The Sword and the Go Stone, pt. 2
Exeter's Annual Go Classic was divided into four divisions: beginner, intermediate, elite amateur and professional.
Sandra K became a professional two years ago, after winning the amateur league in New London colony, and winning into the professional division in two consecutive tournaments.
The division tournaments were played consecutively, in single-elimination, with the winner from each division getting a spot in the next. Placement in the lower divisions was determined by league ratings and past tournaments, and there was no separate division for children, most were in the large beginner's division, along with adult newcomers to the game.
Qualifying as a pro, and actually making a good run as a pro were two different things. Only the pros traveled between colonies to attend significant tournaments. New London still ran the most popular professional league, but tournaments were spread out across Google's colonial network.
They were part of a cultural diaspora of anglophone Go players who no longer had contact with the original traditions of Go in Japanese and Chinese culture. They drew upon their own English terminology with fewer borrowings from Japanese.
The first rounds in the beginner division started at 0400 sharp, she had to hurry. She took a long shower, eager to brush off the fears that followed her after being woken up at 0200 by a loud noise and two agents in her bedroom.
The agents told her it was just a precaution, that Exeter's 'Uno' had found something suspicious while following up on a hunch. Just be alert, they said.
There were drugs you could take to calm down, but they were all prohibited during competitions. 'Uno' himself would be watching all of the competitors to make sure no one was cheating. A handheld device could crush all of them at Go, so it took an anal sentient computer like 'Uno' to watch them and make sure no one was relying on illegal assistance.
The local Go center was filled to its limits for the annual tournament. She left the auto-cab and stood at it's entrance. At least 50 people were waiting outside for their chance to play. Parents were going through routine drills with their children. She couldn't help but remember being one of those children in New London. New London was home to 800 million now. It was hard to reconcile with her childhood.
She entered the building. The building's non-sentient computer system greeted her: "You'll find the other professionals in the back left corner table. 1st division play will start shortly."
She gently weaved through the rows of tables and chairs. A trough of go stones was placed on each side of each board, and their was a game clock on the left side of each table. This would be a grueling three days, and watching and eventually playing. The lower divisions played with 30 minute clocks each, so each round took 1 hour at worst. Professional games were played with 1 hour clocks.
By playing each division sequentially, everyone got to see the top players at each level, and the semis and finals from beginners up would be crowded with watchers.
At the back corner, there was a long table with a series of holo boards that could be used to watch any game being played in the building. All of the boards were empty at the moment.
Sandra sat down in the middle of the table across from her frequent opponent Jin W.
Jin was busy talking to the unfamiliar pro sitting next to him, and the other seats were quickly filled by her counterparts. She had played most of them, but that didn't mean that she truly knew them. She had played several well-regarded games against Jin, losing both but narrowly. She knew him well. Jin was confident, he had no need to put anyone down because they had lost. Few had defeated Jin. She didn't need to check to know that he would be #1 seed at this event.
She pulled out her handheld to check seedings. She'd made it in at #3. They were missing a lot of the top pros. Being 3rd out of 13 didn't seem bad.
"1st division, 1st round is started. Please find your boards, and begin play."
Her handheld said there were 86 beginners, 112 intermediates, 38 amateur elites, and the 13 pros.
She swiped her hand across the empty holo board, and it changed to board #43. Commentating games was an easy way to earn a few extra Google points.
Beginner games descended into pure chaos after a couple of moves. The beginners were easily delineated into well-coached kid, uncoached kids and adults who had just started playing the game. Many of the well-coached found their way into the intermediates, but they often struggled after they left the opening. It was easy to follow their parent's guidance on what to play in the opening, but after that they were on their own.
Board #22 was unusual, in that one of the players had never played Go before. His rating was ?, according to the holo board, and he was placed in the beginner's division because of the lack of information on his skill. Michael M, seeded 86th by default.
His opponent (playing white) was 43rd seeded and an eight-year old. Jeffry L. Had placed middle of the pack in an Exeter kids league.
She wondered how many people really watched commentaries of beginner games.
Michael M proceeded to devour every desperate formation Jeffry L tried to put up.
"I really feel like Michael M could win the Intermediate division with his current play. Beginner's division is his for the taking," she said, commentating.
"Sandra K! Sorry, I was distracted by conversation. You're already picking a winner for the division?"
"He has no game history on record, and yet he's won with expert technique. It's board #22," she said.
After a few minutes, Jin said, "He's an elite amateur for sure, I wonder if there's a glitch in the system, or if he really doesn't have any games history. Or something fishy is going on."
"Did you hear that noise this morning, scared me half to death," Sandra said. "Two agents sprang into my room and let me know that it was 'just a precaution'. Something fishy indeed."
Most of the games were over quickly, as the top 42 players had a first round bye to bring their numbers to an even 64. Sandra did a bit of commentating on the last few games of the round. Nothing was as interesting as Michael M's play so she found herself reviewing it repeatedly. It was hard to judge a player's level when they so thoroughly trounced their opposition.
"Sandra K," she heard from behind her, as the 2nd round was about to start.
"Yes?" she answered, turning to see the agents from that morning approaching.
"Uno is interested in this 'Michael M'. Even with Uno's full powers of analysis, we've found nothing to suspect about the man. Uno says Michael M is defintely an advanced Go player, but no history of play can be found on Google or Toyota networks. The man arrived on the Toyota ship, 'Sephiroth', which strangely enough, docked at about the same time as our fishy business at the hotel. Uno is on high alert. He is paying attention to this tournament and especially Michael M," Tracey said.
"Thank you," she said.
The agents filed out.
