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It's the stopping

It's been a little slow in work over the last few weeks. Normal for the business. Does it show?

Not quite an experiment. He called it a Griffon.
What did he think was going to happen?
Ultimately, there's only one way it can end.

Quote:The turbine wound down, 1500kw of turbine power moaning as it finally bled away to nothing. It was contained in a low-slung stealth-grey body that’d started as salvaged Countach-replica kit car, placed over reinforced heavy steel spaceframe that’d keep driver safe at any speed short of 300, placed on top of an all-wheel drive system hooked up to four fat near-slick tyres. An eight-speed torque-converter driven automatic gearbox adapted from something Peterbuilt completed the connection between powerplant and road.

A rear wing like a barn-door matched to a front front splitter wider than a doorstep and sharp as a blade crushed it into the road. Engine exhausts blew hot gas through the rear diffuser, pulling air along the undertray, sucking the car onto the road.

Hydropneumatic suspension - stolen from a truck - made bumps utterly irrelevant. It slowly hunkered down as the system pressure bled away.

It was known simply as the ‘Griffon’. It was, in the opinion of its owner, two tons of dead fucking kerosene-burning cool.

The magnesium wheels had been scavenged from a wreck, the timed-out engine borrowed from a helicopter, and most of the ancillaries from scrapyards and breakers across Fenspace.

Mackie Jaguar doubted there was a single new part in it. Not that it mattered. It was a waveless wonder. Pure, unwarped engineering. Reliable. Dependable. Quirkless. Built over 3 months, it was his key into entry into the prestigious Nekomi Motor Club

Sitting in the driver’s seat - a standard bucket seat - he checked a few last systems on his laptop, before adjusting some of the stability manager settings The cockpit instruments bathed him in cool turquoise hues, and few vibrant reds and yellows jumping out to draw attention.

Most of the cockpit instruments were behind repurposed laptop screens, with a few others being formed from LED matrices. Some of the switchgear and steering wheel came from an Opel, while the gear stick was actually a Blackbird throttle. The rest was made using an old tablet screen, with the majority of controls being at the touch of a finger.

it kept his sister from stealing it.

He disconnected the cable from a socket hidden behind a cupholder. The dashboard lights flickered a moment. Some of the LED elements began to glow dimly, illuminating parts of numbers, the service light and a parking brake light.

He blinked, then slapped the top of the dashboard.

Nothing happened.

“Huh... funny that,” he mumbled to himself, before shutting the car down.

Everything went dark inside, except for a courtesy light in the roof. He popped the scissor door open before clambering out over the outer frame rail, taking one last appreciating look at his handiwork, before slamming the door down.

It rattled, rather than clunked.

The distant moans of engines echoed through the tunnels beyond.

Day 1 of Motorcon was done

Day 2, he’d show the Motor club what he could do


“I’ve given the Dorsai, the medical, then guests priority access, but it’s still...... it’s still like spinning plates keeping it up.” Anika sighed, slumping over the terminal. “We get 3.5 megabytes, on a good day. Even with the Wagon giving us another 150 kilobytes, it’s just falling over. The intranet... there’s only so much that can be pushed through the powerlines.” Her hair spilled across the keyboard as she gazed despairingly up. “Can has break now?”

Ford yawned.... tried to answer... then yawned again. “You don’t need sleep.” she said with a groggy croak. She’d been awake for three days and change... and looked it. Running a convention had aged her visibly, adding at least a decade to her eyes.

Anika groaned loudly,

“Anyway. The Beeb-crew need some bandwidth to send some video back to mundania. What can you give them?”

“A jump drive and a mail drone,” Anika answered. “Best option. Especially if it’s gigabytes.”


A black portable communicator the size of a brick was strapped to her belt. She unhooked it and clicked open

“Yo guys. There’s no spare capacity.. you might be better just mailing it back. Tech says it’ll be faster anyway if it’s over a gigabyte.”

“Got that. Where can we get one of those then?”

A dry, english voice was clearly audible. He sounded just as tired as Ford did.

“We’ve a few spare up here.”

“Righto. There in five.”

Ford blew out a long sigh, clipping it back onto her belt. “This sucks.”

Having a film crew around was a curse, not a blessing. Publicity was one thing, but thus far all they’d done was get in the way.

She unzipped her leather jacket, allowing her body to breath. Black leather trousers creaked as she stretched, momentarily revealing a shoulder holster containing an overrated Czech pistol. Embroidered on the back was the logo for ‘Gunsmith Cats’

“So you’re actually going to go out wearing that?”

