Phase Gates are artificial wormholes connecting two synchronised points in space/time. If you've got a reasonable head on your shoulders, it's entirely possible to build a Phase Gate according to the instructions printed on the box-top. Getting it to work precisely as intended is much harder. For a start, you'll need a rock-solid positional fix on the last Phase Gate you passed through. If you haven't got that fix, don't even bother about making the next gate. I suppose the closest analogy would be the titanium tubes used for piping compressed air down to particularly deep caves. If you remove any one section at random from the pipeline, the system simply ceases to work. The same basic principle applies to Phase Gates.
It's a useful feature if you're not intending to pass through a stellar core at any stage in your journey. Rather than have the system attempt to 'bridge the gap' over a missing or disabled gate, it was found to be infinitely safer to drop out of wormhole travel, grit your teeth resolutely and take the slow-boat route to reach the next operational Phase Gate.
The last gate that Aurora passed through was at Omicron Leonis, 130.3 light years from Terra and roughly 50 light years from Alphard, give or take a parsec. This means that Borealis still has a long journey ahead of her. I've worked through the numbers, and the best she can manage is 1.05C, barely a gnat's whisker over light-speed after five years of constant acceleration. Then comes forty-plus years of slogging through The Black to reach the gate at Omicron Leonis.
Fortunately, it's pretty much clear sailing beyond that point. Our next gate is at Gamma Crucis, 88.5 light years from Sol, then on to Alpha Geminorum (Castor), jumping through the gates at Procyon, Sirius and finally back to Sol. Once we're back in the gate system, our subjective travel time can be measured in weeks. Many of these colonists won't live to witness our arrival on Terra, although they are content to pass their legacy on to the next generation.
I'm pleased to report that the colony's 'quarantine' period ended today. The atmospheric mix inside the base now precisely matches that of Manannán, allowing the colonists to move freely about on its surface without any adverse effects. The crew and I were waiting to greet them as they emerged from the airlock. Some came out almost fearfully at first, while others rushed out like kids to explore the island. We had taken the precaution of evicting most of the island's Crawler population with repulsion cannons, although it wouldn't be too long before they returned. For today at any rate, the island of Kaori-san no-shima is a completely safe environment for the colonists to explore.
Naturally, the colonists have been fully briefed on the island's ecosystems and informed of its potential dangers. Their PDAs would helpfully advise them what features to see next, describe any life forms they encountered and generally enhance their experience of being topside for the very first time. In an emergency, PDAs also served as personal communicators and tracking beacons, although absolutely nothing has been left to chance with the colonists' safety in mind. We have a couple of aerial surveillance drones disguised as Skyrays flying top cover, just in case.
What amazed me the most were the varied reactions to this experience. The most poignant moment of all was when Héloise and I climbed a small hill and saw an elderly couple standing hand in hand, gazing out over the island's lush foliage to the ocean beyond. Their faces were streaked with tears.
"Please excuse us. We didn't mean to intrude." I said hastily, turning to leave.
"Don't go, Captain Selkirk. We'd like to thank you." The man said softly. "For giving us all of this."
"It's your birthright. We were never meant to live our lives shut away from the sun." I said gently.
The woman's eyes brimmed with tears once more. Her partner drew her close, softly stroking her white hair, whispering tender words of comfort as she sobbed quietly against his shoulder. I wasn't sure if she was shedding tears of gratitude or grief, although I was deeply touched by this unexpected outpouring of emotion. It was an entirely human moment, utterly naked and devoid of any pretence. Given my situation, it was easy to forget the small things that make us human. I suspect that certain subtle facets of my personality may have quietly slipped away or diminished imperceptibly over the years, mostly through lack of any truly meaningful human interactions. It's not immediately noticeable to others, although I can distinctly feel vague, blurry voids forming where deeper emotional nuances used to be. A loss of definition; a sort of creeping emotional dementia.
The way I conjure it, Héloise may have arrived just in the nick of time. Before then, the only emotions I could muster with any real certainty were anger, loneliness and despair. Genuine joy has been a rare commodity since Day One. Having the crew as company has certainly kept me sane, although there was little dynamic range to the experience as a whole. My companions simulated the human emotional spectrum convincingly, but there was always a feeling that it was well... artificial. A particularly clever mimicry of stimulus and response, but you could feel there was no real passion to any of it. JUNO would blow your head off for a thoughtless word or action, then be as sweet as honey the very second that you apologised. There was absolutely no follow-through, no brooding silences, no tentative attempts to heal the peace. Pure binary emotion. Good/Bad. Happy/Sad.
Even so, I don't regret one second of that gloriously imperfect, desert-island substitute for genuine human friendship.
It saved me.
They were painfully shy at first, introducing themselves as Kwame and Monifa Enilo. Second-generation Belters, born and raised in the Lava Castle. They had been denied the sun's warmth on their faces for over seventy years, so it was only natural that they were completely overwhelmed by their first taste of life on the surface. I was genuinely shocked to learn that the base observatories were considered an unbearable form of torture by some of the colonists, so enticing was the view they offered. Honestly, I had not even considered this as a possible reaction, so I felt like a bit of a bastard for having tantalised these poor buggers with the sight of something they couldn't reach. Feeling somewhat ashamed of myself, I explained my genuine motive for imposing the 30-day quarantine, in that I felt it would be extremely dangerous to allow the colonists to simply scatter to the four winds immediately after leaving the Lava Castle. By allowing sufficient time to become more accustomed with their new environment, they would (theoretically, at least) be better prepared to deal with its many hazards. After a fashion, this line of reasoning worked.
To their credit, Kwame and Monifa immediately saw the sense of it. Our encounter with Father of Tides only served to underscore how dangerous this planet could be for the unwary. Incidentally, a rather interesting snippet of information surfaced during the course of our conversation. The fact that Héloise and I were willing to face Him alone and unarmed for the sake of the colony has apparently done our mana no end of good in the eyes of the colonists. We're practically regarded as mythological beings, it seems... 'The Dead Man and The Guardian.' That's the stuff of legends.
We took our leave of Kwame and Monifa shortly before sunset. It seemed like the most appropriate time to make ourselves scarce. The island was still alive with the sound of delighted human voices, and it took a certain amount of caution on our part to avoid any potentially awkward encounters. For delicacy's sake, let's just say that the open air and exotic surroundings may have exacerbated certain *ahem* amorous propensities among some of the colonists, and we'll leave it at that.
