#hollow steel tube

[mspsteels]

The term "Hollow Steel Tube" generally refers to a type of metal tube that has a hollow interior and a circular cross-section. These tubes are commonly used in a variety of applications, including construction, manufacturing, and transportation. In Saudi Arabia, there are several manufacturers of hollow steel tubes, which are available in various sizes, shapes, and specifications.

[bhushanpipes]

How Tube Manufacturers in Punjab Innovate to Meet Industry Standards?

In the dynamic industrial hub of Punjab, tube manufacturers are indispensable contributors, providing vital components across diverse sectors. Amidst fierce competition and rigorous industry standards, these manufacturers are perpetually at the forefront of innovation, continually refining their methods, materials, and technologies. Their unwavering commitment to excellence drives a relentless pursuit of advancement to not only meet but surpass industry benchmarks.

The industrial landscape of Punjab pulsates with the energy of innovation, as tube manufacturers deploy cutting-edge strategies to maintain their competitive edge. From pioneering manufacturing processes to pioneering materials research, these companies are dedicated to delivering products of uncompromising quality and precision. In this ever-evolving environment, adaptation is paramount, and Punjab’s tube manufacturers embrace change as an opportunity for growth and progress.

This blog delves deep into the innovative ethos that drives Punjab’s tube manufacturers, exploring the inventive measures they employ to uphold the highest industry standards. Join us on a journey through the heart of Punjab’s industrial prowess, where innovation thrives and excellence knows no bounds.

Understanding Industry Standards:

Before diving into innovations, it’s crucial to understand the standards that govern tube manufacturing. Standards encompass aspects like material quality, dimensional accuracy, strength, and durability. Adhering to these standards not only ensures product quality but also compliance with regulatory requirements and customer satisfaction.

Innovations in Material Selection:

One of the primary focuses of tube manufacturers in Punjab is the selection of materials. Innovations in material science have led to the development of alloys with enhanced strength, corrosion resistance, and lightweight properties. By leveraging these advanced materials, manufacturers can produce tubes that meet the diverse needs of industries ranging from construction to automotive.

Advanced Manufacturing Techniques:

Modern tube manufacturing involves a variety of advanced techniques aimed at improving efficiency and precision. Techniques such as seamless tube production, laser cutting, and robotic welding not only streamline the manufacturing process but also result in higher-quality products. Additionally, automation plays a significant role in reducing human error and increasing production output.

Quality Control Measures:

Maintaining consistent quality is paramount for tube manufacturers. Innovations in quality control mechanisms, including non-destructive testing methods like ultrasonic testing and eddy current testing, enable manufacturers to detect defects early in the production process. Real-time monitoring systems further ensure that products meet the required standards before they leave the factory floor.

Environmental Sustainability Initiatives:

In recent years, there has been a growing emphasis on sustainability in manufacturing. Tube manufacturers in Punjab are increasingly adopting eco-friendly practices such as recycling scrap materials, reducing energy consumption, and implementing wastewater treatment systems. These initiatives not only align with global sustainability goals but also enhance the reputation of manufacturers as responsible corporate citizens.

Investment in Research and Development:

To stay at the forefront of innovation, tube manufacturers allocate significant resources to research and development (R&D). Collaborations with academic institutions, investment in R&D facilities, and participation in industry consortiums enable manufacturers to explore emerging technologies and develop novel solutions to meet evolving industry standards.

Connect with Bhushan Pipes:

In the landscape of tube manufacturing in Punjab, Bhushan Pipes stands out as a leading player known for its commitment to quality and innovation. With state-of-the-art manufacturing facilities and a focus on customer satisfaction, Bhushan Pipes has established itself as a trusted supplier in the market. For businesses seeking reliable tube solutions that meet industry standards, connecting with Bhushan Pipes can provide access to a wide range of high-quality products backed by years of expertise and innovation.

Conclusion:

Tube manufacturers in Punjab are at the forefront of innovation, constantly striving to meet and exceed industry standards. Through advancements in materials, manufacturing techniques, quality control measures, sustainability initiatives, and investment in R&D, these manufacturers ensure that their products meet the diverse needs of industries while upholding the highest standards of quality and reliability. By promoting connectivity with industry leaders like Bhushan Pipes, businesses can access cutting-edge tube solutions that drive success in their respective sectors.

[superdamachine86]

Biggest Steel Hollow Section Production Video

[hitechpipesltd]

Steel Hollow Sections | Steel Pillar Pipes | Hi Tech Pipes

We offer a wide range of steel hollow sections, including pillar pipes, for a variety of applications. Our pillar pipes are made from high-quality steel and are backed by our commitment to customer satisfaction.

[qatarsteel]

Attention everyone! If you're looking for reliable, high-quality structural steel for your construction projects, look no further than Qatar Steel Factory. Our MS ERW RHS (Rectangular Hollow Section) is the perfect choice for a wide range of construction projects.

To learn more, visit us at https://qatarsteelfactory.com/product/ms-erw-rectangular-hollow-structural-steel or contact us directly at +974 4460 3365 or info@qatarsteelfactory.com

[superdamc]

Customized Mild Steel Hollow Pipe forming machine technology

Dia. Round tube 101mm original tube raw material.

[spookyserenades]

Sanctity - Chapter One TEASER

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre/Themes; Vampire!AU, yandere!AU, horror, themes of the supernatural and mythology, historical topics, vampiric powers, religious themes, violence, romance

Rated; 18+ for swearing, violence/gore, toxic behavior including stalking, torture, and manipulation, future sexual themes. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Word Count; 668

Sanctity Masterlist

Sanctity Playlist

TO JOIN THE TAGLIST PLEASE CLICK HERE!

Ko-fi 💜

Knees wobbling, Y/N lowered herself onto the chair while Mrs. Sloane eyed her like she was a slab of wagyu beef she was preparing to sell to the highest bidder. Biting her lip, she swiftly shut her eyes, heeding Meredith’s earlier advice. Perhaps she could prolong her anxiety attack if she kept her eyes shut the entire time, flinching in the seat when someone was not-so-gently rolling up the sleeve on her left arm past her elbow and swiping an alcohol wipe over her sensitive skin. 

