Michael McCollum - The Sails of Tau Ceti
VIP免费
2024-12-22
0
0
456.21KB
185 页
5.9玖币
侵权投诉
The Sails of Tau Ceti
A Novel By
Michael McCollum
Sci Fi - Arizona, Inc.
Third Millennium Publishing
A Cooperative of Online Writers and Resources
PROLOGUE
Faslorn of the Phelan stood on the bridge of the starshipFar Horizons and watched as thick bundles of
gossamer thread poured forth from their storage holds. The shroud lines had been streaming aft through
half a dozen changes of the watch. Now the first phase of the star brake’s deployment was nearing its
end.
Faslorn let his eyes roam the ship’s instruments as the last fewkel of bundled lines leaped free. His
attention returned to the screens as the star brake’s millionkel long mass stretched to its full length and
suddenly grew taut.
“Sound the alarm,” Faslorn ordered. “Rebound coming.”
The warning echoed through every corridor of the giant starship. Thousands of crewmembers stopped
what they were doing and anchored themselves. Faslorn wrapped a six-fingered hand around a nearby
stanchion and held on tight. Far out along the star brake, he could see the reflection wave racing toward
Far Horizons .
The rebound wave struck the ship and caused the deck to jump beneath his feet. He barely noticed the
rolling motion as stresses redistributed themselves throughout the starship. All of his attention was taken
up by the screens. His twin hearts beat a little faster as he scanned the giant construct on which depended
his own fate, and that of one hundred thousand crewmates.
“No damage to brake or ship,” one of the deployment technicians reported.
Faslorn emitted the Phelan equivalent of a sigh. “Very well. Cut the restraining straps.”
All along the folded brake, tiny glittering lights illuminated the eternal night of space as the straps that kept
the brake furled were cut. With the restraints gone, centrifugal force took over. There was a vast rippling
as the gossamer fabric of the brake began to unfurl.
It was difficult to observe the progress of the deployment. The furled brake had been a long line that
twisted and turned on its way to the vanishing point. As the mass unfolded, it revealed the reflective film
that made up the bulk of its surface area. There is nothing in space more difficult to see than a one
hundred percent reflective surface. It reflects the blackness of space, while distorting the reflected images
of stars. To an observer, it seems as though the universe has been wrenched into convolutions by some
giant, unseen claw.
Far behind the starship, a giant flower opened its petals to space, marking the end of a voyage that had
lasted more than three Phelan lifetimes. It was a voyage that had begun in fire and would end by grazing
the photosphere of the small yellow sun that was their destination, which, at the moment, was merely the
brightest point of light in the sky.
Faslorn’s would likely be the last generation of Phelan to live their lives between the stars. Within a few
dozentarn , they would encounter the thinking beings of the yellow sun. It was Faslorn’s task, and that of
his shipmates, to win a home among the strange bipedal creatures that styled themselvesHomo sapiens .
If he were successful, the next generation of Phelan would be born with solid ground rather than steel
deck beneath their feet. If not, then Faslorn’s line would likely end with him.
“Look how it fills the sky,” his assistant said. Overhead the star brake had expanded until it blotted out
the cold point of light that had once been home.
Faslorn’s gesture was the Phelan equivalent of a smile. “That it does, Paldar. It won’t be long now before
they notice us.”
As the commander ofFar Horizons watched the continuing dance of deployment, he thought of the
difficult task ahead. It was somehow symbolic that the stars behind were slowly being blotted out by
reflections of the stars ahead.
Far Horizonswas committed. There would be no turning back. The fate of two intelligent species would
be decided by what happened next.
1 Starhopper
CHAPTER 1
The ruddy orb of Mars covered one full quadrant of star flecked sky and flooded the transparent dome
with a ruby light. As beautiful as the sight was, Victoria Bronson had eyes only for the pyramid shaped
collection of fuel tanks and piping silhouetted against the planet. After twenty years of planning and three
years of construction,Starhopper was nearly ready. Soon tankers would pump a hundred thousand tons
of liquid hydrogen into the craft’s capacious fuel tanks. Ten days later, assuming no glitches were found
during the complex countdown, humanity’s first visitor to another star would be hurled outbound on its
long journey into the deep black.