Eventually, Héloise and I found our way back to Margaritaville. The place was almost deserted, so I stepped behind the bar and fashioned a pitcher of frosty Lantern Fruit daiquiris. Héloise drew up a stool and sat at the counter, assuming the air of a dejected, world-weary mademoiselle. I picked up a dishtowel and draped it over my shoulder, playing along as the sympathetic barkeep.
"Care to talk, Madame? Looks like it's going to be a quiet night tonight, and I'm a good listener."
"You are too kind, M'sieur. I have not come to drown my sorrows, but to teach them how to swim."
"A lovely lady should have no sorrows. Tell me about them, and I may be able to help."
Héloise arched an eyebrow sceptically and took a dainty sip of her daiquiri. She gasped.
"Oh, M'sieur! This is far too strong!" She cried. "Are you trying to get me drunk? For shame!"
"I call it a Beached Reaper. White rum, lantern fruit puree, crushed ice, plus a splash of hydrazine and nitrogen tetroxide to give it a wee bite. It's an old family recipe." I grinned.
"Only if Lucrezia Borgia was your grand-mère, many, many times removed." Héloise quipped dryly.
Soon, others began to wander into Margaritaville in search of liquid refreshment. Since I was already behind the bar, it seemed like a foregone conclusion that I'd be stuck there for the rest of the night. Fortunately, the crew sauntered in shortly after that first mad rush (what a coincidence!) and dutifully shooed me away from the taps. From what I could gather, the mood in Margaritaville was definitely more reflective than celebratory tonight. Folks seemed content to chat and enjoy a few quiet brews, and most returned to their quarters below without taking on too much of a sway. By 0130, the place was deserted again.
The following morning, I was pleasantly surprised. The colony's Cyclops 'Esperanza' was already docked at Skull Island when we arrived, and the work crew were halfway through kitting up. According to my calculations, the dry dock will be completed in approximately three days. Allow another couple of days for a complete physical inspection stem to stern, component integration and systems checks, and then we can finally start laying the keel for Borealis.
While it would take far less time and effort to make a considerably smaller ship, there were no logical reasons to adopt a bare-bones approach to this project. Materials were in plentiful supply, salvaged from the huge cache of resources intended to construct the immense STARFISH mining rig. We also had a number of intact major components stripped from Aurora, many of which were scaled specifically for installation aboard an Antares-class starship. To some extent, we were cutting our coat according to the cloth we'd been given. The one factor that ultimately decided the size of the vessel was the anticipated duration of its maiden voyage. We'll need as much habitable space as possible, and sufficient environmental resources to allow for any appreciable increase in the number of colonists we'll be carrying.
What happens nine months from today will only be the start of it.
When completed, Borealis will have basically the same outward appearance as Aurora, although an experienced spacer's eye would be able to tell them apart instantly. Borealis still has four primary drive nacelles at the stern, although she lacks any external Alcubierre warp field hardware, particularly the emitter arrays. The bow section has been modified to accommodate a Bussard hydrogen ram-scoop, although that system won't be operating until Borealis is already travelling at a pretty decent clip through interstellar space. Our flight profile will have to include some complex in-system orbital transfers as well, since Borealis will have a relatively limited supply of deuterium and tritium onboard to power its fusion reactors. Even though we're talking about several hundred thousand tonnes of deuterium here, we'll still have to be extremely thrifty as we expend this fuel during our long, slow acceleration to light speed. Once we reach approximately 10 per cent of light speed, our Bussard interstellar ramjet finally comes into play.
Once Borealis has finally cleared Alpha Hydrae's outer solar system, the Bussard magnetic scoop can be safely deployed. The scoop is an immensely powerful magnetic field, extending 125 kilometres ahead of Borealis with a maximum diameter of 500 kilometres. Its function is to collect interstellar hydrogen atoms while the ship is travelling at any respectable fraction of light speed. When you're dealing with deep-space hydrogen concentrations as low as one atom per cubic metre, the velocity at which they're collected becomes particularly significant. Just like bugs on a windshield.
Most of the collected hydrogen can be used directly as a straight plasma reaction mass, although any deuterium entering the system can be magnetically separated and used to top off our fusion reactor fuel reserves. It's almost (but not quite) the fabled 'Free-Lunch Drive'. The one critical factor in this process is maintaining absolutely perfect magnetic field geometry. As well as acting as a scoop, the field also serves as highly efficient particle shielding. Once the ship reaches any significant fraction of light speed, all those friendly little hydrogen atoms begin to display a more sinister aspect. Their mass increases with velocity. You can probably guess what happens if the Bussard scoop's magnetic field collapses or even fluctuates while Borealis is travelling at light speed.
We've had to be slightly more creative with our choice of atmospheric drive systems. Rather than use conventional fusion drive or chemical propellant systems, I feel that we should depart Manannán as politely as possible. Vaporising a cubic kilometre of seawater during launch would be poorly regarded by Father of Tides, and I'm fairly certain that it would be a ridiculously short flight. For this entirely sensible reason, Borealis will be using its gravity repulsors during launch. I've calculated that we'll need to be 10,000 kilometres beyond the gravity well of Manannán's outer moon Phryne before it's time to light up the fusion drive. One planetary diameter from the surface would provide a sufficient safety margin for a full-thrust fusion burn, although there's nothing wrong with making a slow ascent on gravity drive. It uses considerably less onboard fuel, for one thing.
The beauty of using a large hull design is that we can afford to be generous with everything associated with a long-duration mission. Entire decks can be devoted to life support, engineering, stores and accommodation. With redundant systems integral to the core design of Borealis, even the back-ups of the back-up systems will have backups. There will be a number of physically isolated hydroponics and mariculture facilities built onboard to prevent a catastrophic loss of our food supplies, should the ship's primary food production systems fail. In the very worst case, the genetic storage banks can be used to produce disease-free specimens to replace affected stocks. Like I said, we can afford to be generous. Forty-odd years without a decent cup of tea is a sod of a long time.
It might be something that seems[ like "that" but I highly doubt that it would be viable. For all we know, he's installed an actual protein shake dispenser down there.
I took one final pass around the completed dry dock, if only to satisfy a completely unjustified suspicion that something in there wasn't quite as it should be. It's an engineer thing. Humour me. Gawain's inspection scanner reported a structural integrity reading of 100 per cent. I activated the ExoSuit's commlink, connecting me with the dry dock's onboard control room.
"Looks good from my end, troops. How's everything reading on the big board?"
"All systems are fully operational, Captain." DIGBY said confidently. "Functional systems testing program will commence on your mark, Sir."
