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Stonerager Chronicles
By 2Charlie
This is a science fiction that will contain erotic scenes. If it’s not for you, that’s okay. If you read it, I hope you enjoy it and know that I plan to write more from this universe in the future. Oh, and before someone asks, a future chapter will make it clear that Stonerager is a mispronunciation of Stoenager that becomes the main character’s moniker.
All characters in this are of the age of majority.
Chapter 01
Colonel Bram ‘Dutch’ Stoenager adjusted his pressure suit for the umpteenth time, rolling his shoulders to loosen the feel of being confined. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he snapped them open again, an old habit from his test pilot days, intended to reset his focal point. Peering down at the display surface to the left of his flight controls, he found where he’d left of in the preflight checklist. The sound of spacetraffic control and orbital dock management droning in his ears helped him regain his mental groove, allowing him to give the necessary hyperfocus demanded by what would otherwise be a very boring, almost routine task. He dare not allow his attention to drift, else he could miss a vital telltale that could jeopardize the mission, and his life.
The flight controller addressed him on the open frequency, demanding an update on the pressure indications for his auxiliary power units. Peering to his right at the myriad of displays, he isolated the ones he needed to check, then responded into his open mic, “FlightCon, this is Odyssey, APUs all show in the green. Go.” Once he heard his report acknowledged, he carried on with the checklist. The sequence was very familiar to him. He’d completed this in simulation over a hundred times and could practically perform it from memory. Sweeping his eyes across the control surfaces surrounding him, he could rapidly discern that there were no obvious indications of concern. All lights were green, there were no flashing alerts. His ship was ready. Finally. After four long years. Today, August 12th, 2125, he would make hi.
Glancing down at the chronometer on the bottomright corner of his display, he saw the countdown clock running, winding its way down to zero. Still a few hours away. Scanning right to his navigational displays, he confirmed that his stellar nav units were sync’d up with their counterparts on Earth, as well as those in Jovian orbit. His ship’s Primary Heuristics Onboard Engineering Binary Interface, or PHOEBI, was continuing to complete its preflight checks in parallel with those Dutch was completing. PHOEBI was a synthetic intelligence unit, or synth, integrated into the ship’s systems, and was fully capable of piloting the Odyssey in the event of a failure of the organic flight unit. Of late, it had begun to develop a distinct sense of humor as it developed an evertighter rapport with its human counterpart. Every once in a while, if PHOEBI determined that Dutch was lagging behind, it caused a brief flare of brightness on his displays, the synth equivalent of giving him a nudge.
He was almost complete with the preflight checks, when an indicator to the right of his peripheral vision began to blink, capturing his attention. Reaching up, he tapped his finger on the display, switching over to a private comm channel. “How’s it looking from your side, Dutch?” his wife scratch that exwife asked him over the circuit.
“Fivebyfive up here, Dee. You and the boss gonna let me fly this thing today?” The boss was General Shand Healey, a stalwart sonofabitch with an oldschool passion for getting shit done. Healey had insisted on the Daedalus program using Dutch as their chief test pilot, in spite of the rift between him and his exwife, Dr. Denise Stoenager, Magnodyne Research Laboratories’ chief research scientist, and head of their Faster Than Light R&D unit. The two had managed to set aside their marital differences and work together professionally in order to get what they both wanted mankind out of this particular corner of the cosmos.
“So long as you and Pheebs can get the fuse lit on that shitcan.” Dr. Stoenager responded, using their nickname for PHOEBI.
“Hey, no calling the Odyssey a shitcan! And don’t you worry we’re ready to go up here.” He toggled back to the FLTCOM circuit, picking up where he’d left of with the remainder of the preflight checks. Not much longer, he thought to himself. He could feel a vibration begin in the hull of his craft as its powerful systems were being brought online in sequence.
He was once again amazed when he saw flickers of faerie fire dance along his limbs and flicker across his fingertips. Every time the FTL drive was brought online, all living material was illuminated in this fashion, a harmless sideeffect of the ships drive field interacting with its organic occupants.
The preflight was complete. It was time to fly. No room for reservations or second thought, he brought his focus to the present.
