Fallen Angel, Part 4

Day 47. 113 pages, 51,209 words.


Her rounds finished for the time being, Predericon returned to her cabin and sat facing the block of enhanced stone.

She’d installed a new floor in her quarters that was tilted to be parallel to the gravity plates’ new orientation. It effectively lowered the ceiling but there was still room to stand, and it was nice to have a place that was horizontal, even if ‘horizontal’ was just something her inner ear believed in despite the preponderance of evidence. It was a bit disorienting to step into her room after an extended period in the ship proper, but she considered the effort worthwhile.

Gyden had not installed a plate in her own room. But then, she didn’t spend as much time in it as Predericon did in hers.

Predericon frowned at the block. It was a basic piece of outer-hull shielding, of the fabricated and replaceable artificial stone the academy used to provide basic protection against radiation and debris on the ships they loaned out to research teams. She’d salvaged it from the wreckage when they’d settled, and was now in the process of carving it with a set of subsonic scrubbers. Gyden insisted the noise made her teeth ache, so Predericon mostly worked while her colleague was out of the ship.

This wasn’t exactly her contribution to the research effort, but it was part of it. It was a visual aid, a way of focussing, and of tricking the mind into processing data while meandering around the subject.

Her frown deepened. It still wasn’t right. Of course, sculpting was slow going when you were grinding away at a piece of industrial gorite with a set of conduit cleaners, but it was taking shape. And she wasn’t at all sure it was the right shape.

She looked at the fuzzy, entirely insufficient images she’d captured with the Speed’s Virtues (Curiosity)’s sensors before they had boiled in their casings. Then she closed her eyes and tried to remember what she’d seen with her own senses.

It simply wasn’t possible. It was insane, and now she was trying to carve a sculpture of it, to help pass the time while she worked on more advanced hypotheticals. She opened her eyes.

On the left side of the block, the rugged barren flatworld called Cursèd. On the right, the moon they had dubbed Lelhmak’s Moon, and a couple of similar bodies, melded but emerging from the gas giant around which they now revolved. And in between…

Well, that was the problem, right there. In between, amidst great folding and swinging slabs of rock and ice and burning gas, streams of matter spiralling in out of nowhere at all, and a near-vacuum environmental envelope turned suddenly vast and ravenous, the left became the right. And Predericon had no idea how to even start with that, because the shapes she had seen had no equivalents in spatial geometry. The physics she’d seen at work had no equal in anything she’d studied. And she’d studied some pretty exotic physics.

She stood up, and crossed to the right side of the sculpture. She donned her magnifying hood, picked up the smallest of the scrubber tubes and the molecular manipulator, and leaned in. There, on the cracked-but-smooth surface of the two-year-old millions-of-years-weathered little moon, she’d carved out a scale replica of the Speed’s Virtues (Curiosity) in her tiny shattered crater of ice.

We are here.

This much, at least, Predericon knew.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy. https://hatboy.blog/2013/12/17/metalude-who-are-creepy-and-hatboy/
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6 Responses to Fallen Angel, Part 4

  1. aaronthepatriot says:

    Really enjoying this, and appreciating the challenge of writing about this very specific time frame in your urverse!

    • stchucky says:

      Thanks, appreciated! Glad you’re enjoying it. I’ve got a bit of an idea where this is heading and it might wind up being a stand-alone book. Or something.

      It’s starting out slow so I’ll probably have to edit the tedious info-dump but for now it’s happening.

      • aaronthepatriot says:

        Oh man, you mean you’re working on this basically real-time without a certain destination in mind? That’s fucking awesome, so lucky to be a part of this experience!

        Yeah I think you have to ease us into this, if I understand what’s going on here. And I daresay I do. “Lehlmak” my ass XD

      • stchucky says:

        Hee, aw shucks. Well, it’s going to be a lot of fun if it works out. Yeah, only a very vague premise to start with and right now I have a very, very basic idea of the middle and end bits. So let’s see.

        And well spotted of course. I figured you’d be the one to crack the little mystery wide open, it’s just a shame my two other readers are otherwise engaged right now so they couldn’t give you a good race!

      • aaronthepatriot says:

        Yeah, you had me at “The Four Realms” in part 1. I was pretty proud!

  2. aaronthepatriot says:

    *or did I have you? Not quite sure which way to apply that idiom….

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