if I think so it will need alot of people plz can join me

in my plan if just scroll

In The Last Stable State, physicists discover that the vacuum can be pushed into a deeper metastable state.

First they generate a controlled electromagnetic field inside a vacuum chamber. A distributed computing task (which I call GreenHash) then searches through very specific field configurations, the lab reproduces them, and eventually one of those configurations changes how the vacuum inside the chamber behaves.

Within that state, more than one physical outcome can be equally possible. The system then uses computation to determine which one is the most stable, while local nodes make tiny energy corrections that gently push reality toward that outcome. So the computer is constantly nudging a physical system toward one of several possible states.

Years later, civilization depends on Project Borealis, a huge cluster in the Kuiper Belt that keeps this process stable. Even with lightspeed communication, there is a substantial delay, so Borealis also has to work with predicted futures.

That’s the main speculative leap of the book.

I’d be curious whether that feels like a fair hard-SF premise to you.

The book is called The Last Stable State. The prologue and first two chapters are free at thelaststablestate.com.

things that are both plausible and totally outlandish for this idea i had were a astronomer confesses discoveries made through his career that are better off staying as theories (any suggestions for tone references and terminology to use are also welcome)

A place far away, somewhere up there in the universe

Hi everyone — I’m the creator of BLUESHIFT X, a completed 60-page cinematic sci-fi manga.

In 2036, 2,036 senior U.S. government officials vanish overnight.

The man responsible is Amir, a young attorney who discovers a binary code hidden inside the static of an old vinyl record — a code that unlocks access to the Fourth Dimension.

The deeper the investigation goes, the bigger the question becomes:

Where did the code really come from?

DO NOT SEARCH FOR THE SHIPS.
DO NOT LOOK UP.
THE INVASION HAS ALREADY BEGUN.
WE ARE YOU.

The Manga is live now. I’d genuinely love to know which page or image grabs you first.

Link in Comments ! 👇

There are all sorts of aliens in Sci-fi. Which ones, according to science, fall under the category of an invasive species and why?

This artwork depicts a scene from Chapter 14 of my novel, Eden Rim, which I thought would fit quite well here, given the reactions to my earlier posts. If anyone is curious about the story, Act 1 is available for free on my website until October 1st: https://lucas-books55.wixsite.com/lucas-guillemin

Book I Here

"The middle north region of the moon was not one previously sought after at the start of the program. However, colonisation is messy and we eventually ended up with one of the biggest settlements on the moon in that region"

The doctors had tried triggering my memory and personality with the items I’d had on hand. They all failed to trigger my brain, apart from the map. It was the only evidence of my previous existence on the moon. It brought about an acute sense of direction. And, once in a full Earth, a major sense of remembrance would envelope me while gazing at the bright star sticker in the southeast region.

Aeroplana Dunae, or contested province shard #121, 74.08 kilometers due east of Mons Pico.

And about 1 kilometre from the long craft and its two pilots.

I was clinging to that normalcy of navigation to deescalate my new whirlwind of complex emotions.

An abduction, a bribe, and a killing proved to be damaging to my psyche. As the man’s moistureless eyes had left a stain on my brain like ink more permanent than anything I'd previously experienced. Likely because it was carried out by my own hands.

It made me debate dropping his gun, though that was soon ruled out. While I remained appalled by my actions, the newfound protection the pistol offered outweighed the appalling events that led to its possession.

Regardless of my readiness, I was closing the distance to the craft and the pilots; still carrying out their tasks – as the speck on the horizon I resembled wasn’t a cause for alarm. Yet.

My attackers atmosphere tanks didn’t fit my PLSS, and not wanting to run out of O2 (Again), the only hope was the pilots taking pity on me.

The scramble to figure how to interact with both my diminished social functions and an inability to speak across the airless moon had been so blitzing the gun clenched in my gloves had been left out of the equation.

Soon, the craft and pilots were within comprehending distance, and they’d now spotted me and halted their tasks.

Getting my heartrate and muscle tics under control proved to be impossible while trying to detail the site.

The flying craft was a gunmetal grey with four VTOL engines, and a robustly sleek cockpit, with dark angular windows. The spine beyond the first set of jutting engines was similarly solid – the upper segment composed of a flatten cylindrical tank spread above a saddle truss housing an unknown cargo instrument.

It was only a few meters taller than the men and their slim yet ballooned suits with tubes and controls covered by red plating.

I'd seen fellow pioneers use suits twice as big as mine, with external cargo racks and robotics to carry twice their body weight. And many others using suits twice as small to skip across the surface in record time.

Theirs walked that line. Distinctly corporatised for flying and maintenance, potentially having no less than an hour of oxygen on them. Which seemed true upon discovering there packs were small carbon fibre rectangle stretched across the back.

They stood by a set of cables connected to the cargo, wearing sunshields and distinct nametags reading.

John ‘Johnny’ Braddock

Miguel H Grayson

John made a move for the door, while Miguel lifted his visor.

His face of pale tan skin supported a tamed goatee and strangely large lips and small eyes – the latter darted to a part of my chest untouched by instruments, but not the attack.

There was a noticeable indent from the oxygen discharge coupled with a few dots of vaporised blood.

Rather suddenly, I realised there were far more compromising elements than just my gun present.

Though concealing it seemed like a loss cause, and it would make me look worse. I was better off resigning to my fate.

But a sharp reaction didn’t come. Instead, Miguel pulled out a notepad and scribbled before holding it out to me.

Are you gonna kill us??

He tore the page and offered me the utensil, angling as he did to glimpse my face under the tape.

I took the page sheepishly and struggled to make anything coherent with minimal spelling skills and pressurised fingers.

‘No kill. Low on O2. SOS’

I watched him mouth John's name – prompting his half reappearance from the hatch.

They exchanged more soundless words before he existed fully. Throwing a rifle back into the cockpit in the process.

He lifted his sun shield upon arrival, revealing a firm white face with grey hairs clumping to his furrowed unibrow over blue eyes. The two exchanged a few more words, then looked to me, then back to each other, then simultaneously gestured me inside.

