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Author	Topic: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
Deiskrad Registered: Sep '04	Date Posted: 8/18/07 10:31am Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	GM Approved: Disclaimer: I chose this character because he'd be controversial. It's a self-made challenge to play someone I don't agree with. So don't bust my chops. Name: Christopher Schillinger Place of origin: Butte, Montana Age: 48 Occupation: Ranch Owner Classification (civilian, military): Civilian Ex-Military Skills: Small and Medium Engine repair. Animal Husbandry. Farming. Mining. Leadership. Brief Bio: Schillinger was born in Idaho and grew up there. During his formative years he fell in with a series of White gangs and white supremacist organizations. Upon graduating from High school, he went into the military for five years and served in the army, repairing hydrocarbon and hydrogen fuel-cell engines. When his past involvement in Aryan organizations was discovered, he was quietly discharged. He Wandered around the west taking Odd Jobs, giving him an ecclectic set of skills, before finally landing back in with the Brotherhood, where he led the local chapter for many years. His writings and speeches became prominent among White Supremacists throughout the world. By this time Schillinger had settled down to owning a profitable ranch in Montana. When the Falnstead act was passed, Schillinger immediately rallied his people throughout the world, calling for the chance to establish a true "White Homeland". The response was massive, and soon he had gathered his followers and their assets to secure passage to the great beyond. Schillinger is married and has two sons, and a daughter from a previous relationship. -----signature----- Sic vis pacem, para bellum. "hahahahahaha. Is that all you got you Pansies?" -Marv, Sin City, The Hard Goodbye "An old man dies, a young girl lives. Fair Trade." -Sin City
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Sanctimoniously Registered: Dec '05	Date Posted: 8/18/07 11:05am Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	Alrighty then, welcome to the Dawn of Exploration RPG, another facet in The Future series! The RPG is still open to any new players, and it'll remain that way throughout the game until someone presses a lock button. Just a few things to go over, and a quick summary of what you've missed in the preceding sixty-seven years. 1. "Calibrated time" is the time kept aboard a ship travelling in alternate space. It is roughly based on Earth time. 2. There has been a World War III, involving most of the world's nations between 2031 and 2038. It was the direct cause of the formation of the Earth Confederation. Most of the world's nations did indeed keep their own names, but government is in the hands of the High Council, which is a unicameral body of one thousand members. Most freedoms are approximately what they are today, with a few variations (it is extremely difficult to own firearms, the press is a government corporation) Since then, our homeworld has been relatively peaceful. 3. The first domed colony on the moon was established in the Sea of Tranquility in 2030, and the first domed colony on Mars was established in 2044 in the shadow of Olympus Mons. That's really about it. . .so, get started and have fun! The date is 24 September 2074, at approximately 11.00 Earth time at Greenwich. -----signature----- In For a Quick Garden http://www.myspace.com/sanctimoniously
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Saintheart Title: Manager and Wandering Swordsman of the RPF Registered: Dec '00	Date Posted: 8/19/07 2:10am Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	OOC: Okay, I'll bite ... I'm assuming we can pretty much throw ourselves in without starting positions from the GM? New experience for me, but hey, this could be something really original... Seeing as my guy's the only one from the Moon, and because my character needs it, I'm appropriating the right to name the Moon's (Luna's) first Colony as Armstrong City, based, as said, in the Sea of Tranquility. IC - Atticus Randall McDougall University, Armstrong City, Luna Dateline: 24 September 2074, 11:00 Earth Time (Armstrong City's time is matched to Earth GMT.) "And without further ado, would you please give a warm welcome to our guest, Professor Atticus Randall!" The applause that followed was full and warm. Atticus frowned at the words, took a final breath and walked out into the thousand-seat Einstein Lecture Hall, eyes forward. It took him a few seconds to reach the lectern, but the applause went on for several more moments than that. Eventually, as it died down, he looked out at the audience and briefly back at the screen behind him. It read Introduction to Supraluminal Mechanics, Guest Preface: Professor Atticus Randall. He wrinkled his nose, leaning on the lectern, staring coldly at the officious little functionary who'd introduced him. The man shifted on his feet as the lecture hall grew silent, whispers growing in the rear of the hall. Atticus stood up straight and looked out at the students. The halogen light was heavy on his forehead, and he took another deep breath. He supposed he'd had enough of these sorts of events to start getting used to them. "Good morning. Were any of you to address me by the title of Professor, you'd be wrong," he said. "And