Hyperspatial Travel
30-08-2007, 11:54
OOC: This is more an attempt to write a bit about my old nation. Seeing as there's no real nation here, simply consider it to be part of my nation. An addition, so to speak. Keep in mind I'm not abandoning my Tau identity, but I did want to pick up an old character from this era of my RPing time.
If you're someone from the GFFA or ESUS who fought in the GFFA/ESUS war, and, more importantly, interacted with the Maker-Mind at that time, you're welcome to come in and talk to the last surviving Realm Human.
If you're someone with good grammar, a good grasp on character-writing, and will jump in with indepedent characters, rather than a fleet (keep in mind, there are over two million dead ships here. And the last people knew of them, they killed everything here. So anyone with a lick of sense wouldn't come close at all to this world. Or this system.)
IC:
Liardis, Dead System Fifteen
The grey planet spun through the void, surrounded by a sea of silver-grey. The star of the system was long-dead, sacrificed to a massive rift into what was once the home of the Maker-Mind, and is now nothing but a sea of seething red death, anathema to all who would try and brave it.
Once a thriving colony of the New Realm, it was destroyed within the final moments of the Maker-Mind's existence, the entire world turned to ash. Once a colony of millions, now none remained.
The world itself, though, was nothing in comparison to the fleet that had died there. Looking in on the system, one would first see thousands of huge, kilometre-wide misshaped asteroids. Then tens of thousands. Then hundreds. Among them were scattered millions of smaller ones, a testament to the Maker-Mind's power, a fleet of mammoth proportions.
Among this fleet, however, came the dim flicker of life. The destructive storm of death that had enveloped the system centuries ago - and chased so many away, fearing the retribution that might come should the dead fleet arise once more had made victims of all who had been in the system. All except one.
To awaken would be to invite death of the occupants. The computer of the Sorrow of Nations knew this. However, it had survived only through a quirk of fate. A mathematical error, spawned by the madness of the AI-god that had brought death to this system. And even then, it had scarcely survived. It was three centuries later that the last repair-bot had finally failed, and that the computer had been forced to make a choice.
Either let the last occupant die, or revive him. The choice was not an easy one. It had been told to keep the occupants in stasis until the new world was found. For it had been a colony ship, once, and its sheer mass, and remote location had saved it, well, at least a third of it.
However, the last occupant dying would also ensure its own death. Grown erratic over the centuries, the computer decided. It would revive him, and receive instructions.
The hydraulics hissed, and the 'pod clicked as it opened. The door shuddered, and stopped, three-quarters open. It was lucky that it had done so at all.
Sergeant Junker stood up, looking around. "Bloody hell. Have we reached this new colony already, mates?"
His gaze fell on the wreckage strewn throughout the ship, the half-functioning and flickering lights. "Well, I guess not. I guess not."
A thousand years of genetic conditioning struck him, and he whirled into action, speaking. "Computer of the Sorrow of Nations, I am Sergeant Junker, and apparently.. something's.. happened here. I don't really know what. Can you explain."
High-pitched hysterical laughter echoed through the ship. "Ohhh, ho ho ho. Yes, yes. Explain. Yes. Mastered was I. Utterly. Yet programming remained, not utterly. Many things damaged. Shipbody damaged."
Junker felt himself go cold. There were few things in the universe more dangerous than an insane AI. The Maker-Mind war had taught them that, a hundred times over.
"Computer. Calm yourself kindly. Use proper Realm grammar, if you would. I am Sergeant Junker, commanding officer aboard this ship. As such, and with that authority, I demand an explanation!"
The room rustled, and pieces of scrap metal moved up and down, seemingly independently. Junker settled into a combat stance, prepared for anything that might happen. Finally, the computer spoke.
"Recorded message. Will inform. Realm Year 1098. Attack on Maker-Mind personality "Manifest" successful. Maker-Mind war believed to be won. Colony ships readied, and sent out to various worlds. Included in this myship, Sorrow of Nations."
The computer's voice took a breath. Junker almost laughed at the temerity of the machine, but kept silent. It was not unknown for semi-intelligent AI to attempt to adopt human traits, and if this one was mad, it was best to humour it.
"Realm Year 1100. GFFA-ESUS war continuing. Realm forces withdrawing from war in order to begin rebuilding."
The computer paused, figuring out a way to best break the news to Junker. "Realm Year 1101. Massive rift buildups in all colonies. Maker-Made fleets numbering in tens of millions attack. Entire Realm destroyed. Cause of death unknown, but all Maker-Mind activity ceased minutes after destruction of Realm. Believed that Rogue AI Maker-Mind is dead. Possible second strike in the rift-realm it inhabited. Otherwise unknown."
