#Space Shuttle Programme

[ar3s-r4t-qu33n]

The Insomniac - Chapter 1

So… Played the tutorial of Trials and explored the Sleep Room a bit and somehow, in my sleep deprived brain, that was enough to make something so here it is! Not sure if I’ll continue it, I kinda want to ngl but we’ll see. Not really proofread, again, half written when I was passing out and then finished when I was a bit more lucid so I apologise if it’s shit. Also I’m still figuring out a lot of shit about Trials so if I’ve messed up anything about the layout/terminology/lore, please let me know! Hope y’all enjoy!!

Word Count: 3,338

CW: Attempted murder, drugging.

"Please step out of the shuttel."

Reawakening

I cling to the shuttle, knees knocking as one of my hands slips off, almost taking me down with it. It's bloody, still gushing the stuff from the gaping hole in my palm. My head throws my vision through a loop, and I have to swallow hard to stop the bile rushing up my throat to come spilling out of me. It hurts. It's too bright in here. Wherever here is. There's a window to my left, where more of those awful doctors are probably torturing their patients, drilling into their temples and spewing nonsense about the past and the future and 'the programme'. My head spins again. In front of me looks like a counter at a pharmacy, a woman reading behind the desk. She doesn’t appear to have noticed me, but I’m breathing so loudly, I swear she must be able to hear it.

I jolt, stumbling out and crashing against the wall. The shuttle snaps shut behind me, faster and somehow angrier than the last one.

“Please explore the Sleep Room. This is your neighbourhood…”

I squeeze my eyes shut, blood rushing my ears as my head spins yet again, that stupid intercom going on and on and on, barely audible between each ragged breath I force in and out of my lungs. I need to calm down. I need to figure out what the hell is going on and get out of here. My fingers stick to the cool glass and I force myself to steady, wobbly on my feet as I approach the counter.

"You have to learn to crawl before you can run, Honey.” She says, disinterested, again not even glancing up from her magazine.

"I-" My words die in my mouth, vocal chords giving out a pained squeak instead of English, throat constricting in on itself in protest, larynx sending me a strict warning;

Don't speak unless necessary. You need to heal.

I need to get my hands on some fresh tea, lemons and honey.

Rounding the corner, I find myself in what looks like a recreational room, only it's entirely too clinical. Pure white, too much space, and far too few people having far too few conversations. Most just sit, staring off. A man sits near the door, something in his eyes a little more lucid than some of the others, so I approach.

"Where-"

He juts his head towards a metal staircase. "First empty room you see’s probably yours.”

"Thank you." More throaty squeaks, both the inside and outside of my throat burning at the effort.

The slabs have been cold on my now bare feet, but the metal stairs are even worse. Make me wish I had my fluffy slippers. I didn't have time to put them on, I only had my socks. Why would they take my socks? And my nightgown, I realise, reaching the platform halfway up. I'm dressed in something akin to a uniform, gray and drab and not made for me. It clings far too much, meant for a gal a lot smaller than me.

A glint in my peripheral catches my eye and I glance to the right, finding a huge window looking down on the rec room. I can't see much. The glass is strange, not quite a mirror, but not clear, either. As though it resists showing what's within but can't quite commit to the task.

Doctors. Machines. And then a man in a wheelchair. He's focused on the people below me, pondering something, before he pulls away from the window, disappearing down a hallway. Not once did he look at me. It's like he didn't even know I was there.

My room is at the very end of the hallway marked ‘A-2’, beside another metal grid sectioning us off from the rest of wherever we are. The only plain room left, a number written above the unit.

3001

The door swings open almost too efficiently, quickly and quiet, and I quickly shut it again behind me. That voice comes in again, seemingly coming from a television screen in the corner, talking about the space, but I don’t care to hear it. I don’t care for any of this.

The door stands a fraction of an inch above the floor, a tiny but noticeable drop between the hallway and my room. The window in here is the same as the one looking down to watch us; not quite one way, not quite two. My stomach drops as I watch someone pass by, not seeing their every pore, sure, but they're not exactly blurred. They sort of lean in, as though hoping I wouldn't see them, and quickly disappear, footsteps, shoes, hurrying back down the hallway as hushed voices talk. Not soundproof, either.

The room holds little; a basin, wall mirror, desk and chair, bed, a little dresser for clothes, a few shelves and what appear to be the 'essentials' for this place- shampoo, soaps, a wash cloth, kettle, some eating utensils, fan, books, weights, a lamp, toilet paper, some canisters, and a pile of napkins. A toothbrush and tube of toothpaste have been laid out by the basin too.

Taking stock makes me feel better. I don’t know why.

The soap and shampoo are basic, unscented, purely for getting clean, and the canisters hold sugar, in one, and coffee pods in another. My nose twitches at the scent and I move on, sitting on my plain bed, feeling the cheap, sort of scratchy sheets beneath my hand. The other remains in my lap, numb, but throbbing. I've never treated a wound before. And it's not even the only one I have; that... Creature, whatever it was, it felt like it sucked the life out of me, and whoever jumped on me luckily didn't cause too much damage, but my arms hurt from the punching, and there will probably be bruises tomorrow. And then I ran into that woman with the puppet again at right before I escaped, and that drill caught me in the shoulder.

I think I almost died. If that shuttle hadn't closed, she would have killed me.

I approach the basin, seeing myself in the mirror for the first time since that night. I'm a mess. Hair all over the place, lipstick smudged, a dark ring around my eyes where my makeup was. Bloodshot eyes. Temples caked in blood from where they drilled...

I wince at the memory, a headache threatening to hit me, and I force my attention on my hand.

Once the blood is washed away and I've wiped as much as I can from my shoulder and temples, I'm left with a cut along my left shoulder and a hole in my right hand. At least it's not my dominant one. But I'm going to need something to cover it up. My throat is burning now, in desperate need of a drink, but I'd rather die than drink coffee and I don’t know if the water is safe. My legs are shaky as I head back downstairs to the rec room, hunger pains gnawing at the bottom of my stomach. I can smell food somewhere, but it's almost overwhelming how strong it is, the air completely filled with the stench of something I can't quite place, a cacophony of smells that do nothing but confuse me. I need to focus. I need gauze and a plaster.

I try to speak to the nearest person but words just won't form. My throat is practically wringing itself, and my eyes dart around the room in search of something to drink; nothing. None.

It's like my body moves of it's own accord, slinking back to the stairs, leaning against the banister in... Shame.

I want to fucking scream.

I want to yell ‘don't any of you know who I am!? Don't you care!?’ God, in New York, in New Orleans, I was something. I meant something, people knew my name and if they saw me like this, bleeding and parched, they would help me. Someone would help me.

... Am I even still in New York?

"Hey-"

A hand lands on my shoulder and I jump back, hitting the back of my head against the metal, a strangled sort of half gasp, half scream clawing its way out of my throat.

"Hey, hey, woah!" A man several heads taller than me steps back, hands up in defence. "Easy. It's okay. I just wanted to check in on you, I don't think I've seen you around before and... To be honest, you ain't exactly in the best shape."

He's weathered. I can't tell if it's by age or experience, but there is something timeless to him, wrinkles on his forehead, crow's feet, and yet clear laughter lines outlining his full lips. His hair is shaved down to his scalp, a coiley layer of frizz just about starting to grow, and a lightning bolt of a scar runs from his scalp down the side of his temple and onto his right cheek, forking over his forehead and even dipping into his ear.

"Do you need some gauze?"

I nod.

"Do you need someone to wrap your hand for you?"

I nod again.

"Do you talk?"

I nod a third time.

"Alright, okay," he chuckles, "My cell's this way, and luckily for you, I've got some supplies saved up. We haven't had anyone new come in in a while now." He begins walking and I follow, turning down a hallway to that first row of rooms. His is in the middle, and the second he opens the door, I am in awe.

I have no idea how he's managed to do it in a place like this, but there's paper on the walls and a carpet on the floor, the whole floor, filling that slight gap between the two rooms. His shelves are lined with things, including a medkit that he grabs and behind digging through. His dresser is full of clothes, some bloodied, others pristine, and some of his trinkets do catch my eye. They're... Oddly macabre. Toys that are just off or oddly perverse, statues of things I have never seen in my life, and, oddly enough, a bag of pistachios, half eaten.

"Sit down. I'll be as gentle as possible." He pulls out the desk chair for me. "Feel free to grab some water, too. Safer to get it from the stations in the hallway than the sink, but the way.”

As he begins to wrap my hand, I take the cup and drink the whole thing down in one, finally dousing the flames within.

"That better?" He asks, amused.

I nod. "Thank you."

His smile fades "Look, I hate to be rude, I do, but," he secures the gauze. "You look really bad, ma'am. Worse than most new folks."

I motion to my shoulder and he takes a look.

"Blood loss. Checks out." He begins to rifle through the first aid box again.

There’s a thousand questions running through my head, some I know he could probably answer, others I’m certain he can’t, but somehow the least important one comes out first. "How did you know about my hand?"

