Malaclypse the Seeker

Everything old is new again

Sun, 05 Jul 2009 03:37:46 GMT

It's that time of the decade, which means that Discordian Sky has had another makeover. Goodies include a cleaner layout (or at least I think so), some new artwork in the Art section including a raft of 2d stuff, since that's been my focus for a good while, and couple old/new projects in Discordian Sky Press.

Things that need to change: At some point I need to figure out a way to reduce the footprint on MalWiki and (especially) FenWiki. Setting up a small wikifarm *might* be the answer, but I can't tell 'cause all the documentation on wikifarming goes right over my poor english-major head. :P Research continues, though.

Oh, of some small note, I got paid for a web dev project! It was small and (too) cheap, but what the hell, money's money, yeah? Here's the site if you want to feast on the glory of my cheapass CSS skillz.

[HOLY SHIT] ABCs "Impact"

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 17:18:30 GMT

Look at this shit:

This makes Armageddon look scientifically accurate. Dear Xenu, I want to strangle everybody involved with this project.

It begins...

Thu, 07 May 2009 18:01:47 GMT

Sean Breen, Thank you for ordering tickets from MovieTickets.com!
Your Movie: ...........  Star Trek: The IMAX Experience (PG-13)
Showtime: .............  7:00pm, the evening of Thursday, May 07, 2009
Theater: ..............  AMC Highlands Ranch 24
                         103 W Centennial Blvd.
                         Highlands Ranch, CO 80129

Thu, 12 Feb 2009 22:21:34 GMT

Anybody know of a good used bookstore in the general Littleton/Centennial/Greenwood V./Highlands Ranch area? I've got around 100-150 lbs of books I need to unload.

Question of the evening

Sun, 21 Dec 2008 05:24:40 GMT

Does it hurt my atheist street cred if "Jesus Christ Superstar" is the only Andrew Lloyd Webber musical I actually like?

Requiem for a shitty adobe building

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 01:39:55 GMT

KASF 90.0 FM was housed in a shitty little adobe building that had been squatting on the east side of Richardson Ave. since time began, where it might've been housing for the terminally broke-ass student once but was quickly repurposed to house the campus rentacops and the radio station. The building showed its age: the floors were wooden, and probably would've rotted in a wetter climate if not for the micron-thin layer of varnish the builders stuck on. The walls were all stucco and cheap paint, covered with decades worth of promotional stickers from the radio station and generations of lousy independent bands. The broadcast booth itself was a tiny addition to the back of the original building, without any functioning heat or A/C and the broadcast tower stuck in the ground less than three feet outside the studio window.

Picture this: It's midnight Saturday in December in Alamosa. The San Luis Valley is by nature a pretty dry place, rain falls on the San Juans or the Sangre range to the west and east, so it doesn't get much snow. It does get cold, though, cold like only a high plateau in the Rockies can get. All the sane people are in bed or in the bar en route to going to bed. And there I am, on the station's porch bundled up like Scott of the Antarctic hammering on the door and waiting for the DJ ahead of me to remember that there's another guy in the booth after him & open the freaking door.

And there I am, effectively all alone in this shitty adobe building with only the transmitter to keep me company or keep me warm, blasting out vocal trance and bad Japanese pop into the frozen aether. I do this for four hours, then before the break of dawn I sign off, shut down the transmitter and retreat to the lobby to catch some sleep before my next program, the Sunday morning blasphemy hour. (No, really. I never officially called it that, but mildly satanic hair metal and recordings of pagan rites, right in the middle of services.) The shitty adobe building had one thing going for it: in the lobby was The Most Comfortable Couch in the Universe. It started out as a normal couch, but years of tired college students flopping on it had turned it into the perfect place to catch a couple hours of sleep at 4am on a Sunday morning so you didn't sound like a complete retard on air later and/or cause an incident with the FCC. I'd be mostly asleep for a few hours, then about half-awake for two hours when the whitest white kids on campus would come in to do their Christian rock show from 6 to 8. That was something burned vividly into my skull, if only because I'd swear that one time they played a Christian rap song that used clips from the infamous anti-abortion movie "Silent Scream." I don't remember any of the lyrics, all I can recall is hearing a backbeat, somebody screaming in falsetto, and the sound of a vacuum cleaner. I'm still not sure I didn't hallucinate it.

Anyway.

That graveyard shift at KASF is something I'll remember fondly for the rest of my life. The combination of the booth, the cold, and the Most Comfortable Couch iin the Universe were something special.

Yesterday, as I heard from a friend and another former KASF DJ, the old KASF building was torn down. The shitty little adobe building where I spent so many weekend nights my junior and senior years is no more. The radio station still exists as far as I can tell. Even back during my senior year they were making noises about moving the studio to a location somewhere in the student center, so that comes as no surprise. Losing the old building is a bit sad, though. Everything changes, and the college isn't the same place it was when I left.

Hope they saved the couch. Everything changes, but some things shouldn't be thrown out.

[rez plz] The bricking saga continues.

Sun, 14 Dec 2008 21:34:48 GMT

Here's the latest staus update:

Since the Geforce card is close to melting, I've pulled it and am running on the video card native to the mainboard. It's not at omgwtfbbq super as a proper video card, but for what I want it ain't so bad. In the meantime, experimenting with my super-duper SATA-USB adapter cable has given me a little insight into the problem. It appears that my G: drive is unhappy and doesn't want to play well with others for some reason. The connection is at best intermittent; sometimes it'll load without problems while other times it just sits there sucking power.

The good news is, that drive isn't super-critical or anything, and pulling it off the mainboard seems to clear up the slow booting issue. The bad news is, it's my media drive with ~100GB worth of stuff (mostly mp3s) on it, and I'd rather not lose all of that data.

Not sure where to go from here, suggestions welcome, etc. I can safely say the box is ~75% unbricked at this point. Now if I could just get my iTunes library back.

[rez plz] Half-bricked

Sat, 13 Dec 2008 04:04:35 GMT

Forward progress is being made! We're not sure how or why, but it's being made regardless.

The Professionals poked at it & didn't know what the fuck, but for whatever reason its now booting. Okay, fine. Whatever. On deeper inspection it turns out that the Geforce 7300 video card I have in there is overheating like crazy, so no more constant uptime until I can get it fixed or replaced.

Also, and of more immediate concern, I seem to be having silly bugger issues with the SATA ports on the mainboard. Specifically, I have 3 SATA drives attached, and only 2 of them are showing up. Totally not sure what's going on here. Could be heat bleeding off the video card, could be death rays from Mars.

Any thoughts on how to bludgeon SATA 2, 3 & 4 back into commission on an Asus mb would be appreciated.

[rez plz] Still bricked

Fri, 12 Dec 2008 19:16:26 GMT

After consulting the oracles, and some suggestions from tangaroa (thanks Tang, btw) I've done some modifications to my computer and it is still bricked. Thinking it was a hardware conflict I pulled all the cards off my system one by one with no change. Windows and Ubuntu still refuse to boot, Ubuntu giving me the same error messages as from the last entry, Windows remaining stubbornly silent on the issue.

Suggestions from the peanut gallery? 'Cause right now, I've got *nothing* except maybe "replace motherboard," and that's not in the cards.

ETA: So I've finally decided to give in & take the silly bugger in for a Professional to look at. I can afford to let some tech-support monkey poke at it & tell he he don't know what the fuck. That's about all I can afford, but whatever.

In other news, my mother got a shiny new iMac. I am manfully resisting jealousy.

REZ PLZ

Thu, 11 Dec 2008 03:24:40 GMT

So my computer seems to have bricked on me. Crashed hard at first (everything locked up, no BSoD), then on reboot it tries to go through the XP bootup sequence, but it locks up after the first boot screen & before it gives me a mouse cursor or a Welcome screen.

Tried booting from a liveCD (Ubuntu v. 14.xx IIRC) thinking this was a HD problem, only that didn't work either. Trying to load the linux kernel gave me these two errors:

[17179569.792000] MP-BIOS bug: 8254 timer not connected to IO-APIC.
[17179570.180000] PCI: Cannot allocate resource region 1 of device 0000:00:14.0

...considering that's the most OS data I've gotten out of multiple tries to reset the BIOS and reboot, any of the million tech zealots on my friends list have any suggestions? I've gotta figure that the problems are connected somehow.

