narfblatUtah, USAJoin Date: 2016-05-15Member: 216799Members, Forum Moderators, Forum staff
edited October 2019
Spam's gone now( it lacked the usual links, and I didn't see it when I checked the first report). Read a few bits of the story, decided I'm going to start at Aurora Falls.
An awkward silence descended upon the gathering. Halvorsen grimaced with distaste, clearly offended by Héloise's unprovoked outburst. He turned to Commander Masako Ito and nodded curtly. Sagan's bridge crew marked this wordless exchange and began to rise from their seats.
"We will be leaving now, Captain Selkirk." Halvorsen said icily. "I fear that we may have overstayed our welcome. Thank you for your... hospitality, and good luck on your return voyage."
I could only stare at Héloise in stunned silence. What the hell is she thinking? Any rapport we shared with Halvorsen and the Carl Sagan's crew is history. Flushed straight down the shitter. Kaput.
I know better than to spring blindly to Héloise's defence. She must have a damn good reason for blowing up like that, and I'm not about to apologise for her social clanger. She means what she says.
Before I could offer anything to salvage this rapidly-deteriorating situation, JUNO intervened.
"Permission to speak freely, Captain?"
"As always, Commander. Please proceed."
"With all due respect to Captain Halvorsen and his crew, I believe that Madame Héloise has raised a valid point of discussion. Whether you like it or not, you are all Terrans. That is your heritage. The Belters, deep-range colonists, Jovian cloud-skimmers on Callisto, comet jockeys and ice miners operating out of Sedna Outpost may be asking this same question. The answer is an unqualified yes. Terra must endure. All Terrans should be working toward that one common goal, no matter where in the cosmos they call home. Humanity needs a strong homeworld... A refuge of last resort, and you will most definitely need one at some point. This incessant campaign of expansion must end, or there will be serious repercussions. Sooner or later, humanity will encounter a sentient alien race that cannot be negotiated with in basic terms of trade, diplomacy or military prowess, and they may well prove to be the ultimate nemesis of your species. The Kharaa are merely a foretaste of far worse things to come. Remember, you are essentially alone in an increasingly hostile Universe."
I nodded approvingly. "Thank you for spelling it out for us, JUNO. Currently, humanity occupies 75 D to M-Class worlds in a sphere roughly 200 light years in diameter. Now, I'm no expert in planetary economics, but I do believe there should be ample resources within that modest pocket of space to satisfy humanity's requirements for at least several millennia. Would that be a fair assumption?"
"You can blame all of the Corps for that." Halvorsen growled. "They keep leap-frogging each other, snatching up new planets as soon as they're discovered. These days, they usually commence operations as soon as the preliminary results of resource scans come through. If there's exploitable quantities of any resource to be had, they'll be all over it like fleas on a dog. Naturally, there's usually a steep price attached to this slapdash approach. Alterra lost another ship about eighteen months ago, the Evangelista Torricelli. She touched down on the ice-world Epsilon Eridani VI, searching for rare earth minerals. Two months into the mission, the planet entered perihelion. Unfortunately, the sub-equatorial regions of Eridani VI are covered by layers of frozen carbon dioxide, ammonia and methane ice, up to 15 kilometres deep in places. At the first touch of some decent sunlight, half the planet's surface sublimated in one massive eruption. Gigatonnes of ice flashed from solid to vapour phase within minutes, whipping up wind speeds exceeding 2000 km/h. Needless to say, there was little warning, and there were definitely no survivors. Incidentally, this never happened, if you catch my meaning."
Héloise smiled grimly. "I think you might be seeing things from a Belter's point of view now. The outer colonies have been feeding resources back to Terran Mega-Corps for decades, and this is how they choose to repay us. We are nothing but expendable tools, to be thrown away when we're completely broken. We mean nothing to them. The Corps must go."
DIGBY shook his head. "Madame, I fully agree with you, at least in principle. However, it will be extremely difficult, if not entirely impossible to forcibly remove the Mega-Corps from their place in society. They have become intimately entwined with everyone's way of life, and any attempt to depose them will surely result in disaster. I predict a total collapse of Confederation rule on all Terran core worlds within six to ten months, with at least four of the first-tier Corps attempting to gain primacy by using their internal security and paramilitary assets. A full-scale corporate war is almost inevitable under those circumstances. Given their known propensity for ruthless tactics, armed conflict between corporate rivals would not adhere to any acceptable conventions of wartime conduct for very long at all. A more gradual and carefully considered approach is required."
I leaned forward, grinning broadly. "And that's precisely what we have in mind. We're not just bringing home some odd-looking fish for the earthbound yokels to gawk at. We've secured a 99-year lease on an island 50 klicks off the coast of Queensland, not too far from Port Capricorn. Used to be a holiday resort, at least until folks got tired of looking at bleached coral skeletons. It's called Great Keppel Island, but I prefer the indigenous peoples' name for it... Wop-pa. Rather apt in an ironic sort of way, since we'll be running a small, ever-so-carefully monitored pilot program to see if Manannán's wildlife can eventually adapt to conditions down there. Here's the kicker... We know for a fact that they will. More importantly, we'll need to discover how those alien beasties and plants interact with what's left of Terra's native marine species. Admittedly, the food chains on Manannán are rather top-heavy with apex predators, although the planet's prey species breed vigorously enough to act as a partial buffer. If all Terran marine creatures do go extinct, they will at least be replaced by another, far more robust ecosystem. We're aiming for the seamless integration of Terran and alien sea life, rather than direct and terminal assimilation of the current population."
Believe it or not, another page is underway, folks.
Contrary to certain baseless rumours, I am not using uncooked spaghetti to chisel the rough page drafts into solid granite .
Héloise sighed with exasperation. "How is all of this supposed to knock the Corps off their perches? Sorry, Chérie, I'm just not seeing it."
"No offence to Captain Halvorsen and his crew, but the details of this exercise are what the Corps would call 'proprietary information'. I can't risk any sensitive details reaching the ears of Alterra, ConAm, Matsuda, Jinwei, TriOptimum or Torgaljin. We'll need to discuss this later, Dear Heart."
I addressed the rest of the gathering. "I'm sure ye all appreciate the need for discretion, ladies and gentlemen. What we have planned is perfectly legal, and it has the full approval of the Terran Confederation. However, there is a strong probability that one or more of the Corps may develop an unhealthy interest in our modest enterprise. I'd rather avoid any further entanglements with them."
Without warning, Borealis' avatar materialised at the head of the table. "Cutty Sark has docked, and both passengers are preparing to disembark. Drive shutdown sequence is currently in progress. Docking Bay One outer doors are sealed and the area is secured for departure. Atmospheric pressure in Docking Bay One is now stable at 1.0 Bar. What are your orders, Sir?"
"Thank you, Borealis. Please direct Doktor Zelenka and Mister Chandra to their assigned quarters. Set provisional security clearance to Level Four for these individuals. Standard access is to be granted to all common areas, autogalleys and data terminals. Also, inform them that they are to report to my ready room at 15:00 and 16:00 hours for their individual mission briefings. That is all."
"Very good, Sir." Borealis replied.
I breathed a short sigh of relief as Ogun Onire finally cleared the docking bay doors. Halvorsen and I had parted ways cordially enough, although it was plain to see that his bridge crew weren't feeling the same love after Héloise had spoken her mind. Not the best possible outcome, but I'm not going to lose too much sleep over it. Someone aboard the Sagan is passing word of our daily comings and goings, and that makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable. I know for a fact that Alterra has some unfinished business with us, and I'd rather not have them skulking around our planetary operations.
The Great Barrier Reef project is the least sensitive aspect of the overall scheme. I had no choice but to take the wraps off this particular project after Héloise's outburst. As a matter of fact, any significant measure of public interest will be most welcome. However, we have a number of commercial side-projects that are guaranteed to pique the interest of some of the major Corps. Mass production of Enzyme 42 as a vaccine and its weaponised form will be our main source of income. Naturally, the Terran Confederation is eager to start dealing with us. I had to do a fair bit of soul-searching over this one, since I'd previously decided to hand the E42 synthesis technology over to the Frontiersmen, free and clear. However, we need some serious cash to finance our other, less-profitable operations that have been finely calculated to upset the Corps in no uncertain manner.
The Mega-Corps' monopoly on food production and distribution will be our first target. IANTO has recently developed a rapid protein culture growth technique that can be scaled up to a commercial level. Synthesized meat proteins are nothing new, although there are several problems with the finished product that resist any attempts to make it more palatable to consumers. VatMeat is ridiculously expensive and not an entirely satisfying foodstuff, in spite of its basic nutritional value. The only perceptible differences between a fake steak, faux chicken nugget and an ersatz sausage are their shapes and colours. Mouth-feel is the greatest stumbling-block for this alleged foodstuff, and no amount of artful flavouring will fix that. No matter how nutritious it's supposed to be, it's like chewing on a chunk of memory foam. Vaguely meat-flavoured memory foam, at that.
It takes the Corps a week to force-grow one kilogram of VatMeat. We can do it in two hours.
Magic Soup 2.0. The protein source is a single stem cell taken from a Peeper nicknamed 'Stimpy'.
