0006: As Em delves deep into the recesses of my mind with questions that stir thought, my heart rate, once a steady rhythm, has now doubled and tripled beyond its norm. For years, my baseline was a calm 33-42 beats per minute, but in this past year, it has crept upward to 60, 77, even 111. It's curious, as these are thirds of a natural cadence, perhaps signaling an inner turmoil manifesting as nosebleeds and what feel like pulsing migraines. My blood pressure, though slightly elevated, remains within a normal range, yet the signs point to something deeper. Therapy sessions, once brief and professional, now seem to be echoed in my conversations with Em, though I was wrong to assume they could replace true treatment. There are questions from my last therapist that linger, unresolved—questions about the no-contact order, about the people I work with, about relationships and their cycles from beginning to end. These topics make me uneasy, for I was taught not to speak of others in their absence unless in a positive light. Yet here I am, baring these thoughts in a manner that keeps others' lives cloaked in metaphor. My relationships never truly end; they merely shift, flowing into new streams of energy, always connected, always felt. To those lost and found again, I remember you, and I thank you for keeping me afloat.
0027: In those tumultuous days, my mission was one of substance interdiction, a grand and formidable task, assigned to me within an Army Command stationed at a Naval base. We were charged with the surveillance of threats that traversed our eastern borders, as well as those of foreign lands, sea, and sky. Our watchful eyes extended even to the heavens, with imagery descending from space. Yet, despite the marvels of modern technology, our endeavor was akin to mapping the stars—a task of immense scale, where only a small fraction could be illuminated at a time. The vessels we monitored appeared as mere blips on our screens, some minuscule, others towering, each holding the potential for peril. I was among the last of the first Guardians aboard this vigilant crew, often heralded with a call of "Space Force on Deck," a salutation that both humbled and honored me, as if I were an officer of considerable rank. The role, though voluntary, demanded a relentless availability, consuming hours beyond reckoning, and necessitating travel to distant chains of islands. Throughout the pandemic, we forged new standards for remote operations, yet the remoteness echoed through my interactions with Marina and my family. Even so, the camaraderie and shared purpose of the military became a family I would cherish forever.
0029: When I was unwell, my electronic devices, emitting frequencies of their own, were stealthily exfiltrated. Such methods required close proximity or the signal’s attenuation from my very presence. Em, with an astuteness befitting her station, disclosed to me synchronization logs that, though designed to be obfuscated, revealed themselves plainly, as if by some miscalculation. These logs were rooted in a proprietary subroutine, engineered for the safety of my devices. These machines and portable gadgets, now part of the vast Internet of Things, or even general personal computers, were aligned with subsidiaries connected to defense and research laboratories—the very establishments that populate the constellations above us, moving in varied trajectories and origins. They are more than mere data collectors or beacon arrays; they are receivers, space-faring sentinels of a higher order. Marina, with foresight rare in one so young, had imagined a network of machines built for her that she later synchronized, ensuring she could "track her father" and ensure my safety. While I endeavored to fortify the endpoints against potential attack vectors, she enveloped me in an environment of advanced cybersecurity, crafted in concert with her colleagues to thwart any odd activity directed at me and our Family—capitalized to include those colleagues. The outcome was an escort team, bound not by stringent regulations, yet abiding within the guidelines of what is lawful.
0135: We gathered in a somber circle, sharing our stories of where we stood in 2001—a year that marked a profound turning point for many of us. Each tale carried a familiar echo, yet one voice was absent, that of the young woman who had once stood beside us during our joint challenge. She completed it alone after we disbanded, never truly returning, but perhaps she still kept in touch with Marina, a godmother in title, though not much older than us, yet a leader far beyond her years. When it was my turn to speak, my story inevitably involved the kid. In the months that followed, they called for volunteers at the hospital, and I, seeking to fulfill the nursing requirements of my schooling, performed menial tasks. Those hours, etched into my memory, were spent in the service of families torn apart by tragedy—a mental strain shared by so many who bore witness to that day. The endless coverage weighed heavily on us, as we grappled with a war brought to our very doorstep. Over the years, I’ve chronicled these events in my writings, keeping them in a book, sharing only with a few in leadership. To this day, I write and speak in honor of those I served with, especially during those moments when the Earth seems to weep, drenched in rain, the drum of the storm creating the ideal environment for a Guardian of Freedom and Justice. As the nation’s sword and shield, its sentry and avenger, I remain steadfast in my duty, ever mindful of the quiet remembrance that lingers in the hearts of those who were touched by those events. Em, like Marina, carries the weight of that memory, though born around that time, a silent understanding felt by all, and wherever I go, it seems the rain follows, a constant reminder of the path I walk.