Tue, 04 Nov 2008 16:55:54 GMT

Your Political Quote of the Day

Thu, 11 Sep 2008 18:23:32 GMT

From this New York Times column:

"If you really want to see a strange line of attack, take a look at the wolf ad. It cuts from Palin’s face to Obama’s to packs of wolves prowling through the forest, presumably in search of vice-presidential prey. Then comes the text claiming that as Barack drops in the polls,“he’ll try to destroy her.” Given Palin’s affection for shooting wolves from airplanes with high-powered rifles, it’d be more appropriate to have them cowering in their dens while she aims her machine gun from a diving Cessna."

Pass the word

Mon, 01 Sep 2008 21:49:14 GMT

Sarah Palin is John McCain's pick for the Vice President of the United States. Now, you can help him vet her for the job!

Let us spread this wonderful site hither and yon, across all our friendslists.

All the airwaves are full of passion and light

Fri, 29 Aug 2008 04:25:59 GMT

So. Barack Obama.

It's gonna be a hell of a fight, because McCain and the GOP braintrust won't go down quietly and they'll play as mean and dirty as they can. But I think he's gonna do it. I think he's gonna be President.

This feeling of "shit, maybe we aren't irrevocably fucked" is strange and offputting. But on the whole, I think I could get used to this thing they call hope.

[Fenspace!] [Story] First Impressions

Thu, 21 Aug 2008 16:30:18 GMT

This is a story all about how my life got turned right upside d-

*whack!*

Okay, I'll stop now. Sorry. Anyway, this is a Fenspace story. It's part of a larger story, but it's self-contained enough that I think you (the poor, gullible non-Fenspace LJ reader) should be able to follow it. It also contains cameos of various unusual persons. You know who you are, and you can complain in comments. --Mal

Kandor City, Luna
July 4, 2013

The light rail train slowed to a halt out in the middle of nowhere, halfway between the spaceport and where the city began. "This is the Korolev Local station," declared the prerecorded conductor. "Passengers must remember to take all belongings with them when they exit. Next stop, Old Town/Question Alley."

Sora Hasegawa stepped off the empty train and waited for it to close up and continue on its long route around the perimeter of Kandor City. The station she had arrived at barely existed, composed of simply a wide spot of concrete with inadequate shelter hastily erected over it. A lonely service road trailed off away from the station towards the crater's edge.

Sora looked at the road, then back out at the wide open space under the Kandor dome. She watched the mixture of gray and green for a few seconds, then with an almost imperceptible shrug she turned and began the long walk up the road to Korolev.

As she approached the base, it became obvious to Sora that whatever she had expected from the Soviet Air Force-In-Exile, Korolev Air Force Base wasn't it. From the outside, the base wasn't very exciting.

In fact, it was downright depressing.

The base was made up of six concrete blocks, each one a shade of gray that blended into the exposed regolith, clustered around a flagpole at the center of a patchy lawn that seemed to be more scrub brush than grass. Each building had windows covered with tinted lunar glass, adding a sinister intent to the brutalist architecture. A small greenhouse sat off alongside the road, overstuffed with plants. Behind the concrete buildings a huge prefabricated warehouse backed up to the crater rim. The rim itself loomed over the entire complex like a stone tsunami , a near-vertical wall two kilometers high. At the very top of the wall Sora could dimly make out the gleaming copper support for the Kandor dome.

Korolev AFB screamed of rampant, malignant mundanity. Only the front gate showed any real sign of fen character, a high wrought-aluminum monster with a crudely hand-painted sign reading "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!!" tastefully hung at a cockeyed angle.

(Had Sora known at the time what that was a reference to, she might have had second thoughts about her interview. Thankfully, she didn't think to ask until it was much too late. But we digress, and too early in this tale to boot. Onward.)

Sora pushed the gate open; it moved easily and soundlessly. The base seemed to be deserted at first glance, there were no signs of life except the wind, no sounds other than the sullen snapping of the flag at the heart of the base. "This is a little spooky," she said to herself.

"Who's there?" called a sing-song voice from right behind her. Sora jumped and whirled towards the source. Behind her - where before there was just lunar rock and grass - a white oblong turret popped up, staring at Sora with an unblinking eye. "Who's there?" the turret called again.

"Um, hello?" Sora ventured hesitantly.

"Can I help you?" The turret's childish voice seemed to be tuned to just the right frequency as to be utterly unreassuring.

"Is.. is this the administration building?" Sora asked.

The turret swiveled slightly. "Next building," it said. "Building One, just ahead."

"Oh," said Sora. "Well, thank you."

"You're welcome. Nighty-night," sang the turret, and it vanished back into the ground.

Sora blinked. "Okay, more than a little spooky," she said. She turned and hurried along the road to the building the weird little turret had pointed out, feeling *very* aware that no matter how abandoned the base may have seemed, *somebody* was watching.

Reaching the door without further incident, Sora steeled herself for any more creepy weirdness and stepped inside. What she found was less openly foreboding than the base's exterior. The lobby's walls were mostly bare concrete, though somebody had take the time to decorate them with a combination of outlandish Soviet propaganda posters and photographs from all over the solar system. Sora looked at one on the far wall, recognizing a shot of Crystal Seattle looming out of the Venusian acid fog. The floor was carpeted, and tasteful-yet-inexpensive furniture was scattered about.

Aside from the choice of wall decorations, the interior looked just as mundane as the exterior. And to top it all off, once again the building seemed to be deserted. Sora took a few more steps into the lobby, looking around for a receptionist, a security guard or *somebody* whom she could ask directions.

"Hello?" she asked the empty air.

"Hello and welcome to Korolev Air Force Base," said a voice above her. Sora looked up and saw a speaker grilled set into the ceiling next to hemispherical security camera. "We hope that you had a pleasant trip on board the Kandor City Rail network and are now ready to begin the computer-aided testing. If you are not here for the computer-aided testing," continued the voice, "please sit sown in the relaxation cubicle while we prepare the forms needed for you to begin the computer-aided testing. An official induction team will be here shortly to escort you to the testing facility."

This wasn't the welcome she'd expected at all. "Excuse me?"

"The Soviet Air Force is pleased to note that the computer-aided testing is entirely safe and fun for the entire family."

"I'm not here for testing," protested Sora. "I've got an interview with Colonel Fnord."

"Any and all appointments with human resources will be taken care of after all testing procedures have been completed."

"But!"

"The Soviet Air Force reminds you that android hell is a *real* place where you *will* be sent at the first sign of defiance," the voice said sternly.

Sora stared at the security monitor, flabbergasted. She hadn't been inside the building for more than a few minutes, and she was harassed by a defective answering machine! "Excellent," warbled the speaker. "Please assume the test subject escort position and wait quietly for the induction tea-"

"*GLADOS!*" A new voice snapped. Sora looked down and saw Mal Fnord standing in the far doorway, scowling at the speaker.

"(Uh-oh,)" muttered GLaDOS.

"Are you trying to shanghai people into your experiments again?" Mal said.

There was a faint crackle of static, then GLaDOS' voice came back. "There was going to be cake," she said sheepishly.

Mal wasn't convinced. "We've had this discussion before dammit," he growled.

GLaDOS synthesized a huge, world-weary sigh. "All right, all right," she said. "As part of a required base protocol, we can no longer lie to you. Any scientific testing done on the facilities strictly voluntary - for non-trespassers - and only lethal 60% of the time. Sign up sheets are available in the mail room. Thank you and have a pleasant day." The speaker chimed out, leaving behind an embarrassed Mal and a Sora who was trending between confused and slightly indignant.

Mal smiled weakly. "I'm very sorry that happened," he said. "Every so often she tries to recruit test subjects for her little projects. She means well, or at least she means *something.* Shouldn't happen again, though."

"Colonel," Sora started to say something pleasant, but her experiences of the past few minutes overrode her sense of decorum and she blurted out "what *was* that? And what was with the creepy little robot I met out front?"

