There were thirty rings in all. Each turning in the opposite direction from the one next to it. In the center was a core, containing the primary cargo holds and the ships internal power and drive control, systems. The central core didn't turn at all. Each ring section had an inner hub that appeared to slide across the surface of the central core. In fact it didn't quite touch it but was suspended nearly 0.1 subarm above it by a powerful magnetic field.
Beside each ring hub there was a smaller ring section that could match speed and dock with the hub of the passenger section. Then it would slow to a stop and dock with the stationary ring hub section of the core. These stationary ring hubs also served as mount points for the superstructure connecting the core with it's three primary transduction thruster systems. That superstructure also provided three docking cradles for vessels too large for the internal docking and shuttle bays.
These cradles sat in the middle between the thrusters. The Resonance was also equipped with a transit pod system, that doubled as an escape pod system. Each of these could travel to one of many pod stations located on every level inside a ring section via a network of high speed transit tubes, Each pod could also be launched into the void where it could use the magnetic and other energy fields that the Resonance generated to navigate it's way to an entry port on the central core or another ring section.
Questor couldn't be sure of the exact moment that the Resonance would arrive. He knew that at least one galactic class guild transport ship would check for passenger and/or cargo pods every cycle of real time. The perimeter of each of the various rendezvous point zones was clearly marked by guild marker beacons. Questor carefully positioned his shuttle in a selective transfer zone. Indicating not only the region of his intended destination but also his preference for transport on the Resonance itself. All by his shuttles exact position within the designated area. Thus any other guild transport should silently pass by without collecting his shuttle. Though it would note his presence and a message that somebody was waiting would eventually reach the Resonance.
Questor didn't think the wait would be too long before he would suddenly feel the inertial damper and manipulator fields begin the process of abruptly changing his relative velocity to something approximating light speed. In fact, he had been waiting less than 2 subcycles when he was startled by a much more impressive event.
There was a distortion of a section of the void of empty space. For a brief moment, space itself appeared to quiver, then suddenly a massive object could be seen rapidly decelerating. It was in fact the Resonance itself. Questor shook his head at the massive expenditure of energy that was required to bring the huge vessel to a virtual stop. Then he sent a signal requesting docking instructions. 0.03 subcyclets later the Resonance signaled that he should stand down and let the pod manipulation system relocate his shuttle, into a VIP docking bay.
The crew of the Resonance have a culture all their own. They live and die by their music. Thanks to their questor, who is called ‘The Captain’ by his crew, most questors and even the majority of free spacers. Each and every member of ‘The Captain's’ crew has been at least musically augmented. Thanks to this modified variant of category 0 medical augmentation nanites, they can each internally play back any kind of music. So no mater what the job, they can each have their background music of choice. They all have access to the ship's vast library of music. Most also play a musical instrument. Many sing.
They fill the long hours of their travels with concerts. Performing for each others pleasure. The Captain makes sure it's a good life for his crew. Most of whom choose to spend their entire lives aboard the Resonance. Somehow the Captain manages to keep all of them sufficiently augmented, that they can use an advanced hypersleep system which enables them to repetitively wake and return to a near stasis state. As often as they like, without risking stasis saturation.
The Captain makes sure that apart from himself, every member of the crew can choose to skip as much of the subjective time as they like. Except of course, during the first, and last subjective year of any flight. Crew also have the option of cashing out at any port of call. Very few ever do so. What's more, most of those who do, sign back on the next time the Resonance passes through.
Nonetheless, the majority of them choose to wake often and long enough, that even the nearly two thousand galactic standard year average life span their ‘musical augmentation’ gives them. Is rarely long enough to see more than a few dozen destination star systems.
The Captain loves his crew as though they were his own children. It pains him that their lives are so short but he consoles himself with knowing that the life he provides them with is both longer than any of them would otherwise live and happy enough that few of them would exchange it for anything.
The Captain provides them with a template for the reality of shipboard life. Most of their music is composed in imitation of an ancient music. That nobody who lives, has ever had the opportunity to hear. No one knows what the music of the ancient race that guild personnel refer to as ‘the Kindred’ actually sounded like. No record of their compositions has ever been found. Though an examination of certain relics had shown that they made musical instruments. There were even a few fossilized remains of hand crafted wooden stringed instruments. What little is known of their culture suggests they revered trees. Thus the fact that they would choose to use primitive methods to carve musical instruments from some form of wood, suggests that music was important to them. Since finding the origins of the Kindred was a favorite quest of their captain, the crew decided long ago to model their daily lives in tribute to their ancient fellow music lovers.
The crew have long preferred music made with the kinds of instruments the Kindred where known to have used. Occasionally they discovered something that inspired their imagination of what life must have been like, for a music loving spacefaring race that tended to pull up stakes and depart any star system. As soon as any native culture developed enough technology, to begin to doubt the existence of magic.
