Dappled starlight, focused and scattered by shifting flitter-shades on a sweet water cistern. Still darkness. Trepidation, pause, embarassment. The older kids had already disturbed the quiet. The dark haired girl with honey eyes smiled at me; in a cold rush I was in.
The rythmic chant of the subroutines surfaced through my memory in the cold dark sweet water. My honey-eyed heart smiled for me, and the sunlight warmed my belly as I play in reminiscence.
In my first decade, I spent only hours a day at my "helm." As many as I spent in my bed, or with my family. Aerope, the dark hair turned to white, the honey-eyes to milk. I had missed her physical death while at the helm, for she had died to me so many years earlier, or had I died to her?
The lights dimmed, the subroutines softened their whispers. I withdrew, pulling back from my gross and tangled self, to remember the boy who had been awakened by a cold rush of water and my decades resisting the Calling.
Pundi rice farmers glanced skyward as the flitter-shades shivered and then resumed their lumbering passage through the heavens, sparing no thought to the strange fits of their Psyker-Navigator called Atreus. The dark star-pocked hull of the Myces tilted gently in the starlight, turning towards her sister-exiles, turning towards Destiny.
Pitch 4 minutes contretemp.
Fuel burn 7% sub-optimal.
The rythmic chant of the subroutines surfaced through my memory in the cold dark sweet water. My honey-eyed heart smiled for me, and the sunlight warmed my belly as I play in reminiscence.
In my first decade, I spent only hours a day at my "helm." As many as I spent in my bed, or with my family. Aerope, the dark hair turned to white, the honey-eyes to milk. I had missed her physical death while at the helm, for she had died to me so many years earlier, or had I died to her?
The lights dimmed, the subroutines softened their whispers. I withdrew, pulling back from my gross and tangled self, to remember the boy who had been awakened by a cold rush of water and my decades resisting the Calling.
Pundi rice farmers glanced skyward as the flitter-shades shivered and then resumed their lumbering passage through the heavens, sparing no thought to the strange fits of their Psyker-Navigator called Atreus. The dark star-pocked hull of the Myces tilted gently in the starlight, turning towards her sister-exiles, turning towards Destiny.
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