Space was once a dark unknown that precious few could claim the honour of touching. The fabled...
Engine Bells and Shotgun Shells (hard sci-fi quests)
- Thread starter 4WheelSword
- Start date
- Original
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 44
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 21
-
Statistics (21 threadmarks, 48k words)
User Total 4WheelSword 21
Episode 1 Part 1: Outpost Eta
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Vote details:
- 5 votes for [X] An orbital outpost goes quiet, and a science team investigates.
- 4 votes for [X] A courier gets a bad gig, and everything goes to hell
- 1 vote for [X] A cargo ship gets into trouble in interstellar space
A close one. Hopefully those who voted otherwise will still enjoy what I have in store for you all.
Outpost Eta
Round Distant Star,
A Shadow turns,
To never see the light,
And now we go,
By steel and smoke,
To see that bitter blight
Stars shimmered back into existence as muted hum of the ship's Cherenkov drive faded into nothingness. A sun, once a distant glinting speck in the night sky, now filled the bridge's forward screen burning a deep orange, washing out all other colours in the cramped space. Everything was silent as they watched the small black sphere that was their destination hang distantly against that blazing background, blotting out a tiny portion of it's otherwise furious light. Only the beep and whir of consoles reporting their status interrupted the almost religious quiet.
The Royal Scientific Survey Ship, HMS George Vancouver, fell towards the planet with all the speed with which it had left its point of origin. Panels slid back into its hull and, like some strange metallic flower, solar panels and radiators extended to bathe themselves in the sun's hot rays. The four box-like structures extending from its midsection, between the drives at aft and the bridge forward, began to spin. Gravity was hard to come by in the depths of space, but those boxes gave the ship's crew somewhere to sleep where they at least felt a little weight.
She was a good ship, never having met a problem or delay she couldn't overcome. A seasoned ship, with years of exploratory missions under her belt and a wealth of data had been processed through her data banks and sent through her massive communication dishes to expand the voluminous libraries of humanity. Most importantly, she was our ship, and she'd carried her crew and I across light years of space without a hitch.
Normally we were tasked with the same missions as our sister ships, exploration and survey. This time we had departed Port Antmouth with a very different mission. Outpost Eta, a research base established and supported by one of our sisters had gone silent. The last scheduled report had been a month ago and we had been sent to find out why. The entire crew was nervous, and rumours had been flying ever since we'd slipped our moorings as to exactly what we'd find out here. Some assumed everyone had died in a freak accident. Some hoped quietly that it was simply a faulty communications system and that they would find their sibling-crew in good health. A few whispered of enemy action and expected only wreckage in the missing ships parking orbit.
Once I heard someone mutter something inane about aliens, though that was truly the most excessive of the scuttlebutt. I simply hoped we'd be able to work out what had happened.
"Everything checks out, Captain. The boards are green, all systems are functioning." My systems engineer said, breaking the thoughtful silence that I'd enveloped myself in. One of the dangers of commanding a research ship was the urge to descend into reflection. The scientists quartered aft were a bad influence.
"Good. Nav, do we have anything on the scans?"
"Negative, Captain, no beacons as of yet. And nothing on scans" That wasn't unexpected. We still had to cross thousands of kilometres before we could think about entering orbit around the unnamed planet below. Our sensor resolution would be poor, and they could always be behind the planet itself. There was no better mask for a ship that a mass like that.
"Very well. Prepare for course correction and orbital entry burns. Conn, you have the bridge." Locking my console I unclipped from my couch, pushing off it and swinging myself around towards the hatch. There was no point waiting around for information that wasn't coming when I had work to be getting on with.
Who is our Captain? (please provide a name vote as well)
[ ] A professional naval officer, raised to the trade, with multiple live combat engagements under her belt. She's proven very hard to kill, but this has made her somewhat arrogant.
[ ] A scientist, training to be an officer only so she could lead expeditions for the Royal Academy of Science. Between her innate luck and natural eidetic memory, she has proven very successful, but she is not particularly brave.
[ ] The Daughter of an Earl, she was forced to serve as part of her Mother's will. Even so, she has proven to be an empathetic and caring leader, as long as you're on her side. She has made several enemies and her reputation often proceeds her.
How shall we approach the planet?
[ ] Enter a high orbit. Our sensors will be less useful, but it is certainly the safest course of action.
[ ] Enter a low orbit. We'll be able to quickly gather a good assessment of the situation.
- 5 votes for [X] An orbital outpost goes quiet, and a science team investigates.
- 4 votes for [X] A courier gets a bad gig, and everything goes to hell
- 1 vote for [X] A cargo ship gets into trouble in interstellar space
A close one. Hopefully those who voted otherwise will still enjoy what I have in store for you all.
Outpost Eta
Round Distant Star,
A Shadow turns,
To never see the light,
And now we go,
By steel and smoke,
To see that bitter blight
Stars shimmered back into existence as muted hum of the ship's Cherenkov drive faded into nothingness. A sun, once a distant glinting speck in the night sky, now filled the bridge's forward screen burning a deep orange, washing out all other colours in the cramped space. Everything was silent as they watched the small black sphere that was their destination hang distantly against that blazing background, blotting out a tiny portion of it's otherwise furious light. Only the beep and whir of consoles reporting their status interrupted the almost religious quiet.
The Royal Scientific Survey Ship, HMS George Vancouver, fell towards the planet with all the speed with which it had left its point of origin. Panels slid back into its hull and, like some strange metallic flower, solar panels and radiators extended to bathe themselves in the sun's hot rays. The four box-like structures extending from its midsection, between the drives at aft and the bridge forward, began to spin. Gravity was hard to come by in the depths of space, but those boxes gave the ship's crew somewhere to sleep where they at least felt a little weight.
She was a good ship, never having met a problem or delay she couldn't overcome. A seasoned ship, with years of exploratory missions under her belt and a wealth of data had been processed through her data banks and sent through her massive communication dishes to expand the voluminous libraries of humanity. Most importantly, she was our ship, and she'd carried her crew and I across light years of space without a hitch.
Normally we were tasked with the same missions as our sister ships, exploration and survey. This time we had departed Port Antmouth with a very different mission. Outpost Eta, a research base established and supported by one of our sisters had gone silent. The last scheduled report had been a month ago and we had been sent to find out why. The entire crew was nervous, and rumours had been flying ever since we'd slipped our moorings as to exactly what we'd find out here. Some assumed everyone had died in a freak accident. Some hoped quietly that it was simply a faulty communications system and that they would find their sibling-crew in good health. A few whispered of enemy action and expected only wreckage in the missing ships parking orbit.
Once I heard someone mutter something inane about aliens, though that was truly the most excessive of the scuttlebutt. I simply hoped we'd be able to work out what had happened.
"Everything checks out, Captain. The boards are green, all systems are functioning." My systems engineer said, breaking the thoughtful silence that I'd enveloped myself in. One of the dangers of commanding a research ship was the urge to descend into reflection. The scientists quartered aft were a bad influence.
"Good. Nav, do we have anything on the scans?"
"Negative, Captain, no beacons as of yet. And nothing on scans" That wasn't unexpected. We still had to cross thousands of kilometres before we could think about entering orbit around the unnamed planet below. Our sensor resolution would be poor, and they could always be behind the planet itself. There was no better mask for a ship that a mass like that.
"Very well. Prepare for course correction and orbital entry burns. Conn, you have the bridge." Locking my console I unclipped from my couch, pushing off it and swinging myself around towards the hatch. There was no point waiting around for information that wasn't coming when I had work to be getting on with.
Who is our Captain? (please provide a name vote as well)
[ ] A professional naval officer, raised to the trade, with multiple live combat engagements under her belt. She's proven very hard to kill, but this has made her somewhat arrogant.
[ ] A scientist, training to be an officer only so she could lead expeditions for the Royal Academy of Science. Between her innate luck and natural eidetic memory, she has proven very successful, but she is not particularly brave.
[ ] The Daughter of an Earl, she was forced to serve as part of her Mother's will. Even so, she has proven to be an empathetic and caring leader, as long as you're on her side. She has made several enemies and her reputation often proceeds her.
How shall we approach the planet?
[ ] Enter a high orbit. Our sensors will be less useful, but it is certainly the safest course of action.
[ ] Enter a low orbit. We'll be able to quickly gather a good assessment of the situation.
Episode 1 Part 2: Orbit
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Vote details:
- 6 votes for A Naval Officer - @Serafina @permeakra @Sime @lelenoi @Night_stalker @Crazy Tom
- 5 votes for An Earl's Daughter - @pspan @veekie @kinigget @Andelevion @Novus Ordo Mundi
- 1 votes for A Scientist - @E73S
- 8 votes for A high orbit - @Serafina @permeakra @lelenoi @Night_stalker @kinigget @Andelevion @Crazy Tom @E73S
- 4 votes for A low orbit - @pspan @Sime @veekie @Novus Ordo Mundi
His Majesty's Starship George Vancouver was built off of a long hub-corridor that stretched the entire length of the ship. It was the ship's spine, it's central nervous system, and its main artery. But I was only interested in the first few tens of feet of it and the entrance to my office. As I span lazily towards it the ship's internal sensors picked up my biometrics and command keys and slid the hatch back into the wall. Navigating hatches had never been easy in zero-G and I'd seen more than one sailor injure themselves trying to secure one at speed, but these made the whole affair a simple one. I wondered briefly if perhaps the architects had put comfort and ease of use over security and safety, but that was an argument that held little weight until they introduced similar philosophies on ships designed for war.
I sighed wistfully as I grabbed a wall bar and pivoted head-first into my sparsely decorated office. I missed the Fleet's warships more than I would let anyone else know, especially not my current crew. They were fine people, excellent sailors and my bridge crew was as sharp as I could expect from the Navy, but still I felt a sense of lost opportunities. I'd joined the Royal Commonwealth Navy to fight its wars and lead it's sailors, not wander the stars learning to herd cats with a gaggle of scientists. And yet here I was, on a ship with more lab space than I'd ever had in an apartment and which was soon to be filled to the brim with doctorate-holding researchers.
The small cluster of decorations and awards pinned to one wall glinted at me and were rewarded with a look that mixed pride and venom. The Distinguished Service Cross that was the centerpiece of the display - a display once called impressive by an admiral - was now simply a reminder of how I'd gotten myself into my current predicament. If I closed my eyes I could recite the text that went with that burnished silver cross, I'd read it that many times - 'On the Third day of September, 2234, Lieutenant-Commander Felicity Gibson did take command of His Majesties Starship, the cruiser Halifax whilst under the enemy's guns…' - it went on in much the same manner for some time. The moment we'd come out of that action alive I knew there was no way the Admiralty could do anything but give me my own command. I had, however, made the mistake of assuming that they'd give me a warship.
Instead, they'd seconded me to the scientists and placed me at the helm of the George Vancouver. I comforted myself almost every day with the fact that I had a command to myself, a ship of my own, even if she was an unarmed research vessel. Never mind that thus far all we'd done was orbit geological curiosities in Sol's asteroid belts as part of our shakedown cruise and run test after test at Anmouth. Now we had a real mission, a rescue mission. Perhaps if it went particularly well the Admiralty would realise what a mistake it had made and give me a real fighting ship. Perhaps even one of the new Type 37's, the Navy's most advanced destroyers.
It certainly made for quite the fantasy but now wasn't the time for daydreaming. I strapped myself into the chair bolted behind my desk. There was no point in floating away as I typed the reports that were part of my daily life as ships Captain.
I returned to the bridge in plenty of time for the capture burn. The planet rolled by below us, the surface only ten thousand or so kilometres away. A safe, cautious orbit around a planet that may already have claimed one of our own. Our sensor arrays were already unfurled, searching for any signs of our missing sister.
"Nav?" I said simply. The question didn't need voicing, they all knew what was being asked.
"Still nothing in orbit, Captain." I frowned. The atmosphere in the bridge was heavy and it was easy to understand why. If there was nothing in orbit, either our sister ship had left or something disastrous had happened to her. I was starting to fear the worst.
"Understood. Keep scanning and report any changes." We were locked into a stable orbit and until we had more information, there was little we could safely do but wait. My first urge had been to drop the ship into as low an orbit as possible, to give our sensors the best resolution of the surface - it was where I expected to find any actual evidence of what had happened given the reports of an established research site - but then caution had overruled haste. If something had happened, perhaps low orbit around the unnamed planet was where it had occurred.
And thus we waited. We waited for what seemed like days but couldn't have been more than a matter of hours. The steward brought us hot drinks and cold sandwiches to keep belly's full and eyes sharp. The interminable silence reigned over the bridge until finally it was broken by our Navigators grunt.
"Captain… I have something. Several somethings." I resisted the urge to bolt from my chair, as i'd seen that impulse land someone in the ceiling more than once.
"Show me." I said as I instead swam sedately across the short distance.
"Here; this canyon just saw sunrise." He said, pointing at his screen. The man, Murphy, I hoped his name was, had short, dirty nails. "And we just got an image of these" He tapped three points. The northernmost pair were close together, two black spots on an otherwise pale beige landscape, one significantly larger than the other and obviously artificial. The third was an indistinct haze of what might have been a base or small compound. Our resolution was too poor for too much detail to be visible. Even so, it was a start.
How shall we proceed?
[ ] Drop into a low orbit and conduct close observations of the three sites.
[ ] Deploy the ships shuttle craft with away teams to investigate, leaving a watch crew aboard the ship.
[ ] Write in
- 6 votes for A Naval Officer - @Serafina @permeakra @Sime @lelenoi @Night_stalker @Crazy Tom
- 5 votes for An Earl's Daughter - @pspan @veekie @kinigget @Andelevion @Novus Ordo Mundi
- 1 votes for A Scientist - @E73S
- 8 votes for A high orbit - @Serafina @permeakra @lelenoi @Night_stalker @kinigget @Andelevion @Crazy Tom @E73S
- 4 votes for A low orbit - @pspan @Sime @veekie @Novus Ordo Mundi
His Majesty's Starship George Vancouver was built off of a long hub-corridor that stretched the entire length of the ship. It was the ship's spine, it's central nervous system, and its main artery. But I was only interested in the first few tens of feet of it and the entrance to my office. As I span lazily towards it the ship's internal sensors picked up my biometrics and command keys and slid the hatch back into the wall. Navigating hatches had never been easy in zero-G and I'd seen more than one sailor injure themselves trying to secure one at speed, but these made the whole affair a simple one. I wondered briefly if perhaps the architects had put comfort and ease of use over security and safety, but that was an argument that held little weight until they introduced similar philosophies on ships designed for war.
I sighed wistfully as I grabbed a wall bar and pivoted head-first into my sparsely decorated office. I missed the Fleet's warships more than I would let anyone else know, especially not my current crew. They were fine people, excellent sailors and my bridge crew was as sharp as I could expect from the Navy, but still I felt a sense of lost opportunities. I'd joined the Royal Commonwealth Navy to fight its wars and lead it's sailors, not wander the stars learning to herd cats with a gaggle of scientists. And yet here I was, on a ship with more lab space than I'd ever had in an apartment and which was soon to be filled to the brim with doctorate-holding researchers.
The small cluster of decorations and awards pinned to one wall glinted at me and were rewarded with a look that mixed pride and venom. The Distinguished Service Cross that was the centerpiece of the display - a display once called impressive by an admiral - was now simply a reminder of how I'd gotten myself into my current predicament. If I closed my eyes I could recite the text that went with that burnished silver cross, I'd read it that many times - 'On the Third day of September, 2234, Lieutenant-Commander Felicity Gibson did take command of His Majesties Starship, the cruiser Halifax whilst under the enemy's guns…' - it went on in much the same manner for some time. The moment we'd come out of that action alive I knew there was no way the Admiralty could do anything but give me my own command. I had, however, made the mistake of assuming that they'd give me a warship.
Instead, they'd seconded me to the scientists and placed me at the helm of the George Vancouver. I comforted myself almost every day with the fact that I had a command to myself, a ship of my own, even if she was an unarmed research vessel. Never mind that thus far all we'd done was orbit geological curiosities in Sol's asteroid belts as part of our shakedown cruise and run test after test at Anmouth. Now we had a real mission, a rescue mission. Perhaps if it went particularly well the Admiralty would realise what a mistake it had made and give me a real fighting ship. Perhaps even one of the new Type 37's, the Navy's most advanced destroyers.
It certainly made for quite the fantasy but now wasn't the time for daydreaming. I strapped myself into the chair bolted behind my desk. There was no point in floating away as I typed the reports that were part of my daily life as ships Captain.
- - -
I returned to the bridge in plenty of time for the capture burn. The planet rolled by below us, the surface only ten thousand or so kilometres away. A safe, cautious orbit around a planet that may already have claimed one of our own. Our sensor arrays were already unfurled, searching for any signs of our missing sister.
"Nav?" I said simply. The question didn't need voicing, they all knew what was being asked.
"Still nothing in orbit, Captain." I frowned. The atmosphere in the bridge was heavy and it was easy to understand why. If there was nothing in orbit, either our sister ship had left or something disastrous had happened to her. I was starting to fear the worst.
"Understood. Keep scanning and report any changes." We were locked into a stable orbit and until we had more information, there was little we could safely do but wait. My first urge had been to drop the ship into as low an orbit as possible, to give our sensors the best resolution of the surface - it was where I expected to find any actual evidence of what had happened given the reports of an established research site - but then caution had overruled haste. If something had happened, perhaps low orbit around the unnamed planet was where it had occurred.
And thus we waited. We waited for what seemed like days but couldn't have been more than a matter of hours. The steward brought us hot drinks and cold sandwiches to keep belly's full and eyes sharp. The interminable silence reigned over the bridge until finally it was broken by our Navigators grunt.
"Captain… I have something. Several somethings." I resisted the urge to bolt from my chair, as i'd seen that impulse land someone in the ceiling more than once.
"Show me." I said as I instead swam sedately across the short distance.
"Here; this canyon just saw sunrise." He said, pointing at his screen. The man, Murphy, I hoped his name was, had short, dirty nails. "And we just got an image of these" He tapped three points. The northernmost pair were close together, two black spots on an otherwise pale beige landscape, one significantly larger than the other and obviously artificial. The third was an indistinct haze of what might have been a base or small compound. Our resolution was too poor for too much detail to be visible. Even so, it was a start.
How shall we proceed?
[ ] Drop into a low orbit and conduct close observations of the three sites.
[ ] Deploy the ships shuttle craft with away teams to investigate, leaving a watch crew aboard the ship.
[ ] Write in
Appendix 1 & 2 - PH-533 and the Mary Kingsley class
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Appendix 1 - PH-533
When PH-533 was first discovered by the Royal Scientific Survey Ship HMS William Dampier initial reports compared it to Mars, and indeed it's was only a little larger than the red planet that for so long tempted Earth explorers. It could not, however, have been more different.