Sitting on the seafloor at a depth of 75 metres, the dry dock resembled the ribcage of some Leviathan-class cyber beast, picked clean of its metal flesh. Four hundred metres in length at full extension, 220 metres wide and 50 metres high. Four articulated mobile construction arms were stationed along both sides of the structure's longest axis like short ribs, each one equipped with an industrial grade nano-lathe emitter and control cab. These arms were currently retracted, although they would extend to their full height of 200 metres at some stage during this structure's certification test. For stability's sake, the control cabs were built into the dock's two main pontoons.
This was my own modification to the basic dry dock design. With Manannán's hurricane season only nine months away, I wouldn't expect anyone to willingly climb into a space dock's version of a nano-lathe control cab; a lonely little airtight pod mounted at the extreme end of a retractable boom arm. Not an ideal place to be in during a Category Five blow. We're getting our first taste of increasingly erratic weather patterns right now, although the Argus satellite array will provide ample warning of anything significant brewing in our sector, weather-wise. At the moment, I'm ready to call it a day whenever the wind-speed hits 10 metres per second, that's Force 5 on the old Beaufort Scale. You'd probably call it a 'fresh breeze'. Even so, when you're floating a structure 400 metres long, those charming little whitecaps can still pack a nasty punch.
Harmonic resonance. If you're still vaguely interested, look up 'Tacoma Narrows Bridge collapse' on The Cortex.
That's when it's time to put our toys away. When the weather starts cutting up rough, the dry dock will completely submerge, taking it out of harm's way. According to the fluid dynamics simulations we've ran, the entire rig will be stable once it's fully submerged and locked onto its anchor pylons, even with a mostly-complete Borealis hull attached. That's a comforting thought.
"Okay, DIGBY. Bring her up."
"Aye, Captain. Blowing ballast, set for zero point five metres per second ascent." DIGBY responded.
"Keep a close watch on those structural stress readings. If she's going to fail at all, now's the time."
"All readings are still within design tolerances, Sir. Anchor points clear in ten seconds. Rising steadily, all systems are nominal. Five seconds... Anchor pylons are clear. Attention. Attention. Surface breach in forty seconds. Extreme caution is advised within the projected surge zone."
Gawain rose slowly, following the dock as it surfaced. There was bound to be a fair bit of turbulence once this massive structure broke sea level, so I kept my ExoSuit at a highly respectful distance from the rig. Believe me, this was a truly magnificent sight to behold. And it's only the beginning.
I like the little homage to the Tacoma Narrows Bridge incident, Rest in Piece Tubby and that one car. Also, I feel like someone that far in the future would have a tough time understanding what the fast paced black and white 2D video was on their PDA's, considering it was in the 1940's and they probably are all used to fully realistic 3D holograms or something for entertainment lol.
My ExoSuit's thrusters kicked in as the dry dock's displacement wash rolled overhead. Now that it had fully surfaced, I could approach closer to inspect the operation of its stability control systems. I signaled DIGBY as soon as I was in position to check the outriggers, and all twelve supplementary flotation pontoons swung down smoothly and locked into place. Each of these smaller floats were fitted with a pair of vectored thrust pods, providing the dock with additional roll stability and a modest degree of mobility. Even though it wouldn't break any speed records, it might be necessary to relocate the rig to deeper water as the outer hull of Borealis nears completion.
Once the outriggers were fully deployed, DIGBY started moving the construction booms in a pre-determined test pattern that simulated normal working conditions. Some booms extended to their full length and began to nano-lathe large blank test pieces, while others transformed into crane mode and commenced a series of complex cargo hoists and movements intended to place high structural loading on critical points of the dry dock's structure. Somewhat more scientific than having the heaviest crew member jumping up and down on a dodgy-looking gangway to see if it would break, although it essentially fulfilled the same function.
About an hour into the test program, IANTO checked in. He and JUNO were running their regular weekly clinic at Kaori-san no-shima, and several of the colonists had presented with a disturbingly similar set of symptoms. Outwardly, it seemed to be some kind of skin disorder, although there were other symptoms that rang some definite alarm bells. All patients complained of dizziness, joint pain, fatigue and nausea. The colony's medical techs initially thought it might be a type of scombroid food poisoning contracted by eating spoiled fish, or possibly fish contaminated with a local variation of a ciguatera toxin.
Plankton and algae naturally produce this toxin and it concentrates in the flesh and organs of fish that eat these microorganisms, usually with no ill effects. These fish are in turn eaten by larger predatory fish, who accumulate even higher levels of this toxin without suffering any apparent effects. Certain species of fish are more likely to be contaminated with ciguatera than others, and thus can be avoided. However, that's how it works back on Terra. There's no direct equivalents of Spanish mackerel, snapper, coral trout, red bass or triggerfish here on Manannán, and definitely no toxic dinoflagellate plankton that might serve as a possible source of contamination. Looks like we've got ourselves the makings of a genuine medical mystery here.
I left DIGBY to complete the remainder of the dry dock testing program, assisted by a couple of recon drones. According to the data I'd already gathered, the structure would easily meet and exceed its design specifications, so the final series of tests were little more than a formality. On my way over to the island, I remembered that the colony's crops had been partially destroyed by some kind of blight, just prior to us entering the Lava Castle for the first time. Although its spread had been halted by some commendably quick action with flamers, we never actually got around to analysing the causative organism. In retrospect, that was an incredibly stupid mistake on my part.
If this disease is anything more than a simple skin disorder or an allergic reaction to some unknown substance, we may have to isolate all affected colonists before doing anything else. However, that also depends on the disease's incubation period, assuming that it's caused by a bacterial, fungal or viral infection. Realistically, it may be too late to implement any quarantine measures. Considering that those people have been in close proximity with each other long before we entered the scene, enforcing a quarantine to contain the spread of disease would be totally pointless.
When I arrived at Kaori-san no-shima, I proceeded straight to the medical centre at a high rate of knots. No time for observing any social niceties, unfortunately.
"Okay, IANTO. What exactly do we know about this bug?"
"Not very much at this stage, I'm afraid, Sir." IANTO admitted. "So far, I've been able to isolate the infectious agent and positively identify it as a virus, although its characteristics are entirely unlike any known exogenic viral form catalogued in my databanks."
"How so? What makes this one any different from other viruses?"
"For one thing, instead of simply hijacking the DNA or RNA of the host organism in order to reproduce itself as rapidly as possible, this virus appears to directly re-write the host's genetic structure, cell by cell. Curiously, there is very little actual reproductive activity among any of the viral specimens I've observed, causing the disease to progress at an incredibly slow rate once the host has been infected. Its primary function appears to be entirely mutagenic rather than reproductive."
