Leaving Earth

[Alfa1561]

04/02/2463

"I thought you loved your job right here, dad. Why do you have to go?"

The sun sat high above Los Angeles on another hot day, smog hanging low over the skyscrapers of the city creating a blurry view of the conurbation' looming structures. It wasn't a bad day by all accounts - the weather was nice, the heat was manageable if a little sticky, and nothing of note had happened. A typically average Friday, with the usual weekend trouble getting ready to kick off a few hours later, when the sun would go down. For Grayson, it was an unremarkable day at work sorting through cases, but a day he'd been dreading for weeks now in his personal life. His transport papers and tickets had come through - organized passage to Tau Ceti to begin at the end of the month. It wasn't a choice he'd made lightly given everything he had to leave behind, but it was necessary, for reasons he could never bring himself to admit in front of family.

"I do love my job here, Ryan, but your dad doesn't have much of a choice. Remember years ago, when times were hard and your mom and me, we couldn't afford nice things for us all? It's like that. I've got a new job that'll pay better and help me through the hard times." Grayson had taken his two children, Ryan and Elizabeth, out to the park to get ice-cream and enjoy the sun. It was as good a day as ever for it, and the best opportunity he had to break the news to them alone. Quality time spent between the three was few and far between, with most custody rights having been given to their mother Emily in the divorce a few years earlier. It had been a rough one, and like most divorces, it was the kids who likely suffered most from it. Arguments, slammed doors and muttered cursing weren't unusual in the home over the course of the proceedings, driving a wedge between both parents even more than before papers had even been filed. Sitting under the sun, the sound of traffic seemingly so distant from the picnic bench the three were at, it was so peaceful that it almost betrayed the seriousness of the topic Grayson had to explain. If it weren't for the news he had to break, it would have been a perfect day.

"Can't you just get another job here then? Why so far away?" It was a fair question to be asked. Why so far away? Why so far away? Tau Ceti was a fairly extreme option terms of distance for a job that should be temporary. Should. The truth was, he'd tried to get another job at home - national agencies like the FBI, DEA, global agencies like Interpol and even at SIP-CPA and SISA. None of it worked out. Though he had twenty years on the job - twelve in uniform and on the beat, eight in civvies solving homicides - he lacked the qualifications on paper to even be considered for a position in prestigious agencies that offered better pay. The best he had was the pay the city budget would give him, and with the constant cuts in the face of austerity, it was pay he couldn't afford to stay at any more. There was work that would pay more for the skills and experience he already had, but not at home. Not anywhere near it. He couldn't work without the protection of a badge on Earth, there was too much at stake - too much that the badge shielded him from. Without it, he created a greater risk for himself - no backup to call on anymore, no colleagues who understood the line of work he was in, or all he'd dealt with over the years. 

"Ryan, just listen to me, alright? I wish I could stay right here and not change a thing, okay? You know that. You two mean everything to me, and I wouldn't leave if I didn't really, really have to. But it isn't forever, okay? Just for a few months, maybe a year at most. I'll come back to visit, and before you even know it, things will be back to normal, like nothing changed." Reaching out, Michael took a free hand of both Ryan and Elizabeth, placing them on top of each other, with his own over the two. Gently gripping, he smiled, his thumb rubbing over the backs of their hands before letting go, sitting up. Though it pained him to lie, to be dishonest to his own children, he saw no other option. No other way to ease their fears, to make them feel better. It wasn't new - he'd lied to many before to make them feel better, made promises he could never be sure he'd keep. He'd done so to grieving widows and distraught parents, promising he'd find whoever took their loved one from them. He'd held the hands of the dying, promising they'd be okay, that everything would be alright - because what else could he say or do in the face of the inevitable, when someone looks to a man with a badge and a gun to make everything right, even when he cannot. It was different with family, with those he knew. Those who grieve were often swarmed by bureaucracy and family, the promises he'd made lost in a sea of support. The lies told to the dead went with them. Neither came back to face him in life, but the lies he was telling now? He could only imagine how they might react, in the future, however long it would take for him to return, after he'd broken the promises he'd made to his own children. 

"Now, Ryan, I want you to take this." Reaching into his pocket, Grayson withdrew his wallet with his prosthetic hand, flipping it open past the oval badge of the LAPD, and to a star shaped one instead, that of the California Highway Patrol. The numbers on the badge weren't his, but that of his father, the badge worn throughout his entire career. Michael pulled the badge out, detaching it from the wallet, and gave it to Ryan, placing it in his hand firmly with his own organic hand.

