I don’t blame her. She just plundered that thing.
It took twelve fucking minutes. And she’s just strolling away.
Subject: Journal
Date: 07/22/75 Learning is everywhere. I remember my mom telling me that when I was little, making mundane things seem like they were full of adventure. What I wouldn’t do for a little mundanity at this moment. Or my mom.
I wonder if I’ll be able to claim some kind of school credit for the stuff I’m learning on board. It’s not exactly conventional, but I haven’t given up on college and I don’t want to end up behind. Note to self: figure out how to argue the merits of practical experience in computer crime to a college application board without getting arrested. (ha ha, I am on a REFUGEE SHIP limping alongside a disabled military battlecarrier being chased down by a BeiTech dreadnought and hoping to live long enough to find a jump gate so I MUST NOT GET BEHIND ON MY SCHOOLING … I sound dusted.)
I am just too funny, but there’s nobody here to appreciate my jokes. My group leader says I mask my emotions with dark humor and sullenness. Maybe she’s right. The poor woman used to be a geologist before they made her a counselor, and the only thing she’s got going for her is that our group is about as easy to talk to as a bunch of rocks. But who wants to break the dam on stuff like this in public? You write it down and put it away, then back to work.
Today’s counseling session was about looking behind the face we put on in public to think about what else might really be going on. I wonder if that was just a sideways attempt to get me to be nicer to some of the others, walk a mile in their shoes, blah blah.
Anyway, she gave us the theme, as she launched off into another round of how-does-that-make-you-feel, I kept thinking about this traveling holoshow that came to Kerenza. They put on a play in the community complex with light-projected puppets, and I snuck away from my parents and went around the back to investigate the puppeteers. The whole romance scene was spoiled by me sauntering out on stage to share my discovery. (I am only realizing now mom and dad must have wanted to hide under their seats, but to be fair it was hardly the first time I’d mortified them.) I remember that moment really clearly. It was so important to me that everybody understand that what they were seeing, this romance, these feelings right there on stage—none of them were real. And that the girl puppet was really a guy with the biggest moustache I’d ever seen, which struck me as hilarious.
Clearly I had missed the romance of the moment.
I was all over today’s theme of What-Might-Really-Be-Going-On though, even at the age of eight. I knew it mattered, getting behind the pretend, the masks, and finding out what was really happening.
And romance? I knew even then it wasn’t the real deal.
Today, as we practiced empathy and pretended to put ourselves into the shoes of others (without really doing it, because none of us want to imagine anyone else’s grief, we have enough problems with our own), I thought a lot about that holoshow, and the commanders of our little refugee fleet.
Like I said, back to work. My group leader has no idea how much I want to know what might really be going on. And I’m going to find out.
INCEPT: 07/22/75
WITNESS IDENT: Ezra Mason (UTN-966-330ad)
RANK: Second Lieutenant
CALLSIGN: N/A
COMMANDING OFFICER: David Torrence (UTN-951-787ad)
RANK: General
CALLSIGN: Dozer
—TRANSCRIPT PAGE 5—
DT: Lieutenant Mason, what was your initial reaction when Echo Group was ordered to attack shuttle group Osprey?
EM: Sir?
DT: What did you do when the Alexander ordered you to open fire on the Copernicus shuttles?
EM: I didn’t do anything. I was waiting for my CO to confirm the order.
DT: Your Commanding Officer being Major Eli Hawking.
EM: Yes, sir. Prophet.
DT: And did Major Hawking confirm the Alexander’s command and order Echo Group to engage and destroy the shuttle group?
EM: (inaudible)
DT: I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?
EM: (inaudible)
DT: Lieutenant, you are accused of disobeying a direct order in a time of war. Do I need to explain the severity of this situation to you? The penalty you will face if this court finds you guilty?
EM: You have the communications logs, what do you need me to—
DT: Lieutenant Mason, you will answer all questions addressed to you, or this court will find your prettyboy ass in contempt.
EM: … No. Prophet didn’t confirm the order. Sir.
DT: What did Major Hawk—
EM: We’d just watched the Alexander murder over two thousand civilians for no good reason, what the hell was Prophet supposed to do?
(slamming noise)
DT: Lieutenant Mason, you might be fresh meat from some pitdigger shithole, but that’s still a goddamn UTA sigil on your collar. One more outburst and I will rip out your eyeballs and skullfuck you so hard you’ll wish your momma told your daddy she had a headache the night you got loaded into the launch tube.
EM: My father is dead, sir. He died at Kerenza. Sir.
DT: (inaudible)
EM: Sir?
DT: Listen, son, I know you’re conscript-material. I know you didn’t join the UTA willingly and I know you don’t want to be here. …
EM: No sir, I’m happy to help out, sir. Alexander saved us at Kerenza. And I want to help. I really do. What I don’t understand is why you fought so hard to save us, only to X-out the Copernicus near six months into the retreat.
DT: This is not a retreat, Mason.
EM: Can we tell that to the BeiTech dreadnought chasing us?
