NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: This RP will be open, however I ask people to wait until I actually launch the craft, because before then there isn't much for you to do. :))

"Pandora's Box"

“Fort Athena, this is Government Transport Golf-Tango-two-two-niner on approach to Paddock Five, requesting permission for finals.”

The small craft fired it retro rockets and slowed to a near stop at the outer edge of the military exclusion zone. It sat almost motionless against the backdrop of stars like a painting, the underside boosters firing occasionally to maintain twenty thousand feet altitude in the slight gravity of the small moon. Below them and about a mile ahead, a series of silo doors drilled into the ground marked their destination.

“Two-two-niner, this is Fort Athena. You have clearance Paddock Five. Praise the Goddess and welcome.”

The complex of silo doors lit up with approach lights, bathing the Athena Flats in a red husk as if the planet surface had suddenly come alive. The southern Silo began to open, sliding across from the entryways like the gaping maw of the planet, and lit up with yellow beacons that blinked welcomingly.

The transport craft adjusted its nose angle and fired its single Prime Mover, lighting the sky with a blue husk of escaping Hydrogen and propelling forward on a descending approach to the military base. It glided swiftly through the low gravity of the moon before flaring with its underside rockets and slowing to a halt over the entrance before slowly boosting downwards into the pad.

Outside the silo in one of the connecting corridors, Lieutenant Lewis Marshall leant against the wall and sighed. He was as nervous as Hell and really would have preferred to be anywhere else, but he had drawn the short straw. ‘Well,’ Marshall corrected himself. ‘It’s not like I had a choice.’

The steady red light above the large doors marked ‘Paddock Five Access’ was the only other colour in the subtle grey paint of the corridors. Marshall hated the colour scheme, hated the same grey material that his uniform was made of. He wished he were back in Lunar Pandora City, back at Fort Zeus and civilisation then this out-of-the-way base. It was an honour to be assigned here, Lewis had no doubt, but it wasn’t exactly excitement central.

The red light blinked yellow a few times and then turned green. The display panel next to the doors changed from displaying religious messages to inform Lewis that the Silo was pressurised and equalled. He stood straight, tugged at the bottom of his uniform jumper and pushed the release switch.

The doors clunked as the large exterior locks moved, and then slid sideways with a slight hiss of air. Lewis stood to attention and saluted, bringing his right hand to his right temple and then stretching it straight out in front of him. “Praise the Goddess and welcome, Sir,” he managed to say calmly, although he cursed the beads of perspiration appearing on his forehead.

Five Star General Winston Farrow stepped through the hatchway and returned the salute. He looked down at the Lieutenant, both haughtily and literally; the General was nearly seven feet tall and with an ego problem. “Praise the Goddess,” he echoed in an authoritarian manner before ordering the man to stand easy. “Where’s the pilot?”

“In the simulator, Sir.” Lewis stepped into pace with the General, who was already walking down the corridor towards the sign-posted Command Centre. A few junior officers stepped aside to the walls and saluted in their long-armed way; Farrow ignored them.

“I’d like to see him as soon as possible,” he said to the Lieutenant as they stepped into an elevator and Marshall keyed in the level for the Command Centre. The elevator began dropping as the electromagnetic rails on the sides of the car weakened enough to allow movement, smoothly running down towards the sub-levels. “Is the Base Commander ready to brief me?” He didn’t look at the Lieutenant, instead staring at the floor counter as it passed Sub Level 15.

Lewis nodded again, getting an ache in his neck from looking up at the superior officer. “Admiral Samuels is ready to brief you, Sir.” He grimaced a little as he saw the General snort derisively. The tensions between the Army and the Navy of the Holy Empire had grown greater every day since the Goddess (praise her) had chartered the new division of the military. The large budget increases for the Navy at the expense of the other branches had not helped.

The elevator slowed to a gradual halt as the electromagnetic rails increased their strength against the side of the car and gripped it, gently halting it in the correct place and opening the doors onto the Command Centre.

The CC was a large room, a mile across and almost six miles below the surface of Pandora. It maintained and controlled everything; engineering, science research, environmental systems – every single task was commanded by the thirty people in this room controlling the base computers. And the Admiral controlled those thirty people.

