So my friend got me into Space Station 13 lately and... well one thing led to another and this happened. I enjoyed doing it in game as much as I had writing it after the fact. LOL Enjoy you guys! ^^

Paradise Burned

In space your identity didn't matter. That's what Devan Untz, identification number 787264, thought anyway as he stared at his newly printed plastic card. It still felt slightly warm in his hands, being printed the moment before boarding the transport ship on Earth. It amazed him how much data was stored in the tiny chip in the card: Everything about himself, things he knew and things he didn't yet know, all stored in a convenient yottabyte. Yet with all that information in a single place, the receptionist who prepared it didn't even use his name. "Here ya go, hun. Gangway 6," was all she said. Hun.

The rustling of the transport ship jostled him not; he learned how to sway along with the movements in training. Thinking back on it, not even his commanding officers at training used his real name. Six months of hellish preparation and they maintained the hellish environment by denying him that. He didn't regret any minute of it. It made him a stronger person. Plus it gave him an in to working on the space station he fantasized about for so long.

NSS Ciberiad, which everyone on Earth and off dubbed Paradise, was the thirteenth in a series of mining stations built for the extraction and creation of a new, unstable, and effortless energy source codenamed Plasma. Training taught him all about it—everything except its formal name—but it was a waste of taxpayer Credits re-teaching him things he researched extensively on his own. His desire to work on Paradise was that strong. Anything to help in the struggle to keep Earth peaceful, powered, and clean it up. But being highly unstable and controversial, the only area in which to experiment with the gas was in the safe confines of deep space, and so becoming a worker of any class for it presented an incredible challenge. A challenge he overcame with flying colors.

So there he was, sitting among other Civilian status recruits and one or two Engineers and Botanists, five minutes away from his dream. An announcement chimed over the PA system.

"On behalf of Captain Qing Amanda and the whole of the NanoTrasen Corporation, we thank you again for volunteering your services to Paradise. Immediately upon debarking, please see the Quartermaster at the Arrivals Checkpoint just outside the docking area. They will supply you with provisions and direct you to where to find out about your assignments. Remember to keep things orderly and civilized; absolutely no clowning around will be tolerated once on board. That being said, we wish you a safe and pleasant shift." The PA system cut off with a sharp reverberation. He felt as though he missed an inside joke with the lady's comment about clowning around, but he just as soon dismissed it. He could feel the ship slowing down, but he could not see how far away they were in the windowless hull.

Excitement started welling up inside, but he knew better than to let his co-workers see that lapse of strength. That was Rule 31 of training. A few moments later, all motion stopped. The internal whirrs and hisses from the machinery all around didn't help him stay calm. For the briefest of moments, he let himself smile. The safety harness strapped around him and his shipmates released with a jarring chuck-a-chuck-a-chuck-a-CHANK! For how much NanoTrasen makes in profits, they could at least service the rundown parts of their operation. He stood up with everyone else and allowed himself to get used to the effects of artificial gravity.

The doors opened upwards and revealed the airlocks onto the ship. As he stepped forward through them, he was quickly filled with speechless awe, surprise even! To say that what he saw did not meet his expectations was a gross understatement. It appeared there was a power outage as most of the ship lights, save for the emergency strips on the floors and walls, were off for no good reason. Crewmembers ran around in a frantic trying to find their way around in the darkness, panic in every one of their voices. He stood motionless off to the side of the exit letting others join in the chaos. Was this to be his new, temporary life?

"Attention, this is your captain speaking," came a woman's voice on the station's PA system (it was at least nicer than the transport ship's). "We are aware of the power outage afflicting your shifts. Engineers are working on the problem as we speak. Unfortunately it is complicated by most of the interior service doors being stuck open, so please bear with us during this downtime. Thanks…" Her voice trailed off at the end likely to hear what someone calling her over had to say.

In the commotion he was free to wander without checking in; security was too busy corralling any troublemakers. He felt the red-clad enforcers whiz past him and shouting profanities at anyone suspicious. Some unlucky victims felt the wrath of their stun guns and were hauled to the holding cells at the north of the station. This happened all around him and left him in a daze as he walked. It seemed that in deep space the ancient Miranda Rights of what used to be the United States were an afterthought. And what of the Space Laws that were hammered into his head during training? Security must have been taught a different set of morals.

He found himself wandering into an old service hall by accident. The darkness was worse here, so he turned on the light of his PDA. An ancient piece of technology, but it was all he could afford before arriving. The light did little, if anything, but it was something for his weak eyes. He didn't stumble into any walls or trip on any loose wires or panels on the floor, but he did get lost. It also became eerily silent the further he went… then he realized there was no one around in this area of the ship. Perfect stillness all around. It gave him a moment to collect his thoughts, absorb the calamity he was thrust into unexpectedly.

