NSWRPF Archive 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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

(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?)

 

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.

 

(ooc: So she might have a role for a wildlife photographer in all her exploration and whatnot? *hint hint, nudge nudge*)

 

OOC ok guys i have the basis of this one all wrong i guess i didn't read the first part all that well but anyway i think i can make this character work. Another thing what i am going off of RW experience but this character is tweaked a bit anyway if you guys have any pointers because this is my first rpg like this one.

IC
No less than 1 minute after the station had gotten the call the OOD and Master chief were in the COMMSCEN "Keep trying to raise them on the radio, whats their call sign?" the OOD asked the watchstander, a new boot seaman who had only two weeks experience, "the Pegasus" the kid answered "is the boat gone already? asked The Master chief "yes" "how soon till they are on-scene" "two minutes" "Coast Gu... We.. having......blems with the engines.............to have a fire.....gine room" the radio transmission said "try to strenghthen that signal" "yes master chief" "Station 423 we are on scene this ship is pretty well engulfed in flames we are launching the smaller pod with a boarding team to try to get all the crew off" "Roger that Mike according the manifest they 10 POB try to get the ones who you can save but those who need medical attention first" "Roger that" "Get houston on the phone tell them we have a freighter by the name of Pegasus a 425 meter ship with four conventional engines that have caught on fire tell them that we are going to be secorting her in with two of our boats. tell Tony to get the 459 underway to help out the 423 have them take their firefighting gear have tell them to move it" Master chief said quickly "roger that master chief" "station 423 we have the majority of the crew on board coming back to the station there were only 8 onboard the captain and the first officer are dead and according to the crew they wanted to stay on board" "423 staion how many do you have onboard over" "423 station we have 6, 2 are badly burned two of are crewman are looking after them now." "Give me the mike" "yes master chief" "Mike i want you to load those survivors in the pods and send them here we can take care of them better that you can at this point" "roger that anything further over" "The 459 will soon be out onscene to help you escort this thing into houston" "roger" "Alright i want the HS's notified we have victims coming in get 4 people to the hangar bay to escort them to sickbay now those pods will be here in about 5 mins. And can someone get me a cup of coffee with two sugars and creamer?" "I can master chief" FN Goodspeed said quickly "thanks neal" "alright people we are not out the woods yet
ok" "master chief the pods are here and the victims are on their way to sickbay." "thanks brett" "station 459 we are on scene and commencing fire fighting on the vessel but at this point it looks pretty far gone" "459 station roger is the 423 with you over" "Thats affirmative" station 423 we on the port side of the vessel and 459 is on starboard side we are currently escorting the vessel into the atmosphere we should be touching down in houston in approx 15 minutes over" "423 station roger when you have landed fuel up then get back here" "station 423 roger the 459 has a patrol scheduled they will be fueling up and then going on that patrol over" "roger break break 459 station" "station 459 go ahead" "459 station when you fuel up at houston come back here for a debrief and then go out on that patrol" "Roger out" Well, he thought, two more dead better add that to the tally 204 lives saved 34 lost in twenty years of service well thats a good margin i guess those people i have saved mean more then the dead but it still weighs heavy on the soul. "heres your coffee Master chief" "thanks neal, you have a smoke i could bum off you?" "Sure master chief" he would hate himself for doing this he quit nearly 5 years ago but sometimes he would just have one from time to time he was ok. THe first drag off the camel was good help calm him down now he just had to focus at the task at hand which was the safety of his people and the general public. "master chief the vessel is touched down can we close this one out"

 

That's the idea of an open-minded thing, isn't it? I merely set forth a general history. Anything else. . .

 

ok man thanx

 

OOC: SephyCloneNo15: Of course there's room for a wildlife photographer. Just finagle your way aboard IC! And same goes for other folks who want to get on an explorer. I'll be posting up a description of Magellan next time I'm online!

