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There it stands. In all its sapphire and expansive glory. The daylight blue stretching and reaching out to embrace him.
He never imagined it would be this chilling.
Frigid, it weaves through the yawning space between his ribs, whistling an aching tone. It’s solemn, and draws too deep like an instrument not tuned tight enough. It reverberates through his bones.
Rocket glares out at that reveried sky, and he finds it vacant. It’s an empty sky.
Maybe not completely empty. An absent thought muses.There is still the stolen cruiser rattling around him as he barrels up through the atmosphere. Steam hisses angrily from piping shaking and shifting wrong as the cruiser is pushed to breakneck velocity. The craft trembles and chokes out another breath that has the juddering viewport battling condensation. From the low ceiling, a hazard
light blinks in alarming scarlet. It’s tight corders has Rocket swallowing down an arena of new scents that he doesn’t have the experience nor care to decipher. The accelerator lever jitters violently with the force of the machine. His tail twitches in irritation as the wheel bucks against his locked and aching grip.
The bright window taunts him as his stomach confronts a wave of nausea.
For all the dreaming, it’s never appeared so dull.
The edges of his corneas grow blurry as he upheaves full, blissfully white clouds. A helpless voice whines and hiccups.
It wasn’t s-supposed to be like this.
Another tremor rakes through the machine, storage compartments thud and the metal deck shudders below the pilot’s chair. The clatter echos through the hull and bounces too loud off it’s curled walls.
Rocket’s chest wheezes out gasps of breath and his body quakes like the ship. Adrenaline exits his system in sporadic waves, resulting in terrible tremors. Frustration rises over him and he forces his limbs to quit their clanking. The traitorous thing twitches once in defiance as the cybernetics tighten and shift under his skin.
Under the ship thats trying to tear its self apart, and the stuttering rhythm of his bleeding heart, there is a tinny vibrating thump of thin metal.
Rocket clocks it with the side of his iris. The puny thing of spare parts and misplaced determination glints from where it scrapes the deck.
“I thought you would do something like this, 89P13”
His head swivels over his shoulder as a horrific gasp catches in his trachea. The cabin space only harbors storage compartments and levers to manage ventilation. The wheel yanks from his fingers and his insides squirm as he focuses back to steering.
He planned for it, aware the entire time. He allowed Rocket to collect those scraps and form his naïve, pathetically hopeful escape. The weight of the scientist’s gaze burdens his shoulders as the image of that mocking sneer prints into his eyelids. With another shaky breath he finally arrives at the crushing realization; there was never any tangible chance of freeing his friends.
The stark cold rolling down his checks barely registers as his raspy throat tears itself anew one.
Tearing itself apart, just like this hunk of junk cruiser.
When he had bolted down the looming corridors, heart in ribbons and mind attempting and failing to stamp out the flames, hunting down the first available ship was the obvious choice. The sirens wailed over head as they bled into his flattened ears. Doors on his left hissed open and rumbling voices snapped at one another. He turned another corner just as sparks lash across the hallway, blasting into the wall in an array of white-hot debris.
It’s only thanks to years of mentally mapping the planetary sized ship that he ducks through the flickering halls on autopilot. A searing burn filters through his lungs as he races through another set of doors, this time opening into a sprawling hangar.
Squinting against the bright light, he narrows in on a ship, cockpit pried open. A blaster discharges, sending chunks of shrapnel flying from his right. His heart twists as he leaps for the spacecraft, which he thuds into, his claws scrape against the bulky fin. In his whirlwind, he had tossed the cursed self engineered key to freedom to the grate deck without another thought.
Now, however, trapped in that same ship with blaring warnings, the keycard’s relevance is suddenly apparent. It slides and flips over the gaping panels of the deck. The reflective glint of spare metal and hoarded parts glares at him.His lips pull taught in a grimace, what a foolish and fragile thing.
The optimism of someone else pokes and flicks his ear. It’s second nature when he shakes his head.
“Quit.” He rasps.
It could still do some good… with all those remaining experiments.
He hears the yelping cries and the bars of cramped cages rattle. He sees the wide eyes scanning the surrounding lab with curiosity as they are positioned into the looming transformation chambers. Faded and distorted by time, Rocket can hear a choir of squeaking chitters and tapping of small paws. Before the naive concept can be fully formed, he instinctive snaps his jaws to ward off the impossible prompt.
There’s nothing he could give them.
Except an early death. Whispers like coiling smog that burns in his lungs.
