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New project update/reword
🕑 Added 2023-09-19 06:34:16 +0000 UTC2500 words. Sorry about the delay I was doing a bit of rewording of the last part, which you can read here! If you just want the 2500 words, it starts at: update starts here
Stepping onto the main torus of the Hub never got old. Something about the way the pressure doors slid open, revealing the main habitat in all its artificial glory – commercial buildings of various heights and shapes extending in both curved directions, backlit by the void that was space – it inspired a feeling of splendour you just couldn’t replicate when on a planet.
There was no ceiling, or at least one that was visible, the entire station completely in view from any point on the torus. The nebula neighboring the system added a splash of purple and yellow to the void beyond the metal, the dark canvas of space filled with glinting stars. Only the strip of the station blocked the view, the line-shaped city sloping up the horizon until it was vertical, and then upside down as it curved back round to form a circle.
The Hub resembled a giant hula hoop, the gap between the perimeter large enough a Colossus wreck could slip through with room to spare. It was common for first-timers to hurl their lunch as soon as they drank in the sloped city, something about the lack of an atmospheric haze tricking the brain into thinking one would fall off the ring at any point, and Ryan had been no exception to the rule back when during his first visit.
He’d been a bit more conditioned to the exotic landscape since then, and now all he felt was a mild case of the butterflies when he craned his neck up, a cruiser gliding through the sky above the torus, its flat hull blocking part of the station from view. It was a large ship, a hundred odd meters from bow to stern, painted black except for the blue highlights trailing down the hull, the occasional railgun and turret sprouting out from the plating. There was a logo on this side of the stern, faded and scratched, the markings of its former Confederate alignment having not quite worn away.
He stepped away from the pressure doors, the deck below his boots a slate grey colour, made from some kind of ceramic by the way his shoes clocked against the floor. The drone of a thousand blended conversations assailed him as he stepped onto the street, the low whir of unseen ventilations shafts overlapping the many voices. Humans in both military uniforms and civilian getups walked by, some delving into the buildings lining the streets, the glowing neon signs promising luxuries typical of a core planet city.
The structures weren’t so much as buildings, but parts of the floor that had been extruded outwards, their facades painted over to mock wood or brickwork, furthering the illusion that they weren’t on a giant space station, but someplace deep in a planet-sprawling city.
Ryan swapped his duffel bag from left shoulder to right, slipping into the throngs of people as he moved downspin. The street on the Hub was one continuous line spanning the entire length of the ring, he could see the divot it made in the torus as he looked towards the horizon, the station narrowing as it distanced.
Long planters packed with trees and foliage added a nice bit of greenery to the otherwise spartan landscape, a fake breeze created by the thousands of vents making the leaves shake. This particular wedge of the station housed the commercial districts, but he wasn’t here looking for a good time, not yet anyway.
The buildings began to transition into more functional, drab buildings as he walked, the density gradually receding before petering out altogether, a checkpoint coming into view in the curve ahead. It was flanked on both sides by watchtowers, extending from the flanks of long buildings that stretched to the left and right, a barbed fence hugging the facades on this side. Between the towers was a waist-high strip of unbroken light, and in front of it were a pair of soldiers standing guard, stopping anyone looking to pass through.
Ryan joined the queue, glancing at his watch before looking over the shoulders of the guards. Buildings not unlike office blocks stretched into the sky, the flag of the Hub nation emblazoned on their colourless sides. The spartan architecture stretched into the wedges beyond this one, visible to the naked eye further up the ring due to a lack of haze that would be present on a planet. The military quadrant used up the most room on the Hub out of any district, occupying four of its twelve wedges, as the name suggested.
“ID please,” a soldier said when it was Ryan’s turn. He rummaged through his bag, eyeing the soldier’s combat armour as he handed over his papers. The guard was clad in a pressure suit covered over in armour plates, dark blue highlights painted down the obliques and shoulders. Most of his face was hidden behind a helmet, but the visor was open, a pair of eyes peering down as he took Ryan’s forms. He looked quite at ease for being a guard.
