Prequel: 'Chaparral'
viewtopic.php?t=255
Snippet: 'City-Class' star-ships...
viewtopic.php?t=1185
== City of Fresno #01
My name is Jeff 'Jake' Kinson. I was a professional Field Geologist / Mineralogist, my specialty 'rocky moons'. I wrote a lot of technical reports. I was also an active Amateur Observational Astronomer. I tried to 'stay current', used my hand-span 'smart' reflector when I could, gave talks, even wrote 'papers'. Hence this document...
Two years into my contract's five in the eerie 'Libration Lands' of 'Redstone', Chaparral System's face-locked mini-Mercury, news broke of neighbouring Ember System's impending Nova. Next thing, I'm urgently surveying and triaging Chaparral's Tepui uplands for their suitability to house deep shelters.
At first, Chaparral's few astrophysicists reckoned two hundred metres of 'good' rock would suffice. Then they re-worked the math, said two-fifty, three hundred, um, perhaps three-fifty ? Yes, it was me who pointed out that these carbonate Tepuis were a 'low density' Coraline rock, like Florida or the Bahamas, rather than tough chalk or limestone. That's how our 'five hundred metre' threshold arose, spawning a lot of grief. This strict requirement excluded small Tepuis, and any with unfortunate fractures or deep sink-holes. Also, as we'd many less drill-rigs and crew-hours than candidates, there were other, oft-grim considerations.
One group of near-Equatorial Tepuis lost 'possible' after 'possible', came down to a singleton with excellent geology. Sadly, this site lay far, far from any other. Not a problem when you could put air-car, -bus or -truck on auto-pilot, chill out for the rest of the day. Different matter if you had to complete run before that Nova rose as Chaparral turned. Sure, a flyer's Field Poles provide a lot of shielding, but there were limits. Augmenting protection with a lead-loaded helmet, tabard and cojones was a last resort.
So, that entire group had to be abandoned, evacuated. The residents were not amused. As they'd been 'early', long-established settlers, I even got threats...
For month after hectic month, I studied geo-phys scans and pilot-bore samples. I helped train and coach weary shifts of volunteers and residents to keep their 'Tunnel Boring Machines' running at the sustainable limit. My beloved partner, Anne-Marie McKensie, Agronomist, switched from cultivating exotics and promoting vertical orchards for fun and profit to upgrading the locals' 'basic' hydroponics. She taught and helped implement the subtle arcana of 'Long Term' sustainability. Even star-ships' superb systems must routinely 'top up' recycling losses with a spoon of this and a pinch of that. Here, 'Deep Time' had leached too many trace elements from the Tepuis. Though most are toxic in quantity, we still need a few parts in a million or millions of a remarkable range to make our enzymes and hormones work. Likewise, some elements such as Arsenic, Lead, Cadmium and Mercury are utterly unwelcome as they persist, accumulate.
Between us, we figured where Chaparral's essential trace elements must have gone. We convinced Chaparral's Council to let us core-drill several of the deepest salt marshes. And, yes, some dozen metres down, we found soggy salt strata with the needful. A few busy days with 'Rock Grubbers' built a bund, bailed the enclosure, cleared over-burden, filled IBCs. Each such tonne would top-up a deep shelter's systems for several years. Each shelter was allocated a dozen, to be sure, to be sure. That prompted another wave of emigration...
Those hectic shelter excavations went well enough that the last residents moved in six weeks before the Nova's blast-front was due. Most would be living in cramped barracks beside building sites and hydroponic 'farms' for several years while laterals were dug and 'fitting out' continued, but at least they were safe.
The evac timing, though, was really, really tight. Us 'Last Train' technical folk were a week from becoming reluctant residents when 'City of Fresno' belatedly arrived in-system. We did our 'hand-overs', joined the frantic scramble to strip 'spare' Evac pods, then boarded ours. It would be the last lifted from that zone. As 'Essential Tech Specialists', Anne-Marie and I qualified for much bigger luggage allowances than a basic 'go-bag'. Even so, the quantity would depend on how many 'Stayers' suddenly switched to 'Goers'. Although two extended families arrived with but minutes to spare, there was still ample mass-haul for all Anne-Marie's instruments and precious cultivars, my crated exo-suit, tools and 'scope.
'City of Tulsa' had hauled away the last sections of Chaparral's modular space-station and the Neptunians' gas-mining stations. Now, shuttles docked directly to 'Fresno' then, if small, mostly returned to the surface for storage in waiting adits. The rest, and those bigger, moved to cargo bays. Both Rock Tugs, with the last five evac pods apiece, including ours, sat in orbit for scary hours before docking them. With the last clamp secure on every pod and tug, 'Fresno' broke orbit, headed directly away from now-white-flaring Ember's approaching shock-front. On that side of the system, it was already puffing Kuiper Belt objects to mega-comets.
I don't think any 'City-Class' star-ship had carried five thousand people before. Officially, it was four-nine-something-something plus the skeleton crew. Took almost a day for all our docked evac pods to 'lock through', filter now-weary passengers into the two saddle-tank 'spin-drums'. The last of us got to our cabins barely four hours before 'Fresno' approached the Chaparral system g-well's usual 'Overdrive' limit.
Berthing was not the usual 'Basic / Crew', 'Premium' or 'Luxury' suites, but sorta 'troop-ship'. Seems the cautious gurus at 'Floater Industries' had held these custom 'spin-drums' in reserve for many years. Half the 100 metre diameter of a 'City Class' drum, they matched the 50 metres of a standard 'City Tank' or our Evac pods. From which, deducting outer guard-shell, safety gap and the rotating drum's shell, left but 45 metre diameter at our berthing deck level. Its three RPM gave both too little apparent gravity and too much 'whirl' for comfort. Many evacuees would be taking 'space-sickness' pills until inner ears adjusted and they gained their 'spin legs'...
Instead of 'The Usual', each compact cabin held two three-tier bunks. Each mattress base-frame could be hinged up/down by five degree increments to suit orbit or the ship's routine ¼ g boost/brake. They could even be latched back against the bare bulkheads. What we'd thought were spare safety nets for the bunks were hammocks, meant either as a relief from too-firm bunks or, hung diagonally across the aisle, three extra places. Above a fold-out table on the back wall, there were power points, a fair-sized 'smart' wall-screen and data ports for intra-net access. We'd a neat double wash-stand to left of the door, a tiny toilet cubicle to the right. Alternate cabins were mirrored for easier plumbing access.
The stewards had taken four of our six bunk mattresses to help accommodate the family group in the next cabin. Nine-strong, very belated 'Goers', they'd flatly refused to be split, even for what could be a six to eight week run. Their 'Mater' had moaned, whined and grumbled endlessly during our tedious wait in the evac pod. She'd even refused to let her group descend from the hub in separate elevator trips, they'd all had to file down the stairs. Families !! Still, it let Anne-Marie and I latch back all our three beds on one side, the middle tier of other, stow and secure our castored flight-crates, have a couch to sit, crates as table-tops. Though those crates retained their considerable mass, complicated by the drum's 'whirl' and Fresno's ¼ g boost, the reduced 'gravity' meant we'd needed scant help getting them to our cabin nearest this drum-end's third 'spoke' elevator.
My beloved partner's Agronomy cultivars and instruments were precious, precious, precious but, trust me, you did not want any of my crated 'McGyver 29/03' exo-suit components doing a 'Loose Cannon'. For one thing, 'Big Mac' is the civilian version of the basic 'Aerospace Marine' exo-rig. Yes, that one. Officially 'Mostly Harmless', 'Big Mac' had instruments, tools and sample stowage instead of ordnance, but similar interfaces, endurance, armour ratings and targetting software. Marines faced hostiles, I faced hostile geology. We both needed protection from radiation, micro-meteorites, blast fragments and such. Though my mineral analysis laser was no more dangerous than my anchor-bolts' 'gun', I could also use it to range, map, 'designate' and 'command'...
By unfortunate happenstance, our noisome nine-strong neighbours were from that Equatorial group of Tepuis I'd reluctantly condemned. Hyper-matriarchal, their 'Mater' could not accept demotion to settle with kin --Think rival lion prides !!-- so had to ship out, taking only her Deputy and the seven most 'bonded' adult males.
We'd kept to ourselves on the evac pod, so the first I knew of their simmering resentment was a pounding on our cabin door. Anne-Marie opened it to a sea of glowering faces. Then, their eyes widened with shock. Yes, there was limber Anne-Marie who, incidentally, held a Black Belt in Aikido. Yes, there was jockey-small me, forty kilos wet. Happens I was sat astride the shoulders of 'Big Mac's partly un-crated upper torso with a scary cordless multi-tool, briskly buffing a possible spot of tarnish from the neck seal. My Exo is not '♫Nine Feet High, ♫Six Feet Wide, ♫Tough As A Carbide Drill' per the Marines' fully-rigged version, but...
Our visitors sorta stuttered apologies, fled...
Anne-Marie silently watched their rout before turning to me, asking, "What was that about ?"
"Rump of a sub-clan my survey evicted from--"
"Ah !" She nodded, having rapidly figured the rest. "Families !!"
She'd just about stopped giggling when I finished my TLC and closed up ahead of the scheduled 'Turbulence' drill. We dived into the lower bunk, snugged the safety net, cuddled. For too many hectic months, our paths had rarely crossed for more than a few precious hours at a time. With luck, we'd now get five or six weeks of 'R&R', almost a 'Second Honeymoon'.
We'd made many friends on Chaparral, even considered 'buying in' to a Northern settlement for a decade, but Ember's impending Nova put paid to that.
Drill complete, we went 120º around the drum to this end's 'Facilities', ready to tackle the first of many basic, 3D-printed meals. Beyond the Auto-Diner, we glimpsed a 'First Aid' station, a 'Community' area and a 'Laundrette', both of the latter closed. The Diner's menu was sadly limited. Anne-Marie glumly studied these victuals' few options. Clearly, she was wondering if our journey would be long enough for Fresno's limited hydroponics to grow a better range of condiment ingredients and garnish. I was just glad of a plate-meal, as I could only load 'Big Mac' with nutritious 'Smoothies'. Across the room, that 'Mater' was stridently criticising the food, while helping herself to her minions' plates.
Then, back to our cabin. After double-checks that everything was secure, to be sure, to be sure, we took turns in the tiny en-suite. I heard thumps and bangs as Anne-Marie explored the scant 'elbow room', allowed myself a small smile. At least it was a cubicle. Much like a Spacer's 'Skin Suit', my 'facilities' in 'Big Mac' required an 'Intimate Interface', a personalised sorta-saddle. Clamped like a 'chastity belt', routine 'sanitation' verged on 'male rape', both front and back. Upside, its 'custom' options meant I could play Anne-Marie's fun MIDI 'arrangements' through that invasive plumbing...
