#Tin Packing Systems

[cashewmachines]

Cashew processing requires precision, efficiency, and care — and that's exactly what modern cashew machines deliver. Designed to handle every stage of processing, from shelling and peeling to grading and packing, these machines help improve productivity while maintaining the highest quality standards. With advanced technology, minimal wastage, and user-friendly operation, cashew machines streamline the entire production process. Whether you're a small-scale processor or a large-scale exporter, investing in high-performance cashew machines ensures consistent output, better yield, and superior quality nuts ready for market.

[nichromepackaging]

From Fill to Finish:Mastering Packaging with Nichrome’s Integrated Systems

[nichromeafricapackagingmachine]

How to Choose the Right Packaging Machines for Your Dairy Business

The dairy industry in Africa is growing rapidly, and with it, the demand for efficient and reliable dairy packaging solutions. Whether you’re packaging milk, milk powder, or other dairy products, choosing the right milk packaging machine is critical to your business’s success. With so many options available, how do you decide which machine is best for your needs?

At Nichrome Africa, we specialize in providing cutting-edge dairy packaging solutions tailored to meet the unique requirements of the dairy businesses. In this blog, we’ll guide you through the process of selecting the perfect milk packaging machine for your operations.

1. Understanding Your Business Needs

Assessing Your Dairy Business Requirements

It is essential to evaluate your business needs before investing in any dairy packaging solution. This evaluation could be based on the following points.

What is the nature of your dairy products? (Liquid, powder or both)

What is your production capacity?

What would be the volume and quantity you’ll be packing with these machines?

What packaging format do you need (e.g., pouches, bottles, sachets)?

The packaging machine manufacturers offer a variety of packaging machines tailored to your packaging needs. For example, the milk pouch packing machine offers CSSP format pouches that are ideal for milk packaging and could be customized for the packaging of the curd. There are also Milk-filling machines attached to complete packaging systems to pack the milk in bottles or cartons. Whereas the milk powder packaging machine is specific to the powder packaging.

At Nichrome, we offer a wide range of milk packaging solutions designed to adapt to various business scales and needs. Our team can help you assess your requirements and recommend the best machine for your operations.

2. Types of Dairy Packaging Solutions

Exploring Your Options

There are several types of milk packaging machines, each catering to specific needs. Let’s explore these:

Milk Pouch Packing Machines: Ideal for packaging liquid milk in pouches. These machines are cost-effective and widely used in the dairy industry.

Automatic Bottle Filling Line Liquid: This is an automated, sustainable and highly efficient way to pack the milk into glass bottles. Going beyond the milk packaging machines, this line offers a complete packaging system.

Automatic Bottle Filling Line Solid: This is an automated system to pack solid dairy solutions like milk powder, custard powder, etc. into small jars.

Milk Powder Packing Machines: Designed for packaging milk powder in sachets or bags, ensuring precision and hygiene.

Tin Filling and Packing Systems: This is again a complete filling and packaging system ideal for packing milk powder into tins.

Nichrome’s range of milk packaging machines includes advanced options including high-speed, automatic milk packing machines like Fillpack Servo 15K Alpha and milk powder filling machines like Multitrack Stickpack with Multi Head Servo Auger Filler for small sachets and Excel 400 with Servo Auger for pouches, ensuring that you find the perfect solution for your business. It also offers end-to-end packaging solutions for bottle and tin filling.

3. Key Features to Look For While Choosing the Right Milk Packaging Machine

What Makes a Great Milk Packaging Machine?

When selecting a milk packaging machine, consider the following features:

Automation Level: Choose between manual, semi-automatic, or fully automatic milk packing machines based on your production needs. The ratio of the production count should be directly proportional to the level of automation.

Speed and Efficiency: High-speed machines can significantly boost your output. However, it is critical to check the precision and accuracy in packing with the pace.

Durability and Maintenance: Opt for machines made from high-quality materials that require minimal maintenance.

Compatibility: Ensure the machine is compatible with your preferred packaging materials.

Nichrome’s milk packaging solutions are designed with these features in mind, delivering high performance, reliability, and ease of use. They also offer PLC-controlled solutions to pack with precision and avoid any wastage due to spillage.

4. Budget Considerations

Understanding the Cost of Milk Packaging Machines

The cost of milk packing machines varies depending on factors like:

Machine type and automation level.

Production capacity.

Additional features (e.g., sealing, labelling).

For example, an automatic milk packing machine price may be higher than a semi-automatic model, but the long-term ROI often justifies the investment.

At Nichrome Africa, we offer cost-effective dairy product packaging solutions without compromising on quality. Our team can help you find a machine that fits your budget while meeting your production needs.

5. Evaluating Suppliers

Choosing the Right Partner for Your Packaging Needs

Selecting a reliable supplier is just as important as choosing the right machine. When evaluating suppliers, consider:

Experience and expertise in the industry.

After-sales support and maintenance services.

Availability of spare parts and training.

Nichrome has decades of experience in providing milk packaging solutions to businesses. Our commitment to customer satisfaction and comprehensive support services make us the ideal partner for your packaging needs. We provide support for the complete lifecycle of packing your product. We are dedicated to evolving as per the changing consumer preferences. We listen and understand your requirements and enhance our solutions to cater to your product packaging needs. We also offer customized solutions tailored to your production requirements.

Conclusion

Choosing the right milk packaging machine is a critical decision that can impact your dairy business’s efficiency, productivity, and profitability. By understanding your needs, exploring your options, and partnering with a reliable supplier like Nichrome, you can find the perfect solution for your operations. At Nichrome, we’re committed to delivering innovative dairy packaging solutions that meet the unique needs of African dairy businesses. Explore our range of milk packaging machines today and take the first step towards transforming your packaging process

[giagrotechmachinery]

Automatic Pouch Packing Machine – A Game-Changer for Cashew Packaging

Introduction

In the competitive world of manufacturing and packaging, automation has become a necessity for businesses striving for efficiency, speed, and consistency. GI AGRO TECHNOLOGIES PVT LTD.’s Automatic Pouch Packing Machine is a cutting-edge solution designed to enhance packaging operations, reduce wastage, and improve overall productivity. With advanced technology and user-friendly features, this machine, along with the Automatic Pouch Filling Machine, is transforming the way the cashew industry handles packaging. It ensures seamless, high-speed operations, helping businesses meet growing market demands while maintaining product freshness and quality.

Why Choose an Automatic Pouch Packing Machine?

High-Speed & Accuracy – Ensures precision in every pack, reducing human error and increasing output.

Versatility – Suitable for various pouch types, including stand-up, zipper, and laminated pouches.

Minimal Wastage – Optimizes material usage, reduces product spillage, and promotes sustainability.

User-Friendly Operations – Advanced automation with touchscreen controls for effortless functionality.

Cost-Effective – Reduces dependency on manual labor, lowering operational costs and increasing profitability.

Enhanced Product Freshness – Maintains hygiene and prevents moisture exposure, ensuring long shelf life.

The Importance of Automatic Packaging in the Cashew Industry

Cashew processing involves multiple stages, from shelling and peeling to grading and packaging. The Automatic Pouch Packing Machine plays a crucial role in maintaining cashew quality while streamlining operations. Here’s why automation is essential in cashew packaging:

Preserves Freshness – Cashews are highly sensitive to moisture and air exposure. Automated packaging ensures airtight sealing to retain crispness and flavor.

Increases Production Efficiency – High-speed packing reduces manual labor and enhances production output.

Maintains Hygiene Standards – Eliminates direct human contact, preventing contamination and ensuring food safety compliance.

Reduces Wastage – Precision weighing and filling mechanisms minimize product loss.

Customizable Packaging Solutions – Supports different pouch sizes and packaging styles to meet market requirements.

Conclusion

As the cashew industry continues to expand, adopting automation in packaging is no longer an option but a necessity. GI AGRO TECHNOLOGIES PVT LTD. one of the leading Automatic Pouch Packing Machine Manufacturers, offers a game-changing solution tailored for cashew packaging. With advanced sealing technology and customizable options, these machines help businesses enhance efficiency while maintaining product integrity.

Invest in automation today and take your cashew packaging business to the next level with GI AGRO TECHNOLOGIES PVT LTD.’s innovative solutions!

[butchvampireheimerdinger]

can we get butchfemme sevika/reader hcs please :3

GAWD yes. Lord, I've been waiting for this day lessgo

ButchFemme Sevika/Reader Headcanons

⚢ In typical butch fashion, her love language is acts of service

⚢ Loves to be fawned over ! Like “Omfg babe you’re sooo strong helping me put together furniture” and trust she is melting even though her face is expressionless and immoveable

⚢ She likes when you graze your long nails over her skin for back scratches and its all nice and light and tingly

⚢ She’s not much of a prettyboy (prettybutch…?) so she doesn’t really have a skincare routine but you have an extensive regimen so she memorizes all ur million little bougie products and gets you an extra to keep at ur place so you don’t have to eff up your skincare routine in favor of spontaneous sleepovers

⚢ Yeah she’s not too particular about her grooming in general. She lets you cut her hair even if you’re not super experienced with clippers. She still hypes you up even if you nick her ear when doing up her side shave/undercut.

“Oops! Sorry babe I think I got your ear…”

“Didn’t even feel it. You’re doing great baby keep going.”

⚢ On that note, pet names: For Sevika, its baby alll dayyyyyy ! She calls you baby, my girl, my pretty girl, my woman, etc. And as for what you call her, she always loves a “omg babe” moment. And “settle down there, cowboy” but in like a jesting sorta way. Also: “my butch.”

⚢ Stone top/pillow princess anybody?

⚢ Also: she’s ur cash cow. She loves buying you expensive shit and showing you off and showing off the expensive shit. You breathed in the direction of a particularly nice perfume? Surprise! It’s in your bathroom the following day. Like. It’s a theme. Especially in ur pre-relationship courting era. “Baby anything you want I get for you. Say the word I’ll buy for you the moon, the stars, et cetera, no one can provide for you like I can” blah blah blah

⚢ But you can’t be interrupting her card games tho. She’s like a teenage boy on the xbox with those things. Probs something to be worried about tbh.

⚢ And I’ve written this into a fanfic already, but that bitch wears boyshorts. I was thinking boxers for a while but I think that would be too much bulk over them skinny little plants she wears. I am a Sevika boyshorts TRUTHER

⚢ And she works out. Matter of fact, forget the prettybutch comment because Sevika WORKS OUTTT and I think she has resistance bands. Like she goes to an actual gym but around the house you’ll find her repping with those damn resistance bands to relieve stress or just cause she sees them and remembers.

⚢ And she works out to like. Classical music. Cause she’s a classy mothafuckaaa just absolutely getting ripped and her face is in a scary ass sneer but there's like ode to joy in the background

⚢ You pack her lunch. She gets flamed at work cause her paper bag is covered in lil hearts and stickers and kissy lipstick marks and its filled with sugary baked goods like pink sparkly cupcakes and fruity pastries cause u can’t cook. But by gawd u can bake.

⚢ That being said, she’s the cook in the relationship. Especially when it comes to meat. It’s problematic. Sevika’s version of “girl dinner” is straight up protein. Her typical meal is like. A rotisserie chicken + hard boiled eggs. It made you gasp the first time you saw her pull out one of her meal prep tins and it was just that.

⚢ Oh yeah and she meal preps

⚢ Claims she “doesn’t get sick” because her “immune system is just built different.”

⚢ When she does get sick, she refuses to chill out and let herself be sick and she tries to speedrun her way to health by taking too much vitamin C and then working out and cranking the heat to “sweat it out quicker.”

⚢ She knits to relieve stress

⚢ Sleeps topless and in undies. And a wife pleaser tank if its chilly.