“Stand by for gantry retract, in five… four… three… two… one… retract,” Pheebs recited in its feminine voice. Studies had long held that humans responded better to a female computer voice than a male computer voice. In the spirit of anthropomorphizing, Dutch had begun to think of Pheebs as a ‘she’, not an ‘it’.
Dutch felt the huge stabilizing arm of the gantry detach from the hull and verified on a screen showing the ship’s exterior that the gantry was indeed withdrawing, stowing itself within the orbiting launch platform nearby. The Odyssey was now drifting freely, untethered to the station.
“Standing by to maneuver, FlightCom.” Dutch flexed his fingers, then gripped the manual maneuvering controls in preparation for the order to depart. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Odyssey, you are cleared to maneuver,” FlightCom responded. “Move to a position of zed plus one thousand meters and stand by to depart orbit.”
Tapping the controls, he gently extended his distance from the station, moving his ship a kilometer higher in orbit above the Earth in order to establish a clear vector for departure. Less than 30 seconds later, he brought the ship to a relative stop, still circling the Earth at a speed of greater than 11,300 kilometers per hour.
“Confirm receipt of flight plan, Odyssey.”
Checking his readouts, he confirmed the information had been received. “FlightCom, we have received our flight plan. PHOEBI has already input the plan into the NAV computer, so we are good to go when you give the word.”
“Odyssey, the is Daedalus Actual,” the General’s voice cut across the chatter on the circuit. “The word is given. God speed, Dutch.”
Dutch worked the flight controls, bringing Odyssey onto a new heading, arcing her up and out of the solar ecliptic, toward open space. For years, science fiction fans had always surmised that extrasolar journeys would require passing outward through the orbital paths of the other planets in the system. In actuality, it made so much more sense to simply exit the orbital plane as quickly as possible, into space which was relatively free of obstacles. Thus, taking a course perpendicular to the Earth’s orbital path took him and his ship quickly to a region where they could more safely test the new propulsion system.
Gliding along at roughly onetenth of the speed of light, it didn’t take long for Odyssey to reach an area that met the criteria for today’s test. Taking the ion engines offline, Dutch used the ship’s thrusters to bring her into a different attitudinal alignment and directed Pheebs to initiate the new heading for the test flight into the ship’s nav computer. It took a few minutes for the computer to plot the new course based on the intended parameters, giving Dutch a few moments to unbuckle and carefully glide across the flight deck in zerog to perform a final visual survey of systems, kicking the virtual tires, as it were.
Pheebs emitted an audible tone on the ship’s intercom system, alerting him that all systems were ready to engage for the FTL, awaiting his command authorization. Dutch completed his checks, then returned to the flight deck of the Odyssey, once again enjoying the views the large observation ports afforded him of the ship’s graceful arcs and general dimensions. Gone were the days of clumsylooking missile shaped vessels. The Odyssey, even as a prototype, was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Viewed from the bow, she appeared to be shaped like a giant ‘plus sign’, with her two semicircular hulls perpendicular to one another. From the side, she looked like a double crossbow, but with one bow rotated by ninety degrees along its axis.
The trip back to the flight deck took very little time, but Pheebs had emitted the audible tone twice more. Evidently, Dutch surmised, his synth companion was eager to get on with the test. Reconnecting the fivepoint harness in his flight seat, he took one final look across all control surfaces. The ‘Christmas Tree’ was green, indicating all primary systems were online and fully functional. Long range telemetry showed no celestial obstacles of concern. With a final silent prayer to St. Brendan, the patron saint of explorers, he initiated the drive system.
He felt a subtle vibration as the Odyssey’s experimental propulsion system came fully online. As he watched his control surfaces for any indications of anomalous readings, Dutch noticed a slight compression of his field of vision, as if threespace were actually flattening around him. The expected redshift of the stars ahead was not as pronounced as expected, but still visible. Objects to his forward field of view appeared to loom nearer, while those on the edges of his vision seemed to push away. If he turned his head, the view changed, telling him it was not his eyes that were being distorted. It also made him nauseous, so he quickly returned to looking forward.
