Chapter 1
The lift jolted violently, slamming Starke into the wall before plunging into darkness. "Shite," he muttered, rubbing his shoulder and fumbling for his datapad. Its dim glow flickered on, casting weak light over the trashy lift interior. Metal panels dull and streaked with grime. Loose wires slightly swaying where access panels should have been. He jabbed at the flickering lift screen, but each tap yielded nothing. Sighing, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He needed to focus.
Like the Fleet, the lift bore the weight of time. Things constantly breaking down and never enough interest or funds for repairs. "I can't believe I used to fanboy the fleet," Starke chuckled darkly. Enough of that for now, lest he fall into his dark place.
Starke gathered his thoughts and began to concentrate, the background hums and clangs of the station becoming his focus. Abee whirred in the depths of his head, its presence a steady rhythm beneath his thoughts. He reached out to the lift control. He still didn't know exactly how it all worked, and it wasn't as if he could ask after one of his professors found out about one of his illicit inquiries and put him on probation.
The lift control pinged back from some buried surface deep within the station. Error 2456473. “Frig,” Starke muttered. "How many errors can there be?"
The lift hummed faintly, the occasional clang of unseen machinery reverberating through the oppressive darkness. Starke dug deeper, tracing the connection until he hit the Aether Mind. Handshake required. Access denied, scrolled across his vision. "Can you take it from here, Abee," Starke said out loud, even though he didn't need to. His voice echoed back at him, unanswered, swallowed by the silence. He'd named his implant Abee, short for Aether Behavioural Execution Engine. The full designation was a mouthful, and Abee had a nice ring to it.
Yes. The implant fired lines of text across his vision, the data moving faster than he could follow. Starke had learned that working with Abee wasn't about knowing every detail, like how something worked or the path needed for access. It was more about instinct, an unspoken connection that had taken years to build.
The data stream continued for what felt like minutes until finally, Access Granted flashed twice in bold, satisfying letters.
Starke didn't hesitate. He and Abee moved quickly through the menus until they found the repair bot screen.
Total Repair Bot Inventory: 3 of 40.
Please supply additional 37 for full complement.
Access Work Orders?
Par for the course with the Fleet, Starke thought as he clicked on Access Work Orders. A station schematic filled his vision, three-quarters of it blacked out. Must not be in use. Wonder how...
Gathering Data...offline sections of the station have been progressively decommissioned over the last 32.46 years.
"Thanks, Abee."
He located one of the many red blinking sections and clicked Assign Repair. A screen popped up.
Repair Priority: 3475.
Estimated Time to Diagnosis: 3 days, 22 hours, 34 minutes, 28 seconds.
Override Authorization?
"Frig." A bit of panic rose as the walls started to close in. Starke banged his fist against the wall. "Can anyone hear me? Hello? Anyone?" His voice echoed, swallowed by the oppressive quiet. He slumped down, his prosthetic leg clanging sharply against the wall. The metallic sound jolted his thoughts.
Eight years ago now...
Starke shook his head, "All right, your turn," he muttered, focusing on the faint hum in his head. Lines of text blurred past his vision: error logs, diagnostic reports, and cryptic strings of code. Authorization Override Denied flashed twice before the scrolling resumed.
He sighed. "You've got this, right? Or are you just showing off again?"
The scrolling slowed, and two words blinked in bold: Access Granted.
Updating priority...
Repair Priority: 1
Estimated Time to Diagnosis: 15 minutes, 14 seconds
Starke exhaled, sliding down against the wall. The new estimate blinked reassuringly: 15 minutes. "Good job," he muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Abee, if you weren't lodged in my head, I might even kiss you." With a sigh, Starke closed his eyes for a few moments of relief.
