9/6/2207
I think I have it! It’s not the strength of the signal, but rather the kind of signal I need to send. All this time I’ve tried the standard channels, all the ones within navy protocols. I improvised and honestly, took a wild guess and sent out a brief “ping” like they used to do in the days of sonar. And I got an “answer” so to speak. The return signal brought back a first image. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. I sent out more pings, and directed them towards other parts of the exterior. A shape is slowly forming. I think I was right. I am Jonah.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
The Station, Part 7
7/6/2207
I didn’t send a transmission yesterday as I was spending the time checking the various areas of Frontier for and hull breaches, no matter how minute they may be. After finding no damage I began trying various ways to receive incoming signals. There is an absolute lack of stellar noise that is starting to get to me. I know it just means that signals are being blocked, just as they are probably being prevents from going out as well. I had to do something to alleviate that. To that end I took apart the main communications computer and cannibalized a couple of other nonessential systems for some needed parts in order to enhance the outgoing signal. I know I succeeded that far, but without any returns to my hails, something tells me it’s not enough. I have to think on this…
I didn’t send a transmission yesterday as I was spending the time checking the various areas of Frontier for and hull breaches, no matter how minute they may be. After finding no damage I began trying various ways to receive incoming signals. There is an absolute lack of stellar noise that is starting to get to me. I know it just means that signals are being blocked, just as they are probably being prevents from going out as well. I had to do something to alleviate that. To that end I took apart the main communications computer and cannibalized a couple of other nonessential systems for some needed parts in order to enhance the outgoing signal. I know I succeeded that far, but without any returns to my hails, something tells me it’s not enough. I have to think on this…
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The Station, Part 6
5/6/2207
Eight days ago the stars disappeared. I woke at precisely 07:00 and went through my routine. Nothing showed up on scans. And that should have been my first clue something wasn’t right. But routine and habit got the better of me. My fault letting the comfort of the automated systems and my general and growing disinterest in the project make me lazy. Why, oh why, wasn’t there some civilian contractor out there willing to put a bid out? Guess I’m the answer for the cheap labor the military usually goes for. And yeah, I’m a communications specialist. Hooray for me.
Scans showed nothing but the expected interstellar static of the universe. Pulsars, stellar nurseries, red giants and all stellar marvels outputted their wavelengths of meaningless chatter that was efficiently catalogued and dismissed by the main computer. If I had given more of a care then I would’ve noticed the marked drop in that traffic from a particular region of space, in the direction of the unknown regions. A null point.
I don’t look out the ports anymore. I used to. On the port side I used to be able to see the Crab Nebula. A wonderful sight. But as spectacular as that sight was, a man can get used to anything. And so I just stopped looking at it. Every window to the outside was little more than a familiar framed picture in a hallway. If I had only stopped to look that morning. If only I had given a flying fuck and stopped wallowing in my boredom and look one fucking look. I would’ve known just what the hell it looked like. Just what it might’ve actually been. Now when I look out any port, there’s only pitch darkness.
Sometime between 07:00 and 07:30 I had been completely surrounded and swallowed like Jonah. Expect I have no idea just what had done the swallowing. How big is it, what’s it made of? Is it alive? Am I just another victim of psychosis? I could have just gone crazy, and now I’m laying on a gurney back at base pumped full of tranquilizers. In a way, that would be a relief. But I know that just isn’t true. This is too clear, too real and too…outside my experience so it must be real. I get the cold feeling that this has purpose. I have to stop for now. Sorry. I’m getting the shakes again. It’s too dark out there.
Eight days ago the stars disappeared. I woke at precisely 07:00 and went through my routine. Nothing showed up on scans. And that should have been my first clue something wasn’t right. But routine and habit got the better of me. My fault letting the comfort of the automated systems and my general and growing disinterest in the project make me lazy. Why, oh why, wasn’t there some civilian contractor out there willing to put a bid out? Guess I’m the answer for the cheap labor the military usually goes for. And yeah, I’m a communications specialist. Hooray for me.
Scans showed nothing but the expected interstellar static of the universe. Pulsars, stellar nurseries, red giants and all stellar marvels outputted their wavelengths of meaningless chatter that was efficiently catalogued and dismissed by the main computer. If I had given more of a care then I would’ve noticed the marked drop in that traffic from a particular region of space, in the direction of the unknown regions. A null point.
I don’t look out the ports anymore. I used to. On the port side I used to be able to see the Crab Nebula. A wonderful sight. But as spectacular as that sight was, a man can get used to anything. And so I just stopped looking at it. Every window to the outside was little more than a familiar framed picture in a hallway. If I had only stopped to look that morning. If only I had given a flying fuck and stopped wallowing in my boredom and look one fucking look. I would’ve known just what the hell it looked like. Just what it might’ve actually been. Now when I look out any port, there’s only pitch darkness.
