Weyr
16-05-2005, 00:48
Thread for all things associated with the FDK that don't warrant their own individual threads right now. Responses welcome, as always, and yes, there are ways to always do something. As always, no random invasions, terrorist strikes, blockades, threats, or other blatant idiocy. Wiki section on the relevant matter will be up in a few days if anyone needs it, but the thread should be fairly self-explanatory. TG or ask on IRC if necessary.
1.0
Shipbuilding
Kira had made a point of appearing to be informed about everything that went on under her jurisdiction, as well as some things that were not. There was the ascension ceremony to plan, ministers to select, a series of bills from both legislative houses to research, but slowly the pile of her day's work dwindled, and she found herself digging into a white carton of japanese take out, slightly sprinkling the minutes of the Self Defence Force Planning Commission meeting from the day before.
Kira did not bother to spy on anyone she took an interest in. There were a wide range of local laws against government surveilance, and soon a national-level measure would prevent any organization from spying on anyone within the FDK. There were better ways to get information on government affairs, anyway. A ministry that did not comply with regulations to make its plans public and 'forgot' to publish its proceedings faced Consequences. Kira's decapitation of the Ministry of Finance following a brief media scandal made most government officials wary of hiding something from the new High King.
The Self Defence Force Planning Commission was interested in a new space station. This made it the second ministry to file a request through the High King. The SDFPC was taking the quieter route of discussing the issue while knowing she'd take interest, along with a dozen special interest groups and thousands of pubNet board users.
There was a lack of spacial assets, as Admiral Lancer had stated. It wasn't something Kira or anyone else had cared about, not with a war raging both inside the Kingdom and outside it. Even after they had eliminated the Revolution, the demons had kept most of the FDK occupied with affairs on Terra.
"Interesting," she mumbled, deftly maneuvering rice with a pair of cheap wood chopsticks. So there'd be military and economic support. Maybe even international investment if they made the station big enough....No. She was thinking too big. The FDK was not the Old Kingdom. It did not have a dozen mining worlds to draw upon for resources. Earthbound already needed replacement; and a station or Mars would have to be constructed soon. Cost analysis, structural assessment, mission compatibility, effectiveness studies, even before the project got underway, she found herself already compiling a list of things to get done.
Kira reread the printed pages, making sure she did not miss anything. There were still more things to go through, and it was almost midnight. She put the papers on top of the short 'review later' stack, and picked up the next item -- a response from Mephet'ran -- and tipped the greasy carton over, sending remnants of her lunch/dinner all over the stained, wide desk.
3.0
Martian Eye
Bounce, Joachim Mizashi poked the satellite.
Silence, echoed back at him through the empty data net. He stretched in his seat, glanced at the visual representations of the ebbs and flows of etheric lines.
Bounce, he shot another inquiry. Establish the damn connection, you stupid.... He'd need to go up there, again, if there was no response. Nothing had seemed to work this time; not the data network, not the radiation hardening, and not even the rudimentary repeater installed on the frame of Marsbound.
Data network synchronization initialized, please stand by.
Joe slammed the hard reset switch.
Okay, what just happened? Rivka asked, though-images of drowsiness accompanying the words. Did you screw up the data feed?
No; go back to sleep.
Meanie, she pouted, feeling of mock indignation seeping through empty space. Fine, be that way. But if the sat isn't online in, argh, what? thirty minutes, we're not getting paid.
I can handle it. he responded quickly.
Ardo's coming, Rivka noted sullenly. And he won't be happy, either,and dropped from the network. Bloody bastards, she muttered, turning over in her sack, the nearest equivalent to a bed she had in null gravity. Must be a virus or something, she sniffed, wiping her nose on the sheet. She'd need to get it washed anyway, and it wasn't like there was anyone besides her and the junior tech in this tin can.
"Okay, I need your help," Joe's voice came from the small speaker 'above' her, then 'below' her as she turned away from it. "You there?"
Yeah, she linked back into the data network. No sleep for her, it seemed.
Looks like the BIOS is jammed--
So tow it in fix it, Rivka shrugged, the analog accompanying her words. Joe's data feed always seemed so plain, almost as though he didn't know how to properly talk. Sure, he was great in person, but how the hell did you expect to communicate when you were a few thousand kilometers away from the nearest living being for a few weeks?