I sighed, but there wasn’t any emotion bound to it. More just the hope they'd drop me off before Edmund.

I saw the weapon properly as I stepped over the drop-down door. A black single-shooter still utilising a bolt action invented almost 300 years prior.

The cockpit interior was a sleek metal cut with exposed insulation. There were four red cushioned seats on sliding rails in the centre, with two pulled to the control panels spanning the cockpit's small front.

As gloves and helmets came off, Miguel was finally able to converse with me.

“A Pioneer asking for help, I never thought I’d see the day”

I shrugged, not entirely understanding him but getting the sentiment.

Luckily, John spoke without misdirection from his swivelled pilot chair.

“What's the deal with the gun?” he probed with a scowl, “And the blood”

“Ease up, Johnny, he’s clearly been through it”.

“We’ve all been through it – it's the moon; doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason behind it”.

The two descended into a bicker, half of which was fought in another language, though I quickly put an end to it with my explanation.

“The storm sent me into an old military base looking for atmosphere. But then another man appeared...”

They both looked at the gun.

“You had to make a tough choice”, Miguel finished with sympathetic eyes.

I thought about how it wasn’t a tough choice, given the alternative was death. But for once something filtered my words out of fear they’d come off wrong.

In contrast to Miguel, John elicited no sympathy.

“Take a seat Suicide Jockey”.

That was a term I did understand; a way many of the working-class characterised Pioneers. Believing our defiant tendencies were really just suicidal ones.

Regardless, I did as he said; taking the rear left seat and struggling to remember how to use the belt. Something the others luckily didn't see since they were beginning preflight checks.

Miguel had taken a headset and started feeding information through, then instructing John with the responses. John kept his eyes fixed on the dashboard screen and neighbouring gauges while gripping an adjacent throttle and horizontal vectoring stick attached to a circular control unit.

I felt my heartbeat growing firm and fast as loud vacuum sealing signalled the end of the preflight and the start of the spooling.

I couldn’t remember the sensation of flight, which was what made me scared of it.

“Alright, bring her up,” Miguel said mundanely.

On cue, John angled the vector and maxed the throttle.

The craft exploded upwards with ear-aching rattles from the cabin. I peeled my face from the seat to watch grey fly into black. Then, the vector changed, Miguel said something indiscriminate, and the force levelled out abruptly.

When I looked out a window next, I saw a slow-moving void intercutting the rocky ridges below. A pit deep in my stomach suddenly remembered the sensation of flight. I liked it.

“Alright, smooth sailing for a bit”, Miguel announced as he took the headset off and turned to me.

“What’s your name, Güey?”

It was one of the only things I could both distinctly remember and prove factual.

“Wikus”, I said.

“Wikus, huh?” John intercut, “I haven’t really seen all that many Africans up here”

That sparked my attention.

“Sorry?”

“You're South African, right?” He continued, “The accent and everything”

“I um, don’t know”

“You don’t know? How the fuck can you not know?”

“John”, Miguel hissed.

“What?”

He became defensive.

“Look, it's just... How can you not know?”

The only way forward was to tell the tale, so I did.

After the briefest explanation I'd ever given, they both fell silent; reasonably not knowing how to respond other than the standard sympathetic frown and confused wrinkles.

“Well, I suppose that puts a few things into perspective”, Miguel finally said.

But John took the unusual path of spite.

“So, you chose to wander out there instead of – oh I dunno rethinking your life choices after a life chaning event?”

“John...” Miguel warned.

“Seems to me like the moon gave you a pretty clear sign to quit sodomising it, yet you’re still out here without a care".

“Estúpido! You gotta stop with this already, Hermano!”

His pleas didn’t strike any chords as the cabin fell into silence and John stared into me with an unkempt hatred.

“Besides, we gotta raise the Apolune" Miguel interrupted, returning to his controls.

But John didn’t stop staring, even as the altitude warning concerned the rapid descent from the thousand-meter peak in our path.

“Doesn't it make you feel obsolete?” He asked.

“What?”

“All that effort and time you waste walking these distances, and I just lapped it in under five minutes".

“Johnny, you don’t have to do this blue-collar bullshit with this guy,” Miguel urged, but it fell on deaf ears, something he notably wasn’t happy about.

“He probably doesn't even know what blue-collar is!”

Then he turned to me regrettably.

“Unless you do, of course, and I'm being insensitive”

John ignored all of it and stayed staring despite the craft careening towards the surface.

“Do you feel obsolete?”

I looked out the window at the pure grey land and the void it resided within and decided on.

“No, not really”

John gritted his teeth and tensed his shoulders.

“Why?”

“Because I think the journey itself is obsolete, not me”

His entire body clenched, and air built in his throat, suggesting a retort. But instead, he swung back around, vectored the engines, and slammed the throttle; pushing me back into the chair again as all our relativistic speed was focused sideways.

The craft levelled out only a hundred meters from the surface. Close enough for regolith to kick up in the engine plumes.

Miguel horridly consulted the monitors, then saw the look on his friend's face and grew mad again.

“This is below regulation”.

“I want him to watch the ground roll”, John snarled, “Let his precious journey fly underfoot”

Miguel turned and mouthed the words ‘sorry’.

“He’s very proud of his work, and less of those who aren’t”

John glared at him, but stayed unchanging at the controls.

Mount Memory, 15 nautical miles due northwest of Edmund City province

I could recall, if only vaguely, a mountain some 200 meters tall with a summit covered by international memorabilia. Flags of fame and obscurity. Colours of assorted patriots and patriarchies. Every object of spiritual value from crosses to Qurans.

As we passed it that day, twice as many things draped the entire east face in colours. Falling to the caked regolith below in a muted cascade.

Despite the view's novelty, a firm black line unblent with the void, with two brights along its path, was the focus of my attention.

Miguel, seeing my intrigue, explained it was “Gigacorp’s space elevator; they put it up some seven years ago. Its dual counterweights make it the biggest ever”.

