Age of Ibrahim

Ibrahim awoke to the hum of the Sober gliding along a well-used cosmic highway. This hum permeated everything, a background noise ever present and to most Spacers; a comfort. The consistent buzz brought surety that your ship was working well and thus you lived to see another day. He was in no rush to start his day as an overworked and underpaid junior engineer, so he very slowly looked around his tiny room.

He currently slept on the bottom bunk out of the 3 available bunks in the room. Two sets on each side of the room. On the wall facing his head stood 4 medium sized lockers meant to hold medium sized things, one of which was in use. The walls were that dull silver color associated with the insides of the average starship. Bland and unexciting. The walls of this room used to be a little livelier when there were four bodies to fill it.

Sammy was the first to jump ship. A job on a backwater planet had led to him being hired as the town’s main engineer. It came with a house, great pay and of course position. Way better than being a junior engineer on a military contracted space hauler. He didn’t receive the position due to exceptional talent, no that was Gate, it was sheer luck. Buying the local Mayor a drink at the bar and striking up conversation led to the chance of a lifetime for people like them. Well, Ibrahim wouldn’t have taken it simply due to the locale. Being in the ass end of no where on a frontier planet made you pirate food but he was sure Sammy could care less in his big ass house with actual terra grown food.

The next to beat feet was Jun. A tale as old as time really. Meet a pretty girl with a weak constitution and a fragile smile and suddenly becoming a worker drone for a mega Corp terra side didn’t sound so bad. Shea was a beauty, for sure. But working for TankTek for the rest of your natural life as a low-level tech engineer with a pregnant wife to tend to sounded awful to him. But Jun would say differently, in fact he did say different as he left.

Then it was just him and Gate. Now Ibrahim got on well with all of his bunkies, but he would be lying if he said that his least favorite wasn’t Gate. And he had enough emotional intelligence to admit it wasn’t a matter of make or character on why he didn’t necessarily like Gate. His distaste was the color green.

Gate was his opposite in many ways, and they all stung.

Gate or Maxwell Theophanis Gate III was the only child of a upper middle class two parent home from a Core world. He went to Funded or “Fundy” school because he grew up on said Core world, so he got quite the education. His upbringing ensured he was tall, built and educated. He could’ve gotten a cushy job that kept dirt in his boots due to family connections but decided to muck around in the cosmic dust with those of us who were less fortunate like himself.

Ibrahim Raseltinnin was the only child of a women of scrupulous or loose morals. Her name was Malaika, but she oft answered to Jezebel. He was teased and bullied constantly because of his mother’s tryst and his lack of father. He grew up poor on a Transition world, a world in a star system that was a midway point between the ritzier Core worlds of the major star systems. Poor as in having more than one meal a day was a good day. His education was scattered and not obtained in a formal setting. He learned to read and write from whatever babysitters his mother dumped him with while she used her womanly wiles to make money. He learned his numbers from his mother; and only because she wanted him to be able to count any money she made if she was too drunk or high to do it right herself. He was lucky that the towns local Tink or tinkerer noticed he had a good grasp on numbers and an enthusiasm for science and gracefully took him under his wing. Geoffrey was a bitter and cantankerous ex-military engineer who served as a teacher and father figure for him. And frankly didn’t take it well when at the age of 14 he signed up to be a junior engineer for military contracted private hauling company.

Needless to say, Gate rubbed him the wrong way for no good reason, and he was happy to see him go.

Ugh. He was so done feeling like a terrible person about it too.

Long story short, his dad had an accident and him being the loving son he was broke his contract, which he could afford to do, and scurried home. But his leaving left him as the lone bunkie and junior engineer assigned to room L14. It was no telling when he’d get roomies either since his company, QasimCosmics Hauling Services was one of the smaller and less well to do companies and thus they were willing to work the junior engineers they still had that much harder to compensate and save. So, his 9 hour shifts became 2 to3 hours longer and his two days off became one day. There should be 20 to 25 JE’s on this particular sized hauler to go with the 5 journeyman engineers to watch over groups of 5 and 1 master engineer but with the loss of all of his bunkies… well.

Ibrahim was turning 21 in less than 3 months, and he honestly thought he would be a journeyman engineer by now. He had left home almost 7 years ago in a big hurry because he saw this as a chance to elevate himself in life. A stable place to live, visiting different systems, actual Dominion funded certifications that meant something in the human settled systems and beyond, 3 square meals a day, basic weapons training and doing something he loved. He had the grit and know-how to at least rise to the ranks of a journeyman engineer, right?

Yes, but nepotism.

Yes, but favoritism.

Yes, but classism.