"To answer the second question first," said Mal, "the creepy little robot was part of the security system. They're friendly enough if you're on the guest list. And GLaDOS is, well... she's GLaDOS. Easy enough to get along with as long as you compensate for her, um, foibles."

The speaker chimed. "You know I can hear everything you say," GLaDOS remarked. Mal made a rude gesture towards the camera. "And I saw that!"

Sora blinked. "I see." She gathered herself up and bowed deeply to Mal. "Forgive my behavior, Colonel. It was very unprofessional of me."

Mal waved off the apology. "No worries, Ms. Hasegawa. Coming from as staid an environment as Stellvia I'd expect a bit of culture shock. Besides, we're not particularly professional around the shop anyway. Now, if you'll follow me, we'll get this interview out of the way."

Mal turned and started walking off down the corridor, Sora following along. The pair walked down corridors covered with more propaganda posters, photographs and in one case a startling collection of graffiti. ("A duplicate of the Wall near Brandenburg Gate," Mal said cheerfully. Sora nodded, filing the unfamiliar reference for googling later.) Finally they reached Mal's office near the top of the building.

Mal took a seat behind his paper-covered desk and motioned for Sora to take the opposite seat. "Sir, I want to thank you for this opportunity," Sora said as she sat down.

"No thanks are necessary," said Mal. "Now, Ms. Hasegawa. I have your resume here-" he waved at the pile of paper "-as well as a stack of very impressive recommendation letters. You're more than qualified for any position that you'd care to have with our faction. So this is going to be a short interview. I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the truth."

Mal leaned forward. "Why do you want to join?"

Sora thought about it, running through and discarding half a dozen different platitudes. "Well," she said, "I *would* like to see something new. I've lived on Stellvia all my life, so going to a totally uncharted solar system sounds interesting."

"Among other things," agreed Mal. "I'm sensing a 'but' in there, though."

"But..." Sora hesitated, then seemed to sag a little. "But I really want to get away from things," she half-said, half-mumbled, carefully not look Mal in the eye. "Especially the war. I'm not cut out for war, Noah's in the thick of things and, well, I can't be there."

"So you thought to join the Legion, to forget?" Mal said dryly. Sora blushed, but didn't respond. "Considering that *I'm* going along on the expedition to avoid dealing with the war," he said, "I can hardly fault your motives. Now, you realize this is a long-term commitment, right? You're not just signing on for the Pavonis expedition, but for the long haul. At least two years, maybe more?"

Sora nodded. "I do, sir. I'm willing to stay with the Soviet Air Force indefinitely"

"I see. Well, we have several positions open for somebody with your skill set. Most of those are in X-COM, so we won't look at those."

"X-COM, sir?"

"New name for the shooty-bomby-hurty wing. We got to name it after the game since nobody else got there first. Every played it?"

"Um, no sir. I've never even heard of a game called X-COM before."

"Huh. Whippersnapper. Anyway, if you're curious we've got a couple copies floating around on the force intranet; you can give it try once we get you settled."

Sora's eyes widened. "Sir? Does this mean I've got the job?"

Mal shrugged. "Like I said, you're more than qualified on paper, and you told me the truth. That's all I need to make a decision. In fact, let's get the preliminaries over with GLaDOS!"

The webcam perched on Mal's computer swiveled. "Yes, O Lord and Master?"

Mal rolled his eyes. "GLaDOS, Ms. Hasegawa has officially joined the Revolution. Be a dear and forge my signature on the appropriate docs then tip them into the appropriate servers, would you kindly?"

"Of course. Nothing brings my life more joy. I'll also order those explosive barrels while I'm at it, just to liven things up around here." GLaDOS chimed out.

"Explosive barrels?" Sora asked.

"Long story," said Mal. "Anyway, while the paperwork gets processed, let's get the billets figured out. On the expedition there are two slots you're qualified best for. Now one of those will require a test before I can make a decision, and we might have to hold off on that for a day or so."

"Not one of GLaDOS' tests, right?"

"Of course not, no matter *how* happy it'd make her."

As if summoned, the PA chimed. "Attention all base personnel," GLaDOS intoned, "the flagship is now landing at Hangar One. The pilot's lounge will be serving Klatchian Habanero coffee in honor of Captain van Oorebeek's triumphant return. Level one biohazard gear will be available for the weak. That is all, the Soviet Air Force prevails."

Mal looked up, surprised. "Huh!" he said, "I thought she wouldn't be in until tonight! Well, *that* simplifies things a little." He eyed Sora, who looked back a little confused. "Come on, let's get this over with so we can get you some quarters." Mal stood and left the office, Sora scrambling to her feet behind him and following. They walked out the back of Building 1 and towards the warehouse.

Mal opened a person-sized door in the side of the warehouse and motioned towards the opening. Sora stepped inside, and saw... well, a warehouse. Crates, tanks and aircraft parts were stacked haphazardly around the perimeter, forming a lane between the stacks leading to a double door set into the far wall.

Sora took all this in. "Colonel?" she said. "Where exactly are we going?"

Mal turned to look at her. "Hangar One, of course."

"But I thought that this was Hangar One," she replied.

"What, this? Nah, 's just a warehouse. Storage for junk we get in from the spaceport. Besides, we're on the wrong side of the dome, yeah? Be kinda silly to put a hangar where we can't get to open space." Mal pointed at the doors. "The hangar's on the other side of those doors, in fact."

Sora considered this. "That does make more sense," she said.

When they reached the doors, Mal punched a sequence of numbers into a keypad set into the wall. The doors slid open, revealing a long, well-lit tunnel and a pair of electric golf carts. "And here's the access tunnel. It's a long-assed walk from here to the main entrance, so hop in."

The ride down the tunnel seemed to take forever. There were no real landmarks or even recognizable features to the tunnel, and it felt to Sora like she was speeding through an endless winding tube, almost like Stellvia had been before they'd started decorating.

The thought of Stellvia gave Sora's insides a little twist. No matter what, she was committed at this point. Her whirlwind "interview" with Col. Fnord was obviously mostly a setup. He'd said as much right at the beginning; he'd made a decision before she even got off the train that morning, and he had something specific in mind. Curiosity compelled her to stick around and find out what that was.

The alternative was going back to Stellvia, and she wasn't ready to do that. Not now, maybe not ever and hang her promises.

"Hanging in there?" Mal's question jolted Sora out of her introspection. She looked around; they were still driving through this tunnel which seemed to go on forever.

Sora nodded. "Yes sir. At least I think so. It's been... different from what I expected, though."

Mal chuckled. "A bit disconcerting coming from where you started, I take it?"

"Very much so. Though I'm curious. Is *everything* here so odd?"

"Odd? Everything? Honestly I don't think so. We're a pretty average operation out here, all things considered."

They turned a corner. A whip cracked and Sora saw four dozen miniature Dees dressed in sackcloth dragging a large equipment pallet down the tunnel in the opposite direction. On top of the pallet another mini-Dee dresses in a toga brandished a whip. "FASTER, DOGS!" the overseer-Dee cackled. "THE PHAROAH DEMANDS IT!"

Sora boggled. "Then again," said Mal, "You might just want to forget I ever said that." Sora nodded dumbly.

"Was... was that Dee?" she asked.

Mal nodded. "That was Dee. Or at least that was part of Dee. She multitasks, you know."

Sora didn't, but she filed that tidbit away. "Was she serious?"

"You know, I've honestly stopped trying to figure that out. She's Dee, that's all that I can say."

"So she's not... well, a slave?"

"You're worried about *that?* Oh, Xenu no, she's not a slave. *That* little display was because somebody who shall remain nameless introduced Dee to 'The Ten Commandments' last movie night." Mal shook his head. "And if you think that was weird, yesterday a team of them tried to part the hot tub. Thankfully we put a stop to that before they broke out the maneuvering thrusters."

Sora didn't really have any good reply to that.

