Serenity
Is this what life feels like? Even now, having opened my eyes to stare into the dark abyss, is this what it really feels like? Always troubled by the constant buzzing of the world, deadlines and time - forever enduring the journey from point A to B. There's never a breath, a quiet and patient stop to look about you, to collect yourself and draw in a breath as you stare out at the world. Numb, that's the word, we feel numb to what is around us - there's never any time.
The knock came at the door, my room had fallen quiet with only the small fan to disturb the uneasy silence. I couldn't say how long I'd been asleep, but I could tell you that it wasn't enough. I groaned, rolling under the covers as the knock repeated, this time with a voice - "Asha! Asha, I know you're in there. Come on, you need to get up or we'll be late!" I sighed, and with a groan told Tala I'd be there in a moment. Rolling back over, I was faced with the emptiness of my space.
The room was mostly dark, though the small emergency lights in the corner - with their hazy luminance, made this sort of blackness, blue.
"C'mon Asha!"
After I'd gotten ready, and met with Tala, who was surprisingly eager - we travelled down the long corridors of our station. Tala was always a big talker, there was never a moment that she wasn't describing something, or telling a long story. They were very interesting stories, though. If it wasn't for that, I'd probably find myself irritated constantly. I had met Tala during deployment, actually, she was an engineer on the Hiata Station near Sonna. Myself, well - I was a rather new Sergeant, sent there to be in charge of their security.
The Hiata Station was much, much larger than Iloras, and I was beyond nervous for the deployment. I'd actually never seen combat before then, and we were already nearing the end of the Long War. The war seemed so far away, though, like a conflict that you only saw on a television. We were all so very detached from such a reality, until the Hiata Incursion. A Betrican flotilla attempted a raid on Hiata Station, and after several weeks of fighting, we were able to push them back.
Such a victory didn't come without a price however. Tala was as talkative then, as she is now, but after the incursion - something changed about her. I remember the ride on the shuttle following the battle, we were all covered in oil and dust, our clothes torn and ragged. Our faces broken, and our spirits battered. We defeated the incursion, but ultimately, Hiata Station was destroyed. It pained me to see so many on that ride, their faces, pale and lifeless like the very soul within them had been crushed.
For Tala, that sort of wound cut far deeper than I could ever imagine. She was born on that station, grew up there - it was her home. We were all very ignorant to the war, separated from such an abhorrent conflict, that none of us knew the sting of such suffering. That's the thing about war, it destroys so many lives. Sure, we can cheer and rejoice over our soldiers in the safety and comfort of our home - wave the banners about those that return, parade them through the streets like some sort of trophy, but we're oblivious to such a thing. We don't actually see them. What they've seen, what they've been through.
We thank those that've lost their limbs, for their sacrifice, we call them heroes - but the real damage can't be seen. Not unless you truly open your eyes. And even then, you can't see just how deep that wound really is. They become like shadows, of their former selves, cast upon the wall with the flicker of light. They march and they dance, they play out their lives having returned, and although we can see these shadows - we refuse to actually look at them. We refuse to see the true reality of war, we make them invisible, because it makes us uncomfortable.
Sometimes, the greatest sacrifice that one can give for another, isn't the loss of an arm or a leg - it is the loss of a piece of their very soul.
This sort of uncomfortable realisation hit me on that shuttle. Tala didn't smile after that, and her eyes had lost much of their colour when she looked at you. It was obvious that she was suffering deep within, but she didn't show it. And even worse, I didn't know how to help her. I was the soldier here, and though I was still just as shell-shocked, I wasn't attached to such a place.
We walked that long corridor, her talking as fast as she could, me listening in my silence as we navigated people. Everyone had woken up on Iloras, our station, and we were all heading to work. After the war, I joined Tala's engineering unit, and we went to Iloras to work on the many projects they were conducting. We'd become such good friends in the past few years, inseparable even.
We'd arrived at our dock, went through the usual paperwork as we both smelled the oil and grease that had saturated the air. The dock itself was large, and filled with the sounds of the cargo mechs moving across the floor. They carried containers and equipment, and the sparks from welders high above in the scaffolding, fell like snow across the floor. Tala always called them fireflies, they reminded her of this insect she'd seen on a different planet during one of her deployments, and she always enjoyed watching them descend and twirl in the air.
