Conflation —Part 3
Apr. 20th, 2006 11:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
secret_historyOkay, so since I'm on a posting spree, I shall give you the third installment of Conflation as well. Since I first posted it in the first week of February, and there is consensus that it should be posted every two weeks, I think that puts me about three, possibly four installments behind. I shall catch those up in due course, and then begin posting regularly, probably on Thursdays. You should all know that ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fallenseraph posts Slip/Stream on Thursdays as well, so you should go read that serial as well, and get two science fiction serials for the price of one!
I was originally going to go with Wednesdays, but a part of me is still hoping that Echo and Afterimage will one day resume in its regularly-scheduled slot. :)
Anyway, on with the show!
*****
3- Voices
He was still slipping. Slowly, inexorably, inch by inch. The heat from the incinerator rose to meet him and rolled over him in waves, making the air shimmer. Sweat poured off his body, soaking the white cotton shirt and grey pants with which he presumed he'd been issued when he was first imprisoned. He tried to formulate another plan of escape in his mind as every second brought him closer to the flames, but no options seemed to present themselves to him. He knew he must die before letting himself be captured again, but that was a last resort. For now he wanted to stay alive. He dared not try to climb back up the chute, fearing that lifting either a hand or a foot away from where he'd managed to get a tenuous hold on the slick metallic surface would send him plunging into the red heat below.
He'd found that for the moment, at least, he could not control his sweat glands enough to prevent himself the excessive perspiration that was forming on his face, on the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet, and hat was running in a cold trickle down his back; the combination of heat and stress, and whatever these people had done to him over the course of repeated interrogations had lowered his resistance, tampered with his ability to adapt to circumstances as they arose.
The sirens above continued to wail, echoing inside his head. The heat around him increased, and he gritted his teeth as the metallic chute began to burn against his bare flesh. He resisted the instinct to move away from the pain. To move at all could send him plunging downward into the flames. His muscles ached and threatened to cramp up. There was nothing to do but wait and see if another avenue opened itself up to him, and to hang on for dear life until that happened.
He didn't bother trying to access anything beyond the barriers in his mind. There was no point. It was either safely locked away or not there at all. More importantly, right now he needed to concentrate on the present, and it was unlikely anything would come back to him: the procedures had been perfected for precisely this sort of situation. Well, perhaps not quite precisely this sort of situation, he allowed. His right foot slipped and for a heart-stopping moment he slid almost nine inches toward the incinerator before he managed to find enough purchase to halt his decent again, stifling a shout of pain as the metal seared his skin. No thinking about that now. Bad idea. The smallest distraction might mean death. He forced himself to concentrate. No more thinking about lost memories. There was only the here and now to deal with.
The lights went out.
He felt the whole station shudder, a minor tremor for such a huge structure, but which nonetheless must have been felt from one side of it to another. This wasn't a simple electrical failure, then: the power must have been completely shut off. He wasn't sure how he knew that,
but the knowledge was there and he accepted it. He had slipped another foot, but the incinerator was no longer operational, and the heat in the air was residual now, rather than increasing every second. The metal immediately began to cool to a more tolerable level, and he found himself breathing easier. There still was no way out, but at least he wasn't in immediate danger of either suffocating or falling directly into the flames. He allowed himself the luxury of wondering what might have happened for a moment before turning his attention back to his predicament.
A moment later, the option he'd been hoping for presented himself. He'd continued sliding down, even now that the heat was off, and suddenly his left foot lost its purchase, pushing against thin air for a heartbeat, and came to rest on what felt like a ledge. He twisted around, scrabbling with toes and fingers to catch hold of the ledge, and found that it was not a ledge so much as a maintenance shaft leading off to the side and, more importantly, away from the chute. The access panel was ridiculously easy to bypass, none of the maintenance crew having deemed it necessary to change the default access codes programmed when the station had been built. He eased himself inside head first and began to crawl away, feeling the air grow colder as he went.