People had dreamed of travel to the stars for almost as long as they had known the tiny points of light
were distant suns. While poets wrote paeans to starflight, engineers bemoaned the prodigious energies
involved. Writers of escapist fiction dreamed up fantastic schemes for flitting between stellar systems,
while physicists attacked the problem with no less imagination. Scientists speculated that wormholes,
extra spatial dimensions, or warped space-time might prove to be chinks in the armor of the Einstein
barrier. Unfortunately, the efforts of the scientists proved no more effective than those of the poets and
writers. Despite everything, the stars remained uncomfortably beyond the outstretched grasp of humanity.
That is, until the year 2217. In that year, a young Martian physicist named Dardan Pierce suggested that
the time had come to begin explorations of the nearer stars. In a paper published in theSystem Journal
for Astrophysics , Pierce laid out the parameters for a successful interstellar crossing. Pierce’s starship
was no fanciful faster-than-light speedster, but rather a craft requiring most of a human lifetime to make
the journey. At the end of his paper, he exhorted his colleagues to build an instrumented probe as a
demonstration project and to send that device to explore the worlds known to circle Alpha Centauri,
Sol’s closest neighbor in the firmament.
The engines that would drive humanity’s first interstellar probe would be powered by antimatter, a
technology first developed in the middle of the twenty-first century. The earliest antimatter powered
spacecraft had used micrograms of the volatile stuff to heat hydrogen, which was then expelled through
conventional rocket nozzles. Modern craft consumed kilograms of antiprotons, converting hydrogen to
relativistic plasma before channeling it rearward through a series of magnetic nozzles.
TheStarhopper booster would accelerate the instrument package to one-tenth light speed. As each tank
was drained of reaction mass, it would be jettisoned. At the end of the boost phase, the giant engines
would grow cold andStarhopper would coast outbound toward Alpha Centauri, having left a trail of
debris extending all the way back to Mars in its wake. Nearly half a century after launch, the instrument
package would command the booster to turn end for end and begin decelerating. Again, fuel tanks and
their supporting structure would be jettisoned as they were emptied. Even the engines would be
discarded once they finished their task of slowing the instrument package to intrasystem velocity.
TheStarhopper that entered the Centauri system would bear little resemblance to the one that left Mars.
The instrument package represented only 0.1 percent of the original vehicle mass. Even so, at 110 tons, it
was as large as a small spaceship. The instrument section contained maneuvering engines, antimatter,
reaction mass, a power reactor, communications gear, and instruments able to wrest the secrets from the
half dozen alien worlds known to orbit the Centauri suns.
Tory Bronson lay on her back on the carpeted deck of a Phobos surface dome and gazed up to where
the interstellar booster maintained station on the larger of the two Martian moons. She thought of all the
problems and crises that had been bested since the program’s conception. At times, Dard Pierce had
often told her, it had seemed as though the probe would never be built. Even now, the coalition of
governments, universities, and corporations that supportedStarhopper were grudging in their largesse.
Tory had been three years old when Pierce published his original paper. By the time he had gathered up
enough backers to begin planning in earnest, Tory had entered the University of Olympus on Mars. It had
been her intention to become a lawyer. She first heard about the project at one of Pierce’s lectures,
which she attended because she needed the extra credit for a science class. That might have been her
only exposure to Starhopper had not her career plans changed at the beginning of her sophomore year.
The change came about when she was fitted with her first computer implant.
