jpitha

[jpitha]

"Good evening, fuckers."

We need more gender-neutral honorifics

[jpitha]

The mighty human battle cry: “YEET!”

[jpitha]

Concurrency Point 1

Next

N'ren

It was the knowledge that was the worst, N’ren decided.

She - and the rest of the crew of the K’laxi Frigate Menium - knew that the missiles were coming. Worse, she knew that there was nothing to be done about them. Their little frigate had no way to dodge the incoming weapons of war. The Xenni always seemed to attack this way; exit the Gate, launch missiles, then follow up with energy weapons if cleanup was necessary. Sitting in the back of the command room at her station she could see the Captain’s fur puff out and then lower as she consciously tried to calm herself. K’laxi were originally a small mammalian species in the tall boreal forests of home, and it was evolutionary beneficial to puff your fur to make yourself look larger to the few predators that existed. Now, it, plus her tail that she couldn’t stop swishing just let everyone know she was anxious.

“Sensors! How long do we have?” Captain Ko-tas Weniar barked at the officer sitting in front of the sensor suite. N’ren saw him flinch. It was subtle, mostly in his large, pointed ears, but as a member of the Mel’itim - the secret police - she had extra training on body language. “No more than five minutes, Captain.” He said and his ears flattened unconsciously as he delivered the bad news.

Captain Weniar clicked the comm. “Weapons, can we defend against the incoming missiles?”

“We have three anti-missiles ready and waiting, with two more currently printing. Point defense slug throwers are at 50% capacity.” That would take care of three quarters of the missiles, but means that one or two missiles will still hit, if the point defense slugs can’t clean up what’s left. N’ren had observed their training when she first came aboard. Her hopes for a successful strike were low.

“We can’t outrun the missiles, even if we thrust away at emergency, we’d never gain enough speed,” Captain Weniar was talking to herself in her birth language, Kinmar, quietly. N’ren and Heli’n, the Captain’s XO were the only ones close enough to hear, and N’ren was probably the only person aboard who understood her. Not a lot of people spoke Kinmar, but N’ren had a knack for languages. She had already made a note in her report about the habit, but also mentioned that she didn’t consider it a security risk as she only did it during periods of high stress.

“What about-” Captain Weniar said and stopped, her ears straight up. “Menium! What is the thickest area of the ship?”

“One moment, Captain.” Menium, the ship’s AI said. After a moment they spoke up. “The ventral rear quadrant has thicker hull plating to account for drive emissions.”

“That’s it! Helm, rotate us such that that section of the hull is facing the missiles.” She clicked the comm again. “All Hands. Strike Protocol.” As the words left her mouth, a new alarm sounded, shrill and insistent. She continued, “Everyone except for point defense suit up and move to the rear activity room, now.”

Strike Protocol was developed nearly a year into the war. When missiles were incoming and it was confirmed to not be possible to destroy them all, everyone was to enter their spacesuits so that a hull breach didn’t kill everyone. N’ren grabbed her suit from the locker outside of Command and stepped into it with the confident motions of someone who practiced it until she could don her suit while nearly asleep. After completing her diagnostics and her suit told her it was secure, she went over to some of the younger officers, and helped them get their suits ready. They are younger and younger, every season, She thought to herself. Soon, we will run out of recruits to throw against the Xenni.

The crew walked quickly towards the rear activity room. It was still configured for their kem-ball tournament. N’ren sighed internally. She was at the top of the leaderboard, but now the whole thing was going to have to be taken down. If they survived enough to have another tournament, she’d start back at the bottom like everyone else.

The room was able to hold everyone, though towards the end it was slightly claustrophobic. The fact that everyone was suited and that gave a few centimeters of additional personal space helped N’ren. She hated crowds, especially ones that weren’t moving. Her large triangular ears on the top of her head felt Menium roll to present her belly to the missiles. She chuckled internally at the thought. Presenting one’s belly to an adversary to save one’s self was a very old instinct.

Before she could worry herself further, N’ren felt, rather than heard the missiles launch. The heavy thumps of the launcher vibrated the hull beneath her feet, and she counted four launches. They were able to finish one of the missiles after all. She thought. A good note for her report - should they survive.

A few minutes after the missiles launched, the braying roar of the slug thrower filled the ship with noise. Shooting in short bursts to conserve ammunition, they fired off and on for half a minute, and then ceased, having run out of ammunition. All she could do was wait.

N’ren opened the secure Mel’itim channel she had, and selected the Captain’s radio. She could do this to any suit aboard, but she didn’t like to do it unless she had to. “Ko-tas.”

Captain Weniar squeaked in surprise at the interruption. “Oh, Discoverer N’ren, I apologize. You startled me.”

“You may call me just N’ren, it’s all right, Ko-tas. Were the missiles destroyed?”

“All except one, Disc-er, N’ren. We shall have to endure the strike.” “What of our attackers?”

“After firing missiles, most of the Xenni retreated back through the Gate. Only one remains to follow up on the attack. If the ancestors are pleased, we shall live this day.”

