Tovar, Ogygia
Friday, October 01, 2202
With a grinding vibration that shook the whole structure, the launch sled pulled Challenger's tiny hull from the assembly berth. A gasp went up from the assembled crowd below as the enormous hydrogen balloons grew larger still, as the sled and the starship it contained started its slow ascent to the upper atmosphere of Ogygia. The day was bright and warm as the engineers and workers who had built the ship over the last two and a half months watched it disappear up into the cloud layer, and onto void.
The Starship Design Office was itself much more over-engineered than anything it had thus far produced. It was a virtual clone of the Bureau of Ships on Sapphire, but unlike that legendary establishment, it was not cranking out three or four starfighter carriers a year along with their attendant escorts, colony ships, tenders, scouts, asteroid miners, and whatever else civilization needed. The team that designed the Challenger was clustered in a tiny area of the cavernous main floor of the building, the curved glass ceiling yawning over them like a sky that sometimes grayed but never rained.
Alex Walker leaned back in the Director's chair and slowly tracked the sled's ascent until it left sight. Design work on Challenger's sistership, Endeavor, had nearly finished and the lessons learned from the Challenger build were being incorporated. The new blueprints were going to be sent to the yard in just a few hours. The keel would be laid tomorrow, and with luck, by the end of the year Endeavor would be making the very voyage that Challenger was now.
Walker's eyes took a brief moment to close, and for a moment, there were no deadlines to meet, no production schedules to advance, no arguments to be made, no priorities to set, for the first time in half a year. They lingered, closed, for as long as could be reasonably justified in the middle of a busy day, and when they reopened, in Walker's mind at least, they marked the beginning of the FF-3, the as-yet unnamed ship that would come after Endeavor.
"Designer Yeltsin," Walker called out, not having shifted position a bit, "What is the major limitation of Challenger's design?"
Yeltsin was by far the most junior member of the design team. Walker often made a point of asking him questions that the Director felt should be obvious to even a dog, as if to use him as a barometer of whether the entire team already knew whatever was being asked. Yeltsin put down the drink he'd been using to toast the launch, and looked somewhat flustered.
"Er," started the 23-year-old, "The inability to create jump points."
The look the Director gave the underling suggested this was not the answer that was being sought.
"The speed of the ship," offered a different designer, "It takes two months and change to cross the system."
"That is hardly a limitation of the ship," Walker said testily, as it replying to the air, "What might we, as designers, have done with the materials provided to us to improve the ship?"
The mood in the room shifted from jubilant to put upon. The design team exchanged a looks with each other, uncertain of what answer the Director was looking for, and certain members were clearly restraining more flippant answers. The tension held for long seconds before Walker snorted.
"Clearly," Walker continued, "Challenger can only carry a single satellite in storage, and needs to return to pick up another one. FF-3 will need to carry more."
"Ah," Yeltsin began, seeing the opportunity to redeem himself, "So we take advantage of the greater organic fuel capacity of the newer engines to reduce the amount of cargo space dedicated to supplies and increase the space for more satellites--"
The sound Walker cut Yeltsin off with expertly combined a half-dozen kinds of contempt into a neat 400-millisecond package.
"Nonsense! We'll simply increase the mass of the ship by ten percent."
Yeltsin stared at the Director blankly. A number of the other designers joined him.
"Yeltsin, send an email to research. Tell them we need materials and construction techniques to support the larger design. Quickly."
Yeltsin looked like he might have vaulted over the deck to strangle Walker, and for long moments, the tension in the room reached a crescendo. Finally, he exhaled through his nose.
"Of course, Director."
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Boldly going where no one wanted to go before - Chapter 1
Fwiffo looked out the view port of the space station at the Foolhardy, the first ship of her class. Sleek. Shiney. Swift. A tiny suffocating death trap. Fwiffo looked out into space. Expansive. Mysterious. Majestic. Full of bloodthirsty murderous barbarians.
Why am I here, anyway?
Because you were drafted into the Volunteer Corps, you dolt.
That's right, I was drafted. Save our world from the impending doom that's coming to destroy us. Why any of us are here at all, save the Fajopog. Weight of the world, my people, hell with my luck the universe, alternate realities, maybe even time it-*cough cough cough*.
Breathe, you dolt.
Why oh why oh why me. I don't want to be here! I want to be home! Safe! Quietly drifting through the currents of the bay. Happy. Content. Safe. What deity did I piss off to deserve this? Will the torment and danger ever end?
"Uh, Captain Fwiffo? Shouldn't we be boarding the ship?"