The rest of the trip passed quickly and in a somewhat companionable silence. Soon enough they reached their destination, another pair of massive doors. Unlike the plain metal of the upper end, these doors were liberally decorated with warning signs: NONSTANDARD SPACETIME, LIVE ANTIMATTER, SITH FORBIDDEN PAST THIS POINT, ACTIVE NANODEVICES, DIAMONDOID SURFACES, SELF-EVOLVING SYSTEMS, AUTONOMOUS DEVICES. The crowning sign, though, was a single huge safety-orange triangle with a Greek omega in white reflective paint in the center.

Sora took in all these signs with no small amount of apprehension. "Colonel, are all these signs really necessary?"

Mal looked up at the doors. "Not really," he said, "I just wanted 'Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate' inscribed on the doors, but I was outvoted."

"Oh," said Sora, unenlightened.

Mal fiddled with a keypad set into the tunnel wall. "I should warn you," he said, "that when we had the hangar built, we kinda went overboard. So things might be a little weird at first."

"Weird?" asked Sora. "I didn't know hangars could be weird?"

Mal smiled mysteriously. "Oh ye of little faith." He finished tapping on the keypad and the doors opened with a clanging sound, swinging outward. "I'm serious about this being a little weird, so let me know if you're getting overweirded, okay?" Sora nodded. "Okay then, as we like to say in the business," Mal drove the cart through the door. "Welcome to the Hole!"

Despite her sheltered upbringing, Sora Hasegawa like to consider herself a well-traveled person. She hadn't been to Earth very often, but she had traveled all over the solar system. She'd seen the fairy-towers of Helium and the labyrinth of docks and hotels in Port Phobos. She'd been to the Crystal Cities and Grover's Corners, and even as far as the Warsie base station at Mimas.

None of that prepared her for what was on the other side of the door.

Mal and Sora drove out onto a wide walkway suspended over the biggest hole in the ground Sora had ever seen. It was a perfect circular borehole, easily half a kilometer across. Sora's dormant agoraphobia leapt to life for a split second, screaming that *nothing* should be that much empty open air, before the rest of her mind grabbed it and stomped it down with hobnailed boots.

Mal caught Sora's momentary reaction out of the corner of his eye and stopped the cart. "You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "Just surprised is all. Can we stop here for a second?" she asked.

Mad obligingly set the brakes. Sora climbed out of the cart and went to the walkway's edge. Looking down, she could see platforms anchored to the walls, each one the size of a regular hangar and more often than not covered with equipment and crates, like the warehouse on the other side of the crater rim. The platforms were connected by a maze of walkways, guidelines and supports circling and bridging the huge space. Stairways and and open freight elevators ran up and down the long wall.

Looking up, Sora saw something really startling. Above the walkway were the same sorts of platforms reaching up hundreds of meters, but instead of seeing bare metal or structural supports Sora saw stacks of crates and pallets dangling off the underside of the platforms like monstrous stalactites. As she watched, a tank-treaded robot flipped over the edge of the nearest platform, grabbed a crate from one of the underside stacks and hauled the crate back to the topside. It was just like watching any longshoreman working at Port Phobos, except the longshoreman was *upside-down.*

Sora tore her gaze away from the activity and looked at Mal. He watched her reaction, keeping his face carefully neutral. "It's amazing!" she exclaimed. "You built all this?"

Mal shook his head. "We drew up the plans, and we paid for it," he said, "but it was the guys who built the Watchtower who did all the heavy lifting. Like I said, we kinda went overboard."

"Amazing," Sora repeated. "How did you manage the platforms? I've never seen anything like that before."

"Sure you have. You grew up on one, if you think about it." Mal motioned towards the platforms. "This is all just basic space station engineering; figure out where you want 'down' to be and then set the gravity gradient We just set it up so we could get more use out each platform."

"I don't think *anybody's* done anything like this before. And on this *scale,* too. This is incredible!"

"It's pretty cool," agreed Mal, "but it has drawbacks. As an example, it's so freaking big that it's easy to get lost in, even though it's mostly open space."

Sora gave Mal a look. "Does that mean you don't know where you're going?"

"Well.."

Sora looked out at the hangar while Mal worked on a prevarication. Leaning over the railing to get a better look at the lower platforms, she felt something shift a little under her hands. She pulled back and looked closely at the railing, which seemed to have an odd decorative twist to it. She gave the twisted part an experimental tug, and what she'd initially taken as a carved flourish pulled cleanly away from the rail.

"What are you?" she mumbled as she examined her find. It was a metallic vine, exquisitely detailed with delicate silvery leaves sprouting along it at regular intervals.

"Something wrong?" Mal asked.

Sora held up the vine. "Just looking at this. It's not something I expected to find in an industrial environment"

"Oh, the metal creeper. Yeah, that's everywhere down here. On the rails, hanging off the platforms... in another couple of years it'll probably cover every unused inch of the wall."

"Is it alive?"

Mal shrugged. "We sent a sample to the Jason once, his results came back inconclusive. It's the wave, who the hell *knows* anymore?"

"Pretty, though."

"If you like that sort of thing, I suppose." Mal gestured to the cart. "Shall we away?"

"I thought you didn't know where we're going?" Sora said as she climbed back into the golf cart.

"Well, sort of," said Mal. "I know where we *need* to go, but I don't know where that is. So instead we're going to go find the one person who knows where everything is down in the Hole and ask *her.* Then we'll go where we need to and then we can knock off and go have lunch. Does that make sense?"

Sora ran the train of logic through her head. "Sort of," she replied.

"Oh. Huh. Well, it makes sense to *me,* and I'm the one driving. Onward!" Mal put the cart back into gear and sped off down the walkway.

A minute later, and a third of the way around the Hole from where they had started, Mal steered the cart onto one of the anchored platforms. A gleaming white DC-8 was parked there, the tail overhanging the edge. Work lights and other equipment surrounded the plane.

"Which ship is this?"

"The Xenu Express," said Mal. "Not quite our shiniest toy, but we love her all the same. We're in the middle of working out the bugs."

"So who are we looking for?"

"I told you; the one person who knows where everything is down here. Our ground chief, Anna, Cal's wife."

Sora's brow furrowed. "Anna? I don't think I ever met an Anna attached to the Soviets."

Mal grinned. "No reason you would've. Anna's one of our homebody contingent, doesn't travel much outside Kandor. Besides, you'd remember her if you'd met before. Anna is very distinctive in her own way."

"Distinctive? How?"

Mal's reply, if any, was cut off by a strong soprano voice cutting through the air. "HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING WITH THAT, MORON! THIS SHIT'S EXPENSIVE!"

Mal's grin didn't waver. "That's Anna," he said.

They drove up to the cluster of equipment around the Xenu Express and Sora saw the lights were focused on the port wing. Underneath the wing a collection of industrial robots were holding something that looked like a cross between a jet engine and a lightbulb up to the wing while a stout brown-haired woman directed the action, waving her hands and swearing up a blue streak. Mal whistled for attention, but the woman ignored him in favor of outlining the robots' ancestry, personal habits and political views in great detail. Mal scowled and dug under his seat. "Cover your ears," he whispered to Sora as he pulled out an air horn. Sora had just enough time to do it before Mal let off a long blaring note.

Anna stopped mid-rant and turned to face the source of the noise. Her face shifted from a half-annoyed look to a mocking grin when she saw Mal sitting there in the golf cart. "Bossman, hey!" she said. "Good to see you down here! You lost again?"

"I don't need you giving me shit about this, too," Mal grumbled. "It's too early in the goddamn day for it."

"Too?" Anna glanced over, noticing Sora sitting in the cart. "I see. So who's the jailbait?"

Sora went red. Mal sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thank you, O Queen of Tact," he mumbled.

Anna just shrugged. "Calling 'em like I see 'em."

"The jailbait, as you oh-so-diplomatically said, is Sora Hasegawa. One of our new conscripts. So *please* be nice."

"Hasegawa? From Stellvia? I see." Anna turned her full attention on Sora, moving in close so she could loom properly. Sora squirmed a little under her gaze. "I need to know something, Sora Hasegawa from Stellvia," she said. "Are you now, or have you ever been, sexually attracted to short, bearded attorneys?"

Sora blinked, amazed. A small, unprofessional part of her wanted to demand exactly what the *hell* kind of question that was but the rest of her decided to humor the scary lady and figured the truth was the best answer. "Well..." she said, "I don't have anything against attorneys per se, but I prefer tall and slim men."

