YC127.05.05 – Personal log entry of Mylenara Dumande
Thoughts, to pen, to paper – what an odd thing to say when I can’t exactly write anything down, but mental dictation’s just a bit too verbose…
Let’s see… I’ve settled in rather easily, into a daily routine of ensuring current operations aren’t at risk of attack from any present Serpentis elements or berserk rogue drone AI collectives, or at risk of causing my own boredom to exceed safety tolerances.
The Osnins constellation has become a home to me at this point, and the UNF itself, a source of comfort, camaraderie, and shared purpose. I’ve certainly met my fair share of strange groups of capsuleers, but… never one that not only mirrored my own strangeness, but also welcomed it openly. And this is after roughly 1.5 years in space… well, 1.5 years recently.
I think the last time that was the case was only as recent as YC121, but no one will find any record of me in a capsuleer capacity back then. At least, not without knowing where to look.
Or under who, for that matter.
As an “error” of sorts, the old database that makes up the Gallente civilian population registry has started coughing up unlinked results. Usually garbage data, but in my case, it’s a reminder of another life – a life I left behind years ago, to journey through myself as I did through the stars.
This is a bit of a story, so if I send this to you and you want to read it in full, I suggest you dock up and get comfortable. For to tell this story, I need to first start with a family in the Saisio system…
You see, out in the Caldari state, operating out of the Achura homeworld of Saisio III, a family ran a crewed fast-courier shuttle for Sukuuvestaa. The Moromuo family – Yamatoko and Osami – were the owners and operators of that fast-courier, and over the years they’d earned a reputation for their dedication. When it came time to welcome a child into their midst, they named the child Yoshitaka.
Over the fourteen years before he joined the “family business”, he had found himself drawn to the sciences, history, and the arts – most noticeably the cultural arts. This had sadly earned him the ire of his father, who wanted him to take over the courier operation eventually and devote himself fully to it. “The passing breeze will not keep you aloft for long,” he would say often. He had turned inward over that time.
In private, his mother would spend her personal time with him, continuing to teach the traditions and culture of their people, and encouraging him to never leave anything unquestioned. Every minute spent between those two, he found himself alight with wonder. The stoicism instilled by his father would melt away… though he would wear it as a mask when with his father. This mask would be worn for those fourteen years, and more to come.
After fourteen years, while on a courier contract, their shuttle had been interdicted by Guristas raiders. A quick rail barrage, having hit just as a webifier killed almost all momentum, had cut their engines and caused a runaway critical state. He was quickly thrown into the shuttle’s emergency pod and ejected, and had to watch helplessly as his mother and father were stripped from his life.
He had been recovered by Sukuuvestaa corporate security forces shortly afterwards, as they had picked up an automated emergency status beacon triggered by the runaway engine core. For the remainder of his pre-adult life, he was a Sukuuvestaa corporate ward, and later found himself given the opportunity to become a capsuleer once his own medical compatibility had been discovered.
That chance was taken as soon as he had offered – a long, sustained wind that would keep him aloft as long as he desired.
I’m not going to drag out the story of the many places he had traveled, the banners he had flown under, the friends made, lost, and gained along the way…
But I will say that it was somewhere along YC121 that he had found something to be amiss… and began to question himself. Taking that moment to retire from active capsuleer status, he reflected upon himself.
He took those reflections and sought out others who could help him understand what he had come to learn from those same self-reflections.
Never was he a stoic, steadfast monolith; he had only forced himself to be one, contrary to his innermost self.
And I can safely say, she is indeed better-off for that realization.
Guess the old databases want me to remember that bit more, so why disappoint them? I embrace it.
Her journey – my journey – is still young.