Only one Xenni ship. It probably wasn’t a Warfinder, their largest ships, probably just a light skirmisher. Ko-tas was right; they could either defeat or escape from a single Xenni skirmisher. Not only that, but she had underestimated the point defense crew. She felt a twinge of guilt over thinking them unskilled. “Your missileers and point defense crew are to be commended. I shall mention their skill in my report.”

“T-thank you N’ren, that is very generous.” Ko-tas sounded genuinely surprised. N’ren wondered if she thought that her report was going to be negative.

“Captain, it is never my intention to come to a ship just to deliver a negative report. My edict is to report the successes of the K’laxi as well as our challenges.”

Before the Captain could reply, the missile struck. The hull plating beneath N’ren jumped up, nearly pushing her knees into her face. As it was, the knee protectors clacked against the front of her helmet. Everyone went down in a heap of bodies and for a few moments, chaos reigned. Eventually people realized that the breach alarms had not sounded and that there was still air in the ship. N’ren shook her head, once again annoyed at her whiskers brushing against the inner wall of the helmet. “Menium, this is N’ren. Damage report.”

“Er, yes Discoverer. I am concurrently giving a report to the Captain.”

“I understand, but you will give me the same report.”

“We have sustained minor damage, much less than expected. Sensors is reviewing footage of the missiles for confirmation, but either they were smaller than anticipated, or the one that struck us was faulty. Regardless, other than some buckled hull plating and scorching, we are fine.”

N’ren heard Captain Weniar’s voice in everyone’s comm. “We have survived the attack with minimal damage and no injuries. However, there isn’t time to celebrate, we must return to our stations - while still suited - and break for the Gate.”

Back in her seat in Command, N’ren shifted, trying to get more comfortable. She cursed the designers who never really thought about having to sit in a regular chair while suited. Her faceplate was open, to let in fresh air, her rebellion to the suit order. Looking around she saw that she was in fact, the only person with her faceplate open. The Captain was standing over the helm station, working out something with the officer.

Satisfied, she returned to her seat, and signaled the crew. “We are going to attempt to run past the Xenni guarding the gate. All available power will be shunted to the main drive - including environmental. Remain in your suits until I give the order.” She said, and N’ren saw her eyes glance over to her. She sheepishly closed her faceplate, and the Captain continued. “You have done well, but we are not finished yet. Keep this up and we will return home victorious.”

The lights dimmed, and N’ren could feel the normal background noises and vibration of the ship still. It was very quiet. Other than the creaks of people shifting in their seats trying to get comfortable, there was no noise. Then, the drive fired.

It was a wall of sound, higher pitched and much more ragged than usual. Even with the compensators set to maximum, she was pressed into her seat from the acceleration. They must have shunted power from them as well. This was it. They would either make the Gate, or the Xenni would get them.

“Missile incoming!” The sensor officer shouted. His voice crackled over the suit radios.

“Will it hit?” Captain Weinar’s voice was calm, though N’ren could hear the edge in it.

“One moment… No, our speed is too great, it will not be able to catch us.” He said, and N’ren’s shoulders relaxed, and she opened her hand which had been balled tightly.

“Gate control, please begin transmitting the addressing codes to the Gate. Send us to Celiton.”

Celiton was a small, uninhabited system, one of many such empty systems that nonetheless had a Gate. K’laxi scientists long wondered why there were so many empty systems with a Gate. Arguments about former empires, or some kind of Great War abounded.

Normally, one could not trace a Gate traversal, so it was standard protocol to not Gate back to K’lax when under attack. The Captain was to continue to Gate jump until they had successfully shaken off the attackers, and only then Gate to K’lax.

Their small ship streaked past the Xenni skirmisher, and as they did, N’ren’s small subroutine briefly commanded all sensors to make a very high resolution scan to the ship. She made sure that she did not unduly steal power from the engines, but she heard the surprised chirp of the officer when he realized he lost control of his sensor suite. It only lasted a moment and control returned quickly enough that N’ren hoped he thought it was just a glitch. She checked her repository and sure enough, it had been filled with high resolution scans of the ship.

The Gate ahead glowed the painful, blurry blue of activation, and as they dashed ahead, a noise like rain on a metal roof reverberated through the ship.

“We have been struck by multiple slugs from the Xenni ship,” Menium said. “Multiple small hull breaches, and reports of injuries.” “What? How?” Captain Weniar looked over at Sensors. “You didn’t see it?”

“I apologize, Captain, my station- the suite, there was some kind of glitch, I had no control over the sensors for just a few moments. I was regaining control and running diagnostics when we were struck.” N’ren was glad for once of the suits as her own fur puffed out and her eyes widened, realizing what happened. Her own scan of the Xenni ship must have caused them to retaliate, and with the sensors down because of ‘a glitch’ they didn’t see the attack.

“Captain, it appears that the Xenni attack struck the Gate as well, look.” Menium said and put a view from the forward telescopes on the large screen.

