Unfortunately, Sal had one place to visit after the team was settled into work in the cargo hold, and it was by far his least favourite place on the ship. Well, except the ‘green’ tanks of course. Salvador didn’t want to break the contest of patience first. He couldn’t, not when he was being forced to go to the clinic. Dr Michaels seemed to have the same idea. One man was being obligated to get a checkup he hated, and the other required to check an unwilling patient when he’d much rather be calibrating his augments. As the seconds on the authentic cuckoo clock ticked by loudly, Sal eventually gave in.
“Alright, fine, fine. You win. Let’s get this over with,” Sal exasperated.
“Finally. Now we can get on with this, Mr Vigino.” Dr Michaels fraying patience could be heard in the peevish tone he took.
Apparently, he had never heard that patience was medicine the soul. Scrying his surroundings as he disrobed to his undergarments, Sal saw the off-white walls of the medical office were still decorated with various knick-knacks and other pointless accessories that had grown in number since the ship had left Titanlock. Making his way to the medical bed, Michaels caught his disparaging look.
“You know, they weren’t cheap to get the full set,” The doctor said.
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Who would even sell such ugly eyesores?” Sal said, a hint of playfulness sneaking in.
Cracking his knuckles, pushing his long dark hair over his shoulders, Michaels shook his head dismissively. He extended a number of cybernetic probes and attachments from his forearms, synthetic skin shifting away in panels,
“Come now Salvador, we’ve done this song and dance at least three times so far on the journey. No need to get aggravated this late in the game,” he tutted. “Besides, this is all for your own good.”
The doctor gave a thorough examination of all the scratches and scars along his body before moving to his chest with particular attention.
“No pain, no irritation?” he asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“No,” Sal snapped, clicking his tongue. “It’s been fine.”
“Hmm. You know, the standard surgery plates from GaltCorp aren’t exactly high qual- “
“It’s not from GaltCorp,” Sal interrupted. “H&H put this in.” He didn’t need any reminders regarding the circumstances around those surgeries.
“So, how’s the team been?” Michaels smirked, knowing the small talk killed Sal inside.
“Fine, same as usual. How’s the clinic? No one come in with a newfound hatred of cuckoo clocks yet?”
“Hmm, not yet. Though that Marcus fellow of yours seems rather testy whenever I see him. Quiet as a mouse during the discussion and then glaring like a demon the second we get to his skin. Of course, he looks even worse than you under that tacky jacket of yours.”
The doctor normally stayed clear of cheap insults. “Are you… holding a grudge from me hating your knick-knacks?”
“Salvador, I’m a doctor. There’s no way I would do something so petty.”
The two locked eyes as Michaels’ instruments continued to probe his skin, neither of them budging.
“Ok, maybe a small grudge,” Michaels admitted plainly. “They cost a lot, you know?”
“Whatever floats your knick-knack filled boat, doc,” Sal shrugged.
At the end of the day, it was his office, and Michaels could choose to ruin the aesthetic however he wished. After a few moments of judgement, Michaels shrugged and helped him up.
“In that case, Salvador, I’d say your good to go,” Michaels said. “Based on what I can see, you are in good condition for someone your age who has worked in oil and hydraulic fluid their whole life. Just be careful during the jump today. We wouldn’t want any accidents, now, would we?”
Sal slipped his jumpsuit and jacket back on and gave one last look over his shoulder at the doctor he’d grown to love to hate.
“You be careful too, doc. If you weren’t around, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself each month,” he gave a mock salute and left, the sound of ticking fading behind him.
Meeting back up with the, ugh, “Torchers”, Sal settled into work on a new baryplate section near the cargo bay. The rest of the team had been hard at work whilst Sal got his monthly prodding session, and was glad to see him return.
“So, haven’t grown a new arm or leg somewhere yet, Sal?” Xin said.
She was jabbing him in the back with a spanner whilst he focused on affixing a power line to the baryon-attraction plate below. He and the team were clipped to the floor whilst they fixed the inner deck lining that would restore artificial gravity to the area. Sal hadn’t the first clue how an atomic metal-glass alloy passed through an energized Schrodinger field created a physics-breaking material capable of generating localized gravity, but he damn well knew how to fix one. Especially one broken by some idiot cargo hauler dropping the obscenely heavy metal containers that filled the vast space.
