Three hours later, the Dispensary's shelves and lockers were cleaner than a nun's mind on Christmas morning. In the final analysis, I conjured it would be sensible to take whatever I could lay my hands on, even if it meant having a couple of lockers filled with tampons, Victorian moustache wax and travel-sickness pills. Incidentally, tampons are an excellent first-aid solution for deep puncture wounds. Since that's pretty much how the local wildlife prefers to negotiate with intruders, those wee absorbent chaps are going straight into my base medical inventory without a single murmur of dissent. Not quite so certain about the moustache wax, although I'm sure I'll find an alternative use for it. I took a similar approach to the Chandlery, although I had the luxury of being able to trim my 'shopping list' accordingly. Now that I had access to the blueprints for a top-notch food synthesizer, I could convert any form of raw native protein and carbohydrates into whatever I felt like eating at the time. If I was feeling particularly adventurous, it was a simple matter of connecting a protein re-sequencer with the food synthesizer to create entirely new and exotic dishes, if I so wished. On second thoughts, I reckon I'll leave that option open to occupy a rainy afternoon.
About this point in time, you're probably thinking that I'm going to spend the rest of my sojourn here getting completely polluted on piña coladas and loafing around on my ever-increasing backside.
Well, you're wrong. Dead wrong.
I might partake of a wee nippie now and again in strict observance of high days and holy days, but there's no room for hopeless toss-pots on this thrilling aquatic adventure. Try taking on a Stalker with a skinful of good whisky and see how far that gets you. End result: One quick trip to Pod 5 and a honking great hangover afterwards. Besides, there's still that pressing matter of building a distress beacon ship and successfully launching it to attend to. Once I had manhandled the last pair of lockers aboard through Ulysses' minisub launch bay, I decided to turn in for the night. Strictly speaking, it was an hour past sunrise. Manannán's 16-hour rotational period had thrown my normal body clock completely out of whack, and I still wasn't entirely accustomed to spending at least half a 'day' asleep. If it was absolutely essential, I could get up early enough to make the most of available sunlight, although this tactic imposed a strict on/off approach to one's working hours. Eight hours is just enough time to get things done or catch a decent amount of sleep. Unfortunately, this arrangement leaves no time at all to pursue any off-duty activities. It might not seem like much of a problem in theory, although a body needs to take time to totally unwind every once in a while. In the end, I decided to ditch the whole idea of trying to maintain a 24-hour circadian rhythm. Work, rest and play as the situation demands. No boss to call the pace; no need to keep cracking the whip.
Simple.
When I awoke shortly after midnight, I took some time to do absolutely nothing. Now that I had my personal PDA back, I was able to completely indulge the 'inner man' for a while. One of the things that I missed most sorely was the sound of real human voices and having a genuine reason to laugh. After retrieving the six-pack of Aussie beer that had been left dangling below the 4.0 Celsius thermocline (JUNO gave me absolute hell for that) while I slept, I settled comfortably into the pilot's seat while cradling a galley tray loaded with choice nibbles and commenced binge-watching the entire first season of Red Dwarf.
At some stage, I must have nodded off to sleep. JUNO sounded a soft repeating chime to wake me.
"I apologise for waking you, Captain. As instructed, the reconnaissance drones have completed a full sweep of all remaining human-accessible areas of Aurora's hull. Drone One has retrieved data that requires your immediate attention."
"Bring the data up on the main display screen, please."
"This data has been retrieved from the Command Deck flight recorder module. Only one other recorder has been located intact, and the data it contains matches precisely with that already obtained. Is there any specific point in Aurora's flight profile that you wish to examine?"
"Please commence playback at 60 minutes before Aurora exited warp drive, JUNO. I will also require external hull camera feeds and graphic telemetry data for the following parameters: Warp field geometry, drive performance, shield status and power distribution for all associated sub-systems. Command deck voice transcripts to be delivered in simultaneous audio and visual display modes."
"Affirmative, Captain."
As expected, the first 58 minutes of the replay was entirely unremarkable. Aurora was decelerating steadily, running straight and true on a nominal approach vector for the Alpha Hydrae system. Its current velocity was 1.15 times light speed and everything appeared to be running as smoothly as possible. As long as the ship was able to drop below light speed before encountering the star system's outer limits of solar influence known as the 'heliopause', all would be well. Any significant penetration beyond that boundary while still travelling at light speed would be catastrophic. Aurora's projected course took it within 50,000 km of Alpha Hydrae 9. Using the mass of this gas giant as an active component in a gravity braking manoeuvre, Aurora would swing around the planet in a wide arc and smoothly decelerate below the speed of light. It might sound risky to most lay-persons, but this was a standard approach procedure. And from what I saw, it had been executed flawlessly.
However, Alphard was in a particularly irritable mood on that day.
A tremendous coronal mass ejection had belched from the surface of the elderly star several days previously. Aurora was still travelling at 1.0002 C when a heavy burst of solar plasma struck the ship head-on. Aurora's shields flickered slightly, but held firm and attenuated most of the physical impact. Inside the ship, most people would have felt little more than a slight shudder; something else to be shrugged at and promptly ignored. Apparently, nobody noticed the sequence of events immediately following the CME's impact. The solar plasma struck a small but dense cluster of charged particles that had accumulated during Aurora's flight at warp speed, forming a miniature nebula at the ship's bow. The additional energy injected into this nebula 'pumped' the charged particles as if they were inside a laser tube. This effect rapidly accelerated the particles directly into Aurora's shields initially, and when they were subsequently repelled, a highly dense, coherent pulse of supercharged particles surged forward like the blast of a Dreadnaught's main cannon.
"JUNO. Pause playback. Plot trajectory of residual particle discharge from CME event."
"Trajectory end point has been calculated. Enhanced electron beam originating from CME event delivered 85.2 terajoules of energy to the surface of planet designated 4546-B, Alpha Hydrae 4. Probable impact point, northern polar region. Precise coordinates are currently unavailable."
wait, they accidentally shot a death-laser from a ship without any death-lasers toward the north-pole of a planet causing global warming?
that is an amazing piece of bad luck.
I am really torn between calling this Deus-ex-machina and genius plot writing.
wait, they accidentally shot a death-laser from a ship without any death-lasers toward the north-pole of a planet causing global warming?
that is an amazing piece of bad luck.
I am really torn between calling this Deus-ex-machina and genius plot writing.
I'm inclined towards the 'incredibly bad luck' train of thought.
