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[RFC][Story] Mission to Arcadia
 
#51
Quote:"Oh, and what part of the flightsuits can you make transparent?"
LOL!

and SHIELD approved cosplay gear... I wonder if there is some kind of sticker for this "SHIELD approved" Wink
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#52
It's a badge-shaped picture of an SD Ultimateverse Fury giving a thumbs up.
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#53
And now

Coasting Down the Other Side
Convention 2024.

They say it gets easier now

Quote:-----------

"Sharrup you mouth? What is this Sharrup your mouth? "

Lun glared at him…

"Rocky… and Bullwinkle. Natasha Fatale. Ahm….." he paused, looking a little confused. He began to sweat as Lun's gaze bored. "It's funny."

"Who?"

"…..Television."

"Mudachok," scoffed Lun.

Of all the thing's that'd been said at the Marsden debate, some random wag's interjection of 'Sharrup your mouth' had gone on to become the most quoted moment of the hour-long discussion.

-------

Lev found a corner in a bar that could almost pass as quiet. With the heaving mass of the convention passing around himself and his drinking companion, what passed as quiet, was still loud enough that making sense of the feed on the television

It was as good a place as any to meet up with an old friend - one who introduced him to the concept of Single Malt.

"Laphroaig, Quarter Cask," he said, placing a half-empty whisky bottle onto the table between them

Lev eyed the green bottle suspiciously, before looking up at the grinning, dark-skinned man behind it.

"Hmm…. Peat," he said.

Andrew Otenbe glowered at him. "Don't tell me you don't like peat?" he asked, pouring a measure of golden liquid into Lev's glass. The scent of burning turf began to fill the bar.

"Like him? I can't stand the bastard." Lev snorted, before taking a sip from the tall glass. "But I'll never say no to good Scotch."

He drew in a deep breath, allowing the warmth of it to travel down through his body, before exhaling it with a deep, satisfied sigh. It never failed to satisfy, like drinking deep of a peat-fuelled bonfire by the crashing seaside.

"So Lev," Andrew said, settling back into his seat. "Halfway through the project you disappear off the face of Mars without telling anyone. What the fuck happened to you man?"

Aware of just who he was working for Lev couldn't help but glance around him to check for listeners. He felt the gaze of unseen eyes crawl down his back, and knew he couldn't tell the whole truth. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward across the table.

"Someone asked me to run a lab," he answered, remembering his cover.

It was still hard not to brag

"You, running a lab?'" His drinking companion sat bolt upright, staring at him. The man almost seemed ready to burst out laughing

"Without even a professor's reference or publishing history? Are you for real?"

"Fuckin' truth." Lev grinned, before swallowing a mouthful.

Andrew set his glass down on the table. "Well, don't keep it to yourself…. I'm all ears."

"You know that cyber with that rock in the belt…"

Again, the surprise was obvious. "You mean…"

"The other one!" he corrected. "The redhead with the armour…. "

"Ah Martial arts one. I get my cyborgs confused, they're all the same kind of crazy. I'm going to guess she didn't hire you for those two years of Karate in secondary school?"

"Fuck no. She's got this thing in her head about changing her reputation, so she's putting together a mission to Arcadia - an amateur science mission."

Again, Andrew blinked. "You sure it's the same redhead we're thinking of?"

"Yeah. She thinks if people see her putting together a mission like this they'll start to buy what she's selling." Lev took a drew in a dubious deep breath, keenly aware of the real reasons behind everything. He glanced down at his glass for a moment and his own reflection swirling in the pale gold liquid. "I think if she's willing to pay me, and give me a chance to actually publish real results then she's got herself a scientist."

And that was the truth.

"Lucky bastard," said Andrew, taking a drink.

Time to brag, thought Lev. Brag about science. "It's a deep ocean survey too," he continued, finding his excitement. "so it's something literally nobody's ever done. There's a real chance to learn something about the evolution of life in the Devonian period, because that's where Arcadia is…"

"Lucky bastard." Andrew repeated sourly, interrupting him "Sorensonn's bughunt is still going but I don't think anybody knows what they're looking for anymore. Mars's too bloody contaminated these days - there's no way to be certain it isn't ¬just something terrestrial that's hitched a ride anymore. Eight found tardigrades on a wreck that were still living happily."

"Living? Or just viable?"

Viable tardigrades being nothing special, of course. The only thing that really killed the buggers was incineration. And even then the superstition was to scatter the ashes to make sure they couldn't re-assemble themselves.

"Oh these bastards were living alright." And his irritation at that face bristled. "They'd even reproduced at least one generation. God knows where they got the moisture from - maybe the wreck. You see our problem…"

The man's smile suggested it'd be Lev's problem too.

"We were planning on running test dives in the Great Lakes and North Atlantic…." he said, flatly.

"You want to have some good sterilisation protocols," Andrew stated. "Or tardigrades will inherit the universe."

"I guess I'll have to come up with something that'll fit on a cramped transport," Lev took a deep breath. "Or get the dive team to do it since they're sorting out their own hardware. All I have to do is worry about the lab."

"They let you spec the lab too?"

Now that was almost too good to be true.

"Well, my redheaded employer knows as much about Science as I do about Martial Arts." he said, allowing a smile to crawl across his lip, before taking another sip from his glass. "She experiments on herself from time-to-time you see, and I think the one time she actually tried to write a paper on it, the journal pulled it because of 'informed consent' violations."

"Hah…. mad's who have no idea what they're doing to themselves - that's an old joke."

"They're a blight on the profession of honest science!" Lev declared for all to hear and ignore. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "They also let me spec lab assistants if you're looking for something more interesting than bughunting for Sorensonn."

"4 weeks on a cramped ship half-filled with women, to a sunny paradise world with a chance to make real discoveries." Andrew sighed "If you'd asked me a month ago I'd have jumped on it. But admissions for the Doctorate programme is next month, and the professor's already recommended me. I might have a real chance too."

Lev sat back."You've been working for him for ten years, and he only just got around to that now?"

"Unfortunately, I think I made the mistake of being too good to be replaced…" he offered a wan smile, before turning his gaze to the bottom of his glass. "He's still complaining about having to find another to replace me and I'm not sure he's joking."

"Well. Here's to getting out," Lev offered, before downing the last of his Scotch. It sent a shudder through his body, fallowed by a warm, smokey exhale.

"Thanks…Good luck with Arcadia."

"Thanks, man. And now for the next item on our list…" He drew a short, squat bottle bottle with a blew label out from his backpack, placing it on the table beside the Laphroaig.

"Kilchoman First 18, Cask Strength."

The unasked question being 'Who'd you murder to get it?'

"I traded a Yamazaki 18, my Auchentoshan Three-wood and that GlenDronach Allardice I'd been saving for it." He popped the stopper, before pouring two generous measures. "But trust me, it's worth it."

"I find that, after drinking Laphroaig, everything that follows tastes like Laphroaig." And that worried Andrew, greatly. Such a wonderful thing, could go to waste.

A glass of water would cleanse the palate. Maybe two. Something that special, deserved special treatment. It also required an extra special effort next year…

-------

Daryl settled herself into the pilot's seat of the cruiser, watching the convention traffic go by through the windows. The ship was cruising under Newton's autopilot, orbiting steadily

Her reflection looked up at her, red-eyes meeting read before the glare of sunrise over Saturn swallowed it in magnesium arc-light.

She reached up with a gloved hand and flipped down the green-tinted sun-visor. She took a moment to soak in the warmth of the sunlight, inhaling the scent of someone's lunch from the galley, mixed with machine oils from the generators behind her, seeping ozone from the overhead vents and her own black polymer skin.

She clenched her gloved hands into a fist one, twice, then a third time before allowing herself to relax

For this first time since it happened, her mind was clear. Catharsis was a beautiful thing. A screaming hurricane of tears had blown the fog from her mind.

There was a big difference between carrying on as if nothing at all had happened, and carrying on as normal. One was a refusal to even fight. One was victory.

She took a deep breath, then pushed a button on the pilot's panel to purge the waste canister. With it went her remaining contact lenses and blonde hair dye, drifting away into open space.

Soon, the dye would wash out, leaving an unnatural silver behind to accompany her now red eyes.

At least she still had her natural skin tone. Daryl sat there for a time, twirling strands of her hair through her electropolymer-skinned fingers, smiling softly to herself.

After that, it was time to watch Kotono demonstrate the results of paying someone to build her a replica set of 3D-manoeuver gear. Including frangible sword-blades. The results were almost guaranteed to be embarassing.

-------
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#54
Musings...
A crewmember aboard Lun updates their blog.

Quote:Musings from the Sea of Stars. Post for 17/08/2024

So, about that little trip.

Well, it sounded good at first. A trip on a cruiser to a 'paradise' planet for a little amateur science in the deep ocean. But this is no pleasure cruise. I mean, really. We're on an old Russian ship, a Caspian Sea monster that was salvaged especially for the expedition. They've fitted it out with diving gear, and hired a dedicated crew to operate it. We even have a molecular exobiologist aboard to do real research.

I'm just a deckhand.

There's thirty of us on the crew, including some of the local BNF's and the diving team. There is no such thing as personal space. Most of us are split between two berthing compartments that have enough racks for half that which means sharing is mandatory. There's nothing like the feeling of getting into a sleeping bag still warm after someone's left it - it's a nasty kind of warm. And if your rack mate wears strong perfume or cologne, so do you.

There're two showers, combined with heads, which are only really intended for emergency decontamination because water's so scarce - so it doesn't take long for things to get really fenchy aboard. Mix that with the smell of amine scrubbers, electric ozone, paint, machine oils, burned fuel, bleach, farts and whatever last night's meal was to get an idea of what it smells like. It doesn't help that some people like to load up on perfume to eye-watering levels to mask their own BO.

The only food aboard are pre-packed MRE's, because there's so little space to spare. Most are nasty. And all the good stuff like sweets gets ratfucked. We took a week's cruise out around the belt just to get a feel for everything and the good stuff was gone after day one.

Being on this boat is proper fucking das-boot stuff.

The mission leader's that armoured cyber who leaves here, who takes care of some of the high-end management, with a bug up her thruster about changing peoples opinions of her. The boat's actual paper's-holding owner's her partner. Our Captain's actually ex-City Guard, so has no real time in command of a ship - the best way to describe her is angry, but fair. She's that racer who recently came out as biomodded, another victim of that race-fixing scandal a few months back

The XO, however, is the one with the whip. Lun's a Russian AI. She works us into the decks. Crash drills. Fire drills. Missile drills. Decompression drills. Flooding drills. Engine failure drills. Oh, and fuming drills. Medical emergency drills that required a rapid conversion of the mess into a surgery…. the list goes on.

Craziest of all was the decompression drill. That involves sealing off a compartment of the ship, getting a good hard vacuum outside. Then our friendly local combat cyborg vents the compartment while we sit strapped down in chairs. For the first time, it's just to get a feel for vacuum and what it does.

Hard Vacuum is a surreal experience, even with a counterpressure undersuit. There's a cold rush of escaping air that drowns out the screams, chased by a freezing silent mist. And then nothing except my own heatbeat in my ear, and the feeling like I'm about to burst inside. My chest and tonque are fizzling cold, while my skin feels oddly warm. And I have just enough time to marvel at the sensation before I pass out.

The aim is to get us used to vacuum enough to at least be able to do some things to help ourselves. The second time, we practice putting on PEBs so we can try rescue ourselves. Or finding a place to sit down and not crack our skulls if we pass out, so someone else can put on our PEBs.

Anyone without a mod also carries an automatic injector as an armband. If atmospheric pressure goes below the redline, and we stop moving for thirty seconds it triggers automatically in the hope that waving us before we're dead might keep us alive long enough to be found.

The fire drills are the worst. Hot, smokey and chaotic at best. We carry so much fuel and oxidiser that if a fire goes out of control, we're in real danger of exploding. Fire's the one thing we don't fuck around with here. You think the Cities are strict on open flames?

Still, parking above Kandor City, listening to KROK while running missile drills was fun enough for those who caught the joke. Unfortunately, there was no comradeship in Cuba, just a day's journey home again, followed by a ceremony where we were all given our telnyashka's.

For those not in the know, that's the traditional Russian navy striped jumper.

It's weird. It's made things a little more cliquish off the boat too. There's us on the boat, and everyone else. It wasn’t until recently that I realised I hadn't spoken to my friends in a long time - and these are people I moved out here with. I thought it might've been all the work we're doing, but more and more the boat crew seem to be hanging together, even away from training.

Maybe that's the idea.

I think we're the most highly trained and qualified 'civil' crew there is. This is navy-grade training.

This isn't really what I signed up for. I wanted a trip to Arcadia, not the whole 'In the Navy' experience. On the one hand, I feel like something real's been achieved - we've really done something together as a crew. It's almost fun. On the other, I feel a little bit tricked - this definitely isn't what I thought it'd be when I signed on the dotted line. And even if we're not officially a military force - just a 'professional' one - there's something about all this that just makes me feel uneasy.

It wouldn't take much to refit this ship for combat. How hard would it be to replace the dive-team and their hardware with some form of Space Marines? Or take replace the cockpit in the missiles with a guidance chip and warhead?

I think Lun's gone through a lot of trouble to bond us together as a crew? Why am I worried that someone will try and abuse that, to use us for something else when all this is done? There is something that's been bugging me.

I'm guessing you all know Jet Jaguar, right? Boskone-war combat cyborg with the Panzer Kunst, with a complete speed fetish. Does a science mission like this really sound like something a person like that would actually be interested in?

It seems like a lot of effort to go to, just to avoid being seen as a one trick pony.

Anyway, this time next month we'll be in Detroit for our final training and shakedown. We're planning a dive on the Edmund Fitzgerald. Then a week later, we're hopping out into the North Atlantic to visit the Titanic. I'm jealous of the dive team, honestly - to get to go all the way down there and stand on the actual deck of the Titanic in their Jupiter suits. You couldn't pay for an experience like that. With a little luck, I'll have pictures.

