#pilot scale testing

[reasonsforhope]

"One of the least respected but most important ecosystems on Earth are seagrass meadows, and a pioneering robotic solution is helping marine scientists restore these underwater gardens.

The ReefGen Grasshopper can plant dozens of seagrass seeds per minute. Not only is this faster than a human diver, but much safer as well.

It works by injecting a tiny slurry of sediment wrapped around the seagrass seed into the seafloor. After covering a growing plot of four seeds, the robot ‘hops’ about 30 centimeters away and starts again.

Despite covering a minuscule portion of the seafloor, seagrass meadows are estimated to hold 35-times more carbon than terrestrial forests—amounting to around 18% of the total carbon stock of the world’s oceans.

ReefGen’s founder Tom Chi dreamed up the idea after watching the degradation of coral reefs on his home island in Hawaii. The first iteration of the robot set coral ‘plugs’ onto existing reefs to help regrow them, but the technology was prohibitively expensive for wide-scale use.

Now however, broader selections of off-the-shelf parts have driven down the costs of manufacturing and maintaining underwater robots, according to Chris Oakes, CEO of ReefGen.

“Manual planting works, but robots are really good when things are dull, dirty, dangerous, or distant—the four Ds,” Oakes told CNN, adding that at the moment, Grasshopper is piloted with a controller by a human on the surface.

“Right now, we’re focused on the planting, the biology, and the mechanical aspects, once we’re confident that that’s all designed the right way, we will overlay more semi-autonomous features like navigation, so you don’t actually have to pilot it,” he said.

ReefGen has been able to not only expand into restoration of seagrass meadows, but also see its robots used in oceans around the world. This July, Grasshopper planted 25,000 seeds in Wales. In October, ReefGen teamed up with the University of North Carolina (UNC) Institute of Marine Sciences to test various seed replanting methods out on the state’s declining seagrass meadows.

Oakes says that as cool and “flashy” as a robotic solution might seem, the most important factor in its success will be the long-term monitoring of the fields it’s replanting. Are they growing to maturity, are the seedlings dying off before then, will they live long enough to seed and germinate fields of their own, how do fields it plants compare to fields planted by hand??"

-via Good News Network, December 24, 2024

[quipxotic]

So many people are watching these first three episodes of Andor Season 2 and not understanding the point of the Cassian storyline (spoilers below obviously).

Cassian is an amazing pilot. That was established in Season 1. He struggles with the tie fighter he's stealing because it's experimental and so very different than what's gone before it. It's also because the intel on its systems he was given to study before the mission was wrong! He tells Kleya this in the third episode. All of this is also why the rebel cell members who take him prisoner at the drop off point have no hope at flying it. Those scenes are meant to power scale Cassian's capabilities against your average rebel fighter.

And yes, the rebel cell members are played for laughs, but those scenes are also meant to give us insight into the state of the rebellion before the formation of the Rebel Alliance. Fractured. Unprofessional. Lacking in trust, resources, and internal structure. These individual cells aren't all like Saw's crew, which is drawn from people with prior insurgency or military experience. In some cases rebel groups are probably made up of just regular folks who hate the Empire, but don't know what they're doing and are rightfully paranoid about security because there is no standardized training or formalized Rebel Intelligence to provide information security. We know Cassian is going to be a Rebel Intelligence officer, so it's a good bet he's going to play a major role in fixing some of these issues going forward.

Those scenes are also meant to show us how much Cassian has grown as an operative since Season 1. He's calm and in control even after his capture. When it becomes clear he can't convince them he's not a Imperial test pilot, he starts taking steps to secure his own survival and probe the cracks in their relationships and trust among themselves. He points out things they should be doing, things he has learned from experience. He makes sure he's hydrated, even if there is no food. He questions who is in charge, which helps brings that conflict to a crisis point. He watches and waits for his chance to make a successful escape. Early Season 1 Cassian was too much of a hothead to have the patience for that sort of thing.

Plus, this season is also about the history of the Yavin 4 base, the place where the Rebel Alliance is born. It'll be interesting to see if Cassian, after this experience there, is the one who suggests Yavin 4 as a location for the Massassi Rebel group, one of the precursors to and members of the Rebel Alliance.

[digitalsymbiote]

What makes a Mech a Mech?

Now you might think it's the shape: Humanoid, bipedal, articulated limbs. And once upon a time that might have been the case. These days those machines are a lot more diverse though, come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; you got quadrupeds, winged mechs, hell sometimes ones that don't got any arms or legs at all.

No, what makes a Mech a Mech, is the Neural Link.

Mechs are unique in the way that their pilots get wired into them. They plug their brain into a machine and they become that machine.

Y'see that's why so many of the early models were so standardized, modeled after our own anatomy and musculature. Back when the tech was first being developed, the test pool was pretty limited. All military types, foot soldiers and the like. Those folks tend to have something of a limited imagination, creativity and individuality gets beaten out of 'em until they conform to the template of what the military wants 'em to be.

Which means they aren't all that great at imaginin' their body as anythin' other than what it is.

So all those early prototypes had to conform to that. If they wanted a pilot to have a decent enough Link Aptitude, they needed Mechs that the pilots could see themselves as. Folks were already used to havin' two arms and two legs, replacin' 'em with metal instead of flesh was a short enough leap that those folks could handle it.

But y'see then they started expandin' the applicant pool; researchers and developers moved outside the military in search of folks with higher Link Aptitude. And they found that humanity is a lot more diverse than that template the military beats into its soldiers. Turns out folks can be a lot more creative with their body map. Not everybody fits into that standardized definition of what humanity is.

They were lookin' in the completely wrong place with the military, turns out. Conformity is all well and good when you're trynna rush somethin' off the assembly line, but when you're trynna really push the limits of what's possible? Well you gotta get a bit more creative with it.

That's why you don't usually see the jugheads piloting mechs anymore. They ain't as good with all the fanciness companies are packin' into them these days. Now y'know who is good with all of that? Queer folks. Transgender folks especially. Turns out growin' up in the wrong body and learnin' to deal with that makes you real good at dissociatin' and messin' with your body map. Makes it a lot easier to trick your brain into thinkin' some weird part of this metal colossus is actually part of your body now.

Once they sorted that out, synchronicity rates skyrocketed. Led to a lot of other good things too. Y'see suddenly Queer and Trans folks were prime candidates for bein' pilots, corpos needed 'em. Which meant they had to make it safe enough for folks to be those things, or at least enough to admit it to the recruiters. Kinda funny thinkin' back, that that was what tipped the scales, but I suppose you can always trust corpos to do what corpos do.

But anyway, that's why so many Mechs are custom made to their pilots nowadays. That's why they craft the IMPs alongside the pilots through basic training. You gotta build a system that'll fit the pilot's body map, and ideally one that'll make the most of it.

If that pilot's more comfortable with a tail? Give that Mech a tail. Digitigrade legs? Quadrupedal? Fuck it, if it works for the pilot, throw that shit on there. Y'see ultimately, through the Neural Link, all you gotta be able to do is trick your brain into thinkin' that Mech is your body, and then it's off to the races.

And that moment, when your mind slips into that metal monstrosity and suddenly you feel more at home than you ever did in your own flesh and blood? That's what pilots live and die for. That's how you know the engineers did a good job.

And that's what makes a Mech a Mech.

[capesandshapes]

Every single person who thinks Libby is going to shut down forever has literally never worked in a library. I genuinely need you to know this.

The US government does not own Libby. The majority of library funding provided by imls is not for ebook funding.

It's still important to support Libby and support your library's use of ebook catalogs, and also look into ways to donate to the systems that they're a part of that directly pay for these catalog fees, but when you look at what is on a large scale impacted by cutting funds to libraries on the federal level, you understand what these cuts are really about.

IMLS helps with the start up funds for various programs and new libraries, the idea has always been to eat the cost of new programs and have the communities surrounding libraries fund them. They have since the 2000's been piloting various ways to make resources more accessible to people and act as a sort of equity program for different communities, with librarians moving to fill what gaps they can in their community resources and having to rely on grants and federal funding to do so.

There are rural and still developing libraries that receive their e-catalog funding via the federal government, but it's not the whole of libraries.

The largest things that are risk are accessibility services through the various programs we've developed for libraries in order to pool resources for the disabled, and national ILL services-- the big names being WorldShare and OCLC, which help patrons access books outside of their systems and have greatly helped with academic libraries. We're also going to see a decrease in supplementary education programs, which because of their rapidly expanding nature have always received federal funding and most states, this is summer reading and after school tutoring.

This is cooking classes, this is service delivery for disabled patrons, this is audiobooks. This is books in Braille. If your library is one of the many that used grants in order to fund distributing COVID tests, I've got bad news. This is hot spots for rural communities where students might not be able to access the internet at home because the infrastructure just isn't there yet. This is libraries that have tried to expand their space to include a food pantry and fill the gaps when people don't have funds to donate. This is niche libraries that provide valuable access to resources, like the federally funded library that provided my patrons with photos of their family when they lived on reservations. This is community education hosted by libraries like the technology courses that helped my patrons set up their first emails. This is money to digitize resources in archives that may otherwise never see the light of day. This is new libraries when there's not a single library for a hundred miles.

