Hi everybody,
it is time for another update on the progress of our efforts to translate HelgeK's novella FARNHAMS LEGEND, which is the base to the story line of the X games. The rewrite is done by SteveMill, who does a marvelous job turning our rough diamonds into briliants
Translation progress: COMPLETE
Rewrite progress: ALL DONE (including prologue and epilogue)
Proof reading progress: ALL DONE ONCE, 18 twice, 11 three times, 10 four times.
Next steps: As soon as all has been proof-read at least twice it'll go back to Helge for some amendments and then back to Steve for a second re-write.
So as you can see, we have been busy little ferrets and thanks again to all involved!
Her now chapter 9:
"It is only by risking our persons from one hour to another that we live at all. And often enough our faith beforehand in an uncertified result is the only thing that makes the result come true."
William James,
American philosopher, 1842-1910
Elena sat at the end of the low wooden pier, her knees hugged tight under her chin. Her gaze seemed focused on the subtle interplay of rippling water and the blazing sky of the ruby sun sinking slowly beneath the waves.
In the dark days of the Terraformer War it suffered terrible destruction but a new Milan rose from the few shards of history left standing. Expanding over the centuries to the seas edge, to once again become a pulsating centre of life. As the sun set the workday clamour of the city slowly gave way to the ribald joy of the night. A few loose strands of her pitch-black hair had escaped the confines of her short, untidy plait to wave unnoticed in the gentle breeze.
Elena’s eyes saw nothing, her brain voiced no thoughts in any of her five mastered languages, and her spirit contemplated nothing. It was a meditation technique learned from a Zen Master many years ago and so practiced now that her hunched posture was no impediment.
This was her last evening here and, after a hectic two weeks, it was the first moment she had been able to take from the endless meetings with theoretical mathematicians, physicists and ship designers whilst the X-Committee investigated the jumpdrive from the lost X-Shuttle. But it had all been worth it because the politicians had finally approved a rescue mission and tomorrow the Transit Liner would take her to the SPAARF facility at Lake Eire in Australia.
She and Brennan shared a dangerous profession and with Fate or sheer dumb bad luck lurking in the shadows they both accepted the possibility that either of them could lose their lives in an instant. But from the moment Brennan’s shuttle had been swept from the radar in an energetic storm of gravity waves, leaving only the jumpdrive drifting in space, she had been certain her friend and partner was still alive. It was a feeling she could not shape into words but even before the scientists had begun their autopsy of the recorded data it drove her to fight for a rescue mission and their analysis spurred her on.
The experimental ship had almost certainly fallen through a cleft in the space-time continuum to another part of the galaxy. The question was, where? There seemed to be no easy answers. Jumpgates functioned on the principle of fixed singularities but the jumpdrive generated its own transient singularity, punching a hole through the fabric of space and time. The theory was centuries old but the technology to implement it had only been made possible by the recovery of a damaged Terraformer ship with a prototype jumpdrive, just seven years ago.
The technology was dangerously difficult to control. A few microns misalignment could see the egress point of the jump tunnel shifting focus to the first massive gravitational body along the transit direction – a sun, a neutron star, a black hole or – the fixed singularity of a jumpgate. The recovered jumpdrive confirmed her intuition, yielding enough information to estimate the final destination of Brennan and the X prototype with an eighty percent probability.
A fish broke the water and its arcing jump sprayed tiny, cool droplets on her sunburnt arms, pulling Elena back into the here and now. She watched the ripples fade before rising to her feet and touching each foot in turn, straight-legged, to loosen the kinks from her spine. The stretching exercise felt good after a month out of the gym and she extended the sequence, imagining she could feel the first signs of age gnawing at her fitness and flexibility, despite being only 29. For a moment she entertained the notion to strip off and swim for the sunset, but she had emails to write and calls to make. Instead she resolved to be up an hour early, for a circuit through the waking streets of the city. It wasn’t her preferred form of exercise but there wouldn’t be time for more.
She threw a last look at the crimson sun and went back along the pier to the shore and a city already lighting up for the nightlife. The air was warm and thick with smells that reminded Elena she was hungry. At the end of the promenade an elderly man roasted corncobs on a burnt-black grill.
