#Compressor castings

[alliedfounderspvtltd]

CNC Machined Ductile Iron Parts

[akpferrocast]

Durable Cast Air Compressor Parts for Industrial Use | High-Quality Castings

Discover precision-engineered cast air compressor parts designed for heavy-duty operations. Browse detailed visuals showcasing strength, accuracy, and performance.

[chicagopneumatic]

Cast Iron Piston Air Compressor 3HP-10HP - Chicago Pneumatic

Chicago Pneumatic cast iron piston air compressor built with quality components with cast iron block piston for rugged industrial duty. Available in 3HP - 10HP.

[dasset-engineering]

Dasset Engineering: Your Trusted Partner for High-Performance Crankshafts in India 

Crankshafts are a critical engine component, serving as the backbone of power transmission and converting linear piston motion into rotational motion. Whether you’re running an automotive engine, stationary machinery, marine engines, or agricultural equipment, the quality of the crankshaft can significantly impact performance, efficiency, and reliability. At Dasset Engineering, we specialize in providing top-tier crankshafts tailored to meet the diverse needs of various industries, making us the best crankshafts manufacturer and supplier in India. 

Why Choose High-Quality Crankshafts? 

The crankshaft is subjected to immense pressure, high temperatures, and constant motion. Therefore, it must be designed with the utmost precision and constructed from high-quality materials to withstand these stresses. A well-engineered crankshaft minimizes vibrations, reduces engine wear, and ensures optimal performance. That’s where Dasset Engineering comes in, offering a wide range of forged and cast crankshafts to suit every requirement. 

Our Crankshaft Solutions: Forged and Cast Crankshafts 

At Dasset Engineering, we pride ourselves on delivering high-performance crankshafts that cater to a broad spectrum of applications: 

Forged Crankshafts: Forged crankshafts are manufactured through a process that compresses and molds the metal, resulting in a denser, more durable component. These crankshafts are ideal for high-performance engines, such as those in race cars, heavy-duty trucks, and industrial machinery, where strength and resistance to fatigue are paramount. The forging process ensures minimal internal defects, offering excellent structural integrity and superior tensile strength. 

Cast Crankshafts: Cast crankshafts are produced by pouring molten metal into a mold, allowing it to cool and solidify into shape. They are suitable for applications where moderate performance and cost-effectiveness are essential. Our advanced casting techniques produce crankshafts with uniformity, precision, and a smooth surface finish. Cast crankshafts are often used in standard automotive engines, air compressors, and other moderate-duty applications. 

Both types of crankshafts are available in fully finished or semi-finished conditions. This flexibility allows us to cater to your specific needs, whether you require a crankshaft ready for installation or one that can be customized further to fit unique engine requirements. 

Applications of Dasset Engineering Crankshafts 

Our crankshafts are designed to deliver optimal performance across various industries and applications: 

Automotive Engines: Our crankshafts provide the strength and balance necessary for passenger cars, commercial vehicles, and racing engines, ensuring smooth operation and longevity. 

Stationary Engines: For generators, pumps, and industrial equipment, we supply crankshafts that deliver consistent power and reliability. 

Marine Engines: In harsh marine environments, our crankshafts offer superior corrosion resistance and durability. 

Agricultural and Industrial Engines: Used in tractors, earthmovers, and heavy machinery, our crankshafts are built to handle tough conditions with ease. 

Air and Refrigeration Compressors: We provide crankshafts for compressors that demand high precision and balance to maintain performance and reduce vibration. 

Why Dasset Engineering Stands Out 

Dasset Engineering has earned a reputation as the best crankshaft manufacturer and supplier in India for several reasons: 

Commitment to Quality: We use only the finest materials and the latest technologies to produce crankshafts that meet international quality standards. 

Expert Engineering: Our team of skilled engineers ensures each crankshaft is meticulously designed and manufactured to deliver peak performance. 

Customization Options: We provide both standard and custom solutions to fit the specific needs of our clients, offering flexibility in terms of design, materials, and finishes. 

Stringent Testing: Every crankshaft undergoes rigorous quality control tests to ensure it meets our high standards for durability, performance, and reliability. 

Conclusion 

Dasset Engineering is your trusted partner for high-performance crankshafts in India. Whether you need forged crankshafts for a high-power application or cast crankshafts for cost-effective solutions, we provide products that promise quality, performance, and longevity. Our crankshafts are designed to drive efficiency and reliability, making us the preferred choice for automotive, marine, industrial, and agricultural applications. 

Choose Dasset Engineering for all your crankshaft needs and experience unmatched quality and service. Contact us today to learn more about our offerings and how we can support your business! 

[vaishalirapower]

We manufacture cylinder liners and cylinder sleeves for all prominent marine and industrial diesel engine makes and models, including Daihatsu, Yanmar, Bergen, Niigata, Mirrlees, Alco, ABC, Crepelle, Nohab, and Allen. We follow OEM specifications while manufacturing cylinder sleeves and liners. The design or sample is used to create and produce cylinder liners.

Small quantities are also appropriate. Please email us at info@rapowersolutions.com, or visit this link for additional information about cylinder liner manufacturers: https://turbineshaft.in/cylinder-liners-cylinder-sleeves.html

[techoenterprise]

Looking For a Trusted Manufacturer of Centrifugal Die Casting.

Get centrifugal die casting latest prices compared to other manufacturers in India. We have listed down a huge range of manufacturing products like centrifugal die casting. The world's biggest collection of new ideas.

[thewaltcrew]

Director Kirk Wise, screenwriter Linda Woolverton, and actor Robby Benson on casting the Beast [x]

They gave me an incredible amount of freedom. I didn't want Beast to be a cartoon character. I played it as though I were doing a Broadway show. As if this was a living person. And I wanted him to be funny. By funny, I don't mean shtick or one-liners. I am talking about real comedy. When real comedy works, and is truthful, especially with the Beast, it comes out of the fact that he is so pathetic. For some reason, I really understood that. Ha! Because of that, they gave me a lot of leeway. [x]

My first audition was recorded on, of all things, a Sony Walkman. As a musician, I had branched out into recording engineer and loved to play with sound. When I saw the Sony Walkman I knew it had a little condenser microphone in it, and if I were to get too loud, the automatic compressor and built-in limiter would 'squash' the voice— and there would be very little dynamic range to the performance. I did a quick assessment and wondered how many people who had come in to audition for the part were making that error: playing the Beast with overwhelming decibels, compressing the vocal waveforms. I decided to give the Beast 'range.' Because of my microphone technique, and an understanding of who I wanted Beast to be, they kept asking me to come back and read different dialogue. After my fifth audition, Jeffrey Katzenberg the hands-on guardian of the film, said the part was mine…

Beauty and the Beast was so refreshingly fun and inventively creative to work on that I couldn't wait to try new approaches to every line of dialogue. Don Hahn is one of the best creative producers I have ever worked with. The two young directors, Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale, were fantastic and their enthusiasm was contagious. I not only was allowed to improvise, but they encouraged it. It never entered my mind that I was playing an animated creature. I understood the torment that Beast was going through: he felt ugly; had a horrible opinion of himself, and had a trigger-temper. Those are things that, if done right, are the perfect ingredients for comedy. Painful and pathetic comedy— but honest. The kind of comedy I understood...

In the feature world of Disney animation, the actors always recorded their dialogue alone in a big studio, with only a microphone and the faint images of the producers, writers, directors and engineer through a double-paned set of acoustic glass. Paige O'Hara and I became good friends; it was her idea that for certain very intimate scenes, such as when Beast is dying, we record together. We were able to play these scenes with an honest conviction that is often absent in the voice-over world...

