Space.
Nothing is more beautiful, bleaker, and more enticing.
The quiet hum of the computers with their lights lazily blinking and scanners scanning lulled me. It had been quiet for days.
No one out here but me.
If I were back on Sersis II, I know in a space this vast, there would be an echo.
Out here, there was nothing, not even echoes.
The vacuum outside swallowed up every sound my ship made.
I put my feet up onto the dash and leaned back in my seat. There was nothing to do. I ran my fingers through my hair, which needed a good washing. My stomach rumbled, and I realised that my supplies were running low. I would need to return to the base to restock.
Life as a deep-space fighter was hard, but I loved every minute of it.
I changed my course direction, and reluctantly headed back. The trip would take a few hours, even at the velocities I was going.
Three weeks out here, in this cramped little ship.
Claustrophobia was a big problem among retirees, among other, more permanent damage.
Insanity. Murder. Torture.
The solitude could drive you mad.
The distinction between the enemy and your family was no longer there for some of them.
Men brutally murdered their whole families.
Women, well, there weren’t any female pilots to speak of.
Besides me, of course.
I was a fluke, however. I don’t even know how I ended up here.
Too much missing time.
I can’t remember so many things. Huge chunks of my life, gone. I don’t know who my parents were, how I learned to fly this thing, or how I got here.
I am.
I.
I always have been.
I don’t know where. But I have always known. Always will know.
I’ve learned to deal with the missing time.
It is, I am. We coexist, battling for those few shards of memory that slowly fade into oblivion.
Faces, names, dates, all become blurred.
All except for my mission. What I am, where I am to go. What to do.
I can use any sort of weapon you put in my hands. Do you think I would know where I got the training from?
That would be far too simple.
Space was my comfort now. Why get close to people, when they’ll smile with you one day, and try to vaporize you the next, and when I’ll forget you in a few weeks?
It’s not a bad memory. My memory is fine.
3457-3480. Neo-Russian revolution. July 22, 3004, the internet is permanently taken offline.
I know these things. I remember them.
Facts stick in my head like a crown of thorns.
People, places. Anything that would keep me human is mercilessly dragged from my skull, as I scream and beg for it to remain, to remember the shape of my lover’s face, to remember their voice. Anything.
Anything to remember.
I look at the stars speeding past and I smile.
Each one of them is one of my lost memories.
They come, and as I am closer to them, are infinitely brighter, and then, they slowly fade away.
Like trying to catch smoke with your hands.
I curled up in my seat, and tried to catch some shuteye before I get back to camp, before an annoying beeping causes me to reluctantly open one eye to see what the problem is.
Inbox: 1 New Message.
I sighed and tapped on the screen to bring up the message.
“Senior Airman Laelas,
It is time for your ship’s biannually overhaul. Please report to Level E, Dock 9-A by no later than 19:00 tomorrow. You are scheduled for your personal fitness test at 11:00 tomorrow, Dr. Brenner will see you then. Remember: a healthy worker is a happy worker.
Sergeant Ferndale”
I groaned and deleted the message, knowing that the information I need has already downloaded itself into the electronic dogtags I had been issued as soon as I joined the fleet.
The stars began to move faster, almost as if they sense my apprehension to go back.
The thought of my ship outside of my expert hands frightened me.
I put the ship into autopilot and got up from my seat, stretching.
I had been out here for too long. Only a few more hours until home.
I threw my coat around my shoulders and went to my sleeping area, partitioned off of the main hallway by a thermal curtain. The ship was only meant for one person, so privacy wasn’t much of an issue.
I lay down on the mattress and stared up at the ceiling. I had programmed a chart of the stars on there so I could still see where I was headed, the information fed to me from the tracking system. I closed my eyes for a moment, knowing I would be alerted if anything were to come within a thousand lightyears of the ship.