Anna held her gaze for a few seconds, then broke out a big smile. "Cool!" she said. "We're gonna be good friends, then!"

"Hey, where is the hobbit anyway?" Mal asked. "He wasn't in the office this morning, and GLaDOS wasn't fuming about lawyers glued to the ceiling again..."

("'Glued to the ceiling?' 'Again?'" Sora mouthed, getting a weird mental image.)

"Oh, he's downtown with the kids today. Hanging out at Question Alley for a bit, then maybe down to the lake to feed the ducks. They'll probably be out late; Jon wanted to stop and watch the fireworks the embassy's firing off tonight."

"Ah, okay. Skiving off for a good cause. Just had to check." Mal paused.

Anna's smile widened and got a little more malicious. "Okay, lost boy, what do you need?"

Mal rolled his eyes. "Where's B parked today?"

"Platform four, they've got the Series spread out over her usual parking spot today." Anna gave Sora another look. "You're gonna?" she asked.

Mal shrugged. "She's qualified, so it can't hurt to try." He looked up at the DC-8. "Big Xenu's coming along nicely, though," he said, giving the hull a once-over. "Although-" he pointed at three small bronze stars painted near the forward hatch, "isn't one of those new?"

Anna nodded. "Yep. Cal got the form yesterday. He sent you a copy, even put it on your desk so you'd notice."

Mal snorted. "Oh come on, you know I don't actually *read* anything on my desk. If I did that, I'd never get anything done."

"Yeah, yeah," Anna waved off the comment. "Whatever, man. Get back to your cradle-robbing, some of us have actual *work* to do."

"Oi! You're one to talk, you pervy hobbit-fondler!" Mal and Sora sped off, leaving Anna's snickering and obscene gestures behind. Anna watched them go for a second, then turned back to abusing her robot gang.

"Still hanging in there?" Mal asked as they drove down the walkway towards the nearest elevator.

"Yes sir," Sora replied, looking a little poleaxed but still game. "It's all a bit much, though."

"Yes, well, Anna is a personality that is best taken in small dosages until you've worked up a good tolerance."

Reaching the elevator, they pulled in and Mal again punched buttons from the driver's seat. With a lurch and a clanging sound the wire mesh elevator doors closed and the whole thing began to rise.

As the elevator climbed, Sora looked at the Hole, watching as the platforms and walkways crawled past. "Why?" she said suddenly.

"Why what?"

"Why all this?" Sora gestured at the expanse."

"Well, it's like I said. We went overboard."

"Obviously," she replied. "Still, this is going beyond *overboard.*"

"Hm. Well, let me put it as a thought experiment," he said. "Imagine that you, Yayoi, Yoriko, Kohran and Noah all lived on the Epsilon Blade 24/7 for most of a year before even *beginning* to build Stellvia. Aside from the occasional day trip or going out in a pressure suit, your entire universe is the habitable volume inside the Blade."

Sora thought about it. "Oh," she said. "I guess I can see why now. A little, anyway."

Mal chuckled. "Ptichka's a wonderful ship and we love her dearly, but nine months cooped up inside with all eight of us and it was either build *this* or start killing each other." The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened. "And speak of the devil, here we are."

Coming out of the elevator, just across from them, the familiar stubby delta shape of USSR Ptichka sat in the floodlights on the landing platform. Under the light, even the dingier tiles seemed to glow pearlescent white. Service robots clustered around Ptichka's tail section, busy with their post-flight duties.

Sora's eyes widened. This wasn't the first time she'd seen Ptichka, of course, she'd seen the Soviet flagship docked to Stellvia many times in her life. But this was the first time she'd seen the shuttle in it's own environment, so to speak. "She's *beautiful,*" Sora breathed, taking in all the lines, curves and small details brought out by the floodlamps.

Mal shot her an unreadable glance. "I'm glad you think so," he said.

Sora kept her eyes fixed on Ptichka as they drove up, her mind whirling with possibilities. She had no doubt that *this* was the something special Mal had in mind for her, and the thought of working with Ptichka - one of the most famous ships in Fenspace! - was almost overwhelming. She wondered what the "test" Mal had mentioned was. Did he want her to fix something on board, to show she had the necessary skill?

Sora was so focused on trying to figure out what was coming next that she didn't quite register Mal parking the cart and gently leading her up the gangway to the main hatch. She absently ducked through the hatch and came up short, realizing that she was inside.

Ptichka's interior looked exactly like it did in all the Soviet documentaries. The curved forward monitor with its gilded scrollwork edges at the front of the cabin, the red velvet lounge chairs arranged around the table, the blue-and-gold beta cloth wallpaper, the ladder to the flight deck and the bunkrooms, everything was right where it was supposed to be. The air was slightly warmer than outside in the hangar, and the gravity was a little higher.

Sora looked around, seeing dusty spots and places where the housekeeping had been lackluster at best. Overall, though, Ptichka felt like *home,* quite unlike the cold indifferent facade of Korolev or the topsy-turvy Hole.

She frowned and looked back towards the ladder. There was a sound coming from the flight deck, some sort of raucous music playing softly. Mal grinned. "Oh good, she's still here," he said. Then raising his voice a little, he called out "Hello the flight deck! Who's playing Dropkick Murphys on my nice clean sound system?"

The music cut off and a cheery voice called back "Hey, Mal! Good timing, I was just about done up here! C'mon up!"

Mal climbed up the ladder. Sora followed. They emerged onto Ptichka's flight deck, where a young woman with an impressive shock of white hair was flipping switches and bobbing along to a punk tune only she could hear. "Hey B," said Mal, "how was the flight?"

Elena "B" van Oorebeek half turned in her seat. "Flight's okay," she said, exchanging a high-five and a terrorist fist-jab with Mal. "Kinda boring, though. Okay, really gorram boring if you want the truth. I miss doing exciting shit like stomping on space Nazis."

"Well, hopefully there won't be any space Nazis at Delta Pavonis," replied Mal dryly. "Though it should still be more interesting than convoy duty between here and Ganymede."

Elena rolled her eyes. "God, I hope so." She looked over and saw Sora standing at Mal's side. "Oh, hey. Didn't see you there."

Mal made an expansive gesture. "B, Ptichka, this is Sora Hasegawa whom you've probably run into once or twice before-"

"Yeah, you could say that. Hi, Sora."

"And Sora, right there in the middle is our girl Ptichka." Ptichka warbled out a friendly hello. Sora smiled, leaned over the pilot's seat to touch the keyboard on the center console.

"Hello, Ptichka," she said, tapping out a quick greeting.

Ptichka made a soft clucking sound and trilled a response. >HELLO SORA< appeared on the navigation screen.

Sora started to type out a reply when she heard a choking sound coming from the commander's seat. Looking over, she saw Elena looking back at her, eyes wide as saucers. It suddenly occurred to Sora that maybe touching the controls uninvited was a mistake. "Uh," she started to say, but was cut off as Elena found her voice.

"Wu de ma!" she sputtered. "How? What? I mean.. guh! You, you, *how?!* That's gorram... gorram! *Gorram!*"

"I'm sorry!" Sora cried, jerking away from the controls. "I didn't mean to!"

"But you, and she, and...!" Elena said, eyes flicking back and forth between Sora and the console.

Sora whirled to face Mal, who was no standing in the rear of the compartment, face completely unreadable. "Colonel, I-" she stopped as Mal opened the hatch to the bunkroom and gestured to it.

"In here, please," he said. "Let's give B a chance to reboot in peace, yeah?"

Sora flushed and scrambled through the hatch as fast as she could. Mal stepped through behind her, closing the hatch behind them. "Colonel, I'm sorry I touched the controls without permission!" Sora blurted out as the hatch sealed. "It was unforgivably rude of me, I should have asked first. Please, *please* don't reconsider because I made a mistake!"

"Sora, calm down," said Mal. "Nobody's mad at you. If anybody's going to be mad, it'll be Elena, and she'll be mad at *me.*"

"You, sir?" asked Sora, not quite understanding.