The success of this film was the culmination of a team effort but I must say, the honors go to the animators— and for me (Beast), that's Glen Keane — and to Howard Ashman and Alan Menken. This was the perfect example of a crew who 'cared'. And the final results (every frame) of the film represent that sentiment. [x]

[yunaversalluv]

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull

ᴀ ɪɴᴅɪᴇ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄɪᴀɴ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ x ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴᴛ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜᴇʀ!ꜰᴇᴍ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆.˚ ★— Focus Pull m.list

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ `౨ৎ~

In the hush of a too-quiet apartment, Ellie stumbles across a photo that stops her cold — not a performance shot, but something quieter, rawer, real. Sent without words, it says more than she’s ready to hear.

Nothing is said. But everything shifts.

cw for this chapter// emotional vulnerability / introspection, themes of loneliness and isolation, mental health undertones, unspoken romantic tension, ambiguous consent in emotional exposure

note - sorry for the late posting this was supposed to posted yesterday & earlier today, but a lot has happened. this chapter was not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes!

taglist - @miajooz @talyaisvalslutsoldier @lesoulew @elliespotion @valeisaslut @mariesmagix @eriiwaiii2 @liztreez @re1daway @wrappedinvines @eleanorsghost @fangirlinc @wwefan2002

CHAPTER SEVEN: UNCAPTIONED

The hum of the mini fridge is the only sound in the apartment.

It’s a low, steady whirr, broken only by the occasional click when the compressor shifts. The kind of sound you stop noticing until silence would be louder. Ellie sits on the floor in front of the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, knees bent up like she’s trying to fold in on herself. The place is dim, all the overhead lights off, just a single lamp in the corner casting soft gold against the wall, and the blue glow of her phone screen washing her face in pulses.

Her eyes flick back and forth, scrolling, scrolling. Headlines. Dumb memes. Half-filtered images of brunch plates and mirror selfies and tour flyers she forgot to answer emails about. Snippets of strangers’ lives she doesn’t care about—too pretty, too loud, too curated, like someone turned the saturation up on everything and expected her to care.

Her thumb pauses. She’s been scrolling for so long her eyes sting.

A tagged photo stops her cold.

It’s her. Mid-performance. Sweat gleaming along her jaw, hair clinging to her cheek, lips parted in some word she doesn’t remember singing. The light catches just behind her, haloing the blur of her guitar strap. The caption says, god-tier angst lesbian energy. It’s followed by three heart emojis, a crying face, and a gif of a girl fainting.

Ellie scoffs under her breath, nose scrunching faintly. She scrolls past without thinking.

Then scrolls back.

Looks at it again.

Double-taps it. Immediately feels weird about it.

She exhales, jaw shifting. The last show was fine. Packed. Hot. Loud in a way that scraped the inside of her skull. She doesn’t remember much besides the lights in her eyes and the ache in her jaw from clenching too tight during the encore. It’s all a blur. Flashes of color and sound and faces she didn’t really see.

Her thumb hovers over her texts.

Nothing from Jesse. Not since yesterday. Dina sent a blurry photo of her cat asleep on a pile of laundry three hours ago. It’s stupid. Dumb cat, floppy and useless. Still, Ellie taps it open. Smiles faintly when she sees the cat’s tongue sticking out. She starts to type a response—

Then her screen lights up.

A name.

Your name.

Her whole body freezes like something inside her just short-circuited. Her thumb stops mid-word. Her breath catches in her throat.

A message.

No words.

Just an image.

Ellie swipes to open it, slow like she’s bracing for a hit. The preview loads — high resolution, sharp focus. She can already tell it’s one of yours.

Of course it is.

It’s her hands.

Just her hands — resting on her thighs, palms down, after the show. Her jeans look stiff with sweat. Gaffer tape’s still stuck to one knuckle, half peeling. There’s a raw spot near the edge of her nailbed. One of her rings has slipped a little. The light is dusky, somewhere between stage-blue and shadow-purple. She’s not posed. Not framed for attention. It’s quiet. Still. A moment she didn’t even know she gave you.

There’s tension in her fingers — like she was still coming down from it all — but also softness. A curl in the way her hand rests, slack now, drained. Like she was finally just existing.

Not performing.

Not bracing.

Just… her.

Ellie stares.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink for a second.

It feels like falling through the floor.

The air shifts, tightens. Her pulse kicks up behind her ribs.

No caption.

No message.

Which means she has to interpret it.

Has to fill in the silence with something that sounds like sense. She doesn’t know how. Doesn’t even know where to begin. Her throat’s dry. The image is so still, and yet it hits her like sound. Like melody. Like something vibrating too deep in her chest to name.

She lowers the phone, blinking fast, like her body’s trying to keep up with whatever just hit her.

She doesn’t know what to do with it.

She doesn’t know what to do with you

You didn’t mean to send it.

Not at first.

You’d been sitting in the quiet too, wrapped in the familiar glow of your editing screen. It wasn’t about deadlines tonight. Wasn’t about deliverables or tagging the right account or archiving everything before your memory of it faded.

You just felt… off. Restless. Like something was itching under your skin and you couldn’t figure out where to scratch.

You pulled up the folder again, not because you had to — because you needed to. Something in you kept reaching.

And there it was.

That frame.

The lighting wasn’t perfect, not technically. A little uneven. A little dim. But that made it better somehow. More honest.

Her hands. Relaxed, but not quite. Callused fingertips still twitching with the echo of the last chord. There was something about the curve of her fingers, the visible dirt beneath one nail, the line of faded ink near her wrist — all of it threaded with a kind of unspoken ache you couldn’t look away from.

You remembered when you took it. How she’d slumped onto the amp after soundcheck like the air had finally gotten too heavy.

And how she’d looked up.

Not startled. Not annoyed. Just tired. Real.

She saw the camera. Saw you behind it.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t pose.

Just met your gaze, unflinching.

And let you take it.

That stayed with you.

Now, hours later, it’s still open in a separate window. No title. No edits.

You stare at it for a long time.

You don’t write a caption. You don’t attach a message. You just drag the image into the text field, hesitate a second longer than you want to admit…

And hit send.

Then you shut your laptop.

You don’t check if she’s seen it.

You wouldn’t know what to do if she didn’t.

You wouldn’t know what to do if she did.

Ellie’s thumb is still hovering over the photo.

The apartment feels too quiet now. The fridge hum’s not enough to fill it. Her own breath sounds too loud in her ears.

She should say something.

She should type something dumb. Cool shot. Nice angle. Didn’t even know you took that.

Something that buys her time.

But her hands won’t move. Her fingers feel numb.

Her mind’s spinning in slow circles — not panicked, not frozen, just… suspended.

She taps the corner of the screen. Saves the image to her favorites. Stares at the little heart icon that flashes for half a second before disappearing.

Then she opens a note app. Blank screen. Cursor blinking.

She types:

not sure what you see when you look at me like that but i wanna believe it’s real.

She reads it. Feels her face go hot. Too much. Too open.

Deletes it.

Tries again.

i don’t like photos of me. but i keep looking at this one. why?

Deletes that too.

Leans her head back against the couch cushion, eyes closed. Exhales through her nose.

Her phone slips in her lap. She lets it.

She scrolls back to your thread again, opens the photo once more. Fills the screen with it. Just her hands. Just that small, raw moment she didn’t even know someone saw.

Her thumb brushes the edge of the glass. It’s almost a caress.

Like touching it could explain anything.

She doesn’t reply.

She doesn’t know how to say what it made her feel without sounding like something she’s not ready to admit.

But she opens her music app.

Scrolls to the playlist you made her. The one with the lo-fi cover art and the one-word title.

She picks that song.

The one you sent two nights ago. The one with the soft piano and breathless vocals that felt like sleeping in someone else’s bed and trying not to fall apart.

She hits play.

The first notes drift out into the quiet.

Ellie lies back on the floor, the carpet rough against her spine, hoodie pulled up over her chin. Her fingers curl loosely over her chest, like they don’t know where else to go.

Eyes closed.

Song playing.

Heart aching.

And somewhere between verse and chorus, she thinks—

What would I look like if I let someone love me?

She doesn’t have an answer.

But now, she thinks maybe…

You might.

