Editor's Loudspeaker: New Rheims

2946-06-21 - Editor's Loudspeaker: New Rheims Ecological Collapse

This Editor's Loudspeaker post was written with the consultation of the rest of the Cosmic Backgrounds staff. Opinions contained within it are a consensus reached by the employees of Cosmic Background, not the sole opinion of the specific writer, Duncan Chaudhri.

It's time to clear the air about New Rheims. Because Cosmic Background - on the vidcast and on this feed - has avoided reporting directly on events there, we've been inundated with messages asking why we haven't, and by others promising an inside account of what happened there.

To be clear, Cosmic Background is not a news operation. If you want a news feed, there are thousands of them out there to choose from. We are an entertainment program for the interstellar community - a variety show for spacers, about spacers' interests. It is not our intent to find out "what really happened" in any current event. We will offer perspectives on current events that our audience might find interesting, but we leave the journalism up to the journalists.

We don't have any answers as to what happened, but we know who almost certainly does. We are worried that the Navy had something to do with the New Rheims disaster. That is, to be sure, a sensational claim, and we're going to take heat from Naval Intelligence for submitting it to our text feed - but we have reasons for this conclusion.

While this is not the proper medium for a full breakdown of all the reasons we suspect this, we can point out a few key observations which led Ashton, Sovanna, myself, and the others to this conclusion.

Peculiar Timing

Most of us here in the Core Worlds learned about the disaster on New Rheims on 06-10, when the story went from being a datasphere rumor to being picked up by some of the largest newsfeeds out there all at once. Oddly enough, there was no official announcement at first. The Navy, which had ships already on the scene evacuating the planet's residents less than six shifts after the disaster had begun, didn't formally announce the crisis until the twelfth, when private relief organizations had already begun to mobilize. This delay is odd, as in the navy's own published version of events, it had ships - an entire patrol group no less - on scene by no later than the last shift of the 06-09.

Moreover, six shifts is too soon for a response from a nearby system. To have been on-scene within that time, the responding vessels would have to have already been deep in the system. I can find no good reason for a patrol group deployed to the Hegemony border to have been in the vicinity of New Rheims.

Censorship of Images

Until the announcement, all we knew was that the world of New Rheims in Riviera des Soleils was suffering an ongoing natural disaster of some type which was quickly rendering it uninhabitable. Hard data beyond that was difficult to find. For a while, orbital images of gigantic, dusty-brown storms growing and multiplying on the planet's surface were available, but by the time of the Navy representative's official announcement, they had all been removed from the datasphere here in Centauri. As of this writing, I am still unable to find these images on any public datasphere resource. The Navy's announcement did not feature any pictures except those of the refugees, possessions in hand, being herded onto shuttles and settled into spartan accommodations hastily prepared aboard the Arrowhawk, the light cruiser which was, as per the Navy's account, on scene within six shifts. No other visual evidence of the disaster has been available since.

I didn't think anything of the images at the time, but evidently someone in the Navy or the government thought they were harmful enough to send takedown notices. The only kind of takedown notice that would be so universally honored is, of course, the sort issued by Naval Intelligence.

Lack of Military Response

The Navy hasn't mobilized any warships, beyond those already on the scene. No battle groups have been diverted to Riviera des Soleils. The only ships ordered into the region have been military haulers. I can find no evidence of these convoys being escorted more heavily than usual. The Navy claims it hasn't ruled out any possibilities, but the lack of movement from its combat squadrons, and the unescorted nature of its relief effort, suggests that they've ruled out enemy action. As of this writing, the Navy's official story still asserts that the investigation is ongoing and has not yet ruled out any cause of the sudden ecological collapse of New Rheims.

There needs to be a full investigation of New Rheims. I personally hope we, and the other personalities I've seen who have noticed that the Navy appears to have had a hand in the disaster, are wrong - but we'll only know for sure if there's an open inquiry. The Navy, for its own sake, needs to open its records about the matter, whether or not military personnel are culpable.

Cosmic Backgrounds supports the military forces of the Confederated Worlds, but this support does not extend to concealing misconduct. We call the Navy's reputation for honorable conduct into question only reluctantly, and we hope that the Admiralty lives up to the reputation built by generations of heroic officers in this matter.