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Pain flared in Starke's side as something jabbed his ribs, dragging him back to awareness. "You," a sharp voice cut through his haze, followed by another jab to his ribs. "Get up." His eyes snapped open, squinting against the dim light. "Owe, why are you kicking me." A woman stood over him, prodding with her foot like he was an inconvenient piece of debris. He blinked, groggy. How long had it been? A glance at his implant logs: 10:27. Forty-five minutes. Great.
She jabbed him again, harder this time. "Hey, you okay?"
Starke stood up slowly, shaking off the fog in his head. He sized up her stooped posture, wiry frame, and face lined like crumpled parchment. Lord, her uniform looks like it belongs in a museum...or a mausoleum. He chuckled, resisting the urge to check if she was still breathing.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, brushing off imaginary dust. "Just got stuck here for a bit."
The woman scoffed, shaking her head. "Everyone knows not to take the lifts. Always the stairs." She gestured toward the dark, lifeless control panel. "These old things have claimed more lives than actual combat."
Untrue. No recorded fatalities. The longest malfunction affected fourteen individuals over 2 days, 3 hours, 21 minutes, and 13 seconds.
Starke shuddered at the thought of being trapped in that tiny box for so long. Glad I've got you, Abee, but once again, I don't need that level of detail.
He turned to the ancient woman. "Thanks for the motivational speech."
Her eyes narrowed, slicing through his sarcasm with a sharpness that made his skin crawl. Starke shuddered again, this time involuntarily. There was something in her gaze. Wisdom. Bitterness. Or something else entirely.
"Uhh, Miss…" Starke stammered.
Her expression didn't soften. "Can you help me find the lab? I'm looking for Doctor Sorez."
Not bothering to reply, she backed out of the lift with deliberate steps, lifting a wrinkled finger to point left, her footsteps fading into the corridor's silence. A metallic clang echoed as a hatch closed behind her, reverberating like a bell in the still air.
Starke sat there for a moment, listening to the echoes fade. With a groan, he pushed himself up and stumbled out of the elevator, his movements sluggish, his implant momentarily out of sync—a rare but familiar lag.
The condition of the station is no better on this level. The hallway to the left stretched ahead, lights flickering, with a port at its far end. Drawn to it, Starke shuffled forward, his steps slow but steady. That nap really affected us, eh Abee? When Starke reached the port, he leaned against the cold ceramic, his breath fogging the surface.
Beyond, a tapestry of stars unfolded, distant crafts flickering like fireflies against the void.
He let the sight sink in, his chest tightening. The void never failed to amaze him. Vast and empty, yet alive with the brilliance of a million stars. It stirred something deep within him, a call he couldn't suppress.
Freedom. Exploration.
Starke sighed. One day, Abee. Maybe one day. Fleet's gotta be about more than system patrol for that. With a final glance at the stars, he turned and started down the hallway, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness. The path felt familiar, stirring fragmented recollections of traveling it before. He frowned, his mind brushing against memories that he wanted to keep out of reach.
Pull up the directions. The faint hum of his implant responded almost immediately. A glowing map materialized in his vision, its lines sharp and precise, overlaying the dim corridor with a clear route to the lab.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Starke smirked to himself, thinking of the old woman.
The station stretched ahead in dim, flickering light, the uneven hum of unmaintained power systems underscoring his steps, legs clanking against the decking with a rhythmic metallic echo. How much money have I saved not having to buy shoes over the past eight years? Starke chuckled, his mind drifting.
A moment later, Abee superimposed a string of calculations over his vision. 13.45 pairs, it displayed in bold, precise lettering.
Starke chuckled softly, "Only you would calculate an unasked question down to partial pairs," he muttered under his breath.
The implant remained silent, though he could almost sense a smug satisfaction in the back of his mind. Shaking his head, Starke pressed on, his metallic footsteps echoing faintly in the dim corridor.
Hatches lined the hallway, their faded lettering barely legible beneath layers of grime and time. A few bore scorch marks or dents—ghosts of incidents long forgotten. Starke frowned, superimposing the map he'd pulled from the Aether Mind over the section of the station he was in. The overlay shimmered in his vision.
