People who try to tell me things are ‘not that deep’ fundamentally misunderstand me, I am not a fish desperately in search of the ocean, I am a magpie that roves the canons, searching for shiny things to put in my nest. Whether or not it actually is given deep narrative weight by canon itself is of secondary importance to the fact that it has the potential to be interesting, and thus, I covet it.
The first ship that arrived was pretty matter of fact about its fate. The pilot introduced himself as Eric, then told us he was part of the first sublight resupply attempt in modern history. He then gave me and the ground control team his bad news.
“So,” he said. “Without real time telemetry, we weren’t even sure which half of your orbit you’d be in. That’s half a solar system’s worth of wiggle room. Decelerating enough to survive contact with your low orbit would take me two weeks, which, you know, it looks like we don’t have. That means that in order to get the second ship in before you lose orbital control to the Kresh, I’m gonna have to make a sacrificial flyby. Ten to the negative four torr is good enough for a lot of things, but at point-seven c it’s gonna be like sandblasting a soup cracker. Good news is that all the expensive toys are in the next ship, so this really ain’t costing you more than a ship and a pilot.”
“You knew,” I said. If they put the expensive toys in the second ship, they knew that the first was likely a sacrifice. No one smart enough to handle orbital physics would miss that.
“I did,” he replied. “But someone had to go first.”
That was, of course, a lie. No one had to go first. No else had had, at least. When our connection to the FTL network was lost, we’d understood that as the end of our reinforcements. Doing resupplies via sublight was just too risky. It was a testament to Earth that it had accepted the risk and continued anyway.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” I asked. This man had come here to die for us. I wasn’t sure how much I could give, but what I had was his.
“I do have a few requests,” he said. “First up, I need as much high-orbital data as you got. The whole lot.”
I began directing tightbeam resources to him immediately. It was an easy resource to exchange - it wasn’t like there was anyone else out to talk to anymore. When we lost FTL, we found ourselves very, very alone.
“Second,” he said. “Right, I know I’m gonna sound like a princess right now, but I have been stuck in this stupid tin-can for almost two-years now, and I seriously overestimated how much I like synth music. If you have anything that’s analog - I don’t care what kind of string or drum or brass you play, but I’d kill to hear something without a beep in it.”
I jumped my own queue in the tightbeam, and added a short playlist that I ripped from the local web. Human Music, it was labeled. 3 Terabytes. I prayed there was something on it that he’d like.
“And third,” he said. “Third. The uh, next pilot is pretty mad at me. Turns out this will just be one of those things left unfinished. That’s all death really is, I guess - a lot of unfinished things. Let him know that he was right: He is a better pilot than me. But tell him that wouldn’t have made a difference here. Bad luck beats skill, and this luck was shit.”
I promised, and he went silent after that. We could see what data he was analyzing, and the short answer was all of it - everything from atmospheric density to troop positions and his own ship’s blueprints. He knew he had one shot at this, and that if the price wasn’t paid here, it would be paid by whoever came next.
--- --- --- --- ---
Ground control didn’t get a verbal warning that he’d entered atmosphere. Just a ping. A little here-I-am, whispered in the dark.
After that, we could keep track with visuals alone.
He hit the outskirts of the exoatmosphere in his first pass, burning bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. He caught the sparse particles like a kite, trying to shed enough speed to hit actual low orbit. Automatic telemetry updates gave us the grim news for the ship: Thermals were holding up decently, but the ablative was wearing out fast.
The entire descent brought us more than two hour’s reprieve. The Kresh hadn’t expected to see a resupply, but they knew what one meant: Get it now, get it fast, or deal with a stream of new troops. They could buy themselves ten days' time by shooting this one ship down now.
That was an eternity during a siege.
The first loop lowered the speed by about a twentieth of light. The pilot responded by pulling the ship in tighter, trying to preserve more ablative plating by trading off with thermal. Seven fighters were close enough to fire off heat seekers. I don’t think the Kresh had ever anticipated shooting down a craft coming in that hot - the missile's decoy avoidance countermeasure actually made it steer around the thing, chasing down loose pieces of shrapnel. Cooled fragments, still hotter than an engine should be at full blast. The simple mistakes bought it enough time to enter pre-orbit, and the fighters had to stop their pursuit. They weren’t willing to die to stop the ship.
Our man, on the other hand, was already committed to that course.