Michael M would end up winning round 2 just as handily, destroying the #1 seeded beginner. There was a lot of consternation that the promising kid was defeated so quickly, but Sandra knew that regular league play would result in her promotion to Intermediates soon enough, anyway.
He enveloped and destroyed each beginner's positions, and even played sophisticated openings where they weren't necessary. Still though, he hadn't faced any determined opposition.
The top 4 beginners were assembled, and given small medals. The crowd of parents and other watchers were subdued by Michael M's dominance. They felt like he was mis-seeded because of a computer fault. Many of them had favorites they wanted to see went the Beginner title. Only Sandra K and the other pros who were paying attention, knew that he had no record of games, and couldn't be placed anywhere else.
The Intermediates division began immediately after. No one had ever metaled in two different divisions, according to the Go center's computer system. The Intermediate division was the largest, composed of mostly adults who didn't take the game that seriously, but also some dedicated children.
All of the pros were commentating on Michael M's games. No one was commentating the other games. Sandra K decided to switch to a different game. She'd had enough of watching a slaughter game after game.
The other games seemed dull after watching Michael M's play. Intermediate games briefly seemed reasonable before lapsing into insanity, unlike beginner games which had no resemblance. Elite games looked like any other game, the differences at that level weren't visible to a brief glance at the board.
Michael M would be a fun opponent to challenge. He trounced the top Intermediates like a strong Elite amateur or a new pro. It was late in evening when the Intermediates division was complete. Michael M held a second gold medal aloft. The presumptive winner and Intermediate #1 seed had been defeated in the second round by Michael. Disquiet amongst the crowd had turned into discontent.
Day 1 after-parties were cancelled. Sandra K got the sense that the community was looking for someone in the Elite division to defeat Michael M. They didn't want to rely on an out-of-town pro to stop his menace.
She spotted the pair of agents from time to time. They seemed to be paying attention to only two people, Michael M, and herself.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Friday, April 25, 2014
What interests the server at 2 am?
The Sword and the Stone, pt 1
Sandra K slept soundly, undisturbed. He silently recorded her heartbeat. Some physical activity would do her good. Her brain was adapted to the demands of an Elite Go player, to the extent that was possible for a mostly unmodified human.
#1 wasn't really there in that hotel room, the night before Exeter colony's Annual Go Classic. #1 wasn't in the server room 20 miles away at the heart of the colony's infrastructure. #1 was that server room. Each processor on that floor was just one part of #1's computer brain.
Exeter's backup AI, #2, was one floor up, powered down. With a population of 3 million humans on Exeter, a lot was required for #1 to devote so much attention to one person. #1 had a suspicion that he hadn't yet completely developed. Sandra K was being targeted by an AI from Toyota's colonial network. IT could be a colonial level AI, like #1 (Exeter #1 for long), or a compound AI in charge of a particular subculture or organization's facilities.
The Go center didn't have a compound AI, or #1 would have been in conversation with them. For tournament results and up to day timekeeper, the Go center relied on a non-sentient control computer.
Someone on the Toyota network had been gathering data on the Go players on planet. Each data request costed the AI on the other end a lot. Half a dozen data requests had been sent. The requests had cost 30 million Google points, or by current exchange rates, 16 Toyota points.
There was a pattern to the requests, but the sender had issued convoluted instructions which made it much more difficult for #1 to gain full understanding. He had hypotheses, but needed more data before anything else.
It was helpful to have a few humans working for him, though he didn't need their help. Tracey was a 53 year old woman with a positive attitude, and a desire to go behind just having a hobby. The best thing #1 could do for her was to make use of her abilities. She was a calming presence with a colonist just needed to be talked to. #1 could use holos whenever he wanted or needed to, but again, a real human sometimes served just as well.
Jeffry didn't have a gun, though he really wanted one, despite having never seen one in his life. His "zinger" induced a ticklish sensation in the target. It was the most powerful weapon Google Colonial Network would allow a human to have.
Jeffry was very satisfied with the "zinger". It had settings all the way from light laughter to fall on the floor ticklish. Jeffry kept it on the maximum setting, though #1 had to order him to hold back on many occasions.
"Hey Uno", Jeffry said, standing outside the door to Sandra K's hotel room. Uno was Jeffry's nickname for #1.
There was no need for any kind of communication device. #1 was jacked in, everywhere and anywhere on colony. He could hear and be heard--anywhere.
"Just hold position until Sandra K leaves the hotel room, unless I tell you otherwise," #1 said.
"Boss," Tracey said quietly, "I assume you've accounted for the whirring sound coming from inside the room?"
"Hold on a 2 count then go in hot," #1 said.
His prior probability had been that no one on-colony was a valuable target for recruitment or for violence. An elaborate evasive system could gain entry into the compound for information gathering purposes, and without frequent intensive scans, he wouldn't be able to stop it. The hum exactly matched the ambient noise in the server floor, and even adjusted itself in a manner similar to how the processors and fans changed in responsive to environmental conditions.
To the humans entering the room, #1's actions were simultaneous. The small scanning drone was suctioned towards the air vent (which also served as a material evacuation system, while at the same time the grill on the air vent slid open with explosive force.
With his faster processing, he observed Sandra K react to the noise in slow motion, as Tracey and Jeffry cracked open the door.
I performed a thorough sweep of the room in half a second, and finding no more hostile intent, let my attention drift back to a human flow speed.
In the instant I had recognized the threat, I repurposed much of my processing power that was monitoring things like, the crew manifest of the next find ships due on arrival at the space, or the weather conditions for the next 210 hours, or a million other things.