Well...
Its backup is shot as well, yes? she sighed, struggling out of her sleeping sack, grasping a handhold to vault towards the cable-lined passageway to the control center. "Your net speech is horrendous, by the way," she grinned some few seconds and thirty meters later, a flash of white teeth and countless freckles. "Are you going out, or should I?"
"I'll go," he said quickly. "Your suit's still dead, isn't it?"
"Your rad counter's almost full," Rivka noted, dropping into the second control seat. "I'll go."
"But..."
"No buts," she leaned over the seat arm to press a slender finger against his lips. "Can't have you screw up, now can I?" she grinned again.
***
“Your umbilical is showing point-three flux,” Joe’s voice whispered in her ear. “But I don’t think it’s a problem. Debris field at one-two-eight, should be on screen…”
“Joe,” Rivka interrupted him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve done this enough times. Don’t worry. Just do me a favor and don’t trip the inductors.”
“Right,” he smiled despite himself. “Well, I’ve got nothing on actives here, just in case.”
There were two ways to repair a satellite. One could get close and guide it in with its own thrusters, or one could go out and fix it in an exosuit. When a satellite didn’t respond to any commands, the only option was to take one of the heavy-duty giant robots some thousand kilometers or so to the troublesome piece of tech and fix it on site, assuming it was fixable.
Rivka fed power to her suit’s impellers, heard the whine of energy flowing to patterned coils, felt the thrum of her fusactor’s shaft accelerating. If the damn thing had managed to come down with a core failure, she was going to shoot someone in logistics, she muttered. No one could really prosecute her for doing a public service, hopefully. She chuckled at the thought.
“Tell me again who chose to put unshielded sats up here?” she asked absently, homing in on the satellite’s beacon. “Because I swear I’m going to shot the bastard.”
“Huh,” Joe wasn’t listening.
“Nevermind,” she scratched behind her ear, let her target lock engage the satellite. Her optics already showed two holes in the mitaril alloy hull at three kilometers away. Another thirty million down the drain for Instel, and she had to get all the working equipment out of it and get back before her link got snapped by someone's stray shell. "I really, really hate Mars," she muttered, launching forward at a constant one gee acceleration.
1.0
Shipbuilding
Kira had made a point of appearing to be informed about everything that went on under her jurisdiction, as well as some things that were not. There was the ascension ceremony to plan, ministers to select, a series of bills from both legislative houses to research, but slowly the pile of her day's work dwindled, and she found herself digging into a white carton of japanese take out, slightly sprinkling the minutes of the Self Defence Force Planning Commission meeting from the day before.
Kira did not bother to spy on anyone she took an interest in. There were a wide range of local laws against government surveilance, and soon a national-level measure would prevent any organization from spying on anyone within the FDK. There were better ways to get information on government affairs, anyway. A ministry that did not comply with regulations to make its plans public and 'forgot' to publish its proceedings faced Consequences. Kira's decapitation of the Ministry of Finance following a brief media scandal made most government officials wary of hiding something from the new High King.
The Self Defence Force Planning Commission was interested in a new space station. This made it the second ministry to file a request through the High King. The SDFPC was taking the quieter route of discussing the issue while knowing she'd take interest, along with a dozen special interest groups and thousands of pubNet board users.
There was a lack of spacial assets, as Admiral Lancer had stated. It wasn't something Kira or anyone else had cared about, not with a war raging both inside the Kingdom and outside it. Even after they had eliminated the Revolution, the demons had kept most of the FDK occupied with affairs on Terra.
"Interesting," she mumbled, deftly maneuvering rice with a pair of cheap wood chopsticks. So there'd be military and economic support. Maybe even international investment if they made the station big enough....No. She was thinking too big. The FDK was not the Old Kingdom. It did not have a dozen mining worlds to draw upon for resources. Earthbound already needed replacement; and a station or Mars would have to be constructed soon. Cost analysis, structural assessment, mission compatibility, effectiveness studies, even before the project got underway, she found herself already compiling a list of things to get done.
