The Rift

I have a crew that serves on my Caracal. 

The amount varies on a day to day basis, but there is usually a range between 110 - 160 people operating on board of it. Roughly 61% of the crew is male, and the remaining 39% is female. The mean age is 32, but the median is 27, suggesting a few irregularly elderly individuals skewing the results. About half of them perform only manual labor and basic duties, a quarter are engineers and others with technical skills, and the final quarter consists of a mix of officers, security personnel, cleaners and cooking staff. All of them have been fully screened for infectious conditions within the past 3 months.

I know this because I am reading it from a statistics page in front of me; I have never interacted with, nor even seen, any of them.

I could say that I'm unsure quite how this happened, but that would be false.  I have deliberately avoided them at every level from the moment that I begun flying anything larger then a frigate. When it was time to hire them on, I deferred the duty to a faceless CONCORD-supplied agent whom I do not even know the name of. When decisions had to be made regarding them (mixed or single gender, uniforms, recreation and food budget) I once again dismissed it. And when it was time for them to be paid, I switched over to an automated process without an instant of hesitation, which has continued since.

Why am I doing this...? There's a question I seem to ask myself a lot lately, about one thing or another. (Including writing rhetorical questions to myself, perhaps.) There are a lot of answers that dance around in my head, but one thing I am aware of for sure, without a shadow of a doubt.

I am afraid.

It is mad, of course. if I chose, I could lock the escape pods and vent the artificial atmosphere, and kill them all in seconds. Or simply open the airlocks and leave their ghosts to float in the abyss, without hope of reprise. ...Not that I would ever do such a thing - Gods, that would make me like other Capsuleers in truth - But it could be done. They do not threaten me, not in the least.

Yet there is a sense of palpable dread that rushes through my body whenever I even entertain the prospect of interacting with them to any degree whatsoever, like I'm peering over the edge of a very tall cliff, contemplating edging myself slowly off to my death. It is unthinkable, as if doing so would shatter my being, my very self, like a fine porcelain teapot.

It is self-deception, of course, if a "harmless" one. I want to forget they exist, and it is all to easy to do so. I don't know if I should permit myself such an indulgence, but there it is, nonetheless.

Perhaps it is because I simply do not like the idea of people crawling around inside of me when I am a ship, or maybe the reason it more spiritual - The teachings dictate that for one to place themselves above others in either thought or practice, or to become a figure of authority or reverence, brings great burden to the self. How can one hope to look inwardly objectively when their ego is constantly flattered by the sheer act of subservience from others? (Whoops - Did it again.) The idea of being someone "important" makes me uncomfortable, without a shadow of a doubt, as does the idea of peoples lives depending upon my own judgment.

But wouldn't it be nice if it were that simple? 

It isn't just the crew, in truth. It's all baseliners. 

In some ways, very, very subtle ways... Normal people, human beings like any other, have begun to become alien to me. It should not be so, since all that separates us is a little context and knowledge, but the way they make judgments, the way they perceive certain issues, the way they regard personal welfare and life in general - I can no longer relate. 

If they don't know that I am a Capsuleer, or if they knew me beforehand, and do not speak of such matters, it doesn't really stick out much. We can talk about books, or academic subjects, or food, or games - Whatever, really - And it's fine. Good, even. I feel like myself.

But when they know I am a pilot, when they see me for what I truly am, there is a difference between us that tears at my soul.

...Why do I keep writing "they"?... It is a rift that I must close, before it swallows me whole. I must discover a means to do so.

...I will reflect on the teachings.

On a seperate note, I've managed to convince Father to leave to myself - If only for a week or two. Told him that I wish to "think", but he knew what I meant, that I was failing him. I could hear it in his voice. I'll have to speak to him again soon, but that... Doesn't matter, for now. I'll think of something to say to fix all of this. I'm must.