Jonathan_S wrote:Though for what it's worth there are a few spots in the books where a missile salvo's time to impact is given and those seems to show the 9 minute burn time is via the ship's clocks; not the missile's.
Indeed. That's why the thread was "MDMs should last a little longer than they do".
So we're still left with a lot of statements in the books about missile performance and elapsed time that simply don't line up with any perspective that takes relativity into account.
(Also no mention of the laser or radio control links having to deal with some pretty noticeable Doppler shift effects in their frequencies)
That's easily compensated. It was probably fixed after the first missile fired and lost telemetry.
"What happened?" asked the supervising CO, the first to say anything after the tiny explosion was noted on the displays. Looking around the control room, all she could see were blank and dejected faces of his team. Everyone clearly had high hopes for the Ghost Rider Project, that it would be a silver bullet and end the war with the Peeps once and for all without exposing Manticoran spacer lives to more risk. He was also acutely aware that Rear Admiral of the Red Sonja Hemphill, was in the observation gallery above the control centre, looking over his shoulder. Actually, she was probably on her way down to the control centre right now and would be coming in through the door any second to demand to know what had happened. "Did the missile malfunction?"
"I don't know, sir. I'm looking over the telemetry right now and I can't see anything wrong, up until the moment the telemetry stops" replied Petty Officer Second Class Jason Wilkins. The technician by Jason's side, PO Third Class Alonzo Gomez, was furiously scrolling through the data and was opening and closing his mouth, but making no sounds. "Everything looks exactly like it should have looked! The second stage lit up as expected, there was no variance in the node alignment, so it looks like the baffles worked..."
"What happened?" demanded a voice from the hatch, that was still opening. Sonja Hemphill, current heiress to the Barony of Low Delhi and director of Project Gram, was pushing through and moving towards the central telemetry screens.
"We don't know yet, ma'am," replied the CO. "We're looking at the telemetry, but everything looks fine in what we received. You can see that for yourself." She pointed to the scrolling columns of numbers and the graphs on the big display on the wall. They all cut abruptly close to the right edge of the display.
"Everything looks right," Hemphill said, echoing what PO2 Wilkins had said moments before. "Doesn't look like any component failed, or at least gave any indication it was about to fail. No significant variances from projections."
It was at this point that PO Wilkins noticed that PO Gomez had stopped scrolling through the data and stopped opening his mouth. He was just staring at one particular screen, with a frown on his forehead. He was looking at the telemetry link data. Not the data that the telemetry was providing, but at the information about the telemetry itself. "Metadata" was the page title. And it was showing the exact point where the telemetry link cut, a series of error codes indicating why the link was cut. It ended in "lost carrier signal," but before that the computer was already accusing multiple failures to decode the signal.
"Dude, the frequency," Gomez finally managed to whisper. Wilkins' eyes quickly moved towards that column of data, almost involuntarily. He'd been trained, again and again, to respond to officer requests for the most unimportant minutia of detail at a moment's notice. Locating anything was second nature to him. They were always asking for things that he had no clue why they wanted to know. Especially Adm. Hemphill. Whenever she was present, she seemed to go out of her way to ask for things no one ever expected her to ask. She was always drilling them, though neither Wilkins nor Gomez knew what they were being drilled for. It's not like there was going to be an emergency in the middle of the Unicorn Belt in the Manticore-B system, which was closed to all foreign traffic. And she always looked busy after asking or the data, almost as if she needed it for something. No, far more likely, she was just checking her own readings to make sure they had answered correctly. But anyway, at this point, he could find the telemetry link frequency data faster than he could remember his parents' contact details. "The frequency..."
Wilkins frowned too. The data showed that the link dropped because the frequency went outside the range the receiver could effectively receive. It was a wide range, because as missiles accelerated away from the launching platform, the oscillations in the electromagnetic spectrum that served as telemetry became further and further apart. This was known since before humanity had ever left its home planet. In fact, the effect was known since before electromagnetic waves were even theorised. as it applied to sound waves too. Just stand near a street and you'll hear the sound an air or ground car makes change its pitch as it passed by you. The name was even reused from the original name as applied to sound waves.
But this signal went right up to the edge of what this receiver was calibrated for. The myriad of decoding errors in the previous screen were likely caused by the signal nearing the edge of receptivity. And then when it when over the edge completely, the receiver lost the lock and gave up. And it was just their bad luck that the signal cut shortly before the missile detonated.
Could the two facts be linked?, wondered Wilkins.
"Huhhh", Wilkins wondered aloud, as he calculated the precise moment the missile detonated. Fortunately, this was easy since they had multiple recon drones along the trajectory of the missile. What he came up with stunned him.
"The missile exploded at the exact moment we lost telemetry" someone said. Wilkins thought that was him, since that's exactly what he was thinking, but then it registered that the voice was feminine. And it had come from over his shoulder, not his mouth. He looked up and noticed that Adm. Hemphill was standing there, looking at his screen. She must have come over when he muttered aloud, drawing attention to him and Gomez. "If we lost the link, the missile lost the link too, since it has the same type of transceiver array. And if it lost the link, it aborted."
A wave of relief washed over Wilkins. If the missile aborted, it wasn't a component failure. The missile simply destroyed itself to avoid falling into the wrong hands. Whose hands would be wrong in the Manticore-B system, he didn't know. He was only a Petty Officer Second Class, whose ambitions never went above making Chief and excelling in his domain, and no one told him these things.
"The frequency..." Gomez muttered for the third time. The young man seemed to be catatonic. He was definitely oblivious to the person wearing admiral stripes on the other side. Wilkins elbowed Gomez to see if he'd snap out of it, but it was too late. Adm. Hemphill, known by some, including all the enlisted crew in the command centre, as "Horrible Hemphill" had zeroed in on him. She had
that look too, the one she gave when you displeased her, usually by breaking her concentration. And then it changed.
"The frequency!" she exclaimed. Her face went from annoyance, to realisation, to frustration, then back to annoyance. "The frequency is way too red-shifted. Did we account for the Doppler Effect?" she asked. As enlisted crew, both Wilkins and Gomez wisely kept their mouths shut. Moment later, Hemphill left to confer with the CO and other officers, relieving them of the need to answer. But not the need to know.
"Dude, did we account for the Doppler Effect?" Wilkins asked Gomez in a low voice. Gomez looked back and had an ashen face. He shook his head.
"Dude, I don't think so..." Gomez replied.
"Dude..." Wilkins agreed.