Editing You Can't Always Get What You Want
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Potemkin was done. Half an hour of pitched battle and it was all over. Stitches. Mercs. Bullets. Blades. We’d bested everything he’d thrown at us. But not without cost. ''Summer’s Gift'' was a blasted out hulk and Nika … Nika’s beautiful blue eyes could no longer see, ruined by the toxic waste Potemkin had stashed aboard.<br><br> | Potemkin was done. Half an hour of pitched battle and it was all over. Stitches. Mercs. Bullets. Blades. We’d bested everything he’d thrown at us. But not without cost. ''Summer’s Gift'' was a blasted out hulk and Nika … Nika’s beautiful blue eyes could no longer see, ruined by the toxic waste Potemkin had stashed aboard.<br><br> | ||
| − | Standing now on the bridge of ''Exeter'', my heart ached with the knowledge that she couldn’t see it. I knew how much she’d yearned for a fast ship, a shiny ship like she’d flown for half her adult life. On '' | + | Standing now on the bridge of ''Exeter'', my heart ached with the knowledge that she couldn’t see it. I knew how much she’d yearned for a fast ship, a shiny ship like she’d flown for half her adult life. On ''Exeter’''s bridge, it took little effort to imagine ''Harbinger’''s. It would have been much like this one. The pilot’s seat took pride of place, its yoke and console centered on the deck. Helm and copilot sat at the bridge windows forward, flanked by Comms and Engineering. With all the consoles up and running, it was blazing away like Christmas. I couldn’t bear to look at it. I gave it my back and walked aft to engineering.<br><br> |
It felt exceedingly strange. Nothing was familiar and yet … echoes of ''Janus'' tugged at me. Aside from the bridge, it was nothing huge or strikingly alike. It was the little touches. The framing of the corridors. The paint job on the deck and bulkheads. The fixtures. The way the atmo smelled. All subtle, but packing a punch. I trailed my fingertips along the walls and listened to the engines as I drew closer. ''C, G, middle C, and E.'' It was a chord that had sung me to sleep, soothed my hurts, and fed my spirit for three years. I’d missed it. And yet …<br><br> | It felt exceedingly strange. Nothing was familiar and yet … echoes of ''Janus'' tugged at me. Aside from the bridge, it was nothing huge or strikingly alike. It was the little touches. The framing of the corridors. The paint job on the deck and bulkheads. The fixtures. The way the atmo smelled. All subtle, but packing a punch. I trailed my fingertips along the walls and listened to the engines as I drew closer. ''C, G, middle C, and E.'' It was a chord that had sung me to sleep, soothed my hurts, and fed my spirit for three years. I’d missed it. And yet …<br><br> | ||