The interior stretched on as far as the eye could see, with darkness enveloping the far reaches on both sides of the team. Mountains of piled boxes, containers and equipment dwarfed the tiny workers that milled around. Thankfully, the engineers had been left to their own devices, working near a cleared-out space free of boxes or machinery.
“No extra arms or legs this time, Xin,” Sal said. “I am getting a headache, for some reason, from something or someone right now though.”
Though most of the team either knew or brushed off his trips to the doctor, Dusty, god bless him, couldn’t help but ask.
“Hey, um, Sal. I was wondering. Why do you need to go to the doctor for those extra checkups? I-I mean, we all have to get checkups at some point, but it seems like get more, o-or are special in some way.”
“Well, it’s called a little something like a ‘none-of-your-business-itis,” He, a little too harshly than he intended, shot back. Seeing him shrink back hurt Sal’s heart something fierce. “Sorry kid, it’s just private. It’s nothing you need to worry about, ok?”
The young engineer nodded somewhat solemnly. Finally, after a few hours of switching out the shattered layers of the strange material and connecting the wiring, the end of their shift was drawing near. As they were wrapping up, a voice rang out across the wide-range ship speakers.
“Attention, all crew and passengers. This is your Chief Executive Captain Curtin Althor speaking. As you are likely aware, we are running behind schedule due to the failure of our sister ship, Lighthouse, to arrive. An executive decision has been made by senior staff to keep in line with the original schedule and to reduce operating costs for Henry and Huell. We are planning to continue to the last system of our journey without Lighthouse. As such, we will be initiating our, hopefully, last Schrodinger Warp tonight at 20:00 sharp. I remind you to stay positive in this time of hardship, and that we will succeed. Please see your senior managers for further details. Thank you, and carry on,” said the voice, stoic but tinged undeniably with frustration.
A quiet moment hung in the air before Marcus broke the silence, “Well shit. End of the line.”
“Yeah, did you guys catch that. ‘Hopefully’. Guess they think we might need to turn around and head back to Titanlock if HL-whatever is a bust.” Abel said, rubbing his crew cut hair in thought.
Keeping his face hidden in the wiring, Sal fought to hide the emotions that raged beneath the surface. His hands betrayed his feelings, shaking violently. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was it. This was meant to be the break for him, the change that would finally fix his life that span round in circles. He had planned, no prayed, that he would either be in a new colony, with a new life home of him, or heading back to Titanlock with fresh colony data to sell, ready to live in semi-luxury. Both of those options sounded perfect, the dream of real independence his heart had longed for. But now, with no sign of a successful future ahead of him, Sal silently fumed.
“Huh, makes you wonder how badly the recon squad messed up. Five jumps with ‘great probabilities of habitation’ only to get nada, zip, and bupkis,” Xin mused whilst chuckling. “Bet someone’s really paying for it, now that Lighthouse is probably stuck reading star maps for a few more weeks!”
Sal cursed and muttered to himself, raging despite his attempts to control himself. Though it was barely a whisper, from the corner of his view, he saw Stannock raise an eyebrow as he looked up from filing his nails. The poncy asshole had managed to get Marcus to fix the next set of semi-Euclidic sheets for him. The rest of the team bantered as they plated and wired section after section of the cargo deck. As the shift ended, and the team prepared to leave for the recreation wards, Sal was still finishing an additional power terminal. It was technically out of their work orders, but Sal knew it would cause issues later and, more importantly, he needed to work off his anger.
A shadow stretched over him as Abel approached. “You uh, need a hand with that, man? I know the answer already, but just wanted to check, you know?” Abel questioned.
Sal sighed, “No, I’m fine. I’ve got it. Just need to… work it out,” Sal muttered. A pregnant pause filled the air. “This was important to me, Abel. Getting planetside, or the money from this job… it was supposed to be a new start. A new life. Something that would actually matter, actually make a difference. I would… well, matter.”
“I know brother, I know. Right now, it must hurt bad,” Abel said. “But listen, we’ll get some food in us, prepare for the jump, and do you know what we’ll see? We’ll step out from that green gunk, and we’ll go and see a bright, beautiful planet right outside the porthole. Something with rolling green hills and the most beautiful sunrise, I just know it!” Abel’s enthusiasm rained on Sal, to the point that even the team leader couldn’t hold back a grin. “We’ll see you at O’Malley’s, alright Sal?”