There’s no point when they’re all doomed. Even rocket himself, the geneticist’s favorite toy, had arrived at his expiration date. No one was appointed to be spared.
The years filled with extensive sessions to hone his understanding of engineering, physics, and universal science are tainted in tar. Being chosen from batch 89 to continue into higher level programming had once left a speed to his stride. Although, he never missed how the creator’s frown gathered thin lines exponentially after every session with his friends, eyes shadowed by distaste. Rocket remembers standing before his first completed project, grinning wide as he craned his neck to glimpse the scientist’s nod of approval. What he mistook as pride was more accurately self-righteous arrogance. His own eager voice echos back to him now, asking for another exercise with the already mastered spacecraft piloting simulator.
The wheel groans and creaks in resistance as he fights to keep it on course. Information lights up the viewport, but it doesn’t earn much care as he hulls the control back into place.
Once again his train of thoughts are derailed by those he cannot forget, by those he lost. Their names mournfully echo through the hollow chamber of his heart.
Floor, and Teefs, and Lylla.
They were all doomed from their first breaths. Batch 89 was fed falsities of a full wonderful future. From their creation, High Evolutionary’s grand scheme never reserved a place for them.
“Did you truly believe that you were chosen for the New World?” A breathy chuckle falls into the suffocating atmosphere, expression morphing into exasperated disbelief as a thin smile stretches his lips. “How did you fail to realize such a simple fact?”
Rocket remembers the disgusted twist of his mouth, and wide fascinated eyes boring into his cranium. The lilt carving the words with vain pity as the scientist clarifies his righteous plan. His stomach flips sickeningly as a titanic fathom hand curls mercilessly around his skull. The creator’s brightest prodigy who lacks the required hardware and high end craftsmanship.
His claws itch to scratch at the metal implants lining his sternum. The cybernetics running through his spine stiffen, and his jaw pops with an metallic click.
He’s labeled for the waste bin, with all his shoddy construction. Flawed pieces forged into a whole monstrosity.
But instead he’s here, where the icy temperature winds closer. The horrid pit in his abdomen sinks to new depths.
He risks lifting a hand from the control, subconsciously reaching to chip away at his nails until a metallic scent slams into his nose. He chokes on a cough as he throws his hand out, the sun spotlights the dark matted crimson. Rocket tries to draw in even calming breaths but it only results in increasing the rusty odor. He only assumes the other hand is in the same condition as he numbly sets his back on the wheel, he pointedly fixes his eyes ahead. The urge to hurl dances on his tongue as he becomes highly aware of the blood lodged deep under his claws.
So much for non-violent creation. Cuts abruptly through his mind, defiant and seething with bitterness.
Resentment hooks its claws into his mind, sparking violently as it collides with the image of High Evolutionary’s lording figure. It guts through lingering revulsion but fails to slice the vivid feeling of corruption. The desire to level a blast through the scientist’s skull would have been kinder. Twin tendrils of smoke hover over unmoving bodies, the center of their flat white lab uniforms scorched. No matter the sea of hatred poisoning him, Rocket can not shake the cloud of shame rumbling overhead. The only warning he receives is few scattered raindrops, before lightning arcs high.
Would Lylla look at you the same? Would Teefs still smile as bright? Would Floor still sit close to you?
The last thing he ever heard from the little rabbit was a desperate cry for them to flee. At the time, it couldn’t reach him through the deafening ringing between his ears and the misery upending itself through his throat. In those few seconds, Rocket couldn’t bring himself to listen.
If he had more self control, then maybe Floor and Teef’s would have escaped with him. Maybe Rocket wouldn’t have his lungs full of toxic metallic odor. He knows somewhere deep in his bones that his friends are not the only fatalities.
Chiming warnings wail into his skull, suddenly loud and unwelcome. He swallows past the sickness while the viewport shudders. The atmospheric pressure changes has his ears popping severely as he catches bright transcript. Reading in blinding scarlet letters: Engines Overheating — Left Turbine Failure Imminent.
His palm finds the accelerator quickly, mind already running through the four step procedure to prevent the system failure. However, his thoughts come to a stuttering halt as his eyes fall to the strained lever. Deep in his chest, his heartstrings wring tight.
He presses a hair’s breath more.
The effect is immediate, shuttle creaking thunderously and a portion of the hull’s side buckling under the misuse. The guttering viewport squeaks in distress as cracks bloom from its frame. The overhead light bathes the constricting space in red as it flickers rapidly.
