While working on the Memorial, I made an exciting discovery... Land ho!
Two islands, in fact. The first one lay astern of Aurora and the second, some distance off her port beam. Before setting out, I constructed a moon pool at the reef base. I conjured there might be some deep exploration ahead, so I fabricated a series of upgrade modules for the Seamoth. Space limitations were the devil itself here; I wanted a full suite of upgrades and twin external storage lockers, but there are only four available upgrade slots in the Seamoth hull. In the end, I settled for installing two depth compensators, a solar charging module and an electrical defence field. Sonar and additional armour plating would have also been useful, but sometimes you've got little choice but to bite the bullet. After some careful consideration I ditched the idea of having a Vortex torpedo launcher, mainly because of the amount of space required to carry any useful number of reloads. Wasn't too keen on having to leave the Seamoth to reload the launch tube, either.
As I prepared for the next expedition, it occurred to me that I had entirely forgotten to honour an ancient sea-faring tradition. I hadn't properly christened the Cyclops or Seamoth yet. Since I was already planning to change the paintwork on both vehicles anyway, I felt that it was only right and proper to change their names as well. The paintwork change was originally intended to warn off any potential predators, although I had no clue what colour scheme the locals might consider to be intimidating. In the end, I settled for a bright yellow hull colour with blue and red trim stripes. Underwater visibility at depth became the ultimate deciding factor. After solemnly pouring fresh water over the bow of the Cyclops, she became the 'DSV Ulysses'. Similarly, with all due ceremony, the Seamoth was renamed 'Disco Volante'. Considering that these vehicles had endured an actual baptism of fire during the first Aurora expedition, they had rightfully earned their new names.
The plan was to use Ulysses as a mobile base. Disco Volante had the speed and agility necessary to venture into dangerous territory, although her upgraded crush depth rating of 650 metres was not quite sufficient for exploring particularly deep cave systems. If necessary, Disco Volante could be refitted with four depth compensation modules, but that would leave her totally defenceless. Ultimately, I would have to make up for these deficiencies, equipped with additional dive tanks and a small diver propulsion vehicle such as the SeaGlide or PowerGlide. Needless to say, I was hoping to avoid leaving the security of either of the larger vehicles unless there was no other option.
I had a rough idea of where to find the first island, having lined up the top of the Aurora monument with the remnants of the ship's command deck. Lining up these same two points on the port side of the wreck would provide a ball-park positioning fix, and the island should lay somewhere close nearby. Similarly, proceeding west north-west from the monument would put me in a good position to locate the second island. That's the worst part about spending most of your time at or below sea-level; the visible horizon is limited to a couple of hundred metres at best, assuming the surface remains calm. At some stage, I may build an observation tower on the main base, although I'm holding off doing it until I have a better idea of Manannán's seasonal moods. The base module fabrication templates in the PDA do include an observation bubble and vertical connector tubes, although I suspect that these modules aren't meant to extend more than ten or twenty metres above sea level without guy-wires or additional support structures. Manannán's reduced gravity might give a false impression that you can get away with building a kilometre-high observation dome, but you might come to regret this decision when the planet enters its hurricane season.
The island was relatively small, dominated by a single pyramid-shaped basalt outcropping. I could see a small sandy beach on the west side that seemed like an ideal landing place. Ulysses stood off on the surface about two hundred metres from the island, since I intended to take Disco Volante in for a close reconnaissance pass before heading ashore. It might have seemed like a good idea to simply drive Ulysses in as close as possible and swim to shore, although I was becoming increasingly wary of Manannán's skilled application of carefully concealed sucker-punches. If things went seriously pear-shaped during this excursion, Disco Volante would be able to skip out of trouble with all due haste.
Halfway to the island, JUNO piped up. "Multiple magnetic anomalies detected, Captain. Highly localised concentrations of ferrous ferric oxide present in basalt matrix and surface resource nodes."
MAGNETITE!
"JUNO, I love you!" I whooped, drumming excitedly on the minisub's control yoke. Then a thought struck me. "Hang on... How come you weren't able to detect all of this magnetite earlier?"
"All sensor functions were previously impaired by ambient radiation levels, Captain. This area remained undetected until a suitably located additional network node was constructed. Furthermore, I do not recall that you have ever specifically requested magnetite as a search parameter, Captain." JUNO said crisply.
Oh. That was pretty stupid.
I wasted no time in closing on the nearest cluster of resource nodes. JUNO talked me in to the first one, calling out distance and approximate heading. Disco Volante came to a stop in front of a sheer basalt wall, 120 metres down. The area appeared to be clear of any dangerous sea life. Just a few shoals of Boomerangs, Hoopfish and an occasional Spadefish. Satisfied that my life was in no immediate peril, I exited the minisub. Within minutes, I had collected almost enough magnetite to fill my inventory. All I needed was another couple of chunks, and I could be on my merry way. I looked back at Disco Volante, estimating that the minisub now lay about fifty metres away. Damn. I shouldn't have strayed this far from cover in unknown waters.
Something zipped past my helmet's face plate. Small, red and fast. I flinched reflexively and then continued swimming steadily towards Disco Volante, completely unaware of what was happening behind me. It wasn't until I felt a sharp tug on one of my fins that I was even aware that a large school of Biter fish had gathered in my wake, and they were making their first tentative attacks. I whipped around, spinning up the Stasis Rifle for a shot, but most of them dispersed before I could fire. I guessed a wild shot was best, hoping to catch at least one and cover my retreat with the field bubble. No such luck. Damned agile, I'll say that much for the vicious little buggers. As I flipped over and started swimming backwards, I saw the school regrouping, steadily closing in on me. Several Biters broke away from the main school and split into two groups heading either side of me, angling inwards for a simultaneous flanking attack. I heard their signature 'chuckling' as they closed in, sounding exactly like a pack of hyenas shadowing a wounded lion. The Stasis Rifle spun up again and fired, stopping the bulk of the school dead in its tracks. Seconds later, the advance force of Biters surged forward and attacked.
woah youre good at writing this. I passed the last couple hours reading this story and since ive got over 40hrs playing the game its fun to relate to most of your character's experiences lol Dude you have a real gift at writing stories like this! Are you a writer? if youre not i think you might want to consider this cant wait to read the rest of your story!
Also, the peoples working on this game should definitely hire you to write this game's backstory, your story is extremely good
I managed to take out the first one with a sweep of the Thermoblade. Another latched onto my knife hand, sinking its teeth straight to the bone. The knife spiralled into the depths, and I had to grab the little bastard with my left hand and ram my bleeding fingers into its gill slits. It didn't like that at all. Mortally wounded, the Biter convulsed as it fell away. One of the late-comers veered away and shot off after the drifting body, shredding it to pieces within seconds. At least four more were chewing their way through my dive suit in various places, but I couldn't get at any of them. My only chance was to keep swimming towards Disco Volante and hold off the main school for as long as possible. The stasis field was already starting to collapse, but I wanted to catch as many of them as I could with the next shot. I shot a glance backward. The minisub was about 10 metres away.
The Biters finished their dive suit appetiser and started on the main course. It was like being attacked with 75 mm hole saws. Streamers of blood flowed out of my flailing limbs, leaving a clear trail for the main body of the school to follow when it revived. And revive they most certainly did. The field winked out, and the mass of Biters instantly surged forward. Homing in on the blood trail, the school tightened up, converging on the densest part of the trail until their bodies jostled against each other. It was now or never. As soon as the rifle's charge built up to its maximum level, I fired.
Suddenly, I smacked into Disco Volante's hull. A flurry of wild panic set in as I thought an even larger predator had joined the feeding frenzy, only to realize what had actually happened. True, I was still being torn to pieces, but that didn't stop me from scrambling into the minisub and powering up the EDF as soon as my bum hit the pilot's seat. As the cabin drained, the Biters I had unwillingly brought aboard fell to the floor of the bubble gasping. There was a brief interlude of borderline insanity as I mashed their bodies with my feet, smearing the lower half of the pilot's bubble with blood, guts and slime.
The main school swarmed all over Disco Volante, I could hear hundreds of soft bodies slapping into the bubble as they tried to get at the juicy human morsel inside. I was breathing heavily, running on adrenaline and far too numb from the cold water to be feeling any pain yet. I slammed the EDF activator button, mounting rage spooling up in perfect synch with the rising whine of the defence field's capacitor bank.
"AW REET, YA PACK O' BASTAAARDS... GET THIS STITCHED!"