Anika might as well have asked her what she was wearing to her execution.

“Rally Vincent, yeah. At least I talked them out of the skirt. Seriously?”

Anika managed to giggled. “Your own fault.”

“Ugh....Don’t remind me.”

The projecting sideburns bounced distractingly in her peripheral vision, and she just knew some dipshit would ask for a photograph with her gun pointed at the camera. But the car demanded it.... and the committee had outvoted her. It was good for the convention for the showrunner to appear in cosplay of a character associated with cars. Who she happened to look like. And technically sound like, because the America dub VA’s were from the wrong region.

“It’ll be fun,” Anika assured her. “I’ve done it and it was so exciting having my picture taken.”

Ford couldn’t help but be reminded of the dentist telling her that it wouldn’t hurt a bit.’ She just closed her eyes and tried not to think about it. “Remind me to shoot the rest of the committee before they can elect me next year...”

The door squeaked as it opened, metal footsteps entering a moment later. Jet slipped the pack off her shoulder onto the desk just inside. It came to rest, leaning against an open pack of muffins.

“So what’s it like out there?” Ford asked.

“Crowded,” was the one word answer. “I saw Shinji on the way up.” A sly grin spread across her face. “You want to know who he’s here with? “

Ford raised an eyebrow. “He’s here with someone?”

“Yuu Inagawa....”

“The girl on Ultima who fetched our supplies? Big glasses?”

Jet confirmed it with a single nod.

“I didn’t think she’d be interested in this sort of thing.”


Ford blinked. “Oh.....“

“Oh that’s so sweet!” Anika beamed with asaccharine squeal. She was on her feet within seconds, wide eyes pleading for more information.

“I saw her earlier sketching,” said Jet. “But wouldn’t have realised if I hadn’t seen them both go into his apartment together.”

Ford chuckled in her throat. “Well that explains why he took that job out there.”

Anika’s shoulders slumped. “And I’m stuck here working.”

Ford smiled at her. It wasn’t a kind smile. “Welcome to the exciting world of convention staffing.”

Anika’s gaze turned to Jet, the big cyber being her only remaining hope of salvation. Her eyes were pleading in a way that was unique to her.

The stoney expression on Jet’s face said it all. Ford’s the chair, not me.

Anika slunk back to her workstation, throwing sullen gazes at both women in the hopes that somehow, it’d make them feel bad knowing exactly how terrible they were being to her.

Jet demonstrated her immunity to it by opening a cabinet beside the main console, before rifling through a haphazard stack of papers.

“You didn’t get a look at the entry sheet yet, did you Ford?” she asked, filling the silence.

“Do I look like I’ve had time?”

“Point. I’d say pretty much everyone we’d expected, and then some, is out there. There’s even some tachikoma down there playing around the T-72.” Jet paused. “I want a T-72”

“Maybe for Christmas.” Ford waved it off. A model kit.

The radio hissed an interruption. “Ford, Ford... It’s us again..”


Anika giggled, before smothering it with her hand.

She unhooked the comm from her belt. Push to talk was handy when you didn't want people to know how little you wanted to hear from them. "Yeah, what is it?"

“We’ll be filming in...." A pause, followed the the sound of papers rustling as a map was checked "...Tunnel B-4. We’ll need it kept clear for the next half hour. Is that alright with you?”

“No problem. I’ll let the Traffic cops know about it.”

“Thanks... we’ll try wrap up quick.”

She covered the eyes with the palm of her hand, for a moment hoping that by blocking out the light, the world would go away.

“Well, Jeph did try to warn us,” said Anika, shattering the illusion.

An electronic chirp from her communicator danced on the remains. A short text message popped up onscreen. She glanced at it and scowled.

“Dorsai. I’ve gotta get this down in Conops... again.”

“I’ve got to go get the Highway Star for the panel anyway.” Jet said. A light beamed out from the cabinet, enveloping her for a half-second before she reached in and grabbed the micro-projector “Then there’s the Sonoda thing.... ”

Ford shuddered.

“Oh, and people asking me to pose with their motoroids, with my helmet on.”

Ford offered her a rueful grin. “Try that puppet then. Then you can get harassed like the rest of us.”

“Hah!” Jet slipped the projector into the backpack, before clasping it shut and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Later Jet.”

Ford took a deep breath as the control room door locked behind her partner. It was tough... but mid-morning on day two and things hadn’t fallen to pieces yet. Murphy might just stay away for the weekend.

