噬菌体的转录RNA

基金会月球研究Site 01,安全会议室1-O。
1973年,7月19日,10:36 GMT。
O5-10抬起手,想调整他的电子喉项圈,但只得因他的手拒绝移动而就此作罢。移除肿瘤是一个漫长、枯竭且憔悴的过程。而不幸的是,那些他们为了让他保持警惕而为他灌下的混合药剂,有一些其他的副作用。

“如果你不介意的话—?”

轻轻的,温柔地,那长长的机械手臂从他的床边升起。昏暗的房间里,卡钳般的机械指闪烁着,把那个小装置重新安装在了他脖子的残垣断壁上。然后,头靠枕旁的发音器中传出了一阵轻柔的嘶嘶声。

“感觉好点了吗,先生?”

“显然如此。让我们开始吧。”

本质上来说,这间房只是一间普通的十三人议会会议室。还有几十个像它一样的会议室存在——曾经存在,但现如今这个是唯一一个剩下的了。他们已经清走了桌子以及那舒服的惊人的椅子,用无菌塑料盖住了那纯黑、吸光的墙壁。除了他躺着的这个摇篮一样的床以外,房间里唯一的家具是一个矮架桌子,而13台仓促组装的视频显示器以及一个小小的摄像机的重量就这么压在了桌子上。一束巨大的电缆穿过挡板,连接至正在等待的Lunar Site-01通讯中心。所以的频道都已被清空,只为这一刻。

竭尽全力,O5-10扭动了他左手的一个手指,使之刚好能轻触一个精致的拨动开关。摄像机上的灯闪烁了起来。他督向右侧,就是正好在他的视线边缘之处,第14个屏幕显示了正在广播的图像。在那个黑色的屏幕上,以字符‘O5’叠加着一个白色的基金会符号。‘SOUND ONLY’的字样在框架底部轻轻地、脉冲般地跳动

一个接一个的,视频显示器脉冲进入了颗颗粒粒的生活图像,展示了十三张画面。几乎所有画面上的面孔都展示出低重力环境下的浮肿,并且都很焦虑的面带愁容。网络通讯所造成的压力是巨大的,但有时候你就是需要来一场面对面的沟通。这时,O5-10清了清他的喉咙。

“在然后其他情况下,我或者我的同事,都会向那你们进行情况的通报。不过,似乎在我不幸缺席的情况下,你们自己已经做到了去恢复某种程度的稳定。那么,我们是时候免除平常的协定了。”

他按下了又一个开关,随后他的显示器上的图像活跃了起来。O5-10耐心地等待着时间的延迟,看着显示器上各种各样的惊讶表情。他毫不留情地看了一眼自己的图像——那一个曾经充满力量,现在却虚弱且干瘪的人。他那光秃秃的脑袋上满是外科手术留下的疤痕和斑点。

“你们都是太阳系中现存的各种基金会资产的现任或代理负责人。这一事实让我们成为了基金会指挥链的最顶层。就我而言,这也将授予你们O5级别的许可。我很清楚,这与你们从我这个职位所了解到的一切都相悖,不过,现在可是非常时期。”

FORC-06,即月面收容站,的主管清了清她的喉咙。她实际上就和O5-10站在同一地面上,但O5-10免疫系统的状态阻止了他们会面。

“长官,呃……如果我错了的话,还请纠正我。不过如果12个所有主要FORC都在线上,那是谁占用了第14个频道。是我们在任何次级站点进行修补,还是……?”

随着信息向外渗透,谈话中又出现了停顿。来自更远的FORCs- 10, 11和12的几位代表依然没有收到最初的广播他的目光落在了第13个屏幕上。那个它没有连接上的站点并没有视频的通讯频带。屏幕上他们的占位符则是一个程式化的金色喇叭。

“因安保原因,FORC-00的存在信息被压了下来。我确信,除了Cooper主管以及设立在FORC-05的FSF轨道司令部外,你们都不知情。不过呢,我相信你们都很熟悉海姆达尔计划。可以这么说,海姆达尔已经很好地进入了奥尔特星云,并且他们正在细致入微地关注着局势。”


Noamtosk surveyed the waiting Board with equal parts well-practiced ease and trepidation. He knew the effect he made, silhouetted in front of the wide bay window with the damaged starship drifting behind him. The eyes of the Board were upon him, their jawpetals extended politely, their uplimbs folded in the Gesture of Waiting Attention.

