Prologue.
He packed his bags with the concentration and intensity a Japanese Samurai would have paid before committing Seppuku. He had been packing for hours now. He knew he was distracted, and the fact that he recognized that he was distracted but not doing anything about it, distracted him further. Frustrated, he shook his head and walked towards the window. It showed acres and acres of vast open fields, neatly bordered by lush green woods. Far off in the horizon, he could see the sun reflected on the lake.
He decided that the thing he would miss the most after he was gone were trees. "I don't know when I'll get to see a tree again..." he said to himself.
As he turned his attention back to his still unpacked-bags, he agreed this was his toughest assignment yet, and definitely the longest. He would be gone for years. Whole chunks of his life would be spent away from his family, his friends, his home... He stopped thinking and told himself to take things one at a time. "Packing first..." he said and got down to business, fresher and more now.
They had given a compulsory list of things to bring. Some items would be provided to him before and during the flight. And many were available as fixed standard items on the flight itself. He checked the things he had packed - his electric toothbrush and a normal one, four different kinds of camera, a transparent vacuum shell for his camera to shoot underwater, loads of batteries, notepads and pens, his iPod and finally his laptop. He had already confirmed the fact that electricity was easily available where he was going, so running his appliances wouldn't be a problem.
The government had also given him a special diplomatic passport, pure white in color, and an ID card identifying him as an envoy with special privileges. This would allow him to bypass most securities, and give him permission to enter sensitive zones, as long as he did not interfere with matters involving the other government. He had been briefed about these and other sensitive issues for the past two years.
"Two years...time well spent. I learnt a lot" he thought, not saying these words out loud. He thought about the training sessions involving basic language training, flight control, human flight, diplomacy, combat and weapons training. He remembered the first time he flew and smiled. He remembered the first time he had shot a gun and his smile dulled. He took out the gun they had given him from its hiding place under the felt of the suitcase. He knew he would have to use it, at least once.
He tossed the gun back into its place and zipped the bag. He was done packing. He knew he would forget to remember something, but that's what traveling is all about, he thought. "Right..." he said as he made a last check of his bed to see if he had remembered to forget something, and found that he had not. Taking that as a good omen, he swung the bag off the bed and placed it in the small elevator, along with his large rucksack. He pressed a button on the side, and the elevator zipped the bags off to the KSC.
Now, free with his thoughts for the first time in days, he sat on his bed, back erect and mind alert and positive. He knew he had to stay positive if he was to survive the next god-knows-how-many years. He had no idea when he'd be back. 'Maybe I won't...'
A shrill horn disturbed him from his reverie. He looked out to see that his cab had arrived. He stepped out from his window and climbed into the back seat of the flying taxi. As it flew up, he looked down to see for one last time, his home, which was slowly diminishing in size. He knew he'd cherish this memory. As the view became unbearable, he turned and looked away, and realized with utter conviction and desperate sadness that he won't.
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