An alarm started to chirp on Anika’s console, annunciator lights flickering red across the


She didn’t really want

“Ah....ahhhh.” Anika’s expression seemed to just melt into despairing sorrow. “A whole subnet just went down.”

Ford slapped her hard on the back, making her best attempt at an encouraging smile. “Well, tech officer, I trust you can solve the problem.”

“Cake,” Anika murmured.


The announcement went out by way of radio, through a network of strategic repeaters. It was the one guaranteed way to reach the vast majority of people out driving, especially when networking and instant messaging was spotty at best.

“...And we’ve an announcement from Ops. Tunnel B-4 is closed to traffic until further notice. B-4 Closed to traffic. Speed restrictions in-place, Tunnels A-1 and A-3 for accident clearup. Limits will be enforced. Break the limit, lose your pass.”

Mackie reasoned, a little unreasonably maybe, that he might’ve been the only person on Frigga who was immune. He lived there. He couldn’t be excluded.

He cruised along at a speed somewhere north of what was technically allowed, only slowing down to snatch glances at a few especially interesting vehicles. It wasn’t a dangerous speed, as such.... his Sister’d busted the limits in Kandor by more, regularly.

It helped that he knew how the system was set up. It made jamming trivial.

He rubber-necked at the wreck. An Opel estate had been practically impaled through the passenger door by short, upright Toyota 4 door while pulling out of a side junction . Nobody seemed to have been injured by stroke of luck. At least not enough to keep them from yelling at each other while waiting for the emergency teams.

Clear of the accident, he locked the cruise control in, and settled in for an effortless 20 kilometre loop. The Griffon rode like a magic carpet, isolated from all but the most serious of bumps by its suspension.

It was speeding... but not ludicrous speed. Not darting between lanes, or doing stupid shit. Just ‘making progress’. The speed limit was an arbitrary number, chosen far away. It was often perfectly safe to go much faster. All was well, cruising at 160. The engine wasn’t even straining.

With that thought, the instrument panel flickered. Mackie stared at it,

It went dark. He smacked it. Every single indicator lit up at once, giving him the full Apollo 13 show, before finally going dark for good.

“Ah...” he managed, before being interrupted by the deep whistle of the turbine spooling up. It kicked him hard in the back a moment later. The car rushed forward.

His first diagnosis was that the cruise control had malfunctioned, getting stuck at a spurious high value by the failed panel. No big deal. There was a disconnect switch on the brake pedal.

He tried the gearstick first. Nothing. It clicked into neutral fine, but the gearbox didn't answer the signal. He slammed it forward and back. Nothing answered.

Mackie stomped hard on the pedal with both feet anyway.

The engine strained hard. But he could feel himself slowing down. Not brick-wall fast, but enough. No need to panic. Just a routine accident. He could smell the heat, the acrid stink of cooking brakes as the car struggled to accelerate against.

He found himself wondering why the hell it wasn’t working as he felt the fear rise inside him. He knew he couldn’t get sick, but he sure felt like throwing up when the realisation hit.

It wasn’t cutting the engine, because it wasn’t the cruise control that was the problem. It was the throttle sensor. It couldn’t send the signal without power. The engine control system was fail-safed to go to full throttle if the sensor signal was lost. Full power was safer in an aircraft on takeoff than no power. In a car, in a tunnel, with traffic flickering by.... it was the worst possible malfunction and he knew it.

He knew what’d caused the instrument failure... he knew what’d caused the throttle sensor failure... he knew how to fix it if he wasn’t sitting inside it at speeds north of 320.

As problems with, it was nothing special. An earth strap bonding the console to the frame of the car had fallen loose. Just a simple electrical glitch.

The pedal started to soften under his foot, sinking deeper and deeper. His stomach followed. At least, that’s what it felt like.

The engine started to win its struggle, steadily breaking free of its bindings. The brakes gave up for good a moment later when his foot hit the floor.

Mackie swallowed his fear. One last gamble. He ripped the handbrake up, then gripped tight to the wheel. It bit deep and hard with a metallic howl, sending a hard jolt through the car’s frame. It gave up the ghost a half-second later, failing with a hollow clank that ricocheted around under the car before disappearing into the distance behind.

“Ah....” he managed, before returning his gaze to the tunnel ahead.

His mind stopped dead.

It branched. Left. Right.

Right was blocked. A glimpse of a barely seen vehicle registered in his mind. He didn’t even choose left. Instinct did.

The car jerked. The tyres chirped. And Mackie thanked whatever deity cared that he had an android’s reflexes.

The momentary feeling of relief dissolved as he realised he was still in a runaway car. And he was accelerating through 400kph with no sign of stopping.

