Mack and I shook hands at Phantom 309's gangway. He must have thought this a fairly lukewarm gesture under the circumstances, as he kissed both cheeks and swept me up in a brotherly bear-hug instead. Just before he turned to leave, I pressed a high-capacity Mempak into his hand.
"Un petit cadeau. Pass this on to Captain Halvorsen with my compliments. I'm certain everyone aboard the Carl Sagan will appreciate what's in there. Have your Data Systems chief look it over to confirm that the base codes are still compatible, but I conjure there won't be any major problems."
Mack regarded the slab of crystal curiously, turning it over in his large hands. "Qu' Est-ce que c'est?"
I chuckled gently. "The answer to every homesick spacer's prayers, mon ami. A proper taste of Home. There's a suite of advanced fabrication routines for your autogalleys on that chip, plus a totally redesigned user interface and more recipes than you'd ever dare imagine. Your Purser's going to hate my guts for this, but that's a risk I'm prepared to take."
"Heh. His commissary bonus be lookin' real slim afore this trip's ovah, das fo' sure." Mack agreed.
"Anyway, you take care of yourself, Mack. Give me a call anytime you're passing though, okay?"
"Will do, Captain. Send mah regards to mam'selle Héloise, Cher. Catch y'all on de flip sahd!"
Ten minutes later, Phantom 309 blasted clear of the pad. Another 50,000 tonnes of seawater on its way back to the Carl Sagan, and another eventful day done and dusted. I felt a quiet satisfaction with the way things had panned out today. My chance meeting with Mack Beaudine has set a small but significant sequence of events in motion.
A minor act of gleeful insurrection, in actual fact.
Face it, there's only so much that can be done to make a company starship feel like 'home'. Aurora had its little village squares and restaurants, and I suppose Carl Sagan also has similar arrangements onboard. However, there is one major flaw in Alterra's half-hearted solution to the problem of homesick employees. It lacks any real depth. Their solution relies on only one point of stimulus. Reproductions of familiar buildings might trigger a vague sense of nostalgia, but I have always suspected that it would not satisfy that aching, lonely void that grows inside a body too far from home. Oddly enough, I've been comparatively lucky in that regard. I've been too busy surviving to give it that much thought. Until now.
Mack's whirlwind visit has drawn my attention to a thorny problem that plagues all long-duration missions. It's homesickness.
True, there may be some hardy folk out there who revel in this isolation, but there are many others who bear the full brunt of finding themselves a ridiculous distance from hearth and home. Given sufficient time, that knowledge will corrode your soul.
The real tragedy is that spacers are denied most of the psychological anchors that serve to ease the pain of long-term separation. Beyond a certain distance, all meaningful communication with family and friends ceases abruptly. At first, a lonely spacer can seek some solace in videos of loved ones, but even these measures lose their efficacy over any extended length of time. We need to delve deeper into the human psyche, soothe its more primal instincts before working on surface emotions.
Carl Sagan will be in this system for the best part of a year. Every day, the crew will line up for meals and be dealt their regulation serve of approximate food analogues. This might keep a body running, but it does absolutely nothing to feed their souls. This is not a fit way to treat the men and women putting their lives on the line to extend Humanity's reach into the cosmos. With that one Mempak, I'm hoping to make their lives just a wee bit brighter.
Things have calmed down a little more now. Our guests from Carl Sagan have finally settled into some semblance of order, and we've progressed from unbridled chaos to a reasonably orderly three-ring circus. I think it might have something to do with the water. There's rather a lot of it here.
JUNO has been shepherding a group of first-time divers over the past two days, and her current mood might be charitably described as 'terse'. One particular little charmer persisted in ignoring his suit AI's warnings, and JUNO ripped him a superfluous orifice. Naturally, he filed a formal complaint.
With me. Big mistake.
After reviewing his suit's telemetry data and PDA recordings, I duly convened a Captain's Mast. As a courtesy, these proceedings were broad-waved to Captain Halvorsen. To cut a long story short, this specimen's smug assurance crumbled when his own Captain called him a "senseless waste of DNA", then confined him to quarters for the duration of his stay. Halvorsen transmitted his personal response to this incident over The Last Resort's video link, adding that my crew are now officially recognised as command-level Alterra officers of the Merchant Service, fully entitled to the same rights of courtesy one would normally extend to human officers of equivalent rank. Nice.
That was yesterday. Today, we're onboard the construction dock, almost ready make The Big Move.
"Reactors One through Four are online, Sir. Power is holding steady at twenty per cent of output."
"Copy that. Increase to forty per cent, DIGBY. Deploy outriggers. Propulsion systems are online."
"Outriggers fully deployed, Sir. Thrusters are set to station-keeping. Awaiting further orders."
"Conn, sonar aye. Three biological contacts detected, Sir. Reefback pod is approaching our position on vector two-zero-zero. Speed steady at two point five knots. Range, three hundred."
I swore under my breath. "Too close. IANTO, send in the Makos. Predator mode. Lasers only."
"Makos away, Sir." IANTO replied. "Time to intercept, ten seconds."
Three Mako fighter subs streaked ahead of the dock, homing in on the Reefbacks. That pod has been hanging around the area since dawn, and I can't wait for them to make up their bloody minds. A few stinging shots and convincing Boneshark impersonations should see them off. I've no mind to cause them any serious harm, but it's better than Borealis wearing these hulking great oafs as hood ornaments. In the worst possible scenario, they could tear off several propulsion nacelles, then we'd really be up that creek without a paddle. And I hardly need remind you... This is one BIG canoe.
"Reefbacks dispersing, Sir. Makos are returning to establish a patrol pattern at intercept point."
"JUNO, release docking clamps and commence ascent. Rate, 0.5 metres per second."
With only the faintest sensation of motion, the construction dock rose slowly from the seafloor. Tremendous forces are being called into play at this moment, and it will require my complete attention to ensure that these forces are kept in equilibrium within extremely fine tolerances. If one section of the dock's hull rises just a few millimetres faster in relation to its neighbouring components, it could easily lead to a catastrophic structural failure. Even though this massive structure has been carefully engineered to perform its specific tasks, it still has absolute operational limits that cannot ever be exceeded. I know the risks involved in this operation. A clearly defined margin for error does exist.
It's close enough to zero to scare the living daylights out of you.
"Mass compensators are online. Stand by to cast off."
This is the tricky bit. I'm watching the readouts from over 450 structural stress transducers, and this next operation will make the needles bounce around some. Actually, the data is entirely digital, and all I really have to worry about are the two holographic models that represent Borealis and the construction dock. As long as both models remain in the green, everything's fine. Isolated patches of yellow are a cause for mild concern. Amber means that some component isn't one hundred per cent happy. Red anywhere on either of those models means that we might as well call it a day. Game over.
"Cast off on bow and stern lines. Set mass compensators to 10 per cent."
"Bow and stern lines are free, Sir. Mass compensators are set at 10 per cent. Systems are nominal."
"Very good, DIGBY. Release amidships, fore and aft spring lines."
"Aye, Sir. We are free and clear of our moorings. Awaiting further orders." DIGBY responded.
As mentioned previously, this dock wasn't really intended to travel any appreciable distance across the ocean. Think of the Borealis as a raw egg and the dockyard as a skeletal framework of uncooked spaghetti supporting that egg. Our dockyard is a modified version of an orbital graving dock, so I'm fairly certain that the original design wasn't intended for manoeuvres in an aqueous environment. Still, here we are. Standing on the raggedy edge of its design tolerances.
"Run all reactors up to eighty-five per cent. Set mass compensators to thirty per cent of output."
"Aye Sir. Reactors are coming up to mark. Mass compensators increasing to thirty, 0.5 increments."
I watched both holographic models intently, waiting for the first signs of impending disaster. Sections of the dock flashed yellow as Borealis redistributed its artificially-altered mass over the dock's structure. Without taking this crucial step, it would be impossible to overcome its inertia and move the dock more than a few metres before the entire structure tore itself to pieces. If Borealis' mass were decreased any more than a mere thirty per cent, the dock could flex beyond its design limits as it moves through the water. We're definitely walking on a slender tight-rope here.
