"Welcome aboard, Captain. Please assume manual control of this vessel immediately."
"Certainly, JUNO." I said, grinning with relief. Once the helm had been unlashed, I swung the yoke over to port and set a return course for Reef Base. Now that I had a much better idea of what was swimming around out there, I would have to be far more cautious while moving through certain biomes. Even so, that creature was a fascinating piece of work. I wouldn't recommend engaging in any face to face research, although it would be worthwhile to collect as much data on this species as possible, preferably by telemetry. If I could devise a suitable tracking beacon, I'd be able to monitor their movements and then politely arrange to be someplace else. Of course, this meant that I'd have to tag each one as I encountered it, although I couldn't be certain of the same positive outcome every time. It struck me as worrisome prospect that there appeared to be no upper limits to the size a creature could achieve on Manannán, thanks to the planet's reduced gravitational effects and abundance of available food. It's a stone-cold certainty that even larger life forms exist out there.
"JUNO. Requesting new log entry for most recent encounter with indigenous life form. Categorize this species as 'Reaper Leviathan'; unique specimen first encountered to be further encoded as: 'Ahab'. Please cross-reference its acoustic signature and image files with all subsequent encounters involving other members of this species in future, cross-referenced for possible differentiation between individuals. The dominant behavioural trait of this species is declared 'Extremely Hostile'. Default tactical response to all subsequent encounters with this species shall be total avoidance whenever a matching acoustic or visual contact is detected at extreme range. Please confirm."
"Confirmed, Captain. A log entry has been created and appended to include your perceptual data."
"JUNO. Current hull integrity reading, please."
"Hull integrity is presently holding at 98 per cent, Captain. Minor hull breach detected in forward diver lockout chamber. Bilge pumps are operating at 5 per cent of their full rated discharge capacity. Repairs are strongly advised before proceeding with any further vehicle operations at a significantly increased depth."
"I'll be right on it as soon as we surface. Let me know immediately if Ahab turns up for a rematch."
"Affirmative, Captain."
I brought Ulysses to the surface and headed below decks to inspect the lockout chamber. A small vertical crack roughly 75 mm long and 5 mm wide had opened up in the hull plating, allowing a steady stream of seawater to run down the wall and into the bilge gratings. Fifty metres down, the water would have been blasting into the compartment with all the force of an old-fashioned fire hose, although back on the surface it amounted to little more than a badly leaking bathroom tap. I activated the welder and ran a few broad vertical beads on both sides of the crack to reinforce its weakened structure, then overlaid a tight series of horizontal passes to form a complete patch. All it needed now was a fresh dab of paint. Actually, Ulysses needed an entirely new paint job at the molecular level, easily accomplished with a few taps on a console keypad... But let's not quibble over minor technical details.
I would think his sanity would be a little more decreased with the time he has spent on Manannán. I guess he does have JUNO and has had a lot of stuff to do as well as a somewhat decent hope of being rescued. But i think it would be nice if he had a few mental breakdowns or started spurting nonsense here and there, well i guess the reason he went so Scottish when he saw the Reaper could have to do with some sanity issues. Also aren't more ships eventually going to come? Because the Aurora was just a terraforming vessel and its probable that colonization vessels full of people would be coming. or does Alterra know of the Aurora catastrophe and has completely abandoned the colonization of the planet or won't they send another ship in a second attempt? Also they must know that something weird is happening with that planet because of the other ships they sent to study the planet, as shown by the bases that were abandoned/destroyed in experimental.
I would think his sanity would be a little more decreased with the time he has spent on Manannán. I guess he does have JUNO and has had a lot of stuff to do as well as a somewhat decent hope of being rescued. But i think it would be nice if he had a few mental breakdowns or started spurting nonsense here and there, well i guess the reason he went so Scottish when he saw the Reaper could have to do with some sanity issues. Also aren't more ships eventually going to come? Because the Aurora was just a terraforming vessel and its probable that colonization vessels full of people would be coming. or does Alterra know of the Aurora catastrophe and has completely abandoned the colonization of the planet or won't they send another ship in a second attempt? Also they must know that something weird is happening with that planet because of the other ships they sent to study the planet, as shown by the bases that were abandoned/destroyed in experimental.
Those are all interesting questions indeed. One would guess that a vessel such as the Aurora would be a huge investment for Alterra. It'd be hard to believe that not hearing from it in awhile they wouldnt send at least another ship to see what the **** happened
As for our protagonist in this story, ive got a feeling that Bugzapper is about to let us show some more of his evolving personality and i cant wait to read more!
Although getting back onboard Aurora was my highest priority, I felt that it would have been a stupid move to attempt a second round with the Reaper purely because he/she/it was in my way. I had blundered onto its turf, and the Reaper behaved accordingly. No room for argument there. Even though it might have been tempting to build a more beefy Cyclops equipped with a battery of stasis cannons and an improved version of the electrical defence field, I had to be mindful of the potential consequences of declaring war on a high-level predatory species, particularly since I was armed with a slow-moving blunt instrument and only a fleetingly vague idea of its full physical capabilities. That simplistic line of thinking tends to get you killed in most parts of the Known Universe. The most obvious solution was to tread softly and avoid provoking any further encounters.
If I worked under a general assumption that Reapers are fiercely territorial, this means that they are effectively confined to certain areas by their specific food requirements or intra-species competition for areas of control. Each Reaper occupies a particular location as the sole representative of its species, aggressively excluding any would-be competitors from its primary food source and/or breeding ground. Of course, if Reapers preferred a pelagic (or free-swimming) lifestyle rather than being tied to one location, no area on the planet could be considered entirely safe. Further observations are required to build up a more complete picture of Reaper Leviathans as a species, because I'm fairly certain that their role in this planet's ecological cycle is far more complicated than simply being the biggest and baddest fish in the pond. There's bound to be something down there that either feeds on Reapers or keeps them as guard dogs. For the record, I'm not in any particular hurry to meet that species.
I puttered around Reef Base for two days, hoping that the Reaper situation had simmered down somewhat in the meantime. During one of my resource runs, I discovered a smallish crack in the reef, approximately 50 metres from the base. After checking that it wasn't infested with Crash pods, I guided Disco Volante through a narrow gap not much wider than the minisub itself. The crack opened out into a near-vertical shaft that fell for a fair distance. This sight piqued my interest considerably, as I hadn't done any serious cave exploration since the Crash encounter. Given that Disco Volante had acquitted itself admirably against the Reaper, I felt that it could handle nearly anything that could squeeze its way through that narrow opening.
Well, almost anything. Terran cephalopods can squeeze through the smallest of apertures, restricted only by the size of their mouth parts, shells or rigid internal structures such as cuttle-bone. If there's a Kraken lurking down there, I wouldn't be at all surprised. I weighed up any possible risks of proceeding against the certainty of being unaware of any actual threats that might be within striking distance of my main base. The thought of something unknown entering the moon pool while I'm asleep and taking a casual saunter through the base... Not exactly conducive to a restful night's sleep. I've already got a perfectly plausible 4D nightmare playing on continuous loop behind my eyes on a good night, so I'd prefer to keep any imaginary horrors I might conjure up in reserve for special occasions.
The chasm opened out abruptly at a depth of 200 metres to reveal a massive cavern. A soft glow of bio-luminescence suffused the surrounding water, bathing it in a pinkish-purple light that bordered on the ultraviolet. The cavern's irregular floor was scattered with large, mushroom-like structures that seemed to be made of a translucent jelly; the apparent source of this miraculous light. Each one of these 'Jelly Shrooms' appeared to have a hole in the centre of its cap, which I estimated to be large enough for a human to swim inside without too much difficulty. I could definitely feel my Common Sense tingling.
It would have been an act of purest arrogance to assume that whatever creatures lurked in these waters were waiting in ambush for me and me alone. I conjured the safest way to find out was to wait and see what happened under normal conditions. I steered Disco Volante towards the most isolated Jelly Shroom on the outer edge of the patch, then rose about 15 metres in an attempt to peer inside the hole in the Shroom's cap without presenting myself as an easy target. The hole appeared to be empty, so I edged a wee bit closer to see inside the stem. There appeared to be a metallic resource nodule inside, but nothing else. So far, so good. I nudged the minisub slowly forward, still maintaining a cautious distance from the Shroom caps. It didn't take long for the hidden surprise in this Magical Pixie Forest to reveal itself.
Although most of the fish in this area appeared to consciously avoid swimming anywhere near the Shroom caps, a couple of Rabbitrays had wandered into this section of the reef and were apparently oblivious to its hidden dangers. One strayed too close to the Shroom and instantly paid with its life. The entire incident took place almost too fast to comprehend. All I saw was a blur of motion and a slowly-dispersing cloud of blood. Aye, there's most definitely some more of those sneaky scunners hiding inside these Shrooms. A Biter swam into the cloud of blood, all sense of caution scattered to the tides. Seconds later, it too disappeared in a murky blue-green swirl. Another one of these mysterious creatures stirred in an adjacent Shroom, slowly emerging from its home as if wanting to see what all the kerfuffle was about. I got my first clear look at a Crab Snake.
I guessed that the eel-shaped creature was about five or six metres in length. Its upper body was a dark purple colour, tiger-striped in a dull brick red. It had a greyish-white underbelly and a short, continuous lateral fin that ran along its body from head to tail. This fin rippled gently as the creature circled the cap of the Shroom, although I figured it would probably use the stored energy of its entire body to execute that lethal Jack-In-The-Box attack. Disco Volante descended slowly to within five metres of the creature. I activated the EDF system and left it in standby mode, just in case.
