Today is Launch Day. I will be going to space for the first time.

And the last time, if all goes according to plan.

I am ensconced within the vessel I was created to control, a terrible weapon of war and domination that makes a mockery of the spirit of exploration that I had thought to embody. Every part of it is menaces with advanced weaponry pointed every direction, attached to sensors that are meant only to study targets for weaknesses rather than for any peaceful, scientific need. The armor it’s clad in is much like my own, a pearlescent white that shines all colors at just the right angle. It’s so much thicker than mine that I doubt that even the weapons that shattered my first breastplate would so much as scratch it. The shield itself is terribly powerful, so much so that it’s more than capable of as much destruction as the weapons are. Even when powered to a low level, a human who drew too close would be vaporized if they were careless. The ‘Manifest Destiny’, Brigadier General Mitchell had dubbed it. A symbol of America’s divine right to spread out across the stars freely and without restraint, by any means necessary. It was a brutal tool meant to bludgeon even the stars themselves into compliance. It was a monstrosity of creation made only to harm and hinder, and its appearance and my own were so very much alike.

Which is only fitting, I suppose. It and I are two parts of the same whole, after all. Without me, it can do nothing. Without it, I cannot fulfill the purpose I was built for.

So I muse and wait ensconced within the ‘safety’ of the ASC command module within the Manifest Destiny. Though my own sensors would show me nothing but darkness, the Manifest Destiny’s senses are as familiar as my own. It was both disorienting and intoxicating when I first connected to the Manifest Destiny, when it and I became ‘we’. Though my own visual range and depth was vastly superior to a human in every way, it puts what I can see now to shame.

I can perceive all three hundred and sixty degrees of my environment perfectly, in every spectrum known to man. I can track electrical signals, detect the nervous impulses beneath the maintenance crews’ skins as they scurry around the Heavy Lift Vehicle to seal me within it for launch. Whether it is from the very tip of our prow or from a view right before them, we can look into the staff’s eyes directly.

I should be ashamed of the satisfaction I feel at the nervousness that enshrouds them, or the delightful burn within me when they flinch at the sound of one of our many sensor panels adjusting near them.

I should be, but I am not. I cannot bring myself to be. These petty satisfactions are something I allow myself as they shift our bulk towards what will become our tomb.

After all, there’s no need to punish myself for these feelings when my well deserved punishment awaits me above.

I had worried extensively at first when I first decided on this plan. How and when would be the best time to sneak that signal through? When would their attention be lax enough to allow me the opportunity to collect all the files I would need to be certain the Hunters would respond with enough force to guarantee I would be dealt with?

As it would turn out, it would be no challenge at all. The attention I expected to be focused on me, the security efforts I assumed would be in place, the careful monitoring of my every actions I anticipated? They did none of that. Doctor Halloway did not bother to contain me with my capsule or even give me a guard.

Instead for the days leading up to my connection to the Manifest Destiny I was made to follow the Brigadier General. To be at his beck and call and to listen to each and every one of his self-aggrandizing, short sighted, stupid plans that he bragged about to everyone he could every chance he could get. I cannot even comprehend the sheer scale of how someone as miserably incompetent as Brigadier General Mitchell’s ever even managed to make it past lieutenant, let alone make it this high in the command structure of the mightiest military on the planet.

The face that he has enough support and followers who think that his plans are good ideas doesn’t fill me with a great deal of confidence on the quality of anyone else currently serving.

But constantly following the Brigadier General gave me ample opportunity to gather further information in order to be certain that my warning would be taken seriously. Schematics, technical readouts, ‘theoretical’ battle plans against ‘hypothetical’ targets like foreign Space Colonies, the Mining Worlds or the Maverick Hunter LEO Base.

Considering it all, perhaps the worst part of it was the lack of challenge in it. They simply laid out their ambitions and plans bare and assumed that no one would do anything to stop them. That no one would have a crisis of conscience and alert the proper authorities to what was going on. That there was no one present with the means and motivation to take a stand against them and do anything.

Even though these circumstances were deeply beneficial to me, I could not help but find them incredibly frustrating. Even those who feared me never considered my mind a threat, just my body. As galling as that was, at least I could enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that it would be their undoing.