Admiral Jessica Samuels was a tall, thirty-six year-old woman who almost equalled the General in height. She was a career military officer, having served with the Army since she was eighteen before volunteering to command a new division of the military chartered nearly ten years ago. Back then; the Navy was little more than a few science laboratories working with something that could barely be called a budget, a group of old physicists discussing trajectories and Antimatter, much to the scoffing of the Army.

Now, the Navy was the best-funded division of the military and had their own base; Fort Athena. They had successfully pioneered the development of the intra-city spacecraft now commonly used across Pandora, making the long ‘wagon trains’ that were once the only form of connection between the two cities obsolete.

General Farrow stepped up to the platform and saluted the Admiral with thinly veiled contempt. “Praise the Goddess.”

Admiral Samuels nodded, returning the salute. “Praise the Goddess,” she echoed, before stepping down from the platform and touching a computer operator on the shoulder. “Have the latest project reports sent to my Office,” she ordered, before looking at Winston. “Well, General,” she said, nodding to her office door nearby. “Shall we?”

The two officers walked across the CC and stepped through the sliding doors into the Admiral’s Office. Jessica walked straight over to her desk and sat at it, accessing the project reports that had just been transferred to her computer screen.

The room was dressed in the same mottle grey that the rest of the base was in, although it had been personalised by the Admiral. Pictures of her family stood on the desk alongside a model spaceship, a conical craft with a rounded nose and a widened rear section. Medals sat in a display case at one end of the room, shining in the overhead lighting, depicting awarding dates from the Civil War. Truth be told, Jessica had ordered them displayed just a few hours before solely to infuriate General Farrow.

She sat silently for a few moments before offering the General a seat, making sure that her authority in this room was regarded as paramount. The Admiral then continued to look at the reports for another ten seconds before turning to her counterpart in the Army. “So, what can I do for you, Winston?”

Farrow eyed her for a moment in silent anger at her position and power within the sphere of the military. He had sorely wished for the job as head of the Navy, but had been sidelined due to his early criticisms of the project’s success and had been made head of the Army instead. He liked his position and the power that it brought, but the Goddess (Praise her) was currently regarding the Navy as her favourite.

“I was sent here by the Supreme Diocese to find out whether you have made any more progress since your last report.” He leaned back, smirking. “The Diocese is getting impatient with your delays recently.”

The Admiral sighed and leant back. “You’re really trying to get this cancelled, aren’t you?” she asked, looking straight at Farrow.

Winston just smiled. “Of course not; I just want it under Army control.” His eyes hardened. “After all, the Pilot is one of ours.”

Jess smirked. “Actually, he’s both of ours,” she corrected the man, who simply waved the comment away.

“A mere technicality,” he shrugged. “The Army and Navy will never be amalgamated; there’s too many problems.”

Samuels grinned. “You mean you’re worried about the rationalisation of jobs, particularly at the top.”

A thin flush of red momentarily peaked on the General’s cheeks before he composed himself once more. “The report,” he said again firmly.

Jessica smiled a little, pleased at her ability to get under his skin. She leant back and looked at the computer screen again. “The recent magnetic field tests were successful,” she said after a moment of reading. “We managed to maintain a stable and continuous point of combustion between Hydrogen and Antihydrogen and direct the by-product matter out of the exhaust vents.” She frowned, reading further down. “There were some slight issues with the cockpit pressure compensators, but they were resolved.” She smiled, looking back at Winston. “We’re on track to launch in five days time.”

Farrow smirked. “Three days off schedule.” He stood up from the table and reached into his pocket. “I’ve been informed to tell you that you will launch the day after tomorrow or the program’s funding will be cut.”

Jessica was taken-aback by the unexpected demand. She blinked a couple of times and forced herself to become composed. “On whose orders?” she asked calmly, her insides boiling with anger.

Farrow grinned in an unpleasant way and dropped a data card onto the table. Jessica stared at the front of the data card and just opened her mouth and then closed it again dumbly. The seal on the front of the information disk was like a lightning strike.

Farrow continued grinning. “By orders straight from the Goddess, Praise her, you are ordered to launch on time for Her Holinesses’ speech to the Supreme Diocese three days from now.” He looked at the Admiral directly, savouring the look on her face. “Failure will not be tolerated, and you will be removed from the project if that is the case.”