He holds his right hand out to me, a scar almost perfectly in the centre of his palm. "I'll give Gooseberry one thing; she has impeccable aim." He crosses over to my front again. "We all have one. There's a certain order to things here, you know, them academics and doctor types love routine." He rolls his eyes with a smirk. "But every single person here has a scar." He presses his hand against mine gently. It dwarfs mine, almost, larger, stronger, calloused. "And now you do too. Means you're one of us," His eyes flick to the still-open door, quickly enough that just I barely catch it. "And not one of them."

He returns his attention to my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, that's a lot of information at once, huh?"

I nod, losing my words once more.

"Don't you worry, they usually give you a few days before they start hounding you to go back in-"

"Go back in!?" I try to turn around, but his sturdy hands hold me in place.

"Easy." He warns. "I'll explain more to you once you've settled, but unless you wanna pass away in your sleep tonight, I'd suggest you let me take care of this."

I still, but my heart is thudding along in my ears, I can feel it in my neck, the soles of my feet. What else could possibly be in that house that would make me wanna go back? I already destroyed everything, my documents, whatever was in that other box. It was too dark for me to rifle through it, I had more important things on my mind.

“I barely got here.” I mutter, quite by accident.

He sighs. “Like I said, you’ll have a few days to recover, maybe someone will take pity on you and do a few runs in your stead. But you will have to go back in. Everyone has to go back in.” He secures the bandage. “Maybe you’ll find a full group to go with, that’ll give you better chances.”

“Can’t I go with you?”

He’s suddenly bashful, gaze falling to the floor. “Not, um… not really. It’s really nothing personal, but it’s better for me if everyone survives, and I’ve been doing this with folks who know what they’re doing for quite some time now. You ain’t ready for that sort of thing, clearly. Better if you find someone with a bit more experience who’s willing to go at your speed.”

None of what he’s saying is making any sense to me. How much better can you get at shredding documents and avoiding crazy people? I’m sure if I went back in, with a proper layout and knowledge of what the hell I was doing, I could do it perfectly, without getting hurt this time.

“You’re all set.” He says, stepping back from me. “You’d best get yourself some food. I’d suggest avoiding Dory for the time being, she ain’t too fond of new people bothering her. I recommend you be nice to the Cook, since he’s the one feeding you, and I have heard he’s happy to spit in the soup if someone pisses him off enough. Don’t use that hand too much if you can help it as well. Oh, the showers are through the cafeteria, same as the toilets.”

A knock has us both turning to the door, where a woman, an older lady with greying hair and spindly hands is waiting.

“Sparky, the boys wanna play chess, you coming?”

“I’ll be right there, thanks for letting me know.”

She spares me a quick once-over before leaving.

The man, Sparky, I assume, leads me back out to the rec room before patting me on the back and heading upstairs, leaving me alone once more.

It’s even quieter in here now, maybe it’s tea time or perhaps people are turning in or have somewhere to be, but it’s completely quiet save for the echoes from above. I am hungry. Thirsty again now, too. Maybe I should go up to the cafeteria, so if I can get something. See about getting my hands on some tea. I’d even take Earl Grey at this point as opposed to my usual spiced chamomile. Anything, so long as it soothes my throat.

“Hey,”

I turn to my right; a man is behind a thick pane of that strange glass, completely on his own. He’s dressed as though he’s been prepared for a struggle; helmet, mask, even gloves. He’s surrounded by what look to be little cages, a small hallway behind his cramped office. I can’t help peering down it as I get closer, searching for anyone out there.

“Sorry, just… Fuck. You just got here, didn’t you?” He says, leaning forwards in his chair. “You got that look about you, like… I don’t know, like you’re still human.”

My throat tightens. “What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just enjoy it while it lasts, I guess.” He points to the shuttle beside me. “This here’s the egress. Once the whitecoats are done twisting you into shape, this is how you get back out into the world.”

It looks like it, too. Lush plant life is escaping the gridded floor, thin smoke reminding me of a rain forest or jungle, but the second I step just slightly closer to it, bars slam into place, blocking my way out.

“I’m… sorry to say it,” I can’t look away from it. The exit, the way out, it’s right in front of me, right before my eyes. All it would take is this guy pressing a button and letting me through, and I’d be free. “But you got a lot of rough roads ahead of you.”

My lip quivers pathetically, that burning, constricting feeling in my throat finally giving way to tears, hot, escaping my eyes as I turn back to him. “I can’t do this. I- I’m not supposed to be in a place like this, I mean it. I didn’t… I have a family back home. People who are looking for me, they know that I can’t do this, you just have to call them up, if you call my dad, he’ll tell you I’m not built for this.”

“I’ve heard this before, miss-”

“I’m Roxie Morgan.” I say, gripping the edge of his counter. “I’m a singer, I live in New York, people know who I am, they know my face, they will miss me if I don’t come home, you have to let me out of here- I’m going to die!”

For a moment- I swear, I swear- his pale blue eyes soften, hands clenching in his lap as he looks at me, as I cry in front of him, letting him see the whole of it, the whole of me and my fucking terror, I see his chest seize up, as though caught red-handed, as though he could actually do something.

And then he looks away.

“I… I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I’ll need release tokens to let you out. There’s protocols, there’s rules, and you’re just gonna have to follow them.”

No…

No. No, no, no, he can’t, he can’t make me do this, no one can make me do this.

“I can’t go back in there. I could have died, do you hear me? I almost died in there! That woman almost killed me, she almost killed me! Someone almost killed me-”

He presses a button. “I need a sedative please, as soon as possible.”

“You can make it stop! You can let me out, you can get me out of here please, please just let me go, I shouldn’t be here! I’m not supposed to be here, I-”

A strong arm wraps around my wrist and a stabbing pain shoots through my upper arm. Immediately my body fails me, legs giving out and someone hooks their hands under my arms, dragging me backwards.

As my eyes fall shut, I see that man behind the glass just staring at me, wide-eyed, haunted, almost, as though he’s never had to do that before. As though he’s in trouble, a brand new trouble he’s never experienced before.

            I wake the following morning with a mouth dryer than sand and a splitting head ache, a dried dribble of blood stuck to my arm. I’m starving at this point, stomach screaming at me to get up and feed it.

On my way through to the cafeteria, I can’t help but look at that window again. He’s not there, it’s a different guy this time, but I can’t imagine that he’s just gone. No, he’s likely gone home, his shift ended, and he’ll be back at some time in the future. He has to come back.

Because he’s my ticket out. No matter what it takes, that man is going to get me out of here.

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An attempt was made...

Idk, it's a sort of flash sudden thing, I usually edit and draft a lot more before I feel like I want people to read it but first time for everything ig. I'm so fucking scared rn man-

[spell-cleaver]

AU where luke overhears owen and beru talking about how his father is darth vader. luke, who is still kinda ignorant about how bad the empire is but knows they're evil, sets out to save his father. A few months later, Darth Vader is kidnapped by an Imperial engineer :)

Read it on AO3 or on FFN instead!

Vader knew the stowaway was there before he even got onto the shuttle. The troops who were meant to accompany him on his diplomatic mission to Tatooine stood to attention when he strode into the hangar and didn’t dare to question him when he waved them away. They could take a different shuttle.

He was bored. He was angry. If he had to spend the afternoon negotiating with Jabba rather than simply rolling into Hutt Space with the Imperial Navy and taking what he wanted, then he would at least spend the morning finding out what pathetic sort of trap this was and crushing it. The presence on board was clearly Force-sensitive: was this an attempt by the dregs of the Jedi to assassinate him? He would enjoy putting it—and the stowaway—to rest.

So, pretending not to have noticed the presence, he sat down in the pilot’s seat and smoothly took off from the hangar, feeling his troopers’ baffled stares after him. They would follow in a transport soon after. He wanted to have this chance, first. The presence sparked with joy and excitement when they took off: the Jedi must think their plan was succeeding.

It wasn’t long before the trap he was waiting for was sprung. The controls of the shuttle started to wobble, and their trajectory pitched to the right. Vader growled. Their current course would take them away from Mos Eisley, towards the Jundland Wastes and towards…

His mother’s grave.

The autopilot was engaged. That was exactly where they were taking him, when he checked: the programme had been fed coordinates that Vader well-remembered inputting once before, in another life. When he made to override it, the navicomputer beeped at him angrily.

Passcode protected. Vader spent a scant thirty seconds trying to break through, but the Jedi’s tech skills were at least passable. He could work at it harder and correct their course, but first he wanted to see what plan they had shoved into actions.

He stood from the pilot’s seat and looked behind him. In a lambda shuttle, there should be nowhere to hide. There was the cockpit, the engine room, and the hold, where both cargo and troopers would be stored. Nowhere else should be large enough to hide a humanoid.

The cockpit was empty other than for him, and to enter he had had to come through the cargo hold. That left the engine room—but at a first glance, that was empty too.

