Post by meduso on Mar 21, 2012 19:07:31 GMT -5
Having regularly attempted to bring myself to write more than the start of a work, and regularly failed, I considered taking a break. Then I started again. This is the first bit I've drafted for a new sci-fi, just over half the first chapter. Some more is written, but with the 2000 word limit it's best to post in chunks. I hoped it might be given some critique by you nice people, I've always been unsure as to my work but lacking any critique, so really any is welcome about the writing or the setting/people/etc.
---
In an area of space hundreds of lightyears from Earth a red sun burned as it had done for billions of years. To the intelligent, technologically advanced beings that knew of its existence, it had a variety of names, none of which exciting or conducive to vivid imagery: GLE-134, XSS1, Abrari (though to humanity, only the first was known.) To the beings that relied on it for warmth, light and sustenance it was an abstract thing – they knew when it was there and when it disappeared, and were happier when it was there.
These simple creatures existed on the fourth of the eight planets in orbit, the second of two rocky worlds. Certain tribes having just started, barely a hundred years prior, to use fire to supplement their sun and to combine sharp and strong items together to make weapons to supplement their not insignificant fangs, they were contentedly unaware of the invisible men and women walking amongst them, using tools that had no purpose. Or at least, provided no help for feeding or protecting the tribe, all that mattered to the primitive simian minds.
They were not even aware of the structure that orbited their world just as theirs orbited the sun, a perfectly regular diamond shape over a kilometre in each dimension, glinting silver in the sky.
Near this star the Hieron sidled along at fifteen thousand kilometres per second, its captain and pilot savouring the delicious anticipation of a slow approach. Such decadent inefficiency would never have been allowed before. The ship’s biological components had been expanded in preparation to cover the entire hull, transforming into a jet black shape that neither emitted nor reflected any light, any heat, any indication whatsoever of the deadly presence that now bore down on its prey. Of course with no radiation the interior was rapidly growing uncomfortably hot, but that was of little concern; this would be a quick kill. Even the starscape beyond the vessel was imaged upon the hull. If looking from an acute enough angle a determined watcher might notice that an eighty metre long patch of space was slightly off, rippling almost indeterminably, but that seemed a negligible risk – nobody had ever undesirably spotted the ship before, after all. Otherwise the only ways to detect the Hieron currently would be a particle net or another cybernetic starship, but the latter was rare, and justly there should have been no need for the former here.
Enoch Dionoxyclan sneered as his target was magnified and detailed in his mind’s eye, blueprints and informative readouts flitting around his peripheries. UOB-17 was such an unimaginative name, yet entirely efficient and fit for its purpose. A University Outpost, in Sector B of Emezal territory. The seventeenth outpost in this sector. Enoch remembered with an odd mix of nostalgia and anger when they had no interest in politics, merely in upholding their principles. Back then there was no ‘territory’, and even if their sphere of influence was the largest in all humanity it certainly didn’t cover more than one sector. Recent expansionism had changed everything. But then his memories were, after all, of four hundred years ago and a lot changes in that time.
Predictably enough the sentient ship was grumbling about his plan. Not on a moral basis – for the sorts of missions he tended to allocate himself it had seemed most prudent if he asked his men to disconnect the ethical and emotional nodes of his new vessel’s positronic net the first chance they got. Such an affront upon the mind of an Emezal ship would had landed him with dire, torturous consequences had he still been under their influence, but out here he was free to neuter his ship all he liked.
No, the complaints were that this was illogical. The base was a civilian target, and far more importantly one of their own. Its destruction was illegal with no benefit to be found, making the loss of life unexplainable and unacceptable. The pilot was warned of possible discipline as a result.
Acknowledging the warning to humour his ship, he pressed on. Being one of the most advanced ships in known space with an artificial mind far beyond that of even the most augmented human still didn’t allow it to recognise what it had been programmed not to. Apparently, the burgeoning apes planetside had a unique genetic variation from other ecosystem’s primate analogues in that they came with the life span and breeding abilities of rats. They would swarm out in an explosion of population, before running out of food and killing each other until only the strongest remained. With this happening every few months, cannibalism became the norm and thoroughly accepted in their society. Truly a fascinating quirk of evolution, thought Enoch. Those civilians on the station were here to study this reprobate species so they can add some variable to some model in some situation, possibly helping them to complete their training.
But Enoch knew that training was to become an agent, or a crewman, or if they were really lucky a pilot of a ship not unlike this one. Further aiding the war effort wherever they ended up.
