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blueasallheck · 8 hours ago

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Dexterous mechanical fingers flicked through archaic printed after-action reports. Lifeless eyes took in their whole contents at once; the pictures Sone took could be easily parsed later in her "mind's eye," stored now as data and filed away for easy locating. One after another. Flick. Snap. Save. Flick. Snap. Save.

Her consciousness drifted over her storage architecture. There was little room given over to business not of UGN's interest. A few songs, although she preferred to listen to them externally. Some books as well, for the same reason as the songs: sometimes Sone's robotic nature lent her well to long stake-outs or sentry duty, and it helped to have something around for passing the time. A few pictures of places and things she found interesting. A few of her current friend, safe until she drives them away and purges the evidence just like always. One of her twin.

She lurched. Her brain tingled in its casing. Readings spiked for a moment. Electricity surged down her cerebellum and into her nerve column. The resistors kicked on in an instant. Heat began to build, then vent from her arms automatically. Her twin.

She set the papers down, standing quickly. With heavy footsteps she retreated, back into her bath. It was ironic, she had remarked, that she was given a facility that she couldn't use, but it was intended to make her feel more "human" again. Or too difficult to retrofit a standard-issue room, even for an accomplished agent. But it was discrete. Click. The door closed behind her.

She briefly considered deleting the photo again. Every time she did, it was never more than a few weeks before she scanned in the original again. It wasn't worth the risk. Not with her family gone. The image of her twin sister was irreplaceable. The last reminder of what she looked like before the accident. Before she became Flatline. Before she stopped being human. Stopped being human. Stopped being human.

She fell, crouched down on her knees, hands on her head. She always wandered, as her analytical mind desperately looked for an escape, if this was a normal attack or the work of the virus. Either way, she was woefully underequipped to process the welling panic. Because she wasn't human. She died. Maybe she's still dead. Maybe she's just a ghost. Maybe she's a program made by Dr. Ban to fill a suit. Maybe the real Sone is inside of her, and until Flatline dies the little girl will be trapped forever. Maybe she was in hell.

She wished she could cry, but her body was a rushed affair, incapable of showing any emotions. She couldn't even scream without great effort and consent. Terror and sorrow for her took a very strange look. She would lock up, unmoving, and begin to overheat. Steam filled the bathroom, pouring out from her auxiliary hent vents now. Her resistors would need replacing again. Because of how weak she was being.

She looked at the photo again. Black hair. Tanned skin. Smiling. God, smiling. Was she ever happy? What was she even like back then? Did she have *any* interests? Why does she forget her sister's face every time until she stumbles upon the photo again? Her parents were already gone, appearances lost to time. Why did those four people, that loving family, have to die just for this zombie to walk away from it all?

She stood carefully, the air thick and murky with vapors. She stepped towards the mirror. A hand reached up. Wipe.

The face revealed was white, nearly porcelain. Intense eyes with pale iris's darted back and forth. An unmoving mold of a subtle pair of lips sat under a near-featureless impression of a nose. Messy straight white hair dangled down. She had looked like this for 6 years. She didn't recognize the machine in the mirror for the entire time. She was in a nightmare. What had she been doing all this time? Working as a killing machine, feeling her brain wither away as it was denied the normal functions of a human for so long. It was unfair to real humans to assume their identity. It was an insult to them.

Servos whirred with unimpeded movement, electricity arcing across her frame. Her resistors were failing, one by one. Circuits frying, unnatural lightning coursing through phantom wires, guided by habit. Her hand drove through the mirror, into the wall. This was all a ruse, a lie she could tell herself. The truth was much darker. She could feel the human within her, pounding against its metallic cage, begging to get out or die. But there was no way out, and she could not die. She was stuck in her frame, stunted and built for war. She wanted to be pretty again.

Combat and self-preservation subroutines competed for control. The robot in the shattered mirror was an enemy that she could not bring herself to destroy. Even then, the virus would not let her die.

The door opened. Steam poured out into the room. A darkened figure stood beyond. Her fear and lethal instincts turned to the shape. A raised arm split to reveal a long barrel. Sparks built bridges between the polished metal and surrounded walls, kept from burning only by the grace of their ceramic construction. She fired. But the form was too quick.

Arms around her. What tactile sensors still worked detected fur. Well cared for, unlike when her and Sone first met. The arms gripped, hard. A reliable strength. Stubborn claws dug in. Her lightning pored into the figure, along with her residual heat. Smoke from burning hair. A voice.

"I'm here, Sone."

Flatline's arm folded in. The gun disappeared.

"You're okay."

Her vents began to close. The killer programming settled down.

"You haven't hurt me."

Sone's arms and legs went limp. The wolf girl followed her down.

"I'm here."

The machine powered down. Her brain slowly cooled off. The human stuck in the cage steadied its breathing and wiped away its tears. It reached a hand out of its cage, making the mistake of reaching for comfort once again.

Sone wrapped her arms around Alina. Mechanical fingers buried themselves into the wolf's coat. What energy she had left was spent crushing Striga with all her might, holding for dear life. Striga was strong enough to manage, squeezing Sone back just as tight.

#vent writing #my ttrpg comfort otp #i wanna write more with them later #striga #flatline #double cross #stories from the witch #dx3rd

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arwenlalaith · 10 months ago

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Dear and Defenseless

Ship: Jennifer Jareau/Alex Blake

Summary: JJ and Alex find themselves in a very compromising position at the hands of an UNSUB who wants to see them at their most vulnerable.