The solar plasma struck a small but dense cluster of charged particles that had accumulated during Aurora's flight at warp speed, forming a miniature nebula at the ship's bow. The additional energy injected into this nebula 'pumped' the charged particles as if they were inside a laser tube. This effect rapidly accelerated the particles directly into Aurora's shields initially, and when they were subsequently repelled, a highly dense, coherent pulse of supercharged particles surged forward like the blast of a Dreadnaught's main cannon.
''nosebleed''
''brainbleed''
''dies from severe internal bleeding''
''re-appears inside the lifepod @ 50% hunger''
I stared numbly at the last frame of the video playback. There was no way to accurately determine the total amount of energy the particle beam had transferred to the surface, although it was an absolute certainty that the beam had been significantly amplified as it passed through the planet's polar magnetic field convergence zone. Possibly equivalent in effect to a low megaton-range ground burst, at the very least. I couldn't be certain at the time.
In military parlance, this would be best described as a 'Grade A-One Charlie Foxtrot'.
Viewed dispassionately, Aurora's involvement was entirely 'accidental' in every possible sense of the word. It was a statistically-probable result of a cascading sequence of purely coincidental events; all worst-case paths precisely vectored, drawn inexorably together and then diligently ticked off on a cosmic check-list. A textbook example of a series of orderly coincidences following the most direct and effective path to absolute catastrophe.
Try explaining this to anyone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.
There wasn't much point in crossing my fingers and hoping that the impact zone was unpopulated. Most of the life on this planet is geared towards cold-water survival anyway, so it's safe to assume that the polar regions would have more or less the same levels of biodiversity as anywhere else on the planet. Any possibility of global warming would be the very least of my worries. There wasn't much chance of that happening here. Manannán's sun, Alphard had already fallen off the main sequence of a typical stellar lifespan, gradually cooling down to the point where most of its ocean's surface would freeze over permanently, except for a handful of deep locations kept tolerably warm by geothermal activity.
The Great Freeze wasn't scheduled to start for at least another 10 to 15 million years, so I wasn't immediately concerned about any adverse ecological impact arising from the Aurora disaster. As a side note, there have been two or possibly three nuclear-scale detonations on Manannán so far, with an estimated combined yield of less than five megatons. Some radioactive and toxic chemical contamination has occurred as a direct result of Terran interference, although the planet's ecology might still be reasonably described as 'pristine', or at least close enough in reality to qualify as 'an unspoiled paradise' according to a semi-reputable travel brochure.
While I ate breakfast, I was able to review video footage obtained from Drones Two, Three and Four. Drone Two had only been able to enter the aft Hangar Bay though one of the ventilation ducts, since all normal access corridors to the area were either missing or hopelessly blocked with debris. From what I could see, it would have been a completely wasted trip anyway. Two Pegasus orbital shuttles had been prepped and were standing ready to deliver the Life Sciences team to the planet, along with their escort force of five Taipan VTOL tactical transports. Fully fuelled and engines already spooled up in anticipation of an orderly atmospheric entry, the expedition's transport group were turned into wildly careening chunks of twisted metal and flaming fuel as Aurora fell from the sky.
Some of the smaller vehicles survived relatively intact in secured berths, although there was no immediately obvious way of retrieving them from their docking clamps. It was a thoroughly discouraging sight to watch as the drone passed by a row of stowage berths containing apparently intact Mako-class combat minisubs, surface-skimming Ekranoplan transporters and a collection of heavy-duty terraforming, mining and construction vehicles. Until I can devise a means of safely extracting the more useful vehicles from their hydraulic transit restraints, manoeuvring them onto a deck slanted at roughly thirty degrees off the horizontal plane and getting Aurora's massive hangar doors open, any plans I might have for these vehicles are nothing more than wishful thinking.
For all intents and purposes, I had no valid reason to return to Aurora after completing this mission. Any further retrieval of supplies and equipment could be better accomplished by using specialised freight drones, relieving me of at least one thoroughly depressing task. Drones Three and Four were able to access and download the contents of over four hundred crew PDAs detected during their search, and I had tasked JUNO with trawling through the petabytes of data they contained. Some good did come of this expedition though; Aurora's command officers and ship's company were fully exonerated, and entirely blameless of any direct involvement in events leading up to the disaster. However, I'm not entirely convinced that Alterra's corporate hands are quite so clean. I'll look into this particular line of inquiry at a more convenient time.
My decision to quit the Aurora salvage mission was born of a far more pressing need. I had to start building the beacon ship and launch it within the next couple of months, or Manannán's orbit would carry it into a highly unfavourable alignment relative to its parent star Alphard and the Sol system. By 'highly unfavourable', I meant that the orange giant would be directly in line with the beacon ship's intended destination, and that's something I'd prefer to avoid. Yes, there are these clever mathematical tricks called 'Hohmann transfer orbits' that can be used to whip vessels around other planetary bodies to provide free acceleration and avoid smacking into solid or plasma-phase celestial objects, although that's something else I'd prefer to avoid. Far too many computations and increased in-system transit times involved. No thanks. Even with JUNO's capable assistance, successfully hitting the ridiculously small launch window that remained would be a colossal undertaking. Stovepipe One was an easy build and a straightforward launch. Unfortunately, all I had prepared for the second phase was a bit of performance data from the prototype's launch, a vague idea of the ship's general hull configuration and a fairly snappy name: 'Bifrost'. The Rainbow Bridge.
In the meantime, I'd decided to make this trip a two-fer. That second island still hadn't been explored yet, and it would be a great pity to keep postponing the expedition I had planned. If nothing else, it would give me a welcome opportunity to wander about on dry land again for a couple of hours before buckling back down to the more serious business at hand. However, I had to be very careful about taking too much recreation time now, mainly because of the deadly lure of having decent food and a variety of entertainment options within easy reach. The island lay about two klicks west-northwest of Aurora's stern, and was clearly visible once I had passed over the wreck's main debris field. If anything, this island appeared to be even larger than Pyramid Rock, and there was much more greenery to soothe the eye.
I could easily imagine setting up a decent surface base facility here, although I'd need to take particular care as to where I placed the installation. If the island's foliage was every bit as enticing as it looked from this distance, I felt more than a wee twinge of distaste at the notion of hacking out a rude clearing and dumping a haphazard collection of brutally functional Spam tins on it. Even more to the point, I was fairly certain that the Local Planning Council might raise some strenuous objections to this casually brazen occupation. On that particular subject, I was growing ever more convinced that I was under a constant and wholly unsympathetic scrutiny, and that I might be called to account for my actions at some unknown time and place.