She quickly signed off on a clip-board, and were soon moving across the bay's floor to a small shuttle. Two mechanics, one Crux, and the other a Runi by the looks of it, had been fuelling the ship for our trip. Having seen us, they waved, detaching the hose. "Hey Tala!," the one waved, Tala greeted them as I quickly opened up the door to the co-pilot and slid in. I closed the oval shaped glass, and then buckled myself in as I flipped a few switches to begin the pre-flight inspection. Tala talked to the two outside, though I couldn't hear them, before she too was climbing into the ship next to me.
"Friends of yours?" I asked, looking to her as she started to flip some switches on her side.
"Something like that, the Runi is Ty-kao, old friend of mine," she said. The engines of the ship shook themselves to life as I felt the shuttle vibrate and shift, the nozzles opening and closing as blue flames licked the floor beneath us. She throttled it a few times, each with a familiar jerk as it wanted to break free like a caged animal, but the anchored clamps refused to let it. When everything was ready, we gave the signal to the deck crew, and soon the clamp had detached and we were flying out of the bay.
You never really got bored of the view, I always thought I would, but I enjoyed staring at the thousands of lights across the station. They were like man-made stars, twinkling in neat but sporadic rows across the white surface. And behind each one was a face, looking back at the world out here, in the deep. Giant rings surrounded the central body of Iloras, these were the habitation areas for the hundreds of thousands on board. It was a floating city, far from any terran world, detached from the throws of the world - much like Hiata.
I rested against the glass, staring at Iloras as Tala piloted the shuttle. I can remember the slightly cold resonance from the glass, and the gentle hum of the ship as we flew, it sang softly like a lullaby. We worked all day on some panelling and shielding for the station, replaced some corroded hoses, fixed some lights, had a few jokes here and there. This was what life was like, everyday, the feeling of being in a never-ending wonderland - drifting along the pulls and pushes of the waves, smelling the foam as it sprayed across you. That's what life was like, calm and reserved, quiet and tranquil.
When we had returned, Tala didn't speak much. I found it odd, but I figured that maybe she'd finally worn herself out. She'd had joked with me much more that day, than she'd ever done, we ate our lunches and even visited the lower observation decks together. She looked tired, and when we finally departed, we said our good nights and I was soon inside my room again. After changing, bathing - I tried but couldn't sleep that night. I tossed and turned in bed, and finally conceded and curled up in the chair at my desk, staring at holographic screens, then darkness, then the clock.
I had finally dozed off, I can't say when, but I did. My dreams weren't any more of a comfort for me, however - it was everything from being chased to suffocating. When day approached, I found myself awake, half-strewn out over the edge of the chair with my face buried in some papers. I furrowed my brows, trying to stare at the clock and make-out the time. Tala hadn't woken me up, and now I was an hour late.
I hurried and got ready, though I was understandably sluggish. All the while, I couldn't figure out why she hadn't come to get me. Rushing out the door, I nearly ran over the two station security officers - who had arrived to greet me. They had questions, a lot of questions, and after the first few sentences, all I heard was muffled voices and a sinking feeling.
I've always found it so odd, how such news can be given, and you can sense their uneasiness. Their lips in a thin line, their cheeks and jaws tense and stretched, everything just sort've slows to a halt. I don't remember much else about that morning, or that day. All that was known, was that someone had heard a gunshot, and that was it.
There was no deep, heartfelt good-bye. No resting feeling of absolution - just this odd dream-like sensation, where your chest just felt like it was cold. Your stomach churned and felt empty, and your shoulders drooped like they had turn to a gelatinous ooze around your neck. You suddenly become oblivious to the world, before you know it, you're home again. I ran through everything about that day, constantly replaying the memories when she had woken me up, to the bay and everything else - like a movie that never ended. I'm not sure what I was searching for, I couldn't tell you.
The next morning, I got up and went to work. The walk was quiet, moving around the people in the halls, getting what I needed from the tool room, and readying the shuttle. I sat in the pilot seat this time, flipping switches and feeling the engines kick to life. The clamps released the ship, and I was soon leaving the hangar - outside, the station continued to lingerr about, slowly drifting in space in her slow and constant turning. I took a passing glance towards the thousands of man-made stars again, knowing well, that down there somewhere - one was no longer shining.
