Splintered Reality - Part Five

“Sell the ship?” Will said, with a very poorly hidden look of consternation, somewhat reminiscent of a man who has just been told that he is not only about to be beaten, but shot as well, broken in to tiny little bits, burned and the ashes stomped on.

Finally…this news had taken the wind out of the sails of “Hurricane Littlefoot.”

“Sell the ship?” Will repeated again.

Not that the matter bared repeating, which it didn’t. Nor was it even that William Littlefoot was the sort of man that felt he needed to repeat himself, which he wasn’t. It was simply that William Littlefoot was the sort of man that needed to be right all the time, which he also wasn’t, despite his incessant insistence that he was.

The fact of the matter was that William Littlefoot was the sort of man that, if he couldn’t be right, he would bloody well be wrong at the top of his lungs. He was the sort of man would continue to assert his rectitude, oblivious to anything else – especially the truth. And the truth was that this was the first time in his long and rather lugubrious life that he had absolutely no recourse to anything else other than filling the cavernous hole space, where a moment before his life had been, with first thing that came to his mind – which was nothing.

So he simply repeated himself, not knowing what else to do in that moment in which his entire life suddenly went spinning out of control, careening madly as if it where diving straight into the heart of a super nova.

“Yes” came a soft, quiet voice from behind him, “I sold the ship.”

Will spun around and looked into the same eyes that he had seen through a major war and three years of the most brutal fighting Charlie 15-4, 5th armored division had ever seen. And in those eyes he did not see the shipmate with whom he had served; the person in whom he had once trusted his life. Instead he saw something – no – someone, very old, as if a thousand lifetimes stretched out before him. He also saw an immense sadness, he had never seen before.

Then the moment was over. He wasn’t even sure he had seen what he thought he saw. But what he knew he saw was his life slipping away from him, and he was desperate to stop it.

“You can’t sell the ship. It’s our life. It’s what we do. It’s who we ARE.” He shot at Brighde desperately.

“No,” Brighde said quietly, as she stared back at him with a look of pity – a look he absolutely despised., but dared not say anything about.

Brighde Paused. Then she continued, with a sigh.

“It’s not our life, Will. It’s yours.”

Will felt that things were slipping entirely out of his control at this point. He reached for something – anything.

“You can’t do this, he said angrily, I have worked too hard for that ship. I have a stake in it. Hell that ship should BE mine. I worked just as hard for it as you did.”

Then he stopped, realizing what he had said. Brighde smiled faintly, for she noticed it immediately. For the first time he had related to the “clone” Brighde like the real one without thinking about it. It was a mistake he would not make again, he told himself. Now he was mad. He railed against her, in a last desperate attempt to save what he saw as the ruins of his shattered life.

“Look. I have a contract. Whatever you sold that ship for I want my cut, and I mean to have it one way or another.” he said, leering at her.

The was a long pause. Brighde smiled at him again. Damn that woman is irritating when she does that, Will thought to himself.

Then Brighde began softly, “You have a contract?”

“Yes.” Will said sternly.

“You demand your share?”

“Yes.” He said, feeling as though he was gaining ground.

“Or…or what?” Brighde, ventured, “you’ll sue me for everything I have?”

“YES!” Will shouted angrily, thrilled that he had finally come out on top.

With that, Brighde turned around. Walked toward the side of the docking bay and picked up a small drab olive green duffle bag that he hadn’t noticed before. She picked it up slowly. Turned back to Will, and quietly placed it on the floor of the docking bay in front of him.

“There you go.”

“What?” he said, looking at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head.

“There you go, she said, with that same damn pitying look on her face. Everything I own. Take it. I don’t think the panties will fit you, I doubt they are your size, but you know how I like loose comfortable blouses. Those might fit. There. Take it.”

“Dingo Dung,” he spat at her, figuratively and, nearly literally, as he stared down at the duffel bag. “What did you do with all the money?”

“It’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean? Where? You lost it?”

“No. I gave it away.”

This William Littlefoot could not believe. He would not believe it. He refused to believe it. Who in their right mind would sell a Caladari Light Cruiser and just GIVE away all of the money.

“All of it?” he said, shocked.

“All of it,” Brighde said quietly.

“Why in God’s name would you do that?” Will shot back at her.

“Yes.” Brighde said quietly.

“What?”

“Yes”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Brighde said, that’s exactly why I gave it away.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Will said, looking at Brighde, as if he were now sure she had grown the second head, and sure that at any moment they would both start spinning around in circles – for he was sure that only someone who was possessed would do such a thing. In fact, that is what he now asked her…

“What would possess you to do such a thing?”

With that Brighde walked over to Will and looked up at him. She patted him on the cheek, noticing him wince as she touched him. For a moment she thought he would understand. Maybe, Brighde thought to herself, there was once someone inside who cared about people more than money, but looking into those glaring eyes, and that hard stare, she doubted if that person was there any more.

“Dear sweet Will, she said as she patted him on the cheek.

Then she stood there staring at him a moment before she continued.

“Dear sweet deluded Will. That’s all you care about isn’t it. The money. Do you ever dream about anything? She asked him, I mean other than money, and the things that will bring it.”

Will said nothing and so she continued.

“Centuries ago, on ancient Earth there was a man who lived for a very special dream. In fact he even died for that dream, as had so many people before him. Do you know what that dream was?”

Again Will said nothing. Brighde paused, smiling at him, hopefully as she went on.

“He gave a speech once about that very special dream. In it he said, ‘I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.’ He died for that dream. All these centuries later, we are still waiting for that dream to come true. And you know what? I have a dream too - That our people, who are still divided will rise up and be united. That we will stop being slaves, that we will be free, ALL of us, not just some of us. I don’t know how it is going to happen, all I know is that I am going to try and make it happen, and if I have to die trying, well then I will die for that same dream.”

For the first time in his life. William Littlefoot was speachless.

“Now unless you think my panties will fit you, I may as well take them with me.”
With that, she turned and followed Sam into the waiting frigate. As she was about to pull the door shut, she turned to Will who was still standing where she had left him.

“You know, you might want to at least go back in the station, otherwise you will end up being blown out that airlock Gunny threatened to shoot you out of earlier.”

Brighde smiled.

The hatch to the frigate clanged shut behind her.