Leaving Red Footprints
I used to think that the universe doesn’t judge. That it was an impersonal, empty place, as devoid of morality as humans and aliens alike. Uninterested in our petty doings and transient lives.
Now I’m not so sure.
Chichol is a hellscape planet, with a slow rotation that lets its start bake one side for months on end, while the other side freezes. A planet of extremes, covered in crystal mountain ranges, worn down into deserts of diamond sand. Blinding in daylight. Lethal when a sun-born sirocco boils through. This planet will tear the flesh from your body with its teeth, and then chew the bones to dust.
A good place to hide, outside the reach of galactic authorities. A hardship post for miners a refuge for smugglers. I was the latter, going to ground after a batch of illegally-fabricated organs left my ship’s ID flagged in databases galaxy-wide. Nevermind that those organs would save lives out on the Rim. They weren’t GalMed-approved.
I slumped in a cantina, listening to diamond sand rattle off the walls, reflecting on the choices that had led me to this place. Ten years service in GalSec. An arrest gone wrong, a disputed death. I’d thought it was a clean shot at the time. A gun in a man’s hand, pointed at my partner. I’d pulled my own trigger. Watched as an alien’s head turned into a spray of blue blood. Saw the body collapse.
[[Give in to the memories of the past]]
[[Focus on what got you here.]]
That memory stayed clear and true through the investigation. Through my firing. Through the first years of exile from my job, my family, my life. But memory’s fickle. After a decade, I couldn’t tell what was real--news vids and court reconstructions or my own memories.
Either way, a man was dead. And that fact haunted me. No other death I’ve caused has left this kind of ghost. The first two kills on the job? Clean shootings. I slept fine at night.
After getting fired, merc work. With my reputation, private security wasn’t an option. The wife left with the kids, sometime during a posting to GalGov war on the rim. Keeping rebellious systems in line. Clearing out nests of anti-tech terrorists--the ones who wanted simpler lives, yet somehow didn’t have a problem using modern weaponry.
A slow, descending spiral through the worst jobs in the galaxy.
I never dreamed about any of those shots fired. The enemy made their choices, took their chances, and so did I. But every night, I’d find myself back in that alley. Watching as the perp raised a gun, taking aim at my partner. Felt the trigger move under my finger, and then just as I pulled it, <i>bang,</i> I’d <i>become</i> the perp, watching the bullet come for me, and I’d wake up, sweating and cursing.
Merc work dried up when my battalion noticed the nightmares. Got me turfed as ‘psychologically unstable.’
[[Focus on what got you here.]] Next job? Smuggling.
Little chips bitten out of my integrity with the diamond teeth of hunger.
Finally, a partner with a gambling habit. I hadn’t trusted him, but he’d had a nose for credits. But he’d died on this last run, his head turned to red ruin on the vidfeed as I watched him make contact with our buyer. GalSec had been perched on the rooftops. I hadn’t hung around. I wasn’t going to fire on former brothers over a piece of slag like Josephus. Why shoot him over illegally-fabricated organs? He might have been running something else on the side.
Something he hadn’t told me about.
In which case, I’m glad GalSec blew him away. Saved me the trouble.
Now I raised my eyes. Watched the locals at the bar. That one, I recognized as a fleshpeddler--one who moved children, claiming that they were orphans heading towards adoption. In reality they were heading to <i>private collectors.</i> My fingers itched for my pistol, but . . . former GalSec, former merc, current smuggler on the run? Surviving here meant keeping a low profile, not finding an outlet for moral outrage.
Anyway, the universe didn’t care about shitstains like him. Why bother?
The creature beside him was Ilix, judging from the cephalopod face, bulging eyes, and color-changing skin. The Ilix pushed data-crystals across the bar to the fleshpeddler, who slotted them into a wrist-reader and frowned. Finally, the fleshpeddler paid the Ilix, and headed off with his prize.
