Although the silence grinds on Katare’s nerves, she eventually finds an odd peace in the rhythmic pace that Douglas is setting. For the first time in subjective decades, she is surrounded by silence, no servants and assistants badgering her and no appointments to keep. She doesn't like it at all.
Douglas, in contrast, is completely happy to spend this time in quietude. The information dump Katare just dropped on his head is still percolating through his empty cranium, and so it is that the duo, Katare stuck in a sullen silence and Douglas lost in thought, reaches the end of the mall. After many, many hours of walking, they are faced with a wall that blocks all progress.
Instead of the large print that reads ‘STORAGE’ they found on the opposite side of the mall, this obstacle has ‘DOCKS’ printed in bold font, in a rather narrow font, and once again, in a swirly manner that hurts Douglas’ immaterial eyes when he stares at it too long.
“I … I can read Shmee-Shmeelah? Why can I read that frak-cursed language?” Katare is staring at the wall with an open mouth. She starts fumbling and then clawing at her helmet, her actions becoming more and more panicked as she fails to open the headpiece. “Get this shazbot thing off of me!”
Douglas ignores her feeble struggles as he turns around and starts the lengthy helmet removal process. The quarter sphere encased on semi-rigid white and black material pops off with a hiss not five minutes later, showing him a wide-eyed and freaked out Katare.
“What?” is his eloquent enquiry.
“No species but Shmees themselves can read that warped language. Why can I divine meaning from it?”
“What?” is Douglas’ reply.
“No, no. You don't understand. Those slimeballs are made of brains. Normal sapients will die … Only heavy mental augments can understand that and then only by proxy. How can I read those warp frakked runes?” Katare keeps staring at one particular set of complex scribbles.
Douglas glances at the wall once again, idly wondering why someone took the effort of writing the same thing over and over again. All the lines of text mean the same thing, after all. Each says the word ‘docks’ with only minor variations in meaning. Douglas decides to do what he has done so far and ignores the whining babbling of the female while forcefully dragging her along. Douglas also briefly wonders why he bothers with the woman. She has been only a minor source of information and a major source of irritation and danger so far. Somehow, he can't help but feel slightly possessive towards the creature. Deciding that that’s enough of a reason, Douglas walks onwards.
“Why don't you realize how incredibly big this is? Those engineered freaks are all over the galaxy. Even daddy can’t really do anything about them. They have mentally transcended but are stuck in this dimension. Sapients turn to energetic beings when they comprehend their writings. Why am I not moving on? What is happening?” Katare devolves into manic babbling while she is completely ignored. She holds her helmet in a death grip, the faint hope that it was the onboard computer translating for her dashed now that she reads the lines with her own naked eyes.
Douglas looks backward and senses something rather frightening. The noise they have been making must have attracted the bone being once again. The floor under his feet shudders from the rhythmic impact caused by many tonnes of biological matter and armour plating running towards them, and Douglas is not keen on meeting the thing again, not until he has devised some manner of fighting the beast, at the very least.
Instead of waiting, he pulls Katare along and walks towards the only familiar thing he sees, a green painted door. He immediately sees what he expects, long, bare hallways that curve upwards slightly. He drags the raving woman along towards the first door and stumbles into a rather large space.
Katare falls silent as the sight of a large hanger greets them both. Muffled sounds of tearing metal and furious banging follows the two, a clear indicator that the bone beast is none too happy with their sudden disappearance. Douglas does not care, however. Douglas is too busy with staring at the rows of vehicles that are arrayed inside the large, open space.
Looking around, Douglas sees that he just emerged from a low, enclosed tunnel. Above the enclosed hall are walkways and offices filled with all kinds of oddly shaped workspaces, bureaus, and seating areas. Signs and logos of a slightly more muted nature are displayed above the various entranceways. Above these rows of squared metal buildings are stars.
A shimmering field is all that separates Douglas from the void of space. The stars’ normal shimmering caused by eternities of space dust is enhanced by the projected layer of force keeping the atmosphere inside the large hangar bay. Ahead of Douglas is an area filled with demarcated parking spaces. Brightly painted lines separate a large variety of crafts in an equally large variety of maintenance conditions.
“What are those?” Douglas manages to speak, forcing his attention away from the fascinating array of items for long enough to form a simple sentence.
“Wow. These are absolute trash. They're all boats. That one could be a ship.” Katare points to the largest vessel here, a blocky rectangle fifty metres long. “Nope. Trash, it’s a boat. Just shuttles and boats. This really is a border system.”
“What?” asks Douglas.
Katare sighs deeply. “Yeah, almost forgot you literally have no brain. Where do I even begin?”
The raucous noise of the reworked Histaff menacing the wall behind them dims slowly as the duo strolls further. The vessels present all look worn, simple rough shapes of plate metal that are obviously designed for practical reasons instead of comfort or aesthetics.
“Okay, you fekked dimwit. Those small ones are shuttles. A vessel that can only hold a few people and nothing else is designated as a shuttle. A small flying house with only the bare necessities is called a boat. Boats can be large if their quality is shit, like that one.” Katare points at an apartment sized block of metal. Dirty vents, scorched hull plates, streaks of grime, and an exterior that can only be called practical are on full display.