Denser than the than dusty planet, explorers would experience higher gravity than those who first stepped foot on Mars, and the planet had a thicker atmosphere to match. Not nearly as breathable as Earths, of course, but useful and even survivable for a brief time. It was, however, cold with a mean temperature that stayed below freezing for the majority of its seasonal period and left it with but a small pair of polar caps with little other water present on the surface.
Of course, a description of a planet's characteristics means little without a description of its features. Often cloudless except in it's very brief summer period, the beige surface is visible in all pictures of the planet. The surface is a thin mix of Silicates, dust and worn rock stripped from PH-533's mountain ranges by the harsh winds that sometimes blow across the planet. Those ranges are still, however, harsh spikes, an indicator of extreme volcanic activity at some point in the planet's past.
Outpost Eta was established only a matter of days after that ill-fated ship arrived in the planet's orbit, with wild suggestions of a ruined non-human complex appearing in the individual researchers messages home. The outpost is still a site of historical importance and thus is protected under the Commonwealth heritage Project.
- Excerpts from 'A History Of Human Space Exploration, Dr Shackle Neun, 2281
Appendix 2 - Mary Kingsley class Research Ships
First designed in 2227, the Mary Kingsley class were a leap forward in scientific research vessels in service by the Commonwealth Navy. At one hundred and twenty metres long and massing just eighteen hundred tons, she's smaller than similar ships in service with foreign navies, but has still left her mark on human exploration. Seventeen have been built in the thirty years or so of their service, entirely replacing the twenty-seven hundred ton Shackleton class survey vessels. Eight of these have been the initial Block 1 designs, followed by an updated nine of the Block 2 designs which added additional crew comforts and rearranged the cargo and supply spaces somewhat.
Technologically, the onboard systems of the Mary Kingsley are almost as advanced as some of the Navy's main line warships. Twin sensor sets, one designed for planetary survey and the other for stellar survey, allow high fidelity data to be gathered about all sorts of phenomena without risking the vessel or her crew. The closed-cycle fuel cells and extendible solar panels which power the ships are also some of the most advanced in production, allowing continuous power in any situation.
Regardless of the phenomenal technology that the Mary Kingsley's were built with, she has a full crew of just thirty including the space for ten scientists and researchers. With two six-crew bridge watches, an engineering staff of just three and four additional personnel, the ship is entirely staffed and ready for missions.
Despite her design for fully orbital survey missions, the class is also equipped with a pair of orbit-to-surface shuttles capable of carrying ten passengers and two flight crew to anything beyond the reaches of the ship itself. Each shuttle is well fitted for long term away missions, with an inflatable base structure and light ATV allowing those ten passengers to operate on the surface without supply for some time.
- From Jane's Naval Ships, Clarke and Monterrey, 2243
Episode 1 Part 3: Starship down
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Vote Details:
- 8 votes for Drop into a low orbit - @Crazy Tom @Noco @veekie @kinigget @Salbazier @Night_stalker @RedV @E73S
"That's the outpost then?" I pointed to the structure-like blur on the low resolution images. I fought down a frustrated growl, annoyed with myself for coming in so high. I knew it had been the only way to stay safe but even so, it meant more time wasted, more time in which the evidence of what had happened might slip through our fingers.
"It's exactly where their reports said it would be, give or take a few metres." Murphy's attempt to inject some humour into his tone fell well short of effective and, after an embarrassed silence, he continued, "These other two points though... Maybe volcanic activity, or weapons fire?" he shook his head, "If I'm honest Captain, I have no idea."
"Can I take a look?" I raised an eyebrow at my fresh faced helmsman, who was suddenly floating only a couple of feet from the navigator's station. While I welcomed initiative, I wondered if perhaps she wasn't a little too eager.
"Midshipman... Coleman. By all means." I slid sideways, allowing her to lean over the console and get a better look at the screen, albeit upside down from her orientation.
"That's an impact site." She said almost immediately, tapping the larger of the two black smudges. "Something big. I'd wager the other is as well, though I'd need a closer look to make it a sure thing."
"You're very sure of yourself, midshipman." Murphy put so much stress on the young woman's rank he almost broke the word. They were almost polar opposites, she the very image of youth, he the picture of grizzled experience. Perhaps it didn't help either that she was on the officers track and he, as the ships most senior Hand, was not.
"I had a semester of disaster response. My essay was on the survivability of air crashes." She'd become defensive, almost physically curling up, and her face flushed bright red almost as soon as she'd realised.
"Thank you, Coleman. And thank you, Mr Murphy." I cut them off before they could devolve into the intense bickering that only a newly formed bridge crew could manage, and this crew was nothing if not hastily put together.
One, maybe two crash sites and an outpost with no beacons or radio signals. No sign of our sister ship, assuming she was still flying. Assuming she wasn't half buried in one of those crash sites. I wondered momentarily what it would be like to scream down through the atmosphere in a ship designed for space. The images that flickered through my minds eye were as horrifying as they were fascinating. I hoped beyond hope that the crash sites would simply be our sisters shuttle craft. It was a much more comfortable idea than the loss of a starship in atmosphere.
"I think we need to take a closer look at those three points of interest. Helm, plot a descent to five hundred kilometres and circularise."
Sitting in my office a day later, I studied the images we'd taken like a hawk studies a field when it's hunting for prey. It had taken almost a full twenty-four hours to get the images we needed, and the tension aboard had only built. I felt glad that I rarely went aft to the living sections, mostly choosing to sleep in my office. Apparently two scuffles had broken out as various hands theorised as to what exactly had happened. Fortunately without the scientists aboard there was plenty of space for the crew to eat as separately as they desired. I hadn't had to step in and exert my authority.
I shook my head, dragging my thoughts back to the problem at hand. From five hundred kilometres the images we'd taken were extremely detailed, and what they showed confirmed my worst fears. The smaller of the impact sites - for the midshipman had been proven right, that was what they were - seemed to be one of the shuttles from the William Dampier, smashed against the barren surface. The other, I was sad to record in my log, was the wreck of the William Dampier herself. I could not record her as all hands lost, not until we had investigated further, but between the lack of contact and the burned and buckled hull plates that were visible from orbit, I would be surprised if I could do anything but add that detail.
The third set of images were just as… interesting seemed like the wrong word for an abandoned base. The sandy surface layer that covered everything but the mountains of the planet below was built up one one side of the few low buildings, and against one side of the silent shuttle that sat alongside them. There were no signs of current habitation, but thermal imaging showed several heat sources. It hinted at something I wouldn't dare to hope for, a hope that the images of the crashed ships wanted to wash away.
My door alarm started beeping insistently enough that I couldn't simply ignore it. Closing the computer's screen - I was trying to maintain some level of secrecy around what we knew - I pushed the button that opened the hatch from the inside. Floating in the now open door was my First Officer, Lieutenant Devin Wescott. We'd seen comparatively little of each other since I came aboard. I had wondered more than once whether he'd been trying to avoid me. I supposed this was a time when he couldn't.
"Captain, I-" he cut himself off, throwing me the sketchiest salute he could get away with. I nodded for him to continue, "The crew are restless, Captain. Rumours are flying, and tensions are mounting."
"I know, Mr Wescott, I've read the reports. How is Ms Abernathy's jaw?" The young engineer had taken a mean right hook over breakfast, though by all accounts she'd given as good as she'd got.
"Healing well. It didn't even need a pin, just setting." Wescott flashed a brief smile. "Heart of oak and all that, I suppose."
"Just as long as she can still take her watch… I'm assuming you had a suggestion, Mr Wescott?"
"We must take action, Captain, and soon. Do you have a plan?"
Do you have a plan?
[ ] A plan? Everyone is lost. We will image the ruins and return home.
[ ] Of course. I will take a shuttle to the crashed ship/the crashed shuttle/the abandoned base (pick one) with an away team.
[ ] Of course. You will lead an away team to the crashed ship/the crashed shuttle/the abandoned base (pick one).
[ ] Write in.
- 8 votes for Drop into a low orbit - @Crazy Tom @Noco @veekie @kinigget @Salbazier @Night_stalker @RedV @E73S
"That's the outpost then?" I pointed to the structure-like blur on the low resolution images. I fought down a frustrated growl, annoyed with myself for coming in so high. I knew it had been the only way to stay safe but even so, it meant more time wasted, more time in which the evidence of what had happened might slip through our fingers.
"It's exactly where their reports said it would be, give or take a few metres." Murphy's attempt to inject some humour into his tone fell well short of effective and, after an embarrassed silence, he continued, "These other two points though... Maybe volcanic activity, or weapons fire?" he shook his head, "If I'm honest Captain, I have no idea."
"Can I take a look?" I raised an eyebrow at my fresh faced helmsman, who was suddenly floating only a couple of feet from the navigator's station. While I welcomed initiative, I wondered if perhaps she wasn't a little too eager.
"Midshipman... Coleman. By all means." I slid sideways, allowing her to lean over the console and get a better look at the screen, albeit upside down from her orientation.
"That's an impact site." She said almost immediately, tapping the larger of the two black smudges. "Something big. I'd wager the other is as well, though I'd need a closer look to make it a sure thing."
"You're very sure of yourself, midshipman." Murphy put so much stress on the young woman's rank he almost broke the word. They were almost polar opposites, she the very image of youth, he the picture of grizzled experience. Perhaps it didn't help either that she was on the officers track and he, as the ships most senior Hand, was not.
"I had a semester of disaster response. My essay was on the survivability of air crashes." She'd become defensive, almost physically curling up, and her face flushed bright red almost as soon as she'd realised.
"Thank you, Coleman. And thank you, Mr Murphy." I cut them off before they could devolve into the intense bickering that only a newly formed bridge crew could manage, and this crew was nothing if not hastily put together.
One, maybe two crash sites and an outpost with no beacons or radio signals. No sign of our sister ship, assuming she was still flying. Assuming she wasn't half buried in one of those crash sites. I wondered momentarily what it would be like to scream down through the atmosphere in a ship designed for space. The images that flickered through my minds eye were as horrifying as they were fascinating. I hoped beyond hope that the crash sites would simply be our sisters shuttle craft. It was a much more comfortable idea than the loss of a starship in atmosphere.
"I think we need to take a closer look at those three points of interest. Helm, plot a descent to five hundred kilometres and circularise."
- - -
Sitting in my office a day later, I studied the images we'd taken like a hawk studies a field when it's hunting for prey. It had taken almost a full twenty-four hours to get the images we needed, and the tension aboard had only built. I felt glad that I rarely went aft to the living sections, mostly choosing to sleep in my office. Apparently two scuffles had broken out as various hands theorised as to what exactly had happened. Fortunately without the scientists aboard there was plenty of space for the crew to eat as separately as they desired. I hadn't had to step in and exert my authority.
I shook my head, dragging my thoughts back to the problem at hand. From five hundred kilometres the images we'd taken were extremely detailed, and what they showed confirmed my worst fears. The smaller of the impact sites - for the midshipman had been proven right, that was what they were - seemed to be one of the shuttles from the William Dampier, smashed against the barren surface. The other, I was sad to record in my log, was the wreck of the William Dampier herself. I could not record her as all hands lost, not until we had investigated further, but between the lack of contact and the burned and buckled hull plates that were visible from orbit, I would be surprised if I could do anything but add that detail.
The third set of images were just as… interesting seemed like the wrong word for an abandoned base. The sandy surface layer that covered everything but the mountains of the planet below was built up one one side of the few low buildings, and against one side of the silent shuttle that sat alongside them. There were no signs of current habitation, but thermal imaging showed several heat sources. It hinted at something I wouldn't dare to hope for, a hope that the images of the crashed ships wanted to wash away.
My door alarm started beeping insistently enough that I couldn't simply ignore it. Closing the computer's screen - I was trying to maintain some level of secrecy around what we knew - I pushed the button that opened the hatch from the inside. Floating in the now open door was my First Officer, Lieutenant Devin Wescott. We'd seen comparatively little of each other since I came aboard. I had wondered more than once whether he'd been trying to avoid me. I supposed this was a time when he couldn't.
"Captain, I-" he cut himself off, throwing me the sketchiest salute he could get away with. I nodded for him to continue, "The crew are restless, Captain. Rumours are flying, and tensions are mounting."
"I know, Mr Wescott, I've read the reports. How is Ms Abernathy's jaw?" The young engineer had taken a mean right hook over breakfast, though by all accounts she'd given as good as she'd got.
"Healing well. It didn't even need a pin, just setting." Wescott flashed a brief smile. "Heart of oak and all that, I suppose."
"Just as long as she can still take her watch… I'm assuming you had a suggestion, Mr Wescott?"
"We must take action, Captain, and soon. Do you have a plan?"
Do you have a plan?
[ ] A plan? Everyone is lost. We will image the ruins and return home.
[ ] Of course. I will take a shuttle to the crashed ship/the crashed shuttle/the abandoned base (pick one) with an away team.
[ ] Of course. You will lead an away team to the crashed ship/the crashed shuttle/the abandoned base (pick one).
[ ] Write in.
Episode 1 Part 4: The Lost LLV
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Vote Details:
- 4 votes for You will/crashed shuttle - @Night_stalker @E73S @veekie @pspan
- 2 votes for You will/abandoned base - @Crazy Tom @Salbazier
- 1 votes for I will/any - @RedV
"Is that all, Mr Wescott, a request? No grand ideas, nothing to put before your Captain now that you have her ear?" I smiled. I was only teasing the boy, young as he was. He was the only other commissioned officer aboard and I had hoped we'd be able to develop a better working relationship that I'd seen so far.
"N-no, Captain, I just meant-" he stammered. I held up a hand, stopping his stuttering.
"Yes, I have a plan. You'll lead an away team to the surface, to the site of the suspected shuttle crash. At the very least I'd like close passes from the shuttle's sensors and cameras but if you can find somewhere to set down, then personal observations. The flight data recorder would be a coup, but I'm uncertain how bad the crash was." I'll give him the credit he was due, he did his best in looking resolute and confident but there was still a glimmer of fear in the corner of his eye. It was a fear I'd known well once upon a time, the fear of independance and the fear of failure mixing together into a heady toxin that poisoned hope.
"Aye, Captain. And my crew?"
"You'll take several members of my crew, Mr Wescott. Kottindour, the engineering hand, Murphy for your sensors and Mcpherson as your pilot. Will you need more than four for your reconnaissance?" I could hardly plan everything for him.
"I can't see a need. However… what about weapons?"
"Weapons?" I hadn't actually expected the man to surprise me, but surprise me he had. "Do you think you'll need them?"
"Something caused this disaster Captain, and I'd rather be prepared should the time come."
"Very well. Murphy and yourself will carry sidearms. I hope you won't need them."
"So do I, Captain. We'll be ready for the next sunrise."
The shuttle LLV-14, nicknamed 'Little Rascal' to match it's sister ship LLV-17 'Big Trouble, drifted out of the George Vancouver's docking bay silently and slowly, provided the very least amount of thrust by the clamps that held it in place when it's larger mothership manoeuvred. After only a few minutes it's own engines fired, powerful rockets that dropped its course so it would plunge into the atmosphere of the planet below.
The descent was quick, the thin air barely causing a shudder in the solid airframe of the shuttle. Soon the gliding became a powered descent, intakes opening as the engines switched to air-breathing. They finally levelled out a handful of kilometres above the surface, barely ten thousand feet between the shuttle and the dusty rocks below.
"We're coming up on the crash site, Lieutenant." Mcpherson said over the shuttle's intercom and through my earpiece. We were all wearing sealed exploration suits. However safe the Captain believed this away mission to be, I was taking no risks with my ship, my crew. No matter what she said, for the next few hours, for all intents and purposes, these three were my crew. I would make sure they all came back where the crew of the Dampier hadn't. "Why don't you come up here and take a look?"
I stood shakily, still somewhat unnerved by the all too rapid descent towards the planet's surface. Reentry was not, maybe would never be, something I'd gotten used to, especially not when the descent angle was even steeper than anything I'd ever thought should be safely possible. Perhaps Mcpherson was simply a particularly brave pilot.
Motioning for the engineer, Kottindour, to follow I stepped through the still open cockpit hatch. It was strange to feel gravity again outside of the spin section of the Vancouver, even if it was only half a G. It would be difficult getting used to the bounce in my step.
The view out of the forward screens of the shuttle were well worth the struggle though. The sandy, mountainous vista stretched out as far as I could see, an unbroken landscape that was almost uniform. The lack of clouds and cool air made for the crispest horizon I'd ever seen.
"It's certainly pretty. I can see why the Dampier crew came down here." Murphy said, his eyes fixed on the sensor screens in front of him. Mcpherson shot him a scathing look.
"Aye, and look where it got 'em." He pointed at a canyon wall which we were coming up on fast. There, streaked down the canyon wall and across the plain below it, as the long black scorch mark that signalled the final resting place of the shuttle we'd been sent to find.
"Alright. We'll make a few passes, get the pictures the Captain wants. Murphy…"
"I know, Lieutenant, if I see anywhere to set down I'll say the word."
"Good man." I clapped him on the shoulder and immediately regretted it. We were not the same, these men and I. I hoped that they'd see a different side of me today.
The crash site was almost bare of anything useful but it was unmistakable as anything but a crash site. Small pieces of wreckage littered the sand where it hadn't been turned to glass by the intense heat of the shuttle smashing into the ground. Our boots crunched into the surface wherever we stepped, the fused silicate a hard layer on the otherwise soft ground. The place had an almost mournful air about it, or perhaps I was just overly cognizant of the fact that an unknown number of people had died here.
It wasn't just me, though.The others had been silent since we'd begun the kilometres trek across the dunes from where we'd managed to land the ship. I was simply thankful we'd managed to land so close. I had not been looking forward to a day's hike in these suits.
Another step. Another crunch of silicate under my boot tread. I wondered briefly, morbidly, whether any of the dust now mingling one the planet's surface was the remnants of the atomized crew. How much of the swirling clouds we'd kicked up was the shuttle's structure melted into nothingness. A grim series of thoughts.
"Anyone found anything?" My mic clicked on and off loudly in my ear as I spoke.
"Nothing but dust." Kottindour was examining the largest surviving part of the structure, a wing panel with a piece of the port engine compartment still attached.
"Same over here." Mcpherson
"I… I might have something…" Murphy had been wandering around with a portable scan set for the entire time we'd been here, eyes on the ground looking for any trace of useful data. We all converged on him, standing over a totally nondescript patch of ground. "Here… but it's below the surface."
"Buried? So then we dig." It was the only answer. I dropped to my knees and started scooping handfuls of dirt away with gloved hands. After a few moments the others joined me and the hole began to grow. It only took a few minutes before we hit something. Something solid, something cube like and partially melted.
It only took a few seconds to realise what it was. The Captain would be overjoyed.
"EVAC...EVAC...EVAC...EVAC… Will you shut that damn… overloaded as it is… Got an Intercept at fourteen… See her?... too close… Mayday, LLV-26 going…."
We listened to the recording in silence three times before either of us said a word.
"Is that really all we've got?"
"The recording was very heavily corrupted" Lieutenant Wescott wrung his hands uncomfortably. "I think that's what happens after you drop a flight recorder from near orbit."