Fwiffo looked at his Second in Command.
"No."
Why am I here, anyway?
Because you were drafted into the Volunteer Corps, you dolt.
That's right, I was drafted. Save our world from the impending doom that's coming to destroy us. Why any of us are here at all, save the Fajopog. Weight of the world, my people, hell with my luck the universe, alternate realities, maybe even time it-*cough cough cough*.
Breathe, you dolt.
Why oh why oh why me. I don't want to be here! I want to be home! Safe! Quietly drifting through the currents of the bay. Happy. Content. Safe. What deity did I piss off to deserve this? Will the torment and danger ever end?
"Uh, Captain Fwiffo? Shouldn't we be boarding the ship?"
Fwiffo looked at his Second in Command.
"No."
Westford #1
Outward Bound #6, 255 days of out Arc
2300 Hours, 24 August 2149
"Begin signaling SOS, comms. Tell Sapphire what's happening to us."
The scream of tearing metal reverberated in Captain Westford's ears as he got back to his feet. The ship was no long making violent spasms below him, but it was clear that the damage the warp point had done during their transit had nearly torn the engines. The harsh scent of smoke and ozone cut through the smell of torn metal, burning plastic, and less pleasant things.
"We've lost the carrier back to Homeworld," replied the communications officer, "I can't tell if they can hear us."
The wild blue effects of warp point travel had faded back the familiar white dots on a black field that indicated they had finished their harrowing transit. For better or worse, they had made it to a new star system, and if half the damage reports that had been screamed at Westford in the last few minutes were true, they weren't going home under their own power.
"Helm, status report," Westford asked.
The helmsman couldn't have been 20 years old. Blood streaked down the right side of his head as he pressed buttons on his console, searching for which ones still did anything at all, let alone what he expected of them. A few seconds later, he swallowed.
"Sir," he began, "There's no warp point in the immediate vicinity. We appear to have fallen back into normal space outside the normal warp point network."
That was very bad. Warp points were the only way humanity knew to achieve interstellar flight. In the past, every time a ship emerged from a warp point, they came out at another one. Each warp point was linked to one and exactly one other warp point. If they somehow exited in a place where there was no warp point...
"Survey..." Westford began, before realizing that the officer who normally manned the sensors was gone. He must have missed when she left the bridge, either of her own accord, or carried off by the corpsmen who were still looking to injured on the bridge too hurt to safely move. Westford went himself to the survey station, and looked as far as their sensors could see. With the critical damage to the sensor suit, he could only see a few million kilometers at all, but one thing dominated the view.
"Helm!" he started, "turn us around, quickly!"
The helmsman looked dazed for a moment, as if he didn't understand the words being yelled at him, but a few seconds later, he snapped up. The viewer turned and there was a soft blue planet filling the screen, covered in swirling clouds of blue and white.
"That can't be Sapphire!"
"Not unless our luck had an abrupt change of heart," grimaced Westford, "Are we in a stable orbit around it?"
The helmsman again consulted his instruments, "No, sir. We'll hit the upper atmosphere in about twelve minutes."
"What kind of maneuvering can you give me?"
The helmsman prodded his thrusters again, "I can reorient us, sir," he said, "that's about it."
Westford's thoughts flickered back to the statistics of his mission. The odds of a gas giant having a habitable cloud level was almost unheard of, but it is what he was sent out for. The world was the right color -- the atmosphere might contain oxygen. It might be close enough to its start to be warm enough in the upper atmosphere for them to survive. The Outward Bound had the equipment to create a settlement there, if the pressure didn't crush them first, if the ship wasn't too badly damaged, if, if, if...
No more if's. They were going down. If the planet wasn't habitable, they were doomed anyways. If it was, he had to give them the best chance he could.
"Helm," Westford said, as his voice changed subtly but unmistakably as he gave orders, "point our nose to the sky. Use whatever the main engines have left to shallow out our approach angle."
Once again, the stars filled Westford's view of the outside universe, as the ship oriented itself to point its engines directly at the world they were falling toward. The computer made angry beeping sounds as the ruined engines refused to fire. The Captain took a moment to breath, then thumbed the ship's announcement channel on his chair.
"All crew and awoken passengers," he began, "This is Captain Westford. I understand that may of you are dealing with casualties in your section and departments, but I'm afraid we're not done yet. The ship is about to make a re-entry attempt on a world we emerged from the warp point near. We do not know how bumpy the approach will be, so please be prepared for more extreme turbulence. I will address you again once we have reached a stable position."
If they reached a stable position.