One million, seven hundred and fifty thousand tonnes of mass began to move. The very act of applying power to a single pair of bow thrusters sent a shiver of yellow through the dock's hologram, although Borealis remained a reassuring green. As soon as the readings settled down, I activated the rest of the dock's thrusters to take up the strain. We aren't aiming to break any speed records here, and you can forget about cornering. That isn't going to happen. All we have to do is forge ahead for the next 1.5 kilometres, hopefully without this painfully slow juggernaut falling apart in the process.
Luck has lingered by our side today. The sea remained as flat as glass throughout our transit. Our track deviated an acceptable 10 millimetres over the entire distance, and we were able to re-anchor the construction dock without encountering any further problems. Our next job is to ballast Borealis with its construction materials, finish sealing its hull and then submerge the whole shooting match. And not a moment too soon, it seems. According to the last data set beamed from the Argus satellite network, that wandering weather system to the west has developed into a Category IV cyclone, and it's heading straight for us.
Looks like it's time to batten down the hatches and break out the ol' Monopoly set, me hearties.
Converting a starship into a submarine is slightly easier than it sounds. This was my intention right from the beginning, although the approaching cyclone has forced an urgent change in our schedule. We have only eighteen hours remaining before the storm's leading edge arrives. Fortunately, all remaining hull penetrations can be sealed immediately, but this means that any large internal components will have to be fabricated 'on the spot'. At least the four neutron accelerator silos salvaged from Aurora are already installed on board, so that's one major headache out of the way.
As a matter of fact, I'm looking at them right now. The interior of Borealis is as bare as Mother Hubbard's proverbial cupboard, save for that immense shielded structure sitting amidships of the drive chamber's foundation. There's a disorientating maze of structural girders holding the hull together, but there's not much else in here yet. It's a sight vaguely reminiscent of a zeppelin's internal works. Our next order of business is to begin shoring up this structure with decking plates and additional bracing members. Although this phase would have taken place during the normal course of construction, it now requires a major revision of our project schedule to accommodate the structural modifications necessary for deep submersion. Originally, only 40 per cent of Borealis was intended to remain standing above the waterline. That would have been sufficient for construction purposes, as it provided a similar working environment one might encounter in an orbital dockyard.
Our fleet of construction drones has quadrupled overnight. Currently, nearly all of the latest batch are engaged in transferring as much raw material as possible from Skull Island's storage bunkers. The original squadron of construction drones have been assigned to complete remaining structural reinforcement work and prepare additional ballast tanks, supplementing those compartments already constructed for potable freshwater storage. This will effectively double Borealis' water storage capacity. Rather than waste any seawater pumped onboard as ballast, I have decided to set up another deuterium extraction plant as a direct supply point for the vessel's pair of auxiliary fusion reactors. JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY are working on those reactors right now, but we've still a fair way to go before human feet can safely walk these decks.
Right now, the Borealis is a bewildering hive of furious activity. Drones are whirring hither and yon, fabricating new sections of girders and internal hull plating. The air inside is rank with the metallic tang of ionization, an unwelcome side effect of their nano-lathing operations. Nitrogen dioxide levels in here are currently running at 150 parts per million. Unprotected human lungs would rapidly discover that this concentration is less than conducive to a long and happy life. Consequently, my next job is to build an air scrubber and chemical reclamation facility, since I've no intention of releasing toxic levels of NO2 into Manannán's atmosphere. In all probability, the storm will release significantly greater volumes of this gas once the lightning begins, but I prefer to avoid deliberately contaminating the atmosphere. I believe we can use this reclaimed gas to make industrial quantities of nitric acid, a vicious little brew that harks back to the early days of space flight.
Borealis now has an internal power supply. After connecting both reactors to a bare-bones power distribution network, the crew and I constructed a temporary command bridge. We definitely need a central control point for the next phase of this operation, submerging the Borealis and its construction dock 200 metres beneath the ocean.
Only six hours remain before the cyclone strikes. Topside, the sky grows steadily darker and winds are gusting to forty knots. I can already hear the rising storm swell as it pounds against the outer hull. A relentless Titan, hammering upon our shell.
I activated my external commlink. "Enzo, how're ye holding up out there?"
Enzo had remained at his station in the construction dock's control module. Until we can get the ship's temporary command centre operational, Enzo is serving as our link-man. We're effectively blind inside Borealis at the moment, since there's practically no instrumentation in here. However, another ten minute's work should see this show up and running.
"It's pretty rough, Sir." Enzo replied. "Inertial damping systems are barely coping with the present sea state, and having Borealis riding high isn't helping at all. That's a lot of sail area. And now for the bad news... Wind speed is increasing, now gusting up to 50 knots. Lightning is clearly visible on the horizon, currently putting out fifteen-plus strikes per minute. Estimated time remaining before contact with the squall line's leading edge is twenty-five minutes."
"Right, then. Sounds like it's time for ye to skedaddle home, Laddie. I'm bringing a Seamoth around to the main airlock. No sense hanging about until it's too late to bail. You would'na fancy this party anyhow. The place is near empty, there's only one lass and the atmosphere's bloody terrible."
Enzo chuckled. "You're not kidding, Sir. According to your last set of air readings, a standard dive suit wouldn't last ten minutes in there, and that's only two minutes more than a breathing-mix regulator and its supply hoses... Molto male, Signore! That's it from me, I'm outta here. Ciao!"
"Copy that, mate. We'll catch ye topside in a couple of hours." I replied.
"All systems are operational, Captain." JUNO said finally. "Mass compensators engaged, rate 0.05."
"External and internal ballast control systems are interlocked and ready to submerge. Mooring line controllers are slaved into primary descent control, retrieval mode only.
Set for zero load threshold."
"Roger that, DIGBY. Buoyancy control is green across my board... Do we have a go, JUNO?"
"Affirmative, Sir. Neutral buoyancy has been achieved without exceeding structural limits of either vehicle. Fifteen point two per cent of ballast tank capacity remaining. We are clear to proceed."
"All drones are standing by at damage control stations. Submerge."
One final glance through the topside cameras was enough. The entire western horizon is a solid mass of boiling black cloud, shot through with searing flashes of lightning. The air is thick with wind-driven spray and foam, a once-placid ocean now whipped into a chaotic frenzy by gale force winds. Even with the inertial dampers operating at maximum, I can feel the green rollers slamming heavily into Borealis' bow. Another few minutes of this punishing assault would be more than the dock's structure could safely withstand. Time has run out. We commit ourselves to the deep.
Passing fifty metres. Most of the buffeting has died down. Borealis shudders faintly in its docking cradle as it bears the full fury of the tempest. My readouts flicker and flare with each passing wave, a dizzying cascade of numbers whispering that all is well. We slip deeper into the canyon below, passing beyond the worst of the cyclone's furious reach.
One hundred metres. The very fabric of Borealis mutters and groans around us. My numbers have begun to whisper in less reassuring tones. We have traded the cyclone's blunt, mindless rage for something infinitely more patient, though no less brutal in the certainty that it offers. With each metre that slips by, water pressure notes the distance travelled, quietly adding just a few more kilograms per square metre to our final tally. The inexorable grip tightens. Such admirable diligence.
One hundred and twenty metres. Our descent comes to a sudden halt. Borealis is screaming.
"Hull breach imminent. Starboard level Sierra, sections five through eight. Drones responding."
"Port Tango, section two. Probability of structural failure, eighty-nine point three per cent."
"Commencing ascent to one-zero-zero metres. Environmental loading on upper hull is increasing."
The drones worked swiftly, fabricating additional Plasteel reinforcing plates on and around each of the weakened sections to shore them up. We are practically caught between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea here; Borealis cannot completely submerge until its lower half is strengthened sufficiently to withstand the water pressure at a depth of 200 metres. Twenty atmospheres. That's 203 tonnes per square metre, incidentally. A considerably greater pressure than your average starship hull is designed to withstand. As the drones worked on the affected sections, I noticed that the stress concentrators instantly migrated to unreinforced sections, exponentially increasing in severity. A quick series of calculations confirmed my suspicions.