The lab monitor projected a quantum microscan of a human cell. A single tiny object had been highlighted within the cell's nucleus. Unless you knew precisely what you were looking for, human eyes would miss it entirely.
"It's almost as if this virus is equipped with a stealth function. Incredibly low population density per cell, minimal cellular disruption during its active phase and the disease manifests itself as relatively low-intensity symptoms. Its effects are easily overlooked, or discounted as something minor. This effectively allows it to remain undetected, unless you're actually searching for it." IANTO concluded.
I frowned, trying to remember anything I'd seen or heard that might shed light on the nature of this organism. There's bound to be something significant buried in all the information I've collected over the years, but finding that one crucial piece of data is the tricky part.
This is where the crew have a decided advantage over me. Their minds are wired (quite literally) for a 3D web-like matrix of inquiry when they're dealing with a problem. Holographic thought. Poor old Selkirk is stuck with a mind that follows a vaguely linear 'tree' pattern, only jumping onto different branches when he runs into a dead end. It's a bit like using the old-school 2D flowcharts to map out the initial structure of a computer program. You might say it's a severe intellectual limitation compared to an android's native thought processes, but I've learned to live with it.
So, we have a potential culprit. This virus is apparently able to remain dormant for at least two or more months, although it's a fair bet that it could have been present in the colonists for much longer than that. I'm only guessing at this point, but it's entirely possible that some environmental or physiological change in the colonists acted as a trigger, activating the virus. IANTO explained this mechanism as being similar to physical or mental stress reactivating a dormant case of herpes zoster ('shingles') in a human being, usually decades after the patient had been infected with chickenpox.
Well, the colonists have certainly been through some changes recently, although it's going to be a job and a half figuring out what specific conditions this bug requires in order to function. To find that out, we're going to need a viable sample of this beastie in its dormant phase. To the best of my knowledge, there's only one location where we could be certain of finding this viral sample.
After boarding Ulysses, I constructed a Level IV biohazard containment facility in its minisub bay. IANTO recommended that we conduct all experiments aboard the sub in order to maintain some control over the virus once we have secured a 'wild' specimen. With luck, this variant would not have adapted itself to the human genome yet, and we would be able to compare its functions with samples collected from infected colonists. After obtaining baseline data on the viral structure and its infective mechanisms, we should be able to develop a reactive vaccine, or at least devise a treatment program to counteract its effects. Viruses are devilishly hard to combat, mainly because they inhabit that hazy borderline between living and non-living entities. Conventional antibiotics are totally ineffective against viruses. Antiviral treatments have to be tailored to counter the infective mechanisms and physical properties of a specific viral strain, delivering a precise chemical strike on its active components. Naturally, I defer to IANTO and JUNO's expertise in this particular field.
One thing did strike me as being particularly odd. I've never contracted this infection.
I'll bet a year's salary that Torgaljin Corp are somehow responsible for this. Either they caught this bug off-world and brought it with them, or they've engineered a native viral strain with a view to using it for some nefarious and highly lucrative purpose. Regrettably, certain Mega-Corps have been known to dabble with biological weapons. They're relatively cheap to make once the basic R&D work is complete, easily deployed and require no additional support after they're turned loose. If you're an insane tin-pot dictator wanting to leave an indelible mark on history, bugs and GELFs are ideal weapon systems. However, bio-warfare is not without its attendant hazards. If the bugs don't turn on your own population right from the get-go, your opponent will be extremely annoyed and reply with a commensurately more powerful response. Nothing says 'disinfection' quite as eloquently as glassing an entire country from orbit. Just say 'NO' to Bugs, kids. It's the only way to be sure.
It wasn't particularly helpful that Torgaljin Corp's upper-echelon execs were notoriously sloppy record keepers. I've collected hundreds of PDAs and data downloads during my travels, each one containing tantalising snippets of possibly useful information and bugger-all else. If I were still entirely human, it would be an absolute nightmare collating and cross-referencing that data. Unfortunately, this was one job that none of us ever got around to completing, considering that we were dealing with rather more urgent matters than looking for the equivalent of discarded sticky-notes littering the seafloor. Knowing my luck, there's one PDA out there containing everything that we urgently need to know... Currently making its way through a Reaper's digestive tract.
Still, I had some of the pieces in this puzzle. Might as well shuffle them around to get a vague idea of what we're up against. I still had 20 minutes or so of transit time until Ulysses entered the Lava Castle's dock, so I conjured this time would be more profitably spent going over what little information we already had. Frustrating, to say the least.
Sure enough, Degasi survivor logs mentioned early symptoms of a viral disease, although there were no further entries indicating how they cured it. Baat Torgaljin obviously managed to find a cure, since he, his father Paal and Marguerit Maida survived long enough to establish a base in the Lava Castle. It's a certainty that another Torgaljin ship arrived here with sufficient colonists to commence large-scale operations. How that ship was able to land unchallenged is a complete mystery, although it may have had something to do with its drive system and approach pattern. Aurora was shot down by the Warpers when its Alcubierre warp field accidentally discharged its accumulated burden of charged particles during a solar flare event.
And yet, that Torgaljin colony ship landed safely... How?
The only sound was water dripping from my dive suit. Emergency lighting threw trembling reflections on the ceiling of the cavernous sub bay. I climbed out of the water slowly and carefully, keeping my own noise level as low as possible. Although the Lava Castle base is supposed to be entirely deserted, there was no sense in announcing my presence to all and sundry, particularly if there is something in here with me. Sometimes, a wee touch of paranoia can be a useful thing.
As a nod to common sense, I kept the flechette rifle slung on my shoulder. On the off-chance that a colonist or two may have gone into hiding, it would make a mighty poor first impression for me to be prowling around the base with a readied weapon. I ran a deep scan of the surrounding area, then commenced sampling of the sub pen's atmosphere. If the infection originated in the waters outside the base, the colony's only air/water interface seemed like a logical point to begin testing.
Fortunately, the environmental sampling unit performed all of the grunt-work for me. All I had to do was point its probe wand at the surface I wanted sampled, and the backpack processed the targeted material automatically. Tagged, bagged and time-stamped, all in one smooth motion. If I ever decide to ship out again, I might be tempted to take a crack at Life Sciences. If this sampling caper was anything to go by, it's a fairly cushy job. Of course, there's always a high probability of getting jumped by a xeno lurking around the next corner, but it's nothing I haven't been through already.
