Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Because there's just too much bullshit.
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Monday, February 22, 2010
Tax The Poor! Smaller Government!
I am outraged that the poor are not paying their fair share of taxes. They use up more services than anyone, abuse the legal system, and don't generate any wealth like corporations and the rich do. I say sell their kids if they can't pay for services! They seem to have an infinite supply of offspring. Maybe we should look into human trafficking instead of legalizing their street drugs.
For 60+ years, corporations have employed, insured, and built up America. The middle class do little more than work for a check that they barely deserve, but at least they work. They should be thankful that corporations make America great! The Baby Boomers thank themselves, but most of them are now going on the dole, sucking up American resources to help sustain their bloated carcasses. If they're so great, why aren't they self-insured?
No one should have children if they can't afford them. Birthrights are reserved for Americans who have jobs or are wealthy. When the poor have children they should be sold to the highest bidder in an adoption process. I'm not saying that rich people will pay a lot for a genetically deficient child, obviously inferior due to poor lineage, but that at least they won't be supported by Uncle Sam.
How dare these liberals, these intellectuals, think that any services are an entitlement? The government is not here to serve just a small class of ideologues. That's reserved for the wealthy, and those few folks who deserve privileges. We don't have an American health care system because we don't need one. All the important people already have health care, it's called cash.
These lawyers and liberals want to have accountability of the big business bailouts, government incompetence, and outright treason, but were they accountable for their student loans, food stamps, or grants? They've never paid any of that back, and most try to avoid the interest on their very reasonable high-interest student multi-reconsolidation loans. Sure, there is more like 300% interest in under ten years, but you shouldn't borrow if you can't even begin to pay it back! Go to a cheaper school or go part time.
The trillions of dollars vanished into the military-industrial complex serves to keep American companies at an elevated advantage over foreign partners without running afoul of pesky trade laws, the WTO, and other international standards that America should never have to bow to. The executives with millions in bonuses earned that money by being the suit in place at the time the closed-door power brokering occurred. They are privileged and deserving of astronomical pay scales because they guide the entire corporation, and as we all know, corporations run America.
[If you made it this far without realizing that I am being sarcastic, you are a Republican and probably have an IQ under 95.]
For 60+ years, corporations have employed, insured, and built up America. The middle class do little more than work for a check that they barely deserve, but at least they work. They should be thankful that corporations make America great! The Baby Boomers thank themselves, but most of them are now going on the dole, sucking up American resources to help sustain their bloated carcasses. If they're so great, why aren't they self-insured?
No one should have children if they can't afford them. Birthrights are reserved for Americans who have jobs or are wealthy. When the poor have children they should be sold to the highest bidder in an adoption process. I'm not saying that rich people will pay a lot for a genetically deficient child, obviously inferior due to poor lineage, but that at least they won't be supported by Uncle Sam.
How dare these liberals, these intellectuals, think that any services are an entitlement? The government is not here to serve just a small class of ideologues. That's reserved for the wealthy, and those few folks who deserve privileges. We don't have an American health care system because we don't need one. All the important people already have health care, it's called cash.
These lawyers and liberals want to have accountability of the big business bailouts, government incompetence, and outright treason, but were they accountable for their student loans, food stamps, or grants? They've never paid any of that back, and most try to avoid the interest on their very reasonable high-interest student multi-reconsolidation loans. Sure, there is more like 300% interest in under ten years, but you shouldn't borrow if you can't even begin to pay it back! Go to a cheaper school or go part time.
The trillions of dollars vanished into the military-industrial complex serves to keep American companies at an elevated advantage over foreign partners without running afoul of pesky trade laws, the WTO, and other international standards that America should never have to bow to. The executives with millions in bonuses earned that money by being the suit in place at the time the closed-door power brokering occurred. They are privileged and deserving of astronomical pay scales because they guide the entire corporation, and as we all know, corporations run America.
[If you made it this far without realizing that I am being sarcastic, you are a Republican and probably have an IQ under 95.]
Friday, November 20, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
adsense sucks. don't use it for small biz.
After several attempts to make any money at all using google services, I've abandoned all attempts at using google checkout/wallet, adsense, adwords, and all other services. I've paid hundreds of dollars for only a few clicks, and haven't had a single sale. I get better results from a simple craigslist post.
Google, you may want to look at your books, because the only way you make money is by bleeding your advertisers. I normally get hundreds of clicks per dollar from any other advertising mechanism, such as banner ads on any decent web portal.
google got too big, that's the problem, and now they're all corporate shilling, shareholder whoring, and employee layoff-ing bastards just like anyone else. But, worse, because they pretend they aren't.