“You’re new to the city, my chickadee,” he observed, turning a cooking cob with a pair of forks.
“Just half a year,” she responded.
He nodded and was silent as he stoked the fire.
“I’ve been watching you for some time. You’ve been out there for more than an hour.” Elena nodded. She warmed to the old man; he was more than twice her age and reminded her of her grandfather, who had been a formidable spinner of wild and entertaining tales.
“Yes, I was meditating.”
“Hmm,” he turned the cob again. “Milano is the most beautiful place I’ve ever lived, and I’ve lived in many places,” he continued, salting the cob. “But if you feel restless my girl, deep in your heart, even the loveliest place on earth can’t change that." He wrapped the corncob up in a piece of grey paper and offered it to Elena, waving away her money.
“Oh, no, you’ll get it free today, because you have such magnifico eyes! They have seen many things, haven’t they?”
Elena accepted gracefully. There was a surreal magic in the moment that made it difficult for her to just turn around and head back to her quarters and she hesitated. The old man nodded again and looked directly into her eyes. “There is so much life in them it burns me, just a little.” He smiled. “The sun will rise for you always, no matter where, even on the dark side of the moon. And someday you will return, to Milano.”
She had not mentioned her plans, were her intentions written so plainly on her face? She placed a short kiss on the old vendor’s bearded cheek and headed for the nearest Underground station.
As soon as Elena stepped from the sub-orbital shuttle onto the shimmering asphalt of the landing field a dry, uncompromising heat, so different from the temperate warmth of Milan, enveloped her. She wondered how the bird colony, noticeably reduced in size and clamour in the last two weeks, could bear the merciless conditions.
Despite the heat it was a relief to be off the shuttle. She had travelled with Admiral Morrison, a short, stocky man in his mid-fifties who spent the entire flight talking on the phone to the research team, breaking off only occasionally to relay the latest findings. Apart from the incessant chatter the 90-minute flight had been an uneventful climb and dive covering half the world. But as always it left her feeling dislocated, despite the fact that the USC area was temporarily running on Milan time to avoid the complications of jet lag, which Elena could not afford in her current mission.
She strode towards the squat central building, Morrison following as fast as his shorter legs could manage, sweat glistening through his thinning hair.
“If you bring back Brennan as quickly as you walk, we’ll all be celebrating in an Adelaide bar before sunset,” he gasped.
“Sirius B and back in 5 hours, including refuelling Admiral! Speciality of the house.” Like Kyle she kept her sense of humour no matter what the situation, but she tried to keep it under control, aware it wasn’t quite everyone’s cup of tea. The last two weeks had been hard that way, she didn’t want to risk alienating the decision-makers, but Morrison, despite being as dry as a stick and almost totally humourless, was okay. He knew her qualities.
Admiral Molander, the director of SPAARF, and Dr Richard Saltz, the lead astrophysicist, met them at the edge of the security zone. They bore a packed schedule, beginning with a briefing on the latest scientific analyses of the recovered data and concluding with a detailed overview of the modifications made to the Getsu Fune. It left just enough time for another health check before the 11:15 shuttle launch that would take her up to the old ship.
Less than six hours before the jumpdrive powered up. Damned little time to say a proper goodbye to the blue planet, Elena thought. ‘Au revoir’, she corrected herself, not goodbye. She was coming back, together with Brennan.
The time flashed by in a blizzard of briefings and tests.
The Getsu Fune had been the jumpdrive prototype test-bed and every cubic metre of the huge cargo bay filled with instrumentation. Even life support had been removed to squeeze in a few more monitoring devices. Engineers had ripped it all out and retrofitted a new life-support system in just 12 days. They had even reinstalled the original computer. It was 130 years old with speech and AI to match but it would take days and weeks they did not have to adapt a contemporary device.
Elena swallowed her unease and focused on the positive. The science team were now reasonably confident they knew where Brennan and the X-Shuttle ended up and estimated a 91% probability they could place the Getsu Fune in the same area. She liked those odds and she liked the fact that even if unanticipated quantum variations threw her off course she’d be able to return to Earth, although it might take several small jumps. They had Brennan’s accident to thank for that; the data it provided enabled them to calculate jump points with vastly increased precision. Every dark cloud, she thought cynically as she listened to Saltz’s excited briefing.