Keep moving. His instincts told him that, even now while it seemed safe, staying where he was put him in mortal peril. As soon as the station recovered from whatever was happening, the internal sensors would begin their sweeps again, he would be located and retrieved. His arms and legs hurt fiercely from the exertion to which they'd obviously become unaccustomed during his imprisonment. How long had he been a captive? He had no way of knowing. Not now.
He had no idea of the layout of the station, if indeed it was even a station. The likelihood was high, but it was not a certainty. If this was a maintenance shaft, then common sense dictated it must connect later on with a central system. With any luck, the access panels would all prove just as easy to get through as the first, but even if they weren't, he was confident he'd be able to break any but the most complicated access code. Access panels in maintenance shafts weren't designed to keep out intruders, but to provide safety for the maintenance staff. From there he might be able to make his way to the docking port and find transport away from here. He knew, with the instinctive knowledge that had told him that normally he ought to be able to control his bodily functions, that he could pilot most small vessels well enough to effect an escape. What he would do afterward, where he would go, was still up in the air. Perhaps a homing instinct would kick in once he was free from immediate danger.
The shaft sloped upward after a few more metres, and finally led into a much larger vertical shaft conveniently equipped with a ladder, and just as easy to access. He smiled to himself as he caught sight of a small laminated map affixed to the metallic walls of the shaft. He was on an Imperium station, and that by itself made things a good deal easier, even while it made the situation a lot more dangerous. Only the Imperium would be so self-assured as to leave a detailed layout of its stations where an enemy might have easy access to it. While it was the most powerful force in most of the known universe, it also suffered from the plague always associated with governments of its size: bureaucracy. There was obviously some law or code in effect that made the availability of such maps mandatory for the security of the maintenance crews that worked on Imperium stations. It was a good idea in theory, as long as the only ones to use the maintenance shafts were, in fact, the maintenance crews. However, it was also a weakness that an enemy could exploit, given the opportunity.
Right now all this map gave him was an idea of where he was, and the quickest and most efficient escape routes available to him, if the information detailed there was to be trusted, which he assumed it was. He could not by himself do any large amount of damage to the station, nor did he want to: any such action would likely put him in far more jeopardy than the risk was worth. After studying the map for a few moments and committing the layout of the maintenance shafts and tunnels to memory, he turned and began clambering up the metallic rungs of the ladder that had been bolted to the wall. The docking port was several levels above where he was, and he estimated it would take him anywhere between twenty and thirty minutes to reach it, depending on how quickly he tired and how easily he could get past the security on each level.
He made good time at first, then after about fifteen minutes he felt his strength begin to flag. Under normal circumstances the climb wouldn't have posed any difficulty whatsoever. He knew this with the strange certainty unfounded on fact with which he'd found all his knowledge had come to him today. There would be time to think about this phenomenon later. For now, he had to concentrate on escape. Whatever had been done to him would have to wait. He focussed solely on the ladder, on taking it one rung at a time, going as quickly as he could force his tired legs to pump and his arms to pull.
He climbed until his muscled screamed and his lungs burned, and wondered for a moment whether he hadn't miscalculated, whether the docking port wasn't below him. He shook the thought away. There must be no doubt. No hesitation. He knew what the right way was, now all he must do is stay the course. Trust the instinct that wasn't really instinct. There would be ships waiting for him, and if he was lucky then the power in the station would still be out when he arrived, and he would be able to commandeer some kind of craft. Getting the docking clamps to unlock would not be difficult, but avoiding any detection might be.
His arms shook. His hands threatened to lose their grip on the slippery metal. He paused before trying to open the next panel, leaning on the ladder to rest, just for a moment. He guessed he must be nearly two-thirds of the way to his destination.
That's when he heard the voices.
*****
fallenseraph posts Slip/Stream on Thursdays as well, so you should go read that serial as well, and get two science fiction serials for the price of one!I was originally going to go with Wednesdays, but a part of me is still hoping that Echo and Afterimage will one day resume in its regularly-scheduled slot. :)
Anyway, on with the show!
