NationStates Jolt Archive

Imagine, if you will, a point in space where the rules just do not apply. Everything stops. Reality bends to rules that are just not of this world, folding in on itself, wrapping around in a point that barely has size.

But it is there.

And the absence of anything allowed for it to be measured. You just measure all around it and find the missing area.

The monitoring equipment was extremely sensitive, and tracking every bit of matter down past the subatomic level that entered the area was the function of a dedicated series of very powerful computers.

The point was wrapped in a sealed environment, with precisely known contents that never changed. Ever.

Until one day they did.

* * * * *

Fred Billig was an undergraduate physics major at Vanderbilt University (Griffin), and he had been looking to earn a little extra money. When he had signed up for Professor Keith’s special project, though, he had imagined something a little more exciting than watching a computer screen for six hours twice a week.

Oh well, there were audible alarms that went off if anything went wrong, and it was a good opportunity for free coffee and to get his homework done. No one really went to bed before eleven anyway in college, did they?

He took a sip of his coffee, though. Unfortunately, his homework had taken less time than he had planned on, and he was all caught up, with the next week’s assignments completed as well. There were definite advantages to being ahead in his classes, but frankly, there was only so far he was willing to go ahead. Now he was getting bored, though fortunately, Ashley Gibson would probably be here soon. She took the shifts immediately following his and tended to show up about half an hour early.

So that only meant he had to sit and stare at the displays for twenty minutes, maybe thirty at the most.

After ten minutes he had to get another cup of coffee. Without work or something interesting and fun to do, staying up past midnight was difficult when you woke up at seven in the morning for class starting at eight.

Ten minutes passed again, and Fred distractedly spun the dregs of the coffee in his cup, watching the screen without seeing it. The first beep brought him out of his stupor, though, and a smile broke out across his face. Ashley was here!

Someone to talk to, finally. After a few more beeps, the buzzer sounded harshly, and the door unsealed, letting the young woman into “The Cage” as it was known to the undergrads foolish enough to sign up for the Professor’s project, even if they would be listed in the articles if anything was published from it.

“Hey, Fred,” she said brightly, sounding disgustingly awake. “How’re you?”

“Fine,” he muttered back, tossing back the last of his coffee. “You?”

“Great, my parents were visiting and took me out to dinner. We went to Rae’s.”

Fred laughed. “They must miss you.”

“Well, I did go to local college the last two years, cause they couldn’t afford Vanderbilt.” The young man nodded. He recalled past conversations mentioning that she was at the premier science and engineering university in the Federation on a full academic scholarship. She looked around briefly, and saw his closed up shoulder bag. “No homework today?”

“All done,” he replied with a grin.

“Oh really? Do you think you could help me with number…” Whatever else she had been going to say was cut off by the alarm sounding. “Oh shit.” Her face pinked slightly when she cursed, but neither of them noticed.

There was silence for a moment, except for the alarm continuing to sound, then the movement began. Fred slammed his chair forward and began pulling up the different sensors. It was always possible a sensor had failed and that set off the alarm. Ashley began scrolling through the different readouts to determine what had happened to trigger the sensor.

“All the sensors are functioning,” Fred reported after a moment, having run the quickest possible diagnostic that the system would allow.

“Well,” Ashley began, “the EM test just reported a central beam failure.” The EM test was a directed stream of EM radiation with a set wavelength and amplitude that were large enough to encompass the irregularity. A central beam failure meant that the sensor directly opposite the irregularity was no longer reading the center of the stream. If, as Fred’s diagnostics indicated, it was working properly, it meant that the central beam was no longer reaching the opposite side of the containment unit.

Fred’s eyes grew wide. “See if you can find it, then. I’ll call Professor Keith.” The young woman nodded and sat down in the second chair the Cage had, beginning to rapidly cycle through the different screens by touch and typing.

* * * * *

By the time Professor Keith arrived, dressed in a bathrobe with his hair sticking out to one side and mismatched slippers, one of which was hopefully his wife’s, at least, Fred thought he was married, the two undergrads were fairly certain they had discovered the source of the problem.

The irregularity had grown from a point to a hole in spacetime. The overpressured atmosphere inside the containment vessel was steadily departing, and the entire stream of EM radiation was vanishing into the opening in the universe as well.

The students, knowing their professor well, waited until he asked for more details. “Vanessa,” he ordered after coding into the secure room, standing there. “Give me holodisplay Keith-Seven-Beta.”

The electronic intelligence who worked for the school, monitoring classrooms, labs, and a multitude of other concerns, did not bother to respond verbally. A huge hologram blinked on though, hovering in the air, and prompting the two students to push back in their chairs. Keith raised his hands up and began to fiddle with the display, which was a multicolored representation of the containment chamber. The colors cycled through different spectrums in response to his hand motions, and the man hummed softly, then smiled tightly.

“Alright, Mister Billig, Miss Gibson, tell me what you’ve found out so far.” The students began explaining quickly, as Keith continued to manipulate the display. After a few minutes, they wound down, not being experts by any stretch. “Alright, let’s try some things. Mister Billig, can you evacuate the atmosphere from the chamber? Miss Gibson, begin running the EM stream through test sequence Keith-EM-Zero-Gamma. Let’s see what we can find out.”

* * * * *

Some things, of course, were already known. Many years before, when the continent of Dor Lomin had first emerged into the current fractal reality, a small group of extremely powerful magicians known as Planeswalkers had come with them. After observing the violence and high intensity of the new world, particularly the use to which the Regional Alliance had put the mages, they had opened a portal and departed to another world, perhaps another universe, never to be seen or heard from again.

The irregularity was all that remained of them, in the exact spatial center of the portal that had been created, invisible and unknowable.

Fifty kilometers north of the Fuina landmass that made up the second largest island in the cluster there had once been an island, claimed by the Planeswalkers as their home, that was now gone. Hovering over the geographic center of where that island had been was the irregularity, almost a kilometer above the surface of the waves which had surged with intense violence at the disappearance of interruption, but had long since calmed down.