That was short lived as he stumbled into a poorly lit room and onto bulky pipes on the floor. A nearby mouse squeaked, startled by his fall, and ran away into some other remote corner of the station. It surprised him that a mouse lived aboard the ship, but after what he witnessed anything was possible. He picked up the PDA—thank goodness the light still functioned after dropping it so violently, and he looked around to get a bearing on where he was. It took a few moments but he guessed he was in the old gas turbine room. This was a section of the station not frequented often as it was a tertiary source of power in case of dire emergencies. He remembered reading a little about it from a map during one of his holidays in training.

As he explored, he saw many electronic control panels along the walls. Their faint glow was not enough to light the room, but it helped that he could see where each was. There were two tanks on one side of the room, and a tank connected to a power converter on the other. The pipes on the floor needed no introduction now, and slowly an idea formed in his head. As he examined everything in closer detail to prepare for it, another crewmember wandered in.

They must have been on the ship for a while. They didn't fall when they entered like he did. In his faint light he could see they weren't dressed in the blood-red uniforms of security, but they also didn't look like an Engineer either. Perhaps they were a Civilian like himself? They kept to themselves without making conversation, so he still couldn't make out if it was a man or a woman. The silence bothered him, but before he could offer any small talk the person disappeared. Maybe they thought he was an Engineer and left out of courtesy? Oh well, in space your identity doesn't matter, he reminded himself.

He approached an orange pressure tank. His PDA couldn't produce enough light for him to read the faded, peeling words on it, but he assumed it was the correct tank. A blue tank next to it clearly had O2 labeled when the dim light shined on it, but he felt the orange tank needed working with. He turned it on quite easily, no security clearance needed, so it must have been harmless. Next he turned on the gas pump on the floor leading out of it. Small red and green lights started flashing in a directional order indicating an outward flow; he could tell that the first part of his plan worked, but now it was time to start the more complicated part. If only he had signed up as an Engineer…

Just as he approached one of the gas monitors on the wall, the door shut with a soft slide and a softer hiss. He was locked in essentially as the room needed an Engineer's clearance for opening the door. Both on the outside and in. He stayed calm and started thinking quickly on his feet. Fixing the power was now his top priority, but he couldn't help thinking about what this would do for him. He would escape the room of course, but beyond that maybe he would be hailed as a hero. The brave soul in an hour of darkness who saved Paradise. Even in his imagination he was too humble to accept such things. He shook it off and, while reaching for the panel again, the captain's voice filled the room.

"Attention, this is your captain speaking," she repeated the formality even in the emergency. "The doors are fixed, but the power remains cut. Engineers are still working to fix the issue. That being said, we are now on a Code Red lockdown because reports of a Plasma leak are coming from the Research department at the east end of the station, so we advise everyone to stay put. Security is now allowed to perform random pat downs should they encounter anyone in the corridors, so please don't do anything stupid." The PA chirped off and once again he worked in silence. He wondered if the leak was something he caused, but she had said it was in the Research department. He was most definitely in the southern part of the station, he remembered the turbine's position on the map clearly now, and why would any of his pipes connect with Research? It was a careless concern and he finally tapped the screen to the on position.

A slight hum filled the room as the gas passed through the pipes and into the adjacent room. He opened the interior safety doors to take a closer peak at the turbine. He saw on the floor of that small chamber that the pipe leading to the turbine flashed the same direction red and green. He saw a button on the wall and tapped it to see if that would turn anything on. The incinerator in the sealed room lightly blazed. Yet nothing activated other than that. Maybe the turbine needed more gas?

Without closing the interior door, he returned to the pipe letting the orange container's gas out. He knelt down and adjusted the outflow a little… well not a little, he opened the pipe all the way. He didn't know what else to do. Just then, a slight scent started filling the air, one intoxicatingly sweet but never smelled before. It relaxed him almost immediately and reminded him of home. Not many places on Earth had a smell quite like this; the wars and energy crises did their fair share of sullying everywhere. A former lover had a scent like this, but not as dangerously addictive. It filled him of happy memories of a time once forgotten, but soon the memories were replaced with a ravenous hunger for only the cloying scent. His eyes softened—his focus fuzzying and slightly rolling into the back of his head, his shoulders dropped, heart rate lowered, and a coy smile pierced through his emotional defenses. Just a little leaked gas consumed him almost wholly. He almost missed the captain's next announcement in this trance.