A third loop followed a fourth. Ablative coating went from 65% integrity, to 30%, to 5%. Telemetry scans were exceptionally detailed - the pilot was making the flyby count. The last message we got from him was simple:
Are you EMP shielded? he asked, not even bothering to encrypt the text stream. He didn’t have time to process more than that.
Yes, we replied. We knew what he was thinking, but it was still a shock to see it. The fusion torch that was driving his ship flared hot, burning through the nozzle and feeding directly into the craft’s deuterium supply. The reaction went super critical, and the resulting neutron pulse set off everything in the ship with a z-count higher than iron. Three continuous seconds of EM interference screamed through the comms as the hulk burned brighter than the sun.
The explosion itself wasn’t powerful enough to reach the Kresh ships still in high orbit, but it made enough broadband radiation to blind both sides LADAR. The man must have been a hell of a pilot - half the shrapnel went down and burned up as it entered the standard atmosphere, sacrificed to move the other half past lagrange. Standard evasion would’ve made the pieces easy to dodge, but with LADAR down, all the Kresh could do was sit still and cower as the wrath of a dead man riddled them full of holes. Our best ace had managed to shoot down seven ships before this before getting shot down himself. The wreckage of the freighter took down six.
--- --- --- --- ---
The second ship came in stealth. One second, we were holding attrition in high orbit, the next, something the size of a small station came ripping through the atmosphere.
It did the same trick as the former - swapping between ablative and thermal loads, coming down at a speed that the Kresh fighters didn’t even try to match. Armies could be built in years, but skills like this took decades.
Telemetry connection was established almost as an afterthought. The way the ship casually ate through ablative armoring made my eyes water, but the pilot himself seemed pretty non-plussed.
“You’re down to fifteen percent coverage. You need-
“What I need,” he said, “is to see the previous ship’s telemetry as soon as I land. And I don't need your help landing it.”
He cut off my chance to reply by flicking the channel off. We watched, and we wrang our hands, but sure enough he came in six minutes later with 4% of the ablative left.
I met him on the landing pad. Under normal circumstances, we’d have needed twenty-four hours for the craft to cool enough to even approach, but we’d had cryo ready just in case. Three tankers of nitrogen, and the loading area, at least, was cool enough to touch. Safety would have to take a backseat to speed here - we needed the supplies fast.
But those both would take a backseat to a promised conversation with the second pilot. He was out of the craft as soon as the air was cool enough to avoid scalding his lungs, picking through the workers to try and find who had the telemetry data.
I found him first. The drive went into his hands, but I needed to keep my promise with Eric before letting go.
“You’re better than the first pilot,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. If the previous flier had been a saint, this one was a god. “But you wouldn’t have been able to manage the landing either. There just wasn’t time.”
“Let me see,” he said, tugging on the drive. “Just let me see. I have to know I couldn’t do it either. I have to know that someone had to die.”
I let go of the drive and he stalked back into his ship. I didn’t follow. I figured I’d pushed things far enough.
--- --- --- --- ---
The second pilot left the ship six hours later. He looked bleary in a way that put me at ease. I’d been up the last six hours directing supplies from the ship. Everything from ground-to-orbit rails to AGI targeting systems was inside - to call it gamechanging would be an understatement. It was good work, but I was tired, and I didn’t want to have to pretend otherwise. Seeing the other man with bags under his eyes meant we could just be frank with each other.
“I couldn’t have managed it,” he said, half-ashamed, half-relieved.
“It just wasn’t possible,” I agreed.
We sat there a moment longer. I didn’t mind the break. This was time well spent.
“Did it hurt?” he asked finally.
“Ablative failed before heating,” I said, which was the technical way of saying no. “He overloaded the reactor before the ship actually broke up and did some kind of slingshot maneuver - hit the main body of the Kresh fleet with half a space station’s worth of shrapnel.”
“Good,” he said.
I knew the signs. The tremor in his cheek, the way his jaw clenched - it wasn’t professional, but I hugged him anyway. Let him have the dignity of choosing to weep instead of having it wrenched out of him.
It was a gift we’d all been given at some point in this war. At least now, there was the hope it could be over soon.
I swear to fucking god. I would claw out OneDrive from my computer if I could. I would burn down their servers if I could. I would run down their stocks to the ground if I could. I hope every single one of their workers gets a better offer from a competitor in the next 24 hours. I hope every single one of their light bulbs explodes at the same time. I hope every single carton of milk in their fridge will always be expired.