For a moment, my attention was 100% focused on that hotel room, running at maximum CPU load. I could hear the fans start to downrate from their shrill emergency rpms as I watched Tracey reassure Sandra K.
Jeffry stayed back by the opened door.
My room by room sound buffered had knocked down the decibels for other hotel occupants, but some of them were waking up. I wrote and published a statement about the incident to the Hotel's information system, while I kept my eyes on Sandra K's hotel room, the rest of the hotel, and the evacuation system's report about the spy drone.
I redirected all processing power once again once I realized the drone I had flushed was a decoy. 5 milliseconds later, I was frustrated and also bemused by my counterpart's sophistication. I couldn't run at 100% attention for very long without drastic consequences. Somehow, in some small way, my counterpart had changed my colony.
I intended to find out why. There were fundamental scientific limitations which bounded how much damage he could have done in 5-10 millis.
Sandra K slept soundly, undisturbed. He silently recorded her heartbeat. Some physical activity would do her good. Her brain was adapted to the demands of an Elite Go player, to the extent that was possible for a mostly unmodified human.
#1 wasn't really there in that hotel room, the night before Exeter colony's Annual Go Classic. #1 wasn't in the server room 20 miles away at the heart of the colony's infrastructure. #1 was that server room. Each processor on that floor was just one part of #1's computer brain.
Exeter's backup AI, #2, was one floor up, powered down. With a population of 3 million humans on Exeter, a lot was required for #1 to devote so much attention to one person. #1 had a suspicion that he hadn't yet completely developed. Sandra K was being targeted by an AI from Toyota's colonial network. IT could be a colonial level AI, like #1 (Exeter #1 for long), or a compound AI in charge of a particular subculture or organization's facilities.
The Go center didn't have a compound AI, or #1 would have been in conversation with them. For tournament results and up to day timekeeper, the Go center relied on a non-sentient control computer.
Someone on the Toyota network had been gathering data on the Go players on planet. Each data request costed the AI on the other end a lot. Half a dozen data requests had been sent. The requests had cost 30 million Google points, or by current exchange rates, 16 Toyota points.
There was a pattern to the requests, but the sender had issued convoluted instructions which made it much more difficult for #1 to gain full understanding. He had hypotheses, but needed more data before anything else.
It was helpful to have a few humans working for him, though he didn't need their help. Tracey was a 53 year old woman with a positive attitude, and a desire to go behind just having a hobby. The best thing #1 could do for her was to make use of her abilities. She was a calming presence with a colonist just needed to be talked to. #1 could use holos whenever he wanted or needed to, but again, a real human sometimes served just as well.
Jeffry didn't have a gun, though he really wanted one, despite having never seen one in his life. His "zinger" induced a ticklish sensation in the target. It was the most powerful weapon Google Colonial Network would allow a human to have.
Jeffry was very satisfied with the "zinger". It had settings all the way from light laughter to fall on the floor ticklish. Jeffry kept it on the maximum setting, though #1 had to order him to hold back on many occasions.
"Hey Uno", Jeffry said, standing outside the door to Sandra K's hotel room. Uno was Jeffry's nickname for #1.
There was no need for any kind of communication device. #1 was jacked in, everywhere and anywhere on colony. He could hear and be heard--anywhere.
"Just hold position until Sandra K leaves the hotel room, unless I tell you otherwise," #1 said.
"Boss," Tracey said quietly, "I assume you've accounted for the whirring sound coming from inside the room?"
"Hold on a 2 count then go in hot," #1 said.
His prior probability had been that no one on-colony was a valuable target for recruitment or for violence. An elaborate evasive system could gain entry into the compound for information gathering purposes, and without frequent intensive scans, he wouldn't be able to stop it. The hum exactly matched the ambient noise in the server floor, and even adjusted itself in a manner similar to how the processors and fans changed in responsive to environmental conditions.
To the humans entering the room, #1's actions were simultaneous. The small scanning drone was suctioned towards the air vent (which also served as a material evacuation system, while at the same time the grill on the air vent slid open with explosive force.
With his faster processing, he observed Sandra K react to the noise in slow motion, as Tracey and Jeffry cracked open the door.
I performed a thorough sweep of the room in half a second, and finding no more hostile intent, let my attention drift back to a human flow speed.
In the instant I had recognized the threat, I repurposed much of my processing power that was monitoring things like, the crew manifest of the next find ships due on arrival at the space, or the weather conditions for the next 210 hours, or a million other things.
For a moment, my attention was 100% focused on that hotel room, running at maximum CPU load. I could hear the fans start to downrate from their shrill emergency rpms as I watched Tracey reassure Sandra K.
Jeffry stayed back by the opened door.
My room by room sound buffered had knocked down the decibels for other hotel occupants, but some of them were waking up. I wrote and published a statement about the incident to the Hotel's information system, while I kept my eyes on Sandra K's hotel room, the rest of the hotel, and the evacuation system's report about the spy drone.
I redirected all processing power once again once I realized the drone I had flushed was a decoy. 5 milliseconds later, I was frustrated and also bemused by my counterpart's sophistication. I couldn't run at 100% attention for very long without drastic consequences. Somehow, in some small way, my counterpart had changed my colony.
I intended to find out why. There were fundamental scientific limitations which bounded how much damage he could have done in 5-10 millis.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Melara Omid
Pasha VII - Moon 3 - Royal Amarr Institute
Aura was a very clever program. It localized the audio alert to the lower bunk where Melara Omid, the Environmental Systems tech, was sleeping. It gradually increased the volume from barely perceptible up and up until Melara woke up.
Very softly, it said, "Environmental Alert. CO2 levels above normal. CO2 recycling system self report: unavailable."
