Immir
24-04-2009, 17:29
**** Uncharted system. Approx. 165 light years outside of Immirian space ****
Within the immeasurable reaches of that which is called space, relatively few systems had less to distinguish it from others as this particular system. A dim brown dwarf star shed its feeble glow on an expanse filled with little more than rock, ice, and other cosmic detritus. There were no planets orbiting the dying star and no other celestial bodies of note other than a few massive asteroids composed primarily of nickel and iron. In other words, this was a dead system. It was almost amusing how quickly that would change.
Had anyone been there, they would have seen the blinding flare of light that always announced the arrival of a Warp-capable vessel as it translated into n-space. The energy generated during the downward translation bled from the ship’s collapsing Geller field in a rapidly dissipating stream of charged particles. The vessel itself was monstrous, weighing in at just over 7,000,000 tons displacement. To an experienced eye, it was obvious that the ship was some sort of bulk freighter. Massive cargo holds dotted the flanks of the leviathan, their gaping maws sealed shut by meter thick duralloy hatch covers. No armament was visible and in fact there was none. Faint light from the distant star revealed a registry number of TCS021061 stenciled onto hull, just forward of the first of the cargo holds. Below that number was a single word; Wainwright.
**** 8 years ago. Orbital dockyards of Pardal, Immirian capital world ****
Aboard the bulk cargo carrier TCS Wainwright, final preparations were being made for departure. Manifests were finalized and filed by the ship’s purser. Flight plans were submitted to Sector Control. Final checks were completed in the engineering sections. For all intents and purposes, the freighter was ready to go.
On the main bridge, the faint hiss of the environmental system mixed with the chatter of a bridge crew that had been together for nearly 4 years. Above it all, figuratively if not literally, was Ship Master Isaac Hollingsworth. (Theocracy law prohibited any non-military ship commander from using the title “Captain”). Hollingsworth had captained the Wainwright for the past 11 years and although the ship was owned by the Bactian Trade Consortium, she was his baby. He was a small man, slight of stature and as physically unimposing as a man could be. Bushy eyebrows framed deep set eyes and one hand reached up to push back his rapidly thinning, grey-black hair. The charisma and authority that radiated from the man however, was almost a physical presence on the bridge. There was no question who was in charge.
“We’ve received departure clearance from Sector Control,” stated Mikala Ames, ship’s communications officer and resident history buff. Ames was tall and lanky and undeniably attractive. She was also depressingly feminist in her outlook. That probably explained her perpetually single status. She was also good at what she did and while she would never admit it she was skilled enough to a have made in great career in the Navy. Civilian life was where it was all at. At least as far as she was concerned.
“Alright then,” Hollingsworth acknowledged, “take us out Dave.”
The helmsman, David Hanes, simply nodded and began manipulating controls on the console before him. Almost immediately, the multi-million ton vessel shuddered as her docking thrusters fired and began moving her ungainly mass away from the docking berth she had occupied for the last 4 days. Once well clear of the dockyard, the ship pivoted on her axis and pointed her broad snout towards the darkness of deep space, her cargo of heavy construction machinery and foodstuffs nestled securely in her cavernous holds. Fusion engines pulsed to life and the journey began as the Wainwright loped towards the hyper limit of the Omicron system. All around, life went on. Shuttles moved to and from the planet’s surface. Orbital fortresses continued their unblinking vigilance. Nobody aboard the Wainwright knew that their lives were now measured in hours.
Four hours later, Geller fields spooled up and the freighter blinked out of existence as she translated up into the Warp. She wouldn’t be heard from again.
**** Uncharted system. Approx. 165 light years outside of Immirian space ****
Until now. Twenty-five minutes after reappearing, a single courier drone was launched in the general direction of the Omicron system and Theocracy space. The drone itself broadcast a civilian distress signal right up until it translated into the Warp. It would resume its broadcast once it again entered n-space weeks later. With that single act complete, the ship drifted complacently, the only sign of life an emergency beacon which pulsed once every 15 minutes.
OOC: Greetings everyone. I am new here and only slightly less new at the RP thing. I’m hopeful someone will give me a chance.
This post is simply my attempt to get out there and meet someone. Immirian units will be responding once the courier drone reaches Theocracy space.
The Theocracy is a small stellar polity, neither technologically hyper advanced but not stagnant either.
I am beginning this nation with the idea that the Theocracy has some contact with some NPC nations nearby. Hence the need for Warp capable starships.