The Gate was a perfect circle dozens of kilometers across with a small rectangular thing on one side. That was the building where the addressing stone was kept. Currently, there was some kind of white vapor pouring out at a high velocity, and the active gate looked… wrong. Instead of a pure blue flat plane, it undulated and wobbled. “Full Stop, Full Stop!” Captin Weniar screamed, her voice so shrill that the radio peaked as she yelled.

“We cannot stop in time.” Menium said cooly. “We are going to trav-”

Moments after the K’laxi traversed the damaged Gate, the Xenni skirmisher approached slowly. Instead of shutting down, as it normally does after a ship traverses, the Gate field started to grow in large blobby waves, larger and larger. The Xenni immediately flipped 180 degrees, their drive flame huge and ragged from being overdriven. It was all for nothing though, because at that moment, the Gate’s field enveloped the skirmisher and it too, traversed.

[jpitha]

Everyone's trying to cut out sugar from their diets now. Sugar, as introduced to us by Big Industrial Monsters, has been inserted into all of our foods without our consent. A little bit is fine, but eating it with every single meal is fuckin' up our guts. And if you ask literally anyone on the street, they don't want their guts fucked up. Well, maybe don't ask that guy.

One problem is that we don't know what has sugar in it. Sure, you could read the ingredients, but the greedheads have corrupted the government into allowing them to hide the cursed crystals under one of many different names. Glucose-Fructose sounds like an interstate shipping company, but you better believe it's sugar too. The only answer is to rely on science, and by "science" I mean the biggest dirtbag with a mass spectrometer that I could find.

What is a mass spectrometer? It's a fancy science machine that looks at whatever you put into it. And with only a lifetime of expertise (or about 30 minutes of training) you too can understand its cryptic answers. Or at least, come back with an "I dunno, but it had some cool blinking lights." One such scientist is Dr. Mary Su, a PhD who has been kicked out of every lab in the tri-state area for her extreme views on the recreational use of nitrous oxide.

Here's how our arrangement works out. I bring Dr. Su some food, and then she tells me if it has sugar in it. Then I slip her a $20, which she spends on race parts (the only ethical use of money.) Unfortunately, our partnership has yet to bear fruit. On my way to visit her, I invariably get stuck in traffic for a few minutes, and then eat whatever I came with out of boredom. Or the rat in the glovebox gets it first, when my back is turned. Either way, nothing is left by the time I get to her ramshackle lab built into a disused nuke bunker.

You might have better luck. Or, you can just eat some broccoli. Once it's been deep-fried and breaded, it's gotta be pretty healthy for you.

[jpitha]

With Friends Like These...

The alarm startled N’ren. It had a mechanical, animalistic howl which hurt her ears. It was so loud, that she could feel the deck plates vibrate under her feet, tingling with noise. As she looked around, she could tell that it bothered the humans too, but other than a small flinch when it went off, it seemed to energize them. They all got more focused, more serious and moved faster.

The trip had been a whirlwind of sights, sounds, smells, and other sensations. N’ren Kitani, as the ranking officer of the Mel’itim - The Discoverers - was selected by the Captain to go over to the human ship and meet them. The fact that she was part of the secret police, and if she were… killed by human treachery it would not be considered that much of a loss to the crew was not lost on N’ren, but as much as she disliked the taste of that thought, she had to admit it did make sense. She had more training on body language and politics than anyone else aboard. Even if she didn’t know the details of the human’s political situation, she - probably - could see the larger picture easier than anyone.

She needn’t have worried about any human treachery. They had been more than accommodating to her and her needs, and everyone was fascinated by her presence. She knew that they were merely curious, but their close set eyes following her as she was given a tour of the ship was unsettling.

Menium - the K'laxi ship - had been in contact with the human’s own ship AI - called Longview - and between the two of them they had worked out a rough translation of the two sapient’s languages. Their language was an unintelligible garble of sounds and phonemes to N’ren, but Menium was an excellent translator, and she had managed to understand and be understood.

They had invited her to a meal and while she attended to gathering gladly, she didn’t eat anything. Not only was eating unknown food from a new group of sapients she had just met madness, Menium had warned her that some ingredients the humans used was toxic.

After the meal, N’ren had explained the war with the Xenni, how they were trying to expand their territory, and how - without some help - the war would last for decades at best, and be over quickly with the K’laxi being subjugated by the Xenni at worst. Three K’laxi border colonies had already been captured, and a dozen deep space stations had been destroyed outright. Almost exactly as she finished explaining the war, the Xenni came through the system gate and the humans’ long range sensors had detected the missile launches. N’ren had warned that they tend to go after ships with their energy weapons after the missile launches, and sure enough everyone aboard Longview heard the thunderclap report of the energy weapons ablating part of the Starjumper’s thick hull.

N’ren knew that the discovery of the humans, with their gigantic starships and wormhole generators was exactly what the K’laxi needed to turn the tide of the war. She needed to get back and report this new race to Fleet Command.

She was jolted back to reality by a human shouting at her in that staccato language they had, full of fricatives and harsh consonants. Menium spoke to her as the translator and she was able to get a sanitized and generalized version of what they actually said. N’ren didn’t think Menium needed to do the voices for different people though. Still, the point got across. It was time for her to go. Now.