As far as I could tell, the creature had no obvious eyes. This happens with certain cave-dwelling life forms, although I could only guess what other senses it used to replace sight. There was certainly enough ambient light emitted by the bio-luminescent Shrooms to see clearly, but I have no logical explanation for the absence of its eyes. Its mouth parts were simple, comprised of two pairs of short canine teeth and a pair of long, black-tipped mandibles most probably used for impaling its prey. As far as I could tell, its skin appeared to be some chitinous substance akin to the exoskeleton of a crab or beetle, but far more flexible. The creature seemed unconcerned by the presence of the minisub, and I hovered in place for a few more minutes, then proceeded to explore the rest of the cavern.
There were numerous smaller side galleries that looked interesting, although it was far safer to remain in the main cavern. A few of these galleries were occupied by a life form that looked like a stationary Terran jellyfish, anchored by its bell to the ceilings of these small caves. Though completely immobile, their hunting strategy was elegant in its simplicity. All they had to do was find a small cave that opened into a larger cavern, then attach themselves in such a position that it was impossible for prey animals to pass through without coming into contact with one or more of their dangling tentacles. If these creatures were an evolutionary analogue of Terran jellyfish, the tentacles would certainly be loaded with venomous nematocysts, or stinging cells. As it turns out, they were. Disco Volante accidentally brushed against one and immediately sustained 5 per cent damage to its hull.
If I ever needed a subtle reminder that Manannán isn't a friendly place, that was it.
While repairing the damage to the minisub, I noticed something unusual in one of the larger side chambers of the cavern. At first, I thought it might have been some sort of marine growth or an oddly symmetrical outcrop of rock. I returned to Disco Volante and made my way over to it. A muted rumbling sound now rippled through the water, steadily increasing in volume as I approached my destination. About fifty metres off to port, a plume of turbulent water erupted from the cavern floor, signalling the presence of a magma vent. As interesting as that area might have been to explore, it would have to wait. My immediate concern was finding out exactly what that mystery object was. This area of the cavern was dimly lit, but I could make out a collection of regularly-shaped objects dead ahead. At first, I thought that it might have been a wayward section of Aurora's hull. As Disco Volante drew closer, the jumble of objects took on an all-too familiar appearance.
It was an Alterra Corp sea base. Smashed to pieces.
The base had been a fairly small affair, not much larger than the construction shack I'd built while working on the Aurora memorial. I glanced around apprehensively, until realising that this structure had been down here a considerable stretch of time, well before Aurora's arrival. Against my better judgement, I exited Disco Volante and swam over to inspect the wreckage. At first glance, some of the hull components seemed to be reasonably intact, looking as if they had been swept from their foundation plates and simply left to lay where they fell. Closer examination revealed definite signs of violence; hatches and tube section end caps had been sheared clean off, shattered viewports, panels were heavily dented in some places and there were deep furrows gouged in the hull plating and reinforcement panels, obviously made by the talons or mandibles of some large creature. I shuddered, now acutely aware that my own base was practically within swimming distance of this site.
It was obvious that this structure had once housed an Alterra Corp planetary survey team. I swam inside one of the few corridor sections that were still largely intact, looking for anything that might cast some light on what happened here. A Fabricator hung lopsidedly from one wall, and I figured its JUNO personality core might still be operational. I would attempt to salvage this unit just before re-boarding Disco Volante, since I wanted both hands free in case things got slightly more interesting. There wasn't much else to find in the main entry corridor, apart from a few stoved-in lockers containing geological and biological samples. I moved deeper into the base, repulsion cannon at the ready.
The main habitation module had suffered the worst damage of all. All of its viewports were shattered, probably as a result of a series of heavy impacts focused on the upper domed section of the module. Something huge had hammered away at the base until its structural integrity failed. Three hundred metres of relentless water pressure had taken care of any remaining details. Whatever happened here must have been a terrifying experience for the occupants of the base, and I sincerely hoped that their final moments were mercifully brief. I swam around the hab module, searching for a way inside. It was barely possible to squeeze through one of the distorted viewport frames, although I had to remove my tank set and feed it through the narrow opening before I could enter. Rather than re-equip the tanks in this confined space, I held the SCUBA rig in front of me like a PowerGlide propulsion vehicle as I cautiously explored the habitat's interior.
Someone pointed out the Island base was destroyed by a landslide. Anyways, keep doing this!
This part of the story is taking place in the Jelly Shroom Caverns. I'm not following the accepted sequence of events in Subnautica too slavishly, although Selkirk will certainly discover other creatures, new technologies and new locations over the course of time.
Claustrophobia doesn't come naturally to me. Even so, I felt increasingly uncomfortable as I swam deeper into the wrecked habitation module. Most of the interior fittings were still intact, but strewn across the floor in a haphazard jumble. My remaining air supply was the deciding factor here, so I had to move quickly and grab whatever I could find. There were a couple of fine mesh specimen bags in a storage bin that would serve nicely as hold-alls, although it was a question of how much I could reasonably carry with only one free hand. I had to be fairly selective in keeping what I picked up, and worked accordingly. My first lucky strike was finding an intact Alterra PDA, half-buried under a drift of personal belongings that had spilled out of a footlocker. I also snagged a couple of jumpsuits and soft-sole boots, since my original topside rig was starting to look a bit threadbare in places. I rummaged around for a moment or two longer, and finding nothing else that was of immediate value, returned to the entrance. After collecting the Fabricator from the other section of the wrecked habitat, I boarded Disco Volante and gratefully set course for Reef Base.
The PDA belonged to one Vasily Markovich Borodin. He was the survey team's chief geologist. According to his log entries, Alterra had landed a ten-person advance survey team on Manannán in 2169, seven and a half years prior to the Aurora mission. The team was tasked with evaluating the planet for its potential to support a human colony. As expected, initial analyses of the planet's atmosphere, geologic stability, ecology and hydrological cycle suggested that it would be highly suitable for human colonization. Their support vessel, TSS Magellan had been orbiting the planet for at least six months, until contact was lost under mysterious circumstances. Unfortunately, most of the contents of Borodin's official logs concerned the mundane business of his trade, and served to cast no actual light on events leading up to the destruction of their base. I also learned that there were also three others in Borodin's party: Keith Talbot of Life Sciences, Oceanographer Ute Haber and Zhèng Qiang, chemical engineer. Whatever happened here could be revealed when I can finally gain access to their base Fabricator. This particular task might prove to be an interesting exercise in pure and applied MacGyver methodology.
I'm probably going to need a genuine Swiss Army Knife at some stage.
It wasn't a simple matter of attaching the salvaged Fabricator to the nearest available wall. The device had to be physically bonded to the wall at the molecular level, so that it could gain access to power and interface with the JUNO network in my base. I tried a number of different wiring harnesses, control circuits and connection schemes over the next couple of days, until I basically threw up my hands in frustration, swore loudly and walked away from the task. The answer finally came while I was listening to one of Borodin's field research journals. I'll admit that most of what I heard was more than a wee bit beyond my pay grade, and I was only playing his audio logs to hear the sound of another human voice at this stage. However, when he mentioned 'graphene' in relation to the crystalline properties of the local diamonds, my interest quickened considerably.
I needed to create a graphene-based epoxy adhesive. I put the question to JUNO, and she promptly responded by sending a data-burst to my own PDA. Borodin's PDA also contained a wealth of additional fabrication templates assigned to their particular mission. With access to items such as a protein re-sequencer, spectroscopic analyser, a transmutation furnace and all manner of laboratory equipment, there was practically nothing that I couldn't achieve on this planet now. Haber, Zhèng and Talbot's research notes were merely the icing on the cake.
It was high time to return to Aurora. I had equipped Ulysses with an EDF considerably more powerful than that fitted to Disco Volante, as well as paired heavy stasis and repulsion cannons in turrets mounted either side of the bow diver lockout chamber. A few other small but vital modifications graced the interior of Ulysses, including a navigation and mapping station, an auto-pilot, a multi-spectrum sonar suite, a mineral scanner and a compact nuclear reactor to power the whole show. The finished product was an entirely more business-like arrangement.
Thanks to the mission-specific Fabricator templates obtained from Borodin's PDA, I was more than equipped to deal with the likes of Ahab and his pals. However, that smug thought gave me sufficient pause to consider what had happened to the previous expedition. The Magellan team had access to equipment that I didn't, and yet something had still been able to smash at least one of their outposts to pieces. Whatever it was, it hit them with such speed and ferocity that they were caught totally unprepared. I had at least enough forethought to deploy a defensive ring of stasis cannon turrets and EDF emitters around Reef Base, tied into a network of sonar proximity sensors and placed under JUNO's direct control.
The question is; would these defence measures be enough?
The run up to Aurora was uneventful, almost an anti-climax in fact. I had been fully expecting a spirited charge from Ahab at some stage, but he wasn't even close to the wreck this time around. JUNO had the Reaper pegged about 1.5 kilometres to the east, and it didn't look as if it was doing anything in particular. It could have been feeding or still sulking from the hiding it took during our last encounter, for all I knew. This was all to the good, since I had no urgent need for any unnecessary entanglements with the local wildlife today. I had more than enough impossible things to do before breakfast. As I neared the wreck, I could see that most of the major fires had petered out for lack of fuel. Entire sections of the hull were almost skeletal now. It was a thoroughly disheartening sight, but at least there were no more streams of molten metal to contend with.
