The alarm woke the boy from visions of distant stars and worlds undiscovered. His still-heavy eyelids fluttered, then reluctantly opened. His first sight was a photograph of an armored freighter, its name in bright blue on the side: Grace.
He rolled over, foggy eyes squinting to discern the red glow of his chrono, its square digits reading 0531. The alarm persisted, driving the memory of his dreams into an oblivion as dark as space. Its jarring tones, however, still protected the essence of the dream — they were reminiscent of a starship klaxon.
This brought to the child's remembrance the reason for such an early rising. Pushing aside his covers he leapt to the floor, and hurriedly dressed. In his haste he forgot to tie his shoes, and almost forgot his omnitool bracelet. His still-sleepy hand barely switched off the alarm as he darted out of the shadowed room.
As he ran to the front door, the smell of breakfast simmering in the kitchen wafted to his nostrils. A ratcheting sound from the master bedroom and the scent of soap indicated that his parents were preparing for the day; the boy’s father was leaving for work soon. Trying to stay unnoticed, he slid into the entry and closed the inner airlock door.
His heart racing in excitement, he touched the “Open” button on the outer door. As it swished open, the sweet smell of grass and the soft sigh of a morning breeze filled his senses with a familiar peace. The sky was clear, but still dark, and he could just see the color of the atmosphere on the horizon. The child’s excitement got the better of him, and he skipped down the hillside until he slipped and fell on his rear.
Before him was the sight he had risen for. A beautiful, shimmering city lay in a valley at the foot of four gentle, grass-clad hills. Streams of traffic could be seen within the city and on the road leading north, toward the capitol.
But most longed-for was just then streaming down from the void above, long tails of plasma visible from hundreds of kilometers away. The first group descended, the light from their engines forming orderly patterns as they approached the city. Soon the first ship could be identified: a very large freighter with several gun turrets locked forward.
He imagined the view through the command deck window, his hands busy on the control panel before him. Dim, red night lighting illuminated the room, broken only by the unfortunate blue glow of nonstandard display screens. Looking around, he felt warm and happy at the sight of his fellow privateers concentrating on their respective tasks. Together, they were coming into port safe and sound.
With his communications officer quietly conferring with the spaceport’s air traffic control, he turned his attention back to the viewport. He observed the glistening city grow as they approached, its high smooth, white towers blinking with red navigation lights. Even at this early hour, hundreds of civilian vehicles were bustling about, as people transacted the business of their lives. Over to the left he could see a tiny spot, his own house surrounded by meadow and cropland.
A whine of engines brought the brown-haired lad back to himself, and he looked up to see a flight of three fighters streak past. His imagination placed him in the lead ship, a bulky flightsuit on his body and a helmet on his head. With his right hand firmly on the yoke and his left managing critical systems, he was in complete unity with the small craft.
His wingmates were no less expert in the art of spaceflight, and he knew he could count on them in the battle ahead. They were flying to intercept a band of pirates that were attacking ships as they entered orbit, and he knew the skirmish would be heated. He ordered his squad to assume attack posture…
He propped himself up on the soft grass, and watched a military frigate, tiny in the distance but still impressive in size and armament, enter the air traffic in the city. No doubt the crew were glad of a chance for shore leave after a long tour in the human colonies. The ship’s severe, yet elegant lines were intersected and decorated by the colors of the powerful Eldsen navy, so it must have been part of a Truth Alliance task force.
A gentle voice brought him out of his trance. He looked back, and saw his mother in the doorway, calling him to breakfast. Her smooth face was lined about the eyes, the eternal joy and stress of motherhood imprinted upon her features. Her brown hair, shining in the early sunlight, fell to the bottom of her shoulder blades.
He stood went with her into the house. His mother began to lovingly pack an insulated container with nokin eggs and fresh Terran bacon. The fragrant steam caused his stomach to rumble, and he was glad when his caring mother set a plate of the delicious food before him. He was about to eat, his thoughts again lost in the stars, when his father came out.
The tall man was clad in a red hardsuit, a rifle slung over his shoulder and a heavy duffle bag full of other equipment carried with ease in his right hand. He was on his way to work for two weeks, so he was especially tender as he kissed his wife and accepted the warm container of food. As he patted his son on the head, the boy stared at the words emblazoned on his arm: Grace. His father bade them farewell at the door, and then looked right into the boy’s eyes.
“Never stop dreaming, my son. Do whatever you can to make them real.”
And then, like a dream, he was gone.
ns 15.158.61.12da2