Word Count: 773

Author's Note: This fills the Fuck or Die square on my @cmkinkbingo2024 card.

“Will would understand,” JJ said quietly. She was perched on the edge of the dingy mattress where it lay in the centre of the spare little room. As best she could tell, it was some kind of abandoned warehouse retrofitted to suit the UNSUB’s needs. (Hardly the most pressing of matters, but it was the one she couldn’t help but focus on, if only so she wouldn’t have to look at Alex, given that they were both naked and vulnerable...)

The last thing she properly remembered was girls’ night; she, Emily, Garcia, and Alex had all gone out for drinks together. She and Alex were trying to be subtle, to avoid the temptation, but JJ always got affectionate and reckless when she drank...

(They’d been having an affair for six months at that point. Each time they said it would be the last. It never was, though.)

The last thing Alex remembered properly was JJ seeming just a little too tipsy. She remembered offering to drive her home, helping her out to her car, and then nothing. Obviously, they’d been blitzed by the UNSUB.

Alex gave a small humourless laugh, seeing as that wasn’t really her primary concern...especially considering how blurred the boundaries had become between their relationship and JJ’s marriage. She was more concerned with getting out of the situation alive and (relatively) unscathed.

“Say something!” JJ urged, “Please...”

Alex sighed, turned from where she was staring intently at the two-way glass taking up a large portion of one of the walls to fix JJ with a stare. “What do you want from me, Jen?” she asked desperately, tossing her hands up in a gesture of helpless surrender.

JJ flinched involuntarily at the affectionate nickname falling so easily from Alex’s lips even now. “I’m scared,” she admitted in a voice that was barely there at all.

Immediately, Alex felt the ball of nerves in the pit of her stomach writhe with guilt. She crossed the room to settle on the bed next to her, finding her hand and squeezing it gently. Leaning in so that their foreheads were touching, she whispered, “It’s just us, okay? Just you and me. Remember when we had that case in Vermont during Valentine’s? And we stayed in that little B and B because all the hotels were fully booked?”

She hummed a note that Alex took to mean she was getting lost in the memory.

“Remember the fireplace? And the Jacuzzi tub?” She watched as a small smile floated across her lips. “We’re there, okay?” Then, she leaned in so she could capture JJ’s lips in a soft kiss.

Once some of the tension in her posture melted away, Alex trailed kisses up her jaw. “Just focus on me, okay?” she whispered beside her ear. Then, her lips were travelling down the column of her throat, down the valley between her breasts.

She moved onto her knees before JJ, staring up at her with a soft affectionate smile. She didn’t say I love you – they never had, it was one of their ‘rules’ – but she had a feeling JJ knew it anyway. They both did. Instead, she turned her head, pressed a tender kiss to the inside of her knee, lingering far longer than entirely necessary.

“Alex...” JJ said breathlessly, her fingers winding in Alex’s hair. For the lack of words, Alex understood her perfectly. She focused her attention at the apex of JJ’s thighs, dragging her tongue through her folds, coaxing a little whine past her lips.

Her fingers tightened in Alex’s locks, nails scraping along her scalp, making Alex sigh softly. She should never have let herself get so entangled, she knew that...but the damage had already been done, so she gave in to the (perhaps unwise) impulse. She dropped a tender kiss to JJ’s inner thigh and she sighed softly in response. It was as close as they would come to any sort of confession of feelings.

Having spent literal hours between JJ’s legs, Alex knew exactly how to elicit every whimper and moan and curse and cry from her and she proceeded to play her like a symphony until she was a trembling breathless mess above her.

When she could finally take no more, JJ choked out, “It’s too much... Lex, please...”

With one last kiss to her clit, Alex found her way back to JJ’s lips. In that moment, she could almost – almost – forget about the UNSUB watching them and the dire situation they were in. She could almost – almost – forget that they weren’t supposed to love each other. She could almost – almost – pretend that any of this was okay.

Almost.

#criminal minds #alex blake #fanfiction #mine #jennifer jareau #alex blake/jennifer jareau #jalex

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civilguidelines · 3 months ago

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When you begin the planning of a construction project, you are faced with the inevitable question: how much will it cost? The answer to that can be found in a Bill of Quantities, or BoQ in short. Today, we will talk about how to prepare a bill of quantities, in 6 easy steps.

A Bill of Quantities (BoQ) lists the total materials required to complete the architect's design for a construction project, such as a house or other structure. BoQs are typically prepared by a quantity surveyor or civil engineer who has expertise at estimating the materials required for a project.

The bill of quantity enables you to get quotes for the project that are as accurate as possible. Even if you don't prepare the BoQ yourself, it's still worth knowing how a bill of quantity should be prepared, so you can evaluate the quality of the finished product.

The following are the steps you can follow to properly set up a bill of quantity.

Set up the spreadsheet

Open a new file in your favourite spreadsheet program, online or offline. (We recommend using LibreOffice, one of the best free office software ever.) Now set up the column as follows:

Item numbers

Description

Unit of measurement

Quantity

Rate for the item

Labor cost

Total cost

As expected, your item numbers should start from 1, and reiterate as you change through the categories or sections of the build. The data for the rates and labor costs should be filled in by respective contractors, or, as per the quotes you got from them.