Jessica took the data card gingerly in her hand as if it was a grenade with a faulty pin. She then looked up at Farrow, and realised; he would be her replacement. Her blood boiled in anger and she forced herself to be composed.

“We’ll be ready,” she said, standing up and saluting the General. “Now, if you’ll excuse me Winston, I have some work to do.”

24 Hours later

The simulator deck was on S4, four decks down from the surface of Pandora. The deck was smaller in size compared to the others in terms of square feet; the lift summarily deposited people into a corridor with several doors and a large entrance hatch at one end, comprising the entire of S4.

Admiral Samuels was noting this absently as she stepped off the elevator that had just stopped its silent journey. A few lower-grade Naval personnel stepped to the sides of the corridor and saluted; the Admiral did the same as she walked along the corridor and stopped by the main entrance hatch, pausing with her hand just short of the access panel.

She was still angered from Farrow’s visit the day before, however the boiling fury had distilled into a bitter dislike of the man by this point. Orders were orders, and whatever (or whoever, Jessica thought grimly) that had persuaded the Goddess (Praise her) that the launch should be on schedule was irrelevant. The Admiral had to make it happen, and she had turned her mind to this with as much clarity as possible.

One of the other doors slid open, and a white-coated man stepped out into the corridor. He paused and saluted, his rank pins denoting a Navy Lieutenant. “Praise the Goddess,” he said ritually, and waited for the Admiral to do the same before walking across. “Can I help you with something, M’am?”

Jessica smiled. “Hello Jack, is he done?” She gestured to the closed main hatch.

Lieutenant Jack Azores glanced at his palm computer. “Yeah, the tests are just coming to an end.”

The Admiral leant against the doorframe. The motors of the air circulators hummed comfortingly. “How’s it going?”

The scientist sighed wearily; he’d been working for most of the last 48 hours. Jessica wasn’t sure how she could tell him about the schedule change.

“Well, the simulator has clocked the thrust out at around fifty gees at full power.” He glanced up from his notes. “That’s just the simulator, of course. I’d say we’d get between 40 to 45 gees when we actually launch in four days.”

The Admiral hesitated. “Actually, the day after tomorrow.” She briefly explained the situation, much to the disbelief of the scientist, whose face fell with every moment of speech.

The Admiral was interrupted from her unpleasant conversation by the hatchway sliding open. She turned and stepped back as the Pilot stepped out.

Unified Military Force Major Spike Tamworth was the only person on the base not dressed in Navy grey. Nor indeed did he wear the Army Green either. The six-foot dark-haired ex-Army pilot was dressed in a black uniform with the Lunar Pandora flag on the left breast.

Tamworth had always been someone to try new things. Even as a child he was always wandering off, attempting to get into this scrape or another to see what it was like. He had been an Army experimental pilot back when the Greens had controlled spacecraft research before the Navy was chartered. Since then, he had been the only serviceman officially part of the Unified Military Force; the next step for the Lunar Pandora military.

Tamworth saluted the Admiral. “Praise the Goddess,” he said smartly. Despite being a combined military force serviceman, the Supreme Diocese had decreed that Admiral Samuels was superior in terms of rank to the Army Generals. Something that had not pleased Winston…

Jessica returned the salute. “Follow me,” she said. The two military officers walked back into the elevator, and Samuels pushed the button for the CC.

“Major, you launch in two days,” she announced suddenly.

Spike blinked, suddenly caught off-guard. “I’m sorry, Ma’am?”

Jess looked at him. “The Goddess – Praise her- has been persuaded to launch on schedule.”

Tamworth smiled. “Farrow, Ma’am?”

The Admiral looked at the pilot with a surprised expression. She had barely talked to him in the past, having been in different locations and on different ends of the same project. “You don’t like Farrow?” She enquired. “But you’re Army.”

Tamworth watched the lights flash by through the opaque glass of the elevator car sides. “With respect Ma’am, I’m not Army; I’m Unified Military Forces. And I don’t agree with the General,” he said after a moment’s careful thought. “Beg pardon Ma’am, but he’s a pole climber. He doesn’t want anything done that may be construed as good for the Empire unless he gets the credit for it.” Spike looked around. “That’s why he was so dead-set against the Navy being chartered.”

Jess smiled, finding that she was beginning to like this man already. “Can you launch on time?”

