The Analog Empire (Original) Prologue
Posted: 2007-01-15 11:39pm
Same rules as before, more or less. I'll try to keep a regular update schedule, but no promises. This is all original, copyright me, blah blah blah, copy it and you'll be hanging by your nuts over the Senate floor, et cetera. This is not in the Humanist Inheritance universe and unlike that work, has no delusions of scientific accuracy. I'm hoping it won't be quite so grim, either.
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The Analog Empire
A Completely Improbable Work of Scientific Fiction
By M.J. Lineberger
Prologue
HMS Sheffield dropped out of hyperspace ten light minutes from the star designated Tolentine Pi Romeo, a K class dwarf on the main sequence on the outer frontier of the Tolentine Empire, Roman Catholic theocracy and present mortal enemy of the Kingdom of Sol and Sirius.
"We have arrived, Sir Richard," said Patrice, the ship's AI.
"Thank you Patrice. Status report?"
"One Tolentine destroyer and one Tolentine container transport one million kilometers off the port bow."
Sir Richard didn't even set down his drink. "Initiate attack as you see fit, Patrice," said Sir Richard.
"As you wish, sir." Sheffield's antimatter engines roared to life.
Sir Richard Hoestedler had the best job in the universe. He and a dozen fellow officers were the only crew of the kilometer long heavy cruiser. Patrice did everything else: managed all the ship's systems, did the sublight and translight navigating, managed the battles, and controlled the hundreds of robots which kept the ship in good repair and conducted damage control during battle. Sir Richard had a first officer, a radio/sensor operator, a cook, a doctor, a nurse, an engineer, a pilot/navigator (a complete waste of mass and oxygen with Patrice running things, if anyone cared to know what Sir Richard thought of it), a weapons officer (ditto), a chronicler, a political officer (fine chap; played a mean game of bridge, also completely redundant in the face of Patrice's perfect loyalty), a supply officer, and a computer operator to ensure Patrice was always running in tip-top shape.
"The enemy has spotted us," said Patrice. "They are turning to engage."
"Are you certain, Patrice?" said Hoestedler.
"Quite certain, sir."
"Doesn't make a bit of sense, does it?" said Sir Richard to his crew. They were arranged around the control room of the ship, a cozy parlor where they could watch the ship fight in comfort. It was more like a living room than the bridge of a warship--it even had a bar and comely android "companions" available for the all-male crew. Sir Richard didn't permit any of his men to leave the control room during a battle to make use of their services, even though some ship masters did and it wasn't strictly forbidden by the Royal Navy, but he did allow the robots to remain around in order to inspire his men and keep their blood up.
"No sir, not any sense at all," said Barker, the weapons officer. Barker was an American, but not a bad fellow despite that; not all of them took their subjugation to the Crown a generation prior so personally. "No destroyer could take us down."
"It is not just the destroyer, Mr. Barker," said Patrice. "The transport is turning as well."
"What?" said Sir Richard. "That cannot be correct."
"See for yourself," said Patrice. The painting above the fireplace dissolved into a tactical overview of the solar system. The lumbering, helpless transport really was turning their way.
"What could they possibly be doing?" said Barker.
"Is it some kind of trick? A trap?" said Sir Richard.
"There is no concievable trap," said Patrice. "The transport in question is unsuitable as a warship. There is no explanation for its behavior."
"Our computers are half a century better than theirs," said Hollings, the computer operator. "They've just made a blunder."
"Perhaps," said Patrice.
Sir Richard brushed his uneasiness aside. Sheffield had six ten millimeter energy cannons, capable of vaporizing the transport in one salvo and the destroyer in two. Patrice's expert handling of the point defense guns was more than adequate to swat the destroyer's torpedoes out of the sky.
"Closing to within extreme cannon range," said Patrice. "Sir, the transport is opening its containers. It is launching spacecraft of an unknown configuration."
Sir Richard briefly panicked. "Missiles?"