 

OOC (and some IC) Information for all players about the Magellan:

The Magellan is primarily an exploration vessel, 730 metres long. It's essentially three large spherical sections locked together in a row, one behind the other, with a large, blocky engine section at the rear of the vessel. At this moment it's in the lagrange point between Earth and Luna -- that is, the point where the gravity from each planet cancels each other out, creating a "stable point" in space. She's completed her final checkouts and will shortly be departing the Sol system for various stars to survey and explore several worlds that have been identified using the Hubble III telescope as possible life-sustaining planets.

The three spheres are, from front to rear, a laboratory section, a living quarters section, and a storage/transit section. The lab section is the scientific area of the vessel, and contains state-of-the-art biological, geological, and microbiological labs. The living quarters are self-explanatory, and it also has a small military barracks, since a military presence will be on this mission. The storage/transit section has construction gear and stores enough to set up a small base on any one planet the Magellan visits before having to return to Earth for resupply.

The engine section contains the antigrav drives, conventional fuel drives, and the FTL drive.

Magellan also has two atmospheric landers, docked to the storage/transit section, shaped in similar fashion to the space shuttle, albeit a lot more advanced. These vessels -- Hound Dog and Heartbreak Hotel, oddly enough -- are equipped with advanced conventional fuels, but they can function and maneuver well in an atmosphere.

 

IC: Kurt Windsor
Chicago, IL

Kut hit the "Welcome to Chcago" sign at roughly the point in The Wall where Pink was right about to snap. "One of My Turns" was the title of the song. "I... feel...cold as a razor blade/tight as a tourniquet/dry as a funeral drum," he sang along.

Kurt got to his apartment by the end of "Waiting for the Worms", which wasn't bad considering how Hellish driving through Chicago could be. He began to microwave some frozen delicacy, checked his messages -or lack thereof- and 'plugged in'. He flipped open his laptop and flipped on the TV. Some news program was showing off the specs for the Magellan, and Kurt had a flash of an idea. He'd mostly concerned himself with the companies interested in colonization. He hadn't even tried strict exploration vessels, even though that made even more sense; here would be a chance to photograph new life and new civilizations on dozens of strange new worlds, not just one.

He quickly composed an email to the man who seemed to have spearheaded the Magellan's creation and would probably be able to, if nothing else, put in a good word to the mission coordinator whom the news had not named.

Dear Atticus Randall,

My name is Kurt Windsor. I am a wildlife photographer looking to accompany an FTL vessel to the farthest reaches of the Galaxy. I'm not one to spend a whole lot of time building myself up with words. I majored in photography and minored in illustration at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. That's all I'm going to say about myself; I'll let my work say the rest. Attached are 10 of what I consider to be my finest photographs and two sketches. Please consider these images if you are looking for someone to document whatever life the Magellan may encounter.

Sincerely,
Kurt Windsor

The attachments contained photographs of foxes, crows, fir trees, exotic South American plants, and one he was particularly proud of, a mutant lizard from New Mexico with skin that looked almost bejeweled, an extra pair of legs, and dual-pupiled eyes. He had seen that in the old test grounds for the first nuclear bomb. In Kurt's mind, all the photos were National Geographic quality, although he was still waiting on the magazine to voice their agreement. The first sketch was a study of a captive baboon he'd seen at a zoo one day. He spent almost the whole day sketching and resketching it in dozens of poses, including images of what he believed its muscular and skeletal structures looked like and studies of how it moved. The other was a similar series of drawings based on a friend's unsuccessful science-fiction novel. It was labled "The Mortuary of Xronin Xronite male study", and portrayed a particularly ugly, but not evolutionarily infeasable, humanoid creature, lithe and easily angered, in the gaudy uniform his friend had described the poor creature wearing. He'd almost certainly, at the time, made a Douglas Adams-esque crack about how their horrible fashion sense led them to plunder the galaxy for better threads. The young author of The Mortuary of Xronin was certainly not amused.

