Just a little something I whipped up... (Back in March, actually)
Alterra Corp TFS 'Aurora'.
Personal Log: Selkirk, A.
Employee #: 105/8874. Maintenance Division.
Mission Time: Day 232, 2171 C.E
Day One:
"Still not entirely sure how I survived. One thing is dead certain though... If I hadn't actually been working inside Pod 5 at the time, I probably wouldn't have. Aurora arrived at P-M(H)2257 about two days ago, and the bridge crew had just commenced scanning the planet to find a suitable place to land. Roughly ten minutes after I entered the pod, a huge explosion rocked the ship. My first thought was that one of the drive reactors had gone prompt, but couldn't figure out a single reason why it would have done so. Dark Matter fusion cores aren't capable of prompt supercritical reactions. Even the slightest imbalance would cause the field to collapse and the reaction simply stops. That's basic physics. *clears throat* Anyway, I digress... The automated failsafe system locked the pod, and I barely had enough time to buckle the restraint harness before it ejected. As the pod vectored into its descent profile, I was able to get a quick look at Aurora before it passed out of visual range. It didn't look good. There was a gaping hole blown clean through the ship, just for'ard of the drive nacelles. She was going down hard."
Day Three:
"Still haven't seen any other lifepods yet. The Aurora crash-landed about three klicks from my current position, but I can't get any closer than 500 metres or so. There's hard radiation pouring out of the drive section, presumably from the auxiliary fission cores. If anyone did survive the crash onboard, they're as good as dead by now. I've tried approaching the hull a couple of times from different angles, but the Micro-Med implant couldn't keep up with the damage I was taking. The radiation count is off the scale."
"Taking stock of the situation, I reckon I stand a fair chance of surviving long enough to be rescued. However... It's going to be at least six months before Aurora is listed as overdue, and since I don't have a working distress beacon or a tachyon-burst transceiver (Three guesses what particular items got slagged during the emergency landing), I'm going to have to make it pretty damn obvious that there's still someone alive down here."
Day Four:
"Call me paranoid, but I think something down here took a pot-shot at Aurora. In my book, that's scary. Whoever they are, they have made it very clear that our presence here is highly unwelcome. Judging by the primary impact damage to the hull, Aurora was hit by a powerful particle beam weapon of some kind. Huge areas of hull plating have run like candle wax. Takes something pretty nasty to do that. Assuming that I can get this info out there before the rescue ship arrives, I'd suggest sending down the smallest shuttle you have onboard. Tread softly."
Day Fifteen:
"It's a good thing I'm a sushi buff. When I get back, I'm definitely going to have a quiet word with the Tech folks at Alterra. Don't get me wrong; the Fabricator is a fine piece of survival kit, but it's in dire need of a few small but highly crucial tweaks. Would it have killed anyone to include a protein resequencer module? Call me a whiny little [REDACTED] if you want, but a bit of variety would be greatly appreciated by anyone in this same situation. Morale is also a survival factor, you know.
And gorram it... Fish needs soy sauce and wasabi."
Day Seventeen:
"Things are definitely looking up. I found a small island yesterday. Approximately five klicks south of the Aurora. Not particularly large as islands go, but it's kind of special. It floats. There are these basketball-sized critters called 'floaters', and they attach themselves to rocks of various sizes. When enough of them have gathered on a particular rock, it floats to the surface. As far as I can tell, this island appears to be one of their long-term projects. On the underside of the island, there is a colony of huge floaters supporting it. Presumably, each one of the large floaters is either a super-colony of smaller floaters, or the sessile form of a single mature floater. I'll just leave that out there for the Exobiology team to ruminate upon. Anyway, one of my minor gripes has resolved itself rather nicely. I now have acceptable local substitutes for soy sauce and wasabi. Pity about the rice, though. Still working on that. The existence of an island is crucial to moving things along past bare-bones survival. An oxygen atmosphere will support combustion-based technology and permit a wider range of chemical reactions. If I'm going to be stuck here for any appreciable length of time, it may be necessary to go right back to basics, particularly if the Fabricator goes on the fritz. I've built several in various locations as back-ups, but there's no guarantees out here. Manual smelting and forging may become necessary at some stage. I'd rather not wait idly until this becomes a serious issue."
Day Eighteen:
"I've been extremely busy. This is one of the reasons that it took me so long to discover that island. Incidentally, I have decided to call P-M(H)2257 'Manannán', naming it after the Celtic deity of the sea, Manannán mac Lir. As far as I know, it doesn't have an official name other than its planetary catalogue ID. Correct me if I'm wrong, by all means. However, if I do manage to contact some sentient local inhabitants, all bets are off. We'll have to go with their name for this world. Thinking back on the Aurora's crash, I would strongly recommend against attempting any further terraforming projects here. For one thing; Manannán is eminently habitable as it is, and the ecology of the planet appears to be balanced to perfection. There are numerous stable food webs in action, and I have done my level best to stay out of the most obvious ones. Large apex predators such as the Stalker, Sand Shark and Bone Shark are best avoided altogether, although the Stalker is particularly intriguing for its displays of magpie-like behaviour. They are attracted to scrap metal for some reason, and I have seen them collecting pieces of hull plating and depositing it in caches. That's another puzzler I'll leave for the Exobio chaps."
Day Nineteen:
"Had my first encounter with a Crash and a Bleeder today. The Crash was relatively easy to avoid. That angry squealing sound is ample warning for anyone. They normally live inside a rock-like carapace with petals that open and launch the Crash on its kamikaze run against an unsuspecting interloper. I was quick with the stasis rifle and froze the little [REDACTED] in its tracks. A surprisingly powerful explosion ensued. Fortunately, I was just outside the blast radius. However, I wasn't so lucky with the Bleeder. Damn thing latched onto my arm and nearly bled me dry before I made it back to the Seamoth. It let go, eventually. Seems like they don't like to stray too far from home. Sounds like a pretty good idea to me. Might give the exploration caper a bit of a miss today... Putter around in the Cyclops (DSV Calypso II), maybe put my feet up for a spell."
Day Twenty-Three:
"This is no way for a man to live... Cowering inside a tin can. Sooner or later, I'm going to need more food and water. One side of me is completely rattled, while the other is furious and frustrated with what I've recently become. There are only two options left at this point... Either starve to death because I'm too afraid to set foot in the water again, or cruise the reefs and canyons like a born and bred apex predator."
Day Twenty-Five:
"Still here. Just popping out for a midnight swim."
Day Thirty:
"Well, the main undersea base (Aurora Station) is nearly complete. Corridors are fine and all, but I could really use some habitation module templates. Not that I'm complaining, of course. Titanium is absolutely no problem. Got a nearby gang of Stalkers helping with the collection. I give them fish, they give me scrap. It's a sweet deal. Quartz, silver, gold and copper nodules are reasonably plentiful too, and I've taken pains to deliberately steer clear of Crashes and Bleeders. My greatest mistake was keeping my eyes too widely peeled for the big biters, when in fact the smallest critters posed a far greater threat. However, I've also learned that I'm not the biggest, baddest fish in this particular pond. Consider the Reefback. Combine a turtle, whale and squid in one immense package. Luckily, it's non-aggressive. There's always an uncomfortable suspicion that even larger beasties are wandering around out there in the deeps, and it's only a matter of time until one of them comes a-knocking. Question is; will they be bringing tea and dumplings as a housewarming gift, or a particle beam weapon?"