When the irregularity had first been discovered, the area had been cordoned off, preventing travel near it, and the containment system had been devised, hovering high over the waves, a lonely sentinel against something not understood, not with reality bending technologies or magic.

Until now, that had never been an issue.

* * * * *

Weeks went by – some of the most exciting weeks of Fred Billig’s life. First off, he started dating Ashley after their night in the laboratory with Professor Keith. Neither of them had gotten any sleep that night, and had missed their classes the next day.

It had been worth it.

Because the two of them had been present (and had responded appropriately, Keith had made very clear) when ‘The Event’ as the Professor had taken to calling it, he had included them in all the different sessions where experiments were run on the irregularity, sensing, if nothing else, a curiosity he believed could be honed into a genuine interest in the bleeding edge of physics.

The tests, as before, were inconclusive about the nature of the issue.

But the irregularity kept growing, expanding as more and more matter and energy slid into it, drifting in by deliberate experimentation or, as it grew, by accident.

Unfortunately, by the end of the first week the irregularity was too large for the containment vessel, and Professor Keith had to file paperwork with the government to explain what they knew and to request the expansion of the no-travel zone around the irregularity.

The request had been granted with-in thirty-six hours.

At the end of two months, the research team had concluded that they had done all they could remotely, and were debating other options for exploring the now eighty-seven meter diameter disk-shaped ripple in reality.

“Alright,” said Professor Keith, sitting at the head of the table, looking around at the two undergraduates, three graduate students, and an associate professor working with him on the project. “We seem to have exhausted our real options, and we’re not able to contain expansion any longer. Somehow, sending matter or energy into the anomaly increases its size, and so, while I would like to continue studying it, I think our priority must become causing the irregularity to close back up, rather than continuing to probe it and discover what makes it work. Ideas?”

“Well, given the difference in the expansion rate between our physical experiments and our EMG ones, I think it is fairly clear that we need to keep matter from traveling into it if at all possible,” one of the graduate students said calmly, and the second most senior person in the room blanched.

“It’s now eighty-seven meters across, a kilometer in the air, and fifty kilometers from the nearest dirt, so how exactly to you propose we keep a vacuum around it to prevent air from just drifting in?”

The young woman’s eyes flashed angrily in response to the abrasive professor. “I’m not sure, Professor. I’m perfectly cognizant of the difficulties involved.”

Keith broke in. “Vlad, Irene, calm down. Everyone is aware of the difficulties we’re facing, that’s why I want a free exchange of ideas. Nothing is to be excluded. Consider ways of keeping air away from the irregularity.”

“Could we use interceptor fields to project a field around the irregularity? Push air away?” Interceptor fields were a secondary defensive system built into Federation cities to intercept incoming missiles by projecting what was a essentially a small bubble of a SWD drive (the primary Federation aerospace drive, used in the thousands of starships operated by both private firms and the government) into the path of the target. When it hit, as usual, it vaporized, but well above the ground. They were used in cities because of the significantly degrading effect atmosphere had on defensive lasers, also used because lasers would not necessarily stop a kinetic bombardment.

Keith shook his head. “Not in the initial configuration. They only project fields for about a second at most.” He turned his gaze to one of the other graduate students, who was widely regarded as the techie of the group. “Do you think such a modification might be possible?”

The man shook his head. “Not really. I mean, they’re specifically designed for long rang projection, but maintaining a field would essentially require rebuilding the whole device. Especially since they’re really only designed to project a small arc of the total field and we would need something that completely enclosed the irregularity.”

When he paused, it was enough for Fred to break in. “Well, why not just use a complete drive field? Wrap it around the irregularity.”

Keith frowned, and the associate professor started to scoff, but the technically oriented graduate student smiled. “That would work, if we had a way to do it.”

“But,” the remaining grad student objected, “would it work? Could we project a drive field around the irregularity? Might it not just feed energy from the projection into the irregularity, thereby completely defeating the point of keeping the air out?”

Keith nodded. “That would be a problem, but we could probably angle the projectors to go around the irregularity rather than through it. Even still, the energy bleed into the irregularity would cause considerably less growth than the air that is traveling into it right now.” He smiled at the young undergraduate. “Excellent idea, Mister Billig. Vlad, Brian, look into acquiring what we need after the meeting. Miss Gibson, Mister Billig, you two work with Professor Cromarty. This is going to be expensive, but I imagine I’ll be filing another request for a grant from the government after this meeting.”

The senior researcher leaned back in his chair and examined the gathering. “Now, hopefully that should at least slow the growth of the irregularity if we can pull it off. Our real goal, on the other hand, is to stop, at the least, or preferably, reverse, the growth. Professor Cromarty and myself have run every experiment we can think of to probe the irregularity, so we need ideas.”

There was silence for a moment, then Ashley spoke up. “Well, we know that the Planeswalkers created it. Why don’t we arrange to have some mages probe the irregularity, since pure science doesn’t seem to be giving us an answer?”

Keith brightened up. “Of course! We’ve been treating this as pure physics investigation, completely ignoring the source of the problem. Excellent point, Miss Gibson. Irene, can you consult with…” He frowned. “Whoever it is we’re supposed to contact about these things?”

The only female graduate student smiled, trying to hide her amusement at the Professor’s forgetfulness of the contact. It was rare that this portion of the physics department dealt with that level of metaphyiscs. “Of course, Professor. Could I have Ashley’s assistance on that?” She smiled at the younger woman, who nodded fractionally back at her, saying she could handle it.

Keith nodded. “That’s fine, if it is alright with Miss Gibson. I don’t want to overload our younger team members.” He grinned a little evilly. “Finals will be coming up soon.”

