Debating on what strategy to take was often a difficult task for Artemis, as she still had issues with running away from her life problems. She’d catch herself reminiscing on the day she had ran away from the Viking and his jagged glare. She had fled from all of her Indigenous Warriors the first time she found herself disappointed in their lack of empathy or commitment to Westernization. It disturbed her to listen to their quarrels on which Indigenous Warrior held “more ancestral blood-quantums” intact: her men had resorted to boasting, having barely survived the ethnic cleansing. It became such an issue, that she resorted to avoiding her own Peoples. They had drove her away, as they annoyed her with endless questions as to why she had yet to bare a child. Artemis had a promising career: building and operating on sky-boats, and her accomplishments were often downplayed in her community. Her contemporaneous ambitions were seen as “manly” or “unladylike” by all the elders that wished for her pump out a slew of children. Artemis was thrilled that she was on schedule to be the first female Indigenous Warrior to operate the false star that orbited the Earth, and wondered why her elders prized their misery over her accomplishments. She had only wanted to them to treasure her the way they had her predeceasing mentor, and instead she was met with contention because of her ovaries.  Artemis had once noted this problem with her mentor: Indigenous Warrior, Ph.D. J. Herrington. She unburdened her mind as she discussed a wide range of topics, and simultaneously avoided talking aboot their culture. Instead, they focused on Artemis passing the mental tests and maintaining the physical criteria needed for her to be assigned a mission. Artemis always left their conversations inspired and determined more than ever, as she was reassured that she was in fact, the best man suited for the job. Not because Artemis was overly-competitive, but because she expected herself to fulfill the same requirements that were demanded from the men she wished to work next to. She’d push herself and take pride in her timed mile, as she used the platitude of physical tests to prove her commitment to gender equality.

Artemis would struggle to keep her heavy left leg swift, but it was a challenge that served as a blessing in disguise. She forced herself to run outdoors and took pride in her sense of place, in order to ward of the dark and dampen the threatening impact that followed her mind in the winter. The vitamin D she had been missing in her youth, was finally allocated to her as an extracurricular activity that forced her to leave her house each day.  She would practice her push-ups in private, and allowed the dopamine to help her recall happy memories of her papa to flood her focus. She’d remember how they had push-up contests together as rivals, as the art of discipline and competitive spirit was genetically woven into the odd pair. She’d marvel at his skills, as he re-mixed his form to involve one arm or the act of clapping between reps. He would lower his nose into a triangle formation that his hands formed, as he seamlessly showed off his might, and dominated the contest they held. She’d still smile in her nostalgic daydreams as she thought of her cousins that had once sat on his backside with her, as he did his push-ups with ease. He had been the strongest person in the world at that moment, and she was always thankful that he had shown up in her life to be her protector. Artemis hadn’t known that he was sixty-million years old (as she’d call it), or battling leukemia during these times. Her papa had used his might to hide the fact he was dying. His odd smile would never have suggested that his health was in decline, and he fought vigorously to uphold the charisma of a youthful gladiator. This was a characteristic flaw, that Artemis had learned from her papa. She now suffered the consequences of her persona, as the people in her life were now off put by her occasional stitch or muscle spasm. Realizing it were easier to abandon their friend, than to be slightly uncomfortable by the sight of her in pain. “Merica’” thought Artemis. Her friendships deteriorated, as they discovered their lack of goodness and she no-longer saw herself a victim for them to pity. The undeniable fact that people suck, was one that Artemis grown up rediscovering. A theory that her papa had given her permission to act upon, as he enjoyed watching his seven year old tell people to “fuck off”. His daughter held the firm tongue of a sailor and had an obvious problem with figures of authority, and he took mild entertainment in watching her fury on public display. Artemis had been instructed by her papa to only cooperate with others that respected her enough to ask questions before judging her. She actively applied this understanding elsewhere, as she had a solidified bar of expectations now set in her life, as to what was viewed and accepted as equality.

Artemis had been professionally building petite and medium scaled sky-boats for over six years now. Her passion had left her in an official perpetual state of boredom as she ran out of impossibles to fulfill. She missed her civil servant bosses: Warmbrodt, and Young. She didn’t mind working with mostly men, but found the disportioncate ratio to make her job a bit more difficult than necessary, as the men were occasionally distracted by her existence. They often overstepped, and questioned her ability to work as hard as any other dead-eyed savage with a penis. Her co-workers frequently asked what she had done to earn her place at the Blue Shield of Hope: noting non-verbally that Artemis was brown, holding broken-English and mobbing with ovaries. Artemis would waste her time squashing these questions, as she defended her ability to excel. She’d confine in her men, that she had filed the same application they had, and miraculously had made it to her position under her own merit. The obvious notes of sarcasms forced the men would fall quiet: annoyed that the small woman knew her place in the world, and disappointed that they didn’t get an opportunity to poke holes at her well-earned success. Artemis already stuck out as a scientist surrounded by engineers, and she learned to step ahead of the crowd because of it. For she lived in a world where men often looked down upon her with delight. They judged Artemis for not being able to regurgitate knowledge on the spot, as her lofty smile seemed displaced compared to the moody engineers surrounding her. They condemned her open mind, as they only believed in the sciences that has already been written, ruled, and imposed on the masses. These engineers couldn’t come up with an original idea to save their lives, thought Artemis to herself. She would often shake her head in shame or disbelief whenever she was met with sexism, racism, or other-isms at her work. She felt no shame in admitting that she occasionally cried after the occurrences, as she forced herself to accept that she had romanticized her mission.