Half the deck was dark, marked by blinking warnings on the map. The corridors beyond those points were dead zones, cut off from power and life support. Starke's eyes continued to roam. At least ten decks were fully mothballed, their entrances sealed behind reinforced bulkheads.
Starke sighed. This place is falling apart more than I thought. He ran a hand along the cold wall, feeling its uneven texture beneath his fingertips. The quiet felt too heavy, broken only by the distant groan of shifting metal.
Starke's feet continued to echo through the corridor as he continued to follow his path. He finally caught sight of the cleanest lettering he'd seen all day: Astrophysical Laboratory. The faded paint had been supplanted here by something almost pristine, though the contrast only served to make the rest of the station's decay feel more pronounced. The hatch emitted a low groan as it slid open, revealing an interior that was starkly incongruous with the crumbling corridors outside.
Strips of unblemished light illuminated surfaces that gleamed with clinical precision. Arrays of instruments resting in meticulous order, their sleek designs contrasting the station's otherwise antiquated systems. Yet the faint scent of antiseptic permeating the air failed to mask the metallic undertones of recycled oxygen.
Doc Sorez looked up from his console, his sharp but aged gaze locking onto Starke the instant he stepped inside. "Well, if it isn't my favorite experiment," Sorez quipped, his voice carrying a familiar mix of amusement and weariness. "How's that Carbonium treating you these days?"
Starke paused in the doorway, his eyes settling on the doctor. Sorez's slightly stooped posture and deliberate movements spoke of a man accustomed to carrying burdens. Streaks of gray framed a face etched with lines that told the story of countless late nights, difficult choices, and the resolve only someone who'd seen failure up close could maintain.
Though Starke wouldn't call him a friend, there was an undeniable constancy to Sorez's presence—a fact that had been both a source of irritation and comfort during the years it took to acclimate to Abee and his prosthetics. "You gonna tell me the story of how you created Carbonium again?"
"Don't tempt me young lad," Sorez smirked.
Starke did his best Sorez voice, "Did I ever tell you the story of how I was Carbonium's first test subject. My body betrayed me, boy. I had to do something." Starke ducked as some peice of equiptment flew in his direction, crashing against the bulkhead behind."
"Bastard makes me mess up my lab," Sorez chortled. "You need to respect your elders lad, lest I just turn off your hands." Sorez's demeanor relaxed, "How are you, my boy."
"Better than the station's treating you, by the looks of it," Starke replied, stepping further into the room. The hard clank of his prosthetic legs against the floor echoed faintly, a sound that immediately drew Sorez's attention.
"Ah, still clanking away, I see," the doctor remarked, shaking his head with mock disappointment. "You know, I've offered to upgrade those microflex joints a dozen times. But no, you'd rather keep sounding like a sentient drumline. Mustbe a stylistic choice. While I'm at it, why not upgrade your arms too? Better yet, let's cut off all that arm flesh and justreplace the whole lot."
"Right, because I'm dying to turn into a budget ninja," Starke shot back, smirking as he lowered himself into the chair Sorez had gestured toward.
Sorez gave a dry chuckle, his gloved hands already pulling up diagnostics on a nearby console. "Well, you've always been good at making noise, I'll give you that. But let's not pretend you came all this way just for the witty repartee." His tone softened slightly, "Second resizing, right? You've grown, and they haven't. I remember."
"Yeah, Doc. You called me here for it," Starke said, shifting slightly. "Unless, of course, you just miss my charming company."
The doctor's lips twitched into a faint smile, but his eyes stayed fixed on the console. "Let's not flatter ourselves, Starke. Adjusting your implants is the least I can do, considering…" His voice trailed off, though the weight of unspoken history hung in the air. "How many years has it been now? Eight, right? That makes mine ten. A full decade of this exoskeleton dragging me around like a glorified life-support system. At least they let me do the two of us." He sighed, leaning back slightly, his gloved hand resting on the edge of the console.