[kaidanworkshop]

Workshop Progress: March Update

Good [timezone], Workshop Spectators! After our excellent launch of KRCE back in December (and a well deserved staff break), we've been back at it behind the scenes; on-boarding our six new staff members, handling bug fixes, and cooking up the first batch of new KRCE exclusive content!

We're a few weeks into our donation drive to cover our new content, and progress has been excellent!

We have enough to cover our first session with Paul, so our staff has been busy hammering out the first slate of scripts and playtesting our internal KRCE 2.0 build for the new quests these scripts will be covering. Nearly all of them have been expanded on in clever ways that we're keeping close to our chest until launch.

Before we get into that though, we held a poll back in January asking the community a number of different questions regarding changes to KRCE content the staff were considering.

Many discussions sprouted from the latter question regarding Kaidan's moral compass, some so compelling that our staff is still reeling from the potential it has for future content packs.

As of right now, we haven't decided which quests Kaidan will avoid doing -- our first slate of new content (mercifully) doesn't have any content that our favorite swordsman would find distasteful -- but as always, we will keep you updated as those decisions materialize. So what exactly is part of the first slate of new content?

The Intro Overhaul Pack -- What started as just a 1 for 1 integration of WarTortle's Immersive Kaidan Start has now expanded to include a few new conversations and immersive details to help smooth out the narrative mystery behind Kaidan's past, particularly for players who are new to TES lore. Paarthurnax Quest Expansion Compatibility -- Created by the amazing JaySerpa, PQE hooks wonderfully into Kaidan's existing narrative about redemption. We've managed to work into a few subtle nods to Kaidan's dark past for players who haven't completed his personal quest. I'm Glad You're Here Compatibility -- Exactly what it says on the tin. This pack includes integration with our nickname system as well!

The Book Pack -- In addition to creating new lines for each book Kaidan receives, we have also implemented a system where the player can then ask him what he thought about said book. Some of these books also have conditional dialogue, depending if the player has or hasn't completed certain quests. There's also a new mini-quest built into this book system that will unlock... [REDACTED] Pack -- a brand new way to engage with Kaidan. Trust us, you're going to love it.

We'll see you next month!

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

in which i am very grumpy - a Sims 2025 wishlist

Since I can't sleep, here are my “pie in the sky” wishes for the Sims in 2025. Some of these are not realistic at all, but oh well.

A Clothes Making Stuff Pack. I don’t know how they’d implement it without leaning on gameplay functions that other packs have (Nifty Knitting for Plopsy and High School Years) but this could potentially slap. Why not a cute fun retro vibe for build and buy? Actually why not get @surely-sims and @ice-creamforbreakfast to design those items entirely? (I'm only slightly joking - they would kill it.)

There could also be a function to choose swatches and patterns for the clothes your sims create to give it some kind of vanilla cc option - I could see a lot of players going in for that kind of thing.

more of the same below

Game Packs to Return. I know this is very unlikely since these days they'd rather bloat game packs and sell them as expansion packs. But when game packs worked, they really really worked, and they were such a good option. Unless they finally give us fairies though, I just don't see it happening.

(Also Bands should totally be a game pack. I just don't know what they can add to it enough to justify the price that isn't already in Get Famous, but maybe I'll be surprised.)

Babysitting Added As a Skill. I get why it would be iffy to allow teenagers to acquire the parenting skill. So considering that they can already administer all the childcare that adults do, a skill that either starts them off at Level 3-4ish of Parenting once they age up - or gives them a skill gain boost similarly to “creatively/mentally gifted” would be great. And you know what could also work as a stuff pack? Sims 4 Babysitting.

Of course, here's hoping that they wouldn't My First Pet it and give it some items or functions that you need either Parenthood or Growing Together to access…

Early Pack Refreshes. I'm the weirdo who actually really likes Outdoor Retreat. And I think Get To Work does what it says on the tin well enough. But Outdoor Retreat was the first game pack EA ever did and it shows. The swatches are very limited and there's just not a lot of activities to do once you're at Granite Falls. This would have been a great pack to add a picnic blanket function much earlier on. Horseshoe Throwing could be a game you can win even if it doesn't add skill, much like Don't Wake The Llama.

Also the Hermit could eventually mentor Sims in Herbalism once you have a high enough relationship with them, and perhaps this could be the only way to unlock some more advanced brews. And their hidden area could be its own eco system and have year round plants and bugs, similarly to the magic realm.

In terms of Get To Work, as the game has progressed, some of the hairstyles have aged very poorly, and could do with being fine tuned. It’s not even the weird thing that Maxis does with giving an otherwise nice hair a very high forehead (a la Life & Death) - they’re just ugly.

Skill Trees For Aliens and Merfolk. Admittedly I haven’t played with the former but I hear it’s very superficial in comparison to vampires, werewolves and spellcasters. And merfolk give you very few of the fun elements of being an occult, while still being somewhat needy (the ‘Hydration’ bar that you have to manage as if it’s Fury or Thirst). It would be one thing if they were simply boring but a ‘passive’ occult form the way spellcasters are, in that you have to actively use their magic in order for their charge level to be at risk - but no. While they’re fun to design in cas, as they are, merfolk are just boring.

As both aliens and merfolk came with expansion packs though rather than a separate game pack (which is admittedly cash-grabby but did allow those occults to feel much more in depth) I doubt it will happen.

A Swimming Update. While the worlds that came out after Island Living have them, earlier worlds such as Windenburg did not. Those should have been adjusted so that you can swim in any world so long as you have that expansion pack. With the exception of Oasis Springs, which of course is in the desert lol.

Building in Vacation Worlds Without Staying in Them. I don’t think I need to expand on this one.

Boarding Schools. If they’d added this function to HSY similarly to the dorm living in Discover University, I think that would have made the gameplay functions of that expansion feel much less superficial. You could have rivalries between one hall and another, ‘cultural’ differences between boarders and day students, and attempting to throw wild parties before the dean/house parent/whatever your term is catches them.

More Nuanced Aged Groups. I don’t think they’d actually split the existing pre-adult years groups into preschooler, preteen etc as particularly since the average player would probably stick to the ‘normal’ life span, having to go into CAS and throw birthday parties so often could become tiresome very quickly. But it would be nice if there was a more noticeable gap between, say, a 13/14 year old and someone who is about to age up in young adulthood. I think the toddler life stage actually does this decently in that a toddler who’s maxed out all the skills is a lot more independent and has a wider range of interactions available to them than one who’s just had a birthday.

Oh gosh I can still think of so many more things. Nerfing the 'check infant/toddler' function. The ability to have a business you own attached to your house. A joint custody divorce function - which would need to be handled delicately since it's a real issue for many - that allows children to split their time between parents' homes. Allowing children to bathe dogs and take them for walks. Allowing children to have some cute age appropriate neighbourhood business, like a lemonade stand or offering to shovel snow, and to maybe start some savings in a little piggy bank?

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch4

Description: chapter 4 - I’m not entirely sure if this is any good. I need to go through and edit it but I’ll do that when I’m closer to knowing what’s actually gonna happen 🤣 we will wait and see! I’ve posted this on ao3 as well - same username and title. I love Wes Anderson, hence the Isle of Dogs theme. Feel that it fits the theme of this fic too. Anyhoo..

I allow Gaz to lead me to a well lit room. It looks like some sort of living area. Comfortable sofas and carpeted floors. This was totally foreign to me after my time spent in the facility. I felt so out of place. I flit my gaze to Gaz who must notice my discomfort or awkwardness, and he beckons at me to sit down on the sofa. I am still zipped up inside his warm jacket, which smells of a warm vanilla scent mixed with some variation of citrus fruit.. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it is comforting and calming. I try not to make it obvious that I am taking in his scent.

The others are already situated in their seats. I feel all of their eyes itching into my skin. I shrink back into myself again. The pack Alpha, their Captain, clears his gruff throat before speaking. "We have received information from Laswell. She has found your file and is going to send it over as soon as it is secured in the system.. she has told us you are not a direct threat to us. Is this correct, Laika? Can we trust you?"

I feel like scoffing at him. Me? Can they trust me? It's almost laughable that a pack of four huge Alpha's think that I, a drugged, undesignated girl, could threaten them. Not to mention that I am not in the best of shape due to lack of nutrition and poor sleeping habits. "Well..?" he prompts. I met his gaze for the first time since they'd found me. "I pose no threat to you or your pack members, Captain" - I decide to address him officially as pack Alpha. He stands a little straighter than he was before, obviously happy with my answer. I feel a sense of relief wash over me before dropping my gaze back to the floor.

A growl echoes through the silence, the others all looking between each other to find the source of the sound. Their eyes land on me. I can feel my face redden under their scrutiny - my stomach is the source of the growl. "S-sorry" I stutter anxiously. Gaz steps forward slowly and smiles down at me. "C'mon, let's go and get some food. I could eat too." He nods towards the left and I follow the motion with my eyes and see an open door to what looks like a kitchen. I stand up nervously and follow Gaz, taking the widest possible route around the masked man and Soap, still not trusting them.

I step into the kitchen area and Gaz opens the fridge and inspects the contents. "What d'ya like?" he asks. I shrug. "Not really eaten much since- since I've been their asset.. I-I used to like soup though.." - "Soup? Let me check the cupboards. Think we've got tomato.." He moves around the kitchen smoothly, opening and closing cupboards when he doesn't find what he is looking for. I stand in the corner quietly, trying to avoid getting in the way. "C'mere" he beckons me over - "tomato or chicken?" he nods to a stack of four tins -two of each flavour- stacked neatly in the overhead cupboard. "J-just whatever is spare will be nice. Th-thanks" I whisper. "C'mon, love, try to stop being so shy with me.. you can trust me, even if you aren't sure about my packmates yet, yeah? I promise you they're good men underneath their tough exteriors.." he tries to convince me. "S-sorry.. I'll try harder" I murmur. I decide to try and be bold - I step closer to him and look over his shoulder into the cupboard to inspect the tins of soup. "Tomato would be nice.." I utter quietly. Gaz's smile is instant. It lights up the entire room, my eyes drawn to it. Wow - he had beautiful teeth. Sharp canines, gleaming white.. It reminded me that my teeth had been neglected - only able to brush them a couple of times a week when they allowed me to shower. I suddenly find myself feeling self-conscious. I haven't even properly looked in a mirror for at least a year..

I step back again, feeling a little anxious after my inner thoughts had caught up with me. Damn him and his big, perfect smile. And his deep, kind eyes. "How buttery do you want your bread?" The question snaps me out of it. "Butter?.. uhm.. same as you?" I question my own answer. "I've not had butter for ages. Just stale or mouldy bread.." I admit. He sighs sadly, but immediately tries to cheer me up. "You should see how Soap takes his bread. I swear he would use an entire block of butter per slice if he could. It's gross" he says jokingly. I release the smallest giggle at that. He is smiling so brightly now that he knows that he successfully made me laugh. My defences drop for a split second thanks to the growing comfort I am feeling in Gaz's presence, and my mouth blurts out before I can catch it "they scare me..”

Gaz snaps his gaze back down to mine - "What? Who? Soap..? He is harmless" - "and the masked one" I add blushing, anxiously. "That's Ghost - the masked one. He can take a while to warm up to strangers.. he won't hurt you though. Promise" he reassures me. My eyes follow his hand closely as he gently places it on my shoulder, attempting to comfort me, I assume. I try not to tense up or flinch at the soft touch. I just stare at his hand until he slowly withdraws it. I jump slightly when the microwave dings. Gaz pours the soup into a bowl and hands it to me with a plate full of buttered bread. I stand there confused, just staring at the food that I am holding.

"C'mon, hope you don't mind eating on the sofa. We usually just eat off our laps.." he shrugs. "It smells nice.." I compliment, following him as he holds the kitchen door open for me seeing as I had my hands full. I, once again, take the widest route around Soap and Ghost.. I sit down at the very end of the sofa and wait for Gaz to sit in the place next to me, subconsciously using him as a barrier to the outside room.