Sal nodded and returned to his work. Finally soldering the last segments of the plate together, he stood and turned to leave when a familiar face passed by. Well, as familiar a face as a Keeper could have. Smearing the oil from his hands onto a towel, he approached the rattling figure as it slowly made its way past the innumerable crates and containers. Once the Keeper saw Sal, he greeted the repairman.
“Good evening, Salvador. How goes the work. Are you prepared for tonight?” Thomas’ voice buzzed through its voice modulator in a harsh, synthetic tone.
Emotionless, cold and tinny, his speech made it hard to work out his internal feelings. The man, if one could call him that, stood slightly taller than Sal, his entire organic body having been switched and swapped for bronze metal replacements that distorted the outline of what one thought of the human form. His face was a blank metal mask with four horizontal slits across it and his mechanized arms too long, giving him a gangly appearance. From the base of his spine to the crown of his head, his back was split open to reveal hundreds of plugs and wires, each swaying and coiling like a nest of synthetic vipers that had grown within him. At times, Sal could see a faint green light emanating from the joints and gaps in the metallic chassis. It was a hue that the engineer couldn’t help but match to the Keepers role with the S-Jumps, emerald and pulsing.
“Pretty good. Got my checkup today. How are you feeling Tom? Are you good to go?” Sal questioned with a raised eyebrow. The Keeper who stood before him would later be trusted with his life as they made the S-Warp to HL7628. Though the precise physics went straight over his head, Sal was experienced with the activity of faster than light travel using a Schrodinger Engine. It didn’t make him feel any happier about actually undergoing it again. After a moment of contemplation, as if he had to calculate every word, Thomas gave a rigid nod.
“The readings from the Schrodinger Mark V Quantum Field Drive are nominal. I predict the risk of atomic translation error or misplacement of crew quantum identity structures as minimal,” Thomas informed Sal.
His speech was stiff, inflexible, every syllable needing to be computed and forced out through a strangled speaker. Had it been the first time Sal had spoken with a Keeper, the phrasing of the last line would put him on edge. Having chatted with the mechanical men over the years and getting to know Thomas in particular over the past few months, he was actually relieved to see him word it that way.
“Anything I can do to help?” Sal asked.
The mechanical man gave a soft shake of the head. “The underlying preparation needed is out of the hands of standard crew procedures. I simply need time to prepare the QIS dataset, and to inspect the engineering deck data junctions. Your assistance with the cargo deck baryonic gravitation plate has reduced the risk of failure in this area from minor to acceptable. I thank you, Salvador.”
Glad to see his life would be in safe, bronze hands, Sal said his farewells and departed for the bar.
O’Malley’s was in full swing. Many work shifts had been cancelled early due to the jump coming up, and plenty of rowdy crewmembers had filed into the cheap bar to kill the time. Though it was meant to be a recreation of a similarly styled establishment franchise from the 20th century with an Irish theming, the corporate tackiness lingered on every glass and table. Phony logos and mass-produced furnishings covered the place. To be fair, when a company had to create more than a dozen bars across Starheart’s multi-kilometre length, it was hardly surprising that the heart and soul was the first aspect to be sacrificed. Though alcohol had been banned due to the upcoming jump, Sal’s squad still had more than enough enjoyment with soft drinks. Sipping on one of her usual energy drinks with the grey-on-white embossed design, Xin stared at Sal as he sat at the table.
“So, got it out your system Mr Grumpypants?” she chided.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Just sick of how the journey’s gone so far but thanks for putting up with me. Spoke with Thomas by the way, says thinks are looking good for later,” Sal remarked with somewhat forced enthusiasm.
Even so, Dusty’s face fell at the thought of the upcoming warp. He had never gone through FTL before joining the Expedition Fleet, and all the jumps so far had been rough on the kid. Sal made a mental note to talk to him before they went in the ‘green‘. Abel returned to the table after grabbing a round of starch colas for the group, resulting in much bitching on Xin’s part as she had already gotten a drink.
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The tall man rubbed his hands together, “So, boys and girls, I’ve been thinking. If we get to the next system, and, for the sake of this talk, let’s just assume it’s going to be an ocean planet. Big ‘if’ mind you but hear me out. If- listen!” Xin and Dusty sniggered at the giant man’s excitement. “If it is an ocean planet, and suppose there are some fish or sharks there, how about I make you all matching necklaces like mine, eh?” Abel seemed rather pleased with his offer, beaming as he pushed his chest out to exhibit a comically tiny tooth on a string around his neck.