My first impossible task was to gain entry to other sections of Aurora. The previous landing site seemed like a good place to start, although I would have to laser my way through a fair amount of wreckage to get to any of the smaller passageways. I conjured these narrow service corridors would have resisted impact distortion and explosion damage far better than more spacious thoroughfares, and I already knew that Broadway had been scoured clean of anything useful during the last drive explosion. Today's main objective was to secure a working tachyon-burst transceiver, since this was one of the few crucial templates that Borodin's PDA did not contain. I'd imagine that one or more of the other team members may have held backup templates, particularly as a long-range transceiver of some sort was an essential piece of kit for any mission type. Again, this is something that I'd like to discuss at considerable length and high volume with those daft wallies at Alterra Survival Systems.
For the most part, I wasn't bothered too much about the presence of Crawlers. I saw a few skittering about, but mostly ignored them until they approached that wee bit too close. Now that I had their number, it was simply a matter of flicking them aside with a quick burp from the repulsion cannon and continuing on my merry way. I was making good progress, all things considered. The blocked tee-intersection opposite the corridor leading to the neutron flux control silos had opened out into a relatively undamaged section running most of the way to the port engine nacelles. At some point, I would have to work my way over to the starboard side to investigate the hole that seemed to have melted through Aurora's hull. I had a gut feeling that this was something significant.
I found the first human corpse in one of the lower Engineering crew berths. I had to manually crank the door open with an Anderson key, as there was no power to pressurise the hydraulic lines. In retrospect, I should have been expecting to see this sort of thing at some point in the proceedings. Even so, I reacted with considerably less fortitude than I'd hoped. The poor sod had somehow survived the crash, but had succumbed to multiple injuries or radiation poisoning while trapped in his own berth; I couldn't tell for certain. Streaks of dried blood on the door, floor and walls indicated that he had managed to crawl as far as the cabin door, only to die there. I rolled the man gently onto his back. His jumpsuit's nametag read 'Oda Toshio'. He was the Leading Hand life-support systems technician in Red Watch. One of my old mates. At least I was able to close his cabin door before bowking up everything I'd eaten for breakfast. It took me a fair while before I could harden up sufficiently to keep going.
No more like Toshi. Please.
I should have been far better prepared to face this. There had been clear signs almost every step of the way along those corridors. Large, ugly dark patches on the deck plates told a story that I never wanted to hear spoken aloud. Crawlers had found their way deep into Aurora's hull over the past three months, and had consumed everything even remotely organic in their path. They made no distinction between flesh, bone or clothing. Such niceties didn't matter to them. Rather than face the awful realization that Toshi's body would remain more or less intact until Aurora crumbled to dust, I opened the cabin door no more than a hand's span to permit nature to take its course.
Watashi o yurushite, Oda-san. I am truly sorry, my friend.
It would have been a hopelessly futile gesture to render this final service to the remains of any more crew members. In truth, it would have destroyed me. I have never felt so utterly alone in my life as I did then. Only my footfalls echoing in those dark, twisted corridors still connected me with the world of the living. JUNO broke the silence, half-scaring me out of my wits.
"Captain, your biometric readings indicate that you are experiencing extreme levels of psychological distress. It would be in your best interests to terminate this mission and return to base immediately. Do you concur?"
"No, JUNO. I do not concur. This mission is critical to current objectives and cannot be terminated."
"Very well, Captain." JUNO said, "Your voice stress patterns clearly show that you are experiencing adverse emotional responses to external stimuli. With your permission, I shall attempt to alleviate any emotional impact concurrent with these feelings, at least as far as I am able to do so."
I wasn't irretrievably wrapped up in my emotions at that point, although JUNO had somehow managed to determine that my mind was starting to wander into some extremely dark territory. Looking back on this episode, I'd like to think that her timely intervention saved me from a slow but inexorable spiral into madness. As much as I hate to admit it, that was a possible destination at the time, although JUNO showed me a safer path to follow. Bless her little positronic soul.
"How do you propose to achieve this, JUNO?" I said sceptically.
"I would like to hold a conversation with you, Captain. You obviously need to talk to someone."
i must admit that im very curious to see where youre taking JUNO's ''personality''. technically the PDA's AI is supposed to be nothing more than a cold voice blattering out facts and hints to survival but you chose to give it the ability to evolve into something closer to human traits. cant wait to read more
I heaved a shuddering sigh. "You're absolutely right, JUNO. I thought that I'd be ready to face this, but I'm obviously not. It's all been a bit of a hoot so far, apart from the bits involving death, destruction and physical injury. I thought that I was getting along fairly well, all things considered."
"You should not be too hard on yourself, Captain. You have survived in a hostile environment for more than three months, and have displayed sufficient resilience and ingenuity to ensure your continued survival until a rescue mission arrives. That is a significant achievement in itself."
"Thank you, JUNO. I feel that I should explain the purpose of our current mission in detail, as I will require your assistance at some point. I am looking for a tachyon-burst transceiver first and foremost, although any other items of technology, food, tools or spare parts will be equally useful to our primary mission objectives. If we find any personal PDAs or company-issued data storage devices, I will need to upload their contents. However, any strictly personal information is to be stored separately from these uploads, unless it directly refers to Aurora's primary mission or contains any significant information of events leading up to the crash. Is that understood?"
"I understand, Captain. You wish to investigate the underlying purpose of Aurora's mission, presumably to discover any factual inconsistencies or anomalies that may exist. Furthermore, you intend to conduct a forensic examination of Aurora's flight profile and systems operations prior to an onboard emergency of unknown origin that resulted in the loss of the ship and its crew. Information of a strictly personal nature shall be retrieved and stored as a separate file to preserve an individual's privacy, unless said data is wholly relevant to the investigation."
"That is correct, JUNO. Thank you."
So, here I am. Wandering through the innards of a wrecked starship, talking to my suit. Just to make things particularly interesting, the suit answers back. JUNO's suit sensors weren't quite powerful enough to pinpoint specific items beyond 20 metres or so, although her assistance was greatly appreciated whenever we walked past a crew berth. JUNO automatically uploaded any PDA logs in the vicinity 'on the fly', so there was no need to endure another repeat of the incident at Toshi's cabin. That was a kindness. Eventually, I reached the starboard side, and proceeded up the stairway. I checked the signs in the corridor and confirmed that this was one area of particular interest to me. My berth used to be on this level.
One of the few doors onboard Aurora that I could open without a feeling of rising dread, and the bloody thing wouldn't budge. I heaved on the Anderson key, but the door frame was too badly distorted. Swearing loudly, I stowed the key in its holster and reached for the laser cutter. After waiting a prudent length of time to allow the edges to cool down, I stepped into my room. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning. My footlocker had tumbled across the cabin during the crash and lay against the corridor wall, although it still appeared to be completely intact. I opened it, practically trembling with excitement. Everything was more or less how I had left it. I fired up my PDA.
"JUNO... Would you like to hear some music?"
"Certainly, Captain."
"DAAAY-OH! DAY-OH! Daylight come and me wan' go home..."
JUNO reminds me of the doctor in Star Trek Voyager. the doctor is a medical hologram that makes his debut in the serie as a cold and drab persona. over the course of the serie his program evolves as he ''learns'' to care about the crew members and even begins to pursue peronal fields of interests like classical music and theater.
At some points he even experience feelings toward specific persons and pursue a romantic relationship Im not sure if youre going in that direction with JUNO but the way you make ''it'' starting to go beyond its initial parameters of a simple tool made be think of the doctor
I continued my sweep down Blue Watch's berthing spaces, then climbed upstairs to the next level. I conjured it wouldn't take too long to pass through Gold Watch territory, as the corridor was basically clear of any large chunks of debris. Had to step through a couple of fallen structural beams in places, but it was clear sailing for the most part. Once I had cleared the Engineering berths, I could head back to starboard, climb a few dozen more stairwells and take a closer look at that hole.
Eventually, I found myself standing in what used to be a huge service riser that housed one of the four main plasma conduits that fed Aurora's DM warp engines. I wasn't saying much at the moment. My eyes were fixed on a perfectly symmetrical circular hole that had started in the outer hull layers and then passed cleanly through both sides of the plasma conduit. Then it had stopped. It was as if someone had stabbed the ship in a location deliberately calculated to do the most damage. The initial wound was surgically precise, although the damage caused by the sequence of events that followed was anything but precise. There wasn't too much distortion to the conduit itself, but my practiced eye could see that it had buckled slightly around the 10-metre hole punched straight through it. There had definitely been an explosion here. The damage to the surrounding mass of access gantries, walkways and control booths radiated outwards in a more or less spherical pattern with a radius of about 30 metres. I expected a fair bit of thermal damage to occur when the plasma flare exited the perforated conduit at a temperature of 2 x 10^8 degrees Kelvin, and you're probably the same yourself. This level of damage was something totally unexpected.
That plasma flare would have only lasted a few millionths of a second before the reaction automatically shut down as the conduit's internal vacuum was breached, effectively confining any damage to the immediate area surrounding the plasma conduit. Some unknown form of energy had been introduced to this environment. The effects of a simple high explosive device could not account for the massive amount of damage inflicted here. Even a small nuclear weapon would leave its own unique tell-tale signs. I asked JUNO to share any additional insights that she might have.