A challenge then. And one with a time limit, before they reached his mother’s grave and whatever nefarious plot this was came to full fruition. He let rage soak his chest, lit his lightsaber, and stalked forwards.

“I know you are here, Jedi,” he boomed. “What game do you think this is?”

A flicker in the Force—almost like a giggle. Vader snapped his gaze around the engine room and peered behind the engine itself. Wires tangled in and out of his peripheral vision, tubes interlocked throughout like a grid, but the Force saw clearly. The Jedi was directly behind—

He stopped. He’d reached the back of the room. There was only a metal wall.

He reached out to rap his fist against the wall.

The resounding echo was hollow. The Force betrayed the wince and discomfort from the Jedi, but more importantly, his own ears betrayed the moment when they started scrambling through this vent they’d found to hide in and ran.

Darth Vader was never going to let his prey escape. He drove his lightsaber into the rigid metal like it was water and slashed down. The Jedi screamed. Vader slashed along the other side, uncaring as to whether he amputated a limb, or a head, or a torso, and the metal buckled and bent as he seized the Force in his fist and flung it backwards.

The panel slammed past him, into one of the metal tubes throughout the engine room, and clattered to the ground in a twisted, charred mess. The Jedi tumbled out of the vent in the wall to land at Vader’s feet. He didn’t have the time to lift his chin before the edge of Vader’s blade lingered at his throat.

The Jedi was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, so the Imperial engineer’s uniform he was wearing was laughable: it was several sizes too large for him, and it horrified Vader to think that his men could have let such an obvious imposter infiltrate the Devastator without noticing. Heads would roll for their incompetence. The boy’s hair was long and shaggy, as sun-bleached and yellowed as bones forgotten in a desert. His pale eyes moved slowly along the length of Vader’s lightsaber, from one line of smoke that snaked up from his uniform collar where the blade was at his throat, to the other line of smoke that rose from where the tip of the blade punctured the floor.

“What did you hope to achieve by this, Jedi?” Vader spat. “Why are you taking me here?”

The boy swallowed, set his jaw, and glanced up at Vader. “To bring you home,” he said earnestly.

Vader extinguished his lightsaber. The boy didn’t have time to telegraph his relief on his face before Vader telegraphed his rage on his face instead. Feeling cartilage crunch under his durasteel fists was a satisfying sort of violence, second only to seeing someone squirm in mid air as they realised how fragile their grip on oxygen was. Vader lowered his fist, and the boy’s knees rammed into the floor. He spluttered blood.

“What?” he asked. “I—”

Vader seized him by the throat. The boy stopped talking. His nose twisted in on itself like an ingrown jogun, and his cheekbone didn’t exactly look straight, either. He audibly gulped—for air, perhaps, as the blood blocked up the access through his nose, though his terror was a sudden bright, sharp thing.

It cut Vader to the bone in an instant. He didn’t know why. He didn’t want to.

“This,” Vader hissed, his fury crashing like cymbals through his helmet, through the Force, until the boy looked dazed from the experience of it, “is not my home.”

“But—”

Vader threw him. In the engine room, there were many things to hit, and he hit at least three of them. His head slammed into a pipe, his spine into another one, and his foot even crunched with unpleasant finality against the thrumming engine itself. He lay limp on the floor. Consciousness flickered out for him for a moment—but only for a moment. Vader reached out to seize him and drag him back to the waking world with an ease that surprised even him.

He was not yet finished.

“What do you know?” he demanded, stalking forwards. The boy jerked sluggishly upright, staring blearily at him—then scrambled backwards as fast as he could. “Where did you find out—”

The boy got to his feet and made a run for the door, back to the corridor. Vader indulged him: he made it to the doorway of the cockpit before Vader seized his neck with the Force and yanked him into the air, kicking and lashing out. A hand gouged deep scratches in his throat, as if he could unpick Vader’s grip on him, Vader’s grip on the Force, Vader’s grip on reality and the truth of how he had lived for nearly sixteen years. It did nothing. A strangled cry was all that escaped Vader’s chokehold.

Vader stopped in front of him and quieted himself to speak almost calmly. “Where,” he said, voice still with promise, “did you find out about this place?”

The shuttle set down with a resounding thud. They had landed. Vader didn’t bother glancing out of the viewport: it would be the same desert, the same worthless farm, and nothing of import would ever be found there again.

The boy was trying to speak. Vader gritted his teeth—if he did not control his frustration, he would kill him and lose any chance of discovering what the Jedi knew about Skywalker’s past—and loosened his grip.

Tears streamed down the boy’s face. They cut through the mangled mess of blood left behind from Vader’s attack. White bone gleamed in his cheek.

“I…” he got out. “Live here.”

That was unexpected—and insulting.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why would the Jedi settle here?” His mother had remarried, had she not? Perhaps whatever farmers had dared to monopolise her affection had decided to throw in their lot with random Jedi, in memorial to the Jedi who had failed to save her from her fate…

“Not. A Jedi.”

“Not a Jedi?” Vader tightened his grip again, and the boy’s cry was near-silent. “Your presence is unmistakeable. Who are you, what do you know, and what do you intend by bringing me here?”

He loosened the grip to let him speak.

“Skywalker,” the boy said.

Vader threw him into the viewport. The whipcrack of his skull against transparisteel was also satisfying. He slid down onto the console, several functions of the ship whirring into action as he landed on them.

A cool breeze blew through the cockpit—increased circulation. He’d opened the vents, and the eddies blew his hair back from his face, so that his eyes were clear and uncovered when he locked them on Vader’s mask and finished, “Luke Skywalker.”

Vader’s fist froze halfway to closing.

“I’m—not a Jedi.” He coughed; Vader could see the muscles in his throat spasming from here. “Don’t know what that is.”

Vader lifted a finger. “You—”

“Thought you were my father.” Luke’s eyes spilled fresh tears down his cheek. Down his soft, ruined cheek. “Must’ve been wrong.”

When Vader reached out to connect to that Force presence, as powerful as any Jedi’s but—now—blaringly obviously untrained, he felt it settle somewhere in his chest. Pain followed. Pain, he was used to, but not this pain.

“You are Anakin Skywalker’s son,” Vader said.

“Overheard my aunt and uncle saying you were… him. Empire’s evil. Like Hutts. Thought you’d be… a slave again.” His head lolled, the effort of keeping it up clearly gargantuan. “Didn’t realise you’d be a Hutt.”

“What do you mean by that?” Vader snapped. Luke flinched. “I am here to negotiate with Jabba, to destroy him if necessary—”

“I came to save you,” Luke muttered. “Didn’t—didn’t even let me explain…”

“You were a stowaway on my ship! What sort of naïve, ignorant child are you? Have you no concept of danger? Of violence?”

“Didn’t expect a Hutt,” Luke muttered again. “Seen them get violent, but—”

“I am not a Hutt!”

Luke didn’t respond—because he didn’t want to, or because he couldn’t, Vader didn’t know. He just kept looking up at Vader through pale lashes, head lolling without the strength to be lifted.

“Thought you were my father,” he said.

“I am your father.”

Luke closed his eyes, then. A thin wisp of a sigh wheezed from his lips. “Oh.”

Vader stormed up and towered over him. “You are a fool,” he hissed. His finger sprang out to jab in his face. “You—”

Luke flinched and turned his face away.

Vader’s tirade stumbled to a halt.

“Maybe,” Luke mumbled. “Dunno what I was thinking.”

But Vader knew what Luke was thinking. It was written into Luke’s thoughts, projected into his mind like a slide-by-slide presentation. It was something that Vader would never, ever have considered. He had never thought he’d get away without being caught. He’d just trusted his father, a man he loved without knowing him, not to hurt him.

He'd had no idea how capable his father was of violence. Now, though…

Now he knew it intimately.

“You require medical assistance,” Vader said awkwardly.

Luke coughed. “Probably can’t afford it.”

“I will provide it.”

“You don’t have to. I…” His heart was audibly breaking. “I get it.”

“You most certainly do not.”

“I—”

“You do not have a choice.” Vader moved for the comlink set into the console and typed in the frequency for his personal medic on the Devastator. “You will require urgent attention if you are to be saved.”

Luke snorted. “I came here… to save you.”

“You cannot save me, Luke,” Vader said. “What was done to me, and what I have done, is written in blood. Anakin Skywalker is dead. You are not.”

Luke cracked his eye open to peer at Vader for a moment, just as his personal medic responded. “No,” he said, almost with amusement. “I’m not.”

Vader wouldn’t realise what that meant until later.

Later, when they returned to the Devastator, and Vader realised a few minutes into Luke’s surgery that he had to get painkillers or anaesthetics for Luke, because Vader’s own droids were not equipped to provide them. He ran for the first time in over a decade, because he could not interrupt the surgery, but Luke was screaming, screaming, screaming, and the sound tattooed itself on his eardrums. He heard it even as he sat in the chair beside Luke in the medbay and watched his sleeping son.

Anakin Skywalker was dead. He had long since been exposed to the violence of the galaxy, the betrayal it was capable of, and he had returned it tenfold.