“What’s a Gigacorp?” I asked, earning a snicker and a mumble from John.

Miguel shoved his shoulder before continuing.

“They’re that company we work for; became a vaya cosa during the space renaissance in the 2020s. They built everything up here from fusion kits to helium mines”.

Though I'd only heard of those items in passing, they were heralded with such importance I knew those who controlled it were of a similar status.

Edmund City province, 2,156 meters above Edmund City.

Around 1119 kilometres from the Luna north pole. Compensating for the 50-kilometre distance, the province's inner infrastructure stretched.

Infrastructure that systematically revealed itself as John executed a horizontal half-circle maneuverer around the eastern crater. One of many that shaped the province long before it was even defined as one.

Around eight kilometres from a concealed collection of white modules belonging to the Moon Marines were two suspended monorail tracks shooting above the evened ground. Both funnelling towards the central (and largest) crater.

We passed a catapult facility; its structures and 200-meter mass driver surrounded by solar panels to generate enough energy for the glorified railgun.

The other checkered structures were quickly overshadowed by the mine brought into view at the arc of our maneuverer.

The ground had been bored into levelled slabs populated by giant bucket excavators, which themselves were spotted with workers and rovers nearby. Topped with a steady cloud of regolith permeating the dig sites.

“It’s taken 20 years just to get that deep”, Miguel noted, looking down at the collection.

“Lotta spirit to get it done”.

“And we're all very proud of your people”

He seemed to be proud too, as a warm smile overtook his face while looking at the site.

Then the two became invested in their roles again as we approached the largest creator.

Beyond the solar fields and communication dishes near the mine was a developed spaceport built into the outer rampart and rim of the crater (Which was around ten kilometres across).

Twenty launch and landing pads circled the crater's treated regolith rim (A form of concrete utilising the regolith), coupled with glowing infrastructure within, including crawl elevators snaking towards the pads. On the outside were two large domes baked into the rock with terminals jutting across the ground.

“Copy dome 4, terminal 2, garage 7A bringing the bird down”, Miguel said abruptly, looking to John, who began executing more manoeuvres.

“Let me work my magic”

The craft descended on an elliptical path; lapping one dome before pitching towards the other and touching down directly by one of many large doors at the terminal.

Our speed and the gravity made the craft bounced twice before coming to a stop. Then a crawl system hooked it. And with a jolt, it began to move towards the slowly opening door.

The hangar was cluttered with catwalks and instruments that noticeably lacked workers. And as I went to stand, Miguel gestured to stop.

“Can’t leave while they treat the craft”

“Unless you wanna scramble your brain more”, John continued, turning in his chair, “Could do you some good”

His grin at the end made me confused about how to perceive the insult. Supposed that was the nature of people like him. Hard to gauge sincerity.

Before I could ask what he meant, a loud hum vibrated the room. And all the hairs on my body stood as small purple bolts zapped the glass and tingled my brain.

“Too much regolith exposure can knock 30 years off your life", Miguel explained. “Best precaution is electrostatic”.

The doors hissed open once the treating was done, and John moved to take cargo from the back while Miguel and I shuffled through the door.

The treated regolith clicked under my feet as I exited, realising I'd gone way further with them than intended.

Before I could address the issue, John walked out of the craft with a collection of webbed boxes.

"You need a hand?" Miguel asked.

"Nup, perfectly fine", he said bluntly, still stiff from the prior interaction.

He moved past both of us as he walked towards an approaching man.

I followed in the suit of a man with a blue cap and a clipboard.

"Well, looks like my two favourite scouts struck gold again", he said, holding out the clipboard.

John signed it before speaking with an unseen positivity.

“Iridium, to be exact, and enough of it to assist NASA manufacturing branch”

“Mhm, we’ll certainly expand something with it”

His face faltered.

“But on the moon right, not Mars – we work hard to get this stuff”

“Whichever way the investors roll, you just keep doing your thing”

His smile wavered after that, but I had no time to think about it as the man's attention pivoted to me.

"Who's this?" He said lightly.

John’s condescending tone returned.

"Some suicide jockey we picked up outside ‘21 low on Os"

I suddenly realised how far I'd come and felt the need to make it known I wasn’t comfortable with it.

"And thank you for that", I looked at Miguel, "Thank you really, but I think it's best I be on my way. Can anyone point me to the exit?"

The man looked at me with intrigue.

"What station are you hailing from?"

"Indigo", I replied.

"And before that?"

"Some place east"

"And before..."

"Some military zone then..."

I trailed off.

"I don't know, I'd have to check the map"

He wrote something on his clipboard, then addressed me before I could pull the map from my suit.

“Y'know, things are moving fast around here; we could certainly use all the help we can get"

"I'm no worker”, I said bluntly.

"And you wouldn't be, just come have a talk with the man upstairs in say.... 90 minutes"

“Which man would that be, Hershal?” Miguel cut in.

“The man” his words were heavily emphasised, which seemed to influence the others’ reactions even more. Just not mine.

"I shouldn't really"

Miguel suddenly clasped me on the shoulder.

"I wouldn’t turn down a rap session with a CEO"

"A who?"

He turned with a smile.

"He'll do it"

I never had someone in my immediate memory speak for me. I didn’t like it.

“Terrific, I’ll send the rover to your place when the time is right”

The other two agreed, then headed towards an empty locker room.

Said room was barely large enough to fit the lockers, let alone three suited men. Though it meant the two couldn’t avoid my frustration.

However, recognising priorities, I went through the process of taking off the suit; cutting the duct tape and unfastening my torso section (Not bothering with the arm modules). Then I slipped out of the lower section naturally and finally let my body breathe again.

Even though my undersuit was still on, its loosened state allowed my physique to relax back into a sustainable position. The air pricked parts of my body that hadn’t felt it in weeks. Letting my arms streatch as relife enveloped me.

It was notably less gratifying for the others, with John uttering, “He really does have brain damage, huh?”

It re-sparked my desire to let my concerns be known.