“Ah, welcome to the Hub, Corporal,” the soldier said, his tone a little more respectful than earlier. “Mess hall 3B is down the road to the right, dead ahead in the wall. Briefing’s already started.”
Ryan cursed under his breath, he’d been held up at the dock after his implants tripped a metal detector. He took his ID back and walked through the holographic barrier, the projection distorting as he interrupted the light emitters. Beyond the checkpoint were groups of soldiers running track between the buildings, their accompanying Sergeants scrutinizing them. Smaller groups of men marched with discipline through the paths, stopping to salute whenever an officer walked by.
Following the guards directions, he rounded the first corner, soon approaching the wall he had mentioned. The habitat was situated between two giant walls, looming hundreds of meters above the streets, giving off the appearance the cityscape was built in between two continuous metal canyons. These giant facades were pocked with various complexes and even a few high-roller apartments, but beyond them were the critical systems, like water and electronics, among other vital components that helped keep the station afloat. And beyond them was the armoured exterior of the station, keeping the vacuum of space away.
There was a square-shaped cutout extending from the base of the wall, fluorescents and signs helping the structure stand out from the colourless canyon that walled in the habitat. Hall 3B was signed above an archway, the enclosing walls offering a nice bit of relief from the roofless habitat outside, if one could be outside on a space station.
Tables and seating arrangements typical of an eating area were just inside, maybe fifty-odd people sitting down, their backs to Ryan. To one side he could see the kitchen through a gap in the wall, the smell of food absent. Doorways branched off from various points along the walls, the space maybe thirty meters wide and just as long.
At the front of the gathered procession was a man garbed in officers fatigues and a matching cap, and he just finished his sentence as his eyes met Ryan’s own. A few of the others turned to stare as Ryan moved over to the rear of the gathering, trying not to look too sheepish as he took a seat.
“Alright, now that we’re all here, we can begin,” the officer said, giving Ryan a cold glare. He must have missed rolecall. Coming in late to your first briefing was one way of making an impression, he imaged in if he was still a Private, he’d be drilled into the dirt right in front of everyone.
“My name is Captain Adamski,” the officer continued. He rolled his r’s a little, his deep accent reminding Ryan of Slavic, or maybe Polish. “I’m in command of the Pioneer Division of the Hub Army, and as of right now, you belong to my first platoon. Congratulations.”
Ryan had never heard of a Pioneer Division, even his papers had neglected to provide much info on his reassignment, maybe it had been formed only recently.
“I know you have all served your time, some of you have even seen combat, I went through all your records personally,” Admaski explained. “But, what I haven’tseen personally is your abilities, and for the first two months of our program, I along with my fellow officers will be revaluating your basic training.” There was a collection of groans from the procession, Adamski raising his hands defensively. “Now now, don’t worry, we’ll not be putting you through boot camp all over again, you’ve all got the records to prove you know what you’re doing, this should be but a formality for most of you, and to help familiarize yourselves with Hub equipment and stratagem, we work a little differently compared to Confederate doctrine. This program will also allow our particularly new recruits a chance to see how us humans do our jobs.”
The Captain nodded to the right, Ryan following his gaze until his eyes rested on a splash of colour. Standing off to one side of the gathered humans were a group of Balokarid, the first alien species to be formally integrated into the Hub civilisation a few months ago. Ryan had read reports about them of course, but he’d never seen one in person, as they had been staying on their ships orbiting the station while the architects constructed living accommodations for them.
The descriptions didn’t do the aliens justice. They were tall, about eight or nine feet high, standing on pairs of digitigrade legs, their feet ending in three clawed toes. On the backs of their arms were huge sheaths connected together by thousands of small feathers, Ryan realising they were wings tucked away behind their backs. Their heads were bristling with feathers, the quills longer than human hair, the stalks flowing off their skulls like ornate headdresses. It was hard to tell if those were hats of some kind, or natural extensions of their feathered bodies. The front of their faces were beaked, the aliens angling their long faces in small, precise movements, scanning the room like humanoid crows.
