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in the vastness of space and the immensity of time
Amazing how one hundred years can be considered a vast amount of time, yet so little changed.
For one hundred years, at approximately the same time of day (as the chronological Earth time progression showed), Miime drew a new bottle of wine and opened it. While it breathed, she lit the candles in his cabin. Preparation for the time they spent together each evening with no one else in attendance. Just her and him and the vastness of space.
Many nights were spent in silence, little to no conversation passing between them. The silence suited him. The weight he carried bore down, some days more oppressively than others and the sheer act of talking required energy he did not have.
Her presence soothed him. To Harlock, Miime had given her loyalty, her life. To him and to the black tomb they traveled through in space, the dark sarcophagus housing the soul-essence of his one and only friend within the central computer at the core of Arcadia.
The heel-strikes of his boots echoed down the long hallway outside his chamber, Tori-san’s gangly squawk and frantic flap of his wings announced Harlock’s arrival. Miime met him to take his cape and gun belts as he closed the door. And true to their one hundred years of ritual, he stood there a moment, looking into her eyes, searching for something deeper within her. The span of silence held only their even, measured breaths.
He touched her cheek, as he had done thousands of times before, and gave her a regretful smile before he went to his desk to pour their evening wine.
The chair creaked as he settled, holding out her glass to her, the silent invitation to join him. Across from him, she stretched on the settee and watched the legs of the wine as it swirled in her glass.
She did what she did, what she always did. What she would always do.
Observe.
The presence of the young man, the new one they took on when they stopped at Velda, occupied his thoughts. His gaze stayed focused on a candle, the flickering flame almost mesmerizing. Held transfixed, it was reasonable to think he had fallen into a trance, if you didn’t know him. The look in his eyes showed him far away.
“You think it’s a mistake,” he said after the long quiet space between them.
“You have your reasons. I need no explanation.”
It simply was. Harlock’s will drove his reason for all he did, leading him down a path clouded with a dark stain as black as the curse which bound him to Arcadia.
it seems a strange fate to choose
Crew celebrations behind him as Yama disembarked the shuttle. They celebrated the successful launch of the 99th oscillator, the retrieval of one they were starting to consider one of their own.
Behind him, an uneasy alliance which spun on the tip of his sword. A promise for a swift death if that was what served the young man, extracting the promise that it will only be what he wanted to do, not what someone else expected.
Did they know they celebrated a plan which was taking them all down the swift path to final atonement? No. No one knew. No one understood.
Except one.
Harlock stared over the rim of his wineglass to the reclining alien. He watched as the glass touched her lips and a small amount of liquid disappeared, staining her thin, pale lips. The elegant line of her throat stretched as she looked upward. Once more, the pressure of his sin pinned him. The path he was on was leading them all to final destruction.
Second thoughts? Never. His driving goal was to set right all the wrongs he put into motion with one ill-fated, devastating blow.
Every night he watched the captivating woman across from him, searching for any sign she held her own doubts. Her implacable gaze returned nothing but her complete dedication to him. It called up a deep longing within him. For a hundred years Miime remained by his side, a silent observer, crew member, companion and during that time he scarcely gave thought to moving their relationship to something more primal. Lustful. Animalistic.
The idea was repugnant to him. Yes, he had desires as any man did. The form those desires were slaked upon mattered little to him over the years. Male or female, it was all in accordance to his taciturn mood of the moment. No one denied him. He was Harlock. Pirate. Myth.
To do so upon the ethereal creature trapped in this curse with him was anathema. He was not a worthy of such a great honor as that. He visited irreparable harm upon his home, started mankind down a path of obliteration and despair, killed the last of her race, and implicated and condemned her to the same fate as his.
Yet she never looked upon him with pity, only patience. No revulsion, only understanding. No hate, only acceptance. No challenge, only support.
“You don’t think he will turn again?” Her question floated melodically on the air.
“I know he will.”
“And yet you trust him.”
Harlock smiled, a reflection of the emptiness inside. He drained his glass, the crystal ringing as he set it upon the desk and he rose in one smooth motion.
“I need to address the crew.”
the sad, hard truth
Harlock was empty inside.
Admiral Isola had decommissioned the Dark Matter Drive. It lumbered silently within the chest of Arcadia, the pulsing rhythm no longer driving the blood through his veins. He felt the energy ebbing from him, leaving him vacant.
The physical chains which bound him were inconsequential to the true source of what ultimately held him fast in its iron grip. He waited for the end to finally release him.
A countdown stopped.
A release from chains.
A voice reaching out to him through the mist of his anguish and self-loathing. Harlock.
And a simple flower, proof that his damage was not irrevocable, providing the healing necessary to break him from the true chains which held him bound.
Guilt.
space is a monumental beast
Even now, a final decision rested before him, one he would take without hesitation. A decision made that first destroyed life, now made to save it. And yet, he still lacked the sufficient courage to tell Miime how he felt for her. Cowardice to confess his heart.
He could only apologize for what he was going to ask her to do again.
When he no longer felt worthy of her gaze, she cupped his cheek. The touch was warm. It spoke of silent comfort and a love that transcended the need to speak at all. He looked again, meeting her eyes. In that instant, something flooded his chest, pulling it tight, as if his shirt would tear at the seams.
She understood all the things he couldn’t say. She met his regretful silence with an accepting one.
“Unleash the dark matter.”
each spark is a link in the eternal cycle
The curse of the Arcadia was the blessing for mankind. It would never die, only change form. It would continue on ageless and relentless. For as long as humanity fumbled in the dark, seeking meaning for its existence, Arcadia would sail the star-filled space to keep it in check so it wouldn’t squander this second chance.
It was still too early to tell if Yama was now trapped within the black mechanical behemoth framework, cursed, and blessed, with immortality as he once was. Tori-san had already taken up vigil upon Yama’s shoulder.
And Miime, still dedicated to the fate of Arcadia and the man who held the helm, would now be by his side, the new Harlock.
Sitting in the captain’s chair, the one he would soon cede to the new captain as soon as Yama had the experience, Harlock wondered if now he could finally find the courage to approach Miime as a true companion, and not a myth.