The wait was the worst part. Ten minutes now, perhaps. Eight. Five. Wondering what was happening on the rest of the ship, wondering what lay below them.
"We've started entering the atmosphere, sir," the helmsman finally reported, "Shock layer is forming. Temperature is up to 1000K."
Westford grit his teeth. There was nothing he could do except wait and see if the critically injured ship survived re-entry onto this world.
"2000K"
He know the ship's hull would hold to 7000K if it were fully intact, but he know that it wasn't.
"3000K. We're starting to get hull ablation, sir."
The view of the outside was now overlaid with fiery streaks from the plasma pouring off the belly of the ship as the air pressure slowed it down.
"4000K. Atmospheric buoyancy now at 30% of ship's mass."
Suddenly, the ship jerked hard to port, and the planet came back into view, the world now seen through a fierce blaze of compression-heated air. The view started to slide back towards the starts, just as the video feed cut out.
"Status!" Westford shouted reflexively.
"5500K, sir!" the helmsman replied, "And I think I've recovered the tumble."
With nothing left to do but hold on, Westford gritted his teeth and fought the panic of having no control over his fate.
"Shock layer is down to 5000K, and falling sir," the helmsman reported at last, "Atmospheric buoyancy at 80%. We're on a safe approach path."
The Captain let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "Well done, helm. Very well done."
Once again, the Captain addressed the other thousand waking members of his ship, "Passengers and Crew of Outward Bound #6, I am pleased to report that the ship will be coming to rest in just a few minutes. At that time, we will begin colonization protocol on this world. As we did not get our normal astrometric data before our descent, I would ask that all departments support Survey in gathering all pertinent colonial data before we begin deploying settlement modules. Department heads, have a status report ready in 15 minutes."
He looked up at his helmsman on more time, "OK, helm. This is our new home. Find the nicest place on it you can find, and we'll start making our new lives here."
2300 Hours, 24 August 2149
"Begin signaling SOS, comms. Tell Sapphire what's happening to us."
The scream of tearing metal reverberated in Captain Westford's ears as he got back to his feet. The ship was no long making violent spasms below him, but it was clear that the damage the warp point had done during their transit had nearly torn the engines. The harsh scent of smoke and ozone cut through the smell of torn metal, burning plastic, and less pleasant things.
"We've lost the carrier back to Homeworld," replied the communications officer, "I can't tell if they can hear us."
The wild blue effects of warp point travel had faded back the familiar white dots on a black field that indicated they had finished their harrowing transit. For better or worse, they had made it to a new star system, and if half the damage reports that had been screamed at Westford in the last few minutes were true, they weren't going home under their own power.
"Helm, status report," Westford asked.
The helmsman couldn't have been 20 years old. Blood streaked down the right side of his head as he pressed buttons on his console, searching for which ones still did anything at all, let alone what he expected of them. A few seconds later, he swallowed.
"Sir," he began, "There's no warp point in the immediate vicinity. We appear to have fallen back into normal space outside the normal warp point network."
That was very bad. Warp points were the only way humanity knew to achieve interstellar flight. In the past, every time a ship emerged from a warp point, they came out at another one. Each warp point was linked to one and exactly one other warp point. If they somehow exited in a place where there was no warp point...
"Survey..." Westford began, before realizing that the officer who normally manned the sensors was gone. He must have missed when she left the bridge, either of her own accord, or carried off by the corpsmen who were still looking to injured on the bridge too hurt to safely move. Westford went himself to the survey station, and looked as far as their sensors could see. With the critical damage to the sensor suit, he could only see a few million kilometers at all, but one thing dominated the view.
"Helm!" he started, "turn us around, quickly!"
The helmsman looked dazed for a moment, as if he didn't understand the words being yelled at him, but a few seconds later, he snapped up. The viewer turned and there was a soft blue planet filling the screen, covered in swirling clouds of blue and white.
"That can't be Sapphire!"
"Not unless our luck had an abrupt change of heart," grimaced Westford, "Are we in a stable orbit around it?"
The helmsman again consulted his instruments, "No, sir. We'll hit the upper atmosphere in about twelve minutes."
"What kind of maneuvering can you give me?"
The helmsman prodded his thrusters again, "I can reorient us, sir," he said, "that's about it."
Westford's thoughts flickered back to the statistics of his mission. The odds of a gas giant having a habitable cloud level was almost unheard of, but it is what he was sent out for. The world was the right color -- the atmosphere might contain oxygen. It might be close enough to its start to be warm enough in the upper atmosphere for them to survive. The Outward Bound had the equipment to create a settlement there, if the pressure didn't crush them first, if the ship wasn't too badly damaged, if, if, if...