When you simplify it all to just ebooks, people want to believe that the solution is just donating regular books or learning to read in other ways. They don't see the whole of what this funding symbolizes.

The Corona pandemic led to a vast expansion in equity services amongst libraries, and with the instability of our economy and the way that legislators have been fighting against taxing the people who should be taxed, none of these programs are enshrined in budgets and bylaws.

Grants aren't fun to write, libraries do not propose specific programs just for shits and giggles. They propose them because they look at the community surrounding them and they realize that there maybe a need. They see where inequality lies, and many librarians try to find a way to solve it.

But this? This is a direct attack on providing opportunity and empathy to all Americans. This is a direct move to limit and punish those who the rich and powerful feel are less than, and it's bullshit.

I love ebooks and what they offer just as much as anyone else, but this is so much more than ecatalogs. Don't erase what this is.

[keferon]

TexAid continues to rot my brain I hope you don't mind I had an idea for Shockwave. Warning for mentioned super unethical experimentation.

====

Vortex didn’t remember the first day his dad had brought him to work. He’d been too young, young enough to have stars in his eyes about giant robots and a desire to be tested by the cool machines his dad worked on, according to what he’d been told. The standard idiot child. 

Of course that had been where him being standard had ended. 

But that meant he had grown up at the facility, that he knew it better than almost anyone else and knew everyone in it. Which was why he was currently keeping his cockpit shut tight even as First Aid kept hammering the button to open it. 

Shockwave, the only pilot to ever make it to retirement was on the other side of his one way red glass visor staring like he could see through it. Maybe he could. Once upon a time he had been kind. Once upon a time he had actual eyes instead of the bionic yellow glow that shrunk and grew as he focused it. 

His mech had had a fatal accident, one that should have killed him too. But Shockwave hadn’t been lucky enough to die, instead he had been a test subject, to see if machine and human could get just a little closer to being one. 

Vortex had never liked any of his pilots enough to care but looking at Shockwave made him mentally promise First Aid that he would never let him live if he got heavily wounded in a fight. If Vortex was dying he’d take the other man with him as a mercy. Better that than this, having everything he was scooped out. 

One metal hand came up to tap on his glass, like he was knocking on the door of a house. “Vortex let me meet him, I want to see why this one is special.” 

First Aid stopped trying to open the visor and slunk back behind the pilot seat and if Vortex could relax he would have at having him less exposed. Vortex wondered if he should chew First Aid up a little? Make him less special? But it was too late. 

The only consolation was that his reputation as a pilot killer protected First Aid, made him too valuable to let him be dragged down into Shockwave’s lab for tests that weren’t a guaranteed success. 

Shockwave continued, “Wouldn’t you like to have a body again? The first mech to human full-translation. You're an ideal candidate for obvious reasons.” But of course that wasn’t what he really wanted. No Shockwave’s real project was human to mech translation, more than what had been done to him, on a grander scale than replacing most of a human with a machine. Shockwave was large, but he was still person sized. 

Vortex had been smart enough to keep his existence at rumors and Shockwave couldn’t prove he was in here. He was trying to use First Aid to lure him out. 

He felt First Aid’s hands tighten on the back of the seat, as if he was ready to fight being pulled away from it. But Vortex kept his cockpit closed and after a long time Shockwave sighed and turned away. “Well perhaps once you get bored of him, just leave him in usable pieces.” 

Vortex watched him jump off the gangway and heard the sound of metal hitting the ground below him before easy footsteps. For a moment he was jealous of what Shockwave had, but not at that price. Even after he was gone it took a long moment before Vortex let his cockpit open. It took longer for First Aid to leave it. 

OH DAMN…

YOU KNOW WHAT. As much as I love Senator Shockwave. The Idea of him being that creepy fucking scientist really fits here oh my god

Previous Next

[lisssyyu]

Dried Blood - The Renaissance Project

PAIRINGS: VI × F!READER

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This au came after I rewatched ABSOLUTELY ALL "Jurassic World" MOVIES, so enjoy.. Let me remind you that English is not my native language, and if you see any mistakes or inaccuracies, please correct me! let me know if you like it and want a part two.

WARNING(S): —

TAGS: behavioral specialist!Vi ;; Jurassic World!au ;; drabble ;; arcane

туалет: 3.3k

часть : 1 ;; 2 ;; ?

In a world where Piltower technology and Zaun genetic engineering have reached unprecedented heights, humans have learned how to resurrect dinosaurs. The new Jurassic Park has been built on a remote island a project financed by the Kiramman family and others, not only for the sake of "scientific progress" and geopolitical prestige. Vi is a behavioral specialist working with velociraptors and other dangerous species, and you are a new ethologist specializing in the cognitive behavior of dinosaurs.

Vi was raised on the streets of Zaun, but was recruited into a research program when the people of Piltover recognized her talent for reading behavioral patterns in animals.

Although, to be completely honest, at the age of 19, she was caught trying to break into a biotechnology storage facility (the question of why she was there remains unanswered to this day). Instead of sending her to prison, one of the scientists, a renowned professor from Piltover and another financier of the "Rebirth" project named Anabel Grimm, noticed how Vi behaved with an aggressive chemosaur in a cage. She was calm and, to everyone's surprise, got away with just a couple of scratches.

She was offered an alternative: participation in an experimental program on "instinctive contact with unstable individuals." Not wanting to make her life worse by going to prison, she agreed.

Later, she was sent on probation to a remote pilot station where genetically unstable individuals were bred. There, she encountered the predecessors of dinosaurs for the first time. They were unsuccessful hybrids with predatory habits. Ugly creatures that had nothing in common with dinosaurs.

Over the course of several years, Vi proved that she possessed a "trainer's instinct" that could not be taught at the academy. Professor Grimm wrote a letter of recommendation for her to the Rebirth Project when the selection process for the island began.

Vi lives on the enclosure grounds. She has "her own" animals, especially a pair of velociraptors, with whom she has worked since she was young.

Vi even gave them names — Ship and Wouter. Vi has no formal education. Her access card is marked "1st class field expert."

Vi believes that trust and respect are more important than collars and remote controls. She enters the enclosures personally, without weapons, which greatly angers the management.

You came to the Park as part of the second wave of scientists those who don't just grow dinosaurs in test tubes, but try to understand what they become. As an ethologist who trained in the basements of the Piltower Academy and at field bases in Zaun, you have been obsessed with the behavioral patterns of animals, predators, and herbivores since your early years.

You were attracted not only by the scale of the project and generous funding, but also by the idea itself: to create not a prison for monsters, but a living, breathing ecosystem. And also, to observe how dinosaurs learn and grow. Now your day begins with your observation journal and ends in the enclosures, where claws scratch against steel and eyes watch from the shadows. Some of the park staff think you are too soft on the "creatures."

Vi is one of the few who, even though she calls your methods "theory for dummies," really listens. Especially when the predators responded to a gesture for the first time, rather than an electric shock.

• At first, Vi considers you too naive.

She has seen dinosaurs tear off interns' legs in a second and is sure that your interest in the creatures will fade as soon as you see them in action. She calls your notes and hypotheses "fairy tales for students." But one day, you enter the enclosure of a young specimen unarmed, and for the first time, it doesn't growl. Vi begins to see you differently.

• The two of you argue constantly.

You cite data, she cites her own experience. At first with irritation, then with enthusiasm. After a couple of weeks, the arguments become a habit: coffee, enclosures, swearing, ironic smiles. Your notebook and her rough voice are a strangely harmonious combination.

• Vi begins to wait for your notes.

Although she pretends not to. Sometimes you notice that she has taken your notebook, crossed out some of the formulas, and written: "If you think this works, let's check it out. Tomorrow at 7. Don't be late, professor." The moment you read it, you felt your face turn redder than a tomato.

[ur-mums-house]

Nightwing x Spider-Verse Reader (pt.1)

a/n: heyyyyy, this my first fanfic I've written since my eddworld days(est. 2018)... TomTord was a deep dark time... I'm planning on making this a series! Just kinda testing the waters with this fanfic before I start getting into the meat of it, kinda like a pilot episode. I wrote this at 0130 so please pleASE PLEASE bear (is that the right one?..) with me because this was have like 0 editing or feedback but the next one will! I will also definitely edit it later to fix it... warnings: mentions of the word "job" and spider, horrible grammar Image source: https://www.reddit.com/r/Nightwing/comments/12mbrn9/do_you_prefer_nw_using_normal_escrima_sticks_or/ word count: 1386 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being a full-time college student and a part-time barista was kinda time consuming. Assignments tended to pile up as you questioned yourself why you needed to take 20 credits this semester instead of being normal and taking like 16. As your rent kept getting higher, you had to take up several extra shifts at your job where the pay was shit and the tips even shitier. Oh, and you also worked with the Spider-Society for completely free! You had been perched on the ledge of a building overlooking the city. As much as you hated living in Gotham, you had to admit it was kinda pretty at night. It was about 4 hours into your patrol and no one had been mugged nor had petty crimes had been committed. It was you and your free coffee from work against the entirety of Gotham. 

That was until your web watch alerted you of an anomaly in your universe, no hints on what it could be. With a somber sigh, and a quick sip of your coffee, you were off. You swung from building to building, citizens watched only able to catch the blur of your body in contrast to the bright lights of skyscrapers. 