The world had gotten just a little bit darker.
The knock came at the door, my room had fallen quiet with only the small fan to disturb the uneasy silence. I couldn't say how long I'd been asleep, but I could tell you that it wasn't enough. I groaned, rolling under the covers as the knock repeated, this time with a voice - "Asha! Asha, I know you're in there. Come on, you need to get up or we'll be late!" I sighed, and with a groan told Tala I'd be there in a moment. Rolling back over, I was faced with the emptiness of my space.
The room was mostly dark, though the small emergency lights in the corner - with their hazy luminance, made this sort of blackness, blue.
"C'mon Asha!"
After I'd gotten ready, and met with Tala, who was surprisingly eager - we travelled down the long corridors of our station. Tala was always a big talker, there was never a moment that she wasn't describing something, or telling a long story. They were very interesting stories, though. If it wasn't for that, I'd probably find myself irritated constantly. I had met Tala during deployment, actually, she was an engineer on the Hiata Station near Sonna. Myself, well - I was a rather new Sergeant, sent there to be in charge of their security.
The Hiata Station was much, much larger than Iloras, and I was beyond nervous for the deployment. I'd actually never seen combat before then, and we were already nearing the end of the Long War. The war seemed so far away, though, like a conflict that you only saw on a television. We were all so very detached from such a reality, until the Hiata Incursion. A Betrican flotilla attempted a raid on Hiata Station, and after several weeks of fighting, we were able to push them back.
Such a victory didn't come without a price however. Tala was as talkative then, as she is now, but after the incursion - something changed about her. I remember the ride on the shuttle following the battle, we were all covered in oil and dust, our clothes torn and ragged. Our faces broken, and our spirits battered. We defeated the incursion, but ultimately, Hiata Station was destroyed. It pained me to see so many on that ride, their faces, pale and lifeless like the very soul within them had been crushed.
For Tala, that sort of wound cut far deeper than I could ever imagine. She was born on that station, grew up there - it was her home. We were all very ignorant to the war, separated from such an abhorrent conflict, that none of us knew the sting of such suffering. That's the thing about war, it destroys so many lives. Sure, we can cheer and rejoice over our soldiers in the safety and comfort of our home - wave the banners about those that return, parade them through the streets like some sort of trophy, but we're oblivious to such a thing. We don't actually see them. What they've seen, what they've been through.
We thank those that've lost their limbs, for their sacrifice, we call them heroes - but the real damage can't be seen. Not unless you truly open your eyes. And even then, you can't see just how deep that wound really is. They become like shadows, of their former selves, cast upon the wall with the flicker of light. They march and they dance, they play out their lives having returned, and although we can see these shadows - we refuse to actually look at them. We refuse to see the true reality of war, we make them invisible, because it makes us uncomfortable.
Sometimes, the greatest sacrifice that one can give for another, isn't the loss of an arm or a leg - it is the loss of a piece of their very soul.
This sort of uncomfortable realisation hit me on that shuttle. Tala didn't smile after that, and her eyes had lost much of their colour when she looked at you. It was obvious that she was suffering deep within, but she didn't show it. And even worse, I didn't know how to help her. I was the soldier here, and though I was still just as shell-shocked, I wasn't attached to such a place.
We walked that long corridor, her talking as fast as she could, me listening in my silence as we navigated people. Everyone had woken up on Iloras, our station, and we were all heading to work. After the war, I joined Tala's engineering unit, and we went to Iloras to work on the many projects they were conducting. We'd become such good friends in the past few years, inseparable even.
We'd arrived at our dock, went through the usual paperwork as we both smelled the oil and grease that had saturated the air. The dock itself was large, and filled with the sounds of the cargo mechs moving across the floor. They carried containers and equipment, and the sparks from welders high above in the scaffolding, fell like snow across the floor. Tala always called them fireflies, they reminded her of this insect she'd seen on a different planet during one of her deployments, and she always enjoyed watching them descend and twirl in the air.
She quickly signed off on a clip-board, and were soon moving across the bay's floor to a small shuttle. Two mechanics, one Crux, and the other a Runi by the looks of it, had been fuelling the ship for our trip. Having seen us, they waved, detaching the hose. "Hey Tala!," the one waved, Tala greeted them as I quickly opened up the door to the co-pilot and slid in. I closed the oval shaped glass, and then buckled myself in as I flipped a few switches to begin the pre-flight inspection. Tala talked to the two outside, though I couldn't hear them, before she too was climbing into the ship next to me.
"Friends of yours?" I asked, looking to her as she started to flip some switches on her side.
"Something like that, the Runi is Ty-kao, old friend of mine," she said. The engines of the ship shook themselves to life as I felt the shuttle vibrate and shift, the nozzles opening and closing as blue flames licked the floor beneath us. She throttled it a few times, each with a familiar jerk as it wanted to break free like a caged animal, but the anchored clamps refused to let it. When everything was ready, we gave the signal to the deck crew, and soon the clamp had detached and we were flying out of the bay.
You never really got bored of the view, I always thought I would, but I enjoyed staring at the thousands of lights across the station. They were like man-made stars, twinkling in neat but sporadic rows across the white surface. And behind each one was a face, looking back at the world out here, in the deep. Giant rings surrounded the central body of Iloras, these were the habitation areas for the hundreds of thousands on board. It was a floating city, far from any terran world, detached from the throws of the world - much like Hiata.
I rested against the glass, staring at Iloras as Tala piloted the shuttle. I can remember the slightly cold resonance from the glass, and the gentle hum of the ship as we flew, it sang softly like a lullaby. We worked all day on some panelling and shielding for the station, replaced some corroded hoses, fixed some lights, had a few jokes here and there. This was what life was like, everyday, the feeling of being in a never-ending wonderland - drifting along the pulls and pushes of the waves, smelling the foam as it sprayed across you. That's what life was like, calm and reserved, quiet and tranquil.
When we had returned, Tala didn't speak much. I found it odd, but I figured that maybe she'd finally worn herself out. She'd had joked with me much more that day, than she'd ever done, we ate our lunches and even visited the lower observation decks together. She looked tired, and when we finally departed, we said our good nights and I was soon inside my room again. After changing, bathing - I tried but couldn't sleep that night. I tossed and turned in bed, and finally conceded and curled up in the chair at my desk, staring at holographic screens, then darkness, then the clock.
I had finally dozed off, I can't say when, but I did. My dreams weren't any more of a comfort for me, however - it was everything from being chased to suffocating. When day approached, I found myself awake, half-strewn out over the edge of the chair with my face buried in some papers. I furrowed my brows, trying to stare at the clock and make-out the time. Tala hadn't woken me up, and now I was an hour late.
I hurried and got ready, though I was understandably sluggish. All the while, I couldn't figure out why she hadn't come to get me. Rushing out the door, I nearly ran over the two station security officers - who had arrived to greet me. They had questions, a lot of questions, and after the first few sentences, all I heard was muffled voices and a sinking feeling.
I've always found it so odd, how such news can be given, and you can sense their uneasiness. Their lips in a thin line, their cheeks and jaws tense and stretched, everything just sort've slows to a halt. I don't remember much else about that morning, or that day. All that was known, was that someone had heard a gunshot, and that was it.
There was no deep, heartfelt good-bye. No resting feeling of absolution - just this odd dream-like sensation, where your chest just felt like it was cold. Your stomach churned and felt empty, and your shoulders drooped like they had turn to a gelatinous ooze around your neck. You suddenly become oblivious to the world, before you know it, you're home again. I ran through everything about that day, constantly replaying the memories when she had woken me up, to the bay and everything else - like a movie that never ended. I'm not sure what I was searching for, I couldn't tell you.
The next morning, I got up and went to work. The walk was quiet, moving around the people in the halls, getting what I needed from the tool room, and readying the shuttle. I sat in the pilot seat this time, flipping switches and feeling the engines kick to life. The clamps released the ship, and I was soon leaving the hangar - outside, the station continued to lingerr about, slowly drifting in space in her slow and constant turning. I took a passing glance towards the thousands of man-made stars again, knowing well, that down there somewhere - one was no longer shining.
The world had gotten just a little bit darker.