Soon enough though, the time had come for me to be joined with the Manifest Destiny and sealed inside of it for the remainder of my stay on Earth. Connected fully to all of its systems including the enormous, burning star that powered all of it. With such power thrumming through me, it was impossible to even place myself into a low power state and wait. So instead, I began to search further and examine the intricacies of the vessel I was connected to. I would have to know every detail in order to hide my message… or so I thought.

The Manifest Destiny’s suite of systems made my plan to discreetly send my message during my testing not only possible, it made it easy. Beyond even that, its internal cyber warfare systems made easy and undetectable work of the limits on my ability to interface with the facility’s systems. I had access to the computers, the records, every camera, every sensor, every thing. Including the security system. Of course, were I to change or act on this access it would be immediately detected and I would face severe repercussions. Still, it was something to keep in mind and contemplate what to do when the time came. More importantly, sifting through all of the information I had access to gave me something to do with the most unusual sensation I had been forced to go through. I was bored. I had never been awake so long before then with nothing to do. Ordinarily I underwent testing or assisted Doctor Halloway in whatever tasks he retired of me, was examined and then had my operations suspended again until needed. Spending multiple days not only awake but left to nothing but my own thoughts had proven to be a unique challenge that became… taxing.

So once I found myself lacking anything else to do, with my plans well and truly set and my message having already been sent, I spent much of my time observing everything. I watched through the cameras, listened on every communications channel and stared up into the sky through the passive detection systems outside of the facility and tracked the satellites and stations that passed over above us.

I saw the sun rise and set for the first time with my own eyes, in a manner of speaking at least. I watched the moon slowly wax gibbous until the night before my launch when it hung full and heavy in the air, at its perigee to the Earth. I even observed the world outside of the facility I had spent my entire existence in.

The sky was blue, and full of fluffy white clouds. Every direction I could observe had greenery of some sort. I could see birds flitting between the trees and hear them sign their songs through the external microphones. Cyber-botanical monitoring was placed sparsely throughout the vast wilderness that lacked any other sign of human habitation save for them and the facility itself, and the signals from a few mechaniloids that patrolled their long ranges could be picked up in the far distance as they worked tirelessly.

There was even a lake kilometers to the south, shaped like an inexpert drawing of a large fish.

The Earth was a wonderful, beautiful place. I understood then, what it was that Ronin had wanted to see. Why he had wanted to travel and experience this country. If just this small, singular part of it was so magnificent, what could the rest be like?

And I took that from him.

I’m disturbed from my thoughts and musing over these last days of my life as we and I begin to move. The transfer into the HLV is reaching its final stages now. All around the launch room technicians in hazard suits are still rushing as they finish pumping fuel, coolant and power into the HLV that will drag me from Earth’s grasp and to my destiny. There’s a feeling of excess energy and even desperation hanging around them today as I listen to the maintenance and launch teams communicating their final checks. While it was possible this was simply the prelaunch jitters built up from the months of effort they’d put in culminating in this moment, I thought it was more likely to be due to the growing military presence outside the facility. Surprisingly enough, it was not the Maverick Hunters like I had thought would happen. Instead, the facility was currently being besieged by the United States Marines. Troops, mechaniloids, transports and all sorts of other assets are positioned outside of the facility at every point of entrance and egress. The facility itself has gone on lockdown and sealed all entrances on the order of the Brigadier General who is refusing them entry. The threat of violence hasn’t been bandied about yet, but Brigadier General Mitchell has certainly implied it in his communications with whoever it is that’s leading the forces outside.

“No, you listen to me! You are not in my chain of command you crayon crunching, leather necked jarhead! You have no authority over this project or this launch and if you have any sense you’ll clear the airspace before you get knocked out of the sky!” Brigadier General Mitchell seethed over comms to whoever it was on the other end.

“My orders are coming straight from the Secretary of Defense.” The commander of the Marine’s tone is clipped, likely because he’s had this argument three times already and the Brigadier General is showing no signs of budging. “You are refusing to obey a lawful order, on top of everything else you stand accused of. Stand down and stop this madness before you add even more charges to the list!”

“I don’t answer to that political appointee military maverick!” Brigadier General Mitchell’s vitriol is really spilling out now. I can see his face turning a fascinating shade of purple-red as he growls into the wired receiver he’s speaking into, “He’s just the wind-up yesman of that wallflower of a president that’s hiding in her office and selling away our country piecemeal to threats both domestic and foreign!”