[[Confront the dealer]]
[[This isn't your problem]] I extracted the crystal and then found a stool beside the Ilix. “Your customer’s dead,” I said out of the side of my mouth. “What’re you pushing?”
It curled its tentacles and burbled. Through the din, I heard its voder translate, “Why care? Here to blackmail? Offer partnership?”
Numbers trickled through my mind. Credits would be welcome. Bribes for officials. New ID flags for my ship. A new life, or at least a new version of the old one. And yet . . . any product that left its user on the floor dead might be too hot to get into. “Call it curiosity.” I shrugged. “What’re you peddling?”
“Experiences.” The tentacles curled tighter. “Like VR sims but . . . <i>better.</i> Recordings. Taken from minds of many species. Want to know what Erano mating feels like? How vushtashi inhalants affect Kriia mind? Free sample. No danger.”
I turned towards the bathroom. “Oh?”
The tentacles waved. “Wanted vivid experience. More intense. Death-recording.”
That got my attention. “You’re selling <i>snuff?</i>”
A ripple of its flesh. “I purvey experiences. Death in hospital? Not exciting. Murders dynamic. Fear, pain. Memory recording chips common. Murder less so. Where intersection occurs, commodity is born.”
[[Tell the dealer to clear out.]]
[[Ask to join the dealer's business]]
[[Ask for a sample]]
[[This still isn't your business]]
[[Send a tip to GalSec]] I considered the dead alien on the floor dispassionately. I’m a former GalSec cop. Former merc. Current smuggler. Kicking up a fuss over a corpse just didn’t seem the best play. I left the <i>corpus delicti</i> where it lay, and settled back in with my drink to watch the show when someone else found the body.
When they did? They stripped the body of its possessions and tossed it out behind the building for the next storm to devour with diamond-toothed winds.
Pretty much as I’d expected.
[[Another day, another cantina]] I spun the crystal across the bar and stood, wiping my hands. The universe might not judge, but I knew shit when I saw it. “Don’t let me see you in here again.”
Its beak clattered. “Of course. <i>Officer.</I>”
I felt my eyelids twitch. I wanted to shove my pistol into its beak and hiss a warning about opening its mouth again.
But it had probably been a shot in the dark. I’d hidden as much of my past in GalCore databases as I could. No one should know who I’d been. What I’d done. Threats and anger would just get it curious.
So I said nothing. Just watched it undulate out into the diamond-bright light past the airlock.
[[Another day, another cantina]] I hesitated, but I was strapped for credits. And thanks to my last partner, who might’ve had us hauling more than just uncertified replacement organs, I’m in deep with various smuggling syndicates and wanted by GalSec. Plus, the Ilix had all but invited this line of inquiry.
“I don’t intend to blackmail you,” I muttered, looking at the bottles behind the bar. “But if you’re looking to expand your business, you might find a partner who can make product drops discreetly to be valuable.”
I caught the ripple of colors along its skin. Then the emotionless voder voice spoke: “Discretion is not needed. Require . . . that these things be seen.”
Maybe the Ilix thought of it like advertising. “I can do flashy, if it comes down to it.” Trying not to sound too desperate.
“Can give you a trial run. In a few days. Different location. Will contact you.”
And then it glided for the airlock door.
[[Your first sale]] Something the Ilix had said had caught my attention. “You’re offering free samples? Why?”
The beak gaped. “To entice you to buy more.”
I indicated the restroom again. “Honest. Yet, given the track record . . . .”
“Doubt you would be interested in death-recording. Can supply life-memories of leviathan, floating in gas giant clouds. Memories of a grove-organism, ten thousand years spent growing, becoming, part of a greater whole.”
An itch of curiosity plagued me. And I had to admit . . . it’d be damned nice not to be me for a while. Not to remember anything I’d done. “It’s not addictive?”
“For strong-willed, no.”
My hand hovered over the crystals. . . .