Like antimatter propulsion, the implants were an old technology that had been steadily improved over a
century of use. The first implants had been simple aural devices, little more than fancy hearing aids that
allowed the user to subvocalize a command, and then receive the computer’s response directly to the
inner ear. In those days, implants had been little more than status symbols for the rich, subminiature
cellular phones for conducting business while pretending to do something else. Not until a method for
directly stimulating the brain was developed did the modern computer implant become possible. The
heart of an implant was its molecular computer and direct stimulus/response microcircuit. Once implanted
behind the left ear (the right ear for left-handed people), it sensed the complex electrical rhythm of the
brain and translated conscious thoughts into electrical impulses that were then transmitted to a remote
computer. The computer’s response was then translated back into brain waves, and the required patterns
induced in the sensory centers of the brain.
There were limitations, of course. The wearer had to learn to think in such a manner that the implant
interpreted that mental activity as a command, and not as the background noise that was normal thought.
It was a little like learning to wiggle one’s ears. No one could precisely describe how to accomplish it,
but once the skill was mastered, it was never forgotten. The implants did nothing to make the wearer
more intelligent. What they did do was provide a phenomenal memory, to the point where one could
“remember” things they had never known.
There were other practical limitations on implant use. Most people quickly reached a point where
additional data merely confused them. The problem, long known to students, was known as “avalanche
effect” because it felt as though one was being buried under an avalanche of data. The symptoms were
that anyone who tried to delve too far into a subject ended up disoriented and muddled.
Curiously, a few people seemed immune to the problem. No matter how complex the task, these rare
minds were able to keep the goal in view without becoming mired down in detail. Such clear-headedness
was an inborn talent. It could not be taught or learned. Those so blessed found themselves in demand as
managers, organizers of complex projects, and most especially, as high level computer synergists.
A synergist was not a computer programmer since the computers had long ago been given the ability to
program themselves. Rather, synergists watched over the flow of the automated software generating
programs, and nudged them in the proper direction. For like the vast majority of human beings,
computers, too, tended to become bogged down in the details.
Upon learning that she was immune to avalanche effect, Tory Bronson switched from the College of Law
to Synergistic Science. There she met Ben Tallen. He was another Synergism candidate. After dating for
most of their sophomore year, they agreed to move in together. As time went on, they began to talk
about landing high paying jobs with some Earth-based megacorp, and though the subject rarely arose,
Tory, at least, had visions of marriage.
A month before graduation, Tory was accessing the list of companies who would be interviewing at the
university placement center and discovered the Starhopper Project. She remembered the lecture she had
attended years earlier and decided to check it out. What she was not prepared for was Ben’s reaction
when she told him about it that night at dinner.
“What the hell are you interviewing with them for?” he asked around a crust of pizza.
“I’ve got a free period and it sounds interesting.”
“Don’t be a frump!”
“Who are you calling a frump, skinker?”
“You, if you interview with that damned black sky project. You know who is behind it, don’t you? Old
Centauri Pierce over in Astrophysics! It is his hobby. He’s gotten a bit of funding from the local yokels
and is now trying to scam Earth into lofting the rest.”
“So where’s the harm in listening?”
“The harm, my dear demented love, is the damage you may do to your chances of getting on with an
EarthCorp. If they hear you’ve been talking to nuts, they might decide you aren’t the proper material for
them.”
Ben’s crack about “local yokels” irritated her. Like most Martians, Tory had a deep inferiority complex
when it came to anything concerning Earth. She was especially aware that the University of Olympus was
considered by some to be a cow college. Ben, on the other hand, was a terrestrial exchange student who
never tired of telling everyone he could have gone to New Yale or Harvard. When asked why he had
not, he always said something to the effect that he had wanted to improve the curve at Olympus U.
instead.
Tory still remembered the hot flash of anger that had surged through her at Ben’s crack. “Well I’mgoing
to interview with them and if the high and mighty corporations from Earth don’t like it, tough!”