But because of him, Luke Skywalker was not.

Vader had long since lost any innocence. He had torn it from the hearts of civilians in his campaigns. He had beaten a lot of Luke’s out of him, as well. But not all of it.

Protecting someone had never been something Vader cared about. Even the Empire was not something Vader protected; it was something he served. But after all he had done, Vader would crawl through another universe of torment to sit at his son’s bedside and listen to the beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor assure him that he still lived.

Luke had wanted to bring him home. He had succeeded in that, at least.

[avian-misdemeanors]

airplanes but as people

707: classy, elegant, cultured, very big presence, Audrey Hepburn vibes

717: smart, unassuming, a feminist before it was socially acceptable

727: autistic, will tell you everything about its special interest, weird and lovable, may use it/its pronouns

737: she likes her pumpkin spice lattes and her leggings. gets called basic, but she's reliable and easy to get along with

747: 6'6" woman with broad shoulders and long, wavy, dark hair. she looks amazing in an elegant dress and has a commanding presence. powerful dark voice, very charismatic. when she speaks, you listen.

757: 74's little sister, much less imposing, very leggy, plays volleyball, total tomboy, very very likeable and cute but also very pretty and athletic, short dyed hair

767: pantsuit businesswoman, smart, a little conventional but that's not always a bad thing

777: she's a professional athlete, a competitive powerlifter. she looks intimidating, but once you get to know her she's a pretty open book.

787: trans girl programmer, drawer full of thigh high socks, RGB everything

797: 787's fursona

Spitfire: short British girl who owns and carries a pistol. she's a skilled martial artist but she much prefers spending time on her other hobbies: makeup and ballroom dancing

AN-225: rural Ukrainian grandma in her 70's. still milks the cows every morning, and still chops her own firewood. her grandson is off fighting the Russians and she's very proud of him

B-1: used to wear a black cape and Naruto-run around the playground at school as a kid. was and still is obsessed with Batman, joined the army and has had a long career

B-21: like the 787; trans furry gamer girl obsessed with programming. wears thigh highs, RGB everything, but also joined the military and has guns at home

U-2: shy and introverted, lean and kind of lanky, she spends all her spare time hiking in the middle of nowhere. the kind of person who you stop being surprised by when she tells you she did a "light" 30 mile hike over the weekend. you're convinced she could just get up and walk the whole Appalachian Trail if she felt like it. has an account on FurAffinity and she will make it your problem. she also has the absolute best weed

L-1011: beefy working class woman with broad shoulders and a heavily worn-in denim jacket. she quit smoking in the '90s but she still knows a bunch of lighter tricks and does them when she's bored using her old beat-up Zippo. will come into your life for one week and ruin every other person for you, forever.

Tu-144: former Soviet professional athlete who had huge potential but got super addicted to amphetamines and burnt out REALLY hard, did not live up to her potential, and gave up fast. she's now a retired but functioning alcoholic watching the collapse of the modern Russian state going "here we go again"

Concorde: slightly stuck up but not mean at all, had her day in the sun, won a lot of gold medals in the Olympics, now gracefully retired and coaching the next generation of athletes. keeps in touch with Boeing 2707, Tu-144, and Lockheed L-2000

SR-71: older legendary retired Olympic sprinter, kind of a loner but she sometimes hangs out with Tu-144, L-2000, B2707, and Concorde

Space Shuttle: hotshot test pilot who wears aviators everywhere, loves to reminisce about her glory days

MiG-15: retired soldier, left Russia after the fall of the Soviet Union and now lives in a cabin in northern Canada. used to believe in the USSR but now basically doesn't believe in governments at all and just keeps to herself. drinking problem.

F-86: retired Olympic fencer, focuses on her grandkids now, visits MiG-15 to play chess and drink

F-111: furry trans girl techie who likes to watch mecha anime. taller than she'd like but she still loves herself and finds ways to see her own beauty.

F-117: Goth girl who was best friends with the B-1 in school, they'd both watch anime together as kids. F-117 kinda vanished after high school then reappeared on instagram years later as an owner of a crossfit gym

F-22: expert martial artist, small in stature but tough as nails, buzz cut, tank top, combat boots. she will be your friend but she is also a little...unhinged

XF-85 Goblin: tried to join the military but was rejected due to ADHD. no longer believes in the military and is glad she got rejected. when asked about it she says "the military is dumb and war is for straight people". silly little shit who makes bad puns and likes rolling around on the floor with cats. drinks soda in the shower.

P-51: played quarterback in high school, then drafted into WWII

P-38: played tight end on P-51's team.

P-51 and P-38 got drafted together, went to boot-camp together, but they got deployed to different theaters of war.

They write each other. The letters don't always go through. When they get a letter, they head back to their bunk, shirtless with dog-tags dangling, they read with a big smile on their face and a cigarette in their mouth

They rehash heroic football plays that sent the bleachers into uproarious cheers, sounding like a crowd ten times larger than the entire population of Littletown, Arkansas that they were.

Their letters also contain very very vague but pointed allusions to the times they spent together after the games were over and the other teammates went out with their girlfriends. Locker Rooms. Cornfields. And the Ice House. Oh, the Ice House…

P-51 bitches about the cold in western europe. P-38 bitches about the tropical humidity and mosquitos, and how he always forgets the name of the island he's on this week.

It'll be over soon, right?

P-38 says he overheard B-29 saying that the war is going to end one way or another very soon in a very confident manner. B-29's tone kind of spooked P-38, and he's not sure why. He prays that B-29 is right, but something feels off around here.

The censors blacked out most of that letter. P-51 is glad P-38 is alive…but what is going on over there?

P-51 wanders the aerodrome, and he spots B-17 and C-47 making eyes at each other. His hands ball up in fists in his pockets. Those two get to go home and get married, ring bearer, flower girls. Tuxedo, Wedding Dress.

All he gets is the Ice House. But oh…Oh, the Ice House…

A300: Old fashioned diesel dyke. She's in her 60's but still does powerlifting as a hobby. She lives with her cute femme wife, who is absolutely the domme in the relationship. They're both retired and raise goats together at their cottage in the country to sell goat dairy at the local farmer's market. She wears denim vests covered in patches, many of which are old and faded, she's tattooed and still has a buzz cut. She was on the front lines helping her fellow queers during the AIDS crisis.

A320: When you find out your friend from high school who said she was going to major in finance actually did major in finance, got a finance job, and has been working for 10 years and somehow hasn't burned out, has savings, bought a car, a normal but attractive fiance, and watches an appropriate amount of Netflix in the evening

A320neo: Same woman but she just discovered aromatherapy

A350: Same woman but she got a masters from an online college while still working full time and has multiple CFO job offers

Honda Jet: The only posts on her instagram are her college graduation in 2016 with her white american mom and japanese dad, and she's taller than both of them, and a STOP ASIAN HATE post from 2020

Stipa Caproni: down for literally anything and will absolutely blow your mind but not for long.

Wright Military Flyer: an 85 year old lady who still beautiful and dainty but also keeps a fucking Colt 1899 on a thigh holster. under her dress, of course. she's still a lady.

Tu-154: a track star and will go all night long, you won't be sure if you're boinking or in a cardio race

F-14: a retired Subaru lesbian who lives with her wife and 3 dogs. was the popular girl in school and kind of everyone's friend in college.

Bristol F2b: knows how to use flintlock weapons and always smells a little bit like leather and campfire, but she's really sweet and comforting to be around.

T-38: 5'2" and a little fucking firecracker. doesn't actually know how to fight you but she will certainly try and one or both of you will end up with teeth missing.

Kfir: the kind of girl who you suspect might actually be an assassin.

F-4 Phantom: a butch martial artist in her 40s who is suspiciously muscular and shows off by crushing watermelons with her thighs, arms, hands, etc. She wears combat boots and a leather jacket and rides a motorcycle

7J7: refers to the D&D Monster Manual as the "Girlfriend Guide"

F4U Corsair: collects swords but in a hot way

TBM Avenger: a classic softball lesbian

P-47: a bodybuilder, she can lift you over her head. big and imposing, but a kind person who will happily use her large stature to help her smaller friends feel safe.

CRJ-900: collects swords but in a pretentious way

DC-3: keeps pigeons on her roof, but it's cute bc she talks to all of them. they are her friends. get her talking and she will tell you stories from her youth that will haunt you

Convair 990: does illegal street racing

DC-9: has a piss kink. sells landing gear pics online.

UH-1 Huey: smokes cigars and drinks whiskey, and goes hunting often. She's trans and beautiful but still calls herself a "good ol' boy"

Bell JetRanger: in her late 40s and just figured out she's gay, she's doing her best.

V-22 Osprey: a genderfluid gun enthusiast, not in a toxic way but sometimes you worry about their stability. not the best mental health.

MD500C: an aging ballerina who is still way more strong and agile than you.

MD530F: her daughter who took after her mom but is a better dancer and has an undercut she dyes silver.

EC-135: she is a no-nonsense doctor with a femme wife and a 3-year old.