Today's breakfast menu owed its existence to the first batch. I noticed a lot of empty plates on our table, so it must have gone down rather well with Captain Halvorsen and his crew. Each steak, each slice of exquisitely crisped bacon, each lightly-poached egg; all were made from a manipulated marine protein base, cultured on a Creepvine gel substrate... And not a single complaint was heard.
The Corps won't even notice what we're doing, until it's far too late to do anything about it. We'll be nothing more than mice living inside their walls; just taking a wee nibble here, another wee nibble there. Patiently and relentlessly chipping away at their supremacy. Nothing too dramatic at first, although I aim to permanently loosen their stranglehold on the Core Worlds. I'm sure Héloise will be pleased to hear that Belters will be the first Terrans to directly benefit from what we're bringing back with us. Advanced food, water and atmospheric processing systems, ion-crystal power generation and Precursor shielding technology should do for starters, and we'll cheerfully pass these goodies on without a single Credit ever changing hands. The larger asteroids will eventually have their own internal oceans, dramatically enhancing the quality of life on those bleak and cheerless rocks. Frankly, the Belters have had a pretty rough time of it over the years, and I conjure they could use a decent break.
Once we've sorted out The Belt's most immediate wants and needs, we'll be ready to commence work on Terra. That's going to be a far more involved project, since it requires a certain degree of tip-toeing around the Confederation's commercial interests, as well as those of the Mega-Corps. We need to keep the Terran Confederation on our side as much as possible. On the off-chance that the Corps decide to do something unfriendly, official military intervention may be required. I'd rather not have to fend off Corporate strike teams on a daily basis. After losing a few subs to our TRIDENT defence system, it's entirely possible that a bootleg nuke might be called into play. Not entirely sure if the fluidic shields could shrug that one off, and I'm not too keen to put them to the test. We'll play it safe and accept whatever patronage and protection the Confederation deigns to offer. Naturally, a constant supply of Enzyme 42 is our end of the bargain.
According to the latest InfoCortex data-dump, approximately 1.5 million people currently call Ceres, Vesta, Pallas, and Hygiea home. There's also around 25,000-plus souls scattered throughout the Kuiper Belt. Mainly ice-haulers and ramscoop gas harvesters working the outer planets. Most of the Belter's GDP is handed back to the Corps in exchange for food, water, power and various goods or equipment that can't be manufactured locally. Suffice it to say, there are punitive transport costs tacked onto the supply of these items, a convenient lever that has been capriciously applied to keep the Belters toeing the line. Unsurprisingly, this sorry state of affairs does not please the Belters.
Imagine what would happen if all Belter colonies became entirely self-sufficient. The Corps still need the Belt's mineral resources, but this time, they won't be able to screw down resource prices and artificially manipulate the Belter's reciprocal trade arrangements to suit themselves. When demand for certain 'luxury items' from Terra starts to taper off, that might raise some red flags in the more perceptive boardrooms. Too late, unfortunately. We'll be well dug in by then.
Undoubtedly, some Corps might be moved to send agents to investigate, or even interfere with this gradual, yet remarkable reversal of Belter fortunes. That would be most unwise. Belters have an uncanny knack for detecting outsiders, and only a supremely skilled operative could pass unnoticed among them. Belters are accustomed to living in relatively cramped conditions, so there is a refreshing degree of transparency in their dealings with each other. Awkward questions and secretive behaviour are an immediate giveaway. A word of advice to any would-be Corporate snoops and saboteurs: Don't. Belter justice is swift and astonishingly effective. No repeat offenders.
My PDA chimed softly. 1200 hours. It's time to get underway.
"Captain on the bridge!" JUNO announced briskly. In reply, the crew braced smartly to attention.
"As you were. Well, my friends... This is it. Everything we've worked for, everything we've fought for has brought us to this point. I'm proud to say that I could'na done it without you all. Thank you."
JUNO stepped forward and saluted. I returned her salute. "The crew awaits your command, Sir."
"Very well, Commander. Borealis, ship status report, please."
The avatar of Borealis shimmered into view. As the hologram stabilized, the ship's animus also saluted respectfully, apparently having learned this behaviour through careful observation of our personal interactions. By the way, I've never actually insisted on this particular nicety; the crew simply started doing it as a mark of respect, and I have always responded accordingly. Considering I've had command more or less thrust upon me by blind chance, I've had to reconsider my general attitude to personnel management, discipline and morale. It hasn't been easy. To be perfectly honest, it's a long stretch from tearing an occasional verbal strip off a sloppy Gremlin. I'm operating far beyond my comfort zone now. In fact, the responsibility of being 'The Captain' fairly boggles the mind sometimes. I trust that I have performed my duties to the very best of my ability.
"Fusion drive reactors One through Four are cycling up from a cold start. Sub-light reaction drives are online and are ready for action, Sir. All essential ship systems are operating within nominal parameters. Zero-defect status has been confirmed across all onboard systems. The vessel now stands ready in all respects. Do you wish to assume command of this vessel, Captain Selkirk?"
"I do. Let the ship's log show that I formally accept command of TCS Borealis, as of 12:10 UTC."
"So noted, Sir. I stand relieved. The ship is yours, Captain." Borealis saluted crisply.
"Thank you, Borealis. Your performance has been exemplary. Please resume your normal duties."
"Aye, Sir." Borealis replied. Her holographic projection flickered briefly, then disappeared.
"Take your stations. Helm, lay in a gravity-assisted return trajectory for Alpha Hydrae V."
"Helm, aye. Gravity slingshot course computed and laid in. Awaiting your order, Sir." DIGBY replied.
"Reaction drive, set acceleration rate one. Take us out, Mister DIGBY. Nice and slow."
"Incoming transmission, Sir. Carl Sagan Actual." JUNO announced.
"Patch him through to my station, please." Captain Halvorsen's face appeared on the Big Chair's monitor, his normally jovial expression held carefully neutral.
"Go ahead, Captain Halvorsen."
"Just calling to wish you all godspeed, Captain Selkirk. I know that we didn't part on the best of terms, but I couldn't let you leave without offering an apology. For what it's worth, I'm sorry that I reacted poorly to Madame Maida's comments. You've been a good friend to everyone aboard the Sagan, and I'd hate to think that there's any ill-feeling lingering between us. "
Héloise leaned over, impulsively placing her face in the monitor's field of vision.
"The fault is entirely mine, Captain. I meant no disrespect to you or your crew. Stupid words said in the heat of the moment, words that I now deeply regret. Veuillez me pardonner, capitaine."
Halvorsen chuckled good-naturedly. "Consider any offence already forgotten, Madame Maida. You've all been sitting on your hands for over a month now, patiently waiting for us to finish calibrating the phase gate. I suppose that's caused a few frayed nerves aboard Borealis, no?"
"Aye, yer no' wrong there, Jens. Even with plenty o' space and all manner of diversions to keep oor passengers amused, there's still been a few nasty scuffles. Cabin fever, I expect. Naught too serious, but ye don't want it getting oot o' hand afore starting a nine-month cruise. Had to chuck a couple of young lads and a lass into the coolers for unruly behaviour just last week. We'll thaw them oot at Omicron Leonis, hopefully mended in their ways."
"Well then Alexander, I'd best let you make a run for it while you still can. Handing you over to Gate Control now. Stay safe and give our regards to Terra. Godspeed, Borealis. Halvorsen, out."
"Fair winds and following seas to ye all, Sagan. Take care." I replied.
"Alpha Hydrae Gate Control to Borealis Actual, you are cleared for transit. Approach trajectory data has been received and your course is approved. Be advised that the gate will be fully charged and ready to activate in 4.5 hours. Proceed with departure, Borealis."
"Roger that, Gate Control. We'll be checking in with you later. Borealis Actual, out."
"Five thousand kilometres from dock, Sir. Accelerating to rate six, Bussard ramscoop deployed."
"That's a canny idea, DIGBY. We might as well top off our hydrogen reserves on the way. Particle density's still a bit on the low side at the moment, although the scoop should fill its boots nicely as we swing around Five's backside. Best to shut the scoop down just before we turn onto final approach. Better safe than sorry. I conjure the Sagan wouldn't thank us for frying their electronics."
"Aye, Sir." DIGBY replied, grinning broadly.
The cruise toward Alpha Hydrae V was by and large, entirely uneventful. The crew went about their tasks as diligently as ever, leaving me free to tinker with an idea that has been germinating in my mind since breakfast. In the days of sail, it was commonplace for the vessels of some nations to dip their ensigns upon meeting other ships on the high seas, regardless of their nationality. It was never a hard and fast rule; more a gesture of common courtesy among seafarers. If relations were good between the nationalities involved, the latest news or vital supplies might be exchanged between both vessels. If relations were less than cordial... Well, you can imagine what happens next.
Since we'll be travelling at a fair old clip on our final approach, dipping an actual flag would achieve nine-tenths of the cube root of bugger-all. An animated holographic ensign would need to be roughly 1,500 x 2,000 kilometres in size, and projected in such a manner that the desired image is adjusted for spatial positioning and corrected for visual distortion, relative to a stationary observer. To be honest, the calculations required to achieve this fleeting effect simply aren't worth the effort.
Not to worry. I have a far more impressive farewell gesture in mind.
"Entering orbit in 360 seconds, Captain. Flight profile is nominal for a gravity assisted trajectory."
"Very good, Mister DIGBY. Take her right to the mark. Accelerate to rate ten."