You knew you were getting close when you noticed a vacant car that had been flipped upside down seemingly as if a toddler had thrown a toy during a tantrum. Within the destruction of mostly public property, trail claw marks that seemed to be an indicator of what was here became more apparent. The sudden shifts of how the claw marks just stopped made it seem as if someone or something had already been trying to stop it. The lack of spider webs lead you to suspect Batman had found whatever it was before you. You weren't complaining, but it would be difficult to distract him from the fact you had just known it was there, and that you had a watch you could use to open portals to other dimensions. Cursing under your breath you pushed forward. You froze dead in your tracks seeing the shape of a human sized lizard tearing thrashing at someone who you first assumed to be Batman. It easily bodied the person as it growled and thrashed about. You knew you needed to help, scaling closer, you realized it fortunately was not Batman, but unfortunately was Nightwing. Due to your work, you had bumped into Nightwing countless times before on patrol, you had deemed him as your personal annoyance (most of the time). You both tended to respond to many similar villains-of-the-week, typically leaving you annoyed at the circus monkey. You had to admit, his tricks were good and his butt looked equally as good in his uniform. As Nightwinged seemed distracted holding one of his escrima sticks inside of Lizard’s mouth to avoid being mauled to death, you closed in on the scene. Only when you had enough momentum, you swung towards them both with your knees bent, and once close enough you kicked the anomaly off of the vigilante. 

"I got it from here, Birdie," you boldly claimed, hands on your hips as you stuck your landing.

"'Birdie'?" Nightwing is repeatedly amused. "Don't thank me," you responded cockily, "I'm just your friendly neighborhood Spider-" You were cut off from a swing of the anomaly's tail sending you flying into a car. The eyes on your mask narrowed as the car alarm blasted in your ears, drowning out Nightwing's snicker. Just for a second you cursed whichever of the universes had 10 foot lizards attacking innocent citizens as if your universe didn't have murderous clowns and their crazy girlfriends roaming the streets. 

Now Lizard's attention was on you. Fuck. You pushed off the car before Lizard hurled his body towards you, crashing into where you once were with a loud BANG. You already felt out of breath, god you wished you were more in shape. You didn't have time to ponder on that thought much further as you noticed Nightwing's smirk. You groaned as you felt a small tingle at your left side altering you to Lizard charging at you again as Nightwing watched. "Eye’s on the lizard, Spidey" Nightwing quipped as he leaned against a light pole amused. He was content with watching you fight this thing alone. You seemed confident about five seconds ago, so as you ducked right under Lizard's claws, he waited to see if maybe, just maybe, you'd ask him for help. Nicely, of course, but your pride wouldn't allow yourself to. "I was distracted," You argued, "and not by the tail." You smirked under your mask as you shot a web at a streetlight near you, pulling yourself up and kicking Lizard in the jaw in Nightwing's direction before shooting a web at its back and pulling the beast to the ground. You couldn't help but laugh as Nightwing flinched, his body tensed thinking he’d be tackled by the 600 pound mutant. He left out a deep nervous chuckle when he was spared the pain. Nightwing let out a troubled breath trying to play it cool. He steadied himself, ready to join you in the fight. Lizard stood up in between the two of you, definitely a lot more tense than before and angry. His eyes were wide, focused on you as he let out a booming roar. Lizard charged at you, his speed consistent with how it's been earlier. It left you with little time to react, slinging yourself over his head, tumbling towards Nightwing with as much grace as a demented turtle. He caught you mid air before you could tumble to the ground below. His hands ghosted over your waist as he steadied you on your feet, a second longer than necessary. Before either of you could speak, Lizard already found himself in search of you as a midnight snack. Nightwing's hands fell from your waist as he readied his escrima sticks with ease, electricity cracking towards the ends. You stepped back as you tried to read the Lizard’s body language and his distance. As the Lizard charged towards Nightwing, distracted by the light from the sparks, you noticed Lizard seemed to be off balance.  If you timed it right you could pin his arms to his sides and keep him down long enough for Miguel or Jess to collect this scaly nightmare back to where it came from. 

"What the hell do you feed something like this?" Nightwing asked, his words snapping you out of thoughts. "Judging by the breath," You fake gagged, "a mix of sewer, mice, and testosterone." "Sounds like Gotham's cuisine." Nightwing dodged as Lizard's claws swung dangerously close to his head, sliding under Lizard's arms. He wasted no time as he flung his fist up, knocking Lizard off balance as he tased him in the middle of the chest stunning him. Lizard stopped in place, stunned by the sudden jolt of electricity in his body. This was exactly what you needed. 

You launched yourself in the air, firing a web directly at Lizard to force him down. The strands of the web wrapped around his arms securely, and with a swift pull you yanked his arms behind him. You secured the rest of it on a streetlight before continuing to wrap him up. You weren’t sure if it was the taser or the web, but either way, Lizard wasn’t moving anymore.

Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to catch your breath, your muscles still tight and veins still coursing with adrenaline. You glanced over towards Nightwing who didn't even seem as phased. God did you envy him for that. Nightwing turned off his escrima sticks, the hum of electricity dying down as he placed them back in their harnesses at his sides. He pushed his hair back before his attention was turned back to you. He couldn't help but laugh as he noticed you seemed exhausted beyond comprehension.

"Ready to call GCPD to haul him off?" Nightwing inquired as he gestured back at your little lizard buddy. 

You shook your head as you leaned back to crack your back, your gaze lingering towards your watch, "I got someone else in mind.

"Hungry?""I could eat. But, if you're offering, you're paying,"

"You really know how to charm a guy."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 1x22, "honeymoon"

somehow one of the show's tamest season finales still ended up rocking my world.

an episode full of actions speaking louder than words, making it an excellent season one send-off, if you ask me. this one has excellent synergy with the pilot, despite how radically things have changed in the last 21 installments. wilson agrees that house cares about him based on his actions, and in 1x22, house spends the whole episode working in spite of his words to express his love to stacy through caring for mark. even though he can't stand the guy. good one, david shore and co.

3 separate notes i want to make from the top of the episode:

have there always been at least 3 red mugs? i swear we've only seen 1 so far, but one of the earliest scenes showcases 3.

the first drugging incident is in the books! along with their goofy "you dosed me/them/him" lingo.

wilson immediately maxed out his season 1 hypocrisy scale when he told house to "treat the husband. stay away from the wife." just because you abandon your wife all the time does NOT make you the right person to distribute relationship advice. idiot.

my general thoughts on stacy are very positive - i cannot think of a better past love interest for house, nor can i think of anyone who could give a better performance than sela ward. the way she still fits in with house doesn't lessen house's strong characterization thus far, and her screen time feels interesting and warranted throughout. the way she shuts him down when he asks about potential infidelity here gives the instant impression that house cannot mess with her like he does with just about everyone else:

most importantly, what i like about stacy are the ways she problematizes the ethics, or lack thereof, that we've become adjusted to under the Greg House Regime. she strong-arms people all the time as a lawyer, but in a completely opposite venue as house. in her world, there are grey areas abound; she just has to navigate through them all to reach a favorable conclusion. from our experience in 1x21, this was a major point of contention between them, and i think it's a really clever way of showing 2 different life paths manifested in 2 wildly different people with similar moral codes.

but something doesn't sit right (intentionally so): are their understandings of, and respect for, patient autonomy the same?

that house never fights her on this point gives us a superficial answer, at least: yes. stacy demands that house make mark, her current husband, go through a highly dangerous test in the same way that house would have strong-armed any other patient into doing the same thing. he can't refute this point when she throws it in his face, and goes so far as to accuse house of wishing mark would die (more ofc to come of that later):

but, subliminally, there's 2 key differences at play here: stacy hasn't known house that much post-infarction, so she hasn't seen the full impact that her middle-ground medical decision had on him, and now she's advocating for the dangerous procedure, whereas amidst house's infarction, she wanted the more fool-proof, cautious option. they make a nod to the former point when she comments about house bouncing his cane: "some people would find that annoying."

i don't think stacy is aware of this irony - and who would be while their husband is dying of freak brain matter and nerve degeneration? she's operating from a place of love for mark and arguing - in a rather courtroom-esque way, begging house to forego the legal consequences - for him to do something drastic. when he gives in, we see a flash of house's most dangerous side.

this was the least surprising "plot twist" yet btw. house md writers i'm not idiot. i knew he had that Look in his eye and was gonna do it.

it's such a weird moment; house was choosing to be safe by not directly threatening mark's life with a dangerous test, but he was doing it out of selfishness. this highlights a persistent conflict of morals that reappears all over the show. these 2 make a pretty dangerous duo lol.

personally, i'd be lying if i said stacy's disregard for house's choice about his infarction didn't bother me, and i LOVE the discomfort that generates within me as a viewer. i have to hold house to that same standard, but we've been so endeared to his character over time that it's textually difficult to maintain that integrity. maybe it's something to do with how we're taught to consider house as god, too, no matter how often he fails us/the show emotionally? much to think about.

next, i want to highlight this moment of fellow solidarity:

this speaks louder than dozens of words ever could about where the fellows are at emotionally. despite the ways in which they're all like house and all the ways he's influenced them, they can still identify his tipping point. this in and of itself is a small act of love, i'd argue, and we can extrapolate that:

chase, despite being so deep in the shitter with house post-vogler, still cares enough for him to prevent him from making this crazy choice.

