Hall Kervean
Two Thousand Club
This is basically the start of it, and I need some help to iron it out:
There is no sound in space. So when the research ship rapidly decelerated from many times the speed of light to many times the speed of sound, the only announcement was the radiation burst that spread outwards from the ship. The burst swept across the star system with minimal effect; with most of it either being deflected by the magnetic field around most of the planets or passing through the system, dissipating into deep space shortly afterwards. The only major effect the burst had was being sensed by a system of satellites and sensors orbiting around the third planet in the system. The data was transmitted to the surface and processed, the ship being pinpointed and tracked, and the planet’s military assets were activated. But those aboard the ship weren’t aware.
The pilot, a female geologist, slowed their rate of deceleration as they approached Mach 10; or over seven and a half thousand miles per hour. They were just under two hundred thousand miles from the planet’s surface; closer than the moon to the Earth, and as the ship shuddered around its crew, she updated her captain.
“Sir, estimated final distance at optimal speed is one hundred seventy five thousand, give or take sev-” She corrected herself as one of her HUD GUIs refreshed itself with new data. “Six thousand.” The captain nodded, staring ahead at the planet. Department Heads had demanded he land as quickly as possible and, despite his reservations due to crew safety and how much they would accomplish, he had agreed to decelerating that close to the planet.
“Once the marker has been reached, slow deceleration by D to negative three.” He commanded, calculating. “Continue that rate until we reach ten thousand from surface.” She nodded, brow furrowed and eyes staring at the data.
“Once reached, slow by D to negative three until ten thousand, aye, sir.” She repeated back at him, confirming. It was standard procedure, and would be both disrespectful and potentially hazardous to neglect it. Unfortunately, the captain occasionally thought of it as an optional waste of time, not a mandatory regulation.
“That’s exactly what I said.” He snapped at her, before immediately regretting the decision and sighing. “I’m sorry, we’ve been a little pressed….” He raised his eyebrows when she responded with an “Apology accepted, sir.” It was cold and crisp, and she said it without forgiveness in her voice. She was normally cold in her apology acceptance, but she placed extra emphasis on the absence that made her apology seem insincere, or at least passive-aggressive.
“Thank you. When you reach the marker and set us on a trajectory, head on back.” He gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself upwards with a quiet groan. He didn’t have much room to move around, with the size of the ship small and the bridge even smaller, and he had a little difficulty getting around his own seat. He pressed his hand against the door and held it there for a second, pausing in thought.
His thoughts were not towards his uncalled-for and harsh response, nor her apology. They were not towards the crew, their strained relationships, or the only other female on the ship, Aria VonPart, who had done her best to resolve conflicts as serious as learning about a breakup to as petty as Karen’s frustration over losing her card game with their documenter and quickly escalating it. He owed her somehow, that much was certain to him. But in that pausing moment, he was not deciding what he owed her. He was formulating a list of requirements for their landing site.
His fingers tensed against the bright blue pad on the door before sliding them across the width of the door. There was a distinct pop and a quiet hum before the door vanished. The hardlight barrier between the bridge and the belly had deactivated, leaving the entrance wide open. Without a glance backwards the captain put his arm to his side and made his way out of the confining cockpit and into the cramped corridor that let him choose to go right or left with the knowledge both led to the same place. His decision held no weight, and so his decision led him to the belly of the ship; a comparatively large compartment with a round table in the center, used for meetings, reports, communications, and putting objects onto, and traces of everyone able to be seen somewhere in the hub. He saw Aria VonPart sitting in the corner on a seat, flipping pages on an old paperback book about the weight of counsel on the counselor and the counseled. He wasn’t a psychologist, but he could tell she was definitely feeling affected by the book. He internally quipped that it was most likely what the book said that was affecting her and gave a small smirk at himself. He was distracted by a loud bang and a grunt of pain, accomplishment, or frustration, it was hard to tell, coming from his left. He saw one of the technician’s aides fixing a coffee machine… or, more accurately, “fixing.” Next to the machine, the captain spotted a half-complete drawing of the crew at a table and everyone bantering except one member. The only person not talking was Kagaya Killiaka, who was also the only person who was deeply shaded. Next to the presumably incomplete drawing was a cup belonging to Bradley Cooper, one of the two biologists aboard, partially filled with water. Given the sideways glares the aide was giving the cup, it was probably intended to be used for coffee. There was a fandom argument between the other technician’s aide and the technical specialist that had been carried out via sticky note under his nose and the two lance corporals had kept their combat suits stored in a pair of lockers. The only person who hadn’t left a trace in the room was Ken Long, their documenter.