I keyed the shipwide intercom. "Attention all hands. Stand by for orbital insertion in 340 seconds."
Just then, something entirely unexpected happened. All secondary display monitors have lit up throughout the entire ship. I hear the sound of drums, pulsing and insistent. The monitors displayed an animated flotilla of Polynesian outrigger sailing canoes, surging across an impossibly blue ocean.
I have absolutely no idea what's going on.
Confused, I turned in my seat to face JUNO. A faint smile on her lips has already answered my unspoken question. This is definitely her handiwork.
"Well, aren't we full of surprises today, Number One?" I murmured.
JUNO chuckled softly. "Knowing you as I do, Captain, I assumed that you had forgotten to mark this occasion in your usual manner, and simply corrected the omission. Is the music unsatisfactory?"
"Nay, Lass, that is a grand choice. I canna think of anything more fitting. We know the way."
Shields blazing, Borealis tore across the night side of Alpha Hydrae V, skimming through the outermost reaches of its atmosphere. A delicately-tuned performance; we run deftly along a slim tightrope, suspended between an immense planet's gravity well and the vast emptiness of the void.
Our current velocity is now 20 percent of light speed and rapidly increasing, thanks to the gravitational assist provided by the blue-green gas giant below. Our fusion drives are spooling up for a full thrust burn, which will catapult us toward the phase gate in a matter of minutes. Events are being measured in microseconds now. Zero point five AU to the phase gate, less than four minutes to go.
"Mister Savini, make ready to launch a boron drive plasma flare. Smartly now." I said calmly.
"Aye, Sir. Boron plasma flare is loaded and ready for action." Enzo replied.
Drive plasma flares are normally used to extinguish drive flames, and only then deployed in the rare event of a runaway fusion reaction. If a ship is traveling fast enough, it is possible to collect enough stray hydrogen to sustain unwanted thrust outside the drive reactors, even after a successful shutdown. You really don't want this if you're planning to slow down anytime soon. However, this isn't the effect I'm aiming to achieve. Plasma flares are also handy as long-range signalling devices.
" Borealis Actual to Alpha Hydrae Gate Control. We are now on final approach. Confirm go/no-go."
"Alpha Hydrae Gate Control to Borealis Actual. Gate status is Green. You have a go. Your approach vector is spot-on. Phase transition field is initialized. Time to contact, one-two zero seconds."
So I just wanted to take a second to say thank you. Over quarantine, I have read aurora falls twice and will be rereading Borealis Rising next. So I was copying it all over to a google doc for easier reading and I wanted to check the word count. 161991. If you combine Aurora Falls its 261852 words. I wanted to thank you for those 261852 words that make up one of my favorite series of all time. I can't wait for the conclusion!
Hello I have only just created a account but have been reading since Aurora falls and I must say this is amazing! you need to write more of this! Edit: forgot to ask because its been confusing me the entire book what does the mme before Heloise's name mean? sorry if i'm asking something stupid.
@palloria : Welcome aboard! Glad to hear you're enjoying the stories.
Regarding the 'Mme' before Heloise's name... It's shorthand for 'Madame'.
Instead of being Mongolian (UWE's choice of background), I've decided to give her grandmother Marguerit Maida French descent.
Belters normally address others with multilingual honorifics, such as 'gospodin', 'gospaszha' 'dama' (Russian) , 'mineer' (Afrikaans) '-san', '-sama' '-kun' or '-chan' (Japanese) due to their wide cultural origins. Respect for others is a key definitive trait of Belter society, since they live in such close proximity to each other in the colonies of Sol's asteroid belt.
Being polite is a survival skill.
Unfortunately, I'll be wrapping this story up soon. There's another page coming out soon, but that will be it from me. I'll dust off both stories and re-edit them for release in .doc and .pdf format afterwards so they can be downloaded in their entirety. Pretty certain I've made a few narrative mistakes, so this is a good opportunity to fix them.
Once again, thanks for reading!
Cheers, and stay safe!
@derf213 Fortunately, things are basically not too bad in my part of the world (Victoria, Australia). There's a large number of COVID-19 cases in Australia (24,812) and 18,231 of these are in Victoria. The Melbourne metro area currently has curfews in force after 8.00 p.m until 5.00 a.m and there's police checkpoints at all major roads leading out of Melbourne. Face masks and/or face shields are mandatory until further notice. This probably sounds horrible to some overseas readers, but most Australians have realized that strict control measures are necessary to contain the spread of this virus. Aussies aren't really happy about it, though. Me included.
I sincerely hope this bloody pandemic GTFO ASAP. The world has had quite enough of this shit.
To be honest, I'm doing reasonably well under the circumstances. I live in Warragul, a fairly large town about 100 km southeast of Melbourne. My only real problem at the moment is boredom, coupled with a severe lack of motivation and a lost sense of purpose. I had to quit my job (reluctantly) about six months ago, because the company I worked for moved to the other side of Melbourne. This required a three hour commute to and from work, five days a week. Roughly a third of my salary was being spent on fuel. Not an ideal situation.
I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't really felt like writing much since my last post in May 2020. Boredom, writer's block and general de-motivation have worked their evil magic on me. However, I have made a reasonable start on getting the last couple of pages into shape, and I'm feeling just guilty enough to finally buckle down and take Borealis Rising to its conclusion. I apologize to my readers for the lengthy delays between page updates.
I'm particularly grateful for having such a dedicated audience. Naturally, I want to finish this story with a satisfying (I hope!) conclusion. Thanks for sticking with me.
P.S: No matter which part of the world you're in, bear in mind... We're all in this together.
Stay strong, and do whatever it takes to beat this bug.
Man, it's been a long time since i've logged in here, this account even has my old username. Crazy to think that the selkirk saga is ending after all this time. I followed from basically the beginning, even if i was a lurker for much of that time. It's been awesome, man. Thanks for writing these incredible stories, and good luck with any related or unrelated ventures in your future. Oh, and stay safe.
Man, I haven't been here in forever. Been here since the start of Aurora Falls. Created an account to ask how you've been doing @Bugzapper, we haven't seen you in a good long while. Things going alright?
2020 was a rough one for everyone. I hope some valuable lessons have been learned from that.
To be honest, I've been on autopilot since March last year. The last few pages have been difficult to bring together, although I have been nibbling away at them since August. Writer's block and the unemployment blues are hard to shake, although I have no excuses left to hide behind now. Still polishing it up a bit, but the finale is almost done.
I finally scored a new job last week. Warehousing and logistics officer for a company that makes automatic chemical treatment systems for large swimming pools.
Seems like I can't get away from water, no matter which way I turn in life. That's not an entirely bad thing in my case.
I love the sea. Always have. Subnautica and Subnautica Below Zero inspired me to a point where I felt that I needed to write these stories.
As I am now unable to scuba dive (stolen gear, unemployment and various health issues) as I used to, these games have kept that fascination alive.
I trust that this has carried over to what I have written.
A big 'thank you!' to all of my readers, and a special shout-out to those hardy souls who prodded my slacker's conscience often enough to keep the story rolling.
You know who you are. Thanks, everyone.
Special mention for Calvin, Boy of Destiny (A.K.A CalvinTheDiver): Your work on the TV Tropes Aurora Falls article is phenomenal, Mate.
Thanks! Greatly appreciated!
Borealis has become an incandescent arrow, running straight and true. As expected, Captain Halvorsen has rotated his vessel to lay parallel to our flight path in to provide his crew with a grandstand view of our departure. I think it's safe to say that they won't be disappointed.
"Mister Savini, prepare to do honours as the Sagan comes to bear. Release on my mark."
"Ready aye ready, Sir."
If I've timed Enzo's reflex arc correctly, five seconds from now should do nicely. Three. Two...
"Execute."
"Flare away." Enzo confirmed.
Five kilograms of pure boron flashed into plasma at the focal point of Borealis' drive flames. An immense sphere of dazzling green light bloomed briefly, expanding in the ship's wake; our final heartfelt gesture of farewell to all those aboard TCS Carl Sagan. I have no doubt that Halvorsen knows the traditional significance of the green flash marking our departure.
A mariner's most treasured omen of good fortune, rarely bestowed by the sun at day's end. Fair winds and following seas to ye all.
And we are gone.
Stars streak past the viewports , their spectral signatures drawn out to elongated rainbows by our velocity. For the next few weeks at least, we have little else to do but go about our everyday lives. I consider this pause a welcome respite, a breathing space that we've all won fairly. The remaining phase gates may seem an eternity apart, although they'll pass as surely as milestones along the way. The journey home always seems longest to a weary traveller.
Home.
The word has a strange taste about it. I've been so long accustomed to calling Manannán home, I can't comfortably grasp living on a planet so poorly used as Terra has been. As I conjure it, we're taking a major step down in the quality of our accommodations by leaving Manannán. To be fair, my homeworld isn't exactly an aesthetic masterpiece, either. To the casual eye, Mars offers little else save raw desolation, although it's a landscape that a body eventually grows used to. I hear that Mars is still largely unspoiled, save for a few more sprawling arcologies dotted about on its surface. I expected no less, given the length of time I've been away. Change is inevitable. Thanks to the Tharsis Accords of 2032, all mining operations have been restricted entirely to sub-surface activity now. Mine it out, fill in the holes, make it good and then move on. It's a token gesture at best, although I'm tickled pink to hear that full compliance still poses a major pain for all parties involved. At least it keeps those Corp bastards semi-honest. Terra is an entirely different story. That planet may be a wreck, although I still feel it's a wreck worth raising.