Day Thirty-Two:
"Took some quiet time today to remember the folks aboard Aurora. Used a terraformer and some spare hull plating to raise a cairn to the memory of their passing. I don't follow any Book in particular, but said some words over it anyway. Just hope it got them where they felt they needed to go."
Day Thirty-Five:
"I conjure the brains trust at Alterra Corp haven't done much actual diving. While I appreciate the handy auto-fill system they've incorporated into the standard-issue modular diving rig, there are several modifications that I would appreciate even more. Firstly, the use of pure oxygen is playing merry hell with my body chemistry. Switch the breathing gas to Trimix (Oxygen, Nitrogen and Helium or Hydrogen for Tetramix). This will permit deep diving and not ending up like a dead, rather annoyed pretzel, should my Micro-Med implant suddenly stop working for some reason. Secondly, has no-one heard of cryogenic gas storage, for Pete's sake? Those dinky little tanks hold thirty, yes thirty seconds of lung-bung each. Takes four of the damned things to get anywhere near a decent bottom-time, and even that's none too impressive. Even ten minutes per tank would be a blessing in this rather moist environment... Know what I'm saying? Noticed rebreather and exo-suit templates in the PDA, which would be mighty handy if they actually worked. Almost embarrassed myself to death the first time I tried using them. Luckily, I had a single tank just in case. Okay. That got most of the rant out of my system. Feeling much better now. Deep breaths... Yeah."
"Seriously though, there are many modifications that could be implemented in the PDA templates for the Fabricator and its products. While the Cyclops is a highly capable DSV design, it is my professional opinion that its depth rating is excessively modest, given the current situation. A maximum depth rating of 500 metres and a crush depth of 750 meters is not entirely unreasonable... 250 metres and 350 metres respectively for the Seamoth would be more than acceptable. The Cyclops would also benefit from having a more extensive suite of sensors such as a sidescan sonar, 3D HUD piloting sonar, depth under keel readout, automated mapping system, waypoint navigation and a HUD compass with numeric readout. If possible, a small reconnaissance ROV could be deployed from either the Seamoth or Cyclops when scouting particularly hazardous locations. Weapons may also be necessary at some stage. The stasis rifle is fine for avoiding trouble, but when that trouble comes looking for you, it might be wise to invest in some significant defensive firepower. Base defence turrets may also be required, particularly if the local sentients turn out unfriendly. I'm still prepared to give them the benefit of a doubt, even after they downed the Aurora. Lot of good folks died that day, but I'm not prepared to start a shooting war just yet."
Well the shark this may be the first idea you've have that i've aggred to.....
I find that shocking. As it says in the title, this idea is controversial at best. I honestly didn't expect anyone to agree with this, let alone this massive amount of agreement.
Just a little something I whipped up... (Back in March, actually)
Alterra Corp TFS 'Aurora'.
Personal Log: Selkirk, A.
Employee #: 105/8874. Maintenance Division.
Mission Time: Day 232, 2171 C.E
Day One:
"Still not entirely sure how I survived. One thing is dead certain though... If I hadn't actually been working inside Pod 5 at the time, I probably wouldn't have. Aurora arrived at P-M(H)2257 about two days ago, and the bridge crew had just commenced scanning the planet to find a suitable place to land. Roughly ten minutes after I entered the pod, a huge explosion rocked the ship. My first thought was that one of the drive reactors had gone prompt, but couldn't figure out a single reason why it would have done so. Dark Matter fusion cores aren't capable of prompt supercritical reactions. Even the slightest imbalance would cause the field to collapse and the reaction simply stops. That's basic physics. *clears throat* Anyway, I digress... The automated failsafe system locked the pod, and I barely had enough time to buckle the restraint harness before it ejected. As the pod vectored into its descent profile, I was able to get a quick look at Aurora before it passed out of visual range. It didn't look good. There was a gaping hole blown clean through the ship, just for'ard of the drive nacelles. She was going down hard."
Day Three:
"Still haven't seen any other lifepods yet. The Aurora crash-landed about three klicks from my current position, but I can't get any closer than 500 metres or so. There's hard radiation pouring out of the drive section, presumably from the auxiliary fission cores. If anyone did survive the crash onboard, they're as good as dead by now. I've tried approaching the hull a couple of times from different angles, but the Micro-Med implant couldn't keep up with the damage I was taking. The radiation count is off the scale."
"Taking stock of the situation, I reckon I stand a fair chance of surviving long enough to be rescued. However... It's going to be at least six months before Aurora is listed as overdue, and since I don't have a working distress beacon or a tachyon-burst transceiver (Three guesses what particular items got slagged during the emergency landing), I'm going to have to make it pretty damn obvious that there's still someone alive down here."
Day Four:
"Call me paranoid, but I think something down here took a pot-shot at Aurora. In my book, that's scary. Whoever they are, they have made it very clear that our presence here is highly unwelcome. Judging by the primary impact damage to the hull, Aurora was hit by a powerful particle beam weapon of some kind. Huge areas of hull plating have run like candle wax. Takes something pretty nasty to do that. Assuming that I can get this info out there before the rescue ship arrives, I'd suggest sending down the smallest shuttle you have onboard. Tread softly."
Day Fifteen:
"It's a good thing I'm a sushi buff. When I get back, I'm definitely going to have a quiet word with the Tech folks at Alterra. Don't get me wrong; the Fabricator is a fine piece of survival kit, but it's in dire need of a few small but highly crucial tweaks. Would it have killed anyone to include a protein resequencer module? Call me a whiny little [REDACTED] if you want, but a bit of variety would be greatly appreciated by anyone in this same situation. Morale is also a survival factor, you know.
And gorram it... Fish needs soy sauce and wasabi."
Day Seventeen:
"Things are definitely looking up. I found a small island yesterday. Approximately five klicks south of the Aurora. Not particularly large as islands go, but it's kind of special. It floats. There are these basketball-sized critters called 'floaters', and they attach themselves to rocks of various sizes. When enough of them have gathered on a particular rock, it floats to the surface. As far as I can tell, this island appears to be one of their long-term projects. On the underside of the island, there is a colony of huge floaters supporting it. Presumably, each one of the large floaters is either a super-colony of smaller floaters, or the sessile form of a single mature floater. I'll just leave that out there for the Exobiology team to ruminate upon. Anyway, one of my minor gripes has resolved itself rather nicely. I now have acceptable local substitutes for soy sauce and wasabi. Pity about the rice, though. Still working on that. The existence of an island is crucial to moving things along past bare-bones survival. An oxygen atmosphere will support combustion-based technology and permit a wider range of chemical reactions. If I'm going to be stuck here for any appreciable length of time, it may be necessary to go right back to basics, particularly if the Fabricator goes on the fritz. I've built several in various locations as back-ups, but there's no guarantees out here. Manual smelting and forging may become necessary at some stage. I'd rather not wait idly until this becomes a serious issue."