"And what about the actual data?" There had to be come clue in it. We were beyond lucky to find the recorder, but this was almost an insult.
"Similar. Last altitude shows sub-orbital velocities, then the orientation readings go crazy and it plummets. Nothing more after that."
"A crash then. How did they crash an LLV, the things almost fly themselves? And why were they evacuating?"
"I think those might be the relevant questions, yes Captain." I raised an eyebrow at him. That had almost sounded insolent.
What happened to the shuttle?
[ ] Write in your theories, if you have them.
What's the next step?
[ ] The abandoned base - What were they running from?
[ ] The crashed ship - How did they lose her?
Who will go?
[ ] I will. It's my duty to lead and to find out what happened.
[ ] You will. My place is here, aboard my ship.
- 4 votes for You will/crashed shuttle - @Night_stalker @E73S @veekie @pspan
- 2 votes for You will/abandoned base - @Crazy Tom @Salbazier
- 1 votes for I will/any - @RedV
"Is that all, Mr Wescott, a request? No grand ideas, nothing to put before your Captain now that you have her ear?" I smiled. I was only teasing the boy, young as he was. He was the only other commissioned officer aboard and I had hoped we'd be able to develop a better working relationship that I'd seen so far.
"N-no, Captain, I just meant-" he stammered. I held up a hand, stopping his stuttering.
"Yes, I have a plan. You'll lead an away team to the surface, to the site of the suspected shuttle crash. At the very least I'd like close passes from the shuttle's sensors and cameras but if you can find somewhere to set down, then personal observations. The flight data recorder would be a coup, but I'm uncertain how bad the crash was." I'll give him the credit he was due, he did his best in looking resolute and confident but there was still a glimmer of fear in the corner of his eye. It was a fear I'd known well once upon a time, the fear of independance and the fear of failure mixing together into a heady toxin that poisoned hope.
"Aye, Captain. And my crew?"
"You'll take several members of my crew, Mr Wescott. Kottindour, the engineering hand, Murphy for your sensors and Mcpherson as your pilot. Will you need more than four for your reconnaissance?" I could hardly plan everything for him.
"I can't see a need. However… what about weapons?"
"Weapons?" I hadn't actually expected the man to surprise me, but surprise me he had. "Do you think you'll need them?"
"Something caused this disaster Captain, and I'd rather be prepared should the time come."
"Very well. Murphy and yourself will carry sidearms. I hope you won't need them."
"So do I, Captain. We'll be ready for the next sunrise."
- - -
The shuttle LLV-14, nicknamed 'Little Rascal' to match it's sister ship LLV-17 'Big Trouble, drifted out of the George Vancouver's docking bay silently and slowly, provided the very least amount of thrust by the clamps that held it in place when it's larger mothership manoeuvred. After only a few minutes it's own engines fired, powerful rockets that dropped its course so it would plunge into the atmosphere of the planet below.
The descent was quick, the thin air barely causing a shudder in the solid airframe of the shuttle. Soon the gliding became a powered descent, intakes opening as the engines switched to air-breathing. They finally levelled out a handful of kilometres above the surface, barely ten thousand feet between the shuttle and the dusty rocks below.
"We're coming up on the crash site, Lieutenant." Mcpherson said over the shuttle's intercom and through my earpiece. We were all wearing sealed exploration suits. However safe the Captain believed this away mission to be, I was taking no risks with my ship, my crew. No matter what she said, for the next few hours, for all intents and purposes, these three were my crew. I would make sure they all came back where the crew of the Dampier hadn't. "Why don't you come up here and take a look?"
I stood shakily, still somewhat unnerved by the all too rapid descent towards the planet's surface. Reentry was not, maybe would never be, something I'd gotten used to, especially not when the descent angle was even steeper than anything I'd ever thought should be safely possible. Perhaps Mcpherson was simply a particularly brave pilot.
Motioning for the engineer, Kottindour, to follow I stepped through the still open cockpit hatch. It was strange to feel gravity again outside of the spin section of the Vancouver, even if it was only half a G. It would be difficult getting used to the bounce in my step.
The view out of the forward screens of the shuttle were well worth the struggle though. The sandy, mountainous vista stretched out as far as I could see, an unbroken landscape that was almost uniform. The lack of clouds and cool air made for the crispest horizon I'd ever seen.
"It's certainly pretty. I can see why the Dampier crew came down here." Murphy said, his eyes fixed on the sensor screens in front of him. Mcpherson shot him a scathing look.
"Aye, and look where it got 'em." He pointed at a canyon wall which we were coming up on fast. There, streaked down the canyon wall and across the plain below it, as the long black scorch mark that signalled the final resting place of the shuttle we'd been sent to find.
"Alright. We'll make a few passes, get the pictures the Captain wants. Murphy…"
"I know, Lieutenant, if I see anywhere to set down I'll say the word."
"Good man." I clapped him on the shoulder and immediately regretted it. We were not the same, these men and I. I hoped that they'd see a different side of me today.
- - -
The crash site was almost bare of anything useful but it was unmistakable as anything but a crash site. Small pieces of wreckage littered the sand where it hadn't been turned to glass by the intense heat of the shuttle smashing into the ground. Our boots crunched into the surface wherever we stepped, the fused silicate a hard layer on the otherwise soft ground. The place had an almost mournful air about it, or perhaps I was just overly cognizant of the fact that an unknown number of people had died here.
It wasn't just me, though.The others had been silent since we'd begun the kilometres trek across the dunes from where we'd managed to land the ship. I was simply thankful we'd managed to land so close. I had not been looking forward to a day's hike in these suits.
Another step. Another crunch of silicate under my boot tread. I wondered briefly, morbidly, whether any of the dust now mingling one the planet's surface was the remnants of the atomized crew. How much of the swirling clouds we'd kicked up was the shuttle's structure melted into nothingness. A grim series of thoughts.
"Anyone found anything?" My mic clicked on and off loudly in my ear as I spoke.
"Nothing but dust." Kottindour was examining the largest surviving part of the structure, a wing panel with a piece of the port engine compartment still attached.
"Same over here." Mcpherson
"I… I might have something…" Murphy had been wandering around with a portable scan set for the entire time we'd been here, eyes on the ground looking for any trace of useful data. We all converged on him, standing over a totally nondescript patch of ground. "Here… but it's below the surface."
"Buried? So then we dig." It was the only answer. I dropped to my knees and started scooping handfuls of dirt away with gloved hands. After a few moments the others joined me and the hole began to grow. It only took a few minutes before we hit something. Something solid, something cube like and partially melted.
It only took a few seconds to realise what it was. The Captain would be overjoyed.
- - -
"EVAC...EVAC...EVAC...EVAC… Will you shut that damn… overloaded as it is… Got an Intercept at fourteen… See her?... too close… Mayday, LLV-26 going…."
We listened to the recording in silence three times before either of us said a word.
"Is that really all we've got?"
"The recording was very heavily corrupted" Lieutenant Wescott wrung his hands uncomfortably. "I think that's what happens after you drop a flight recorder from near orbit."
"And what about the actual data?" There had to be come clue in it. We were beyond lucky to find the recorder, but this was almost an insult.
"Similar. Last altitude shows sub-orbital velocities, then the orientation readings go crazy and it plummets. Nothing more after that."
"A crash then. How did they crash an LLV, the things almost fly themselves? And why were they evacuating?"
"I think those might be the relevant questions, yes Captain." I raised an eyebrow at him. That had almost sounded insolent.
What happened to the shuttle?
[ ] Write in your theories, if you have them.
What's the next step?
[ ] The abandoned base - What were they running from?
[ ] The crashed ship - How did they lose her?
Who will go?
[ ] I will. It's my duty to lead and to find out what happened.
[ ] You will. My place is here, aboard my ship.
Episode 1 Part 5: Personality Clash
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Vote Details:
Good Theories everyone. I look forward to seeing them develop.
- 5 votes for Crashed ship - @Mr Apollo @kinigget @Crazy Tom @E73S @pspan
- 1 votes for Abandoned base - @Night_stalker
- 5 votes for you will - @Night_stalker @kinigget @Crazy Tom @E73S @pspan
- 1 votes for I will - @Mr Apollo
Rubbing my forehead i leaned back, allowing the straps on my chair to hold me tightly against it's backrest. There wasn't nearly enough information to make even the vaguest of assumptions and yet every extra clue pointed to an even greater tragedy. A sudden evacuation, an overloaded shuttle and, if I had my guesses right, a failed intercept with the William Dampier.
There were too many questions with far too few answers. I had to find a starting point, a way of breaking open the eggshell of unknowns so that I could get at the facts inside. But I also couldn't put my crew at too much risk in the process. They may have been mine to command but they weren't mine to order to their deaths. The Dampier's crew had been running from something, and we still didn't know what. To warrant a full evacuation, using only one of the shuttle's they had at their disposal, it must have been something truly dangerous. Freak weather patterns maybe, or tectonic instabilities? Or something they found at the outpost, perhaps.
Still too many questions. Chewing my lip I stared silently at my expectant First Officer. He was the only member of the crew I'd ever allow to see me so indecisive. Anyone else might be affected negatively by it but he... he was supposed to be my rock, the one I could turn to in the face of adversity. At least, that's what First Officers had been for other Captains, on other ships. Perhaps this would be the thing that brought us closer together. Perhaps this mission would be the thing that turned the entire crew into a cohesive unit instead of the disparate and strung out group of ruffians I had currently.
Or it could be the thing that breaks them, a dark part of my psyche whispered, and me as well. The battle at Juniper Base had used up a lifetime's supply of luck and then some, maybe this would be where I finally run out.
No. I shook my head, frowning. Wescott opened his mouth as if to speak but I raised a hand, cutting him off. I'd finally hit on something. We had no answers, no facts and no ideas. So we had to start making some, even if it was the smallest of them.
"Come with me." I popped the buckles on my seat, pushing off and towards the door. It slid open quietly and I spun myself on the grab-bar until I was flying towards the bridge. I heard a quiet grunt from behind me as he followed suit a little less gracefully. The boy was lanky, grown to fast to be used to his height and it showed in his clumsiness. I imagine he was once quite a deft and agile midshipman before he shot to his now frankly discomforting height.
The bridge was quiet, with a few bored watch keepers manning screens as the ship effortlessly orbit the small planet below. Murphy wasn't amongst them for once, instead resting along with the others in the crew quarters after the away mission. Wescott, as my First Officer, didn't get the chance, not while we had work to do.
Instead of Murphy, we had the secondary Nav officer, Able Spacehand Mia Bellucci. Just as grizzled as Murphy and with a meaner punch - as Ms Abernathy had found out - she was perfectly capable of doing what I wanted her to do.
"Captain." She acknowledged quietly, glancing up as I caught the back of her chair. There was no point in trying to maintain military standards around the crew of ships like this. I tried my best, but the researchers we usually shipped with were such a bad influence any attempt was almost pointless.
"Bellucci. I need a simulation running." She nodded, clearing her screen of scan data and opening a parameter input. She looked up at me expectantly. A woman of few words, it seemed. It would explain the situation with Ms Abernathy. Leaning forward, I plugged my data wand into her console and thumb-printed a password. "Atmospheric data matches the planet. Point of origin for a shuttle ascent is the location marked on our systems as Outpost Eta, and final flight telemetry can be pulled from that wand."
"Aye, Ma'am." her fingers flew across the keyboard, hammering data into the simulation system. Maybe we'd finally get an idea of what had happened with this. "Done." If there was anything I was thankful for it was the powerful computer systems the George Vancouver was fitted with for purely theoretical use. Only the largest command ships had comparable potential in their cores.
We watched as the computer displayed a wireframe model of the planet below, a glowing point of light indicating the shuttle on the flat ground we had decided the William Dampier's crew had been using as a landing pad and runway. It was certainly close enough to the outpost to be the right spot. Bellucci tapped a key and the point of light started to ascend, leaving behind a trail to mark what must have been it's flight path. It rose slowly, lumberingly, or so I thought. Or perhaps I was just projecting our assumption that she was overloaded, weighed down by too many bodies and too much equipment. The altimeter on the screens edge ticked up and up, accelerating as she gained speed until suddenly it peaked, and jumped. The track shuddered and then, as if in counterpoint to its slow ascent, it plummeted before cutting out.
"That's where the data you gave me cuts out, Cap."
Really? I didn't even rate a full Captain? I would have to have words with Murphy about the hands discipline. I gave her my best withering glare before turning back to the screen, but she seemed unfazed. I don't think anything would have fazed the rangy, weather-beaten woman.
"Can you project that final course down to the surface?" Wescott said, rubbing his chin. It appeared the man had finally caught up with my idea. Bellucci tapped a few more keys and a cone slid out of the final data point, expanding out as it dropped until it finally shadowed a not insignificant patch of the surface.
"That solves that then..." We finally had some solid data to be working from, a solid idea of what was happening. The shuttle's crash site was almost in the centre of the shadowed portion.
"Doesn't tell us what they were doing dropping a starship into a planet's atmosphere, even one as thin as this one."
"It's a standard combat recovery operation, Mr Wescott." It truly was. I'd trained daily for three weeks from both sides of that particular scenario until I could do it blindfolded, just like the rest of my class.
"Yeah, Captain, for warships. You said it yourself, it's combat recovery, not for scared scientists and pilots who came off the merchant service."
"It's not a complicated manoeuvre for any well trained crew-" he cut me off.
"Not complicated? Not complicated! Captain, you're talking about a capture in forward bays on a shuttle under power with a ship that has all the aerodynamic stability of a brick. Not a warship designed for it."
"Mr Wescott, if you're suggesting the Dampier's crew was inadequate-" he cut me off again.
"For this? Yes, Captain, I am." I stared at him in muted silence. The rest of the bridge crew was watching the First Officer's little outburst with open mouths. I was not surprised. Simply disappointed. I was willing to let small failings in discipline slide, the lazy salutes and poorly worded responses. But this, in front of my crew, was too much for me to take without response.
"I presume, Lieutenant, that you are suffering exhaustion from your recent away mission. You are relieved until the next watch, and until you believe you can meet me in a manner that properly fits an officer in His Majesty's Navy. Once you believe you can handle that, I will see you in my quarters. Good day." I wasn't even looking at him but I felt every flinch tremor its way across the seat back we were both hanging from as each venomous word bit into him. He had the makings of an excellent young officer, but without a firm hand he would become a problem. And so it fell to me to be that firm hand.
"Captain, I-"
"I said good day, Lieutenant."
I was a pacer, always had been. Even an ounce of stress and I was striding back and forth across deck plates. Today wasn't the first time I'd praised whatever god was watching over us for giving me a cabin which I could pace. It just wasn't quite the same in zero-g, what with the lack of determined striding.
Today was, however, possibly the most worried I'd been since I'd joining the service. I didn't understand what had happened, or how that situation on the bridge had escalated so quickly. The woman didn't seem to understand that the George Vancouver wasn't a military ship, and neither was the William Dampier before it. We carried the rank structure, and we were technically under the Admiralty, but the Royal Scientific Service had more in common with the Merchant Marine than the Navy. I'd rankled when the news first broke that the hero of Juniper Base was to be our new commander, worried about what that would mean for the atmosphere aboard. Sure, the crew was new and we were hardly what could have been called cohesive but… all our ships had the same feel about them. She threatened that.
And now she'd relieved me of duty for the crime of coming to the defence of the Dampier's crew. Because I insisted that a tactic practiced by the Royal Marines and the Fleet Air Arm's best pilots would be potentially fatal in the hands of our own shuttle pilots. But, apparently, if the Fleet could do it then so could anyone. Ridiculous.
And so I paced, I paced and I thought. I wasn't getting any rest, not when every time I tried to stay still I had to fight my muscles into silence. Finally with a sigh I stopped. Locking myself in my own head was helping nothing, and yet by her orders there was little else I could do.
Instead I pulled the computer screen out of my desk and dropped heavily into the seat mounted behind it. Despite serving with her for several months I still couldn't work out how she could cope with almost constantly living in the zero-G of her office near the bridge. I'd have gone mad without my little cabin away from everything else, where I felt weight and, equally, privacy. I touched the corner of the frame my parents had gifted me before I left, a gilt copy of my commissioning papers and bachelor's degree. A reminder that I was not just an officer of His Majesty's Navy, but an educated scientist too. Not just a soldier. Not like the Captain.
I couldn't let this go unresolved. I opened the internal sensors and accessed the crew finder, a system that matched location to a map via biometrics and ID cards. Generally more useful on larger ships and stations, it didn't go entirely unused on a ship this small. It only took a few moments to find out the Captain was in her office.
Getting out of the living pods was always entertaining, especially for such a clumsy specimen as myself. First you had to climb from your deck up, through at least one other deck where the galley was located, and into the retractable spin arms. Then it was a ten metre climb-cum-fall-cum-float into the ship's core with only the centripetal force of the spin holding you to the ladder. I'd hurt myself doing it more than once.
I made it to the Captain's office door unscathed this time and took a moment to readjust my uniform. If she wanted the perfect image of an officer, then she'd get the best that I could be. After a few more seconds to steady my breathing, I pressed the buzzer.
She left me there for some time, gripping the grab bar by the door, floating in the corridor. Finally, eventually, the hatch slid open and I could breathe again. I pulled myself in and caught a bar recessed into the ceiling, steadying myself so I could give possibly the most perfect salute i'd ever thrown since I'd been in OCS.
"Mr Wescott." She closed her computer screen and crossed her arms. "I assume you've spent some time considering what happened."
"Aye, Ma'am." I said, my eyes fixed on a point somewhere on the bulkhead behind her some six inches or so above her head.
"Do you have anything to say?" She sounded like she was scolding a school child, not discussing an argument with her senior officer aboard.
"I'm ready to return to duty, Ma'am." I wasn't going to apologise for anything I'd said. She wouldn't have the satisfaction of thinking she was in the right. But I would give her the minimum to go back to work.
"Very well" She said after a long silence. "Are you rested?"
"Well enough to perform my duties, Ma'am." I was still speaking to the patch of bulkhead above her. I wondered if she considered my position of attention a sign of respect of an insolent note. I hoped, briefly, for the latter.
"Good. You're going to the surface again. I need someone I can rely on both down there and aboard and frankly, you're all I have. I suppose this is your opportunity to prove to me that you hold dear the values instilled in you as an officer in His Majesty's Navy, no matter which branch of the service you're in."
"I suppose so, Ma'am." I kept my voice level despite the rush of incensed feelings that blasted through me. How dare she. I had always been an excellent officer. There was a reason I'd passed my Lieutenant exams so early in my career. I had to fight to keep a scowl off my face.
"You're likely to be down there for more than a couple of hours this time, so prepare accordingly. I want you to do a full survey of the crash site of the William Dampier." She finished with a decisive gesture.
"Not the outpost itself, Captain?" I was so surprised I finally looked her in the face. I thought the origin site for the shuttle would give the most clues as to what had happened and, if I was completely honest, I was most than a little curious as to what prompted an outpost to be established on this otherwise dull little rock. It didn't seem particularly promising for anything.
