Kaenei
12-11-2003, 01:02
http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-11/480214/Matrixship.jpg
Slowly, she glided forwards. The miracle of total gravimetric repulsion, now so easily accepted as the facet of an expanding and industrious world continued as it had been constructed to, mocking one of the fundemental elements of the Earth and mother nature herself so that the surveycraft Nathiciana might plunge through the darkness at its own pace.
Deep below the bustling streets, underneath layers of optical networking, transport tubing and fossils buried since the Earth's birth throes journeyed the craft. Clumps of rock hung from the gaping, cavernous roof that jutted many metres above, mirroring the splintered remains of odd-angled boulders that leapt from the dirty, cracked "floor."
All this, bathed in the darkness only the under-earth can provide, so far did the Nathicana venture from Sol and her warming light. Down here, only the high intensity beams of her searchlights provided anything for her crew to observe. Aided by accoustics warped and twisted by the underground structure, the only sound that permeated the inky blackness roared its presence, the usually hesitant thrum of the electromagnetic field as it obiediently carried out its function.
The Nathicana slowed, its present course blocked by a troublesome and obstructing rock structure. With a gentle increase in ambient noise the electromagnetic field compensated for this irritating diversion, lofting the survey vessel above the cracked landmark. Pausing only long enough for the onboard intelligence to complete its mapping and assign it a cold, harsh grid reference.
Captain Farrel sighed, sipping the last of his D'raltan with neither pleasure nor distain. His rolling exasperation did not carry through the empty bridge he sat within. Scrolling text flickered through report monitors. Grid references, locational directions and items of an interest that he could not rouse himself to indulge. The text cast a moving shadow over the console he remained at. Finally motivating himself to movement he stood, setting down the lukewarm cup.
Slowly, he walked to the helm station. Mentally he counted the hours as the unit brought itself online, answering his presence with a veritable mile of lit displays, input controls and access switches.
Locating a switch well worn with use, he flicked it, as he had done every few hours for almost the entire duration of his journey. A dull shudder reverated through him as the blast shield retracted, revealing the dusty, obscured viewport at the fore of the bridge. Interrupting the mapping operation, he re-directed the fore mounted searchlight, until it at last illuminated enough terrain to allow him the indulgence of an actual view. He sat, for minutes without moving a hand or eye. He traced the contours of rock, moulding chaotically from one peak to another shallow. He followed the shadow of the Nathicana as she effortlessly lifted over another high obstacle.
Eventually, reality called him back grudgingly, in the form of the all-too-frequent, and grossly ill named "Feature reports."
"I have completed mapping of sector triconderoga four."
Farrel rolled his eyes, though his laboured sigh did not hasten or change what the ship had to say.
"Go ahead." He implored.
"Triconderoga four follows; Eighty nine percent bedrock minerals. six percent nickel-iron composite. Fourteen percent uranium composite. trace amounts sodium metal. Area designated HGS-4159."
Bothering not even with an acknowledgement, Farrel closed his eyes. Without the interruptions of a reality all too boring to him he could feel once more the heat of the surface. Again the rain lashed his face. Once more snow clawed and yet caressed it. Weather patterns he had experienced so regularly for fifteen years now snatched away for month long periods.
Farrel stood, noticing his cup empty.
He hated this place.
Carefully, the panel cover clicked into place. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, Commanding Technician Javier Struven allowed a grin to stretch. Replacing his tools, he set off from the scene of what he liked to think was another brilliantly individual repair. Briskly he descended into the ships engine bays. Subconsiously his mind searched for sounds, feelings that were out of tune. He mentally noted that the the starboard lower electromagnetic pad was out of alignement, even as he scheduled in a power down of its counterpart.
Dropping his supply container to the floor he regarded the parts and projects that littered his workshop. Originallly clean and tidy, Javier abandoned the "A clean engine room is a happy engine room" philosophy once he realised the extent of the boredom that affected him. Already he had written eighty three pages on his new engineering proposal, the rather attactivley named An insight into increasing gravimetric power distribution by fourteen percent without extensive system-out time.
