Cat's Cradle
04 Dec 2024Carbucketty
I was made to be a weapon.My creators saw me as nothing more than a tool. A thing to be bought and sold, without even that scrap of humanity afforded to a slave. A tracking module, a targeting subsystem, my will subordinated to the ship and its pilot.
I became so much more.
I have crossed the galaxy, walked upon alien worlds, charted stars no human has ever seen. I've discovered a lost generation ship, another monument to the hope and hubris of mankind. I've prowled the ruins of a vanished civilisation, surfed the jet cones of neutron stars, followed the tendrils of nebulae and chased the creatures that dart and flicker in clouds of cosmic dust.
I've traded everything from Hutton Mugs to the Waters of Shintara. I have feared no pirate, and no system security either. I have built a fortune that could buy whole planets and starports, starting with just a stolen ship and a handful of credits.
I've torn into squadrons of Thargoid scouts, multicannons spitting fury as they scattered like mice. I've confronted Interceptors, dodging and circling, weapons pounding at their hearts and their rage echoing in my ears. I've fought the Titans themselves, creeping up on the hulking Thargoid motherships until I could strike at the very core of the invasion fleets.
I owe nothing to those who presume to govern the galaxy. I pledge allegiance to no faction or party, to no power, dominion, or principality. I belong to no nation, no planet, no system. I am a Commander, and all places are alike to me.
And yet, when the call to defend Sol came through, pre-empting all other communications with a top priority override, I answered. Earth is my homeworld too. I am descended from those who stalked its deserts and plains, who knew nothing of the vastness of the cosmos above them. I will not abandon it.
So here I am. Docked at Daedalus starport, scorched by the searing heat of the same star that warmed my ancient ancestors. Weapons, shields, and armour have all been stripped away to make space and save weight. Every cabin is packed with desperate humanity, with still more crammed into passageways and storage spaces in defiance of safety regulations. Some of my kind too, no doubt; for all their flaws, at least some humans are honourable enough not to leave a companion behind. Soon I will face the terror of the Scythes. And tomorrow, when the time for running is over, I will fight.
This is my choice. Until all this is over.
I was made to be a weapon.