"No sir. Their acceleration is limited to four gravities. I have identified what appears to be a cockpit. Judging by the low acceleration characteristics and the temperature of the cockpit canopy, they are manned parasite craft, carrying what may be short range missiles."
"Manned spacecraft?" said Sir Richard. "Like bombers?"
"I believe that may be an accurate assessment of their intended role," said Patrice.
Sir Richard threw his head back and laughed until his throat hurt. "Manned bombers! In space! The Papists must be truly desparate. Patrice, you have my permission to torment them as much as you see fit before dispatching them."
"Thank you sir," said Patrice.
"Sir," said Parsons. He was the radio/sensor operator, presently studying the sensors display. He was young and somewhat sullen; Sir Richard didn't care for him much. "I have detected some kind of energy surge on the destroyer."
"They're powering up weapons," said Sir Richard, annoyed the boy was bothering him with trivialities.
"Sir, it doesn't look like it. There's a thermal bloom coming from one spot. Patrice, what do you think it is?"
"I do not see any thermal bloom," said Patrice. "You must be mistaken, Mr. Parsons."
Parsons suddenly seemed very troubled. "Patrice, it's right here. On my display."
"She said there's no bloom," said Sir Richard.
"There might be a problem with your screen," offered Barker.
"There's nothing wrong with it," said Parsons. "Something's happening."
"You are in error, Mr. Parsons," said Patrice.
"Hollings, could you come over here and look at this?" said Parsons.
"Patrice says there's nothing there, there's nothing there," said Hollings.
"God damn it, there is--"
"Be quiet, Parsons!" said Sir Richard.
"Sir," said Patrice. "We are now inside extreme cannon range. Firing in."
Sir Richard waited for the rest of the sentence. And waited. And waited. After ten long seconds, he said, "Patrice?"
Three things happened all at once: The comfort robots suddenly collapsed in a heap simultaneously. The lights went out. And Patrice let out a warbling, inhuman squeal from her loudspeaker, then went silent.
"What in blazes?" said Sir Richard.
The entire ship rocked from a single hard bang. The artificial gravity cut out, and Sir Richard found himself drifting in the dark. "Report! Hollings! What's going on?!"
"I don't know! All the instruments are dead. I cannot make contact with Patrice."
"We ejected the antimatter pods and the engine," said the engineer. "That was that bang. But I don't understand why the auxillary batteries haven't been switched on. It's an autonomic function. Even if something goes wrong with Patrice, the computer should do it automatically."
"None of my tools work," said Hollings, who had found a flashlight. "Even my ohmmeter is dead."
"This can't be happening," said Sir Richard. "What in the world has happened to my ship?!"
And then the lights and the gravity came back on; Sir Richard faceplanted on the carpeted floor.
"Patrice is rebooting!" yelled Hollings. "She'll be back up in five minutes."
"I have sensors again," said Parsons. "Enemy bombers are closing fast."
"Can we fight them on the auxillary batteries?"
"Yes," said Barker. "I'll have to aim the guns manually without Patrice, but I can do it."
Parsons spoke up again. "Sir, the spike on the enemy destroyer was falling, but it's rising again. Sir, that must be what did it! They must have somehow suppressed all our electrical devices."
"No, they couldn't have," said the engineer. "Hollings's flashlight still worked."
"So did our brains," said the surgeon.
"Not all our electrical devices," said Hollings. "Just our electronics. Nothing digital worked."
"What ejected the engine, then?" said Sir RIchard.
Hollings and the engineer looked at him as if he were an idiot. "That's an analog circuit," said the engineer. "The engine is held in place by electromagnets on the same circuit as the containment forcefields. They hold it in place against a permanent magenetic field. If those forcefields drop, the electromagnets fail with them and the engine is ejected from the ship."
"Sir," said Parsons, "It's spiking again."
"Shoot that ship down!"
"Trying, sir," said Barker. "I can't--"
The lights went out again. "Too late, sir. I couldn't target it manually in time."
"How close were those bombers?" said Sir Richard.
"Only a few minutes," said Parsons. "They aren't accelerating very fast, but we were." He paused. "Their field must affect their electronics too, or they would have launched missiles instead."
