Eternity RPC Board
03-01-2017, 01:02 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-01-2017, 01:05 AM by Jamzor the Jaxxor.)
UNS Horizon
Near Eris
January 9, 2350
“Captain on deck!”
John Welch, executive officer, took up a position beside the captain, Commander Manuel Pereira, after he entered the UNS Horizon’s conference room. The Chief Operations Officer, Lieutenant Christopher Pike, stood on the other side of the captain. These three were the senior-most officers on board. Before them stood the ship’s twenty-four crew members. The marines, headed by Major Anna DePuis stood at rigid attention on one side of the room. They were all armed with M-99 rifles. The M-99 could be loaded with a variety of ammunitions depending on the situation. Less lethal options included tangler and stun rounds. Subsonic ammunition, if lethal ammunition must be utilized, was preferred when aboard ship, as it both reduced the chances of over-penetration and permanently deafening crew members. When dealing with unarmored foes aboard ship, however, the marines would usually utilize needlers—weapons which shot deadly slivers of ice at a high rate of fire. Next there were the engineers, headed by 2nd Lieutenant Devin Belkos. The scientists, headed by 2nd Lieutenant Victor Richards, were by far the most neglectful in their military stance, worse even than the notoriously-lax medical crew.
After several seconds, Captain Pereira finally said, “At ease.” Everyone relaxed their stance. The captain had been the newest addition to the crew. The UNS Horizon had been operating under the command of the XO for about three weeks. It would appear that the Security Council was having trouble deciding who to give the slot to. In the end, they decided to make a safe choice. Pereira was a skilled commanding officer, and well established in the military hierarchy. He was formerly the CO of the destroyer UNS Mesquite. Like both Welch and Pike, he saw action in the Yegorov Crisis. He served with honor and was on duty in the Uranus System when he was suddenly directed to Pluto, then to Eris. He was not prone to rash decisions and has gotten along swimmingly with his superiors. He was known as a level-headed man loyal to the United Nations first and foremost, a desirable quality in a Solar System where human unity was plagued by fierce sectionalism.
“Gentlemen,” Pereira began in a distinctly Brazilian accent, “as you know, we were accelerating towards LP-1 for the past several hours and are now moving on velocity alone at what has been designated ‘transition speed.’” LP-1 was the military designation given to the Laumer Point near Eris. “Tomorrow, we will reach LP-1 and, if the equipment provided us works as promised, we will ‘jump’ to the Alpha Centauri System near Proxima Centauri. Then we will proceed with our mission directives to explore the system and obtain as much data as possible. Possibly habitable planets will be a priority, and, in fact, we will be investigating the planet designated as ‘Proxima Centauri b’ as one of our first targets. Are there any questions?” The scientists and a couple of the crewmembers exchanged looks. The exoplanet known as Proxima Centauri b, discovered over 300 years ago, has been the focus of much speculation concerning its potential habitability. No one had any questions.
“I expect the very best from all of you. This is the maiden voyage of humanity into the stars with its first starship. If we do this right, and I know we will, the names of the UNS Horizon and her crew will go down in the history books, like the Santa María, Pinta, and Niña. You must have faith in yourselves as I have in you. Make the Space Navy proud.” With that, Pereira left the room.
“Dis-missed!” Welch said, and with that everyone filed out of the room.
UNS Horizon
LP-1
January 10, 2350
“T-minus ten minutes,” the helmsman said into the tiny command chamber. There were four people at their stations on the bridge, Pereira, Welch, Pike, and the helmsman. The drive took up so much space on the ship that almost everything else had to be downsized. The captain, XO, and chief operations officer were all trained for all of the stations that one would usually find on a war vessel, except that many of the roles of these stations were condensed to allow for the smaller crew. Despite its small size, the Horizon was built with the latest technology, including weapons. It was armed with standard-issue beam weapons, as well as an experimental mark IV particle beam, point defense cannons, and a variety of missiles.
Welch had butterflies in his stomach and felt very nervous, though he tried his best to not show it. This wait was almost unbearable.
“T-minus five minutes.”
Would they all be blasted into smithereens? Would they be vaporized and their molecules spread over several light years? Would they simply cease to exist?
“T-minus one minute,” the helmsman said, his voice cracking.