[[Erano mating]]
[[Leviathan life-cycles]]
[[Vushtashi inhalants]] I’d heard enough from the Ilix. “Guess it’s none of my business. I just don’t want to trip over more of your customers in the john.” I headed for the airlock. Part of me--the part of me that had been a cop, long ago--shouted from inside my head that this needed to be <i>dealt with.</i>
The rest of me knew I couldn’t afford to get involved. The best thing I could do here on Chichol is disappear.
Hopefully in a less permanent way than letting a diamond-edged storm devour me.
[[Another day, another cantina]] I’d heard enough from the Ilix. “Guess it’s none of my business. I just don’t want to trip over more of your customers in the john.”
But in the privacy of my own ship, the part of me that had once been a cop wouldn’t shut up. I finally gritted my teeth and sent an anonymous tip to GalSec, encrypted and back-masked.
There were two outcomes I couldn’t afford from appeasing my conscience: GalSec figuring out who’d sent the tip and coming after me. Or the scum of Chichol figuring who’d done the same damn thing.
The biggest surprise, other than the fact that my masking turned out to be shitty, was that it took GalSec so little time to contact me. “So much for the anonymous tip-lines,” I muttered as the call came in, already calculating how far I could run. Not far enough.
“You never were any good at encryption.” A cold, business-like tone from a familiar face--Arsena Gahani. Who, from her insignia, had made captain. “We have a proposition for you. Distasteful as it is to me.”
<i>They’re not close enough to grab me yet. They want to delay.</i> “And that is?” I asked, bringing up the navigation array.
“You wear a recording device and obtain one of this Ilix’s crystals for evidence. In return, your current warrants will be expunged. Assuming the evidence leads to a conviction.”
I hesitated. “You want him that badly?”
She smiled, a Kriia grin full of fish-hook teeth. “Me? No. I want your <i>head.</i> But upstairs wants the whole ‘soul-trade’ that the Ilix are running.” She paused. “Tell me no. Come on, say no. I’ll have your ass in a cell so fast your boots won’t even touch the ground.”
I believed her.
And hell, for a shot at redemption? Why wouldn’t I risk a worthless thing like my current life?
[[Show me the evidence]] Without letting myself think about it, I took the crystal and headed to a privacy booth. Erano mating practices. What a joke. Wonder why the Ilix kept mentioning it?
I slotted it up . . . <font color=red>and found myself plunged into the most erotic encounter I’d ever had in my life. I should’ve been repulsed. I wasn’t.
You see, the Erano are large slugs, but I hadn’t known they’re all hermaphrodites.
Or that they’re empathic.
Or that roiling around in the ooze of their own exertions, in a mating ball with fifty of their closest friends, could be a daisy-chain of orgasmic bliss, each of them both penetrating and penetrated, and passing the sensations all up and down the line . . . .</font>
[[Recovering]] Without letting myself think about it, I took the crystal and headed to a privacy booth. <i>Leviathan life-cycles? Should be safe. No dropping dead at a table for me.</i>
I slotted it up . . . <font color=green>and found myself plunged into the heart of a storm. Wind tore along my flanks as I hovered in a nitrogen layer, trying to compensate for drag. Undulating, releasing lighter gases stored in my polyp-colonies to try to buoy me back upwards, to where all my compatriots were gathering. But the sucking draw of the Deeps pulled at me, their crushing embrace yawning below.
I was going to have to release some body mass to make the ascent.
I let half my colony-limbs fall into the abyss, hearing their screams of betrayal and fear. But then my internal gasses finally let me ascend.
I reached the others, giddy with relief, raising my voice in their chorus as diamond rain fell from the skies. Wrapped my remaining appendages around those reaching for mine, singing complex harmonies that cut through the endless shriek of the wind. Felt some of my polyps release, crawling to join with the others, while theirs crawled to join me.