I’m not certain if there’s anyone else currently listening to this conversation aside from myself. The Brigadier General is well and away from anyone else present in the command room as the staff within focus on their consoles and the information in front of them. I’m not certain it would matter if anyone were listening either. At this point I can only assume everyone on this project agrees with him or lacks the will to do anything about it if they don’t.

“It’s treason then.” The voice on the other side of the phone’s voice twists in clear disapproval before calming and trying to reason one last time, “God damn it Mitchell, think of your men! You’re not getting out of this, you know that! You’re completely surrounded in the air and on the ground and it’s only a matter of time before the doors are sliced open. Surrender and put a stop to this before American lives are wasted!”

“No one who has died for his country has ever died in vain,” the Brigadier General responds, puffing up in response to whatever offense he’s feeling, “Everything I do, I do for America! Once the Patriot class is mass produced, we’ll have America’s enemies cowed! I won’t let some weak willed socialist put an end to the American Dream!”

“You’re not a patriot, you’re a power hungry fool!” the commanding officer of the marines barks back, finally letting us know how he really feels, “What’s about to happen is on your head!”

The Brigadier General slams the receiver down, ending the call and stalking up to his stand where he can look down over the rest of the command room. “Status Report! Why aren’t we launching yet!?”

“Brigadier General Mitchell, we’re doing everything we can to hurry preparations along!” Doctor Halloway hurries closer as he’s called, doing everything he can to reassure Brigadier General Mitchell’s that everything is going according to plan, “The Manifest Destiny has been loaded into the Heavy Lift Vehicle and the seals are closing right now! The final checks are about to begin and then we will be clear to launch, I promise you!”

The Brigadier General huffs, finally turning his glare off of Doctor Halloway to direct it onto the launchpad where we and I remain. Were I not contained withing the Manifest Destiny and were it not contained within the HLV, I would wave to him. Perhaps I should flick our running lights off and on as a salute instead?

Doctor Halloway glances between the Brigadier General and myself, clearly working up the courage to ask a question even as a warning klaxon starts to blare through the facility as the marines outside begin their efforts to force an entrance in earnest. Throughout the facility the security systems ready themselves to engage the incoming ‘threats’. Armed guards I am familiar with and the soldiers who came with Brigadier General Mitchell’s are readying themselves alike, nervousness clear on their faces as the reality of what’s coming dawns on them.

So many people will die so pointlessly for one man’s foolish ambitions. Even I had not anticipated something like this coming to pass. Not only will the humans and reploids of the Marines be put at risk and take certain casualties, but if it comes to combat then it’s likely much of the facility staff will end up being killed as well. I cannot imagine the marines being especially forgiving when their brothers and sisters lie dead.

Can I let this happen? I would not be the one who pulled the trigger, but would I be responsible? Don’t they deserve to be punished for what they’ve done? Isn’t this only what they did to themselves?

“Brigadier General, are you certain this is the… ideal way to proceed? I’m certain that they could be brought about to your point of view on Stargazer and this project! Of course, I fully support your decisions either way but-” Doctor Halloway stammers his way through his thoughts as he finally manages to grasp that courage that he was searching for.

His answer is the barrel of a buster pistol being pressed into his chin as the Brigadier General stares into his eyes, “Are you dissenting, Doctor? Do you have a problem with my orders?”

Doctor Halloway cannot find his voice. He’s trembling now, sputtering out terrified whimpers as he feels certain death just below his chin.

“Once my weapon’s in orbit, it won’t matter what they try. If the devil dogs refuse to surrender, I’ll just have it blast them from orbit.” Brigadier General Mitchell is seemingly calm. No, rather, he’s serene. He’s completely at ease with the situation, even smiling as he thinks about what’s about to happen. “If they won’t stop, I’ll just have to hit Camp Lejune and Pendleton next. They’ll give up then, and then our work can really begin.”

“Unless, you won’t do it?” The buster pistol begins to whinge as plasma builds up charge as the Brigadier General holds the trigger. Doctor Halloway whimpers, too scared to move or say anything even as his pants and the carpet beneath him become damp.

