08-24-2011, 05:16 AM
802 A.S
Bridge of the LNS-Apollo
The constant vibration of the hull beneath Commander Ristar's boots reminded him hourly of the task beneath him. He was responsible for the lives of his crew, to see them returned safely to their families. To that end, he found himself staring at the jump hole ahead and feeling a shiver. His stomach twisted into knots, that uncanny bad feeling that humans had right before something went horribly wrong. His cheek twitched slightly, the bridge crew hardly noticing, aside from the first officer. First officer Turner leaned in, whispering to Commander Ristar, "You don't like whats going on here, that we're actually taking a ship of this size through a jump hole." Ristar's head merely nodded, the others ability to read him was always improving. Whatever his reluctance, deep inside Ristar's military doctrine was an inability to refuse orders. Taking a deep breath, steeling his shoulders in the blue uniform he wore for command, taking just a milisecond to straighten his gold sash, Ristar bellowed the orders to his navigators. "Take us in helm, quarter impulse power, shields at full." The order was met with a choruss of "Yes sir!" from the crew. A smile threatened to tug at Ristar's lips, which he crushed outright before it became a twinkle in his eye. Ahead, the lightning of the jump hole anomaly surged forward, trickling over the cruiser's shields and the radiator fins on the forward gun. Turner turned his head to glance at the readouts, finding no damage coming from the spectacular lightshow. For a few seconds, Ristar wondered if his bad feeling had been wrong. However, instead of the sudden tunnel of bright lights indicating a successful insertion into the wormhole, there was only darkness. Complete, utter darkness. Around him, the ambient lighting aboard the Apollo dimmed before winking out, followed by every display aboard. It was as if some cosmic entity had swallow his ship, and was draining it of every nutrient. Stunned to silence, Ristar found himself feeling utterly alone on an equally silent bridge, quietly wondering if this was now his tomb. Finally, he barked out the first order. "Communications, report. Engineering, send a runner to the reactor and get us some lights. Turner, get working with the science lab and find out what happened." His voice sounded higher pitched to his own ears, and he hoped none of the crew had picked up on that. Around him, dim white lights flicked on, the emergency survival lights carried by every serving navy member being activated. And for once, the vibration of the hull was gone. His ship, he realized, was dead.
The hum of his vessel was now replaced by the awkward silence of total vacuum and the sound of careful footsteps. It had been nearly five hours, and no report had come back as to what exactly had occurred. Reluctantly, Commander Ristar found himself sinking into a doubt of whether his ship would be remembered, or even sought after. Outwardly, he couldn't let his despair show. The bridge crew needed all the morale he could give, and his silence was not helping. He broke it with a simple question, "Has anyone tried to get on the hull in a vacuum suit?" "No, sir." Came a brave response from the communications officer. "Than do so. Find out what exactly is wrong." Responded Ristar, before sinking back down to his chair to think. The commander pressed his fingers together, steepling them while musing over the prior events. Nothing made sense, even with his limited knowledge of jump mechanics. There was an outside force at work here, of this he was sure, but why was his ship the experiment? Abruptly he stood, turning to head to the equally dark ready room. "Turner, round up the bridge officers and have them prepare a full report. I will be in the conference room shortly." And at that, Ristar pried the doors to his ready room open, going for an old paper book that he kept in his desk.
The pages beneath his fingers threatened to crumble, but held together. The text was hard to read in the dim lighting offered by the surrounding group of officers and their survival luminaries. Ristar followed silently along, reading an account of jump hole research hand scribbled on the page. Pausing midway, he outlined a sentence and repeated it. "Jump holes have long been thought to be a natural phenomenon, but according to our understanding of physics, they must be created and held together with a power source." His cold blue eyes swept around the group, before he moved away from the book. "Engineering, get me an analysis on the forward gun. Its capacitors might still have a charge." Turner commanded from behind him, bustling into his thoughts like always. A dread seemed to overtake the conference room, the various officers around him holding a silence. The grim shadows haunting their face from the luminaries, every officer had the same look. Someone had flipped the switch on them, and trapped them out of space. Effectively, they might not even exist anymore.
On the hull of the Apollo one lone man was staring into a void. Light disappeared inches from his face, and he had to walk carefully. Ahead of him, the radiator fins of the forward gun were barely discernible. Dropping to his knees with a grunt into his helmet, his gloved hands pried open the access panel to the capacitors. Sure enough, it was charged. Reaching in to give a quick test and make sure they were in place, one mans life suddenly winked out as a violent burst lit up his life for one last time. The forward gun thundered through the silent Apollo as it discharged into the nothingness. Not just discharged, but tore it. The lights on the Apollo shuddered on suddenly, Ristar's eyes widening at the view ahead. Stars winked into existence, the colorful swirl of nebulae, but somehow, everything was wrong. "Navigation, get a star chart reading. Tell me exactly where we are, now." He growled out, trying not to sound as startled as he was. "Sir, we are....we're outside of Sirius. But...the star chart can't be right. These drifts, they're all wrong." The helmsman responded meekly, clearly shaken. "What do they say, lieutenant?" Ristar's surprisingly calm voice echoed in the bridge, drowned by the now welcome hum of the engines. "It...it says that the stars have drifted. Fifteen years worth of drifting, possibly more." The words never seemed to leave the air, hanging like unwelcome guests.