“We’ll be taking more than usual today," Y/N’s plans of staying blind were foiled when her eyes snapped open in shock. 

“W-what? But taking more than a pint is dangerous, is it not?” Y/N’s voice came out panicked and thin, Mrs. Sloane scowling at her nastily. 

“Silence. It is not your place to question,” Mrs. Sloane scolded, Y/N’s breathing becoming fast and shallow. “A new coven has arrived in the area. They have requested a large sample of AB-.”

Dread flooded through every cell of her body, horrified that she was about to be drained dry, two pint bags on the steel table beside her. Barely having time at all to process that there was a coven of vampires that were new to the area, and that there was a great chance that they’d select her as a donor, Y/N yelped when one of the wardens pinned her wrist down and another slid the hollow needle in her arm. Seeing stars dance in her field of vision, Y/N whimpered at the sting of the needle, feeling sick when she felt the warmth of her blood flowing into the tube connected to the pint bag resting on her arm. She absolutely loathed the feeling of her blood leaving her body, like her very life force was being sucked out, and before she could actively close her eyes, they shut involuntarily when they began to water. 

“Calm down, AB-,” Mrs. Sloane sounded like she was spitting through her teeth, Y/N unable to feel her limbs. “You should be grateful. You’ll have the rest of the day off to recuperate.”

Y/N hardly heard the woman. Ears ringing, she was drifting away, a cold, sticky sweat coating her forehead. While she was struggling to form a coherent thought, one of the wardens must have switched out the full bag for the empty one, and by then, Y/N lost consciousness. 

Several moments later, Y/N not knowing exactly how much time had passed, someone was snapping in her face, jamming a straw in her mouth. Nearly choking on the orange juice that was being squeezed down her parched throat, her eyes opened blearily and all she could see was blinding white light from the fluorescence above her. 

“You may sit here for no more than five additional minutes. Then return to your dorm until the dinner bell,” Mrs. Sloane’s arms were crossed, annoyed that Y/N was holding up the line of acolytes outside waiting their turns. 

Though she was pretty much completely drained of energy, Y/N’s mind was moving a thousand miles per hour. With a new coven in the area, there was a very real possibility they’d be interested in her blood, considering the rarity of the blood type. She gleaned no additional information from Mrs. Sloane– typical– but how many vampires would be in this coven, if God forbid they chose her? Three, four? Four was typically the largest a coven would get, and the thought of four of them latching onto her at once had her leaning over in the chair and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bucket on the floor. 

It didn’t matter that she’d be free of the Sanctuary. Though she’d live lavishly, she’d have constant open wounds and would probably be psychologically tortured by the creatures. Suddenly, meals made purely of beef liver and beds constructed out of pallets seemed much better than cake and down feather mattresses.

Taglist; @hazzadoesnotexist @melidramatic7 @honsoolfilter @lovelyglares @bratalicious777 @xicanacorpse @kaeya91 @the-theban-script @jasmin-loves-k-pop @alessiamalfoyzabini @kayways-blog @maeveontherun @a2zure @adoreyou976 @ancagab16 @adoreyou976 @ancagab16 @artfrhe @lightwxod @drenix004 @yoongtism @mischievouscassie @m00njinnie @justlikecrazy @ellaints @asillyduck15 @darkpuppysuit @lilacdreams-00 @neverthefirstchoice @levislifeline @susi-199 @chibimanda @trustfratedjin @tnafzi @yxmer @monkeytime3474 @tinybasementmaker-blog @cryingnotcrying @moonj-oon @mar-lo @kiki-zb @imnotsleepyo_o @oopscoop @wisejudgepandafan @hemmofluke

Please do not copy or translate my work. Thank you!

[transhuman-priestess]

The follow-up to The New Flesh. Read that one first!

15 months prior to the raid on the Blair Mountain, Captain Terry Holder butts heads with her Chief Engineer as an unknown threat bears down on their ship.

This story does not contain sexual themes, however it is part of a larger work which does, therefore, this story is only for consumption by legal adults over the age of 18. It includes moderate violence, and coarse language.

January 14, 2253 1041 Earth UTC

15 months prior to the raid on the Blair Mountain

The Hildas, 550 Million Kilometers from Jupiter

“Chester, how long do you think we’re going to be stuck here?” Captain Terry Holder asked.

She and her first mate, Chester Silvera, were sitting in the mess hall of the Huntington. The ore hauler had been coasting .9 AU from 153 Hilda for 56 hours with a damaged ablator in her #2 main engine. Holder was growing restless.

Silvera, on the other hand, was in a fine mood. “Why are you so eager to get back to port?” He was downing his third slice of pizza since taking a seat 10 minutes ago. Holder couldn’t understand where his appetite came from.

“It’s creepy out here,” she said, “The nearest station is 6 days away. It takes 10 minutes for someone to even hear a distress signal. There’s nothing outside the hull. We’re alone.”

“Captain,” Silvera replied, smirking “You are aware that you can, in point of fact, choose a different occupation than deep space captain, correct?”

“Shut up,” Holder said, smiling. “You know what I mean.” She leaned back in her chair. She’d barely touched the chicken Parmesan she’d gotten from the replicator.

“You’ve been out here for 15 years, Terry,” Silvera said, slipping effortlessly into confidant mode, “You’ve been a captain for 8. You’re used to this. What’s different now?”

Holder sighed. Chester, as always, knew how to get to the heart of the matter. She sat for a moment, not wanting to say it out loud, but knowing she couldn’t hide it from her friend and crewmate. Finally, she said, “It’s Powell.”

“The engineer?” Silvera seemed genuinely surprised.

“Yeah,” said Holder, her hand idly falling to the nickel-plated pistol she wore on her hip, “I don’t like her attitude.” She rubbed her thumb on the hammer, feeling the familiar knurling, catching her thumbnail on a well-worn burr.

“You seem to get along with her just fine.” His pizza lay forgotten on the plate, he was all business now.

“Well, that’s what they pay me for, Chester.” She took a bite of chicken to buy some time before continuing, “She’s arrogant, inflexible, obsessed with rules and procedure.” She tossed her fork to the table. Chester scooted back slightly, sensing one of his captain’s moods coming on. Holder stood and began pacing.

