The Trans-Polar Beagle Point 2 Expedition

Macedonica

Macedonica





The Trans-Polar Beagle Point 2 Expedition

by

Archameus Solofernes, Historian and Cartographer​

Published in the intratext archives of the Imperial Compendium, 3315

On May 23rd, 3302, Commander Felix Macedonica brought the 'Apostata III' to land upon Beagle Point 2. This planet is justly famous across inhabited space for its location over 65, 000 light years from Sol. On board the Commander's Lakon Type 6E were 2 Scarab SRVs - the 'Dudley Docker' and the 'James Caird'. Felix Macedonica had named these light surface vehicles after 2 of the 3 rowboats used by Ernest Shackleton in his ill-fated Antarctic expedition in the early 20th century.

The Commander's aim was simple: to establish an initial base-camp, Camp Salomon, at the pole of Beagle Point 2 and then over the following weeks navigate and map the planet's main geographical features while driving along a designated longitudinal line to the opposite pole. At the end of each day's driving and charting, the Commander would establish a new base-camp with the recalled 'Apostata III' from low orbit. This would allow him to repair the SRVs and recover from exposure due to the unremitting radiation and deep cold of the planet's surface environment.

Beagle Point 2 is a small high-metal content world utterly characteristic of its type. It offers no remarkable differences to thousands upon thousands of others of its type across the known galaxy. Its main features comprise of blasted plains exposed to harsh extremes of heat and cold; variegated impact craters; isolated ridges and small volcanic ranges; and labyrinthine fissures riddled with canyons and sudden drops. It is a barren planet but also a famous one. As such, it deserved to be charted as befitted its stature.

In terms of bare statistics, Beagle Point 2 has a diameter of 2,372KM. The circumference is 7,448KM. A pole to pole expedition undertaken by Commander Macedonica was expected thus to cover approximately 3,742KM not taking into account terrain extremes and other hazards. Given the Scarab's limited functionality as a long-distance expedition vehicle, it was questioned at the time whether he was undertaking more than was feasible. His reply, as recorded by various Commanders at Beagle Point 2, was nothing more than a shrug and a slight, almost-embarrassed, smile.

On Monday, 30th May, 3302, Commander Felix Macedonica, sole pilot of the 'Apostata III' made landfall at Camp Salomon. What follows is the story of his expedition taken from extracts from his main log and the few other contemporaneous records which have survived. It is to be questioned why such a small and insignificant journey is archived at all in the Imperial Compendium. Certainly, no medals or awards were won. This Commander blazed no new trail which inspired others to follow. His trek while arduous and lengthy entailed no great challenge per se. The answer which is offered is a simple one and the clue to it lies in his naming of the original Base Camp.

Augustus Salomon was a doomed Arctic explorer who attempted with 2 companions to sail a hot air balloon over the North Pole of Sol in the year 1897. The attempt failed and was celebrated as one of a number of romantic but fatal polar expeditions in the 19th century. What few historians realise however is that the world at that time was enamoured by the 'hollow earth' theory which argued that the earth was indeed hollow and that an entrance into this inner sphere lay precisely at the North Pole. Augustus Salomon and his two companions, among their expedition equipment took three tuxedo suits and a bottle of champagne - in case they found that entrance and met the King of the Hyperborean realm . . .

Perhaps Commander Felix Macedonica sought to pay homage to madness and ingenuity. Nothing more. Perhaps in the vulnerability of the Scarab he saw an echo of the Eagle, the balloon, which carried all 3 to their inevitable deaths. And perhaps this Commander sought merely to ponder fate while driving across a blasted landscape and looking out through the plexiglass canopy . . .

And as for these archives, should they not also record the small steps as well as the larger ones?

Inflight Journal, May 28th, 3302, recording:

. . . First approach to Base Camp Salomon is a bleak affair indeed. My decision to establish footfall here at the antipodean pole was rash and ill-thought out, to be honest. The landscape is clothed in darkness now and unremitting. The onboard navicomp is glitching and the longitude and latitude readings are veering all over the place. I tried twice bunny-hopping into low orbit to get a fix and dropped back out of supercruise at new co-ordinates which made no sense. Screw the onboard navicomp. I will do this the old-fashioned way. The System Map is plotting my rough position. I can then use the Scarab's onboard holo-compass to zone in on the polar centre. I will just have to navigate using land features and the star maps above. What was it my father taught me? Remember, there are always 3 poles - the magnetic, the grid and the true. I wonder which one Base Camp Salomon will end up at?