The wall-screen displayed a fifteen minute warning of potential turbulence, counted down to the 'safety net' requirement for 'Overdrive Insertion'. 'Fresno' was now much further out from Chaparral-Prime than a 'City Class' usually allowed, well past the sub-Jovian's orbit, approaching the inner Neptunian's. As their icy-moons' mining rigs, the planets' gas-trawlers, 'gas-station', rock-tugs and crews all left on previous ships, 'Fresno' carried extra fuel tanks. But why this extra distance up the g-well ? Apparently 'Fresno' had had a 'rough' transition in-bound, so the Captain was being cautious. Plus, yes, it had taken much, much longer than hoped to 'lock through' from the evac pods...
Ten minutes, five. 'Please net now !' Anne-Marie and I clipped our shared bunk's safety net to place, cuddled, chorused the countdown.
'City of Fresno'
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
==City of Fresno #02
==City of Fresno #02
Space is BIG. One leisurely light-second to the Moon, five, ten, twenty light-minutes to Mars. Then the numbers run wild...
About eight light-hours out from a 'Main Sequence' G-type star like our Sol, you reach flatter space. Beyond the deep bell of a star's g-well, cheeky math can bend the c-limit, let tech wrap, wrinkle, warp or bubble space to cross light-years fast...
Imagine 'OverSpace' as an ocean-- No, not the 'Silver Ship on a Silver Sea' beloved of TriVid, think of Cape Horn.
Cutting the galaxy's magnetic field may generate incredible aurorae. Re-connection arcs writhe, snarl and spit St Elmo's Fire. The neutrino flux is a grim, cold current. The galactic wind howls, slashing at your ship with cosmic rays. Gravity waves ripple, slap or crash across the ship like an earthquake. A great star's paroxysmic death may raise a tsunami...
Between the stars is not empty. Dust and gas mascons gather, swirl like drifts of pumice or weed. Oort clouds' nascent comets drift across the space-lanes like so many titanic ice-bergs. Orphan planets and dim 'Brown Dwarf' sub-stars lurk like Orcadian sea-stacks.
Stars' g-wells form iron-bound island coasts, with summits clad in cloud. Their solar wind's heliopause is breakers on a harbour bar, their bow-shock a barrier reef. As at sea, canny Captains may thread a Reef Pass, then navigate the ever-shifting banks, tidal channels and islets of an estuary or wide lagoon.
And now it gets hard...
However you do the math, your tech must ripple 'OverSpace'. Star-ships vary: The Sylvans' look like mutant paddle-steamers, with multi-finned gubbins at side, quarter and/or stern. A 'caterpillar' configuration lends itself to elegant but vulnerable outriggers. The cranky Vortex Drive's giant 'rotor' still suggests 'air-boat'. A Casimir-Warshawski's splendid vanes can resemble sails. 'City of Fresno', a classic 'Floater Industries' design, houses its Alcubierre Double-Bubble's arcane Field Poles within a bulging mid-ship 'Power Section'.
Our journey to Chaparral aboard 'City of Tulsa' had been good fun. Even 'Basic' suites' bulkheads were sufficiently insulated that our neighbours did not complain when Anne-Marie and I loved loud and long. Here, we'd have to be more discreet, as we could clearly hear our neighbours to side and back grumbling about their net-down.
'Engage !'
OverSpace Insertion began rough, with a growing vibration. It became jolts, jerks and wriggles, worked up to a jack-hammer beat like the wrong speed or wheel-base on a wash-board track. It got worse. I pulled a pillow between our heads, then Anne-Marie and I clung to each other as the crazy ride went on and on and on.
I'd never known the like, never heard of such.
After what felt hours, but the wall-screen's big clock claimed was mere minutes, the ride eased.
Then the 'Big One' hit. Net and pillow kept us safe, but our gasps were drowned by screams and yells from our neighbours. What goes up may come down hard. The cabin lurched. Reality everted. Like a topology hologram, my wits seemed to turn in-side out. I'd just enough time to wonder if we were dying, then lost consciousness...
Space is BIG. One leisurely light-second to the Moon, five, ten, twenty light-minutes to Mars. Then the numbers run wild...
About eight light-hours out from a 'Main Sequence' G-type star like our Sol, you reach flatter space. Beyond the deep bell of a star's g-well, cheeky math can bend the c-limit, let tech wrap, wrinkle, warp or bubble space to cross light-years fast...
Imagine 'OverSpace' as an ocean-- No, not the 'Silver Ship on a Silver Sea' beloved of TriVid, think of Cape Horn.
Cutting the galaxy's magnetic field may generate incredible aurorae. Re-connection arcs writhe, snarl and spit St Elmo's Fire. The neutrino flux is a grim, cold current. The galactic wind howls, slashing at your ship with cosmic rays. Gravity waves ripple, slap or crash across the ship like an earthquake. A great star's paroxysmic death may raise a tsunami...
Between the stars is not empty. Dust and gas mascons gather, swirl like drifts of pumice or weed. Oort clouds' nascent comets drift across the space-lanes like so many titanic ice-bergs. Orphan planets and dim 'Brown Dwarf' sub-stars lurk like Orcadian sea-stacks.
Stars' g-wells form iron-bound island coasts, with summits clad in cloud. Their solar wind's heliopause is breakers on a harbour bar, their bow-shock a barrier reef. As at sea, canny Captains may thread a Reef Pass, then navigate the ever-shifting banks, tidal channels and islets of an estuary or wide lagoon.
And now it gets hard...
However you do the math, your tech must ripple 'OverSpace'. Star-ships vary: The Sylvans' look like mutant paddle-steamers, with multi-finned gubbins at side, quarter and/or stern. A 'caterpillar' configuration lends itself to elegant but vulnerable outriggers. The cranky Vortex Drive's giant 'rotor' still suggests 'air-boat'. A Casimir-Warshawski's splendid vanes can resemble sails. 'City of Fresno', a classic 'Floater Industries' design, houses its Alcubierre Double-Bubble's arcane Field Poles within a bulging mid-ship 'Power Section'.
Our journey to Chaparral aboard 'City of Tulsa' had been good fun. Even 'Basic' suites' bulkheads were sufficiently insulated that our neighbours did not complain when Anne-Marie and I loved loud and long. Here, we'd have to be more discreet, as we could clearly hear our neighbours to side and back grumbling about their net-down.
'Engage !'
OverSpace Insertion began rough, with a growing vibration. It became jolts, jerks and wriggles, worked up to a jack-hammer beat like the wrong speed or wheel-base on a wash-board track. It got worse. I pulled a pillow between our heads, then Anne-Marie and I clung to each other as the crazy ride went on and on and on.
I'd never known the like, never heard of such.
After what felt hours, but the wall-screen's big clock claimed was mere minutes, the ride eased.
Then the 'Big One' hit. Net and pillow kept us safe, but our gasps were drowned by screams and yells from our neighbours. What goes up may come down hard. The cabin lurched. Reality everted. Like a topology hologram, my wits seemed to turn in-side out. I'd just enough time to wonder if we were dying, then lost consciousness...
-
jemhouston
- Posts: 3837
- Joined: Fri Nov 18, 2022 12:38 am
Re: 'City of Fresno'
Great cliffhanger.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
City of Fresno #03
==City of Fresno #03
"Nnnnnn..."
"Nnnnnn..."
"We're not dead ?"
"Not dead," Anne-Marie confirmed. "But that was the worst pounding I've had since getting my Black Belt..."
"Uh-huh."
"Emergency lights only," she confirmed. "Wall-screen's off."
"No WiFi or ship-time clock," I agreed as my medical, nav and comm augments caught up with my eyes and inner-ears. Ominously, those augments' internal clocks all differed. Worse, the 'Nav' module showed a scary 'Field Transient' alert. I knew people who could diagnose Field Poles' status and harmonics via a sort-of 'Perfect Pitch' sensitivity. In fact, a famous 'Great Uncle' was gifted such. He also had an exceptional tolerance to such 'Field Shock'. I reported, "Fresno's Overdrive's tripped out, we're not boosting. We've been zonked for at least three hours 'Apparent'. At least we still have spin..."
"Is the cabin remote on your side ?"
"Could be..." I went digging for this bunk's remote which, not surprisingly, was no longer on its hook/loop pad. "Gotcha ! Ah, no 'room' power. And ventilation is off, too. Oh, well, I can't hear a pressure alert or any other horrors, let's just wait a while..."
We could hear eloquent moans, groans and cusses from our neighbours, some whimpers and wails but no screams. Though both Anne-Marie and I were trained 'First Aiders', we lacked even basic equipment. As minutes passed, we heard feet scooting along the corridors, people knocking on cabin doors. One came to us.
"Mizz McKensie ? Mr Kinson ? Are you okay ?"
"Yes, thank you !" We chorused, then I called, "Fresno ?"
"We're still checking... Please stay in your cabin for now."
Minutes passed. Long minutes passed. More minutes passed. Many minutes passed. An hour. Several hours. Our diner slot came and went. With convection limited by the spin-drum's fractional 'gravity', our room's air stagnated, became stale. Very stale. I almost felt sorry for our noisome 9-up neighbours. At a pinch, I could rapidly un-crate enough of 'Big Mac' to run the exo-suit's 'Recycle' pack, deploy a couple of 'Buddy' masks, even a 'Rescue' bubble. Rather than limited but convenient filter canisters, I'd the full 'works'. Effectively the recycler from a generic orbital work-pod, it was good for one hard-working week as-is, longer if the two of us were wary, months if I contrived a simple 'toxins' dump.
Anne-Marie knew, and knew I knew she knew.
Then, the cabin lights flickered, came on. A few seconds later, as the emergency glows and 'Please Net' sign went off, the air-con awoke, flushing staleness. As my augments updated to 'ship-time', the wall-screen lit with Fresno's logo above a terse status message.
'Apologies for rough Insertion. Checks in progress. Normal services will resume as soon as possible. Meanwhile, please wait in your cabins. Contact local Steward for assistance.'
"What the..." Anne-Marie blinked as I tried to explore or query Fresno's intra-net. "Nothing ?"
"System's down." I shrugged. "Mind you, I'd be running those proverbial 'Level One Diagnostics'."
"Me, too," she admitted. "I just hope the crew's 'Ponics stayed netted and lidded. Take days to clean up, weeks to get everything running again..."
Long hours passed. The status message updated from time to time, reported the growing list of areas and systems fully checked, found okay. At least Anne-Marie and I had water to drink, plus I'd packed some electrolyte sachets and snack-bars. We even managed a netted cuddle, a nap.
We were well past yet-another scheduled diner slot when the wall-screen chimed, popped up a sub-window with 'Video Call'. Nearest a remote, I grabbed it, pressed 'Accept'. The screen cleared to 'officer country', with a pale and clearly exhausted young man, a 2nd_Lieut from his scuffed overall's recent tabs.
"Ms. McKensie, Mr. Kinson ? I'm Acting 2nd_Lieutenant Svenson, in Navigation.
"Ms. McKensie, I'll come to your valuable speciality in a while but, first, I must speak with your partner...
"Mr. Kinson, your social profile indicates that you are an active Amateur Astronomer, is this correct ?"