This is not the safest way to proceed. Even at our reduced depth, there is a very real chance that a fatal hull breach could occur without warning.
"Change of plan, troops." I said. "I've reconfigured the damage control protocol. Rather than have the drones chasing their tails shoring up potential hull breaches before they occur, they have been reprogrammed to lay down a continuous pattern of reinforcement panels during descent. Just a few more minutes are needed to secure the most vulnerable sections, and then we can take her down."
"A wise decision, Captain." JUNO observed. "As Borealis still lacks decking and all internal bulkheads, its total structural integrity is severely compromised at present. In addition, highly adverse weather conditions encountered during submersion have clearly exceeded your original design parameters. We have no choice but to proceed."
"JUNO, you're just saying that to make me feel better. I should have increased the hull integrity safety margin by another twenty per cent, at least. That's some damned sloppy work. Inexcusable."
JUNO didn't seem to think so.
"Your original design specifications are entirely valid, Captain. Our current situation is merely a result of this weather system failing to cooperate. Chaos happens, Sir."
"Don't I know it." I agreed morosely. "Still, we're going to end up with a Dreadnaught battlecruiser with all of that hull reinforcement going in. Could make certain folks back on Terra feel more than a mite itchy when it drops into low orbit. Questions may be asked. Rather pointed questions."
DIGBY chimed in with a cheeky grin. "In that case, speak softly and carry a big stick, Sir."
Twenty minutes later, our descent resumed. Our entire complement of drones are busily fabricating Plasteel panels in a diamond pattern from the keel up, choking off hull stresses before they could form elsewhere. As each linear run of reinforcement was completed, ninety per cent of the drones commenced work on the next level, leaving the remaining ten percent to fill in the voids. It's oddly satisfying to see drones working in unison like this. This sight reminds me of watching an old weaving loom at work. Fascinating.
Two hundred metres. Borealis is all but silent, save for the muted hum of drones working high overhead. My structural integrity readout has ceased panicking, its amber warning flashes fading through yellow to green as the hull becomes increasingly more secure. Overhead, the cyclone has reached its utmost height of fury. I don't have to see the ocean's surface churned into foam by screaming winds to know this. No drone could survive the hellish conditions topside, so I'm having to rely on data relayed from the network of pressure transducers mounted on Borealis' hull. With a wee bit of manipulation, those matter-of-fact numbers become a chaotic vista of peaks and troughs that mirror conditions on the surface with absolute fidelity. Force 12 winds on the Beaufort Scale, mountainous seas and a sky ripped apart by continuous lightning.
As we huddle inside this metal shell, Manannán's wrath roars and rages above our heads. I can do no more to restrain his hand.
I'd be worried about the floater island. It's tall enough to catch a lot of wind, and I'm rather skeptical about the structural integrity of something made out of rock when faced with that kind of stress. It's not as strong as metal, and perhaps more worryingly, it can't flex.
I'd be worried about the floater island. It's tall enough to catch a lot of wind, and I'm rather skeptical about the structural integrity of something made out of rock when faced with that kind of stress. It's not as strong as metal, and perhaps more worryingly, it can't flex.
Fortunately, in one of the recent updates, there seems to be quite some alien reinforcement of the rock. Lots of cables and portals and stuff in there. I hope that's enough but I think people might see some trees and plants flying past.
why. Just why. There is no logic in bumping this thread.
Who are you to say that? An occasional bump is always appreciated.
Actually, your entirely unnecessary post accomplished the same effect.
Ironic, no?
Ah, but it didn't, as my post was only about an hour after his, making the bump effect negligible. And surely it is no more unnecessary than your reply?
Please, let's stop these useless arguments about who's post was more useless and just get on with the story. Bumps are useful to keep attracting people to this great story but arguing who's post is more useless isn't.
If you have an argumentative streak to your personality or an argumentative way of writing, please keep it to yourself and let the rest of the readers enjoy the story and the author enjoy writing for us all.
Ps: and lets keep bumping occasionally to show our support to the story
why. Just why. There is no logic in bumping this thread.
Who are you to say that? An occasional bump is always appreciated.
Actually, your entirely unnecessary post accomplished the same effect.
Ironic, no?
Ah, but it didn't, as my post was only about an hour after his, making the bump effect negligible. And surely it is no more unnecessary than your reply?
There. Boredom: solved. If you need more ideas, I'm sure we could branch out into other awesome games like FreeSpace 2 Open or something. Just... I don't know, it seems like you're looking for trouble or something and there's SO many more better things to do than that. (Not judging, BTW, it just seemed that way to me from where I sit is all.)
I activated the UQC, fingers crossed. "Selkirk to Kaori-san no-shima Base. What is your status?"
"Savini here, Sir. ALECTO ordered an evacuation of all personnel. We're bunkered down in The Bastion right now, as well as everyone from Carl Sagan's shore party. Conditions are a bit cramped in here, but we're managing just fine. How's Borealis holding up?"
"We've got about another ten minutes work before the hull is completely locked down, then we'll return to the island. Speaking of which, I conjure you've probably drifted halfway to the Shallows by now. Towing that island back into position will be a right royal pain in the bahookie."
"That won't be necessary, Captain." Enzo interjected. "The island hasn't budged a centimetre. I've been monitoring it for drift since I got back, and there's been no change in our position. From what I saw before we lost the surface cameras, it's un disastro upstairs. Most of the island's vegetation has been hammered flat or washed away on that side. The wind has died down a bit, but that's just the eye of the cyclone passing over. Its estimated transit time is twenty-five minutes."
"No drift, ye say?" I replied sceptically. "That's bloody peculiar. As long as everyone is safe in there, that's my only concern right now. We'll put that mystery on the back-burner for the time being."
This cyclone is playing havoc with our remote systems. I can't establish a stable link with ALECTO to obtain a first-hand analysis of the situation.
Fortunately, Enzo appears to have things under control.
"One moment, Sir... Structural integrity has failed on the weather side of the island. We've lost some hab modules and all mariculture beds in the west, northwest and southwest sectors, but everything on the lee side is shielded from the worst of it. All interior bulkheads were secured after the evacuation and repair drones have been assigned to damage control stations. It might sound pretty bad, but we're still basically okay. ALECTO has done most of the hard work for me, Sir."
"That's what he's there for, mate." I said evenly. "Even so, you're doing a magnificent job up there. Unfortunately, there's not a gorram thing we can do to help you right now. If conditions start getting dicey up there, don't hesitate to pile everyone aboard Exodus and head straight for The Broch. You make the evacuation call as you see fit. Got that?"
"Aye, Sir." Enzo replied. "Exodus is already prepped and standing by for launch. Stage Two evacuation trigger points are seismic activity or early signs of structural imbalance developing in the island. Apart from the cyclone's effects, conditions have remained within acceptable limits, Sir."
"Your application of personal initiative is duly noted, Mister Savini. Well done."
"Grazie, Captain." Enzo replied gratefully.
No need to run silent, but we certainly ran deep on our way back. The wind may have slowed a piece to catch its breath, although the heaving grey sea rolls on unabated. Ulysses approached Kaori-san no-shima at a depth of 150 metres, then rose slowly to connect with one of the base's docking collars. Surface turbulence started to kick in around the 50 metre mark. Even with its dynamic positioning system engaged, Ulysses couldn't remain in position long enough for the docking clamps to latch onto it. One aborted approach was enough. In the end, I bottomed Ulysses well clear of Kaori-san no-shima and we swam over to The Bastion's lower airlock.
Nothing even remotely fancy in here. The Bastion is a last-ditch survival shelter, pure and simple. This self-contained facility was built to provide basic life support and Class D accommodation for 100 souls. Assuming that Manannán's ocean and atmosphere remain unaffected by any catastrophes of relatively modest magnitude, this shelter is able to provide air, food and water for an indefinite period.
Downside is, your allocation of 'personal space' is roughly the size of a bunk bed. If you aren't a huge fan of capsule hotels, you definitely won't enjoy staying too long in The Bastion.