And that's me banged up behind bars, without benefit of a barrister to plead my case.
Yo, i'll soon open a thread with the story, but translated in italian, starting today with the first two parts (not chapters ). It will take about half an hour to translate them
There was something damned peculiar about that island. Low-frequency sonar returns appeared to be missing data or had somehow failed to register any landmass below 50 metres or so. I shrugged, conjuring it might be some weird systems glitch I'd need to take care of later. Even after ten minutes more sailing time, the image had still failed to fair up appreciably. I didn't want to risk using Ulysses' HF imaging sonar, mainly because I'd already had more than my fair share of unexpected adventures this month.
"JUNO, what do you make of that landmass ahead?"
"The landmass is an artificial conglomerate matrix, Captain. Mainly composed of fine sedimentary material, coral fragments and an unknown organic component. Its surface area is extensively populated with numerous unidentified plant and animal species. No hostile life forms detected. Further analysis is required before I can offer a more informed opinion on the exact composition of this formation."
At a distance of one hundred metres, the mystery was finally solved. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Ulysses' sonar.
The island was floating.
I stood gawping at this bizarre sight in baffled silence. It's one thing to look at a small chunk of pumice stone floating happily in your bathtub, but it's several orders of magnitude in terms of weirdness to see a couple of hundred thousand or so cubic metres of rock and sand bedecked in tropical vegetation doing the same thing. The first conclusion that I reached wasn't exactly a comforting thought, either. I'd grown quite accustomed to the sight of Reefbacks cruising peacefully around Ulysses, but the possibility of even larger creatures existing on this planet didn't do wonders for my peace of mind. Even a Reaper would have a difficult job tackling something this size. Large animals generally attract very large predators. That's what had me worried.
Although I'm deeply ashamed to admit it now, it took some serious convincing from my curious side to submerge Ulysses and take a much more detailed look at this alleged 'island'. I was fully expecting a cluster of kraken's tentacles to suddenly shoot out and engulf the submarine, dragging it towards a Lovecraftian nightmare's maw.
Sometimes, I get a distinct impression that my Imagination doesn't like me very much.
Fortunately, those dreaded tentacles failed to materialise.
I was completely unprepared for what came next. Seventy-five metres down, I was able to look up at the underside of the island and finally discovered what was supporting it. Dozens of huge, rosy-pink luminescent polyps had burrowed their bodies halfway into the underside of the island, their sheer size and phenomenal buoyancy being the only things supporting the landmass above. It was strangely reminiscent of something I'd seen in an early 3D movie called Avatar. The Hallelujah Mountains of Pandora.
Since JUNO had confirmed that there were no known hostile life forms in this immediate area, I wasted absolutely zero time in getting rigged for a dive in that spectacular location. As I was using a PowerGlide during this dive, the sensation was like flying over the Gothic spires and brilliantly-lit domes of a holy city at night. As a finishing touch to the visual splendour offered here, these spires were loosely wound with luminescent strands of pearl-like organisms. It was utterly, indescribably, heart-breakingly beautiful to behold. This miraculous experience became one of my most enduring and beloved memories of my time on this totally remarkable planet.
Really can't wait for the next part! I started reading this not expecting much, but you've lived up to Subnautica's potential, and done very well as a storyteller too! The characters' development over time is interesting, and their inferences about things (such as the wrecked bases) are even more so. Pretty much making this my headcannon for Subnautica now!
I really hope to see a line like: "I had the feeling I was being watched and that was when I saw it in the distance, just with the corner of my eye, peering at me from around a rock" and then have him describe the intellegent organism (hopefully warpers are your planned intelligent species)
I found it hard to believe that those colossal organisms were the same species as similar creatures I'd encountered while exploring the Shallow Reef biome. JUNO confirmed this after I had scanned one.
"Specimen has 100 per cent genetic congruency with the invertebrate species encoded as 'Floater'."
"JUNO. Query: Based on known nutritional requirements, environmental factors and extreme size differential between recorded Floater specimens, please calculate the age of the most recently encountered specimen."
"Extrapolation complete. This specimen is no older than twelve hundred standard Solar years of age, plus or minus fifty years. Data integrity is confirmed. Nutrient extraction is achieved by the organism accumulating a small nucleus of marine sedimentary deposits and infusing them with a permeable gel-like organic secretion. This secretion solidifies and binds successive layers of sediment together, reduces its density relative to seawater and permits extra-vascular transport of water-soluble minerals and organic material deposited on any upper surfaces exposed to atmospheric air."
"Is there any evidence to support a hypothesis that these creatures might rely upon photosynthesis? Surely they would receive more than enough nutrients from rolling along on the sea floor or filter feeding on plankton as they float... Are you able to determine any particular biological benefits or a plausible explanation for the feeding habits of this organism?"
"This organism occupies a unique biological niche in the planet's ecosystem. It is an extremely efficient end consumer of all sparse or otherwise inaccessible forms of nutrition. In regard to what external or planetary influences may have shaped this unusual biological adaptation, I am unable to formulate a credible hypothesis at this point. Further analysis is recommended."
To be honest, I hadn't paid much attention to Floaters, until now. They were strange little buggers. Even pestilential at times, particularly when one or more latched onto either Ulysses or Disco Volante. There was a brief time when I thought that their disproportionate capacity for buoyancy might be useful, although I was understandably wary of their rock-chewing mouth parts. Those larval forms were fairly safe and easy enough to handle, since they weren't much larger than a standard FIFA soccer ball. However, their nuisance value as a free-roaming source of accidental and unwanted buoyancy can't be over-stated. One or two small floaters is more than enough to entirely ruin the neutrally buoyant trim of a Cyclops hull, and you definitely won't be going anywhere until you've plucked every last one of the gorram things off (and punted them far, far away... Preferably with a propulsion cannon, just for good measure).
I made landfall on the island about two hours before sunset. After setting foot on dry land, I knelt to collect my customary handful of sand from the tiny beach and formally claimed the island. There was a strong temptation to name it 'Laputa'; a reference to one of the more peculiar lands visited by a certain Lemuel Gulliver during his celebrated Travels. Being who I am, it may have also been a definite nod to a flying island that featured in a Japanese animated film. Now that I think back on it, I may have had the second instance of the name rather more firmly in mind. On the spur of the moment, Laputa seemed like a fitting enough moniker, but it wasn't quite 'right' for the place. I felt certain that a dazzling flash of inspiration would provide the most fitting name of all.