The shiny, pale object contrasted against his dark chest, making its small size all the more prevalent. The rest of the team let out a groan. Marcus practically planted his face on the table, and even the typically non-plussed Stannock gave a tired moan.
“Listen man, we’ve all said it a million times before.” Marcus shook his head after lifting it from the faux-wood surface. “One, there’s no way that is a shark tooth. It’s more a goldfish tooth. And two, even if it is, there’s no way its real. I just can’t believe it,”
“I’ll have you know I wrested it from a shark myself! He was the pet of a crime boss, and I courageously fought it off to save a sweet young lady from certain death.” Abel sounded almost certain of himself, the strength of his voice intensifying his Caribbean accent.
“Uh huh, sure darling. And what was the sharks name?” Stannock seemed tired of this discussion, having had it plenty of times before.
“Um, it was Mawface! Maw as big as your pretty mug!”
“Right, because last time it was called ‘Guppy’.”
“Ah. Well, um, you see… just a moment.” Abel awkwardly got up to pretend to play on the arcade cabinet for a bit.
Sal had heard this stupid story far too many times to even consider joining in. Instead, he moved to grab another drink from the bar. Sliding up to the bar top, he met eyes with the man behind the counter. He wore a tacky apron with a minimalistic, rounded logo of a four-leaf clover. Despite, or perhaps because of the rather soul-draining environment, the barkeeper wore a fixed smile, never changing and never quite reaching the eyes.
“Hello Salvador! What can I get you?” Erohin jovially asked, mouth moving but eyes dead. Sal had sometimes wondered if a man’s soul could die whilst their body continued to live. He finally felt that the solution stood before him, cleaning a plastic cup. He’d spoken to the man on occasion, and his face never seemed to budge from its fixed expression of pain hidden behind buckets of joy.
“Hey. I’ll grab a Super Lemon, zero-alt sugar though. That stuff tastes like hell.” Sal slid a few utus across the surface, the currency used between the major CCH conglomerates.
“Sure thing bossman, just a second!” Erohin’s laugh was hollow.
“Hey, Erohin, a question. What are you going to do when we reach the next system? Got any ideas?”
Sal’s mind was still thinking on the future but was unable to act on it yet. Leaving those worries with bartenders was what their job was meant for, right? The question seemed to genuinely surprise the man, his smile dropping in shock.
“Hoo boy, that’s a question and a half! I’ve got a lot I want to do. I’ve got a big family back home I have to make proud, and I sure hope that I can prove my old arch nemesis wrong!” Erohin’s tone was still false, like a man crafting a lie in the heat of an argument, and yet… there was some life there that Sal had never heard before from him.
“Well, sounds like you’ve at least got a rough idea at least. Hope this ‘nemesis’ of yours can change his ways.” Sal grabbed the lemonade substitute that Erohin slid to him as he moved away from the bar.
“I hope so too!” Erohin cheered back. What a weirdo.
Returning to the table, sipping his drink, Marcus caught Sal’s attention with a beckoning gesture.
“Say Sal, you’ve seen their ships in action. Do you reckon that Lighthouse got nabbed by them? By… Heaven’s Doctrine?” Marcus’ face had become sullen and serious, bangs fully covering his eyes.
Sal was well aware of Marcus’ horrendous past with the feudal state of warlord clans, as were most of the others at the table. Thankfully, for the sake of the mood, the others were distracted with banter, and Abel was losing badly to his arcade, whilst the two sat close. Marcus had lost his family at the hands of one particularly vicious clan, the Lengti, and still carried scars both physically and mentally from the trauma he endured under their captivity. One experience that Sal had over his poor squad mate was that he actually had seen clan ship in combat.
“Well, it’s been a while since I served on a recon ship. I personally didn’t actually see too much of the clan ships, mostly had my head stuck in the wires and hulls trying to stop the crew from drinking vacuum. That, or fixing the crappy coffee machine me and Abel kept well past its natural life.” Sal tried to lighten the mood with a little joke, but it did little to ease the conversation. “Anyways, the smaller craft are real quick and can easily catch you off guard. But punching through the defences of a ship like Lighthouse? Nah, no way it can be done without a properly put together fleet, and you need projectiles with stupidly heavy mass to get through a Goliath-class ship’s Scar Field. Otherwise, there’s no point.” Sal had hoped that he’d put Marcus at ease but the furrowed brow under the younger engineer’s hair told a different story.
