Chapter 1
Dr. Eorn rocked back and forth in the chair, listening to the squeaks most prevalent as he passed the upright position. Each dulcet chirp lulled his mind into a slumbering state, pulling down his eyelids with endless fortitude. This meaningless tedium agitated his mind as he had a list to accomplish, but having no foresight to seek a purposeful goal, was forced to be contempt with the miniscule victory of keeping his eyes open.
In contrast to his procrastination, the persistent hand of time ticked the seconds by in a race to an end shrouded in mystery. Somewhere in the station, various tasks were being completed. Kitchen-boys busied their hands with dirty dishes. Wheels clattered about the halls heading towards destinations bound by writing on charts.
A fleeting feeling of want for change passed over Dr. Eorn’s body. The dull feeling in his brain dissipated into the vents above him, traveling through metal pathways until eventually it found cohesion with the atmosphere. He planted his feet on the ground holding his chair in stillness, then with a sharp twist, quickly launched himself into a spin; not quite as fast as he was aiming for, but the movement was still a change of velocity.
“This place needs a full rebuild.” A voice cut in.
Dr. Eorn craned his neck to focus on his companion sitting in the corner. Between the swirls of lights and whites, Dr. Veonsile’s blurry figure was sorting through stacks of papers on the archives desk. Six stacks. Three bundles lay on the floor fluttering with a passing breeze. This made for a total of nine piles of papers. Dr. Eorn stuck his feet out as far as he could, lifting his back slightly off his chair. When the chair swung around to face the general direction - about to pass the papers - he stretched out his toes to see if his little wigglers affected the papers at all. They didn’t.
“How many months until they arrive?” Dr. Eorn asked.
“Three more…”
“Eh. We got time. Le’ts draw up some plans and have the architects look over the logistical details. I’m sure they would appreciate some up time.”
Dr. Veonsile shook his head. “All the builders are busy containing the A-1, making the organism comfy for shit.” Words aside, the scientist’s voice carried a hint of disagreement.
Dr. Eorn pondered saying his opinion on the matter, but quickly backed out. Say a few choice words about the A-1 dilemma and suddenly the two scientists could find themselves citing sources from thousands of years of history bickering about ethics. But speaking of the hidden species carelessly was frowned upon for good reason. This was a delicate opportunity their world was given. Harboring such a valuable creature in secrecy could bring foreseeable consequences. So, without a usable prod of provocation, he adjusted his thoughts and let the conversation flow along its neutral pathway.
“I see.” Dr. Eorn pushed against the floor, increasing his turning speed. “Our priorities are in their right quadrants. I guess we’ll have to wait for the rebuild.”
A blue light flashed just above the doorway, followed by a mellow hum. Steady vibrations rumbled beneath his feet. He looked over to his cup on the table beside him. The liquid inside rippled as tiny, seismic waves disturbed the peaceful environment. Though the waves were in micro-measurements to him, there were some species that would view its height as a danger.
“We got another.” Dr. Veonsile clapped his body together, immediately setting aside his paperwork. Dr. Eorn groaned and heaved his bodyweight away from the comfort-to-the-weary, partially stumbling in the process. He ignored the silent quip from his companion, choosing silence over violence.
Together, the scientists followed a strict routine, prepping the room for a welcomed guest. Dr. Veonsile pushed aside his desk to the corner of the room, revealing a fist-sized black dot on the floor. Chairs collapsed and settled in vacant gaps between furnishings. Tall lamps were pulled from the storage closet and placed around the center of the room. Dr. Veonsile helped Dr. Eorn adjust the examine table to sit four feet from the dot.
Due to the small nature of the space, all furnishings were portable. Each piece was fitted with wheels for movement at the alarm’s notice. A couple tables were collapsible but they were covered in papers and office supplies at the moment. This was one of the reasons a redesign was needed. Space was limited, and their work efficiency decreased each time they paused to deal with rearrangements.