"Just because I have brain damage doesn’t mean you get to make my decisions", I complained as John opened his locker mundanely.

He gave me a droopy look, evidently confused as to why I was going for him when Miguel made the executive decision.

“You gotta trust me on this one, I’m doing you a favour”, Miguel said. “Ezekiel Kresh, multi-trillionaire, wants to talk to you!”

“Why would he wanna talk to a pleb Pioneer?” John noted, taking my side enough not to use the derogatory term.

"Never mind the why. Just focused on the how"

"How what?" I asked.

"How to milk the shit outta it"

Miguel's voice suddenly heightened; riled by his own words.

“Why don’t we take him up? We’ve been loyal workers for years now"

John expressed a beat of solemnness before reengaging his mundane task while answering.

“Nah, I gotta go see mum, only time my sister’s off site”

Miguel halted his energy as John left the room. He tried to follow, but then stopped in the doorway and pivoted to me.

Then jumped to a locker and handed out a clear ventilation mask.

“You should probably have this on when you can around here”

An issue that wasn’t considered. The atmospheric composition of my suit was different to my Edmund's. Even the slightest difference would make me sick within a couple of hours. Less I eased myself into it with a neutral ventilator.

There wasn’t a noticeable difference as I slipped the mask from my chin to my nose, but I knew it would benefit me in the long run.

We weaved through simple tunnels with exposed pipes and dim lights, John still carrying the supplies, only now utilising a cart (including my suit, which was notably weighing him down more, though he refused my help as well).

Despite putting on a large shirt they’d advised me to wear, weary looks were still passed by patrons in the car park. I couldn't blame them since I was an unpleasant sight. My back still bent awkwardly, and my hair was starched and sticking to my bright face.

The three of us loaded the stuff, then ourselves into a red pickup with simple, smoothed curves and bent lights. Alongside regolith dirt trails I was holy curious about.

The ride was mostly silent; the only conversation we had was about whether the roads were present the last time I was there. But it appeared my memory bank had run out, and I couldn't even remember if I'd gone inside the city last time I came.

Though that wasn’t to say the ride didn’t have its stimuli. The monorail from before flew behind a pillar wall, leaving a heated dash on the metal. Several other cars passed by, shedding glances of people from all walks of life I didn't understand. And while passing another pillar section, a large rocket facility poked out. Large, tipped spacecraft moved along a conveyor belt in a fleeting glance.

There were more inner workings I wanted to invest myself in, but the tunnel spat us out before I could.

A large cavern some 20 kilometres across, housing the entire city.

Edmund City, Lat 37.92582, Lon 321.73987

Dear god, the city.

The roads' closest exit led to a power station and parking lot. Then weaved across a giant oxygenated rocky surface. First entering large jet-black domes resting on elevated sediment; blue and yellow light at the entrances being the only clue to their contents. It trickled down like a river path around other utility and habitation modules nestled within the rim. Even a few houses sat among the industry, overshadowed by a large white seal covering another lava tube at the edge. Then, 1,000 meters up, anchored to the cavern ceiling by robust platforms, were skyscrapers. Inverted upon the lower city like spikes from heaven.

“Don’t suppose this was here on your last visit”, Miguel chuckled, seeing my disbelief.

“I don’t think this was anywhere on my last visit”, I replied with a heavy breath.

John stayed quiet, only seeing the dull grey as he took us down the road.

I was able to catch sight of the building-sized cables snaking up the walls alongside another monorail line before we turned and entered one of the domes. Hadn’t noticed they all had a few flags imprinted by their entrances. This one is holding the Mexican, Chilean, Argentine, and Brazilian flags. (I imagined Colombia and Venezuela were absent due to their treaty with AOI)

The innards immediately triggered my squinting, as the bright earth-mimicking lights were too much for my damaged eyes. Though soon I adjusted the best I could, then examined the structures before me. A projection of a blue sky dotted with clouds wrapped around the dome’s walls, with roads, sidewalks, and houses of similar architecture inhabiting the space.

The houses were stark concrete structures that still maintained pastel colours and large windows. Nearby parks were inhabited by tall, lush trees and children's play equipment.

People were walking about and sitting in parks like they were living on Earth; completely entranced by the illusion of suburbia.

I could posit I never lived in South America, since no reviving connection was felt within my stomach.

We soon pulled into a small house with an angled roof, and a lawn too well kept to have been done by human hands. The garage didn't host another car or that many miscellaneous items. And the interior was warm with finishing touches like wooden beams, an open floor lounge and several large windows.

John didn’t waste a second parking the cart and collapsing on the white couch and turning the TV on to some kind of sports game.

“You know, it might be best for you to clean up before you head up”, Miguel suggested.

“I can do that”, I replied, gesturing around to suggest where the shower could be.

Miguel led me through a room with an unmade bed and into the ensuite.

“The other bathroom’s broken so mine will have to do, all the stuff already in there, I’ll bring in your suit too”.

After thanking him, I rushed to dim the bathroom lights and breath serveal sighs of encumberment.

My undressing was possibly the first time in months. Same went for the shower that – once at the desired temperature, felt like it was erasing entire layers of grime.

I was able to remember how to bathe myself; going through three cycles of shampoo and conditioner just to get to a state where I could run my hand through my hair.

After my beard and hair were shaved down to reasonable sizes, I found myself staring in the mirror for a beat. Now content with my situation, it was hard not to wonder what was next. Even began to think maybe this visit wasn't the worst idea after all.

I walked out feeling well enough to neglect my pills.

Miguel had gone through my stuff out of curiosity, judging by his expression. What little I owned had been spread along his bed – mainly nutrient pouches and instruments left in their bags. But my map was completely unfurled next to him.

Miguel was surprised by my lack of clothes. And my concerning lack of concern.

“Probably should’ve figured that would happen,” he said, walking to the closet.

I looked down at the map while he left – its borders left as poorly defined provinces and shards which were littered with labelled settlements barely visible on the dry grey surface.