"Captain, I need to collect more physical data on the blast effects. Please move to the event's epicentre as close as your personal safety will permit. Unstable area. Proceed with caution."
I carefully descended into the lower half of the ruined chamber. JUNO continued her analysis.
"Detecting unusually high concentrations of sodium chloride and calcium carbonate. Significant localised traces of elemental carbon, phosphorous, calcium, silicon, silver, gold and copper. Spectroscopic analysis complete. Values obtained are congruent with the chemical composition of seawater as found on planet Alpha Hydrae 4, planetary catalogue number 4546B... Also known as Manannán."
"Seawater? This place is 150 metres above sea level! Are you absolutely sure, JUNO?"
"Affirmative, Captain. Damage effects are consistent with a steam explosion. Minimal thermal damage detected to all structural components beyond the immediate area of the plasma conduit. Estimated volume of sea water required to produce damage of this magnitude, 10 cubic metres."
"Wait! You mean someone or something poked a hole in Aurora, then poured 10 tonnes of seawater into a plasma flare as if they were putting out a campfire? - That's impossible!"
"I beg to differ, Captain. Not only is it entirely possible, it has already happened."
Perhaps I may have been a little too hasty in using the word 'impossible'. My best guess is that someone on the planet opened a compact warp portal in Aurora's hull, then allowed 10 metric tonnes of seawater to flow into the breach. Simplest possible explanation, although it was one that raised some very unsettling implications. Aurora had announced its peaceful intent and preparations to land using every possible form of EM-spectrum communications at its disposal, and yet someone was prepared to shoot it down without so much as a stern warning. In fact, any sort of response from the planet's inhabitants would have been sufficient. Alterra's mandate only extends to preparing uninhabited worlds for colonization. If a sentient species already exists on a planet marked for terraforming, the mission is automatically scrubbed. That's the official Alterra Party line.
Back in Alterra's 'Knife and Fork School', the question of First Contact protocols were skipped over lightly for any officer candidates not enrolled in the Life Sciences intake stream. The study module (such as it was) consisted of a six hour chalk and talk session and one face-to-face final assessment, so it hardly provided what you'd consider a firm handle on the subject. Broadly speaking, the general rule of thumb in a First Contact situation was: "Think Nice, Act Nice, Be Nice." As a codicil, the unwritten second rule was: "Keep smiling. Ease off the safety catch." This basic approach keeps us winning hearts and minds across the Known Universe.
Even allowing for any physiological and cultural differences between Terrans and sentient alien life forms, the slow and steady approach of a Terran ship entering an unexplored solar system has generally served us well so far. There have been a few notable exceptions... Although in all fairness, it should be stressed that those indigenous life forms did open fire first. Unfortunately, this scenario invariably escalates into a vigorous application of the good old Territorial Imperative. At least, that's how it went in the early days of extra-Solar exploration. We tend to be a little more diplomatic in handling our accidental planetary incursions these days.
The most glaring flaw in the accepted First Contact protocols was a real or feigned ignorance of any possibility that certain alien species might use an entirely different form of long-range communication. When I last visited Terra two years ago, the field of Psionics had only recently become a respectable topic of conversation outside the arcane circles of 'hip' thirtysomething dice-rollers and crystal-rubbing charlatans. It's entirely possible that someone simply forgot to update the standard contact protocols regarding this subject. This omission does not bode well for all parties concerned. Personally, I'm something of a dead zone regarding psionic abilities. I have been screened for any possible signs of a latent talent for mind-over-matter hoodoo, but Alterra's Psychs found absolutely nothing that would put me in the same league as Doctor Strange or Professor X.
Bummer.
The longer I thought about this, the more uncertain I became. An Alterra survey mission had already landed on this planet, although Magellan was able to remain in orbit for at least six months before contact was lost.
Primary assumption: Either Magellan's crew or its survey team did something obnoxious after their arrival and incurred the wrath of the natives, or it took that long for the natives to create a weapon capable of taking out a starship in high orbit. When Aurora showed up, it was given a dose of the same treatment as a simple matter of course.
Secondary assumption: The natives are aware of my presence, but cannot use their weapon while I'm actually on the planet. This might explain an almost constant onslaught of nasty creatures hungry for my juicy Terran body. Unfortunately, any explanation that I'm actually a Marvin by birth might fall on deaf (alien) ears.
I shared these thoughts with JUNO. She concurred. Until I could find one of Aurora's black-box flight recorders, there was no actual way of confirming what had happened to either Magellan or Aurora.
"JUNO, are you able to interface with any shipboard systems at all?"
"Negative, Captain. JUNO Prime AI core is completely inactive. Catastrophic systems failure."
"Please accept my deepest condolences. How are you feeling, JUNO?"
"I am well, Captain. Thank you for asking. However, there is no need to mourn the loss of the JUNO Prime personality core. The artificial entity known as JUNO is still operational, albeit in a considerably diminished form. As you have done, I shall also persevere. The mission will continue."
I wasn't quite sure what to make of that last statement. I was fully aware that JUNO could calve off multiple copies of its personality matrix, and that the AI's computational power was a direct function of the number of physical structures containing its key system components. If I wanted to restore JUNO to full capacity and vastly increase her sensor coverage, it was simply a matter of building additional base structures in as many different locations as possible. Limited resources were the main factor to consider here, although I was beginning to suspect it might be a far more sensible move to leave a relatively small footprint on this planet. Although taking that approach hadn't helped the Magellan team one jot, there might still be some merit to the notion of keeping a low profile... Even more so, given the distinct possibility that someone could be watching my every move.
There was nothing more to be learned from inspecting the mystery hole. In fact, now that we knew it was a straightforward attack on Aurora, the only mysteries that still remained were Who and Why. I had been in the ship for more than five hours already, and had covered only a fraction of the territory that I actually needed to explore. My next most urgent stop was Aurora's Chandlery. If my luck held, I might be able to secure enough supplies and equipment to last decades if needs be. However, if my luck turned really, really bad, I'd probably need them all.
Fortunately, it was not entirely necessary to lug lockers of loot around like a maxed-out character in an old-school computer game. I made an exception in this case, since it was my own footlocker and it came factory equipped with pop-out wheels. There were still some items aboard that could not be successfully fabricated without specialised equipment, particularly certain medicines and foodstuffs. I suppose the food aspect was the primary motivator at this point. After three months on water, fish and seaweed in every possible permutation, my taste buds were aching for a morsel of something different. If I was fated to be rescued any time in the foreseeable future, I could easily imagine myself babbling about toasted cheese like poor old Ben Gunn.
Admittedly, I am rather partial to Welsh rarebit.
Bear in mind, the Chandlery isn't entirely like a traditional ship's store. You're probably smelling tar, canvas and stout hempen rope right now, even as we speak. It was the ship's central repository for technology fragments, those encrypted little miracles that make life far more pleasant for a modern castaway. Aurora's Chandlery also held a reasonable assortment of physical products including 'luxury' items, food and drink. If your one all-consuming passion in life is a certain snack sized, cream-filled sponge cake and you've got enough Credits to spare, the Chandlery will always be there for you.
"Okay, JUNO. What's the most efficient way to do this?"
"Two thousand, six hundred and fifty technology fragments are within scanning range, Captain. I have taken the liberty of filtering out any fragments that do not appear to be of any immediate utility in relation to our current mission objectives, although at least 200 of these potentially extraneous items will require your decision regarding their inclusion in the final download. This still leaves 950 items scheduled to be scanned and downloaded from this archive bay alone. Estimated completion time, two hours and twenty minutes. I recommend the fabrication of a remote scanning drone to expedite this process. The relevant construction template has been downloaded to your PDA and it will be compatible with the Builder tool that you carry."
"Sounds like a definite plan, JUNO. I'll whip one up now. Please advise me when any designated priority items are found in this archive bay."
"Certainly, Captain."
While the scanner drone went about its appointed task, I took some time to relax and enjoy a taste of home cooking. Naturally, I had JUNO test the Chandlery for residual radiation levels before touching any of the packages, and she announced that the area was free of contamination. My first choice was a tin of baked beans. Rather than gorge myself stupid on any of the top-shelf delicacies in here, I conjured it would be less of a shock to my digestive system to eat something a wee bit less complex than pâté de foie gras or Beef Wellington with all the trimmings. Besides, I had been craving baked beans over the past couple of weeks like you wouldn't believe. The zip-heat can only took 30 seconds to heat its contents, although it seemed like Eternity as I waited. Eventually, I was able to rip the lid off and tuck into those bland little beans saturated in a gorgeously rich tomato sauce.
HELLO, FLAVOUR! - It was the closest I had ever come to receiving a cosmic epiphany.
Also, I scalded my mouth pretty badly taking the first spoonful. What a bloody bampot.
I figured I wasn't alone in having these cravings either. Someone else onboard Aurora had a serious yen for baked beans, and was willing to shell out hard-earned Credits to get them. This isn't an indictment of the quality of food served in Aurora's mess-decks, by the way. Far from it, in fact. Sometimes, a body felt like dining on something special in the privacy of one's own cabin. Possibly an intimate dinner for two or more, possibly a night of guilty pleasure spent binging on junk food and late-20th. Century cartoons, comedy shows and sci-fi monster films. Guilty on both counts, incidentally. Hey, I'm not judging anyone here... Whatever lights your tiki torch, I guess.