Sir Richard thought that would give him time to compose something stoic and inspiring to say to the men. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything before the bombers' rockets began tearing the dead ship apart.
------------
The Analog Empire
A Completely Improbable Work of Scientific Fiction
By M.J. Lineberger
Prologue
HMS Sheffield dropped out of hyperspace ten light minutes from the star designated Tolentine Pi Romeo, a K class dwarf on the main sequence on the outer frontier of the Tolentine Empire, Roman Catholic theocracy and present mortal enemy of the Kingdom of Sol and Sirius.
"We have arrived, Sir Richard," said Patrice, the ship's AI.
"Thank you Patrice. Status report?"
"One Tolentine destroyer and one Tolentine container transport one million kilometers off the port bow."
Sir Richard didn't even set down his drink. "Initiate attack as you see fit, Patrice," said Sir Richard.
"As you wish, sir." Sheffield's antimatter engines roared to life.
Sir Richard Hoestedler had the best job in the universe. He and a dozen fellow officers were the only crew of the kilometer long heavy cruiser. Patrice did everything else: managed all the ship's systems, did the sublight and translight navigating, managed the battles, and controlled the hundreds of robots which kept the ship in good repair and conducted damage control during battle. Sir Richard had a first officer, a radio/sensor operator, a cook, a doctor, a nurse, an engineer, a pilot/navigator (a complete waste of mass and oxygen with Patrice running things, if anyone cared to know what Sir Richard thought of it), a weapons officer (ditto), a chronicler, a political officer (fine chap; played a mean game of bridge, also completely redundant in the face of Patrice's perfect loyalty), a supply officer, and a computer operator to ensure Patrice was always running in tip-top shape.
"The enemy has spotted us," said Patrice. "They are turning to engage."
"Are you certain, Patrice?" said Hoestedler.
"Quite certain, sir."
"Doesn't make a bit of sense, does it?" said Sir Richard to his crew. They were arranged around the control room of the ship, a cozy parlor where they could watch the ship fight in comfort. It was more like a living room than the bridge of a warship--it even had a bar and comely android "companions" available for the all-male crew. Sir Richard didn't permit any of his men to leave the control room during a battle to make use of their services, even though some ship masters did and it wasn't strictly forbidden by the Royal Navy, but he did allow the robots to remain around in order to inspire his men and keep their blood up.
"No sir, not any sense at all," said Barker, the weapons officer. Barker was an American, but not a bad fellow despite that; not all of them took their subjugation to the Crown a generation prior so personally. "No destroyer could take us down."
"It is not just the destroyer, Mr. Barker," said Patrice. "The transport is turning as well."
"What?" said Sir Richard. "That cannot be correct."
"See for yourself," said Patrice. The painting above the fireplace dissolved into a tactical overview of the solar system. The lumbering, helpless transport really was turning their way.
"What could they possibly be doing?" said Barker.
"Is it some kind of trick? A trap?" said Sir Richard.
"There is no concievable trap," said Patrice. "The transport in question is unsuitable as a warship. There is no explanation for its behavior."
"Our computers are half a century better than theirs," said Hollings, the computer operator. "They've just made a blunder."
"Perhaps," said Patrice.
Sir Richard brushed his uneasiness aside. Sheffield had six ten millimeter energy cannons, capable of vaporizing the transport in one salvo and the destroyer in two. Patrice's expert handling of the point defense guns was more than adequate to swat the destroyer's torpedoes out of the sky.
"Closing to within extreme cannon range," said Patrice. "Sir, the transport is opening its containers. It is launching spacecraft of an unknown configuration."
Sir Richard briefly panicked. "Missiles?"
"No sir. Their acceleration is limited to four gravities. I have identified what appears to be a cockpit. Judging by the low acceleration characteristics and the temperature of the cockpit canopy, they are manned parasite craft, carrying what may be short range missiles."
"Manned spacecraft?" said Sir Richard. "Like bombers?"
