I have thought many times since the severance that it was strange that
I had become a rider in the service. I was far more likely, essentially,
to have been a rogue. Could I have been so wrong about myself? Indeed there
were those who had asserted this and had always been suspicious of my acts
and motives and I assumed had oiled the machinery and greased the palms
of my dismissal.
so it could be called.
certain polite quarters it was likely referred to in this way. Likely it
had been forgotten having been washed over by more recent incidents. Except
by me whose life was torn apart.
certain things were right and just and certain things were not irregardless
of who performed them upon whom. This mindset whether defined as principled
or stubbornly obtuse contributed to my silence and my disappearance.
Vanishing was not a kind thing, not a compassionate thing. They should
not have expected that from me. They knew me, my people upon the ship Rachella.
They had known me for cycles, read my stance and hands, brows and eyes
as well as my words and the gaps and the silences between. I had been formidable.
I had become less so to them.
this knowledge which they then possessed required further of me. Required,
nearly, more than I could provide. It was my duty to provide it. It was
my last duty to they who had served me in their commitment to the service
equal to my own and so I fulfilled that duty to them despite what I had
come to know, and feel, and owe to the service.
them that I was departing the service. I left. They remained. And the Rachella
continued with the least possible disruption in time or quality of service
it is that that continuance and devotion remained of utmost significance
to me. It should not have.