Post by Officer Genious on Jul 30, 2019 8:44:52 GMT -5
Can't let En1gma have all the fun! 
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It was difficult in the best of times to repair a moving vehicle. But Tom never knew how difficult it was to do so in space with tiny asteroids pinging off his helmet.
Tiny rungs dotted the side of the ship, and Tom clutched to one as he dangled in zero g. The ship was an old Frontier Liner, a ship that had seen better days some centuries ago. It was an old hand-me-down from the captain's great-something. Tom didn't care-- it was a way off Heybern and away from the big cities. He could picture it now-- smog clouding the skyline of moving ads selling sex and spice to the wealthy. People brushed by in the perpetual drizzle, strangers to their own neighbors. Police patrolled the streets for anyone not toeing the line around them. It was the quadrant's largest city, bordering a wilderness full of treasures and discoveries waiting to happen. Tom remembered exploring the edges as a small kid, armed with just a pistol and his wits. The crunch of leaves under his boots. The burning sun on his neck as he snuck through the underbrush. Gunshots in the distance as scavengers fought each other-- and often worse things. It was a whole different world.
When the chance came to explore the stars, he seized his chance. He breathed and dreamed of the new worlds he'd find, the monsters he would fight for glory and fame. He woke to the sounds of a space crew starting a day cycle, experiencing space only through the blinking lights and sensors of the ship.
But today was different. The hull sported a small hole from the last quadrant's rad storm, and with the other mechanic out with rad sickness that left Tom to help the chief engineer repair the damage.
Tom glanced over his shoulder. Harl walked the side of the ship towards him. The sucking sound of his grav boots echoed through their radios, audible even over the light static. Tom could hear Marl grunt as he dropped the box of tools. They drifted slowly towards the ship, pulled by an old magnet until it settled into place. The soft blue lights illuminated the rusty tools inside: wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers… And much to Tom's surprise, an old multi-tool spanner. It looked like an antique, but decent ones cost some credits.
"Peel that back," Harl commanded. The ship's fiber mesh had done everything it could to cover the hole, growing and repairing itself just enough to keep space-worthy. Still, the hole was deep enough that the cargo bay had to be shut down to prevent further venting. Tom could still hear the crew dog screaming as he realized his wife was still inside. Their kid came to the funeral, his eyes round but never speaking, never crying. His father was much the same. The void had claimed another life that night, and the boy was sent to Harl for training and care. Tom wondered if he thought of that now as he peered into the hole. In glimpses of Harl's face through their mirrored helmets, Tom couldn't tell. Instead he focused on pulling back the mesh for Harl's view, fighting the reactive mesh until he finally stretched them to their breaking point. With a hard tug the mesh came free and drifted into the void as it slipped through his fingers.
Harl leaned in, his dark moustache twitching as he studied the tear. It was smaller than Tom expected-- just a few feet wide with pallets of cargo floating around the inside. It looked so insignificant. That was how so many new spacers died-- it was always the small miscalculations that were the most deadly in space. Harl huffed and dug one thick hand through the box. He pulled out pliers and plasma cuttters, nudging the latter to Tom's free hand. "Start there and I'll start here." Tom hooked his boots through the rungs and began to cut away the jagged metal.
It was slow going. A half-hour passed. They were only halfway around the hole and the little asteroids only grew bigger the longer they worked. They were smaller than the size of a thumbnail when Tom first came out, and now they were growing to the size of a ping pong ball. A rock bounced off Tom's helmet with a meaty thunk. They needed to finish soon.
"Shalun damn the craftsman." Harl glared at his pliers before throwing them forward with a grunt. The tool drifted forward and landed gently just a few inches past the hole. The burly man growled as he yanked the multi-tool spanner out of the toolbox. "Take this and transmute the fibers." Tom took the tool and pressed it hard against the remaining fiber strands still tucked around the hole's edges. The fibers glowed blue and grew, reacting to the tool's energy. The fibers started to wind together, braiding into a delicate pattern. Across from him, Harl grabbed the ends and guided them to the other side. As the braids began to thicken, Harl let go and snatched up a spade. He began to flatten the braids, squeezing the spade's handle to release the hardening gel. The braids solidified and multiplied until the hole was almost filled. Harl was about to stand when a particularly large rock slammed into his hand and sent the spade out of his hands…
And into the small gap remaining into the cargo bay.
