'City of Fresno'

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

City of Fresno #55

I did what I could with the geology specimens and data, was glad of lunch, however meagre. Then, like it or not, I again did battle with the 'Hard Suit' training. Dinner came and went. That minimal serving did little to satisfy my fast metabolism, left me sharp to tackle yet-more editing. The evening was late before weary Anne-Marie returned.

"Hug ?" She pleaded.

"Hug." Our clinch lasted a long, long time before she relaxed enough for me to dare ask, "Hard day ?"

"Yes..." After a while, she added detail. "Jake, there was nothing wrong with that 'Ponics line or those sensors. Nothing ! Yes, there's always some drift as growing rootlets' humic acids do a second-order leach of new bedding material, however well it was washed. That's expected, allowed...

"But this much drift ? Or, rather, 'So Little' ? It should not have set off that 'Ponic line's alarms. Not even close !!

"After that, didn't take long to spot some of the line's pK threshold settings were wonky. Looks like 'Finger Trouble' keying the limits. Our checks missed them--"

"Easy done," I allowed. "Critical engineering and Nav' settings often have check-sums."

"To catch 'Paris In The The Spring' stuff ?"

"And mountain tracks' 'TOTI EMUL ESTO' signs."

Took a puzzled moment but, so help me, that drew a therapeutic giggle. "Oh, Jake ! Thank you ! I needed that !

"Of course, we then had to check all the 'Ponic lines' settings. All of them. Every last one...

"Caught a couple of fives where a finger had glanced inwards, plus a couple of transposed. But..."

"The next one could be wild..."

"Yeah..." She shivered. "Weren't. Wasn't. Still, every time I close my eyes, I can see that 'settings' page. Again and again and again..."

"Hug," I prescribed. We clinched close and hard. "Back rub ?"

"Please..."

Of course, we ended up in the tiny en-suite soaping each-other's back. Rinsed and towelled dry, it was time for bed. Close cuddled, we slept well...

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

City of Fresno #56

The following morning, Anne-Marie stared at her emptied breakfast plate for rather longer than she'd taken to clear it. Finally, she said, "Huh ! No 'Ponics today, Jake. Barring disaster, the Crew Garden and four Berthing 'Ponics zones can fend for themselves. Hopefully, each team will reckon I'm too busy helping one of the others."

"Builds resilience ?"

"That, too. First things first, I want a quick shower." Back in our suite, refreshed, still towelling herself, she asked, "Now, what have you been doing ?"

Speed-reading my recent chapters, she highlighted some 'unfortunate' phrasing here and there but, with a wink, reckoned the whole 'Good Enough'. She had a wicked chuckle at the notion I'd sent to Lt. Richards. After that, she spent an hour studying those mineral samples' reports, researching whatever caught her interest.

Then, to my surprise, Anne-Marie claimed one of our suite's screens, plugged a light-weight head-set into the audio. She began trawling Fresno's library for old 'Folk' and 'Ballad' scores. "Jake, remember I gifted my roll-up and mini MIDI keyboards to that musical family on Chaparral ? So they could train up their kids ?"

Many 'Stayer' families had evacuated adolescents and teens to Avalon for college then Uni, but kept youngsters. "Uh, yes ?"

"The Gillespies kept their instruments. But they'd done too many concerts on Chaparral, often back to back. Musically, they were burned out..."

Exhausted their repertoire ? Hence no performances aboard Fresno ? "You'll transpose, adapt some fresh 'Classics' for them ?"

"That's the plan !" Anne-Marie grinned, then shook her head. "Jake, I could hardly believe it when they said they've never used a sequencer / editor ! They did everything by hand and ear !"

"Retro !!"

"Retro, indeed !" She allowed the Gillespies another eloquent head-shake, then began loading the necessary apps from her personal library. By lunch-time, she'd transposed several famous, toe-tapping 'Oldies', cast two more into 'Pentatonic', looked much happier. Her mood survived our meagre meals. She was settling down to re-key another batch of 'Classics' when the view-call alert chimed.

2nd Lt. Svenson, Navigation and Astrogation, was on the line. "Ms. McKensie, Mr. Kinson ! I've the preliminary results from our first base-line. No surprises. This data mostly confirms our initial spectroscopic assessments.

"We have good parallax for local stars in swathe ± 25º normal to base-line, fair to ± 40º. Of those, Fresno is just under two light-years from the nearest stellar object, a dim, old 'Population 2' M5 'Red Dwarf'. As yet, no near-by rogue planets. A few 'White Dwarfs', mostly in dim binaries, but no bright 'A' stars within a dozen light-years. No giant 'O' stars, collapsed objects or other exotics until thrice that. Hints of a stellar stream anti-spinward, which we'll need the other legs' data to confirm. We've picked a few more dim 'M' and super-dim 'T' stars from 'background', resolved several anomalous spectra as binaries."

"Evidence of civilisation ? Space-faring ?" Anne-Marie asked. "Mega-tech ??"

"None as yet." He shook his head. "The Engineers have not noticed any evidence of near-by Over-Drive use. With proviso that alien tech may have different, perhaps unrecognisable wake characteristics. Also, our repeated calibration runs left such a jumble that only very different tech would be apparent."

"That jumble would also serve to mask this leg's vector," I observed.

"Indeed."

"Did Fresno leave a 'watch-dog' message torp ?"

"No, Mr. Kinson." He hesitated, added, "We could spare neither torp nor sensors. Also, uh, such a torp might be hacked, reverse-engineered to track us."

"Fair enough," Anne-Marie allowed, then asked, "Did Fresno leave a torp 'bread-crumb' trail out-bound ?"

Lt. Svenson flinched as if slapped. To his considerable credit, he thought for a while, carefully replied, "Engineers launched three at brief intervals before succumbing to Field Shock. Outcome unknown."

"Fair enough," Anne-Marie stated. "And, given how long it could take to defeat the Others then rebuild, we're talking decades before any-one comes looking."

"So, beyond our horizon," I added.

"Indeed..." Lt. Svenson took a slow breath, gave us both a smart salute, ended the call.

The rest of that afternoon, our evening meal and evening were tedious routine. I edited those 'Unfortunate' sections Anne-Marie had highlighted, drew satisfied nods, wrote more. She wrangled tune after tune, patiently re-casting each to within the Gillespies' instrument and vocal ranges. Her Profile search found scant few other instruments aboard Fresno. Like her MIDI keyboards, us 'Last Train' leavers had mostly 'gifted' such to 'Stayers'. And those few ? Their owners admitted to minimal skill, just some warily fingered or strummed chords, 'backing' rather than 'lead' or 'soloist'.

We'd just about finished for the day when I had an interesting thought. "The Gillespies' instruments ? They're acoustic, yes ? We don't have any actual Luthiers, but stripping those Evac pods left lots of spare pipes, brackets and such. Remember the guy who played 'Chopsticks' on one heap ?"

"Off-key," Anne-Marie replied, almost automatically, then caught herself. "Ha ! Yes, Jake ! Cut to length, hung or supported at their nodes ! Array and notch small-stuff for pan-pipes ! Notch and pierce for--"

"And 'Electric' strings don't need a sound-box: Hand-wind some pick-up coils, adapt some sensor front-ends as pre-amps--"

"And you're 'Not Particularly Musical' ?" She shook her head, spun to our view-screens' virtual keyboards, sent Fresno's sprawling library a dozen searches. "Jake, I'm going to chase this through the small-hours-- You turn in !"

"But--"

"Jake, Fresno needs your oft-devious wits refreshed, relaxed," she stated. "Besides, you're an even better lover rested !!"

"Yes, Ma'm !" Some-when around Oh-Dark-Thirty, a limber shape wriggled in beside me, pulled my delighted body close...

