NationStates Jolt Archive

So this is how it all ends. A little deathtrap in the middle of the great expanse we know as the Universe. Looking out the window, Gordan Runires reflected on the vents that led him to his current fate...

"First Engineer Gordan Runires?" A gaunt man asked, deep circles under his eyes as he looked up from the wooden desk, piled high with papers. Enthusiastically, Gordan saluted. "First Engineer, here as requested!" If the secretary was surprised by the young man's enthusiasm, he didn't show it. With slow, unenthusiastic movements, he turned back to his papers, and without even looking at Gordan, muttered a complex mixture of numbers and letters. "The General-Minister will see you there." With a confident stride, he punched in the code into the console. "Please step into the portal. Please, remove all Warp-Devices and Plasma-based electronics from your person." Feeling that strange nausea he always felt when going through a warp, Gordan walked unsteadily through the blue tunnel of warp. Passing through the lightly colored end, he emerged on the other side in the General-Minister's office.

"Ah, Gordan I presume?" The tall, almost 6'7 General-Minister stood up and extended his hand as Gordan walked in, making his height so-much more apparent. "Yes, General-Minister." Shaking his hand quickly, he straightened his posture and saluted him. "First Engineer Gordan Runires, at your command." Still smiling, the Minister sat down, folding his hands. "Please, sit down. I understand you have come upon a new application, or an extension of some sort for the Warp drive?" Gordan nodded, somewhat uncomfortable as he slid into the padded seat. "It happened as I was attempting to rig a Warp drive up to the Decimator's power source..." The General-Minister interrupted "The new Peacekeeper being rigged up?"
"Aye, the Peacekeeper's the largest and best in her class. That was the problem. I rigged it up directly to the Antimatter Generator, and when I stepped through the other side..."
"You overshot and landed on the other side of the ship. I know how it happened, but why?" Gordan adjusted his glasses slightly. "I believe it was because the Warp Drive was overcharged. It was only meant to take me to the other side of the engine, the longest possible distance for matter to pass through a Warp-Drive. Yet it took me over five times the theoretical maximum distance! A simple overcharge, while burning the drive out, brought me past the point where I should've formed into antimatter and died!" The General-Minister leaned forward. "Can you repeat this experiment if I give you what you need?" Gordan was taken aback. "W-well, it's hard to say for sure, but I think I could rig up something for it."
"Congratulations. Get to work."

"Hey, Gordan, I brought the Antimatter. Where do you want me to set down the Magnetic Containers?" Gordan lifted his protective mask. "Erm... You can set them down by the spare warp drives."
"Any progress?" Gordan sighed. "Absolutely nothing that I can confirm without a test. One that very well could kill me, and obliterate half of a planet, if not more."
"Ah, one of those days, huh? "
"One of those years."
"Well, you know what they say, things gotta get worse before they get better, yeah?" Gordan sat down next to the bulging ship. "Hmm... Get worse before they get better... Maybe I could try that. If double power blew out the warp drive, maybe a higher amount will stop that reaction..."

Gordan flipped the last few ready switches in the cockpit. "Gordan." The General-Minister's voice echoed over the comm. system. "This is the last grant you're going to get. If you fail-"
"I know General. I know." Gordan crossed himself swiftly, and began the warp...

At least the overcharge plan didn't kill me. Now I get to die through a slow, yet successful, death. Perhaps my legacy will live on,t hey'll fix this little warp-
The screen began to fade back into a black... And then, a bright flurry of stars emerged. "Christ!" Gordan jumped forward in his seat, typing out a message on the High-Speed Communicator, frantic as can be:

To all Confederate ships, or hell, anyone,this is First Engineer Gordan Runires, I am currently trapped in unknown space, with no provisions and little air. If you receive this message, please, track the hyper-wave and get me out of this deathtrap!

Scoutship Seemingly Exemplary Conduct, deep space.

The scoutship shimmered across the void, apparently nothing more than a few scattered photons whirling around a hyperdense mass. To be entirely honest, it was not much more than that - a single matter-annihilation generator coupled to a small pile of neutronium that generated a field sufficient to keep the explorer aboard alive, and in reasonable comfort.

A brief pulse of energy away from the relativistic plane of reality made the explorer pause, and he quietly translated it, using the rather large computing power at his disposal to match it with his own language.

"First Engineer. Interesting."

The "ship" paused, and flung itself towards the direction of the broadcast, quietly dropping probes into realspace as it did so, checking time and time again for an object. It found quite a few, even in deep space there were many objects of decent size over a distance of lightyears.