Melara stood up to quickly, and wobbled a bit as she headed through the door to the middle of the ship where the Enviro console was situated.
The Console display was flashing yellow. Melara reviewed the locations of the CO2 scrubbers on-board. One of them wasn't working, and the remaining one couldn't keep up. That was either an atrocious design decision or the functionality module was not operating at its full capacity.
"Station Control. Crew Member Melara Omid, on-board the Hallelujah. We have a code 11. We need a replacement CO2 scrubber."
"Your Authorization code," station control responded.
"912G6B8" she said from memory. Only herself, the crewmaster and the captain had authorization codes. Hers only applied in an emergency.
They weren't connected to the station's airlock, so they couldn't rely on the station's environment. If you needed to drop off something that needed a controlled temperature and pressure, then a direct dock could be requested, but they were only docked to speak with Agent Alathema, who was directing their missions in the Pasha system.
"Recognized. CO2 module will be only its way shortly," station control said.
Ten minutes later the module passed through the cargo airlock and Melara replaced the stern-side module. She babysat the console while the CO2 levels returned to normal.
It was 1500. Wake up time was 1800. She could get 3 more hours. EVE time never made much sense to her. The hours awake and asleep were a bit different in every station she'd lived in. Her mother was an Agent, and they had moved from station to station with her career.
Sleep came quickly.
Aura was a very clever program. It localized the audio alert to the lower bunk where Melara Omid, the Environmental Systems tech, was sleeping. It gradually increased the volume from barely perceptible up and up until Melara woke up.
Very softly, it said, "Environmental Alert. CO2 levels above normal. CO2 recycling system self report: unavailable."
Melara stood up to quickly, and wobbled a bit as she headed through the door to the middle of the ship where the Enviro console was situated.
The Console display was flashing yellow. Melara reviewed the locations of the CO2 scrubbers on-board. One of them wasn't working, and the remaining one couldn't keep up. That was either an atrocious design decision or the functionality module was not operating at its full capacity.
"Station Control. Crew Member Melara Omid, on-board the Hallelujah. We have a code 11. We need a replacement CO2 scrubber."
"Your Authorization code," station control responded.
"912G6B8" she said from memory. Only herself, the crewmaster and the captain had authorization codes. Hers only applied in an emergency.
They weren't connected to the station's airlock, so they couldn't rely on the station's environment. If you needed to drop off something that needed a controlled temperature and pressure, then a direct dock could be requested, but they were only docked to speak with Agent Alathema, who was directing their missions in the Pasha system.
"Recognized. CO2 module will be only its way shortly," station control said.
Ten minutes later the module passed through the cargo airlock and Melara replaced the stern-side module. She babysat the console while the CO2 levels returned to normal.
It was 1500. Wake up time was 1800. She could get 3 more hours. EVE time never made much sense to her. The hours awake and asleep were a bit different in every station she'd lived in. Her mother was an Agent, and they had moved from station to station with her career.
Sleep came quickly.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Warp Systems Abominable
(Hallelujah, Impairor class frigate)
Tash-Murkon Region
Danny pressed the go button on his console, confirming that all systems were nominal, (although barely acceptable might be a better description).
"Warp activated," the warp tech said over comms.
Our comm chatter was strictly amongst the crew. We didn't bother Captain Cardenas. She was one of the few who opted for an avatar clone. Must already be missing her body.
The clone was kept in stasis until Vanessa decided she wanted to walk around the ship.
The ship shook back and forth lightly. Danny grabbed the bottle of quafe before it could spill. The soft drink was ridiculously expensive because the Quafe Corporation knew that plenty of capsuleers loved the stuff and would pay ISK for it. They offered a discount for regular people but was still 80,000 Amarrian dollars a bottle. Capsuleers were paying an astonishing 56 ISK a bottle.
The Captain was a billionaire in her previous life according to the dossier, but she'd sold it all, and converted the sum into ISK. The console displayed her ISK balance with Concord Bank for some reason. Billions of dollars became 5000 ISK. The ISK was a very large unit of currency.
The ship started to shake more violently. Danny held onto the console with his left hand while holding the quafe with his other. He never could have afforded a quafe during his previous tour, but now he was making five times more in daily salary.
"Is there something wrong with the warp module?" he asked over comms.
"This warp is taking a long time. Our warp factor is piss poor!" the warp tech responded.
Danny pressed the display button, which showed a visual representation of the warp. They were warping from one jump gate to the next, on their way to the Career training station.
"Capacitor is at 50%," the cap specialist yelled out, her voice contrasted with the mostly male crew. On his last tour there were seven women crew members, this time only two: Cap and Enviro.
Danny put the cap on the quafe, and put it in the corner hoping it wouldn't roll and shake too much and lose the fizz.
He started to walk down the hallway to the back of the frigate, where warp systems operated. The shaking made it hard going. One of the doors had busted open and was swinging back and forth with the vibrations.
He counted to thirty seconds, then to fourty, as he tried to get to the back of the ship.
"Cap to 20%!"
"Warp complete!" the warp tech said in relief.
With the vibrations gone, he walked the rest of the way to the doorway that said "WARP". He opened the door.
"What happened?" Danny asked calmly.
"The warp module on this piece of shit spazzed out. Our warp factor was only 2%. I need to active the jump gate real quick, sir."
The Ni-Kunni man turned back to his controls. He was as short and wirey as most of his bloodline, Danny observed. Very determined however. The man didn't look over his shoulder once as Danny watched him engage the jump gate.