Rather than use the main airlock, I entered the base via a personnel access hatch. Its pressure equalization cycle was far quieter, for one thing. While the cycle was running, I took another series of samples from various surfaces in the chamber itself, if only to be completely thorough in my search. The inner hatch opened quietly, and I stepped into the central corridor. The only audible sound came from the base's main air-circulation fans, and even then I had to strain to hear it. Although this base is technically moth-balled, its life support systems have been left running as a contingency measure. Left to its own devices, dead air will go stale in fairly short order. Oxygen levels could slowly deplete due to chemical reactions with certain materials in the base, rendering its atmosphere potentially lethal for anyone not wearing an environment suit.
This isn't a huge problem, at least as far as I'm concerned, although any human down to their last few litres of breathing mix would be eternally grateful that there's still a safe atmosphere in here. I linked with a nearby terminal to obtain a status report on the base as a whole, and it looked good. Power consumption currently sitting at 0.05 per cent, life support running at minimal load, all nuclear reactors are in standby mode and the geothermal power grid is nominal. Looks like everything's basically tickety-boo in here.
Moving slowly and methodically, I worked my way through the base, room by room. Mainly personnel accommodation and facilities on this level, so this part of the run was going to be a monotonous grind. Average Joe colonist must have had a grim time here, all things considered. I walked through corridor after corridor of drab cubicles that had been lasered out of the surrounding basalt, along with most of their interior fittings and furniture. I was pleasantly surprised that the bed alcoves had decent mattresses and the stone benches had fabric cushions, although these items were the only apparent concessions to human comfort. Each room had a single outer door for privacy, its own hygiene module and an entertainment terminal, but that was as soft as it got for those poor sods. I don't think Alterra would dare provide such Spartan digs for its employees.
Comments
Not really 'sneaked in' as such... Merely introducing this plot point to the narrative at the appropriate time.
Trying my level best to maintain some vague similarity to canon game lore, but it's a (wildly) moving target.
Do they have aquariums?Can we maybe a breather chapter where Selkirk shows the colonists around Mannanan and it's beautiful creatures?
It's a useful feature if you're not intending to pass through a stellar core at any stage in your journey. Rather than have the system attempt to 'bridge the gap' over a missing or disabled gate, it was found to be infinitely safer to drop out of wormhole travel, grit your teeth resolutely and take the slow-boat route to reach the next operational Phase Gate.
The last gate that Aurora passed through was at Omicron Leonis, 130.3 light years from Terra and roughly 50 light years from Alphard, give or take a parsec. This means that Borealis still has a long journey ahead of her. I've worked through the numbers, and the best she can manage is 1.05C, barely a gnat's whisker over light-speed after five years of constant acceleration. Then comes forty-plus years of slogging through The Black to reach the gate at Omicron Leonis.
Fortunately, it's pretty much clear sailing beyond that point. Our next gate is at Gamma Crucis, 88.5 light years from Sol, then on to Alpha Geminorum (Castor), jumping through the gates at Procyon, Sirius and finally back to Sol. Once we're back in the gate system, our subjective travel time can be measured in weeks. Many of these colonists won't live to witness our arrival on Terra, although they are content to pass their legacy on to the next generation.
I'm pleased to report that the colony's 'quarantine' period ended today. The atmospheric mix inside the base now precisely matches that of Manannán, allowing the colonists to move freely about on its surface without any adverse effects. The crew and I were waiting to greet them as they emerged from the airlock. Some came out almost fearfully at first, while others rushed out like kids to explore the island. We had taken the precaution of evicting most of the island's Crawler population with repulsion cannons, although it wouldn't be too long before they returned. For today at any rate, the island of Kaori-san no-shima is a completely safe environment for the colonists to explore.
Naturally, the colonists have been fully briefed on the island's ecosystems and informed of its potential dangers. Their PDAs would helpfully advise them what features to see next, describe any life forms they encountered and generally enhance their experience of being topside for the very first time. In an emergency, PDAs also served as personal communicators and tracking beacons, although absolutely nothing has been left to chance with the colonists' safety in mind. We have a couple of aerial surveillance drones disguised as Skyrays flying top cover, just in case.
What amazed me the most were the varied reactions to this experience. The most poignant moment of all was when Héloise and I climbed a small hill and saw an elderly couple standing hand in hand, gazing out over the island's lush foliage to the ocean beyond. Their faces were streaked with tears.
"Please excuse us. We didn't mean to intrude." I said hastily, turning to leave.
"Don't go, Captain Selkirk. We'd like to thank you." The man said softly. "For giving us all of this."
When did phase gates get added to the lore?
Something something Aurora, something something Administrator's Office, something something terminal.
"NO SPOILERS!"
*cringes away*
The woman's eyes brimmed with tears once more. Her partner drew her close, softly stroking her white hair, whispering tender words of comfort as she sobbed quietly against his shoulder. I wasn't sure if she was shedding tears of gratitude or grief, although I was deeply touched by this unexpected outpouring of emotion. It was an entirely human moment, utterly naked and devoid of any pretence. Given my situation, it was easy to forget the small things that make us human. I suspect that certain subtle facets of my personality may have quietly slipped away or diminished imperceptibly over the years, mostly through lack of any truly meaningful human interactions. It's not immediately noticeable to others, although I can distinctly feel vague, blurry voids forming where deeper emotional nuances used to be. A loss of definition; a sort of creeping emotional dementia.
The way I conjure it, Héloise may have arrived just in the nick of time. Before then, the only emotions I could muster with any real certainty were anger, loneliness and despair. Genuine joy has been a rare commodity since Day One. Having the crew as company has certainly kept me sane, although there was little dynamic range to the experience as a whole. My companions simulated the human emotional spectrum convincingly, but there was always a feeling that it was well... artificial. A particularly clever mimicry of stimulus and response, but you could feel there was no real passion to any of it. JUNO would blow your head off for a thoughtless word or action, then be as sweet as honey the very second that you apologised. There was absolutely no follow-through, no brooding silences, no tentative attempts to heal the peace. Pure binary emotion. Good/Bad. Happy/Sad.
Even so, I don't regret one second of that gloriously imperfect, desert-island substitute for genuine human friendship.
It saved me.
They were painfully shy at first, introducing themselves as Kwame and Monifa Enilo. Second-generation Belters, born and raised in the Lava Castle. They had been denied the sun's warmth on their faces for over seventy years, so it was only natural that they were completely overwhelmed by their first taste of life on the surface. I was genuinely shocked to learn that the base observatories were considered an unbearable form of torture by some of the colonists, so enticing was the view they offered. Honestly, I had not even considered this as a possible reaction, so I felt like a bit of a bastard for having tantalised these poor buggers with the sight of something they couldn't reach. Feeling somewhat ashamed of myself, I explained my genuine motive for imposing the 30-day quarantine, in that I felt it would be extremely dangerous to allow the colonists to simply scatter to the four winds immediately after leaving the Lava Castle. By allowing sufficient time to become more accustomed with their new environment, they would (theoretically, at least) be better prepared to deal with its many hazards. After a fashion, this line of reasoning worked.