The gearbox shifted itself up, and it found its second wind as it bulleted into the black of the tunnel. Mackie didn’t know the proverbial chickens had ever left, but he sure as hell knew they were all coming home to roost now.


A man, who had once charitably been described as having been bald until he hit puberty, was allowed the Ferrari he was driving to steadily fall behind the Range Rover he was following. He shuffled in the seat for a few seconds searching in vain for a comfortable driving position - the car having been bespoke-built for someone of slight shorter stature than himself.

It was a simple maneuver. Piece to camera introduction. Stomp. Noise. Verbal ejaculation. Nothing new under the sun. Or orbiting it now for that matter.

He relied on the camera crew hanging off the back of 4-wheel drive the watch for traffic - the camera equipment and lighting gear blocked his line of sight. Again, it was the usual arrangement.

The director gave him a thumbs up. All clear.


The driver took a deep breath. He was the connoisseur of cars.

“Naturally, I’ve chosen the Ferrari F70. The F70 is, quite simply, the ultimate Ferrari. It is the end of an era. The last of a breed. It is the last Ferrari made with pure, unwaved Italian flair and engineering. It is Revelations. It is an Evening Star. It is.... in one word....,”

And stomp!. Twelve Cylinders bellowed with the music spawned of dinousaurs and gigatons, augmented by the high cold whine of an electric motor. The supercar reared back onto its back wheels like a prancing horse before launching into a gallop.


He stopped slack-jawed. The crew in the Land Rover were waving frantically at him. He didn’t even wait to wonder why. He just put the foot into the brake pedal, hard. Four carbon-ceramic brake disks and a kinetic energy recovery system halved the Ferrari’s speed in one gut-squeezing second.

His mind registered that the light flooding the cabin, wasn’t from the camera stuck to the passenger door. The mirror blazed with a brilliant blue arc-light.

Car. It passed with a flash and shockwave that seemed to wash right through him.

“Jesus Christ!”

It was gone in an instantaneous flash of headlight, leaving only a red glow in the distance, a hollow roar and the burned-hair smell of cooking brakes hanging in the air behind it.


“I’ll tell you what the bloody problem is Miss Sierra... we’ve just had some moron in an intercontinental ballistic wavemissile come blasting past us like a bomb, nearly wiping us all out in the process.”

Ford bit her lip, hard. Exaggerating now. As demanding as a prima-donna. A pain the ass and then some. A party looking for an open airlock. The security staff from the Dorsai looked on with an expression best described as amused sympathy.

“You told us you’d keep the tunnel clear.”

“I’ll find who it was and burn their pass. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

Click. An angry growl rose out of the back of her throat. Whoever the hell it was wasn’t just a danger to people, they were a danger to the collective reputation of each and every enthusiast present.

She sighed, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. “Dangerous driver. Tunnel B4.”

The Dorsai leader.... a thin guy with sandy hair who wore a uniform that seemed to swallow him whole.... nodded once.

“Security team to the tunnel endpoints. Dangerous driver approaching at speed. Get him out, get his keys. Take him to a holding cell.”

His voice left no doubt that his ordered would be carried out. Well worth the extra money, compared to BSS.

The room was normally used for certain exercises at survival shot. It had monitors hooked up to a CCTV system, while one full wall was given over to an interactive map of Frigga itself. Coloured spots on the wall marked each and every attendee... tracked in the public areas by an RFID in their wristband. A safety feature, in case of an accident.

Each bank of monitor had a body in front of it. Scanning. Watching. Monitoring.

“Sir.” A grey-furred catgirl raised her hand “I just got a handle on that moron. It’s a Countach... I think. A red one.” There was a pause as she switched between monitors, checking and double-checking her timing. “But it has to be doing North of 500kph.”

“Waved,” the commander mumbled to himself. “Alright. Forward the details to the patrols. Get the tags. And get the medical teams to standby just in case this moron wrecks it.”

Ford felt something inside her snap. she knew exactly who that was. She felt herself seethe inside, a white hot anger the boiled up and burned her face red.

This was best dealt with through use of the cellphone in her pocket. The number was on speed-dial. It took a half-second to connect

It didn’t even get the chance ring once.

“Ford!” The voice on the other end of the line gasped.

Mackie sounded terrified. Caught in the act. Rabbit in headlights.

“Hey!” she barked into the headset. “I’m going to give you one minute to slow that thing the fuck down before I let Security take care of you.”

“But...” he stuttered.

