Chapter 1. Illianya, The ride
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Illianya Tetsin {Elle-on-ya Tet-sin}.
5'2''. 20 years old. Her shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. It is dyed a vibrant neon cobalt-blue that fades into jet-black tips. Her piercing sky-blue eyes stare out with child-like wonder, the mega-complexes of UGC still so new and amazing to her; as a daughter of a roid-rigger, this is the first time she's been to a planet-sprawl. A delicate, upturned button nose protrudes just above thick and full lips. Adorable dimples frame her smug smile, youthful rosy cheeks beaming with joy. Her light chestnut skin is as smooth as porcelain. She isn't fat but also not fit, an average build with a healthy plump that she just can't seem to work off. Her 34d breasts are naturally firm and perky, owing mostly to growing up in low artificial-gravity. You'd be tough-pressed to grip those in a single hand-full. Her silken, ass is round and pert, and her hips are one size smaller than a fertility goddess'.
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FUCK. fuck fuck fuck! She was late. She was going to be fucking late for the third fucking time in three months. With a loud screech she skidded into the elevator lobby. Glancing up at the digital display she huffed in annoyance; three of the lifts had bold red 'X' and were sitting at the station, 14 floors below her, and the other three were at least 30 floors above her, going higher. Fuck. Mr. Stephenson was going to be so pissed.
The last two times she at least had excuses. First, a couple of hot-headed gifteds' (wayyyy too passionate over the Imperial rokball finals) had forced a shutdown of the Ridley-Adoms E-platform. Man had that been a shit show, anyone trying to get from the freshman complex—seven 60 floor tall dormitory towers and attached recreational center—to the commerce department was forced to either walk a mile or transfer from multiple other tram lines. The second time, the research study (which she was required to participate in weekly) had run long.
Cursing herself out-loud for sleeping past her alarm, she bolted through the double-doors of the dorm stairway. With large bounding strides she skipped multiple steps, rocketing down the quiet stairwell. Grasping the railing, she flung herself around each corner, struggling to pull her arms through the sleeves of her jacket on the straight-away.
The jacket had been a birthday gift from her mother upon turning 15; Illianya had worn it practically every day since. It was her most cherished possession. A charcoal-black NuLoc-mat (an extremely durable, heat resistant, energy dampening, waterproof textile) bomber jacket with intricate diagrams of inter-planetary frigates woven along the sleeves with golden metallic-fibers. NuLoc-mat clothing was a staple of deep-space dark-drive and exo-station engineer uniforms, something Illianya aspired to be.
It had a high collar that, when fully zipped-up, sat just above her nose. The lining of the jacket was ruby-red, made of a silky conductive synthetic polymer and had a litany of technology in-bedded in the fabric. It monitored her body signs, warned her of any environmental threats such as dangerous radiation levels or toxic air levels, and was able to redirect and safely discharge electrical currents.
On the inside of the front of the collar, diagnostic updates and other information glowed out from the fabric, floating along the rim always visible at a glance. Her own little heads up display.
It had come with a matching pair of padded gloves as well, but unless Illianya was planning on doing some heavy-duty maintenance, she kept them safely stored away. The material was extremely expensive, and she was afraid of losing them.
"You spend every day maintaining your father's fleet of junkers" her mother had said when Illianya begged her to take it back, knowing credits were tight and her pappy might need it to bring on more crew; her father was just a lowly roid-ripper--Illianya had lived most her life being dragged across the outer-rim in a large decrepit asteroid excavator, as her pappy chased riches shooting through space. Her mother had dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "It'll make me feel much safer, knowing you're properly protected working on those death-machines. Plus, considering what you've done, he owes you at least another dozen. Full suits, no less!"
As Illianya finally succeeded in feeding her arm through, a quick string of symbols flickered in alarm. She glanced at her flailing collar, the letters moving across the fabric as it bounced so she could read it with ease.
<warning. unsustainable exertion.>
Another burst of data scrolled below it, statistics displaying body weight, muscle mass, average physical capability. She growled in annoyance. "I get it, I'm out of shape", slapping her shoulder and disabling the offensive updates.
Her jacket flowed behind her, its lower half whipping up behind her like a cape as she soared downward. The frantic rustling was drowned out by the reverberating thumps of her heavy sneakers pounding against the carbo-crete stairs.
As Illianya flew down the last stretch of her 15-level sprint, using the banister to fling herself around the dog-legged corners, she quickly went through a mental checklist.
"Jacket, check. Shirt and pants..."
she looked down. She knew she had put them on, but she still glanced down to make sure she hadn't put anything on inside out. Her white dress- shirt was obviously wrinkled, but otherwise clean and proper.
"...check."
Another bend. She winced in pain; her shoulder felt like it was being jerked out of the socket.
She glanced down to continue the checklist. Her form fitting, sky-blue leggings flashed underneath her with each stride. They were a gift as well, a parting goodbye from her sister before Illianya had left for UGC. At the bottom of each leg was a cute graphic design of a star-beetle napping under the shade of a tree. It faded from sky-blue at the knees to night-black at the waist.
Illianya let out a sad sigh. She missed her sister. The sleepless nights they spent staring out from the frigate bridge, into the majesty of space. She zipped around the last corner and bounded down the last set of steps, her momentum flinging her alarmingly fast toward the metro Archway. 'Too much light here to see anything but freighters...', her throat clenched as she held back a sob. She raised her arm to wipe the tears from her eyes with her sleeve.
"Hey!" a muffled high-pitched voice screamed.
Illianya was ripped back to reality and face-to-face with a hooded figure. She stumbled and tried to twist out of the way, but it was too late. Illianya grimaced apologetically and braced for impact. They tumbled into the connecting corridor; luckily for the person Illianya twisted enough that she only bumped against their shoulder.
Rolling head over heels, Illianya landed sprawled out on the cool tile floor. The sound of her ragged breath and the buzzing corridor lights was deafening. Shit fuck dammit.
