Sins Of Gods: The Dark Matter Saga

By N. L. Bright

N.L. Bright, the author of this epic saga is a masterful storyteller with a deep understanding of the complexities of the human condition and an unparalleled imagination. With a keen eye for detail and a gift for crafting vivid worlds, the author effortlessly tran

• Language: English
• Publisher: Knappy Apps Publishing
• Release date: Jun 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798330217816

N. L. Bright

N.L. Bright, a distinguished author hailing from the vibrant city of Compton, California, is a true literary maverick. With a pen that knows no boundaries, N.L. Bright effortlessly weaves together the realms of literary fiction, hard science fiction, and satire, creating a unique tapestry of words that captivates readers from all walks of life. Drawing inspiration from the diverse and dynamic energy of her hometown, N.L. Bright's writing delves deep into the human psyche, exploring complex themes with wit, intelligence, and a touch of irreverence. Her works are a testament to her boundless creativity and her unwavering commitment to pushing the boundaries of storytelling. With a dedicated and adoring fan base, N.L. Bright is a literary force to be reckoned with, leaving readers eagerly awaiting her next groundbreaking masterpiece.

Book preview

Sins Of Gods

A Dark Matter Saga

N. L. Bright

KnappyApps Publishing

Copyright © 2024 DMB

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9781234567890

ISBN-10: 1477123456

Cover design by: Art Painter

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Sins of Gods

Volume One:

0. The Lyrics of Vedas

1. The Repentance

2. The Ravishing of Ravens

3. Jetsam and Flotsam

4. Sanctified

5. Vega Ral

6. Wages of Sin

Volume Two:

The Living Text

7. Missionary Style

8. Idolatry

9. The Unloved

10. Unholy Land

11. In the Name of Gods

12. Covenant

13. Begotten

14. Blasphemer

15. False Gods

16. Profit Of Sin

17. The Forlorn and The Forsaken

18. Anointed

19. The Curse of Man

20. Thinly Veiled Revelations

21. Omens

22. Abomination

23. The Crusaders

24. Deliverance

Volume 3:

False Prophecies

25. The Aquium Expanse

26. Righteous Heretics

27. The Wandering Flock

28. Marks of the Beasts

29. Darkness and Light

30. Purgatory Of The Unloved

31. Tangled Destinies

32. Embers of Chaos

33. Unveiling The Beautiful Ones

34. Damnation’s Gate

35. The Unbeliever

36. Lost Unto Eternity

37. Everlasting Night

38. Brethren

39. Shattered Covenants

40. Shadows of Prophecy

41. Came To Pass

42. The Chosen

43. Unrepentant

44. The Meek Shall…

45. Judgment Of The Divine

46. Hope Lost Forever

47. The Forbidden Knowledge

48. Shattered Light and Shattered Darkness

49. Fate Of The Faithful

50. Echoes of The Abyss

51. A Glorious Evolution

52. The Darkest Prophecy

53. Armageddon Rising

The Book of Finis

The Dawn Of The Cataclysmic

Epilogue

About The Author

Books By This Author

Sins of Gods

The Dark Matter Saga

Volume One:

The Darkest Prophecy

0. The Lyrics of Vedas

Vedas 1:1 A solitary tear, crystallized into a pristine snowflake, gently descended from the heavens. It gracefully floated through the vast expanse of the Arctic, undisturbed by the stillness around it.

Vedas 1:2 The arid land called out to the tear, longing for relief from centuries of wind-inflicted abuse and unquenched thirst. The brittle, parched earth trembled as the celestial tear approached, carrying with it hope and the promise of rain. Thorny stems, devoid of leaves, defiantly emerged from the ground, a testament to their endurance in the face of the harsh environment. As the tear hesitantly made contact with the ground, its journey seemed to falter...

Vedas 3:3... In an instant, fierce gusts of wind erupted, unleashing howls of anguish that stirred the elements into a chaotic frenzy. The sky turned a dark shade of gray, as bitter cold currents carried tiny rocks, soiled ice, and other debris.

Vedas 3:4 Chaos ensued. Whirlwinds ravaged the planet, tearing into the crust with an anguished fury, flinging remnants miles away. Soil and stones transformed into never-ending tsunamis, obliterating everything in their path. Colossal boulders, resembling vigilant sentinels, collided in thunderous explosions, disintegrating into towering clouds of dust and debris.