you'd be insulting me. The root of the word professor is to profess. To speak. To tell people things. That's a stupid approach. I always found I learned a lot more by listening to people. And I'd suggest you should do the same. There's your first lesson." He paused for a second, and felt the ripple of amusement/puzzlement echo around the room. "And for the record, in terms of academic qualifications, I've never held any sort of professorship in any university on Luna, Mars, or Earth. I started out with a plain old Bachelor of Physics undergraduate degree, no honours, right here at McDougall. Got picked up as a research assistant at Boeing, after I called them every day for four months before they took me on. These days, with you having to just about complete a fifteen-year course to change a fluoro bulb on Luna, that sounds pretty odd, but I like to think I'm in good company. Albert Einstein did his best work holding down a job as a patent clerk. You see, real discovery doesn't happen in established courses. Alexander Graham Bell wasn't holding down a research grant. John Forrester was down to his last five eurocreds when he got positive readings for the anti-gravity field he'd been trying to generate. So don't think that places like this, that schools, are the alpha and omega of understanding. If anything they're just the start. That's my second lesson. Those of you who understand that will go on to live very fulfilling lives, even if you never get that honours degree." Another ripple around the room, but this time it was one of growing interest. Atticus scratched his nose. He didn't bother with written notes; he wasn't being asked to take this course, and his preface was already well on its way. "So let's talk about why you're all really here: the FTL drive. Now, you'll have to complete units on philosophy and answer arcane questions like how many photons can dance on the head of the pin, but that's what it really comes down to for all of you. How do I build a ship that can potentially take me halfway across the universe." Atticus grinned. "Of course, Boeing doesn't really like me talking about these things, but given at least six different supercorporations have reverse-engineered the Type I design I think it's information that's pretty much in the public domain. So let's begin. Let's start with this." Atticus took a permanent marker from the lectern in front of him, marched to the screen behind him, and without hesitation wrote on the wall. There was a gasp from the functionary who'd introduced him, which made Randall smile to himself. As it was, the physicist didn't write much -- only five characters -- before stepping back to the lectern: E=mc2 "There it is. The biggest obstacle to supraluminal travel, and possibly one of the biggest oversights in human history. Energy equals mass times the square of the speed of light. Basically says the FTL drive should not exist. Because it assumes that nothing can travel faster than light, and if it looks like you are, it's all an optical illusion. And let's be honest: for poor old Albert Einstein, working only with protons, neutrons, and electrons, it probably did fit the picture. The problem was that a good fifty or sixty years of physicists actually bought it. So while that equation allowed people to do such neat things as set off a bomb big enough to obliterate everything in a fifteen-kilometre radius, everyone basically sat back on their collective rears and agreed with it." Randall threw the marker back on the lectern. "It was only around 2010 or so when some bright sparks actually started to ask if Einstein hadn't made a bit of a fool of himself. Let's be kind, of course -- Einstein was brilliant, and even he conceded the Theory of Relativity was just that -- a theory. One with a lot of holes, especially when you started dealing with quantum mechanics. But here's the thing. This equation assumes that the speed of light is uniform. That it can't be changed. And there's where supraluminal mechanics begins. Basically what an FTL drive does is give hotwire Einstein's car and then gives him the finger as it leaves. First, using quantum particles you'll be learning all about later on in this course, Boeing's FTL drive lowers the speed of light around the vessel--and may I add as a personal note that was a bitch to achieve, boys and girls." Chuckles sounded around the room. "Lowering the speed of light lowers the amount of energy you actually need to do some of the cute things that follow. Second step: by reorienting the polarity of those quantum particles, you shift the vessel from the four dimensions of our universe -- length, width, breadth, and time -- to dimensions five, six, seven, and eight. Time doesn't exist in those dimensions because time is dimension number four. As for what those dimensions are called, well, you could call them Bart, Lisa, Maggie, and Homer for all I care. We call it alternate space. And your ship stays physically coherent in that space. You do have to release some of those quantum particles within alternate space over time because the energy buildup will destroy your ship if you don't. The byproduct of that release is that a short period of time does pass in both the vessel and the physical universe. But it's more in the order of days or hours rather than centuries. Also, distance doesn't operate the same way in alternate space, so you cover