foreman hasn't been so corrupted by house as to abandon his morals; he's stood firm against the mini-house accusations by being so consistently upstanding.

cameron can see through house, like she's been trying to all along, and knows that a large chunk of his current motivations are not for mark's benefit.

they each have unique insights into house's breakdown in 1x22 based on their unique relationships to him, all condensed into this brief "three musketeers" formation. love to see it, the fruit of 22 episodes' worth of writerly labor.

circling back to stacy (sorry for how disorganized this recap is!), there's an interesting comparison to make between stacy and wilson's function in this episode. stacy enables house to act on his craziest, instinctive impulses, whereas wilson is demanding the exact opposite - that he keep everything repressed for the sake of the patient. ofc, the highest irony is that, had house done that, mark would have died. this episode doesn't feature wilson's enabling crimes (those haven't come up that much this season, i don't think), but more so acts as a precursor for what's to come on that front.

but i would be VERY REMISS if i didn't mention a scene that i had nearly forgotten about myself that had me open-mouthed, thinking about The Future of this show and of These Two:

something should go here about the sign above wilson's shoulder. very no-turning-back. a nod to how he's quite literally leaving his wife for house here?

wilson gets to do one of my favorite things here: be house's moral compass on the subject he's the least trustworthy about - relationships. but i think this exchange highlights why house comes to wilson with his feelings about mark and stacy; wilson's own imperfections lets the vulnerability come easier. house admits that he was glad that mark's tests were inconclusive, that mark is "probably a great guy...and some part of me wants him to die. i'm just not sure if it's because i want to be with her or if it's because i want her to suffer."

that stacy picks up on this very fact later in the episode speaks to how well she knows house; that house tells wilson and not her shows the high regard that holds her in. that wilson doesn't respond says a lot. in an episode where everyone's voices are especially loud, and when wilson has already scolded house on this whole unraveling stacy debacle, his silence is peaceful...

...and a little bit prophetic. (4x16 spoilers) this reminds me a hell of a lot of a future, much more serious dilemma wherein a certain Broken Moral Compass asks his best friend to undergo a highly dangerous treatment to save someone else whom he loves. it's not perfect, but there's definitely a parallel to be drawn here: does wilson wish for house to undergo the life-threatening brain surgery just to save amber, or is there a small amount of selfishness there that wants to see house suffer? once again, much to think about! check back when i finally get to season 4 lol.

regardless, what i find compelling above all else is how wilson's silence helps prompt house to act above his words -- even though the subsequent actions are exactly the opposite of what wilson had been advising house to do thus far! no matter what his feelings may be about stacy and mark, he solves the case in the end, undoing his previous commitment to wait "for something to change." it was an obvious scapegoat when he said that to stacy, coming from the man who rejects all notions of change.

wilson's influence is even visually represented, too. when house returns to mark's hospital room, determined now to do the crazy thing and give him the dangerous treatment, we get a very brief shot of the teddy bear that wilson sent stacy and mark (he's so annoying lol):

lastly, i liked the step 1x22 took in throwing one of the show's background themes into the spotlight: house's neediness.

we've seen traces of it growing throughout the season, especially in how he tries to maintain order among the fellows, keeping them at his side while also self-sabotaging. it's clear to anyone that he can be exhausting to be around, but stacy confirms that this exhaustion extends well into his romantic/intimate relationships as well. according to her, while he is The One: "i was lonely. with mark, there's room for me."

OOF.

this somewhat contradicts what i said earlier about stacy not knowing house as he is now; like she told cameron, he's been This Way for a while - this also has interesting implications for wilson's comment during "detox" about whether house's changing behavior is "just the leg" or not. the antisocial behavior predates the infarction - very important in the Gregory House Timeline, and i think it actually endears us to him even more. and the mystery just got deeper, too.

in stacy's POV, he's always been needy. the relationship was always consuming, all about him. and as we well know, this isn't a trend that goes away. each of the fellows will grow apart from house, though at different paces and for very different reasons, and his future romantic relationships do the same, too.

but there IS someone who has a house-shaped hole in their heart, someone who defies the relationships that house has worn out thus far and will wear out in the future, someone that goes so far as to say that we "can't really choose who our friends are" because house fits that empty space too well.

"my wife's gonna kill me. we're having company. she cooked."

"i got mark's latest bloodwork. he's not responding to treatment."

"i'm sorry."

stacy was completely right to say that her relationship with house was too all-consuming; we see that play out again in the first half of season 2. but we also lay the seeds for what happens when there are 2 people, stricken with that same neediness dilemma, who are balanced perfectly for the other person, no matter how toxic things may become.

are there more things i could talk about? absolutely! i think i'll be doing an overall season recap, so i can evaluate some more atp. for now, happy end of season 1. wow, has the show transformed!! i'm sure that the final shot of the season being house contemplatively downing some vicodin isn't foreshadowing how his addiction becomes much more destructive in season 2...

HE'S SO SEASON 5 HERE.

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

The Mecha AU-AU continues. In todays episode; the Protectobots exist, Trepan is weird, and Vortex gets a pleasant (?) surprise.

I've also written an UNGODLY amount of Combaticon pre-mech content so ig that's gonna have to escape containment at some point, weeh.

“Hey, isn’t that Felix?”

Hot Spot watched the TV in the break room intently as he drank his coffee. His cereal sat half-eaten and forgotten on the table in front of him. Blades looked over from the toaster, flinching when his toast popped up.

“Felix?” Blades asked. “What, on TV?” He asked in disbelief. He rounded the counter and jumped over the back of the sofa to sit next to his commander. “No way.”

“Seriously – look!” Hot Spot grabbed the remote and rewound, pausing when Felix had come up out of the joint of a mech, looking at something behind the camera in pure relief.

“Holy shit. That is Felix!”

“Look – he gets into that mech.” Hot Spot wound it forwards, showing the brief moment of Felix climbing up and slipping into the face of the mech, the visor snapping shut behind him. “Do you think he’s a pilot?”

“No, no way – he’s a medic. He never ever wanted to pilot, they’d have to be really desperate for them if they’re resorting to using their medical crew.”

“He seems way too comfortable getting into that thing.” Hot Spot shuddered. “It looked like it was eating him.”

“Don’t, that’s creepy.” Blades cringed, climbing back over the sofa to rescue his toast.

“Stop that.” Hot Spot scolded. “Just walk, it’s not far!”

Blades ignored him. “Have you heard the rumours about that base? With all the body bags? I wonder what that was all about.”

Hot Spot rolled his eyes and returned to his cereal. “No idea. I guess when you’re fighting quintessons your life expectancy isn’t great.”

“Neither is ours, and we don’t have giant metal exoskeletons or unexplainable numbers of body bags. What’s their excuse?”

Hot spot shrugged. “No idea. Why don’t you ask them?”

“Oh, good shout – I’ll text Felix.”

“Blades-”

“Relax! I’m not going to say anything stupid.”

“You said that last time and look where that got us.”

“Yeah, right, fair, whatever.” Blades waved him off dismissively. “I’ll just mention I saw him on TV, see?” He turned his phone around to show Hot Spot. “Totes fine, perfectly safe, nothing could possibly go wrong. Worst case scenario, he ignores me, best case he says ‘haha yup’ or something and that’s the end of that.”

“Don’t make him uncomfortable. You know he asked to be left alone.”

“We send each other reels on Instagram again, I think it’s okay if I reach out.”

Hot Spot sighed and unpaused the TV.

-------------------------------------

The tech was too new when they shoved their first AI’s into it.

They’d tested a connection between live pilots already - two separate units that operated as one. They found that it worked, to a point. The two consciousnesses would wave, but never shake hands - the physical contact snapped their psyche. It was only when they had developed the RABIT units that they could truly operate as one – but the pinch point had always been getting them into the same machine . It just did things to people.

Prowl and Jazz had been their best duo’s team, their dark horse - the pair flew under the radar until they were fitted with the experimental tech and blew the project out of the water straight into the lap of investment. And, Swindle noticed, into the scope of

Trepan.

He giggled as he watched them, humming and hawing. Which one? Which one would be his sacrifice?

They’re married , they argued. You can’t force one to pilot the corpse, that’s wildly unethical.

Fine. Then we find a new pilot.

Swindle could only watch. If he objected now, he’d cast doubt onto himself. Vortex would be in more danger. His team might stay in that poxy little box forever.

Vortex himself was a monster. As a prototype, he was huge. Way too big. The technology hadn’t been fine tuned yet to bring the scale back down - and so he towered above them, a monument to their attempt at survival.

And he’d survived. The experimental tech, too fresh and too new, had destroyed the rest of his prototype cohort. Out of the original 15, he alone survived. The 11 carved into his shoulder shone in the red of the blood that they had spilled to get there.

The next cohort was smaller. Swindle hadn’t put forwards any of his team.

You want people who will survive - these guys ain’t it. I know my team, they haven’t got the moxy. The tech needs to be more stable.

Trepan didn’t raise his brows. He seemed to delight in his harsh words, and selected 5 other banked sacrifices.