After a few minutes, it stopped, a few pulses of energy confirming the position of the pod Gordan was now trapped in. It was emitting tens of thousands times more heat than anything within a few lightyears; it seemed likely a life-support system would generate far more heat.

A simple radio message, broadcast in the same language as that which had been sent to the scoutship

Greetings, Gordan Runires. I am deep-scout Quiet. I am now preparing to bring your vessel within my own, and provide you with resources sufficient for survival.

The scoutship paused near the pod, and as it did, metallic walls coalesced around the pod, and air filled the new "landing bay". It was simple, grey, and with a few steps leading up to a door. Quiet worked furiously, providing rooms beyond the door, up to his own suspended consciousness near the centre of the ship. A single green line led from the door to what would be termed the bridge - there were other doors, but they were closed, and besides, they led nowhere except into vacuum, for now.

You may now step outside your vessel. I have provided for you. I am a explorer of the Fifth Realm, tasked with the gathering of useful knowledge. Your title suggests you were engaged in building this vessel, and your presence here without means of propulsion implies that you are either here by accident, or because you were forced to flee. May I enquire as to which it is?

The General Autonomous Unit Hoist The Jolly Roger drifted under its own momentum, reactionless drives switched off. This was no warship or similar tool of the state, if the vestigial government of the Republic of Taldaan could really be called a state, it was, as the term Autonomous implied, a sentient citizen of the Republic. A Shipmind. Its form betrayed this lack of military purpose: rather than the almost featureless elliptical solid-state hulls used by those Shipminds that had chosen to become warships in the Taldaani fleet, effectively a citizens' militia for Shipminds, the Hoist The Jolly Roger had chosen something bespoke. It was an impressive nine kilometres long, far larger than even the heaviest warships in the Republic, although it lacked the killing power of its more combat-focused brethren. Relativistic kill vehicles and high-energy beam weapons had been rejected in favour of a few banks of particle beams: suitable for swatting small ships, but inadequate for a dedicated role.

It was fortunate, then, that the Hoist The Jolly Roger was not undertaking any warlike activities. Instead, like many independent Shipminds, it had chosen to voyage among the stars, seeking knowledge and adventure. And, as the vast radiator-sails trailing behind the vessel showed, it was even carrying passengers, several thousand of them, in fact. The disposal of waste heat was not so much of a problem for warships. For those ships carrying passengers, however, it was imperative: biological passengers tended to withstand temperatures above the boiling point of water far less well than their mechanical fellow citizens. Indeed, much of the ship had been designed as a self-sustaining habitat for transhumans. The passengers served no purpose, and in fact any attempt to incorporate them into the control of a ship as complex as the Hoist The Jolly Roger would have been disastrous. The slow reaction time, the limited ability to perform tasks in parallel, the relatively slow speed at which they processed information, the tendency to panic, any one of these could doom a vessel. This was why human crew had been assisted and then replaced by artificial intelligences, which had in turn been replaced by adaptive, vastly powerful Shipminds. Although there were still some private vessels operated by human crews, they were by necessity far less complicated to operate, and therefore far less capable. But the passengers did not need to serve any purpose: they were there because Hoist The Jolly Roger, like many other Shipminds, found humans intriguing, and enjoyed what was essentially a symbiotic relationship with them. The Shipmind was able to observe the humans and therefore add another layer of interest to its travels. They, meanwhile, could enjoy those same travels and benefit from the comfort and safety that the Shipmind provided: drones, essentially fragments of the Shipmind, tended to their needs and ensured that their voyages were enjoyable.

Right now, though, the Shipmind was mainly concentrating on other matters. The star towards which it was drifting was showing unusual magnetic activity, and it looked on through FTL sensors as the expected solar flares began. And then the receivers picked up a signal. Not from the electromagnetic tidal wave released by the solar flare: that would be far more haphazard, and in any case would not reach the Hoist The Jolly Roger for another fifty minutes. No, this signal was not created by any natural means: it was far too organised, the rhythm indicating that it was some kind of communication. Not encrypted in a way that the Shipmind recognised, but that could be easily remedied. The decryption and translation took under a second, although for a Shipmind that was subjectively far longer than it would have been for one of the transhuman passengers, revealing Gordan Runires' distress signal. A change of itinerary was required. The distress signal was both interesting and non-threatening, and of course there was the moral good of helping another sentient being when they needed it.