“It’s always ‘SOP says this!’ or ‘The tech manual says that!’ always coming up with excuses why something can’t be done, except when it’s something she wants done, then procedure flies out the fucking door!” She ran her hand through her hair in frustration.

“Terry-”

“We’ve been coasting for two and a half days.”

“Terry is-”

“She told me that she has to strip the bell down to the cooling tubes for fuck’s sake.”

“TERRY!” Silvera banged his hand on the table for emphasis. Holder stopped talking.

“Yeah, Chester?”

“This is about the pistol, isn’t it?”

Holder rolled her eyes, “No, it’s not about the fucking pistol.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

The engraved, nickel-plated .45 was a family heirloom. Captains in the Civil Navy were allowed sidearms for ceremonial purposes, but they weren’t supposed to wear them outside of certain occasions. Of course, in deep space, the captain had more or less free reign, barring mutiny, and Terry liked the feeling of the heavy steel on her hip. She didn’t keep it loaded, though she did keep 2 magazines of hollow-points on her belt.

She’d never had to draw it in anger, though there had been a few close calls with pirates where she’d gone as far as to carry it cocked and locked. But that was on her old ship, the Joachimstahl.

This was her first sortie in command of the Huntington. She’d inherited the ship from a retiring captain, Jack Thorton, and the crew along with it, including the old engineer, who immediately took issue with Terry’s habit of wearing the piece. She’d actually pulled Chester aside to complain about it. It pissed Terry off.

Chester smiled gently. “Terry, I’ve known you five years. I’ve been your right hand for two. You need to get over this grudge.”

“She’s a little shit, Chester.”

“She is a fine engineer. Captain Thorton had nothing but praise for her. Has she ever disobeyed an order?”

“No, but-”

“Has she ever put the crew in danger?”

“No, but-”

“Then you need to drop this little grudge, and you know that.”

Terry was about to argue when her the radio on her belt chirped.

“Captain,” the voice of Jill Cambell, her radar navigator, “There’s something weird on the scope here.”

Terry keyed to reply “What do you mean by weird?”

“I mean I’ve never seen anything move this fast. You better get up here.”

“Be there in a minute.”

***

Captain Holder and First Mate Silvera walked onto the bridge of the Huntington. The radar station was the only one currently occupied. Campbell turned to them as they walked through the door.

“Alright, Jill,” said Terry, “What’s cracking?”

“About 20 minutes ago I got an off radar return about an AU out on the long-range band.” Campbell reported, “No exhaust signature, and it was redshifting so much I thought the scope might be broken.”

“And?”

“It’s not.” Campbell said, tossing a hand in the air. “I switched to the secondary dish. Same cross-section. Same redshift. Hit it with the high-rez, same cross section, same redshift. Whatever it is, it’s at least 50 meters long and it’s moving at O.1C.”

“So send a message to SETI’s Europa Division.” Terry was amazed but couldn’t understand why Campbell had called her to the bridge for this, “I mean, that’s incredible, really, it is, but if they’re moving away from us what’s the rush?

“Well,” Campbell seemed nervous, “Now they’re blueshifting.”

“Bullshit,” Holder dropped the word like a bag of bricks, “How is that possible? Even if something could put out that much delta-v, in that short a span, the g forces of changing direction would rip it to pieces.”

“I don’t know how, Captain,” Campbell said, turning back to the scope. “But I’d really like to have a plan when they get here.

***

“Fucking Christ, whose god damn idea was this?” Chief Engineer Genevieve Powell cursed to herself.

“Sorry Chief,” Engineer’s Mate Karl Miller said over the radio, “I uh, didn’t copy that.”

“Whoever designed the Shinkolobwe-class engine is either a sadist, an idiot, or both.” Powell replied, “This engine is pissing me off.”

She was nearing the end of a 4-hour long EVA replacing a cracked ablator panel right in the throat of the massive 10-meter fusion rocket. When the engines were active, the reactors would vent hot plasma out the back at temperatures approaching that of the surface of the sun, sending the ship moving in the opposite direction and accelerating it to a top speed of 20 million kilometers per hour.

But right now, they weren’t doing anything of the sort. The ablator shield, a layer of boronated plastic 4 meters thick meant to both protect the engine bells from melting and absorb excess neutrons, was cracked, right in the throat. With the ablator shield damaged, the plume coming out of the rocket engine wouldn’t be smooth and even, but roiling with turbulence. Turbulence that would, at best, drop the propulsive efficiency enough to put serious differential stresses on the spaceframe. At worst, it would impinge on the hull, or through to the engine bell, either way burning through and destroying the ship.

Which was why Powell had been awake for 40 hours. Why she and the engineering team had been working in shifts to painstakingly repair the panel. Angle grinders, caulk guns full of boron paste, a portable X-ray unit, and lots and lots of elbow grease.

“Miller,” Powell said, wiping her cheek on the inside of her helmet. “You ever wonder whose brilliant fucking idea was it to use ablative shielding instead of magnetic on a 100-giganewton fusion engine?”

“Can’t say I have,” Miller replied, “You’re gonna have to take that up with Tycho Shipbuilding. Captain wants to know your ETA.”

“God dammit,” The Captain was pissing Powell off. No respect for the work involved in keeping nuclear fusion going without blowing the whole ship to hell, or bombarding the crew with fast neutrons, or turning them all into sludge with 100g burns. “Is this about me not using the tether?” The umbilical tether was supposed to be worn whenever the EVA thruster pack was in use, as a backup, in case the thrusters failed. Powell hated the damn thing. It got in the way and the thruster pack was reliable enough she didn’t need it.

“Uh, I don’t think so, Chief.”

“It’ll be done when it’s fucking done. I’ve got another 3 meters of length on this bitch of a crack. It goes 45 centimeters deep. It’s going to take at least another 10 hours to fill that.”

There was a pause as Miller relayed this to the captain, then, “Uh, Chief,” Miller said, nervously, “Captain says you have an hour.”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN? Put her on, now.”

“She says there’s some kind of pirates bearing in on us in 60 minutes.”

Powell rolled her eyes, “That’s not possible. There wasn’t anything within 4 AU of us when I came out here. Tell her I’m not doing anything without talking to her first.”