[jemhouston]

They need R&R also.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

City of Fresno #57

Despite the previous days' mishaps and mayhem, the morning found both of us in remarkably good spirits. Our near-giggly exchanges of glances across our table drew knowing nods and tiny smiles from the other diners. Our good humour even survived the sad breakfast, whose menu options had again shrunk, the better to conserve ingredients over-used by those 'free-loaders'. Who had, of course, targetted the 'best' stuff.

Back in our suite, Anne-Marie looked over my evening's editing, pronounced it okay. As I wanted to do some routine maintenance on 'Big Mac', she was able to use both view-screens, synergising her musical progress. Such took us through to a seriously un-interesting lunch.

Following that inadequate meal, Anne-Marie headed off towards the Drum's 'Ponics, 'On Business'. She declined to explain. I knew better than to pursue the matter. I'd finished my maintenance chores before lunch, had double and triple checked several steps to be sure, to be sure my procedure wording actually made sense, did 'Conform to Plant'. Now, as I'd heard nothing of my docking-legs' defence proposal since Lt. Richards' nod, I sent him a polite query. About twenty minutes later, I received a brief reply from the Engineers: Their de-facto weaponry team, led by 2ndEng Charles Y. Metford, confirmed my suggestion for a convenient source of ammunition had worked. Steel 10mm 'tensegrity' struts bracing the Evac pods' compartments, minus their end-threads, could indeed be chopped to neat 2/3 cm 'pellets'. Each 'pellet', melted using induction heating under inert atmosphere in minimal gravity, cooled to a sufficiently spherical blob along a 'drift' line. Fresno had such facilities readily available given merest modicum of 're-purposing'. As prototyping of other parts was going well, seems my quirky proposal would, indeed, fly...

That welcome news empowered my assault on the next section of 'Hard Suit' training. I made good progress. I was still in relatively good humour through to the dinner call.

I was two steps into the Diner when Anne-Marie called, "Jake ! What do you think ?"

Her cheery wave from a table crowded by our Drum-end's three stewards and several 'Ponics folk directed me to the side walls. Both had acquired a long planter and trellis secured to the framing, plus six, no, eight wall-baskets. Each showed busy shoots, with some small, but up-stood leaves.

"Yay !" I replied. "Air smells fresher already !"

"It does, too !" One of the Stewards laughed, to the others' acclaim. Anne-Marie's eyes met mine with a tiny nod, suggesting there was more than the obvious involved.

"Wow..." I allowed. "Plans are plans but, seeing these..."

"First of many," Anne-Marie stated, then waved at their drinks. "We've eaten, cleared. Sit with us ?"

Yet-another option had been lost from the usual menu. Technically, the meal I chose was fish-fingers, crinkle-fries and mashed greens. The latter, which could have been anything from mushy-peas to old cabbage, was best not examined too closely. And the meal portions were child-sized. The whole would barely fill a small 'wrap' or medium burger-bun. My groan was eloquent, drew nods from around the table.

"The hack's set back our scheduled portion increases by several extra weeks," one of the 'Ponics team warned. "Worse, there was grossly, grossly uneven ingredient usage."

"Jake, we'll need an extra month of hard rationing to 'balance the books'," Anne-Marie added, partly for the benefit of the other Diner clients, who were clearly hanging on every word. "Upside, the bonus water from your first iceteroid glean allowed some discretion for planter and basket numbers, locations."

I nodded politely, but gave my partner a subtle wink. From what I remembered of those detailed Gantt Charts, only one planter and a few baskets should have been allocated to this Diner at this early stage. I wondered if the second planter plus several baskets had been diverted from the other Drum. And, perhaps, if their HVAC had been set down a notch towards subliminal staleness...

My drink, a half-litre of chilled 'Tropical Fruit Juice From Concentrate', seemed even weaker than yesterday, and probably was. I drained it without comment.

"Jake, I need to put in a couple more hours, bring the next shift up to speed on our schedule changes. I'll be late."

"Needs must," I replied, with an eloquent shrug. "I'll wrangle a few more pages..."

I got a dozen done before Anne-Marie staggered in, claimed an urgent shoulder-rub then a back-soap.

--
Nik-note: I'm having trouble with #59, so #58 will be delayed until my Muse plays nice again...

[jemhouston]

Most Muses respond to chocolate. Mine, not so much.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

City of Fresno #58

After breakfast, Anne-Marie went off to coach more 'Level Two' 'Ponics trainees. I had been promised a day with Fresno's Engineers to get 'hands on' their basic 'Hard Suits' and discuss training, but that invitation hadn't arrived. No hurry, I supposed, they'd a raft of much, much more urgent tasks, such as defending the many docking legs. So, I tackled yet-another reluctant 'Hard Suit' maintenance appendix. With that slowly, wearily, expanded and re-cast to 'sufficiently comprehensible', I began sanitising the next section. After a while, needing a break from de-spaghettifying the inexplicably convoluted wording, I set it aside, took a closer look at Lt. Svenson's new stellar data.

Fresno's initial 360º / 4π scan gave fair, but only spectroscopic estimates of star distances within about thirty light-years. Those Drive-testing and calibration hops gave enough parallax to confirm the very nearest flankers. Similarly, this first light-year base-line significantly shrank the error-bars for about half of the rest. Yes, data for the broad cones ahead and astern were least improved, awaiting our subsequent 'skew' legs. Yes, even though several candidate binary systems had been 'outed' as mere 'optical doubles', enough were 'resolved' to increase the over-all count. Also, yes, several 'Dim Red' whatsits had emerged from the background.

I knew there would be more of those. Lots more. Many more. A typical stellar population has a long, long tail of such 'Dim Reds', shading down through 'Brown Dwarf' to mere 'Rogue Planet'. Those dull or dark objects are very, very difficult to spot. Some within or near 'Convention Space' were patiently catalogued 'Pre-Burn' as infra-red sources by those remarkable 'Great Observatories', set either atop mountains or in space. Some were spotted via their auroral emissions by 'Pre-Burn' radio-telescopes, the 'mega-dishes' plus 'LoFar' and 'Square Kilometre' Arrays. More recently, such are routinely reported by iceteroid-hunting rock-tugs. Some, far, far out in the 'Deep and Dark', have been found by correlating and investigating star-ship Drive logs' hints of Mascons.

I went through Lt. Svenson's data again, checked the findings for bloopers and plausibility. No, all seemed okay. His current tally was 310 stars within thirty light-years, give or take a dozen. About 200 seemed 'single'. Emphasis on 'seemed': I'd expect a lot more 'companions'. Still, early days. About a fifth seemed teamed as binary systems. One in twenty multiples already showed as close or loose 'triple' star-systems like Alpha Centauri. I'd expect more. One in a hundred was probably a 'quad' or higher. As more minor components were detected by direct imaging or spectroscopy, I was sure all these counts would rise.

The star types and their counts offered no surprises, either. Spectroscopy had flagged about twenty as 'White Dwarves'. Still too hot to have been ancient 'Population Two' stars, these began as big, bright stars that lived fast, died young. Though big, they'd shed enough mass during the 'Red Giant' phase to keep their remnant below the unforgiving Chandrasekhar limit of about 1.4 Sol. This saved them from prompt core-collapse to a neutron star or other exotica. Even so, those in binary systems had scary 'failure modes'. Sol's nearest at-risk 'White Dwarf' was currently Sirius_B, the 'Pup'. It would stay 'Mostly Harmless' until Sirius_A aged, swelled to a 'Red Giant', perhaps spilling star-stuff onto the 'Pup'. That pile-up could variously fuel a single or 'Recurring Nova', per Ember, Chaparral's unruly neighbour, or cross the Chandrasekhar limit to a devastating 'Type 1a' supernova. Happily, those fates lay so far in the future, Sirius and the rest of its 'Ursa Major Moving Group' would have travelled far, far away.

