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The journey away from Earth was a mostly quiet affair, not that she minded all that terribly much, though it was something she wasn’t accustomed to after years of boisterous activity from a crew that no longer lay about the halls.
She really didn’t need the noise, or the crowd – she never really felt part of it despite their best attempts to include, all she needed was the company of the Arcadia’s captain. Days could pass before either one of them spoke a word, the only sounds were the soft creaking of the ship, the clinking of shared glasses or their instruments – his ocarina high and melancholy, her lyre harmonizing low – speaking without words.
As they sail the sea of space far beyond charted stars and planets, Miime had noticed a slight change in Harlock – the color had started to drain out of his face, and when she started to pay attention to the galley, she discovered that the number of rations had not changed, even while they still knocked away the generous alcohol reserves.
Her heart sank at the realization, but she did not try to force him – or bring up that she knew, she had no illusions of what Harlock intended to find at the end of this seemly aimless voyage. But still, it was clear that they’ll find it far sooner than she anticipated.
What Miime hadn’t expected was the sheer beauty that they had sailed into – a nebula that neither of them had seen before bloomed into sight, its shape reminded her of an open gate or the great wings of some Cosmic bird. Orange and red ‘doors’ stretches out with swirls of deep blues and purples in the middle, splattered with stars of various brightness – looking as though if one were to fly right into it that they would come out into another universe entirely.
Even Harlock gasped with delight at the spectacle, his eye filled with childlike wonder.
“…I believe it’s custom that the one who finds new celestial bodies have the right to name them,” She spoke up – finding her voice once more after it had been stolen momentarily by the vista.
“Venusberg,” The man at the wheel answered immediately.
“Venusberg? You didn’t even give it a moment’s thought Harlock, does that mean anything special?”
“It’s a place in a story from my ancestral homeland – there are many legends about gates, crossroads, rings of toadstools or other liminal spaces that if one were to walk in, they would find themselves in the land of the fairies, the gods, or even Hell.” The man started, and Miime tried not to notice the thinness of his voice, attentively listening. She always found Earth legends to be fascinating – humans were exceedingly imaginative in trying to explain things they didn’t understand. Jurians like herself simply accepted there were just things beyond their senses and understanding, which perhaps why some attributed qualities of a ‘mystic’ to her over the years.
“We didn’t have stories like that in Jura,” The woman added.
“I suppose it means I won’t be boring you with them,” Harlock’s lips curled slightly as the Arcadia gently slopes, towards a gas giant with roiling dark indigo-colored clouds, with flashes of lightning arcing in a riot of rainbow hues. “Venusberg is as the name suggests the dwelling of Venus, the Goddess of Love – a love the religious leaders considered profane. In this legend, a Minnesänger – a kind of court poet - named Tannhäuser – who was also a knight - found his way to Venus’ court and took to worshipping her.”
It sounded like a love story, she thought – but she knew her long-time friend was never a fan of straight forward romances, and the sight of the gas giant filling the floor’s observation window was almost as distracting as the nebula, shining like a polished black opal in the galaxy, it felt like it was a perfect backdrop - made just for the ship.
“After years of being at her feet indulging in all pleasures known to man, Tannhäuser felt a longing in his soul that Venus’ physical love could not fill, and he found his way out, ignoring her pleas to stay – and sought penance for his activities, upon confessing his sins, the Pope rejected his attempts, claiming the knight for his activities would find redemption as easily as flowers would grow on his staff.”
Miime could never wrap her head around some of the odder aspects of some of Earth’s religions, but she knew enough that what this ‘Pope’ did was unconscionable. She saw a slight tremble in Harlock’s frame, as he pauses to gather himself, lips moving silently as if to find the next words, increasingly leaning on the wheel for support.
Suddenly, she didn’t want this story to end.
“Then what happened? If I were him, I would call out the man’s cruelty and hypocrisy.”
“As would I, but that was not how it was done in those days. Dejected, the knight left the Pope’s court with his head low. Three days later, the Pope woke up and went to grab his staff only to find beautiful flowers had sprouted along its entire length – recognizing that it meant Tannhäuser would be allowed the forgiveness he seek, he had messengers scour the land, but there was no sign of the knight-poet anywhere.” He turned his gaze to Miime, studying her face, especially her golden eyes.
“Did he die?” Her voice dropped into a fretful whisper despite herself, drawing parallels despite knowing that he had not meant for this story to be metaphorical.
“No, he returned to Venusberg, supposedly his immortal soul was lost forever.” The captain answered, as the monitors around them blinks and beeps, showing numbers and diagrams, that the Arcadia had entered planetary orbit with the opal-like celestial body. “But in a way, perhaps that was better – he would not have to live in such a judgmental, heartless world.”
