“

There are memories that time does not erase... Forever does not make loss forgettable, only bearable.”
~Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire

The image bobbed clumsily as the astronaut tried desperately to get the mount right. And after some fidgeting, Thom finally managed stick the camera to his dashboard and frame himself in the picture.

Realizing it was all set up, he quickly flashed a smile. The human was looking a little haggard, a little overworked. But he had that usual chipper glimmer in his eye.

“Personal Log, Captain Thom Crichton. Mission date…" As he though, his expression dropped a little. “Mission date: one-one-alpha, I guess.

“New mission! New job. That's a good thing, I suppose. I mean, look at me! I'm flying again after months of job hunting. Got my own ship… well, it's a skiff. It's tight, but cosy. And the view!"

He lunged forward and snatched up the camera. In an instant the astronaut crammed into the tight cockpit of the one-man skiff turned into a blur. But a few moments of focusing later, he was directing the recording out the forward cupola where the Sol System glistened. Some of Earth hung in view, a sliver of blue and white shining on the right side. To the far left was a frame of debris, leftover junk spinning around in orbit, the aftermath of the massive battle against the Royal Dominion. A few running lights were visible as other skiffs like Thom's zoomed about as part of cleaning operations.

But right between was the true view.

“Look at that," Thom said. “The endless expanse of stars, the vast universe laying in wait, more desperate to be explored than a virgin's heat addled pussy… okay that was a little gratuitous, but you get what I'm trying to say."

He spun the skiff around and faced the vast ring of debris circling Earth. One sheet of armor partially emblazoned with the scorched colors of the Royal Dominion spun past, cascading through an array of smaller debris pieces. Hoses, chunks of glass, deck plates and many more objects glittered as they caught Sol's light.

“The fight for Earth left a bit mess in orbit. So I'm taking in the rent-money after I set up a cleanup company. We won the Gamma Sector cleanup operations by contracting as the lowest bidder. So it's gonna be plenty of sleepless nights trying to meet the Terran Alliance deadlines, but it's a paycheck none the less." He chuckled mirthlessly. “I'm a certified freakin' space-janitor."

As his new lot in life was sinking in, there was a crunch of steel on steel, and with a jolt his skiff was buffeted hard to port. Crying out in surprise, Thom grabbed the controls. For a second he thought he'd been tagged by flying debris. That was until another skiff floated into view. It turned and through the cupola Thom saw the familiar smirking face of Gemini.

“It's not that bad, Thom," the Lycan said in a matter-of-factually tone. “We're doing important work."

Thom scoffed, and in the annoyed tone of a tattle tale, keyed his comms. “Sammi, your captain is scuffing the paintwork again!"

Sammi chuckled somewhere out in the debris field. The rumble of her skiff's gravity tethers were audible on the radio. “Oh, I'm sure you'll make it up to me somehow."

“Why the hell do I have to make it up to you!?"

There was a buzz across the radio. A holo-board lit up in front of Thom's face, opening on a video call to Vaelia. The griffon was lounging in their command shuttle in lower orbit, a few kilometers away. And cradled protectively in her arms was a large egg, a little smaller in diameter than her mid-riff. It had a smooth white opaque shell, with a few streaks of blue the same shade as Vaelia's feathers that Thom had been assured was perfectly normal.

“Thom, you promised you wouldn't shout on comms anymore," she said, then held up the egg to the camera and made a kissy-face. “Does daddy need a kiss to calm him down?"

As Thom did indeed calm down at the sight of his wife and child to be, Gemini thought it would be appropriate to chime in.

“I'll be wanting a pup next, Thom. My heat is due soon."

Thom's expression froze, then with a sigh he hung his head. “Ermagerd, my life has turned into a Japanese cartoon porno."

“It's called Hentai, and I'll have you know it's an officially recognized art form in many places," Sammi said.

“Please don't elaborate on how you know that." Muting Gemini and Sammi from the conversation, Thom flashed Vaelia a smile and told their egg, “Take care of mommy for a sec, will you? Daddy's gotta go to work."

