Storymania - New Beginnings by Christian Obermanns

New Beginnings
Christian Obermanns

New Beginnings
By Christian Obermanns

From the inside of the envoy-ship Nostramo, Wilhelm Hius sighed uneasily. The confines of his passenger’s suite had proved difficult to concentrate. His intricate stylus scratched paper as yet another shockwave rocked the vessel. Cursed Crewmembers, he thought to himself as he angrily crushed the blotted parchment. Donning his jacket and buckling his equipment belt, Hius strode into the narrow hallway of the cruiser’s hull. He was a man with a purpose now, navigating the ship’s intricate maze of bulkheads in search of an exit. As he reached the main airlock, Wilhelm keyed the numpad, bringing the warm, gentle sunlight of Thuldan Prime into his vision. The spaceport was crowded, as he could see, with crewmen scuttling about to load the ship. Descending the metal grate way onto pavement, Wilhelm rushed over to where the crewmen worked. Beneath the ship’s cargo holds were a multitude of cranes and hydraulic lifters, each one brimming with foodstuffs and other errata. Each one of the Nostramo’s crew were doing their assigned task, checking security or pumping fuel. As he reached the closest crewmember, Wilhelm waved his hands furiously and asked him just what the hell was going on. The noises of cargo and other whatnot had been preventing him from writing a very important letter. The crewman simply shrugged his hands and walked away, listlessly glancing at his checklist. Just as Wilhelm was going to punch him for his insolence, a large, meaty hand grabbed his fist. A dark shadow overcame him, blocking out the sun’s warmth. Glancing upward with fear-filled eyes, Wilhelm met the gaze of Oktar Uik, a very distempered Weren.

Cowering backwards with wonderment, Wilhelm fell to the ground in front of the large beast, injuring his arm. Standing in front of a hydraulic cargo lift, Oktar looked menacing in his blood-red carapace body armor. Even more menacing, Wilhelm thought to himself, was the sawed-off shotgun in the Weren’s holster, freshly oiled and undoubtedly loaded. Smiling with satisfaction, Oktar sarcastically waved a finger in front of Wilhelm, snickering and clicking his tongue. “Now now, silly human, don’t do zat,” Oktar exclaimed, chuckling to himself. Wilhelm just sat silently, gazing at the mammoth Alien. By God, he was huge! Standing a full ten-feet tall, the gargantuan beast was no more hairy than it was alive. Huge tufts of fur sprouted from under the armored body, covering the beast in a mottled, beige undercoat. Gathering his wits about him, as well as his undershorts, Wilhelm staggered to his feet, immediately apologizing for his foolishness. This alien was one sentient being he did not want to upset. Wilhelm formally introduced himself, extending his right hand in the timeless fashion. Oktar glanced peculiarly at the outstretched appendage for a moment, as if it were some sort of snack. Wilhelm stood uneasily, his body quivering with fear, as if he had made some horrible mistake. After what seemed like an eternity, Oktar finally shook Wilhelm’s hand, grinning eagerly at his newfound friend. Slapping Wilhelm in the back, Oktar walked up the ship’s gangway. All the air was forced from Heinrich as the huge, hairy forearm propelled him into a metal bulkhead. Oktar soon realized his mistake, and gently brought Wilhelm to his feet, explaining that he had trouble controlling his own strength. Wilhelm simply nodded and staggered back to his room, coughing blood and nursing his somewhat mangled hand. It was going to be a long day.

Around nighttime, a sharp beeping noise awoke Wilhelm. Opening his weary, sleep-filled eyes, he staggered to the sink. As the cool water splashed on his face, Wilhelm noticed his intercom was flashing, beeping with messages. While he dried his face, Wilhelm hastily keyed the receive code into the panel and awaited an answer. Words scrolled across his pict-screen, addressing an invitation from the captain to attend dinner in the main dining hall. Well, after all, Wilhelm thought to himself, he was a new shareholder, so why not? Besides, he was eager to meet the other passengers, even if they might be like that huge monster Oktar. Accepting the invitation, Wilhelm took out his best coat and hat, as well as a small, high-powered pistol. Heinrich had always followed his father’s philosophy: Never trust anyone. Even though he never had to use a weapon before, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little insurance policy.

