Inspired by "Sha Ka Ree" by ThereBeWhalesHere. (AO3)
Posting this actually terrifies me. I haven't written anything except essays and Uni-related stuff and I apparently forgot how to write fiction. Any grammatical/syntactical horror present is my fault, and my fault only. If you notice major mistakes do point them out to me, and I will proceed to fix everything the best I can.
Unbetaed, at least for now.
FREE FALL
Interstellar Federation's headquarters, stardate: 2319.22.
Voices upon voices filled the control room talking in different languages at the same time, some sending instructions and other lending advice. Aside for a small hiccup on Titan ― a mercantile spaceship clashed with the native race due to a cultural misunderstanding ― that was quickly resolved, it had been a fairly uneventful day.
No wars on federate planets. No stars about to explode. The Academy was thriving with new life.
Then, something chimed; a sound so quiet it could have passed unnoticed, drowned out by the many voices reverberating in the room, had it not been so unexpected and peculiar.
«Commander Scanlan?» a voice emerged, calling for a black man in his fifties who was walking around the room, making sure everyone was doing their job. «Something's up in the Gamma Algirae System.»
The Gamma Algirae system was the largest open cluster in a radius of 2000 light years. Distant from most of the inhabited space, unremarkable in nature, and with no sentient species registered, it was a part of the universe the Federation wasn't too interested in.
Commander Scanlan marched up to the troubled officer and leveled the screen, eyes focused on the flashing dot.
«It's the probe orbiting around 𝜇-Bopp, sir.»
He squared his shoulders. The Federation had installed a probe in the star system (as per regulations) in stardate 2215, monitoring stellar activity and planets. Nothing except a dozen of magnetic storms and large meteors passing by was ever registered, remarking just how quiet and uninteresting that part of space was.
Until four months before, when the probe had transmitted a singular reading of unknown origin: the signal was too disturbed, and the transmission itself too distorted, to be deciphered and identified. It had been a one-time event, leading the base to believe that either the probe was malfunctioning or a stellar event messed with the system. But when it happened again two months later, they received proof that it was something more than an internal issue.
This was the third time. Three too many.
«Analyze it,» he grasped the backseat tight as the officer rushed to type commands. On the screen, the red dot flashed three times as a communication window opened.
The room, meanwhile, fell into an unnatural, expectant silence. Not a single person was paying mind to their own screens, heads turned toward Commander Scanlan and the mysterious flashing dot.
The officer shook his head. «The reading's corrupted, sir. The computer can't translate it.»
A nightmarish screech erupted from the speakers as he said so; a metallic wail like rusty gears rotating against each other, and scratched high-pitched noise that shrilled inside the ears of the people there. Everyone rushed to cover their ears, some also crouching down as trying to get away from the noise.
It lasted two minutes, then quiet fell over the room again. Commander Scanlan towered over the console, ears still reeling from the acoustic attack. Around him, thirty or so terrified officers looked at him expectantly with wide eyes.
«Officer Boyde,» he called out to a feminine-looking scaly humanoid, yellowish skin, and two sets of eyes widened in surprise.
They stood, clearly off-put by the transmission: «Commands, sir.»
«Contact the Academy and ask for Xenobiology Professor Frankenstein. Tell him I want his ass here as soon as possible.»
A murmur raised from the seats, but he paid it no mind and turned to a female Aldebaranian officer: «Have the Prometheus ready for exploration. We're sending our professor to do some field research.»
And Scanlan knew no one who wanted it more than Frankenstein.
Commander Scanlan looked terribly older than he remembered. Always severe and stern, his face was now decorated with a couple more scars and a bionic eye. He stood in front of the tunnel leading to the hangars, hands behind his back like a perfect soldier, and was staring at his closing-in figure.
«Greetings, Professor.» Frankenstein emerged from behind two armed Federation guards, adjusting the badge pinned to his uniform, and Scanlan extended his hand.
