Another Excerpt on the subject of developing a sense of scale:
Resembling a very oddly proportioned honeycomb, the wormhole relays known as Jump Gates were the lifeblood of the United Galactic Governments. They allowed an endless stream of traffic to traverse the mind-numbing distances that separated useful destinations in the galaxy far faster and easier than any single ship could manage. Despite the invention of ship-mounted space warping technology in the form of the graviton drive, no single ship had ever managed to move faster than a few times the speed of light. Even purpose-built racing ships reached their limit at 5.7 times light speed. At which, it would still take nearly a decade for one to traverse the distance between any two homeworlds. The gates allowed a ship of average speed to make the journey from Earth to Deneva in just two weeks.
Each gate was, in reality, a complex of paired wormhole stations, each designated for different priorities of traffic, one in and one out. The largest and by far busiest stations were always Public Transit. An endless stream of ships moved into and out of these gates, giving the impression, when viewed from afar, of glittering streams of light pouring into and out of them. After that were slightly smaller Emergency Transit stations, where law enforcement and medical ships made their way. Then there was Cargo, designated for larger bulk transport ships that would otherwise clog up the Public lines. Finally were the Government stations, designated for official government and military use and it was to these last that the Phoenix approached.
Inside, the three crewmates were gathered in the cockpit, observing with varying degrees of trepidation the looming gate complex. Already it more than filled the window and they still had an hour before they even reached the outer perimeter.
"How does this work?" Dirût asked, "I've used the public gates before, but those just stay open and scan for ship ID. These don't look open."
Indeed, the slight distortion and amber glow of an active wormhole was not to be seen ahead. Kethel gave a nonchalant shrug.
"That's normal." he said, "I've been through gates like these before on missions. They require a double access code to use. And there's usually ships on guard near them."
He paused for a moment then pointed out two elongated shapes on the screen, barely recognizable.
"Yeah, if you look there… those two are stationary, probably them."
"Should we be worried?"
"Probably not," John said. He'd been occupied with navigation, but now turned to address his passengers.
"What th’ ginger cat here said is true." he said with a smirk that made Kethel's fur bristle, "Two codes and guards. But th' patrol ships rarely bother t’ stop you unless th' passwords are wrong or you're on a wanted list. I trust Tasäka t’ give me good clearance and I'm… fairly sure I'm not on any wanted lists. Right now, anyway."
Neither of the passengers were put at any great ease by this statement, but there was little for them to do but wait and watch. The Phoenix glided on through the void of space and the hexagonal framework drew ever closer until the single Government gate filled the entire screen. As if on cue, a voice crackled to life over the local communications channel.
“Approaching vessel, we have marked you as a modified J-45 cargo transport at relative bearing fifteen degrees by three-ten, distance five thousand kilometers. This is a restricted gate, please identify yourself.”
John spun back around in his seat and jabbed a control on his console.
“Greetings,” he said in a clear, efficient voice, “This is Captain John Quinton McClarry, retired, serial code Uniform Echo Zero-Four-One-Zero-One-Nine-Eight-Two, aboard the Phoenix, Registry GCS2971215 on official business for the Denevan government.”
For a moment there was silence, during which Kethel and Dirut exchanged uncertain glances. McClarry remained robustly cheerful. Presently the voice returned.
“Thank you, so noted. Please transmit clearance codes so you may be on your way.”
A quick succession of keystrokes followed.
“Transmitting on my mark.” the Pilot said, then, striking the final key, he added, “Now.”
Again silence passed, this time longer. The two passengers were tense and restless as the seconds ticked by into minutes. Kethel tried to reassure his partner, though he himself was beginning to worry.
“It’s not unusual for there to be delays.” he said, “Clearance can take time to process.”
John held up a silencing hand and seconds later there was a flash as the gate activated, stars swirling and distorting ahead of them before settling into an amber tinted image of their destination. The voice crackled to life again.
“GCS Phoenix, you are free to proceed. Adjust course to relative bearing zero by zero zero and observe standard transition procedure. Thank you and safe flying.”
“Acknowledged, thank you!”