Details

Tales from the Inbox: Iridescent Intercession

 2946-06-21 - Tales from the Inbox: Iridescent Intercession

This Tales from the Inbox entry is the third part of a story sent to us by an anonymous audience member who is referred to herein as Faye. Read the first part of Faye's story in Tales From the Inbox: Smugglers in Second Class. The third part of her story, Tales from the Inbox: Azure Amber, will be available on the 23rd.

This marks the last part of the story which was sent to me; I'm sure I'm not the only one who's curious what happens next. If Faye wishes to share what happened once she reached Maribel with her daughter - as I suspect she did, otherwise it would be unlikely for the story to reach my desk - I'll make sure to prioritize any further updates to her story. It's also possible this story was made up out of whole cloth, but I suspect personally that it is at least based on a true story, which has been embellished.

“Now now, Miss.” The man grinned unkindly as the door shut behind him. “We can’t have that, can we?” 

Faye struggled against his grip, but it was no use. She tried to bite his hand, but he knew enough about restraining people to keep her jaw clamped firmly shut. Her captor had obviously led a hard life – a garish scar which most people would have paid to have removed cut across his left cheek, and the collar of his shabby coat didn't quite conceal a set of crude tattoos on his neck. 

The man effortlessly shoved her back until she toppled over onto her daughter's unmade bunk, at which point he released his grip on her mouth. As soon as she was released, Faye screamed for help, but with the door shut, the cabin soundproofing would muffle the sound, even if – and this wasn’t likely – the adjacent cabins were still occupied in the late shipboard morning. 

Faye’s captor winced at the noise, waiting until she had run out of breath. "Are you through?" While there wasn't a gun in his hand, Faye guessed from the bulge inside his otherwise slim-cut jacket that he had managed to sneak some sort of weapon through the screening systems the passengers had gone through. 

"Let me go." Even as the words left Faye’s mouth, they sounded hollow and weak.  

"Nothing personal, Miss." He shrugged. "You got curious, and you know too much. I’ve got too much riding on this run to-"  

"Ya got it under control up there, Gus?" The man buried deep in the ductwork called up, not bothering to use the radio. He could, Faye realized, hear everything that went on in Junia's cabin, just as she could hear him. He’d heard her banging around with the bunk and had kept talking all the same – probably at the urging of his partner. 

"It's handled, Blake." Faye's captor called back. It galled her how little the two appeared to care for stealth; evidently they believed more in the sound-baffling system of the second-class cabins more than she did herself. "There won't be witnesses."  

"So that's how it is." Faye replied hollowly. "My life to protect a load of narcotics."  

"Narcotics? Hells, woman, wouldn’t that be easier." Faye watched him carefully – if he stepped out of the way and gave her a clear path to the door, she thought she might be able to make it to the hall, where there were security cameras. Even if he still shot her down there, the attention it drew would be the end of the smuggling operation. "Look, Miss. I need you to understand something before I kill you. We don't do-"  

"Gus, ye're explainin', not shootin'." The voice from the vents interrupted.  

"As if it matters." Gus shot back. "Besides, can't shoot her. Gotta make it look like the girl did it."  

"Wait. No, ye're not supposed to – whoah!" Blake exclaimed. Faye didn't think the second man was talking to Gus, and by his expression, Gus didn't either.  

"What's going on down there?" Gus called.  

"You're gettin' company whether ya like it or not." Came the shaky reply.  

Faye winced. Company meant Gus would have to act quickly. The conversation was over. Dying was bad enough – but these criminals planned to pin the crime on Junia. She was torn between begging for any alternative and leaping at her captor to do her best to claw his eyes out. The two instincts cancelled each other out, warring for dominance over the last few moments of her life.  

When something brushed past her leg, Faye almost didn't bother to look down, but she noticed Gus looking at her feet, so she glanced that way herself, and recoiled in alarm. "What is that!?" She pulled her feet up onto the bed.  Some sort of blue serpent slid silently across the floor from underneath the bunk, threading its way around the assorted items Junia had carelessly discarded there. It had no head, and its flesh was translucent, like the cheap resin souvenirs the ship’s fabricators would churn out for a fee. 

At first, Faye thought the serpent was intent on Gus, and her fear was replaced by hope which was just as quickly dashed as the creature's featureless head raised up vertically into the air roughly halfway between Faye and her captor. Oddly, the rest of the sinuous body continued to crawl, and Faye realized that it wasn't a serpent – it was a gelatinous semi-liquid, more substance than creature. 