A month after that, I'll be on Arcadia, all the work comes to a head and my updates will drop off.

Next week's update , the results another progress check session with my counsellor. It's been a long road since the accident, but these last few weeks, I've been managing to feel almost normal again.

Until then, thanks for reading. Leave a comment, or +1 below in the usual space.
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#55
I just hope the Trekkies will not find their food storage...

"We are on a pleasure cruise to Arcadia!"

"On emergency rations?"
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#56
When you have to feed thirty people for a month, it's almost a better option than Dole Yeast. And compact enough too that enough can be carried in case of a breakdown in open space, requiring a wait for a pickup. Alongside a week or so's worth of fresh food aboard -replenished at Ultima, some frozen and preserved stocks, and whatever can be caught from the water at Arcadia can be cooked.

How else would you feed so many people, with so little space available?

....Add more space by bringing a Gagarin or a support-craft, being the obvious answer.
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#57
The Last Race
22/09/2024

3 years work, culminates in 3 hours.

Part 1.

Quote:We approached this test as an aerospace rehash of the legendary Evo -vs- WRX battles of the automotive world - a pair of homologation specials fighting it out on the street, while they fought on the track aswell. But it's more than that.

As a spacecraft, the VF-4 Evolution is an order of magnitude better. With one set of options, it works as a fighter. With another, it works as a day to day GT. If you ask it to, it'll even be comfortable. It's even slightly cheaper. The controls are the same as on any Bellcom fighter, so you feel instantly at home in the cockpit. And with a few slight modifications, it'll work around the track aswell as the racer too. It's millions of credits spent on a demonstration of a company's pride and capability so you better believe it's awesome in every single way - it'd be unthinkable if it wasn't. It takes your hand and guides you around the track, letting you reach far beyond your potential.

It elevates mortal men into racing heroes.

With the RF-047, every time you sit in it, you're aware that it has been built for one purpose, and one purpose alone: to go as fast as possible around a racetrack. It doesn't care about being comfortable, or efficient, or even being able to defend itself in a fight. It's born to Race. All it wants to do is go fast, and you can feel its disdain for you when you don't. It leaves you in no doubt that you're the weakest part of the equation - that it can always turn faster and accelerate harder than you ever dare take it. It goads you to push it faster and faster, teasing and stuttering and embarrassing until finally, it goads you into going that bit too far, pushing you into the embrace of the sausage creature.

It reminds would-be heroes that they're only mortal in the rudest manner.

You know that, every time you slot yourself down inside that tailored, unpainted-carbon and almost-recumbant cockpit that you're sitting in something that's technically no different from the one raced by Asagiri themselves. Even the flightsuit is made to measure. You can take it to a track, do nothing at all to it except pay the entry fee, and if you're good enough, win the race.

But... that's only if you're good enough.

The winner of the test has to be the VF-4. It scores higher everywhere away from the racetrack. Objectively, it's the best one to buy. You'll feel better about yourself. You'll get better use out of it. For the vast majority of people, you'll even be faster around a racetrack. It's all-round better value for your credit.

But, In ten or twenty years time, there'll still be dozens of them around, filtering through the second hand market with the few that ever see track action finding themselves locked away into various fen collections. They'll be there for everyone, a real power-to-the-people machine like the old Corvette ZR's. It's that American ideal that if something's good, it should be available to everyone.

The Rf-047 will always be rare. They'll be bought by genuine racers, first. Then by people who just want the cachet of owning a genuine race-jet. A few will end up preserved by wealthy collectors as museum pieces and artisan works that will never fly. Most will fall to the natural attrition of both racing and of overenthusiastic owners writing cheques their arse can't cover putting a sudden end to the majority. It's the Ferrari to the Corvette.

This 'Evolution-4; is the best and will deservedly sell like hotcakes, making another billion for Bellcom I'm sure, but I think the RF-047 is the one that'll become a legend.

Maybe I'm a little biased. But I believe it enough that I just ordered one for myself, in the full knowledge that it'll always be tut-tutting and frowning at me each time I try to make Titans Turn at speed and bottle it halfway through.


Excerpt:
Alessio Vittore
The Aeronaut Magazine issue #89
"The next Evolution"

--------------------------------

--------------------------------
You're all very welcome here to Ultima Station and the Stellvia Hotels 700 Special, the final race of the 2024 season. And what a season it has been Tom.

Right you are Kohran. We started way back in March at Titan with the stunning debut of the Kulbit racer from newcomer constructor Asagiri, piloted by a first time professional pilot, competing in their first race to have a blow-out victory. Mrs. Haur was already known for competing in the amateur-classes with her own personal Silver Arrow - a refit Aeritalia F-104 sold to fund the Kulbit project. The combination then went on to win the next two races of the season - something unheard of in the history of the sport for a debut season. Already they've earned their place in the record books. The winning streak only came to a halt following an engine failure at the Forge, and the subsequent ten position penalty at the next starting formation for the next race at Greenwood promised a cracking thriller even before Stonewell Bellcom announced their VF-4 Evolution program had achieved Great Justice homologation after two months of crash development and would be ready to debut at Bellcom's home race with a sensational 1-2 finish.

Tom, the real story of the season since then has been the two duelling homologation specials. As regulars fan will know all spacecraft taking part in this class have to be based on existing combat types, with type-approval from Great Justice, and very limited modifications are allowed beyond that for racing. You can empty the ammo-bins, add safety hardware and strip some parts but those jets are supposed to be the same ones you can buy off the shelf. The traditional approach has been to take an existing de-mil combat fighter and strip it of unnecessary parts, but both the Evo-4 and the RF-47 are different. They began as dedicated racecraft from day one of the design process, having the bare minimum fitted to meet Great Justice standards. Throughout the year, both have been setting qualifying times good enough to make the starting formation at this year's Top-Flite races at the same track.

Bellcom and the Spirit of '76 piloted by Abriel went on to win the next three races on the trot, the advantage of two spacecraft in the formation giving them lead in the Constructor's championship and closing down Pilot's championship. Asagiri respond with a masterful Canyon run through the trenches of Marineris where the superior aerodynamics of the aviation-derived Kulbit and a little local knowledge from the team owner allowed a come-from-behind win at a race also marred by the tragic deaths of Jane Erwin and Cam Calloway; the first fatalities in four years reminding us all just how dangerous a sport this is. Then we travel around the Planet to Utopia where Starfleet's Red Squadron acted as a wildcard spoiler taking first place. The circus moved on to race at the NORC, sponsored by the Americans to promote interplanetary goodwill, with the Black Talons taking a masterful win, managing tactics, fuel and racecraft with their usual predictive precision and proving that it wouldn't just be about the two homologation specials. Another win by the Bellcom team in the Dark side of Mercury wrapped up the Constructors championship and brings us here to the final race of the season, with just one point separating first and second in the Pilot's /championship making for a straight race to the finishline. Will we have our first debut-season champion, or will the Bellcom team successfully retain the title, taking the record for largest points deficit closed. Whatever happens, this promises to be a ding dong battle between the leaders.

Of course, we can't talk about the homologation specials without talking about the resulting controversy and arguments over the definition of 'Combat Spacecraft' and the effect of the specials in further removing the sport from its roots amongst bored pilots honing their skills during Operation Great Justice. Pilot Daryl especially not having any prior combat experience or even training. A number of smaller constructors have already threatened to withdraw from the sport if nothing is done to prevent runaway spending on dedicated development and cheque-book victories. We have the Surawtari team all but accusing Bellecom of buying the last half of the season with sheer force of credits, and Asagiri and Bellecom together destroying the spirit of the sport for the sake of victory. Team owner Jet Jaguar of Asagiri claiming their only aim is to take part, and lower the barriers to entry and competitiveness for small teams. Whatever happens, next season promises to be exciting, with Black Aeronaut already admitting to be in the final stages of prototype testing for their own special and Bellecom revising the Evolution into an Evolution II. Who knows what else lies in skunkworks labs across the system, next year's already promising to be another cracker.

-----------------------------

She threw up before every race - a nervous reaction. Retching until her stomach ached was routine. Daryl gargled a cheap fruit-flavoured soda drink to clear the taste from her mouth, before spitting it down a stainless steel sink. A gush of recycled water from a single cold tap swept it away.

He whole body tingled with adrenaline, muscles coiling themselves taught, reading to spring into action. It prickled in the tips of her fingers. Her breathing quivered like jelly. In her chest, she could feel her heart beginning to race, riding the rush already even though there were still ten minutes before take-off. Pacing around the restroom, she began to wrung her hands together, stealing glances at her reflection in the mirror.

Grey hair, in her usual mullet style crowned her head, a long fringe framing her Blood-red eyes. At least she still had her mother's tanned skin. A Turkish mother kept her just above the depths of the Ayanami valley, despite the best efforts of her race helmet to force her hair down into the traditional Ayanami style. The flight suit contrasted with her hair, coming in a deep-space shade of navy, with what had been the emergency medical panels highlighted in a lighter Sammy blue to make them easier to find and rip off.

Nobody would want to try ripping them off now.

Daryl crouched down and clipped the her foot-armour into place, taking a few stiff-steps around the cabin to make sure they wouldn't fall off. It was bulky and looked awkard, with heavy anchor points for the Kulbit's crash harness built it, but the solid plastic cocoon kept her feet feeling safe and secure. One good thing about her biomod, she had to admit, was that it really did stop her feet getting gross and sweaty.

Daryl couldn't help but give her reflection a rueful smile.

That was the trick to dealing with joker mods. Find those little things that you like, and use them to pull you through - to make life bearable.

Daryl mused on it as she locked the shoulder armour into place. A neck brace docked with it, holding her head rigidly in place. The same rigid polymer kept her from even turning her head to the side. She shook off the feeling of confinement, rocking her shoulders back and forth before drawing down a long deep breath.

Through the door, she could hear the activity in the hangar. The zip-clatter of a pneumatic impact wrench chilled her spine. Electropolymer skin began to crawl across her body, squirming in sympathy. Going into combat in a hardsuit was less terrifying.

Combat was safer than racing, for a start. At least inside a hardsuit.

But the feeling beforehand was much the same. It was that same sense of charging - like her body was some form of adrenaline battery, ready to unleash an explosive burst of energy.

Daryl fought to contain it, to keep herself from bursting through the door into the hanger at a full run. Forcing herself to move slowly, she picked her silver-painted helmet up and tucked it safely underarm. Daryl drew on another deep breath before opening the door.

Waiting for her was the black carbon frame of the Stratos, trimmed with shining gold stripes. Sponsor and supplier stickers added splashes of colour to both tailfins, the landing-gear doors and parts of the nose. The number 73 was painted prominently on on the bottom of the wing in reflective silver paint. Fuel hoses trailed from both wings, filling the main tanks. Hired mechanics made the final few checks necessary before removing the red safety tags from the engines and landing-gear.

And a Microphone was stuffed in her face by a grinning white-furred catgirl in a pressure suit, her slit-eyes hidden by the glass visor of a headset video recorder.

"So, Daryl, final race of the season. How'd you rate your chances"

Fangs were bared in anticipation.

"Um..... Good."

The easiest way to defeat the gargoyles was to give them the most monotonic answers. It didn't fluster the catgirl in the slightest. The hungry microphone was moved even closer, and invitation to speak more.

"You're going into the final race, just three points behind Spirit of '76. To win the title, you have to beat the Spirit."

"I know,"

The catgirl's ears drooped. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, to try and regain her momentum.

"If you win, you'll be the first pilot and team from the Crystal Millennium to win the title, the first debut Pilot to win the title, and the first Title won by a spacecraft competing in it's first year. How are you dealing with the pressure?"

"I'm not."

That was the truth at least. The catgirl pursed her lips into a momentary pout, before mastering herself.

"And what about strategy for the race. It's a new track, how has that affected your strategy for the race today?"

"It means we're on a level playing field."

It meant not opening the weapon-bay doors, so people couldn't see what they'd stuffed inside. The rules didn't specifically ban it....

----------------------

"Thank you Miss Haur, I'll let you get back to your preparation. I'm going to try get down to Bellcom before the formation and see what's happening. There's a lot of activity down here in the hanger. We've got the two Thunderbirds from Surawtari firing up their engines, those big old K-59's really do make an amazing noise. Always a good thing to see such beautiful old machines still racing, but I hear they've already planned to switch to VF-9's next year. Black Talons still looking razor-sharp, you can never count them out. Black Aeronaut's workhorse BA-71's, with new engines there for today's race. Drop tanks under the belly? Looks like Ben's trying to be the Dark Horse on fuel strategy by going all the way without stopping for a refuel; could be one to watch. The T-SAB's own Raptor as a wildcard entry for the day getting ready with military precision along with the local team in a Viper fighter flown by Stigr Landvik. Team Firefox with their big 31's, have announced they've bought a pair of Kulbits for next year. Team Hesketh from Gestton in their Hi-Visibility uniforms having their final health and safety briefings before boarding their white TSR-2's.....

--------------------

Daryl slipped down into the cockpit and felt herself latch into place in the recumbent seat. Clasps on her shoulders, hips and thighs locked themselves into place, fixing her rigidly in the pilot's seat. Her feet found the rudder pedals, stretched far ahead of her towards the nose. Her left hand settled on the throttle, while her right tested the control joystick. In front of her, a small instrument panel offer the bare basic backups required by the rules.

All of it had been tailored specifically to fit her. Controls found her fingertips intuitively as she began the startup sequence.

Daryl felt the starters begin to spool up, a fizzle of energy rising through her spine. The whole machine began to fizz and vibrate as both engines moaned to life. On her helmet visor, the main displays came to life in a mix of green, yellow and red wireframe.

Her oxygen line pressurised, feeding her dry recirculated air through a pressurised mouthpiece. Power bristled through the tips of her fingers as the energy feeds to her flightsuit came alive. A test cycle compressed the suit, constricting her whole body for a few heartbeats - just long enough to feel the blood pressure rise in her cheeks - before releasing again. She allowed herself to accept a lungful of pressurised air, filling her chest almost to bursting. She swallowed to hold back against the feed from the mouthpiece, before blowing it slowly out through her nostrils.