Welch looked over at the stoic Captain Pereira. Outwardly he looked completely in control, except for a single bead of sweat making its way down the side of his face.
“T-minutes ten seconds.” This time the helmsman managed to keep his voice under control as he counted down from ten. “...three, two, one. Transition.”
Suddenly, Welch could no longer see anything. There was nothing but blackness. Then, he could see the bridge again, except it was heavily distorted and stretched. Then there was a brilliant flash of light, which seemed as if it had blinded him because the blackness returned. Then, the bridge reappeared. The entire experience felt like it lasted an hour, but later he would determine that it could have lasted no more than a few seconds. Welch’s head pounded and he felt nauseous. He knew that if he tried to stand up right then, he would stumble and fall. After about a minute, he could concentrate through the pain and nausea enough to start operating his station. After several minutes, the headache and nausea almost completely disappeared.
“Verify location,” Pereira said after about a minute with a croaky voice. “Where are we?”
“Alpha Centauri, surely?” Welch said as he checked his instruments. The computer was still calculating their location. “Stand by.” Mankind had never stepped foot outside the Solar System, so the computer technology to calculate the ship’s location worked in theory, but had only ever been tested on the original probes sent to Alpha Centauri. After about 30 seconds, Welch began wondering if there was a malfunction. It shouldn’t take this long to determine they were in the Alpha Centauri System. It was less than 5 light years from Sol. Finally, the computer beeped and displayed their approximate location. Welch blanched.
“XO, report,” Pereira said.
Welch coughed. “Yes, sir. We are approximately 182 light years from Sol.”
There was a moment of complete silence on the bridge. “What? Recalculate, that can’t be right.” After recalculating, Welch reported that the computer came back with the same result. They were 182.1 light years from Sol. “Establish comms with Sol,” the captain ordered.
Pike, who was in charge of communications, sent a signal back through the Laumer Point. After several minutes, Pike said, “We should have received a response by now, sir. There is no response.”
“Try again,” Pereira ordered. Several minutes later, Pike reported the same.
“So,” Welch said, “we are not where we are supposed to be and we cannot establish comms with Sol.” Welch turned in his seat to face the captain. “Sir, it seems—”
“We are stranded,” the captain finished.
Near Eris
January 9, 2350
“Captain on deck!”
John Welch, executive officer, took up a position beside the captain, Commander Manuel Pereira, after he entered the UNS Horizon’s conference room. The Chief Operations Officer, Lieutenant Christopher Pike, stood on the other side of the captain. These three were the senior-most officers on board. Before them stood the ship’s twenty-four crew members. The marines, headed by Major Anna DePuis stood at rigid attention on one side of the room. They were all armed with M-99 rifles. The M-99 could be loaded with a variety of ammunitions depending on the situation. Less lethal options included tangler and stun rounds. Subsonic ammunition, if lethal ammunition must be utilized, was preferred when aboard ship, as it both reduced the chances of over-penetration and permanently deafening crew members. When dealing with unarmored foes aboard ship, however, the marines would usually utilize needlers—weapons which shot deadly slivers of ice at a high rate of fire. Next there were the engineers, headed by 2nd Lieutenant Devin Belkos. The scientists, headed by 2nd Lieutenant Victor Richards, were by far the most neglectful in their military stance, worse even than the notoriously-lax medical crew.
After several seconds, Captain Pereira finally said, “At ease.” Everyone relaxed their stance. The captain had been the newest addition to the crew. The UNS Horizon had been operating under the command of the XO for about three weeks. It would appear that the Security Council was having trouble deciding who to give the slot to. In the end, they decided to make a safe choice. Pereira was a skilled commanding officer, and well established in the military hierarchy. He was formerly the CO of the destroyer UNS Mesquite. Like both Welch and Pike, he saw action in the Yegorov Crisis. He served with honor and was on duty in the Uranus System when he was suddenly directed to Pluto, then to Eris. He was not prone to rash decisions and has gotten along swimmingly with his superiors. He was known as a level-headed man loyal to the United Nations first and foremost, a desirable quality in a Solar System where human unity was plagued by fierce sectionalism.
