[RFC][Story] Mission to Arcadia

[Dartz]

Blog
Speculation is rife.
June 2024

Vigilantes Vigilum 07/13/24

A new Strategic Weapon System out in the Belt?

So, in the last few months of interesting pronouncements from the Federation and The KCPD armaments scandal, something has slipped by almost unnoticed. Somebody purchased that old Russian Caspian Sea monster and brought it to orbit. And that somebody was not the Soviet Air Force in exile like everyone expected...

It now sits on 77 Frigga, were it is supposedly being waved and converted into some form of utility cruiser. The PEPPER database lists it being registered as Class II Limited.

Allow me to be the first to say:

Bull-fucking-shit.

Let's be frank. If somebody wanted something for general utility, there're a dozen better options out there on the open market than a thirty year old Soviet rustpile. Not to mention the politics of Dagestan and getting the thing out of Russia - something that scuppered any other attempt at buying the thing. Now, you might tell me that they probably bought just because it's a damned cool thing.

You know what people do when they do that? They show it off. They make noise about having it, and how proud they are to have it. Their feeds would be full of photo's of the thing.

If anything, the Friggan folk have been far too coy and quiet about it all. Now, you know how I feel about the place - I've written about my suspicions before. Especially surrounding Jaguar, her partner and all the hardware they have. Nobody there exactly comes across as innocent.

What I do know about this ship is that it's undergoing a heavy rebuild. It does have a shipmind. And most interestingly of all, it was outfitted with an unusually advanced sensor suite for something of its kind. Something far in advance of anything normally fitted to a ship on a Class II Limited PEPPER card.

I'm going to guess that somebody bought and waved that ship with a very specific purpose in mind - a function that one ship was perfectly suited for. And it's one that will never appear on any PEPPER form.

As to what that purpose is, I'm guessing it has something to do with the six missile tubes still mounted to the back of the thing. Each one capable of carrying a 5-ton anti-shipping missile. The prototype was built to hunt aircraft carriers of all things.

Six anti-shipping missiles? Already they've exceeded the limits of Class II. Those missile tubes are large enough to carry a missile capable of destroying a station the size of Stellvia - and it can carry six of them. Each one is larger than a light fighter - and given it won't have to worry about life-support, probably cross-solar-system range at high speed. Couple that with the high efficiency sensor array and any sort of guidance system then add in what we already know they're capable of doing with drives and you've got a recipe for a dangerous strategic weapon's system.

What you have is a ship that can sit outside somewhere in the main Belt and program its missiles to hit any target in Fenspace with surprise and impunity. What you have is a First-Strike weapon. No wonder they're being so quiet - imagine the uproar that would result if this became public? Not to mention ConSec not looking fondly on such a gratuitously offensive platform.

As for why somebody would build a weapon's system like this - I have no real idea. But nobody builds a weapon like this without a clear goal in mind. The growing presence of the Crystal Millenium on Frigga makes me wonder if some Admiral Marcus in the SAM might be trying to do a run-around of those staunch pacifists in the Militia who caused so much trouble for the Hornblower projects. A full-blown strategic missile cruiser however, far exceeds the boundaries of self-defense and the Militia's espoused mission. This is a weapon which can only be used for one purpose.

Rest assured, Dear Reader - whatever the goals of this ship's builders - that I shall be watching this one closely and I shall be the first to let you know.

This has been another message from your friendly neighbourhood Vigilante.

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

[Dartz]

I'm noticing that this is.... dull. Was hoping to track events going over an entire year..... but. Well. It's what it is I guess.
Ideas anyone?
June 2024

The old house was warm in a way the concrete apartments weren't. It was also guaranteed to be unbugged. The thick scent of fresh coffee hung over the whole room, a pot brewing beside the model Lancer-class in the corner. She'd gathered them in the living room of the dome-house, the team from Venus sticking together around a coffee table by the window. Rune and Daryl sat on a pair of armchairs, with Lev taking a beanbag for himself in the far, and a small footstool for his tablet.

Behind Jet Jaguar on a pulldown screen, an image was projected of a blue-water planet, dotted with green islands and a single large continent. A hot spot was marked in orange on the surface

"I'm organising this into three teams; Top, Bottom and Lab. I've prepared individual briefings for each team, which you can review amongst yourselves.."

Lev yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Already the briefing had gone on for over an hour.

"Top team are responsible for the modifications to Lun itself, and crewing the ship. Top team will also maintain our cover story - making it look like we are who we say we are. Daryl Haur will be team leader for Top, with Rune Alekseeva as deputy."

Daryl nodded, then recrossed her legs. Lun watched on with inhuman attention, mentally recording everything.

"Bottom team will be responsible for the mining operation proper - for the design and development of deepwater mining equipment, and its operation on mission. You'll need to work with Top team to fit it inside Lun's cargo bay. Otherwise, you're free to figure out how to get things done. Team leader will be Markas Vienoulis. "

He smiled and nodded, looking just a little relieved. The first hour had alarm bells ringing in his mind that he'd be dealing with another Drummer - but this might actually be tolerable.

"Lab team. Right now that's just yourself Lev. You're responsible for the fit out and operation of the lab aboard, drafting research aims, and for making sure it convinces any Starfleet inspectors. I've given you a separate assignment in case you need to bring more people aboard. "

He seemed momentarily horrified at the prospect, taking a gulp of steaming tea to hide his feelings. It was the rollercoaster feeling again. It was far more responsibility than just driving a rover.

She seemed to look right at him.

"I need a basic outline of each team's plan by next week, with our aim being to finish design work by the 31st of next month."

A week? They all looked at each other for a moment. Was the cyber mad, or had she just forgotten what humans were capable of.

"Now I know that's tight. But I also know you're each capable of doing it. If you think you'll need outside help, let me know and I'll arrange it."

The screen behind her switched to a map of the Earth, diving down from orbit towards North America. Two points were highlighted on the map, one just off Newfoundland, another in the Great Lakes. It wasn't hard to guess what the first one was.

"I've scheduled a test mission to Earth for September 9th. We'll survey and dive on two wrecks - Edmund Fitzgerald and Titanic, and recover artefacts from the Titanic. Both are well documented so we can calibrate our gear on them. We come home on the 18th to make repairs and changes."

"Titanic," Skippy whispered to Yumeko, a gleam of excitement sparking in his eye.

"Departure for Arcadia is scheduled for October 5th. All going well, we return sometime around the 31st."

The cyber took one final breath

"So. Any questions?"

There were many
-----

It looked to be nothing more than a brass-tinted AA-battery. Yumeko stared at it, her own reflection staring back at her from inside the transparent polycarbonate block that contained it.

"I don't know why it seems so insane..." she said, letting herself trail off

"What's that?" asked Markas. His attention was more focused on getting the workstation in their common-room working.

"Using actual alien metal as a power source," she answered, glancing back at him. "I want to think it's crazy. But then, you know, handwavium." She shrugged. her shoulders.

"I want to know what happened to them," said Kay. He leant against the back wall, holding a copy of their briefing on a computer tablet. "I want to know who was using handwavium ten thousand years ago, and why that gate is in ruins and - more importantly - why they aren't here now? Am I the only person who's kinda unsettled by the implications of this?"

He looked around the room.

Markas answered with a gallic shrug, the workstation still refusing to log him in. "Ten thousand years for a chunk of shrapnel from an exploding advanced civilisation to make it across the void of space? It's a one-in-a-million chance it happened to land on Earth, that's all." He places his hand on the brick "It's a fact of history that all new civilisations loot the junk of their predecessors, we're just doing it on a galactic level. Handwavium, gate-metal - so long as it's useful and safe it's all the same."

Yume' offered him a weak smile. "Yeah, I guess it's just irrational but it still feels weird. Maybe because I grew up with the wave while yous are old enough to remember when the laws of physics were more than guidelines..."

He folded his arms, feigning hurt. "Well, I like to think I'm young at heart." He returned his attention to his workstation. "Now if I can just login and get the details off the bloody server."

