The corridors are dead silent. No banging and clanking of machinery, or the endless thrum of engines, just . One quiet thump at a ti. At the junction to the canteen, rather than head right again, I walk straight ahead. I pass multiple rooms and side corridors. Most of the rooms are untouched, but a few have had their doors wrenched off and their contents scattered.
All these rooms contain suites, each four tres square, or forty-eight cubic tres, depending on how you asure them. No idea how that stacks up against, say, British naval destroyers, but given they have a zzanine double-sized bunk, storage, fold out furniture, and a hybrid loo and shower units, they’re damn generous.
There are five hundred and twelve of these things, it takes ten minutes to walk past them all. How did the original inhabitants get about? There must be a faster way to traverse these halls. Did they really have such confidence in their systems and construction that there’s thirty minutes between airlocks and suit rooms? No one who builds a space station with a twenty kilotre ring is that dumb, so it must be who’s missing sothing.
That isn’t the only thing missing either, as once I reach the airlock, I find all the suits are missing too. There are twelve massive cradles that look like they held suits on the terminator end of the chonk chart.
Lying on the floor, is a single, crumpled piece of sheer black fabric with silver bits. I pick it up and shake it out. It looks like a wetsuit with a silver collar and cuffs, but given there is no water in space to hear you drown, it might just be the gear I need.
“What’s this suit, E-SIM?”
A hyperweave undersuit, a type of sh suit.
“OK, and what are these undersuits used for?”
A hyperweave undersuit worn by crew that will protect them in an ergency. The silver parts can project small energy fields around the exposed areas for up to twelve hours, with the air to match.
It can also protect a person from temperatures between minus 270 degrees Celsius to 5000 degrees Celsius for 30 minutes, or more modest temperatures indefinitely. If you can find a proper helt, gloves and boots, the operational ti increases dramatically. Add an additional oxygen cylinder and powerpack to the complete suit and you could live in it for a week.”
“That’s crazy good. Any other features?”
It can break down and recycle waste and, as long as the energy field or rebreather aren’t active, an undersuit will run off your body heat. The suit will tighten around wounds, provide resistance in zero-G to help maintain muscle mass and joint cohesion, and use pressure to maintain consciousness during high-G manoeuvres.
It is self-sealing, and capable of minor repairs, though like the energy field and rebreather, this would cut into the suit’s run-ti significantly.
A hyperweave undersuit can resist small arms fire, though the shockwaves from such an impact would incapacitate, or likely kill a baseline human. It is highly effective at turning blades, though bruising would still be a significant issue.
“To clarify, a sh suit can do all that and it’s just the under armour?”
No, a sh suit is underwear.
“You telling this thing is a fancy pair of full body boxers?”
Correct.
“Holy shit. Alright, do I just get naked and slip this thing on?”
No.
“No? Please clarify, E-SIM.”
Operator Aldrich Isengrund is too large for this model. This suit will stretch and adjust to fit anyone between 120 cm and 200 cm, but it has limited capacity to expand along its width.
I raise a single eyebrow, “You sure you’re still in your low power, search engine mode, there buddy? That sounded like a grim-dark joke to .”
The Operator is welco to test the integrity of their only source of protection at their leisure.
“I am so unhappy right now.”
ntal state logged.
I fold the suit and tuck it under my arm. I double check the lockers and find a power pack and an oxygen cylinder, but no helt, gloves, or boots. The power pack is black with yellow stripes and the size of a pack of cards. My eye twitches when the label on the side states its capacity is 1 MWh. I hope these things don’t explode.
The cylinder reminds of a one litre thermos. Both the power pack and oxygen cylinder are empty; I take them anyway.
“Might as well check out the broken rooms.”
I head back. The snooping is fun, yet lancholy, as I sift through the odd interactive photo fra, animated crystal holo-globes, and other display pieces. The people look just like Twenty First century humans, if you can call hyper-fit action heroes and heroines normal. Their fashion varies between tailored professional wear, to colourful smart clothing, and crazy party costus.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
There are a few tablets and a couple of circuit etched lanyards like the one around my neck; E-SIM tells they are double as data cards and are used not only for personal data and security, but can hold just about anything from STCs to administration records.
There are more advanced versions too that can project images above the card, similar to the crystal holo-globes, though the data is usually read through skin contact with specialist implants, or they can be held against the fra of a tablet or the control panel of machinery.
I wrap all the brikabrak in a blanket and take it with .
A couple dozen rooms later and I freeze at the entrance of an unusually decorated room. Since I woke from the dead, I’ve fought Demons, run from Xenos, and marvelled at technology from the future past, but this?
This is the room that breaks .
The room is painted in blue, filled with fluffy clouds. Posters are stuck to the ceiling, spaceships, vehicles, exotic garden worlds, and cityscapes. The thing that really rams it ho is the teddy, an absolutely massive lizard that takes up a third of the bed.