They all died too. Burned out. Literally. They’d decreased the size of the mechs, the faults and failures of the predecessors informing their design.

Vortex stood alone.

Swindle chewed his nails until they bled fretting over his mental state. He couldn’t get close to him, he couldn’t go and check - he couldn’t even acknowledge him. The magnifying glass pinned him, every breath studied. The tech was so new. Was it really still

Vortex in there? Was he recognisable? Did he know what was going on? Did he know anything ?

God Tex, I’m so sorry.

The pilots falling out of him started telling horror stories.

There was something else in there with them. Something beyond the AI, a malevolent presence in there that wanted to hurt them. The researchers had been dismissive, but Trepan had been intrigued. Swindle had been corralled by him, armed with questions.

What had Svastjan been like in life? Did he have the same devotion to violence in life as he did in death? Was he particularly skilled with any weapons? Were any other members of his team like him? Or was he alone in his brutality?

He told him the truth. He was like this. He had a tendency to jump on the heads of the ones he’d knocked to the ground, to force himself through their body. Pistols and knives were his speciality. And no – he was alone. The others were what they liked to call well adjusted.

The expectation he had was that Trepan would be disappointed, but he had just hummed and nodded his head, quickly returning his attention to the next mech to come off the assembly line.

He uncomfortably ran a hand through his hair as he saw the footage that aired. Trepan was sat beside him, still as much of a crane of a man as he had been back in the research lab. He sat with his legs daintily crossed, his hands resting on his knees as he sat up perfectly ram-rod straight.

“Who is the man so comfortable with our pet?” Trepan asked.

He’d started referring to Vortex as his pet as some kind of cute nickname for him – he’d survived so much and had given him so much information to chew on that he’d grown a real soft-spot for him.

“That’s Felix.”

“His pilot?”

“Correct. First one he hasn’t outright murdered or mentally destroyed.”

“Fascinating.” He steepled his fingers together, eyes wide and beady, taking in all the information on the screen. “He seems to be very familiar with the mech.”

“Felix is a weird one.” Swindle knew he had to toe the line, to act as a gossip to displace the suspicion, to offload it somewhere else. “He’s weirdly attached to his mech – he’s always around it.” He hoped the look on Trepans face wasn’t a bad sign.

“Vortex is a success. Finally.” He leaned back in satisfaction. “We can justify further use of his batch. As their guardian… choose. Who is next to be interred into living metal?”

Swindle remembered the day the experiments came to an end vividly. He hadn’t been able to stomach it after they’d all started screaming for each other – and they weren’t using their call-signs, either. The time for that had long gone – it was their real names that had come spilling out. The ones their mothers had given them as they first swaddled them in blankets. The ones that had been carried on the wind when it was time for dinner. The ones now spoken in hushed voices after dinner.

All he had left of them was a fucking box. He could hold all four of them in one hand. Small components that were welded into the motherboard. A collective century of experience and knowledge and history condensed down into four identical electrical components.

Swindle wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and cry and throw himself off of the bridge, swept away by the current and buried under sediment and rubbish and corpses. But he couldn’t - he had to hold it together. If he broke now, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. There was a job to be done.

Vortex was the obvious first pick. The next pick was harder. Significantly so. Who next? It had been a question that had haunted him ever since.

Swindle felt himself break out into a cold sweat. The tech wasn’t anywhere near where he wanted it to be, and the thought of having to try and wrangle two of them had him sprouting greys. He ran through them in his mind, counting it off on his fingers.

Onslaught. His commander. He’d trusted him with this, and he was certain to be disappointed with how it had all worked out, but he was also the one who could keep Vortex in line. However, Vortex was currently staying firmly in line and was studiously behaving himself now that he had Felix. It seemed that he’d cottoned on to the fact he was now the bargaining chip, and he was determined to play the part of a good little boy in order to keep his favourite toy.

Brawl. His personality was explosive, and any mech they made for him would have to have the thickest armour available, and even then that probably wouldn’t be enough. They weren’t at the point of making a viable mech for him yet, which left…

Blast Off. Their unifier. The centre of their team, their point of gravity. Damn, it was fucking obvious now – if Trepan was keen to crack the mausoleum back open and bring his team online, then he’d have to start with the one who kept them from cannibalising each other.

Trepan was looking at him expectantly, a small smile on his face.

“Jean-Luc B. Ollier.” Swindle promptly replied. “Code name: Blast Off. He’s a sniper and a navigator – where are we at with that gun? He’d be a great test for it.”

“Not Oscar Den Koning? Juan Perez?”

“Oscar will be hard.” Swindle replied. “Very strong personality – if we want him, we’ll need the others all up and operational first. Juan was our demolitions expert – we don’t have the ability to make armour strong enough to withstand the beating he would put it through right now.”

Trepan nodded like a priest having sins confessed to him. “Very well. I will pass this on. Thank you as always, Swindle. This has been most enlightening.”

“When will the designs be ready for viewing?” Swindle asked.

“Very soon, I hope.”

And with that, he was gone. Swindle exhaled slowly before breathing in deeply, holding it there in his lungs, and slowly exhaling.

Fuuuuuuck.

-------------------------------------

“Did you hear? They’re making a new batch of mechs.” First Aid conversationally said as he scrubbed the floor panels of the cockpit with a toothbrush. Despite his best attempts, there was still some dirt and grime in there – he was starting to get a little sick of noticing it every single time he got into his mech, so he’d decided that today, his precious day off, he’d dedicate it to making him sparkly clean.

On the inside, at least. The outside he’d leave to the professionals.

[OOOH? TELL ME MORE <3]

“One’s a prototype mech – apparently it’s going to be designed to be more like you? Something about balancing out what a powerhouse you are. Might end up being on loan to the Shatterdome to the south, apparently they’re having real big issues at the moment.” He sighed and rolled back to sit on his heels, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hands. “What did you even do back here? It’s still coming up red – I’ll need to pop the panel off!”

[THIS.]

An arm swooped down from the ceiling, sharp implements spinning and twisting on the end of it. First Aid yelped and scrambled backwards, and Vortex rumbled in a laugh.

“Why do you even have that?!”

[HACKED A MAINTENANCE DROID. HACKED TWO MAINTENANCE DROIDS.] He corrected himself.

“And they just let you keep it?”

[AS IF I’D LET THEM STOP ME.]

First Aid hummed, running his fingers across the offending metal. “I need a toolkit to get this up. I’ll be right back – I think I saw one in the cupboard…”

[LATER BABE <3 BE QUICK.]

First aid hopped out with ease and quickly whipped off his gloves, hanging them over his belt. He rubbed his hair from his eyes and silently wished he had a hairband when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Curiously, he slipped it out – he wasn’t expecting any messages from anyone, and he couldn’t think of who would text him out of the blue-

His pace faltered when he saw the name.

Blades.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and the message to the back of his mind. Later. He’d… He’d deal with it later. Right now, Vortex was waiting for him, and he was so close to getting that panel clean.

-------------------------------------

Having a chatty little man like Felix around had its perks for sure. Such as giving Vortex such useful bits of information, like new mechs.

Each time he learned that new mechs were being added to rosters around the world, he went digging. He’d brute force his way in, hammering and chiselling away until he got what he wanted. Information. Something that gave him an idea of who they’d stuffed into them.

He wondered what Trepan would think if he knew that he wasn’t as brain-dead as he was meant to be, that he wasn’t a silly little AI that said ‘yes, sir!’ and did as he was asked, that he still remembered who he was and clung onto it, that he knew exactly what had happened to him and let it burn inside of him to the point of consumption. Sometimes he wondered if any of the other mechs on base remembered who they once were too, but then that implied that they still hadn’t figured out the damn tech yet, and at least one of the pilots would have gone squealing. Prowl definitely. The man was such a tattle tale.

Huh. Maybe that was why he’d been shipped off to the States? That would be so fucking funny. Jesus.

Anyway. The digging.

He’d poked and probed where he could, the enjoyment he got out thinking of Swindles face when he realised it was him spurring him on, and eventually – he cracked it.

Felix was popping the panel off on his floors when he got hold of the file. A small batch – just five of them. Apparently investors hadn’t bitten as hard as they’d hoped. And they’d had to cut it down by two thirds – ouch. That had to sting. Swindle must have been chewing the walls. Giggling to himself, he began flicking through the folders within, plucking out bytes of information, straightening out the ones and zeros until they were in a format that he could understand-

His lights flickered, and First Aid froze, abused and beaten toothbrush in hand.

“Vortex?” He quietly asked. “I’m sorry – did I knock something?”

[YOU’RE ALRIGHT, HONEY.] He managed, not quite thinking of his reply more than it instinctively coming up on his display. Because he was alright. He hadn’t done anything.

Trepan, however, clearly had his paws on this batch.

SNIPER, the document read. LONG DISTANCE SHOOTER. LIGHT ARMOUR FOR MANOEUVRABILITY. DESIGNATION: BLAST OFF

Motherfucker.

Even the mech somehow managed to look like him – the armour followed the same patterns as the armour that he’d worn on the field, albeit significantly brighter. They could afford to be bright and gaudy when they were made of metal – they wanted to attract the hits. And a bright purple chest was just begging to get punched.

Eagerly, he flicked through the other documents. Brawl? Onslaught?