"That's your grandfather's badge, from when he was a cop. When he retired, he gave that to me. He said it always kept him safe at work, and that if I carried it, it'd keep me safe too. It did. So while I'm gone, I want you to look after it. Okay? It'll keep you safe while I'm not around to, and you can give it back when I get home." Turning to his daughter, Grayson took her hand and held it gently, fishing something out of his breast pocket. A rosary, the wood worn with time and slightly chipped. The cross was engraved neatly, depicting Jesus Christ's crucifixion. On the back of the cross, the name "Laura" was engraved. Michael gently laid the beads across Elizabeth's hand, placing the cross softly on her palm.

"And Lizzy, this is for you. Your grandmother gave me this years ago when I started working. She taught me how important faith is to have, and I hope the two of you will learn that as well. She gave it to me because she knew God was always with me, and I could use this to always be with God. God is always with you, too, and if you ever need strength, if school is getting tough, or you're unhappy, or whatever it might be, God will give you strength, just like he's done for me." Withdrawing his hand, Grayson sat looking at the two silently for a moment, his prosthetic arm resting beneath his organic one on the table. In truth, he had hoped that his faith would have given him greater strength and comfort. That knowing God was watching over his children would grant him some peace, yet it didn't. Only a week ago, Michael had stood at a curb, looking over at the corpse of a boy his son's age, the victim of a drive-by. He wasn't the first, and knowing he wasn't the last either was what gave the detective pause. No matter what, he could never be sure that such a thing would never happen to his own family, his own children. No matter how hard he tried, no protection or precaution was ever perfect. Now, he'd be lightyears away, even less able to look after the two than he was before. It kept him awake at night, the paranoia that some other cop would be standing over the bodies of those he cared about, scribbling notes and making various remarks, acting like he'd seen it all before. Just like he had done.

Looking up from the two, Grayson saw a woman walking towards them. Looking to his right wrist, his watch revealed that his time was already up. Michael had arranged to pick the kids up from school and take them out for a few hours before Emily got off work. He'd lost track of time, but he'd at least done what he set out to do - what he'd been putting off for so long. Standing up, he nodded to the two children to get up too, stepping over to them on the path and crouching. With both arms, he wrapped himself around Ryan and Elizabeth, giving them a tight, loving hug. Unbeknownst to him, it was the last hug he'd give them in a long time. He was careful not to hurt either of them, conscious of the badge on his hip and the holstered gun at his waist, and so pulled back to give both a kiss on the forehead before standing up. The transfer of custody went as smoothly and as wordlessly as it usually did, Emily and Michael offering each other only a base respectful nod before they parted ways, she with Ryan and Elizabeth in tow. That was how it had been for the last while - no words spoken, times and dates arranged via text and rigidly stuck to. She had the majority of the custody rights, as was to be expected, and there was nothing to be done for it. Grayson was far too busy with work to be able to give Ryan and Elizabeth the parenting they deserved, as painful as it was to admit to himself.

Standing there, Grayson watch the trio leave down the park path, eventually turning out of sight behind a row of trees. With a sigh, the detective took out a packet of cigarettes, expertly sliding one of its contents into his organic hand, tapping it against his palm and then placing it between his lips. No sooner than he'd done so, he already had his zippo out, flicking it open, on, lighting the cigarette and putting away the lighter in a flash. He could already feel himself calming as he took a drag from the cigarette, his nerves settling despite the unease and worry he felt. A natural byproduct of the news he'd just delivered, of the reality he was facing. Looking back at his watch, Grayson sighed, adjusting his waist holster and walking the opposite direction down the path to his cruiser. He needed to be back at work within the hour.

-

04/14/2463

The Robbery-Homicide Division of the LAPD was perhaps the most glamorous of divisions in the department, given fame over the centuries thanks to countless television shows, movies, news stories and more. Naturally, the reality was that the division was far from being as streamlined, efficient and pristine as the public image of it made it out to be. The truth was that homicides were the primary authority of each regional division's detective squad - and in a city with four homicides a day, those squads were quickly overloaded with cases. The overflow next went to the city-wide RHD, creating a mess of stacking cases on the backlog to be solved that only got bigger and bigger. The physical offices themselves were far from being the neat and organized cubicles depicted in police procedurals, with fancy consoles for most of the paperwork and curated messes to create the illusion of a busy work environment. The reality was floors of office desks, inboxes stacked with case files and papers many times higher than the outboxes, aging consoles in use accompanied by newer personal laptops to make life that bit easier, trashcans filled with takeout boxes, coffee cups and crumpled papers. Detectives in varied forms of semi-formal attire, their collars tugged out in the hot environment, jackets and windbreakers tossed over the backs of office chairs. Personnel in uniform and out rushing about, dropping off papers, heading off to make arrests, responding to calls, organizing raids and stake-outs, the list went on. A typical look into the overworked investigative agents of a conurbation' police department, lacking in funding and manpower to meet the demands of a constantly growing city, always playing catch-up rather than being ahead of the curve.