Sometime between 07:00 and 07:30 I had been completely surrounded and swallowed like Jonah. Expect I have no idea just what had done the swallowing. How big is it, what’s it made of? Is it alive? Am I just another victim of psychosis? I could have just gone crazy, and now I’m laying on a gurney back at base pumped full of tranquilizers. In a way, that would be a relief. But I know that just isn’t true. This is too clear, too real and too…outside my experience so it must be real. I get the cold feeling that this has purpose. I have to stop for now. Sorry. I’m getting the shakes again. It’s too dark out there.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
The Station, Part 5
4/6/2207
It began exactly seven days ago. My name is Robert Bradley. I am a Lieutenant in the United Systems Navy, currently stationed on Deep Territory Monitoring Station Frontier 2 and the sole crew member. I had gotten up at my usual time (07:00) and performed the routine checks of all major systems. Takes about half an hour to do that. Then I got on the comm to Central Command and reported in. Got the usual response from my contact there. A very nice, very pretty comm. officer named O’Brien. She always greeted me with a smile and I think she had an unspoken sympathy for me. She knew that I was all by my lonesome here, and spent a little more time talking to me than regulations called for. I appreciated that. I made sure to always ask her about news from Earth, not that I was particularly interested, as home was about as exciting as watching paint dry. Something about a lack of human violence, the wrath of Mother Nature and all of those common problems of centuries past that plagued Earth centuries ago being wiped out made Earth an otherwise dull place to me. Thoroughly explored and catalogued, Earth. That’s why I had gone into the service in the first place. I’d bought into the whole “adventure” aspect of the navy. That had been three years ago. After a brief stint on a reserve cruiser and a short lived colonial port assignment, I’d gotten this lovely project. Apparently my psych profile had marked me and a few other officers as prime choices for the brand new, nearly fully automated Frontier Class communication stations to be deployed along the edge of explored space. Instead of the more expensive explorer vessels that had pioneered much of the known universe, these satellites are fully committed to endlessly scan the surrounding heavens for the holy grail of space exploration—signs of extraterrestrial intelligence. Not that you need reminding of any of this, but this is my story and it’s probably going to be a standard operating procedure from here on out to fill you in on my personal history. Hell, it’s my whole purpose for being here. And has it happened you’re asking. That’s the question. Has it happened?
It began exactly seven days ago. My name is Robert Bradley. I am a Lieutenant in the United Systems Navy, currently stationed on Deep Territory Monitoring Station Frontier 2 and the sole crew member. I had gotten up at my usual time (07:00) and performed the routine checks of all major systems. Takes about half an hour to do that. Then I got on the comm to Central Command and reported in. Got the usual response from my contact there. A very nice, very pretty comm. officer named O’Brien. She always greeted me with a smile and I think she had an unspoken sympathy for me. She knew that I was all by my lonesome here, and spent a little more time talking to me than regulations called for. I appreciated that. I made sure to always ask her about news from Earth, not that I was particularly interested, as home was about as exciting as watching paint dry. Something about a lack of human violence, the wrath of Mother Nature and all of those common problems of centuries past that plagued Earth centuries ago being wiped out made Earth an otherwise dull place to me. Thoroughly explored and catalogued, Earth. That’s why I had gone into the service in the first place. I’d bought into the whole “adventure” aspect of the navy. That had been three years ago. After a brief stint on a reserve cruiser and a short lived colonial port assignment, I’d gotten this lovely project. Apparently my psych profile had marked me and a few other officers as prime choices for the brand new, nearly fully automated Frontier Class communication stations to be deployed along the edge of explored space. Instead of the more expensive explorer vessels that had pioneered much of the known universe, these satellites are fully committed to endlessly scan the surrounding heavens for the holy grail of space exploration—signs of extraterrestrial intelligence. Not that you need reminding of any of this, but this is my story and it’s probably going to be a standard operating procedure from here on out to fill you in on my personal history. Hell, it’s my whole purpose for being here. And has it happened you’re asking. That’s the question. Has it happened?
Monday, March 26, 2007
The Station, Part 4
3/6/2207
I’m Jonah and this is the story of my whale. Thought that was kind of profound. Not really. Just trying to bring some levity to the situation. It’s still all dark in here. I’ve been keeping a sharp eye on the power cells to make sure they’re not affected. Seems so at the moment. Oxygen supply normal. Gravity normal. All normal. I don’t know what you can see on your side, if anything at all, but it’s just pitch black no matter what port I look out of.
