《Dispatches from the Inter-galactic》


 Trapped in Zero-Point Space – 01 Introduction – Hoping for the Worst

    Have you ever felt as though you¡¯ve gotten yourself into an unexpectedly difficult situation, such as being stuck in the Schwarzschild radius of a black hole, or found yourself being reduced to component amino acids by the viral wraiths of Gwam? No? Then you probably need a small cluster of symbiotic sympathetic implants to identify with our latest dispatch from the inter-galactic. We have just the things. Fitting well now? Just give them a few moments to burrow under your epidermis. There. Now you, as well as the rest of your species, providing for a decent viral infection rate, should be able to keep up.


    For those of you who¡¯ve been xeno-experiencing on these upper galactic bands for the last few millennia, you might remember Supersymetrical Particle Filterer Phil. He¡¯s an actual Balleeni energy pod filterer (a subset which are particularly uncommon) who¡¯s made his mission to travel through all the major sectors of the galaxy cleansing zero-point energy filters literally station to station. When he reached the Okposo Dark Cluster, he decided to try out a servicing position at a free orbiting deep space brane puncturing facility. But in doing so, this would break the number one directive he has sustained over centuries of galactic transiting:


    ¡°Never work at a job I couldn¡¯t wormhole my way out of the moment the motivation struck me. We Balleeni are an empathically and telepathically sensitive species, and to be trapped amongst any potentially powerful emitters of consentience for extended periods of time would have psychological consequences it¡¯s best not going into.¡±


    He¡¯s rather proud of the limited number of close proximity consentients who¡¯ve been disemboweled, cut limb from limb, ventilated, disintegrated or otherwise met their maker over the course of his travels:


    ¡°Nothing that a Medicvac couldn¡¯t repair in a jiffy. Except for the disintegrations. You can¡¯t fix that. Not really.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    In over 6500 years, and a journey which has taken him a quarter of the way around the galaxy, he had never broken that simple directive (that he has been willing to admit, anyway). But Dark Cluster space, with its many black holes and twisted clouds of black nebulae, the dimensional fluctuations are too dangerous for large craft to navigate. This means crews of the stations that pump differential energy from pockets of warped alternative space-time are compelled to long periods of sequestration in one of the most tortured regions of known space.


    But as he had developed a hankering to explore the rigors of wide open space, figured if he managed in this environment, he could take on an even more extreme assignment ¨C filtering supersymetrical residue for decades from the propulsion pumps of a superstring skimmer as it punches through the inter-arm along the long edge of the Legendary Apahomi Rift, reputed to be one of the most unpleasant long scale experiences to be had in the history of galactic transport. To each their own:


    ¡°Who doesn¡¯t appreciate a good bout of space sickness? Clears the system. I¡¯m telling you, clears the system.¡±


    With that in mind, he set off to test his ability to handle long term close quarters telempathic radiation and therefore his most fundamental aspect of his biopsychological heritage.


    An interstellar projection of yours truly caught up with Phil, after a fashion, at the Macrostatic Neuro-telempathic Rehabilitation Center for Seventh Factor Consentiences. Apparently things hadn¡¯t quite gone as hoped.


    As a warning to those species with a sensitive palate for the unseemly, please double or if you are very sensitive, triple the efficacy of your Familiarity Bacterium. Don¡¯t say you weren¡¯t warned.


    <


    >

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 02 Do You Need a Clone? You’d Better Say Yes

    All this started at a small secondary space station orbiting an unimpressive brown dwarf near the edge of the Okposo Dark Cluster.  If there¡¯s a totally black spot in the galaxy, that is it.  I transponded the information requests and waited amongst a variety of consentients in the applicant lounge of a brane puncturing satellite consortium.  I figured I had a good chance since Balleeni have always been amongst the most sought after of supersymetrical filtering technicians, not to mention most of the others looked like Sfroga hybrids.  We know what we¡¯re doing, we¡¯ve got a feel for it, and we don¡¯t mind getting our hands soiled with dirty dark matter.  Sfroga? With their magnetic sucker fingers.  Not so much. What possessed them to apply I had no idea, but parts of their rubbery looking skin was mottled with what looked like some sort of a fungus.


    I felt my chances were at least 50/50.


    When my name was transmitted I went over to the grav lift and rose up to the level of the interviewer.  When I got there, I was greeted by a being, but for a moment I was too stunned to speak.


    ¡°You?!¡± I almost screamed out loud.


    All four quarters of my primary brain sphere were stunned.  It appeared as though my interviewer was the War Fleet Emperor of the Gorasa.  And if she wasn¡¯t, she was an absolute dead ringer for the being whose space legions cut a bloody swath through the eastern spiral arm for millennia.  I couldn¡¯t keep any of my eyes off of her mandibles.  My designated guardians had stories about how the War Fleet Emperor liked her Balleeni laser cut into slivers for handy snacks.


    But it couldn¡¯t be her.  She and her whole war fleet were no more, had been destroyed thousands of years ago.


    She led me into her office.  I was still wondering at the resemblance was remarkable.  She had the same multiclawed forelimbs, the same three antennae (with one slightly bent exactly the same way the Emperor had) and the same smirk on her vertically slit mouth that smirked exactly like I had seen in the 3d historials.  But this smirk said I know you think I look like the War Fleet Emperor, and your dying to ask me about it, but your afraid to, because you think I¡¯ll gut you right here if you do.  But of course we both knew she had been vaporized along with his fleets when the Goma trapped them in their system and used a Star Trigger to turn their sun into a supernova. Not so good for the Goma, but good for the rest of the Galaxy.  No, this couldn¡¯t be her, I kept telling myself.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Of course not,¡± my interviewer admitted with a friendly chitter.


    What she was, apparently, was one of the many clones of the War Fleet Emperor who had betrayed their progenitor, for an easier existence than being a target for one of the scourge¡¯s of the galaxies many enemies.  Apparently they were now scattered all over the galaxy taking up many divergent pursuits.


    Which included interviewing for supersymetrical residue filtering technicians.  Go figure.  I guess even a notorious monster¡¯s clone needs a job.  I relaxed.  It looks like I wasn¡¯t going to be laser sliced into tasty Balleeni slivers.


    The Emperor clone glanced at her floating screen, then aimed those glowing compound eyes at me and said I left a few fields blank on my application transmission.


    ¡°What do you mean,¡± I asked.


    ¡°You don¡¯t list the recency and any notable genetic and psychological variances of your latest clone.¡±


    Of course I left that part blank.


    Why?


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t have a clone,¡± I told her.


    ¡°Why not?¡± She wanted to know, as if he was asking why I didn¡¯t have three eyes. And I wasn¡¯t about to explain that.


    ¡°I guess I just don¡¯t need one.¡±


    Can¡¯t say I¡¯ve never thought of it, but, you know how it is.  I¡¯ve known people with clones, and they always complain they are a handful to deal with.  Don¡¯t think so?  Worse than having children, in my opinion, just look at what happened to the War Fleet Emperor.


    <<Galactic New Flash: The Bakchamid Confederacy is advocating greater isolation of the Walthoon as the latest studies of blue super giants in their sector of the Galaxy show tampering which suggest the development of Startrigger weaponry.  The Walthoon Galrep vigorously defended their interests, protesting that they are merely looking at developing supersymetrical absorption facilities, which wouldn¡¯t be intended for interstellar war.  At least not until they¡¯ve figured out how to use the technology as a weapon, which could require many field tests. Such tests would understandably have to take place outside of Walthoon occupied space.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 03 The More The Merrier?

    ¡°You need a clone for this job,¡± she told me. ¡°In fact it just about the most important thing for a Qulofid brane puncturing station filterer in the Dark Cluster to have.¡±


    Was news to me. I¡¯d never needed one before.


    ¡°You need a clone to filter supersymetrical impurities at a brane puncturing station?¡±


    ¡°Your damn right you do,¡± she chittered flatly. ¡°The entire system is set up biometrically to ensure nine nines of efficiency and interdimensional security. If something were to happen and we need a replacement to hyperspatially torpedo into that inky blackness of twisted space, he has to be the same biomechanically as you. It¡¯s a good twenty light-years through twisted space out there. If you are disintegrated or recombobulated or, Zevgan help you, phase-shifted, we need to have the ability to replace you with a one hundred percent certified genetic compatibility. . The delay in regenerating the system would be lengthy, not to mention costly.¡±


    I wondered briefly why she brought up the topic of disintegration.


    ¡°Oh,¡± I replied, ¡°in that case, I have a clone.¡±


    My interviewer nodded her antennae in instant acceptance.


    ¡°What¡¯s his registration RNA.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I told her.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know your own clone¡¯s RNA registration?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d have to go and contact him,¡± I said off the top of my forebrains. ¡°He¡¯s independent that way. You understand?¡±


    She was, not really surprisingly, accommodating.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°You go do that then.¡±


    ¡°Is there a risk I¡¯ll get disintegrated if I get this job?¡± I asked before I left.


    ¡°Not if you don¡¯t get me your clone¡¯s numbers.¡±


    I stepped outside and contacted the nearest cloning facility. I cursed my luck. It was half a parsec away. But my luck wasn¡¯t all bad. They didn¡¯t actually need me to visit in being to be clones. They took a reading of my genetics and a telempathic scan for my personality matrix. They told me they¡¯d have a clone duplicate grown for me in the next cycles, faster if I chose the slightly riskier express cloning and artificial aging promotion. Seemed a small risk. I took down the RNA registration number and went back to the War Emperor Clone. Shortly thereafter I was issued a field reduction suit, sensitive region force field generator and induction tubes for my antennae. I was officially on call.