Bringing the ship to the requested course, John set the autopilot to take them through the glimmering wormhole. He then sat back in his seat, hands behind his head.
“Told ya Tasaka was reliable!” he said with a laugh, “The looks on your faces!”
Fighting back his irritation at the human’s needling, Kethel said, “So you were in the United Earth military?”
The pilot looked back over his shoulder and nodded.
“Served ten years. Retired after th' Kazzar war.” he said with a wistful air. “That’s how I first got in contact with your Fleet Commander. We were about th' same rank at the time. I lost friends, he lost family. I retired, he moved up in rank. And here we are workin' together again!”
The conversation was cut short as the Phoenix entered the shimmering wormhole. For a moment, they were caught between entrance and exit. Stretched by spatial distortion across more distance than the mortal mind could imagine. Volumes have been written by researchers, philosophers, psychologists and poets alike on the experience of traversing the compressed space of a stable wormhole. For some, it is exciting, for others, terrifying. For Kethel, it was always slightly nauseating, the whole universe seeming to lurch unnaturally around them as two points in space were pinched together by massive gravitational forces. Fully on the other side, the gate flashed closed and the modified cargo ship slipped onward into open space.
The majestic moment lasted for a full minute of breathtaking wonder. This was how long it took for the ship to reconnect with the local public communications frequency, at which point the threesome was inundated with the senseless babbling of overlapping commercials, declaring the wonders of the myriad nearby rest stops, layover stations, gift shops and fuel centers that made their home in the proximity of well traveled jump gates. John McClarry let out a groan and turned down the volume to a low murmur. By galactic law, public channels had to remain active to ensure that emergency broadcasts and distress signals could be heard by anyone nearby, but that left the door wide open for commercial exploitation.
“Ah, yes, that’s what I was missin’… incessant advertising.” grumbled the pilot. “Better settle in, my friends, it’s goin’ t' be half a day of this until we move beyond th’ local cluster.”
The Phoenix flew on, putting on an extra kick of speed to hasten their journey. Barely visible in the extreme distance, dots of light ran to and fro as business about the gate complex proceeded. While the limits of single-ship propulsion hindered long-range travel, it still provided enough range and speed that large colony-like clusters of businesses and living spaces could build up around popular travel routes. Entire populations could be born, live and die in these gate clusters and never see the larger galaxy.
Their small ship rushed on, putting the tourist trap far behind them.
Each gate was, in reality, a complex of paired wormhole stations, each designated for different priorities of traffic, one in and one out. The largest and by far busiest stations were always Public Transit. An endless stream of ships moved into and out of these gates, giving the impression, when viewed from afar, of glittering streams of light pouring into and out of them. After that were slightly smaller Emergency Transit stations, where law enforcement and medical ships made their way. Then there was Cargo, designated for larger bulk transport ships that would otherwise clog up the Public lines. Finally were the Government stations, designated for official government and military use and it was to these last that the Phoenix approached.
Inside, the three crewmates were gathered in the cockpit, observing with varying degrees of trepidation the looming gate complex. Already it more than filled the window and they still had an hour before they even reached the outer perimeter.
"How does this work?" Dirût asked, "I've used the public gates before, but those just stay open and scan for ship ID. These don't look open."
Indeed, the slight distortion and amber glow of an active wormhole was not to be seen ahead. Kethel gave a nonchalant shrug.
"That's normal." he said, "I've been through gates like these before on missions. They require a double access code to use. And there's usually ships on guard near them."
He paused for a moment then pointed out two elongated shapes on the screen, barely recognizable.
"Yeah, if you look there… those two are stationary, probably them."
"Should we be worried?"
"Probably not," John said. He'd been occupied with navigation, but now turned to address his passengers.
"What th’ ginger cat here said is true." he said with a smirk that made Kethel's fur bristle, "Two codes and guards. But th' patrol ships rarely bother t’ stop you unless th' passwords are wrong or you're on a wanted list. I trust Tasäka t’ give me good clearance and I'm… fairly sure I'm not on any wanted lists. Right now, anyway."
