Sci-fi? {1}

Note: this was published o'er hastily after being jotted down around 1 am. A second version with basic edits is now below the original post, which is the italics. Please comment on the edits or suggest additional ones, if you feel at all inclined! Also. . . I've never tried sci-fi before. This is kind of fun. :)


Things are quiet on Pharmacon7 tonight, but there is still work left to do. Gregor has left the last section of this weekend's install to me, which shouldn't bother me, I guess, but what does that man do when he's on shift? Minding the station's data core is flawlessly boring, much of the time, and there's no record of disturbance in his log. Of course, that's why most of us will put up with this. It's like a deadbeat heaven.

The floor panels are heavy, so I curse the artificial gravity and make do with lifting two of them away from the grid to which they're attached. The blast of cold air pushes my hair back from my face and holds it there perfectly. Grabbing the sides of the grid-square I've just emptied, I lower myself into the chill. Attempting to make my way towards the nest--ten bundles of new cable to run along this strand--I find myself scooching gracelessly over cables, pipes, and power connectors the size of a fanboy's arm. The mounting brackets my instructions promised are conspicuously absent, I've been here for fourteen hours, and I can tell I'll be leaving them a tangled mess. No worry. Weave in, weave out, get them to the exit point and back above floor.

It isn't a hard job, but as I drag my heel over a taut raised wire that grounds the entire core, I'm sharply aware that the thin denim of my jeans (which are against dress code--thank God I didn't wear a skirt today. So much for the business casual we're required. . . or the space suits we wanted when we were kids?) wouldn't really insulate. . . not against that kind of voltage. While I'm not praying, I hope with the utmost sincerity that whoever wired these sockets had more training before I did when they were sent off on their own. In fact, it occurs to me to prefer that these aren't my handy-work. So to speak.

I slide the first floor panel back into place with a heavy snap, careful to keep my fingers free ("that's how you loose a finger!" Mike had said), and then kick dutifully at the second panel, nudging it back in line. When I finish, my ass is frozen solid and my hands smell like cabling grease that won't wash off for months. Welcome to the life.




Pharmacon7 is quiet, but there's still work left to do. Gregor left the last section of this weekend's install to me, which shouldn't bother me, I guess, but what does that man do when he's on shift? Minding the station's data core is flawlessly boring most of the time, and there's no record of disturbance in his log. Of course, that's why most of us will put up with this. It's like a deadbeat heaven.

The floor panels are heavy, so I curse the artificial gravity and make do with lifting two of them away from the grid to which they're attached. The blast of cold air pushes my hair back from my face and holds it there perfectly. Grabbing the sides of the grid-square I've just emptied, I lower myself into the chillspace. Attempting to make my way towards the nest--ten bundles of new cable to run along this strand--I scooch gracelessly over cables, coolant pipes, power connectors the size of a fanboy's arm. The mounting brackets my instructions promised are conspicuously absent, I've been here for fourteen hours, and I can tell I'll be leaving them a tangled mess. No matter. Weave in, weave out, just get them to the exit point and back above floor.

It isn't a hard job, but as I drag my heel over a taut raised wire that grounds the entire core, I'm sharply aware that the thin denim of my jeans (against dress code--thank God I didn't wear a skirt today. So much for business casual. . .) wouldn't insulate, not against that voltage. I hope with utmost sincerity that whoever wired these sockets got more training than I did before they were sent off on their own. In fact, it occurs to me to prefer that these aren't my handy-work, but on further consideration I'm pretty sure they are.

I slide the first floor panel back into place with a heavy snap, careful to keep my hands free ("that's how you loose a finger!" Mike had said), and then kick dutifully at the second panel, nudging it back in line. When I finish, my ass is frozen solid and my hands smell of cabling grease that never washes off. Welcome to the life.