by Jacen Aster
No one knows exactly how I survived. Certainly, it helped that the explosion was much smaller than that which ripped apart the Gate. However, every projection by the best and brightest medical minds, and with all of Walter and Jonas's help, show that I should still have died. I myself prefer to think of it as a bit of luck and a large helping of divine intervention. I consider my coma, despite it having been the worse medical trauma of my life, to have been well worth the price.
Why? Simple. Though I have only fleeting memory of it now, snippets of grand vistas and alien shores, only two of which I have been able to confirm are real, I saw something truly amazing in that single, glorious moment of exposure to the place between Nowhere and Somewhere. I shall never forget, though I now have only the impression of it left. For in that pinprick, that moment of time, I saw Everything, and understood. I understood for that one glorious moment in my existence. I saw all of creation and I understood. I saw the majesty of all things, how it all fit together, and the undeniable grand plan of its design. I imagine, for just those few heartbeats between nothingness and reality, I saw a glimpse of God's view of his work, and I was— No, I am, awestruck. I have no doubt that I shall never again see such a thing on this side of the grave, but I count myself beyond blessed to have seen it just the once.
Chapter 7 – On Station 7
Well! That was an interesting few months. Really, I fully expected no one to quite believe that last story, but to end up with it being nitpicked by the whole scientific community, a dozen religious orders, and God alone knows who else, seems a bit extreme. That's not even mentioning the flood of others backing it up with their own theories and the incessant analysis of the scans we brought back. I seem to have, entirely unintentionally, touched a nerve. I've actually had two attempts on my life and three marriage proposals that I can track directly to my previous tale, the latter a mite bit scarier than the former, truth be told.
Given the level of crazy that the last story caused, I think I’ll tell you about something a bit more well documented. Still bizarre, unusual in the extreme and groundbreaking in many ways, but infinitely more provable. I have, I believe, mentioned before that I served on a few space stations. This is the tale of one of those stations. The story of my unexpected adventure On Station 7.
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Henry cursed as super-heated coolant vented from the broken line. Recoiling, only just barely dodging the threat of third degree burns, he hastily punched the override on his portable, shutting the line down. He winced at what he knew was coming.
True to expectation, the feminine voice he was dreading echoed angrily from the service hatch thirty meters behind him. "Blast it, Henry! That's the third line. You can't just keep shutting them down like that or the station will black out."
Henry was indignant. "Don't blame me for the incompetence of those idiot contractors, woman! The whole reason you hired me was to fix their colossal screw ups. The coolant relays in this place are totally FUBAR. Whoever designed this system should have done the galaxy a favor and spaced himself."
Henry heard Irene ‘Firebrand’ Flaxwing grumble and growl an impressive string of curses as he shimmed his way back to the access hatch. Popping his head and shoulders out of the entirely too narrow service entrance, he started levering the rest of his body through as Irene abruptly ceased the impressive litany of pain she wanted to inflict on a certain contract company.
It was with a resigned voice that she addressed him again. "What happened this time?"
"There was a pressure spike somewhere up-system. Probably one of those bad regulators we had to jury-rig. We knew that was going to happen until we got the replacements for them. If the relays were up to their supposed specs, it shouldn't have been a problem. Apparently, they aren't, given that the conduit blew out spectacularly right at the relay joint."
Irene grimaced. "So all of those regulators we spent three days jury-rigging are completely useless? No, worse than useless, since they are causing high-pressure leaks."
Henry just sighed and nodded.
Slamming her portable case closed with an impressive clack, considering the small size of the device, Irene sagged in defeat. "Okay, I'm so done with the bad news for the day. Come on, Henry. You and I are going for drinks. Lots of them." Without further ado she spun on her heel and marched off with a determined gait. She was a woman on a most important mission. Namely, a mission to get drunk and pretend the day hadn't happened.
Grinning as he closed up the maintenance tunnel and moved to follow Irene, Henry was reminded how he had ended up with his current job. He hadn't been looking for work when he arrived at Station 7. No, he'd merely been passing through, laid over for a couple of days because his next connection had gotten delayed somewhere en route. Resigned to a few days of aimlessness, Henry had gone for a drink. One drink led to another as the stories spun out until, in the small hours of the morning, it neared closing time for the local bar. It was then that he'd met Irene.
She’d been half plastered and muttering about idiot contractors and how screwed she was. She'd been a sad, sorry, depressed mess. The only person in residence that knew how close Station 7 was to needing a full evac and decommission despite being less than a year old. He'd gotten the whole story from her, how the entire station's cooling system was a complete disaster, screwed up by the low quality work of a cheap contractor. Ultimately, she'd stated firmly, "If only I could fix that damn XSI junction, that'd buy me some time at least."
He wasn't sure now if he was glad for or chagrined about the sequence of events that had followed. Henry had sketched out a solution to fix her problem with the XSI primary cooling and control junction and left her with it and his comm code in case she couldn't make sense of it sober. Well, she'd made sense of it alright, and it had been a totally different Irene that had tracked him down before he could board the transport to Lara V. She'd all but kidnapped him from the docking bay and begged, promised, cajoled and coerced him into hiring on as a consultant to help fix the station's problems. And boy did it have problems.
