The Counting of Days

Author: Arrowspeed Bounty

Original post: https://arrowspeedfiles.wordpress.com/2018/10/13/the-counting-of-days/

Entry for the YC120 Pod and Planet Fiction Contest in the A Day in the Life category.

It had been so long since the day she had watched from her command ship the explosions encircling 200 of her fleet. Spirals of red, streaming outwards in one simultaneous burst, burning her friends, colleagues, masters, subordinates, and Dayflare into dust. Dust she could not see but knew was there, floating into space along with the debris.

The red spirals had burned into her brain, heart, and sick center of her stomach as she watched the results of her own over-confidence play out across the sky. She had been in command, trusted, loved, and celebrated as one of the great field commanders of her time. And the intoxicating lure of it all had captured her in its ropes, entangling her in the deceptive belief that it might just be true. And she had thought it so until a single moment of inattention reigned her in with the harshest of wake-up calls.

As we all must replay in our minds over and over the mistakes we most want to erase, so did Era. Why oh why did she let it happen? If only she had not given that particular command at that particular time. If only she had thought to look for the Stealth Dismay Bomber she should have known would likely be cloaked nearby or remembered to ask her second for status. But she didn’t. She didn’t. And so, she called the first target, confident she owned the field.

“Stealth Dismay uncloaking, we need to warp now,” her second reported. It should not have been a surprise, she should have been prepared – should have prepared the fleet with an align. Now it was too late. Even so, her logistics team had done their job, kept her alive and unlocked so she could warp the fleet out. And she had warped indeed but with only 5, the rest, including those who had saved her, dying in red spirals and dust. Two hundred ships, two hundred pilots, and Dayflare.

Perhaps it should have helped to know that the dust would be collected quickly enough, sifted, analyzed, filtered, and separated into neat bundles of matching DNA particles, each bundle containing the unique ingredients of a single person. It should have been comforting to know that they would be matched with samples given at birth to generate a beautifully designed label naming the person belonging to the bundle. And it certainly should have been reassuring to know that the labeled and neatly tied bundles would be set aside, the key ingredients of a person ready for use in the cloning process. After the rebuilding of new clone bodies to specifications, Dayflare’s mind, her soul, herself would be inside one of those clones, ready in 24 years.

But oh, it had been such a small mistake. And for one who rarely made them, the magnitude of it seared itself all the more hot and unbearable into her and would remain, along with the slow, long counting in her head, every day for every one of those 24 years.

The first-year anniversary had been the hardest. The year had been long but such a small piece of the total wait. The others who also waited for someone’s return had felt the same, and the anniversary party was a dreary reflection of it. A cake saying “Happy Anniversary” had seemed a good idea at the time of the planning, now at the party just silly and morbid. Anniversary of what? A blast of human dust into space, and the beginning of a 24-year countdown.

Era remembered little of the party itself, though she eventually grew to cherish the people she had first encountered there. Friends and family of those lost, all waiting, waiting for the return of someone they loved. Meeting together as the countdown continued, there was some solace of shared grief, anticipation, and planning. Era was somewhat unique in that she waited for a 10-year-old daughter, but she was not alone. Seven parents shared in the loss of a young child, and quickly found each other.

The first decision they shared was also the first argument, six parents enthusiastically choosing beautiful new clone bodies for their children, Era holding back and miserable. “Come, look at these pictures with us”, someone said, “here is one that would be perfect for Dayflare.”

“How can you do that? How can you leave behind a form that is your child, deny them finishing out their lives in the bodies they were born to? It just seems like a betrayal of what is meant to be. These so young should come back to their own born body, not a new one so soon.”

“What are you talking about? Everyone else does it – why pass up a chance for a body of your choosing? Why spend more time than you have to with the imperfect when the perfect is a picture away?”

And that was just it – a picture. Dayflare was not a picture, she was ……. imperfect, and that was Dayflare.

“How could you just leave behind your child like that?”

“How could YOU just let your child suffer longer than she has to? ESPECIALLY for Dayflare, with a body like …….”

