Humans were always the lowest in the pecking order. Their spotless behavior for hundreds of years after Earth did very little to distance them from their bloodied history. I still remember bedtime stories made to scare my siblings and me into behaving. The common villain or force of evil was always a human. To steal a phrase from their culture, my culture treated them like the boogieman, every single human. Always lurking and willing to take us away in the night for misbehaving or just on a whim of maliciousness. My experiences with Humans and even working with them on occasion never quelled that basic unease I felt when they made eye contact with me. Still, the events around C32 shook not just my perspective, but all the species of the rolling galaxies. Not just of Humans, but the very nature of conflict, and the hypocrisy of the high-tech Architects' laws they couldn’t enforce or support. The outcry of the mercenary hunters waging a war of annihilation against the mercenary groups. The revelation of the mercenary company's existence alone left me and others baffled. The business of being a warfighter by definition, in a galaxy without war, rang out like a horrible bell of oxymorons that left me split on who was right and who was wrong. The Rift, once an uninhabited space only affordable to travel by 4th-dimensional plane to traverse for the sole goal of reaching the Dust systems, now patrolled by a coalition of alien species, of my own race, humans, chirps, Thraugs, and more. The Dust systems seemed unchanged since the Dust Gate Collapse 70 years ago, but who knows?

  The event that started all this confusion and revelation had many names, but the one that was beginning to settle took its name from the Far Gone Earth song by Lynyrd Skynyrd. The Free Bird event. To this day, and I suspect for years to come, what truly happened in and around C32's well of influence is shrouded in mystery, conflicting narratives, and information suppression. With how effective, but for once obvious, how prolific misinformation, doctored videos, and other tactics of suppressing the truth are. The template has been cast for me and my like-minded individuals to comb through the recent past. It is unsettling how many events were buried, like the Free Bird event almost was. I feel dizzy anytime I think of what could have happened in the Dust Systems in the last 100 years.

  I'm slowly digging in the pursuit of truth, so something good comes out of the multi-species coalition whose warriors sacrificed for the families held hostage on C32. I'm not so sure the boogie man is a villain anymore. The human demons or angels who saved my wife and child are heroes to me. It doesn’t matter if they are good or evil. At least, we all owe them a reevaluation of our generational stereotyping.

  Anonymous thoughts on the Free Bird event

  Nearly 1 year after the Freebird Event. DGC 71 On board HFS Grimoire, observation tube.

  Sara

  Sara didn't feel sleepy, but her social battery was taxed from the social gathering. She could sleep, but the quiet space of her small, cramped room wasn't where she could catch her breath as much as in other places on the ship. HFS Grimoire was many things, but like any ship adopted into humanity's care, it was part of a larger home among the stars. Still stuck in limbo between planetless and extinction for over five hundred years, HFS Grimoire was a good ship purchased into the ownership of humans for a few generations now. Still, HFS Grimoire is relatively new compared to most of the older ships that made up the 1st and 2nd Home Fleet. The love of generations of families renovating and improving HFS Grimoire had paid dividends towards this home among the stars in more ways than one. The one luxury Sara had on her mind was the observation decks.

  Sara keyed the door to one of the observation tubes, a frivolous addition according to a portion of the crew census, but one that won out for construction and implementation. The airlock was added as a result shortly before Sara joined as part of HFS Grimoire's crew. The long walkway hugged the external hull with sturdy transparent material all over the exterior, allowing a clear view of space. The airlock cycled closed, and the added safety was a good compromise for the observation tube’s detractors. In case one of the flimsy tubes was compromised by the vacuum of space, the airlock would protect the interior. A more recent feature was installed after another census, raising concerns about the safety and necessity of the tubes. The observation tube wasn't necessary, but as she gazed at the constellations, she could see the importance of the luxury. She tried to imagine her ancestors on earth before the burn, looking up at the sky during the quiet of the night. Did any of them feel like she did now during her version of zero dark thirty? At this moment, for Sara, it felt calming but mixed with a sense of longing. Her anxiety abated as her worries tried to invade her consciousness, not succeeding in interrupting her moment. The sudden transfer of personnel, supply, rumors, and speculations could take a back seat in her mind for five minutes.

  “Worth it,” She whispered to the emptiness of space.

  Necessities and luxuries were both important, Sara mused. The difference between the two was how much more ship necessities weighed the scales against wants. It was a balancing act, like most aspects of the fleets of humanity. HFS Grimoire had all the needs and necessities, and the backups it needed. It could afford a few frivolous wants. Within reason. For Sara, this observation tube, at this moment, was a place to think and recharge her overwhelmed, sleep-deprived body. At times like this, pseudo-dark thirty midnight, she needed a place like this for respite. Even if the place was a frivolous luxury to others.

  As she entered back into the ship, behind the protection of its hull, she knew she could find another place to recharge if she had to, but the starboard observation tube was always empty twice a cycle. That made it a predictable place to find solitude other than her room. There was a short list of places on board for reprieve.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A ping from her comm broke her peace. Even though the notifications didn't show on her glasses because she had it set up to do-not-disturb. But of course, emergency messages would bypass that. Sara anxiously read the notification that must be important, but blew out a frustrated breath, realizing it wasn't. It just said, “Did you get to your mom's ok?” sent by her old friend.

