Prelude – the Crash
AD 1902.1.1 somewhere in Siberia
An enormous space battlecruiser crashes into the mountain, causing widespread geological destruction. Fortunately, the place was sparsely populated, and no one was injured, except for the crew.
The battlecruiser front end was entirely embedded into the mountain, being made of a metal non-existant on Earth – called the living metal. The superstructure was intact. However, its complement crew were not invulnerable, and many had died in hibernation chambers when it hit Earth. It took a while for the survivors to emerge, from the cryogenic caskets.
Meanwhile, the ship’s AI activated a squadron of flying drones, which emerged from the wreckage and established a quick parameter around. Had there been natives around they would have seen a comet falling down from the skies, a bad omen. But they could not see the ship due to optical illusions employed by the drones’ mesh network.
And attempts to approach will be met with deadly force.
Eventually, the Navigator appeared, he was naked, but that was no problem. With a wave of his hands' drones appeared to give him a holographic attire that afforded his modesty. Until he found his real uniform, that is. He was just over 1.90 metres tall, slightly muscular but moved with a built-in grace. He was also grey-white skinned, with emerald eyes and pointed, movable outer ears. His expression was slightly disconcerted, from the crash no doubt, and he gave out a series of commands, telepathically.
“AI, look for survivors, resuscitate them.”
“Computer, collect the genetic materials of the deceased, we need to store them.”
Artificial Ship Intellect online. The words appeared on remote air, visible without the need of a screen.
You’re on GAC Haghanon the Ambassador, Falatira class battlecruiser, complement 4000, with its own marine brigade, estimated losses over 3870, location 42.03578°N / 80.12921°E local Greenwich system.
Also, we are at an altitude of approximately 6512 metres above sea level. 656 kilometres from Northwest Pacific Ocean.
“thanks, the status of our emergency shuttles? “ he’d need one to get out alive.
left bank shuttles intact, right bank bays destroyed in the crash.
The Navigator had to be psionic to navigate through the hyperplanes in the galaxies. Intergalactic travels became extremely common ten thousand years ago since the Great Disaster. The whole of his nation had to evacuate their home galaxy to another to keep their civilisation intact.
He found a drawer of supplies and took out an e-cig to enjoy quietly.
This is going to be a long journey. The Navigator had to get somehow the ship fixed or signal the Civilisation from another part of the galaxy.
Or he could go native and live amongst the primitive humans. Until they became Enlightened, which could take centuries.
He took a long draw on the smokes and didn’t relish that idea. Humans are much more common than the People, in all dimensions and galaxies, we find them fascinating because we get to do all sorts of social experiments on their planets. Such as subverting them when they hit Space Age. They never change, and sometimes they became galactic powers.
We are more kindred than we realise. We don’t like strangers, and we go to war. What if we formed a society where everyone is equal and had a say in the future?
He symbolically paid respect to the crew of the Ambassador who perished in the crash.
He read them a poem from the Revolutionary War days.
Then he put away the pipe. And dreamed.
Day 2:
A group of specialist members emerged from the Hibernation, and they formed a committee deciding on the next to-do list. Some went to program the drones to collect information about their surroundings, while others analysed the data that came back. The Navigator was talking to the Doctor, the onboard med staff of 1.
“Hephanaira, how are you feeling?”
“Oh my head hurts, I’ve just sent a few of the crew to the medical bay for automatic treatment.”
He was making some light conversation when he remembered, wasn’t she and the Captain?
“Haha, thanks for being funny, remember I’m the doctor here. Just a tension headache, no big deal”.
He tried the empath approach. Yep, it did hurt a bit. Definitely headache.
When he reached out and touched her mind, at the same time, Hephanaira felt his mind too, and it's clear.
No, I mean how are you holding up? I understand you were close to the Captain? He touched her hand.
A torrent of grief came from her mind. He had wanted to reassure her, and in thinking, he did partially.
“I still have work to do, so if you could help with getting the AI to assess our stellar maps, that would be great”. She replied, suppressing her feelings. It’s going to be a long day.
If you need anyone I would be here, he thought to her gently.
Day 3
The Scout awoke with a start. He dreamt that he was the Grand Admiral in the War at the Heaven’s Gate several thousand years ago, and he lost against the overwhelming Imperialist forces. Not a good omen. Time to purge the bad feelings with some work. He touched his omni-tool and using the data the drones gathered, found out the probable timeframe of the engine repair.
And it’s not good.
With a plasma rifle slung over his shoulders and a stealth suit he jumped aboard a shuttle and headed out. Several hundred kilometres away from the battlecruiser. Just to confirm.
The crew helped with removing bodies from the ship and cremating them. This took several days.
Day 4
“So Mr Huntsman” said the Historian, “is saying we are in the middle of Machine Age human-controlled Earth”. He looked to the Scout, a bit worse for wear.
He had a very calm and controlled air as if he was a professor from the Early Space Age.
The committee listened attentively, and the information would be discussed with rest of the crew after the meeting.
“specifically we are in AD 1902, for those not familiar with the period telegraph was invited, large-scale electrical machinery came into being, several large nations in Northern Europe industrialised, etc”
“Without intervention, it would take 300 years for their first FTL drive to be invented.”
“Metallurgy in this Age would not give us the rare crystals and exotic gases we need to move the Ambassador.”
He paused for questions, there was one coming from a marine.
“What’s a telegraph?”
Day 5
We need a plan. Thought the Radical. He was always overlooked in the committee because his ideas were too farfetched. Now he thought to himself quietly, making mental lists that happen to be quite impressed, like permanent markers writing on the brain.
We’ll help one of the industrialised powers to advance quickly through the ages. Don’t worry, I’ve got a relative in the Special Affairs Bureau who does just that: Subverting pre-FTL intelligent species. Now, his speciality is in large terrestrial mammals like giraffe-derived organisms, but Homo sapiens should do.
I’m not going to spend 200 years on this rock, will you?
He continued to list very specific steps that they could take to jumpstart this pre-FTL rock. Sometimes in too much detail, which is derived from historical knowledge of human society on Earth.
After he formulated his thoughts, he set it as a complete passage to the other minds on the ship. There’s exactly 128 of them, so they get to vote.
Day 6
Plan B
I forgot the Marines. Because the ships of the Civilisation is now too advanced and AI can take care of most jobs, the only reason to station this many crews on a ship is war. Apart from the Specialists, we have 110 crew members who are veterans of war. So to simplify the plan, we rush out and take over one of the capitals of the major industrial powers and declare the arrival of powerful aliens. The Radical thought about this furiously. We force them to construct a massive antenna which can broadcast to the nearest Civilisation battleship squadron which could easily overwhelm the planet’s defences and get us off this rock. Yes, we need to strip the ship for parts, and yes, there will be risks. Sometimes the most direct way is the best.
Day 7
As the Radical put forth his plans, the survivors voted on the process. Most had misgivings about the first, but the Plan 2 was unceremoniously turned down. It was thought that it won’t be ethically responsible and turn the inhabitants permanently xenophobic. The first plan seems a longshot and needs to have its details worked out.
Fierce arguments broke out, but at the end of a long meeting, a plan was hatched.
Then they relaxed for the rest of the day playing Bridge, which is hard if you are psionic.