eternal life
It’s something that bothers me. I looked back at my last log entry, and I can only ask myself…is Jameison dead? Men like him don’t die easily, while those around them don’t last long. And whether is bothers them or not, that is the difference between men like him and Ulysses. There were many, I suppose. Lys was blonde, golden, bright. Jamie was (is?) lanky, almost gaunt, thick black hair and an air of cold confidence. He was brilliant, the closest thing I’ve ever met to a genius. He could have done anything, but had chosen to excel in the underworlds of the universe. For him, that was all there was: the game, the gig, the act. He could get himself in and out of any situation, he could fake it like the best actor or fight it like a Mars-bred boxer. But he never dreamed of his past of future, at least not any different future than Running until he died. No maybes, no fantasies of something better.
Ulysses knew it was a game, though a dangerous one. Sometimes, late at night, we had spoken of other things. A home in the sunlight, dirt beneath our feet, children…I might have left all this, to live that life with him. It would have been a long time coming, but we were willing to wait.
With him gone, I lost my taste for foolishness. There was a dark time, when survival was the only thing that mattered. Jameison had appealed to me, then. Slick and professional, surrounded by experts who didn’t ask questions and got the job done. Our names were false but famous, our work beautifully done, our camaraderie strong but hazardous. We were a good team, according to legend, perfect—but we were all expendable. Even after Rigon, when he trusted himself to my navigation so completely, there was a barrier. He survived by playing others, by being bleak and ruthless. Sometimes in the dark he would whisper his fears, facing up to pain and death, but I never knew if he loved me. I never knew if I loved him. He will outlive us all, but he will always be alone.
I can never understand what happened at Michlun-4. We fought shoulder to shoulder for the last time. O’Malley was killed, Lacey and Fourfox had the ship. My spirits soared on the wind of hopelessness, I was as gleeful and ready to die as Ice always seems to be. For the first and last time, I wanted to fall at Jameison’s side, to become a legend.
But Jamie wouldn’t let me. He picked me up and forced me into the escape pod, I raged at him but couldn’t stop him. I would have died, otherwise. No one could have made it out of there. He was cool and confident in the confines of his own brain. I don’t understand why he cared enough to save me, when we had all agreed to care so little.
No, he didn’t die at Michlun. He couldn’t have. He went out in a blaze of glory, sank away into the depths of space’s eternal night. He is gone, but not dead. O’Malley is, and Lacey was killed a short time later. Glade’s been caught, is rotting somewhere and biding time. Fourfox, like Whisp herself, had no doubt found a new name and is still out there. I enjoy the stories of Jameison’s crew, the mysterious Whisp at the controls. They are deep in the memories of all those who live this life, become legends. So Jameison will never really die, not as long as the stories are still told.
Ulysses knew it was a game, though a dangerous one. Sometimes, late at night, we had spoken of other things. A home in the sunlight, dirt beneath our feet, children…I might have left all this, to live that life with him. It would have been a long time coming, but we were willing to wait.
With him gone, I lost my taste for foolishness. There was a dark time, when survival was the only thing that mattered. Jameison had appealed to me, then. Slick and professional, surrounded by experts who didn’t ask questions and got the job done. Our names were false but famous, our work beautifully done, our camaraderie strong but hazardous. We were a good team, according to legend, perfect—but we were all expendable. Even after Rigon, when he trusted himself to my navigation so completely, there was a barrier. He survived by playing others, by being bleak and ruthless. Sometimes in the dark he would whisper his fears, facing up to pain and death, but I never knew if he loved me. I never knew if I loved him. He will outlive us all, but he will always be alone.
I can never understand what happened at Michlun-4. We fought shoulder to shoulder for the last time. O’Malley was killed, Lacey and Fourfox had the ship. My spirits soared on the wind of hopelessness, I was as gleeful and ready to die as Ice always seems to be. For the first and last time, I wanted to fall at Jameison’s side, to become a legend.
But Jamie wouldn’t let me. He picked me up and forced me into the escape pod, I raged at him but couldn’t stop him. I would have died, otherwise. No one could have made it out of there. He was cool and confident in the confines of his own brain. I don’t understand why he cared enough to save me, when we had all agreed to care so little.
No, he didn’t die at Michlun. He couldn’t have. He went out in a blaze of glory, sank away into the depths of space’s eternal night. He is gone, but not dead. O’Malley is, and Lacey was killed a short time later. Glade’s been caught, is rotting somewhere and biding time. Fourfox, like Whisp herself, had no doubt found a new name and is still out there. I enjoy the stories of Jameison’s crew, the mysterious Whisp at the controls. They are deep in the memories of all those who live this life, become legends. So Jameison will never really die, not as long as the stories are still told.
posted by Scout | 11:33 AM
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