"Yes," I replied, gauging by Anne-Marie's widening eyes that she was trying to figure this curious query's implications. "How can we help ?"
"Fresno... We have a problem. Are you aware that, in addition to bright 'beacon' stars and CMB Doppler, our inter-stellar navigation uses pulsar positions and timing to get a spacial and motion fix ?"
"Yes. Goes back to the days of rocketry."
"Fresno's system reports 'Insufficient Data', but we cannot see why. It does not seem to be instrument error."
"Uh ?" I took a breath, a second, thought about that crazy, crazy kick, asked, "Are Andromeda and the Magellanic Clouds the correct angles from Milky Way plane and centre ?"
"Near enough." It was his turn to snatch a breath. "Though close to the galactic plane, we cannot identify local or regional bright stars. Similarly, we cannot identify the detected galactic and Andromeda pulsars..."
"We're lost ?" Anne-Marie seemed more puzzled than terrified, yet another reason I loved her dearly.
"At present..."
"Ahhh..." I scoured my wits for anything relevant, came up with a grim possibility. "Long shot, but what's the capture window ?"
"I... I do not understand..."
"Most Pulsars spin fast at first, then slow smoothly or glitched. If we're a long, lonnng way from home, those now nearer us will seem to be spinning too slow, those further too fast." I shrugged. "If tolerance too tight, most will be rejected."
"Spin-down ? Capture window ?? One moment, please..." His fingers danced across a virtual keyboard. "Ah ? Ship default location is within a hundred light-years of Sol. Extending. Probable lock on Andromeda's pulsars. Extending. One, two, three a-beam in our galactic plane. Extending...
"I now have a dozen probables with a useful spread of angles. Fresno re-calculating. We have a preliminary fix..." He made a noise some-where between gasp and whimper. "Subject... Subject to confirmation, we are near the Perseus arm, between 750 and 820 light-years from Chaparral...
"Iterating. 790 ± 20. Holding at 785 ± 10. But..."
I had a horrible thought. "When Fresno departed Chaparral, was the course directly away from Ember ?"
"Yes, the shock front was close behind us..."
"Uh..." I was interested in 'fun' telescopic objects, so reasonably familiar with local stellar positions and galactic relationships. As best I could remember, fleeing Ember thus would take us in the general direction of Perseus. I took a breath. "Could Fresno have run through Chaparral's 'gravity focus'--"
"The what ?"
"I don't have the math for light, never mind gravitational waves, but Sol's Einstein Focus is about 550 AU out. Chaparral is less massive, so probably mid-600 AUs."
"Ember's Nova shock-wave launched us like a squeezed pip ?" Anne-Marie, well-read and quick witted, had found an elegant but terrifying analogy.
"That would fit," I allowed, trying to keep the enormity of our situation from my voice, and not entirely succeeding. "Like surfing a tsunami..."
"We... We have only limited Gaia mapping at this distance," the unfortunate young officer admitted. "Wide error-bars. But we have an emergency procedure. Just bringing it up. Ah, we're to run a passive, multi-spectral 360º / 4π scan. That will take several days. By then, the Drive should be fully checked, back on-line. Fly Fresno about a light-year, repeat the scan. Another light-year but skewed, a third scan. Again skew, a fourth to complete the tetrahedron."
"Which gives you a fair 3D local model out to 20 light-years ?" I reckoned. "Probably nearer thirty-five for K-type and brighter ? Plus, the fourth scan can continue to refine while you ponder options..."
"Uh, yes..."
"Find a nice ice-moon or Oort object within a dozen light-years, we can glean minerals, water. Like-wise, trawl a sub-Jovian or Saturnian gas-giant's atmosphere for fusion fuel. Won't be fast, won't be tidy, but we can stock up. We've a lot of skilled people aboard," I said. "Several rock-tugs, some shuttles, any evac-pods. We can boot-strap Fresno's facilities to build the tools to build the tools to keep us going..."
"You'd better take all this to the Captain and Chief Engineer," Anne-Marie stated. "We won't gossip."
"Thank you..."
After his picture faded, Anne-Marie turned to me, asked, "What are the chances of us getting home ?"
"800 light-years ? Without gas stations, we'd need six to eight months at our first stop, several months every twenty lights. That's a full decade." I shrugged. "Then we'd have to cross the Local Bubble's 'Great Firewall'."
"That sounds bad..."
"It's worse," I replied. "Best estimates were its intense radiation would totally trash high-tech. The big, new stars its spread spawns all live fast, die young as super-novae, driving the expansion. Which is why there's no 'Priors' near Convention Space. They all fled the fire-front's expansion at least five million years ago..."
"So us Humans, the Sanku and Saurs, Anwyce, Brownies and Klikta, Sylvans, their zoo of allies, even the Others have all evolved from pre-tech since ?"
"Seems so."
"Uh..." she shook her head. "Could crossing that Firewall out-bound have been the big bump we felt ?"
"I... I suppose." I shook my head. "We had to be travelling 'impossibly' fast, many light-years per minute."
"Uh..." Anne-Marie was clearly doing the math. "That's wild."
"It is..."
"A decade if we're lucky ?" She blinked, wondered, "What if the Others have won ?"
"Yeah." I shuddered. "We'd do better watching for some-where to colonise..."
"We've the makings to terraform a 'Big Mars' or better," she agreed. Her eyes suddenly welled. "Hug ?"
"Hug..."
We sobbed on each-other's shoulders until we were drained...
"Nnnnnn..."
"Nnnnnn..."
"We're not dead ?"
"Not dead," Anne-Marie confirmed. "But that was the worst pounding I've had since getting my Black Belt..."
"Uh-huh."
"Emergency lights only," she confirmed. "Wall-screen's off."
"No WiFi or ship-time clock," I agreed as my medical, nav and comm augments caught up with my eyes and inner-ears. Ominously, those augments' internal clocks all differed. Worse, the 'Nav' module showed a scary 'Field Transient' alert. I knew people who could diagnose Field Poles' status and harmonics via a sort-of 'Perfect Pitch' sensitivity. In fact, a famous 'Great Uncle' was gifted such. He also had an exceptional tolerance to such 'Field Shock'. I reported, "Fresno's Overdrive's tripped out, we're not boosting. We've been zonked for at least three hours 'Apparent'. At least we still have spin..."
"Is the cabin remote on your side ?"
"Could be..." I went digging for this bunk's remote which, not surprisingly, was no longer on its hook/loop pad. "Gotcha ! Ah, no 'room' power. And ventilation is off, too. Oh, well, I can't hear a pressure alert or any other horrors, let's just wait a while..."
We could hear eloquent moans, groans and cusses from our neighbours, some whimpers and wails but no screams. Though both Anne-Marie and I were trained 'First Aiders', we lacked even basic equipment. As minutes passed, we heard feet scooting along the corridors, people knocking on cabin doors. One came to us.
"Mizz McKensie ? Mr Kinson ? Are you okay ?"
"Yes, thank you !" We chorused, then I called, "Fresno ?"
"We're still checking... Please stay in your cabin for now."
Minutes passed. Long minutes passed. More minutes passed. Many minutes passed. An hour. Several hours. Our diner slot came and went. With convection limited by the spin-drum's fractional 'gravity', our room's air stagnated, became stale. Very stale. I almost felt sorry for our noisome 9-up neighbours. At a pinch, I could rapidly un-crate enough of 'Big Mac' to run the exo-suit's 'Recycle' pack, deploy a couple of 'Buddy' masks, even a 'Rescue' bubble. Rather than limited but convenient filter canisters, I'd the full 'works'. Effectively the recycler from a generic orbital work-pod, it was good for one hard-working week as-is, longer if the two of us were wary, months if I contrived a simple 'toxins' dump.
Anne-Marie knew, and knew I knew she knew.
Then, the cabin lights flickered, came on. A few seconds later, as the emergency glows and 'Please Net' sign went off, the air-con awoke, flushing staleness. As my augments updated to 'ship-time', the wall-screen lit with Fresno's logo above a terse status message.
'Apologies for rough Insertion. Checks in progress. Normal services will resume as soon as possible. Meanwhile, please wait in your cabins. Contact local Steward for assistance.'
"What the..." Anne-Marie blinked as I tried to explore or query Fresno's intra-net. "Nothing ?"
"System's down." I shrugged. "Mind you, I'd be running those proverbial 'Level One Diagnostics'."
"Me, too," she admitted. "I just hope the crew's 'Ponics stayed netted and lidded. Take days to clean up, weeks to get everything running again..."
Long hours passed. The status message updated from time to time, reported the growing list of areas and systems fully checked, found okay. At least Anne-Marie and I had water to drink, plus I'd packed some electrolyte sachets and snack-bars. We even managed a netted cuddle, a nap.
We were well past yet-another scheduled diner slot when the wall-screen chimed, popped up a sub-window with 'Video Call'. Nearest a remote, I grabbed it, pressed 'Accept'. The screen cleared to 'officer country', with a pale and clearly exhausted young man, a 2nd_Lieut from his scuffed overall's recent tabs.
"Ms. McKensie, Mr. Kinson ? I'm Acting 2nd_Lieutenant Svenson, in Navigation.
"Ms. McKensie, I'll come to your valuable speciality in a while but, first, I must speak with your partner...
"Mr. Kinson, your social profile indicates that you are an active Amateur Astronomer, is this correct ?"
"Yes," I replied, gauging by Anne-Marie's widening eyes that she was trying to figure this curious query's implications. "How can we help ?"
"Fresno... We have a problem. Are you aware that, in addition to bright 'beacon' stars and CMB Doppler, our inter-stellar navigation uses pulsar positions and timing to get a spacial and motion fix ?"
"Yes. Goes back to the days of rocketry."
"Fresno's system reports 'Insufficient Data', but we cannot see why. It does not seem to be instrument error."
"Uh ?" I took a breath, a second, thought about that crazy, crazy kick, asked, "Are Andromeda and the Magellanic Clouds the correct angles from Milky Way plane and centre ?"
"Near enough." It was his turn to snatch a breath. "Though close to the galactic plane, we cannot identify local or regional bright stars. Similarly, we cannot identify the detected galactic and Andromeda pulsars..."
"We're lost ?" Anne-Marie seemed more puzzled than terrified, yet another reason I loved her dearly.
"At present..."
"Ahhh..." I scoured my wits for anything relevant, came up with a grim possibility. "Long shot, but what's the capture window ?"
"I... I do not understand..."
"Most Pulsars spin fast at first, then slow smoothly or glitched. If we're a long, lonnng way from home, those now nearer us will seem to be spinning too slow, those further too fast." I shrugged. "If tolerance too tight, most will be rejected."
"Spin-down ? Capture window ?? One moment, please..." His fingers danced across a virtual keyboard. "Ah ? Ship default location is within a hundred light-years of Sol. Extending. Probable lock on Andromeda's pulsars. Extending. One, two, three a-beam in our galactic plane. Extending...
