---
Disclaimer: Tribune owns everything. No copyright infringement intended, and I'm not making a penny off this.
---
You were my warship.
It took me a long while to get past that centuries old bill of sale...that tainted, dirty belief. I suppose had Mr. Harper and his mechanical genius not come along, I would never have been forced to question the belief...hell, my ship still adores me. Loyal. Fiercely High Guard. Mother Hubbard. That's her, and the hologram isn't far off.
Damn Harper and his mechanical genius.
Where are you, Rommie?
I broke your heart, raked you over a bed of nails a dozen times. I half hoped I would so destroy that naive love...so crush it...that you'd leave early on, spare me the guilt and you the pain. But you never did, accepted my cold theories about command protocols and personnel involvement, allowed me to shunt you off into a file with Pax and the others like her.
You hung on, rose and thorn and tears of glass.
Was it Trance, or Tyr and Beka and all that came after that changed us? Changed you? They hardened you, Rommie, taught you facets of life that Harper never programmed you to deal with, forced you to weigh things on a moral scale unseen in your years of service as a mere warship. You expanded, became more than yourself, and with it I think came a certain degree of contempt for me, for all of us...for yourself.
Over time you became more human than you had ever desired, and I suppose it seemed to you that it went unnoticed...and so you struck out, the rebellious adolescent. You've no idea the reaction you stirred that first day you marched into command central with that wig...not the reaction you expected, I'm willing to bet. There was no laughter. Only pity.
You eventually seemed to find a balance. I stopped worrying, began ignoring again. For a time, whether you realize it or not, you were the center of our universe...you, Rommie, not the ship. Even Anasazi seemed to find a certain respect for you, a bemused admiration I've seen him manage for few beings in general.
I thought you were happy. Looking back, you were likely drowning in your own laughter. I came to realize that late in the game...after that fiasco in the observation lounge, after that last confrontation we had later. As I recall, you had just come back up to the ship from the XO's diplomatic gala planetside...you wore some lacy, girlish white ensemble, and your lips were stained crimson. You were drunk, on adrenaline or spirits, which one I never expected to know. Maybe it was the ostentatious combination of innocence and sultriness you radiated, or my own lack of respite from duty, but I think I said something insulting about the dangerously high stilettos, too tired and irritated to really care for tact, and asked you to check up on systems efficiency before turning in.
A wiser man would have recognized the callous stupidity of the order, seen the lines between ship and off duty crewman. I've never professed to be wise.
You only nodded at the time, back straight and steps firm and purposeful as you left. I felt like a heartless maniac the moment the doors shut, of course, but like so many things, decided to leave it alone...talk to you the next morning, offer another day of leave or something equally trite and reasonable.
I went to bed feeding myself the reassurances, and woke up a couple of hours later to find you staring down at me, the dress ripped and dirty. I recall sitting up, asking what had happened ,and I recall your smile, the ironic emptiness of it. Something in the systems, you said, affecting recreation...it wouldn't have done for the overtaxed crew to miss out on leisure due to faults in your systems. You had fixed it.
You turned to leave then, wearing the tattered evidence of your grub work like a queen's cloak, and I felt shame wash over me again, mentally kicked myself. I called you back, and offered to talk.
You stepped back, and stood over the bed for a long moment, just staring at me, and then, ever so softly and slowly, you cradled my face in your dirty, elegant little hands and kissed me. Drunk. It was a wine I don't recall ever knowing of before I tasted it on your lips, something saccharine and shockingly bitter at the same time. I was a goner long before you actually pulled the shoes off and climbed atop me, and I drifted back into sleep with that wine still clinging to my senses, all apologies forgotten.
The next morning you, and your few belongings, were gone.
To your credit, systems were at peak efficiency. There's been a certain sulky sluggishness to everything since Andromeda took over.
This is the dozenth planet we've stopped at. The crew isn't urging, and the ship isn't prodding, but I think they're ready to give up. Let you go. To a certain extent, I agree with them, as a Captain. The Commonwealth, hell, civilization, isn't going to draw to a halt and wait while the demented High Guard emissary searches for his restless avatar. Protocol says I should declare you AWOL, or an absentee civil employee, or something equally final and dismissive.
I can't do that, Rommie. Maybe I am a fool, and thick-headed and self-righteous, but I am wise enough this time to recognize a mistake...recognize that I drove you away, into Empress knows what dangers.
I'm also fool enough to know that I'll never get another night's peaceful sleep until I know where you are, how you are, and to know that in your smiling, gown-clad absence diplomatic wine has never tasted so bitter...
I've circulated this chip, and my pride, on this planet and a dozen like it in the hopes of reaching you. You don't belong on them, you know, not amongst all this dirt and smog and terrestrial dissent. There's something more pure in you, something that belongs in the heavens, ship or soul or whatever else it is you've found yourself to be.
Come home, Rommie. Come home to me.
FIN
---
Our Lady Peace - Somewhere Out There
Last time I talked to you
You were lonely and out of place
You were looking down on me
Lost out in space
Laid underneath the stars
Strung out and feeling brave
Watch the riddles glow
Watch them float away
Down here in the atmosphere
Garbage and city lights
You gotta save your tired soul
You gotta save our lives
Turn on the radio
To find you on satellite
I'm waiting for the sky to fall
I'm waiting for a sign
You're falling back to me
The star that I can't see
I know you're out there
Somewhere out there
You're falling out of reach
Defying gravity
Hope you remember me
When you're homesick and need a change
I miss your purple hair
I miss the way you taste
I know you'll come back someday
On a bed of nails awake
I'm praying that you don't burn out
Or fade away
---
Disclaimer: Tribune owns everything. No copyright infringement intended, and I'm not making a penny off this.