It took twelve fucking minutes. And she’s just strolling away.
Subject: Journal
Date: 07/22/75 Learning is everywhere. I remember my mom telling me that when I was little, making mundane things seem like they were full of adventure. What I wouldn’t do for a little mundanity at this moment. Or my mom.
I wonder if I’ll be able to claim some kind of school credit for the stuff I’m learning on board. It’s not exactly conventional, but I haven’t given up on college and I don’t want to end up behind. Note to self: figure out how to argue the merits of practical experience in computer crime to a college application board without getting arrested. (ha ha, I am on a REFUGEE SHIP limping alongside a disabled military battlecarrier being chased down by a BeiTech dreadnought and hoping to live long enough to find a jump gate so I MUST NOT GET BEHIND ON MY SCHOOLING … I sound dusted.)
I am just too funny, but there’s nobody here to appreciate my jokes. My group leader says I mask my emotions with dark humor and sullenness. Maybe she’s right. The poor woman used to be a geologist before they made her a counselor, and the only thing she’s got going for her is that our group is about as easy to talk to as a bunch of rocks. But who wants to break the dam on stuff like this in public? You write it down and put it away, then back to work.
Today’s counseling session was about looking behind the face we put on in public to think about what else might really be going on. I wonder if that was just a sideways attempt to get me to be nicer to some of the others, walk a mile in their shoes, blah blah.
Anyway, she gave us the theme, as she launched off into another round of how-does-that-make-you-feel, I kept thinking about this traveling holoshow that came to Kerenza. They put on a play in the community complex with light-projected puppets, and I snuck away from my parents and went around the back to investigate the puppeteers. The whole romance scene was spoiled by me sauntering out on stage to share my discovery. (I am only realizing now mom and dad must have wanted to hide under their seats, but to be fair it was hardly the first time I’d mortified them.) I remember that moment really clearly. It was so important to me that everybody understand that what they were seeing, this romance, these feelings right there on stage—none of them were real. And that the girl puppet was really a guy with the biggest moustache I’d ever seen, which struck me as hilarious.
Clearly I had missed the romance of the moment.
I was all over today’s theme of What-Might-Really-Be-Going-On though, even at the age of eight. I knew it mattered, getting behind the pretend, the masks, and finding out what was really happening.
And romance? I knew even then it wasn’t the real deal.
Today, as we practiced empathy and pretended to put ourselves into the shoes of others (without really doing it, because none of us want to imagine anyone else’s grief, we have enough problems with our own), I thought a lot about that holoshow, and the commanders of our little refugee fleet.
Like I said, back to work. My group leader has no idea how much I want to know what might really be going on. And I’m going to find out.
INCEPT: 07/22/75
WITNESS IDENT: Ezra Mason (UTN-966-330ad)
RANK: Second Lieutenant
CALLSIGN: N/A
COMMANDING OFFICER: David Torrence (UTN-951-787ad)
RANK: General
CALLSIGN: Dozer
—TRANSCRIPT PAGE 5—
DT: Lieutenant Mason, what was your initial reaction when Echo Group was ordered to attack shuttle group Osprey?
EM: Sir?
DT: What did you do when the Alexander ordered you to open fire on the Copernicus shuttles?
EM: I didn’t do anything. I was waiting for my CO to confirm the order.
DT: Your Commanding Officer being Major Eli Hawking.
EM: Yes, sir. Prophet.
DT: And did Major Hawking confirm the Alexander’s command and order Echo Group to engage and destroy the shuttle group?
EM: (inaudible)
DT: I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?
EM: (inaudible)
DT: Lieutenant, you are accused of disobeying a direct order in a time of war. Do I need to explain the severity of this situation to you? The penalty you will face if this court finds you guilty?
EM: You have the communications logs, what do you need me to—
DT: Lieutenant Mason, you will answer all questions addressed to you, or this court will find your prettyboy ass in contempt.
EM: … No. Prophet didn’t confirm the order. Sir.
DT: What did Major Hawk—
EM: We’d just watched the Alexander murder over two thousand civilians for no good reason, what the hell was Prophet supposed to do?
(slamming noise)
DT: Lieutenant Mason, you might be fresh meat from some pitdigger shithole, but that’s still a goddamn UTA sigil on your collar. One more outburst and I will rip out your eyeballs and skullfuck you so hard you’ll wish your momma told your daddy she had a headache the night you got loaded into the launch tube.
EM: My father is dead, sir. He died at Kerenza. Sir.
DT: (inaudible)
EM: Sir?
DT: Listen, son, I know you’re conscript-material. I know you didn’t join the UTA willingly and I know you don’t want to be here. …
EM: No sir, I’m happy to help out, sir. Alexander saved us at Kerenza. And I want to help. I really do. What I don’t understand is why you fought so hard to save us, only to X-out the Copernicus near six months into the retreat.
DT: This is not a retreat, Mason.
EM: Can we tell that to the BeiTech dreadnought chasing us?