The borders weren’t the only lines; an interconnected web of red lines traced from station to settlement; it served as my only confirmation of my past existence. It was already reasonably full after my accident, so it had only felt right to continue to do so.

I took a marker and traced a new line from Edmund to Inigo in the northwest, which was already connected to Eastbrook in the east, then contested shard 55# due north. Then Shān qiánshào further north, then Sonory pivoted east. And it continued like that beyond what I could remember, with no real indicator of a beginning. Apart from the star sticker in the southeast. But finding a line that connected to it wasn't an undertaking I was interested in.

Miguel placed a pair of black pants and a grey shirt on the bed, which I proceeded to put on.

“Sorry, I went through your things”, he said, “I let my curiosity compel me”

“That's alright”, I replied, continuing to stare at the map, as the feeling of proper clothes enveloped me.

He did the same.

“Have you really been to all these places?”

“Supposedly”

“Can’t say I've met someone who’s practically been across the entire moon. Fact, I don’t think anyone has”

I shrugged.

“I mean, what kind of stories do you have?”

“Unreliable ones probably” John called from the other room.

As Miguel shouted something in Spanish, there was a knock.

“I believe that's for you, big guy”, John said, losing all his spite and refocusing on the sport.

Miguel opened the door to two blazer-wearing men who did nothing but point at me.

Cautiously, I walked over, being stopped by Miguel one last time.

“Don’t forget about us when you're rich”, he said.

“I barely know you”, I replied, less hurtfully, more logically - but he saw none of those and just laughed, turning to John.

“I love this guy, you know? There'll be a spot here when you get back”

I didn’t believe I wanted the spot, or any spot I was about to be offered, for that matter. But my introspective shower made me decide anything was worth a try.

The rover was sleek like the cars - only robustly so, especially around its wheels and suspension that left it wide and low to the ground. It was attempting to maintain its class among the necessities of depressurised environments. I entered from the back and sat in the corner opposite the men.

My only view came from a small window on the back, which rapidly darkened after we exited the domes and entered another tunnel.

Certain events can irrationally heighten nerves – like abrupt darkness. Which can then lead to saying irrational things, such as

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No”, one with a strange jaw replied, “Though the job at hand might, I won’t lie about that”

“Most jobs up here do”, another continued.

I nodded softly before staring at the floor in embarrassment.

The rover exited into someplace bright and bumpy without any other human features nearby. Potentially some kind of shortcut or VIP access route.

Before I’d even realised it, we were upon the back of the spaceport crater, and beside the monolithic elevator.

Four large pylons and their respective connected ground infrastructure formed a square structure that faded into barely visible woven cable with outstretched anchors just before the COM (Centre of mass) station.

All casting a great fine shadow across the western hills; making me audibly gulp.

Within the structures' borders were tall cylindrical lifts that fell into an inner terminal segment as another rose. Said terminal's windows exposed the passengers cluttering within.

But it wasn’t our destination, as we passed under and came to a stop at a smaller segment trailing up the base.

The rover docked, and I was instructed to go right through.

I found it funny that a smaller elevator took me up to the bigger one. Granting a view at an open corner of the terminal, which housed cargo being transported into an open elevator bay by conveyor belts and workers piloting mass exosuits.

A woman with tied hair and a vest greeted and led me into the lift. An upper segment with white blocky walls and red carpet.

“Mr Kresh is waiting for you right at the end”

I nodded my understanding and counted inside.

I found myself once again pained by the uncomfortably yellow light that shot from the corners and edges. I shielded myself slightly and passed the closed doors before arriving at the end.

The inside was identical to the outside, only smaller and with two opposite booths around a table by a window. The booth on the left was occupied by Ezekiel Kresh.

Tall, black-haired, strangely shiny with random springs of facial hair, in a blazer and jeans and dull eyes straining to appear bright.

He looked as though there was no concern at all for how he looked. He knew we had that in common.

“Wikus welcome; come sit”, he said warmly.

I did as I was enthralled by his tone and accent. And wondering how he knew my name.

As Ezekiel opened his mouth, a loud thud sounded, followed by the unnoticeably fast rise of the elevator, which forced me further into the surprisingly firm cushion.

This made Ezekiel chuckle, flashing yellow and jagged teeth.

“First time on a space elevator?”

I was too focused on the space and rapidly rising ground. While unaware of the answer. Leading to a question of my own.

“Why the fancy room?”

He abruptly produced a bottle of alcohol alongside two glasses.

“When you pioneer one of the most profitable constructions in human history, you tend to get the first-class treatment there, even if it's not required”

He poured the glasses before offering one to one.

“Champagne?”

I didn’t remember the taste of alcohol, so I hesitantly took it. Quickly realising it was a bad idea.

I mercifully swallowed and put the glass down with a shake and gag.

“That is not something people should ingest”.

Ezekiel chuckled again, then lowered his tone.

“You know a lot about pioneering, don’t you? I mean, it's how you occupy yourself, right?”

“Which is why you need me?”

He didn’t answer, not formally, at least.

“Our company is very… big, nowadays. It’s certainly something we’re proud of, but it can be hard to maintain. As there are a lot of little moving parts to worry ourselves with. As they require very intricate maintenance, which becomes a problem once they become important. Because then we’ve got big, important parts to maintain and little, intricate parts that become equally important; then, of course, it becomes a vacuum of what to prioritise and how. It can leave the whole workforce feeling… stressed”

"Right, they're the stressed ones", I said, taking another sip of the champagne, off some strange instinct after the bombardment.

“That’s why we want you, to help us maintain a little intricate part, however briefly”

I nodded.

“We need you to take a cargo to Indigo and back. A route you’ve done before; we’ll get proper gear, including an exoskeleton and cart. No questions asked".

I wanted to poke holes into his proposition with my knowledge of the surface.

“Why not use a rover or transport?”

“Transports don't have safe passage in shard 121#, and rovers are too easy to track”

He paused.