Yes, but he was dealt a shit hand and the powers that be smelled that he was born to a poor whore of ill repute and raised by the wilds and streets of his poorly funded Transitionary planet. They took one look at his physical, saw his weak bones and knew. They saw his crooked bottom teeth and knew. They heard his accent and knew. And when he introduced himself and his name rang no bells they knew. They knew he was poor trash that got lucky and treated him as such. Barely any regard and barely any respect. Gate, Jun and Sammy knew and treated him well but their bosses and their bosses boss looked at him and judged. His lack of formal education and neglectful upbringing put him at the bottom of the social and academic totem pole when he joined the Sober and put kids like Gate at the top. Even though he studied and learned for nearly 7 years he was still seen as trash. His planet Kamp accent was barely noticeable when he spoke, his manners and etiquette polished compared to when he started, he could read write and arithmetic with the best of them these days though Gate was still a better mechanical engineer; and his hygiene had improved greatly.

Yet.

Ibrahim looked at the time and sighed. Time to work like a whipped dog for 30 creds an hour, rinse and repeat. He had worked off his contracted time almost two years ago, but he stayed with the company because he had no prospects on Kamp, he certainly didn’t miss his mother enough to go back and Geoff would probably spit on him if he saw him, his job prospects as a junior engineer were slim and predatory and finally he was comfortable being a worker for Quasim’s. He knew he would probably be old and gray before he got a promotion over this or that person’s son, daughter, nephew or niece but he was employed on a starship. As a child he dreamed of being a rich Spacer, traveling the stars and finding new planets. Maybe even getting lucky and coming out of a Quasara Celestium Flux storm as a full on Technomage. Bigger, stronger and smarter. Bones filled with Nyxium and muscles lined with organic metal. And if he couldn’t become a Technomage then he’d be so rich that he could afford all the cybernetic augments or “chrome” he wanted.

Adulthood had a way of humbling even the most optimistic.

Ibrahim pulled himself from reverie once again to shit, shower and shave and then punch in. He hit the showers without barely taking a glance at himself. He was no longer the short and skinny kid, but his rough childhood would forever mark him unless he came across a windfall of creds to pay for nanite tech meds or augments. He was 5’10 when most guys were 6’1. He was no longer skinny but quite stocky, in fact one could say he would very easily go from being big boned to overweight if he ever decided to quite as a spacer engineer, His skin was still a medium olive tone, his hair still dark as tar, nose still kinda crooked from when one of his mother’s “friends” threw their tablet at him. He wasn’t ugly but he was no looker. Jun was the “face” really. He was a certified hunk. Jun had brown eyes like him, but Jun’s were vibrant and molten and his were dull and flat, like dirt.

Ibrahim got dressed quickly. All JEs wore the same uniform. Overalls that were long sleeved, high necked and covered in cushioning and padding in all the areas physically committed lackeys like them needed. An olive-green jumper with dark green padding on the elbows, thighs and knees. Plasticite toe boots that came up to the shins and his work gloves and goggles. He made his way to his designated area and only gave small nods of acknowledgement to his fellow junior engineers. He wasn’t very sociable. His first 3 years on the ship soured his ideas on friendship in this vessel. The thought of fraternizing with the same people who made him subhuman made him feel physically ill. Sammy was the extrovert in their group, very likeable and easy going.

He sighed when he saw his assignment, he was working in the icebox today. He was contracted as a mechanical engineer because he was really good for a poorly educated boy with no home training on fixing things that move and he thought his tenure would be spent working on the ships hardware and the other bits that go zoom that resided on haulers like forklifts and such but he learned quickly that his contract made it clear he would be working as an engineer in any capacity required of him. Which meant he sometimes worked on the cooling units for their cafeteria and hydroponics as well as their cold haulers. Or sometimes he needed to work as a backup software technician or computational engineer or maybe something was going wrong with the plumbing and he needed to work in the guts of the ship as a “shit engineer”. Maybe the radiation shields needed scrubbing and the senior RadTech engineer didn’t feel like going on that long space walk and so he became a baby Raddie.

He couldn’t be too upset because all of the extra work had earned him a laundry list of certifications, but most were novice or junior level certs. A Jack of all engineering trades. There was no time like the present, so he made peace with the fact he was going to be freezing his balls off today. A cursory glance to catch the facial expressions of his fellow whipping boys allowed him to sus out the days victims. He saw the frowning face of one Sebastian and internally sighed, the guy was a fucking slacker and brown noser to boot so he knew this 9-hour shift was going to be at least 10.

Fuck.