CH-53: is a 'roided out butch whose father was in the Navy, she served in the Navy, and now won't stop talking about the Navy. She's now a volunteer firefighter who has strapped every subby femme in the region but will always remain single.

Mi-26: a heavyset Russian grandmother who only makes one facial expression. She has subsisted off of nothing more than potatoes for at least the past half century. She is old, but she is not frail.

R22: is a lanky truck-stop hooker. Everyone can come inside for a low price, no experience required.

AW-109: works as a first mate on a megayacht. She knows all the secrets of a particular billionaire but won't say who.

MiG-29: she will shove you the fuck up against a wall and you will like it.

Lockheed Constellation: goes by Connie, she will give you the classiest evening of your life.

Ekranoplan: she was going to be an Olympic swimmer for the Soviet Union, but when the USSR collapsed, so did she. she's a sad story, but she's happy in her retirement to see the younger generations taking an interest in her career, and trying to carry it on in some way.

Sopwith Camel: completely unhinged but in a hot way

made with help from @bananabreadloveman

[hotbeveragedog]

It's Skye Sierra! Cool space pilot, part time gunslinger and full time cutie! Skye is thirty two years old, 229cm tall and her weight is significant.

Skye's pronouns are she/her and she identifies as bi.

Heiress to the affluent Sierra Foods Corporation, Skye was given high-end flight simulators and even her own ship at a pretty young age, where it turned out she's a natural in the cockpit. As a result, Skye was a decently skilled pilot by the time she was legally old enough to get a pilots licence.

After a stint piloting cargo shuttles for the family business, Skye joined up with the local military, where her piloting prowess fast-tracked her through the fighter pilot training programme. As it turns out, rich girls don't have to fight alongside the common folk: her rich family intervened, much to Skye's annoyance. Skye found herself assigned to be a test pilot, where her large size was actually in high demand: Almost all combat craft are built intended to be flown by human pilots, some considerable re-engineering and thorough testing was required to allow them to be flown effectively by a more than two metre tall and widely built Lyreca. After a couple of years of test piloting, pushing ships and herself to the limit, Skye decided it was time for a new challenge.

Micrograv racing, a sport that tested the machine as much as the pilot. A race where ships were required to switch between low altitude racing mere metres above a track, both in and out of atmosphere, then taking the ship up into space for long range runs at blistering speeds. Only the best pilots with corporate sponsors are able to take part at a professional level, fortunately Skye was a real skilled pilot, whose family happens to own the biggest corporation on Lyre. Skye's arrival on the Micrograv racing scene caused a lot of controversy and ridicule: Micrograv racing was a sport dominated by human pilots, mostly human male pilots. The idea of a female Lyreca pilot, especially one who was two point three metres tall and kinda extremely chubby, was absolutely ridiculously to pundits and journalists alike. As it turns out, Skye is a REALLY good pilot, climbing her way up the leaderboards race after race. During her racing career, Skye met Ash (who will get her own post like this!) who first became her onboard engineer, then later, her Wife!

Skye grew up on the family estate on Lyre, a working ranch out in the country. Between wildlife and the ever present threat of bandits and ne'er-do-wells, Skye learned to shoot as soon as she was old enough to hold a pistol. Not only a decent shot from years experience, Skye has a reflex boosting implant from her career as a pilot, something that comes in handy when you gotta be quick with your gun!

Skye's personality is kind and caring, but also confident and driven. When in the cockpit, she can get quite cocky and very sassy.

Skye can be quite flirty and likes attention, but she will not hesitate to kick your ass or shoot you (stun setting) if you're inappropriate towards her!

I've credited art in the alt text, but just to reiterate, art here is by Captynz, Kitsuneten and BaburuSushi respectively.

[torchship-rpg]

Dev Diary 2 - Character Creation Part 1

Torchship has a very involved session zero. You are not just making your characters; you’re making a program (building out a sector of space and your mission there), a rocket (by customising templates), and, indirectly, the state you work for. But characters are where we’ll start.

A Torchship character is fairly mechanically involved, but there’s not a lot of numbers. Instead, you have layers of character-defining mechanics, skills, and identities which will come into play during the campaign. The character creation section also acts to teach new players about the world, asking them right away to dive into questions about societies, politics, and life by using the various building blocks as introductions to setting concepts.

Level & Departments

The first thing you decide is your character’s level. Your level is basically how you start as a character, how powerful you are when you join the game. 

You have the option of playing B-Team, which is your basic crew member. They work a single Department and they either have expertise in a single job, or they’re working on a second team. However, the main purpose of the B-Teamer start is that you can turn your NPC crew into B-Teamers if you want to play as them later, maybe if you’re doing a Lower Decks episode or something like that.

Most starting PCs are the A-Team, the overachieving go-getters who end up on the bridge because they’ve got the most experience, most qualifications, or they’ve been working hardest for it. A-Team means you get to have two Departments and an expertise. The only thing that B-Team has which A-Team doesn’t is that they get more hobbies to invest in, because they actually have a life.

Departments are what colour shirt you wear on the ship, what your job is. Departments are used to sort skills out, and gate some special equipment later on. It’s your role on the team, basically.

There’s 8 departments, so a traditional 4-person RPG group playing A-Teamers can cover all the Departments between themselves (though it’s not a big deal if you have overlap and are missing some; that’s what NPCs are for!). The departments are…

Administration, the diplomats, bureaucrats, leaders, and social scientists which are the closest thing to the commanders. Your most skilled Administrator is probably your Vehicle Commander (that’s the captain). They wear gold. 

Engineering, the damage controllers, mechanics, inventors, and technicians on the rocket, who keep the reactor from blowing up. They wear safety orange.

Astrogation, the flight planners, pilots, drivers, and stellar navigators who fly the ship, plot orbits, and drive shuttles, pods, and rovers. They wear navy blue.

Security, the soldiers, brawlers, field officers, and crisis negotiators who put their bodies between danger and the rest of the crew. They wear red.

Tactical, the artillery officers, drone pilots, missile plotters, and space marshals who operate the weapons and coordinate with other rockets. They wear olive green.

Research, the observers, academics, technologists, and physical scientists who scan, record, and make theories about Weird Space Shit. They wear baby blue.

Medical, the paramedics, surgeons, pharmacists, and life scientists who keep the crew from dying of all the dangerous things in space. They wear teal.

Signals, the programmers, roboticists, telecom operators, and hackers who run the ship’s computers, radios, and other electronics. They wear purple. 

Identity

When you start to make your character, you begin by choosing a few high-level concepts which will guide character creation going forward. These concepts help you narrow down who your character is and provide frameworks and suggestions for the rest of the process.

Your character’s identity is what species they are and what society they are from. These contain a bunch of information for you, from a quick blurb about it to some naming conventions, followed by a list of suggested Traits. We’ll get more into Traits later, but essentially, these are features your character can take which give them unique capabilities. The traits in your Identity are not mandatory, they’re just suggestions, and they’re listed in order of how widespread they are within an identity.

The first thing you’ll notice is that there is not default ‘human’ option; this is not a game where humans are the boring ‘neutral’ choice. There are six kinds of humans you can play, eight if you include sub-categories, all with unique sets of traits, and many of the human identities are more mechanically similar to some aliens than they are to each other. You can easily play an all-human game, and yet have nobody in the group sharing any traits.

For instance, let’s talk your basic, bog-standard Earth human. This should be easy right, you don’t get anything special except maybe a bonus ability to represent human diversity?

Hell no. If you play a Terran in Torchship, you immediately discover one of the setting’s quirks; Earth is a high-gravity world by the standards of humanoid life. 1g can make you a heavyworlder; you get a bonus to physical strength and endurance, you hit harder in melee, and you aren’t well suited to 0g. 

Terrans are then divided into rural and urban sub-identity suggestions, with Urban Terrans speaking many languages and working nearest the IUR’s bureaucracy, while Rural Terrans have a connection to the local biomes and are more likely to be ‘baseliners’ with no genetic modifications. Oh yeah, surprise, genetic engineering is so widespread that not being genetically engineered is a trait you have to opt into.

The other human identities are just as detailed. You might be a tall Lunar, living and working in the underground industrial capital of Armstrong City. You could be a diminutive Martian, genetically engineered to survive the oxygen death zone of Mars and used to working with terraforming machines. You might be a low-grav Spacer, either a habber running human trade from the great spinning stations or an independent deep spacer living in the rings of Saturn or growing up on cargo rockets. Finally, the extrasolar colonies; Proxies from our nearest star with their many genetic augmentations, or the ‘free space’ of the wildcat colonies.

After humans, each of the aliens gets an identity page the same way. Being a classic pulpy space story, most aliens are humanoids with minor differences, because that’s fun! The alien identities covered in this section include nearly all the major alien powers in the setting, so you can play as a defector who has joined Star Patrol. We’ll go more into the various aliens in another diary, but we’ve got five options with a wide variety of recommended traits to cover them.

