Erik Mesoy
Core Tester / Intern
Suggestion - Bio techs double the population on all star systems. +5m pop in all systems is too discrete, IMO. Energy techs invest all but one point towards the next level.Darwin420 said:@Erik - Well, you never said you'd make this easy for me.I'll ruminate on your suggestions and make my decision by tomorrow.
What the bleep do economy levels do anyway, since each system produces its own stuff?
Story:
Spoiler long post :
The squadron leader shuffled through an instruction folder with one hand, the other hovering over a control panel covered in colored icons. "Bloody idiots," he muttered, "why didn't they give me more than a few minutes' briefing?" He leafed past a few more pages, then found a passage marked "Communications". After reading it, he hopefully jabbed at a blue (for friendlies) button on the control panel marked with two wavy arrows (data transfer) and a circle (speech). A microphone folded out of the side of his helmet covering and slapped into his mouth.
"Bloody ****!" he swore - then repeated himself as he realized that the rest of the squad was probably listening.
"Brown Leader here!" he announced, having regained control. "Press the blue button with the circle and the squiggles, then sound off. The stupid thing will probably hit you in the mouth."
Muffled curses came over the comm.
"Brown One in contact"
"Brown Two here, rather annoyed"
"Brown Three, affirmative"
"Brown Five, hit in the mouth by a stupid comm unit"
The squad leader interrupted the report.
"Four? Brown Four, did the microphone knock you out? If you're there, press the blue button with the squiggle and the circle."
"Brown Four here. My gloves slipped when I tried to press the button."
"Very well. Brown Squadron, sound off starting at Brown Six."
Not really listening, Garris reflected on his fate. A rather minor misdemeanor had sent him to the CorrFac, then the rich man who his act had offended had taken insult and has the sentence extended, and then the newest despot had decided to offer clemency to all CorrFac inhabitants with sentences between four and fifteen years if they agreed to test the first and second generation of space ships. So here he was, three years after the rediscovery of space flight, leading the first group scheduled to tempt fate and travel the warp gates left by their ancestors.
"Leader? Brown Leader, this is Brown Nine. The entire squadron's assembled. Did you try to reactivate the microphone or something?"
"Curl up and die," Garris answered. He had committed an act of accidental vandalism, and it was bad luck and a grudge that had landed him here at all. The rest were petty criminals, not his sort at all. "Brown Squadron, set a course for - " - he hesitated, rapidly punching in numbers on the onboard computer - " - one point three five six three by zero point one seven four five."
[OOC: That's not technobabble, it's a direction based off the star map you posted. They're spherical coordinates, in radians, excluding rho.]
After a few minutes, the ships's radar finally swung round and got a lock on the direction of travel.
Anomalous energy readings detected.
Point of origin consistent with last known location of warpgate.
ETA twenty minutes.
"Ooh, they're aah-nomm-aah-luss!" someone said over the radio.
"Who was that?" Garris asked angrily, leafing through the control panel manual again, looking for "Course Corrections". He found it, glanced down to the section marked "Automation", and looked back the the control panel, eventually finding a yellow (onboard computer) button with a curved arrow (direction) and a double square (synchronization).
Course locked. New heading details:
Standard Astral Galactic Coordinate System
Theta 1.356333429
Phi 0.17398322
Garris mumbled something indistinct about training and grabbed for the manual again. "Why we still haven't gotten verbal commands installed, I don't know... they probably don't trust us not to seize the ships and disappear... here we are, fleet transmission." Blue button, curved arrow, double square. He stabbed it angrily.
New heading transmitted to local group, printed the computer.
"Bloody ****!" he swore - then repeated himself as he realized that the rest of the squad was probably listening.
"Brown Leader here!" he announced, having regained control. "Press the blue button with the circle and the squiggles, then sound off. The stupid thing will probably hit you in the mouth."
Muffled curses came over the comm.
"Brown One in contact"
"Brown Two here, rather annoyed"
"Brown Three, affirmative"
"Brown Five, hit in the mouth by a stupid comm unit"
The squad leader interrupted the report.
"Four? Brown Four, did the microphone knock you out? If you're there, press the blue button with the squiggle and the circle."
"Brown Four here. My gloves slipped when I tried to press the button."
"Very well. Brown Squadron, sound off starting at Brown Six."
Not really listening, Garris reflected on his fate. A rather minor misdemeanor had sent him to the CorrFac, then the rich man who his act had offended had taken insult and has the sentence extended, and then the newest despot had decided to offer clemency to all CorrFac inhabitants with sentences between four and fifteen years if they agreed to test the first and second generation of space ships. So here he was, three years after the rediscovery of space flight, leading the first group scheduled to tempt fate and travel the warp gates left by their ancestors.
"Leader? Brown Leader, this is Brown Nine. The entire squadron's assembled. Did you try to reactivate the microphone or something?"
"Curl up and die," Garris answered. He had committed an act of accidental vandalism, and it was bad luck and a grudge that had landed him here at all. The rest were petty criminals, not his sort at all. "Brown Squadron, set a course for - " - he hesitated, rapidly punching in numbers on the onboard computer - " - one point three five six three by zero point one seven four five."
[OOC: That's not technobabble, it's a direction based off the star map you posted. They're spherical coordinates, in radians, excluding rho.]
After a few minutes, the ships's radar finally swung round and got a lock on the direction of travel.
Anomalous energy readings detected.
Point of origin consistent with last known location of warpgate.
ETA twenty minutes.
"Ooh, they're aah-nomm-aah-luss!" someone said over the radio.
"Who was that?" Garris asked angrily, leafing through the control panel manual again, looking for "Course Corrections". He found it, glanced down to the section marked "Automation", and looked back the the control panel, eventually finding a yellow (onboard computer) button with a curved arrow (direction) and a double square (synchronization).
Course locked. New heading details:
Standard Astral Galactic Coordinate System
Theta 1.356333429
Phi 0.17398322
Garris mumbled something indistinct about training and grabbed for the manual again. "Why we still haven't gotten verbal commands installed, I don't know... they probably don't trust us not to seize the ships and disappear... here we are, fleet transmission." Blue button, curved arrow, double square. He stabbed it angrily.
New heading transmitted to local group, printed the computer.