Google, you may want to look at your books, because the only way you make money is by bleeding your advertisers. I normally get hundreds of clicks per dollar from any other advertising mechanism, such as banner ads on any decent web portal.
google got too big, that's the problem, and now they're all corporate shilling, shareholder whoring, and employee layoff-ing bastards just like anyone else. But, worse, because they pretend they aren't.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Consequences
"Ensign Yim Westbridge, please favor the court with your telling of the loss of 500 persons and Unit 31 during your command aboard the CFS Hermes," the magistrate inquires of him. Yim is seated in a Yew bench with two open, presumed missing side doors before a gigantic sweeping Oak desk that curves from behind him on the left to behind him on the right, some ten meters away from his seat in all directions. At over two meters high, even his elevated position a half meter off the floor feels small and intimidated.
Yim faithfully repeats every detail, thanks not only to his extraordinary memory but also to the data banks within him that print out the details upon his corneas. Today he has little need of the information streaming just inside his vision, as his thoughts are quite painfully clear. He learned only upon landing that a retired Senator was within Unit 31. TO7 has just lost a protected citizen, a member of their own elite, and a voice in the ruling party. Exculpation had been expected when he did the deed. That had risen to Inquiry, then Indictment. He faces banishment sans life support.
Upon his completion of the events at docking, he was suspended with pay pending investigation, and forbidden to depart the planet. He was grounded. The ship left without him under another Captain a week later when it became an Inquiry. Now he's been Indicted and tried by a panel of Aristocratic self-appointed judges. He expects the worst. He waits as witnesses are brought before him.
"Marethil Jamestick, come forward and speak," a judge ordered. A small girl, perhaps in her teens, of petite and narrow stature walked to step upon the red tiles. She was reminded of her duties in a quiet voice by the Prosecutor, and nodded acceptance. Under TO7 law her consent is irrelevant.
"My grandfather Ovid Jamestick commanded government and men, and was as feared as he was loved, even by us, his family. We never dared argue, and rarely questioned him, regardless of whatever he did. I did not like him overmuch, but found that he doted upon me quite extensively. Frankly I found his attentions to be annoying and self-gratifying to him, while I cared not for him at all. He was rarely kind to anyone save me, and I was raised to judge a person by how they treat their enemies, their family, and their friends. He was a fearsome and dictatorial egoist that I all but despised. Still, he loved me and had sworn to me a large section of land north of Midland City, the Verdant Quadrant. Today it is much less green, far less, than almost any other place, but it was signed to me at ten years of age. His death by this tragedy was not covered by our policies, nor our insurances, because of the direct act of Manslaughter of the accused. We all have been denied the benefits awaiting upon his passage, and things have not been inherited as he intended," she states quite plainly, with monotony, a rehearsed speech.
"Do you claim to have been harmed by his passing?" The judge knew the game, and suddenly, so did Yim.
"I have not been gifted the properties, and the custodial attorney has already signed long term destructive leases which I shall not be able to overturn even if I succeed in obtaining the lands. It will no longer be possible for me or my siblings to live upon it as Grandfather had desired, and I desire. I do claim that this act directly damages me," she concludes.
"The PosPop Development Holding corporation expresses sincere regret at the immediate and fiscally required utilization of the properties which the firm has been charged with maintaining. There were substantial losses to the Jovestick inheritances and contracts due to the nature of his death, specifically that the willful destruction of his life came while in space and is not covered under TO7 standard law, but by expatriat law, which allows that a person takes their own risks," an attorney reads from a printed statement.
"They refused to pay out the benefits because to refuse to pay them created this very conundrum, allowing them to seize control of a lawful duty and fail to discharge it appropriately, that is the reason for our naming both banks and the pilot in this claim," the girl expands.
"I do see that PosPop was in control of these instruments, and I will have questions that I hold for now. PosPop is likewise forbid from departing TO7," She states, clapping her gavel upon the desktop. The blue-robed senior woman heads the body of judges and sits direcly ahead of Yim. She is gazing at him intently.
"I require that the pilot and Blue Star recompense me for any actual damages incurred due to the wrongful death of my grandfather, and furthermore for the direct loss of property as a result," she ends.
"Blue Star is not yet available for reply, but has posted a bond. We shall be needfully adjourning until next year when their council can arrive," another judge speaks.
"I disagree," Yim states, standing now. "I am an officer in the Blue Star corporation and I have not been relieved of duty. I am legally able to reply," he informs them. The girls attorney is visibly delighted at this turn of events, while the judges clearly are not.
"Very well, I must accept that you are able to reply, and the matter is of some urgency," the elder judge sighs consent, "Proceed."
"First question, prosecution of criminal acts," another judge declares.
"Yim, you do admit readily to discharging the container Unit 31 with full understanding that they would all immediately perish?" He asks, a standard question that he already knows the reply to. His finger holds the next page ready.
"Of course, I have stated it quite plainly. As Captain of a vessel in distress I alone have entire judgment in displacing cargo or persons in the securement of the survival of the vessel. It is in the contract," he adds.
"So it did not matter how the ship is rescued or later no longer in danger, at any point, you have the authority to send people to their deaths if it is viewed that doing so will protect your ship?" Again, he is waiting for an expected response.