"The crew of the Dampier was running from something, Lieutenant, and I'd rather gather as much information as we can before we have to escape ourselves. Or do you disagree?"
"No, Ma'am, point taken." I smiled briefly. Perhaps the argument could be washed over a little, for the sake of the mission.
"So, I want data download, personal effects, a full sweep and recovery. I'd like you to take less than three days, if possible, but I'll consider extensions as needed.
"That's… Yes, Ma'am." I was essentially going to have my own command for three days. On the surface of a planet, sure, but nonetheless.
"Take Kottindour and Murphy, and three more of your choosing. We're hardly running full watches up here, so you won't do too much damage." She said, her own brief smile flickering across her lips. "And yes, you can carry sidearms as well." I couldn't help but grin, though the idea put more than a little of the fear that had been fading back into me head.
I made the mistake of picking Mcpherson to be my pilot again. Or perhaps mistake was the wrong word, perhaps he was the best man for the job given I wouldn't be surprised if he could make the shot if we had to do an atmospheric docking procedure. The same procedure that had killed the George Dampier and her crew. Well done Devin, that was the perfect thing to be thinking about as we dropped into the atmosphere to see their final resting place.
Either way we plunged towards the surface and levelled out, engine's burning the thin air and carrying us over the dust-blasted landscape. Standing in the hatch to the cockpit I could look out of the canopy at the planet or look back at the three other members of my away team. Along with Kottindour I'd brought Hallman, one of the ship's systems specialists and a communications specialist named Robinson. I hoped that between them we had every skill set needed to fully explore whatever was left of the ship.
"Lieutenant?" Murphy called over the intercom from the co-pilots seat. I stepped up behind him and peered at the screens he was reading. He'd highlighted the crash site, and several major details and it looked like we'd gotten awful lucky.
Three major pieces of wreckage were scattered across a kilometre or two of barren desert, the entire area scarred black by the impact. It looked like at least part of the forward section had survived, maybe even the bridge. The second was a living pod, torn free and which had apparently tumbled some distance across the surface. Finally there was a large collection of unrecognizable wreckage, which could have been anything but that was certainly worth investigating.
"I've got two good landing sites, Lieutenant." Mcpherson got my attention and pointed at one of his screens. "One's right up by the crash site, the other's a couple of clicks away. Looks a bit safer, that second one. Which do you want?"
Where to land?
[ ] As close to the crash site as possible.
[ ] Further is safer. We'll drive the ATV over.
What's the plan?
[ ] Immediate survey of the forward section/living pod/wreckage.
[ ] Immediate survey of the entire site, splitting the crew.
[ ] Establish a camp, ensure surface to orbit comms.
Good Theories everyone. I look forward to seeing them develop.
- 5 votes for Crashed ship - @Mr Apollo @kinigget @Crazy Tom @E73S @pspan
- 1 votes for Abandoned base - @Night_stalker
- 5 votes for you will - @Night_stalker @kinigget @Crazy Tom @E73S @pspan
- 1 votes for I will - @Mr Apollo
Rubbing my forehead i leaned back, allowing the straps on my chair to hold me tightly against it's backrest. There wasn't nearly enough information to make even the vaguest of assumptions and yet every extra clue pointed to an even greater tragedy. A sudden evacuation, an overloaded shuttle and, if I had my guesses right, a failed intercept with the William Dampier.
There were too many questions with far too few answers. I had to find a starting point, a way of breaking open the eggshell of unknowns so that I could get at the facts inside. But I also couldn't put my crew at too much risk in the process. They may have been mine to command but they weren't mine to order to their deaths. The Dampier's crew had been running from something, and we still didn't know what. To warrant a full evacuation, using only one of the shuttle's they had at their disposal, it must have been something truly dangerous. Freak weather patterns maybe, or tectonic instabilities? Or something they found at the outpost, perhaps.
Still too many questions. Chewing my lip I stared silently at my expectant First Officer. He was the only member of the crew I'd ever allow to see me so indecisive. Anyone else might be affected negatively by it but he... he was supposed to be my rock, the one I could turn to in the face of adversity. At least, that's what First Officers had been for other Captains, on other ships. Perhaps this would be the thing that brought us closer together. Perhaps this mission would be the thing that turned the entire crew into a cohesive unit instead of the disparate and strung out group of ruffians I had currently.
Or it could be the thing that breaks them, a dark part of my psyche whispered, and me as well. The battle at Juniper Base had used up a lifetime's supply of luck and then some, maybe this would be where I finally run out.
No. I shook my head, frowning. Wescott opened his mouth as if to speak but I raised a hand, cutting him off. I'd finally hit on something. We had no answers, no facts and no ideas. So we had to start making some, even if it was the smallest of them.
"Come with me." I popped the buckles on my seat, pushing off and towards the door. It slid open quietly and I spun myself on the grab-bar until I was flying towards the bridge. I heard a quiet grunt from behind me as he followed suit a little less gracefully. The boy was lanky, grown to fast to be used to his height and it showed in his clumsiness. I imagine he was once quite a deft and agile midshipman before he shot to his now frankly discomforting height.
The bridge was quiet, with a few bored watch keepers manning screens as the ship effortlessly orbit the small planet below. Murphy wasn't amongst them for once, instead resting along with the others in the crew quarters after the away mission. Wescott, as my First Officer, didn't get the chance, not while we had work to do.
Instead of Murphy, we had the secondary Nav officer, Able Spacehand Mia Bellucci. Just as grizzled as Murphy and with a meaner punch - as Ms Abernathy had found out - she was perfectly capable of doing what I wanted her to do.
"Captain." She acknowledged quietly, glancing up as I caught the back of her chair. There was no point in trying to maintain military standards around the crew of ships like this. I tried my best, but the researchers we usually shipped with were such a bad influence any attempt was almost pointless.
"Bellucci. I need a simulation running." She nodded, clearing her screen of scan data and opening a parameter input. She looked up at me expectantly. A woman of few words, it seemed. It would explain the situation with Ms Abernathy. Leaning forward, I plugged my data wand into her console and thumb-printed a password. "Atmospheric data matches the planet. Point of origin for a shuttle ascent is the location marked on our systems as Outpost Eta, and final flight telemetry can be pulled from that wand."
"Aye, Ma'am." her fingers flew across the keyboard, hammering data into the simulation system. Maybe we'd finally get an idea of what had happened with this. "Done." If there was anything I was thankful for it was the powerful computer systems the George Vancouver was fitted with for purely theoretical use. Only the largest command ships had comparable potential in their cores.
We watched as the computer displayed a wireframe model of the planet below, a glowing point of light indicating the shuttle on the flat ground we had decided the William Dampier's crew had been using as a landing pad and runway. It was certainly close enough to the outpost to be the right spot. Bellucci tapped a key and the point of light started to ascend, leaving behind a trail to mark what must have been it's flight path. It rose slowly, lumberingly, or so I thought. Or perhaps I was just projecting our assumption that she was overloaded, weighed down by too many bodies and too much equipment. The altimeter on the screens edge ticked up and up, accelerating as she gained speed until suddenly it peaked, and jumped. The track shuddered and then, as if in counterpoint to its slow ascent, it plummeted before cutting out.
"That's where the data you gave me cuts out, Cap."
Really? I didn't even rate a full Captain? I would have to have words with Murphy about the hands discipline. I gave her my best withering glare before turning back to the screen, but she seemed unfazed. I don't think anything would have fazed the rangy, weather-beaten woman.
"Can you project that final course down to the surface?" Wescott said, rubbing his chin. It appeared the man had finally caught up with my idea. Bellucci tapped a few more keys and a cone slid out of the final data point, expanding out as it dropped until it finally shadowed a not insignificant patch of the surface.
"That solves that then..." We finally had some solid data to be working from, a solid idea of what was happening. The shuttle's crash site was almost in the centre of the shadowed portion.
"Doesn't tell us what they were doing dropping a starship into a planet's atmosphere, even one as thin as this one."
"It's a standard combat recovery operation, Mr Wescott." It truly was. I'd trained daily for three weeks from both sides of that particular scenario until I could do it blindfolded, just like the rest of my class.
"Yeah, Captain, for warships. You said it yourself, it's combat recovery, not for scared scientists and pilots who came off the merchant service."
"It's not a complicated manoeuvre for any well trained crew-" he cut me off.
"Not complicated? Not complicated! Captain, you're talking about a capture in forward bays on a shuttle under power with a ship that has all the aerodynamic stability of a brick. Not a warship designed for it."
"Mr Wescott, if you're suggesting the Dampier's crew was inadequate-" he cut me off again.
"For this? Yes, Captain, I am." I stared at him in muted silence. The rest of the bridge crew was watching the First Officer's little outburst with open mouths. I was not surprised. Simply disappointed. I was willing to let small failings in discipline slide, the lazy salutes and poorly worded responses. But this, in front of my crew, was too much for me to take without response.
"I presume, Lieutenant, that you are suffering exhaustion from your recent away mission. You are relieved until the next watch, and until you believe you can meet me in a manner that properly fits an officer in His Majesty's Navy. Once you believe you can handle that, I will see you in my quarters. Good day." I wasn't even looking at him but I felt every flinch tremor its way across the seat back we were both hanging from as each venomous word bit into him. He had the makings of an excellent young officer, but without a firm hand he would become a problem. And so it fell to me to be that firm hand.
"Captain, I-"
"I said good day, Lieutenant."
- - -
I was a pacer, always had been. Even an ounce of stress and I was striding back and forth across deck plates. Today wasn't the first time I'd praised whatever god was watching over us for giving me a cabin which I could pace. It just wasn't quite the same in zero-g, what with the lack of determined striding.
Today was, however, possibly the most worried I'd been since I'd joining the service. I didn't understand what had happened, or how that situation on the bridge had escalated so quickly. The woman didn't seem to understand that the George Vancouver wasn't a military ship, and neither was the William Dampier before it. We carried the rank structure, and we were technically under the Admiralty, but the Royal Scientific Service had more in common with the Merchant Marine than the Navy. I'd rankled when the news first broke that the hero of Juniper Base was to be our new commander, worried about what that would mean for the atmosphere aboard. Sure, the crew was new and we were hardly what could have been called cohesive but… all our ships had the same feel about them. She threatened that.
And now she'd relieved me of duty for the crime of coming to the defence of the Dampier's crew. Because I insisted that a tactic practiced by the Royal Marines and the Fleet Air Arm's best pilots would be potentially fatal in the hands of our own shuttle pilots. But, apparently, if the Fleet could do it then so could anyone. Ridiculous.
And so I paced, I paced and I thought. I wasn't getting any rest, not when every time I tried to stay still I had to fight my muscles into silence. Finally with a sigh I stopped. Locking myself in my own head was helping nothing, and yet by her orders there was little else I could do.
Instead I pulled the computer screen out of my desk and dropped heavily into the seat mounted behind it. Despite serving with her for several months I still couldn't work out how she could cope with almost constantly living in the zero-G of her office near the bridge. I'd have gone mad without my little cabin away from everything else, where I felt weight and, equally, privacy. I touched the corner of the frame my parents had gifted me before I left, a gilt copy of my commissioning papers and bachelor's degree. A reminder that I was not just an officer of His Majesty's Navy, but an educated scientist too. Not just a soldier. Not like the Captain.
I couldn't let this go unresolved. I opened the internal sensors and accessed the crew finder, a system that matched location to a map via biometrics and ID cards. Generally more useful on larger ships and stations, it didn't go entirely unused on a ship this small. It only took a few moments to find out the Captain was in her office.
Getting out of the living pods was always entertaining, especially for such a clumsy specimen as myself. First you had to climb from your deck up, through at least one other deck where the galley was located, and into the retractable spin arms. Then it was a ten metre climb-cum-fall-cum-float into the ship's core with only the centripetal force of the spin holding you to the ladder. I'd hurt myself doing it more than once.
I made it to the Captain's office door unscathed this time and took a moment to readjust my uniform. If she wanted the perfect image of an officer, then she'd get the best that I could be. After a few more seconds to steady my breathing, I pressed the buzzer.
She left me there for some time, gripping the grab bar by the door, floating in the corridor. Finally, eventually, the hatch slid open and I could breathe again. I pulled myself in and caught a bar recessed into the ceiling, steadying myself so I could give possibly the most perfect salute i'd ever thrown since I'd been in OCS.
"Mr Wescott." She closed her computer screen and crossed her arms. "I assume you've spent some time considering what happened."
"Aye, Ma'am." I said, my eyes fixed on a point somewhere on the bulkhead behind her some six inches or so above her head.
"Do you have anything to say?" She sounded like she was scolding a school child, not discussing an argument with her senior officer aboard.
"I'm ready to return to duty, Ma'am." I wasn't going to apologise for anything I'd said. She wouldn't have the satisfaction of thinking she was in the right. But I would give her the minimum to go back to work.
"Very well" She said after a long silence. "Are you rested?"
"Well enough to perform my duties, Ma'am." I was still speaking to the patch of bulkhead above her. I wondered if she considered my position of attention a sign of respect of an insolent note. I hoped, briefly, for the latter.
"Good. You're going to the surface again. I need someone I can rely on both down there and aboard and frankly, you're all I have. I suppose this is your opportunity to prove to me that you hold dear the values instilled in you as an officer in His Majesty's Navy, no matter which branch of the service you're in."
"I suppose so, Ma'am." I kept my voice level despite the rush of incensed feelings that blasted through me. How dare she. I had always been an excellent officer. There was a reason I'd passed my Lieutenant exams so early in my career. I had to fight to keep a scowl off my face.
"You're likely to be down there for more than a couple of hours this time, so prepare accordingly. I want you to do a full survey of the crash site of the William Dampier." She finished with a decisive gesture.
"Not the outpost itself, Captain?" I was so surprised I finally looked her in the face. I thought the origin site for the shuttle would give the most clues as to what had happened and, if I was completely honest, I was most than a little curious as to what prompted an outpost to be established on this otherwise dull little rock. It didn't seem particularly promising for anything.
"The crew of the Dampier was running from something, Lieutenant, and I'd rather gather as much information as we can before we have to escape ourselves. Or do you disagree?"
"No, Ma'am, point taken." I smiled briefly. Perhaps the argument could be washed over a little, for the sake of the mission.
"So, I want data download, personal effects, a full sweep and recovery. I'd like you to take less than three days, if possible, but I'll consider extensions as needed.
"That's… Yes, Ma'am." I was essentially going to have my own command for three days. On the surface of a planet, sure, but nonetheless.
"Take Kottindour and Murphy, and three more of your choosing. We're hardly running full watches up here, so you won't do too much damage." She said, her own brief smile flickering across her lips. "And yes, you can carry sidearms as well." I couldn't help but grin, though the idea put more than a little of the fear that had been fading back into me head.
- - -
I made the mistake of picking Mcpherson to be my pilot again. Or perhaps mistake was the wrong word, perhaps he was the best man for the job given I wouldn't be surprised if he could make the shot if we had to do an atmospheric docking procedure. The same procedure that had killed the George Dampier and her crew. Well done Devin, that was the perfect thing to be thinking about as we dropped into the atmosphere to see their final resting place.
Either way we plunged towards the surface and levelled out, engine's burning the thin air and carrying us over the dust-blasted landscape. Standing in the hatch to the cockpit I could look out of the canopy at the planet or look back at the three other members of my away team. Along with Kottindour I'd brought Hallman, one of the ship's systems specialists and a communications specialist named Robinson. I hoped that between them we had every skill set needed to fully explore whatever was left of the ship.
"Lieutenant?" Murphy called over the intercom from the co-pilots seat. I stepped up behind him and peered at the screens he was reading. He'd highlighted the crash site, and several major details and it looked like we'd gotten awful lucky.
Three major pieces of wreckage were scattered across a kilometre or two of barren desert, the entire area scarred black by the impact. It looked like at least part of the forward section had survived, maybe even the bridge. The second was a living pod, torn free and which had apparently tumbled some distance across the surface. Finally there was a large collection of unrecognizable wreckage, which could have been anything but that was certainly worth investigating.
"I've got two good landing sites, Lieutenant." Mcpherson got my attention and pointed at one of his screens. "One's right up by the crash site, the other's a couple of clicks away. Looks a bit safer, that second one. Which do you want?"
Where to land?
[ ] As close to the crash site as possible.
[ ] Further is safer. We'll drive the ATV over.
What's the plan?
[ ] Immediate survey of the forward section/living pod/wreckage.
[ ] Immediate survey of the entire site, splitting the crew.
[ ] Establish a camp, ensure surface to orbit comms.
Episode 1 Part 6: Outpost Apple
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Vote details:
- 8 votes for Further is safer - @E73S @veekie @kinigget @Mr Apollo @Crazy Tom @Blackfyre @pspan @Night_stalker
- 5 votes for Establish a base - @E73S @veekie @kinigget @Mr Apollo @pspan
- 3 votes for Immediate Recon - @Crazy Tom @Blackfyre @Night_stalker
"We've got a truck, we might as well make use of it. Put her down a little further away." I gripped the back of the co-pilot's chair as Mcpherson banked the shuttle over. He lined up on a bare stretch of ground and dropped towards the ground in a slow, careful descent. It was a strange counterpoint to the re-entry maneuver he'd performed earlier. Maybe he was a little more cautious when the ground was so close beneath us. As if a mistake earlier wouldn't have doomed us to a screaming and extremely fiery crash.
The whine of the shuttle's engine kicked up an octave as Mcpherson flicked a switch and activated the ship's thrust reversers. There was a lurch and a moment of nausea washed over me and he pulled the nose up hard, the sky filling the canopy. The roar of landing jets overrode the main engines and we settled slowly to the ground.
"And that is touchdown, Lieutenant."
"Lock her down, Mcpherson." I grinned at the pilot and made my way aft. We had work to do, and it was time to get to it. The rest of the team was already on their feet, satchels in their hands. I clicked on the intercom and hand-signaled for them all to pay attention. "Kottindour, Murphy, bring the ATV online, I want her travel ready in ten. Robinson, Hallman, we're on base prep. We're not heading out to the crash site until we're secure down here, let's go!"
As a stirring speech it lacked in almost every department, but it did the trick. I was hardly leading them into battle. Let alone ten, barely five minutes passed before the six wheeled ATV rolled down the shuttle's rear ramp with a rumble we could feel through our legs. Murphy popped the hatch and we started lashing up the first of the base structures. We had at least one night on the surface ahead of us, maybe even three, and I for one didn't want to spend them sleeping on the floor of the shuttle's cargo bay. Luckily, every shuttle in the science service carried a base package.
The package was a two part set, a pair of self-inflating modules which provided enough living and work space for a work party to operate on a planet's surface. Each was fully modular inside, able to be continuously reconfigured as their user's needs changed. We'd be rigging one up as a command and research centre and the other as living space with bunks for all six of us. It would lack the privacy that I, at least, was used to aboard the George Vancouver but it was significantly better than sleeping on a hard deck. It would also, thanks to the built in atmospheric processors, allow us to breathe comfortably without wearing our environment suits.