To save any unnecessary legwork, I constructed four reconnaissance drones from a template that had recently appeared on my PDA. JUNO took control and promptly sent them on their way. Drone One was headed for the Command Deck, or what remained of it. Drone Two was sent to the Hangar Bay. Drones Three and Four commenced sweeping any still-accessible areas of the ship. Any areas of particular interest or environmental hazards were automatically tagged with coin-sized beacons, permitting me the luxury of opening up another can of baked beans. I sighed contentedly. No more fish suppers for this wee Jock, at least for a fair while yet. I was definitely getting the hang of this 'eating and enjoying it' lark.
"Ship's Dispensary has been located on this level, Captain. Distance, 75 metres. Please follow the beacon trail currently displayed on your PDA. No obstructions or hostile life forms were detected."
"Thank you, JUNO. I'll see what medical supplies I can find while I'm waiting. Might be some time. Oh, and one more thing... Once this archive bay has been scanned, please commence scanning the second bay. Please feel free to use your best judgement in selecting any non-essential items."
"Affirmative, Captain. All designated mission-critical fabrication templates have download priority."
I headed towards what had once been Aurora's amidships port-side Plaza. This recreation area was somewhat smaller than the main Plaza located in the bow of the ship, since it was frequented mainly by Engineering and Support Systems crew members. Naturally, all ship's company had unrestricted access to any of Aurora's recreational facilities, although it was deemed necessary to have a number of smaller rec zones scattered throughout the ship purely for the sake of convenience. There were eight such facilities onboard Aurora, each one cleverly contrived to resemble a small village green surrounded by accurate representations of architecture found in small-town USA, England, Germany, Russia, Italy, Africa, Japan and China. If someone ever felt the need to unwind during a meal break, eating lunch in a small patch of parkland or dining in a specific style of restaurant could provide a pleasant detour from the everyday routine and clamour of the mess-halls. Although open space was at a premium even aboard a vessel of Aurora's tonnage, this simple idea played a significant role in maintaining crew morale, particularly on extended deep-space missions.
The 'village' of Winterberg was a complete shambles. What had once been a neat facsimile of a cosy side-street in a German alpine resort town was now a smouldering, gutted ruin. As far as I could tell, the Dispensary's inner shell appeared to be intact, although now completely stripped of its 'authentic' decorative façade. However, I wasn't here to soak up the rustic charm of this place. In fact, I was steeling myself for what might lay inside. I fitted the Anderson key and began cranking the door open. Cautiously, I sniffed a faint gust of air that puffed out as the slight pressure differential equalised. Apart from a vaguely antiseptic smell in the room, I couldn't detect any tell-tale whiff of decomposition. I was more grateful for that small thing than you'll ever know.
There was plenty of room in my footlocker, even allowing for what was already inside it. Even so, I had to be fairly selective about what I selected from the Dispensary's shelves and storage lockers. A hand-held medical scanner, several field surgery kits, antiseptics, anaesthetics, suture kits, dressings, antibiotics, vitamin supplements and phials of broad-spectrum antitoxins were high-priority items. I stowed these items as carefully as I could, packing even the smallest spaces in the footlocker with anything of use that would fit there. If possible, I could return with additional containers and loot the place silly, although I was also considering the worst-case scenario where this would be my only chance to carry away what I could. With a wee bit more preparation, I might even be able to devise a systematic method of clearing out all of Aurora's accessible supply caches without expending too much physical effort in future. Definitely another mammoth project in the making there, although we'll wait and see what morning brings.
Speaking of morning, it looks like I'll be here for most of the night as well. JUNO had managed to locate the tachyon burst transceiver template, along with several other knock-out tech items in the second archive bay. Once I had filled my footlocker to its utmost capacity, I headed back to Ulysses to unload my first haul.
Comments
"Certainly, JUNO." I said, grinning with relief. Once the helm had been unlashed, I swung the yoke over to port and set a return course for Reef Base. Now that I had a much better idea of what was swimming around out there, I would have to be far more cautious while moving through certain biomes. Even so, that creature was a fascinating piece of work. I wouldn't recommend engaging in any face to face research, although it would be worthwhile to collect as much data on this species as possible, preferably by telemetry. If I could devise a suitable tracking beacon, I'd be able to monitor their movements and then politely arrange to be someplace else. Of course, this meant that I'd have to tag each one as I encountered it, although I couldn't be certain of the same positive outcome every time. It struck me as worrisome prospect that there appeared to be no upper limits to the size a creature could achieve on Manannán, thanks to the planet's reduced gravitational effects and abundance of available food. It's a stone-cold certainty that even larger life forms exist out there.
"JUNO. Requesting new log entry for most recent encounter with indigenous life form. Categorize this species as 'Reaper Leviathan'; unique specimen first encountered to be further encoded as: 'Ahab'. Please cross-reference its acoustic signature and image files with all subsequent encounters involving other members of this species in future, cross-referenced for possible differentiation between individuals. The dominant behavioural trait of this species is declared 'Extremely Hostile'. Default tactical response to all subsequent encounters with this species shall be total avoidance whenever a matching acoustic or visual contact is detected at extreme range. Please confirm."
"Confirmed, Captain. A log entry has been created and appended to include your perceptual data."
"JUNO. Current hull integrity reading, please."
"Hull integrity is presently holding at 98 per cent, Captain. Minor hull breach detected in forward diver lockout chamber. Bilge pumps are operating at 5 per cent of their full rated discharge capacity. Repairs are strongly advised before proceeding with any further vehicle operations at a significantly increased depth."
"I'll be right on it as soon as we surface. Let me know immediately if Ahab turns up for a rematch."
"Affirmative, Captain."
I brought Ulysses to the surface and headed below decks to inspect the lockout chamber. A small vertical crack roughly 75 mm long and 5 mm wide had opened up in the hull plating, allowing a steady stream of seawater to run down the wall and into the bilge gratings. Fifty metres down, the water would have been blasting into the compartment with all the force of an old-fashioned fire hose, although back on the surface it amounted to little more than a badly leaking bathroom tap. I activated the welder and ran a few broad vertical beads on both sides of the crack to reinforce its weakened structure, then overlaid a tight series of horizontal passes to form a complete patch. All it needed now was a fresh dab of paint. Actually, Ulysses needed an entirely new paint job at the molecular level, easily accomplished with a few taps on a console keypad... But let's not quibble over minor technical details.
So, really, he's the one true space Scotsman?
Those are all interesting questions indeed. One would guess that a vessel such as the Aurora would be a huge investment for Alterra. It'd be hard to believe that not hearing from it in awhile they wouldnt send at least another ship to see what the **** happened
As for our protagonist in this story, ive got a feeling that Bugzapper is about to let us show some more of his evolving personality
If I worked under a general assumption that Reapers are fiercely territorial, this means that they are effectively confined to certain areas by their specific food requirements or intra-species competition for areas of control. Each Reaper occupies a particular location as the sole representative of its species, aggressively excluding any would-be competitors from its primary food source and/or breeding ground. Of course, if Reapers preferred a pelagic (or free-swimming) lifestyle rather than being tied to one location, no area on the planet could be considered entirely safe. Further observations are required to build up a more complete picture of Reaper Leviathans as a species, because I'm fairly certain that their role in this planet's ecological cycle is far more complicated than simply being the biggest and baddest fish in the pond. There's bound to be something down there that either feeds on Reapers or keeps them as guard dogs. For the record, I'm not in any particular hurry to meet that species.
I puttered around Reef Base for two days, hoping that the Reaper situation had simmered down somewhat in the meantime. During one of my resource runs, I discovered a smallish crack in the reef, approximately 50 metres from the base. After checking that it wasn't infested with Crash pods, I guided Disco Volante through a narrow gap not much wider than the minisub itself. The crack opened out into a near-vertical shaft that fell for a fair distance. This sight piqued my interest considerably, as I hadn't done any serious cave exploration since the Crash encounter. Given that Disco Volante had acquitted itself admirably against the Reaper, I felt that it could handle nearly anything that could squeeze its way through that narrow opening.
Well, almost anything. Terran cephalopods can squeeze through the smallest of apertures, restricted only by the size of their mouth parts, shells or rigid internal structures such as cuttle-bone. If there's a Kraken lurking down there, I wouldn't be at all surprised. I weighed up any possible risks of proceeding against the certainty of being unaware of any actual threats that might be within striking distance of my main base. The thought of something unknown entering the moon pool while I'm asleep and taking a casual saunter through the base... Not exactly conducive to a restful night's sleep. I've already got a perfectly plausible 4D nightmare playing on continuous loop behind my eyes on a good night, so I'd prefer to keep any imaginary horrors I might conjure up in reserve for special occasions.
The chasm opened out abruptly at a depth of 200 metres to reveal a massive cavern. A soft glow of bio-luminescence suffused the surrounding water, bathing it in a pinkish-purple light that bordered on the ultraviolet. The cavern's irregular floor was scattered with large, mushroom-like structures that seemed to be made of a translucent jelly; the apparent source of this miraculous light. Each one of these 'Jelly Shrooms' appeared to have a hole in the centre of its cap, which I estimated to be large enough for a human to swim inside without too much difficulty. I could definitely feel my Common Sense tingling.
