C3X1DF
8 years ago, Terra Chronometry Standard
A second may last as long as the senses allow. SensoChronometry was maybe one of the greatest improvements in time perception research since the pre-Astro periods of humanity, when humans as a species, were limited to a single planet–Terra, the birthplace of the human race.
SensoChronometry sped up sensory input to the brain, paired with a brainchip to facilitate the process. Amon was so grounded in the present every breath felt like he was holding it.
He disliked this state. Everything was slow, and there was a murky sensitivity to the world surrounding him as if the air itself had become dense. Every contact his body made was amplified and arduous.
It was as exhausting for his mind as it sounded. So what better method to train his concentration than cranking up time perception while working out?
Amon increased the artificial gravity of the gym by another 10% with a thought and simply inhaling the air became a burden. The combat mat was empty of others so he didn’t mind lying on the floor, venting his frustration by pushing against it.
The pain receptors were on 100%, which helped him grind his willpower against the bodyweight exercises, forgetting momentarily how angry he was at his father.
Amon struggled against the force that was dragging him down, muscles bulging, veins popping on his skin, he probably had turned bright red from the effort, and worse for wear the sweat that was dripping was making the plasticated flooring under him all slippery.
When he finally admitted defeat his body barely had the strength to stand, his mind was spent and swiftly decided to resurface out of the time dilation.
The brainchip through the optics presented him with a muscle recovery report that he read briefly, noting the areas where he could push harder on the next workout. There was little room for improvement, his body had already reached its growth limit for a few years but Amon liked experimenting with the data anyway.
While he compiled the report in its folder a bright red light startled him as it glared around the room. Moments later a warning message sent straight out of the main control room flashed angrily on his HUD's peripheral vision. Alarm sounds started blasting through the speakers all around the station.
*BRACE FOR IMPACT*
Amon stared at the flashing words uncomprehending.
The fact that Point C3X1DF, coded for Cerebrus Galaxy, Galactic Sector 3, Planetary Neighborhood X, 1st Docking Facility, was an artificial moon had several implications that his brain could easily handle but answering them scared him nonetheless.
They traveled through space well below light speeds between the trio of planets House Arthas deemed valuable enough to require a portable docking facility.
So the scary question was, what exactly were they hitting? Or what was hitting them?…two seemingly similar questions that might carry noticeably different answers.
Seconds passed with him catching his breath from the hard workout. Two, three, four…
A meteor or debris could be hitting them at any moment in open space, only to bounce off on the protective shields without so much as a warning for anyone but the main control room of the docking station.
Amon knew the procedures well enough by following his father around during his regular rounds inspecting the facilities.
Were they…under attack? In House Arthas territory. That seemed quite impossible to believe.
Sweat dripped down his forehead and Amon was unsure if it was still from the workout or the sudden cold stress rippling through his body. Turning the artificial gravity down to the standard 10ms2 levels, he stood up and ran for the gym’s exit. He needed a visual confirmation.
Even before reaching the sliding doors, Amon searched the docking facility's mainframe for an answer.
He found it at the same time he looked up at the stars.
A supermassive bulkcarrier approached the docking station a little too fast, with a nasty spin that could wipe out half the facilities on this side of the artificial moon if they collided at a bad angle. The colossal space freighter was a tenth of their total size.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
The trajectory correctors were flared up, working overtime in the incoming bulkcarrier and a similar sight was happening on his left and right with the station’s thrusters. Amon saw the neon-blue plasma push against the void with furious ferocity.
With a sigh of relief, Amon saw the situation de-escalating. He tracked the spin slowing down as they gradually synced with the ship’s movement. There should be enough time to correct—the light from several of our docking facility’s engines suddenly snuff out, shutting off.
He stared with awed terror as the artificial moon started spinning awkwardly the wrong way.
The supermassive bulkcarrier hit a docking platform and pierced to the other side. The world rocked, screaming a tearing tune, as the metallic sheets around him protested against the sudden impacting forces.
—-
Debris was floating just outside the artificial magnetic atmospheric field, AMAF, of Point C3X1DF.
Anything inside the small radius of the impact had been flung violently into space, including 56 fatalities, mostly deckhands, who were preparing the platform to receive the massive ship.
His father’s face was dreary as he inspected the damage from the bridge of the control room.
When Amon entered the room, he heard him shouting, but now he remained silent as he received a report from one of the maintenance officers on the causes of the tragedy.
Five engine failures, and 26 thrusters offline–all found with faulty connections, defective parts, or machinery flaws that would give in at the slightest bit of pressure.
Amon came to stand next to him in front of the overlooking window.
The frown decorating his features for the last months had transformed his father's face, adding worry lines where there were none before. Amon saw pity in his eyes now. He did not believe it was for him, but mostly for himself.
They stared out the window for a long while without uttering a single word. The largest disaster since the construction of the docking station some hundred years ago, happened under his father's care, be it deliberate or not.
Just the next day a connection came through from the main planet, C3XA, informing them with an elegant and dense script that this was Odmund EL’Arthas’ last day as the supervisor of Point C3X1DF.
It was also the last day for the EL’Arthas family among the ranks of the nobility.