Stop backing up my fucking files.
Stop asking me to back up my fucking files.
Stop taking my fucking files off my fucking computer.
I don't want a fucking reminder in three fucking days. Let me fucking say no.
enemies to lovers but its not "who did this to you?" but its "I did this to you" bc damn in the moment it felt necessary but the cuts weren't supposed to be that deep. the lashes should have faded by now, right? why are they still limping? make your characters self reflect. burden them with guilt and regret :) imagine laying in bed with the person you grew to love, only for them to roll over in their sleep and for you to see the nettled scars you inflicted on them
Imagine that everywhere in the mechanical engineering world suddenly got infatuated with lasers.
Lasers have a lot of uses! Measuring things, heating things, cutting things, entertaining cats, particle physics. Lasers are pretty cool. Very versatile, very useful, potential to be very powerful.
Someone shows up one day and says "I have developed a never before seen technology! I call it a Death Star."
And it's a 3.4mW laser. Well no, we haven't seen this exact size of laser much since that's not really standard, but that's a bit of a misnomer, and I wouldn't call it new -
"HOLY SHIT GUYS! This Death Star is so entertaining! My cat loves it and it has such a nice color!" The Death Star becomes a viral novelty, and is mildly entertaining, as laser pointers often are.
Somehow, seemingly overnight, this leads to mania. "Lets stick lasers in EVERYTHING! The public loves them!"
More companies make 3.4mW lasers to jump on the bandwagon. Everyone that makes anything vaguely mechanical starts sticking lasers into their designs.
Everyone is calling them Death Stars. Any time there is a "Death Star innovation", it is just that they made a bigger laser.
Ford's next truck comes out and it has "Death Star integrated headlights", where they have just stuck giant lasers in place of their previously functional headlights.
An electric toothbrush is now "Powered by Death Stars" and shoots a laser at the tooth its cleaning. You think that maybe this could have actual applications as a sanitizing device if you're being generous, but when you actually look at the product, its laser has no purpose but to point at the tooth and drain the battery.
Mechanical products across the board get noticeably worse as everyone starts stuffing lasers in places where lasers have no right to be.
The lamp business gets in on it. "Here's a Death Star powered lamp!" These guys haven't even tried to stick a laser in their damn lamps. They've just started calling their light bulbs Death Stars and hoped you bought it before you could tell the difference. You at least appreciate that they haven't ruined their lamp about it.
Death Stars are lauded as the solution to all the world's problems. If it's not working, you should stick a laser in it! That'll fix it, everyone says. Once in a blue moon, it's even true! Weather prediction is really good now. But most things are garbage. Like "Death Star powered washing machines". What the fuck does that even mean?
Meanwhile, since all functioning mechanisms are being replaced with lasers, problems start showing up. All mirrors now cost $1000+ dollars, because the whole supply is being used up to make more lasers. The earth heats up, because everyone's blasting lasers at everything. People keep going blind, on account of all the lasers.
You, in fact, study optical mechanics. You know what a laser is, and how it works, and that it was invented many years before any of this nonsense actually started. People keep asking you about Death Stars, since surely you must know so much about them.
You explain that this is not really what lasers are for, except you have to call them Death Stars now, and that they're causing a lot of harm, so you don't like them much.
"Oh, but they're still such new tech!" they reply. "They'll figure out how to make Death Stars that don't burn your eyes out soon, and then it won't be an issue anymore!"
Somewhere, deep and buried, you remember lasers being used in particle accelerators, or in telescopes, or in laser cutters, or funny cat videos. They are, in fact, still interesting. Still cool.
But by this point they have replaced roads with "Death Star Powered Pathways", which are just laser pointers propped up on tooth picks pointing vaguely through the forests.
hate hate hate how sites are increasingly trying to make right click saving images impossible. facebook, instagram, reddit (app), pinterest*, etc... all make you jump through hoops just to save an image. can you guys not please. how ddo i make them stop. can we get one of those EU regulations or whatever that makes them all comply, or are we going to have to wait for global socialism for that. ugh
Given Donald’s history, I wouldn’t be surprised if he first started liking pink in the ironic sense because he found out Hitler hated it. After a while it just grew on him, although he is contractually obligated to still wear his iconic blue sailor suit by The Walt Disney Company™.