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Ibrahim grit his teeth as he listened to Sebastian bragging about a sexual conquest instead of defrosting and recalibrating the liquid nitrogen converter. They were given cold suits to work in this miserable environment but after 4 hours in the icebox his dick was hard enough to cut Nyxium and having to hear the dickhead to his left speak in gory details about where he put his pecker and how much the poor lady said she enjoyed it was pushing him over the edge. He didn’t understand why no one ever told him to the shut the fuck up and do his job when they knew his lack of work would mean more time as ice statues.

“BREAK! Move your asses your 20-minute lunch break is NOW!”

Ibrahim was never as happy to hear the hoarse dulcet sound of Journeymen Engineer Palmetti’s break call as he was then. He dropped his heavy ass las-pick and made his way to the exit.

The ship rumbled violently, and everyone stopped in their tracks.

Turbulence?

The ringing of the alert system swiftly quashed that notion and the announcement over the PA buried with finesse.

“ATTENTION ALL CREW! WE ARE BEING ATTACKED BY PIRATE SCUM AND THEY ARE ATTEMPTING TO CEASE AND BOARD THIS VESSEL! BUNKER IN PLACE AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS AS OUR SECURITY TEAM HANDLES THE THREAT! I REPEAT…”

Ibrahim sucked in a breath. No fucking way. Whoever these pirates are, they’re either supremely confident or exceptionally stupid. The current coords for the ship were a well-used route to a well-used jump point. Which means these pirates run the risk of being spotted by other ships and thusly reported and obliterated by local Space-ops or these pirates were well equipped and trained to get away with a doing something this risky. He hoped they were their own grandpa’s level of dumb.

The ship rocked again and with a sinking feeling he knew that the latter just might be the case.

“Everyone step out of the icebox. No need to freeze to death. We’ll stay here in the hallway until we get the green light. No way these pirates are gonna win.” Ibrahim and his fellow juniors all obliged and some even looked relieved to hear Palmetti’s optimism, but Ibrahim stayed grim faced. As they all broke into whispers, some wondering about pay, others wondering about paramours elsewhere on the ship and Sebastian trying to bring some levity about by talking about some conquest or another, Ibrahim remained silent. He did not have a good feeling.

Something hit the ship hard enough to punch through their shields and send the ship careening on its side and that meant all the people went flying as well. A tense situation became dire in an instant. Whispers and murmurs became shouts of terror as people were thrown bodily against the walls and floor. Ibrahim found himself on top of one of his coworkers and the guy did not look good. He was bleeding profusely from the back of his head, and it only took a moment for him to realize the back of his head met a pipe violently and his body weight being thrown on top of him didn’t help. Shit! He scrambled on to his hands and knees to look around and see if there was anyone that could possibly help but a few guys in his team of 8, not including the boss. were knocked unconscious or were barely conscious. His boss was trying to stand up with the help of Sebastian and Patecky, so he made his way to him. The ship rocked and groaned and the sounds of the vessel’s arms going off made the whole situation more real.

Flickering lights made the scene almost apocalyptic, and the groans of his coworkers added a grimness he would rather have never experienced.

“Palmetti! Gavin has been grievously injured, can you administer a stim for him?”

His boss looked lost for a second before responding curtly, taking a quick glance at Gavin “I don’t have any on me.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any on me! I haven’t brought a field kit with me in years, especially to the icebox. No one’s been hurt bad enough to require me keeping it on me.”

The silence spoke for itself as Ibrahim grit his teeth for the umpteenth time that day. Of course, of fucking course their boss couldn’t bother to be prepared to help them in the most basic of ways. Why carry around a first aid kit with vital medicine for his lowly juniors when he needs both hands to use his tab to talk to his mistress? Feeling the heat of the accusatory stares and rightfully being a bit fearful, Palmetti threw a lifeline.

“The closet medicae kit is 2 sects up, I’d be happy to give my holocard to anyone brave enough to get it.”

“Why don’t you go and get it?” Palmetti cut his eyes at him and responded through tight lips “I think I’ve sprung my ankle…”

If the situation wasn’t so dire he may have laughed. He may have called his cowardly boss on his bluff and be damned the consequences, but he didn’t. He felt partially to blame from Gavins leaking head problem which would quickly become a leaking soul problem if someone didn’t get a move on. And it seemed that someone would be him. In four short steps he walked over to his boss, palm up.

The holocard was slapped into his hand and he spun on his heel and started a light jog to the exit ladder. No more arguments and no more accusations. Just action.

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This was a shit storm.

He wasn’t sure that they were gonna make it out of this alive or intact. There were dead bodies everywhere. Some in crew colors, others in haphazard armor. They were already boarded.

Before he could ruminate further on his crew’s impending doom the PA system blared to life.

