Our footsteps resounded through the great marble halls. I struggled to keep up with Omar, taking three paces for each of his long graceful strides. I was six years old.

“Did you enjoy your outing today Ghen?” He was the only one I knew that did not call me by my full name.

“Yes, very much Mr. Omar Sir,” after months I could still not simply refer to him as Omar, despite his urging. My father’s hard lessons on politeness had cut deeply.

“My favorite was the big bird. It was so scary. I’m going to fly one day, my father told me.”

“Indeed,” he slowed his pace and smiled warmly at me, “will you be as deadly as the Aukrom?”

I frowned, “No, I could never be that scary.”

Omar smiled and resumed his usual pace.

“Why do they fight? The people I mean, not the animals. Are they angry?” it was an innocent question.

He stopped walking and looked away from me. After a few moments I heard him take a deep breath and he turned and crouched down to my height. He pushed my hair back out of my face.

“The Matari fight because they are told to Ghen. They must do what they are told. Your way of life, all of this,” he waved his hands about the marble halls, “depend upon that.”

“I wouldn’t fight those animals,” I said, “even if you told me to.”

He smiled a troubled smile, “Of course not dear, and no one would ask you to. You are a child of Amarr, you have the light inside you. As long as you keep the light only God is your master.”

“God and Empire,” I recited.

“No!,” his voice was strained, almost angry, “Only God.” Omar stood up to his full height. I looked up at him.

“Can the Matari have the light. I don’t even think about mine except on Sundays, I could share.”

His face brightened and he smiled, “That is very nice of you, but I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. They have to find their own light.” He turned and began to walk, “Come dear, your Father wants you home for dinner. I hear you’ll be having guests from the empire,” he glanced at me playfully, “there might even be a pilot or two there.”

We raced the rest of the way home.

An hour later, at dinner I offered a prayer to the Matari, that they might find the light and be released from their bonds.

My clone no longer bears the scar left by my father’s belt, but the sting is still there.

I never saw Omar again.

It was too cold for fear. The emptiness of space, and the shattered remnants of my capsule hung spinning in space around me. Those who have never had the experience would have you believe that a quick death is somehow more merciful, less terrifying. In that sense the cold vacuum is a merciful executioner, but quick is subjective. For the executioner the axe is faster than the rack, for the executed all death is the same duration.

Nanoseconds passed like eons. The cold seeped in like fire at first, the pain was momentary and then there was only terror. Memories flashed into my mind, half-formed recollections. I could feel each of them freeze and fade. The cold worked methodically. First the exterior  -memories, intelligence, thought- those things that make us human until only the interior brain -fear, anger, terror-  remained.

A thousand tiny crystals of ice wisped spinning from my frozen lips, within each one a scream of terror that could shatter suns, if nature would allow them to be heard. My vision stopped, I was a point of freezing consciousness in a vast expanse of nothing. I had entered the true void.

And then the cold subsided and was replaced by searing heat. The blackness rushed away in a burst of blinding light. I could feel my heart throbbing in my chest. I was underwater, struggling, my muscles aching.

I was in a clone vat. I was still screaming.

The sentence had been mortality, not non-existence, but it was no secret that the Sarum family were displeased with the outcome. I was a military pilot, I followed orders, I had done nothing wrong. But that didn’t matter, not in politics. All that mattered is that I’d angered someone more powerful than myself, and that I didn’t have enough friends in high places.

I boarded my executioner, checked that the systems were running smoothly. Double checked. It had to be perfect. In the eyes of the empire the cancellation of my clone contracts, and execution of my clones had been enough, but I was well aware that there were enough pilots in the imperial navy loyal to Sarum, or to isk, that this flight may well be my last.

“Aura, chart me the fastest course out of empire space.”

They had drained my accounts, dissolved my corporation, but I had a reputation. I was banking on that. If I could make it to Caldari space I might be able to get a clone contract with the State navy. I had been on loan to them fresh out of the academy, and served them well in the past.

“Course planning complete Madame.” I undocked. Moments later my warp drive engaged. “Give me a scan of the approaching gate Aura,” one ship, an imperial maller. I was in the Capitol of the empire, you don’t get gates guarded by one ship.

My warp bubble collapsed and my neocom lit up with warnings. The Maller was targeting me. I mentally comanded my ship to speed to the gate, but it was too late. My propulsion systems were already jammed. I hung in space, creeping toward the gate with what speed I could muster out of my crippled engines.

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