Name: Len Bendill
Occupation: Security Operative
Bio: Len was only a year old when the Fujisan was launched from Earth's orbit to pursue its sister ship to the planet 75 Sotelo c. The game humanity played in space was hardly of interest of young Len's life as popular discussion of the ship's fate died off from public channels to the point of a few whispers or references amidst those who claimed to know anyone from the 1.24 million strong Fujisan. Though the missions to Mars and the colonization of it was certainly well discussed, Len never really became aware of the space-ship's launch as his parents were until his public schooling career was in full swing. And even then, it was only a loose emotionless knowing of the ship that came with by-gone history.

The dusty escapes of Wyoming had long closed in as humanity spread. The once sleepy state of the former United States had slowly expanded to a state-wide suburbia reminiscent of the US East-Coast. And even by conventional standards as still being a back-water town in the proverbial wild-west, Cheyenne had grown into a wide-spread metropolis completely engulfing the county of Laramie.

Len was born on July 8th, 2130 in the Wyoming country-side in northern Plake county. There, his family managed a bison ranch on the sprawling preserve they fought hard to protect from the growing interests of the real estate market and urban developers desperately seeking cheap land outside of the clustered cities that choked the US East and West coasts. Commercial prospects from Canada were even looking at his family's property given the lax economic laws granted by the UN World Government in their new global administration.

Len's parents could hardly claim to know what it was like when the world was still covered in nation-states. The closest Len had to the old-world conservatives were his aging great grandparents, having long entered their centennial years with all the mental agility of an energetic fox hound. But their stories of a nation born strong who held the sword of a just cause felt shallow and distant. It, if anything though, sparked in the youth a certain fantasy for the wilderness and the pioneer life.

Before he had entered his teenage years he had long dreamed about settling on Mars as a share-cropper, or even applying for a loan to enter the explosive agriculture industry that was covering the red planet in shades of green and yellow. Though the closest in noble goals, it however grew more distant has he passed on through to his 18th year and then slipped into his twenties by a high cost of entry.

By twenty-one, Len was still living on his family farm with his brothers and sisters, helping the best they can to keep them afloat amid rising fuel and water prices in the year 2152. By this point, the ventures to 75 Sotelo c felt like a myth. Something a part of the new international mythology.

By twenty-two years of having gone no where, Len became increasingly frustrated with his lot in life. The family farm was eating at him from the outside in, and he was nowhere near his ambitions. His troubles only increased at the passing of his grandparents and the gradual drifting away of the ranch's employees. His family was growing desperate, and not even his much beloved father could bring in the money they needed to stay afloat.

And so in desperation, Len joined the United Nation's army of peace-keepers.

Len trained as an infantry man outside of Tripoli in the hot desert. Until that point he had never left Wyoming and the shock of the different culture – even if having been gradually homogenized by a unified Earth government – and the baking temperatures of the desert heat struck him hard. During basic, Len sought how he could withdraw. But as it would seem, the service contract was as vicious as the heat and he forced to stay.

Len finished basic training later that year and was redeployed to Mexico for advanced training. He lived in a dirty base outside of Chihuahua, Mexico; primarily squashing scorpions and joining local police patrols for the last heirs of the cartels that should have had died out a century ago.

By the age of twenty-seven Len had the opportunity to leave the army, but after five years of service he had decided he was comfortable in the military. And he was making enough to send home to his family for his own type of support. A feeling of family honor had seeped into his brains and he felt obligated to provide the best he could with what he got. So he signed the contract for another five-years.

Immediately after, he was sent south to Panama. Here, and across all of Central America workers who operated the inter-planetary space-ports between Earth and Mars had broken into a violent and bloody protest over their replacement to machines and the worsening and humiliating conditions they had to work in. Once again in Latin America, the red hydra was rearing its head demanding better conditions, and it had again ignited the poor of Latin America into a revolutionary madness.

The UN was prepared, and it had dragged Len into it.

For the next five years, Len was forced to dodge bullets and trade fire with anonymous and angry protestors and revolutionaries that swelled and grew in their angry fervor as supporters smuggled themselves in by the hundreds to Latin America. Len fought in the mountains, and in the jungles, and the cities as the UN spoke with a voice that echoes of a Cold War long mythologized. La Cia had come to that land as thin of a whip and hot as Hell again.

Len won many distinctions in his five years of service and collected many injuries. From a lowly infantry man, he was offered the chance into a special forces field. The contract and terms offered longer pay, for service that though indefinite offered long-term periods of paid reserve until the age of seventy-eight.

Len signed it.

For the duration of the conflict Len learned and practiced skills as a specialized hitman and recon specialist against the revolutionaries that had destabilized the region. By the time he had turned thirty-three, and a ghost from space had arrived to remind the world of the Ararat's mission that had so long ago been launched.

Len was in the jungle when the transmission came, and he had missed that first glimpse of this specter planet and the proud deceleration of the captain.

Len closed his 40th year in the jungles of Honduras in 2170. The civil war that had rocked the hot whip closed after fourteen years of troubling guerrilla conflict and complicated urban warfare. It seemed to have tarnished the UN's global rule, if for a bit. Len was allowed his first bout of leave as they began cracking down on protests elsewhere on the planet, and even to some degree on Mars.

Len returned to the family Ranch a different person. To his family, he felt colder and more distant. Hondura, Panama, Costa Rica, and Honduras had changed him as a person. Even out of the bush, he wished he was back in it. He still felt the heat of the weather, and the battle; even on a cold winter night. He heard the screams of his companions, and every shock of a IED. The chanting. The blood. His body ached in bed from old wounds before a stormy day.

After a year of trying to re-acclimate to his family, Len couldn't take it. Without saying a word, he left the ranch one night, and taking a plane flew to Alaska. He hoped that perhaps being alone would silence the ghosts.

And for the most part, it probably did.

Though cold and undesirable to many people, the cheap land opportunities had not kept people unlike him at bay at it didn't take long for his lonely cabin outside of Nome, Alaska to acquire neighbors much like those he had shared back at Wyoming. The land that he had used to rekindle his affinity for hunting was being gradually swallowed up by migrants from Russia. And very soon he could not roam far without stumbling on the signs of developmental communities sprawling out from the growing Alaskan town.

So when the UN reactivated his service with a ticket on the Olympus, he was quick to accept.

New York's demands were simple, to oversee the mission from the side-lines aboard the ship under the guise of a high-ranking officers in their security detail. The feat wasn't hard on anyone's part, and the only thing Len needed to keep silent was that he reported to the UN officially and not his ranking superior. For him, his mission was to do little more than ensure there were no defections from the UN loyalty.

A mission he thought he could serve forty light-years from home.

[b]Starting location[/b]: North of the right-most crater lake.