Vedas 3:5 This malevolent pestilence prowled the terrain, shifting from hurricane-force tempests to gentle summer breezes, from earthquakes to eerie stillness, almost as if it possessed a sentient will. It sought out dry riverbeds, leaving claw-like imprints on the surface. The elements, renowned for their notoriety, discovered the intruder and mercilessly reduced it to oblivion. Gradually, tranquility returned to this paradoxical Garden of Eden. Yet, a lurking presence remained. It observed. It waited.

0.1 The Lord Sleeps

It is unusually cold, D’Wonn thought as gusts of wind spirited his robes, giving them a life of their own. He wrestled them down and rewrapped himself against the wintry weather, but it did little good.  Coldness seeped through the tattered garbs.

A sage’s life was a simple existence, but sometimes he longed for more. Nothing fancy of course, a new robe, a warm bed, and perhaps even a companion. But he never let his mind become corrupted with such foolishness. He was a man of the cloth, and the cloth demanded sacrifice from its destined. He told himself so and demanded he believed it.

D’Wonn was Trindak, and his rusty red skin, like the skin of all Trindaki, was heliophagic--, requiring sunlight in order for his body to produce energy. Trindaki could digest food like other humanoids, but eating was a cumbersome process by their standards, extremely distasteful, and only practiced by the old and the feeble. 

Vedas 5:13 The past is who you are; the future is who you will become.

He mumbled the lyric as he regurgitated his prophetic vision for the millionth time. Journey to the east, there you will find… Each time, a part of it was lost until all that remained were some hills somewhere. Was it the Cav’dor plains or Damu Ra ruins? A surge of frustration worked its way to the fore of his consciousness. Besides the elusive vision, he had many other things to be angry about, and the thing that vexed him most was Londe.

Londe, the brother of D'wonn, held a prestigious position within the revered Veda religious authority, dedicated to upholding the Trindak faith. Despite his high standing in the order, Londe had not been bestowed with the blessings of the divine. Some, including D'wonn himself, went as far as labeling him a heretic. When D'wonn initially had his vision and eagerly shared it with his brother, Londe's response was not merely one of skepticism—it was tinged with jealousy.

As D'wonn courageously made his prophecy public, Londe became his first and most vehement critic. When the people chose D'wonn as the chosen vessel to convey the message of the Most High, Londe presented him with an ultimatum: abandon his craven foolishness or sever their ties completely. Many seasons had passed since that moment, and they had not exchanged a single word since.

D’wonn pulled his weight, which was mostly clothes, over the top of the rocky bluff and surveyed the plateau. Slowly, one by one his weary, dusty-faced Trindaki followers made it over the top. Some were bruised and bleeding, and all were tired, but none complained. He could not remember how long they’d been hiking but he knew they needed rest, and so did he. He waved his hand to the under-sages. We’ll rest here.

◆◆◆

Master Londe, a tall slender youth, spoke timidly, almost afraid to disturb his elder. The messenger approaches.

Londe barely nodded, he’d heard him but was still somewhere else. After a few moments of brooding he said, When I was of your years, apprentice, I would gaze into the sky and see the heavens. At night, millions of small lights lit up the sky almost as bright as day. Londe sighed, his lashless, beady eyes seemed to suck into his skulls and his scaly reptilian face flushed from deep red to a grayish green. Now the sky just burns and we see neither night nor day.              

Despite his trepidations, the young Trindak was eager to know more. "Our world is slowly dying, our people are getting sick, why has our lord forsaken us?"

​There was an unmistakable tremble in the young Trindak’s voice, but Londe did not try to calm him. He felt the same anger and lived the same pain. I heard you buried your mother today. Londe watched as the young man’s helio-spots turned deep plum. It is sad that during our most trying times, many Trindak still cling to ancient myths. The young Trindak was so flushed that his helio-spots were barely visible. Londe walked over and pushed two bony fingers of his six-digit hand into the space between his eyes. A euphoric rush of tingling warmth surged through his body as hot blood filled his brain. Trindaki were a cold-blooded species, but regulation of one’s body temperature could be mastered through the use of Jheenok, A combination of meditation, martial arts, and apothecary practices. The young Trindak immediately relaxed and his skin returned to normal. You are the future young one, but you must decide your fate.

​Thank you,Master Londe, the young Trindak said with a mixture of embarrassment and awe. Jheenok took a lifetime to master and to share it with a youth was a rare and special favor. He quickly disappeared and Londe was again left with his thoughts.