“But it would be possible if a full clan was behind it? One of the top ones?” Marcus’s tone was quiet.
Sal conceded, “Yes. Would need to be one of the top ones, but yeah, I think so.”
Sal hoped that wasn’t the case. This far out from Titanlock and with little support, being assaulted by any force could be dangerous even with two colony ships working together. Major repairs were difficult without a docking facility, and every day not spent moving was another day to get attacked.
“Either way, Marcus, we’re here and not there. We’ve got one more jump, and then we should be in the clear.” Sal tried to enthuse his colleague. “Besides, I think you’ve got some great prospects once we get planetside.”
“Huh, what do you mean Sal?”
“What I mean is that you’re a damn great engineer Marc’. Don’t think I didn’t see the work you did today.”
“That? Nah, that was with Dusty, Stannock and Xin helping. Ok, maybe not Stannock.”
“Sure, but you did the nanotube intermesh layer of the baryplate. Even Abel sucks at that, and he’s been doing this only a few years less than me. Hell, I’m pretty sure you could go to town on both the fusion and S-Drives if you really put your mind to it.”
For the first time in a while, Sal saw the light in Marcus’ eyes shine. It would be tough, but Sal knew that with the rest of the Torchers, he could reignite Marcus’ spark for life.
A sudden chime rang through the bar as a pool player messed up a game-winning shot, cursing loudly. The sound from the speakers was short and sweet, but everyone knew what it meant. In a flash, people packed up decks of cards, put away computers and left drinks unfinished. The group of engineers nodded to each other and rose to meet the signal. It was time for the worst part of ship travel to come. It was time to go faster than light.
Despite the initial chaos of the signal, once people overcame the initial rush to reach the hallways and companionways that led to their destination, people calmed as they made their way to the designated ‘green’ tanks in a semi-orderly shuffle. It would still be at least half an hour before the S-Drive activated, but with the stakes of being left behind were so high, it was best to get ready early.
Entering the specialized hallway, curved along the wall, the team were met by a familiar line of apparatuses. All along the hallway, large, horizontal tubes sat with grated bases and tubing for liquid to enter through. The metal black and oppressive, the devices stood in contrast with the lighter shades of the chamber. Sal made his way to his corresponding tank and gave a quick inspection. As quickly as he could, he checked for any faults that could put him at risk. He was pleased to find that they had been well maintained since the last jump a month before. If there was one place H&H wouldn’t skimp on upkeep, it would be these tanks. The expensive syraline lining of the tank outer lattice held firm, and the thick plasti-glass showed no cracks or dents. Sal was as satisfied as he could be when placing his life in the hands of others. If he had time designated to it, he would be more than happy to do the maintenance for his own tank every time.
Following the trail of cables, it snaked to the wall, across the ceiling, dancing between the chemolescent lights before ending at the Keeper’s station. Sitting cross legged on the floor of his specialized socket-lined tank, one much larger than the others, was Thomas, some of his wires pre-emptively slotted into the external ports. Knowing how vital it was for the mechanical man to focus, he gave a simple nod to the Keeper before returning to his friends. As he approached them, he could see the anxious shaking of Dusty as the young man crouched by his own tank. Xin intercepted Sal as fast as her limp would let her and took him by the shoulder.
“Take it easy on Puppy. He’s not the only one worried, but I think he’s seriously freaked about it going wrong this time.” Xin said.
Sal replied, “I’ve got it. Think I have something in mind.” Sal flashed a toothy smile for once and moved to his youngest charge.
“Hey Dustin. You ok?”
“Um. Honestly sir? Not really. What if it goes wrong? Can Thomas handle a jump like this, with less time to prepare?” Dusty’s voice was shaky, just above a whimper, and his eyes were unfocused, pupils quivering.
Sighing, Sal planted a firm hand on his shoulder and looked him dead in the eye.