Soon, I’d be a new collection of polyps and awarenessnes, a whole new organism. None of us ever passed through the Great Harmony unchanged . . . . </font>
[[Recovering]]
Without letting myself think about it, I took the crystal and headed to a privacy booth. <i>The Kriia take vushtashi during orgiastic rituals. I guess I might as well die with a smile on my face.</i>
I slotted it up . . . <font color=purple>and found myself standing in a circle with the rest of the acolytes in the long white robes we wore over our scales. Vision flickering with vivid colors. Hands shaking, caught by those beside me. Skin vibrating in time to music played on a three-stringed instrument.
As I floated above the floor, buoyed by the smoke emerging from the braziers, I felt something stir inside of myself--
<i>Exaltation.</i> The universe flowed through me. I could sense all the other acolytes, and they were me, and I was them. Sensed the lives of the insects in the garden outside, the bat-like creatures flying overhead. And somehow, I knew that the universe knew me, and I was the universe, too. That it forgave me, and that I could forgive myself, and our joy--</font>
The vision slammed to a halt as I yanked the crystal out of the rig with numb fingers.
Some Kriia priestess somewhere had experienced transcendence. But I personally doubted that the universe was apt to forgive anyone. Not her. Not me. Her memories were just a trick played by a head full of smoke.
[[Recovering]] Though I kept to myself, I kept a tightbeam open, listening to news from the Galactic Core. Kept hearing about a new ‘soul trade,’ the illegal recording of memories without consent, and selling them to others. Didn’t take much to put that together with the Ilix.
Two days later, I spotted the Ilix at another cantina. This time, its customer slotted up right at the bar. Then no one could stop him--he blundered past every outstretched hand, out the door, and into the teeth of a diamond storm.
[[Follow the user]]
[[In the end, none of this is your business]] Though I kept to myself, I kept a tightbeam open, listening to news from the Galactic Core. Kept hearing about the ‘soul trade,’ the illegal recording of memories without consent, and selling them to others.
Didn’t take much to put that together with the Ilix. But the melodrama of the media term made me laugh. <i>Soul trade. It’s just memories. Not someone’s immortal essence.</i>
I made my way to the Rose cantina to make my first sale. The first person I sold a memory-crystal to was a Kriia female--a heretic, I guessed, from her ragged robes and dull scales.
The problem was, she slotted up in the alley outside, and her heart stopped.
I hadn’t thought there was a single person on Chichol who was an innocent, but she looked so god-damned peaceful as she lay curled there, that I almost felt bad about starting chest compressions for CPR.
It didn’t work. I grabbed the crystal and went looking for my boss. Seeing the Kriia female’s small hands in my mind’s eye, prayerfully knotted around her sim-rig. “What the hell?” I spat. “You said these things were safe.”
And yet, I’d known they weren’t. “You’re trying to make me a murderer, you bastard?”
The synthesized voice replied emotionlessly, “Are you not already one . . . <i>officer</i>?”
I stood there, rocked.
[[Shoot the Ilix]]
[[The work pays. Keep working for the Ilix.]]
[[Guilt's a heavy burden]] Though I kept to myself, I kept a tightbeam open, listening to news from the Galactic Core. Kept hearing about a new ‘soul trade,’ the illegal recording of memories without consent, and selling them to others. Didn’t take much to put that together with the Ilix.
Still, it didn’t seem to matter. The idea of not being myself for a while? Delicious.
At the Rose Cantina, the Ilix met me at the back, and offered me a choice between two crystals. Its eyes almost seemed kindly as it described what each contained. “Childish innocence. And a man trying to escape the law.”
[[Childish innocence]]
[[A wanted man]]
Though I kept to myself, I also kept a tightbeam open, listening to news from the Galactic Core. Kept hearing about a new ‘soul trade,’ the illegal recording of memories without consent, and selling them to others. Didn’t take much to put that together with the Ilix.
I’d canvassed every shithole cantina in town, and finally found the Rose. Sweating, I checked the recording device tucked into my aural canal—small as a grain of sand, almost undetectable. Still, it could be my death warrant.