Londe was different from any Trindaki. Headstrong and abundantly curious, he didn’t blindly embrace religion like his kinsmen. Though he was an esteemed member of the Veda assembly, the highest religious sect among his people, his motives weren’t driven by pious zeal. In fact, they were quite the contrary. For the most part, the Trindak did not explore science. Since they were heliophiles, they weren’t driven by the normal socioeconomic needs of a society. Want was scant. They believed this was the blessing of the Most High. So they concentrated all their energy on his praise. The only way he could safely explore science was as part of the Veda, where it was used to disprove anything that contradicted sacred doctrine.

Londe had found the dire straits of his world and had created a small movement of doubters among the assemblage. While they never voiced their opinions publicly and even spoke with care among each other in secret meetings, they managed to covertly steer the Veda away from the main tenet of the teachings: The land is mother and mate, do not forsake her. 

Trindak was a world hostile to most life. But once it had been perfect for the Trindak. It was mostly a barren planet, with no oceans and only half a dozen major rivers that emptied into each other. This meant the land could support little vegetation. So little in fact, that only seventeen hundred species of known animals lived on the planet. Most, like the Trindaki, used a form of photosynthesis to produce energy. That is, until the skies closed.

Two centuries ago the skies had inexplicably closed up, shielding the planet from the sun’s life-giving rays.  The land grew even more callous and impotent, but the Trindaki did not perish. Their skies mysteriously burned, giving off an artificial light source that sustained them.  But all wasn’t right.  The flaming sky had begun to dim and dust storms blocked much of the radiance. Many Trindak became sick; a few even traversed the physical plane. Frightened, the Trindak on the council of Vedas asked for help, but their prayers were hollow.

Then One day Young D’Wonn had a vision; a vision that the Keeper wanted the village to take a pilgrimage to the caves of Cavdor. The Vedas thought this was foolish; the caves were covered with darkness, not a place of worship. It was dangerous in the bowels of the caves; the Trindaki would be without life-giving light. Should they venture too far into the caves, they would traverse the physical as well. But most of the village followed D’Wonn, believing doing something was better than doing nothing.

Through calculated manipulation, Londe and his devotees had crafted a painstakingly secret contingency against the slow-grinding apocalypse. Though they still held the land sacred, they knew if the Trindaki remained their race would perish. Londe and his followers had reluctantly begun negotiations with off-worlders to evacuate the planet. They knew it would be a tough sell to the people. It was bad enough that the Trindaki were xenophobes by nature, but the religion demanded solidarity as well. And with sparse natural resources most conquerors and exploiters left the little rock off its star maps.

As he and his brethren went over the final preparations, a part of Londe hoped his foolish, wayward-thinking brother was right. He didn’t want to leave their home world.

Londe turned his attention away from the past as the roar of many feet approached.  He watched a group of his brothers approach with youthful strides.

A young female who had not yet grown all her helio-philic patches emerged from the pack. Respected Londe, the off-worlders have sent their final instructions. She handed Londe an antiquated device in need of good repair.

She walked away without showing her back to him as Londe inspected the device with all his senses.  What is this?

An instrument for storing and retrieving information. The young woman offered.

Londe didn’t look convinced, and for a while, there was anxious silence. A book? He surmised after a long pause.  They all graciously agreed. After a few moments of fumbling he got the device to display its contents.

Master Londe, the young Trindaki woman moved close to him. What will become of your brother and those who follow him?

Londe stared directly into her eyes for a moment. He could see the question was for her more than it was for him. He wondered how many of her loved ones had followed his brother. He forced his eyes back to the device. He carefully went over the information several times and then secreted it in his robes. The Most High watches over the elderly and the foolish, he said as he walked off.          

The constant tug of weariness began to plague his being. Anemia. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last before the great sleep came upon him again. He summoned all his strength to continue his work; it wouldn’t be much longer now. Just a little more time. Time?.... the curious sensation of lineage. He was worse off than he thought. He redoubled his efforts, pulling forth all the resources he could muster. He didn’t have much time.

The trembling earth abruptly blunted D’wonn’s sleep. For a fleeting instant, he was trapped between both worlds—frozen, mesmerized in terror. Fragments of a nightmare danced in his peripheral conscience as the elements raged before his eyes; a vision. What did it mean? The vision faded, and he chased it, but it disappeared as the brutish clime took hold of his senses. Chagrined, he fell to his knees. Despair weakened his pulse, and frustration softened his spirit. Surges of anger and contempt filled his mind. Shivering, he looked up to see his flock awake, staring uneasily at him. A few polite coughs were quickly muffled.  He sprang to his feet. Afraid of their questions, and his answers, he waved to his second in command. It’s time to move on.

