Lebenstrum took his time walking over to the northern pier. In his experience, even the fastest and most violent storms would take a while from this distance, so there was plenty of time. If Kuppr said three to four hours, Lebenstrum would bet on two to three. His brother was excellent at determining the severity of an incoming storm, but he had a tendency to give a bad estimation on how long it would take until it got bad.
Nobody wanted to be stowing rigging in the wind and rain, even if it wasn't particularly heavy.
Still, two to three hours was enough time for a single well trained crew to stow around ten ships. Given the fact that most of the crews were still living on the ships, housing had only been put up for the construction and clearing crews, there was plenty of time.
"Hmmm, I don't like those sails."
These ships were not pirate ships, so it reasoned that there would be some differences. In the vast majority of cases these differences took the form of boarding hooks or additional reinforcement along the sides of the hull, however the ships in their little raiding group looked very different from most others. The most obvious change was the sails.
In the vast emptiness of space, the void as most sailors called it, it was incredibly difficult to keep an eye on all of your surroundings all the time, especially against a primarily black background. Even at a distance it could be difficult to determine if what you were looking at was a ship or just another rock. The method through which ships were identified from a distance was the sails.
Sailing in space was nothing like what one imagines the Terran Age of Sail to be. There is no horizon, and it follows that there is no 'maximum sight range'. So long as the light could somehow reach a sailor's eyes, a ship could be 'seen'. Given these distances, the dark background, and the sometimes dim lighting, the relatively small flags flown atop the mast that identified a vessel's nationality were simply inadequate for what they needed to be.
The sails did not suffer from such a shortcoming.
Indeed the sails were the largest and most notable objects on a ship, massive sheets of canvas billowing in the solar winds, canvas that could be painted with bright colors and patterns. Sails, the primary indication of nationality, bore the insignia and colors proudly in the light of the nearest star.
"Somehow its both too flashy and too dull. . . I suppose that fits the politics of home, but I really wish they would add some other colors to the mix."
The 'Bannus', the colors of command, for the Holifanian Theocracy was a green compendium detailed in a darker green and a red sword detailed in maroon on a yellow background. In comparison to many other insignias painted on sails they were incredibly detailed, on some of the larger sails you might even be able to make out individual pages, however it was incredibly uninspired. There was no patterned background, and the sword and compendium didn't even overlap.
This was in stark contrast to his fleet's sails, which were black with red specks scattered about. It was camouflage, meant to conceal rather than identify, and it was their secret weapon. It was certainly dishonorable, no self-respecting leader would mount raids with unidentifiable ships, however the Jakobis cared little for honor. They were pirates, privateers technically, and the only reason they would ever identify themselves was to dock somewhere.
Of course a black sail was never enough to completely avoid detection, get close enough and it becomes obvious what you are, however your approach and trajectory can make it so that you can more effectively surprise your prey. The void was a three-dimensional playground, even if the Stellar Plane meant that it was faster to move around along two axes.
"Good morning!" Lebenstrum greeted the pier guards with a wave and a shout. "How's the weather?"
"Pretty good."
"I want clouds."
Lebenstrum smiled a little. "Unfortunately it seems like you might be getting your wish. Kuppr is predicting a thunderstorm or typhoon in the next two to four hours, so we need to stow the sails."
"A storm? On a day like this?"
The other guard stopped his partner before he became confrontational. "If it's Kuppr, you can trust it. His nose doesn't lie. Come on through Captain."
"I prefer sire. . ."
"Just go."
- - - - -
"Morning gentlemen."
"What brings you here Captain Pongratz?" The middle pier was far more active than the other two, this one being large enough to facilitate the rapid unloading of cargo. "Official business, or are you going to challenge somebody to a fight?"
"As much as I'd like to spar with your champions, we've got more pressing matters. Kuppr says there's a storm coming, a big one, so we need to start stowing."
The guard sighed and slammed the base of his lance on the planks. "Another one?"
"What do you mean by another one?"
"Another storm. I chose this station because it looked like the least problematic, but this is the third storm since I've been here."
Pongratz could understand his irritation. He also had to deal with storms, shit-storms, spawned by his idiot brothers' actions. He wished the frequency of such storms was lower as well. "Just wait it out. For all you know it might just be a seasonal thing."
"Yeah, here's hoping. Either way, we are still going to need those sails down." The guard waved Pongratz on. "How about your own fleet?"
"Us? We don't rig sails until we leave. We are pirates, so it's a force of habit at this point." Pongratz started to move towards the vessels tied up side by side. "We don't want to make it obvious where we are if there is somebody looking for us."
- - - - -
"Storm's a comin!"
". . . sorry?" The informality and nonchalance with which Kuppr approached the pier guard left him stunned for a moment. Even lax interaction had a modicum of formality, but he didn't even say hello.
"A big storm is gonna hit in three to four hours." The guard didn't even bother to stop him on his way. This Jakobi in particular was a nightmare to deal with one on one, but he wouldn't cause trouble. Pranks, usually harmless, would be the worst of it. "We need to stow rigs."
"Just go."
- - - - -
As predicted, the rain soon began to pour on this yet unnamed colony. Seppard, who had resigned himself to the chair for the day in order to sift through reports and get a grip on the situation, was utterly confounded for the first few seconds of rainfall on his roof. At this point in time he had spent a significant portion of his life on the Great Csillacra, in an environment without a sky, much less weather.
"That's going to be problematic."
These were the early stages of this brand new Terran colony, and setting up infrastructure was their top priority. They weren't doing anything too big, focusing on incredibly basic structures that were necessary for continuous operation like housing, roads, and basic utilities, but it was becoming apparent that the Holifanian economic planners were not quite as prepared for the task as they had initially believed.
The transport of materials, particularly denser stuff like cement, was incredibly difficult to do with the ships on hand. If you put too much on them they couldn't get airborne, much less spaceborne, but those were what they needed in bulk to construct 'stuff'. What that stuff was didn't matter. If it needed a foundation, it needed cement.
This rain was a problem though, particularly for those foundations. Sure, you might be able to pour it in the rain, but the soil here was thick, fertile soil, many centuries old. The bedrock was very deep below the surface, relatively speaking, which left a lot of room for the soil to shift and deform. These concrete structures, heavy with rigid edges, needed to be dug fairly deep. The holes that were dug would pool with water, messing with the concrete and eroding the supporting soil near the edges.
Already a few of the buildings they had built early on were starting to tilt.
". . . ten years of covert operations training, ten years of monitoring foreign powers in the Sanctum, and yet here I am managing a colony. . ." Seppard ignored the thunder. Once he remembered that weather was a thing, something as minor as a lightning wouldn't faze him. "How do they expect me of all people to speed this up? I'm a spy, an intelligence officer, not an engineer!"
He knew why they would entrust him with this task, and it had little to do with his aptitude for construction. A particularly large reason he was in charge was because he was a spy. This was, despite its scale, a covert operation. It needed to be kept a secret for as long as possible. Seppard, the one in charge, was responsible for making the decisions not because he could run the operation more efficiently but because he could run it 'silently'. He would know how to deal with any incidental observers of their project and he had the status, information, and time at his disposal to properly interact with foreign powers who got a bit curious.
The only other people who fit the bill for this position were Montaug, the bishops, and the Grand Commander. Montaug and the bishops could not leave their station, and Trebar had yet to graduate, meaning that he was the only person who could be trusted with overseeing the colony's development.
It helped that he was the only person who had ever shown a modicum of success in dealing with the Jakobi brothers. That success was entirely predicated on their respect towards him, someone they viewed as their mentor and direct superior. They were still uncontrollable trouble makers and irredeemable idiots who ruined even simple plans at every step imaginable, but Seppard had the distinct honor of being able to make them tone it down while in port.
So long as he was here, Lebenstrum was unlikely to womanize, Kuppr was unlikely to break something important, and Pongratz was unlikely to challenge someone to a duel. They would still cause problems, they would just be more manageable problems, like a brawl in a bar.
"Speaking of, when is that getting set up?"
Seppard was not particularly fond of alcohol. He could enjoy it on occasion, but he preferred to be in complete control of himself given what he knew. If it was for a job he would accept without hesitation, but downing beers one after another in a bar was not something he could ever see himself doing. That said, drinking was a particularly effective way o maintain the morale of 'everybody else'. Sailors would like a place to waste time while they waited for the next flight, and the ground teams would like to relax and mingle in the company of others on their nights off.
". . . hmm, I might have to bump that up in the schedule at this rate."
The initial construction time table had a proper bar being set up in about two weeks, however construction slowdowns from the rain and mud had pushed that back to a month. Stress and dissatisfaction was liable to increase the longer his men went without that amenity.
"I'll move that up in the queue so that it lands at the same time . . . but that might make some issues for housing."
The men would probably work on the double to get that bar set up, but a four day delay meant that some people were going to have to be sleeping in tents for four days longer. Hopefully that would be an issue.
knock knock
"Enter." He might have mistaken that for a branch knocking on the wall were it not for the fact the area had been cleared of foliage.
"My apologies sir." A woman, around the same age as he was, walked through the door. Despite the excitement and happiness apparent on her face, she remained calm and collected.
"Kimbal, darling, you don't have to call me that in private!" Seppard shot up from his desk to go and greet her
"I didn't know you were alone dear."
"Don't mind that now, come here!" He wrapped his arms around his wife, who's shoulders were still a little wet from the rain. "How are the kids?"
Kimbal took a deep breath. "They are doing well. All three of them were a little bit upset that they couldn't come with me, but they'll be able to migrate soon won't they?"
"Two months, general immigration opens in two months." Seppard was very excited to see his children after so long. "They can come here with my mother and your parents. Does your brother still want to come?"
Kimbal nodded.
"Great!" He planted a kiss on her lips. "I'll get him and his family set up too." Releasing her from his hug, he took a step back to look at her. She was by no means the prettiest, but she was happy to put up with his extended bouts of service, something which made her the prettiest woman in the world to him.
One week every two years, that was all the time he could spend with his family. After his biannual debrief to the bishops about the galactic political situation, he was granted a week of rest. He had one week to catch up of two years of his children's growth. Despite the fact that this should have been a happy meeting, Kimbal still seemed to be upset by something.
". . . is everything going to be okay?"
"What do you mean?" For an intelligence officer, such a vague question was not enough for him to give an answer.
"Back home it's . . . it's chaos." She was frowning, worried about the children she had been forced to leave behind. "Every day there are people marching in the street! It's only a matter of time before it escalates into violence." She sighed, a tear forming in the corner of her eye. "Are we going to be okay?"
Seppard collected his wife in a hug once more. He knew what she was worried about more than anything else, and he knew that both the Bishops and the Montaug were doing everything in their power to look for an outlet for this agitation.
"We'll be fine. Even if the Terrans decide to go to war, I have assurances that our children won't be pulled by lottery." He began to pat her back as she cried. "Even if they are to enlist, I don't think that they will die that easily. They use more advanced weaponry than the state protection force. Montaug has given testimony that any proper warship they construct would be invincible to everything else, even to guns."
Seppard moved his hand to Kimbal's head, stroking her hair slowly as he looked out the window. The storm outside might be rough, impeding progress and damaging what they had built, but it had nothing on the storm brewing elsewhere. It promised to shake the galaxy, but he had no idea which way to set his sails.
cakeonfrosting Sorry for the delay on the chapter, school and whatnot. I also wanted to think about how this chapter played out in exceptional detail. Additionally, I have drawn up a diagram of what I envision an 'Age of Sail' ship to look like in this universe, so I will try to have that in the glossary on the double. I really had to think about how this worked, because it isn't like sailing on the sea. Well, its kind of like that, it just doesn't look like sailing on the sea.
Additionally, I have been putting some thought into maybe getting this published at some point in time. I would never take this down of course, it would most likely be some sort of self publishing deal through Amazon or Barnes and Noble, but I think it might be fun to have an actual book with illustrations and diagrams to sell. My sister has been pestering me about the whole 'I want it on my bookshelf' deal.
Here's the #expert drawing on my fridge whiteboard
Lebenstrum took his time walking over to the northern pier. In his experience, even the fastest and most violent storms would take a while from this distance, so there was plenty of time. If Kuppr said three to four hours, Lebenstrum would bet on two to three. His brother was excellent at determining the severity of an incoming storm, but he had a tendency to give a bad estimation on how long it would take until it got bad.
Nobody wanted to be stowing rigging in the wind and rain, even if it wasn't particularly heavy.
Still, two to three hours was enough time for a single well trained crew to stow around ten ships. Given the fact that most of the crews were still living on the ships, housing had only been put up for the construction and clearing crews, there was plenty of time.
"Hmmm, I don't like those sails."
These ships were not pirate ships, so it reasoned that there would be some differences. In the vast majority of cases these differences took the form of boarding hooks or additional reinforcement along the sides of the hull, however the ships in their little raiding group looked very different from most others. The most obvious change was the sails.
In the vast emptiness of space, the void as most sailors called it, it was incredibly difficult to keep an eye on all of your surroundings all the time, especially against a primarily black background. Even at a distance it could be difficult to determine if what you were looking at was a ship or just another rock. The method through which ships were identified from a distance was the sails.
Sailing in space was nothing like what one imagines the Terran Age of Sail to be. There is no horizon, and it follows that there is no 'maximum sight range'. So long as the light could somehow reach a sailor's eyes, a ship could be 'seen'. Given these distances, the dark background, and the sometimes dim lighting, the relatively small flags flown atop the mast that identified a vessel's nationality were simply inadequate for what they needed to be.
The sails did not suffer from such a shortcoming.
Indeed the sails were the largest and most notable objects on a ship, massive sheets of canvas billowing in the solar winds, canvas that could be painted with bright colors and patterns. Sails, the primary indication of nationality, bore the insignia and colors proudly in the light of the nearest star.
"Somehow its both too flashy and too dull. . . I suppose that fits the politics of home, but I really wish they would add some other colors to the mix."
The 'Bannus', the colors of command, for the Holifanian Theocracy was a green compendium detailed in a darker green and a red sword detailed in maroon on a yellow background. In comparison to many other insignias painted on sails they were incredibly detailed, on some of the larger sails you might even be able to make out individual pages, however it was incredibly uninspired. There was no patterned background, and the sword and compendium didn't even overlap.
This was in stark contrast to his fleet's sails, which were black with red specks scattered about. It was camouflage, meant to conceal rather than identify, and it was their secret weapon. It was certainly dishonorable, no self-respecting leader would mount raids with unidentifiable ships, however the Jakobis cared little for honor. They were pirates, privateers technically, and the only reason they would ever identify themselves was to dock somewhere.
Of course a black sail was never enough to completely avoid detection, get close enough and it becomes obvious what you are, however your approach and trajectory can make it so that you can more effectively surprise your prey. The void was a three-dimensional playground, even if the Stellar Plane meant that it was faster to move around along two axes.
"Good morning!" Lebenstrum greeted the pier guards with a wave and a shout. "How's the weather?"
"Pretty good."
"I want clouds."
Lebenstrum smiled a little. "Unfortunately it seems like you might be getting your wish. Kuppr is predicting a thunderstorm or typhoon in the next two to four hours, so we need to stow the sails."
"A storm? On a day like this?"
The other guard stopped his partner before he became confrontational. "If it's Kuppr, you can trust it. His nose doesn't lie. Come on through Captain."
"I prefer sire. . ."
"Just go."
- - - - -
"Morning gentlemen."
"What brings you here Captain Pongratz?" The middle pier was far more active than the other two, this one being large enough to facilitate the rapid unloading of cargo. "Official business, or are you going to challenge somebody to a fight?"
"As much as I'd like to spar with your champions, we've got more pressing matters. Kuppr says there's a storm coming, a big one, so we need to start stowing."
The guard sighed and slammed the base of his lance on the planks. "Another one?"
"What do you mean by another one?"
"Another storm. I chose this station because it looked like the least problematic, but this is the third storm since I've been here."
Pongratz could understand his irritation. He also had to deal with storms, shit-storms, spawned by his idiot brothers' actions. He wished the frequency of such storms was lower as well. "Just wait it out. For all you know it might just be a seasonal thing."
"Yeah, here's hoping. Either way, we are still going to need those sails down." The guard waved Pongratz on. "How about your own fleet?"
"Us? We don't rig sails until we leave. We are pirates, so it's a force of habit at this point." Pongratz started to move towards the vessels tied up side by side. "We don't want to make it obvious where we are if there is somebody looking for us."
- - - - -
"Storm's a comin!"
". . . sorry?" The informality and nonchalance with which Kuppr approached the pier guard left him stunned for a moment. Even lax interaction had a modicum of formality, but he didn't even say hello.
"A big storm is gonna hit in three to four hours." The guard didn't even bother to stop him on his way. This Jakobi in particular was a nightmare to deal with one on one, but he wouldn't cause trouble. Pranks, usually harmless, would be the worst of it. "We need to stow rigs."
"Just go."
- - - - -
As predicted, the rain soon began to pour on this yet unnamed colony. Seppard, who had resigned himself to the chair for the day in order to sift through reports and get a grip on the situation, was utterly confounded for the first few seconds of rainfall on his roof. At this point in time he had spent a significant portion of his life on the Great Csillacra, in an environment without a sky, much less weather.
"That's going to be problematic."
These were the early stages of this brand new Terran colony, and setting up infrastructure was their top priority. They weren't doing anything too big, focusing on incredibly basic structures that were necessary for continuous operation like housing, roads, and basic utilities, but it was becoming apparent that the Holifanian economic planners were not quite as prepared for the task as they had initially believed.
The transport of materials, particularly denser stuff like cement, was incredibly difficult to do with the ships on hand. If you put too much on them they couldn't get airborne, much less spaceborne, but those were what they needed in bulk to construct 'stuff'. What that stuff was didn't matter. If it needed a foundation, it needed cement.
This rain was a problem though, particularly for those foundations. Sure, you might be able to pour it in the rain, but the soil here was thick, fertile soil, many centuries old. The bedrock was very deep below the surface, relatively speaking, which left a lot of room for the soil to shift and deform. These concrete structures, heavy with rigid edges, needed to be dug fairly deep. The holes that were dug would pool with water, messing with the concrete and eroding the supporting soil near the edges.
Already a few of the buildings they had built early on were starting to tilt.
". . . ten years of covert operations training, ten years of monitoring foreign powers in the Sanctum, and yet here I am managing a colony. . ." Seppard ignored the thunder. Once he remembered that weather was a thing, something as minor as a lightning wouldn't faze him. "How do they expect me of all people to speed this up? I'm a spy, an intelligence officer, not an engineer!"
He knew why they would entrust him with this task, and it had little to do with his aptitude for construction. A particularly large reason he was in charge was because he was a spy. This was, despite its scale, a covert operation. It needed to be kept a secret for as long as possible. Seppard, the one in charge, was responsible for making the decisions not because he could run the operation more efficiently but because he could run it 'silently'. He would know how to deal with any incidental observers of their project and he had the status, information, and time at his disposal to properly interact with foreign powers who got a bit curious.
The only other people who fit the bill for this position were Montaug, the bishops, and the Grand Commander. Montaug and the bishops could not leave their station, and Trebar had yet to graduate, meaning that he was the only person who could be trusted with overseeing the colony's development.
It helped that he was the only person who had ever shown a modicum of success in dealing with the Jakobi brothers. That success was entirely predicated on their respect towards him, someone they viewed as their mentor and direct superior. They were still uncontrollable trouble makers and irredeemable idiots who ruined even simple plans at every step imaginable, but Seppard had the distinct honor of being able to make them tone it down while in port.
So long as he was here, Lebenstrum was unlikely to womanize, Kuppr was unlikely to break something important, and Pongratz was unlikely to challenge someone to a duel. They would still cause problems, they would just be more manageable problems, like a brawl in a bar.
"Speaking of, when is that getting set up?"
Seppard was not particularly fond of alcohol. He could enjoy it on occasion, but he preferred to be in complete control of himself given what he knew. If it was for a job he would accept without hesitation, but downing beers one after another in a bar was not something he could ever see himself doing. That said, drinking was a particularly effective way o maintain the morale of 'everybody else'. Sailors would like a place to waste time while they waited for the next flight, and the ground teams would like to relax and mingle in the company of others on their nights off.
". . . hmm, I might have to bump that up in the schedule at this rate."
The initial construction time table had a proper bar being set up in about two weeks, however construction slowdowns from the rain and mud had pushed that back to a month. Stress and dissatisfaction was liable to increase the longer his men went without that amenity.
"I'll move that up in the queue so that it lands at the same time . . . but that might make some issues for housing."
The men would probably work on the double to get that bar set up, but a four day delay meant that some people were going to have to be sleeping in tents for four days longer. Hopefully that would be an issue.
knock knock
"Enter." He might have mistaken that for a branch knocking on the wall were it not for the fact the area had been cleared of foliage.
"My apologies sir." A woman, around the same age as he was, walked through the door. Despite the excitement and happiness apparent on her face, she remained calm and collected.
"Kimbal, darling, you don't have to call me that in private!" Seppard shot up from his desk to go and greet her
"I didn't know you were alone dear."
"Don't mind that now, come here!" He wrapped his arms around his wife, who's shoulders were still a little wet from the rain. "How are the kids?"
Kimbal took a deep breath. "They are doing well. All three of them were a little bit upset that they couldn't come with me, but they'll be able to migrate soon won't they?"
"Two months, general immigration opens in two months." Seppard was very excited to see his children after so long. "They can come here with my mother and your parents. Does your brother still want to come?"
Kimbal nodded.
"Great!" He planted a kiss on her lips. "I'll get him and his family set up too." Releasing her from his hug, he took a step back to look at her. She was by no means the prettiest, but she was happy to put up with his extended bouts of service, something which made her the prettiest woman in the world to him.
One week every two years, that was all the time he could spend with his family. After his biannual debrief to the bishops about the galactic political situation, he was granted a week of rest. He had one week to catch up of two years of his children's growth. Despite the fact that this should have been a happy meeting, Kimbal still seemed to be upset by something.
". . . is everything going to be okay?"
"What do you mean?" For an intelligence officer, such a vague question was not enough for him to give an answer.
"Back home it's . . . it's chaos." She was frowning, worried about the children she had been forced to leave behind. "Every day there are people marching in the street! It's only a matter of time before it escalates into violence." She sighed, a tear forming in the corner of her eye. "Are we going to be okay?"
Seppard collected his wife in a hug once more. He knew what she was worried about more than anything else, and he knew that both the Bishops and the Montaug were doing everything in their power to look for an outlet for this agitation.
"We'll be fine. Even if the Terrans decide to go to war, I have assurances that our children won't be pulled by lottery." He began to pat her back as she cried. "Even if they are to enlist, I don't think that they will die that easily. They use more advanced weaponry than the state protection force. Montaug has given testimony that any proper warship they construct would be invincible to everything else, even to guns."
Seppard moved his hand to Kimbal's head, stroking her hair slowly as he looked out the window. The storm outside might be rough, impeding progress and damaging what they had built, but it had nothing on the storm brewing elsewhere. It promised to shake the galaxy, but he had no idea which way to set his sails.
cakeonfrosting Sorry for the delay on the chapter, school and whatnot. I also wanted to think about how this chapter played out in exceptional detail. Additionally, I have drawn up a diagram of what I envision an 'Age of Sail' ship to look like in this universe, so I will try to have that in the glossary on the double. I really had to think about how this worked, because it isn't like sailing on the sea. Well, its kind of like that, it just doesn't look like sailing on the sea.
Additionally, I have been putting some thought into maybe getting this published at some point in time. I would never take this down of course, it would most likely be some sort of self publishing deal through Amazon or Barnes and Noble, but I think it might be fun to have an actual book with illustrations and diagrams to sell. My sister has been pestering me about the whole 'I want it on my bookshelf' deal.
Here's the #expert drawing on my fridge whiteboard