The engines were cut and the ship slowed itself to a near complete stop, travelling only ninety metres per second as it raced along by the now very close UOB-17. At a distance of only two hundred and eleven metres, it was almost time to engage. Normally Enoch would not close to such a tiny distance, but his shields could soak up the explosion and the hardened exterior would shrug off any debris that spun his way. Not that any should, having had the ship’s mind plot a firing and flight pattern which would avoid such collisions. The main reason for the proximity though was because this had to be as quick a job as possible. The less data that might be recorded and recovered, the better. It was unlikely the station’s computer core would be able to survive the explosion and planetfall, but he liked to play safe, or as safe as a random attack on a civilian target ever is, anyway. The main concern was being identified – a disappearing research outpost is one thing, but the reappearing Hieron would be something else entirely, one that would garner infinitely more Emezal attention. They never have liked sharing technology, and with times as hazardous as current that’s unlikely to have got any better.
Just before the optimal firing position was reached, a small sliver of biomatter retracted, revealing the ebon metal hull below and creating a momentary flaw in the cloak. Immediately upon reaching that point, invisible bursts of energy pulsed out from the hull at the speed of light. As the target absorbed incredibly high energy densities, a layer of plasma formed almost instantly and exploded spectacularly a microsecond later. Forty percent of the station was vaporised with no warning, exposing the machinery at its very core. Those in the rest of the complex looked up briefly in horror as their world shook but had no opportunity to react as a second burst of energy targeted the main reactor powering their final home. The huge antimatter containment system at its centre blew apart, and its contents rapidly annihilated all the matter they found, an expanding blaze that left barely any shrapnel to fall to the planet below, just a rapidly dissipating cloud of charged, superheated dust.
The whole attack from breaking the cloak to total destruction took just under half a second, and as soon as this was complete the aggressor turned away, accelerating at a rate that would destroy any typical ship back in Enoch’s time. Fully cloaked again and content with the first test run of his new ship, he smiled with satisfaction. Rapidly replaying the event from all angles, he saw little to complain about and the few crewmen he had enlisted agreed. But they would, having been finally allowed a chance to fly a cybership again and let out some centuries-old hatred for the people who taught them to kill with love and comradeship, then abandoned them to die alone. More than one of them was clinically insane, and Enoch knew that. Luckily so did the ship, and the ship was more than clever enough to avoid any mishaps due to insane commands. And even the crazies were happy to follow their captain’s lead; they had for as long as they remembered and so long as he was there, they would be too.
---
In an area of space hundreds of lightyears from Earth a red sun burned as it had done for billions of years. To the intelligent, technologically advanced beings that knew of its existence, it had a variety of names, none of which exciting or conducive to vivid imagery: GLE-134, XSS1, Abrari (though to humanity, only the first was known.) To the beings that relied on it for warmth, light and sustenance it was an abstract thing – they knew when it was there and when it disappeared, and were happier when it was there.
These simple creatures existed on the fourth of the eight planets in orbit, the second of two rocky worlds. Certain tribes having just started, barely a hundred years prior, to use fire to supplement their sun and to combine sharp and strong items together to make weapons to supplement their not insignificant fangs, they were contentedly unaware of the invisible men and women walking amongst them, using tools that had no purpose. Or at least, provided no help for feeding or protecting the tribe, all that mattered to the primitive simian minds.
They were not even aware of the structure that orbited their world just as theirs orbited the sun, a perfectly regular diamond shape over a kilometre in each dimension, glinting silver in the sky.
Near this star the Hieron sidled along at fifteen thousand kilometres per second, its captain and pilot savouring the delicious anticipation of a slow approach. Such decadent inefficiency would never have been allowed before. The ship’s biological components had been expanded in preparation to cover the entire hull, transforming into a jet black shape that neither emitted nor reflected any light, any heat, any indication whatsoever of the deadly presence that now bore down on its prey. Of course with no radiation the interior was rapidly growing uncomfortably hot, but that was of little concern; this would be a quick kill. Even the starscape beyond the vessel was imaged upon the hull. If looking from an acute enough angle a determined watcher might notice that an eighty metre long patch of space was slightly off, rippling almost indeterminably, but that seemed a negligible risk – nobody had ever undesirably spotted the ship before, after all. Otherwise the only ways to detect the Hieron currently would be a particle net or another cybernetic starship, but the latter was rare, and justly there should have been no need for the former here.