Harl shouted something but something flashed in the distance, creating static between the small asteroids flying by them-- a rad storm. The asteroids picked up until the space around them was thick with them, pinging off helmets and suits alike with increasingly hard thuds. All Tom could hear over the radio was static and Harl's familiar shape vanished in the hailstorm. When his sight finally adjusted, Harl was gone. There was no work to be done now. It felt like a whole work-cycle passed. He felt his back crack as he pulled back from his hunch, the hand gripping the rung cramped and tingling. His stomach growled, low and keening. He was going to need some hot food after this. Maybe the cook could sneak him some leftover rations from their last landing. Tom reached for the rope tethering him to the ship and pulled to drag himself back to the ship bay.
He didn't move.
A larger asteroid pinged off the ship's hull as Tom looked down. One leg was jammed in the rung [rigging?] with a rock. Tom pulled hard and it stuck fast, rubbing against his suit as he tried to wriggle it loose. He wriggled harder, jerking his leg as hard as he could as the rocks began to rain harder against the hull, growing to the size of tennis balls. They thundered against his helmet in a grim staccato as Tom's breath hitched in his chest. He opened his mouth to cry for help before realizing no one would hear him. Communications always went down during a rad storm. It was dark and loud with the rocks striking him harder and harder, enough to feel through the protected layers of his space suit. He ducked his head and curled up as best he could around his trapped leg. The rocks came faster now. Tom squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing. Harl had to know by now that he never made it back. And as the last basic mechanic, Harl would need Tom's help and come back to look for him. He would be fine. A rock slammed into his side and he cried out as he swung sideways. His leg protested with a sharp spike of pain. His hands scrambled and found the fiber mesh, solid and reassuring under his death grip. He pulled his body close like a grav limpet, whispering prayers as the thunderous din of the rad storm passed over him.
The rocks hit hard enough to bruise, and Tom could feel the new marks on his body as rocks slammed into him from every direction. The angry staccato of the storm was punctuated by bursts of pain, each blow a different color behind his eyelids as he cried out. At times, he screamed to the blossoming fireworks. At times, he whimpered in the dark. He only knew time had passed by his tears drying on his cheeks and his breathing hitching in his chest. At some point he gave up and welcomed the pain like an old friend, accepting each hurt as reassurance to life. As dearly-bought time left in this life-cycle. Sometimes he couldn't remember the pain, waking up confused and disoriented before the next rock hit a bruise and the pain blossomed anew. But most of the time he was awake, praying to his ancestors and Shalun alike. He gave up hope, feeling it bleed out like so many of his wounds. He had prayed for strength to live through this. Now he prayed for it to end. Maybe not this rock but the next… Or the next… Tom's emotions swung wildly from one end to the other until he felt numb and disconnected from his own body.
Gradually the storm died down, the rocks growing smaller as the worst of the storm moved on. His body ached, almost every inch becoming a single bruise that pulsed with his own heartbeat. Tom tasted blood from biting his lip too hard. His tongue poked out-- it was more of a tear in his bottom lip. His head ached and his hands felt stiff and tight from hanging onto the fiber mesh so tightly. No alarms went off in his space suit; no hard vacuums crushed his body like rotten fruit.
Overall, he was doing quite well for himself.
Space finally cleared again, and Tom could see the lights of the bay in the distance. He sighed, feeling centuries older as the doors opened. Harl, toolbox in hand and a medical beacon in the other rushed to him as fast as he could with his grav boots. "Shalun's arsehairs, you're still alive!" Harl bent down, meeting Tom's eye and freezing there. Tom wasn't meant to have heard him, but Harl's voice was picked up by the radio: The boy's gone rad-struck. After a long moment Harl broke his stare and looked at Tom's leg. "I'll get you free. You're gonna be alright, lad."