There were no 'O' or 'B' mega-stars in our vicinity, no ageing 'Red Giants' resembling Arcturus, and only three or four hot, blue-white, 'Main Sequence' Sirius 'A' Types. Error bars put that fourth on the edge of our 30 light-year census. Hopefully, the next leg, skew, would firm up its distance. Numerous cooler, dimmer, less massive stars followed, all 'Main Sequence'. There were six or seven blue-ish 'F' Type, kin to Procyon, and about twenty yellow 'G' Type, akin to Sol. Forty-some were orange 'K' Types. Then began the long, long tail of about two hundred ruddy 'M' Type and dimmer, down to the dull 'T' and 'Y' categories of 'Brown Dwarves' in lithium-burning country. As Fresno's scans accumulated, the latter's numbers would rise dramatically, perhaps even double.

Although, thanks to 'Prior' activities, 'Convention Space' was not truly representative, we'd some 'Rules of Thumb'. Main Sequence 'O', B' and 'A' Type stars, and 'F' hotter than about 'F5' tended to have a ferocious T-Tauri phase, which was rough on inner planets. Worse, they often 'ate their lesser children' and/or 'tossed them out of the pram'. 'Red Giants' generally razed or swallowed planets within their previous snow-line. 'Cold' Jovians and their larger moons would probably survive in some form. Their small moons and moonlets, though, were at risk of becoming temporary comets, soon ablating to rocky cores. Although 'M5' and cooler stars usually hosted planets of varying sizes and orbits, including 'Hot Jupiters', their hab-zones were very narrow. Also, too many were spicy flare-stars, a most unwelcome attribute. Any potentially habitable planet needed a strong magnetic field to 'stand off' such flares' atmospheric erosion. Either that planet had an over-sized core, such as Earth's, or was a 'mega-moon', sheltered by a gas-giant's vast field. Upside, such a mega-moon might be tidally stirred and benefit from additional light reflected by the host giant's albedo, so could orbit some-what beyond the nominal Hab Zone's 'Cold Edge'. Down-side, probably face-locked. Worse, some gas-giants, such as Jupiter, had lethally vicious radiation belts: Think Earth's 'Van Allen Belts' on steroids. As for planets with native ETs, we only knew of them in 'F7' through Sol's 'G'-Type to 'K7' systems but, hey, space is big, very big, and few would bet against life finding a way. Or, yes, being seeded...

What about the 'Priors', who-ever or what-ever they'd been ? Five million years took us from hominoids and hominids to space, yet was a mere blink in cosmic time. Had 'Priors' come through or 'developed' this region ? Probably. Would there be evidence, be it planetary or cultural ? Perhaps. As yet, Lt. Svenson had reported no obvious 'mega-structures' such as Dyson spheres. We'd need to be much, much nearer host systems to spot mid-sized stuff such as terraformed planets or 'orbital rings'.

One thing was certain: Five million years provided ample time for even multiple space-faring societies to repeatedly rise and fall, rise and fall. But what happens when a culture's trade-routes collapse, supply lines fail and essential equipment progressively breaks, eventually grounding local asteroid miners ? Chaos culls population. Education, skills and industry shrink to 'artisanal'. You can recycle, yes, but there are always losses. Then you've only the long-depleted remnants of ancient ore-deposits, plus bio-gleaning and mineral-rich seeps. Plus, yes, whatever arrives piece-meal via 'independent' traders and smugglers, with possible seasoning from opportunist piracy. We could meet any tech level from Palaeolithic to 'Incomprehensible', per that 'Clarke's Law' about 'Magic' being stuff we don't yet understand...

Earth's oft-lurid history warns that societies may stagnate, become in-turned, frozen, even fixated. Either because they'd been un-challenged for too long, or simply feared change, a static culture's response to novelty could be exceedingly slow, inappropriate or, worst-case, catastrophic. An 'Out of Context' error could up-end everything. Whatever level their IT, procrustean administrators driven by inflexible rules and procedures may send unrelenting Inquisitors' death-squads to hunt heresy or its later equivalent, 'Thought Crime'. Perhaps even order a 'Schutzstaffel' or 'Storm Trooper' rampage. The ghastly 'Cathar Crusade Lesson', 'Kill them *ALL*, our Deus Will Know His Own', showed how easily vile atrocity may ensue...

Also, sadly, we had the very recent 'Other Lesson': We now knew that, outraged by Anwyc Bio-Raiders, the Others began a xenocidal 'Great Crusade'. To empower such 'Total War', they 'sold their souls' to their Battle AIs. For generations, the Others have been indoctrinated to embrace their Battle AIs' plan. Worse, simple pleasure / pain implants instilled and reinforced utter adherence, even unto death. Earth's nearest analogy was the Pacific War Japanese, and their, 'For the Honour of the Emperor ! Banzai !!' By cruel irony, the Others never reached Anwyc space. They met, tried to kerb-stomp the mostly-peaceable Akkkans. That did not go well. Then they were held, if barely, for many, many fraught years by the Sylvan Alliance before encountering our Convention. Indoctrinated thus, Other society was incapable of making peace. Nor could their Battle AIs let them: As far as we could tell from the damaged strike-fighter and Taggli remnants salvaged after the 'City of Lincoln' encounter off Sankey / Tau Ceti, those AIs were 'hard-coded' to 'Do or Die'...

However, minus such vile conditioning, the possum-related 'Other' kids cloned by Great Uncle Tony's 'Winterkin' project were happily growing to full Convention citizens. And, yes, they were as appalled as us, the Sanku and Saurs, the Sylvans and their allies by that 'Thought Control' stuff...

Such brooding took me through to lunch...

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

City of Fresno #59

The best I could say of my minimal dish was it would keep me going until an equally unsatisfactory dinner. Glumly, I resumed work on the convoluted appendix. This time, with fresher eyes, I managed to re-arrange and sanitise it. Why so snarled ? My best guess had to be 'multiple authors', their differing notes haplessly copy/pasted and concatenated by some-one who didn't really understand more than the topic's rudiments. I sighed, had a drink of water, then tackled the next appendix. To my surprise, perhaps blessed by having but one canny author, it required scant improvement, was soon resolved.

I sat back. I'd done enough 'Hard Suit' documentation for one session. My 'Big Mac' maintenance was up to date. I could do no more with the initial 'Achondrite' mineral samples. My 'Docking Leg' defence notion was in the hands of Fresno's Engineers. The Rock Tug crews had not reported back on their Habs' 'Ice Slicer' fixes. Must be said, they were probably deconstructing my well-documented code, both to map my thinking and pre-empt any bugs.

At this stage, on-planet or 'in transit', I would probably un-wind by doing some Astronomy. That option was closed: Fresno's instruments were far superior to my hand-span 'smart' reflector, and Lt. Svenson 'First Leg' report showed nothing 'Interesting' near-by. Well, except for our iceteroid, of course. Fresno still had the low 'ullage' acceleration, which I reckoned would continue until dust and debris became significant. Then, what ? A 'Field' zap to push small stuff away ? Repeat as appropriate until close enough for a ¼-g brake to 'station-keeping' distance ?

I sighed again. Well, there was always laundry to do. I checked, booked a vacant slot in about twenty minutes. That gave me ample time to use our tiny washroom, gather the needful...

We now had two long planters, each with trellis, hanging baskets and green shoots, newly secured to the hall-way walls / dividers outside the laundrette and 'common' room. Knowing a little of how my beloved partner's wits worked, I expected all our hab zones were getting these planters and baskets, but actual 'greens' in inverse proportion to their Diner hacking. Yes, folks, if you play nice, you get better toys...

