The Handle Inside

By Andrew Greimann

Within a set of inhabited planets in another galaxy, humanity's most powerful machine has made contact with entities who have granted power to whoever wishes to ally themselves with them. One man wakes up to find himself guilty of serious crimes... but something within his mind won't let him stop fighting to live until he reaches a mysterious location, said to be a lethal alien artifact. His relentless pursuit to reach to this place leads him to face both his hunters and nature, until he himself encounters a being from another dimension. Join one man's search and open the door to a new adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Greimann
• Release date: Jul 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201429201

Book preview

The Handle Inside

Copyright © 2021 Andrew Greimann

6 July 2021

Self-published, 2021 edition (Version 1.1)

Licensed under the Creative Commons BY-ND 4.0 License

For more details, please see License at the back of the book.

Read me

Hey there! Thanks for downloading (or getting a copy of) The Handle Inside!

This is the very first book I’ve written (and self-published) — so honestly, I really can’t say how your experience will be while reading it, but overall, my hope is to just to invite whoever’s reading to an imaginary set of worlds and write for whoever wants to dive into them.

That said, this book is a complete work of fiction, and I’m adding this as a disclaimer of sorts. While there are allegorical elements throughout it, any names, places, etc. in the book are meant to be a part of their own fictional environment, and are not meant to be taken out of this context. Any names, places, etc. that may exist in real life are purely coincidental. The Handle Inside itself is a blend of action/adventure and science fiction, and honestly, you’ll see some of my spiritual beliefs mixed in here too. But overall, it’s just here for you to hopefully have fun reading! :-)

You’re totally free to read, quote, and distribute this book; the only things I kindly ask for are please give me credit, don’t change/modify the book’s contents, (and beyond the book’s CC-BY-ND4 license, I’d ever so kindly please ask not to lift/steal the characters, places, and technologies from it, because I’d really like to write more for you in the future!)

Thanks again! And I totally hope you enjoy the adventure ahead!  -  Andrew

Thanks

Also, as some acknowledgments , I’d like to say thanks to my friend Joel for his prayers and support — you’ve waited for a really, really long time for this book to be done — thanks, man! Also real thanks to my parents for your love and for your advice, to Earl for your advice, and big thanks to the First and Last for allowing me the time and mercy to finally finish this story, all of me is dedicated to you forever.

Freedom both to read and distribute

Right after part 15 , the license (Creative Commons BY-ND 4.0) for this book is included. If you’re reading this from an online bookstore, thanks so much for buying a copy and supporting me! However, please know whether you’ve bought a copy (and thanks again!) or not, you are completely free to read and distribute copies of this book with a DRM-free version available @ sites.google.com/view/the-handle-inside

Contents

Breakpoint

Uncaged

Wilderness

Jigsaw

Intrepid

Beacon

Effusion

Parallax

Doorways

Descent

Catalyst

Rendezvous

Cubed

Dichotomy

Aftershock

1: Breakpoint

Fiery gases enveloped the craft as the stellar shuttle finished its initial approach. After a turbulent entry, the Sentima fired repellers with an unsettling drop as it leveled itself off automatically in the planet’s upper troposphere.

Bulging cumulonimbus clouds backlit by flashes of lightning revealed the danger ahead. Thunder pealed through the atmosphere without restraint as one of Gelid V’s notoriously violent fronts surged. Locals referred to anything caught within these events as being inside the ‘drop zone’ for a reason — nothing airborne stayed that way.

It was an act of madness to let the shuttle charge into the storm, but armed security vessels had jumped shortly after he had, and his mission had to succeed.

A recent fight revealed itself through dried blood and the heavily scraped unibody exosuit that covered the sole occupant’s body from his neck down. He did not fear the unescapable challenge that venturing into the unknown presented. Personal experience had taught him a seemingly self-fulfilling maxim: ‘Almost always after one battle would end, another would inevitably present itself.’

He mused over this with a slight chuckle as the spacecraft shot into the wall ahead. What light was left from Gelid V’s full moon faded to blackness; reddish light was all that remained in the cockpit. The shuttle’s fat, plane-like shape unsettlingly rattled as internal systems endeavored to keep everything stable. Wind whooshed and whistled over earsplitting cracks of thunder. Every surface around the cabin became laced with bits of icy condensation. The traveler’s every breath was visible — hoarse and deliberate.