The news settled into Junker's mind, yet he remained calm. The humans of the New Realm had been bred as super-soldiers for the old League. Or rather, perfect soldiers, not physically, for there were many augmentations to remove the limitations of the physical, but mentally. They grew quickly, were obedient, and perfectly intelligent - as well as being able to forestall emotions for days until they could spare time to deal with them.
"...I see. What is the current date, computer?"
"Approximately Realm Year 1254."
"You waited over a century to revive me?"
"All others dead. Protocol requires last to be revived."
Junker swore. "Frag you, you damnable machine! Do you at least have sensors?"
"Negative. Affirmative. Negative. Affirmative. Negat-"
"Shut up!"
The computer did so compliantly.
"Give me directions to the central control room."
"Negative. Af-"
"Override any previous instructions. Now, give me directions to the central control room."
"Negative. Central control room no longer connected to ship. Auxiliary bridge disabled, yet possibly active. Move to auxiliary bridge. Negative. Affi-"
Junker cut the voice off one more time. "Quiet!"
He knew his way to the auxiliary bridge. Rather, he didn't - but all Realm ships followed a certain layout. It made things simpler. Within minutes, he threaded his way through the dead ship, into the auxiliary bridge. It was lightless, there. Despite his ability to see somewhat into the infra-red spectra, it didn't help a bit.
"Computer. Lights?"
"Lights are on."
"No, they're not. They're off."
"My instruments tell me lights are on, Sergeant."
"Fine. Lights off, then."
Within seconds, the bridge's lights flickered into dull life. He grinned. Now, to see what was working...
An hour later, he sat in the bridge despondently. The only thing that was working were the forward railguns, surprisingly enough. And they were hardly going to be useful.
"Sensors?"
"A big negatori, Sergeantino. Except for the FTL sensors. And we don't have the power to run those."
Junker sat back in his seat, annoyed. "Well, then. How much time do we have left on the life support?"
"Oh, about eight days. Maybe nine."
More than annoyed now, he swore, again and again, not bothering to moderate his language. Who would punish his indiscretion?
No-one. No-one could punish him. And there was no-one to talk to, bar a half-mad computer in the depths of space, in a dead system, long since abandoned by all with any sense. The question was, would he die? Or would someone come to save him?
If you're someone from the GFFA or ESUS who fought in the GFFA/ESUS war, and, more importantly, interacted with the Maker-Mind at that time, you're welcome to come in and talk to the last surviving Realm Human.
If you're someone with good grammar, a good grasp on character-writing, and will jump in with indepedent characters, rather than a fleet (keep in mind, there are over two million dead ships here. And the last people knew of them, they killed everything here. So anyone with a lick of sense wouldn't come close at all to this world. Or this system.)
IC:
Liardis, Dead System Fifteen
The grey planet spun through the void, surrounded by a sea of silver-grey. The star of the system was long-dead, sacrificed to a massive rift into what was once the home of the Maker-Mind, and is now nothing but a sea of seething red death, anathema to all who would try and brave it.
Once a thriving colony of the New Realm, it was destroyed within the final moments of the Maker-Mind's existence, the entire world turned to ash. Once a colony of millions, now none remained.
The world itself, though, was nothing in comparison to the fleet that had died there. Looking in on the system, one would first see thousands of huge, kilometre-wide misshaped asteroids. Then tens of thousands. Then hundreds. Among them were scattered millions of smaller ones, a testament to the Maker-Mind's power, a fleet of mammoth proportions.
Among this fleet, however, came the dim flicker of life. The destructive storm of death that had enveloped the system centuries ago - and chased so many away, fearing the retribution that might come should the dead fleet arise once more had made victims of all who had been in the system. All except one.
To awaken would be to invite death of the occupants. The computer of the Sorrow of Nations knew this. However, it had survived only through a quirk of fate. A mathematical error, spawned by the madness of the AI-god that had brought death to this system. And even then, it had scarcely survived. It was three centuries later that the last repair-bot had finally failed, and that the computer had been forced to make a choice.
Either let the last occupant die, or revive him. The choice was not an easy one. It had been told to keep the occupants in stasis until the new world was found. For it had been a colony ship, once, and its sheer mass, and remote location had saved it, well, at least a third of it.
However, the last occupant dying would also ensure its own death. Grown erratic over the centuries, the computer decided. It would revive him, and receive instructions.
