A Small Disclaimer, Again

I should probably come up with a proper title for this little sortie in science fiction. Though I do kind of like a title that has nothing to do with the parts contained within. Gets the brain thinking one thing, whilst serving something else entirely. All this babbling is just feet-dragging, incessant, unending, an unrequited love letter to the part of my brain that says, “you can’t write for shit.” Write anyway, and write on.

October 22nd, 2202

After being set free from the desolate remains of Earth, I sought to mimic the Ferris Wheel which nearly got me killed. On-board systems indicate I’ve been orbiting the silent planet for exactly 17 hours and 43 minutes. Adrift, but with constraints. Like a bowling ball in a lane with bumpers, freedom to an extent. The A.I. steward driving itself mad with course corrections, suggestions, and general discontent with the lack of inputs, commands, and general direction. Ping to heads up display; Where to?

“Just stay in orbit, nothing more.” My voice cracking through the silence of the small ship.

If computers could frown, I’m sure the ship was glowering in my direction. Unsure, and unsatisfied with its current captain. In desperate need of something to do, data to run, a heading to head towards.

How could I have been so stupid? A question I asked myself almost hourly ever since I slipped past protectorate blockades, deep space sensors, and the general debauchery that rests in the unregulated sections of space. All this false bravado, just for a glimpse of what used to be home. Of what used to be a planet teeming with life, then teeming with humans, who teemed too much and sent the world ablaze. Yes, Earth was long dead before the bastards glassed it. But I can’t help feeling a touch sentimental hovering above this crisp, long-forgotten rock. Sure, it’s a total shithole now, but it’s my shithole. I guess the real reason I feel so sentimental is because those fuckers are still living there, underneath the rot and marrow of a civilization, and they gave no regard to the fact that I’m human. They wanted nothing but my blood, and my boots. The vast array of weaponry, and technology embedded in my suit wasn’t the forethought, no. The only thought in their heads was “You have something I want, and I don’t care what it actually is.” To be fair they’ve been living on the remains of a dead rock for over twenty years, so I can sympathize a bit but the fact that they treated me like some foreign species is what really drove me over the edge. Humanity was united the second Lunar Colony Archimedes was wiped from existence; a common goal, and a common enemy. I guess you can take the planet from us, but you can’t take the human out of humanity.

“Where to?” This time over the ship speakers. For an A.I., Shards had some sass to him.

“Any suggestions?” It was always fun to play along.

“Protocol would suggest that we rendezvous with the nearest military installation for a full debriefing post combat, and a medical evaluation…”

“And the court martial for my visitation to a Class A restricted planet?” Why is it a crime to visit a dead planet?

“You knew the risks when you ignored my warnings, I suggested we change course from this little venture.”

“You’d miss me if I were thrown in an interstellar Gulag, wouldn’t you Shards?” It was pointless to argue with A.I.’s, always so by the numbers.

“Regardless of your reckless actions, I would lobby for leniency in your case. Citing an overgrown attachment to your home planet.” Was that sympathy? A touch of concern from the one’s and zero’s maintaining a million and one course corrections, and a conversation.

‘Run a query for me. Life and lifeforms on Post-Earth.” As far as I understood, no lifeforms had survived the first attack, and none had been allowed to return. Couldn’t be sheer luck that fifteen humans survived that hellscape for this long, could it?

____

The ship exited the military thoroughfare in Hyperion system just in time for my handler to hail my comms log with a harshly worded, obscenity laced, message that demanded my presence immediately. Had I not been sleeping, and Shards not so dutifully committed to their job, I would have turned around, and fucked off to the nearest inhabitable planet.

But I’ve never been that lucky.

I had hardly made berth at docking station number three on Station Patchett before four fully-armed Protectorate Suits, and one pale-faced lieutenant graced my airlock. It would seem that my presence, or my previous presence, had made such a stir that I was to be escorted like some sort of interspace war criminal. No matter, I was getting an earful regardless of my ships travel history. I hadn’t checked in with military intelligence vector “Crow Eye” in over two years. For all intents and purposes, I had died. Rather they wish I had, far less paperwork.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Hello in head of military intelligence speak, I believe. Special Director Heather V. Cutter, last known military rank; redacted. Survivor of four separate redacted attacks, hero of the Outskirt Colony Rebellion, natural-born space pilot, and my boss. She had seen so much military action pre and Post-Earth obliteration that she was literally too valuable to die. The sheer trove of military secrets, laws, technology, and general knowledge in her brain, made her one of the most elite members of the surviving human species. And she loved her synthetic coffee with synthetic creamer.

____