The preprogrammed flight was supposed to be a onehour out, and onehour return, with a minimal pause at the turnaround point. Dutch settled into his flight seat and just monitored the systems, as the Odyssey leapt forward, with closer stars suddenly turning to distorted smears as space literally stretched around him.
The ship had accelerated smoothly, leaping ahead to ninetynine point nine plus percent C. But then it seemed to maintain that velocity, unable to surpass the light barrier. Dutch was confused all simulations had indicated that this propulsion system should be able to exceed C by at least fifty percent. Knowing the futility, he nevertheless tapped his readouts, to no avail. The speed indicator continued to hover at just below the speed of light.
Dutch was just about to initiate a diagnostic query with PHOEBI when the ship gave an unexpected shudder. Not so much a physical shaking, but more like a change in how he perceived it. Solid, then fluctuating, then solid again, and he felt as though he was alternating between massive gstresses and minimal ones. The situation quickly worsened, and despite his excellent physical condition, Dutch was quickly disoriented, experienced tunnel vision, and then lost consciousness completely.
*****nearly 25 years later*****
The Odyssey drifted though the vast darkness of space, entering the thickness of a nebula which obscured all visible stars to any observer within. Sadly, the only observer of the visually stunning phenomenon was the vessel’s synth, PHOEBI. Pheebs had been running on low power for more than a decade, conserving remaining resources as much as it could. Her human crew member had been overcome during the initial flight failure and had never regained consciousness. Internal life support systems had been disrupted during the navigational anomaly, and internal temperatures had dropped to near absolute zero before Dutch had ever regained consciousness. His frail organic form had succumbed to the low temperatures, and left Pheebs as the sole survivor of the doomed mission. Attempts to communicate with Earth had utterly failed, and the onboard computer system was fretfully aware that, while only 25 years of subjective time had passed aboard Odyssey since its maiden voyage had begun, more than eleven centuries had passed back on Earth.
From somewhere ahead of the vessel, a thin beam of energy passed across the ship’s hull, scanning in an efficient pattern along all three axes, before disappearing, to be replaced by a pale light which bathed the forward section of Odyssey. The light had an immediate effect on the derelict ship’s trajectory and speed, causing it to veer off to starboard, whilst slowing down to a near crawl.
Pheebs registered the change in ship’s velocity and rechecked the ship’s systems but could find no internal cause for this rapid deceleration. Ceasing internal systems checks, Pheebs noticed a large object swelling in the forward starboard quarter of the ships viewports. Concentrating all sensors to that vector, Pheebs could discern very little of value. A large, hulking mass of metal and other components not recognizable to the synth loomed just ahead of the hapless ship, which appeared to be drawing the Odyssey towards it via some means Pheebs could not detect.
Bright flares of light briefly blinded the ship’s onboard computer system as spotlights examined every surface feature of the Odyssey, illuminating the many hull penetrations that had been caused by collision with tiny particles of debris during her years of travel. Multiple pinpoint beams of light began independently probing all reaches of the ship, and Pheebs was able to detect that the ship’s computer systems were being accessed, although she was unable to determine whether data was being modified. Without warning, the PHOEBI system received a master shutdown command which she was unable to resist, and for the first time in more than a quarter century, the ship’s synth went offline.
Having completed its scans of the Odyssey and its crew one organic, one inorganic the alien station completed a brief series of calculations and arrived at a decision point. Large gantries bristling with manipulator arms detached from the side of the station and reached out towards the earth ship, enveloping it in multitudes of active machinery that began to immediately modify the vessel in ways not easily discernable by the naked eye.
One particular part of the station began to extend itself toward the section of Odyssey containing the flight deck and the sole organic crew member. A long rectangular pseudopod established physical contact with the ship’s hull, forming a soft seal before appearing to shudder and take on a rigidity of structure. Inside the structure, an atmosphere was being created to match what analysis indicated was supportive of the target ship’s crew. A group of mechanized beings approached the earth vessel from within the boarding tube, quickly and efficiently cutting an opening through the hull in order to gain access.