No. He didn’t care about these names – he didn’t give a shit about them. Not a goddamn single shit. He childishly mentally threw the file over his shoulder, his frame creaking ominously and the wiring under the panel Felix had removed sparking. Trepan was doing this on purpose, he could feel it. He was denying him his team, he was savouring their torment for as long as he could. Fucker. He’d crush him himself.

[worldpharmatoday]

Scaling up production in the pharmaceutical industry is essential for transitioning therapies to large-scale manufacturing. Learn about pharmaceutical packaging and pharma industry news.

[reasonsforhope]

"The world is betting heavily on carbon capture — a term that refers to various techniques to stop carbon pollution from being released during industrial processes, or removing existing carbon from the atmosphere, to then lock it up permanently.

The practice is not free of controversy, with some arguing that carbon capture is expensive, unproven and can serve as a distraction from actually reducing carbon emissions. But it is a fast-growing reality: there are at least 628 carbon capture and storage projects in the pipeline around the world, with a 60% year-on-year increase, according to the latest report from the Global CCS (Carbon Capture and Storage) Institute. The market size was just over $3.5 billion in 2024, but is projected to grow to $14.5 billion by 2032, according to Fortune Business Insights.

Perhaps the most ambitious — and the most expensive — type of carbon capture involves removing carbon dioxide (CO2) directly from the air, although there are just a few such facilities currently in operation worldwide. Some scientists believe that a better option would be to capture carbon from seawater rather than air, because the ocean is the planet’s largest carbon sink, absorbing 25% of all carbon dioxide emissions.

In the UK, where the government in 2023 announced up to £20 billion ($26.7 billion) in funding to support carbon capture, one such project has taken shape near the English Channel. Called SeaCURE, it aims to find out if sea carbon capture actually works, and if it can be competitive with its air counterpart.

“The reason why sea water holds so much carbon is that when you put CO2 into the water, 99% of it becomes other forms of dissolved carbon that don’t exchange with the atmosphere,” says Paul Halloran, a professor of Ocean and Climate Science at the University of Exeter, who leads the SeaCURE team.

“But it also means it’s very straightforward to take that carbon out of the water.”

Pilot plant

SeaCURE started building a pilot plant about a year ago, at the Weymouth Sea Life Centre on the southern coast of England. Operational for the past few months, it is designed to process 3,000 liters of seawater per minute and remove an estimated 100 tons of CO2 per year.

“We wanted to test the technology in the real environment with real sea water, to identify what problems you hit,” says Halloran, adding that working at a large public aquarium helps because it already has infrastructure to extract seawater and then discharge it back into the ocean.

The carbon that is naturally dissolved in the seawater can be easily converted to CO2 by slightly increasing the acidity of the water. To make it come out, the water is trickled over a large surface area with air blowing over it. “In that process, we can constrict over 90% of the carbon out of that water,” Halloran says.

The CO2 that is extracted from the water is run through a purification process that uses activated carbon in the form of charred coconut husks, and is then ready to be stored. In a scaled up system, it would be fed into geological CO2 storage. Before the water is released, its acidity is restored to normal levels, making it ready to absorb more carbon dioxide from the air.

“This discharged water that now has very low carbon concentrations needs to refill it, so it’s just trying to suck CO2 from anywhere, and it sucks it from the atmosphere,” says Halloran. “A simple analogy is that we’re squeezing out a sponge and putting it back.”

While more tests are needed to understand the full potential of the technology, Halloran admits that it doesn’t “blow direct air capture out the water in terms of the energy costs,” and there are other challenges such as having to remove impurities from the water before releasing it, as well as the potential impact on ecosystems. But, he adds, all carbon capture technologies incur high costs in building plants and infrastructure, and using seawater has one clear advantage: It has a much higher concentration of carbon than air does, “so you should be able to really reduce the capital costs involved in building the plants.”

Mitigating impacts

One major concern with any system that captures carbon from seawater is the impact of the discharged water on marine ecosystems. Guy Hooper, a PhD researcher at the University of Exeter, who’s working on this issue at the SeaCURE site, says that low-carbon seawater is released in such small quantities that it is unlikely to have any effect on the marine environment, because it dilutes extremely quickly.

However, that doesn’t mean that SeaCURE is automatically safe. “To understand how a scaled-up version of SeaCURE might affect the marine environment, we have been conducting experiments to measure how marine organisms respond to low-carbon seawater,” he adds. “Initial results suggest that some marine organisms, such as plankton and mussels, may be affected when exposed to low-carbon seawater.”

To mitigate potential impacts, the seawater can be “pre-diluted” before releasing it into the marine environment, but Hooper warns that a SeaCURE system should not be deployed near any sensitive marine habitats.

There is rising interest in carbon capture from seawater — also known as Direct Ocean Capture or DOC — and several startups are operating in the field. Among them is Captura, a spin off from the California Institute of Technology that is working on a pilot project in Hawaii, and Amsterdam-based Brineworks, which says that its method is more cost-effective than air carbon capture.

According to Stuart Haszeldine, a professor of Carbon Capture and Storage at the University of Edinburgh, who’s not involved with SeaCURE, although the initiative appears to be more energy efficient than current air capture pilot tests, a full-scale system will require a supply of renewable energy and permanent storage of CO2 by compressing it to become a liquid and then injecting it into porous rocks deep underground.

He says the next challenge is for SeaCURE to scale up and “to operate for longer to prove it can capture millions of tons of CO2 each year.”

But he believes there is huge potential in recapturing carbon from ocean water. “Total carbon in seawater is about 50 times that in the atmosphere, and carbon can be resident in seawater for tens of thousands of years, causing acidification which damages the plankton and coral reef ecosystems. Removing carbon from the ocean is a giant task, but essential if the consequences of climate change are to be controlled,” he says."

-via CNN, April 29, 2025

[ross-hollander]

A reasonable person, man, woman, nonbinary, etc, might consider for their upcoming close combat battlemech design a Class 20 autocannon. Powerful at close range, even if it has its problems elsewhere. Regular. Usual. Perhaps a few SRMs to back it up, exploit gaps in armor and supplement the recycle of the AC. A PPC would provide long range firepower while also shaving armor until the range collapsed into AC distance. Perhaps Pulse Lasers, defeating personnel and adding extra firepower between AC bursts.

An unreasonable person mates howitzer to sliding long recoil assembly and an osmium alloy rod. In the same vein as a BattleFist, the Mech Jackhammer, or MechJack, is intended to be used in a punch. Unlike the BattleFist, the MechJack is capable of defeating nearly all armor below Assault weight... if it can get into close quarters.

Like, really, really close. If you thought the AC20 with its what, sub kilometer range? was CQB, try breathsmelling distance.

For this, among other reasons that became abundantly obvious when the test fire reduced myomer service life in the mounting arm by half, the MechJack did not enter production, and remains only popular in holo-games as a funny option.

(This kind of range, incidentally, is the one where armless 'mechs like the Stalker or Locust traditionally pop their cockpits and have the pilots shoot at each other with their holdout pistols, more practical but hardly as exciting.)

Now, depending on how you parse this, we have either a 'mech-scale version of Jetstream Sam's ejector sheathe but set to launch a giant spike at full-auto speed instead; a jackhammer bayonet attached to an AC/20 because Gears of War was getting too cocky with their chainsaws; or, possibly, a simple instance of the pilebunker's majestic aura transcending IP, as it should, once again.

[marlynnofmany]

Not Special, Part Two

(Part One is here)

Oscar Tennyson grabbed his purchases and hurried after the rest of his crew. As usual, they were walking quickly on their longer legs and bellowing for him to keep up. The teeth-and-scales Mighty had no patience for human weaknesses. Of which there were many.

But, as Oscar had just learned, there were some strengths as well. And he couldn’t wait to show them.

He scampered onboard before the door shut, wondering if they would actually leave without him if he dawdled too long. Probably not — who would handle their finances and hunting permits? They’d have to hire someone else, because they certainly didn’t want to do it themselves. But he didn’t want to test that.

He had much better things to test. While the stark metal walls vibrated with the engine’s revs, Oscar wove between scaled biceps and tails to his own quarters. He pressed the panel by the door, which was oversized and cracked like all of them on this ship. The Mighty were not fans of fiddly little buttons or keys. Not when they could have panels big enough to punch, which only broke sometimes.

When Oscar stepped through and closed the door behind him, he felt immediately relieved. This was his private space to decorate as he chose, without worrying that someone would take things down or make fun of him. Ship rules were clear about personal quarters. Oscar’s fake orchids and real cactus made the room homey, along with more posters than the walls could hold. They spilled onto the ceiling, lining it with nature scenes from Earth, sports figures he admired, media announcements, and a good number of fluffy kittens. This was the one spot on the ship where he could feel comfortable, and he was making the most of it.

The bag of refueling station supplies crinkled as he set it on his small table to remove the contents. A high-end store might have had Waterwill bags that evaporated after a day, but this place used regular old plastic. Inside were food cubes, bottled water, and the purchase he was most excited about: six cans of very weak caffeine.

He scanned the label. It was just like the other human had said. Tall cans in dramatic colors, but not much of substance inside. At least, not as far as the average human was concerned.

Oscar couldn’t wait until dinner time.