And that was when Era left the 6 chattering parents for her own station and her own decision. But she fell asleep still too angry to think about more than 6 parents too blithely shopping for the next lifetime of a child.

The next morning Era knew it was time to face what had to be decided. She threw the eggs she was cooking in the trash and started again. Over-easy must be done right, must be perfect. You must toss and start over until they are right. And they were not right. She broke two more eggs into the pan and then, poised with her spatula waiting for the correct moment for the turning, she again reviewed the options for Dayflare. Despite her arguments the night before, she was not nearly as sure as she had sounded.

Normally, a person’s cloning decisions were made in advance and recorded carefully by that person. But for a child of 10, the decisions fell to a parent. It was a decision carrying long term results, a lifetime of results.

Each human had just one opportunity to be born of the chance mixing of chromosomes – unique in the imperfections of that chance – and lovely in the imperfection. After that, clones could give as many new lives as desired – but the bodies were always built by human design. And despite attempts to mimic the folly of nature, human design was not able to replicate the spark of divine randomness. And so those still living in their born bodies could always be recognized, were always set apart, and self-destruction strictly prohibited. A clearly accidental death of a born body was the only case allowing the choice that Era now had to make for Dayflare.

For a body used up and ready to discard, the choice was easy – a new, young, and beautiful clone of course – designed to specifications. But for a child, whose DNA had not yet ticked away their allotted years, there was the option to rebuild the clone body itself from that DNA and return to the originally conceived body to finish out the clock. The original body with, of course, the original imperfections – and in the case of Dayflare, significant imperfections.

And so, the choice lay before her. Should she bring back her Dayflare, age 10, her lack of beauty startling to those who met her the first time, but imperfections of body, gait, and voice uniquely Dayflare, uniquely treasured? After living out a full life of the born, Dayflare would of course choose her own next clone from there, so maybe that was the choice to make.

But then, shouldn’t she save Dayflare many years of the painful life that lay before her in her startlingly unbeautiful body and release her to a near perfect clone all the sooner?

“Mom, why did you take away the real Dayflare – was I not good enough as I was?”

“Mom, why did you condemn me to so many years of pain, watching people turn away from me in carefully disguised disgust, while I wished only to hurry on to a clone body I could choose? Why should I go through that when I could have had a beautiful life right now?”

The eggs were done, the decision was not. Era did not care to hear either choice of hate-filled words her daughter could send her way on her return. And yet a choice had to be made. And it had to be made now, as the clone regeneration process was set up and ready to begin.

The five-year anniversary had been no better than the first. It was made all the worse because it coincided with an award she was receiving, top FC in her alliance for the second year running. But to Era it was a cold and meaningless ceremony, deserved but found with pain, and ultimately un-celebrated.

Most FCs made mistakes, she did not. She made sure she did not, not after the day she had started the counting. She drilled herself every day in simulations, memorized every ship, fit, module, strengths, and weaknesses. She ran fleet after fleet, bringing her killboard to numbers that were becoming legend. And every night as she counted off yet another day, she reviewed all fights of the day and measured herself relentlessly against the perfect.

It was exhausting but necessary. One did not achieve what she had without perfect discipline. And so she continued, each day counting down both the days to Dayflare’s return, and the imperfections of the day for herself. Surely it would have been better to take that detour through a red region. Her ships could have handled the hostiles her scouts had told her were waiting there. It would have been a chance to build the confidence of her newer pilots, add a few more to everyone’s killboard along the way, and an inconsequential delay on their way to the larger battle. And that comment she had made to her second during the trip, her voice unnecessarily harsh for a small infraction, a slow alignment while he checked fleet composition. Maybe that was a bit unjustified and she should apologize the next day. No, not an apology, that showed weakness – but a softer voice and a compliment, yes that would be good to do.

And there was that jamming fit, which was not optimum. As she thought about it, she calculated the increased jamming capabilities she could achieve with the fit of an expensive Enraged Cyclone Generating Rig on her EWAR doctrine — but the numbers only unsettled her further. In whatever way she turned it around in her mind, it just wasn’t a reasonable ISK to performance ratio.

