Chapter 3 part 6

### Split Happens

As the Cold Cycle—the station's long drift to the furthest edge of its main star, even the most aloof residents of Baldr Station began to realize something. *Oh right, the station's thermal regulators are going to struggle again.* The casual strolls in sleek enviro-suits gave way to hurried trips to storage bays, as people swapped their lightweight gear for thermal-enhanced models. Across the habitat rings, the rhythmic hum of fuel core processors echoed, an unmistakable herald of the Cold Cycle's approach.

Baldr might have been a station on the fringe, but it wasn’t some primitive frontier post. Fusion core processing wasn’t something every habitat pod handled; that kind of rugged self-reliance was for asteroid miners and planetary settlers. No, Baldr sourced its neatly packaged fuel cores from specialized dealers—seasoned craftsmen who worked the raw energy crystals mined from nearby celestial bodies.

Still, I had to wonder. Did the price of cores creep up this cycle? Probably. And for the dealers themselves, this season meant one thing: *overload.* The rush to mass-produce fuel cores before the Cold Cycle began was in full swing.

The process itself wasn’t glamorous. Slicing raw energy crystals into neat rounds with plasma cutters. Driving phase wedges into the cuts and splitting them with sonic hammers. Over and over, in relentless cycles.

It was continuous hard labor, so extra hands—or rather, extra strength—was needed as a matter of course.

It was the kind of labor that demanded raw power, and by raw power, I mean the kind of brute strength you could only find in bionically enhanced bodies.

In other words, it was time for power-type spacers like me to step in.

"Man, fuel core season is the best!"

"You’re the *only* one who gets excited about splitting crystals, Narwhal."

"Colony kids all love this stuff."

"Maybe the ones in the central systems. You’re not that type, though, are you?"

"Outer Rim savage," I replied, grinning.

"Thought so."

We were standing in one of the primary processing facilities near Baldr’s cargo docks. The place was vast—a labyrinth of machinery humming with energy, capable of handling everything from raw crystal refinement to the assembly of fuel cores ready for distribution. In truth, the majority of the power cores used on Baldr started their life here. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call this facility the beating heart of the station.

And at this time of cycle, the heart was working overtime.

Supporting that operation was my job for the day.

"You really get a kick out of this kind of work, huh? The credits aren’t even that great. Usually, it’s just cadets taking on fuel-core gigs,"

"Well, they’ve got mouths to feed cycle-to-cycle," I shrugged.

"Really dedicated to your craft, huh? Fine. Just work properly, will you? I’ll toss you a few spare cores when we’re done. Do your best, Narwhal."

"Much appreciated."

The spacer speaking was Odin, a middle-aged vet with a grizzled demeanor and a penchant for oxygen cigars.

He exuded the calm confidence of someone who had been doing this job for decades. Not much of a talker, but I could respect that.

"These crystals came in from the nearby dwarf planet Thor Prime during the last mining run," he explained, gesturing toward a heap of raw energy crystals. "I’d have liked to let them stabilize for another cycle or two, but the corps are impatient as usual. So, we’re processing them now."

"Energy crystal shortages again?" I guessed.

"Yeah, nothing new. Anyway, grab the tools over there. Start by splitting them with the phase wedge and sonic hammer. Actually… never mind. You don’t need those, do you, Narwhal?"

"Nope."

I strode over to the wall of the run-down processing bay and hefted my weapon of choice onto my shoulder.

A heavy-duty plasma axe. With its enhanced plasma field and absurd power consumption, the axe wasn’t just a tool—it was a beast. It took a very particular kind of operator to wield it without hurting themselves. Luckily, I loved brute-force equipment. The bigger, the better.

"As usual, you pick the craziest tools," Odin said, shaking his head. "That thing would fry my neural links in a second."

"Never underestimate an active guild member, Odin."

"Experienced guild members don’t usually take jobs like this. But hey, I’m not complaining. Just focus on splitting the cores while I position them on the cutting station, alright?"

The crystal gleamed, its dense molecular structure catching the ambient light.

Energy crystals formed fast, but their tightly packed lattice made them perfect for long-lasting fuel cores. My task was to split this one into evenly sized pieces.

"Don’t mess up your end, Odin."

"Yeah, yeah."

Activating the power field, I hefted the plasma axe and brought it down in a blazing arc.

The crystal cracked apart with a sharp, sizzling hiss, its halves drifting away under the station’s faint gravity.

"Let’s set the next one vertically," Odin called, his voice calm amidst the mechanical hum. "Think you can split it in one strike?"

"Of course. Watch this."

**Zzzap!** The plasma axe sang as it cleaved cleanly through the dense energy crystal, leaving a brilliant afterglow in its wake. I relished that sound—the sharp, electrifying crackle of a perfect split.

In the memories of a previous life I have, I never could have done something like this. But now? I could cleave through energy crystals easily. It was intoxicating, far more satisfying than trading blows with some half-rate space pirate.

