NSWRPF Archive The Future: Dawn of Exploration, 2074

OOC: Sentinel-825, I'm just trying to imitate Polarius's excellent "corp talk" that he's got going from real life. I plan to fast forward a little to around launch time for your next interaction with your team. *Thinks madly about generating 11 distinct personalities to play with...*

Sorry for my lack of presence, everyone; I've been unreasonably busy lately. . .

IC: Kurt Windsor
Doorstep to Kurt's Apartment, Chicago, IL, September 27, 2074, 1200 Hours

Kurt sat, hunched, against the front door to his apartment, checking and rechecking his watch -he had set it to military time just for this occasion- and waited.

His whole life was firmly packed in a medium-sized duffle bag, a backpack, and his camera's case. Just like everything else that you're stuck being patient for, the shuttle that would take Kurt off this worthless rock of a planet seemed to take forever.

He took another sip of his cold, stale, overpriced coffee, and grabbed his sketchbook from his backpack, absently drawing a squirrel while he waited.

Tag: Saint

IC: Zahina Kitoko

32 Valentina Way
Armstrong City, Luna
September 27, 1230 hours

Balint grunted as he shoved the last box in Zahina's storage tank.

"I think that's finally it!" crowed his twin, Ceron.

"It had better be," Bally grumbled. "I swear, Zee, there isn't a free square inch in there! Did you seriously need all of that?"

"Ten pairs of shoes?" added Ron with a raised eyebrow.

"You never know!" protested their sister.

"I'm sure there are a ton of fancy restaurants out where you're going," Ron continued with his natural sarcasm.

Bally grinned, brushing his shoulder length hair back into a ponytail. "Hey, just be glad you don't have to unpack it, too," he laughed.

Ron's eyes bulged out. "Don't even joke about that," he said, shaking his head.

"Oh, I'm going to miss you both so much!" Zahina cried. Her brothers both smiled and looked a little uncomfortable.

"Miss you tons, too, Big Sister," Bally mumbled.

"Tons and tons," Ron agreed.

"But I'll be contacting you two so much, you'll both be utterly sick of me," Zahina assured them, although the comment was more for herself.

TAG: Anyone or no one

OOC: Final boarding calls for Magellan are on, ladies and gentlemen. Improvise, write yourselves aboard, or add as you see fit; anything within reason is cool by me. Incidentally, if you're listening to music as you read or write, I personally recommend Track 1 off the old "Homeworld" game CD, or alternatively Tracks 3 and 4 ('Supernova' and 'Magellan') off Michael Oldfield's "The Songs of Distant Earth" for this next bit. I also apologise for any minor godmoding I do to get some of these things happening.

At Kurt Windsor's place
Chicago, Illinois
27 September 2074, 1200 hours

One thing you had to say about atmospheric flyers: no matter how impressive the construction, no matter how good the sound baffling on the building, a flyer landing nearby a ConApt building was loud. The doorframe of Kurt Windsor's apartment trembled as if it were already mourning the departure of its most recent tenant, and the sound of the flyer's ramjet engine was the howl of a banshee even in here.

As it was, the ramjet cycled down, and it was a minute or two before Kurt heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to his apartment.
And then, the knock.

He opened the door to the cover of Time magazine. Well, not exactly; but you'd have to be living on the Pacific Ocean floor not to recognise the dark eyes and short beard of the man looking at him with two UN soldiers flanking him.
"Mr. Windsor, I presume," said Atticus with a smile, offering a hand for the young man to shake. Randall did like to make his assessments quickly, and he decided he liked this young man already. Clear eyes and no film of cynicism floating on those features of his. And thank gods, he wasn't wearing a suit, so he wasn't terribly concerned about his appearance, for which Atticus was very pleased. It meant the centres of his brain were freed up for actual thinking.

"I thought I'd come down personally and see my new ... assistant. It's good to meet you, and I don't doubt we'll have much time to talk a little later, but we're on something of a tight schedule," continued Atticus. "Now, I presume you're packed? Just those things there? Good. Well, come on. Magellan is waiting."

The little group moved out onto the front verge of the apartment complex. There a boxlike shape crouched on the ground, a small cockpit poking out from one end of the atmospheric flyer. They were ugly things, Atticus reflected, but they did their job well. The physicist caught a foul look out of the corner of his eye -- an individual was scowling at them from the lobby of the apartment building. Atticus glanced at the ground.
They'd burnt the verge.
Well, not really. Actually the flyer's ramjet looked to have turned the grass to ash and then melted the sand underneath to glass. Atticus smiled lopsidedly in the landlord's direction as the gangway hissed open and allowed them in.

About three minutes later, they were off, with the crack of a sonic boom behind them after they'd cleared the Chicago area. One of the UN pilots muttered acknowledgments into his headsets. Atticus glanced up at a couple of the viewscreens installed here in the passenger section; it was difficult to do windows on one of these things, but the cameras they had did just fine. The physicist watched as white/silver clouds raced by, replaced by a staring blue, which deepened to indigo and then black in a matter of minutes.