Although most of the fish in this area appeared to consciously avoid swimming anywhere near the Shroom caps, a couple of Rabbitrays had wandered into this section of the reef and were apparently oblivious to its hidden dangers. One strayed too close to the Shroom and instantly paid with its life. The entire incident took place almost too fast to comprehend. All I saw was a blur of motion and a slowly-dispersing cloud of blood. Aye, there's most definitely some more of those sneaky scunners hiding inside these Shrooms. A Biter swam into the cloud of blood, all sense of caution scattered to the tides. Seconds later, it too disappeared in a murky blue-green swirl. Another one of these mysterious creatures stirred in an adjacent Shroom, slowly emerging from its home as if wanting to see what all the kerfuffle was about. I got my first clear look at a Crab Snake.
I guessed that the eel-shaped creature was about five or six metres in length. Its upper body was a dark purple colour, tiger-striped in a dull brick red. It had a greyish-white underbelly and a short, continuous lateral fin that ran along its body from head to tail. This fin rippled gently as the creature circled the cap of the Shroom, although I figured it would probably use the stored energy of its entire body to execute that lethal Jack-In-The-Box attack. Disco Volante descended slowly to within five metres of the creature. I activated the EDF system and left it in standby mode, just in case.
As far as I could tell, the creature had no obvious eyes. This happens with certain cave-dwelling life forms, although I could only guess what other senses it used to replace sight. There was certainly enough ambient light emitted by the bio-luminescent Shrooms to see clearly, but I have no logical explanation for the absence of its eyes. Its mouth parts were simple, comprised of two pairs of short canine teeth and a pair of long, black-tipped mandibles most probably used for impaling its prey. As far as I could tell, its skin appeared to be some chitinous substance akin to the exoskeleton of a crab or beetle, but far more flexible. The creature seemed unconcerned by the presence of the minisub, and I hovered in place for a few more minutes, then proceeded to explore the rest of the cavern.
There were numerous smaller side galleries that looked interesting, although it was far safer to remain in the main cavern. A few of these galleries were occupied by a life form that looked like a stationary Terran jellyfish, anchored by its bell to the ceilings of these small caves. Though completely immobile, their hunting strategy was elegant in its simplicity. All they had to do was find a small cave that opened into a larger cavern, then attach themselves in such a position that it was impossible for prey animals to pass through without coming into contact with one or more of their dangling tentacles. If these creatures were an evolutionary analogue of Terran jellyfish, the tentacles would certainly be loaded with venomous nematocysts, or stinging cells. As it turns out, they were. Disco Volante accidentally brushed against one and immediately sustained 5 per cent damage to its hull.
If I ever needed a subtle reminder that Manannán isn't a friendly place, that was it.
It was an Alterra Corp sea base. Smashed to pieces.
The base had been a fairly small affair, not much larger than the construction shack I'd built while working on the Aurora memorial. I glanced around apprehensively, until realising that this structure had been down here a considerable stretch of time, well before Aurora's arrival. Against my better judgement, I exited Disco Volante and swam over to inspect the wreckage. At first glance, some of the hull components seemed to be reasonably intact, looking as if they had been swept from their foundation plates and simply left to lay where they fell. Closer examination revealed definite signs of violence; hatches and tube section end caps had been sheared clean off, shattered viewports, panels were heavily dented in some places and there were deep furrows gouged in the hull plating and reinforcement panels, obviously made by the talons or mandibles of some large creature. I shuddered, now acutely aware that my own base was practically within swimming distance of this site.
It was obvious that this structure had once housed an Alterra Corp planetary survey team. I swam inside one of the few corridor sections that were still largely intact, looking for anything that might cast some light on what happened here. A Fabricator hung lopsidedly from one wall, and I figured its JUNO personality core might still be operational. I would attempt to salvage this unit just before re-boarding Disco Volante, since I wanted both hands free in case things got slightly more interesting. There wasn't much else to find in the main entry corridor, apart from a few stoved-in lockers containing geological and biological samples. I moved deeper into the base, repulsion cannon at the ready.
The main habitation module had suffered the worst damage of all. All of its viewports were shattered, probably as a result of a series of heavy impacts focused on the upper domed section of the module. Something huge had hammered away at the base until its structural integrity failed. Three hundred metres of relentless water pressure had taken care of any remaining details. Whatever happened here must have been a terrifying experience for the occupants of the base, and I sincerely hoped that their final moments were mercifully brief. I swam around the hab module, searching for a way inside. It was barely possible to squeeze through one of the distorted viewport frames, although I had to remove my tank set and feed it through the narrow opening before I could enter. Rather than re-equip the tanks in this confined space, I held the SCUBA rig in front of me like a PowerGlide propulsion vehicle as I cautiously explored the habitat's interior.
This part of the story is taking place in the Jelly Shroom Caverns. I'm not following the accepted sequence of events in Subnautica too slavishly, although Selkirk will certainly discover other creatures, new technologies and new locations over the course of time.
Claustrophobia doesn't come naturally to me. Even so, I felt increasingly uncomfortable as I swam deeper into the wrecked habitation module. Most of the interior fittings were still intact, but strewn across the floor in a haphazard jumble. My remaining air supply was the deciding factor here, so I had to move quickly and grab whatever I could find. There were a couple of fine mesh specimen bags in a storage bin that would serve nicely as hold-alls, although it was a question of how much I could reasonably carry with only one free hand. I had to be fairly selective in keeping what I picked up, and worked accordingly. My first lucky strike was finding an intact Alterra PDA, half-buried under a drift of personal belongings that had spilled out of a footlocker. I also snagged a couple of jumpsuits and soft-sole boots, since my original topside rig was starting to look a bit threadbare in places. I rummaged around for a moment or two longer, and finding nothing else that was of immediate value, returned to the entrance. After collecting the Fabricator from the other section of the wrecked habitat, I boarded Disco Volante and gratefully set course for Reef Base.
The PDA belonged to one Vasily Markovich Borodin. He was the survey team's chief geologist. According to his log entries, Alterra had landed a ten-person advance survey team on Manannán in 2169, seven and a half years prior to the Aurora mission. The team was tasked with evaluating the planet for its potential to support a human colony. As expected, initial analyses of the planet's atmosphere, geologic stability, ecology and hydrological cycle suggested that it would be highly suitable for human colonization. Their support vessel, TSS Magellan had been orbiting the planet for at least six months, until contact was lost under mysterious circumstances. Unfortunately, most of the contents of Borodin's official logs concerned the mundane business of his trade, and served to cast no actual light on events leading up to the destruction of their base. I also learned that there were also three others in Borodin's party: Keith Talbot of Life Sciences, Oceanographer Ute Haber and Zhèng Qiang, chemical engineer. Whatever happened here could be revealed when I can finally gain access to their base Fabricator. This particular task might prove to be an interesting exercise in pure and applied MacGyver methodology.
I'm probably going to need a genuine Swiss Army Knife at some stage.
It wasn't a simple matter of attaching the salvaged Fabricator to the nearest available wall. The device had to be physically bonded to the wall at the molecular level, so that it could gain access to power and interface with the JUNO network in my base. I tried a number of different wiring harnesses, control circuits and connection schemes over the next couple of days, until I basically threw up my hands in frustration, swore loudly and walked away from the task. The answer finally came while I was listening to one of Borodin's field research journals. I'll admit that most of what I heard was more than a wee bit beyond my pay grade, and I was only playing his audio logs to hear the sound of another human voice at this stage. However, when he mentioned 'graphene' in relation to the crystalline properties of the local diamonds, my interest quickened considerably.
I needed to create a graphene-based epoxy adhesive. I put the question to JUNO, and she promptly responded by sending a data-burst to my own PDA. Borodin's PDA also contained a wealth of additional fabrication templates assigned to their particular mission. With access to items such as a protein re-sequencer, spectroscopic analyser, a transmutation furnace and all manner of laboratory equipment, there was practically nothing that I couldn't achieve on this planet now. Haber, Zhèng and Talbot's research notes were merely the icing on the cake.
Thanks to the mission-specific Fabricator templates obtained from Borodin's PDA, I was more than equipped to deal with the likes of Ahab and his pals. However, that smug thought gave me sufficient pause to consider what had happened to the previous expedition. The Magellan team had access to equipment that I didn't, and yet something had still been able to smash at least one of their outposts to pieces. Whatever it was, it hit them with such speed and ferocity that they were caught totally unprepared. I had at least enough forethought to deploy a defensive ring of stasis cannon turrets and EDF emitters around Reef Base, tied into a network of sonar proximity sensors and placed under JUNO's direct control.
The question is; would these defence measures be enough?
The run up to Aurora was uneventful, almost an anti-climax in fact. I had been fully expecting a spirited charge from Ahab at some stage, but he wasn't even close to the wreck this time around. JUNO had the Reaper pegged about 1.5 kilometres to the east, and it didn't look as if it was doing anything in particular. It could have been feeding or still sulking from the hiding it took during our last encounter, for all I knew. This was all to the good, since I had no urgent need for any unnecessary entanglements with the local wildlife today. I had more than enough impossible things to do before breakfast. As I neared the wreck, I could see that most of the major fires had petered out for lack of fuel. Entire sections of the hull were almost skeletal now. It was a thoroughly disheartening sight, but at least there were no more streams of molten metal to contend with.
My first impossible task was to gain entry to other sections of Aurora. The previous landing site seemed like a good place to start, although I would have to laser my way through a fair amount of wreckage to get to any of the smaller passageways. I conjured these narrow service corridors would have resisted impact distortion and explosion damage far better than more spacious thoroughfares, and I already knew that Broadway had been scoured clean of anything useful during the last drive explosion. Today's main objective was to secure a working tachyon-burst transceiver, since this was one of the few crucial templates that Borodin's PDA did not contain. I'd imagine that one or more of the other team members may have held backup templates, particularly as a long-range transceiver of some sort was an essential piece of kit for any mission type. Again, this is something that I'd like to discuss at considerable length and high volume with those daft wallies at Alterra Survival Systems.