"Wrong," Yim says, smiling.
"Explain please," the now irritated Prosecutor orders him.
"I may not endanger the ship, its passengers, nor its cargo without a Red Alert condition being present. This condition may only be triggered by the automated systems aboard the ship, and by the Artificial Intelligence which is programmed for self-preservation," Yim informs them. Judging by the reactions, the judges and Prosecutor were not entirely aware of this clause of his contracts. Yim is normally forbidden from discussing contract terms except under oath.
"And a Red Alert had so been triggered?" The Prosecutor was less hopeful now, and moved his finger down a row in the papers.
"Affirmative," Yim replied.
"Thus, you have without all doubt, exclusive rights and ability to make such decisions, and all the decisions and actions aboard the CFS Hermes were of your own free volition?" The Prosecutor inquires, smiling. It's like being caught by a cat, they must gloat, it can't be avoided.
"This is absolutely true, and I agree," Yim adds. The Prosecutor pauses at the unexpected admission, but continues.
"I move that the Captain of the Hermes did act recklessly and admits it freely, and furthermore claims full responsibility for these acts," he states, carrying his papers back to his bar.
"It is so admitted into the record," a judge states.
"Don't you even want an attorney?" The girl asks him from two bars away, the little desks that the attorneys are given to stand behind while waiting. She is hushed by hers.
"I have no need of an attorney for this fair and serene court, and I see no reason to fear any claim against me in this or any case brought before it, for I have only one counter argument." Yim states it clearly.
"You may not move to deny the events after admitting them," the head justice warns him.
"Contrary to that, I admit and claim full responsibility. It was my actions that ended their lives, and I did so willingly, in order to save some twenty thousand other lives, as is my rights as Captain. I am aware of the myriad complex concerns arising of this action. However, this court has one obstacle it must overcome before it may render any sentence or judgment. Jurisdiction," Yim states.
"Though your ship was well outside our space, as your destination we have apparent eminence under treaties," he is reminded.
"The treaty you claim only applies to acts of treason, piracy, and other high crimes. The manslaughter, even of thousands, is not such a claim. The court has not denied that the necessity of survival precipitated the loss of five hundred other lives, nor has the court claimed that the contracts to which I am bound are unlawful," Yim states. He retakes his seat, while the judges mumble.
"You can't be serious," the girl complains, facing him.
"I am completely serious, and fully within my rights to make the following claim: I claim the first charter." Yim remains seated while speaking, a sign of disrespect. The first charter is the central point of the largest and first interplanetary treaty ever drawn up, and one that still holds force on many worlds which signed on to it hundreds, even thousands of years later. Space is inherently dangerous, and it can not be held as true that a Captain does not have absolute rule of law over his ship while in the space between systems. No local laws can punish nor reprimand any Captain unless 'him or her' breaches a treaty.
"As the Prosecution of the Captain is moot upon the claim of first charter, we dismiss the indictment," the Prosecutor chokes out, and retreats from the chamber, defeated.
"No, no... it can't be like this," the girl cries, now showing her first sign of emotion.
"Without an indictment that is prosecutable in our court, the families have no recourse against the Pilot, and must seek compensation from insurances or the company, Blue Star. Will you remain to represent Blue Star, sir?" the chief justice asks, holding her gavel ready.
"Affirmative," he rises, this time to reply.
"We protest the decision, and the action, honors," the girl's attorney complains. The gavel raps, dismissing him.
"Allow the girl to remain, I may wish to call her," Yim orders. The judges stare at him, but then nod to her. Her attorney remains as well.
"Failing criminal jurisdiction, it falls to remedies and insurances to work out the cost, and the debt. In civil cases, less proof is requierd, but proof nonetheless. Proceed, sir," the chief states. One can say many things about the courts on TO7, but they are quick.
"I reject any and all claims against Blue Star categorically. All cargo and persons were duly insured as per starport policies at Ganymede. No ticket is sold in that starport without attached insurances. The unit 31 also had the additional protection of the retirement union. The failures of the insurers should be addressed immediately," Yim states.
Yim faithfully repeats every detail, thanks not only to his extraordinary memory but also to the data banks within him that print out the details upon his corneas. Today he has little need of the information streaming just inside his vision, as his thoughts are quite painfully clear. He learned only upon landing that a retired Senator was within Unit 31. TO7 has just lost a protected citizen, a member of their own elite, and a voice in the ruling party. Exculpation had been expected when he did the deed. That had risen to Inquiry, then Indictment. He faces banishment sans life support.
Upon his completion of the events at docking, he was suspended with pay pending investigation, and forbidden to depart the planet. He was grounded. The ship left without him under another Captain a week later when it became an Inquiry. Now he's been Indicted and tried by a panel of Aristocratic self-appointed judges. He expects the worst. He waits as witnesses are brought before him.
