The Wise Men’s verdict rattles my mind.
To reclaim Earth has been a lifetime goal. Something I’ve always felt in my bones I was bred for. Yes. How fortunate that I was born two hundred plus years ago, back when the decision to return to earth was already made. A return from exile. As our ancestors abandoned the irradiated dust bowl for the stars.
Such optimism they had. It was reasonable to expect more earth-like planets in the Milky Way. It was reasonable, even if the ARK ships couldn’t travel more than 2% the speed of light, that in a few short generations the we could meet the closest habitable world only 4.2 light years away.
It was. But it wasn’t. The world was dead. The illusion of atmosphere and running water but a trick of overactive imaginations. The technology to terraform such a place was beyond that generation of starving survivors. So they went forward. Searched for more places. Tried enclosures. Tried terraforming with what they could mine and relocate. We travel the galaxy like ancient men on canoes, braving the Pacific for distant lush lands. Except our islands were desolate deserts, the men who tried to settle their shores zealots and dreamers.
And for their hubris, they died. Forgotten relics on long dead worlds. Centuries, became millennia. And millennia became countless. Lost in an endless ocean, with only one shore left. And when we decided to return, there was no debate.
400 years ago humanity decided to go home. And they knew that something had to be waiting for them there.
I shudder thinking about this. I shudder even more at the prospect of a knock on my door. Because I am afraid. Simply put. Basic enough instinct when having to face the prospect of leaving everything you know against your will. It wouldn’t be the first time. When I was six, as with everyone within the Patriarch system, I was tested to see if I was gifted. Every child has three opportunities to see their worth, at six, eight and ten. I was proven at six. Which doesn’t necessarily make me anything special, but it's always preferable to separate children from their parents early. And so from then on, I was given an education, something even my parents never earned the right to receive, for the low price of never seeing them again.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
One act separated me from the commoners that lounge and eat to their heart's content. As did my murder of Kevin separated me from the world of Patriarchs. From N.O.A.H. From a real future where I help lead mankind.
A hard knock on the door signals the moment when my cell opens up to the hallway. Deck lights flood in and around the large frame of the Samson waiting to escort me to the armory.
“Come.” he growls, his voice naturally more aggressive than anything a human can muster. If you're not used to the sound, you’d pee yourself just from the subtle low pitch hidden beneath the deep timber.
But I’ve worked with Samsons for nearly a decade. When I turn to face him, a dark shaggy man in a clean gun metal gray service uniform stands tall to greet me. His face scarred up lightly from battle, most likely in melees without a helmet, and burning black eyes that see at, and through me. Metals of achievement adorn his left breast, while his name and rank are displayed proudly on his right.
“Sergeant K1245P, you're not armed.”
He looks down at me, examining me for the first time, and doesn’t smile but makes a slight lip gesture that could be taken for one, “You dangerous Sir?”
“Not to you.”
He smiles, teeth more common to a bear greets me, and for a second I forget they're a lot nicer than they look, while he points down the hall, to the opposite end where a Samson armed with a goliath slayer stands waiting. A weapon originally used for asteroid space mining; capable of punching anchoring bolts into hard mineral deposits, now capable of turning me and this hallway into a festive red themed birthday celebration. And that’s a side arm.
“Point taken.”