The two undergraduates shuddered, then smiled tentatively back at the man. Fred spoke up. “If we continue along the vein that the irregularity is magically based, perhaps we should consider what it did. The Planeswalkers, as I understand it, used the portal to leave Earth, and possibly this entire dimension. Is it possible the connection still exists? Perhaps we could find some answers on the other side, if it does.”

The senior professor nodded again. “That is an excellent idea, Mister Billig. Donnie, could you look into the different types of probes we might be able to send through the irregularity. Concentrate on less expensive ones, at least at first, since I’d hate for them to just be disassociating when they reached the normal horizon if it isn’t really a portal of some type.”

“Of course, Professor.”

“You’ll work with Donnie on that, Mister Billig.” Fred nodded at the instruction. It hardly came as a surprise. With Professor Keith, if you had an idea, you were the one to do it. Or in the case of the undergraduates, observe someone who knew how to do it so that you could do it next time. “Is there anything else?” He waited a moment. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. You all have plenty to do, so let’s go do it, people.”

When the Professor stood, the meeting was over.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, despite some good ideas, it still took time to execute, especially as certain elements had to be custom designed. Time, unfortunately, was the one thing there was not an abundance of in this situation.

And well, making things quickly just made them more expensive. So the costs began to spiral out of control as the irregularity did the same thing. The thickness reached a full seven centimeters, but it began to grow even faster as it got bigger. The expansion rate was based on the travel of matter and energy into the irregularity, and as it got larger, more matter and energy could flow into it.

By the time the containment system was ready, the irregularity was over five hundred meters in radius, reaching down disastrously towards the open sea beneath it.

The framework looked like a very incomplete starship, long and low-slung, over five hundred meters in length, supporting nothing but the drive nodes, a simple computer core and FTL comm, four Goshawk-Nine fusion reactors, and a massive hydrogen bunker. The fusion reactors were the same reactors that powered the Federation’s massive space warship classes, the Capella-class dreadnaught and the Lance of Longinus-class Fleet Carrier.

Lowered from orbit by a dozen heavy lift shuttles, it was stationed very precisely just higher than its final altitude. The reason for this was that while the platform itself had an FTL communications node, courtesy of the government and Dragonstar Shipbuilding, the subcontracting shuttles did not, and so it would require that the platform fall clear of the shuttles’ tractor beams before the drive field began to rip up the air.

The maneuver had gone off perfectly, the drive field being moved into its final position with exacting care, directly opposite and ten meters clear of the horizon of the irregularity. The drive field had no trouble wrapping around the kilometer wide disk from there.

The unfortunate problem that arose was that this was not a perfect solution. Air, of course, remained within the drive field, even if no more could travel in, though the air inside was immune to pressure and weather effects that would cause its movement. The field’s energy also continued to feed the drive field, and there was a slight, if measurable, pressure drop just shy of the normal horizon, which caused the air to slowly flow towards it.

For some time, the small probes that the scientists began to send through returned results that made no sense, in that there was barely a resumption of signal from the before they stopped transmitting all together, as well as stopping to receive orders – especially orders to return through the irregularity.

Finally, at a suggestion from Professor Cromarty, they tied a rope around the next remote probe, and the other end of the rope around a second probe that would remain on this side of the irregularity so they could retrieve the probe traveling through, since it refused to return when given orders to do so.

The example was telling.

The returned probe was completely deactivated and drained of power. Alpinolo, the elf wizard who came to examine the irregularity for them, also looked at the probe and pronounced the damage the result of a magical anti-technology field. He assured them that anything that did not function on any sort of mechanical-electrical basis should continue to function within the field.

Unfortunately, probes of that variety did not exist within the Federation, nor did much technology of any type that functioned in that matter.

Alpinolo concluded, upon a very close examination of the field, while in an environmental suit to protect him from the low pressure, that something had prevented the dimensional portal the Planeswalkers had created from closing properly. He speculated that it was related to the fractal nature of the universe that the Federation now found itself in, but he had no way to confirm the hypothesis. What he could tell them is that the portal had somehow morphed into a rift, and was being maintained, mostly, from the other side. The constant supply of matter and energy from this side was helping, but the supporting magic was on the far side.

And no, there was no way in Hell he was going to go through and see if he could cancel it. If for no other reason, there was a very real possibility of being trapped on the other side.

They would need someone crazy.

It turned out all the professional crazies, ah, adventurers, in the Federation were, ah, busy this week. Or, at least, none of them wanted to go without their technical equipment.

The inherent difficulties of a high-tech society.

So the contacts went out, reaching out to other universities around the globe, looking for adventurers willing to take on an unknown challenge. A description of the irregularity and its history was included. No mention of it probably being a suicide mission ever arose.

When those who volunteered arrived, they arrived by way of the Griffin International Transportation Hub, a massive aerospace-surface port facility that stretched along the edge of the Federation Capital. The multikilometer tall towers were visible in the distance, and swiftly approached once the adventurers were met by undergraduate physics students attached to the project and loaded into aircars which sped through the air at hundreds of kilometers an hour.

The lightly armored, massive mountains of metal gleamed under the sun, transparisteel windows shining back as the aircars sped across the city at a full two kilometers of altitude.

The university was providing basic gear, and any gear that the adventurers brought with them easily fit into the cargo spaces at the rear of the aircars. They were introduced and a final briefing was given about the goals and the rewards – essentially, shut down whatever it was creating the rift, or, at the very least, the anti-magic field so that the Federation could send more explorers with heavier and advanced equipment to close the rift. Alternatively, though less acceptably, the group could merely stop the growth of the rift. They would be compensated fifty thousand Federation credits for the trip, with a twenty thousand credit bonus if they were fully successful. Additionally, any ‘treasure’ encountered on the other side was theirs to keep – unless it was directly related to the rift.

Lightweight pressure suits, with no electronic components, were provided for the trip into the rift. Compared to before, the framework hovering inside the bubble of the drive field now looked very unbalanced with the addition of a nine and a half meter platform that the aircars unloaded their passengers on to the next day. The platform stretched outward towards the rift, stopping about fifty centimeters from the surface. A long step, perhaps, but not impossible.