"Marethil Jamestick, come forward and speak," a judge ordered. A small girl, perhaps in her teens, of petite and narrow stature walked to step upon the red tiles. She was reminded of her duties in a quiet voice by the Prosecutor, and nodded acceptance. Under TO7 law her consent is irrelevant.
"My grandfather Ovid Jamestick commanded government and men, and was as feared as he was loved, even by us, his family. We never dared argue, and rarely questioned him, regardless of whatever he did. I did not like him overmuch, but found that he doted upon me quite extensively. Frankly I found his attentions to be annoying and self-gratifying to him, while I cared not for him at all. He was rarely kind to anyone save me, and I was raised to judge a person by how they treat their enemies, their family, and their friends. He was a fearsome and dictatorial egoist that I all but despised. Still, he loved me and had sworn to me a large section of land north of Midland City, the Verdant Quadrant. Today it is much less green, far less, than almost any other place, but it was signed to me at ten years of age. His death by this tragedy was not covered by our policies, nor our insurances, because of the direct act of Manslaughter of the accused. We all have been denied the benefits awaiting upon his passage, and things have not been inherited as he intended," she states quite plainly, with monotony, a rehearsed speech.
"Do you claim to have been harmed by his passing?" The judge knew the game, and suddenly, so did Yim.
"I have not been gifted the properties, and the custodial attorney has already signed long term destructive leases which I shall not be able to overturn even if I succeed in obtaining the lands. It will no longer be possible for me or my siblings to live upon it as Grandfather had desired, and I desire. I do claim that this act directly damages me," she concludes.
"The PosPop Development Holding corporation expresses sincere regret at the immediate and fiscally required utilization of the properties which the firm has been charged with maintaining. There were substantial losses to the Jovestick inheritances and contracts due to the nature of his death, specifically that the willful destruction of his life came while in space and is not covered under TO7 standard law, but by expatriat law, which allows that a person takes their own risks," an attorney reads from a printed statement.
"They refused to pay out the benefits because to refuse to pay them created this very conundrum, allowing them to seize control of a lawful duty and fail to discharge it appropriately, that is the reason for our naming both banks and the pilot in this claim," the girl expands.
"I do see that PosPop was in control of these instruments, and I will have questions that I hold for now. PosPop is likewise forbid from departing TO7," She states, clapping her gavel upon the desktop. The blue-robed senior woman heads the body of judges and sits direcly ahead of Yim. She is gazing at him intently.
"I require that the pilot and Blue Star recompense me for any actual damages incurred due to the wrongful death of my grandfather, and furthermore for the direct loss of property as a result," she ends.
"Blue Star is not yet available for reply, but has posted a bond. We shall be needfully adjourning until next year when their council can arrive," another judge speaks.
"I disagree," Yim states, standing now. "I am an officer in the Blue Star corporation and I have not been relieved of duty. I am legally able to reply," he informs them. The girls attorney is visibly delighted at this turn of events, while the judges clearly are not.
"Very well, I must accept that you are able to reply, and the matter is of some urgency," the elder judge sighs consent, "Proceed."
"First question, prosecution of criminal acts," another judge declares.
"Yim, you do admit readily to discharging the container Unit 31 with full understanding that they would all immediately perish?" He asks, a standard question that he already knows the reply to. His finger holds the next page ready.
"Of course, I have stated it quite plainly. As Captain of a vessel in distress I alone have entire judgment in displacing cargo or persons in the securement of the survival of the vessel. It is in the contract," he adds.
"So it did not matter how the ship is rescued or later no longer in danger, at any point, you have the authority to send people to their deaths if it is viewed that doing so will protect your ship?" Again, he is waiting for an expected response.
"Wrong," Yim says, smiling.
"Explain please," the now irritated Prosecutor orders him.
"I may not endanger the ship, its passengers, nor its cargo without a Red Alert condition being present. This condition may only be triggered by the automated systems aboard the ship, and by the Artificial Intelligence which is programmed for self-preservation," Yim informs them. Judging by the reactions, the judges and Prosecutor were not entirely aware of this clause of his contracts. Yim is normally forbidden from discussing contract terms except under oath.
"And a Red Alert had so been triggered?" The Prosecutor was less hopeful now, and moved his finger down a row in the papers.
"Affirmative," Yim replied.
"Thus, you have without all doubt, exclusive rights and ability to make such decisions, and all the decisions and actions aboard the CFS Hermes were of your own free volition?" The Prosecutor inquires, smiling. It's like being caught by a cat, they must gloat, it can't be avoided.
"This is absolutely true, and I agree," Yim adds. The Prosecutor pauses at the unexpected admission, but continues.
"I move that the Captain of the Hermes did act recklessly and admits it freely, and furthermore claims full responsibility for these acts," he states, carrying his papers back to his bar.
"It is so admitted into the record," a judge states.
"Don't you even want an attorney?" The girl asks him from two bars away, the little desks that the attorneys are given to stand behind while waiting. She is hushed by hers.