With that, he lets go of the wheel, his footfalls quiet and unsteady as Harlock approaches his seat, settling onto the ornate throne-like chair. Quickly she joined him by his side, kneeling next to him, a gesture that took the pirate off-guard.
“Miime…?”
They never really touched – they hadn’t needed to, just being in the same room was enough, but the impulse overtook her, her long, delicate fingers brushing over his nimble but callused hand, clasping around it, she found no words to say what’s been tearing at her chest.
But they never really needed words.
As she held his hand, he gently squeezes back, and a sight she thought she would never see again appear – that gentle, warm smile moved easily on his lips, reaching even to his eye, gazing at her.
And she cursed that she suddenly couldn’t see that beautiful smile clearly, thanks to the tears she had long held back, her voice breaking out into soft, muffled sobs.
A thumb ran across her cheekbones, clearing the tears away – but soon, Harlock drew his hand back, leaning back into his seat, the smile still present, but his eye seems dimmer.
“…Thank you for being with me,” His words slammed into her ears like thunder, even if it in reality his voice was so faint that she had to strain to hear. “…I’m sorry...”
And he drifted off, his eyelid growing heavy until it shut, the rise and fall of his chest which had been somewhat erratic the past few days steadies, only to get shallower, and shallower, before going still.
The warmth started to ebb from under her hands, she knew even before she placed her fingers to his neck that he was no more.
The creaking of Arcadia grew louder, and louder, deepening into groans so deep that it seem to shake her right down to her bones before it rose in pitch and intensity until it sounded like a wail, and soon her own cries joined the ship in mourning, and it seemed like the tears refused to stop, her body glowing, illuminating the dark bridge.
She didn’t know when ship went quiet, or when she ran out of tears, her eyes burning – her entire body aching. She stared up at the man’s pale face – amazed that he looked like he was merely resting… and how despite his life that he had died so peacefully.
Tradition would have a coffin prepared, to send the body into the depths of space – but she could not bear separating the captain from his ship, and even if one of the Space Wolves had the firepower, she wouldn’t dream of blowing up the Arcadia.
If any ship had to be a ghost ship – it would be this one.
Slowly, she stumbles to her feet, her mind rolling over options, until she found herself in the medbay, long covered with a layer of dust from disuse, she turned to one of the pods that not once had been used in the Arcadia’s entire life.
It was too situational, a cryopod for those whose injuries were too great even for Dr. Zero’s skilled hands but weren’t wholly lethal, but it never saw service… until now.
Even with her strength, she was exhausted by the time she pushed it out into the hall – and realized what a daunting task she is putting herself through.
A soft whirl caught her attention, and one of the conveyor belts groans into life, taking the pod in the direction of the bridge.
“…You’re still here.” Miime’s raw voice catches in her throat, staring up at the rows of lights as she stepped on the belt as well, letting the Arcadia take her. She thought he would’ve left once Harlock drew his last breath, but yet.
Why?
By the time they arrived, she didn’t exactly recover her strength, but her determination redoubled, placing the cryopod over the observation window, near the ship’s wheel, scrambling on her hands and knees to plug it in, glancing back at the man who still looked like he could wake up any time.
But he never will.
He felt so light in her arms, laying limply against her chest as she places him in the pod. Miime looks over him, before she ran off to his quarters, returning with her arms full.
On his chest, she places a well-worn book whose leather cover was wrinkled with age.
Around his head she gingerly laid pressed flowers that he always kept in his desk drawer, given by a little girl now far away, that had bloomed on a planet Harlock had despaired for but fought to protect nonetheless.
Finally, and most reluctantly, she crossed his arms over the book, in one hand was one of the finest guns made in the modern period, of which only four existed - this one made specifically for Harlock, and in the other, a simple clay ocarina.
Tears fell onto his face as she pulls back, pressing the button to activate the pod’s deep freeze.
The clear glass slid up over him, reminding her painfully of his close brush with death under that hateful aurora, a shivering running up her spine at that memory. She bowed her head, her thoughts swimming as the air around Harlock grew chilly, wondering what she is supposed to do now.
She is the last of her kind, and Harlock was the only one who could understand the sheer loneliness of her being, the only one she felt any real comradery with.
There were other weapons besides Harlock’s Cosmo Dragoon… perhaps it was time she finished what the Mazones had started, what her stupid people continued… she stared at her hands, but yet – she didn’t move.
It would be easy, but remembering why she was the only Jurian left filled her with an almost perverse spite – she wouldn’t allow them the satisfaction of ending her own life.
Soft, placid humming from the ship’s computers tugged at senses, as she looked up, sensing that the Arcadia was pleased with her arrangement for Harlock.
It wouldn’t be fair to leave the ship all alone as well.
She sighed, stroking the wheel gently. “I am the woman who swore to give my life to Harlock… that won’t change. I’ll guard him until my own life ends.”