Commander Hastion approached me the other day and wondered at my suggestion of mounting a trans-polar expedition.

"In an SRV?" he laughed.

I didn't reply. He wouldn't understand. I have sat in a cockpit staring at witchspace and distant worlds since January and leaving Palleani. Now I can hear the crunch of gravel and volcanic rock under my tread. Feel gravity in my bones. Step out onto a distant shore and reach down to run its dirt through my fingers. What else could I do after all that effort to get here?

The more I tinker with the SRVs, the more I think the 'Dudley Docker' will be the main beast of burden. Both Scarabs are identical but each has little quirks and foibles. The 'Dudley Docker' is quiet and reliable whereas the 'James Caird' rattles like a Type 9 breaking out of FSD. There IS power in that SRV but it is temperamental with it. It feels good to be on final approach to the antipodean pole now and getting oil and grease on my hands again after so long in deep space . . .

I wonder if I shall take the Lavian brandy with me? I probably won't meet any underground kings but who knows what other beings might lurk out here?

​
 
Last edited:

Erimus Kamzel

Erimus Kamzel
Love it! If you don't mind some company I'll join you at some point on your mission from time to time. Kamzel is staying at Beagle Point so will be around if you need help with anything o7.
 

Macedonica

Macedonica



Inflight Journal, May 28th, 3302, recording:​

My instinct is that the magnetic field about Beagle Point 2 is experiencing minor fluctuations. There is no other way to account for the odd readings the navicomp is giving me regarding latitude and longitude. Either that or I am a lousy pilot - which is always a possibility. Screw it. As I said before, I will rely on the SRV and its holo-compass. This afternoon I drove some 40KM pole-wards using the 0 degree bearing and maintaining a visual lock on a bright star above the horizon which guided me towards where I think the antipodean pole is (as best I can find it). This was old-school exploring - bumping over rough terrain and looking up into the stars for succour. The 'Dudley Docker' coped well over the sustained drive and only took minor damage through bumps and scrapes. This SRV is stolid and reliable.

I hope to reach Base Camp Salomon later this evening.

It's odd talking into a mic while trundling over rough, crater-pocked ground and calderic ridges. The stars glitter fitfully overhead and even now as I am narrating this, there is a beauty in them utterly different from the canopy of a ship in supercruise or even low orbit. They appear so far away as I sit here and mouth nonsense - almost as if they are mocking me. Up there, as we blast past them, deep into the galaxy, it is as if WE own them. Play with them. Down here - now - as these wheels grunt over the rocks it is the other way around.

Down here, the stars own me.

Perhaps I need this after the DWE and the sheer volume of space I have travelled through. I need to sit and absorb time and space and myself.

I sit in an SRV at the opposite end of the galaxy and have barely drawn breath since leaving Palleani. Now - now, I am drifting over a barren landscape and the tracks I leave behind will echo for all eternity . . .



​
Last night I shared a few memories with fellow DWE pilots and in all the talk and SRV racing, there was a moment when we parked about a large boulder and lit it with our beams. We fell silent for a moment, absorbed in our thoughts, lost in space, and I realised that this was exactly what we were always fated to do: journey far into a distant place and cast what light we have upon it for no other reason than to allow that light to reflect back into our soul-starved faces. We lit a boulder and in doing so illuminated our hearts.


Am I being maudlin'? Yes, yes, of course I am. Who wouldn't out here on the last rock?

Although now that I think on that night, I remember Commander Patreceleus sensing something strange in the ambient echoes about us. Something so strange that we powered down our systems and listened into the night. What we heard was Beagle Point 2 itself breathing, resonating, humming, and we all stared out of the canopies and wondered on that sound. I saw one Commander put a gloved hand up against the SRV canopy and hold it there, as if trying to feel that breath. And I wondered if behind that gloved hand lay a smile or a frown . . .




They say that Felix is an ancient name once used by the Romans. It means felicitous or lucky or graced by the gods. It is a good name. An honoured name. But now as this darkness falls down upon me I do wonder if I am tempting fate by throwing luck into the dark . . .
 
Last edited:

Macedonica

Macedonica
Scoopy Doopy said:
Great idea and a fitting tribute to the Dudley Docker.

A rousing three cheers from the cockpit of The James Caird!
Click to expand...

Why, a fellow Shackleton enthusiast! Thank you for the cheers. I thought about naming the SRVs after Franklin's 'Terror' and 'Erebus' - but that was tempting fate too much . . .
 