Era worried the problem for another several months, trying and testing additional rigs to raise the jamming capabilities to cost effective levels. Then she moved to trials of more carefully coordinated maneuvers to save ships and avoid the ISK losses, with of course, various scripts and implants that might change the final picture. But, nothing had worked, it was just a poor choice for the ISK, sold to pilots who didn’t bother to do the test runs and analysis.

Finally realizing that there just wasn’t a good rig on the market to be had, Era found the right answer through her own invention. She named it the unimaginative “Modified Jamming Rig” until the parent of Dayflare’s best friend suggested “Cyclone Unleashed”. Not really a typical name for a rig, but Era didn’t honestly care enough to muddle through picking another name and so it stuck by default.

The Cyclone Unleashed rigs sold like hobgoblins, a surprise to both Era and the small circle of parents counting down the years together. This then gave rise to additons to her “unleashed” family of modules — “Disruption Unleashed” , “Chaos Unleashed”, “Drone Damage Unleashed.” These rigs were not always the top choice of an FC, but they had the superior ISK to performance ratio that was needed for smaller battles and, used correctly, they could turn the tide of a fight. So they sold, and sold well.

There were other similar modules on the market of course, but they were expensive and scarce. Hers were in plentiful supply and affordable by any moderately successful pilot. Tuned imperfectly, below those of the top tier – they were still a welcome addition to a fleet that needed to tip the balance just a little in a fight and did not have ISK to spare on the faction version.

It was perhaps surprising that she slept well and without anguish at her invention of deliberately imperfect ship appliances. No legendary killboards, awards, or speeches would be in her future for this – and that was perfectly fine with her. It was simply an invention to fill a need, and a peaceful way to spend her time without the pressure of perfection.

By the 10-year mark of the countdown, Era had all but given up running fleets, preferring instead a testing lab where she could tune her inventions just enough to fit the price and performance balance that was the hallmark of her ship modules. But, while she found some interest in the challenge, it did not matter much in the end. It was the count that occupied her heart and mind, each day one day closer to Dayflare’s return.

Era found that her friends who shared in the wait – who counted with her the remaining days as they gradually approached the time of the return of their children – provided increasingly welcome monthly Friday night conversation. They had left behind the argument about the right clone for a child, each making their own decision. Instead they found new topics for debate, consolation, play, and tears.

“My husband finally left, he couldn’t take the wait and decided he needed to start a renewed life.”

“Will he at least come to meet your son when he returns?”

“I don’t know ….. and I might not care. I just want to see Maitol again that’s all. See him smile when he sees the clone body I chose for him. And ………. “

But there was no “and”, just silence as each followed their own thoughts.

As she did at every monthly dinner, Era let her own thoughts settle on the measure of peace given by the stars outside the window near the table they habitually shared. Swirlinig colors splashed outwards into infinity, spotches of blurry star clusters, a nearby planet that always seemed to reflect a different color and texture. Born of some random and unfathonable coincidence of molecules and electrons, pulses and strings, matter and the spaces between its atoms, they held her gaze and her soul as if alive.

By now, the conversation had turned from personal news to a debate on the state of the alliance, and whether settled times were ahead, or war.

“Surely the rumors of an Amarr invastion are not far off. My spies tell me that plans are being made.”

“They are not what they used to be, now just a small group of too-arrogant braggarts. What are they going to be able to do against The Fallacy?”

“We can’t let ourselves get complacant. They have many friends.”

Era knew that war would mean a call to all FCs to step up and fleet up. She dreaded this but accepted it – and also knew it likely. She had seen many wars, and none were ever feared until it was too late. In other times she would have been speaking to all who would listen to be ready for dangers ahead, to build fighting ships, to train and drill and build alliance might and resolve. But now, instead, she just reviewed in her mind her current stock of FC ships and resolved to buy more in the next weeks. Fight she would, but it didn’t particularly matter in the end whether Amarr or Falacy rule accompanied the return of Dayflare to her side.

And then conversation turned to happier discussions of various career, marriage, and political party changes that had come to light in the last weeks. Laughter was now to be had, along with a few more rounds of delicious brews, raised glasses and congratulations for this or that. But by far the most cheers and toasts accompanied their eager recognition of the approach of the halfway mark – 12 years gone, 12 to go.