He smiled, assumed the Gesture of Showmanly Demonstration, and began his Pitch.

Okay, so. We open on the depths of space. Soaring music as we give the audience a chance to appreciate the magnificence of the cosmos, and all that. Nebulae, comets, all that jazz. Astronomers in the crowd nod appreciatively. Shot pans across a tiny, unimportant object- a metal plate, glinting brassy in the distant starlight. It's drifting, tumbling over and over. Slowly, it turns towards the camera, catching the light, and we see a map- a small world, a little bit more water than land. A subtitle pops up-

[Developing system. Potential Level: Elevated. Local Designate: SOL.]

Give them a few seconds to register. Then the plaque starts to shake. Tremble. The music gets tense. The starlight quavers and ripples and then WHAM! A massive spacecraft, out of nowhere! A series of ramshackle metal compartments strapped to four red-hot nuclear engines on the end of long pylons. Spinning radar dishes, obvious boltwork- primitive, but with a certain nobility nonetheless. We zoom in- maybe throw in a bit of shaky-cam, to give the impression of bulk and awe. The music is super threatening- the barbarity of its craft. Backward, yet warlike! Maybe a pan over missile banks and laser arrays. More subtitles, this time in a different font. More obviously computerized, maybe accompanied by a narration in Human. No need to translate.

[Secure Containment Protocols Foundation vessel Zheng He. Mission: Pass beyond Sol system transit plaque and report on findings. Use of direct force is authorized.]

A bunch of radar dishes and obvious sensors open up on the outer hull- maybe chuck some old-timey sound effects here, depending on how serious we're going with this. Anyways they're searching for something. All clear? NO! Suddenly the dishes stop. Music's building again. We see the weapons powering on. Springing to life. The engines go brighter- windows on the hull are shutting. New subtitle!

[Enemy contact detected: BATTLESTATIONS.]

And as the music gets too intense to handle suddenly the stars go dark and a shadow passes over the Zheng He. There's a blinding flash of white light, a rumbling explosion, aaaaand- ROLL OPENING.

[FIRST ENCOUNTER: SOL SYSTEM.]

Upbeat Human music. Local stuff- they've got these things called 'synths' that are just perfect for this sort of thing. Cast list, maybe some portraits if we can find some good footage. Shots of Human ships at work in orbit, Foundation operatives investigating something, GOC and GRU and CID people fighting, high adventure, drama, all that.

We return to see the Zheng He listing. Still not clear what's hit it, right? Zoom in close- through the clouds of smoke billowing from the hull, through debris and electrical fires, to the bridge, where the command crew are strapped in and barely holding together. Music in the background is snappy and driving.

We see the crew, nervous but determined, Humans of all stocks and subspecies. We see the Number One, a female, passionate, charismatic but impulsive. A real firebrand. Then the Captain- a male, intelligent, wise, but cold and unfeeling. Not their real personalities of course, but we can edit those- and their appearances- in post. Still unsure whether or not to go with a romance subplot between the two, but the possibility is there. So- and this is all dubbed, of course, but we have the option of a subbed version for the purists, maybe a collector's set or something- preliminary dialogue. Just placeholder for now.

Captain: Your thoughts, Number One?

Number One: No time for that, sir! All batteries, fire at will!

Cut back to the outside. Lasers charge silently- maybe a close cut to some of the weapons, get the coolant gasses pouring over those stylish "Subach-Innes" logos. You know how the diehard fans are about branded merchandise, and there are endless possibilities with the Sol system.

So, lasers discharge, missiles fly- we see them impact on whatever the big 'enemy' is.

Weapons Officer: No damage, sir! They're charging for another shot!"

Number One: We don't stand a chance in hell of weathering another blast like that!

Captain: Evasive maneuvers! Get us out of here!

Again, placeholder dialogue. So, ship pulls out- thunder of engines, spitting of nuclear fire, the hull is shaking with the strain- all that. Still firing as it moves, it dodges an enemy attack- a ravening beam of blue-white energy with a distinctive gold afterglow. At this point, the smart ones in the audience are saying 'Ah-hah!'.

