I stay slumped in my commanding chair trying to focus on not throwing up. Apparently, it's a genetic thing when someone can't handle the process of translocation. Something about the inside of a singularity causes intense vertigo and nausea for people with the same genetic trait. Even if I have zero vertigo or motion sickness normally, this type of travel always screws with me. Even the normal Alcubierre drives don't cause this effect, just the singularity one. The only good part is that all of this feeling goes away as soon as we return to normal 3D space. Due to the maximum range per translocation, we will only be in this state for a few days at most between stops to recharge. We could try to go the old way, utilizing only the Alcubierre, but that would take a legitimate century or more to make it out of human space.
I sit there with my biological hand covering my face and my metal arm resting on the arm of my chair with my hand held high where I continuously flick my fingers causing a loud metallic scraping to sound out. At least the bridge is lively meaning the sound probably isn't bothering anybody, that I care if I bother or not. Apparently, though it is bothering the shit out of the Diplo-Colonel considering how she takes an irritated deep breath every time I do it. While the rest of the bridge crew is either doing their standard checks or entertaining themselves with onboard entertainment, there is one rule, and that is no headphones. One can play sound directly into their neural implant if they have it, but nothing is allowed to cover one's ears according to Naval code. This is because FTL is boring if you don't have sensitivity, then is it sickening. Once FTL is engaged, especially the singularity drive, nothing really can be done. Sensors don't work because the ship is moving faster than the signals are at that point, and in the singularity drives 4th-dimensional corridor, nothing can really come in or out. All there is to do aside from dealing with onboard systems is stare at the number counting down how long the translocation or jump has left. Thus the ship's AI allows for seamen to access large databases of media once it deems their ship-side tasks have been handled first during these periods of long nothing.
Eventually, Shariah seems to snap and she carefully, with restrained annoyance asks,
"Commodore... you look unwell. Perhaps you should consider retiring back to your bedroom? I think it's all good up here. This bridge crew is nothing but handpicked veterans."
I open my mouth to speak and instead, a horrid belching sound comes out and I taste the cinnamon whiskey from many hours ago.I groan and finally manage to say in a low tone,
"I will remain in this seat for the duration of this translocation. I doubt standing up is a good option for me at the moment."
She kinda giggles at this but quickly stops as I scrape my fingers again. She then decides to take advantage of the situation by giving me a very diplomatic scolding,
"Well, Commodore Hollander, as your first officer and the second in command of this entire operation it is my duty to take care of all diplomatic matters. Looking at your right hand and its current state and after reading your file I'm sure you'll let me handle it as I wish. Considering you managed to cause a diplomatic incident as well as lost your hand and 40% of the skin on your body, I think you are not qualified for any diplomatic work.
So I think we should discuss...."
Her voice fades from my consciousness as my ears begin to ring and my vision blurs while my head spins. I exasperatedly choke out,
"Diplo-Colonel... shut the fuck up."
She freezes in offense at my statement and before she can respond I say in a terrible watery tone,
"Just please. I can't handle it. I have about the worst sensitivity to this shit as anyone can. The anti-nausea pills aren't doing shit and I think the AI is monitoring my BAC so I can't drink myself to sleep. Go bother comms or something... or go take a nap in your room. You may be dismissed to go do girl stuff or whatever...I will sit here and wallow in... this state."
The biggest problem right now is that the Admiral put the BAC monitoring on this ship. Normally I drink until I can fall asleep or until the nausea pills work. I even shot a message down to the ship's doctor but they denied my request for more potent medicines. This translocation will take three days... three days of this and multiple months-long deployment while being unable to save myself. Shariah leaves after saying something in bitch-speak and the bridge crew continues doing what they do. No one approaches out of pity, everyone's first translocation feels like this, but your body is supposed to get used to it, so they all know what I'm going through and really feel for me. Thankfully it very rarely affects my command capability, and if it does I have the pilot and communications officers lined up as my replacement if something needs my attention during a translocation. The Diplo-colonel cannot be used in this manner because she isn't Navy and none of the officers respect her.