Those cheap contractors had done one hell of a number on the station's cooling systems, which was ultimately one of the most critical systems on any ship or station. He had no idea if the six months he had agreed to stay would even scratch the surface, but at least the pay was good. Irene wasn't a bad sort either really, once you got used to her. Boisterous and coarse, a true borne Irish woman if ever there was one. Very much a throwback to their tough, rowdy, and less than completely sober reputation of old. Henry was no slouch, but she could drink him under the table every day of the week, and twice on Tuesday. Why Tuesday Henry didn't know, nor did he want to know. Still, once she considered you a friend, she'd storm the very gates of hell for you, and Henry had quickly slipped into that much coveted position.
He finally caught up to her at the entrance to Toth's. “About time, Henry. You're keeping my liver from going three rounds with old Toth's finest.” She grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him in after her, pulling him straight to “her” spot at the bar.
Henry smirked and poked her in the shoulder. “Only three rounds, Irene? I'd have thought it more like thirty. I suspect your boss thoroughly regrets including your bar tab as an incentive in your contract.”
Old Toth himself had slid down the bar to their little corner where the bar met the bulkhead. He was just in time to hear Henry's comment. Cracking a grin, scrunching up the laugh lines around merry eyes, he slipped in his own comment before she could respond to Henry's ribbing. “She only counts three, Henry, because she can't count after the first three. She's drinking up my best stock after all. Not that I mind, of course. I like the numbers on the bill I send our poor bastard of a landlord.”
Irene gave an unladylike snort at that. “You'd better be hiding something with a helluva lot more kick, old man, if you think I'm not going to be able to count after only three rounds. As for Si'Fillian, you should charge that pompous ass double
! He's given me enough trouble to deserve that and more.”
Toth just chuckled and slid a glass each to the pair of them. Henry's was his usual, but Irene's was a sparkling azure blue and sea green swirling concoction that seemed to positively glow in the dim lighting.
Irene rubbed her hands in glee. “Oh ho! A new challenge, Toth?” Eyeing the glass as it threw off more sparkles, she looked a bit disbelieving. “Surely you can't be serious though? This looks like some fruity, high-class concoction from some socialite's party. Something to be sipped by the dandy's ladies.”
Toth's eyes just crinkled further as he added his bit to their little routine. “Ah, but the history of this one will explain that, my dear little Firebrand.” Ignoring her snort at the nickname, he pushed on. “It was, in point of fact, designed by just such a person. But this was to be no ordinary socialite's drink. He was quite the womanizer, you see, so he came up with this gaudy little brew to help him in his work. This drink is gloriously harmless-looking and intriguing enough to draw the women to it while disguising within its subtle swirls the most artful kick of an angry mule. It is, in the lowbrow and common vernacular that you seem so attached to, the very highest form I've ever encountered of ‘liquid panty remover,’ as they say. It took me two years to get the secret of its making out of him! All just for my most troublesome customer.”
Irene gave a boisterous laugh at Toth's explanation. “Really, Toth? Panty remover? A common term indeed!” Turning the glass, giving it one last eye all around, she abruptly raised and drained it all in one go. Giving the empty glass a thoughtful eye as she smacked her lips, she paused just a few moments before giving her professional analysis. “Hmmm, a good taste and a solid kick hidden in there, but still not enough!” She frowned and gave a surprisingly cute wrinkle of her nose. “And far too sweet for my liking, Toth. I need something with more bite than that.”
Toth's smirk widened into a grin that would put the Cheshire Cat's to shame. “I thought you might say that, my dear, but you should really know that this drink is now the most expensive I have. It requires some quite exotic ingredients. Thanks, of course, entirely to its pedigree.”
“In that case, bartender, I'll have three!”
Toth just chuckled as he slid her another, already prepared. “I thought that might change your mind.” Turning to Henry, he asked him, “So, how do the repairs go? Do I need to start running before the station explodes?”
Henry, who had been observing their near ritualistic exchange, gave a sigh. “Why ask me, when the boss lady is right here?”
“You know perfectly well why. If I ask her, all I shall get is a new appreciation for the art of colorful cursing. Delivered by a most excellent master of her true calling, that of the lowbrow language specialist.”
“Hey!”
Both men ignored her sputtering protest.
Henry grinned. “I see. Well, I'd love to say you don't need to start running, Toth, but if today was any indication of how things are going to go, you might just keep your favorite bottles where you can reach 'em quick, my friend.”
Toth winced. “That bad, huh?” He slid another drink down the bar to replace Henry's empty glass, shaking his head. “And that bad too, it normally takes you twice that long to finish one of those. Well, tonight you can forget about it, and let the Almighty take care of tomorrow.”
“Good man, Toth. Now pass me something stronger.”
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Weeks crawled by as Henry and Irene finally got on top of the problems. A few brilliant moves, prompted, Irene swore, by her new favorite sparkling concoction and the delightful amount they cost her least favorite person, finally saw them well ahead of the various technical disasters.