Captain: They've moved between us and the plaque back into the system. Number One, any suggestions?

A tense pause- we get the sense that the Captain is genuinely unsure, but also taking a moment to test his subordinate/close confidant. This'll happen occasionally- establish that our Captain has a darker side to him, a willingness to push boundaries that is dangerous, but also magnetic and, dare I say it, a bit sexy.

Number One: This is 1822 we're dealing with, right? They believe in combat, in glory, in a struggle…

Captain: It would certainly seem like they're getting what they want.

And then- the music gets hopeful! There's a spark in Number One's eyes! A plan has formed. No, not just a plan! A Plan!

Number One: Comms! Hail them, all frequencies! Now, before they're back in range!

A tense moment as another beam scorches the ship and throws them about.

Comms Officer: Channel open, ma'am!

Close-up on Number One. A bead of sweat drips down her brow. And then, she speaks- all bravado and bluster, with the spirit of Humanity backing up her words! The music soars!

Number One: So it's a fight you're looking for, huh? Well, clearly you've got us outgunned. Hardly sporting, isn't it. Hell, one volley in and already we're running away. But what if… what if we could offer you the greatest struggle of them all?

Not the struggle of a lone ship against overwhelming odds- no, something better than that. The struggle of every species that ever lived in the galaxy! Every protozoon, every worm that crawled in the muck, every bird that struggled skyward, every ape-thing that gazed with dawning understanding at a brushfire! I offer you the struggle to find one's place! the struggle to find belonging! Give us your aid, and we will offer you the human species, in the struggle for home!

Silence. The music cuts out dramatically. And then, the viewscreen on the main bridge console flickers to life, and a voice- no need to dub this one- rumbles over the bridge, all smoothe and masculine and confident. The enemy… why, it's me, of course, their dependable rival and erstwhile companion. I smile politely at them- we get shots of horror from them, naturally- and say…

First Unit Director Naomtosk: The struggle for home, my Human friend? Now that- that's got power to it. Tell you what. I'll have my people talk to your people. I think we've got something here.

Aaaaand cut to first commercial break. What do you think?


Foundation Lunar Research Site 01, Secure Conference Room 1-O.
July 19th, 1973, 12:45 hours GMT.

The last message had long been sent, the last monitor turned off and removed by orderlies in clean-suits. O5-10 awoke from his daze. There was something in the room. It reached down and neatly pressed the light switch.

It was only the drugs coursing through his system, and his years of staring into the abyss that kept O5-10's heart from giving out. Six slender, spike-tipped limbs, in two clusters of three around a pillarlike spine. A central head, with four petals- no, they were tooth-lined jaws- each with a lidless, blank eye at their tip. A single mouth- too wide, with teeth like interlocking gears. It spoke, softly and politely.

"O5-10? I do apologize for waking you, but time seemed of the essence. You see, one of your representatives recently made contact with us- you could call us, hmmmm- yes, call us the Showmen. They proposed an exchange, of sorts- your story, your quest for home, for our… pertinent technical knowledge. If you decline, no hard feelings, but if you're interested, the results could be… well, extremely lucrative for both our species."

O5-10 sat bolt upright, his drugged and tumor-raddled body no more a restraint to him than his linen sheets. He had half a mind to call security. But the other half…

"What exactly do you have in mind?"

The Showman smiled, and began his pitch anew.





groa.jpg

Artistic depiction of Gróa, which matches the figurehead of SCP-4113 to a high level of accuracy.

项目编号: SCP-4113

项目等级: Hera (Hostile/High Utility)

特殊收容措施: If encountered SCP-4113 is to be considered hostile. Capture of the object is of paramount importance given the potential utility of its anomalous technology to the fleet. No less than 3 Varuna class vessels must be utilized in capture of the object.

描述: SCP-4113是一艘由古代北欧人所设计的长船。SCP-4113能够达到光速的99.9999938%。SCP-4113长174.3英尺 (53米),宽26英尺(8米),且拥有大约220个划船椅。SCP-4113能够时刻在其周围维持一个大气环境区域。

SCP-4113 has a capacity for 340 crew members. SCP-4113 also has a number of devices installed along its structure of unknown purpose. SCP-4113's crew show no signs of age despite the length of their time in space and do not appear to suffer from the ill effects of longtime radiation exposure.