Artemis didn’t need endless wealth of those idolized by the Boar, but her struggle to escape poverty often left her privy to take sketchy funds in order to fund her projects as a private contractor.  She hadn’t understood classism until her childhood, as the weight of her papa’s passing left her to fend for herself in a suburb known as hell. She would fall into a spell of materialism that was expressed through fashion, as her lavish wardrobe often masked her low-income status.  Artemis had been raised to never spend more than what was in her hand, as gambling was reserved primarily for foolish dead-eyed savages. Tangible evidence of her commitment in assimilating was portrayed in her sharp wardrobe. Artemis was shameless in admitting that she enjoyed fine fabrics and textiles, as the woman was always dressed to impress. She masqueraded her wealth by buying second-hand fashion, as her guilty pleasure came at the cost of her own financial merits. She had once mentioned to the Kind-Hearted Hunters, that the personality traits of the dead-eyed savages was statistically friendlier whenever she dressed to the standards of the upper middle-class. It was an odd priority, as the orphan contended their judgements with fashion and proper mannerisms. She’d smile to herself wickedly, proud to know that the others had wanted to believe that she was important enough to dress with the finest of linens. Such accidental social experiments had been performed in her youth, but Artemis was always the most confident whenever she was wearing clothes usually fitted for men.  She’d prize the interesting company she kept, in which she could finally address that she felt guilty for people watching and wonder aloud why randoms seemed obsessed with her wardrobe that lacked feminine charm. Judging people was a habit in her culture, as the Indigenous Warriors had been executed until there were only two out of every ten left. Annihilated for their clothes and customs...until the dead-eyed savages fetishized them for themselves out of boredom. Tis’ a weird culture...to be born the biggest losers in history, and Artemis often prided herself in her ability to make the most of it. Which is why she had wanted to operate the false star, as it represented a statement as to the integrity of her Indigenous Warriors. The opportunity would serve to announce that they were finally strong enough as a collective, to demand equality.

Artemis would grow up with vivid dreams exploring the stars and running across the golden hills of the West. She recalled memories of other lifetimes, preparing her battleship, as she sprinted down veering corridors in white threads. Artemis was always lucid in this mission, trying to get her control mechanism to accept her handprints and retina scans in a danger-filled rush. Worried that her dream time would run out, and somehow she would be sucked into a blackhole where she was surrounded by fire for eternity. Artemis found herself distraught in these unnecessarily specific dreams, as she forgot what her directive was, or who she had been looking for. She was yelling for his help, but he never came in time for her to initiate undocking sequences. The frustrations of disappointment would rise with her when she awoke in chronic pain each day. The pain she felt upon her spine was her punishment for having failed in her sudo-mission. She figured they were simply echoes of past lives, as the fragments of her dreams were openly mentioned by her elders in forms of Traditional stories. These were the same grandparents were called the lost generation, as they passed along stories of their parents but read only one book. Few seemed to remember the truth behind their legends, as they lost hope in the return of the battle angel. This was despite the proof that she held, as her name was beaded and adorned upon their linens. The Yurok word for whale being….Sür, the Western equivalent of word Sir. Artemis recalled how her papa had once walked up on a local woman, as the woman introduced Tila to her two kids. The kids looked at her in excitement, as though she were dressed fantastic cosplay. The lady had heard her papa call her name in the store, and observed that Artemis were in fact strangely small with wiry hair...just as the legend had said. Artemis watched as the kids grew abuzz by her laughter, and they mentioned they liked that bedtime story where she had destroyed a huge bridge by accident or sent tsunami to their coast with her tears. The natural disaster had been prophesied as and indicator to the Three Tribes, that she was ready to reincarnate. Artemis didn’t like their stories, as they confused her on why they felt comfortable enough to call her a fuck up in the same tone that Hera used, as they told tales of a pathetic character that seemed to fail a lot.  The experience was never talked aboot, as her glare towards her papa summed up her understanding to her role in their culture. She wasn’t sure, why her Father hadn’t mentioned it until then. Had he not trusted her to understand? Instead...he told her the stories were probably in one of the books they had at home. Artemis knew better than to ask questions, and so she tucked the memory away and returned to it out of curiosity. Wondering if she had done this all before, as she’d vaguely recalled planting origin stories with the Indigenous Warriors in past lives, as she wanted to need their help. Expecting they would finally be strong enough to speak freely someday, and that their stories would assist her on a future undisclosed mission. 

