The Singularity
Parhelion
Join Date: 2003-05-29 Member: 16821Members, NS1 Playtester
Join Date: 2003-05-29 Member: 16821Members, NS1 Playtester
My second story <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo--> Hope you enjoy this one.
<b><u>The Singularity</b></u>
<u>Prologue</u>
I believe all human beings have an innate fear of dying in unfamiliar places.
You can shake your head all you like and try to deny it, but it?s there, deep within your heart and not even the love of God can take it out. I can see it in your eyes; you still don?t believe me. Imagine yourself then, stuck in a tunnel hundreds of metres under the ground, alone in the dark with your short, ragged breaths the only sound you can hear. Imagine yourself trembling on the cold, unforgiving ice, with your broken right arm lying limply across your legs. You?re too scared to move; yet to remain there means to die.
How long would it take for the average person to go insane in those circumstances? Clinical psychological tests estimate anywhere between one to three hours, depending on seemingly random factors like what you ate for dinner the previous day, your body temperature, blood pressure and psychosomatic tendencies. Everything except the size of your balls, apparently...but then again, that counts anyway when your life is hanging by a thread tied to your hands.
They say that the Frontiersmen are made of steel, pure 1.5% carbon and 2% chromium steel as hard and durable as the reinforced, alloyed titanium of the Trans-Gov battleships. You see a squad of six marines as they stride into a room, flashlights arcing slowly across the walls, and you wonder how they can be as cool as the pale blue visors shielding their watchful eyes. The Frontiersmen have dedicated their lives to protecting people from what they don?t know and would never <i>want</i> to know, and more often than not, those brave souls pay that price in full. I reckon that they wouldn?t want things any other way ? I know I don?t, but maybe that?s because I managed to complete my service and get out alive.
Twenty years...damn. Twenty whole years of standing on the edge of the unknown, between humanity and whatever would threaten it. I know it seems like a long time, but when you?re in an organisation like the TSA, it goes by in the proverbial blink of an eye. One small blink, one fraction of a second ? and after my eyes reopened, there was a memory burned indelibly onto the back of my mind. At 9.57am on Monday, the fifteenth of January 2155, I entered the Kharaa-plagued Singularity. Hours later, I?d be slumped in that exact same position I told you about earlier: hundreds of metres below the surface, lying on ice with a broken arm. It must have been a hell of a fall down that mineshaft, and I was lucky that I only did my arm in and was knocked out. Those nanites in my armour were good for something after all.
To tell you the truth, I?m not sure when I woke up ? it was pitch-dark and I couldn?t hear a thing. When you?re deprived of your senses, all conception of time simply vanishes. It seemed like another flickering moment in time ? or an eternity ? until I reached down slowly and pulled my pistol from my belt. I flicked open the panel at the pistol?s base, revealing dots of dully glowing tritium that spread a soft, phosphorescent, green light onto my armour-shielded palm.
Eight pistol bullets. One chance at redemption.
In situations like this, you really relish the pain ? since it?s the only way to know that you?re truly alive.
<b><u>The Singularity</b></u>
<u>Prologue</u>
I believe all human beings have an innate fear of dying in unfamiliar places.
You can shake your head all you like and try to deny it, but it?s there, deep within your heart and not even the love of God can take it out. I can see it in your eyes; you still don?t believe me. Imagine yourself then, stuck in a tunnel hundreds of metres under the ground, alone in the dark with your short, ragged breaths the only sound you can hear. Imagine yourself trembling on the cold, unforgiving ice, with your broken right arm lying limply across your legs. You?re too scared to move; yet to remain there means to die.
How long would it take for the average person to go insane in those circumstances? Clinical psychological tests estimate anywhere between one to three hours, depending on seemingly random factors like what you ate for dinner the previous day, your body temperature, blood pressure and psychosomatic tendencies. Everything except the size of your balls, apparently...but then again, that counts anyway when your life is hanging by a thread tied to your hands.
They say that the Frontiersmen are made of steel, pure 1.5% carbon and 2% chromium steel as hard and durable as the reinforced, alloyed titanium of the Trans-Gov battleships. You see a squad of six marines as they stride into a room, flashlights arcing slowly across the walls, and you wonder how they can be as cool as the pale blue visors shielding their watchful eyes. The Frontiersmen have dedicated their lives to protecting people from what they don?t know and would never <i>want</i> to know, and more often than not, those brave souls pay that price in full. I reckon that they wouldn?t want things any other way ? I know I don?t, but maybe that?s because I managed to complete my service and get out alive.