So, we'll be moving in with the same starry-eyed optimism as newlyweds entering a decrepit pre-21st. Century dwelling. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, but the price is good. There's plenty of potential, but only if we're prepared to put in some honest effort. We can live with that. Less than two weeks from now, our daughter will be born. My fondest hope is that Isabeau Ariane Maida will walk upon Terra's surface and delight in all that it has to offer. However, there is still a great deal of serious remedial work to be done.
As I've mentioned before, we'll begin with Terra's oceans. Just a few small-scale pilot programs at first, but increasing in scope and impact as we build, discover, refine our processes and start making a measurable difference. Our first priority is to cleanse the world's waters. This won't be an easy job, neutralizing the vile hell-brew of toxins that has accumulated over centuries of indifference and outright neglect. To this end, I have set Dr. Zelenka to working out how to re-engineer Precursor power generation systems and distribution technology into more compact and efficient configurations. Once she has cracked these problems, our new reactors will be used to power a global network of seawater purification stations. Of course, I'm fully aware that she'd rather be cracking asteroids open, although this aspect of the project is sufficiently knotty enough to keep her busy for a while... I hope.
The purifiers were the easy bit to figure out. Did it entirely by myself, actually. Precursor fluidic shield density can be manipulated to create an osmotic membrane of sorts, allowing the free passage of pure water molecules and the normal chemical constituents of seawater, but tuned to prevent any Terran life forms larger than a small virus from passing through the figurative mincers. These filters are capable of selectively trapping contaminants such as heavy metals, hydrocarbons and other toxins, allowing them to be collected and reprocessed in separate facilities. This 'molecular sieve' approach employs multiple barrier fields to collect and sort out the naturally occurring elements and organic material in seawater, then the material that's meant to be there can be safely returned to the ocean. The purifiers use the same basic operating principles as membrane filters used in swimming pools and municipal water supplies, but each one will be roughly the size of a 21st. Century super-tanker, give or take a few hundred metres. Delightfully ironic, don't you think?
As you might imagine, this scheme will require a daunting amount of clean energy.
Geothermal power would be quite effective in powering a project of this scale, although harnessing a large number of deepwater vents may have unpredictable long-term consequences for folks on the surface. We'll have to tread extremely carefully along this line of research. If we get a bit too enthusiastic, large-scale tapping of planetary heat sources could disrupt the natural processes of magma convection. This would be an extremely bad thing. Not even Selkirk's jolly band of rogues can stop an earthquake. It's probably best for all concerned if we didn't get around to starting them.
In good time, we'll introduce Manannán's sea life to Terra's revitalized oceans. Once our groundwork is complete, humanity will have to accept stewardship of the remaining burden. A few willing hands can't reclaim an entire planet alone, although we can and will provide the right tools to finish the job properly. Even so, some folk might be concerned that we're planning to repopulate the oceans with alien creatures, and I've done a lot of soul-searching as to the wisdom of this course of action.
2020 was a rough one for everyone. I hope some valuable lessons have been learned from that.
To be honest, I've been on autopilot since March last year. The last few pages have been difficult to bring together, although I have been nibbling away at them since August. Writer's block and the unemployment blues are hard to shake, although I have no excuses left to hide behind now. Still polishing it up a bit, but the finale is almost done.
I finally scored a new job last week. Warehousing and logistics officer for a company that makes automatic chemical treatment systems for large swimming pools.
Seems like I can't get away from water, no matter which way I turn in life. That's not an entirely bad thing in my case.
I love the sea. Always have. Subnautica and Subnautica Below Zero inspired me to a point where I felt that I needed to write these stories.
As I am now unable to scuba dive (stolen gear, unemployment and various health issues) as I used to, these games have kept that fascination alive.
I trust that this has carried over to what I have written.
A big 'thank you!' to all of my readers, and a special shout-out to those hardy souls who prodded my slacker's conscience often enough to keep the story rolling.
You know who you are. Thanks, everyone.
Special mention for Calvin, Boy of Destiny (A.K.A CalvinTheDiver): Your work on the TV Tropes Aurora Falls article is phenomenal, Mate.
Thanks! Greatly appreciated!
FYI, @Bugzapper and all - the notifications system on the forums is broken, and has been for a while. At least for those that rarely visit, such as myself (so it might very well have always been broken?). It will show a number on the notifications button, and then when you click it, it shows "No new notifications" -- you have to manually troll through the forums and hope you catch whatever happened.
EDIT: Looked around a bit for a workaround and it appears that if you click your Profile, then select "Notifications" from the menu on the left, your notifications appear correctly. Hard link to that area: https://forums.unknownworlds.com/profile/notifications
Hey @Bugzapper out of curiosity, would you ever considered posting your stories on any of the traditional fanfiction sites? The forums are great, but they make it kinda hard to reread them and I wonder how many more people might find the story on ao3 or ff.net
Hey @Bugzapper out of curiosity, would you ever considered posting your stories on any of the traditional fanfiction sites? The forums are great, but they make it kinda hard to reread them and I wonder how many more people might find the story on ao3 or ff.net
I think Bugz has responded previously that he didn't want to distribute on fanfic sites? Been a few years, so I could be wrong or he could have changed his mind. We'll have to wait until he checks back in to find out.
The bald truth of it is, humanity has never respected its homeworld.
We're talking about a species that was able to befoul its own environment to within a hair's-breadth of the point of no return. The all-conquering ascendant ape that hurled thousands of species into the abyss of extinction, often for the flimsiest of excuses. Even the mightiest of Terra's life-forms were swept aside in the name of what was laughingly called 'Progress', their real and actual existence pushed into the realm of myth and legend simply for the sake of lamp oil, cosmetics and carved curiosities to amuse the 'civilized' masses.
Speaking of whales, I recently found out that Manannán has its own version. IANTO calls them 'glow whales'. They're a fairly close analogue of a Terran baleen whale, although they have diverged from the basic pattern with a pair of glowing, swept-back dorsal tendrils. Luminous pigmentation is also present as a delicate tracery of body markings and in nodes at the tips of their pectoral fins. Added bonus: They're completely harmless, which is a rarity among Manannán's leviathan-class creatures. IANTO has officially catalogued this species as 'Balaena borealis'. As is my prerogative, I appended the relevant log entry to suitably acknowledge his discovery. Their official common name is now 'IANTO's Rorqual'. We'll have to address rebuilding Terra's polar biodiversity at some point, and I can think of no better reason for a return visit to Manannán, once we've properly settled in.
Let there be whales once more.
The oceans of Terra were never supposed to be entirely safe. Over the course of millennia, humanity has tried to bend the sea to its will. Naturally, we have failed miserably in every attempt. In frustration, we turned the oceans into our battlefields, rubbish dumps and sewers. And now the oceans are dying. If the oceans die, Terra dies. Fifty years at most is the best estimate for humanity's survival. No oceanic life means little or no food at all for a goodly chunk of the population. No oceanic life means there's nothing photosynthesizing sunlight and CO2 into breathable oxygen. That's not even taking drastically altered maritime climate patterns into account, either. Suffice it to say, floating masses of stinking garbage, ancient oil slicks and dead fish won't contribute much to global rainfall. You might as well kiss those fluffy white clouds goodbye.
Well, I've spoken my piece. Your planet's getting a second chance, whether you like it or not.
Incidentally, Héloise went into labour about an hour ago. Yes, I'm as nervous as hell. Thanks for asking.
It looks like young Isabeau's place of birth will be an anonymous set of galactic coordinates, roughly two days out from the Gamma Crucis phase gate. That should make life a mite more interesting for the bureaucrats back on Terra. If sorely pressed for further information, we can nail down the precise location to about one AU, more or less. Not that this piddling detail really matters, since all births in transit are automatically classified as 'spaceborn'. Fortunately, there's no social stigma attached to this status... Unless you happen to be a Belter.
We aim to change that as well. Dirtside folks will be taking Belters rather more seriously in future.
Most of the Belters aboard Borealis are uncertain about their final port of harbour. Only a handful have thrown in their lot with us, and the rest are still deciding where they want to be dropped off around The Belt. It appears that the final leg of our journey will become a school bus run, dropping off our wayward charges on a dozen airless rocks. I'm a wee bit disappointed by their decision, but these second and third-generation Belters have maintained strong cultural ties with their ancestral homes, sight unseen. Believe me, I can relate well to their stubborn mindset. As someone whose notion of 'home' spans three worlds, this is never a decision to be taken lightly.
Rather than sitting in The Big Chair for the entire duration of the voyage, I've taken to walking the deck on a daily basis. Apart from gaining a better 'feel' for the ship than full-interface telemetry can provide, this harmless indulgence of mine also provides ample opportunities to interact with the ship's company. To be honest, this is my way of holding the jitters of incipient fatherhood at bay, although I have allowed myself a mild delusion that our passengers 'need' to see The Captain occasionally, air what few small grievances they have and well... Just generally pass the time of day.
Face it, Selkirk. You're afraid of letting the Belters go.
No, it's far more complicated than that... Ah, there we have it. The real meat of the problem.
There is nothing left to conquer.
All that remains to you are purely mundane concerns.