Five to six species came each cycle. With every acceptance, two layouts were needed: The acceptance layout, which required room for access to the doors in the flooring; and the examining layout, which posted the exam table in the center of the room just above the unloading hatch. It physically hurt after shuffling the layouts a third time in any cycle. Once plans were drawn for changes to the room’s boundaries, the architect could come and help them find out which walls were compatible for an extension.
On the far left side of the room lay a massive console complete with six standard black screens. Sticky notes spread across the top in disarray. Dr. Eorn waved his hands over the console to activate the system. Charts, images, documents, and other forms of information livened up the black background. Storage Capacity shown to the far left. Flickering numbers, lined up lengthwise, covered a large portion of the corner. The team’s predecessors had the numbers updated every fifteen minutes, but Dr. Eorn insisted on changing the system to a live feed. The minute shifts of numbers were fun to watch as they fluctuated up and down.
Dr. Eorn was always fascinated by numbers. One of his favorite hobbies growing up was sorting and counting items through various categories to see how they added up. This led to some best forgettable hobbies as they tended to fill up his room rather quickly forcing him to settle on the ground during the nights. But the charts plastered to his wall were fun, nonetheless fleeting remembrances.
The quantity of species the planet studied and stored were calculated through equations much grander than the ones he used as a young-one. Stations arrived on the planet constantly, hustling cargo from planet to planet. Most cargo that arrived here was made of bio-species being sent to one of the three storage sites for holding until the creators came.
Dr. Eorn shook his thoughts away, fleeing his gaze to the bottom right quadrant of the screen. A small access slid open revealing a digital scanner inside the enclosure. He pushed a limb onto the screen only releasing once the scanner analyzed the pressure. A bi-fold barrier in the ceiling separated then slipped behind cover. A large metal chain slowly lowered into the room, screeching in pain as the ancient gears twisted. Movement halted once the shackle was within reach. Attached to the chain’s end, a seven-foot metal hook swayed about, basking in the work ethics of gravity. Dr. Veonsile gripped the hook and started pulling it closer to the floor. Grinding noises howled the pain of labor, echoing the ages of past use and the futures of endless labor.
From the shackle to the tip, the hook was a single curve made of a hardened spine and a precision tip. The tip had dulled and chipped over time, but careless use could still result in permanent loss of body function. The holding point was slightly larger in diameter than Dr. Veonsile’s palms could grasp, forcing him to adjust his grip frequently.
Once all tools were secured in place, and furniture was moved to their respective locations, Dr. Veonsile and Dr. Eorn waited patiently next to the black dot for their guest. Or guests? The white flooring hid the mystery. It could be of any size to a certain extent. Most likely from the nearby Aphis system which hosted an abundance of fluid bodies no larger than their morning meal. The expedition team was three months out so chances of finding a species of unknown substances were low. Their arrival was another reason for restructuring the room. The scientists would need new equipment if required.
Three beeps drew their attention to the floor.
The vibrations increased in volume, becoming a streamlined sensation that tickled his veins. He could hear the chamber speeding along the tracks through the tunnels, whizzing along its journey at mind-bending speeds. He had never been down there but he could only assume the tunnels were dark and absent. Little was needed down there except for maintenance crews who would inevitably bring their own equipment. If there were permanent fixtures for lighting, the images in his mind crafted one beam of light every five meters. Which would amount to three or four thousand lights in each tunnel. That’s assuming the tunnels were a straight connection from his station to the loading bay. So, add another thousand lights for various changes in curvature.
All forms of sound halted. The doctors could no longer feel movement beneath the flooring. In silence they waited with expectation prickling their skin. After seven or eight ticks of a clock, the monotone environment amplified an odd beeping sourced from the console. The sound was even, its energy dry and empty. Dr. Eorn ignored it, deciding to bask in the silence that enveloped him. Until his companion spoke.
Dr. Veonsile took the silence and stuck it through a paper shredder with his paper-shredder-sounding mouth. “It’s gonna be cute.”
Dr. Eorn breathed in a previous memory of a glistening sunrise above the snow and mountains, then glanced at his companion, intent on shutting down his tasteless thought. “No, it won’t.”
