[ WP ] Every young person is conscripted for the military and dragged off , never to be seen for 5 years . After that time has passed they return , forgetting what happened for the last 5 years . You remember your term of service , and you wish you 've forgotten it and the monsters .

`` I can't.. `` 
 
 I shuddered and gave an exasperated sigh, 
 
 `` simply, ca n't.'' 
 
 My voice, barely audible over the roar of the engines. The transport was nearing our destination. 
 
 - 
 
 
 
 The last few years have been jarring. I was a part of just of a small remote village before Command made their annual trip to collect the soldier tithe. We were young, and few, just a handful of people of age to be shipped off to,'The Outer'. 
 
 Humanity has been terraforming the planet slowly, it takes a lot of people to collect resources from the surrounding celestial bodies to create habitable areas; colonies, and biomes. It was mostly logistics and mining, we were told. Just conscripted for a few years and you'll come back with your own home given to you by the Sol Coalition. It will be easy enough, though people have been known to disappear. Communication was difficult and very expensive with other communities or planets. It was a special occasion to phone up old family or friends who had moved. 
 
 I thought that was dramatic when I heard of people'disappearing'. Pragmatism stated it was workplace accidents, and there were even some people that did not come back to our village, but when asked the returning groups would say that the'missing' person was still alive, they just transferred to a different biome, whether for new work or finding a life partner. That's not to say that the Outer was not dangerous, just like working any industrial trade there can be accidents and unfortunately some are killed. 
 
 As it turns out, all of these scenarios were true. The wrong questions asked, and half answers given, led us all into a blissful state of compliance as we filled our duty to the Coalition. There was more to the story, as I discovered. 
 
 
 We got picked up by the sleek drop ship, bags in hand. We stood on the cargo door, turned and saluted to our families and friends, old and young. Some tears and proud grins being traded, saw us off expectantly. No one knew this would be the last we saw each other. 
 
 Trent and Jacob traded anxious looks and betraying smiles. We were taking our turn for the communal good. We were putting in our work, and to come back as proud members of the Coalition, become our own people, and earn our own home. It took so long for us to become of age, but the moment the summons came, it felt unfair. Anticipation is cruel. Dragging out time, sapping concentration, setting the very soul on edge until it finally ends, and it feels like it has come entirely too soon. 
 
 The transport was automated. No other soldiers were there to greet us, but this was typical. They put us to sleep for the transport and before we knew it we had arrived to our base a day later. We exited the ship and found ourselves in a bustling harbor on one of the main hubs among the Outer. It was the most people I had ever seen. All kinds of colors and hairstyles and so many different ways people were dressed. 
 
 It was a blur, they fed us and immediately put into orientation, discussing what jobs and possibilities we had within the Coalition. Jacob and Trent wanted to work on a Collector, a type of scavenging ship. They would fly near rings or one of the clouds a jump or two away, scoop up the resources. Our village ancient biology teacher told us stories about how these ships that were similar to an old Terran creature called a `` Blue Whale'', that would swim in massive oceans and would eat in a similar manner as the Collectors. I did n't want to be separate from them, and the ship reminded me of home, so I followed suit. All three of us were accepted into the program, and we went to our rooms to rest. 
 
 _____ 
 
 On mobile, first post! I have more planned if anyone ends up reading this. I just kinda blasted this out so any tips are welcome.