A brief pause on Miller’s end, then, “Have it your way.”

Powell continued grinding at the crack for a moment. Then Holder’s voice came on. “Powell, I know we don’t get along,” that was an understatement, Powell thought, “But Campbell confirmed this thing is moving at one-tenth c, heading directly towards us. It’s crossed 20 million clicks since she started tracking it. It actually reversed direction to come this way. I know it sounds like bullshit, but I need you to get whatever you can filled and get back into the airlock. I sent out a distress signal but I won’t hear back from Hilda station for at least another 2 minutes”

“Captain, you can’t just rush something like this!” Powell protested, “The differential forces alo-”

Holder cut her off, “I’m aware of the structural ramifications. It’s my ship and that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Captain,” Powell said, “how are we going to outrun something a hundred times faster than us?”

“We’re not. But I’ll need the engines. Trust me.”

Powell gritted her teeth. She couldn’t stand Holder, but Campbell was good. She and Powell had served together under Thorton, and Campbell had helped Powell develop a couple of scanning tools for the engines that worked a hell of a lot better than stock equipment.

“If Campbell’s sure then. I can maybe get you 10 cm of depth along the rest of the crack. It won’t be good for the full trip back to Europa but I should be able to get you enough dV to get us on our way before I have to come back here and fix it again.”

Holder thought for a moment, then replied, “Make it so, Jenna.”

“Aye captain.”

For the next 45 minutes, Powell broke rule after rule for ablator repair. Instead of x-raying the crack she ground it down to 15 centimeters visually. She filled it in with ablator paste and smoothed it by hand before it had cured instead of sanding it once it was dry. By the end of the ordeal, she had used 100 kilos of ablator paste, far less than the 700 the job properly needed. She looked out at a nearby asteroid as they drifted past, and said into her mic, “Miller?”

“Chief?” came Miller’s soft voice through the headset. Powell saw a glint of something off by the big rock in space.

“Tell the captain I’m climbing out. I’ll be at the airlock in 5-” Powell was cut off by a squeel of static and a flash of bright light from the dorsal side of the ship. The shock jolted the Huntington and knocked Powell against the inside of the engine bell. She felt her shoulder crack. The screeching of static faded but was replaced by her own cries of agony. She was floating out towards the center of the nozzle, she couldn’t move her fingers to control the maneuvering pack.

Another flash and another impact jolted the ship vertically. Static filled Powell’s ears as she bounced into the bottom of the engine bell and then up, out into the vast expanse of space.

***

“Owens, damage report,” Holder barked.

Iris Owens responded, “Two detonations in the 2 kiloton range, a kilometer dorsal of us. Numbers 5 and 6 radiators showing a pressure drop. The rest are showing overheat but coming down.”

It had been an ambush. Holder didn’t know how it happened, but it couldn’t have been anything else. Somehow the two ships, 10 light-minutes away from each other, had coordinated. While the Huntington had been busy worrying about the distant ship, another had been hiding behind a nearby asteroid.

There wasn’t time to think about it though, “Miller,” Holder barked, “Pitch us up 115 degrees, roll 45 starboard.”

“Pitch up 115, roll 45 starboard.”

“Powell, what’s your status?”

***

Powell couldn’t move her right arm. The impact had shattered her shoulder blade and humerus. Her RCS system was giving her a warning that one of the quads had malfunctioned. Even if she’d been able to move the translation control, it wouldn’t have done any good.

I’m going to die out here, she realized.

Flashes of warm yellow-white light appeared behind her. The hypergolic RCS system was pitching the ship up, rolling it to the right. She watched as the huge ship seemed to breech like a whale, then pirouette. Over her radio she heard the captain’s voice, “Powell, what’s your status.”

“I’m alive!” she’d never been so happy to hear Terry Holder’s stupid fucking voice, “I’m alive but I can’t get back to the airlock! My thrusters are damaged and my shoulder’s broken.”

“Powell?” came the captain’s voice again, “Powell can you read me?”

“I can read you,” Powell shouted, tearing up from pain, or maybe from fear, “I can read you! Please respond.”

She realized that Holder couldn’t hear her. The wire for the microphone must have been damaged by the impact that broke her shoulder.

She was alone out here.

***

“Miller,” Holder said, “What’s Powell’s biomed say.”

Miller turned red in the face and stammered, “Uhhh,”

“Miller I do not have time for this, what’s her biomed say?”

“She isn’t wearing it.”

“What​?”

“She said she didn’t have time to put it on.”

“Retract her tether.”

“She’s not wearing that either.”

Holder felt ice creep down her spine. The whole scene seemed to go quiet and time stood still. In 8 years as a captain, Holder had never lost a crew member. She hadn’t even considered it a real possibility. But now, with her chief engineer missing and unresponsive, she didn’t know what to do. It felt like she was a lieutenant again, fresh out of training. She looked at Silvera, pleading.

Chester, for his part, looked as disturbed as she was. But he kept his cool, “Its your call, Captain.”

Holder knew what she should do, but that didn’t make it any easier. The fact she couldn’t stand Powell made it even harder, somehow. But if Powell wasn’t responding, and there was no way to retrieve her, then she was dead, one way or the other. Holder didn’t want to think about it.

Time started again, “Owens, get ready to dump ore bay 3. Miller, point the ventral hull at that ship and be ready with a 200m/s dorsal burn.”

***

The ship swung away from Powell, but then continued through its arc and, incredibly, came close enough to her that she was able to grab a handrail, only 20 meters from the airlock.

She scrambled to gain a foothold as she held on tight with her one good arm. This was a long shot, but it was her only hope for survival. She found purchase, and set her aim, then kicked and swung herself around, spinning head over heels. For 3 eternal seconds, she drifted through space, only inky black and stars filling her vision. Then the ship came back into view, and she grabbed at the first thing she could see and held on for dear life.

She’d grabbed one of the many high-gain antennae that dotted the hull. Carefully, she slid her hand down and pulled herself towards the hull. She was only 5 meters from the airlock. As her hand made contact with the hull, she felt a rumble through it. She looked around, and her heart dropped.

***

“Ore bay 3 open, Captain,” said Owens.