Last edited:

Scoopy Doopy

Scoopy Doopy
Macedonica said:
Why, a fellow Shackleton enthusiast! Thank you for the cheers. I thought about naming the SRV's after Franklin's 'Terror' and 'Erebus' - but that was tempting fate too much . . .
Click to expand...

To read of Shackleton is to become an enthusiast :)

Perhaps you could name a couple of the high peaks Terror and Erebus instead. That might be fitting and I believe they are still going strong :)

Best of luck again commander.
 

Macedonica

Macedonica




Report of the Official Trans Polar Beagle Point 2 Enquiry, September, 3303
​
Page 107 onwards

Official: You met Commander Felix Macedonica for the first time at the Beagle Point DWE landing site, is that correct?

Hastion: I did, yes. We were onstation to guide new arrivals in and word on the comms was that a Commander was incoming flying a Type 6E. We had had a couple of those old tubs land already but even so, it was best to be prepared.

Official: Prepared?

Hastion: What I mean to say is, well, any explorer worth his salt flies an Asp. Oh some of the big cheeses upgrade to the Annie - the Anaconda, that is - but, no, organize a meeting or an RP and I bet your bottom credit, it's all Asps. So when something like the Lakon Type 6E comes in - or maybe a Keelback, or a Type 7, it's best to be on hand.

Official: But I understood the DWE flagship was a Type 9? Is that correct?

Hastion: It was, yes. And that was why she was the flagship. She was unusual. We took pride in that, you see?

Official: And you took pride in Felix Macedonica's Type 6E?

Hastion: Something like that. Look, you have to understand - at the time, we didn't know him. He was just one of hundreds of pilots inbound to Beagle Point 2. Many didn't make it - they turned back or drifted off on their own journeys - deep space can do that. He was one of the lucky ones. He'd made it. Like I said, word on the fleet comms was that he was inbound and low on jump mats. A few of us were ready if needed. That's all.

Official: But you weren't needed?

Hastion: In the end, no. Commander Patreceleus had helped him out mining for mats and then set up a wing signal to guide him in. I didn't meet him until later that evening once he had finished his post-flight checks and ran the generator down into idle.

Official: So what can you tell me about him?

Hastion: He was an explorer, like all of us. A solitary.

Official: A solitary? The DWE fleet ran into hundreds - that's hardly a solitary event, Commander.

Hastion: You see, that's where you're wrong. Yes, there were hundreds of us - over a thousand in all, I think. But the point is, we didn't travel as a fleet. No, we moved alone or at best in small wings. We only met up at the RPs - and even then many drifted in alone ahead of time or - as in his case after Saggy A - weeks later. We were a fleet only in our imaginations. We traveled as we have always traveled - alone. It is why we push out into the uncharted galaxy. To be alone and pushing at the edge of what lies just beyond - and what lies just within also.

Official: So he was nothing special? Nothing that happened later on was intimated to you when you met him that first night?

Hastion: Apart from his mad idea to SRV pole to pole? No - I laughed at that. I think a few of us did, But it wasn't malicious. No it was the laughter of the infected.

Official: I am sorry - infected, did you say?

Hastion: Listen, when you are out there and moving at FSD speeds across the bosom of the cosmos, your mind gets twisted a little, you know? You begin to see things differently - from a different perspective. That's when madness creeps in - a mad idea. Like going to Beagle Point - or Saggy A - or charting a distant nebula. You see a glint in the eye and you know a worm has wriggled its way into the mind of the Commander opposite you. And you smile at that madness. You smile because you know there is nothing you can say to change his or her mind. Nothing.

Official: And knowing now what happened on that transpolar trip, do you regret not saying anything? Anything at all?

Hastion: . . . Not for a second . . .
 
Last edited:

Macedonica

Macedonica



​



Inflight Journal, May 30th, 3302, recording:

I woke up this morning aboard the 'Apostata III' and stared out of the plexiglass canopy.

Outside was unremitting bleakness - a flat horizon as far as I could see. I still can't quite believe I am here. After 65,000 light years and months of travel, I am now at probably the most unremarkable spot I have ever been: 90 degrees South, the antipodean pole, the South Pole of Beagle Point 2. This place I have named Base Camp Salomon. So why does it feel like the back-end of the galaxy?

I think I stood for at least ten minutes staring out into that bleakness. I know the cup of synthi-caff went cold in my hand. I stood there and stared out and now that I am recording this I can't think of what was going through my head. Not a single thought. Not one.