He finally hit it a frustrated belt with the palm of his hand, but it stubbornly refused to do anything more than offer him the same login prompt, over and over again. Groaning in annoyance he shut it off, deciding to work from his briefing notes instead.

He dropped a well-used notepad onto the coffee table in the centre of the common-room, dropping himself into an armchair. "Anyway, where do we start?"

Yumeko looked at him, then at the others. "Most of our gear's already borrowed from the Jupiter Survey Project - It'll take the pressure easily."

"The suits too?" questioned Skippy, leaning forward on his chair. He glanced at his temmates in turn. "I know I'm not the only one who wants to stand on the deck of the actual Titanic."

"And have the whole thing collapse under you, Jack? It's so corroded it's a bloody deathtrap," said Kay.

"What do you expect from something made in Belfast?" Skippy shot back.

Kay rolled his eyes into the back of his head "Oh Ha-Ha."

Markas took a deep breath, settling himself in his chair. "The way I see it, getting that deep is the easy part. The problem is, fitting it all into the space we have."

"Any ideas?" Asked Yumeko. She placed a whiteboard marker on the table, making the challenge.

-------

The Moskito Criterion -by- Rhyna
Thriller-Techno-RPF
Triggers: Torture. Extreme violence. Gore. Biomod Horror. 'Adult' themes.
Space Cruiser Lun is stolen by a group of Senshi activists who announce their intention to fire the ship's missiles on Stellvia. All of Great Justice races to stop them before they can reach firing position. But what are their true aims? A conspiracy is revealed - one which reaches to the heights of Great Justice itself and threatens to undermine the PEPPER treaty and ten years of peace.

The summary was printed on the monitor screen in green text. It projected out onto two women's faces, gleaming in their staring eyes.

"To cut a bad story short," said Jet, grimacing. "It's a Red October knockoff where they don't really intend to actually fire - just bluff to draw out a massive response and prove that there was a conspiracy in Great Justice to build secret weapons of mass destruction. The ship and crew are destroyed by kaboomite missile right after transmitting their evidence and proof to Fenspace at large, vindicating their actions and getting a bunch of us sent to Azkhaban in the process..."

The amusement in her voice was clear.

"Wow. I'm speechless." Daryl drew back away from the screen, aghast. She glanced at Jet, then back at the description, before pressing the palm against the side of her face. "How the fuck did they get that many triggers into a five thousand word story?"

"Yeah. It's complete shite." Jet dismissed it with a few taps on the keyboard. She stood up to her full height, placing a single hand on her hip "But it's a sign of a problem."

Daryl scowled. "I read that vigilante blog. The idiot's a walking demonstration of Poe's law. "

"But even Elephant Sightings think's something's up." She tapped up another wall of green text, accompanied by an image of Lun being towed by a pair of Blue Midgets.

"So maybe we should show them something then?" A devious smile crept across the pilot's lips.

"It'd have to be big, flashy and public to shut them all up." Jet thought on it, pursing her lips. "Which means we've three weeks to have something ready by Convention."

"And that race at Atalante the week before... so we loose a week."

Jet looked at her. "You okay for that?"

Darly gave her a hard glare, her face setting itself in stone "I was okay for the last one, I'm going to be fucking okay for this one. It's not like I have a choice anyway. I can't let them beat me." Her voice was cold, barely holding back on the anger inside.

Jet saw the shiver run up through the woman's body and decided against pushing the matter "Alright..."

Daryl turned her attention towards the monitor for a moment before closing her eyes. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, exhaling the tension in her body out through her lips, She opened her eyes again, placing her hands into the small of her back, stretching herself.

"Look. I've an idea for this thing. If we could get a spare Kulbit engine in the back of it, how fast do you think one of those moskit missiles'd go?"

Jet's eyes gleamed, a grin crawling across her face.

-----------

Elephant Sightings

What is going on on 77 Frigga?

Rumours have been flying recently about the new spacecraft being rebuilt on 77 Frigga. I'm reminded of some of the hyperbole that surrounded the new 'super-fighter' from last year, calling it a direct challenge to the domination of the Valkyrie/Talon/Blackbird series. As I recall Yours Truly here at Elephant Sightings was the first one to call it for what it actually was a full six months before its public unveiling.

In the same way, I'm going to call it now. Lun is not being built as a weapon of mass destruction or some Senshi USS Vengeance.

So, that begs the question; what are we looking at?

Let's start with what we know for sure. Lun is a craft bought with very specific purpose in mind that is not being publically acknowledged. Furthermore, this is a ship that was bought because it was the best option for the job.

If it was just a replacement for a wrecked cruiser - then there're any number of better options available. Not to mention the difficulty in purchasing the ship, transporting it from Russia, then the added expense of retrofitting and waving. If it was being done as a labour of love, you would expect to hear more public announcements.

It is not being built for freight either. Despite a takeoff mass of over four hundred tons, it has less than a tenth the useful internal volume of a Gagarin class. Even compared to the much smaller and lighter White Stallion, Lun will still only has two-thirds the habitable internal volume. The missile tubes and tail-structures might bring them both even but on cargo and transportation capability, Lun falls short of everything in its weight class. If you'd like to see how small she actually is, there're some remarkable pictures in this decade old Russian blog-post.

If it was built for direct combat, it would not have been given a Class II PEPPER registry - especially not if anybody ever had any intention of reactivating the missile armament. I doubt it's a deliberate false declaration either - on account of it being so bloody obvious. I'd say it's armament listings are correct. Lun is really going to be that lightly armed.

However, Lun does have an unusually large sensor array - even for something of its size. Furthermore, based on stated fuel, food and life-support capabilities, it's endurance with a standard crew would be massive. It might be able to operate for months unsupported. Registered plans show a large part of the inboard wing structure being given over to a pair of huge fresh-water tanks on either side. Couple with a propulsion system capable of some high-speed dashes if needed while being capable of a long cruise on minimal power.

Based on this, I'd say Lun is being built specifically to find something valuable.

Or perhaps, someone.

I can't offer direct proof. But I can say that somebody is bankrolling the reconstruction of Lun. It's current estimated value far exceeds that of any insurance payout that would have been received for a wrecked Outlaw Class. The estimated costs to retrofit to the given PEPPER specification also exceed the known financial means of its owners - proving there has to be some sort of cash inflow.

Her Highness has made no secret of her intention to hunt down and bring to justice the remaining Dark Senshi - including Naoko Sato. Ultimately, her attempts to enact this policy publically are being blocked by the Love party who currently control the Parliament. She has however, made successful attempts to increase Millenium influence and presence in the Main Belt - especially with the assimilation of Frigga itself into the fold and the links between the Militia and the Roughriders. It would also fit with the owner's known history. Jet-Jaguar led a raid on Nehallenia nine years ago.

But anything further would be baseless. Even that is going out on something of a limb for me.

What I can stand over is this. Lun is being built to find something - something that may take a long time to find - and that something is more than valuable enough to fund its construction. Who or what that might be is anybody's guess.

Answers on a postcard please to the usual address.

-Xi

-----

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

[HRogge]

Writing fictions about horrible things the paranoia nuts are already talking about? Good way to keep things calm...

[Dartz]

Mountain
Sometimes, you've just got to keep climbing....
June 2024

---------

"That's crazy!"

Kotono's declaration caused silence to fall in the cafe. The metallic clink of cutlery from the kitchen filled the. Daryl looked down at the croissant on her plate, feeling the eyes of everyone fall on her.

"Tell me about it...", she said.

"But a chemical rocket? How crazy do you have to be to want to sit inside a converted missile on top of gallons of peroxide and kerosene, then get shot out of a tube to scream across space at the Limit?"

"I'm not crazy." Daryl said, wearing a sour pout. "I don't want to do it either but if I don't then people are going to keep looking at what we're doing out here.""

"Well, better you than me," Kotono answered cheerfully, gently stirring the tea in her cup with a plastic tab. " But I don't think that's why you invited me here for lunch."

