The Write Stuff (The Writing Thread)

[Florien]

It was quiet in the greenhouse. The lights were bright, the sun was shining, and the blood from the corpse had begun to pool on the cold concrete of the floor. The smell of plants and loose soil was pervasive. It almost hid the smell of the freshly spilled blood. The body lay between rows and columns of plant boxes, no way to see it from the entrance. No cameras focused on the area where it lay. Escape. No way out. Other route? No. Confess? Not an option. Cover up? No way to dispose of the body. FUCK.

Was there a good reason for it to get this far? Probably not. Heat of the moment excused it, right? No. Just reporting them might have worked, but violence HAD worked. The problem was solved. But they were now faced with a new problem. Need to get out. Their mind raced. They'd not planned for this. Not planning, a mistake they knew they'd make again, but not for a while, at least. Frame a senior officer. The idea had come unprompted to their mind. Time felt like it was running more slowly. All the time in the world to think. It was a good idea, or, at the very least, not worse than the others. But who to frame? No one else was close by the greenhouse at this time of day. No one else could have done it. They briefly considered making a bomb out of fertilizer and oil, but realized they had neither ammonium nitrate fertilizer nor rock oil. Aside from that, what could the explosion solve? No. Think. There's a better way. There has to be.

They continued thinking. It felt like hours were passing. Surely someone would enter and figure it out any minute. There were cameras on the entrances, it would be obvious who had done it. Wait for someone to enter, and then sneak out, framing them? No. Their prints were on the gardening shears, and there was no way to get rid of the shears. They looked at the clock on the wall. It had been two minutes since they had done it. Plenty of time to think of a plan. They kept telling themself that, but it felt like there was no time. They'd be caught and kicked out, imprisoned, maybe worse. Run and seek aid. Some people may not care what happened here. The idea appealed. Flight. It would be difficult, but they had heard of some groups who might be interested. At the bare minimum, murder would not be a mark against them on their application. It wouldn't be an easy route, their whole plan had been derailed by this day. But the route was certainly more appealing than any alternative visible. Why not? What's the worst that can happen? Death, certainly, but that's a risk run just as much by any other course today. The idea was too appealing to pass up. No one would question them on the way out, they'd long ago figured out how to walk so that no one would stop them. The question was, could they get to a ship before someone found out about the crime and locked down the Academy? Nothing for it. Do it.

The young floran, barely in their twenties, followed that course. Quickly, with purpose, as if asked to go pick up something. Bloodstains were beginning to set in on their shirt. A few people stared briefly, but none stopped them. The shears had been abandoned in the greenhouse. They'd only raise questions. They came upon the port, where the spacecraft were stored. Some were being stocked with cargo, others were being unloaded, and still others were awaiting orders. They knew how to fly, and they had the uniform. No one would question them. It would just look like a cadet heading in to pick up some cargo. Routine. They walked through security without stopping. The guard briefly stared at the bloodstains on their shirt, but made no move to stop them, and returned to playing checkers on his phone. One of the spacecraft was being loaded up with weapons. Nothing special, just supplies to a protectorate peacekeeper regiment. Perfect. They stepped aboard, as if to help, and looked around. An unattended crate. Exposed weapons. Perfect. They grabbed a pistol and a shock baton, no point in grabbing anything unconcealable, and made their way to the cockpit. The pilot was there, chatting with a full member of the protectorate. A peacekeeper, by the look of them. Floran's already killed one today. More won't worsen the matter. The cockpit was soundproofed and had blast-resistant doors, as was the standard. "HEY! One moment! Floran needss to talk with you!"

The decision to speak was perhaps foolish, but it got the both the pilot and the peacekeeper's attention. Both looked in confusion at the floran with the bloodstained shirt, with the door sliding shut behind them. The door shut fully with a hiss. Two muffled gunshots rang out through the largely empty ship. No one on the crew loading it heard them. The total number of murders that day at the Academy rose to three. Floran should feel something. Floran was told that floran would feel something. Floran was told killing a living being is hard. It couldn't just be a lack of empathy for meat-creatures either, they reflected. The pilot had been floran, like them. Surely they should have felt something, anything, but there was nothing. Just a vague sense that they should be feeling something which just wasn't there. Moving quickly on, they set to work activating the ship's systems, and closed the cargo bay door. No point in worrying about people trapped inside. Floran will get them later. The manifest, though there was blood spattered on it, was clear enough to read. The ship was set to leave in fifteen minutes. That explained why it was right there on the runway. The escape would be easy. From there, freedom.

They began taxiing the ship down the runway. The flight controller at the tower hailed them. "Craft Tango-Peru-three-nineteen, you have not been cleared for takeoff. Please stop the craft and wait for clearance." They briefly considered shouting at the flight controller, perhaps swearing, but thought better of it. Silence was better. "Tango-Peru-three-nineteen, stop your craft immediately." They were picking up speed down the runway. Only a few more seconds until takeoff. "Tango-Peru-three-nineteen, stop immediately, this is your final warning." The craft lifted off, passed outside the atmosphere, and reached orbit. No turning back. There was enough fuel to warp tens of thousands of light years. Anywhere not on the flight manifest was an option. The number of choices was overwhelming. All that remained was finding the coalition. They'd been around for decades, taking in anyone who was willing to fight for them. They were no nation. They were little more than an organized pirate group. But with success within the protectorate no longer an option, this was the best available route. Maybe it will be a better route than the original plan. A well of hope sprung up in the young floran, as they sat in the pilot's seat, next to the slumped bodies of the pilot and the peacekeeper. At very least, floran knows more about floran'sself than did this time yesterday. There was a hammering on the door to the cockpit. "Adi, what the FUCK is wrong with you?!" Adi. A name to one of the corpses, at least. "What'ss one or two more?" Sendri said to themself, as they took aim, and opened the door.