You know, I’m not helping you much at all from in here. You’re new on the scene after all. Other than bitch about being alone, I haven’t really filled you in properly. And if I take the take to put into words just what has happened to me in the last few days, I think not only will it help those of you out there who are reading this. It’ll (I hope) be therapeutic for me. Let me organize my thoughts, and get back to you. Just give me a little time. I want to get this right.
I’m Jonah and this is the story of my whale. Thought that was kind of profound. Not really. Just trying to bring some levity to the situation. It’s still all dark in here. I’ve been keeping a sharp eye on the power cells to make sure they’re not affected. Seems so at the moment. Oxygen supply normal. Gravity normal. All normal. I don’t know what you can see on your side, if anything at all, but it’s just pitch black no matter what port I look out of.
You know, I’m not helping you much at all from in here. You’re new on the scene after all. Other than bitch about being alone, I haven’t really filled you in properly. And if I take the take to put into words just what has happened to me in the last few days, I think not only will it help those of you out there who are reading this. It’ll (I hope) be therapeutic for me. Let me organize my thoughts, and get back to you. Just give me a little time. I want to get this right.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
The Station, Part 3
1/6/2207
I’m sorry. I really am sorry. It’s just that…there’s no one here. I’ve tried to act like a calm, rational human being. Act like a professional. It’s not like the universe has forgotten me. Has it? I refuse to believe that. No, it hasn’t. I’ve be stationed on Frontier 2 for close to six months now. I’ve performed my duties to the T and kept this operation going even when the manual didn’t have a chapter on…what would you call it? Kidnapping? Invasion? Being eaten alive? Somewhere outside there’s a ship receiving this. A relay satellite is bouncing my words towards one of the remote mining colonies who’ll then send it to Central Command. They’re out there, trying to find a way in to me. You’re out there right now. I know it. And I’ll keep transmitting as long as it allows me to. You have my word on that. Tell you what, let’s make a deal with each other right now. If I keep sending you my words, my thoughts and my discoveries, then you’ll find a way in here. I’ll keep talking to you if you keep trying to talk to me. Deal? Deal. Please, just don’t leave me in here.
I’m sorry. I really am sorry. It’s just that…there’s no one here. I’ve tried to act like a calm, rational human being. Act like a professional. It’s not like the universe has forgotten me. Has it? I refuse to believe that. No, it hasn’t. I’ve be stationed on Frontier 2 for close to six months now. I’ve performed my duties to the T and kept this operation going even when the manual didn’t have a chapter on…what would you call it? Kidnapping? Invasion? Being eaten alive? Somewhere outside there’s a ship receiving this. A relay satellite is bouncing my words towards one of the remote mining colonies who’ll then send it to Central Command. They’re out there, trying to find a way in to me. You’re out there right now. I know it. And I’ll keep transmitting as long as it allows me to. You have my word on that. Tell you what, let’s make a deal with each other right now. If I keep sending you my words, my thoughts and my discoveries, then you’ll find a way in here. I’ll keep talking to you if you keep trying to talk to me. Deal? Deal. Please, just don’t leave me in here.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
The Station, Part 2
28/5/2207
I don’t know if my transmissions are getting through. I’m guessing somebody’s trying to get through to me. It’s blocking incoming transmissions somehow. I don’t care how it’s doing, just why. Why let me send out pleas for help while not allowing me the peace of mind knowing you’re reading this transmission and sending help. Jesus, you must by now be thinking just what the hell this guy is on about. Look, I’m the only one here. You can only imagine what it’s like here on this station when you’re totally, and I really mean totally alone. Even when I look out any of the view ports I see nothing but blackness. It must be huge to block out the stars on every side. I can’t even tell what the general shape of the thing is. I don’t what to, but I have to consider that it’s all around me because I and this remote space station been swallowed whole by the thing. I want to be wrong. I want to be too stupid to understand what might be happening to me. I want you to fucking answer my goddamn transmissions. You fucks! You fucking bastards! Say something! Write something! Send me some fucking pictures of your fat, ugly wives! You fucks!—
I don’t know if my transmissions are getting through. I’m guessing somebody’s trying to get through to me. It’s blocking incoming transmissions somehow. I don’t care how it’s doing, just why. Why let me send out pleas for help while not allowing me the peace of mind knowing you’re reading this transmission and sending help. Jesus, you must by now be thinking just what the hell this guy is on about. Look, I’m the only one here. You can only imagine what it’s like here on this station when you’re totally, and I really mean totally alone. Even when I look out any of the view ports I see nothing but blackness. It must be huge to block out the stars on every side. I can’t even tell what the general shape of the thing is. I don’t what to, but I have to consider that it’s all around me because I and this remote space station been swallowed whole by the thing. I want to be wrong. I want to be too stupid to understand what might be happening to me. I want you to fucking answer my goddamn transmissions. You fucks! You fucking bastards! Say something! Write something! Send me some fucking pictures of your fat, ugly wives! You fucks!—
Friday, March 23, 2007
The Station, Part 1
27/5/2207
Before anything else, I have to know, is anyone receiving this? If so, I ask—beg you to send your response. Anything will do. Anything. Send a picture of your wife and kids, a video of you waving, I don’t care. Just let me know you’re there, and this transmission isn’t just disappearing into space. I’ll wait…
Nothing. But then I expected that. Nothing’s come in for three days now. I guess they’re blocking it. It. Haven’t given a name for it yet. What the hell for? I can’t even describe what it is. Whatever it is, it’s enveloped the entire station, all 300 fucking meters of it.