“Sir, we’ve stabilized.” The captain turned back towards Karen. She’d left the bridge and had left the ship on autopilot, like he’d instructed.
“Good. Stay here.” He turned back to the center of the room and strode forward quickly, stabbing a few buttons with his finger. His button-stabbing made the elevated semi-sphere in the middle of the table glow bright blue, projecting light all around the room. After a moment, it focused its light on him, and he closed his eyes to shield them from the painfully bright light. When it stopped, he cautiously opened his eyes to see that the half-orb was now barely blue, with very little light being emitted from its once star-like surface. It hummed and then spoke audibly, its light pulsing with each syllable.
“Begin message at the beep.” A pause, then a beep.
“Arm 2 Frontier Department Command, this is Jeffrey Polack, captain of E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum, enroute to S872, planet Verde, Discovery Division. We are in-system, and are closing on the planet’s surface. E.T.A. for landing site is a day and a half, give or take six hours. We will send another message once the trajectory for the site has been selected and we are within ten thousand miles. This is report one from E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum on Voyage Verde. This is also log #042 for E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum on Voyage Verde.” He waved his hand slightly, indicating that he wanted the orbs attention. It paused recording. “I want this duplicated and the duplicates stored. As for the message, purge the previous sentence. Confirm.” The half-orb blinked once, confirming it had received its instructions and carried them out. The captain nodded and waved his hand again, and the blue half-orb blinked in acknowledgement. “We will be receiving the buoy results within the next hour, and our next report will contain that data. Thank you for your time.” He waved his hand again, telling it to pause. “Replay message.” The half-orb blinked in reply, replaying what was going to be sent. It had, as it had been instructed, purged the sentence about the log. He nodded. “Send message.” The half-orb blinked once, paused, then blinked again as it started to speak.
“Message sent. Any other needs?” Captain Polack nodded.
“Please play intercom announcement seventeen over the intercom.” The half-sphere blinked, and Jeffrey’s voice played over the intercom.
“All crew members, please report shortly to the meeting room. I repeat, all crew members.”
There is no sound in space. So when the research ship rapidly decelerated from many times the speed of light to many times the speed of sound, the only announcement was the radiation burst that spread outwards from the ship. The burst swept across the star system with minimal effect; with most of it either being deflected by the magnetic field around most of the planets or passing through the system, dissipating into deep space shortly afterwards. The only major effect the burst had was being sensed by a system of satellites and sensors orbiting around the third planet in the system. The data was transmitted to the surface and processed, the ship being pinpointed and tracked, and the planet’s military assets were activated. But those aboard the ship weren’t aware.
The pilot, a female geologist, slowed their rate of deceleration as they approached Mach 10; or over seven and a half thousand miles per hour. They were just under two hundred thousand miles from the planet’s surface; closer than the moon to the Earth, and as the ship shuddered around its crew, she updated her captain.
“Sir, estimated final distance at optimal speed is one hundred seventy five thousand, give or take sev-” She corrected herself as one of her HUD GUIs refreshed itself with new data. “Six thousand.” The captain nodded, staring ahead at the planet. Department Heads had demanded he land as quickly as possible and, despite his reservations due to crew safety and how much they would accomplish, he had agreed to decelerating that close to the planet.
“Once the marker has been reached, slow deceleration by D to negative three.” He commanded, calculating. “Continue that rate until we reach ten thousand from surface.” She nodded, brow furrowed and eyes staring at the data.
“Once reached, slow by D to negative three until ten thousand, aye, sir.” She repeated back at him, confirming. It was standard procedure, and would be both disrespectful and potentially hazardous to neglect it. Unfortunately, the captain occasionally thought of it as an optional waste of time, not a mandatory regulation.
“That’s exactly what I said.” He snapped at her, before immediately regretting the decision and sighing. “I’m sorry, we’ve been a little pressed….” He raised his eyebrows when she responded with an “Apology accepted, sir.” It was cold and crisp, and she said it without forgiveness in her voice. She was normally cold in her apology acceptance, but she placed extra emphasis on the absence that made her apology seem insincere, or at least passive-aggressive.