Lines of people, each fighting his own battle against the elements, draped the mountain like a string of beads as they made their way around the monumental Cav’dor Mountain. Men, women, and children trudged forward, despite the cold, the thin air, and the pain. They climbed, they limped, and they crawled. Those who fell were left to fate. For every pilgrim, this was a test of faith, the final challenge by the Most High.   

Each moment was an eternity and each step was either a mile closer to death or an inch closer to heaven. Gradually many started to slow, succumbing to their physical limits. Soon a trail of broken bodies spilled behind the group, nearly a third of their total number.  The damned. They died quietly, uttering prayers with their last breaths for those who stepped over them.

Finally, when even the group’s collective will and faith could not move them another step, someone shouted, It is here! 

Do they see the caves now? 

D’wonn moved well ahead of the rest and was first to reach the other caves. Still shaken from his vision, he stood there for a moment, unsure how to proceed. He sat with his legs folded and began to meditate hoping for a vision, but none came. He focused all his energy on thoughts of a vision.   The harder he tried, the more frustrated he became. He wondered if the Vedas were right. Perhaps this was a fool’s errand. Had he led his people to their final demise? He considered asking them to turn around, but that would be suicide and he wasn’t ready to transverse.  His prime approached; eagerness showed on his face. He bowed.  Is it time?

D’Wonn did not hesitate, Yes, gather around my brothers. The assemblage drew around him as they reached the front of the cave. Now is the time to open your hearts to the Most High. For he will truly deliver us from the ravages of our sickened world. Our world will be born anew and our thirst shall be quenched.

There were a few murmurs of agreement throughout the crowd. Just then the sky gave way and rain began pouring down on the Trindak. This had to be a sign. The roar of thunder and the crackle of lightning startled many who had never seen a raindrop. In a panic, many began to scatter. D’wonn raised and lowered his hands as if embracing them. Do not be afraid, he shouted with a courage he didn’t feel. The Most High is calling us. Who are we to ignore him? He is the most righteous, the caregiver, and the divine. He who is one with the Universe. We exist for nothing more than to serve him.

He paused, checking the pulse of the crowd. The last of the pilgrims, an old woman dressed in brown rags had just climbed the bluff. Do you deny? he pointed at her. She shook her head. The rain dropped in torrents. Lightning riddled the sky.  A curious formation marked the heavens to the east. Lights circled through the sky in an unmistakable pattern. Then a lightning bolt ripped off the edge of the bluff, taking the old woman with it. The crowd recoiled from the blast and mud-cakes splattered the faces of those farthest from the cave.

D’Wonn, usually long-winded, decided he’d seen enough. Who will join me in fulfilling the prophecy? Finally having convinced himself, he enthusiastically entered Cav’dor with a rejuvenated flock close behind.

******

The raindrops sizzled upon contact with his skin, while the ground trembled beneath his feet. The winds unleashed their furious howls, and the sky echoed with thunderous roars. Arcs of electric energy weaved a mesmerizing dance across the landscape. Londe found himself immersed in a weather phenomenon that exceeded anything he had ever witnessed or learned about in his entire existence. It stirred a sense of unease within him, yet, like the rest of the welcoming gathering, he remained motionless, captivated by a unique and awe-inspiring spectacle.

Londe found it oddly coincidental that the arrival of the off-worlders aligned with the first storm in generations. His homeland was on the verge of collapse, and he believed his plan held the key to his people's salvation. While it wasn't within Londe's role to personally welcome the newcomers, an inner intuition urged him to reconsider. Despite his attempts to resist, a nagging feeling gnawed at him, signaling that something was amiss. With each passing moment, this sensation grew stronger. For now, however, he knew he had to set aside his xenophobic inclinations and focus on the task at hand.

Suddenly the sky turned ominously black. And the sounds of the raging elements were drowned out by a low resounding hum. The winds now were coming from above and it took all his strength just to remain upright. Slowly they came into view—behemoths.

Several large flying temples dropped with brutish force out of the sky.  The concussive force knocked all but the strongest Trindak to the muddy earth. Londe started to get up but was knocked down again by an eye-feast of unutterable brilliance and power. Massive black metal structures seemed to extend forever in every direction. Londe greedily moved his gaze from one ship to another.

The off-worlders were covered from head to toe. Their colors appeared dull as the dust and air conversion apparatus covered their heads. They looked different than he remembered.  This time they concealed themselves under several layers of cloaks, and animal skins covered their feet.  It also seemed curious that they spoke only sparingly.  In previous communications, he often had to abruptly end conversations.