While wallowing in my terrible state I reach an epiphany. Using my neural link I compose a short text message and send it down to engineering, where potentially my angel of the machines can come and rescue me. It takes only a few minutes before Ceciel Grant appears next to my command seat. She does look rather flustered and unsure about herself coming onto te bridge. I kinda forgot to tell her in my message why I wanted her so she might think she is in trouble. To solve this I quietly say to her,
"Please...seaman...can you adjust the onboard AI's rules? I'll give you my privileges. I have FTL sensitivity and the drugs aren't working fast enough."
She stares at me dumbfounded for a moment before she nods and gets behind my console. She hooks herself onto the system and I authorize her access. I watch her work for a moment before she unplugs with a long sigh before explaining,
"I'm sorry Commodore. It's just not happening. The AI is one of the newer generations so it can't be tricked or hacked. If I had months then I probably could do something about it, but considering your condition I doubt that's an option. What I did manage though is I convinced the AI to allow for the usage of multiple stronger medications, but after that it's up to the doctor if they will give them to you.
I'm sorry sir, but that's all I can do."
I groan and reply,
"It's alright. Nothing on you. Dismissed."
She salutes and scuttles away back into the bowels of the ship. I remain seated and send another request to the ship's doctor who denies me faster than I expected. I guess they were waiting for me. I then hear heavy footfalls approach, large armored boots slamming against the rubberized floor. I get another wave of bad nausea so I can't look up as someone else stands in front of me. I am starting to get frustrated that people are bothering me so I choke out,
"Who are you and what do you want?"
A female voice, partially distorted through a speaker says,
"Sir, your knight in shining armor has arrived. Sergeant Louise Ritter is here to take you to your room."
I groan,
"I didn't request this."
She laughs heartily and responds,
"No, but the doctor, Diplo-colonel, and a few bridge crewmen recommended it. A few said they served with you before and they said you're going through it."
I don't respond I just nod and start to stand, but before I can a pair of massive armored arms cradle me like a baby and I am lifted out of my chair into the metallic embrace of a marine in full armor. Her face is covered by the heavy metal mask but for a moment I look up at her and with all my might I joke,
"Mommy, can we go play in the park tomorrow?"
I hear the marine laugh as she begins easily carrying me away.
I am not a small man by any measure. I am around 6'4ish and about 190 lbs of mostly lean meat. The marine carrying me, as a woman, outside of her armor is probably a good 6'8 and 300-400 lbs of nothing but raw muscle and some skeletal reinforcements. While it is true there isn't a human alive that isn't genetically modified in some manner, usually done as a preventative medical procedure, some humans are more than others. This last war against our fellow humans saw some pretty terrible infantry-against-infantry combat. People are just sacks of blood and meat, and there is only so much armor and guns you can make someone carry, even if assisted by an exoskeleton. While we do have FTL, powered armor is still tricky. It works in zero-G really well, but in normal gravity, there is a threshold where it starts breaking the wearer's bones and joints regardless of how well it was designed. So in the end you could only get a person 2-5X stronger than normal. While impressive it came with a drawback the stronger it was, the more clunky the movements of the wearer would be as they attempted to compensate with the enhanced speed and strength, which in the end created slow-moving, not very agile, and expensive marines and soldiers. Something had to be done.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
This resulted in a super-soldier program that really did well and wasn't too much of a scandal and controversy. The program was only okayed for the Marines and special forces and was entirely voluntary. As a Corps of the military, the Marines need more than just combat units so anyone in the Marines who didn't want to become enhanced would simply work as support staff or pilots. As for spec ops, all of those guys are enhanced and want to be. The process isn't more painful than any other surgery and drug cycle so that wasn't a problem. The controversy was that the process isn't reversible and due to some strange genetic shenanigans, the super soldier traits are able to be passed down to the kids of the person enhanced. This was solved through 2 means. First, the one being enhanced has at least 3 kids' worth of genetic material stored for later, and second, upon retirement, if their service ended in an honorable discharge or they just plain retired they pay 80% less federal taxes than everyone else, so they can take home much more money from their future employment. The genetic enhancements are done through direct gene manipulation with some special mixture containing either nano-bots or viruses. Then the marine is put into a short coma inside an artificial womb and they are born again after about two weeks with a completely altered makeup, making sure the surgically enhanced muscles and bones stick no matter how much or little they train or injure themselves. The only reversible parts are the cybernetic enhancements which are either removed or replaced with civilian-rated stuff so the discharged super soldier is far more manageable to deal with.