When night fell, I had found the one and only name that this island truly deserved. It was perfect.
Now it stikes me from where I know the name "Disco Volante". Wasn't that a yacht in a (actually two) James Bond films? Fireball and... was it Never say Never?
I would love to see your character discover the base and just barely explore it before feeling the ground beneath him shudder and then realize that the island was sinking because a floater or two was disturbed by something. Then the brave hero he is he will position the cyclops under the island to try to stop the beautiful island from sinking to the depths of the ocean. Now that would be exciting!
I would love to see your character discover the base and just barely explore it before feeling the ground beneath him shudder and then realize that the island was sinking because a floater or two was disturbed by something. Then the brave hero he is he will position the cyclops under the island to try to stop the beautiful island from sinking to the depths of the ocean. Now that would be exciting!
As before, all of the island's vegetation seemed vaguely familiar yet as entirely alien as anything I'd encountered previously. There was a kind of knee-high grass that could have passed for a Terran variety, were it not for the perfect loops formed at the end of each stalk. Squat, bottle-like trees oozed a strange milky sap from large pores on their trunks, and the tallest growth in this jungle resembled a large head of celery. There were also shallow gullies filled with ferns, clumps of strange grasses and clusters of glowing mushrooms carpeting the undergrowth, although there were no real sensations of feeling hemmed-in by this colourful riot of vegetation. Nearly all of the plants were bio-luminescent to some degree, lending an almost magical 'pixie-dust and starlight' atmosphere to the night. Kaori would have absolutely loved this place. Kawaii!
I left my dive light switched off for most of the hike around the island. That jungle gave off more than enough light to enable me to find my way around without too much difficulty, although there were still a few sections that were entirely dark, since they were covered in non-luminescent growth. I found it entirely odd that there was none of the planet's usual air of hidden menace about this place. No Crawlers that I could see, and nothing but a flock of Skyrays wheeling and chirruping overhead. All things considered, a far more welcoming sort of place in comparison with the ravenous ocean that lay beneath it. My progress was made much easier by keeping to a series of narrow paths that wound through the jungle, although the pace wasn't particularly rapid as I was stopping every few metres to scan a new plant species for JUNO's more detailed perusal.
I stopped dead in my tracks. The orange light of the huge moon I had named 'Damocles' suddenly broke through the cloud and illuminated something shiny, nestled in a small clearing ahead. I crept forward cautiously, propulsion cannon at the ready. As I had suspected, it was another base-camp set up by the other half of the Magellan survey team. One look at the site was enough to piece together a reasonable reconstruction of the sequence of events leading up to this disaster.
At the risk of sounding prejudiced, I'd have to say that this research team probably hadn't included a geologist or even a competent engineer. The main habitat dome had been smashed flat and partially buried by an avalanche, leaving only a few connecting tubes visible. I'd guess that those poor wee lambs hadn't put too much thought into selecting their site or bothered to reinforce any sections of the base's hull. Being located above sea level, they had probably assumed that structural reinforcement wasn't necessary in this case. Point of order: Reinforcement is rather important, particularly when you pitch camp directly beneath an unstable geological feature. I examined the scree of loose rubble and soil that had slid down the hillside during the avalanche. The soil appeared to be almost entirely degraded, having lost most of its organic binder and therefore its structural integrity to the combined actions of UV radiation and weathering over a span of centuries. To be certain, I scanned the soil and JUNO was able to confirm my ad hoc verdict: Death By Misadventure.
"Readings are consistent with your initial assessment, Captain. It appears to be an intentional and natural progression of the Floater's nutritional cycle. As the organic binder deteriorates with age and exposure to the elements, soluble minerals and organic nutrients are released into the soil and pass down to be consumed by the large Floater organisms anchored on the bottom layer. This species reproduces by parthenogenesis, meaning that smaller Floaters periodically bud off from the larger organisms. Larval Floaters fall to the seabed, spending most of their early lives accumulating enough material to rise again and contribute food to centralised Floater colonies such as this one."
I would love to see your character discover the base and just barely explore it before feeling the ground beneath him shudder and then realize that the island was sinking because a floater or two was disturbed by something. Then the brave hero he is he will position the cyclops under the island to try to stop the beautiful island from sinking to the depths of the ocean. Now that would be exciting!
That would make no sense, at all, whatsoever.
Of course it makes no sense! It would just be exciting to see the island start to sink!
I would love to see your character discover the base and just barely explore it before feeling the ground beneath him shudder and then realize that the island was sinking because a floater or two was disturbed by something. Then the brave hero he is he will position the cyclops under the island to try to stop the beautiful island from sinking to the depths of the ocean. Now that would be exciting!
That would make no sense, at all, whatsoever.
Of course it makes no sense! It would just be exciting to see the island start to sink!
Not really, and I was referring to his action of 'saving' the island. Why would the main character risk a frickin' CYCLOPS just to save a random floating island? A logical reaction would be more along the lines of "lol sucks to be you."
I would love to see your character discover the base and just barely explore it before feeling the ground beneath him shudder and then realize that the island was sinking because a floater or two was disturbed by something. Then the brave hero he is he will position the cyclops under the island to try to stop the beautiful island from sinking to the depths of the ocean. Now that would be exciting!
That would make no sense, at all, whatsoever.
Of course it makes no sense! It would just be exciting to see the island start to sink!
Not really, and I was referring to his action of 'saving' the island. Why would the main character risk a frickin' CYCLOPS just to save a random floating island? A logical reaction would be more along the lines of "lol sucks to be you."
You monster! All that rare beautiful life has developed on that island that will be destroyed if it sunk! It is super rare considering the whole planet is water! Also Cyclops are not that hard to make, i usually make 2 in my games anyway. Also Bugzapper doesnt want the comments full of arguing so lets stop here
I frowned, suddenly lost in thought. Something didn't quite make sense here. JUNO had already established that one of the largest Floaters supporting the island was approximately 1,200 years old. There were a number of diverse plant species well and truly flourishing in artificial soil that had been little more than sand and coral gravel a few hundred years ago. Although my knowledge of evolutionary mechanisms might dance quite safely on the head of a pin, even I knew that something was seriously out of whack with the natural processes of this planet.
"Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Pinky?" I said, half-seriously.
"If I have interpreted your question correctly, Captain... I believe that an appropriate answer would be: I think so, Brain... But where would we get that much peanut butter?" JUNO deadpanned. "Actually, I have been collating data obtained from your scans of the island's vegetation, and I am currently at a loss to explain how so many different plant species could evolve over such an incredibly short timescale. As you are aware, this process normally takes millions of years, and involves many failed attempts at producing viable designs most suited to their environment. In summary, all of these species appear to have spontaneously arrived on the island, since there are no intermediate evolutionary steps linking any of these floral specimens to a common ancestor or indeed, any form of precursor organisms. Most curious."
"Would the Magellan expedition's presence here have anything to do with this? Could they have used genetic manipulation to artificially create these plants?"
"That is entirely possible, Captain. I shall need to perform a series of recursive DNA tests upon physical samples of all species of flora inhabiting this island. If you would be so kind as to collect the requisite samples of foliage and plant tissues, I shall commence research upon this line of enquiry."
"There might be a more direct method of obtaining this information. Are you able to detect any active PDA signatures in the wreckage of this base?"
"Only two devices still have retrievable data, Captain. Both are personal PDAs. Downloading now."
I know full well that I violated a self-imposed rule of never examining personal data from someone else's PDA. You might want to hold off passing judgement on me, not that it matters a good gorram one way or the other.
On second thoughts, feel free to judge your wee heart out, Jimmy. I had to uncover exactly what had happened here.
This half of the Magellan expedition were entirely schooled in the Life Sciences. That much was painfully obvious. The nominal boss of this facility was Didier Joubert, geneticist. Botanist Nyala Obeke, biochemist Lucia Silvestri, maintenance tech Henrik Van Der Meeren and two research assistants, Markus Sokol and Rhys Powell comprised the remainder of the team. The PDAs belonged to Joubert and Sokol. Although their private data provided some highly informative insights into the team dynamics at work in their expedition, I was more interested in finding out precisely what they were trying to achieve on this island. Joubert was apparently engaged in manipulating the DNA of certain marine organisms to enable them to extract, purify and concentrate useful elements directly from seawater and soil. Obeke's and Silvestri's line of research involved gene sequencing to produce hybrid forms of native vegetation potentially useful to future colonists on this planet. At first, this information seemed to be an obvious confirmation of the scenario I had previously conjured, although JUNO would have immediately detected any signs of overt Terran interference with local genomes.
Comments
Many thanks to all who are following this story.
The writing part is easy. Getting and holding the attention of an audience is the tricky part.
I'll try to get it right and keep it tight.
Cheers, folks.
Love your story and even started to call the game-AI "Juno" in my games...
About this point in time, you're probably thinking that I'm going to spend the rest of my sojourn here getting completely polluted on piña coladas and loafing around on my ever-increasing backside.
Well, you're wrong. Dead wrong.
I might partake of a wee nippie now and again in strict observance of high days and holy days, but there's no room for hopeless toss-pots on this thrilling aquatic adventure. Try taking on a Stalker with a skinful of good whisky and see how far that gets you. End result: One quick trip to Pod 5 and a honking great hangover afterwards. Besides, there's still that pressing matter of building a distress beacon ship and successfully launching it to attend to. Once I had manhandled the last pair of lockers aboard through Ulysses' minisub launch bay, I decided to turn in for the night. Strictly speaking, it was an hour past sunrise. Manannán's 16-hour rotational period had thrown my normal body clock completely out of whack, and I still wasn't entirely accustomed to spending at least half a 'day' asleep. If it was absolutely essential, I could get up early enough to make the most of available sunlight, although this tactic imposed a strict on/off approach to one's working hours. Eight hours is just enough time to get things done or catch a decent amount of sleep. Unfortunately, this arrangement leaves no time at all to pursue any off-duty activities. It might not seem like much of a problem in theory, although a body needs to take time to totally unwind every once in a while. In the end, I decided to ditch the whole idea of trying to maintain a 24-hour circadian rhythm. Work, rest and play as the situation demands. No boss to call the pace; no need to keep cracking the whip.
Simple.
When I awoke shortly after midnight, I took some time to do absolutely nothing. Now that I had my personal PDA back, I was able to completely indulge the 'inner man' for a while. One of the things that I missed most sorely was the sound of real human voices and having a genuine reason to laugh. After retrieving the six-pack of Aussie beer that had been left dangling below the 4.0 Celsius thermocline (JUNO gave me absolute hell for that) while I slept, I settled comfortably into the pilot's seat while cradling a galley tray loaded with choice nibbles and commenced binge-watching the entire first season of Red Dwarf.
Smegging brilliant.
"I apologise for waking you, Captain. As instructed, the reconnaissance drones have completed a full sweep of all remaining human-accessible areas of Aurora's hull. Drone One has retrieved data that requires your immediate attention."
"Bring the data up on the main display screen, please."
"This data has been retrieved from the Command Deck flight recorder module. Only one other recorder has been located intact, and the data it contains matches precisely with that already obtained. Is there any specific point in Aurora's flight profile that you wish to examine?"
"Please commence playback at 60 minutes before Aurora exited warp drive, JUNO. I will also require external hull camera feeds and graphic telemetry data for the following parameters: Warp field geometry, drive performance, shield status and power distribution for all associated sub-systems. Command deck voice transcripts to be delivered in simultaneous audio and visual display modes."
"Affirmative, Captain."
As expected, the first 58 minutes of the replay was entirely unremarkable. Aurora was decelerating steadily, running straight and true on a nominal approach vector for the Alpha Hydrae system. Its current velocity was 1.15 times light speed and everything appeared to be running as smoothly as possible. As long as the ship was able to drop below light speed before encountering the star system's outer limits of solar influence known as the 'heliopause', all would be well. Any significant penetration beyond that boundary while still travelling at light speed would be catastrophic. Aurora's projected course took it within 50,000 km of Alpha Hydrae 9. Using the mass of this gas giant as an active component in a gravity braking manoeuvre, Aurora would swing around the planet in a wide arc and smoothly decelerate below the speed of light. It might sound risky to most lay-persons, but this was a standard approach procedure. And from what I saw, it had been executed flawlessly.
However, Alphard was in a particularly irritable mood on that day.