All around the adventurers was the gleaming blue glow of the drive field, but it was hopeful no one had any real issue with heights, because there was nothing but the drive field (which would at least prevent anyone who fell from hitting the surface, though, admittedly, they’d be converted to energy) between the platform and the water a kilometer below.

Before them was the roiling, seething mass of the rift, ripples of every imaginable color (and some that were not) fading into a pure black center as reality collapsed around it. The Federation science team was standing on the platform with the explorers, though well back and out of the way, available to answer any last minute questions or to carry away anyone who wanted to back out.

Briefed on the operation of the suits, the adventuring group would know that until they took the suit helmets off, they would need to physically touch two helmets together to allow the sound waves of their voices to propagate, and therefore, there was no way to communicate except by sign language without direct physical contact.

-----------------

OOC: I'm closing recruitment for this thread. I've talked to enough people to make up a decent sized crew.

Those of you who are invited already know who you are. Those who wish to join, send me a telegram with a description of what you think you can add to the story and I’ll decide. If you’re curious what I’m looking for, think ‘heroic’, but not ‘epic’. If you fool me and turn epic later on, you’ll probably die quickly. Fair warning. Or your character can be a complete screw up. That’s okay too.

Moving on to those of you who know you’re allowed to come along. Rather than deal with all the arrival and pre-mission nonsense, I’ve fast forwarded to the jumping off point. At this point, your characters know the names of everyone coming on the trip with them, as well as the names of everyone on the science team from Vanderbilt. They should know everything of importance to the mission mentioned already in the post above – you can assume a full layman’s briefing on the rift, unless you’re sending a physics and/or transport-magic professor, in which case it is a very detailed briefing with everything they know.

Which is, admittedly, not much.

Oh, one other note. I will be deciding certain events by random rolls. Yeah, that may suck for some people, but I will try to avoid having anyone really screwed by the dice.

Last rule: Have fun. If you stop having fun, say something. If you cause other people to not have fun, your character will probably die. Also, slow isn’t fun. If you aren’t posting at least once a week, your character will probably just get dragged along as Tail-End Charlie.

You can find me on the IRC channel or TG me if you have any questions.

Lord Thomas Harringford-Gregory-Chesterfield-Bruntington-Swithlington the Fourth sighed and sucked his teeth as he looked at the rift, he rubbed his fingers on his mutton chop whiskers and looked at it. He was a large bulky man with rotund features and a bulbous nose. He wasn’t brilliantly fit, but not brilliantly unfit either. He wore a pith helmet and khaki clothing in layers, as they were unsure as to the weather on the other side of this rift.

“What a funny thing it is.” he said simply as he took a sip from a cup of tea, with a saucer he was holding. “Don’t you think Alfred?”

The large pile of bags next to him coughed, and a thin figure with a long pointed nose stuck out from underneath a small bag. “Yes milord. Quite strange.” he said simply.

“Wonder if there’s anything of any real magical properties on the other side…” Swithlington mused as he looked at it swirling again, raising an eyebrow slightly when he saw a greenish-pink.

“Probably sir, but that’s why we have all these bags.”

“Hmmm.” Switlington said as he sipped his tea again.

They both stared at the swirling vortex. Both frowning and looking at it, and at the people around them.

“Rifle!” Swithlington barked suddenly, throwing his cup and saucer to Alfred.

The bags exploded as Alfred moved into action with incredible speed, from a couple of long bags came a pair of weapons, a massive elephant gun-like weapon with some runes down the barrel in gold leaf. They were largely from a Birchestese tribe meaning “Good Hunting” and “Safe passage.” A second rifle, held by Alfred was much smaller, wood finish and had a boxy magazine underneath. The bags were suddenly thrown back onto the man-servants back in a rather worrying pile that swayed side to side gently.

“So! When we getting to the off?” Swithlington said as he grinned. Alfred simply sighed quietly as the bags swayed again.

The sky was a color of neon blue that Enuti had never seen before, a clear, perfect blue that crackled and rippled with deeper tones. He knew, intellectually, that it was not the actual sky, but his heart told him another thing altogether. Surrounded by the immensity of the field, the young man from the jungle stared at the one thing that was not backed by the cleansing cyan bubble of what he was told was a ‘drive field’ – the rift itself. Staring into the swirling, multicoloured depths of the edges brought out a nausea in his stomach that vanished into a primitive fear of the dark when he gazed into the perfect night of the center of the rift.

Yet, in a strange way, that very terror that threatened to reduce his now civilized exterior to the gibbering superstition of his primitive forefathers also called to him, beckoning him to charge headlong and confront it, teeth bared, hands raised, guns blazing. To go on, no matter what threatened, no matter what fear drove you to turn around.

The darkness awoke that in him... but it was hardly the first time, and he would confront it now willingly. To stand before, and against, the darkness... and once more, win. Be it confidence, courage, or suicidal tendencies that drove him, he knew, standing on that platform a kilometer over the ocean, that once more he faced a challenge that would be worthy of him. The real question was, though, would he be worthy of it?

He glanced over at his charge, the woman he was sworn before the ancient gods of his people, on the souls of his dead kinsmen, and on an oath he made to an old professor, to protect, to see how she felt about the rift they had come to confront – to step through and explore the unknown.

Unfortunately, the gleaming blue of the drive field was reflecting off her face mask, and he could see nothing of her face, so he resolved to studying her body language instead. He knew she was missing the professor as well as he, but there was no sign of that in her posture. She looked eager and ready to confront this, so rather than depend on her excited mind to get it right, he ran his eyes over her gear once more.