“I don’t want to hear it.” She slammed the door hard. “If you don’t pull that thing up right goddamned now, I’ll have your pass, and I’ll make sure you’re somewhere far away if we ever get to run this con again.”

All eyes fell upon her.


“No! I’m getting complaints because of you. You drive like a lunatic because you think your sister won’t stick the boot in. Well I got news for you, I Will, and I will make sure it sticks.”

“I can’t fucking stop!” he yelled.

Ford swallowed the next sentence, replacing it with a flat “What?”

“Its stuck at full throttle. I can’t slow down! No brakes!”

“Tell me you’re kidding me.”

It’s wasn’t even a funny joke.

“No I fucking amn’t!”

Everyone was staring at her, open mouthed. She sucked her bottom lip for a second, swallowing a thick heavy lump that’d crawled up the back of her throat. She just about managed to get her thoughts together.

“Runaway vehicle. Tunnel B4. Get the whole loop cleared of traffic. Get everyone to stop at the refuge areas and make sure they stay out of the road tunnels.... and find something or someone that can stop that thing. “

Just after midday, on day 2. It was all going to fall apart.


I've got.... ideas.
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Hoo boy. Oops doesn't even begin to cover it.

And Jeph did warn them about that particular BBC production, didn't he? Wink

"You know how parents tell you everything's going to fine, but you know they're lying to make you feel better? Everything's going to be fine." - The Doctor
Well.... it could be worse. Could've been Top Gear USA.

It's high time Mackie learned a lesson. Technology loves complacency the same way Gods love hubris. And Murphy is Nemesis.
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Dartz Wrote:Well.... it could be worse. Could've been Top Gear USA.
*snort* Given that I haven't kept up with that (maybe I'll poke my head back in next year and see how their identity formation is going), but I can sense where it might be amusingly different for those of us watching from the outside.

Quote:It's high time Mackie learned a lesson. Technology loves complacency the same way Gods love hubris. And Murphy is Nemesis.
And sometimes, the lesson to be learned is rather unexpectedly painful when it comes. If only because life is, basically, unfair.

"You know how parents tell you everything's going to fine, but you know they're lying to make you feel better? Everything's going to be fine." - The Doctor
At times it seems better than the Australian one... which was as flat as the middle-bit of the country. The hosts aren't bad.... though it feels strange. It feels American in that it's sort of cheap and tacky with a veneer of cool, and occasionally some substance. But at times it feels tacked on and pared down to the budget.

I've got a couple of endings in mind in tha vein to drill it home. Mostly varying in who gets to actually pay the price and what that price is. e plot originally involved a runaway T-72 with a fried expert system going J1..... but this is better. And avoids that whole borked-AI-goes-homicidal cliche. Instead, it's just a loose wire and a mistake anyfan can make when building something in a rush 'to get it working', and gives the thing a better point beyond 'oops' - 'fun stuff happens' - 'fun stuff over, The End'

Especially since Mackie himself was born out of a similar kind of accident. It seems to run in the family, for sure.

Anyway I'll probably need to ping a few people by email to really get it to work right. The Tachikoma especially get to do something interesting.

Would also be nice to know who's there too, if anyone's attending.
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Korahn's there, looking at the bikes...

Edit: She'll be tempted to grab the Highway Star and use it to chase the Griffon, until she realizes (a) it isn't her bike, and (b) all the BGC Fen had the same idea and are already mobbing the bike.
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
Myk-El would be there as a spectator... at this point, he's pushing 60, and without a biomod, he knows his racing days are now behind him. But he can still breathe in the fumes.

Rumor has it he got to have a ride with The Stig (#4 or #5, it's getting hard to keep track at that point) during some of the racing. Perhaps right before the Griffin Incident.

"You know how parents tell you everything's going to fine, but you know they're lying to make you feel better? Everything's going to be fine." - The Doctor
Myk: "Yet another reminder of just how dangerous handwavium was, when mixed with a fool."


EDIT: Actually.... Kohran wanting a ride on the Star might make for something.

Meanwhile, from the doc'. The Griffon:

Structure. Fiberglass and polymer bodywork on top of a steel frame, with various smaller components made from Magnesium and Aluminium alloys. Engine bay metal-lined and vented. About 2500KG, all in. Reasonably crash resistant with a good harness. Looks a little like a hulked-out Countach, and is larger than the base vehicle to accomodate fuel tanks, suspension and gearbox.

Suspension is hydropenumatic, pressurised by an engine-driven pump with no reserve of pressure. Power steering uses the same circuit.