The sound she heard was almost melancholic, but understanding.
---
Days passed and she found herself at the Main Computer, speaking with it as Harlock once did.
He finally explained why he was still here.
‘It wouldn’t be right to leave you alone’
‘Harlock is a patient man, he’ll understand why I’m late’
Again, she found herself bursting into tears, the gentle soul that inhabits the ship was truly a good man. He teases her, trying to distract her from her sorrow – such distractions never worked for long, but it did help make the endless vigil much more bearable.
The first one to interrupt their solitude was one she expected – a flag of scarlet stark against the black space, the Arcadia practically trilling like a kitten as it willingly open port to allow the other ship’s sole crew member to board.
Emeraldas did not seem to have age a day when she stepped onto the Bridge. She nodded to Miime in respectful greeting as she approaches the pod that wasn’t there the last time she stepped foot on the ship her husband built.
The women gently touched the glass cover, watching the unchanging face underneath. Miime understood that Emeraldas somehow already knew, but she needed to see it with her own eyes. “He had found a beautiful place for a grave,” the ginger-haired woman finally spoke, peering at the opalescent planet below, and the nebula in view.
“He named the nebula ‘Venusberg’.” Miime stated, and Emeraldas simply nodded – as if grasping the reason why. The pirate soon excuses herself, heading into the bowels of the ship, towards the computer.
The Jurian waited, knowing that the other woman would want privacy – hours soon passed, and Emeraldas returned, her long lashes glistening with tears.
“Take care of them,” was all she said – before she departed on the Queen Emeraldas, to continue her own solitary existence in the Endless Orbit.
She will, she promised.
--
She stopped keeping track of time, and the Arcadia soon followed suit. She measured the progress by the bottles she drank – with her kind’s particular diet, and an alcohol stock meant for forty plus souls of hard drinkers, she was well-supplied on that end.
It was quiet, steady routine – the rare time she woke up from a needed sleep, she took a bottle with her – consuming half while talking with him, and the rest while sitting next to Harlock’s coffin, watching the play of clouds and color on the planet below, the stars twinkling around them, winking in and out of existence, her golden eyes always glancing to the various monitors. She would walk along the length of the ship, grabbing another bottle as needed – talking with the ship when it catches her attention.
It still left so much time to wander in her head, revisiting memories and dreams, reminding her of her status of being the last.
For a time, she tried to resent Harlock for leaving her alone, find an anger – a drive to change this routine, but she couldn’t. What she managed were mostly mild irritations and frustrations due to his stubborn pride, but now they’re tinged with nostalgia.
Now and then, something would interrupt this – it was ironic she thought, that humans rediscovered their love for exploration when they had once sneered at Harlock’s infatuation with the sea of stars – only to grasp it after he had left them behind.
But these people weren’t mere explorers. They were jackals, scavengers who spotted a ship that responded to no hails and was clearly in orbit and pried their way inside Harlock’s ship looking to scrap it. She took care of them quickly, and with no mercy – not allowing any of them to even get close to her dear friend, tossing their corpses out to burn up in the gas giant's atmosphere.
She ran her hands over the walls, soothing his distress at being so rudely invaded and damaged.
As the number of full bottles decreased, she noticed a shift in the Arcadia, the Space Wolves’ hangar, and most of the living quarters have been sealed off and powered down, the galley fridge reeked as caked on ice melted, the illumination of the halls dimmed to only the emergency lights - it was clear that places and things she didn’t need were shut off and isolated.
Even a ship of Arcadia’s power had a limited life, and he’s making sure what was there was focused on her and Harlock.
When she was down to the last five bottles – extended by her taking far more naps than she had used to, someone else stepped into the Arcadia.
What kept her from immediately intercepting to take their life was how they entered: they didn’t try to blast their way in, or maneuver so closely that their ships scraped against the Arcadia’s hull, but he floated on in a full spacesuit - not the thin ones she's used to that's mostly to protect against sudden decompression or leaks inside a ship, but the bulky kind meant for extended exposure to space's cruel vacuum and radiation.
Curious, she followed the figure, silent as a ghost to observe his actions. Once the figure realized there was still oxygen in the dark halls, they nervously pulled their helmet off, revealing a boy a few years younger than Tadashi, with messy jet-black hair, his expression full of wonder.
“…It’s real,” he whispers, as he wandered, trying doors – finding them sealed shut. She lurches, ready to spring, but he didn’t try to break into any of them. Many of the scroungers she took care off wouldn’t pass up any chance of finding treasure.
This boy was different.
Higher and higher the decks he climbed, and she realized he was heading right to the bridge.
To where Harlock lie.
She quicken her pace, to keep up with him, but he remains oblivious to his shadow, awestruck by everything he saw, until the Bridge’s door slides open.