«Were the guards necessary for this?» Frankenstein asked him, reluctantly offering his own. Scanlan gestured him to follow but didn't worry to check, turning on his feet and walking inside the tunnel.
«I was just making sure you would show up. Thought about coming there myself, but I am a busy man.»
Frankenstein followed, maintaining a slower pace on purpose so he would not flank the Commander.
«Oh, wouldn't I know that.»
The S.C. Prometheus waited for him in the Interstellar Federation hangar, coming to life with a deep electric hum resonating through the metallic corridors and walls.
Scanlan stopped. Two officers showed up from a side door with clothes in their hands: a Federation spacesuit complete of boots, gloves, and the official badge. He was meant to change into Federation clothes, pilot a Federation spaceship, help in a Federation mission.
Almost ironic, almost funny; Frankenstein didn't laugh. He collected the clothes and walked up to a private booth to change, and Scanlan followed.
«You don't have to keep such a close eye on me, Commander,» he sing-sang from behind a metal door. «It's not like I have more thrilling projects in my hands at the moment.»
«Can't be too sure with you, Professor .» Scanlan put emphasis on the last word with intention. As if he needed a reminder of who he was now.
Once changed, Frankenstein was led to the boarding dock of the starship. He walked in silence up to the control room, alone, sitting on the chair in a way that would not crease its fabric. His back curved against the seat, arms laying on the full length of the armrests, he allowed a breath to escape his lips and his eyes to close. Opening them again, his own face reflected on the windshield was staring back; beyond that, the endless vastity of darkness and stars, light years away. Something he'd been familiar with for so long and from which he was torn off, now once again within his reach.
His hand naturally curled around the controller, some sort of exhilaration building up in his chest from knowing how far he could go with only one small push.
«Everything is set,» the voice of an officer chimed in his earpiece as the screen flooded with pictures and diagrams his eager eyes devoured, hungry for action. «The specifics of your mission are available on both your tricord and the ship's database.»
«When was the last time you piloted one of these?» Scanlan interjected.
The grip of his hand around the control lever tightened for a moment, then relaxed. «I don't remember, when did you revoke my pilot status?»
The officer's voice returned and he leaned back, preparing for the takeoff. « Are you ready, sir? »
«Ready as I'll ever be,» he grinned, already savoring the sight of darkness around himself.
The Prometheus hummed again, lower this time, as the hangar opened overhead and the thrusters activated. Commander Scanlan said not a word more, and Frankenstein was grateful.
« Three– »
He adjusted the suit and changed its color from standard red and grey to black, eyes barely pausing on the helmet provided by the IDC as part of the uniform and making no move to reach for it.
« Two ―»
The ship vibrated as the thrusters reached full-power. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Blood thumped in his ears like ritual drums.
« One ―»
The power was released. One second later, he was surrounded by distant lights, the green orb that is Mab growing farther by the second until it was lost behind him among countless other bright dots.
Inhale, exhale.
He leaned toward the console, excitement bright in his eyes.
«Initialize warp sequence level 2. Access code: HF-9011. Coordinates to 𝜇-Bopp, Gamma Algirae System.»
The computer signaled the operation with a high-pitched beep, adjusting speed and thrusters' power for the warp; a second later, the portion of universe visible through the windshield seemed to twist into a tunnel.
Frankenstein hadn't piloted a ship in five years, six months and twenty-one days; he hadn't seen one either in that span of time, except the ones occasionally flying above cities, all because of the Interstellar Federation. The same Federation who asked him to pilot their newest ship to a probe 1760 light years away to extract data on-site and search for the transmission's origin point.
He thought of refusing. When Scanlan called, Frankenstein thought of laughing in his face and tell the Federation to shove it. But the truth, which infinitely irked him, was that he could not decline the offer. The Federation deprived him of the universe and was willing to give it back, although for a short amount of time. His body craved zero gravity, craved the glimmering stars and the iridescent nebulas, felt their call day and night like Earthian wolves used to hear the Moon's.