Engine is Klimov TV3-117 from a Hind-D. SFC, .3KG/kW/hr

200 Litres of StellOil kerosene fuel aboard in a pair of tanks. 20 Litre reserve.

Mass Fuel, 162 Kg

Engine power, 1500kW or thereabouts.

Enough fuel for 20 minutes.

Fuel exhaustion leads to loss of steering, hydraulics and the remains of the brakes.

Top speed: ~ 540kph.

Brakes. Nothing special. Steel disks. Hydraulic. Vacuum boosted, using engine intake vacuum.

Brakes have been damaged by Mackie’s first stop attempt. Fluid boiled. Steadily cooling.

Emergency brake has been destroyed.

Wheels. Cast Magnesium.

Underbelly diffuser blown by engine exhaust to generate grip.

Gearbox is an 8 speed automatic from a truck. Will kick down and shift up on its own as necessary, based on load and engine speed.

Maybe I'm overdoing it a little?
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Perhaps you are overdoing it... just a little. But then, we're talking about a bored, unrestrained Gearhead Spark.
Speaking of which, this scene came to mind regarding Myk's reaction to the events of the day, once things have settled down and cleanup has commenced. He is past the usual states of swearing angry. He's livid. Go ahead and edit it a bit if you need to, but I tried to be non-specific about the levels of carnage that are going to occur.
Quote:Jet sat down as she took in the reports, the crate serving as a seat creaking underneath her. It could have been much, much worse.
She almost didn't notice Myk-El come in. Anika looked at him, and quickly excused herself with a noise, which made Jet look up at him.

To say that he looked intense would have been an understatement. Jet had seen him angry, once, pushed past his usual ability to maintain composure in the face of frustration, but this was something else entirely.
He was -enraged-.

"Jet. We need to talk about what just happened." Something in his voice made Jet sit up straight. It wasn't flat, but it was -even-, no real significant inflection, like it was tightly controlled, which was further indication he was beyond simply angry. No, if he'd been simply angry, his voice would have been higher, full of energy, and laced with at least one swear word in just that sentence, if not two or three.
He sat down in the seat across from her, eyes boring into her.

"I'm going to tell this to you, because I can't guarantee that I won't kill him if I tell this to him. The boy needs a job. More job than Survival Shot seems to give him. Preferably a job that channels his tendencies, and ensures he at least only puts himself in danger when he goes out in his latest creation."
Jet made to protest, but Myk raised his hand, finger pointed towards the ceiling. "Let me finish. How much damage did that latest creation of his do before it was brought to heel? How many people did he put in danger with it? How much of a tragedy would he have created if he'd been noticed even five seconds later?" He crossed his arms. "I talked to Jeremy right after the incident. If they hadn't had asked that the tunnel be closed for a filming segment, how many people would have been in that tunnel when he came barreling through it? How many would have died as he crashed through them?" He chuckled, so dry Jet felt her own mouth dry out suddenly. "I was literally ten seconds away from that myself, Jet. I was riding with The Stig ahead of the filming crew. Even he broke his silence, broke character, when we saw him flash past the shelter."

Myk stood up. "This is the sort of example that I use in my training classes, Jet. 'Yet another reminder of just how dangerous handwavium was, when mixed with a fool.' He needs more occupation than what he's getting. Or, at least, more supervision when he goes to play with those dangerous toys you have just lying around out of boredom. Figure out how to occupy him, or get him somewhere that can occupy him."

"You know how parents tell you everything's going to fine, but you know they're lying to make you feel better? Everything's going to be fine." - The Doctor
Lebia is there as well, and she probably brought at least one vehicle to show off.

I also had the idea about the Highway Star, but given where there are I figured the No. III is there. As in the FTL speed record holder. Given how Lebia probably got there (and carrying whatever vehicle Lebia brought) it will have the gear necessary to refit No. III with the QEC module that carried the telemetry link for the record run, so if it IS used to chase after Mackie the link can be used to activate the emergency autopilot so it doesn't wipe out.

Humm... Possible scene in my head. Unless that's not how you are going to resolve this, give me a couple of days to write it out.


"Handwavium mixed with a fool..."

I wonder if this combination could power a new spaceship drive? Wink
Basic plot I was working in a PM I sent about 20 minutes ago... for reasons that'll be clear.

But it's not the Highway Star Jet's interested in saving. She'll trash the original if it'll stop that car quite happily. The hard part is getting it to stop under control with Mackie in it, or getting him out of it before it wrecks somewhere safe. The former is always going to be Plan A. Plan B is desperation.

I'll be spending most of tomorrow in Galway, so there's time anyway to work something out. Ultimately, he has to learn a lesson.... and if the only person he harms is himself, it's not going to stick.