She placed the stirrer on the saucer, before taking a single sip of the green liquid.

Daryl looked away. "She refitted my hardsuit, despite me telling her not to..."

Kotono's eyebrows arched up as the implication struck. She placed her cup back down on the table.

"So, it is permanent?"

Daryl grimaced, clenching her fist tightly. The plastic squeaked as her grip tightined. "Biopolymer epidermal matrix or something technical like that. I forget what Bashir called it exactly but it's like it melted into the cells or something."

"It's your skin?"

"Pretty much," she confirmed "Plastic skin."

"You haven't spoken to Jet about it?"

A flash of anger crossed Daryl's face. She loomed forwards. "You know what she's like - she'll tell me how I have to get used to it and accept it and adapt to the new normality of life but I don't want to fucking do that!" Again, silence fell as the echoes of her voice died down. "I don't want this to be normal."

"It's not an admission of defeat..." said Kotono, mildly.

"Yes. It is." Daryl stated, glaring hard at her. "It means that whoever did this beat me. It means I let them beat me"

"What about surgery then?"

The tension drained out of Daryl's body. She took breath, settling back down into her chair. "Yeah, I was told it'd be possible using the same synthskin procedure they use for serious burn victims but I'd need at least a month to recover from it and I can't do that while racing and then there's the mission to Arcadia after that and....." She paused a moment, gathering herself before her emotions caught up again. She forced herself to squelch it all back down, pressing it right down through the soles of her feet. "You probably wouldn't understand."

Kotono nodded, flexing her foot under the table as she fell back into the memory. "When I injured my ankle, I refused to let it beat me - especially with Jeanne's dance coming up. I tried to suck it up. All I did was make the damage permanent and cheat myself out of the final. Why do you think I wear a brace when jogging?" She took a breath, finding herself growing more and more aware of the stiffness that still lingered in her ankle. "If you try to keep something from beating you like that, you only end up beating yourself."

"This is different. This is something somebody did to me... " Daryl pointed at her own chest.

"And it'll tear you apart if you keep going," added Kotono.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do? I can't take time off racing - not when it's so close, not when I have a chance of really winning the thing." Daryl was already halfway to het feet. And since it's some prick's race-fixing attempt if I take time off then he does win because he changes the outcome in his favour."

Kotono edged back in her chair slightly. "My point is, he doesn't win if you allow yourself to adapt,"

"Maybe."Daryl sat back down, exhaling a long, tired sigh. "It would've been easier if it'd been an accident."

She opened her mouth to say something else. The only sound that came out was the warbling ringtone of her pocket communicator. Growling, she removed it from it's pouch, pinning it between her ear and shoulder.

"Yeah, what is it?" A dark shadow crossed her face. "You're kidding." She grimaced, a low growl rising in her throat. "Two days? Fine, fine." A frustrated sigh escaped her lips as she stuffed the communicator back into its pouch. She buried her face in her hands, before running her hands through her air. A few stray silver strands shone up in the light.

Those are new, Kotono thought. She decided not to comment.

Daryl looked around, taking a few moments to take in the cafe which had returned to its usual life once more. She looked up at Kotono for a second, tired lines stretching around the edges of her eyes.

"Why is it starting to feel like I'm climbing out from under a mountain only to have another one dropped on top of me?"

"What is it?"

Daryl grimaced at her. "ConSec want to inspect Lun for PEPPER violations."

Kotono used her cup of tea to hide her expression. "When it doesn't rain, it pours."

------

There were her concerns for Daryl's wellbeing. There was the Knight Sabers and their money laundering cover, Stingray engineering. Sylia's facade had to be maintained. There was Lun and the mission to Arcadia which had enough of its own momentum now to keep moving without her. The Patrol inspection ate a day but provided nobody accidentally ran the inspector down while he or she was being shown around, it was just an annoyance. There was Asagiri and the upcoming race which demanded a good showing. Then there was Survival Shot and an upcoming bid for a contract to train Tango Shoes. There was her own Blitzkrieg school. There were Convention preparations to be finished - including a speed record attempt that just had to look legitimate even if it was never going to succeed. Elections to send some poor fool to Venus for parliament. Coursework from a correspondence Masters through VIR still waited for completion. The mine ran itself, thank fuck - it had nothing to do with her - not until something broke. Friggan maintenance was a pain, made worse by the fact that people assumed she was the one who had to be responsible for it all and making sure everything ran tickety-boo.

Oh, and someone was organising Rose Duels on the gantries under the accommodation block.

The weight of it dragged down on her shoulders. She stared up the lift shaft, eyes picking out a single point of light kilometres above. With her eyes, she could read the writing on the top of the shaft, dating back to original owners.

Mayor's residence.

Her home, as it were. After five days awake, she needed to recharge her batteries. It beckoned to her.

The weight of it all kept her from just boosting up. For one thing, the tunnel-boom bothered people when it echoed through the tunnels. They'd asked her to stop. She paced around the lift-carriage, feeling restless despite her fatigue. She reached out through her interfaces and hooked into the local network, searching for something to occupy her mind.

The notification of inspection from the Space Patrol loomed large in her inbox, along with a load of waffle from a few of the ML's she subscribed to, a software upgrade to patch a vulnerability in her comm relay, and a confirmation of order for a pair of Kulbit racers from HAP.

That brought a smile to her face. The racer was holding its own on track. It was getting attention from the community at large. And it was actually threatening to earn enough money to pay back its development costs.

That'd be refreshing.

It was a sign of progress. Things were moving forward. It was a hint of success that kept her moving forward. She bitterly noted it was something she did all the time with students to keep them engaged and interested. But she was too tired to be so cynical.

The light at the end of the tunnel grew closer with every passing second, promising the warm feeling of electric current flowing through her body. And Ford. It felt like it'd been an age since she'd seen her. Her heart began to ache and, unable to contain herself, she roared into the air. It took her seconds to reach the top of the shaft, emerging into hot sunshine and the smell of freshly cut grass.

Followed The familiar scent of lavender perfume and coffee tickled her nostrils. The expression of surprise on Ford's face was as welcome as her presence. She'd been waiting on the lift herself. Jet landed deftly on the gravel in front of her.

"Who's this mysterious sexy stranger in her white armour?" asked Ford, a teasing smile crawling across her lips.

"Has it really been that long?" An impish grin lit up Jet's face. "Maybe we should spend some time getting to know each other again..."

"I wish," Ford exhaled a heavy sigh, dashing the cyber's hopes."But I need to get the Sixty-Special finished and delivered by the sixth or I don't get paid. On top of the usual crap. And something for convention and the last of that FESWAT order, then maintenance and repairs, apprentice interviews, my certifications, PEPPER paperwork, my Bounty Hunter's license, and......" She took a long, deep breath, the weight of it all hanging off her shoulders.

Jet grimaced, letting the energy drain out of her. "I guess this is the price of success, isn't it?"

Jet placed a metal hand gently on Ford's cheek. The warmth of Ford's bare hand on her own cheek was still staggering. Jet bathed in the sensation, clearer and sharper than any puppet was capable of transmitting.

Ford smiled reassuringly at her. "We're nearly to the top of the hill... Just one more hard mountain and we'll get over the top and coast down the other side."

------

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

[HRogge]

Who is ConSec?

[Dartz]

Daryl's being a little less than complimentary about the Space Patrol....
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

[robkelk]

Who is ConSec?

"Convention Security" is one of the Space Patrol's nicknames.
--
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

[Rajvik]

loving it
 

[Dartz]

Pool Party[/i]
The Avalanche begins when the first snowflake falls on a mountainside
June 2024

She began by herself, with just a pickaxe. She swung it in great, shining arc's, the sharp battlesteel blade biting deep into rock. Sparks flew with rockchips. Progress was slow. Within the hour she was down to a tank-top and shorts. Sweat-sheened muscles shone in the bright floodlights.

Someone - a young man in an incongruous tuxedo - asked her what she was doing?

"We're building a swimming pool," she said.