[carionto]

Pressure and Release

Human: *hmm-ing at a set of dials and gauges*

Alien: What seems to be *translation unit catches up with the information they're displaying* OH MY GOD IT'S GOING TO EXPLODE!!! GET TO THE ESCAPE PODS NOW!!!!

H: Shh, it's fine, I'm just experimenting.

A: OH MY GOD WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE HORRIBLY!

H: Hey! Rude. *turns a dial causing a loud hissing noise* It's just air compressors and hydraulics.

A: *due to not dying, is beginning to relax* Why do you need up to 200 atmospheres running through these systems. We have invented alloy-specific magnetization mechanisms. Please, why do you keep insisting on these volatile and explosive means?

H: *turns the dial up* Because... *releases the pressure again, loud sudden hissing sound again* That's a cool sound.

A: Just because you think something is 'cool' doesn't make it-

H: *interrupts with another air build up and release sound without breaking eye contact*

A: *leaves*

H: *continues to play around*

_________________________________________

Okay, so I wanna get this off my chest. I find myself now for the fourth time starting a fun little activity, doing it for months on end, having a blast, and then almost suddenly dropping it entirely. First time I wrote some short stories or something every day for about six months and put it on deviantart. Then some longer form stuff started cropping in, sort of continuous narratives or whatever, and I stopped. Second was running a open D&D campaign with a persistent world but ever changing party, each session a sort of one-shot with a decision that would impact the whole world and what future sessions would exist. Not even 10 sessions in I felt under pressure to continue and build upon what I had already and just couldn't and stopped. Third was another kind of TTRPG, this time running my own server for Lancer. Again, open one shots, but less connected and I would hopefully get some of the players to want to run their own games within this freeform framework that I directly lifted from a D&D server I was in, even had some of the same people join as players. Few months later, I felt this massive pressure from myself to run games and come up with new scenarios that I just froze up. I cancelled game after game and just eventually abandoned the server and the resources I had made. Fourth time was here on tumblr itself. Back to writing some short form stuff on a fairly regular basis, almost daily for some time even. Had a blast, and then longer form content started creeping in. I thought I wanted to write some stories with an overarching plot and recurring characters and connected storylines, build up and pay off, that sort of thing. Again, I created this massive pressure by myself for myself of myself to do something I apparently can't. I created this sense of expectation of myself "Well, I started this, I should finish it, but where do I go, what do I do, how can I connect this?" And then this self-inflicted pressure got to me, again. And I stopped.

What I have known for a while, but couldn't put into words is that I don't want to tell a big long epic story or anything like that. I don't have one of those in me and forcing something like that only makes me shrivel up and run away. I have a world, several in fact, in my mind. Entire continents of a low fantasy character driven political intrigue and drama based world with tons of rules and restrictions, thousands of years of history, strong personalities for the main actors and so many individual scenes with them and the supporting cast, and a timeframe for when the overarching story happens and how it ends. But no story itself. Just scenes. I have a high fiction sci-fi world, again, with very distinct factions and races, most of the details I have written out back when I was a teen in a physical notebook with pen and pencil. Lots of historical points and events, how the races work, their domains if you will, near magical powers I try to explain with plausible science. Tons of specific details. Even drew each of their common symbols, how one of the languages is structured, schematics of how their cities are planned, and details on other planets in the system and how those might be important later. But, not a single individual character or story. Just dry facts. And then we have the loose sci-fi world I've created here. Bunch of different angles and perspectives, some comedic, some more serious, even put Cthulu in there. Many short and mostly self-contained stories and episodes of various humans doing things an exaggerated version of humanity would do. There is potential for a number of expanded and longer form stories here, some I attempted, and as mentioned, what ultimately made me stop. I don't have a book in me, and I don't want to write one. I just like to write little snippets and I want to get myself to accept this idea that, no, it does not need to become more than that. Because every time I start going down a path where it feels like it should be more than a one page thing, I seize up, start thinking that I need to do this, panic when I can't come up with anything, go silent, and give up. It just does not work for my brain. And that's fine.

[whump-or-whatever]

Napoleon Solo Whump - The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (1964)

There are a lot of fights and such in this show so I’ve marked episodes I found particularly whumpy with an *.

Spoilers ahead!

S1E1- in a car crash, passes out, chained up by his arms, near explosion

S1E2- gassed, coughing, captured, tied up, in a fight

S1E4- held down, whipped

S1E5- coughing, passes out, strapped to table

S1E6- punched, tranquilized, shocked, punched again

S1E7- knocked out

S1E8- knocked out twice, chained up, manhandled, in a fight, passes out

S1E10- in a fight

S1E11- poked with fishhook, passes out, headache, running out of air

S1E12- in a fight

S1E13- manhandled, knocked out, hit several times, in a fight, sore neck

S1E14- strangled, passes out, backhanded twice

S1E15- given injection, knocked out, chained to tree

S1E16- running out of air, passes out

S1E17- strangled, in a fight

*S1E20- leg pain from sprained knee

S1E21- shot with a blank

S1E22- punched

S1E23- knocked out

S1E24- knocked out, bound, almost drowned

S1E25- in a fight, tied to a chair

*S1E26- knocked out, gagged, cuffed, knocked out again, wrists burned

*S1E27- chained up, stretched on the rack

S1E28- hit, strangled twice, smacked, tied up, in a fight

S1E29- shot in the shoulder

S2E1- smacked, dust in eyes, tied down

S2E2- in a fight, gassed, passes out, hit on hand

S2E3- in a fight, chained up, tied up

S2E4- manhandled, gassed, passes out, bound, drugged, in a fight

*S2E5- near explosion, broken arm, pinned to wall, in a fight, hit on broken arm, pain from slipping out of cast

S2E6- held down

S2E7- brief fight

S2E9- manhandled

S2E10- hurt arm, gut punched, knocked out, tied to rack, tied to puppet strings

S2E11- chained up

S2E13- in a fight

S2E14- tied up, hand bound behind back, hung by wrists, whipped, gassed, coughing, in a fight, near explosion, in hospital

S2E15- car crash, knocked out, sore, on a fight

S2E16- in a fight, chained up

S2E17- knocked out, tied up, in a fight, knocked out again, chained up

S2E19- in a fight, punched, another fight

S2E20- in a car crash, knocked out twice, thrown into compressor

S2E21- cont. of last ep.

S2E22- in a fight, tied up

*S2E23- exposed to radiation, woozy, stumbling

S2E24- knocked out, headache, amnesia

S2E25- in a car crash, knocked out

S2E26- choked

S2E29- strapped to chair, overheated, given injection

S2E30- coughing, hit on hand with whip, choked, tied to chair

S3E1- in a fight, choked

S3E4- in a fight, bound and hoisted on chains, another fight

S3E5- in a fight, bound to post, chained to wall, hit

S3E7- grabbed by neck, tied up, hung upside down, in a fight

S3E8- in a fight, almost falls off balcony

S3E9- in two fights

S3E10- in a fight, knocked out, almost drowns

*S3E11- in a fight, injured in a car crash, head injury from explosion

*S3E12- ears hurt by loud noise, his boat blown up, dragged out of water, slapped, knocked out, in a fight, hand slapped

S3E13- ears hurt by loud noise

*S3E14- given several vaccine shots, knocked out by explosion, heat exhaustion, punched, shoved around, used for target practice

S3E15- tied up

*S3E16- in a helicopter crash, resuscitated, locked in wind tunnel, weak, helped to walk

S3E17- near explosion, in a fight

S3E18- in a fight, knocked out, punched, strapped to table under hot lights, knocked out again, in hospital

S3E19- dropped through trapdoor, wrists bound, in a plane crash

S3E20- kneed, knocked out, tied up, water torture, in a fight

S3E21- knocked out, in a fight

S3E22- punched twice

S3E23- tied up and gagged, in a fight

S3E24- in a fight, tied up

S3E25- burnt by acid

*S3E26- in a fight, beaten, tortured with electricity offscreen, tackled, in a car crash, hung by wrists

S3E27- attacked by dogs, tied up

S3E28- in 3 fights

S3E29- tied up, knocked out, knocked out again, in a fight, knocked out a third time, another fight

S3E30- tied to a chair, punched

S4E1- crushed on door, deprived of sleep, food, and water, interrogated, hit with electronic barrier, begging, gassed, coughing

S4E2- hit by car, thrown by explosion

S4E4- knocked out, buried in sand, tied up

S4E5- car blown up, jumps out of moving car

S4E7- in 4 fights

S4E8- mauled by a cheetah and bitten on arm, in hospital

S4E9- punched in the stomach

*S4E11- in a fight, beaten, tortured with electricity, drugged, another fight

S4E12- in a fight

S4E13- knocked out, tied up, put in a noose, dropped through trap door, thrown by explosion, tied up again

S4E14- gassed, coughing, knocked out, tied up

S4E15- dropped from a height, knocked out, in crashing plane, parachutes out, knocked out again, exhausted, passes out, given injection

S4E16- cont. of last ep.