Tamworth sighed, licking his lower lip before pursing it. Then he grinned. “Orders are orders, Ma’am,” he said. “And if I can help in wiping the smile from the General’s Five Star face, then it’s all the better.”

The Admiral grinned back as they car slowed to a halt. “Well, we better discuss the details then,” she said, and ushered him off the car.

(OOC: Okay, next post will be the launch. Then, if passing ships want to detect it and do a “First Contact” type situation, then I think that would be fun. :D )

OOC: I'll join in when you post the lauch. One of my ships will be passing through the sector

OOC: I'll join in when you post the lauch. One of my ships will be passing through the sector

OOC: Great, thanks for the interest. :D

OOC: It's alright. You've got a good skill. I try to encourage newbies, no offense

OOC: Sorry for the dissapearence, but I'm in the middle of revision for my A2 A-level exams. Here's quite a long post))

Time Minus four hours until Launch.

“Spike!”

The video screen fuzzed momentarily, and Spike leant forward and slapped the side of the LCD display, bringing the focus back into clarity and smiling at the clearer picture of her sister’s grin. “Sorry about that, Lucy; the system’s been a bit crap recently?” He paused a moment. “How ya bin?”

Lucy put down her datapad off screen to the left; Spike assumed she had been moving furniture around again. Aside from her professional career in the Civil Service of the Lunar Prometheus City Diocese, she was an ardent DIY fanatic and constantly moved furniture in her home around in order to add new fixtures, much to the frustration of her husband.

“Well, y’know the Diocese.” She sighed, putting her chin into her palm and leaning on the sill that her monitor was displayed on. “The more things change, the more things stay the same.”

Spike pursed his lips. “Still getting pressure from the City Council?” Seeing her nod, he sighed in annoyance. “I’ve told you what I think you should do about those bureaucrats.”

Lucy tilted her head and raised her eyebrow; a look she always gave her brother when he had said something completely irrational. “Yeah, but if I want to keep my job, then I better not-” she hesitated from saying, “attack them” – Spike had said it in-person as a frustrated joke, but the Diocese monitored all transmissions. “I better not,” she just finished instead. Then Lucy brightened up. “Anyway, you’ve got this launch soon, how’re you feeling?”

Spike sighed, and leant forward towards the monitor. “Nervous as Hell,” he admitted with a rueful grin. “I’ve done a lot of stuff, but this is nothing like anything before.”

Lucy smiled back. “You’ve flown experimental transport craft, you’ve ridden engines with seats strapped to them, and when you were with the Army you regularly ran new Wagon units through bandit territory.” She shrugged. “This should be a walk in the park.”

Tamworth nodded in admittance. “Fair point, but it’s the precedent.” He glanced up at the diagram on the wall of the ‘Pandora 1’; the sleek rocket craft with its widened rear third that housed the new reactor. Spike grinned. “If this works, then it could be the start of a new era.”

Lucy grinned. “You’re too dramatic, not to mention too religious.”

Spike looked back down at the monitor and brushed his fringe back through his fingers. His dark hair matched the black flight suit he wore, silver crescent on the breast and the initials U-M-F below. His silver pips denoting a Major shone and reflected the overhead lighting. He grinned, folding his arms. “You do as much stupid stuff as me,” he said, “and you take everything you can get.” He stood up. “If the Goddess – Praise her – can help me with her blessing, then who am I to argue?” He glanced at his watch. “I gotta go.”

Lucy smiled. “Okay, Spike, I love you.” She then saluted him. “Praise the Goddess.”

=<>=

Time Minus two hours, twenty minutes until Launch.

“Admiral!”

Samuels turned her head, not ceasing in her pace. She had eventually grown used to the fact that she could keep walking whenever people addressed her and they would catch up – unless they were from an equivalent or higher rank, of course.

This time, it was just a lowly Ensign, his grey uniform insignia declaring him a member of the Fort Athena Diocese Liaison Office. Samuels grimaced involuntarily; she hated having to deal with the Diocese officials. Jessica realised that she, as an officer in Her Holinesses’ Navy, was simply a tool for the machinations of the state and the will of the Goddess – Praise her – but she still got an occasional surge of idealism when speaking with these liaison officers, feeling that they were getting in the way of her primary role; defending the Empire. “What do you want, Ensign?”