No insurmountable challenges. No implacable foes. Your grand plan for Terra's oceans is little more than an overblown janitorial chore.
Selkirk's Grand Adventure is finally over.
Not quite.
There are five extremely special embryos being held in stasis aboard Borealis. A Sea Emperor and four fire-breathing consorts, to be endowed with total dominion over Terra's reborn oceans. We'll be serving as oceanic rangers, slipping undetected through a network of camouflaged Precursor warp-gates to 'gently' remind Homo sapiens that their oceans have been given a second chance and they'd best not piss that chance up against the wall, particularly if they know what's good for them.
With the unanimous blessing of the Terran Confederation, I might add. We have global jurisdiction.
It's official.
The near-instantaneous arrival of five or more Medusa-class patrol subs will make an awfully convincing deterrent. Right now, they're still on the drawing-board. Suffice it to say, every lesson that has been learned during our protracted stay on Manannán has been poured into their design.
Fair warning: Some of Manannán's creatures can be extremely aggressive, and we'll do our level best to keep a close eye on all of the most dangerous specimens. They'll all be tagged at birth and tracked constantly to minimize any real or perceived threats to human activity in the oceans. You have my word on that. We can safely herd these creatures away in all but the most extreme situations, although we've found that most of these beasties generally prefer to be left alone.
We're about to start a daunting clean-up job, and I conjure we won't be too impressed if anyone starts mucking it all up again. Let me be perfectly clear on this point: Corrective measures will be taken. If Manannán's transplanted marine life doesn't take care of any unwelcome encroachment upon their living spaces, we will surely answer with a measured and appropriate response. Still fancy trying your hand at big-game fishing, maybe even bag one of those large alien exotics?
They're only weird-looking fish, right? Go for it. You'll have the time of your life. All sixty seconds of it.
Comments
Just flag it and move on (I already did).
Yah, I did
An awkward silence descended upon the gathering. Halvorsen grimaced with distaste, clearly offended by Héloise's unprovoked outburst. He turned to Commander Masako Ito and nodded curtly. Sagan's bridge crew marked this wordless exchange and began to rise from their seats.
"We will be leaving now, Captain Selkirk." Halvorsen said icily. "I fear that we may have overstayed our welcome. Thank you for your... hospitality, and good luck on your return voyage."
I could only stare at Héloise in stunned silence. What the hell is she thinking? Any rapport we shared with Halvorsen and the Carl Sagan's crew is history. Flushed straight down the shitter. Kaput.
I know better than to spring blindly to Héloise's defence. She must have a damn good reason for blowing up like that, and I'm not about to apologise for her social clanger. She means what she says.
Before I could offer anything to salvage this rapidly-deteriorating situation, JUNO intervened.
"Permission to speak freely, Captain?"
"As always, Commander. Please proceed."
"With all due respect to Captain Halvorsen and his crew, I believe that Madame Héloise has raised a valid point of discussion. Whether you like it or not, you are all Terrans. That is your heritage. The Belters, deep-range colonists, Jovian cloud-skimmers on Callisto, comet jockeys and ice miners operating out of Sedna Outpost may be asking this same question. The answer is an unqualified yes. Terra must endure. All Terrans should be working toward that one common goal, no matter where in the cosmos they call home. Humanity needs a strong homeworld... A refuge of last resort, and you will most definitely need one at some point. This incessant campaign of expansion must end, or there will be serious repercussions. Sooner or later, humanity will encounter a sentient alien race that cannot be negotiated with in basic terms of trade, diplomacy or military prowess, and they may well prove to be the ultimate nemesis of your species. The Kharaa are merely a foretaste of far worse things to come. Remember, you are essentially alone in an increasingly hostile Universe."
I nodded approvingly. "Thank you for spelling it out for us, JUNO. Currently, humanity occupies 75 D to M-Class worlds in a sphere roughly 200 light years in diameter. Now, I'm no expert in planetary economics, but I do believe there should be ample resources within that modest pocket of space to satisfy humanity's requirements for at least several millennia. Would that be a fair assumption?"
"You can blame all of the Corps for that." Halvorsen growled. "They keep leap-frogging each other, snatching up new planets as soon as they're discovered. These days, they usually commence operations as soon as the preliminary results of resource scans come through. If there's exploitable quantities of any resource to be had, they'll be all over it like fleas on a dog. Naturally, there's usually a steep price attached to this slapdash approach. Alterra lost another ship about eighteen months ago, the Evangelista Torricelli. She touched down on the ice-world Epsilon Eridani VI, searching for rare earth minerals. Two months into the mission, the planet entered perihelion. Unfortunately, the sub-equatorial regions of Eridani VI are covered by layers of frozen carbon dioxide, ammonia and methane ice, up to 15 kilometres deep in places. At the first touch of some decent sunlight, half the planet's surface sublimated in one massive eruption. Gigatonnes of ice flashed from solid to vapour phase within minutes, whipping up wind speeds exceeding 2000 km/h. Needless to say, there was little warning, and there were definitely no survivors. Incidentally, this never happened, if you catch my meaning."
Héloise smiled grimly. "I think you might be seeing things from a Belter's point of view now. The outer colonies have been feeding resources back to Terran Mega-Corps for decades, and this is how they choose to repay us. We are nothing but expendable tools, to be thrown away when we're completely broken. We mean nothing to them. The Corps must go."
DIGBY shook his head. "Madame, I fully agree with you, at least in principle. However, it will be extremely difficult, if not entirely impossible to forcibly remove the Mega-Corps from their place in society. They have become intimately entwined with everyone's way of life, and any attempt to depose them will surely result in disaster. I predict a total collapse of Confederation rule on all Terran core worlds within six to ten months, with at least four of the first-tier Corps attempting to gain primacy by using their internal security and paramilitary assets. A full-scale corporate war is almost inevitable under those circumstances. Given their known propensity for ruthless tactics, armed conflict between corporate rivals would not adhere to any acceptable conventions of wartime conduct for very long at all. A more gradual and carefully considered approach is required."
I leaned forward, grinning broadly. "And that's precisely what we have in mind. We're not just bringing home some odd-looking fish for the earthbound yokels to gawk at. We've secured a 99-year lease on an island 50 klicks off the coast of Queensland, not too far from Port Capricorn. Used to be a holiday resort, at least until folks got tired of looking at bleached coral skeletons. It's called Great Keppel Island, but I prefer the indigenous peoples' name for it... Wop-pa. Rather apt in an ironic sort of way, since we'll be running a small, ever-so-carefully monitored pilot program to see if Manannán's wildlife can eventually adapt to conditions down there. Here's the kicker... We know for a fact that they will. More importantly, we'll need to discover how those alien beasties and plants interact with what's left of Terra's native marine species. Admittedly, the food chains on Manannán are rather top-heavy with apex predators, although the planet's prey species breed vigorously enough to act as a partial buffer. If all Terran marine creatures do go extinct, they will at least be replaced by another, far more robust ecosystem. We're aiming for the seamless integration of Terran and alien sea life, rather than direct and terminal assimilation of the current population."
Hear, hear! (pretty please?)
Contrary to certain baseless rumours, I am not using uncooked spaghetti to chisel the rough page drafts into solid granite .
It only seems that way.
"No offence to Captain Halvorsen and his crew, but the details of this exercise are what the Corps would call 'proprietary information'. I can't risk any sensitive details reaching the ears of Alterra, ConAm, Matsuda, Jinwei, TriOptimum or Torgaljin. We'll need to discuss this later, Dear Heart."
I addressed the rest of the gathering. "I'm sure ye all appreciate the need for discretion, ladies and gentlemen. What we have planned is perfectly legal, and it has the full approval of the Terran Confederation. However, there is a strong probability that one or more of the Corps may develop an unhealthy interest in our modest enterprise. I'd rather avoid any further entanglements with them."
Without warning, Borealis' avatar materialised at the head of the table. "Cutty Sark has docked, and both passengers are preparing to disembark. Drive shutdown sequence is currently in progress. Docking Bay One outer doors are sealed and the area is secured for departure. Atmospheric pressure in Docking Bay One is now stable at 1.0 Bar. What are your orders, Sir?"
"Thank you, Borealis. Please direct Doktor Zelenka and Mister Chandra to their assigned quarters. Set provisional security clearance to Level Four for these individuals. Standard access is to be granted to all common areas, autogalleys and data terminals. Also, inform them that they are to report to my ready room at 15:00 and 16:00 hours for their individual mission briefings. That is all."
"Very good, Sir." Borealis replied.
I breathed a short sigh of relief as Ogun Onire finally cleared the docking bay doors. Halvorsen and I had parted ways cordially enough, although it was plain to see that his bridge crew weren't feeling the same love after Héloise had spoken her mind. Not the best possible outcome, but I'm not going to lose too much sleep over it. Someone aboard the Sagan is passing word of our daily comings and goings, and that makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable. I know for a fact that Alterra has some unfinished business with us, and I'd rather not have them skulking around our planetary operations.
The Great Barrier Reef project is the least sensitive aspect of the overall scheme. I had no choice but to take the wraps off this particular project after Héloise's outburst. As a matter of fact, any significant measure of public interest will be most welcome. However, we have a number of commercial side-projects that are guaranteed to pique the interest of some of the major Corps. Mass production of Enzyme 42 as a vaccine and its weaponised form will be our main source of income. Naturally, the Terran Confederation is eager to start dealing with us. I had to do a fair bit of soul-searching over this one, since I'd previously decided to hand the E42 synthesis technology over to the Frontiersmen, free and clear. However, we need some serious cash to finance our other, less-profitable operations that have been finely calculated to upset the Corps in no uncertain manner.