Day Eighteen:
"I've been extremely busy. This is one of the reasons that it took me so long to discover that island. Incidentally, I have decided to call P-M(H)2257 'Manannán', naming it after the Celtic deity of the sea, Manannán mac Lir. As far as I know, it doesn't have an official name other than its planetary catalogue ID. Correct me if I'm wrong, by all means. However, if I do manage to contact some sentient local inhabitants, all bets are off. We'll have to go with their name for this world. Thinking back on the Aurora's crash, I would strongly recommend against attempting any further terraforming projects here. For one thing; Manannán is eminently habitable as it is, and the ecology of the planet appears to be balanced to perfection. There are numerous stable food webs in action, and I have done my level best to stay out of the most obvious ones. Large apex predators such as the Stalker, Sand Shark and Bone Shark are best avoided altogether, although the Stalker is particularly intriguing for its displays of magpie-like behaviour. They are attracted to scrap metal for some reason, and I have seen them collecting pieces of hull plating and depositing it in caches. That's another puzzler I'll leave for the Exobio chaps."
Day Nineteen:
"Had my first encounter with a Crash and a Bleeder today. The Crash was relatively easy to avoid. That angry squealing sound is ample warning for anyone. They normally live inside a rock-like carapace with petals that open and launch the Crash on its kamikaze run against an unsuspecting interloper. I was quick with the stasis rifle and froze the little [REDACTED] in its tracks. A surprisingly powerful explosion ensued. Fortunately, I was just outside the blast radius. However, I wasn't so lucky with the Bleeder. Damn thing latched onto my arm and nearly bled me dry before I made it back to the Seamoth. It let go, eventually. Seems like they don't like to stray too far from home. Sounds like a pretty good idea to me. Might give the exploration caper a bit of a miss today... Putter around in the Cyclops (DSV Calypso II), maybe put my feet up for a spell."
Day Twenty-Three:
"This is no way for a man to live... Cowering inside a tin can. Sooner or later, I'm going to need more food and water. One side of me is completely rattled, while the other is furious and frustrated with what I've recently become. There are only two options left at this point... Either starve to death because I'm too afraid to set foot in the water again, or cruise the reefs and canyons like a born and bred apex predator."
Day Twenty-Five:
"Still here. Just popping out for a midnight swim."
Day Thirty:
"Well, the main undersea base (Aurora Station) is nearly complete. Corridors are fine and all, but I could really use some habitation module templates. Not that I'm complaining, of course. Titanium is absolutely no problem. Got a nearby gang of Stalkers helping with the collection. I give them fish, they give me scrap. It's a sweet deal. Quartz, silver, gold and copper nodules are reasonably plentiful too, and I've taken pains to deliberately steer clear of Crashes and Bleeders. My greatest mistake was keeping my eyes too widely peeled for the big biters, when in fact the smallest critters posed a far greater threat. However, I've also learned that I'm not the biggest, baddest fish in this particular pond. Consider the Reefback. Combine a turtle, whale and squid in one immense package. Luckily, it's non-aggressive. There's always an uncomfortable suspicion that even larger beasties are wandering around out there in the deeps, and it's only a matter of time until one of them comes a-knocking. Question is; will they be bringing tea and dumplings as a housewarming gift, or a particle beam weapon?"
Day Thirty-Two:
"Took some quiet time today to remember the folks aboard Aurora. Used a terraformer and some spare hull plating to raise a cairn to the memory of their passing. I don't follow any Book in particular, but said some words over it anyway. Just hope it got them where they felt they needed to go."
Day Thirty-Five:
"I conjure the brains trust at Alterra Corp haven't done much actual diving. While I appreciate the handy auto-fill system they've incorporated into the standard-issue modular diving rig, there are several modifications that I would appreciate even more. Firstly, the use of pure oxygen is playing merry hell with my body chemistry. Switch the breathing gas to Trimix (Oxygen, Nitrogen and Helium or Hydrogen for Tetramix). This will permit deep diving and not ending up like a dead, rather annoyed pretzel, should my Micro-Med implant suddenly stop working for some reason. Secondly, has no-one heard of cryogenic gas storage, for Pete's sake? Those dinky little tanks hold thirty, yes thirty seconds of lung-bung each. Takes four of the damned things to get anywhere near a decent bottom-time, and even that's none too impressive. Even ten minutes per tank would be a blessing in this rather moist environment... Know what I'm saying? Noticed rebreather and exo-suit templates in the PDA, which would be mighty handy if they actually worked. Almost embarrassed myself to death the first time I tried using them. Luckily, I had a single tank just in case. Okay. That got most of the rant out of my system. Feeling much better now. Deep breaths... Yeah."
"Seriously though, there are many modifications that could be implemented in the PDA templates for the Fabricator and its products. While the Cyclops is a highly capable DSV design, it is my professional opinion that its depth rating is excessively modest, given the current situation. A maximum depth rating of 500 metres and a crush depth of 750 meters is not entirely unreasonable... 250 metres and 350 metres respectively for the Seamoth would be more than acceptable. The Cyclops would also benefit from having a more extensive suite of sensors such as a sidescan sonar, 3D HUD piloting sonar, depth under keel readout, automated mapping system, waypoint navigation and a HUD compass with numeric readout. If possible, a small reconnaissance ROV could be deployed from either the Seamoth or Cyclops when scouting particularly hazardous locations. Weapons may also be necessary at some stage. The stasis rifle is fine for avoiding trouble, but when that trouble comes looking for you, it might be wise to invest in some significant defensive firepower. Base defence turrets may also be required, particularly if the local sentients turn out unfriendly. I'm still prepared to give them the benefit of a doubt, even after they downed the Aurora. Lot of good folks died that day, but I'm not prepared to start a shooting war just yet."
Do you do fanfiction? Please make this into fanfiction!
To everyone who doesn't want an ending, simply don't go that direction, you have a choice. But I would prefer to have a chance to move onward in the game besides collecting resources and making big empty base. Different endings sounds great regarding the choices you make. The idea of making a beacon and sending a distress call to earth is good, and in different post it was already thought of, that earth would end a rescue party, but the complications would start to land on the planet, since it has not been discovered what destroyed Aurora. And here the story can have many variations, either you create a tech that would not be affected by the pulse and you are able to fly to the rescue ship, or you find the source of the energy pulse and disable it, or the bad ending, the rescue ship is destroyed as well and you are left alone.
Anyway, any story line would need to have many new things, equipment, tech, blueprints, ect. The simplest would be what was suggested, that at one point you contact earth, get assistance and continue making the place for new colonists. I enjoyed in Minecraft when you could interact with other towns and help them grow, expand and evolve. A colony where you can participate in helping it to develop might be nice, but it would be late game, after like 15-20h game play.