The young man caught up to her and matched her pace. He obviously looked uneasy. “Sorry Ma’am, but the Supreme Diocese want to press their wishes that the launch take place on time.”

Jess frowned as they turned a corner. Two personnel stepped out of her way and saluted. “Of course it’s launching on time, why wouldn’t it be?”

The Ensign nearly tripped once and recovered, his face flushing in embarrassment. “There was some talk that the launch may be later than planned.”

Samuels sighed. ’Farrow.’ She paused and turned to the officer. “Tell the Diocese to stop listening to my rivals; we’ll launch on bloody time.” She snapped. The Ensign looked taken-aback momentarily, before saluting and walking quickly back down the corridor.

Time Minus Twenty minutes until Launch

Fort Athena was a complex of six launch silos laid out in a five-pointed star with a single, slightly larger silo at the centre. Unlike the others, this one was not merely a landing pad; this was used by the Navy to launch experimental spacecraft. And this was currently where ‘Pandora 1’ was positioned.

http://img109.echo.cx/my.php?image=pandora16us.png

The craft stood thirty metres high, sitting upon a booster stage that made up about a third of that length. Several arms stretched from the Silo walls to connect wires and tubing to the sides of the rocket, filling the booster stage with Propellant and pumping Hydrogen and Antihydrogen into reactor fuel pods.

Samuels stepped into the control room and made her way past several banks of computer operators to the front of the Launch Control Centre to the Observation Compartment. Dressed in full grey dress uniform and medals, she was hoping to make a good impression on Supreme Admiral Jonathon Miller.

Miller was a short man, barely above five feet in stature, but what he lacked in height he made up more than his share in power. The Supreme Admiral was one of three people who directly spoke to the Goddess – Praise Her – and directly advised the running of the nation. Only three people were allowed even to speak to the ruler of Lunar Pandora; the Supreme Admiral of the Navy, the Supreme General of the Army and the Supreme Bishop of the Diocese.

As Samuels entered the Observation Compartment, she noted Miller was sitting in one of the two grey cushioned seats at the front of the OC and, much to her dismay, next to General Farrow. Jessica controlled her annoyance at being usurped as she took a seat in the rank behind the other military officers. “Supreme Admiral, Sir.”

Farrow glanced around and smiled in a gloating way as Miller nodded absently without looking away from the Pandora 1. Samuels and Farrow were always rivals, but this time the stakes were unbelievably high. In a weeks time, Supreme Admiral Glen Miller would be recommending to the Goddess – Praise Her – who he believed should be made the head of the Unified Military Forces when it would officially encompass both wings of the Armed Forces. The Supreme Commandantship was up for grabs, and neither wanted to let it go.

Farrow was explaining something about the fuel transfer system, leaning over and explaining to the Supreme Admiral in a loud voice designed to annoy Samuels. She ignored it, instead looking out of the OC windows at her newest child being readied to spread its wings for the first time. The surge of idealism went through her momentarily as she looked down towards the base of the thirty metre high rocket and paused as her eyes settled on the bulky figure stepping out of one of the main doors. She saluted the figure with a simple raise of the hand; the unofficial sign of respect in the Navy.

Spike returned the compliment. He was able to move quite easily within the confines of the bulky space suit, but it was still uncomfortable. He had just got through a boring three hours of being pressurised within the suit. The designers of the Pandora had come unstuck in working out how to protect the pilot of the rocket from the massive acceleration forces that would occur when the test drive was initiated, and had eventually decided to pressurise the pilot within a suit and hook up a computer system to adjust the pressures around the pilot to match those in the cockpit outside. The disadvantage was that, should the suit rupture, the pilot would explode like a balloon. Spike had checked his suit eight times for weak points before accepting it was safe to adorn.

He walked across the metal plating, making no footfalls in the padded boots her wore. Several ground crew saluted him as he climbed into the lift with two technicians and pushed the switch to take them skyward.

Samuels watched the man ascend towards the top of the craft in silence. Her mind was racing at this point; if this went okay, then she would get most of the credit for the success. She smiled a little at the back of Farrow’s head, who was still rambling to the Supreme Admiral in technical details that she had told Farrow originally. She glanced back at the rocket.