“Gentlemen,” Pereira began in a distinctly Brazilian accent, “as you know, we were accelerating towards LP-1 for the past several hours and are now moving on velocity alone at what has been designated ‘transition speed.’” LP-1 was the military designation given to the Laumer Point near Eris. “Tomorrow, we will reach LP-1 and, if the equipment provided us works as promised, we will ‘jump’ to the Alpha Centauri System near Proxima Centauri. Then we will proceed with our mission directives to explore the system and obtain as much data as possible. Possibly habitable planets will be a priority, and, in fact, we will be investigating the planet designated as ‘Proxima Centauri b’ as one of our first targets. Are there any questions?” The scientists and a couple of the crewmembers exchanged looks. The exoplanet known as Proxima Centauri b, discovered over 300 years ago, has been the focus of much speculation concerning its potential habitability. No one had any questions.
“I expect the very best from all of you. This is the maiden voyage of humanity into the stars with its first starship. If we do this right, and I know we will, the names of the UNS Horizon and her crew will go down in the history books, like the Santa María, Pinta, and Niña. You must have faith in yourselves as I have in you. Make the Space Navy proud.” With that, Pereira left the room.
“Dis-missed!” Welch said, and with that everyone filed out of the room.
UNS Horizon
LP-1
January 10, 2350
“T-minus ten minutes,” the helmsman said into the tiny command chamber. There were four people at their stations on the bridge, Pereira, Welch, Pike, and the helmsman. The drive took up so much space on the ship that almost everything else had to be downsized. The captain, XO, and chief operations officer were all trained for all of the stations that one would usually find on a war vessel, except that many of the roles of these stations were condensed to allow for the smaller crew. Despite its small size, the Horizon was built with the latest technology, including weapons. It was armed with standard-issue beam weapons, as well as an experimental mark IV particle beam, point defense cannons, and a variety of missiles.
Welch had butterflies in his stomach and felt very nervous, though he tried his best to not show it. This wait was almost unbearable.
“T-minus five minutes.”
Would they all be blasted into smithereens? Would they be vaporized and their molecules spread over several light years? Would they simply cease to exist?
“T-minus one minute,” the helmsman said, his voice cracking.
Welch looked over at the stoic Captain Pereira. Outwardly he looked completely in control, except for a single bead of sweat making its way down the side of his face.
“T-minutes ten seconds.” This time the helmsman managed to keep his voice under control as he counted down from ten. “...three, two, one. Transition.”
Suddenly, Welch could no longer see anything. There was nothing but blackness. Then, he could see the bridge again, except it was heavily distorted and stretched. Then there was a brilliant flash of light, which seemed as if it had blinded him because the blackness returned. Then, the bridge reappeared. The entire experience felt like it lasted an hour, but later he would determine that it could have lasted no more than a few seconds. Welch’s head pounded and he felt nauseous. He knew that if he tried to stand up right then, he would stumble and fall. After about a minute, he could concentrate through the pain and nausea enough to start operating his station. After several minutes, the headache and nausea almost completely disappeared.
“Verify location,” Pereira said after about a minute with a croaky voice. “Where are we?”
“Alpha Centauri, surely?” Welch said as he checked his instruments. The computer was still calculating their location. “Stand by.” Mankind had never stepped foot outside the Solar System, so the computer technology to calculate the ship’s location worked in theory, but had only ever been tested on the original probes sent to Alpha Centauri. After about 30 seconds, Welch began wondering if there was a malfunction. It shouldn’t take this long to determine they were in the Alpha Centauri System. It was less than 5 light years from Sol. Finally, the computer beeped and displayed their approximate location. Welch blanched.
“XO, report,” Pereira said.
Welch coughed. “Yes, sir. We are approximately 182 light years from Sol.”
There was a moment of complete silence on the bridge. “What? Recalculate, that can’t be right.” After recalculating, Welch reported that the computer came back with the same result. They were 182.1 light years from Sol. “Establish comms with Sol,” the captain ordered.
Pike, who was in charge of communications, sent a signal back through the Laumer Point. After several minutes, Pike said, “We should have received a response by now, sir. There is no response.”
“Try again,” Pereira ordered. Several minutes later, Pike reported the same.
“So,” Welch said, “we are not where we are supposed to be and we cannot establish comms with Sol.” Welch turned in his seat to face the captain. “Sir, it seems—”
“We are stranded,” the captain finished.