Miime’s finger trace the trigger as the boy tentatively crosses the threshold, gasping quietly. He suddenly ran to the cryopod, running his gloved hand over the cover, clearing the fog, still unaware of the approaching danger.
“Wow… so someone is still alive here!” He called out, his eyes bright – a smile crossing his face as he stares inside. “…And it’s you,” the boy’s voice sounded euphoric before looked at the blank monitors on the side panel, his expression falling. “…Oh. But you look like you’re sleeping, as if you’re waiting for a princess… or a prince to kiss you. Or you're just waiting to wake up when humanity needs you...” He whispers to the man inside. “But those are fairytales, unlike you.”
The Jurian stared dumbfounded as the boy kneels reverently, his hand resting on the glass. Someone giving Harlock the respect she always believed he deserved. But… he was looking for him?
“Ah-! Who’s there?!” The boy yelps as she stepped forward, falling on his rear in shock.
She couldn’t help but laugh, surprised by the sound she made. The strange boy’s gray eyes watched her, before flicking towards the pistol nervously.
The ship wasn’t setting off it’s klaxons, and the way he knelt – Miime flicked the safety back on, holstering the weapon.
“…Oh, you – you must be the lifeform my ship detected,” the boy laughs, nervousness trying to find a way out as he looked between her and the cryopod. “You’re protecting him, aren’t you?”
“I am the woman who offer her life up to him.” She stated. “Anything that threatens his eternal rest I will destroy.”
“…I – I know you don’t have reason to believe me, but I didn’t mean to disturb anything! I just – I just wanted to find proof that Captain Harlock was real! And the Arcadia! I can’t believe this really is the Arcadia!”
The ship gave a pleased hum under their feet, his ego stroked by the boy’s excitement. How much time has passed that they both would have passed into legend? Miime wondered.
“It’s alive, isn’t it? Just like my grandmother’s stories.”
Now that certainly got her attention. Very few people would have known even before they departed from Earth for good. “Who are you?” She questioned.
“Izumi! Izumi Suuta.” He declared, getting back up to his feet, bowing deeply to her. “My grandmother was on this ship once, she always told me stories about Captain Harlock, she insisted he was real when – everyone including the history books said he’s just a story, a whole bunch of pirates and military man turned into one person. I – I wanted to prove her right!”
That narrows things considerably, but the boy’s eyes now that she got a better look at him – it wasn’t the right color, but the shape of them was strikingly similar to someone her friend was quite close to… could it be?
He soon unzips his suit, pulling out an ocarina that was scratched up, with a few indents and shiny from constant handling. “See? It’s just like the one he’s holding!”
The ship shudders – a long, plaintive creak echoes, as she felt her knees go weak – it was fate, isn’t it? Of all people that would find their way here to his side…
Suuta caught her as her hands covered her face. “H-h-hey… are you hurt?”
She shook her head, her eyes glistening. “No… I’m just glad, Izumi. The future is in good hands…”
“…Have you really been here the whole time alone?” He suddenly asks, not convinced by her words.
“Yes, but not alone – I have Harlock, and I have the Arcadia.”
“…You sure? Uh… I had planned on rescuing the Arcadia – return it so people can see it, but… that’s not what you want, is it?” he continues as she nods. “I’ll just take photographs, I’ll blur out that weird nebula so people can’t find it. But… are you sure you want to stay here?”
A memory came to her mind, the smell of brandy lured her to a clearing, where a young man rested under the shade of a tree – unafraid of the horrors that surrounded him. The human who offered his canteen to her as she stumbled towards him, steadying her – asking her if she wants to come with him.
It was almost like that time – when she first met Harlock.
She hesitated in answering, for a moment wondering if she could really leave, if she could really start over.
She knew Harlock would not fault her if she did, he never was happy about her declarations that she owed her life to him, insisting that she should what she wants, not what she felt obligated to – it took convincing for him to accept that she truly wanted to stay by him. And the Arcadia could finally rest.
But she was… so tired. She could not bear to chance another person fade and pass before her eyes, or to be struck down without warning.
She was so, tired.
Miime shook her head. “No…” If he had arrived years before, that answer might have changed. “But thank you…” her eyelids grew heavy, and it was getting harder to focus.
“…Hey, I didn’t get your name,” the boy started, gently shaking her – his eyes large and fretful, it was clear he was trying to keep her awake.
But she was so tired.
“Miime… the last Jurian in existence, the woman who offer up her life for Captain Harlock, the last surviving crewmember of the Arcadia.” She finally answered, seeing Suuta’s eyes tear up. “The one who protected Harlock until her last…”
It was too hard to stay awake, but she got what she needed to say.
It was time to rest, certain the young man holding her will know what he’s supposed to do if he truly was Mayu’s grandson.
It was time… to sleep.