Spike was being helped through the cockpit hatch at this point. The two aides climbed either side of the vessel and assisted the Major in sitting down so he was staring at the Silo door a further fifty feet above him. They strapped him in, and one aide patted him on the shoulder. Spike gave the thumbs-up sign, waited until they were clear of the cockpit and then reached forward and pulled back on a hand-grip lever. The cockpit canopy sealed over him, and numerous visible locks clunked into the closed position around the rim of the glass. The lights above him on the upper console went from red to green and bleeped comfortingly.

“Pressure seal tight,” Spike said into his suit’s commlink. He flexed his fingers within the sealed white glove and then inspected it closely, fearing he saw a stress point. He was incorrect and relaxed a moment later, but the thoughts of him exploding like a bubble still lingered.

The muffled voice of the Ground Controller gratefully distracted him. “That’s a Green on that, Major; our computers show the same. Fuel transfers are complete. Tee-Minus ten minutes to launch.”

The minutes ticked past, and Spike took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Up in the OC, Samuels was doing the same. Commlink voices in the control room echoed in the background.

“This is Flight Director to all Controllers, give a green or red on launch.”

Several voices chimed out “green” over the commlink with their individual designations, and Jessica tensed a little. This was it.

“Flight Director to Silo Control, depressurise and open main doors.”

Inside the cylindrical launch bay, several red lights began rotating, and a low, urgent alarm began buzzing across the bay. Several ground crew hurried to the bay exits as the speakers crackled.

“All ground crew to exit Silo One. Depressurisation in twenty seconds, I repeat…”

Several moments later, the bay was clear and the alarms silenced, although the lights continued flashing. Spike looked up through the cockpit glass and at the wide silo exit that clunked several times and began opening. There was an audible rush of air for several moments as the atmosphere was sucked into the barren darkness of Pandora’s surface, and then everything was silent.

The seconds continued counting. Spike flexed his fingers again in his gloves. His mind was rushing at sixteen times speed, thinking back over checklists, flight procedures, exploding…
“Tee-Minus ten seconds to launch.” The voice interrupted him once more, and Spike exhaled before reaching his hand towards the console in front of him, hovering his finger over the ‘Motor Engage’ switch.

“…Seven, six…” the voice continued.

Spike grimaced.

“…five, four…”

Samuels caught her breath and glanced at Miller and Farrow, who were now looking directly at the Pandora 1, which had just begun opening its coolant valves and venting liquid nitrogen over the rocket motor nozzle.

“Two, one, zero, engage motors.”

Spike punched the button with his finger and sat back as the cockpit started bucking like a freed horse. The three superior officers watched with rapt attention from the OC as Pandora 1 vented white hot flames from its overflow nozzles a second before the combusting fuel blew into the rocket nozzle and blew smoke into the bay.

“Motors running!” The Flight Director called over the commlink. “Gantry retracting!”

Several locking pylons on the access gantry unlocked and slid away from the shuddering monster it had caged. The main access elevator slid away on small engines and left the craft balancing on its own power for a split second before the propulsion system pushed Pandora 1 spaceward.

Samuels stood up from her seat, shielding her eyes as the rocket engines passed the tinted windows of the Observation Compartment with little noise apart from the audible rattling of the glass. She then took a breath; it was off the ground, but the next part was the hardest.

“General Farrow, Supreme Admiral,” she said, looking to the two men. “If you’d follow me to the Control Room.”

High above them, Spike gritted his teeth as the rocket shook violently around him. The Orbital Guidance Computer came online as they left the Silo door and was already adjusting the pitch of the Pandora 1 to achieve an elliptical orbit. The Major watched the Orbital Display as the Apoapsis moved steadily away from the grey circle of Pandora and began to rise. “Orbital pitch looks good,” Spike reported. He glanced across at the motor controls, studying them momentarily. “Orbit at fifty kilometres in twenty seconds.”

The craft was almost horizontal in its pitch by now. Already, the OGC was adjusting the craft’s direction to allow a Transfer burn towards Titan. Spike mentally counted the seconds before verbalising his thoughts as the counter passed through ten. “Shutdown in eight, seven, six…” He reached across his hand and gripped the hand lever next to his seat marked ‘fuel cut’, tensing his forearm momentarily. “…Three, two, one…” With one motion he pulled back, and the hand lever jerked towards him. The rumbling ceased. “And shutdown, we have shutdown.”