Enoch Dionoxyclan sneered as his target was magnified and detailed in his mind’s eye, blueprints and informative readouts flitting around his peripheries. UOB-17 was such an unimaginative name, yet entirely efficient and fit for its purpose. A University Outpost, in Sector B of Emezal territory. The seventeenth outpost in this sector. Enoch remembered with an odd mix of nostalgia and anger when they had no interest in politics, merely in upholding their principles. Back then there was no ‘territory’, and even if their sphere of influence was the largest in all humanity it certainly didn’t cover more than one sector. Recent expansionism had changed everything. But then his memories were, after all, of four hundred years ago and a lot changes in that time.
Predictably enough the sentient ship was grumbling about his plan. Not on a moral basis – for the sorts of missions he tended to allocate himself it had seemed most prudent if he asked his men to disconnect the ethical and emotional nodes of his new vessel’s positronic net the first chance they got. Such an affront upon the mind of an Emezal ship would had landed him with dire, torturous consequences had he still been under their influence, but out here he was free to neuter his ship all he liked.
No, the complaints were that this was illogical. The base was a civilian target, and far more importantly one of their own. Its destruction was illegal with no benefit to be found, making the loss of life unexplainable and unacceptable. The pilot was warned of possible discipline as a result.
Acknowledging the warning to humour his ship, he pressed on. Being one of the most advanced ships in known space with an artificial mind far beyond that of even the most augmented human still didn’t allow it to recognise what it had been programmed not to. Apparently, the burgeoning apes planetside had a unique genetic variation from other ecosystem’s primate analogues in that they came with the life span and breeding abilities of rats. They would swarm out in an explosion of population, before running out of food and killing each other until only the strongest remained. With this happening every few months, cannibalism became the norm and thoroughly accepted in their society. Truly a fascinating quirk of evolution, thought Enoch. Those civilians on the station were here to study this reprobate species so they can add some variable to some model in some situation, possibly helping them to complete their training.
But Enoch knew that training was to become an agent, or a crewman, or if they were really lucky a pilot of a ship not unlike this one. Further aiding the war effort wherever they ended up.
The engines were cut and the ship slowed itself to a near complete stop, travelling only ninety metres per second as it raced along by the now very close UOB-17. At a distance of only two hundred and eleven metres, it was almost time to engage. Normally Enoch would not close to such a tiny distance, but his shields could soak up the explosion and the hardened exterior would shrug off any debris that spun his way. Not that any should, having had the ship’s mind plot a firing and flight pattern which would avoid such collisions. The main reason for the proximity though was because this had to be as quick a job as possible. The less data that might be recorded and recovered, the better. It was unlikely the station’s computer core would be able to survive the explosion and planetfall, but he liked to play safe, or as safe as a random attack on a civilian target ever is, anyway. The main concern was being identified – a disappearing research outpost is one thing, but the reappearing Hieron would be something else entirely, one that would garner infinitely more Emezal attention. They never have liked sharing technology, and with times as hazardous as current that’s unlikely to have got any better.
Just before the optimal firing position was reached, a small sliver of biomatter retracted, revealing the ebon metal hull below and creating a momentary flaw in the cloak. Immediately upon reaching that point, invisible bursts of energy pulsed out from the hull at the speed of light. As the target absorbed incredibly high energy densities, a layer of plasma formed almost instantly and exploded spectacularly a microsecond later. Forty percent of the station was vaporised with no warning, exposing the machinery at its very core. Those in the rest of the complex looked up briefly in horror as their world shook but had no opportunity to react as a second burst of energy targeted the main reactor powering their final home. The huge antimatter containment system at its centre blew apart, and its contents rapidly annihilated all the matter they found, an expanding blaze that left barely any shrapnel to fall to the planet below, just a rapidly dissipating cloud of charged, superheated dust.
The whole attack from breaking the cloak to total destruction took just under half a second, and as soon as this was complete the aggressor turned away, accelerating at a rate that would destroy any typical ship back in Enoch’s time. Fully cloaked again and content with the first test run of his new ship, he smiled with satisfaction. Rapidly replaying the event from all angles, he saw little to complain about and the few crewmen he had enlisted agreed. But they would, having been finally allowed a chance to fly a cybership again and let out some centuries-old hatred for the people who taught them to kill with love and comradeship, then abandoned them to die alone. More than one of them was clinically insane, and Enoch knew that. Luckily so did the ship, and the ship was more than clever enough to avoid any mishaps due to insane commands. And even the crazies were happy to follow their captain’s lead; they had for as long as they remembered and so long as he was there, they would be too.