Do you do fanfiction? Please make this into fanfiction!
Full agreement.
Hmmm...
Tempting, but it might be a bit 'same-old, same-old' after a while. Imagine a rather moist version of 'The Martian', if you will.
Besides, I'd hate to write a speculative piece that turned out to be utterly, horribly and completely wrong. A Subnautica fanfic should be vaguely in synch with UWE's version of events for consistency's sake, but since the actual SN canon storyline is still a work in progress, I have very little solid information to use as a basis.
Still, if enough people genuinely want to see a Subnautica fanfic, I suppose that I could serialize it in General Discussion.
Let's see how far my arm can be twisted.
(A bit of ego-massage is always greatly appreciated)
First Instalment of 'Aurora Falls', hot off the presses!
AURORA FALLS - A Subnautica Story.
Chapter One
"Call me Al."
My full name is Alexander Fergus Selkirk. Alterra employee number, 105/8874.
Mission Time: Day 267, 2171 C.E.
Given my current situation, my parents must have had a fine sense of irony. If not, at least some significant measure of prescience.
I'm currently stranded on an alien world, approximately 175 light years from Terra.
So, not exactly within range of human assistance. Worked that one out fairly early in the piece. I've more or less resigned myself to the fact that IF help is on the way, it will be at least six months or more down the track. However, that depressing fact is the very least of my concerns at the moment.
I'm guessing that you have already found the PDA logs. If you haven't, I'd suggest digging below the Aurora's memorial plaque and opening the Lifepod that I buried there. You can't miss the Aurora monument. It's that hundred-metre nanocrete obelisk, one klick dead south of the ship.
Not too shabby, eh?
It's amazing what one can achieve with a Terraformer and a metric butt-tonne of spare time.
Spare time was hard to come by in the first couple of weeks after the crash. Survival was the name of the game, and this planet did everything it possibly could to be rid of me. It's a damned deceptive place, I'll tell you that for free. Looks like a tropical paradise at first glance, but it seems as though the entire planet (That's 'P-M(H)2257' to you, 'Manannán' to me.) is in a constant state of high alert against intruders. It's weird. There are creatures down here that earnestly want to make you dead. I kid you not.
First of all, I'd best tell you of what actually happened to the Aurora... Well, at least as much as I was able to fathom, at any rate.
Aurora had been in high orbit around the planet for about three days. Standard approach pattern, hailing calls on all known EM frequencies, dropped landing beacons in the proposed area of operations, yada-yada, et cetera, et cetera. - All strictly by the book, precisely as Alterra wrote it. Heard nary a peep from anything planet-side, so the Captain decided to bring Aurora down to five klicks for a couple of slow atmospheric orbits prior to touchdown. Again, just to make absolutely certain that no-one of the indigenous persuasion had any valid objections to our noble enterprise.
After all, no-one wanted a repeat performance of the Kharaa Incident. Nasty business.
First Instalment of 'Aurora Falls', hot off the presses!
AURORA FALLS - A Subnautica Story.
Chapter One
"Call me Al."
My full name is Alexander Fergus Selkirk. Alterra employee number, 105/8874.
Mission Time: Day 267, 2171 C.E.
Given my current situation, my parents must have had a fine sense of irony. If not, at least some significant measure of prescience.
I'm currently stranded on an alien world, approximately 175 light years from Terra.
So, not exactly within range of human assistance. Worked that one out fairly early in the piece. I've more or less resigned myself to the fact that IF help is on the way, it will be at least six months or more down the track. However, that depressing fact is the very least of my concerns at the moment.
I'm guessing that you have already found the PDA logs. If you haven't, I'd suggest digging below the Aurora's memorial plaque and opening the Lifepod that I buried there. You can't miss the Aurora monument. It's that hundred-metre nanocrete obelisk, one klick dead south of the ship.
Not too shabby, eh?
It's amazing what one can achieve with a Terraformer and a metric butt-tonne of spare time.
Spare time was hard to come by in the first couple of weeks after the crash. Survival was the name of the game, and this planet did everything it possibly could to be rid of me. It's a damned deceptive place, I'll tell you that for free. Looks like a tropical paradise at first glance, but it seems as though the entire planet (That's 'P-M(H)2257' to you, 'Manannán' to me.) is in a constant state of high alert against intruders. It's weird. There are creatures down here that earnestly want to make you dead. I kid you not.
First of all, I'd best tell you of what actually happened to the Aurora... Well, at least as much as I was able to fathom, at any rate.
Aurora had been in high orbit around the planet for about three days. Standard approach pattern, hailing calls on all known EM frequencies, dropped landing beacons in the proposed area of operations, yada-yada, et cetera, et cetera. - All strictly by the book, precisely as Alterra wrote it. Heard nary a peep from anything planet-side, so the Captain decided to bring Aurora down to five klicks for a couple of slow atmospheric orbits prior to touchdown. Again, just to make absolutely certain that no-one of the indigenous persuasion had any valid objections to our noble enterprise.
After all, no-one wanted a repeat performance of the Kharaa Incident. Nasty business.
Beautiful. Will this be uploaded to fanfiction.net? If so, send me the link!
First Instalment of 'Aurora Falls', hot off the presses!
AURORA FALLS - A Subnautica Story.
Chapter One
"Call me Al."
My full name is Alexander Fergus Selkirk. Alterra employee number, 105/8874.
Mission Time: Day 267, 2171 C.E.
Given my current situation, my parents must have had a fine sense of irony. If not, at least some significant measure of prescience.
I'm currently stranded on an alien world, approximately 175 light years from Terra.
So, not exactly within range of human assistance. Worked that one out fairly early in the piece. I've more or less resigned myself to the fact that IF help is on the way, it will be at least six months or more down the track. However, that depressing fact is the very least of my concerns at the moment.
I'm guessing that you have already found the PDA logs. If you haven't, I'd suggest digging below the Aurora's memorial plaque and opening the Lifepod that I buried there. You can't miss the Aurora monument. It's that hundred-metre nanocrete obelisk, one klick dead south of the ship.
Not too shabby, eh?
It's amazing what one can achieve with a Terraformer and a metric butt-tonne of spare time.
Spare time was hard to come by in the first couple of weeks after the crash. Survival was the name of the game, and this planet did everything it possibly could to be rid of me. It's a damned deceptive place, I'll tell you that for free. Looks like a tropical paradise at first glance, but it seems as though the entire planet (That's 'P-M(H)2257' to you, 'Manannán' to me.) is in a constant state of high alert against intruders. It's weird. There are creatures down here that earnestly want to make you dead. I kid you not.
First of all, I'd best tell you of what actually happened to the Aurora... Well, at least as much as I was able to fathom, at any rate.