That’s all folks!

[fuzzkaizer]

Days of Yore - THE TOWER

vertical spring reverb

"The Tower from Days of Yore is a 41" professional-grade vertical spring reverb unit with comprehensive controls, stunning visual design, and a dark and dreamy sound bringing your effects chain to new heights. Days of Yore knows that when it comes to spring reverb, size matters. Inside its beautiful smoked eucalyptus enclosure, three 31" springs combine to create a lush and resonant reverb tone only possible with large springs. Internal soundproofing preserves this exquisite analog tone, ensuring uncompromising quality every session. Combining handcrafted design with high-quality analog circuits, The Tower stands above inferior spring tanks, casting a long shadow with its immersive reverberations.

Features Vertical spring reverb unit 3x 31" springs capable of lush and large reverb effects Smoked eucalyptus enclosure with internal sound proofing Input/output and send/return jacks each with dry/wet/volume controls Remote footswitch with buffered bypass and feedback activation Gated reverb activation with attack, sustain, release envelope Vibrato with depth and rate control Drive boosts input signal Input control with LED VU metering Pickup volume control fine-tunes effect character Single-knob compressor boosts reverb presence"

cred: perfectcircuit.com

[alliedfounderspvtltd]

Gray And Ductile Iron Castings

[strange-and-off-putting]

Smegtober Prompt 17: Derelict

“You find anything?”  He calls over the two-way radio.  He steps carefully across the debris strewn floor, and picks gingerly through the piles of decaying trash.  The radio beeps in his hand, the voice on the other end speaking in an eerily similar cadence.

“No,” it says, crackling intermittently.  “But we thought as much, aye?  They’d have been up there in years in the best case scenario, and that’s not even accounting for God only knows what other sort smeg they might’ve gotten into.” “Yeah, true enough.”  Bexley sighs, carefully lifting the edge of a decrepit old comic books from the corner of the bottom bunk.  The paper crackles and practically falls apart in his hands.  He shakes his head and turns to start scavenging through the lockers. “Hey,” his brother pops his head around the doorway, now permanently propped open, the pneumatic compressors having burned out long ago.  “You looking for anything in particular, Bex?” “I dunno,” he says.  He fumbles with the padlock on the locker nearest him, and gives it a swift yank.  The shackle pops open with satisfying "tchk."

“Guess I’m just curious,” he says, discarding the lock, “what they were like.” He pulls open the door and pulls back in surprise before bursting out in laughter.  “Jim, man, get over here,” he says, pulling the door wide open and gesturing inside with a grin as his brother sidles up to him.  “Who’s locker do you think this is?” Jim grins broadly. “Well, what’d you expect,” Jim sighs fondly, reaching out to finger the cuffs of one of the dozen pairs of identical, starched, ship-issued uniform slacks.  ��Remember what mum always told us about parallel universes, yeah?  They were basically the same people.” “Yeah, but they weren’t though, were they?” Bexley murmurs, slamming the locker and opening the adjacent one.  His eyes light up at the familiar hodgepodge of ratty t-shirts and old biker jackets.  His eyes fall onto a picture stuck on the inside of the locker; a familiar young man, holding two fussing babies, wrapped in thermal mylar.    He plucks it down, the photo yellowing with age, it’s edges brittle.  He thumbs over the still glossy surface thoughtfully. “They weren’t the same,” he says, “because of us.  We were the wildcard, see?  A variable in play in our universe, but not theirs.”  He leans heavily against an old, slanting desk, the surface warped and bowing with age. “What if we’re the reason they’re gone?” he murmurs.  “If they got into whatever smeg they got into, because we weren’t here, 'cause the didn't have tend to us?” Jim plucks the photo from his brother’s hand, examining it closely. “Well, then by that same logic, maybe we’re the reason mum and Arlene are still around,” he says, looking up and smirking.  “Tottering and bickering and belligerent, but still smegging kicking.  He stands hip to hip with his twin, resting his weight equally against the desk and his brother’s side.  They bow their heads instinctively together, practically temple to temple, and gaze at the photo. “It’s not like we had a choice,” Jim says at last.  “But isn’t it something...?  To know that you made a difference to someone, somewhere.”

“Mmm,” Bexley hums.  “Just wish it could have worked out for the both of them. For all of them." “Mmm.  Yeah.  But that’s just not how the universe works, Bex.  Someone somewhere gets the short end of the cosmic stick.”

“Yeah.”  A beat.  “Like you.  Smeg, look at you.  Sweet Christ, you were an ugly ass baby.” Jim slaps his brother roughly on the back of the head, standing with a groan.   “Shut up.”  He twists left and right, bones popping and cracking.  Bexley checks his watch.

“Guess if there’s no one here, it doesn’t make sense to stay,” he sighs.  “Not good for our health.”

“Yeah, I don’t need anymore grey hairs,”  Jim says, casting his eyes around the room.  He pauses at the doorway, eyeing the bunks; the empty top bunk sans bedding, the bottom one fully made up, two mismatched sets of blankets enveloping one another.  He turns to his brother.

“You think they ever figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

“You know,” he says, eyes darting about, color rising to his checks.  “Like mum and Arlene.”

Bexley wrinkles his nose.

“Smeg, man, I don’t wanna think about that,” he shudders, mostly performatively.  He puts a hand on his brother’s back and guides him out of the room, pulling the quantum skipper out of his pocket.  He casts one last glance behind him, and breathes out, long and deep.

“But I hope they did,” he murmurs.  “They deserved that much, at least.”

[goyalinc]

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[journalofthewanderers]

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Day of Reckoning

Uncharted planet, Pharhan Galaxy

124th Turn of the Holy Calendar of Kroll

Koschei tugged on one of his black leather gloves, the left one this time, a nervous habit he’d developed not long after receiving them.

Before him stretched a grey landscape, an uneven series of rocky depressions, nothing but dreary boulders of the same colours and varying sizes, which was the most unique thing the landscape had to offer.

The mind-numbing boredom the setting provided was doing little to subdue his anxiety, however.

The nudge startled him from his musings, and he turned to see Darkel waiting for him, he was a lanky youth, but she was even taller than him, copper skinned and hair almost as wild as the Doctors, though hers was a platinum blonde.

“If you’re finished admiring the…” she cast a critical, yellow-flecked brown, eye over the same scene he had been staring at with such avid intensity, “…picturesque landscape, he’s about to start.”

“Thanks,” Koschei nodded, Darkel folded her arms and gestured to the small boxy device he’d been holding in his left hand.

“New toy?” she asked, Koschei smiled a little shyly and held it out for her to see.

“It’s supposed to be a Matter Compressor, the Doctor helped me put it together.”

“Supposed to be?”

“I-“Koschei began then bobbed his head, “haven’t tested it yet, the theory is that it could stand in for a Time Archons Transmigration ability, by shrinking an object down.”

“Nice,” Darkel smiled evenly, “come on, but we’re about to start.”

