(see the revised text in reply #6)
--
"Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles
woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows

The green, grumpy German girl groused , “You hired me to deliver a bouquet?” 

Dr.--unofficially--Drakken smiled what he hoped was a disarming smile. “Yes, as quickly as possible.” 

She moued, very prettily as far as Drakken was concerned.  “To whom?” 

He handed the black jumpsuited woman an envelope of creamy seed paper. 

Drakken was fairly sure that if she were truly put out by him this conversation would have truly ended with the trivial nature of the cargo. Ramona Wandblume had the reputation of dealing only in small exotics & valuables : she wouldn’t even consider thinking about couriering a collectable figurine less than two hundred & fifty U.S dollar-equivalent credit units. The dual facts that she had neither stormed out, nor reamed him out,  but had  agreed poutingly suggested that he had a beachhead from which to conduct further operations.  

Wandblume opened the envelope, shook out the card into a  palmy palm. Her eyebrows shot up once she hit the punchline. 

“They’re lovely, dumpkof!” She smacked him across the head with a mixed assortment of hardy zero-gee blooms. 

“Couldn’t you just have asked me out, like a...” She caught herself which was another sign that she was relaxed.  Flower bedecked Dr. Drakken was elated : the evolving assignation was enthralling.    

“...Normal guy?” He threw his blue arms skywards with a risible, vivacious bark of laughter : “What fun is normal?” 



“None at all!” She brushed a sprig of baby’s breath off of his shoulder. “Vhat took you so long? I vasn’t exactly being subtle six months ago!”

“Between being Fen still-in-the-wrapper and never before really having any girlfriend experience, I would have missed a Vegas display of dating interest!”

“Vell then, time to start exposing you to girls...that did not come out vell?”

Dr. Drakken, was poleaxed for three point five seconds ; then giggling his guts out on moonrock : “It was a bit awkward,” He managed, bootstrapping himself off of the floor and out of a potentially mood killing explanation. “ but I know exactly what you meant!” 

“Gut! Ve vill begin vith coffee und see.”

She dragged him into the fantastically convenient coffee shop, Lollygags. 



Sweeping her eyes across the cozy little booths, faux pleather--doubly fake!--arm chairs, diode candles & plasteak wood decor, Wandblume declared : “A bit stiff, but It vill do!”



Drakken’s assessment  was very esoteric: “Wow, Moon Boodle’s!”  

The mustachioed man, listlessly polishing the same glass over and over,  behind the bar intoned moodily, “More like Moon Boondoggle’s, sir.”

Sure enough the place was emptier than church on a Saturday night.

“Moon vas?!” 

As they took their seats in a booth both slightly larger and more fun than a confessional, Drakken exposited : “Before I turned blue I was set upon weekend vacationing as H.G. Wells’ Victorian mad scientist, Professor Cavor. This,”  He spun about slowly encompassing  the establishment’s ersatz appeal in a out flung swing of arms. “is exactly like the secret Eidolon Sanctum room in Boodle's Gentlemen's club* where my slightly altered variant of Well’s scientist meets with the cream of society to ensure the Victorian space program!**

There was a glister in Ramona Wandblume’s eyes that fought and lost against the slightest of scowls as she watched her date’s waltzing reverie unfold : they was the outward   manifestations of her inner verdict regarding his geek gusto. She found it  as perplexingly sexy now as the first time she had met him six months previously. 

 Drakken only enhanced her  consideration of him through a bit of banter with the barman. 

“It’s like this all of the time?”

“All of the time, sir.” Drakken was beginning to see less of a man and more of a bipedal bar tending Eeyore. 

“This must be the only not bright orange bubble-tea establishment on the whole of Luna!”

“I reckon so, sir.” Drakken was now fairly confident that the listless laborer sported a detachable pink ribboned tail blocked from view by the dark fake wood and actual brass of the bar. 

“Tapioca is not a beverage!”

“Yes, sir.”