Let the shennanigans begin!!!
Within the immeasurable reaches of that which is called space, relatively few systems had less to distinguish it from others as this particular system. A dim brown dwarf star shed its feeble glow on an expanse filled with little more than rock, ice, and other cosmic detritus. There were no planets orbiting the dying star and no other celestial bodies of note other than a few massive asteroids composed primarily of nickel and iron. In other words, this was a dead system. It was almost amusing how quickly that would change.
Had anyone been there, they would have seen the blinding flare of light that always announced the arrival of a Warp-capable vessel as it translated into n-space. The energy generated during the downward translation bled from the ship’s collapsing Geller field in a rapidly dissipating stream of charged particles. The vessel itself was monstrous, weighing in at just over 7,000,000 tons displacement. To an experienced eye, it was obvious that the ship was some sort of bulk freighter. Massive cargo holds dotted the flanks of the leviathan, their gaping maws sealed shut by meter thick duralloy hatch covers. No armament was visible and in fact there was none. Faint light from the distant star revealed a registry number of TCS021061 stenciled onto hull, just forward of the first of the cargo holds. Below that number was a single word; Wainwright.
**** 8 years ago. Orbital dockyards of Pardal, Immirian capital world ****
Aboard the bulk cargo carrier TCS Wainwright, final preparations were being made for departure. Manifests were finalized and filed by the ship’s purser. Flight plans were submitted to Sector Control. Final checks were completed in the engineering sections. For all intents and purposes, the freighter was ready to go.
On the main bridge, the faint hiss of the environmental system mixed with the chatter of a bridge crew that had been together for nearly 4 years. Above it all, figuratively if not literally, was Ship Master Isaac Hollingsworth. (Theocracy law prohibited any non-military ship commander from using the title “Captain”). Hollingsworth had captained the Wainwright for the past 11 years and although the ship was owned by the Bactian Trade Consortium, she was his baby. He was a small man, slight of stature and as physically unimposing as a man could be. Bushy eyebrows framed deep set eyes and one hand reached up to push back his rapidly thinning, grey-black hair. The charisma and authority that radiated from the man however, was almost a physical presence on the bridge. There was no question who was in charge.
“We’ve received departure clearance from Sector Control,” stated Mikala Ames, ship’s communications officer and resident history buff. Ames was tall and lanky and undeniably attractive. She was also depressingly feminist in her outlook. That probably explained her perpetually single status. She was also good at what she did and while she would never admit it she was skilled enough to a have made in great career in the Navy. Civilian life was where it was all at. At least as far as she was concerned.
“Alright then,” Hollingsworth acknowledged, “take us out Dave.”
The helmsman, David Hanes, simply nodded and began manipulating controls on the console before him. Almost immediately, the multi-million ton vessel shuddered as her docking thrusters fired and began moving her ungainly mass away from the docking berth she had occupied for the last 4 days. Once well clear of the dockyard, the ship pivoted on her axis and pointed her broad snout towards the darkness of deep space, her cargo of heavy construction machinery and foodstuffs nestled securely in her cavernous holds. Fusion engines pulsed to life and the journey began as the Wainwright loped towards the hyper limit of the Omicron system. All around, life went on. Shuttles moved to and from the planet’s surface. Orbital fortresses continued their unblinking vigilance. Nobody aboard the Wainwright knew that their lives were now measured in hours.
Four hours later, Geller fields spooled up and the freighter blinked out of existence as she translated up into the Warp. She wouldn’t be heard from again.
**** Uncharted system. Approx. 165 light years outside of Immirian space ****
Until now. Twenty-five minutes after reappearing, a single courier drone was launched in the general direction of the Omicron system and Theocracy space. The drone itself broadcast a civilian distress signal right up until it translated into the Warp. It would resume its broadcast once it again entered n-space weeks later. With that single act complete, the ship drifted complacently, the only sign of life an emergency beacon which pulsed once every 15 minutes.
OOC: Greetings everyone. I am new here and only slightly less new at the RP thing. I’m hopeful someone will give me a chance.
This post is simply my attempt to get out there and meet someone. Immirian units will be responding once the courier drone reaches Theocracy space.
The Theocracy is a small stellar polity, neither technologically hyper advanced but not stagnant either.
I am beginning this nation with the idea that the Theocracy has some contact with some NPC nations nearby. Hence the need for Warp capable starships.
Let the shennanigans begin!!!