Tag: Saint

 

IC: Scott Shepard
Earth Confederation Military Academy, Medical Chambers

Scott winced slightly as the doctor put the ice pack on his left rib cage.

"Does that hurt?" the elder black man asked, taking the pack off, unfortunately, as Scott knew, temporarily.

"No, it's bloody cold," Scott replied with a hint of resentment in his voice.

The doctor shook his head and reapplied the ice pack. "Just a bruised rib, you'll be fine. As for you," he looked at Chang, "you haven't got a scratch on you. How many rounds did you fire off?"

"Uh," Chang scratched the back of his head bashfully, "two or three, maybe."

The doctor chuckled. "Oh, Scott. Always the one man army, yeah?"

"It seemed like a good idea," Scott said, taking the ice pack off for a few seconds and then pressing it back to his bare skin. "Jansen seemed compelled to set the training mode to advanced. Can't wait to hear why."

"Oh, Shepard, you know me," came an instantly recognizable voice from behind Scott. A tall, imposing middle-aged man with black greying hair walked in front of him. "Always a sucker for curiosity."

"I was thinking more along the lines of insanity, if you don't mind me saying," Scott responded coldly. "You know we only have advanced training methods in place for veteran sessions, Chang's never even been in the training room."

"Well, he seemed to come out of it all right," Jansen nodded to the young Asian, whose face reddened. "How's your mother?"

Chang looked taken aback. "Uh, fine, thanks," he said, rubbing his arm.

Jansen nodded with a smile. "Give her my regards, will you?"

"Sure."

Scott was well aware of the old rivalry that Jansen and Chang's father had had in their days of service. He never knew where it had stemmed from, but he was now getting a bit of a hint at the source.

"Well, gentlemen," Jansen nodded to the three men before him, "always a pleasure."

Tag: Anyone

 

IC: Chris Schillinger

It felt as though the stack of papers were as high as the space elevator. It filled much of Schillinger?s office, and had bled into the kitchen area, which annoyed Liesl no end. Still though, she was relatively tolerant of it, since she knew it was a necessary part of getting off earth and getting the colony started.

Chris Schillinger, his wife, and two sons sat around the kitchen table which supported several stacks of files and forms as well, turning the table into a paper-skyscraper city atop a mesa.

They were going through batches of application forms. This had become their traditional after-meal activity, and they worked on it well into the evening. There were quite literally thousands of applications which had to be reviewed and approved or rejected. There were many more rejects than approvals.

?How about this one?? Schillinger?s son, Roger, asked as he handed a file across the suburbs of the paper city.

Schillinger took the file and skimmed it. A Russian. Arkady Ralanovsky. Doctorate in Large Animal Veterinary medicine. Lives and works outside of Kursk. 58 years old. Two children, both graduates of college and independent. The application for preliminary inclusion in the Aryan colony was for him and his wife only.

Producing his palmcomp from his pocket, Schillinger quickly ran the name through his database. There was indeed a Ralanovsky who was a member of one of Russia?s WS groups. He?d given money and submitted articles to a few newsletters over the years. The last of either had been almost ten years ago.

Schillinger shook his head and handed it back. ?No. No good.?

?We?ll need a veterinarian for the farms and eventually the Ranches.? Roger said.

?We?ve got one. Walter, from the Montana Chapter.?

?Maybe this guy is better.? Liesl suggested.

?Walter is younger. More importantly, he?s single. He?s only got himself to look after. Which means one less person to feed. This Ralanovsky could be 58 with a heart condition and wouldn?t be able to work the land. We all know that Walter owns a small farm, so we get more bang for our buck.?

Roger took the file and set it aside.

?There?s nothing that says he can?t re-apply in a year or two when the colony is capable of supporting more people.?

Roger shrugged and put the file into the ?For later review? pile.

Schillinger sat back and sighed, taking off his reading glasses and massaging his temples. His boy ached from ranching all day, sitting in the saddle, and then sitting for half the night going over applications. Many times already he?d questioned whether it was worth it, but he honestly believed that an Aryan homeland was the best for all.