millions of kilometres of distance in the time it takes you to sneeze. Third, when you reach your destination, you de-energise those quantum particles, your vessel shifts back into the four dimensions, light speeds up to its normal velocity again, and bang, you're at Alpha Centauri in eight hours when it would've taken you eight centuries at the very least with conventional fuels." Atticus looked up at the students with a tight smile. "That's all there is to it. Actually making it happen cost me a good ten years at Boeing, and it's going to take you a good three years full-time to learn how to do it. But this is it, ladies and gentlemen. The last true magic left in the world. I've just shown you the prestige part of my magician's trick, so kindly learn how to do it right. Good luck to all of you." Without another word, he turned and marched away to the doorway. Applause thundered in his wake. TAG: Nobody right now (unless the GM wants to 'phone' Atticus with something...) -----signature----- Michelle: my Italian queen, my angel, my reason, my wife. Jessica: my little princess, my daughter, born 10 August 2007 Director -- Star Wars: Knighthood
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Sanctimoniously Registered: Dec '05	Date Posted: 8/19/07 2:31pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	24 September 2074, 11.01 standard time The car accelerated on its own. Highway 20 traffic control must have detected something unsafe. . .or maybe they just realised that he was running a bit close for comfort if he was going to show up at the Transport Hub on time. Elric watched the digits on the windshield climb slowly up. . .245. . .246. . .247. . .then he looked ahead, at the massive stalk that was the newly-built West Monroe-Area Transport Hub, or simply the Hub. Funny how pop culture could create a name for something that opened a week ago and still wasn't finished. When West Monroe was wired for the funds needed to build an enormous space elevator and port over the city, officials figured it would be a good idea to combine the central A-Way station, the supersonic station, the airport, and the spaceport, all in one place, right between the two cities. They said it would free up land area for more housing, and give the cities an attractive new addition, while also bringing billions of credits of income into the city. Elric thought that it would have to work in order to work. . .with all but the spaceport itself inoperable for the next four months, the city was drinking money like it was beer at this point. An enormous sign, TRANSPORT HUB, 2.5 KM, loomed ahead. His car moved into the lane just to its left and sped up a little more. . .251. . .252. . .253. . .and Elric looked over to the massive construction yard surrounding the stalk. It still bustled with activity, almost like it was its very own city. Cranes, some short, some tall, some stretching beyond eyesight, pieced the different levels together. Enormous piles of steel and titanium stood taller than some of the surrounding buildings. Small train lines had been set up for the sole purpose of ferrying steel back and forth from the cranes. He had to admire their speed, however. The other spaceports couldn't even say that they had any functionality, and they weren't combinations of every other form of transportation, either. The car slowed. He looked up, and saw another sign with TRANSPORT HUB EXITS spread across it. The others, LOCAL/REGIONAL TRAINS, INTERNATIONAL TRAINS, AIRPORT, and IN-SYSTEM TRAVEL, had their lanes blocked off. Elric noticed that all the other cars were now to his right, and he was the only one headed for the hub. He settled back into his seat as the other hub exits branched off and curved about toward their destinations, one by one, until his was the last left. His car began to slow. 255. . .254. . .253. . .252. . . -----signature----- In For a Quick Garden http://www.myspace.com/sanctimoniously
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POLARIUS Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 8/20/07 6:21pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	"Morning Master chief" the young fireman said as he opened the door, "i hope you had a good time on leave" "Always to short" DCCM blake replied "always to short, FN Goodspeed can you get the BMC in here i need to talk to him" "Will do Master Chief" As he closed the door to his office he looked down and saw the southern hemisphere and dreamed of the old days of ships of wood and men of iron but this was the new guard and he hated the thought of that, of well at least another year or so he thought. Thats what he had told his 1st and 2nd wives, women sometimes they just don't understand duty to country and the human race. "pondering something Master Chief?" "No Mike i just wanted to know how things went while i was away?" "smooth as silk Master Chief. Although the MK's are working on a problem we have been have with the number 4 rocket on the 94287 seems like a factory defect to me." "you're a BM how do you know what a factory defect all you do is drive boats" "and break stuff,yes i know you've told me at least one hundred times." the chief interjected. "Chief i want everything ready for that launch of that new boeing ship and double and triple check those guy's work i dont want anything going wrong with that." "Are they going to allow our personnel on board to make sure everything goes smooth or what?" "I dont know" A knock at the door startled them both "sorry master chief but we have a freighter that is coming in one engine and he cant slow down enough to make it to the Armstrong city colony." "Alright well lets get to work' chief get the boats ready i will be in comms helping out the watch stander and have those guys take recovery capsules and alert Houston this might go down real hot" "Roger that Master chief" damn not even back for 15 minutes and this goes down this was going to be a long day... -----signature----- A true space pirate "So this is how liberty dies with thunderous applause" "This is what comes of empire building "anciet religions and hoaky weapons are no match for a good blaster at you side kid" Fight on Mr Squiggly, fight on