It was dehumanising, she mused. With every switch, she became less and less a human being, and more a functional component of the Kulbit. Instead of the spacecraft adapting for her, she'd been adapted for the spacecraft.

She glanced at her onboard instruments, checking first the warnings on her visor, before scanning various cockpit panels.

"How is it?"

Jet's grinning face appeared over the side of the cockpit. The cyber's puppet had been dressed in it's own skintight flightsuit, for the sake of the cameras. The cyber puppet supported itself with an arm on the canopy.

"All systems go," Daryl answered, a giddy grin crawling across her lips, inspite of the hissing mouthpiece. Like a child waiting on a rollercoaster. She could feel the engines running, powering tingling through her body. It came up through the seat and filled her up from the inside.

The puppets expression was neutral for a breath, before a warm smile spread across her face. "Well, all you've got to do is fly the line, don't worry about anyone else's, and the numbers say we'll win."

Daryl gave her a disbelieving glance for a moment, before giving a stiff shrug of her shoulders - as much as she could locked into the pilot seat.

"It keeps the pressure off," she said. "Just fly the line. Leave it up to strategy. All I have to do is hold my nerve and we win."

And for both engines to keep burning the whole way through, for Jet's maths to be right, for the Bellcom team's strategy not to be even better, for her not to get hit by another racer, or just to not fuck it up and clip a buoy or do something dumb and pickup a time penalty.

"Pretty much,"

A moment passed. Both of them took a breath.

"Good luck," said Jet.

"Thanks," said Daryl.

A single button-push lowered the cockpit with a hiss from the actuators, sealing her away from the noise of the hangar with a hollow clunk. Compared to the average fighter, the cockpit canopy was formed from opaque carbotanium, save for the regulation minimum glass-area formed in transparent carbon. More like the portholes of an X-15 or space-shuttle, it sometimes made her think about the blinkers on a racehorse - showing the bare minimum needed for her to see her way forward.

Both engines moaned at idle behind her, warming to their operating temperature. She tried her primary controls, listening for the answer from the actuators.

Ahead, she saw the hangar door open to the perfect black backdrop of space, broken only by the track beacons winking in the distance. A chime on her panel warned her that both refuelling hoses had been disconnected. Nitrogen pressurisation was complete. An orange-suited marshal standing by the hangar door waved a red glowing wand at her, flashing her racing number out in thin air as it waved.

The radio earbud in her helmet hissed.

"Stratos, Race Control, Radio Check"

She keyed in the correct channel using a button on the throttle. "Race Control, Stratos. Five by Five,"

"Stratos, Departure Clear to flightline."

The marshal's baton switched to a solid, steady green. He - because for some reason in her mind all the race marshals had to be male inspite of the pressure suits being bulky and androgenous - began to sweep towards open space with the baton.

"Stratos Copy, Clear to Flightline. Departing."

Parking brake off. Chocks away. Wave goodbye to the marshal. A nudge on one of the throttles and a lump in her throat. The black jet edged forwards out of it's hangar and on to the takeoff strip. The last thing she did was adjust her fuel monitor to show average, and total, fuel consumption.

Daryl swallowed another lungful of pressurised air, then chased it with the lump that'd grown in her throat. Her hand had begun to shake on the throttle. A clench of her fist quenched the tremor, before she pushed it forwards to takeoff power.

--------

Hey, I'm Tom Hardee with Kohran Li up here in the booth with Dani Lynn, our Catgirl in the hangar and we're back here at the Stellvia Hotels Ultima 700 where we're counting down the last few seconds towards our formation lap. Our coverage today brought to you in conjunction with Forza Aeronatica on King of Fenners. Race for real without the risks. Our racers are all out on the track taking their warm up to the formation and that gives us a chance to listen in as they line up.

Team Radio: Asagiri: "Keep it on Zog Four. We need engines on Zog Four. Rember. Play it Lauda."
"Roger, Roger. You sure that's right?"
"I double checked it Zog four will do it."


Pilot Daryl sounding a little bit dubious about that. What do you make of that Kohran?

That's definitely a strategy call; this ain't no quarter-AU drag race, especially this far out. We're here for the long-haul You have to manage fuel, engine reliability, RCS propellants and even pilot fatigue. Go balls-to-the-wall off the line and you run out of fuel before half distance and you suddenly find yourself either having to two-stop it, take a splash-and-dash, or back right off towards the end of the race just to make the finish. Or, you get your human pilots getting mentally tired and making mistakes. The early sims for this track seems to suggest a one-stop strategy with a long first stint is the fastest way to the finish line. Of course, it all depends on how the race unfolds. Get a safety early or late on and that'll set a cat amongst the pigeons and you'll see teams scrambling to shift and adapt.

What do you think they're running Kohran?

Their big advantage is through the corners - that's a very clean and light spaceframe with the best maneuverability out there. If they've fuelled light to take advantage of that to make a very fast getaway they might try a two-stopper, hoping to gain enough time in each stint to cover the penalty of the extra stop. Of course all ship-to-shore transmissions are in the open so all the other teams can hear them, and all the other teams know that they can be heard.

Team Radio: BAT: "Focus 1. Focus 1. Go to 100. We'll look at the data and make a call then whether we can do this."
"Roger, Roger. Focus 1 to 100."


That might be a hundred laps, I don't know. Those Blackbirds are running drop tanks so conceiveably they're running to the end of the race on the fuel they're carrying. Of course carrying all that extra fuel will slow them down because of the extra mass and drag. There's a point where if you're carrying too much fuel it'll slow you down over the course of a race so much that what you save by not refuelling, you lose on the track anyway. Of course, if you get a safety period or two that bunches the field up it can work because that slows everyone down and saves fuel and means you can push it that bit harder towards the end. Nearly half the fleet out their today is using a deriviative of an ion drive system but none seem to have mastered it quite like BAT. They get more speed for less fuel than just about anyone else Tom.

Team Radio: Black Talon: "Plan B to Point 2."
"Copy"


Cryptic as always Kohran?

Your guess is as good as mine on that one. They've always been one of the better teams for secrecy and information security. They've always been good at predicting and reacting to the flow of the race, usually turning up in the lead when you least expect it. You saw how the Black Talons timed their refuelling to perfection at the NORC and pulled out such a lead from it that none of the others could catch up, she's always been good at that. Never count them out until the race is over, they could still surprise everyone. It's that sort of level of whole race management and awareness that these longer races really reward.

------------

On the cockpit frame were a pair of mirrors, intended to give her a view of both tail rudders and the main engines. They were meant to confirm an engine fire, or damage to a tailfin. Instead, they were filled by a pair of VF-4's in garish colours. Trailing behind them was the rest of the field, following her out onto the sighting lap.

The key to speed was to relax, to allow herself to slip into that zone were flying became as natural as breathing. In the back of her mind, she was aware of the chatter from Race Control, contacting marshal stations, verifying spacecraft comms and timing systems. Onboard timeclocks were corrected to match the race master time. Radio beacons and navigation systems were re-calibrated and programmed.

She spent half a lap adjusting the control response and trim-tabs to account for the excess weight carried in the weapon bay.

Never mind that crawling along at a processional pace made the racer handle like a pig. It refused to turn unless under power, bit in hard when she added throttle, then veered wide towards the course outer marker before tracking true again. The throttle snatched, lurching the Stratos forwards at too high a speed, before juddering back when she eased off.

To take her mind off it, she took a drink from a straw fed in through the side of her helmet - a high energy, fruit-cocktail with a sweetness that clung to her tongue like oil.

Her radio came to life, static hissing in her ear.

"Daryl, I need you to set your fuel to wing priority. Fuel to wing priority. Override the default."

"Copy, Fuel to Wing priority."

Drain from the wing fuel tanks first. Reduce the polar moment of inertia, and increase the roll rate, while reducing wing-loads. She made the change by turning a simple rotary switch beside the throttle, adding a mental note to switch it back before

Ahead of her, the beacon lamps fitted to Shinji Ikari's own Veritech pulsed bright in the darkness of space. Ultima approached once more as the entered the final sector, building up to the start finish straight. Daryl planned her getaway to give her the best run on down to the first corner, waiting for the moment the lights on the pacecraft when out she was given control of the race.

Just like every other time she'd started a race.

No different.

In her chest, her heart pulse. She focused on controlling her breathing, fighting against the constant pressure supply. Every muscle in her body stretched taught, ready to release. She could feel the electropolymer of the suit clench tight around her midriff, responding to the tension in her stomach.

Her earbud hissed again.

"All Craft, Race Control. We will be taking a second formation lap. Repeat; there will be a second formation lap. There is a fault in the timing system."


"Shit!"

-------------------

A fault in the timing system?

Well, that gives us a chance to go through the course doesn't it Kohran?

Of course! We start here at Ultima station with a Start-Finish that sweeps past less than a thousand kilometres from the Station proper for a long stretch before rolling down out of the plane of the Solar system around Amethyst. A corkscrew between Scylla and Charabdis leads into a technical section where pilots are free to chart their own course between hundreds of smaller Kuiper-Belt objects, feeding into a short sprint to the Katsuragi Hairpin closing out the first sector.

Fastest first-sector times in qualifying went to both Black Talons, their advanced navigation systems buying time through through the debris. Second was the Stratos, only a few tenths behind, Landvik in his Viper close behind that with local knowledge on his side. VF-4 only in seventh, suggesting they've been setup for speed. Both Firefoxes struggle, bringing up the rear.

A long back strait - the longest in the season this year feeds in Tilke fashion into the two tight Stell-oil hairpins, before a loop back above the plane of the Solar-System through the Hammerhead, skimming as tight as they dare to the surface of the planetoid 'Bob' before another straight finishes out the sector.

Top straight line speeds go to both Blackbirds, with the TSR-2 only a hundred kph down which is nothing in open space and the VF-4 not far off that. Second Sector is dominated by the VF-4 and Blackbirds, a full three seconds faster than the TSR-2 series. Variable geometry keeps the Talons in close. Kulbit is seconds behind them.

Finally, we have a mix of high speed corners that play to the strengths of the VF-4, and the Kulbit - both of them near-sharing the top honours. Through the Katase Curves both craft are travelling at full speed, full throttle, going through there as fast as the dedicated Top-Flite racers. The G-forces alone at those speeds are nearing the limits of human tolerance, even with advanced life support systems.

Yes Tom, a G-meter on the Stratos recorded a peak of 13.8G through there, Pilot Daryl not even slowing down. Other racers limited by their G-tolerance, or whatever their spacecraft structure can take, but a combination of that scandalous form-fitting fortified suit and a reclined flying position making the Kulbits true advantage over it's competitors.

Of course, that was the other big Story of the year, Kohran. Pilot Haur one of the victims of that race-fixing syndicate that attempted to influence the outcome of races by biomodding competitors beforehand.

------------------

All revved up and no place to go. That's what it felt like.

It raised the tension higher and higher. It forced her to wait one more lap, burning a few more gallons of precious fuel. It was a few more minutes for her mind to start wandering, to start wondering if she could really pull it off. She started to imagine herself on the top step of the podium, holding the trophy.

She started to doubt it was even possible, with them so reliant on fuel.

Daryl focused her mind on saving juice, keeping a steady speed behind the pacecraft ahead. Drop too far back, and she'd pick up a penalty. Pull to close, and she'd burn more fuel.

They'd taken two years to built the Stratos from the ground up. She'd sold her own Silver Arrow to pay to get it built at Hephaestus. They'd blown the championship wide open in the first race of the season, grabbing attention in the rudest and most direct manner possible, making the whole field look silly in the process. Being an 'artisan' had it's advantages, after all - they could approach the problem in a completely different direction. They'd raced for the entire season, striking hard while the iron was hot to build up a lead. And when Bellcom finally had managed to rush their Evolution through Homologation, they kept it honest enough to stay in the hunt. Even though she was sure Bellcom spent as much on a thruster assembly as they had on their entire fighter....

She raced on inspite of her biomod, unwilling to let being fused with her flightsuit get between her and her one chance of winning a major trophy. Just thinking about it made her bristle with a violated anger, hatred tasting like blood in her mouth. But she was beating them by carrying on in spite of them, by adapting and not letting it define her life. She had won that battle.

She could live with it for the rest of her life, if she had to. Not that she planned to.

And now, it was the final race of the season. The final few moments before it began.

It was the culmination of nearly three years blood, sweat and tears, mixed with a mountain of luck.

She almost found herself laughing. Could she honestly believe that she was actually contesting the championship? They'd planned on winning a few races, making a scene and getting just enough orders to break even - and now here she was, ever so slightly in the black for the year and challenging for the Championship.

An amateur racer who, in the years before, had never finished higher than 11th with her own Silver Arrow, or in the Zig spec-racing divisions on Venus. If only Ranko could've seen her. If only he could've been a part of it. For a few breaths, she regretted changing the name back to Stratos - even though his own cartoon image still adorned the cockpit frame. But, that was just her being juvenile.

It'd been five years. And she'd gown up.

Now, all she had to do to win, was not fuck it up in the final few hours. Fly the line. Hold her nerve. Grit her teeth and trust that the Stratos will bring it home. Hope the numbers didn't lie and that the whole thing didn't come to a shuddering halt within touching distance of success.

How sickening would it be to run out of fuel on the last lap?

Behind her, both VF-4's waited for their opportunity. Behind them, the Talons were testing their wing-sweep mechanisms, switching from a full forwards high speed diamond, to a forward sweep similar to her own. A Blacbird went to full afterburner, exhaust jets burning bright as arclight for a single heartbeat before the pilot throttled back.

"Stratos, Race Control. The pack is yours."

It caught her by surprise, leaving her dumbstruck in the cockpit for a moment while her mind caught up. Ahead, the beacon lights on the pacecraft had gone dark, the purple Veritech steadily veering towards the edge of the track.

"Race Control, Stratos. Copy. Race is mine."

Daryl throttled back through the final corner, concertinaing the entire pack up behind her. Nobody could overtake her before she crossed the line - but that didn't mean should couldn't try get a solid run to the first corner.

