. Rumors and tall tales fly about the village where I grew up, though, much like a dead bird. Like myself, the villagers have more pressing concerns, but I’m sure Father would be more than happy to explain it to someone that cared to listen to his ramblings long enough.

I have always taken interest in figuring out how things work. The year Father provided me with pets was really when it all started. I had just started taking biology courses, you see, and when training them became boring, I decided to find out what made them tick, literally. My skill with a scalpel was limited back then, but my teachers were encouraging and my parents were hoping to make me into a doctor of some sort so I could uphold the family name, so I did what I could to make them proud— at least where no one could see. I excelled at biology that year. The fun was over when I really dived into my studies and Father became suspicious of why I would need 8 gerbils, 4 birds, two cats and a dog over the span of a single month. He actually requested that I start showing him their corpses before I disposed of them. No trust in that man and no more pets for me, I’m afraid. But with a little ingenuity (and access to my father’s medical supply cabinet) the animals in the neighborhood and nearby woods continued to supply me with enough subjects to further my extracurricular studies.

Well, when my parents sent me to that prep boarding school, I was suddenly someone else’s problem— usually whichever unfortunate fellow had the rotten luck to be roomed with me. My parents took great pains to be benefactors and supporters of the school, making considerable donations over the course of the year in order to keep me enrolled there. Eventually they just let me have the damn room to myself and saved the other families the embarrassment of visits to the hospital psyche wards. University was a bit better for my parents, as I focused on my courses and kept my extracurricular studies to a minimum. I had found the classes on technology fascinating, but Father would have none of it. No son of his would be some grease-monkey working on those battle-machines when the prestige of being a surgeon was more worthy of my station. Sadly, the argument ended there, as I would have otherwise been forced to rely on my own means for my education.

But while my grades were good and I graduated at the head of my class, rumors of the sins of my past unfortunately followed and prevented me from finding a position of suitable status for Father, on this planet at least. I pointed out several suitable positions off-world, but apparently Father thought that wouldn’t do for his family name. I needed to stay on Terra, and that was his final word, rather literally, as he and Mother slept through the fire alarms and died of smoke inhalation. Pity. I was rather fond of Mother.

Shortly after the investigators of the incident started ask embarrassing questions, a nice Chinese gentleman made my acquaintance and mentioned being able to “smooth things over” for me if I could supply sufficient funds. Unfortunately, all of my current resources were tied up in the family lands. We eventually reached an agreement, I arranged the sale of my family’s holdings and my legal concerns went away rather abruptly. Apparently, some crazy former roommate of mine was brought forth to confess to setting the fire, ending the whole matter there. Or so I thought.

I managed to procure travel arrangements and a position at a hospital on Solaris with the aid of my new gentleman friend. However, when I arrived, the hospital didn’t really seem to care for the rumors following me regarding the fire, the ex-roommates and my parents’ deaths, and so they released me from my contract to avoid any damage to their own image. When my private practice didn’t take off, I needed to look for side jobs to do in order to pay off the nice gentleman that had aided me, aside from the people he brought into my quiet little office to use my ‘services’ on— some of whom appeared most unhappy that I was sufficiently skilled enough to keep them alive and chatting for much longer than they’d hoped to be. At any rate, my gentleman friend informed me of someone in need of an extra set of hands down in one of the Mech Co-operatives and was more than happy to vouch for me. I started at the bottom, as I was very new to this, even with my passing interest years ago. I helped out wherever I could and asked questions and for explanations and found myself working up the ladder rather quickly, as I was learning at a rather prodigious rate. But then again, I always did like to figure out how things worked.

Reginald Percival Smythe XXVII

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