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DarthShocker Registered: Aug '07	Date Posted: 8/20/07 8:30pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074 - Date Edited: 8/20/07 8:32pm (2 edits total) Edited By: DarthShocker
	OOC: No starting point, so I'm starting in Chicago... IC: Ron Owen 24 September 2074 11:03 PM Chicago, Illinois Glen's Steel Tranports "Heh! Your a funny one, Owen!" Rob's boss told him as Rob walked off the ship. He'd just got back to the spaceport after a long trip to the moon. Only, it wasn't so long. He was there and back in what seemed like a few moments. He knew it was longer than that, but hell, he wasn't used to fast travel that way. "You better get your damn head straight! We gotta transport another 80k of titanium to Armstrong City tomorrow! Get yourself to sleep!" Armstrong was The Moon's first colonized city, and they must've hired Glen's Transports (his boss) to get the job done. Of course, Rob was the pilot that was going to ship it. He'd been out all night transporting travelers to Armstrong, so he was beat. "When do I have to head out? Hope it's not too early..." Rob trailed with a groan. "Well, your damn lucky I don't fire ya, Owen. Your my best pilot, so I gotta keep ya. Head out at 4... Take ship A-83 from Hanger 2, it's already loaded up. "Yea, I'll see ya when I get back..." Rob told Glen, as he walked off to bed. Soon to be TAGGED: Atticus Randall
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Monkey_jedi Registered: Feb '03	Date Posted: 8/21/07 12:46pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	IC: Malcolm Cox. Vancouver 24 September 2074, 11.15 Standard time. Central Vancouver. Malcolm sat at the table in the East Hastings dinner, waiting to order a little lunch. Not much had changed in his years since school, he always ordered at the same dinner: “The Ell” at generally the same time. He ordered generally the same thing, a ham sandwich with mustard on it every day. Malcolm sat and waited for the waitress to make her way over to his table, it was a somewhat bleary day in Vancouver. The sky had become cloudy early on which meant that it would probably rain out his job site again. “This is not going to be good for my pay check.” Malcolm mused. “How am I going to pay for the rent, and every thing else that I have to cover this month, if I keep getting rained out?” The question always came back to him during this time of year. How could he possibly make it through the rest of the year if the rain kept on so much that there was water a meter deep around the pipes that he was to weld? The answer the last few years had come in the form of large, noisy, pumps that were put in the adjacent area of him and his welding crew. But this year had been unusually wet, the pumps were just not large enough to handle the amount of water that had collected in the job sites. Malcolm had not noticed that the waitress had made her way to him during his musings. “Sir…Sir! Can I take your order now?” Came here incessant voice. Malcolm looked up to see the impatient look on her face. He knew how these waitresses could be…moody. So he began to order as quickly has he could, but just started to stutter because he had not been really thinking about food. There were too many other pressing matters. “I’ll have the BLT please, and on the fries… easy on the salt eh?” Malcolm stated quickly. Hoping that the waitress would remind him to make a drink selection, but alas she did not. So five minutes later Malcolm Cox left “The Ell” Dinner with no drink, and salty food. He would need to stop and get a drink before he went back to work… if they had not called off the days work again. When Malcolm got back to the site, as he had expected, his foreman came over and told him that that the job was rained out until further notice. “Just too much water today Malcolm, have t’ wait for better days.” The foreman’s words were like a jackhammer striking Malcolm. His pay check was dwindling with each day that it rained. Soon he would be down to his last few Hundred dollars that he had saved from the last job he had. “I under stand, just wish that I could get work somewhere that there was no rain.” Malcolm seethed. “Hah! My boy you’re in the wrong part o’ the world for that. This is Vancouver, its always rainin’. The Foreman’s voice seemed to fade as Malcolm began to think of what he would do with his day off this time. Malcolm debated about it for a few seconds, and decided to just go back to his home and catch up on sleep. Malcolm turned around and headed for the gates of the construction site. Tag: No one yet.