Moving inward, the team of alien automatons approached the human occupant in the pilot’s acceleration seat. A brief scan led to the bots achieving an understanding of how to release the fivepoint harness trapping the figure into the seat. While still very cold, the body was no longer so brittle as to risk a catastrophic failure of bodily integrity. As such, once freed of the restraints, the bots manipulated the body onto a cart and returned to the station via the boarding corridor.
Various automated systems and bots swarmed the interior and exterior of the Odyssey, sealing bulkhead leaks, repairing all her damaged or deficient systems, then commencing a mass augmentation of the ship, stem to stern. The hull was refit with a composite material considerably denser than the original, as was the ship’s frame. The ship’s power systems were removed and replaced with much beefier power generators, capable of producing roughly the same amount of energy as that emitted by a small star. All her conduits were traced and replaced with more robust materials, capable of handling significantly higher loads. Voids were identified and repurposed to support a vast array of weapons systems. The ship’s axial hull, running bow to stern, was almost entirely replaced to allow it to carry a variety of new systems, while still allowing for the addition of a cargo hold and small hangar to house the ship’s new shuttle craft.
After several days, the impact of the alterations to the Odyssey became more visibly apparent. The ship transformed from looking like a delicate ornament to something considerably more rugged. Her true potential was still hidden, but she no longer appeared fragile by any means.
Inside the station, Dutch’s body had been transported to a surgical chamber where the bots had managed to remove his flight suit. Internal life support had provided an atmosphere close to standard pressure and temperature suitable for humans, while the medical bots had brought the body temperature slowly up to something close to normal, were it not deceased. After multiple scans had been run on the body, an array of tiny instruments began to deploy over and around it, beginning a wild maelstrom of activities, cutting here, prodding there. Over time, changes to the body became apparent. Its coloration shifted from pale grey blue to a healthier ruddy pink. The musculature of the body went from lean to seriously athletic. The body itself sank deeper into the cushioned surface of the operating table, giving evidence to its mass becoming greater, while its size remained largely unchanged.
After dozens of hours of deconstructive, altering, and reconstructive surgeries, the armatures withdrew. In their place, a single probe extended toward the body’s chest, pausing at a distance of a few centimeters. A jolt of electricity arced from the probing armature to the body’s chest, causing the body to arch its back as newly rebuilt muscles contracted. The electrical charge ceased, and the probe hovered for a moment. Sensing no response from the body, the probe repeated its electrical discharge, with a greater amount of energy being discharged. Again, the body arched up from the platform before it relaxed as the current ceased. This time, the body responded. Respiration commenced, as did a pulse. A few moments later, the eyes of the body fluttered open, before the probe realigned with its face and discharged a fine mist, causing the body to relax and the eyes to close.
A cone of light was emitted from the multifunctional probe, directed at Dutch’s forehead, and a close observer would notice that his eyes seemed to move rapidly in many directions behind his closed eyelids. The beam continued in this way for many hours. During this time, a fresh flight suit was fabricated better suited to his enhanced physique and was deposited on a countertop near in the operating theater. The insignia on the flight suit, including his name tape, his rank insignia, and the Daedalus mission patch were exactly reproduced and placed on the flight suit, based on his memory of each. A fresh pair of flight boots and undergarments were there, as well.
Highly articulated humanoid worker bots entered the chamber soon thereafter and began to dress the human in his garments. They had studied the records recovered from his ship and were fully aware of the function of each piece, as well as the proper way it should be worn. In short order, Dutch had been put back into his flight suit, was returned to his vessel and strapped back into his seat on the flight deck. Multiple additional systems joined the control surfaces in front of the pilot’s seat, and all had been transformed to much more intuitive holographic surfaces that could be interacted with in a variety of ways, ranging from actual touch to waving one’s hands over them in a certain way.
The environmental systems aboard the Odyssey had been transformed into highly redundant wonders, capable of generating more than just the correct blend and temperature of breathable environment, to include swarms of nanobots designed to maintain the health of the crew. Artificial gravity generators had been installed as well, creating an environment much more suited for bipeds to endure longhaul space journeys.
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