“Good. Disengage cargo restraints.”

“Cargo restraints disengaged”

“Miller, 200m/s dorsal,” Holder commanded

“200 m/s dorsal, captain.” Came Miller’s reply.

***

The roof of the ship lit up all around Powell. She could feel the heat from the thrusters. The sudden change in environment made her jump, and she lost her grip on the antenna. Relief turned, once again, to mortal dread as the Huntington sped away from her, leaving her floating, dying, in deep space, billions of kilometers from her home in Dublin.

***

“Dorsal burn complete, captain.” Said Miller.

“Good,” said Holder, “Now put that ore between us and that ship, face us away from it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She would only have one chance to make this work, but Holder was a star poker player and knew how to use a bum hand to her advantage. Hold 3 had, until a minute ago, contained 20,000 metric tons of dense iridium ore. The Huntington didn’t have any armaments, but that didn’t mean she was defenseless.

“Holder, on my mark, engage engines, full power. Skip the purge burn.”

Miller nodded, “Preparing to fire main engines.”

***

The captain had jettisoned the contents of bay 3. Powell was beyond panic now. Not calm, but something else entirely. Numb to everything around her, she watched with a detached fascination as the ship pitched downward and yawed to starboard, before translating forward slightly, and finally starboard. It settled with the #2 engine that she’d just been working on a mere 10 meters away. She could see the big regenerative cooling tubes and the mounting cavity behind them.

She watched as the bell shuddered slightly, and recognition dawned on her. She hoped she wouldn’t feel what was coming next.

***

“Ignition complete.” came Miller’s clipped voice, “Standing by for full-power burn.”

Captain Holder got on the PA, “All hands, prepare for burn in 10 seconds.”

A preternatural calm came over the Captain. She hoped that Powell’s work had been enough. With 3 seconds left before the burn, she opened a channel, hoping Powell would somehow hear her, and said, “Please forgive me, Jenna.”

The two main engines of the Civil Ship Huntington spooled up. The ship’s dual fusion reactors pumping liquefied lithium deuteride into preburners that heated the silver grey dust hot enough to push it past liquid and gas and into ionized plasma, so hot the electrons and nuclei were ripped apart by sheer kinetic energy.

That was only the beginning, though. Next, the reactor squeezed down with a magnetic field stronger than the sun’s, and as the plasma was squeezed and heated even further, strong forces in the lithium atoms broke down, creating hydrogen and tritium, the latter of which sought out another atom to join itself to and, finding deuterium, they embraced, creating helium. As they did, each of them sacrifice a small portion of its mass to ensure this wedding would endure and, in doing so, a tiny fraction of each of those atoms was transformed, vanished from existence, into pure energy. This happened billions of trillions of times in a single second, and all of that energy had to go somewhere. Knowing this, the ship’s computer opened a hole in the magnetic confinement that coincided with the opening in the engine bell. Kinetic energy and Sir Issac’s third law dictated what happpened next.

Superheated plasma existed the engine bell at a temperature unmeasurable by any mechanical means, directly at the mass of iridium behind the ship. Much of the heavy metal immediately evaporated, but some survived, now white-hot and superheated, and heading directly towards the unknown ship assailing the Huntington at nearly 20 million kilometers per hour. The kinetic energy imparted transferred itself immediately to the ship, shredding it as easily as buckshot would disintegrate a clay pigeon. The Huntington sped away under her own power as the enemy ship dissolved under the barrage.

***

There is no air in space, thus there is no convection. There is, however, thermal radiation. The bulk of the plasma had been directed behind the Huntington, but the brilliant white-hot glow of her engines carried heat as well as light. It was this heat, in a pulse that lasted only 10 milliseconds before the Huntington sped away, that struck Jenna Powell.

For 10 milliseconds, every inch of her space suit that had been facing the engine, as well as her face, were heated to incandescence. Only her flesh and hair burned. The suit’s suppression system temporarily flooded her helmet with CO2, which worked to quell it within 2 seconds, but the damage had been done. The exterior of her suit, unable to ignite due to the lack of oxygen, instead boiled off. The sudden release of energy propelling her backwards, away from the rocket blast, saving her from the quick and painless death she had expected.

She screamed. She screamed and she cried. She was alone. Alone, and dying. She thought about home. About the Wicklow Mountains, about the sound of rain on a March evening, about the warmth of her bed. She thought about all of these, and how she would never see them again.

A shadow appeared over her. She felt herself being pulled backwards. Suddenly, an unfamiliar hallway appeared around her. A door closed in front of her, and she heard the hiss of an airlock pressurizing. After the silence of space and her ordeal, the sound was like a hammer in her brain.

She felt artificial gravity engage, and fell to the floor on her broken shoulder. She couldn’t even muster the energy to scream.

A pair of strangely mechanical armored legs appeared in front of her, and she felt herself lifted off the floor by powerful hands. A twisted face came into view, covered in wires and metal.

“Do not resist,” the figure said, its voice feminine and curiously synthetic, “You will become beautiful.”

Jenna Powell blacked out.

[f1mike28]

AMG GT R Pro „The Monster of The Green Hell“.

Bach in the days the AMG GT R PRO was characterised by yet further improved driving dynamics, in particular on the racetrack. The experience from the AMG GT3 and AMG GT4 racing cars entered into the development.

The measures from motorsport can be clustered in four areas: suspension, lightweight construction, aerodynamics and looks.

Suspension: the optimal set-up

The AMG coil-over suspension offers even more choices for tailoring the set-up to the particular circuit. As in professional motorsport, the driver is not only able to set the spring preload length mechanically, but can now also adjust the compression and rebound of the dampers. This is done quickly and precisely without tools via a click system with an integral adjustment dial on the damper. The compression rate is adjusted separately for high-speed and low-speed movements.

This means that the settings can be dialled-in for slow and fast compression movements as is common practice in motorsport. This allows influencing the body dive and roll as the well as the traction of the AMG GT R PRO even more selectively.

The front axle is fitted with an adjustable torsion bar made of lightweight carbon fibre. Its counterpart at the rear is made of steel, is likewise adjustable and also saves weight due to its hollow tube design.