There were three of them in total, and two of them were clad in what looked like metal cuirasses, their waists obscured beneath long, skin-tight shorts that clung to their thighs. It was hard to imagine Ryan not noticing them earlier, they stood out like sore thumbs, each one more colourful than the last.
“Kith Shaliyya here wants to see if her people and ours can work together in a firefight,” Adamski continued. “She and Senator Astera think there could be some potential combining our ground tactics with their technology, so we’re going to be pairing them up with some of you for the duration of the program. I expect you all to treat them with the same respect as you would to everyone else. You’re representing humanity during your training with them, don’t forget that.”
One of the aliens, Shaliyya presumably, bowed her head as the humans stared. Unlike her counterparts, she was dressed in a much more decorative garb. She had a dark vest with silver trimmings strapped over her chest, the breast decorated with alien runes who’s meaning was lost on Ryan. The vest tapered into a long, billowy robe that flowed down her long legs, the fabric almost resembling black leather that contrasted with her red feathers. Her most prominent feature was her headdress, colourful quills with eyespots on the ends bristling out of her scalp and neck, too large and different to be a natural extension, though it certainly blended with her feathery coat.
“Now,” Adamski continued. “You should have all received a team number along with your transfer orders, these will be your new squads for the remainder of your training. I’ll be supervising team four, teams one, two, and three will be headed by the Sergeants over there, so now that we’ve exchanged pleasantries, everyone find your designated squad, hurry up!”
Everyone rose from their seats, Ryan checking his papers again as everyone shuffled towards their designated officers. He was in team four, so he made his way over to Adamski, turning his head to see that the aliens were moving in the same direction. They seemed to bob their heads ever so subtly with each stride, the shape of their heads further completing the picture of crows with arms.
As he watched them, he saw one of the aliens was watching him back. This one had feathers the colour of rust, a red so deep it bordered on brown, her yellow eyes like two coins staring back at him down the length of her silvery beak. There was something about the way she stared that made him feel like she was scrutinising his very soul. She didn’t break eye-contact, even as the seconds dragged by and they moved closer. From all accounts the aliens were quite friendly, so why did this feel like some sort of intimidation tactic?
Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter why, he wasn’t about to back down, this was a human station after all, and as Adamski had said, he was representing humanity, it wouldn’t do to just slunk off so quickly. So he stared back, until they were only a few meters apart, stopping alongside two other humans who’d also been assigned to team four.
They had to break their little contest when Captain Adamski drew their attention, clearing his throat before he began. “Think this is everyone, good. As you can see team four, you have the honour of being the pioneers of for our mixed species side of the program. I trust you’ll give our Balokarid friends a proper welcome.”
He was directing that last bit towards Ryan and the other men, who gave the birds suspicious glances. They were basically giants compared to them, Ryan’s eyes just level with their chests if he stood on his toes.
The lead alien, Shaliyya, stepped forward, her headdress bobbing as she nodded to the Captain. She looked like some kind of shaman with that thing on.
“I wish to reciprocate the Captain’s words,” she said. She had a vaguely American accent for some reason, her words coming through clear and without fault. “We are honoured to be a part of this nation’s ground forces, and you shall have our utmost respect for allowing us a chance to demonstrate our capabilities.”
Her smile put Ryan a little more at ease, at least until he actually noticed she was smiling. Was her beak actually a beak, or did the shape of her face just make her appear to have one?
“The Kith here will be staying in the officers headquarters during the program,” Admaski added. “She’s here to advise the Balokarids as much as you all are, but don’t make a habit of disturbing her if it isn’t important. First things first, which one of you is Corporal Bradford?”
Update starts here
Ryan raised his hand, the Captain offering him a small box. “Alright everyone, Corporal Bradford here has been on three tours during his time with the Confederacy. Since that makes him the most experienced out of all of you, he’ll be taking the role of squad lead. Congratulations Corporal.”