"I now have a dozen probables with a useful spread of angles. Fresno re-calculating. We have a preliminary fix..." He made a noise some-where between gasp and whimper. "Subject... Subject to confirmation, we are near the Perseus arm, between 750 and 820 light-years from Chaparral...
"Iterating. 790 ± 20. Holding at 785 ± 10. But..."
I had a horrible thought. "When Fresno departed Chaparral, was the course directly away from Ember ?"
"Yes, the shock front was close behind us..."
"Uh..." I was interested in 'fun' telescopic objects, so reasonably familiar with local stellar positions and galactic relationships. As best I could remember, fleeing Ember thus would take us in the general direction of Perseus. I took a breath. "Could Fresno have run through Chaparral's 'gravity focus'--"
"The what ?"
"I don't have the math for light, never mind gravitational waves, but Sol's Einstein Focus is about 550 AU out. Chaparral is less massive, so probably mid-600 AUs."
"Ember's Nova shock-wave launched us like a squeezed pip ?" Anne-Marie, well-read and quick witted, had found an elegant but terrifying analogy.
"That would fit," I allowed, trying to keep the enormity of our situation from my voice, and not entirely succeeding. "Like surfing a tsunami..."
"We... We have only limited Gaia mapping at this distance," the unfortunate young officer admitted. "Wide error-bars. But we have an emergency procedure. Just bringing it up. Ah, we're to run a passive, multi-spectral 360º / 4π scan. That will take several days. By then, the Drive should be fully checked, back on-line. Fly Fresno about a light-year, repeat the scan. Another light-year but skewed, a third scan. Again skew, a fourth to complete the tetrahedron."
"Which gives you a fair 3D local model out to 20 light-years ?" I reckoned. "Probably nearer thirty-five for K-type and brighter ? Plus, the fourth scan can continue to refine while you ponder options..."
"Uh, yes..."
"Find a nice ice-moon or Oort object within a dozen light-years, we can glean minerals, water. Like-wise, trawl a sub-Jovian or Saturnian gas-giant's atmosphere for fusion fuel. Won't be fast, won't be tidy, but we can stock up. We've a lot of skilled people aboard," I said. "Several rock-tugs, some shuttles, any evac-pods. We can boot-strap Fresno's facilities to build the tools to build the tools to keep us going..."
"You'd better take all this to the Captain and Chief Engineer," Anne-Marie stated. "We won't gossip."
"Thank you..."
After his picture faded, Anne-Marie turned to me, asked, "What are the chances of us getting home ?"
"800 light-years ? Without gas stations, we'd need six to eight months at our first stop, several months every twenty lights. That's a full decade." I shrugged. "Then we'd have to cross the Local Bubble's 'Great Firewall'."
"That sounds bad..."
"It's worse," I replied. "Best estimates were its intense radiation would totally trash high-tech. The big, new stars its spread spawns all live fast, die young as super-novae, driving the expansion. Which is why there's no 'Priors' near Convention Space. They all fled the fire-front's expansion at least five million years ago..."
"So us Humans, the Sanku and Saurs, Anwyce, Brownies and Klikta, Sylvans, their zoo of allies, even the Others have all evolved from pre-tech since ?"
"Seems so."
"Uh..." she shook her head. "Could crossing that Firewall out-bound have been the big bump we felt ?"
"I... I suppose." I shook my head. "We had to be travelling 'impossibly' fast, many light-years per minute."
"Uh..." Anne-Marie was clearly doing the math. "That's wild."
"It is..."
"A decade if we're lucky ?" She blinked, wondered, "What if the Others have won ?"
"Yeah." I shuddered. "We'd do better watching for some-where to colonise..."
"We've the makings to terraform a 'Big Mars' or better," she agreed. Her eyes suddenly welled. "Hug ?"
"Hug..."
We sobbed on each-other's shoulders until we were drained...
-
jemhouston
- Posts: 3837
- Joined: Fri Nov 18, 2022 12:38 am
Re: 'City of Fresno'
Now I'm getting echoes of Heinlein's Starman Jones.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
Re: 'City of Fresno'
I'm not familiar with 'Starman Jones' (*), but Asimov, Clarke & Heinlein, together with many lesser luminaries, left their footprints all across the field. We just keep stumbling across their trails & way-marks...
*) Checking Wiki reminded me that I had read it, was not impressed...
*) Checking Wiki reminded me that I had read it, was not impressed...
-
jemhouston
- Posts: 3837
- Joined: Fri Nov 18, 2022 12:38 am
Re: 'City of Fresno'
It was one of his juvenile novels, while I was in teens or twenties when I read it and enjoyed it. To each his own.Nik_SpeakerToCats wrote: ↑Sun Aug 27, 2023 1:10 pm I'm not familiar with 'Starman Jones' (*), but Asimov, Clarke & Heinlein, together with many lesser luminaries, left their footprints all across the field. We just keep stumbling across their trails & way-marks...
*) Checking Wiki reminded me that I had read it, was not impressed...
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
City of Fresno #04
==City of Fresno #04
The wall-screen's updates continued. Systems we knew of were reported okay, sub-systems we'd heard of progressively checked out. Us evacuees had been warned we'd be eating basic '3-D printed' meals, fed by stock tanks of ingredients and recycled water, without supplement by any of the usual excellent 'City Class' hydroponics. I knew the crew's hab-drum, set between Fresno's three truss-girder spines, had a spin-zone with some hydroponics, but minimal compared to the passenger numbers. Happily, the crew's 'garden' appeared on the 'okay' list.
"I'm so glad their 'Ponics are okay," Anne-Marie commented.
Finally, finally, the diners were declared 'safe'. Of course, with almost five thousand hungry people and but two Auto-Diners per spin-drum, we were 'invited' a part-corridor at a time. So, took yet-more hours before our cabin number came up. Luckily, my go-bag had held a couple more snack-bars, which tided us over...
We were back in our cabin after that belated meal before Anne-Marie quietly mentioned, "Notice how the portions had shrunk ?"
"By about a fifth," I agreed. "I reckon another fifth in a week or so."
"Hmm," she mused. "If we only have tank-stock, this could get unpleasant..."
We were saved from consideration of the 'Donner Band' and related scenarios by the screen announcing a video call. It opened on 'officer country' again, with young Lieutenant Svenson now stood beside an older guy, whose overalls carried '1st' tabs.
"Ms. McKensie, Mr. Kinson ? I'm 1st_Lieutenant Richards.
"First, Mr. Kinson, my deepest thanks for resolving our navigation issues. Local mapping has begun but, starting from scratch, we've several weeks and 'hops' before we collect enough data to chart the neighbourhood. At least we are still in the 'Thin Disk'. A 'Thick Disk' or 'Halo' location would be so much sparser...
"Ms. McKensie, I understand your Agronomy specialty is Hydroponics ? And you upgraded the Chaparral systems to 'long endurance' ?"
"Yes."
"You may have noticed we've begun rationing the diner meals ?"
"A fifth less will last a fifth longer."
"Yes. Next week, then several weeks along, we'll drop by further ten percents." The officer shook his head. "Crew numbers are low, but we're rationing to match...
"Now, you may have been wondering what it would take to improvise hydroponics in spin-drums' empty cabins and hallways ?" He assessed my partner's wary nod. "We can do better than that. These un-publicised berthing modules have an upper floor plus an 'attic'. Their manifests show many IBCs with dehydrated feed-stock for the diners, many crates of long-life staples, MREs and nutritional supplements.
"Also, in 'nested' form, a lot of hydroponic equipment." He shrugged. "We need to get it cropping but, at best, all of this materiel has been in storage for several decades..."
"They're 'new-old' kit ? About a tithe of the pumps and valves will have seized," Anne-Marie warned. "Another tithe may be erratic, a further tithe may soon fail, and most of the sensors will be 'wonky'...
"They'll all need prior inspection and servicing, to be sure, to be sure. And their controllers' firmware may need reverse-engineering...
"I reckon," Anne-Marie glanced to me, caught my nod, "that we have enough skills aboard to set up a servicing production line. Also, Fresno's computer systems should be able to do most of the leg-work deconstructing the firm-ware...
"Hmm. Is the hydroponics 'all wet' or does it use 'bedding' ?"
"I'm told 'bedding', Ms. McKensie. The attics have multiple IBCs flagged as granules for such."
"Hmm. How are we for water ?"
"That is a sensitive issue, Ms. McKensie." The 1st Lieutenant hesitated, continued, "We have not lost any, but we do not have a great margin. Combining more than a fraction of our reserve oxygen cryo-tankage with hydrogen attitude-thruster mass would be a last resort. Locating, mining a icy moon or Oort object is a serious priority..."
I raised a hand.
"Mr. Kinson ?"
"If you reduce berthing-zone HVAC humidity by even a few percent, that moisture becomes available for hydroponics. Also, as rationing bites and we begin to lose body-mass, half is water."
As Anne-Marie grinned, the two officers looked at me, looked to each other.
"Diminishing returns as we 'lean out'," I added, "You would not get so much from a regular run, but we've nearly five thousand people aboard. That's five thousand litres, five tonnes up-front..."
"We'd introduce the hydroponics in stages," Anne-Marie mentioned. "Add lines as resources permit. Sequence planting, cropping cycles."
"I appreciate Fresno is running with a reduced crew," I asked, "but is there a Hydroponics tech who could give us a tour of the upper floor ?"
The two officers exchanged glances, a nod. The First said, "She'll be with you in half an hour."
The wall-screen's updates continued. Systems we knew of were reported okay, sub-systems we'd heard of progressively checked out. Us evacuees had been warned we'd be eating basic '3-D printed' meals, fed by stock tanks of ingredients and recycled water, without supplement by any of the usual excellent 'City Class' hydroponics. I knew the crew's hab-drum, set between Fresno's three truss-girder spines, had a spin-zone with some hydroponics, but minimal compared to the passenger numbers. Happily, the crew's 'garden' appeared on the 'okay' list.
"I'm so glad their 'Ponics are okay," Anne-Marie commented.
Finally, finally, the diners were declared 'safe'. Of course, with almost five thousand hungry people and but two Auto-Diners per spin-drum, we were 'invited' a part-corridor at a time. So, took yet-more hours before our cabin number came up. Luckily, my go-bag had held a couple more snack-bars, which tided us over...
We were back in our cabin after that belated meal before Anne-Marie quietly mentioned, "Notice how the portions had shrunk ?"
"By about a fifth," I agreed. "I reckon another fifth in a week or so."
"Hmm," she mused. "If we only have tank-stock, this could get unpleasant..."
We were saved from consideration of the 'Donner Band' and related scenarios by the screen announcing a video call. It opened on 'officer country' again, with young Lieutenant Svenson now stood beside an older guy, whose overalls carried '1st' tabs.
"Ms. McKensie, Mr. Kinson ? I'm 1st_Lieutenant Richards.