The final health check gave her all A’s across the mental and physical board.
Unlike the X-Shuttle, the Getsu Fune lacked atmospheric capabilities. It could make a forced landing but lacked the power to escape a deep gravity. T Minus Two hours found Elena wearing a light pressure suit marked with the USC emblem, riding a ground skimmer heading for the orbital transport that would take her up to her ride. Both admirals had insisted on accompanying her.
“Elena,” Molander interrupted her reverie, “I sub-divide humanity into two categories you know.” He paused for effect. Molander had a murderously comical talent for the English language and Elena hid a smile of anticipation.
“Namely there is the first category, who frustrated put away their credit card and mumbling go their way if their chocolate bar gets stuck halfway inside the vending machine. The second category slips the card again into the device and orders the same chocolate bar for a second time. Usually two pieces come out then; the first one which was jammed, plus the second one that had been ordered.”
“Not always!” Morrison interjected.
“And then there is the third category,” Elena laughed. “Those who don’t like chocolate bars at all!”
Molander looked perplexed. “My point still stands...” Elena shook her head and hid her smile in the window as she watched the brightly illuminated launch pad grow in the pitch-black Australian night. It reminded her of the first gigantic lunar rockets from the previous millennium, but on a smaller scale.
Molander’s point certainly stood, no matter how garbled. Not everyone was happy with the enormous expense of the rescue mission. Only complete success would silence the critics, and she thought cynically, wipe all memory of doubts from their heads. The politicians would then claim the success for themselves but Elena didn’t care about that, she counted herself among the second of the Admiral’s categories. Even if the missing pilot had not been her best friend or if the odds were less favourable, she would still have volunteered without hesitating.
The skimmer hissed to a stop with a gentle twitch.
Orbital feeder launches were routine these days, with only 3 real incidents in the last century, and almost completely automated so only a single white uniformed technician was present to run the pre-flight checks.
“Mata né, Major,” Molander said, shaking Elena’s hand. “We’ll meet again.”
“No question Sir,” she answered.
Morrison shook her hand and wished her good luck.
“Thanks Admiral, your team has worked miracles against the clock so I’m hoping a little bit of luck here or there won’t make any difference!”
“Let’s hope so … er … you know what I mean. We’re counting on you.”
A lifting platform, caged in by wire netting, whisked her up the ten metres or so to the airlock. Molander held her gaze for a moment, waved and then joined Morrison in the skimmer.
The ascent to orbit was uneventful and the feeder shuttle intercepted the Getsu Fune scarcely twenty-five minutes after launch. The old ship had clearly been designed as a transport vessel, looking like a pencil eraser with its bulky body, downward bevelled nose housing the cockpit and upward bevelled tail mounting the drive and attitude jets. Unlike the X-Shuttle the singularity drive was installed in the capacious cargo bay and so could not be ejected in an emergency.
The ‘moon ship,’ as its more poetic Japanese name translates, had been in space for over a century and time had left its mark on the faded white hull. Micrometeorite impacts scarred the ablative layer and larger dents suggested more serious collisions while its shields were down. Only the USC’s Vitruvian Man emblem, emblazoned on both sides of the hull, shone new, like wet paint. The Jupiter B series had been designed for an unlimited lifetime though, and could stand a few scrapes and dents so Elena wasn’t concerned. As they docked the two vessels plunged into the black of the Earth’s shadow.
There were still half a dozen technicians aboard; running tests right up to the last moment, knowing as Elena did that any further failure could end the program. They left on the feeder shuttle while Elena ran through the final launch checks.
“Computer, what is your name?” Maybe AI’s didn’t have emotions, as most experts believed, but given the power they had it had become pilot practice to treat them as politely as they would another person.
“This unit does not possess a designation,” it responded in a voice that lacked the rich modulation of modern models.
“Then I’ll call you Marc.” The computer did not respond.
“Marc, what Logic Level are you?”
