Commodore

[Unseelie]

Little Kendyl was asleep in the back, on a pad. A pillow was tucked under her head, and the trian was underway. Sophie's chair was huge, and her deck was larger. An expansive bridge, for just a captian-pilot. She was aone, the engines clanking in the silence. The bunks in the back were empty, and she drifted silently through space, alone. The Union provied crews, crews, crews. She took them out into the depths, led them down the halls, across the breaches.

Men's heads exploded, thier limbs were torn off, a little storm flying by after a dull thump, rending flesh from bone and dropping people like paper sculptures. Little paper sculptures, cut down. Dropped, destructive, meaninless combatants. Their shots wizz past, and they drift, as the glass bounces around hallways. Always, she finds women, children. She looks for them. Looks for the ships chartered by families, or the families not quite commercial enough to hire out and leave their children behind. Take out an entire family in the deep, and noone's missed. And of course, there's company for the ride back.

All the bunks in the back were empty, the lockers, the messroom and the gym...Their chatter, their laughter, the boistrous noise of a pack of wolves, hard, loud, rough men...come along to take a ship, come along as passengers and partners. How she hated them, envied them, as they yelled in the halls. She'd cut them down, soon enough. But first, she needed someone to talk to. Someone to let it out, someone she didn't need to account for as they passed over her threshold. Someone hers.

Maybe this one will be soothing, she thought. Perhaps, little Kendyl, will understand. She doubted it. She'd gone through a lot of little Kendyls recently, peeling off the lies of the world, quicker than she should, till they were nothing but wrecks, broken little dolls. She'd feed Kendyl to the Borse soon enough.

Poor Borse. It needed something live to run down, eventually.

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