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The following is a work of fiction, a retelling of a scene visual sequence that more or less popped into my head rather earlier today. It is not connected with anything else I've ever written, and is not a part of any work in progress. It's just a random scene which, at the moment, is completely on its own. It has ended up seeming longer when written than when I visualized it, but part of that is because of necessary interpolation for continuity, and part is probably that it's taken me about eight hours, on and off, to write it down. (I'm still periodically refining wording here and there.)
Constructive feedback is appreciated.
(Oops. I inadvertently screened comments. They are now unscreened.)
Ricker stepped out of the lock that led from Warsaw's shuttle into the dock, his kit bag over his left shoulder. Above him, ducts, pipes and heavy cabling snaking to the bays hid most of the overhead and buried the rest in shadow. At his feet, the lock ramp led down to the dock proper. Parts of the dock were all but empty; others were bustles of activity. A group of four busy bays further down the dock probably represented tenders transferring supplies to and from Warsaw. At the foot of the ramp was an infopoint manned by an alert-looking Marine sergeant. The Marine saluted as Ricker walked down the ramp; Ricker returned the salute reflexively, then presented his ID card.
"Lieutenant Ricker," he said, "on transfer orders from Decatur Sector." The Marine took his ID card, slotted it briefly, and handed it back. Ricker pocketed it again as the Marine scanned his display.
"Got you right here, Sir," he replied after a moment. "You're to report to the OOD for orientation upon arrival. Exit the dock to spinward, take any of the lifts up to Deck Ten, then follow the radial tube hubward from the lift cluster to the command center. You can't miss it, Sir."
"Got it," Ricker replied with a nod. "Spinward bulkhead, lift to Deck Ten, radial hubward to C&C. Thank you, Sergeant." The Marine saluted again, Ricker acknowledged, and he set off on his way.
Fifteen minutes later, he was at the command center and being directed to the Officer of the Day, a Major Hibock. Ricker found him without difficulty, saluted, and handed over his order packet, which the Major barely glanced at. Hibock was human, though the ops staff -- and station crew -- appeared to be about equally divided between human and Tregazi, and Ricker had seen a couple of summer-phase Herraj and the hulking, armored form of a lone Brigan.
"Welcome to Edge Station, Lieutenant," said the Major. "We've been expecting you. I imagine you're a little curious about this assignment." Ricker nodded. "You're here because someone at Unified Command likes the look of your record. We rarely get anyone sent here with orders like yours below the rank of Captain. And the reason you've been told very little about your assignment, and heard very little about Edge Station, is because there's very little you can usefully be told in advance. We prefer you to start out here with an open mind and as few preconceptions as possible; we find the outcome is usually better that way." Ricker nodded again in acknowledgement, though he couldn't help but wonder what outcome the Major was referring to.
"Probably the first question in your mind," Hibock continued, "is why it's called Edge Station when it's located at the edge neither of Concordium space, nor of the Arm, nor of any other spatial feature of note. About all I can tell you right now that'll help you is that the Edge isn't a where, it's a what, and that it's possibly the most unique known resource -- known to the Concordium, at any rate -- in the galaxy.
"In a few minutes, you'll meet the Watchers. Tomorrow, under their guidance, you will begin -- usually -- eight days of orientation and familiarization. You'll have a number of new pieces of equipment to learn about. Some of them won't make much sense to you. Some of them won't appear to do anything, here. The odds are that not all of them will do anything on the other side of the Edge. You'll learn them all anyway, because they all have this in common: If you need them, and they work, they will be your best chance of saving your life and the Concordium's not-inconsiderable investment in you -- an investment which is about to get significantly larger. Clear so far?"
"Clear, Sir," Ricker replied, wondering who the Watchers were.
"The Watchers will conduct your orientation, Lieutenant, and they are the sole and final authority on whether you get a passing grade," Hibock continued. "If they don't pass you, there will be no negative report made on your record. We'll just reassign you elsewhere.
"If the Watchers clean-sheet you, then normally on day nine, you'll enter the Fringe for the first time. From there on, it all depends on you." Hibock glanced to his left, behind Ricker.
"It appears your escort is here," Hibock said. "This is Watcher Konal. He may, or may not, answer any other questions you have at this time that have meaningful answers. Dismissed, Lieutenant." Ricker took a step back and saluted; Major Hibock returned the salute, then went back to what he had been doing when Ricker entered the command center.
Ricker turned to find a curious-looking being approaching him. At his first glance, he thought it was a vaguely-humanoid alien in an mechanical exoskeleton, but he rapidly realized both that the alien was closer to arachnid than to human, and that the "exoskeleton" was in fact part of the being.
"Seeker Ricker," the being said, bobbing slightly on at least six limbs and regarding Ricker from two huge, apparently pupil-less eyes. There appeared to be several smaller, secondary eyes. Ricker nodded, slightly confused.