Neither of the passengers were put at any great ease by this statement, but there was little for them to do but wait and watch. The Phoenix glided on through the void of space and the hexagonal framework drew ever closer until the single Government gate filled the entire screen. As if on cue, a voice crackled to life over the local communications channel.
“Approaching vessel, we have marked you as a modified J-45 cargo transport at relative bearing fifteen degrees by three-ten, distance five thousand kilometers. This is a restricted gate, please identify yourself.”
John spun back around in his seat and jabbed a control on his console.
“Greetings,” he said in a clear, efficient voice, “This is Captain John Quinton McClarry, retired, serial code Uniform Echo Zero-Four-One-Zero-One-Nine-Eight-Two, aboard the Phoenix, Registry GCS2971215 on official business for the Denevan government.”
For a moment there was silence, during which Kethel and Dirut exchanged uncertain glances. McClarry remained robustly cheerful. Presently the voice returned.
“Thank you, so noted. Please transmit clearance codes so you may be on your way.”
A quick succession of keystrokes followed.
“Transmitting on my mark.” the Pilot said, then, striking the final key, he added, “Now.”
Again silence passed, this time longer. The two passengers were tense and restless as the seconds ticked by into minutes. Kethel tried to reassure his partner, though he himself was beginning to worry.
“It’s not unusual for there to be delays.” he said, “Clearance can take time to process.”
John held up a silencing hand and seconds later there was a flash as the gate activated, stars swirling and distorting ahead of them before settling into an amber tinted image of their destination. The voice crackled to life again.
“GCS Phoenix, you are free to proceed. Adjust course to relative bearing zero by zero zero and observe standard transition procedure. Thank you and safe flying.”
“Acknowledged, thank you!”
Bringing the ship to the requested course, John set the autopilot to take them through the glimmering wormhole. He then sat back in his seat, hands behind his head.
“Told ya Tasaka was reliable!” he said with a laugh, “The looks on your faces!”
Fighting back his irritation at the human’s needling, Kethel said, “So you were in the United Earth military?”
The pilot looked back over his shoulder and nodded.
“Served ten years. Retired after th' Kazzar war.” he said with a wistful air. “That’s how I first got in contact with your Fleet Commander. We were about th' same rank at the time. I lost friends, he lost family. I retired, he moved up in rank. And here we are workin' together again!”
The conversation was cut short as the Phoenix entered the shimmering wormhole. For a moment, they were caught between entrance and exit. Stretched by spatial distortion across more distance than the mortal mind could imagine. Volumes have been written by researchers, philosophers, psychologists and poets alike on the experience of traversing the compressed space of a stable wormhole. For some, it is exciting, for others, terrifying. For Kethel, it was always slightly nauseating, the whole universe seeming to lurch unnaturally around them as two points in space were pinched together by massive gravitational forces. Fully on the other side, the gate flashed closed and the modified cargo ship slipped onward into open space.
The majestic moment lasted for a full minute of breathtaking wonder. This was how long it took for the ship to reconnect with the local public communications frequency, at which point the threesome was inundated with the senseless babbling of overlapping commercials, declaring the wonders of the myriad nearby rest stops, layover stations, gift shops and fuel centers that made their home in the proximity of well traveled jump gates. John McClarry let out a groan and turned down the volume to a low murmur. By galactic law, public channels had to remain active to ensure that emergency broadcasts and distress signals could be heard by anyone nearby, but that left the door wide open for commercial exploitation.
“Ah, yes, that’s what I was missin’… incessant advertising.” grumbled the pilot. “Better settle in, my friends, it’s goin’ t' be half a day of this until we move beyond th’ local cluster.”
The Phoenix flew on, putting on an extra kick of speed to hasten their journey. Barely visible in the extreme distance, dots of light ran to and fro as business about the gate complex proceeded. While the limits of single-ship propulsion hindered long-range travel, it still provided enough range and speed that large colony-like clusters of businesses and living spaces could build up around popular travel routes. Entire populations could be born, live and die in these gate clusters and never see the larger galaxy.
Their small ship rushed on, putting the tourist trap far behind them.