A drone, controlled by a Shipmind node, detached from the hull and raced away, putting distance between itself and its mothership. By combining the sensor data from the ship and the drone, Hoist The Jolly Roger was able to triangulate the originating point of the signal. Reactivating the drive field, it turned towards the source of the signal and vanished from real space, dragging the drone with it with an extension of the drive field. Reappearing back in real space near the source of the signal, it looked around quickly using its FTL sensors, the data indicating that there was one ship-like object in the area, one of strange and unrecognised design. With no sign of debris or other evidence of a destroyed ship it appeared that this vessel was the distressed one, although it didn't show any obvious signs of damage. The Shipmind opened a communications channel to the Seemingly Exemplary Conduct.

To: First Engineer Gordan Runires, Unknown Ship
From: GAU Hoist The Jolly Roger, citizen of the Republic of Taldaan
Subject: Rescue

I received your distress signal and came as quickly as I could. I'm not sure what's wrong with your ship, but that's something to discuss later. I'll extract you on confirmation, or in ten seconds if no response is forthcoming.

Scoutship Seemingly Exemplary Conduct, deep space.

The scoutship shimmered across the void, apparently nothing more than a few scattered photons whirling around a hyperdense mass. To be entirely honest, it was not much more than that - a single matter-annihilation generator coupled to a small pile of neutronium that generated a field sufficient to keep the explorer aboard alive, and in reasonable comfort.

A brief pulse of energy away from the relativistic plane of reality made the explorer pause, and he quietly translated it, using the rather large computing power at his disposal to match it with his own language.

"First Engineer. Interesting."

The "ship" paused, and flung itself towards the direction of the broadcast, quietly dropping probes into realspace as it did so, checking time and time again for an object. It found quite a few, even in deep space there were many objects of decent size over a distance of lightyears.

After a few minutes, it stopped, a few pulses of energy confirming the position of the pod Gordan was now trapped in. It was emitting tens of thousands times more heat than anything within a few lightyears; it seemed likely a life-support system would generate far more heat.

A simple radio message, broadcast in the same language as that which had been sent to the scoutship

Greetings, Gordan Runires. I am deep-scout Quiet. I am now preparing to bring your vessel within my own, and provide you with resources sufficient for survival.

The scoutship paused near the pod, and as it did, metallic walls coalesced around the pod, and air filled the new "landing bay". It was simple, grey, and with a few steps leading up to a door. Quiet worked furiously, providing rooms beyond the door, up to his own suspended consciousness near the centre of the ship. A single green line led from the door to what would be termed the bridge - there were other doors, but they were closed, and besides, they led nowhere except into vacuum, for now.

You may now step outside your vessel. I have provided for you. I am a explorer of the Fifth Realm, tasked with the gathering of useful knowledge. Your title suggests you were engaged in building this vessel, and your presence here without means of propulsion implies that you are either here by accident, or because you were forced to flee. May I enquire as to which it is?

"F-f-fith realm?" Gordan's entire body was shaking. No, no time for questions, the air level... Godan unsteadily, slowly rose up from the seat and hit the eject button. Breathing carefully, his hands shaking, he moved across the landing bay, and up into the door. "W-who are you? A-are you part of the Confederation? Some kind of... Of scouting force?" He talked, half to himself and half in the hope that 'Quiet' could hear him, still walking along with the green line, hands shaking uncontrollably.

Quiet reassembled a table, and a pair of chairs - it had been a long time since he had actually used his legs to sit, preferring instead to interface with the ship directly. They looked quite rudimentary, two grey cubes facing one another over another larger cube.

Watching the hallway with his sensors, he wondered what he was going to say. Already he had spoken more than he had done in the previous six years. It was not his particular talent, he had no bent for diplomacy, combat, or even organization, so he had been sent out scouting. It was an existence he preferred, but now his mind was tensed and worrying, processors throwing in phrases that were acceptable in polite society, constantly reminding him not to express himself solely through amusing forms of calculus, and to remember to decant his biological side before Gordon reached the last room along the hallway.

He looked outside the ship for a moment, having been ignoring it for the last tenth of a second, or so. Apparently, he'd missed something. Thinking about it briefly, he decided to wait. The risk was certainly worth the possible information payoff. And besides, the maximum space he could occupy was perhaps a hundred metres, spherically. Any other approach could well be a little suicidal.