There’s also the Koath, the sole non-humanoid alien on the list. They’re crow-like aliens who joined the IUR as a peasant republic on a medieval world; what more do you want? Our eventual goal is that every alien identity will have at two sub-identities which represent different cultures or groups for each alien society we present; right now the Aquillians have four.

If you don’t really like any of them, you are free to declare your own identities and make up stuff, of course; the Trait system is very flexible and contains enough options that you should be able to play just about any kind of classic space alien. We’re even looking into making non-embodied characters playable, if you wanted to be an energy being, ghost haunting the rocket, or the ship’s computer which gained sentience (we just haven’t figured it out yet).

After you’ve picked your level, departments, and identities, you get into the meat of character creation, but this diary has already run long. Next time: Personal Information, Impulses, Certifications, and Traits!

[paradoxcase]

Chapter 9 of Gideon the Ninth

It's actually hilarious that Harrow just left a whole bunch of snippy little notes for Gideon, and knew exactly where to put them/where she would look, I can't actually manage that even with snippy little notes I leave for myself. Or maybe Harrow actually left a ton of other snippy little notes that Gideon just didn't notice? I can't decide which of those ideas is better

Probably woefully incomplete list of things that Gideon doesn't know about:

Tea

Sinks

Bathtubs

NIghttime

and she describes bread as "yeast bread" which makes me wonder what the fuck kind of bread they have on Pluto usually. Do they just use baking powder? Yeast is probably hard to get on Pluto, but certainly not like, any harder than wheat, surely, and if Earth is an hour away by shuttle, you'd think it would be easy to get basic life-sustaining stuff like bread?

Also, like, I know we are doing the medieval-aesthetic-in-space thing, but like, plumbing is not advanced technology, our Middle Ages were just a bit whack like that. The fucking ancient Minoans had pressurized indoor plumbing and flush toilets, I'm just saying, it is not that difficult to make some water go down some pipes. Also, like, they clearly have non-water-based alternatives, but I don't think plumbing ever actually becomes obsolete. You kind of need it for basic sanitation stuff, any high tech replacement for it would probably cost way more and ultimately not be necessary anyway, since plumbing is not a hard problem. If the issue is just that Pluto doesn't have water... that's dumb, because Pluto needs water anyway, because water is like the #1 most incredibly basic necessity for sustaining life in any context

Gideon talks about necromancers "programming" skeletons, which instantly makes necromancy 10000% more interesting to me as a programmer. I would love to know more about how this works, but since Gideon is the narrator I suspect that will not happen. I'm guessing Harrow narrates the next book, though, so maybe then?

Ianthe really seems to love mocking her sister for being dumb, she is going to have an absolute blast with Gideon

Who the hell has twins that are both the heir to your house, and then names one of them "Corona"? This is like in the Sims 2 when the Pleasants named their twins "Angela" and "Lillith", and then were like shocked pikachu face when Lillith grew up to be the "evil" twin

Ianthe's line to Gideon sounds like a threat (if only one of the twins is a necromancer, it's definitely Ianthe), but I have no idea what she thinks Gideon has done to merit this?

Actually, since necromancy seems to be inherited, it should theoretically be possible for an heir to a house to not be a necromancer, although it seems to be implied so far that they all are, or are all assumed to be. Like, if Corona isn't a necromancer, why was she sent to First House in the first place? Are there like, necromancer squids?

Ianthe definitely doesn't have a skeletal arm yet, since Gideon would have mentioned that. I wonder how that happens?

[synthizedarchive]

[ STARRING: VALENTINE ; RANDOM CANONS #1 ]

[ ⋆｡° CHARACTER DURATION: MAIN CHARACTER OF THE 'SYNTHIZED' MOVIE, released halfway through the TV franchise. however the movie timeline starts within season one finale / season two beginning. ]

⋆｡° BACKSTORY: valentine riveria grew up on the outskirts of new york, on a ranch owned by his religious but extremely supportive / kind-hearted parents ( francis & mary riveria ) who wanted nothing more than for their kid to live his ultimate dream - to become an astronaut. surrounded by countless space books, telescopes where stargazing became the norm with his father, bonding with his mother in the kitchen baking cookies in the shapes of stars / icing in the colors of planets etc . . . it took dedication & high education before valentine was finally admitted into the training programme for astronauts within nasa. he is cocky, self-assured, sarcastic but, loving, loyal & holds good morals, wanting to make his parents proud. despite not being religious, he keeps a good-luck chain with a gold cross pendant around his neck constantly, a present from his mom for getting into the space program.

initially assigned the role of a 'back-burner' option, if assigned astronauts on space missions became sickly or otherwise unavailable, valentine was lucky to become part of the crew aboard the international space station ; obtaining research, observing other satellites for military purposes etc . . . spending 6 months aboard the station, 6 months on the ground to recover.

down-time on earth, valentine enjoyed spending time with his elderly parents on the ranch - tending to any jobs that they were unable to physically do anymore ; volunteering @ the adoption centres for dogs, perfecting the perfect pumpkin pie & apple cider for halloween traditions & indulging in as much media as possible - collecting vinyl records, watching movie upon movie every single day, and reading books, things that weren't readily available on the space station. one of his favorite authors before his next trip among the stars: jessi stallone.

he also changed his surname to 'de luna' as he became a more public figure in the world of famous astronauts. choosing that surname after spending his childhood being called the lunar loser in school ( even though he didn't mind the nickname ) & allowing his love of space / occupation with nasa to shine through. plus in his words, valentine de luna has a nice dang ring to it. in respect of his parents, riveria becomes shifted to a middle name that is not used in the pubic eye.

[ SYNTHIZED: THE MOVIE ; 2HRS, 45MINS ]

when we first see valentine, we become aware that he was / is part of a solo space mission to investigate the aftermath of earth's disruption that began to not only change physical elements on the planet - animals, flora, even architecture . . . but the elements that existed just outside earth's atmosphere. the changes in the sky, weather changes & the major effect of the moon turning a sickly-suffocating shade of pink, dancing with luminous lines that seemed to pulse & dance towards anyone that looked upon it.

what he doesn't know is that the american government is freaking out at what is happening on earth, unknowing that Rebirth ( Jessi / Luan ) are the unwilling cause - and believe valentine to be expendable. if he dies, and the public find out ?? he will become a martyr, a hero that sacrificed his life for the planet.

we first see ties to the TV show as within the space shuttle, alongside other personal trinkets, there is a published book written by jessi laying on the counter. valentine is also told before he exits the spacecraft by those at the command center, that they are sorry for what happened in new york and for the loss of his parents ( the devastating nuclear aftermath that occurred from jessi / luans' rebirth - ) , valentine is solemn, strokes a picture of his mom & dad on a nearby table and says: i'm doing this for them.

when valentine lands on the moon [ incorporating tom c/ruise's desire to perform stunt work in space, tom will be able to physically depart a space shuttle that has landed on the moon in real time. camerawork internal and external on the structure will show this happening, alongside tom actually disengaging the locks on the shuttle doors & stepping foot on the craters of the moon - he will also be able to run on the moon when the scene calls for it, bc it's what he deserves ] , we can instantly see that the foundation of the moon's surface has changed.

what should be a gray expanse of craters, holes, essentially nothing but rock ?? has become pink crystallized sand, clusters of crystals emerging from these grains of labradorite, moonstone, glistening under the sunlight. it is soft to step on, crunching like glass under his boots. spirals of almost television static seem to be within the atmosphere in front of him, dancing & pooling barely opaque against his spacesuit as he walks. the surroundings feel thick, heavy, like wading through waist-high water. yet exploration makes valentine curious, child-like, reporting back to base at the absolute wonder of it all . . . until suddenly, communication dies. nothing but crackles within his earpiece, his constant 'hello? is anyone there?' met with silence.

as he attempts to make it back to his shuttle, perhaps he can communicate with his base there ( ?? ), a bright searing-white light flashes across his helmet. as he turns, looks, disbelief washes over his face as him and the audience witness the earth suddenly exploding into pieces. bad enough, grief-stricken enough, to lose his home, his parents, friends, everything he knew in new york blown to pieces, now ?? he is the only human survivor, the only one to witness earth as it turns into nothing but ash & atoms. barrages of earth's particles push outwards & begin hitting the moon's surface quicker than the speed of light.

valentine runs. sprints. as fast as his suit can take him, within these drowning sands. runs, runs, runs . . . until he unexpectedly stumbles into darkness. everything turns black. a portal / dimension opening 'pon the moon's surface where he is now trapped within the Here & There, a devastating pull back of the cosmic curtain where threat lurks around every spiralled corner, every stumble of reality / unreality ; valentine now, more than ever, in desperate need of rescue.

NOTE - valentine will begin to experience consequences of rebirth himself, on a physical level. however this will be detailed in part 2 of random canons.

LOVE INTEREST - pandora ( rebecca fer/guson ) ; the creator's ex-wife that will be mentioned throughout the TV seasons, who finds valentine when he crosses the veil between the Here & There, and despite trying to keep herself isolated away from any form of creation, takes a liking to valentine that she can't explain.