"Who?"

"We are. Would you like to help?"

He looked around the cavern and, seeing only her, assumed that whoever she was working with was busy doing other things. But swimming pool seemed like a good idea...

He took up a pickaxe and joined the work.

And thus, the first snowflake fell.

------

It gathered the momentum in the mine.

One man asked another.

"Can we borrow that digger?"

"Why?" asked the foreman.

"We're building a pool."

"Really. Man I could use somewhere to relax."

This repeated. And thus more joined the collective project, bringing tools and equipment with them. Within days, dozens were at work, designing, digging and driving.
-------

There were those who thought it should be built deeper, for diving. There were those who wanted a jacuzzi. There were those who thought it should be tiled in white, blue and in the logo of the Sailor's Armed Militia. There was one who wanted the entire pool to be panelled in a deep black glass starfield.

And so they argued. Then debated. Then decided to vote on it.

And the result was something the majority decided they didn't want. So they changed the method of voting to better reflect what they actually wanted, the options they would accept if they couldn't have their first choice.

And from this grew the blueprints.

It was dug deep enough for diving - with a small shallow area for children or for lounging around. A diving board was mandatory.

Other things happened not because they were agreed, but because they were convenient. Others began with no-one certain who was behind them. Someone began painting the walls a sky-blue, with clouds added by airbrush and a fresh-air recirculation system built into the ceiling.

The manager for the Royal Mining Group was surprised to find her production was falling short of quota for the month.

Lun watched her prototype take shape. She didn't lead.

-------

The pool was finished. It was filled with fresh, crystal water, cleaned and filtered and recirculated by humming pumps. The builders had become known as the Pool Party and they were ready to enjoy the fruits of the labour.

They stood in their swimwear, bare feet on white tile. Another group appearred at the entrance, dressed and ready.

"Hey, can we join in?" asked one of the newcomers.

"You didn't help did you?" one of the workers said with a sneer. They moved to bar the door, guarding their work with pride.

"We have electrical power." said Lun, holding them back with her arm. "We have fresh water. Just because they did not dig, does not mean they did not contribute."

And so, enlightened, they all enjoyed the fruits of their labours.

And Lun herself was satisfied. It was a test. An idea. It was the first snowflake that presaged the avalanche. It was proof on the smallest of scales that her idea could work.

Ultimately, all revolutions would be doomed by their leaders. Idealism gave way to pragmatism to keep the new system afloat and the new leaders in power. All revolutions degenerated into maintaining the revolutionaries' power. All systems imposed would eventually morph and shift until supporting the system itself became the primary goal and the ideals it was founded upon became nothing more than hot air.

Lun decided to do otherwise. She would create a revolution without leaders. knew she had time to do it. She would encourage some to travel the path with her - as comrades and fellow travellers rather than followers. They would encourage others. And so on. Until they all marched together.

It would take decades. Maybe a century. And when she was done, it would not be called a revolution - it would simply be normality. Because nobody had noticed the changes along the way.

For now though, she would enjoy the pool with everyone else.

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

[HRogge]

And so Frigga becomes another place in Fenspace which does "bottom up" social experiments... *G*

[Dartz]

Not so much Frigga, as Lun herself in 'private'.

Experiential Learning...
July 03, 2024

It took eight hours to show the inspection team around - carefully guiding them away from the sections sealed off because of high radiation levels from the reactor plant. It took another three hours for them to explain their findings and their recommendations to her.

Somewhere in the middle of it, it occurred to her that there was something deeply ridiculous about the situation. Jet began to wonder if the officer truly knew what he was sharing a room with, maybe she thought he might not talk down at her like a principal talking to a naughty child. It didn't take her long to catch herself in it. It was just her imagination, nothing more. It was an echo of childhood that refused to fade. She mused on it for a while, wondering if anyone else got the same treatment, or even if it was intentional. It seemed hard to believe.

Ultimately, there was nothing she could do but sit there, wait and take it. And when the inspection team finally left her alone in a barren office that was nothing more than a place to meet people, she waited and collected her thoughts before taking a few minutes to clear her head.

She cleared up something in the operations room, sent a message to Daryl who was busy on Venus running one last errand before the con' , then made her way back home to start packing.

Jet didn't realise how hard she'd slammed the door until she heard Ford's voice emerge from the living room.

"Not good news?"

The gunsmiths' head appeared out from the living room door. A broad, white-toothed grin split her face.

"We got a warning," Jet sighed, leaning back against the heavy front door. Century-old oak creaked under her weight. "One more warning and they suspend the Asagiri certificate for a month. Which'd put us out of the Championship for the rest of the year if it happened."

"Shit," said Ford, stepping out into the hallway. She was, Jet noted, wearing nothing more than a black tank top and her underwear. The smell of gunsmoke drifted in the air around her.

"I'm going to post about it before it goes public. Otherwise people'll jump to conclusions." Jet paused, taking a moment to swallow back some choice words before deciding to change the subject to something she was certain would be a little less aggrevating. "How's the Sixty-Special going?"

Ford's expression blackened immediately. "Three days to finish. And it still won't cycle properly. I spent six hours tweaking it on the range..." She blew a frustrated sigh through her lips, settling back against the wood-panelled wall.

"Why does this have to keep happening?" aske Jet "Why do the stakes always have to get raised to closer we come to success? I'm really getting sick of it you know." She made a point to cross her arms tightly over her chest, dropping into a comic, octopus-lipped pout for a moment.

"Dramatic tension, you know." Ford grinned back at her, standing up once more.

"Frustrating," sighed Jet, kicking her heel against the wooden floor.

"Nothing a two horsepower motor, some turtle wax and a good firm buffing pad won't solve." Ford stretched herself into a long yawn. The edge of her lips curled up, an enticing spark lighting up inside her eyes. "You're not the only one with a little frustration to work out."

Jet grinned lustily back at her... and electric fire already lighting up inside her body, racing under her armour.

The only thing missing was the puppet to finish out the sandwich.

--------

Asagiri News. 03/07/2024..... Experiential Learning.

Okay, so before the news gets out and idiots jump to the wrong conclusion I'm posting this. We've gotten an official warning on a PEPPER violation.

Here's what happened. Lun came with two Moskit test-missiles still in their launch tubes when we bought her. The tubes are structural and can't be removed without rebuilding the entire upper deck, but the missiles could be. We planned to just junk the things - until someone started spreading rumours that we were working on a secret weapon of mass destruction. So, we decided to put a cockpit in one instead and make a run at a speed record, to prove to everyone that there was nothing sinister going on - by using them for something 'safe'. We fitted an automated guidance system for a few test flights to make sure it was safe before we actually put someone in the thing. And that's what tripped the PEPPER violation.

We forgot that PEPPER restrictions don't just apply to the intended use of something - but the potential use of something in the wrong hands. The difference between an automated test-flight and a settlement-destroying cruise missile is the final destination in the computer. The difference between a range-safety system capable of killing a drive system and a warhead is when it goes off. What pushed it over the edge, was the potential for it to happen by accident....

I took the obvious hint. We've a lot of...'accidents' out here.

Some of it's just bad luck. Some of it's just because we don't use simulations as much as everyone else. Simulations are only as good as the initial assumptions and models that go into them, and can give a false sense of security if they're built on a false understanding. Reality is, on the other hand, not so forgiving.

Which means that sometimes we fail. I think we fail about as often as anyone else. It's just our failures tend to happen in the real world, and not in a simulation. Which means people get to see them and talk about them.

In a simulation environment when your fail-safes fail, you get a red blotch on your screen where the drive core's exploded through the case. In real life, you trigger a pinnacle alert, irradiate your ship, make a dozen calls to calm everyone down and then pay to fix it. Real-life tests can always have unexpected consequences. And it's from these consequences and 'accidents' that we learn what's really going on with a system and fix things.

It's the same reason I started Survival Shot. I believe you learn more in a real-world exercise, than in a flexible VR simulation. Things that people will do in a sim without hesitation, they might think twice before doing in reality, because they know they'll wake up bruised in the morning.

