I found myself flipping right the hell out today over not being able to do some digital work; there's no more patience in reserve to try to save up more money so absolute budget is $225 incl. shipping and tax. Now this is doable, if barely, with a DIY desktop, but I haven't actually been keeping up with trends in hardware - what's the general waterline for a low end but not obsolete machine in terms of cpu speed/cores, ram/hdd size, video cards? Can you even get a modern card with a VGA connector, or does
--
"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

It's a mouthful of a title.
It's coming West, with localization aid provided by Carpe Fulgur (Recettear).

Now the gut checking begins... Legend of Heroes: Trails in the Sky the 3rd is within reach, but is an even WORSE cliffhanger for Every. Single. Game. that has been made in the series after.
- Grumpy Uncle Gearhead

Please read this first: http://www.wired.com/underwire/2013/09/ ... ickwolves/

You're back? Okay, I'll go on.

From what I've heard, there's no reason to assume their analogues wouldn't have done the same in Fenspace. And it's their right to say whatever they want, no matter how much other people dislike what they say.

But one thing that Mal and I have said many times is that actions have consequences. And we had established that the big Fen gaming convention was called "PAX Venus," and took place in Crystal Seattle. That's Senshi territory.

There's no way the Senshi would want to continue to be associated with PAX after this stunt. I doubt the other major factions would want to invite them in, either.

So, I've renamed "PAX Venus" to "CrystalCon" in the FenWiki, pending suggestions of a better name. I'll leave it up to the Fenspace Collective whether we want to make the change retroactive or actually have the renaming take place in-universe...
--
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

Donald Featherstone, a man who along with Dr. Paddy Smith and Jack Scruby shaped the historical wargaming industry, passed away this week.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_Fea ... _(wargamer)
I for one did not know he was still alive. I will roll my next set of dice in his honor.
__________________
Into terror!,  Into valour!
Charge ahead! No! Never turn
Yes, it's into the fire we fly
And the devil will burn!
- Scarlett Pimpernell

Is anyone else having trouble accessing http://addventure.bast-enterprises.de/ ? I haven't been able to for several days.

I think the fact I have time to emit things like this is a clear sign something is wrong at the company.... anyway.

-------
Let me start with the most important part...

You're alive. So long as you're alive, anything is possible.

Now, let me tell you that I know how you're feeling. We all do. We've all had to go through it ourselves. I know how you felt when you first woke up after your accident. There's nothing wrong with it - if anything we'd be worried if you were feeling perfectly fine.

The last thing you remember isn't nice. It might be the glass on the windscreen shattering, the cold rush of vacuum's embrace and the spit on your tongue starting to boil, or it might be an EMT over your body suddenly announcing that the wave injection wasn't taking hold ; either way you wake up. You first wonder if it wasn't a dream, because you feel fine. No aches, no pains. You think you feel a little groggy - a little off.

And that's when it starts to bite.

You feel really off. There's something wrong with you and you just can't put your finger on it. You might feel empty inside, a little hollow. You try to clench your hands and the sensation feels distant. Your toes no longer feel like they're attached.

That's when you open your eyes to perfect clarity. Again, the wrongness piles on. Eventually, you force yourself to look at your hand, and that's when it all slams you in the face. You scream, you beg for help, you might even shout out 'What have I become'. You suddenly become aware of the alien sensations sparking inside your mind, penetrating your deepest self. You try to pull the carbon fibre or metal-frame apart in the desperate hope that it's all just some sort of life-support exoskeleton.

But all that data intruding on your thoughts has to be coming from somewhere. It's alien and it's violating the core of your mind with every single spark of information.

Then your doc' comes in, and confirms the worst.

You're a full conversion cyborg - it was the only way to save your life. You get your full technical spec's - a rundown of everything that had to be done to save your life and why this was done, but you're not really paying attention to it all. All you can think is what the hell sort of life is this supposed to be? Or maybe that you'll wake up from the nightmare soon enough. Or both.

Maybe it wasn't exactly like that - but I'm sure I'm not far wrong. Like I said, we've all been there on some level.

My point is, You Are Not Alone.

That's where I come in. This is what the panzer Kunst Gruppe does. We're here first and foremost to help you come to terms with yourself as you are now, to help you move forward and take control of your life and your body.

I know it still feels like a waking nightmare. You feel alien. You feel inhuman. You wonder if you're not some sort of cybertech zombie, when all that's left of the original you is half a brain in an impact absorbing gel, tied to a chorus of expert systems bridging the gap between you, your body and the universe.

We all felt like that at one stage. We all came to the conclusion that we are truly no longer human. And this isn't a bad thing. Ultimately, it's the only way to live. It's technically possible to clone a human body based on your DNA. And there's no reason why your brain as it is couldn't be placed into it. But you'd always know something was wrong. You'd always see yourself in the mirror and you'd always feel not quite human in a way you'd be less and less able to quantify. And that feeling would begin to eat at the back of your mind, fuelling a self-destructive spiralling paranoia as you seek out the last few dregs of humanity you know are still missing because you just don't feel 'right' anymore.