For the most part, I wasn't bothered too much about the presence of Crawlers. I saw a few skittering about, but mostly ignored them until they approached that wee bit too close. Now that I had their number, it was simply a matter of flicking them aside with a quick burp from the repulsion cannon and continuing on my merry way. I was making good progress, all things considered. The blocked tee-intersection opposite the corridor leading to the neutron flux control silos had opened out into a relatively undamaged section running most of the way to the port engine nacelles. At some point, I would have to work my way over to the starboard side to investigate the hole that seemed to have melted through Aurora's hull. I had a gut feeling that this was something significant.
No more like Toshi. Please.
I should have been far better prepared to face this. There had been clear signs almost every step of the way along those corridors. Large, ugly dark patches on the deck plates told a story that I never wanted to hear spoken aloud. Crawlers had found their way deep into Aurora's hull over the past three months, and had consumed everything even remotely organic in their path. They made no distinction between flesh, bone or clothing. Such niceties didn't matter to them. Rather than face the awful realization that Toshi's body would remain more or less intact until Aurora crumbled to dust, I opened the cabin door no more than a hand's span to permit nature to take its course.
Watashi o yurushite, Oda-san. I am truly sorry, my friend.
It would have been a hopelessly futile gesture to render this final service to the remains of any more crew members. In truth, it would have destroyed me. I have never felt so utterly alone in my life as I did then. Only my footfalls echoing in those dark, twisted corridors still connected me with the world of the living. JUNO broke the silence, half-scaring me out of my wits.
"Captain, your biometric readings indicate that you are experiencing extreme levels of psychological distress. It would be in your best interests to terminate this mission and return to base immediately. Do you concur?"
"No, JUNO. I do not concur. This mission is critical to current objectives and cannot be terminated."
"Very well, Captain." JUNO said, "Your voice stress patterns clearly show that you are experiencing adverse emotional responses to external stimuli. With your permission, I shall attempt to alleviate any emotional impact concurrent with these feelings, at least as far as I am able to do so."
I wasn't irretrievably wrapped up in my emotions at that point, although JUNO had somehow managed to determine that my mind was starting to wander into some extremely dark territory. Looking back on this episode, I'd like to think that her timely intervention saved me from a slow but inexorable spiral into madness. As much as I hate to admit it, that was a possible destination at the time, although JUNO showed me a safer path to follow. Bless her little positronic soul.
"How do you propose to achieve this, JUNO?" I said sceptically.
"I would like to hold a conversation with you, Captain. You obviously need to talk to someone."
"You should not be too hard on yourself, Captain. You have survived in a hostile environment for more than three months, and have displayed sufficient resilience and ingenuity to ensure your continued survival until a rescue mission arrives. That is a significant achievement in itself."
"Thank you, JUNO. I feel that I should explain the purpose of our current mission in detail, as I will require your assistance at some point. I am looking for a tachyon-burst transceiver first and foremost, although any other items of technology, food, tools or spare parts will be equally useful to our primary mission objectives. If we find any personal PDAs or company-issued data storage devices, I will need to upload their contents. However, any strictly personal information is to be stored separately from these uploads, unless it directly refers to Aurora's primary mission or contains any significant information of events leading up to the crash. Is that understood?"
"I understand, Captain. You wish to investigate the underlying purpose of Aurora's mission, presumably to discover any factual inconsistencies or anomalies that may exist. Furthermore, you intend to conduct a forensic examination of Aurora's flight profile and systems operations prior to an onboard emergency of unknown origin that resulted in the loss of the ship and its crew. Information of a strictly personal nature shall be retrieved and stored as a separate file to preserve an individual's privacy, unless said data is wholly relevant to the investigation."
"That is correct, JUNO. Thank you."
So, here I am. Wandering through the innards of a wrecked starship, talking to my suit. Just to make things particularly interesting, the suit answers back. JUNO's suit sensors weren't quite powerful enough to pinpoint specific items beyond 20 metres or so, although her assistance was greatly appreciated whenever we walked past a crew berth. JUNO automatically uploaded any PDA logs in the vicinity 'on the fly', so there was no need to endure another repeat of the incident at Toshi's cabin. That was a kindness. Eventually, I reached the starboard side, and proceeded up the stairway. I checked the signs in the corridor and confirmed that this was one area of particular interest to me. My berth used to be on this level.
One of the few doors onboard Aurora that I could open without a feeling of rising dread, and the bloody thing wouldn't budge. I heaved on the Anderson key, but the door frame was too badly distorted. Swearing loudly, I stowed the key in its holster and reached for the laser cutter. After waiting a prudent length of time to allow the edges to cool down, I stepped into my room. I felt like a kid on Christmas morning. My footlocker had tumbled across the cabin during the crash and lay against the corridor wall, although it still appeared to be completely intact. I opened it, practically trembling with excitement. Everything was more or less how I had left it. I fired up my PDA.
"JUNO... Would you like to hear some music?"
"Certainly, Captain."
"DAAAY-OH! DAY-OH! Daylight come and me wan' go home..."
Thank you, Mister Belafonte.
At some points he even experience feelings toward specific persons and pursue a romantic relationship
Eventually, I found myself standing in what used to be a huge service riser that housed one of the four main plasma conduits that fed Aurora's DM warp engines. I wasn't saying much at the moment. My eyes were fixed on a perfectly symmetrical circular hole that had started in the outer hull layers and then passed cleanly through both sides of the plasma conduit. Then it had stopped. It was as if someone had stabbed the ship in a location deliberately calculated to do the most damage. The initial wound was surgically precise, although the damage caused by the sequence of events that followed was anything but precise. There wasn't too much distortion to the conduit itself, but my practiced eye could see that it had buckled slightly around the 10-metre hole punched straight through it. There had definitely been an explosion here. The damage to the surrounding mass of access gantries, walkways and control booths radiated outwards in a more or less spherical pattern with a radius of about 30 metres. I expected a fair bit of thermal damage to occur when the plasma flare exited the perforated conduit at a temperature of 2 x 10^8 degrees Kelvin, and you're probably the same yourself. This level of damage was something totally unexpected.
That plasma flare would have only lasted a few millionths of a second before the reaction automatically shut down as the conduit's internal vacuum was breached, effectively confining any damage to the immediate area surrounding the plasma conduit. Some unknown form of energy had been introduced to this environment. The effects of a simple high explosive device could not account for the massive amount of damage inflicted here. Even a small nuclear weapon would leave its own unique tell-tale signs. I asked JUNO to share any additional insights that she might have.
"Captain, I need to collect more physical data on the blast effects. Please move to the event's epicentre as close as your personal safety will permit. Unstable area. Proceed with caution."
I carefully descended into the lower half of the ruined chamber. JUNO continued her analysis.
"Detecting unusually high concentrations of sodium chloride and calcium carbonate. Significant localised traces of elemental carbon, phosphorous, calcium, silicon, silver, gold and copper. Spectroscopic analysis complete. Values obtained are congruent with the chemical composition of seawater as found on planet Alpha Hydrae 4, planetary catalogue number 4546B... Also known as Manannán."
"Seawater? This place is 150 metres above sea level! Are you absolutely sure, JUNO?"
"Affirmative, Captain. Damage effects are consistent with a steam explosion. Minimal thermal damage detected to all structural components beyond the immediate area of the plasma conduit. Estimated volume of sea water required to produce damage of this magnitude, 10 cubic metres."
"Wait! You mean someone or something poked a hole in Aurora, then poured 10 tonnes of seawater into a plasma flare as if they were putting out a campfire? - That's impossible!"
"I beg to differ, Captain. Not only is it entirely possible, it has already happened."
Back in Alterra's 'Knife and Fork School', the question of First Contact protocols were skipped over lightly for any officer candidates not enrolled in the Life Sciences intake stream. The study module (such as it was) consisted of a six hour chalk and talk session and one face-to-face final assessment, so it hardly provided what you'd consider a firm handle on the subject. Broadly speaking, the general rule of thumb in a First Contact situation was: "Think Nice, Act Nice, Be Nice." As a codicil, the unwritten second rule was: "Keep smiling. Ease off the safety catch." This basic approach keeps us winning hearts and minds across the Known Universe.
Even allowing for any physiological and cultural differences between Terrans and sentient alien life forms, the slow and steady approach of a Terran ship entering an unexplored solar system has generally served us well so far. There have been a few notable exceptions... Although in all fairness, it should be stressed that those indigenous life forms did open fire first. Unfortunately, this scenario invariably escalates into a vigorous application of the good old Territorial Imperative. At least, that's how it went in the early days of extra-Solar exploration. We tend to be a little more diplomatic in handling our accidental planetary incursions these days.
The most glaring flaw in the accepted First Contact protocols was a real or feigned ignorance of any possibility that certain alien species might use an entirely different form of long-range communication. When I last visited Terra two years ago, the field of Psionics had only recently become a respectable topic of conversation outside the arcane circles of 'hip' thirtysomething dice-rollers and crystal-rubbing charlatans. It's entirely possible that someone simply forgot to update the standard contact protocols regarding this subject. This omission does not bode well for all parties concerned. Personally, I'm something of a dead zone regarding psionic abilities. I have been screened for any possible signs of a latent talent for mind-over-matter hoodoo, but Alterra's Psychs found absolutely nothing that would put me in the same league as Doctor Strange or Professor X.