Yes, his time was very well spent.
Just as he had finished commending himself on his time-management, a horrendous screech assaulted him. His brain did not have the time to compute a response before his workshop seemed to spin ninety degrees, throwing the dazed technician to his former "wall". Overhead, the lighting matrixes flickered momentarily, and a heavy shelf sought the most painful way to introduce itself to Struven's shin.
Once he had finished swearing and kicking the now mortally wounded shelfing unit, Javier scrambled to his feet. Struggling to traverse his workshop at the angle it was currently occupying, his mind raced through the possibilities. His keen senses told him that at least one of the electromagnetic pads had lost cohesion, possibly as much as three. He no longer heard the eight strong heartbeats as they should be. Frowning, he wondered why Farrel hadn't arrived at the door demanding an explenation.
Turning, he caught the amusing sight of the Captain struggle through that very doorway, which owing to the bizarre shipwide tilt, now resembled a window of narrow apeture. Finally scrambling, and crashing to the ground. Javier got recieved his wish.
"What the hell was that?"
A grin spread over the technician's face. "Maybe she's been at your drinks cupboard again, you really should lock it."
Farrel scowled, as much at the comment as how Struven knew about his cupboard.
"You can wisecrack when I'm standing on my god damned floor again."
Retrieving his kit, Javier headed towards the door.
With a dull hiss the outer door of the Nathicana's airlock slid open. At once a low web of dust sneaked inwards, what little oxygen that remained at this depth rapidly dispersing with its cleaner bretheren as the two clad figures began shuffling.
Javier once more rubbed his faceplate in irritation. The dust particles taking what he viewed as great pleasure in obstructing his view. Lugging the containers of equipment, he stepped on to the sleek body of his craft. Behind him, and more than audible through the tinny of the suit speaker system, Beverly Los'lern made her feelings on her participation clear.
"Why do I have to 'assist' you? I've been scrubbing deckplating for nearly two hours while Rhyse sat in the recreation lounge eating that Elven trifle he waffles on about all the time. You could have easily taken him..."
Gritting his teeth, and doing his best not to sigh in frustration, Javier replied;
"Well, your the only Gravimetric field specialist onboard right?"
Beverly nodded, confused.
"Well, unless Rhyse double-parked her and we're just getting a tow, your needed elsewhere."
As the pair struggled across the hull, they spied what had interrupted their respective days. Impacted against a mass of solid rock, one of the Nathicana's four engine pylons that each housed two of the ships total sixteen electromagnetic field pads. The pads were intact, but cracked, spilling bolts of periodic lightning from their gaping wounds.
Javier whistled.
"Well, thats certainly eventful." He chorused, his brow furrowing. "Just how did we miss that, and more to the fact, how the hell did the Navicom miss that?"
Beverly chirruped, "We'd be best checking collision avoidance when we get back, unless we want this to happen again."
Javier nodded, as he began unpacking his collection of cargo containers.
"What are you doing?" Beverly asked, mortified.
"I'm beginning repairs, what are you doing?" he replied, with more than a hint of sarcasm evident.
"We can make it back to surface control on six pads! Why do we need to repair two when we still have six operational!"
"There are two reason." He began, feeling a migraine form. "Firstly, we do not know what caused this. Until we do, it is highly inadvisable to continue on with less than all eight emitters functioning. Secondly, if we return before we've finished mapping the quadrant, our data will be void, and we#ll be sent out again. Now I sure as hell don't want to be out here longer than we need to be, do you really feel like another two months?"
Javier worked on, and heard not another peep from Beverly.
Far away, from the bickering pair atop the Nathicana, amongst the dust, and the dirt, someone watched. Hidden, and unmoving, eyes regarded the disbelieving sights before it Recognising not the creature that produced such painful and agonising light, but the object it snagged against. A defence of cunning built many tremors ago to catch the unwary. Moving only as its eyelids slithered downards, wiping the irritating dust from its vision, it watched. Slowly, it stood, straightening to its full height behind a backdrop of darkness. After untold centuries, something came to them in the bowels of mother Earth. Hurrying, it left the startling sight.
