Epilogue

A black-box floats through space, over endless lapping waves of empty darkness, on a fate-less journey to the end of the world – A black-box floats through space.

An old man props himself back up into his chair – The small space he is enclosed in looks mostly undamaged, although the screens all show blank, their connected functions all terminated. But a look outside the machine reveals more – All four of its limbs are greatly mashed and mangled, its armour a melted black slush – Its helmet a mix of squashed and singed.

At a glance its colour might once of been green or blue, but just as easily could always of been its current pitch black.

An expert might be able to discern the machine's make, but to most it would seem like nothing more than the torn and bloodied remnant of an IAFS nemo.

The old man rustles in his tattered jacket's pockets – He retrieves an item that fills him with feelings of naivety and crass sentiment – But regardless of the feelings, of the merit in his having such an item, the item will not change – It is a simple, if rather expensive looking, packet of cigars. Bought on a whim when last in a city far, far away, during a night out with people now all slain.

The impulse purchase, the thought that one could be given to each of his comrades when the fighting was over – He would watch as the three younger ones coughed and spluttered on the foreign taste, while he and the older woman would savour the moment fondly and they would all laugh and tease one another over it.

Clunk

The sound echoed around the small space, an unwelcome voice joining it;

“Hello, Hello? Now come on, I'm detecting signs of life in there for sure this time – Come on! Look if you are too injured to talk then I'm tearing the door off and getting you out – 3, 2--”

“Enough!”

The old man's voice barks back.

“Well hey you talked, nice! Was beginning to think I was all that's left out here – I'm Commander Ceathair and you are?”

The old man sighs ruefully, “You're not really him are you?”

“Afraid so bud – Doesn't the golden Casnel give it away a bit? Then again got pretty beat up fighting an old friend, she has a shiny white Casnel of her own these days it seems – Still even without legs my mechs is pretty distin-- Oh!

My bad, your cameras are pretty messed up huh? Actually its kinda hard to tell where your mech starts and the singeing ends – Anyway, I am he, IAFS's highest ranking pilot! So sort of your boss I guess.”

“I out rank you.”

The old man says back disinterestedly.

“Ummm, how?”

“Field promoti-- It doesn't matter – Just go away!”

“Oh I guess that makes sense, so many died today I imagine there was alot of musical chairs – I ah, I really do wish we could of got here sooner, we tried our best.”

One of the old man's eyes twitch at this last comment;

“Your Best? You arrived rammed your forces to their deaths against stupid odds, atrociously evaluated the situation and then fired the Weapon because you cared more about glory than saving people!

If that is your best, than it wasn't worth much.”

“I, I'm not sure what to say to that.”

Ceathair replied.

“Good, then fuck off and leave me alone.”

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“......I appreciate you've lost a great many today, so have I – My, err prodigy? A young man by the name of Davrim, excellent pilot and someone I honestly thought might carry our hopes for the future on his back – He was slain in the fighting – As for Emilia I still have yet to find sign of her--”

“As in Commander Emilia?”

The old man interrupted.

“Ah yes, have you seen her?”

“Dead, went down with the Fluchtig.”

“Oh I see... A shame, it wasn't anything serious but we did have a little something going on.”

'So Nate never stood a chance huh.' The old man thought to himself dryly – Taking the silence as some sort of que, Ceathair continued; “It would seem IAFS is done then, I'd been thinking for a while it wasn't really working out but after today I doubt they can keep going.

Aside from the Casnels, almost all the warships seem to have sunk excluding the Tradech herself, I think I may have even come across a fallen Scarlet Scourge, never thought I'd see the day that one fell in battle.”

“Scarlet aswell then?”

The old man whispered more to himself than his vocal intruder.

“Say, I know it isn't much but tell me your squamate's names – Perhaps by taking them with me they can live on in a manner of speaking.”

The old man bristled, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles glistened;

“Their names, you want their names?! Sabban, Scarlet, Hoki, Una, Nate, Aurin, the bridge staff of the Rinie who stood tall to the end, the people of the Valliere who took on ridiculous odds alone, the entire crew of the Am Fluchtig?!

Do you have a pen and paper?! How about every last man and woman in the Home-Fleet, the defence line, the hundreds of Nemos that I personally sent to their deaths!? All the people who got us this far, Tomo, Erfu, the Admiral himself!

You want names Commander - You want to tell me what the point of it all was, why they all had to die?!!”

“............My apologies, you're clearly mourn for a great many. Then just your own, the name of the man I met at the end of the world?”

Ceathair asked a little more soberly.

“End of the World? The world is always ending, I've seen it end atleast twice before, no – The world has ended hundreds, thousands of times over the years, for someone the world is ending now, tomorrow and the day after – No, this isn't the 'end' of anything.”

“I would still have your name Nemo pilot.”

“Heh, ha,haha – You already know it, I was on the Tradech when this whole war started and now I sit here speaking with you at its end – But you don't remember it do you, the sound of my voice?”

The old man croaked on.

Ceathair paused, the line falling silent for a moment as he considered his answer carefully, “No, I'm afraid I do not – I, like you, have seen a great many people come and go, fall in battle over these many years, too many perhaps – To remember all those names and faces all the time, it would surely break any man's heart to try and do so.”

The old man grinned, a bitter crooked smile - “True enough, you can't remember every story, only the ones that really hit you right?”

“Something like that.”

Ceathair relented.

“My name should be forgotten, it's the one name that shouldn't survive today, that deserves to just disappear – Leave me, be on your way commander.”

“Won't you atleast let me bring you to the Tradech? Remembrance are closing in as we speak, if they find you, you will surely be taken prisoner – The Tradech is still waiting a little longer, I can bring you there.”

“No! M-my helmet is broken, yes and this cabin is leaking air – I will of already passed by the time anyone finds me – ....Please, leave me be.”

The old man finished earnestly, looking to his side where his helmet lay perfectly intact.

A long hesitation followed before Ceathair spoke again - “I see now that you have already decided this is where your journey ends – I must keep going, for a while longer anyway but I apologies for disturbing your rest – farewell nameless friend, last nemo standing.”

Clunk

The contact link broke.

The old man took the plastic wrapping off the cigars, shuffled around for a lighter and lay back into his chair – Lighting it, he took a long draw, closing his eyes as the oxygen slowly drained from the cockpit and the machine continued to drift aimlessly onwards.

A BlackBox floats through space, over endless lapping waves of empty darkness, in a void of nothing on a journey to nowhere – The BlackBox floats through space, waiting for someone to find it again, emitting the faintest of signals, so that perhaps one day it will speak once more.

The End - Thank you so very much for reading.