#building #construction #concrete #civil engineering #youtube

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sqlinjection · 6 months ago

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Remediation of SQLi

Defense Option 1: Prepared Statements (with Parameterized Queries)

Prepared statements ensure that an attacker is not able to change the intent of a query, even if SQL commands are inserted by an attacker. In the safe example below, if an attacker were to enter the userID of tom' or '1'='1, the parameterized query would not be vulnerable and would instead look for a username which literally matched the entire string tom' or '1'='1.

Defense Option 2: Stored Procedures

The difference between prepared statements and stored procedures is that the SQL code for a stored procedure is defined and stored in the database itself, and then called from the application.

Both of these techniques have the same effectiveness in preventing SQL injection so it is reasonable to choose which approach makes the most sense for you. Stored procedures are not always safe from SQL injection. However, certain standard stored procedure programming constructs have the same effect as the use of parameterized queries when implemented safely (the stored procedure does not include any unsafe dynamic SQL generation) which is the norm for most stored procedure languages.

Defense Option 3: Allow-List Input Validation

Various parts of SQL queries aren't legal locations for the use of bind variables, such as the names of tables or columns, and the sort order indicator (ASC or DESC). In such situations, input validation or query redesign is the most appropriate defense. For the names of tables or columns, ideally those values come from the code, and not from user parameters.

But if user parameter values are used to make different for table names and column names, then the parameter values should be mapped to the legal/expected table or column names to make sure unvalidated user input doesn't end up in the query. Please note, this is a symptom of poor design and a full rewrite should be considered if time allows.

Defense Option 4: Escaping All User-Supplied Input

This technique should only be used as a last resort, when none of the above are feasible. Input validation is probably a better choice as this methodology is frail compared to other defenses and we cannot guarantee it will prevent all SQL Injection in all situations.

This technique is to escape user input before putting it in a query and usually only recommended to retrofit legacy code when implementing input validation isn't cost effective.

#sql #sqlinjection #prevention #defense

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firespirited · 1 year ago

Note

I think it's a slightly amusing coincidence that the guy with a Nazi fetish was collaborating with a man named Herr Gott.

At this point I'm not ruling out Herrgott being a pseudonym or him writing all the 'vibes-based' junk since James was the one doing 'research' (to his credit he was somewhat good at collecting smart people's work).

But I'm hijacking your ask to clear up two misconceptions that have been bothering me:

(big mess of sources and further reading under the readmore)

1- The nazis and fitness essay (one I actually watched and disagreed with) cites multiple sources and is an attempt to retrofit current "masc for masc" grindr culture onto AIDS era fitness "healthy" gay culture (see Gaston as a stereotype) onto multiple a-historical "gay nazis" revisionisms including The Pink Swastika book and a columnist

I think they got the nazi and fitness nonsense from a scholarly sounding source who's just an oxbridge columnist who's into reclaiming nazis. They're famously good at making nonsense sound like a thesis - see Boris Johnson's upcoming book about Shakespeare and his time as a columnist, see the entire Telegraph and various Terf Observer columns: fully trash but written in academic lingo, even queer academic lingo!

and... here's the source: https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20150324-hitlers-idea-of-the-perfect-body it's the BBC oh look, what's this "Alastair Sooke is art critic of The Daily Telegraph". 🤔🤔🤔

There's a case that the "no fat no fems no chocolate no rice" gay dating culture could possibly be tied to the healthy vs unhealthy infighting during the beginning of the AIDS era but that's a nuanced take that gets smashed to smithereens by lumping it in with gay nazi myths. It also needs to be examined with the attitude to dating apps in general and dating by physical preferences instead of letting chemistry happen by finding people whose goals and outlook match your own.

Terrible essay, terrible premise, some pull quotes from interesting places. Here's an essay about desirability in men, googling "masc 4 masc culture" will get you plenty of articles, you definitely want to look for asian and black writers here because woof they face a lot of racist nastiness under the guise of 'just preferences'.

youtube

and here's

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_of_Finland (he's a very important gay artist, he also did some gay erotica with nazi uniforms whether you think that's an act of defiance, reclamation, tasteless or evil is up to you. art is not always as straightforward as it might look, we'd have to ask him what his intent was.)

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

2- The second is "the exciting gays died of aids" concept, good vs naughty gays concept. Again, we're dealing with a mishmash of both modern rewritings, quotes by survivors taken out of context, and gay infighting at the time, which included some spicy takes about dangerous sex by gay men fighting to save gay men.

The lack of research and public education led to chaos, the grief led to anger. Beautiful people said some vicious things. There are several older gay men alive right now who don't have sex not because they're asexual but because there's trauma. It's worth unpacking quote by quote because expanding on it without original context was terrible reading comprehension and reckless rewriting of history, and to be honest, a little defamatory. I can't find a bibliography of the video(s) yet so not sure what to debunk).

There are plenty of tumblr posts railing against out of context quotes which is taking James + Nick's bad reading at face value instead of seeking out the source. Outrage at a thing James and Nick made up which was never a real take.

to paraphrase "My well-known exciting boundary-breaking gay friends are dead and the art world hasn't bothered to seek out more undiscovered talent to replace them, choosing the safe classic establishment folks who may also be gay given the field. I'm pissed you didn't care about saving them, I'm pissed you didn't care about finding a new crop of people who push the envelope." that was the sentiment behind this sort of quote even if folks became more conservative (or got into legal messes later)

I'm going to track down the various quotes and give you the full context because this matters. Again: beautiful minds saying horrible things, fighting between gay activists on how to survive or how to live under the gun. This is something that cannot be flattened to "boring gays survived" and it's an insult to the people who said things in grief and fear. I have not watched this essay (or maybe it's two that use this boring vs danger gays concept) but I have a good idea of what out of context quotes might have led to it, this is my wheelhouse. but TL;DR would be my faves are problematic because activists are passionate messy people. They outed people, they said outrageous things for the press, they screamed murderer and got restraining orders against them, they made taboo art, they mingled with nasty people.

