Borodin’s Solitude
Atop a crate in the mess hall, facing the rest of his crew, Borodin stood nervous, yet firm. Gravity was generated by the thrust of Peridot’s powerful engine, recently topped up by the Hegemony Ship he’d undocked from an hour prior. From atop his makeshift plinth he read out the orders he’d been given by the spook in his quarters.
“Today, as you may have already deduced, we raise steam for Jool.”
Cheers rang out from the enlisted men, drowning out the various persistent noises synonymous with the word “spaceship.” Borodin rattled off the minutiae of the squadron’s itinerary more so out of bureaucratic obligation rather than any desire on the crew’s part to know. In a cynical, elitist sense, he did not believe it did his sailors any good to know how long it was going to take them to enter Jool’s sphere of influence, and mentally prepared himself for weeks of unrest and general rowdiness amongst the enlisted.
Running completely dark, Peridot, Granitsmore, Kand, and Elizavet were cut off from the news of the outside world. They would not learn of any happenings on Kerbin until after battle was joined. Once their engines cut and their trajectory to Jool was secure, they would even cease communications with each other, except in case of an emergency. In a mystical mirroring of Imperial policy, it could be said his squadron was experiencing splendid isolation.
Borodin spent the weeks of solitude in relative peace. After completing his last will and testament and storing it in the captain’s safe he endeavored to read the last couple of books that remained unfinished in his small library. Non-electronic literature was an absolute rarity in space due to the distinct lack of any forests, but he’d managed to hold on to a rather eclectic collection of books from his early life in North Point, one of the very few heirlooms he preserved from his life on land. Though he never expressed it to any of his shipmates, Borodin was convinced that he would meet his end in the upcoming war. Retirement on Laythe was his backup plan if he somehow made it out alive.
In a sense, his life was complete. His daughters had recently graduated from university, one at Great Comberth and the other at Fallenhout. His parents had retired to Fortmil’s warm shores, and due to Asimov Plan veteran payments, were sure to never work another day in their lives. His ex-wife had paid her debts in full. All that was left for Borodin to complete were two books: a copy of the Vikus’ A Complete History of Laveska and the Reciprocity, incidentally the only book he ever wrote, and a copy of Isabella Bondarenko’s new classic The Last Voyage of the Great Northern, mailed to him by his youngest daughter. The contents of the former were self-explanatory, but the latter was bound to be full of surprises. He’d never read a Bondarenko novel before, and was rather delighted to finally have his hands on one. The Complete History would have to wait.
The story of the mythical steamship Great Northern was one steeped in the vernacular and atmosphere of the period which the novel was set. With each page turned Borodin found himself imagining the walls of his cabin with the ornate decorations and paintings of the aristocratic Zokesian protagonist, or the mess hall as one of the several expansive ballrooms aboard. Reading of windows revealing panoramic views of Vocavian sunsets and the elegance with which the protagonist’s Arcadian love interest carried herself made him consumed with homesickness and anemoia.
In a poetic coincidence, the battle looming at the end of Peridot’s trajectory was looking to resemble the climactic action of the novel. After being shipwrecked on an as yet untamed North Kafrican shore, the crew and passengers cannibalized the ship for construction materials, building houses, tilling the land, and starting farms. Unfortunately for them, they had unknowingly intruded on the land of a hostile confederation of local princedoms, who swore death to any stranger who set foot on their land. Against all odds, the Great Northern’s passengers and crew defended the new homes they’d made against the hordes until being stumbled upon by a Tekkian surveyor’s ship.
“Captain, you need to see this,” said the nervous ensign at the threshold. Gennady Grigoriyevich Ushakov was his name, son of Grigoriy Ushakov, Hero of the Imperial Federation, twice Order of Vikus, thrice Starfleet Cross. The younger Ushakov had a lot to live up to. Let’s see if he can do it thought Borodin before reluctantly pushing himself out of his bunk to investigate what the young sailor thought so urgent.
Up the ladder from the crew decks lay the command and information center, walls seemingly made of television screens. On some adjacent screens was a feed from one of the hull cameras zoomed in on the light from a rather luminous star. Moments after laying his eyes on the feed Borodin watched in horror as the light was snuffed out. “Shall we sound general quarters?” asked the younger Ushakov.
“No. If that ship knew we were here, he would have fired. Bring up the antennae. Send a single message to the others, tell them to stay dark and proceed as normal, and don’t repeat it.”
To confirm his hypothesis, Borodin inserted a thumb drive he’d found in the letter containing his orders and found a single file, which when brought up showed in real time the positions where UIF-flagged vehicles would be at any given point in time during the burn out to Jool. Having found his squadron in almost exactly where they were now, a cursory search revealed no other craft were planned to be in the immediate vicinity. If the vessel was Joolian he was sure that they would have fired upon Peridot and the others, especially from this close a range, but the mystery vessel did not. Civilians, thought Borodin. Always the damn civilians. In a couple hours they’d be well out of range.
The Complete History was one of the most well-written books he’d ever read a page out of. While Bondarenko’s peaceful, eloquent language gave the knight of North Point a sense of nostalgia, Vikus’ passionate and incisive diction filled Borodin with determination and resolve. The incredulous amount of detail put into every page made him feel as if he really did live through all the significant events Vikus described. For his first and only book, the General had sculpted a masterpiece, and it was a significant regret that he didn’t live to write any more. Upon completing the brick of a book he left it and the Bondarenko novel in the captain’s safe, supposedly invulnerable to most impact damage, along with his last will and testament.