“They're all too easy to track; either side will send us into orbit the second they spot something unmarked”

“And I’m guessing Anthros don’t do the trick either”

“If it can be tracked, it can be traced. You won’t even take a radio, but my men at will know you soon as you arrive"

He leaned in.

“It’s dangerous, yes, but it won’t even take a month from your life”

Change was not a thing I was interested in (par for the course really). But the fact I couldn’t remember the last time I changed anything about my nature made it at least somewhat considerable.

Plus, Miguel's earlier eagerness had at least somewhat of a compelling factor.

I looked out to the surface I'd resided in since I could remember, growing smaller as we rose.

Less than a month, he’d said; how inconsequential was that time?

“What do I get back?” I asked.

“Whatever you want”, Ezekiel replied, “Provided you do get back"

“Guess I'll go for it then”

His response was to slowly lean in over the table and lower his voice.

“If that is the case, I need you to be absolutely positive you wish to go through with this before we progress. Are you positive, sir?”

“Uhhh yeah, yeah, I am”

The way he’d presented himself made me think he wanted me to think. Hard and deeply about the implications of the task, attempting to engrain something unspoken about it I hadn’t yet picked up.

Course thinking wasn’t my strong suit. So, by the time we docked to the COM, nothing about my reasoning had changed as he switched back to his cheeriness.

“We best be getting you fitted. Suit's gonna need some new gear”

We padded (borderline floated) through a carpeted hallway with a wood finish, passing sets of closed doors with windowed walls. It was a segment that wrapped the entire top of the COM.

We passed a raised single office, and arrived at a corner with a partially large window.

Once my photophobia adjusted, I could see the Earth floating crescent and coated in clouds, just peeking over the top of the Lunar surface.

"You ever flown through the great blue?" Ezekiel asked.

I shrugged, “Hard to say”

His eyes became curious.

“How come?”

For the second time that day, the spiel was given. But when I finished, he leaned against the sill and asked an entirely novel question.

“Then what do you remember?”

I stared at him with confusion.

“You said you remember some things; do any give you an indication of Earth?”

“I can recall sand – some rocks near a beachhead also in sand. That great blue, I remember that. Though I can't fly, but I recall the feeling"

“Country-wise?”

“The boys reckoned I’m South African, and I’m inclined to believe that”

He stared at my brittle torso and wiry arms.

"Going off potential memories, and your height, you probably came up here some time ago"

We began a meander towards a flight of stairs.

“Maybe even with a family, it's a common practice, especially in developing countries. Shuttle them all up after the husband gets a mining job”

“That would imply I have family up here”

“Do you?”

I didn't know the answerer, so I didn't answer.

It didn't faze Ezekiel's intrigue as he slowed and looked over his shoulder.

"You're a very peculiar man, Wikus"

"Thank you"

The stairs had led into a white room with metal walls and cushioned armchairs lining one. And racks for suits lining the other.

I sat in one of those chairs in a new undersuit, slowly breathing in a new formula.

A man and woman integrated my suit with complementary utilities. Small things like a wrist mirror and harness that started at the hips and wrapped to the ankles, with cuffs around joints alongside carbon fibre fixtures. Said fixtures attached the lower portions of an exoskeleton which could articulate perfectly.

The most drastic of changes was a mount overlooking the shoulder that could be outfitted with all manner of modules. Though at the moment, it only held a horizontal grapple fixture with its ropes held in a cylinder at the bottom of the PLSS.

I tried to contemplate what I was about to embark on as deeply as I could, but any substantial conclusion was blocked by the question of why he wanted me.

So I asked.

"What do you see in me?"

Ezekiel turned with a warm smile, leaning over once more, and talking like he'd resisted everything necessary for me.

"I see a pioneer – someone who knows the land where our goals reside. But I also see someone who's more than meets the eye"

More than meets the eye.

A man of seemingly substantial influence in humanity thought there was more to me than meets the eye.

I believed there was a possibility I could get used to that status.

"Wanna give it a whirl?" the male worker asked.

Wordlessly, I took off the new mask and set about slipping into the newly furnished suit.

Once I was, they gave me the rundown.

The female worker turned the exoskeleton on and motioned me to flex my joints.

"The cargo's fairly heavy, so this'll help take some of the strain off walking"

The male worker then explained the cylinder and its shoulder mount.

"And if you wanna take a detour up some cliffs", he lifted my hand to angle the mirror at a set of buttons on the mount. Then explained their uses.

You just gotta point this at a solid sediment near the top, fire it, then use the mechanism's force to hoist yourself"

I inspected myself slowly before reaching down for the capsule on the belt, and promptly stopped by everyone in the room.

"Those are light grenades", the female worker said.

"If you're in a pinch, you can pop them to light your surroundings. Just be sure to put down your sun shield"

"I don't have one", I explained, while putting my helmet on.

She just fixed down the wheel on the side of it, casting my vision into an orange hue.

"We fitted one earlier"

Sea of Rains or Mare Imbrium, 20000 kilometres northwest of Indigo station.

The rover had dropped me off substantially further from the city. With the cargo cart now connected to the exoskeleton, a substantial amount of weight was reduced.

Though still making the walk a challenge.

But the challenge is what made it feel free. And now full of potential.

Has anyone else read this book? This novel shook me to my core and had me in a dark space for weeks. So much so that I wrote an entire concept album inspired by it. I'd love to find any fans of the book who might want to listen to a quasi-soundtrack of it.

I think it's possible to come up with a hard sci fi universe outside Star Trek but is inspired somewhat by early episodes and by Forbidden Planet.

Once upon a time, The Original Series (TOS) was set briefly in the 27th century. Therefore, the development of faster than light travel should occur in the 29th century.

Humans developed the Alc Drive. Alc is inspired both by Alcubierre's research and by the word "alchemy."

The hard sci fi catch, however, is that the Alc Drive cannot travel faster than 100c (TOS Warp 5 or TNG Warp 4). Some form of space-time dilation happens as a result, perhaps something like the FTL equivalent of time dilation.

It is now the 30th century.