She waited one, two, three heartbeats before slamming the throttle against its stop. Stratos didn't even wait...

-----------------

And we are Go! Go! Go! for the final race of the season here at Ultima. Daryl Haur leads the field across the line in the 73 Kulbit fighter, from Lafiel Abriel in the 76 Evo-4. 98 Takumi Takahashi in the second Evolution keepin' 'em honest. Talon 1 'n' Talon 2 getting a strong start, keeping ahead of the 13 Nemmelworth VF-1 of Anjo Kim going defensive in towards turn one, blocking Lieutenant Kaczynski in his Raptor drifting around the corner on thrust vectoring, Lionel McCallen getting his nose in with the 66 TSR2 waiting for a mistake. Both Suruwatari Thunderbirds fall prey to the hard-charging Blackbirds on the run down to turn 1, flying wingtip to wingtip around the first corner and Oh Dear Skuld was that close! Contact between the tail of the 15 Thunderbird and the underwing of the 22 Blackbird, but both spacecraft sill flyin' in close formation, not giving an inch to each other, the rest of the field following them on through an' this is excitin' stuff already.

Something flew off the 22 there Kohran - like a sensor cap from the tip of the tail or something. Of course, you have to be so careful at this stage of the race with the whole field still bunch up like this, all it'll take for a serious Kessler Syndrome is one accident. And you have to ask the question after a hard contact like that; has there been damage to the horizontal stabiliser of the 22?

Too early to tell Tom.

But it's got to be weighing on Pilot Shiganshina's mind. The field splits up as they navigate their own route through the debris field and we wait to see just how this shakes the field up at this early stage of the race and each pilot plots their own way through the field. Now this is where the Talons have been strong all weekend...

..... Leaving it open for the time being.

Also, the Flight Suit Daryl's 'wearing', more or less Designed to be lightweight first and foremost, and to replace the usual 6-point flight harness and dozens of hose-connections with a simple sit-and-snap-lock system, to allow for a more comfortable and more rigid seating position in flight, and for a much faster exit in the event of a crash. While still providing the usual G-protection and the like.
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Reply
 
#58
Let's try and rap that up.... s

Quote:Race time: 2:55:13

You want to know what I'm wondering Kohran? When the hell is that Stratos going to land for fuel?

I don't know Tom, by all projections it should've run out ten laps ago but it's still cruising around. They can only carry so much fuel in that thing's tanks an' at the rate of consumption those engines guzzle at, it just can't have gone this far. But she's running clean...

Well, I guess they've been keeping something in reserve. That begs the question. Can they go all the way to the end of the race?

That must be what they're trying to do. They sure as hell wouldn't be going this far if they couldn't.

You think they can do it?

Well, if Abriel keeps lapping at the pace she's been achieving, factoring in an average of fifteen minutes for a refuel, an' Haur in the Stratos maintains hers, then the Stratos wins by six minutes. That safety period fifteen laps ago bunchin' everyone back up early in the race really worked in favour of the longstoppers.

Win the race. Win the Championship. Of course, that's relying on Haur to keep her mental discipline for the rest of the race and not get drawn in to a fuel-sapping race. That's the thing with good race strategy - it's about realising it's not about setting single lap records and being the fastest over one lap - it's about being the fastest over a whole race distance.

If you fly slower Tom, you use less fuel, but you take more time to complete the lap. The less fuel y' use, the less refuelling you got to do, the less time spent stationary. In theory, every craft out there could cover the race distance on just their internal fuel alone, but they'd have to fly so slow an' lose so much time that it's simply faster to go faster, drain the tanks and then stop to fill 'em up again. You also have to factor in the time penalty of carrying fuel because it adds mass to different parts of the craft which can really affect the handling. So sometimes it works out better to take two shorter refuels... It's all about finding the right balance between sheer speed an' time lost tanking fuel. An; that changes for each track, and for each craft.

True that is Kohran. So far, that's the big advantage the Kulbit has had over the VF-4 - it seems to be less affected by the extra mass of carrying full tanks - it's tanks are all closer to the centre of mass of the spacecraft. Haur's taking it slow on the straight sections but her cornering speeds aren't that far off her qualifying speeds. That's what's making a no-stop strategy workable - that ability to maintain momentum, not slowing down and not wasting fuel getting back up to speed again.

I'm bettin' if we look at that Kulbit after the race is over, we'd find a pair a' drop tanks in its belly too. They've probably been in there all weekend since we never saw them open the weapons bay.

Speaking of fuel Kohran, we have activity down in the Bellcom hangar. Could be that they've finally decided to land Abriel to refuel? They seem to be readying a set of drop-tanks. That's something we've never seen before. Fitting drop tanks in the middle of a race? Can they do that?

I don' know Tom. I can't think of any rule specifically against doing that. A' course, there're reasons not to do it The extra weight of the droppers an' their location on the wing slows everything down. It's extra wavedrag, for a start. Also, adding all that mass to the wings changes the polar moment of inertia of the spacecraft, making it harder to maneuver through corners, placing extra stress on the wings. But at the same time, it's a faster stop - an' at this late stage in the race those few minutes will make a big difference.

How much, Kohran?

It could halve the time taken to make the stop - an' even factrin' in the lost time per lap that puts 'em within a minute of the lead on the final lap, making Haur's life so much harder.

Well that just eats right in to any margin of error Haur might've had. She's still on course to win, but if they start getting into any sort of fuel troubles they won't have that margin of safety to throttle back and coast. She has to hit her pace exactly or she'll either run out fuel, or get caught and gobbled up. She's got nothing in reserve.

Well y'see, that's the thing with strategy. Each of these teams has got to continuously re-evaluate their plans based on what their competitors are doing and how circumstances change. Sometimes you gotta have the nerve to see your strategy through - or sometimes you got to have the flexibility to change on a dime like the Bellcom team are doing - maybe even coming up with something new. An' being able to make that call whether to stick or switch is the art of race strategy and I ain't sure that Asagiri's got that level of skill yet...

I'm going to have to interrupt you there Kohran - we've got yellow signals in the debris field - someone's emergency beacon just went off. Unless I'm very much mistaken.... I am very much mistaken. That's A VF-1! That's A Nemmelworths VF-1, spinning out of control, coming apart. The Pilot's already ejected I can see the flare but....

It looks like he's moving Tom. He's in radio contact with the marshals. It seems Kim is OK for the time being. He's off course so we won't be needing a safety period for a recovery this time.

Let's see if we can get an action replay..... You can just see what happened there. Just cut it too close on Charybdis and clipped a wing and then bang, it's all over. That's always the risk going through the debris and now all that wreckage is going to make it extra challenging.

A little bit of fatigue. A moment's lapse a' concentration and then your whole race is over. Just goes to show that at the end of the day, it's not the numbers that matter but the pilot in the cockpit. Doesn't matter how good your plane or your strategy is if the pilot just can't focus.

Team Radio: Bellcom:
"Box, Box, Box, this lap. Box this lap and switch to mode 5. Mode 5."

And there we go Kohran. Things are about to get interesting.

---------------

It all just sort of blurred together. Lap after lap after lap until she found it hard to keep track of her position or time without glancing at that display. Other craft flashed past, running at their own individual pace. Her conscious mind took a step back from it all, only occasionally called on by short instructions from the hangar to adjust a setting, or switch an engine igniter to the backup position. In a strange way, she wasn't even aware of the passage of the race at all - she sat apart from it in this quiet zone, watching herself fly as a spectator inside her own body. More than four hours had passed - nearly five.

She took a moment between maneuvers to check her gauges.

All was well.

Engines were running cool and safe. Hydraulic pressures were bang on. RCS tanks were more than half full. Fuel consumption was right were it was expected to be.

She was cruising.

As close as it was possible to be cruising when she was also pulling 12 and 13 G through full-speed, sweeping corners. Her body compressed itself, biopolymer skin contracting in sympathy, squeezing blood to her brain until she began to feel like she would burst from the top. A grey haze crept in to the edges of her vision as the life support system forcibly inflated her chest with oxygen. Her heart squeezed and her feet numbed on the pedals. She could feel the skin on her fingers compress to the bone, compressing her arms and pulling every single muscle in her body taught.

Then release.

All that pressure gone in an instant.

A few moments to think, to let her thoughts clear and comprehend enough to adjust a trim setting before the next crush squeezed the awareness out of her mind once more.

Another release, another crush. Push on the throttles to accelerate around and onto the straight, taking care to toe the fuel flow line. Both engines spooled sluggishly, running harsh and lean to save every drop of fuel.

There was a rhytym to it all, a predictable flow from corner, to straight, to corner that made it feel far less hectic than it seemed from the outside. For a heartbeat, she wondered if this was what cybers felt like. A sort of fusion of human and machine - the Stratos becoming more and more an extension of her mind than a separate machine. A heartbeat later, she dismissed it as something for the birds to worry about.

The timing beacons at Ultima flashed by, station a bright streak receding away in her mirrors. Another lap.

She glanced down at her timing displays and saw - to her surprise - that she'd less than two laps remaining.

Hearing her thoughts, on orange light came on strong beside the master systems desplay. It switched from a wireframe diagram of the main engines and fuel flow to one of the fuel tanks, showing all of them at their true levels. Four of the six main tanks were registering empty as expected. The two remaining centre tanks showed thin slivers of blue fuel along the bottom of the graph.

>Tank 1; 101KG
> Tank 2; 97KG (RESERVE)


---------------

And he's getting out of the cockpit. Landvik's Viper retiring with hydraulic troubles with just two laps to go - after running as high as Third position. Of course, Kohran as he's completed more than ninety-five percent of race distance, Landvik will still be classified as a finisher...

Team Radio: Asagiri: "I've got a Fuel warning light. Number 2 tank. Number two fuel warning! 95 kilos."
Team Radio: Asagiri: "I've got that on my end. There should be at least double that."


Thats... not good. Fuel warning call from Haur there, it sounds like she's running out.

Coming around on the penultimate lap the question has to be asked Kohran, do they have enough fuel to finish? They've gone for so long without stopping, what are the chances of them running out before the end of the race?

They've a one minute lead, they can afford to back off a little an' try 'n' coast it over the line if they have to, but nearly two full laps with the fuel light on is asking a lot. That's nearly a million kilometres an' if one tank's going the other tank's not far behind.

Team Radio: Bellcom: "Push to ten. Push to ten. Push it all the way to the finish, we can make it. Asagiri's running out"


Bellcom team principal there hearing that Asagiri radio call and he's telling Abriel to push and push hard. It's a sixty second deficit on track but if that Kulbit starts running out of fuel or hits traffic it can dissapear in seconds. Haur there has to just keep her cool, be careful with the throttle, and not get caught up behind anyone going through the corners. It's a big ask but she might be able to just grease it across the line.

Of course it must not be forgotten Tom, both a' these pilots are racing for the Championship. If they finish as they are now, Haur wins the Championship by a single point, with Abriel coming in second. If she runs out of fuel, that hands the race win and the championship to Abriel elevates the BA-71 of Fawcet to second position in the race.

Team Radio: Asagiri: "Warning light on number 1."
Team Radio: Asagiri: "If this thing runs out on the last lap I'm going to F**cking kill you."


A little frustration from Pilot Haur?

Team Radio: Asagiri: "Daryl, Our fuel burn-rate's ahead of what it should be. There should be an extra lap at least, I don't know where the f**k it's gone. "


Tension's starting to get to both of them, Kohran.

Mmm-hmm, and this is a family-rated stream.

Team Radio: Asagiri: "Aw f**k..."
"All crossfeeds to 1 and 2. Every last dreg from the tanks. The gauge is accurate. Do what you have to to finish..."

That didn't sound to hopeful, did it Tom?

No it didn't Kohran. The expression on that face says it all. I think Jaguar's figured it out and she does not look pleased.

Already in that first sector Abriel's taken a five second bite out of that lead. She's going hell for leather an' I think she thinks she might just do it if Haur backs off too much. If Haur doesn't back off an' she runs out of fuel, there's a good chance she'll be classified in third behind Fawcett but that just ain't enough to win the championship. She's gotta beat Abriel to the finish line.

Coming around again Kohran and you can see just how carefully she's accelerating out of those slow corners.

Well, she's playing it smart. You don't save fuel by going slow. You try maintain as constant a speed as possible. I mean she's not backing off on her corner speeds whatsoever - she's still carrying monster speed around those bends but she's just trying to keep from accelerating or decelerating too hard. It's the change in speed that costs you fuel...

Still coming around the track, but there you can see her rocking the

Team Radio: Asagiri: "Number 2 at 40. Red lights on both tanks."

-------------

It was a bad sign when you could hear the fuel pumps scream.

The zone was long gone. Her mind had been dragged into the here and now, forced to take responsibility for the entire craft once more. The easy rhythm had be shaken apart, replaced by tense, jerking control inputs and the sick thought that the next time she advanced the throttles, the engines might not respond. Her mind dwelled on an strange shudder coming up through her seat, wondering if it was the first warning sign of an engine beginning to starve, for just long enough for her to miss the turn in point at Charybdis.

Daryl didn't want to know how close the wingtip came to clipping the rock, but it had to be a distance measured in centimetres.

Both gauges now read in single digits, flashing a brilliant red, clamouring for her attention.

Yes, I know, she growled to herself. It was impossible not to. On another level, she was aware that she was cornering faster than she had for the entire race. One way to save fuel was to just not slow down.

She glanced back at the fuel gauge, and felt physically ill for a moment.

>Tank 1: 0kg. (EMPTY)
>Tank 2: 0kg. (EMPTY)

So close to empty, the fuel gauge couldn't register what was left.

>Tank 3: 0kg (EMPTY)
>Tank 4: 0kg (EMPTY)
>Tank A: 0Kg (JETTISON?)
>Tank B: 0Kg (JETTISON?)

Not a single dreg left aboard. Even the tank in the missile bay was bone dry.

