The Unforgiving Stars

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It feels like the stars are looking at me sometimes.  I feel like they are accusing me of something, but I don't know what.

They sit there, still and motionless in the blackness, so unlike the stars I remember when I was growing up on Lave.  I used to sit for hours and look at the stars twinkling there, imagining that they were wnking at me in conspiratoral merriment.

They never wink any more.  Maybe that's why I think they are accusing me of something.

This morning we got word that we were mobilising for another major offensive against the Thargoids.  Most of us were glad - border skirmishes are tedious at best with more waiting than action.  We spent most of the day prepping our ships for loading onto the Behemoth for transit to the frontlines, then sat watching the huge tractor arms lift them into the launch bays.  By lights-out we were in transit to the next battle.

Yet again I have no idea where we are.  Command thinks that as a reserve unit we don't need to know where we are.  Civilians shouldn't know the master plan that the glorious Navy has for the war.  They try to tell us it's for our own safety, but I think the truth is that there's no plan - Command send us where they think the lines need shoring up.

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