Starbound is the property of Chucklefish Games.

Frackin' Universe is an awesome, in-depth modification for Starbound that adds all new depth into the game. I highly encourage you, reader, to play the game with or without the mod, however you choose.

Chapter 2: Destination Unknown


Everything hurt.

Murian stirred, but the aching of her entire body persisted. The gnawing pain reminded her that she was alive, that they (or she at least) had escaped the disaster on earth,

And that she was ravenously hungry.

"P.A.I.L.?" she whimpered, cracking open her eyes, and forcing her creaking limbs into motion. A murmur drew her tentative gaze to the front, where the only light within the ship faintly glowed.

Using the wall to support her, Murian stumbled weakly through the darkened room, until, eventually, she reached the dim, light blue panel. On the screen was a prompt, and a rendered gear. The console quietly spoke again,

"Please reboot the system."(1)

Dazed, Murian pressed her finger against the prompt on the screen. Almost instantly, the ship came to life. A low hum began throughout the cabin, and the room was bathed in off-white light. It was a bare-bones affair, with a scuffed, ridged metal floor, and walls paneled in dull-gray plastic. On the screen, an A.I. avatar shown, vaguely humanoid in shape, and began to speak.

"Greetings, Murian. I am now your ship-based artificial intelligence lattice, or S.A.I.L. (2)" It stated in a synthetic voice. "Damage to the ship is extensive. Navigation is non-functional. The stardrive is non-functional. The teleporter is non-functional. Star-charts are unavailable. The Fine Manipulation Interface is operational (3). Recommended action is to land on the planet we are currently in orbit of, and acquire materials and aid." It told her.

"Is there any food aboard the ship?" Murian pleaded quietly, wincing as the dull ache made itself especially known in her stomach. Her ear caught a slight shuffle the way she came, and she turned to see the man stir slightly, features pressed in pain as he did so.

He looked thin-built, with light skin, blood-matted blond hair, and a thin, almost angular face, which was partially obscured by red lines that reached down and began to stain his collar a coppery brown. He wore a yellow Protectorate uniform, which would normally peg him out as a science officer.

"Emergency supplies are stored in the aft cabin of the ship." S.A.I.L. answered, and without bothering to check further, Murian began feebly stepping over to what she assumed was the aft. She paused as she passed the stirring form of the man she had rescued, and noting his blood-caked head wound, catching a slightly metallic scent as she did so.

"Any medical supplies on board?(4)" She wondered aloud as she started walking again, stepping over the damaged sword she had discarded earlier.

"The middle locker on the starboard side of the cabin contains a medical kit and an exposure trauma kit (5)." S.A.I.L. told her, "The left adjacent one contains prepackaged meals and water."

"Good." She sighed. She pulled out the medical kit, as well as a nondescript plastic-wrapped tray and small water bottle from the locker opposite. She walked tiredly back to where the man still slumped against the wall. I may not be a medic, but I can clean a wound(6).

Murian kneeled to the side of the man, and spoke in a voice she hoped was calming. "Please hold still, you've hit your head, and I need to clean up the blood to see how bad the damage is." He seemed to understand her words, or at least her intent, well enough to comply. Murian set to removing the majority of the man's formerly blond, blood-matted hair with a pair of small, sharp scissors, wiping the drying blood away with a clean, damp cloth from the kit. Eventually, she uncovered a shallow, but broad gash on his temple, silently oozing blood.

"Do you think you can answer some questions for me? This looks like a surface cut, but we shouldn't take any chances with a head wound."

"…..ugh…." the man groaned, his eyes still screwed shut. He's moving, at least.

After a moment, she paused her handiwork, and leaned in front of him. "Can you hear me?" she asked in a calm, clear tone. At this point, his eyes cracked open, and met her own.

"I…y-yeah…" the man muttered, nodding slightly.

"Good." Murian continued, now sifting through the medical kit for antibiotics "Can you tell me your name?" she asked.

The man drew in a sharp breath as a patch was pressed to the wound. "M-Morton." He exhaled, "Morton Ramsey."

"That's a nice name, Morton." She quietly lied. What kind of name is Morton? She thought as she began to wrap his head in dressing, placing Morton's fingers to the clotting patch. "Hold that there, please."

After a short moment, Murian spoke again. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?" she quietly asked.

"You pulling me into the ship before we were thrown back." Morton replied automatically. "Did you have any idea what was going on, at the academy?" he started.

