Premium Story #7: Alone in the Dark (Chapter I: The Call of the Abyss)

Premium Story #7: Alone in the Dark Chapter One: The Call of the Abyss (Content Tags: Sci-Fi, Worldbuilding, Diapers, Messing and Wetting, Cosmic Horror, Ongoing Story) The dark of space was as vast as vast could ever aspire to be; it was a bleak blackness, where silence and emptiness was woven all throughout, where mysteries festered among dying stars and collapsing systems. An endless sea of specks dotted the aether of eternity; these bright spots of hope in an ocean of despair, they were what guided travelers forward. Traversing this unfeeling abyss in the sky was not for the faint of heart, nor was it a voyage fit for the incurious; this big empty was as much a rending void, as it was a pretense for adventure and treasure. The little cosmonaut in the cherry-red rocket was well aware of the risks, and he scoffed at them, because the promise of the reward was far too grand to ignore. Like a pirate on the waters of earth, he too dreamed of both riches and thrills that stretched the scope of his imagination; somewhere in this inky cauldron, among the trillions of lights in the sky, there existed anything and everything that could ever hope to tempt or tantalize. With a ship set to autopilot, he would stare out into the depths before him, imagining quietly the sorts of splendor that a storybook had once promised. Memories of home, and memories of the tales told to him, would remind a childish heart that whimsy may lie right behind the next corner. The sorts of people, places, and treasures that his father had spoken about, while the boy laid snuggled under a bedtime blanket, were what had informed his dreams then, and what drove his dreams now. It hadn't been that long ago, that he'd still been a child of the fertile soil; he hadn't been a sailor of the cosmos for any longer than it took his home to complete a rotation around its star. His experience as a traveler was in its infancy, but the expanse of his knowledge was as vast as any graduate of the spacefaring academy, putting him beyond his years by a fair measure. A prodigal child he was, versed in the engineering and cartographic arts as well as any grownup. His name was Nemo Moonloop, and he knew that his name would be spoken of in the same prestige as all great adventurers some day. He would be known as not only the youngest cadet to make a solo trek across the Caliburn system and beyond, but the one who unlocked its most guarded secrets; the storybooks he'd drifted into slumber with, thumb gently in mouth, would need to be amended with tales of his exploits. It was no delusion of grandeur, it was a promise made to himself, and not one he had the heart to ever break. The towheaded lad hadn't come from a family of means, nor had he come from a land of means; his home was among the sector's graveyard of ships, where his father and older brother had worked as salvage reapers. The workshop beside his home had always been littered with what most would call junk, or refuse, but that wasn't what he saw it as. Taught the family business from the time he could toddle, Nemo had long understood the importance of recycling the dead, as to give rebirth to that which sprung anew with fresh life. A component was never completely done, scrap was never put to eternal rest, and the talent of an engineer could reform the formless into something beautiful once more. It was by this ethos, and by these skills, that half of his impressive skillset found provenance; long before he'd even mastered operating a toilet and leaving the confines of diapers behind, he'd already learned how to strip down a capacitor to its basal components. Cheeks flushed as he considered that feat, the crinkling bulk between his thighs a reminder of the irony he now sat on during this lengthy voyage. The thick padding that hugged his rear, that lightly bowed his legs, and which gave the skin-tight suit an unseemly bulge around his midsection, had been a multifaceted compromise. No child, least of all with the ambition he'd been blessed by, wished to return to the playpen in this way; if it could have at all been avoided, then he wouldn't have been caught dead traipsing around the solar system in garb better suited for a drooling infant. Alas, as he excused it, the garment had been a compromise on multiple fronts. His spacesuit wasn't only a junior-sized model, which were far more apt to accommodate such vestments, but it was an archaic model at that. It didn't have the built-in waste reclamation system of the newer suits, which most starship passengers could afford, nor did it have the nano-molecular 'smart' material that would have made stripping it off a matter of seconds. Additionally, his ship had no toilet, because he'd had to use every cubic inch of space to put things that were more important. Only a handful of