Echoes of the Past

Back on the Reyes estate on planet Selene, Orion's small form lay nestled in the soft folds of his crib, his wide, curious eyes following the blurry motion of Ren's hand as it hovered near him. At just 12 weeks old, the world was a confusing swirl of light, sound, and sensation, but something about Ren's presence calmed him. Her toddler-sized fingers wavered, unsure whether to pat him or simply observe.

Ren, barely two and a half, tilted her head as she stared down at her baby brother. "Little one?" she asked, her voice high-pitched and curious. She didn't fully understand what he was yet—he wasn't a doll, but he also wasn't like the big people around her. He was small, soft, and made funny noises that didn't seem like words. She remembered hearing her father call him "little star," but that name felt too long for her. She poked at his blanket cautiously, her tiny fingers hesitant but filled with fascination. Then, she giggled, as though discovering something marvelous in his presence.

Her bright eyes studied him, trying to make sense of this new addition to her world. She leaned closer, her pigtails bobbing, and whispered, "Ren loves baby!" as if testing the word against the weight of his presence. Ren didn't have the words to articulate it, but there was something about the little being in front of her that felt important.

She reached out again, this time with more confidence, and patted his tiny arm. The soft weight of her hand brought a smile to her face, a pure expression of delight and connection. "Baby brother," she said tentatively, her words a little clearer this time, as if testing out the new phrase and savoring how it sounded.

Orion blinked up at her, his eyes trying to focus on the figure above him. As he lay there, the warmth of Ren's small hand on his arm triggered a cascade of memories, pulling him into a haze of emotions that felt too much for his tiny body. Orion, though only a newborn in body, felt what could be best described as an odd sense of duality.

His past life where warmth had existed, but in fragments—his grandmother's hugs, his mother's fleeting moments of affection before they were swallowed by her darker moods. Her words often twisted between love and blame, leaving scars that time had not healed. And then they were both gone. His grandmother's death had been a blow; to both him and his mother who despaired until she followed two years later, leaving him stranded in a world where survival was the only priority.

He had rebuilt himself after that, clawing his way through a life of suffering. Every step was uphill, every success born of relentless determination and a refusal to let the bad hand he was dealt define him. By the age of 23, he had achieved the unimaginable, winning the Turing Award—a recognition reserved for the most brilliant minds in computer science.

Yet, the celebrations felt hollow. Behind the applause and accolades was the memory of nights spent hunched over his work, alone in his apartment, wrestling with despair and the weight of his past. Even as he basked in the glory of his achievements, a shadow loomed over him: Huntington's disease. The diagnosis came as a cruel twist of fate, a stark reminder that life's indifference spared no one.

At first, he tried to fight it, throwing himself into his work with renewed vigor as if sheer willpower could stave off the inevitable. But the disease was relentless, gnawing away at his physical and mental faculties. The brilliance that had once been his greatest strength now felt like a burden, amplifying his awareness of every symptom, every slip, every cruel reminder of what lay ahead.

By the age of 27, he was exhausted—physically, emotionally, spiritually. The disease's relentless grip had stolen so much from him: his independence, his health, and the promise of a future he had once dreamed of. In the end, he chose to end his suffering on his own terms, leaving behind a world that had alternated between indifference and cruelty.

Ren's hand on his shoulder brought Orion back to the present, grounding him in warmth and softness.

Ren's giggle broke through the haze. Her hand was still on his shoulder, her face now close to his as she grinned. "Orion," she said, her toddler voice stumbling over the name. After a pause, she chirped, "Baby brother Orion!" Her words were filled with pride and delight, pulling him further into the present.

Orion felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—security? He couldn't quite place it.

***

Cassian stood at the head of the briefing room, his gaze steady as the holographic display projected the recent battle's events. It had been 12 hours since the fleet's hard-won victory, and the tension in the room was palpable. Around the table, his key officers sat, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and determination. Rylan, Eric, and a few other senior commanders watched intently, the weight of the battle still evident in their stances.

"Let's get started," Cassian said, his tone authoritative yet measured. "Report on the fleet's current status."

Rylan keyed in a command, bringing up a detailed readout on the holographic display. "The Panther and the Ajax took significant hits during the flanking maneuver. Damage control teams are deployed. Casualties are low, but our ammunition and energy reserves are critically depleted. We'll need resupply within the next 48 hours to sustain combat readiness."

Cassian folded his arms, his gaze sharp as he absorbed the information. "What's the status of our reinforcements?"

Eric leaned forward, his tone clipped but steady. "Minimal damage reported across the reinforcement fleet. Their response time was excellent, but their resupply situation is as critical as ours. They're equipped for rapid skirmishes, not prolonged engagement."

Cassian's expression tightened. "Understood. The Erythians will not retreat quietly after this. They'll be regrouping and likely mobilizing reinforcements of their own. We need to preempt their next move. Rylan, identify the closest resupply points within our operational range."

Rylan nodded briskly, his hands already moving over the console. "Yes, sir. I'll conduct a threat analysis and provide the safest candidates for resupply within the hour."

"Eric, I need the fleet ready for a stealth operation," Cassian continued. "Coordinate with engineering to enhance emission dampening on all ships. Lock down all quantum communication channels immediately—restrict any signals that could betray our location. We'll deploy decoy signals to divert potential Erythian pursuit. No unnecessary transmissions until we're clear of this sector."

Eric replied. "Understood, Chancellor. Stealth protocols will be implemented fleet-wide."

Hira, seated to Cassian's left, leaned forward. "Chancellor, if I may—this maneuver will have political implications. The Erythian League will undoubtedly spin this as an act of aggression. We should consider preemptive measures to counter their narrative."

"Diplomatic fallout is a given," Cassian stated with military precision. "Without concrete evidence to justify self-defense, shifting the narrative will be an uphill battle. Focus all efforts on regrouping our units and securing logistical support. That is your primary directive."

"Understood, sir." Hira said, her voice steady.

Cassian scanned the room, noting the determination etched into his officers' faces despite the fatigue. "This mission is far from done. Maintain combat readiness and proceed with your directives. Dismissed."