I walk around the room, gently picking up the toys and clothes scattered over the flood, then putting everything away neatly in the under-bed storage. Once I’ve finished, I sit at the small table, turning over a yellow water pistol in my hands.
“Jamie,” I sigh. “I hope you lived well.” I sniff as the tears roll down my cheeks. “Sasha. I’m sorry for leaving you alone with the kids.” My hand shakes as I aim the pistol at the door, “Pew, pew, pew.” I chuckle, then choke a bit, “Gemma. Did you make friends at school in the end? I really hope so.”
Leaning back, I stare at the ceiling, “All the wonders in the universe can’t make up for how much I miss you all.”
I’m not sure how long I sit there for. An hour? Six? Long enough for to beco tired. I gather my wrapped prizes and pocket the water pistol, then return to my room.
Unsure what to do with myself, I look through so of the warnings in my HUD and after a little thought, use my power field to dismantle a coffin, stasis chamber, whatever, down to its shell, then toss the scrap into the shell.
A little to and fro with E-SIM gets the most efficient thod to expel the nanites and I unzip my trousers and pee on the scrap, though it’s a silver stream rather than a yellow one.
I carry my cot over to the shell, staying close so E-SIM can power and instruct the nanites to break the materials down to their pure elents. As I watch the scrap turn to powder, I am amazed the tiny machines do this without bathing in nuclear fire, or burning themselves out. The power field has to be one of the Federation’s greatest inventions.
Eventually, I lie down and sleep, and when I wake up, the contents of the shell has been reduced to a grey powder, similar to cent, then compressed into tiny balls, like buckshot.
I’ve gone over so of the mods, and there are better ways to do this once I’ve unlocked them, but if I don’t want to scoff all my snack bars, the most efficient way to get all the materials I need is to swallow these tallic pellets.
With so trepidation, I grab the pellets, and with the help of a little water, take tiny mouthfuls, being extra careful not to choke or chew. The pellets have a neutral taste and are almost frictionless, making them easy to swallow. I sigh, this won’t be as bad or tedious as I thought it would be.
I feel my chest heat up slightly and my energy use ticks up to 1% per hour as the materials are reassembled into new nanites. Two hours later, I’m down to 4% power, and my internal reservoirs are full, including the combat drugs. Picking up an empty water bottle, I repeatedly expel nanites until the bottle is full, then refill my body again.
While my bionics process the materials, I poke a hole in the bottle cap, and stuff the hole with a bent piece of narrow pipe, similar to those spouts you see on bottles at a cocktail bar. I wrap the bottle in cloth and fashion a harness, then hang it over my shoulder, keeping it tight against my chest.
By the ti I’m done, ergency power is at 2%.
I return to the canteen, taking the pallet truck with . There, I rebuild the barricade, using my power field and a dribble of nanites to break up tables and weld together sothing more sturdy than the previous attempt.
Blocking myself in like this isn't ideal, but neither is having stuff sneak up on either. I don’t know if being in the dead end canteen is the best choice, but at this point, I have to make a choice, and this is what I’m going with.
Ergency power reserves fall to 1%. With a smile on my lips, I fill the water pistol with nanites.
“E-SIM, deploy the warp tap.”
Warp Tap deployed.
“Thanks E-SIM.”
Good luck, Operator.
Pipe in one hand and nanite filled water pistol in the other, I take cover and wait, my white-whale dad-bod and psy-sucking bionics the perfect bait for flesh rending demons.
I wait.
Then wait so more.
Two hours later, power is up to 20%, and I am bored.
“E-SIM, where are the hungering enemies of humanity?”
Everywhere.
“Hilarious. Don’t get wrong, I’m glad I’m not face deep in galactic horrors, but I just spent a whole day worrying and planning how to improve my situation, had the easy option taken from because soone ran off with all the good suits. They only left their undersized, second hand underwear for to protect myself with, underwear that doesn’t fit . After that, I spent hours crafting and chugging balls, only to have absolutely nothing happen.”
Disengage stealth mode?
“Hahaha, no. Absolutely not.”
Upgrade module for increased stealthed energy draw?
“Handy to know it’s an option, but not right now. It would take ti and I can't afford the module.”
Once reserves hit fifty percent, I have E-SIM retract the Warp Tap, and take a break, before continuing. Ten hours after I started my vigil, my ergency reserves are full and nothing has happened.
Handy pallet truck at the ready, I cease syphoning the Immaterium, and raid the food supplies. What I’m really after though are the blankets. I right an upturned table and place a blanket over the cold surface. A second gets folded into a pillow, and the third, I tuck myself beneath, ready for sleep.
I drift off after thirty minutes of perusing E-SIM's data, the dry and complex overview sending straight to sleep, despite the exciting possibilities running around my mind like a hoard of dented bulls.
Later, I wake, sweat pouring off and a chill racing down my back. A verminous pink glow boils over the barricade, sticking to every surface with a suffocating odour of vibrant roses.
The Demons are here.
User Comments
0 comments from readers