Thunk! A violent burst of turbulence knocked the man forward. Both his hands gripped the armrests until every knuckle turned pale. Flight systems automatically corrected the pitch while magnetic connections in the man’s suit painfully pulled him back. A warning bell suddenly started up with a recurring, insistent chime. Per an almost innate response, the man’s eyes instantly glanced down at the indicators. Every reading returned dangerously off values.

Automatic integrity controls re-engaged... and after a few tense seconds, all four ionic engines stabilized successfully. Each simultaneously pushed the shuttle forward with a potent kick as they roared back at full power. Repeating chimes all went quiet as internal sensors were pacified –– for now. A long sigh found itself coming from the man’s lungs. Strain and a constant assault on the craft itself by the polar front changed the question of the engines failing from ‘if’ to ‘when’.

Heavy currents continued to mercilessly jostle the craft with a series of deliberate jolts. While the overworked engines clicked and whirred, the computer inside struggled to maintain adequate voltage for all systems under the strain.

A short, screaming whine filled the cabin until a grinding groan took over. Every engine wound down and fell silent under the pressure, which left the cockpit shrouded in powerless darkness.

A few tense seconds later, reserve took over. Light and access to controls returned. The energy monitor reinitialized and started to report data from the fallback store. Demand on reserve to keep the Sentima functioning drove its levels in a rapid decline. Values ran down like a timer. The man took in full breaths as he turned his focus to the main displays, to the reserve monitor, then back to the main displays again.

Internal systems had found a solution — but from what he could see, reserve would fail before the proposed changes would become effective. With a gulp and a flick of an analog switch on the left of the panel, the man switched engine controls to manual. Automatic systems immediately disengaged with an abrupt, unnerving drop. Though time and probability were both against him, he was not ready to concede to defeat — if he could maintain the shuttle’s heading and speed for just two minutes, he could make an emergency landing. A desperate mission to complete burned in his mind; he could not fail now.

The pilot’s shivering, battered hand blindly felt for any analog redirection controls on the dark panel above his head.  Subtle edges of the tactile switches revealed his fingers were in between several. Through crushing pressure, the sole occupant grimaced as the craft dove. Words under pressure escaped in between grunts. Where... are you?

Once his exosuit covered fingers had walked through the switches, he quickly clicked several into position. If it worked, ionic distributors would be forced to recharge. His hand fell back down to his body with a flick of the last switch. A hydraulic blast sounded and built up to a powerful rumble. To the pilot’s relief, the spacecraft gracefully leveled off and its reserve recharged.

A mere minute later, the calm transitioned to chaos. After an audible and palpable struggle to hold together in the storm, the main line from the ionic intake gave way with a deafening pop. Outside, a hot, crackling burst rocked the craft to its rivets. Fresh alarms screamed over each other in an urgent attempt to communicate what had happened. Then, in an instant, the Sentima’s engines seized up irrecoverably with a jarring crunch. With no power left, the craft fell through the atmosphere in a hot, uncontrolled descent. A few seconds afterward, a deafening blast rocked the shuttle’s body.

All alarms eerily silenced but one. He looked down; the lone master alarm reported complete failure. Through the inertial stress from the dive and the magnetic connections inside the chair that pinned him back, he could feel himself gasping for air.

A pocket of rapidly falling backup power was all that remained available to the pilot — and unlike before, no hope of restarting anything remained. Despite the stress and cold sweat that had begun to build, he kept his composure. He had to take advantage of the closing opportunity he had to live. Another chance would not come. The pilot’s hand gripped at the handled turn switch in the front panel. A second later, the access door thumped down and the yoke hydraulically popped up into position.

The man pulled on the analog control wheel in careful degrees. Once he was able to pull the craft into a curving glide, he finally was able to breathe again. His concentration was absolute — unbroken. Even if he couldn’t reach the coast, he had to ensure he’d survive. Flickering energy and altimeter values on the console display continued to drop in front of him. His hands remained steady; they were his last hope to keep the powerless shell together.