"I am Watcher Konal. Follow, please. I will lead you to your new quarters." The strange being gestured with an eight-fingered hand to the portal by which it had just evidently entered the command center, on the opposite side to that by which Ricker had entered. The "fingers" had no visible joints, although they seemed to bend only at defined points, and ended in blunt, flat tips. Ricker followed as instructed, noting that while his new escort's command of Concordiat was flawless, its delivery and intonation were odd in ways he couldn't put his finger on. It was impossible to tell exactly where the voice originated.
"You will have questions," Konal continued. "Ask them if you wish, Seeker."
Konal led Ricker from the command center, down a spiralling ramp, and shortly into corridors clearly not of human construction. Ricker could not escape the impression that the visible Fringe Station had been built around something older; possibly vastly older. Oddly, it seemed the section he was in now was too large to fit within the apparent bulk of Fringe Station as visible from space.
Looking around him, Ricker noted other beings similar to Konal, though none identical. They varied not only in details of size and coloration, but actually in structure; yet at the same time, they all appeared to be beings of the same kind. What Ricker couldn't decide was whether they were biological cyborgs with technological augmentations, or mechanicals with organic components.
"Please pardon me if this question is rude, Watcher Konal. If you don't mind my asking, are you biological or artificial? I can't tell." Konal turned to look fully at Ricker, while continuing to travel unimpeded in the direction he -- she? it? -- was already going, and regarded Ricker steadily for some seconds.
"Is there a difference that is of significance?" The answer came in calm, measured tones. "You humans augment your living organic bodies with non-living implants both organic and inorganic, and you have begun to create living implants for yourselves. Our bodies contain both organic and inorganic components. Both are part of our being. We no longer recollect whether our original form was organic or inorganic. The distinction is unimportant to us. Body is merely a vehicle for mind. One day, if you endure, it will be the same with you."
Turning again, Konal continued to lead the way. Ricker thought about this answer at length, finally conceding that his strange guide had a point.
"Thank you," he said. "Can you tell me anything useful about what the Edge is, or the Fringe? What is it the edge of?"
"A more useful question," Konal replied. "That is good. I will try to explain as best I can, that which you have not yet seen. You will not fully understand until you see it. Answering your question begins the teaching of that which we can teach you.
"What you humans call the Edge is not an edge in any true sense. You could consider it as a gateway between the real space that you know, and that which is not the space you know. We believe it is one of many such gateways, but we have never known of any other. Its position is not fixed, although this station lies in the place in this space from which it is most easily reached, that we know of. We watch the Gate, and have done so since time immemorial. In ways that are not of this space, it moves, and as it moves, we adjust the position of our side of the gate to follow the gateway. We keep the Gate open, and we ensure that nothing crosses it from either side that should not. Sometimes, that includes beings that originally entered the Gate from this side, but can no longer be permitted to return.
"Beyond the gate lies the Fringe, which is neither here nor there, but in between, and part of both, yet not wholly either. You can think of it as a region in which different, incompatible realities meet and mix ... unevenly and, for the most part, unpredictably.
"Until you have entered the Fringe and returned, you will not understand what you call the Edge. After you have done so, you may still not understand. And only after you understand the Edge and the Fringe, will you venture into the deep Beyond.
"But the deep Beyond is a subject for another day." The Watcher stopped outside a numbered door and gestured to a plate of faintly glittering grey material next to the door. The door, like all the others they had passed by or through on this side of the station, was slightly wider at the bottom than at the top. "Here lie your quarters. Place your hand on the plate, enter, store your possessions, refresh yourself, and rest. As long as these quarters are yours, none other may enter save by your permission or by station authority. I will come tomorrow to guide you when it is time.
"Until tomorrow, Seeker Ricker."
"One moment." Before he opened the door, Ricker wanted an answer to one more question. "Why do you call me Seeker?"
Konal regarded him for a long moment before answering.
"And are you not, then, a Seeker? Were you not, you would not be here. Only those who seek come to the Fringe, and to the Beyond." With that, Konal left, disappearing around the curving corridor startlingly quickly.
Ricker stood still for a few moments pondering the words of his guide, then lifted his right hand and placed his palm against the plate. The plate lit with a soft white glow that persisted even after he removed his hand; a moment later, the door apparently split down the middle. It did not appear to retract into the wall so much as shrink against the jamb on either side.
Shaking his head slightly, Ricker entered his new quarters, and the door closed behind him as silently as it had opened.
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I have nothing really critical (constructive or otherwise) for it right now. There's not enough THERE to be constructively critical with yet. It's vaguely confusing, and that's a nice start (actually, I like vaguely confusing starts, as long as they cleared up as the story goes on, it's a polite way to stir some empathy with the equally confused protagonist).
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You misspelled '2'.
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