"I have no need of an attorney for this fair and serene court, and I see no reason to fear any claim against me in this or any case brought before it, for I have only one counter argument." Yim states it clearly.
"You may not move to deny the events after admitting them," the head justice warns him.
"Contrary to that, I admit and claim full responsibility. It was my actions that ended their lives, and I did so willingly, in order to save some twenty thousand other lives, as is my rights as Captain. I am aware of the myriad complex concerns arising of this action. However, this court has one obstacle it must overcome before it may render any sentence or judgment. Jurisdiction," Yim states.
"Though your ship was well outside our space, as your destination we have apparent eminence under treaties," he is reminded.
"The treaty you claim only applies to acts of treason, piracy, and other high crimes. The manslaughter, even of thousands, is not such a claim. The court has not denied that the necessity of survival precipitated the loss of five hundred other lives, nor has the court claimed that the contracts to which I am bound are unlawful," Yim states. He retakes his seat, while the judges mumble.
"You can't be serious," the girl complains, facing him.
"I am completely serious, and fully within my rights to make the following claim: I claim the first charter." Yim remains seated while speaking, a sign of disrespect. The first charter is the central point of the largest and first interplanetary treaty ever drawn up, and one that still holds force on many worlds which signed on to it hundreds, even thousands of years later. Space is inherently dangerous, and it can not be held as true that a Captain does not have absolute rule of law over his ship while in the space between systems. No local laws can punish nor reprimand any Captain unless 'him or her' breaches a treaty.
"As the Prosecution of the Captain is moot upon the claim of first charter, we dismiss the indictment," the Prosecutor chokes out, and retreats from the chamber, defeated.
"No, no... it can't be like this," the girl cries, now showing her first sign of emotion.
"Without an indictment that is prosecutable in our court, the families have no recourse against the Pilot, and must seek compensation from insurances or the company, Blue Star. Will you remain to represent Blue Star, sir?" the chief justice asks, holding her gavel ready.
"Affirmative," he rises, this time to reply.
"We protest the decision, and the action, honors," the girl's attorney complains. The gavel raps, dismissing him.
"Allow the girl to remain, I may wish to call her," Yim orders. The judges stare at him, but then nod to her. Her attorney remains as well.
"Failing criminal jurisdiction, it falls to remedies and insurances to work out the cost, and the debt. In civil cases, less proof is requierd, but proof nonetheless. Proceed, sir," the chief states. One can say many things about the courts on TO7, but they are quick.
"I reject any and all claims against Blue Star categorically. All cargo and persons were duly insured as per starport policies at Ganymede. No ticket is sold in that starport without attached insurances. The unit 31 also had the additional protection of the retirement union. The failures of the insurers should be addressed immediately," Yim states.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Taurus Omicron Seven
Eyes closed, though not asleep, Ensign Westbridge contemplated the artificial clouds floating around the horizon of his mind. Sometimes it can be hard to tell if you're dreaming or not when you're a pilot for Blue Star starliners. Required equipment includes cornea implants, cortex monitors, spinal adjusters, and various nanobots just for a level one apprentice. Blue Star is one of only a handful of conglomerates in space that still allows people to work their way up. He shifts his left boot to scratch, knocking a can of fermented yam soda off the console, and accidentally triggers a security sweep of the port engine by knocking the bypasses offline. Fortunately the backup systems would never allow such trivial errors to damage the ship such as powering down the drives while in a gravity well for an inspection. He reflects on his assignment as he fishes for the can, finally and grudgingly opening his eyes to find it. In seconds his hands are playing across the navigation console, and the spill is forgotten.
Although there is nothing visible in the viewport, mass detectors are reading into the red. They've flown right into a star system. A quick check reveals that they are slightly early, and a lot off course, but it's rectifiable. Logs reveal that the system powered down for an automated damage check and repaired a trivial sensor, but while doing so the spectrometer bank malfunctioned briefly. This caused a ripple effect of systems checking, taking tools and sensors offline as they're checked and then brought back up. Even as he clears the boards of yellow and pale orange lights, the alarm sounds. 'Gravity Well,' the computer intones.
I replaced that bank to save power, not to fly cheaply, he reflects inwardly, still busily overriding and clearing systems boards in a practiced manner usually reserved for in-dock preflight operations. Now it's ready, he thinks, and patches the auxiliary battle board online. This will take all rerouted critical sensors through a duplicate path and give him fresh readings that will not require calibration. It will be like they never went offline. Sure enough, it's worse. He's going to lose months by dumping velocity to slingshot around this star and continue on the correct course. The alternatives are worse.
"Damn," he says to himself, breaking his own rule about not talking to himself while on a mission. The planning is no big thing, that's what the ultrapowerful computers are on board for. Rerouting takes only a few minutes. The new data is on his navigation helm in five minutes. A single red light causes him to twitch. The engines are going to have trouble with this maneuver. He starts punching in alternatives, and slowly, over an hour, the entire navigation console is splattered with red beacons indicating problems. Great, he thinks, a virtual minefield. It might be better to angle off and try to escape the well before he gets too deep. A quick check reveals that it's still possible.