creature comforts could be allocated into the construction of the vessel, and when considering the nature of his suit, he'd had little reason to waste such valuable space on the removal of waste. Finally, and most embarrassing of all, was that for all his brilliance and aptitude for space travel, his diminutive body was less agreeable than his mind. Hitting the warp-drive, taking off into orbit, or even drifting throughout the void for too long, all took a great toll on his bladder and bowels. It was something he had learned very early on, whenever his first lift-off with his father had resulted in his the backside of his suit becoming very...Cramped. It was that little inadequacy that had informed his decision the most, since it was one that would only be tempered by a breadth of experience. It was with great hope, with unrelenting optimism, that he figured that by the time he could afford a less archaic spacesuit or to modify the spaceship, that he would have that embarrassing problem solved. It wasn't completely out of the question either, since he'd mostly solved his puking problem with space travel, so what would one more hill to climb be? As it was, it wasn't as though the 'waste containment units' were useless to him; when fully utilized for their intended purpose, they could then be tossed into the ship's fuel supply. The energy created wasn't immense by any means, but every bit counted, and it saved him from having to stop as frequently to empty his pail somewhere. In the current area that he had entered, it was highly unlikely that he'd find anywhere to stop anyway. This sector was considered a dead-zone, not just for lack of colonization, but for lack of preexisting exploration; there had definitely been ships out this way before, but not the kind that would chart out everything they had come across during their voyage. It was more likely that previous crews had ended up here by mistake, or they'd foolishly thought they could take a shortcut. The Caliburn system was extremely large, like all things in space tended to be, but it was tiny in the grand scale of things, as it was just a small fragment of the Andromeda galaxy. The Caliburn system was a cornerstone to the Andromeda galaxy, because it acted as a sort of waypoint between Andromeda and the galaxy of Nemo's ancestors. Colonization had long been achieved in the Milky Way galaxy, even with a lack of many suitable exoplanets, and as space travel had untangled the enigma of FTL, that taming of the stars beyond had only increased exponentially. It was a relatively short jump from the edge of the Milky Way, to the edge of the Caliburn system, which was why that particular system had become such a vital point of interstellar travel and commerce. Human hands stretched further out into the depths of Andromeda, but the deeper in one went, the less influence mankind had yet to exert. Space exploration was genuinely in a golden age, where legends could be made, and fortunes were there to grab. Even after hundreds of years of spreading their wings, mankind had yet to see even a single percent of all that creation had to offer. For better and for worse. Leaving the Caliburn system had been the only real choice to make, because it was frankly too civilized to offer Nemo the sort of adventure that he craved. He'd kept from engaging the warp drive, as to give himself some time to get accustomed with the idea of solo travel; it was like riding around with training wheels, to build his confidence for going all-in. Someone more cautious would have picked a sector with less mystery behind it; from the reaches of Caliburn's edge, there'd been several options that he would have had access to established astrographical data and planetary analysis. There were safer options, that still had some untamed lands to cut his teeth on. But no, Nemo had been stalwart in his decision. He'd picked the 'Cupid quadrant', knowing full-well of its reputation as true wilderness, of it being a place that captains whispered dark tales of, and where the academy explicitly forbade cadets to travel. It wasn't simply unmapped because of a lack of manpower or interest, as there were sectors beyond it that had all manner of established planets. It was something different. As urban legends would put it, the Cupid quadrant was haunted. Eerie events and unexplained phenomena were said to be inevitable; the further into the inky blackness that one traveled, the more likely they would encounter horrors that had turned grizzled veterans away. Few had ever returned unscathed, and those lucky enough to return at all, would staunchly refuse to enter again. On his home planet, these stories had been particularly powerful in the cultural zeitgeist. The very storybook he had been so nostalgic for, had been one that expounded upon the myth of the haunted void. In that myth, that fable, there had