Mission

I have been spent the past few days on border patrol duty. My warship, along with warships from half a dozen Union alliances, was on the frontier enforcing the border closure. The worst part about border patrol is the quiet. I have been alone on the Luna Fuwuyothi since the death of her namesake and fellow crew mates. I have not yet been ready to accept the responsibility that comes with holding the life of another in my claws. My life is meaningless. My body is a genetically engineered husk. My soul is binary code. It is backed up every cycle and beamed through subspace to a cloneing facility on Phao.

Luna and Thaeophyan and Holdorn were real. There was no back up for them. No second, third, fourth, or fifth chance.

My enemies took their lives with a hired assasin. They could not face the real death. So they kept their hands and their consciences clean. Because what happened to me? Dying is painful but not permanant. It is merely an inconveniance.

Luna is dead. I am not. I will never die until I choose to.

But I have found meaning for my safe endless life.

I will bring my enemies real-death.