"Red Alert," he states, giving the requisite warning to his 'frozen' crew, all of whom are under induced long term sleep. They'll age only 1/10th of the normal amount during the journey. As the Pilot and Captain, the Ensign is required to age along with the ship. Normally these jobs are split, and each takes half aging during a mission, and on big ships there are shifts so that they only work sixteen hours each per shift. On evacuation and rescue vessels, such as those assigned to low ranking officers like himself, there's one person during flight, and that's him. He has forty thousand evacuees destined for the colony of TO7, a nearly barren rock with Earthlike environment.
Laying hands on the console first, almost out of respect for the ship, he then grasps the flight wheel and turns the ship. This does not change the course, the ship is just pointed in a different direction while still sailing at .8 lights in the same course slotted to impact the star 22-09R4 in fifty hours. He sets the bow for ten degrees above plane, and punches the emergency thrust override. There will be no noticable change for at least an hour, and in that time he sweats, carefully paying attention to all his instruments. Without thinking, he scoops up the can as it rolls by his foot, crushes it with his hand and drops it in the recycle chute. If they don't gain enough velocity change, they'll come too close to the star, and the fluctuations in the gravity fields between planets are not easily mapped accurately in such an emergency. The computer is forced to use estimations. Ensign Yim Westbridge picked the angle of departure on a guess as to the cumulative effects of gravity while passing through the orbits of this system. They won't get a second chance to alter course in time.
At plus thirty two minutes, he notes a planet growing in size, and they're heading awfully close as they approach this fourth planet out. Here is a window, possible, for faster course correction, and he doesn't fail to engage the computers in a quick replot. It's on the helm and approved as soon as he runs his enhanced eyes down the list. Yim twists the wheel a bit to only eight degrees above plane. Now the planet will grow faster until it blots out the star beyond. They'll pass within fifty thousand kilometers of atmosphere, and slingshot about twelve degrees above plane, enough that a normal course correction will put them back on track.
He is breathing a sigh of relief, when an asteroid impacts on the starboard engine. He picks himself up off the deck plates and re-examines his boards. Most everything is okay, except now the starboard engine is working at half power, and they're spiraling into the planet. Unless he can alter the thrust vectors, they'll impact the planet within hours, slowed by atmospheric drag at first, then be caught in its massive gravity to loop back around and fall into the planet like a ball into a cup. He tries everything he can think of, and to no avail. They have three hours until they reach the peak of orbit, and begin to fall back in. This is a gas giant, over a thousand Earths in size, and they will not survive any sort of a landing here.
"Squawk, on thirteen thirteen, S.O.S." He orders the computer to broadcast for help. He scans the planet and orbital area for any chance ships that could possibly help them in time. Nothing. This is a classic case of totally screwed. He stands up straight, and grunts. "Code Three," he informs the computer. They only have one good engine, and too much mass to break orbit, but they might be able to hold it if he can get the starboard engine to obey orders. He has ordered a life-threatening override. Now the ship will do what he says, up to self destructing or flying into a star.
Passengers are never told this, but liners do board people in containment units by likelihood for survival. The elderly, infirm, and inable get put into different passenger units than healthy adults, or children. It doesn't matter since they're all asleep anyway, they'd never notice if they're sleeping next to a wife or a stranger, and the sleep-boarding takes place while in orbit. Filled passenger units are loaded onto the ship and arranged as the captain sees fit. Like most experienced captains, Yim placed his two units of elderly and hospital passengers into the outer ring. In an emergency such as this, their lives can buy the lives of others, by doing what Yim is about to do.
With both eyes locked onto his paired communications displays, and switching focus between the data on his cornea and the data on his screens, Yim feverishly monitors the orbit as he struggles to get the engine to respond. Finally, a red light begins to glow dimly. This one will get brighter as the event passes, and fade to black when it's too late. He checks a thrust meter, and sighs. Not making it.
"Jettison order, live cargo, human passengers, emergency evacuation order RA77. Fire unit 31 on course upon mark," he speaks aloud, although the computer is already programmed with this action. He speaks for the recorders in case anyone ever hears this. After a few seconds, he presses a red release key, and closes his eyes. Dragging his eyes to the meter, he confirms sufficient mass dropped and additional accelleration gained from dumping cargo rearward. They'll be sucked into the atmosphere, and never feel the implosion. Angry now, he begins abusive commands of the starboard engine.
"Fucker, wake up. I'm not dropping another one," Yim swears. He holds down two nuclear override keys with both hands, and uses his nose to press primary ignition sequencing keys in order. One thing they tell you in pilot school is to never, ever do a cold restart on a damaged drive. At this point, he might as well risk a meltdown. They made the stable orbit vector at a cost of over 500 lives. When it fails to reboot, he grabs the keyboard and drops into his plush leather command seat. Ensign Yim had a career before becoming a pilot, he hacked starports for money, at least until he got caught. Two tours of Venus in military service changed his attitude.