The Ilix met me at the back, and offered me a choice between two crystals. Its eyes almost seemed kindly as it described what each contained. “Childish innocence. And a man trying to escape the law.”
I knew I’d have to view the recordings to transmit them to GalSec, and didn’t want to take a chance that ‘childish innocence’ might wind up being some kind of pedophile thing. “Wanted man’s fine.”
“Enjoy,” the Ilix murmured, something cold in the gleam of its eyes.
[[A wanted man's testimony]] It’d been an incredible experience. And I sure as hell hadn’t been me for the duration. I hesitated, but asked, “How much for something longer?”
The Ilix named a price. I winced. I couldn’t afford it, but damn if I didn’t want to try it again. “Maybe not just now.”
“Meet at the Rose in two days. More stock then. Perhaps less expensive.”
I didn’t like the smug set of those tentacles. But as it exited, I found myself already making plans to meet the dealer at the Rose cantina.
[[Buying another hit]] “I think that was kind of a one-in-a-lifetime deal for me,” I replied warily, wondering if the memories triggered changes in brain chemistry.
Addictive ones. I mean, yeah, too late to worry about it, but . . . . “Thanks for the sample. Just try not to blow out anyone else’s brains.”
I left before the Ilix could reply. And I felt a chill snake down my spine, as if its eyes were still on me as I headed out the airlock door.
[[Another day, another cantina]]
The memory file only lasted a short while. Good thing, too, because my heart-rate was in hummingbird territory by the end, and I needed a stiff drink and about twenty minutes to cool down afterwards.
On the one hand, it’d been an incredible experience. On the other hand, it had kept me blind to my any danger in reality for ten minutes.
I handed the crystal back to the Ilix at the bar, who gave me a sardonic ripple of its tentacles. “So. You like?”
[[Ask to join the dealer's business]]
[[How much for the real deal?]]
[[Thank him and leave]] It wasn’t any of my business. It hadn’t been the first time, either. But I’d lost what taste I had for Chichol as a hiding place. Its searing light threatened to expose hidden places in my soul, and I couldn’t tolerate that.
<i>There are plenty of other places to hide. Other smuggling jobs to take. You don’t need to sit here in a desert cross-examining your damn conscience.</i>
So I put Chichol and its diamond sands behind me, fading into the blackness of interstellar space once more.
And did my best not to think about the place, or what the Ilix had offered.
If you didn't like this ending, you can always start over.
[[The Universe Doesn't Judge]] Childish innocence sounded good. <i>Clean.</i>
I slotted up that night, and found myself <font=red>in the body of a child, slowly suffocating in a hospital bed. My lungs filling with my own internal fluids. Hearing adult voices mumbling about the replacement lungs having been illegally obtained.
A jolt of recognition, even as I struggled for breath. <i>My fault. This is a death I caused.</i></font>
I couldn’t fight both the memories and the guilt. And I didn’t want to.
Sharing this child’s death was, in the end, nothing more than I deserved.
If you didn't like this ending, you can always start over.
[[The Universe Doesn't Judge]] A wanted man didn’t sound too different from myself, but maybe I’d learn something.
I slotted up that night, and <font color=red>found myself racing through a dark alleyway. My lungs burned as I tried to get away from the GalSec officers behind me. My hand curled around the grip of my gun, drawing it as I ducked into cover. If I could take one of them out, I’d have a better chance of running, when his buddy stopped to do CPR. I edged out. Aimed at the closest one--and then realized what I was doing. <i>Shit. I fire on a cop, and that’s just going to compound the charges</i>--so I threw the gun as far from me as I could, but it was too late.
Impact as the bullet hit me in the forehead. Not thought, not even surprise. Just the animal pain of it as my heart seized in shock.</font>
I couldn’t unslot the crystal. My left hand was too numb. <i>So this is what it feels like to die. . . . </i>
If you didn't like this ending, you can always start over.
