The Drift

To Lay in the stellar waters

I haven't heard back in quite some time. I try not to reach for the radio. I don't want them to know I'm worried. After a few more minutes, I pick up the mic and say, "Fraeia? Are you all-"
"Shh…" They cut me off. Their voice sounds off like a slow drip of honey in the cold. "I'm alright...calm... drifting."
I'm clutching onto the mic harder than Intended but I keep my mouth shut. My eyes stare at the screen, a small black dot slowly nearing a wall of wreckage floating in the void.
Eventually I hear them laugh. "You're worried?"
"I am," I reply. I couldn't imagine just floating in space like that.
"Why?" They ask as if the word slipped out during a long sigh.
"There's no control, no safety."
"No control… yes." I hear their voice shift, suddenly more aware but still somewhere far far away. "I'm not so sure about the latter. I'm safer out here than you are in there."

---

Fraeia feels nothing. They drift, weightless and beyond the touch of fear. For weeks, they bore an unimaginable burden on their shoulders. So much has happened. So much has changed. It's nice to let it all go.
Amber isn't talking. Fraeia couldn't help but smile. Amber's ship is nothing but a glint of light orbiting the moon of Alphia from where they were. The light of the Fever breach caught Fraeia's attention next. It was glorious.
Amber's voice calls out, panicked yet fierce. "You're nearing the wreckage."
"Understood." Fraeia carefully adjusts themselves, the boosters pulsing all along the joints in their suit to keep them aligned with their destination.
"Careful. Move too quickly or with too much force, and you'll just spin out."
"I know how space works, Amber," Fraeia replied.
"Sorry."
There it was again, the tone from before. Is she ashamed? Why? "It's a good thing. It's easy to get lost in the drift. Don't apologize." After landing on the wreckage Fraeia adds, "Your concern is endearing, though. I mean it, Keep talking."

The eden are fascinated by the void. They're drawn to it. It's a cosmic dance with death. They could survive a lot longer in the vacuum than a human could, but it's still a death sentence if exposed and without protection.
Fraeia calls it "the drift." It's a meditative state; a lethargy that consumes their thoughts as they confront the stellar ocean around them. There's no up in space, no down either. They stare down infinity and are humbled by it. It's an automatic response, an instinct. The cause is a genetic artifact in their genome, possibly an evolved or engineered trait appearing due to their countless millennia as a space faring species.
Their mind enters an altered state, similar to shock. It comforts them. If cast into the void from an exploding vessel or left behind by the enemy, it makes their death easier to swallow. They experience it from their first time in the void and will do so every time thereafter. Whether it be a spacewalk or casually drifting toward potential salvage, they all chase The Drift.

Flying high

The Drift floods a lebha's brain with adrenaline, or at least something similar to adrenaline. It doesn't tire them out when leaving the system. It doesn't compel them to fight or run away. It compels them to drift, to see where the solar wind takes them.
The first time is always the strongest. Neophytes report hallucinations. They see strange geometric patterns and hear whispers in the dark, as if the stars could speak. They report seeing vast unknowable creatures watching them out of bored curiosity. They will never experience it to that degree again.
With each recurring exposure to the void, the effects steadily decrease. It's as if the void is toxic and they are building an immunity to it. At best, an adult of the species feels extreme euphoria. They are calm, serene, and in their element. On a rare occasion, the untrained will find themselves in a fugue, forgetting what they are supposed to be doing and even who they are.

The Horrors of the Drift

Remember those unknowable creatures I mentioned? Sometimes they aren't so indifferent. Some lebha on their first spacewalk report being attacked by them. It's a violent assault, as if these demons in the void are offended by their presence.
For the eden who "survive," It's an ill omen. Some believe it means you're destined for The Loop, an affront to nature. Others believe it means you'll be a breaker of chains, a mad rebel unable to escape your fate.
While it would seem to be nothing more than a bad trip, the eden take these hallucinations very seriously. They study them, using what little information they can glean from neophytes training for life in the void. Due to their nature, they haven't come very far in their studies.

A Form of Sleep

The drift is similar to what we call sleep. The eden sleep like we do, but they don't dream. Their bodies enter a sleep-like state that shuts down most nonessential functions. It's somewhere between sleep and hibernation.
They can use it for more than rest. They use it to pass time and some have used it for survival. If jettisoned into the void, they can enter this state to conserve oxygen or to limit the need for food in case help arrives, though it's unlikely.
When it comes to rest, it's a rapid process. By human standards, it's more of a power nap. Within an hour of "sleeping" they can wake up and feel perfectly refreshed. How lucky for them...