"You are going to fire up, right now," Yim grunts, bleeping his own swearing, He's sent two command strings into the safety override network of the two kilometer long starboard drive. One purges the system, while the other walks through behind it kicking things back online. If they were not in such danger of further asteroid collisions in an unknown system, he'd be shot for hacking the drive. When two green indicators glow brightly over on the drive monitors, Yim executes an emergency power pulse. The reactor is sent into a full-tilt overdrive situation, destined for meltdown if it's not brought back to safe measure within a short time. His million terrawatt engine will give him almost double the power, but not for long. Perhaps only seconds.
Slowly, the planet pulls away. He watches, rigid, holding his breathing down to short slow sighs, as the meters crawl upwards. At last, they have escape velocity again. Not knowing how long the engine will bear up, he performs an immediate course correction to TO7 as soon as they're safely above the solar plane. He watches the heat ratings and radiation from the engine for six hours, gently tweaking the power downwards each time there's a spike, but not willing to turn it all the way down to green zones just yet. At long last, the star is behind him, and he dials the starboard drive down to only 80%. So long as it's working at all now, they'll be fine.
He almost faints, and falls over himself reaching for the power override controls. He's still got the entire ship on emergency override, and the port engine is showing signs of overheating. He releases the Red Alert, fixes Yellow Alert status, and dials the port engine down to 80% as well. Better that they be a few days late coming in than come in hot. As it is now, he'll probably be forced to dump the starboard drive before he can approach TO7. The company won't be happy, and he'll get some time off while they go over the ship. Yim doesn't want to think about having to answer to the survivors of those five hundred.
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Although there is nothing visible in the viewport, mass detectors are reading into the red. They've flown right into a star system. A quick check reveals that they are slightly early, and a lot off course, but it's rectifiable. Logs reveal that the system powered down for an automated damage check and repaired a trivial sensor, but while doing so the spectrometer bank malfunctioned briefly. This caused a ripple effect of systems checking, taking tools and sensors offline as they're checked and then brought back up. Even as he clears the boards of yellow and pale orange lights, the alarm sounds. 'Gravity Well,' the computer intones.
I replaced that bank to save power, not to fly cheaply, he reflects inwardly, still busily overriding and clearing systems boards in a practiced manner usually reserved for in-dock preflight operations. Now it's ready, he thinks, and patches the auxiliary battle board online. This will take all rerouted critical sensors through a duplicate path and give him fresh readings that will not require calibration. It will be like they never went offline. Sure enough, it's worse. He's going to lose months by dumping velocity to slingshot around this star and continue on the correct course. The alternatives are worse.
"Damn," he says to himself, breaking his own rule about not talking to himself while on a mission. The planning is no big thing, that's what the ultrapowerful computers are on board for. Rerouting takes only a few minutes. The new data is on his navigation helm in five minutes. A single red light causes him to twitch. The engines are going to have trouble with this maneuver. He starts punching in alternatives, and slowly, over an hour, the entire navigation console is splattered with red beacons indicating problems. Great, he thinks, a virtual minefield. It might be better to angle off and try to escape the well before he gets too deep. A quick check reveals that it's still possible.
"Red Alert," he states, giving the requisite warning to his 'frozen' crew, all of whom are under induced long term sleep. They'll age only 1/10th of the normal amount during the journey. As the Pilot and Captain, the Ensign is required to age along with the ship. Normally these jobs are split, and each takes half aging during a mission, and on big ships there are shifts so that they only work sixteen hours each per shift. On evacuation and rescue vessels, such as those assigned to low ranking officers like himself, there's one person during flight, and that's him. He has forty thousand evacuees destined for the colony of TO7, a nearly barren rock with Earthlike environment.
Laying hands on the console first, almost out of respect for the ship, he then grasps the flight wheel and turns the ship. This does not change the course, the ship is just pointed in a different direction while still sailing at .8 lights in the same course slotted to impact the star 22-09R4 in fifty hours. He sets the bow for ten degrees above plane, and punches the emergency thrust override. There will be no noticable change for at least an hour, and in that time he sweats, carefully paying attention to all his instruments. Without thinking, he scoops up the can as it rolls by his foot, crushes it with his hand and drops it in the recycle chute. If they don't gain enough velocity change, they'll come too close to the star, and the fluctuations in the gravity fields between planets are not easily mapped accurately in such an emergency. The computer is forced to use estimations. Ensign Yim Westbridge picked the angle of departure on a guess as to the cumulative effects of gravity while passing through the orbits of this system. They won't get a second chance to alter course in time.