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Sentinel-825 Registered: Jun '07	Date Posted: 8/21/07 1:59pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074 - Date Edited: 8/21/07 2:02pm (1 edits total) Edited By: Sentinel-825
	IC: Scott Shepard Earth Confederation Military Academy "New recruit?" "Yes sir. Masaya Chang, enlisted from China two days ago." "History?" "Father was a soldier, killed in combat. We have no records of his mother." "Any prior training?" "Not formally, but he claims his father educated him well." "His father?" "Daisuke Chang, Fifty-second Infantry." "I thought the name sounded familiar." "Sir?" "Who's accompanying him?" "Scott Shepard." "I see. Increase the training level to Advanced." "But sir, he's-" "Just do it. If Chang's father really did teach him, then he should have no problems. Not to mention he's got Shepard on his side. He could drink iced mocas and have himself a nap without any trouble." "Y-yes sir." "This is it?" Masaya inquired, strolling around the capacious training room and gazing around, guns holstered on his belt and back. The area was a giant blue sphere with overhanging lights on the distant ceiling. "This is the training room?" "Yep," Scott responded dully. He couldn't remember how many times he'd been in here, as he'd lost count after about the hundred and fiftieth time. "How does it work?" Scott could see that the kid, only eighteen years old, was clearly bewildered. "You read comic books, kid?" "Sometimes," Chang replied, clearly becoming more confused by this odd inquiry into his personal preferences. "You know the Danger Room from X-Men?" Chang's visage clearly became more understanding. "Yes." "Like that," Scott said, and double-checked that his weapons were in working order. There was a loud humming sound, and the blue began to fade from the room. "Here we go, get ready, kid." Chang immediately grabbed his rifle, and soon what was once a giant training room became a desert battleground with a myriad of craters and boulders. Upon witnessing the giant armada in the distance approaching his location, Chang immediately took cover behind the nearest boulder. Scott entered a crater and was peaking over the edge at the oncoming enemy. "Twenty tanks," he muttered to himself. "Fifty foot soldiers. Dammit, it's on Advanced." Chang heard this last bit of speech from Scott and his eyes widened in horror. "Ad-advanced?" Scott didn't respond, but was pulling out two frag grenades. "S-sir?" Chang said, slowly lowering his back on the boulder and eventually coming to a sitting position on the dirt. "Did you do this when you first enlisted?" Scott nodded. "W-what happened?" "Three bruised ribs and a concussion." Scott thought he heard a small squeal from Chang, though it could have been an engine from one of the tanks, as they were no more than a hundred yards away from his location. Tag: None quite yet -----signature----- All too easy.