The Mega-Corps' monopoly on food production and distribution will be our first target. IANTO has recently developed a rapid protein culture growth technique that can be scaled up to a commercial level. Synthesized meat proteins are nothing new, although there are several problems with the finished product that resist any attempts to make it more palatable to consumers. VatMeat is ridiculously expensive and not an entirely satisfying foodstuff, in spite of its basic nutritional value. The only perceptible differences between a fake steak, faux chicken nugget and an ersatz sausage are their shapes and colours. Mouth-feel is the greatest stumbling-block for this alleged foodstuff, and no amount of artful flavouring will fix that. No matter how nutritious it's supposed to be, it's like chewing on a chunk of memory foam. Vaguely meat-flavoured memory foam, at that.
It takes the Corps a week to force-grow one kilogram of VatMeat. We can do it in two hours.
Magic Soup 2.0. The protein source is a single stem cell taken from a Peeper nicknamed 'Stimpy'.
Today's breakfast menu owed its existence to the first batch. I noticed a lot of empty plates on our table, so it must have gone down rather well with Captain Halvorsen and his crew. Each steak, each slice of exquisitely crisped bacon, each lightly-poached egg; all were made from a manipulated marine protein base, cultured on a Creepvine gel substrate... And not a single complaint was heard.
The Corps won't even notice what we're doing, until it's far too late to do anything about it. We'll be nothing more than mice living inside their walls; just taking a wee nibble here, another wee nibble there. Patiently and relentlessly chipping away at their supremacy. Nothing too dramatic at first, although I aim to permanently loosen their stranglehold on the Core Worlds. I'm sure Héloise will be pleased to hear that Belters will be the first Terrans to directly benefit from what we're bringing back with us. Advanced food, water and atmospheric processing systems, ion-crystal power generation and Precursor shielding technology should do for starters, and we'll cheerfully pass these goodies on without a single Credit ever changing hands. The larger asteroids will eventually have their own internal oceans, dramatically enhancing the quality of life on those bleak and cheerless rocks. Frankly, the Belters have had a pretty rough time of it over the years, and I conjure they could use a decent break.
Once we've sorted out The Belt's most immediate wants and needs, we'll be ready to commence work on Terra. That's going to be a far more involved project, since it requires a certain degree of tip-toeing around the Confederation's commercial interests, as well as those of the Mega-Corps. We need to keep the Terran Confederation on our side as much as possible. On the off-chance that the Corps decide to do something unfriendly, official military intervention may be required. I'd rather not have to fend off Corporate strike teams on a daily basis. After losing a few subs to our TRIDENT defence system, it's entirely possible that a bootleg nuke might be called into play. Not entirely sure if the fluidic shields could shrug that one off, and I'm not too keen to put them to the test. We'll play it safe and accept whatever patronage and protection the Confederation deigns to offer. Naturally, a constant supply of Enzyme 42 is our end of the bargain.
According to the latest InfoCortex data-dump, approximately 1.5 million people currently call Ceres, Vesta, Pallas, and Hygiea home. There's also around 25,000-plus souls scattered throughout the Kuiper Belt. Mainly ice-haulers and ramscoop gas harvesters working the outer planets. Most of the Belter's GDP is handed back to the Corps in exchange for food, water, power and various goods or equipment that can't be manufactured locally. Suffice it to say, there are punitive transport costs tacked onto the supply of these items, a convenient lever that has been capriciously applied to keep the Belters toeing the line. Unsurprisingly, this sorry state of affairs does not please the Belters.
Imagine what would happen if all Belter colonies became entirely self-sufficient. The Corps still need the Belt's mineral resources, but this time, they won't be able to screw down resource prices and artificially manipulate the Belter's reciprocal trade arrangements to suit themselves. When demand for certain 'luxury items' from Terra starts to taper off, that might raise some red flags in the more perceptive boardrooms. Too late, unfortunately. We'll be well dug in by then.
Undoubtedly, some Corps might be moved to send agents to investigate, or even interfere with this gradual, yet remarkable reversal of Belter fortunes. That would be most unwise. Belters have an uncanny knack for detecting outsiders, and only a supremely skilled operative could pass unnoticed among them. Belters are accustomed to living in relatively cramped conditions, so there is a refreshing degree of transparency in their dealings with each other. Awkward questions and secretive behaviour are an immediate giveaway. A word of advice to any would-be Corporate snoops and saboteurs: Don't. Belter justice is swift and astonishingly effective. No repeat offenders.
My PDA chimed softly. 1200 hours. It's time to get underway.
"As you were. Well, my friends... This is it. Everything we've worked for, everything we've fought for has brought us to this point. I'm proud to say that I could'na done it without you all. Thank you."
JUNO stepped forward and saluted. I returned her salute. "The crew awaits your command, Sir."
"Very well, Commander. Borealis, ship status report, please."
The avatar of Borealis shimmered into view. As the hologram stabilized, the ship's animus also saluted respectfully, apparently having learned this behaviour through careful observation of our personal interactions. By the way, I've never actually insisted on this particular nicety; the crew simply started doing it as a mark of respect, and I have always responded accordingly. Considering I've had command more or less thrust upon me by blind chance, I've had to reconsider my general attitude to personnel management, discipline and morale. It hasn't been easy. To be perfectly honest, it's a long stretch from tearing an occasional verbal strip off a sloppy Gremlin. I'm operating far beyond my comfort zone now. In fact, the responsibility of being 'The Captain' fairly boggles the mind sometimes. I trust that I have performed my duties to the very best of my ability.
"Fusion drive reactors One through Four are cycling up from a cold start. Sub-light reaction drives are online and are ready for action, Sir. All essential ship systems are operating within nominal parameters. Zero-defect status has been confirmed across all onboard systems. The vessel now stands ready in all respects. Do you wish to assume command of this vessel, Captain Selkirk?"
"I do. Let the ship's log show that I formally accept command of TCS Borealis, as of 12:10 UTC."
"So noted, Sir. I stand relieved. The ship is yours, Captain." Borealis saluted crisply.
"Thank you, Borealis. Your performance has been exemplary. Please resume your normal duties."
"Aye, Sir." Borealis replied. Her holographic projection flickered briefly, then disappeared.
"Take your stations. Helm, lay in a gravity-assisted return trajectory for Alpha Hydrae V."
"Helm, aye. Gravity slingshot course computed and laid in. Awaiting your order, Sir." DIGBY replied.
"Reaction drive, set acceleration rate one. Take us out, Mister DIGBY. Nice and slow."
"Helm aye, Sir. Set acceleration rate one, aft maneuvering thrusters engaged."
"Incoming transmission, Sir. Carl Sagan Actual." JUNO announced.
"Patch him through to my station, please." Captain Halvorsen's face appeared on the Big Chair's monitor, his normally jovial expression held carefully neutral.
"Go ahead, Captain Halvorsen."
"Just calling to wish you all godspeed, Captain Selkirk. I know that we didn't part on the best of terms, but I couldn't let you leave without offering an apology. For what it's worth, I'm sorry that I reacted poorly to Madame Maida's comments. You've been a good friend to everyone aboard the Sagan, and I'd hate to think that there's any ill-feeling lingering between us. "
Héloise leaned over, impulsively placing her face in the monitor's field of vision.
"The fault is entirely mine, Captain. I meant no disrespect to you or your crew. Stupid words said in the heat of the moment, words that I now deeply regret. Veuillez me pardonner, capitaine."
Halvorsen chuckled good-naturedly. "Consider any offence already forgotten, Madame Maida. You've all been sitting on your hands for over a month now, patiently waiting for us to finish calibrating the phase gate. I suppose that's caused a few frayed nerves aboard Borealis, no?"
"Aye, yer no' wrong there, Jens. Even with plenty o' space and all manner of diversions to keep oor passengers amused, there's still been a few nasty scuffles. Cabin fever, I expect. Naught too serious, but ye don't want it getting oot o' hand afore starting a nine-month cruise. Had to chuck a couple of young lads and a lass into the coolers for unruly behaviour just last week. We'll thaw them oot at Omicron Leonis, hopefully mended in their ways."
"Well then Alexander, I'd best let you make a run for it while you still can. Handing you over to Gate Control now. Stay safe and give our regards to Terra. Godspeed, Borealis. Halvorsen, out."
"Fair winds and following seas to ye all, Sagan. Take care." I replied.
"Alpha Hydrae Gate Control to Borealis Actual, you are cleared for transit. Approach trajectory data has been received and your course is approved. Be advised that the gate will be fully charged and ready to activate in 4.5 hours. Proceed with departure, Borealis."
"Roger that, Gate Control. We'll be checking in with you later. Borealis Actual, out."
"Five thousand kilometres from dock, Sir. Accelerating to rate six, Bussard ramscoop deployed."
"That's a canny idea, DIGBY. We might as well top off our hydrogen reserves on the way. Particle density's still a bit on the low side at the moment, although the scoop should fill its boots nicely as we swing around Five's backside. Best to shut the scoop down just before we turn onto final approach. Better safe than sorry. I conjure the Sagan wouldn't thank us for frying their electronics."