Unusually for equipment of its ilk, they were not self powering and we didn't as a rule carry solar panels for them. Instead our little base would be powered by either the ATV or the shuttle's fuel cell, allowing constant power so long as we had one of them on-site.
They were also designed to be able to fully integrate with other packages, expanding the structure to whatever size was needed. If we were staying on the surface for longer I'd be tempted to have Mcpherson return to the Vancouver for the other shuttle's load just so we had a little more space. I was perfectly comfortable working with the men and women I'd brought to the surface with me but the base we were building quite assuredly lacked a fresher. Apparently the designer had insisted carrying enough water to run it would be a waste of mass.
I thought of the base structure we'd seen in our orbital photo's. That was almost certainly built from the same structures we were now erecting. I hoped ours would survive the trip back to the ship, along with the rest of our equipment and, perhaps more importantly, us.
The two modules were heavy, but not so heavy that we couldn't drag them out on their pallets with the help of the ATV and it's tow cable. Setting them up was less easy though, and we were all soon sweating. Watching the two modules inflate themselves was a welcome moment of relaxation, the pair gracelessly bubbling up into their full, surprisingly large, size. But, sadly, we then had to get back to work attaching the two modules together and fitting them out internally. The whole endeavour took less than ninety minutes and by the end of it we had a six bunk cabin and a data centre which doubled as our communications and command post, a free-standing, self tracking dish already locked onto the Vancouvers expected orbit.
I stood comfortably in front of the computer that was part of our communications centre. My helmet was off for the first time in three hours and I was breathing cool, tasteless processed air. It was like the first sip of ice water on a hot day. My suit was plugged into the antennae via a suit link. It was time to find out if we had a functional array or not.
"HMS George Vancouver, this is-" I said and then balked. We were a shore facility without a name, an unchristened base. I glanced around, saw nothing but wide eyes and disinterested looks. I guess it was up to me. "This is Outpost Apple." It was the first word that came into my head and I was already kicking myself. I heard someone behind me cover a snort with a cough. It was probably Murphy, or maybe Robinson. She looked the type. "How copy?"
"You're coming in loud and clear, Apple, five by five while you're over the horizon." I thought I recognised the voice of Hai-Anan, one of the communications technicians who worked with Robinson. Maybe I should have had her make this call, she was the specialist after all.
"Copy that. Requesting Vancouver actual."
"I'm here, Outpost Apple." The Captain's voice was much more distinctive. "Are you hungry, Lieutenant Wescott?"
"Aye, Captain, famished." She chuckled throatily. Perhaps our working relationship would improve every time we put a hundred kilometres more between ourselves. I wondered idly for a moment how good it would be if we were on separate starships. "We're established on the surface and communications are solid. So long as nothing breaks, we're proceeding to the next part of the mission."
"Understood, Lieutenant. I'd appreciate an update every few hours, if possible. Unless something major changes, of course."
"Of course, Captain. Outpost Apple out." I broke the connection and signed off. Looking around at the faces of my away team around me I nodded firmly, decisively. We were ready to go.
Go Where?
[ ] We should try and do as full a survey as possible in the daylight we have left, prioritising speed.
[ ] We should start at the most important debris, the front/living pod/wreckage, and take our time. (pick one).
[ ] Write in.
- 8 votes for Further is safer - @E73S @veekie @kinigget @Mr Apollo @Crazy Tom @Blackfyre @pspan @Night_stalker
- 5 votes for Establish a base - @E73S @veekie @kinigget @Mr Apollo @pspan
- 3 votes for Immediate Recon - @Crazy Tom @Blackfyre @Night_stalker
"We've got a truck, we might as well make use of it. Put her down a little further away." I gripped the back of the co-pilot's chair as Mcpherson banked the shuttle over. He lined up on a bare stretch of ground and dropped towards the ground in a slow, careful descent. It was a strange counterpoint to the re-entry maneuver he'd performed earlier. Maybe he was a little more cautious when the ground was so close beneath us. As if a mistake earlier wouldn't have doomed us to a screaming and extremely fiery crash.
The whine of the shuttle's engine kicked up an octave as Mcpherson flicked a switch and activated the ship's thrust reversers. There was a lurch and a moment of nausea washed over me and he pulled the nose up hard, the sky filling the canopy. The roar of landing jets overrode the main engines and we settled slowly to the ground.
"And that is touchdown, Lieutenant."
"Lock her down, Mcpherson." I grinned at the pilot and made my way aft. We had work to do, and it was time to get to it. The rest of the team was already on their feet, satchels in their hands. I clicked on the intercom and hand-signaled for them all to pay attention. "Kottindour, Murphy, bring the ATV online, I want her travel ready in ten. Robinson, Hallman, we're on base prep. We're not heading out to the crash site until we're secure down here, let's go!"
As a stirring speech it lacked in almost every department, but it did the trick. I was hardly leading them into battle. Let alone ten, barely five minutes passed before the six wheeled ATV rolled down the shuttle's rear ramp with a rumble we could feel through our legs. Murphy popped the hatch and we started lashing up the first of the base structures. We had at least one night on the surface ahead of us, maybe even three, and I for one didn't want to spend them sleeping on the floor of the shuttle's cargo bay. Luckily, every shuttle in the science service carried a base package.
The package was a two part set, a pair of self-inflating modules which provided enough living and work space for a work party to operate on a planet's surface. Each was fully modular inside, able to be continuously reconfigured as their user's needs changed. We'd be rigging one up as a command and research centre and the other as living space with bunks for all six of us. It would lack the privacy that I, at least, was used to aboard the George Vancouver but it was significantly better than sleeping on a hard deck. It would also, thanks to the built in atmospheric processors, allow us to breathe comfortably without wearing our environment suits.
Unusually for equipment of its ilk, they were not self powering and we didn't as a rule carry solar panels for them. Instead our little base would be powered by either the ATV or the shuttle's fuel cell, allowing constant power so long as we had one of them on-site.
They were also designed to be able to fully integrate with other packages, expanding the structure to whatever size was needed. If we were staying on the surface for longer I'd be tempted to have Mcpherson return to the Vancouver for the other shuttle's load just so we had a little more space. I was perfectly comfortable working with the men and women I'd brought to the surface with me but the base we were building quite assuredly lacked a fresher. Apparently the designer had insisted carrying enough water to run it would be a waste of mass.
I thought of the base structure we'd seen in our orbital photo's. That was almost certainly built from the same structures we were now erecting. I hoped ours would survive the trip back to the ship, along with the rest of our equipment and, perhaps more importantly, us.
The two modules were heavy, but not so heavy that we couldn't drag them out on their pallets with the help of the ATV and it's tow cable. Setting them up was less easy though, and we were all soon sweating. Watching the two modules inflate themselves was a welcome moment of relaxation, the pair gracelessly bubbling up into their full, surprisingly large, size. But, sadly, we then had to get back to work attaching the two modules together and fitting them out internally. The whole endeavour took less than ninety minutes and by the end of it we had a six bunk cabin and a data centre which doubled as our communications and command post, a free-standing, self tracking dish already locked onto the Vancouvers expected orbit.
I stood comfortably in front of the computer that was part of our communications centre. My helmet was off for the first time in three hours and I was breathing cool, tasteless processed air. It was like the first sip of ice water on a hot day. My suit was plugged into the antennae via a suit link. It was time to find out if we had a functional array or not.
"HMS George Vancouver, this is-" I said and then balked. We were a shore facility without a name, an unchristened base. I glanced around, saw nothing but wide eyes and disinterested looks. I guess it was up to me. "This is Outpost Apple." It was the first word that came into my head and I was already kicking myself. I heard someone behind me cover a snort with a cough. It was probably Murphy, or maybe Robinson. She looked the type. "How copy?"
"You're coming in loud and clear, Apple, five by five while you're over the horizon." I thought I recognised the voice of Hai-Anan, one of the communications technicians who worked with Robinson. Maybe I should have had her make this call, she was the specialist after all.
"Copy that. Requesting Vancouver actual."
"I'm here, Outpost Apple." The Captain's voice was much more distinctive. "Are you hungry, Lieutenant Wescott?"
"Aye, Captain, famished." She chuckled throatily. Perhaps our working relationship would improve every time we put a hundred kilometres more between ourselves. I wondered idly for a moment how good it would be if we were on separate starships. "We're established on the surface and communications are solid. So long as nothing breaks, we're proceeding to the next part of the mission."
"Understood, Lieutenant. I'd appreciate an update every few hours, if possible. Unless something major changes, of course."
"Of course, Captain. Outpost Apple out." I broke the connection and signed off. Looking around at the faces of my away team around me I nodded firmly, decisively. We were ready to go.
Go Where?
[ ] We should try and do as full a survey as possible in the daylight we have left, prioritising speed.
[ ] We should start at the most important debris, the front/living pod/wreckage, and take our time. (pick one).
[ ] Write in.
Episode 1 Part 7: The William Dampier
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Vote Details:
- 7 for Start at the front - @E73S @kinigget @hcvquizibo @Crazy Tom @Vyslanté @Night_stalker @Mr Apollo
- 1 for Full Survey - @veekie
Every time the big-wheeled ATV hit a dune it bounced uncomfortably, the planet's low gravity barely keeping a hold on it. Every thirty seconds or so we lurched into the thin air and came back down with a bump. The rest of the team - other than McPherson, who'd decided he was staying with the shuttle - was strapped into the jump seats in the back but I'd chosen to spend the ride sitting next to Hallman, the only one of us with official ground vehicle qualifications. Kottindour had claimed she could drive anything with an engine, but I thought it best to put my trust in the one with a record backing them up.
We crested another rise and bounced off the ground. I braced for the landing, clenching my teeth as the twelve ton all-terrain vehicle slammed back down the ground. The gravity on this planet might have been light but it was still just as vindictive as on any other. The vehicle slewed to a halt, throwing everyone against the webbing keeping them in their chairs. The engine cut out and we were left in silence.
"Everyone okay?" I called. We'd come down a lot harder than I'd expected.
"Yeah." Kottindour.
"Aye, Sir." Robinson.
"I will be when Hallman learns how to drive."
"Thank you, Mr Murphy." I glanced at Hallman and grinned. They looked terrified, like I was about to chew them out for something out of their control. They'd always been a little twitchy, come to think of it. "Come on, let's get moving again."
They turned over the motor, the quiet hum of the electric drive kicking in to be replaced a moment later by the grind of the drive axle. My quiet amusement quickly turned to worry, however, when we didn't start rolling.
"Uh… Hallman."
"Sorry, Lieutenant." They grunted, pushing the throttle as far as it would go. I felt rather than heard the wheels spin. "I'm not getting any traction."
This was all we needed. I popped the buckle on my seat straps and headed aft. The ATV's rear hatch rattled open, hitting the ground with a bang and blowing up a cloud of dust. The wind was barely blowing but the air was filled with particulates. As much as I complained about it, I was thankful for the suit.
"Hallman, give it a little throttle." I watched the drive wheels spin for a moment. "Okay, that's enough."
The wheels - big thick-treaded run flat tyres designed to run across any surface, in any weather - turned out to be our own worst enemy in the fine sand that covered this planet's surface. We could have climbed mountains on them but here the massive treads were acting like shovels. Each turn of the wheels scooped out another spray of powder, digging the ATV further into the ground.
"We're gonna need shovels and traction plates out here." I said into the intercom, frowning. We were well prepared for this, the ATV already equipped with everything we needed to get ourselves out. What we didn't need was to waste the time it would take to dig her out. We'd already spent enough daylight putting the base together, now we'd lose even more.
Only Hallman stayed in the ATV while we worked. Freeing a stuck vehicle was a simple application of physics but I found myself sweating into my suit lining for the second time in a few hours. We buried the traction plates under the drive wheels, digging out even more of the thick dust to get them emplaced properly. Eventually, finally, as the mocking sun sank lower in the sky, the ATV roared out of the pit it had dug for itself and we all clambered back aboard.
As if the heavens were mocking our efforts, the crash site was only another few minutes drive away. We came over the last ridge, more slowly this time. Hallman appeared to have taken what happened earlier as a learning experience and had driven the rest of the way a little more cautiously. We still bounced, but we hadn't gotten stuck again.
The view presented to us over the ridge was heartstopping. Distant mountains framed a black streak which cut the landscape in two as if some giant had run a massive paintbrush dipped in pitch across the surface of the dunes. It was littered with debris, some just fist sized pieces of twisted metal, melted by the crash, others huge structural spars, the type that ran the length of the George Vancouver. The same ones, almost. The same design, from the same shipyards. Their ship could have been ours, had our operating schedules been different.
The scar stretched across at least a kilometre perpendicular to where we were. It was easy to see the major landmarks the ship's sensors had picked up though. There was the cluster of wreckage that still showed up as hot, there in the distance was the surviving living pod that had torn free. And there, between the two, was the forward section, resting at a forty-five degree incline in a crater of it's own creation. I was struck by how much had survived the impact, but if they'd hit at a shallow angle perhaps it wasn't that surprising. The damage trail certainly seemed to imply that the vessel had hit the ground some distance from where it finally came to rest.
I looked up at the blazing orange sun and checked the chronometer on my wrist. When we knew we were coming down here the first time we'd reset all our clocks to surface time and thanks to that little bit of foresight, I knew we only had two hours left. Two hours to do our initial recon and make some progress before we had to head back to the outpost. I wasn't willing to risk the dangers of working in the dark, and given the distance from here to our base of operations, we wouldn't get much of the daylight either.
We would simply have to make the most of what we had.
"Head for the forward section." I said, pointing at the semi-intact bridge structure sticking out of the dust. They put their foot down and rolled down the shallow slope leading into the crash site. "Listen up! We're heading for surviving parts of the forward section. We haven't got much time, so we need to work quickly, but safety comes first. If it looks unstable, mark the section and leave it for another day. We've got plenty of time to come back, but I can't bring you back if you wind up dead." An excellent turn of phrase to raise moral there, Lieutenant, i chided myself.
"What're we hunting, Sir?" Kottindour asked quietly.
"This is just initial recon. We'll scout out how much of the structure has survived, and check basic requirements. Are any of the emergency power cells still working, are any of the computer cores intact."
"I'll check the comms relays. There might be stored data." Robinson's voice sounded almost excited at the prospect.
"I'll get the power cells back online if they're not totally fried." Kottindour said.
"Good. Hallman, you're on the main core, Murphy, see if there's any scan logs. Got it?" They both replied in the affirmative even as Hallman braked to a halt, sliding slightly in the loose soil. "Then let's get to work."
We piled out of the back of the ATV, leaving it open to the elements as we each took up tools and checked pouches to ensure everything we'd brought with us was still properly situated. We had five pairs of hands and an hour. We just had to find a way in.
The shuttle hanger, suspended below the bridge, was crushed, smashed apart by the rest of the ship coming down on it. Everything underneath was exposed by the ships unhealthy tilt and that meant we had access to the ventral hatchways.
"Murphy, Robinson, see if you can get aboard through the bridge. Hallman, Kottindour, you're with me." I dropped down the craters edge and slid underneath the ship. It loomed dangerously overhead, an intimidating mass which seemed like at any moment it could tip over and crush us. But, given it had been suspended here for at least a week, it must have been reasonably secure. It still made me a little nervous.
Kottindour switched her helmet lights on and lit up the hatchway, standing underneath it with an inquisitive look on her face. She wasn't a particularly short woman, but the hatch was still at least four feet above her head.
"Hey Lieutenant, fancy giving me a boost?" She grinned at me. I shrugged and gestured for Hallman to join me. We locked hands and lifted her up so she could spin the hatches manual release and lever herself up into ship's innards. After a few seconds a rope dropped down and coiled up on the floor. "I've tied it off. Come on up" She shouted before her feet disappeared upwards.
I followed Hallman up and found myself in a dark, cold shell of a ship. The central corridor was pitch black other than a glowing halo where the rest of the ship had torn away and the gap was letting the light in. Our helmet lights shone brightly on specific sections but left the rest in darkness. I was soon left alone as Hallman and Kottindour both disappeared in search of their duties. It was somewhat eerie, like a mixture between a high tech art gallery and a graveyard. It was a graveyard I realised, for at least some of the crew. I hoped I wouldn't find a body. I hadn't joined up to work with bodies, I was a scientist.
Unfortunately, I was also an officer in His Majesty's Navy, and this was what I'd been ordered to do.
The Captain's office was only a short walk down the main corridor but it felt so much longer. Between the lack of light and the fact I was having to walk along a corridor I usually floated down several times a day, everything felt strange. It was sad for a ship like this to be ruined on the surface of a planet, where it was never meant to be, let alone the loss of life involved. I hated dead ships. They felt almost like something holy had be ruined. I'd once been on a crew taking an in-system courier to a scrapper's yard. It had not been the happiest day of my life.
"Hey, Lieutenant?" Kottindour was on the intercom again.
"Go ahead." I prayed briefly for good news.
"These fuel cells are ruined. Completely fried. Could pull some from the shuttle, or even the ATV, but it might just be easier to pull the data cores across the bridge."
What should we do?
[ ] Pull the ATV's fuel cells.
[ ] Bring some fuel cells from the shuttle tomorrow.
[ ] Pull the data cores and head for the outpost.
What's our aim?
[ ] We should access the Captain's personal logs.
[ ] We should pull the Captains computer core.
[ ] We do a full search of the office and find everything we can.
- 7 for Start at the front - @E73S @kinigget @hcvquizibo @Crazy Tom @Vyslanté @Night_stalker @Mr Apollo
- 1 for Full Survey - @veekie
Every time the big-wheeled ATV hit a dune it bounced uncomfortably, the planet's low gravity barely keeping a hold on it. Every thirty seconds or so we lurched into the thin air and came back down with a bump. The rest of the team - other than McPherson, who'd decided he was staying with the shuttle - was strapped into the jump seats in the back but I'd chosen to spend the ride sitting next to Hallman, the only one of us with official ground vehicle qualifications. Kottindour had claimed she could drive anything with an engine, but I thought it best to put my trust in the one with a record backing them up.
We crested another rise and bounced off the ground. I braced for the landing, clenching my teeth as the twelve ton all-terrain vehicle slammed back down the ground. The gravity on this planet might have been light but it was still just as vindictive as on any other. The vehicle slewed to a halt, throwing everyone against the webbing keeping them in their chairs. The engine cut out and we were left in silence.
"Everyone okay?" I called. We'd come down a lot harder than I'd expected.
"Yeah." Kottindour.
"Aye, Sir." Robinson.
"I will be when Hallman learns how to drive."
"Thank you, Mr Murphy." I glanced at Hallman and grinned. They looked terrified, like I was about to chew them out for something out of their control. They'd always been a little twitchy, come to think of it. "Come on, let's get moving again."
They turned over the motor, the quiet hum of the electric drive kicking in to be replaced a moment later by the grind of the drive axle. My quiet amusement quickly turned to worry, however, when we didn't start rolling.