“Listen.” Sal tried to sound as avuncular as possible with the young man without coming across as condescending. “I know it’s going to be hard. It might hurt but hear me out. You’ve done this before. You can do this, ok? I’ve seen you in action, I’ve seen you handling stuff most upper deckers would be clueless on even touching, let alone fixing. You have the drive, the determination. You hear me?” Sal softened his tone realizing his tone was becoming overbearing. “If you like, there’s an exercise you can do. But you’ve got to start now, to get enough time to focus before we go under, ok?”
Sal stood and helped Dusty to his feet. “I want you to close your eyes and imagine something important. Think of a room from home or, your favourite view from whatever station you came from. It just has to be something important.”
“Um, could I… could I think of my ‘Chrome Mecha’ mech-fighter virtual game? From back on Titanlock?”
Sal remembered the name; it was the same series that the young man had plastered posters of all around the Torcher’s dormitory.
“That’s perfect. You remember playing it, holding the, uh, joysticks?” Damn it, Sal wasn’t one for video games. He had only once briefly tried one of the arcade cabinets at O’Malley’s, getting frustrated when he died before he could figure out how it worked.
“Yeah, I remember the controllers, the headset, the HUD, all of it.”
“Cool, that’s great. Ok, keep that image in your mind. Even when we’re going in, keep that image in your head. When we go under, don’t focus on the tank, the green or anything. Just keep that image, that feeling of playing the mech game. Keep a hold of it until it hurts to focus on anything else. Clench those fists, grit those teeth and hold on. Keep your eyes on your target, no matter what.”
“No matter what.” Dusty closed eyes were scrunched up, focusing hard. Sal patted him on the back and turned to the others, who were staring at him in mild shock.
“Any takers?” Sal smiled.
“Damn brother, if you gave me pep talks like that back in the Recon Fleet, I’m pretty sure we would’ve taken out a Doctrine fighter squad single handedly. Or at the very least, saved Mr Caffeine,” Abel gave a mock salute to the fallen coffee machine.
Rubbing his goatee, Sal thought for a moment.
“Hey, wait a minute, we didn’t lose him to Doctrine forces. Didn’t you pawn him for a new computer when we got back to Titanlock after we left the Recon Corps?”
“Uh,” Abel’s eyes darted around the room, looking for an out to his situation when a voice crackled over the speakers.
“This is Senior Performance Analyst Titus Fornax. The date is August 12th, 2257. I will let the Captain do the honours when we approach the final countdown, but I would personally like to remind all employees about H&H policy in the case of colonization of new planets and planetoids.”
Sal hated the stuck-up voice of this corporate dicksitter. He’d never seen the man but pictured him as some fat corporate lapdog. If Captain Curtin was a slimy atmos-craft salesman selling particular brands due to knowing the lower quality would bring repairs, Titus was practically begging customers to only buy one model of ship, profiting from the kickbacks he made on them.
“Additionally, we must maintain peak levels of performance. Not only are your fellow crewmates here on Starheart relying on your work, but our fellow workers on Ruby Eye are also counting on us doing our part. Please follow all your superiors’ instructions and stay safe.”
Eventually, he shut up, allowing Captain Curtin to take over. Not paying attention to the typical speech, Sal prepared for his tank. Stripping to his skivvies, he tapped away on the console to lift the lid and stepped inside. Laying inside the constricted tank, it somewhat reminded him of what he thought coffin would feel like. Not that he’d personally known anyone who had been buried. Sal’s father had a standard cremation, from what little was retrieved of him. For a moment, Sal thought on all the ancient, buried corpses remaining on Earth. Had they all been vaporized as part of the Eternal War, or were there some deep catacombs still hiding some millennia old skeletons way under the ash of the planet’s scoured surface? Sal didn’t have time to wonder too long, however. He heard Thomas’ artificial voice sputter through the inbuilt speakers.
“Prepare all Engineering Deck, Subwing C workers. Enter your tank if you have not done so already. Quantum identity structure stabilizing fluid will now be transferred once the seal is confirmed. Please try to relax.”
True to his word, the slightly viscous green liquid filled the pod. Always colder than he last remembered, it raised goosebumps along his arms as it rose to his sides, chest, and then neck. Trying to remember the same advice he gave Dusty, he desperately attempted to focus on moments from his past.
He thought on Xin giving the team their stupid nickname when it was just her, Sal and Abel. At the time, he wanted to veto the name at any cost but eventually found himself using it in an ironic sense. It once again flipped back to being sincere, for Xin at least, once Dusty joined.