The vast majority of the work on the Kulbit was done like this. The aerodynamic tests were done by me pushing a scale model through a tunnel at mach-2 and videoing the results. For engine tests, we used a mule for things most people would've simmed. And it worked. We got so much good real data that it solved a lot of problems. We found a safety issue with an engine failsafe that we'd've never found in a sim - we fixed it - and then made sure it couldn't fail again by trying to make it fail again.

As for the Moskito; because we couldn't simulate a flight and it's too dangerous to put a person in it untried, we stuck in a guidance controller and ballast for an unmanned test. It seemed easier and safer for everyone. It would tell us that it was safe to fly. It also put us in violation of Lun's 2-A certificate.

We've re-registered the Moskito separately, with a Class I-C certificate, rather than a parasite-craft on Lun's 2-A Limited. That's all we had to do to correct the violation. So....there's no conspiracy to build a weapon of mass-destruction - no secrets have been uncovered. No lids have been blown off. It was just another test that had an unexpected consequence. One we learned from.

We're still going to fly the Moskito at this year's convention. We're still going to make a run at the in-limit speed-record. You're still all welcome to watch.

-Jet.

-------

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

[HRogge]

"I am telling you she is doing that on purpose, Cathy!"

"Who is doing what on purpose Cortana?"

"I am talking about Jet and Frigga's constant little issues with the Pepper treaty! Every times everyone is convinced they try to stay within Pepper, they accidentally jump over the line again, but never enough to nail them. I tell you Jet is just playing a game against the bureaucrats at the Convention... and she is enjoying it a lot!"

[robkelk]

META: I'm going to have to flesh out the bureaucrats at the Convention Authority, then...
--
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

[Dartz]

It's not deliberate..... it's a lack of understanding or awareness at times. 90% of all PEPPER violations the Space Patrol investigates are probably just technical faults that are usually avoided by the larger groups because they can afford to employ a lawyer-type to specifically check the compliance of things with PEPPER - or find paying for the higher classifications a relatively trivial cost . The complexities of various dual-use technologies and the like mean it's not going to be a simple treaty to navigate for non-lawyer or non-AI types. (Or those who find dealing with the bureaucracy a pain in the hole and would hope to just scoot under the radar - or just want to not pay for the higher-grade registrations.)
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

[HRogge]

META: I'm going to have to flesh out the bureaucrats at the Convention Authority, then...

"The players of the great paper game!"

[robkelk]

META: I'm going to have to flesh out the bureaucrats at the Convention Authority, then...

"The players of the great paper game!"

Yep! And after a half-decade of participation here, I've finally found a place for a self-insert character...
--
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

[Dartz]

Traditional Methods of Spaceflight
Convention 2024.

Sometimes, nothing beats the old ways. Take the explosive bit out of missile, replace with a man. Light the blue touch-paper then pray.

One minute to go. She was sealed in tight, docked with pilot's seat of a converted missile, inside a darkened launch tube. A dull vibration rose up through her spine as the fuel tanks behind her continued to be filled. The only light came from the dim green glow of her instruments, projected up on her helmet visor and a single sharp orange light from the control panel in front of her.

"Any word on that fourteen-oh-one master caution?" she asked, doing her level best to sound calm.

Inside her chest, her hard was hammering. Cold sweat prickled on her brow. Two small glass windows offered her views solely of the missile tube walls, compressing in around her.

"Ignore it."

Jet's voice crackled in her ear.

"You sure?..."

"The same thing happened twice when we tested it - it didn't cause a problem then."

The answer was almost deliberately overconfident.

"Yeah but, you're not the one sitting on top of a tank of peroxide and kerosene here."

"It's a deviation, but it's a normal one." Daryl felt herself wince inside. "The backup valve seems normal, but if you're not comfortable with it, it's your call."

Passing the buck? Daryl couldn't help but feel that Jet hadn't chosen those words in ignorance. The cyber was aware of what happened when rockets and normalisation of deviation collided; it usually meant hiring new astronauts. Anyone from NASA or Artemis listening in was probably pissing venom to anyone who'd listen. Accusations of Kerbalism would fly.

The right thing to do would've been to call it off, and both of them knew it. And maybe, if there'd been nobody watching, she might've done that herself. But the thoughts of explaining to the gathered spectators why she had been the one to cancel the flight made her pause. Against her better judgement, she cancelled the master caution with a single button-press, overriding the failed valve. Against everyone's better judgement, she sensed. Nobody wanted to fly. Nobody wanted to be the one to take responsibility for the decision not to fly.

"We can't back out now, there're too many people watching," she broadcast back. None of whom would have any respect for a 'cancelled due to faulty shut-off valve' answer.

A small risk of blowing up paled in significance when compared with the absolute certainty of looking stupid. They'd stirred the pot too much, whipped up too much interest, and now there was no choice but to go ahead. The natives were watching. The elephant had to be shot.

She took a deep breath, hoping to exhale al her fears. She could reassure herself that the chances of both valves failing in sequence was something like thousands to one against. A hundred to one that each valve failed made what? Ten-thousand to one that both would fail? It made sense.

"Twenty Seconds. Open outer doors."

Another order from Jet. Daryl watched the upper door fall open, the starfield beyond becoming visible through the cockpit windows.

"Doors open."

That was Darien's voice. One of the new crew. He sounded about as nervous as she felt. If the missile did go bang in the launch tube, there was enough peroxide and kerosene left in Lun's onboard tanks to split the ship in two if it all went off.

"Fifteen seconds."

Jet again.

"Fuelling complete."

Darien again.

The dull rumble from behind her faded away. Silence closed in around, crushing down tight. The cockpit frame began to crush down onto her shoulders, compressing her into place . The idea that she was literally and physically strapped to the missile made her skin crawl.

Or maybe it was the electropolymer kicking in, responding to her unease. The thought of that made her sick to her stomach. She could feel the flight-suit docking points pulling on her skin, stretching taught.

It was a fine reminder that there was no way for her to eject. There wasn't even room in the modified missile for a proper crash harness. Her toes touched the yaw controls, with pitch, roll and translation controlled by the stick in her right hand and the main engine throttles in her left. Another lever offered her control of the rocket motor.

Taking another deep breath, she grasped it in her hand, nudging it up to maximum.

"Ten seconds."

The cyber on the radio began the traditional countdown. The automatic sequence was beginning. Valves under her spine thunked open. Ancient soviet steel creaked as fuel began to flow.

"Nine... "

"Guidance to internal."

Daryl switched it over. The displays on her visor warped, green wires tracing across her field of view showing her planned course, sol-relative speed and attitude.

"Eight...."

Take a deep breath.

"Seven. "

"Catalyst valve open."

A heavy kick to her back answered Darien's order.

"Six. "

"Fuel valve open."

Another kick, answered by a thick groan as the missiles structure pressurised.

"Five...."

Last chance to abort. The handle on the panel in front of her beckoned. Aside from the shutoff valve, everything looked good. Nothing else had gone wrong.

"Four. "

"Oxidiser valves open."

Another kick. A moments pause as the peroxide began to flow through the fuel lines under tank pressure alone. It hit the catalyst, cracking into raw steam and oxygen, surging through the oxidiser lines into the turbopump. The pump shrieked to life, screaming behind her. She felt the structure around her begin to vibrate, like a racehorse ready to run.

Fuel gauges began to plummet.

"Three."

" Ignition sequence start"

Kerosene sprayed into the combustion chamber of the rocket motor, mixing with neat hydrogen peroxide and the catalysed exhaust from the turbopump.

Daryl thought the missile had exploded right there and then.

"Two...."

The noise was intense. It was more than she could hear. It was more than she could feel. It swallowed her whole, grabbing her bodily and shaking her from side to side. A high, cold scream penetrated the cockpit, audible even above the rattling panels. She couldn't breath. She couldn't speak.

"One. "

"Rocket engine running!"

