House Arthas A Space Odyssey

C3X1DF

8 years ago, Terra Chronometry Standard

A second may last as long as your senses allow. SensoChronometry was maybe one of the greatest improvements in time perception research since the pre-Astro periods of humanity, when we as a species, were limited to a single planet–Terra, the birthplace of the human race.

SensoChronometry speeds up sensory input to the brain, paired with a brainchip to facilitate the process. I am so grounded in the present every breath feels like I’m holding it.

I dislike this state. Everything is slow, and I feel a murky sensitivity to the world around me, as if the air itself has become dense, and every contact my body has is amplified and arduous.

It’s as exhausting for my mind as it sounds. So what better method to train my concentration than cranking up my time perception while working out?

I increase the artificial gravity of the gym by another 10% and simply inhaling the air becomes a burden. The combat mat is empty of others so I don’t mind lying on the floor, venting my frustration by pushing against it.

My pain receptors are on 100%, which helps me grind myself against the bodyweight exercises, forgetting momentarily how angry I am at my father.

I struggle against the force that’s dragging me down, muscles bulging, veins popping on my skin, I probably have turned bright red from the effort, and worse for wear the sweat that I'm dripping is making the plasticated flooring under me all slippery.

When I finally admit defeat my body barely has the strength to stand, my mind is spent and I resurface out of the time dilation.

The brainchip through the optics presents me with a muscle recovery report that I briefly read, noting the areas where I could push harder on the next workout. There is little room for improvement, my body has reached its growth limit for a few years now but I like to experiment with the data anyway.

While I compile the report in its folder a bright red light startles me as it glares around the room, and a warning message sent straight out of the main control room flashes angrily in my peripheral vision. Moments later the alarm starts blasting through the speakers all around the station.

*BRACE FOR IMPACT*

I stare at the flashing words uncomprehending.

The fact that Point C3X1DF, coded for Cerebrus Galaxy, Galactic Sector 3, Planetary Neighborhood X, 1st Docking Facility, is an artificial moon has several implications that my brain can easily handle but answering them scares me nonetheless.

We are traveling through space at well below light speeds between the trio of planets House Arthas deems valuable enough to require a portable docking facility.

So the main question is, what exactly are we hitting? Or what is hitting us?…two seemingly similar questions that might carry noticeably different answers.

Seconds pass with me catching my breath from the hard workout I just finished. Two, three, four…

A meteor or debris could be hitting us at any moment in open space, only to bounce off our protective shields without so much as a warning for anyone but the main control room of the docking station.

I know the procedures well enough by following my father around, during his regular rounds inspecting the facilities.

Are we…under attack? In House Arthas territory. Impossible.

Sweat drips down my forehead and I’m unsure if it's still from the workout or the sudden cold stress rippling through my body. Turning the artificial gravity down to the standard 10ms2 levels, I stand up and run for the gym’s exit. I need a visual.

Even before I reach the sliding doors, I search on the mainframe for an answer.

I find it at the same time I look up at the stars.

A supermassive bulkcarrier is approaching the docking station a little too fast, with a nasty spin that could wipe out half the facilities on this side of the artificial moon if we collide at a bad angle. It's a tenth of our size.

The trajectory correctors are flared up, working overtime in the incoming bulkcarrier and a similar sight is happening on my left and right with the station’s thrusters.

I can see the spin slow down as we gradually sync with the ship’s movement. There should be enough time to correct…the light from several of our docking facility’s engines suddenly snuff out, shutting off.

I stare with awed terror as the artificial moon starts spinning awkwardly the wrong way.

The supermassive bulkcarrier hits a docking platform and pierces through to the other side. My world rocks, screaming a tearing tune, as the metallic sheets around me protest against the sudden impacting forces.

—-

Debris is floating just outside the artificial magnetic atmospheric field, AMAF, of Point C3X1DF.

Anything inside the small radius of the impact has been flung violently into space, including 56 fatalities, mostly deckhands, who were preparing the platform to receive the massive ship.

My father’s face is dreary as he inspects the damage from the bridge of the control room.

When I entered, I heard him shouting, but now he remains silent as he receives a report from one of the maintenance officers on the causes of the tragedy.

Five engine failures, and 26 thrusters offline–all found with faulty connections, defective parts, or machinery flaws that would give in at the slightest bit of pressure.

I come to stand next to him in front of the overlooking window.

The frown decorating his features for the last months has transformed my father's face, adding worry lines where there were none before. I see pity in his eyes now. I do not believe it is for me, but for himself mostly.

We stare at each other for a long while. The largest disaster since the construction of the docking station some hundred years ago, happened under my father's care, be it deliberate or not.