The upraised head became a sort of trunk, which rose a meter and a half before cascading back down in a waterfall-like structure. Two limbs, thin and elegant, separated from the sides of the shape, and it took on a particular set of curves. Faye blinked in surprise – even as the bluish fluid tail still wound across the floor and under the bunk below her, the bulk of the creature had taken the shape of a human woman facing Gus. Even before the figure had fully formed, it – she – held up one hand in a clear "stop" gesture to the rough-looking man.  

"What am I supposed to do?” Gus scowled and gestured vaguely at Faye. “If she raises the alarm, all three of us are dead."  

Faye opened her mouth to reply, but she realized he was talking to the creature which had interposed itself between him and his prisoner. ""What's going on?" 

The moving sculpture in blue glass turned its head, and Faye saw two dark, gemstone eyes looking at her out of a hauntingly beautiful face which was, despite being perfectly human in shape, translucent and uncannily still.  

"Who are you?" Faye found her voice faltering under the gaze of that serene face, a likeness of a human assumed by something unnervingly alien. 

"As I was trying to say." Gus rallied. "We don't do narcotics. Well... Not anymore."  

Without moving its assumed shape, the uncanny creature glided across the floor and stood in front of Faye, one hand outstretched. Faye could see through it, but she could also see that the hand was perfectly formed, down to tiny ridges of fingerprints on the fingertips. It didn't say a word, but Faye knew somehow that this strange being was offering her a chance – but a chance to do what?  

"There's no way she can be trusted." Gus cautioned. He was certainly speaking to the liquid statue rather than to Faye, but the word of caution likely worked just as well if it were meant for Faye about this creature. Still, she had little choice. She reached up to take the offered hand. 

The alien's palm was cool, but firm – it felt almost like a real hand, but not quite. A subtle tug from the creature encouraged her to stand, and she did. 

"You're..." Faye tried to come up with a good description for what she was seeing. "Like nothing I've ever seen. They're helping you, aren't they?" 

There was no nod of agreement, but Faye suspected she had guessed correctly, as neither it nor Gus attempted to contradict her. 

"I'll keep your secret, on one condition." Faye agreed to the request that popped into her head, before she bothered to wonder how it had gotten there. "Let Junia meet you. I can't keep this secret from her." 

"The woman's bad enough..." Gus grumbled. "But the teenager too? She'll never keep quiet." 

Faye shook her head. "She will keep quiet." She insisted, returning her attention to the unmoving yet kindly face carved of blue glass. You can..." She didn't know how to voice the question, so she tapped her finger against her temple. Once again, that sourceless sense of confirmation crept into her thoughts. "You already knew I would agree." Faye was too amazed to be terrified. 

Gus sighed. "Blake, we've got a change of plans." The odd creature's expression didn't change, but something in its manner suggested gratitude being extended to the smuggler as well as to Faye herself. "Looks like we're taking on a few partners." The way he said "partners" suggested that he really meant "problems," but Faye already knew he wasn't the one making the decisions, even if he thought he was. 

"Ya think?" The sarcastic tone of the reply reminded Faye that she had a long way to go before she eanred the trust of the two ruffians. "This one's yer fault, Gus."  

"Blake?" Gus pinched his nose with one big hand, shaking his head.  

"Yah?"  

"Kindly shut up." 

Details

Tales From the Inbox: Smugglers in Second Class

2946-06-19 - Takes from the Inbox: Smugglers in Second Class

This story came from a largely retired spacer who did not provide a name, but who we'll call Faye. Faye and her daughter Junia (also a false name) had, if their submission is to be believed, quite an eventful trip out to the Frontier. Given the references to the economic downturn on Planet, where our studio is based, it probably refers to events which are about three years old. The story is unverifiable, but intriguing.  

Rumors of criminal activity and worse aboard the liners to and from the Frontier have abounded for years – this isn't even the first story to allege such things which Cosmic Backgrounds has published this year. Feedback Loop brought the audience a video of highly suspicious behavior aboard one such liner in February.

Faye's story - at least, the part of it she felt comfortable sharing - is fairly lengthy, but I've distilled the highlights into three main sections, which will each get their own Tales from the Inbox entry. Look for the next installment, Iridescent Intercession, to appear on the 21st.