He flipped open the lid, a pair of golden pins glinting back at him. These were stars to help differentiate squad leaders from soldiers with the same rank. He’d basically been handed a promotion on the spot. Ryan couldn’t help but puff his chest out, thanking the Captain as he stowed the case in his pocket.
“We are to follow this latecomer?” one of the Balokarids asked. It was the one with the rusty feathers, Miss Stare herself. Although her voice was reminiscent of Shaliyya’s, there was a strange quality to it, very baritone, his eardrums thrumming with every syllable.
“Samiha,” the Kith snapped. “What did I just say about showing respect to our new allies?”
The alien, Samiha, looked to the floor, clicking her beak in what might be agitation.
“I’m not wholly certain on how Balokarids do things,” Adamski continued. “But in my platoon, we follow tried and tested guidelines. Squad leads take care of their teams, and I trust the Corporal here to do just that. You don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Ryan added, grinning as he watched the Captain put Samiha in her place. It was nice to see the alien’s weren’t getting special treatment.
“If you will excuse me,” Shaliyya said, brandishing a datapad that had been hanging from her belt. “Another vessel from the carriers is ready to dock, I must see to their introduction to the station. I will return within a standard hour.”
The Captain and the Balokarids bid the Kith farewell, her ornate headdress bobbing with her long gait as she made her way to the exit.
“Alright team four,” Adamski said, gesturing for them to follow. “Let’s go show you your new quarters, this way.”
The Captain led them down one of the doorways branching out of the mess hall, the corridor beyond winding deeper into the base. Ryaan and the other two men fell in behind Adamski, while the two Balokarids lingered as far behind them as possible. They were talking in their native tongue to one another, which sounded to Ryan like a bunch of random clicks laced with the quiet snap of their beaks.
“Corporal Bradford, right?” one of the other men asked, Ryan nodding in answer. “I’m Dominic, Private First Class. Guessing you had no idea about the aliens either?”
“First I’ve heard of it,” Ryan answered, taking Dominic’s offered hand. He was a big guy, six feet and change, his sandy hair cut into a buzz like everyone else. “What about you?” he added, directing his question to the last guy in team four.
“Black ink all the way for me,” the man answered, his blue eyes framed by a pair of spectacles. He looked younger than Ryan, barely scraping twenty if he had to guess. “Oh I’m Brindley by the way, Sir, PFC.
He gave him his own name, reaching past Dominic’s burly frame to shake hands. They made a bit of idle chit-chat as they walked. If they were going to be living and fighting together they might as well do so as friends.
The Captain soon led them into a hallway lined with doors, stopping at one on the far end. “This is you,” he said, the motion of his arm triggering the automatic sensor. The door parted, revealing an unusually spacious room, with bunks lining three of the four walls. Accompanying lockers stood at the foot of each bed.
Two of the bunks stood out. They were king-sized, the mattresses sretched to the point that if Ryan were to lay down on one, his feet would be almost a solid meter from the edge of the bed. The adjacent lockers were likewise upscaled, big enough that Dominic could have stood inside one comfortably.
“Premium digs,” Brindley said with an impressed whistle. “I’m loving this program already.”
“Those aren’t for you, Private,” the Captain warned, Brindley pausing with one foot on the giant mattress. Adamski stepped aside so that the Balokarids could enter, Ryan noticing the doorframe was tall enough to accommodate their bulks. How much of the base had been repurposed for these aliens?
“Yes, stand aside, little monkey,” Samiha warned, Brindley backing off as she approached the bed. Being in such an enclosed space was somehow amplifying the Balokarid’s size, Brindley practically a child in comparison.
“Stow your gear but don’t get settled in,” the Captain said. “We’re moving on in five.” With that, the door closed, silence looming over the group as they spread out and chose a bed.
As Ryan stuffed the contents of his bag into his locker, he noticed the Balokarids hadn’t come in with anything save for their metal vests and tight shorts. It was only now that he noticed the aliens had tails. They were wedge-shaped, extending from above their rumps to hang just above the floor, little cutouts in their shorts allowing the appendages to poke out of their clothing.