All during the welcome ceremony and the exchange of gifts, Londe’s mind kept returning to those ships. He questioned what wonders his people could have created if they hadn’t been so constrained by religion. 

After the welcome ceremony, Londe offered them a tour of some of the best villages, but the off-worlders refused. In fact, they insisted on starting the evacuations immediately.  This wasn’t a problem, because the raging storm was growing in size and strength, with thunder and lightning constantly shaking the earth.

As Londe and the last of his people boarded a low orbit craft, he thought about his brother D’wonn, pitying him and the other lost souls who were assured of death.

◆◆◆

D’wonn was only a short way into the cave and had already begun to weaken. He knew the others fared no better, but gained comfort in the knowledge that their faith was deep and that, so far, he hadn’t heard a single complaint. 

As they traveled deeper into the blackness of the caverns, D’wonn saw no sign of what he’d envisioned. He briefly considered turning around but knew it was no use.  His people were drained physically, and there was no chance of return. He inched forward with his remaining strength, chanting a prayer with each step.  Behind him, he could sense the bodies of those who’d already expired.  Suddenly, brightness flooded the cave, bringing hope of life and a validation of his vision. He opened his robes and exposed his entire body to the light, savoring the feeling of returning to life. 

When all that was left had regained their strength, they cautiously began moving towards the light.  It was then D’wonn saw an approaching figure, small and vague at first, but growing more defined each moment. When he finally visualized the figure clearly, D’wonn nearly fainted. It was a female Trindak!  A Trindak like none he’d ever seen.  She observed him without speaking, and he examined her form. The spell was broken when the Trindaki spoke in a soft, musical voice.

Welcome. It is time to begin your journey.,

Londe sat secured in his seat. He was the only Trindak on the shuttle; the rest had already departed to the long-range transport vessel. As Londe lifted off the shuttlecraft, he gazed through a tinted window into the belligerent night. Even though he’d managed to save thousands of Trindak and preserve his race, he was saddened by thoughts of those who’d foolishly followed his brother into Cavdor.

He noticed the off-worlders chatting with their translators turned off, and idly wondered what they discussed.  He chastened himself for being so paranoid; they were Gadorians, friends to all. For the first time in a long time, Londe allowed himself to relax. His people would go on, though there would be adjustments and sacrifices for all involved.

A twinge of pain developed in his abdomen as he thought of his brother and those who had followed him. They were probably already dead. He folded his arms, placed his palms on his elbows, and said a short prayer for his brother. He knew it was in vain, but it was a tribute to his D’wonn and the last prayer he would ever say. After he finished a bland emptiness dominated his senses. Loss. He rejected the sensation. He noticed that his palms had become sticky. A nice bath and a long Jheenok would heal him, he mused, at the same time fighting down a bit of nausea.

Before he could recover a jerk of acceleration slammed his chest into his back, squeezing his lungs. It would pass, he hoped, as acute pressure pushed needles of pain through his extremities. Suddenly he felt moist and warm. Too warm—he wanted to tear off his robes. The acceleration increased, darkening the edges of his consciousness. At the same time, the air turned to fire. He could feel his blood boiling under his skin. Fear gripped him. He flailed around in his seat yelling, Gadorian friends! Please help me! Even though he screamed at the top of his lungs they didn’t seem to hear him. Dying and desperate he grabbed the nearest off-worlder. My friend I am…. Before he could finish the Gadorian slapped him aside with such force that it knocked off his respirator. Londe’s hot blood ran down his face burning his skin.

In his diminished spiraling consciousness Londe thought that he imagined that the respirator was a fake; a mask with superficial attachments. He studied the face skewed by his faltering sight. Scaly and reptilian they didn’t remind him of any of the Gadorians he had met. Thank you for such a large bounty. Said a gurgling baritone voice. Londe focused on the face some more. He noticed as it spoke its mouth hadn’t moved. Your people seem to be quite hardy. Your servitude will buy our freedom. It said through a voice box at the base of its neck.

Londe tugged the latch of the safety belt, but his weakened fingers couldn’t undo the latch. His chest tightened and his heart weakened. His sight became dim. He wondered why the Gadorians would deal in bad faith. As the rest of the ‘Gadorians’ slipped off their masks he finally realized the answer. Slav merk…chantttss. He muttered with his last breath.

