Prequel: The Dominion News Hour – Special Report
"Born not of love nor law, but of shadow and science—an existence so unnatural, even the stars would not claim it." – Reginald Whitmore, Dominion News Hour
Kael’s Personal Log – 2092, cycle 8
I was born unwanted. Conceived in a place no one speaks of, declared an abomination before I even took my first breath. The High Council didn’t know what to do with me—so they cast me into the void. Twenty-three years aboard this ship, and I still don’t know whether my exile was an act of mercy… or a sentence meant to be served in silence.
Vesper-9 looms closer with each passing cycle. It’s strange, knowing that soon, the only home I’ve ever known—these metal walls, the hum of recycled air, the cold glow of artificial light—will be behind me. My mission is clear: map the planet, assess its resources, determine if it can sustain human life. But I know the truth. This isn’t about exploration. It’s a test. A way to prove my existence has value. If I succeed, maybe—just maybe—I can redeem myself in their eyes. Maybe one day, I’ll see my homeworld with my own eyes, not through a transmission screen.
Until then, I wait. I train. I prepare.
Daily Routine Aboard the Exodus-9
· Morning Simulation: Pip—my AI assistant, my teacher, my warden—runs my planetary assessment drills. It has shaped my mind since childhood, feeding me knowledge of survival, cartography, biology, and tactics. It ensures I am useful.
· Physical Conditioning: The ship’s artificial gravity is weak, but I run, climb, lift. Vesper-9 won’t be kind to a body unprepared.
· Health Status Report: Every cycle, I send a full biometric scan to Earth—vitals, nutrition levels, cognitive function. A reminder to the High Council that I’m still alive. That their exile hasn’t broken me.
· Mapping Exercises: Endless landscape simulations—hypothetical planets, theoretical dangers. Pip says they’re training me for the unknown. I suspect they’re testing if I’ll crack under pressure.
· Log Entries & Study: The High Council will receive my reports, but these logs? These are mine. Proof that I existed beyond their calculations.
· Sleep (or the closest thing to it): The ship doesn’t have night or day. Just the steady cycle of time slipping away. I dream of open skies. Of breathing air that wasn’t filtered a thousand times before reaching my lungs.
And soon… I won’t have to dream. Soon, I’ll stand on real ground, under the alien sun, in a world that doesn’t yet know me.
I just hope I’m ready.