The capacitors discharged with a 'whooomp'. A sizzling sphere of electrical energy erupted around the mini-sub, killing the entire school instantly. A cloud of lifeless Biter bodies now drifted around Disco Volante, so I took the opportunity to open the hatch and quickly clean out the handful of eager beavers who had followed me aboard. I counted six bodies in all. I wanted at least one intact specimen for JUNO to examine in detail, although none of the Biters I had dealt with 'personally' would even remotely qualify. Once the cabin was relatively clean again, I grabbed one of the electrocuted Biters and high-tailed it back to the safety of Ulysses.
It took all of the dressing packs out of four first-aid kits to patch me up. Remember how I compared a Biter attack as like being hit with 75 mm hole saws? That wasn't too far from the mark, actually. A Biter's body is streamlined in much the same way as a tadpole's, and that nasty, gaping mouth filled with needle-sharp teeth is well suited to chewing its way through soft tissue at a great rate of knots. In fact, if those buggers had that encounter all their way, my body would have been riddled like Swiss cheese with Biter-sized holes. All things considered; not exactly a pleasant way to cash out.
This is becoming ridiculous. It seems like an entire planet has set its hand against me. Is there something other than straightforward animal instinct at work here? I've been up against Biters before, but never in those numbers. That coordinated attack business was an entirely new thing, too. The longer I think this over, the more likely it is that I'll begin to see weird patterns that don't actually exist. Mind you, the idea of a 'planetary intelligence' seems a bit too far-fetched to swallow, although I'll admit that it might be possible under highly specific ecological circumstances. It could be that I'm just over-exaggerating the threat posed by smaller life forms while simultaneously becoming more blasé about Stalkers, Bone Sharks and Sand Sharks. Admittedly, I do have a grudging respect for some of the larger predators, and there's definite feelings of revulsion for Bleeders, Crawlers and Biters. It all sounds a bit mental, now that I come to think about it.
I spent the next couple of days mooning uselessly around inside Ulysses. Thankfully, most of the damage was superficial, although I wanted full functionality restored to my right hand before setting foot on that island. Considering what I'm up against here, I'm not entirely convinced that any more caution would do the slightest bit of good in the long term, although it would be nice to spend at least a couple of days not wearing bandages between expeditions. That was the most galling aspect of all in these recent misadventures. I'm not completely inept, although I'd have to admit that some mistakes were made and lessons were learned accordingly. Only human, right?
When the big day finally arrived, I made sure to dust off the landing area thoroughly with Disco Volante's EDF before leaving the cockpit. Sure enough, there were a couple of Biters waiting in ambush. I gathered up all of the edible fish and took them back to Ulysses for curing, just in case something should wander along for a free feed and decide to hang around. I figured that completely depleting that one small area wouldn't cause any long term problems in the ecosystem. As soon as I was satisfied that the area around the beach was free of Biters, I drove Ulysses in as close as possible and exited the lockout hatch. The small beach dropped away sharply after ten or so metres, making it an easy swim to shore.
It was a strange sensation to stand on dry land again. That old expression of having 'sea legs' is surprisingly accurate. After spending so long with a rolling, heaving deck under foot, it takes a fair while to become re-accustomed to walking on terra firma again. My first action after coming ashore was to symbolically grab a handful of sand and take seizin of the planet as countless Terran conquerors had done before me, although my version may have raised a few critical eyebrows among historians looking back on this event...
"I claim this planet in the name of Mars! Isn't that lovely, hmm?"
As I didn't have an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator handy, I readied the propulsion cannon. The island seemed peaceful enough, but we all know how that usually turns out. Even so, the planet hadn't been stingy with its colour palette or its imagination. There were things there that looked as near as dammit to terrestrial plants and trees, while other growths stopped just short of wearing nametags that read "Hi! I'm An Alien Life Form... Nice to meet you!" The overall effect was almost Polynesian, right down to the sound of exotic bird calls filling the air. I scanned the sky, looking for the source. Sure enough, there were numerous bird-like life forms circling high overhead, although a closer look at one revealed that they weren't even remotely avian. If anything, they resembled small, tail-less manta rays. I dubbed them 'Sky Rays'. It came as a pleasant surprise to discover that this species had absolutely no intention of rending me limb from limb. I'll count that as a major win.
Like any other self-respecting castaway, I now had my very own desert island. My next major undertaking was to send a message in a bottle, as I suspected Aurora hadn't been able to send out a distress call before going down. This would severely reduce my chances of ever being rescued, unless Alterra had the foresight to sortie another ship when Aurora failed to check in after making its scheduled planetfall. There was also a fair chance that Manannán's magnetic field could be powerful enough to distort the tachyon-burst distress transmission, even if it was sent. Somehow, I'm going to have to come up with a means of throwing my bottle a considerable distance farther than the upper ionosphere. This is where the island fits into the whole scheme of things.
The general idea was to construct a fully functional sub-light rocket, then use it to deploy a satellite payload equipped with a tachyon-burst transceiver and a JUNO personality construct. Since none of these items have corresponding fabrication templates in my PDA, I'm basically going to have to start my own space program entirely from scratch. The island would serve as a stable launch platform, as well as providing a large area to store resources and eventually, construct the ship. I suppose I could have fabricated a launch platform over a shallow section of the reef, but I didn't feel comfortable with having my first ham-fisted launch attempts taking out my main base out as well. 'Failure' may not be an option, although it's always a distinct possibility. Any halfway-decent engineer will automatically take this prospect into account, well before putting pen to paper.
Now here's the basic problem... Most of the stuff that comes out of an Alterra Fabricator has a virtual label that reads 'No User Serviceable Components Inside'. The finished item has been made to fulfil exactly ONE purpose in life. No more, no less. Useful stuff such as individual electronic components, wiring, motors and fastenings are formed into sealed units that are part of a complete nanolathed assembly, rendering them practically inaccessible for salvage. What I wanted to do was to take an oddly-matched assortment of fabricated items and somehow mash them together in ways that Alterra has never dreamed of. Building the rocket's body is the easy part. Propellant will be a bit of a problem. Everything else will be an absolute nightmare.
Propulsion raised its own share of headaches. I had planned to use liquid hydrogen and oxygen as fuel, although the first set of calculations soon put paid to that idea. It turned out that I would need to accommodate roughly the same amount of LH2 and LOX in the rocket body as an early Saturn 1B's second stage. Two hundred and forty-two cubic metres of liquid hydrogen, and seventy-six cubic metres of liquid oxygen. For argument's sake, let's call it three hundred and twenty cubic metres of volume required for propellant storage. Each tubular habitation module is 2.5 metres by 10 metres, giving them an internal volume of 49.1 cubic metres. Seven modules would be required to carry enough propellant and oxidiser to provide approximately seven minutes of burn time under full thrust. And now for the bad news: This vehicle's configuration would need to use nine modules in total, allowing seven for propellant, one for payload and another as the engine compartment. No matter how you look at it; this means dragging along mass that can't be jettisoned in flight once the propellant is spent. Dead mass that requires even more fuel to keep the whole shebang airborne.
Back to the drawing board.
While scouting the island for a suitable place to site the launch platform, I bumped into a few old acquaintances. Crawlers. Subsequently, most of them bumped rather heavily into basalt cave walls or disintegrated in mid-air, thanks to a liberal application of the propulsion cannon. The 'eureka!' moment I'd been waiting for kicked in during one such encounter...
Naturally, it wasn't just a simple matter of attaching a huge cluster of repulsion cannons to a habitation module. As soon as the cannon batteries depleted, the entire assembly would simply fall back into the atmosphere, completely ruining an otherwise perfect day. I needed JUNO's advice before I could make any further headway on this problem.
"JUNO. Query: Is it possible to modify the propulsion cannon fabrication blueprint, specifically for the purpose of gaining internal access and making modifications to power supply expansion, remote triggering, discharge output and inertial damping system over-ride?"
"Affirmative, Captain. However, please be advised that any modification of existing operational settings or fabrication parameters may invalidate the warranty conditions of any devices, modules or equipment fabricated after unauthorised modifications have been made. Alterra Corp is under no legal obligations to honour any subsequent replacement, repair or refund claims."
Light bulb...
"So, you mean that it's possible to directly modify the parameters of any fabricated construct?"
"Certainly, Captain. Modifications may be made through JUNO user access terminals in all Fabricators, although any new design variants will be vetted and approved according to structural integrity requirements, construction material suitability, user safety and ethical constraints. May I inquire about the precise nature and proposed objectives of your request?"
"JUNO, I'm planning to construct a deep-space distress beacon. I think that I can use repulsion cannons to power the launch vehicle, although I will need to alter the cannon's original design significantly in order to accommodate a larger external power supply, provide remote triggering and increasing its graviton wave output. Query: Is this concept feasible?"