Bridge of the LNS-Apollo
The constant vibration of the hull beneath Commander Ristar's boots reminded him hourly of the task beneath him. He was responsible for the lives of his crew, to see them returned safely to their families. To that end, he found himself staring at the jump hole ahead and feeling a shiver. His stomach twisted into knots, that uncanny bad feeling that humans had right before something went horribly wrong. His cheek twitched slightly, the bridge crew hardly noticing, aside from the first officer. First officer Turner leaned in, whispering to Commander Ristar, "You don't like whats going on here, that we're actually taking a ship of this size through a jump hole." Ristar's head merely nodded, the others ability to read him was always improving. Whatever his reluctance, deep inside Ristar's military doctrine was an inability to refuse orders. Taking a deep breath, steeling his shoulders in the blue uniform he wore for command, taking just a milisecond to straighten his gold sash, Ristar bellowed the orders to his navigators. "Take us in helm, quarter impulse power, shields at full." The order was met with a choruss of "Yes sir!" from the crew. A smile threatened to tug at Ristar's lips, which he crushed outright before it became a twinkle in his eye. Ahead, the lightning of the jump hole anomaly surged forward, trickling over the cruiser's shields and the radiator fins on the forward gun. Turner turned his head to glance at the readouts, finding no damage coming from the spectacular lightshow. For a few seconds, Ristar wondered if his bad feeling had been wrong. However, instead of the sudden tunnel of bright lights indicating a successful insertion into the wormhole, there was only darkness. Complete, utter darkness. Around him, the ambient lighting aboard the Apollo dimmed before winking out, followed by every display aboard. It was as if some cosmic entity had swallow his ship, and was draining it of every nutrient. Stunned to silence, Ristar found himself feeling utterly alone on an equally silent bridge, quietly wondering if this was now his tomb. Finally, he barked out the first order. "Communications, report. Engineering, send a runner to the reactor and get us some lights. Turner, get working with the science lab and find out what happened." His voice sounded higher pitched to his own ears, and he hoped none of the crew had picked up on that. Around him, dim white lights flicked on, the emergency survival lights carried by every serving navy member being activated. And for once, the vibration of the hull was gone. His ship, he realized, was dead.
The hum of his vessel was now replaced by the awkward silence of total vacuum and the sound of careful footsteps. It had been nearly five hours, and no report had come back as to what exactly had occurred. Reluctantly, Commander Ristar found himself sinking into a doubt of whether his ship would be remembered, or even sought after. Outwardly, he couldn't let his despair show. The bridge crew needed all the morale he could give, and his silence was not helping. He broke it with a simple question, "Has anyone tried to get on the hull in a vacuum suit?" "No, sir." Came a brave response from the communications officer. "Than do so. Find out what exactly is wrong." Responded Ristar, before sinking back down to his chair to think. The commander pressed his fingers together, steepling them while musing over the prior events. Nothing made sense, even with his limited knowledge of jump mechanics. There was an outside force at work here, of this he was sure, but why was his ship the experiment? Abruptly he stood, turning to head to the equally dark ready room. "Turner, round up the bridge officers and have them prepare a full report. I will be in the conference room shortly." And at that, Ristar pried the doors to his ready room open, going for an old paper book that he kept in his desk.
The pages beneath his fingers threatened to crumble, but held together. The text was hard to read in the dim lighting offered by the surrounding group of officers and their survival luminaries. Ristar followed silently along, reading an account of jump hole research hand scribbled on the page. Pausing midway, he outlined a sentence and repeated it. "Jump holes have long been thought to be a natural phenomenon, but according to our understanding of physics, they must be created and held together with a power source." His cold blue eyes swept around the group, before he moved away from the book. "Engineering, get me an analysis on the forward gun. Its capacitors might still have a charge." Turner commanded from behind him, bustling into his thoughts like always. A dread seemed to overtake the conference room, the various officers around him holding a silence. The grim shadows haunting their face from the luminaries, every officer had the same look. Someone had flipped the switch on them, and trapped them out of space. Effectively, they might not even exist anymore.
On the hull of the Apollo one lone man was staring into a void. Light disappeared inches from his face, and he had to walk carefully. Ahead of him, the radiator fins of the forward gun were barely discernible. Dropping to his knees with a grunt into his helmet, his gloved hands pried open the access panel to the capacitors. Sure enough, it was charged. Reaching in to give a quick test and make sure they were in place, one mans life suddenly winked out as a violent burst lit up his life for one last time. The forward gun thundered through the silent Apollo as it discharged into the nothingness. Not just discharged, but tore it. The lights on the Apollo shuddered on suddenly, Ristar's eyes widening at the view ahead. Stars winked into existence, the colorful swirl of nebulae, but somehow, everything was wrong. "Navigation, get a star chart reading. Tell me exactly where we are, now." He growled out, trying not to sound as startled as he was. "Sir, we are....we're outside of Sirius. But...the star chart can't be right. These drifts, they're all wrong." The helmsman responded meekly, clearly shaken. "What do they say, lieutenant?" Ristar's surprisingly calm voice echoed in the bridge, drowned by the now welcome hum of the engines. "It...it says that the stars have drifted. Fifteen years worth of drifting, possibly more." The words never seemed to leave the air, hanging like unwelcome guests.