She would have forgotten all about it if Ben had not decided to taunt her one final time.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
To her surprise, Tory found herself attracted to the idea of being part of humanity’s first attempt to reach
the stars. The more she thought about it, the more attracted she became. Her interest, coupled with
Ben’s clumsy attempts to dissuade her, drove her to accept the offer -- at less than half the going pay
scale for newly minted synergists. She told Ben of her decision a week before graduation. The resulting
argument led to their breakup.
Two weeks later, they sat together in the lounge of Olympus spaceport, waiting for the ferry that would
take Ben up to the interplanetary liner docked at Deimos. They made small talk and promised to write
every week though both knew the promises were empty. Tory remembered how awkward it had been to
kiss Ben goodbye and the feeling of relief as his lanky form disappeared into the embarkation tube.
That had been three years ago. Since then, Tory had held a variety of jobs with the interstellar project.
Her latest made her responsible for the software that would fly the interstellar probe on its decades-long
journey. Since software was at the heart of the any modern system, her position placed her in de facto
command of construction on Phobos. There were others more senior, but no one with a clearer picture
of the state of the project at any given moment.
She was startled out of her contemplative mood by a silent voice that suddenly emanated from her
computer implant.
“Are you awake up there?”
The voice belonged to Vance Newburgh. Vance, like Tory, was a synergist hired directly out of college.
His speech was marked by a strong Australasian accent, a hint of which made it through the implant.
“I’m awake,”she thought.“What’s up?”
Her custom of coming up to the surface once each week to viewStarhopper ’s progress was well
known. It was, she told the curious, her way of keeping one foot planted firmly in reality. An
occupational hazard for those who dealt with direct computer-to-mind interfaces was that they
sometimes became unsure of what comprised reality. More than one had fallen to his death because he
had forgotten that there is nothing theoretical about the concept of gravity.
“Message from the university. Professor Pierce requests your presence at an emergency meeting
of the governing board.”
“When?”
“Tonight. Zero eight hundred hours, Conference Room 100, Lowell Hall.”
“I’ll attend via screen.”
“Negative. The message says ‘in person.’”
“But that’s silly. Doesn’t he know how much work we’ve got to do before next month’s launch?”
“I presume he’s been reading our progress reports.”
“Then he should know that software certification is a week behind schedule and still slipping.”
“No argument there, partner.”
Tory let her anger cool a moment.“Does he say what this meeting is about?”
“No. Shall I tell him you can’t make it?”
Tory shook her head. The habit of a lifetime was hard to break though Vance was a kilometer distant
and the conversation was taking place inside her skull.“Negative. You know how fragile the coalition
is. How long before the afternoon shuttle leaves for Olympus?”
“Twenty seven minutes.”
“Get me a seat. Tell them to hold until I get there.”
#
The ground steward who helped passengers aboard the Phobos-to-Olympus shuttle let his gaze linger on
Tory Bronson as she made her way up the embarkation tube. He saw an attractive woman of some 25
standard years. Like many Martians she was tall and lithe, her alabaster skin unmarked by the sun. Her
green eyes possessed a barely discernable slant and her hair was so black that it shown with a blue
luster. She wore it in a hair net to keep it out of her face in Phobos’ minuscule gravity field. He noted her
pert nose set above a wide mouth, the lines of which fell most naturally into a smile. She was not smiling
now. She had that absentminded look common to people deep in thought or those actively accessing a
computer implant.
Tory swarmed through the embarkation tube by pulling herself hand over hand, ignoring the small moon’s
two-tenths-percent of a standard gee. She found an empty seat near a port and strapped down. Tory
failed to notice the stares of the other passengers as the steward went immediately into his pre-launch
briefing. She stared at her own dull reflection in the viewport and considered what could possibly have
triggered an emergency meeting of the project governing board. Whatever had happened, one thing was
certain. It could not be good news.
Almost as complex as the design ofStarhopper were the politics that went to sustain it. The University of
Olympus managed the project for a consortium of institutions of higher learning. Funding was provided
by several private foundations and the governments of Mars, Lagrange 3 and four, and several asteroid
colonies. Several Earth megacorps had contributed to the project in the hope of being chosen to provide
materials and services. Some had, some had not.