“Leave? But, the checks aren't finished! Does my Captain know? She’ll need to make preparations.” N'ren said, worried.

"No. No time. Go Now. Your ship talked to our ship. They figured it out." The human was hurriedly putting on an armored pressure suit while talking to N'ren.

<Human Francine is right N'ren.> Menium said - in their regular voice - through the comm. <Longview and I have worked out the details and I know - mostly - how to operate their wormhole generator. Can you believe they’re actually giving us their own FTL drive? The Mel’itim command’s fur is going to puff out to twice it’s size when they see it.>

<Mostly operate it?> N’ren said back to Menium, worried. <Is it dangerous?>

<Is it more dangerous than getting captured or destroyed by the Xenni?> They countered. <No. Is it more dangerous than taking the Gates? Most assuredly.>

<Do we have the power to operate it?>

<They have given us enough batteries to run it once, and we should be able to "link" back to K'lax direct! Longview explained how their coordinate system works, I can get us into our system. N’ren, this is amazing. I'm talking to an AI from a sapient group that has never made contact! This is so fascinating!>

<Wait, never made contact?> N’ren hadn’t had time to speak to the humans about the other sapient groups they knew, but she had assumed they had met someone.

<From what Longview told me, we’re the first sapient group they’ve met. You would not believe how surprised they were when the Gate activated and we came in.>

While N'ren put on her pressure suit - unfortunately not armored like the humans' - she wondered why Menium sounded so excited. They had never exhibited this kind of behavior before. It was more like she was talking with a person instead of the flat, matter of fact speech of a ship.

As she tightened the last ring on her gloves, she felt, rather than heard the strikes. Huge booming thumps along the bottom of the human ship and suddenly her suit shrieked that the pressure was dropping rapidly. Her large inner ears along with her prehensile tail gave her a better sense of balance than the humans; she was able to feel Longview start to rotate along it's axis.

"What's going on?" she asked Francine, the human that had been helping her thus far.

"Longview's rolling to keep your ship out of the firing line." Francine said, though Menium’s translation. "Longview's a big, old ship, she can take it" she said, and grinned through her helmet.

“Old? How old is Longview?”

Francine stood up and stared off into nothing for a moment. “She must be at least two thousand years old at this point.” She said and moved her head up and down vertically, once. “Yes, about two thousand years old."

Two thousand- <Menium, is that a translation error?>

<Not as far as I am able to figure out, N’ren, she said two thousand years. Even if our years and theirs are vastly different, Longview is still at least ten times older than any of our ships.>

Another brace of explosions rippled down the hull, knocking everyone off balance. Francine put her hand on N'ren's shoulder and pushed. "Go. Now." There was another explosion, this one larger. "RUN.”

As N'ren ran down the halls of the Longview, Menium reminded her to run on the right side of the hall as humans - all in pressure suits - ran with purpose around her. She noticed that more than a few humans were carrying weapons. <Why the weapons?> N'ren asked her ship.

<They're preparing to be boarded.> Menium said.

<What? The Xenni don't do that!>

<The Humans do, apparently.>

The idea of humans forcibly docking with an enemy ship and pouring in, attacking gave N’ren chills. She made a mental note to report this to the Mel’itim.

N'ren made it to the umbilical that connected the two ships. There was a group of humans bustling around the docking room, checking settings and tossing crates through the umbilical towards Menium. A human engineer noticed her arrival and waver her over. “N’ren, your ship is ready. Our ship taught your ship how to work the wormhole generator and we're ready to set you off and escape.” He gestured towards the umbilical as he spoke. “We're going to push you with the docking arms, so don't hesitate to fire your main drive. Our hull is thick, your drive exhaust will be barely a summer breeze to us, we'll be fine." He grinned and stepped back.

<Do you know what he means?>

<I do, and I told the Captain. She’s skeptical, but is willing to do it.>

“What about you? What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Oh, Longview is very old. She was a Starjumper before we developed wormhole generators. She’s practically more engine that ship. We'll turn our Stardrive on them as they come around. No worries!"

What did that mean? She wondered. Aloud she said “Sorry, I meant your wormhole generator. Aren't we taking it?"

Impossibly, the engineer grinned harder. "Oh, no we bottled a message and used the generator to link a beacon back to human space. Someone will come and bring us a new generator in a week or two. We'll be fine."

More explosions wracked the ship. The engineers grin fell as the ship began to vibrate worryingly. "Go. We'll be fine, but if you hold up much longer there won't be any ship left!” He clapped her suited shoulder and gently directed her towards her ship. “I’m glad we met. Go and tell your people."

****

Back on the command deck of Longview, the ship was relaying information to Captain Erlatan.

"Captain, Menium has been pushed away, and they're boosting away from us at their full speed. A small group of attacking ships has peeled off and is giving chase."

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash, and Menium was gone.

“It looks like Menium figured out the wormhole generator." Captain Erlatan said. "Excellent. Longview, shall we shake off our attackers?"

