HYPERSPACE
Somewhere Along the Braxant Run...
Somewhere Along the Braxant Run...
The Corvette was the furthest thing from opulent.
While its systems and arms were certainly operational, functional seemed to be the theme of the vessel. Thick, insulated wires ran the length of the main corridor. Panels were missing from the ceiling above. And every so often, one could hear the metals within the ship creak against the speed of hyperspace. The occupants aboard were in no danger, save for any of the threats other ships potentially posed. But, the natives of the vessel could understand any trepedition as the journey proceeded.
That was partially why Arden ensured that his personal abode was a contradiction to the ship's interior.
Upon stepping within his quarters, one would be greeted with the sight of carpeted floors, comfortable sofas, and even a screen which emulated a fireplace. Immense bookshelves adorned the walls, hiding any blemishes behind a library of tomes. There was also a comforting aroma: a combination of freshly lit incense and the freshly poured cup of tea that resided upon his desk. The space was intended to provide some degree of comfort to those walking within. But, it was also a reminder of home.
For before being chosen by the Voice, Arden was a proud academic. A scholar at the employ of the Baobab Merchant Academy. He taught many enterprising souls how to peddle their wares across the stars. Yet, fate had other plans for him. Were it not for the benevolent Voice, he would have been a slave to this day. Instead, he was afforded the comforts of this vessel. Afforded the company of the souls aboard. And, afforded the might which was represented on his dominant arm.
From fingertip to elbow, the flesh was completely black. Where once there was a deep brown, there was only darkness. He felt no pain. His appendage felt no different than usual. But the mark clearly designated him as the Voice's Chosen. With this calling, he was able to lead in the Voice's name. And what was leadership without teaching? So it was that this day, the sable-skinned man summoned a newcomer to his quarters. The woman was one who had been liberated from certain oppression by the Voice's charity.
And like Arden, knew nothing of her gifts. It took the Voice's own direction for him to embrace his talents. Now, he would carry the torch and encourage the young woman to do the same. Thus, he awaited her arrival, eyes dancing upon the pages of an old book in the meantime.
While its systems and arms were certainly operational, functional seemed to be the theme of the vessel. Thick, insulated wires ran the length of the main corridor. Panels were missing from the ceiling above. And every so often, one could hear the metals within the ship creak against the speed of hyperspace. The occupants aboard were in no danger, save for any of the threats other ships potentially posed. But, the natives of the vessel could understand any trepedition as the journey proceeded.
That was partially why Arden ensured that his personal abode was a contradiction to the ship's interior.
Upon stepping within his quarters, one would be greeted with the sight of carpeted floors, comfortable sofas, and even a screen which emulated a fireplace. Immense bookshelves adorned the walls, hiding any blemishes behind a library of tomes. There was also a comforting aroma: a combination of freshly lit incense and the freshly poured cup of tea that resided upon his desk. The space was intended to provide some degree of comfort to those walking within. But, it was also a reminder of home.
For before being chosen by the Voice, Arden was a proud academic. A scholar at the employ of the Baobab Merchant Academy. He taught many enterprising souls how to peddle their wares across the stars. Yet, fate had other plans for him. Were it not for the benevolent Voice, he would have been a slave to this day. Instead, he was afforded the comforts of this vessel. Afforded the company of the souls aboard. And, afforded the might which was represented on his dominant arm.
From fingertip to elbow, the flesh was completely black. Where once there was a deep brown, there was only darkness. He felt no pain. His appendage felt no different than usual. But the mark clearly designated him as the Voice's Chosen. With this calling, he was able to lead in the Voice's name. And what was leadership without teaching? So it was that this day, the sable-skinned man summoned a newcomer to his quarters. The woman was one who had been liberated from certain oppression by the Voice's charity.
And like Arden, knew nothing of her gifts. It took the Voice's own direction for him to embrace his talents. Now, he would carry the torch and encourage the young woman to do the same. Thus, he awaited her arrival, eyes dancing upon the pages of an old book in the meantime.