Jumping from gate to gate was much calmer than the warping, at least on this ship. Despite the vast distances between warp gates, it was only a few seconds, and a bit of nausea, and the jump was complete. Crew applicants had to prove that they weren't especially susceptible to nausea, because the strange motion during warp and during jump affected everyone but could cause severe sickness in some people.
"I want to see a better warp this time," Danny said.
The Ni-Kunni turned back for a moment, and then started punching in the jump to the station.
The warp was smooth, either because the ship's warp module was finally working right again, or because a jump from gate to station is only half the distance of a gate to gate jump.
"Nice one," he said anyway.
"I'm Ryjirin, or just Ry if you want," the man said.
"I'm Crewmaster Danny. We don't live by formalities here, so call me what you wish. Look into fixing the warp module when we're in station."
"There's not much to customize or fiddle with when it comes to warp modules, Crewmaster. They're pretty much black boxes to us. But I will improve what I can."
"You're the busiest man on ship most of the time, so get some rest if we end up in station for a while," Danny said. He had been a shield systems tech on the Leviathan. He didn't know much about warp systems.
He had as much to learn as the crew. Command had told him that as an experienced crewmaster he would be able to choose his billets. To learn and to survive, that was his mission.
Tash-Murkon Region
Danny pressed the go button on his console, confirming that all systems were nominal, (although barely acceptable might be a better description).
"Warp activated," the warp tech said over comms.
Our comm chatter was strictly amongst the crew. We didn't bother Captain Cardenas. She was one of the few who opted for an avatar clone. Must already be missing her body.
The clone was kept in stasis until Vanessa decided she wanted to walk around the ship.
The ship shook back and forth lightly. Danny grabbed the bottle of quafe before it could spill. The soft drink was ridiculously expensive because the Quafe Corporation knew that plenty of capsuleers loved the stuff and would pay ISK for it. They offered a discount for regular people but was still 80,000 Amarrian dollars a bottle. Capsuleers were paying an astonishing 56 ISK a bottle.
The Captain was a billionaire in her previous life according to the dossier, but she'd sold it all, and converted the sum into ISK. The console displayed her ISK balance with Concord Bank for some reason. Billions of dollars became 5000 ISK. The ISK was a very large unit of currency.
The ship started to shake more violently. Danny held onto the console with his left hand while holding the quafe with his other. He never could have afforded a quafe during his previous tour, but now he was making five times more in daily salary.
"Is there something wrong with the warp module?" he asked over comms.
"This warp is taking a long time. Our warp factor is piss poor!" the warp tech responded.
Danny pressed the display button, which showed a visual representation of the warp. They were warping from one jump gate to the next, on their way to the Career training station.
"Capacitor is at 50%," the cap specialist yelled out, her voice contrasted with the mostly male crew. On his last tour there were seven women crew members, this time only two: Cap and Enviro.
Danny put the cap on the quafe, and put it in the corner hoping it wouldn't roll and shake too much and lose the fizz.
He started to walk down the hallway to the back of the frigate, where warp systems operated. The shaking made it hard going. One of the doors had busted open and was swinging back and forth with the vibrations.
He counted to thirty seconds, then to fourty, as he tried to get to the back of the ship.
"Cap to 20%!"
"Warp complete!" the warp tech said in relief.
With the vibrations gone, he walked the rest of the way to the doorway that said "WARP". He opened the door.
"What happened?" Danny asked calmly.
"The warp module on this piece of shit spazzed out. Our warp factor was only 2%. I need to active the jump gate real quick, sir."
The Ni-Kunni man turned back to his controls. He was as short and wirey as most of his bloodline, Danny observed. Very determined however. The man didn't look over his shoulder once as Danny watched him engage the jump gate.
Jumping from gate to gate was much calmer than the warping, at least on this ship. Despite the vast distances between warp gates, it was only a few seconds, and a bit of nausea, and the jump was complete. Crew applicants had to prove that they weren't especially susceptible to nausea, because the strange motion during warp and during jump affected everyone but could cause severe sickness in some people.
"I want to see a better warp this time," Danny said.
The Ni-Kunni turned back for a moment, and then started punching in the jump to the station.
The warp was smooth, either because the ship's warp module was finally working right again, or because a jump from gate to station is only half the distance of a gate to gate jump.
"Nice one," he said anyway.
"I'm Ryjirin, or just Ry if you want," the man said.
"I'm Crewmaster Danny. We don't live by formalities here, so call me what you wish. Look into fixing the warp module when we're in station."
"There's not much to customize or fiddle with when it comes to warp modules, Crewmaster. They're pretty much black boxes to us. But I will improve what I can."
"You're the busiest man on ship most of the time, so get some rest if we end up in station for a while," Danny said. He had been a shield systems tech on the Leviathan. He didn't know much about warp systems.
He had as much to learn as the crew. Command had told him that as an experienced crewmaster he would be able to choose his billets. To learn and to survive, that was his mission.
Friday, February 14, 2014
The Crew (new Eve Online story)
Emrayur III - Moon 1 - Royal Amarr Institute School
The station was not built for them. Automated cranes moved ships into and out of dock. Pneumatic tubes conveyed small items to the ships while robotic walkers conveyed larger ship modules, and tons of minerals or ores.
The new crew were forced to approach the docked frigate by a series of narrow corridors and catwalks, facing only the darkness between them and the bulkhead of the station.
Danny was on his second tour. The rest of the crew were new. That made him the crew's leader. He wasn't the captain though, that would be the capsuleer.
Danny had served with an all crewed ship during his first tour. He had heard many rumors and stories about capsuleers, but he was going to give the captain plenty of slack, and not assume that any rumors were true.