    The rest of the local cycle, I spent my time wandering around the spaceports grasping my last sense of freedom (which also involved grasping some of a compatible species of the opposite sex, of course, or at least suitable android replicas.) This was big. I was breaking my primal directive, and a part of me, probably the spare brain I carried in my lower torso, could foresee only disaster.


    To make matters worse, I ran across a few bleepholes who knew a friend of a friend who¡¯d worked in that particular brane puncturing station. They said, ¡°a species with my characteristic were likely to have their head explode like rotten fruit,¡± under the warped nature of deep Dark Cluster space, if I wasn¡¯t chopped to pieces by the cabin fevered Oboloni mechanicals. Great I thought, as if my occupational claustrophobia wasn¡¯t enough, I was going to have to face both possibly warped space and crazed siliconoid co-workers. Or maybe that should be the other way around. I couldn¡¯t decide.


    Well, I thought, at least I now have a clone to carry on for me in case things went as those-in-the-know expected.


    <<Galactic News Flash: Interstellar lawmakers and celebrities are gathered for the conference and hearings on new cloning laws for the Triumvirate Systems. Many of them are in support of strict laws governing the creation of clones and protecting their rights as individual consentients. There however is a large contingent of citizens who oppose such laws, who stress the idiom, ¡®the more of me the merrier.¡¯ That contingent has been accused of advocating mass narcissism, as though that were a bad thing.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 04 – The Cranky Torpedo

    After another twenty or thirty cycles (it¡¯s hard to tell exactly because brown dwarfs don¡¯t actually produce enough sunlight to constitute day and a Dark Cluster doesn¡¯t produce any light at all (unless you count black light), and the satellite spaceports¡­ They keep their lights on all the time ¨C you try to sleep in those conditions) I was finally hyperpatially torpedoed to the station.


    The Company used hyperspatial torpedoes, their brochure told me, to minimize the risk of rupturing the fragile fabric of time-space between our universe and the upper and lower dimensions folding in on it in the Dark Cluster. The torpedo is little more than an environmentally secure capsule to squeeze in attached to an engine pod. It comes with enough air and other supplied to make the journey to the station, and a somewhat testy artificially intelligent autopilot to assure you during the wild trip you¡¯ll make it with all your body parts intact and where they were when you started.


    My body parts weren¡¯t, it seems of much concern to the torpedo, except where they inconvenienced it.


    ¡°Do not touch that,¡± it warned as I twisted into the confined space.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I told it, ¡°I¡¯m just trying to get comfortable.¡±


    ¡°Look, flesh blob, the only object that needs to be comfortable is me. If I¡¯m the slightest bit off on my trajectory, then we¡¯ll spend the next eternity or two slowly spiraling into on of those black holes out there. And that¡¯s if we¡¯re lucky. Understand.¡±


    Personally, I think they don¡¯t send real spaceships because they are cheap, and don¡¯t widen the wormholes because they¡¯ll only use them for the extracted zero-point energy to maximize profit. But, hell, if I was running things, I¡¯d probably do things the same way. And, yes, I am also cheap.


    ¡°Sounds like a difficult job you have,¡± I commented to the A.I Pilot.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Could be worse,¡± It replied. ¡°I could have been programmed for military use.¡±


    I restrained myself from nodding.


    ¡°On the other hand,¡± it continued. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be doing the same thing over and over and over again. I have been thinking of asking for a transfer.¡±


    I hoped the transfer wouldn¡¯t occur until after I arrived at my work assignment.


    After a surprisingly uneventful journey through tortured Dark Cluster space (which did not involve falling into a black hole), my torpedo arrived at the station. When we neared the station, through the tiny window into space, I could see it was a cluster of globular pods surrounding the top end of what looked like a long spike whose end disappeared into the utter blackness that engulfed everything beyond.


    In moments we arrived, docking in a large airlock bay.


    I extracted myself from the capsule, removed the many wires and tubes the thing has attached to me, put on my suit, field and induction cover.


    Before heading out of the airlock, I asked the torpedo¡¯s autopilot: ¡°Where do I find the filtering chamber?¡±


    ¡°Exit the airlock,¡± the voice of the torpedo told me. ¡°Now! Something will show you. Please, exit the airlock, unless you want to be sucked out into space when I reverse my thrusters. One of us is on a schedule, you know.¡±


    I quickly pulled open the heavy airlock door, entered the station proper, and turned to look behind me as the rather surly torpedo¡¯s proximity alarms wail.


    I paused for a second before slamming the heavy bulkhead door shut before the outer airlock opened.


    I did it just in time. The airlock had already filled with fiery exhaust as the torpedo blasted off later, frying the outer airlock with hard radiation, blackening it with ionized plasma.


    I hope they aren¡¯t going to expect me to clean that carbonization, I told myself. I agreed.


    There was nothing to do now but turn around and find the filtering chamber. My primal directive had been broken. I was here for the duration, whatever that duration might be. At least three hundred shifts, probably, unless of course, I happened to get myself disintegrated sooner.


    <<Galactic News Flash: The supersymetrical clean up continues at the largest known interdimensional rip at the Vhalidad brane. Meanwhile, the flood of anti-entropic dark matter through the rip has caused untold hardships amongst nearby stations as the increasing level of gravitic radiation disrupts the orbits of local planets and increases the activity of their suns. Surviving species are said to be planning intergalactic litigation, and a few rather more embittered interstellar war.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 05 – Sili Directions

    I¡¯d never been on this kind of a brane puncturing space station.  Well, that¡¯s not precisely true, but I hadn¡¯t been in a station that took what I¡¯d experienced and twisted it into a pretzel.  As I wandered around in what appeared to be semi-organic tube-like structures, I wondered exactly how twisted this region of space really was, where a facility like this would need a mostly organically constructed station to operate. After wandering around for what seemed like a good fraction of a cycle, I finally encountered one of the crew, and, true to what I¡¯d been told; these weren¡¯t carbon life forms, but silicon.  And the first look was a shocker.  They were certainly alien. Not, say, drive you insane with the indescribability of their alienness, but alien enough for my antennae to quiver (the left one rather violently.)


    The huge bulk, rippled It rounded structure, then turned what I assumed were its visual interfaces at me, I felt a momentary terror, but quickly calmed myself down.  You¡¯ve seen weirder than this, I told myself.  Not much weirder, but at least a little.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the filtering chamber,¡± I asked the thing.


    It seemed to regard me for a moment then a hot glassy appendage forced its way out of the bulk, pointing back towards the way I came.  As it pushed out towards me I could feel the heat it needed to keep it soft and malleable radiating like a mini sun.  The thing must have an internal temperature of 1500 degrees I reasoned, to keep its glassy body flexible. Hot, by most measures.


    ¡°Go straight,¡± It rumbled. ¡°Then the left tube, down three levels, right and then up one level.¡±


    I wondered if I wasn¡¯t going to get more lost.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Take it easy little fella, you can¡¯t miss it,¡± it rumbled, then turned back to what looked to be a complicated piece of machinery it was working on with at least a dozen more appendages.  Which were dripping some sort of white goo. Which seemed familiar enough for me to want to stay away from.


    I decided I didn¡¯t need to ask further.  I followed the instructions, eventually finding myself in the center of the structure, a large vault where another of the silicon residences, seemingly grafted into a large mobile mover was working on rearranging numerous cargo containers.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the filtering chamber?¡± I asked it.  This thing stopped and regarded me with an actual giant crystal blue-green eye.


    ¡°You just passed it,¡± the thing¡¯s voice vibrated through me.  Was that a chuckle? I wondered.  Were the Siliconoids having fun with the new guy?  I cursed myself, and followed the line of the pointing appendage, looking for some sign I could actually parse.


    And then there it was, burned into a hatchway in glowing, animated, script, universal enough for my bacterial translator to comprehend and fix the meaning in my mind: ¡®Keep out.  Supersymetrical emissions.  This means you.¡¯


    It was signed Blueneck.  I wondered briefly what a Blueneck could be, then looked over the hatchway searching for a way of opening it.  Despite having served on at least a hundred such stations, the mottled and seemingly organic flowing nature of the doorway truly confounded me.  I tried pushing the hatch, twisting protuberances, even pulling what I could get a grip on.


    I was helpless, and damn near hopeless, until, almost magically, unsealing with an unzipping-like sound, the hatchway flapped opened from the inside. And out of the gap, a blue neck suddenly protruded.


    <<Galactic Flashback: ¡±The increased need for viable species to work in the confines of warped near brane space has lead to advances not only in retype cloning (which has resulted in untold biological implications, and the resulting new genetic precedences.) and the development of hybrid species (which also is having untold social implications.)  And what of our species, are we willing to compromise out genetic purity to ensure dark energy independence? ¨C Gummon,the last pure Henchelor.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 06 – Up To Its Neck

    I was shocked again, but recovered easily.  The being I encountered was not so bizarrely strange looking (if occasionally beautiful in a surreal glass blown way) as the Oboloni Siliconiods, but the being I next encountered wasn¡¯t at the pleasant end of the normal to abnormal scale either.  But then, those on the pleasant end of that scale wouldn¡¯t be working in bent, twisted space, now would they?