"The core concept is essentially sound, Captain. However, any vehicle using this drive system will also require an onboard gravity nullification system to counteract a significant percentage of the vehicle's total mass during launch. A modified variant of the Gravsphere construct could theoretically accomplish this, although careful attention must be paid to vehicle subsystems geometry and mass distribution. Do you require any further assistance, Captain?"
"I'll say a definite yes to that, JUNO. I'll need every last skerrick of assistance that you can provide."
"It will be my pleasure, Captain."
The next couple of weeks were spent gathering materials, tweaking fabrication settings and assembling a proof-of-concept prototype. Instead of using seven habitation modules as the launch vehicle's hull, I found that the vertical corridor template would be far more suitable to house the gravity repulsion drives. The rocket's body was simply two vertical connectors, topped with an observation dome. A cluster of three connectors spaced around the central core would contain the repulsion cannon arrays, all powered by a compact nuclear reactor located in the main body tube. Gravspheres were to be placed throughout the entire assembly at critically calculated locations, greatly reducing the effect of Manannán's already low gravity (0.6 of Terra's) on the vehicle's mass.
Stovepipe One didn't look particularly impressive as it sat waiting on the launch pad. Two sections of vertical connector tube, topped with an observation dome. Three repulsion cannons were attached to the dome's outer framework, their muzzles angled slightly outward and spaced precisely 120 degrees apart on the dome's equator. The cannons were intended to serve as Vernier thrusters, activated as necessary to prevent the ship from tipping over in flight. Six repulsion cannons were set in a ring around the base of the lower connector tube. To be completely honest, the craft had a amateurish feel about it, and I could practically feel my brain itching to make dozens of last-minute enhancements before hitting The Big Red Button. I had to remind myself that this one didn't need to look absolutely perfect... It merely had to work.
Perfectly.
The lead-up to this moment was not entirely lacking in its share of embarrassing incidents. My first modified Gravsphere punched a large hole through the foundation plate I was using as a test-stand. It's reasonably safe to assume that it hasn't changed the planet's gravitational constant appreciably, although I might want to dial back that wicked -x axis variable just a smidge in the next prototype. The second prototype appeared to be on the right track. As JUNO brought the power supply online, the Gravsphere smartly hopped a couple of centimetres into the air and hung suspended. Steady as a rock. Okay, we have precisely determined the power level required for a Gravsphere to cancel out its own mass and remain stable at a fixed point in space. Time to kick the Science up a notch or two.
"JUNO. Please increase power to one per cent by zero point one increments."
"Affirmative, Captain."
The Gravsphere levitated slowly at first, but by the time the input power level had reached zero point four, it was clear of the test stand and accelerating rapidly. At one per cent power, the Gravsphere shot skyward. Several minutes later, a faint sonic boom could be heard rippling across the sky.
"Well, JUNO... I don't think we're going to get our ball back."
"Affirmative, Captain. Might I suggest calibrating the next series of prototypes to receive linear power input rather than exponential? This is merely a suggestion, of course."
"Oh, aye... Definitely linear." I said, nodding absently.
It would have been a huge mistake to rely entirely upon Gravspheres to propel Stovepipe One, as the test program's results all too clearly indicated. If I wanted pure acceleration alone, they would be perfectly suited to the job, although I really needed precise control of vectored thrust to get the beacon ship out to a specific point in space. This is where the modified repulsion cannons came into their own. Each cannon was slaved to a controller chip, which was in turn wired into a primitive inertial guidance system made of simple tilt-switches and several compass modules that formed the 'brain' of this semi-guided missile. It was particularly tricky to create an effective guidance system without having access to precision-made gyroscopes or accelerometers, but this one seemed to be a workable sort of lash-up. After all, the system's one and only job was to keep Stovepipe One more or less vertically oriented and headed vaguely 'Out There'.
"Enable mass compensators. Main repulsion cannons and Vernier thrusters in pre-launch mode."
"Affirmative, Captain. All systems are nominal. Mass compensators are online and operational."
After checking to confirm that the vehicle assembly was safe to approach, I darted out of the bunker and dismantled Stovepipe One's support gantry with a Builder tool. Next, I retracted all four guy-lines and retreated to the safety of the cave containing the launch bunker. Stovepipe One remained proudly upright, levitating about 10 mm above its launch platform. Once inside, I instructed JUNO to power up the main drive. A muted thrum-thrum-thrum started up in the tail section as all six repulsion cannons commenced firing in unison, gently lifting the ship clear of the pad.
"JUNO. Launch confirmed. Increase acceleration to one point five gee in main drive by increments of zero point one."
"Affirmative, Captain. Proceeding with orders. Altitude currently 250 metres, all systems nominal."
The steady pulsation of the cannons deepened in pitch, increasing in volume as the ship rose steadily into the sky. Within minutes, Stovepipe One was little more than a rising speck of silver that caught Alphard's early morning light.
"Altitude is now 15 kilometres. Velocity, ten point seven-five kilometres per second. Onboard power levels are currently at 80 per cent. All systems are within nominal operational limits."
"JUNO, commence throttle-up to fifty per cent output. Continue telemetry for as long as possible."
"Affirmative, Captain. Initiating throttle-up command. Internal power levels now at 75 per cent. Estimated loss of telemetry signal in 120 seconds. Velocity is currently sixty kilometres per second. Attention... Attention... Vehicle Stovepipe One has reached an altitude of 95 kilometres, ten kilometres down-range and has achieved planetary escape velocity. Power levels at 40 per cent. Eighty seconds remaining before signal loss."
I lost sight of the ship. If all went well, it would continue travelling through the Alphard system in slow-boat mode long after its drive had shut down. There was no real point in creating a more elaborate vessel than what I'd already built at this stage, since Stovepipe One was only intended to confirm that it was possible to build and launch a deep-space distress beacon. There was a beacon of sorts already aboard, although I was unable to find a workable method of boosting its signal beyond more than a few kilometres. However, if I couldn't find an intact tachyon-burst transceiver, all of this effort amounted to little more than a reasonably clever high school Science Fair project.
Before asking JUNO if it was worth returning to Aurora to search for a transceiver, I already knew the answer. This was something I had been putting off for far too long, although circumstances demanded that this was one trip that had to be made. For one thing, there were probably other components, equipment and supplies that would either speed my rescue or prolong my span on this planet in some measure of comfort. I was starting to worry a fair bit about the onset of vitamin deficiency and malnutrition, since my diet had been almost 100 per cent protein up to this point. Creepvine provided some vitamins and minerals, although I couldn't be absolutely certain what was missing until a serious deficiency made itself known. My carefully-hoarded stock of nutrient bars was the last hope I had of staving off a deficiency disease, and they wouldn't last forever.
Admittedly I'm not very practiced in high resolution English decryption and I'd really like to read this translated into German one day! Any ambitious translators in attendance?
Admittedly I'm not very practiced in high resolution English decryption and I'd really like to read this translated into German one day! Any ambitious translators in attendance?
Fifty metres down, Ulysses cruised over a forest of mushroom trees heading towards Aurora. There was something unnerving about travelling though this area, although I suspect it has something to do with the Jelly Rays and their shrieking cries. When one's hearing becomes attuned to the constantly changing soundscapes of an alien ocean, even the slightest sound out of place is enough to give you the willies. They had me completely fooled at first, although I soon learned that these creatures are entirely harmless. The same could be said for Reefbacks; huge plankton feeders that look like a composite of whale, sea turtle and squid. Their mournful 'song' echoes across huge distances. It's an ominous sound, particularly if you're unaware of its source. This was what I heard as I pushed the Lifepod back to base after my first death, incidentally. Finding out that the creature was harmless proved to be a huge source of relief, since I had no illusions of how long Ulysses or a base structure would last if one ever decided to set upon it in earnest.
Here be monsters.
JUNO's heuristic data acquisition routines were constantly evolving. Now that I had built three bases, her sensor coverage had improved dramatically. Each station contained a Fabricator that served as a personality core, and certain components of major base structures housed a variety of sensors that fed a steady stream of information back to JUNO's virtual core processor. She would never be as powerful as the original JUNO A.I construct aboard Aurora, although there were definite signs emerging that her personality had developed well beyond a purely functional state. This was entirely expected of course, and I had enough confidence in her Asimov-Turing-Gibson safety protocols to trust her actions and decisions without question. Bluntly stated; JUNO would never flood the base as I slept, fill my dive tanks with a toxic gas mix or maliciously send me into harm's way. Quite the opposite, in fact. In a roundabout sort of way, I think she actually cared about me.
"Proximity alert, Captain. Large life form detected, bearing zero one five relative. Distance, one hundred metres. Speed, ten knots. Life form type, unknown. Recommend taking evasive action to port."