Discovery: 126 days after the exodus from Sol system, Merin Aspic of the Mobile Foundation Orbital Research Compound 071 detected a high energy gamma flash approximately 16 light minutes away from the UEF2. Pallas Athena Nine was notified via radio and the FSF Delivery was dispatched to investigate the source of the wave.

As SCP-4113 was approached, it reduced its velocity and turned to meet the Delivery. However, SCP-4113 possessed primitive means of communication and no contact was made. After 2 hours and 36 minutes SCP-4113 turned back and resumed its previous course. Telemetry data indicated a course for Sol.

As SCP-4113 accelerated away, it emitted gamma radiation in increasing amounts. It is believed that this is a result of the object impacting interstellar hydrogen at appreciable fractions of c.

Addendum 4113.1:

What little identifying data was able to be gathered from SCP-4113 indicated that the figurehead of the object was carved in the guise of Gróa, an individual described in the Poetic Edda. Documents from Pallas Athena's library have shown a strong resemblance between the figurehead and artistic depictions from the The Lay of Svipdagr.

The Lay of Svipdagr is a pair of poems describing an individual who must travel to Jötunheimr3. The timing of this myth's ties strongly into a loose collection of historical records identifying an individual known as Svifdag who was the youngest son of the petty king of Uppsala in 1011.

Several historical records indicate that Svifdag began work on the largest long ship ever constructed in 1012. No historical record exists of either that individual or the ship after 1013.

Addendum 4113.2:

197 days after initially encountering SCP-4113, a similar high energy gamma flash was detected behind the UEF. After an additional 2 days SCP-4113 was detected on long range visual sensors and the FSF Delivery was dispatched with Dr. Malcolm Page, an expert on Old Norse culture and language from Pallas Athena Seven4.

When approached, SCP-4113 again slowed and turned to face the approaching ship. Dr. Page was outfitted with an exosuit and the Delivery made a close pass in order to facilitate his transport to SCP-4113. Upon entering SCP-4113's atmospheric envelope he drifted down onto the deck of SCP-4113. He was then stabbed multiple times by the SCP-4113's crew. Following this he was stripped of clothing and equipment. His body was then thrown behind the ship where it drifted out of the atmospheric envelope. SCP-4113 then approached the Delivery.

The Delivery turned and burned back towards the UEF with SCP-4113 in pursuit. After several close passes, the FSF Delivery opened fire on SCP-4113 with its onboard coil-guns. Though SCP-4113 itself suffered no damage, approximately 30 of its crew members were killed in this attack. After this opening volley, SCP-4113's crew threw a large number of axes and spears at the Delivery.

The Delivery suffered heavy damage; its outer shell was pierced in several locations. The Delivery's crew equipped their remaining exosuits and directed sustained fire at the deck of SCP-4113. This directed fire was effective in clearing the deck of SCP-4113, though the invulnerable nature of the craft itself shielded approximately 40 SCP-4113 crewmen from the Delivery's weapons.

At this point, due to damage, the Delivery no longer moved under its own power. SCP-4113 maintained a parallel heading. As a consequence of the Delivery's failing life-support systems, Captain Chance Sarridge ordered his crew to board SCP-4113. He hoped to use SCP-4113's atmosphere to prolong their chances of rescue. Upon landing on the deck of SCP-4113, the crew members were attacked by the remaining members of SCP-4113's crew.

The Delivery's crew used their handheld plasma lances in melee with SCP-4113's crew. Archie Flett (ship mechanic), Arina Bogomolov (navigator), and Lawrence Woodall (medic) were killed during this fight. Captain Sarridge and a single enemy combatant survived the encounter and were still engaged in combat when the FSF Hermes arrived. Captain Sarridge then fled SCP-4113 and was rescued by the Hermes.

The Hermes towed the Delivery back to Pallas Athena's space dock. SCP-4113 did not follow.

Upon returning to collect the bodies of both crews, SCP-4113 was no longer present. A gamma flash was detected approximately 15 light minutes away.

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