This time, my bundle of washing was light enough to permit selection of a half-load cycle. I set it running, took a seat. The two wall-screens had moved on from my iceteroid gleaning. Both were showing an episode of a 'Classic', Pre-Burn SciFi series, enthusiastically cheered by the other clients.

"It was the dawn of the third age of mankind, ten years after the Earth/Minbari war. The Babylon Project was a dream given form. Its goal: to prevent another war by creating a place where humans and aliens could work out their differences peacefully. It's a port of call, home away from home for diplomats, hustlers, entrepreneurs, and wanderers. Humans and aliens wrapped in two million, five hundred thousand tons of spinning metal, all alone in the night. It can be a dangerous place, but it's our last best hope for peace. This is the story of the last of the Babylon stations. The year is 2258. The name of the place is Babylon 5..."

Uncle Jeff, for whom I was named, was one of Uncle Jack's older cousins. A middling-famous Historian before semi-retirement brought him home to teach at our local school, he'd been a 'Junior' on the 'Archeo-Technology' team that, a generation back, finally reverse-engineered, accessed the basic 'Digital Video Disk' compression format. Sadly, though a few mildly encrypted variants followed, vast libraries of more robustly 'Rights Managed' media were still as unreadable as some ancient cuneiform texts.

The Burn's multi-generational chaos cost us so much 'institutional knowledge', too many 'paper' books, plus most non-archived 'film', 'tape' and any less-stable versions of audio and video disk formats. Happily, wondrously, enough un-encrypted 'Box Sets' had serendipitously survived to let us enjoy even a fraction of that Pre-Burn era's astonishing breadth and depth of creativity.

'...all alone in the night.'

From what I could remember, this scary episode was but a side-quest of the main arc's 'Good vs Evil', with the increasingly beleagured station literally 'Suspended between Heaven and Hell'.

'...all alone in the night.'

I shivered. I respected the B5 series both for its strong plot-arc and its 'Harder Science' than the rivals. Without 'grav-plates', B5 spun their huge hab for 'artificial gravity'. And, their FTL was plausibly difficult. Sure, some ships managed on their own, most lesser designs needing a vast Gate's boost to/from 'OverSpace'. We, though, knew there was no such convenient dimension: Even our 'Alcubierre Double Bubbles' were just displaced pockets of 'Real Space'. Must be said, it was a convenient short-hand...

An irksome issue, to my mind, had to be the proximity of B5's FTL ingress / egress to the station, never mind their near-by planet. No wonder they used single-seat fighters for local security ! The Convention had considered such, dismissed them: Humans were simply too fragile. Even with g-suits, booster drugs and a proportion of fetal heme, tolerance topped out at a dozen gees, and only briefly. Missiles could pull twice, thrice such with ease, sustain unto target. No, the 'sweet spot' for stomping local banditos and hunting 'Needle Ships' was the Aerospace 'Corvette': Big enough for extended patrols, fast enough to 'run down' fleeing perps, enough crew to stay sharp, 'Armed for Bear'...

Learning The Others deployed 'Outrageously Over-Gunned' prials of 'Strike Fighters' from their 'Taggli' and 'BMF' war-ships had been a nasty surprise. Worse, their pilots were skinny kids chosen, perhaps bred, for their reflexes and high g-tolerance. The Sylvan Alliance had done their best to match them, with limited success. Happens a well-handled Convention 'Corvette' or Rock Tug easily 'Sliced and Diced' such 'Strike Fighters', even those teamed with an Other battle-group's heavier 'Escorts'. It came down to 'prediction': Getting a hit, never mind a kill, with any pulsed weapon is a lot harder than for a laser's continuous beam, be it axial, ice-slicer turret, a City-class ship's big 'comm-laser' or many 'Attitude Adjusters'. As with my modest 'Blaster' wielding, you just walk beam onto target, watch chunks fall off.

Plus, a 'gotcha': Blocking such beams with an immaterial Field efficiently transfers incoming power to the target's Field generator. Even if that survives the initial thermal shock, does not violently 'quench', it faces prompt thermal run-away. This tactic would 'trip' a crashed Flyer's 'Rogue Field' or 'pin' a fleeing Anwyc 'Needle Ship'. Such small craft simply cannot dissipate sustained heating...

No, my problem with B5 was that FTL ingress / egress proximity. Even for a Convention ship with robust 'Vernon Preventer', 'Field Poles' tuned to 'Concert Pitch' and ample power to spare, that station's non-trivial mass gave enough gravitational well depth and/or gradient to reliably kill FTL. On a much larger scale, the same applied to planets and stars. Mere failure, though, was a matter of luck: A much more likely fate was vanishing in a vast blue flash of Cherenkov radiation.

There was yet a loop-hole, a wry 'gotcha': If you 'strobed' Field Poles very, very briefly, with a sufficiently low 'duty cycle', a small craft could safely go FTL much, much deeper within a gravity-well. Though still not close to ship, station, asteroid, moonlet or planet, and only for the duration of each short pulse, repeating such FTL 'hops' would soon take you far. And, as the gravitational gradient levelled towards interstellar space, longer and yet longer 'hops' could be made. This was the star-drive used by those Anwyc Bio-raiding Needle-Ships', long thought to be rendezvousing with much bigger, but exasperatingly elusive 'Carrier' craft some-where in each stellar system's Oort Cloud.

While stranded on Autumn with Greg, his Sanku co-pilot, patiently lasing, re-plating damaged tracks of their Scout's sabotage-scorched Field Poles, then-young Great Uncle Tony belatedly deduced the trick. Though his 'hacked' Poles could not lift the ravaged Scout above 'Surface Effect', those yet carried the pair across half an ocean, then much of a low continent, to the planetary research base.

Tony and Greg duly reported their implausible survival and serendipitous 'First Contact' with the insectoid 'Klikta'. They presented a big-suckered tip of 'Kraken' tentacle, scary evidence of mid-ocean attack thwarted by 'chumming' with other off-cuts to draw a 'Plesiosaur-oid' mega-predator. And, as their 'Piece de Resistance', modestly outlined what soon became known as the 'Blink Drive'...

You couldn't make it up...

A busy life-time later, after 'The Others' discovered our Convention and widened their war, Great Uncle Tony 'flipped' that Cherenkov failure mode to empower the 'Blue' series of missiles. Triggered by proximity to their targets' vast mass, they cruelly irradiated those 'Taggli' and 'BMF' war-ships, prompting anti-matter containment failure...

Did Fresno carry such missiles ? After returning to our cabin and line hanging our clean, mostly-dry clothes, I sent Lt. Richards a suggestion that 'message torps' might be adapted thus...

[jemhouston]

Sounds like it was inspired by Larry Niven's A reaction drive is a weapon effective in proportion to its efficiency.

Kzinti telepaths reported human ships were unarmed, so they attack. It didn't work well for them.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Sounds like the story of the guy who devised an explosive shell to penetrate fortifications, then explode. Fusing was, um, problematic. It kept exploding short. Inspired, he turned the notion around for an alternative to 'open sights' cannister rounds. His name ? Mr. Shrapnel...

As I accidentally posted #61 out of sequence, here's intercalated #60

City of Fresno #60

I filled the last half-hour by reviewing some of my editing, making sure the text flowed, then headed for the Diner. Had Anne-Marie made her way here, with or without colleagues ? Seemed not. Studying the sad menu options left me with a serving best described as 'dour'. Eating as slowly as I could, I munched through the under-sized veggy-fillet, tried to savour its 'sides' of potato / carrot mash and pasta 'string greens'. A half-litre of remarkably weak 'fruit juice' washed down their palate-cloying stodge. After clearing my place setting, I glumly ambled back to our suite.

