Kennedy Space Port, Sunday Night, 2171
All in all, their final goodbye was an anti-climactic affair. Peter had arrived in the morning to find the entire family acting as if little was wrong, going through its usual routines - except for the cow-eyes mother kept sending in Valentine's direction. Then, as the day continued, the atmosphere had gotten more fraught, heartfelt messages had been exchanged, the works.
It made Peter want to pry his own eyes out with a fork.
Couldn't they see how much of a waste this was? Not of some sentimental child they clung to, but of someone who could've been someone? Under Peter's tutelage, of course, but Valentine had so much more ambition, could've done so much more than be a personal assistant to their little brother while said little brother ruled some meaningless rock in the middle of nowhere.
They had driven up to the space port and joined the throng of people there, anonymous in the masses. Peter had suffered through it silently: all the teary goodbyes, all the desperate hope and the despair. It was enough to drive anyone mad.
Oh, he was sure there was some kind of courage in doing this - getting on a rocket, ready to fly off god knows where. He was sure some day some historian would praise their entrepeneurial spirit, the new pilgrims-- space pilgrims? Whatever.
What they were doing was running away. Running from the mess the Earth was becoming, in hopes of better fortune elsewhere. Well, let them. Peter was going to make it all better, and for the next few decades all they'd be doing was sitting on space ships, longing back to home.
Valentine gave him a hug.
She only did this, he knew, because their parents were here and so she knew he'd have to endure it.
"I'm slipping out of your grasp now, Peter, and there's nothing you can do about it," she whispered in his ear. "Find someone else's bed to piss on. And please don't wreck the world, I have friends there."
He bristled. "I'm going to fix it," he said, "You're the one who's running away from our work."
A tiny smile tugged on Valentine's lips. "Oh, I have full confidence that you can handle it," she said, and let go.
He wasn't sure what to think about that.
More tears. More hugs. And then Valentine, his sister, bag slung over her shoulder - she hadn't packed much - disappearing into this giant mass of people, becoming part of the anonymous herds.
There was something deeply disturbing about that.
An hour later, the ship took off, but Peter was still stuck on that image, and shivered.
[[ NFB due to distance. ]]
It made Peter want to pry his own eyes out with a fork.
Couldn't they see how much of a waste this was? Not of some sentimental child they clung to, but of someone who could've been someone? Under Peter's tutelage, of course, but Valentine had so much more ambition, could've done so much more than be a personal assistant to their little brother while said little brother ruled some meaningless rock in the middle of nowhere.
They had driven up to the space port and joined the throng of people there, anonymous in the masses. Peter had suffered through it silently: all the teary goodbyes, all the desperate hope and the despair. It was enough to drive anyone mad.
Oh, he was sure there was some kind of courage in doing this - getting on a rocket, ready to fly off god knows where. He was sure some day some historian would praise their entrepeneurial spirit, the new pilgrims-- space pilgrims? Whatever.
What they were doing was running away. Running from the mess the Earth was becoming, in hopes of better fortune elsewhere. Well, let them. Peter was going to make it all better, and for the next few decades all they'd be doing was sitting on space ships, longing back to home.
Valentine gave him a hug.
She only did this, he knew, because their parents were here and so she knew he'd have to endure it.
"I'm slipping out of your grasp now, Peter, and there's nothing you can do about it," she whispered in his ear. "Find someone else's bed to piss on. And please don't wreck the world, I have friends there."
He bristled. "I'm going to fix it," he said, "You're the one who's running away from our work."
A tiny smile tugged on Valentine's lips. "Oh, I have full confidence that you can handle it," she said, and let go.
He wasn't sure what to think about that.
More tears. More hugs. And then Valentine, his sister, bag slung over her shoulder - she hadn't packed much - disappearing into this giant mass of people, becoming part of the anonymous herds.
There was something deeply disturbing about that.
An hour later, the ship took off, but Peter was still stuck on that image, and shivered.
[[ NFB due to distance. ]]