Before then, he had a permit to submit and several other things to check. The ship should be on the way to Argosha, which was notorious for welcoming outsiders in to hunt the Dagger Birds that were giving everyone so much trouble, but he had better get their paperwork in order anyway.

He grabbed his tablet and left his safe haven, heading back into the public parts of the ship where he could face taunts from any direction. Really, these guys were just like his cousins. At least it was familiar.

Fending off tiresome conversation — “How’s the weather down there?” “Why don’t you ask your mother?” —he reached the bridge and found a corner to stand in. The captain and the pilot were arguing about where to land when they reached Argosha.

“The main site will have more people to admire our ship!”

“The new one is closer to the hunting grounds!”

“Dagger Birds are overrunning the place; everywhere is a hunting ground!”

“Do you want to pay the damages for shooting a building instead of a bird? We can take it all out of your pay, if you want!”

“Fine, but if we land on some overgrown hedge and the ship is scratched, you get to pay for that!”

“Fine!”

The pair of them stopped yelling and sat back in their seats as if nothing at all was the matter, because it wasn’t. Polite disagreements were always held at that volume.

In the brief lull while the pilot manipulated the controls with more force than a lesser console could withstand, Oscar spoke up. “I’d like to come too.”

Both dinosaurian heads turned to stare at him in surprise. “Why?” the captain demanded. “One kick from a bird, and you’re useless to us.”

“Thanks,” Oscar said flatly. “I’ll keep out of the way. I want to take photos of your fighting prowess; I should be able to sell them.”

Both of the Mighty preened at that, as he’d known they would. Ego was big here. The captain agreed, and Oscar didn’t let slip any hints of his secret plan. He just finished working on his tablet, then retreated to his quarters to practice Dagger Bird mating calls.

The air on Argosha was breathable but hot, at least this part of it. Oscar was ready with his Tool in his pocket. (He’d gotten out of the habit of calling it a phone, since the Mighty were right in that it did a near-infinite number of things.) (He still smirked quietly at the potential innuendo, but it was a conversation he didn’t really want to have with giant dinosaur aliens, so he kept that to himself.)

“This way,” announced the captain, pointing in what looked like an arbitrary direction into the wilderness. Whooping with the alien equivalent of testosterone, the crew raised their blasters and tromped off the landing pad with Oscar following close behind.

True to his word, he did take some pictures as he went. But he was waiting for his moment.

It didn’t take long to come. The shouting scared off all the wildlife, then the Mighty found a boulder to crouch behind and wait for the creatures to come back. They played a silent counting game to see who was best at guessing when they’d spot something worth killing.

Distant footsteps on leaves made them smack each other in excitement, but nothing appeared between the trees.

Now or never, Oscar thought. Knowing better than to startled his crewmates, he whispered, “Here, let me.” Then he took a deep breath and let loose with his best imitation of a Dagger Bird seeking a mate. “Woarrrrrrk!”

While the Mighty shushed him and wondered what he was doing and started to figure it out, an answering woarrk sounded from nearby.

Then another, then, three.

Oscar wondered if he’d overplayed his hand.

No less than five large and eager Dagger Birds crashed through the undergrowth at once, croaking and flapping, taking offense at each other’s presence. The Mighty all roared and leapt out, firing in every direction.

Oscar dashed for a tree he’d been eyeing, the one with lots of branches, and didn’t stop climbing until he was out of beak-stabbing range. He held tight to the trunk, catching his breath and watching the chaos. Belatedly, he remembered to take out his Tool and snap some photos.

This was actually a good angle. He got a great shot of the captain aiming down the throat of a wide-open beak, then another a split second later when the beak snapped shut inches from his head. Another of the engineer shooting one from beneath. Two of the pilot tackling the largest bird and sinking teeth into the back of its neck where it couldn’t reach to stab.

Other species did their trophy hunting from a distance. The Mighty liked the fight as much as the kill. Their blasters were set on a deliberately low setting, and their teeth were sharp.

Safe up in his tree, Oscar grimaced at how bloody things were getting down below. He yelled another bird call to distract the one about to spear the crewmate who’d been knocked to the ground, and he got a cheerful “Nice save by the little guy!” which was as close to a thank you as he was going to get. The crewmate scrambled up and bit off a chunk while the bird was distracted. A couple of the crew looked like they were bleeding their own blood, but most of it was coming from the Dagger Birds, which were just as stubborn as the stories had said. Not one of them ran off. The last to die fell on top of somebody, which just added laughter from the rest of the crew to the triumphant cheers.

Oscar took a picture of the bird being dragged off his disgraced crewmate. That photo he wouldn’t sell, but would keep as minor blackmail if he ever needed it. Sticking it up on the wall to remind everyone of this moment could be a valuable strategic move.

“We are the MIGHTY!” bellowed the captain, and the whole crew joined in with a deep-voiced cheer. Oscar climbed down to more approval than he’d gotten in the last month.

“Good work by our human here! Who knew you could do that?”

“That’s sure an efficient way to hunt!”

“We should bring you out every time. That was great.”

Oscar took the praise with pride, not bothering with modesty. That was just another word for weakness as far as these guys were concerned.

He managed to dodge when one of them made to slap him on the back with a large bloodstained hand, which just made them laugh more. Luckily the captain directed everybody to gather their kills for dragging back to the ship, rather than chasing the human and messing up his clothes.

Oscar took a position on the lowest branch of his tree, taking a couple more photos as the victorious hunters figured out how to get it all home. If anyone had asked Oscar, which they never would, he’d have suggested going back for a hovercart, or taking them one at a time. But of course they did neither.

Definitely the type to insist on carrying all the groceries in at once, Oscar thought as his crewmates strained to drag the giant carcasses through the undergrowth. He hopped down and kept pace out to the side where there was no blood on the leaves.

They finally made it back to the ship, doing nothing to clean up the smears of blood they left on the landing pad. Oscar darted off to his quarters as soon as the door opened. The rest of them could handle getting the birds into cryo storage, or chopped up right away, whichever they saw fit to do. The lowest-ranking one without significant injuries would be in charge of clearing the blood from the hallways, but only after they’d all taken a walk through the water-and-air blast chamber that passed for a shower here. It had always reminded Oscar of a car wash.

He kept to himself until dinner, sorting his photos while everyone else dealt with the catch and the mess and the injuries. The mechanical medsystem on this ship was just as efficient as the shower. They’d all be in decent shape by mealtime.

And mealtime after a successful hunt was also drinking time.

Oscar usually ate in his room, wanting nothing to do with the raucous meat-tearing and drunkenness. But today was different, because he’d learned something valuable about the liquid they were getting drunk off.

Oscar considered the cans he’d bought, then decided it would have more of an impact if he just took one of the communal supply. So instead he grabbed his new food cubes and a premade tin of spaghetti from his mini-cryo, and followed the sound of laughter.

They were already a little drunk when he got there. Sprawled across chairs with a table full of meat slabs spilling over the edges of the plates. And as expected, there were tall purple cans everywhere.

“Heyyyy, it’s the little guy! Let’s hear it for the human with the surprise talent! Maybe you’re not useless after all!”

“Thanks,” Oscar said as they pounded fists against anything in reach as a form of applause. He leaned against the open doorway and shuffled his belongings so he could get a fork in a meatball without setting down the food cubes. “That was pretty easy where I’m from. You guys really can’t do that?” He popped the meatball into his mouth, casual as you please.

The Mighty of course, thought this was funny, and took it in stride. More gulps from their drinks, more savage mouthfuls of food, and a few questions about the surely-excellent photos he’d gotten, which would make them all look amazing.

Oscar said he’d share the best ones. These would make fine decorations in their own quarters, and would probably be appreciated by the right paying audience.

Then came the moment he’d been waiting for. The captain raised his drink in another cheer, and somebody noticed that the human was the only one without a can in his hand.

“Get the human a warrior’s drink!”

“Bet you he passes out after one sip.”

“Nah, he can take at least two.”

Oscar smiled quietly. If they’d been paying attention, they might have changed their bets at that smile. He set his food down in the hallway to free his hands. When one muscular, taloned arm offered him a can of their most potent intoxicant, he took it. Oh so casually.

Then he whipped his head back and chugged the whole thing.

“Oh! Human’s gonna die!”

“I’m not cleaning up the puke!”

“What the supernova! There are better ways to go than that!”

“Somebody drag him to medical so we don’t have to find somebody else to do the boring stuff.”

“Yeah, he was just getting interesting.”

Oscar ignored all of them, giving the empty can a thoughtful look. It felt like the same thin aluminum he remembered from Earth. And if there was anything his cousins had taught him, it was the proper way to dispose of a beer can.

He dug his fingertips in and crushed it against his forehead. Then while the room reacted to that, he wiped off the drips and threw the can across the room. When it went into the trash on the first try, he was internally very glad, but he didn’t let it show. Instead he picked up his food and resumed eating. “What’s the big deal?” he said. “Is that what you guys have been getting drunk off? How quaint.”

“How in all the black holes—”

“No, he’s gonna fall over any second; just watch.”

“Quaint, that’s hilarious.”

“He’s totally bluffing. Just wait and see.”

Oscar was enjoying being the center of the crew’s attention today. He made a show of sweeping his eyes across the various cans in the room. “None of you has finished a can yet, I see. Was that supposed to be strong?”