The problem was that much of the members of the various white supremacist organizations throughout the world were unsuitable for starting a colony. What skills they had were not any of value in a place that was starting from scratch. Many were manufacturing jobs, and Schillinger did not predict any heavy industry on the colony for at least five standard earth years.

Another major problem was criminal history. Schillinger said from the beginning, and the Triumverate agreed with him, that no one with a felony conviction would be allowed to emigrate to the Aryan Homeland Colony. However, because of various nations? active and passive persecution of white pride advocates, the pickings were very slim indeed.

What he needed was young men and women who could work the fields and tend the livestock. And a limited number of people with particular aptitudes or skill sets: Doctors, Nurses, Lawyers, IT specialists, Construction Workers, architects, Fusion Technicians, Mechanics and repairmen, Police and Firemen, Teachers for the children, Accountants to regulate the currency and balance the books? It was a long list.

Schillinger sat back up, pushed his glasses back and returned to work. He hoped once again, it was the best thing for everyone.


TAG: Anyone

 

ICC DCCM BLAKE

Walking back to his office he saw the chief "mike get your people into admin, Is Tony back yet?" "Yes he is Master Chief do you want him in admin to. By the way SN Gordon a little shook up from what happened." the chief said. "Yes i do mike. Alright well send him into my office after the debrief." Walking into his office and grabbing a piece of paper which was a practice instilled into him when he was a third on the Polar Starlight,one of the new ice breakers at the time, he went into admin where crews of both boats were still in there flight suits. "Alright ladies and gentlemen time for the debrief. Now Chief when you got on-scene what was your initial thought?" "Well Master chief" the chief replied "I wanted to try to see if i couldn't contain the fire to the stern so i could use the bow cargo bay as a point where i could take off any survivors there were and when that failed i heard you over the radio telling me to launch the pods, so i did" "Ok thanks chief, What about you tony?" "Master Chief i was looking to back up chief with the fire fighting and try to keep that ship from burning up in the atmosphere" the BM2 said. "Master chief can i say something really quick" "Go ahead Jackie" and with that a young MK3 stood up and she said "This was a learning experience for all of us, except maybe you Master Chief and Chief, but when i got onboard that craft to help those people onto the pods i looked around and i saw those crewmen on that ship look at us and it was like a collective sigh of releif from them almost as if to say thanks. other than that Master Chief i have nothing." and sat down again. "Well then" the master chief said "If anyone doesn't have anything else then thats it for this debrief" the room was so quiet you could've heard a pin drop, "Alright, turn to" "Roger that master chief" and with that he walked back to his office where SN Gordon was waiting right outside "Mornin' Master Chief" he said "Mornin' SN Gordon chief tells me you want to talk with me" "yes i do" "alright then come into my office and close the door" "Aye Aye Master Chief" "now Gordon whats the matter?" "well master chief I dont think i am ready for this, i mean i know i have been here for two at just got qualified yesterday, but i just don't think i can handle another case like that one" "let me tell you a story Gordon. I myself was once a boot like you and do you want to know what my first case was? It was a fishing vessel taking on water of off Cape D, wind blowing 50 kts seas rough as hell it was crazy there were 12 people on that boat and guess who was the watch stander" "you master chief?" "yep the 47 footer goes out there and was able to get all but three off of that boat due to flooding but the other nine were saved and i had a hard time about it two but my mk2 pulled me aside and said 'thats the price of doing business scott and from then on i got better and better at handling things like this one. So you lost two you were able to help coordinate efforts to save eight, so try to look at it that way and if you are still having problems then come talk to me again alright" "Ok Master Chief, thanks." "No problem is there anything else?" "Nope nothing else" "Alright then turn to" "Roger that master chief" as the young man walked out of his office and thought that kids got potential to be one damn fine Coastie


Tag anyone

 

OOC: Polarius: No offence, dude, but you might want to consider the use of line breaks to make your posts a little more readable...