I peered through the forward observation bubble, trying to catch sight of the creature. Nothing so far. Even so, I swung the helm hard to port. No sense charging straight into the gorram thing, whatever it was. Ulysses responded sluggishly, now running a course parallel to Aurora's position.
"Warning. Warning. Life form is now on an intercept course. Speed, twenty-five knots. Contact in five seconds. Brace for impact."
Ulysses lurched violently to port as the creature struck amidships. The pressure hull rang with a dull boom as the bow slewed around. I tried to bring the helm back to full starboard, but Ulysses wouldn't respond. The creature had deliberately pushed the sub around and was apparently trying to roll it over. It couldn't possibly be a Reefback. Ulysses had already encountered Reefbacks, and they showed no aggression towards the sub at all. In fact, they usually responded to Ulysses' diver recall horn with their own hailing calls. In all the times I've passed near a Reefback, this response has never varied.
Could this be some sort of territorial threat display? Mating ritual?
Haven't got the foggiest idea, Jimmy.
There was a scrabbling sound, as if something was trying to find a firm purchase on Ulysses' hull. The sub rolled to port again, and a heavy slithering noise suggested that the creature had coiled itself around the hull. Suddenly, an ear-shattering, shrieking roar erupted from the creature as it broke its hold, swam off a short distance and charged Ulysses head-on.
One of the social drawbacks of having confirmed 'Engineering Tendencies' is in knowing when someone is about to do something completely, utterly and irresponsibly daft. It's put the dampers on many a carousing session, and has irritated the Hell out of my shipmates at one time or another. I'm fond of a wee dram now and then, and I'm partial to letting fly a tune or two when I'm particularly happy in my cups. Not much of a fighting man, though. By the time I've finished working the numbers where it's best to land the first punch, I'm flat out on my back and the other lad is already getting the next round of drinks in. There's some small consolation to be gained though, particularly when you're defending the honour of a bonny lass at the time.
The creature was easily the size of a Cyclops-class submarine. It had a long, serpent-like form, with a white underbelly and bright red mottling on its dorsal surfaces. Two long and tapered pelvic fins protruded from its body like hydrofoils, working in tandem with two slightly shorter ventral fins and a pair of equally thin horizontal tail flukes. This thing was clearly built for speed. What scared me most was its business end. Four large, articulated mandibles surrounding a vicious shark's mouth. As if that wasn't enough to soil a good pair of breeks, its head also carried a massive bony process that looked like a cross between an axe-head and a ram plate. At a wild guess, I'd say this ghoulie is what gives Reefbacks screaming nightmares.
I hauled down hard on the helm, sheering away to port at the last second. The creature slammed into the hull just behind the observation bubble. I cringed, half-expecting the enamelled glass dome to explode. Luckily, it held. The only way out of this fight was to keep on hitting it with the hull until one of us called it quits. Unfortunately, the longer this wee rammy went on, the more I'd be inclined to do something stupidly unpredictable to finish it once and for all. It was roaring furiously now, and I hoped that it wasn't calling its pals to join an all-in. That would be an unfortunate turn of events. It charged at Ulysses again, splaying its mandibles wide to attack the observation bubble. This time, I heaved to starboard, letting it smack into the other side of the hull with a resounding whump. This tactic also seemed to work rather well. Apparently, the creature was fond of using a frontal attack, but it couldn't manoeuvre for toffee.
"JUNO! Query: Current hull integrity reading!"
"Hull integrity remains constant at one hundred per cent, Captain. Minor cosmetic damage sustained on hull coatings only."
On the next pass, I jogged the sub a short distance ahead before commencing the return swing. Hopefully, the creature wouldn't be able to compensate in time. Instead of striking a glancing blow as it had before, Ulysses slammed into the creature with the full force of its 'sweet spot'. A resounding wham! rippled through the full length of Ulysses and the creature squealed in a mixture of pain and outraged surprise. A most palpable hit, indeed. Its body slid across the observation dome groggily. It shuddered briefly, then veered away to commence its next attack run. By my reckoning, I had about twenty seconds before crunch time. I grabbed a line reel from the nearest storage locker, paid out a length and fastened it to the helm control yoke, pushed it forward to the 'Ahead Full' mark and tied off on the railing surrounding the helm station. Ulysses surged forward under full power.
Aw reet, Pally... Let's see how you handle a Glasgow Kiss!
"The first attempt was disastrous. JUNO appeared to be functioning normally after the first few small tweaks I'd made, and it wasn't until I climbed into the Seamoth some days later that I noticed an unusual status update had crept into her standard repertoire of vocal responses.
Awkward silence ensues...
I'd rather not go into any details regarding that particular episode. Not exactly my finest hour."
I laughed so hard at this point! I think I know what your talking about in this bit, It's that one subnautica easteregg when you get in the seamoth..
BTW, Great story by the way, the book reads like an.. well actual book! Please keep writing this, I'm loving it!
I belted straight for the Seamoth and jumped into the cabin. JUNO had anticipated this move and Disco Volante was already powered up for a quick launch. The sub bay doors latched fully open a few seconds later, and the docking clamps released smartly. I dived the minisub as soon as it hit the water, narrowly missing being smashed to a pulp by Ulysses' pump-jet shroud. Even so, its powerful wake bounced the minisub around like a leaf in a gale, until its gyros kicked in. With any luck, the Beastie would still have its full attention riveted upon Ulysses.
I could see it closing in on Ulysses, mandibles agape and roaring bloody murder all the while. Disco Volante skimmed along beneath Ulysses, staying barely out of reach of the docking clamp's proximity sensor. I slapped the EDF capacitor charging panel. Hearing that ominous whine spooling up was exactly like hearing the skirl of Highland pipers marching into battle. For one thing, it summoned the blood and stiffened the sinews just as surely. Now fully charged and bristling with electrical malice, Disco Volante shot forward and dived beneath the startled creature's belly. The capacitor banks discharged, stunning the beast seconds before Ulysses ploughed into its inert body. One of its mandibles whirled away to the seafloor below, sheared off at the root by the tremendous impact. I dived the minisub hastily to avoid Ulysses as it passed overhead, an unpiloted juggernaut lumbering relentlessly into unknown waters.
Remember what I mentioned earlier about doing something completely daft? I was about to do it anyway. That creature wouldn't be out cold for very long, and I was stuck inside something that basically resembles a nice meaty bap or your common hamburger bun. I suppose I could play it safe and wait until Ulysses ran out of power, but this would mean there wouldn't be any power to activate the docking clamp. I would then have to leave the comparative safety of Disco Volante, swim over to Ulysses and replace its power cells, then leave the actual safety of Ulysses to retrieve Disco Volante. Most probably in the close company of 'Mister Teeth' as well. My Scottish forebears always had a few choice words to say in prickly situations such as this, and they aren't particularly pleasant.
I believe that the required manoeuvre is called a 'Barn Swallow'. Apparently, experienced VTOL combat pilots do it on a fairly regular basis. Sounds simple enough: Match your airspeed directly in front of the target vehicle (usually a large atmospheric transport ship), wait for its hangar doors to open and then gently throttle down while keeping a close eye on your alignment transponder display. Easy-peasy. One slight catch... No alignment transponder. Also, there's no way known I am going to stop dead in front of a runaway Cyclops and allow the docking clamps to snatch me up as it runs overhead. This calls for a little more finesse.
It was easy enough to catch up to Ulysses. However, the turbulence created in her wake was too much for Disco Volante to handle. There was only one semi-safe way to do this properly, and it involved some small degree of split second timing. I had to dive the minisub at least 10 metres directly beneath Ulysses' sub bay doors to avoid being collected by the aft intake nacelles or the pump-jet shroud, then slowly rise while maintaining the same forward speed as Ulysses. If you think that sounds far too easy, you really should try it sometime. It's a right bloody knicker-gripper.
This is an amazing story, I am enthralled by your realistic character portrayal and excellent world building. I was actually surprised at the length of time (in the story) that it took to encounter a Reaper, but I guess that radiation might have driven them away. I can't wait for both Subnautica updates and the story to progress to when he meets the Sea Emperor, or the Warper or something.
I wonder what he would think of the abandoned sea bases in the jelly shroom caves and the island... It would definitely do something to his psyche unless an advance team had made it...
[Possible Spoiler Maybe? Caution either way]
Also, I'm pleasantly surprised at your knowledge of Celtic gods, Mannanan is a known figure to me, though is he not also a figure that guards the ways between? Unless you knew that and were going to use the planet's name as an ironic coincidence when the Warper was encountered... Uhhh... if it was... should I put up a spoiler warning? I'll do so anyway...