A tremendous coronal mass ejection had belched from the surface of the elderly star several days previously. Aurora was still travelling at 1.0002 C when a heavy burst of solar plasma struck the ship head-on. Aurora's shields flickered slightly, but held firm and attenuated most of the physical impact. Inside the ship, most people would have felt little more than a slight shudder; something else to be shrugged at and promptly ignored. Apparently, nobody noticed the sequence of events immediately following the CME's impact. The solar plasma struck a small but dense cluster of charged particles that had accumulated during Aurora's flight at warp speed, forming a miniature nebula at the ship's bow. The additional energy injected into this nebula 'pumped' the charged particles as if they were inside a laser tube. This effect rapidly accelerated the particles directly into Aurora's shields initially, and when they were subsequently repelled, a highly dense, coherent pulse of supercharged particles surged forward like the blast of a Dreadnaught's main cannon.
"JUNO. Pause playback. Plot trajectory of residual particle discharge from CME event."
"Trajectory end point has been calculated. Enhanced electron beam originating from CME event delivered 85.2 terajoules of energy to the surface of planet designated 4546-B, Alpha Hydrae 4. Probable impact point, northern polar region. Precise coordinates are currently unavailable."
that is an amazing piece of bad luck.
I am really torn between calling this Deus-ex-machina and genius plot writing.
I'm inclined towards the 'incredibly bad luck' train of thought.
''nosebleed''
''brainbleed''
''dies from severe internal bleeding''
''re-appears inside the lifepod @ 50% hunger''
When you shoot someone with a massive death-beam, they tend to not be in the "ask questions" mood.
I stared numbly at the last frame of the video playback. There was no way to accurately determine the total amount of energy the particle beam had transferred to the surface, although it was an absolute certainty that the beam had been significantly amplified as it passed through the planet's polar magnetic field convergence zone. Possibly equivalent in effect to a low megaton-range ground burst, at the very least. I couldn't be certain at the time.
In military parlance, this would be best described as a 'Grade A-One Charlie Foxtrot'.
Viewed dispassionately, Aurora's involvement was entirely 'accidental' in every possible sense of the word. It was a statistically-probable result of a cascading sequence of purely coincidental events; all worst-case paths precisely vectored, drawn inexorably together and then diligently ticked off on a cosmic check-list. A textbook example of a series of orderly coincidences following the most direct and effective path to absolute catastrophe.
Try explaining this to anyone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end.
There wasn't much point in crossing my fingers and hoping that the impact zone was unpopulated. Most of the life on this planet is geared towards cold-water survival anyway, so it's safe to assume that the polar regions would have more or less the same levels of biodiversity as anywhere else on the planet. Any possibility of global warming would be the very least of my worries. There wasn't much chance of that happening here. Manannán's sun, Alphard had already fallen off the main sequence of a typical stellar lifespan, gradually cooling down to the point where most of its ocean's surface would freeze over permanently, except for a handful of deep locations kept tolerably warm by geothermal activity.
The Great Freeze wasn't scheduled to start for at least another 10 to 15 million years, so I wasn't immediately concerned about any adverse ecological impact arising from the Aurora disaster. As a side note, there have been two or possibly three nuclear-scale detonations on Manannán so far, with an estimated combined yield of less than five megatons. Some radioactive and toxic chemical contamination has occurred as a direct result of Terran interference, although the planet's ecology might still be reasonably described as 'pristine', or at least close enough in reality to qualify as 'an unspoiled paradise' according to a semi-reputable travel brochure.
While I ate breakfast, I was able to review video footage obtained from Drones Two, Three and Four. Drone Two had only been able to enter the aft Hangar Bay though one of the ventilation ducts, since all normal access corridors to the area were either missing or hopelessly blocked with debris. From what I could see, it would have been a completely wasted trip anyway. Two Pegasus orbital shuttles had been prepped and were standing ready to deliver the Life Sciences team to the planet, along with their escort force of five Taipan VTOL tactical transports. Fully fuelled and engines already spooled up in anticipation of an orderly atmospheric entry, the expedition's transport group were turned into wildly careening chunks of twisted metal and flaming fuel as Aurora fell from the sky.
Some of the smaller vehicles survived relatively intact in secured berths, although there was no immediately obvious way of retrieving them from their docking clamps. It was a thoroughly discouraging sight to watch as the drone passed by a row of stowage berths containing apparently intact Mako-class combat minisubs, surface-skimming Ekranoplan transporters and a collection of heavy-duty terraforming, mining and construction vehicles. Until I can devise a means of safely extracting the more useful vehicles from their hydraulic transit restraints, manoeuvring them onto a deck slanted at roughly thirty degrees off the horizontal plane and getting Aurora's massive hangar doors open, any plans I might have for these vehicles are nothing more than wishful thinking.
For all intents and purposes, I had no valid reason to return to Aurora after completing this mission. Any further retrieval of supplies and equipment could be better accomplished by using specialised freight drones, relieving me of at least one thoroughly depressing task. Drones Three and Four were able to access and download the contents of over four hundred crew PDAs detected during their search, and I had tasked JUNO with trawling through the petabytes of data they contained. Some good did come of this expedition though; Aurora's command officers and ship's company were fully exonerated, and entirely blameless of any direct involvement in events leading up to the disaster. However, I'm not entirely convinced that Alterra's corporate hands are quite so clean. I'll look into this particular line of inquiry at a more convenient time.
My decision to quit the Aurora salvage mission was born of a far more pressing need. I had to start building the beacon ship and launch it within the next couple of months, or Manannán's orbit would carry it into a highly unfavourable alignment relative to its parent star Alphard and the Sol system. By 'highly unfavourable', I meant that the orange giant would be directly in line with the beacon ship's intended destination, and that's something I'd prefer to avoid. Yes, there are these clever mathematical tricks called 'Hohmann transfer orbits' that can be used to whip vessels around other planetary bodies to provide free acceleration and avoid smacking into solid or plasma-phase celestial objects, although that's something else I'd prefer to avoid. Far too many computations and increased in-system transit times involved. No thanks. Even with JUNO's capable assistance, successfully hitting the ridiculously small launch window that remained would be a colossal undertaking. Stovepipe One was an easy build and a straightforward launch. Unfortunately, all I had prepared for the second phase was a bit of performance data from the prototype's launch, a vague idea of the ship's general hull configuration and a fairly snappy name: 'Bifrost'. The Rainbow Bridge.