Inside the Control Room, twenty people seemed to collectively sigh in relief. Smiling, Miller turned to the Flight Controller. “How long until the test?”

The FC glanced at his monitor, switching the display to the information he required. “Five minutes until transfer point, Sir.” He looked up. “We’ll begin start-up procedures in two.”

The Supreme Admiral smiled again. “Excellent.” He turned, and walked across to the front of the Control Room, his footfalls near silent on the grey carpeting. He paused behind Samuels, who was looking up intently at the display on the wall. “Jessica, can I talk to you?”

The Admiral jumped and turned. “Certainly, Supreme Admiral.” She composed herself quickly; she had been watching the status of the craft very closely – this could make or break her.

Miller glanced up at the display Samuels had been interested in. “Everything seems to be going well,” he remarked. Then he looked down at the Admiral. “If everything goes according to plan, we will have to talk about your future.”

Samuels suppressed a smile. She could see Farrow staring intently at her out of the corner of her eye. “Thank you, Sir.” She saluted. “Praise the Goddess.”

They were distracted at that moment by the large speakers that blared out Spike’s voice from high in orbit. “Control, Pandora 1, I’m ready to begin start-up procedures.”

The FC took a breath and sat down at his console. “That’s a Green, Pandora 1, we’re ready to begin. Stand by for checklist.”

Up in orbit, Spike was looking out the window. Pandora was on the outskirts of Saturn’s rings, guarding the entrance to the phenomenon. The scene was beautiful; the rings gleamed in the reflected light like a shining halo of silver around the rich yellow-brown of Saturn’s atmosphere. Spike spent a few seconds just looking at the sight, thinking about how long it took them to get here, all the work and development it had took. Now, they were ready to take the next step.

“Standing by,” he said a moment later, and then turned to the cockpit controls.

“Bring Transition Computers online and calculate,” the FC called.

Spike leaned across and punched in a key code. One of the monitors on his console changed to display the new console. The Major then selected ‘Program One’, and the computer took a few moments to calculate the transition orbit, the burn point and duration. “TC online, transition calculated.”

The FC took a moment to respond; Spike assumed he was checking the procedures. “Fuel Computers online.”

Spike flicked a switch on the upper left of his panel where the fuel controls were. “Fuel Computers online.” The indicators for Matter/Antimatter flow lit up and steadied at zero.

“Release first stage booster.”

Spike glanced over the left of his seat and gripped a second hand lever. Twisting it left, he pulled back and the Pandora 1 shuddered. The Major glanced in the rear mirror and saw the stage falling away. “Booster released.”

The FC visibly took a breath. This was the dangerous part. “Bring Magnetic Directors online.”

Spike punched in a second key code and studied the fuel controls. The Magnetic Directors were one of the most important parts of the reactor; electromagnetic strips set inside the Core that directed the Matter/Antimatter flow to an impact part at the centre of the Reactor and then out through the exhaust nozzle, as opposed to simply exploding in any direction and destroying the vessel. “Magnetic Directors online,” he reported. “Magnets steady.”

“Release First Safety.”

Spike turned to his right and consulted the ‘Safety’ panel. With a single finger, he flicked three sets of switches down and consulted the green lights that came online. “First Safety released.” The fuel controls showed the Hydrogen fuel pod opening its first of two seals.

“Release Second Safety.”

Spike repeated the procedure with a second set of switches and studied the lights. Antihydrogen seal released. “Second Safety.”

“Release Third Safety.”

Spike took a moment to hesitate. This was the one. He then flicked the final three switches and pushed the ‘Commit’ button. “Third Safety.” He studied the board. “Hydrogen pod opened, Antihydrogen pod opened.” He leant back. “Ready to make contact.”

Everything was quiet. The tension was huge. After a moment, the FC came on. “You have authorisation to make contact.”

Spike exhaled and watched the Transition Computer display. “Roger, transfer point in five, four, three…” he reached across and held his finger over the engage switch on the fuel controls. “…Two, one, commit.” He punched the button.

For a moment, there was total silence. Spike thought for a second that the reactor had failed. He gritted his teeth and half-waited for his death in an immense ball of fire. Then, there was a terrific explosion.