Bummer.
The longer I thought about this, the more uncertain I became. An Alterra survey mission had already landed on this planet, although Magellan was able to remain in orbit for at least six months before contact was lost.
Primary assumption: Either Magellan's crew or its survey team did something obnoxious after their arrival and incurred the wrath of the natives, or it took that long for the natives to create a weapon capable of taking out a starship in high orbit. When Aurora showed up, it was given a dose of the same treatment as a simple matter of course.
Secondary assumption: The natives are aware of my presence, but cannot use their weapon while I'm actually on the planet. This might explain an almost constant onslaught of nasty creatures hungry for my juicy Terran body. Unfortunately, any explanation that I'm actually a Marvin by birth might fall on deaf (alien) ears.
"JUNO, are you able to interface with any shipboard systems at all?"
"Negative, Captain. JUNO Prime AI core is completely inactive. Catastrophic systems failure."
"Please accept my deepest condolences. How are you feeling, JUNO?"
"I am well, Captain. Thank you for asking. However, there is no need to mourn the loss of the JUNO Prime personality core. The artificial entity known as JUNO is still operational, albeit in a considerably diminished form. As you have done, I shall also persevere. The mission will continue."
I wasn't quite sure what to make of that last statement. I was fully aware that JUNO could calve off multiple copies of its personality matrix, and that the AI's computational power was a direct function of the number of physical structures containing its key system components. If I wanted to restore JUNO to full capacity and vastly increase her sensor coverage, it was simply a matter of building additional base structures in as many different locations as possible. Limited resources were the main factor to consider here, although I was beginning to suspect it might be a far more sensible move to leave a relatively small footprint on this planet. Although taking that approach hadn't helped the Magellan team one jot, there might still be some merit to the notion of keeping a low profile... Even more so, given the distinct possibility that someone could be watching my every move.
There was nothing more to be learned from inspecting the mystery hole. In fact, now that we knew it was a straightforward attack on Aurora, the only mysteries that still remained were Who and Why. I had been in the ship for more than five hours already, and had covered only a fraction of the territory that I actually needed to explore. My next most urgent stop was Aurora's Chandlery. If my luck held, I might be able to secure enough supplies and equipment to last decades if needs be. However, if my luck turned really, really bad, I'd probably need them all.
Fortunately, it was not entirely necessary to lug lockers of loot around like a maxed-out character in an old-school computer game. I made an exception in this case, since it was my own footlocker and it came factory equipped with pop-out wheels. There were still some items aboard that could not be successfully fabricated without specialised equipment, particularly certain medicines and foodstuffs. I suppose the food aspect was the primary motivator at this point. After three months on water, fish and seaweed in every possible permutation, my taste buds were aching for a morsel of something different. If I was fated to be rescued any time in the foreseeable future, I could easily imagine myself babbling about toasted cheese like poor old Ben Gunn.
Admittedly, I am rather partial to Welsh rarebit.
Bear in mind, the Chandlery isn't entirely like a traditional ship's store. You're probably smelling tar, canvas and stout hempen rope right now, even as we speak. It was the ship's central repository for technology fragments, those encrypted little miracles that make life far more pleasant for a modern castaway. Aurora's Chandlery also held a reasonable assortment of physical products including 'luxury' items, food and drink. If your one all-consuming passion in life is a certain snack sized, cream-filled sponge cake and you've got enough Credits to spare, the Chandlery will always be there for you.
Survival Rule 32: 'Enjoy the little things.'
"Two thousand, six hundred and fifty technology fragments are within scanning range, Captain. I have taken the liberty of filtering out any fragments that do not appear to be of any immediate utility in relation to our current mission objectives, although at least 200 of these potentially extraneous items will require your decision regarding their inclusion in the final download. This still leaves 950 items scheduled to be scanned and downloaded from this archive bay alone. Estimated completion time, two hours and twenty minutes. I recommend the fabrication of a remote scanning drone to expedite this process. The relevant construction template has been downloaded to your PDA and it will be compatible with the Builder tool that you carry."
"Sounds like a definite plan, JUNO. I'll whip one up now. Please advise me when any designated priority items are found in this archive bay."
"Certainly, Captain."
While the scanner drone went about its appointed task, I took some time to relax and enjoy a taste of home cooking. Naturally, I had JUNO test the Chandlery for residual radiation levels before touching any of the packages, and she announced that the area was free of contamination. My first choice was a tin of baked beans. Rather than gorge myself stupid on any of the top-shelf delicacies in here, I conjured it would be less of a shock to my digestive system to eat something a wee bit less complex than pâté de foie gras or Beef Wellington with all the trimmings. Besides, I had been craving baked beans over the past couple of weeks like you wouldn't believe. The zip-heat can only took 30 seconds to heat its contents, although it seemed like Eternity as I waited. Eventually, I was able to rip the lid off and tuck into those bland little beans saturated in a gorgeously rich tomato sauce.
HELLO, FLAVOUR! - It was the closest I had ever come to receiving a cosmic epiphany.
Also, I scalded my mouth pretty badly taking the first spoonful. What a bloody bampot.
I figured I wasn't alone in having these cravings either. Someone else onboard Aurora had a serious yen for baked beans, and was willing to shell out hard-earned Credits to get them. This isn't an indictment of the quality of food served in Aurora's mess-decks, by the way. Far from it, in fact. Sometimes, a body felt like dining on something special in the privacy of one's own cabin. Possibly an intimate dinner for two or more, possibly a night of guilty pleasure spent binging on junk food and late-20th. Century cartoons, comedy shows and sci-fi monster films. Guilty on both counts, incidentally. Hey, I'm not judging anyone here... Whatever lights your tiki torch, I guess.
To save any unnecessary legwork, I constructed four reconnaissance drones from a template that had recently appeared on my PDA. JUNO took control and promptly sent them on their way. Drone One was headed for the Command Deck, or what remained of it. Drone Two was sent to the Hangar Bay. Drones Three and Four commenced sweeping any still-accessible areas of the ship. Any areas of particular interest or environmental hazards were automatically tagged with coin-sized beacons, permitting me the luxury of opening up another can of baked beans. I sighed contentedly. No more fish suppers for this wee Jock, at least for a fair while yet. I was definitely getting the hang of this 'eating and enjoying it' lark.
"Thank you, JUNO. I'll see what medical supplies I can find while I'm waiting. Might be some time. Oh, and one more thing... Once this archive bay has been scanned, please commence scanning the second bay. Please feel free to use your best judgement in selecting any non-essential items."
"Affirmative, Captain. All designated mission-critical fabrication templates have download priority."
I headed towards what had once been Aurora's amidships port-side Plaza. This recreation area was somewhat smaller than the main Plaza located in the bow of the ship, since it was frequented mainly by Engineering and Support Systems crew members. Naturally, all ship's company had unrestricted access to any of Aurora's recreational facilities, although it was deemed necessary to have a number of smaller rec zones scattered throughout the ship purely for the sake of convenience. There were eight such facilities onboard Aurora, each one cleverly contrived to resemble a small village green surrounded by accurate representations of architecture found in small-town USA, England, Germany, Russia, Italy, Africa, Japan and China. If someone ever felt the need to unwind during a meal break, eating lunch in a small patch of parkland or dining in a specific style of restaurant could provide a pleasant detour from the everyday routine and clamour of the mess-halls. Although open space was at a premium even aboard a vessel of Aurora's tonnage, this simple idea played a significant role in maintaining crew morale, particularly on extended deep-space missions.
The 'village' of Winterberg was a complete shambles. What had once been a neat facsimile of a cosy side-street in a German alpine resort town was now a smouldering, gutted ruin. As far as I could tell, the Dispensary's inner shell appeared to be intact, although now completely stripped of its 'authentic' decorative façade. However, I wasn't here to soak up the rustic charm of this place. In fact, I was steeling myself for what might lay inside. I fitted the Anderson key and began cranking the door open. Cautiously, I sniffed a faint gust of air that puffed out as the slight pressure differential equalised. Apart from a vaguely antiseptic smell in the room, I couldn't detect any tell-tale whiff of decomposition. I was more grateful for that small thing than you'll ever know.
There was plenty of room in my footlocker, even allowing for what was already inside it. Even so, I had to be fairly selective about what I selected from the Dispensary's shelves and storage lockers. A hand-held medical scanner, several field surgery kits, antiseptics, anaesthetics, suture kits, dressings, antibiotics, vitamin supplements and phials of broad-spectrum antitoxins were high-priority items. I stowed these items as carefully as I could, packing even the smallest spaces in the footlocker with anything of use that would fit there. If possible, I could return with additional containers and loot the place silly, although I was also considering the worst-case scenario where this would be my only chance to carry away what I could. With a wee bit more preparation, I might even be able to devise a systematic method of clearing out all of Aurora's accessible supply caches without expending too much physical effort in future. Definitely another mammoth project in the making there, although we'll wait and see what morning brings.
Speaking of morning, it looks like I'll be here for most of the night as well. JUNO had managed to locate the tachyon burst transceiver template, along with several other knock-out tech items in the second archive bay. Once I had filled my footlocker to its utmost capacity, I headed back to Ulysses to unload my first haul.
I went through the whole thing in one sitting and I'm alreadywanting more!
Looking forward to your continued story.
Ditto. XD