"Do you actually believe he'd let anything happen?"
"I don't think he wants to."
"And Frankenstein always gets what he wants. There's no reason to get so worked up." Zarga aims the ship's guns at the rogue in front of them. A series of quick beeps confirm that they have locked onto their target. He fires.
Urokai pulls hard on the controls, slicing loops through the atmosphere encasing the mostly tropical planet. "They just—they worry me." After a moment of only the sounds of breathing, switches, and the internal mechanisms of their fighter, Urokai speaks softly, seriously. "You weren't there, Zarga. When we fought Sir Raizel's brother, Frankenstein was different."
Zarga looks at him curiously.
"He was silent. You've seen him fight! He's either running his mouth or laughing or something, but this time, he was just nothing." Urokai grunts, almost trying to will their ship to go faster. They are not going to lose the cartel goons. "Like he had lost himself." He pauses. "I know we know them, but Frankenstein can be unpredictable."
Zarga looks at him. He fires again. He smiles as if he were any wiser than he is. "They'll be okay."
"How do you know?"
Zarga shrugs. "I don't."
Urokai sighs. "We run around and we chase them, and nobody ever gets caught and nothing ever fucking matters." A collision, their left wing hit with a beam, but Urokai remains steady. "But to them, everything matters, or is supposed to."
Zarga checks the ship status. They're fine. "I personally find all of this kind of amusing. Isn't that enough to matter?"
"We used to have goals and crap to do. Hunt the Union, protect the school, save the kids, and...look for Sir Raizel—and whatever. We used to have direction."
"We used to have a lot of things." It is a matter of fact. They land a few more hits on the criminals. "But I suppose keeping busy does keep you from thinking too much."
"And Frankenstein was always freaking busy. He doesn't have that anymore." Urokai huffs, his brows furrowing, concentrating on weaving through the trees but still breaking branches. "...They're always too quiet. I don't want to leave them alone for too long. They've had enough of that."
"Is that why you've made it your number one goal to be a loud pain the ass?"
The corner of Urokai's lips turns up. "I hate you."
"Thanks." Zarga smiles back.
The legs of the Commander's ship unfold and dig into the earth, cracking and splitting a few trees on the descent. The hooks of their feet press into the soft soil as the crew approach the spire.
The Commander looks up, eyes tracing over how the structure wraps around itself. "Updates?" she asks her part human scientist.
"Our readings show that it has been recently activated. We do not know what could have caused it as the structure is incompatible with our contemporary space faring technology, but such architecture suggests a smaller ship."
"Not the doing of one of the locals then?"
The scientist nods. "That is unlikely."
"A launch spire, yes?"
"Unlike any we've seen before."
"Peculiarly archaic." Such designated launch sites have long become obsolete. "And yet we haven't quite figured out how it works or how it got here."
"Indeed, a conundrum, Commander! One might suspect that this is merely something that was used by a people who may have occupied this planet before our colonization, but the unfamiliarity of the natives with the particulars of this structure and the structure's pristineness suggest otherwise. There are no records of a launch spire of this type of construction!" The scientist seems to not draw a single breath in their excitement. "But once we have the authorization to either close off the area or take the artefact with us, we can look into it more thoroughly." They look up, leaning back in an attempt to see the top of the spire. "Our data tells us that the spire's range is impressively far. What type of ship could have used such a thing?"
The Commander nods. "And I wonder where this curious little ship could be."
Raizel stares down at the tea Frankenstein has brought for him. He holds the warm cup in his hands with its emerald veins and embellishments and feels dirty for it. If he were to shed his skin, he would still be filthy. He does not know what comes over him, and it feels sudden, but no matter how sudden it feels, it is still far, far too late. Wasted time is wasted, and regret does not bring a second back. Perhaps back on Earth, he could have said that regret is an extravagant emotion to him, but here, it feels as if that is all he has, for he has lost everything else.
He quickly places the teacup back down, not having taken a sip and turns back to the ship. He is almost done and has even managed to upgrade the rather flimsy guns that these models come with. He needs to work, and he needs to work quickly.
How much time had he wasted? Eons and eons. He grips his tool a bit tighter. The feeling weighs down on him like an atmosphere, and as he breathes, he breathes it in. It makes his chest heavy. His hands move a bit faster. He has only himself to blame. A window, that is all he knew, and that is now all he will ever know of Earth. A piece of damaged hull slams to the floor.
Raizel works, and he works tirelessly though not flawlessly, as he would like. He finds that he prefers the quiet sounds of the repairs to the deep silence that would accompany him otherwise.
Raizel thinks back to the first day on this ship, looking out over the ruins that were Earth. Perhaps he had not known what to feel, perhaps he was numb, or maybe he thought he was dreaming. He now realizes—lets himself realize—he had missed far more than just the 'fireworks.' His jaw is tight. His eyes are wide, trained on the repairs, as if he can somehow mend his past as well as the ship. Not a second to waste.
For all his time, he knows nothing of Earth. He breathes in, and it is bitter; he works, and it is panic.
If nobles have anything, it is time. Time is not a scarcity, and so Raizel stood still and watched and watched; it seemed endless, arbitrary, and he wasted.
Raizel flinches. He has burned himself, the laser searing his fingertips. He watches the skin rapidly regenerate, then watches for a second more. His vision blurs, and he blinks it away, then he blinks it away again. He wipes at his eyes with his free hand, getting plaster dust on his face.
But still, tears make mosaics of his vision, an inconvenience when working. He blinks and blinks, and they refuse go away. His cheeks are wet now. He sits back on his heels, his fingers tightly curled, futilely wiping at his eyes.
Circle pats his leg.
He really should get back to work.
09/02/2018 - Oh My Stars! v. 0.2.0 release notes
Changed from past tense to present tense (Chapters 1 - current)
Removed pointless omniscient intro to Chapter 4
Removed pointless omniscient intro to Chapter 7
Fixed bug in which Gilgamesh would sink through the ground of certain planets
Fixed bug in which asteroids or meteors of mass less than 10 kg would cease to exist upon contact with Urokai and Zarga's spacecraft
General optimization (mostly trimming unnecessary words/passages, cleaning up, rewording)