[codylabs]

The mutiny aboard the Daylight Siren had succeeded in nothing but stranding her, dead in space three galaxies from any hope of help. Her stardrive was punctured, its hypercavity everted almost beyond repair, and she had lost a lot of blood, but for lack of other options, her Captain ordered the lengthy work begun, using the mission modules that had originally been intended for the colony. Her two shuttles rushed across the system hauling back mineral-rich asteroids, while her refinery module ran at full throttle night and day, licking them to pieces with snaking tendrils of programmable matter and digesting them into alloys that were hopefully good enough to see them home. Teams of workers and every drone they had left assisted her astromech module on the main hull, while the destroyed science module stood in the background, a monument to the failure of everything they had ever tried to do.

The combat module had detached, and hovered out at a kilometer's distance, g-beams and ancillary lasers pointed toward the crew's long toil, watching and waiting and daring the next infraction. The Captain was aboard the combat module. And he would not lower his guard again.

[caassette]

at work i have a couple jokes that land with the cishet male programmer audience, and one of them is "i need a new hobby, cuz my work is programming and my hobby is programming"

but the truth is i actually don't? because at work i write code that someone else decides is necessary for a product that i will never use in an industry that i don't interact with.

but when i write code on my own time, it's to create tools that i think could be useful. or to build things that i think are beautiful. or just more generally to create for the sake of creating?

you can be wowed by the technical elegance of a codebase the same way you can admire the mechanical elegance of a 2jz engine or the complications of a patek phillipe. but those codebases don't exist in the corporate world.

you can be amazed by the utility of an application the same way you can with ratcheting magnetic screwdrivers or the space shuttle. but those applications are all open-source.

you can think a webpage is cool if it isn't built for corporate america. there's a whole world of indie devs making websites the way we want to look the way we want, instead of whatever drives clickthrough rates on landing pages. you people love archaic looking boxy ass web1.0 websites. good news! we're still building them.

anyway my point is that programming can absolutely be an artistic endeavor. end rant

[androgynousbirdtale]

Computer Programmer and Mathematician Josephine Jue

Hired by NASA's Johnson Space Center in Houston in 1963, Josephine Jue was a Chinese-American computer programmer and mathematician who worked for the agency for more than 30 years. Of her notable contributions, in the mid-1970s, she oversaw development of the HAL/S compiler for the Space Shuttle.

I know AAPI month ended yesterday, but that's okay!

[evelynstarshine]

Hi I don’t know you at all but I saw your tag in the mode of transport poll will you pleeease dump to me what it is and your favorite facts about it? :)c

Kia ora, Energia and Buran were developed at the tail end of the soviet union by the INTERKOSMOS programme, this was an initiative where sceintists from all around the world, from nations that didn't have their own space programmes, worked together using the USSR space infrastructure in the name of international collaboration, scientific advancement and the USSR one upping NASA.

Buran was designed to take cosmonauts to the MIR-2 (which would later become the International Space Station, fulfilling the dream of internationalism in Space (even if the US blocked China from that co-operation which c'mon INTERNATIONAL CO-OPERATION, SCIENCE ABOVE POLITICS dudes!).

BURAN IS ADORABLE, it has a much cuter nose design than the NASA space shuttles (and don't get me wrong I love the NASA space shuttles, especialy Atlantis!) but look

hands down, the cuter boi

Challenger's feet don't even touch the launch pad!

The Uragan/Energia II was going to be first FULLY REUSABLE rocket, this was in 1988, this is something NASA/spaceX/CSA have still not achieved, every stage would be reusable and while tests were successful it was never actually used because the soviet union ended took all the funding with it.

Modern useable rocket ideas are all for the WHOLE rocket returning back and landing on the space, but Uragan? Each booster rocket would separately detatch, tranform into a lil plane and fly itself home! THE AMBITION, the drama, the cute lil wings!

THEY MADE A BABY VERSION OF BURAN FOR TEST FLIGHTS AND LOOK AT THE BABY

THE LARGEST PLANE EVER BUILT the AN-225 was built to carry the Buran, sadly this plane was recently destroyed when the Russians bombed the hangar housing it in Ukraine. look at the wee guy riding his giant plane!

Also I collect Interkosmos badges (Also NASA, Kosmos and CMS badges but I like the Interkosmos badges the most.) so really I should be rooted for the SOYUZ, but he's funny looking and still in service and there's something about the missed opportunity of the Buran/Uragan, a fully reusable space shuttle, designed internationally, for service of the ISS, that never was! BUT WHAT IT COULD HAVE BEEN, that speaks to my soul. He never had his chance, he never got to shine and go out and explore space and his potential, to lead us to the stars!

here's my cat admiring the history of Soviet Space Exploration and International Co-Operation in space.

[scifigeneration]

Artemis: why it may be the last mission for Nasa astronauts

by Martin Rees, Emeritus Professor of Cosmology and Astrophysics at the University of Cambridge

Neil Armstrong took his historic “one small step” on the Moon in 1969. And just three years later, the last Apollo astronauts left our celestial neighbour. Since then, hundreds of astronauts have been launched into space but mainly to the Earth-orbiting International Space Station. None has, in fact, ventured more than a few hundred kilometres from Earth.

The US-led Artemis programme, however, aims to return humans to the Moon this decade – with Artemis 1 on its way back to Earth as part of its first test flight, going around the Moon.

The most relevant differences between the Apollo era and the mid-2020s are an amazing improvement in computer power and robotics. Moreover, superpower rivalry can no longer justify massive expenditure, as in the Cold War competition with the Soviet Union. In our recent book “The End of Astronauts”, Donald Goldsmith and I argue that these changes weaken the case for the project.

The Artemis mission is using Nasa’s brand new Space Launch System, which is the most powerful rocket ever – similar in design to the Saturn V rockets that sent a dozen Apollo astronauts to the Moon. Like its predecessors, the Artemis booster combines liquid hydrogen and oxygen to create enormous lifting power before falling into the ocean, never to be used again. Each launch therefore carries an estimated cost of between $2 billion (£1.7 billion) and $4 billion.

This is unlike its SpaceX competitor “Starship”, which enables the company to recover and the reuse the first stage.

The benefits of robotics

Advances in robotic exploration are exemplified by the suite of rovers on Mars, where Perseverance, Nasa’s latest prospector, can drive itself through rocky terrain with only limited guidance from Earth. Improvements in sensors and artificial intelligence (AI) will further enable the robots themselves to identify particularly interesting sites, from which to gather samples for return to Earth.

Within the next one or two decades, robotic exploration of the Martian surface could be almost entirely autonomous, with human presence offering little advantage. Similarly, engineering projects – such as astronomers’ dream of constructing a large radio telescope on the far side of the Moon, which is free of interference from Earth – no longer require human intervention. Such projects can be entirely constructed by robots.

Instead of astronauts, who need a well equipped place to live if they’re required for construction purposes, robots can remain permanently at their work site. Likewise, if mining of lunar soil or asteroids for rare materials became economically viable, this also could be done more cheaply and safely with robots.

Robots could also explore Jupiter, Saturn and their fascinatingly diverse moons with little additional expense, since journeys of several years present little more challenge to a robot than the six-month voyage to Mars. Some of these moons could in fact harbour life in their sub-surface oceans.

Even if we could send humans there, it might be a bad idea as they could contaminate these worlds with microbes form Earth.

Managing risks

The Apollo astronauts were heroes. They accepted high risks and pushed technology to the limit. In comparison, short trips to the Moon in the 2020s, despite the $90-billion cost of the Artemis programme, will seem almost routine.

Something more ambitious, such as a Mars landing, will be required to elicit Apollo-scale public enthusiasm. But such a mission, including provisions and the rocketry for a return trip, could well cost Nasa a trillion dollars – questionable spending when we’re dealing with a climate crisis and poverty on Earth. The steep price tag is a result of a “safety culture” developed by Nasa in recent years in response to public attitudes.

This reflects the trauma and consequent programme delays that followed the Space Shuttle disasters in 1986 and 2003, each of which killed the seven civilians on board. That said, the shuttle, which had 135 launches altogether, achieved a failure rate below two percent. It would be unrealistic to expect a rate as low as this for the failure of a return trip to Mars – the mission would after all last two whole years.

Astronauts simply also need far more “maintenance” than robots – their journeys and surface operations require air, water, food, living space and protection against harmful radiation, especially from solar storms.

Already substantial for a trip to the Moon, the cost differences between human and robotic journeys would grow much larger for any long-term stay. A voyage to Mars, hundreds of times further than the Moon, would not only expose astronauts to far greater risks, but also make emergency support far less feasible. Even astronaut enthusiasts accept that almost two decades may elapse before the first crewed trip to Mars.

There will certainly be thrill-seekers and adventurers who would willingly accept far higher risks – some have even signed up for a proposed one-way trip in the past.