Sentinel-825: I can't realistcally tag you in my present character, but with your permission I'm doing a bit of a bridge -- see below for something that involves your character. I'll also appropriate Jansen for a second if you don't mind...

IINTERLUDE:
Earth Confederation Military Academy
24 September 2074, 1520 hours

"I take it he passed?"
"Flying colours, sir. I threw fifty foot and twenty tanks at him and he wound up with scratches. Again."
"But what about his politics, Jansen? We want someone out there who's going to follow orders. And if his record's anything to go by..."
"Pardon me for interrupting, sir, but given the mission, we also want creative thought. Let's not forget he had Chang with him on simulation, and he came through without a scratch, too."
"I suppose you want him along too."
"Chang's nothing to sniff at either. Best recruit in his flight group. You can't blame Jesus for being unimpressive next to God Almighty."
"Your faith is reassuring. All right, get him in. It's not like we've got many others to pick at the moment."

An hour or so later, Major James Derringer was sitting in his modestly-decorated office, papers across his desk, when the alarm chimed.
"Come," he said in the direction of the audio sensor, and the hydraulic door slid back, admitting a young man in his thirties: Scott Shepard. Derringer stood up as the soldier moved into the room, and returned Shepard's crisp salute.
"Welcome, Sergeant. Thank you for coming to see me. We're pretty low on time, so I'm going to keep this as brief as I can. If you didn't already know, the Boeing vessel Magellan is due for departure on an exploration mission in the next forty-eight hours. Now, Confed's had a bit of trouble putting together a military attachment for this job, because we've normally only provided garrison coverage for colony vessels. So we're having to do something a bit new. Now, I'm not expecting any trouble aboard the ship, but Confed still insists on a military presence, so we're sending a team of twelve troops with Magellan on her exploration run. Estimated time of mission's about eight weeks from the flight plan. Reason this has to do with you is because I want you to head up the military contingent. I'm not going to sit here and manure on about how you're the best of the best of the best. You suit the job; that's what it comes down to. There's another incentive I want to offer you as well. Take this assignment, and you qualify for offworld duty consideration of rank increase. Me, I don't like paperwork, so I put it this way: accept the assignment and you're a lieutenant the moment you step out of my office. So that's it. What do you say, sergeant?"

TAG: Sentinel-825

IC - Atticus Randall

Armstrong City, Luna
Dateline: 24 September 2074, 1630 hours

Atticus read the request over, his eyebrows rising with every moment. Leaving aside the astounding composition of the photographs Mr. Windsor had sent along with the e-mail, he had to admire the kid's guts: Atticus was used to people avoiding him for fear of his noticing them these days. The kid sending the request directly to him, no fear of the repercussions personally ... that was impressive. It reminded Randall of something.

And then there were the drawings, which were also remarkable as well. Atticus was failry certain that he was dealing with a creative mind; something of a rarity these days, if not in the cosmos itself.

Atticus thought about it for a second or two. The mission director on Magellan wasn't exactly a flexible kind of guy, and the mission loadout had just about been fully defined. Fortunately Control had made one allowance that Atticus possibly could exploit. So the physicist took the next forty minutes or so to make the rig

 

GM Approved!

Name: Zahina Kitoko

Place of Origin: Olympia, Mars

Age: 27

Appearance: Zahina has dark brown eyes with a stubborn set to them, long black hair, often plaited, and dresses like the professional she is.

Occupation: Assistant Professor of Ancient Terran (Earth) History, University of Olympia, Mars; Writer/Historian

Classification: Civilian

Skills: Has been trained as an EMT; took karate for many years. Is a long time ballet dancer and public speaker.