JFerio.... I can probably use parts of that. Thanks.
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
One thought for stopping the car: Get it out of the habitation and onto the surface of Frigga, and let the engine die for lack of oxygen.

Unless Mackie needs air...
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
I've replied to the PM Dartz.

@Rob: that's an eminently practicle idea, but given its speed it'll just launch out into space. Plus I doubt there are any smooth exits from Frigga. Airlocks yes; ramps, I doubt it.

Mackie and air...depends on how he handles heat, which depends on his construction and constructor.
Could just open the airlock to space. Fetching him isn't going to be that much trouble. The hard part, is getting the car to make a turn onto a tunnel that'll route it towards an airlock. Isolating a section and opening it to space might be possible. It'll still crash when the engine dies, but won't catch fire.

It's something for Kohran to mention, I think.

Mackies's Vulpine-Fury built. At least the body is. He had to be.... the alternative would probably have caused problems.
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Sora will be in attendance at MoCon, showing off her replica 1907 Curtiss V8 (she's been on a bit of a retro kick as of late). I can't see her being part of any of the exciting bits but she might suggest venting the tunnel or just reducing the partial pressure of oxygen inside - it's an old mine, so the tunnels should be able to seal off in case of accidents.

Hm. There's an oddball "heroic montage" for you: all the Motorcon guests and their vehicles, exhausts hooked up to an atmosphere bypass valve leading into the Griffon's cage...
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"
Hmmm. One wonders about crash foam.

Or maybe aircraft-carrier-grade crash nets, like they use for planes that can't grab the wire.
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.
M Fnord Wrote:Sora will be in attendance at MoCon, showing off her replica 1907 Curtiss V8 (she's been on a bit of a retro kick as of late).
And Kohran's there, too...

"Hey, big sis, I like what you've done with your body!"
"Thanks. You're still wearing that one?"
"It suits me. Have you met Yuu's boyfriend yet?"
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
There are crash barriers. A runaway was a planned-for event. It has to be, because there're plenty of documented cases. The problem is, nobody even considered a 500kph, 2-ton runaway to be possible. It'll just obliterate the barriers and crash-foam. Or worse, it'll be thrown out of control. They did consider the barrier failing.... so there are plans to deal with that.

Reducing the partial pressure of 20-30 kilometres of tunneling might be impractical in the timeframe available. And there're still people trapped in there..

Either way, they're still going into the melting pot with names attached. Because they're valid ideas.

Whether the event is ever run again in the future, is another matter. The person responsible for it will be blacklisted for life. Or until they finish college at Nekomi, and take a course in engineering ethics/responsibility.
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
Myk-El would certainly think a lifetime ban with no chance of redemption would be appropriate for the circumstances, even if Mackie is remorseful about the resulting casualties. He'd accept "until someone learns his ethics" regarding when and when not to field test something.
However, he is, bluntly, going to be at the stage of anger that one doesn't really dig their way out of the hole with him, even when the anger cools, especially given the implied consequences for a lot people involved. Forgive? Yes. Forget? Hells no."Meanwhile, at the Hall of Justice JMC Headquarters."

Quote:Jeph remarked to himself on the relative unfairness of the universe, as he looked up from the stack of paperwork that he had to personally deal with, and over at the flyer tacked to the wall for MoCon.
"Hey, Jeph," Holly called out, his face appearing on one of the monitors. "Wavecall from Myk."
"Thanks, Hol," he said, picking up the handset from the base on his desk, the one spot not covered in paperwork. "Jeph's Den on Iniquity." Nene, over in the corner, snickered. Then, Jeph straightened up in his chair, shifting to female so quick there was almost an audible snapping sound.
"What?!" She listened for a second, then exclaimed, slightly lower. "What?" A few seconds of some sort of... tense voice on the other end, then she repeated quite, quite flatly, "What. No, I heard you, Myk. Crystal clear. Who the FUCK does that sort of thing?" A pause. "Oh, bloody fucking joy on a shit stick. How bad?" She paled as Myk said something unpleasant over the line. "Oh dear gods. Have they got a handle on it yet? ...fuck me, they haven't? No, do what you need to do over there. Seriously, Myk." Another pause. "Yes, I understand this is pissing you off good. I can feel the intensity from here. We can start on our way over to pick you up when it's all finished." A few seconds, as she nodded her head. "We'll ship over at full burn. Holly and Geo should be able to take care of things here while we're gone. Yes, you take care too." Jeph set the handset down onto the base gingerly, slumping back in her chair. "Oh fuck."
"What's going on?" Nene inquired, coming over and setting a hand on Jeph's shoulder. A shoulder that was already tensing up.
"Someone - it looks like Mackie - souped up some sort of car into the Griffin, and it jammed it's throttle wide open." Nene turned white as a sheet, as she remembered what the Griffin had done in the OAV. "It's already bad, and possibly going to get worse. Get your overnight bag, we're taking Starbug 1 over there as fast as we can burn."