Smiling back, Vaelia winked. “I'll be waiting for you to get back."

They cut the link and Thom hit the skiff's thrusters. They answered with a forward jolt, and Thom set to work. Every morning, first thing he would do was survey Gamma Sector, ensure the larger pieces of debris were still where the scanners registered them last night. Some fast spinning pieces of debris were pent up with enough kinetic force to gut a skiff, and as part of health and safety the sector's foreman – Thom in this case – had to run several pre-checks.

Part of his sweep also picked up anomalous readings. Radiation, explosive signatures that might indicate unexploded ordinance, and the like. And this particular active sensor sweep picked up something interesting, throwing a notification across Thom's HUD.

The computer diagnosed, then told him there was an active power signature detected nearby.

Power signatures in these types of debris fields were not totally uncommon. At best, they were usually ship-board backup batteries or generators still generating output. At worst, and this was the scenario Thom was hoping he wouldn't have to fly into, he might come across an active torpedo or mine whose payload and tracking systems were still active.

Clean-up skiffs like hose Thom had purchased to carry out this job were tougher than most civilian ships, but not tough enough to resist specialised weapons of war.

Either or, he was going to have to check it out. So setting a nav-beacon, he navigated deeper into the debris. Banking around larger chunks and buffeting aside smaller bits of steel and scrap, Thom delved in deep into a tight cluster of shimmering garbage they hadn't explored yet. They'd only been on clean-up operations for a few days and had mostly just stuck to the outskirts of the sector. This was all new to Thom.

But when he eased the skiff around one large deck-plate obscuring his view, things got very exciting all of a sudden.

Nestled deep in the debris field, orbited by large bit of junk acting as effective camouflage was an emaciated ship. Mostly intact, she was missing one of her engine nacelles. Her orange and grey armor was scorched and gouged open, with a massive breach on one flank and the cockpit windows blown out. There was no main power, atmo had been vented and much of the hull was a pockmarked mess.

But this old reliable Aphelion-Class Prowler still had a name emblazoned across her side in proud, bold letters.

The Starcast Ronin hung dead in space before Thom who stared stunned in wide eyed wonder. And the power signature he had been following was coming from inside.

“No freakin' way," Thom whispered.

He was beyond thinking. His heart hammered harder in his chest than it had ever before; harder than when he was dodging bombs flung about in space or bullets lobbed over his head in Geneva. Reaching up, he flicked the visor of his cap down and deployed his helmet. His clothes hermetically sealed and he purged the cockpit. The cupula swung open and with the skiff remaining idle beyond the nose of the Starcast Ronin.

Spaced out, it was only a short walk down to the hull of the Ronin. Clambering hand over hand he followed steel pocked with holes to the massive breach gouged into the flank and slipped inside.

Thom arrested his drift on an inner bulkhead and looked around. He almost didn't recognize the interior of his home anymore. There were loose bits and pieces floating about. A few frozen globules of water about scraps of paper, cracked coffee cups, broken bits of glass, and charred rags that used to be clothes in Jinory's extensive personal wardrobe.

His gaze followed the slow tumble of the old coffee machine as it floated past and Thom checked his sleeve, squared off to the power signature and set forward again. He passed the empty rooms that had once upon a time been so full of life as the girls poodled about, frustrating Thom in almost every way.

He missed it immensely.

Eventually he came to the bulkhead for the server room in the heart of the Ronin. The door was ajar, and he swung it open the rest of the way before drifting inside. The servers had a few running lights, explaining the detected power source. Some of the backup batteries still seemed to be running, although on minimal output. Many bundles of cable were torn free, some whole servers jostled out of their racks. And yet, something was running.

One of the screens, though black was emitting light. That meant it was on. And floating closer, Thom noted there was a blinking cursor.

Looking directly into the webcam, he reached out out and touched it. And as if reacting to the warmth of his hand through his glove, text scrolled across the screen, rendered in real time.

Hello, Thom.

…

…

Welcome home.