The enhancements given to these volunteers are insane. Their muscles are made more dense, their skeleton is reinforced with some medical composites that give them bird-like torsion resistance while still keeping the mammalian compression resistance which is even further expanded by the composites. They have heightened senses, a faster but not necessarily smarter working brain, and they are immune to most poisons. I guess they can also digest most biological matter now too. On average the enhancements the marines get give them a 4-5X human physical capability in speed, strength, agility, flexibility, and reflexes. Due to this, they can be strapped into more potent powered armor because their bones and joints are more reinforced making these monsters far more powerful. Their tech enhancements give them night vision and thermal vision, and they have built-in medical systems. They are overall the current standard perfect soldiers.
Also, it makes the Marines act more like Marines. This is horrifying because there is a non-zero chance I'm about to be sexually abused by the sergeant carrying me to my room, and I truly could not do a thing about it if that is the case, not that I'd complain... aside from facial looks which cannot be changed through the augments, the bodies on those enhanced women...
The thought nearly makes me puke because I stop focusing on not throwing up. I lie back in the giant woman's arms and let out a defeated groan. I hear the armored woman giggle inside her helmet as passersby give us strange looks. Eventually, I am brought into my room where the sergeant undoes my boots and then tucks me into bed. I bundle myself in and ask in a child-like voice,
"Can you tell me a story before you leave?"
She laughs heartily and responds,
"I'm sorry dear, I've got things to do. I'll send someone to come check in on you later."
I laugh, choke on bile, and then respond,
"Thank you, Marine. This will be reported to your CO. Dismissed."
She salutes and leaves me alone in my little room where I try to sleep...
After two weeks of jumps and rests I managed to survive in my room. For the few hours the ship is in regular space to recharge I do a walk around the ship and make sure everyone is okay. It's so odd how immediately the symptoms go away upon leaving the 4th dimension. I make my way back to the bridge, I already know where we are. It's the final space station of civilized human space, beyond it is nothing but barely charted star systems. This void between the US and the aliens is hundreds of lightyears apart with millions of stars and billions of planets in between. The only civilizations that we know of in this area are small start-up colonies or people who wish to live alone. This station is known as Fort Blackjack because the only inhabited planet within the system it orbits is a hellish den of gambling this area of space is yet to be fully integrated into US statehood so right now it is frontier and a territory granting them the special right to self-govern which they used to become gamblers. The fort though is part of the US so federal law binds those onboard.
When I get to the bridge I order a shuttle to be prepared as the ships are recharging. I wish to come to the station to see an old friend.
The Diplo-Colonel decides to follow me onto the station for some reason beyond my understanding. She probably just wondered what I was up to considering I just spent nearly 2 weeks laying around in a very miserable state. I allow her to follow at her own risk, and I give her fair warning about the man I am about to meet. She seemingly thinks my warning is empty and I am simply trying to shake her off. I shrug and enjoy my short flight. The shuttles do not have artifical gravity due to their size meaning only about 1 m/s^2 of gravity could be created within. The zero-Gs are great for decompressing my back so I love these short journeys. We eventually dock and enter the dimly lit station. These fronteir stations tend to be as basic and spartan as posisble.
We walk through the dark halls over metal grate covering various pipes and electrical conduits. Distantly gasses hiss from leaky pipes andthe great steel bulk of the station groan under the gravitational and vacuum forces of space. The reactor at the center feels like a giant heartbeat reverberating through the near silent halls. If I didn't know better I'd think this was some horror movie rather than cheapest bidder construction, plus the halls are clean despite being bare, there is not a single spot of rust or misplaced tool anywhere as expected.