To their credit, Kwame and Monifa immediately saw the sense of it. Our encounter with Father of Tides only served to underscore how dangerous this planet could be for the unwary. Incidentally, a rather interesting snippet of information surfaced during the course of our conversation. The fact that Héloise and I were willing to face Him alone and unarmed for the sake of the colony has apparently done our mana no end of good in the eyes of the colonists. We're practically regarded as mythological beings, it seems... 'The Dead Man and The Guardian.' That's the stuff of legends.
We all had a good laugh over that one.
Eventually, Héloise and I found our way back to Margaritaville. The place was almost deserted, so I stepped behind the bar and fashioned a pitcher of frosty Lantern Fruit daiquiris. Héloise drew up a stool and sat at the counter, assuming the air of a dejected, world-weary mademoiselle. I picked up a dishtowel and draped it over my shoulder, playing along as the sympathetic barkeep.
"Care to talk, Madame? Looks like it's going to be a quiet night tonight, and I'm a good listener."
"You are too kind, M'sieur. I have not come to drown my sorrows, but to teach them how to swim."
"A lovely lady should have no sorrows. Tell me about them, and I may be able to help."
Héloise arched an eyebrow sceptically and took a dainty sip of her daiquiri. She gasped.
"Oh, M'sieur! This is far too strong!" She cried. "Are you trying to get me drunk? For shame!"
"I call it a Beached Reaper. White rum, lantern fruit puree, crushed ice, plus a splash of hydrazine and nitrogen tetroxide to give it a wee bite. It's an old family recipe." I grinned.
"Only if Lucrezia Borgia was your grand-mère, many, many times removed." Héloise quipped dryly.
Soon, others began to wander into Margaritaville in search of liquid refreshment. Since I was already behind the bar, it seemed like a foregone conclusion that I'd be stuck there for the rest of the night. Fortunately, the crew sauntered in shortly after that first mad rush (what a coincidence!) and dutifully shooed me away from the taps. From what I could gather, the mood in Margaritaville was definitely more reflective than celebratory tonight. Folks seemed content to chat and enjoy a few quiet brews, and most returned to their quarters below without taking on too much of a sway. By 0130, the place was deserted again.
The following morning, I was pleasantly surprised. The colony's Cyclops 'Esperanza' was already docked at Skull Island when we arrived, and the work crew were halfway through kitting up. According to my calculations, the dry dock will be completed in approximately three days. Allow another couple of days for a complete physical inspection stem to stern, component integration and systems checks, and then we can finally start laying the keel for Borealis.
While it would take far less time and effort to make a considerably smaller ship, there were no logical reasons to adopt a bare-bones approach to this project. Materials were in plentiful supply, salvaged from the huge cache of resources intended to construct the immense STARFISH mining rig. We also had a number of intact major components stripped from Aurora, many of which were scaled specifically for installation aboard an Antares-class starship. To some extent, we were cutting our coat according to the cloth we'd been given. The one factor that ultimately decided the size of the vessel was the anticipated duration of its maiden voyage. We'll need as much habitable space as possible, and sufficient environmental resources to allow for any appreciable increase in the number of colonists we'll be carrying.
What happens nine months from today will only be the start of it.
Once Borealis has finally cleared Alpha Hydrae's outer solar system, the Bussard magnetic scoop can be safely deployed. The scoop is an immensely powerful magnetic field, extending 125 kilometres ahead of Borealis with a maximum diameter of 500 kilometres. Its function is to collect interstellar hydrogen atoms while the ship is travelling at any respectable fraction of light speed. When you're dealing with deep-space hydrogen concentrations as low as one atom per cubic metre, the velocity at which they're collected becomes particularly significant. Just like bugs on a windshield.
Most of the collected hydrogen can be used directly as a straight plasma reaction mass, although any deuterium entering the system can be magnetically separated and used to top off our fusion reactor fuel reserves. It's almost (but not quite) the fabled 'Free-Lunch Drive'. The one critical factor in this process is maintaining absolutely perfect magnetic field geometry. As well as acting as a scoop, the field also serves as highly efficient particle shielding. Once the ship reaches any significant fraction of light speed, all those friendly little hydrogen atoms begin to display a more sinister aspect. Their mass increases with velocity. You can probably guess what happens if the Bussard scoop's magnetic field collapses or even fluctuates while Borealis is travelling at light speed.
We've had to be slightly more creative with our choice of atmospheric drive systems. Rather than use conventional fusion drive or chemical propellant systems, I feel that we should depart Manannán as politely as possible. Vaporising a cubic kilometre of seawater during launch would be poorly regarded by Father of Tides, and I'm fairly certain that it would be a ridiculously short flight. For this entirely sensible reason, Borealis will be using its gravity repulsors during launch. I've calculated that we'll need to be 10,000 kilometres beyond the gravity well of Manannán's outer moon Phryne before it's time to light up the fusion drive. One planetary diameter from the surface would provide a sufficient safety margin for a full-thrust fusion burn, although there's nothing wrong with making a slow ascent on gravity drive. It uses considerably less onboard fuel, for one thing.
The beauty of using a large hull design is that we can afford to be generous with everything associated with a long-duration mission. Entire decks can be devoted to life support, engineering, stores and accommodation. With redundant systems integral to the core design of Borealis, even the back-ups of the back-up systems will have backups. There will be a number of physically isolated hydroponics and mariculture facilities built onboard to prevent a catastrophic loss of our food supplies, should the ship's primary food production systems fail. In the very worst case, the genetic storage banks can be used to produce disease-free specimens to replace affected stocks. Like I said, we can afford to be generous. Forty-odd years without a decent cup of tea is a sod of a long time.
Selkirk: He/She is so cute!
Heloise: I'll call him/her (insert name here).
Surely that's not possible? He's a robot after all.
It might be something that seems[ like "that" but I highly doubt that it would be viable. For all we know, he's installed an actual protein shake dispenser down there.
That's what I figured you meant.
However, don't discount the 'protein shake' hypothesis either. Selkirk is a man of many parts, after all.
I wonder what the Ghost Leviathan's stance will be on this, despite living in the lost river.
...will he obey the father of tides?
<p style="font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; margin: 5px; color: #4A4A4A;">
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Fair enough
"Looks good from my end, troops. How's everything reading on the big board?"
