I had heard rumors about the labs of course, everyone had. Every diplomatic station had one, several in fact. But there was always one reserved for the most important experiments. The most secretive collaborations between our many species. Many of the groundbreaking technologies now commonplace were first developed in the labs of diplomatic stations.
And this is not surprising. For while every species specializes in various ways unique to itself, and while these specializations can occasion scientific insight simply not possible for other members, it is when our many races work together that the biggest breakthroughs are had. When all of those specialties blend into something greater than the sum of its parts.
Apparently some new technological marvel had been birthed in the lab on board The Hands, and I had no idea what to expect.
Eventually we entered the corridor to the labs. There were no sentries, no visible deterrents to access—there certainly were such deterrents of course, just none that we could see—such things were kept concealed unless needed. Those roaming the halls looked every bit the stereotypical scientist, it was a strange juxtaposition against the military backdrop from whence we had just come.
We entered the lab in question, the entrance had seemed no different than all the others. Inside, several of my own kind, and a Human were operating consoles, apparently communicating with the dozen Bloorkäm and Chluuryns on the other side of the transparent wall, in their own lab, gravity no-doubt more accommodating there.
When she saw us, the Human walked up. I had never seen a female of their species before. It was smaller than Kel and Caleb, and I knew this dimorphism was the norm for their kind, but she was still far larger than any creature I’d want to tangle with.
“Preyl!” The woman said excitedly as her and The Admiral engaged in a greeting similar to what I’d seen between Kel and Chyrkrady—minus the faux-combat. “Come, come, it’s amazing, you must see it!”
We followed the Human female to the corner of the room where several silver cylindrical containers stood. I recognized them as Stasis Field Generators. The woman picked it up and handed it to The Admiral, who turned it around, examining it.
“No heavier than an ordinary Stas-Gen, and it truly out performs them?” The Admiral asked, tone verging on incredulously.
“Yes! Yes!” The woman said. “It vastly outperforms. The Generator you’re holding now is capable of diffusing an area almost an order of magnitude larger than previous ones. We have also successfully tested prototypes with even greater effective range. Calculations indicate that it should be possible to achieve almost full diffusion in an area the size of this entire station.”
“How close is ‘almost’ full?”
“We successfully diffused an area the size of an entire district at 85% efficiency for a MilliCycle. Extrapolating from that test and others, and accounting for refinement, I estimate 70% diffusion efficiency once we leave the prototype phase.”
“Incredible, Casslyn, absolutely incredible.”
“I wish we’d’ve had them so strong 20 Cycles ago.” Kel said. “The Heg would’ve been utterly fucked.”
“I must say my friend, with the tenacity of your race, they were utterly fucked from the very beginning. Or do you not recall single handedly dispatching an entire battalion?” Chyrkrady teased.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Maybe true, but it would’ve been a lot more enjoyable had that pulse fire not stung so damn much. That shit stings like you wouldn’t imagine—“
Kel paused as Chyrkrady folded his forelimbs and cocked his head, then he continued.
“—yes, yes, I know I’m one to talk. Woe is me the poor Human who can eat a million pulse rounds for breakfast and a million more for lunch. Apologies my friend, I know they are lethal, I know it’s just the sheer fluke of Human physiology that lets my kind soak up the blasts like a sponge.”
He rubs the scarring along his neck.
“I’m just saying that it hurts, not to mention that it will kill us too eventually. So the ability to negate all energy based armament within half a mile would’ve been most appreciated.”
“What, and rob us of the chance to earn our battle scars?” General Halker goaded, slapping Kel on the back in what I assumed was a friendly gesture, despite it having enough force to’ve snapped me in two.
“How quickly can we produce these new Stas-Gens?” The Admiral asked.
“We’ve already produced several hundred, and within half a Cycle there should be enough to arm every soldier on the station with one, as well as surplus enough to put them on torpedoes.”
“Fantastic, Cass, excellent work. Please keep me appraised of your progress.
I will have Saxxon stay here for the remainder of the week, anything you need, just let him know and he will make the necessary arrangements. We will leave you to your work now.”
“Of course Preyl, take care.” The woman said. Then, turning to The Major, “You hear that Saxxon, it’s you and me again buddy! You get to watch me crunch numbers for a week.” Then she scratched the brindle tuft atop The Majors Abdomen. And I swear in that moment I saw those fangs, for just a second, flick upward into a smile.
We departed the lab from the direction we came. Once out of the corridor leading to the labs, The Admiral and General Halker went back to the Hanger to talk strategy for the stealth fleet and commence crew selection.
Kel, Chyrkrady, Caleb, and I headed to the elevator. We, Caleb and I in particular, had much to pour over in the briefings that were sure to follow in the coming days, but for now—on orders from The Admiral herself—we were to enjoy the rest of the Outpouring’s festivities.
We had just passed the last security checkpoint and turned down the hall to the elevator when the world came apart.
For a split second the entire corridor—the entire ship—vibrated, the very walls humming a rhythm at the very edge of perception. Then the far end of the corridor, where we had been moments before, opened like a maw to the black void.
Only then did the alarms begin their wailing. Whatever had just happened, it had taken us completely by surprise.
Kel and Chyrkrady immediately grabbed us and told us to make for the opposite end of the corridor.
Then another rumble shook its way through the station and the wall nearest me opened up to the space beyond. I heard the commotion of the others in the hall, Chyrkrady and Kel barking commands, the groaning of the ship undergoing some stress it was never designed to tolerate.
I heard the shrieking of metal as a chunk of hull peeled away, spinning, ramming into me.
And then I heard nothing at all as I was tossed into hard vacuum.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
There is a common myth back home. It occurs often in fiction, in stylized accounts of interstellar adventure. The notion that when exposed to space, the carapace explodes from rapid decompression, eyes bursting from their sockets, our insides becoming outsides. Else we are depicted as freezing instantly, to shatter like glass when we inevitably collide with some other object.
Fortunately for me that is not the case. Yes, the drop from 1 atmosphere to no atmosphere isn’t exactly good for you. The nitrogen begins to bubble in your blood, tissues expand to their detriment, etc., but it’s hardly the detonation of viscera that popular media would have you believe. One also doesn’t suffer from sudden freezing, as heat radiates very poorly in a vacuum.
So really, you can last a surprisingly long amount of time in the absence of everything requisite for life.
The most immediate concern is irreversible brain damage resulting from lack of oxygen, but assuming one were recovered within about 4 MicroCycles, a full and rapid recovery is almost certain.
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
So this was reassuring, or it would have been, had I remembered it at the time.
But, as it were, I was flailing my limbs wildly—and wholly ineffectually—as I saw the station receding slowly from view, thinking only of the fact that I was doomed.
I was neither far nor traveling fast. I would probably be 200 Standard Increments away—no more than a city block—by the time brain death set in.
I vaguely remember seeing Kel reach to his waist, his belt I assume, from which he forcefully yanked the emergency tether that he slapped to the ground in front of him.
I saw him bunch low, mouth open wide as he forcefully exhaled, leg muscles tensioning, and then he sprung out into the void after me.
I felt, more than saw, him collide with me.
He wrapped his lower limbs around me and I saw him—just before my vision faded to black—give a forceful tug on the tether, sending us back toward the gaping hole through which I’d just gone.