I Left The Old World Behind



...


Constellations burn steadily across a limitless black, and distant planets shine. Pale swaths mark stellar medium. Dark streaks are comets. All is a tangible, ephemeral part of the void...

I smile.

Freedom! (Focus.)

Still blasting upwards in my fullbody Deepspace Integral Suit, I scan ahead through its faceplate while slipping the final bonds of planetary gravity. There! Across the resolution-enhanced distance exist artificial structures: geodesic, spherical, and much more. Some pilot between gravitational wells, others fall endlessly in planetary orbits. One is nearest...

(Careful.) A first sign of wayward humanity...

The Outers.

I direct personal gravimetrics to brake me. This inbuilt technology begins to slow my flight before letting the effect fade away, whereupon momentum continues boosting me through the void towards a huge, and slowly spinning circular space station. Its exterior is burnished silver, with a clear strip along the outside edge and one entire far section. Inside is...

(Another is closer.)

My attention focuses upon a small, sturdy craft emerging from the incandescent view of our distant red giant sun. I pump my personal gravimetrics again, slowing further. The craft looks old, surface dark and pitted with wear from use. Its means of conveyance is a simple kind of thrust. Ion, most likely. No energy shielding. In other words...

Primitive.

I frown.

(Could it be what it seems?)

My field of view fills with Virtualized scan readouts as the craft fires its forward thrusters, slowing in turn. Beyond us both waits the huge, slowly spinning circular space station...

Check, check, and check. All normal.

(But...)

The craft broadcast a signal.

My formerly quiescent i-shield intercepts it, flickering back to life. I come to a complete stop.

The craft comes to a gentle stop, still far before me.

First contact.

We are surrounded by starlight, amidst heavenly bodies orbiting the red giant in the void. All falling...

The craft pings me again.

Well. Friendly?

(Or unfriendly?)

I exhale.

First impressions.

I ping back.

Ok. Waiting...

The craft eventually transmits again.

My i-sphere flickers briefly again, capturing the signal again. I let the signal through. Decoding: Virtualized sound crackles, smoothing away into solid audio. "- hello? Do you read me?" The voice is deeply male, young, speaking an archaic language with an accent not unsurprising, considering cultural drift, but understandable.

Hm.

"Yes," I finally answer.

Brief silence. "I'm not picking up a signal from your System transponder," the young Outer states. "Or any personal identifier."

How to identify...

(Minimum.)

"Because I do not have them."

Silence.

I...

"What is your name?" I impetuously ask him.

Virtualized sound of a throat clearing unexpectedly. "Ah, sorry." He sounds chagrinned. "Could have introduced myself sooner, but it's standard procedure now outside the station, at least this close to The Anomoly, to begin with transponder confirmation. My name's Obit. What's yours?"

Silence. "Id."

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Id. But... what are you doing out here? And without a ship?"

Hm. Considering the level of technology displayed so far, perhaps the Outers do not have anything on the level of a Deepsace Integral Suit. It might be better not to surprise them.

"I don't have one. It's... a long story."

A male snort. "I'm sure. The Station just said you're not in any of the logbooks. They're running an outside check, but you may as well come on in while it completes. I don't normally provide public shuttle service, but it's just my luck to be coming back from a survey when you showed up out here. Local regs mean nearest flight gets first contact."

Silence.

(If...)

"Do you have any thrust?" he finally asks. "If not, I can probably maneuver close enough to grab you with my aft mech-arm and help you into the airlock."

Yes...

There is something in its voice – a tone, or direction of inquiry – that seems honest. Without much general social experience to go on, but from instinct, and my limited knowledge of Outer culture...

I trust. "No. I have thrust."

"Ok." The small craft's thrust lightly engages, gently rotating itself while that huge, slowly spinning circular space station continues to wait in the distant void. I pump my personal gravimetrics again, gently pushing myself forward towards the craft. A hatch opens in its dark side, revealing a small, bright interior.

(But if...)

I breath out.

Trust.

As a sign of good faith, I de-activate my i-sphere. This leaves me naked of Active energy shielding, although my Deepspace Integral Suit remains a potent physical defense. The hatch steadily grows in my vision, until...

I angle my body, slipping inside.

Calm.

Twisting, I grip a handhold on the airlock's ceiling. The hatch slowly closes, shutting me inside. A feeling of pressure. Gas pumps inside, briefly obscuring my sight through the faceshield. Virtualized readouts scan: the gas is breathable. A thunk. The inner airlock slides opens with partial smoothness, revealing a cramped interior...

My eyes widen.

... and beside the crash couch and a primitive control array strands a big shaggy-haired biosynth male wearing a primitive white spacesuit jointed in grey metal, helmet off.

Oh.

We stare...

(Hm. This male's face is...)

... attractive. With strong features.

Obit's lips quirk into a wry smile. "Gonna show me your face too, or just keep staring at mine?"

I flush. My faceplate is exterior occluded, so I slide it into the helmet. Air puffs inside against my face.

His brows rise. "Huh. You look normal enough."

After a pause, I look him up and down. "So do you."

Obit explosively exhales laughter. "HAHAHAHA!" Bending over, he slaps at his big suited thigh until it's all worked out. "HA! Got me there!" A broad smile flashes. He straightens, standing tall once more. "Anyway." One broad arm swept out. "This is my humble abode."

I look around...

(Details.)

The craft's interior is still a cramped space, but small personal touches become apparent. Currently dark Christmas lights adorn a few ports. A small anterior space has a cracked washbasin with toiletries on a counter. A few broken, freeze-dried rations with colorful labels share space with some old books all strapped across interior shelving. A star-painted black spiderbot is slumped in the far corner. And on the console...

Hm.

... is a worn old picture, of a slender woman, with long silken hair.

Curious. (Curious.)

The console beeps. Obit huffs. "Yeesh. Impatient, aren't we?" He turns around, leaning down to tap a button. What's displayed there isn't visible from my angle. Eventually, he turns back and gives me a strange look. "Huh. I've been asked to bring you in. Immediately."

(Be wary.)

I frown. "Admittance? I had wondered if it would be granted, considering where I came from."

His thick eyebrows draw together. "Where ARE you from?"

Odd.

I turn slightly, gesturing back. "Did sensors not pick up my exit from the atmosphere? I left Them."

Obit appears confused. "Left what? There's nothing behind you until the inner planets." His eyes widen. "Except..."

I turn, stepping up to the nearest viewing port. My own eyes widen. 

Nothing. There is NOTHING waiting behind us, only void until distant Venus and Mercury circling our bloated red sun...

The Earth is gone.

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top