"With pleasure, Captain. Permission to engage War Emergency Power and thrust at 6 gees for 3 minutes?"

"Permission granted. I authorize you to use War Emergency Power. In the case I am incapacitated you are free to make your own decisions to continue the mission, save the crew, and save your own life in that order. Acknowledge."

“Acknowledged, Captain. War Emergency Power engaged. Fuses and limiters removed. We can operate at WEP for eighty three minutes before permanent damage occurs.”

If someone was watching the battle from a great distance, they would see Longview begin to rotate along the axes of the massive flywheels deep in the center of the ship. N’ren didn’t even get to see them in the tour. The humans were friendly and accommodating, but they knew that everything they showed her would get reported back. No need to give away all their secrets.

Longview oriented itself until the rear of the ship was facing the swarming Xenni ships. Thinking they were turning to run, the Xenni pressed their attack, and grouped together to concentrate their fire. When they were a few dozen kilometers away, Longview lit its old relativistic Stardrive and a jet of pure white, kilometers long, shot out the back as the ship thrust away at a withering six gees. Everyone on board was secured in acceleration couches or command chairs and while it was very unpleasant, it was over soon enough.

Moving too quickly to dodge the jet of pure physics, the Xenni ships were destroyed the instant the torch of exhaust played over their hulls. None survived to report the incident back to the Xenni Consortium.

I bet you thought I forgot about you! I'm still around, I'm still writing, though you'll probably see my stuff more on Royal Road or Reddit these days. I'll still post here when I can though. This is a major re-work of a very old story of mine, and I'm planning on expanding it out into a full length novel about first contact between the humans and k'laxi.

[jpitha]

Hello Dr. Tingle, sir. I have a question. Do you ever begin to doubt yourself while writing? I've been writing stuff myself but sometimes get this sadness that makes me think it's not good enough writing. And I'm not sure how to work around that sadness. Do you ever have to? How do you do it? Thank you, I hope your day is as wonderful as you!

as far as a trot of 'is this part of my book is as effective as it could be?' or 'is this character working the way i want them to?' then yes i have doubts about this type of thing while building stories. i think that is essentially was the CRAFT of art is

but as far as a broader existential sort of 'i doubt myself as an artist' then no, absolutely not. i am the worlds greatest author. this is not a joke and it is not something i kinda think maybe could be true or i am pretty sure about, this is something i know with absolute certainty.

ART and creation are not objective, they are subjective. i AM the worlds greatest author and guess what bud, SO ARE YOU. the hurdle we must all overcome as creators is not talent, it is the hurdle of UNDERSTANDING. we already are all the worlds greatest authors, and everything else that claims we are not is a distraction

ignore the bog of hands reaching out to pull you down into this feeling of worthlessness, they are fake. they are an illusion. the only truth is that we are ALL the greatest, and the real journey is simply an internal one where we finally arrive at knowing this

[jpitha]

If you ask me, the coolest kind of machines are the ones that shouldn't exist. Capitalism is all about making sure that you only get something if a bunch of other people also want it. And for those of us who are particularly niche weirdos by nature or necessity, we're forced to go into our metaphorical basements and emerge with some homemade nightmare tool to solve our exact problem.

Sometimes it's a tool that I want badly, but can't afford, and I spend a couple afternoons looking longingly at pictures while copying them down. Other times, it's something that has never been created before, but solves my exact problem. Want to punch a bigger hole in the middle of tiny wheels because your ass is too lazy to go to the store and get the right axle? You could use a drill press, or you could make an ordeal out of it. Bonus project, bonus project! Oh boy!

Folks who come to my shop will invariably see the big box on the counter marked "tools, weird." They'll root through it a bit, and the brave ones will even put on the welding gloves and reach right in there to pull whatever not-even-deburred piece of junk I have made. Once in a while, lightning strikes. They look at this horrible abomination that was brought into the world by my thought and deed, and they realize "holy fuck, I could use one of these too."

No second one will be forthcoming, though. I'm not in business making tools or anything. If they really want it, they can just have it, and if that problem ever turns up again, I'll make a whole new one for myself. Bonus project!

[jpitha]

tbh if someone just handed me a pressure washer and set me loose in the streets i would go into a trance and just start hosing shit down indiscriminately. it's not a question of how much i could clean, but how long until i get hit by a car and die

[jpitha]

That Time When I Tried To Bring A Foot Long Knife In My Cabin Bag On An International Flight

You know flights. For at least a few generations already we have had a privilege of travelling through air, which is statistically one of the safest means of transportation, but when shit goes wrong, it goes wrong in a particularly spectacular manner and being the dumb fucks we humans are, spectacular failures (such as acts of terror) register as more plausible ones in our stupid monkey brains. This is a digression, but, as the title of the post suggests, not an untangential one.