The AMG GT R is already fitted with Uniball spherical bearings at the lower wishbones of the rear axle. The AMG GT R PRO now gets these bearings also for the upper wishbones.

Mercedes-AMG One man, one engine Handcrafted by Michael Kübler @f1mike28 in Germany Affalterbach. Driving Performance is our Passion!

Mercedes-AMG the Performance and Sports Car Brand from Mercedes-Benz. Mercedes-AMG Handcrafted by Racers.

Fuel consumption combined: 12,5 - 11,4 l/100 km | CO2-Emissions combined: 284 - 261g/km.

[alexanderlightweight]

Malec prompt idea - misunderstanding angst. Probably Magnus thinking Alec is still in love with Jace

Thank you for the prompt! This is angst. There’s some recklessness. Mentions of canon typical: violence, self-harm, and canonical death and events. I hope you like it

—

Magnus loathes Jace with the fervor of a dying realm, and yet Alexander never seems to notice.

When Magnus is returned — has torn himself from Edom — he tries to stifle his instincts, but he fails.

But Alexander never pushes. He stays quiet, but steadfast in encouraging the trust that Magnus also inspires.

It’s hard, sometimes, interpreting the depth of Alexander’s emotions. And often, Magnus wants to ask, but also doesn’t want to hear the answer.

The fallout comes — though he doesn’t know it— when Jace is injured, again.

He’s been increasingly more reckless ever since Clary lost her memories and left, and it’s shown in how often Jace ends up in the infirmary.

Magnus has had a very, very long week and an even longer day and so as he steels himself to become exhausted in his efforts, he wonders bitterly, just who Alec loves more.

He feels both selfish and hollow, because Alexander came to Edom for Magnus, but the part that Camille tore out of him never healed. And it festers and is more painful every time Magnus lets himself wonder just how much his husband loves him.

Magnus reaches out a hand, magic beginning to gather and the magic dissipates as familiar fingers thread through his own.

Alexander is looking up at him, tired, but clearly relieved to see him. The bitterness Magnus feels is both confused and taunted and Magnus swallows down the whirlwind of emotions inside him.

Because Alexander almost looks worse than Jace, who is hooked up to so many tubes and IV’s and is a battered mess of bandages and bruises.

“I need you to do something for me.” Alec says softly, and Magnus sighs internally, but his hand is gentle as he cups Alexander’s face.

“Whatever you need.” Magnus murmurs and hopes he has the strength to follow through.

To his confusion, Alexander doesn’t seem pleased by his promise. If anything he looks more devastated.

“I, Magnus you can— no, okay,” Alec pauses. He swallows heavily and closes his eyes before opening them. His gaze is locked in on Magnus’. “I need you to portal us both back to the loft. Right now. And I need you not to ask questions until you’re done.”

Magnus is, quite frankly, both shocked and a little unnerved. But he pulls himself together and before anything else can surprise him, has them both in the loft. Magnus wanted to take them to their bed, but something tells him this is not a conversation to have in bed.

“What’s going on? Do you need me to go back to heal Jace?” Because Alexander looks like he’s about to break apart and Magnus sits in confusion as Alexander shakes his head.

“He’s healing and has been adequately treated. I called you after he was looked over by a Silent Brother.”

Magnus blinks in surprised confusion and Alexander makes a pained noise as he kneels in front of Magnus rather than sit next to him.

“You called me after Jace was treated?” Magnus doesn’t know why he feels so confused, but he is.

Alexander leans his head on Magnus' knee and plays with the rings on Magnus' hand.

“You know how to heal, but it’s not something your magic specializes in. I knew it exhausted you, but I didn’t realize it was because your magic specializes in other things until I read that baby warlock book to Madzie. If we wanted an emergency healer, we should have been petitioning Catarina and found a backup healer as well. Not that you haven’t done perfectly every time you were called.”

Something inside of him preens a little at the praise. Especially because Alexander is correct, and even though Magnus can heal, the bloodline of Asmodeus was never meant to soothe wounds, only to create them.

Not that Magnus has ever let his father’s legacy stop himself from succeeding the impossible.

“Magnus, you are my husband. You are Jace and Izzy’s brother by bonding. You are the partner of the highest ranked shadowhunter in New York. You are not my siblings or the Institute's personal warlock liaison. And you’re not Jace's personal healer, especially when he’s being so reckless on purpose. That you even deign to heal us is a gift.”

Magnus feels something in him crack open, the things he’s been burying — trying so hard not to upset the balance in the life he and Alexander are building together— flooding out.

Alexander is still talking, so sweetly. Earnest as he holds Magnus hands and Magnus, Magnus loves him so dearly and for once Magnus doesn’t feel like he doesn’t know who Alexander loves more.

“And, and even we really did need you. We would pay both an advanced healing fee and an emergency priority fee! As we should have been doing this entire time.” Alexander heaves in an unsteady, shaky breath and then continues.

“Magnus, do you have any idea how shocked I was when I asked Underhill if our budget for your services needed to be raised and he said there wasn’t one anymore! That it hadn’t been used since you crashed that stupid wedding so eventually they wrote it off!”

Alexander sounds heartbroken and quite frankly, Magnus is both too stunned to soothe him and some hidden part of himself needs to hear this. Magnus needs to hear how upset Alexander is on his behalf, and Magnus knows he deserves to.

“I thought.” And Magnus realizes he doesn’t actually know what he thought. He was so busy chasing Alexander while trying to still protect himself and also trying to figure out how to keep his people alive in back to back terrorism and wars.

“I couldn’t handle losing you.” Magnus finally admits, “and after I drove you away. I became that much more desperate to keep close to you.” Magnus takes a deep breath and then admits, “it’s why I broke so badly when you left me.”

Alexander lets out a wounded noise and kisses Magnus’ knuckles in fervent apology. Magnus is never happy that Alexander is in pain, but it soothes him every time he’s given proof that Alexander broke both their hearts that awful, awful night.

“In my rather ardent courtship of you, I didn’t really focus on anything but using any opportunity to see you. If it meant doing a little work pro-bono—“ and Magnus can’t help the cheeky wink he sends Alexander. It gets him a flustered huff and a pouting glare that disappears as Alexander kisses Magnus knuckles again. “Well, for me your company and well-being has always been my payment. And I considered it time and energy well spent.”