OKAY, incoming link dump:

here's a 6 minute short on act up

youtube

here's a full doc: United in Anger:

youtube

Larry Kramer, Shulman, Fran Leibowitz and many others deserve to have their views examined with full context, not turned into crappy tweet sized quotes.

basic sources from wikipedia:

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/19/nyregion/larry-kramer-and-the-birth-of-aids-activism.html

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2002/05/13/public-nuisance

https://www.interviewmagazine.com/culture/fran-lebowitz

https://www.nytimes.com/1987/09/13/arts/the-impact-of-aids-on-the-artistic-community.html

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Wojnarowicz?useskin=vector

youtube

https://archive.org/details/losswithinlossar0000unse

https://archive.org/details/isbn_9781849352857

http://didierlestrade.blogspot.com/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Tatchell

https://archive.org/details/womenaidsactivis00banz

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

Thankyou to

DHLawrence_sGhost's thread https://www.reddit.com/r/hbomberguy/comments/18biiof/comment/kc9qa6p/

and TerraJRiley's transcript archive https://github.com/TerraJRiley/James_Somerton_Transcripts

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

I'm going to allow reblogs on this again with the disclaimer that I don't have the full works stolen for these particular essays but the perfect body in gay culture and the good vs bad gays concepts have precedent that got flattened in those video essays and deserve quite a bit more exploration and that includes controversial sources. You will have to do some dialectical reading (agreeing and disagreeing with an author and figuring out how to weigh up the pros and cons of their individual arguments even though they get some things horribly wrong, deciding what was 'of a time' or reading the work of people who became reactionaries later in life).

#james somerton #Nt herrgott #Exciting gays vs boring gays #Saf

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rabbitcruiser · 1 year ago

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Bixby Bridge, CA (No. 1)

Bixby Bridge, also known as Bixby Creek Bridge, on the Big Sur coast of California, is one of the most photographed bridges in California due to its aesthetic design, "graceful architecture and magnificent setting". It is a reinforced concrete open-spandrel arch bridge. The bridge is 120 miles (190 km) south of San Francisco and 13 miles (21 km) south of Carmel in Monterey County on State Route 1.

Before the opening of the bridge in 1932, residents of the Big Sur area were virtually cut off during winter due to blockages on the often impassable Old Coast Road, which led 11 miles (18 km) inland. The bridge was built under budget for $199,861 (equivalent to $3.64 million in 2023 dollars) and, at 360 feet (110 m), was the longest concrete arch span in the California State Highway System. When it was completed, it was the highest single-span arch bridge in the world, and it remains one of the tallest.

The land north and south of the bridge was privately owned until 1988 and 2001. A logging company obtained approval to harvest redwood on the former Bixby Ranch to the north in 1986, and in 2000 a developer obtained approval to subdivide the former Brazil Ranch to the south. Local residents and conservationists fought their plans, and both pieces of land were eventually acquired by local and federal government agencies. A $20 million seismic retrofit was completed in 1996, although its 24-foot (7.3 m) width does not meet modern standards requiring bridges to be 32 feet (9.8 m) wide.

The bridge is "one of the most photographed features on the West Coast" and in the world. It has been featured on "postcards, TV ads, everywhere," according to Debra Geiler, project manager for the Trust for Public Land. The bridge's location on the scenic Central Coast of California, the parabolic shape of the arch, the tall spandrel columns, and the architectural piers contribute to an "intense aesthetic experience." "It's the gateway to Big Sur and the interior has never been logged. The land is pristine." Zad Leavy, former executive director of the Big Sur Land Trust, described the land as "...the most spectacular meeting of ocean and land in the entire United States."

Source: Wikipedia

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beardedmrbean · 1 year ago

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The massive fire that has shut down a crucial section of the 10 Freeway in downtown Los Angeles was caused by arson, officials said Monday as they raced to assess the extent of the damage and determine how long it would take to reopen.

More than 100 columns along the swath of the freeway were damaged — nine or 10 of them severely — Gov. Gavin Newsom said.

It's still unclear, pending the results of official tests at the site, if the entire overpass will be torn down or retrofitted.

The situation poses a commuting challenge that L.A. has not seen in years, with hundreds of thousands of commuters facing detours and heavier-than-normal traffic. Starting Monday, some worked from home and others took mass transit, but many simply endured the delays.

The closure caused gridlock in some areas, but there was general sentiment that L.A. survived the first morning and evening commute without too much chaos thanks in part to warnings sent to residents' cellphones.

The fire began under the overpass at Alameda Street early Saturday morning, fueled by wood pallets stored there.

Although the exact cause of the fire has not been revealed, "there was [malicious] intent," Newsom said at a news conference Monday afternoon.

In addition to pallets, sanitizer accumulated during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic was stored under the overpass and helped fuel the flames, according to sources familiar with the probe who were not authorized to discuss details of the investigation.

Read more: 10 Freeway closed: How to deal with the traffic nightmare in downtown L.A.

