A short story that I wrote a long while back. I think I may have even tried to submit it. It’s not my best, but really interesting to see some of my older writing.

Harriet Moonsen sat all alone in the conference room, dirty from days of hard work without stopping to clean, exhausted, and looking utterly defeated.  Her noble crusade had been cut short and her captors could see failure written all over her body.

She had been detained and placed in the small conference room hours ago, but no one had come to speak to her yet.  Keeping her waiting wasn’t a ploy to coax answers out of her, her captors simply didn’t know what to ask our how to ask it.  They were delving into old reports, fruitlessly attempting to find an intact protocol explaining how to deal with her.  The issue confronting them was that even the basest form of what she had attempted–but failed to complete–hadn’t occurred in more half a century.  All of the punitive measures that used to exist to remedy her type of behavior had been outlawed from society for being immoral or inhumane.  The only way they could punish her was to send her on deep space reconnaissance–a fate that sent chills down the spine of most, but did not bother her.

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