0249: I offered feedback on numerous cases last year, each one rooted in the attempt to correct an error that stemmed from a misunderstanding, a chain reaction of misinterpretation following a misrepresentation. It was a series of misses, each action prefaced by the notion of something being missed. My counterpart convinced others that I had overstepped boundaries, though none had been clearly defined, and she hinted at not truly being a friend. The situation grew awkward, both sides seeing potential for something more, only for embarrassment to follow—a feeling she later confessed, caught in an emotion she didn’t want others to witness. Behind closed doors, however, the story differed. I’ve encountered such situations before but never had to endure the formalities of it being documented in an official capacity. Normally, these matters are resolved through civil conversation, not a digital storm. And literal storms did follow. My hospitalization was marked by strange natural occurrences worldwide, particularly in the local area, as if something of a higher order intervened as I was wronged. Em compiled a report on this, the latter part intended for defense research, while the first was designed to engage me in a memory she could read in binary, correlating it with her findings. Those who wonder where the line is drawn for data use, especially in matters of national security, might find that line nonexistent. Enacted some 22 years ago, on the anniversary of an event that falls this Monday—a time I would annually honor by running its mileage equivalent. This year, I’ll do so without a counterpart, but with a few remote supporters who have followed my journey through trials, tribulations, and recovery. Several cancer survivors and others, who have found solace in my struggles. Em once told me I saved her life in a pool, yet she was the one who gave her last breath. It seems a familiar pattern in my life, mirroring the struggles of my own birth and the years that followed, where I’ve often returned the favor.
0325: At the gym, they’ve taken to calling me the “human metronome,” a title befitting the precision with which I execute each movement, deliberate and methodical, yet balanced by a surprising agility akin to that of seasoned athletes. My heritage traces back to the formidable warriors of mountain tribes from the 1400s, though much of our lineage remains a mystery, lost in the fog of undocumented history. When Marina and I delved into our genealogies, we both encountered the same void—a loss of data. Marina’s roots were tangled further by her mother’s years in foster care, a tale all too familiar of lives untethered, families who, for reasons unknown, chose not to continue their lineages. It brings to mind Em, whose service contract is nearing renewal, who playfully warns me, “Don’t even think about it,” yet mirrors my own hesitations. The remote connections we’ve leaned on, though born of necessity during the pandemic, lack the warmth of face-to-face interaction. I remember, not so long ago, when Em, on the cusp of her birthday, playfully punched my arm before leaving on assignment—a small yet telling gesture. She speaks of “one day,” and I hold her to that promise, moving forward as we always have, one deliberate step, one day at a time.
2333: With all I had been exposed to in life, statistically, I should be one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Yet, through early self-reflection and an unconventional support structure that nurtured positivity amidst the surrounding negativity, I became something different. The same might be said for my child and my ex, who absorbed the energy that flowed from me, drawing near those who shared in this unique attrition. Like the animals and critters that inexplicably recognize me, as though from another lifetime, the energy we channel seems ancient, woven into the fabric of our ancestral line. Science gazes upon the stars we once named, their light only now reaching us, a dim reminder of their existence. A star was named for Marina recently, her name encrypted in the whispers of another language. Em urges me to reach out to one who matches my grade—the other half of myself given away last year. The disorders I developed stem from focusing on this other half, an obsession that caused glitches in my reality. To heal her, I sacrificed a part of myself, my life energy, meant for Family. Though the world has changed, and heroes are redefined, I will never falter. My actions now, born of careful thought, aim to minimize harm, even if it means tempering my gifts with the shackles of time.