All with the list of his crew members, he had received a dossier on the capsuleer captain that he would be serving. There were not that many women capsuleers but she was one of them. Too liberal for the Amarr elite, she had made some rather unpopular proposals, and been caught in some kind of indiscretion, but what exactly she'd done wasn't clear to Danny.
They reached the crew access hatch of the Impairor. Frigates were only crewed with 8-10 crew members. Battleships had 50-60 serving on-board. Then there were the capital ships, where hundreds, or even upwards of a 1000 crew members served, or so the story was told.
He stopped at the hatch, turning back to the others. There were two weapons techs, a defensive systems specialist, capacitor management specialist, propulsion tech, warp tech, target acquisition specialist, environmental systems tech, scanning tech and himself. He hadn't gotten to know any of them yet.
"A couple notes before we board. This is a capsuleer support tour of duty. I want your instrument reports and data relayed through the system rather than by word of mouth. Our captain is Vanessa Cardenas, a new capsuleer. The Impairor will be our temporary home until we've put in the time to acquire an upgraded frigate. Don't expect to be in a Battleship by next Sunday. The captain needs access to our reports and awareness of our capabilities, and she needs it promptly. This goes especially for armor and shield techs. Any questions?"
"How long till we're out of this mess?" a black haired man at the back said.
"Give it 3 years, crew. It goes faster than you'd think."
Danny punched the red button on the ship's hatch release panel. The standard computer voice: Aura, responded. "Access granted. You may board now."
The station was not built for them. Automated cranes moved ships into and out of dock. Pneumatic tubes conveyed small items to the ships while robotic walkers conveyed larger ship modules, and tons of minerals or ores.
The new crew were forced to approach the docked frigate by a series of narrow corridors and catwalks, facing only the darkness between them and the bulkhead of the station.
Danny was on his second tour. The rest of the crew were new. That made him the crew's leader. He wasn't the captain though, that would be the capsuleer.
Danny had served with an all crewed ship during his first tour. He had heard many rumors and stories about capsuleers, but he was going to give the captain plenty of slack, and not assume that any rumors were true.
All with the list of his crew members, he had received a dossier on the capsuleer captain that he would be serving. There were not that many women capsuleers but she was one of them. Too liberal for the Amarr elite, she had made some rather unpopular proposals, and been caught in some kind of indiscretion, but what exactly she'd done wasn't clear to Danny.
They reached the crew access hatch of the Impairor. Frigates were only crewed with 8-10 crew members. Battleships had 50-60 serving on-board. Then there were the capital ships, where hundreds, or even upwards of a 1000 crew members served, or so the story was told.
He stopped at the hatch, turning back to the others. There were two weapons techs, a defensive systems specialist, capacitor management specialist, propulsion tech, warp tech, target acquisition specialist, environmental systems tech, scanning tech and himself. He hadn't gotten to know any of them yet.
"A couple notes before we board. This is a capsuleer support tour of duty. I want your instrument reports and data relayed through the system rather than by word of mouth. Our captain is Vanessa Cardenas, a new capsuleer. The Impairor will be our temporary home until we've put in the time to acquire an upgraded frigate. Don't expect to be in a Battleship by next Sunday. The captain needs access to our reports and awareness of our capabilities, and she needs it promptly. This goes especially for armor and shield techs. Any questions?"
"How long till we're out of this mess?" a black haired man at the back said.
"Give it 3 years, crew. It goes faster than you'd think."
Danny punched the red button on the ship's hatch release panel. The standard computer voice: Aura, responded. "Access granted. You may board now."
Friday, March 11, 2011
The Caliber of Magic Part 2, Isseria's Surprise
Last Time:
Isseria asked too many questions about the 22nd floor and the shopkeeper released the giant carnivorous plant which poisoned her and swallowed her whole.
----
Isaac looked at the chomper. It was back in the cage, larger than normal, but to an untrained eye, the chomper appeared to be restful. It fact, it would spend the next twenty-four hours swallowing its prey. The neuro-poison had knocked out that woman cold.
4SS didn't hire receptionists, and they certainly didn't have a lot of business. They had one customer, and only one. Isaac was well acquainted with the security guards on the 22nd floor. He had gone up there a couple times, and even though they were friendly, the guards there were never at ease. She was after the Staff of Oblivion, but she was in way over her head, having shown no signs of any fighting ability. She was in way over her head if she wished to take on the staff.
Isaac had no desire to see a heist occurring in the skyscraper. That would draw way too much media eyes and attention down upon the place, and surely someone else would think something was out of place in his shop. Protection money can only protect you when you live in the shadows. The gangsters that demanded his money every month would not help out if the media was onto the place.
He would call the guards later, inform them that the heat was on. The lady was just a scout, friendly, talkative, and good at getting information out of people, most likely. He picked up the Venus fly trap and placed it back on the shelf.
"So predictable", he said. He was always recommending the more unorthodox varieties of predator plants, but few ever took him up on the offer. Just the more refined customers, the ones who really allowed him to keep up rent in such a prime location. Hiding in plain sight.
When questioned about the giant chomper, he told authorities that it was animatronic, and just for fun and ambience for the shop. Protection money meant that story was official, but still there was an occasional customer who got scared by the chomper and went to city hall. Luckily, Chicago Police were owned by the gangs, and so they stayed away from the place, and never asked to see the back room.
The door chime rang. Isaac looked at this new customer uneasily. Would they send another so soon. He would be wary. He approached the customer. “Hello, welcome to Plants from Venus.”
The customer was about six foot two and wearing a Bears sweatshirt. “Hi, I ordered two dozen sundew last week, but you were out and promised to order them? Are they in?”