  “Of course it's you.” Sara sighed, dismissing the message. Even do-not-disturb messages labeled emergency, or from favorited contacts, could still ping her like normal. For a second time, Sara considered taking him off, but he was just as close to her as her mom and dad. But then she would have to consider taking off her other flight defender, maybe even delete his contact internally. No reason to have a dead man in your contacts list. The thought made her tear up, only fueling her frustration with her old friend ignoring her for so long. He had been gone for over a year, or at least it felt that way to her. For the past month and a half, he had been hounding her to go visit her parents. Which was multiple systems away on the HFS Sardonyx colony ship in orbit with the “2nd Home” fleet. He should know that HFS Grimoire was a trade and science ship, independently owned as a Human fleet ship. Not one of the hand-me-down ships the Federales gifted as handouts hundreds of years ago. No, the HFS Grimoire was subject to human rule without limitation or rules enforced on those handouts. Plenty of human ships like the HFS Grimoire have existed for over 10 generations now. Even more privately owned ships also flew without even a Human defense force escort or oversight. Of course, it was considerably more risky to be an independent ship like that. Better be like Sara’s HFS Grimoire and her crew with the protection and guidance of the fleets. Which was why the small flotilla HFS Grimoire was in was protected, even relatively far away from civilization and her parents. It was absurd for her old friend to think she would be able to find a ship, let alone afford passage and secure a spot to move back to the HFS Sardonyx with the 2nd fleet.

  Still looking at her wrist comm, she sighed. She had taken her detour going home and had less than six hours before she had to be up again. She entered back into the redundant airlock and started her way to her room. Outside the ship, she might have seen the glint of an inbound ship, and if she wasn't so tired of reading the dozen or so communications from her old friend, she might have noticed that the last message was tagged as local. As it wasn't a long-range or couriered message. It was sent from a ship in Grmoire’s flotilla, or at least one joining it.

  DGC 71 On board Cargo Freighter HDF Bread Basket in route to dock with HFS Grimoire, observation tube.

  Maria

  Maria waited at the airlock for the idiot to return. He was supposed to stay aboard the HDF Bread Basket while The Maverick and supplies transferred over. He had insisted that she let the boy sleep for his own sake. The freighter would be docked for a few hours still, and there was no rush for the young Maverick. Now, ulterior motives seemed to be showing through A.J.'s suggestion. The idiot had left with extra copies of the files and interviews he had been compiling, hidden in his boot heel. A dramatic paranoid precaution that seemed to flavor everything the men had adapted over the last few years. Although all things considered, maybe it wasn't paranoid enough. A.J.'s familiar stubbled face grinned up at the camera as he cycled through the airlock. At least he was smiling, even if it was only for her benefit. His eyes showed how anxious and worried he really was.

  “How's the kid?” AJ asked before Maria could scold him.

  “He is still asleep, although I think he's going to wake up soon, judging by his sleep patterns.

  “Do you watch me sleep that closely, too?” A.J. grinned. He knew the answer, and she didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. Turning her nose up at him as he entered the conference room. She sat cross-legged on the desk, her unique ebony skin and bright hourglass eyes seemed out of place in this galaxy. She puffed her cheeks in an exaggerated pout as he circled the long oblong table to the opposite end of where a young Maverick slept on the wall-length comfy benches. The kid had been sleeping anywhere and everywhere except his bed lately. A.J. and crew had found him passed out in hammocks placed in rafters of cargo containers, precariously draped in high places without even a blanket or pillow sometimes. Weirdly, A.J. could understand, but not enough to relate to the odd habits of the boy.

  He wasn't a boy anymore, though. Everyone was going to have to see him for the man he had grown into soon. Otherwise, risk wholly misjudging his capability. Still, his soft demeanor as he slept held remnants of a boyish visage that belied his experiences.

  “He’s going to be okay,” A.J. said in a quiet way that wouldn’t disturb the young man. Maria cocked her head at him, having rotated to face him. She leaned forward towards A.J., a sad look on her face mirroring his.

  “He deserves to be okay, even if that's not up to either of us,” Maria said, her worry deepening, seeing A.J.'s frown. The deep furrows in his brow, like a crack, she could glimpse his oceans of dark contemplative worry that often hid underneath. “He has friends on Grimoire. He won’t be alone.” Maria said. A.J. only rubbed his chin stubble contemplatively with a loud scratching noise.

  “I suppose he will have you and that little emotional support robot. I doubt very much he's going to be talking to anyone other than you about the last few years.” A.J. said.

  “Sadly, yes, too many secrets. Although you boys are the ones insisting on playing spy games.”

  “I prefer the word adapting.” Things go my way, there won't be any more secrets to play these games with.” A.J. got up to leave. I'm going to go say bye to Melody. You be safe, okay, you're the only family I have left.

  “I’ll be safe, besides, you found more family than me the last couple of years.” Maria winked at him. He harrumphed on his way out of the room. Then it was just Maria and the sleeping Apollo. The young man curled tighter into a fetal position as his nightmares began to show on his face. She could almost visualize him swadling himself in imaginary black and red wings. Broken but still healing, stunted as if he was unable to unfurl them on his own.

  Maria couldn't help sometimes giving animalistic traits to people. Apollo was one of the only humans whom others often saw animalistic characteristics without her habit. Even the Viks clan recognized him with the name Hrafnjar after the extinct Raven. The irony was that the young man hated being compared to any kind of animal. Maria was possibly one of the few whom he had divulged the root cause of his aversion to animal comparison. He brought it on himself with his insistence on the use of his callsign to replace his name.

  Canine was so much more than any of his names.