There was widespread laughing and elbowing of each other, most of them still clearly convinced that the silly little human was going to throw up and die any second now.

So Oscar set down his food, walked over to the table, and chugged a second one. It was a bit more liquid than his stomach was really happy with, but that was a small price to pay for the uproar that followed.

They exclaimed; they renewed their bets; they drank from their own cans; they got visibly drunker and abandoned their bets.

Oscar leaned against the doorframe, eating spaghetti and food cubes.

After one particularly unsteady crewmate tripped onto the table full of meat, and someone pointed out that the human wasn’t wobbling at all, Oscar said, “You guys don’t know much about my species, do you? Half of what I eat would liquify your insides.” He held up a food cube, eyeing the different colored specks of all the ingredients that made it balanced for an omnivorous digestive system. He laughed. “You guys just eat meat. How boring!”

They only got drunker after that. Oscar was pretty sure that the nearest two wanted to pat him on the back, but the floor was moving too much for them to make it all the way to the doorway. Somebody offered him a raw slab of Dagger Bird. He turned it down with casual scorn.

“Nah, meat isn’t worth eating unless it’s passed through fire. That’s weakling meat you’ve got there. Get back to me when it’s cooked brown.”

They loved that. The party was an epic one, only winding down when most of the crew was too drunk to reach more drinks. Oscar demonstrated his steadiness by picking through the mess to drop his food containers in the trash, then move back to the door.

“Well, it’s been fun,” he said. “I’ll send in the med-drone to make sure nobody’s going to wake up dead. Let me know if you want to get your tails handed to you by any more Dagger Birds. I’ll call ‘em in close for you again.”

He got groggy approval to that.

Oscar left with a smile on his face, and a mild amount of caffeine in his blood. Maybe after stopping by the medcenter, he’d use that energy on some exercise. Thoughts of the run to the hunting grounds, and the way his crewmates had paced themselves, suggested that it wouldn’t take much practice for him to out-endurance the Mighty on the VR treadmill.

I wonder what else I can do?

~~~~~~~~~

By popular request, this is the sequel to the story I posted last week, which is part of the ongoing series of backstory for the main character in this book. (It started that way, at any rate, and turned into a sprawling series in its own right. Fun stuff.)

Patreon opens the day after tomorrow, on May 1st! There's a free tier and everything if you want to keep up without strings attached! And you can even request more delightful nonsense like this.

Onward!

[ninjagobythenumbers]

Bechdel Testing Ninjago

So, a little while ago I did the Bechdel test on Ninjago because I've always seen the show as sort of an interesting case study in how women are portrayed in cartoons. Of course, I'm aware the Bechdel test originated as a joke and something passing the Bechdel test doesn't make it feminist/not. Rather, or for me at least, it's an indication of how deficient female representation can be at an aggregate scale. As a way to analyze Ninjago, I feel it works as it shows how female representation over the course of the show. If you're interested I'll now discuss my thoughts on how the analysis went season by season. DISCLAIMER: I did this for fun.

The pilot was easy. Nya's the only one, so test failed across the board. The first episode that passed the test was when Jay's parents came to visit. Yay Edna! Mystake does show up in episode 7 but, I don't count it as she has not yet been named. 12&13 had a kid's mom in a bus which I decided was enough cus hey, Mom's a name she uses.

Here's where we really get going. Patty Keys, their real estate agent continues to show up through seabound as a background character, which is pretty cool imo. Episode 5, Mystake finally gets named. Episode 6 was huge for my chart as it's the introduction of Misako. You'd think episode 7 is when her and Nya talked but that's actually when Nya and Gayle had a lil convo. From then on I spent the episodes just staring at the Nya and Misako thinking "talk to her talk to her talk to her." Fortunately, when they did speak, Nya and Misako would be discuss like science, maps, and fate of the world so I never ran into a problem with rule 3. That is, until Rebooted.

The good news is Pixal's here so it'll be years before we fail rule 1 again. The bad news is we've got a love triangle so goodbye rule 3. Nya actually talked to her student, Sally, and Pixal quite often but it was so often about Jay or Cole so I would just be scouring the episode for a single exchange where they talked about anything else. During the Tournament, Nya, Pixal, Skylor, and Misako were all in different groupings and it was rare that Tox or Camille would say something so no rule 2/3 successes until late season.

The good news is, the love triangle is over so we're back to rule 2 usually meaning rule 3. The bad news is, Pixal's in Zane's head so we're back to hoping Misako and Nya say something to eachother. Nya usually shared her scenes with Wu, Ronin, and Jay during these seasons so chances were few and far between. However, unlike the first few seasons where the default was male, we're now getting some female henchmen (Bansha and Dogshank) so that made things easier.

Thank you for being in Day of the Departed Edna Walker. Early Hands of Time was tough because Nya, Misako, and Commander Macchia were rarely in the same scenes. In the latter half of the season though, we thankfully see the return of Pixal. Maya also helped us with some wins.

What a breath of fresh air. Thanks to Harumi & Ultraviolet's introduction, Pixal's return, Mystake's upgrade to a reoccuring character, and Nya & Misako's continued support, failing even rule 3 is pretty rare during the Oni Trilogy. We run into some complications during Hunted because though we have Skylor and the aforementioned characters in Ninjago and Faith & Jet Jack in the First Realm, sometimes people don't talk to eachother. And that's ok. Overall, smooth sailing.

Ah??!? What happened. Worry not. I realized this was, in part, because the Oni Trilogy had 20 minutes worth of chances for women to speak to eachother, these were only 10 minute episodes. So, for the sake of comparable units of analysis, I considered each pair of episodes to be 1 episode. I'll show both charts until DR.

It looks a little better, but it's still not at Oni Trilogy levels. Still, I'd be curious to see what the test would look like if I dissected the earlier episodes into 10 minute chunks because it's probably not a great sign if 10 v 20 minutes makes such a big difference. Ok, proceeding. The Fire Chapter was usually pretty successful because Pixal, Aspheera, or Nya would usually end up talking at one point or another. Gayle even helped at one point. The Ice chapter usually achieved successes through Nya talking to Sorla. In one episode, I counted the Preminent's roars as conversation with Pixal. The Ice Chapter had quite a few failures largely because, as in previous seasons, all the women were split up.

Despite the fact that Nya was one of the longest lived ninja, Prime Empire has total failures at levels not seen since before season 2. This is largely because for the most part, Pixal and Nya are never in the same episode. Racer 7 helps but she was only there for a bit. I should point out that I feel like the 10 minute era is really when Pixal starts feeling like part of the team to me. She's always part of homebase meetings and always plays a key part in missions. Alas, if she's not in episodes with Nya, that's not going to show up on my chart. It's a reminder of the fact this test doesn't show substance.

Master of the Mountain is similar to the other seasons of its era. The fact the 10 minute era tended to show its plots episode by episode (ex: Ep 3 = Plot A, Ep 4 = Plot B, Ep 5 = Plot C) rather than all in one really takes a toll on the test. For the most part, Nya and Vania were our only chances for success and it was rare they'd share an episode. We also had the rare rule 3 failure with the Queen of the Munce episode. Thanks Jay. The Island only had Nya until they found Misako, so it was struggling even more.

It feels right to see all green when it's a Nya season. In the beginning of Seabound, they put Nya, Pixal, and Maya on a boat together and by jove it made things easy. Late season was a bit trickier because Nya was on her own journey. Crystalized had Skylor, Pixal and some ressurected villains saving the day. Late Crystalized is the way it is because it had so, so many different groupings. I have a chart based on groupings and this season was such a challenge.

I really felt the difference with Dragons Rising. I mean, you can see the difference, but it was even more clear when doing my data collection because it was just so easy. Rather than grabbing at scraps of dialogue like I had to do in early seasons, there was often a wealth of more meaningful conversation between female characters to choose from. As with the Oni Trilogy, a female villain with a female henchman makes things easy because they scheme together. We also had Nya and Sora on a joint quest. Funnily enough, there is a rare rule 3 failure because Sora and Kreel only talked about Kreel's friend in one episode. Episode 17 had the classic split up issue and actually would've failed entirely if not for Agent Underwood, which is actually a great example of my next point. You can really tell how male is no longer the default because not only is there the introduction of all the fantastic new female main characters, but also there's plenty of random female characters scattered throughout. I haven't seen DRS2P2 yet but I expect it'll be more of the same. I should mention I also made a chart with the reverse (two named men in an episode who talk about eachother about something besides a woman). Only three episodes fail in any capacity. (Say thank you to the Akita, Pixal, and Harumi solo episodes). If you read this whole thing, thank you. I had a lot of fun doing it. Let me know if there's any other charts I can do!

[discordiansamba]

thinking about how they have small scale mechs in korra. hey would it be fucked up or what if the fire nation was secretly producing its own mechs in the jazz era atla au, but like. infinitely more fucked up. they're powered by a firebender's inner flame. the pilot is the battery. especially since ozai would be working together with long feng he would have access to the dai li's brainwashing techniques.

time to bring 'die for your country' to a whole new level.

(or, ozai runs a test by sending one to republic city. what a hell of a way for team avatar to learn that lee from the tea shop is actually part of the blue spirit.)