“Thank you. When you reach the marker and set us on a trajectory, head on back.” He gripped the arms of his chair and pushed himself upwards with a quiet groan. He didn’t have much room to move around, with the size of the ship small and the bridge even smaller, and he had a little difficulty getting around his own seat. He pressed his hand against the door and held it there for a second, pausing in thought.
His thoughts were not towards his uncalled-for and harsh response, nor her apology. They were not towards the crew, their strained relationships, or the only other female on the ship, Aria VonPart, who had done her best to resolve conflicts as serious as learning about a breakup to as petty as Karen’s frustration over losing her card game with their documenter and quickly escalating it. He owed her somehow, that much was certain to him. But in that pausing moment, he was not deciding what he owed her. He was formulating a list of requirements for their landing site.
His fingers tensed against the bright blue pad on the door before sliding them across the width of the door. There was a distinct pop and a quiet hum before the door vanished. The hardlight barrier between the bridge and the belly had deactivated, leaving the entrance wide open. Without a glance backwards the captain put his arm to his side and made his way out of the confining cockpit and into the cramped corridor that let him choose to go right or left with the knowledge both led to the same place. His decision held no weight, and so his decision led him to the belly of the ship; a comparatively large compartment with a round table in the center, used for meetings, reports, communications, and putting objects onto, and traces of everyone able to be seen somewhere in the hub. He saw Aria VonPart sitting in the corner on a seat, flipping pages on an old paperback book about the weight of counsel on the counselor and the counseled. He wasn’t a psychologist, but he could tell she was definitely feeling affected by the book. He internally quipped that it was most likely what the book said that was affecting her and gave a small smirk at himself. He was distracted by a loud bang and a grunt of pain, accomplishment, or frustration, it was hard to tell, coming from his left. He saw one of the technician’s aides fixing a coffee machine… or, more accurately, “fixing.” Next to the machine, the captain spotted a half-complete drawing of the crew at a table and everyone bantering except one member. The only person not talking was Kagaya Killiaka, who was also the only person who was deeply shaded. Next to the presumably incomplete drawing was a cup belonging to Bradley Cooper, one of the two biologists aboard, partially filled with water. Given the sideways glares the aide was giving the cup, it was probably intended to be used for coffee. There was a fandom argument between the other technician’s aide and the technical specialist that had been carried out via sticky note under his nose and the two lance corporals had kept their combat suits stored in a pair of lockers. The only person who hadn’t left a trace in the room was Ken Long, their documenter.
“Sir, we’ve stabilized.” The captain turned back towards Karen. She’d left the bridge and had left the ship on autopilot, like he’d instructed.
“Good. Stay here.” He turned back to the center of the room and strode forward quickly, stabbing a few buttons with his finger. His button-stabbing made the elevated semi-sphere in the middle of the table glow bright blue, projecting light all around the room. After a moment, it focused its light on him, and he closed his eyes to shield them from the painfully bright light. When it stopped, he cautiously opened his eyes to see that the half-orb was now barely blue, with very little light being emitted from its once star-like surface. It hummed and then spoke audibly, its light pulsing with each syllable.
“Begin message at the beep.” A pause, then a beep.
“Arm 2 Frontier Department Command, this is Jeffrey Polack, captain of E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum, enroute to S872, planet Verde, Discovery Division. We are in-system, and are closing on the planet’s surface. E.T.A. for landing site is a day and a half, give or take six hours. We will send another message once the trajectory for the site has been selected and we are within ten thousand miles. This is report one from E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum on Voyage Verde. This is also log #042 for E.C.R.S.S. Pendulum on Voyage Verde.” He waved his hand slightly, indicating that he wanted the orbs attention. It paused recording. “I want this duplicated and the duplicates stored. As for the message, purge the previous sentence. Confirm.” The half-orb blinked once, confirming it had received its instructions and carried them out. The captain nodded and waved his hand again, and the blue half-orb blinked in acknowledgement. “We will be receiving the buoy results within the next hour, and our next report will contain that data. Thank you for your time.” He waved his hand again, telling it to pause. “Replay message.” The half-orb blinked in reply, replaying what was going to be sent. It had, as it had been instructed, purged the sentence about the log. He nodded. “Send message.” The half-orb blinked once, paused, then blinked again as it started to speak.
“Message sent. Any other needs?” Captain Polack nodded.
“Please play intercom announcement seventeen over the intercom.” The half-sphere blinked, and Jeffrey’s voice played over the intercom.
“All crew members, please report shortly to the meeting room. I repeat, all crew members.”