"Uh… Hallman."
"Sorry, Lieutenant." They grunted, pushing the throttle as far as it would go. I felt rather than heard the wheels spin. "I'm not getting any traction."
This was all we needed. I popped the buckle on my seat straps and headed aft. The ATV's rear hatch rattled open, hitting the ground with a bang and blowing up a cloud of dust. The wind was barely blowing but the air was filled with particulates. As much as I complained about it, I was thankful for the suit.
"Hallman, give it a little throttle." I watched the drive wheels spin for a moment. "Okay, that's enough."
The wheels - big thick-treaded run flat tyres designed to run across any surface, in any weather - turned out to be our own worst enemy in the fine sand that covered this planet's surface. We could have climbed mountains on them but here the massive treads were acting like shovels. Each turn of the wheels scooped out another spray of powder, digging the ATV further into the ground.
"We're gonna need shovels and traction plates out here." I said into the intercom, frowning. We were well prepared for this, the ATV already equipped with everything we needed to get ourselves out. What we didn't need was to waste the time it would take to dig her out. We'd already spent enough daylight putting the base together, now we'd lose even more.
Only Hallman stayed in the ATV while we worked. Freeing a stuck vehicle was a simple application of physics but I found myself sweating into my suit lining for the second time in a few hours. We buried the traction plates under the drive wheels, digging out even more of the thick dust to get them emplaced properly. Eventually, finally, as the mocking sun sank lower in the sky, the ATV roared out of the pit it had dug for itself and we all clambered back aboard.
- - -
As if the heavens were mocking our efforts, the crash site was only another few minutes drive away. We came over the last ridge, more slowly this time. Hallman appeared to have taken what happened earlier as a learning experience and had driven the rest of the way a little more cautiously. We still bounced, but we hadn't gotten stuck again.
The view presented to us over the ridge was heartstopping. Distant mountains framed a black streak which cut the landscape in two as if some giant had run a massive paintbrush dipped in pitch across the surface of the dunes. It was littered with debris, some just fist sized pieces of twisted metal, melted by the crash, others huge structural spars, the type that ran the length of the George Vancouver. The same ones, almost. The same design, from the same shipyards. Their ship could have been ours, had our operating schedules been different.
The scar stretched across at least a kilometre perpendicular to where we were. It was easy to see the major landmarks the ship's sensors had picked up though. There was the cluster of wreckage that still showed up as hot, there in the distance was the surviving living pod that had torn free. And there, between the two, was the forward section, resting at a forty-five degree incline in a crater of it's own creation. I was struck by how much had survived the impact, but if they'd hit at a shallow angle perhaps it wasn't that surprising. The damage trail certainly seemed to imply that the vessel had hit the ground some distance from where it finally came to rest.
I looked up at the blazing orange sun and checked the chronometer on my wrist. When we knew we were coming down here the first time we'd reset all our clocks to surface time and thanks to that little bit of foresight, I knew we only had two hours left. Two hours to do our initial recon and make some progress before we had to head back to the outpost. I wasn't willing to risk the dangers of working in the dark, and given the distance from here to our base of operations, we wouldn't get much of the daylight either.
We would simply have to make the most of what we had.
"Head for the forward section." I said, pointing at the semi-intact bridge structure sticking out of the dust. They put their foot down and rolled down the shallow slope leading into the crash site. "Listen up! We're heading for surviving parts of the forward section. We haven't got much time, so we need to work quickly, but safety comes first. If it looks unstable, mark the section and leave it for another day. We've got plenty of time to come back, but I can't bring you back if you wind up dead." An excellent turn of phrase to raise moral there, Lieutenant, i chided myself.
"What're we hunting, Sir?" Kottindour asked quietly.
"This is just initial recon. We'll scout out how much of the structure has survived, and check basic requirements. Are any of the emergency power cells still working, are any of the computer cores intact."
"I'll check the comms relays. There might be stored data." Robinson's voice sounded almost excited at the prospect.
"I'll get the power cells back online if they're not totally fried." Kottindour said.
"Good. Hallman, you're on the main core, Murphy, see if there's any scan logs. Got it?" They both replied in the affirmative even as Hallman braked to a halt, sliding slightly in the loose soil. "Then let's get to work."
We piled out of the back of the ATV, leaving it open to the elements as we each took up tools and checked pouches to ensure everything we'd brought with us was still properly situated. We had five pairs of hands and an hour. We just had to find a way in.
The shuttle hanger, suspended below the bridge, was crushed, smashed apart by the rest of the ship coming down on it. Everything underneath was exposed by the ships unhealthy tilt and that meant we had access to the ventral hatchways.
"Murphy, Robinson, see if you can get aboard through the bridge. Hallman, Kottindour, you're with me." I dropped down the craters edge and slid underneath the ship. It loomed dangerously overhead, an intimidating mass which seemed like at any moment it could tip over and crush us. But, given it had been suspended here for at least a week, it must have been reasonably secure. It still made me a little nervous.
Kottindour switched her helmet lights on and lit up the hatchway, standing underneath it with an inquisitive look on her face. She wasn't a particularly short woman, but the hatch was still at least four feet above her head.
"Hey Lieutenant, fancy giving me a boost?" She grinned at me. I shrugged and gestured for Hallman to join me. We locked hands and lifted her up so she could spin the hatches manual release and lever herself up into ship's innards. After a few seconds a rope dropped down and coiled up on the floor. "I've tied it off. Come on up" She shouted before her feet disappeared upwards.
I followed Hallman up and found myself in a dark, cold shell of a ship. The central corridor was pitch black other than a glowing halo where the rest of the ship had torn away and the gap was letting the light in. Our helmet lights shone brightly on specific sections but left the rest in darkness. I was soon left alone as Hallman and Kottindour both disappeared in search of their duties. It was somewhat eerie, like a mixture between a high tech art gallery and a graveyard. It was a graveyard I realised, for at least some of the crew. I hoped I wouldn't find a body. I hadn't joined up to work with bodies, I was a scientist.
Unfortunately, I was also an officer in His Majesty's Navy, and this was what I'd been ordered to do.
The Captain's office was only a short walk down the main corridor but it felt so much longer. Between the lack of light and the fact I was having to walk along a corridor I usually floated down several times a day, everything felt strange. It was sad for a ship like this to be ruined on the surface of a planet, where it was never meant to be, let alone the loss of life involved. I hated dead ships. They felt almost like something holy had be ruined. I'd once been on a crew taking an in-system courier to a scrapper's yard. It had not been the happiest day of my life.
"Hey, Lieutenant?" Kottindour was on the intercom again.
"Go ahead." I prayed briefly for good news.
"These fuel cells are ruined. Completely fried. Could pull some from the shuttle, or even the ATV, but it might just be easier to pull the data cores across the bridge."
What should we do?
[ ] Pull the ATV's fuel cells.
[ ] Bring some fuel cells from the shuttle tomorrow.
[ ] Pull the data cores and head for the outpost.
What's our aim?
[ ] We should access the Captain's personal logs.
[ ] We should pull the Captains computer core.
[ ] We do a full search of the office and find everything we can.
Episode 1 Part 8: Remains
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
Vote results:
- 7 votes for Pull the cores - @pspan @kinigget @veekie @Vyslanté @Crazy Tom @Night_stalker @E73S
- 5 votes for Pull the Captain's Core - @pspan @veekie @Crazy Tom @Night_stalker @E73S
- 1 votes for read the Captain's logs - @kinigget
Of course the fates weren't on my side. This mission had been nothing but one bad experience after another, from getting saddled with the epitome of military bravado that was Captain Gibson to our shouting match on the bridge, to finding the Dampier smashed on the surface like some grossly enlarged child had thrown a tantrum with her as it's toy. And now we'd have to strip her carcass like vultures if we wanted to discover her last moments. It seemed almost predatory, let alone the shame that washed through me as I thought about the disrespect we were doing her and her crew.
"Leave it. We'll pull what we can. I don't want to work here any longer than we have to." I said into my suit radio. It had been too much to hope that the back-up fuel cells hadn't burned themselves up in the hours after the initial crash, if they hadn't been destroyed by the impact anyway. Neither would have truly surprised me. "Hallman, how's the core?"
They'd disappeared some minutes before away into the belly of the forward sections, dropping through the floor hatch just aft of the bridge. The main computer core was seated between the command bridge and the shuttle bay decks, a quiet little well protected room which held the main processors that kept the ship in working order. It was well cooled due to the sheer quantity of constantly powered server stacks and was often the coldest place aboard that wasn't exposed to the void. Once, as a young midshipman, I'd found two engineering crewmen resting in the core after an extended and particularly sweltering EVA. Their ingenuity had surprised me at the time, new to the service as I was. Now I knew the spot as a particular favourite for a variety of less than specifically authorised activities. There was one on every ship, a little room that got converted to all sorts of salacious uses. The computer core was ours.
"Pretty smashed up, and full of that damned dust. Want me to smash and grab?"
"Less smash, more grab, if you don't mind." I turned back to the hatch on the Captain's cabin and found the manual release. I'd never needed to use it before, but the pop-out hand holds were identical to every other hatch aboard. They had to be, just in case of a power plant emergency - which, I suppose, this technically was. Rotating them sent the hatch inching sideways on the rails that held it in place, locks disengaged by the unclipping of the handles. After only a few turns I had enough space to slide sideways into the cabin.
The inside was dark, without even the slightest crack in the bulkheads to let any light in. If it wasn't for the odd angle, the gravity and the disastrous mess the Dampier's captain could still be commanding from just down the hall. I set to making a brief assessment of the room before stripping the computer. It was my responsibility to return as much information about the captain of this doomed ship as I could, and their logs were the best place to start.
I jumped near out of my skin when I found the body, backing against the wall as I felt a cool sweat prickle it's way across my forehead. I'd thought, for the briefest moment, that it had reached out to me, outstretched hand grabbing for aid and succour.
"You okay, Lieutenant?" Hallman was trying hard to hide the mixed concern and amusement in their voice. I must have made a noise that made it as far as my radio.
"Fine, Hallman, just fine." I said, and took a second, more measured, look at the body and wondered how I could have mistaken it for anything but a corpse. The outstretched hand was attached to a badly broken arm, the neck was at an awkward angle inside the ship suit, even the legs were wrapped around each other in some twisted parody of a casual pose. The rank tabs on the suits collar, exposed to my lights by the bodies broken neck, said the wearer was the Captain, entombed since the crash in their cabin. Momentarily I questioned what they were doing locked in their cabin at the time of the crash, but the answer might have been one of a hundred reasons.
I turned from wondering - and from the body - and crouched down by the Captain's desk. In just a few seconds I had the underside panel and my hands were deep in the guts of the captain's computer. It was funny, doing this at any other time would be treasonous, accessing a senior officer's systems without their direct permission. I could be court martialled. Instead I was wrist deep in wiring on orders and for the good of the service.
"Lieutenant..." Murphy's radio clicked and sputtered with static.
"Just a moment." I almost had the data drive. I was looking forward to getting away from this half-mortuary-half-obituary of a starship.
"You're going to want to see this."
"I'm sure I will." I almost had it, the restraining clips popping out one by one. Finally the drive dropped into my waiting palm and I rocked back on my heels. The ache in my knee was not one that a young man should have been suffering. Perhaps I was less used to gravity than I thought. Hauling myself upright I slid the drive into a belt pouch and cast a last glance at the captain's body. This was hardly the body they deserved. Maybe we'd come back and give them a proper one, give all of the crew we could find a better resting place. For now though, we had work to do. "Murphy? I'm on my way."
The bridge's hatch was buckled, but with a little force and a little help from Murphy on the other side, we had it open wide enough that I could get in with only a little squeezing. The inside was ruined, a buckled and shattered mimic of the command deck that orbited a few hundred kilometres above our heads. Dust filled it, as with the rest of the ship, but that wasn't where either of the two Hands I'd sent in here were looking. Instead they had their lights trained on two specific spots.
Each held a body, member of the Dampier's bridge crew, the counterparts of the individuals now standing over their corpses. Or what, at least once were intact corpses like the one I'd found in the captain's cabin. But these were no longer whole.
"Pull what you can." I said, as much to myself as to the rest of my team but my radio made sure the rest of them could hear. "And fast. I want us back in the ATV in five minutes."
"Captain to the bridge, Captain to the bridge." The announcement startled me out of a deep introspective on the meaning of modern media and it's influence on foreign policy. I'd like to say my thoughtfulness on the subject was based on interested, but I will admit that most of my mind was focused on deciphering the interminably complex linguistic tricks the author had played to seem - or so I believed - more intelligent than perhaps they were. At least the call gave me an excuse to stop reading, and an excuse to give my mother the next time we spoke. She was and had always attempted to 'uplift' my education beyond what she thought of as barbarous books on war with little editorials and think pieces like this one. I did try my best to read them, but I never objected to an excuse to escape.
The two hatches between me and my command slid cleanly open and before I knew I was settling comfortably into my chair and belting in.
"We're coming over the horizon, Captain. Comm's should be coming up in a couple of seconds."
With the night rapidly approaching the crash site I was expecting an update from the Lieutenants team on the surface. At the very least he would have sent a message packet with updates, even if it was relayed via the shuttle from the crash site. I'd given him broad authority on how to conduct operations on the surface as a show of trust after his insolence on the bridge. I had to keep my senior officer on side or the whole ship would fall apart.
it was up to him to show that I'd put my trust in the right place.
"Receiving, Outpost Apple, you're coming through loud and clear." I heard my comm's officer say before she looked up at me. her bangs had floated free of a tight braid and were floating on either side of her face in the gravityless bridge. "They're requesting you, Ma'am." She said with a smile. I picked up a headset and slipped it over my ears, pushing the microphone roughly into place before motioning for her to put them through.
"Outpost Apple, Vancouver actual. What have you got for me?"
"Captain, good." I was mildly surprised to hear Wescott's voice. I'd have expected him to still be out at the crash site, using as much of the daylight as he possibly could to eke out details about the Dampier's fate. "We've pulled as many intact data cores we could from the forward section-"
"You didn't do an on-site analysis? Lieutenant, if you've corrupted that data..." Maybe I should have lead the surface party, and damn the consequences. I'd have certainly suffered for it, but I wouldn't be getting frustrated. I soothed myself with the knowledge that I could write a particularly damning report if this all went to hell. Perhaps they'd give me a new XO, or even a different ship. I still didn't think I was particularly suited for science work.
"If I'm honest, Captain, I didn't think the site safe enough to stick around. I valued my team's safety over any data we might lose." His voice shifted in tone as he spoke, becoming more formal.
"Very well. Continue your report, Lieutenant." If he was going to give me formality, he'd get cold formality in return.
"However, we evacuated upon finding the remains of the Dampier's crew. While we expected to find corpses, we didn't foresee the unusual damage the bodies had sustained. Thus we evacuated until further information could be found regarding the ship's loss." He pauses, but I could still hear him breathing. "Captain... they looked like they'd been torn apart."
"Honestly, Lieutenant, I know you're not seen much death, but at least use some common sense-"
"It wasn't the crash, Captain. I know what a high-G injury looks like, and this isn't it."
"Then what was it?" I was dying to know what he'd thought up.
"I don't know." Oh. Well that was disappointing. "Not yet, anyway. If we were on a planet with local fauna I'd say it was an animal attack-"
"But as far as we know, this one's barren. Moving on," fixating would help nothing, and he had a lot more to do than get worked up over the remains of the last crew of the Dampier "Since the shuttle is staying with you, i'd like a low altitude survey of the original outpost. I know it will reduce you team for a few hours, but given that you're set on assessing the crash site for the time being..."
How should Wescott answer?
[ ] Of course, we'll spend the time without it at the crash site.
[ ] Of course, we'll spend the time without it analyzing these data drives.
[ ] I don't want to be left without the shuttle. We can recon the outpost on our return.
[ ] Write in.
- 7 votes for Pull the cores - @pspan @kinigget @veekie @Vyslanté @Crazy Tom @Night_stalker @E73S
- 5 votes for Pull the Captain's Core - @pspan @veekie @Crazy Tom @Night_stalker @E73S
- 1 votes for read the Captain's logs - @kinigget
Of course the fates weren't on my side. This mission had been nothing but one bad experience after another, from getting saddled with the epitome of military bravado that was Captain Gibson to our shouting match on the bridge, to finding the Dampier smashed on the surface like some grossly enlarged child had thrown a tantrum with her as it's toy. And now we'd have to strip her carcass like vultures if we wanted to discover her last moments. It seemed almost predatory, let alone the shame that washed through me as I thought about the disrespect we were doing her and her crew.
"Leave it. We'll pull what we can. I don't want to work here any longer than we have to." I said into my suit radio. It had been too much to hope that the back-up fuel cells hadn't burned themselves up in the hours after the initial crash, if they hadn't been destroyed by the impact anyway. Neither would have truly surprised me. "Hallman, how's the core?"
They'd disappeared some minutes before away into the belly of the forward sections, dropping through the floor hatch just aft of the bridge. The main computer core was seated between the command bridge and the shuttle bay decks, a quiet little well protected room which held the main processors that kept the ship in working order. It was well cooled due to the sheer quantity of constantly powered server stacks and was often the coldest place aboard that wasn't exposed to the void. Once, as a young midshipman, I'd found two engineering crewmen resting in the core after an extended and particularly sweltering EVA. Their ingenuity had surprised me at the time, new to the service as I was. Now I knew the spot as a particular favourite for a variety of less than specifically authorised activities. There was one on every ship, a little room that got converted to all sorts of salacious uses. The computer core was ours.
"Pretty smashed up, and full of that damned dust. Want me to smash and grab?"
"Less smash, more grab, if you don't mind." I turned back to the hatch on the Captain's cabin and found the manual release. I'd never needed to use it before, but the pop-out hand holds were identical to every other hatch aboard. They had to be, just in case of a power plant emergency - which, I suppose, this technically was. Rotating them sent the hatch inching sideways on the rails that held it in place, locks disengaged by the unclipping of the handles. After only a few turns I had enough space to slide sideways into the cabin.
The inside was dark, without even the slightest crack in the bulkheads to let any light in. If it wasn't for the odd angle, the gravity and the disastrous mess the Dampier's captain could still be commanding from just down the hall. I set to making a brief assessment of the room before stripping the computer. It was my responsibility to return as much information about the captain of this doomed ship as I could, and their logs were the best place to start.
I jumped near out of my skin when I found the body, backing against the wall as I felt a cool sweat prickle it's way across my forehead. I'd thought, for the briefest moment, that it had reached out to me, outstretched hand grabbing for aid and succour.
"You okay, Lieutenant?" Hallman was trying hard to hide the mixed concern and amusement in their voice. I must have made a noise that made it as far as my radio.
