Agent Macleod Showroom II

My main showroom has gotten weird. Tabula rasa.

One WIP to display for now:

One Last Shot at Redemption

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I remember our old home. There were rolling hills of purple-green grass that never grew past ankle height. The oxygen content of the world's atmosphere was naturally high enough that the great, beating Starhearts hadn't bothered planting great forests, just making us a world of farmland that we'd one day take the time to call our own. But the Starhearts worked faster than we could, and we dared not approach them. So we spread slower than they built, leaving them to make countless worlds for us to spread to on our own time.

Father said the Starhearts were servants of the Goddess and, by extension, us. They were Her Children, and She ours, and we all had a part in the Mission. We were supposed to return to Homeworld someday, to fight in the Final War. We'd bring with us the fury of 10,000 star systems and send the Red Queen back to Hell.

But that was just stories, old superstition. That was before the Screaming.


We had an entire continent to ourselves. We could visit our neighbors anytime we liked with aircraft, but we were colonists, scouting out the frontier, documenting the flora and fauna of the Starhearts' newest creation. Father said that frontier families were often like that: the first generation of families would be isolated, spread out across the world, gathering data for the next wave to analyze. The second wave would build infrastructure for the third wave, then the planet would become a hub for new expansion. It was too expensive to send more than a few dozen people faster than light for a world that hadn't been scouted yet. Once people like my father and our neighbors had inspected the Starhearts' work for quality, there'd be hundreds or thousands of ships filling the night sky, new colonists, part of our ever-expanding Empire.

Father never talked about Mother. I remember asking about her when I was younger. I don't actually remember her. But I remember asking Father when she'd be joining us; he said she wouldn't be, that he'd be able to explain why when I was older. Sometimes I'd hear him talking in his sleep, sobbing, begging her to come back. I don't know how but I knew not to ask him about it the next morning.

We spent most of our days outside of our small home on the plains out exploring. We had a rover

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