Brief Bio: Zahina was born on Mars, in the capital city of Olympia, but only lived there until she was ten, when her family returned to Earth. For the next six years, she grew and prospered into a gifted young student at an elite boarding school in London, England, the same city where her parents and two younger brothers resided. But not long after her sixteenth birthday, the Kitokos decided to return to Mars, both because of the greater opportunities for law firm Mr. and Mrs. Kitoko were the heads of,and because the lack of pollution.

At seventeen, Zahina was a shoo-in for the exclusive University of Olympia. She spent some of the best years of her life there, discovering the events of times long past. Despite loving her major of Ancient History, Zahina concealed a growing desire for something more than the mundane life she spent on Mars. During graduate school, and later during her time as a teacher, she would often take forays to the exotic places of Earth and Luna, discovering and documenting legends and history. When Zahina heard of the opportunity to travel to the far reaches of the galaxy, she immediately sent in her applications in the hopes that someone would believe the events needed to be recorder by an insider.

OOC: I'll write an introductory post tomorrow.

 

24 September 2074, 13.27 standard time

He could only see the western side of the sprawling expanse that was West Monroe from up here. The thick white of the city gradually gave way to the dark green of the soy and cotton fields that comprised what little remained of the district. Even from just ninety kilometers up, Earth's overpopulation--and conversely, the perfect timing of Boeing's little invention--was clearly evident. He remembered hearing stories of West Monroe seventy-five years ago. . .a small, overlooked town dominated by high-school football and political corruption for the first quarter of the century. It was difficult to imagine now, now that the city was more than twice the size and population of its counterpart across the river (ranked the eighteenth largest city in the world, he recalled, with over fifty-two million people in its greater area).

He took a drag off the cigarette he was idly smoking. The fragrant smoke drifted into the air around him, curling around his hair and the railing before disappearing from sight. The space elevator was nearly done with its journey to the still-incomplete spaceport. For the entire twenty minutes he had been to Observation Deck 2, light transport shuttles zipped back and forth from the structure laden with supplies, occasionally so laden that it was a wonder the little things managed to get off the ground, much less make the entire 103-kilometer trip.

His left pocket began to vibrate. At long last, they were telling him his duty station. Elric was to be a part of the 224 Naval personnel that would keep the Dawn in one working piece during its five-week journey to Aeara. He didn't know exactly how many civilians would be along for the ride, but COLCOM had a goal of at least eight thousand by October 2076. As of now, there were about two thousand there. He pulled his PDA from his pocket and perused the message. Engineering Deck H. Like his job aboard the Lovegood, like his job at the recruiting station, he was being put at yet another **** station. Great. He would report to some Lieutenant Junior Grade named Hargreave (a brief record was attached) and go off on the routine.

Joy.

He took another drag off the cigarette and watched the smoke swirl about against Earth and space.

 

IC: Zahina Kitoko

"I don't know why you want to go, Zee," complained Ceron Kitoko, taking a bite of an apple. "You love Olympia. You love all of Mars. Your job's here; your friends are here. Your family is here," he stressed.

"I know all of that, Ron," Assistant Professor Zahina Kitoko sighed, walking over to the kitchen table with two sandwiches. "But you know how much I've always wanted to travel, baby brother mine."

Ceron rolled his eyes, and Zahina grinned. Ceron and his slightly older brother, Balint, were twins, but the older Kitoko siblings never failed to remind Ron they had seniority.

"Seriously, though, Zee. What's so great about exploring that you want to leave everything behind? What if you get killed? You're a professor, for God's sake! What exactly are they going to need you for? You study history," Ceron argued.

"And now is my chance to make history!" Zahina exclaimed.

Ceron now merely sighed. "I don't even know why you bothered to call me over. I mean, it's obvious you're going whether Bally and I agree or not. You did just tell me you'd already sent your applications."

"Don't say that," Zahina complained. "I want your approval, Ron. I want both your's and Ballint's approval. I don't want to leave you boys behind, but this is my chance! I just asked you first because you're pretty much the head of the family now, aren't you?" she teased.