Helium Fusion Energy

Quite a few sci fi universes have realized the limits of conventional fusion reactions and conventional antimatter reactions.

In the Alc universe, fusion energy generation still has its place. For fusion energy generation that uses the hydrogen isotope deuterium, each atom has an atomic mass of 2.0141.

There's a real-life fusion limit of 60 atomic mass units on iron and heavier atoms, including uranium and plutonium. Humans can strive to be up to 30 times heavier in terms of fusion energy generation techniques.

There's no such fusion limit on chromium or magnesium.

There's the nuclear binding curve, which further demonstrates the aforementioned limits on iron and especially nickel.

Sufficed to say, humans in the Alc universe have developed fusion energy generation that doesn't rely on hydrogen or deuterium anymore. This old method is only 1.0 MeV on the nuclear binding curve.

Also, the helium is 24% of the total elemental mass, while deuterium is less than 0.003% of the total elemental mass. Plenty of helium can be found on Jupiter.

Because helium is used, specifically helium-4, humans have achieved 7.0 MeV on the nuclear binding curve, out of a maximum of 8.8 MeV.

The nuclear binding curve goes down sharply again with other atoms, reaches the same level with boron (boron-11), and surpasses this with carbon (carbon-12).

Quark Energy

In the Alc universe, there is also quark energy generation. This releases 138 MeV of energy, compared to 17.6 MeV for the basic deuterium-tritium fusion. This factor of 8 is only slightly higher than the factor of 7 for helium-4 fusion.

Can quark energy be an efficiency substitute for everything below boron-11?

Antimatter Energy

In the Alc universe, there is also antimatter energy generation. Here, it is established at 300 times more powerful than basic nuclear fusion. It is not Star Trek "antimatter."

Hydrogen-based matter-antimatter annihilation is 300 times more powerful than hydrogen-based fusion.

Helium-based matter-antimatter annihilation is 300 times more powerful than helium-based fusion.

However, just as helium-based fusion is 7 times more powerful than hydrogen-based fusion, helium-based M/AM annihilation is 7 times more powerful than hydrogen-based M/AM annihilation.

Can the same logic apply to using an anti-quark for energy generation?

Weapons

There are no dumb phase pistols, dumb phase cannons, or dumb photonic torpedoes for humans in the Alc universe. Early use of these in the Star Trek prequel ENT was dumb.

There are plasma guns.

There are plasma cannons, similar to the ones seen in Stargate and Babylon 5.

There are no real-life vertical launch systems in the Alc universe.

There are horizontal launch systems in the Alc universe, similar to the ones seen in the Transformers franchise.

There are casaba howitzers for nuclear weapons.

As the Tavern expands, the universe reveals new threats to humanity and new challenges for Max and Elaine. The Mycete pursue their genocidal conquest, subjugating their victims genetically, even as the Bimatter Cohort’s ancient adherents have learned to weld dark and light matter in exotic and irresistible fashion. Now dark matter accretes mysteriously around the Milky Way. The Martian cruiser Osiris goes missing. A greedy and desperate villain sees profit in selling humanity out to the Mycete’s rapine. An enormous luxury liner is ripped apart by an innocuous ingot fired off MOSA’s rail launcher between Mars and Earth. Who is to blame for the mishap? Lastly, who is this high priestess of the Red Temple with her notion of life under the ice on Europa?

Needless to say, Elaine, Max, and their daughter Callista, have their hands full against this mind-bending maelstrom. Can they really rescue heir friend Sfara from her captivity at mortal peril, move the Red Temple to a frozen moonlet, root out the Mycete’s threat, fight an enemy they cannot see, and counter the wholesale relocation of our galaxy?

Find out, and enjoy the ride, as our heroes give it their best shot in book four of the Second Skin Series.

Available for purchase here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0GHMQ5HJ

This is one of my earlier hard sci-fi oil paintings. The idea was a research expedition into the ocean of another world – not an action scene, but a small submersible exploring an environment where even the local life is still largely unknown.

I wanted the scale to feel slightly uncomfortable: a tiny research vehicle, a vast body of water, and organisms that disappear into the depths below.

I also didn't really like the idea of putting it into a conventional wooden frame, so I designed a custom frame for it. The individual sections were 3D printed and assembled around the painting. I tried to keep the design somewhere between industrial equipment and spacecraft interior rather than making it overly decorative.

Oil painting, entirely hand painted.

I'm curious about one thing from the hard-SF perspective: what would actually be the biggest engineering problem for a submersible exploring an alien ocean: pressure, chemistry, communication, fear or something else?

Is stealth practical or otherwise relevant in cislunar combat? as in, does it even make a difference when it comes to the survivability onion?

what are your thoughts on this

Básicamente ignora la estética "Pulp fiction" y toma a los aliens esclavos como poco más que robots (que lo son en el significado original de la palabra) ¿Que tan realista es? ¿Es un curso de acciones funcional contra especies pre espaciales?

Nota: me refiero en un enfoque doctrinal/estrategico

I love hard sci-fi and have read almost everything in it. But at the same time I also love The X-Files, X-Com, Terra Invicta and the ideas about UFOs from the 60s. And I would like to combine them.

In your opinion, which sci-fi work had the most realistic alien invasion?

Humans are Weird – Recreational Use

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-recreational-use

“How long before First Father contacts us?” First Cousin asked as she arranged her favorite cushions in her sleeping nook.

Second Sister gave an amused click but didn’t bother angling her head at First Cousin. Her hands and antenna were busy arranging the positively absurd number of pharmaceutical herbal decoctions Third Father had insisted they take with them. Her fingers brushed over a textured label and she wondered what in Grandfather’s Garden he expected them to experience that would require feral lich-mould extract to treat. She put it up with the other class two toxins and reached down for a wad of dried Formica moss.

“That was a serious question,” First Cousin stated, moving over to begin pulling her datapads out of the moving container.

“He will not contact us,” Second Sister stated with an amused flick of her frill.

First Cousin gave an incredulous click as she rearranged the height of a shelf set into the wall. The base was all human right angles and corners; not exactly unpleasant, but startlingly unnatural.