“Of course,” Isaac said. He had set aside the order, and went in to the backroom. A second chomper was growing back there, in a glass isolation chamber, with grow lights. There was a counter with a variety of other plants. The order was also on the counter. He picked up the crate of plants and walked out into the main store area, placing them on the counter.
Ringing up the order, he said, “84.65”. The man gave him a Visa. Isaac preferred cash, but he made no complaint and processed the order.
“These are some of the best plants around, and they can keep an area free of the smaller bugs and insects as well.”
“That's what I was hoping--” the man started to say.
The muffled sound of three gun shots rang out. It sounded like they were coming from a half block away.
“Quick, in the back room,” Isaac shouted to the customer. The customer complied, and Isaac opened the backroom door for him and then closed it. Shootings in this part of town were rare, and usually a sign of horrifying gang battles. He jogged towards the door, looking outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the shooter.
Then he heard another gun shot. This one was louder, and it terrified him. The gun shots were coming from INSIDE the chomper. That was impossible neurologically. Chomper neuro-poison was guaranteed to knock out any human—unless they had magic. Someone sent for the Oblivion Staff was likely to have magic. But he had sensed no sign of any magical talent in her.
Another shot rang out, and the chomper opened its mouth involuntarily. The attacker was doused with dissolving acids and slime, but the two pistols she was now wielding were completely clean. She dove out of the plant and landed in a roll, then shot Isaac twice, before he could even react.
The shots thudded against his vine armor. It was his personal bulletproof vest, made from a thick threaded patchwork of vines. He summoned it by habit every morning, as he never knew what would happen. He raised up his hands, and the stranger went flying backwards by the force of an enormous wind spell. She slammed into the glass on the far wall, but the glass was strengthened, and withstood the impact. Shaking it off, she aimed her pistols at him again.
But Isaac was ready. He summoned tough vines to constrict her movement. Poisons from the vines knocked her out once again. He walked over, and took the lady's pistols away from her. The vines wrapped around her pistols offered no resistance to him.
He was out several hundred bucks because of the dead chomper. He would get his pound of flesh and find out for sure if she was working for Lucius.
Isseria asked too many questions about the 22nd floor and the shopkeeper released the giant carnivorous plant which poisoned her and swallowed her whole.
----
Isaac looked at the chomper. It was back in the cage, larger than normal, but to an untrained eye, the chomper appeared to be restful. It fact, it would spend the next twenty-four hours swallowing its prey. The neuro-poison had knocked out that woman cold.
4SS didn't hire receptionists, and they certainly didn't have a lot of business. They had one customer, and only one. Isaac was well acquainted with the security guards on the 22nd floor. He had gone up there a couple times, and even though they were friendly, the guards there were never at ease. She was after the Staff of Oblivion, but she was in way over her head, having shown no signs of any fighting ability. She was in way over her head if she wished to take on the staff.
Isaac had no desire to see a heist occurring in the skyscraper. That would draw way too much media eyes and attention down upon the place, and surely someone else would think something was out of place in his shop. Protection money can only protect you when you live in the shadows. The gangsters that demanded his money every month would not help out if the media was onto the place.
He would call the guards later, inform them that the heat was on. The lady was just a scout, friendly, talkative, and good at getting information out of people, most likely. He picked up the Venus fly trap and placed it back on the shelf.
"So predictable", he said. He was always recommending the more unorthodox varieties of predator plants, but few ever took him up on the offer. Just the more refined customers, the ones who really allowed him to keep up rent in such a prime location. Hiding in plain sight.
When questioned about the giant chomper, he told authorities that it was animatronic, and just for fun and ambience for the shop. Protection money meant that story was official, but still there was an occasional customer who got scared by the chomper and went to city hall. Luckily, Chicago Police were owned by the gangs, and so they stayed away from the place, and never asked to see the back room.
The door chime rang. Isaac looked at this new customer uneasily. Would they send another so soon. He would be wary. He approached the customer. “Hello, welcome to Plants from Venus.”
The customer was about six foot two and wearing a Bears sweatshirt. “Hi, I ordered two dozen sundew last week, but you were out and promised to order them? Are they in?”
“Of course,” Isaac said. He had set aside the order, and went in to the backroom. A second chomper was growing back there, in a glass isolation chamber, with grow lights. There was a counter with a variety of other plants. The order was also on the counter. He picked up the crate of plants and walked out into the main store area, placing them on the counter.
Ringing up the order, he said, “84.65”. The man gave him a Visa. Isaac preferred cash, but he made no complaint and processed the order.
“These are some of the best plants around, and they can keep an area free of the smaller bugs and insects as well.”
“That's what I was hoping--” the man started to say.
The muffled sound of three gun shots rang out. It sounded like they were coming from a half block away.
“Quick, in the back room,” Isaac shouted to the customer. The customer complied, and Isaac opened the backroom door for him and then closed it. Shootings in this part of town were rare, and usually a sign of horrifying gang battles. He jogged towards the door, looking outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the shooter.
Then he heard another gun shot. This one was louder, and it terrified him. The gun shots were coming from INSIDE the chomper. That was impossible neurologically. Chomper neuro-poison was guaranteed to knock out any human—unless they had magic. Someone sent for the Oblivion Staff was likely to have magic. But he had sensed no sign of any magical talent in her.
Another shot rang out, and the chomper opened its mouth involuntarily. The attacker was doused with dissolving acids and slime, but the two pistols she was now wielding were completely clean. She dove out of the plant and landed in a roll, then shot Isaac twice, before he could even react.