Somebody please answer…
Before anything else, I have to know, is anyone receiving this? If so, I ask—beg you to send your response. Anything will do. Anything. Send a picture of your wife and kids, a video of you waving, I don’t care. Just let me know you’re there, and this transmission isn’t just disappearing into space. I’ll wait…
Nothing. But then I expected that. Nothing’s come in for three days now. I guess they’re blocking it. It. Haven’t given a name for it yet. What the hell for? I can’t even describe what it is. Whatever it is, it’s enveloped the entire station, all 300 fucking meters of it.
Somebody please answer…
Thursday, March 22, 2007
The Beginning...
Greetings Cruel World,
My name is A. David Smith and I am brand spankin' new to the land of blogging. I have explored this strange, new continent and discovered many new forms of life, art and culture. Until today I have been a mere tourist in these parts. That changes now. Today I join my fellow citizenry as a fully naturalized member of this weird and wonderful place.
So what? What do I have to contribute to this society?
Well, I want to be fun. I want to be different. And I want you, dear Reader, to want to keep coming back. How often? I don't know yet. But I have an idea. How's about this...
At least once a week I am going to post a part of a story. This story will have a beginning, a middle and an end. It's going to be some time before we reach all three of these stages, but it is my hope that you will want to come along for the ride. My story will be at times disturbing, other times it will be scary, and at times it will be sprinkled with a little humor to help alleviate your (and my character's) stress. I must warn you, dear Reader, that this story is rated "M" for MATURE. Within my future story postings there may be adult language, adult themes, possible implicit or explicit sexual situations and other subject matter you may find offensive. Just want to give any sensitive eyes fair warning. Now, with that out of the way, let's move on to the good stuff, shall we?
So what is this story about?
I'm going to take you into the far reaches of space, to a remote space station called Frontier 2. Within this lonely outpost lives its sole crew member, a man named Robert Bradley. He has been assigned here as part of a network of similar stations, all charged with the mission to monitor the communications of the spaceways. But their other mission is far more important: to make contact with extraterrestrial intelligences that may exist beyond the regions of space known to Mankind.
Next up:
My name is A. David Smith and I am brand spankin' new to the land of blogging. I have explored this strange, new continent and discovered many new forms of life, art and culture. Until today I have been a mere tourist in these parts. That changes now. Today I join my fellow citizenry as a fully naturalized member of this weird and wonderful place.
So what? What do I have to contribute to this society?
Well, I want to be fun. I want to be different. And I want you, dear Reader, to want to keep coming back. How often? I don't know yet. But I have an idea. How's about this...
At least once a week I am going to post a part of a story. This story will have a beginning, a middle and an end. It's going to be some time before we reach all three of these stages, but it is my hope that you will want to come along for the ride. My story will be at times disturbing, other times it will be scary, and at times it will be sprinkled with a little humor to help alleviate your (and my character's) stress. I must warn you, dear Reader, that this story is rated "M" for MATURE. Within my future story postings there may be adult language, adult themes, possible implicit or explicit sexual situations and other subject matter you may find offensive. Just want to give any sensitive eyes fair warning. Now, with that out of the way, let's move on to the good stuff, shall we?
So what is this story about?
I'm going to take you into the far reaches of space, to a remote space station called Frontier 2. Within this lonely outpost lives its sole crew member, a man named Robert Bradley. He has been assigned here as part of a network of similar stations, all charged with the mission to monitor the communications of the spaceways. But their other mission is far more important: to make contact with extraterrestrial intelligences that may exist beyond the regions of space known to Mankind.
Next up:
The Station, Part 1
Hope to see you there!
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