At last, in the final seconds of descent, he felt the spacecraft being sucked down to the surface. Shaky readings from the altimeter nightmarishly reached 0. With nothing to hinder it, the cargo craft collided with Gelid V’s unforgiving seas and broke apart in several places.

The man breathlessly glared ahead into the darkness. In that moment, he felt nothing. The shrill alarm faded into a gentle, blurred warble — just as if the man was losing his senses. His footing gave way, and his head smacked the dead instrument panel in front of him. Each pounding throb that came from his skull changed the daze he’d felt into hard reality. It was over. With a falling sigh, he braced himself for death. This was it.

A tangible sense of a presence inside the cabin then began to overwhelm him. This feeling grew stronger as the silhouette of a man quickly formed into a discernible being. Though he did not speak a word, there was a definite attribute about him that revealed his otherworldliness.

During the short time the pilot had looked forward at the being, he felt help being downloaded into his mind in a language higher than words. In that one moment, time appeared to freeze briefly. Everything within the radius where they stood slowed to a stop. The confused human turned to look at the handle the being quickly pointed to, then looked forward again. Like a flicker from a hologram, the unexpected visitor left with a flash.

Events then jarringly resumed with a jolt. Jets of ocean shot through large cracks into the empty cabin. A current formed from a growing number of broken welds and rivets, which sent the man’s body into the back wall. He strained and pushed every muscle to reach up for the steel handle above him while the craft continued to go under.

Just as he was within a hand’s reach from gripping the handle, a rivet gave away and ripped a tile loose with it. Water almost instantly plunged the man’s head under as the cabin filled up.

Ambient navigation lights from the wrists of his unibody exosuit flickered on. He watched his own body reflexively convulse in the arctic waters, (which had been shocked by the submersion). Every conscious cell in his mind vehemently fought to overpower his paralyzed nerves to no avail. All his efforts were completely shut down by his nervous system’s reaction.

Even though fighting back seemed futile, he continued to urge every fiber of himself until there was an answer. At last, his numb extremities hesitantly responded. His partially open hands slowly snapped several magnetic straps together until a servo strapped him in. With his body secured to the raft, his hand grasped at the emergency lever above him.

He was one move away from being free... but the burst of strength he’d found began to ebb away. His grip began to lose its power. The man could feel his body being gracefully lulled to sleep by the bitterly cold sea that desired to keep him forever. In that moment, an impulse visibly jumpstarted him with a twitch. Though his body had begun to recede into numb darkness, his brain fired one last, desperate signal to wake up and finish what he started. Both arms reanimated and gave several determined tugs on the handle. With his last pull, the locking clamps gratefully disengaged.

An earsplitting pop carried through the water, which came from a unified series of mechanisms that split the sinking frame. The cabin mechanically broke apart while rivets holding the raft to the cabin wall popped free. Ionic rockets affixed to the raft violently spewed the pilot out of the water. Below him, the shuttle creaked and groaned loudly (as a result of restless seas breaking what was left of it apart).

For a few seconds, he watched his wrecked craft being pulled under, as if he was inside a lucid dream. With a hard splash, the raft impacted the water. He heard himself grunt as spray from the raging waves splashed on his throbbing head. A translucent canopy mechanically shot out of four slots in the top of the raft and chemically fused together. The man continued to stubbornly focus on keeping himself alive, though his body was failing to recover from a combination of shock and intense cold. His hearing waned along with his sight. In surges, he heard a rising and falling tone over the raging seas and howling winds; an automated homing beacon had started.

Several minutes passed as he felt his condition worsen, despite his every effort to prevent it. After a valiant endeavor to keep his shocked body alive, he felt his heart and respiration struggle to go on. No amount of willpower could stop the inevitable. His body quit with one last exhale; his life was over...

IN WHAT SEEMED LIKE the next minute, the man woke up with a strong twitch. His mind informed him he was no longer adrift in the raft, but was pressed flat against something. Aside from a garbled sound of sorts, he could hear nothing. He tried to open his eyes, but his consciousness wavered in and out. Bright, warm fingers seemed to leave his head, but through the mental haze he felt, it almost seemed like part of a fading dream.