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SephyCloneNo15 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 8/22/07 7:26pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	GM-Approved! Name: Kurt Windsor Place of origin: Kettle Moraine, WI, USA, Earth Age: 24 Appearance: Still dresses like a college kid, T-shirts with unbuttoned button-ups over them, cargo pants, unkempt brown hair and goatee. Equipment: Usually has a sketchbook and pencil in his pocket and a camera strapped around his neck Occupation: Wildlife Photographer, budding Xenobiologist Classification: Civillian Skills: BFA, Majored in Photography, minored in Illustration, loves Sci-Fi Brief Bio: Kurt was always a bit of a wierdo. Born and raised in the small town of Kettle Moraine, surrounded by glacier-carved wilderness, Kurt naturally hung out in the wilderness around his hometown, getting aquainted with nature. In his spare time, he loved drawing interesting plants and animals (a few of which were actually real), and when he got a digital camera for his sixteenth birthday (when all his friends got cars), he could make even the most boring of trees and plants and animals look exciting and exotic. After graduating from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago with a major in Photography, he worked for a couple years shooting pictures for national park pamphlets around the country, and set his portfolio to National Geographic mere weeks before the unveiling of the Boeing Type I. Suddenly he looked to the stars, reading everything he could find about what Life beyond Sol might look and act like. He quickly submitted a portfolio to every company and government looking to colonize, along with a letter practically beging them to send him along to catalogue strange new wildlife. Meanwhile, his travelling had left him with no small number of damaged or destroyed more-than-friend relationships, and, in the bitter lonliness of his most recent break-up, he ended up going out for coffee with his old would-be High School Sweetheart. Had he read Niel Gaiman's Stardust, he might have realized the irony in the offer he was making, but he told her that somewhere out there, the must be a creature or alien flower whose beauty and intelligence was comparable to her own ("Since, of course, you're the most beautiful thing on this planet..."), and when he found such a creature, he would name it after her. IC: Kurt Windsor Somewhere between Kettle Moraine, WI and Chicago, IL Kurt had just talked himself into a hole with the once and future girl of his dreams. He stared angrily at his cell phone every couple seconds, waiting for the call. Pink Floyd's The Wall[/b] blared from the radio of his '64 -2064, that is- Honda Accord, and no one had called yet. And he couldn't have done it more cheesily, "You're the most beautiful creature on this world, but as soon as I find something as beautiful out there among the stars," he'd told her, "I'll name it after you." "****!" he screamed. She was probably calling up her girlfriends right now, telling them what a dork he was...still was. The worst part, though, was that he couldn't even make good on the promise. He'd told her a half-truth. He was leaving Earth, that much he was sure of. There was just no definite timeframe or destination...yet. Actually, the worst part was that her name would sound terrible attached to any animal or plant he may stumble accross. Michelle's Orchid-Like Flower? The Red-Throated Michelle? With any luck, he'd settle down with some nice colonist, and she'd forget his stupid, stupid promise and never bother him again to ask when she was gonna be immortalized in [u]The Big Book of Xenobioloy. "Goddamnit!" he glared at his phone, "Will you look over my portfolio and call already?" Tag: GM (for a colonization service...or for Michelle if you dare...) -----signature----- Member: GDG, GMG. Sub-GM: CDG Zam Wessel Lives! Recipient of Thrawn McEwok's Squib Creations Limited-Edition Replica Glove of Darth Vader™ "Samuel L. Jackson isn't only a fine actor, but a gamer. He's one of us." ~ Kotaku
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Deiskrad Registered: Sep '04	Date Posted: 8/23/07 9:57am Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	IC: Christopher Schillinger 24 September 2074, 15.45 Standard time. Eastern Montana. You could see the wind as it approached along the plains of Montana. It ruffled the grass from miles away, rolling towards the observer, over his herd of cattle, and finally over the man himself. His mount shifted as the wind caressed it. He turned the horse away from it slightly, riding along the flank of his cattle. Christopher Schillinger rode the range, moving his cattle back for the night. Schillinger didn’t mind the wind. It was only September, and the climate was still mild. The cold, the Montana cold; wouldn’t be coming for another 6 weeks at least. As he was riding his ten thousand acres, his phone beeped. He taped the stud