Thursday, February 07, 2013

Mr. Thomas Prequel: Secret Thoughts


Secret Thoughts

I’ve been putting this off far too long, I thought as I paced around the bridge. I can’t put it off any longer. It has to be done. For Jenna.
The loss of her sister has taken its toll on her, and Jenna decided that it would be best if she went back to her home for an extended holiday from our travels. Now I’m not so certain that was a good idea. Her mother doesn’t know Louise ever existed. She was written clean out of the timeline. But she insisted, and the last thing I would ever want is to force Jenna to do anything.
I paced around the central console cluster once more before turning and walking off the bridge, down the corridor, and into Jenna’s bunk. I booted up her console and sat at the edge of her bed, smoothing my hair back with my hand as I looked at the screen.
“Begin recording program M-T-D-1-3-D,” I said. There was a clicking noise to confirm my command, and the screen went white. I took a deep breath.
“Jenna,” I began, swallowing hard, “If you’re seeing this, I’m either dead or in mortal peril, and there’s little to no hope for my survival. Since the beginning of our travels, your safety has been of the utmost importance to me. As such, I’ve programmed the ship to bring you home. Once you’re safely back to Earth with your mum, the ship will relocate and cloak itself so no one ever finds it.
“I know by now you’re screaming at this recording. You’re probably frantically hitting buttons and demanding that the ship turn around, but I promise you that this is for the best. Your safety means more to me than my own survival, and I’m glad that I was able to fall in order to raise you up.”
I paused and cleared my throat, smoothing my hair back. “I’m sorry, Jenna. If I’d known the damage I was causing to your timeline, I never would have barged in. You’re a peculiar sort of addiction, sweetheart. Having you around wasn’t killing me; it was killing you. I’m that selfish of a bastard.” I paused again, considering other things I could include.
“End recording,” I said after a few moments. If I wanted her to know more than that, I would have to tell her face-to-face. “Save to program MTD13D and close out.” The computer gave a short beep to acknowledge the command, and went on to do its work before shutting down automatically.
I was already back to the bridge by the time it had gone back to sleep, charting course for Earth. I knew a certain 11-year-old girl who needed a vacation.