“Rocket.” Distant, rich voice stresses.
89P13 shakes his head as smog stings his eyes.
“Rocket, friend, please!” Pleading and close, just behind him.
Rocket yanks his eyes from the window, accelerator falling back with him. His shredded heart throbs as he scores the cabin space. The hull provides no ghosts.
Of course it wouldn’t. He berates.
His gaze lingers upon the empty hull before he turns to stare unseeingly ahead, leaden emotion swells into his chest. Despite everything, despite himself, scratchy words tumble from his mouth.
“S-supposed to be all of us.”
The tangle of nasty spitting emotions constrict around his throat and words fails. Just like he did.
The glaring light of the sky suddenly recedes, he’s left blinking through his blurred vision.
Any moisture in his mouth evaporates.
The ship lurches as it rises to meet the void swarmed with thousands of glittering eyes. They stretch unnaturally wide as their irises bore through his skin. They pick over his blood smeared claws and dig into the exposed metal implants. The corneas are the wrong color, warping to a dim gray as light seeps out of them. Eternal spark extinguished like a collapsing star. The eyes twinkle with biting mockery and numbing dismissal. Their pupils disappear into the void before appearing once again, this time they transfix at a point above his eyes.
Rocket’s flesh crawls, skin prickling with the urge to escape. His fur stands on end as he realizes he lacks any proper weapon aboard this cruiser. Those eyes were always pinned to the back of his skull, waiting until an act of defiance.
The sparking rage floods like an injection, seeps through his limbs, has the joints between his metacarpals crying out as his grip on the wheel turns murderous. He’d scratch each of those horrid eyes out if given the chance, to blast a photon through their optic nerve. The disturbingly lightweight of High Evolutionary’s photon blaster is seared into his memory. Rocket’s teeth clank together as he snarls and snaps at the glowering eyes crowding the void. His canines ache and jaw cybernetics tighten as he aims the ship to their pupils
Something metallic clinks and scrapes with staggering familiarity.
It tears the oxygen from his lungs, plunging into his sentimental heart as the snapping wrath breaks like a fever.
Clear and bright in his mind, cool metal wraps gently around his shaking hand as the booming shouts echo down the corridor. Soft cottony fur that could never stay clean presses close to him, pulls him from the canyon of his doubts. Warm, hearty laughter rumbling through his bones relives the stifling atmosphere and offers magnetic levity. Rocket’s breath stalls in his chest as metal arms wrap securely around him, and he feels his face sting from the force of his wide, joyful smile.
To hold, and to be held lovingly in return.
Rocket clings to those memories now. As desperate as he knows it to be, they form a lone branch arcing over an infinite drop.
An aching groan echos through the cruiser, he isn’t aware of its source; his quivering lip or the machine. It draws him to the present long enough to register the warnings sitting in front of his face. The boiling rage that lit his mind alight has been smothered as chilling sorrow begins to make itself at home.
This time, he drags his limbs through the shut down procedure as he attempts to keep his emotions at bay. Cutting the power of the left turbine and switches the ventilation system off in order to starve any sparks in that section. As a result, the propulsion is unevenly distributed to the right turbine and he corrects by turning the engines completely off before the stress can be damaging. The dense weight of his heart transforms the process into an agonizing whole minute. He tastes fresh salt as he can no longer tapper back his tears. The corner of his cornea is caught by the small shiny metal strewn across the desk. In a second, Rocket disengages the wheel and launches himself from the pilot’s chair without another thought. The accelerator thunks loudly as it returns to neutral position.
He crashes against the deck in a mess of limbs as the ship’s momentum spirals through space. The dizzying motion slants the craft sideways and a panicked cry is torn from of his mouth. His fingers claw to latch through the grates as he covers the keycard with his body. After several long moments the ship’s tumble begins to even out enough that he will no longer be thrown across the small ship. He carefully releases the grate as he looks down to the thin slab of metal.
Pressure compounds within his lungs as he grasps the keycard in a feather light grip. The comforting chill presses into his fingers causing a sob to punch out. Rocket folds himself around the small invention as he sniffles like an abandoned child. His eyelids squeeze closed as more tears overflow, his raw throat chokes out hiccuping pathetic cries. The panels covering a side of the keycard taps into the metal implants along his collarbones as he draws it closer.
His lip trembles and his weak heart gets lodged in his esophagus.
I’m so sorry.
The apology never leaves his mouth. What good would it do when it would fall to an empty hull.