"Be warned, it's a reet mess oot there. Just be extra mindful of where ye tread. The western side o' the island copped a fair hidin' last night, and some of the outer paths may have been washed clean awa'. It's probably best that ye stay close to the main complex for now, at least until me and the crew have scoped out the new lie of the land. Any questions? None? - Verra weel, off ye go, then."
So much for my post-cyclone safety briefing. There's no need to bang on about something as blatantly obvious as the aftermath of a Category IV tempest. Our colonists are no strangers to adversity, and Carl Sagan's shore party is largely comprised of experienced spacers, rendering any further commentary and a consequent list of dire cautions entirely unnecessary. Naturally, our guests are still a bit rattled after last night's ordeal, although I suspect that the stoic 'business as usual' attitude that prevails among our colonists should have them calmed down in no time.
All things considered, we weathered the first cyclone of this season tolerably well. Sixty-two per cent of the island's hab ring survived relatively unscathed. On the debit side of our ledger, we lost a third of the island's mariculture facilities, although this will have no noticeable impact on our food reserves. Due to their sheltered locations, Margaritaville, The Last Resort and Café Krakatoa are only superficially damaged, although we'll have to thoroughly inspect all of the island's structures before signing off on their structural integrity. We'll reinforce what we can, and redesign everything else that we can't.
That's our basic problem. There isn't much that humanity can build that Nature can't destroy. Only the Pyramids of Egypt and Mesoamerica can claim any real sort of durability. Even so, they're looking a mite worse for wear these days. If a single seed can force its way though solid concrete in search of sunlight, everything man has ever built is the butt of a cosmic joke, at least as far as Nature is concerned. However, I'm not so certain about those structures that the Precursors left behind. Their enigmatic materials seem to resist the decay of ages, impossibly shielded against the slow, relentless sword of entropy. In all good conscience, I can't leave this planet without learning something tangible about Precursor technology... If only to salvage our bruised human pride.
Before commencing a cleanup effort or any major repairs, our first job is to assess the damage to the colony's base and determine whether the island itself is still structurally sound. While everyone else settled down to a leisurely al fresco breakfast, we were busily reconfiguring our ExoSuits for a geotechnical survey expedition. Something tells me that a terrain resonance imaging scan might be a very bad idea, and that setting off any seismic charges would only compound our current crop of problems. It's definitely a job for ground-penetrating radar in this case. The ExoSuits are of course, a timely anticipation of The Unexpected.
My first transit of the island took me past the former site of the Magellan expedition's surface base camp. Though long gone now, that pathetic cluster of flattened hab domes would have made a powerful statement to any would-be conquerors of this world.
You have no dominion over this place, Human. You never shall. Leave or die.
All that remains of their sad mistake is a commemorative plaque. Back then, I even went to the trouble of stabilizing the treacherous cliff-face that had killed them. Last night's cyclone must have seen my feeble efforts here and decided that the planet's message needed clarification.
All that remains of their sad mistake is a commemorative plaque. Back then, I even went to the trouble of stabilizing the treacherous cliff-face that had killed them. Last night's cyclone must have seen my feeble efforts here and decided that the planet's message needed clarification.
I dismounted my ExoSuit and proceeded to inspect the scree of loose soil, mangled plant matter and rubble from a safe distance. The brow of that cliff is highly unstable, so I'm wary of approaching any closer than is absolutely necessary. The landslip had carried away most of my previous terraforming work, dumping a half-buried jumble of geotextile matting and bent titanium reinforcement rods at the foot of the cliff. As far as I'm able to determine, some large celery trees had grown precariously close to the edge, and all it needed was a strong wind to lever them out and bring the whole shebang crashing down again. In retrospect, it would have been a more sensible plan to revegetate the top of that ridge, instead of allowing natural processes to determine what plants grew up there. Obviously, Mother Nature wanted celery trees.
Reckon I can safely chalk this one up to bad luck.
There's no real point in trying to patch up that cliff face once more. If it wants to slip, it will, regardless of any remedial measures that I care to employ. Besides, our remaining time on this planet would be more profitably spent undoing as much human damage as possible before making our courteous exit. Fortunately, the majority of Aurora's wreckage has already been accounted for, leaving only the base installations and production facilities on Kaori-san no-shima, Skull Island and Pyramid Rock. All of these will be removed at an appropriate time. Aside from the Aurora monument, all other overt signs of human occupation will be squared away before our departure.
My commlink beeped urgently. DIGBY. "Captain, you'll want to see this. Southeast sector. JUNO and IANTO have also been notified and are currently inbound. Transmitting my coordinates now."
"Roger that. On my way, mate." I replied.
Before boarding Gawain, I took a geo-probe from my backpack and shoved its tail-spike into a patch of undisturbed soil near the foot of the cliff. DIGBY and Co. were only about half a klick away, so it was worth taking a few more seconds to finish my work here. If this island's on the brink of falling apart, I'll want to know well in advance.
Gawain's footing became less certain as I neared DIGBY's location. Torrential rainfall had scoured away large sections of the sketchy footpath that meandered through the undergrowth, making it necessary veer a fair distance inland and negotiate a hopeless tangle of flattened vegetation. As I rounded the base of South Hill, I caught sight of the others and made a beeline straight for them.
"Howay, troops." I said cheerfully. "What's up?"
DIGBY indicated a point roughly one-quarter of the way up the slope of South Hill. "Captain, a small section of this hill subsided during the cyclone. GPR scans indicate the presence of a large void beyond that opening. During a cursory examination of this site, I detected an energy signature consistent with the presence of Precursor technology. I strongly recommend that we investigate."
"Absolutely." I grinned. "There's always time to spare for thrilling heroics. Let's have at it, then."
The opening had to be enlarged slightly to admit our ExoSuits, although there was no apparent danger of any further soil movement. Even so, I scanned the parent rock surrounding the hole and found it to be perfectly stable. Judging by the relatively small pile of rubble that had fallen into the hole, a dense mat of vegetation had grown over this opening and accumulated a thin crust of soil, effectively hiding it from casual observation. I had no idea that this cavern existed, since we've had no real need to conduct a detailed scan of the island until today. The last time we scanned, our only concern was making sure that the island's underside was structurally secure before fabricating the colony's foundation plates, so it's easy to see how this managed to remain undiscovered for so long.
As much as I wanted to explore this new Precursor facility, there are far more urgent matters that require our undivided attention. Reluctantly, I marked the cave's location on the survey grid and we resumed our GPR sweep of the island. I suspect that the crew were also a bit disappointed, as this sub-surface scanning business rapidly turns into a dull-grey grind after only a few minutes on the job. Still, it has to be done. Last night's storm has done an almighty number on the island, and there's no telling what could happen if we shirked this task in favour of playing hooky in a cave.
So far, our ground-penetrating radar scans have revealed no serious structural damage to the island, aside from the inevitable washouts that occurred along its entire western face. Approximately eighty-five per cent of the island has been mapped at this moment, so it is now reasonably safe to make a start on the cleanup operation. I estimate that a couple of Ripleys and a standard squad of six repair drones can tackle the topside work. It's all clearance and biomass conversion anyway, something that I can oversee without unduly diverting my attention from this insanely boring scanning job. Mind you, I'm extremely relieved that it has been totally uninteresting so far. Any 'interesting' readings would be most unwelcome during this particular exercise.
I activated The Broch's vehicle fabricator via remote access, instructing it to produce two Ripleys and a squad of repair drones. We'll also need a bioreactor and a biomass protein converter built topside, so that the drones can make good use of the mass of destroyed plant material currently littering the island. The Ripleys will make short work of any big stuff like Celery Trees and Bulbos, rendering them into a more convenient form for the bioreactor and protein converter to use. Waste not, want not.
However, all sub-surface repair work will definitely require our direct attention. If the recon drone's depressing video feed is anything to go by, it's not going to be a simple matter of spraying our handheld Fabricators about with wild abandon. The colony's western quadrant has been comprehensively hammered, and that mad tangle of wreckage will need to be carefully teased apart before any repairs can be made. Structural stresses on any intact base modules could become a very serious issue at some point.