"What did Gaz make you for tea, lass?" the rich Scottish voice chirped. I jump in my seat slightly. I quietly respond "Tomato soup" without looking at him, remaining hidden behind Gaz's body. Soap leans forward and looks right at me "Smells delicious. Any leftovers, Gaz?" he asks. "Make your own... tins are in the cupboard" - "Awkt, but you made her some.." - "I'm not microwaving soup for you, Soap, piss of mate" - "Fuck sake, ya prick, though we were supposed to be packmates.." The duo go back and forward like this in a light hearted tone for a couple of minutes. "I - I don't mind letting you have this.." I offer anxiously, shakily holding my plate out towards Gaz, feeling guilty that I'd taken their food.

Gaz gently guides the plate back into my lap. "Don't be silly, bug, you haven't even started it and you haven't eaten properly for ages. Get eating!" He instructs, I listen - ever obedient. I gently lift the spoon to my mouth and slurp the soup into my mouth. I swear it's the best thing I've ever tasted. I hum quietly to myself. Unbeknownst to me, Gaz and Soap are watching me with a fond smile on their faces. I eat about half of the bowl, and a slice of bread before feeling utterly stuffed. I slowly lift my gaze from the food and glance at Gaz. "I can't eat any more.." I whisper. "You sure? You've not eaten much.." - "I'm full.." I reassure him. Soap suddenly sits forward in his seat again, making me shrink back slightly again. "Ya done, Lass?" - "mmhmm" I murmer shyly - "Here, hand it over then!" he says keenly. Before I can even process his words, he has leant over Gaz and stolen the bowl and plate from me and was groaning in pleasure at the taste. I blush slightly, embarrassed, that he hasn't even replaced the spoon I had been using. "For fuck sake, Soap, you know she's jumpy. Tone it down a bit - yeah?" Gaz suggests to Soap. "Aye, sorry just starvin' - Sorry wee'yin" he gobbles around a mouthful of bread. I just stare at the scene in front of me, lost for words.

With warm food in my belly for the first time in forever, I start feeling sleepy. I slowly unzip Gaz's jacket, now that I'm warm again, and hand it back to him. "Thanks.." I whisper, placing it on his lap. Gaz tries not to show his disappointment that you are no longer wearing his jacket - his scent. "Are you wanting me to show you to the spare room? Think it's set up ready to use.." he offers. "If that's ok.. I - I don't want to be a hassle.." - "None of that, now.. C'mon, follow me."

I stand and follow obediently again. I enter the hallway after Gaz. The walls are wallpapered with a white floral pattern. It's light and airy. Gaz walks up a set of stairs to an upper level, I follow him closely. He stops on the upper landing and points to the left hallway. "It's the second door on the right. You'll have your own bathroom too." I nod and hesitate before walking independently down the hallway, feeling a little insecure, but deciding to be brave anyway. I get to the door and slowly twist the door handle. I glance back at Gaz who just nods and turns to go back down stairs to join the rest of his pack.

I step into the room and take stock of everything in it. The walls are covered in blue and white striped wallpaper. There is a window on the back wall of the room. I check out the bathroom which is to the right hand side of the room - it has a shower, sink and a toilet, with another smaller window behind it. I step back into the main room and look at the bed. I hesitate before slowly lowering myself down on it. It's soft. I should feel comfortable, but instead I feel exposed. Unsafe. I decide to look around the bathroom again, digging through the cupboards to see what I could use. I find a few toothbrushes, still in the packs, so I remove one and hurry to brush my teeth. It's funny how such a small bit of self care can make me feel cleaner. I decide to strip from my filthy clothes and step into the shower. I turn the water on, accidentally blasting myself with freezing water before it started to heat up. I don't even squeal, being all too accustomed to cold showers. I do, however, moan when the water starts to heat up. I check out all of the soaps and products on the rack in the shower. It all looks like male stuff but I don't care. I absolutely lather myself in it. I repeat it several times over. Lather. Rinse. Lather. Rinse. And so on...

I finally step from the shower when my skin starts to wrinkle. I haven't felt this clean since - well - probably ever! The wall of steam floods the bedroom when I leave the bathroom. I get myself dry and search the chest of drawers for something clean to sleep in. From the looks of the contents inside, it looks like standard military style clothing. I find some dark joggers and a khaki t-shirt. I quickly dress, finding myself having to seriously tighten the drawstring around my waist of the trousers and roll the sleeves up of the long sleeved t-shirt. I climb into bed and pull the covers tightly around me. I toss and turn before finally dozing off.

*Gaz's POV*

I show her the directions to the room she is to stay in, deciding to stay back and let her check it out for herself. Soap had stayed in that room a few nights ago when he pissed everyone off so badly, Ghost decided to punish him by throwing him out of the pack bed for the night. I just hope he had left it clean enough for her. I walk downstairs to the rest of my pack. I sit back down in my space next to Soap, who immediately chucks his legs over me, to rest them on my lap. I massage his legs for him, making him purr. I smile softly at my pack mate.

Price speaks up then. "Kyle - what's going on with the girl then..?" - "She's scared.. terrified. Fuck knows what they've done to her but none of it has been good. I think she is warming up to me though" I reply. He nods in agreement. "Kate sent over her file. It looks like she's been tortured and drugged to comply. Her designation is unknown - but she has been the asset behind all four of the most recent Makarov hits. And several before these too, before we were called up, so she certainly isn't as harmless as she makes out." I find myself nodding too, trying to piece together what all of this means. "Who is she, then?" Soap asks. "Her government name is Y/N Y/L/N - they called her Laika - apparently she was always co-operative, or obedient, I think is the word they used. I guess she was thrashed into submission. They say she is of a gentle, anxious, nature but the drugs helped 'level' her - whatever that means" Price explains.

"Turned her into a puppet, that means. A puppet to do all of their dirty work" I spit back, disgusted and angry. "So the drugs, are they still in her system? Is that why she isn't giving off any scent or signs of her designation?" I ask. "That's something we are going to have to ask her, Kyle. The file mentions that she gets 'topped up' every couple of months when she starts showing resistance" - "Poor girl was trying to fight it" I interrupt Price.

"Don't start getting attached, Garrick." Simon grumbles at me. "Piss off" I snap back.

"I'm tired, let's go to bed, yeah, talk about it in the morning?" I suggest. "Yep, Kyle's right, bed - all of you" Price orders. We all stand and make our way to our room. I glance toward the door of Laika - Y/N's - room and all seems quiet. Hopefully she is sleeping, I think inside my head.

*Back to Laika (Y/N's) POV*

I wake, startled - seeing visions of pools of blood I had been the cause of. Seeing lifeless eyes of those I had killed. I leap out of bed and start feeling my arm for my handkerchief. Shit shit shit. I'd left it somewhere. I slide down the wall panicking, trying to remember where the hell I had put it. All this time at the facility and I'd managed not to lose it. It comes to me all of a sudden. Gaz's jacket. My handkerchief is in the pocket of his jacket. I sneak out of the room and try to quietly tip toe downstairs. The stairs are a bit creaky but being quiet is my speciality. I finally find my way to the room we had been sitting in when I had returned the jacket to Gaz. It wasn't there. My stomach sinks. A single tear falls from my eye. I slump on to the couch and try not to weep. I can't go rooting about looking for it. I will just have to calm myself down and go back to my room. I try to gather myself.

Five, or so, minutes later, I stand and start to make my way back up the stairs. I avoid all of the creaky parts of each stair and successfully make it to the upper landing. I turn toward my room and gently close the door. I fail to notice the dark, masked Alpha, watching my every move. He slinks back into his pack's room, not waking them.

I try to settle back in the bed, failing miserably. I find myself crawling under the bed with a pillow and blanket, feeling safer in an enclosed space. I finally settle into a restless sleep.

[physalian]

On eating your “Realism” cake and having it too

Inspired by another post I didn't want to hijack twice.

TL;DR, people are able to suspend their disbelief for many things, but once you invite them to start questioning things, if you have not done the groundwork, your lore might fall apart.

Example I love to use is Cars to Cars 2.

People were not nitpicking how car society works after Cars. It’s a kids movie about anthropomorphic vehicles, and for the most part, it kind of made sense. The courthouse in Radiator Springs was built for vehicles, Doc was a “doctor” but really a fancy mechanic, and the plot was about cars racing, doing car things.

Yeah you could wonder things like, how did they build the buildings? Why do they have both sentient aircraft (the helicopter and blimp) but also planes being piloted by cars (the flyover of the jets above the big race)? But these were negligible background details that didn’t matter to the plot.

Cars didn’t have to be ‘realistic’ and wasn’t pretending to be.

Cars 2 was when people got all up in arms nitpicking the hell out of every little thing, because in this movie, zero thought was given to the worldbuilding beyond “idk it’s earth but with humans instead of cars” except now it matters to the plot.

Why is Mater able to eat wasabi? Why does wasabi exist? Why is there a car pope? Why is there a car queen? How do cars have parents? What was the point of that one car with their eyes in the headlights? Are sentient battleships born or made into a life of combat? Are all commercial planes forced to be pack mules for their whole existence? How does the car class system work? Why do lemons exist?

All of this taking away from the grand prix plot that made much more sense for the universe, instead of the spy movie. Now, to try and solve the mystery and engage with the story, we have to think about all those incongruous details. All those details, the car queen and car pope would have been funny background gags if the movie was just about the grand prix.

It’s still a kids movie, but now with all these details that don’t add up and cannot be ignored. Cars could be enjoyed by everyone. Cars 2 was made for money kids who weren’t supposed to think about all that.

—

If you as the author and your story take the tone of “this is for fun don’t think too hard” people will have a good time if they’re entertained and anyone who nitpicks can be met with, well, Dead Dove: What did you expect? It’s exactly what it says on the tin.

You can absolutely make shit up as you go along. I read a book that had dinosaurs on Mars. Why? Because it’s fun. There was a tiny scientific explanation given, but the plot did not rest on how and why these dinosaurs exist on Mars. The story never asked the audience to consider logic, nor did it have its characters questioning the worldbuilding.

You do not have to be “realistic,” in that way, to be good.

But once you start bringing attention to the elephant in the room, you need to have done your homework.

So, example.

I have a novel in which the sun does not shine, permanently, across the entire northern hemisphere of earth. This is fantasy, not sci-fi.

Option one: Ignore all the catastrophic consequences of such an apocalypse. How it works, why it happened, all that noise does not matter to the plot or the characters. No one ever questions it, no one’s choices ever depend on it. It’s just a fun aesthetic choice, in the same way that animals can talk to humans in Disney movies and no one questions it. Why and how they can talk does not matter, only that they can and we are now entertained by Mushu’s antics.

Option two: Okay, so I’ve taken the sun away from half the planet. I now need to think about the following: How does that affect the weather for the other half? What happens to all the plants and animals that lived in the North? How would one survive in that wasteland without easy access to food? What food could grow there without sunlight? By what other means can I get nutrients for plants and animals without sunlight, so people can eat, so communities can exist?

I went with option two. The plot of the book is very much tied to this lack of sunlight and the hazardous environment the characters are stuck in. The characters are wondering how it works and how they can overcome it constantly. I did my homework, I gave them a way to survive and even thrive up there. I am thus calling this post-apocalyptic setting “realistic”.

It’s still fantasy, so my explanation is still “because magic”, where the sun isn’t gone it’s just being blocked by a big magic blanket, to put it simply, but the consequences are based in realism. That way, my audience can follow along and understand how the world works and anticipate why characters do the things they do in their environment.

So if a geologist or climatologist reads my book and goes “um actually” and they point out that I’m wrong, I have to own that. I have to say “yeah I didn’t consider that, it’s a good point, but I can’t change the manuscript so to enjoy the book, try not to think about it.”