I was fairly sure most of our neighbours knew that Anne-Marie and I were deeply, deeply involved with both the 'Ponics and iceteroid gleaning. Also, that the Fresno crew regarded us as 'VIPs'. One down-side of even such modest fame was the need to set an example. Yes, my Med augment was nagging, of course, of course. That inadequate meal put but a temporary dent in my mounting nutrition deficit. Okay, these meals had all the necessary vitamins and minerals, and almost enough basic flavour to disguise the considerable quantity short-fall. Though, yes, they'd be significantly better with ketchup. And, perhaps some mild mustard-pickle. But who was I trying to convince ? I slurped a drink of water, again adjusted my waist-band slightly smaller, sought distraction...

I was a dozen pages into a reference work on metamorphic rock weathering when the screens pinged: I'd a text-mail. From Fresno's Engineers ? 'Prototype working. Come see. Last station before Power Section'.

I left a message for Anne-Marie, used our en-suite cubicle, left in a hurry. On the trip to the docked Rock Tug, she and I had only ridden a few stops. This journey was rather further.

"Hi, Mr. Kinson !" The swarthy young, overall-clad man greeted me enthusiastically as I swung from the cab to the convenient grab-rails. "I'm Third Eng Duvall."

"Jake," I replied, shook his strong hand.

"Pedro." He grinned. "The Chief took one look at your notion, swore, 'Why didn't we think of that ?' "

"You've been busy," I replied. "Fixing up Fresno, getting the Drive working again..."

"Yeah, we got lucky..." He shook himself. "Now, please, come this way !"

"2nd Eng Metford ?" I enquired.

"Big Chuck's moved on to a different project," Pedro stated. "Re-creating air-guns."

I blinked, agreed, "Ooh, stealthy ! And sustainable !!"

We followed grab-rails to this stage's 'Forward' centre-line port, where the conjoined air-locks opened on the familiar interior of a mostly-stripped Evac Pod. Surely emplaced during my ice-slicing commute, re-purposed as a spacious, guide-rope webbed work-shop, there was a clutter of unfamiliar machines, appliances. Off to my left, a skeletal 'double windmill' briskly rotated, tips holding four belt-driven drums parallel to its central axis. Ahead, a well-braced, flanged, metre-wide tube ran down much of the Pod's axis. I noted the power feeds, associated machinery, asked, "Drift tube ?"

"Indeed !" Boomed from near-by, the speaker a tall Skand with remarkably big hands. Thankfully, his vast hand-shake was civilised, not a knuckle-crusher. That saved much explanation. "Second Eng Stanson Ahlberg, 'Stig' to my friends ! Welcome to our Sand Box !"

"Given limited flight, molten steel would not 'ball up' as well as traditional lead did," I surmised. "How bad ?"

"Better than expected." He pulled several clear baggies from a pouch-pocket, showed me one with some untidy spherules. "Would serve for musketry, impelled by a wad, or as 'grape-shot' from a cannon. Your notion needed better.

"Milling was the obvious solution, but we simply do not have the necessary 'production' machinery. Fresno's workshops suit one-off jobs, or small batches such as re-threading sets of galled studs or bolts."

"Not hundreds alike, never mind thousands upon thousands..." Pedro clarified.

"Difference between a boutique bistro and a five-star mega-hotel ?" I offered.

"Exactly !" The Stig clapped Pedro across the shoulder, sending him a half-metre sideways. "But this guy figured a fix..."

I put the 'windmill', the drive belts turning those drums and a nearby IBC of carbide grit together, replied, '"Rock tumbler ? Pulling just shy of, uh, 3 g ? Drums driven at different RPM to their frame for better 'stirring' ?"

"Indeed !" The Stig boomed, delivered what I supposed was a friendly blow to my shoulder.

Braced, I kept my poise, asked, "Effective ?"

"Indeed !" This second baggy's content looked much better. They resembled weary ball-bearings rather than beaded weld-spatter. The third baggy was the 'real deal'. "Took a long second pass, hence Pedro's second pair of drums. Still, we've enough for this prototype spin-gun. Over here."

What had to be their firing range was dual-netted for safety. One of the 'Hubble Lessons', after the hapless mirror's mis-calibration, came from an on-orbit servicing mission. Umpteen small fixings that needed removal were both non-captive and non-magnetic. None, not a single one, could be allowed to escape into orbit. Took a lot of 'work-around' to keep such 'contained'...

Here, the wide, concentric cylinders of 'mist netting' led to a target, then narrowed progressively. At this end, an air-line split to two valves feeding a five-litre hopper and the cylindrical drum it topped. The Stig handed out ear-defenders hook/loop tethered to a simple console, then remotely engaged the drum's valve. The initial hiss was drowned by a rising hum, which became a whine, then a screech. He engaged the other valve.

An ominous rattle preceded a furious torrent of steel balls from a stubby tangential muzzle in the drum's top rim. There was considerable dispersal, but many hammered the target, bounced away. Finally, finally the fusillade finished. With air supplies closed off, the beast slowly spooled down. As we watched, Fresno's ullage thrust gradually gathered the scattered balls to the far end of the netting, eased them down a funnelled neck to a bucket.

"Wow !" I reckoned. "Yay !"

"Your 'Tesla Turbine' close-coupled to a 'Spin Gun'," The Stig confirmed. "This barrel is smooth-bore, next will be longer, easily replaceable, rifled for lower dispersion. We can increase muzzle velocity, too. Pedro ?"

"Drive about 35 ~~ 45% faster, perhaps use exhaust gas to float simple air-bearings." He shrugged. "Plus bigger diameter disks. Limit is the turbine stack flying apart. We don't have the high-tensile, stress-relieved sheet-stock to do it right."

"Yeah, that's a hard limit," I allowed. "Uh, don't some big circular-saw blades have skewed or curved relief slots ending in round holes ? Supposed to allow for differential thermal expansion, but they'd ease spun stress and suppress resonances, too."

"Fook..." Pedro muttered. "Yes, of course, but wouldn't they act like a siren ?"

"Even better !" The Stig laughed. "Each spin-gun a 'Jericho Trumpet' ? That's a weapon in its own right !"

"Huh ?"

"They were fitted to Stukas ?" I offered. "Dive-bombing ground attack aircraft in 'Second Global War' ? Needed air-superiority but, if they had that, seriously scary..."

"Ground attack ? Fook..." Pedro shivered. "How could they..."

"During that war," The Stig whispered, "my people fought the Russians and the Germans. Out-numbered, out-gunned, out-equipped, but used their weapons, weather and terrain better. Much better..."

He stopped. Our eyes met. We shook our heads in grim unison. I whispered, "Whatever it took..."

"Fook..." Pedro took a slow breath, waved towards the rustling tumbler mill. "When this run's finished, I'll upgrade that to six drums."

"Can you make it eight ?" I suggested, receiving a slow nod. "We may need a lot of projectiles..."

After a moment, I mentioned, "There's other possibilities: Don't docking legs have smoke and bubble generators ? For leak tracing ? What would it take to add simple tinsel or chaff dispensers ? Sized to not choke the HVAC ?"

"You're thinking 'Fog of War' ?" The Stig rumbled. "Yes, blowing lots of smoke and bubbles could confuse boarders. Chaff should significantly impair boarders' sensor scans. Blind their electro-magnetic spectrum from optical, down through infra-red and tera-Hertz to microwave. A broadband 'Jericho Trumpet' to swamp sono-location..."

"With us being 'Outsiders'," I warned, "we could face xenophobia, or worse..."

"As with The Others'," The Stig put it in words, "Another 'War to the Knife'."