also been talk of a treasure beyond all imagination. Nobody knew what that treasure was, where it could be, or whether it existed at all. Nemo though, he's latched onto the idea since the time he could run. It called to him with its siren song, and he felt powerless to turn his head away from it. Still, while he might be a dreamer at heart, he was still a very clever boy that held science higher than faith. If there was no definitive proof that the legend was more than a spooky bedtime story, then he wouldn't have so fervently found himself drawn like a moth to the flame. Aside from anecdotal testimony, the bulk of which was likely spat from the mouths of charlatans who had never been within spitting distance of Cupid, there was real data to back up the claims of things being strange. Most infamously, was the fact that Cupid stood alone as a portion of space in which warp travel didn't properly function. It couldn't be skipped over, it couldn't be warped into, and it couldn't be warped out of. Using such travel while inside of its boundaries was spotty at best, with claims that the distances closed were much smaller than they should have been. This was legitimate proof, hard proof, that Cupid was indeed different than any other place that mankind had found in the universe thus far. It was also the 'official' reasoning that most spacefaring people avoided it, because it interfered so much with their ships. To a normal person, to one who didn't believe the tales, what benefit could there be to enter? Especially when it might be such a crucible to leave? While there weren't any officially curated maps of Cupid, there were snippets that changed hands from time to time. The problem lied in whether or not they were really accurate though, since their veracity could only be confirmed by those intrepid enough to check. The other primary issue was cost, with fragments costing extensive amounts with little guarantee of credibility. Making these pieces of a map, no matter how small, was a viable way of making some money, but the risk wasn't really considered worthwhile. With the assumed damage one's ship might incur, coupled with the same promise of hard to the crew, made it a fool's errand at best. The map that Nemo had in his hands, a data diskette loaded with an alleged framework of Cupid, hadn't come off the greasy palms of some fleecing trader in a shady market; it was actually something he'd found in his father's salvage yard, stowed inside an old ship that'd seen far better days. Within the battered haul, still connected to the archaic navigational system being used, it had rested for what had to have been centuries. When he'd built his own ship, he'd used a lot parts from that old cruiser, because he needed to have the ancient technology usable for the diskette. It'd taken months to even crack the encryption on it, once he'd jury-rigged a device to read it outside of the navigation box; oddly enough, and very intriguing, was the fact that the decryption key was bases on the pages of the old story book. That had been the most decisive moment for him; he'd already dreamed of sailing the cosmos, and Cupid had been in his sights, but having that map fall into his lap had been the push he really needed. "Captain Nemo, the last chance to abort is approaching rapidly. You have less than ten minutes to change course." Came a voice from behind. It was Chip, the AI companion he'd gotten himself saddled with. Chip was very unique in his construction, much like the ship, because he was a mishmash of different components and technologies across completely separate eras of humanity. Considering that he was linked into the navigation, it had been unavoidable to give him that 'rustic' charm. Truth be told, the ethos of AI had gone through many permutations from its first spark. The most modern models had returned to being far more mechanical in nature, stripping any semblance of a personality; the rationale had to do with the uncomfortable moral implications of building an intelligence to serve mankind. This topic was as relevant as ever, now that androids could be indistinguishable from humans. Thus people preferred their utility machines to be more clearly discernible as machines. Nemo wished he had that option. Alas, Chip was a bot with a big personality; he had a dry, snarky sense of humor, and didn't take kindly to being underappreciated. Chip had a 'chip' on his shoulder from being in the service of such a small explorer too, finding that what he would call 'babysitting' duty was beneath him. "We're not backing out, Chip. You have the map ready, right? We're going to blind without it." Nemo responded with confidence, perhaps more of it than he deserved to flaunt. "Affirmative, the astrographical data is being analyzed to chart our route. I would like to remind you, however, that--" "--Hey, less talk and more