The aliens were talking in their own language again, the red one, Samiha, leaning on her bunk as she chatted with her counterpart. Ryan took a moment to examine the other alien. This one’s feathers were an exotic blue, almost like the colour of cobalt, though a tad on the brighter side, like teal. Like Samiha, there were wings sprouting from the backs of her arms, curled up against the sides of her back as she stood with her hands over her belly.
He could feel the tension between them and the humans, Brindley and Dominic having their own, hushed conversation as the species ignored each other. Ryan thought he should probably say something, ice-breaking was part of the job for a squad leader.
“Didn’t you two bring anything with you?” he asked, shutting his locker with a click. The aliens stopped their conversation, peering down their beaks at him. Dominic and Bradley had stopped talking, the silence coming on thick as the birds stared Ryan down.
The one with the teal feathers answered him. Like Samiha’s, her voice was low, with a distinct flanging quality, as though he could hear her words twice. “Our Kith led us through this place when we first arrived, we’ve already unpacked.”
She moved over on her long legs to her locker, opening it up. Inside, he could see a few spare changes of fatigues, identical to the one she was wearing, along with a few other items he didn’t recognise.
“Got the early tour, huh?” he asked, trying to make some small talk with the alien. This time it was Samiha who answered.
“No, we just arrived in a timely manner, unlike someone else in this room,” she said, the implication not lost on Ryan. This was the kind of chewing-out he’d expect from an officer, and Ryan knew this from first-hand experience, flying off the handle a few years back at a recruit who’d failed to show up to role call. He was dealing with an alien, however, maybe a more diplomatic approach was needed.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “Got held up at the docks when I tripped one of those metal detectors with my implant.”
“Implant?” the teal one asked.
“Got a bit of alloy plating in my lungs,” he explained. “helps circulate oxygen through my body. Most humans who travel across the Milky Way have at least one implant like that.”
“Like me,” Brindley added. “I’ve got a reinforced spine meself. Mom always said I needed to grow a new backbone, but why not just improve the one you got, right?”
“Semantics, correct?” the teal one asked, sharing a chuckle with Brindley when he agreed. That seemed to diffuse the tension enough for the alien to introduce herself. “Oh, I’m Talu, and my fiery friend here is Samiha. I’d tell you we’re from the clan Kaaleshi, but that likely doesn’t mean much to you without reference.”
“Me and Brindley are Hub boys through and through,” Dominic added. “And you, boss? Ex-UEC right?”
“Stationed on the ULS Boone until we changed sides,” Ryan explained.
“The Battlecruiser?” Brindley asked. “Glad you’re on our side, that things got, what, a billion railguns?”
“Something like that,” Ryan answered.
There was a snapping sound as thought someone had just clapped, Ryan noticing it was Samiha clicking her beak again, the avian folding her arms and looking annoyedly at the floor. Ryan could tell she was going to be a problem. If she made an ass of him by being disobedient all the time, he doubted he’d get any distinguishments by the time he got through the program. He needed to sort this out now.
“Samiha,” he began. “What’s your-”
Before he could continue, the door opened once more, Captain Adamski standing there with his arms behind his back. “On your feet, everyone. We’ll be finishing the tour before heading down to the armoury. No time like the present to see if you can shoot straight.”
The team piled out, Ryan and Samiha exchanging an icy glare. Whatever her problem was, it seemed it would have to wait.
Xxx
Adamski walked them through the layout of the base, briefly leaving the confines of the wall to show them the yard and the teaching quarters out in the habitat that Ryan had seen on his way in. Once they had explored the majority of the base, the Captain led them through a pair of pressure doors, the sounds of gunfire reaching their collective ears as they stepped through the threshold.
The room was longer than it was wide, stretching out a few hundred meters into the distance, a wall of booths dividing this area from the firing range, a couple of soldiers fighting the recoil of their guns as they took potshots at paper and plastic targets set up at various distances. The far end of the range terminated at a bright green wall made from what looked like massive cushions, probably ballistic gel padding to keep the shooters from drilling holes into the station’s hull.
