Dimension

Chapter 1

If you're reading this, first of all, welcome! I hope you enjoy, regardless of how bad my stories might be. Also, there will be curse words throughout the story, so if that's something that bothers you than this is your warning.

Well then, I guess that's enough from me for now.

Here goes nothing!

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Sam Filion glanced down at the holoscreen projected from the computer embedded in his wrist. A digital clock, displayed in military time, took up the entire display, outlined in neon red.

2152.

Filion grimaced as the holoscreen preformed its shutdown animation. Dammit. Already thirty minutes late. He'd catch hell for that.

As was to be expected in the lower rings of this hellhole. Isilon Station was the largest fuel dump in the quadrant, and the berths were cheapest directly adjacent to the gas funnels- huge constructs which pumped hydrogen out of the Bubblegum Nebula and into millions of pressurized tanks lining the edge of the 200,000-kilometer ring station.

These berths came with unfortunate downsides- rusted-through clamps, leaky fuel pumps and malfunctioning autorepair drones. Yet not many berths on Isilon could house the mass of a puddlejumper, and the few that were large enough on the upper levels cost tens of thousands of credits per hour.

The lower berths didn't have maglocks- rather, the hydraulic pistons which locked Filion's puddlejumper in place were nothing short of enormous, extending far behind Filion and down the entire length of the docking bay thirteen. The bay itself was the size of a small town, host to a dozen berths and hundreds of autocrete shacks stacked like Lego bricks one after another forming wall of apartments and storefronts that stretched dozens of meters into the artificially projected sky.

Filion weaved his way through trios of Isilon security and crowds of Prythian citizens, keeping his head down and sticking to the cold autocrete walls as to not draw any attention.

The Lexian was berthed in unit 112. Around 156 kilometers in diameter. She was a mid-sized puddlejumper, not half as big as the largest military variants yet still more than capable of holding her own. Despite being decommissioned 19 years ago, she still had teeth - clusters of torpedo tubes capable of firing nuclear ordinance dotted the puddlejumper's poles.

"Sam!"

Filion cursed under his breath. Benson, one of the portmasters, seemed to have a quasi-psychic ability to know all the comings and goings of bay thirteen. He wasn't supposed to be on shift until 2120. Unfortunate that it was 2152. 2153, now.

Lexian was deep into overtime. She'd been berthed for 33 minutes beyond what Filion had paid for. Which meant fines, ones that Filion couldn't afford. After the destruction of Gsajd VII, the Prythian Assembly had cut pay for spatial transport in half - that meant that jumping material between Paragon and Carok was now hardly turned a profit. Lexian wasn't built as a cargo jumper.

"Filion! I know you can see me, you asshole!"

Benson was right, of course. He towered over the rest of the crowd, standing at close to 8 feet due to a life lived in low gravity. Filion kept his head down and slunk further into the shadows of the autocrete walls, powering down his envirosuit and breathing the stale, canned air which kept Isilon's populace alive.

A cold, armored hand seized Filion's shoulder and slammed him into the wall. His arm made an audible crunch and he crumpled to the floor, grimacing in pain.

Filion saw a figure in his periphery, equipped fully in powered armor with a pulse rifle slung over his back. The black and gold stripes on his armor clearly marked him as station security.

The trooper pulled a syringe out of his pocket, twisted the seal off and jabbed the tip into Filion's arm, flooding his bloodstream with regenerative antibiotics. Filion struggled to his feet, scowling at the trooper before tossing a chunk of autocrete at the deep red faceplate of the trooper's helmet with his good arm.

"That wasn't necessary, buckethead," Filion spat, to which the trooper didn't respond.

Benson appeared behind the trooper, still a full head higher despite the trooper's bulky suit of power armor. He was not even attempting to hide his grin- Filion had escaped his grasp before, and he wasn't about to let that happen again.

"You rat," Benson said. "You stinking, filthy asshole."

"At least I don't scam people for a living." Filion replied, standing up as tall as he could manage in a futile attempt to match Benson's height.

A fist crashed into Filion's stomach.

"500 grand," Benson growled. "That's your fine for existing. Tack on another mil for overdue fees and then maybe I'll consider not blowing your head off."

"I... I don't have that much." Filion wheezed, struggling to stay upright.

"Well then, that's too bad, ain't it," Benson said, drawing a pulse pistol out of thin air. "I'll kill ya quick, least."

"You're a selfish bastard if I've ever seen one. Your people think you're so damn entitled. Cause of what? Not dying?"

Benson snarled, grabbing Filion by the neck and shoving him against an autocrete pillar.

"Asshole. Paragon destroyed itself. It's not our job to fix your mess. Our food, our water, our fucking dirt. Not yours."

"We're the same," Filion choked out, trying to break Benson's grasp. "Just tryin' ta survive, yeah?"

"No. We are not the same. Just because we're both humans doesn't mean jack shit." Benson placed the pistol's muzzle against Filion's forehead. "I shouldn't even let you have this. You deserve to rot in the brig."

Filion's mouth moved, but no sound came out.

Benson grinned and dug the muzzle in deeper. "Something to say?"

"Behind you... moron."

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Hi!

This is me from the future.

I came back and fixed this chapter a little. I was planning on rewriting it completely, but I don't have the time, at least not right now.

The story can be confusing for a while, but everything will clear up at some point.

Yeah!

Cya!