Affection – a postulate conceived and unanswered by man since the beginning of time. Biology on the otherhand tells us that this is caused by the synergy of our diencephalon and gonads. A genetic program for the survival of the species and an instinct so strong, it doesn’t even involve a conscious mind.

A spark, an impulse, an obsession. A longing so intense, it often leads to insanity. Though considered a disease or even a nuisance in the life of a space farer, it is somewhat inevitable.

The Jovians themselves are victims. No matter how much cybernetic augmentations are incorporated within them, this most basic instinct fuels their craving for knowledge – a fire that will eventually be their end.

Space – a sea of solitude and crossroads that join us all into a common destination.

I never fully understood it until I lost them. The cost of taking things for granted. The pain of witnessing death while continuing to live for eternity. Unnamed – without an identity, without a purpose, without a path.

Perhaps it is the people around us that define our existence.

When I enlisted in the military, Caldari as it is, emotions are just a burden. The state, the most important of all; survival, just secondary. Frontline discipline was enforced – never look back, keep firing, never look at the man beside you. I, of course, never planned to die for a country I never fully understood.

Instead, I was fortunate enough to be the one sending the poor bastards to hell. As fodder, they were given tags – a pact that made them properties of the State. And of course, propaganda would always say that “we” were on the winning side and military service was a “duty” as a citizen. Other than that, people would often enlist as volunteers – most of which are illegal aliens who take the opportunity to acquire citizenship.

Now, I would understand them if they were mercs but it was somehow profitable. The wealth amassed from looting and pillaging was enough of a reason to stay in service. They after all earned it – very meritocratic if you asked me.

I learned my trade, intel, from my superior – a stern, cunning and sadistic man. He was older than me, though I was chronologically 711 by then and him, 27. He was calm at all times. Severe losses were never an issue. He was constantly annoyed by me playing the oud that he accidentally broke it. I never spoke against him.

He had vast information within his disposal yet little did he know about me – I had my identity forged by him since I never had any existing records. Despite that, he placed his faith on a homeless child who had no definite future. He convinced me to undergo cybernetic enhancements back then since it was preferable at an early age. A child’s brain is more adaptable to such modifications.

I was to be his vanguard; and him, my panacea. I had very little care about anything except learning as an apprentice. I focus my gaze on him and the large monitors of men dying. Sometimes I even wondered what would he think if I was the one in the screen. He’d probably sip his coffee and won’t even notice me with my small stature.

I was too little and the battlefield is too big.

I was…

…longing for his attention.

Then, I turned to fighters. I thought to myself that it will raise my chances.

It brought me to a familiar spectacle – perhaps just another dream.

Though I intend to die in a fight this time, I instead was assigned to reconnaissance. I was reluctant at first but I was eventually motivated when I heard his voice on the comms. My voice was trembling, albeit nervous. Perhaps this was because it was also the only time we talked. He teased me a lot for deciding to  die on a battlefield when I had the comforts of a control room. I knew the dangers of being in the field yet I didn’t mind that.

My seat was a bit large yet all the controls are integrated to a small wire connected to my brain. My first launch was unforgettable. I was excited and distracted by his voice. As soon as I was catapulted, I lost control and coughed blood with the varying G-loads. I somehow lost consciousness but recall a loud and deeply worried voice over the comms.

I was his eyes and his astral projection. I had my cranial nerves II and VIII jacked into the secure datalink. He can literally see what I see, and hear what I hear.  Though he can’t feel what I feel.

But somehow, I knew, he’d say I did great even if we were separated over great distances, I feel like he was almost beside me like before. Though our conversation was mostly related to the battle field, he was finally paying attention to me. I sometimes “disobey” his directions and look the other way just to pull him off from distractions. The mere order of RTB was almost a hindrance that I wanted to stay in the field, perhaps even die in there.

I probably know what he’d say if I did.

A month passed and yet, fate accursed me to lose yet another…

…loved one

I was enroute, following my usual waypoints when I heard this disturbing static in the comms. I knew something had happened. It wasn’t a jammer since only the Caldari possess such technology.

Just as my recon ship was recovered from the carrier, I received news that the control center was raided.

This is but one of the regrets of my life. I wish I never left his side and died protecting him. But my foolish selfishness brought his end.

He never had a family. He was alone, yet I was surprised that the insurance company issued me his possessions and the State issued war benefits. I never wanted any of those. I fell to my knees opening one of the boxes. It contained my oud that is fully restored. I guess he wanted me to play it during his funeral.

After the military honors, I never spoke of his name again.

Though I can still remember my first flight in a recon ship. . .

Advertisement