Kriznas on Station 893 Psychochronograph: Short Fiction Bursts

Far away from here, and many thousands of years in the future, a young girl by the name of Coletta von Nestershaw walks through the empty rooms of the station. Its formal name is very long and tedious, as names of things tend to become when the same organizational scheme has been used to assign them for over a thousand years. It all ends in a number—893. Thus, its three occupants call it Station 893.
Coletta is twelve and has many strict ideas about all sorts of things. One of these is her annoyance over the fact that some things have multiple names. It seems redundant, hampers communication, and makes everything harder to learn. So, while she is not satisfied that the station has multiple names, she accepts it. She is also very fond of her home. She has lived here since she was ten, when her father—Venya von Nestershaw—was assigned to the planetoid in which the station is embedded.
The planetoid has no name, it’s just a seemingly endless series of numbers and letters, so Coletta calls it “the rock” or, more often, “planetoid” because there seems to be no reason to give it another name. It is brutally cold outside, and as far as Coletta can see vast planes of ice recede into the distance. It glitters at sunrise, although the star for this system is very distant. The light will sometimes refract in hues of purple and blue. But now the short day is done, and the sun is hidden.
The station is anchored into the ice—it’s shark-tooth shape sunk deeply in through force and heat. She never tires of the vast emptiness of the rock, but she loves it most of all this time of year. Because she is only days away from Kriznas, and the cold and Kriznas go together.
“It is time to sup, Coletta,” says Nan, the ovoid comfortdrone who has raised her since she was very little, after her mother expired.
“Very well, Nan,” Coletta sighs, stopping the game of leapscotch she was playing in the game room, and bowing her head slightly. A smooth tube slides out of a recessed panel in Nan’s side and attaches itself to the center port in Coletta’s nexum, a cluster of natural ports that all humins have evolved. A puree of fiber and nutrient-rich suspension shoots through the tube, past the center port’s tasting ring, and directly into Coletta’s system. Coletta smiles appreciatively.
“Mmmm. What was that? I liked it very much,” Coletta said. Nan chirped, pleased with herself.
“It is a special mix I’ve been thinking up. It’s called ‘Rain in the Woods,’ If you like it, I can add it to the regular rotation,” Nan said.
“Yes, please. Are you planning a new taste for Kriznas?”
“Perhaps. If you are good.” With that, Nan floated away to attend to other duties. Nan had many bodies throughout the ship, all working simultaneously, so she was never far away. When Coletta’s father was away working, Nan was more than just her comfortdrone. She was the keeper of their residence. Venya operated a large rover and did his scientific work over long sojourns over the ice. The weather on the planetoid was too violent for aircraft. Even the formidable traction of the rover wasn’t enough when the weather was at its worst. So, it was a slow and tedious business, and he was usually gone for months at a time.
“I hope he’s home for Kriznas,” Coletta said, stopping by the nativity on her way to the Kriznas tree. Nan was not physically present, but her warm intelligence permeated the station. Coletta would often speak to her, just to make her thoughts known, without expecting a reply. The nativity was a traditional one, although other families had trendier-looking ones. At least, that was her impression from the shows and commercials she saw on the viewer. They were well out of regular broadcast range, but they got data bursts every six months. It was expensive, because of the raw power needed to send the info, but it kept them at least marginally in contact with civilization. They were due another a few days before