Ceron was the lawyer of the family and had recently taken over their deceased parents' law firm, Kitoko and Kitoko. Balint was an architect, currently on Luna, helping design a museum in Armstrong City. Zahina, despite being the oldest had never showed any interest in the family business, and so in the end, the mantle "Head of Family" had fallen to Ron's capable shoulders.

Ron finally grinned wryly. "Well if you're going to go no matter, you might as well go with my blessings, big sister mine."

"Oh, Ron," Zahina gushed, "thank you! That makes me feel so much better. I was feeling so guilty about leaving you two. But I guess you and Bally are adults now, huh?"

"Just as much as you, Zee-Zee."

TAG: Anyone

 

IC: Scott Shepard
Earth Confederation Military Academy
24 September 2074, 1521 hours

Scott listened to every word the Major was imparting upon his senses, and when he finished, he paused for a moment to take it all in. He was being offered a promotion, as long as he went on this exploration voyage. Truth be told, Scott didn't care about ranks or any of that militant pretense, all he cared to do was serve his galaxy the best he knew how. But if this was what he was needed for, then he would accept it without hesitation.

"I accept the assignment," he said with a nod. "Sir."

Tag: Saintheart

 

INTERLUDE: Major James Derringer's Office

Earth Confderation Military Headquarters
24 September 2074, 1522 hours

The ghost of a smile crossed the Major's face. "All right, then, lieutenant. Magellan's at the lagrange launch point between Earth and Luna. ETD 27 September 2074, 1800 hours. So you've got a couple of days to pack and get your gear up there. I can get you an early clearance onto the ship if you want a chance to familiarise yourself with the layout, but there'll be a dossier in your next post with Magellan's loadout specs and your available weaponry, as well as the details of the eleven other men under your command. There's M-2RV atmospheric runners making transits out that way on 25 and 26 September 2074 at 0030 hours from Pearl -- you won't have to take the Elevator this time. Hope you enjoy the trip."

Derringer stood up, and it was clear the audience was over, particularly when the Major saluted his new Lieutenant.

TAG: Sentinel-825

 

OOC: Is there any way I can wrangle a place on someone's ship? Should I write a letter to someone?

 

OOC: Possibly. Or, in the case of Magellan, I would've thought you'd have a spot aboard already, so you could write yourself in on the basis you've been granted a place. My character isn't the Mission Director, so you could easily say that you were selected quite independent of any storyline I've got going right now.

 

OOC: Okay, that sounds great! I'll just show on up, then.

IC: Zahina Kitoko
Armstrong City, Luna
September 24, 2074, 1931 hours

Zahina and Ceron Kitoko finally stepped out the Space Elevator into the entrance hall of the Gagarin-Shepard Spaceport.

"Over here! Guys, over here!" a frantically waving individual yelled. It was their brother, Balint, or Bally, as he was better known.

Ron and Zahina quickly navigated their way through the crowd to fountain by which their brother was waiting.

"Little brother!" she exclaimed, and quickly hugged him.

"Hey, big sister!" he laughed, squeezing her back, then greeting his twin.

After they had managed to get out of the spaceport, and to Bally's rented apartment, Ceron and Zahina crashed after their long trip.

Only two more days, Zahina thought as she drifted off to sleep. I only have two more days here.

TAG: Anyone

 

OOC: *whistles* Looks like you've got the military thing down, Saintheart. I'll probably need your help with this on more than one occasion, as I'm not very familiar with military protocol (don't ask me why I chose to play a soldier ).

IC: Scott Shepard
Earth Confderation Military Headquarters
24 September 2074, 1523 hours

"Good day, Sir," Scott Shepard returned the Major's salute quickly, and then proceeded to turn on his heel and exit the office. He was still a bit wary about being Lieutenant now. He'd always been more of a lone wolf and not a pack leader. He knew that the next few months would be most interesting indeed, and it'd probably be more of a learning experience for him than the soldiers under his command.

Still... barking orders did sound pretty nice.

Tag: Saintheart