rock, okay? Save your Debbie-Downer speech for later; I don't want you killing my big moment." Nemo interrupted with a wave of his hand. Glimmers of the quasar flashed in the night, but as the ship more closely approached the borderline between the known and unknown, it felt as though a greater darkness was enveloping them. Wisps of something could be seen in the distance, like a milky fog that was washing ovef the stars themselves. Nemo was nervous, not that he'd admit it out loud. He was going from taking a walk around town, to mounting an expedition into some very dark woods, from which there were few that returned unscathed. Had his boldness really just been the stupidity of youth? What unspeakable horrors might be have to traverse in search of the truth out here? Were Cupid's secrets worth being swallowed by this abyss? The ship gave a small alert as it passed officially from one sector to the next, and in any 'real' ship, that ding would have come with a full-blown warning that highly suggested turning back. This wasn't a place for people with cookie-cutter treads though, it was a place for intrepid dreamers, just like him. Not long after passing by that axis, Nemo began to hear a low groaning from outside the ship; it sounded as though something was pressing against the hull with a great yet measured force. He tried to find any information on the readouts about whether the ship was damaged, but nothing was being acknowledged. "Chip, you hear that, right?" "Now you want my opinion? You want the 'Debbie-Downer' to say what's on his mind?" The bot snarked, currently communicating from within the system itself. "Now's not the time to get all bent out of shape, bolt-brain! There's something happening, but there's nothing on the computer, or on the radar... The ship shouldn't be making that sound." The groaning continued, and the light inside the cabin flickered for a brief moment; Nemo froze, feeling a fearful trickling in the front of his spacesuit. They'd hardly been here for twenty minutes, and they were already having problems? "There's nothing wrong with the ship, at least not yet. All systems are normal, electrical included." "T-then why did the light just do that?" "Insufficient data." Nemo groaned quietly and clutched at his gut, all the stress was causing a different kind of disturbance. Now hardly felt like the time, but it wasn't like a better time would be approaching anytime soon. "Chip, fully engage the piloting system and follow the course. We're going to touch down on the first planet listed, so I can double-check that nothing is busted. Now if you excuse me, I'll be in the restroom..." "The ship has no restroom, captain. Did you mean to say that you'll be using your waste receptacle in your private quarters? My apologies, I know you prefer a more casual tongue: will you be fouling up your diaper?" "J-just shut up and do what I said!" Nemo huffed, storming out of the cockpit. The ship wasn't very large, so his 'private quarters' was an extremely small bedroom that took up about a fifth of the total size of the vessel. It was a place to sleep, mostly, and where he could relax when time allowed for it, which had been often up until now. The door closed behind him and he walked a little further in, before turning and putting his palms on the door. It'd taken some getting used to, for him to actually utilize his 'receptacle' for solid waste. Peeing had been a more simplistic matter, helped by his weak bladder, but actively soiling himself went against every instinct he'd come to know as a 'big kid', and thus he needed to accommodate himself. Using the door to balance, Nemo bent his knees and slowly lowered himself, so that his padded bottom jutted outward. It at least 'helped' that all this exotic food from other planets had been going through him like a bullet, meaning there was plenty opportunities to practice this little dance. A gentle grunt passed his lips, and the boy slowly began to push. Some gas sputtered out, but his bowels were being stingy, even with the gurgling in his gut. "Oh...Come on..." He murmured to himself, frustrated at his own lack of action here. He was going to give another active push, but then he heard a high pitched shrieking that shook not only the ship, but his insides. Gripped by terror of the unknown, the front of his spacesuit was tightening, because the back of his spacesuit was rapidly bulging from a diaper that'd just had a large dump shotgunned into the seat like a shooting star. Nemo didn't have time to feel anything resembling shame or disgust, because all he could feel was fear; what the heck was that noise? What unholy abomination could possibly do that in the depths of space? He'd gone searching in the dark for treasures, but he hadn't fully considered what had kept those treasures hidden for hundreds of years. This might have been a huge mistake.