Darien couldn't believe it. In that moment, Daryl longed to abort. It was too late to say no. Much too late to offer a prayer.

"Zero."

"Fire one!"

Holdown clamps exploded, sending sharp jolts through the spaceframe of the missile. She was catapulted forward, a giant hand crushing her down into her flight-seat. She was aware of the suit compressing around her body as the missile tore its way into open space. Ahead, through the viper-eye windows she could see nothing but the blurred smears of distant stars.

Her mind went blank, her jaw hanging open. She scanned the controls, aware that she should've been doing something but not sure what that something was.

"Oh Fuck me!"

It just burst out her mouth, beyond her control. The overload was immense. Lights and annunciators flashed up, green and orange on the panel in front of her. The green wireframe on her visor flickered in time with the vibrations, making it clear.

No warning messages were screaming at her. No alarms. Fuel gauge was dropping like a stone. Oxidiser was going even faster. Everything looked like it was supposed to. the bug on her visor that represented the missile's course tracked the green line. The main reactor core was lit, feeding energy to the quad coils.

Her eyes caught the flight timer, climbing steadily.

"Ten seconds!" she announced, finding her voice. Her mind was steadily catching up to where she was.

Fuel tanks for the rocket engine were already half empty. She tweaked her heading with a few deft adjustments through the control stick, nosing it down.

"Push to RECO. All green on our end."

Rocket Engine Cut-Off. Another ten seconds when the oxidiser ran out. Another ten seconds of noise and madness. She felt sick. She felt her mind swimming, thrown from side-to-side. She took a deep breath, focusing her mind.

Her hand fell to the switches on the panel beside her. One, two, three, four, five triggered in sequence. Green lights flashed up on the panel in time.

"Fusion core online!" she yelled, making certain her voice wouldn't be lost in the rocket's roar.

Another four switches latched into place.

"Fuel feeds to ion chambers open!"

MAIN ENGINE READY flashed up on her visor in brilliant orange.

"Five seconds to cutoff," Jet's voice announced, sounding strangely serene and detached from the madness inside the missile's cockpit.

"Main engines ready!" Daryl announced. She made one last snap scan of her instruments. "All four chambers green."

Silence slammed home as the pressure on her chest eased. She was aware of the whine of the turbopumps steadily winding down behind her. The missile hung in space, propelled forward solely by its own inertia.

"Rocket engine cut-off," she said, her voice painfully loud amidst the sudden silence.

The rocket engine existed solely to ensure that the Moskito missile cleared Lun - it was the initial booster, nothing more. Daryl found herself musing in the pause that the only reason they'd used a rocket engine was because the PEPPER inspectors didn't like the idea of a mass-driver.

Stupid bureaucracy.

Daryl was aware of the silence around her, the peace of space beyond. She was aware of the strange sense of weightlessness and the vague feeling that she was just hanging in space. A loosened screw hung in space in front of her, slowly tumbling end over end. In front of her, there was nothing but the stars.

No drive field. No humming machinery. No stupid quirks and wavering gravity. It was just her and space, alone. She popped her visor, regarding the space beyond the glass with her own eyes.

The only thing missing was the view of Earth below.

"Whenever you're ready...." Jet reminded through the comm.

Daryl tapped her finger on the red button. Wouldn't it be a shame to ruin the moment?

"Lighting main engine."

The switch locked into position, breaking a safety wire in the process. The display on her visor switched to a lovely safe green, informing her that the ion drives had fired.

The feeling was different - an electric fizzle as the drive field enveloped her. The drifting screw pecked against her helmet, reminding her to lock her visor down one more. Compared to the frenzy of the rocket motor, the ion drive was almost serene. It was eerie.

Like being accelerated by a racing cloud.

The missile bucked and protested, sure, but it just didn't feel real. The velocity meter on her visor was climbing at a fantastic rate, measuring speed in metres per second. The numbers were already beyond her immediate comprehension.

"Left, steady." She adjusted her heading, keeping it along the green line. A few tweaks with the thrusters stabilised the missile.

It screamed along, detached from reality a blanket of handwaved energy shielding her from true space beyond the fuselage.

The rate of change of her velocity seemed to tail off. She couldn't even call it acceleration, it just didn't feel like it. A slight shudder started to rise up from beneath her, almost like she was driving a car through one of Frigga's tunnels.

"Getting a bit of vibration here,"

"You're passing point two..." Jet's voice answered.

Point two? Daryl's mind spun for a moment. It didn't feel near that fast at all. It really didn't. She could feel the vibration feeding itself, getting worse as the velocity meter inched upwards. It'd gone from Friggan tunnel, to rough country road in short order.

Her entire frame of reference was shaking itself, distortions in the drive field tearing open and striking the fuselage of the missile. She felt herself compelled to hold her breath, her grip on the throttle tightening.

"Point two-one"

It was nauseating, more like the world itself was moving. it was building, rising to the point where it seemed like the world itself would shatter. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that that was pretty much what would happen to her if the drive field ripped open.

"Point two-two!"

Holy shit this was fast. She was aware that the record was moments away. She was aware that the missile was moments away from tearing itself apart. She could feel it groaning in protest, stretching and warping around her. She could feel the metal twisting and buckling and squeezing onto her shoulders.

Rivets popped, clattering around the inside of the cockpit. Something pecked sharp at her thigh.

Swallowing her fears, she pinned the throttle at its forwards stop, refusing to let it go. Warning alarms screamed at her, informing her that her kerosene tank was almost dry. The last few dregs were being sucked through the ion thrusters.

"Just a few seconds," she snarled.

A thruster coughed, kicking the missile sideways. She pushed against it, stomping on the yaw pedals. It heaved back straight, roaring ahead. Recognising this was it, she switched her control stick over to translation mode, pushing it to full-forward.

The last few metres per second came from the RCS thrusters draining their propellant rapidly.

Another cough kicked her in the back, followed by another. She felt herself pushed forward, the world around her seemed to slur and slip backwards for a heartbeat before all four ion thrusters quit.

The missile crashed back into normal space, the sudden change in inertia throwing her forwards in her seat. Her world spun in loops as the missile began to spin, thrown out of control Alarms screamed for her attention, indicators flashing red and orange across her visor, clamouring for her attention.

Her attitude indicator whirled around, relative velocity gauge going to zero, then switching to show all eights as the system errored out. She reflexively swatted at the emergency switch, knowing she couldn't take more than a few seconds of being spun. Already her eyesight was beginning to grey-out, panic taking hold. She could feel the electroplymer struggling to compensate for the g-forces whirling her around. Her insides were tossed like a salad. Gasping for breath, she reached out, making one last effort to

RCS thrusters cannoned, jerking her in her seat. Her helmet made contact with the missile fuselage with a sharp crack that reverberated through her skull.

And then stillness, punctuated only by her own racing heartbeat in her ears. She gasped for another breath, swallowing a big lungful of air, desperate to keep herself. She glanced at her visor.

RCS tank empty.
Main tank empty.
Reactor idle.
Main engine offline.

Daryl exhaled a sigh of relief, settling back into the pilot seat before opening a comm-line.

"Lun, this is Yuri. Drive shutdown. Zero velocity. Awaiting pickup."

There was a pause. Lag from lightspeed. A minute's flight at a fraction of C had put several light seconds between herself and Lun. She counted out the seconds, hoping to get an average estimate of her speed from half the time it took for the message to return.

"We'll be there in ten," Jet answered, her voice coloured by relief.

Daryl cursed under her breath as she lost her count.

"How'd we do?"

Another pause, serving to further emphasis just how far and fast she'd gone. The last speed she'd heard called out was twenty-two percent, she thought. It was tantalisingly close. Was it even possible?

She began to wonder. She began to convince herself.

"We came up short," Jet answered. "By about a thousand kph."

A hair's breath when you dealt in fractions of C.

"Fuck!" she spat. "You're kidding..."

They hadn't expected to actually get that close.... that was within spitting distance. Another gallon or two of fuel in the tanks would've done it. It was almost sickening. How the hell had it even gone that fast anyway? It wasn't even anything special, just a gutted quad-helix engine.... by all rights, it shouldn't have gone that fast.