It was an arrangement guaranteed to spark arguments. The prime function of the governing board was to
arbitrate disputes and to apportion costs equitably. They also delved too much into decisions that, in
Tory’s opinion, at least, should have been left to the engineers.
Tory hoped she could divine the reason for the unexpected summons by reviewing the minutes of the last
several board meetings. She had hurriedly run through them all the way to the spaceport. Her haste was
necessitated by the fact that her implant would not work once the ferry departed Phobos. The
broadband communications link would lose synchronization once the ferry passed beyond effective
transmitter range. Tory had gone through loss-of-sync once in training. It was an experience she did not
care to repeat.
She had often tried to describe what it was like to wear an implant to people who lacked the experience.
It was like trying to explain sex to a six-year-old. Besides an eidetic memory, implants gave their users an
extra set of eyes with which to see. When Tory gazed at theStarhopper booster, she saw more than its
physical form. In her mind, she could visualize the vehicle’s complex plumbing as it snaked through the
first stage booster. She could visualize the temperature variations that would play across the vehicle
during launch. To herStarhopper was less a machine than a living creature straining to enter its natural
environment, the cold black of interstellar space.
Tory was none the wiser when she finished her review of the meeting minutes. Satisfied that there was
nothing she herself had done (or failed to do) to trigger a crisis, she willed her implant into silence, leaned
back, and resolved to enjoy the flight.
The shuttle lifted away from Phobosport with a burst of attitude control jets. Once clear of Phobos’s
inner traffic zone, the pilot turned the ship until its nose pointed back along the orbit it shared with the
moon. Seconds later, the engines came alight and Tory felt a gentle hand pressing against her. When the
initial burst of retrofire was finished, the pilot turned the ship to give his passengers a panoramic view of
Mars.
Despite being only half Earth’s diameter, the red planet was huge. Phobos had once been a free flying
asteroid. Following its capture by Mars -- an event the astronomers still argued about -- the small moon
had stabilized in an orbit 6000 kilometers above the rust colored sands.
It had been nearly two centuries since the first humans had set foot on Mars and died there, a
century-and-a-half since the establishment of the first Martian colony. Humankind still had a considerable
way to go before the planet would begin to grow crowded. For despite its diminutive size, Mars’s lack of
an ocean gave it a land area nearly as great as Earth’s. The red planet supported 250 million souls,
compared to the 10 billion who inhabited Earth.
Twenty minutes after leaving Phobos, Tory noticed a circular shadow detach itself from the sunrise
terminator and strike out across the Tharsis highlands. She frowned. Phobos was close enough to cast a
shadow on Mars, but in the wrong position. Deimos, on the other hand, was too small and distant to
have any hope of shading the Martian landscape.
Having eliminated the only two possibilities, Tory felt the thrill that comes from a suddenly recognized
mystery. She watched the shadow for several seconds before a spark of reflected sunlight caught her
attention. Understanding burst upon her like the static discharges that illuminate the Martian sky during
summer dust storms. The reflection had come from sunlight bouncing off a light sail in a lower orbit than
the ferry. It had been the sail’s shadow that she had been watching cross the Martian desert.
Light sails used the pressure of reflected sunlight to propel their nonperishable cargoes across the Solar
System. They were slow, but less expensive than even a ship in a Hohmann transfer orbit. This sail was
probably towing a load of ice from Saturn’s rings and using Mars’s gravity to shape its approach to the
inner moon. The Phobos distillery was the main reason they were buildingStarhopper there. The
hydrogen cracking facility was to be the source of the interstellar probe’s reaction mass.
As the shuttle dropped, the light sail grew larger beyond the viewport. The sail, Tory knew, was a large
circular sheet of metalized plastic only a few angstroms thick. It and its brethren were the largest
constructs every built by man, and the flimsiest. The largest sail ever constructed measured a full 100
kilometers across, yet massed only a few hundred tons.