State Fire Marshal Daniel Berlant appealed for witnesses to call a tip line with information and noted those tips could be given anonymously.

"We have identified the point of origin of the fire," Berlant said. He would not provide further detail, saying the investigation was ongoing. Berlant said investigators had dug through the rubble for evidence and canvassed the neighborhood for witnesses.

Officials said the property where the fire broke out was being leased by Calabasas-based Apex Development Inc., which was subleasing the storage site under the overpass without permission from state and federal agencies. The company stopped paying rent, according to Newsom, and had been out of compliance with its lease agreement.

Federal, state and local agencies are scrambling to determine what happens next after the sudden closure of the mile-long section of the heavily trafficked freeway between Alameda Street and the East L.A interchange, a key east-west route through downtown. Mayor Karen Bass said that U.S. Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg called and reassured her that federal officials were aware of the impact from closing one of the busiest freeway corridors in the country.

"Losing the stretch of the 10 Freeway will take time and money from people's lives and businesses," Bass said. "It's disrupting in every way. Whether you were talking about traveling to and from work, or your child care plans, and the flow of goods and commerce, this will disrupt the lives of Angelenos."

Mitigation of hazardous materials at the site is ongoing, but most of the site has been cleared for structural engineers and maintenance crews to start their work, California Transportation Secretary Toks Omishakin said. They have taken samples of the freeway columns and bridge deck.

An initial influx of federal emergency funds has been secured, said Tony Tavares, director of the California Department of Transportation. Contractors have installed shoring underneath the overpass and in the most heavily damaged areas. Video footage from the scene shows the charred underbelly of the overpass and what appear to be sections of columns chipped away.

The fire was reported early Saturday, shortly after midnight, in the 1700 block of East 14th Street after a pallet yard under the freeway caught fire and spread to a second pallet yard, damaging the freeway overpass and destroying several vehicles, including a firetruck, authorities said.

Timothy Garrison, 55, was sleeping behind a nearby Shell gas station near the overpass when he heard explosions, he said Monday morning as he sat against a wall near 14th and Elwood streets, around the corner from the site of the fire.

When he peeked out of his makeshift tent made of plastic trash bags, he saw giant flames flickering out of the overpass.

“The heat was so intense,” he said. “I thought the overpass was going to crumble.”

Garrison heard about 10 to 15 pops and explosions as the fire continued to rage, and he moved to escape the heat, he said.

He knew of some people who lived underneath the freeway but said he had not seen them.

Bass said 16 people were living in the encampment, and all had been moved into hotels and motels.

A row of blue tarps, trailers and wooden shacks sat along 14th Street on Monday among piles of wood from pallets and metal debris. Wooden pallet yards are common along the 10 Freeway in the industrial center near downtown.

Not far from Santa Clara Street, a group of men had set cardboard and wood on fire to cook several feet from a pallet yard.

CalFire officials said they were taking all elements into consideration in their investigation, including the presence of homeless people in the area. But on Monday afternoon, Bass said there was "no reason to assume the reason this fire happened was because there were unhoused individuals nearby."

Read more: Rain is coming to Southern California: How much and when?

Workers in the area said firefighters frequently come to put out fires caused by people living on the streets.

It's why Antolín Padilla, 34, installed fire extinguishers at the entrances of his business Jaz Pallets, which sits along the railroad tracks near Santa Clara Street. He and another pallet yard owner on 14th Street agreed to enforce a "no camping zone" around their businesses, often telling people to camp elsewhere, after a fire spread to the wall of Padilla’s pallet yard a few months ago.

“The workers grabbed the extinguishers in time and were able to put it out,” he said, pointing to a charred corner of the wall. “The city needs to move people from this area.”

Nearby, David Cortez, 34, owner of D&G Pallets, said the fire shows why he’s often on edge.

Standing outside his business, he pointed to a pole where a thin green wire dangled from the power line above, saying he worried about homeless people tampering with lines to tap into the electricity.

“I’m not even sure if that wire is energized or not, but it’s dangerous,” he said. “And the fire hydrants have been damaged from people attempting to use pliers to get water.”

Derrick Smith, 39, walked nearby pushing a cart filled with metal debris. He had been staying near the overpass when the fire broke out. At least five or six people were living around him, he said.

Smith said he was in a deep sleep when he started to hear people banging on his trailer to warn him of the fire.

“They kept saying there’s a fire and get out,” he said. He ran away, leaving all his belongs behind.

“The heat was intense as hell,” he said.

Wearing a blue hoodie, black shorts and dirty Crocs, he said he had no change of clothes and is not sure whether he lost his trailer.

“I probably did,” he said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his sweater.

Monday's commute was the first weekday for Angelenos encountering the disruption. The mayor's office sent an emergency advisory Sunday evening alerting residents about the detour, and officials encouraged employers to let their employees work remotely if possible. Nearby L.A. Unified schools remained open, though traffic was expected to be worse, especially in Boyle Heights and south of downtown.

At Grand Central Market, Maria Behringer scrambled Monday to set up the pastries for Bastion Bakery after she left her apartment near USC around 6:40 a.m. and arrived around 7:15 a.m. Though the market opens at 8 a.m., she needed time to set up her station before customers started trickling in.

“I was definitely rushing more than I usually do, so it was little a bit of a stressor,” said Behringer, 30. “I didn’t realize how close the fire was to downtown and I didn’t realize it would affect my commute.”