Then they kicked in the antigrav drive. Atticus took a deep breath as he was pressed back into his seat before the compensators took the load and his weight went back to normal. Now he was staring into viewscreens that showed airless space, with no atmosphere to keep the stars from burning like a thousand thousand jewels in the night.

One jewel began to burn more brightly in the night sky, and grew larger. Atticus knew it well: Magellan, at her lagrange launch point. And as the minutes ticked by, the single gem metam

IC: Zahina Kitoko

The Magellan
September 27, 2074, 1315 hours

Zahina Kitoko gaped at the ship. She'd thought she'd know what she was getting into it. Now she wasn't so sure. The Magellan was beautiful, no one could argue with that, but it made Zahina shiver. Could she really survive everything that the journey might throw at her?

"Well, here we are," the UN official said. "I believe some of the passengers are already aboard. I presume you would like to meet them."

"Oh, oh yes," Zee muttered. She smoothed down her black slacks nervously. "Do you know who's aboard?"

"Several people," the man shrugged. "I can't say for sure who."

Zahina nodded. "Well," she whispered to herself, "let's get this show on the road."

She pulled on a bright smile and got up.

"I'm ready."

TAG: Anyone, No one

IC: Scott Shepard
ConFed Military Base (Pearl Harbour Launch)
Oahu, Hawaii
27 September 2074, 0800 hours

As soon as Scott had approached the twelve men and women who would be serving under his command during the voyage, he gave a brief salute. "Gentlemen, ladies." He was used to being one of the many staring at the commander before him. But now he was on the opposite end of that spectrum, and to say the least, it felt odd and out of place, as if something had gone terribly wrong.

"Well, let's get on board," he announced, not knowing at all what else he could have said.

Tag: Saintheart

IC DCCM Blake

"Well sir i can give you those two crews but to be real honest with you sir i would feel a helluva lot better if we were driving our own boats. because none of my people have gone through the GP-837 C-School yet and sir i know in the Air Force the people who fly the craft are called pilots but in the guard we call 'em coxswains and they drive boats. Give me two days of real intense training with the new boats and you can have my people. One more thing sir before you go I am a Master Chief not a chief anymore." he emphasized the word master "That would like someone calling you colonel instead of a general, sir. Where will i be during all of this sir?"




Tag Saintheart

24 September 2074, 13.56 standard time

The out-system ring of the station was so much different from the rest of the structure that it seemed like an afterthought. It was a spindly thing about four kilometers in diameter, connected to the station by four long walkways, with heavy use of steel grate flooring inside and too many exposed beams clashing with the limited ambient lighting to count. The design was intended to service six colony ships at once, but Elric couldn't imagine that many people wanting to be in this place at once. His shoes clacked against the floor as he entered the station. A marquee sign overhead scrolled various messages--WELCOME TO WAYFARER STATION OUT-SYSTEM SERVICE NEXT DEPARTURES: UNCS DAWN BAY 4 24.9 14.45 NOW BOARDING AERODINE CORP VESPUCCI BAY 2 26.9 11.15 UNCS VOYAGER BAY 2 29.9 12.30.

Bay 4 was a good kilometer walk from here, so he figured that he ought to start at a good jog. The corridor was only sparsely populated, mostly civilians and station maintenance personnel walked the claustrophobic hall. He would usually be able to achieve such a jog with ease, but the fact that his life was now in two duffel bags slowed him down considerably.

BAY 4 NEXT DEPARTURES: UNCS DAWN 24.9 14.45 NOW BOARDING

He saw the sign ahead, but instead dived toward a side door marked BAY 4 CREW PASSAGE. He quickly checked his PDA for his verification code, then punched "432445" into the keypad built into the door. It slid open, revealing a hallway much different from the corridor he had just been in. This one was well lit and styled much like a corridor in an office building. It led to an airlock (with another verification code attached), which fed into the Dawn. An odor of fresh steel and rubber met his nostrils, and he remembered that most ships of this class were brand-new. His shoes made no noise on this floor.

His left pocket vibrated, telling him that the cut-off time for crew arrivals was approaching, and that he ought to be reporting to Lieutenant Hargreave in fifteen minutes. He sent his verification, then checked his location against the ship's schematics. Deck F, Living Quarters, Section C. Good. He didn't have too much farther to go, then. The schematics said that there was a lift at the end of this corridor that could take him down to Deck H.

As the lift doors sealed shut, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Time to start.

IC: Kurt Windsor
The Magellan's Shuttle

Part of being an artist was observation. For some artists, that was the biggest part. Kurt could wait and watch for hours without touching camera or pencil, noting everything about how something moved, how its parts interacted, how it interacted with its environment, waiting for the perfect moment to snap the shutter or the perfect instant to begin a sketch, and if need be, he could wait for it to come again.