"Doc, I still don't understand why they won't roll this tech out. Think about how many people it could help. I'd basicallybe stuck in bed forever if you hadn't helped me out."
"Starke, nothing I can do about that, but us, I can take care of," he continued, his tone sharpening, "Look, my exoskeleton is far more advanced than your implants. You'd have twice the power—hell, maybe three times—if you'd stop being so damned stubborn and let me upgrade them. You and me, Starke—this tech? We're it. No one else. They won't let me do this for anyone else, and frankly, they're terrified of the tech."
He paused, his gaze turning distant as if the thought itself carried weight. "And then there's the derelict outside…"
Starke frowned, his smirk fading. "The derelict?"
Sorez nodded slowly, his expression hardening. "Shouldn't have said that out loud. My filter isn't once what it once was. Kinda happens when you're so far past them doing anything to you. Yeah... The first attempt. Before me. Before us." His voice dipped lower, quieter, but the words carried a razor-sharp edge. "We didn't get it right the first time. Too much ambition. Too little caution. We pushed it too far, too fast, and when it broke… we couldn't fix the fallout."
"The Mantaeus," Starke said, his tone hushed. "You're talking about the Mantaeus, aren't you? I've read some articles, but there's not many details about the ship other than general details.
"First ship made of Carbonium my boy."
"We've talked about it in my academy classes. All I know is that after the incident, the Fleet abandoned deep space and the Aether Drive. A lot of people died." The air in the room seemed to shift, heavier now with the weight of unspoken truths.
Sorez's expression darkened further. "Not just a lot," he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "All of them. The entire crew. Every brilliant mind, every skilled hand we trusted with the ship. The Mantaeus didn't just fail. It killed them."
Starke held his breath, letting the words sink in.
Sorez leaned forward slightly, his tone sharper now. "They don't teach you everything at the academy. They can't. They couldn't bring themselves to destroy it," Sorez continued, his tone almost clinical, though frustration threaded through his words. "So they shoved it onto the backside of the station and locked it down under the highest security clearance. Nobody wanted to deal with the consequences. Nobody wanted to tarnish their hands with all that preventable death. The new Fleet commander threw everyone involved in the project under the bus and essentially abandoned the place."
Starke leaned forward, unease creeping into his voice. "The backside of THIS station? And it's still active?"
"Active.....yes," Sorez replied, his eyes narrowing. He hesitated, leaning back in his chair, his gloved fingers tapping the console rhythmically, "Boy, I live on The Mantaeus. Been there for years now. They let me reaccess the program 11 years ago when I started work on my exoskeleton. I needed the tech… I guess they didn't really let me, but Jennesy and I go way back…" He trailed off, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "We have a lot of history."
Starke's eyes widened as Pinging Implant rolled across his vision. "Who is Jennesy, and.....Wait....You live on it?" There was so much going on that Starke couldn't concentrate.
"Live on it. Work on it. Experiment with it. Update its systems." Sorez's tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. "The Fleet likes to pretend it's just a relic, a dead monument to their failures. But me? I've made sure it's very much alive."
The words hung in the air, and Starke felt the chill of the station's recycled air seep into his skin. He'd always thought his implants were cutting-edge, the pinnacle of human augmentation, but maybe they were messing with something that would be better left behind.
"Doc, I don't know much about what you're telling me, but is it a good idea that we have these implants? I don't much want to be relegated to a hoverchair, but I think I'd take that over lights out."
Suddenly, a message pulsed across Starke's vision, sharp and unmistakable:
I've downloaded the documents.
Starke froze, his mind racing. You've done what? Are they going to know you've done it? Sorez continued to drone about something related to the Manteaus. Starke was trying to split his attention, but failing.
Sorez broke through the noise in his head "...Carbonium wasn't sheilded from aetherspace, which I've since corrected due to....."
Abee responded, its tone sharp yet clinical.