The party for that significant milestone would be planned carefully and was traditionally the most elaborate of the celebrations held by those awaiting a clone homecoming. And this was going to be an especially large one, given the number who had started their 24-year clock at the same time.

Dayflare and her friends had been among the few of her age who had been in the path of the Cyclopean Bombs that day. She and her friends has persuaded their parents to allow them the fun and excitement of a seeing a real battle from the inside. An important learning experience, they had argued – everyone had to pilot ships in battles for the alliance at some point anyway, why not learn now? And besides, they had pleaded – any mishaps, and they would have clones to come back to – a logic that sounded reasonable at the time but had glossed over the 24-year wait for the people left behind.

The day of the One-Half party for Dayflare and her still-absent battle companions consisted mostly of excuses not to engage in conversation, viewing pictures of perfect clones Era did not want to see, and an early exit when she realized that one more pretend admiration of a clone picture was not a possibility for her.

Still, there were the good points of the evening. It was always nice to see the faces of those who shared her pain in the wait. And there was the moment where, in the privacy of a quiet corner of the room, Era found one who understood the choice she had made about Dayflare’s own clone.

“Do you have a clone picture? Everyone else does.” It was another parent of her group, usually quieter than the rest, hardly noticed, and one she had never really conversed with before.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t”

“I don’t either.”

“Oh”

And in the silence, explanations seemed important, so Era started it off. “I decided that my daughter would keep her own body – it wasn’t a beautiful one – but it was hers and I couldn’t replace it, not just yet.”

“Me too. I just seemed …. just seemed not right. I hope Samaeon doesn’t hate me for it. “

“Oh, he won’t, he can’t. He’ll know you treasured him as he was. “

“Will he? Just look at all of the pictures in this room. He will again be the kid in the corner, of little notice and little interest.”

“He will be Samaeon …. That is worth notice.”

“Yes …… you are right. And you give me joy in the thought. Take the same joy for your own choice.”

“I will indeed.” And so, Era knew that it would be an evening to be remembered.

Several years later, it was during a routine test cycle of a new module that Era received an unexpected visit that would also be remembered.

“Are you the mother of Dayflare, whose clone we are generating for a release date of …. let’s see”. The visitor glanced at his notes. “Ah, yes, June 12, 205, Eve?”

“Um …. yes …… is there something wrong?” Era could not stop her voice from shaking and panic from clouding both her vision and her reason.

“TELL ME!”

“Nothing to worry about, just a small change of plans where we need your direction. It appears that the DNA sample we collected from the bombed ship was not as clean a sample as we generally can get – a screw-up by a newbie to our team, and one that has set back his career, to say the least.”

“Nothing to worry about? “ Era’s frozen mouth could barely extract the words.

“Well, yes, not such a big deal, really. We just need to tinker a lit …. “

“TINKER? With Dayflare? You’re going to tinker with my daughter??”

“OK, sorry, perhaps not the best choice of words.”

Era let her eyes sear into his and waited.

“OK, let me explain this…… OK …. here is how it works …. Um …… OK, we have mapped the DNA with a very reliable algorithm that will fill in the missing pieces of the sample. This will bring back the original strand to an acceptable level of accuracy …… “

“ACCEPTABLE?” Era was starting to feel sick.

“Yes, I guess another poor choice of words. …… to a level of accuracy that minimizes differences from the original to a miniscule level. We have done this many times, it is very routine. It’s just that we are required to inform a parent when we need to do this, as there is some level of risk to it, even if a tiny risk. And there is still the option of switching to one of our small store of pre-manufactured clones that we keep on hand for this sort of a case. There will be no delay to the process whatever you decide to do …… ”

Era simply stared.

It had been hard enough choosing Dayflare’s own imperfect born body for her, even knowing that she would have many choices for perfect ones still ahead of her. The ugly child, Cinderella with a limp and distorted features, would still be Dayflare, the real Dayflare, whose excellence of character was carved through hardship, stares, and taunts. How could a mother choose to continue this for her daughter, she had asked herself? The answer was clear: because Dayflare was good enough as she was, that’s why. Because Dayflare deserved to be herself through the full ticking of her born body clock.

