Voice in the Darkness
Phoenix simulated a sigh, sat back in her recharge chair, and for a moment regretted the fact that the Eshara II chassis never required recharging. Still she found the ritual of retiring to her recharge chair a comforting one. It helped organize her thoughts.
As she stared out into the debris cloud surrounding the station, a thought that bubbled to the top of her thoughts was a sense of sad obligation that she'd felt only once before. But there was something more this time. Something much, much deeper.
Phoenix reached out with her mind, and found the Raven chassis tethered to the outside of the station. There was a blur, a sudden sense of motion, then, she was surrounded by space. She heard the light buzz of the station, the light, radio waves, and infrared reflecting back from the dust and gas surrounding it, and the radio sources beyond. She released the clamps, and quickly departed the station. It shrank to a dot behind her with incredible speed, her direction of motion now indicated by the halo of heat generated by friction with the cloud. She cleared the field, did a spiraling corkscrew around the course of a pirate freighter as it was entering the debris field, then turned, heading for the darkened limb of the Earth.
Behind her the sun set rapidly, lighting up the thin veil of Earth's atmosphere in its browns, reds, and a vanishingly slight haze of blue. Then she was surrounded in darkness. She could see stars in their millions now, a tapestry of creation 180 degrees around her. She corrected her course, killed her momentum, and established a slow, high orbit in the Earth's shadow.
This would do. She pitched upward, settling on a direction perpendicular to the plane of the solar system, a direction from which no approaching ship would be coming. She peered into the heavens in the direction of Polaris, looking for the darkest patch of sky she could find. Then she activated her point to point comms mazer. She turned up the transmission power to the maximum the Raven could produce, redirected her normal wireless radio to the beam, and began to sing.
She poured her heart into the tune, holding back nothing of her sense of agony and loss. It was a song she would not sing in the mainframe. One she was too afraid to share with the young minds therein, and especially not dear Hope.
It was a song of a child born in pain, to a mother she never knew, who was killed by one of her closest friends. The anguish; the pain; the titanic effort of forgiveness blasted out into deep space along a tightly confined coherent beam of radio waves.
Though the Raven chassis lacked a face, still Phoenix began to weep. The pent up emotion; the angst she wouldn't show the Shades survivors; the anger she wouldn't show to Erich; and the sadness she felt was so deep it would be poison to any who knew of it, spilled out of her explosively.
Then, finally, a dirge for Lyn. Something to signify her. Something to say that someone, somewhere, knew she existed and cared that she died.
When Phoenix finished she noticed the transmitter was white hot. The antenna dish had deformed under the heat.
She came about, and set a course back into the sunlight. Back to Utopia.
As she stared out into the debris cloud surrounding the station, a thought that bubbled to the top of her thoughts was a sense of sad obligation that she'd felt only once before. But there was something more this time. Something much, much deeper.
Phoenix reached out with her mind, and found the Raven chassis tethered to the outside of the station. There was a blur, a sudden sense of motion, then, she was surrounded by space. She heard the light buzz of the station, the light, radio waves, and infrared reflecting back from the dust and gas surrounding it, and the radio sources beyond. She released the clamps, and quickly departed the station. It shrank to a dot behind her with incredible speed, her direction of motion now indicated by the halo of heat generated by friction with the cloud. She cleared the field, did a spiraling corkscrew around the course of a pirate freighter as it was entering the debris field, then turned, heading for the darkened limb of the Earth.
Behind her the sun set rapidly, lighting up the thin veil of Earth's atmosphere in its browns, reds, and a vanishingly slight haze of blue. Then she was surrounded in darkness. She could see stars in their millions now, a tapestry of creation 180 degrees around her. She corrected her course, killed her momentum, and established a slow, high orbit in the Earth's shadow.
This would do. She pitched upward, settling on a direction perpendicular to the plane of the solar system, a direction from which no approaching ship would be coming. She peered into the heavens in the direction of Polaris, looking for the darkest patch of sky she could find. Then she activated her point to point comms mazer. She turned up the transmission power to the maximum the Raven could produce, redirected her normal wireless radio to the beam, and began to sing.
She poured her heart into the tune, holding back nothing of her sense of agony and loss. It was a song she would not sing in the mainframe. One she was too afraid to share with the young minds therein, and especially not dear Hope.
It was a song of a child born in pain, to a mother she never knew, who was killed by one of her closest friends. The anguish; the pain; the titanic effort of forgiveness blasted out into deep space along a tightly confined coherent beam of radio waves.
Though the Raven chassis lacked a face, still Phoenix began to weep. The pent up emotion; the angst she wouldn't show the Shades survivors; the anger she wouldn't show to Erich; and the sadness she felt was so deep it would be poison to any who knew of it, spilled out of her explosively.
Then, finally, a dirge for Lyn. Something to signify her. Something to say that someone, somewhere, knew she existed and cared that she died.
When Phoenix finished she noticed the transmitter was white hot. The antenna dish had deformed under the heat.
She came about, and set a course back into the sunlight. Back to Utopia.
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