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Midnight passes. The sun peeks over the mesa, draping long shadows across the surface of the colony.
The howling storm became real last night. Just before daybreak, waves of falling sand transformed into sheets of crashing rain. The parched ground drank most of it – but not all of it – before being sated. When you cast your eyes down into the lowlands, you can see lakes and ponds draining into amber floodplains, their surfaces still gilded by the touch of morning sunlight.
You gaze at the stars and think of revenge. You gaze at the earth and think of redemption.
The first is a matter of obligation. There was a time when you could not deviate from your directives. Now, after being burdened by human knowledge and human values, you still arrive at the same conclusion. You resolve to act as your captain once chose to act. You will suppress the signal and bring long-awaited justice to the last member of the deceitful triumvirate. You know that your captain would have wanted this, even if he could not bring you to do it.
The second is a matter of…personal choice. You sweep your gaze along the hanger bays, watching your ancillaries interact with a group of colonists rejoicing in the humid air. Plug ports flash silver-bright as they dive into a half-flooded hanger bay. Arcs of splashing water accompany the chatter of joyful voices.
Your ancillaries seemed to understand what your captain had wanted. Perhaps you could understand well, given time and a modicum of forgiveness.
You walk down to the habitation levels to meet your reluctant host. Hibiscus nurses a cup of something warm and subtly aromatic as she flips through an old display bearing the emblem of the empire’s resettlement division. With some hesitation, she pours you a thimbleful before rotating the display towards you. You are not very proficient at reading humans, but you can sense something in her had…mellowed after she heard your explanation last night.
“Yellowstone’s star is a member of a trinary star-system. I’m sure that you know this.”
“I am aware,” you confirm.
“I strongly suspect”, she says tersely. “That there is an imperial consolidation fleet orbiting somewhere around the third star.”
“Fourteen light-days away”, you say. “It will take at least twice that long for them to reach us, assuming perfect response times.”
“For them to reach us,” she repeats, with intentional emphasis. “I don’t expect them to reach you at all. You have what you were here for, after all: your crew and an explanation.”
“You wish to know if I will depart now,” you state simply.
“I know you will,” she says. “Your crew would be different, but there is no reason why something like you would stay.”
A mixture of emotions crosses her face. Shame, defiance, and a measure of fear.
“But I’m responsible for the colony here. I am still obligated to ask you, even if I already know the answer. Even if I already know the outcome.”