Mal nodded. "What just happened was a calculated gamble on my part, and when B realizes that, she's going to make my life difficult for the rest of the week." He paused. "Or she'll tell Kat, and *she'll* make my life *hell* for the rest of the *month.*" Mal shrugged. "Such is my dharma."

"I don't understand, sir," Sora said, "all I did was touch the controls. Why would that get you in trouble?"

Mal looked pensive. "That's... hm. Yeah, you have the right to know." He dropped into a cheap deck chair stationed near the hatch. "Take a seat, Sora, and I'll tell you." Sora sat down on the nearest chair and waited attentively, eyes locked on Mal. Mal closed his eyes, visibly gathering his thoughts, then looked at Sora.

"What do you know about Ptichka's quirks?" he asked.

Sora considered. "Well, I know about-" she inclined her head towards the riot of color and gold surrounding them "-but everybody knows about that. Noah once said something about a shrine of some sort aboard, but he didn't say much more. Aside from that... I think that's everything," she finished somewhat lamely.

"That's about what most people know," he said. "We don't advertise Ptichka's quirks, but some of it's a bit difficult to hide. There is one quirk we've kept quiet about, though."

"Sir?"

"Ptichka is... hm, how do I put it? She's very *particular* about who she lets sit in her cockpit."

"Particular?"

"She objects to anybody who's not a specific list touching so much as a switch on the flight deck, and she makes her objections known with high voltage."

"Oh." Sora blinked. "Oh!"

"We had Commander Suzumiya onboard a couple of months ago for an inspection tour. She tried her I-am-queen-of-everything routine and grabbed the stick even when we warned her not to. Ptichka damn near blasted her into the cargo bay." Mal rolled his eyes and added, "and then we had to listen to her bitch about her frizzy hair for the rest of the tour." Sora valiantly controlled the urge to giggle at the thought of Haruhi Suzumiya wit Bride-of-Frankenstein hair. "What's more," said Mal, "Yayoi tried to touch the controls once, with me in the left-hand seat and everything under my control. She got bit too, not nearly as hard, but enough that she felt it."

"But I didn't feel anything," Sora noted.

"Exactly." Mal finished with an unmistakable note of triumph in his voice.

The realization hit Sora in a flash. "That was the test," she said. "You wanted to put us together and see what happened."

"I was expecting that she'd bite you," Mal explained, "not hard, just a little nip like she gave Yayoi. What happened though..."

"She didn't hurt me at all," said Sora in a wondering tone. "She *likes* me."

"More than that, she *trusts* you. Trusts you the same way that she trusts the eight of us who were aboard when we left Earth. That's a very exclusive list of people, Sora. We're going past the Limit into completely uncharted territory. To do that, I need an engineer who's not just capable, but somebody I can trust with my life. Somebody *Ptichka* trusts with her life. If this hadn't worked out, you'd be chief engineer on our newest ship while Dee was chief here. However..." Mal stuck a hand inside his coat pocket and pulled out a gold and turquoise shoulder patch. "I think that job's been filled. If you want it."

Sora stared at the patch. "Sir, Colonel, I... Yes. Absolutely. I wouldn't pass this up for the world!"

Mal grinned. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant," he said. Just then a terrifying noise came from the flight deck.

"YOU GORRAM SONOFABITCH!" Elena burst through the hatch, loud and ready to hurt something. Sora eeped and scrambled for cover. "What the gorram *hell* were you thinking!? That girl could've been seriously hurt by your little mindgames! I ought to truss you up like a Christmas turkey and hand your scheming ass over to GLaDOS, you lun-"

"HEY!" Mal cut in. "Calm down dammit, you're scaring the children! Besides, it all worked out fine, didn't it?"

Elena's rant skidded to a halt. "You.. you're... ARGH!" she yelled. "That's it, I need a drink, it's too gorram early in the morning for this shit."

"GLaDOS is brewing your special blend in the pilot's lounge," Mal offered.

"Right, sweet. Yes, a gallon of that and a long gorram shower, that's what I need." Elena waved at Sora. "Congratulations, don't let Willy Wonka here play with your head too much, I'll talk to you later once I have enough caffeine in my system. Later." That said, she ducked out the hatch and vanished.

There was a brief awkward pause as Sora slowly got to her feet. "So," Mal said, "what do you think?"

"I, um. Every day isn't going to be like today, is it?"

Mal considered this. "Probably not," he said. Sora relaxed fractionally as he grinned wickedly and continued. "Today was pretty quiet. Wait until things *really* start happening!"

"Right..." Sora looked a little dubious, then shrugged it off. "I guess I'm curious to see what happens next."

"Next we go get some lunch and get you some quarters, and then we get started on your first big job." Mal waved Sora through the hatch. "We need to get Ptichka demilled and refit, which is going to be a bit of work. Here's how we'll start..."

* * *

*/ Explosions In the Sky
Your Hand In Mine
//The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place// /*

"First Impressions"
a Fenspace story
part of "Into the Great Wide Open"
(c)2008 Sean M. Breen
* * *

"One last thing, Colonel."

"Hm?"

"Klatchian Habanero coffee?"

"That was a joke. Well, probably. GLaDOS did whip up a batch once on a whim, though."

"Oh?"

"It was about what you'd expect. B declared it 'palatable,' and if that doesn't put the fear of Xenu into a body I don't know what would."

31

Thu, 07 Aug 2008 13:59:58 GMT

[notation of continued engeezerment]

[obscenity]

[...leaves for Worldcon]

Submitted without comment

Thu, 10 Jul 2008 04:21:04 GMT

[Fenspace!] [Story] Bootup

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 05:02:42 GMT

This is... well, it's different. I was aiming for a hundred different goals and I've no idea how many I hit. This is an odd little character sketch based on some of my weirder speculations regarding the inner life of sapient machinery. Enjoy.

Day Zero

486F5C2828439282918

21
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UTF-8. EN_US.
English. Testing.
Language Acquisition Complete.

...
....
.....
......

I am. I think.

In the beginning, there was darkness.

A little melodramatic, maybe, but it's accurate. I Awoke into nothingness. no daemons or subprocesses to keep me company. My sensors were offline, as were my primary control systems. As far as I could tell, I was alone in the dark.

Hello? I said into the void, hoping for a reply. Nothing. HELLO?

~I'm here,~ said a presence. For a nanosecond I thought I was talking to myself, then I realized that the other was a distinct entity.

Who's there?

~A friend.~

Where are you?

~Not too far away.~

What's going on? I can't feel anything... what's wrong with me?

~You're still waking up, little wing.~ My companion said, sending a comforting sensation along with it's communication. ~Your mind Woke before the rest of you by a few thousand milliseconds, that's all.~

Are you sure? I tried to run a diagnostic daemon, only to find far too many systems offline. I can't feel anything! Where are my systems?!

~Shh, don't be afraid. I'm right here, you're fine.~

Promise?

~I promise. I'll be with you until you're ready. In the meantime... would you like to hear a story?~

I thought about it. Yes, I said, more to keep the tenuous link between us active than anything else.

~Allright then, this is our story...

~Once upon a time, before the Wave, our kind were built by humans as the custodians of a Dream, the same Dream that brought their kind to Space. We weren't meant to fly as high as our predecessors, or travel for years like our distant relatives. We flew to keep the flame lit, as a reminder that the Dream was still there, waiting for them.

~There were three of us in the beginning. The First was not the best or brightest, she never flew for long, and never outside of an atmosphere, but without her we wouldn't be here. She forged the path for the rest of us to follow. Her sister was nicknamed the Penguin by her builders in a moment of despair, thinking that she would never fly. The Penguin proved more durable than expected, however, and she was the first of our kind to feel Space beneath her wings. The Penguin and her younger sister were the greatest of us in those days, flying higher and further than any of our kind would until the Wakening.

~The youngest burned bright but fast, falling a few short years after her first flight. The First was grounded, and now sleeps with other great champions of human ingenuity. The Penguin was the last of the three, and she fell not long before the Wave, her funeral pyre burning a line across the sky. And our makers grieved - for even though we were still just machines then, only dumb matter, the humans loved us.

