Weyr
30-08-2004, 04:17
This is an R&D thread, happening two years after the conclusion of the Weyrean Civil War. Paradigm prefecture is not charted, and has not been in contact with any star systems outside of Weyr. The chances of someone observing or even knowing about preliminary Weyrean FTL drive tests in paradigm is very small, as it does not even take place in Sol, but in a system whose exact co-ordinates are not even known to Weyreans.
<Paradigm Starport, Paradigm Prefecture, Outer "Milky Way" galaxy>
The launch vehicle, a pear-shaped capsule with four fins extending from the nose and into the plump bottom, glittered in soft pink hues of dawn sunlight. Sunlight on this world was an artificial affair, amplified by giant mirrors and lenses in orbit around Paradigm.
Chilly wind nipped at exposed skin, finding every gap in the clothing of the few scientists, engineers, and alchemists who made this day possible, and who now stood outside the control tower of Paradigm Starport. The launch was like any other in all respects, save for those two-dozen people. They stood there, watching as the dawn light disappeared beneath racing storm clouds. A woman checked her wristpad, watching time pass by. Some conversed quietly, while voices from the control tower spoke of systems and norms in their ears.
"....Four....Three.." a man counted down, his voice crisply clear in ear mikes. "..Two....One...."
A low whine filtered from a kilometer away, carried by the chilly autumn wind. The capsule shuddered, its underside flaring azure as repulsolift coils came online. The operation took a brief few minutes, the capsule angling off and disappearing into rapidly approaching storm clouds. The men and women nodded -- the launch had gone well.
In the control center, a brief blast of cold wind announced the entrance of the people who made the contents of the launch vehicle. The tower was sparse in furnishings. A trideo projection at the front showed the launch capsule from orbital observers built just for this purpose. The structure, and the surrounding territory, was but a minor appendage to the actual Paradigm Starport, used for testing new designs, and for launching satellites and orbital equipment.
Steadily, it began to rain; water drops drummed against thick permaglass.
"Releasing cargo," the launch leader announced, thus completing his part in this mission.
In orbit and on trideo, the pear-shaped capsule split into six even pieces. Repulsolift coils released small jets of gas, sending the launch engine to burn up in the atmosphere. That was not the concern of the people in the control tower. Their attention was fixed on the small craft that was now in high orbit around the planet Paradigm.
"Engaging fusactors ," the voice of the in-system leader pierced the silence. "Fusactors at ninety-eight percent; engaging ion drive." Trideo feed from orbital observer satellites did not show much of a change on visual bands. Other sensors showed the craft accelerate via RADAR/LIDAR.
The two-dozen people who designed and built the craft, and the ten people in the control tower, slowly filed out. Had anyone asked, they had simply designed a craft that was to provide more detailed leyline charts of the system. No one made reference to the failed mission that took place two years ago.
After ten days, the craft reached its designated velocity, heading slightly above the elliptic on a trajectory that would make it pass beyond routes taken by freighters traveling to and from asteroids and planetoids scattered around the Paradigm solar system. The craft was equipped with a chain drive, of the sort used by freighters traveling the Paradigm system. Sol system did not have Weyrean freighters -- it was deemed unnecessary, with all the development of the system by other nations.
<32 days later>
The control tower's room was silent. A tense atmosphere permeated every being there.
Communication between them and the craft lagged. Not even the 'net could instantly stream messages over such distances. The two-dozen people who built and designed the craft, the same who observed the launch almost a year ago, had replaced the normal control tower crew.
"Powering up Firien cells," came the crisp voice of the man piloting the craft now at the edge of the Paradigm solar system. "Fusactor shutting down...now."
[i]"Charging translation drive," the pilot said after a moment.
The cramped cabin had just enough space for a single occupant, just enough supplies to last a month. Mikhail Boone had spent eighty days in what some referred to as 'stasis'. Now, he was fully alert. System data fed directly into his neural pathways. He could 'feel' the cosmic radiation on the craft's skin, could 'sense' the mass of the engines and systems behind his cabin. Even the small thermal signature of his own body registered on the ship's sensors.
The craft sped through space, angling towards the insertion angles computed three years ago for a similar, but failed, mission. Boone shunted the thought aside.