“1.6.” Short, but at least it confirmed acceptance of the new name. That logic level was comparable to a human IQ. The best modern variants scored between 4 and 6. According to historians the original Terraformer fleet had come in at 0.7 or 0.8. Humanity had learned from the Terraformer mistake and Artificial Intelligences now had extensive safety protocols that so far had prevented any more serious incidents.
Milan Mission Control started the countdown at 11:09 p.m. Central European Time. Marc activated the pre-jump sequence, re-orientated the ship with the attitude jets and activated the main drive. Unlike the X-Shuttle the Getsu Fune had an ion drive and, although it was energy efficient, acceleration was low.
“T minus four”, Marc reported, “All systems go, no problems encountered.” Elena scanned the instruments and called confirmation. She could feel the change in pitch of the singularity engine in the vibrating hum of the hull plating.
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep our finger on the Abort button up to the last moment,” the Milan Controller said. “T minus three.”
At T minus two the vibrations soared to a roaring pitch but she could feel a slight irregularity in the beat as the ship gently shook like a comfortable car driving over a gravel drive with the occasional pothole.
“Don’t get too trigger happy on the Abort,” Elena cautioned. “I’m good to go.”
Electric blue tongues of energy lapped around the broad expanse of the cockpit windows and began to rotate faster and faster until they formed a dazzling, flashing vortex. The cockpit glass darkened in response and Elena could barely hear the countdown over the rising static storm. Her instruments still registered green across the board but Elena knew that Brennan’s problems had begun during the “hot” phase, just 30 seconds before jump initialisation.
The countdown continued on the main display panel, in large red digits.
33, 32, 31, 30, 29 – an abort was impossible now.
It began like fear in the pit of her stomach and slowly extended to her extremities and her sense of balance, making her feel a little drunk. The heavy gravity of the singularity containment field continued to play havoc with the curvature of local space and she gritted her teeth against the rising nausea. By T minus five seconds the vortex had interweaved and deepened into a tight, glistening blue tunnel, spinning around its own centre at an accelerating rate.
Above the static howl she could hear the Getsu Fune groan in protest against the greatest of tests of its structural integrity. Sweat trickled into her right eye and, no longer insouciant in the face of the enormity of her mission, she willed her racing pulse to slow.
T minus one second.
Jump!
Silence fell like an abrupt blow and the only sound she could hear was her own gasping breath. No vibrations, no static and no electrical glow remained. The cockpit transparency increased slowly to display stars like tiny blue gems shining against the black of space. The nausea remained but Elena dismissed it as an adrenaline side effect rather than a space-time distortion.
Nothing had happened, she thought, the drive had failed, despite the impossibility of aborting the final stage of the jump sequence. Not even a total power failure could do that.
No! It must have worked! It had to.
“Marc, try and get a fix on our position,” she said, as breathless as if she’d broken the 800 metres track record and angry at her inability to bend her body’s autonomic system to her will.
“Working,” the onboard computer answered.
They’d gambled and either won or lost and there was nothing she could do about it now but wait for the computer’s verdict. Half a minute went by and with each second her hopes rose. Marc would have identified familiar star patterns instantly, if he was still busy with the problem…. She ate an over-salted nutrient bar for food therapy!
She realised she was on her own whatever Marc found. The mission started now and she better be prepared for the unexpected. Brennan could be light-days, even light weeks from the transit point. The volume of space she’d have to search was, and she forgave herself the pun, astronomical. She would spend a day searching the immediate locale. After that she’d wing it.
Elena activated the gravidar and immediately switched it off and counted to five before reactivating it.
“Marc, is there something wrong with the scanner?”
The display flickered for a split second before Marc answered in his usual tone of bored indifference.
“Gravidar self-diagnostics negative on malfunctions.”
Elena leant forward and frowned.
“That’s quite... quite interesting!” she murmured.
The scanner showed dozens, hundreds of beyond visual range contacts with masses that indicated small to medium sized craft. And they were moving. A handful of contacts were huge and stationary. Space Stations?
For centuries humanity had so feared attracting hostile attention that it hadn’t dared poke its nose beyond the ancestral system and now it appeared she had stepped right into a wasp’s nest. Extraterrestrials or descendants of human colonists, friendly or hostile? For a few seconds she considered attempting to return immediately to Earth to warn the World Government of her discovery, which in the grand scheme of things weighed more than a single human life, even Kyle’s. If something happened to her those ‘blips’ could be bombarding her home planet tomorrow.