In any case, there used to be a time in my life when international flying was just a regular thing for me, getting on a plane and immediatelly getting some monday-morning shut-eye even before the take-off to teleport a few thousand kilometers away was just a fact of life. Two of my russian-speaking (but also fluent in my mother tongue) team mates doing some contract backend web development for a foreign fintech startup with me as a "team lead" (in quotes, because we have always been egalitarian) were as accustomed to flying as I was. Security checkpoint, it seemed at that time, was something we knew intimately, not necessarily to the point when we referred to the agents by their first names, but rather we knew which shoes are going to have to come off and the exact amount of change to trigger the metal detector. It was, as we all understood it, a dog-and-pony show in a post 9/11 security theater where water in your belly was qualitatively different from the water in an unopened bottle, which is technically true, but it never even made anyone feel safer as a passenger or less safe as a potential criminal (like my white ass getting "randomly checked" five times in a row for "traces of explosives"); it usually went as a well-choreographed routine of retrieving a laptop from an easily-accessible part of your backpack, unbuckling your belt, taking off your coat, putting clothes, backpack and electronics into separate trays and proceeding to walz through the SCARY GATE in a steady pace all the while smiling in a friendly manner to the agents, maintaining Just Enough eye contact to establish connection but not come off as challenging and refraining yourself from making any meta commentary throughout the whole ordeal.

Easy.

Imagine yourself in my shoes when my backpack comes out of the x-ray about 1.25 seconds later than usual. There's a warning light going off silently at the back of my head as I wait for my belt to come back to me so my pant's don't slip off my fat white ass as much, getting brigher and turning into a bangbang double exclamation mark emoji and starting to emit avionic warning sound as the security agent pulls the tray with my backpack aside.

"Sir is this your bag?"

"Yes, it is"

"It seems you have a knife in there"

At this point I am more amused than perplexed.

"Yes, that is true," - I say smiling incredulously - "but it never caused any trouble anywhere."

I'm thinking about my trusty pocket victorinox (with scissors that are incredibly good for trimming my nails on the go) attached to my RSA OTP generator.

"Oh." - the female agent replies dryly, putting the vynil gloves on - "may I please open your bag, sir?"

"Sure!" - "May I retrieve The Object, sir?" - "Please go ahead".

And I watch, with increasing horror, my eyes widening, as I see the very remotely familiar handle that stirs something in the depths of my memory, the blade emerging in slow motion and going oh-so-slowly to what seems like forever until the whole footlong thing is out, pinched between two fingers of the agent who looks at me as memories of a town several hundred kilometers away rush back to me: the hunger, the yearning, the NEED for a simple kielbasa-and-bun sandwitch, both kielbasa and a freshly baked bun in my hands in a middle of a shop with no way to cut neither kielbasa nor the bun and the footlong steel monstrocity being the only possible option of instruments capable of cutting. Did I unpack my bag or I simply throw it aside when I got home is a question with an answer so obvious it immediately unasks itself.

"Sir?" - a female voice brings me back to here-now. - "I said, shall I discard of it, sir?"

I struggle for a moment to regain control of my motor function and nod. I think my mouth is slightly agape and I have no control of my vocal cords. A single enlongated vowel escapes my throat.

"Thank you" - she says, handing my backpack over to me. My colleagues also stand frozen, their eyes wide in disbelief. - "You may proceed, sir"

"T-thank you" - I stutter as I shuffle away with my backpack in one hand and my belt which I retrieved just prior to the whole incident in another, pretty sure I've gotten damn lucky once again.

I never bought another trio of bun, kielbasa and a big fuckoff knife abroad again.

[jpitha]

In recent years, there have been a lot of arguments about the nature of objective truth. Because it's so easy and fun to lie, people do it a lot. Sometimes, people do it so much that other people find it hard to understand what "lies" are anymore. Then they start lying to themselves. Science was supposed to fix this, but it turns out that science is not very good at being as entertaining as the liars. That's why we invented fiction.

In case you're unfamiliar with the concept, head on down to your local library. Then, ask the librarian to take you to the section that's full of lies. Yep, that's right: the fiction section is books about things that didn't happen. They're not real. Even if there's real people in this book, the things they're doing are fake. You can finish the book, and not call the cops afterward because you have a hot tip on "the Little Red Riding Hood murders." She killed that wolf in self-defence, anyway, even if it was execution-style at point blank range.

Now that you know there's a convenient place to go get entertaining lies from, you can be more suspicious about everything else you read. See a news article that made you hyper mad about something that you don't really understand? You just checked out like thirty books and you gotta finish them all before you have to give them back to the library. No time to be mad, only time to discover what really happened to that band of intrepid British teenagers who travelled to the Tomb of the Underdeep in order to liberate Milton Friedman's bejewelled skull. Crooked politicians won't be able to send you text messages about child-eating foreigners while you're busy reading, and you'll probably cancel family dinner with your more reactionary parents in order to dive into a murder mystery, too.

Through constant exposure to low-grade, non-threatening lies, you will become resistant to them being shoved down your throat in the future. Like a magic potion of resistance; what boring people would call a "vaccine." Of course, you can always go read the non-fiction section if you want to keep track of the world around you. Why would you, though? It's much more fun to read about dragons than penguins.