In the control tower at Paradigm Starport, the team of scientists, engineers, and alchemists watched Boone's every move, but made no attempts to interfere.
A dull thrum permeated the pressurized cabin of the starship, filtering into Boone's sealed suit. He activated the final switch, pressed the final commands. Black turned to white, white turned to black, and the unversed spread before him for a moment that seemed to take an eternity.
Boone/the ship streamed through etherspace, like the 'net on which Boone had grown up. Paths spread before him -- leylines branching in myriad directions. He/the ship dodged the death well of a dying star, raced past a singularity's rhythmic beat. Sol beacon shone in his/the ship's sight, far off yet all too near. He borrowed a leyline, taking a path that felt 'right'. Something urged him to dive down, to take a smaller leyline, like a whisper promising unreachable dreams. Boone’s own reason held him back -- a leyline had to be big enough to accommodate the starship that traveled it.
Sol beacon shone closer. Boone/the ship wrenched out of etherspace. Black turned to white, white turned to black, and the universe spread before him for a moment that seemed to take an eternity.
<Below the system elliptic, near Pluto orbit>
In space, there is no sound. To Boone, the ship seemed ready to shred apart. The craft groaned, coming out of etherspace at its full pre-translation speed. The entry itself was unremarkable -- one moment there was nothing, the next there was a rather ugly starship tearing towards the center of Sol system.
Boone's brain went into overdrive for a moment, processing the system data, taking depleted Firien cells offline and activating the fusactor.
One thing the Paradigm team had learned over two decades -- Fusactors exploded before translation, and AIs did not work. Starchild one had a faulty ion drive, and was still in orbit around Paradigm. Starchild two never left Paradigm system -- its fusactor detonated during translation drive powerup. Starchild three translated successfully, but was never seen again. The third starchild was a long shot -- AIs had been found to have problems with navigating the leynet from point to point decades ago. .
Starchild four to Earthbound station, come in," Boone sent vocally.
[i]Starchild four, this is Earthbound station," a voice crackled moments later through the mike in Boone's suit. [I]"Good to have you back." There was cheering in the background.
Boone broke into a grin. The system was effectively on autopilot, burning off fuel to vector towards Terra. Feeling hungry, he unstrapped himself from the cushioned seat, and went to break into the storage compartment. He would be on Weyr's small Earthbound station, located above Weyr, in a few days.
<Paradigm Starport, Paradigm Prefecture, Outer "Milky Way" galaxy>
The launch vehicle, a pear-shaped capsule with four fins extending from the nose and into the plump bottom, glittered in soft pink hues of dawn sunlight. Sunlight on this world was an artificial affair, amplified by giant mirrors and lenses in orbit around Paradigm.
Chilly wind nipped at exposed skin, finding every gap in the clothing of the few scientists, engineers, and alchemists who made this day possible, and who now stood outside the control tower of Paradigm Starport. The launch was like any other in all respects, save for those two-dozen people. They stood there, watching as the dawn light disappeared beneath racing storm clouds. A woman checked her wristpad, watching time pass by. Some conversed quietly, while voices from the control tower spoke of systems and norms in their ears.
"....Four....Three.." a man counted down, his voice crisply clear in ear mikes. "..Two....One...."
A low whine filtered from a kilometer away, carried by the chilly autumn wind. The capsule shuddered, its underside flaring azure as repulsolift coils came online. The operation took a brief few minutes, the capsule angling off and disappearing into rapidly approaching storm clouds. The men and women nodded -- the launch had gone well.
In the control center, a brief blast of cold wind announced the entrance of the people who made the contents of the launch vehicle. The tower was sparse in furnishings. A trideo projection at the front showed the launch capsule from orbital observers built just for this purpose. The structure, and the surrounding territory, was but a minor appendage to the actual Paradigm Starport, used for testing new designs, and for launching satellites and orbital equipment.
Steadily, it began to rain; water drops drummed against thick permaglass.
"Releasing cargo," the launch leader announced, thus completing his part in this mission.
In orbit and on trideo, the pear-shaped capsule split into six even pieces. Repulsolift coils released small jets of gas, sending the launch engine to burn up in the atmosphere. That was not the concern of the people in the control tower. Their attention was fixed on the small craft that was now in high orbit around the planet Paradigm.