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

City of Fresno #61

I made my way back to our spin-drum in a very thoughtful mood. I'd thought to ask but, as yet, there was not even a preliminary schedule to train volunteers for the Engineers' simpler hard-suits' use or support. Looked like the developing plan was for me to glean another catch-pod of chunks, this time packed some-what closer, then for the 'duty' rock-tug to carve out a couple of skinny 'bergs', one per catch-pod. With those acquired, cooked, 'digested', there'd be a stock-take. Gleaning out here in the 'Deep and Dark' was less likely to offend system residents. Few societies welcome 'free-loaders', never mind 'claim jumpers' !! Still, the environment of this 'interstellar' iceteroid was sufficiently colder and more vulnerable to stray cosmic rays than even 'Trans-Neptunian' to create its own problems...

Fresno's 'cost / benefit' analysis would be interesting, but I doubted all the factors and their wary weightings would be reported to us passengers. It is 'human nature' to attempt to 'game' such algorithms, often with undesirable, even contrary consequences...

My guess was there'd be a third, possibly a fourth glean, all prials of skinny bergs, all rock-tug cut. Doing it by hand was good fun, but less than optimally efficient. Then, with enough water for future 'Ponics and to spare, with assorted basic chemicals in store, with iceteroid volatiles distilled for Deuterium, perhaps isolating a small but useful quantity of Helium_Three, we could be on our way around the mapping tetrahedron.

Still, like finding a safe water-hole in an arid plain, I suspected this iceteroid's discreet location would be carefully logged, perhaps tagged with a covert beacon, to allow Fresno's easy return.

I was a pace into our suite before I realised Anne-Marie was sat, face in hands, sobbing silently. "What's wrong ? Are you hurt ?"

"Hug ?" She pleaded.

I embraced her, held her close. She stank of stress, but there was no blood. I could see no obvious injuries. My hug's response told she didn't favour the likely strike-zones. I repeated my question, "Are you hurt ?"

She shook her head. Which could mean 'No'. Or that I would not need to kill the perps ? That was the flip-side to my anti-terrorist training, and she knew I knew she knew I knew. "No, no. Just the back-lash..."

I felt her hands, her wrists. They lacked evidence of blocking or making strikes, so not that sort of encounter. Or, perhaps, not quite ? "How close did you get to unleashing your Aikido alligator ?"

"Close, Jake," she whispered. "Too damned close..."

"The other drum-end's planters ?" I guessed. "Restless natives ?"

She managed a snort, agreed, "Yeah, noisy 'deputation' swarmed into the 'Ponics area, demanded their dry planters be readied, greened."

"I take it too few looked, um, 'extensively rationed' ?"

"You could say that..." It was almost, almost a laugh, which meant she was clawing clear. "Yeah, most of them looked better fed than 'Mater Harris', despite her tithing her minions..."

"So you told them 'Ponics water is Fresno, but planters' is theirs ?"

"Well, I tried..." She shook her head, scattering tears. "Then I said the Diner hacking had set back our schedule for 'ornamental' plantings."

"They would not like that..."

"They did not..." Another head-shake. "Oh, they certainly did not..."

"Did any-one ask, 'What Diner hacking ?' And who got angriest ?"

"Jake, you have a wicked way with words ! Yeah ! I pretended it wasn't effin' obvious that half of them hadn't recently lost a lot of body-mass. Said a stock-take revealed a bunch of folk had been 'free-loading', using a shared maintenance pass-word to get at least one extra meal a day, possibly two."

"And eating at non-assigned times to disguise it ?"

"That, too." She waved vaguely. "I said it would be so easy to identify the worst perps by BMI and blood tests, if Fresno's Med Bay could spare the consumables. But, hey, perhaps we could just look at waist-lines ?"

"Prompting perps' surreptitious shuffling behind innocents ?"

"Ha ! Didn't they just ?" I felt some of her tension relax. We were cresting the pass. She added, "So the skinnies began looking around, really looking. And that was that. Swoosh ! Off went the 'deputation', getting louder and louder..."

"The 'Ponics team ?"

Anne-Marie allowed herself a serious grin. "They're good people. They'd armed themselves. Push come to shove, we'd have cleaned up..."

"Back-soap ?"

"Please. I-- I stink of 'Fight or Flight'." She took a long, rather shaky breath, thought to ask, "Jake, how did your jaunt to Engineering go ?"

[jemhouston]

I suspect back-alley payback ahead.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Distracted by bad 'man-cold', I accidentally posted #61 out of sequence, so have retro-fitted #60 into prior comment.

This oopsie has eroded my editing buffer.
Barring muse going into over-drive, there may be a week or three's posting hiatus.

[jemhouston]

Chicken soup Stat!

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

City of Fresno #62

Thankfully, our night close-cuddled lifted and settled Anne-Marie's mood. We slowly munched through inadequate breakfasts, were strolling back to our suite when the next session was called. Also, warning of a brief test-flight on the three-quarter hour. And, yes, as 'Mater' Harris and her followers trouped past, we could hear her usual loud complaints about having to rush breakfast. She was, of course, still complaining while returning to their suite with scant minutes to spare and 'Please Net' warnings lit.

By then, Anne-Marie and I had each used our en-suite, were safely cuddled under a shared net. And yes, to be sure, to be sure, I'd set a pillow ready to pull between our heads. We chanted along with both screens' count-down, "... Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Go !"

Fresno trembled slightly. There was a near-infrasonic thrum, like a vast bell, or the very lowest pipe of an immense organ. My augments reported that a Drive Field had built, delivered a very brief whiff of braking thrust, then closed, albeit 'un-compensated'. Outside, given Fresno's mass, there would have been a blat of back-wash. That surge would have shoved anything in our vicinity ahead, as efficiently as an Orca pod teaming up to swamp a hapless seal's precarious ice-floe.

I reckoned we'd a couple of minutes while the effects were assessed. Did local dust and grit need a second kick ? Two minutes passed. Three, four. Precisely on five, there was a second, longer thrum. A minute later, the 'Please Net' caution cleared, and we returned to the 'ullage' boost.

"Was this to clear in-drift after 'Cwm Fahr's passage ?" Anne-Marie wondered. "Or just testing ?"

"A bit of both," I reckoned. "We're still several days out from the local debris cloud I stirred up. So, thick enough to measure, thin enough for Fresno's shields to easily handle ?"

"Makes sense." A nod. "Still no word on the hard-suit training ?"

"None." I shook my head. Last night, my priority had been to 'de-compress' my beloved partner, which included briefly mentioning the successful demonstration of that prototype 'spin gun'. Anne-Marie was canny enough to realise it was but a first, wary step. I waved at my virtual desk, and its currently dormant documents. "Oh, we'll need it. And do it. But, like your optional ornamental planters, not just yet..."

That drew a smile. She decided, "Speaking of 'Not Just Yet', I'm going to chill out and listen to some opera."

I managed to suppress a shudder. I might have been born and raised in Wales, but I lacked their musical genes. Music theory was okay, sheet music elegantly encoding the needful. My brain was just not 'wired' to embrace the result. It did not compute. Loyally, I'd accompanied Anne-Marie to several performances on Avalon and, yes, the Gillespies on Chaparral. I'd found myself fascinated, distracted by the music's structure rather than the music itself. Sadly, the most complex I could fully grok was 'light Jazz'. Did my beloved partner know ? Surely. Did she mind ? I doubted it, just as I doubted she minded how, after studying her scary Aikido Sensei, I'd mapped his few weaknesses and suggested three ways to 'take him down'. My 'anti-terrorist' skills were modest but, like 'Krav Maga', their only rule was 'WIN'.

That evening, her Black Belt earned and bruises tenderly tended, she'd asked if I'd ever had to kill. I told her about my bank-side crocodile, who'd ended in the cook-pot.

Also, a year later, a nasty incident in Marrakech. Mum had taken me on a tour of the famous market, aisles and alleys crowded by traditional artisanal workers and wares.