"You know how parents tell you everything's going to fine, but you know they're lying to make you feel better? Everything's going to be fine." - The Doctor
A drop-in-almost-anywhere scenelet, since you've established that they're here:
Quote:"Oh, gods... Is there anything we can do to help?"

"I'll ask Anika." Shinji's expression went blank for a brief moment - if Yuu hadn't also been an AI, she would have missed it. "If you know any way to get medical help here quickly, they'll take it. The con's infirmary isn't set up to handle this many people."

"Right." Yuu pulled out her StellviaCorp cellphone and double-tapped the "PANIC!!!" icon on the screen. "Good thing there's a Halcyon node here, and the Global Frequency's connected to Halcyon. Hello, Buckaroo? Yuu Inagawa here. Patch me through to 4077 Asuka, please - we've got a multiple-victim medical emergency at 77 Frigga."
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
If VF is there, he may be doing "touch-ups" on shells for android and telepresence "booth girls."

2030-something, right?

Heart attack and emergency biomod.


The sudden roar of an engine and a Kunstler tackled the old man away from the path of the runaway car. She swore softly as the puppeteer's face went ashen and his left hand clutched at his chest.

"Dammit! Who's got the nearest emergency guacamole?"

Lime's eyes were tearing up. "D-daddy?"
What he winds up as is anybody's guess, and it will depend on the strain of goop they give him. JLI goo will likely give him a "generic hero" physique, Senshi rescue goo ... well.
Hmmm. Golden to Silver Age comics sources, 80s and 90s anime, with a splash of Urusei Yatsura...
"Daddy? Can you hear me? The doctor is going to give you an emergency biomod. Can you get an image in your head and hold it?" Lime's pout was worried as her father gasped and nodded.
"Get the defibrilator over here! He's gotta still be alive when the mod starts!"
Eljay's eyes rolled in his head as the paddles made their way down.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll
'23 not '33. That was a typo in the original post. September 2023, off the top of my head.

Still, getting dragged out of the way by a Kunstler is... not going to be healthy for anyone. Healthier than getting hit by a car getting up above 500kph, with the kinetic energy equivelant to a small subcritical nuclear weapon blasting through the carpark, mind.

And another reason for Mackie to feel bad. VF built his body for him.....

Still not quite at nuke the parking lot levels of 'oops' but not far of it at this stage.
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
The heart attack can still happen, VF's not of the healthiest build after all. Or just a lot of trauma from the collision.

Hmmm. If he gets the Supers strain of emergency biomod he looks like Fred Macmurray or a teenage and still slim Elvis Presley by way of superheroic physique and the painter Alex Ross.

If he gets the Senshi strain, well Kandor has a new ring girl for the Mary Marvel Memorial Melee.
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll
One idea to use or discard as you see fit, connecting to a few things already posted in this thread:

Kohran on the phone (hands-free, Bluetooth earpiece) to Mackie:
Quote:"Stop pretending you're a flesh person and use that computer brain of yours, boy! Run the numbers! You know how long the fuel feed line is. If we cut the fuel supply, how soon until the engine dies? And how soon after that do you lose hydraulics? Don't answer me, just run the numbers! How heavy is the car right now, with its current fuel load? Now, answer me these: given that mass, if you cut power at the start of the longest straightaway on your path, how fast will you be going at the end of the straightaway? And exactly where on you car is the emergency fuel shutoff valve? And when do I need to cut it so you lose hydraulics as soon as you've straightened out at the start of that longest straightaway?"
After he answers:
Quote:"Right. Jet, I'm borrowing the Highway Star."
And if the Griffon's still going fast enough that it'll catastrophically crash at the end of the straightaway (which is likely):
Quote:"Somebody find Sora Hasegawa and ask her to stand by for an emergency core-processor transplant, just in case my core case breaks. And call Makoto Miyadera on Deimos - she knows where I keep my spare bodies."
If anyone asks about spare bodies:
Quote:"I work with explosives, and I'm rich. Of course I have some spares! Although this is my best body. But not for much longer, I guess."
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012
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