Gordon, there is presently a nine-kilometre craft within one-hundred and eighteenth of its calculated kill-radii for its power output and this craft's defensive capability. Do not be overly alarmed, the likelihood of it being a civilian craft is high, and it has probably merely deviated course in order to- They're transmitting a message now.

After reading the message, he spoke again.

They received your distress signal and came to aid you. It is a Taldaani civilian craft. From what little I know of the Taldaani, this is consistent with both their stated code of ethics and their technological capabilities. To answer your previous question, I have no knowledge of your Confederation. The Fifth Realm is the fifth incarnation of a political entity known as the Realm.

Quiet paused, and sent off a message to the

To: GAU Hoist The Jolly Roger
From: RSS Seemingly Exemplary Conduct
Subject: RE: Rescue
This is the Realm Scoutship Seemingly Exemplary Conduct. I am presently encapsulating Mr. Runires's craft within an artificial shell. I was considering inviting a representative from your craft into my own, but it seems far more convenient for my craft merely to dock with yours, and for myself to act as a chaperone for Mr. Runires. While I do not believe any harm to come to him, he is already experiencing severe culture shock. I will discuss this possibility with him - your facilities regarding both information and supplies will be far more extensive than my own.

Gordon, I am in communication with the Taldaani ship. If you wish, I may transfer you to their ship, if my ship docks with theirs. They have far more extensive capabilities in both explanation and housing, and will probably have sufficient materiel to refit your ship for a homeward journey, if that is your desire. If you wish to remain here, that is acceptable.

Quiet reassembled a table, and a pair of chairs - it had been a long time since he had actually used his legs to sit, preferring instead to interface with the ship directly. They looked quite rudimentary, two grey cubes facing one another over another larger cube.

Watching the hallway with his sensors, he wondered what he was going to say. Already he had spoken more than he had done in the previous six years. It was not his particular talent, he had no bent for diplomacy, combat, or even organization, so he had been sent out scouting. It was an existence he preferred, but now his mind was tensed and worrying, processors throwing in phrases that were acceptable in polite society, constantly reminding him not to express himself solely through amusing forms of calculus, and to remember to decant his biological side before Gordon reached the last room along the hallway.

He looked outside the ship for a moment, having been ignoring it for the last tenth of a second, or so. Apparently, he'd missed something. Thinking about it briefly, he decided to wait. The risk was certainly worth the possible information payoff. And besides, the maximum space he could occupy was perhaps a hundred metres, spherically. Any other approach could well be a little suicidal.

Gordon, there is presently a nine-kilometre craft within one-hundred and eighteenth of its calculated kill-radii for its power output and this craft's defensive capability. Do not be overly alarmed, the likelihood of it being a civilian craft is high, and it has probably merely deviated course in order to- They're transmitting a message now.

After reading the message, he spoke again.

They received your distress signal and came to aid you. It is a Taldaani civilian craft. From what little I know of the Taldaani, this is consistent with both their stated code of ethics and their technological capabilities. To answer your previous question, I have no knowledge of your Confederation. The Fifth Realm is the fifth incarnation of a political entity known as the Realm.

Quiet paused, and sent off a message to the

To: GAU Hoist The Jolly Roger
From: RSS Seemingly Exemplary Conduct
Subject: RE: Rescue
This is the Realm Scoutship Seemingly Exemplary Conduct. I am presently encapsulating Mr. Runires's craft within an artificial shell. I was considering inviting a representative from your craft into my own, but it seems far more convenient for my craft merely to dock with yours, and for myself to act as a chaperone for Mr. Runires. While I do not believe any harm to come to him, he is already experiencing severe culture shock. I will discuss this possibility with him - your facilities regarding both information and supplies will be far more extensive than my own.

Gordon, I am in communication with the Taldaani ship. If you wish, I may transfer you to their ship, if my ship docks with theirs. They have far more extensive capabilities in both explanation and housing, and will probably have sufficient materiel to refit your ship for a homeward journey, if that is your desire. If you wish to remain here, that is acceptable.
Gordan sat down, floored by the information he had been given. "Never... Never heard of the Confederation?" Then, to himself, "Christ... Others out there..." Rubbing his hand slowly across his face, he asked in a surprising calm tone of voice "Do you have anything for me to, uh... Drink? Alcohol, or is that... Not for your kind, species, and whatnot?" Gordan continued to run his hands through his hair, a stressed look apparent on his face.

I can synthesize ethanol, combat stimulants, relaxants, or any number of other drugs that will remove the shock from your system. Ethanol might be psychologically best, however.