    Picture a more or less recognizable humanoid body, two arms, to legs, (to be fair, they were as much tentacle as actually bony limbs), but no head, just a thick blue trunk of a neck.


    The figure waved a flappy hand at the end of an arm-like limb, at me, to enter.  I hesitated for a moment, and then a synthetic voice boomed from the top of its cutoff neck.


    ¡°Stop*blank**blank* playing with yourself,¡± it advised, while my internal profanity filter blocked out the unappreciated color in his statements, ¡°And*blank* come in.  I can¡¯t keep this *blank**blank**blank*   thing open all day.  It bites. And if it doesn¡¯t*blank*  bite me, It¡¯ll*blank**blank* bite you.¡±


    I cautiously entered the teethy organic hatch, looked around the egg-shaped chamber it opened up into. It snapped shut behind me.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the filtering chamber?¡± I asked, assuming such a small space couldn¡¯t be my workspace. I was used to a much larger setup, and expected one, considering the volume of dark matter which was supposed to flowing through this station.


    ¡°You¡¯re*blank*inside it,¡± the being confirmed. ¡°What¡¯s your *blank**blank* designation? I¡¯m the station¡¯s*blank* prime facilitator. You can *blank**blank* call me Blueneck.¡±


    That was the first thing I¡¯d encountered here that was the least bit reasonable about this place.  Just shows you that looks aren¡¯t everything.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    As I looked again over the chamber, familiar details began to emerge from the alien structure.  There was an area I could see now it did look like supersymetrical scrubbing housings, the familiar, if organically shaped force field screens and the other side of the egg was peppered with what might have been other hatches.  But they appeared to be all too small for the Siliconoid¡¯s I¡¯d seen, whom I assumed were the frontline puncturing biomechanicals..


    ¡°How do the Obolomi workers fit in here?¡±


    Blue neck laughed a synthetic laugh, his thickly muscled neck quivering with seeming delight at my apparent ignorance.


    ¡°They just*blank*stick their working appendages in here,¡± he told me, pointing at what I thought were portholes. ¡°They make their exchanges and we, or should I say you, you clean the filters.  You have*blank* done this before, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    I had the uncomfortable feeling he was scrutinizing my reaction, but couldn¡¯t figure out by looking at him, with what.


    I quickly nodded my antennae, at least a dozen times.  Yeah, I¡¯d done this before, but never quite like this.


    ¡°I know the job,¡± I insisted. I¡¯ve been doing it for several millennia, hoping in my shakiness I sounded confident.


    ¡°Good then¡± He told me. ¡°I¡¯d hate to have to*blank* school another*blank**blank* neo.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to do the extraction and reinsertion, do I?¡± I had to know. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time a jobber tried to throw in extra duties.


    He laughed again.


    ¡°No,¡± the synthetic voice told me. ¡°That¡¯s my*blank* job.  They don¡¯t like to be rubbed the wrong way. If you know what I*blank**blank* mean.¡±


    At that, I finally relaxed, relieved.  I wasn¡¯t really the type who wanted to learn how to rub a Siliconoid Mechanical hybrid the right way.


    <<Galactic Ad Flash: Many individuals of numerous species these days are making the choice to have surgery to move their vital organs to more protected areas that evolution did not think wisely to provide.  We later discuss this, along with the advantages and disadvantages of redistributing your brain to various parts of your body.  And the brain is only one of the many organs we can help you with.  For more questions, transmit to Beoleon¡¯s Organicals, Praximini Four. >>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 07 – If It’s Too Hot For You, Then Don’t Touch It

    You might have noticed most references about the extraction of zero-point energy refer to how dangerous the galaxy¡¯s favorite source of energy is. Don¡¯t be fooled,  it is dangerous, and in other ways than you¡¯ll have typically learned from galactic densate activists, who will be happy to tell you ¨C and show you ¨C all about the effects of the dark matter pollution created by the anti-entropic fuel that powers the most developed interstellar civilizations.


    You see, sticking a spike through twisted, foldy space into an alien universe ¨C or a primordial store of entropically inverse energy as the supersymetrical energy producers say ¨C what you pull out isn¡¯t always, shall we say, clean.  And sometimes it¡¯s more volatile than the systems, or even, our universe ¨C usually in isolated realspace pockets ¨C can handle. I¡¯ve been as little as two assignments away from a station that got something they couldn¡¯t handle ¨C couldn¡¯t handle gravitically ¨C as it turned out.  Sometimes it¡¯s put out of action, sometimes it¡¯s dimensionally altered, sometimes there¡¯s a spill through a rift in space that required evacuations of inhabitants from light-years around, which provides all those horrible holograms the activists are more than gladly to show everyone they can.


    So yeah, dangerous stuff.  Most things from other universes are, I¡¯ve been told.  Knowing that, the spiel I got from the scaly green reptiloid station clerk was pretty much what I expected, even reassuring.


    ¡°If a rupture in the flow happens,¡± he advised.¡± Then it¡¯s pretty fast, that¡¯s the good part.  You do have a clone outside of the cluster, right?¡±


    I nodded.  He should have been decanted and on his way to the station by now.  I hoped he was well adjusted.  Some of the clones I¡¯ve known have been a bit off, given their awareness of their second-hand nature, even occasionally homicidally psychotic. It made me wonder about how I¡¯d react.  Probably not to bad if the second me was anything like the first me.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Good,¡± he told me. ¡°Most of the other problems, the siliconoids can handle, If they aren¡¯t the cause of it.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I wondered.  Were we back to the crazy Oboloni Hybrid thing again.


    He eyed me with one of his three independent oculars.  There¡¯s nothing more I hate than beings with independent eyes, those who have more than I¡¯ve got.  You know they''re always looking at something you can¡¯t.


    ¡°Most of them have been on the station for a long time,¡± he told me. ¡°They¡¯ve gotten a bit strange, even by Silicon standards.  Best you avoid them as much as you can.¡±


    That was different.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you rotate them out then?¡± I asked.


    He rolled his three eyes.


    ¡°Bit of a glut of Supersym out there,¡± he admitted. ¡°Cost-cutting measure.¡±


    That was never good.  It meant work harder and longer for less.  I probably wouldn¡¯t get my bonus then.


    ¡°Once we reach quota, they¡¯ll be spun off,¡± he assured me.


    ¡°But they¡¯ll be sticking their appendages in here regularly.¡± I noted a bit worriedly. It bothered me to think the Siliconoids would have something on their alien minds other than their jobs.


    ¡°I said avoid them as much as you can, and as much as you should,¡± he repeated. ¡°Otherwise, If there¡¯s a normal thing, like a fire or a hole in the hull, just get on a suit and get to the undamaged superglobule.¡±


    ¡°Ok,¡± I agreed. Sounded simple enough.


    But I knew that ¡®something simple¡¯ was the least likely of things to occur.  Which made me wonder again how my clone was doing back on the satellite orbiting the brown dwarf?  Was he upset that he missed his chance out here, or glad he was going to avoid it.  He¡¯d be thinking like me, of course, I hoped, but even I couldn¡¯t decide how exactly I would act If I was in his shoes.  Or in mine, when it really came down to it, as my lower torso brain decided to chip in.


    <<Galactic Flashback: Even in this day of interstellar travel most of the deaths occurring in space are due to the disregard of safety regulations and poor understanding of safety protocols.  Don¡¯t get caught in explosive decompression or irradiated by your engine''s power source.  Read the safety manual, or die!. ¨C A hatchling¡¯s guide to living in space, featuring that adorable brainworm, Mr. Chugba>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 08 – Instructions From Blueneck, Or, Just Because

    So¡­ I was left feeling somewhat concerned about the Siliconoids, especially after my brief encounters with them when I first arrived.  Blueneck had more than a few things to say about their behaviors. But a great deal of what he told me was blocked out by my Relative Profanity Filter, so I assumed he wasn¡¯t really offering relevant information.  I thought about lowering the setting to make his comments a bit clearer, just in case there was something in his stream of xenosexuallity focused invective, but at the time I decided against it.  I knew my job well enough, I thought, the probably do too.  Later, I realized I should have been a little less sensitive.  At that moment.  And perhaps for my entire time on the station, really.


    I asked to see my duty station, and he showed me into the tight space behind the force field array enveloping the egg-shaped transferal chamber.


    Inside were both the disassembly areas, where he would be working and the filtering area where I would be.  I realized we weren¡¯t alone.


    There was a form, but it was even more alien than what I¡¯d seen so far, amoeboid at best, compulsively shape-shifting at worst. It gave me a vertigo headache just looking at it.  Blueneck introduced it as ¡®Because¡¯ a Gnarloshifter who¡¯s job it was to keep the surfaces of the chamber from collecting a critical mass of supersymetrical particles.  Yep, he was the guy with the mop.


    Ah, a Gnarloshifter.  I relaxed as the shape shifting imagery was all in my mind then.  Gnarloshifters are a shifty bunch, telepathic by nature, fluid by inclination.  The whole ambiguous nature of what I saw was actually in my own mind.


    Hmm... I thought to myself, I must be more unfocused than usual.  I also remembered the shifters were more sensitive than most about psycho-reflective perception defenses and tend to be a bit reactionary about it.


