It has been three and a bit years since I last flew for the Starfliers, since the time I docked at our station and received the comm that would change my life forever.
My Father, back on Freeport 6, was dying.
Despite all the advanced nanotechnology, medical tech and chemical concoctions? The human race still can not make an affordable cure for cancer.
Oh there is one, but it is only for the rich and powerful. Us who live on the bottom, ekeing enough money out of each day to survive, we cannot afford the expensive remedies peddled by Cryer and their ilk.
At this juncture, I had expected to throw myself into my work, struggling to make any extra coin in an attempt to extend my Father's life or reduce his pain. However, it was my Father who prevented this. "Come Home" he told me, "Insurance has paid out for pallative care. The amount is enough to support both you and your mother for some time."
What was I supposed to do? My Father had made his choice and any attempt to change things now would revoke the insurance payments, placing us in crippling debt.
So I took unpaid leave and went home.
As the months rolled by and my Father still did not pass, I made a trip and handed in my resignation to Boss Albert. He looked me squarely in the eye and told me "Family comes first, take all the time you need, We'll still be here when you get back."
As far as he was concerned, that was the end of it.
My father passed last year, but the insurance payouts were still good, so I stayed to look after my bereaved Mother. The last few months, things have begun to settle. As such, I find myself becoming itchy, I have been dreaming of returning to space.
So I stand here, looking out the viewing window at the '\S/'Pyxis. It sits in the long-term storage at Freeport 6, looking strangely fresh and new.
The funny thing about Zoner long term storage is that they do it in a vacuum, so while you would imagine the ship to be dusty, stiff and unused, the reality is that it's basically in the same condition as it was when first stored. Except the fuel has been removed to prevent any radiation damage, of course.
It feels strange, looking at this little scoutcraft and wondering what I would find if I were to fly back to the Starflier base in today's times.
Would the grumpy old Halpie still be there?
Would Albert still have a place for me in his team of scouts and pilots?
Do we still do the same tasks we used to?
...Will I ever get the chance to fly again?
My comms are pinging, my Mother has finished with her appointments and wants me to collect her. I take one more glance at the sleek lines of the Pyxis, before turning around and walking away.
Perhaps I will get to fly one day soon, but that day is not today.