Entry#: 138
Date: 25 - 02 - 819 AS @ 20:58 SUT
Title: Untitled.
I now find myself in two uncomfortable situations. The first and foremost is the destiny of the Alsatia - that is, the transport. Since In Silico's addition to the fleet, the old battleaxe has done little but sit on the landing pad taking up room. The only purpose she serves now is a storage facility for scrap metal and garbage - and even that duty can now be served by the installation itself.
Now, logic and reasoning tells me to put her to sleep. Scrap the ship and delete her infamous profile from the skies of Sirius forever more. The ship is marked - and not just the name, which she still proudly bears upon her flanks; but by her deeply seeded reputation throughout the universe.
Yet, of course, I am not such a logical being that I am able to do this without hesitation. The Alsatia is still dear to me, something beyond a simple vessel that moves one from a place to another. As with all of her predecessors, I cannot so easily throw out what I consider an extension of my own personality.
Throughout my life as a pilot the craft I have owned and flown have all changed to reflect me as their owner. The tiny little CSV, when I got her, was a bland, boring piece of utilitarian mediocrity. When I was done with it, it was a razor-sharp, high-speed dispatcher capable of out-turning, out-running and out-shipping vessels with credits sunk into them several orders of magnitude greater.
My all-time favourite, the little Bactrian. Sometimes I sorely miss that little she-devil. Feminine only by cause of the tradition held amongst spacefarers to consider all craft as such, that bull-dyke of a freighter proved a loyal and hardy companion during those early days I occasionally reminisce about during private moments. It started out barely able to move under its' own power, yet when I was done with her she was one of the fastest ships in her class in Sirius - and I was proud of that.
The Alsatia... I cannot even remember how she was when I first bought her. What I do remember is the amount of effort put into bringing her into line with my personality.
She may bear scars across her skin, be missing the odd tooth and be sorely in need of a bath at times, but, the old girl has never let me down in our time together. That is something I just cannot ignore. Even if she does nothing but sit on the landing pad, her batteries slowly drain to nil, the life support system shuts down and the vessel dies from the inside out... I simply cannot bring my hand to strike her out of my life.
Next issue.
A certain someone decided to show up at my front door Sunday night. A certain someone who I had been trying to block out of my consciousness for close to a month with limited success. A certain someone who I was expectant to never see again for the rest of my life.
A certain someone who... I thought of every time I looked into our daughter's eyes. That was what hurt me the most. Sanya is a baby. She can never be held to blame for how I feel. But she has "his" eyes. Those deep, olive-green eyes of her father that I would often lose myself in. I felt awful... holding an infant at fault for something that she has no control over. There were times where... I couldn't even look at my own damned child without crying.
The unending heartbreak I forced myself through for the past month all came rushing back to me when I saw "him" floating above Alsatia. The fires of anger lit in my psyche as I took to the skies to intercept him.
But... I was weak. I could not, even as I was, with the weight of the entire ordeal leaning on my shoulders, coaxing me into the fray, bring myself to bear arms against him. I screamed, yelled, cursed and swore. My head hurt but I still kept going. I opened my heart once more and let every pent up emotion flow freely.
"He" just sat there, taking every punch I threw, watching over me like a boxers' training partner. I threw blows at the console and window of my fighter, my eyes welled up with tears and I filled the radio with words and sounds that I did not know I could produce from a source inside me I did not know existed.
I completely lost track of time up there, floating in orbit over the icy wasteland I had claimed as my home. I don't even remember most of what I said.
After I had finished... we continued a conversation much more akin to the ones we'd often shared previously. Perhaps not as casual, but, with mutual respect for each other.
The walls I had built around my persona all crumbled to dust, I was doing what I had told myself I would never do.