3- Voices
He was still slipping. Slowly, inexorably, inch by inch. The heat from the incinerator rose to meet him and rolled over him in waves, making the air shimmer. Sweat poured off his body, soaking the white cotton shirt and grey pants with which he presumed he'd been issued when he was first imprisoned. He tried to formulate another plan of escape in his mind as every second brought him closer to the flames, but no options seemed to present themselves to him. He knew he must die before letting himself be captured again, but that was a last resort. For now he wanted to stay alive. He dared not try to climb back up the chute, fearing that lifting either a hand or a foot away from where he'd managed to get a tenuous hold on the slick metallic surface would send him plunging into the red heat below.
He'd found that for the moment, at least, he could not control his sweat glands enough to prevent himself the excessive perspiration that was forming on his face, on the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet, and hat was running in a cold trickle down his back; the combination of heat and stress, and whatever these people had done to him over the course of repeated interrogations had lowered his resistance, tampered with his ability to adapt to circumstances as they arose.
The sirens above continued to wail, echoing inside his head. The heat around him increased, and he gritted his teeth as the metallic chute began to burn against his bare flesh. He resisted the instinct to move away from the pain. To move at all could send him plunging downward into the flames. His muscles ached and threatened to cramp up. There was nothing to do but wait and see if another avenue opened itself up to him, and to hang on for dear life until that happened.
He didn't bother trying to access anything beyond the barriers in his mind. There was no point. It was either safely locked away or not there at all. More importantly, right now he needed to concentrate on the present, and it was unlikely anything would come back to him: the procedures had been perfected for precisely this sort of situation. Well, perhaps not quite precisely this sort of situation, he allowed. His right foot slipped and for a heart-stopping moment he slid almost nine inches toward the incinerator before he managed to find enough purchase to halt his decent again, stifling a shout of pain as the metal seared his skin. No thinking about that now. Bad idea. The smallest distraction might mean death. He forced himself to concentrate. No more thinking about lost memories. There was only the here and now to deal with.
The lights went out.
He felt the whole station shudder, a minor tremor for such a huge structure, but which nonetheless must have been felt from one side of it to another. This wasn't a simple electrical failure, then: the power must have been completely shut off. He wasn't sure how he knew that,
but the knowledge was there and he accepted it. He had slipped another foot, but the incinerator was no longer operational, and the heat in the air was residual now, rather than increasing every second. The metal immediately began to cool to a more tolerable level, and he found himself breathing easier. There still was no way out, but at least he wasn't in immediate danger of either suffocating or falling directly into the flames. He allowed himself the luxury of wondering what might have happened for a moment before turning his attention back to his predicament.
A moment later, the option he'd been hoping for presented himself. He'd continued sliding down, even now that the heat was off, and suddenly his left foot lost its purchase, pushing against thin air for a heartbeat, and came to rest on what felt like a ledge. He twisted around, scrabbling with toes and fingers to catch hold of the ledge, and found that it was not a ledge so much as a maintenance shaft leading off to the side and, more importantly, away from the chute. The access panel was ridiculously easy to bypass, none of the maintenance crew having deemed it necessary to change the default access codes programmed when the station had been built. He eased himself inside head first and began to crawl away, feeling the air grow colder as he went.
Keep moving. His instincts told him that, even now while it seemed safe, staying where he was put him in mortal peril. As soon as the station recovered from whatever was happening, the internal sensors would begin their sweeps again, he would be located and retrieved. His arms and legs hurt fiercely from the exertion to which they'd obviously become unaccustomed during his imprisonment. How long had he been a captive? He had no way of knowing. Not now.