The Pandora 1 leapt forward like an unleashed stallion as Hydrogen met Antihydrogen and combusted in a huge flash of blinding light. Spike was pushed back into his seat and swore; he would have been crushed had his pressurised suit not automatically adjusted to outside pressures and protected his fragile body from the fifty gee acceleration. The velocity indicator shot forward at an unreadable rate, and several warning alarms sounded as the central computer identified areas of stress appearing on the craft’s hull. Then, in a few moments, it stopped.

Spike took a few breaths, his head spinning, eyesight blurry. He blinked a few times and waited for his sight to clear, before exhaling and leaning forward to check his controls.

The TC had cut the reactor flow at the correct duration time and was showing a successful transfer orbit to Titan. Spike grinned and reported this. “Speed is five thousand, five hundred and ninety three Miles per Second. Time until Titan is two hours.”

Inside the Control Room, everyone was cheering. The FC was leaning forward on his console and smiling, leaning his head into his hand. Miller was grinning like a small child. Samuels was looking in a gloating way at Farrow.

The FC switched on his microphone. “That’s a Green, Pandora 1. Congratulations.”

Up in space, Spike grinned, staring up out of the window at the darkness of space as Pandora drifted away in the rear mirror, and felt alive.

bump

Keff finished his workout on the weight resistance bench and resecured it. Then he walked into the galley and got his protein drink. At forty-seven he was among the older brawns in Centrals service but he took good care of himself and was in better shape than many of the younger men. He ran a hand through his light brown hair and walked back into the main cabin.

“Anything interesting?” he asked as he look at Carrialle.

“If you define interesting as amoeba life forms and yet more minerals and metals then yes”, she replied.

He sighed and sat down on the couch, which is a soft tan color as is the rest of the room, which Central considered psychologically pleasing. “What’s our next jump?” he asked.

“Well”, came Carrialle’s reply, “the next stop for the probe was system J-735, but it flew past another system on they way that looked interesting.”

“Let me see”, Keff said leaning forward.

Carrialle brought up a system with the holographic system in the center of the room. “Nine planets with an asteroid belt between the fourth and fifth planets. The outer three are largely frozen, the fifth and sixth are gas giants. The first one is a rock, to close to the sun. The second has cloud cover, life possible and the fourth has evidence of trenches, possible from water, low possibility of life, though doubtful, at least now. The third has a high probability. Oxygen in the atmosphere, ozone layer, cloud cover. High water area but plenty of land. Also evidence of pollution indicating some form of society, though indigenous or settlers is unknown.”

“Traffic?”, Keff asked.

“No evidence of interstellar traffic, no detection of inner system traffic, though the probe didn’t get close enough to scan for evidence of that”, Carrialle replied.

“What’s our time looking like?” he asked.

“We’re ahead of schedule by almost seven days”, came her reply as she begin changing their course, waiting for him to pick a final area to jump to as she already knew that he was going to stop and look.

“Let’s have a look”, he said, and studied the system. “We’ll jump in here”, he told her, pointing at point near the heavily ringed gas giant between the planet and it’s moons. If they have detection equipement then we may be able to pull off the jump point as some naturally occurring situation.”

“I’ve plotted our jump, ready to make the transition when you are.”

“Already”, he asked, looking toward her.

“I knew you were going when you asked our time factor”, she told him.

He grinned and walked back to the galley to dispose of the remains of his protein drink then went to the cockpit and sat down, strapping himself in. “No time like the present”, he said, looking back toward her, “may as well have a look now.”

Carrialle prepared the jump and opened the singularity point. She dove in, the multiple possiblilities of what could be and what was collapsing behind her as she rode the singularity from point A to point B, defying Einstein’s laws and making the journey far faster then the scientist would have imagined.

On the far side space seemed to explode and then collapse after Carrialle flew from the singularity and into normal space. That was when the proximity alarms rang.

“Great GHU”, she gasped and altered her course as the small vessel propelled toward her like a missle, missing it by mere feet, which in space was far to close for comfort. She quickly cut the engines before her drives crisped the ship and her shield flared as it’s drives kissed the ships skin. Once they had passed each other she scanned the ship, “One life sign, seems okay, so does the ship, though I don’t know if our close proximity altered it’s trajectory. Should I jump clear?”

Keff thought about that a minute and then shook his head, “Too late, they know we’re here. Track it’s trajectory and see if it makes sense or if we may have possibly put it off course.”