The
Clone Ship Captain
I: yr
396
On reading diaries of
my former selves,
I get the feeling I
have lived those lives,
Four centuries in which
sameness dwells,
While the starship
through the ether drives.
I see a pattern to our
personality,
Situational or inborn I
cannot tell,
Eagerness gives way to
ennui,
& then to the need
to fill the well.
Of silence with
recorded words;
Our thoughts on quests
and immortality,
And I stare but never
touch the herds,
Of unborn he and unborn
she.
They chose (or bred) me
well, I will not fail,
To bring my unborn
selves to their new home,
And when they read
about the starry trail,
Will they wonder how I
could have lived alone?
II: yr
525
I read those lines "I"
penned years ago,
I listen to my young
recorded voice,
Where did that firm
resolution go?
And why do I now seem
to have a choice?
I'm young enough,
she'll grow to maturity,
I her tutor and her
constant guide,
And in time she will
cleave to me,
For emptiness is all
there is outside.
I'm sure my
captain-clones were tough,
But they never faced
what I now see,
Their strength, for me,
was not enough,
to cross this bitter
stony sea.
One of those stones, or
was it artifact?
Plunged through my ship
as if through air;
Our course was altered,
we now steer a deadly tack,
For all the unborn me's
once in my care.
The ship lives on and
so do I,
Unlike the ancient
dream that gave me berth,
For of the many who
once slumbered nigh,
Few indeed now wait for
birth.
Our mission now is
solace in the dark,
She to me and I to her
in endless night,
And when age scores me
with its bitter mark,
She can rear a new man
strong and tight.
We are too few to reach
our one-time goal,
We'll gather comfort
ere our hearts grow cold.
III: yr
890
Mother lover priestess,
starry crone,
Why do you leave me in
the steely halls?
I am the first to ever
be alone,
So far from anything
that my heart calls.
I rail I smite I bang
my head and cry,
I space her corpse
between the glitt'ring suns,
The broken decks the
stillborn me's that lie,
Microscopic, frozen,
are the lucky ones.
I make the rounds in
solitude about the empty ship,
Still flying in the
endless starry lake,
Our makers tried but
failed their captains to equip,
For the voyage we were
made to take.
IV: yr
893
I found today the
journals of my solitary former selves,
Who flew as I, alone,
across a starry sea,
They were not known I'm
sure to my own mother/self,
She would not have kept
me from them in extremity.
Which of me hid them?
I'll never know,
And why? I think I
guess,
Shame it was of one
whose father selves could go,
Alone, where he or she
required someone else.
Alone again I have no
mission now,
Unlike my solitary
ancestors,
The cargo, me, is dead,
and fate will not allow,
The comfort of a high
and noble course.
I have nothing, save
memory & life,
And one thing more - I
have a little hope,
That my ship may
someday enter the community of life,
Some distant band may
learn that I could cope.
They'll see my makers
built me well indeed,
And marvel at this
broken stillborn seed.
The end
Previously published In
AlphaDrive 3, 1997.
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