Aurora had been in high orbit around the planet for about three days. Standard approach pattern, hailing calls on all known EM frequencies, dropped landing beacons in the proposed area of operations, yada-yada, et cetera, et cetera. - All strictly by the book, precisely as Alterra wrote it. Heard nary a peep from anything planet-side, so the Captain decided to bring Aurora down to five klicks for a couple of slow atmospheric orbits prior to touchdown. Again, just to make absolutely certain that no-one of the indigenous persuasion had any valid objections to our noble enterprise.
After all, no-one wanted a repeat performance of the Kharaa Incident. Nasty business.
This is exceptionally well-done. I've never been much of a writer, so this is far beyond anything I could ever hope to do... and it's also better than many full-blown authors whose works I've read. I mean, I can decide a basic plotline, but phrasing it to make it sound realistic or anything is just beyond me. And then... there's this work of art.
I especially like how you included allusions to things that should probably never be fully explained in the story (e.g. the "Kharaa Incident").
I've just taken a quick look at the Fanfiction.net site. Yikes.
Call it Ego, call it what you will. I'm not entirely certain that particular site would be the most suitable place to publicly unveil 'Aurora Falls'.
I genuinely enjoy playing Subnautica, and I've decided to write this story with other players in mind. It's intended to stay within SN Canon Lore wherever possible, so that other players can relate to the material. I was originally thinking of drip-feeding the story on this site a few pages at a time, probably updating it on a weekly basis. Frankly, dropping it straight into an immense slush-pile at Fanfiction.net seems like a complete waste of effort, particularly when the alternative is having fellow Subnautica players commenting on the story as it develops. Yeah, it's most definitely an 'Ego' thing. Comes with the official accredited journo's nametag, secret decoder ring and propeller beanie, I'm afraid.
I'm not a professional writer, incidentally.
I used to be a freelance game reviewer for several Australian newspapers and magazines back in the Nineties (until I took a pink-slip from Conrad Black to the knee ).
These days, I'm simply writing for the sheer hell of it.
Rather than starting a completely new thread for my OWN EXCLUSIVE USE! (Bwahahaha!), I'm quite content to riff it all out right here.
Not that I really want to hijack or derail @The_Shark's topic, of course. Hope that's okay with you folks. If not, please let me know.
Not that I really want to hijack or derail @The_Shark's topic, of course. Hope that's okay with you folks. If not, please let me know.
With a beginning like that? Consider it your personal board to post any future chapters.
That's awfully decent of you Shark, old chap. Here's Page Two.
AURORA FALLS Page Two.
I was halfway through my shift when Aurora commenced her descent. The Dark Matter drive was well and truly offline, having completed its power-down sequence during first watch, earlier that day. The sound of an operating DM drive is a subtle thing; it's supposed to be sub-audible even under full power, but there's always this thrummmmm that hovers on the very edge of one's consciousness, seeping into your bones like a warming shot of good whisky. Damn. That's something else I miss about Terra. I've managed to cobble together some basic hydrocarbons using the Fabricator, benzene mostly, but nothing that would match a 12-year old Laphroaig single malt. Nothing that would even match a decent paint-thinner, actually.
Sound is an engineer's primary diagnostic tool. Never met a techie worth their salt that ever ignored even the faintest odd noise, and probably never will. It's usually the very first sign that something has started to come adrift, and it's a sign that you'd do well to investigate further. Torsten Mikkelsen of Red Watch mentioned hearing something strange in one of the Lifepods, but couldn't pin down the source. Poor sod. He must be losing his touch. Either that, or he simply couldn't be arsed spending more time on it. Pure coincidence that he button-holed me outside the Borealis Lounge, and Blue Watch had just started. What the hell. Reckon he owes me a solid for this one.
Pod Five was my destination. Starboard bow, forward evacuation array. Took a Slider down Broadway, then hopped off at the Rec Plaza. Got my first decent look at the new planet. Even though I barely broke my stride in catching a glimpse of it, that view counted as today's completely unexpected bonus. Folks back on Terra like to think of their world as a perfect blue marble, hanging in space like a lonely Christmas tree ornament. This one was nothing but water, as far as I could see. Man! There's something primal that stirs deep inside whenever a body sees that much water. I was born and raised in the Arcadia Planitia region back on Mars, and 'dry' was never a word my fellow Marvins used lightly. After all, terraforming can only achieve so much on Mars. Truth be known, it's simply too small and cold to retain any decent imitation of a normal Terran atmosphere.
Have to stay on the bounce, gorram it. Aircon's on the fritz in Officer Country, and I've got at least six other awkward little jobs waiting in the stack. It's good to be busy again. I can't complain though; spent most of the outbound trip in Frozen Watch as a tech-sicle, and didn't get thawed until Aurora entered this system.
You may not dream in Cryo, but you still get paid.
As I made my way over to the starboard Lifepod deck, I bumped into Kaori. She was also in a fair kind of hurry, but we somehow managed to nail down a time for dinner together. Granted, our date was a fortnight hence, but I could live with that. Something nice to look forward to. Kaori worked in Life Sciences division, and I figured she and her crew were all a-hustle because of our imminent landing. There's only so much you can learn from orbital scans, so it was only natural that Life Sciences would be the first team to leave the ship. Some members of the crew regarded LS as a bunch of puffed-up glory hounds, given their 'first and foremost' status on these missions, but I knew differently. It takes some serious stones To Boldly Go, particularly when you've got no clear picture of what's waiting outside that airlock.
Experience has confirmed this fact time and time again... It's definitely not unicorns, fluffy bunnies and pixies. You can take that to the bank.
Not that I really want to hijack or derail @The_Shark's topic, of course. Hope that's okay with you folks. If not, please let me know.
With a beginning like that? Consider it your personal board to post any future chapters.
That's awfully decent of you Shark, old chap. Here's Page Two.
AURORA FALLS Page Two.
I was halfway through my shift when Aurora commenced her descent. The Dark Matter drive was well and truly offline, having completed its power-down sequence during first watch, earlier that day. The sound of an operating DM drive is a subtle thing; it's supposed to be sub-audible even under full power, but there's always this thrummmmm that hovers on the very edge of one's consciousness, seeping into your bones like a warming shot of good whisky. Damn. That's something else I miss about Terra. I've managed to cobble together some basic hydrocarbons using the Fabricator, benzene mostly, but nothing that would match a 12-year old Laphroaig single malt. Nothing that would even match a decent paint-thinner, actually.
Sound is an engineer's primary diagnostic tool. Never met a techie worth their salt that ever ignored even the faintest odd noise, and probably never will. It's usually the very first sign that something has started to come adrift, and it's a sign that you'd do well to investigate further. Torsten Mikkelsen of Red Watch mentioned hearing something strange in one of the Lifepods, but couldn't pin down the source. Poor sod. He must be losing his touch. Either that, or he simply couldn't be arsed spending more time on it. Pure coincidence that he button-holed me outside the Borealis Lounge, and Blue Watch had just started. What the hell. Reckon he owes me a solid for this one.