"I believe that may be an accurate assessment of their intended role," said Patrice.
Sir Richard threw his head back and laughed until his throat hurt. "Manned bombers! In space! The Papists must be truly desparate. Patrice, you have my permission to torment them as much as you see fit before dispatching them."
"Thank you sir," said Patrice.
"Sir," said Parsons. He was the radio/sensor operator, presently studying the sensors display. He was young and somewhat sullen; Sir Richard didn't care for him much. "I have detected some kind of energy surge on the destroyer."
"They're powering up weapons," said Sir Richard, annoyed the boy was bothering him with trivialities.
"Sir, it doesn't look like it. There's a thermal bloom coming from one spot. Patrice, what do you think it is?"
"I do not see any thermal bloom," said Patrice. "You must be mistaken, Mr. Parsons."
Parsons suddenly seemed very troubled. "Patrice, it's right here. On my display."
"She said there's no bloom," said Sir Richard.
"There might be a problem with your screen," offered Barker.
"There's nothing wrong with it," said Parsons. "Something's happening."
"You are in error, Mr. Parsons," said Patrice.
"Hollings, could you come over here and look at this?" said Parsons.
"Patrice says there's nothing there, there's nothing there," said Hollings.
"God damn it, there is--"
"Be quiet, Parsons!" said Sir Richard.
"Sir," said Patrice. "We are now inside extreme cannon range. Firing in."
Sir Richard waited for the rest of the sentence. And waited. And waited. After ten long seconds, he said, "Patrice?"
Three things happened all at once: The comfort robots suddenly collapsed in a heap simultaneously. The lights went out. And Patrice let out a warbling, inhuman squeal from her loudspeaker, then went silent.
"What in blazes?" said Sir Richard.
The entire ship rocked from a single hard bang. The artificial gravity cut out, and Sir Richard found himself drifting in the dark. "Report! Hollings! What's going on?!"
"I don't know! All the instruments are dead. I cannot make contact with Patrice."
"We ejected the antimatter pods and the engine," said the engineer. "That was that bang. But I don't understand why the auxillary batteries haven't been switched on. It's an autonomic function. Even if something goes wrong with Patrice, the computer should do it automatically."
"None of my tools work," said Hollings, who had found a flashlight. "Even my ohmmeter is dead."
"This can't be happening," said Sir Richard. "What in the world has happened to my ship?!"
And then the lights and the gravity came back on; Sir Richard faceplanted on the carpeted floor.
"Patrice is rebooting!" yelled Hollings. "She'll be back up in five minutes."
"I have sensors again," said Parsons. "Enemy bombers are closing fast."
"Can we fight them on the auxillary batteries?"
"Yes," said Barker. "I'll have to aim the guns manually without Patrice, but I can do it."
Parsons spoke up again. "Sir, the spike on the enemy destroyer was falling, but it's rising again. Sir, that must be what did it! They must have somehow suppressed all our electrical devices."
"No, they couldn't have," said the engineer. "Hollings's flashlight still worked."
"So did our brains," said the surgeon.
"Not all our electrical devices," said Hollings. "Just our electronics. Nothing digital worked."
"What ejected the engine, then?" said Sir RIchard.
Hollings and the engineer looked at him as if he were an idiot. "That's an analog circuit," said the engineer. "The engine is held in place by electromagnets on the same circuit as the containment forcefields. They hold it in place against a permanent magenetic field. If those forcefields drop, the electromagnets fail with them and the engine is ejected from the ship."
"Sir," said Parsons, "It's spiking again."
"Shoot that ship down!"
"Trying, sir," said Barker. "I can't--"
The lights went out again. "Too late, sir. I couldn't target it manually in time."
"How close were those bombers?" said Sir Richard.
"Only a few minutes," said Parsons. "They aren't accelerating very fast, but we were." He paused. "Their field must affect their electronics too, or they would have launched missiles instead."
Sir Richard thought that would give him time to compose something stoic and inspiring to say to the men. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of anything before the bombers' rockets began tearing the dead ship apart.
I look forward to more.