“ATTENTION ALL REMAINING CREW! THIS IS CAPTAIN ADDAMS SPEAKING. THE SITUATION HAS TAKEN A TURN FOR THE WORSE AND SOME PIRATE SCUM HAVE BOARDED. IF YOU ARE MET WITH PIRATES, KILL ON SIGHT! TO PREVENT FURTHER DAMAGE AND CAPTURE WE WILL BE COMMITTING TO A JUMP! IF WE DO NOT MAKE IT OUT OF THIS ALIVE, IT WAS AN HONOR TO SERVE AS YOUR CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN GHISLAINE ADDAMS OF THE SOBER OUT!”

The familiar sound of the countdown to a jump sent ice down his spine. The ship had suffered significant damage and jumping would be incredibly dangerous. And where were they jumping to? It took time for the navigators to make a safe jump course! This was suicidal! Sweat blurred his vision and his heart rate hit a dangerous crescendo.

Ibrahim started to run to the nearest room. Maybe he could find a spacesuit or anything really to up his odds of surviving.

The sound of his feet beating on the metal floor was like rain drops compared to the sound of continued firing that was raining down on the ship, his heart was in his stomach as his head whipped about frantically looking for anything to save him. The smoke and lights forced a primal terror out of him. The sort of terror that kept the human species alive on their home world of Earth or Terra-Prime. Fear of the great darkness that led to controlling fire. Fear of the winds that tore massive trees from the ground which led to mud and stone shelters. Fear of hunger that led to farming. His lizard brain to the reins and he felt just like the animal all men were. He felt alive but oh so close to death. The ballistic and laser fire were proof that the fight was still on but at what cost? The whole fucking ship? All of the crew? His very own life?

The countdown hit zero and he felt the tell tale pull of space-time being pulled and warped. A jump was incredibly quick, so the pull lasted maybe 5 seconds but the aftermath of doing a disorganized jump in a severely weakened and damaged vessel was just as quick and twice as brutal to his un-augmented body.

There were many reasons humanity moved towards cybernetics. The main one was strength. When us hairless apes became technologically advanced enough to rip ourselves free of our solar system and move beyond our solar neighborhood, we came across species who out thought and out matched us physically. Our biologic flesh didn’t do well at all in the vastness of space compared to other space faring species, so if we wanted to go seed a planet it would take us longer to get there and not all of us would survive it. In matters of commerce and warfare we would be outpaced. The human brain, once a marvel to us, was now seen as necessary but inefficient machine of a bygone era. Why focus on trying to get all the different factions of humanity on board with gene editing when the next step in humanities evolution could be commercialized. Militarized too. When humanity came across the QCF storms and the effects well that really got the ball rolling. The discovery of Technomagic and thus Nyxium blew the lid off whatever societal apprehension was had for augmentation of the human form. Becoming a Technomage was an extreme rarity, most scientist who study the phenomenon say at most 7% of humanity holds the genes or random mutations to be turned into a literal wizard while on the high end of it. On the low end it was more like 3%. There were currently an estimated 200-400 billion humans accounted for. So, roughly there were anywhere between 6 billion or 28 billion humans with varying power levels of a Technomage. Way too many people to not throw money, power and force behind. If you were identified as a Mage, you’d get recruited by multiple entities be it political, private or military and you’d be guaranteed a life most could only dream of. And if you weren’t lucky enough to be exposed to QCF rays, particles or a full on storm (and survive); augments were the next best thing.

Ibrahim was not lucky. Ibrahim was not even minorly augmented. Ibrahim was, par le vous francais, fucked.

Things started exploding and loose debris went flying all over the place, including inside of him. He didn’t initially feel the shrapnel make its way into his guts until his ears stopped ringing and his vision stopped shaking but boy, did he eventually feel it. Alarms for every system in the ship were wailing with an intensity he never experienced adding to this sensory nightmare. He wanted to scream in pain, but he felt if he did his insides would become his outs. It felt like a millennium had passed as he contorted in agony, but it was likely only minutes. The crew and ship seemed to have escaped the clutches of a well-known brand of evil so he hoped whoever was alive and in charge would send people to help. People with stims and anesthesia.

His hopes were dashed when a garbled message came through over the PA system.

“TO WHOEVERS LEFT…. INCOMING QUASARA… SENT DISTRESS SIG… SORRY…”

Ibrahim valiantly held on to consciousness as his pain consumed brain worked to understand the message. Incoming quasar what? His breathing pitched violently as he started to hyperventilate. They escaped! What more could possibly happen!?

Murphy’s Law was no joke apparently because as soon as he thought that the systems all shut down and things became scarily quiet. There wasn’t even the usual soft hum of the ship. Did they lose power? Were his last thoughts because his world exploded into heat and a kaleidoscope of color took over his optical nerves.