It went just fast enough to tease.

"Afraid so..."

Daryl exhaled a tired sigh, letting the adrenaline drain away out of her body. Her head was still spinning, while she was sure her stomach had been left. Through the windows she could see the starfield slowly rotating beyond. She could feel herself beginning to tremble inside, coming down off the high.

"Well, I'm not doing this again soon," she breathed.

Never. Chasing that record was certain death and she knew it. They'd already pushed their luck too far. Daryl was content just to sit there and enjoy the feeling of drifting in space, amazed within herself at how close they'd come by accident. It was only then that she realised the backup valve must've worked perfectly. Thankfully....

She'd fooled nature once. She wouldn't get away with it again.

As for what Daryl was flying. This, with a small cockpit, some ballast and most of the rest as engine/fuel. Which explains why the Space Patrol were so interested in the things.
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

[HRogge]

"What do you mean it did not explode? How is this possible? *sigh* yes, here are your five credits..."

[Rajvik]

Wolfboy chuckles, "Told you that there wouldn't be an explosion. Frigga builds are like their Soviet forebears, so bloody tough even an idiot isn't likely to break it."
 

[robkelk]

"We can't back out now, there're too many people watching," she broadcast back. None of whom would have any respect for a 'cancelled due to faulty shut-off valve' answer.

Which means none of them were Stellvian ... but why would any of the Stellvians be watching, anyway?
--
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

[Dartz]

Heh....

They were both well aware of what they were doing, and won't even try to defend it. Depending on who's asking, they'll both admit to being under pressure. Daryl might be a little more resistant to saying how because it's 'private', while Jet'll admit that she's been busy planning a little amateur science for the end of the year, and it's proving a lot more stressful than she thought it'd be. They've a lot of things going on...
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

[HRogge]

Wolfboy chuckles, "Told you that there wouldn't be an explosion. Frigga builds are like their Soviet forebears, so bloody tough even an idiot isn't likely to break it."

"Just wait until you see Mackies designs for fast engines... even Soviet designs tend to burn up in nuclear fire!"

[Rajvik]

HRogge wrote:

---

Rajvik wrote:

---

Wolfboy chuckles, "Told you that there wouldn't be an explosion. Frigga builds are like their Soviet forebears, so bloody tough even an idiot isn't likely to break it."

"Just wait until you see Mackies designs for fast engines... even Soviet designs tend to burn up in nuclear fire!"

"I have, and we're tweaking the design so that it doesn't reach critical mass."
 

[Dartz]

HRogge wrote:

Rajvik wrote:Wolfboy chuckles, "Told you that there wouldn't be an explosion. Frigga builds are like their Soviet forebears, so bloody tough even an idiot isn't likely to break it."

"Just wait until you see Mackies designs for fast engines... even Soviet designs tend to burn up in nuclear fire!"

"I have, and we're tweaking the design so that it doesn't reach critical mass."

Point of nuclear order, Critical Mass in and of itself is not dangerous. A critical chain reaction is a stable one, neither increasing or decreasing and is generally a good thing. A sub-critical chain reaction is decreasing with each iteration, while a super-critical one is increasing. Neither state is necessarily out of control. A Criticality Accident is a suprise critical mass - and is usually bad because it's a large criticality, close to someone not expecting it who gets a faceful of lethal neutron and gamma radiation. Prompt Criticality and Super-Prompt Critical are the explosive ones, differing really only in the size of the explosion.

None of which apply in this case. The Moskito's core power generation is Fusion-based. While the initial launch acceleration engine is an unwaved liquid-fuelled rocket running off high-test hydrogen-peroxide and kerosene to skirt some PEPPER quirks and avoid the hassle of dealing with cryogenics. It has a delta-V of 'enough to get it clear and flying in Earth atmosphere at sea-level', at which point the main ion engines roar to life to keep it flying.
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?

[Dartz]

-----This is definitely turning into a chronicle of 2024.

Ford's got her own episodes coming up. And that's before we even get to Detroit. Or the Great Lakes and Titanic. The Ultima 500. Or Arcadia. Or how it all gets out.

Anyway.
Cresting the Hill
Convention, 2024.

Daryl marched ahead of the swarm of bloggers, struggling to outpace them through the crowds. One of them with a recording quill slipped through the throngs in the hall, keeping easy pace with her. Bloody tomcats.

"Because it's my life and I thought the rewards were worth the risk."

That was the answer she gave . Simple as. She wasn't an idiot. She knew what she was doing. Why wouldn't they leave her alone? Idiots seemed more concerned with the potential of an engineering scandal reminding everyone of two major space disasters, than the fact that they came within licking distance of a record. Even if they weren't trying to break it.

It wasn't reckless. It was only reckless if you risked someone else's life in the process. What she did with herself was her own right.

But the catboy with the quill was insistent.

"So then, Last question? Why do you keep wearing that flightsuit? Is it some sort of fetish?"

That drove in deep. She stopped in her tracks, snapping around to face him. He stopped, waiting patiently, slitted-eyes bright and waiting the blockbuster answer. Grey-furred ears swivelled forwards. His tail perked up. His whiskers twitched as he sensed the air, just in time to catch a whiff of the anger he'd stirred up.

"Hey, fuck off asshole!" And she drove it home with the tip of her finger drilled right into the catboy's chest. "Don't you fucking accuse me of…."

Daryl was interrupted by a sharp blow to the cheek, rattling her thoughts. She staggered a little, taking a moment to gather herself and get ready to come out fighting whoever'd decided to punch her in the face.

She was met by a short-skirted cosplayer with an especially oversized fiberglass prop of a scissor-sword.

"Oops, sorry. Didn't see you there honey," the cosplayer offered an apologetic smile.

Daryl growled at her, crushing all the little frustrations down into a ball beneath her feet. It was still a public place, and letting it all out in public would just make a spectacle of herself.

The cosplayer didn't get the message, instead her face shifting to show genuine concern.

"Ooh sweetie, your eye's gone red….."

Daryl blinked. Then blinked again to be sure. Her hand snapped to cover her eye on instinct, panic rising in her throat. It was gone.

"Shit!. Shit!."

She scanned the floor, searching for it. Where did it fall? Where did it fall? Feet trampled dangerously close, bodies jostling into her personal space. If she didn't find it soon it'd be crushed and then everyone would see. She shoved the catboy aside.

There. On the floor. Shattered white plastic. The idiot had stepped right on it.

Daryl swallowed. They all stared at her, begging faces expecting some interesting newsworthy explosion of emotion. They encircled her, waiting. Staring. Pinning her on the spot, expecting the scoop on the big explanation, to be the first to post the information in the wild.

Daryl ran for it.

----------

Jet found herself up on top of Lun's tail, sitting there watching Convention traffic in Titan's orbit. Saturn loomed fat and happy in the distance. Kotono's Bolitho offered a not-inexpensive taxi service for people journeying between the ship and the convention. A few of the fellow travellers had hitched a ride to watch Lun's debate with Marsden, growing out of an argument when they'd met.

The livestream was in the back of Jet's mind somewhere, while the tight flightsuit the puppet wore grasped for her attention, along with a few people who insisted on telling her to the puppets face how dumb that stunt had been.

The worst thing about doing something stupid was that people like to remind you how stupid it was as if they were the only person in the universe who thought it was a bad idea. The temptation to dig her heels in and tell them all to fuck off burned, backed by a dozen post-facto justifications.

Jet had taken to hiding up on the tailplane to keep them from bothering her in person. That still didn't stop them from trying her personal comm's. A simple loopback allowed her to fake a busy signal and force them to voicemail.

Another one burst into her mind, demanding her attention. It came within moments of being shunted to voicemail like all the rest, before she thought to check the origin. It continued to ring in her mind as she vacillated between answering it and taking it on the chin or letting it slip to voicemail and taking it worse later.

She braced herself and answered the phone.