I've seen it happen. It's not a nice path to tread. It doesn't end anywhere nice.

That's also why you're in such an obvious body. Perversely, it's easier to deal with the obviously-alien, rather than the subtly wrong. It's the uncanny valley effect. I suppose, it forces the mind to adapt, rather than allowing for a comforting delusion. The human brain's ability to adapt is never to be underestimated. If you allow it, and give it time, your mind will mould to match your hardware until it all becomes a natural part of you. Trust me, this is the best way. You can never be fully human again. We don't have the technology.

But it's OK not to be human. Once you cast off the label of humanity, you cast off the limits of mankind and you realise that you're free to come whatever you want to be. Take a naked stroll on Mars, or soar between the stars themselves - whatever takes your fancy.

The body you've been given is just a starting point. It's what the doc' had to hand when you arrived with an Emergency tag. The apparent gender might not match - even the face might be a little wrong. But that's OK because you can change it. That's the true beauty of cybernetics. With a biomod, it's a one-shot deal. With cybernetics -if you don't like what you are - you can change and change again.

Who you are now, is defined solely by who you want to be. Your body is yours to mould to whatever you wish. Take a moment to think on that - to think about what it would be like to be able to fly between planets, to look upon the raw universe with your own naked eyes and be a part of it all in the same way a dolphin is part of the ocean - unlike the sailor clinging to his tin-can ship.

That has been my privilege. It can be yours too, if you want. I can say that every little difficulty or challenge my body has thrown up seems cheap compared to being free amongst the stars.

But that's my thing. Maybe it's not yours.

It's something to think about. What can I do? What can I become? What do I want to be? These are the questions you need to ask I can't give you the answers, but if you join us at the Panzer Kunst Gruppe we can help you find them for yourself, while teaching you how to master your new self and control what you've become.

Whatever path you choose, welcome to a wider and more interesting world.

----------
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

My brother-in-law David has begun a blog which might be of interest to folks who follow this board.  In the email which he distributed to friends and family, he says:

Quote:I've spoken to many of you about issues relating to economics, finance, trade, and the continued sovereignty of our nation.  Many of you have come to me with questions on these issues, which has led to numerous interesting discussions.  To reach as many of you as possible with comments and ideas on these and other topics, I've created a blog "canonicalthoughts" which I hope some of you will find interesting.  I'm planning on posting once or twice a week on some topic that is pertinent to the issues above and current events.  I'm hoping to spur some thoughts about these topics and I hope that you will comment on posts that interest you.

Ronni Katz, former player of Whyte Tyger/Tigra, surprised me today by popping up in an article on CNN about cross-gender cosplay (something she's been doing longer than I've known her).  If you're really interested in seeing the face of one of the Warriors' players, check out pic 4 in the article's slideshow.

-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

So, about a year, maybe a year and a half back, I gave some thought to the idea of a story or two in Fenspace... and then promptly got distracted by life and such, because that's pretty much how I roll. Still, when an idea nestled in there the other day, I figured I might as well put together a snippet and see what happens.
***

JUNE 2013

I say this as someone fully aware of his own status as a Fen of many fandoms. A man with far too much fondness for world-building and fictional cultures made real. And the fact that it might well make me look like a massive hypocrite.
But dear lord, there are days I just wanna smack the majority of Fenspace. Hard. This is definitely one of those days. If I was back on Earth, or somewhere remotely reasonable like Stellvia, I’d be having this meeting in an office, with comfortable chairs, a mostly peaceful atmosphere, and our business would hopefully be sorted out in a quick and reasonable manner.
Instead, here I am, sitting in a rather dingy bar in one of Ganymedes smaller dometowns, putting up with an incredibly uncomfortable folding chair and inhaling far too much cigarette smoke (And really, who in their right mind smokes this much in a dome colony?). And thanks to the fact I only got a glass of water, I’ve already gotten a few glares from the sort of people that see a teetotaler as someone that needs to be thrown out via the window.
But this is where the client wanted to meet, so here I wait… Some people really take the whole ‘Space West’ mentality a little too far. It wouldn’t be so bad if this place at least offered counter meals.
Which meant that I was sitting there, glaring at the water as if hoping it would magically turn into cola, when I was interrupted by an amused chuckle. “You know, my pa always said a man that don’t touch the spirits is a man that fears lifes surprises.” I looked up from the glass to see a large man, both tall and round, dressed in the kind of suit quickly becoming known among the Browncoats as ‘Sunday Best’, and with the sort of beard that would make Abraham Lincoln stand up and salute. My client, Adam Worthington, and thankfully for my sanity, he’d shown up early.
“I’m merely a man that’s seen too many spirits turn out to be demons,” I reply with what I hope is a friendly smile, even as I stand and offer him my hand. His handshake was strong, but thankfully he’s not the sort of man that feels the need to make it a contest. “I’ve found it’s more effective to be the poor sober fool that has to handle the people that had too much,” I add, offering him a seat, and he took it while radiating a second chuckle. His amusement, while well contained, was still as large as the rest of him, and I have to admit, it presented an impressive image. The folding chair managing to contain his weight might have been even more impressive. These things look damn cheap.
Raising a hand to the woman behind the bar, the sort of motion that implies regular patronage and ‘I’ll just have the usual thanks,’ he turned his full attention to me. “Captain Wood, I appreciate you respondin’ to my post so promptly. I’m afraid that my usual pilot decided to run off and join Miss Suzumiya’s Crusade,” he said in a tone of profound irritation. “Boy was off on the other side of Venus before he even remembered to email me and explain where he’d gotten to.”
I didn’t quite suppress the wince at that. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that particular story, especially since Crystal Osaka, but it always seemed to trigger a fresh surge of paranoia. Pushing that aside again, I shrugged slightly. “I’ll admit it was mostly luck Mister Worthington,” I admitted. “I’d finished unloading a cargo in Serenity Valley right as you posted the job opening. Timing and location, nothing more.”
“And the willingness to move quickly,” Worthington replied. “An important trait, especially in times like these.” The bartender placed a bottle of beer on the table, some brand I didn’t recognize (Not a shock), and he politely thanked her before continuing. “On top of that Captain, you have a reputation. Reliable, consistent. I don’t know if you realise how hard it can be to find a ship and a Captain with such a reputation.” He grumbled, a deep ‘harrumph!’ noise that I swear I could feel through the floor. “Everyone running off, convinced they’re Mary Sue and Fenspace will make them the big hero,” he muttered, twisting the lid off his beer and dropping it on the table. “You though. From what I understand, you’re not out to be the hero, to smite the Reavers. You simply do your job, and do it well.” He sipped at his beer, then considered me. “A rather grounded Mal Reynolds, in many ways,” he mused.
Deciding to take that as a compliment, given why I was here, I merely smiled. “Someone has to keep the freight moving sir.”
He smiled broadly, clearly pleased by my answer. “Quite right Captain. I have a shipment that needs to be delivered, and thanks to Matthews outbreak of fantasy and heroics, I’m already running dangerously close to my deadline. The cargo isn’t perishable, but my client is a rather… impatient sort, shall we say?” he noted dryly. “Failure to deliver on time will likely cause them to seek out a new supplier.”
God knows I’ve dealt with enough customers like that, even back with the ‘Danes. “I should point out that my ship isn’t exactly large,” I admitted. “The Blue Bomber has some decent speed, but her freight capability isn’t much above that of a hardtech truck.”
Smiling broadly, Worthington raised a hand. “That’s all that’s needed for this job. The cargo is relatively small, but valuable.” Reaching into the inside of his suit jacket, he removed a folder and handed it to me. Curious, I opened it up and found myself looking at the Australian coat of arms at the top of documents from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. I felt my eyebrows rising towards my hairline, and heard my client chuckle, but I focused on the documentation.
After almost a minute, I looked back up at him, unable to keep the shock from my face. “How much Guacamole do you have?” I wondered, and he laughed again.
“Quite a bit. I’ve had some luck convincing the Green Goo to grow. Not amazingly fast, but consistent enough to require a regular trade route.”
“All the way back to Earth,” I commented, flipping through the paperwork again. “Melbourne airport, on to…” My eyes caught the name I’d missed the first time, and my jaw dropped. “Royal Childrens.”
When I looked back up, Worthingtons expression was much more serious. “I see you’re familiar with the facility,” he commented.
“I’m not just Australian, I’m Victorian,” I pointed out. The Royal Childrens Hospital was a part of my cultural background noise. Hell, my mother had coordinated my home towns branch of the annual state-wide fundraiser for over half a decade… It didn’t take a genius to work out what the nations best childrens hospital wanted Guacamole for. “That’s… kind of a risky path to take.” Biomodding children seemed like an idea almost destined for trouble, and yet… “I get the feeling this isn’t something they’d do often.”
“Five times since I began supplying them,” he agreed. “All teenagers, with their parents consent and, well, I understand they had little chance otherwise.” I nodded very slightly, my imagination running off in directions I’d really have preferred it didn’t. “The main reason I ship there is because they’re taking the risk of accidents very seriously and have a large, dedicated storage room that supplies most of the state from there.” Sipping at his beer, he waved his hand at the paperwork and added “Needless to say, everyone else is taking that risk seriously as well.”
“Yes you are…” Looking away from the paperwork, I considered the bar for a moment, then finally noticed something I should have clued into right away. People were outright buying drinks and snacks. With consistent currency. Australian money was the most common solid cash in the Void, but a dometown this size having so much of it… “Well then Mister Worthington,” I continued, pulling myself away from the fact I seemed to have stumbled over a quiet little success story of the Fen without even noticing, “what are you offering for my services?”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frederik_Pohl