Pod Five was my destination. Starboard bow, forward evacuation array. Took a Slider down Broadway, then hopped off at the Rec Plaza. Got my first decent look at the new planet. Even though I barely broke my stride in catching a glimpse of it, that view counted as today's completely unexpected bonus. Folks back on Terra like to think of their world as a perfect blue marble, hanging in space like a lonely Christmas tree ornament. This one was nothing but water, as far as I could see. Man! There's something primal that stirs deep inside whenever a body sees that much water. I was born and raised in the Arcadia Planitia region back on Mars, and 'dry' was never a word my fellow Marvins used lightly. After all, terraforming can only achieve so much on Mars. Truth be known, it's simply too small and cold to retain any decent imitation of a normal Terran atmosphere.
Have to stay on the bounce, gorram it. Aircon's on the fritz in Officer Country, and I've got at least six other awkward little jobs waiting in the stack. It's good to be busy again. I can't complain though; spent most of the outbound trip in Frozen Watch as a tech-sicle, and didn't get thawed until Aurora entered this system.
You may not dream in Cryo, but you still get paid.
As I made my way over to the starboard Lifepod deck, I bumped into Kaori. She was also in a fair kind of hurry, but we somehow managed to nail down a time for dinner together. Granted, our date was a fortnight hence, but I could live with that. Something nice to look forward to. Kaori worked in Life Sciences division, and I figured she and her crew were all a-hustle because of our imminent landing. There's only so much you can learn from orbital scans, so it was only natural that Life Sciences would be the first team to leave the ship. Some members of the crew regarded LS as a bunch of puffed-up glory hounds, given their 'first and foremost' status on these missions, but I knew differently. It takes some serious stones To Boldly Go, particularly when you've got no clear picture of what's waiting outside that airlock.
Experience has confirmed this fact time and time again... It's definitely not unicorns, fluffy bunnies and pixies. You can take that to the bank.
That was the very last time I saw Kaori alive.
A tragic romance doomed from the start! I love it! Good Job!
I like how you actually have something happening before the crash. In most survival stories, fanfiction or otherwise, it always seems that they start the story like thirty seconds before the protagonist gets stranded.
Adding other characters, even if just as red-shirts, is another nice touch.
Comments
Alterra Corp TFS 'Aurora'.
Personal Log: Selkirk, A.
Employee #: 105/8874. Maintenance Division.
Mission Time: Day 232, 2171 C.E
Day One:
"Still not entirely sure how I survived. One thing is dead certain though... If I hadn't actually been working inside Pod 5 at the time, I probably wouldn't have. Aurora arrived at P-M(H)2257 about two days ago, and the bridge crew had just commenced scanning the planet to find a suitable place to land. Roughly ten minutes after I entered the pod, a huge explosion rocked the ship. My first thought was that one of the drive reactors had gone prompt, but couldn't figure out a single reason why it would have done so. Dark Matter fusion cores aren't capable of prompt supercritical reactions. Even the slightest imbalance would cause the field to collapse and the reaction simply stops. That's basic physics. *clears throat* Anyway, I digress... The automated failsafe system locked the pod, and I barely had enough time to buckle the restraint harness before it ejected. As the pod vectored into its descent profile, I was able to get a quick look at Aurora before it passed out of visual range. It didn't look good. There was a gaping hole blown clean through the ship, just for'ard of the drive nacelles. She was going down hard."
Day Three:
"Still haven't seen any other lifepods yet. The Aurora crash-landed about three klicks from my current position, but I can't get any closer than 500 metres or so. There's hard radiation pouring out of the drive section, presumably from the auxiliary fission cores. If anyone did survive the crash onboard, they're as good as dead by now. I've tried approaching the hull a couple of times from different angles, but the Micro-Med implant couldn't keep up with the damage I was taking. The radiation count is off the scale."
"Taking stock of the situation, I reckon I stand a fair chance of surviving long enough to be rescued. However... It's going to be at least six months before Aurora is listed as overdue, and since I don't have a working distress beacon or a tachyon-burst transceiver (Three guesses what particular items got slagged during the emergency landing), I'm going to have to make it pretty damn obvious that there's still someone alive down here."
Day Four:
"Call me paranoid, but I think something down here took a pot-shot at Aurora. In my book, that's scary. Whoever they are, they have made it very clear that our presence here is highly unwelcome. Judging by the primary impact damage to the hull, Aurora was hit by a powerful particle beam weapon of some kind. Huge areas of hull plating have run like candle wax. Takes something pretty nasty to do that. Assuming that I can get this info out there before the rescue ship arrives, I'd suggest sending down the smallest shuttle you have onboard. Tread softly."
Day Fifteen:
"It's a good thing I'm a sushi buff. When I get back, I'm definitely going to have a quiet word with the Tech folks at Alterra. Don't get me wrong; the Fabricator is a fine piece of survival kit, but it's in dire need of a few small but highly crucial tweaks. Would it have killed anyone to include a protein resequencer module? Call me a whiny little [REDACTED] if you want, but a bit of variety would be greatly appreciated by anyone in this same situation. Morale is also a survival factor, you know.
And gorram it... Fish needs soy sauce and wasabi."
Day Seventeen:
"Things are definitely looking up. I found a small island yesterday. Approximately five klicks south of the Aurora. Not particularly large as islands go, but it's kind of special. It floats. There are these basketball-sized critters called 'floaters', and they attach themselves to rocks of various sizes. When enough of them have gathered on a particular rock, it floats to the surface. As far as I can tell, this island appears to be one of their long-term projects. On the underside of the island, there is a colony of huge floaters supporting it. Presumably, each one of the large floaters is either a super-colony of smaller floaters, or the sessile form of a single mature floater. I'll just leave that out there for the Exobiology team to ruminate upon. Anyway, one of my minor gripes has resolved itself rather nicely. I now have acceptable local substitutes for soy sauce and wasabi. Pity about the rice, though. Still working on that. The existence of an island is crucial to moving things along past bare-bones survival. An oxygen atmosphere will support combustion-based technology and permit a wider range of chemical reactions. If I'm going to be stuck here for any appreciable length of time, it may be necessary to go right back to basics, particularly if the Fabricator goes on the fritz. I've built several in various locations as back-ups, but there's no guarantees out here. Manual smelting and forging may become necessary at some stage. I'd rather not wait idly until this becomes a serious issue."
Day Eighteen:
"I've been extremely busy. This is one of the reasons that it took me so long to discover that island. Incidentally, I have decided to call P-M(H)2257 'Manannán', naming it after the Celtic deity of the sea, Manannán mac Lir. As far as I know, it doesn't have an official name other than its planetary catalogue ID. Correct me if I'm wrong, by all means. However, if I do manage to contact some sentient local inhabitants, all bets are off. We'll have to go with their name for this world. Thinking back on the Aurora's crash, I would strongly recommend against attempting any further terraforming projects here. For one thing; Manannán is eminently habitable as it is, and the ecology of the planet appears to be balanced to perfection. There are numerous stable food webs in action, and I have done my level best to stay out of the most obvious ones. Large apex predators such as the Stalker, Sand Shark and Bone Shark are best avoided altogether, although the Stalker is particularly intriguing for its displays of magpie-like behaviour. They are attracted to scrap metal for some reason, and I have seen them collecting pieces of hull plating and depositing it in caches. That's another puzzler I'll leave for the Exobio chaps."