"First, Mr. Kinson, my deepest thanks for resolving our navigation issues. Local mapping has begun but, starting from scratch, we've several weeks and 'hops' before we collect enough data to chart the neighbourhood. At least we are still in the 'Thin Disk'. A 'Thick Disk' or 'Halo' location would be so much sparser...
"Ms. McKensie, I understand your Agronomy specialty is Hydroponics ? And you upgraded the Chaparral systems to 'long endurance' ?"
"Yes."
"You may have noticed we've begun rationing the diner meals ?"
"A fifth less will last a fifth longer."
"Yes. Next week, then several weeks along, we'll drop by further ten percents." The officer shook his head. "Crew numbers are low, but we're rationing to match...
"Now, you may have been wondering what it would take to improvise hydroponics in spin-drums' empty cabins and hallways ?" He assessed my partner's wary nod. "We can do better than that. These un-publicised berthing modules have an upper floor plus an 'attic'. Their manifests show many IBCs with dehydrated feed-stock for the diners, many crates of long-life staples, MREs and nutritional supplements.
"Also, in 'nested' form, a lot of hydroponic equipment." He shrugged. "We need to get it cropping but, at best, all of this materiel has been in storage for several decades..."
"They're 'new-old' kit ? About a tithe of the pumps and valves will have seized," Anne-Marie warned. "Another tithe may be erratic, a further tithe may soon fail, and most of the sensors will be 'wonky'...
"They'll all need prior inspection and servicing, to be sure, to be sure. And their controllers' firmware may need reverse-engineering...
"I reckon," Anne-Marie glanced to me, caught my nod, "that we have enough skills aboard to set up a servicing production line. Also, Fresno's computer systems should be able to do most of the leg-work deconstructing the firm-ware...
"Hmm. Is the hydroponics 'all wet' or does it use 'bedding' ?"
"I'm told 'bedding', Ms. McKensie. The attics have multiple IBCs flagged as granules for such."
"Hmm. How are we for water ?"
"That is a sensitive issue, Ms. McKensie." The 1st Lieutenant hesitated, continued, "We have not lost any, but we do not have a great margin. Combining more than a fraction of our reserve oxygen cryo-tankage with hydrogen attitude-thruster mass would be a last resort. Locating, mining a icy moon or Oort object is a serious priority..."
I raised a hand.
"Mr. Kinson ?"
"If you reduce berthing-zone HVAC humidity by even a few percent, that moisture becomes available for hydroponics. Also, as rationing bites and we begin to lose body-mass, half is water."
As Anne-Marie grinned, the two officers looked at me, looked to each other.
"Diminishing returns as we 'lean out'," I added, "You would not get so much from a regular run, but we've nearly five thousand people aboard. That's five thousand litres, five tonnes up-front..."
"We'd introduce the hydroponics in stages," Anne-Marie mentioned. "Add lines as resources permit. Sequence planting, cropping cycles."
"I appreciate Fresno is running with a reduced crew," I asked, "but is there a Hydroponics tech who could give us a tour of the upper floor ?"
The two officers exchanged glances, a nod. The First said, "She'll be with you in half an hour."
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
City of Fresno #05
City of Fresno #05
Anne-Marie and I took turns in the tiny en-suite, gathered the needful for our expedition. About twenty minutes along, a knock came at our door. "Ms. McKensie ? Mr. Kinson ?"
The Tech was very young, very thin. She had a brown buzz-cut to match her eyes. Her overalls were scuffed and she looked weary beyond horror. "I'm Acting Third-Eng Solent, your guide..."
She paused, peered at the big crates crowding that side of our cabin, blinked, then said, "This way, please ?"
We followed her 120º around our spin-drum's circumference to the Auto-Diner, where the first of another session's folk were ordering. Beside its adjacent elevator, a 'Service' door led to the stair-well and a big 'dumb waiter'. Both continued beyond the upper floor to the 'attic' and hub. An air-lock opened onto darkness beyond the obligatory 'Exit' lights. 3-Eng Solent palmed a panel of light-switches, revealed a remarkably big space, about three metres to the over-head, curving up to left and right, running about 40 metres ahead to a bulkhead with air-lock. The floor, uh, 'deck', had both drainage channels and cargo-clamp rails, was otherwise open except for truss bracing struts.
Flanking our entrance, curving up from sight, there was a veritable zoo of pallets, crates, modules, IBCs, even office-desks, lab benches and chairs, all latched to deck rails. The nearest desk had several file-boxes attached to its smaller, 'fiddle'-sized clamp-rails. Their covers carried bold notices to 'Read Me First', then 'Copy 1, 2, 3 of 6'.
"May I ?" Anne-Marie asked, received a nod. She freed #1, broke the tamper-evident seal, dived in. I walked a few paces to get a better perspective, turned. My first glance identified generic modular framing, flat-packed. My second, many sets of nested 'Ponic trays and stacked lids. Long bundles of dust-capped, semi-flexible piping in several bore-sizes and their crates of connectors loomed. I recognised what were surely modular lighting panels, neatly edge-racked. My upward look showed the overhead had matching clamp-rails.
Some of the big modules seemed 'out of place'. I did not recognise their function until I remembered all this kit was probably older than me. Then, just beyond a mobile 'warehouse ladder', the first became obvious, and I gasped, "A skid-mount fusor ?"
I took several fast steps, stooped, peered at its rating plate, took a long, long breath, stated, "If this works, these 'Ponics will not need to draw ship-power !"
"Yes, Mr. Kinson, and all this is listed as duplicated at the other end," the 3-Eng stated, now with welcome professional confidence. "There's six of those fusors per spin-drum. The briefing notes claim one fusor will easily run an entire end's 'Ponics', plus a margin for recycling and diner. Second provides fail-over, third to be sure. Also, the zone manifest shows a 15% bedding overage. There's nested pots and narrow planters, plus trellis to set up in public spaces and along hallways."
"Hmm..." I muttered. "I don't know who stocked this, but I like them already..."
"So do I," Anne-Marie surfaced from the ring-bound documents, began reading their intro.
"I hope you are accessing this as part of an exercise. If not, if you are aboard a 'Berthing' spin-drum far, far out in the 'Deep and Dark', these resources are what you need to survive the next decade.
"You will not be comfortable. For economy, the berthing must be dim, its air a bit stale. Food and water must be strictly rationed. There are no Agro-bots. You must work long, long hours of tedious stoop-labour for little more than your breathing air and basic meals. But, properly operated, these hydroponic and other systems can make this spin-drum self-sufficient, give a wary margin for contingencies and trade.
"My 'Floater Industries' team did our very best to anticipate your needs. We gamed scenarios driving your evacuation / diaspora that ranged from a colony's 'Large Igneous Province' eruption or impending planetary crust 'Over-Turn' to an in-bound extermination fleet. Perhaps your ship was damaged ? Or simply the only carrier in-system ? A 'jobbing' freighter pressed into service to haul two, four, six, even eight of these spin-drums with up to 3200 crammed aboard each ? More if 'Hot Berthing' ?
"Whatever: You have MREs to eat until you get the diners working, enough feed-stock to run those until you can process hydroponic crops.
"My good friend, Professor Patricia Partridge literally 'wrote the book' for your long-duration hydroponics. Her time-lines and procedures cover assembly, start-up, testing, planting, weeding, cropping, disease control, rotation and fallow schedules, long-term supplements, administration and related issues. Our technical appendices cover preparatory servicing, assembly, maintenance and repair of sensors, valves and such. Lest they 'seize' or 'bind' in storage, all are supplied disassembled. Their kits include tools, spares, go/no-go gauges, calibration devices, ample silicone grease and well-illustrated, multi-lingual instructions.
"So, plug leaks, triage injured, comfort dying, chill-bag dead, then get to work."
"Wow..." I whispered, echoed by the young tech.
"Professor Partridge certainly wrote the definitive 'Ponics reference book. I've the fifth edition..." Anne-Marie mused. She wore a strange expression as she looked up from the page. "Jake, this is signed by an 'Anthony Fredrik Winters', has a scary sheaf of letters after his name...
"Your kind 'Great-Uncle Tony' ? That little, old guy with the sharp wits and big grin ? Sent us a very generous grub-stake as our wedding gift ? His letter-head..."
"Yes."
"Fook..." whispered the young Tech. "You-- You're related to THE Tony Winters ? Floater Industries ? The Vernon Preventer ? The Klikta ? The Pulse-Drive ? BETA ? The Winterkin ?"
"Sort-of..." I shrugged. "His brother Pete was my grand-dad on that side."
"Jake," Anne-Marie whispered, "You never let on you're Convention 'Royalty' !"
"But I'm not," I stated. "I don't work for Floater Industries, BETA or the Winterkin. I'm not a 'Special Convener' or 'Nova Ninja'. I can't 'tune' Field Poles by ear. I can't hack their deep theory or design math. I'm just a fourth-generation geologist."
"Ah... Would-- Would he send searchers ?"
I thought for a moment, said, "For Fresno, surely. But no ships can get near Chaparral for many months, several years, perhaps a decade. Even given our known course, there'll be scant evidence of what's happened. It's 'New Science', space is big, and we're a long, lonnng way from home...
"Also, don't forget the Others ? However unlikely, Fresno could have encountered a far-scouting 'Taggli'...
"No, we're probably on our own for as long as it takes..."
To break that cruel silence, 3-Eng Solent said, "We... We should check the other section."
"Agreed." Anne-Marie nodded. "Jake, you do that. I want to leaf through this binder."
"Okay." I looked to the 3-Eng, asked, "Do we need to check the other drum ?"
"No." She shook her head. "My colleague Jim, uh, Acting 3-Eng Dickson, is going there."
"Okay. Lead on." It was about 40 metres to the midway bulkhead, whose air-lock was also flanked by crates and racks, albeit fewer. While 3-Eng Solent un-dogged the hatch, I took a few steps to left and right, confirmed the pattern was repeated 120º both ways. The other section mirrored this first. We looked around, back-tracked. I asked, "Is the binder contents on Fresno's intranet ?"
"I don't--"
"If not," Anne-Marie stated, patting the open binder, "each should have these archival-grade WORM and thumb-drive media."
"Ah..." 3-Eng Solent studied the cased 'rainbow' disk and the metal-cased 'plug', keyed her discreet headset. "Chief ? Chief, I think we're good. It's like an Aladdin's Cave, with tools, Gantt Charts and everything. Could you check on the server for..."
She listed the library title. After a few seconds, she repeated it, letter by letter. "So, no ? Okay, I'll bring one set from here. Would you tell Joe, uh, Acting 3-Eng Dickson, to fetch one from there ? Aye-Aye."
"You'll cross-match for errors, up-load a verified version ?" Anne-Marie asked.
"Yes, Ma'm." A nod. "Also, you and Mr. Kinson are welcome to borrow a set for study."
"Thank you," I said, my wits whirling. "We'll need a while to figure how to recruit and team-build..."
"Understood." Another nod. "I was told there's a census / survey form in our emergency files. We'll roll that out, try to sift the skills you'll need."