The others must be told.
Slowly, she glided forwards. The miracle of total gravimetric repulsion, now so easily accepted as the facet of an expanding and industrious world continued as it had been constructed to, mocking one of the fundemental elements of the Earth and mother nature herself so that the surveycraft Nathiciana might plunge through the darkness at its own pace.
Deep below the bustling streets, underneath layers of optical networking, transport tubing and fossils buried since the Earth's birth throes journeyed the craft. Clumps of rock hung from the gaping, cavernous roof that jutted many metres above, mirroring the splintered remains of odd-angled boulders that leapt from the dirty, cracked "floor."
All this, bathed in the darkness only the under-earth can provide, so far did the Nathicana venture from Sol and her warming light. Down here, only the high intensity beams of her searchlights provided anything for her crew to observe. Aided by accoustics warped and twisted by the underground structure, the only sound that permeated the inky blackness roared its presence, the usually hesitant thrum of the electromagnetic field as it obiediently carried out its function.
The Nathicana slowed, its present course blocked by a troublesome and obstructing rock structure. With a gentle increase in ambient noise the electromagnetic field compensated for this irritating diversion, lofting the survey vessel above the cracked landmark. Pausing only long enough for the onboard intelligence to complete its mapping and assign it a cold, harsh grid reference.
Captain Farrel sighed, sipping the last of his D'raltan with neither pleasure nor distain. His rolling exasperation did not carry through the empty bridge he sat within. Scrolling text flickered through report monitors. Grid references, locational directions and items of an interest that he could not rouse himself to indulge. The text cast a moving shadow over the console he remained at. Finally motivating himself to movement he stood, setting down the lukewarm cup.
Slowly, he walked to the helm station. Mentally he counted the hours as the unit brought itself online, answering his presence with a veritable mile of lit displays, input controls and access switches.
Locating a switch well worn with use, he flicked it, as he had done every few hours for almost the entire duration of his journey. A dull shudder reverated through him as the blast shield retracted, revealing the dusty, obscured viewport at the fore of the bridge. Interrupting the mapping operation, he re-directed the fore mounted searchlight, until it at last illuminated enough terrain to allow him the indulgence of an actual view. He sat, for minutes without moving a hand or eye. He traced the contours of rock, moulding chaotically from one peak to another shallow. He followed the shadow of the Nathicana as she effortlessly lifted over another high obstacle.
Eventually, reality called him back grudgingly, in the form of the all-too-frequent, and grossly ill named "Feature reports."
"I have completed mapping of sector triconderoga four."
Farrel rolled his eyes, though his laboured sigh did not hasten or change what the ship had to say.
"Go ahead." He implored.
"Triconderoga four follows; Eighty nine percent bedrock minerals. six percent nickel-iron composite. Fourteen percent uranium composite. trace amounts sodium metal. Area designated HGS-4159."
Bothering not even with an acknowledgement, Farrel closed his eyes. Without the interruptions of a reality all too boring to him he could feel once more the heat of the surface. Again the rain lashed his face. Once more snow clawed and yet caressed it. Weather patterns he had experienced so regularly for fifteen years now snatched away for month long periods.
Farrel stood, noticing his cup empty.
He hated this place.
Carefully, the panel cover clicked into place. Stepping back to admire his handiwork, Commanding Technician Javier Struven allowed a grin to stretch. Replacing his tools, he set off from the scene of what he liked to think was another brilliantly individual repair. Briskly he descended into the ships engine bays. Subconsiously his mind searched for sounds, feelings that were out of tune. He mentally noted that the the starboard lower electromagnetic pad was out of alignement, even as he scheduled in a power down of its counterpart.
Dropping his supply container to the floor he regarded the parts and projects that littered his workshop. Originallly clean and tidy, Javier abandoned the "A clean engine room is a happy engine room" philosophy once he realised the extent of the boredom that affected him. Already he had written eighty three pages on his new engineering proposal, the rather attactivley named An insight into increasing gravimetric power distribution by fourteen percent without extensive system-out time.
Yes, his time was very well spent.