Artemis had known her current steel cattle were unprepared for the task on hand, as the Boar had ran her institution of the Blue Shield into financial ruins. A small casualty that made way for his idiotic military taskforce. Set in space. Artemis would have nightmares of banging her head on the wall, as the topic of a spaceforce was already associated with the Blue Shield of Hope, and she hated her success being considered a joke for the public to reclassify. Artemis would wash the smiles from faces, as she began talking aboot heavy artillery, and the disastrous circumstances the crew would be in if a member aboard the mission held the maturity span that reflected the famed Boar. The idea of lawlessness amongst the stars, being the topping on the cake. Artemis would leave conversations upset by the lack of ambitions of those surrounding her, as she was left with no option other than to write down a preparation manual for her personal use in a future mission. 

She was always touchy to the subject, as she hated having to consider herself a normal person. The Blue Shield of Hope helped her prove to herself that she existed. It was her way of showing the world that she was trying, and that she believed in herself enough to create a Little Light within herself. The accomplishment was the closest thing to Glory that she’d ever known, and she had earned it by caring.  Her childish dreams were dismantled easily by the Boar, as the knife to budgets and wedged Artemis from the picture all together. The stress of her reality weighing down upon her chest, as she fought tears in her mundane life as an average tax paying citizen. Artemis was literally...one step away from operating the false star that orbited the Earth. Artemis would wait for acceptance into programs, plotting a lifetime over and over again. Dreaming that she had crashed and waited until time could produce the manufactured products needed to redesign and build a replica of one she had lost. The parts being left as cast off into the ocean as waste marked as a graveyard. She would observe coordinates: forty-eight degrees, fifty-two point six minutes south latitude, and one hundred and twenty-three degrees twenty-three point six minutes west longitude. Artemis salvaged the wreckage, as the world dumped their trash into the ocean, and knew that the trait of consumerism had finally worked in her favor. Artemis would begin projects of refurbishments, proud that she no longer had to resort to crime in order to succeed in her dreamt up life.  Artemis would continue to work in her muggle life, and write for fun, as she waited for the programs closed to the public to announce any word of a new mission.

Her past life working with small scale models would be useful in this labour, as she associated the joy she had for the advanced hobby with her friend Roro. The same friend that was currently preoccupied being a baby, yammering at crews of engineers with copious amounts of drool falling from her wide smile. Such wily crew members were pertinent to any team, and Artemis loved that her friend Roro was such an active part of their objective in competing sky-boats against other Universities. Such company surrounded Artemis wherever she went in the world of sciences, and it gave her hope that she had chosen an admirable field to work in. No matter how little financial security it offered as a civil servant. Artemis had once met a man named Bruce at a ceremony where she was to be awarded, and the two strangely enjoyed each others company. Holding up their wine in merriment, as they finally both agreed that Artemis was the future of spaceflight. They cheered in respect to one another, as Bruce was constructing a warp drive...and deemed it her warp drive by the end of their conversation. He seemed relived and elated that she was Artemis, and not some random fool with a weapon. Artemis was finally faced with the reality of her life as a future captain, and she was glad that an intellect believed in her ability to hold such a position. The conversation had been lengthy, as they were both giddy to have finally found one another. They giggled at the idea that he was their best chance at figuring out an equation, and she was the prize horse that could bring the world of science into the future. Artemis felt their matching energies forming into memories of past lives once more, as she seemed to recall their conversation down to the detail of his tropical shirt in dreams before they had met. Wondering if she was only a footnote or science-themed muse for her fellow mathematicians mission.

Artemis realized why her elders had told their children aboot the poles flipping, and how their Traditional ceremonies of song and dance would usher in the ability for them to do such. They had used the resurfacing of a Tribe Called Red, as a reminder to her that the poles required flipping. The only thing powerful enough to fulfill the task was a golden apple, surrounded by a golden net. The same artifact that had once been crafted by hephaestus himself and gifted to the Indigenous Warriors over time. Artemis had wanted to flip the poles herself, as she needed to momentarily reach into the secluded ocean. Assuming she could part the seas, in order to retrieve all the parts she required to build her own sky-boat. The best booty was found in mysterious waters. The same theory applied to the endless supply of gold she had stored away. Gifted by her friends of the South many lifetimes ago: sacrificing their gold into the lakes below for the future uses of Artemis and her like-minded friend Bruce. She had crafted the world’s longest game plan, in order to acquire and use the natural materials of gold and silicon with purpose. A promise she had made to an old friend, as they had agreed to the reconstruction of a warp drive that could help Artemis achieve her mission.

Next Chapter: *[ XXIII ] Artemis and the Belt of Hippolyta*