"WHO'S THE IDIOT THAT DECIDED TO TRY AND LIGHT THE PLASMA LEAK ON FIRE? Seriously! No! Security, find that guy and don't go easy on them." She took a moment to clear her throat and start anew. "Um… This is your captain speaking. Security is on the hunt for the terrorist who tried to light the Plasma leak in the Research department on fire. Remain alert and cautious, as we have no idea who this person is. Any help or cooperation is appreciated, while any resistance will be met with appropriate punishment. We are still on Code Red and the lockdown is still in effect. That is all." This time a sharp click ended the message, a sign of her apparent anger.

There was no time to lose. The ship desperately needed its power back and the captain sounded like she could handle no more. The air around him, though, soothed his excitement. He went back into the small chamber to see the progress. A light purple gas filled the sealed off room. And the incinerator stayed lit. A gradual warmth radiated from the door and the reinforced wall panels, but all he could do was stare as the heat intensified ten-fold in a matter of seconds. His skin started singing simply standing still. Still in his euphoric daze, he slowly escaped the blazes of the contained fire he created. Just then a small alarm started beeping. He stumbled over to it in time to see it was an air quality alarm. He turned it off; the beeping annoyed him. But he knew that in a matter of seconds security would be dispatched to his area. Desiring more of the delicious fumes, and not minding that the room rapidly climbed to a dangerous temperature in Kelvin, he did the one thing he thought of that would satisfy his lust while also, hopefully, keeping security a good distance away: He cycled the safety doors so that the gas and the fire would enter the main room.

The nanosecond that the toxin-filled room caught fire, the Engineer doors swooshed open to the sound of stomping boots on metal. Everyone present was at a loss for what to do. His coy smile morphed into a twisted one, and the blinding white fire surrounded and consumed everything. Including the smile. He did this and he didn't regret any of it. It made him a stronger person. He felt so enthralled and slightly aroused with the destruction he created that he didn't notice his burned corpse lay motionless on the ground. His mind, somehow, stayed active and he could sense everything going on around him. For instance, some of the security died in the flash fire trying to put it out; the smart ones stayed back and waited for it to burn out all the gas before entering.

He felt them drag his motionless body to the Med Bay in the hopes of reanimating him. The technology existed, and within a few short minutes he awoke refreshed inside a cell. They must have detained him on the spot after the medical specialists revived him. He looked around and saw no one around, yet he heard talking around the corner out of his field of vision.

"Yeah he could be the guy, but he was in the wrong area too fast. Those doors were bolted shut and he was already in there when we opened them."

"I don't care!" shouted a female's voice. It sounded like the captain's. "Stranger things have happened on Paradise in my time. Today the Plasma in the Research department caught fire, and the Plasma he used to try and power the station caught fire. It's just too similar." She hissed some other commands at the security but it interested him not. They interpreted him as the terrorist from earlier. That gave him a slight head rush. He blushed, but managed to keep himself in check. Rule 31 and all… especially in the presence of the captain. She approached the cell with two security officers on either side of her.

"Who are you?" Her question, full of rage, cut right to the matter. "Syndicate scum sent to sabotage? We didn't find any identification on you, so we have the right to assume that." His card, still warm in his memory, must have burned in the fire. He had the right to assume that. An entire yottabyte of information gone in a flash, and they weren't cheap to produce. His PDA must have burned as well, as that would at least have his identification number stamped on it. He couldn't control his emotions any longer; they were totally clueless and it was hysterical!

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime of normalness, he allowed himself the pleasure to laugh like he never had before. On Earth there was no reason for laughter anymore. The entire planet was a workaholic, finding ways to fix everything wrong. In training he was belittled to almost nothing. On the way to Paradise, the atmosphere was still and cold. The only warmth was that plastic card, and now it had been destroyed in the second of the Plasma fires. Everything about him burned in an instant because of carelessness, but he relished in the opportunity to start fresh. And if impersonating someone from the Syndicate was what the captain wanted, he'd give it to her. Anything to inhale more of that sweet Plasma.

He was brought out of his craving with a quick, but not lethal, jolt from one of the guards' tasers. "Is this some sick joke to you?" she spat. "Do you get off to stuff like this? You Syndicate scum are all the same! I swear NanoTrasen needs to perform better background checks…" that last part was an aside to herself, and her gaze quickly returned to him as she snapped, "Answer me! Who are you? The emergency shuttle is waiting and I intend to be on it."

His toxic mind answered in a roundabout way: "In space, your identity doesn't matter."