Icy despair pools into his chest, dripping down through his limbs until warmth is a thousand year old memory. Distantly, he registers that the cruiser’s spinning trajectory has slowed. Eventually, he slowly peels open his uncomfortably dry and stinging eyes. What greets him takes hold of his thoughts, directing them for a moment away from his misery.
Millions of tiny stars shining in brilliant blues and yellows swirl into an unmeasurable tapestry. The dark expanse is painted by colorful cosmic dust forming sunrise orange mountains and sloping valleys. The peaks stretch forth into the deep barrel of space where uncountable galaxies and solar systems twinkle. In the forefront of the beyond sits a warm brown planet, Cancri, where its multiple asteroid belts encircle the massive space rock. Counter-Earth’s moon hangs high to the ships port, half its craggily surface illuminated in soft rose gold by this system’s star. Several light years away, a cluster of celestial bodies group together creating the illusion of a blinding four point star.
Rocket watches in unrestrained awe as the universe yawns before him. His immature arrogance to believe he knew what to expect is washed away in seconds. The simulation flights in dim holograms that illustrated the empty void are tragic now. The keycard sits heavier than any star as it smolders against his palm.
An unfamiliar sensation pricks his heart. It weighs upon his limbs like despondent hands drawing him backwards, gravitating into something that resembles a gradual drop.
He looks up at this vivid cosmos as a thought sinks over the edge.
What he would give to show them this.
He can almost hear Teefs’ rolling laughter catching breathlessly with disbelief at the sight before him. He can see Floor bouncing in place and spinning with glee. Rocket can feel a cool hand lay upon his shoulder as Lylla smiles stunned besides him.
This loneliness aches so fiercely Rocket can feel the soreness present in each dredging breath.
Every fiber feels singed as if a wound poorly cauterized. Nerve endings worn thin by the constant delivery of signals telling him that danger is a moment from attacking him. His skeleton must have shrunk as he feels his muscles flex painfully across metal cybernetics. Everything in this vessel contributes in the message that internal organs have been removed, leaving behind the sensation of hollowness down to his soul.
For a paralyzing moment Rocket is unsure if the geneticist prepared a surgery without his knowledge, and his cluttered mind has failed to recall. He can see the battered box gloved hands have deposited a still twitching heart. The smell of blood punctures his nose and he can almost taste the metallic scent in the air.
N-no. The lungs still inflate, and there are no new incisions. Just b-breathe.
The attempt to reassure himself falls flat. Blood throbbing between his ears drowns out his rapid wheezing breaths. Swallowing past the anxiety adhering to his mind, he begins from a different perspective to rein the scrambling emotions in. He folds himself into a memory, one which mimics a game where the goal is to remove unwanted filth. Aged food pellets that leave a sour aftertaste or clumps of shed fur are collected to the edges of the small space. He envisions the serrated emotions scattered at his feet as he stands besides a rust covered crate. He sets to snatching a handful of sorrow, but it cuts sharply into his palm. He refuses to let it slip away before he discards it into the familiar cage. The weathered bars cradle the emotion. Next he takes a piece of loneliness which he grasps a hair gentler, regardless, red stains across his fingers as it thuds to the floor. His anger receives the kindest touch, chunks still littering the landscape of his mind. Better to let some remain, he will probably need it to face this new journey. By the end, crimson coats every inch of his hands, hundred of raw gashes. Rocket lords over the crate, expression absent of any true concern, before latching the door with a thorn covered lock.
He draws a breath into his lungs. No pain or turmoil lunges to meet him. Nothingness blankets the wrinkles and trenches of his brain. He allows a slow exhale through his nose.
With strength he hadn’t expected, Rocket gathers his feet below him and stands. The stars still blink at him, and the ship is weighed with silence. Something sturdy brushes against his foot as his legs mechanically carry him back to the pilot’s chair. Slashes decorate the lip of the seat. He pulls the brake mechanism, and the stars’ sedated spin comes to a pause. Steady hands curl around the wheel, after the engine stutters to life once again.
Rocket senses a faint twang of emotion emanating from the back of his cranium, but it never reaches him. Something glints at the corner of his vision. It’s the murmur of something unintelligible. He shakes his whole body in one monumental shudder before he fixes his eyes against the viewport.
Galaxies glitter in the ether and waves of celestial bodies stream across the infinite void, but a direction is not hard to choose. With his bloodied claws and damaged ship, Rocket follows his first impulse, depressing the accelerator to escape Counter-Earth’s rotation.