Intermittent glimpses at a connected monitor (which visually echoed his erratic heart rate and breathing) revealed his situation. Once his vital signs stabilized, he finally gained steady consciousness. Garbled sound from before now became clear to him as a succinct, repeating tone that matched his now steady heart rate.

He fully opened his eyes, and as soon as he had, he instantly clenched them shut. Bright, recessed LED lighting stung and blinded his eyes. Everything morphed into a combination of neon green and pink shades. The patient massaged his eyelids, then opened them again slowly.

His flash blindness began to dissipate over the course of the next minute or so, which allowed him to clearly discern the overhead ceiling above him. Rigidly straight beams of stainless steel filled it in an austere pattern. In between the gaps of the closely parallel beams, shadows hid rows of fasteners and smart sprinklers.

With a determined grunt, he pushed himself off and up the medical bed in a single leap. Pain surged through his joints and various points of his body, which originated from every nerve and blood vessel in him trying to adjust to his sudden upright position (after days of lying down flat). The monitor warbled an error chime as it lost direct contact with the patient. To the man’s own astonishment, this reflexively caused him to react with an instant push on the top to quiet the alert. He let out an exhale; a delay timer appeared and began counting down. 10:00, 9:59, 9:58...

For an unknown reason, ever since he’d woke up, one deep, unnatural feeling told him he was in jeopardy. His very soul goaded him to leave: now. His eyes stared down at the timer. At its end, the one-time delay would alert the medical staff. As indicated by a biometric lock symbol he’d noticed under the time, only an authenticated user would be able to silence it once it started. If his feelings were right, then any hope would be gone. To stay would be to seal his own imprisonment. He was certain of it. He now had 9 minutes, 50 seconds remaining, and counting...

His eyes scanned the surrounding area near his magnetically levitating bed where the monitor stood. Everything was clearly medical. But... there was something unsettlingly off about it all. This room clearly was not part of a mere, average hospital. When he had first jumped up, he was almost certain he had seen the silhouette of a ship in the distance through the room’s thick floor to ceiling window — and that window was solid, reinforced with unmistakably military tungsten rivets.

Confident of his mind’s reliability, he ardently walked up to the window and glared out to study anything beyond it. Subconsciously, his brain began to learn and cache every detail that was around him. No subtle dithering (which he somehow knew to look for) seemed to betray an artificial rendition or reconstruction. It was real. Outside, artificial lighting streamed upward from high powered lights recessed in the ocean floor. And as a visual confirmation of what he’d seen before, the belly of a submerged Stonefish class star cruiser passed through a beam of light. Dimly illuminated features of sea mountains and the overhead ice pack showed off the splendor of the vast arctic environment around him. As the patient began to mentally connect everything he observed into a unified thought, bits of clarity broke through consistent confusion.

Clips and glimpses of the past replayed in bursts. Flashbacks revealed he’d stood in a place similar to this before. Intense focus led to another salvo of yet more memories in his head. Pictures of materials and faces started to resurface behind clenched eyes. Through a coarse whisper, he heard himself urge his mind to work. After enough concentration, the familiar interior, the metals, the sea had at last connected into coherent thought. He had to be inside one of the shelf installations situated around the polar latitudes on Theia.

While he mused over the reasons why he had been placed there, he turned away from the full wall window slowly. After a brief moment of speculation, he went on with his visual survey.

He glared back at the patient data (which was holographically projected from the inside of the machine to its outer surface). In the virtual page of information, he noted the patient name: Hale, Joash S. He let out a smile; His arrival date was recorded in a unified stellar calendar as 2 Andromeda 3022. Hale looked over at the system clock, then let out a sigh. The current date read 30 Andromeda. (Andromeda was equivalent to the month January on the Gregorian calendar as the starting month of the calendar year. This calendar was proposed and ratified by an interplanetary panel of astronomers to keep dates in common sync across varying worlds, and was adopted by nearly every Inhabited Region.)