Both engines kept burning, sucking on what vapours were left. If her sheer bloody mind could keep them lit, it would. She'd glare it over the line if she had to, then give Jet a solid piece of her mind for cutting things so stupidly, dangerously close

In the back of her mind, she was aware of Abriel's VF-4 charging up from behind. It took every ounce of nerve to keep her consciously focused on the track ahead, and not compulsively glance in the cockpit mirrors. They'd show nothing more than a flash of metal as it went past anyway - all they were good for was verifying both engines still ran.

Another scan of her instruments - the third in as many seconds - confirmed that everything was still normal otherwise.

A push on the throttles, and the engines answered as they always had, driving the Stratos down the course.

One lap was taking her as long as the entire race had. She could feel the lack of weight in the spaceframe around her - how empty the big jet now felt. It snapped harder when she commanded it to roll, biting into the corners.

Again, a compulsive glance at the fuel gauge.

>Tank 1: 0kg. (EMPTY)
>Tank 2: 0kg. (EMPTY)

Fuel pressure and flowrate still followed her throttle setting. But for how long?

Long enough to clear the second sector. Thirty-two long seconds later, the VF-4 followed. Her finger began to tap nervously on the throttle, even as the engines continued to burn. Each jerk and shudder that the spaceframe made morphed into the first coughs and splutters of a dying engine. How stupid would it look to run out of fuel in the final sector? Of the final race? From the bloody lead of all places.

But still, the engines refused to quit.

Third sector played to her advantage. High speed cornering. Good, fast cruising. No need to slow down or speed up

Another orange light, answered by a screaming Master Caution alarm.

>Fuel Pressure: Engine 2.

A push of a button cancelled the alarm.

"Empty! Tank 2" she broadcast.

A heartbeat later, Jet answered, cybernetic tones artificially flattened.

"Copy. We're almost there."

Only the Katase Curve to go. Taken at top speed. As close to top speed as she could manage. Thirty seconds, maybe, from the finish line. The VF-4 was what, at a guess 20 seconds behind her. Maybe it might happen

The Stratos banked in, spaceframe creaking as it took the strain. It swept around, G-meters nudging 13 once more.

Daryl pushed both throttles forward, pressing the craft through force of will towards the finish.

Even as she pulled it back straight, the Stratos kept turning, pulling towards the right. The answer to the question she hadn't yet had time to ask came from the Master Alarm. It filled the entire cockpit with a harsh, angry red light and a shrill tone that was impossible to ignore. More lights came on, yellows, oranges and reds as oil and coolant pressures began to drop. A full christmas-tree of warning lights announced her worst fears.

With a frustrated snarl, she firewalled the throttle for the right engine anyway.

It coughed once, shuddered twice, before finally dying silently.

"It's gone!" she said, not sure whether she'd actually transmitted it or not. Daryl didn't care, her mind had already moved on to the next task; trimming the Stratos to keep it flying straight on one engine. With an instant to spare a thought, she switched crossfeeds from all tanks to tank 1, hoping whatever last dregs were left in the crossfeed lines were enough to keep it running. All it needed was another ten, maybe fifteen seconds.

The last thing she did was cancel the screaming alarms.

Already, she was aware of how painfully slow she was flying. A glance at her timing data told her she should've finished the lap ten seconds ago. Which meant Abriel had to be within ten seconds of passing her. She was - barely - within ten seconds of the finish line.

And all that was guesswork.

Her polymer skin stretched itself taught in response. Her attention was focused on the mirrors. One engine clearly down - the other still burning strong. She could see the rudders fixed in position to counter the asymmetric thrust. She could see the sparks lining the rest of the course as the rest of the fleet followed her around. One, harsh and blue, tracked around the Katase Curve.

Abriel.

The hardest thing for her to do, was not firewall the throttle for the remaining engine. It took every ounce of self control to keep her hand away from it. Pushing now would just kill it dead. So long as it kept pushing, she'd leave it be.

Five seconds.

The Master Alarm screamed at her once more, sending a solid shock through her frame.

>Fuel Pressure: Engine 1.

How long had it taken for 2 to die after losing pressure? Five seconds? Ten?

Through the cockpit glass, she could clearly see the timing beacons that marked the finish line. Ultima station shone bright, ready to welcome.

Four seconds.

Still, the engine ran. All parameters normal.

Three seconds.

Just two more needed.

Two seconds.

Daryl held her breath.

One.

A flash of lightning sparked harsh on both cockpit mirrors, collision alarm warning her of something accelerating fast up from behind. Her hand clenched on the controls, expecting the worst. Her attention focused on both mirrors, hoping to see which direction it was coming from and avoid hitting it by accident.

She looked up in time to see the VF-4's underbelly streak overhead, meters from the top of the cockpit, and felt her heart stop.

Hurridly, she glanced at her timing data.

>Race Complete:.... stby

That was it.

Ultima station was rapidly falling behind once more, and she became aware that she must have passed the finish line beacons while she was looking for the VF-4

The left engine finally starved to death moments later. Daryl stabbed the alarm moments later, before using what was left in the RCS to slink away out of the race track.

--------------------

As the Blackbird of Fawcett there makes it home in Third place, we're still waiting for final confirmation of results to come through. A few moments of celebration down at Bellcom cut short as maybe they're starting to wonder if maybe they didn't make it to the line in time. Jet Jaguar there staring at her monitors - keyboard looking a little worse for wear.

Both teams staring at their data. I've never seen a finish that close, Tom. There had to have been only moments between them. I mean, if the stewards are taking this long to be working it out then they have to be checking the calibrations on the timing beacons to be certain.

Haur there running out of gas right at the finish line. I mean, we saw it come out of the Katase curve on one engine an' we thought the other'd die before the line but it held for just long enough.

The Stewards still don't like people running out of fuel like that because of the risk it creates. But how sick would it be, to lose the Championship in the last few kilometres, of the last lap, of the last race, after the sort of season they've had, Kohran?

An' that's not to belittle what Abriel and the Bellcom team have achieved coming back the way they have and overturnin' such a massive points differential. They go away with the Constructor's championship whatever happens, despite the retirement of the second VF-4. Winnin' the pilot's championship is just icing on the cake.

Of course, we still have finishers to come. Kazami in the Talon takes a fine Fourth. McClellan in the TSR2 takes Fifth, Kacyznki's Raptor takes Sixth. Seventh....

I'm sorry Tom, I think we have a final result coming through for lead here. Less than five hundreths of a second separatin both spacecraft in the end, but they've awarded the win to...

-------------

Getting towed back to the hanger was ignominious at best. Daryl didn't care. All she could do was rerun the last instant of the race in her mind.

She glanced in her mirrors.
The VF-4 passed overhead
She glanced at her timing data.
It showed that she had passed the beacon.

Which came first?
Passing the beacon? Or getting passed by the Valkyrie?

This was almost as bad as wondering if her fuel would run out before the line. At least that would've been final. Now, her fate was in the fickle hands of stewards who - if they were anything like the FIA, would be more inclined to move heaven and earth to keep the big money happy. That's how it always went. The universe seemed to have tha sort of attitude. It'd offer what she wanted on a plate, allowing her to get within touching distance - to even get her hands on it before ripping it away and spitting at her.

There were a dozen things she could've done differently - insisting on a quick touch'n'go for fuel rather than go with Jet's plan, following orders and throttling back on a worn engine, or trying different strategies altogether. But that was all with the benefit of hindsight.

And if she did lose, it was that bloody cyber's fault for sticking to her guns and actually trying something so insane as going the full race, at race pace, without refuelling. Without the tank capacity of the Blackbirds either. Even the simulation they'd run had told them they'd little to no margin for error in it - a razor thin line between going too slow and getting caught up, and just plain running out before the end. Trying to race the VF-4 headon would've had them almost certainly losing, so they gambled...

An early safety period had turned what should've been a thirty-second margin into several minutes by bunching the field up. That was the offer - a spark of good luck. Bellcom reacted by just refuelling with droptanks rather than refilling the onboards to cut that to the one minute. Even then, it looked good - it was sitting there on the plate, in her hands. All she had to do was not screw up, or blow an engine, or clip a rock. Or have another safety period bunch the field up and kill the lead.

It was in her hands.

And then she ran out of fuel right at the end of the final lap.

Rather than stick the boot in, the universe had decided to leave her in limbo - sitting, shaking with the tension of not knowing. Victory was still tantalisingly possible - just possible enough that she could hope.

Her comm's came to life, hissing in her ear.

"I'm sending the results down the datalink. You're not going to fucking believe this."

As usual, the cyber's internal comm tended to flatten her tone. Daryl couldn't tell if she was shaking with anger, or giggling with joy.

The results printed out in green text a heartbeat later. Daryl took another beat to work up the courage to confirm

>Provisional results:
#######################
>Position: 01
>Race Time: 04:27:32.255
>#73 RF-047 "Stratos".
>Pilot: D Haur.
>Constructor: Asagiri.
########################
>Position: 02
>Race Time: 04:27:32.302
>#76 VF-4 "Spirit of '76"
>Pilot: L. Abriel
>Constructor: Stonewell-Bellcom
########################

It took a few seconds to sink in, Daryl taking a second look at both race times to confirm what she was seeing..

"Motherfucker", she said. exhaling a deep sigh. She smiled at her reflection in the mirrors, then took a long deep breath

That was when she began to scream. It was catharsis. Every drop of tension releasing at once in one scream of joy that rang off the carbon-fibre crash frames. She punched the air inside the cockpit repeatedly, laughing rapturously.

She was so overcome, she had to be reminded to save and secure her flightlogs. Twice. Other housekeeping tasks were required - systems needing to be made safe before Stratos was landed in Parc-Ferm for a final steward's inspection. It'd be stupid to lose everything on a simple technicality that they could prevent. Daryl was laughing as she worked through the checklist.

The final few kilometres before Ultima were handled through gentle nudges on the RCS system, easing Stratos home for the last time. Already waiting were the Spirit']/i] and [i]Kelly Johnson, surrounded by hangar teams making the last few final checks. Both pilots were finishing up with the final few system clearances, purging fuel vapours and bleeding any pressurised systems down to a safe level.

She could see the observation gantries packed with the silhouettes of human bodies. Camera flashes sparkled like tinsel from amongst them as she dropped the black carbon racer onto it's landing gear with a jolt.

It sat there, resting, creaking as it cooled. Daryl sat within it, still shaking. In her mirrors, she could see the landing bay doors closing behind her. Already - in a spacesuit - was that catgirl reporter running across the bay towards her, ready for interview. If there was one person Daryl had come to hate, it was that irritating pit-lane catgirl.

After that, a rush to the podium for Noah Scott presenting the winner's trophies. Prim Snowlight with the Constructors. Then a rousing brass rendition of Moonlight Legend beneath the Millennium flag. Champagne. Press conferences with the same turgid questions and answers she really wasn't sure how to give. Fans. Autographs. The post-race all-night party that'd end with cyber-karaoke, someone getting sick, someone else being thrown out and a nasty morning headache. All of it chased by the overwhelming realisation that she may have just done something to legitimately join the ranks of the BNF...

Maybe, she thought wryly, it would've been easier to lose.

Abriel stood up in her cockpit, waving at the crowd - not bothering to wait for the green light. Fawcett was flaring the last of the TEB off from the Blackbird's engines - green flames licking around the engine nozzles.

Safe within her carbon cocoon for the time being, she was left with her own racing thoughts, trying to make sense of what was about to happen. One single thought kept coming around, over and again.

The landing bay light turned green, robbing her of the sole excuse she had left for keeping closed up. With a heavy sigh, she released the canopy locks and allowed it to slowly float up on its gas-struts. Her face mask dropped off when she popped her visor open, the constant pressure on her lungs dissipating with a hiss. It was replaced by the scent of hot oil, burnt sulphur and root beer.

The microphone was in her face before she had a chance to even acknowledge the grinning tabby catgirl forcing it on her. Those predatory fangs hungered for any tidbit of information. The smell of rootbeer, carried by her breath through an opened visor.

"So Daryl. You just won the Race and the Championship in one of the closest finishes in history. What are your thoughts on this as we wait for the all clear?"

Bright eyes begged for an answer.

"That..." Daryl stopped, turning her eyes away from the catgirl to her now darkened instrument panel. She wanted to give the catgirl some generic, vapid platitude. Only one thing came to mind, however.

"I wish Ranko had a chance to see this."

To most, Ranko was just a cartoon decal on the fuselage - a widely grinning over-muscled caricature of a really-quite lanky mechanic that'd had a place on all her racecraft, ever since he'd drawn it on the first Zig he'd prepared for her.

In a way, she thought ignoring the catgirl's followup, He had.

------

The fuss died down. The media circus left the station within hours. The party, came and went. The hotel beds were comfortable. The breakfast just about kept the hangover under wraps. The results of their game of 'Drunken Sailor' were, by now, making their way across the interwave. Both the Kelly Johnson and Spirit of '76 had flown off, leaving only Stratos alone in an empty hangar bay, still coated by a thin patina of dirt and dust. Scorchmarks stained the carbon around the RCS exhausts. Flecks of debris had scratched and pocked the wings and nose. Some of the gold paint had cracked and flaked away where the forward-swept wings had flexed. She'd run the fuel lines so dry, the engines wouldn't restart without a full system bleed - which would take time - and was why it still sat alone.

The trophies were now aboard Lun. It'd find pride of place somewhere - they weren't sure where yet. A good chunk of the prize-money paid the bar tab for the last night. The rest would be enjoyed very quickly.

For Stratos, all that was left was one last flight back home, then retirement to a life of gentle exhibition and silent waiting. By next year, the field and technology would've moved on, leaving the cutting-edge racer obsolete.

Daryl stood with it for a long time, quietly offering the resting jet thanks for doing its part.

After a full year of surprise, elation, frustration, horror, anger, drive, desperation, and one final spark of good luck, Daryl Haur was Fenspace Champion.

And that felt strange.

Good.

But strange.

[/i]
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
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#59
That was a CLOSE victory! Really close! *G*
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#60
Enh.... there're only so many mountains that can be dropped on her. Might aswell leave this one hanging.