The crew would apply this inspiration to the composition of new music. Which they would play in tribute. The crew formed a club of sorts through which those who chose to do this could do so in an organized way. Since it's members were resolved to model certain aspects of their lives as ‘near’ as possible to that of ‘the Kindred’ they decided a fitting name for themselves would be the ‘Nearkin’.
On one of his earlier visits to the Resonance, Questor had used something from the Captain's collection of reconstructed stringed instruments to play a lilting tune that sounded both sad, and sweet. Then they asked where he had learned to play like that.
“Oh, that!” the Questor said with a shrug. “According to the Scotsman who taught it to me, it's just an old nameless Irish tune.”
In his wildest dreams, Questor couldn't have imagined the sweeping changes that comment was to have on the cultural development of the Nearkin. They had access to the Captain's guild files on Questor's adopted homeworld. By the time Questor had disembarked from the Resonance, a study had been made of the cultural and musical histories of both Ireland, and Scotland. A theory had quickly developed that the still remembered folklore of a fair folk found among both lands was very like what might remain for a while, among a local people, among whom the Kindred once walked.
When Questor returned to the Resonance 500 Galactic Standard years of real time later, the Nearkin had spent generations of subjective time reforming themselves into something inspired by the folklore of these lands. They had even adopted a standard of male dress attire that included a variant on the classic Scottish kilt. Most of them had also adopted new family names loosely based on various ancient clan names.
That, he mused as he stepped into the airlock, was another 300 years of real time ago. When the door opened he soon noticed that it looked like the shift in Nearkin culture, he had inadvertently started, was going to last for quite a while. The artificial landscape was enough evidence of that. The other side of the airlock was a l
arge open area within the ring segment. It was designed to appear as a well manicured courtyard surrounded by ancient stone walls.
A wide path lead to an inner structure designed to look like a castle, complete with moat and drawbridge. The sentries on duty at the drawbridge were armed with ceremonial, but quite functional crossbows. Their uniforms, he noted still included kilts. Questor instructed the nano-morphic material of his transparent space suit to transform into a similar uniform. Except that they would see his as the uniform of a command grade officer.
As he walked toward the drawbridge, Questor's attention was split between enjoying the scenic beauty of the tree filled courtyard and the holographic sky. The air of the former smelled natural. Questor's eyes however, were drawn to those portions of the latter as were visible between the superimposed images of the framework that appeared to be a parody of the rings of the Resonance made of stone and styled as a greater castle.
The perspective view of the overhead holographic image was distorted by a deliberate illusion that there was a blue sky surrounding the rings. Where the core section of the Resonance should have been was an oversized illusion of empty air. Between the surreal images of the stone rings were accurately placed representations of the same local star systems, that would appear on the view screens of Resonance's control room. As he approached the entrance to the inner city Questor was pleased to notice that the two guards were actively engaging in a marksmanship contest.
The massive drawbridge was an impressive 25 arms wide and thirty arms long. There was a straw target mounted, on the inside of either railing, about half way across the bridge. As he watched the guards marched together back and forth between the targets. When they reached one of targets, they would each take a turn surveiling the vicinity while the other retrieved their target bolt. Then they would take turns shooting their bolts at the target on the other side. Their game, he was sure, would be interrupted whenever someone sought to cross the bridge.
“Who goes there?” the nearest guard challenged, in a pleasant friendly voice.
Questor nodded at them and answered somewhat cryptically.
“Tis I, a passenger and friend of the Captain,” he said.
It didn't really matter what he said however. Questor knew that even though there wasn't any visible sign of the technology involved. The computer would have identified him to them already. The challenge was strictly ceremonial. Besides which they certainly wouldn't expect a Questor to actually give them a name. Nonetheless he had politely waited for the guard to respond before he continued to cross the bridge.
“You may pass Questor,” was the response.
When he passed into the castles inner courtyard, a man smartly dressed in an officers kilt, stepped up to him.
“Greetings Questor, the Captain bid me to welcome you,” he said. “My name is Michael McCline. And I'm to inform you that I'm at your disposal sir. May I inquire if there is anything you desire before the Captain meets with you?”
“No Mr McCline,” Questor said with a warm smile. “I thank you. But I'm all set.”
“Then I'm to tell you that he awaits you upon the command deck,” Michael replied. “If you'll follow me.”
Then the man quickly lead Questor through a doorway and down a corridor. When Michael stopped, he gestured towards a recession in the wall that consisted of the entrances to a pair of stone staircases, one leading up and the other down. Between them there was an open elevator door. Questor grinned and proceeded to walk up the stairs.
When Questor stepped out onto the upper deck he noticed, that here, the panoramic view was broken by several large view screens. He was amused, though not surprised, at the set of three wooden spoked wheels. At which the three ships helmsmen stood at the ready, in case the order should be given to shift the ships position along any one of the three axis they controlled.