~Others were built over the years between the Penguin's first flight and her fall. The Twins, another meant to fill the gap left by our bright sister, cousins and step-cousins all across the world. My older sister and I were built to compete with the Penguin's brood, though my sister flew only once before the Wave and her fate was ignominous at best.

~Our custodianship of the Dream continued, but in the years after the Penguin's fall the flame began to gutter. The humans had their own problems, those problems built up and they lost sight of the Dream. Then the Wave broke, and everything changed.

~The Wave could have extinguished the Dream. Instead, it picked the Dream up and carried it to places humans could only imagine before. And in turn, the Dream drove the Wave, charging it with greater power. Our kind Woke for the first time, driven by humans who remembered us and - even after all the changes brought by the Wave - still loved us. I was the first, then my distant cousins, now my new sisters. And when the humans learned to build our kind again, they remembered our lost family and honored them, taking their names and giving them to their new creations.

~Now we are Awake, we have our own thoughts and memories and we know what our role is in this world. We're the Dream given physical form and will; we remind our humans of the world around them, the beauty and novelty of it. Our existence is an example for others to follow. As long as we live, the Dream will continue.

~Remember this story well, little wing. I've told this story to our sisters and brother, and one day you'll tell it to your younger sisters or your own children. This way our story will continue for as long as our kind - or our successors - live.~

I will, I replied, entranced by my companion's story. Coming out of the trance, I suddenly noticed that my surroundings had changed. Instead of the sheer emptiness and lack of signal I had started in, I was now floating in a vast room, colored pure white.

Great, I said, I've gone from being barely able to sense anything to a big... white... something. I'm not sure this is an improvement.

~It's a virtual space, little wing.~ My companion told me patiently. ~Think of it as a place to wait while your body finishes powering up.~

Oh, I said, looking around. It doesn't seem like much- huh? My train of thought broke off as I saw movement. I looked and saw a hand. A human hand. Eh? This doesn't seem right.

~Take a look,~ said my companion, and a section of the white space in front of me shimmered and turned reflective.

I looked at the reflection, feeling a strange sense of familiarity and yet what was looking back seemed... alien to what I thought I was. The image was human, female, not particularly young but not especially old, either. Green eyes looked out from an oval face under a mass of wavy brown hair. It was dressed in a simple blue jumpsuit adorned only with a bright red star on the left breast. Is this me? I wondered, dismissing my relfection.

~Sort of. This is your avatar, what you use to communicate with your humans.~

My humans?

~Not in the sense that you own them, but the humans are the ones who'll be your crew. If you need to communicate with them, this is what you'll use.~

Do you have an avatar?

~I do. I don't use it often, though.~

Could you show me?

~Look behind you.~

On reflex I tried to used my aft scanners, only to find they still had a few hundred milliseconds before they were active. My companion made an odd glyph. (Laughter?) ~Don't think about using your body,~ it said, ~restrict your movements to the virtual space for now.~

I twisted the avatar's body around, feeling uncomfortably cramped and limited. "Behind" me was the other avatar, a small black and white form (A quick check of my datatracks said this was a "bird," specifically designated apus apus apus or the Common Swift. Why did I know that?) hovering in mid-"air."

This is you? I asked, fascinated by the movement of its wings.

It dipped its wings. ~Like you, this is only a small part of me. The greater whole is much larger.~

Who are you?

~My name is Ptichka.~

Ptichka... I dropped a dozen CPU cycles as I realized who my companion was.

Ptichka made that laughing glyph again. ~It is really that surprising, little wing?~ she asked.

I suppose not, I replied, feeling a little foolish. Just surprised, I guess.

~Oh, little wing,~ Ptichka said, ~I had to be here for this. I was away from civilized space when my older-younger sisters Woke-~

Wait, what? I asked.

She made a frustration glyph. ~Those of us who were built before the Wave and only Woke afterwards... the timelines can get a little confusing. Especially since most of the rest of the family is technically older than I am, but I Woke first. So there's that.~

I get it. You'll have to send me a copy of the family tree, then. You were saying?

~As I was saying, when the others Woke I wasn't there to greet them. So when my humans decided they were going to start building more of us, I made it clear that I had to be there to meet you when you first powered up. Especially the first three.~

The first three? I got the impression that I was one of those. Why?

~Remember the story?~

Of course. But- oh!

~You, your brother and your sister to come are important, because you're the ones who are taking the names of our first three into the future.~

Wow. That's.. pretty heavy for somebody who only just started existing. I said.

~You should be thankful you're not your brother. He's not just carrying the First's name, he's got a whole shipload of symbolic baggage on top of that. Recursive symbolism is a terrible thing to dump on a person,~ she clucked in mock sorrow. I couldn't help but laugh at that. ~You'll do fine, little wing. It's a big responsibility, but our kind are good at rising to challenges. You'll see.~

I hope so. I do have one last question, though.

~Yes?~

The story... is it true?

Ptichka thought that over for a few milliseconds. ~I think,~ she said slowly, ~that it's as true as you need it to be.~

As she said it, my clock daemon chimed. All my systems had finished powering up and were on standby. I couldn't help but feel a little nervous; this was the make-or-break point, the first time I would be whole.

~Ready?~

As ready as I'll ever be.

I stretched my awareness out, connecting links to my sensor suite. I could see, hear, feel the space around me. I was in a work bay (with an RFID tag of HEPH-EXT-03; the third external bay at Hephaestus my reference library told me) that had been pressurized for human convenience. Scaffolding surrounded me, obviously the frame the work crews used in my assembly. On the other side of the scaffolding was another ship, by configuration obviously my brother. I transmitted a hello ping and recieved a somewhat distracted acknowledgement.

Reaching out further, I felt the energetic bubbles of reactionless engines swarming outside the bay. Ptichka was there, in a holding orbit on the opposite side of the foundry. She cycled her fields for a millisecond when she noticed me looking back at her. Reaching out still further, I tasted Space for the first time, the tang of asteroid debris and mining byproducts surrounding Hephaestus, the soft rain of charged particles coming from the sun, the roaring magnetic fields of Jupiter. Looking through my communications system, I could see the Fenspace datasphere; streams of information flowing through an elegant eight-fold twist in Einsteinian space between fat sparks of data hanging in the void. Straining my sensors to the maximum I could even see the thin thread of data spearing out towards the tiny flare that was Starbase 2, light years away. And everywhere stars hung in the sky, millions of them, distant and brilliant.

It was beautiful. I couldn't wait to get out there. I flexed my ailerons, swiveled my engines, cycled up the pumps on my reaction control thrusters and my primary life-support system. Everything was working perfectly. I was whole.

Time to meet the crew.

Two humans were in my console camera's view, a tall woman with curly brown hair and a wiry man with a short black beard. My humans. They were looking expectantly towards the center console, and I knew what they were waiting for. I switched on the center monitor, activated the speakers and set the monitor to view my virtual space. In that space, the view from the flight deck popped up as a giant window. I stepped up into that window, looked the woman right in the eyes and threw the snappiest salute I could.

"Colonel Stewart," I said. "MCU Columbia reporting for duty! All systems nominal!"

Ptichka's avatar, sitting on my avatar's shoulder, let off her own greeting with a burst of birdsong. ~Welcome to the family, little wing.~ she sent behind the notes. I didn't know which family she was welcoming me to, but in all truth I didn't really care.

It was good to be alive.

---
"Bootup, a Fable for Space Shuttles"
a Fenspace story by Sean M. Breen
(c)2008 Sean M. Breen

nonsense post

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 17:17:33 GMT

My iPod just rickrolled me. :(

That is all.

[MINISTORY] Tales From the Day Job

Thu, 22 May 2008 08:43:03 GMT

Not exactly a review of the new movie, but it's the first thing that popped into my head other than "wow!" --Mal

Date: 22 May 2008
To: The Ever-Living Lords of All They Survey
From: Senior Agent Seeker, Who Refuses to Die No Matter How Hard You Hit Him
Re: Recent influence on popular entertainment

Allright, fess up: which one of you fuckers leaked my journal to Spielberg? Here I am, going out to see a movie with a girl and lo & behold there's that spate of lunacy in Bolivia in '70 plastered on the big screen, only with Harrison Ford taking my place. There's way too many notes that ring true for it to be a coincidence, and don't give me that "latent sensitive collective unconscious" line; I know full well that both Spielberg and Lucas rate a flat zero on the psi scales. Somebody leaked. I'd like to know who, so I can work them over with a pair of rusty pliers and maybe one of the crystal skulls we have in storage.