Also, I'm pleasantly surprised at your knowledge of Celtic gods, Mannanan is a known figure to me, though is he not also a figure that guards the ways between? Unless you knew that and were going to use the planet's name as an ironic coincidence when the Warper was encountered... Uhhh... if it was... should I put up a spoiler warning? I'll do so anyway...
Thank you!
There was a conscious decision to avoid introducing the Reaper too early in the piece, given its propensity for chewing on anything smaller than a Cyclops. Similarly, the game's current state of development in the Stable version tends to drive the pace to a certain extent, as I don't want to step on anyone's toes (too hard) or second guess the folks at UWE. I'm also drawing from a number of sources as the story plays out. There's a couple of Easter Eggs in there as well. Glad to hear you're enjoying it thus far.
Had it not been for the gravity, the actual land masses under the water and the distance from Earth, I might've thought Mannanan might be Kepler-438b, considering it is 'waterworld' the only exoplanet currently known to have a surface comprised of entirely liquid water...
I wonder if the devs used 438b as inspiration, or maybe the 'Water World' book... Hmmm...
What I was trying to get at was that the character all of a sudden went über Scottish when that post on January 5th was released. I never really noticed it at all, if there was any, until that post.
But don't take this as a criticism I really LOVE the story, I just found it kinda funny and it really surprised me that's why I started talking about this little stupid things that effects the story in no way lol
But don't take this as a criticism I really LOVE the story, I just found it kinda funny and it really surprised me that's why I started talking about this little stupid things that effects the story in no way lol
No, fair comment. You've raised an important point. The central character's personality is slowly evolving as the story unfolds. Rather than dump two or more pages describing the exact nature of Alexander Selkirk down to the very last detail, I've decided to drip-feed little snippets of his personality as part of the narrative itself. Most writers prefer to plot out the basic story well in advance of committing a single word to paper. That's something that I don't have the luxury of being able to do, since this story is basically being written 'on the fly'. Some inconsistencies are expected, although I'm trying my best to make the plot points agree with what I've previously written.
Linguistically, Selkirk is intended to be comparable to someone from the 'Firefly' Universe, although he's not a deliberate ripoff.
(N.B: Before anyone accuses me of plagiarizing 'The Martian' with Selkirk's resourceful approach, I haven't seen the film yet!)
Humans have greatly extended their reach into space, and it's reasonable to expect him to use a multi-lingual vocabulary when national boundaries have ceased to matter. Even though most of his thoughts are in 'British' English, he is still a product of a true Scots heritage only one generation removed from Terra. Yes, expect him to lapse into full Billy Connolly mode during stressful situations, although I didn't want to go too far over the top in deference to any readers who don't use English as their native language. I also made a conscious decision not to pepper his language with stereotypical Scots slang utterances such as 'Gie it laldy, Jimmy!' "Helpmaboab!', 'Jings!', 'Crivens!', 'Gie's a brek!', 'Och aye, the noo!' or similar, because it would mean I'd have to explain pretty much everything he says elsewhere in the narrative. From a story-telling perspective, that would be a huge mistake.
Comments
Two islands, in fact. The first one lay astern of Aurora and the second, some distance off her port beam. Before setting out, I constructed a moon pool at the reef base. I conjured there might be some deep exploration ahead, so I fabricated a series of upgrade modules for the Seamoth. Space limitations were the devil itself here; I wanted a full suite of upgrades and twin external storage lockers, but there are only four available upgrade slots in the Seamoth hull. In the end, I settled for installing two depth compensators, a solar charging module and an electrical defence field. Sonar and additional armour plating would have also been useful, but sometimes you've got little choice but to bite the bullet. After some careful consideration I ditched the idea of having a Vortex torpedo launcher, mainly because of the amount of space required to carry any useful number of reloads. Wasn't too keen on having to leave the Seamoth to reload the launch tube, either.
As I prepared for the next expedition, it occurred to me that I had entirely forgotten to honour an ancient sea-faring tradition. I hadn't properly christened the Cyclops or Seamoth yet. Since I was already planning to change the paintwork on both vehicles anyway, I felt that it was only right and proper to change their names as well. The paintwork change was originally intended to warn off any potential predators, although I had no clue what colour scheme the locals might consider to be intimidating. In the end, I settled for a bright yellow hull colour with blue and red trim stripes. Underwater visibility at depth became the ultimate deciding factor. After solemnly pouring fresh water over the bow of the Cyclops, she became the 'DSV Ulysses'. Similarly, with all due ceremony, the Seamoth was renamed 'Disco Volante'. Considering that these vehicles had endured an actual baptism of fire during the first Aurora expedition, they had rightfully earned their new names.
The plan was to use Ulysses as a mobile base. Disco Volante had the speed and agility necessary to venture into dangerous territory, although her upgraded crush depth rating of 650 metres was not quite sufficient for exploring particularly deep cave systems. If necessary, Disco Volante could be refitted with four depth compensation modules, but that would leave her totally defenceless. Ultimately, I would have to make up for these deficiencies, equipped with additional dive tanks and a small diver propulsion vehicle such as the SeaGlide or PowerGlide. Needless to say, I was hoping to avoid leaving the security of either of the larger vehicles unless there was no other option.
I had a rough idea of where to find the first island, having lined up the top of the Aurora monument with the remnants of the ship's command deck. Lining up these same two points on the port side of the wreck would provide a ball-park positioning fix, and the island should lay somewhere close nearby. Similarly, proceeding west north-west from the monument would put me in a good position to locate the second island. That's the worst part about spending most of your time at or below sea-level; the visible horizon is limited to a couple of hundred metres at best, assuming the surface remains calm. At some stage, I may build an observation tower on the main base, although I'm holding off doing it until I have a better idea of Manannán's seasonal moods. The base module fabrication templates in the PDA do include an observation bubble and vertical connector tubes, although I suspect that these modules aren't meant to extend more than ten or twenty metres above sea level without guy-wires or additional support structures. Manannán's reduced gravity might give a false impression that you can get away with building a kilometre-high observation dome, but you might come to regret this decision when the planet enters its hurricane season.
Halfway to the island, JUNO piped up. "Multiple magnetic anomalies detected, Captain. Highly localised concentrations of ferrous ferric oxide present in basalt matrix and surface resource nodes."
MAGNETITE!
"JUNO, I love you!" I whooped, drumming excitedly on the minisub's control yoke. Then a thought struck me. "Hang on... How come you weren't able to detect all of this magnetite earlier?"
"All sensor functions were previously impaired by ambient radiation levels, Captain. This area remained undetected until a suitably located additional network node was constructed. Furthermore, I do not recall that you have ever specifically requested magnetite as a search parameter, Captain." JUNO said crisply.
Oh. That was pretty stupid.
I wasted no time in closing on the nearest cluster of resource nodes. JUNO talked me in to the first one, calling out distance and approximate heading. Disco Volante came to a stop in front of a sheer basalt wall, 120 metres down. The area appeared to be clear of any dangerous sea life. Just a few shoals of Boomerangs, Hoopfish and an occasional Spadefish. Satisfied that my life was in no immediate peril, I exited the minisub. Within minutes, I had collected almost enough magnetite to fill my inventory. All I needed was another couple of chunks, and I could be on my merry way. I looked back at Disco Volante, estimating that the minisub now lay about fifty metres away. Damn. I shouldn't have strayed this far from cover in unknown waters.
Something zipped past my helmet's face plate. Small, red and fast. I flinched reflexively and then continued swimming steadily towards Disco Volante, completely unaware of what was happening behind me. It wasn't until I felt a sharp tug on one of my fins that I was even aware that a large school of Biter fish had gathered in my wake, and they were making their first tentative attacks. I whipped around, spinning up the Stasis Rifle for a shot, but most of them dispersed before I could fire. I guessed a wild shot was best, hoping to catch at least one and cover my retreat with the field bubble. No such luck. Damned agile, I'll say that much for the vicious little buggers. As I flipped over and started swimming backwards, I saw the school regrouping, steadily closing in on me. Several Biters broke away from the main school and split into two groups heading either side of me, angling inwards for a simultaneous flanking attack. I heard their signature 'chuckling' as they closed in, sounding exactly like a pack of hyenas shadowing a wounded lion. The Stasis Rifle spun up again and fired, stopping the bulk of the school dead in its tracks. Seconds later, the advance force of Biters surged forward and attacked.
Also, the peoples working on this game should definitely hire you to write this game's backstory, your story is extremely good
The Biters finished their dive suit appetiser and started on the main course. It was like being attacked with 75 mm hole saws. Streamers of blood flowed out of my flailing limbs, leaving a clear trail for the main body of the school to follow when it revived. And revive they most certainly did. The field winked out, and the mass of Biters instantly surged forward. Homing in on the blood trail, the school tightened up, converging on the densest part of the trail until their bodies jostled against each other. It was now or never. As soon as the rifle's charge built up to its maximum level, I fired.