Twenty years...damn. Twenty whole years of standing on the edge of the unknown, between humanity and whatever would threaten it. I know it seems like a long time, but when you?re in an organisation like the TSA, it goes by in the proverbial blink of an eye. One small blink, one fraction of a second ? and after my eyes reopened, there was a memory burned indelibly onto the back of my mind. At 9.57am on Monday, the fifteenth of January 2155, I entered the Kharaa-plagued Singularity. Hours later, I?d be slumped in that exact same position I told you about earlier: hundreds of metres below the surface, lying on ice with a broken arm. It must have been a hell of a fall down that mineshaft, and I was lucky that I only did my arm in and was knocked out. Those nanites in my armour were good for something after all.
To tell you the truth, I?m not sure when I woke up ? it was pitch-dark and I couldn?t hear a thing. When you?re deprived of your senses, all conception of time simply vanishes. It seemed like another flickering moment in time ? or an eternity ? until I reached down slowly and pulled my pistol from my belt. I flicked open the panel at the pistol?s base, revealing dots of dully glowing tritium that spread a soft, phosphorescent, green light onto my armour-shielded palm.
Eight pistol bullets. One chance at redemption.
In situations like this, you really relish the pain ? since it?s the only way to know that you?re truly alive.
Comments
<!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
excellent work
You know what your doing, how your going to do it, and where to go... can't wait... <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
I stand on the observation deck of Concord Station, watching Repeller interceptors scurry around like energetic ants, their anti-collision lights flickering as they meticulously shadow inbound ships. In the distance, the Katydid – a distant speck of orange and yellow hues – drifts slowly towards the edge of the orbiting planet and temporary oblivion. The station is too far away for me to feel any warmth from the star’s rays, but the light pours in through the window and dances off the light machine gun slung across my shoulder, as well as the silver Greek symbol fixed on my armour.
We received a special dispatch notice today, Supernova prioritisation. It’s nothing really new for our detachment of 30 marines – we’re among the best in the game, second only to the Silver Star squadron and there’s easily enough Kharaa to go around. I believe we’re taking ten for this mission, so it must be an important job: usually six of us can get it done with minimal fuss. I’m not really complaining though, since more hands...and guns...are always useful.
To tell you the truth, coming to the observation deck of the station immediately before missions has become a habit of mine over my first few years of service as a Frontiersman. I like to look out of the windows and see the buzz of activity in the noiseless vacuum that is space – in this time of endless trouble, the station represents relative peace; serenity encapsulated within the gleaming emblem of the TSA that is positioned above the central administrative offices.
Tearing my eyes away from the coruscating brilliance of the blue stars encased in their hexagonal cage of silver, I glance down to check that all my equipment is ready. A pistol rests in its holster on my belt, along with a clip of ammunition for each weapon. To complete my gear, a newly sharpened knife also hangs on my belt. It’s all rather standard-issue, a hell of a lot less than what other armies take in, but the TSA budget doesn’t really allow for flashy jetpacks or heavy guns and we can get some fine stuff from the nano-sludge that’s sucked out the ships’ stores.
I turn back to the glassed window of the observation deck, and somehow the view outside has changed. Light still streams in from the slim crescent of the Katydid that remains visible, but the star eventually fades to a pale orange sliver and then is no more. As darkness floods through the system, pierced by the broad white beams of the Trebuchet platforms’ tracking systems, I feel a hand fall on my armour-plated shoulder. I turn around and see my squad leader standing there, his face fixed in a grim visage.
“It’s time.”
This story is best read like a noir detective novel...
This story is best read like a noir detective novel...<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Tritium is the luminescent stuff that you can find on watch hands (it makes the hands glow in the dark) and I used it as a simple way to tell how many bullets he has in his gun at any given time. The bullets don’t need to be covered in tritium, just a small dot at the base of each one and you can easily flick open the pistol and count the dots.
As for the “decrapifying” of the description of the stars, I think that’s up to personal tastes and interpretations. The logo of the blue stars in a silver hexagon (as described in the Techtrope article) is meant to be beautiful to look at, and so he’s reluctant to look away to complete a task that he has to do. With respect to the disjointed nature of the chapter, it’s <b>not meant to be nice and flowing</b> – the character is going to be sent on a mission where he could die, and despite the outward calmness that he may put forth, inside, he’s understandably scared. As he gets more nervous, his attention is jerked to different things (including equipment checks he has to perform), and so I drag you along with him.
To coruscate means to sparkle or throw off flashes of light, by the way – if it’s 3am where you are, maybe you’re not in an optimal position to read and criticise story-writing. Thanks for the comments though...I appreciate them.
and let him finish the story <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
Keep up the good work
/me gives ParadoX a gold star
Thanks PeONs <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif' /><!--endemo-->