Eventually I make it to the command spire in the center of the ring-like station and turn to Shariah right in front of the door. I tell her,
"We are meeting the commanding officer of this installation. You are not the queen of this court. At best we are jesters here, so either laugh at everything or stay quiet."
She gives me an overly confident look and puffs out her impressive chest and I simply sigh, having already predicted how this will all play out. I hide my emotions as I step inside the command room. The marine by the door shouts in a voice only a superhuman can,
"Commodore Hollander, on deck!"
The command crew stands and salutes me and I return the gesture as I approach a raised center area where a monstrous man sits. I stand below it and hold a salute as I hear him tap away at an old mechanical keyboard from centuries ago. He taps with one finger at a time in a slow and almost painful manner. I wait holding my salute as the rest of the crew continues their work. Eventually the man finishes his typing and spins his chair around revealing a clean shaven man with a rock-hard jawline. His hair is snow white and the only way one can tell his advanced age is the creases at the corners of his eyes. He sees me and keeps a stoic expression and salutes me lazily. He looks over at Shariah and then to me before asking in a completely flat tone,
"Commodore Hollander... it appears you have impressed me once more..."
His facade breaks and a dumb smile crosses his expression as he continues,
"I can't beleive my little Hollander finally got himself a squeeze, and one of them fancy pleasure worlders too! Probably got that one on your leave after the war, how much was your first night with her?
Regardless I'm so proud of you boy, you make me wish you were my actual grandson!"
My facade breaks as I can see Shariah go through all the stages of greif in less than a second. This is a constant joke in the Navy, all paradise-worlds are quite lax in their laws when it comes to... pleasure activities. While federally prostitution is illegal, there is some laxness when it comes to state to state laws on the matter. While untrue for most, the long standing legend remains as a funny hazing ritual against fresh academy officers, telling them to approach the normally scantilly clad paradise worlders and ask for a good night with a fistful of cash. It always ends comedically.
I smile and respond to the man in the center,
"Rear Admiral Hollander, it's great to see you too. Unfortunately for the Diplo-Colonel here I am not looking for someone with such a loud mouth."
Despite our shared last names, Rear Admiral Hollander and I are not related in any way, or not in any recent lineage type of way. He is from one of the near-earth systems, I don't know which one though, he never said. Plus our genetics are clearly different. My build is more wiry and my hair is brown and I have dark blue eyes. The Rear Admiral has always had white hair since he was born, is built like a refrigerator, and has yellowish hazel eyes. He is also my mentor of many years, someone thought it was funny to make me his first officer.
He keeps his warm smile before asking,
"I knew a fleet was coming through but I had no idea it was you until you got here. What brings you out here?"
I respond,
"I don't know exactly how much I am supposed to tell you, but simply put we are on a diplomatic and scientific mission to alien space."
His face immediately shifts to a more serious and neutral one before asking,
"Are you sure you'll be okay going back there again? After what happened?"
I nod remembering reading the report of what he did after my bloody and still-cooking body was brought back onboard. I shake it from my mind reminding myself now is not the time to think about that. I continue,
"I'll be good. All I have to do is play taxi and send some marines to work as muscle."
He nods satisifed and asks,
"And I assume the Diplo-Colonel is head of the diplomatic side of the operation?"
She nods in response with a salute. There is a long pause before the Rear Admiral asks with a grin,
"So Commodore, it's a nearly month long journey to alien space. How are you going to hold up."
I clutch my chest as if I were having a hear attack and speak in a fake Southern-Belle voice and it sounds scarily realistic,
"My dear heart can't handle much more my gentleman. I have been banned from my normal activities of drunken stupor and the doctor has banned the usage of stronger medicne for me. Please, if you would, help little ol me out."
He chuckles and responds,
"Yeah, I'll send the authority through to allow a much higher BAC than normal. I don't know if I can do a full override. As for meds go to the hospital onboard my station and they'll fill a stronger perscription for you."
I salute the old man who returns the gesture, understanding this is his version of telling me I am dismissed. I turn on my heel and march out with the Diplo-Colonel following me, with a dumbfounded expression on her face, still reeling from the ramblings of a man older than two centuries...