“I, my good man, can not in good conscience let such an excellent establishment go by the wayside!” 

This was said with such ardor that, even in the eyes of Eeyore, a fragile flickering of  faith fired faintly. 

“That would be appreciated, sir.” 

Wandblume strongly suspected that it wasn’t just bluster on the part of the slightly maddening man that was attaining approval in the metaphorical atria of her affections.

She was correct. 

*****

 

*Boodle’s exists : the Eidolon Sanctum does not. 

**More than a slight alteration of  H.G. Well’s, The First Men in the Moon. 

http://www.cnn.com/2014/02/11/showbiz/h ... ?hpt=hp_t1]CNN article here.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Quote:From: Captain@Ciara.Fen
To: [whom it may concern]

SUBJ: [RFP] Construction of Space Vessel. [Confidential]

To Whom it May concern

It's no secret at this point that the Ciara's getting old. She was almost 20 years old before we bought her, and a few thousand launch and landing cycles and a few Atlantic storms haven't been kind, not to mention the scars of the conflict ten years ago. What is a secret for the time being is that Sean, our engineer, found fatigue cracks in the keel during an ultrasonic inspection. Repairs aren't possible. He estimates the ship's safe to fly for only another six months or so.

So, we plan to retire the Ciara after our current contract with Stellvia Trading runs out next month. She won't be going to the scrapper's torch; the museum at Port Phobos have asked for her, to go alongside their Boskone cruiser as part of a war-era exhibit

Anyway, point is, we're in the market for a new ship.

Minimum requirements are that she must be water-landing capable, have sufficient armament, armour and sensors for self-defense (To PEPPER Class 1-C), sufficient propulsion capability to reach a minimum of 0.1c, 15 light-years range, crew and passenger accomodations for a minimum of 30, a 2 shuttlecraft of Bolitho-size or bigger, and cargo capacity of 50 tons. Ideally, she'd operate with minimal crew and maximum passengers. Delivery is expected within 6 months to a year from order. Bonus points will be awarded for onboard amenities and crew comfort. Being able to land somewhere conventional for a change would also be nice...

We're hoping to add an interstellar run to our usual repertoire, maybe out to Gallifrey or other offworld colonies if there's demand for it.

Full details, budget and specifications are attached to this message. There's a deadline of 4 weeks from today for submission of proposals. We'll make our decision within two weeks of that date.

Is mise le meas
Raymond Garret.

--------------

The one with the fancy hat and jacket, and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

SS Ciara: Secure Cargo, Passenger and Charter. Mars. Venus. Earth.

It took me a while, but I finally figured out where in Fenspace to put http://www.fenspace.net/index.php5?title=Rob_Donaldson]my self-insert.

Now to see whether this guy will show up in a story...
--
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'm getting Internal Service Error messages when I try to upload images to the wiki. (I've made sure they're smaller than 2MB, yes.) Is anyone else having problems?
--
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

Just... Just read these tweets...
-----
Stand between the Silver Crystal and the Golden Sea.
"Youngsters these days just have no appreciation for the magnificence of the legendary cucumber."  --Krityan Elder, Tales of Vesperia.

Donald Van Loan, recently re-monikered Dr. Drakken ® (Disney Corp.), stumbled out of his newly notched Cavorite sphere ; gripped firmly onto one of the  vertical support stanchions girding the docking berth, a healthy cyan flush slowly returning to his wan physiognomy. The attendant bay technician, a frazzled looking Siamese, ran wide, angled blue eyes over the dent in Drakken’s Alvin cum Cavorite sphere. 

“Ojisan, who taught you flying?”

Still holding on to the strut as if it was as significant to his bearing as was his skeleton, he weakly wagged : “An English billiards master!”

He further confounded  the catgirl’s  nonplussed expression with : “Any carom you can walk away from...” He experimented with relying entirely upon his own inner framework by letting go of his external spine ; found that independent standing was possible ; began to explore the possibilities of mobility ; shambled unsteadily away from the perilous possibilities of space and towards the safer sanctuaries of station interiors. 