Negative. I accessed the files via The Mantaeus's dormant authorization protocols. No traceable activity will link back to this unit.
Starke clenched his fists, his eyes darting to Sorez, who was still obliviously watching his console as he droned on. You could've told me before you started poking around classified Fleet files!
The opportunity presented itself. The data is relevant to your continued operations. Would you like me to summarize?
Starke exhaled sharply, leaning back in the chair, trying to mask his rising panic under a calm exterior. Not here. Later. He darted a glance at Sorez, who was now tapping commands into his console, seemingly oblivious.
"You listening to me over there?" Sorez asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Uh..Ya..," Starke replied quickly, forcing a grin that felt painfully thin. "Just… processing all this. You, living on The Mantaeus. Updating it. Making it 'alive.'"
Sorez chuckled, though there was something pointed in his tone. "It's a lot to take in, I know. But don't worry, Starke. Worst case scenario?" He leaned slightly toward him, a dry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "They rip all the tech away from us, and we're both done. Except you'll still have arms. Lucky you. Hahaha"
Starke froze for a fraction of a second before recovering, offering a strained laugh. "Uh. Comforting. Thanks, Doc."
Sorez's gaze lingered, suspicion flickering in his eyes like a warning light, sharp and probing. Then, with deliberate slowness, he turned back to his console, his fingers resuming their rhythmic tapping.
As the doctor's attention shifted, Starke's mind churned, his thoughts a maelstrom of worry and half-formed plans. Abee, what have you done?
Starke didn't want shite again from his instructors at the academy. Would he be out if they caught even a whisper of Abee's actions? Maybe that wouldn't be an entirely bad thing...Emma...
Rip the tech away. The phrase reverberated in his mind, a cold and undeniable possibility. There is no way Emma would be with him if they removed his implants....His implants—the legs and arms he had fought so hard to master, the enhancements that had become as much a part of him as his skin...gone.
The thought made his chest tighten, and his hands gripped the chair's armrests. He remembered too well what it was like to be without them—the months after the accident had been a waking nightmare. Mangled arms, no legs...just a broken body, trapped and helpless. Every movement had been agony, every day a reminder of his vulnerability.
Without his prosthetics, without Abee, what would he even be? Who would he be? The idea clawed at him, an invisible weight pressing down on his chest. He would not be a prisoner in his own body again. He wasn't going back to that existence.
His jaw tightened. Not happening.
He jolted as something hit him. "You back with me, lad?"
Starke straightened in his chair, his voice cutting through the hum of the lab. "Doc, I'm in for those upgrades." Abee, what the hell did you do?
Sorez scrutinized Starke, lifting his eyes from his console, eyebrows raising slightly. "What changed your mind? I thought you liked the sound of your clanking."
Starke ignored the jab, leaning forward. "How far can you push me? I've got Fleet grad tests in a month. I need everything you can give me—no half-measures."
The faintest smile tugged at the corner of Sorez's lips, though his eyes remained sharp, calculating. "Full go, huh? You're asking me to take the safety off?" He tapped the console lightly, the rhythmic sound filling the brief silence. "All right, Starke. If you're serious, we will push you to the edge. Just remember—there's no going back once we start."
"I don't need to go back," Starke replied sternly. "Just forward."
Before Sorez could respond, the station's alarms blared, sharp and jarring against the quiet hum of the lab. The speakers crackled as a robotic voice announced, "Security alert. Security alert. All personnel, standby."
Sorez's face paled. He whirled on Starke, his voice frantic. "I wasn't supposed to tell you anything about the ship! Or the tech! Damn it, Starke."
Starke's heart raced, but Abee was already ahead of him. A faint hum in the back of his mind sharpened into a pulse as the implant connected to the Aether Mind again.
Incoming security detail. Probable cause: unauthorized access in the lift.
Abee, it better only be about the lift. If I get in shite for your illicit adventures, I'm throwing you under the bus.
Acknowledged.