In my dreams, I can see them—the flotilla. I see them defiantly holding their position despite overwhelming odds. I can hear the defiance in their voices, the order to disperse, and feel the violence that followed—fire and death.
It's been four years, yet the dream never changes.
If Kat were still around, she'd tell me to get my head checked. Hell, she'd give me this whole speech about how I deserve to live better than this. She'd be right, of course, not that I would ever admit that to her, but she'd be right.
The truth is, I feel like I deserve to carry this weight. A lot of good people died that day—people who deserve to be here a helluva lot more than I do. It should have been me.
Instead, I'm left here all alone—a sorry excuse of a man left to pick up the pieces of a life that lost all meaning four years ago. I don't know why I keep going. If I had to guess, part of me feels like if I give up now, she'd be disappointed in me. I always hated disappointing her.
So here I am.
The fight's over. Erie's gone, and it's clear we won't ever get her back. I'm not a soldier; I never was. I'm not going to throw away my life fighting some hopeless cause. It's time to move on.
I've gathered all the funds I could scrape together, rearmed, and refueled the Osprey. Sirius is a big place with a helluva lot of interesting people.
I'll find a new purpose out there.
CALEB DUNE
ZONER CAPTAIN
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