Even if capturing Kohran's accent enough to make it obvious it's here talking was bloody hard. (And also why it's Kohran doin' the commentatin')
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Reply
 
#61
Skinwalker, Part 1
December 2024

When SHIELD takes an interest, you know things won't be as simple as they seem on the surface

(Yes, I did change the date.... things are a little anachronic because I suck. And I'm trying to post *something* rather than nothing)

----------------

Kotono tried to find something to occupy her mind as she waited. It'd taken her half a day to travel in to Kandor, rushing in her own Bolitho after she received a message telling her that all her qualifications and licensing were due for renewal.

And now they made her wait.

It was already an hour past her scheduled appointment time. They didn't even have the decency to supply any interesting reading material. On the table in front of her were a few year-old gossip magazines, a few outdated copies of the JLI's own monthly publication along with well-thumbed fliers offering a variety of training courses. Someone was offering corrective surgery for Liefeldians.

The worst part... the part that really raised her hackles... she'd seen at least a dozen people arrive after her, and they'd been ushered straight through. Her ticket was Number 7. They'd skipped her to go to 8, then on up to 22.

Only she remained, alone in the waiting room. Not even League's spartan decor offered relief from the monotony of waiting. Had they forgotten about her? Had she missed the call?

She fought the urge to pace around the waiting room, fidgeting on the hard plastic chair. She adjusted her white jacket, tugging at the lapels until they sat right. Getting dressed in the back of a Bolitho was an artform she'd long mastered.

She checked her watch, nothing that less than five minutes of eternity had passed since the last time she checked. She checked her communicator - still nothing. She re-read the pamphlet offering a training course in advanced driving, then the one about costume design, followed finally by a third one about aerial soaring with glider pack. Her reading complete, she checked her watch one more time, to find that exactly four minutes had gone by.

She sighed, deciding which of the three pamphlets to read again for a third time. Or did she care to read a Following the Curve article from two years beforehand.

She was aware of the automatic door swishing open at the other end of the room. She looked up to see a man step through, dressed in an average, common-or-garden dark suit jacket w that seemed purpose-made to bulk out his thine frame. His face was lean, his dark hair tight to his scalp. His eyes stared out through square thick-lens glasses.

Kotono wrote him off as a bit of a creep, deciding he was beneath her interest. She made a point of deliberately ignoring him as he crossed the room towards her, hoping he'd get the message and leave her well enough.

He took the seat beside her. Of all the empty seats in the room, he had to take the one beside her. The man removed a thick, hardbound book from under his jacket and set it on his lap.

She glanced at it.

Birds of the West Indies.

A lump rose up the back of the throat when she saw the author's name embossed below the title. Somehow, she doubted there were many ornithologists on the moon, or that they would chose to be so public with that particular book, by that particular author.

The skin on the back of her neck began to bristle.

"So," the man began. His voice was calm - almost soft. "I was wondering if you could help me with a little something I need done. Would you know anyone interested in a job?"

He didn't look at her. His gaze never left the far wall.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Kotono.

It was a lie. She mastered herself quickly, falling back on her tai-chi experience to keep calm,

"I know you're smarter than that. I know you saw the book's author for a start. So you can guess who I am."

There was a smile in his voice. There wasn't one on his face.

"I run an aerobics gym on Frigga. And I'm the physiotherapist for Survival shot. I'm here because my qualifications came up for renewal. That's all"

She kept her tone firm. She knew she wanted nothing to do with him.

" I know about that," he said.

A flash of anger bolted through her mind as the pieces of the puzzle finally came together.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"We don't kid," he responded, his voice chilling. "We were going to give it the Due Null treatment. But I think there're four ladies who might like to take care of it. Especially after what happened to your Sammie friend," he sighed, "Nasty business that."

Kotono glared at him, trying to get a read on him inspite of the anger simmering in the back of her mind. He wore a professional's poker face. She was looking for an excuse to hit him a slap across the face.

"How do you know?"

"That would be telling"

"What do you want?" she ventured, coolly.

"All we ask," he said, his voice warming slightly as he offered the hardbound book to her."Is that you turn the target over to us alive and sound, and that you're seen in action. You can tell your employer we'll pay double her usual rates if she'll take payment on delivery. Full details in the book."

Kotono seized on her way out, brushing the book away with her hand.

"You should get in touch with her in person. I can't take this."

"I'd prefer to talk to you."

Polite, but firm. There was no room for disagreement. He still held the book towards her. His eyes still stared. She began to wonder if he wasn't just a puppet for an AI somewhere...

Kotono sighed, taking hold of it in her right hand. "I'll pass it on. But I can't guarantee anything."

She slipped it into her handbag.

"Grand," said the man. His face was still set in stone. "Now, there's just one other matter."

She swallowed "What?"

You and your soldier girls earned a few fans amongst us, I'm pleased to say. How would you like to move back here, to Kandor City?"

"Am..." her mouth goldfished for a moment as he brain struggled to catch up. "Not right now thanks." It just burst through her lips.

The man nodded in acceptance. "Some time in the future, of course."

'Maybe..." She felt herself start to quiver inside. Excitement or nerves, she wasn't sure. She was only just beginning to grasp what'd been offered

He stood up, taking a moment to straighten his dark suit jacket before offering her a strange sort of salute, his finger touched to his thumb, covering his eye like a lens. "Be seeing you."

She swallowed her words as she watched him leave, her whole body fixed rigid and taught. She didn't relax until she saw the door close automatically behind him, locking him out of her life for what she hoped was a very like time.

Certain he was gone, she slumped back into the chair, letting out a long, tired breath she hadn't even realised she was holding. The book still weighed heavy in her handbag, and she wasn't sure whether she was grateful to have survived her little meeting, or terrified of the implications of it.

An electronic chime rang out from a speaker built into the suspended tile ceiling.

"7, Number 7... " it called out.

Now they called her up to renew.... it really had been set up.

-------

The scent of perfume and hot coffee filled the Silky Doll. It wafted around the replica penthouse, mingling with the artificial sounds of a city beyond the windows. Kotono'd taken her favourite chair - a plush armchair that embraced her warmly while she tried her best not to loose herself in the holographic city beyond. Anika got between everyone and the sweets, Daryl had turned one of the plastic chairs backwards, straddling it while she supported herself with her crossed arms on the chair-back

Jet, was in her usual position, giving the briefing through a wireless micro-projector. Kotono didn't really need to pay attention to it, preferring to lose herself in the view instead

It was a beautiful fake, twinkling in eternal light. A gilded ziggurat of a towered over a tinsel city. Traffic pulsed in glowing veins through a living, breathing city. Shadows of people flowed through the streets below. Blue lights strobed in the distance, the wail of a police siren rising over the noise of the traffic. Airliners drifted through the sky trailing contrails across the surface a clean, spark-less moon. Neon grime painted whole streets receding into the mountains from her.

MegaTokyo; all of it procedurally generated by a computer tied into a projector hidden just out of view. And impossible to feel like she couldn’t just step out the window and fall into it.

"I kind of assumed that SHIELD found out about us shortly after A.C. did, " said Jet, drawing Kotono back out of her fantasy. "But if they're being this upfront about it."

Being a real Knight Saber, seemed so much simpler than being a part of someone's facsimile. Kill the boomers, stop the corrupt corporate executive, then get cancelled halfway through.

"Yeah, but why us?" Anika asked, looking around the room for answers "Why not the Double-Oh's. I mean, that's why the have them?"

"They're protecting an agent, and using us as the cover story," Daryl cut in, he voice betraying the anger simmering behind her face. "They don't want something deniable - they want something that obviously wasn't them. Because if there's one thing the Knight Sabers aren't, it's fucking SHIELD."

"That might be it," said Jet " But probably not all of it."

"Doesn't matter, does it? If she's the one then lets get her." Daryl's polymer skin creaked as she clenched her hand into a tight fist.

"Not if they want us to be a scapegoat for something." Jet glanced at Daryl, before allowing her own attention to slip into the back of her own mind, into the depths of the briefing. "They want her handed over to us, publicly - like we hired the Knight Sabers to grab her. Then we turn her in."

A finger tapped on her chest, emphasising the we.

"Shit…" Daryl breathed. "They're using me…"

Behind her eyes, she was visibly seething, her body straining to keep the fury locked up inside. Anika filled her mouth with cake to keep from saying something stupid.

It seemed simple enough. Daryl finds out who spiked her body shampoo. Hires the Knight Sabers to grab them, then turn them over to the Space Patrol. Along with the added benefit of some time alone in quiet space ship for someone to fall down some stairs a few times.

The Patrol get someone to interrogate, while SHIELD's agent who dropped them into it remains hidden

Simple.

Suspicious.

Kotono had to speak up.

"They offered me a job," she said in a small voice, bracing herself for the response. All eyes snapped on her. Guilt sickened her. "I mean, I think they insinuated that they wanted me to join. Maybe they want all of us."

It hung in the air, all four women exchanging uneasy glances. After long moments - and swallowing a buttered scone - it was Anika who broke the silence

"Not a chance in hell!"

--------

Kotono's manoeuvre gear rattled tinnily as she clambered the ladder to the top of the high gantry crane. Below her the mechanics from the mine hurried to evacuate the bay. She was keenly aware that falling off was certain death, but that was part of the excitement.

Stardancing was just that little bit too safe.

Buzzed with adrenaline by the time she reached the gantry top, she took a moment to check her gas bottles and magnetic pitons, making sure the equipment her life depended on was dependable. All was well and she smiled at that.

It'd do some good to get her mind off of SHIELD in the time before the KnightWing was launched. She checked her gas-brakes and cable reels. She tightened the straps on her harness, and made certain the replica leather jacket wasn't getting caught on anything.

All was well.

It was as safe as it was ever going to get. She looked up, and saw the dark figure of a woman leaning against the railing. Kotono recognised the ghost-white hair immediately, even as the woman began to climb up onto the railing.

Kotono watched as she steadied herself

"Daryl!"

The woman on the railing paused. Kotono was already running, her maneuver gear clattering and battering off itself an her hips. Leather straps and buckles tugged at her thighs.

"Stop! Wait! Don't jump!"

Her voice echoed off the metal walls of the landing bey Daryl turned to face her, slipped, reached for the gantry rail in one desperate attempt to keep herself on her feet before falling backwards onto the steel floor with a thump.

Kotono sprinted, pushing herself as hard as she could, her feet hammering on the checkerplate steel as Daryl began to pick herself up, rubbing at a sore spot on her back with one hand as she pulled herself to her feet with the other.

"Don't! Jump!" Kotono pleaded, skidding to a halt beside her. She stopped so fast she felt herself topple forward, steadying herself on the rail, fighting to catch her breath. "It's not worth… it."

Daryl stood there, blinking owlishly at her, struggling to look offended.

"I'm not trying to kill myself. What makes you even think I'd…." she stopped mid-sentence as her mind began to realise "I just…. I just wanted to test something out."

"But….the mission….." Kotono gasped, already regretting pushing herself as hard as she did. "Your biomod?"

Daryl looked out over the railing at the landing bay beyond.

"I've…." She clenched her fist tight, swallowing a tense lump. "I've accepted it."

"You don't sound…"

"Just because I've accepted it, doesn't mean I can't be angry about it." Her voice stretched taught, betraying the true depth of her anger. "I want to see that bitch before an arbitrator. I want her in Azkhaban. And I want my medical bills paid."

Kotono tried to read her, gauging her true feelings. For all her blunt simplicity at time, Daryl could be a hard person to read deeply.

"I'm alright Kotono, really. It's just…." an faint blush of embarrassment began to heat her cheeks as she clasped her hands together. "I got a little curious…"

"Curious?"

And so was Kotono now. Her mind immediately found its way into the gutter as her gaze

Daryl drew in a deep breath "Bashir told me the suit was being powered by my body's own sugars," She tapped herself on the chest,"….and some complicated biobabble stuff, but the original batteries were empty. So I decided to see what happened when I actually charged the power cells."

"What'd you do to yourself?"

Daryl held up her wrist, showing the suit's charge indicator glowing green.

"The suit has a gravity brake built in," and mischievous grin spreading across her lips. An impish spark lit up inside her red eyes. "I thought I'd try it out."

Kotono peered over the edge, and the landing bay floor far below. "Over the gantry?"

Daryl whistled while mimicking the fall with her finger, before taking a firm grasp of the railing with both hands.

Then vaulted herself over into free-space, howling "GERONIMO!" as she fell.

Kotono watched, stunned, with her heart in her mouth as the other woman dropped towards a very hard steel floor, tumbling in the air once before landing on both feet like a gymnast performing a dismount.

Kotono herself followed a moment later, firing both pitons into the ceiling above, allowing the howling gas-brakes on her manoeuvre gear to slow her descent down to an easy landing on her good leg. A tweak of the triggers retracted the cables with a steady whine.

Daryl was visibly fizzing as she paced under the gantry, throwing glances up at it before looking at her wrists. Kotono could see her breathing rapidly, either from the thrill, or something else.

The smile on her face was obvious.

"So, I guess you're cancelling the surgery then?"j ibed Kotono, placing both her hands on her hip-mounted gas canisters.

"No," Daryl shook her head, before turning her red-eyed gaze to her. Blood-coloured eyes made Kotono's stomach tense. " I don't think I could live my entire life like this. Not with the bodysuit anyway. I really don't " She placed a hand on her hip, drawing a finger lightly up over a seam on the suit. "For one thing, I'd like to be able to have a normal relationship… without the additional turtle wax."

The edges of her lips curled up. Their employer's unusual…requirements being well known. The pair shared a childish giggle, Kotono covering her mouth

"Does the great Daryl Haur, enemy of men, dare to fail the Bechtel test in public?" she teased, leaning in towards Dary's face - close enough to taste the curry she'd eaten for dinner on her breath.

Daryl shoved her away with an open palm. "Just because I don't squeal on about men like a parody of teenaged girl, doesn't mean I can't appreciate them. It's just…." Daryl took a moment to master herself. "You know why It's hard for me."

"I'm sorry," said Kotono.