Dressed in his finest attire, Wilhelm approached the main dining hall. His footsteps echoed softly off highly polished marble as he entered the chamber. A female servitor, a mechanical brain with a slightly humanoid body, took his coat and ushered him to his seat. He took to his chair, sitting down on its rough surface and taking in his surroundings. Along with the officers of the vessel sat the hulking form of Oktar, toying with his seemingly tiny glass. The Weren waved to Wilhelm as soon as he saw him. Wilhelm just politely smiled, not taking any notion of sitting next to the beast. More servitors rushed about, taking food orders and providing him with spirits. The captain would arrive soon, they said, although Wilhelm somewhat doubted their mechanical minds. He played with his glass incessantly, watching the brown alcoholic liquid slosh up and down to confront his boredom. When he finally looked up from his tumbler, the main hall doors suddenly opened, and two black robed figures entered. Wilhelm immediately stood up, standing silently and alert towards these obviously important patrons. The two men took their places at the table, motioning for Wilhelm to do the same. Looking closely at the two cowed figures, Wilhelm noticed a glint of metal under their cloaks. As they removed their robes, Wilhelm could notice that they were not human. Delicate circuitry laid into their visages marked them as aliens of the Mechalus race. The beings were embodiments of technological achievment, the very triumphs of electricity. Wilhelm had only heard stories of them as a child, the superhuman race seeming like a mere myth or legend at his young age. But their shimmering metal forms were vividly real as the cloaks were removed, casting a strange insight (for Wilhelm) into the worlds of alien development. As Wilhelm gazed dumbfounded at the closest Mechalus, it rose and ascended a small, wooden platform at the end of the dining room. It clapped his hands once, and all of the servitors and crewmembers currently at and around the table left. Apparently, Wilhelm thought to himself, this must be the leader. As soon as the others had departed, the altered human began to speak.

“My friends, closest allies, I am Shatar Haras, the captain of the beloved Nostramo. All of you have helped fund our adventure, each of you providing a vital part of our supplies. As we depart to the Verge, we will explore many new interesting lands. When we have reached the new frontier system, we will go our separate ways, but I hope the travel to come will provide us with many memorable experiences. My close associate, Kutor, is also accompanying us on our journey. His vital skills will help us along our way, guiding our ship through the vast expanse of space as our navigator. I will now give each of you a special geno-print. It will provide access to all areas of the ship. Neither I, nor anyone else here can change it, as it is intertwined with your DNA. My companions, the ship is now as much yours as it is mine. I trust we will have no secrets to hide.” As if on cue, a trundling servitor brought Wilhelm a small, metal cap that looked strangely like an ornate thimble. The machine then proceeded to place it on Wilhelm’s finger with a quiet snick. A sudden sharp pain thundered through Wilhelm’s outstretched hand. Shatar soon noticed the disturbance, and reassured Wilhelm. “Don’t worry,” Shatar insisted. “The pain is only temporary. The computer interface is just bonding with your skin.” Almost immediately, the pain subsided. Wilhelm uttered a sigh of relief, as well as that of enjoyment at his new investment. He was finally part of something, the member of a team. He smiled, and began eating his dinner.

“Our first leg of the journey will begin with the Kurg, a remote system of planets in the Austrin-Onitus territory. Here we will resupply, and begin the next leg of star drive travel.” The mechanical voice of the Mechalus called Kutor echoed throughout the command deck. Wilhelm pondered quietly to himself as the scientific lingo continued. He was contemplating how the layer of glass in the foredeck would actually withstand the vacuum of space when Kutor faced him. “Master Hius, I presume,” the alien Mechalus directed at Wilhelm.

“Yes,” Wilhelm responded, suddenly knocked out of his trance by the polite introduction.

“Have you ever traveled into space, Wilhelm?” Kutor asked him quizzically.

“Only on small charters within the system,” Wilhelm responded. The truth was, however, that Wilhelm had only once traveled into space with his father. His family was quite rich, and thus he had little or no desire to go from planet to planet.

“On large, intergalactic trips, humans tend to age faster, as by some sort of supernatural phenomenon. The star drive has yet to be refined into a fully functional machine. For this reason I offer the option of cryogenic freezing, one that would prevent you from inconvenient complications.”