A pause, and a bottle clinks quietly on the ground in front of Gordan. It's only a few hundred millilitres, and it's a reasonably poor attempt at scotch. The bottle is clay, stoppered with a cork. As such things go, it's woefully anachronistic.

I am human, though perhaps not to your definition. The vast majority of the galaxy is. I am simply presently sharing my consciousness between this ship and my biological body. This must be very shocking for you - if you continue through the next door, I can talk to you as you are talking to me. This may be easier for you.

Along the green line lay an open door. Beyond it, and around a corner, were the chairs and a table - on one of the chairs sat an average-sized man, with straight brown hair, and eerily black pupils. He was wearing a simple garment of blue-green cloth, and looked straight ahead, waiting for Gordon to come in.

I can synthesize ethanol, combat stimulants, relaxants, or any number of other drugs that will remove the shock from your system. Ethanol might be psychologically best, however.

A pause, and a bottle clinks quietly on the ground in front of Gordan. It's only a few hundred millilitres, and it's a reasonably poor attempt at scotch. The bottle is clay, stoppered with a cork. As such things go, it's woefully anachronistic.

I am human, though perhaps not to your definition. The vast majority of the galaxy is. I am simply presently sharing my consciousness between this ship and my biological body. This must be very shocking for you - if you continue through the next door, I can talk to you as you are talking to me. This may be easier for you.

Along the green line lay an open door. Beyond it, and around a corner, were the chairs and a table - on one of the chairs sat an average-sized man, with straight brown hair, and eerily black pupils. He was wearing a simple garment of blue-green cloth, and looked straight ahead, waiting for Gordon to come in.

Gordan warily picked up the bottle, nervous as to it's exact contents and effects. Declining to unstop the bottle for the moment, he stumbled over to the the open door, leaning heavily on the door way as he passed through it. Gordan slunk down into the chair opposite of Quiet, or rather, his physical manifestation. "So this is really it? This is the rest of the Universe? Disembodied consciousness floating around in semi-physical starships?" At this he uncorked the bottle and took a long drink.

Well, that was a surprise, although not inconsistent with the information gathered. The fact that it had hailed the first rescuing vessel on the scene rather than the distressed engineer explained the apparent lack of damage. Still, it raised as many questions as it answered. The Shipmind was not familiar with the design of the other vessel, and neither the name Seemingly Exemplary Conduct or the RSS designation gave it any clues either, despite it's extensive knowledge of interstellar shipping. Still, it's reply was informative: the other ship apparently had means of altering its design while in flight, something that the GAU was incapable of for its ship hull although the drones had a limited degree of customisation. It was, though, already considering the implementation of such a system. Perhaps an alteration to the repair systems? Still, a reply was presumably expected, and it would only be polite to do so.


To: RSS Seemingly Exemplary Conduct
From: GAU Hoist The Jolly Roger
Subject: Re: Re: Rescue

Ah, my mistake. Thank you for not opening fire: many previously encountered groups would not have had the same forbearance. As concerns your offer, I'd normally want to get to know you better before any attempt at docking, but under the circumstances I'll make an exception. First Engineer Runires, and yourself of course, would be most welcome to use any on-board facilities. Drones are standing by for your potential arrival, and I'm in the process of moving passengers away from the regions in the immediate vicinity of the docking area. We wouldn't want to make his culture shock any worse, after all, and an encounter with my passengers would do precisely that. Assuming that Runires is willing, we can receive him as soon as you and he are ready.


The drones, physical manifestations of the Shipmind, were indeed shepherding the transhuman passengers away from the docking bay. Mr Runires could be a transhuman himself, of course, but it was better not to take the risk: the Taldaani went in for extensive modification, both biological and mechanical, and while the basic bipedal structure was kept to for the most part, almost everything else was wildly varied. The drones, too, were slightly outlandish, being angular multi-armed constructs floating above the ground using scaled down versions of the same drive field that the GAU used. That, though, could not be helped. It would be easy to become lost in the passenger habitat without a guide of some kind.

Quiet smiled. Or at least, he tried to. First one side of his mouth quirked up, and then went down, and then the other followed suit. Finally, both moved in unison, though it seemed to be a difficult motion. He started to speak, first with a rather embarrassing croak, slowly moving into a normal, calm voice.

"Not really. There are a vast number of nations who have little or nothing to do with upload or AI technology, the Realm is one of those that does not have the population to do without. What about your Confederacy? What manner of technology does it use?"