...that redge period not long after the Freight Wars...kipper crews of paunchy researchers and the like...mostly flats who got gloveslapped by the true nature of Fringeling life. [Like who?] Like the Chrova Hush. What did they expect?...trussed-up cads with Rosek complexes...bound for the dustiest tracts of the Fringe...lux touring to shoot tranqed bush bears from showy rides...the Rovers were right to gank 'em. But the Kreegal Outfit on Terrask...they should've been more frosty, but they couldn't have known. [A long pause. She sighs.] Freer sponsored a lot of those early Grovebound expeditions. For good reason, too. Their cloaks were in fine fettle. Humid seasons in the Grove are brutal...fickle weather...all that rain and pollen...shedders landing on your shoulders...but a Freer calle fares well all through the Fringe. Real craftsmanship there...Back then, not much was known 'bout Terrask beyond its lush tangles. Abundant wildlife, too. So Kreegal posted up. Immersed in rich biota, all those hunters and gastrotechs had full plates...rip techs went bogging and found Terrask leaf. Tried it, of course. They didn't know nobody should consume the leaf direct and raw...let alone experience all that allecaine refracted in a mouth machine. Mire Leaf was safe with Dorty & Dorty mandibles...but those early-gen Nevil mouth machines...shoddy construction. Shit filters...even when the techs put known edibles thought the mandibles, every use of that contaminated data gelatin only wore those men closer and closer to the bone. With all that unfiltered allecaine amplified and coursing the chefs, it didn't take long for the rest of the crew to be affected, as well. They tried to keep notes, good scientists that they were, and document the havoc wrought on their minds and bodies, but any journals and diaries were illegible within decacycles. By the time anyone else noticed the silence, all were dead or missing...ranting wild among the bogs. Fucking shame.