"S'alright," sighed Daryl. It's been years. I'm over it now." She took a breath, adjusting her harness. "So what's this between you and SHIELD?"

Kotono felt herself turned cold immediately, all the playful energy leaving her body.

"They've taken an interest in me," she answered sourly. "Like the Borg take an interest in the Enterprise."

That's what it felt like. They could be relentless.

"You interested in them?" Darly asked, keeping her tone unthreatening and matter-of-fact.

"No!" Kotono shrieked back at her, a flash of anger heating her face. "Okay, so I've got a JLI license, but that's just a certification as a fitness instructor and medic, not a combat agent or wannabe cape or anything like that. It was just the best professional qualification in space." Daryl seemed to be thinking, giving a Kotono a chance to breath a nervous sigh while being painfully aware just how treasonous she sounded, before fidgeting uneasily with her gas canisters for a moment. "I don't want to be a SHIELD agent. I like what we do here."

Daryl gave her a sidelong glance. "Not the wrong answer."

Their wristwatches interrupted with an electric chime, a four character message flashing up in green multi-segment LED's.

Daryl glanced at it and frowned. "Speaking of what we do here."

Kotono checked hers, before closing her eyes. "At least we're getting paid."

--------

>.>

All my friends have left the country. Now my family are going.... and now I'm the last one posting fiction ;P Why am I always the last? Is it something I do that drives 'em away?
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#62
Its not you - at least, not for the "posting fiction" part. I've been so busy over the last few months that I haven't been able to write anything longer than a paragraph.
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
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#63
Huh, what, man don't bother me with questions like that i'm working on three battletech stories and a zombie apocalypse story, and thats when I have a computer working to work on them. Right now I'm posting from my phone for crying out loud.
 
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#64
T'was a joke man.... nothing but a joke.
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#65
Smiles.... mine was just me being a bit of a smart-ass. Just trying to be the grumbling old man today, the weather here has me feeling that way.
 
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#66
And I was just riffing off your complaint.
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
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#67
Keeping up the posting speed.....

The aftermath of the above, as seen by the blogger elite...

-----------------------

Elephant sightings. 12/12/24

Title; Guess who's back in Hostile waters....
---------------------

Less than a month after the Arcadia controversy, K.M. Lun is proving to be as Glomarous as ever. This time, it's thanks to an onboard explosion and fire in Venus' atmosphere while transporting a fugitive.

I'm assuming you all know about Daryl Haur's biomod... well, it seems that someone on Frigga used a spare chunk of change to hire the Knight Sabers to nab the person responsible - and in a fairly public fashion too. They picked her up right out of a New Port street, car and all. Lun rendezvoused with the Sabers, accepted the prisoner and had planned to drop the individual off at an AMP station on Crystal Tokyo for the full bounty.

As the ship descended onto an approach track, one of the onboard 'shuttlecraft' malfunctioned - in the number 5 tube. Now remember, because of PEPPER Loopholes these things are launched by a mix of Hydrogen Peroxide oxider and Kerosene - they're real rockets for the first few seconds of flight.

The 'shuttle' goes live in the tube. Lun takes a hard turn attempting to trigger an onboard safety device to shut the missile down. Crystal Tokyo ATC notices the turn off the assigned track and attempts to make contact, but there's no answer. Partway through the turn, the missile's engines activate. It promptly blows up, damaging the ship's hydraulics, opening part of the hull to Venus' atmosphere and fracturing fuel lines, causing an onboard fire that can't be put out.

Out of control, Lun descends rapidly into the atmosphere. Again, ATC attempts to contact them, but there's no answer. After four contact attempts, Lun begins squawking 7700 on its transponder. The situation aboard is so dire, even changing the transponder squawk seems like an afterthought. The ship continues to descend, accelerating on the way down, getting dangerously close to the Red Line. Through a combination of speed, denser air, and moveable engine nozzles, they pull out of it agonisingly slowly. But the ship's not fully under control yet, they can't properly control and stabilise the climb and the fire's still burning. A PGA Starclipper spotted them and reported it as a missile, trailing smoke and flame.

Once in space, the crew dump the remaining peroxide and fuel, vent any fumes, settle into orbit, give thanks to a dozen deities they made it out alive and finally take stock of everything. Somewhere in this, they find their prisoner has been overcome by fumes, and the body has to be dumped when they vent the compartment. Otherwise, most injuries are minor and the ship's able to limp to a stable orbit.

Meanwhile, HMS Lydia has time to catch up to Lun and, after more attempts at making contact, Lun makes its only voice transmission of the entire incident; it's Alekseeva herself that answers with sang froid that'd impress the Klingons on Praxis.
K.M. Lun radio broadcast Wrote:"There has been an incident aboard. The situation is under control. The ship is secure. Our emergency is over."
Finally, someone on the Lydia takes this photograph. Look at that damage... The radar dome is smashed, the 5th missile tube has had both its hatches blown off, there's shrapnel damage all around the tail, and a hole has been blasted in the hull. The paint's scorched and blistered by the fire, right above the cargo bay. All of that is consistent with an onboard explosion. Now, look at the forward missile hatches and especially the leading edge of the port stabiliser.... how could an explosion in a missile tube do that?

If anything, it looks more like Lun hit something.

I'm not trying to insinuate they deliberately murdered their prisoner and tried to cover it up by claiming 'accident'. If they wanted to do that 'opened an airlock hatch while escaping' is the generally accepted excuse. Nobody would've looked twice, most people would've understood, and few people would've cared. Instead, they've created a mystery that's demanded solving.

Because that official explanation above doesn't match what actually happened. They had an accident sure, but not the one they're claiming they had.

Evidence the first. The damage to both forward sets of missile tubes. There's no way that could've been caused by an explosion in an aft missile tube... but if the ship was passing under another spacecraft, they're the first parts that would hit. We also see evidence of something hitting the tail and left stabiliser.

Second, Lun's radar tracks are published. They're on Flighttracker. I pulled the records. A full five minutes before the explosion, Lun makes a series of rapid changes in speed and altitude, before beginning the long circular turn described above, ending with a sharp pitch-down right as it straightens up, crossing its original course perpendicularly. This is the moment they claim the explosion happens.

But that's not quite true. The explosion was recorded on Crystal Tokyo's barometers. Accounting properly for atmospheric density, Lun is descending out of control for a full minute before the missile explodes.

So, I think we can say with some certainty that Lun physically hit something. This something damaged its controls and the fifth missile tube, causing a fuel or oxidiser leak. After leaking for a full minute, it explodes, turning a risky situation into a dire one. It wouldn't have taken much more to turn this from an interesting conspiracy curiosity, into a mysterious tragedy.

The question that follows now; What was it doing maneuvering like that?

It looks a lot like Lun was trying to perform some sort of Crazy Ivan, suggesting its crew believed they were being followed but couldn't confirm it. Nothing appears on Crystal Tokyo's radar - either before or after the collision - but the fact that Lun actually hit something proves something was there. Whatever it was, was likely either some form of Stealth craft or even Cloaked. So Lun's crew detect evidence of a following craft, try to draw it out, and end up hitting it instead when it tries to maintain a steady course and stay hidden. Both sides wait for the other to flinch, and neither does.

So, Lun was being followed and hit the following craft. We can call that proven.

Now, By Whom?

The answer to that is in her cargo bay. The Prisoner. Who was tied in to the Crime Guild, which has enough resources to be able to consider getting away with biomodding competitors to fix major sporting events. A cloaked, or stealth-equipped ship would be well within their means, and they may not have been too keen to risk that prisoner talking to the AMP.

Which leads us into the next question, why wait until they reach Venus before doing anything?

The answer to that is even simpler. Jet Jaguar was aboard. If someone attacks Lun in open space, they have to deal with a pissed-off combat cyborg who has taken on bombers in single combat and won. Attacking Lun on Venus, well, I doubt Jaguar would find being aboard an imploding starship to be a healthy experience. That, and Venus' atmosphere will happily eat evidence of their involvement. It would look just like an accident.

So, that makes a fairly decent narrative.

Lun accepts the prisoner from the Knight Sabers. Somewhere on the journey to Venus, the ship picks up a cloaked Crime Guild tail. The Guild craft is planning to shoot the ship down in Venus' atmosphere, to make it look like an accident. Lun's crew detects evidence of the tail, and starts some wild maneuvers to try and draw it out without provoking an attack. Instead, both ships hit each other. Lun is damaged and starts to descend out of control. Her hydraulics are damaged and one of her missiles is leaking oxidiser. Meanwhile, the Crime Guild ship carries on undetected, believing it's mission to have completed itself.

After a minute the leaking peroxide explodes, blowing the missile tube apart, puncturing the hull, and nearly dealing the coup-de-grace. It's only a mixture of crew skill and sheer-luck that allows Lun to regain orbit.

It's a nice answer that ties all the little narrative threads together. It just has one tiny little problem... just a little loose change to be accounted for.

Why the hell are they coming up with such a bullshit explanation? Hitting an enemy ship would be a perfectly valid and acceptable explanation for what happened. Honestly, it makes for an even cooler story. It turns 'oops' into 'awesome'. The only reason I can think of for keeping mum is that it wasn't a Crime Guild ship they hit - but someone else.

Lun's crew might've thought they were being followed by a Crime Guild ship, then hit someone who wasn't who they thought.

So, who did Lun hit? And why was that person following the ship? All we know is, it's someone who isn't keen on being discovered, has the technology to build a spacecraft that doesn't appear on sensors, and has more than enough influence to encourage Lun's crew to keep quiet. It's an accident that causes enough mutual embarrassment that everyone involved has agreed not to talk about it. Whomever was following doesn't want it to be known they were following. Lun and her crew would prefer if nobody knew who they hit. Everyone's too embarrassed by it all.

Who might that be?

Answers on a postcard, please.

Lun itself is parked up at Damogran for repairs. Rumour is, it's because that's the only place who'd give them the time of the day since the Federation blackball. Maybe they'll take the hint, and take the chance to refit the thing to something a little less likely to blow itself up. Already, the usual voices are calling the accident an excuse for a rebuild into a fully-armed weapon system.

That's what I love about the Lun; that ship's a conspiracy theorist's best friend.

Until next time, Elephant Watchers, and another Genaros procurement boondoggle.
---------------

Too much? Trying to avoid people being hyper-competent.... have I strayed into incompetence.
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#68
Rules for playing chicken with space ships1

1st rule: don't
2nd rule: cheat

someone failed to follow both rules... Wink
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#69
Each one expected the other to flinch. The trailing ship assumed Lun had detected their presence without confirming who they where, and would change course at the last moment before impact, so they staid put under silent running rather than maneuvering and risking confirming their identity. Lun's crew believed the opposite would happen - the trailing ship would assume they hadn't got a direct fix on them, couldn't see them and wouldn't turn, so the trailing ship would move out of the way to avoid a collision. And so neither of them diverted and they both ran into each other. (At least, that's the answer given in private....)

This is the same sort of logic that caused a fair few Soviet and American subs to pick up a few dings and dents throughout the Cold War. It's almost traditional.
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#70
Sweeping

Venus Aerospace Accident Investigation Board
Interview Transcript.

Subj: Incident involving onboard explosion, subsequent fire, loss of control and near loss of Spacecraft KM-LUN MD-160 on December 7th of 2024.
Interviewer: Vincent Butler
Subject: PIC Lun Alekseeva.

BUTLER: Alright, Ms. Alekseeva, in your own words, please recount the event leading up to the incident.

ALEKSEEVA: We were proceeding along our controller-assigned approach heading, preparing to make landing at Crystal Tokyo. Ship's status was normal. 6 of our main engines were idled. At our altitude, 2 were enough to maintain cruise. We were approximately 162.5km from Crystal Tokyo outer marker when we received an indicator for a shuttle engine activating in it's launch tube.

BUTLER: And this was of concern, why, precisely?

ALEKSEEVA: Our 6 shuttlecraft rely on a liquid-fuelled rocket motor for the first 30 seconds of flight.

BUTLER: The combination of fuels used?

ALEKSEEVA: High-test Hydrogen Peroxide and purified Kerosene.

BUTLER: What was your initial action?

ALEKSEEVA: I put the craft into an immediate hard turn to port.

BUTLER: And your reason for this?

ALEKSEEVA: There is a safety mechanism built into the automatic guidance system. It sends a shutdown signal to the engine fuel valves if it detects a sudden change in heading prior to launch.

BUTLER: This safety mechanism failed?

ALEKSEEVA: Yes. We completed our turn but the engines remained live, but without a source of active ignition. My next action would have been to open the tube outer doors to allow the missile to fly free and drain any built up fuel or oxidisers. The shuttle's engines ignited before I could open the door.

BUTLER: Causing the onboard explosion.

ALEKSEEVA: Yes.

BUTLER: The immediate effects of this Explosion.

ALEKSEEVA: The explosion fractured fuel and oxidiser lines in the aft compartment, triggering an onboard flash fire. Hull breach allowed Venus atmosphere into the compartment, but the fire was sustained by leaking oxidiser from our onboard stores. Emergency isolators closed automatically but failed to fully seal, allowing fumes to fill the craft. Flight crew donned auxiliary oxygen masks in case ventilation failed.

The spacecraft then took on a nose-down attitude and began to dive. We attempted to correct, but the explosion had damaged the hydraulic system, leaving the controls in manual reversion.

BUTLER: And your thought process at the time? You had a spacecraft that was on fire and descending out of control, how did you work through this problem?

ALEKSEEVA: I concluded that our immediate concern was controlling our descent before we reached collapse altitude. The fire was damaging, but would not kill us in the short term. I reduced engine power to idle and deployed our speedbrakes to slow our rate of descent. I attempted to correct by applying full back on yoke, but even wit both of us on the flight deck trying the elevator would not move. We were descending out of control with no way of levelling.

BUTLER: What approaches did you consider?

