This left the biggest impression: 'Real fruit? You make such a big deal when your 'food' contains 'real' ingredients? Isn't food supposed to be from real things? This is just ridiculous... [[and you claim to be an advanced people]]...'

That evening, as the sun was nearly set, he stared out of his office window. Beneath him civilization lay sprawled and relatively motionless. There was the occasional semi-organic structure readjusting itself. But other than that... everything was quiet.

He exhaled against the glass and watched it fog up. With his pointer he slowly wiped away the condensation. 'After all this time, after all we have struggled, we have so little...'

The scientist was trying to explain to his colleagues how the fleet was slowly being pulled away from them. The fleet wasn't aware, or maybe just very slightly, but the pulling forces were ever present. Sometimes it seemed they would wait then reach out with long claw-like limbs and scrape the 'surface' of the fleet and try to pull it in. Why didn't the fleet realize? It was a damn FLEET. But on homebase all they could do was watch. They could not do anything, even if they wanted, because the intergalactic federation had made its case clear. No one dared step out of line. So everyday he made calculations and hoped that someday, something would happen and everything would be set right.

Until then, he had other, bigger things, to worry about. He was fighting... Dammit it was hard, the hardest thing ever, but he was fighting. It was overwhelming at times but then there were the neural inhibitors. Even then the relief they gave was followed by a dark wash. Guilt and remorse, over his apparent 'failure' and weakness. The pain would come back, in the guise of an old friend, who was digging into your back as he hugged you. Who was crushing your ribs as he whispered kind words in your ear. His sweet breath strangely intoxicating yet nauseating.

There was much to be learnt, and he feared he didn't have the time. Time. He could go on and on about it but it never made a difference to what he felt about it. He chuckled. It seems like him and resolve were non-parallel lines. For a long time they headed towards each other, then met once, for one glorified instant, before going separate ways and never meeting again.

He felt small... but that was good. That made him happy. And so he retired to his chamber. He needed sleep. There in his pyjamas and under the blanket he looked nothing like a hero. But that was what he was, he just needed to recharge to save the world again tomorrow.