Hello Everybody! This is my first post here at FicPress so please bear with me. I am open to ANY and ALL Reviews! I'm a science fiction nerd sooo...

Lets get this show on the road!


Groaning and in a generally lousy mood, I roll over in my berth as if I can hide from the lights as they come on. Coming out of stasis always left me in a bad mood for days, feeling stiff and sore, but some of the others claimed to feel rejuvenated after sleeping in stasis for so long. Even with my head under the pillow I can hear my friends and shipmates climbing out of their berths to go and eat our morning meal, as if there was a morning in Other Space.

In what amounts to 3 days of normal time we will have reached our destination and return to Real Space. Knowing that in a few minutes the Captain will turn on the gravity in our chamber so he can turn it off for the other crew members who will be going to sleep, is my main motivation for finally rolling over, unhooking the net that keeps us in our bunks while we sleep, and climbing down to the floor.

I sleep on the 6th bunk level, one of the most coveted spots for its height, even though there is still a 7th level. Looking around as I stretch I see that most everyone else has left for the meal or to report to their workstation. We sleep in extremely low gravity as there is not enough room on the ship for us to have perches and laying on our backs or sides is nearly impossible. As the red light comes on above the door to indicate that the gravity is being increased I finally get a chance to spread my wings for what feels like the first time in months.

In reality it most likely was about 5 months of Real time that we spent in stasis. Taking a good look at my wings, I see that several of the feathers have dulled and are shredded from the time in stasis; I know that this is due to my special requirements and that they will grow back, but it still irks me that I will have to remove them.

Moving on, I see that I managed to acquire several new scars from being jostled and having my own feathers stab me but this is nothing new, my back is covered in scars where my razor-sharp feathers have cut me in the past. My feathers are unique in this among our species. I have a have an incredibly rare genetic mutation that causes my feathers to be formed almost entirely of Ubiquitem, an extremely light, metallic element we have found almost exclusively in our solar system. All of us need to consume it, as it is the main substance that our skeletal structure and partially our feathers, and what makes us light enough to fly. However, I need to consume nearly four times the normal amount to keep my feathers healthy.

It would appear that during the last week of stasis I had a deficiency so some of my older feathers died. I smooth down my crest and find that the longest feathers in the back have stopped growing. Good, I think, it was only just before we left our home system that they started to regrow.

When we left I had recently gone through the ceremony that officially made me one of the Periganus, a fighting officer; honestly it had been too long in coming for my taste, but after that incident on Arazar 2 they didn't have much choice. The ceremony had involved plucking my crest so it would grow in three strips and receiving the fourth stripe of my facial tattoo, along with a much newer set of armor.

By this time I can feel the chamber's artificial gravity so I head towards the portal that leads to the low-gravity portion of the ship. The low gravity allows us to move about the ship with ease by opening our wings and coasting. There are hand holds on the walls and ceiling so we can travel without touching the floors and pass each other in the narrow corridors. The only places on the ship with full gravity other than the sleeping rooms are the gym, mess hall, and bridge of the ship.

As I float in to the main corridor of the ship, I see a shadow in the corner of my eye and quickly duck. Just in time to keep a new recruit, a fledgling, who has never spent much time on a true low-gravity ship, from crashing into me. He manages to grab a handle to keep himself from spinning out of control but in the process releases the data pad he had been holding. I latch on to the nearest handle, or anchor, as we call them on ships, and stretch to catch the pad with my toes. I spin back around to see the recruit still clinging to the handle desperately, and wonder to myself if I was this uncoordinated on my first Other Space flight.


So what do you think? Good, bad, ugly? Any pointers, suggestions, and spelling corrections are greatly welcome!