[jpitha]

"Do you want garlic bread?" Fuck yes, you idiot. I have never wanted anything more than garlic bread. If it were feasible I would consume only garlic bread until the authorities came to scrape my delicious smelling corpse off the futon.

Ever since the collapse of Western civilization, I've been coming to Olive Garden a lot more frequently. And not all of it is because I'm being forced to, despite what the haters have to say. Yes, it is pretty weird that they're the only restaurant that survived the initial nuclear strike. I think it's because this used to be a Pizza Hut, and the hatlike shape of the roof bounces all the horrible death stuff back out into space. They've also got a lead-lined bunker under the restaurant full of a century's worth of frozen garlic bread. There's a sign at the entrance saying not to ask too many questions about it.

Sure, payment is kind of expensive, because the whole financial system took it in the pooper, too. Money is worthless. Luckily, I'm a pretty handy guy, and I can fix vent hoods, ovens, coffee makers, and up-armoured, modified muscle cars in case someone wants to drive the Wastes. In fact, the only thing I can't fix is microwaves. If you need another one of those, you're just going to have to head to the Wal-Mart on route 6 and fight off whatever radioactive hellspawn live there now.

Sorry, hold on. The waiter is coming back. What do you mean, you can't "reheat" the garlic bread? I thought you were doing this shit in the regular oven. You're telling me this sumptuous texture, this pillowy softness, is from a microwave? You fool. There was garlic bread enough for us both! It's not fair!

[jpitha]

I must not reply. Replying is the mind killer. Replying is the little death that brings total annihilation. I will let people have their wrong opinions. And I will permit people to comment them on my posts. Their wrongness will pass over me and through me. When it is gone only I will remain. And I will not reply.

[jpitha]

Hi Friends!

Remember my second book, Dreams of Hyacinth? The one with Nick and Eastern? The one I quit doing because I had no idea how to end it? Well I figured out how to end it and have been rewriting it, and now I'm posting it to Royal Road! You can check it out here!

I also commissioned way cool cover art, check it out!

[jpitha]

Oh No! The paperback version got rejected - I think - because I used Zalgo text when Melody did her Space Magic.

ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴜꜱᴇ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴄᴀᴘꜱ ɪɴꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅ. ɪᴛ ʟᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ɢʀᴀᴠɪᴛᴀꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏ

Hey Everyone! I'm super proud to announce that my book that got its start on Tumblr, and wouldn't be where it is today without you, Just A Little Further is now available for preorder on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DZTDNKF8

That's the ebook link, and if you have Kindle Unlimited, it'll be free! I have the paperback version coming soon, and I'll link that as soon as it's available.

I'm excited to show it to you and give you a chance to read it!

[jpitha]

Hey Everyone! I'm super proud to announce that my book that got its start on Tumblr, and wouldn't be where it is today without you, Just A Little Further is now available for preorder on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DZTDNKF8

That's the ebook link, and if you have Kindle Unlimited, it'll be free! I have the paperback version coming soon, and I'll link that as soon as it's available.

I'm excited to show it to you and give you a chance to read it!

[jpitha]

They don't tell you anything about how to disassemble the starships. Couple years ago, I was hanging out in my backyard when this thing came out of the sky. Big smash, wreckage everywhere, lots of smelly gross stuff all over my lawn. Government came. Then bigger government. Then the biggest government. Turns out the smelly gross stuff was what was left of the aliens who were piloting it. Sorry if you're eating alien stew right now.

Anyway, they took all the wreckage with them, and left me with a giant hole in my yard. That's where my attorney came in. Let me tell you about my attorney. Have you ever been hyperfocused on something to a degree that people just let you get away with it, because it was easier than trying to fight you? Max is like that with the law. He went after the government for the damage to my fence, and accidentally found out that whatever agency took the wreckage away didn't take out the correct permit to do so. So they had to return the wrecked alien spaceship, and also write me a little letter of apology. That's it over there, on the fridge. They welched on the fence money, though. City hall, what are you gonna do?

Now I had a space ship in my backyard, and I needed to figure out how to take it apart. Normally, this is not a big problem, but I couldn't even identify the kind of screws those little green bastards had used. I went to the library to look for a service manual for the thing, and found a Starship Technical Manual. Perfect, I thought, until I got home and found out it's just full of shit from Star Trek. Didn't even contain any useful information about disassembling the spaceships, and the end of every chapter says "installation is the reverse of assembly." Fuck you, asshole. I just wanted to know what size wrench to use to remove dilithium crystals.

For me, my primary motivation is spite, and I was now feeling quite spiteful indeed about all the bastards who didn't want me to open up this cool-ass space ship. Through a combination of bottle jacks, oxy-acetylene cutters, and one of those little packages of plastic tools that the mall sells to remove the screen on your iPhone, I was in. Unfortunately, all that I had gotten for my hard work was more hammered alien corpse over every available surface. Even their batteries didn't plug into any of my stuff. I stuck that shit right back on eBay. Had to pay for my fence.