Her partner, Brandon Walsh, who rode in with her, said their usual commute takes them east on the 10 and then onto the 110 Freeway. But this time, the GPS rerouted them to side streets.

“I think so much was diverted to 110 [because of the fire] so the GPS just told us to get off at Grand and go into the city,” said Walsh, 32.

Officials encouraged car commuters to try alternatives, such as Metrolink, rail lines and local bus services, which are all expecting an increase in daily riders.

Metro Chief Executive Stephanie Wiggins told Angelenos to "plan ahead, share the ride, and keep up to date" on the disruption. She said there was a noticeable increase in cars parked at Union Station on Sunday, indicating people are taking advantage of public transportation. Officials directed drivers to check the detour status online at emergency.lacity.gov, and commuters can call 511 or check Metro.net for alternative routes.

Read more: Fire under 10 Freeway in downtown L.A. upends traffic with no reopening in sight

"This is our litmus test," Omishakin said Monday. "Did we reach everyone and convince them that they need to plan ahead and plan alternate routes?"

At Union Station, Metro ambassadors said foot traffic was lighter than usual.

Brian Lin, 45, of Anaheim was sitting in heavy traffic on the 5 Freeway when he decided to park his car at Atlantic station in East Los Angeles and take the train into Union Station.

He admitted he doesn’t typically take the train to work, but Monday’s congestion called for a change — at least for one day.

“Luckily, it was just a quick meeting that I had to do in the office,” Lin said before an incoming Metro train chimed in the distance. “I think my ride is here.”

Claire Stolwyk, 27, waited for the J line bus at the Civic Center/Grand Park station while reading a book when she realized she had forgotten to check whether her commute to Cal State L.A. would be affected.

She pulled out her phone and saw a notice from Metro on Google Maps, but it looked like her route was in the clear. The bus pulled up to the stop on time.

#nunyas news #this is gonna kill people #stress and road rage and all

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blahrikeau · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter One: Age of Queens

Age of Queens: Chapter 1

4906 words

Science Fiction/Romance

Subgenres: Fantasy/Adventure/Political Drama

Original Characters

_______________________________________________________

The pirates congregate on Hergarde.

That’s where she waits for her captain. Eyeing the wharf, she’s an eagle angling at a fish. Folk are dissuaded from settling on fully aquatic or oceanic planets. Seasickness fades, they say, within a week, but seafever—an agitated state of ecstasy from impermanence, and the body’s loss of memory of solid ground, and skin in dirt—never goes away.

The pier city ritches on steel columns ripe with algae and flaking rust. The nearest land is more than 600 graves below sea level so she bobs in her meager boat over the lipping waves, a wooden spoon in a boiling pot. Her dark cowl flips in the wind. She taps her sweat-beaded lip through the weave.

Later, she intersects the captain and a young crewhand at the armpit of the pier absorbed in conversation. Dusk purples the horizon behind them. The young hand glances at her and his lips flap shut.

“I don’t run a passenger ferry,” says the captain, at her approach. His tweedy beard is rumpled with snot and crumbs. He whistles to a group of his non-busied crew hands, jerks them over with his chin.

She fishes in a snug pocket near her elbow for a little round cylinder. Its smooth neck is warm in her fist, and she sets on a crate between them.

The young hand’s eyes lurch out of their sockets. “Captain,” he blurts.

The captain notices the vial. He waves his men away, including the young hand, who furrows his brows at her before slouching off.

The captain eyes her, then suspends his hand over the vial, clear-through, as though expecting a mirage. She doesn’t stop him, so he uncorks the vial and touches the pad of his finger to the glass lip. Now he’s tasting his finger on his tongue.

“Now git on,” he breathes.

His eyes narrow at her. “This is what I think it is.” He corks the bottle.

She nods. “Water.”

He lifts his shrewd jeweler’s eyes. “What kind?”

“From a spring atop the Mountain Gelion.”

He’s waffling now. The muscles in his leathered jaw ripple, like a vulture’s twitching eye as it circles over its fragrant spoils. He reverently rubs the vial, estimating its total worth, what kings he could sell it to. Perhaps he’s imagining the sweet, clean chalice that will bear it once it has been sold, will be the last to pool such clean water. Just a sip, guaranteeing substantial health and, of course, nutrition. What fine life-bearing minerals are just past his fingertips, he thinks he knows.

“It ain’t a pedestrian trip,” he says, perhaps mostly to himself.

She sets a second vial between them.

The lights go out in his eyes. He stuffs both bottles inside his coat next to his breast and flicks a hand to the end of the pier, lined with vessels like goats bobbing and tugging at a fenceline.

“The big one,” he says.

So big it has to be moored magnetically off the pier. The young hand shuttles her over to the blotch of patchwork metals—an ugly beast, but for the hum of fresh, young engines—where she climbs the ladder lowered to the dinghy. Cargo is being jigsawed into the hold, the gaps pressed to creases, hurriedly but with strategy, like athletes would do before a tournament.

She secludes herself to a shadow behind the cockpit, but not before peeking inside. It’s an antique operating system—Vyztix 720, dated by five decades—but it’s retrofitted with new instruments, whose screens blaze in alarming columns of white against the blue night falling outside.

The young hand is waiting in her shadow when she returns. She’d like to call him sad-eyes, for his dark lashes and brown cow-sweet eyes. He lacks, however, the terra firma and stripped candor of cattle.