Day Nineteen:
"Had my first encounter with a Crash and a Bleeder today. The Crash was relatively easy to avoid. That angry squealing sound is ample warning for anyone. They normally live inside a rock-like carapace with petals that open and launch the Crash on its kamikaze run against an unsuspecting interloper. I was quick with the stasis rifle and froze the little [REDACTED] in its tracks. A surprisingly powerful explosion ensued. Fortunately, I was just outside the blast radius. However, I wasn't so lucky with the Bleeder. Damn thing latched onto my arm and nearly bled me dry before I made it back to the Seamoth. It let go, eventually. Seems like they don't like to stray too far from home. Sounds like a pretty good idea to me. Might give the exploration caper a bit of a miss today... Putter around in the Cyclops (DSV Calypso II), maybe put my feet up for a spell."
Day Twenty-Three:
"This is no way for a man to live... Cowering inside a tin can. Sooner or later, I'm going to need more food and water. One side of me is completely rattled, while the other is furious and frustrated with what I've recently become. There are only two options left at this point... Either starve to death because I'm too afraid to set foot in the water again, or cruise the reefs and canyons like a born and bred apex predator."
Day Twenty-Five:
"Still here. Just popping out for a midnight swim."
Day Thirty:
"Well, the main undersea base (Aurora Station) is nearly complete. Corridors are fine and all, but I could really use some habitation module templates. Not that I'm complaining, of course. Titanium is absolutely no problem. Got a nearby gang of Stalkers helping with the collection. I give them fish, they give me scrap. It's a sweet deal. Quartz, silver, gold and copper nodules are reasonably plentiful too, and I've taken pains to deliberately steer clear of Crashes and Bleeders. My greatest mistake was keeping my eyes too widely peeled for the big biters, when in fact the smallest critters posed a far greater threat. However, I've also learned that I'm not the biggest, baddest fish in this particular pond. Consider the Reefback. Combine a turtle, whale and squid in one immense package. Luckily, it's non-aggressive. There's always an uncomfortable suspicion that even larger beasties are wandering around out there in the deeps, and it's only a matter of time until one of them comes a-knocking. Question is; will they be bringing tea and dumplings as a housewarming gift, or a particle beam weapon?"
Day Thirty-Two:
"Took some quiet time today to remember the folks aboard Aurora. Used a terraformer and some spare hull plating to raise a cairn to the memory of their passing. I don't follow any Book in particular, but said some words over it anyway. Just hope it got them where they felt they needed to go."
Day Thirty-Five:
"I conjure the brains trust at Alterra Corp haven't done much actual diving. While I appreciate the handy auto-fill system they've incorporated into the standard-issue modular diving rig, there are several modifications that I would appreciate even more. Firstly, the use of pure oxygen is playing merry hell with my body chemistry. Switch the breathing gas to Trimix (Oxygen, Nitrogen and Helium or Hydrogen for Tetramix). This will permit deep diving and not ending up like a dead, rather annoyed pretzel, should my Micro-Med implant suddenly stop working for some reason. Secondly, has no-one heard of cryogenic gas storage, for Pete's sake? Those dinky little tanks hold thirty, yes thirty seconds of lung-bung each. Takes four of the damned things to get anywhere near a decent bottom-time, and even that's none too impressive. Even ten minutes per tank would be a blessing in this rather moist environment... Know what I'm saying? Noticed rebreather and exo-suit templates in the PDA, which would be mighty handy if they actually worked. Almost embarrassed myself to death the first time I tried using them. Luckily, I had a single tank just in case. Okay. That got most of the rant out of my system. Feeling much better now. Deep breaths... Yeah."
"Seriously though, there are many modifications that could be implemented in the PDA templates for the Fabricator and its products. While the Cyclops is a highly capable DSV design, it is my professional opinion that its depth rating is excessively modest, given the current situation. A maximum depth rating of 500 metres and a crush depth of 750 meters is not entirely unreasonable... 250 metres and 350 metres respectively for the Seamoth would be more than acceptable. The Cyclops would also benefit from having a more extensive suite of sensors such as a sidescan sonar, 3D HUD piloting sonar, depth under keel readout, automated mapping system, waypoint navigation and a HUD compass with numeric readout. If possible, a small reconnaissance ROV could be deployed from either the Seamoth or Cyclops when scouting particularly hazardous locations. Weapons may also be necessary at some stage. The stasis rifle is fine for avoiding trouble, but when that trouble comes looking for you, it might be wise to invest in some significant defensive firepower. Base defence turrets may also be required, particularly if the local sentients turn out unfriendly. I'm still prepared to give them the benefit of a doubt, even after they downed the Aurora. Lot of good folks died that day, but I'm not prepared to start a shooting war just yet."
I find that shocking. As it says in the title, this idea is controversial at best. I honestly didn't expect anyone to agree with this, let alone this massive amount of agreement.
Do you do fanfiction? Please make this into fanfiction!
Full agreement.
Anyway, any story line would need to have many new things, equipment, tech, blueprints, ect. The simplest would be what was suggested, that at one point you contact earth, get assistance and continue making the place for new colonists. I enjoyed in Minecraft when you could interact with other towns and help them grow, expand and evolve. A colony where you can participate in helping it to develop might be nice, but it would be late game, after like 15-20h game play.
Hmmm...
Tempting, but it might be a bit 'same-old, same-old' after a while. Imagine a rather moist version of 'The Martian', if you will.
Besides, I'd hate to write a speculative piece that turned out to be utterly, horribly and completely wrong. A Subnautica fanfic should be vaguely in synch with UWE's version of events for consistency's sake, but since the actual SN canon storyline is still a work in progress, I have very little solid information to use as a basis.
Still, if enough people genuinely want to see a Subnautica fanfic, I suppose that I could serialize it in General Discussion.
Let's see how far my arm can be twisted.
(A bit of ego-massage is always greatly appreciated)
Consider it a done deal.
Might as well get cracking on the first chapter, then. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.
AURORA FALLS - A Subnautica Story.
Chapter One
"Call me Al."
My full name is Alexander Fergus Selkirk. Alterra employee number, 105/8874.
Mission Time: Day 267, 2171 C.E.
Given my current situation, my parents must have had a fine sense of irony. If not, at least some significant measure of prescience.
I'm currently stranded on an alien world, approximately 175 light years from Terra.
So, not exactly within range of human assistance. Worked that one out fairly early in the piece. I've more or less resigned myself to the fact that IF help is on the way, it will be at least six months or more down the track. However, that depressing fact is the very least of my concerns at the moment.