Thus, Kurt said nothing, asked no questions, simply watched the Magellan. He studied its nondescript surface, its mooring, the ports, the engines, everything the viewscreen would show him. Unfortunately, it's harder to observe machines because everything important about them was inside their shells. He could stare at the hull all he wanted, and yet glean nothing of its function. That was why he preferred nature, everything was right out in the open, observe long enough, and everything becomes clear, and obvious.

Tag: Saintheart, bring 'er in

IC: Chris Schillinger

20:43 September 27th, 2074 Schillinger Lands, Monana

In the deep blue-black of Montana night, it was possible to see man thousands of stars if there were few clouds. Tonight was such a night, and Christopher Schillinger and his wife Liesl sat out on their porch gazing at the stars. They had been through a lot together, and their love had matured like a good cognac. With their date of departure looming, there was anxiety, however. Liesl was particularly anxious. She had no particular connection to earth: both of her parents were dead, and she was estranged from her extended family because of her views. Most of her friends were going to the Aryan Colony anyway, so there would be no loss there. But she was worried.

She was worried about the usual things. Whether they would find a place, whether they would prosper, whether the boys would have a decent start in life. Especially since there would probably be a stigma attached to the boys because of their beliefs, denying them entry into many universities.

The thought of the boys made her gaze drift out to the barns where the boys were finishing up the night chores. Gerhard was ready to go, but her younger son, Roger, had reservations. He?d voiced these reservations in private with Liesl, not wanting to distress his father. Liesl suspected that Roger did not want to leave because of a girl.

Chris stared up at the stars.

?On nights like this, you can sometimes see the station.? Ice clinked in his glass as he sipped Drambuie.

?In a little while we?ll see it a lot closer.? Chris concluded. The dark had almost completely oscured his features, so Liesl couldn?t make him out any more. Just a silhouette of dark against greater dark.

?Chris, we need to think about what the boys will do when they want to go to college.?

?They?ll go where we can afford to send them.?

?Aren?t you worried about the stigma they?ll be carrying??

?I?m aware of it. But I?ve taught them that never to be ashamed of their heritage. That strong beliefs are guaranteed to elicit strong response. They?re ready.?

Liesl said nothing. She?d long ago learned that arguing with him on matters pertaining to the colony was pointless. He wasn?t about to change his mind on anything. The only ones that could get to him would be the others on the Aryan Council, perhaps. And they were usually like-minded.

The light in the barn went out. Gerhard and Roger were done for the night.

Chris got up and went over to the telescope and looked through, fiddling with the dials.

?I was right. You can see the space station. Look!?

Liesl shook her head: ?No thanks, sweetie. You enjoy.?

?Your loss.? He went back to star gazing.

The telephone rang. Liesl picked it up, listened, said thank you, and hung up.

?That was the UN.? She said.

Chris immediately broke from the telescope and looked at her, wide-eyed with anticipation.

?We?re approved.?

Liesl was suddenly swept up in his arms and received an unexpected kiss.

**stumbles in**

Uhm. . .well. . .

are we still going through with this thing gents?

Yeah. I suddenly got trapped in an avalanche of work and only recently got a respite. I'll have my next post soon, hopefully. We're coming back online.

ok man looking forward to starting this one back up

24 September 2074, 14.20 standard time

In order to gain the speed needed to make the jump to "alternate space' (how original, Elric thought), the Dawn needed to make an orbit of the Earth. Even with its engines blaring, the massive vessel still made a slow fist of it as it picked its way through the upper reaches of Earth's gravitational pull. He watched the wide console closely. Its buttons and displays and readouts blinked in many different colours, tracking the every movements and fluctuations of the reactors.

"I'm seeing some weird fluctuations in the exhaust temperature of Cluster Three," Elric said, eyeing one readout with particular care. A line graph traced itself across the blue background, carving a sharp zigzag in the wake of the spinning digits.

Lieutenant Hargreave leaned in. "Might just be from pulling through the gravity. Keep an eye on it."

"Yes, sir."

The station was far behind now. Dawn picked up speed. The rumbling aft grew louder. His qualms about the temperature put aside, he now eyed another readout, one which kept track of the rate at which the light-drive capacitors were charging. It set off slowly at first, then the little bar began to speed across the scale, currently at fifty-one percent.

"Light-drive capacitors at fifty percent. Jump in forty-five seconds," a voice said over the ship COM.

There was a brief feeling of weightlessness, and the ship continued to gain speed. The temperature readout was getting more sharp spikes. He turned to Lieutenant Hargreave.

"Don't worry about it," he yelled. "Normal fluctuations."

The ship shuddered slightly. The charge reading read ninety-nine, then one hundred percent.

"Entering alternate space in. . .ten. . .nine. . ."

Lieutenant Hargreave grabbed an overhead handle. Elric gripped the edges of the console.

"Eight. . .seven. . .six. . .five. . .four. . .three. . .two. . .one. . ."

"Here we go. . ." he muttered.