Was I disappointed? A little. My arrival last night was in total darkness. I had barely time to recall the Type 6E from low orbit and go through the final power checks before falling exhausted into the bunk. I had driven for 4 hours in the 'Dudley Docker' across nothing but low plains and loose meteoric rocks, bumping and grinding, without a break. Then when the holo-compass tripped the - 90.000 degree reading I knew I had arrived. I had arrived but had not arrived at anything at all. The landscape lit up by the front beams was the same as it had been for the last few hours. What was I expecting at the south pole? A marker? Some hint of significance? Anything at all?

There was nothing. Just more bloody rock.

Now, this morning, I am up and putting in the final preparations. The 'Dudley Docker' is outfitted with food and water generated from the 'Apostata III', I have gone over the Type 6E and manually checked all the power-couplings and modules; I have eyeballed the hull while EVAing and marveled at all the pock-marks and dents this old tub has endured since leaving Palleani in January - and while I did all that, I couldn't shake the feeling that staring out of that canopy after I woke up was probably the most disappointed I have ever felt since embarking with the DWE out here . . .

Or was it just a sense of isolation?

I sit at the bottom of the most remote planet in the galaxy and feel so isolated it is making me jittery. Ironic given that there must be dozens of Commanders buzzing about the landing site at Darwin's Legacy.

One piece of goods news, though: word came through on the comms that Commander Tallinn was rescued by the Fuel Rats and is now inbound to Beagle Point 2. We had all heard his distress call some days ago and felt the despair in his voice. His fuel tank was empty and his modules were shutting down, one by one, with life support holding out with only minutes left. No Commander wants to face that stark choice - crawling into the cryotube to await possible rescue but never knowing if and (more importantly) when that will come, or hitting the self-destruct and ejecting via the escape pod/witchspace back to the bubble. Within the first hour of his distress call, I knew the Fuel Rats were FSDing into action, urging him to give them his exact co-ordinates and life-support count-down. Sometimes, however, shame takes a black grip on you and rather than face the effort of being rescued - of others putting their lives and resources at your aid - it is easy to hit the SD button. Shame can make a Commander do dark things. And I know all about that . . .

Not this one, though. Tallinn pulled through and crawled into that cryotube and now I have heard he has been refueled and is once again edging his way closer here. That news alone has brought a smile to my face.

But enough of introspection, eh? Talking into a mic will encourage too much of that. Practicalities. That's what I need to think on. What was it my father said years ago before he made that last jump? Too much thinking inside leads to mistakes outside, son. Concentrate on the problem. Leave the reflections to later.

Practicalities, then.

It's a 180 degrees latitude from pole to pole. The circumference of Beagle Point 2 is approximately 3,742KM, giving me - again roughly - 20.1KM per latitude line. Latitudes are a fixed distance apart unlike longitudes which are meridian lines which converge at each pole. If I estimate a working itinerary of 40KM per day over standard terrain, I could expect to finish the trans-polar drive in roughly 90 days - or 2 latitudes per day. Which all sounds hunky-dory as I think it out loud.

But we all know that real life is what happens in between the plans, right?

So the real question is how will the 2 SRVs cope with that amount of sustained usage? Sure, the onboard repairs will keep them going. If I am careful, I will be able to prospect materials to refuel and repair on the fly. However, my plan is not to drive scanning for mats. That will be just too distracting. I need to focus on navigation using the holo-compass and the terrain features. I will establish a base camp each night with the Type 6E and then spend the evening gathering what mats I can for the next day. Which, again, sounds simple. So why am I laughing just now?

I will take a final EVA around Base Camp Salomon and then embark.

And so the official Trans-Polar Beagle Point 2 Expedition will begin . . .




​
 
Last edited:

Macedonica

Macedonica
Jermus said:
I've said it before, but this time without irony:

Fly Drive safe,
CMDR Jermus
Click to expand...

Always!





​



Inflight Journal, May 30th, 3302, recording:

. . . Let's see, it's 15:32 now according to the SRV's onboard clock and I am some 4 hours into the expedition - departure time was 11:30 - that was the moment I dismissed the 'Apostata III', turned the 'Dudley Docker' about on to a 160 degree compass bearing, and opened up the throttle.

11:30AM, May 30th, 3302. A date that will almost definitely not go down in anyone's history.

Well, except mine's, that is. And what do I remember now about that moment?

I felt the vibration of the Lakon 6E's sublight engines open up and I sat as the transporter nosed up and arced away to an unseen orbit over Beagle Point 2. I think I sat there watching until even the trail of the engine vents dissipated. Watching like a rookie pilot. Then I shook myself free of that moment and looked ahead - into the dark and endless horizon of this planet.

