Posted by Ensign Elemirre Serinde (Engineering Officer) in El - Short Leave on Earth
Somewhere in Mainland China ..

“What troubles you, Little Sparrow?”
“I am afraid.”
“What of?”
A pause. The nearby sound of bubbling water over rocks and bird song was calming. “Irrelevance.”
“Is your fear inhibiting your relevance? Fear prevents life. But neither can we cling tightly to our outcomes, for they are as the water passing by your feet. As much as we want to control them, it is illusion.”
“I should be able to do more.”
“You have ever looked beyond your sight, Little Sparrow, not at the path before you. Strides are only so long. You know your path. Remain there. Turn not to the left or the right. Do right to those you meet along the way. And have faith you will achieve your destination in time.”
“I am being pursued.”
“I am aware. Choose wisely how to live in that knowledge.”
“I try. I expect nothing. I anticipate everything. Is that not the way to live, Master?”
“Mindfulness is wisdom. Beware of anticipation. It is the mother of desire and anxiety; control is illusion. The world will ever move in ways outside of how we believe it will. Expect everything. Anticipate nothing.”
“My home is gone.”
“I have heard. I am sorry.”
“I have not lived there for a long time, yet I feel loss.”
“Where home is we may touch peace and be nourished, not in the state of the home but to touch that peace and joy that is within you. Go back. Find that peace. Long has your home been here. You know how.”
“Thank you Master Ko.”
“A message was left for you ..”

The next day .. Old Manticore District

The smell of charred timber, oils, seaweed and fish assailed El’s nostrils. She stood on an old metal hulk that had once been a barge. What had been built on it had been burned and she stood among blackened debris floating in some inches of sluggish water. So many similar vessels floated in what once had been Manticore. What had been a floating city of thousands of ships, derelicts and constructs was reduced to a few ailing vessels that soon would succumb to the water.
“They say it was deliberately set.” Meiling, El’s sister balanced on the wide edge of the barge, avoiding the murky water sloshing in the barge said it. El stood in it, uncaring of its cold and ‘ickiness’.
“Why?”
“Some say it was to cleanse the area of an unsightly smear,” Meiling said, her tone bitter. “Others say it was to chase out criminal elements, gangs, guilds, gamblers, the Blood Borne, the Wets, the Changed, others.” She sighed. “Some suggest an accident that spread. Many were killed. Much lost.”
“Home.” El said that in a flat voice, looking at the spot where their home ship was, the old tug.
“Home.”
Gulls cried overhead and both raised their faces to follow them. Were they real? Were they drones? Who could know?
“You won’t find it. That place is lost to us.” Meiling’s voice was flat. Cold. The breeze fluttered her long silk cloak that contrasted with El’s coarse robe.
“I have to try.”
“It’s dangerous. Sharks.”
El shrugged off her robe and handed it to her sister. “Nature is not an adversary. It is our partner in peace. When shark and man are separate there is danger, but when they are one there is no danger. What creature will attack itself?”
“Yeah, well, don’t become a one with lunch, sister.”
A moment later there was a splash as El dove into the cool waters.

• El, Eng

The trim young man stood on a rather plush decorative rug. The crackle of a fireplace was nearby and the scent of a legacy of port and cigars hung in the air like a ghost of centuries past. He stood, restless, looking at his father for the first time in months. He’d not before noticed the lines at his mouth and eyes and the near bald pate made him quite nervous when considering his own still lush hair. But they both had the same cleft chin and grey eyes and he couldn’t help but glance at the other paintings of other ‘Fawkes’ ancestors to see their eyes - and hair volume.

“Have you got it out of your system, Emerson? This .. space navy? Which, I hear, nearly resulted in being killed. I might remind you that you are my one heir.”
“I am following in the footsteps of our family,” Emerson replied.
“Yes, but in space? Is there not a Navy here to attend? And don’t get me started on your being a commoner there. People talk.”
The same tirade. “Father, I didn’t want to have a bought commission. Besides being an officer is no fun at all. I want to do things.”
“You can finish up this little tour of yours and ‘do’ things with the company.” He stepped in closer. His father was shorter and fleshier, his ‘trim’ lost in age and inactivity. When he spoke it was lower in volume but still intense. “Listen, Emerson, we are expanding operations in the asteroid belt, opening an mining R&D area there. Moreover our tech department is working on better AI and system redundancies for space flights. Your experience in this will push us even farther. We’ve partnered with a new Institute out of Japan. Advanced robotics. Between their robotics and our AI we can push the envelope and take the lead here.”
“Father, I ..”
“I know I said you could do your thing and return when you wanted. Things have changed. I need trusted and experienced eyes out there.”
He sighed and looked at the fireplace and the crackling logs. They were real. The sap spit as he looked and thought. He could sense his father had moved away, closer to the billiard table. When he looked he had the ivory cue ball in hand and was rolling it around in his fingers in thought. “A little longer, father.”
“How long?” came the immediate reply without looking at him.
He wanted to say that he was promised some years to spread his wings before engaging in the tedium of the family business. Emerson had a small glass of brandy in his hand and he looked at it and swirled it around before downing the remains of it. The fact was he didn’t want to do this. Yet. He knew he would need to at some point but he always felt that was many years distant. Now his world suddenly felt constricted.
“Emerson. Son.”
The tone caught him up short and he looked at his father.
“I have Hitchen’s Syndrome.”
Emerson gasped. As he looked he could see a slight quiver in his father’s hand. An early symptom. It was a rare disease, not yet curable, and it ran in the family. It was a derivative of Huntington’s Disease. That at least had had a cure now. “I ..”
He set the ball down on the table with care and slowly raised his hand. “It is in early stages. I still have years but my mental condition will degenerate.”
“Mother?”
“She knows. I needed to have this talk with you. Father to son. Look, Emerson.” He snorted, humored. “Yes, even with this I am concerned over appearances. Over your commission. It can .. help you later in life. But that is trivial, my own pet peeve. Do another tour. Take your time but, please, not too much time. There is much you need to learn of our business.” Emerson felt a pat on his back and a squeeze at his shoulder and the soft sound of retreating footsteps muffled by the carpet leaving Emerson with his thoughts and the soft crackling of the fire.
- Emerson, PO