—-
Amon resurfaced when the loaded memory file ended, lying uncomfortably cramped on his cabin bed. His breath came out in short bursts as the tension of the dreamlike experience hadn’t fully washed over him yet.
He could still feel the dread, dissipating slowly as reality reasserted in his mind.
Reliving particularly somber memories was something very few people chose to do willingly. He considered himself a bit eccentric in this, experiencing the suffering of the past repeatedly whenever he got the chance.
Another piece of technology Amon appreciated differently than the norm. Instead, it should have been a pleasant experience, living through his best memories, or even, ones bought from someone else to experience a novel thrill.
Maybe it was just him but Amon found it rather disturbing to relive another person’s past. Yet it was so popular, that he couldn’t put his aversion to the notion as a measure of character. With so much suffering tossed about, people paid top credits to enjoy a pleasurable experience.
His friend, Tommy, had a bit of an addiction to it. Amon had vowed to himself to bring more happiness into his friend’s life.
Amon went through the regular daily training with a sharp mind, and when finally the time came for the strength workout he pitted himself against it with a passion that scared the training officer into silence.
The feeling of betrayal was still vivid, and Amon couldn't stop going all out. But it was inspiring to see that his little circle of friends followed along with the borderline self-hating training regime.
When Ella stumbled, Ginny lifted her, and Nik didn't let Tommy stop, only until his arms shook violently.
Gardenia joined in the rotation at some point, and Amon smiled at her concentration, she grimaced at every repetition but dug deep and pushed herself.
Marine after Marine redoubled their efforts and Amon was certain that today was not a regular training day. It was a day when they showered their bodies with conviction.
At the end of the session, Amon got a heaving Gardenia to follow him back to his cabin. He would check on her growing nanomite pool and install the new optics that were ready and waiting to be transplanted.
After wiring her with sensors, the tablet displayed the growing concentration of nanomites in her blood and Amon asked her a few standardized questions.
“No discomfort? Any swelling on the calves or ankles?” he typed on her file on the tablet, expecting to input the data for future reference.
Gardenia took a moment to consider and shook her head negatively. “There is some random tingling. It feels kind of weird actually, like my blood is clogging.”
“Those are the nanomites, they will slightly enlarge your veins to accommodate swift travel to any injured areas. Great, I see from the data you have been feeding well and the nanos are acclimating wonderfully in their new host. Congratulations.” Amon grinned at her reassuringly. He ticked the relevant boxes of a check-up well done.
Amon saw her hesitate then, slightly ashamed and nudged her to say whatever was on her mind with a wave of his hand.
“Sir, I am a bit embarrassed to say but I haven’t been going…for the last four days, you know, to that place?” she said with a pause avoiding his gaze and her ears turning a slight shade of pink.
“Huh?” Amon exhaled uncomprehendingly.
“The bathroom,” she said covering her face with her hands.
“Oh, I forgot to mention that. The nanos take care of 99% of the waste produced by the body. You won’t need to use the bathroom as often anymore,” Amon said grinning and she gapped.
“That's…a relief, I thought something was wrong with me,” Gardenia replied frowning but certainly more at ease.
“Everything is as well as it should be. Are you ready for your new optics?” Amon smiled wider when he saw the excitement in her features emerge through the caution.
The procedure wouldn't take longer than 20 minutes. The extremely thin sheet of optics fit perfectly on top of her cornea and Amon spent most of the time programming and rechecking the code and data.
When he finished the installation it was time to implant the chip. He turned her sideways to rub a numbing agent on the back of her neck. A small tear on the skin with a scalpel was all that was needed to push the small ‘brainchip’ inside. Since it was developed from her DNA the biomaterial would take some time and wiggle deeper to find a comfortable spot to take root.
Sealing the puncture wound with a generous application of a Rejuvenation cream brought the operation to a swift close.
“You will experience mild itching on your neck for a few days. Try not to scratch at it. When the chip gets embedded your optics will come online automatically. Nevertheless, let's do another check-up in 3 days' time to record the progress.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” She said blinking her eyes rapidly. Amon wanted to think that the new optics made her grey eyes watery.
“Amon, just Amon is fine,” he replied blankly because he didn’t know how to respond to a woman about to cry lying on his bed.
After she left, Amon pulled out the sealed box from under the bed. It was time to work with the metaspheres he had been putting off because he hadn't thought of the right plan for what to do with them until now.
Fortunately, his early studies in neoengineering helped him work with many different materials. Once he knew the initial use of a technology, Amon didn’t need to be able to recreate it from scratch to alter its effects.
The metasphere’s primary use was terraforming environments and it was similar to a chemical reaction that spread swiftly simply by being in contact with the sphere's field of influence. He could insert the little metallic sphere in an array and the metastasis with the correct combination of atoms would produce a comfortable living environment for humans in the surrounding area.
Or a very deadly one. A little encasing field array could switch things up.
So from those rare materials, Amon installed a launcher to his secondary riffle that would bring hell to the other end of his scope.
As for naming, he’d call it a metagrenade launcher or something equally dull. He preferred descriptive naming to any flashy decorative tag.
The days felt ever shorter as they neared their destination.
