Retirement's Verge

Fragments.

Fubuki snapped awake to a panorama of metallic shards, irregular forms soundlessly spinning across the void. Her eyes instinctively moved to track their course, triggering a splitting headache. Pain? Other pains clamored for her attention, spine and neck and-

"-irakami? Shirakami! Your inertial monitor just took a ma-"

Good, her ears were working. Both sets? Hard to tell through the pervasive whine of tinnitus. No time to worry about details, Command was practically shouting. They needed her.

"Shirakami, if you can maneuver you need to move IMMEDIATELY! The Boxes won't wait for your biological needs. Pull your stim! I repeat, Shirakami, if you ca-"

Command's voice faded into the background once more as Fubuki focused her limited mental energy on her body. Stim. Right. Stim... she needed to use her hands. Did her fingers still work? They definitely hurt. Stim... right. Training. Just to the side of the right flight stick, a polymer pullcord. Fubuki scrabbled weakly at the cord's looped end, fingers stiff and jumbled. She had to-

YANK

Fubuki gasped, shuddering involuntarily as the injectors in her flightsuit poured a mix of painkillers and mental stimulants into her veins. She hadn't felt the effects of an emergency stim since the academy. It would be a few seconds before she was able to move again, but the drugs would grant her precious minutes of functional time afterwards. For a moment, she floated, free from pain, free from stress. Command was still talking...

"-ami, if you can hear me you need to move! Pull your-"

She couldn't let them keep worrying. Fubuki opened her mouth to speak, still addled by the chemicals.

"Stim pulled. I'm okay."

Command immediately cut off their agitated loop, sounding more businesslike.

"Shirakami. Get your spike off that station. Now."

Fubuki's limbs prickled, sensation returning slightly. She didn't feel good, not even close - but aching, awkward, intentional motion was far better than a pain-induced daze. She reached to grasp the controls with her gloved hands, both flight sticks had positioned themselves at neutral automatically due to the impact. Time to go.

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"Hi again friends, it's Shirakami Fubuki"

Fubuki smiled towards the camera that sat atop her monitors, looking directly into the lens. Once she'd chattered towards cameras like this one for hours on end. Now, data limits constrained her to mere minutes a day, but she still dearly treasured her broadcast time.

"I finished the new game last night... I know I started late but I'm so happy I was able to get it onboard after all. I understand now what you've all been so excited about, I can't believe they managed that with the story. I really think..."

Talking like this comforted her. Freely sharing her feelings, musing about the latest piece of entertainment she'd journeyed through. She had never once considered her normal job a burden, in fact management had needed to force her to take breaks. Fubuki glanced at the timer on the video recording - less than a minute remaining. She needed to wrap things up gracefully.

"...Anyway, I hope that the developers can keep creating great things in the future. I need to go now, but I'll see you all next time!"

Fubuki leaned forward, giving the camera a small wave as she used her other hand to tap the "end recording" icon. One simple title and a brief compression delay later, her recorded post entered the upload queue, waiting for the next available bandwidth. Delivery might take anywhere from hours to weeks, but Fubuki always liked to act like each new day's post was fresh, almost like she'd never left.

Her first major task of the day complete, Fubuki shifted her legs to the side and stood, stepping onto the concave metal floor of her cabin and glancing at its familiar furnishings. Dark grey walls. No windows. A wide bank of monitors mounted on the wall behind the desk, topped by a camera and microphone. A pair of lockers. A chair, affixed to the floor by magnets. A neatly made bed, folded upwards for storage. And a framed golden plaque displaying a sideways-facing triangle. Her own little den.

Fubuki yawned, stretching. Her wrists felt slightly lighter when she raised them over her head. Once, artificial gravity had seemed odd and distorted to her, but she'd always been good at adapting. She lowered her arms, leaning towards her monitors once more to open the ship's scheduling software. Her tail twitched inquisitively. How long until her duty started? 43 minutes. She'd have plenty of time to eat first. Fubuki picked up her PDA, slotting it onto her belt and prepared to depart.

The ladder wobbled slightly as she climbed up into the main hallway, her cabin hatch whisking silently out of the way as it detected her presence. She'd have to tell maintenance about the ladder later. She emerged into a long thin room, dotted with floor hatches forming a grid pattern. Most remained open, unused. Leaving the cabin block, Fubuki passed through a connecting passage and made her way to the ring's main walkway. This hallway displayed a distinct upward curve in each direction, framed by lights and cables. As she strolled towards the mess hall, Fubuki found herself humming a theme from the game she'd finished last night, still savoring the lingering excitement of a fresh digital adventure.

Despite this ship's immense size, a sense of vacancy permeated the ring's corridors. Light carriers like this one could support a crew of thousands, but Fubuki doubted there were even two hundred personnel aboard at present. Plenty to steer and maintain the vessel, but definitely not a combat complement. The fleet had good reason for such sparse staffing, though. This carrier and Fubuki had something in common - both were on their way to retirement from armed service. After a few more lonely months of return journey, Fubuki would be home, freed of her military obligations, and this aging carrier would be converted into a humble freighter.

Those months weren't over yet though, and Fubuki was determined to do things properly until the end. The vast majority of her time in the service had involved waiting on standby for threats that never emerged, continuing that pattern felt natural at this point. Fubuki's humming trailed off as she diverged from the main hall, taking a side passage and emerging in the ship's sizable mess hall. Folded tables flanked by darkened menu screens sat dormant against the walls along the room's entire length, save for a few active menus and upright tables near the kitchen. Fubuki approached the order window, and the duty cook gave her a nod, setting aside his tablet. Fubuki was certain the man was used to her breakfast preferences by now, evidenced by the bag of tea leaves sitting on the counter, far removed from its storage location.

Fubuki thanked the cook brightly as he set her tray on the pickup counter, and he again gave her a nod. She always tried to be friendly with her comrades during her time in the service, but a genemodded pilot was hardly a typical conversation partner for grizzled veterans. At least they didn't seem to be shunning her. Fubuki took a seat at the nearest table, lightly setting her tray down and picking up her chopsticks. The chopsticks and green tea leaves had been special requests of hers at the last port of call, the leaves costing a sizable chunk of her salary. Artificial egg over artificial rice was bad enough on it's own, Fubuki wanted to have at least one real comfort food when shipside.

A few uneventful minutes of eating later, Fubuki found herself daydreaming, savoring the last dregs of her tea, content to spend the remainder of her pre-duty time in quiet stillness. Maybe tonight she could get started on playing-

BI-BIING

Fubuki's PDA abruptly chimed, cutting her reverie short. She frowned slightly. When onboard, her only audible notifications should be command updates, and her duty hours wouldn't start for 17 more minutes. She set her teacup down, and stood, pulling her PDA from its slot on her belt. A call request. Not marked as urgent, but from "B. Grover". This vessels commander. That was plenty important. Fubuki pressed the accept icon and raised the device to her ears, her tail sweeping nervously to and fro.

"Hello, Captain. Can I help you?"

"Shirakami. Come to the bridge."

Capt. Grover's response belied no emotion, as usual. In the past Fubuki had wondered if the man hated her, until she'd observed him addressing each and every one of his trusted officers in the same gruff monotone.

"Yes, Captain."

Fubuki heard a click as Grover closed the connection. He didn't waste words or time. Tail still swishing, Fubuki spared a moment to move her breakfast tray to a dish drop-off before taking to the hallways at a brisk jog, her concern growing. She'd experienced interruptions of routine several times at other postings. Never once had the experience turned out pleasant.

TO BE CONTINUED