No more if's. They were going down. If the planet wasn't habitable, they were doomed anyways. If it was, he had to give them the best chance he could.
"Helm," Westford said, as his voice changed subtly but unmistakably as he gave orders, "point our nose to the sky. Use whatever the main engines have left to shallow out our approach angle."
Once again, the stars filled Westford's view of the outside universe, as the ship oriented itself to point its engines directly at the world they were falling toward. The computer made angry beeping sounds as the ruined engines refused to fire. The Captain took a moment to breath, then thumbed the ship's announcement channel on his chair.
"All crew and awoken passengers," he began, "This is Captain Westford. I understand that may of you are dealing with casualties in your section and departments, but I'm afraid we're not done yet. The ship is about to make a re-entry attempt on a world we emerged from the warp point near. We do not know how bumpy the approach will be, so please be prepared for more extreme turbulence. I will address you again once we have reached a stable position."
If they reached a stable position.
The wait was the worst part. Ten minutes now, perhaps. Eight. Five. Wondering what was happening on the rest of the ship, wondering what lay below them.
"We've started entering the atmosphere, sir," the helmsman finally reported, "Shock layer is forming. Temperature is up to 1000K."
Westford grit his teeth. There was nothing he could do except wait and see if the critically injured ship survived re-entry onto this world.
"2000K"
He know the ship's hull would hold to 7000K if it were fully intact, but he know that it wasn't.
"3000K. We're starting to get hull ablation, sir."
The view of the outside was now overlaid with fiery streaks from the plasma pouring off the belly of the ship as the air pressure slowed it down.
"4000K. Atmospheric buoyancy now at 30% of ship's mass."
Suddenly, the ship jerked hard to port, and the planet came back into view, the world now seen through a fierce blaze of compression-heated air. The view started to slide back towards the starts, just as the video feed cut out.
"Status!" Westford shouted reflexively.
"5500K, sir!" the helmsman replied, "And I think I've recovered the tumble."
With nothing left to do but hold on, Westford gritted his teeth and fought the panic of having no control over his fate.
"Shock layer is down to 5000K, and falling sir," the helmsman reported at last, "Atmospheric buoyancy at 80%. We're on a safe approach path."
The Captain let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "Well done, helm. Very well done."
Once again, the Captain addressed the other thousand waking members of his ship, "Passengers and Crew of Outward Bound #6, I am pleased to report that the ship will be coming to rest in just a few minutes. At that time, we will begin colonization protocol on this world. As we did not get our normal astrometric data before our descent, I would ask that all departments support Survey in gathering all pertinent colonial data before we begin deploying settlement modules. Department heads, have a status report ready in 15 minutes."
He looked up at his helmsman on more time, "OK, helm. This is our new home. Find the nicest place on it you can find, and we'll start making our new lives here."
The Beginning of the Epic
Most anyone looking at this probably already knows what we're up to here, but just in case:
We're a group of gamers (mostly) in the northeastern part of the US. All of us enjoy 4X games, and a lot of us enjoy writing silly things. We're all playing a game called Space Empires V, wherein we all take the role of the fearless leader of an enterprising species taking their first steps towards interplanetary colonization. As time passes, our space-faring civilizations will grow into solar system spanning empires, get embroiled in intrigue and war, and research science-fictional technologies with which we attempt to achieve dominance in the galaxy.
There's only one thing better than flying a ship towards a poor species' home planet and vaporizing the whole system by creating a black hole where their sun used to be, and that is when a human intelligence is howling in anguish on the receiving end.
While we're in the midst of all this far future murder and mayhem, some of us will be posting vignettes and dramatizations of the events of the game. We hope you enjoy these humble offerings.
We're a group of gamers (mostly) in the northeastern part of the US. All of us enjoy 4X games, and a lot of us enjoy writing silly things. We're all playing a game called Space Empires V, wherein we all take the role of the fearless leader of an enterprising species taking their first steps towards interplanetary colonization. As time passes, our space-faring civilizations will grow into solar system spanning empires, get embroiled in intrigue and war, and research science-fictional technologies with which we attempt to achieve dominance in the galaxy.
There's only one thing better than flying a ship towards a poor species' home planet and vaporizing the whole system by creating a black hole where their sun used to be, and that is when a human intelligence is howling in anguish on the receiving end.
While we're in the midst of all this far future murder and mayhem, some of us will be posting vignettes and dramatizations of the events of the game. We hope you enjoy these humble offerings.
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