Sacrifice Verse
Poetry is the sanctuary of the mind.
As the confiscated spaceship neared Okeep-controlled space with each unfolding jump he meticulously calculated, Garnaaq administered himself first aid with the meagre supply of nanobots that the primitive vessel possessed.
The mining colony on Gaeneris III was more than four hundred light-years behind him. The majority of guards had been mercilessly dispatched in the frantic two hours it took him to assume total control, and the freed slave workers were placed under the benign yet strict supervision of the Mine’s reprogrammed Wit.
He had time to reflect on recent events, and although he was one of the most evolved non-biological minds in existence, he found himself watching the changing patterns of stars with pensiveness.
The fate of the liberated workforce on that hellhole of a planet depended now on the decision of Outreach, which was the directorate of the Okeep Civilisation for protecting the overall genetic wealth in the Galaxy.
Most Okeep citizens gave Outreach little thought as its official business was abroad. However, Garnaaq knew more about its dealings than most associates — and plenty about how overall it was reasoned.
It was a community of hand-picked and harvested individuals, deemed by the best of Wits to be most suitable to pursue the policies of keeping order in the wilderness. And stability demanded sacrifices, a few million proxy soldiers there, a few thousand rescued miners here.
Garnaaq’s wistfulness became sadness, and he slowed his thoughts, seeking refuge in poetry.
The above texts were first published on Twitter and are © 2023 by David Pahor.
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