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HELPING OTHER PEOPLE WAS LIKE HELPING HIMSELF
"Members of Alpha Rescue Recon, please proceed to Port B10 to board the U.N.D. Heisenberg. The vessel is departing in five minutes," an automated female voice announced over the intercom system.
Private Mulls hurried down the corridor, pushing past people and small crowds in the foot traffic. A quick apology here and there interrupted the man's mad dash towards the port. His packed bag bounced against the right side of his back as the private ran through the packed walkways. Every corridor looked alike, the same color of steel-grey and glowing markings to denote the floor number and district of the large ecological hub that Private Mulls called home for the last four years.
His wrist module beeped and notified him that only three minutes remained to reach the recon vessel before it departed from the hub, accelerating away into empty space. He skipped the elevators and ran down the stairs leading directly to the B-side dock of the hub. After three long flights of steps, the private emerged onto the docking port. Fewer people walked alongside the large space crafts that were mechanically docked, secured, and fastened inside the port, within the safety of the hub. He always marveled at the sight of the space-faring vessels, each one waiting patiently to make its next mission. He passed by a few mechanics and engineers, who were chatting about improving dynamic flight control and other bits of conversation that he wished he could hear.
Each port was designated a number and he stood near port B5, its glowing sign above. Mulls turned left, following the ascending numbers until he noticed the glowing B10 in the distance. The wrist module beeped again, snapping him to attention. One minute remained. He sprinted down the platform, slowing down as the private happened upon a small contingent of people gathered outside the U.N.D. Heisenberg. He slowed down to admire the spacecraft, a medium-sized vessel designed for speed and efficient travel.
"Members of Alpha Rescue Recon, please proceed to Port B10 to board the U.N.D. Heisenberg. The vessel is departing in five minutes," an automated female voice announced over the intercom system.
Private Mulls hurried down the corridor, pushing past people and small crowds in the foot traffic. A quick apology here and there interrupted the man's mad dash towards the port. His packed bag bounced against the right side of his back as the private ran through the packed walkways. Every corridor looked alike, the same color of steel-grey and glowing markings to denote the floor number and district of the large ecological hub that Private Mulls called home for the last four years.
His wrist module beeped and notified him that only three minutes remained to reach the recon vessel before it departed from the hub, accelerating away into empty space. He skipped the elevators and ran down the stairs leading directly to the B-side dock of the hub. After three long flights of steps, the private emerged onto the docking port. Fewer people walked alongside the large space crafts that were mechanically docked, secured, and fastened inside the port, within the safety of the hub. He always marveled at the sight of the space-faring vessels, each one waiting patiently to make its next mission. He passed by a few mechanics and engineers, who were chatting about improving dynamic flight control and other bits of conversation that he wished he could hear.
Each port was designated a number and he stood near port B5, its glowing sign above. Mulls turned left, following the ascending numbers until he noticed the glowing B10 in the distance. The wrist module beeped again, snapping him to attention. One minute remained. He sprinted down the platform, slowing down as the private happened upon a small contingent of people gathered outside the U.N.D. Heisenberg. He slowed down to admire the spacecraft, a medium-sized vessel designed for speed and efficient travel.
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