Vita Nova
03 Oct 2018Kyndi the Badass Space Chick
They said I was crazy, you know? Crazy to take a Fer de Lance all the way out to Colonia. Maybe they were right. 
On the other hand, maybe fuck ‘em.
The road trip out isn’t the shot in the dark it used to be. The do-gooders of the galactic spacing community- all the indy pilots with more time and money than brains- banded together and helped create a chain of installations from here to there a few years back. They aren’t exactly packed with amenities, but remain a welcome sight this deep in the void regardless. I stopped at every one of them, made the micro-repairs to the Betrayal that she needed, and made sure to keep a full tank. It was slow going, but then again I was in no rush.
Hell. I forgot again.
The Betrayal hasn’t been the Betrayal in weeks. She’s mine now- the fact still causes my throat to tighten- and it just didn’t seem right to keep her old name. That was his thing, not mine. There was nothing treacherous about the way she came into my possession- the very opposite of betrayal, in fact.
Jemine and Apollonia. What were your stories? Whatever became of you two?
The Vita Nova is an odd sight this deep out in the black, and I can feel the eyes on me whenever I fly above the spartan structures of Colonia Hub. It isn’t just that the Vita is a sliver of grace compared to the boxy transports that are common out here. It’s that people are afraid. Not of me, specifically- but of what I represent: the Bubble, encroaching on “their” space. Bringing all the problems of the rest of humanity with me- the wars, the politics, and the crime.
That’s a rich one. Only a few years ago I’d have been happy to ply my old trade, stuffing all the debaucheries of the Bubble in my cargo hold and selling them at highway robbery prices. Then I’d have kicked back, lit up some o-head, and drifted blissfully into slumber at the edge of civilized space.
Well, it ain’t two years ago, ain’t it? No more slick deals with slick people, and for damn sure no more smuggling.
I’m calmer now, more serene. I don’t let anyone push me around, but I’m not the same as I was. I don’t touch o-head or narcs anymore. I don’t drink myself under the table. I eat real food when I can, and ship rations when I can’t. I take care of his- my- ship, better than I have anything else I’ve ever flown. It isn’t just about spaceworthiness. It’s about-
The Vita Nova sets down on the landing pad, its massive engines emitting a decresendoing whine. I furrow my bow, rising from the commander’s chair and walking along the main corridor, a pair of fingertips trailing along the smooth bulkhead walls.
It’s about everything. Starting over. Exploring who I am. Finishing what I- we- started.
It still hurts to think of him. Hell, it probably always will. I was a wreck at first, crying and hating myself and crying some more. Jemine and Apollonia think that I slept that entire first day. I didn’t. How they didn’t hear my wailing from all way up in the bridge I will never know.
I had a hand in everything that happened, and I have to own that. I still remember talking to Jemine just after her and Apollonia rescued me from my pursuers, knees to my chest and so ill that even food made me sick. I remember the layer of grease and filth that covered my body. I remember the feeling of missing teeth and ratty, dead hair. I remember the look in her eyes- that peculiar look- when I told her that it was me who pushed him away, and therefore me who had a hand in his death. She opened her mouth to say something, but instead asked me to go on. But there wasn’t much else to say, and I was still weak from months of an all-narcs diet. She helped me into the Betrayal’s shower unit and waited outside. The first blast of water almost staggered me.
I could barely stand, but I still had the energy to cry. I like to think that the shower muffled my sobs a little.
I tried to give away a piece of him, you know? His jacket, the one I gave him after our first adventure together. I’d flown to his parents’ place, right after Jemine gifted the Betrayal to me. They were shocked to see me, and devastated at the news I bore. We held each other for support, for what seemed like hours. Yet I never felt like an intruder. I even stayed for a few days, reconnecting with them and helping each other through the process of grieving. In the end they refused his jacket; it was meant for a spacer, they said, and so a spacer should have it.
They knew. Somehow they knew that I needed it more than them. A tailor in the city made the necessary alterations to turn it into a woman’s garment. I walked out of the shop feeling oddly at peace, a strange feeling of security lightening my step now that his jacket, too, had become mine. If I couldn’t have his arms around me, I could at least wrap myself in that. Me of a year ago would have laughed and called me stupid.
Me of right now is just grateful to feel a little less alone.
I work, of course. At first I tried to keep my head down and blend in, taking whatever jobs hauling light freight I could. But the Vita isn’t much good for that, and it wasn’t long before I was approached by local Authority- and for once without guns drawn. I tried my best to explain, explain that just because I fly a Fer de Lance doesn’t mean I’m some kind of combat veteran. But they wouldn’t listen, and insisted that the ship alone would deter criminals. The weekly stipend wasn’t bad, either.
I agreed. They deputized me on the spot.
So now I patrol trade lanes instead of circumventing them. I'm good at it, too- crime out here is almost non-existent, and I know every trick in the book. On my jacket is a little six-sided star, made of simple dull bronze. It’s fitting, in a way. The Vita is a ship that was always used to keep people safe; I guess my new gig as a lawwoman is a natural progression for it. I know for sure that he'd have approved- after he got done laughing, of course.
Lawwoman. I still shake my head every time I think about that. But it isn’t like in the Bubble, you see. I’m not some faceless badge lording over the masses; out here there are no masses. The settlement I patrol only has a few hundred people from wall to prefabbed wall. I know everyone, and everyone knows me. I’m one of them, and if I'm telling the truth we depend on each other. It isn’t family, not quite- but for the first time in my life I feel like I belong.
I still can’t quite break the habit of living in a ship. It’s in my blood. Night- hell, it’s always night on this rock- is the hardest part of my day. I’m alone, alone with my past and my mistakes, alone with my loneliness and regret. It’s hard to be in this bed and not think of him- of the times we had, of the love we made, of the promises we swore to each other. Most nights I get up and walk up and down the corridors, alone with my thoughts, wondering if some part of him is truly out there like so many of the ‘verse’s spiritual-minded insist. But I just don’t know; I doubt if I ever will.
The best I can do is to curl up with his-my- jacket as I’m drifting off to sleep. There’s still a trace of his old smell to it, one that triggers memories I’m now certain are real. It’s often the last thing I see before I drift off to sleep, one among many on the frontier. I’ll never see him again, my friend and lover and companion- yet a tiny part of him will always be with me.
We made it, Matty. You and me. Just like we planned.
Slumber tugs at the edge of my consciousness. A lifetime of pain and hiding and cockiness parade in my vision, a life that seems so distant even though I’ve only been here a short while. Despite the danger, despite the locale, despite everything that’s happened I’ll sleep soundly. Half asleep, I run my fingers through my hair. The brunette roots are showing, the purple tresses slowly being replaced by my natural color. The journey that I made to Colonia is a only a hop compared to the one I’m on to discover who I really am, free from the fear and the lies and the narcs.
One thing, however, is certain: my mantra, one I often repeated in my old vain attempts to assure myself that I was in control. One that rings more true and empowering than ever:
My name is Kyndi Jane McCaskill, and I stay free.
OOC note: this is probably the final Kyndi logbook, and I can't describe what a journey it's been! The leadup to this final entry is told in The Alpha and the Omega, and I encourage you all to read it!
Thank you all so much for reading!