Thankfully, ALECTO and Enzo managed to isolate the worst of those damaged sections with some timely use of emergency bulkheads and sacrificial flooding. If all goes well, Kaori-san no-shima Base should become operational again sometime around nightfall. At the very worst, our colonists and Carl Sagan's contingent will have to rub shoulders in The Bastion for one more night. Surprisingly, these two groups appear to be getting along quite well, all things considered. So much for my earlier concerns about any potential incompatibility. Seems like there's nothing like a wee touch of shared adversity to bring folks together.
It's difficult to be an engineer and still remain optimistic. Last night's cyclone was merely a prelude to Manannán's climatic excesses. This planet's 12-year orbital period generates a wildly variable range of weather conditions as it approaches perihelion. One or two weeks of relatively pleasant weather is sufficient to send ocean surface temperatures soaring, whipping up ferocious storms that can form within minutes and last for weeks at a time. This has not been a significant problem in the past, as we've all been safely tucked away in The Broch as that insane weather raged far overhead. Even though I've honestly tried to account for the worst possible conditions while designing Kaori-san no-shima Base, I'm dismally unsure that its structure will withstand another storm. This realisation is tempered by a certainty that nothing wrought by man stands in the face of Nature's fury. If it were at all possible to force-shield the entire island, we could rebuild here with impunity.
Comments
"Un petit cadeau. Pass this on to Captain Halvorsen with my compliments. I'm certain everyone aboard the Carl Sagan will appreciate what's in there. Have your Data Systems chief look it over to confirm that the base codes are still compatible, but I conjure there won't be any major problems."
Mack regarded the slab of crystal curiously, turning it over in his large hands. "Qu' Est-ce que c'est?"
I chuckled gently. "The answer to every homesick spacer's prayers, mon ami. A proper taste of Home. There's a suite of advanced fabrication routines for your autogalleys on that chip, plus a totally redesigned user interface and more recipes than you'd ever dare imagine. Your Purser's going to hate my guts for this, but that's a risk I'm prepared to take."
"Heh. His commissary bonus be lookin' real slim afore this trip's ovah, das fo' sure." Mack agreed.
"Anyway, you take care of yourself, Mack. Give me a call anytime you're passing though, okay?"
"Will do, Captain. Send mah regards to mam'selle Héloise, Cher. Catch y'all on de flip sahd!"
Ten minutes later, Phantom 309 blasted clear of the pad. Another 50,000 tonnes of seawater on its way back to the Carl Sagan, and another eventful day done and dusted. I felt a quiet satisfaction with the way things had panned out today. My chance meeting with Mack Beaudine has set a small but significant sequence of events in motion.
A minor act of gleeful insurrection, in actual fact.
Face it, there's only so much that can be done to make a company starship feel like 'home'. Aurora had its little village squares and restaurants, and I suppose Carl Sagan also has similar arrangements onboard. However, there is one major flaw in Alterra's half-hearted solution to the problem of homesick employees. It lacks any real depth. Their solution relies on only one point of stimulus. Reproductions of familiar buildings might trigger a vague sense of nostalgia, but I have always suspected that it would not satisfy that aching, lonely void that grows inside a body too far from home. Oddly enough, I've been comparatively lucky in that regard. I've been too busy surviving to give it that much thought. Until now.
Mack's whirlwind visit has drawn my attention to a thorny problem that plagues all long-duration missions. It's homesickness.
True, there may be some hardy folk out there who revel in this isolation, but there are many others who bear the full brunt of finding themselves a ridiculous distance from hearth and home. Given sufficient time, that knowledge will corrode your soul.
The real tragedy is that spacers are denied most of the psychological anchors that serve to ease the pain of long-term separation. Beyond a certain distance, all meaningful communication with family and friends ceases abruptly. At first, a lonely spacer can seek some solace in videos of loved ones, but even these measures lose their efficacy over any extended length of time. We need to delve deeper into the human psyche, soothe its more primal instincts before working on surface emotions.
Carl Sagan will be in this system for the best part of a year. Every day, the crew will line up for meals and be dealt their regulation serve of approximate food analogues. This might keep a body running, but it does absolutely nothing to feed their souls. This is not a fit way to treat the men and women putting their lives on the line to extend Humanity's reach into the cosmos. With that one Mempak, I'm hoping to make their lives just a wee bit brighter.
One tiny act of rebellion. I aim to misbehave.
Yes. Why? Because the author chose to do so. It adds background and depth, IMO.
JUNO has been shepherding a group of first-time divers over the past two days, and her current mood might be charitably described as 'terse'. One particular little charmer persisted in ignoring his suit AI's warnings, and JUNO ripped him a superfluous orifice. Naturally, he filed a formal complaint.
With me. Big mistake.
After reviewing his suit's telemetry data and PDA recordings, I duly convened a Captain's Mast. As a courtesy, these proceedings were broad-waved to Captain Halvorsen. To cut a long story short, this specimen's smug assurance crumbled when his own Captain called him a "senseless waste of DNA", then confined him to quarters for the duration of his stay. Halvorsen transmitted his personal response to this incident over The Last Resort's video link, adding that my crew are now officially recognised as command-level Alterra officers of the Merchant Service, fully entitled to the same rights of courtesy one would normally extend to human officers of equivalent rank. Nice.
That was yesterday. Today, we're onboard the construction dock, almost ready make The Big Move.
"Reactors One through Four are online, Sir. Power is holding steady at twenty per cent of output."
"Copy that. Increase to forty per cent, DIGBY. Deploy outriggers. Propulsion systems are online."
"Outriggers fully deployed, Sir. Thrusters are set to station-keeping. Awaiting further orders."
"Sonar, Conn. Confirm our course clearance for heading three-one-five, Mister Savini."
"Conn, sonar aye. Three biological contacts detected, Sir. Reefback pod is approaching our position on vector two-zero-zero. Speed steady at two point five knots. Range, three hundred."
I swore under my breath. "Too close. IANTO, send in the Makos. Predator mode. Lasers only."
"Makos away, Sir." IANTO replied. "Time to intercept, ten seconds."
Three Mako fighter subs streaked ahead of the dock, homing in on the Reefbacks. That pod has been hanging around the area since dawn, and I can't wait for them to make up their bloody minds. A few stinging shots and convincing Boneshark impersonations should see them off. I've no mind to cause them any serious harm, but it's better than Borealis wearing these hulking great oafs as hood ornaments. In the worst possible scenario, they could tear off several propulsion nacelles, then we'd really be up that creek without a paddle. And I hardly need remind you... This is one BIG canoe.
"Reefbacks dispersing, Sir. Makos are returning to establish a patrol pattern at intercept point."
"JUNO, release docking clamps and commence ascent. Rate, 0.5 metres per second."
"Aye, Sir. Clamps are fully disengaged. Neutral buoyancy set. Activating ascent systems, rate 0.5."
With only the faintest sensation of motion, the construction dock rose slowly from the seafloor. Tremendous forces are being called into play at this moment, and it will require my complete attention to ensure that these forces are kept in equilibrium within extremely fine tolerances. If one section of the dock's hull rises just a few millimetres faster in relation to its neighbouring components, it could easily lead to a catastrophic structural failure. Even though this massive structure has been carefully engineered to perform its specific tasks, it still has absolute operational limits that cannot ever be exceeded. I know the risks involved in this operation. A clearly defined margin for error does exist.
It's close enough to zero to scare the living daylights out of you.
This is the tricky bit. I'm watching the readouts from over 450 structural stress transducers, and this next operation will make the needles bounce around some. Actually, the data is entirely digital, and all I really have to worry about are the two holographic models that represent Borealis and the construction dock. As long as both models remain in the green, everything's fine. Isolated patches of yellow are a cause for mild concern. Amber means that some component isn't one hundred per cent happy. Red anywhere on either of those models means that we might as well call it a day. Game over.
"Cast off on bow and stern lines. Set mass compensators to 10 per cent."
"Bow and stern lines are free, Sir. Mass compensators are set at 10 per cent. Systems are nominal."