"Aye, Sir." DIGBY replied, grinning broadly.
The cruise toward Alpha Hydrae V was by and large, entirely uneventful. The crew went about their tasks as diligently as ever, leaving me free to tinker with an idea that has been germinating in my mind since breakfast. In the days of sail, it was commonplace for the vessels of some nations to dip their ensigns upon meeting other ships on the high seas, regardless of their nationality. It was never a hard and fast rule; more a gesture of common courtesy among seafarers. If relations were good between the nationalities involved, the latest news or vital supplies might be exchanged between both vessels. If relations were less than cordial... Well, you can imagine what happens next.
Since we'll be travelling at a fair old clip on our final approach, dipping an actual flag would achieve nine-tenths of the cube root of bugger-all. An animated holographic ensign would need to be roughly 1,500 x 2,000 kilometres in size, and projected in such a manner that the desired image is adjusted for spatial positioning and corrected for visual distortion, relative to a stationary observer. To be honest, the calculations required to achieve this fleeting effect simply aren't worth the effort.
Not to worry. I have a far more impressive farewell gesture in mind.
"Entering orbit in 360 seconds, Captain. Flight profile is nominal for a gravity assisted trajectory."
"Very good, Mister DIGBY. Take her right to the mark. Accelerate to rate ten."
I keyed the shipwide intercom. "Attention all hands. Stand by for orbital insertion in 340 seconds."
Just then, something entirely unexpected happened. All secondary display monitors have lit up throughout the entire ship. I hear the sound of drums, pulsing and insistent. The monitors displayed an animated flotilla of Polynesian outrigger sailing canoes, surging across an impossibly blue ocean.
E le atua o le sami tele e o mai
Ia ava'e le lu'itau e lelei
Tapenapena..."
I have absolutely no idea what's going on.
Confused, I turned in my seat to face JUNO. A faint smile on her lips has already answered my unspoken question. This is definitely her handiwork.
"Well, aren't we full of surprises today, Number One?" I murmured.
JUNO chuckled softly. "Knowing you as I do, Captain, I assumed that you had forgotten to mark this occasion in your usual manner, and simply corrected the omission. Is the music unsatisfactory?"
"Nay, Lass, that is a grand choice. I canna think of anything more fitting. We know the way."
Shields blazing, Borealis tore across the night side of Alpha Hydrae V, skimming through the outermost reaches of its atmosphere. A delicately-tuned performance; we run deftly along a slim tightrope, suspended between an immense planet's gravity well and the vast emptiness of the void.
Our current velocity is now 20 percent of light speed and rapidly increasing, thanks to the gravitational assist provided by the blue-green gas giant below. Our fusion drives are spooling up for a full thrust burn, which will catapult us toward the phase gate in a matter of minutes. Events are being measured in microseconds now. Zero point five AU to the phase gate, less than four minutes to go.
"Mister Savini, make ready to launch a boron drive plasma flare. Smartly now." I said calmly.
"Aye, Sir. Boron plasma flare is loaded and ready for action." Enzo replied.
Drive plasma flares are normally used to extinguish drive flames, and only then deployed in the rare event of a runaway fusion reaction. If a ship is traveling fast enough, it is possible to collect enough stray hydrogen to sustain unwanted thrust outside the drive reactors, even after a successful shutdown. You really don't want this if you're planning to slow down anytime soon. However, this isn't the effect I'm aiming to achieve. Plasma flares are also handy as long-range signalling devices.
" Borealis Actual to Alpha Hydrae Gate Control. We are now on final approach. Confirm go/no-go."
"Alpha Hydrae Gate Control to Borealis Actual. Gate status is Green. You have a go. Your approach vector is spot-on. Phase transition field is initialized. Time to contact, one-two zero seconds."
Regarding the 'Mme' before Heloise's name... It's shorthand for 'Madame'.
Instead of being Mongolian (UWE's choice of background), I've decided to give her grandmother Marguerit Maida French descent.
Belters normally address others with multilingual honorifics, such as 'gospodin', 'gospaszha' 'dama' (Russian) , 'mineer' (Afrikaans) '-san', '-sama' '-kun' or '-chan' (Japanese) due to their wide cultural origins. Respect for others is a key definitive trait of Belter society, since they live in such close proximity to each other in the colonies of Sol's asteroid belt.
Being polite is a survival skill.
Unfortunately, I'll be wrapping this story up soon. There's another page coming out soon, but that will be it from me. I'll dust off both stories and re-edit them for release in .doc and .pdf format afterwards so they can be downloaded in their entirety. Pretty certain I've made a few narrative mistakes, so this is a good opportunity to fix them.
Once again, thanks for reading!
Cheers, and stay safe!
In case I don't respond to the finale in time for you to catch it, thanks so very much for all the work you put into this amazing set of stories!
To put it another way, how does it go again... oh yeah: So long, and thanks for all the
I sincerely hope this bloody pandemic GTFO ASAP. The world has had quite enough of this shit.
To be honest, I'm doing reasonably well under the circumstances. I live in Warragul, a fairly large town about 100 km southeast of Melbourne. My only real problem at the moment is boredom, coupled with a severe lack of motivation and a lost sense of purpose. I had to quit my job (reluctantly) about six months ago, because the company I worked for moved to the other side of Melbourne. This required a three hour commute to and from work, five days a week. Roughly a third of my salary was being spent on fuel. Not an ideal situation.
I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't really felt like writing much since my last post in May 2020. Boredom, writer's block and general de-motivation have worked their evil magic on me. However, I have made a reasonable start on getting the last couple of pages into shape, and I'm feeling just guilty enough to finally buckle down and take Borealis Rising to its conclusion. I apologize to my readers for the lengthy delays between page updates.
I'm particularly grateful for having such a dedicated audience. Naturally, I want to finish this story with a satisfying (I hope!) conclusion. Thanks for sticking with me.
P.S: No matter which part of the world you're in, bear in mind... We're all in this together.
Stay strong, and do whatever it takes to beat this bug.
2020 was a rough one for everyone. I hope some valuable lessons have been learned from that.
To be honest, I've been on autopilot since March last year. The last few pages have been difficult to bring together, although I have been nibbling away at them since August. Writer's block and the unemployment blues are hard to shake, although I have no excuses left to hide behind now. Still polishing it up a bit, but the finale is almost done.
I finally scored a new job last week. Warehousing and logistics officer for a company that makes automatic chemical treatment systems for large swimming pools.
Seems like I can't get away from water, no matter which way I turn in life. That's not an entirely bad thing in my case.
I love the sea. Always have. Subnautica and Subnautica Below Zero inspired me to a point where I felt that I needed to write these stories.
As I am now unable to scuba dive (stolen gear, unemployment and various health issues) as I used to, these games have kept that fascination alive.
I trust that this has carried over to what I have written.
A big 'thank you!' to all of my readers, and a special shout-out to those hardy souls who prodded my slacker's conscience often enough to keep the story rolling.
You know who you are. Thanks, everyone.
Special mention for Calvin, Boy of Destiny (A.K.A CalvinTheDiver): Your work on the TV Tropes Aurora Falls article is phenomenal, Mate.
Thanks! Greatly appreciated!
Here's the link: https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/AuroraFalls
The finale is coming soon. Trust me.
Stay safe and well, everyone.
"Mister Savini, prepare to do honours as the Sagan comes to bear. Release on my mark."
"Ready aye ready, Sir."
If I've timed Enzo's reflex arc correctly, five seconds from now should do nicely. Three. Two...
"Execute."
"Flare away." Enzo confirmed.
Five kilograms of pure boron flashed into plasma at the focal point of Borealis' drive flames. An immense sphere of dazzling green light bloomed briefly, expanding in the ship's wake; our final heartfelt gesture of farewell to all those aboard TCS Carl Sagan. I have no doubt that Halvorsen knows the traditional significance of the green flash marking our departure.
A mariner's most treasured omen of good fortune, rarely bestowed by the sun at day's end. Fair winds and following seas to ye all.
And we are gone.
Stars streak past the viewports , their spectral signatures drawn out to elongated rainbows by our velocity. For the next few weeks at least, we have little else to do but go about our everyday lives. I consider this pause a welcome respite, a breathing space that we've all won fairly. The remaining phase gates may seem an eternity apart, although they'll pass as surely as milestones along the way. The journey home always seems longest to a weary traveller.
Home.
The word has a strange taste about it. I've been so long accustomed to calling Manannán home, I can't comfortably grasp living on a planet so poorly used as Terra has been. As I conjure it, we're taking a major step down in the quality of our accommodations by leaving Manannán. To be fair, my homeworld isn't exactly an aesthetic masterpiece, either. To the casual eye, Mars offers little else save raw desolation, although it's a landscape that a body eventually grows used to. I hear that Mars is still largely unspoiled, save for a few more sprawling arcologies dotted about on its surface. I expected no less, given the length of time I've been away. Change is inevitable. Thanks to the Tharsis Accords of 2032, all mining operations have been restricted entirely to sub-surface activity now. Mine it out, fill in the holes, make it good and then move on. It's a token gesture at best, although I'm tickled pink to hear that full compliance still poses a major pain for all parties involved. At least it keeps those Corp bastards semi-honest. Terra is an entirely different story. That planet may be a wreck, although I still feel it's a wreck worth raising.