Suddenly, that busy lane of copper-smiths fell silent, crafts-men and customers vanishing like dew at dawn. Ahead, four young men blocked our way. One brandished a heirloom hand-gun, the others hefted knives. Behind us, three more showed knives.

Mum collected dialects. She addressed them in the local argot, "We are Convention. Let us pass."

Understanding just enough of the gun-slinger's unprintable reply to deduce their foul intent, I sidled part-way behind Mum. This was a planned, rehearsed tactic. It let me draw my small hand-gun, sight-unseen. Mum read my body language, allowed me a near-subliminal nod. As the bigger group stepped forward, she sighed, uttered, "So Be It: Jake ?"

The gun-slinger was right-handed. My first shot exploded his left eye, probably fractured the socket. My second, before his body could react, broke through to purée half his brain. As he tumbled, I put a shot into each of his wing-men's eyes, then turned and blinded the prial member who'd frozen rather than fled.

By now, Mum had drawn her own, rather larger hand-gun. She silenced the four screaming perps with single head-shots. Hey, who d'you think taught me 'Pistol-Fu' ?? As, one by one, astonished market-folk emerged from their hides and studied the scene, Mum calmly turned to me, said, "Good shooting, Jake. Now, would you like to look at some pottery ? The big vases and jars are quite remarkable..."

Word went around...

[jemhouston]

DO NOT MAKE THE PINK SKINS ANGRY!

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

For the record: That evening, Jake, family and friends had a good cry...

City of Fresno #63

While Anne-Marie indulged her craving for 'Grand Opera', I sanitised yet-another Hard Suit maintenance appendix. They took us through to lunch. Even 'ringing the changes' of menu options, the meals on offer were still bland, insufficient, utterly depressing. Edible, certainly. Eatable, yes, due hunger as sauce, but far, far from enjoyable. The least ketchup, 'Tangy Sauce' or mustard pickle, be it a tiny sachet or meagre squidge, would have really, really helped.

After, Anne-Marie took herself off to the 'Ponics, where she obviously felt productive. I soon tidied one of the last remaining appendices, then immersed myself in that standard text on volcanic weathering.

Unless this region was un-inhabited or sparsely colonised, I felt Fresno would find all the 'good' hab-zone planets taken. I reckoned any remaining niches were likely to be 'interesting'. Fortunately, humans were very adaptable. The sheer width of our potential hab-zone, compared to individual species of the Sylvan Alliance, had astonished them. We could acclimatise to pressures from ½ to 2½ Bar, albeit with supplementary 'Climbing' Oxygen at one end, 'Technical Diving' Helium at the other. Temperature ? Hot desert to Arctic, no problemo. Gravity ? Anything between ½ and 1½ gee, even some-what more for a while. Our Convention did not have those so-handy 'grav-plates' beloved of Sci-Fi, but we had the opposite, with Field Poles able to reduce higher gravity, though unevenly. I knew some 'Gas Diver' docks and rock-tugs had flotation tanks to further buffer crews, provide respite. I'd heard of experiments using big, neutral buoyancy pools.

Also, humans were prepared to take moderate hazards in their stride. Regional sapients might be less sanguine. With the exception of those few intrepid Sylvan Ethnologists who'd covertly --They'd thought !!-- infiltrated the Convention, Sylvan Alliance diplomats flatly refused to venture nearer Earth than the Moon, where they warily sited their combined embassy. Seems too much of Earth had massive, twice-daily tides ! Creeping glaciers prone to shedding and torrential Jökulhlaup out-bursts ! Plinian subduction volcanoes ! Mega-thrust earth-quakes ! Tsunamis ! Flash-floods and lahar mud-slides ! Feral pigs ! Wolf packs ! Big Cats ! Bears ! Grumpy mega-grazers ! Crocodiles, alligators and Komodo Dragons ! Jumping 'Great White' sharks ! Crushy / bitey / spitty snakes ! Toothy and/or spiny fish ! Lethal jellyfish, some nigh invisible ! More stinging / biting pests from 'No-See-Um' midges via leeches to 'vampire' bats than they cared to recount !

And, yes, Australia: The first Akkkan to see a 'Big Red' kangaroo at full tilt casually clear a stock-fence had hysterics...

There was another factor: We were prepared to 'terraform'. Any empty planet with marginal temperature, pressure, gravity, a mildly acidic, neutral or 'reducing' atmosphere and even the least hydrological cycle was potentially 'grist to our mill'. We had a wide variety of 'extremophiles' that could briskly photo-synthesize and/or chemo-synthesize such towards a much more familiar environment. If necessary, we'd add mega-tonnes of iceteroid to provide the initial water.

The process would not be 'quick', as even our aeons-honed 'philes' were resource-limited by both major nutrients and trace elements. Yet, if we could get the process started, we would so make the place our home. The 'gotcha', of course, was getting enough of those resources out of the accessible land-scape fast enough to support sustained rapid, if not near-exponential growth. Mean-while, avoiding both immediate and accumulating toxins. All of which, as 'geology' problems, would be mine...

One inevitable issue was Fresno's lack of heavy industry. Even one 'Rock Grubber' with accessories would have been so useful to rip, plough, trench, scrape and shift. A rock-crusher, to 'reduce' and sort, would provide a geometric expansion of 'weathering' and mineral extraction. No, all the 'Big Toys' had either left on 'City of Tulsa', or been cached in Chaparral's deep shelter adits.

We did not have the mobile rigs, drill-strings or diamond bits to emplace large quantities of ANFO quarrying explosives, which, of course, we lacked, or the blasting cord and detonators to safely activate such. Nor did we have the custom, 'fire-setting' tunnelling 'shields' used for the Chaparral deep shelters. Worse, though that approach was well-suited to those Tepuis' weak, frangible coraline rock, I knew old, cold basaltic lava-flows were notoriously tough, abrasive. My wary research identified four possibilities: Well, three and three halves...

Re-heating to lava with a 'Blaster', slurping that incandescent fluid away with a 'Field Pump', spraying high and wide to fall as non-welding spatter seemed a plausible, if spectacular approach. I'd seen it done on Chaparral's Redstone for compatible rocks, where it also de-gassed unwanted toxic volatiles. Down-sides, process would be hot, messy, likely to accumulate inside the conveyor. Getting such 'concretions' out was, at best, non-trivial. Matured, such a system worked well, but prototyping could be fraught.

A distant kin to Pedro's rock-tumbling was water jet cutting. Water at remarkably high pressure could be mixed with micronized alumina and/or alumino-silicate garnet, squirted through a very fine nozzle. Such 'tooling' would cleanly, precisely cold-cut even 'reluctant' materials such as granite, marble, tooling ceramics, titanium and work-hardened alloys. As Fresno's Engineers deployed 'ordinary' water jetting to break up those iceteroid solids, I'd expect they were familiar with the related technique. Down-side, the nozzle had to stay very, very close to the work-face. Until a first, clean cut could be made, akin to saw-mill 'rough-squaring' a wonky log, the cutting mix was more likely to be lost than re-cycled. Worse, surface-accessible basaltic lava was a far cry from erosion exhumed monolithic 'batholiths'. Bubbly, porous, like a dense version of pumice, cold lava was unlikely to provide a clean 'face'.

There was, of course, an option to combine these two approaches. Induction heating basalt lumps in a big iron crucible would provide DIY lava. This could be air-jet blown to fibre per 'Pele's hair' or 'candy-floss' with vast surface area, then gathered and mildly compressed to rock-wool 'batting' for insulation or 'Ponics bedding pads. An alternative was casting such re-melted rock to convenient 'poured stone' blocks. Moulded in sizes from 'quarry tiles' to 'fire-brick', perhaps even 'keyed' to neatly interlock, each would be small enough to cool evenly within a reasonable time. Massive polygonal faulting per 'Giants Causeway' could give magnificent 'Ashlar', but was unwelcome as far too slow. At least neatly cast blocks would be easy to shape by water jetting, with cutting fluid caught, recycled.