"Very good, DIGBY. Release amidships, fore and aft spring lines."
"Aye, Sir. We are free and clear of our moorings. Awaiting further orders." DIGBY responded.
As mentioned previously, this dock wasn't really intended to travel any appreciable distance across the ocean. Think of the Borealis as a raw egg and the dockyard as a skeletal framework of uncooked spaghetti supporting that egg. Our dockyard is a modified version of an orbital graving dock, so I'm fairly certain that the original design wasn't intended for manoeuvres in an aqueous environment. Still, here we are. Standing on the raggedy edge of its design tolerances.
"Run all reactors up to eighty-five per cent. Set mass compensators to thirty per cent of output."
"Aye Sir. Reactors are coming up to mark. Mass compensators increasing to thirty, 0.5 increments."
I watched both holographic models intently, waiting for the first signs of impending disaster. Sections of the dock flashed yellow as Borealis redistributed its artificially-altered mass over the dock's structure. Without taking this crucial step, it would be impossible to overcome its inertia and move the dock more than a few metres before the entire structure tore itself to pieces. If Borealis' mass were decreased any more than a mere thirty per cent, the dock could flex beyond its design limits as it moves through the water. We're definitely walking on a slender tight-rope here.
"Retract all mooring lines. Bow thrusters engaged. Commencing sequential thruster activation."
One million, seven hundred and fifty thousand tonnes of mass began to move. The very act of applying power to a single pair of bow thrusters sent a shiver of yellow through the dock's hologram, although Borealis remained a reassuring green. As soon as the readings settled down, I activated the rest of the dock's thrusters to take up the strain. We aren't aiming to break any speed records here, and you can forget about cornering. That isn't going to happen. All we have to do is forge ahead for the next 1.5 kilometres, hopefully without this painfully slow juggernaut falling apart in the process.
Luck has lingered by our side today. The sea remained as flat as glass throughout our transit. Our track deviated an acceptable 10 millimetres over the entire distance, and we were able to re-anchor the construction dock without encountering any further problems. Our next job is to ballast Borealis with its construction materials, finish sealing its hull and then submerge the whole shooting match. And not a moment too soon, it seems. According to the last data set beamed from the Argus satellite network, that wandering weather system to the west has developed into a Category IV cyclone, and it's heading straight for us.
Looks like it's time to batten down the hatches and break out the ol' Monopoly set, me hearties.
As a matter of fact, I'm looking at them right now. The interior of Borealis is as bare as Mother Hubbard's proverbial cupboard, save for that immense shielded structure sitting amidships of the drive chamber's foundation. There's a disorientating maze of structural girders holding the hull together, but there's not much else in here yet. It's a sight vaguely reminiscent of a zeppelin's internal works. Our next order of business is to begin shoring up this structure with decking plates and additional bracing members. Although this phase would have taken place during the normal course of construction, it now requires a major revision of our project schedule to accommodate the structural modifications necessary for deep submersion. Originally, only 40 per cent of Borealis was intended to remain standing above the waterline. That would have been sufficient for construction purposes, as it provided a similar working environment one might encounter in an orbital dockyard.
Our fleet of construction drones has quadrupled overnight. Currently, nearly all of the latest batch are engaged in transferring as much raw material as possible from Skull Island's storage bunkers. The original squadron of construction drones have been assigned to complete remaining structural reinforcement work and prepare additional ballast tanks, supplementing those compartments already constructed for potable freshwater storage. This will effectively double Borealis' water storage capacity. Rather than waste any seawater pumped onboard as ballast, I have decided to set up another deuterium extraction plant as a direct supply point for the vessel's pair of auxiliary fusion reactors. JUNO, IANTO and DIGBY are working on those reactors right now, but we've still a fair way to go before human feet can safely walk these decks.
Right now, the Borealis is a bewildering hive of furious activity. Drones are whirring hither and yon, fabricating new sections of girders and internal hull plating. The air inside is rank with the metallic tang of ionization, an unwelcome side effect of their nano-lathing operations. Nitrogen dioxide levels in here are currently running at 150 parts per million. Unprotected human lungs would rapidly discover that this concentration is less than conducive to a long and happy life. Consequently, my next job is to build an air scrubber and chemical reclamation facility, since I've no intention of releasing toxic levels of NO2 into Manannán's atmosphere. In all probability, the storm will release significantly greater volumes of this gas once the lightning begins, but I prefer to avoid deliberately contaminating the atmosphere. I believe we can use this reclaimed gas to make industrial quantities of nitric acid, a vicious little brew that harks back to the early days of space flight.
Borealis now has an internal power supply. After connecting both reactors to a bare-bones power distribution network, the crew and I constructed a temporary command bridge. We definitely need a central control point for the next phase of this operation, submerging the Borealis and its construction dock 200 metres beneath the ocean.
Only six hours remain before the cyclone strikes. Topside, the sky grows steadily darker and winds are gusting to forty knots. I can already hear the rising storm swell as it pounds against the outer hull. A relentless Titan, hammering upon our shell.
Enzo had remained at his station in the construction dock's control module. Until we can get the ship's temporary command centre operational, Enzo is serving as our link-man. We're effectively blind inside Borealis at the moment, since there's practically no instrumentation in here. However, another ten minute's work should see this show up and running.
"It's pretty rough, Sir." Enzo replied. "Inertial damping systems are barely coping with the present sea state, and having Borealis riding high isn't helping at all. That's a lot of sail area. And now for the bad news... Wind speed is increasing, now gusting up to 50 knots. Lightning is clearly visible on the horizon, currently putting out fifteen-plus strikes per minute. Estimated time remaining before contact with the squall line's leading edge is twenty-five minutes."
"Right, then. Sounds like it's time for ye to skedaddle home, Laddie. I'm bringing a Seamoth around to the main airlock. No sense hanging about until it's too late to bail. You would'na fancy this party anyhow. The place is near empty, there's only one lass and the atmosphere's bloody terrible."
Enzo chuckled. "You're not kidding, Sir. According to your last set of air readings, a standard dive suit wouldn't last ten minutes in there, and that's only two minutes more than a breathing-mix regulator and its supply hoses... Molto male, Signore! That's it from me, I'm outta here. Ciao!"
"Copy that, mate. We'll catch ye topside in a couple of hours." I replied.
"All systems are operational, Captain." JUNO said finally. "Mass compensators engaged, rate 0.05."
"External and internal ballast control systems are interlocked and ready to submerge. Mooring line controllers are slaved into primary descent control, retrieval mode only.
Set for zero load threshold."
"Roger that, DIGBY. Buoyancy control is green across my board... Do we have a go, JUNO?"
"Affirmative, Sir. Neutral buoyancy has been achieved without exceeding structural limits of either vehicle. Fifteen point two per cent of ballast tank capacity remaining. We are clear to proceed."
"All drones are standing by at damage control stations. Submerge."
One final glance through the topside cameras was enough. The entire western horizon is a solid mass of boiling black cloud, shot through with searing flashes of lightning. The air is thick with wind-driven spray and foam, a once-placid ocean now whipped into a chaotic frenzy by gale force winds. Even with the inertial dampers operating at maximum, I can feel the green rollers slamming heavily into Borealis' bow. Another few minutes of this punishing assault would be more than the dock's structure could safely withstand. Time has run out. We commit ourselves to the deep.
Passing fifty metres. Most of the buffeting has died down. Borealis shudders faintly in its docking cradle as it bears the full fury of the tempest. My readouts flicker and flare with each passing wave, a dizzying cascade of numbers whispering that all is well. We slip deeper into the canyon below, passing beyond the worst of the cyclone's furious reach.
One hundred metres. The very fabric of Borealis mutters and groans around us. My numbers have begun to whisper in less reassuring tones. We have traded the cyclone's blunt, mindless rage for something infinitely more patient, though no less brutal in the certainty that it offers. With each metre that slips by, water pressure notes the distance travelled, quietly adding just a few more kilograms per square metre to our final tally. The inexorable grip tightens. Such admirable diligence.
One hundred and twenty metres. Our descent comes to a sudden halt. Borealis is screaming.