"Fine, Hallman, just fine." I said, and took a second, more measured, look at the body and wondered how I could have mistaken it for anything but a corpse. The outstretched hand was attached to a badly broken arm, the neck was at an awkward angle inside the ship suit, even the legs were wrapped around each other in some twisted parody of a casual pose. The rank tabs on the suits collar, exposed to my lights by the bodies broken neck, said the wearer was the Captain, entombed since the crash in their cabin. Momentarily I questioned what they were doing locked in their cabin at the time of the crash, but the answer might have been one of a hundred reasons.
I turned from wondering - and from the body - and crouched down by the Captain's desk. In just a few seconds I had the underside panel and my hands were deep in the guts of the captain's computer. It was funny, doing this at any other time would be treasonous, accessing a senior officer's systems without their direct permission. I could be court martialled. Instead I was wrist deep in wiring on orders and for the good of the service.
"Lieutenant..." Murphy's radio clicked and sputtered with static.
"Just a moment." I almost had the data drive. I was looking forward to getting away from this half-mortuary-half-obituary of a starship.
"You're going to want to see this."
"I'm sure I will." I almost had it, the restraining clips popping out one by one. Finally the drive dropped into my waiting palm and I rocked back on my heels. The ache in my knee was not one that a young man should have been suffering. Perhaps I was less used to gravity than I thought. Hauling myself upright I slid the drive into a belt pouch and cast a last glance at the captain's body. This was hardly the body they deserved. Maybe we'd come back and give them a proper one, give all of the crew we could find a better resting place. For now though, we had work to do. "Murphy? I'm on my way."
The bridge's hatch was buckled, but with a little force and a little help from Murphy on the other side, we had it open wide enough that I could get in with only a little squeezing. The inside was ruined, a buckled and shattered mimic of the command deck that orbited a few hundred kilometres above our heads. Dust filled it, as with the rest of the ship, but that wasn't where either of the two Hands I'd sent in here were looking. Instead they had their lights trained on two specific spots.
Each held a body, member of the Dampier's bridge crew, the counterparts of the individuals now standing over their corpses. Or what, at least once were intact corpses like the one I'd found in the captain's cabin. But these were no longer whole.
"Pull what you can." I said, as much to myself as to the rest of my team but my radio made sure the rest of them could hear. "And fast. I want us back in the ATV in five minutes."
- - -
"Captain to the bridge, Captain to the bridge." The announcement startled me out of a deep introspective on the meaning of modern media and it's influence on foreign policy. I'd like to say my thoughtfulness on the subject was based on interested, but I will admit that most of my mind was focused on deciphering the interminably complex linguistic tricks the author had played to seem - or so I believed - more intelligent than perhaps they were. At least the call gave me an excuse to stop reading, and an excuse to give my mother the next time we spoke. She was and had always attempted to 'uplift' my education beyond what she thought of as barbarous books on war with little editorials and think pieces like this one. I did try my best to read them, but I never objected to an excuse to escape.
The two hatches between me and my command slid cleanly open and before I knew I was settling comfortably into my chair and belting in.
"We're coming over the horizon, Captain. Comm's should be coming up in a couple of seconds."
With the night rapidly approaching the crash site I was expecting an update from the Lieutenants team on the surface. At the very least he would have sent a message packet with updates, even if it was relayed via the shuttle from the crash site. I'd given him broad authority on how to conduct operations on the surface as a show of trust after his insolence on the bridge. I had to keep my senior officer on side or the whole ship would fall apart.
it was up to him to show that I'd put my trust in the right place.
"Receiving, Outpost Apple, you're coming through loud and clear." I heard my comm's officer say before she looked up at me. her bangs had floated free of a tight braid and were floating on either side of her face in the gravityless bridge. "They're requesting you, Ma'am." She said with a smile. I picked up a headset and slipped it over my ears, pushing the microphone roughly into place before motioning for her to put them through.
"Outpost Apple, Vancouver actual. What have you got for me?"
"Captain, good." I was mildly surprised to hear Wescott's voice. I'd have expected him to still be out at the crash site, using as much of the daylight as he possibly could to eke out details about the Dampier's fate. "We've pulled as many intact data cores we could from the forward section-"
"You didn't do an on-site analysis? Lieutenant, if you've corrupted that data..." Maybe I should have lead the surface party, and damn the consequences. I'd have certainly suffered for it, but I wouldn't be getting frustrated. I soothed myself with the knowledge that I could write a particularly damning report if this all went to hell. Perhaps they'd give me a new XO, or even a different ship. I still didn't think I was particularly suited for science work.
"If I'm honest, Captain, I didn't think the site safe enough to stick around. I valued my team's safety over any data we might lose." His voice shifted in tone as he spoke, becoming more formal.
"Very well. Continue your report, Lieutenant." If he was going to give me formality, he'd get cold formality in return.
"However, we evacuated upon finding the remains of the Dampier's crew. While we expected to find corpses, we didn't foresee the unusual damage the bodies had sustained. Thus we evacuated until further information could be found regarding the ship's loss." He pauses, but I could still hear him breathing. "Captain... they looked like they'd been torn apart."
"Honestly, Lieutenant, I know you're not seen much death, but at least use some common sense-"
"It wasn't the crash, Captain. I know what a high-G injury looks like, and this isn't it."
"Then what was it?" I was dying to know what he'd thought up.
"I don't know." Oh. Well that was disappointing. "Not yet, anyway. If we were on a planet with local fauna I'd say it was an animal attack-"
"But as far as we know, this one's barren. Moving on," fixating would help nothing, and he had a lot more to do than get worked up over the remains of the last crew of the Dampier "Since the shuttle is staying with you, i'd like a low altitude survey of the original outpost. I know it will reduce you team for a few hours, but given that you're set on assessing the crash site for the time being..."
How should Wescott answer?
[ ] Of course, we'll spend the time without it at the crash site.
[ ] Of course, we'll spend the time without it analyzing these data drives.
[ ] I don't want to be left without the shuttle. We can recon the outpost on our return.
[ ] Write in.
Episode 1 Part 9: Data analysis
4WheelSword
The original N-body Problem
- Pronouns
- It/She/They
3400 words later...
Vote Details:
- 7 votes for Of course, analysis - @hcvquizibo @kinigget @Vyslanté @Night_stalker @Mr Apollo @Crazy Tom @E73S
- 1 votes for Of course, crash site - @pspan
- 1 votes for quick assessment - @Nevill
- 1 votes for recon on return - @veekie
"Captain, if you're trying to insinuate that I'm somehow shirking my duty-" His indignation was almost audible.
"No, Lieutenant, simply an observation." I pressed a hand against my forehead and bit back a sigh. Wescott had apparently become oversensitive to criticism since we'd argued.
"I- Very well." Wondering idly if he looked as embarrassed as he sounded, I opened the view of the planet below on my console's display while he found the words for a more appropriate response. "If you think that would be a better use of Mcpherson's time, then i'll gladly release him too it but perhaps we could wait until the sun rises?"
I frowned and waved at the comms officer - what was his name, Lopez? Covering the headsets microphone I hissed "When's sunrise for him?" at him.
"Five hours, Ma'am" I nodded him my thanks.
"You've got six hours, Wescott, and then I want that bird in the air." The planet span faster than I'd really thought about.
"Understood, Captain. We'll have the shuttle doing low passes in the morning. Was there anything else?"
"No, Mr. Wescott, I told you I'd give you free reign, and I meant it." I paused, smiling momentarily to myself. "Mostly, at least. Vancouver actual signing off."
I snatched the headset off and almost threw it at the comms console. She'd promised me my initiative, she'd agreed that I would be able to make my own decisions on this mission. And now, not even a day had passed, and already she was getting involved and sticking her nose in where she herself had said it didn't belong.
And to make matters worse she wasn't just giving orders where she'd agreed not too. She was ignoring the facts on the ground, ignoring the fact that she didn't even know the facts. If I thought about it - and I was trying not to - given the fact that we didn't even know what had forced the evacuation of the William Dampier's crew, separating any of us from our shuttle was putting us all in danger. Whatever had done that to the dead was presumably still out there. Unless it was aliens. Maybe it had been alien invaders, coming from the unknown reaches of deep space to steal our children and eat our women. They could have shot down the Dampier with their plasmatic cannons or abducted the few crewmen who didn't try to escape on the crashed shuttle with their tractor beams. They would surely have left long before we'd arrived.
I smirked, stifling a chuckle. However anxious I was about finding out what had actually happened, whatever hidden truth there was to find out, it certainly wasn't going to be the plot of the pulp novella I'd bought when I'd left the ship on leave for the first time. I wouldn't call myself disappointed that that wasn't the case, it would likely prove to be a damn sight safer than enemy, whatever it was. But proving the existence of alien life, however hostile it was, would certainly be something of a coup.
Shaking myself back into action I realised I needed some kind of plan. The one I'd been forming had been simple; Give three of the team six hours off-duty to rest, then send them back to the crash site, the rest of us beginning analysis of the data drives we'd recovered. Of course, with the new taskings from the Captain, everything had to change.
"Murphy, Mcpherson!" I shouted. The rest of the team had kindly given me a little privacy while I reported to the Captain. Not that it had ended up being much of a report, more like an excuse for her to harangue me for not being the right kind of XO. Perhaps if they'd taught her a little more about how to lead people outside of combat we'd be in a better situation than if i'd come out of the same schools that she did.
Murphy's head appeared around the door, thankfully breaking that particular chain of thought.
"You called, Boss?" I wouldn't call the look I gave him a glare, but it certainly wasn't the nicest. "You called, Lieutenant?" his grin could only be described as cheesy.
"Is Mcpherson with you?"
"Nah, he headed out." Murphy shrugged "Said he wanted to check over his baby."
"He's obsessed." I sighed. Mcpherson had barely come away from the shuttle since we landed, claiming that the dust was damaging her turbine's even when there was no wind. He'd spent a lot of his time walking around her, trudging through the dust on his own. It was a little worrying. "Well, get him in. You've got four hours to get rested and then you've got a new tasking."
"Just us? Without an officer present?"
"Just because we're away from the Captain, it doesn't mean you can be disrespectful." He raised his hands in something approaching an apology. I had yet to work out which of us was more glad to be out from under her for a little while, him or me. I was still fairly confident it was me. "Yes, just the two of you. She wants you to take the shuttle and do a low altitude survey of the abandoned outpost."
"And leave you here?"
"We've got plenty to be getting on with, Murphy, don't you worry about us. But if we're going to keep her sweet, then we're going to need those pictures."
"Aye, Lieutenant, pictures to keep the Captain happy. And thermals as well?" He was grinning again.
"As much as you can get, Murphy. Now go and get that damn pilot, and get some rest. You're up in-" I checked my wristwatch and frowned "five and a half hours."
"Roger that, Lieutenant." He disappeared almost as fast as he'd appeared and barely a minute later I heard the inner door of the airlock cycling open. I leaned on the console and breathed deeply for a few minutes, enjoying the cold bottled air our outpost was filled with. I wondered if the abandoned one still had an atmosphere, or if the evacuating crew had left its airlock open in their hurried escape. I couldn't believe they would have had time to cycle through it properly if they were in enough of a hurry to abandon everything else.
Stretching I walked through to the habitation section. The rest of the team, Kottindour, Robinson and Hallman, were stretched out across their bunks comfortably, chatting amongst themselves. All three heads snapped up as I walked in and suddenly the room went quiet. Even out here they didn't want to talk openly in front of an officer. Was it better that they didn't? Was it more respectful of my authority, or did they simply fear what my rank pins represented?
"Kottindour, Hallman, you're off watch for four, get some sleep. Robinson, you're with me." While most of the team slept, we could at least make a start on some of what we'd picked up. Robinson jumped to her feet.
"Aye, lieutenant." She followed as I walked back into the other module. Our outpost was so small it almost hadn't been worth stepping through to disturb them, but I figured it was best to give orders in person, if I could.
I dropped the cables I was holding and slumped against the wall. More than four hours work and we'd gotten nowhere. Several of the drives from the ship's main computer were so damaged that they'd cracked inside their crash casings, an impressive occurrence given that were designed to resist weapons fire, let alone the g-forces of anything that had happened to them. Perhaps they were simply faulty, or were not as well protected as the manufacturer's had promised. Something to report, maybe, once we'd returned home.
Others had burned out when the power system went on the Dampier, their data perhaps only recoverable with tools that we certainly didn't have at our disposal. We'd keep them, of course, and deliver them to the service's best analysts. They might have a little more luck than we were having with rudimentary systems and as much computing power as we could rig together our of what the hab's were built with.
"What do we have left?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. The work has been surprisingly tiring, with intense focus needed as we stripped open damaged drive casings and tried to access their much needed data.
Robinson was sat on the other side of the narrow module, a pile of data drives scattered across the floor next to her. She fumbled through them, scanning the neat little labels we'd added in full confidence when we'd started our work, dredging what remained of the once considerable pile.
"Uh… the Captain's, the comm logs I pulled, and one of the core drives. Not much, I'm afraid." She looked irritable, smooth skin creased by a frown and several strands of her once neatly tied hair spraying out behind her ears. I'd heard several of the junior crew talking about how attractive she was and I believed them. But perhaps not when she was frustrated with uncooperative technology.
"Pass me the Captain's drive, maybe we'll get somewhere with that." She handed over the slim little black cased computer drive with it's blindingly brightly chromed access ports. I plucked the bundle of cables i'd thrown down in irritation off the floor and went back to work, fitting the data jacks into the right ports before finally, almost reverently, pushing the power button.
We grinned at each other at the happy little beep and whir that the drive emitted. I set it down carefully on the floor and took a deep breath. It seemed we'd finally caught some good luck.
Robinson was on her feet long before I was, bouncing up with an overly energetic spring. It was a vicious comparison to me hauling myself up. Every muscle in my legs ached from sitting on them for too long, not to mention my knees. We weren't mentioning my knees.
"Maybe this one will work…" I said almost to myself as we both stood watching the drive chug through its boot-up sequence. Even if it was perfectly fine externally, it had still suffered a horrendously high-G impact and who knew what might have happened inside the casing.
"Don't jinx it, Lieutenant."
"I'd touch wood, but we don't seem to have any." She smiled, showing a row of shiny white teeth. The computer beeped, grabbing our attention. It had picked a good moment.
I tapped through the opening checks and eventually hit a login screen, with what must have been the Captain's initial and surname - KJitender, a name I was sure I'd heard before - already entered. I hit a button on the keyboard and pulled my data-stick from a breast pocket. Robinson eyed me doubtfully as I pressed it against a sensor and almost jumped out of her skin when the screen flashed 'login accepted - 2nd Lieutenant D Wescott' in block letters.
"Officer's secret" I said, grinning. It was hardly a secret, that we could access any computer aboard one of His Majesty's ships. We simply weren't supposed to do it unless there was a pressing need and so it was a privilege rarely used.
The screen seemed exactly as it should have been, but everything was a little shifted. Letters were transposed or missing on most of the files listed on the main screen and several icons were either the wrong colour or entirely distorted. It was more than a little worrying.
"Maybe the files will be a little better?" Robinson said. She didn't sound convinced and neither was I. I was getting that horrible creeping feeling that we'd been set up for an even deeper disappointment.
"Maybe" I wasn't going to say much else. We were both professionals.
We ran through several back-doored directories at speed. I knew asking the communications specialist to tag along would be a good idea, she was data mining almost faster than I'd been able to log into the drive.
"Anything specific you want?" She was dragging up window after twisted window, half of them with almost unintelligible names plastered across them. "We're pretty damn lucky we've got this far to be honest, something's got awful screwed up in there." She nodded sideways at the drive still whirring away happily on the floor.
"Logs might be a good place to start."
"Roger that LT." Several screens closed and others opened in their place. "Oooo-kay. I think I can get the last couple in some sort of semi-usable format. Want audio or text?"
"Audio, it can't be that bad."
"Sure it can't, it's not like the ship crashed or anything." The sarcasm in her tone was almost palpable. It was like being slapped by something soft. Or maybe that was the tiredness talking. "D'you want the last, or the penultimate?"
"Might as well have the last first." It might cushion the blow, having it come straight away. My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden distortion from the computer's speakers. The quality was exceedingly poor, and cut in and out with an almost worrying regularity. Maybe the drive was cracked and we just got lucky.
"-ptian Kennedy Jitender. I don't --- this but perhaps it will assuage my guilt. I --- surface and it's my responsibility that --- even now diving into the atmosphere to rescue --- pilot to complete his task without distraction. Perhaps --- last log. Captain Jitender, signing off."
Robinson paused the recording before it could start again. We stood in silence for at least a minute, perhaps both os us realising that we'd just head the last words of the Dampier's Captain. He sounded strong, resolute, even in the face of adversity. As much as it horrified me, it was an honour to hear it.
"Well that was worrying." She said eventually, breaking the silence.
"You have a way with words."
"You're a flatterer, Lieutenant." Was I? I wasn't trying to be. "Here's the penultimate recording."
"This is the log of Captain Kennedy Jiten--- outpost on the surface has declared a mayday --- that it was just bad weather. We all did. No-one --- and yet it has proven to be very much more than --- we return I expect to face a board for my actions. I will gladly --- hope that I can save as much of my crew as possible. --- Jitender, signing off"
"That was so much more comforting." I couldn't help but join in the morbidity after hearing that. It seemed like the man had resigned himself to whatever fate the universe had for him just so long as he could bring his crew back alive. It wasn't a situation i'd been in, it wasn't a situation I ever wanted to be in, but I thought to some extent I could understand his feelings. I hoped I would be much the same if faced with similar fears.
"Brave man in a pretty terrible situation though. Bet the Captain knows how he felt."
I was about to ask what she meant when it struck me. The battle for Juniper Base, Captain Gibson's desperate stand and her mad fight to save her crew. Hers might have been combat, Jitender's might have turned out to have been his fault, but they were both just trying to do the right thing by those they commanded. Maybe that was why she was so hard on her crew, because they had to be the best to survive situations like the ones she'ed seen. Did it haunt her dreams, like so many others who'd faced the enemy before her? It wasn't my place to ask.
"I'd put money on it."
"Oh? I'd hoped you'd argue, I'd have made bank on that one." She gave me a sideways glance. She was certainly an odd one.
"Okay, we've got something. Let's see if we can get a few answers to go with all the questions we're digging up."
We'd got a whole lot of nothing by the time the shuttle returned from it's flight to the abandoned outpost and back. We'd taken brief breaks for food and to watch Murphy and Mcpherson take off in the intimidatingly large shuttle. It seemed so small when undocking from the Vancouver or when you stepped off it. But watching it lift it's unnatural bulk from the ground and accelerate away on screaming hybrid engines was like watching some old world god throwing its bulk into the sky on wings of flesh, not steel.
When we got a message saying they were almost home we rushed to get our suits back on, thankful for a break from the monotony of digging through what little data we had, trying to make sense of the garbled numbers and letters. There had to be something in it but thus far all we'd found were mild headaches and dark circles under at least two sets of eyes.