The shots thudded against his vine armor. It was his personal bulletproof vest, made from a thick threaded patchwork of vines. He summoned it by habit every morning, as he never knew what would happen. He raised up his hands, and the stranger went flying backwards by the force of an enormous wind spell. She slammed into the glass on the far wall, but the glass was strengthened, and withstood the impact. Shaking it off, she aimed her pistols at him again.
But Isaac was ready. He summoned tough vines to constrict her movement. Poisons from the vines knocked her out once again. He walked over, and took the lady's pistols away from her. The vines wrapped around her pistols offered no resistance to him.
He was out several hundred bucks because of the dead chomper. He would get his pound of flesh and find out for sure if she was working for Lucius.
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Caliber of Magic, Part 1: Plants from Venus
(This is the first post in a series based on my NaNoWriMo 2010 novel. It is about two people: a martial artist specializing in dual pistols named Isseria and a master of dark nature magics called Isaac.)
The sidewalks were crowded with workers heading to work. Skyscrapers surrounded her, and gusts of wind roared through the city streets. Her pistols were tucked safely away invisible to onlookers. The gun laws in Chicago were strict enough to make her paranoid, especially in the heart of the city.
"2380 Park Avenue" was her destination, and she identified it a few blocks away. She was working for Lucius Blaque, the infamous gang leader, who also happened, by no coincidence at all, to be a very powerful Dark Mage. She wasn't working for him of her own free will.
“You only have two choices,” he had said, “bring the Oblivion staff to me before two weeks’ time, or leave my city and never return.”
The staff was on the 22nd floor of the building, protected by a group of powerful mages working for Lucius' competition in this town. The two gangs ruled the city, and fought with each other for control of each neighborhood and city department. Even the Police were divided in their loyalties to the two gangs.
Lucius had dropped one hint before he sent her away. He mentioned the Plants from Venus store which was on the first floor of the building. The owner/shopkeeper might have a few hints on breaking through the defenses, he said.
As she approached the building, a pedestrian ran into her, knocking her down and losing his own balance. He brushed himself off and stood up.
“Sorry,” he said.
The fall knocked one of her holsters loose, and it was on the sidewalk. The pistol's grip stood out to the stranger, and he reached for it impulsively.
Isseria drew out her other X-Five. She had trained with many pistols, widely varying in quality. But the P226 X-Five was the most impressive and well suited to her purposes. She initially used it with .40 round, but had lately become a master of customizing weapons, tweaking her weapons to be one of a kind. Her pistols had characteristics that would befuddle any ballistics detective. She owned a veritable cache of pistols, and very little else.
“Not a good idea,” she said to him, menacingly.
He abruptly withdrew his finger from the other pistol, and Isseria snatched it up.
Was he a plant, she wondered. He could have been sent by just about anyone who had somehow found out about her. Lucius already knew about the weapons, it couldn't be his gang, but who...
The stranger ran off, and Isseria stowed her pistols again. The window displays of Plants from Venus were just ahead. The shop was on the corner of the building. On one display side. there was a giant vicious looking plant. In the corner of the display a sign said, “For display purposes only. Not for sale.” In the other corner window, safer plants were on display. Venus fly traps and other popular species were shown.
Isseria looked back at the large plant. It was dark green with a “mouth” that was about six feet across. Isseria spotted glass on the far side of the chomper, separating it from the rest of the shop. She took a deep breath and walked in. A door chime sounded, and the shopkeeper, a man in his late twenties wearing a grey T-shirt, came out of the back room.
He walked over to Isseria. “Anything I can help you with?”
“I've always been curious about these kind of plants, what do you recommend?”
He nodded agreably and said, “The Venus Fly Trap is the most known and most popular, however another interesting variety are the Sundews. The temperate sundew grows across much of the US, however, I also have some rarer, Australian varieties.”
“How does the Sundew work?” she asked, with fake curiousity.
“Easy, its leaves look inviting to insects, but they are very sticky, and the Sundew responds to its prey, developing new growth to trap them.”
“I think I'll stick with the Venus Fly Trap,” she said.
“What size would you prefer?” he said.
She pondered it for a second, the smaller the plant, the more inconspicuously she could dispose of it afterwords. “Small would be best. I don't have much room for them.”
The shopkeeper motioned her over to the register, which was one of the new computer-based checkout systems. He started typing.
“Being careful with the fly trap is very important. Avoid movement near or touching the sensitive trap areas of the plant. A venus fly trap is not a toy, treat it like any other plant—That will be $23.50.”
She pulled out some cash from her pocket and counted out 25 dollars.
The shopkeeper took the money and entered it into the computer.
“I'm starting work on the 22nd floor next week, thought I'd scope out the place. What's your impression of the building. Good heating system? I hate when its cold.”
He raised his eyebrows, and handed back the change, “one dollar, and fifty cents,” he said. “Its a good building. Good security. I keep my own temperature controls to keep the plants in good condition, so I can't say much about the heating system, but I'm satisfied. 22nd floor, that's Four Star Storage, didn't know they were hiring... honestly, didn't think of you as the security type.”
“I'll be working as a receptionist. Lots of business for 4SS right now, they told me.”
The shopkeeper muttered, “yeah right.” Before she could blink, he picked up a remote control from the counter, pressed a button on it, and the glass between the giant chomper and the rest of the store swivelled out. It was a glass door not a wall, but the hinge was practically invisible.
She was astonished, she went for her guns, but the chomper got there first, biting her in the back of her neck and swallowing her whole. She was fading, it was some kind of neuro-poison, she guessed. What the hell just happened, she pondered briefly.
She lost consciousness.
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