“There’s other stuff too, but I can’t see any of those here. A littoral ship is atmosphere capable but not proficient. A sub ship is built for atmosphere more than void travel. Boats, fighters, shuttles, interceptors, those are all single or two-person boats, yeah?”
Douglas dutifully nods while studying the many markings and lines of text plastered across the ships.
“Something's telling me you’re not understanding any of this.” Katare looks at Douglas. Douglas happily nods along. “Right … Corvettes are the first true ships. Up to five hundred metres long, these are employed mainly in inter-solar operations and trade. Freighter, destroyer, troop transport, those titles don’t really matter and don’t believe the propaganda that tells you they do!”
Fiercely waving her finger around, Katare loses herself in the explanation. “Size is the main factor here. The next level is the frigate. From five hundred metres to around ten kilometres, these ships are the main mode of transport between stars. Then there are the capital ships, which is everything bigger than ten kilometres.”
Katare’s eyes contain a zealous light as she continues to expound upon space vessel nomenclature. “These labels shift now and then whenever new design trends kick in. For example, two thousand years ago, space vessel construction methods shifted from a prefabricated frame-based construction over to modular printing. I had a rather large hand in guiding all the major vessel manufacturers down this path. That was loads of fun.”
Douglas is very unsure of what to do. Katare has transformed into a different being the moment she started talking about space vessels. Her spoiled attitude and sullen sulking disappeared only to be replaced by a firm conviction combined with a smug insider’s perspective of one who has seen it all.
“So yeah, this type of station usually has two large hangers at semi-circular positions. I’m guessing the big one is further ahead. A good thing that the Histaff infection seems to have left this space alone for some reason. I wonder why. Wow, is that a Spektar Lif
t 9873Y? Those are ancient. I wonder if it still has the same engines.”
Douglas’ walking speed has slowed as he looks at the animatedly talking Katare. He follows her speech with interest as she continues talking about some mergers she had taken part in years ago. She gleefully boasts that entire lines of vessels only exist because of her guidance. Douglas soaks up all the knowledge like a sponge.
Until he sees the ship. Smooth curves form a white vessel. Its body is triangular in shape, dark squares cut from the white, matte material indicating where windows are placed. Its shape is vaguely aerodynamic, its flowing forms sporting two narrow air intakes sitting between vestigial wings and a rounded body.
The dull white exterior contrasts with black lines that delineate doors, a cargo bay with an extended loading ramp, and various viewing windows. The forty-metre-long ship is tucked away in a dark corner of the hangar, not even granted a full parking spot of its own. Despite its grime covered hull, no, probably because of its rather understated and impractical outer appearance, Douglas can’t take his eyes off the thing.
“These things all have class five jump drives at most, I guess. Storms, it’s going to take ages to get back. Wait, hey skeleton, how old are you?”
Douglas’ mind is entirely absorbed by the fascinating ship. He ignores Katare’s question and slowly approaches the odd frame. Most vessels are painted in bright colours when there is any paint left on them. The few that don’t look dirty or beat up are completely reflective, the high ceiling’s strips of illumination painting warped lines on their hulls.
“Tsk, I’m claiming passivity when you end up as a different person. No, wait, that might be great actually! Anyone else is better than this … abusive … no, he’s not really abusive. Negligent? No, technically I don’t have command jurisdiction over that pile of bones. An asshole? Yeah, anyone else should be better than this asshole, right?”
Katare’s introspective mood caused by long hours of silently walking seems to have left its marks on the woman. She follows Douglas with her gaze, only then seeing that ship the skeleton can't take his eyes off. “What’s this, then? A homebrew? Maybe some rich kid’s hobby ship?”
Katare follows Douglas, her eyes also glued on the odd vessel. Douglas nears it and starts running his hands all over the smooth exterior. Looking at his gloved hand, he starts the lengthy process of removing the item. The desire to touch the white material with his own bare hands is getting overwhelming now.
Katare also touches the white frame, frowning in thought. She walks off to the nearest wall, picks up a metal tool from one of the many shadowed workbenches and starts tapping on the white surface. She then tries to connect to the hangar’s central network, her eyebrows creasing in irritation as she finds that Douglas has put her entire suit in manual mode. Frowning deeper, she ignores Douglas as he starts rubbing the surface with his entire body as she walks over to a panel a couple dozen metres away. She glances backward once and shivers as she sees the spacesuited skeleton trying to make love to the vessel. Resolutely focussing her attention onto the panel, she starts navigating the interface at high speeds.
“Yeah, homebrew. Standard frame, single beam, twin engines, single jump generator, ah, here we are… Experimental exterior? Unknown substance used, hmm. This is bad. Yep, this is a total scam. Well, I just found the infection vector. This is stupid. Are these people stupid? This is a rim planet, but these dumb void spawns shouldn’t be that dumb, right? The hardening agent is red slime? How gullible are these guys?” Katare looks around at the failing lighting, dust-covered, abandoned ships, and the empty floor. “How dumb were these guys?”