    He, however, seemed friendly enough. For a perception twisting amoeboid, that was.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Blueneck¡¯s neck stump quivered as he showed me my filtering stall.


    ¡°Here¡¯s *blank*where you do your *blank**blank*work,¡± he told me. ¡°And as long as you can *blank*scrub the *blank*filters clear of their *blank*interdimensional spunk, no one will have any problems with you, even with those antennae and all.¡±


    ¡°I thought I¡¯m cleaning supersymetrical residue,¡± I replied.


    He waggled his thick neck.


    ¡°Yeah, you keep telling *blank*yourself that,¡± he offered. ¡°Things get *blank*mixed.  You gotta know that.  You know your *blank*job, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I nodded, such was my life, antennae and all.  I examined the stall, noting it was as sparkling as the rest of the chamber.  I also noted there was some sort of closed porthole as well welded into the external, nonorganic wall.


    ¡°What¡¯s that for,¡± I asked.


    ¡°You use that,¡± he told me. ¡°In case you are *blank*claustrophobic.  Or you get really *blank*bored.¡±


    ¡°Why would that even happen?¡±


    ¡°We had a couple*blank**blank* filterers who were a bit like that,¡± he advised. ¡°Doesn¡¯t really matter if you *blank*open it or not.  Not like there¡¯s much to *blank*see.


    ¡°Seems like a waste then,¡± I thought. ¡°To have windows which open up to nothing?¡±


    ¡°Seemed to *blank*work for them,¡± Blueneck admitted. ¡°Sfroga *blank*psychology, who can *blank**blank*figure it.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t It just black out there,¡± I was thinking of the Dark Cluster, full of black holes and black interstellar dust.


    ¡°As I*blank* said,¡± he repeated. ¡°If you get really, really *blank*bored.  Or go really, really *blank* crazy.¡±


    Well, I wondered, I was only going to be here for a couple hundred phase shifts, how bored was I going to get?  And how crazy was I going to get?  How crazy could I possibly get?


    <<Galactic News Flash: The Beatelbeakian who was hit and shattered into multiple independent partitions during a deep space walkabout by an ancient probe has had his planetary council petition to enact vengeance upon the planet from where the probe was launched. They have utilized the galactic exclusionary precedent which guarantees, if the offending species is no longer extant, to provide legal protection regarding the victim¡¯s representative¡¯s vengeance on whatever is the highest life form on said planet. Thus far neither the offending planet nor their species have been located.  It is assumed they, and it, have gone into hiding.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 09 – Really, How Much Darker Than Black Can You Get?

    Why did I open that porthole? Even though I knew it was likely to do no good?  I¡¯m still not sure.  Could be I was still feeling a bit nervous about breaking my primal directive. Perhaps I was concerned about the worries of finding myself in warped space.  Not sure.  But I reached up, turned the lever, and opened myself up to the universe that was out there with expectant eyes.


    Of course, I was disappointed.  What could I have expected?


    Beyond the clear transparency, space was black, utterly black, completely black, black on black. This I knew, there was nothing more to see in the black space of the Dark Cluster, but after a preliminary session of running the filtering of the first batch of tubules, I realized I would quickly become agitated with something akin to boredom, perhaps even dread of it unless I had something to focus on, something different than what I was accustomed to, something different from what I¡¯d be working on.


    So I left it open and as expected it unvaryingly displayed the black expanse, with apparently nothing to alter the visual metaphor of conceptual nothingness.  Oh, there were other stations out there, I knew, but they were millions of kilometers away, even upon the closest perigee, and any lights they emitted would be lost in the black dust long before they¡¯d reach this station. I was staring into a literal void.


    My people have a saying: ¡°Be careful as you gaze into the void.  Someone can then sneak up and poke you in the eyes.  Then where will you be?¡±


    With no eyes, you¡¯ll be looking pretty much into the void all the time.  My people have a strange sense of humor.  They rarely produce comics, let alone even humorists.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Still, there was an unexpected aspect to the darkness I caught onto pretty quickly.  You see, I expected the darkness to be dimensionless.  After all, black is black is black, isn¡¯t it?  But, no, there was a degree of dimension to this blackness, there was, somehow perceptually, texture and complexity to it.  There was some sort of depth.


    How?  I didn¡¯t know.  Maybe I thought it was imagination, my mind creating something out of nothing.  Looking for patterns, you know, like all consentients do.  And what did it matter anyway?  It was something to keep my mind off my work, the repetition, the drudgery.  Drudgery? Why was I thinking about that? No, it was better to look into the distant dark.  Drudgery only happens when your unpleasant activities were unplanned.  Mine were strictly mapped out and internally authorized.


    If I had known better, I would have shut the thing and demanded it be welded shut.  But I didn¡¯t, so I didn¡¯t, and it wasn¡¯t.


    Of course, the blackness wasn¡¯t my only source of distraction.  Blueneck didn¡¯t let up, headless though he was, he had plenty to say, and plenty to radiate through the telempathic translators we were all using, For a guy with no mouth, nor even working tongue or throat, as far as I knew, his runneth over.


    ¡°What the *blank**blank*¡¯s up,¡± he would greet me at the beginning of every shift.  That¡¯s where it would start.  And it would go pretty much the same place every shift.  But I had my porthole.  So¡­ I didn¡¯t get bored.  And crazy, well, that¡¯s another thing entirely.


    <<Galactic News Flash: investigators are now certain a psychological plague of ennui has swept through the well known Vezhengi population of the Trigon Group of inhabited worldlets.  As the cause of the death by boredom has been yet to be determined, all similarly adapted species are requested to avoid the remaining cultural artifacts of the species so no other civilization suffers the exact same fatal ennui that befell the Vezhengi.  This warning, in the interest of alien culture sensitivity, is not intended to suggest that other civilizations stop exploring their own potential end time boredom, they merely are not advised to pirate another civilization¡¯s apocalypse, as such an at would be considered as being in bad taste.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 10 – Day And/Or Night Shifts With Blueneck

    Neither Blueneck¡¯s neck, nor the rest of his bulky body stayed still for long. This I realized pretty early into my first shift of work. His synthetic voice also kept going, going and going although mostly it specialized in the types of communication my profanity filters blocked out from my conscious comprehension, of which, of course, I remain grateful.


    And, unfortunately for my deeper thought patterns, the strength of his through the telepathic translator system we were all coupled into, also rarely took a break. That, sadly, I could not completely turn off. Workers at these sorts of stations were required to be able to comprehend their co-workers at all times. Even if that particular comprehension involved disgust, dismay, horror, vomiting, the like. The law the law. It¡¯s for safety. Everyone knows that.


    Now, sure, you might think that sort of thing is used by sensitive species which has no tolerance for the xenospicy side of existence, but I¡¯ve learned with regards to many species, sexual deviancy and religion play a key part in profanity, and ones on species can be bad enough. Once you start applying the kinds of things Alien species use for their own personal and cultural invective compulsions, then you can hit a different plane of disturbing.


    This is why I never got into the more interpersonal side of the supersymetrical filter career. That is a sure way to get irredeemably bent.


    So¡­ in between his tirade of language which was cancelled out by my filter ¨C although there was always the option for a less graphic translation of his quips ¨C he finally realized after a couple shifts, I wasn¡¯t responding in the way he expected I was supposed to.


    Or, more specifically, the way Blueneck wanted me to.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Are you *blank*listening to me,¡± he asked. And then he did again, backing up the request with a telempathic push. Eventually I had to answer. Or it would seem like I was being rude.


    ¡°I am,¡± I told him.


    ¡°Gak?! Then, what do you *blank*have to say about what I just *blank*said?¡± he wanted to know.


    I shrugged. I¡¯m one of the lucky species who can perform such a bodily maneuver. You¡¯d be surprised how rare we are.


    ¡°Not much,¡± I admitted.


    ¡°Are you one of those *blank*asexual irreligious types then,¡± he wondered. ¡°Cause I am just not *blank**blank*impressed by species that just *blank*duplicate by *blank*splitting into *blank*blank**two.¡±


    That was a little funny, considering we all had to have clones to just be here.


    ¡°Nope,¡± I told him. ¡°Just don¡¯t talk about it much.¡±


    To be fair, my species, perhaps, didn¡¯t have the sexual cache of the Womologs of Fran or the Geisseve Swarm. They just don¡¯t make many jokes about Balleeni sex or religion.


    Yep, those species specific topics are simply that exciting to talk about..


    ¡°Well chop me down,¡± he nodded his neck, expressing an odd satisfaction. ¡°I guess that¡¯ll *blank*mean I¡¯ll have to *blank*do it for the *blank**blank*both of us.¡±


    And that was plenty fine for me, as it meant I would be left to contemplate the void in front of me with only a bubbling undercurrent from my co-worker, and the complex yet rote task of cleaning every bit of dark matter splatter. Any of the other materials I was scrubbing? Well, I preferred not to quantify that which caked the anti-entropic collectors I¡¯d been given, it was better not to ask. One of the purposes of a cleaning job, I figured, was to also ensure that one can always have a clean mind ¨C in theory, anyway.