"That would be a generic thing," Anne-Marie warned. "We'll draft a 'Ponic-specific supplement when we've had a better look at the binder contents."
"Yes," I agreed. "We'll need different skills at different stages. Also, a cascaded training program, installation and production management procedures, process and quality control, scheduled maintenance..."
"A lot of that's covered in here," Anne-Marie patted the open binder. "There's Org charts, job descriptions, detailed procedures and such. But, putting it all together..."
I held up a hand, said, "That time-line probably allows for a full three thousand, two hundred people per drum. With 'random' skills rather than our Tech-heavy numbers..."
"So we should have a useful margin," Anne-Marie agreed. "And, if Fresno's library does not have it, we can up-load my copy of Professor Partridge's text-book."
"Hmm..." I muttered. "Still, would be nice if we had a better idea of the Auto-Diners' feed-stock, how long that should last, variously rationed, before we must break out the attics' MREs and IBCs."
"Murphy's Law," Anne-Marie warned. "We need to build in as much 'wriggle room' as we can."
"Agreed," I said. "We may get lucky, spot a nearby comet or Oort object on the mapping legs, but we dare not assume 'Best Case'. And, whatever we don't use now, gives more to set aside for long-term contingencies such as emergencies or 'seasonal' events."
"You called it, Jake," Anne-Marie stated, handing the second binder to wide-eyed 3-Eng Solent. "Let's get started."
Anne-Marie and I took turns in the tiny en-suite, gathered the needful for our expedition. About twenty minutes along, a knock came at our door. "Ms. McKensie ? Mr. Kinson ?"
The Tech was very young, very thin. She had a brown buzz-cut to match her eyes. Her overalls were scuffed and she looked weary beyond horror. "I'm Acting Third-Eng Solent, your guide..."
She paused, peered at the big crates crowding that side of our cabin, blinked, then said, "This way, please ?"
We followed her 120º around our spin-drum's circumference to the Auto-Diner, where the first of another session's folk were ordering. Beside its adjacent elevator, a 'Service' door led to the stair-well and a big 'dumb waiter'. Both continued beyond the upper floor to the 'attic' and hub. An air-lock opened onto darkness beyond the obligatory 'Exit' lights. 3-Eng Solent palmed a panel of light-switches, revealed a remarkably big space, about three metres to the over-head, curving up to left and right, running about 40 metres ahead to a bulkhead with air-lock. The floor, uh, 'deck', had both drainage channels and cargo-clamp rails, was otherwise open except for truss bracing struts.
Flanking our entrance, curving up from sight, there was a veritable zoo of pallets, crates, modules, IBCs, even office-desks, lab benches and chairs, all latched to deck rails. The nearest desk had several file-boxes attached to its smaller, 'fiddle'-sized clamp-rails. Their covers carried bold notices to 'Read Me First', then 'Copy 1, 2, 3 of 6'.
"May I ?" Anne-Marie asked, received a nod. She freed #1, broke the tamper-evident seal, dived in. I walked a few paces to get a better perspective, turned. My first glance identified generic modular framing, flat-packed. My second, many sets of nested 'Ponic trays and stacked lids. Long bundles of dust-capped, semi-flexible piping in several bore-sizes and their crates of connectors loomed. I recognised what were surely modular lighting panels, neatly edge-racked. My upward look showed the overhead had matching clamp-rails.
Some of the big modules seemed 'out of place'. I did not recognise their function until I remembered all this kit was probably older than me. Then, just beyond a mobile 'warehouse ladder', the first became obvious, and I gasped, "A skid-mount fusor ?"
I took several fast steps, stooped, peered at its rating plate, took a long, long breath, stated, "If this works, these 'Ponics will not need to draw ship-power !"
"Yes, Mr. Kinson, and all this is listed as duplicated at the other end," the 3-Eng stated, now with welcome professional confidence. "There's six of those fusors per spin-drum. The briefing notes claim one fusor will easily run an entire end's 'Ponics', plus a margin for recycling and diner. Second provides fail-over, third to be sure. Also, the zone manifest shows a 15% bedding overage. There's nested pots and narrow planters, plus trellis to set up in public spaces and along hallways."
"Hmm..." I muttered. "I don't know who stocked this, but I like them already..."
"So do I," Anne-Marie surfaced from the ring-bound documents, began reading their intro.
"I hope you are accessing this as part of an exercise. If not, if you are aboard a 'Berthing' spin-drum far, far out in the 'Deep and Dark', these resources are what you need to survive the next decade.
"You will not be comfortable. For economy, the berthing must be dim, its air a bit stale. Food and water must be strictly rationed. There are no Agro-bots. You must work long, long hours of tedious stoop-labour for little more than your breathing air and basic meals. But, properly operated, these hydroponic and other systems can make this spin-drum self-sufficient, give a wary margin for contingencies and trade.
"My 'Floater Industries' team did our very best to anticipate your needs. We gamed scenarios driving your evacuation / diaspora that ranged from a colony's 'Large Igneous Province' eruption or impending planetary crust 'Over-Turn' to an in-bound extermination fleet. Perhaps your ship was damaged ? Or simply the only carrier in-system ? A 'jobbing' freighter pressed into service to haul two, four, six, even eight of these spin-drums with up to 3200 crammed aboard each ? More if 'Hot Berthing' ?
"Whatever: You have MREs to eat until you get the diners working, enough feed-stock to run those until you can process hydroponic crops.
"My good friend, Professor Patricia Partridge literally 'wrote the book' for your long-duration hydroponics. Her time-lines and procedures cover assembly, start-up, testing, planting, weeding, cropping, disease control, rotation and fallow schedules, long-term supplements, administration and related issues. Our technical appendices cover preparatory servicing, assembly, maintenance and repair of sensors, valves and such. Lest they 'seize' or 'bind' in storage, all are supplied disassembled. Their kits include tools, spares, go/no-go gauges, calibration devices, ample silicone grease and well-illustrated, multi-lingual instructions.
"So, plug leaks, triage injured, comfort dying, chill-bag dead, then get to work."
"Wow..." I whispered, echoed by the young tech.
"Professor Partridge certainly wrote the definitive 'Ponics reference book. I've the fifth edition..." Anne-Marie mused. She wore a strange expression as she looked up from the page. "Jake, this is signed by an 'Anthony Fredrik Winters', has a scary sheaf of letters after his name...
"Your kind 'Great-Uncle Tony' ? That little, old guy with the sharp wits and big grin ? Sent us a very generous grub-stake as our wedding gift ? His letter-head..."
"Yes."
"Fook..." whispered the young Tech. "You-- You're related to THE Tony Winters ? Floater Industries ? The Vernon Preventer ? The Klikta ? The Pulse-Drive ? BETA ? The Winterkin ?"
"Sort-of..." I shrugged. "His brother Pete was my grand-dad on that side."
"Jake," Anne-Marie whispered, "You never let on you're Convention 'Royalty' !"
"But I'm not," I stated. "I don't work for Floater Industries, BETA or the Winterkin. I'm not a 'Special Convener' or 'Nova Ninja'. I can't 'tune' Field Poles by ear. I can't hack their deep theory or design math. I'm just a fourth-generation geologist."
"Ah... Would-- Would he send searchers ?"
I thought for a moment, said, "For Fresno, surely. But no ships can get near Chaparral for many months, several years, perhaps a decade. Even given our known course, there'll be scant evidence of what's happened. It's 'New Science', space is big, and we're a long, lonnng way from home...
"Also, don't forget the Others ? However unlikely, Fresno could have encountered a far-scouting 'Taggli'...
"No, we're probably on our own for as long as it takes..."
To break that cruel silence, 3-Eng Solent said, "We... We should check the other section."
"Agreed." Anne-Marie nodded. "Jake, you do that. I want to leaf through this binder."
"Okay." I looked to the 3-Eng, asked, "Do we need to check the other drum ?"
"No." She shook her head. "My colleague Jim, uh, Acting 3-Eng Dickson, is going there."
"Okay. Lead on." It was about 40 metres to the midway bulkhead, whose air-lock was also flanked by crates and racks, albeit fewer. While 3-Eng Solent un-dogged the hatch, I took a few steps to left and right, confirmed the pattern was repeated 120º both ways. The other section mirrored this first. We looked around, back-tracked. I asked, "Is the binder contents on Fresno's intranet ?"
"I don't--"
"If not," Anne-Marie stated, patting the open binder, "each should have these archival-grade WORM and thumb-drive media."
"Ah..." 3-Eng Solent studied the cased 'rainbow' disk and the metal-cased 'plug', keyed her discreet headset. "Chief ? Chief, I think we're good. It's like an Aladdin's Cave, with tools, Gantt Charts and everything. Could you check on the server for..."
She listed the library title. After a few seconds, she repeated it, letter by letter. "So, no ? Okay, I'll bring one set from here. Would you tell Joe, uh, Acting 3-Eng Dickson, to fetch one from there ? Aye-Aye."
"You'll cross-match for errors, up-load a verified version ?" Anne-Marie asked.
"Yes, Ma'm." A nod. "Also, you and Mr. Kinson are welcome to borrow a set for study."
"Thank you," I said, my wits whirling. "We'll need a while to figure how to recruit and team-build..."
"Understood." Another nod. "I was told there's a census / survey form in our emergency files. We'll roll that out, try to sift the skills you'll need."
"That would be a generic thing," Anne-Marie warned. "We'll draft a 'Ponic-specific supplement when we've had a better look at the binder contents."
"Yes," I agreed. "We'll need different skills at different stages. Also, a cascaded training program, installation and production management procedures, process and quality control, scheduled maintenance..."
"A lot of that's covered in here," Anne-Marie patted the open binder. "There's Org charts, job descriptions, detailed procedures and such. But, putting it all together..."
I held up a hand, said, "That time-line probably allows for a full three thousand, two hundred people per drum. With 'random' skills rather than our Tech-heavy numbers..."
"So we should have a useful margin," Anne-Marie agreed. "And, if Fresno's library does not have it, we can up-load my copy of Professor Partridge's text-book."
"Hmm..." I muttered. "Still, would be nice if we had a better idea of the Auto-Diners' feed-stock, how long that should last, variously rationed, before we must break out the attics' MREs and IBCs."
"Murphy's Law," Anne-Marie warned. "We need to build in as much 'wriggle room' as we can."
"Agreed," I said. "We may get lucky, spot a nearby comet or Oort object on the mapping legs, but we dare not assume 'Best Case'. And, whatever we don't use now, gives more to set aside for long-term contingencies such as emergencies or 'seasonal' events."
"You called it, Jake," Anne-Marie stated, handing the second binder to wide-eyed 3-Eng Solent. "Let's get started."
-
jemhouston
- Posts: 3837
- Joined: Fri Nov 18, 2022 12:38 am
Re: 'City of Fresno'
I like whoever set it up. I suspect another set of equipment somewhere likely.
