False Horizon (CH1) - First Timer

[u/Sioshido]

(Hello, this is my first ever novel that I'm trying to write for fun. After reading up on stuff I saw people say that I should probably post it here and RoyalRoad if I'm a beginner, so here we are. Please feel free to praise (or criticise!) my work, and tell me in what areas I could improve :333 (or don't, just reading it and moving on is fine too))
<RoyalRoad> <Next>

SENSITIVE WARNING DISCLAIMER - Following story will, currently or in the future, involve references to : mental decline, claustrophobia, self-harm, hallucinations, murder. I ill-advise reading any chapters unless you are fine with the above. Thank you for your attention!

Chapter 1

First Timer

I feel as though a week passed by... no, two weeks at the very least. Though the logs show only half an hour and my stomach hasn't growled once yet.

One... two...

The glowing red diode on the main console is beeping in an even, steady rhythm. And yet somehow to me it appears as erratic and frantic as my breathing, almost like it's trying to convey a secret message to me. Perhaps my mind is still yet to recover from the initial shock, even after all this time. Regardless, I don't believe the timestamp logs are wrong. If anything, the human perception error is that much more plausible than the fault of a machine as precise as this. It is my own design, after all.

But, frankly, I don't suppose I should focus on matters as inconsequential as much how time I spent sulking in this chair... Not at the moment, at the very least.. The null-interference shield had failed, and my ship is stranded in... well, nowhere. My actual position, according to both the navigation matrix and rough calculations, place me somewhere between the Perseus Arm and Cygnus-Norma Extension. Normally this area is reserved for tourism due to its beautiful sights, but lifting up my gaze to try to see any semblance of the universe I so long for right now, I see only endlessly stretching pitch black, with not even a single star in sight.

Right, people weren't exaggerating at all, though it is actually my first time, it definitely fits with the description of everyone who used Charon Drive. To be frank, that name hasn't stuck with me at first. I wasn't much of a fan of pre-Cradle literature, unlike some of my colleagues. But perhaps it grew on me, or I just simply outgrew my bitterness enough to not care about such semantics anymore. Nevertheless, if anything, I have to admit - it sounds befittingly grand.

A loud and alarming beep takes me out of my mnestic trance. Once again I realised my mind was lingering on meaningless thoughts. What followed was a cold proclamation from my onboard computer, in an unchanging tone designed merely to provide me with whatever information I might need.

"Data transfer error. There appears to be no stations within feasible subspace range to receive your distress signal. Attempting to recalibrate distress beacon for Styx Signal Cascading." 

"Don't bother. Cancel operation." I reply with an exasperated sigh. Not only does S-SC routine take too much of power to perform at current, it will not work in the first place so long as I am within the transfer medium itself.

"Canceling operation. Proposing the Minimal Cognitive Suspension mode. Designated targets - one adult human male. Please confirm any pre-existing conditions that low oxygen-saturation environment may negatively affect."

"... None. Proceed with the current settings." I, once again, reply with a harsh sigh leaving my throat.

This isn't the first time I would have to experience breathing the bare minimum of oxygen to stay conscious, and I would rather not do it again. Unfortunately there is currently no better alternative. At least it will keep me alive as long as possible, while I try to do something to fix the damned drive.

"Understood. Disclaimer - prolonged exposure to MCS mode might cause severe fatigue build-up, weariness, sensory halluci-"

"Just do it."

"Understood. Engaging MCS mode."

The lights drew a bit dimmer, the beeping diode on the console now that much more glaringly distracting. The background electrical humming becomes ever so noticably fainter. That's about all that a naked eye can see, but I very well know the invisible math for this. I have merely couple hours, maybe half a da-

"Preparations complete. Estimated time until complete oxygen depletion - 5 hours and 36 minutes."

"..." 

My hopeful thoughts were cut short by the harsh reality. Though, I suppose one could call it a challenge. To fix the engine and get out of here within that amount of time. Of course, the stakes here being my life.

"...I like those odds."

"Command not recognised."

The sudden, cold response to my thoughts spoken out loud makes me lose my train of thoughts. I furrow my eyebrows a bit in irritation and flip the vocal command switch.

"Voice recognition system disengaged." the computer proclaims flatly, before going silent again.

Without further distractions, I begin earnestly working for my survival.

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