[i]Table of Contents of "For What It's Worth": [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/257262707/0/0][/url][/i] [i]This life is a farce, but no less reality. Escape is always next door, should you find yourself there. Had you been inside the helm, well, it went something like this:[/i] In low orbit around the earth, sailing over North America, (or what it once was) I sat in the cockpit of my own ship; leaned back in my black leather captain's chair. I took the long way back to the Tower every chance I had. This craft didn't seat many people, as I ran solo most days. A mystery, as much as it was a choice. [i]I was a bipedal dead man. Danger, only my own.[/i] She's a sweet slammin space coupe, a quick skjöter with a whole lotta torque. Give it the chance, and the portside engine would punch a hole in space-time harder than Popeye on a cold-binge. Fastest quarter-parsec time in the system. It was fairly quiet, aside from the Golden Age southern rock blessing what relative room I had to work with. Adages to the simpler things that kept me up at night, albeit convictively driven. This ghost, Wesley, was spinning idly on my dashboard below a pair of fuzzy dice, occasionally twisting in free will above a device that let him float without effort. I made it myself from an old ferro-magnetic hockey puck. It was the least I could do for him; to rest at-ease while we had downtime. The corner of my mouth lifted in to the smallest smile. "[i]Wesley, how's that silver seed coming along?[/i]" "[i]Oh, it's finished![/i]" he said. "[i]Here, take a look-[/i]" The seed fit in the palms of my hands, one over the other, as my elbows rest on my knees. We both observe it attentively as it spun in both directions, equivocally doing its own thing in a perpetual state of thriving entropy. "[i]Finished?"[/i]I knocked on the wooden-top armrest, [i]"I wonder if it will grow from here. I hope so, but at the same time, I am not sure if it wishes to. I am afraid I smothered it."[/i] "[i]It's inanimate.[/i]" Wesley piped, looking back to me as if I was naively ignorant. "[i]You're inanimate![/i]" I said, somewhat defensively, and at the same time, believing he wasn't, either. He shrank backwards, but swung back with a retort. "[i]Well, in the defin-[/i]", he stopped short. I was giving him a look, and he dodgingly turned back to the seed. It seemed to play differently when either of us were looking at it at any given one time. "[i]Hey, it- did you-?[/i]" Wesley spun around the seed, looking different directions, seemingly experimenting an idea. I kept my eyes on him flying about. I surmised and knew what he was doing as well. "[i]That's what you'd call the Observer Effect,[/i]", I knocked at him. He prattled in a spin to contorted, introspective enlightenment. "[i]Wow, that is a perplexing thought.[/i]" Wesley slowed, still articulating himself in relative positioning to the seed. I peered in to it myself again, fully aware I had no idea how it worked. "[i]I know I can't be right about everything, or it'd be all wrong, for sure, but this is why I always question the queer. Astrologists put constellations together, but Ursa Major certainly doesn't look like a bear to me, you know? What kind of bear is a trapezoid with a long tail?[/i]" Wesley side-glances me with that remark, but nods, understanding that if he had asked any sort of question relating to what I said, I would have no definite answer, as I hopped from philosophy to left-field in the same breath of air. We stared at the seed for the better part of an hour in silence, somewhat meditatively. "[i]What're you gonna do with it?[/i]" he asked. After a long pause of thought, I didn't rightly know. "[i]I dunno, do you think Failsafe would like it?[/i]" "[i]You wouldn't -blam!-ing dare-[/i]* Wesley said, scared, now, of the possibilty for such a gesture. "[i]It [b]would[/b] get her outta Nessus. [/i]" [i]"She's in-sane!"[/i] There he accentuated the syllables of insane, to exclamate his plight of disbelief. [i]"I think she'd be a fine addition to this ship's modules for good company all-round."[/i] Wesley quickly about-faced and slammed himself in to the windshield, hoping for the end of the conversation as much as a way out, like an edge driving to the wall. [i]"I'm dead."[/i] he said, dreadfully. [i]"Ha, and I thought Failsafe was the dramatic one, eh?"[/i] Wesley just dropped like a lead weight, facing the ceiling, letting out an exasperated moan. I picked him up, smiled, and set him back on his puck. [i]"Whyyyyyyyyyyyy-"[/i] his voice trailed off as he spun, now in spiralling anxiety. [i]"Now you know how I feel, pope Now you know how I feel." [/i] A lot of bells were ringing in my head, and I knew a particular man was upset with some seriously uncool shit I had done in the past couple months. I haven't even talked to him, and it was time we had a word, to set some things straight. [i]"We're pulling up to the Tower."[/i] I say, Wesley bolted from his perch directly into my visor. "[i]Aye, aye.[/i]" I love this guy. π π π π π π π π π Next in the series: [url=https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/257232705/0/0][/url]