But something sustained him, he was no longer breathing and a calm settled over him, satisfied he slowly drifted away. Instantly the ship decelerated to a complete stop, screeching under the strain. It momentarily disordered the crew. Out of nowhere a bolt of fire streaked through the ship moving from one person to another gaining the attention of the crew. They chased it until it stopped at Londe pausing in mid-air. The flame licked the ceiling, forming a wall around him. Without warning the fire exploded outward in all directions turning flesh to ash instantly. Pillars of soot still more or less in Trindak form stood like statues. Then the bolt returned to Londe’s body, the flames increasing, turning to white heat and taking a feminine form. It surveyed him and then burned out.

When Londe regained consciousness a few seconds later, an environment comfortable to the Trindak had been restored. He looked around and noticed that the off-worlders, some still searing, had been charred beyond recognition.  With effort, he unbuckled himself and headed toward the cockpit. As he passed the smoking ashes, he caught a glimpse out the window. His world had become a small ball dangling on an invisible string.  And it was changing—turning rapidly from bright orange to a withered brown.  He knew he could never return.

Londe looked around for the transport ship, but it was nowhere in sight. He fling the charred body and dusted off the pilot’s seat. Taking a look at all the controls that were totally foreign to him he slouched back into the chair. Luckily the Trindak had long life spans; he would need the time to learn. 

Having done everything within his power, Londe realized that the outcome now lay in the hands of others. It was time for him to find solace in rest. Supported by those around him, as he could no longer move independently, he was guided to the predetermined location. Deep within, he carried the certainty that he had made the correct decision, and he harbored the belief that he would eventually emerge once more. But for now, it was a time to seek respite and rejuvenation.

1. The Repentance

The deck below was bombarded by a relentless rain of fiery projectiles. Kragel, encased in a clunky and outdated environ-suit, struggled intensely to weld the weakened sail back to the mainmast. Doubts of his survival echoed in his mind, amplified by the twinkling stars in his peripheral vision and the vast expanse of black space that awaited, patient and predatory. Through his headset, he could hear a chorus of grumbles and curses as the passersby below endured a barrage of metallic shards, resembling a micro-meteor shower. The fragments, frozen at a bone-chilling three Kelvin, possessed enough momentum to send a grown man sprawling. Casting his gaze downward, he observed the scattered commotion below, akin to tiny ants bound by the ship's gravitational pull to its hull. If they were stung by the fragments, they would endure and live to see another day, but Kragel's own situation was far from secure.

Perched atop the mast, a structure that dwarfed the ship itself in size, Kragel existed in a realm untouched by the artificial grasp of gravity. At this moment, inertia was the sole force that held his attention captive. With each push of the welding torch against the worn magnetic buckle intended to secure him in place, Kragel felt the resistance intensify. Even the air bubble surrounding the flame, necessary for combustion in the lifeless expanse of space, appeared to expand relentlessly against him. While much of this struggle existed within his own mind, none of it aided him as he teetered from side to side, the grip of angular momentum threatening to hurl him into the void.

Beads of sweat gushed out of his pores. It tickled running down, his neck especially, and he yearned to wipe it. Kragel was drowning in his own sweat and funk. Swiping at a soiled sleeve, he slapped at the temperature gauge. It blinked on and off several times before begrudgingly settling for a compromise. Only the top half of the display lit up.  It read either one hundred sixty Kelvin or four hundred thirty Kelvin. According to the gage he was either freezing or cooking, which only added to his woes.

Malfunction, A static tinny voice rattled in his ear.

"No shit. Kragel slapped his helmet and the static was replaced with a series of loud, intermittent clicks. He didn’t remember what the clicks were for but was almost certain they served some function. Must not have been important," he mused. He started back to work shouting curses into the microphone mostly at the sail and the man who sold him the bullshit suit.

Within a short span of time, Kragel successfully affixed the sail to the mast. Pausing briefly, he took a moment to appreciate his handiwork—a fusion of molten metal fragments intricately fastened to a thin, resilient layer of super refractory steel, all connected to a gleaming metallic pole. It may not have been a top-tier, impeccable job, nor even a subpar effort, but for The Repentance, it would suffice. The ship's demanding circumstances allowed no room for perfection; it simply had to be functional. And in that regard, Kragel's work would serve its purpose.

Having repaired the mast countless times before, Kragel felt a wave of frustration as he exerted himself for the dwindling rewards the job offered. This time, the salvage consisted mostly of trivial trinkets and insignificant doodads. A shattered sonic resonator, a pair of worn-out Regalian dress boots, a barely functional pulse pistol charger, and a handful of Gadorian meal pouches comprised the meager value of his existence in that moment. Perhaps he could barter the boots and the resonator in exchange for a much-needed sonic shower and some reclaimed water. Yet, it was a mere survival strategy, barely enough to sustain him for another week.