In the meantime, I'd decided to make this trip a two-fer. That second island still hadn't been explored yet, and it would be a great pity to keep postponing the expedition I had planned. If nothing else, it would give me a welcome opportunity to wander about on dry land again for a couple of hours before buckling back down to the more serious business at hand. However, I had to be very careful about taking too much recreation time now, mainly because of the deadly lure of having decent food and a variety of entertainment options within easy reach. The island lay about two klicks west-northwest of Aurora's stern, and was clearly visible once I had passed over the wreck's main debris field. If anything, this island appeared to be even larger than Pyramid Rock, and there was much more greenery to soothe the eye.
I could easily imagine setting up a decent surface base facility here, although I'd need to take particular care as to where I placed the installation. If the island's foliage was every bit as enticing as it looked from this distance, I felt more than a wee twinge of distaste at the notion of hacking out a rude clearing and dumping a haphazard collection of brutally functional Spam tins on it. Even more to the point, I was fairly certain that the Local Planning Council might raise some strenuous objections to this casually brazen occupation. On that particular subject, I was growing ever more convinced that I was under a constant and wholly unsympathetic scrutiny, and that I might be called to account for my actions at some unknown time and place.
And that's me banged up behind bars, without benefit of a barrister to plead my case.
"JUNO, what do you make of that landmass ahead?"
"The landmass is an artificial conglomerate matrix, Captain. Mainly composed of fine sedimentary material, coral fragments and an unknown organic component. Its surface area is extensively populated with numerous unidentified plant and animal species. No hostile life forms detected. Further analysis is required before I can offer a more informed opinion on the exact composition of this formation."
At a distance of one hundred metres, the mystery was finally solved. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Ulysses' sonar.
The island was floating.
I stood gawping at this bizarre sight in baffled silence. It's one thing to look at a small chunk of pumice stone floating happily in your bathtub, but it's several orders of magnitude in terms of weirdness to see a couple of hundred thousand or so cubic metres of rock and sand bedecked in tropical vegetation doing the same thing. The first conclusion that I reached wasn't exactly a comforting thought, either. I'd grown quite accustomed to the sight of Reefbacks cruising peacefully around Ulysses, but the possibility of even larger creatures existing on this planet didn't do wonders for my peace of mind. Even a Reaper would have a difficult job tackling something this size. Large animals generally attract very large predators. That's what had me worried.
Although I'm deeply ashamed to admit it now, it took some serious convincing from my curious side to submerge Ulysses and take a much more detailed look at this alleged 'island'. I was fully expecting a cluster of kraken's tentacles to suddenly shoot out and engulf the submarine, dragging it towards a Lovecraftian nightmare's maw.
Sometimes, I get a distinct impression that my Imagination doesn't like me very much.
Fortunately, those dreaded tentacles failed to materialise.
I was completely unprepared for what came next. Seventy-five metres down, I was able to look up at the underside of the island and finally discovered what was supporting it. Dozens of huge, rosy-pink luminescent polyps had burrowed their bodies halfway into the underside of the island, their sheer size and phenomenal buoyancy being the only things supporting the landmass above. It was strangely reminiscent of something I'd seen in an early 3D movie called Avatar. The Hallelujah Mountains of Pandora.
Since JUNO had confirmed that there were no known hostile life forms in this immediate area, I wasted absolutely zero time in getting rigged for a dive in that spectacular location. As I was using a PowerGlide during this dive, the sensation was like flying over the Gothic spires and brilliantly-lit domes of a holy city at night. As a finishing touch to the visual splendour offered here, these spires were loosely wound with luminescent strands of pearl-like organisms. It was utterly, indescribably, heart-breakingly beautiful to behold. This miraculous experience became one of my most enduring and beloved memories of my time on this totally remarkable planet.
Thank you, and welcome aboard!
"Specimen has 100 per cent genetic congruency with the invertebrate species encoded as 'Floater'."
"JUNO. Query: Based on known nutritional requirements, environmental factors and extreme size differential between recorded Floater specimens, please calculate the age of the most recently encountered specimen."
"Extrapolation complete. This specimen is no older than twelve hundred standard Solar years of age, plus or minus fifty years. Data integrity is confirmed. Nutrient extraction is achieved by the organism accumulating a small nucleus of marine sedimentary deposits and infusing them with a permeable gel-like organic secretion. This secretion solidifies and binds successive layers of sediment together, reduces its density relative to seawater and permits extra-vascular transport of water-soluble minerals and organic material deposited on any upper surfaces exposed to atmospheric air."
"Is there any evidence to support a hypothesis that these creatures might rely upon photosynthesis? Surely they would receive more than enough nutrients from rolling along on the sea floor or filter feeding on plankton as they float... Are you able to determine any particular biological benefits or a plausible explanation for the feeding habits of this organism?"
"This organism occupies a unique biological niche in the planet's ecosystem. It is an extremely efficient end consumer of all sparse or otherwise inaccessible forms of nutrition. In regard to what external or planetary influences may have shaped this unusual biological adaptation, I am unable to formulate a credible hypothesis at this point. Further analysis is recommended."
To be honest, I hadn't paid much attention to Floaters, until now. They were strange little buggers. Even pestilential at times, particularly when one or more latched onto either Ulysses or Disco Volante. There was a brief time when I thought that their disproportionate capacity for buoyancy might be useful, although I was understandably wary of their rock-chewing mouth parts. Those larval forms were fairly safe and easy enough to handle, since they weren't much larger than a standard FIFA soccer ball. However, their nuisance value as a free-roaming source of accidental and unwanted buoyancy can't be over-stated. One or two small floaters is more than enough to entirely ruin the neutrally buoyant trim of a Cyclops hull, and you definitely won't be going anywhere until you've plucked every last one of the gorram things off (and punted them far, far away... Preferably with a propulsion cannon, just for good measure).
I made landfall on the island about two hours before sunset. After setting foot on dry land, I knelt to collect my customary handful of sand from the tiny beach and formally claimed the island. There was a strong temptation to name it 'Laputa'; a reference to one of the more peculiar lands visited by a certain Lemuel Gulliver during his celebrated Travels. Being who I am, it may have also been a definite nod to a flying island that featured in a Japanese animated film. Now that I think back on it, I may have had the second instance of the name rather more firmly in mind. On the spur of the moment, Laputa seemed like a fitting enough moniker, but it wasn't quite 'right' for the place. I felt certain that a dazzling flash of inspiration would provide the most fitting name of all.
When night fell, I had found the one and only name that this island truly deserved. It was perfect.