The patient continued to read his own report. He had been admitted from a confirmed crash as unconscious with severe frostbite, open wounds, hypothermia, and shock on Gelid V. And apparently, when he’d been found, he had to be immediately resuscitated on site. A chill traveled through him as he saw himself marked for immediate trial for crimes against the state upon transfer. (His mind subconsciously understood this fact from a singular codename he recognized in the additional comments section of the profile.) In a vividly real sense, the nightmare he had awakened to had just begun. 5 minutes remained.

The man looked down at the medical gown on his body, then switched to examining his hands, arms, and legs. Visible scabs from scrapes were apparent in some areas, while scars from artificially sealed cuts were apparent elsewhere. He had fought something, someone, somewhere.

As he turned his arm inward toward his body, he briefly noticed a plane symbol etched in his left wrist. His mind instantly informed him, (just as it did with the ship), that the plane was a historic F-35 from the mythical Vinjaro system, which some archives had called ‘Earth’. If this was true, the icon was definitely unique to the present time. A memory of it wanted to reveal itself, but he couldn’t urge his mind to do it, despite the symbol’s very existence being strangely important. It reflected something about himself, but he couldn’t yet understand how or why.

Frustrated at his own lack of memory, he gave up and looked back up at the monitor. Reading the report over again caused his mind to recall fragments of the crash in a jumbled series of choppy scenes. There was something from then to here that deeply connected — and somehow, that connection was missing. Confusion overwhelmed him and muddled his purpose. Yet, a powerful sense of each moment being crucial to his own survival pounded at his mind from within. 4 minutes, 32 seconds now remained. Every second, every breath he wasted mattered.

He tried to start by methodically pushing at what he believed was a door, which had been resolutely sealed in place with no options for opening it. He stood back and looked at it again. Though the steel door had a clear cut around it that indicated it was indeed an exit, it had no visible hinges or manual latch from the inside. And upon closer inspection, some sort of silicon seal around its edges made it airtight. The only other door in the room led to a plain, bleached bathroom. He turned back to look at the timer on the monitor. 4 minutes remained.

He quickly stepped away and continued to survey the room for both options and details. Every attribute and every object he saw he mentally noted and cached. The floor was a hard, seamless, brushed steel. The front and back walls were snowy white. He felt at them for texture; they were made of a cold, strong alloy of sorts.

Sterile, magnetic, achromatic cabinets and drawers lined the starboard wall. One compartment had been left open. (In contrast to a traditional cabinet door, the material compressed as it opened.) Sandwiched between the upper and lower storage, a cadet gray countertop ran from edge to edge. In the center of the countertop, he noted a wide stainless steel sink recessed inside. From what he could tell, the faucet temperature regulator was fully digital, with a proximity sensor and impulsive temperature control.

In a series of rushed movements, he rummaged through the items in the open cabinet. An inactive medical evaluator, several radiative and laser tools, and about a dozen rounded, labeled cubes (with various painkillers, medical kits, and sleep aids) all sat inside. Hale stopped. He stood still for a moment and allowed his mind to process the information he had gathered so far. Several options were available.

The unsettling feel about this room became almost potent enough to be a voice. Unhindered urgency within his being compelled him to decide — now.

2 minutes, 59 seconds remained. He grabbed several of the tools from the kit, then walked with a partial jog toward the door. With his free hand, he swiped down on both switches on the lighting panel simultaneously with a two finger slide. (This controlled both the lighting of the room and a chemical layer built into the window.)

After scattered commotion of fabrics being stirred and a brief scuffle, everything went silent in the darkened space. One loud, forced snap, a click, a slide, another click, and finally, a final snap then followed in an unnatural sort of sequence.

A down pitched hum and orange arc built up from the newly improvised device. Locks inside the door clicked and creaked as its material expanded from applied energy. Scalding heat made its way to the outside of the tool (thanks to the unsupported modifications to it), which made Hale throw the tool down with a quick jerk. A few seconds later, a loud pop twanged through the room.

With his work done, he quietly stood against the wall. Each of his breaths became slower and calculated. Anxiously, stealthily, he waited for the inquisitive souls that he knew must be outside.

He looked back at the monitor with a fixed stare. The last minute began counting down. 0:59, 0:58, 0:57...