“Oh, of course, sorry,” Koschei blushed and gestured for Darkel to lead the way back to the others. There were six of them altogether, their other four classmates–dressed in the same quilted, one-piece jumpsuit–were gathered around a Time Archon, who’s heavy layered robe and curved golden collar, with a semicircle of metal suspended between its prongs, marked him as a Chronarch.

Preceptor Salyavin, the Chronarch in question, waited patiently for Koschei and Darkel to join the group.

As they came over he fastidiously smoothed the stole that hung from the shoulder pads of his collar–another part of Chronarch adornment–decorated with the Seal of the Time Archons, below which was the symbol of the Great State of Prydon, reflected also in the green of his robes, and lastly at the bottom, his name written in High Jeweliform script.

Koschei took in all this with the attentive eye for detail that always emerged when he was anxious, as Salyavin began to speak.

“Firstly notes on the journey here: Magnus and Rowellanuraven your piloting of the TARDIS was highly professional, Darkel you did well compensating for that temporal drift, Koschei and, Corsair…”

Salyavins tone shifted slightly as he named the last member of the group, a statuesque deep-brown skinned and freckled Shobogan with nose, ear and brow rings, each of a different make from a myriad of different worlds.

The name ‘Corsair’ in place of a conventional Shobogan name identified him as a full member of the Paradox Faction, something the Chronarch found exceptionally distasteful. Of course Koschei was also a member, but having yet to discard his own name–something he doubted he would ever do–that connection remained less apparent, and he was sure the Chronarch was unaware of that fact.

“…a little more awareness next time,” Salyavin continued, “those eddies can sneak up on even the most competent of pilots, but it pays to remain vigilant.”

The Corsair merely looked back, unflinching in the face of Salyavin’s palpable disapproval.

The Preceptor drew his attention away from the Corsair and steepled his hands in front of him, regarding the students under his care, and his observation, for this final examination.

“Your task here may seem simple, yet assuming simplicity is one of the great follies of any life form: a piece of anachronistic technology has been pre-placed somewhere within this region, in 29 Turns of their Holy Calendar, a survey ship from a neighbouring civilisation will land here, if left unrecovered this anachronism will have a ripple effect on that civilisation, representing an unacceptable change in the web of time. You will locate and retrieve the anachronism, then return to the TARDIS which has blended with the environment adding another layer of challenge to this examination, you will have exactly one rotation of this planet to achieve that task, failure will result in automatic Transmat back to the TARDIS and will count as a failure, once you succeed we will return to the Homeworld and meet with a fellow TARDIS and engage in a live fire exercise to test your combat expertise.”  

Salyavin looked at each of them in turn to ensure that they understood their objectives then turned and held up his Datapatch.

“You may begin.”

With a press he was outlined in the reddish glow of a Transmat beam before his form faded from view and his newly acquired halo dispersed into nothingness with him.

Immediately the group huddled together, drawing out their Datapatches.

“This is what we’re looking for,” Magnus told the group, immediately assuming the lead, a rendering of the device appeared on their screens, a large boxy machine with three diamond shaped rings suspended via gravitic field in a row at one end, Koschei recognised it even as Rowellanuraven continued.

“A small probe fitted with a Gravity drive, the Balhoonians who will land on this planet aren’t able to develop gravity technology for another 498 Turns of their Holy Calendar, that’s an unacceptable contamination of their timeline if it were to be discovered.”

“What options do we have for locating it?” The Corsair asked, Koschei took this chance to add his own voice to the discussion.

“Do we know what TLC level this probe comes from?”

“Level 9 I think?” Darkel replied, “so that’s what? Particle weapons almost standard issue, frequent Transmat usage, Gravity drives become standard obviously and unpurified Zeiton-4 reactors.”

“Well,” Koschei mused, “if it has a Zeiton reactor we can track it’s radiation signature, should stand out amongst all this.”

“Don’t be daft Koschei,” Magnus replied more than a little dismissively, “it’s a probe, something that small won’t have a full reactor, probably a low-level thermoelectric generator.”

“That’s… that’s not true for every species though.” Koschei argued meekly, he gestured at the image of the probe, “those gravity rings, a diamond shape is inefficient but when compared to the rest of the design it creates an aesthetic style that wouldn’t work with any other shape, this probe is a statement as much as a machine, a way for this civilisation to show off, and nothing shows off more than a Zeiton reactor built into a probe.”

The others considered the design again and all began to nod and look at each other, but Magnus shook his head.”

“Setting up a scan for Zeiton will take time, time we don’t have, especially if your logic doesn’t pan out.”

“Well what’s your solution for finding it then?” Darkel shot back before Koschei could attempt to reply, Magnus didn’t answer immediately, then he smirked.

“The probe will be putting out a signal surely, if not a greeting message then the remnants of a control signal.

His reply prompted a scoff of derision from Darkel, “even if there is a signal, I was in charge of the exterior monitoring terminal of the main console, this planet’s atmosphere is charged as spack, a signal would get bounced around like crazy.”

But Rowellanuraven waved a dismissive hand, “We can filter that out, Magnus plan makes the most sense.”

Is that just because he thought of it? Koschei thought, but he said nothing even as the group’s opinion swung, as it often did, in Magnus’ favour, it came with the territory of being the top pupil of their class. Darkel shot him a half encouraging, half exasperated look, but when he made no attempt to argue his case further she rolled her eyes.

The group began fiddling with their individual Datapatches, sure enough a faint control signal was detectable from the north, Magnus couldn’t help but shoot a superior look at Koschei as he set off confidently, just before having do turn east as the signal glitched and altered position by a matter of several hundred kilometres.

~ ~ ~

As the lightposts began to gradually increase their intensity, bathing Prydon in the false glow of an imitation sunrise, the Doctor breakfasted quickly before making her way to their usual meeting place under the Dead Evertime.

No one knew why this particular tree, of a species that never withered or even lost its leaves, had achieved both, but it had, long before any of them had come along. The Rani and Drax were sitting side by side at the base of the tree below the many carvings upon its twisted, almost branchless trunk.

The Rani was holding a fully unfolded Datapatch, the small discs of golden metal were ubiquitous across Jewel as Shobogan personal computers, slightly dimensionally transcendental, it could be unfolded into a full-sized computer pad. The stylistic decorations and stickers on the back identified it as belonging to Drax. Hey grey eyes with purple streaks were intently focused on the screen even as she spoke animatedly to Drax.

They couldn’t have looked more different, the Rani was almost a picture perfect Shobogan, dressed in the appropriate red, her rich dark hair was cut short in the vogue Shobogan style, a style that actually complimented her sculpted and refined features and almost white skin. The only mark that she was part of the Paradox Faction was a small square of blue stitched onto one of the sleeves.

Drax by comparison, had looked into the great archives, found the term ‘punk’ and had proceeded to embody its description completely; their hair was long, very long, reaching down to their knees, dyed white and tied in a ponytail accentuated with metal ringlets and string, contrasting wildly with the deep copper shade of their skin and their orange-streaked purple eyes. Even their style was radically different, studded leather frock coat over checked trousers and a bright blue shirt, and not a trace of red colouring anywhere on their attire.

Drax saw the Doctor first and waved.

“Come help us Thete, Rani is determined to drill these answers into me, and I don’t mean figuratively.”

The Rani gave Drax a withering look and put down the pad.

“If you want to keep dancing on the edge of expulsion from the academy, you can at least do well in your written exam before that happens, you won’t get anywhere without a qualification.”

“Where is it written that an artist needs qualifications?” Drax replied coiling their hair about their wrist.

“So you’ll be content to wander around like a cosmic tramp?”

“Tramp no, hobo maybe.” Drax grinned at the Doctor who chuckled and shook her head.

“I suppose you agree with them?” The Rani addressed the Doctor critically, the Doctor shrugged.

“I mean it depends on what you want to do, but we are trying to change the system remember.”

The Rani sighed.

“Doctor, the Paradox Faction needs capable, learned, and qualified people to argue it’s case, how else do you change a system?”