Wilhelm had heard of cryogenic preservation before, and the idea struck him as an immediate success. He readily accepted Kutor’s proposal, and followed a summoned doctor to the ship’s sickbay. Oktar happily tagged along, assuring that he too would enter the “Ize cube masheen.”
As Wilhelm walked into the cryogenic preservation wing of the sick bay, he gazed in wonderment at the machines that stood there. Amongst various surgical tables and chests of tools stood three very high-tech looking machines, resembling glass tubes. The tubes bristled with various wires and smaller panels, all of which brightly reflected the wall lights. He walked to the nearest of the tubes, stripping himself of his clothes as the doctor instructed. He pressed his geno-print interface into the small circular opening, hearing a whirring click as the machine responded. Sliding away almost seamlessly, the glass revealed a large, metal seat. The crew physician then directed him to sit down, strapping various restraints as Wilhelm obeyed. When everything was done with Wilhelm, the doctor proceeded to strap in Oktar. The Weren, however, had other plans. All Wilhelm could hear from inside his freezing tube was various shouts of “Vhy don’t you do it!” and “I don’t vant to get in ze tube!” It eventually took half the crewmembers of the Nostramo as well as a sedative gun to place Oktar in his chamber. After the huge Weren was subdued, his tube closed with a loud hiss of below-freezing temperatures. When the doctor returned to Wilhelm’s tube, he simply smiled and explained the situation. Wilhelm wouldn’t feel a thing, the doctor told him. Cryogenics was just an easy way to pass the time of the long journey. Wilhelm would be woken at the first orbiting supply station, where he would be given leave as the crew resupplied the ship. As the doctor pressed the button on Wilhelm’s chamber, blackness came with the closing door.

The metal gangway clanked to a halt. As Wilhelm Hius walked down onto substation-hangar 3, he glanced outwards. In front of the Nostramo, a giant steel bulkhead was closing into place, shutting out the cold vacuum of the solar system. For one instant, Hius could actually glance out into the star systems of Thuldan, and see its three burning suns. As the door closed, however, Wilhelm was plunged into dim, sodium-phosphorus panel lighting. The coldness of unforgiving steel made him tighten his trench coat. As he continued downwards, various crewmen had already begun their resupply rotation. Once again, they scurried to and fro, fixing asteroid pits as well as general maintenance. This was the first of eight resupply stops along their way to the Verge, and Wilhelm was beginning to loathe them already.

“Get me anozer beer,” Oktar grumbled. From within the seedy low-level tavern, Wilhelm hastily obliged. He had learned from experience not to mess with the huge Weren. His hand still throbbed sometimes to remind him of Oktar’s handshake. Meandering over to the bar, Wilhelm ordered two alcohol-substitutes. How he longed for real brew! On the space station Atlantis, however, apparently the order was hard to come by. Carrying the glasses back to the table, Wilhelm tried not to spill a drop. As he handed placed both of the beers onto the table, Oktar took them both and downed the brown liquid without even blinking an eye. It was staggering how much the Weren could drink on a good day. Leaving the electronic pay-tab on the table, Wilhelm left the now-snoring Weren to his drinks as he entered Main Street.

Even within the climate-controlled atmosphere of the space station, the night was still cold. Wilhelm stumbled along the downtown district, surprised by the many people that were still out on the streets. As an orbiting hab-station, Atlantis was permanently home to three million people. Despite its relatively isolated nature, Atlantis was a large producer of refined ore found on wandering asteroids. Continuing his nighttime trek, Wilhelm pulled a Hilo-leaf tube from his equipment belt. Igniting it with a small Acetylene torch, Wilhelm inhaled the blue smoke deeply. The glowing coal of the bluish leaf lit up the dark alleyway around him. He almost walked straight into the thief that was waiting in the shadows.

“Give me your money, Punk!” the greasy man yelled. Wilhelm turned around, facing the scrawny ganger behind him. A geno-tattoo above the left eyebrow marked the thief as a member of the Red Claws. Wilhelm had heard bar-stories earlier about the cutthroat gangs that ran sub-levels 20-35b. They were ruthless criminals, outcasts that had fled to the lower levels to escape responsibility. His notions were proved as the ganger’s gleaming mono-knife purred to life. Wilhelm could barely see the sharp filament edge as it vibrated like an angry bee. It was for times like these that Wilhelm never went under prepared. Whether it was a routine patrol or a casual rendezvous, he never went anywhere without a little insurance policy. Dropping to the ground, Wilhelm pulled his compact blaster pistol from its holster. Thumbing the arm-rune on its matt-black surface, Wilhelm raised the pistol towards his assailant. Directly where his head had just been, a monofilament knife slashed the air. Grinning evilly, Wilhelm shoved his pistol into the ganger’s chin, depressing the trigger. A shower of blood and bone soon marked the end of the enemy, a knobby stub of flesh indicating where his assailant’s head had just previously sat. Wilhelm, however, stood remarkably unscathed, pumping with adrenaline as he replaced his newly used pistol in its holster. Turning down the alleyway, Wilhelm fled the scene of the crime, flagging down an air taxi and wiping his brow. As he boarded the luxury vehicle, Wilhelm removed the dead ganger’s knife, as well as his pistol, hiding them from the driver’s view. Grinning with triumph, Wilhelm made a notch.

It was a new beginning.