An arm from the outside began to slowly push the door open. Eyes from the inquisitive soul entering the room peered into the darkness; curiously, something which appeared to be the patient was on the hover bed.

Hale’s ears rang. His heart primed every vein for action. Light streaming in from the outside cast a shadow, which revealed the angle of the incoming stranger. Hale remained motionless. A boot slightly squeaked and stepped into the room, followed by the next step, then the next. The patient’s psyche was cool. The tension of the moment did nothing to affect his goal.

Once the man had fully entered the room, his hand reached for the light panel — but the patient could not surrender the elements of surprise and darkness. Within a split second, before the intruder could cry out, Hale’s arm clamped around his neck. After a few seconds, the guard passed out.

While he slowly released him, the two other guards outside fired a series of bluish charges, which the limp body of the first guard absorbed. The patient quickly drew the MP’s sidearm and returned fire with two rapid bolts. A quick second later, both guards fell to the ground. Hale quietly exited the room, with a brief glance at the dark teal, mesh uniforms for details. Each had a flag embossed on their shoulder which the man consciously recognized. He knew this flag. It was home; it was his.

Hale’s focus shifted forward as he exited from the room. With a new weapon securely clasped in the palm of his hand, he visually scanned the hallway in fleeting glimpses for anyone who may be waiting for him. Oddly, (but rather fortunately for the escaping patient), no one else was in the hall. He quickly wondered whether the simple exit from the room was a trap — but even if it was, his will compelled him to ignore all doubts. He must go forward.

Upon stepping out, he saw the halls followed the same theme as the room. Its clean, meticulously identical interior resolutely reaffirmed one thing in his mind: he was definitely inside a base belonging the Congruent Zones. Yes, that was it! That was the flag he saw — the flag of the Congruent Zones! The humble but bold icon of his home country, on his home world. Through the mental haze, this part suddenly made sense. Despite the series of questions that remained, he knew this environment well. He indulged in its cool, spartan atmosphere. Somehow, he felt he was one with its very feel.

The learning escapee briskly walked away from the open room, in search of any markers, signs, a directory — anything that could tell him more, or better yet, indicate where there’d be a vehicle out. Cued by a dark object that stood out against the gray, the man glanced up at the ceiling. An upsettingly obvious camera was several tricolojs ahead. (The Inhabited Regions utilize tricolojs as a unit of measurement close to a yard (or 30 colojs); colojs themselves are close to inches).

Cameras were remnants of long past age, but at a mere fraction of a credit for each... they were as temptingly inexpensive as they were capable of seeing him.

Yet, even through the understanding he was being watched, his mind relentlessly prodded him on. He must leave. He could not and cannot go back. Unafraid, he found himself walking under the cameras. His instinct and soul prodded him onward with an incessant longing to escape.

Hale suddenly came to a twitching halt; the monitor alarm started to noisily trill in an obnoxious loop. With the source clear, he resumed his brisk walk down the passageway. His eyes keenly watched for any potential adversary ahead, but so far, he was alone. For the first time in about 10 tricolojs of nothing on either side (since passing the first camera), he saw an open door.

From what he could see inside it from his passing glance, it was a vacant medical room similar to the one he’d just broke out of. Directly ahead of him by about 5 tricolojs, an open doorway revealed a digital map on the wall.

He sped up to a near jog and stopped in front of the glass sheet. Curiously, it was blank. The escapee gave it a curious stare, which caused a green dot with inward waves to appear and show where he was on the map. One quick movement of his eyes caused a line to unexpectedly flash. Hale let out a quick smile as he realized the map had ocular tracking built in.

The patient directed all his focus on the dot, which caused the map to bring up millicoloj sized labels and the outlines of each compartment. A bright green trail (connected to the location dot) followed his eye movements and slinked down the passages. Approximate distance info appeared in the corner with every update. The map had revealed his original location had been medical room 2B, located in one of several medical areas.

Careful peering over sections which appeared significant revealed a decontamination and recycling area (0.57 minutes from his position at average walking speed). 2 other locations essential to an escape plan rapidly forming in his mind also found themselves being memorized. Altogether, if executed right, he might just be able to make it out alive. His eyes reviewed the routes one last time, then focused back on the path ahead.