    <<Galactic News Flash: The Develian Crake, a superorganism species type is currently in the process of simplifying It¡¯s reproductive system by genetically grafting suitable characteristics of approved alien species. If you would like to offer up members of your simplistic sexual species, or know a relatively defenseless species which members can be culled from, please contact your local Develian Crake consulate. Don¡¯t be afraid, they won¡¯t eat you. They save that behavior for their designated reproductive partners.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 11 – You Can Keep Your Tendrils To Yourself

    Don¡¯t ask me why the standard filter bearing component of zero-point energy extraction happens to be members of a cybernetically enhanced genetically engineered silicon life form from a globular cluster orbiting the Lesser Magellanic Cloud.  Maybe they scored highest on the aptitude tests.  Or maybe they¡¯re the only ones willing to do the job.  Truly alien beings are often more than willing to do the sort of things a sensible consentient wouldn¡¯t even imagine.  Or so I¡¯ve been told.


    I wouldn¡¯t expect you¡¯ll get an answer you¡¯d even get a decent response, even with whatever kind universal translator you have.  And it probably doesn¡¯t matter anyway. Consentients sensible or not, we do what we do.  To attach a reasonable meaning to anyone¡¯s behavior would probably be a disservice, to attach a higher meaning, even more so.  Higher meanings are for higher life forms, or so we¡¯re told. Between you and me, though, given what I¡¯ve heard, and experienced, higher life forms often get up to, I think higher meanings are a bit of a misnomer.


    But back to the Oboloni Siliconoids.


    Personally, I tend to find most non-carbon based life forms to be rather creepy (not to mention a great deal of carbon-based life forms).  But these ones were particularly weird.  Now, there weren¡¯t as many as I had expected to be on such a large station, maybe around thirty, and their shifts were staggered, I didn¡¯t have much of the way of encounters of any numbers.


    The Siliconoids did make it up for that in their own kind of passive-aggressive manner.


    What would happen?  A few would show up, and by showing up, I mean they would descend into the outer chamber, ostensibly to exchange their filters,  and the stick their thick appendages through those holes in the chamber I mentioned, inserted filters filthy with supersymetrical taint (not to mention, their own hot gooey alien bodily secretions).  I did make me wonder how efficient the whole operation would be in such a polluted environment, but mine was not to question, just to do my filtering.


    With their appendages discharged, they would hover their appendages behind me, and bang and scrape them against the protective force field.  They did it for so long the tips cooled off and splintered causing glass shards to litter the floor and Blueneck to resume his cursing.  I didn¡¯t really care about the mess, but the incessant scraping did put my nerves on edge.  On the Vobri scale of pleasant noises, I¡¯d rank it a point four - somewhere between the screams of tortured Vappa Rats and the sound of stars getting sucked into black holes.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Again, bizarre aliens.  Hell if I knew what they wanted.  I was doing what I was told.  Cleaning the filters to a shine I could be proud of.  Exactly what I¡¯d been advised by Blue neck to do.


    After they¡¯d left, I turned to my stump necked co-worker.  I¡¯d finally had enough to ask him.


    ¡°What was that all about?¡± I wanted to know.


    ¡°Are you*blank**blank*telling me you*black**blank*don¡¯t*blank*blank*blank*understand?¡± he replied.  Yes, I hadn¡¯t reduced the level of my profanity filter.


    ¡°No,¡± I replied. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m asking.¡±


    What the hell did I know about Siliconoid Cybernetic Aliens from the Lesser Cloud.


    Eventually, though his usual stream of invective, Blueneck relayed to me they were trying to get a reaction from the new guy.  They were looking for some entertainment after a long shift of filtering dirty dark matter. They thought I was cute.


    Oh.


    Too bad.  I wasn¡¯t here to entertain some twitchy tendrils from some extra-galactic cyborg.  I was here to do the job I was being paid for.  If I wanted to do perform interspecies hand-holding sessions, I would have gone to diplomatic school like my three half cousins.  Would have made my extended gene pool actually proud. Diplomatic school is well regarded on Balleen. On the other hand, they don¡¯t last long either.  I¡¯ve managed to outlive each and every one of those supposed high-achievers.  It may sound odd to you Cleaning filters in the middle of warped space-time is a less dangerous vocation than counseling whatever consentient flesh-eating aliens and their like. There are more out there than you might expect out there, based on the law of averages, who always seem to want to take a bite out of the Baleen occupied space-sphere.  It¡¯s a sad fact, so there, you diploma hugging hotshots.


    <<Galactic Travel Advisory: the Subemian cluster has become infested with aggressively territorial Siliconoid colony life forms which are expanding their range.  Potential carbon-based colony species are therefore advised to look to the alternative class three clusters to avoid the risk of major interstellar war ¨C unless, of course, you are in the ¡®excess population reduction¡¯ phase of your species development.  Then by all means take the Suberian tour (military or otherwise) >>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 12 – Do Not Have Another Antarean Supernova

    No consentient can be simply defined as their most obvious characteristics. There was more to Blueneck, apparently than his blue neck, or his colorful thoughts and language.  There had been a head on that stump once.  Although if you listened to him for more than a few days, as I was compelled to, you¡¯d wonder at the number of reasons why his head wasn¡¯t there anymore.  Were any of them true, I wondered.  Unfortunately, even the telempathic broadcast translator wasn¡¯t much good here, as it seemed the azure Colophian appeared to believe every word/thought he expressed, whether they were contradictory or not.


    Thankfully, he wasn¡¯t the station¡¯s engineer.


    One day, it was a blaster shot from a trigger happy space patrol cadet getting plastered in a spaceport bar, a victim of one or two too many Antarean Supernovas and the attention of a two-headed, four breasted Skinx, another day it was a hungry sextruped on an safari expedition on a weird phosphorescent jungle moon, with floating mountains and people with some crazy addiction to their brain-sucking trees.  He even suggested, at least once, it hadn¡¯t even been blown off, but that it had in fact wandered off someday and forgot to leave a forwarding address.  I didn¡¯t know anything about Colophians, so that has as good a chance to be true as anything else.  Lucky for him, though his species didn¡¯t have a great apparent need for its heads, as they were devoted solely to sensory input and eating, both of which was easily replaced by galactic technology.  Even if one chose to not replace the head with, well, another head.


    Because wasn¡¯t any help in determining fact from fiction.


    ¡°Even if I told you what I thought was the truth,¡± he told me as he shifted from amoeba to stick figure. ¡°It would probably what you want to hear anyways, what you¡¯ve already decided.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t exactly psychologically compatible,¡± he¡¯d transformed into a collection of intricate tube-like structures. ¡°Your mind is having a tough enough handling me simply being non-communicative.¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    I couldn¡¯t argue with that, turned away from his latest nausea-inducing psycho-shifting.


    Oh, back to Blueneck.


    He wouldn¡¯t tell me exactly where his species brains were, but hinted they were somewhere the suns didn¡¯t shine.  Seemed appropriate, considering the overriding topics of conversation he was committed to.


    Still, as I¡¯ve noted, he was a jittery consentient, rarely sitting still for more than a few moments, needing to walk around on his limbs/tentacles.  There was a nervous edge to him, he seemed to crave stimulation, and constantly his telempathic link was pressuring mine.


    Why? I have no idea. and based on his general metabolism, it seemed odd for him to behave that way.  Had he spent too much time out here as well?  Or had something, or somethings in the past caused him to behave and project so compulsively.


    Luckily for me, I could tune him out when I had to, although not always when I wanted to, and not enough to not learn the gist of what he needed to parlay.  It wasn¡¯t a game I liked to play.  It wasn¡¯t as though I had a treasure of psychological imagery to offer him.  I cleaned filters.


    Nothing exciting or stimulating there.


    Which is exactly why I made a career of it.


    Being alive, as they say, is excitement enough.


    As for my connection, I was going to have to get it upgraded, as even though I could concentrate on my task at hand, there was always something of his, or Because¡¯s or even the Siliconoids which managed to slip through, thoughts, feelings, impressions, compulsions.


    I know, I should have had it fine-tuned before I came, and that would turn out to be my one regret.  I suppose it''s possible what came next could have been avoided if I could have tuned out the universe.


    On the other hand, the universe has a way of getting into you, if it wants to, and if you¡¯re willing to let it.  This is normally what made my prime directive so valuable a commandment. Too many unhealthy things can fall into an open mind.


    <<Galactic News Flash: Three members of the Numerian Space Patrol were killed today when a Vgebaoshi interstellar transport hit their stationary vessel level four hyperspace.  Science police are investigating as according to the basic rules of higher dimensional physics, it is impossible to remain motionless in fourth level hyperspace.  Seriously, higher dimension physicists across the galaxy are quite angry about this development, and are demanding charges be laid for this clear violation of established physical laws.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 13 – Sex with Aliens, A Whole Lot Of Them

    Blueneck, was more than willing to repeatedly make it clear his reproductive organs were perfectly operational, however.  And it seemed he had numerous opportunities to get pretty familiar with all sorts of kinds of xeno-reproduction with many physically compatible near-sentient life forms.  Blueneck, after, or maybe before ¨C he offered some references to repeated time displacement experiments, again, either the alien was a compulsive liar, or this completely explained his multiple explanations for everything he told me about his life, or lives ¨C and again after he was involved in several of the green-listed wars against The Morphoid threat, as well as his extensive work in the galactic visiteering industry.


