Mossfoot? Mossfoot?
I’d been trying for days to contact him, and I hadn’t heard as much as a grumpy yawn anywhere inside our head.
I refused to accept the idea that he was gone, but there was simply nowhere for him to be. Right up until I was released the doctors said they weren’t picking up anything from the central part of the brain, and only mild readings from the cerebellum and brainstem. I couldn’t exactly tell them about me, given MF’s recent concerns as to whether or not I’d be deemed illegal AI tech. So I had to play along, and accept their explanation that perhaps the implant wrapped around the brain (ie me) was interfering with their readings.
But it was entirely possible that Mossfoot was gone. Best case scenario was that he was in a coma. The upshot of this was that I was keeping his body alive and in shape in the meantime. I had to hold onto that small bit of positivity.
I was faced with the possibility of having my own life again. I’d died before of a degenerative disease, my body is still drifting in my old Cobra MKI off the shoulder of Orion. This transplanted consciousness (or reasonable facsimile) had been MF’s way to survive being alone.
Now I was the one who was alone. I didn’t even have Dumbass anymore.
I’d always left the cat back at the station before going out on a combat run, and when I finally got out of the hospital and checked on it in our rented room, the dumb furball was nowhere to be found. Must have snuck out as I was leaving. By the time I tracked it down, it turned out Dumbass had already been adopted by a six year old girl who called it Mrs Piddles and dressed it in a bonnet.
I didn’t have the heart to take it from her. The cat had been through enough with us anyway. Humiliation aside, she’d have a safer and more stable life with a proper family. Dumbass didn’t have anything with me. Heck, I didn't have anything anymore. No family, no friends (I tended not to show up around MFs friends, too damn confusing after a while), just a ship and a body I didn’t even deserve.
Sure, I wanted a body again, to be my own person…but not like this. It wasn’t fair to Mossfoot, and when you got right down to it, it was my fault.
Scratch that. It was Javert’s fault.
That man had crossed the line. But revenge and obsession can go both ways, my friend. You’d best hope I learn forgiveness and soon, because unlike Mossfoot, I do not care if I end up being wanted in Gateway, or the whole goddamned Alliance. I see you again, Officer Dillon, I’ll show you how big a mistake you made. I’ll go straight up Wrath of Khan on your ass, and everyone who flies with you. And unlike Khan, I won’t monologue, trying to drag things out and savour it. My ship’s got high-speed recorders and instant replay for that.
If you hear or read this, I’ve got one piece of advice for you. Run.
I’d been trying for days to contact him, and I hadn’t heard as much as a grumpy yawn anywhere inside our head.
I refused to accept the idea that he was gone, but there was simply nowhere for him to be. Right up until I was released the doctors said they weren’t picking up anything from the central part of the brain, and only mild readings from the cerebellum and brainstem. I couldn’t exactly tell them about me, given MF’s recent concerns as to whether or not I’d be deemed illegal AI tech. So I had to play along, and accept their explanation that perhaps the implant wrapped around the brain (ie me) was interfering with their readings.
But it was entirely possible that Mossfoot was gone. Best case scenario was that he was in a coma. The upshot of this was that I was keeping his body alive and in shape in the meantime. I had to hold onto that small bit of positivity.
I was faced with the possibility of having my own life again. I’d died before of a degenerative disease, my body is still drifting in my old Cobra MKI off the shoulder of Orion. This transplanted consciousness (or reasonable facsimile) had been MF’s way to survive being alone.
Now I was the one who was alone. I didn’t even have Dumbass anymore.
I’d always left the cat back at the station before going out on a combat run, and when I finally got out of the hospital and checked on it in our rented room, the dumb furball was nowhere to be found. Must have snuck out as I was leaving. By the time I tracked it down, it turned out Dumbass had already been adopted by a six year old girl who called it Mrs Piddles and dressed it in a bonnet.
I didn’t have the heart to take it from her. The cat had been through enough with us anyway. Humiliation aside, she’d have a safer and more stable life with a proper family. Dumbass didn’t have anything with me. Heck, I didn't have anything anymore. No family, no friends (I tended not to show up around MFs friends, too damn confusing after a while), just a ship and a body I didn’t even deserve.
Sure, I wanted a body again, to be my own person…but not like this. It wasn’t fair to Mossfoot, and when you got right down to it, it was my fault.
Scratch that. It was Javert’s fault.
That man had crossed the line. But revenge and obsession can go both ways, my friend. You’d best hope I learn forgiveness and soon, because unlike Mossfoot, I do not care if I end up being wanted in Gateway, or the whole goddamned Alliance. I see you again, Officer Dillon, I’ll show you how big a mistake you made. I’ll go straight up Wrath of Khan on your ass, and everyone who flies with you. And unlike Khan, I won’t monologue, trying to drag things out and savour it. My ship’s got high-speed recorders and instant replay for that.
If you hear or read this, I’ve got one piece of advice for you. Run.
