Graduation Day
Author: Hannah Taredi
Original post: https://forums.eveonline.com/t/yc-122-newcwc-graduation-day/239234
Entry for YC122 New Eden Capsuleer’s Writing Contest in the Prose category.
Three years, three grueling years, and now my life is over. I’m minutes away from the end.
Wait, what’s that sound?
No! It’s too soon, I’m not ready!
My body struggles, even though I know it’s pointless, the whine of the coils signals the inevitable.
A noise, amplified by the fluid I’m suspended in, as if a picture is being taken.
A snapshot of my last moment of panic before…
. . .
. . .
. . .
I’m never going to pass this final.
Anti-Matter reactions make sense, but nanite-controllers for armor reconstruction and the associated programming are not meant for human minds.
Okay, take a break, let’s do a review of Intaki culture then come back to this nonsense.
. . .
. . .
. . .
Thirty-six mark fifteen, 14 kilometers. Static.
Thirty-seven mark fourteen, 14 kilometers, .05 Radians, closing.
Two-ten mark one-fifty, 5 kilometers, .67 Radians, range constant.
My HUD was replaced by Professor Milloak’s firm visage, “Adequate. Next.”
It took a few minutes to disconnect, sterilize, and assist my classmate in wiring themselves into the simulator.
. . .
. . .
. . .
“Now, this might be a little disorienting.”
Perhaps I took the warning too lightly.
I was no longer 163cm 52kg taking in the world with 5 senses. No, nearly a hundred meters from head to toe, or… stem to stern, taking in a sphere of information.
Too much information, where am I?
What am I?
Who…
My own ears heard the retching sounds before the rest of my senses came around. I wish they hadn’t.
Biscuits and gravy smell better without bile.
. . .
. . .
. . .
It was meant to be a joke. A way to irritate my family.
The fourth daughter of the fourth daughter of a minor family.
Nobody important. Just the fact that I was off planet for the test was enough to cause the neighbors to gossip.
Listening to my mother complain for two hours was worth it.
Especially when the message came. No letter by a courier, no electronic message…
No, an envoy showed up in a Federation made grav car demanding an audience with me. Not my father, not the head of the family, no one but me.
I was a match, genetically ideal to survive and thrive as an infomorph.
. . .
. . .
. . .
As my shuttle landed outside the gates, the satisfaction rolling through me was palpable.
All the power and prestige of a family in the Kingdom was a pittance compared to what was wired into my spinal column.
By the time I’d showered off the remains of the Capsule fluids and put on a new set of clothes, a crowd had gathered.
When the ramp finally descended, her former family were at the front of the congregation.
No defence was shown as I walked down to their level. One of the personal guards took half a step forward at my ‘insolence’, but was held back with a small gesture from the man in front.
I placed the thermos sized container in his hands, no words needed to be spoken. A no longer beating heart, easily identified as a former member of their family rests in his care.
Without a word spoken, I turned. My carefully crafted hairstyle reveals the true power they will only dream about at the base of my skull.