The James Bond movie in question was 'Thunderball'. One of my favourite 007 films.
'Disco Volante' was the name of Number Two SPECTRE agent Emilio Largo's motor yacht. The name means 'flying saucer' in Italian.
That would make no sense, at all, whatsoever.
As before, all of the island's vegetation seemed vaguely familiar yet as entirely alien as anything I'd encountered previously. There was a kind of knee-high grass that could have passed for a Terran variety, were it not for the perfect loops formed at the end of each stalk. Squat, bottle-like trees oozed a strange milky sap from large pores on their trunks, and the tallest growth in this jungle resembled a large head of celery. There were also shallow gullies filled with ferns, clumps of strange grasses and clusters of glowing mushrooms carpeting the undergrowth, although there were no real sensations of feeling hemmed-in by this colourful riot of vegetation. Nearly all of the plants were bio-luminescent to some degree, lending an almost magical 'pixie-dust and starlight' atmosphere to the night. Kaori would have absolutely loved this place. Kawaii!
I left my dive light switched off for most of the hike around the island. That jungle gave off more than enough light to enable me to find my way around without too much difficulty, although there were still a few sections that were entirely dark, since they were covered in non-luminescent growth. I found it entirely odd that there was none of the planet's usual air of hidden menace about this place. No Crawlers that I could see, and nothing but a flock of Skyrays wheeling and chirruping overhead. All things considered, a far more welcoming sort of place in comparison with the ravenous ocean that lay beneath it. My progress was made much easier by keeping to a series of narrow paths that wound through the jungle, although the pace wasn't particularly rapid as I was stopping every few metres to scan a new plant species for JUNO's more detailed perusal.
I stopped dead in my tracks. The orange light of the huge moon I had named 'Damocles' suddenly broke through the cloud and illuminated something shiny, nestled in a small clearing ahead. I crept forward cautiously, propulsion cannon at the ready. As I had suspected, it was another base-camp set up by the other half of the Magellan survey team. One look at the site was enough to piece together a reasonable reconstruction of the sequence of events leading up to this disaster.
At the risk of sounding prejudiced, I'd have to say that this research team probably hadn't included a geologist or even a competent engineer. The main habitat dome had been smashed flat and partially buried by an avalanche, leaving only a few connecting tubes visible. I'd guess that those poor wee lambs hadn't put too much thought into selecting their site or bothered to reinforce any sections of the base's hull. Being located above sea level, they had probably assumed that structural reinforcement wasn't necessary in this case. Point of order: Reinforcement is rather important, particularly when you pitch camp directly beneath an unstable geological feature. I examined the scree of loose rubble and soil that had slid down the hillside during the avalanche. The soil appeared to be almost entirely degraded, having lost most of its organic binder and therefore its structural integrity to the combined actions of UV radiation and weathering over a span of centuries. To be certain, I scanned the soil and JUNO was able to confirm my ad hoc verdict: Death By Misadventure.
"Readings are consistent with your initial assessment, Captain. It appears to be an intentional and natural progression of the Floater's nutritional cycle. As the organic binder deteriorates with age and exposure to the elements, soluble minerals and organic nutrients are released into the soil and pass down to be consumed by the large Floater organisms anchored on the bottom layer. This species reproduces by parthenogenesis, meaning that smaller Floaters periodically bud off from the larger organisms. Larval Floaters fall to the seabed, spending most of their early lives accumulating enough material to rise again and contribute food to centralised Floater colonies such as this one."
Please continue!
Of course it makes no sense! It would just be exciting to see the island start to sink!
Not really, and I was referring to his action of 'saving' the island. Why would the main character risk a frickin' CYCLOPS just to save a random floating island? A logical reaction would be more along the lines of "lol sucks to be you."
You monster! All that rare beautiful life has developed on that island that will be destroyed if it sunk! It is super rare considering the whole planet is water! Also Cyclops are not that hard to make, i usually make 2 in my games anyway. Also Bugzapper doesnt want the comments full of arguing so lets stop here
"Are you pondering what I'm pondering, Pinky?" I said, half-seriously.
"If I have interpreted your question correctly, Captain... I believe that an appropriate answer would be: I think so, Brain... But where would we get that much peanut butter?" JUNO deadpanned. "Actually, I have been collating data obtained from your scans of the island's vegetation, and I am currently at a loss to explain how so many different plant species could evolve over such an incredibly short timescale. As you are aware, this process normally takes millions of years, and involves many failed attempts at producing viable designs most suited to their environment. In summary, all of these species appear to have spontaneously arrived on the island, since there are no intermediate evolutionary steps linking any of these floral specimens to a common ancestor or indeed, any form of precursor organisms. Most curious."
"Would the Magellan expedition's presence here have anything to do with this? Could they have used genetic manipulation to artificially create these plants?"
"That is entirely possible, Captain. I shall need to perform a series of recursive DNA tests upon physical samples of all species of flora inhabiting this island. If you would be so kind as to collect the requisite samples of foliage and plant tissues, I shall commence research upon this line of enquiry."
"There might be a more direct method of obtaining this information. Are you able to detect any active PDA signatures in the wreckage of this base?"
"Only two devices still have retrievable data, Captain. Both are personal PDAs. Downloading now."
I know full well that I violated a self-imposed rule of never examining personal data from someone else's PDA. You might want to hold off passing judgement on me, not that it matters a good gorram one way or the other.
On second thoughts, feel free to judge your wee heart out, Jimmy. I had to uncover exactly what had happened here.
This half of the Magellan expedition were entirely schooled in the Life Sciences. That much was painfully obvious. The nominal boss of this facility was Didier Joubert, geneticist. Botanist Nyala Obeke, biochemist Lucia Silvestri, maintenance tech Henrik Van Der Meeren and two research assistants, Markus Sokol and Rhys Powell comprised the remainder of the team. The PDAs belonged to Joubert and Sokol. Although their private data provided some highly informative insights into the team dynamics at work in their expedition, I was more interested in finding out precisely what they were trying to achieve on this island. Joubert was apparently engaged in manipulating the DNA of certain marine organisms to enable them to extract, purify and concentrate useful elements directly from seawater and soil. Obeke's and Silvestri's line of research involved gene sequencing to produce hybrid forms of native vegetation potentially useful to future colonists on this planet. At first, this information seemed to be an obvious confirmation of the scenario I had previously conjured, although JUNO would have immediately detected any signs of overt Terran interference with local genomes.