"Port Tango, section two. Probability of structural failure, eighty-nine point three per cent."
"Commencing ascent to one-zero-zero metres. Environmental loading on upper hull is increasing."
The drones worked swiftly, fabricating additional Plasteel reinforcing plates on and around each of the weakened sections to shore them up. We are practically caught between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea here; Borealis cannot completely submerge until its lower half is strengthened sufficiently to withstand the water pressure at a depth of 200 metres. Twenty atmospheres. That's 203 tonnes per square metre, incidentally. A considerably greater pressure than your average starship hull is designed to withstand. As the drones worked on the affected sections, I noticed that the stress concentrators instantly migrated to unreinforced sections, exponentially increasing in severity. A quick series of calculations confirmed my suspicions.
This is not the safest way to proceed. Even at our reduced depth, there is a very real chance that a fatal hull breach could occur without warning.
"Change of plan, troops." I said. "I've reconfigured the damage control protocol. Rather than have the drones chasing their tails shoring up potential hull breaches before they occur, they have been reprogrammed to lay down a continuous pattern of reinforcement panels during descent. Just a few more minutes are needed to secure the most vulnerable sections, and then we can take her down."
"A wise decision, Captain." JUNO observed. "As Borealis still lacks decking and all internal bulkheads, its total structural integrity is severely compromised at present. In addition, highly adverse weather conditions encountered during submersion have clearly exceeded your original design parameters. We have no choice but to proceed."
"JUNO, you're just saying that to make me feel better. I should have increased the hull integrity safety margin by another twenty per cent, at least. That's some damned sloppy work. Inexcusable."
JUNO didn't seem to think so.
"Your original design specifications are entirely valid, Captain. Our current situation is merely a result of this weather system failing to cooperate. Chaos happens, Sir."
"Don't I know it." I agreed morosely. "Still, we're going to end up with a Dreadnaught battlecruiser with all of that hull reinforcement going in. Could make certain folks back on Terra feel more than a mite itchy when it drops into low orbit. Questions may be asked. Rather pointed questions."
DIGBY chimed in with a cheeky grin. "In that case, speak softly and carry a big stick, Sir."
Twenty minutes later, our descent resumed. Our entire complement of drones are busily fabricating Plasteel panels in a diamond pattern from the keel up, choking off hull stresses before they could form elsewhere. As each linear run of reinforcement was completed, ninety per cent of the drones commenced work on the next level, leaving the remaining ten percent to fill in the voids. It's oddly satisfying to see drones working in unison like this. This sight reminds me of watching an old weaving loom at work. Fascinating.
Two hundred metres.
Borealis is all but silent, save for the muted hum of drones working high overhead. My structural integrity readout has ceased panicking, its amber warning flashes fading through yellow to green as the hull becomes increasingly more secure. Overhead, the cyclone has reached its utmost height of fury. I don't have to see the ocean's surface churned into foam by screaming winds to know this. No drone could survive the hellish conditions topside, so I'm having to rely on data relayed from the network of pressure transducers mounted on Borealis' hull. With a wee bit of manipulation, those matter-of-fact numbers become a chaotic vista of peaks and troughs that mirror conditions on the surface with absolute fidelity. Force 12 winds on the Beaufort Scale, mountainous seas and a sky ripped apart by continuous lightning.
As we huddle inside this metal shell, Manannán's wrath roars and rages above our heads. I can do no more to restrain his hand.
Fortunately, in one of the recent updates, there seems to be quite some alien reinforcement of the rock. Lots of cables and portals and stuff in there. I hope that's enough but I think people might see some trees and plants flying past.
why. Just why. There is no logic in bumping this thread.
Some authors appreciate it, others, not so much. IIRC @Bugzapper doesn't seem to mind (correct me if I'm wrong here).
Who are you to say that? An occasional bump is always appreciated.
Actually, your entirely unnecessary post accomplished the same effect.
Ironic, no?
Ah, but it didn't, as my post was only about an hour after his, making the bump effect negligible. And surely it is no more unnecessary than your reply?
If you have an argumentative streak to your personality or an argumentative way of writing, please keep it to yourself and let the rest of the readers enjoy the story and the author enjoy writing for us all.
Ps: and lets keep bumping occasionally to show our support to the story
@sayerulz If you're bored, you can always check out the Subnautica Steam Forums, Subnautica Facebook Community, Subnautica subreddits ( /r/subnautica, /r/subnauticabases, /r/subnauticaletsplays ), there is also the Subnautica Discord Server, which also includes General Discussion rooms. Finally, there's also the Subnautica YouTube category and the Subnautica Twitch category. Or heck, you can even browse and contribute to the
Subnautica Wiki. If you're looking for fiction, and there hasn't been any updates to the five or so stories here on the forums, you can always go check fanfiction.net (viewer discretion is advised, quality not guaranteed).
There. Boredom: solved. If you need more ideas, I'm sure we could branch out into other awesome games like FreeSpace 2 Open or something. Just... I don't know, it seems like you're looking for trouble or something and there's SO many more better things to do than that.
"Savini here, Sir. ALECTO ordered an evacuation of all personnel. We're bunkered down in The Bastion right now, as well as everyone from Carl Sagan's shore party. Conditions are a bit cramped in here, but we're managing just fine. How's Borealis holding up?"
"We've got about another ten minutes work before the hull is completely locked down, then we'll return to the island. Speaking of which, I conjure you've probably drifted halfway to the Shallows by now. Towing that island back into position will be a right royal pain in the bahookie."
"That won't be necessary, Captain." Enzo interjected. "The island hasn't budged a centimetre. I've been monitoring it for drift since I got back, and there's been no change in our position. From what I saw before we lost the surface cameras, it's un disastro upstairs. Most of the island's vegetation has been hammered flat or washed away on that side. The wind has died down a bit, but that's just the eye of the cyclone passing over. Its estimated transit time is twenty-five minutes."
"No drift, ye say?" I replied sceptically. "That's bloody peculiar. As long as everyone is safe in there, that's my only concern right now. We'll put that mystery on the back-burner for the time being."
This cyclone is playing havoc with our remote systems. I can't establish a stable link with ALECTO to obtain a first-hand analysis of the situation.
Fortunately, Enzo appears to have things under control.
"One moment, Sir... Structural integrity has failed on the weather side of the island. We've lost some hab modules and all mariculture beds in the west, northwest and southwest sectors, but everything on the lee side is shielded from the worst of it. All interior bulkheads were secured after the evacuation and repair drones have been assigned to damage control stations. It might sound pretty bad, but we're still basically okay. ALECTO has done most of the hard work for me, Sir."
"That's what he's there for, mate." I said evenly. "Even so, you're doing a magnificent job up there. Unfortunately, there's not a gorram thing we can do to help you right now. If conditions start getting dicey up there, don't hesitate to pile everyone aboard Exodus and head straight for The Broch. You make the evacuation call as you see fit. Got that?"
"Aye, Sir." Enzo replied. "Exodus is already prepped and standing by for launch. Stage Two evacuation trigger points are seismic activity or early signs of structural imbalance developing in the island. Apart from the cyclone's effects, conditions have remained within acceptable limits, Sir."
"Your application of personal initiative is duly noted, Mister Savini. Well done."
"Grazie, Captain." Enzo replied gratefully.
No need to run silent, but we certainly ran deep on our way back. The wind may have slowed a piece to catch its breath, although the heaving grey sea rolls on unabated. Ulysses approached Kaori-san no-shima at a depth of 150 metres, then rose slowly to connect with one of the base's docking collars. Surface turbulence started to kick in around the 50 metre mark. Even with its dynamic positioning system engaged, Ulysses couldn't remain in position long enough for the docking clamps to latch onto it. One aborted approach was enough. In the end, I bottomed Ulysses well clear of Kaori-san no-shima and we swam over to The Bastion's lower airlock.
Nothing even remotely fancy in here. The Bastion is a last-ditch survival shelter, pure and simple. This self-contained facility was built to provide basic life support and Class D accommodation for 100 souls. Assuming that Manannán's ocean and atmosphere remain unaffected by any catastrophes of relatively modest magnitude, this shelter is able to provide air, food and water for an indefinite period.