But that was a ‘worst-case-scenario,’ the worst imaginable and Brennan was her friend, the best she’d ever had.
Major Elena Kho, also known as Lin to her friends, did not have a reputation for either ignoring or creatively reinterpreting direct orders and normally she would have tried to act according to her best sense of her superior’s intentions. The possibility of contact with alien life or artefacts, even human descendants, had been discussed in the briefings and she clearly remembered the words of Admiral Molander:
“In the event of contact we recommend an immediate return to Earth. Even human colonists should be considered extra-terrestrials after all this time. But if a direct threat to the planet can be excluded, I’ll leave things to your discretion.”
Could a direct threat be ruled out? No, certainly not at this moment. Elena decided to reduce the scheduled one-day local search to two hours. After that she would decide whether to return directly to earth or to continue her rescue operation. With a little luck her gravidar had a greater range than the alien detection devices and she’d remain un-noticed in the swarm of ships.
She began to manually shut down inessential systems to reduce her ship’s EM profile.
“Marc, are you detecting any communication signals? If so, how many and at what distance?”
This time the onboard computer answered promptly.
“There are 117 distinguishable carrier signals and an unknown number that can’t be separated. There are an additional four stationary transmitter stations of considerable power, the closest of which is 2.2 light-minutes distant.”
It was the longest coherent sentence she’d heard from Marc so far, but it didn’t register, the content quite outshining the form.
“Exact position and nature of that signal,” she demanded.
“Audio, video and multi-channel transmission. Position on the display.”
The gravidar zoomed in to display a 3D chart centred on the Getsu Fune with a triangulated point identifying the transmission source location. Marc overlaid the visual scanner view, still showing nothing but stars.
“Marc, can you make anything of all these signals you’re receiving?”
“Make anything? In what way? Please specify.”
A logic level of 1.6, Elena reminded herself.
“Can you make them visible and audible? How are they broadcast?”
“Positively. The signals are broadcast in a variation of a protocol that was made obsolete 241 years ago.”
“And you’re able to understand it?”
“Positively. This unit is able to understand the protocol in question.”
Did that sound a little bit proud? Well, he’d earned it. Elena was beginning to appreciate the ‘outdated’ computer. She liked Marc’s short, precise manner and the fact he answered the question without burdening her with extra information or opinions like a modern AI would.
“Let me see the closest transmission we’re receiving.”
A window opened in the gravidar display, picturing a pale green, two-dimensional oval laid on a slightly darker green background divided up into small, six-cornered scales. Written in large ochre tinged letters that shimmered like glittering stars was:
WJASL ITZAK SHOSH
The standard Earth alphabet! Elena, still doubting her own eyes, listened to the audio component of the transmission. It was a synthetic voice, which fizzed with static but the classical Japanese came through clear.
“Attention, unknown Goner space ship! We cordially welcome your presence in the approach corridor of space station High Finance. Please do not deviate from your flight path and await personal instructions from one of our space traffic controllers. Please confirm.”
“Do they mean us?”
As the computer didn’t answer, she rephrased the question Marc-like.
“Marc, is this transmission targeted at us?”
“Positively. The data channel indicates that a ship at our position is the addressee.”
According to the gravidar there wasn’t any other ship quite near the Getsu Fune. If what Marc said was true the signal really was targeted at them! But what the hell was a ‘Goner space ship’ and why did they take the old Earth vessel for one?
Elena sharpened the visual scanner display and a dark silhouette appeared at a great distance.
Four minutes later the green oval with the senseless writing disappeared from the display, making room for something different.
And this ‘something different’ moved and looked at Elena with glowing red eyes!
“Aolekosis Kissandras Minosos I is speaking, space traffic control. Though we doubt that we will be able to do good business with you, Goner, we still welcome you. Exact approach corridor and docking bay are being transmitted. Nice daynight indeed. Rajá.”
FARNHAMS LEGEND: Status update and chapter 9 - 8 Nov 2004
Moderators: TheElf, Moderators for English X Forum