Re: 'City of Fresno'
Very well done...thank you
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
City of Fresno #06
City of Fresno #06
We'd barely returned to our cabin when the diner queue clicked down to our corridor. We were hungry, but this 'convenience' meal's portions did not replace those we'd skipped while waiting for systems to be restored. At two nearby tables, our noisome 9-up neighbours again complained about the delay, the limited menu, the minimal portions and their cramped cabin. Well, the gross, near-obese 'Mater' did. Monologued twenty to the proverbial dozen in an increasingly annoying shrill whine. Her slight Deputy dutifully agreed with every phrase, of course, of course, while their seven slim 'bonded' males meekly nodded along. None objected to the Mater helping herself to their meagre meals. I'm not sure why she felt entitled to double-portions, never mind a suite, but being 'Queen Bee' to her sub-clan probably trumped 'Common Sense'.
Still, in my opinion, the compact berthing would need scant work to adapt. If I was not mistaken, the modular framing would make it easy, with no cutting tools required. Dismount two adjoining cabins' wash-stand sides' triple-tier bunks, then the shared divider between their wash-stands and 'back wall'. Dismount one folding table and wall-screen. Re-mount one triple bunk offset across the back. In my opinion, it would only take an hour or few. But, given the Mater's attitude problem, I was not prepared to suggest it, at least not yet. I was certainly not prepared to let her or her unctuous Deputy have any responsibility above 'Middle Management'...
By the time we got back to our cabin, there was a text-mail waiting. The document files had been validated, posted to Fresno's library, here's the library's link. Also, a link for the generic skills census. There would be an official announcement at noon on the Tuesday, two days hence. If practicable, please reply to this text-mail with draft 'Ponics census by nine that morning.
Just as pilots and drivers must track duty and rest hours, I kept a work-log for accounting and safety purposes. Seems Anne-Marie and I spent most of those forty-some hours crafting our 'Ponics census. I don't remember. Certainly, between minimal meals and snatched cat-naps, we ported swathes of that folder's documents to the ship census' style. Fortunately, behind the generic 'media' front-end, our cabin's display screen had the equivalent of a 'lap-top' computer. It might be a decade old, but it meant we were working 'locally' rather than at the restricted speed of Fresno's busy 'cloud'. We linked relevant sections to the technical appendices. Anne-Marie spotted loop-holes and potential ambiguities, bid me explain myself. Again and again, she sanitised and clarified my oft-curt, too-technical phrasing.
As the laundrettes were not yet in service, we hand-rinsed our smalls in the cabin's wash-bowls, let them drip-dry from lines I strung above.
We managed to submit our draft in the small-hours of Tuesday, slept like the dead until called for breakfast, then napped for a while.
We'd barely returned to our cabin when the diner queue clicked down to our corridor. We were hungry, but this 'convenience' meal's portions did not replace those we'd skipped while waiting for systems to be restored. At two nearby tables, our noisome 9-up neighbours again complained about the delay, the limited menu, the minimal portions and their cramped cabin. Well, the gross, near-obese 'Mater' did. Monologued twenty to the proverbial dozen in an increasingly annoying shrill whine. Her slight Deputy dutifully agreed with every phrase, of course, of course, while their seven slim 'bonded' males meekly nodded along. None objected to the Mater helping herself to their meagre meals. I'm not sure why she felt entitled to double-portions, never mind a suite, but being 'Queen Bee' to her sub-clan probably trumped 'Common Sense'.
Still, in my opinion, the compact berthing would need scant work to adapt. If I was not mistaken, the modular framing would make it easy, with no cutting tools required. Dismount two adjoining cabins' wash-stand sides' triple-tier bunks, then the shared divider between their wash-stands and 'back wall'. Dismount one folding table and wall-screen. Re-mount one triple bunk offset across the back. In my opinion, it would only take an hour or few. But, given the Mater's attitude problem, I was not prepared to suggest it, at least not yet. I was certainly not prepared to let her or her unctuous Deputy have any responsibility above 'Middle Management'...
By the time we got back to our cabin, there was a text-mail waiting. The document files had been validated, posted to Fresno's library, here's the library's link. Also, a link for the generic skills census. There would be an official announcement at noon on the Tuesday, two days hence. If practicable, please reply to this text-mail with draft 'Ponics census by nine that morning.
Just as pilots and drivers must track duty and rest hours, I kept a work-log for accounting and safety purposes. Seems Anne-Marie and I spent most of those forty-some hours crafting our 'Ponics census. I don't remember. Certainly, between minimal meals and snatched cat-naps, we ported swathes of that folder's documents to the ship census' style. Fortunately, behind the generic 'media' front-end, our cabin's display screen had the equivalent of a 'lap-top' computer. It might be a decade old, but it meant we were working 'locally' rather than at the restricted speed of Fresno's busy 'cloud'. We linked relevant sections to the technical appendices. Anne-Marie spotted loop-holes and potential ambiguities, bid me explain myself. Again and again, she sanitised and clarified my oft-curt, too-technical phrasing.
As the laundrettes were not yet in service, we hand-rinsed our smalls in the cabin's wash-bowls, let them drip-dry from lines I strung above.
We managed to submit our draft in the small-hours of Tuesday, slept like the dead until called for breakfast, then napped for a while.
-
jemhouston
- Posts: 3837
- Joined: Fri Nov 18, 2022 12:38 am
Re: 'City of Fresno'
Staying busy when you can, rest when you can.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
City of Fresno #07
City of Fresno #07
Just before Noon, the 'City of Fresno' logo filled our wall-screen. Right on time, after a formal eight-bell ring, that was replaced by a severe officer in 'Full Dress Uniform'.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am Captain Wilfred Owen.
"Back in the days of sail, one of my ancestors was homeward bound from Singapore via Ceylon and Cape Town when his ship was caught by a terrible storm. They were driven West-North-West for day after unrelenting day. Vast waves swept the impassable deck. They lost top-masts, rigging, sailor after sailor. They had to pump for their lives.
Finally, the storm blew itself out, the sky cleared. Their sextants' 'position fix' astonished. They'd been blown clear across the Indian Ocean by that 'once in a generation' Super-Typhoon turned 'Extra-Tropical Cyclone'.
"Far, far from their planned route around South Africa, they were near the Persian Gulf. How they had escaped the many reefs and island chains across their unplanned course defied belief. Damaged and leaking, they limped into Aden. There, they telegraphed London, Ceylon and Singapore that they'd survived, made repairs, rested and re-supplied...
"Our star-ship, 'City of Fresno', has endured a terrible storm of a different kind.
"We were caught by the shock-front from Ember's Nova, hurled far and fast. Think of it as surfing a tsunami, or how a squeezed pip may launch across the room.
"It is 'New Science', our Engineering logs only hint at the detail. That may take many years, perhaps life-times of analysis and research to understand, never mind replicate.
"Remarkably, 'City of Fresno' has suffered little damage, with few injured. The many flex-mounts and motion dampers all worked as intended. The 'spherical bearings' on the spin-drums meant those suffered minimal strain, had no leaks. We thrice repeated many of our extensive checks and tests before we dared believe their kind findings...
"Our current location is a different matter. Thanks to our Navigation team, we now know we have travelled a great distance, are far, far beyond 'Convention Space'. Certainly, 'City of Fresno' lacks both fuel and speed to take us home directly.
"Unlike my ancestor, we have no local charts or convenient port. We must make do with what we have...
"First, we follow the standard procedure for mapping our 'local' space. Initial scans will require a week. Then we fly about a light-year to create a base-line, repeat the scans. Another week, another base-line, now skew. Again...
"These will help us locate a nearby solar system with icy moons and a gas-giant we can mine for water, fuel and other essentials, perhaps identify a potentially habitable planet.
"Finding friends would be a bonus...
"In addition, we have several 'City-Class' cargo pods of non-essential 'Goodies & Gifts' intended for 'Chaparral' but undelivered due time constraints. Whatever their contents, all will be very welcome...
"Meanwhile, diner rationing for passengers and crew is a precaution. Fortunately, these 'Berthing' drums are equipped for a long stay in the 'Deep and Dark'. There is ample Hydroponic and related equipment on their upper floors to make us self-sufficient. There is even enough feed-stock for our diners until harvesting begins.
"The facilities, though, are still in storage. They will need a lot of careful work to assemble and run...
"To lay the foundations for our sustainable future, please document your aptitudes and skills by completing the main 'census' form now available from Fresno's library. Also, if relevant, the smaller second, which is specific to Hydroponics. The latter references extensive library documentation which, please note, offers cascaded training...
"When our immediate resource issues are resolved, we must begin recruitment for ship-crew. We have the training materials, the simulations. In time, I hope that our current 'skeleton' crew, volunteers all, will grow to a full complement.
"Again, we are a long, long way from home, but we have the facilities to survive, then flourish.
"Thank you."
Just before Noon, the 'City of Fresno' logo filled our wall-screen. Right on time, after a formal eight-bell ring, that was replaced by a severe officer in 'Full Dress Uniform'.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am Captain Wilfred Owen.
"Back in the days of sail, one of my ancestors was homeward bound from Singapore via Ceylon and Cape Town when his ship was caught by a terrible storm. They were driven West-North-West for day after unrelenting day. Vast waves swept the impassable deck. They lost top-masts, rigging, sailor after sailor. They had to pump for their lives.
Finally, the storm blew itself out, the sky cleared. Their sextants' 'position fix' astonished. They'd been blown clear across the Indian Ocean by that 'once in a generation' Super-Typhoon turned 'Extra-Tropical Cyclone'.
"Far, far from their planned route around South Africa, they were near the Persian Gulf. How they had escaped the many reefs and island chains across their unplanned course defied belief. Damaged and leaking, they limped into Aden. There, they telegraphed London, Ceylon and Singapore that they'd survived, made repairs, rested and re-supplied...
"Our star-ship, 'City of Fresno', has endured a terrible storm of a different kind.
"We were caught by the shock-front from Ember's Nova, hurled far and fast. Think of it as surfing a tsunami, or how a squeezed pip may launch across the room.
"It is 'New Science', our Engineering logs only hint at the detail. That may take many years, perhaps life-times of analysis and research to understand, never mind replicate.
"Remarkably, 'City of Fresno' has suffered little damage, with few injured. The many flex-mounts and motion dampers all worked as intended. The 'spherical bearings' on the spin-drums meant those suffered minimal strain, had no leaks. We thrice repeated many of our extensive checks and tests before we dared believe their kind findings...
"Our current location is a different matter. Thanks to our Navigation team, we now know we have travelled a great distance, are far, far beyond 'Convention Space'. Certainly, 'City of Fresno' lacks both fuel and speed to take us home directly.
"Unlike my ancestor, we have no local charts or convenient port. We must make do with what we have...
"First, we follow the standard procedure for mapping our 'local' space. Initial scans will require a week. Then we fly about a light-year to create a base-line, repeat the scans. Another week, another base-line, now skew. Again...
"These will help us locate a nearby solar system with icy moons and a gas-giant we can mine for water, fuel and other essentials, perhaps identify a potentially habitable planet.
"Finding friends would be a bonus...
