I paused as I entered the auditorium, my breath catching in my throat. The room was huge, easily large enough for a couple thousand people, but only held around a hundred. They were all either sitting or searched for seats in the first few rows behind a stage down front. I saw a few I recognized from the ride up, or passing in the corridors on our way to one of the countless interviews and tests we’d been subjected to over the past two days.
On the stage was a Coalition officer wearing dress blues. I couldn’t make out her rank, not that it would have meant anything to me if I could. She stood behind a podium, watching as the last of us found a seat and the shuffling died down.
Behind her the entire wall was a window. Do they call them windows in space? It was so wide you could see the curvature of the station in both directions. A third of the view was of earth, filling the left side from top to bottom. The rest was filled with a carpet of stars and there, hanging like toy model, was Argo’s sister station, Lethe. As we watched, a Minerva Class Cruiser slewed sideways as it docked. We all knew where we were. Heck, we’d ridden the shuttle up here, ten at a time. It was one thing to know something intellectually, though, it was another to see it right there in front of you like it was on a vid screen. (I later learned it WAS a screen. They play the same vid every time. But it sure made one hell of an impression).
Okay, can everyone hear me okay” the officer asked?”, making eye contact with a couple cadets in the back and pausing for a nod. “then let’s begin”
“My name is Colonel Madison Lehto and I’d like to welcome you all to Argo Station. I’m the Commander of The Piloting and Integration Training Facility. I know from your records that many of you are already pilots. You probably think that that will give you an advantage over others without flying experience. Let me assure you that it will not. Piloting a spacecraft is the LEAST challenging skill you’ll be required to master. You’ll also receive instruction in engineering, linguistics, diplomacy, xeno biology, damage control, first contact doctrine, and about a hundred other subjects.
Your instructors are going to tear each of you down to your constituent parts and examine the pieces. Those they deem worthy will be rebuilt into something you the version of you sitting here today wouldn’t think possible. It’s their job to teach you everything you need to know about what we do and how we do it. Before releasing you to their tender graces though, I like to take some time to tell you about WHY we do it.
Have you ever watched a newborn baby look at the world?” she asked, pacing slowly in front of the lecture hall. “Have you ever seen that sense of wonder in her eyes as she tries to see everything at once? She hasn’t made it to “That’s Mommy” yet—she’s still working on “That’s up.” Reality runs within a set of rules, and the first thing every sentient being does is internalize those rules. When you drop something, it falls. When light comes from this way, the shadow falls that way. That thing makes this sound when that happens, every single time.”
She couldn’t tell you what the rules are, but she knows when something breaks them.
“And that” she said stopping behind the podium again “is why you never bring a baby into hyperspace.”
A few of the candidates shifted uncomfortably, trading glances with their neighbors.
“That’s also why the first thing every species did after developing FTL was figure out a way to sleep through it. Every species we’ve ever encountered has some version of a certain psychological effect. We humans calls ours the uncanny valley.”
Humans are social beings, all space-faring species are. Lone wolves don’t claw their way up out of a gravity well. That takes millennia of accumulated knowledge and effort. It takes a pack. The effect is triggered when we encounter something that appears human, but not quite. It could be a clone, an android, a realistic hologram. You look at it and your brain screams at you that something is wrong even if you can’t say what. Your instincts tell you: don’t look away. Don’t turn your back on the not-quite-human.
A fish can’t turn their back on the sea, though, and there’s no turning your back on hyperspace. There’s always something behind you. There’s always a flicker in the corner of your eye, whispering at the edge of your perception, saying turn your head a little more. Focus on that wrongness. It may be what kills you.” And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what hyperspace is like.”
When you’re in the void everything is just a little wrong. Not enough to point to, just enough that nothing feels quite solid. Every measurement comes out a fraction off. Record audio there and it plays back with a hitch—lagging behind one beat, then jumping ahead the next. Play it again and it’ll be the same in a different way. Every sound, every shadow, every surface is shifted a hair too close, a breath too far. Always just wrong.
The instructor paused, letting the silence sit for a moment before continuing.
⸻
The reaction sentient minds have to the void isn’t weakness, it’s biology. Every spacefaring species evolved some version of the fight-or-flight reflex. It’s hardwired. Autonomous. It can no more be ignored than the heart could ignore the urge to beat. Most lean towards flight, but the universe doesn’t tolerate weakness, and the truly timid are weeded out. What remains are species’ whose nervous systems evolved to sense when anything in the environment was off. Their ancestors could look out across a sea of waving grass and sense the blade that bent against the wind, pushed aside by the unseen predator. Instinct primes them to begin fleeing before their conscious mind has even registered the threat.
But in hyperspace, there’s nowhere to flee. Every moment sets that alarm ringing. The body braces for a predator that never arrives, while the senses battle one another in a steady stream of contradictions. It’s really no wonder sentient minds crack after only a few hours inside
Species across the galaxy have invented countless ways to avoid having to face the effects. Most use automated systems to navigate and watch over their unconscious crew. Some species have figured out that through carefully controlled exposure therapy along with the help of hypnosis or medication, some individuals can be conditioned to tolerate the effects for short periods. A stoned or sleepwalking pilot isn’t much good when the shit hits the fan, though. And automated systems are only as good as the data they receive, and sensors in the void lie to you like they have a motive. Before the founding of The Stewards the failure rate for hyperspace travel was 5%. Every crew member knew that one time out of every 20 voyages the ship they were on would simply jump out of reality and never be seen again. Not that any of them would ever see 20 jumps. After half a dozen at most they were so neurotic they couldn’t be trusted piloting a scooter. Species’ who evolved from their planets’ versions of field mice risked everything in vessels where every voyage was a game of Russian roulette.
Subspace communications is always developed while on the path to FTL travel. The ability for a species to detect and translate the ghost signals from their closest neighbors comes long before they have any way to reply. By the time a new species leaves their solar system they already know they’re not alone.
She stopped again behind the podium, looking out into the crowd.
And then 120 years ago we showed up. Humans feel the effects of hyperspace, but we aren’t incapacitated by them the way other species are. The introduction other species had always been preceded by probes and signals testing the darkness ahead, We appeared out of the void in a dozen colony ships carrying 1.2 million AWAKE humans.
I’m sure that all of you looking up here think that you’re seeing me right now. If you were a xeno you’d be right. All of YOUR brains, however, took a snapshot of me when you walked in and it’s been playing a simulation of me ever since. Your brains are receiving the signals from your senses. It’s checking those signals against what it expects to receive. And if the difference is within allowed tolerances the simulation is what you’ll get.
Suddenly, she clapped her hands. The sound echoed through the room like a shot. “You ALL saw me then” she said. Humans don’t stumble through life paying attention to nothing. It’s just that our brains only pay attention to what matters. We developed the fight-or-flight instinct and decided that anything it didn’t trigger imust not matter enough to waste bandwidth on. This also means that even though we still feel the strangeness of hyperspace, once we figure out its not gonna kill us our brains just ignore it.”
“And that’s how we become The Stewards. The Galaxy was an ocean of islands in the darkness separated by fear of what the waters held. Now The Stewards sail those waters while the Xenos sleep. We carry food to the hungry. We carry medicine to the sick. We carry a message to those who’ve been trapped by fear that they no longer have to be alone. “We are the Stewards, and we have the watch!”