Tom laughed.
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It was difficult in the best of times to repair a moving vehicle. But Tom never knew how difficult it was to do so in space with tiny asteroids pinging off his helmet.
Tiny rungs dotted the side of the ship, and Tom clutched to one as he dangled in zero g. The ship was an old Frontier Liner, a ship that had seen better days some centuries ago. It was an old hand-me-down from the captain's great-something. Tom didn't care-- it was a way off Heybern and away from the big cities. He could picture it now-- smog clouding the skyline of moving ads selling sex and spice to the wealthy. People brushed by in the perpetual drizzle, strangers to their own neighbors. Police patrolled the streets for anyone not toeing the line around them. It was the quadrant's largest city, bordering a wilderness full of treasures and discoveries waiting to happen. Tom remembered exploring the edges as a small kid, armed with just a pistol and his wits. The crunch of leaves under his boots. The burning sun on his neck as he snuck through the underbrush. Gunshots in the distance as scavengers fought each other-- and often worse things. It was a whole different world.
When the chance came to explore the stars, he seized his chance. He breathed and dreamed of the new worlds he'd find, the monsters he would fight for glory and fame. He woke to the sounds of a space crew starting a day cycle, experiencing space only through the blinking lights and sensors of the ship.
But today was different. The hull sported a small hole from the last quadrant's rad storm, and with the other mechanic out with rad sickness that left Tom to help the chief engineer repair the damage.
Tom glanced over his shoulder. Harl walked the side of the ship towards him. The sucking sound of his grav boots echoed through their radios, audible even over the light static. Tom could hear Marl grunt as he dropped the box of tools. They drifted slowly towards the ship, pulled by an old magnet until it settled into place. The soft blue lights illuminated the rusty tools inside: wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers… And much to Tom's surprise, an old multi-tool spanner. It looked like an antique, but decent ones cost some credits.
"Peel that back," Harl commanded. The ship's fiber mesh had done everything it could to cover the hole, growing and repairing itself just enough to keep space-worthy. Still, the hole was deep enough that the cargo bay had to be shut down to prevent further venting. Tom could still hear the crew dog screaming as he realized his wife was still inside. Their kid came to the funeral, his eyes round but never speaking, never crying. His father was much the same. The void had claimed another life that night, and the boy was sent to Harl for training and care. Tom wondered if he thought of that now as he peered into the hole. In glimpses of Harl's face through their mirrored helmets, Tom couldn't tell. Instead he focused on pulling back the mesh for Harl's view, fighting the reactive mesh until he finally stretched them to their breaking point. With a hard tug the mesh came free and drifted into the void as it slipped through his fingers.
Harl leaned in, his dark moustache twitching as he studied the tear. It was smaller than Tom expected-- just a few feet wide with pallets of cargo floating around the inside. It looked so insignificant. That was how so many new spacers died-- it was always the small miscalculations that were the most deadly in space. Harl huffed and dug one thick hand through the box. He pulled out pliers and plasma cuttters, nudging the latter to Tom's free hand. "Start there and I'll start here." Tom hooked his boots through the rungs and began to cut away the jagged metal.
It was slow going. A half-hour passed. They were only halfway around the hole and the little asteroids only grew bigger the longer they worked. They were smaller than the size of a thumbnail when Tom first came out, and now they were growing to the size of a ping pong ball. A rock bounced off Tom's helmet with a meaty thunk. They needed to finish soon.
"Shalun damn the craftsman." Harl glared at his pliers before throwing them forward with a grunt. The tool drifted forward and landed gently just a few inches past the hole. The burly man growled as he yanked the multi-tool spanner out of the toolbox. "Take this and transmute the fibers." Tom took the tool and pressed it hard against the remaining fiber strands still tucked around the hole's edges. The fibers glowed blue and grew, reacting to the tool's energy. The fibers started to wind together, braiding into a delicate pattern. Across from him, Harl grabbed the ends and guided them to the other side. As the braids began to thicken, Harl let go and snatched up a spade. He began to flatten the braids, squeezing the spade's handle to release the hardening gel. The braids solidified and multiplied until the hole was almost filled. Harl was about to stand when a particularly large rock slammed into his hand and sent the spade out of his hands…
And into the small gap remaining into the cargo bay.