Tory searched for the cargo pod, but could not see it. Within a few minutes, the giant apparition floated
across her field of view and was gone. She noted with approval that the shuttle’s pilot was giving the sail
a wide berth. While the monomolecular “sail cloth” was as light as the scientists could make it, it could do
serious damage to even a warship if encountered at velocity differentials of several kilometers per
second.
The shuttle dropped lower. Minutes later their destination came into view over the sharply defined
horizon line. Olympus Mons was the largest volcano in the Solar System; so large that it could be seen as
a speck in Earth based telescopes. It was one of the dots that Percival Lowell’s subconscious had strung
together to produce the most famous optical illusion in the history of science, the famous canals of Mars.
Most Earth dwellers expressed surprise when they learned that the capital of Mars was located in the
caldera of a volcano. Olympus had been a spectacular volcano in its day. Luckily, its day was several
billion years in the past. The modern Olympus Mons spewed forth nothing more lethal than water vapor
saturated with carbon dioxide. These milder eruptions were the reason the Olympus colony had been
founded in the first place. For nothing is more precious on dry Mars than water. Olympus Mons was a
primary source of water on the planet.
The ferry dropped precipitously toward the spaceport tail first, oblivious to the tug of the rarified
atmosphere against its non-aerodynamic shape. A thousand meters above the spaceport, the ferry’s
engines came alive. Seconds later, it grounded on a tail of plasma fire without a bump.
CHAPTER 2
Tory emerged from the airlock into a transparent debarkation tube that ran a hundred meters across the
fused sand of Olympus Spaceport. Beyond the tube, the Martian night was lit by million-candle-power
polyarcs. Another ferry lay near the Phobos craft. Passengers and luggage streamed through that ship’s
connecting tube and into the subterranean passage that led to the main terminal. Tory grimaced at the
sight. It meant that the weekly liner from Earth was in orbit and that the spaceport would be more than its
usual madhouse.
As she entered the terminal, Tory willed her implant to synchronize with the Olympus city computer.
Once she received the connect signal, she sent a call to Dardan Pierce.
“Hello, Tory,”came back the immediate answer.“Where are you?”
“Spaceport.”
“Good, get over here as soon as you can. The others will have gathered by the time you arrive.”
“What’s up, Dard?”
“You’ll have to ask Hunsacker,”came the curt answer.“He called the meeting.”
“But he’s on Earth.”
“Not since noon, he isn’t. He showed up in my office and asked me to gather up everyone within
reach.”
“All right, I’m on my way,”
“One more thing,”Pierce’s silent voice said.“Hunsacker brought some people with him.”
“Who?”
“Praesert Sadibayan, the Underminister for Science in the Hoffenzoller Administration, and his
assistant. I want everyone to be on his or her best behavior. Pierce out.”
“Bronson out,”Tory replied absentmindedly.
A tube car deposited her at University Station half an hour later. Like most Martian structures, the
University of Olympus was mostly underground. It was topped at ground level by a large surface dome
anchored by cables woven from the monomolecular filaments used in the construction of light sails. The
most direct route from the tube station to Pierce’s office was through a series of underground corridors.
After nearly a year on Phobos, Tory decided to take a few minutes longer and stroll through the dome.
The dome was home to University Park, a complex of pathways, flowerbeds, and terrestrial shrubbery
grown tall in Mars’s gravitational field. During the day, the park was crowded with students hurrying
between classes. It was no less crowded at night, though less obviously so. After sundown, the surface
dome was lit in soft multicolored hues and suffused with herbal fragrance. That made it a favored place
for couples to seek solitude together. At the park’s center bubbled one of the few water fountains on
Mars. The low gravity produced a spectacular display while providing the growing plants with the
humidity they required.