[[The Universe Doesn't Judge]] My hand slipped to the grip of my pistol. I stood slowly, regarding the undulating tentacles. “You think you’re the judge of everything? Of everyone?” I asked, my voice calm. “The fucking arbiter of the entire universe?”
Once, I’d made a mistake. I’d thought that the person I’d been pursuing had a weapon, and was prepared to use it. I still didn’t know if I’d been right or wrong back then, but in this moment, under the blaze of Chichol’s sun, with the light of it refracting from the diamond dust, I knew that what I was about to do might be the cleanest thing I’d done since that night, so long ago.
In one smooth motion, I drew my gun and delivered three bullets through the Ilix’s mantle. An Ilix has three or four major neural clusters. It’s best to be sure.
It looked surprised at the first shot. I felt a little bad about that, but it kept trying to clutch its crystals to itself, protectively, as I fired the next two rounds.
I dug it a grave out in the diamond sand. Scattered the crystals, too. The planet will devour all of them, soon enough.
The universe might not judge. But we’re here, and we have minds, and living in this universe demands that we exercise those minds in judgment, every day. I don’t impose my dubious morality on just anyone who comes along . . . but on occasions like this one? In which stolen memories are used to harrow the minds of everyone that a random Ilix decides isn’t worthy of living?
I’ll make an exception.
And the universe can judge me if it wants to.
If you didn't like this ending, you can always start over.
[[The Universe Doesn't Judge]] When the storm died, I followed the man’s trail. In one spot, out of the wind, he’d left a red footstep.
That was all. The planet had eaten him alive, stripping flesh from bone.
The Ilix found me there. “Free trial?” it offered.
“Your customers aren’t an endorsement.” I stood, wanting to punch the creature.
“Not a death. Offering you a life.”
I knocked its tentacle away. “I don’t need someone else’s life.”
“Is own so good?” Its beak unfurled a little. “Officer.”
My hand fell to my pistol. “People around here don’t have pasts,” I warned. “Remember that, or you’re not likely to have a future.”
The tentacles splayed pacifistically. “Have no weapons,” it replied. “You? You have lost everything. Honor. Family. Name. Self. Nothing left of you, but what you’ve made.”
I remembered how the trigger felt under my finger. One kilo of pressure on a two-kilo pull. In my dreams, it felt like a loose tooth.
I didn’t answer. Just met the Ilix’s eyes.
“Be someone else,” it suggested, offering a crystal. “Be someone better. For a little while. Or maybe forever.”
“That’s how it starts,” I said. “You get people hooked on the taste of a life not lived. Then they crave more experiences to fill a hole that can’t be filled.” I wanted to spit. “Till they find one they can’t tolerate.”
“Provide a product.” It undulated. The clouds overhead were dissipating; soon the sun’s pitiless rays would bake down on us and turn the diamond sands to light. The Ilix would need to head indoors long before then, with its soft, mucous-slick skin. “They accept risks.” A philosophical wave. “The ones who accept overwriting, give up themselves? Perhaps give victims new lives.” Its mechanical, voder-produced voice couldn’t manage inflection, but I thought I heard slyness as it added, “Perhaps the ones who die, get what they deserve.”
I regarded him. “Is that why you keep offering me a taste? You think I deserve something?” My eyes fell on the red footprint, drying in the diamond dust.
It didn’t reply. Just extended the crystal. Offering salvation. Damnation.
Some measure of the two.
[[Shoot the Ilix]]
[[You're better than this. Walk away. ]]
[[Salvation’s an illusion. But so’s damnation. ]] My mind swam with images. The red ruin of Josephus’ face. The eyes of a dead man. The cartons of organs that I’d helped move. What made me any better than the rest of the Ixil’s customers? Suddenly, not being myself sounded tempting. Seductive. If I could give that man in the alley his life back again, at the expense of my own? Would it be justice?
I’m sure his family would think so. My life since hasn’t been worth much of anything. But . . . I didn’t do it out of malice. I saw what I saw. I reacted. Anything since has just been double-guessing. I have to believe that. I have to. Anything else is the road to insanity.
We all leave red footprints behind us. And maybe the universe keeps score. Maybe it sends creatures like this one to let us know that the tally’s being kept. And that we’ve got a choice about what to do to even the balance.
But I stood, meeting the Ixil’s eyes. “Not today,” I told him. The universe. I can’t undo what I’ve done. But I can do better than I have. “This self I’ve made? I’m not done with it. And it’s worth more than you think.”
<i>Believe that, if nothing else. Do better. Be better.</i>
I turned and walked away. Leaving tracks in diamond dust that turned to light.
If you didn't like this ending, you can always start over.
[[The Universe Doesn't Judge]] My shoulders slumped. The Ilix was right. I was a murderer. I’d left red footprints behind me through the cosmos. Who was I to judge this alien?
Rationally, there couldn’t be a single innocent being on this shithole world. Maybe . . . maybe we were all going to get what we deserved, in the end. Maybe the universe really does balance itself out.
Maybe the Ilix was just trying to help that cosmic balance out a little.
And in the end, it was paying me, and soon I’d have enough credits to get a fresh ship ID and get off this rock.
“All right,” I said, my voice toneless. “You got any other buyers for me?”
If you didn't like this ending, you can always start over.
[[The Universe Doesn't Judge]] I laughed. The Ilix recoiled, looking surprised. “Damnation, salvation. They’re all illusions. You can’t get me to buy into your little mind-game.”
I stood, stretching. “Go ahead. Keep killing your customers. Won’t take long before everyone on this rock decides you’re bad for business and someone stakes you out on a rock to wait for the windstorm. Enjoy the view, when it happens.”
I turned and walked back to my ship. I’d lost what taste I had for Chichol as a hiding place. Its searing light threatened to expose hidden places in my soul, and I couldn’t tolerate that. There are plenty of other places to hide. Other smuggling jobs to take. You don’t need to sit here in a desert cross-examining your conscience.
So I put Chichol and its diamond sands behind me, fading into the blackness of interstellar space once more.
And did my best never to think about the place, or what the Ilix had offered.
If you didn't like this ending, you can always start over.
[[The Universe Doesn't Judge]] <i>Shit.</i> The words brought back intolerable memories. Josephus’ ruined face. The man in the alley, holding up his gun, which hadn’t been a gun after all.
“All right, here’s the deal.” My voice harshened. “You’re going to pay me in product. Starting now. I don’t want to remember who the fuck I am for a while.”
The Ilix's voice was expressionless as it offered me two choices. "Childish innocence or a wanted man."
"I don't want to be just another version of myself. Innocence," I snapped out.
[[Childish innocence]] I slotted up that night, and found myself racing through a dark alleyway. I recognized it, hellishly enough. Every twist, every turn.
<font color=red>My lungs burned as I tried to get away from the GalSec officers behind me. My hand curled around the grip of my gun, drawing it as I ducked into cover. If I could take one of them out, I’d have a better chance of running, when his buddy stopped to do CPR. I edged out. Aimed at the closest one—and then realized what I was doing. <i>Shit</i>. I fire on a cop, and that’s just going to compound the charges--I threw the gun as far from me as I could, but it was too late--</font>
“Holy shit,” I whispered coming out of it, my heart pounding. “That was him. That was <i>him</i>. He did have a gun. And I can prove it.”
I knew better than to imagine it would make much of a difference. The life I’d lived since being dismissed from GalSec hadn’t been exemplary. But to know, in my heart, that I wasn’t a murderer . . . it might not matter to the universe. To GalSec. To anyone else.
But it meant that the scorching light of the diamond sands outside my ship could peer into my soul, and find someone who felt clean for the first time in ten years.
And that mattered to <i>me.</i>
If you didn't like this ending, you can always start over.
[[The Universe Doesn't Judge]]