“Like I wasn’t constantly asking for you to come by for the same reason.” His Alexander mutters quietly. Magnus watches red trails up Alexander’s neck and ears and realizes in delight that his shadowhunter is embarrassed.

It’s adorable.

Magnus holds back a delighted titter because that will only pull Alexander into himself. And Magnus is enjoying this sudden honesty and introspection.

Alexander gives Magnus an almost snotty look — the same way he looked when he used to quote “the law is hard but it’s the law”— and continues with, “the difference is that I thought you were being paid at the same time. I didn’t realize the Clave was trying to extort you by pimping me out.”

Magnus can’t help the delighted and shocked laugh he lets out.

Alexander once complained to Magnus about how uncivilized the streets of mundane New York are. Apparently all shadowhunters are meant to have a crash course in the city they're stationed in, so as Head and Commander of the Institute, Alexander had to do research. Which meant finding out about pimps and mundane sex workers.

Before that, Alexander had only ever known about the Seelie, vampire and warlock pleasure houses. Which are completely different and in Alexander’s words at the time, “on an entirely different moral and ethical standard compared to mundanes.”

Every time Alexander and Cat have a little too much wine, they both start disparaging the mundane system and lament how much better it would be if mundanes treated pleasure and sex specialists with the respect they deserved.

So to hear Alexander so frustrated as to compare the situation with the Clave as similar to mundane pimps, was hilarious.

Alexander is smiling at him when Magnus finally gets a hold of himself. But there’s something sad under his smile and Magnus widens his legs and hooks his calves around Alexander’s back, pulling him closer.

“My heart, what’s wrong?”

“I want you to value yourself as much as I do, but then I found out about these things and I realized maybe you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Magnus’ heart stutters in his chest.

“Alexander.” Is all he can murmur, breathless at the depth of Alexander’s words.

“When Jocelyn died. When I stood there and watched Clary grieve and thought that I’d murdered Jace’s mother. My orphaned parabatai who was given hope and I stole that, orphaning him again. When I could still feel her blood on my hand and the beat of her heart in my palm as we released her soul to Raziel. I didn’t pray to Raziel. I prayed to you.”

Alexander gives a bitter little chuckle and presses harder against where he’s cradled by Magnus’ legs.

“I didn’t even realize it at first. And it’s not an excuse. But it didn’t occur to me how much it could cost you to go to Edom. Because I didn’t think you would risk yourself so greatly, when I needed and wanted you so much.”

Magnus lets the confession rest between the two of them and then he greedily accepts it. Presses Alexander’s words to the still raw bits of himself that never fully healed when he went to Edom… because of Jace, but for Alexander.

“Jace is a part of my soul, Magnus, but he’s not the one who soothes and heals it. And a lot of the time he’s even the one who hurts it. So please, please say no. For yourself, and also for me. Because I’m too selfish, Magnus and we’ve both already given up too much. I lost you because I wasn’t selfish enough, and I never want to make that mistake again.”

Magnus knows how to set boundaries. He just didn’t… because he wanted too much to risk it by being careful.

Letting Alexander in, letting himself fall for a shadowhunter, it’s been the most painful but also the most rewarding, but from the moment Magnus let himself want; it has always been a risk.

But it’s always been a risk that Magnus felt was worth it.

“There is no one among my people that I can guarantee will prioritize both of our wellbeing. Not even in my family. I hate seeing you tired and when you’re in pain, I feel my soul aching, even worse than when I share Jace’s injuries.”

“Part of the reason I’ve never declined healing him, is because I don’t want you in pain.” Magnus tells his husband and he’s given a sad, weary but understanding smile.

“I know. But Jace isn’t going to stop. And I can’t keep letting him manipulate us both into lessening the consequences. I doubt he’s doing it consciously. But either way it’s not helping anyone.” Alexander takes a deep, steadying breath and murmurs. “I blocked our connection through the rune. I won’t feel his pain, and he’ll still heal, just slower than when you healed him.”

Magnus is more than shocked. “I thought you never wanted to block or numb the bond after the… last time.”

Alexander shrugs, a small gesture for the impact of his next words.

“This is hurting you. That’s more important.”

And Magnus. Magnus can’t take it and pulls Alexander up. His husband gasps in surprise and Magnus claims his mouth with a searing kiss.

They can finish the conversation later. Magnus and undoubtedly Alexander will both ensure it. It’s too important to not continue. But what’s also important is Magnus not spending another second not kissing Alexander.

Because Magnus knows now just how important he is to his husband, and he’s never felt more loved, or more powerful.

[mspsteels]

The Importance of Quality Steel Tubes in Building Foundations

The importance of quality steel tubes in building foundations cannot be overstated. Steel Tubes Manufacturers and steel tube suppliers play a crucial role in ensuring that builders and contractors have access to high-quality materials that meet the highest standards of quality.

[bhushanpipes]

Leading Tubes Manufacturer in Punjab

Discover a reliable and top-tier tubes manufacturer in the heart of Punjab, where quality meets innovation. Our state-of-the-art facilities equipped with cutting-edge technology ensure that each tube adheres to stringent quality standards, guaranteeing durability and precision. With a commitment to versatility, our diverse product range caters to various industries, offering tubes designed for industrial, construction, automotive, and other applications. Customer satisfaction is paramount, with a dedicated team offering prompt and reliable service throughout your engagement. Embrace environmental responsibility with our sustainable manufacturing practices, contributing to a greener and more sustainable future. Choose us as your trusted tubes manufacturer in Punjab and experience the perfect blend of quality, innovation, and customer-centric solutions.

[superdamachine86]

Hollow Bar Steel Tube How Making

[abysmal83]

Grains of Time: Chapter One

Word count: 1.3k

In a far corner of the cosmos, a planet filled with uncountably many grains of sand—the hourglass of the universe—waits for no one. It floats in an ocean of black, a lone beige speck amidst the ink of the page of outer space. Violent zephyrs drag across the desert landscape, bringing an entire history of dust with them. The ravaging winds seem to tear the planet in twain, and the terrain shifts, never staying the same.

Abstract, crimson formations of oxidized metals meld into the sand. Their original purpose has long since faded into obscurity. For all anyone had known, they have been here since antiquity. These inorganic corpses are as much a piece of the planet as the infinite sands themselves.

In the far distance, almost beyond the horizon, a behemoth of steel dominates the landscape. Its savage triangles stand out in a sea of gold. A single beacon of stasis among the entropic fields of sand.

Any hope of a surface civilization had long been abandoned, along with the world itself. There was only one. Amidst the oxidized metal and rustwork was a lone sentinel, a poorly built and barely functioning droid designated PT73.

It was almost noon. The savage star scorches the shifting sands, transforming unconstrained silica into crystalized quartz. Rust bakes deeper into the discarded iron. Useless and crumpled copper wiring ages a fair shade of green. Any living creature, had there been any, would rust away, leaving only a brittle husk. Despite the hellish temperatures, the world moves on. PT73 does not notice, its circuits unrelenting and its concentration unbroken.

The droid resides in a hollowed dune with walls made primarily of the very same crystal that this planet ever so generously produces. A mix of hardened sand and reddened iron alloys compose the rest. The dunes protect it well, and the flaming world outside is of little concern here. A fortunate position, one well-suited to the needs of a tinkerer.

Deeper inside, a slate grey switchboard blinks scarlet, the only source of light in the sandstone bunker. It softly hums and whirs, a sublime sound in stark contrast to the extinguishing intensity of the desert winds. It was a wonder how anything could still function in this place. An interface gleams with green numbers—70GHz, 200GHz—frequencies. The terminal seems to whisper the secrets of the universe to anyone who dares listen.

PT73 holds up a splintered terracotta tablet; it is only a small piece of a larger, missing mural. It had become a passion project to investigate the remnants of the past. Civilizations were a thing of the past here. How distant, it could not be known. A single sandstorm is all it takes to erase any trace of that which is known. It seemed almost an insurmountable task to uncover these mysteries, but there wasn’t much else to do.

Surely the planet couldn’t have always been like this? It is so evidenced by the fragments of ruined construction, that there was at one time something here. Something. Now there is only nothing.

Replacing the tablet on its pedestal, PT73 has found its purpose.

The sieging winds outside languish. Burning embers fall silently to the sand, signaling a temporary retreat of the weather. A world-shattering quake blares in every frequency, threatening to rip the planet apart, and nearby, a thick wrought-iron case soars down from the sky, tumbling for a few persistent meters before coming to equilibrium. Its rusted door screeches open, falling from its hinges. An empty compartment.

~~~

Everything is just an empty compartment. Unfathomable distances separate anything of significance. Even the very grains of sand which comprise the planet are empty. Electrons have never once met a nucleus. The universe seems to depend fundamentally on the interactions of two strangers.

~~~

Lights flicker on a familiar mechanism on the other side of the universe. A current of static flows through a single channel and fluorescent orange nixie tubes display an array of numbers like a waterfall of information. Steel pans clamber to the ground in an adjacent room, and an electric voice can be heard muttering.

It speaks in much the same way that stones do not.

Thousands of books littered the walls and floor. Whatever this entity was, it was quite familiar with inquiry.

Inundated by a ceaseless static, it concerns itself with solutions. A radio tower in the distance, no doubt long dead, might hold a viable transmitter.

It pushed aside some metal scraps—working components for the nearby machinery—and set out towards the towering steelwork preserved by the absence of time.

Outside, the air is frozen solid. It chokes the terrain in thick sheets of suspended ice. A world forever unchanging, unvisited by time. It waits patiently for something, something that will never come.

Everything that once was is everything that will be. The constructions of an extinct civilization assault the pure white backdrop, unaltered from their time of prosperity. Thousands of polychromatic parallelograms serve as a constant reminder of the past. At such extreme distances, one could blissfully pretend as if life still thrived. The vibrance of it all was certainly convincing.

It was like gazing into the sky, looking thousands, if not millions of years into the past with every insignificant dot. A cosmic graveyard.

There is no star here. The planet drifts without orbit, a mysterious interloper disregarding other lifeforms. Explanations are the quandary of society, while objects of this size dabble in uncertainty.

And though uncertain of what might lie ahead, the entity set out, drifting between crowds of people frozen in time, not so unlike the planet it inhabits.

~~~

The container’s purpose unclear, PT73 pulled it along back to the only permanent location on the planet, and lazily pushed it into an unoccupied corner of the bunker. Its rust-coated door remained open, revealing only an infinite emptiness within.

The droid made to retreat outside—discovery awaits—but a strong gust from outside reminded it of the harsh reality that awaits. Ever still, PT73’s desire would not falter, and these ceaseless storms cannot extinguish its hope for this planet.

Preparing to wait out the storm, it turned to face its collections again, and that was when it noticed—there, beside the meaningless container, was an unfamiliar dark and metallic sphere.

PT73 is exceptionally aware of all of its artifacts, as it keeps a strict record of them all, yet this object was nowhere to be found in its lists. Undeterred, it approached the curious ball, holding fast in its stride until a sudden click reverberated off the slate walls. The droid paused. Another click, followed by a rotary sort of sound, coincident with a small slot appearing on the sphere. A lanky, black rod appeared from the slot and indeed on the opposite side too. The appendages intended to rotate towards the ground and extended, lifting the being a decent radius. It made one last noise, a floaty beep, and then seemingly turned to face PT73. The droid only backed away, having never seen another entity in all its centuries of roaming. A pair of amber lights lit up, almost like eyes seeing for their first moment after several lifetimes, and it let out another singular beep. Hesitant to approach, PT73 produced its own noise in response, a kind of question to the entity, in order to gauge its understanding, and ball seemed to nod, transmitting a string which could only be its own name.

In the next few rotations of the planet, PT73 learned much about the ball’s origin—it had fallen from an unmanned freighter which crashed into this planet, and on board was a wide assortment of nonnative metals and alloys which could aid in getting off this planet. Purpose tugged at every wire in PT73’s chassis, and thus it prepared to embark on a long, long journey. It placed the alien droid into a steelen backpack, and it thereafter poked a round head out the top, its orange eyes beaming with the prospect of adventure.

———

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