The heavy backpack, filled with standard adventuring supplies as well as a few more esoteric pieces of equipment, that draped across her shoulders was fastened on her chest at the quick release, ready to be discarded at the first sign of trouble. While she was less comfortable with it than he would have liked, the pistol riding low on her right thigh no longer looked out of place. Standard exploratory gear, things she would need quick to hand, hung neatly about the same belt that supported the pistol, including the reloads she would probably need if things turned bad. But she looked ready.

After trying to glance down at himself and discovering the helmet significantly interfered with that portion of his vision, Enuti closed his eyes and allowed his hands to review his gear. Medical supplies and climbing gear were in his pack, along with a great deal of dried out food. Not an expert in any field likely to help them, he was simple along for the ride as essentially a hired gun, despite not really being hired. But for that role, he was well provisioned. Two identical heavy pistols rode on his thighs, with another strapped to the outside of his pressure suit where the top of his boots would have been. Knife sheathes were strapped at his other boottop and on both forearms, as well as a fairly long blade strapped to his belt. A high powered rifle rode on a strap across one shoulder, a simple telescopic sight replacing the much more powerful electronic one that normally adorned it.

He opened his eyes and examined the others going on this trip, looking about to see if they were ready or not, then returned his gaze to his companion. He leaned in, tapping his helmet to hers gently, and said, “Are you ready, Professor Craven?”

Tara, who had been more than a little mesmerised by the sight in front of her, was startled out of her thoughts by Enuti’s voice. “I believe so, Enuti,” she replied, hoping he was able to hear her. This kind of technology was beyond her normal gear for adventuring.

Turning her attention back to the rift, she wondered what lay behind it. At the same time, she could not help wondering what had made her accept the invitation to go into it. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, standing precariously before it, she was beginning to have her doubts. Still, she was here now, and she was not good at backing out of things once she got an idea into her head, no matter how foolhardy they suddenly seemed.

Foster skulked, there was no better word for it, on the edge of the group, quiet, dishevelled, voice and throat hoarse still from drink and a head of unshaved and unkempt hair crowned the vagabond appearance. He was physically able, there were extraordinarily few of his countrymen that weren’t, but he was niether particularly tall nor broad, a good 5’10 perhaps and a hundred and fifty pounds of decent if untrained muscle and bone. His eyes were still red from the night before, and half a bottle of vodka still made itself felt on his stomach, idly preventing a pitiful breakfast from settling.

But he was Freestian, and stood tall and, for all his flaws, proud. Now ex-CNIO for several months for his accidental part in a disastrous slave recovery mission, his life and career had seemed to end, turned into a mercenary drifter. A set of used fatigues and a huge auto shotgun completed alongside the perhaps only distinctly Freestian item, a two foot machete like cleaver that hung by his waist, the last reminder of a decade of loyal service to an organisation all to happy to make him the scapegoat for the failures of his former colleague, a woman who’s name he cursed on a nightly basis.

His companions seemed a bunch, some he could appreciate through his still blurred vision, others seemed liabilities, a snort of derision at the Midlonian aristocrat. The professor seemed alright, her companion extremely competent, and the snob’s manservant probably wasn’t a waste of space either. He had a worn rucksack, primitive med kits, ammunition, sleeping bag, enough flavouress ration bars and canteens to last a while, though what lay on the other side of the rift barely registered. Nothing could be scarier than the outback, right?

He thought, silently, of the reason he was there, what he expected to see. He did the hired gun thing, and the field craft should they need it, and the lifting and the heaving and everything else. Its what he was trained to do after all.

And Foster, more importantly, had an ego to restore.

Two Iaruni were selected to go on the expedition, although their presence on the team had been kept top-secret from Iaruni media. Lieutenant Hequset Siahu was chosen for the adventure because of her pronounced abilities to see what others could not in a normal situation. Lt. Siahu was a member of the Isir Guard, the Isiri's personal army of militant priests and priestesses devoted to protecting her physical body and the tenants of Osi-Ka through strength of arms. Siahu had received enormous attention within the Guard for her uncanny ability to understand the unknown and even communicate with the forces of Earth through what some called magic. She simply called it prayer. Her absence was being called a "top-secret mission overseas" while only the Isiri and leading commanders of the Isir Guard knew of her true presence. She was young, fierce, fit and armed with two pistols and a hunting knife.

Doctor Addaya Inarus was one of the top medical doctors in Iaru. Having practiced medicine for some thirty years, his age was hardly noticeable. A bright, optimistic fellow, he sometimes annoyed people who were more prone to austerity. He'd been chosen by the Isiri herself to discover the realm of a different dimension and report on its effects on human beings. Dr. Inarus was so fascinated by the trip that he decided to bring a journal to document it. He'd also brought along medical equipment and medicines to hopefully act as the medic of the team if something were to go wrong.

Waiting to go in the rift, the two stood quietly. Lt. Siahu was usually quiet and reserved anyway, and she stared at the beautiful colors flashing around her with a sense of skepticism. Her bright blue eyes flashed to her right, though she couldn't see the doctor's face through the helmet. She noticed his body language was tense. The priestess reached her hand to his and grasped it while lightly touching her helmet to his. "Doctor, don't worry. Her Holiness is with us in this universe and will continue to be with us in another." He simply nodded his head and choked, "Thanks, Lieutenant. I'm sure we'll be fine."

Grammias Iwodai, B.Runes, was starting to regret his choice of research project. Going on an adventure, then returning to fame, fortune and a master's degree in Applied Crisis Management. It had really looked good on paper.

But now that he was standing here, staring the unknown in the face, it suddenly was very tempting to throw up his hands and walk away.

But you don't get your name in the history books that way, do you?

******

Gram was a fairly tall man, of indistinct but brownish race and close-cropped black hair. He carried little in the way of equipment; a saber on his right hip (which he had only bought yesterday) and a runed Mateba-style revolver on his left (which he had owned for a little more than a month, and become at least mildly handy with.)