Shaking her head, she walks back to Douglas. He has managed to remove a single glove and is now fondling the ship in a manner that should be considered sexual harassment, and honestly, Douglas would totally agree because Douglas is lost in bliss. The skeleton has spent the majority of his life - the bits he can remember clearly, anyway - in a broken state. All his skill in magic and mana manipulation stems from his desire to be better at regrowing his body, at being whole again. Many hours he has spent in stillness, crippled and waiting for the fabric of his body to regenerate.
Now he finds a mass of bone that could form a thousand of him. Douglas realizes that the white hull he is furiously rubbing himself against is his key to safety. The affinity he feels with the ship is on another level, like he just found a friendly face in a universe filled with people that want him dead. It would only take a slight exertion of mana for Douglas to make the ship part of his own body, to make it part of himself.
“So I think we have a case of sabotage here. That’s an incredibly weak biological compound, some rather primitive stuff called hydroxyapatite. Lots of calcium, some phosphor, and a bit of water. Some salesman came by and presented it as a new invention. It’s rather soft in this state.” Katare slams the wrench she is still holding against the smooth exterior, leaving a clear mark. “It’s supposed to be a two-part compound; the hardening agent was delivered later. Like a super cheap and primitive epoxy, soaking the base matter in the agent would give it strength and flexibility comparable to ceesteel. It’s just a shame that the hardening agent was actually Histaff slime. The sales agent was probably a mind washed clone from a rivalling faction. Kind of stupid of them to do this through official channels. This place only has level three encryption, and the station records everything. They opened the shipment the compound came in for inspection in a hanger further ahead. Histaff infected everyone before they knew what happened, and that’s all she wrote.”
Douglas ignores the exposition completely. He cares not for mass murdering industrial sabotage nor for scheming factions toying with the lives of billions. No, Douglas is still way too busy with touching the ship in places it has never been touched before. “Does this burn?”
“What?” Their usual roles reverse for a single moment as Katare doesn’t understand what Douglas is referring to.
“Does this burn?” Douglas repeats.
“No, not really. It could work as ablative shielding for a soft sub-dive or two, maybe. No, even then it doesn’t really burn. It’s just blasted apart by sheer pressure. Why?”
Douglas has stopped listening after hearing the very first ‘no’ and is focussing on the lovely hull once again. The fact that the material does not burn leads Douglas to the conclusion it is made from calx, the unburnable half that opposes phlogiston. Douglas is now focussing on the hull while bringing up a spell shape in his mind. The decalcinate spell is one he used only once before, the fall and landing resulting from metal turning to air still fresh in his mind.
Katare continues extolling about spaceships, construction methods, and bureaucratic norms while Douglas continues to ignore her. Instead, he has all his attention focussed on the wind spell shape. His hand floats centimetres from the white ship as he trickles mana into the spell.
The runes and lines slowly fill with mana as Douglas tries to divine their meaning. He finds more of the wasted mana radiating from the mental image as he works, training his mana control while trying to limit the wastage. Then a particular cluster of runes starts filling, and the surface under his hand starts warping. Keeping his empty sockets trained on the surface, he pulls his mana away from the runes. The surface returns back to its previous smoothness.
Douglas does some more testing, but the same thing keeps happening. Clacking his teeth in irritation, he switches to the calcinate spell, the process of turning air into stone.
Common sense should dictate that air is burned phlogiston, his fireball and ice spike being clear examples of this process. This would then mean that air contains no unburnable materials. Still, the spell compacts air into unburnable stone under Douglas’ burning stare.
He finishes the spell with the least amount of mana possible. Keeping the entire spell shape in his mind’s eye while carefully supplying only the minimum of needed mana puts quite the strain on his empty skull, but Douglas patiently perseveres.
Retracting his man
a from the spell causes the control and contain sections of the magic to stop working. The needle of stone that falls onto Douglas’ outstretched hand starts crumbling immediately, but not before Douglas notices that it is rather sturdy.
Grinning at the fading spike of stone, Douglas realizes that he has found what he was looking for. He immediately starts casting the spell again, this time trying to find the portion of the spell circle that strengthens the loose dirt into a smooth, narrow cone. Douglas loses track of time once again, ignoring the chattering coming from somewhere behind him.
He pushes mana into the spell time and time again, understanding trickling inside his mind at a rapid pace. The correlation between a whole Katare and the system's speed is noted by the skeleton once more but otherwise ignored as unimportant. Instead, he concentrates on the effects the runes have on his environment.
He identifies the portion packing air into a solid mass rather quickly. Douglas is fascinated by the fact that only a part of the air is taken. The rest is shoved away by a single line of runes, that pushing force consuming relatively large amounts of mana.
Then Douglas hits on the important part. Once the air is compacted into sand and forced into a simple shape, a trio of runic lines takes a lot of mana without doing anything apparent.
Douglas reverts the flow of mana, letting the three lines become dim again. He grabs the floating needle of stone with his other hand, feeling the smooth material with his bony digits. Then the needle snaps as he holds it. The spell falls apart as Douglas loses concentration, the shards of stone sublimating away.
He repeats the process again, this time breaking small parts of the needle as he trickles mana into the three lines. A few more repeats of the entire process later, Douglas is pretty sure that he has it figured out.
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