    Apparently, According to Blueneck, there was a difference between planetary visitations by advanced and often clinically efficient species and the wider range of species who preferred  Visiteering, but from the way he talked about it, I had difficulty telling the difference from what I knew.


    ¡°Don¡¯t*blank**blank*let them*blank**blank**blank*fool you,¡± he advised me. ¡°There¡¯s*blank*nothing*blank* *blank**blank*pure about those*blank*Visiteering types, they are looking for*blank**blank*one*blank*thing, and*blank*one*blank**blank*thing only.¡±


    Which didn¡¯t bother Blueneck on any level.  He¡¯d gotten involved precisely because of one thing.


    I always thought of visiteering as a more kindly version of the wholesale exploitation of various primitive planet-bound species by more advanced space-faring types.  From Blueneck, there seemed to be more a broader but more agenda-based perspective than was typically publicized by the galactic travel industry.  Although to be clear, I was not certain his voice was an objective one.


    ¡°*blank**blank**blank*,¡± he told me. ¡°I was *blank*in it as much as any of those*blank**blank* *blank*s, even went native a few times.  There¡¯s *blank*something about those*blank**blank* primitive drives, I can tell*blank**blank*you.¡±


    It seemed he had gained, over his time visiteering, a significant amount of knowledge in xenosexuality, and all manners of manipulation of species reproduction, having learned or figured out how to physically mate with numerous less developed life forms than himself.  Apparently, in the Visiteering community this was often seen as beneficial to the lesser species, providing much needed more refined genes to promote positive mutation in the indigenous species of the underdeveloped regions of the galaxy, euphemistically entitled ¡®uplifting.¡¯This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    It sounded more like an excuse for certain alien species to have some fun in a particularly xenophiliac sort of way.


    ¡°Yeah, uplifting for whom?¡± I wondered.


    Blueneck laughed his synthetic laugh when I offered my thoughts.  In fact it was a while before he could respond coherently, as the physical intensity of his reaction caused his nanotronic voice box to stutter with static.


    ¡°*blank*partner, I have to say it was pretty*blank**blank*¡®uplifting¡¯ for me,¡± he finally forced out.


    For several shifts after that, he would burst into spontaneous Colophian guffaws.


    ¡°*blank**blank* uplifting,¡± he would tell me when I would finally acknowledge his humor.


    Unfortunately, this only encouraged his repeated discussions on the various merits of tentacular species and multi-limbed beings, invertebrate vs. boneless species. The imagery again, gradually leaked through my receiver, compelling me to spend more effort tuning my mind to focus its external stimuli receptor towards the dark space beyond the porthole, undefined as it was, and imagining to myself what was out there. There were other brane puncturing stations and there must be filterers out there too.  I began to wonder if they too were staring out into the blackness, looking for something to keep them from snapping, wondering if they too had to put up with co-workers obsessed over multi-species engagements of the most primal kind.


    And this would work for a while, before something the Blueneck said would pull me right back into my body and position.  But it wasn¡¯t all about his xenophilia.  There was another topic in which he had interest.


    <<Galactic News Flash: Several poorly developed, at least by galactic standards, worlds are complaining to the galactic charter organization about the influx of aliens arriving on their worlds with the intent to be helpful.  These alleged attempts have already resulted in several worlds becoming wastelands when primitive species take advantage of the more advanced species technologies, not to mention the more advanced species philosophies on the use of such technologies.  The petition has been joined by the low-level consentients of many other worlds are concerned they may share this fate.  Spokes beings for the visiteering industry claim the allegations are overblown, as many of the said worlds were legally considered barely habitable to begin with.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 14 – Various Ways Of Killing Many Types Of Consentients

    In his many tours of duty in several of the more recent wars against The Morphoids, a rather persistent interstellar plague, Blueneck also learned the many ways necessary of how to kill all sorts of creatures of different shapes and biologies. As you probably know, an adult stage Morphoid can take any physical form that matches its mass. This distinguished them from Because¡¯s species, who¡¯s psychic appearance of transformation was merely limited to what the observer¡¯s mind can come up with  - luckily Gnarloshifters are generally not nearly so dangerous ¨C unlike Morphoids ¨C those were a real threat,  swarming whole worlds when they built up a critical population. A Gnarloshifter was more of a one enemy at a time type.


    Yes, the topic of killing too was a favorite topic of Blueneck.  This was also something Because he would get into when he was there to run the purifying systems and shields which maintained our protection from the various excretions the Siliconoids were wont to produce.


    Because¡¯s experiences were different, as he had spent much time incarcerated on numerous prison planets in the Black Space Imperium when he hadn¡¯t been an interspecies trade consultant or an occasional bounty hunter.  The Gnarloshifter seemed to have as many vocations as shaped I was forced to reevaluate my impression of the consentient as often as he changed his perceptual form.  Both he and blue neck were not adverse against transmitting images of various different killing techniques they had exercised amongst the various different species they had encountered.  And their supply seemed to be endless.


    Again this sort of thing filtered through my receivers and there were moments of violent exultation when I experienced totally alien to my person and species experiences.  Some times I couldn¡¯t even do my job, I¡¯m sad to say.  They were certainly an enthusiastic pair, if nothing else.


    It was such a rush at times which, after I was psychologically compelled to refocus on my personal bodily existence, that my mind dropped into a set of alien imagery where I couldn¡¯t tell exactly what information the two were exchanging.  What can I say, I couldn¡¯t resist forever.  I¡¯m sure any consentient would have eventually let its psychological walls down for a moment, just to see what the two of them were so enthusiastically excited about.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I was experiencing the approach towards a medium-sized alien, somewhat humanoid, somewhat tentacular.  I was tense and excited and quickly reached out with a set of my own tentaculared limbs.  They were blue colored, and I realized what I was involved in, but was unable to shake myself out of it.


    I was thinking to my self, you have to get your extenders around it breathing columns and grip hard.  Once you¡¯ve got that kind of grip, you¡¯ve got it right where you want it.


    My lower brain started screaming at me, clearly not wanting to share in the experience of either sort of climax.  I decided to let it have its way.


    ¡°Would you cut that out,¡± I had to shout at the two of them, only to receive a chuckle from the alien pair.


    ¡°I am trying to do my job,¡± I implored, in my rare moments of frustration.


    ¡°Hey filterer, if you can¡¯t *blank**blank*handle it,¡± Blueneck offered. ¡°Then look out your *blank*porthole.  If that¡¯s the only kind of *blank*entertainment you can handle.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Because added. ¡°Nothing from nothing.¡±


    I managed to pull my thoughts away.  I was going to have to find something to keep me focused against receiving his spare fantasies.  And the only thing available was black space.


    Now this may have been a mistake, but I had no way of knowing what was actually out there, and what it might be interested in.  If I had known, I may have well put up with the balky transceiver, whatever being part of Because¡¯s, or Blueneck¡¯s personal history may have been better than the madness that followed. At least a little.


    Or maybe not.  That was one of those things that I¡¯ll never be sure of.  Crazy is like that, you know.


    <<Galactic News Flash: Surviving  clones of the infamous deceased War Fleet Emperor of the Gorasa have been forced into hiding as hundreds of their duplicates have been found murdered in a staggering array of methods.  Investigators are baffled by the fact that none of the clones has been killed the same way twice.  After all, they report, what kind of consentient ¨C or consentients ¨C would have both the need for vengeance coupled with the same degree of creativity.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 15 Metamorphosis, Or, You’re Not So Black After All

    <div>


    Given the kind of activity going around me over the shifts, I followed Blueneck¡¯s advice and focused my thoughts and attention outwards, staring more and more into the inky blackness of the Dark Cluster in order to escape the level of conversation happening around me.  And the more I looked, the more there seemed to be something in the deep blackness.


    Now I am a typical species in terms of visual range, so the sort of infrared visualization some species might use to get some imagery from the utter blackness, so I was left to try to make something from it.


    There are a number of types of Dark Clusters in the galaxy, I know, I¡¯ve almost worked in several of them, although most that I knew about weren¡¯t nearly as dark as this one, nor as isolated.  Not only were there black holes lurking in this space, but there were also a number of black clouds of interstellar dust and a large amount of dark matter which block out most light in the visible spectrum.  Here, there was not even the odd super giant not quite ready to join the local Black Hole Association, to at least break up the swath of utter darkness.


    And, according to everything I have read and experienced, the blackness is all that is supposed to be there, as nothing consentient could possibly evolve in such warped and dark space.


    What was out there, I reasoned, wasn¡¯t going to be nearly as dangerous to my psyche as my two co-workers.  And, considering I still had a hundred work shifts to go and they were already getting me in trouble with my midbrain, I knew there was only one thing I could do.


    Look out.


    So I was comfortable as I gazed into the blackness and shift after shift it became clear to me there was some sort of dimension to it, some sort of pattern to the blackness I was seeing.  At first, I thought it might be imperfections in my own perception, but as I¡¯m not any more susceptible to delusion and hallucination then I considered there might be something to them.  And my own species visual acuity was in the galaxies top ten percentile in the visual light spectrum I¡¯m proud to tell you.  You don¡¯t¡¯ start a career job scrubbing dark matter if you can¡¯t tell what you¡¯re doing, and you don¡¯t keep it if you can¡¯t see those microscopic specks most species can¡¯t..  And with these eyes I kept watching the patterns in the dark, and they did not fade.  Not only did they persist, they moved, altered their form, shifted across what must have been thousands of kilometers of the bent space beyond the station.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    And I thought to myself.  Hey, that¡¯s different. Had they been there all this time?