What I cannot do is protest all criticisms of my “realism” by going “it’s fantasy you’re not supposed to take it seriously” while turning around and also saying how smart I am and how clever and authentic my worldbuilding is.

Can’t eat your realism cake and have it too.

And this is only talking about the lore. I haven’t even touched escapist fantasy relationships.

A more famous example: Gandalf’s magic in Lord of the Rings.

Have not read the books in a hot minute so I’m referencing the movies as I’m more familiar with them.

Gandalf is a wizard. He can do an unexplained number of spells pretty much as the plot demands. What he cannot do is never given a hard limit, which tends to break most magic systems.

And yet. “Why didn’t Gandalf save the day?” isn’t a question that destroys the story.

Gandalf is a shepherd, not the hero. He can lead the race of Men to water, but he can’t make them drink. If he came in and started forcing all the power-hungry men to sit down, shut up, and cooperate, what magic Gandalf can and cannot do would be paramount to understanding the story. He can only nudge people in what he thinks is the right direction, but the choice to act is up to them.

Which is pretty heavily implied throughout the films.

As for his magic, Gandalf both never wins without consequence, and isn’t an aggressive character who resorts to his magic at every turn.

He took down the Balrog, but the Balrog got him, too

He warded off the nazgul with the big light beam outside Minas Tirith, but a lot of Gondorian soldiers still died, and he didn’t do any damage to the fellbeasts

He likes fun times and magic tricks, like the fireworks, more than spells for combat

He’s forgetful, like with the password to the door of Moria

He is not all-powerful

All this means that in any life or death situation, the weight of the plot does not rest solely on his shoulders.

So Tolkein isn’t “realistic” in that he consulted physicists about every little thing, but he’s “realistic” in that all the worldbuilding decisions and lore realistically fit the story. The choices of the characters, the behaviors of the different kingdoms, the perspectives of the different races all make sense for the world they live in.

—

It is nearly impossible, as a lone writer, to cover every potential plot hole that a reader could point out. It’s fiction, after all, and sometimes characters make choices because that’s what’s entertaining and the other option of “just go home” or “X did this because they forgot Y” is not entertaining.

But if you have, say, the series that inspired this post, with a world where winter shows up when the plot demands and lasts for years, you can either say “eh that’s just a thing that happens, it’s not important I just thought it was neat and a cool setting” and people will shrug it off.

Or you can say “this is absolutely critical to the entire story and impacts every society within my world” but don’t do your homework on what those impacts are, people can and will call you out on it.

[spicythistlesatdawn]

REFERENCE THIS

CW: Adult themes. (Planning on some hot and heavy in this one) Non-Traditional A/B/O dynamics. Military inaccuracies. Medical inaccuracies. 18+ MDNI. OC x Canon Characters.

I love how, as a collective, we agree: "Ohhhh yes. Omegaverse141 is literally where it's at." I also absolutely love how as a collective essentially we've kinda agreed that yea. Alpha!GHOST and Omega!SOAP are like peak. But even better is Omega!Ghost.

Poly!Alpha Soap, Gaz, Price x Poly!Omega Ghost and Omega!reader (reader will be described as more muscular and tall)

this is gonna just be a drabble rn until my brain stops bein fried

Simon who hasn't had his heat in fuckin YEARS and just kinda didn't see a problem with it. He took his leave regardless to keep the alphas from suspecting anything, Masking came in handy for that tbh. It was too embarrassing to admit to the alphas of his pack that his father had essentially scared the omega into a sort of dormancy

Simon who tried not to be wooed by three eager alphas. Johnny's boyish fuckin charm "LT yer lookin' mighty this mornin, ach can ye help me reach the coffee tin?" Kyle's sweet little gifts that suited Simon's needs "I noticed you were out of tea, thought I'd pick yuh some up. Oh those knives are yours. Yes I got you a new mask, your old one had holes in it" and Price, he played dirty, leaving scented items in spots he knew Simon would find them and whisk them away before anyone noticed. All so terribly sweet and pushy and Fuckin hell he wanted to bite each of them, gorge himself on them and let no one else have them.

One night he caves. He caves hard because he craves love, he craves affection and the soft things his pack offers. What makes it perfect is they all decide to take leave for Price's rut. Simon's skin is buzzing for it, really it is. His pack says nothing about the fact Ghost didn't go into heat.

Hes eager, his body feels alive more than it has in ages. More often than not his alphas have him ruining his underwear with his slick.

The lack of a true heat makes it's way to the surface though. They're noticing. They're worried, yea sure stress can change up cycles but "Si when was last real heat you had?"

He's playing it off, of course. "Oi, at least I don't need birth control, shit fucks up a system worse than anythin'" "Can't remember really," "why it's not like we want a pup round 'ere anyway,"

His loving alphas though, they want him to be healthy, a delayed heat is not healthy. All that stress is bad for the heart and body and mind. So they look for solutions. Laswell mentions that maybe some time off and around civvy omegas would do Ghost some good.

A months leave. They're at Soap's apartment in Edinburgh, far enough from his family they won't be bombarded, close enough the siblings and niblings and mam can visit! It's a strange sense of normalcy that Simon hasn't allowed himself in a long time.

The pub is nice, the pub has a lot of omegas. Dainty things, overly sweet things. They're so pretty, and Ghost admires them for that. He finds comfort in watching them.

But then he scents something. Something not entirely sweet but entirely delicious. His mouth is watering, fangs actually aching. Then he spots YOU

You who looks so alive and vibrant and strong. Simon hadn't thought about pups until you and suddenly he's thinking about what you'd look like round because of the alphas. He thinks what going through a pregnancy would look like. What would being a milk nurse for your young be like?

You look so strong too, a hard worker. Like him, like his alphas. Hes nudging Johnny, pointing you out to him. Poor man is confused. "Ach Si, wuts got ye so active?" Sure Johnny sees the appeal, but he's not entirely sure what his omega is asking.

Simon doesn't even know what he's asking. The omegas he had come across before had never piqued his interest this fucking hard. He had more often than not bared his teeth at any omegas who came to up to his alphas.

Now he was here in this pub trying to urge Johnny to talk to you. Because Simon was not gentle enough, not sweet enough. Johnny however was being a idgit.

So he prodded Kyle. "The bird at the bar, wearin the tank," "Wut bout her Si?" He had never seen Simon look so shy, but oh, he loved it, though. "Pretty lovie," was all Kyle said and slipped from the booth.

You watched the lean alpha with smooth dark skin sidle up to you. Saw the claiming mark and the scent of a strong omega. You can't help how the omega part of that scent catches you, where is their Omega? How dare this beautiful man with full kissable lips sidle up to you like he doesn't have someone already.

The scowl is mean enough, coupled with sour displeasure Gaz nopes the fuck out. His Si is a burly omega and he knows those muscles aren't just for show. You work, and you work hard and even if he is an alpha, an SAS member, you could and would probably lay him out.

Aaaaaaa, the disappointment Simon feels, though, because now his instincts are latching bad. You would make such a beautiful member of the pack. LOOK AT YOU. Muscles that flex as you assess the alphas in the pub.

Oh! Oh, you're looking at him now. And he's staring, and he knows you see Kyle, who you sent scurrying back. He loves the look of realization. Appreciates the fact he wore his balaclava because you can't see the blush creeping up his neck.

You're assessing each other then. He's nudging John gently. John, who knew what was going on and didn't know whether to feel pride, concern, or maybe even jealousy. John, who dipped his head towards Simon's neck and rumbled softly, showed his possessiveness and made you and Simon pause.

You turn back to the bar, order something the men might like, whiskey or bourbon.

That makes John assess you again as you approach with the drinks. Introduce yourself. Eyes focused solely on Ghost. You're trying to catch his scent, realizing pretty quickly he can mask

Simon has to mask because Dear Jeebus your scent up close has him ruining his boxers.

You assess the others, and they're not truly paying you any mind. You don't want them to. It was becoming increasingly obvious that it was their Omega showing interest. It was their Omega that seemed inclined to woo you.

You find out their military, it tracks. The precision they move with, the way they all watch the pub. Watch you now.

They find out that you moved from America to Scotland and became a forge master. You make all kinds of things. Blades (Price makes a note of this because he wants to give his omega something nice). Knick knacks. Tools. Edinburgh is perfect because of all the clients you get in, farmers, husbands, wives, families, and workers. You also travel for conventions.

Ghost discovers you came to the pub in search of an alpha or even a beta to bully into "seeing you through your heat" he doesn't offer himself or his alphas. Even if it burns up thinking of someone else doing it. He doesn't want to offer something his alphas don't want. Price is pressing into his side though, looking at his omega and deciding they would talk very soon.

It's Johnny who gives you their numbers as they mention it's time to go. You steal their booth and watch them leave. Their scents surround you except for Ghost's. Which makes you frown because now you're wondering what could have happened that he'd need more than one self defense.

You decide to make a group chat and send a gentle hello, no longer thinking about finding another to bully into taking care of your heat.

That night, Ghost is attended by all three alphas cooing and teasing him. Telling him he's so wet and needy. "Good omega, was she a pretty bird? Did you like how she looked at yuh?" Gaz had no shame in teasing Ghost about you. Price was rather pleased there was something changing in Ghost's scent already.

Maybe Price would talk to all of his boys about taking care of you and Ghost for both of your heats. What better way to get Ghost's hormones on track than expose him to another omega in heat? Oops, he said that out loud, and now Ghost is being a loud, precious slut for them.

You and Simon (he messaged you to call him that) have been messaging quite a bit. The alphas are pleased. Their Omega is happy. Something about you has all of the men vibrating with something.

Simon has asked all of you go on a date. He wants to make his intentions known, he had talked at length with his alphas. Why he wanted to court you, let his alphas court you.

It's sweet, they understand, and this is the most forthcoming they've ever seen Simon. They love it. He loves his alphas, love the way they care for him, but he admitted something about you just... clicked. You felt like you fit in. You weren't military. You were a civvy, but you exuded strength you had talked so easily with everyone at the pub that night. It did call to all of them, not to mention you respected that they were already pack, when you spoke to them that night, you gave your respect to Price and Ghost.

Price is working with Ghost to plan a date night. He feels oddly excited. Something about his feral omega meeting another omega that has his boxers slicked is thrilling.

"Get you a pretty lil lovie. Yuh think she'll bend yuh over?" Price had never been so thoroughly mauled by Ghost during sex. Johnny and Kyle were thrilled by it.

Now to woo you

[cashewmachines]

The Future of Nut Preservation: How Cashew Tin Packing Systems Are Leading the Way

As the cashew industry continues to grow and innovate, efficient and hygienic packaging has become a top priority for processors. One of the most revolutionary advancements in this sector is the introduction of Cashew Tin Packing Systems—automated machinery designed specifically to pack cashew nuts into tin containers with precision and care. These Tin Packing Systems not only improve shelf life but also enhance productivity and quality control across the entire packaging process.

What Are Cashew Tin Packing Systems?

Cashew Tin Packing Systems are specialized machines used in the final stage of cashew processing. These systems are designed to:

Accurately weigh and fill cashew kernels into tins

Vacuum seal or nitrogen flush the tins for longer shelf life

Automatically seal the tins with leak-proof lids

Label and code each unit for traceability and branding

These machines are ideal for medium to large-scale cashew processing units looking to scale operations while maintaining high hygiene standards.

Why Tin Packing for Cashews?

Tins are preferred for cashew packaging because they:

Preserve freshness by protecting against air and moisture

Prevent spoilage from environmental exposure

Enhance shelf life, especially for export markets

Look premium, helping with retail presentation and branding

When combined with high-performance Tin Packing Systems, these benefits are amplified by automation and consistency.