"Good work. Keep ’em coming,"

"You’re fast, Narwhal," Odin remarked, an edge of concern in his tone. "You’re not overloading your body, are you?"

"Please," I snorted. "Worried you’re getting too old for this line of work?"

"Old? Hah! You think I’m done? Just watch."

"Oh?"

With that, Odin disappeared into the storage bay, leaving me to adjust the next crystal on the cutting station.

He wasn’t gone long, and when he returned, he carried a device that looked, frankly, ridiculous—a tractor beam emitter mounted to the end of a servo arm, small enough to fit in one hand.

I narrowed my eyes. I knew the name of that piece of tech - the gravity manipulator.

"What in the void is that thing? Some kind of toy?"

Odin grinned, the kind of sly, seasoned smile only a spacer could pull off. "Doesn’t look like much, does it? Took me a second to figure it out myself. Watch and learn."

He activated the gravity manipulator, effortlessly lifting a massive energy crystal onto the cutting platform. The hum of the grav-field reverberated through the room. The gadget had nothing in common with the massive gravity stabilizers used on ships and stations, apart from having 'gravity' in its name. This was a completely different piece of tech.

Odin then aimed the emitter at another nearby crystal chunk. With a soft whirr, a shimmering tractor field lanced out, wrapping around it. A flick of his wrist, and the emitter raised the dense crystal with ease, guiding it to the cutting station as though it weighed nothing at all.

"Ohh."

All he did was aim and activate it to grab on, but it let him lift it while standing. It was a tool for that.

"Not bad," I admitted.

"Not bad?" Odin scoffed. "This is cutting-edge quantum tech. They call it a gravity manipulator. Apparently, the schematics came from some Commander Havoc or whoever."

"An invention, huh? Gotta admit, it’s convenient for moving crystals around."

"More than convenient," Odin replied, patting the tool like an old friend. "This thing’s kept me in the game. Don’t need to burn out my cybernetics hauling crystals anymore. It cost the facility a fortune to fabricate, but after a test run? They made a whole batch of ’em."

"That good, huh?"

"Good enough to keep you working when everyone else burns out," he said, his tone serious now.

Odin skillfully operated the manipulator, setting a crystal onto the cutting station with a soft hum.

"I'm not joking. With this, it extends your space working years."

"Seriously?"

"Two of my old crewmates even got their jobs back because of these. Thought about sending a thank-you to that Commander Havoc, but nobody seems to know how to reach him."

"Huh." I scratched the back of my neck. "Rehiring burned-out spacers, huh? That’s impressive. Didn’t know gear like this could make such a difference." I continued, "Odin, want me to listen in place of the Commander Havoc as thanks for your feelings?"

"Cut it out."

Odin just shrugged and turned back to the crystal pile, expertly guiding another chunk onto the station. The manipulator hummed faintly as it locked into place.

With this, they really could move heavy crystals without straining their bodies...I see, lots of people retire because of neural burnout, huh. It's brutal work.

"I’m the best at using these, Narwhal," he teased, smirking. "If you slack off, I’ll get them lined up faster than you can split them."

"Is that a challenge, old man?" I shot back. "Fine, I’ll show you what *real* plasma cutting looks like."

"Not with that sloppy stance, you won’t. Vertical stabilizers, not horizontal."

I adjusted my footing, gripping the axe with renewed determination. "...Like this? Fine. Prepare to be dazzled."

Odin chuckled, shaking his head. "You don’t give up, do you?"

**Zzzap, zzzap**, the crystals split cleanly.

With each swing, the plasma axe roared to life, slicing through crystal after crystal in a symphony of hissing sparks and glowing fractures. Odin kept pace, deftly positioning the next chunk with his manipulator, his movements fluid and precise.

The banter between us faded as we fell into a steady rhythm. The only sounds were the hum of machinery, the sharp **zzzaps** of the axe, and the occasional crackle of splitting crystals.

The scent of ionized air, sharp and ozone-like, mingled with the recycled atmosphere, a strangely nostalgic aroma that tugged at distant memories.

From the corner of my mind, a stray thought surfaced. The synthetic leather processing I’d commissioned—crafted from the hides of Plasma Deer—was probably finished by now.

Once this job was done, I could pick it up and finally outfit my habitation module with that sleek new couch.

Yeah, I could picture it. Sprawling out on the Plasma Deer leather, fuel cores humming softly in the thermal regulator, the cold of the cycle kept at bay. It sounded almost... luxurious.

For now, though, the Cold Cycle’s chill loomed ever closer, and there were still crystals left to cleave.

Author’s Note

I wrote Split Happens because sometimes the real drama isn’t space pirates or alien invasions—it’s just two spacers arguing over tools while slicing energy rocks before the heat cuts out. Narwhal loves plasma axes like some folks love collectible knives, and Odin’s basically a forklift operator with dad energy and a sci-fi cheat code.