Kira reread the printed pages, making sure she did not miss anything. There were still more things to go through, and it was almost midnight. She put the papers on top of the short 'review later' stack, and picked up the next item -- a response from Mephet'ran -- and tipped the greasy carton over, sending remnants of her lunch/dinner all over the stained, wide desk.
3.0
Martian Eye
Bounce, Joachim Mizashi poked the satellite.
Silence, echoed back at him through the empty data net. He stretched in his seat, glanced at the visual representations of the ebbs and flows of etheric lines.
Bounce, he shot another inquiry. Establish the damn connection, you stupid.... He'd need to go up there, again, if there was no response. Nothing had seemed to work this time; not the data network, not the radiation hardening, and not even the rudimentary repeater installed on the frame of Marsbound.
Data network synchronization initialized, please stand by.
Joe slammed the hard reset switch.
Okay, what just happened? Rivka asked, though-images of drowsiness accompanying the words. Did you screw up the data feed?
No; go back to sleep.
Meanie, she pouted, feeling of mock indignation seeping through empty space. Fine, be that way. But if the sat isn't online in, argh, what? thirty minutes, we're not getting paid.
I can handle it. he responded quickly.
Ardo's coming, Rivka noted sullenly. And he won't be happy, either,and dropped from the network. Bloody bastards, she muttered, turning over in her sack, the nearest equivalent to a bed she had in null gravity. Must be a virus or something, she sniffed, wiping her nose on the sheet. She'd need to get it washed anyway, and it wasn't like there was anyone besides her and the junior tech in this tin can.
"Okay, I need your help," Joe's voice came from the small speaker 'above' her, then 'below' her as she turned away from it. "You there?"
Yeah, she linked back into the data network. No sleep for her, it seemed.
Looks like the BIOS is jammed--
So tow it in fix it, Rivka shrugged, the analog accompanying her words. Joe's data feed always seemed so plain, almost as though he didn't know how to properly talk. Sure, he was great in person, but how the hell did you expect to communicate when you were a few thousand kilometers away from the nearest living being for a few weeks?
Well...
Its backup is shot as well, yes? she sighed, struggling out of her sleeping sack, grasping a handhold to vault towards the cable-lined passageway to the control center. "Your net speech is horrendous, by the way," she grinned some few seconds and thirty meters later, a flash of white teeth and countless freckles. "Are you going out, or should I?"
"I'll go," he said quickly. "Your suit's still dead, isn't it?"
"Your rad counter's almost full," Rivka noted, dropping into the second control seat. "I'll go."
"But..."
"No buts," she leaned over the seat arm to press a slender finger against his lips. "Can't have you screw up, now can I?" she grinned again.
***
“Your umbilical is showing point-three flux,” Joe’s voice whispered in her ear. “But I don’t think it’s a problem. Debris field at one-two-eight, should be on screen…”
“Joe,” Rivka interrupted him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve done this enough times. Don’t worry. Just do me a favor and don’t trip the inductors.”
“Right,” he smiled despite himself. “Well, I’ve got nothing on actives here, just in case.”
There were two ways to repair a satellite. One could get close and guide it in with its own thrusters, or one could go out and fix it in an exosuit. When a satellite didn’t respond to any commands, the only option was to take one of the heavy-duty giant robots some thousand kilometers or so to the troublesome piece of tech and fix it on site, assuming it was fixable.
Rivka fed power to her suit’s impellers, heard the whine of energy flowing to patterned coils, felt the thrum of her fusactor’s shaft accelerating. If the damn thing had managed to come down with a core failure, she was going to shoot someone in logistics, she muttered. No one could really prosecute her for doing a public service, hopefully. She chuckled at the thought.
“Tell me again who chose to put unshielded sats up here?” she asked absently, homing in on the satellite’s beacon. “Because I swear I’m going to shot the bastard.”
“Huh,” Joe wasn’t listening.
“Nevermind,” she scratched behind her ear, let her target lock engage the satellite. Her optics already showed two holes in the mitaril alloy hull at three kilometers away. Another thirty million down the drain for Instel, and she had to get all the working equipment out of it and get back before her link got snapped by someone's stray shell. "I really, really hate Mars," she muttered, launching forward at a constant one gee acceleration.