“You’re all familiar with the standard firearms of the Outer Reaches,” the Captain said, leading them over to a rack of weapons against the wall. “Cased, caseless, typical ballistic weaponry. I’m here to show you how to use weaponry rarely seen outside of the Core Worlds.”
He lifted one of the weapons out of its slot, holding it out and showing it to the team, who gatheredround to get a good look at it. The odd rifle looked like it was made from some kind of blue polymer, various indents along the padded stock and grip giving it a very compact appearance. The barrel was long and had a hexagonal shape, jutting into three sections, the muzzle capped with what appeared to be a suppressor. There was a foldable grip in front of the magazine well, and in front of that were six small cylinders extending out of the bottom of the barrel. There were yellow and black warning strips surrounding these little unknown cylinders.
“This is the LIW coilgun platform, or just coilgun for short,” Adamski explained. “These armaments were until recently only used by personal guardsman of Navy officers or policing groups on Earth and Mars. With more and more ships turning over to our side, the Hub has been able to start producing these weapons on a much larger scale to be considered standard issue.”
He set the rifle on a table, unscrewing the suppressor and flipping away a section of the muzzle. The team watched as he disassembled a third of the barrel, sliding it away to reveal the guts of the weapon. The inside of the barrel was a metal rod, surrounded by densely-packed coils, spaced out into three groups of metal rings.
“These electromagnetics fire soft iron cartridges at speeds unmatched by other types of firearms,” Adamski said, gesturing at the coils. “See how the coils are shaped like hexagons? That allows the platform to maintain fully-automatic firing without sacrificing penetration power, but the downside is the tremendous amount of overheating that comes with sustained fire. Which brings me to the heat sinks.”
He dismantled the rest of the barrel until it was just a piece of black frame, laying out the six small cylinders Ryan noted before. “The sinks are the lifeblood of any coilgun if you’re going out on a long deployment, it’s up to you to determine how many you carry on a mission, but having at least one spare set should be enough if you pace yourself. Go on Private,” Adamski added, his gaze falling on Dominic. “Test the weight of one.”
“Less than a paperclip” Dominic explained, pinching one between his fingers.
“If that weapon had just been fired, you would have melted your fingers off,” Adamski chided. “Those sinks can reach thousands of degrees Celsius, so do yourselves a favour and keep your hands on the grip at all times. We have attachable shields to protect your fingers, but by the end of this month I don’t want to see any of you using them, they make your rifle unwieldy and heavy, and I don’t need to tell you how that could get you killed in a pinch.”
The Captain took apart the rest of the rifle like it was second nature, putting on an impressive display of finesse. He stripped the weapon down to its frame, separating two pieces of polymer from the rest. “This is the standard magazine,” he said, gesturing at the one that was long and slightly curved. “It holds thirty rounds of six-point-eight by forty-three millimeter ammunition. Every coilgun platform you find in this armoury fires these standardized rounds, and every mag well is modular, so any infantryman can hand out spare ammo to someone who’s out.”
He continued as he picked up another piece of the weapon. “This is the battery pack, and you need one of these as well as your magazine if you want to fire. These things can go for months without the need to recharge, but you’re expected to carry a spare in the event of a potential failure. Now,” he added, hastily reassembling the weapon. “What are the key components to a coilgun? Anyone?”
“Heat sinks, magazine, battery,” Samiha answered.
“That’s right recruit,” the Captain replied. “While changing out three parts might seem cumbersome, together they make a weapon that can penetrate any combat armour known to man, or Balokarid,” he added. “Coilguns can even penetrate the armour of some vehicles, though I don’t expect you to go toe-to-toe with a tank. Now for a demonstration.”
He snapped the final part of the barrel onto the platform, picking up the heat sinks along with a small piece of flat plastic with six cutouts. He slotted the sinks into these holders, then slapped the magazine into the well. He walked over to the range, shouldering the rifle as he leaned over the booth.