So, we'll be moving in with the same starry-eyed optimism as newlyweds entering a decrepit pre-21st. Century dwelling. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, but the price is good. There's plenty of potential, but only if we're prepared to put in some honest effort. We can live with that. Less than two weeks from now, our daughter will be born. My fondest hope is that Isabeau Ariane Maida will walk upon Terra's surface and delight in all that it has to offer. However, there is still a great deal of serious remedial work to be done.
As I've mentioned before, we'll begin with Terra's oceans. Just a few small-scale pilot programs at first, but increasing in scope and impact as we build, discover, refine our processes and start making a measurable difference. Our first priority is to cleanse the world's waters. This won't be an easy job, neutralizing the vile hell-brew of toxins that has accumulated over centuries of indifference and outright neglect. To this end, I have set Dr. Zelenka to working out how to re-engineer Precursor power generation systems and distribution technology into more compact and efficient configurations. Once she has cracked these problems, our new reactors will be used to power a global network of seawater purification stations. Of course, I'm fully aware that she'd rather be cracking asteroids open, although this aspect of the project is sufficiently knotty enough to keep her busy for a while... I hope.
The purifiers were the easy bit to figure out. Did it entirely by myself, actually. Precursor fluidic shield density can be manipulated to create an osmotic membrane of sorts, allowing the free passage of pure water molecules and the normal chemical constituents of seawater, but tuned to prevent any Terran life forms larger than a small virus from passing through the figurative mincers. These filters are capable of selectively trapping contaminants such as heavy metals, hydrocarbons and other toxins, allowing them to be collected and reprocessed in separate facilities. This 'molecular sieve' approach employs multiple barrier fields to collect and sort out the naturally occurring elements and organic material in seawater, then the material that's meant to be there can be safely returned to the ocean. The purifiers use the same basic operating principles as membrane filters used in swimming pools and municipal water supplies, but each one will be roughly the size of a 21st. Century super-tanker, give or take a few hundred metres. Delightfully ironic, don't you think?
As you might imagine, this scheme will require a daunting amount of clean energy.
Geothermal power would be quite effective in powering a project of this scale, although harnessing a large number of deepwater vents may have unpredictable long-term consequences for folks on the surface. We'll have to tread extremely carefully along this line of research. If we get a bit too enthusiastic, large-scale tapping of planetary heat sources could disrupt the natural processes of magma convection. This would be an extremely bad thing. Not even Selkirk's jolly band of rogues can stop an earthquake. It's probably best for all concerned if we didn't get around to starting them.
In good time, we'll introduce Manannán's sea life to Terra's revitalized oceans. Once our groundwork is complete, humanity will have to accept stewardship of the remaining burden. A few willing hands can't reclaim an entire planet alone, although we can and will provide the right tools to finish the job properly. Even so, some folk might be concerned that we're planning to repopulate the oceans with alien creatures, and I've done a lot of soul-searching as to the wisdom of this course of action.
And I mean a lot of soul-searching.
FYI, @Bugzapper and all - the notifications system on the forums is broken, and has been for a while. At least for those that rarely visit, such as myself (so it might very well have always been broken?). It will show a number on the notifications button, and then when you click it, it shows "No new notifications" -- you have to manually troll through the forums and hope you catch whatever happened.
EDIT: Looked around a bit for a workaround and it appears that if you click your Profile, then select "Notifications" from the menu on the left, your notifications appear correctly. Hard link to that area: https://forums.unknownworlds.com/profile/notifications
I think Bugz has responded previously that he didn't want to distribute on fanfic sites? Been a few years, so I could be wrong or he could have changed his mind. We'll have to wait until he checks back in to find out.
We're talking about a species that was able to befoul its own environment to within a hair's-breadth of the point of no return. The all-conquering ascendant ape that hurled thousands of species into the abyss of extinction, often for the flimsiest of excuses. Even the mightiest of Terra's life-forms were swept aside in the name of what was laughingly called 'Progress', their real and actual existence pushed into the realm of myth and legend simply for the sake of lamp oil, cosmetics and carved curiosities to amuse the 'civilized' masses.
Speaking of whales, I recently found out that Manannán has its own version. IANTO calls them 'glow whales'. They're a fairly close analogue of a Terran baleen whale, although they have diverged from the basic pattern with a pair of glowing, swept-back dorsal tendrils. Luminous pigmentation is also present as a delicate tracery of body markings and in nodes at the tips of their pectoral fins. Added bonus: They're completely harmless, which is a rarity among Manannán's leviathan-class creatures. IANTO has officially catalogued this species as 'Balaena borealis'. As is my prerogative, I appended the relevant log entry to suitably acknowledge his discovery. Their official common name is now 'IANTO's Rorqual'. We'll have to address rebuilding Terra's polar biodiversity at some point, and I can think of no better reason for a return visit to Manannán, once we've properly settled in.
Let there be whales once more.
The oceans of Terra were never supposed to be entirely safe. Over the course of millennia, humanity has tried to bend the sea to its will. Naturally, we have failed miserably in every attempt. In frustration, we turned the oceans into our battlefields, rubbish dumps and sewers. And now the oceans are dying. If the oceans die, Terra dies. Fifty years at most is the best estimate for humanity's survival. No oceanic life means little or no food at all for a goodly chunk of the population. No oceanic life means there's nothing photosynthesizing sunlight and CO2 into breathable oxygen. That's not even taking drastically altered maritime climate patterns into account, either. Suffice it to say, floating masses of stinking garbage, ancient oil slicks and dead fish won't contribute much to global rainfall. You might as well kiss those fluffy white clouds goodbye.
Well, I've spoken my piece. Your planet's getting a second chance, whether you like it or not.
Incidentally, Héloise went into labour about an hour ago. Yes, I'm as nervous as hell. Thanks for asking.
It looks like young Isabeau's place of birth will be an anonymous set of galactic coordinates, roughly two days out from the Gamma Crucis phase gate. That should make life a mite more interesting for the bureaucrats back on Terra. If sorely pressed for further information, we can nail down the precise location to about one AU, more or less. Not that this piddling detail really matters, since all births in transit are automatically classified as 'spaceborn'. Fortunately, there's no social stigma attached to this status... Unless you happen to be a Belter.
We aim to change that as well. Dirtside folks will be taking Belters rather more seriously in future.
Most of the Belters aboard Borealis are uncertain about their final port of harbour. Only a handful have thrown in their lot with us, and the rest are still deciding where they want to be dropped off around The Belt. It appears that the final leg of our journey will become a school bus run, dropping off our wayward charges on a dozen airless rocks. I'm a wee bit disappointed by their decision, but these second and third-generation Belters have maintained strong cultural ties with their ancestral homes, sight unseen. Believe me, I can relate well to their stubborn mindset. As someone whose notion of 'home' spans three worlds, this is never a decision to be taken lightly.
Rather than sitting in The Big Chair for the entire duration of the voyage, I've taken to walking the deck on a daily basis. Apart from gaining a better 'feel' for the ship than full-interface telemetry can provide, this harmless indulgence of mine also provides ample opportunities to interact with the ship's company. To be honest, this is my way of holding the jitters of incipient fatherhood at bay, although I have allowed myself a mild delusion that our passengers 'need' to see The Captain occasionally, air what few small grievances they have and well... Just generally pass the time of day.
Face it, Selkirk. You're afraid of letting the Belters go.
No, it's far more complicated than that... Ah, there we have it. The real meat of the problem.
There is nothing left to conquer.
All that remains to you are purely mundane concerns.
No insurmountable challenges. No implacable foes. Your grand plan for Terra's oceans is little more than an overblown janitorial chore.
Selkirk's Grand Adventure is finally over.
Not quite.
There are five extremely special embryos being held in stasis aboard Borealis. A Sea Emperor and four fire-breathing consorts, to be endowed with total dominion over Terra's reborn oceans. We'll be serving as oceanic rangers, slipping undetected through a network of camouflaged Precursor warp-gates to 'gently' remind Homo sapiens that their oceans have been given a second chance and they'd best not piss that chance up against the wall, particularly if they know what's good for them.
With the unanimous blessing of the Terran Confederation, I might add. We have global jurisdiction.
It's official.
The near-instantaneous arrival of five or more Medusa-class patrol subs will make an awfully convincing deterrent. Right now, they're still on the drawing-board. Suffice it to say, every lesson that has been learned during our protracted stay on Manannán has been poured into their design.
Fair warning: Some of Manannán's creatures can be extremely aggressive, and we'll do our level best to keep a close eye on all of the most dangerous specimens. They'll all be tagged at birth and tracked constantly to minimize any real or perceived threats to human activity in the oceans. You have my word on that. We can safely herd these creatures away in all but the most extreme situations, although we've found that most of these beasties generally prefer to be left alone.
We're about to start a daunting clean-up job, and I conjure we won't be too impressed if anyone starts mucking it all up again. Let me be perfectly clear on this point: Corrective measures will be taken. If Manannán's transplanted marine life doesn't take care of any unwelcome encroachment upon their living spaces, we will surely answer with a measured and appropriate response. Still fancy trying your hand at big-game fishing, maybe even bag one of those large alien exotics?
They're only weird-looking fish, right? Go for it. You'll have the time of your life. All sixty seconds of it.
Oh aye... There will be Reapers.