Beloved, my tender wound of peace,
The sun begins to bleed.
Night, the coward, abandons us.
Leaving us to beg that cruel judge, Time,
To forgive us our trespasses.
Deliver us unto freedom,
That I might see you again one day,
Cleaved once more as a Man.
Take up the Sword of the Spirit,
The Shield of Faith.
My Soldier of God,
Tear Earth asunder,
And come home to me.
Wife’s Aubade, traditional Axis Mundan poem, author unknown, circa 290
Point Valley, San Antonio, Texas, Axis Mundi, Earth, UCF 02/17/454, 0432 hours
“If you are accessing these files, it means that I did not succeed in reaching you in this life. So be it. These logs are a record. Let history know what I stood for. Let my ancestors take pride in my struggle. I did not go silently.”
Flechette’s gaze lingers on the pained grimace on Tang’s face, that face she could not see one last time. She’s found him.
The dates on the files are garbled — whether through corruption, or because the dates themselves are encrypted, and as of yet, unbroken — is unclear. Her fingertips pause, hesitant, in the air — prey animals cautiously listening — before descending once more on the keyboard, selecting all the files on the drive, hidden and unencrypted files alike — and dumping them to her own personal drive. She hastily encrypts them herself with her own scheme — something unbreakable. She needs something — just the memory of him, the artifacts he left behind for her — for only herself. Somewhere prying eyes from the Information Warfare Division can never violate the sanctity of their private correspondences.
She steels herself. Says a quick prayer — to what force above or below, she is unsure — before tearing out Tang’s datadrive and smashing it underfoot. No one else will control him… What remains of him.
Flechette gathers the pieces of the drive, and hides them, promising herself that she will burn them the next chance she gets.
She accesses her copies — now the only remaining copies — of Tang’s encrypted video journals. She opens one at random. The image of Tang, haunted, fills her screen. She presses play. He looks up, as if looking directly at her.
“Today I killed a child.”
“I- I didn’t do it on purpose. But I did do it. The TEN — she’s so lithe, so fluid. You forget how huge you are in there. But you are goddamn massive. You’re a continent, stomping around a battlefield, like it’s a goddamn dance floor. I look down and — there’s a kid. What’s left of ‘em. A fucking kid, man. Smeared on my shoe like some kūkae.”
Flechette looks into his eyes. He looks away, as if ashamed. The need to hold him in her arms, to clasp him on the shoulder and comfort him, fills her bodily. Remembering all the nights he offered her a warrior’s comfort and wisdom. And I can never do that for him.
“I… I don’t know. I don’t know if this is right. Is this just the cost? I don’t know if it’s a cost I can… I can keep paying. And fuck, man, maybe that’s selfish, even. I’m not the one the maintenance crews are gonna be spraying off the TEN’s hull. But I- I don’t know, man. I think maybe… I dunno. I thought I was a simple guy, y’know? Shoot first, ask questions never. But maybe that’s too simple.”
He lifts his gaze, meeting Flechette’s eyes once more, holding it there.
“Maybe it’s time to start asking questions.”
Flechette closes the video stream, her gut twisting. Asking questions. Here revealed is his Original Sin. The fruit of the tree of knowledge made so tempting. Flechette squirms, unable to process the turmoil.
Now, the guard rails are starting to crumble. The path that felt so real and clear ahead of her, her whole life, starting at birth and ending in glory… Where does it go? Where has it gone? Flechette wipes the sweat from her forehead on the back of her hand. She breathes.
One. Two. Three.
She re-encrypts her files. Locks them away, in a tiny datadrive that she slips into her pocket. Shuts down her terminal. And heads to bed.
As she slips into sleep, she hears the Gates of Eden swing shut behind her.