As Tory reached the stairwell leading down into the astrophysics department, she inhaled the fragrant air
one last time. Classes had ended hours earlier, leaving the corridors below deserted. Her Phobos boots
made lonely clicking sounds on the fused rock floor as she walked. The clicks echoed the length of the
empty halls. Turning into a side corridor, she noted light spilling through a translucent office door at the far
end.
“Tory, thank God!” Pierce said when she knocked on his door. He was a balding man with intense eyes
and a manner to match. In his early fifties, the astrophysicist was still a vibrant man. His enthusiasm was
contagious, especially where the Starhopper Project was concerned.
The office was as she remembered it. Printouts and record cubes were stacked everywhere. One wall
was filled with holograms showing Pierce and various companions posed in front of well-known Earth
landmarks. These were souvenirs of his long hunt for money to fund the project.
“What’s going on, Dard?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t give me that innocent look. You would not have interrupted software validation for anything less
than a first rate emergency. You especially wouldn’t have interrupted the work at Hunsacker’s request
unless you knew what was going on.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said. “You’re here to give a progress report.”
“We file daily progress reports, weekly progress reports, and monthly overviews! Would the board like
hourly reports too?”
“They’re more interested in your personal perspective on the project. In your position, you have a better
feel for how things are going than anyone.”
“Can’t you even give me a hint?” As she asked the question, Tory was struck by Pierce’s expression. It
was hard to imagine bad news coming from anyone with that gleam in his eye. It was the same look a
child wears on Christmas morning.
“Nope. Just so I won’t be unpleasantly surprised, howare preparations going?”
“You’ve read the reports.”
“Humor me.”
“All right.” Tory gave him a quick rundown on what they had accomplished in the last week or so. Most
of the work involved software checkout, which could not be hurried.
“Sounds like you’re about to get back on schedule.”
“I would if I weren’t interrupted so often. Give me another month and I’ll deliver you a ship ready for
space.”
摘要：
展开>>
收起<<
TheSailsofTauCeti ANovelBy MichaelMcCollum SciFi-Arizona,Inc.ThirdMillenniumPublishingACooperativeofOnlineWritersandResourcesPROLOGUE FaslornofthePhelanstoodonthebridgeofthestarshipFarHorizonsandwatchedasthickbundlesofgossamerthreadpouredforthfromtheirstorageholds.Theshroudlineshadbeenstreamingaftt...
声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！
分类：外语学习
价格：5.9玖币
属性：185 页
大小：456.21KB
格式：PDF
时间：2024-12-22
作者详情
-
IMU2CLIP MULTIMODAL CONTRASTIVE LEARNING FOR IMU MOTION SENSORS FROM EGOCENTRIC VIDEOS AND TEXT NARRATIONS Seungwhan Moon Andrea Madotto Zhaojiang Lin Alireza Dirafzoon Aparajita Saraf5.9 玖币0人下载
-
Improving Visual-Semantic Embedding with Adaptive Pooling and Optimization Objective Zijian Zhang1 Chang Shu23 Ya Xiao1 Yuan Shen1 Di Zhu1 Jing Xiao25.9 玖币0人下载
相关内容
-
广告公司薪酬制度
分类：人力资源/企业管理
时间：2025-05-12
标签：无
格式：DOC
价格：10 玖币
-
购物中心(购物广场)薪酬、福利制度
分类：人力资源/企业管理
时间：2025-05-12
标签：无
格式：PDF
价格：10 玖币
-
公司员工伙食补贴请示格式范本
分类：人力资源/企业管理
时间：2025-05-12
标签：无
格式：PDF
价格：10 玖币
-
房地产项目薪酬考核体系
分类：人力资源/企业管理
时间：2025-05-13
标签：无
格式：PPT
价格：10 玖币
-
成本、材料核算会计岗位任务绩效考核指标
分类：人力资源/企业管理
时间：2025-05-13
标签：无
格式：PDF
价格：10 玖币
渝公网安备50010702506394