“Mom, I’m serious.” Junia's tone became strained. 

“You’re fifteen T-years old, Junia.” Faye tried not to sound like she was scolding her daughter, and was not entirely sure she succeeded. Every day, she forced herself to remember that for Junia, who’d never known any world but Planet at Centauri, months confined to the spartan passenger liner were a new and unwelcome experience. Her owns service as a spacer tech on long-haul Navy logistics haulers which ferried supplies to the outposts on the Hegemony border had more than prepared Faye for the relatively minor discomforts of a second-class passenger’s berth. “There are no monsters under your bunk or anywhere else in your cabin.” 

“I heard what I heard, Mom. He was talking to someone… talking about a shipment. What sort of cargo needs someone to keep it quiet, anyway?” 

“A shipment? The monster was talking about cargo?” Faye frowned, now legitimately confused. 

“You never listen, do you?” Junia tossed her head back and clapped her hands dramatically to her face. “Not a monster. A mobster, like in those old vid-shows you like so much. He talks at night, and I can’t sleep. He’s got a gun, he said so.” 

“A mobster.” Faye paused to try to make sense out what Junia meant by the archaic term. Clearly, she was comparing what she heard – or thought she heard – to the old 24th century crime dramas which Faye had been watching to pass the idle time on the long journey to Maribel. There were no mobsters anymore in the sense the term was used in that context – it was even probable that nobody had used the term for organized crime when the dramas were produced. “Under your bunk. On a passenger liner.” 

“Yeah.” Junia, her voice incredulous, replied, standing up, her breakfast barely touched. “Forget it. I hate this ship. I’m going to the gaming lounge.” 

Faye made no move to stop Junia. The liner was safe enough; the computer authorization system and the crew wouldn’t let a passenger go anywhere even remotely dangerous. Faye didn’t like the look of some of their fellow passengers, but most were, like Faye and Junia, permanently emigrating to the Frontier, chasing rumors of work, even for those with only marginal skills, on newly settled worlds. There were even a few other teenagers, dragged along with their parents like Junia herself – but it had been clear very early in the voyage that Junia would have nothing to do with them. She seemed to think that, by being miserable, she could make Faye book a ticket back to Planet at Centauri as soon as the liner arrived at Maribel. The fifteen-year-old was, by a combination of her own and her mother’s efforts, largely alone on the whole ship – and the voyage was less than half over. 

With a heavy sigh, Faye absently stirred her own breakfast for another minute before gathering up her own tray and the one Junia had left behind. After depositing them in the recycler receptacle, she left the passenger mess hall, still thinking about her daughter’s claims. Junia had always been imaginative, like Faye herself, but this was something new. Even for a teen who went through phases at an unbelievable pace, her claims were too bizarre and specific to simply ignore as a play for attention. 

Abandoning her plans to spend the morning in the ship’s full-gee gym (which was, despite its name, barely providing point-eight gee), Faye decided to check out Junia’s cabin before determining how to proceed. There were plenty of reasonable things which, blown out of proportion by an overactive imagination, could result in what Junia was describing. If it was pure fantasy – and that still seemed the likeliest explanation – Faye would be unable to avoid taking the sorts of unpleasant parental measures which she had always sought to avoid. 

Passing only a few dozen late-risers heading in the opposite direction in the corridors and lifts of the massive liner, Faye soon returned to the deck which housed their cabins. Since she had been forced to choose between having two adjacent bunks in economy-class or having two separated cabins in second-class, Junia’s berth was not next to her own – it was at the end of the corridor, a thirty-meter walkpast her own identical, spartan compartment. When they had boarded, Faye had at first harbored hope, unfounded though it was, that this bit of privacy and independence would help make the voyage pass more easily for her daughter. 

Because Faye had booked Junia’s ticket, the teenager’s cabin opened as easily before her as her own. Faye had avoided intruding on her daughter’s privacy as much as possible, and now found herself dismayed at the disarray within. Discarded clothing and the wrappers of sugary snacks lay scattered over the floor, and the bunk was neither made nor folded up into the wall. Junia’s travel bag lay underneath the tiny desk, clothing and personal objects spilling out of its open side. 