Desks were arranged side-by-side and back-to-back, typical partners and groups who would work together seated nearby in order to collaborate more efficiently on cases. Grayson, along with his partner Detective Moore were no different - Moore seated to his right, and one of their common compatriots, Detective Garcia, across from him. The same desk had belonged to Grayson for six years, ever since he'd moved from being a regional homicide detective to RHD. It felt strange to know it would be his last month working at it. Sitting there, with a coffee in hand, it was hard not to think about the myriad of cases he'd been involved in over the years, cases which he'd solved at that same desk, alongside many of the same detectives. A slap to his back quickly knocked him back to the present, Henry Moore having returned and now collapsed into his office chair, dropping a bundle of papers on to his desk. Across the way, Garcia had already been sitting at his desk, typing away at his laptop for one reason or another. Clearing his throat to get their attention, Grayson sat up, looking between them.

"I got some news to tell you both, if you're not busy." Michael began with, taking a quick sip from his coffee before setting it aside, swiveling around to face the two on his chair.

"Oh, you finally going out with that chick from patrol you've been hanging out with? Lisa? About time." Moore immediately quipped, turning his attention straight to his partner.

"No, I'm not going out with Lisa. I'm going to be resigning, temporarily at least. I'm moving to Biesel for a bit, for work, but I'm not sure how long. Wanted to tell you guys first, before I go making it all official." In reply, Michael kept a relatively hushed voice, his left arm resting on the desk. Neither detective offered an immediate reply, both looking to each other first before Daniel Garcia spoke up.

"I appreciate you tellin' us 'fore the others, but... why? Why th' fuck would you move all the way to Tau Ceti?" Garcia had since moved his laptop aside, leaning forward on his desk as if to keep the conversation as close-knit as possible.

"Work. Look, there's shit I don't want to get into about this, but ever since me and Emily divorced, its been rough. I'm up to my ears in fuckin' alimony and loan repayments. There's a well paying job I'm due to get out there with Idris, so I just need to... work out there a while, pay off some of my expenses, then I'll be back. Hopefully won't take long." Reaching up to his neck, Grayson rubbed his neck, then his left shoulder harshly, looking between the two again as Moore began to reply.

"Well fuck, Grayson... thanks for telling us, but God damn. Gonna miss you, partner. Least you're coming back, though - ain't letting you leave us with all this work on our lonesome! When are you leaving, though?" Forcing a smile, Henry lightly punched Michael's right shoulder - a wiser option than his playful punches to the tough prosthetic left arm that he'd made the mistake of making before. Michael forced a smile in return, nodding as he leaned back and took a gulp of coffee.

"Course I'm comin' back, can't leave this city forever. You know that. I'm set to leave at the end of the month, handed in my notice yesterday. Do me a favor though, keep this between yourselves for now. I'll let the rest know when I'm ready." Both detectives nodded in agreement before sitting back into their own chairs, contemplating the news for a bit before turning to their own desks and papers, idly working with the developments in mind. Turning to his own desk, Grayson opened a drawer, taking out an orange tinted plastic bottle with a label, popping the cap off and withdrawing a pill that he quickly downs, the medication soon chased by another gulp of coffee. Looking around, he was yet again reminded of all the other colleagues he had yet to inform - the other detectives he worked so often with, the uniformed officers he knew so well and would hang out with, the forensics teams and coroners who he had come to know over the course of his work. Then there were the cases, too - every active case assigned would need to be wrapped up by months end, or ready to hand over to another lead detective. Opening up his console and bringing up his case list, Grayson quickly began to sort through them and prepare them for handing off early. It was a lot of work to leave behind - a fact that sickened Michael - but he had little other choice.