“Well if you ask Drax the answer would be spray painting ‘Spack off’ over every inch of the Capitol.”

“Thete! How could you assume I’d be so crude and crass?” Drax interjected, their tone hurt, “It’d be ‘Spack right off’ anyway” they added a beat later.

The Doctor stifled a laugh and settled down beside the Rani as she rolled her eyes and continued to study Drax’s Datapatch.

It was a quiet morning in Prydon, above the Vortex swirled past. Jewel still rotated, and to look up at the moment was to look straight ahead along the churning tunnel of all time and space, into the future.

“There was some… commotion last night.” The Rani said airily after an instant or two of silence, the Doctor didn’t look at her, choosing instead to toy with some tufts of redgrass.

“A break in at the Palace.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that.”

The Rani set down the Datapatch and looked at the Doctor.

“What were you thinking?” she asked harshly, the Doctor drew in a long breath and leaned forward to face her.

“I was thinking that I’d finally finish my project and annoy the Time Archons in the process.”

The Rani’s face was a picture of incredulity, “you risked your life, to be an annoyance?”

The Doctor narrowed her eyes. “No I broke into the Cardinals Palace and ran away from the Guards for my binary vascular health,” she replied acidly.

“Did you use Venusian Akido on any of them?” Drax interjected eagerly, even as the Rani shot a vicious look at them.

“Wasn’t an opportunity,” the Doctor replied, prompting Drax to throw up their hands in disbelief,

“Well what did you learn it for then?”

“Do you actually take any of this seriously?” The Rani snapped hotly, she climbed to her feet and walked a few steps away, arms folded.

“Of course we do,” the Doctor said to her back, only for her to round on him.

“Really? Seems to me like you’re more interested in spacking about, playing games.”

“Rani…”

 This isn’t the Deca, Drax, this is the real world, what if the Doctor had been caught, or shot?”

No one said anything as she glared at both of them, finally the Doctor got to her feet.

“What’s my name?”

The Rani sighed and rolled her eyes, “the Doctor,” she replied archly.

“And why is it the Doctor?”

“Because you Burned your Name, what’s your point?”

“Exactly,” the Doctor leant back against the Dead Evertime.

“Whatever my name was before is gone, the Grandfather erased it from time, I am and always will be the Doctor, every other member of the Faction has done the same.”

“So your saying im not a full member because I didn’t?” the Rani shot back, the Doctor held up her hands and shook her head.

“No…”

“Drax didn’t choose a title when their name was Burned.”

“I had no interest in following the herd, even a herd of rebels,” Drax said, mostly to themselves.

“You’re right, you didn’t Burn your name,” the Doctor cut in, ignoring Drax, “you’re still Ranidvoratnelundar, you just shortened your name, no-one begrudges you that, no-one is doubting your commitment because it was your choice, that’s what our end goal is, choice.”

She drew from her pocket the Sonic Screwdriver and held it up for them both to see.

“Last night, I proved that their power is not absolute, I opened a psychic door with this, crossed a threshold that no Shobogan has been capable of crossing, not without a Time Archon to condescendingly hold their hand.”

She smiled, “and it pissed them off, oh it definitely did that, and that’s the point, I defied them.”

The Rani was standing with her arms crossed and her eyes set, the Doctor stowed the Sonic, walked over and gave her shoulder an affectionate rub.

“Look, we do take this seriously, you know that, it’s why we Burned our names, and maybe you’re right and trying to fix things from the inside should always be the best option, but… when you’re fighting a system like ours, more often than not you do have to spray paint ‘Spack right off’ on the Capitol.”

The Rani’s small snort of a laugh was reluctant, but a sign of acceptance, nonetheless.

“Well,” she said after a breath, “I don’t agree, but at least it all worked out for you.”

“It almost didn’t, if not for the Professor,” the Doctor admitted evenly, choosing not to continue the argument and sitting cross legged on the ground.

“He showed up again?” the Rani resumed her original place, taking up Drax’s Datapatch once more, while Drax themself was weaving a long strand of grass into their hair.

“He did,” the Doctor confirmed, “no idea how he does it, manages to show up at just the right time to cover for us.”

“You more than us,” Drax observed, the Doctor shrugged.

“He’s either got a Time Space Visualiser, or he’s a secret Time Archon agent who’s organising all our… my close shaves to ingratiate himself into the Faction.”

“He helped found the Faction?” The Ranis tone still held her usual strain of irritability, but only to a slight degree, the Doctor shrugged again.

“He’s playing the long game,” she said with a grin, prompting the Rani to sigh, though more good naturedly than before.

“It’d be new levels of stupidity even for the Time Archons to send one of their own as a spy.”

“Maybe, but then again, you have seen their collars?”

Drax sniggered while the Rani chose to immerse herself in the Datapatch, a more comfortable silence settled over the three of them as a gust of wind caressed the bare branches of the dead Evertime like absent fingers.

“How do you think Koschei’s doing right now?” the Doctor asked, as her thoughts turned to the missing member of their group.

Drax smiled. “Knowing him, they’re probably considering creating the position of King of the Homeworld for him, that or President Archon or something equally gauche.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have more of an opinion about him becoming a Time Archon.” The Rani said, lowering the Datapatch to look intently at the Doctor, who waved a hand in dismissal.

“Koschei’s his own person, besides a high achiever like him becoming a Time Archon and being a member of the Paradox Faction? Didn’t you say something about working within the system?”

Her own argument turned back on her, the Rani simply made the face version of ‘fair enough’ and raised the Datapatch back over said facial features. Though neither her nor Drax had missed the uncertainty hiding in the Doctors response.

The Doctors eyes wandered, away from her two friends, up to the Dead Evertime looming over them, where its lower branches had been stripped away, its trunk had slowly been festooned in carvings across the Eras; Androgar loves Rodan, Gastron was here, Gat is a Vortisaur kisser were some of the newer ones.

Her eyes fixed upon one carving in particular, much older yet still perceptible: EHITAED.

Everything has its time, and everything dies.

No one knew who’d carved that one, but everyone knew what it said, a fact passed from person to person without ever being altered or misremembered.

The Doctor reached up and absently traced the letters with a finger, many a Paradoxical had looked at those words, and agreed with their message.

~ ~ ~

Half a rotation.

They had been stumbling around for half a rotation without getting any closer to the elusive, ever-changing signal. Koschei had been tempted to check the archive file on the creators of the probe, just to see if in fact, they weren’t in fact sentient radio waves that liked to taunt aspiring Time Archons, but to do so would have marked them down if not outright disqualified them.

They’d get no more than a few dozen kilometres in one direction before the signal would jump, now coming from almost the opposite direction. Everyone was becoming ever more desperate and irritated, especially Magnus as, with each passing moment, and each time the signal moved, he became increasingly aware of how wrong he’d been.

Not that that was helping, the slow realisation went hand in hand with an irrational stubbornness not to admit his mistake, even if it cost them all their qualifications.

Darkel kept shooting looks of encouragement at Koschei, trying to prompt him to speak up, to convince the others to try his idea, but he couldn’t do it. He could state his case as he’d done initially, but he was no debater, he couldn’t argue his case, and no matter how he tried, how he practiced with the Doctor and the others, it was a glitch in his psyche he couldn’t shake.

Nor unfortunately could Darkel, though her reasons were different.

Both her parents were Chronarchs heavily involved in the politics of the Great State of Patrex, they’d sent her off to Prydon with a stipulation that she not do anything to embarrass them.

One of those stipulations was that she not speak her mind too much, due to the fact that she had the opposite problem to Koschei; she was overly argumentative and was incapable from keeping from descending into a litany of swear words and more than a few punches and kicks if she came to loggerheads with someone.

So her parents, ever supportive, had passed a note to Salyavin, requiring her being held back, if not entirely dismissed from the programme if she blackened anyone’s eye during her final assessment.

Koschei could see how much keeping her temper in check was grating on her.