Irene snapped her portable case closed with a satisfied click. “Well, that's the last of the T-7 junctions, Henry. I still say that was a brilliant move, using them in place of the relays. I don't think anyone has thought to put them in a coolant system before. Too expensive, probably.”
A groan came from Henry as he stretched out the abuse his frame had taken scrambling through the station's tight places. “Normally too expensive, and way smarter than any coolant system ought to need, but still far cheaper and more practical than replacing the whole system would be.”
Irene chuckled. “Yeah, that's how I sold it to Si'Fillian. Either he had to pay to refit the whole station or cough up enough for a handful of T-7s.”
Henry tapped a few commands on his own display before letting out a happy sigh. “No wonder you look satisfied. The numbers are even better than we had hoped.”
“Yep! We're actually back within normal tolerances. Even if just barely. Without the risk of everything blowing up every few minutes, we can finally start work swapping out all those jury-rigs for the new systems you helped me design. That'll be time consuming, but barring any new disasters, we might even finish before your contract is up.”
Henry eyed her. “Stop that. You're scary when you're perky and smiling. It makes me wonder what poor unfortunate soul is about to be spaced. That, and hoping it isn't me.” He outrageously pantomimed looking around for something. “Maybe I should find a hiding place?”
Irene mock scowled and smacked him in the back of the head. “Quit that, you twit!” Unable to hold the scowl, she grinned again. “Now for drinks!”
“Oh dear, and here I thought you might stop trying to kill your liver since you were happy.”
“Nope! Now we've got to celebrate. We can toast my liver's hard work along with ours.”
She grabbed him by the arm and towed him off towards Toth's. “Huh, you really are kinda scary when you're happy and sober at the same time,” he snarked.
Having been nearby, they arrived at Toth's in just a few short moments. Henry grinned as he realized Irene had probably saved that unit for last specifically to give her ready access to either celebratory drinks or mind erasing concoctions. Swept in the door by Irene's hand, he started to move to their usual spot, only for her to tug his arm.
“Not there, silly. That corner is for sulking.”
She towed him behind her to the other side of the wrap-around bar, where a swivel of your seat could give you a grand view out Toth's oversized viewport, a transparent floor-to-ceiling affair that opened into the grand vista of space. Its built-in viewer program cycled from showing a simple view of the stars to magnified images of ships entering and leaving the system. The view and the drinks were what brought people to Toth's, but it was the first time Henry had ever sat where he could see it properly. It had been far too busy for his taste on his first night in port, which is how he had ended up in Irene's dark little corner. A corner he hadn't escaped from since.
As Irene plopped happily on a stool and Henry slid in next to her, old Toth popped up with an exclamation of surprise. “Why, Irene! I haven't seen you down in your happy place for months. Almost a year, come to think of it. I take it things must be going quite well?”
Irene beamed and nodded. “We might just save the station after all, Toth. Now, how about a round of all my favorites. Skip that hideous blue sparkly thing though.”
In a false aside and a carrying whisper, Henry added, “Quick! Slip something in there to treat schizophrenia. I think she's got an undiagnosed case here.”
Old Toth positively cackled as Irene scowled and smacked Henry in the back of the head again. “Ah, don't worry about that, Henry. She's always been this way. You've just never actually seen her happy before.” Hands working as he spoke, he slid each of them a drink. Then, to Henry's surprise, he raised a third glass for himself. “It's good to see you happy again, lil’ Firebrand.” Tipping his glass in toast, he drained it and moved off to serve other customers.
“Huh, never seen him drink before. He must really like you, 'Firebrand.'”
“I should hope so. I'm his most troublesome customer but he hasn't kicked me out yet. He's actually the one that gave me that nickname too, believe it or not.”
Contemplating that a moment,
Henry finally nodded. “I can believe that. He's just about the only one crazy or brave enough to use it to your face.”
Irene smirked. “Except for you, of course, but then I know you're crazy.”
When Henry just grinned, she shook her head and gave a mischievous smile. “Confidentially, I actually kinda like that nickname.”
It didn’t take long for them to fall into conversation. To Henry's surprise, rather than banning shop talk as per usual, she enthusiastically dived right into it, working over their plans and making some tweaks as Toth continued to feed them libations. It was almost an hour and a half later that they heard an exclamation from behind them.
“Hey, look. Whales!”
Swiveling on their stools, they looked. Sure enough, the caller was right. The viewer had shifted to magnified mode, its program zeroing in on what its entertainment algorithms told it was the new most interesting thing in the station’s range. Filling the viewer was a mated pair of Imeric whales just entering the system. Fully three hundred meters long and at least fifty wide, the rare space faring animals dwarfed most of the ships in the system, being out massed by only the cargo train style freighters and the station itself.
Irene seemed glued to the sight of the creatures and Henry couldn't blame her. Even having encountered them on a number of occasions before, he too found himself quite enthralled. The iridescent white glow of their shimmering hide and the powerfully lithe movements as they seemed to swim, glide, and slither through space, was quite the beautiful, hypnotic even, sight. Irene moved from her stool, drink in hand, seemingly drawn closer to the viewer by an invisible string. As she closed the distance, the beautiful, ethereal strands of whalesong finally reached the station.