---
You were my warship.
It took me a long while to get past that centuries old bill of sale...that tainted, dirty belief. I suppose had Mr. Harper and his mechanical genius not come along, I would never have been forced to question the belief...hell, my ship still adores me. Loyal. Fiercely High Guard. Mother Hubbard. That's her, and the hologram isn't far off.
Damn Harper and his mechanical genius.
Where are you, Rommie?
I broke your heart, raked you over a bed of nails a dozen times. I half hoped I would so destroy that naive love...so crush it...that you'd leave early on, spare me the guilt and you the pain. But you never did, accepted my cold theories about command protocols and personnel involvement, allowed me to shunt you off into a file with Pax and the others like her.
You hung on, rose and thorn and tears of glass.
Was it Trance, or Tyr and Beka and all that came after that changed us? Changed you? They hardened you, Rommie, taught you facets of life that Harper never programmed you to deal with, forced you to weigh things on a moral scale unseen in your years of service as a mere warship. You expanded, became more than yourself, and with it I think came a certain degree of contempt for me, for all of us...for yourself.
Over time you became more human than you had ever desired, and I suppose it seemed to you that it went unnoticed...and so you struck out, the rebellious adolescent. You've no idea the reaction you stirred that first day you marched into command central with that wig...not the reaction you expected, I'm willing to bet. There was no laughter. Only pity.
You eventually seemed to find a balance. I stopped worrying, began ignoring again. For a time, whether you realize it or not, you were the center of our universe...you, Rommie, not the ship. Even Anasazi seemed to find a certain respect for you, a bemused admiration I've seen him manage for few beings in general.
I thought you were happy. Looking back, you were likely drowning in your own laughter. I came to realize that late in the game...after that fiasco in the observation lounge, after that last confrontation we had later. As I recall, you had just come back up to the ship from the XO's diplomatic gala planetside...you wore some lacy, girlish white ensemble, and your lips were stained crimson. You were drunk, on adrenaline or spirits, which one I never expected to know. Maybe it was the ostentatious combination of innocence and sultriness you radiated, or my own lack of respite from duty, but I think I said something insulting about the dangerously high stilettos, too tired and irritated to really care for tact, and asked you to check up on systems efficiency before turning in.
A wiser man would have recognized the callous stupidity of the order, seen the lines between ship and off duty crewman. I've never professed to be wise.
You only nodded at the time, back straight and steps firm and purposeful as you left. I felt like a heartless maniac the moment the doors shut, of course, but like so many things, decided to leave it alone...talk to you the next morning, offer another day of leave or something equally trite and reasonable.
I went to bed feeding myself the reassurances, and woke up a couple of hours later to find you staring down at me, the dress ripped and dirty. I recall sitting up, asking what had happened ,and I recall your smile, the ironic emptiness of it. Something in the systems, you said, affecting recreation...it wouldn't have done for the overtaxed crew to miss out on leisure due to faults in your systems. You had fixed it.
You turned to leave then, wearing the tattered evidence of your grub work like a queen's cloak, and I felt shame wash over me again, mentally kicked myself. I called you back, and offered to talk.
You stepped back, and stood over the bed for a long moment, just staring at me, and then, ever so softly and slowly, you cradled my face in your dirty, elegant little hands and kissed me. Drunk. It was a wine I don't recall ever knowing of before I tasted it on your lips, something saccharine and shockingly bitter at the same time. I was a goner long before you actually pulled the shoes off and climbed atop me, and I drifted back into sleep with that wine still clinging to my senses, all apologies forgotten.
The next morning you, and your few belongings, were gone.
To your credit, systems were at peak efficiency. There's been a certain sulky sluggishness to everything since Andromeda took over.
This is the dozenth planet we've stopped at. The crew isn't urging, and the ship isn't prodding, but I think they're ready to give up. Let you go. To a certain extent, I agree with them, as a Captain. The Commonwealth, hell, civilization, isn't going to draw to a halt and wait while the demented High Guard emissary searches for his restless avatar. Protocol says I should declare you AWOL, or an absentee civil employee, or something equally final and dismissive.
I can't do that, Rommie. Maybe I am a fool, and thick-headed and self-righteous, but I am wise enough this time to recognize a mistake...recognize that I drove you away, into Empress knows what dangers.
I'm also fool enough to know that I'll never get another night's peaceful sleep until I know where you are, how you are, and to know that in your smiling, gown-clad absence diplomatic wine has never tasted so bitter...
I've circulated this chip, and my pride, on this planet and a dozen like it in the hopes of reaching you. You don't belong on them, you know, not amongst all this dirt and smog and terrestrial dissent. There's something more pure in you, something that belongs in the heavens, ship or soul or whatever else it is you've found yourself to be.
Come home, Rommie. Come home to me.
FIN
---
Our Lady Peace - Somewhere Out There
Last time I talked to you
You were lonely and out of place
You were looking down on me
Lost out in space
Laid underneath the stars
Strung out and feeling brave
Watch the riddles glow
Watch them float away
Down here in the atmosphere
Garbage and city lights
You gotta save your tired soul
You gotta save our lives
Turn on the radio
To find you on satellite
I'm waiting for the sky to fall
I'm waiting for a sign
You're falling back to me
The star that I can't see
I know you're out there
Somewhere out there
You're falling out of reach
Defying gravity
Hope you remember me
When you're homesick and need a change
I miss your purple hair
I miss the way you taste
I know you'll come back someday
On a bed of nails awake
I'm praying that you don't burn out
Or fade away
---