It had begun to rain as they’d clambered across the rough landscape, and a slurry of greyish mud had begun to bubble up from between the rocks, staining the lower half of their green jumpsuits.

Darkel dropped back to trudge beside Koschei as they altered course for the umpteenth time.

“Spacking. Say. Something.” She hissed.

“You know he’ll just shut me down,” he replied quietly, causing Darkel to scowl.

“If you don’t we all fail, and I’d quite like to have all the work I’ve put in pay off.”

Ahead Magnus had stopped at the edge of a small cliff, which had the effect of framing him quite dramatically against the desolate landscape.

Darkel dug an elbow into Koschei’s ribs, and he sighed heavily.

“Magnus,” he called out, walking towards the dramatic silhouette. Magnus ignored him and he called again.

“Magnus.”

“We’re nearly there, I know it.” His classmate snapped back.

As it turned out, Magnus’s conviction was only slightly less steady than the ground he was standing on, as with a sudden wet crunch, the cliff began to sag.

“Magnus!” Koschei yelled, but the ground suddenly slid downwards, carrying Magnus with it even as he frantically made to dive to safety. Fortunately the cliff turned out to be more of a steep incline, nonetheless Magnus still rolled hard down to the ground. The others gathered at the new edge in a panic, Rowellanuraven called down to him, taking the lead as best she could, below Magnus was moving but had found himself in a small pit of the grey slurry, which was hampering his ability to pull himself free.

Almost unconsciously Koschei found himself perching on the edge and sliding down himself on his back, his own landing was far more controlled than Magnus’s but no less filthy.

“Over here,” he called throwing himself flat beside the muddy ditch and holding out his hands, Magnus scrambled over and grabbed hold, together they pulled and soon enough Magnus was free.

“Thanks,” Magnus spluttered, his reluctance audible even through the mud.

“Don’t you think it’s time to try something different,” Koschei said quietly.

For a moment it looked as if the other Magnus was truly considering, then he shook his head sharply.

“I know, what I’m doing.”

A sharp sting of anger twisted Koschei’s insides, followed by a sudden cold awareness. He looked up at the figures still clustered above them.

“I-! think this hill comes down a few yards that way,” he pointed to his left, “take the safe way and we’ll-we’ll meet you.”

Darkel, or he thought it was her, waved in confirmation and began leading the others in the direction he’d indicated. Once they were on the move, he turned back to Magnus.

“Look at me Magnus.”

Irritably the other Shobogan did as he was asked, then his mud caked features softened slightly as he met Koschei’s gaze.

“Look into my eyes,” Koschei said gently, his voice would be barely audible over the downpour, but Magnus would hear it in his mind.

When Salyavin had met him privately after class one day and informed him that he would give Koschei personal tutoring in the art of psychic projection, he had been at a loss for words, but Salyavin had merely smiled and told him…

“Magnus and Rowellanuraven may be the best students in this class, but accolade can be a poor indicator of ability, and I perceive that you have the most potential out of your fellows, the question is, do you have the drive to fulfil that potential?”

The process of unlocking one’s telepathic power was arduous, even for Shobogans with their inherent latent psychic awareness, and sessions of meditation, practice and rigorous concentration had followed.

“Time Archons,” Salyavin had explained as Koschei had concentrated on pacifying a captive Pigbear, “have their natural mental abilities greatly expanded upon their creation, full telekinesis only manifests in older Chronarch’s and Eternals of course, but even the newest Elemental can influence lesser beings when necessary, convince them of things untrue and deny the evidence of their own eyes, however developing one’s powers before ascension has a myriad of advantages, with the right level of mastery you can control the minds of others.”

Even if Koschei had reached that lofty height before his ascension, controlling another Shobogan was no easy task, and he would have refrained from doing so regardless.

But what he could do, and what he did now, was influence.

“Listen to me,” he said, “you know my idea was right, if we keep trying we’ll fail, and then all our efforts getting this far will be in vain, you know I’m right.”

Magnus said nothing as the rain slashed down, then he blinked and shook his head.

“Alright,” he said, “alright Spack it, we’ll try it your way.”

The others joined them an Instant later and after some discussion they set to work. Retooling their Datapatches to scan for Zeiton radiation was an arduous and lengthy process, just as they’d feared, involving stripping down the devices, before adapting and overclocking their wavelength receivers. Homeworld technology relied on Fluid Link circuitry which at least meant they didn’t have to worry about the rain getting into the machinery, but the process of squatting in a circle, ankle deep in mud and with rain lashing at them wasn’t one they wished to repeat.

By the time they had finished they were soaked, miserable and running out of time. Koschei could feel the fulminating despair in the others, Magnus, despite being unaware of his actions was resentful, Rowellanuraven equally so.

Koschei pushed his not insubstantial doubt aside and turned his Datapatch on, instantly a single signal, strong and unmoving, appeared to the west. Taking a deep breath he began walking, trudging carefully through the mud, but no matter how far he walked the signal remained constant.

Doing his best to hide his relief, and perhaps a sense of satisfaction, he turned back to Darkel and nodded, she made no effort to hide her emotions and gestured to the others to follow. They moved quickly, more than once they slipped and stumbled, their jumpsuits more grey than green now. We look like we’re from the Great State of Dromeia instead of Prydon, Koschei though with amusement, what little amusement he could derive from their situation.

The signal remained a steady pulsing blip on his Datapatch screen, but the rangerscope indicated it to be several kilometres distant, he checked the distance against the rotation of the planet; it was doable, but they were running out of time.

Jewel, or the Homeworld, or even the Planet, had a notoriously thin atmosphere, even at sea level, as such the early Shobogans had adapted their respiratory bypass system in order to subsist off of minimal oxygen supply. Coupled with their binary vascular system it gave them exceptional endurance, something that the group put to good use as they upped their speed to a steady jog, as much as possible across the still treacherous, mud sodden ground, in the direction of their target.

Three quarters of a rotation had passed by the time they finally sighted the probe; it wasn’t particularly large; double the size and weight of an average Shobogan, but as they staggered to a stop around the device, their elation–reluctant though it was on the part of Magnus and Rowellanuraven–quickly gave way to consternation and more than a little despair.

“There’s no way we can drag this thing all the way back to the TARDIS,” the Corsair murmured, he stood just behind the probes diamond shaped gravity coils, rubbing his left hip which Koschei knew sported an ouroboros tattoo.

“If we all lifted and moved as quickly as possible?” Rowellanuraven suggested, going so far as to reach down and grab onto a corner of the machine, she remained there expectantly, even as none of the others made to join her.

“One wrong stumble, that thing slides down a particularly steep incline, and we’re finished,” Darkel replied, unable to resist a glare at Magnus, who gave as good as he got.

“We can but try,” he replied archly, deciding now to help Rowellanuraven, the Corsair joined them, as reluctantly did Darkel and Koschei, but no sooner had they found a handhold on the probe, when a new problem joined the long queue of issues already waiting.

“It’s stuck,” Darkel said, not to any of the others in particular, more to the universe at large, an admonishment regarding its current tomfoolery.

Try as they might, with more than one of them slipping and falling into the mud, the probe refused to be pried free from the sludge clinging to its underside.

“Spack!” Magnus shouted, aiming a kick at the infuriatingly uncooperative device.

Koschei took a step back, toying with his gloves as he wrestled with his own mounting despair, he put his hands to his hips. His fingers brushed against the small box attached there, and his low mood was shattered by a sudden fierce, bright glimmer of hope.

“What if we could make it smaller?” He said quickly.

The others turned to him, Magnus shook his head.

“We’ll that’d be great,” he muttered, massaging his foot, “but how likely is that?”

Koschei drew out the Matter Compressor in response, and showed it to him, to them all.

“You think you can compress the probe?” Darkel asked, his sudden excitement infecting her too.

“Hopefully,” he replied, pressing the small controls on the device, “if I can all we need do is simply put the probe in our pocket and hurry back to the TARDIS.”