At least he had managed to obtain some real food this time, a welcome departure from the synthetic freeze-dried food substitute that tasted, smelled and felt like shit. Kragel couldn't shake off the suspicion that the artificial meat was, in fact, a twisted joke by the Synch species, notorious for their lack of humor, played on the unsuspecting ICC.

In a heart-stopping instant, the magnetic belt holding Kragel in place gave an ominous stretch before completely giving way. Time seemed to freeze as he felt a surge of dread consume him. It was karma, striking with swift vengeance.

With a jolt, Kragel began tumbling backward, his body rotating in a sickening motion—head over toe, spiraling into a dizzying descent. Panic surged through his veins as he desperately reached out, driven by instinct, grasping for anything to anchor himself. But the weight and bulkiness of his heavily insulated gloves hindered his grip, betraying him in this critical moment.

With agonizing slowness, Kragel slipped further and further, helplessly propelling himself into the gaping maw of the unforgiving abyss. The beast of space seemed to eagerly await his arrival, its hunger threatening to consume him whole.

Shit on me! Kragel only half panicked. Aboard The Repentance one was quickly conditioned to expect the worst. Nevertheless to be spaced, to drift endlessly until one’s air supply ran out, was a clown’s death; an unfunny joke by a cosmic prankster who had long ago run out of imagination. And even more so than a pessimist, Kragel was an asshole. He’d be damned if this universe got the last laugh on him.

Internally Kragel immediately scheduled a list of events he needed to do in order to survive.

Stop spinning. He jerked his legs and torso to counter the rotation until finally he lay belly up with respect to the ship, he remained still, careful not to push himself farther away. Lifting his head slightly, he saw that the part of the metallic lash was still attached to the pole. Letting his arms fall, he reached for the belt hoping it would be close. It was. Slowly and deliberately he rotated his body and reached for the belt. After several near misses, he started to drift off. He floated face down watching the ship get smaller. He cursed himself for dying a lonely death.

Get the damned torch. Then he felt a slight bump in the small of his back. He crossed his arms over his chest and spun his body lengthwise. He could see it, the torch. But his body had bumped it just out of his grasp. Damned! This time instead of reaching for it he waited. Slowly his body inched toward it.  Just when hope started to linger in his mind, suddenly another alarm went off in his helmet. Air supply critical, refill immediately. The same metal voice chirped. Kragel couldn’t help but wonder if fate was rooting against him as he slapped the volume off again. Now a sense of urgency was upon him, he reached, missed it by a fingertip.  He eyed the torch, on some basic level hoping to will it toward him. But all he could do was wait as they floated together separated by a chasm of inches.

Kragel could feel the peripheral blackness of space contracting around him. Suddenly there was frigidness in his chest. He fought down the instinct to gulp down the last of his air supply, slowly rationing his last breaths. Floating belly up he saw the torch, it was just over him, but hovering around his knees. With his strength and fight waning, Kragel gave it one last attempt. He crouched his body into a fetal position hoping to envelop the torch. The motion took nearly all of his air reserves, and he watched as it just slipped through his knees. It started to move away with some velocity, and his hopes of survival drifted with it.

What the fuck! Without warning a violent thrust smashed in his back hurling him tumbling forward. Double Karma. The blunt force whipped his neck forward, crashing his face into the glass shield. He felt his helmet give a little, cracking the glass lengthwise, but luckily his nose gave more, snapping to one side and pouring blood. Kragel fumbled a few breaths while he spun dizzily out of control. As he tumbled through space suffocating he realized something had attached itself to the back of his suit, clinging tightly around his neck and waist. But his attention quickly shifted when he saw the tip of the mast in the blood-smeared star field. He reached for it, clinging to it with the tips of his gloves. He lost his grip for a moment, but his angular momentum twisted his body just enough to try again. He had it, straining to hold on with his additional payload. Get the hell off me! he yelped, gulping the last of his air. Kragel was startled when he received a garbled reply in his headset. The dread of radioactive contamination was distant in his mind.

With no time to waste he hugged the pole wrapping all his limbs around it fireman style. His neck and chest burned as if they were aflame. Slowly he inched downward until the tug of the gravity wells kicked in.

Back on the deck with his chest tight and his mouth dry and cracking, he stumbled toward the airlock, lugging the additional mass, knocking others down along the way.