As the alarm continued to blare, one question somehow kept coming to his mind. Where was the facility’s response team? The patient quietly continued down the passageway, and after a series of turns and airtight exits, he finally saw the label to his first destination on a plain, metal door. Nothing was on it, except for some sort of scanner under shatterproof, black glass.

A silent groan rose inside him; finding a way in with the little time he had wouldn’t be possible. Just as he began to focus on another map plate at the end of the passage, a woman exited the room with a hovering service cart.

This was it. There might not be a second opportunity to get in once the door locked... and it’d begun to close, thanks to its timed latching system. The desperate fugitive quickened his pace to a zealous run. A few seconds later, the closing door latched with a mechanical click. He let out a grateful sigh; he was in.

The escapee adjusted his eyes to purple light that barely illuminated the shapes in the darkness. Automated shredders bolted to the walls of the room devoured retired uniforms and linens given to them by airborne bots. Strands of these shredded fabrics then rained into a series of filters that both separated and ground the material into bits, which finally went into various bins on the floor for recycling.

A consistent, unpleasant odor of old materials and low, chugging static filled the room. In between it, mechanical thumping and grinding from the uniform shredders added an offbeat, randomized rhythm to the dull environment.

Ahead of him (and in the center of the room), rows of uniforms made of dark, porous material danced in air currents from ventilation ducts. Several airborne, non-sapient bots reconditioned and scrubbed several underneath a bath of black light. Each uniform hung from suspended, metal racks, thanks to magnets built into their collars.

None of them had buttons, zippers, or straps. There was also no external insignia (since these were embossed into the material itself in the proper locations, such as collars, cuffs, and shoulders). An empty, inset holster was embedded into both forearms of each uniform, (which could accommodate various add-ons, such as tactical or survival gear). The surface skin of all of them was made of a synthetically engineered, metal fabric dubbed remattinium. This material had close to the same mobility traditional fabrics from Earth would, but was substantially tougher, and successfully replaced older versions of both federal and military uniforms.

While the man systemically felt the inset insignia on the wrists and collars of the varied, vaguely visible uniforms, he thought again of the plane icon embossed in his left wrist... and the two combined almost involuntarily triggered a cascade of imagery.

His mind first played back a memory from the week before he’d boarded the interstellar transport to go to Spatial training. After a salvo of rather low insults and being labeled a coward, Hale responded with a quick punch to the challenger’s head. The other four that were around him then began to take him on, and the younger Hale appeared to be winning against the group that faced him, until the fifth stumbled in and tossed green sand into Hale’s eyes. After this, the previously victorious fighter was quickly overwhelmed and pinned down. From there, any hands or feet that could reach him violently punched and kicked at him until he could no longer strike back. The lead bully signaled the others to hoist their defeated foe up, clicked a heat emitter on, then held a metal silhouette of a F-35 in between a set of tongs. He let out a self-gratifying laugh once it’d glowed red, then branded his defeated foe with it. Their victim indignantly held in a wince but still had no energy to stand. With a hand signal from the bully, the group threw him against a rock. A voice the still conscious Hale could hear jeered, Piece of trash. This memory was then replaced by a jumble of rapid turns, blips, flashes of light, and the exhilaration of reaching hypersonic speed for the first time. Then, with a sudden jolt, the stream of memories switched to the stern stare of the visitor from the crash.

After connecting to where he’d last seen him, he instantly jumped back. Unconsciously, the man stumbled into a row of uniforms that were separate from the others. His weapon dropped to the floor, and his hands grasped tightly to a unibody uniform for balance. As he regained his stance, the magnetic collar of the exosuit popped free of the rack. Without wasting time, he felt at its embossed insignia in the dark. His fingers distinguished two distinct stripes. Again, his mind automatically relayed to him this was a Spatial Stelionaut’s uniform (equivalent to a Nautical Lieutenant) — though how he innately knew this was still a partial mystery to him. One thing he was sure of, however, was that these stripes were more than just merely familiar. This is who he was.

He rapidly tore off the medical gown, and just as quickly put