"I-I don't know." Murian quickly shook her head, a hint of strain broke in her voice. With a safety pin (7), she finished securing the dressing on Morton's head. Having done what she could about Morton's injury, her attention now focused solely on the pre-packaged meal she brought with her. Its mushy texture and salted factory taste were barely noted as Murian ate with ravenous abandon.

"Right then," Morton changed the subject, looking over at the formerly sealed tray of food that Murian now tore into. "…Are…there any other of those meals?" he asked, and the woman paused.

"Oh! Uh…I think so." She mumbled uncertainly, "I'll get you one." She stood up from her half-finished meal, and went back to the lockers, returning with another prepackaged meal and another bottle of water.

"Thank you." Morton muttered as he eagerly took the offered meal and water. "I, uh, never caught your name." he told her after taking a draw of water.

The woman looked up from her meal, "Um, my name's Murian, Murian Courn." She told him. Her own aches were beginning to ebb, and her strength seemed to be returning by some measure. After finishing her meal, the woman stood up, and walked to another monitor embedded in the wall, empty bottle and tray in hand. Small letters on the rim of the monitor read 'Winslow/Naomi Technical Model 7.8p Fine Matter Manipulation Interface', and beside the screen were several alcoves built into the shuttle's walls. Murian placed the empty tray and bottle in one of the chambers, and pressed the screen a few times. A second later, a plastic sheet closed over the alcove, and the bottle and tray hissed as they dissolved within. She then leaned against the wall, and slid down to a sit in exhaustion.

After a short while, she was stirred from her ruminations by a similar hissing noise, and she looked up to meet Morton's gaze. "What do we do?" he asked, uncertainty painted across his face.

Murian looked over at S.A.I.L.'s console; "Pa-er, S.A.I.L, what was the recommended course of action again?" she called out. On the other side of the room, she could faintly see the avatar on the console turn to acknowledge her.

The cabin's speakers answered her, "Recommended action is to land on the planet we are currently in orbit of, and acquire materials and aid."

Murian looked back at Morton, "That's what we do." She spoke, an air of resolve in her voice. "C'mon, let's head to the command seats."

Murian settled into the front-most seat, while Morton buckled himself into one behind and to the right of her. The damaged longsword was leaning on the arm of her chair, and the matter manipulator, now sporting a fresh scuff mark from its impact with the wall, lay in Morton's lap. He looked at it semi-certainly.

"S.A.I.L., can you steer this ship toward any settlements or civilization on the surface?"

"Affirmative, Murian. I have also been broadcasting a distress signal since you reset the ship's systems." The synthetic voice responded. "Estimated time to landing is five hours."

"Good." Murian affirmed, turning to Morton, "We should get some sleep while we can, you especially, with that head wound." She indicated the dressing wrapped around his head.

At that, Murian settled into her chair, and closed her eyes, one question paramount in her mind. How in hells name did this happen?


Footnotes

(1): When an artificial intelligence lattice assumes control of an especially large, complex, or delicate piece of compatible (protectorate-designed) hardware, they generally require a reset to avoid glitches and run smoothly.

(2): Much like P.A.I.L.s to the protectors themselves, protectorate ships are often equipped with at least one S.A.I.L. to assist in minor duties, and even fly the ship if required. As most protectorate ships can carry several S.A.I.L.s, it is likely that Murian's is not the only one present.

(3): The Fine Matter Manipulation Interface, or Fine Manipulation Interface, is a valuable piece of protectorate technology, which allows for the storage, arrangement, and printing of tools and components from raw materials, given enough energy, the right materials, and compatible templates. The matter manipulator is able to connect to it, and can transfer raw materials from suspension within the manipulator, directly into the interface.

(4): Protectorate, and indeed, most interstellar ships, will have some form of emergency medical supplies aboard. The extent of these stores depends on the kind of ship.

(5): 'Exposure trauma' in this case refers to vacuum exposure. Unsurprisingly, most ships have these as well, to some extent.

(6): Basic first aid training is taught to all protectorate cadets, without exception. Dedicated medics and doctors will receive more extensive medical training.

(7): Even in the future, safety pins are still occasionally seen in first aid kits. More common, though, is bandaging and dressing with activated adhesives.


Authors note: Sorry it took so long to upload, and re-upload this chapter (I really should get an editor). Again, I'm not sure when I'll get the next part uploaded, given I am still in the middle of my college semester.

As it turns out, I may be incorporating other mods, like Frackin' Races, into the world as I try to develop it.

Constructive criticism would be appreciated, at your convenience, of course.