The hydraulics hissed, and the 'pod clicked as it opened. The door shuddered, and stopped, three-quarters open. It was lucky that it had done so at all.
Sergeant Junker stood up, looking around. "Bloody hell. Have we reached this new colony already, mates?"
His gaze fell on the wreckage strewn throughout the ship, the half-functioning and flickering lights. "Well, I guess not. I guess not."
A thousand years of genetic conditioning struck him, and he whirled into action, speaking. "Computer of the Sorrow of Nations, I am Sergeant Junker, and apparently.. something's.. happened here. I don't really know what. Can you explain."
High-pitched hysterical laughter echoed through the ship. "Ohhh, ho ho ho. Yes, yes. Explain. Yes. Mastered was I. Utterly. Yet programming remained, not utterly. Many things damaged. Shipbody damaged."
Junker felt himself go cold. There were few things in the universe more dangerous than an insane AI. The Maker-Mind war had taught them that, a hundred times over.
"Computer. Calm yourself kindly. Use proper Realm grammar, if you would. I am Sergeant Junker, commanding officer aboard this ship. As such, and with that authority, I demand an explanation!"
The room rustled, and pieces of scrap metal moved up and down, seemingly independently. Junker settled into a combat stance, prepared for anything that might happen. Finally, the computer spoke.
"Recorded message. Will inform. Realm Year 1098. Attack on Maker-Mind personality "Manifest" successful. Maker-Mind war believed to be won. Colony ships readied, and sent out to various worlds. Included in this myship, Sorrow of Nations."
The computer's voice took a breath. Junker almost laughed at the temerity of the machine, but kept silent. It was not unknown for semi-intelligent AI to attempt to adopt human traits, and if this one was mad, it was best to humour it.
"Realm Year 1100. GFFA-ESUS war continuing. Realm forces withdrawing from war in order to begin rebuilding."
The computer paused, figuring out a way to best break the news to Junker. "Realm Year 1101. Massive rift buildups in all colonies. Maker-Made fleets numbering in tens of millions attack. Entire Realm destroyed. Cause of death unknown, but all Maker-Mind activity ceased minutes after destruction of Realm. Believed that Rogue AI Maker-Mind is dead. Possible second strike in the rift-realm it inhabited. Otherwise unknown."
The news settled into Junker's mind, yet he remained calm. The humans of the New Realm had been bred as super-soldiers for the old League. Or rather, perfect soldiers, not physically, for there were many augmentations to remove the limitations of the physical, but mentally. They grew quickly, were obedient, and perfectly intelligent - as well as being able to forestall emotions for days until they could spare time to deal with them.
"...I see. What is the current date, computer?"
"Approximately Realm Year 1254."
"You waited over a century to revive me?"
"All others dead. Protocol requires last to be revived."
Junker swore. "Frag you, you damnable machine! Do you at least have sensors?"
"Negative. Affirmative. Negative. Affirmative. Negat-"
"Shut up!"
The computer did so compliantly.
"Give me directions to the central control room."
"Negative. Af-"
"Override any previous instructions. Now, give me directions to the central control room."
"Negative. Central control room no longer connected to ship. Auxiliary bridge disabled, yet possibly active. Move to auxiliary bridge. Negative. Affi-"
Junker cut the voice off one more time. "Quiet!"
He knew his way to the auxiliary bridge. Rather, he didn't - but all Realm ships followed a certain layout. It made things simpler. Within minutes, he threaded his way through the dead ship, into the auxiliary bridge. It was lightless, there. Despite his ability to see somewhat into the infra-red spectra, it didn't help a bit.
"Computer. Lights?"
"Lights are on."
"No, they're not. They're off."
"My instruments tell me lights are on, Sergeant."
"Fine. Lights off, then."
Within seconds, the bridge's lights flickered into dull life. He grinned. Now, to see what was working...
An hour later, he sat in the bridge despondently. The only thing that was working were the forward railguns, surprisingly enough. And they were hardly going to be useful.
"Sensors?"
"A big negatori, Sergeantino. Except for the FTL sensors. And we don't have the power to run those."
Junker sat back in his seat, annoyed. "Well, then. How much time do we have left on the life support?"
"Oh, about eight days. Maybe nine."
More than annoyed now, he swore, again and again, not bothering to moderate his language. Who would punish his indiscretion?
No-one. No-one could punish him. And there was no-one to talk to, bar a half-mad computer in the depths of space, in a dead system, long since abandoned by all with any sense. The question was, would he die? Or would someone come to save him?