Just the next day a connection comes through from the main planet, C3XA, informing us that this was Odmund EL’Arthas’ last day as the supervisor of Point C3X1DF.

It was also the last day for the EL’Arthas family among the ranks of the nobility.

—-

I resurface when the loaded memory file ends, lying uncomfortably cramped on my cabin bed. My breath comes out in short bursts as the tension of the dreamlike experience hasn’t entirely washed over me yet.

I can still feel the dread, dissipating slowly as reality reasserts itself in my mind.

Reliving particularly somber memories is something very few people choose to do willingly. I consider myself a bit eccentric in this, experiencing the suffering of my past repeatedly whenever I get the chance.

Another piece of technology I appreciate differently than the norm. Instead, it should have been a pleasant experience, living through my best memories, or even, ones bought from someone else to experience a novel thrill.

Maybe it’s me but I find it disturbing to relive another person’s past. Yet it is so popular, that I can’t put my aversion to the notion as a measure of character. With so much suffering tossed about, people pay top credits to enjoy a pleasurable experience.

My friend Tommy has a bit of an addiction to it. I have vowed to myself to bring more happiness into his life.

I go through the regular daily training with a sharp mind, and when finally the time comes for strength training I pit myself against it with a passion that scared the training officer into silence.

The feeling of betrayal is still vivid, and I can’t stop going all out. But it is inspiring to see that my circle follows along with my borderline self-hating training regime.

When Ella stumbles, Ginny lifts her up, and Nik doesn't let Tommy stop, only until his arms shake violently.

Gardenia joins in the rotation, and I smile at her concentration, she grimaces at every repetition but digs deep.

Marine after marine redouble their efforts and I am certain that today is not a regular training day. It's a day we showered our bodies with conviction.

At the end of the session, I get a heaving Gardenia to follow me back to my cabin. I’ll check on her growing nanomite pool and install the new optics that are ready and waiting to be transplanted.

The tablet shows the growing concentration of nanomites in her blood and I ask her a few standardized questions.

“No discomfort? Any swelling on the calves or ankles?”

Gardenia takes a moment to consider and shakes her head negatively. “There is some random tingling. It feels weird.”

“Those are the nanomites, they will slightly enlarge your veins to accommodate swift travel to any injured areas. Great, I see from the data you have been feeding well and the nanos are acclimating wonderfully in their new host. Congratulations.”

I see her hesitate, slightly embarrassed and I nudge her to say whatever is on her mind. “I haven’t been going…for the last four days, you know, to that place?”

“Huh?”

“The bathroom,” She says and covers her face in her hands.

“Oh, I forgot to mention that. The nanos take care of 99% of the waste produced by the body. You won’t need the bathroom as often anymore,” I tell her with a smile and she gaps.

“That's…a relief, I thought something was wrong with me.”

“Everything is as well as it should be. Are you ready for your new optics?” I smile wider when I see the excitement emerge through the caution.

The procedure doesn’t take longer than 20 minutes. The extremely thin sheet of optics fits perfectly on top of her cornea and I spend most of the time programming and rechecking the code and data.

When I finish the installation it's time to implant the chip. I turn her sideways to rub a numbing agent on the back of her neck. A small tear on the skin with a scalpel is all that is needed to push the small ‘brainchip’ inside. Since it's developed from her DNA the biomaterial will wiggle deeper and find a comfortable spot to take root.

Sealing the puncture with a generous application of a Rejuvenation cream brings the operation to a close.

“You will experience mild itching on your neck for a few days. Try not to scratch at it. When the chip gets embedded your optics will come online automatically. Nevertheless, let's do another check-up in 3 days' time to record the progress.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” She says blinking her eyes rapidly. I want to think that the new optics made her grey eyes watery.

“Amon, just Amon is fine,” I reply blankly because I don’t know how to respond to a woman about to cry lying on my bed.

After she leaves, I pull out the sealed box from under my bed. It’s time to work with the metaspheres I have been putting off because I didn’t have the right plan for what to do with them until now.

Fortunately, my study of neoengineering helps me work with many different materials. Once I know the use of a technology, I don’t need to be able to create it from scratch to alter its effects.

Metasphere’s primary use is terraforming environments. I can insert the little metallic sphere in an array and through metastasis the correct combination of atoms will produce a comfortable living environment for humans in the surrounding area.

Or a very deadly one.

So from these rare materials, I’m installing a launcher to my secondary riffle that will bring hell to the other end of my scope.

As for naming, I’d call it a metagrenade launcher or something equally dull. I prefer descriptive naming to any flashy decorative tag.

The days feel ever shorter as we near our destination.