His real gear, though, was less obvious. A box of wax crayons at his belt, for quick work; a packet of paper and pencils, for detail, and a set of engravers' tools and book of gold leaf in his backpack. The gauntlets of his pressure suit were covered in rough, crayoned symbols, accompanied by a much more careful pattern across the chest. It would do, at least for now; he could break out the engraving tools later and make the runes permanent.

******

He stood there quietly, casting nervous glances at the staff and his fellow adventurers. He'd only been introduced recently, but they seemed fairly reliable. Certainly most of them seemed more experienced and capable than he was.

He'd have offered some protective runes to them, as well, but there had only been time to set up his own pressure suit. Oh well. Time enough for that later...

...if he survived the trip into the rift.

You'll make it through, man. Come on, hold yourself together. Fifty thousand isn't something to just walk away from.

He was sweating nervously, and the damn suit made it impossible to wipe his face. The longer he stood here, the more it sounded like a bad idea to walk forward.

Come on. Someone tell us to go, before I manage to talk myself out of this.

Dr. Alan Jones Grant, Assistant Professor of Physics as well as Assistant Professors of Archaeology, stared at the rift down on the platform. He had his usual gear when going on expeditions, plus a couple of extras - notably a MP-7 PDW submachine gun and a .45 Colt M1911, a family heirloom. With him also contained a cheque to the university from his university, for about 200,000 rupees in research funding.

He whistled in amazement, especially how the colours were constantly changing.

He turned to the researcher nearest him. "Do we know what the rate that this rift is expanding? Has any probes been sent out?" He probably was told at some point in a briefing, but with him coming a bit late, and him deeply involved in his own thoughts on what kind of wonder this would bring in terms of getting more research funds from the Govindian Institute of Technology, he probably forgot somehow.

*OOC: Yea this is a bit of a short post but I wanted to let you guys know I'm still here :D OOC*

‘Let us be off’ were the words that swam around Tara Craven’s mind as she stood on the platform waiting for someone to announce that they should climb through the rift and begin the journey. Or at least she hoped it would be the start of the journey and not the sudden end. No one could say for certain that they were not about to walk – or fall – to their doom.

Her head was racing, almost as fast as her heart, full of images that the rift conjured in her mind’s eye. She felt nervous anticipation growing, unsure if that she would be able to take the step through if they were held up any longer.

Pressing her helmet once more against Enuti’s, she let out a loud sigh. “It’s like waiting for someone to start a race. All the competitors are on edge waiting for the gun, and yet, I don’t see the starting official.” She shrugged inside her suit. “Do you think they intend to tell us to go? Or do you think they want us to go in of our own violation so that our families can’t sue?”

Enuti smiled darkly inside his helmet. “As it was volunteers only, I doubt they’re worried about people suing them.” He smiled. “There are only two people in the world that would miss me now, Professor, and one of them is about to step to her doom with me.” The smile became something of a feral grin. “I think the science types are just standing there until we go. They are, ah, deferring to our greater experience in exploring the unknown on deciding when to proceed.”

Moving her head slightly and turning her body, Tara cast a glance at the people on the platform. The rag tag bunch of volunteers looked as excited and as worried about the trip ahead as she felt. The scientists, on the other hand, had that look of fascination, probably wondering what made crazy people volunteer for such things.

She returned her gaze to the rift and once more pressed her helmet to Enuti’s. “Are you feeling brave?”

The older, darker skinned man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here, but…” This would hardly be the first time he had had to rescue either Professor Craven or Moran from doing something they got themselves into by leaping first and then asking questions. “Are you suggesting we take the first step?”

Tara felt a smile spread across her face. “Do you want someone else to get the credit for being the first to set foot in this strange place?”

That got a frown. Silly professors, always wanting to have their name in the history books. “If it means not getting dissolved into a billion bits or eaten by some strange animal or shot at by a ticked off native or any of the other fun things that have happened to me in the time I’ve known you, I’m willing to forego the place in history, yes.”

Fighting to control her features, Tara let her smile diminish, but her voice still held a touch of humour. “In that case, I shall go first and get my name in the history books, and when I turn into particles you can add a footnote telling the world that you ‘told her so’.” She moved her head a little distance away so that her companion could not hear her laughing.

The man smiled at the young woman, knowing she was laughing. She had never really adjusted to the idea that the most important thing in his life was protecting her and Professor Moran. Sometimes from themselves. “You are perfectly aware Daniel would shoot me himself, somewhere harmless, if I let you do that.”

Tara grew serious, the thought of not seeing Moran again a very sobering thought. Inside her helmet, she nodded her head, knowing that Enuti could not see her. “I know,” she replied, her voice reflecting her change in mood. “But, if he was here, you cannot deny that he would be the first through, and as his student, it is my duty to act as he would.”

“Given all the wonderful people we met last night,” most, if not all, of whom seemed to be shooters, “it is my professional opinion that your knowledge represents too high a value resource to let you go first.” Enuti matched her grim tone, then allowed his voice to lighten slightly. “On the other hand, I am willing to compromise. Do you want right or left?”

The smile returned to Tara’s face. “I think I’ll take left.” She mused that Enuti would fare better with her on the opposite side from his shooting hand, especially if there were hostiles waiting on the other side.

The jungleman reached down and unfastened the holster flaps on either thigh. He drew one of his pistols into his right hand, and quickly and unconsciously checked the action. He raised his head from contact with Tara’s and stepped forward to the edge of the platform, very deliberately avoiding looking down. He was hardly afraid of heights, but it was still a very long way to a messy end. First Enuti tried turning his head, but discovered that rotating it inside the helmet did not exactly do what he wanted, so he half turned his torso back to his companion and beckoned her forward to his left side.

Heart pounding loudly in her ears, Tara took a step forward, taking her position. She looked into the rift and swallowed hard, before turning her body to Enuti and giving him a smile and a signal with her hand that she was ready. Letting out a long, slow breath, she kept her eyes on her friend, ready to take that last step off the platform.

