1stLt Samuel Woolheater – Magnitude with Direction
Radamio
1stLt Samuel Woolheater – Magnitude with Direction
(( Velocity Field – Deep Space 14 ))
The buzzer sounded and the Velocity pickup game was over. The gravity slowly came back to normal and people floated down to the bottom.
Deep Space 14’s auxiliary athletic deck still vibrated faintly from the last collision when Woolheater pulled the helmet free. The composite shell released with a muted seal-pop, HUD dissolved to black as it powered down. A thin sheen of sweat cooled instantly along his hairline. He ran a thumb along the inner rim of the helmet and checked for hairline fractures out of habit. The impact sensors had already logged three hard contacts. All within tolerance.
Sam walked with the rest of the team into the locker and gear room. Good times. He set the helmet on the bench. And checked his bloody lip. He was all smiles as the pickup team dissolved.
Gloves came off next. The grip mesh across the palms was scuffed from a braking maneuver that had stopped another player mid-vector. The wrist weave held firm; no strain warp in the stabilizers.
The torso vest took longer. He disengaged the side seals and lifted it off in one controlled motion. The kinetic-dispersal panels along the sternum flexed as they cooled, the left rib plate showing a faint stress ripple where a shoulder had driven into him during a boundary contest. The panel had absorbed most of the force.
Most.
He winced visibly. He peeled the compression layer away last. The adaptive fabric clung briefly before releasing. Integrated into the shorts, the pelvic impact insert bore a shallow scrape along the right edge, a stray knee during a contested intercept. The dispersion gel had done its job.
He laid each piece out in order along the bench.
Helmet. Vest. Shoulder guards. Forearm plates. Gloves. Boots. Nothing cracked. Nothing needing replacement. It felt good too. When the pain wasn’t telling him otherwise. He really felt like going to the place on DS14 that had the real hot water showers. But he was too sore. And he didn’t want to hobble all the way through the Promenade pretending that two Naussicans meant well when they said they didn’t know what “stop” meant.
Nope, sonic shower for him. The walk back to the Butler took longer than usual.
Station gravity was set at point eight, enough to make the collisions honest. And painful. The adrenaline that had masked the damage on the court bled off with every step through the umbilical corridor. The deck plating carried the rhythm of his stride straight into his ribs on the left side. They were sharp stabbers, but they felt just sore.
The corridor was mostly empty at that hour. A cargo tech passed him without comment. Overhead lights hummed in even intervals. The vast curve of the station viewport fell away behind him as the Butler’s hull filled the far end of the passage.
He rolled his shoulder once while he walked. Tested rotation. Exhaled slowly. Structural integrity intact. Cosmetic damage only. By the time he crossed onto the Butler, the ship’s vibration felt familiar even if it was “parked”. It felt like a deeper resonance through the deck plating. Home, in the way a starship becomes home to people who don’t stay anywhere long.
His quarters accepted his code. The door sealed behind him with a soft hydraulic sigh.
Silence.
For a moment he just stood there, feeling the weight settle properly now that the match was over and the gear was off.
Left rib: tender. Ouch…check. Right hip: bloom forming beneath the skin….check. Forearm: superficial contact bruise….check.
He nodded once to himself, as if confirming a report. Then he moved toward the sonic shower. The sonic field activated with a low harmonic pulse. He peeled off the remaining top jersey and athletic shorts. Socks too.
Woolheater stepped into it without hesitation. The containment grid shimmered once, then stabilized, invisible but felt. A fine vibration moved across skin and muscle, lifting sweat and station “dust” in seconds. DS14 did have a certain smell. Between the Bajoran incense sticks, the multi-ethnic fooderies throughout the Promenade deck, it was all a rich tapestry of smells and sounds.
He rotated his shoulders slowly as the field worked, testing the pull along the left rib line. The bruise there had begun to darken, spreading in a muted bloom beneath the ink of his tats and his skin. The earlier impact replayed in memory. A vector misread by half a second. A shoulder driving into him at rotational speed. And that laugh from the Naussican.
He adjusted his breathing and let the harmonic cycle finish. Mercy! The sonic shower felt good. The warmth of the harmonic waves and the way he could adjust it so that it had a pulse to it. It felt good to sore neck and traps muscles. He stayed there longer than he normally would.
The field disengaged with a soft tone.
He stepped out and drew a towel across his shoulders out of habit. Clean light in the quarters made the damage plain. The mirror on his dresser reflected at him the faint purple along his ribs. A deeper shade forming at the right hip. A narrow mark across the forearm where a block had redirected momentum instead of absorbing it.
He pressed a thumb lightly along the rib. Tender but stable.
Woolheater: ::ouchie:: Welp…structural integrity intact.
He dressed in loose off duty clothes. Soft gray sweatpants and a red T-shirt that read: Bless Your Heart! in yellow letters. The soft cotton fabric forgiving across the shoulders. No compression now. No gear. Just breathable cloth and air against skin.
He moved carefully as he crossed to his bed. His body was telling him, ‘You’re done for today buster’. Just the body shifting from impact to recovery. The ship’s hum carried through the deck plating, steady and familiar.
He lowered himself onto the bed and settled onto his back, one forearm behind his head.
Woolheater: Computer? Night watch please?
The lights dimmed a notch. He picked up the remote and activated the recording.
Her voice filled the room. She was not loud. She was just... present. Calm cadence. Measured pacing. The kind of tone that did not demand attention but held it anyway.
He let his eyes close. The ship hummed. Her voice carried. His breathing slowed. The day’s vectors unwound gradually. Collision. Push off. Rotation. Contact. Each one settled back into memory without edge. The Butler vibrated faintly beneath him. The bruises would stiffen by morning. He would train light. For now, he listened. And the Delta Quadrant didn’t feel all that far away tonight.
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Scout Sniper / Infantry Officer
MARDET, Starfleet Marine Corps
USS Octavia E. Butler NCC-82850