Sheltered within the safety of the airlock, Kragel couldn't contain his impatience. Without even waiting for the telltale hum of pressurization, he swiftly discarded the weighty mass clinging to his back. In a frenzied state, his hands trembled as he ripped the latches off his helmet, casting it aside in a desperate frenzy. At first, an eerie stillness hung in the air, and his lungs continued to feel as though they were nothing more than empty sacks of sand. The realization washed over him— he was slowly dying.

Then, as if stirred to life by some unseen force, the colossal rotary fan suspended overhead began to emit a feeble buzz. Its corroded blades reluctantly trembled, causing the entire room to rattle, while a cloud of brown flakes gently floated through the air. Kragel's gaze fixed upward as if he were gazing into the face of a deity. Do something, damn it! he mustered, his words barely a whisper carried by the last remnants of air within his lungs.

The blades turned, their rotation halting abruptly, only to resume once more, before stopping again. In that agonizing pause, Kragel mentally recited a litany of curses, every profanity he knew, as he braced himself for what might come next. Then, finally, the blades recommenced their motion, this time with an unwavering determination, slowly and steadily.

It took a couple of agonizing moments before a trickle of cool air seeped through the cracks, cascading against his sticky, sweat-soaked skin in a refreshing embrace. Falling to his knees, Kragel greedily gulped in the precious, life-giving oxygen. With fervor, he hastily removed the remaining parts of his suit, basking in the embrace of the cool, sterile air. Tears welled in his eyes, a testament to his profound gratitude, as he reveled in the simple pleasure of breathing once more, his very being satiated by the gift of renewed life.

But he didn’t revel in this bliss too long, as soon as the threat past his thoughts turned elsewhere. He looked down at the mysterious mass, except it didn’t look so mysterious in the light. It was an environ-suit quite like his, but much older. It lay limp tugged in a semi-fetal position, shivering. The last thing the Repentance needed was another player in the survival competition. Kneeling with his fist cocked back, he ripped the helmet off with his other hand, eager to finish off the bastard that nearly tossed him into space. He looked at the face and groaned; his fist smashed into the metal floor. You! he shouted, his voice echoing through the chamber, but the culprit had already fled, leaving him seething.

Kragel meticulously surveyed his dwindling inventory, releasing a heavy sigh as he realized the loss of the torch meant a reduction in his already limited rations. It was a day's labor that had yielded nothing but disappointment. Recalling the recent brushes with death he had narrowly escaped within the last cycle, he couldn't help but feel a sense of futility. Despite his near misses, he had little to show for his efforts. Sinking further into despair, he rested his back against the air vent, contemplating his situation.

Nude, as his meager belongings offered no comfort or solace, Kragel yearned for a long-awaited shower. However, the thought of wasting his precious water rations deterred him, leaving him to linger a while longer, hoping the pungent odor clinging to his body would eventually dissipate.

Kragel was a rugged-looking man, his features obscured by a mass of hair that shielded most of his face from view. Years of welding had etched a permanent squint into his eyes. Though standing nearly two meters tall, he spent most of his time hunched over, bearing the physical toll of his labor. His physique, while still firm, had succumbed slightly to the effects of low gravity and the passing of time.

Like all baseline humanoids within the Intergalactic Cooperation Council (ICC), Kragel belonged to the labor class, consigned to a life of arduous toil. This reality didn't bother him much, as he was tenacious and lacked an inflated ego. However, his disdain for authority, especially the Synchs, was undeniable. It was this deep aversion that led him to forsake the comfort and security of the ICC, venturing into the treacherous and uncertain realm of the Outer Rim in search of freedom from their clutches.

The Interplanetary Commerce Consortium (ICC) stood as an influential alliance comprising twenty-four prosperous merchant states that effectively governed the known galaxy under the principles of meritocracy. This system, though reliable, rested upon a delicate foundation, maintaining peace among planets for over a century. However, such tranquility came with a cost, particularly for baseline humans who found themselves positioned at the lowest rung of the intellectual hierarchy. Yet, after enduring through four generations, most individuals begrudgingly accepted this reality as an inescapable way of life. Those who couldn't bear this existence opted to flee to the uncharted territories of the Outer Rim, seeking refuge from the constraints imposed by the ICC.

The Outer Rim was the unofficial down-on-my-luck-brother corner of the inhabited space. Rimmers (which was a derisive term when coming from the lips of anyone except a Rimmer) referred to it as the new frontier and everyone else called it that ol’ shithole at the edge of civilization. Most star systems in this ‘outback’ were populated by either gas giants whose immense gravities and turbulent atmospheres were too inhospitable for life, or by molten planetoids too close to their sun.  Moons, planetary rings, and asteroid belts (and the occasional comet) were open