Frankenstein spotted the probe orbiting around the red dwarf, seemingly unscathed as far as it concerned the external components. He followed the safety procedures to the letter, scanning surrounding stars for possible stellar events and radiations; only when the word "SAFE" flashed on the screen he turned the scanner toward the probe.
Not only the hardware, but also the network and digital system were copacetic. Puzzling. «Computer, send a standard request for generalities to the probe. Let's get a sample transmission and see what's up,» he huffed the command in hope to catch anomalies in new transmissions, receiving nothing but perfect readings instead.
All that was left to do before resorting to extravehicular activity was manual on-board data extraction. One long extendible cable emerged from the hull of the ship; he guided it like a hard-mode version of a crane machine until it physically connected to the probe, and he started the extraction.
The process didn't usually take long to finish and this was an outdated system easy to access, but the wait had him itch all over and soon became unbearable. Stillness was never something he could achieve, and his need to constantly be challenged is what made him an excellent pilot, an unsatisfied teacher, and a terrible full-time lover.
He watched with a certain amount of impatience as Terabytes of information transferred into the Prometheus ' database, his right leg almost numb from all the bouncing up and down, and occasionally glance to the screen where extravehicular conditions were monitored to check for sudden changes in atmospheric readings.
« DATA EXTRACTION COMPLETE. »
«Select reading .»
It was a 3 minutes transmission of what the computer described as the result of a geomagnetic storm originating from a star much more active than 𝜇-Bopp. The probe was outdated, but geomagnetic storms hadn't been an issue since the Mars colony invented the magnetic shields, back into stardate 2127. One couldn't possibly cause that much damage.
He listened to the transmission. Nothing of interest appeared until 01:20, when a faint static noise often overlapped with the signal; it grew louder, and from 02:18 onwards the original signal was completely unintelligible and undecipherable due to a scratching sound resembling the scraping of metal on metal.
All at once the gravity of the ship gave out, lifting Frankenstein up and then slamming him violently against the seat. Countless asteroids big like human heads flew past and against the ship. As he struggled to get to his feet, he saw the main thruster hover behind the windshield, attracted by the red dwarf.
Next, the ship was falling. Frankenstein reached to send a distress signal, only to be bounced against a wall by another collision. Metal bent and snapped overhead, windshield cracked in a spider web pattern and small stones stuck into the glass, as he staggered to his feet and moved toward the helmet. The digital system was dead. No scans, no warps, no shields or communication systems ― nothing worked except the piercing shrill of the alarm and the manual steering mechanism. He moved to reach for the helmet only to change his mind at the last second and turn to the controls, ship tearing through the planet's atmosphere like a meteor.
A sickening screech of metal exploded behind his back, but Frankenstein was too focused on steering the ship and attempt an emergency landing to notice. He couldn't, however, ignore the sudden blast of wind entering the cockpit and how it whipped against his body. He gritted his teeth and grasped the lever tighter, fingernails piercing through the flesh of his own hands, blood dripping upwards as the vacuum sucked it outside.
Frankenstein calculated the distance from the ground and how long it would take for the ship to crash.
10.000 meters.
How many breaths he could take before the air got knocked out of his lungs forever.
5.000 meters
He pulled the steering lever harder and cursed, feeling the Prometheus to quake all around him.
2.000 meters.
He braced himself for the collision with the ground when a searing pain sized his right side and a sudden stream of warm liquid soaked the spacesuit.
1.000 meters.
"Fuck you, Federation," was the last conscious thought he mustered before everything went black, as the windshield exploded into a million fragments.
I based most technical terms and space stuff (like the Federation) on Star Trek because it has extensive lore and terminology already developed. I do not intend to create a massive Sci-Fi universe, so I took the easy road with that - hopefully, this won't be the thing that makes you quit.
More tags will be added as the story proceeds, and the rating may change - a content warning will be placed at the start of the chapter if the need arises.
Thank you!