Suddenly, I smacked into Disco Volante's hull. A flurry of wild panic set in as I thought an even larger predator had joined the feeding frenzy, only to realize what had actually happened. True, I was still being torn to pieces, but that didn't stop me from scrambling into the minisub and powering up the EDF as soon as my bum hit the pilot's seat. As the cabin drained, the Biters I had unwillingly brought aboard fell to the floor of the bubble gasping. There was a brief interlude of borderline insanity as I mashed their bodies with my feet, smearing the lower half of the pilot's bubble with blood, guts and slime.
The main school swarmed all over Disco Volante, I could hear hundreds of soft bodies slapping into the bubble as they tried to get at the juicy human morsel inside. I was breathing heavily, running on adrenaline and far too numb from the cold water to be feeling any pain yet. I slammed the EDF activator button, mounting rage spooling up in perfect synch with the rising whine of the defence field's capacitor bank.
"AW REET, YA PACK O' BASTAAARDS... GET THIS STITCHED!"
The capacitors discharged with a 'whooomp'. A sizzling sphere of electrical energy erupted around the mini-sub, killing the entire school instantly. A cloud of lifeless Biter bodies now drifted around Disco Volante, so I took the opportunity to open the hatch and quickly clean out the handful of eager beavers who had followed me aboard. I counted six bodies in all. I wanted at least one intact specimen for JUNO to examine in detail, although none of the Biters I had dealt with 'personally' would even remotely qualify. Once the cabin was relatively clean again, I grabbed one of the electrocuted Biters and high-tailed it back to the safety of Ulysses.
It took all of the dressing packs out of four first-aid kits to patch me up. Remember how I compared a Biter attack as like being hit with 75 mm hole saws? That wasn't too far from the mark, actually. A Biter's body is streamlined in much the same way as a tadpole's, and that nasty, gaping mouth filled with needle-sharp teeth is well suited to chewing its way through soft tissue at a great rate of knots. In fact, if those buggers had that encounter all their way, my body would have been riddled like Swiss cheese with Biter-sized holes. All things considered; not exactly a pleasant way to cash out.
I spent the next couple of days mooning uselessly around inside Ulysses. Thankfully, most of the damage was superficial, although I wanted full functionality restored to my right hand before setting foot on that island. Considering what I'm up against here, I'm not entirely convinced that any more caution would do the slightest bit of good in the long term, although it would be nice to spend at least a couple of days not wearing bandages between expeditions. That was the most galling aspect of all in these recent misadventures. I'm not completely inept, although I'd have to admit that some mistakes were made and lessons were learned accordingly. Only human, right?
When the big day finally arrived, I made sure to dust off the landing area thoroughly with Disco Volante's EDF before leaving the cockpit. Sure enough, there were a couple of Biters waiting in ambush. I gathered up all of the edible fish and took them back to Ulysses for curing, just in case something should wander along for a free feed and decide to hang around. I figured that completely depleting that one small area wouldn't cause any long term problems in the ecosystem. As soon as I was satisfied that the area around the beach was free of Biters, I drove Ulysses in as close as possible and exited the lockout hatch. The small beach dropped away sharply after ten or so metres, making it an easy swim to shore.
It was a strange sensation to stand on dry land again. That old expression of having 'sea legs' is surprisingly accurate. After spending so long with a rolling, heaving deck under foot, it takes a fair while to become re-accustomed to walking on terra firma again. My first action after coming ashore was to symbolically grab a handful of sand and take seizin of the planet as countless Terran conquerors had done before me, although my version may have raised a few critical eyebrows among historians looking back on this event...
"I claim this planet in the name of Mars! Isn't that lovely, hmm?"
As I didn't have an Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator handy, I readied the propulsion cannon. The island seemed peaceful enough, but we all know how that usually turns out. Even so, the planet hadn't been stingy with its colour palette or its imagination. There were things there that looked as near as dammit to terrestrial plants and trees, while other growths stopped just short of wearing nametags that read "Hi! I'm An Alien Life Form... Nice to meet you!" The overall effect was almost Polynesian, right down to the sound of exotic bird calls filling the air. I scanned the sky, looking for the source. Sure enough, there were numerous bird-like life forms circling high overhead, although a closer look at one revealed that they weren't even remotely avian. If anything, they resembled small, tail-less manta rays. I dubbed them 'Sky Rays'. It came as a pleasant surprise to discover that this species had absolutely no intention of rending me limb from limb. I'll count that as a major win.
The general idea was to construct a fully functional sub-light rocket, then use it to deploy a satellite payload equipped with a tachyon-burst transceiver and a JUNO personality construct. Since none of these items have corresponding fabrication templates in my PDA, I'm basically going to have to start my own space program entirely from scratch. The island would serve as a stable launch platform, as well as providing a large area to store resources and eventually, construct the ship. I suppose I could have fabricated a launch platform over a shallow section of the reef, but I didn't feel comfortable with having my first ham-fisted launch attempts taking out my main base out as well. 'Failure' may not be an option, although it's always a distinct possibility. Any halfway-decent engineer will automatically take this prospect into account, well before putting pen to paper.
Now here's the basic problem... Most of the stuff that comes out of an Alterra Fabricator has a virtual label that reads 'No User Serviceable Components Inside'. The finished item has been made to fulfil exactly ONE purpose in life. No more, no less. Useful stuff such as individual electronic components, wiring, motors and fastenings are formed into sealed units that are part of a complete nanolathed assembly, rendering them practically inaccessible for salvage. What I wanted to do was to take an oddly-matched assortment of fabricated items and somehow mash them together in ways that Alterra has never dreamed of. Building the rocket's body is the easy part. Propellant will be a bit of a problem. Everything else will be an absolute nightmare.
Propulsion raised its own share of headaches. I had planned to use liquid hydrogen and oxygen as fuel, although the first set of calculations soon put paid to that idea. It turned out that I would need to accommodate roughly the same amount of LH2 and LOX in the rocket body as an early Saturn 1B's second stage. Two hundred and forty-two cubic metres of liquid hydrogen, and seventy-six cubic metres of liquid oxygen. For argument's sake, let's call it three hundred and twenty cubic metres of volume required for propellant storage. Each tubular habitation module is 2.5 metres by 10 metres, giving them an internal volume of 49.1 cubic metres. Seven modules would be required to carry enough propellant and oxidiser to provide approximately seven minutes of burn time under full thrust. And now for the bad news: This vehicle's configuration would need to use nine modules in total, allowing seven for propellant, one for payload and another as the engine compartment. No matter how you look at it; this means dragging along mass that can't be jettisoned in flight once the propellant is spent. Dead mass that requires even more fuel to keep the whole shebang airborne.
Back to the drawing board.
While scouting the island for a suitable place to site the launch platform, I bumped into a few old acquaintances. Crawlers. Subsequently, most of them bumped rather heavily into basalt cave walls or disintegrated in mid-air, thanks to a liberal application of the propulsion cannon. The 'eureka!' moment I'd been waiting for kicked in during one such encounter...
Gravity repulsion drive.
I'll be taking a couple of days off from writing 'Aurora Falls' to wallow in a turkey, plum duff and eggnog-fuelled Bacchanalia.
Thank you for supporting (and hopefully reading) 'Aurora Falls'. Your supportive comments are gratefully received.
Have an enjoyable, convivial and above all else, safe Christmas. Hope to see all your smiling avatars in the New Year!
"JUNO. Query: Is it possible to modify the propulsion cannon fabrication blueprint, specifically for the purpose of gaining internal access and making modifications to power supply expansion, remote triggering, discharge output and inertial damping system over-ride?"
"Affirmative, Captain. However, please be advised that any modification of existing operational settings or fabrication parameters may invalidate the warranty conditions of any devices, modules or equipment fabricated after unauthorised modifications have been made. Alterra Corp is under no legal obligations to honour any subsequent replacement, repair or refund claims."
Light bulb...
"So, you mean that it's possible to directly modify the parameters of any fabricated construct?"
"Certainly, Captain. Modifications may be made through JUNO user access terminals in all Fabricators, although any new design variants will be vetted and approved according to structural integrity requirements, construction material suitability, user safety and ethical constraints. May I inquire about the precise nature and proposed objectives of your request?"
"JUNO, I'm planning to construct a deep-space distress beacon. I think that I can use repulsion cannons to power the launch vehicle, although I will need to alter the cannon's original design significantly in order to accommodate a larger external power supply, provide remote triggering and increasing its graviton wave output. Query: Is this concept feasible?"