[jpitha]

Simple Solutions

There were many reasons Zil hated working on a human ship. They hated how everyone went into one big room to eat. Consuming calories for life was a private thing for the Xerilan; an unfortunate side effect of life that was better done out of sight of everyone. The humans did it all together, all sound and smells and noise. Going into the canteen at lunchtime was an assault on their senses.

They hated how the deck plates felt. Xerilan ships used a polymer covering for the floors, nice, soft, quiet. The humans used whatever alloy of iron they acquired from the lowest bidder. It was cold, and loud, and hurt their heels when they walked.

But, what they hated the most were the alarms.

Human alarms were loud, brash, violent affairs. Lights would flash, horns would honk, and some even added elements of vibration. When asked, the humans told them they wanted to make sure that everyone reacted to the alarm. Zil practically went catatonic at the noise. They received special training before taking their post on the human ship and still they had to fight the urge to roll into a ball every time the alarm sounded, and it sounded a lot.

There were alarms for battle - which was fortunately infrequent - alarms when the reactors ramped up, alarms for when they would need to secure for maneuvering, for when gravity was going to change. Zil was almost sure they heard an alarm for the start of a new day.

Zil was leaving his quarters, heading down to the greenhouse to begin his shift when the alarm sounded. This time, the alarm was different. Even they had to admit this one worried them. It sounded dangerous. It was high and trilling with a mid range warbling and even a brassy low range which made their own sounding plates vibrate unpleasantly. As soon as it started, literally everyone dropped what they were doing - some literally - and began to run.

It was the fire alarm.

As much as Zil hated all the human alarms, they at least understood why the fire alarm was so annoying. Fire aboard a starship was a potentially lethal affair, and everyone had to work together to find and extinguish the fire as quickly as possible. They ran to their assigned station and came upon the deck chief, Tanner.

"Zil! You're one of the first. Nice to see someone was paying attention at drills." He said, smiling quickly as he flung open lockers built into the walls. "Put on your gear."

Zil methodically put on his firefighting gear. Everyone aboard had some, and they were surpsied when they learned that the humans took the time and effort to consult the Swarm for plans and measurements for gear that would fit their bodyplan. It was almost like a spacesuit, but not airtight, made of a very thick cloth. There were tanks of breathing gas that the humans wore on their backs, but Zil's were strapped to their legs, like other Xerilan suits. They slid the helmet over their head and their feelers were blown around by a blast fresh air. It was annoying, but they knew that it wasn't something that could be adjusted. The humans needed their air to be fresh and in large volumes when they were under stress.

As soon as they were dressed, Tanner - also in his turnout gear - handed him a broom.

Even in the midst of an emergency, Zil regarded the broom curiously. "Uh Tanner, why did you give me a broom?"

"It's a hydrogen fire Zil, we don't know where it is."

Zil's hind-legs started twitching, preparing to launch themselves meters in the air and escape, just like their ancient ancestors. They suppressed the feeling. "What do you mean you don't know where it is?"

"Hydrogen fires are invisible and odorless. We can't see them." Tanner explained as he got his own broom. "We're going to walk the halls with the broom sticking out in front of us."

"How... will that help?"

"As soon as the broom bursts into flame, we know where the fire is!"

"We're going to walk until the broom bursts into flame? Don't you... don't you have sensors for this!?" Zil exclaimed as they began to follow Tanner. He would walk with his broom sticking out, angled towards the wall, and he moved Zil's broom so that it was pointed opposite his. Behind them two others from the deck team had their brooms out to the side.

"We do," Tanner said, not looking at them, "But they're never that accurate. Nothing like a physical indicator of an issue to find the leak fast. It's a simple solution, but that means it's robust and works even if there's a power outage or in some other kind of danger."

They methodically walked the halls of their deck, brooms out, with the alarm thankfully silent, but the lights still flashing annoyingly. They rounded a corner and came upon the other deck team, going the other way. As they approached, Zil saw one of their brooms flare to life, the fire orange and oily as the brushes caught.

"Found it!" One of the others shouted, and everyone dropped their brooms. Tanner signaled command to isolate the deck, and the pressure doors slammed down around them. Someone from the other fire team opened a cabinet and took out a fire extinguisher, and Zil ran over towards the pipe that was leaking and activated his comm. They did have a moment of thanks that the humans labeled everything. All they had to do was read off the location to command so they knew where to shut the line down.

"H2 line WES56.7, port side," he called over his comm. "Just aft of valve-" They glanced to the right, "-6769."

"Aft of valve 6769 copy." The voice on the other end crackled. Almost as soon as he called in the location, he could hear the whirring of machinery and the presumed jet of flame shrank until the only sign left was the smouldering broom and the smell of smoke and suppressant in the isolated hall.

"Nice work Zil!" Tanner said, and went to pat his back, but stopped, remembering that Zil hated being touched. "See? When you follow the training, you remain safe, and protected everyone and the ship."

"Yeah, but..." Zil opened his helmet and the hurricane if air thankfully stopped. "Brooms?"

"Simple solutions are the best ones, Zil." Tanner said, laughing. "Come on, it's up to maintenance now, we need to get back to our posts.