He had no idea of the layout of the station, if indeed it was even a station. The likelihood was high, but it was not a certainty. If this was a maintenance shaft, then common sense dictated it must connect later on with a central system. With any luck, the access panels would all prove just as easy to get through as the first, but even if they weren't, he was confident he'd be able to break any but the most complicated access code. Access panels in maintenance shafts weren't designed to keep out intruders, but to provide safety for the maintenance staff. From there he might be able to make his way to the docking port and find transport away from here. He knew, with the instinctive knowledge that had told him that normally he ought to be able to control his bodily functions, that he could pilot most small vessels well enough to effect an escape. What he would do afterward, where he would go, was still up in the air. Perhaps a homing instinct would kick in once he was free from immediate danger.
The shaft sloped upward after a few more metres, and finally led into a much larger vertical shaft conveniently equipped with a ladder, and just as easy to access. He smiled to himself as he caught sight of a small laminated map affixed to the metallic walls of the shaft. He was on an Imperium station, and that by itself made things a good deal easier, even while it made the situation a lot more dangerous. Only the Imperium would be so self-assured as to leave a detailed layout of its stations where an enemy might have easy access to it. While it was the most powerful force in most of the known universe, it also suffered from the plague always associated with governments of its size: bureaucracy. There was obviously some law or code in effect that made the availability of such maps mandatory for the security of the maintenance crews that worked on Imperium stations. It was a good idea in theory, as long as the only ones to use the maintenance shafts were, in fact, the maintenance crews. However, it was also a weakness that an enemy could exploit, given the opportunity.
Right now all this map gave him was an idea of where he was, and the quickest and most efficient escape routes available to him, if the information detailed there was to be trusted, which he assumed it was. He could not by himself do any large amount of damage to the station, nor did he want to: any such action would likely put him in far more jeopardy than the risk was worth. After studying the map for a few moments and committing the layout of the maintenance shafts and tunnels to memory, he turned and began clambering up the metallic rungs of the ladder that had been bolted to the wall. The docking port was several levels above where he was, and he estimated it would take him anywhere between twenty and thirty minutes to reach it, depending on how quickly he tired and how easily he could get past the security on each level.
He made good time at first, then after about fifteen minutes he felt his strength begin to flag. Under normal circumstances the climb wouldn't have posed any difficulty whatsoever. He knew this with the strange certainty unfounded on fact with which he'd found all his knowledge had come to him today. There would be time to think about this phenomenon later. For now, he had to concentrate on escape. Whatever had been done to him would have to wait. He focussed solely on the ladder, on taking it one rung at a time, going as quickly as he could force his tired legs to pump and his arms to pull.
He climbed until his muscled screamed and his lungs burned, and wondered for a moment whether he hadn't miscalculated, whether the docking port wasn't below him. He shook the thought away. There must be no doubt. No hesitation. He knew what the right way was, now all he must do is stay the course. Trust the instinct that wasn't really instinct. There would be ships waiting for him, and if he was lucky then the power in the station would still be out when he arrived, and he would be able to commandeer some kind of craft. Getting the docking clamps to unlock would not be difficult, but avoiding any detection might be.
His arms shook. His hands threatened to lose their grip on the slippery metal. He paused before trying to open the next panel, leaning on the ladder to rest, just for a moment. He guessed he must be nearly two-thirds of the way to his destination.
That's when he heard the voices.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-04-21 04:07 am (UTC)Your timing for posting these things is great, btw. I was just wishing I had something interesting to distract me from having to write about cogs for a half hour or so, and Bam! Spree of Phnee stories ^-^
no subject
Date: 2006-04-21 04:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-21 04:40 am (UTC)You don't know what a force of will it took not to read BtP when I woke up late on Wednesday morning ;)
no subject
Date: 2006-04-21 04:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-21 04:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-21 04:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-21 04:35 am (UTC)*cough*
Good point. I shall look over my text and see where what I wrote veered away from what I'm seeing in my head.
Writing sci fi is damned hard.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-26 04:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-12 11:02 am (UTC)Which is a good thing. It's fun sometimes, knowing more than the character. Especially one like this, who knows way more than we do.
t!