"The core concept is essentially sound, Captain. However, any vehicle using this drive system will also require an onboard gravity nullification system to counteract a significant percentage of the vehicle's total mass during launch. A modified variant of the Gravsphere construct could theoretically accomplish this, although careful attention must be paid to vehicle subsystems geometry and mass distribution. Do you require any further assistance, Captain?"
"I'll say a definite yes to that, JUNO. I'll need every last skerrick of assistance that you can provide."
"It will be my pleasure, Captain."
The next couple of weeks were spent gathering materials, tweaking fabrication settings and assembling a proof-of-concept prototype. Instead of using seven habitation modules as the launch vehicle's hull, I found that the vertical corridor template would be far more suitable to house the gravity repulsion drives. The rocket's body was simply two vertical connectors, topped with an observation dome. A cluster of three connectors spaced around the central core would contain the repulsion cannon arrays, all powered by a compact nuclear reactor located in the main body tube. Gravspheres were to be placed throughout the entire assembly at critically calculated locations, greatly reducing the effect of Manannán's already low gravity (0.6 of Terra's) on the vehicle's mass.
Perfectly.
The lead-up to this moment was not entirely lacking in its share of embarrassing incidents. My first modified Gravsphere punched a large hole through the foundation plate I was using as a test-stand. It's reasonably safe to assume that it hasn't changed the planet's gravitational constant appreciably, although I might want to dial back that wicked -x axis variable just a smidge in the next prototype. The second prototype appeared to be on the right track. As JUNO brought the power supply online, the Gravsphere smartly hopped a couple of centimetres into the air and hung suspended. Steady as a rock. Okay, we have precisely determined the power level required for a Gravsphere to cancel out its own mass and remain stable at a fixed point in space. Time to kick the Science up a notch or two.
"JUNO. Please increase power to one per cent by zero point one increments."
"Affirmative, Captain."
The Gravsphere levitated slowly at first, but by the time the input power level had reached zero point four, it was clear of the test stand and accelerating rapidly. At one per cent power, the Gravsphere shot skyward. Several minutes later, a faint sonic boom could be heard rippling across the sky.
"Well, JUNO... I don't think we're going to get our ball back."
"Affirmative, Captain. Might I suggest calibrating the next series of prototypes to receive linear power input rather than exponential? This is merely a suggestion, of course."
"Oh, aye... Definitely linear." I said, nodding absently.
It would have been a huge mistake to rely entirely upon Gravspheres to propel Stovepipe One, as the test program's results all too clearly indicated. If I wanted pure acceleration alone, they would be perfectly suited to the job, although I really needed precise control of vectored thrust to get the beacon ship out to a specific point in space. This is where the modified repulsion cannons came into their own. Each cannon was slaved to a controller chip, which was in turn wired into a primitive inertial guidance system made of simple tilt-switches and several compass modules that formed the 'brain' of this semi-guided missile. It was particularly tricky to create an effective guidance system without having access to precision-made gyroscopes or accelerometers, but this one seemed to be a workable sort of lash-up. After all, the system's one and only job was to keep Stovepipe One more or less vertically oriented and headed vaguely 'Out There'.
Touch wood, or its closest molecular equivalent.
"Enable mass compensators. Main repulsion cannons and Vernier thrusters in pre-launch mode."
"Affirmative, Captain. All systems are nominal. Mass compensators are online and operational."
After checking to confirm that the vehicle assembly was safe to approach, I darted out of the bunker and dismantled Stovepipe One's support gantry with a Builder tool. Next, I retracted all four guy-lines and retreated to the safety of the cave containing the launch bunker. Stovepipe One remained proudly upright, levitating about 10 mm above its launch platform. Once inside, I instructed JUNO to power up the main drive. A muted thrum-thrum-thrum started up in the tail section as all six repulsion cannons commenced firing in unison, gently lifting the ship clear of the pad.
"JUNO. Launch confirmed. Increase acceleration to one point five gee in main drive by increments of zero point one."
"Affirmative, Captain. Proceeding with orders. Altitude currently 250 metres, all systems nominal."
The steady pulsation of the cannons deepened in pitch, increasing in volume as the ship rose steadily into the sky. Within minutes, Stovepipe One was little more than a rising speck of silver that caught Alphard's early morning light.
"Altitude is now 15 kilometres. Velocity, ten point seven-five kilometres per second. Onboard power levels are currently at 80 per cent. All systems are within nominal operational limits."
"JUNO, commence throttle-up to fifty per cent output. Continue telemetry for as long as possible."
"Affirmative, Captain. Initiating throttle-up command. Internal power levels now at 75 per cent. Estimated loss of telemetry signal in 120 seconds. Velocity is currently sixty kilometres per second. Attention... Attention... Vehicle Stovepipe One has reached an altitude of 95 kilometres, ten kilometres down-range and has achieved planetary escape velocity. Power levels at 40 per cent. Eighty seconds remaining before signal loss."
I lost sight of the ship. If all went well, it would continue travelling through the Alphard system in slow-boat mode long after its drive had shut down. There was no real point in creating a more elaborate vessel than what I'd already built at this stage, since Stovepipe One was only intended to confirm that it was possible to build and launch a deep-space distress beacon. There was a beacon of sorts already aboard, although I was unable to find a workable method of boosting its signal beyond more than a few kilometres. However, if I couldn't find an intact tachyon-burst transceiver, all of this effort amounted to little more than a reasonably clever high school Science Fair project.
Before asking JUNO if it was worth returning to Aurora to search for a transceiver, I already knew the answer. This was something I had been putting off for far too long, although circumstances demanded that this was one trip that had to be made. For one thing, there were probably other components, equipment and supplies that would either speed my rescue or prolong my span on this planet in some measure of comfort. I was starting to worry a fair bit about the onset of vitamin deficiency and malnutrition, since my diet had been almost 100 per cent protein up to this point. Creepvine provided some vitamins and minerals, although I couldn't be absolutely certain what was missing until a serious deficiency made itself known. My carefully-hoarded stock of nutrient bars was the last hope I had of staving off a deficiency disease, and they wouldn't last forever.
Admittedly I'm not very practiced in high resolution English decryption and I'd really like to read this translated into German one day! Any ambitious translators in attendance?
Keep it up Bugzapper! And happy new year!
@lxh :Thank you!
Unfortunately, those two years I spent studying German in high school would probably fail the skill check.
However, if anyone is interested, I'd be more than happy to collaborate on any European-language translations.
Drop me a line!
Here be monsters.
JUNO's heuristic data acquisition routines were constantly evolving. Now that I had built three bases, her sensor coverage had improved dramatically. Each station contained a Fabricator that served as a personality core, and certain components of major base structures housed a variety of sensors that fed a steady stream of information back to JUNO's virtual core processor. She would never be as powerful as the original JUNO A.I construct aboard Aurora, although there were definite signs emerging that her personality had developed well beyond a purely functional state. This was entirely expected of course, and I had enough confidence in her Asimov-Turing-Gibson safety protocols to trust her actions and decisions without question. Bluntly stated; JUNO would never flood the base as I slept, fill my dive tanks with a toxic gas mix or maliciously send me into harm's way. Quite the opposite, in fact. In a roundabout sort of way, I think she actually cared about me.
"Proximity alert, Captain. Large life form detected, bearing zero one five relative. Distance, one hundred metres. Speed, ten knots. Life form type, unknown. Recommend taking evasive action to port."
I peered through the forward observation bubble, trying to catch sight of the creature. Nothing so far. Even so, I swung the helm hard to port. No sense charging straight into the gorram thing, whatever it was. Ulysses responded sluggishly, now running a course parallel to Aurora's position.
"Warning. Warning. Life form is now on an intercept course. Speed, twenty-five knots. Contact in five seconds. Brace for impact."
Ulysses lurched violently to port as the creature struck amidships. The pressure hull rang with a dull boom as the bow slewed around. I tried to bring the helm back to full starboard, but Ulysses wouldn't respond. The creature had deliberately pushed the sub around and was apparently trying to roll it over. It couldn't possibly be a Reefback. Ulysses had already encountered Reefbacks, and they showed no aggression towards the sub at all. In fact, they usually responded to Ulysses' diver recall horn with their own hailing calls. In all the times I've passed near a Reefback, this response has never varied.
Could this be some sort of territorial threat display? Mating ritual?
Haven't got the foggiest idea, Jimmy.
There was a scrabbling sound, as if something was trying to find a firm purchase on Ulysses' hull. The sub rolled to port again, and a heavy slithering noise suggested that the creature had coiled itself around the hull. Suddenly, an ear-shattering, shrieking roar erupted from the creature as it broke its hold, swam off a short distance and charged Ulysses head-on.
Hello, Beastie...