Downside is, your allocation of 'personal space' is roughly the size of a bunk bed. If you aren't a huge fan of capsule hotels, you definitely won't enjoy staying too long in The Bastion.
Sorry.
Phew.
Caught this just before it went off the first page of the general discussions.
So much for my post-cyclone safety briefing. There's no need to bang on about something as blatantly obvious as the aftermath of a Category IV tempest. Our colonists are no strangers to adversity, and Carl Sagan's shore party is largely comprised of experienced spacers, rendering any further commentary and a consequent list of dire cautions entirely unnecessary. Naturally, our guests are still a bit rattled after last night's ordeal, although I suspect that the stoic 'business as usual' attitude that prevails among our colonists should have them calmed down in no time.
All things considered, we weathered the first cyclone of this season tolerably well. Sixty-two per cent of the island's hab ring survived relatively unscathed. On the debit side of our ledger, we lost a third of the island's mariculture facilities, although this will have no noticeable impact on our food reserves. Due to their sheltered locations, Margaritaville, The Last Resort and Café Krakatoa are only superficially damaged, although we'll have to thoroughly inspect all of the island's structures before signing off on their structural integrity. We'll reinforce what we can, and redesign everything else that we can't.
That's our basic problem. There isn't much that humanity can build that Nature can't destroy. Only the Pyramids of Egypt and Mesoamerica can claim any real sort of durability. Even so, they're looking a mite worse for wear these days. If a single seed can force its way though solid concrete in search of sunlight, everything man has ever built is the butt of a cosmic joke, at least as far as Nature is concerned. However, I'm not so certain about those structures that the Precursors left behind. Their enigmatic materials seem to resist the decay of ages, impossibly shielded against the slow, relentless sword of entropy. In all good conscience, I can't leave this planet without learning something tangible about Precursor technology... If only to salvage our bruised human pride.
Before commencing a cleanup effort or any major repairs, our first job is to assess the damage to the colony's base and determine whether the island itself is still structurally sound. While everyone else settled down to a leisurely al fresco breakfast, we were busily reconfiguring our ExoSuits for a geotechnical survey expedition. Something tells me that a terrain resonance imaging scan might be a very bad idea, and that setting off any seismic charges would only compound our current crop of problems. It's definitely a job for ground-penetrating radar in this case. The ExoSuits are of course, a timely anticipation of The Unexpected.
My first transit of the island took me past the former site of the Magellan expedition's surface base camp. Though long gone now, that pathetic cluster of flattened hab domes would have made a powerful statement to any would-be conquerors of this world.
You have no dominion over this place, Human. You never shall. Leave or die.
All that remains of their sad mistake is a commemorative plaque. Back then, I even went to the trouble of stabilizing the treacherous cliff-face that had killed them. Last night's cyclone must have seen my feeble efforts here and decided that the planet's message needed clarification.
Landslide.
Rekt
Reckon I can safely chalk this one up to bad luck.
There's no real point in trying to patch up that cliff face once more. If it wants to slip, it will, regardless of any remedial measures that I care to employ. Besides, our remaining time on this planet would be more profitably spent undoing as much human damage as possible before making our courteous exit. Fortunately, the majority of Aurora's wreckage has already been accounted for, leaving only the base installations and production facilities on Kaori-san no-shima, Skull Island and Pyramid Rock. All of these will be removed at an appropriate time. Aside from the Aurora monument, all other overt signs of human occupation will be squared away before our departure.
My commlink beeped urgently. DIGBY. "Captain, you'll want to see this. Southeast sector. JUNO and IANTO have also been notified and are currently inbound. Transmitting my coordinates now."
"Roger that. On my way, mate." I replied.
Before boarding Gawain, I took a geo-probe from my backpack and shoved its tail-spike into a patch of undisturbed soil near the foot of the cliff. DIGBY and Co. were only about half a klick away, so it was worth taking a few more seconds to finish my work here. If this island's on the brink of falling apart, I'll want to know well in advance.
Gawain's footing became less certain as I neared DIGBY's location. Torrential rainfall had scoured away large sections of the sketchy footpath that meandered through the undergrowth, making it necessary veer a fair distance inland and negotiate a hopeless tangle of flattened vegetation. As I rounded the base of South Hill, I caught sight of the others and made a beeline straight for them.
"Howay, troops." I said cheerfully. "What's up?"
DIGBY indicated a point roughly one-quarter of the way up the slope of South Hill. "Captain, a small section of this hill subsided during the cyclone. GPR scans indicate the presence of a large void beyond that opening. During a cursory examination of this site, I detected an energy signature consistent with the presence of Precursor technology. I strongly recommend that we investigate."
"Absolutely." I grinned. "There's always time to spare for thrilling heroics. Let's have at it, then."
The opening had to be enlarged slightly to admit our ExoSuits, although there was no apparent danger of any further soil movement. Even so, I scanned the parent rock surrounding the hole and found it to be perfectly stable. Judging by the relatively small pile of rubble that had fallen into the hole, a dense mat of vegetation had grown over this opening and accumulated a thin crust of soil, effectively hiding it from casual observation. I had no idea that this cavern existed, since we've had no real need to conduct a detailed scan of the island until today. The last time we scanned, our only concern was making sure that the island's underside was structurally secure before fabricating the colony's foundation plates, so it's easy to see how this managed to remain undiscovered for so long.
So far, our ground-penetrating radar scans have revealed no serious structural damage to the island, aside from the inevitable washouts that occurred along its entire western face. Approximately eighty-five per cent of the island has been mapped at this moment, so it is now reasonably safe to make a start on the cleanup operation. I estimate that a couple of Ripleys and a standard squad of six repair drones can tackle the topside work. It's all clearance and biomass conversion anyway, something that I can oversee without unduly diverting my attention from this insanely boring scanning job. Mind you, I'm extremely relieved that it has been totally uninteresting so far. Any 'interesting' readings would be most unwelcome during this particular exercise.
I activated The Broch's vehicle fabricator via remote access, instructing it to produce two Ripleys and a squad of repair drones. We'll also need a bioreactor and a biomass protein converter built topside, so that the drones can make good use of the mass of destroyed plant material currently littering the island. The Ripleys will make short work of any big stuff like Celery Trees and Bulbos, rendering them into a more convenient form for the bioreactor and protein converter to use. Waste not, want not.
However, all sub-surface repair work will definitely require our direct attention. If the recon drone's depressing video feed is anything to go by, it's not going to be a simple matter of spraying our handheld Fabricators about with wild abandon. The colony's western quadrant has been comprehensively hammered, and that mad tangle of wreckage will need to be carefully teased apart before any repairs can be made. Structural stresses on any intact base modules could become a very serious issue at some point.
Thankfully, ALECTO and Enzo managed to isolate the worst of those damaged sections with some timely use of emergency bulkheads and sacrificial flooding. If all goes well, Kaori-san no-shima Base should become operational again sometime around nightfall. At the very worst, our colonists and Carl Sagan's contingent will have to rub shoulders in The Bastion for one more night. Surprisingly, these two groups appear to be getting along quite well, all things considered. So much for my earlier concerns about any potential incompatibility. Seems like there's nothing like a wee touch of shared adversity to bring folks together.
It's difficult to be an engineer and still remain optimistic. Last night's cyclone was merely a prelude to Manannán's climatic excesses. This planet's 12-year orbital period generates a wildly variable range of weather conditions as it approaches perihelion. One or two weeks of relatively pleasant weather is sufficient to send ocean surface temperatures soaring, whipping up ferocious storms that can form within minutes and last for weeks at a time. This has not been a significant problem in the past, as we've all been safely tucked away in The Broch as that insane weather raged far overhead. Even though I've honestly tried to account for the worst possible conditions while designing Kaori-san no-shima Base, I'm dismally unsure that its structure will withstand another storm. This realisation is tempered by a certainty that nothing wrought by man stands in the face of Nature's fury. If it were at all possible to force-shield the entire island, we could rebuild here with impunity.