The Thousand Year War is over. Peace for the galaxy at last. Ennui for me.
I find myself passionless, a ship adrift with no wind in her sails, seeking something, anything, beyond the meek lap of dead waves and the beration of a tireless sun.
I was not wanted. Not needed.
I designed war machines. Accurate. Fast. Lethal. In my eyes, beautiful.
But they are redundant in this new world, as am I.
I turn my skills to agricultural drones. Mineral extractors.
But they have no grace, no poise. They do not soar. Not like my machines of death, which, like me, wither under the new history.
Paddy Dobson
16th March 2023