"Engaging fusactors ," the voice of the in-system leader pierced the silence. "Fusactors at ninety-eight percent; engaging ion drive." Trideo feed from orbital observer satellites did not show much of a change on visual bands. Other sensors showed the craft accelerate via RADAR/LIDAR.
The two-dozen people who designed and built the craft, and the ten people in the control tower, slowly filed out. Had anyone asked, they had simply designed a craft that was to provide more detailed leyline charts of the system. No one made reference to the failed mission that took place two years ago.
After ten days, the craft reached its designated velocity, heading slightly above the elliptic on a trajectory that would make it pass beyond routes taken by freighters traveling to and from asteroids and planetoids scattered around the Paradigm solar system. The craft was equipped with a chain drive, of the sort used by freighters traveling the Paradigm system. Sol system did not have Weyrean freighters -- it was deemed unnecessary, with all the development of the system by other nations.
<32 days later>
The control tower's room was silent. A tense atmosphere permeated every being there.
Communication between them and the craft lagged. Not even the 'net could instantly stream messages over such distances. The two-dozen people who built and designed the craft, the same who observed the launch almost a year ago, had replaced the normal control tower crew.
"Powering up Firien cells," came the crisp voice of the man piloting the craft now at the edge of the Paradigm solar system. "Fusactor shutting down...now."
[i]"Charging translation drive," the pilot said after a moment.
The cramped cabin had just enough space for a single occupant, just enough supplies to last a month. Mikhail Boone had spent eighty days in what some referred to as 'stasis'. Now, he was fully alert. System data fed directly into his neural pathways. He could 'feel' the cosmic radiation on the craft's skin, could 'sense' the mass of the engines and systems behind his cabin. Even the small thermal signature of his own body registered on the ship's sensors.
The craft sped through space, angling towards the insertion angles computed three years ago for a similar, but failed, mission. Boone shunted the thought aside.
In the control tower at Paradigm Starport, the team of scientists, engineers, and alchemists watched Boone's every move, but made no attempts to interfere.
A dull thrum permeated the pressurized cabin of the starship, filtering into Boone's sealed suit. He activated the final switch, pressed the final commands. Black turned to white, white turned to black, and the unversed spread before him for a moment that seemed to take an eternity.
Boone/the ship streamed through etherspace, like the 'net on which Boone had grown up. Paths spread before him -- leylines branching in myriad directions. He/the ship dodged the death well of a dying star, raced past a singularity's rhythmic beat. Sol beacon shone in his/the ship's sight, far off yet all too near. He borrowed a leyline, taking a path that felt 'right'. Something urged him to dive down, to take a smaller leyline, like a whisper promising unreachable dreams. Boone’s own reason held him back -- a leyline had to be big enough to accommodate the starship that traveled it.
Sol beacon shone closer. Boone/the ship wrenched out of etherspace. Black turned to white, white turned to black, and the universe spread before him for a moment that seemed to take an eternity.
<Below the system elliptic, near Pluto orbit>
In space, there is no sound. To Boone, the ship seemed ready to shred apart. The craft groaned, coming out of etherspace at its full pre-translation speed. The entry itself was unremarkable -- one moment there was nothing, the next there was a rather ugly starship tearing towards the center of Sol system.
Boone's brain went into overdrive for a moment, processing the system data, taking depleted Firien cells offline and activating the fusactor.
One thing the Paradigm team had learned over two decades -- Fusactors exploded before translation, and AIs did not work. Starchild one had a faulty ion drive, and was still in orbit around Paradigm. Starchild two never left Paradigm system -- its fusactor detonated during translation drive powerup. Starchild three translated successfully, but was never seen again. The third starchild was a long shot -- AIs had been found to have problems with navigating the leynet from point to point decades ago. .
Starchild four to Earthbound station, come in," Boone sent vocally.
[i]Starchild four, this is Earthbound station," a voice crackled moments later through the mike in Boone's suit. [I]"Good to have you back." There was cheering in the background.
Boone broke into a grin. The system was effectively on autopilot, burning off fuel to vector towards Terra. Feeling hungry, he unstrapped himself from the cushioned seat, and went to break into the storage compartment. He would be on Weyr's small Earthbound station, located above Weyr, in a few days.