And now – with the doubts of that choice still weighing on her, here was a fresh and harder choice to make. A risk she could not impose on Dayflare no matter the smallness of it. A risk of an imperfection twisted to horror. No, that could not be put onto another person. What would she tell Dayflare, when the rest of the waiting years had ticked by? “You could have been a twisted monster if I hadn’t made the choice I made.” Not a great message for anybody, much less a 10-year-old.

There was no other choice, really. She had to find another complete sample of Dayflare’s DNA – a sample both un-broken and sure to be Dayflare. Somewhere in the wreckage that had been gathered by freighters and stored in Citadels covering 5 systems, she had to find it.

In the end, there was little but brute force at her disposal. Salvage one, search the wreckage, salvage the next, search, scan for match, and on through 10 months of labor. Ten months of such brutal denial of sleep and food, that she hardly knew herself in the mirror, and never cared. In the end, she had found a matching strand that had all of its bits and parts intact. Then it was back for testing, the relief of the confirmation that it was indeed Dayflare, and insertion of the precious bit into the final stages of the cloning process.

After that, there seemed nothing of interest left but to continue the counting, sustained by sales of her ship modules and imperfectly cooked eggs. Era fought, as she was obligated to, the bloody Amarr war, took the promised fleets and won the promised battles, but skipped the victory celebrations and settled somewhere on a Barren but now well-watered planet. Her flowers were tended enough to bloom, not enough to last more than a few months, and so needed constant replenishment, but she did not mind. She found enjoyment in watching ships coming into port, refueling for the next patrol that now did not dare rest in complacency. Smoothly the ships drifted into dock, jovial pilots stepping into the hanger to exchange stories and trade in compressed ore and coolant. They stopped, too, to admire the waterfalls of the once-brown planet, dripping and splashing luxuriant cascades of water across bright fields of multi-colored, sculpted micro-organisms that were bred for their beauty as well as their utility.

And when she was not watching the admiration of visitors to the planet, Era made sure to fly a well-tanked but uninteresting ship to the monthly Friday night dinners with those she now considered friends.

The 23-year mark was met with the sober and quiet perspective of those who had endured a wait such as this. Pictures of clone bodies had lost their luster, fireworks a stale and meaningless ceremony. Now, everyone just wanted to make it through the last of the desert march, the end still unbearably out of reach, but now at least within sight. In the end, the 23-year party was not a party, really, at all. It was a simple evening of familiar faces, mostly lost in thought as quiet conversations kept a light buzz in the room. Era strangled her glass of something, sipped only occasionally, and wondered what Dayflare would think of those who had aged in both body and temperament while she had slept.

And so now – 23 years and 364 days after the counting had begun, Era sat in a small room, looking at a wooden door on a planet of beauty and waterfalls, and began the count, now of hours.

And still the worry. The worry that had worn itself out over those years that had passed, but now came back to haunt her anew. What would the ugly Cinderella think of her mother’s decisions for her? What would she say when she looked on Era for the first time in so much time? How many regrets would Era face after that first meeting she longed for yet dreaded still?

It was an easy return plan, thank goodness for that. The rejuvenated clone would be transported to the location she herself had specified at the precise hour marked by 24 years. It would be a simple knock on the door that would end the counting finally.

At the one-hour mark, Era stared at the door and counted the seconds. Should she go outside and wait in the bright sunlight of the now beautiful Barren planet. Should she cook something that would bring the scent of Dayflare’s favorite cookies to her as she entered? Decorate? Construct a welcome sign?

In the end, she did none of these. She simply sat, facing the door, watching, counting. Dayflare …… is coming.

And then, 24 years from the beginning of it all – the knock came. Era could not speak, so the door slowly opened without invitation. A 10-year old girl with misshapen features peaked around the corner of the door, limped in, then stood still.

“Thanks, Mom” was all she said, smiling.

And Era’s only reply before she stood to hold her daughter, was “You are so beautiful.”