It was cold outside, even for the middle of the day, and the dust spun in the air when it was kicked up. We scanned the horizon as a group, watching for the first sign of the approaching shuttle. It was unlikely we'd hear it until it was right over us, the thin air barely enough to cover sound, especially with our suits to contend with as well. I imagined what we looked like, four androgynous suits back to back, heads tilted upwards. We must have made a strange sight.
Hallman spotted it first, they're voice loud over the intercom as they called out and pointed. I followed the curved path it followed, banking low over a rise and pointing its nose along the plateau we'd built our outpost on. It dropped lower and lower, passing overhead and dipping us briefly into shadow. I shivered at the unnatural chill which ran through me.
The shuttle pulled it's nose back, flaring its wings as its belly motors coughed into life. They dropped its speed rapidly until it was sitting on them, suspended a few feet above the ground. It lowered slowly until its wheels sank into the dust and its jets spun slowly into silence.
We walked towards it as a group, trudging through the dust dunes that separated us from the shuttle. The ramp began to lower as we approached and almost before it hit the ground one of its crew was bounding towards us.
"Murphy!" I called, raising a hand in greeting.
"Lieutenant?" He sounded tired, more tired than I'd ever heard him.
"Well? Did you find anything?" I realised I sounded breathless, but then if there was any chance of working things out, I believed the outpost held it. A fly-over couldn't tell us much, but it might tell us more about why they ran, or what had happened or something. We had to learn something.
"Yeah… yeah, we found it alright."
"Well come on man, tell us what."
"Bodies, Lieutenant. A lot of bodies."
The pictures didn't tell us much, not enough that we wouldn't need to head out there if we wanted to make a proper survey. But they did tell us that not every member of the Dampier's crew had died when the shuttle crashed, or the ship herself.
The outpost, four modules slung together much like ours and a fifth larger one perhaps brought along specifically for this mission, made a U-shaped outpost with something approaching a courtyard in the centre. Outlying shapes had been identified as generators, air reclamators, water-extractors and similar equipment intended for long terms stays on planets with inhospitable atmospheres. Every building had a drift of the same beige dust that covered everything built up against it, giving the outpost a strange half-buried look.
We didn't know why they'd come or what they'd found to keep them here but to be honest, it didn't matter. We were here because of the other shapes. The courtyard area held two suits, two bodies who lay in the dust where the sun could still catch the metal that decorated them. Three more lay between the outpost and what must have been their field where they parked their shuttles. One was still there, half covered in dust, as abandoned looking as the rest of the outpost buy the shape was unmistakable.
Why run in one overloaded shuttle when you had two? Why abandon the base at all, given that it appeared functional?
Why were the bodies not covered in the all-pervasive dust that seemed to be intent on burying everything else?
I had more questions than ever before. So would the Captain. I wondered how displeased she'd be that I'd yet to deliver her any answers.
Theories?
[ ] Write in
Report to the Captain:
[ ] Stay with the plan - full survey of the crashed ship before anything else.
[ ] The outpost is the key - Move our team there and begin looking for answers.
[ ] It's too dangerous - We can't risk continuing a mission that's killed so many before.
[ ] Write in
Vote Details:
- 7 votes for Of course, analysis - @hcvquizibo @kinigget @Vyslanté @Night_stalker @Mr Apollo @Crazy Tom @E73S
- 1 votes for Of course, crash site - @pspan
- 1 votes for quick assessment - @Nevill
- 1 votes for recon on return - @veekie
"Captain, if you're trying to insinuate that I'm somehow shirking my duty-" His indignation was almost audible.
"No, Lieutenant, simply an observation." I pressed a hand against my forehead and bit back a sigh. Wescott had apparently become oversensitive to criticism since we'd argued.
"I- Very well." Wondering idly if he looked as embarrassed as he sounded, I opened the view of the planet below on my console's display while he found the words for a more appropriate response. "If you think that would be a better use of Mcpherson's time, then i'll gladly release him too it but perhaps we could wait until the sun rises?"
I frowned and waved at the comms officer - what was his name, Lopez? Covering the headsets microphone I hissed "When's sunrise for him?" at him.
"Five hours, Ma'am" I nodded him my thanks.
"You've got six hours, Wescott, and then I want that bird in the air." The planet span faster than I'd really thought about.
"Understood, Captain. We'll have the shuttle doing low passes in the morning. Was there anything else?"
"No, Mr. Wescott, I told you I'd give you free reign, and I meant it." I paused, smiling momentarily to myself. "Mostly, at least. Vancouver actual signing off."
- - -
I snatched the headset off and almost threw it at the comms console. She'd promised me my initiative, she'd agreed that I would be able to make my own decisions on this mission. And now, not even a day had passed, and already she was getting involved and sticking her nose in where she herself had said it didn't belong.
And to make matters worse she wasn't just giving orders where she'd agreed not too. She was ignoring the facts on the ground, ignoring the fact that she didn't even know the facts. If I thought about it - and I was trying not to - given the fact that we didn't even know what had forced the evacuation of the William Dampier's crew, separating any of us from our shuttle was putting us all in danger. Whatever had done that to the dead was presumably still out there. Unless it was aliens. Maybe it had been alien invaders, coming from the unknown reaches of deep space to steal our children and eat our women. They could have shot down the Dampier with their plasmatic cannons or abducted the few crewmen who didn't try to escape on the crashed shuttle with their tractor beams. They would surely have left long before we'd arrived.
I smirked, stifling a chuckle. However anxious I was about finding out what had actually happened, whatever hidden truth there was to find out, it certainly wasn't going to be the plot of the pulp novella I'd bought when I'd left the ship on leave for the first time. I wouldn't call myself disappointed that that wasn't the case, it would likely prove to be a damn sight safer than enemy, whatever it was. But proving the existence of alien life, however hostile it was, would certainly be something of a coup.
Shaking myself back into action I realised I needed some kind of plan. The one I'd been forming had been simple; Give three of the team six hours off-duty to rest, then send them back to the crash site, the rest of us beginning analysis of the data drives we'd recovered. Of course, with the new taskings from the Captain, everything had to change.
"Murphy, Mcpherson!" I shouted. The rest of the team had kindly given me a little privacy while I reported to the Captain. Not that it had ended up being much of a report, more like an excuse for her to harangue me for not being the right kind of XO. Perhaps if they'd taught her a little more about how to lead people outside of combat we'd be in a better situation than if i'd come out of the same schools that she did.
Murphy's head appeared around the door, thankfully breaking that particular chain of thought.
"You called, Boss?" I wouldn't call the look I gave him a glare, but it certainly wasn't the nicest. "You called, Lieutenant?" his grin could only be described as cheesy.
"Is Mcpherson with you?"
"Nah, he headed out." Murphy shrugged "Said he wanted to check over his baby."
"He's obsessed." I sighed. Mcpherson had barely come away from the shuttle since we landed, claiming that the dust was damaging her turbine's even when there was no wind. He'd spent a lot of his time walking around her, trudging through the dust on his own. It was a little worrying. "Well, get him in. You've got four hours to get rested and then you've got a new tasking."
"Just us? Without an officer present?"
"Just because we're away from the Captain, it doesn't mean you can be disrespectful." He raised his hands in something approaching an apology. I had yet to work out which of us was more glad to be out from under her for a little while, him or me. I was still fairly confident it was me. "Yes, just the two of you. She wants you to take the shuttle and do a low altitude survey of the abandoned outpost."
"And leave you here?"
"We've got plenty to be getting on with, Murphy, don't you worry about us. But if we're going to keep her sweet, then we're going to need those pictures."
"Aye, Lieutenant, pictures to keep the Captain happy. And thermals as well?" He was grinning again.
"As much as you can get, Murphy. Now go and get that damn pilot, and get some rest. You're up in-" I checked my wristwatch and frowned "five and a half hours."
"Roger that, Lieutenant." He disappeared almost as fast as he'd appeared and barely a minute later I heard the inner door of the airlock cycling open. I leaned on the console and breathed deeply for a few minutes, enjoying the cold bottled air our outpost was filled with. I wondered if the abandoned one still had an atmosphere, or if the evacuating crew had left its airlock open in their hurried escape. I couldn't believe they would have had time to cycle through it properly if they were in enough of a hurry to abandon everything else.
Stretching I walked through to the habitation section. The rest of the team, Kottindour, Robinson and Hallman, were stretched out across their bunks comfortably, chatting amongst themselves. All three heads snapped up as I walked in and suddenly the room went quiet. Even out here they didn't want to talk openly in front of an officer. Was it better that they didn't? Was it more respectful of my authority, or did they simply fear what my rank pins represented?
"Kottindour, Hallman, you're off watch for four, get some sleep. Robinson, you're with me." While most of the team slept, we could at least make a start on some of what we'd picked up. Robinson jumped to her feet.
"Aye, lieutenant." She followed as I walked back into the other module. Our outpost was so small it almost hadn't been worth stepping through to disturb them, but I figured it was best to give orders in person, if I could.
- - -
I dropped the cables I was holding and slumped against the wall. More than four hours work and we'd gotten nowhere. Several of the drives from the ship's main computer were so damaged that they'd cracked inside their crash casings, an impressive occurrence given that were designed to resist weapons fire, let alone the g-forces of anything that had happened to them. Perhaps they were simply faulty, or were not as well protected as the manufacturer's had promised. Something to report, maybe, once we'd returned home.
Others had burned out when the power system went on the Dampier, their data perhaps only recoverable with tools that we certainly didn't have at our disposal. We'd keep them, of course, and deliver them to the service's best analysts. They might have a little more luck than we were having with rudimentary systems and as much computing power as we could rig together our of what the hab's were built with.
"What do we have left?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. The work has been surprisingly tiring, with intense focus needed as we stripped open damaged drive casings and tried to access their much needed data.
Robinson was sat on the other side of the narrow module, a pile of data drives scattered across the floor next to her. She fumbled through them, scanning the neat little labels we'd added in full confidence when we'd started our work, dredging what remained of the once considerable pile.
"Uh… the Captain's, the comm logs I pulled, and one of the core drives. Not much, I'm afraid." She looked irritable, smooth skin creased by a frown and several strands of her once neatly tied hair spraying out behind her ears. I'd heard several of the junior crew talking about how attractive she was and I believed them. But perhaps not when she was frustrated with uncooperative technology.
"Pass me the Captain's drive, maybe we'll get somewhere with that." She handed over the slim little black cased computer drive with it's blindingly brightly chromed access ports. I plucked the bundle of cables i'd thrown down in irritation off the floor and went back to work, fitting the data jacks into the right ports before finally, almost reverently, pushing the power button.
We grinned at each other at the happy little beep and whir that the drive emitted. I set it down carefully on the floor and took a deep breath. It seemed we'd finally caught some good luck.
Robinson was on her feet long before I was, bouncing up with an overly energetic spring. It was a vicious comparison to me hauling myself up. Every muscle in my legs ached from sitting on them for too long, not to mention my knees. We weren't mentioning my knees.
"Maybe this one will work…" I said almost to myself as we both stood watching the drive chug through its boot-up sequence. Even if it was perfectly fine externally, it had still suffered a horrendously high-G impact and who knew what might have happened inside the casing.
"Don't jinx it, Lieutenant."
"I'd touch wood, but we don't seem to have any." She smiled, showing a row of shiny white teeth. The computer beeped, grabbing our attention. It had picked a good moment.
I tapped through the opening checks and eventually hit a login screen, with what must have been the Captain's initial and surname - KJitender, a name I was sure I'd heard before - already entered. I hit a button on the keyboard and pulled my data-stick from a breast pocket. Robinson eyed me doubtfully as I pressed it against a sensor and almost jumped out of her skin when the screen flashed 'login accepted - 2nd Lieutenant D Wescott' in block letters.
"Officer's secret" I said, grinning. It was hardly a secret, that we could access any computer aboard one of His Majesty's ships. We simply weren't supposed to do it unless there was a pressing need and so it was a privilege rarely used.
The screen seemed exactly as it should have been, but everything was a little shifted. Letters were transposed or missing on most of the files listed on the main screen and several icons were either the wrong colour or entirely distorted. It was more than a little worrying.
"Maybe the files will be a little better?" Robinson said. She didn't sound convinced and neither was I. I was getting that horrible creeping feeling that we'd been set up for an even deeper disappointment.
"Maybe" I wasn't going to say much else. We were both professionals.
We ran through several back-doored directories at speed. I knew asking the communications specialist to tag along would be a good idea, she was data mining almost faster than I'd been able to log into the drive.
"Anything specific you want?" She was dragging up window after twisted window, half of them with almost unintelligible names plastered across them. "We're pretty damn lucky we've got this far to be honest, something's got awful screwed up in there." She nodded sideways at the drive still whirring away happily on the floor.
"Logs might be a good place to start."
"Roger that LT." Several screens closed and others opened in their place. "Oooo-kay. I think I can get the last couple in some sort of semi-usable format. Want audio or text?"
"Audio, it can't be that bad."
"Sure it can't, it's not like the ship crashed or anything." The sarcasm in her tone was almost palpable. It was like being slapped by something soft. Or maybe that was the tiredness talking. "D'you want the last, or the penultimate?"
"Might as well have the last first." It might cushion the blow, having it come straight away. My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden distortion from the computer's speakers. The quality was exceedingly poor, and cut in and out with an almost worrying regularity. Maybe the drive was cracked and we just got lucky.
"-ptian Kennedy Jitender. I don't --- this but perhaps it will assuage my guilt. I --- surface and it's my responsibility that --- even now diving into the atmosphere to rescue --- pilot to complete his task without distraction. Perhaps --- last log. Captain Jitender, signing off."
Robinson paused the recording before it could start again. We stood in silence for at least a minute, perhaps both os us realising that we'd just head the last words of the Dampier's Captain. He sounded strong, resolute, even in the face of adversity. As much as it horrified me, it was an honour to hear it.
"Well that was worrying." She said eventually, breaking the silence.
"You have a way with words."
"You're a flatterer, Lieutenant." Was I? I wasn't trying to be. "Here's the penultimate recording."
"This is the log of Captain Kennedy Jiten--- outpost on the surface has declared a mayday --- that it was just bad weather. We all did. No-one --- and yet it has proven to be very much more than --- we return I expect to face a board for my actions. I will gladly --- hope that I can save as much of my crew as possible. --- Jitender, signing off"
"That was so much more comforting." I couldn't help but join in the morbidity after hearing that. It seemed like the man had resigned himself to whatever fate the universe had for him just so long as he could bring his crew back alive. It wasn't a situation i'd been in, it wasn't a situation I ever wanted to be in, but I thought to some extent I could understand his feelings. I hoped I would be much the same if faced with similar fears.
"Brave man in a pretty terrible situation though. Bet the Captain knows how he felt."
I was about to ask what she meant when it struck me. The battle for Juniper Base, Captain Gibson's desperate stand and her mad fight to save her crew. Hers might have been combat, Jitender's might have turned out to have been his fault, but they were both just trying to do the right thing by those they commanded. Maybe that was why she was so hard on her crew, because they had to be the best to survive situations like the ones she'ed seen. Did it haunt her dreams, like so many others who'd faced the enemy before her? It wasn't my place to ask.
"I'd put money on it."
"Oh? I'd hoped you'd argue, I'd have made bank on that one." She gave me a sideways glance. She was certainly an odd one.
"Okay, we've got something. Let's see if we can get a few answers to go with all the questions we're digging up."
- - -
We'd got a whole lot of nothing by the time the shuttle returned from it's flight to the abandoned outpost and back. We'd taken brief breaks for food and to watch Murphy and Mcpherson take off in the intimidatingly large shuttle. It seemed so small when undocking from the Vancouver or when you stepped off it. But watching it lift it's unnatural bulk from the ground and accelerate away on screaming hybrid engines was like watching some old world god throwing its bulk into the sky on wings of flesh, not steel.
When we got a message saying they were almost home we rushed to get our suits back on, thankful for a break from the monotony of digging through what little data we had, trying to make sense of the garbled numbers and letters. There had to be something in it but thus far all we'd found were mild headaches and dark circles under at least two sets of eyes.
It was cold outside, even for the middle of the day, and the dust spun in the air when it was kicked up. We scanned the horizon as a group, watching for the first sign of the approaching shuttle. It was unlikely we'd hear it until it was right over us, the thin air barely enough to cover sound, especially with our suits to contend with as well. I imagined what we looked like, four androgynous suits back to back, heads tilted upwards. We must have made a strange sight.
Hallman spotted it first, they're voice loud over the intercom as they called out and pointed. I followed the curved path it followed, banking low over a rise and pointing its nose along the plateau we'd built our outpost on. It dropped lower and lower, passing overhead and dipping us briefly into shadow. I shivered at the unnatural chill which ran through me.
The shuttle pulled it's nose back, flaring its wings as its belly motors coughed into life. They dropped its speed rapidly until it was sitting on them, suspended a few feet above the ground. It lowered slowly until its wheels sank into the dust and its jets spun slowly into silence.
We walked towards it as a group, trudging through the dust dunes that separated us from the shuttle. The ramp began to lower as we approached and almost before it hit the ground one of its crew was bounding towards us.
"Murphy!" I called, raising a hand in greeting.
"Lieutenant?" He sounded tired, more tired than I'd ever heard him.
"Well? Did you find anything?" I realised I sounded breathless, but then if there was any chance of working things out, I believed the outpost held it. A fly-over couldn't tell us much, but it might tell us more about why they ran, or what had happened or something. We had to learn something.
"Yeah… yeah, we found it alright."
"Well come on man, tell us what."
"Bodies, Lieutenant. A lot of bodies."
- - -
The pictures didn't tell us much, not enough that we wouldn't need to head out there if we wanted to make a proper survey. But they did tell us that not every member of the Dampier's crew had died when the shuttle crashed, or the ship herself.
The outpost, four modules slung together much like ours and a fifth larger one perhaps brought along specifically for this mission, made a U-shaped outpost with something approaching a courtyard in the centre. Outlying shapes had been identified as generators, air reclamators, water-extractors and similar equipment intended for long terms stays on planets with inhospitable atmospheres. Every building had a drift of the same beige dust that covered everything built up against it, giving the outpost a strange half-buried look.
We didn't know why they'd come or what they'd found to keep them here but to be honest, it didn't matter. We were here because of the other shapes. The courtyard area held two suits, two bodies who lay in the dust where the sun could still catch the metal that decorated them. Three more lay between the outpost and what must have been their field where they parked their shuttles. One was still there, half covered in dust, as abandoned looking as the rest of the outpost buy the shape was unmistakable.
Why run in one overloaded shuttle when you had two? Why abandon the base at all, given that it appeared functional?
Why were the bodies not covered in the all-pervasive dust that seemed to be intent on burying everything else?
I had more questions than ever before. So would the Captain. I wondered how displeased she'd be that I'd yet to deliver her any answers.
Theories?
[ ] Write in
Report to the Captain:
[ ] Stay with the plan - full survey of the crashed ship before anything else.
[ ] The outpost is the key - Move our team there and begin looking for answers.
[ ] It's too dangerous - We can't risk continuing a mission that's killed so many before.
[ ] Write in