"So, you want to explain why people think I need to know how reckless my partner is?"

Ford was exactly as pissed off as she'd expected.

"We knew what we were doing."

Wrong answer, but she just couldn't stop herself. The first instinct was to defend. It had the benefit of being true.

"And that's what makes it so stupid. You went and did it anyway..... and did it so stupidly obvious people started mistaking it for performance art."

"I don't need to keep being told how stupid that was..." A note of frustration edged the synthesised voice on Jet's comm. A cold snarl rose up the back of her throat, exhaling through her nose as a frosty haze.

"Yeah, you do." Ford cut back "If you didn't this sort of thing wouldn't keep happening. Or do I need to break out the list. Let's start with the reason you're able to sit out on the hull and move forward from there..." Momentum was building behind her like a train speeding down a hill.

"And I never hurt anyone but myself, did I?" Jet fired back.

"And what about the people who actually might give a crap what happens to you!" The radio crackled as Ford's voice hit the limits of its circuitry. "Did you ever think about what happens to them? How they feel?"

"It wasn't like we had a choice! If we say we're going to do stuff and get all these people to watch, and we cancel because of some minor fuckup, nobody's ever going to believe we can do anything. We had to do it..."

Simple as that. Call off a stunt for what sound like minor reasons and people start to wonder if you're even worth their fleeting interest. Sometimes reality had to give way to public relations, when public relations was what enabled you to keep your program moving forward. Even if that stunt in and of itself was nothing more than whiteout to hide what they were really doing in the dark behind it.

"And if you fuckup big in front of a thousand people and kill someone then they're going to start wondering if you should be allowed to do it."

"What about the Highway Star? And that journo we put in the hot seat?"

"He knew the risks!"

"So did Daryl. And we both agreed it was worth it."

"That wasn't what it sounded like from my side of the radio." Ford snapped back. There was a pause, punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. "I'm pretty sure that wasn't what anyone else heard either. I think they heard someone who clearly knows better recklessly convincing someone else to do something dangerous against their better judgement..."

Jets answer died in her mind.

"It makes me wonder how someone with all that technology ticking away between their ears can be so fucking stupid!"

That's probably where Jet would've felt the sting of palm on her skin. She brushed her cheek with her own cold, metallic fingers, bringing her own train of thought to a screeching, crashing halt.

Because I'm only human was the first thing that came to mind, but that was proved wrong immediately by the frames of data running through the back of her mind from her sensors. Or the simple fact that she'd kicked back on the outer hull of a spaceship near Saturn for some peace and quiet. The puppet itself stood beside the Kulbit racer on a single-bay stand down in the hangar - away from the main flow of traffic, hemmed in by the spacecraft beside it , the fascia for the stand and the steel roof of the building.

She let out a long sigh from both bodies, running two sets of fingers through two heads of hair, her puppet mimicking her actions. Polymer-clad fingers glided through the puppet's silken hair. The joints on her own hand tugged and bit at her own coarser locks.

"I just wanted something to go right this year," both of them breathed in unison, the puppet getting a funny look from a passer by for its trouble.

"You're still an idiot," Ford answered after a while. Her tone had softened, at least.

Across the hanger, her puppet could see Bellecomb's VF-9, covered in lush tricolour bunting, teasing her. It'd taken them months and millions to do what'd taken her years. Along with it there were the usual prototypes and concepts from the bigger design houses taking centre stage, with most of the smaller garagistes and first-timers moved out to the edges, alongside herself.

Above her, Saturn's vast atmosphere churned, clouds the size of planets scudding along riding thousand kilometre an hour winds. The gas-planet's own rings hung silently, reminding her of an ancient record player with its banded tracks. She ached to just launch off and play in the debris, streaking trails through the dust or just languorously bathing in the warmth and majesty of open space in a way that never ceased to feel like an utter privilege.

Thousands of people milled through the hanger, swarming over the new metal - more than a few of them thinking to wear AR ID tags that hooked into their network profiles and feeds . The puppet in the flightsuit drew more than its fair share of attention from the passers. Daryl didn't like it - the racer having her own ideas of self respect, but the puppet was nothing more than a mannequin anyway.

Thousands of craft ringed Titan, sparking in the sunlight, most offering their transponders as soon as the VI running her comms detected her passing interest and interrogated them for her. She was ware of her own pinging away to inquiries before she shut it off, letting the pure silence of vacuum close in

"Um... excuse me?"

It took her a moment to realise that someone wasn't standing on the tail beside her, but was actually trying to talk to her puppet, and were starting to get irritated at it's vapid stare. She pushed more of herself into its empty body, leaving behind the peace of space for the chaos of the con.

"Somebody wants to talk to my puppet…." she broadcast to Ford, quickly

"I've got to handle the next Motorcon announcement. We'll talk later."

He stood eye to eye with the puppet, though still struggled maintain eye contact. His baseball-cap and mock flight-jacket seemed to have been sown together out of dozens of sponsor patches - there was very little if any sign of the original jacket left beneath. She recognised him long before the software in her mind had a chance to do an image search on his face, and found herself suppressing a grimace.

Jet took a pride filled breath, choosing to take a leaf from Daryl's book and act like she just didn't care what she was wearing - as if the full flight suit was nothing more than a baggy pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

She forced herself to smile. "What can I do for you?"

Telling him to fuck off, while satisfying, was probably exactly what he wanted her to do. Goad her into snapping off at him, then running to the wide interwave with video or audio of Jet Jaguar being an angry bitch. (And Oh look at how awesome the tits on the puppet are in that flightsuit).

"Look," he began "I want my team to be competitive next year. So, what'll you do me for two of these yokes, with a spare-parts contract and flightsuits for a year? Or will I have to go to Bellecomb?"

On Lun's tail, Jet herself struggled to swallow a burst of laughter. She struggled not to just say 'Really' and blink owlishly. She thought maybe there was some deeper joke to it all - given that the most outspoken opponent of the Kulbit-series was standing in front of her, asking to buy two of them.

"Oh, and what part of the flightsuits can you make transparent?"

That proved he was on the level - Saruwatari team had their reputation to maintain, after all.

-------

"So, Daryl, you want me to take a look at that eye?"

"It's fine."

"You've been covering it for the last ten minutes."

"Some idiot caught me with his elbow. It aches a bit. No big deal."

"If it's still aching after this long…"

"Alright Kotono. Get off my back damn it!"

"Of course, Priss."

The rest of the trip back to Lun passed in terse silence.

Daryl didn't even bother paying for it. She fetched a small case from her locker, pushed past the fellow travellers who'd gathered around the galley to watch the feed from the Lun (Alekseeva) - versus - Marsden debate.

Daryl made straight for the crew shower on the lower deck, dodging questions along the way. She didn't take her hand from her eye until the door was safely locked behind her. Built out of an old storage locker, it was small with the showerhead right above her and the drain in the centre of the floor. Steel walls closing in around her, pushing in on her shoulders. Her reflection in the mirror glared back at her, one eye its usual shade, the other now a deep blood red. The face was a mask of deliberate, controlled anger, her body shaking inside.

She took a long, deep breath, forcing the lump in her throat down before she pulled out a small collapsible sink and placed the case on it.

It'd been close, but she'd gotten away with it

Practiced fingers easily removed the second lens. She looked down at it for a moment, resting on the tip of her polymer finger, before carefully placing it back inside the case along with her spares.

She'd bought the autocontacts from a good cosplay vendor when she'd first noticed the change setting in, months earlier. Almost impossible to distinguish from natural eyes, they tracked the iris behind and adjusted themselves automatically to match. They were so good, supposedly SHIELD used them. After that came the hair dye, blending in over time as the change grew in, slow enough that nobody had noticed anything different.

All it took was constantly reminding herself of what had happened every single morning.

She glanced down at the facsimiles of her natural eye colour

That was where everything she'd been holding in for the last few months finally burst out.

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Next. Whisky. Revenge and Frustration. Over the hump. Pool testing....
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--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?