“Theres no grantee that will-” Magnus started but Koschei was already aiming the devices emitter at the probe.

“Clear away,” he called, the others scattered, and he pressed the activator.

There was a hissing sound, and the probe was bathed in a faint reddish light.

The probe began to shrink. Barely noticeable initially, but as they all watched, their reactions ranging from impressed to resentful, the device became smaller and smaller with ever greater speed.

Koschei stopped the device before it went too far. He walked over to the Probe and picked it up.

It fit perfectly in his palm.

“Okay,” Darkel said to the others, “now we need to spacking book it.”

~ ~ ~

A single rotation of the planet was a considerable amount of time, not as long as other planets but still substantial, Salyavin had used that time judiciously. He’d swam several length in the TARDIS’ recreation rooms swimming pool, then he’d treated himself to a light lunch followed by a bowl of Jelly Bears which he enjoyed as a treat sitting back in one of the rooms armchairs. Regulations clearly stated that any food was to be consumed only in the Galley, he smiled at the thought, popping a green Jelly Bear into his mouth. Such rules were intended more for the discipline of Elementals and Shobogans, especially when someone was looking, and a small bowl of sweetmeats wasn’t going to undermine all of Time Archon society.

A Paradoxical might wish it were that easy.

The sour thought came unbidden into his mind, perhaps inevitably given the train of his thoughts and the connection to the much-maligned Paradox Faction. He scowled and swallowed bitterly.

The Corsair wasn’t the only one, there had been a marked increase in the number of younger Shobogans and even some older and supposedly wiser Time Archons, ‘Burning their Names’, a childish and disrespectful act in his opinion.

He let out an exasperated sound and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He wasn’t a fool; it was hard to be an academic and not be perceptive. Jewel wasn’t perfect; but name a society that claimed it was.

The ones that did had more often than not resorted to eugenics to achieve such ‘purity’.

Maybe he was biased; as a Chronarch he had nearly unrivalled power in their society, save of course for the Eternals. But he believed–he knew–that his lofty position gave him and his fellow Chronarch’s a view of Jewel that a mere Shobogan simply couldn’t comprehend, and no matter the issues their world faced, civil disobedience and borderline insurrection were not the way to go about solving those issues.

The beeping of his Datapatch drew him from his introspection, a full rotation was all but concluded, his brows knitted together in the first flicker of concern he’d felt since the assessment had begun.

Was it possible his class would fail?

He popped another Jelly Bear into his mouth but it’s sweet taste–a high amount of glucose being essential for a Time Archons diet–did nothing for him.

He lurched from the armchair and began to pace, the Recreation room, like most TARDIS rooms, was a vast cylinder, almost as big as the Console Room, divided up into several distinct sections, a swimming pool and exercise area, a cloistered garden, and a comfortable sitting area. The walls were an almost granite colour, regularly interspersed with large blocky projections in the golden bronze colours that appeared across much Time Archon architecture, especially the Type 40 TARDIS, each projection was framed by Pandak style pillars and bore twin columns of five oval insets.

He stopped by one of these outcroppings, the warm, whitish-yellow light emanating from the top, middle and bottom rows casting his shadow across the floor.

The impact it would have on his students if they failed, the work they’d all put in.

The impact it would have on his reputation.

The conclusion came to him in a flash of inspiration, it was a daring idea.

It was also not allowed.

Salyavin glanced back down at the bowl of Jelly Bears and smirked.

No-one was looking.

Resolving himself to his decision, he hurried towards the connecting doorway that led to the Console Room, the doors whirring open to receive him.

~ ~ ~

It was remarkable, Koschei thought as they struggled through the increasing downpour, how adversity really did breed comradeship, if only briefly.

They were almost back to the TARDIS landing site, and any of the animosity that had existed between them had clearly decided to take a temporary leave of absence, at one point Rowelanuraven had fallen and Darkel of all people had been the one to help her back up, Rowelanuraven had then returned the favour by supporting Darkel and the Corsair as they navigated a treacherous piece of terrain.

Even he and Magnus had mutually agreed to help each other, both of them were in the lead–Datapatches opened to their fullest–and were coordinating like mad to locate the concealed time machine.

“My coordinates show the TARDIS as being half a mile in that direction,” he said, gesturing down a slope.

“Mine concur,” Magnus said, wiping a layer of rain from his screen, “You know, I think this rain might save the day actually.”

“How so?”

“A chameleon circuit allows a TARDIS to blend in with its environment on a general level, it can mimic an objects shape, texture and basic characteristics,” Magnus explained, “but it can’t mimic specifics, all the rocks around here seem to produce this mud when they react with water, either an internal chemical process or the mud builds up over time and we just got unlucky, either way the TARDIS won’t be able to mimic that.”

“I thought newer circuits had changed that?”

“They have, but this is a Type 40 we’re looking for, and they’re approaching the end of their service life.”

“Good point,” Koschei conceded, inwardly surprised that being corrected by Magnus didn’t annoy him nearly as much as it would normally.

The reason why was all too obvious to everyone.

They weren’t going to make it.

They had a mere handful of Instants to find the TARDIS, and the assessment would only be a success once the last of them had stepped over its threshold.

So a form of morose fatalism had settled upon them, they would keep trying down to the last microsecond to succeed but deep in their hearts they all knew it was impossible.

They trekked down the slope to a small collection of large boulders and sure enough one was conspicuously not vomiting up a constant stream of greyish sludge, just as Magnus had predicted.

Good old Magnus Koschei thought sadly as they hurried forward, Darkel reached the TARDIS first, reaching to her belt she drew out the small arrowhead shaped ‘key’ but in her frantic urgency, and the weather numbing her muddy hands, she fumbled and then dropped it.

There were no recriminations from the others, Magnus dropped down to help Darkel search while Rowelanuraven and the Corsair began fumbling for their own keys. Koschei instead glanced down at his Datapatch and watched silently as his timer ticked down the final Moments towards failure.

3

2

1

0

…

1

2

3

Nothing happened. There was no whirr of the Transmat, no red glow. No sudden transition to the Console Room.

Koschei merely stared as the clock showed the first few Moments of the planets next rotation, Darkel found her key, scrambled to her feet and began tracing the opening pattern before the TARDIS, in their eagerness and their drive, none of them had noticed that they’d already failed.

Except, apparently, they hadn’t.

It wasn’t a matter of them being right at the TARDIS doorway making the Transmat superfluous, it was an automatic process. Koschei had read an account where the last member of a class had been just about to enter their TARDIS when time had run out, and the entire group had been transmatted a mere foot forward despite being already inside at the time.

Darkel completed the pattern, and the boulder cracked open, revealing an antechamber larger than the boulder could possibly be, a pair of double doors, each inlaid with 3 oval shaped insets, projecting a warm whitish-yellow light, stood beyond.

As one, even Koschei, his mind still racing in a mix of confusion and relief, piled inside.

The Boulder resealed itself behind them, and for a little while nothing happened.

The rain poured down; the mud bubbled up.

Then after perhaps 10 Instants, twin spheres of gold light like miniature stars appeared at the top and bottom of the rock and rushed towards each other, meeting in the middle. A second pair of lights followed them, then another and another, colliding in the middle, adding to the bright star slowly growing there, each new pair moving and colliding with increasing rapidity.

With it had come the sound of something close to a distant impact, the sound of a machine much larger than the rock could possibly hold building up to full power.

The intensifying star, fed by a constant stream of smaller stars, now moving so fast they had become twin pulsating strings of light, flared brighter and brighter, and for a moment the boulder shed its disguise, in its place stood a tall box, golden bronze in colour, with a large flat curved cylinder on top and four oval shaped intends on each of its four sides, two of each emitting a warm whitish-yellow light.

That image only lasted for a moment before, with a final, wheezing groaning bellow, the box, and it’s frantically expanding star simply disappeared. Leaving the grey rainy planet empty and quiet once more, save for the sound of the rain.

Seal of the Time Archons

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