"In addition, we have several 'City-Class' cargo pods of non-essential 'Goodies & Gifts' intended for 'Chaparral' but undelivered due time constraints. Whatever their contents, all will be very welcome...
"Meanwhile, diner rationing for passengers and crew is a precaution. Fortunately, these 'Berthing' drums are equipped for a long stay in the 'Deep and Dark'. There is ample Hydroponic and related equipment on their upper floors to make us self-sufficient. There is even enough feed-stock for our diners until harvesting begins.
"The facilities, though, are still in storage. They will need a lot of careful work to assemble and run...
"To lay the foundations for our sustainable future, please document your aptitudes and skills by completing the main 'census' form now available from Fresno's library. Also, if relevant, the smaller second, which is specific to Hydroponics. The latter references extensive library documentation which, please note, offers cascaded training...
"When our immediate resource issues are resolved, we must begin recruitment for ship-crew. We have the training materials, the simulations. In time, I hope that our current 'skeleton' crew, volunteers all, will grow to a full complement.
"Again, we are a long, long way from home, but we have the facilities to survive, then flourish.
"Thank you."
-
jemhouston
- Posts: 3837
- Joined: Fri Nov 18, 2022 12:38 am
Re: 'City of Fresno'
Calm, reassuring, and plenty of tasks to keep everyone busy. I know he has a plan for the complainers.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
City of Fresno #08
City of Fresno #08
"That was well told," Anne-Marie allowed. "So, do we grab another nap ? Or make a start on the census ?"
"Can we do them off-line, too ?" I wondered.
Seems we could. And, having navigated one to craft the other, we were soon done. A cuddle then a nap took us through to the next, minimal meal and its 'Moaning Mater'. We returned from that to a blinking icon, 'Missed video-call, please ring back'.
First Lieutenant Richards looked clean, rested, but concerned. "Ms. McKensie, Mr. Kinson. Thank you for your work on the Hydroponics census, our people have nothing but praise for it...
"What do you know of Ms. Syndilla Harris ?"
"Who ?" I puzzled.
Anne-Marie asked, "Context, please ?"
"She's on your corridor. Calls herself 'Mater Harris' ?"
"Her ?" I took a breath. "There's um, issues between us. It was my triage of Tepui geology that forced their sect's Equatorial settlements' evacuation. She would not accept demotion to settle with another clan, had to ship out, taking only the rump of her group."
"That... That explains much." The Lieutenant hesitated, said, "The Captain has received a rather peremptory message from Ms. Harris. By-passing both census forms, she declared herself the most senior civil administrator aboard, claimed management of the hydroponics."
Before I could reply, Anne-Marie elbowed me sharply, stated, "Due to those prior issues Jake must recuse himself from comment."
"Ah--"
"However," Anne-Marie continued, as controlled as stepping onto a dojo mat, "as a formality, you must require even short-listed candidates to complete those census forms, listing their training, experience and additional skills...
"To mitigate loss of institutional knowledge, yes ?"
The Lieutenant nodded very, very slowly, admitted, "A wise precaution..."
"Do crew recruitment assessments include a thorough psych-eval ?"
"Huh ? Yes, but--"
"Yes," Anne-Marie continued, with a polite nod. "You would not want to appoint some-one with unsuspected short-comings to any crew position, never mind a mission-critical administrative role. Obviously, the evaluation would be conducted in private, results secured by medical confidentiality rules."
The officer looked between her and me. He gauged her clinical control, my grim expression. After some seconds, he smiled, stated, "Thank you, Ms. McKensie. I'll take your counsel under advisement."
The screen blanked.
"Game, set and match ?" I offered. "Or is that the other thing ?"
"Close enough," she replied. "Being 'Mother Superior' to a narrow-minded sect is not a good fit to our needs. I doubt she has any 'useful' skills beyond 'domestic service' as a 'Junior'. And, if they don't find she exhibits excessive 'Dark Triad' traits, I'll be astonished. Hug ?"
"Hug..."
"That was well told," Anne-Marie allowed. "So, do we grab another nap ? Or make a start on the census ?"
"Can we do them off-line, too ?" I wondered.
Seems we could. And, having navigated one to craft the other, we were soon done. A cuddle then a nap took us through to the next, minimal meal and its 'Moaning Mater'. We returned from that to a blinking icon, 'Missed video-call, please ring back'.
First Lieutenant Richards looked clean, rested, but concerned. "Ms. McKensie, Mr. Kinson. Thank you for your work on the Hydroponics census, our people have nothing but praise for it...
"What do you know of Ms. Syndilla Harris ?"
"Who ?" I puzzled.
Anne-Marie asked, "Context, please ?"
"She's on your corridor. Calls herself 'Mater Harris' ?"
"Her ?" I took a breath. "There's um, issues between us. It was my triage of Tepui geology that forced their sect's Equatorial settlements' evacuation. She would not accept demotion to settle with another clan, had to ship out, taking only the rump of her group."
"That... That explains much." The Lieutenant hesitated, said, "The Captain has received a rather peremptory message from Ms. Harris. By-passing both census forms, she declared herself the most senior civil administrator aboard, claimed management of the hydroponics."
Before I could reply, Anne-Marie elbowed me sharply, stated, "Due to those prior issues Jake must recuse himself from comment."
"Ah--"
"However," Anne-Marie continued, as controlled as stepping onto a dojo mat, "as a formality, you must require even short-listed candidates to complete those census forms, listing their training, experience and additional skills...
"To mitigate loss of institutional knowledge, yes ?"
The Lieutenant nodded very, very slowly, admitted, "A wise precaution..."
"Do crew recruitment assessments include a thorough psych-eval ?"
"Huh ? Yes, but--"
"Yes," Anne-Marie continued, with a polite nod. "You would not want to appoint some-one with unsuspected short-comings to any crew position, never mind a mission-critical administrative role. Obviously, the evaluation would be conducted in private, results secured by medical confidentiality rules."
The officer looked between her and me. He gauged her clinical control, my grim expression. After some seconds, he smiled, stated, "Thank you, Ms. McKensie. I'll take your counsel under advisement."
The screen blanked.
"Game, set and match ?" I offered. "Or is that the other thing ?"
"Close enough," she replied. "Being 'Mother Superior' to a narrow-minded sect is not a good fit to our needs. I doubt she has any 'useful' skills beyond 'domestic service' as a 'Junior'. And, if they don't find she exhibits excessive 'Dark Triad' traits, I'll be astonished. Hug ?"
"Hug..."
-
jemhouston
- Posts: 3837
- Joined: Fri Nov 18, 2022 12:38 am
Re: 'City of Fresno'
Is it too soon to start tossing people out the airlocks?
Re: 'City of Fresno'
Ship crew should already have been predisposed to dispose of Mater Harris' petition. If they don't dispose of Mater Harris at the same time.
-
Nik_SpeakerToCats
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Dec 10, 2022 10:56 am
City of Fresno #09
City of Fresno #09
We spent hours studying the 'Ponics folder and its procedures, worked through to the next meal.
"YOU !!" Mater Harris accosted me with a shriek as we entered the Auto-Diner. "You rat ! You blocked my application !!"
Anne-Marie did not have to elbow me this time. Instead, she sweetly asked, "Application ?"
"To manage the Hydroponics, of course !" Her scowl would have etched steel.
"Jake, have you seen any vacancies posted ?" As I shook my head, Anne-Marie called across the diner, "Any-one seen any ?"
From a nearby table came, "Captain said something about recruiting crew..."
"No ! Hydroponics Manager !" Mater Harris shrieked. "I'm the best qualified, and this rat blocked me !"
"Ms. Harris--"
"I'm 'Mater Harris'--"
"Ms. Harris," Anne-Marie asked, "have you submitted your census forms ?"
"Huh ? Why should I do that ? I'm far and away the best qualified Administrator--"
"A-ground, perhaps." Anne-Marie was being diplomatic. "But you heard the Captain: we must complete the all-skills census form. Also, if relevant, the 'Ponics...
"Why ? I'm far and away the best--"
"You may have skills more vital to our survival than being a mere 'Ponics manager..."
Confused, 'Mater' Harris blurted, "But--"
"Besides," Anne-Marie continued implacably, "setting up 'Ponics is tedious technicians' work. No real administration required until working systems are handed over for routine use. And then just basic book-keeping for their standard cycles of production and maintenance. A child could do it...
"Also, like the crew's spin-drum garden, I reckon our spin-drums' 'Ponics people will report via Fresno's Chief Engineer to the Captain. Completing those census forms is the essential first step towards recruitment."
'Mater' Harris' mouth opened and closed like an oxygen-starved fish. She found no reply. Remarkably, while Anne-Marie and I selected, took and ate our meagre plate-meals, 'Mater' Harris remained silent. And, having apparently lost her appetite, failed to raid her minions' plates, which they briskly cleared...
Other diners, who'd watched Anne-Marie's elegant take-down with growing awe, gave us nods, winks and grins as we left.
We spent hours studying the 'Ponics folder and its procedures, worked through to the next meal.
"YOU !!" Mater Harris accosted me with a shriek as we entered the Auto-Diner. "You rat ! You blocked my application !!"
Anne-Marie did not have to elbow me this time. Instead, she sweetly asked, "Application ?"
"To manage the Hydroponics, of course !" Her scowl would have etched steel.
"Jake, have you seen any vacancies posted ?" As I shook my head, Anne-Marie called across the diner, "Any-one seen any ?"
From a nearby table came, "Captain said something about recruiting crew..."
"No ! Hydroponics Manager !" Mater Harris shrieked. "I'm the best qualified, and this rat blocked me !"
"Ms. Harris--"
"I'm 'Mater Harris'--"
"Ms. Harris," Anne-Marie asked, "have you submitted your census forms ?"
"Huh ? Why should I do that ? I'm far and away the best qualified Administrator--"
"A-ground, perhaps." Anne-Marie was being diplomatic. "But you heard the Captain: we must complete the all-skills census form. Also, if relevant, the 'Ponics...
"Why ? I'm far and away the best--"
"You may have skills more vital to our survival than being a mere 'Ponics manager..."
Confused, 'Mater' Harris blurted, "But--"
"Besides," Anne-Marie continued implacably, "setting up 'Ponics is tedious technicians' work. No real administration required until working systems are handed over for routine use. And then just basic book-keeping for their standard cycles of production and maintenance. A child could do it...
"Also, like the crew's spin-drum garden, I reckon our spin-drums' 'Ponics people will report via Fresno's Chief Engineer to the Captain. Completing those census forms is the essential first step towards recruitment."
'Mater' Harris' mouth opened and closed like an oxygen-starved fish. She found no reply. Remarkably, while Anne-Marie and I selected, took and ate our meagre plate-meals, 'Mater' Harris remained silent. And, having apparently lost her appetite, failed to raid her minions' plates, which they briskly cleared...
Other diners, who'd watched Anne-Marie's elegant take-down with growing awe, gave us nods, winks and grins as we left.