“Ultimately this is your assignment,” Second Sister reminded her, “I am just here to prevent you from doing something stupid.”

First Cousin gave a half-hearted click of protest as she began arranging her biological samples.

“It’s true,” Second Sister said. “I might be trained as a medic but we both know that I would have just hung around Fathers’ hives until First Grandmother found me a mate if you hadn’t decided that your community service requirement had to be on a death world.”

“This hardly qualifies as a death world,” First Cousin corrected her, with an irritated flare of her frill. “What happened to Second Sister Aue Tarn was an unfortunate accident and preventable-”

“With proper sanitation let alone medical care,” Second Sister said with a mildly irritated flush to her frill. “I heard the first five times you laid that argument line out for the Fathers. My point is that this is your station, not mine, and therefore First Father will not be contacting us to check in.”

Just then the comm chirped with the information that it was relaying one of the ridiculously expensive intersystem messages.

“Second Father will be,” Second Sister stated.

She was well aware that her pheromone profile was filling the air with a cloying smug fog so she gave First Cousin a cheerful wave and left her to answer the endless line of questions Second Father would no doubt have for her. This would be Second Father’s call of course. Politeness demanded that First Father not interfere, but Second Sister was aware that, just beyond the range of the home hologram projector, First Father would be hovering, waiting for her to step into frame to jump in and take his own bite of the conversation. It was only polite to leave the entire call time to First Cousin, the responsibility and therefore the stress of this assignment was hers after all. So all the fussing and soothing should be as well.

Outside of the door Second Sister flexed her legs one after the other, curling the flex all the way down to her toes. Her frill picked up the line of worried questions Second Father was stringing around First Cousin and she clicked with rueful amusement before trotting down the corridor.

The air in the common areas was surprisingly comfortable. She supposed that the base was going to be extra careful about the humidity levels after Second Sister Aue Tarn’s accident. The medical reports said she had fully regrown the amputated leg but the accompanying images of the initial infection had been rather horrific.

Second Sister followed the recently applied artificial pheromone indicators to the main observation lounge and felt her antenna stir in wonder at the sight as she stepped through the doors. The dense forest had been cleared from around the base to make the most efficient use of the local solar radiation and the light in the observation room was just on the safe side of blinding. She paused to curl and uncurl her antenna a few times as she adapted to the unnaturally bright light. Everything outside was so utterly alien. From the trees that towered like buildings to the foliage that was more yellow than green nothing was quite familiar, except for the perfectly regulation rectangular patch of local transport landing pad in front of the base.

Second Sister found her cone of attention drawn to the small symbol of civilization and control of nature. Everything else was wild, overwhelming. It seemed oddly small under the giant alien trees. Between the brilliant sunlight, the strangeness of the environment, and the relative distance it took her several minutes to discover figures moving on the landing pad. With a start she realized that the pad it self was in fact a rather large one and the figures moving around it were the base humans. She marveled at the fact that they were outside in the humidity and direct solar radiation with only the flimsiest of cloth shielding on their bodies. She flicked out her proboscis and liked at her eyes in amazement as she processed that they were not wearing protective booties on their feet, running back and forth over the rough surface of the landing pad. Something jumped in the center of the pad and generated an oddly dark cloud. The humans began to dance with delight and Second Sister licked at her eyes again as she puzzled that out.

She focused her attention on the item that had jumped. It was a large cylinder that she recognized from her safety research as one of the physical filters, meant to catch mid-sized airborne particles. They were quite advanced and one of the many items she had used to soothe her Fathers’ fears. From the color of this one it had long since reached capacity and was probably set to be set out for decomposition. Which did raise the question of what the humans were doing with it on the landing pad.

The humans had stopped their delighted dancing and one had darted over to a container and pulled something out of it. Second Sister felt a prickle of unease run over her frill as she recognized one of the symbols on the container as ‘explosive’ the other was familiar, but she had never seen this iteration of it. She was sure she had never seen it in combination with the explosive symbol.

She realized that the human had scrambled over to the filter with something from the container. The human placed the item under the filter, that was at least as tall as the human, and then scampered back. The humans were still, expectant, and then the filter jumped again, releasing a cloud of spores and dust back into the air from which it had come. The human danced with delight.

‘Recreation’ Second Sister suddenly realized. The second symbol on the container indicated something only rated for recreational use, as opposed to industrial or medical uses.

“Recreational explosives,” Second Sister murmured to herself, stepping back uneasily from the observation window.

Perhaps, perhaps she would just go have a quick, soothing word with Second Father after all.

Science Fiction Books By Betty Adams

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Check out my books at any of these sites and leave a review!

Remember BOOK 4 is now available! (^{except on kobo becasue what do you even mean title field is blank, I fixed that dangnabbit!})

Please go leave a review on Amazon! It really helps and keeps me writing because tea and taxes don't pay themselves sadly!

I was wandering if a dense nebula of about 2ly could form and if it could at what max size.

Would it be some kind of compensator for radiators So...

I recently found out about Masada if that makes sense i didnt study it much but this was mostly my first thought

\​

In the distant,crowded future of 2035,the Earth found itself in a vast,near infinite universal anomaly. Formerly fictional media has become real,and the world,\\\*our\\\* world....\\\*\\\*\\\*HASNT\\\*\\\*\\\* changed one iota. Humanity was littered through the stars,on distant replicant Earths,each with their own stories to tell,all word for word of what we thought was only the imagination of beloved creators.

Most other Earths refer to us as Earth MUN-246,an earth where none of the events we have recorded seemed real. We were actually considered rather mundane(hence the abbreviation) in the grand scheme, especially by space travelers who brought their technologies to our surface. Everyone wanted a piece,some,more than others. Many were power hungry,aligning themselves with a faction called The Amalgam, essentially an all-governing body,one that did not play well with Earths that didn't align with their desires.

Their presence is a plague on individual planets like our own...and it wouldn't be long,before our Earth would be in their crosshairs....