Just as he had finished commending himself on his time-management, a horrendous screech assaulted him. His brain did not have the time to compute a response before his workshop seemed to spin ninety degrees, throwing the dazed technician to his former "wall". Overhead, the lighting matrixes flickered momentarily, and a heavy shelf sought the most painful way to introduce itself to Struven's shin.
Once he had finished swearing and kicking the now mortally wounded shelfing unit, Javier scrambled to his feet. Struggling to traverse his workshop at the angle it was currently occupying, his mind raced through the possibilities. His keen senses told him that at least one of the electromagnetic pads had lost cohesion, possibly as much as three. He no longer heard the eight strong heartbeats as they should be. Frowning, he wondered why Farrel hadn't arrived at the door demanding an explenation.
Turning, he caught the amusing sight of the Captain struggle through that very doorway, which owing to the bizarre shipwide tilt, now resembled a window of narrow apeture. Finally scrambling, and crashing to the ground. Javier got recieved his wish.
"What the hell was that?"
A grin spread over the technician's face. "Maybe she's been at your drinks cupboard again, you really should lock it."
Farrel scowled, as much at the comment as how Struven knew about his cupboard.
"You can wisecrack when I'm standing on my god damned floor again."
Retrieving his kit, Javier headed towards the door.
With a dull hiss the outer door of the Nathicana's airlock slid open. At once a low web of dust sneaked inwards, what little oxygen that remained at this depth rapidly dispersing with its cleaner bretheren as the two clad figures began shuffling.
Javier once more rubbed his faceplate in irritation. The dust particles taking what he viewed as great pleasure in obstructing his view. Lugging the containers of equipment, he stepped on to the sleek body of his craft. Behind him, and more than audible through the tinny of the suit speaker system, Beverly Los'lern made her feelings on her participation clear.
"Why do I have to 'assist' you? I've been scrubbing deckplating for nearly two hours while Rhyse sat in the recreation lounge eating that Elven trifle he waffles on about all the time. You could have easily taken him..."
Gritting his teeth, and doing his best not to sigh in frustration, Javier replied;
"Well, your the only Gravimetric field specialist onboard right?"
Beverly nodded, confused.
"Well, unless Rhyse double-parked her and we're just getting a tow, your needed elsewhere."
As the pair struggled across the hull, they spied what had interrupted their respective days. Impacted against a mass of solid rock, one of the Nathicana's four engine pylons that each housed two of the ships total sixteen electromagnetic field pads. The pads were intact, but cracked, spilling bolts of periodic lightning from their gaping wounds.
Javier whistled.
"Well, thats certainly eventful." He chorused, his brow furrowing. "Just how did we miss that, and more to the fact, how the hell did the Navicom miss that?"
Beverly chirruped, "We'd be best checking collision avoidance when we get back, unless we want this to happen again."
Javier nodded, as he began unpacking his collection of cargo containers.
"What are you doing?" Beverly asked, mortified.
"I'm beginning repairs, what are you doing?" he replied, with more than a hint of sarcasm evident.
"We can make it back to surface control on six pads! Why do we need to repair two when we still have six operational!"
"There are two reason." He began, feeling a migraine form. "Firstly, we do not know what caused this. Until we do, it is highly inadvisable to continue on with less than all eight emitters functioning. Secondly, if we return before we've finished mapping the quadrant, our data will be void, and we#ll be sent out again. Now I sure as hell don't want to be out here longer than we need to be, do you really feel like another two months?"
Javier worked on, and heard not another peep from Beverly.
Far away, from the bickering pair atop the Nathicana, amongst the dust, and the dirt, someone watched. Hidden, and unmoving, eyes regarded the disbelieving sights before it Recognising not the creature that produced such painful and agonising light, but the object it snagged against. A defence of cunning built many tremors ago to catch the unwary. Moving only as its eyelids slithered downards, wiping the irritating dust from its vision, it watched. Slowly, it stood, straightening to its full height behind a backdrop of darkness. After untold centuries, something came to them in the bowels of mother Earth. Hurrying, it left the startling sight.
The others must be told.