By the time he staggered into Crystal Hiroshima’s bridge he almost looked his not-that-old cyan-self. Not enough so that Tanith Curtis didn’t notice : “Another hard landing?”

He flashed a weak variant of his usually enthusiastic grin. “Another soft crash.” 

Tanith smirked; managed to make it pretty. “It’s a good thing that you choose to fly a submersible : I don’t think a Dodge Dart or a Chevy Cavalier could stand up to your...skills.”

He returned the smirk ; crossed back over into the preserve of one hundred percent Dr. Drakken ®. “Maybe a Mazda made of neutron-degenerate matter : got one kicking about?” 

“Made of what?”

“Unobtanium.” 

“That’s not even on the Periodic chart!”

He mimed wrenching a steering wheel around in classic Hollywood exaggerated fake driving motions. “Exactly! There’s nothing tough enough to survive my driving.” 

Tanith gave blue skinned Mad tailor a solicitous stare. “Then you better hire a chauffeur before you really crash and I end up short an decent  tailor,  a passable environmental systems specialist & a fantastic friend.” 

That candid consignment of concern cracked Drakken’s carapace of comedy. He considered his comrade with a seldom seen semblance of seriousness. A tear or two might even have been secreted by ducts located within ocular orbits. 

“For a friend.” He wasn’t choked up...well not beyond the capacity of speech.

Curtis hugged him ; felt the emotional shift  commencing through his body before Drakken’s forebrain was cognizant of it. She decoupled the clutch  just in time to see the facial manifestations of synaptic epiphany.

“That’s the longest that I’m going to see you ever looking serious.”

“Absolutely!” The grin was back ; wider, a smidge,  than before.

She returned the grin. She couldn’t help it : he was infectious. 



“What are we grinning about?”

“There is someone.”



His breathiness sparked off a lambent glimmer in Tanith’s dark eyes. 

“You’ve met someone.”



 “ I’ve almost met her : a freelance courier,  Ramona.”



“Well get out there and finish meeting her, idiot!”

Drakken looked taken aback at such an uncomplicated & plain plan ; then the grin resurfaced. 

“Is that an order, my queen?”

“Think of it as an stipulated  suggestion!” 



“Your Majesty!” Being an essential being of melodrama, Drakken’s bow was somehow gracious & honest whilst still being full-on-Shatner-Stratford-style. 

“From anyone else that would be of have been the single most brazenly insincere flourish ever perpetrated within the bounds of my august presence!” She almost managed to keep her face majestic & composed as she uttered this twaddle. Almost.  

“ Get out of here, fool!” She said, fondly. 

"What about our meeting?"

"This is more important!"



With a livelier step than when he arrived, Dr. Drakken ® withdrew. 

http://www.tor.com/blogs/2014/02/calvin-and-hobbes-dune

As a few know, I've got this self-insert fic that's been crawling along for a while now.

The last chapter posted involved an Angel that was stuck in orbit where NERV couldn't reach it, so nuclear weapons were used, with the consequence that a good chunk of the fallout got smeared across Europe. The other kind of fallout follows.

I'm trying to put the next part together and a large part of doing that is dealing with the fallout, and the ethics of it, and after three or four attempts I'm starting to put together something that might make sense and I'm wondering what people think. Does it make sense, or is it a little bit overwrought?

Quote:We crossed a moral Rubicon. There was no turning back. The unthinkable was now thinkable again. And every single time another Angel comes, someone, somewhere would point to what we'd done and ask;

Why not again?

It was so much easier to just nuke the bloody things. So much cheaper. Especially if you just set them off in the same place over and over again.

If we fail again. They will do it again. And again. And they'll keep doing it until the Angels adapt to the new threat like they always do and suddenly, they'll be faced with an enemy not even a nuclear weapon can destroy. Or worse, they'll succeed and be left with a stockpile of new super-nuclear weapons to deal with.