Key Features of Modern Tin Packing Systems

Modern Cashew Tin Packing Systems offer several advanced features such as:

Digital control panels for easy operation

Servo-based filling mechanisms for accurate weighing

Stainless steel construction for food safety

High-speed operation for bulk output

Low maintenance and energy efficiency

These systems are engineered to meet international food packaging standards, making them suitable for both domestic and export-focused cashew businesses.

Benefits of Using Tin Packing Machinery in Cashew Units

Investing in Cashew Tin Packing Systems brings several key advantages:

Labor Savings: Automates manual packing processes

Time Efficiency: Faster packing speeds increase daily output

Product Consistency: Uniform weight and sealing for every tin

Reduced Waste: Minimizes spillage and rejects

Higher Profit Margins: Enables entry into premium and export markets

Why It's the Future of Nut Packaging

The global demand for premium-quality nuts, especially in countries like the U.S., UAE, and Europe, has led to stricter packaging requirements. Buyers increasingly look for hygienically packed, tamper-proof products with extended shelf life. By using advanced Tin Packing Systems, cashew processors can meet these demands, stand out in the marketplace, and build a reliable export network.

Conclusion

For cashew processors aiming to stay competitive and meet international standards, investing in reliable Cashew Tin Packing Systems is a smart move. These machines not only streamline operations but also ensure quality, efficiency, and customer satisfaction. As automation continues to shape the future of food processing, Tin Packing Systems will remain at the forefront of nut packaging innovation.

[justforbooks]

‘It allowed us to survive, to not go mad’: the CIA book smuggling operation that helped bring down communism

From George Orwell to Hannah Arendt and John le Carré, thousands of blacklisted books flooded into Poland during the cold war, as publishers and printers risked their lives for literature

The volume’s glossy dust jacket shows a 1970s computer room, where high priests of the information age, dressed in kipper ties and flares, tap instructions into the terminals of some ancient mainframe. The only words on the front read “Master Operating Station”, “Subsidiary Operating Station” and “Free Standing Display”. Is any publication less appetising than an out-of-date technical manual?

Turn inside, however, and the book reveals a secret. It isn’t a computer manual at all, but a Polish language edition of Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell’s famous anti-totalitarian novel, which was banned for decades by communist censors in the eastern bloc.

This copy lives now in the library of Warsaw University, but for much of the cold war it belonged to the Polish writer and dissident Teresa Bogucka. It was Teresa’s father, the art critic Janusz Bogucki, who first brought it to Poland. In 1957, during a window of liberalisation that opened after Stalin’s death, Janusz picked up the Orwell translation from a Polish bookshop in Paris, smuggled it back through the border and gave it to his daughter. Teresa was only 10 or 11 years old then, but she was a precocious reader, and recognised the ways in which communist Poland mirrored Orwell’s fictional dystopian state: “It absolutely traumatised me,” she remembered.

Years later, in 1976, when Bogucka joined the emerging Polish opposition movement, she decided to create a library of books that had bypassed the state censor, and donated her own small collection, including this Nineteen Eighty-Four. The SB security service, Poland’s KGB, kept continual watch on her, eavesdropping on her conversations, arresting her and searching her apartment, so she asked neighbours to store the forbidden books. Much of the time, though, they would be circulating among readers, since this would be a “Flying Library”, which rarely touched the  ground.

Bogucka’s system of covert lending ran through a network of coordinators, each of whom was responsible for their own tight group of readers. She sorted the books into categories – politics, economics, history, literature – and divided them into packages of 10, before allocating each coordinator a particular day to pick up their parcel, which they carried away in a rucksack. The coordinator would drop the books back the following month at a different address, before picking up a new set.

The demand for Bogucka’s books was such that soon she needed more, and these could only come from the west. Activist friends passed word to London, where émigré publishers arranged shipments of 30 or 40 volumes at a time, smuggling them through the iron curtain aboard the sleeper trains that shuttled back and forth between Paris and Moscow, stopping in Poland along the way. By 1978, Teresa Bogucka’s Flying Library had a stock of 500 prohibited titles.

How many people read her copy of Orwell’s book in those crucial cold war years? Hundreds, probably thousands. And this was just one of millions of titles that arrived illegally in Poland at that time. As well as via trains, books arrived by every possible conveyance: aboard yachts; in secret compartments built into vans and trucks; by balloon; in the post. Mini-editions were slipped into the sheet music of touring musicians, or packed into food tins or Tampax boxes. In one instance, a copy of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago was carried on a flight to Warsaw hidden in a baby’s nappy.

What some in the east suspected, but very few knew for sure, was that the uncensored literature flooding the country wasn’t reaching Poles by chance. It was sent as part of a decades-long US intelligence operation, known in Washington as the “CIA book program”, designed, in the words of the programme’s leader, George Minden, to assault the eastern bloc with an “offensive of free, honest thinking”. Minden believed that “truth is contagious”, and if they could only deliver it to the oppressed peoples of the Soviet zone, it was certain to have an effect.

From today’s vantage point, when disinformation threatens western liberal democracy as never before, and censorship and book bans are once again turning schools and libraries into ideological battlegrounds, the CIA literary programmes appear almost quaint. Although they had political goals, they must rank among the most highbrow of psychological warfare operations. Along with copies of the Manchester Guardian Weekly and the New York Review of Books, the CIA sent works by blacklisted authors such as Boris Pasternak, Czesław Miłosz and Joseph Brodsky, anti-totalitarian writings by Hannah Arendt and Albert Camus, literary fiction from Philip Roth and Kurt Vonnegut, writing advice from Virginia Woolf, the plays of Václav Havel and Bertolt Brecht, and the spy thrillers of John le Carré.

Later, as well as smuggling books, the CIA would fund and ship presses and printing equipment into Poland, so that the banned titles could be reproduced in huge quantities by underground printers in situ. Few individuals were more central to these latter operations than the dissident publisher Mirosław Chojecki, known to the CIA by the cryptonym QRGUIDE.

On a Tuesday evening in March 1980, the police came to arrest Chojecki for the 43rd time. Chojecki was 30 years old that night – a tall man, with a mane of red-brown hair. He lived with his family in a third-floor apartment in Żoliborz, a suburb of northern Warsaw, and was cooking dinner for his young son and talking to his father-in-law when they heard the door. There were three men outside, a local cop in the jackboots and grey tunic of the citizen’s militia, and two plainclothes SB agents. They flashed their badges and told him to get his coat. There was no explanation. He had just enough time to calm his crying son, grab a toothbrush and a pack of cigarettes, then they clapped handcuffs on his wrists and took him down to the police Fiat waiting on the road below.

They brought him to Mokotów jail, a house of terror to rival the KGB’s Lubyanka headquarters in Moscow, and put him in block III, a wing reserved for political prisoners. He had been here before, once for “vilifying the Polish People’s Republic” and again for “organising a criminal group with the aim of distributing illegal publications” – at least then he had known the reason for his detention. As the days dripped by, he and his cellmates talked politics and played chess with a set made from heavy black prison bread. He wasn’t allowed a lawyer.

At Easter, when he had been locked up for 10 days without being summoned to court or allowed to contact his family, he decided to take the path chosen by political prisoners everywhere: he would go on a hunger strike. Eight days later, when he had lost 8kg (17lb), the prison doctor announced that they would force-feed him. They inserted a hose into his mouth, pushing it in deep so that it scratched his oesophagus and made him gag, and poured in a sweet, fatty mush. Tears ran down his face, of helplessness, rage, revulsion. When the food was gone, the doctor whipped out the tube and left without a word.

Chojecki had not yet recovered when the guards returned and forced him to climb three landings to an interrogation room, where an intelligence officer was waiting. It was Lieutenant Chernyshevsky, an old sparring partner.

How was he feeling, Chernyshevsky asked?

“Bad.”

“Do you know that there is a printing house on Reymonta Street?”

Chojecki didn’t answer.

“Do you have Jan Nowak’s book Courier from Warsaw? If so, where, when and how did you come into possession of it and what is your relationship with the author?”

There were more questions in this vein, all about the underground press. Chojecki gave the same response to each: as long as he didn’t know what the evidence was against him, they had nothing to discuss.

Realising the interrogation was pointless, Chernyshevsky brought it to an end. He offered the prisoner a cigarette, then the guards took Chojecki back to his cell.

Of course he knew all about Nowak’s outlawed text. His publishing house had just printed it. It was, he said later, one of the best books they had ever produced.

Unlike the Nazis, who burned books as a public ritual, in the Soviet system the destruction of literature was designed to be invisible. The lists of banned titles sent round to libraries and bookstores every year were secret. Works were pulped covertly. Allusions to censorship were not allowed. A list of prohibited publications from 1951 details 2,482 items, including 238 works of “outdated” sociopolitical literature and 562 books for children. Mostly these were proscribed for ideological reasons, but some rulings made little sense even within the bizarre logic of the party: a book about growing carrots was destroyed for implying that vegetables could sprout in individuals’ gardens, as well as in those run by collectives.

Chojecki was introduced to the idea of uncensored literature by Krystyna Starczewska, a teacher at his high school. “She got me interested,” he remembered. “She got me reading.” It wasn’t hard for Chojecki to find banned books, as his parents – war heroes who fought against the Nazis – were already plugged into dissident intellectual circles. He was never allowed much time with these publications as they had to be passed on to other readers. But the fragments he read, often overnight, were enough to sow the seeds of dissent.

In 1976, when the government announced drastic increases in the state-controlled prices of food, workers went on strike, and the party responded as it always did, with violence. One victim recalled waking up from a beating with a broken nose and no teeth; another remembered seeing men beat a pregnant woman. The 1976 events turned a group of bookish young graduates into hardened opposition activists, and it didn’t take them long to realise they needed a public voice.

In spring 1977, Chojecki decided to focus on underground publishing. He wasn’t the only pioneer of illicit printing techniques, but the operation he led, the Independent Publishing House NOWa, grew to be the biggest and most successful in the underground. By Christmas they had published short runs of half a dozen books by blacklisted writers in Poland. Crucially, they also began to reprint editions of titles that were arriving from the west. The same books that were actively pushed by the CIA.

By the third week of his hunger strike, Chojecki’s body was shutting down. On 27 April 1980, the warden came to see him. This was a first: he had never heard of the head of the prison visiting an inmate in their cell before.

“How’s the starvation?” the warden asked.

“Very well.”

“Do you intend to starve for a long time?”

“Until I leave prison.”

“That’s five years.”

“Less.”

“Four and a half years?”

“A few days, Citizen Warden.”

The warden was wrong, as it turned out. Two weeks later, on Saturday 10 May, the order came through that Chojecki was to be released. He had been arrested in the snow; now the season had turned. As he squinted out from the shadow cast by the prison wall at the sunshine blazing down, he could pick out green shoots on the branches of the trees.

He had no appetite, but he knew he needed to eat. He struggled round the corner to a cafe, where he bought a small coffee and two doughnuts, and sat at a window table. He ate very slowly, savouring the sweet pastry with absolute delight. People passed by on the other side of the glass.

“They think they are free,” he thought.

The regime might have released him, but it was still determined to prosecute Chojecki. As he prepared for his moment in the dock, it was more important than ever for the dissidents to show that underground publishing operations would not be stopped. Five days before the court date, two young NOWa printers set out on a job that would turn into a cat-and-mouse game with the secret police.

The night before leaving for work, Jan Walc went through his pockets. In this line of business, you had to assume you would be caught, searched and interrogated, and he couldn’t be found with anything that would incriminate him or his friends. Next he packed a few essentials and took a long bath, knowing it would be his last for some time.

He knew where to meet his partner, Zenek Pałka. The only extra piece of information he needed was the time, and Pałka had given him that over the phone. Without saying his name, he had announced that they should get together at 11am on Monday 9 June. Walc recognised the voice. He also knew what the wiretap sergeant listening in didn’t: namely, that he had to subtract two from everything, so the rendezvous was set for 9am on Saturday 7 June. That morning, he said goodbye to his wife and young son and walked out into a humid Warsaw day.

Leaving the building, Walc discreetly scanned the street. As a rule the secret police liked to watch your apartment or place of work and follow you from there, so if you didn’t pick up a tail right away, the prospects of avoiding one were good. All the same, he kept checking until he reached the cafe. Soon Pałka, a giant of a man with frizzy red hair, was settling into the seat next to him.

“Is the place far away?” Walc asked. Pałka took a paper serviette and wrote down an address before burning through the words with his cigarette. Then he passed on a few more details. Water came from a well, but they would need a week’s worth of food, since they couldn’t risk leaving the job to go shopping. The printing machine was a mimeograph made by AB Dick of Chicago. It had already been delivered to the house, along with a tonne and a half of paper, six full carloads. The job was to print several thousand copies of the civil society newsletter Information Bulletin, plus some pages for NOWa’s literary journal Pulse. They would need to buy 10 bottles of turpentine to run and clean the press.

By the time they’d packed all the food, they had no room for the solvent, so they stopped by at a friend’s place to borrow an extra bag. They didn’t realise he was under surveillance, and when they left his building they spotted a boxy grey Fiat saloon with three men inside which shadowed them as they walked along the road.

Reaching a tram stop, they saw the Fiat pull into a side road and park illegally, a sure sign it was the secret police, and when the tram arrived and the printers boarded, two plainclothes agents jumped out of the car and ran across the street, climbing up behind them. All four men now sat in the same streetcar as it rattled towards Zawisza Square. The Fiat kept pace alongside.

How to get rid of them? As they reached a stop, the printers saw the Fiat was boxed in at the traffic lights, and they took their chance, leaving the tram at the last minute. When the lights changed and the unmarked car had to pull away, Walc and Pałka were hurrying in a different direction, towards the railway station. A part of their tail was lost, but the other two agents had been alert and were keeping pace behind them as they ran down the station platform.

The agents were close as they boarded a train for Warsaw Central. Walc made a show of placing his bags on the luggage rack, but as the doors closed Pałka jammed his leg between them and slipped out. Walc now had the two remaining agents to himself. His job was to drag them around long enough for Pałka to prepare the next move. The men were behind him as he left the train at Warsaw Central and ducked into the warren of passages beneath the station. He knew police radios wouldn’t work down here. He ordered a Coke at a bar, bought some cigarettes, browsed the shops. When 20 minutes had passed, he emerged and headed for the taxi rank. He could see one of the men talking into his lapel as he climbed into a cab.

Warsaw’s Poniatowski Bbridge is as much a viaduct as a river crossing, the roadway linked to the streets below by a series of stone staircases. Speeding east, Walc gave the driver his instructions. Midway along the viaduct, the taxi came to a sudden halt, and the printer dived out and ran down the steps to the street below.

The chasing agents pulled up behind and raced down in pursuit, but as they reached the lower level Walc was already climbing into another cab, where Pałka was waiting. The policemen watched as their quarry pulled away. Knowing they would now be radioing in the cab’s licence plate, a few hundred yards up the road the printers swapped into another taxi. They transferred their bags, left a generous tip and gave the new driver an address on the far side of the city.

Around 3pm, they caught the train to Rembertów The place looked ideal. It was set back from the street, at the far end of a large, overgrown garden. The printing machine and the paper were hidden in an outhouse, 500 reams stacked almost to the roof. The paper was damp, which was far from ideal, but they would make it work somehow.

By evening their small room was filled with the fumes of cigarettes and turpentine, and the sound of the duplicating machine beating out its regular, soporific rhythm, bad-dum bad-dum bad-dum bad-dum. Underground printing was filthy, exhausting work. The duplicators were old and the paper was poor. Bibula, the Polish word for uncensored publications, means “blotting paper”, which reflected the stock they had to work with, which had to be hand-fed into the machine, three pages a second, hour upon hour. This meant they worked round the clock, in shifts, for days, until the job was done.

Pałka had brought along a transistor. They tuned it to Radio Free Europe, which maintained a regular commentary on Chojecki’s upcoming trial. American printers and British lawyers were protesting at what they called a show trial. Amnesty International was sending a legal representative. “A great day is coming,” Walc thought, “and we are stuck in a printing shop!” If they hurried the job, they might still be able to get to court.

Early on Thursday morning they had 20 reams left to print. By 8pm, Pałka was finishing the last stencil and Walc was burning misprints in the garden. Before leaving they had to strip down the machine, wash all the parts and lubricate them.

At last, carrying 50 copies of the Bulletin, they found a taxi and gave the driver the address of the apartment where they had been told to collect their pay. They arrived around 11pm. It was crowded with people, including half the Bulletin’s editors. Walc asked about the trial. He was astonished to hear it was already over. The sentence had been read an hour ago. One of the editors had just come back from the court, where they saw Chojecki deliver an excoriating indictment of the communist system. He told the court that his flat had been searched 17 times in the past four years, on a litany of pretexts: they were looking for a murderer, they had said, or a poisoner or a thief, but all they ever took away for evidence were books, typewriters and manuscripts.

“Why are such accusations levelled against people who fight against the pillaging of our culture?Officially, half of our recent history is erased from textbooks, studies, encyclopedias,” said Chojecki. It was the same in literature, where the state gave itself a “monopoly of thought” and a “monopoly of the word”. The lists of banned authors contained some of world’s best writers, he said. That was why he and his colleagues had set up NOWa, to fill the silences and correct the falsification.

Reaching a rousing finale, Chojecki announced that the trial was not about the accused at all, but about “free speech and thought, about Polish culture, about the dignity of society”.

Of course, none of this would change the verdict. The court duly convicted Chojecki and his co-defendants of theft of state property. He was sentenced to 18 months in prison, suspended for three years. But to everyone gathered in the editors’ apartment, this was a tremendous victory and Chojecki was a hero.

“Everybody around us rejoices,” Walc wrote in his account of that week’s events, which would be published in the following month’s Bulletin.

Someone pressed a cold beer into his hand. It was midnight.

Chojecki’s parents had fought for Polish independence with guns and bullets. He continued the struggle through literature and publishing. At times, his father, Jerzy was sceptical of his son’s tactics. “Do you think, Mirek, that you’ll be able to bring down the communist system with your little books?” he would ask. “Do you think your little words will make a difference?”

In fact, the impact of the CIA-sponsored literary tide was huge. By the mid-1980s the so-called “second circulation” of illicit literature in Poland grew so large that the system of communist censorship began to break down. Poland was the most crucial of eastern bloc nations: when communism collapsed in 1989, this was the first domino to fall. As the leading Polish dissident Adam Michnik put it: “It was books that were victorious in the fight. A book is like a reservoir of freedom, of independent thought, a reservoir of human dignity. A book was like fresh air. We should build a monument to books … they allowed us to survive and not go mad.”

Teresa Bogucka didn’t know for sure who was paying for the literature she received from the west, but she was aware that the Polish regime claimed that American intelligence supported émigré publishers, and the idea didn’t concern her at all.

“I thought, wow, a secret service supporting books,” she said. “That’s fantastic.”

🔴 This is an edited extract from The CIA Book Club: The Best Kept Secret of the Cold War by Charlie English, published by William Collins on 13 March.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[giagrotechmachinery]

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[freshmangojuice]

Long after Lister and the Cat are gone, and Rimmer has shut himself down, Kryten is left alone again. Going senile like Holly and suffering with android dementia, he wanders Red Dwarf still trying to keep the ship in order.

Warning: very sad oneshot

Grade 2 dust on the G deck pipes again. Kryten flapped his microfiber dusting cloth and took care of the unsightly dust that had settled on the oxygen pipes that run along the corridor. Such details were important. Five minutes later— or was it ten? He’d have to recalibrate his internal clock. His cloth was now significantly blackened, he would have to make his way to the laundry for it to join the next load. It was just two decks down. All he had to do was get to the Xpress Lift at the end of the corridor and head down. It couldn’t be simpler. Big jerky steps took him along the guiding yellow line on the floor that led to the lift.

He was following the yellow line. Definitely the yellow line. Just like Dorothy. It was patchy in places and crossed over the green and red lines in several places. It was a right mess. They were meant to be directional, somebody was going to get lost if they tried following these to get to where they’re trying to be. Those lines need to be repainted. The skutters should be able to take care of that. Kryten stopped his walk to quickly program a reminder for himself to organise the repainting.

Kryten had always related to the tin man, but the scarecrow in need of a brain was who he felt more like these days. He wasn’t sure why, isn’t this how things have always been? That was a 20th century film. What was it called again? He wondered why he even had the information on disk. Who would have shown it to him?

Humming the tune to ‘follow the yellow brick road’ as he carefully stepped on the patchy and wonky yellow line, what Kryten wasn’t aware of in that moment, was that he had painted those wonky lines 10 days ago.

His mind was confused. He forgot things, he got lost and turned around, things that should be familiar sometimes scared him. He hadn’t always been like this. 4 and a half million years ago he was top of the range exquisite technology. His head was packed with RAM and memory far larger than any mechanoid before. Now his components were failing him. He’d long-since run out of spare parts, with no materials to replace them. Maybe it was one too many corrupt files he’d had to scrub from his harddrive. Maybe it was a scorched circuit somewhere, or a screw loose. Maybe it was because he was so, so old. His system computer hadn’t updated his status in a very long time, he wasn’t aware of what was wrong, so that meant that nothing was wrong.

The Xpress Lift parted its doors and Kryten took his robotic jerky steps inside.

‘Where to?’ asked the lift.

Kryten stood there for a few moments, calculating and examining, scanning his surroundings for clues. He’d already forgotten about heading to the laundry, even with the dirty cloth still in his hand.

"Do excuse me," he said politely to the lift, "I seem to have taken a wrong turn. I will not be needing your services right this moment," and he stepped back out of the lift. He looked at the thick, flat, intertwining breadths of colour on the floor. It looked like a muddled bag of jelly snakes all wrapped around each other, and the longer he looked at them the more muddled they became. Kryten shook his head to recalibrate his eyes. He could’ve sworn he’d seen the snakes wriggling.

There were toilets further up the corridor, and Kryten ignored the jelly snake lines as he went back the way he came to get to them.

These toilets were never dirty, never clogged. It was as if nobody ever used them. That can’t be. There had to be a crew using them every day.

Hold on. 

Where was the crew? 

Kryten’s internal cooling fans started to spin faster. 

The ship had a crew, it did. He remembered Miss Anne. She had big black hair, it got everywhere, he was always cleaning it up. But he hadn’t seen her or her hair for a long time. Hadn’t she died? Hadn’t they all died?

The noise of the fans spinning as he overheated buzzed through his body.

Yes, yes. She had died. She was on the Nova 5. They had crashed and the humans had died. Then he was alone. He’s still alone. How long had he been alone?

No, no. He was a mechanoid. He wasn’t supposed to feel alone, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

So why did he?

He couldn’t remember breaking his programming, nor could he remember who it was that helped him do it. The name of the ship he was on, and had been on for over a million years eluded him. The only companions he knew of now were the last remaining skutters. The only voices he heard were automated. There was nothing left to remind him of how much it meant to him to be a person. There was no one to look after, no one to joke with. Kryten had lost his friends and lost himself long ago.

[starman-john-tracy]

Hey John when was the last time you slept? Back to back rescues can't be good for you

John blinks almost owlishly at the communication, lit up in bright red text across his screen like Eos has highlighted it from the crowd of communications pointedly for him. It's a bit of a violent choice, given the fact John’s not slept in thirty-six hours and is mid-discovery that colours can taste audible. His mouth is stale with jumbled numerical readings and directions and what-his-brothers-need-to-do-nexts. 

Alan's in space, Scott's in the Alps, Kayo's chasing a lead with Lady Penelope and Virgil and Gordon are dealing with a rapidly sinking cargo ship off the coast of Mexico.

Thunderbird Five takes a deep, ragged breath and rips his hands from the blue glow of his holographic array. He rubs the textured fabric of his fingertips hard against gritty eyes, trying to force away the tired moisture that’s gathering determinedly there as he tries not to yawn.

This should all be routine by now. He’s got a schedule. A delicate balance of exhaustion and focus. John knows his body’s limits and how to push himself past them - swaddling himself in a cocoon woven of holograms and the loud, urgent voices of people who need his help until he’s lightheaded from the brightness and downing enough caffeine to make his hands shake.

It’s not a good system, but it works.

Well, sort of.

John grinds the heel of his palm against his forehead, trying futilely to prevent his pounding headache from getting any worse. Everything is bright and fizzy with lightheadedness. He thinks there’s one last bottle of painkillers in the first aid kit, Brains’ good ones, and John just has to hope that'll get him through the rest of this chaos. He’s hungry and exhausted and all his muscles have a dangerous, creeping ache that warns of atrophy - of too much time spent in Zero-G.

And John really wants a coffee with the meds. Another coffee. That’s probably a bad sign in itself because John, ninety nine percent of the time, doesn’t drink coffee. Thunderbird Five’s got a massive assortment of teas vacuum packed in little silver packets, mostly courtesy of the Lady Penelope, but there is a sturdy brown tin of strong, Indian coffee in the galley, waiting ominously for him like a break glass in case of emergency box.

John’s been choking down up to three mugs of the stuff, black and thick as tar and spiked with crushed caffeine pills, every other hour, in an attempt to keep himself with it enough to do his damn job.

The system works. He thinks. He might be just a little in denial.

[emtb319]

For @tracybirds Happy Thunderpride!

--

‘Is it done John?’  Virgil didn’t regret making the call.  It was this or a bigger headache with a lot more paperwork.

‘In about 30 seconds.  I’m sure the entire island will hear it, just waiting for Alan to finish turnover.  It’s the last thing I’ll do before I take off for home.’  John was double checking everything for his return trip home.  

‘Ok, we’re ready down here.  Who has the password?’

‘Gordon.  As much as I love you Virgil, if he pushes you enough, you'll cave.  On the other hand, Gordon will write it on a piece of paper, stick it to a fishing pole, and wave it in front of his face, just out of his reach.’  Virgil chuckled.

‘No offense taken John.  I was just wondering who had it, just in case.  I actually thought you’d given it to Penny or Tin.’

‘I considered them, but they’re both off island.  Better to have it more local.’

‘Agreed, ready?’  John finished up the last few things and settled into the pilot’s seat.  

‘Flipping now.’  Within seconds, Scott saw a message take over his screens.  The groan could be heard all the way in England.

‘You’d better leave 5 now John, before he tries to convince someone to call you.’

‘FAB.  I’ll see you all soon.’  Scott walked into the room, just as John cut the link.

‘Virgil,’ Scott started, ‘really?’  

‘Yes Scott, really.’  Scott rolled his eyes and was about to speak when Virgil cut him off.  ‘In all fairness big brother, you were warned.  You need rest and a break.  Your injury will never heal properly if you don’t.’  Scott opened his mouth to protest, and Virgil cut him off again.  ‘Don’t even try it.  We’re all paramedics, but I’m the family medic.  You may be able to fool the others, but not me.  You have 2 options right now, take this break, and I’ll keep my mouth shut about your ribs, or you can keep going on like an idiot, and I’ll turn this into medical downtime.  What would you rather?’

‘You don’t play fair.’

‘No I don’t.  What’s your choice?’

‘Ok, ok, you win.  Regular downtime.  You really don’t play fair.’

‘Noted.  Now, John will be some soon enough.  He’s going to do the supply run with me and Gordon.  Don’t forget to add what you need to the list please.’

‘Already done.’

‘Ok, now scoot.  It’ll be lunch time in a little bit, why don’t you take advantage of this nice weather and eat on the beach.’  

–

‘How’d it go Virg?’

‘Better than I thought Gords.  Honestly though, I was expecting more of an argument.  Just let me know if he tries to break into the system or bother you for the password.’

‘Well, you did pull the John card.  You never do that.’  A bunch of noise from the kitchen caught their attention.  ‘What is he doing?’

‘I mentioned maybe enjoying lunch down on the beach today to relax.’  Virgil took a good look at the mess in the kitchen and the basket being packed.  ‘Just how much food is he packing?’

‘Finally.’

‘Finally what Gordon?’

‘He’s finally taking the first step.  It’s about time too.’  Virgil pinched his nose and groaned.

‘Gordon, not enough coffee yet this morning.  Take a step back and try again please.’

‘Scott’s smitten and has been for a while now, but he’s never done anything about it.  Didn’t you hear what he was saying?’

‘His mumbles?  Yea, I heard him mumbling, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying.’

‘I heard enough.  He was trying to remember if Brains liked lemonade or grape juice more.’

‘Ahh…so finally.’

‘Yup, finally.’

‘Ok, let’s let him be and get ready for our supply run.  Once John lands, we’ll head out.  I was thinking…pizza night tonight.’

‘Oooooo, and a movie?  I’m sure Alan can beam in later.  I'm pretty sure Kyrano sent him up with his favorite pizza.’  Gordon started bouncing.  He always loved their movie and pizza nights.  ‘Can I have pineapple?’

‘Gordon relax.  Yes we can do movie night, and I’ll never understand how you and TinTin can eat pineapple on pizza.’

‘Don’t knock it Virg.’

‘I’ll knock it all I want.  It’s just not right.’  Gordon started to pout.

‘You’ve hurt my feelings big brother,’ he said, laying it on thick.

‘I’m sure.  1 pizza…only 1, for you two to share.  What movie are you thinking?’

‘Hmmm, how about Top Gun?  Scott and Alan both really like that one.’

‘Sure.  Now go shower.  John will be landing soon.’

–

Scott watched his younger brothers take off for the supply run.  It was rare that John wanted to join in on it, but Scott was pleased to see him branching out a little bit.

‘Gordon remember, only 1 pineapple pizza.  That’ll be plenty for the two of you.  The rest of us would appreciate our favorites too, you know.’

‘I know Scott.  Virgil told me, John reminded me, and now you too.  I promise to bring home lots of pizza for our movie night tonight.  All different varieties…something for everyone.’  Scott smiled.

‘We’ll see you all later.  I already called in the order for pick up in a few hours.  You have the list, right?  I think Kyrano and Brains added a few small pickups too.’

‘They did, and yes we have it,’ Virgil answered.  ‘Enjoy your afternoon Scott.’

‘I will.  Be careful.’  

Scott had noticed that Brains was holed up in his lab.  The last record was 5 days.  His impromptu picnic was the perfect opportunity to get him out of his lab for a break.  He finished setting up the beach before heading down to the lab.

When he arrived at the lab, he stood in the doorway and smiled.  Any time something happened to them on one of their missions, he would go into full blown hermit mode while he worked out how to prevent something from happening again.  Because he was so engrossed in his work, he didn’t hear Scott approach.

‘Hey fella.’  Nothing, no answer.  Scott got his attention when he placed a hand on his shoulder.  ‘Hey, you need to eat.’

‘H-huh?’  Brains’s brain hadn’t quite caught up with the conversation yet.

‘Break time.  I’m taking one too.  Why don’t you come join me for some lunch?  Get some air, some food, and rest and reset for a moment.’

‘I-I’m sorry Scott, but I can’t right now.  This is very important work.’

‘It’s always important work.  Your work is some of the most important stuff here, and we all see, appreciate, and love your hard work and dedication.  You work tirelessly to keep our birds in their best shape possible to help keep us safe on our missions.

‘S-safe,’ Brains huffed.  M-more than once your birds failed to protect you guys.’

‘No,’ Scott started, turning Brains around to face him.  ‘No, more than once we only got off with a few bumps and bruises instead of something far worse.  Case in point, my ribs.  Yes I’m sore and need rest, but nothing’s broken or life threatening.  Without your technology, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.’  Scott paused a moment.  ‘Do you remember what Granddad used to tell us?’  Brains shook his head.

‘If you do not schedule system maintenance, your system will schedule it for you.  He wasn’t talking about work.  He was referring to self care.  And yes, I know, kettle meet teapot.  I didn’t listen to his advice and now I’m on forced downtime so that I can take proper care of myself.  I should have done this weeks ago.  I would have been better off.’  Brains considered his words.

‘I-I guess it’s been a while since I’ve taken a break.’

‘Then it’s settled, come join me for some lunch.’

‘Join you?’

‘Yes.  It’s just us for the next few hours, until my brothers get home with the supplies and pizza.  I made a nice lunch, food enough for both of us.  It’s set up down on the beach.’

‘Oh okay.’  They took the short walk from his lab to the picnic that Scott had set up for them.  ‘S-scott, you did all of this?’

‘It’s nothing much, really.  Just some sandwiches, fruit, and juice.  You like lemonade, right?,’ he asked as he started to pour their drinks.  

‘Y-ses, thank you.  You really didn’t have to do all of this.’

‘We both needed a break,’ Scott started as he started to plate their food.  ‘I don’t know about you, but I like your company, and since we both seemed to need a moment….I thought this was a good idea.’  Scott was stammering, unsure if he made the right decision.

‘I-I like spending time with you too.  You’re one of the few people I know that doesn’t mind listening to me prattle on about my stuff.’  Scott smiled.

‘I don’t pretend to understand it all, but you always talk about your work with such passion.’  Scott didn’t expect to go down this road, but his mouth wouldn’t stop now that it started.  ‘I like you for who you are, all of it.  Please never stop being you.  To be honest, I can’t imagine a life without you in it.’  Brains didn’t know what to say.  No one had ever spoken to him like this before.  ‘May I admit something to you?’  His mouth still didn’t seem to want to stop.  

‘S-scott, you have my strictest confidence.’

‘When you were on the Anasta expedition, it was the first time, in a long time, that I was scared.’

‘Why?’

‘You were so excited.  I watched you spend hours planning.  Even during your first check in, you were so hopeful about what you expected to find the next day.’  Scott took a moment.  ‘But the next morning, you missed your check in.  I wanted to hope that you were just too busy with your excitement, but I knew something was wrong.  I’ve seen you forget to eat or sleep, but you’ve never missed a check in.’

‘S-scott…’

‘I’m really sorry Brains.  This has been on my mind a while.  That day, Dad didn’t need to tell me twice to launch.  Hell, if he had told me to wait, I would have gone anyway.  I was both shocked and relieved to see you.  Shocked to see you buried in the sand, relieved to see you alive.  It wasn’t real until I had you out of that sand and leaning against my leg.’

‘I-I’m not sure what to say Scott.’

‘I’m sorry to offload like this on you.  I really just wanted to have some lunch and relax.  I hadn’t planned on this.’

‘Scott….stop….breathe.  F-first, thank you for trusting me with this.  Seeing you that day was a huge relief for me too.  The logical part of me knew that you’d come once you realized something was wrong and that T-thunderbird 1 would be the first to arrive, but I was relieved to see you standing in front of me.’  Brains covered his hands with his own.  ‘I-I can’t imagine a life without you in it either….I-I’m not sure what to do now.’  He said, turning timid.  

‘How about this? We take it 1 step at a time.  We both enjoy each other’s company, right?’

‘I-I’d like that,’

‘That settles it then.  One step at a time and see what happens.’  They both smiled and continued their impromptu picnic.  Scott didn’t expect them to have this conversation today.  It really wasn’t his intention, but he’s glad they did.

‘S-scott, one thing first.  I-I’m not sure what you expect of me.  I’m relieved that we’ve both admitted our feelings to each other, but I-I don’t know what you expect.’  Scott took his hands in his own.

‘Nothing, I expect nothing.’  Brains looked at him, confused.  ‘Really.  I’m just happy to have you in my life.  If this leads to something more, great…if not, then I still have you as a close friend, and that’s ok too.  Do you expect anything of me?’

‘No Scott, same as you.  1 step at a time and see what happens.’

–

The next months go by.  Brains had asked Scott for a favor, part because he needed to learn something, but it would also be the perfect excuse to spend some extra time together.  After Anasta, he realized that his self defense skills were not good enough.  Scott was more than happy to work with him.  Through these lessons, they took time to learn more about each other.  

The more Brains learned about Scott and observed him, the more he saw his natural born leader.  He would question Scott about the reasons behind some of his decisions.  It wasn’t to criticize, but to help him break down the why behind it, so that next time, he could anticipate.  If he could break down some of the decisions better, then he could improve their technology.  Never once did Scott tire of his questions or lose patience with him.  

They would face a big test with the Sun Probe mission.  Scott knew that Brains was keeping a close eye on the mission.  He had friends at mission control, and every so often, they’d run their ideas or calculations by him.  Scott came down to his lab to see if he wanted to watch over the broadcast with them.  He wasn’t surprised when Brains said no, that he’d rather keep working on Braman.  Braman was his newest project.  There was talk about what to do next if the Sun Probe mission went well.  Rumor had it that they were considering a deep space mission.  If they were to accomplish that though, they’d probably have to use hibernation pods, which meant that they’d need a robot like Braman to help.  If he could get Braman to think faster, better, more independently, then he could gift it to the program.

‘T-thank you Scott, but I want to keep working here.’

‘Ok, just don’t forget to eat something.’

‘I won’t.  I have my coffee here too.’  Scott left him to his work and returned to the lounge to watch the broadcast.  While watching it, Jeff mentioned that Brains should be there to watch with them.  Before Scott could answer, Jeff got up and went down to the lab to fetch Brains. 

Jeff smiled as Brains essentially shooed him from his lab.  He knew all he needed to know about the mission, and he had a direct link with his friends over there.  He didn’t need the broadcast to know what was happening.

Brains did take a break once he saw the data start streaming in.  After a moment, he made a hurried call to his friends, but they didn’t answer.  They were probably all too busy celebrating the mission’s success.  He could see a problem brewing.  He went up to the lounge to inform Mr. Tracy of his concerns.  He saw them all watching the broadcast still and expressed his concern.  A few moments later, the broadcaster confirmed that they hadn’t fired their retro rockets to return them home.  International Rescue was needed.  While Jeff called Cape Kennedy, Brains went back to his lab to pour over his data and maybe distract himself some.  

After his call, Jeff convened everyone in the lounge, and they started going over options.  As they threw out ideas, Brains crunched numbers in his head.  He knew that his birds and technology were good, but would they be good enough?  Safety and excellence first, he always told himself, which meant that he had extra room to work, but even pushing things, it was too close to tell if they could pull this off.  Thunderbird 3 could withstand a lot, but this went well over anything they thought to test.  She would have the clearer shot with her beam, but Thunderbird 2’s were stronger.  The problem was, he couldn’t just switch them with each other.  He could modify them both, maybe make them work a little bit better, but he couldn’t just switch them.  He stored that as a future problem to solve.  

In the end, they took Gordon’s idea and decided to try both approaches.  Hopefully 1 or both would work.  Just before Thunderbird 3 was ready to launch, Scott came down by him.

‘Hey fella,’ he started, handing him a cup, ‘have some coffee.’

‘T-thanks Scott.  I-I’m still nervous about this mission.  The numbers are too close to tell.’

‘Safety and excellence first, right?’ Scott said, turning him around to face him.  ‘You’ve poured every fiber of your being into these craft.  I trust that they will get the job done.’

‘S-scott…’

‘No, Brains.  I trust you.  I trust your machines.  Trust me on this mission.  We will bring them home and be home before you know it.’

‘Of course I trust you.  I-it’s the numbers, that’s all.  I-I can’t stop going over them.’

‘You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,’ Scott said, giving him a hug.  ‘Dad wants to meet with us all 1 more time before we launch.’

‘I-I’ll only be a moment.  I just need to put these panels back on.’

‘Good man,’ Scott said as he left to return to the lounge.  Brains kept thinking.  There were too many unknowns, it was too close.  

Up in the lounge, they went over the mission parameters 1 more time.  Jeff couldn’t hide his worry about sending Tin Tin on the mission, but Alan was right, he needed an engineer with them in space.  Brains was needed in Thunderbird 2 for her part.  After the briefing, Scott stole a quick moment with Brains.

‘Save this for later,’ he said, handing him a box.  He then returned to the lounge and set off.

With Thunderbird 3 launching, Brains shifted his focus to Thunderbird 2.  He couldn't shake off his anxiety with this mission, and it got worse the more he ran his numbers.  He had to keep telling himself to have faith.  After all, Scott seemed to have faith in him and his machines.  He repeated to himself that he was an excellent engineer, and he wouldn’t be with International Rescue if he wasn’t.  Thankfully he made sure to have his checklists for everything.  They helped to keep him on point.  Unfortunately, they weren’t a fool proof way to check everything.  He missed that Virgil had packed the wrong box.

Before leaving the island, Brains put the box that Scott had given him on his work bench.  He needed to grab some of his tools to make some adjustments to Thunderbird 2.  

Out in space, the first part of the mission was relatively uneventful.  Scott heard Alan mumbling to himself.

‘I just don’t get him sometimes.’

‘Who Alan?’  Alan looked at him surprised.  He hadn’t realized that he was talking loud enough for anyone else to hear him.

‘Brains.  It’s been bothering me.  I mean, why would he rather play with his robot than watch the broadcast with us?  Wouldn’t he have seen the issue sooner?’  Scott shook his head.

‘Did it ever occur to you that he wanted to keep himself busy?  Or that he has friends in mission control that were feeding him information faster and earlier than any broadcast could?’

‘Ummm…’

‘In fact, if he hadn’t been in his lab to see the data himself, he probably wouldn’t have realized the danger as fast as he did.  Did you know that he tried to call mission control before coming upstairs?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Alan answered sheepishly.

‘His friends were so busy that they didn’t see the danger, nor did they answer his call.’  Alan was seeing Scott’s passionate side.  It could be downright intimidating.

‘Geeze Scott, don’t jump down my throat.  It was just a question.’

‘Alan, you and I both know that it wasn’t ‘just a question’.  There was more to it than that.  You honestly thought that he didn’t care.’

‘Whatever Scott.’

‘No Alan, not whatever.  If you had spent even 5 minutes with him before all of this, you would have known.  Instead, you assumed and let yourself get hung up over nothing.  Did you know that he’s looking to gift Braman to the space program?  Did you know that if the Sun Probe mission goes well, that they’re considering other deeper space missions?’

‘Wait, really?’  Scott turned his attention to the panel in front of him and continued speaking.

‘Yea, there’s talk about a deep space manned mission, but that’ll probably need to involve those hibernation sleepers.  Which means that they’d need something to help watch over the ship while her astronauts are asleep, that’s why he built Braman.  That’s why he’s trying to get him perfected.  Braman would be a huge asset to them.’

‘I didn’t know all of that,’ Alan admitted.

‘No you didn’t Alan.’  Things were quiet for a little bit before Alan spoke up.

‘Say Scott.  How do you know all of this?  Last I checked, you didn’t have a huge interest in space exploration.’

‘I’ve spent time with him, taking interest in his interests.’  Alan got quiet again.  He realized how wrong he really was about just about everything in the past 24 hours.

‘I’m sorry Scott.  It was pretty rotten of me to think that way about him.’  Scott ruffled his hair.

‘It’s ok Sprout.  Next time though, look at the situation from all sides.  You were just looking through your eyes, that you didn’t see things through his.  It’ll help you with your missions too, you know.  Bad assumptions/blindness lead to mission failures.’

‘I will Scott, I promise.  Say, if I act like a twit like this again, feel free to snap me out of it.’

‘Sure little brother, sure.’  After their conversation, they decided to test their beam.  Scott was hoping that they’d be lucky.  The beam wasn’t enough, they had to go closer, but Scott didn’t want to risk Tin Tin’s life.

‘Alan, call Tin Tin and tell her to get to the escape capsule.’

‘Scott, we can ask her if she wants to go, but I know her well enough to know how she’ll answer.’

‘It’s not about asking her, Alan.  I’m telling her to get into the escape capsule.’

‘Listen Scott.  She knew the risks when she came with us, and we need an engineer down there.  I might be good, you might be good, but out of the 3 of us, she’s the best.  If something needs to be adjusted or if something goes wrong, we will need her to fix it.  I trust my bird, but I simply don’t know enough about the beam to fix it if it breaks, or even how much I can push it.’

‘She doesn’t have to take this risk with us.’

‘She chose to come.  You can ask her, but I’m pretty sure that I know her answer.’

‘You don’t speak for her you know.  I know you two are close, but you don’t make decisions for her.’

‘Like what you're trying to do now?’

‘Touché little brother.’

‘Scott, ask her, but don’t be surprised when she tells you no.’  Alan was right.  She refused to leave them.  

Back on Earth, Brains and Virgil were busy working on their own calculations.  Their beam wasn’t good enough.  The beam in Thunderbird 3 would have to work.  Brains knew that Tin Tin was working tirelessly on her own modifications and calculations.  It had to work.  As Brains picked through his own data to see if he could get their beam to work, he saw the Sun Probe craft move to head back towards Earth.  Brains thought to himself, after this mission, I am picking apart every piece of this data.  Thunderbird 3 needs to be able to handle deeper space missions if the space agency was going to go deeper into space.  

As he was deep in thought, they heard from base.  Mr. Tracy confirmed that Thunderbird 3 was able to fire the Sun Probe’s rockets, but they could see that Thunderbird 3 hadn’t fired her own to turn around to return home.  He had to do something.  This mission would not end this way.  They still had their beam.  Thunderbird 3 was closer to the Earth than the Sun Probe.  Maybe they could reach 3.  It was a long shot, but they had to try.  He discussed his idea with Virgil.  Virgil was on board, so they went over to the pod to get the mobile computer.  Brains needed help with the math.  They discovered that they had packed Braman by accident, but he was able to get the job done.  His calculations brought Thunderbird 3 and her crew home.

After the mission debrief, and some much needed rest, Scott joined Brains and Braman in their game of chess.

‘Did you open my box?’

‘No Scott.  W-with the excitement of the mission, I didn’t have time.  I’ll go get it.’

‘I’ll walk down with you.’  They made the quick walk in comfortable silence.  Scott saw the box, picked it up, and handed it to Brains.  ‘You didn’t have to wait, you know.  Here, open it.’  It was a simple box.  Brains opened it, unsure why Scott had given him this.

‘O-one of your dog tags?’

‘Yes, I wear the other one still,’ he said, pulling out the one around his neck.  ‘But, I wanted you to have this.’  Scott took the necklace out of the box and put it around Brains’s neck.  ‘Do you know what it means when a soldier give someone their dog tags?’

‘No Scott, I don’t.’

‘Soldiers do not share their tags easily or lightly.  It signifies the highest trust and respect.  It means that I trust you with my life.  It is also a reminder that you are never alone, and that you’ll always have someone fighting for you.’  Scott steadied himself, his hand covering the do tag on Brains’s chest.  Brains was at a loss for words.

‘I want you to know how I feel.  In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I care about you a lot, and I cannot imagine my life without you in it.’

‘Nor I without you S-scott.  Thank you for this,’ he said, placing his hands over Scott’s on his chest.  ‘I’ll cherish this always.’