"All systems are fully operational, Captain." DIGBY said confidently. "Functional systems testing program will commence on your mark, Sir."
Sitting on the seafloor at a depth of 75 metres, the dry dock resembled the ribcage of some Leviathan-class cyber beast, picked clean of its metal flesh. Four hundred metres in length at full extension, 220 metres wide and 50 metres high. Four articulated mobile construction arms were stationed along both sides of the structure's longest axis like short ribs, each one equipped with an industrial grade nano-lathe emitter and control cab. These arms were currently retracted, although they would extend to their full height of 200 metres at some stage during this structure's certification test. For stability's sake, the control cabs were built into the dock's two main pontoons.
This was my own modification to the basic dry dock design. With Manannán's hurricane season only nine months away, I wouldn't expect anyone to willingly climb into a space dock's version of a nano-lathe control cab; a lonely little airtight pod mounted at the extreme end of a retractable boom arm. Not an ideal place to be in during a Category Five blow. We're getting our first taste of increasingly erratic weather patterns right now, although the Argus satellite array will provide ample warning of anything significant brewing in our sector, weather-wise. At the moment, I'm ready to call it a day whenever the wind-speed hits 10 metres per second, that's Force 5 on the old Beaufort Scale. You'd probably call it a 'fresh breeze'. Even so, when you're floating a structure 400 metres long, those charming little whitecaps can still pack a nasty punch.
Harmonic resonance. If you're still vaguely interested, look up 'Tacoma Narrows Bridge collapse' on The Cortex.
That's when it's time to put our toys away. When the weather starts cutting up rough, the dry dock will completely submerge, taking it out of harm's way. According to the fluid dynamics simulations we've ran, the entire rig will be stable once it's fully submerged and locked onto its anchor pylons, even with a mostly-complete Borealis hull attached. That's a comforting thought.
"Okay, DIGBY. Bring her up."
"Aye, Captain. Blowing ballast, set for zero point five metres per second ascent." DIGBY responded.
"Keep a close watch on those structural stress readings. If she's going to fail at all, now's the time."
"All readings are still within design tolerances, Sir. Anchor points clear in ten seconds. Rising steadily, all systems are nominal. Five seconds... Anchor pylons are clear. Attention. Attention. Surface breach in forty seconds. Extreme caution is advised within the projected surge zone."
Gawain rose slowly, following the dock as it surfaced. There was bound to be a fair bit of turbulence once this massive structure broke sea level, so I kept my ExoSuit at a highly respectful distance from the rig. Believe me, this was a truly magnificent sight to behold. And it's only the beginning.
Now, the real work begins.
Once the outriggers were fully deployed, DIGBY started moving the construction booms in a pre-determined test pattern that simulated normal working conditions. Some booms extended to their full length and began to nano-lathe large blank test pieces, while others transformed into crane mode and commenced a series of complex cargo hoists and movements intended to place high structural loading on critical points of the dry dock's structure. Somewhat more scientific than having the heaviest crew member jumping up and down on a dodgy-looking gangway to see if it would break, although it essentially fulfilled the same function.
About an hour into the test program, IANTO checked in. He and JUNO were running their regular weekly clinic at Kaori-san no-shima, and several of the colonists had presented with a disturbingly similar set of symptoms. Outwardly, it seemed to be some kind of skin disorder, although there were other symptoms that rang some definite alarm bells. All patients complained of dizziness, joint pain, fatigue and nausea. The colony's medical techs initially thought it might be a type of scombroid food poisoning contracted by eating spoiled fish, or possibly fish contaminated with a local variation of a ciguatera toxin.
Plankton and algae naturally produce this toxin and it concentrates in the flesh and organs of fish that eat these microorganisms, usually with no ill effects. These fish are in turn eaten by larger predatory fish, who accumulate even higher levels of this toxin without suffering any apparent effects. Certain species of fish are more likely to be contaminated with ciguatera than others, and thus can be avoided. However, that's how it works back on Terra. There's no direct equivalents of Spanish mackerel, snapper, coral trout, red bass or triggerfish here on Manannán, and definitely no toxic dinoflagellate plankton that might serve as a possible source of contamination. Looks like we've got ourselves the makings of a genuine medical mystery here.
I left DIGBY to complete the remainder of the dry dock testing program, assisted by a couple of recon drones. According to the data I'd already gathered, the structure would easily meet and exceed its design specifications, so the final series of tests were little more than a formality. On my way over to the island, I remembered that the colony's crops had been partially destroyed by some kind of blight, just prior to us entering the Lava Castle for the first time. Although its spread had been halted by some commendably quick action with flamers, we never actually got around to analysing the causative organism. In retrospect, that was an incredibly stupid mistake on my part.
If this disease is anything more than a simple skin disorder or an allergic reaction to some unknown substance, we may have to isolate all affected colonists before doing anything else. However, that also depends on the disease's incubation period, assuming that it's caused by a bacterial, fungal or viral infection. Realistically, it may be too late to implement any quarantine measures. Considering that those people have been in close proximity with each other long before we entered the scene, enforcing a quarantine to contain the spread of disease would be totally pointless.
It's already here.
"Okay, IANTO. What exactly do we know about this bug?"
"Not very much at this stage, I'm afraid, Sir." IANTO admitted. "So far, I've been able to isolate the infectious agent and positively identify it as a virus, although its characteristics are entirely unlike any known exogenic viral form catalogued in my databanks."
"How so? What makes this one any different from other viruses?"
"For one thing, instead of simply hijacking the DNA or RNA of the host organism in order to reproduce itself as rapidly as possible, this virus appears to directly re-write the host's genetic structure, cell by cell. Curiously, there is very little actual reproductive activity among any of the viral specimens I've observed, causing the disease to progress at an incredibly slow rate once the host has been infected. Its primary function appears to be entirely mutagenic rather than reproductive."
The lab monitor projected a quantum microscan of a human cell. A single tiny object had been highlighted within the cell's nucleus. Unless you knew precisely what you were looking for, human eyes would miss it entirely.
"It's almost as if this virus is equipped with a stealth function. Incredibly low population density per cell, minimal cellular disruption during its active phase and the disease manifests itself as relatively low-intensity symptoms. Its effects are easily overlooked, or discounted as something minor. This effectively allows it to remain undetected, unless you're actually searching for it." IANTO concluded.
I frowned, trying to remember anything I'd seen or heard that might shed light on the nature of this organism. There's bound to be something significant buried in all the information I've collected over the years, but finding that one crucial piece of data is the tricky part.