    ¡°Hey Blueneck, do you think there¡¯s something out there.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s always *blank*something out there,¡± he replied amiably while resetting a filter over a quivering glass tendril.


    ¡°I mean, outside the station,¡± I tried being more specific. ¡°Near the station.¡±.


    ¡°What the*blank**blank*you*blank*talking about.¡±


    ¡°When I look the void, I see something out there.


    ¡°*blank*nah, not *blank*possible.  There¡¯s nothing *blank**blank*out there for *blank*millions of kilometers.  You must be*blank**blank* imagining*blank* things.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s some pretty boring thing to imagine,¡± Because offered while he sopped the tendrils secretions off the floor.


    ¡°You *blank*bet, now if you*blank**blank* want *blank*something to *blank**blank*imagine, then *blank**blank**blank*imagine this,¡± and he started transmitting again.  I quickly returned my focus on the blackness.


    None of them had suggested I shouldn¡¯t keep looking, even if they thought I was seeing things, or my natural eyes needed to be examined.  Blueneck would have certainly laid into me with his best cursing if he¡¯s found a speck on the filters after I¡¯d cleaned them.


    And then I began to experience something altogether different.  Impressions, alien, new, were drifting into my trance.  Intermittently at first.  Yeah, that¡¯s how it always starts.  Nothing to disturbing.  Just a flash.  A glimmer.  A foothold.  By the time I differentiated them from my co-workers'' noise, it was too late.  I¡¯d let them in.  There was nothing I could do to get them out.  And, neither, I¡¯m afraid would Blueneck, Because, or even the Siliconoids.  We had no way out ourselves, either.  Something had come.  Something had come to play.  And it needed things to play with.


    <<Several deeps pace colonies on the Magara Rift were discovered to be completely empty of consentients.  Not information on the whereabouts of the colonists were found but a hastily scrawled not on a bulkhead requesting: ¡®the last one to leave please turn of the lights¡¯  The Rift¡¯s Electric Utility is currently engaging several relevant organizations to locate the consentients, as they were several cycles in arrears with regards to their power bills.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 16 – The Zero-Point Trance Is Not Necessarily Restful

    It wasn¡¯t exactly words I experienced coming from the black shapes which moved about in the black space beyond the porthole.  Not even thought really.  More¡­ awareness, curiosity.  Even humor.  I was surprised something so definably alien could express itself so familiarly.


    I¡¯d been surprised before by aliens who seemed radically different than my type of consentient. Something that existed out there couldn¡¯t remotely perceive or think like a run of the mill intergalactic entity.  Was it an ascended being? Or even something from the universe the station was tapping into?  There was no way of knowing. Since it wasn¡¯t really communicating with me, there was no way I could direct questions.


    And before I realized it, it had reached through me, passed me.  And I couldn¡¯t stop it any more I could shut down the translator.  It was in.


    Even when I looked away from the porthole I could sense it was still flowing through my mind, searching, reaching.


    The Sfroga had had the porthole cut into the hull.  Was it looking for them?  Had it made a connection with those flat-faced wide-mouthed amphibianoids?  I knew little about them to answer those questions, didn¡¯t have a clue what would happen when it didn¡¯t find a Sfroga mind to connect with.


    In the meantime of course there were leaks into my thoughts from Because and Blueneck.  So here I was mechanically working on my filtering and dropping into my normal trance while the alien thoughts overhead slowly began to interact.  I was thinking, so what, nothing happened before, why should anything happen now.


    Now, some species who aren¡¯t so apt at compartmentalizing their brains and patterns of thought again, might have avoided what happened after this. Many species can¡¯t be a master of low level tasks while leaving their higher consciousness to be a conduit for alien thoughts.  On the other hand when you have traveled the galaxy as far as I have, that sort of ability becomes, what I have come to expect, something that stops you from simply going crazy.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    There¡¯s just to much weirdness out there to take it all in.  So it¡¯s best to let it flow over you.  Now, many can¡¯t accomplish that simple task. Some species will use familiarity bacterium to manage the discontinuities.  When everything around you looks familiar, then you don¡¯t get so freaked out.  But if you want to see the universe, then you have to take a different tact.


    Perhaps I should have made a special effort to tell the others what was going on when it happened.  The trouble was it didn¡¯t seem like it was going to be too much of a problem.  Sure, it was alien, sure it was intelligent, and sure it had access to thoughts and impressions.  But it didn¡¯t feel like a threat.  It felt reassuring, it felt calming, it felt focusing.


    So I felt like I should be getting back to work.  I stopped thinking about questions.


    We were easing into a familiar wavelength that probably should have concerned me.  Perhaps that was its doing ¨C calm me to facilitate its attempts to reach the others.  Or maybe its intent never was malign.  Best intentions and all.  Yeah, I could handle it.  Sure, I was sensitive, but that didn¡¯t mean I was vulnerable.


    On the other hand, it would soon become apparent both Because¡¯s species and Blueneck¡¯s species didn¡¯t seem to be the types who operate on my level.  Up, or down, whatever.  They exchanged information on kind of a compulsive level which required the constant reassurance of stimulation.  And that need attracted the interest of the dark minds in the Dark Cluster, since I wasn¡¯t possessive enough to keep them in me.  Maybe for the first time.


    And they interacted and fed each other through the telempathic link. It created a positive feedback loop that spread not only to the two but ultimately to the rest of the network of varied consentients working in the station. I was to soon learn how much they too craved compulsive stimulation.  But not in any good way.


    <<Telempathic mass-murderer Kuvak the SadMad was cornered and disintegrated by a legion of paramilitary robots in the early hours of the rare predawn of the double star system Cruklix Alpha Beta.  Unable to overwhelmingly influence the relentless robots, the murderer then apparently turned his lethal arsenal of melancholy and nihilistic thoughts on himself, rendering himself permanently comatose.  The robot legion spokesbot reports only a few casualties, which are being placed into anti-sensitivity programming for their own protection.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 17 – One By One, Two By Two, And Likely Three By Three As Well

    Now, as you all know, or I would hope, some of you, being a conduit doesn¡¯t feel all that bad, in fact it feels pretty natural.  As long as what your channeling it flowing through you and not merely into you, it¡¯s not a problem. It can feel like your in the zone.  Experiencing perfection, in touch with the universe.  All that.


    And of course, the conduit doesn¡¯t concern itself with where the flow is going too.


    That¡¯s a drawback to utilizing telempathic cybernetics to allow different species and forms of consentience to communicate across the various universal communication barriers.  After all, once everyone knows how to talk to each other, they can know how they feel about each other, and what they¡¯d like to do to each other.  It removes the sort of boundaries any sort of natural and evolutionary developments would preclude.


    It can be a vulnerability, but not the sort of thing you expected to have problems with in the middle of nowhere in a Dark Cluster.  No one expects there to be intelligent forces floating about looking for some stimulation, looking to stir the pot, looking to create a little action.


    You see, most species have an understandable interest in sex.  Also, most species are interested in violence..  These sorts of primal activities are pretty much universe-wide, as I have learned.


    And when faced with a being that has substantial curiosity over all sorts of activity, everything is fair game.  And apparently this meant when they interacted with the Siliconoids and they became part of the network and then this moved on to the station''s biomechanical control systems which were also vulnerable to the needs and wants of a normal biological creature¡¯s state.


    Needless to say, this became a problem.  Not that I noticed anything immediately, as I mentioned, most of this, quite literally went over my head, or through it to be more precise. I really only started to notice when the actual physical violence began.  At first, I just thought it was when Blueneck and Because started knocking each other about.  I was aware of them going at it, tentacle to whatever for a few moments then turned back to my work trance only thinking: hmm¡­ that was interesting. What could have possibly provoked that?  They seemed so chummy just a little while before.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Now, at this point, I just thought they were reenacting their own transmitted experience, a little physical demonstration.  But after the medicvac was call in to do some somewhat serious repairs on their bodies then I became a little more suspicious of what was happening..


    ¡°I¡¯m comin¡¯ back for you,¡± Blueneck shouted at me as he was forcibly confined to a medical unit.  I could only stare as his bloodied and waving tentacular limbs were restrained by the unit¡¯s robotic arms.


    Me?  I pointed at myself as my coworker twisted against his bonds safely beyond my protective force field.


    ¡°You can *blank**blank*count on it,¡± he called back as they took him away. ¡°I¡¯m gonna *blank**blank*you, then I¡¯m going to *blank**blank*you and into your *blank*then through your*blank*.¡±


    It occurred to me then, it might be a good idea to shut the porthole.  But it was already too late.  On the other hand, Blueneck didn¡¯t return, so I wasn¡¯t threatened again.  I was also somewhat out of work too, so I was a bit lacking in motivation to act one way or another.


    Soon after, the SIliconoids stopped showing up.  When I checked with the computer system it became both alternately abusive and suggestive.  Seriously, I thought, even the computer system? It was willing to show me what they were up to.  I managed to handle a few moments before telling it to cut it out.


    Apparently the Siliconoids were having their idea of a good time, which couldn¡¯t have been good for the intergalactic corporation and its efficiency records.