I'm guessing that you have already found the PDA logs. If you haven't, I'd suggest digging below the Aurora's memorial plaque and opening the Lifepod that I buried there. You can't miss the Aurora monument. It's that hundred-metre nanocrete obelisk, one klick dead south of the ship.
Not too shabby, eh?
It's amazing what one can achieve with a Terraformer and a metric butt-tonne of spare time.
Spare time was hard to come by in the first couple of weeks after the crash. Survival was the name of the game, and this planet did everything it possibly could to be rid of me. It's a damned deceptive place, I'll tell you that for free. Looks like a tropical paradise at first glance, but it seems as though the entire planet (That's 'P-M(H)2257' to you, 'Manannán' to me.) is in a constant state of high alert against intruders. It's weird. There are creatures down here that earnestly want to make you dead. I kid you not.
First of all, I'd best tell you of what actually happened to the Aurora... Well, at least as much as I was able to fathom, at any rate.
Aurora had been in high orbit around the planet for about three days. Standard approach pattern, hailing calls on all known EM frequencies, dropped landing beacons in the proposed area of operations, yada-yada, et cetera, et cetera. - All strictly by the book, precisely as Alterra wrote it. Heard nary a peep from anything planet-side, so the Captain decided to bring Aurora down to five klicks for a couple of slow atmospheric orbits prior to touchdown. Again, just to make absolutely certain that no-one of the indigenous persuasion had any valid objections to our noble enterprise.
After all, no-one wanted a repeat performance of the Kharaa Incident. Nasty business.
Beautiful. Will this be uploaded to fanfiction.net? If so, send me the link!
I'll take that as a positive response. Thank you.
As far as a possible upload to fanfiction.net is concerned, it's probably best to see how the backbone of the story pans out first.
Thanks for the vote of confidence, @Enderguy059. Cheers, mate.
This is exceptionally well-done. I've never been much of a writer, so this is far beyond anything I could ever hope to do... and it's also better than many full-blown authors whose works I've read. I mean, I can decide a basic plotline, but phrasing it to make it sound realistic or anything is just beyond me. And then... there's this work of art.
I especially like how you included allusions to things that should probably never be fully explained in the story (e.g. the "Kharaa Incident").
Ah, my friend. This is just the beginning.
More to follow!
Anytime!
Call it Ego, call it what you will. I'm not entirely certain that particular site would be the most suitable place to publicly unveil 'Aurora Falls'.
I genuinely enjoy playing Subnautica, and I've decided to write this story with other players in mind. It's intended to stay within SN Canon Lore wherever possible, so that other players can relate to the material. I was originally thinking of drip-feeding the story on this site a few pages at a time, probably updating it on a weekly basis. Frankly, dropping it straight into an immense slush-pile at Fanfiction.net seems like a complete waste of effort, particularly when the alternative is having fellow Subnautica players commenting on the story as it develops. Yeah, it's most definitely an 'Ego' thing. Comes with the official accredited journo's nametag, secret decoder ring and propeller beanie, I'm afraid.
I'm not a professional writer, incidentally.
I used to be a freelance game reviewer for several Australian newspapers and magazines back in the Nineties (until I took a pink-slip from Conrad Black to the knee
These days, I'm simply writing for the sheer hell of it.
Rather than starting a completely new thread for my OWN EXCLUSIVE USE! (Bwahahaha!), I'm quite content to riff it all out right here.
Not that I really want to hijack or derail @The_Shark's topic, of course. Hope that's okay with you folks. If not, please let me know.
I come in Peace. Look... No lethal weapons!
With a beginning like that? Consider it your personal board to post any future chapters.
That's awfully decent of you Shark, old chap. Here's Page Two.
AURORA FALLS Page Two.
I was halfway through my shift when Aurora commenced her descent. The Dark Matter drive was well and truly offline, having completed its power-down sequence during first watch, earlier that day. The sound of an operating DM drive is a subtle thing; it's supposed to be sub-audible even under full power, but there's always this thrummmmm that hovers on the very edge of one's consciousness, seeping into your bones like a warming shot of good whisky. Damn. That's something else I miss about Terra. I've managed to cobble together some basic hydrocarbons using the Fabricator, benzene mostly, but nothing that would match a 12-year old Laphroaig single malt. Nothing that would even match a decent paint-thinner, actually.
Sound is an engineer's primary diagnostic tool. Never met a techie worth their salt that ever ignored even the faintest odd noise, and probably never will. It's usually the very first sign that something has started to come adrift, and it's a sign that you'd do well to investigate further. Torsten Mikkelsen of Red Watch mentioned hearing something strange in one of the Lifepods, but couldn't pin down the source. Poor sod. He must be losing his touch. Either that, or he simply couldn't be arsed spending more time on it. Pure coincidence that he button-holed me outside the Borealis Lounge, and Blue Watch had just started. What the hell. Reckon he owes me a solid for this one.
Pod Five was my destination. Starboard bow, forward evacuation array. Took a Slider down Broadway, then hopped off at the Rec Plaza. Got my first decent look at the new planet. Even though I barely broke my stride in catching a glimpse of it, that view counted as today's completely unexpected bonus. Folks back on Terra like to think of their world as a perfect blue marble, hanging in space like a lonely Christmas tree ornament. This one was nothing but water, as far as I could see. Man! There's something primal that stirs deep inside whenever a body sees that much water. I was born and raised in the Arcadia Planitia region back on Mars, and 'dry' was never a word my fellow Marvins used lightly. After all, terraforming can only achieve so much on Mars. Truth be known, it's simply too small and cold to retain any decent imitation of a normal Terran atmosphere.
Have to stay on the bounce, gorram it. Aircon's on the fritz in Officer Country, and I've got at least six other awkward little jobs waiting in the stack. It's good to be busy again. I can't complain though; spent most of the outbound trip in Frozen Watch as a tech-sicle, and didn't get thawed until Aurora entered this system.
You may not dream in Cryo, but you still get paid.
As I made my way over to the starboard Lifepod deck, I bumped into Kaori. She was also in a fair kind of hurry, but we somehow managed to nail down a time for dinner together. Granted, our date was a fortnight hence, but I could live with that. Something nice to look forward to. Kaori worked in Life Sciences division, and I figured she and her crew were all a-hustle because of our imminent landing. There's only so much you can learn from orbital scans, so it was only natural that Life Sciences would be the first team to leave the ship. Some members of the crew regarded LS as a bunch of puffed-up glory hounds, given their 'first and foremost' status on these missions, but I knew differently. It takes some serious stones To Boldly Go, particularly when you've got no clear picture of what's waiting outside that airlock.
Experience has confirmed this fact time and time again... It's definitely not unicorns, fluffy bunnies and pixies. You can take that to the bank.
That was the very last time I saw Kaori alive.
Anytime!
A tragic romance doomed from the start! I love it! Good Job!
Adding other characters, even if just as red-shirts, is another nice touch.
Many thanks to you, @The_Shark and @Enderguy059 for your votes of confidence on what I've written so far.
Hopefully, you may have created a monster.
Oh, it was nothing! You made the story!