A smile creased Enuti’s face as he took in the young woman. He reached over with his left hand and tapped her holstered weapon hard enough for her to feel it through the suit. She knew better. They had trained on this scenario a number of times, though usually it was going through a door rather than a tear in the fabric of the universe. Then he raised the same gauntleted hand, fingers outstretched to where they could both see it.

“Oh,” Tara announced as she realised that unlike her companion, she had not readied herself for trouble. She quickly rectified the situation and pulled her weapon from its holster, feeling less awkward with it, following some previous instruction from Enuti. She once more signalled that she was ready, although now she was feeling more nervous than ever. It was not every day she got to stand at the edge of a platform, over a kilometre from the ground, looking into a swirling rift, preparing to jump in it. Fear was filling her body, but so was excitement. She might be about to die, but she was doing it with style.

Enuti began to slowly count back from five, dropping one finger into his fist, then another, and another, slowly enough that Tara could pick up the count. On two, he brought his counting hand up to grip his pistol two handed, and on one, he breathed out slowly.

Then on zero, he stepped forward, already turning to the right to cover his area.

Tara, at the same time, took her step into the unknown.

Fred stood with his arm around Ashley as they watched the explorers getting ready to depart. Shorter than he was, if she wanted to talk to him, she either had to stand on the tips of her toes or pull his head down to bring their helmets into contact, so they were mostly standing in companionable silence, her head on his shoulder. The young man wondered if any of them would be going soon. His leg was itching.

Admittedly, Fred was intelligent enough to recognize psychosomatic symptoms when they occurred, and he knew that the itch on the back of his thigh was from the fact that the pressure suit was too thick to scratch through. But that did not make the itch any better.

He was startled out of his reverie, clenching and unclenching the muscles along the back of his thigh to try and do something about that damn itch when he realized that one of the explorers had moved up next to him and was speaking. Unfortunately, the man did not seem to recognize the necessity of bringing the helmets together to speak. In the second it took Fred to blink, he called to life a speech recognition program in his implant computer, and ran the man’s mouth movements through it. His optic nerve took the signal as generated text in front of his eyes.

Damn it, had the man slept through the briefing yesterday? Everything had been covered. Hell, most of it had been covered in the briefing package sent out with the job offers. Why doesn’t he just jump through already? Aren’t all these people supposed to be fearless explorers?

Fred sighed heavily enough to briefly fog a portion of his faceplate and then leaned forward to bring his helmet into contact with the man’s – who another quick mental command identified as Grant, Alan Jones, Professor (Phys, Archo) from some place Fred had never heard of. “Professor,” he began politely, and then quickly summarized the briefing given the day before, describing the growth rate and the probe missions in slightly more detail, given the man’s questions.

I hope all the rest of them paid better attention than this. Or we might have to recruit more. As he summarized, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the rift ripple as two people finally stepped into it. Ah, finally, they’re going.

The change was significant, in that no one could see it with the naked eye, but they could all feel the rift grow, in their inner ear, in the pit of their stomachs, and somewhere deep in the primitive parts of their brains.

It felt almost like hunger.

“Right, seems simple enough I suppose. Read Alfred?” Swithlington called back to his manservant as he put his helmet on.

“Yes sir, ready to assist you as necessary sir.” Alfred said as he fitted his own on fairly clumsily and clicked it in place.

“Righto then. Alley Oop and Tally Ho!” The Aristocrat shouted as he took his “leap of faith” with Alfred following him a moment later, bags and equipment tinkling and clanking as he did so.

Well, it's now or never I suppose.

Gram took a step forward and teetered on the brink.

Let's see... last-minute precautions. He peered at the back of his glove. Which one was it, again? Oh, right. That one. (http://i190.photobucket.com/albums/z216/khrrck/BluntForceProtection.png)

He tapped it, and it began to glow softly. It was seriously under-strength, of course, since he had only had time to sketch it in crayon. But if he emerged in mid-air on the other side, it ought to be sufficient to keep his bones intact after a twenty or thirty-foot fall.

That's the theory, anyway. He drew his revolver, glanced one last time at his suit readout (all green, of course), and took a deep breath.

Don't hesitate. If you screw up you could land face-first, and cracking your faceplate would be bad.

Gram took a running start and jumped forwards into the rift.

Well, thats enough cannon fodder gone through, now, or never.

Foster inwardly sighed, the air inside the suit already becoming stale with smell of old alcohol on his breath and his stomach still slowly lurching from the dutch courage he had stupidly decided to partake in before the off.

He had made a mental note of the travellers so far. Mercenaries, good, people he understood and more importantly people he could probably outrun. Scientific types, fieldwork experience probably, again, could be useful, could be deadweight.

And the Midlonian aristo with his lackey. He felt for the latter, most Freestians did. Lions under lambs and all that.

Trigger discipline, switched to single shot, heavy buckshot loaded, hoped whatever would meet wasnt wearing armour if it was of an unagreeable disposition.

Work to be done Foster thought solomnly as he stepped forward, closing his eyes for the most brief of seconds as he passed through the portal.

As the saying goes, the first step is a doozy. A number of things happened all at one upon stepping through the rift, none of which were particularly pleasant, and added together made for seriously uncomfortable start to the day of adventuring.

The first thing was a rapid dissolution of molecules. One’s body literally flew apart in a nanosecond, stripped to its component structures for travel through the rift in space and time. Immeasurable time passed, and in less than another nanosecond, the body found itself reintegrated and stumbling from the rift on the far side. Freezing cold. Or burning hot, depending on species and gender. For pure humans, women froze and men burned. If there was anything else in the bloodline, the effects were more random. For some people, parts of them would burn while other parts froze. The feeling passes quickly, but not quickly enough to not feel it before it is gone.

The other feelings are just as unpleasant. There is the brief but identifiable feeling of being put together wrong, which induces a violent nausea in most. On top of that, the inner ear seems to stop working for about a minute, setting the new world spinning about them, which can only help relieve the stomach.