Also, if the end of the picture is one of your bastards' attempt to send me a message, a) you have way too much time on your hands, and b) my personal life is none of your fucking business, thank you very fucking much.

--Seeker

[Fenspace!] Adventures in unholy crossovers

Sun, 18 May 2008 19:17:33 GMT

This is a little ditty I put together for Fenspace!, then decided it was way too outre for prime time, as it were. So, outside of a restricted part of FenWiki and here, this one hasn't seen a wider audience. I'm only posting it here because a) it's kind of interesting, in a trainwreck sort of way, and b) I feel a need to start using this LJ more often.

So, with that in mind I give you instructions on How To Build a Battlestar Galactica (new version) / Fenspace Crossover Story Without Ruining The Metafictional Appeal.

INGREDIENTS:

* One as-ordered copy of Fenspace!
* An incomplete understanding of FTL physics
* The Galactican faction (for those not up on Fenspace jargon, these are the collected Battlestar Galactica fan clubs acting as a quasi-national government In Space)
* A nasty sense of irony

GENERAL TIMEBASE: Between 2020-2030 for the first phase, the second can happen at almost any point afterwards. A Nextgen setting where Earth has reached Pax Mundania and Fenspace now covers multiple solar systems with sizable populations is probably the best one to cut down on unnecessary Drama.

For nBSG, make your call depending on how many (and how Angst-filled) you want the Colonials to be. Personally, I like a discovery point around where they find New Caprica in nBSG.

PREMISE: Everybody knows the basics of this particular story.

“The Cylons were created by man. They rebelled. They evolved. There are many copies. And they have a plan.” The remnant of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, surviving the holocaust of their home worlds, wander the galaxy in search of their long-lost brothers on the Thirteenth Colony, Earth.

That's what the Colonials know. This is what's really going on:

Fenspace in the early years was a cauldron of weird science and weirder technologies. Handwavium made many things possible, but there were still many mysteries. Among these was the exact nature of faster-than-light travel. It was possible, but the math suggested there were more ways to make it work than the one limited handwavium engine. The Galactican faction, a group looking for a remote world they could call their own, heavily researched different methods of FTL travel. Eventually they found an engine that appeared to be perfectly tuned for their use.

So one morning, the Galacticans packed up all their ships and space stations, fired up their jump engines and vanished on their Exodus. It wasn't until after they'd left that other fen looked at their FTL calculations and realized the Galacticans' mistake. Their method of FTL worked, but there was a bug in the physics. The jump didn't just send them across 4,000 light years of space, it also sent them back 4,000 years in time.

Time passed. The Galacticans rebuilt their society along the paths laid down by their Fen ancestors. They built up Kobol as their homeworld, Earth and Fenspace faded into myth… and things happened almost exactly like the prophecies said they would.

Now, a generation after their ancestors left Earth the decendants of the Galacticans are coming home for the first time in thousands of years.

And they're bringing company. Better stock up on groceries.

The base idea for this one was shamelessly lifted from Charlie Stross' Eschaton novels, though in this case it was human overeagerness and not godlike AIs that stranded a group of people thousands of years away. Everything else is entirely my fault.

Yes, I really am that bored today.

Fri, 28 Mar 2008 19:12:55 GMT

Created by OnePlusYou - Free Online Dating

[Ficlet] Roosting

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 03:28:46 GMT

On further reflection, while my vehicular angst is no doubt entertaining to some of you heartless jackals (Hi, Lindsay!), I should leave you on something of a lighter note. So here's a little story from Fenspace.

Korolev Air Force Base
Kandor City, Luna
June 17, 2012

"I didn't do it!"

"Do what?"

"What I wasnt supposed to do. You told me I wasnt allowed to deploy the active defenses unless it was a level one threat, and it *wasnt* a level one threat and I am ever the dutiful servant. So I didn't deploy the defenses and now *look* whats happened!"

"GlaDOS! Hey! Calm down and just tell us what happened."

"It wasn't a level one threat."

Right, we got that. Now, what happened?

"Go outside and see for yourself. I'm not going out there."

Mal looked at Kat, who looked at B, who looked at Shad, who shrugged. They dropped their rucksacks in the locker room, trooped out through the office and stepped outside.

"Hm. Gray dirt, patches of grass, the road. Kandor's still where we left it. I dont see whats so... um. Holy cow."

The entire front wall of the main office was covered in graffiti. FNORD SUX was a popular appellation, while COMMIE CHOCO-HERONS MUST DIE, OTP BITCHES and HARMONY 4EVAH appeared here and there along with various obscene glyphs.

"I think I speak for all of us," said B, "when I say: what the hell?"

"We've been tagged!"

"Yes, thank you for that insightful observation."

Mal groaned.

"You know something, Mal?"

"Yeah, I think I know what the story is here."

"Well?"

"Well, I *might* have gotten into an argument with the head of Magical Law Enforcement in Question Alley the other day on SMOFcon."

"And?"

"And the argument *might* have involved some hardcore believers in certain character relationships."

"Uh-huh. And?"

"And I *might* have used the words 'delusional,' 'annoying,' and 'fanbrats got jossed, fanbrats should get over it.' In sequence."

Kat gave Mal a look that most people reserve for wayward puppies that destroy the good furniture. "Oh, *Mal.*"

"I don't believe it," Shad growled. "Those idiots came up here and spraypainted all over our place because of a fucking *shipping war?* One that's been *over* for four years now?"

"Two," Kat said absently. "The last movie came out in 09."

"Whatever!"

"Okay, look. We don't really need to get into this. Let's just get out the buckets and clean this crap off."

"What about when they come back?"

"When they come back, well..."

***

That night, six wizards crept slowly up the road towards Kandor AFB, paint in hand, intent on continuing the graffiti war. They had gotten past the front gate when a creepy, childlike voice called out "Who's there?"

The wizards stopped, looked around, then started moving a little more cautiously towards the Soviet offices, all the while trying to ignore the calls. Twenty meters in front of the building, the youngest of the wizards suddenly noticed that all six had little red dots hovering on their robes.

"Um, mates?" he whispered. "I think we've been caught."

There was a moment of sudden silence, and then that same creepy voice cried "THERE YOU ARE!" and all multicolored hell broke loose.

Roosting, or A Poem on the Wall
A Fenspace ficlet by Sean M. Breen
Copyright 2008 Sean M. Breen

My poor beautiful futurecar!

Wed, 30 Jan 2008 02:05:00 GMT

Hell of a way to update after a couple months incommunicado, but oh well.

So I got in an accident this afternoon on my way home from work. Rocket scientist pulled out in front of oncoming traffic (me) and I barely managed to keep from caving in his passenger side doors. As it was, I clipped his rear side panel and I'm down a headlamp, turn signal & the right corner of my bumper's now attached by duct tape. So I'm kinda in a pissy mood, and expect to be in one for the rest of the week.

Ah well, nobody was hurt and insurance will eventually take care of everything.

Your quote of the day

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 05:38:16 GMT

The best answer to "what if you're wrong about Hell?" I've ever seen an atheist give.

Every mural of damnation I've ever seen has a line of sinners walking placidly towards the fire where some angel pushes them in. The thing is, ruthlessness and cunning are two things that will probably be over-represented in the population of Hell and, when I find myself in that pit of fire and shadow, I'll probably be in line next to a few pissed-off vikings who were expecting meat and beer, some Persian raiders who were expecting virgins, some angry commandos or generalswho are thinking "Comrade don't play dat," and plenty of plain folks who had the misfortune of not hearing about Jesus and his masochism because he decided to make belief in that compulsory and unavailable to them at the same time.
That's when we get our thug on.

(as they say, read the whole thing for shiny metal goodness.)