At plus thirty two minutes, he notes a planet growing in size, and they're heading awfully close as they approach this fourth planet out. Here is a window, possible, for faster course correction, and he doesn't fail to engage the computers in a quick replot. It's on the helm and approved as soon as he runs his enhanced eyes down the list. Yim twists the wheel a bit to only eight degrees above plane. Now the planet will grow faster until it blots out the star beyond. They'll pass within fifty thousand kilometers of atmosphere, and slingshot about twelve degrees above plane, enough that a normal course correction will put them back on track.
He is breathing a sigh of relief, when an asteroid impacts on the starboard engine. He picks himself up off the deck plates and re-examines his boards. Most everything is okay, except now the starboard engine is working at half power, and they're spiraling into the planet. Unless he can alter the thrust vectors, they'll impact the planet within hours, slowed by atmospheric drag at first, then be caught in its massive gravity to loop back around and fall into the planet like a ball into a cup. He tries everything he can think of, and to no avail. They have three hours until they reach the peak of orbit, and begin to fall back in. This is a gas giant, over a thousand Earths in size, and they will not survive any sort of a landing here.
"Squawk, on thirteen thirteen, S.O.S." He orders the computer to broadcast for help. He scans the planet and orbital area for any chance ships that could possibly help them in time. Nothing. This is a classic case of totally screwed. He stands up straight, and grunts. "Code Three," he informs the computer. They only have one good engine, and too much mass to break orbit, but they might be able to hold it if he can get the starboard engine to obey orders. He has ordered a life-threatening override. Now the ship will do what he says, up to self destructing or flying into a star.
Passengers are never told this, but liners do board people in containment units by likelihood for survival. The elderly, infirm, and inable get put into different passenger units than healthy adults, or children. It doesn't matter since they're all asleep anyway, they'd never notice if they're sleeping next to a wife or a stranger, and the sleep-boarding takes place while in orbit. Filled passenger units are loaded onto the ship and arranged as the captain sees fit. Like most experienced captains, Yim placed his two units of elderly and hospital passengers into the outer ring. In an emergency such as this, their lives can buy the lives of others, by doing what Yim is about to do.
With both eyes locked onto his paired communications displays, and switching focus between the data on his cornea and the data on his screens, Yim feverishly monitors the orbit as he struggles to get the engine to respond. Finally, a red light begins to glow dimly. This one will get brighter as the event passes, and fade to black when it's too late. He checks a thrust meter, and sighs. Not making it.
"Jettison order, live cargo, human passengers, emergency evacuation order RA77. Fire unit 31 on course upon mark," he speaks aloud, although the computer is already programmed with this action. He speaks for the recorders in case anyone ever hears this. After a few seconds, he presses a red release key, and closes his eyes. Dragging his eyes to the meter, he confirms sufficient mass dropped and additional accelleration gained from dumping cargo rearward. They'll be sucked into the atmosphere, and never feel the implosion. Angry now, he begins abusive commands of the starboard engine.
"Fucker, wake up. I'm not dropping another one," Yim swears. He holds down two nuclear override keys with both hands, and uses his nose to press primary ignition sequencing keys in order. One thing they tell you in pilot school is to never, ever do a cold restart on a damaged drive. At this point, he might as well risk a meltdown. They made the stable orbit vector at a cost of over 500 lives. When it fails to reboot, he grabs the keyboard and drops into his plush leather command seat. Ensign Yim had a career before becoming a pilot, he hacked starports for money, at least until he got caught. Two tours of Venus in military service changed his attitude.
"You are going to fire up, right now," Yim grunts, bleeping his own swearing, He's sent two command strings into the safety override network of the two kilometer long starboard drive. One purges the system, while the other walks through behind it kicking things back online. If they were not in such danger of further asteroid collisions in an unknown system, he'd be shot for hacking the drive. When two green indicators glow brightly over on the drive monitors, Yim executes an emergency power pulse. The reactor is sent into a full-tilt overdrive situation, destined for meltdown if it's not brought back to safe measure within a short time. His million terrawatt engine will give him almost double the power, but not for long. Perhaps only seconds.
Slowly, the planet pulls away. He watches, rigid, holding his breathing down to short slow sighs, as the meters crawl upwards. At last, they have escape velocity again. Not knowing how long the engine will bear up, he performs an immediate course correction to TO7 as soon as they're safely above the solar plane. He watches the heat ratings and radiation from the engine for six hours, gently tweaking the power downwards each time there's a spike, but not willing to turn it all the way down to green zones just yet. At long last, the star is behind him, and he dials the starboard drive down to only 80%. So long as it's working at all now, they'll be fine.
He almost faints, and falls over himself reaching for the power override controls. He's still got the entire ship on emergency override, and the port engine is showing signs of overheating. He releases the Red Alert, fixes Yellow Alert status, and dials the port engine down to 80% as well. Better that they be a few days late coming in than come in hot. As it is now, he'll probably be forced to dump the starboard drive before he can approach TO7. The company won't be happy, and he'll get some time off while they go over the ship. Yim doesn't want to think about having to answer to the survivors of those five hundred.
Copyright © Novel Worlds co.
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