Why 160 degrees? Why not. I had to pick a heading and as the landscape was monotonous, it was to the stars I now looked - and there ahead about 3 degrees above the faint rim stood a gleaming pearl almost exactly 160 degrees on the compass. And before I even thought it through, I had released the brake and brought the Scarab up to a medium speed, heading for it.

What followed was routine, however. Hardly epoch making. As the hours moved, I passed from the 90 degree latitude into the 89th and now slowly through the 88th. The terrain has been a mix of low flat surfaces edged in with minor gullies and wrinkles which pose no real danger to my driving skills or the 'Dudley Docker'. I powered down the wave scanner, the turret, and the power distributor to save on fuel. Both the onboard holo-compass and that star kept me on course and the klicks passed under tread as if this was all normal and routine.

It's 16:30 now. I am about 10KM from the 87th latitude where I will locate a suitable base camp and recall the Lakon Type 6E from low orbit. If all goes according to plan, I will have covered 2 degrees of latitude out of 180 pole to pole in one day. 40-45KM of driving over uncomplicated terrain. I will have to use this as a benchmark for I doubt I will be able to make better time in the days and weeks ahead. Deep impact craters, high peaks, and long stretches of warren-like canyons will slow me down with detours or reduce me to a crawl as I thread through them.

Observations: the lack of an atmosphere renders it difficult to judge distance and scale. What looks like a high mountain range in the distance is nothing more than a hump on the surface. An impact crater off to the left which seems klicks away suddenly skirts past my port canopy barely a 100 metres from me. The temptation to boost up and over the endless rocks and small meteoric fragments only uses up the fuel faster than I care and must be resisted.

That last is important.

This is slow-time travel. I am measuring days and weeks here not systems and nebula. In the time it takes me to reach one distant rock feature or deep crater, another Commander will have FSD through 3 star systems. That is a hard urge to shake off after so many weeks traversing the galaxy. I am crawling across something even as it moves through space on its orbit about a star itself slowly drifting within the galaxy. I am down in the dirt and must understand its grain now. If I boost up all the time to echo those starships hurtling about then what is the point of all this, I wonder?

No, no boosting, save in an emergency, or to avoid a collision.

( . . . brief burst of heavy static . . .)

- Bloody comms . . . Where was I? Yes, I will name this place the Lustral Plateau after that solitary star guiding me northwards away from the South Pole and up towards the equator at 0 degrees. The ground about is silver and glittering. The small depressions are stark with shadows and monochrome angles as I look out now. The sun has yet to rise down here at the bottom of the planet. That star with its light gleaming on the horizon is all the sun I need now. So, yes, this is the Lustral Plateau spreading its filigree of white and black out from Base Camp Salomon . . .

Iron, Nickel, Sulphur, all collected so far from the expediency of driving past without actively looking for mats. Not bad at all. If this continues, these SRVs will more than endure the weeks ahead . . .

Right - break over. I can see that the star I am following is dipping down to the edge of the horizon. I will lose it in about an hour - enough time to pass the 87th latitude and establish a new camp for the night . . .



​
(Transmission interrupted.)

- OK, Base Camp 2 - which I officially name Base Camp Aurora - those of you who know your polar history should recognise that ship - though I hope I don't tempt fate by naming this place after her. Here I am parked now at 87.9610 degrees South. I have crossed 2 latitude lines on my way to the equator and upwards to the north pole of Beagle Point 2. 2 lines and precisely 57KM of rough driving. The 'Apostata III' is safely aground and powered down for the night. And the 'Dudley Docker' is stowed aboard and undergoing routine repairs.

And here I stand alone outside in the night watching that star sink into the horizon. There is a solitude here at Base Camp Aurora that is indescribable. Everything is so still and delicate. It is as if I could reach up and touch the stars above me and scatter them with a flick of my gloved hand. I am so small and yet everything here falls within my gaze. All of it. I drink it up and even the subdued hum of the Lakon's power generator feels as if it is nothing but the ebb of the galaxy itself sifting under my feet.

To be alone and not feel loneliness - is that not the mark of the true solitary? The true explorer?

The 'Apostata III' beckons and I will retire now for the night but I wonder that even as I think that, something small in me shivers. I shiver with the thought of sleeping in that huge hulk of a ship and miss this vast canvas all about me which is so close I can touch it . . .

So I will end this first day's last recording with a paraphrase:

' . . . We are such stuff as stars are made off, and our little life is rounded with the dark . . .'





​
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom