Christmas time is here.. Time for Joy, and time for Cheer..
I stared blankly at the plain brown wrapper on the coffee-can sized package the postal clerk had handed me earlier. I had an idea what was in it, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it.
In the aftermath of That Con, a friend of mine had privately admitted to having a small supply of 'wavium, pure strain, before the guacamole incident. I'd asked her for some, and crossed her palm with the thirty piece of silver for shipping, and a few more for her trouble.
No problem there, I make damn good money fiddling with radios for a local utility.
But now I had a can of Handwavium. Some people were saying this was the new Messiah, magic come to earth, a grey goo nightmare waiting to happen, the story was different depending on who you asked and how much they had been drinking. I thought it was possibliity in a jar, myself.
I retired to the garage, and firing up a cigarette, I started unpacking the 'glass and steel' bins and buckets from my ill-fated alcohol-based-rocket-fuel-production experiment, idly wondering if that corner of the yard would ever grow grass again as I did so. Once I had my tools out, I set the can on my stainless steel bench and unwrapped it.
The coffee can size and shape made perfect sense now, with the bright and cheerful 'Folgers' logo staring back at me. The lid was duct-taped on rather agressively, and I cut it off carefully, removing the tape and lid to reveal.. a quiescent grayish ooze, with no movement or changes to indicate anything.
I decanted the ooze into a glass tun and considered my next step...
A YEAR LATER.
I heaved the head off the big Cat Diesel and set it gently on a rollycart, then scrubbed and wiped until the engine ahead of me was clean and bright. Reaching into the cylinders with a brush, I spread on a thin layer of 'Wavium Black, a strain I had fed on motor oil, premium unleaded, trucking magazines and Bob the Builder episodes. Coating the inside of all six cylinders carefully, I then applied traces of 'Silver', a blend fed on golden age Silver Surfer comics and cut with elemental mercury and activated charcoal.
My mind fixated on what I hoped would happen, I got down under the motor and sprayed off the motor oil from the crankshaft, repeating the same process as the cylinders. A couple of additional areas got the treatment, and I started bolting covers and 'wavium treated gaskets on as I cleaned up. The sun went down and the temperature started to drop as I finished bolting the head back on the big Diesel, and I was shivering as I unplugged the ECM and headed back to the shop.
In the heated, well lit shop, I considered the ECM, unsure what was going to happen next. I had developed a few strains of Handwavium for specific mechanical applications, but I had nothing going that seemed appropriate for computers or computing power. I decided on a course of action, and put the little engine computer module in a small sorting tub, bedding it on pages ripped out of a heavy equipment wholesale catalog that ran fairly heavy on stories and reviews. I drew a can of base 'Wavium from one of my holding tanks, and poured a layer into the tub, filling it a touch above the ECM.
I said a quick prayer under my breath, still unsure as to whom or what I was praying, and shut off the lights. I fired up the pickup and headed home, worried and hopeful about the next day.
Ten acres won't improve itself, so it was with a happy grin and a hot coffee that I greeted Sparky as I arrived at the land the next day. He'd already been at work, and the happily grumbling Cat he climbed down from seemed to indicate that my work had at least 'not failed'.
"Morning Sparky, the Cat seems to be running good today"
"Yeah, boss, but that new ECM didn't fit into the old brackets, I had to fabricate one this morning"
I nodded sagely, masking a deep and shivery excitement. We walked over to the idling Cat, and as I laid my hand on the engine compartment cover, I swear she leaned into my hand and purred. Sparky gave me a curious look as I, with a shit-eating grin, opened the compartment and checked the fit of Sparky's new bracket, which was perfect. The ECM was now bright yellow, and signifigantly longer, with a large Cat logo on it's upper side. I reached forward and scratched it behind the connector, and the Cat shivered in pleasure, it's engine note dropping to just above 'stall'.
I grinned at Sparky and explained what I'd been up to last night, and he shook his head in disbelief.. and the work of clearing the land went a lot faster, with a Cat that thought it was a cat, and needed ear-scritches and pets as well as diesel and hydraulic oil, but seemed to have almost doubled it's available pushing power.
Ten acres isn't much land, I reflected that evening over reindeer sausage and sourdough biscuits. Between me and Sparky, the rought layout we'd been working on sat, areas in green highlighting our current progress.
"At this rate we're going to be working all through this winter.. finish up in early '09", Sparky said, digging into his own plate.
"Yeah, but we can at least pour the cement this winter, it's Portland, it'll cure."
"Roof over the cut and heat it?" Sparky asked, and we fell into the comfortable shorthand of two old friends, discussing our strategic goals.
Spring, '09
The basic shapes and structures were finished. A near-square rectangle of land, the edges walled in a 'Wavium based cement we called 'Grunt', because it ended up being so damn heavy and strong. We figured the three-meter thick border we had put on the land could take anything short of a city-killer kinetic energy weapon, and we weren't too sure it couldn't take that, this stuff was _tough_. A one-foot square pillar spurred off the wall had resisted everything we had, including 'Kitty', the 'waved Cat 936 wheel loader that had been the backbone of our work, and was the matriarch of our little fleet of construction and work vehicles.
various hangars and structures dotted the landscape, all enclosed in the foot-thick 'roof pillars' that traced our boundaries. I bumbled along the access road in one of the few un'waved vehicles in the fleet, an old Suzuki ATV, and considered. Ten acres, tons of cement, hundreds of gallons of diesel and thousands of dollars, every scrap of money I could beg or borrow. My father, and Sparky's father had both taken out second mortgages to pay for equipment and supplies.. We were committed, perhaps overcommitted, financially. Without some financial help and advice from other Fen, we could easily end up in a world of hurt.
I saw the gate rising, and bumbled my way over.. maybe this was the carbon fiber strakes for the overhead dome..
It was. a whole bloody lot of ten-foot carbon fiber rods, light and strong, and a truckload of bracketting and assembly tools for them. We had developed a plan based around the willow huts used by some of the Native peoples, and we were fairly confident in it's success. Given that even willow grew far too slow for our current timetable, we'd decided to use a signifigantly faster growing plant that was almost as strong.
The Fireweed sprouts were coming along nicely, and we staked each one with carbon fiber stakes, tying the plants with nylon ties and coating with handwavium. Dusting the whole assemblage with carbon fiber dust and praying, I moved right along.
The day was still young, so I cruised down to the engine bay. Drawn from innumerable anime and sci-fi shows and my own fevered mind, the engine was a Whedonesque rotating nightmare, turning over just above idle now to provide electricity and airflow for the rest of the complex. I considered the massive spindle, checking the battery levels and fuel flows and status indicators. Given how the engine responded to near-constant attention, I needed to get a maintenance officer down here. Who was I kidding, I needed a Kaylee...
Everything was coming together. Assuming the 'grow-a-dome' theory worked out, we'd be ready to go by september. And, so far, noone had so much as sneezed at the building and working we'd done. We were far enough out that cops and feds weren't welcome, and there was enough other constructiong going that we had remained unnoticed.. so far.
soon. I patted the engine gently, looking forward to the day when it would crank over hard, bringing us out of the 'surly bonds of earth' and into the Out There...Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979
I stared blankly at the plain brown wrapper on the coffee-can sized package the postal clerk had handed me earlier. I had an idea what was in it, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it.
In the aftermath of That Con, a friend of mine had privately admitted to having a small supply of 'wavium, pure strain, before the guacamole incident. I'd asked her for some, and crossed her palm with the thirty piece of silver for shipping, and a few more for her trouble.
No problem there, I make damn good money fiddling with radios for a local utility.
But now I had a can of Handwavium. Some people were saying this was the new Messiah, magic come to earth, a grey goo nightmare waiting to happen, the story was different depending on who you asked and how much they had been drinking. I thought it was possibliity in a jar, myself.
I retired to the garage, and firing up a cigarette, I started unpacking the 'glass and steel' bins and buckets from my ill-fated alcohol-based-rocket-fuel-production experiment, idly wondering if that corner of the yard would ever grow grass again as I did so. Once I had my tools out, I set the can on my stainless steel bench and unwrapped it.
The coffee can size and shape made perfect sense now, with the bright and cheerful 'Folgers' logo staring back at me. The lid was duct-taped on rather agressively, and I cut it off carefully, removing the tape and lid to reveal.. a quiescent grayish ooze, with no movement or changes to indicate anything.
I decanted the ooze into a glass tun and considered my next step...
A YEAR LATER.
I heaved the head off the big Cat Diesel and set it gently on a rollycart, then scrubbed and wiped until the engine ahead of me was clean and bright. Reaching into the cylinders with a brush, I spread on a thin layer of 'Wavium Black, a strain I had fed on motor oil, premium unleaded, trucking magazines and Bob the Builder episodes. Coating the inside of all six cylinders carefully, I then applied traces of 'Silver', a blend fed on golden age Silver Surfer comics and cut with elemental mercury and activated charcoal.
My mind fixated on what I hoped would happen, I got down under the motor and sprayed off the motor oil from the crankshaft, repeating the same process as the cylinders. A couple of additional areas got the treatment, and I started bolting covers and 'wavium treated gaskets on as I cleaned up. The sun went down and the temperature started to drop as I finished bolting the head back on the big Diesel, and I was shivering as I unplugged the ECM and headed back to the shop.
In the heated, well lit shop, I considered the ECM, unsure what was going to happen next. I had developed a few strains of Handwavium for specific mechanical applications, but I had nothing going that seemed appropriate for computers or computing power. I decided on a course of action, and put the little engine computer module in a small sorting tub, bedding it on pages ripped out of a heavy equipment wholesale catalog that ran fairly heavy on stories and reviews. I drew a can of base 'Wavium from one of my holding tanks, and poured a layer into the tub, filling it a touch above the ECM.
I said a quick prayer under my breath, still unsure as to whom or what I was praying, and shut off the lights. I fired up the pickup and headed home, worried and hopeful about the next day.
Ten acres won't improve itself, so it was with a happy grin and a hot coffee that I greeted Sparky as I arrived at the land the next day. He'd already been at work, and the happily grumbling Cat he climbed down from seemed to indicate that my work had at least 'not failed'.
"Morning Sparky, the Cat seems to be running good today"
"Yeah, boss, but that new ECM didn't fit into the old brackets, I had to fabricate one this morning"
I nodded sagely, masking a deep and shivery excitement. We walked over to the idling Cat, and as I laid my hand on the engine compartment cover, I swear she leaned into my hand and purred. Sparky gave me a curious look as I, with a shit-eating grin, opened the compartment and checked the fit of Sparky's new bracket, which was perfect. The ECM was now bright yellow, and signifigantly longer, with a large Cat logo on it's upper side. I reached forward and scratched it behind the connector, and the Cat shivered in pleasure, it's engine note dropping to just above 'stall'.
I grinned at Sparky and explained what I'd been up to last night, and he shook his head in disbelief.. and the work of clearing the land went a lot faster, with a Cat that thought it was a cat, and needed ear-scritches and pets as well as diesel and hydraulic oil, but seemed to have almost doubled it's available pushing power.
Ten acres isn't much land, I reflected that evening over reindeer sausage and sourdough biscuits. Between me and Sparky, the rought layout we'd been working on sat, areas in green highlighting our current progress.
"At this rate we're going to be working all through this winter.. finish up in early '09", Sparky said, digging into his own plate.
"Yeah, but we can at least pour the cement this winter, it's Portland, it'll cure."
"Roof over the cut and heat it?" Sparky asked, and we fell into the comfortable shorthand of two old friends, discussing our strategic goals.
Spring, '09
The basic shapes and structures were finished. A near-square rectangle of land, the edges walled in a 'Wavium based cement we called 'Grunt', because it ended up being so damn heavy and strong. We figured the three-meter thick border we had put on the land could take anything short of a city-killer kinetic energy weapon, and we weren't too sure it couldn't take that, this stuff was _tough_. A one-foot square pillar spurred off the wall had resisted everything we had, including 'Kitty', the 'waved Cat 936 wheel loader that had been the backbone of our work, and was the matriarch of our little fleet of construction and work vehicles.
various hangars and structures dotted the landscape, all enclosed in the foot-thick 'roof pillars' that traced our boundaries. I bumbled along the access road in one of the few un'waved vehicles in the fleet, an old Suzuki ATV, and considered. Ten acres, tons of cement, hundreds of gallons of diesel and thousands of dollars, every scrap of money I could beg or borrow. My father, and Sparky's father had both taken out second mortgages to pay for equipment and supplies.. We were committed, perhaps overcommitted, financially. Without some financial help and advice from other Fen, we could easily end up in a world of hurt.
I saw the gate rising, and bumbled my way over.. maybe this was the carbon fiber strakes for the overhead dome..
It was. a whole bloody lot of ten-foot carbon fiber rods, light and strong, and a truckload of bracketting and assembly tools for them. We had developed a plan based around the willow huts used by some of the Native peoples, and we were fairly confident in it's success. Given that even willow grew far too slow for our current timetable, we'd decided to use a signifigantly faster growing plant that was almost as strong.
The Fireweed sprouts were coming along nicely, and we staked each one with carbon fiber stakes, tying the plants with nylon ties and coating with handwavium. Dusting the whole assemblage with carbon fiber dust and praying, I moved right along.
The day was still young, so I cruised down to the engine bay. Drawn from innumerable anime and sci-fi shows and my own fevered mind, the engine was a Whedonesque rotating nightmare, turning over just above idle now to provide electricity and airflow for the rest of the complex. I considered the massive spindle, checking the battery levels and fuel flows and status indicators. Given how the engine responded to near-constant attention, I needed to get a maintenance officer down here. Who was I kidding, I needed a Kaylee...
Everything was coming together. Assuming the 'grow-a-dome' theory worked out, we'd be ready to go by september. And, so far, noone had so much as sneezed at the building and working we'd done. We were far enough out that cops and feds weren't welcome, and there was enough other constructiong going that we had remained unnoticed.. so far.
soon. I patted the engine gently, looking forward to the day when it would crank over hard, bringing us out of the 'surly bonds of earth' and into the Out There...Wire Geek - Burning the weak and trampling the dead since 1979