The liquid rose to his Adam’s apple.
He remembered Mr Caffeine, and the loud crunching noise it always made when their crotchety old captain pulled a high G manoeuvre. Sal pined for the taste of the cheap coffee it used to spit out in drabs.
The liquid rose to his chin.
He remembered his awkward one-night fling with Xin. Gods, he missed five minutes before when he wasn’t thinking of the two of them drunkenly mashing body parts together and waking up confused.
The liquid rose to his lips, and in spite of his better judgement and past experiences, he tried to hold his breath.
He remembered walking out of Titanlock’s medical centre, feeling sore from his neck to his feet, the aches across his body not fully going away until weeks later. At least the physical ache had left eventually.
The liquid rose to the top of his head, and he tried blinking his eyes to see through the haze.
Despite fighting it, he remembered Tartarus 9. The cold, the hunger, the pain. But his mind couldn’t stay there, anywhere but there.
His lungs had reached their limit. His mouth snapped open and the syrupy substance filled his lungs. Limbs tensed against the glass sides, he silently screamed. His intelligent mind told him that the oxygenated stabilizing liquid was bonding to his QIS, and he would be able to breathe in a few seconds, but his primal lizard brain told him he was drowning. After his brain recognized he wasn’t about to die, his body relaxed. The liquid heavy in his lungs, every breath felt like a hydraulic press was pushing on his chest.
After few moments of relaxing in the suspended feeling, black spots filled his vision as the S-Drive activated its warp and Starheart was atomically shredded. One by one but at speeds beyond human comprehension, every atom’s quantum waveform collapsed and was reformed at its destination. Everything down to the last mote of dust would be pulled through. However, only simple lifeforms, those not having realized the wonders of multicellularity, would retain full sensibilities unless it was being quantumly stabilized. The time taken was less than an attosecond, but it dragged by like molasses. Eventually, as his sight became nothing but darkness, his mind fell into the deep, inky black void of nothingness.
----------------------------------------
Sal expected to open his eyes and see the green glaze being drained from his tank, waking with a feeling of exhaustion and with a hazy head. Instead, he found himself waist deep in an oily black liquid, barely able to move. Looking around, fear chilling his veins, he saw the skies above were painted with strokes of green and gold, an eternal sunset. An endless horizon stretched out before him in all direction, with no indications of life. It was only him, a dark sea, and an unfamiliar sky.
Shocked at his new surroundings, he tried moving through the mysterious substance, but it was as thick as treacle. Desperate, panicking, flailing, he fought with all his strength to pull himself through the boundless surface before him. Sal had been moving slowly, gaining inches with every strain of his muscles, when after a strong heave with his arms, a sharp pain struck at his left hand. Pulling it free, he saw no obvious cut or bruises but felt a lingering sting in between his digits. Upon closer inspection, small drops of blood sat in the valleys of his fingers.
Flexing it into a fist, and worried he was not alone, he decided to look around. Considering the possibility that there could be something under the surface waiting to stab at more than his hand if he moved again, Sal stood still. He had hoped to see if anything new had come into view since he first searched. Instead, as he scoured the horizon, a feeling of anxiety grew within his gut. Turning, the unmistakable feeling of being watched behind his back stirred within his senses. Stronger and stronger it grew, eyes prodding and probing his every action, his every failure until it felt like daggers were pressing into his back. When he looked for the source of his pain, there was nothing to be seen.
Eventually, the pain flared so greatly, so overwhelmingly fierce that he turned once more to the darkness that subsumed everything around him. Fleeing from the pain that showered upon him, he dove into the unknown. Much to his surprise, he found himself in a clear, watery liquid, the previous stodgy viscosity gone. Holding his breath, Sal was drawn towards a distant blue light, far below. Though the unusual glow was distant, it was the only point of interest that he could see, and Sal swam downwards.
Deeper and deeper he swam, until his sense of balance had been turned over. As spots of a bright blue hue filled his vision, he couldn’t make sense of the direction he was moving in, the concept of gravity less than an afterthought. Reaching towards the impossibly colossal radiance before him, a part of him felt that he was ascending. With one last push, muscles burning from exhaustion, his outstretched arm lunched through the light, breaking the surface.
And felt a hand grab his own.