The creature was easily the size of a Cyclops-class submarine. It had a long, serpent-like form, with a white underbelly and bright red mottling on its dorsal surfaces. Two long and tapered pelvic fins protruded from its body like hydrofoils, working in tandem with two slightly shorter ventral fins and a pair of equally thin horizontal tail flukes. This thing was clearly built for speed. What scared me most was its business end. Four large, articulated mandibles surrounding a vicious shark's mouth. As if that wasn't enough to soil a good pair of breeks, its head also carried a massive bony process that looked like a cross between an axe-head and a ram plate. At a wild guess, I'd say this ghoulie is what gives Reefbacks screaming nightmares.
I hauled down hard on the helm, sheering away to port at the last second. The creature slammed into the hull just behind the observation bubble. I cringed, half-expecting the enamelled glass dome to explode. Luckily, it held. The only way out of this fight was to keep on hitting it with the hull until one of us called it quits. Unfortunately, the longer this wee rammy went on, the more I'd be inclined to do something stupidly unpredictable to finish it once and for all. It was roaring furiously now, and I hoped that it wasn't calling its pals to join an all-in. That would be an unfortunate turn of events. It charged at Ulysses again, splaying its mandibles wide to attack the observation bubble. This time, I heaved to starboard, letting it smack into the other side of the hull with a resounding whump. This tactic also seemed to work rather well. Apparently, the creature was fond of using a frontal attack, but it couldn't manoeuvre for toffee.
"JUNO! Query: Current hull integrity reading!"
"Hull integrity remains constant at one hundred per cent, Captain. Minor cosmetic damage sustained on hull coatings only."
On the next pass, I jogged the sub a short distance ahead before commencing the return swing. Hopefully, the creature wouldn't be able to compensate in time. Instead of striking a glancing blow as it had before, Ulysses slammed into the creature with the full force of its 'sweet spot'. A resounding wham! rippled through the full length of Ulysses and the creature squealed in a mixture of pain and outraged surprise. A most palpable hit, indeed. Its body slid across the observation dome groggily. It shuddered briefly, then veered away to commence its next attack run. By my reckoning, I had about twenty seconds before crunch time. I grabbed a line reel from the nearest storage locker, paid out a length and fastened it to the helm control yoke, pushed it forward to the 'Ahead Full' mark and tied off on the railing surrounding the helm station. Ulysses surged forward under full power.
Aw reet, Pally... Let's see how you handle a Glasgow Kiss!
Awkward silence ensues...
I'd rather not go into any details regarding that particular episode. Not exactly my finest hour."
I laughed so hard at this point! I think I know what your talking about in this bit, It's that one subnautica easteregg when you get in the seamoth..
BTW, Great story by the way, the book reads like an.. well actual book! Please keep writing this, I'm loving it!
Thank you.
I belted straight for the Seamoth and jumped into the cabin. JUNO had anticipated this move and Disco Volante was already powered up for a quick launch. The sub bay doors latched fully open a few seconds later, and the docking clamps released smartly. I dived the minisub as soon as it hit the water, narrowly missing being smashed to a pulp by Ulysses' pump-jet shroud. Even so, its powerful wake bounced the minisub around like a leaf in a gale, until its gyros kicked in. With any luck, the Beastie would still have its full attention riveted upon Ulysses.
I could see it closing in on Ulysses, mandibles agape and roaring bloody murder all the while. Disco Volante skimmed along beneath Ulysses, staying barely out of reach of the docking clamp's proximity sensor. I slapped the EDF capacitor charging panel. Hearing that ominous whine spooling up was exactly like hearing the skirl of Highland pipers marching into battle. For one thing, it summoned the blood and stiffened the sinews just as surely. Now fully charged and bristling with electrical malice, Disco Volante shot forward and dived beneath the startled creature's belly. The capacitor banks discharged, stunning the beast seconds before Ulysses ploughed into its inert body. One of its mandibles whirled away to the seafloor below, sheared off at the root by the tremendous impact. I dived the minisub hastily to avoid Ulysses as it passed overhead, an unpiloted juggernaut lumbering relentlessly into unknown waters.
Remember what I mentioned earlier about doing something completely daft? I was about to do it anyway. That creature wouldn't be out cold for very long, and I was stuck inside something that basically resembles a nice meaty bap or your common hamburger bun. I suppose I could play it safe and wait until Ulysses ran out of power, but this would mean there wouldn't be any power to activate the docking clamp. I would then have to leave the comparative safety of Disco Volante, swim over to Ulysses and replace its power cells, then leave the actual safety of Ulysses to retrieve Disco Volante. Most probably in the close company of 'Mister Teeth' as well. My Scottish forebears always had a few choice words to say in prickly situations such as this, and they aren't particularly pleasant.
I believe that the required manoeuvre is called a 'Barn Swallow'. Apparently, experienced VTOL combat pilots do it on a fairly regular basis. Sounds simple enough: Match your airspeed directly in front of the target vehicle (usually a large atmospheric transport ship), wait for its hangar doors to open and then gently throttle down while keeping a close eye on your alignment transponder display. Easy-peasy. One slight catch... No alignment transponder. Also, there's no way known I am going to stop dead in front of a runaway Cyclops and allow the docking clamps to snatch me up as it runs overhead. This calls for a little more finesse.
It was easy enough to catch up to Ulysses. However, the turbulence created in her wake was too much for Disco Volante to handle. There was only one semi-safe way to do this properly, and it involved some small degree of split second timing. I had to dive the minisub at least 10 metres directly beneath Ulysses' sub bay doors to avoid being collected by the aft intake nacelles or the pump-jet shroud, then slowly rise while maintaining the same forward speed as Ulysses. If you think that sounds far too easy, you really should try it sometime. It's a right bloody knicker-gripper.
Trust me.
I would bet a Mars colony would be just as much of a melting pot if not more.
Born on Mars, parents migrated from Terra. Guess what country?
Also have to expect a little cross-cultural pollination in terms of speech patterns, too.
(Can't make him excessively OTT Caledonian, though. Few folks would understand what he was saying)
I wonder what he would think of the abandoned sea bases in the jelly shroom caves and the island... It would definitely do something to his psyche unless an advance team had made it...
[Possible Spoiler Maybe? Caution either way]
Also, I'm pleasantly surprised at your knowledge of Celtic gods, Mannanan is a known figure to me, though is he not also a figure that guards the ways between? Unless you knew that and were going to use the planet's name as an ironic coincidence when the Warper was encountered... Uhhh... if it was... should I put up a spoiler warning? I'll do so anyway...
Thank you!
There was a conscious decision to avoid introducing the Reaper too early in the piece, given its propensity for chewing on anything smaller than a Cyclops. Similarly, the game's current state of development in the Stable version tends to drive the pace to a certain extent, as I don't want to step on anyone's toes (too hard) or second guess the folks at UWE. I'm also drawing from a number of sources as the story plays out. There's a couple of Easter Eggs in there as well. Glad to hear you're enjoying it thus far.
Incidentally... Shhhh!
I wonder if the devs used 438b as inspiration, or maybe the 'Water World' book... Hmmm...
No, fair comment. You've raised an important point. The central character's personality is slowly evolving as the story unfolds. Rather than dump two or more pages describing the exact nature of Alexander Selkirk down to the very last detail, I've decided to drip-feed little snippets of his personality as part of the narrative itself. Most writers prefer to plot out the basic story well in advance of committing a single word to paper. That's something that I don't have the luxury of being able to do, since this story is basically being written 'on the fly'. Some inconsistencies are expected, although I'm trying my best to make the plot points agree with what I've previously written.
Linguistically, Selkirk is intended to be comparable to someone from the 'Firefly' Universe, although he's not a deliberate ripoff.
(N.B: Before anyone accuses me of plagiarizing 'The Martian' with Selkirk's resourceful approach, I haven't seen the film yet!)
Humans have greatly extended their reach into space, and it's reasonable to expect him to use a multi-lingual vocabulary when national boundaries have ceased to matter. Even though most of his thoughts are in 'British' English, he is still a product of a true Scots heritage only one generation removed from Terra. Yes, expect him to lapse into full Billy Connolly mode during stressful situations, although I didn't want to go too far over the top in deference to any readers who don't use English as their native language. I also made a conscious decision not to pepper his language with stereotypical Scots slang utterances such as 'Gie it laldy, Jimmy!' "Helpmaboab!', 'Jings!', 'Crivens!', 'Gie's a brek!', 'Och aye, the noo!' or similar, because it would mean I'd have to explain pretty much everything he says elsewhere in the narrative. From a story-telling perspective, that would be a huge mistake.
Hope that this clears the air a little.
Anyway, back to the story. Enjoy.