Faye picked her way across the floor to the bunk and, feeling silly for even doing it, folded the shelf-like sleeping arrangement into its wall recess. As she expected, the deck below it was as much a mess as in the middle of the cabin, but there was nothing there. Faye had half-expected to find a forgotten vid-player slate that might explain the voices Junia described, but the only device of that sort in Junia’s cabin was perched precariously on the edge of the desk to put it in range of the charging hub. 

Letting the bunk drop back into its deployed position, Faye sat down, dropping her head into her hands. She wasn’t sure if Junia was having auditory hallucinations, or simply making a play for attention, but either option was a sign of trouble. She wondered if it was time to have one of the ship’s overworked med-techs examine the teen – perhaps taking the complaint seriously would help Junia understand that her mother was doing her best. More likely though, Junia would find a way to be wounded by that, too. 

As Faye weighed a set of equally bad options, she heard a dry cough. At first, she thought it was coming from an adjacent cabin, but she remembered that second-class was soundproofed – someone would have to scream at the top of their lungs to be heard in the next cabin, and then only faintly. Where, then, did the cough come from? 

Faye flipped the bunk back up once again and pushed all the clutter into the middle of the floor. Behind a balled-up blouse, Faye found a tiny vent, one of many such openings throughout the ship. Every compartment, serviced by the ship’s atmospherics system, had such ductwork, and the five-centimeter port under the bunk was certainly not big enough to admit an intruder, mobster or otherwise. The system was also supposed to include sound baffles to prevent it from carrying voices between cabins, but like the “full-gee” status of the gym, perhaps this detail had also not been implemented correctly on a budget mass-transit liner. 

“Receiving.” A gruff man’s voice muttered, and Faye could tell it was coming from the vent. “Yah, nothing to report. Tomorrow, Gus, we’re switchin’ places, ya hear?” The man paused, as if listening for a response. “Breakfast sounds good. Do they have eggs?” 

Faye blinked slowly, trying to figure out what was going on. The voice’s odd accent – definitely not one which she’d ever heard on Planet at Centauri – did sound remarkably like the accents used in her treasured crime dramas. Junia wasn’t hallucinating or lying; there actually was a voice under her bed, and in radio contact with someone else aboard. He might be in an adjacent cabin with faulty sound baffles in the atmospherics system, but Faye doubted that, as it would probably mean more people than Junia could hear his voice. Perhaps instead there was a maintenance space behind the wall, and the same atmospherics line which fed Junia’s cabin from the system trunk also carried air to this space. Faye knew enough from her own days as a spacer to guess at the elaborate measures used to keep such a stowaway hidden from the crew. He certainly could never leave his hideout without setting off alarms. 

Even as she wondered to what end the man was voluntarily entombed, he spoke again, replying to his collaborator, though Faye didn’t hear the other man’s voice. “This scheme is the worst gig we’ve ever had.” The grumbling sounded trite, as if this was a conversation they’d had many times before. “Next time, we ship things that don’t need this much babying, so we can both relax.” 

Faye remembered Junia’s observation about a shipment. The man and his accomplice were smugglers, secreting themselves aboard an already overpopulated interstellar liner to move contraband. What would they do if they found out Junia could hear their activity all night? Dropping the bunk with a clang, Faye hurriedly grabbed Junia’s data-slate, overrode its user-lock with her parental code, and jotted down every word she’d just heard. It would not do to forget any details when she went to inform the liner’s crew. 

After making her notes, Faye tucked the slate under her arm and hurried to the door, which opened to let her out.  

Before she could step outside, a large man stepped into her way, clapping a hand over her mouth and pushing her back into Junia’s cabin. 

“Now, now, Miss.” The man grinned unkindly as the door shut behind him. His accent was different than that of the man in the vents; it was more cultured, and smooth where his partner’s was gruff. “We can’t have that, can we?” 

Details

Upcoming Events: Tickets For NRRF Benefit Event Sold Out

2946-06-18 - Upcoming Events: Tickets For NRRF Benefit Event Sold Out

Tickets for Sovanna Rostami's live episode of Feedback Loop at Sheridan Amphitheater, benefiting the New Rheims Relief Fund, have sold out. There will be no additional batches of tickets, however the venue has prepared a waiting list for access to any tickets freed up by cancellations.

Details
  • You are here:  
  • Home