Orange Industry Haulage

[Olivier Cesari]

Chapter Three, Unanswered Oft Forgotten Queries

The pearl-white fume left a brief, lingering trail as it gracefully cut through the fabric of vacuum, splitting it into two uneven parts. The interstellar engines, symmetrically scattered across the vessel, emitted wisps of hot-induced smoke, finding their path through the inner tunnels of the ship towards the infinitely stretched wasteland nearby. The rumble of the engines, surprised by the absence of atoms capable of transmitting sound waves, added an extra layer of tranquility to the surroundings, concealing the darker veil that invisibly surpassed the capabilities of such a vessel, remaining unnoticed at first glance. A ship of elegance, its spherical silhouette captivating the eyes. Like a cosmic jewel, it blustered intricate patterns of visible perforations that adorned the very heart of its twin circular wings-like additions.

The infamous Sabre. Seated within the somewhat narrow cockpit, a man navigated his way through the melodious consonance of buttons scattered across the surface of the inner chamber, each emitting a faint, tinkling sound as they were pressed. The light skillfully burst forth from the central panels, effortlessly permeating the dusky fabric like a gentle caress. With a graceful descent, slender torrents of released data traversed the constrained chamber, adorning its every inch with expansive matrices of tightly clasped pixels. As if choreographed by a spatial phenomena, these radiant dots created an orderly arrangement, wrapping the cabin's surface in an intriguing order.

The seat coated the person, cradling him in its embrace like a gentle chrysalis. Its luxurious cushions molded to their contours, providing a luxurious sanctum that offered recess from the outside world. With each touch, the fabric whispered stories of comfort, its velvety texture a soothing caress against the skin. The ergonomic design, reminiscent of a sculptor's masterpiece, carefully supported every angle of the human form, ensuring a consonant alignment. Comfort became a gateway to details, where every element possessed an individual splendor. An arrangement of tools twinkled in a dance of necessity, their orchestration lively for the art of piloting.

As specific constellations guide adventurers through the night sky, these tools guided the pilot's hand, their glare enlightening the pathway, while ensuring the vessel's safe passage through the rippled cosmic ocean. Perched atop the seat, the pilot's helmet commanded attention. It rose like a crown upon his head, revealing glimpses of dark, slightly tousled hair that barely made an appearance. Deceiver Cesari, with his slightly unkempt appearance, gave away a distinctive ambience characterized by a stream of dark, slim strands of hair that danced with a touch of rebellion. It was as if these strands of hair were caught in a perpetual whirlwind with each harsh move. In the Lane Hackers, he found solace, a refuge from a world that often seemed malevolent.

As time slipped away on the voyage, the steady tick-tock of the clock inevitably closed the gap towards the predestined waypoint, a mere flicker in the distance, concealed amidst the remote reaches of an active asteroid belt. Defined by unexpected surges of criminality, wayward asteroids wandered aimlessly along uncharted paths, dashing through the space with reckless abandon, their trajectories unbridled. The artistry of Cesari's navigation revealed itself as he navigated through the hefty asteroids. Leading towards the covert operation base, discreetly tucked away from the scrutiny of unfamiliar gazes, his path remained a closed book, ensuring nobody could follow. As the shrill alarms suddenly pierced the air, their echoes resonated in similar fashion to turbulent waves crashing upon the shore of attention, unworkable to ignore.

The gaze of the Hacker swiftly darted, his eyes latching onto the telemetry fed by the complexly loaded Spyglass scanner. Finally, Montezuma painted itself amidst a handful of contacts, gracefully gliding through the vast expanse of the Spyglass scanner, seamlessly assimilating into the Network's database. As the anticipated contacts gradually revealed themselves amidst the influx of incoming data, one of them being Chenzo, a peculiar Outcast of unclear nature, left an indelible impression on Deceiver Cesari, imprinting a cluster of indefinite impressions upon his consciousness. Slightly perturbed by the impalpable puppeteers lurking behind the backs of the Outcasts, an inner turmoil stirred within him, causing his eyes to suddenly strain, and the creases on his face to betray a grave expression. The seat itself seemed to respond, morphing in response to Cesari's newly assumed belligerent posture.

Eternal echoes of lies seemingly commenced dissipating into the void, as previous disputes lingered unanswered, leaving Cesari teetering on the precipice of uncertainty. The sting of betrayal clawed at his consciousness. A disloyalty that cut deep, gnawed at his soul, indirectly blackening the noble cause of his brothers, the Lane Hackers. As if the echoes of bygone verses had come alive, the backlash of previous words whispered through the young man's ears, suddenly, as though if his consciousness was reborn, blended with the nature of untold secrets. As if the very air throbbed with unseen forces, transforming his perception into a living conduit, where the mundane converged in a mesmerizing prance. The words, "Accords. Accords," clanged within the recesses of his psychic sphere, their rhythmic pulse twisting with the very fabric of his thoughts. Gradually, his senses became numb, wearing his innate reverence, forsaking a hollow echo that resonated with the dissonance of compromise.

Adrift within the depths of his own disturbance, he became a lost soul, his eyes racing aimlessly in search of suspension from the stubborn blizzard that devastated his sanity. Pressed upon by an immaterial weight, his awakening came like a harsh slap across the face, shattering the fragile illusion of quiet, and plunging him back into the harsh reality that had fatigued him. Having acquainted himself with the hesitations of the Outcast, he braced himself for the impending disappointment, yet clung firmly to his word, extending a helping hand despite lacking any personal grounds to do so. Devoting himself to the art of subterfuge, he had invested a wealth of time in calibrating the software to cater to the whims of Mr. Chenzo. Engaging in conversation with practiced finesse, he became a silent conductor of emotions that rushed upon him, deftly orchestrating a false impression that shielded his intrusive intentions. The language that was revealed his lips seemed to confine the flow of words, constricting their quantity upon release. It dripped with an air of detachment, while the tension within him radiated, saturating the cockpit with immense pressure of spiteful energy.

Bound by physicality, yet surrendered to a haze of contemplation, he walked through dimly lit paths, unwittingly casting words into the void, their significance hidden in plain sight. Nevertheless, these casual utterances proved useful to the Outcast. In the blink of an eye, the moment slipped away as if hijacked, and he found himself departing the sector, clinging to the injustices that drove him towards the vast expanse of the unknown. A fragment of consciousness aware of a vow fulfilled, he contributed Chenzo the desired, specially modified software of his personal work. Vanishing into the expanse of the somewhat compact asteroid belt, he dissolved into the unknown, as if he were a figment of imagination. Deep within, a gale of betrayal agitated... He withdrew from the situation, seeking peace in the familiarity of his office, where he found himself absorbed in other pursuits, ones that offered temporary break from the distractions that dulled his intellectual senses. In a world where tolerance knows no boundaries, it is the absence of conviction that leaves one standing on the shifting winds of indecision.