Additionally, those paying sufficient attention would notice that they were moving slower when they emerged from the rift than the speed at which they entered. An intelligent person, trained well in physics, would probably reach some conclusion about that important to the functioning of the rift. Assuming, of course, anyone noticed. As the explorers were not moving particularly quickly to begin with the reduction in speed might not be noticeable.

More noticeable was the fact that party members who stepped through the rift at the same time found themselves separated by a considerable distance once they emerged. For example, while Enuti and Tara stepped through only a foot or so apart, when they looked for each other on the other side, it appeared that nearly a mile had gotten between them. Curiously, the distance appeared to shift and flux as they moved their heads, especially when they stood up.

Which lead to the next thing. While the travelers entered the rift upright, they discovered much too quickly that they were laying on their sides relative to the ground. And about six feet off of said ground, which had predictable results. For some people, it was the right side facing the ground, others their left, which no discernable pattern, unless it was discussed in depth at some other point. Pairs of people fell opposite one another, and those who entered singly fell to their right, then to their right, then to their left, the pattern itself ignoring any pairs that interrupted it.

All in all, travel through the rift was decidedly unpleasant, and it was unlikely anyone would want to repeat the experience.

As for the new place the adventurers found themselves, it resembled the Earth they were all familiar with. The sky was blue, so blue it was nearly purple, in fact, though the sun appeared to be rising, rather than setting.

The grass, given that party mostly has a good close view of it, was different from Earth’s as well. The green was so green that it had blue tints to it, something that to a boring, scientifically trained mind probably indicated a different composition of elements than the standard grass of the homeworld. To a mind that did not consider such things, it began to fit into the beauty that surrounded them – a world of richer, deeper colors than the one they had left.

As to the conditions on this unhealthly brightly colored world, there was clearly atmosphere of some sort. The suits, designed to operate in low pressure, became slightly tight and confining when exposed to a regular pressure environment, the internal and external pressures being nearly the same. Through the thin layer of material that comprised the helmets of the suits they could hear noises, echoing calls of things that might be birds or other animals. The whole place was alive in a way that the sterile environment they had departed from could never be.

A few moments after everyone finally arrived, boxes slipped through the rift behind them, clearly tossed in by the science team, who would anxiously be awaiting their return.

Assuming they returned at all.

The more significant issue they would soon discover was just how wrong their perception of reality was. The people who fell to the left, like Tara, were gathered in one spot, and the people who fell to the right were gathered about Enuti.

The problem would eventually occur to them if and when they stood up. And bumped heads with the people on the far side of the mile gap.

They were standing in a very narrow, very deep valley, on either wall… and light apparently curved near the bottom, making the place look flat. Oh, yes, gravity also pulled down directionally along the edges of the valley, making the edges of the valley arc down.

OOC: Wow. Sorry about that. I was waiting for everyone to post, and bam! Weeks went by before I realized it. I’ll do better in the future. Also, if you’re not understanding something, see me on IRC. Everyone involved was on there at least at some point.

Now, we'll continue from the point assuming everyone has gone through. Unless, of course, those of you who haven't posted get your act together and post going through. Then you'll already know what's on the other side.

Landing next to Tara was a large pile of stuff. Very large and random infact, made of many bags and what looked strangely like several pieces of fold-out furniture. All in a loud crashing, bumping and bashing way.

After the pile finally settled, with what looked like a biscuit tin rolling away from the pile, there was a very quiet and simple “Ouch” from somewhere under it. Followed a few moments later by a quiet. “Uhm, help?”

The pile rummaged and shifted slightly before a hand burst out from under them, patting a way around, trying to find something to purchase on, or for someone to grab hold of and pull him free.

-----------------

Lord Thomas Harringford-Gregory-Chesterfield-Bruntington-Swithlington the Fourth, however, was anything but quiet on the other side of the valley. Swearing loudly to several deities he bounced slightly several times after he hit the ground, his bulk causing the pain from the landing to be significantly dulled, as well as assisting in it’s continuance, his voice managed to carry across to the other side of the valley.

After finally coming to a stop he got up groaning and swaying slightly, he suddenly grabbed his rather large stomach and looked at the small heads-up-display in his helmet, he hoped the green lights meant it was safe and unbuckled his helmet before promptly emptying the Quail Pate and toast snack he had had before arriving onto the nearest person’s lower legs and shoes.

“Urgh, God.” he managed, wiping some remains from his mouth and moustache before patting the person on the shoulder. “Terribly sorry old boy.” He then promptly walked away looking for his rifle that he found several feet away, close to where he first landed.

He knew it was the first spot he had landed.

He could see the sizable buttock imprint in the grass.

"Ugh."

The world's spinning around his head. Gram's had some bad teleports in his time, but nothing quite as excruciating as this one.

He doesn't move. Instead he just stays lying down for a moment, looking up at the sky as the ground slowly comes to a halt and doing his best not to vomit. The retching noises in the background weren't helping, even if he had taken the precaution of not eating breakfast.

The sky really was very blue. Unsettlingly so, in fact.

Gram sat up, and discovered that someone else had been sick. Sick on his spacesuited boots, to be precise. A reassuring pat on the shoulder made him look up into the rather sickly face of - what was his name again? Tobias? Thomas, that was it. The noble, although certainly not at the top of his game, didn't seem to be obviously aphyxiating.

Gram checked his helmet lights - they looked good, but he wasn't exactly an expert - and cracked open his faceplate. The air was filled with the faint smell of plants, and the much stronger smell of vomit. He began the complicated task of stripping the now-useless suit off of the light leather underneath, pausing only when his own equipment crate materialized almost directly overhead and came within two feet of flattening him.

Overall, Gram was relieved. He wasn't dead, the atmosphere was breathable - so far - and his equipment seemed to have made it through in one piece, so he didn't have to wear the vomit-covered spacesuit boots.