NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter Four
The corridors are dead silent. No banging and clanking of machinery, or the endless thrum of engines, just me. One quiet thump at a time. 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 metres square, or forty-eight cubic metres, depending on how you measure them. No idea how that stacks up against, say, British naval destroyers, but given they have a mezzanine 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 kilometre ring is that dumb, so it must be me who’s missing something.
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 mesh suit.++
“OK, and what are these undersuits used for?”
++A hyperweave undersuit worn by crew that will protect them in an emergency. 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 helmet, gloves and boots, the operational time 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-time 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 mesh suit can do all that and it’s just the under armour?”
++No, a mesh suit is underwear.++
“You telling me 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 me.”
++The Operator is welcome to test the integrity of their only source of protection at their leisure.++
“I am so unhappy right now.”
++Mental 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 helmet, 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 me 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 melancholy, as I sift through the odd interactive photo frame, 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 costumes.
There are a few tablets and a couple of circuit etched lanyards like the one around my neck; E-SIM tells me 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 frame of a tablet or the control panel of machinery.
I wrap all the brikabrak in a blanket and take it with me.
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 me.
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 home 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 me to become 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 some 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 me the most efficient method 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 elements. As I watch the scrap turn to powder, I am amazed the tiny machines do this without bathing me 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 cement, then compressed into tiny balls, like buckshot.
I’ve gone over some 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 metallic pellets.
With some 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 time I’m done, emergency power is at 2%.
I return to the canteen, taking the pallet truck with me. There, I rebuild the barricade, using my power field and a dribble of nanites to break up tables and weld together something more sturdy than the previous attempt.
Blocking myself in like this isn't ideal, but neither is having stuff sneak up on me 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.
Emergency 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 some 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 me 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 me because someone ran off with all the good suits. They only left their undersized, second hand underwear for me to protect myself with, underwear that doesn’t fit me. 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 time 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 emergency 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 me straight to sleep, despite the exciting possibilities running around my mind like a hoard of demented bulls.
Later, I wake, sweat pouring off me 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.