“The captain would like you to know that we don’t take directions from passengers,” he says. “You’ll go where we’re heading and make your own way if it doesn’t suit you.”

She knows where she is going but not how to get there. Any heading will do. She nods humbly at him.

He stares, blank with uncertainty.

“You overpaid,” he says suddenly.

“I know.”

Sad-eyes regards her, and leaves. The hull echoes with the dull thuds of his footsteps.

After the ship is secured, and the crew stowed away, the ship blazes with life as the engines kick like a wild boar released. Its age becomes apparent, as the walls vibrate noisily against her back and loose bolts rattle. She rubs her fingertips warm. They’re grainy with red dust that came like powder off of the bench on which she sits. A nice ship would be kind and gentle, quiet and humming like a warm womb rather than a trash compactor.

Her stomach flutters as the great undersea magnets are switched off and they rise into the air. Not long later she feels the ship break through the atmosphere like a dull needle through canvas.

She’d prefer windows, but it’s a windowless ship, of course. Almost a full day of traveling, she suspects there is, between them and the border.

Avoiding the crew’s quarters, she stashes herself between the tallest tower of contraband and the ceiling (rightly so, she thinks to herself with some amusement) and allows the dark of her closed eyelids to pull a curtain over the dark of the cargo hold.

Trying to get her bearings, she tries to suss out their path, as her hips tilt this way or that with each shallow turn. She’d been told once that when people close their eyes and attempt to walk in a straight line, most instead go in circles. She tested out of that, years ago. She tries not to think of circles as the darkness becomes too deep, and it swallows her.

______________

Her eyes snap open just before the ship jostles and a blast sounds somewhere close to her head. Gray gas spurts over her and an alarm shrieks: mother screaming to get out of bed.

“Man your stations!” says a voice over the PA. “Get those cannons hot! They’re on us!”

She’s already crouched behind the cockpit. Another low boom see-saws the ship. She presses a steady red button on the threshold and the door between her and the pilots slides open. The stars tilt as the pilot behind the yoke grunts and teases into a bank.

The whole ship gives a cold shudder and coughs like it has swallowed a throatful of water.

“Damn it. They have an electric muter,” says the co-pilot. He turns around and sees her braced there. “Aya! Get out of here!”

The operating system is frozen—the navigational screens and radar are unblinking and unmoving.

The pilot flaps a lever, up and down, up and down, upanddown upanddown. “Now git on!” he cries.

She steps inside the cockpit and grips the doorway just as another blast hits the side of the ship. Another alarm squeaks, faster this time.

“The fuel tank,” she announces coolly.

The pilot, beet-faced and burning as though he’s ready to blow himself, manages another unsuccessful evasion and hollers,

“Where are my canons!”

Cued by his desperation, a cronk clatters deeply through the fuselage and there’s a flash in the corner of the windshield, the source of it just out of sight.

A beat of silence hangs over them. Then the radar starts spinning, and this time the screen is clear but for their single pimple in the middle. The first alarm stops abruptly, and only the cockpit rings with the second alarm, indicating the swiftly emptying fuel tank.

“Starboard, starboard!” says the co-pilot.

They maneuver around, yawing, until bright speckles of debris drift past their window, benign, like forgotten thoughts. They admire the view.

“One-hit wonder,” says the co-pilot, giving a gross chuckle, a laugh at a funeral.

She turns around and the captain is stamping like a bouncing boulder towards the cockpit. Sad-eyes follows closely. He regards her again, curiously, as the captain arches to see out the windshield, looking for more evidence of destruction.

“We’re clear, are we?”

“Ah, yes, captain,” says the pilot, a little diminished.

She looks at sad-eyes and knows he took the shot that torched the attackers. She studies him while the captain barks,

“Well don’t let them get so damn close next time!” He swats the pilot upside the head, then turns around and finally takes notice of her. Beating him to his voice, she says,

“Do pirates attack other pirates often?”

His beard quivers.

“Cargo ain’t allowed in the cockpit,” he says. Maybe her soft derision came off too strongly.

“Would they have known we were carrying—” sad-eyes nods at the captain.

The captain touches his breast pocket. “Fresh water? Hard to say.”

She nods at the fuel gauge. “You’ll need to stop.”

The captain breathes wheezily, displeased.

“Are we…” she asks, though she thinks she already knows the answer, “in Saddu?” She can feel it: space she has not yet known.

“Not yet,” says the captain gruffly.

She takes one long look at the splay of stars ahead of them, then retreats.

Not long after, the crew prepares for descent. She pulls her gloves on, rubs their leather cuffs shiny, takes them off. Puts them back on. A sickness grows in her stomach, like hunger, as organic gravity starts weighing on her again.

She scavenges a dense wedge of pressed fruits, grains, and seeds from a pouch on her belt, all meticulously picked from a variety of planets back home, and half-inhales it as the ship makes land. But all it does is make her feel heavy and jittery with sudden energy that she cannot swallow. A stack of dry kindling unable to take a spark.

Outside, as the crew assesses the damage, she descends the gangplank. She breathes deeply but her lungs resist—the air content here is, what? 60% ladogen, 20% atomium, and a spice blend of other gasses. It feels like hot pepper in the back of her throat. It’s the ommon, just a taste of it, that burns.

This place is arid, conditional of a temperate desert, bald but for a few spurts of shrubs and short trees.

The captain orders sad-eyes to seek a local fuel dispensary, and the lad departs for a nearby cropping of buildings. She follows him and soon falls in step beside him.