on the earpiece and listened. It was his son, Gerhard, or Gary as he preferred to be called. He had just finished on his end of the spread. The cattle were herded in for the night and he was coming in. Chris acknowledged him and rang off. While his horse trod along, Schillinger keyed up his e-mail on his palmcomp. Eight confirmations since he checked this morning. Meaning there were eight more families to add to this list of prospective pioneers into the big black. Schillinger had organized the drive for the various white groups of the world to Exodus (though he never used that Jewish term in his letters) to a colony world where they could start anew and build a society to their liking. The response was massive, and he was approaching a quarter million applicants. Some, of course, would have to be rejected. Anyone with a serious criminal background would be rejected, as would those with no practical skills that would be needed for starting a self-sufficient colony. That would be a difficult thing to do, since Schillinger did not wish to leave his brothers and sisters here on this infected slimeball, but the colony had to succeed before individuals with less essential skills were permitted to make homes on the colony. Schillinger was petitioning the UN for his start-up colony. He knew it would probably be accepted. White Power groups were almost universally reviled, and Earth would be glad to see them go. Schillinger rode his horse into the barn, and slid off. He detached the saddle, watered the horse, and tied it off to his trough, where the horse immediately set into the straw. Schillinger closed up the barn and headed for his home. His wife, Liesl, was cooking dinner when he strode through the door. Shedding his hat, he sat down and went through the mail. Bills, offers to re-finance his property, Direct Marketing for grain and feed outlets. Nothing interesting. “We’re having roast beef for dinner.” Liesl said from the kitchen, “Potatoes?” Schillinger asked. “Of course.” “That’s my girl.” He rose to go into the kitchen to give her some help. As he did so, a large official-looking envelope fell to the floor. He bent and picked it up. As he turned it over, he saw the bright blue logo of the official stamp of the United Nations. With a spreading grin, Schillinger opened the overstuffed, oversized envelope. -----signature----- Sic vis pacem, para bellum. "hahahahahaha. Is that all you got you Pansies?" -Marv, Sin City, The Hard Goodbye "An old man dies, a young girl lives. Fair Trade." -Sin City
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Sanctimoniously Registered: Dec '05	Date Posted: 8/23/07 2:10pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	The space elevator was at the top level of the Hub. Everything above it was part of the Wayfarer spaceport. There were actually two elevators, to maximise efficiency and keep up steady service. Both elevators were essentially airport terminals, fully decked out with restaurants, shops, sleeping quarters, observation decks, even a movie theatre to keep their charges occupied as they slowly ascended or descended the 103 kilometers between Level 6 and the spaceport itself, a three and a half-hour journey. Elric had heard that it was a rather fascinating ride. However, he couldn't be busied with the wonders of a platform rising 103 kilometers into low orbit right now. He directed himself immediately to the check-in desk, where a friendly-looking young woman was standing behind the desk. "Good morning, sir. Welcome to Lift One. Do you have your ID and authorisation documents?" she said, obviously a well-practiced greeting. "Yeah. . ." Elric fished his identification card from his wallet, then his authorisation card. The girl took them and fed them into a computer terminal. "Okay. . .Townshend, Elric Graham?" "Yeah." "Okay, you're clear. Enjoy your trip." "Yeah. . ." He crossed the short walkway to the lift, taking a moment to look up through the ceiling at the enormous stalk that disappeared into space. The first part of the adventure was soon to begin. -----signature----- In For a Quick Garden http://www.myspace.com/sanctimoniously
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Saintheart Title: Manager and Wandering Swordsman of the RPF Registered: Dec '00	Date Posted: 8/23/07 7:35pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	OOC: Guys, given the existence of the Space Elevator and the seeming-normalcy of in-system travel, I'm going to run with the following idea for how ships get between Earth, Mars, and Luna: it's a combination of advanced conventional fuels and anti-gravity generators. Anti-grav works by pushing against a planet's gravity well for propulsion, and gets you up to a respectable fraction of lightspeed, but the system doesn't work particularly well on the ground or close to a planet because the planet's gravity is too close at that point. This leaves open the existence of the Space Elevator to preserve both