ALEKSEEVA: I considered using the main engines to generate increased lift over the wing and level our descent, but we are already approaching Vne and I was concerned that applying thrust would instead push the nose further down due to their position. Inverting the ship and using the damaged controls in our favour would be too destabilising , and we would have had no way of recovering from an inverted attitude if it failed. The final solution was to apply full nose-up trim and try using the tabs to servo to the elevators.

BUTLER: And this was successful?

ALEKSEEVA: This stopped our descent.

BUTLER: What controls were functional at this point?

ALEKSEEVA: We had minimal rudder and aileron control in manual reversion. Speedbrakes, Flaps, Engine throttles, Engine nozzle position, Elevator trim were all functional as they are electrically operated. We regained some elevator authority as our speed decreased, and were able to put the spacecraft into a climb to a safer altitude.

BUTLER: But you still hadn't stabilised the craft?

ALEKSEEVA: No. We began to attain a dangerously high angle of attack and stall warning alarm sounded. I called for take-off power from main engines, and attempted to reset trim tabs to neutral and push the nose back down to level flight. We were able to prevent a stall, but were unable to fully level the spacecraft. We continued to climb under power.

BUTLER: Why were you unable to level the spacecraft?

ALEKSEEVA: We discovered after the incident that the trim tabs had jammed in their maximum position. We could not fully overcome the load this imposed on the elevator using manual force alone.

BUTLER: And how did you work this problem?

ALEKSEEVA: We concluded it was safest to allow the climb to continue under full power to space and deal with the control issue there. We still had a fire onboard, and I assumed that the loss of trim control was a result of cable burn-through. The fire still had potential to destroy primary control cables, which would have rendered the craft uncontrollable.

BUTLER: So you tackled the fire?

ALEKSEEVA: Yes. Cockpit controls for fuel and oxidiser dumps malfunctioned due to fire damage, but we were able to access the manual controls. Starved of fuel and oxidiser, the fire self-extinguished before we reached orbit.

BUTLER: You finally managed to stabilise the spacecraft in orbit.

ALEKSEEVA: Our nose RCS systems and engine controls were undamaged. We stabilised into orbit and began checking for potential flare-ups and hot-spots. A number of electrical systems had been damaged, and we were concerned short circuits might trigger a new fire. It was in the course of checks that we discovered our prisoner had been overcome by fumes. There were no respirators in the cargobay. Unfortunately, to get safe access to the bay, we had to vent it and the body to space as it still contained explosive levels of peroxide fumes.

BUTLER: Yes. Unfortunate. At what point in this incident, did you become aware of Tokyo Control attempting to make contact?

ALEKSEEVA: We heard the first broadcast shortly after we began our initial turn. At the time, we were too busy working problem to respond, for reasons that should be obvious.

BUTLER: At no point did you attempt to make any communications with Tokyo Control to advise them of your emergency?

ALEKSEEVA: We had more immediate concerns. We barely had time to set our transponder code.

BUTLER: Even after the situation was resolved, you did not make contact?

ALEKSEEVA: There was no need. And we had left Tokyo's zone of control.

BUTLER: Thank you very much, Ms. Alekseeva. Recovering the spacecraft from such a dire situation was a skilful piece of flying, but, I can't help but notice some inconsistencies between your statement, and our forensic reconstruction,

ALEKSEEVA: What inconsistencies?

BUTLER: We have radar tracks from Tokyo Control that show your initial turn and the sudden beginning of the descent as you described. TokyoMet recorded the audio signature of the initial explosion as a pressure spike on their instruments. However, accounting for pressure and density differences, they show that the explosion could not have happened until a full sixty-four seconds after the initial descent began.

ALEKSEEVA: We were working the problem.

BUTLER: As you said. But this matches data we recovered from the flight recorder. It shows the same circling manoeuvre, followed immediately by an extreme pitch-down command. The elevators were rapidly moved to their full deflection. Do you have an explanation for this?

ALEKSEEVA: We have still been attempting to trigger the shuttle's safety mechanism.

BUTLER: The recorder then shows a sudden decelerating force. We initially assumed this was as a result of the explosion, but further analysis shows the forces imposed to be inconsistent with those expected from an onboard explosion. There are three momentary spikes, followed immediately by some form of sudden event which causes a recorded loss of airspeed and with momentary a pitch-up event.

ALEKSEEVA: The tube may have vented forwards or interfered with the control mechanics as it damaged them or something different may have happened. It was a powerful explosion and I did not witness the specific details of how the explosion occurred.

BUTLER: Yes. After that signature, the data continues, showing no further control inputs as the spacecraft descends. Then, 64 seconds after the initial event, it cuts out.

ALEKSEEVA: We were dealing with an onboard fire, failing ventilation systems filling the cabin with poisonous fumes and multiple electrical system failures. We were trying to understand what had happened to the ship.

The recorder has failed due to the power cable burning through, that would be my assumption.

BUTLER: Possible. But it happens at the exact time TokyoMet records the signature of the onboard explosion. I also have this report from an aerospace engineer indicating that recorded damage to the upper surfaces to the tail structure is more consistant with a collision with another spacecraft, than with explosive damage, or excessive aerodynamic pressures or loadings.

ALEKSEEVA: Is it possible that debris from the destroyed launch tube and shuttle hit the tail and elevator?

BUTLER: Improbable, but possible. It's noted as such in the report. But taken together with the data from the flight recorder, this does leave us with something of a mystery. And in an accident that claimed a life, we are not allowed to leave mysteries.

ALEKSEEVA: What are you suggesting?

BUTLER: At any time, did you see another spacecraft in your airspace?

ALEKSEEVA: We did not detect, either on radar, or visually, any other spacecraft. And if we had hit another spacecraft, would they not have also gone down?

BUTLER: Unfortunately, the Cockpit Voice Recorder was too badly damaged to give us any useful data to confirm or refute this. Even then the remains of it's onboard self-diagnostic shows that it was either thirty-five minutes out of synchronisation with the craft's own onboard clocks, or that the event which destroyed the data cards inside didn't happen until a full thirty-five minutes after the incident began.

ALEKSEEVA: Are you suggesting we destroyed the recorder ourselves?

BUTLER: I would find the idea of a crew deliberately destroying their onboard recorders after an accident unthinkable. But there are so many unusual questions here. I am left with two competing theories and that the one thing that might clarify events is unfortunately destroyed.

ALEKSEEVA: We cannot hit a ship that wasn't there. It's that simple. We detected no ship. Neither did Tokyo. Nor was their any wreckage. I have told you what happened.

BUTLER: Thank you for your time, Ms Alekseeva.....

--

Venus Aerospace Accident Investigation Board
Extract from Report: Incident involving onboard explosion, subsequent fire, loss of control and near loss of Spacecraft KM-LUN MD-160 on December 7th of 2024.


This board cannot state conclusively that a collision with a cloaked or otherwise hidden craft did not occur, and that the crew of KM Lun are not perpetrating a coverup. A collision with an unknown craft may have caused damage to the tail of KM Lun, with the onboard fire being a consequence of a fuel or oxidiser leak in missile tube 5 triggered by the collision. This theory most conveniently fits the facts recorded on the Flight Data Recorder of KM Lun.

Another craft would likely have been crippled at least severely damaged by such a heavy impact. Debris signals were detected by Crystal Tokyo weather radar, but only falling along the course of KM Lun, indicating that KM Lun was the sole source of debris in this incident. Therefore, in the absence of any wreckage or direct evidence of a second craft involved the board is required to consider alternatives that discount a second aerospacecraft.

The board is therefore of the opinion that while it is improbable that the damage to the tail of KM Lun could be accounted for solely by the inadvertent activation of a shuttle's rocket motor, and subsequent onboard explosion, it is not impossible.

It is a saying in aviation that an improbable accident, is just one that has not occurred.

The most likely sequence of events in this scenario is that, rather than exploding immediately, one or more of the shuttle's rocket booster engines managed to ignite hypergolically, causing an overpressure within the launch tube which ruptured both tube hatches and caused the acceleration forces recorded due to the impingement and reaction of combustion gases on the hull of KM Lun. It is theorised that it was the aft hatch penetrating the heat shield at high speed which caused the initial damage to KM Lun's hydraulic and electrical system, but fire damage prevents conclusive analysis in these sections. This event could easily have been mistaken by the crew for a detonation or explosion and destruction of the entire shuttle assembly.

The engines continue to operate for 64 seconds at an uncontrolled power setting, before hold-down bolts fail, allowing the shuttle to launch uncontrolled from tube 5. With insufficient thrust for a sustained flight, the intact shuttle instead collides with the tail, causing the recorded structural damage before disintegrating. Severed fuel and oxidiser lines cause an external fuel/oxidiser explosion which is recorded by TokyoMet, exacerbating the loss of control and causing further widespread damage to the electrical system, cutting the recorder power.

This does not exactly match crew accounts. It is conceivable given the developing nature of the incident that the crew of KM Lun are conflating multiple events into a single occurrence. The situation on the flightdeck with multiple failures occuring simultaneously, would likely have been extremely chaotic and disorientating. Entertaining this assumption allows the board to construct a timeline of events that reconciles crew accounts with the damage suffered with the least amount of inconsistency between both.

The unfortunate lack of Cockpit Voice Recorder data in this instance prevents a final conclusion from being drawn so, barring future evidence, both theories will be allowed to stand. This will be reflected in our recommendations. The continued absence of any evidence of a second spacecraft requires the board to favour an onboard explosion caused by a shuttlecraft malfunction. .

It is clear however that in any case, the incident was drastically exacerbated by the presence of High-Test Hydrogen Peroxide and Kerosene in large quantities aboard KM Lun. The board can recall two historical occasions where this combination of fuels led to the loss of a craft and it's crew, the most well known of which being the Russian submarine Kursk disaster 24 years ago. This has informed our final recommendations below.

The single fatality aboard was caused by the failure of the ventilation system to fully contain fumes from the onboard fire and venusian atmosphere, and lack of provision of an emergency respirator in the cargo bay. These are not required in cargo spaces by current regulations and the cargo bay access hatch had been sealed from the outside, as the casualty was being transported as a prisoner. It is understood that this was not normal proceedure. This will be reflected in our recommendations.

We must also note that, once control had been lost, the flight crew of KM Lun managed their difficulties with all skill consistent with the highest standards of airmanship. The incident was correctly assessed by the crew as it unfolded, with actions correctly prioritised resulting in the succesful regaining of spacecraft control, despite extreme levels of damage.

--------------------------

TruthinJustice
Subj: Getting way with Murder?
Posted by: Kullury

Am I the only one who has a different idea of what's going on here? I mean, you're not going to believe this was an accident right? At least, that it didn't start out as an accident. Okay, the big key to this is that passenger, the sole person who was killed. Now, we know exactly why that person was aboard - the Knight Sabers had been hired specifically to grab her off the street and bring her to Lun. And they claim they were planning to bring her to the AMP on Tokyo....

I think we are looking at a coverup. But not the one everyone thinks.

Think about it. If someone biomods you the way Haur was, you're gonna want revenge. That's what this is..... a botched attempt at revenge.

And the key to it all is right there in the report:

"The single fatality aboard was caused by the failure of the ventilation system to fully contain fumes from the onboard fire and venusian atmosphere, and lack of provision of an emergency respirator in the cargo bay"

And from the mouth of Alekseeva:

"Unfortunately, to get safe access to the bay, we had to vent it and the body to space as it still contained explosive levels of peroxide fumes."

You wanna know what I think they were doing?

I think they were trying to execute their prisoner. Now, they know that's murder, right? So what they do is try to make it look like an accident by putting the prisoner in a cargobay, then venting high-test peroxide into the cargobay atmosphere. So, then not only do they have a method of killing the prisoner by gassing them, they also have a perfectly logical and respectable method for disposing of the body and the evidence. Because that stuff's explosive in the wrong concentrations. People would raise eyebrows if they followed te traditional 'Blown out an airlock trying to escape' route, but explosive fuel fumes is so believeable, it's just about the only part of the report nobody's thinking to question. Venus eats any evidence to the contrary, and they get away scott free.

I don't think this is an accident. At least, it didn't begin as an accident.

I think they started like that. They flood the bay with peroxide vapour like I explain above, to gas the prisoner. But then something goes wrong and the vapour actually explodes on them, leading to the near disaster that actually happened, and now they have to fight for their lives. Instead, what they've achieved by accident is making certain that nobody even thinks it began through a deliberate murder attempt because nobody in their right mind would ever fake an accident that severe to cover up a murder. Because the explosion itself wasn't the false accident.... it was the vapour leak that caused the explosion. They intented the leak to happen, but not everything that followed.

Does this make sense to anyone else?

-----------------------------
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#71
Watcher_415@OTRS.net: Kullury you might be on to something there, the question would be how do you prove it. The evidence is either all gone when vented to space, or else was burned up/blown up during the leak/explosion. This might be the perfect murder after all
 
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#72
Rajvik Wrote:Watcher_415@OTRS.net: Kullury you might be on to something there, the question would be how do you prove it. The evidence is either all gone when vented to space, or else was burned up/blown up during the leak/explosion. This might be the perfect murder after all
Kullury@truthandjusticblog.fen

Watcher_415. Yeah. Well almost, it would've been perfect if they hadn't almost killed themselves in the process. But, I mean, it sounds a bit extreme at first glance and I've got a few people asking me why someone would go through the bother, especially given the obvious risks. I'm certain that's what they'll say when asked too.... but think about it. We're dealing with someone who's got a bit of a tendancy to look before they leap. She'll worry about how she's going to land after she's jumped.

Just imagine the thought process for a second. She knows that people might give her funny looks if she uses that tired ' blew himself out the airlock trying to escape' excuse, so she cooks up a scheme to gas someone instead, make it look like even more of an accident, then use the dangerous nature of the gas as an excuse to dump the evidence, without thinking about how dangerous pumping that much peroxide into a cargobay might be. And then it blows up, literally. It'd be brilliant if it wasn't for the fire....

And with all the evidence burned up, destroyed, or on the surface of Venus, all we have left is their word and the legal benefit of the doubt. You can't prove it, without either finding the body, or going down to Venus itself and finding the wreckage.

Bloody Mary-Sues.
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