This signals a key difference between the Apollo era and today: the emergence of a strong, private space-technology sector, which now embraces human spaceflight. Private-sector companies are now competitive with Nasa, so high-risk, cut-price trips to Mars, bankrolled by billionaires and private sponsors, cold be crewed by willing volunteers. Ultimately, the public could cheer these brave adventurers without paying for them.

Given that human spaceflight beyond low orbit is highly likely to entirely transfer to privately-funded missions prepared to accept high risks, it is questionable whether Nasa’s multi-billion-dollar Artemis project is a good way to spend the government’s money. Artemis is ultimately more likely to be a swansong than the launch of a new Apollo era.

[lovelife688]

On a layover in Shanghai? Experience the city for free!

If you are travelling via Shanghai’s Pudong Airport and have a layover you can now break free from the airport and experience the city thanks to Shanghai Express from Trip.com.

The complimentary city tours are available to Trip.com customers and any international traveller with a layout of more than 8 hours in Shanghai who can get a 72/144-hour visa-free transit policy or those granted a 24-hour temporary entry permit by airport border inspection

The initiative is set to transform the layover experience by giving travellers a taste of Shanghai in one of three curated tours including the “Shanghai Highlights City Tour,” “Strolling Under the Trees City Walk Tour,” and the “Huangpu River Cruise Sightseeing Night Tour.”

“As visa-free transit policies open up new avenues for international travellers to explore China, Trip.com Group is excited to unveil this innovative programme for those with just a short stopover,” said Ms Han Feng, Head of Marketing at Trip.com. “We will leverage our extensive resources to ensure a memorable tour experience and provide world-class customer service to help flyers enjoy what Shanghai has to offer.”

The Tours

Shanghai Highlights City Tour (9:00-14:00): a tour of classic Shanghai highlights, including exploring traditional Chinese architecture in the Yu Garden and viewing Shanghai’s iconic and futuristic skyline at the Bund.

Strolling Under the Trees Citywalk Tour (16:00-22:00): a tour for the romantics and urban history lovers, which includes a city walk through the old villas and charming cafes along the beautiful Wukang Road, an immersive visit to the Yu Garden, and a stroll along the historic Bund.

Huangpu River Cruise Sightseeing Night Tour (18:00-23:00): a unique experience in the city that never sleeps – including the breath-taking night view of the Bund aboard the Huangpu River Cruise and a deep dive into the bustling Yu Garden at night.

Each tour is led by English-speaking guides, including transportation, tickets, e-sim cards, and team insurance. Those seeking to travel light may store their luggage at the airport or on the shuttle bus if space permits. Please note that the free tours do not include meals, though our guides will be more than happy to offer dining recommendations.

Layovers in Shanghai are growing with last December seeing 330,000 international travellers stopping over on mainland China and by having the opportunity to explore Shanghai for free you can add an extra dimension to your trip.

China now has Visa-free access from 15 countries around the world and as a result, Trip.com Group has witnessed a triple-digit year-on-year rise in international travel bookings to China in the first two months of 2024.

The most popular hotspots are Shanghai, Guangzhou, Beijing, Shenzhen, and Chengdu with theme parks like the Shanghai Disney Resort and historic sites like the Emperor Qinshihuang’s Mausoleum Site Museum capturing significant interest.

[beardedmrbean]

A Belgian and two Dutch nationals are being investigated for espionage, but according to a UGent Russian expert they are undoubtedly urban explorers looking to access the famous Baikonur Cosmodrome

A Belgian and two Dutch nationals were arrested earlier this week in Kazakhstan after they were discovered on the territory of the Baikonur Cosmodrome, the Russian-owned space launch facility. Baikonur is the largest spaceport in the world, used to launch all manned Russian spaceflights.

According to local media in Kazakhstan, which lies south of Russia, the men – all in their 20s – are being investigated for espionage. But Ghent University Russian expert Bart Hendrickx is convinced that they are simply urban explorers.

“Urban explorers are people who make a sport out of accessing places that are closed to the public,” he says. Baikonur is a popular destination for such explorers. Last month a French national died from exposure trying to reach the remote location in the middle of the desert.

“It’s impossible to fence in the entire base,” explains Hendrickx, “so with a bit of luck you can manage to get in. The Russians are probably aware of this phenomenon and have become a bit more vigilant.”

Hendrickx, who writes many articles about Russia’s space programme, has toured the base himself – on an officially sanctioned visit. Urban explorers at Baikonur are mostly interested in the hangar that contains Russia’s two Buran spaceplanes, decommissioned in the 1990s. The Buran was Russia’s answer to America’s space shuttle and famously flown just once – as an unmanned flight in 1988.

“I was there in 1992,” shares Hendrickx. “The Buran project was not officially scrapped yet, and you could see the shuttles in the hangar. Many decommissioned shuttles are just sitting there rotting at Baikonur. Urban explorers have put videos on YouTube to show that they were there.”

Soviet remnant

The spaceport was established when Kazakhstan was part of the Soviet Union. After the fall, Russia continued to rent the ground from the country. “It’s basically Russian territory in Kazakhstan,” explains Hendrickx.

The launch facility is not as active as it once was, mostly hosting missions to the International Space Station. Belgian astronaut Frank De Winne has launched out of Baikonur twice on his was to the ISS.

Hendrickx: “The Russians mostly use the Vostochny Cosmodrome to launch spacecraft, which is in their own country. The agreement between Russia and Kazakhstan for Baikonur runs until 2050, but there’s a good chance that within a few years there won’t be any more launches there.”

[trendingrepots]

Warehouse Robotics Market - Forecast(2024 - 2030)

Warehouse Robotics Market Overvie

The Global Warehouse Robotics Market size is projected to reach US$6.2 billion by 2030, growing at a CAGR of 12% from 2024 to 2030. The Warehouse Robotics Market encompasses the automation sector dedicated to developing, deploying, and utilizing robotic systems within warehouse and distribution center settings. These robots undertake tasks like picking, sorting, packing, and transportation, aiming to boost operational efficiency, enhance order accuracy, ensure safety, and minimize labor costs. A pivotal trend influencing this market is the integration of cutting-edge technologies like Artificial Intelligence (AI), machine learning, and the Industrial Internet of Things (IIoT). These advancements empower robots to operate autonomously, make real-time decisions, and communicate seamlessly with other warehouse systems, driving higher productivity, accuracy, and adaptability. E-commerce's surge significantly propels the warehouse robotics market forward. With online shopping's exponential growth, retailers and logistics firms face mounting pressure to swiftly and accurately fulfill orders. Warehouse robots offer a scalable solution to manage these demands, enabling companies to optimize order fulfillment processes and navigate peak periods efficiently. Moreover, there's a mounting emphasis on warehouse digitalization and inventory management, spurred by the quest for enhanced visibility and control over inventory levels. Robotics technologies such as automated storage and retrieval systems (AS/RS) and sortation robots play a pivotal role in optimizing warehouse space usage and inventory tracking. The factors such as the proliferation of advanced technologies, the expansion of e-commerce, and the increasing focus on operational efficiency and safety are expected to drive market expansion in the foreseeable future.

Report Coverage

The report: “Warehouse Robotics Industry Outlook – Forecast (2024-2030)” by IndustryARC, covers an in-depth analysis of the following segments in the Warehouse Robotics industry.

By Product Type: Autonomous Mobile Robot (AMR), Articulated Robots, Cylindrical Robots, SCARA Robots, Collaborative Robots, Parallel Robots, Cartesian Robots and Others.

By Payload Capacity: less than 20Kg, 20-100Kg, 100-300Kg and greater than 300Kg.

By System Type: Knapp Open Shuttle, Locus Robotics System, Fetch Robotics Freight, Scallog System and Swisslog Carrypick.

By Components: Programmable Logic Controller, Microprocessors and Microcontrollers, Actuators, Sensors and RF Module.

By Software: Warehouse management system, Warehouse execution system, Warehouse control system and Others.

By Function: Pick & Place, Assembling & Dissembling, Transportation, Sorting & Packaging and Others.

By End-use Industry: E-commerce, Automotive, Consumer Electronics, Food & Beverages, Healthcare, Metal & Machinery, Textile, Chemical and Others.

By Geography: North America (the US, Canada and Mexico), South America (Brazil, Argentina and Others), Europe (the UK, Germany, France, Italy, Spain and Others), APAC (China, Japan, South Korea, India, Australia and Others) and RoW (the Middle East and Africa).

Key Takeaways

• In the Warehouse Robotics market report, the autonomous mobile robots’ segment is analyzed to grow at a significant CAGR of 14.9% due to its high accuracy, increased efficiency and widespread applications across industry verticals.

• The E-commerce industry is expected to grow at the highest rate with a CAGR of 15.2% owing to factors such as rising demand for distribution center automation, fulfillment automation, growing demand for order accuracy and rising competition among the companies.

• North America held the largest market share of 34% in 2023 in the global Warehouse Robotics Market, owing to factors such as rapid R&D investments towards robotics and increasing adoption of robots for process automation.