Happy pride month everyone always remember that the sinkhole has an ecosystem large enough to house not only insects but likely several species of small birds or mammals
Do you think in pokemon ancient times when capturing and training pokemon was a rare and expert process, that young princes and princesses and the like would be presented with the finest, youngest pokemon that their vassals could catch as they came of age, to select one to be their personal companion? As like a reflection of their power & authority & ability to tame the nation, even things so unruly and frightening as pokemon? And if you were the vassal who presented the chosen pokemon it was a feather in your cap?
Do you think that's where the idea of the starter pokemon came from? Over time, as taming pokemon became more commonplace and accessible, more of the lower ranking nobility and merchant class wanted to show off their station by invoking similar rituals, until eventually it became a coming-of-age ritual that was standard for most families?
And whereas once the pokemon for royalty would be vetted by the scholars and wisemen and court wizards of the era, these were eventually replaced by actual pokemon experts, until every community had at least one such local expert whose job included preparing and/or approving starter pokemon for the kids?
Cause like. Now I can't stop thinking about it. Emperors trying to acquire exotic pokemon from foreign lands for their heirs. A queen scouring the land for pokemon experts after her ten-year-old chooses a particularly hard-to-tame companion. Murmurings about this or that ambitious lord who skirted the edges of propriety by awarding a rejected starer to his own son, instead of passing it along to the military as would be custom. Princesses showing favor to their chosen knights by sending their pokemon over with a token for the jousts. Rumblings over the succession because the new King never did manage to train his starter pokemon, but his younger, more charismatic brother rides his into battle. Assassins targeting pokemon companions to discredit and punish the political rivals of their employers, because kinslaying might be taboo but there are no divine laws against shooting your cousin's kangaskhan.
Man i feel really bad for the guy who wrote this article because the article actually manages to raise a very very very good point but the way the headline is phrased completely omits 95% of what they were trying to say
And because i know people won’t even bother to click and check the article itself i’m gonna screencap it, it’s fairly short, give it a read:
tl;dr: the article’s point isn’t “corporate satire is not funny anymore as in “we should stop making fun of corporations””, the article’s point is “corporate satire is not funny as in “it’s extremely depressing to live in a capitalistic hellhole and corporate satire aims more to poke fun at that without actually making you think about our world or giving you hope for a better future, and therefore it’s just lost its bite””
What if it started with the whole shockwave thing and prowl stuck in the mecha base while jazz's inside him fighting Vortex and roddy with the help of deadlock
they are all distracted and stressed and neither prowl or jazz even notice
prowl is waiting for jazz to disconnect like the others after everything is done to go celebrate with the others but moments pass and nothing happens
So prowl calls jazz's name confused and notices how quiet he has become all of a sudden
But then prowl notices jazz's vitals and he also becomes quiet
Ratchet would probably notice the all friendly jazz not coming out to celebrate with the others and goes to prowl to call for jazz but notice prowl frozen in place and the look of horror on his face
Ratchet becomes concerned and calls for jazz again multipule times asking what's wrong, that end up shaking prowl at least of his frozen state
"Jazz.......his vitals.....they are gone"
Ratchet asks prowl what he means and prowl looking more distraught by the second would kneel down and open his chest compartment for ratchet who rushs to check on the kid and freezes once he notices the lack of pulse
Ratchet imediately calls for first aid to come help him and they drag jazz out to start cpr which was mostly out of pure despiration while prowl stares at jazz's unmoving body pretty much dissociating
He dosnt even notice it when they move jazz's body away from him he's just frozen there for who knows how long
Till he suddenly hears a weak voice that shocks him to his very spark
What am trying to get to is jazz's consciousness become stuck inside prowl for a while and prowl goes back to cybertron trying to look for any solution and they end uploading jazz's consciousness into a body with the help of wheeljack also probably percy n brainstorm aswell, brain is too deep fried rn to come up with all that yet tho
Now this is horrifying and I love it
I’m voting for letting Prowl be absolutely broken with grief at least a couple of hours before letting Jazz to talk to him. It would also let other Cybertronians a good dose of existential anxiety because they would look at Prowl and then at their humans and realise that this is what’s going to happen to all of them eventually.
….a bit unrelated thought but you know how like. In fanfics there’s this popular fanon of when two bots become Conjunx endura they join their sparks and their minds? Yeah. It looks like we are doing the same to our mecha JP but every step is severely angsty and dramatically weird.
Merging the sparks? Bam. Jazz now literally inside Prowl’s chest.
Merging minds? He is also inside Prowl’s head.
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