-

04/30/2463

The Los Angeles Interstellar Spaceport had been a major hub of public transportation nationally, globally and throughout the Alliance. Connecting America's largest city to the rest of the globe and the spur at large was no easy task, with what was once the Los Angeles International Airport having long since been expanded upon to fulfill the needs of the modern world. Despite the prominence of the spaceport in the city, it remained a location Grayson had rarely been to throughout his life. The Spaceport had its own police department, meaning he never had cause to be there for work, and most travel he partook in was relatively local, with the same or neighboring states by car. At a first glance, navigation of such a massive facility seemed daunting, but with a short amount of time, the signage and directions usually made sense, especially so when accompanied by detailed maps and travel assistance applications.

For Grayson, it was less a daunting task and more a frightening one. The Spaceport wasn't just a means of travel, but stood as the physical harsh reality of leaving Earth for the first time in his life, for an amount of time he couldn't truly predict. His ticket was one way. Check-in had been a relatively painless, automated process, his ticket printed and bags tagged, sent off on a conveyor for loading. All the preparation for the journey had been completed. He had his passcard, work visa, employment papers. He'd ended his rental of his apartment and sold his car. He'd finished at work and assigned his cases to other detectives before leaving. He'd been by to see his kids and parents once more before leaving. All that was left to do was go. 

Walking through the Spaceport offered some time to reflect on the journey ahead. Not just the journey to Tau Ceti, which would be littered with transfer flights, but the journey to return to Earth. What needed to be done to come back home, what Michael had to overcome. It wouldn't be easy, either. Travel blogs he'd read often advised against moving to Biesel without friends or family, citing how hard it was to assimilate. Grayson didn't have that luxury though. He had to leave his friends and family behind, in the hope of at least making some new friends for the time being in order for the ordeal to be less painful. He could probably do that, at least. Passing through security was of little issue either, none of Michael's belongings triggering a search, nor himself selected for a random pat-down. 

The final stretch of the walk was to the departure gate assigned for his flight, the spaceport app on his phone keeping him constantly abreast of the departure time and any spaceport notices. Along the way Grayson stopped at the food court to grab a quick coffee, wasting some of the idle time left before boarding with a pastime he often enjoyed - simply people watching. He had to wonder where everyone else was going, too. Those heading to Silversun or other warm tourist destinations were obvious, dressed in their floral shirts and beach-suitable shorts. Then there were the business people, dressed in various suits and formal dress, probably heading for other places on Earth if not for one of the Inner Colonies. Then there were those like him, dressed in the casual best, no clear indication of where or why they were going. Was there anyone like him, travelling off alone? Perhaps temporarily, or perhaps to start a whole new life? Surely there must have been some among the thousands of humans bustling about the port. Surely he wasn't alone in being forced to make a difficult choice, a major change to his life. Naturally he wasn't, but the knowledge of it made him feel no less alone.

With his coffee finished, Michael sat for a few minutes more, holding his rosary in his organic hand, praying silently. Whether he hoped prayer would give him safety or companionship more, he wasn't sure, but it felt as if it were the right thing to do - if not out of obligation to faith, then out of tradition carried for nearly his whole life. Time was moving on, however, and eventually he had to get up and go. Walking down the various tunnels of the spaceport offered views of the large craft that would carry humans to places across the spur, dwarfing the ground crews nearby who worked to fuel up and maintain the ships for use. With the use of conveyors across the long tunnels, it didn't take long for Grayson to arrive at his gate, sitting only a few minutes before boarding started. The process was as streamlined as the rest of the port had been, his ticket checked at a small kiosk before he walked down a docking arm and on to the ship that would take him into space for the first time in his life. 

Now seated, his bag packed overhead, belt fastened and earphones in, there was nothing more to do than wait, music from a downloaded playlist streamed into his ears to drown out all the worry and negative thoughts that the current situation presented. It wasn't long before the rest of the ship had been filled, and soon enough they were departing, moving from the gate and preparing for take-off. He'd seen it happen many times before, from afar, or in TV shows or movies - but never before had he experienced it. To lift off Earth, knowing he wouldn't simply be landing again there in an hour or two. Lift-off was a lot more comfortable than he had expected, though he didn't witness it himself. Despite having a window seat, Michael kept his eyes closed, hands gripping the arms of his chair, opting instead to focus on the music. Before he knew it, they were airborne - rapidly approaching the clouds and flying beyond, approaching space.

Looking out the window and down below, Grayson laid eyes on what had been his home for nearly forty years, with no idea when he'd see it again. He'd left Earth.