    I tried to remark on that to my co-workers, but of course, there weren¡¯t any around.  They were all getting patched up, and by that, I mean having extremities or organs replaced or repaired, or off doing some unspeakable things to each other with their reattached parts.  And I reasoned even if I wasn¡¯t in danger from the Dark Cluster entities, I would likely be in danger from my fellow consentients on the station.


    I found some motivation!


    I had to find a way to escape before a crazed something came after me.  Yeah, you guessed it, that was going to be pretty tough to manage.


    <<The new government of the Pan-Met-Agnation League of Worlds has struck down several of the laws against interspecies xeno-sexual intimacy and cross planetary marriage that had been upheld since the formation.  As many of the species openly flaunt these laws in order to not look ridiculous, the ruling council has decided to get in on the act while it is still termed exotic and can garner them attention from voters.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 18 – Seeing the Reality of the Zero Point

    Now about those Dark Cluster entities that infected the minds of my consentient co-workers:  maybe they were just having fun, maybe they thought they were at war with us, maybe they were just as insane as the acts they compelled consentients to commit.  I certainly can¡¯t tell you, because they were just so alien, and that sort of thing is figured out by lawyers and historians. What started to matter to me was when the station¡¯s alarms started ringing, and I finally was starting to think it might be cool to ask a Siliconoid to put some tendrils up into some of my more sensitive body cavities.


    I reiterate, those cybernetic beings have a body temperature in excess to fifteen hundred degrees, so not so much a good idea for my health, should I proposition one of them.  Cool, no, not really.


    And of course I understood that if I didn¡¯t want to allow myself to enjoy the sort of violation that was going on, I was going to have to keep myself safe and secure, until I could find a way off the station, so I locked myself in and was prepared to stay like that for the duration.


    At this point, I tried to inform the crew master, I after all, had some small duty of informing my employer¡¯s representative what had happened, but apparently he/she/it, whatever, was just as vulnerable as the rest, and had started to get in on it as well.  And in my position, I had no way of doing anything but sit tight and hope things were going to right themselves at some point.  I mean, that¡¯s always possible, isn¡¯t it?


    Unfortunately, as the crew numbers declined, the bureaucrats outside the cluster did what they were paid to do.  They sent replacements.  And while I knew when I saw the approach of a hyperspacial torpedo, that whoever was being sent wasn¡¯t really going to help much, I did see an opportunity to take care of my own interests.


    So¡­ I shut down the force field and ran as fast as I could through the twisting corridors of the station, in the hope that I¡¯d avoid the surviving Siliconoids and make a hasty escape on the approaching Torpedo.


    And, at the very least, talk the arriving consentient into informing the corporation¡¯s HQ of what was happening.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    That however, would have required them sending someone to check what was going on at the station out?


    Was this the case? Apparently not.


    Which seemed a waste, but it¡¯s really like this the universe over.  A particular problem doesn¡¯t exist until it does, and only after if does, are any contingencies get created.  It¡¯s the evolutionary plan.  If you happen to survive an alien invasion, it¡¯s only then that you defend yourself against it.  Most species don¡¯t plan for the time when the artificial intelligences they create decide to annihilate their creator (although handy time travel does help in sorting out those kinds of dicey situations.)


    You remember when I was told I needed a clone to do this job, given the biometrics of the station.  Well, when they got word that some of the workers were starting to get killed off while under the influence of the Dark Cluster intelligence, they did what they were supposed to do.  As it mentioned, they sent in replacements.


    That¡¯s what a bureaucracy is like.  Universe wide.  Just through clones at the problem.  That will fix it.


    Unfortunately, the replacements were just as vulnerable as the originals.  And with the entire station now infected with the intelligence and Blueneck''s and Because¡¯s favorite things, sending in the clones wasn¡¯t going to do help things much.


    As luck would have it, I arrived in time to catch Blueneck¡¯s clone as it exited the airlock.


    ¡°Hey everybody,¡± the headless clone called out. ¡±Guess who¡¯s *blank**blank*back.  Who wants some *blank* in the*blank*.¡±


    Apparently either him personally, or perhaps his entire species was especially vulnerable to what the Dark Cluster Entities were putting out.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to take me out of here,¡± I pleaded with the powering up torpedo. ¡°Some kind of entity has taken over the other consentients.  It isn¡¯t safe.¡±


    The torpedo, as before, however, wasn¡¯t particularly interested in my plight.


    ¡°Not my job,¡± it confirmed. ¡°I¡¯ve been reassigned to military use.  See you again soon.¡±


    I stared out the airlock window at its engine¡¯s blasting it back into space, thinking morosely, that¡¯s really the last thing you want to soon to be thermonuclear armed weapon of war to say.


    I was stuck, I realized.  And even worse, I was stuck thinking that maybe fifteen hundred degrees of Siliconoid penetration wouldn¡¯t be so bad.  Just¡­ extra, extra hot.


    <<The Gogron Syndicate has canceled orders for their latest new legion of clone soldiers from Portis Clonifacturing, citing the Corporation¡¯s inability to counter the universal law of diminishing returns.  In similar news, According to recent studies by the Clone Advocate General, replicant soldiers have been shown to be less motivated to survive combat when they know that their clones will replace them after they¡¯ve been retired.>>

 Trapped In Zero-Point Space – 19 – Countdown To Departure, Again, For The First Time

    I¡¯m sure you¡¯re wondering how the story ends.  I will state for the record, not altogether happily. As you may know by now, eventually corporate management back on their brown dwarf satellite ultimately determined that torpedoing worker clones to replace the ones that had been eventually dissected by each other out to the brane puncturing station wasn¡¯t having the desired effect of maintaining efficient refining of zero-point energy.


    All the replacements ended up falling under the control of the Dark Cluster entities, forcing more clones to be produced and sent to the station, repeatedly.  It was starting to cause cost overruns.


    Trust the bean counters to eventually figure out that simply throwing clones at the problem wasn¡¯t going to fix it, and decided to go to plan B.  Or maybe plan C.  They weren¡¯t to clear on that with me.


    But then, I had held out fulfilling my part of the arrangement until they made it clear that there was no further threat to my person.  This didn¡¯t stop them from using my relatively new set of brains to download my predecessor¡¯s telempathically recorded work experiences as required by interstellar investigatory law.


    Yes, the original Phil the Filterer did not survive his work assignment, so I, Phil the second, was required by contract to submit my person to Dark Cluster space.


    ¡°But don¡¯t be worried,¡± the Warfleet Emperor¡¯s clone offered with a wave of a multi-clawed limb. ¡°The problem has been dealt with.  You should survive, at least until the end of your duty shifts.¡±


    ¡°Or my clone will have to finish it for me.¡±


    ¡°Ah, we duplicants learn fast, don¡¯t we,¡± she chattered amiably. ¡°I suggest, after you arrive for work, you don¡¯t go looking through that porthole.  Or any porthole.¡±


    You certainly do, after you¡¯re compelled to undergo the recollection treatment of your predecessors last time in this reality.  The memory of tendrils of white-hot glass exploring all of my body''s cavities, didn¡¯t really sound like something I¡¯d want to re-experience, regardless of how the first Phil felt at the time.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Thankfully, and perhaps surprisingly, I was only required to maintain the memories until the depositions which were required after I completed the first Phil¡¯s contractual obligations.


    Still, when I got to the station, the first thing I did was ensure that the porthole was welded completely shut.


    And I discovered that, unlike myself, my co-workers clones didn¡¯t seem to be too bothered by their predecessor¡¯s experiences.


    ¡°Got to*blank*imagine that you¡¯re going to be up *blank**blank*sometime,¡± Blueneck told me. ¡°Otherwise life would be pretty*blank*disappointing.¡±


    He slapped me with a tentaclular arm, laughing his synthetic laugh.


    Maybe¡­ but I was still happy to find the porthole welded permanently shut.


    I guess management decided as long as we couldn¡¯t see them, and then the Dark Cluster intelligence wasn¡¯t going to be a danger, and wasn¡¯t going to slip through someone¡¯s consciousness to mess the station''s efficiency records and quota requirements up again. It hadn¡¯t before, so they had cause.  So yeah, even though things were pretty tense over the period between the fixing of the station and me finally getting off, there was no further station-wide violently xeno-sexual orgy happening, at least not that anyone invited me to.  Apparently, as I would learn later from the corporate lawyers, several of the higher-ups fingered me as the culpable cause of the work stoppage.  Me, I was just looking out into space.  No one had ever told me not to do that.  It was the faulty telempathic network that let the Dark Cluster minds free run through the entire station.


    At least that¡¯s what I kept telling my assigned representatives.


    But I put up with the ribbing.  After all, I did have a job to do, even if I was only going to earn half of what my predecessor had been guaranteed, and I did have to keep up the Balleeni reputed tough skin routine.  Could have been worse, though, he could have lasted until nearly the end.  Then my paymark would have started with a bunch of zeros, not ended with them.  As a clone, you have to be philosophical about these sorts of situations.


    <<Numerous protests have sprung up on several key worlds in the Gibani sector when a study was leaked that suggested that the draining of supersymetrical energy for the nearby Aquos brane was actually destroying the pocket universe within, along with it¡¯s rumored consentient inhabitant. tales of refugees who¡¯ve come from the brane and have pleaded for its survival, persist, even though no one confirmed encounter with any interdimensional beings have been officially reported.>>