If requirement was simply the reduction of a convenient lava flow to 'debris' to be size-sifted for 'Ponics fill and mineral extraction, a very 'retro' solution was available: Literally, 'Bang The Rocks Together'. A tonne ball of rough-cast asteroidal nickel-iron, repeatedly lifted and dropped by a boom-crane would, slowly but inevitably, beat any cold flow's surface to rubble. Given a compatible sub-surface, this simple approach was also an efficient way to pile-drive or, using a 'flat-faced' iron, compact, stabilise 'made' ground...

And, yes, drop-hammering roughly cast blocks to fragments was an option. Any fracturing due uneven cooling would actually help by weakening the blocks.

The final approach would be a 'hot' version of my iceteroid gleaning. Using a Blaster, first melt a row of hand-span pits about a metre apart, put an iron lifting hook in each to set solid. Then, much like on the iceteroid, use the Blaster to deeply under-cut each three-tonne block until freed, for boom-crane to hook onto, hoik away for drop-hammer to later demolish and recover hook. Beyond stock-piling material, it could rapidly carve a route across an old flow-field...

When the 'evening' meal-call came without Anne-Marie's return, I sent my annotated notions to Lt. Richards, ambled off towards the Diner. My beloved partner was not there, nor had any-one seen her about. I munched through that un-inspiring meal, slurped my weak serving of fruit juice 'From Concentrate', cleared my tray and returned to our suite. Another chapter of volcanic weathering and the tangential research it prompted distracted me for several hours. Finally, Anne-Marie returned. She looked very tired, but pleased with herself.

"Long day ?" I offered.

"Productive." We clinched close. "Got another group of 'Second Tier' up to speed, and we planted six trays of nixed herbs and garnish...

"A few weeks before those can be thinned, but a good start. Still, I could do with a back-soap..."

[jemhouston]

There is a YouTube channel I watch. Aliens are amazed when we say we're from Earth, since they consider it a Death World.

Then we show them Australia.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

City of Fresno #64

Breakfast was as meagre as usual. We were heading back to our suite when a test-flight was announced. As yesterday, this proved to be an exploratory 'blip' then, some minutes later, a longer 'thrum'.

As the 'Please Net' signs went off, Anne-Marie said, "That went well ! Jake, I'm off to the 'Ponics: Coach some more 'Second Tier' folk, plant some more herbs and garnish. You ?"

"One of the last hard-suit appendices, I suppose." I shrugged. "I've been studying volcanic weathering. Subduction eruptions' episodic nuées ardentes or 'Plinian' column collapse ignimbrites are interesting, but we're more likely to meet basalt flows, from local 'Hot Spot' or flood plumes, perhaps rifting events."

"Ah ?" Anne-Marie blinked. "Yes ! Beyond their lethal 'Be Not There' zone, subduction volcanoes disperse minerals as silicic wind-blown ash, which soon weathers. Lava flows stay local, may pile up like Hawaii, Iceland, the Siberian Traps or Olympus Mons..."

"Unless they form lava tubes ?" I allowed. "Those may run a few kilometres, or anything up to two hundred. Still, hard to get at flows' minerals after their lava sets solid."

"But you're working on it ?"

"Dipping a toe," I admitted. "Without heavy machinery, though..."

Anne-Marie cracked a grin, said, "Have fun ! See you later !"

The next 'Hard Suit' appendix dealt with air regeneration cartridges. As my 'Big Mac' only had such in reserve, an emergency supplement to the reliable 'work-pod' recycling hardware, I needed a while to notice something odd about the charts and tables. It wasn't that they were grossly wrong, they just seemed, um, disjointed. Again and again, they unevenly under-estimated cartridge capacity and endurance. WTF ??

Okay, a cartridge's performance was notoriously 'non-linear', falling with time and usage, but also by how hard it was worked. By analogy to historical battery tech, heavy use seemed to hide part of the nominal capacity. As ever, better to err on the side of caution. But, even so...

After staring at those busy pages for a while, I opened a much earlier appendix onto the other screen, a familiar document dealing with the 'Big Mac' equivalent. Took scant moments to find significant differences. Same size of cartridge, same fill, similar usage scenarios but, in-extremis, 'Big Mac' could expect 15~~20 % more capacity. Again, WTF ??

I warily graphed both sets of data, stared at them for a long, long time. Okay, given the 'memory' effects, the graphs' data was 'empirical'. Experience showed this range variation, this envelope width really was what you could expect. So, why did my 'Hard Suit' data differ from the 'regular' variety ? Variable by variable, I considered, discarded in-service possibilities. Finally, I came to the unhappy conclusion that there was an undocumented factor, a big one.

These regeneration cartridges could themselves be regenerated. Like re-charging my cordless multi-tool, which could be done at rates ranging from 'trickle' through 'standard' to 'turbo', 'trickle' was optimal. Similarly, each cartridge's entire history affected performance. Put simply, they developed 'personalities'...

A hasty search of Fresno's sprawling library plus a brisk delve into my own files revealed the wide range of 'standard' regeneration facilities. As these cartridges were also used for 'soft', 'skin' and 'air' suits, they might be processed like a busy 'taxi rank'. Unless you covered the 'Hat Check' premium handling supplement, you got the next in line. A base, station or ship might be more or less hectic, vary day by day. Well equipped facilities, amply supplied with spares, could let cartridges 'cook' slower. As a work-pod had to support crew suits, it could regenerate their cartridges, too. That facility carried over to 'Big Mac'. I suspected the two rock-tugs probably 'cooked' theirs slowest of all for ultimate performance.

These uncertainties put an end to editing this appendix today. I composed a wary text-mail, sent it to Lt. Richards, 'Cwm Fahr' and 'Cooberra' requesting details of their suit cartridge regeneration provision. Beyond mere survey, I cited 'memory effect' considerations. Yes, my query would probably raise some nape-hair, prompt some hasty research. As ever, getting a better grip on such an arcane, obscure variable could yet avert a 'Murphy Bomb' some-where ahead.

A long drink of water, a few stretches and a leisurely interlude in the en-suite cubicle took me through to lunch.

[jemhouston]

I wonder if there is some way to "Kill" the memory.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Like NiCads and lead-acid starter batteries, even patient, slow-cycling is no guarantee.

Re-manufacture is reliable-- Provided, of course, you have the necessary manufacturing facilities. Which, at present, Fresno lacks.

I remember a bunch of 'cures' that were intended to fuse-blow balky NiCads' and Lead-Acids' dendrites. Some of the procedures helped, if only for a while. Other 'cures' were best tried at a safe distance from vulnerable materiel. And yet others, further distant, as having a hefty battery boil and burst, jetting corrosive chemical contents hither and yon was not funny at all.

Upside, the worst they could do was kill the lawn and/or etch concrete slab: A garden hose dousing sufficed.
No Thermite-rivalling Lithium-Ion pyrotechnics...

IIRC, I once managed to salvage a degraded car battery by trickle-charging for several weeks, but performance only recovered to about two-thirds of nominal capacity. Happens that was good enough for jumper leads to 'turn over' a really cold engine, ready for the city-car's small on-board battery to have a fighting chance. And, given the era, handy for driving small 'inverter' fluorescent lamps, either for work-shop duty or domestic utility outages.

Even those primitive 'Fluoros' were safer than candles, brighter than 'spirit' lamps, less fussy and much cooler than an oil-fired 'Tilly' lamp.

D'uh, how many end-to-ends did it take to settle a repeatedly short-run VHS tape ?
And did you never 're-condition' a cassette audio-tape by winding spools using a pencil stub in a geared hand-drill ??