Harl shouted something but something flashed in the distance, creating static between the small asteroids flying by them-- a rad storm. The asteroids picked up until the space around them was thick with them, pinging off helmets and suits alike with increasingly hard thuds. All Tom could hear over the radio was static and Harl's familiar shape vanished in the hailstorm. When his sight finally adjusted, Harl was gone. There was no work to be done now. It felt like a whole work-cycle passed. He felt his back crack as he pulled back from his hunch, the hand gripping the rung cramped and tingling. His stomach growled, low and keening. He was going to need some hot food after this. Maybe the cook could sneak him some leftover rations from their last landing. Tom reached for the rope tethering him to the ship and pulled to drag himself back to the ship bay.
He didn't move.
A larger asteroid pinged off the ship's hull as Tom looked down. One leg was jammed in the rung [rigging?] with a rock. Tom pulled hard and it stuck fast, rubbing against his suit as he tried to wriggle it loose. He wriggled harder, jerking his leg as hard as he could as the rocks began to rain harder against the hull, growing to the size of tennis balls. They thundered against his helmet in a grim staccato as Tom's breath hitched in his chest. He opened his mouth to cry for help before realizing no one would hear him. Communications always went down during a rad storm. It was dark and loud with the rocks striking him harder and harder, enough to feel through the protected layers of his space suit. He ducked his head and curled up as best he could around his trapped leg. The rocks came faster now. Tom squeezed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing. Harl had to know by now that he never made it back. And as the last basic mechanic, Harl would need Tom's help and come back to look for him. He would be fine. A rock slammed into his side and he cried out as he swung sideways. His leg protested with a sharp spike of pain. His hands scrambled and found the fiber mesh, solid and reassuring under his death grip. He pulled his body close like a grav limpet, whispering prayers as the thunderous din of the rad storm passed over him.
The rocks hit hard enough to bruise, and Tom could feel the new marks on his body as rocks slammed into him from every direction. The angry staccato of the storm was punctuated by bursts of pain, each blow a different color behind his eyelids as he cried out. At times, he screamed to the blossoming fireworks. At times, he whimpered in the dark. He only knew time had passed by his tears drying on his cheeks and his breathing hitching in his chest. At some point he gave up and welcomed the pain like an old friend, accepting each hurt as reassurance to life. As dearly-bought time left in this life-cycle. Sometimes he couldn't remember the pain, waking up confused and disoriented before the next rock hit a bruise and the pain blossomed anew. But most of the time he was awake, praying to his ancestors and Shalun alike. He gave up hope, feeling it bleed out like so many of his wounds. He had prayed for strength to live through this. Now he prayed for it to end. Maybe not this rock but the next… Or the next… Tom's emotions swung wildly from one end to the other until he felt numb and disconnected from his own body.
Gradually the storm died down, the rocks growing smaller as the worst of the storm moved on. His body ached, almost every inch becoming a single bruise that pulsed with his own heartbeat. Tom tasted blood from biting his lip too hard. His tongue poked out-- it was more of a tear in his bottom lip. His head ached and his hands felt stiff and tight from hanging onto the fiber mesh so tightly. No alarms went off in his space suit; no hard vacuums crushed his body like rotten fruit.
Overall, he was doing quite well for himself.
Space finally cleared again, and Tom could see the lights of the bay in the distance. He sighed, feeling centuries older as the doors opened. Harl, toolbox in hand and a medical beacon in the other rushed to him as fast as he could with his grav boots. "Shalun's arsehairs, you're still alive!" Harl bent down, meeting Tom's eye and freezing there. Tom wasn't meant to have heard him, but Harl's voice was picked up by the radio: The boy's gone rad-struck. After a long moment Harl broke his stare and looked at Tom's leg. "I'll get you free. You're gonna be alright, lad."
Tom laughed.