And the other nuclear weapon states will look on and start to wonder what will happen to those weapons after the Angels have been defeated. They'll start to feel that little pang of fear that they might be used, that someone might have a first-strike advantage over them and might be crazy enough to use it.

Because there was now precedent for it. Because nuclear war has happened. The doomsday clock struck midnight and the day after wasn't really that bad after all. There were still three billion people left. We weren't bombed back to the Stone Age, just the 1960's.

So they'll build up a new stockpile. Stockpiles breed stockpiles until a whole new Cold War arms race begins and manmade Armageddon looms each time a Middle-Eastern tin-pot decides to kick up a storm in a desert teacup. We'd save the world from the Angels, only to deliver it into the embrace of assured destruction in the process.

That worried me.

The one question no mecha series ever really asks. What happens after the enemy is defeated and the super-weapons built to destroy them still remain? What next?

That was how project E was sold to the world, it was a way out of that trap. I guessed that was the real reason for the five-minute timer on the battery in the meeting with the Americans. An umbilical cable rendered us useless against an army. Powerful enough to defeat the Angels, but powerless to defeat human beings away from this specific city.

But...

When we reach the point where Armageddon has kicked down the front door, and there's no other option left? When another step down the slippery slope is the less-terrifying option?

We face a responsibility unlike no other in the history of mankind, that's what Misato said. We edged a step closer to another potential doomsday again, in ten years time. And because we did, we avoided a certain one tomorrow. We may have given the Angels a shot at neutralising our trump card, but in the process bought ourselves another few weeks to adapt ourselves.

We may have condemned thousands to a lingering death without giving them a chance to have a say in it.

But if we didn't, we'd all be dead. If we'd chosen to take the moral high ground and refused to make that decision, then wouldn't that have been as good as choosing to kill everyone?

The more I think of it, the more I realise that maybe I was wrong to compare Misato's decision with living in Omelas. It's more complicated than that. When those who turn their backs on the city powered by a forsaken child leave, there's no consequence to the city. It's inhabitants will continue as they always have and those few who find it reprehensible can continue to leave.

If we choose to leave our Omelas, then it's destroyed. Along with us. If that's the case, do we have the right to leave? When the stakes are as high as absolute destruction, is it right to condemn the entire world just so we won't die feeling guilty?

Or isn't that a greater sin? How arrogant would that be?

As Eva pilots our duty isn't just to defeat the Angels, I think it's larger than that. It's to defeat Armageddon itself; from whatever source. We are the hope of the world that there will be a future, the belief that humanity is worth saving. NERV - away from SEELE and Instrumentality Committees and Old Men - is the single greatest manifestation of the human determination to survive - to do what it takes and go beyond the impossible, just so someone, somewhere can see a new sunrise.

It's a condensation of our mutual determination to not just slip quietly away into the night, but fight tooth and nail for every breath, for the chance to have a future - any future.

Our duty is to do what we can to prevent the use of nuclear weapons against the Angels because each time that happens, it's one more chance for the Angels to adapt, one more sin on our collective souls, one more tick of the doomsday clock advancing back around to self-destruction once again.

The Nuclear Option should never, ever be the convenient option. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that it's an option that never has to be used again. But, it should never not be an option either. Because the threat of self destruction is - ultimately - nothing but a threat. And I can think of no greater sin than allowing the destruction of the entire world and all who live there just so I can die with a clear conscience.

Maybe I was rationalising it to myself, trying to convince my conscience that what we did was right inspite of my true gut feelings. I don't think I could ever feel comfortable with it, not while they were still pointing chirping geiger-counters at children on the television. Philosophy and ethics were never my strongpoint, but I think I had an answer I could stand over.

"We're still alive. And just rolling over and dying because it's easier than feeling guilty is wrong."

Misato smiled warmly at me. That was the right answer. And I sat there congratulating myself on still being being adult enough to come up with the right answer, like any normal fourteen year old child would.