conventional fuels and because anti-grav is hard to make work in an atmosphere. The first anti-gravity fields were discovered by the physicist John Forrester in the year 2030 at MIT. Anyone got any thoughts on that? I'm also creating an FTL-equipped vessel getting ready for departure: Magellan, if anyone wants to know. I'm sure there are others... IC - Atticus Randall CafMasters (a Coffee Shop), Armstrong City, Luna 24 September 2074, 12.30 p.m. "Erlenmeyer will not be pleased, Atticus." Randall put his coffee cup down and looked at Pendergast. The Englishman did not move under the scrutiny; held his ramrod-straight back in position, his knee crossed just so, three fingers resting lightly on the rim of his saucer. "And how exactly does he propose to stop me?" asked Atticus. "Don't be a fool. Even if the Type I design has gotten out of the company's control, he still holds tremendous influence with the UN Board of Exploration. I've heard he has at least three of the members in his pocket. Do you really think the head of Boeing Corporation is going to let one of the FTL's designers get into the covered wagons and head into the wild black yonder?" asked Pendergast, one hand gesturing economically in the direction of the transparent dome and the starfield beyond. "You want to come along?" grinned Atticus. "Please. Cooped up on one of those tin cans, heading for some dead rock in the middle of space somewhere? I'm afraid Oxford in the spring is far more inviting." "And that's why I'll be able to go," said Randall. "I've been doing my homework. The Magellan has Boeing's best Type I drive equipped. She'll need someone aboard to keep the engine running. And fortunately, none of you wants to go. Which leaves me." "I thought Gibson expressed some interest?" "He did. I had to apply a good half-year's salary to make him change his mind." Pendergast smiled and shook his head. "I'm amazed you want it so much." Randall put down his coffee cup and leaned over the table, looking intently at Pendergast. "This is my last chance, George. That introduction lecture I just did -- the existence of that class is the end of an era. In a couple of years FTL design won't just be known to a few select people; it'll be a university course. What leverage will I -- will any of us -- have to be on a ship when a tech can do our jobs for us?" Pendergast ran a finger along the rim of his saucer. "I appreciate that, Atticus. What I don't appreciate is why you feel the need to leave Sol behind and head out to some of the most hostile environments known to man." "Because there's a new kind of magic out there," said Randall. "The FTL drive is the last magic on Earth -- but out there, on new worlds, new biospheres, new forms of life altogether -- that's a new age of magic altogether, George. I've mastered magic here; I want to be a student again. That's why." Randall's phone rang, and he picked it up. TAG: anyone or no-one. -----signature----- Michelle: my Italian queen, my angel, my reason, my wife. Jessica: my little princess, my daughter, born 10 August 2007 Director -- Star Wars: Knighthood
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SephyCloneNo15 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 8/23/07 8:18pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	(ooc: Saint, how well-known is the Magellan? Would I hear about her on the news, or is she still in some early, secret, stage of development?) -----signature----- Member: GDG, GMG. Sub-GM: CDG Zam Wessel Lives! Recipient of Thrawn McEwok's Squib Creations Limited-Edition Replica Glove of Darth Vader™ "Samuel L. Jackson isn't only a fine actor, but a gamer. He's one of us." ~ Kotaku
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Saintheart Title: Manager and Wandering Swordsman of the RPF Registered: Dec '00	Date Posted: 8/23/07 11:06pm Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	OOC: Magellan's existence is quite well-known, I would say -- she is Boeing's big effort to show the public they're still the leaders in FTL-capable craft design. I'm not exactly sure if she's a full colonising vessel, though -- her primary focus will be exploration, though she's still a big ship for all that. -----signature----- Michelle: my Italian queen, my angel, my reason, my wife. Jessica: my little princess, my daughter, born 10 August 2007 Director -- Star Wars: Knighthood
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SephyCloneNo15 Registered: Apr '05	Date Posted: 8/24/07 7:37am Subject: RE: The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074
	(ooc: So she might have a role for a wildlife photographer in all her exploration and whatnot? hint hint, nudge nudge) -----signature----- Member: GDG, GMG. Sub-GM: CDG Zam Wessel Lives! Recipient of Thrawn McEwok's Squib Creations Limited-Edition Replica Glove of Darth Vader™ "Samuel L. Jackson isn't only a fine actor, but a gamer. He's one of us." ~ Kotaku
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