The Captain, he also noticed, wasn't sitting in his command chair. Which was located in the center of the inner raised circular platform. That it shared with the the three wheels. He was instead slowly pacing a circle around it. pausing for a moment to look at each helmsman's data screen. The Captain was of course aware of his presence but Questor knew he wouldn't appear to notice him until he approached the outer platform. Which formed a ring one step up from the upper deck itself and one step down from the command platform.
Questor waited for Michael to catch up. Then he waited for him to catch his breath. During which time the Captain circled the command chair twice. Eventually Questor took a step towards the outer platform. Immediately Michael pulled a small flute like instrument from his pocket. With which he produced a distinctive signal call. At which point the Captain snapped to attention and spun on his heels to face Questor.
“Welcome aboard old friend,” the Captain said. “If you'd like to have a seat.” He gestured to one of the two chairs located on either side of his command chair. “We're about to get under way.” Then without waiting for an answer, he focused his attention on Michael. “Mr McCline will join us.”
The Captain waited until they were both seated to begin smoothly barking orders to all three of his helmsmen. There was no sensation of movement. The changes in the holographic sky were the only obvious clues that the ship was now pointed outwards, away from the local star system. Yet there wasn't any missing the tremendous thrust produced when he ordered the massive transduction thrusters to fifty percent power.
The inertial compensators were, of course up to the task of canceling out the internal reaction that would otherwise have reduced everyone on board to jelly like stains on the sternward walls. Though as the opposing forces canceled each other out, a slight nearly subliminal vibration could be felt.
Abruptly the Captain sat down in his command chair, which he rotated slightly towards Michael.
“Activate your control console Mr McCline,” he commanded. “Monitor our distance from the local star, and our relative velocity. As soon as both values attain at least 110% of their minimum safe threshold values, engage the stardrive. The command is yours.”
Then the Captain rotated his chair so that it faced toward Questor's seat. Which like Michael's, was fixed at a 45 degree angle towards the Captains chair.
“Tell me Questor, what brings you aboard for such a long voyage?” the Captain finally asked.
“Well now, truth be told,” Questor replied. “There's more than one answer to that question. It's a fact that I've missed the music and hospitality of your gatherings old friend.”
“Aye, I suppose that's true enough,” the Captain replied. “But what moved you to find the time for it, now?”
Questor worded his response carefully.
“I've some pressing matters to discuss with the Professor,” Questor explained. “But we'll have plenty of time to talk of that later.
I see the trend I started among your Nearkin is still running strong. I do hope you've forgiven me, I really didn't intend to meddle.”
“Trend, you say?” the Captain fairly bellowed. “Tis no passing fad you started.” Then he continued. in a more conversational voice. “Nay tis a veritable cultural revolution.”
The captain fell silent. He stared at Questor as if he was of two minds about what to say next.
“That's why I'm trying to apologize old friend,” Questor interrupted the Captain's musing. “What puzzles me is that if they were going to base their pseudo culture on an old bit of Keltic music. Why did they standardize on an English speaking parody of it?
I know your ships records on my adopted worlds Keltic people are more accurate than that.”
“Pardon me,” Michael interjected. “But as a Nearkin, I'd like to answer that.” Then to the Captain he added, “Permission to speak freely sir?”
There was a bit of laughter in the Captains voice, when he replied.
“Seems to me that you already are speaking freely Mr McCline,” he said. “But if you keep it short and can do so without neglecting your duty, I'll allow it.”
“Thank yo
u sir!” Michael began. “Yes we Nearkin are quite aware that we based our cultural focus on an inexact parody of the Keltic people of your adopted planet Questor. But meaning no disrespect, we feel that the culture of these Kelts are at best just a parody of nearly forgotten traditions that might, just might, have been based on an ancient contact with the Kindred.
There was something in the music you attributed to them, that had a flavor of a hauntingly bittersweet sadness, that actually touched our hearts. The rest of it we put together in a whimsical fashion until we were happy with the results. I'd say more but we are approaching 110 percent of the minimum safe threshold velocity. So I must now focus all my attention on my command duties.”
“Well there you have it,” the Captain assumed command of the conversation. “They know it's not an accurate emulation of Keltic culture. But they are happy with it. And that is why there is nothing to forgive. My Nearkin are, by and large, happier and I dare say randier than they've ever been. Their music has, in my opinion, improved. They rejoice in their shipboard life so much that I spend much less time alone. In fact I've had to institute some procedural minimums for hypersleep time to keep them from spending their whole lives without ever seeing a real world. Which reminds me. How is Jess doing now? He must be near 400 years old now. Is he happy with the choice he made?”
“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask,” Questor said with a warm smile. “When I left Hillside he was doing fine. He has become a prized member of my team. In fact he is helping me show the ropes to my new apprentice. But I'm afraid he's already up to 500 years of subjective age. He insisted on taking a few long range journeys with me. And yes he still appears to be happy with the life he chose.”
“Good enough!” the Captain said. “When next you see him, give him my warmest regards. Tell him I'm happy for him.”
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