This is where the crew have a decided advantage over me. Their minds are wired (quite literally) for a 3D web-like matrix of inquiry when they're dealing with a problem. Holographic thought. Poor old Selkirk is stuck with a mind that follows a vaguely linear 'tree' pattern, only jumping onto different branches when he runs into a dead end. It's a bit like using the old-school 2D flowcharts to map out the initial structure of a computer program. You might say it's a severe intellectual limitation compared to an android's native thought processes, but I've learned to live with it.
So, we have a potential culprit. This virus is apparently able to remain dormant for at least two or more months, although it's a fair bet that it could have been present in the colonists for much longer than that. I'm only guessing at this point, but it's entirely possible that some environmental or physiological change in the colonists acted as a trigger, activating the virus. IANTO explained this mechanism as being similar to physical or mental stress reactivating a dormant case of herpes zoster ('shingles') in a human being, usually decades after the patient had been infected with chickenpox.
Well, the colonists have certainly been through some changes recently, although it's going to be a job and a half figuring out what specific conditions this bug requires in order to function. To find that out, we're going to need a viable sample of this beastie in its dormant phase. To the best of my knowledge, there's only one location where we could be certain of finding this viral sample.
The Lava Castle.
One thing did strike me as being particularly odd. I've never contracted this infection.
I'll bet a year's salary that Torgaljin Corp are somehow responsible for this. Either they caught this bug off-world and brought it with them, or they've engineered a native viral strain with a view to using it for some nefarious and highly lucrative purpose. Regrettably, certain Mega-Corps have been known to dabble with biological weapons. They're relatively cheap to make once the basic R&D work is complete, easily deployed and require no additional support after they're turned loose. If you're an insane tin-pot dictator wanting to leave an indelible mark on history, bugs and GELFs are ideal weapon systems. However, bio-warfare is not without its attendant hazards. If the bugs don't turn on your own population right from the get-go, your opponent will be extremely annoyed and reply with a commensurately more powerful response. Nothing says 'disinfection' quite as eloquently as glassing an entire country from orbit. Just say 'NO' to Bugs, kids. It's the only way to be sure.
It wasn't particularly helpful that Torgaljin Corp's upper-echelon execs were notoriously sloppy record keepers. I've collected hundreds of PDAs and data downloads during my travels, each one containing tantalising snippets of possibly useful information and bugger-all else. If I were still entirely human, it would be an absolute nightmare collating and cross-referencing that data. Unfortunately, this was one job that none of us ever got around to completing, considering that we were dealing with rather more urgent matters than looking for the equivalent of discarded sticky-notes littering the seafloor. Knowing my luck, there's one PDA out there containing everything that we urgently need to know... Currently making its way through a Reaper's digestive tract.
Still, I had some of the pieces in this puzzle. Might as well shuffle them around to get a vague idea of what we're up against. I still had 20 minutes or so of transit time until Ulysses entered the Lava Castle's dock, so I conjured this time would be more profitably spent going over what little information we already had. Frustrating, to say the least.
Sure enough, Degasi survivor logs mentioned early symptoms of a viral disease, although there were no further entries indicating how they cured it. Baat Torgaljin obviously managed to find a cure, since he, his father Paal and Marguerit Maida survived long enough to establish a base in the Lava Castle. It's a certainty that another Torgaljin ship arrived here with sufficient colonists to commence large-scale operations. How that ship was able to land unchallenged is a complete mystery, although it may have had something to do with its drive system and approach pattern. Aurora was shot down by the Warpers when its Alcubierre warp field accidentally discharged its accumulated burden of charged particles during a solar flare event.
And yet, that Torgaljin colony ship landed safely... How?
The only sound was water dripping from my dive suit. Emergency lighting threw trembling reflections on the ceiling of the cavernous sub bay. I climbed out of the water slowly and carefully, keeping my own noise level as low as possible. Although the Lava Castle base is supposed to be entirely deserted, there was no sense in announcing my presence to all and sundry, particularly if there is something in here with me. Sometimes, a wee touch of paranoia can be a useful thing.
As a nod to common sense, I kept the flechette rifle slung on my shoulder. On the off-chance that a colonist or two may have gone into hiding, it would make a mighty poor first impression for me to be prowling around the base with a readied weapon. I ran a deep scan of the surrounding area, then commenced sampling of the sub pen's atmosphere. If the infection originated in the waters outside the base, the colony's only air/water interface seemed like a logical point to begin testing.
Fortunately, the environmental sampling unit performed all of the grunt-work for me. All I had to do was point its probe wand at the surface I wanted sampled, and the backpack processed the targeted material automatically. Tagged, bagged and time-stamped, all in one smooth motion. If I ever decide to ship out again, I might be tempted to take a crack at Life Sciences. If this sampling caper was anything to go by, it's a fairly cushy job. Of course, there's always a high probability of getting jumped by a xeno lurking around the next corner, but it's nothing I haven't been through already.
Rather than use the main airlock, I entered the base via a personnel access hatch. Its pressure equalization cycle was far quieter, for one thing. While the cycle was running, I took another series of samples from various surfaces in the chamber itself, if only to be completely thorough in my search. The inner hatch opened quietly, and I stepped into the central corridor. The only audible sound came from the base's main air-circulation fans, and even then I had to strain to hear it. Although this base is technically moth-balled, its life support systems have been left running as a contingency measure. Left to its own devices, dead air will go stale in fairly short order. Oxygen levels could slowly deplete due to chemical reactions with certain materials in the base, rendering its atmosphere potentially lethal for anyone not wearing an environment suit.
This isn't a huge problem, at least as far as I'm concerned, although any human down to their last few litres of breathing mix would be eternally grateful that there's still a safe atmosphere in here. I linked with a nearby terminal to obtain a status report on the base as a whole, and it looked good. Power consumption currently sitting at 0.05 per cent, life support running at minimal load, all nuclear reactors are in standby mode and the geothermal power grid is nominal. Looks like everything's basically tickety-boo in here.
Moving slowly and methodically, I worked my way through the base, room by room. Mainly personnel accommodation and facilities on this level, so this part of the run was going to be a monotonous grind. Average Joe colonist must have had a grim time here, all things considered. I walked through corridor after corridor of drab cubicles that had been lasered out of the surrounding basalt, along with most of their interior fittings and furniture. I was pleasantly surprised that the bed alcoves had decent mattresses and the stone benches had fabric cushions, although these items were the only apparent concessions to human comfort. Each room had a single outer door for privacy, its own hygiene module and an entertainment terminal, but that was as soft as it got for those poor sods. I don't think Alterra would dare provide such Spartan digs for its employees.
I'd love to publish both, but UWE would tear me a new one.