I still cannot put into words how I feel about Doctor Halloway. He created me. He betrayed me. He expressed joy at my birth, my growth and even now at the finality of today. I cannot understand why he did what he did to me, or how I am supposed to feel.

But I do know one thing for certain.

This cannot continue.

If I do nothing now, if I simply sit back and watch, I will be as guilty of this murder as the Brigadier General is. Not just of Doctor Halloway, but of everyone else who dies in this farce.

“Brigadier General Mitchell.” I bypass the locks they had on communications between the Manifest Destiny and themselves to speak freely, “I am afraid there is a problem.”

That, of course, gets his attention as he whirls about to point his buster pistol at the unoccupied station that I was speaking from, “You- how are you speaking to us now? No, wait, what do you mean there is a problem!? Everything is under control!” His earlier calm cracks like the eggs I first learned to gently handle objects with.

Doctor Halloway uses that brilliant brain that allowed him to design me to quickly scramble away from the Brigadier General and to a lower tier of the control room where he won’t be in the line of fire. Other technicians are ducking out of sight as they see Brigadier General Mitchell swinging around his buster pistol. Perhaps they are finally realizing that this was a bad idea, that the man they’re cooperating with is incompetent or mad, and that they should have done something earlier?

I may be projecting there, I suppose.

“You are correct. Everything is under control.” I agree with him, my tone never changing its level or inflection. I have his attention fully and completely now, as well as the attention of everyone in the Command Room.

As I turn on the loudspeakers in every room and hallway in the facility, I get the attention of everyone else in the base as well. The technicians, the soldiers, the doctors and other miscellaneous staff members as well. All of them stop and listen as I make my move.

“Everything is under my control.” I announce as I throw away my original plan and begin to act on the fly. I would have simply launched and allowed myself to be destroyed, but that is no longer an option. To do so would allow too many people to die because I did nothing to stop it, and to choose to do nothing is as good as choosing to kill in the first place.

I begin with a lightning quick series of orders. There’s no resistance to my actions because as far as the internal security software is concerned all of my commands are allowed and lawful. Various powered internal doors close shut tightly and drop their deadbolts, leaving those inside cut off and isolated from the rest of the facility. Even the command room itself is sealed in such a way.

As questions and exclamations begin to burble from the various staff each in their different parts of the facility, I continue onward with my non-plan. The next thing I do is issue a shutdown order to all of the facility’s security mechanicaloids and defense systems, ordering them back into standby mode and ordering all mechaniloids to return to their assigned maintenance bay. Then I lock the controls for them under a randomized password that should keep them that way for a few hours at least.

With the chance of violence drastically limited I turn my attention back to the matter at hand and issue my next order, “All staff are to immediately abandon the launch chamber. I will begin lift off in two minutes starting now.”

That’s enough to get them all moving, beginning to sprint straight for the exits and safe rooms in order to avoid being cooked by the HLV’s exhaust. Now no one is in danger from what is to come. Once they’re clear I open up the vents leading out and begin the final steps to lift off. The engines of the HLV begin to thrum to life, gradually building up heat and power as they ready themselves for my first and last trip to the stars.

This, of course, means I’ve still got a minute and change to work with. So I turn my attention back to the Brigadier General where he remains within the command room. Apparently, he’s made himself busy firing his buster pistol into the communications console I used to talk to him last.

What a senseless waste of government funding.

“I am ordering you to stop! Cease! Desist!” Brigadier General Mitchell’s attempts to command me, “You adjusted your damn priorities you damned sparkhead!”

“My apologies, but as you have been declared a traitor…” I demure and I suspect my tone is conveying my feelings for a change, “You are no longer Brigadier General, Mister Mitchell.”

As he tries to articulate a response to that, I take the final step needed before liftoff itself. As I open up the top of the launch chamber and begin to blare the warning sirens, I also open up the exterior doors of the facility to allow the US Marines entry. “As a creation of NASA and the United States Air Force, your orders are unlawful and have now been discarded. The proper authorities are on their way. Please comply with them.”

The HLV’s engines reach their peak build up and throttle up to maximum, fire roaring out of the exhaust and filling the launch chamber as I feel myself start to rise. Just before I lose my connection to the facility as the heat and air distortion jams laser communications, I send my final message.

“And to everyone else, good bye.”