He stops. His long dark hair shines with grease and twists in the breeze, even tied back as it is.

“Lasha,” he says. My Lady. “Maybe you want to stay with the ship.”

“I do not.”

It will be days more on that flying toolbox, without light or wind, before she knows for certain where she is going. Maybe longer. And while her sick feeling grows, she thinks she does not want to go back there.

And, she thinks, local knowledge will inform her heading.

They traipse into town, which fades in swarms of up-kicked dirt. Dust yellows the ledge of every window and roofline. Sad-eyes appears to know where he’s going, peeling like a droplet of water in a rivulet through the commercial district of town.

He piddles through some foreign words with the haunched, wrinkle-rolled man at the fuel dispensary. Bartering happens, that much she can tell. The dialect is not one she knows—she cannot even identify the language family or base language. Uncertainty flows over her again, and she turns, scanning the street.

Finally, the fuel vendor agrees to drive a skiff and loaded tank over to their landing site to refuel there.

She breathes slowly through her scarves as they ripple across her face. The ommum prickles her eyes, and she feels the burn in her waterline. As they begin their return walk, sad-eyes murmurs,

“Your first time in the Match Zone?”

The Match Zone: a slice of critical real estate bisecting their part of the galaxy. On one side, her home. On the other, Saddu. In between is an impenetrable band of piracy and lawlessness, unbreakable even by her government. The only ships able to get in the Match Zone, and pass through either side, are pirates and smugglers, especially those having good rapport with Saddu.

She considers her several-month refuge on Hergarde, and having to learn which local fish species are toxic and which tender by how much she threw up afterwards (later, she’d obtained the proper substances to chemically test them for toxins), the endless bailing of her boat, the magnificent sightings of ridge-backed whale fish, and the days she sat, knees to chest, between gulls and bull-headed osprey to chart the arrivals, crews, and cargo of pirates and smugglers at all odd hours. Months on Hergarde, however, are short. Shorter than what she’s used to.

“No,” she says simply.

“No,” he says, “You didn’t seem upset by the attack. Your first time in Saddu?” he asks, even lower.

“You can’t tell for yourself?”

He looks down at his dirt-kicking feet, then squints up at the sun. “I don’t make it my business to ask why someone with fresh water wants to get into Saddu for the first time. But do you know where you’re going?”

“I hired a captain that could help me find where I needed to go.”

He gives her a creased look. “The captain isn’t the navigator. I’d call him a businessman.”

“But he has significant and frequent customers in Saddu, yes?”

He side-eyes her, again with that inscrutable concern. “How would you know that?”

The dust grows thick before them: a brawl has busted open on the street since they last passed. They detour to the next road.

“The kind and quantity of his contraband,” she says. “He has a big ship. It has a big cargo hold. Lots of customers, big sales…”

The growing monster of nausea digs its bulbous claws up her abdomen. She catches her breath.

“But…” He glances again, “you wouldn’t have chosen him based only on his cargo.”

“No.”

“Well? Why then?”

The shadows across sad-eyes’ face double the impression of his anxiety (or his consideration, she’s not sure which it is).

“You pit-stop on Hergarde more than any other active smugglers, which leads me to believe he has a heavy treasure box buried somewhere deep, under the ocean. So he can’t possibly get stopped by Sadduian border patrol often, or he’d have lighter loads and longer turnover times.”

He’s quiet next to her, now, brows knitted in thought. Slowly, as though he’s unfolding delicate paper crinkles, he says,

“We say that haste and free-flowing wealth are signs of bitsha, which is… It means, em, public enemies.”

“Risky business,” she adds. She’d heard the word. He speaks what they call the Third Common Tongue.

He nods. “Be careful that your close observations don’t have the same effect, Lasha.”

They’ve passed out of the hive of buildings and onto the flat strait before the ship. Most of the crew sways in a circle around their taken-apart fortress, hands braced menacingly on their variety weapons.

Suddenly she feels heavy. Her sickness overwhelms her, becomes so great that she freezes in her step. The sense of hunger vanishes, replaced by cold realization.

Sad-eyes notices her planted several paces back, so he turns and looks.

“The fuel vendor is coming,” he says, pointing. A large cylindrical tank is gliding over the field atop a hovering skiff, driven by the wrinkly vendor.

Her blood beats in her ears. Her eyes sweep the field, the nearby buildings, the distant treeline. She feels the presence before she sees it.

The tank explodes—bakoom—in a mushroom of fire and the young man leaps.

“Ho!” he cries. The faraway crew freezes, shifts, scrambles uncertainly. The captain is hollering unintelligibly.

When she does see the presence, it’s like the shadow of a falcon descending from nowhere. A black-clad woman vaults towards the ship, a long metal staff in her hand.

“Come with me.”

Sad-eyes backs towards her, eyes on the strange, dark figure, her muscular form pumping in the blue shadow under the ship.

“They’re all former mercenaries,” he says, gesturing at the crew, “she can’t—”

She can. The dark-clad figure’s staff flashes with every whip, snapping up sunlight as it cracks dully over heads and backs. The falcon-shadow takes the crew, two at a time.

Her sickness has hardened into urgency. Her hand twitches at her belt. Her feet prickle, ready to fly.

“Come with me,” she says.

Sad-eyes looks at her, pale with disbelief. Behind him, the dark-clad figure is interrogating the captain now. He points directly at them.

She’s running before she decided to run. Back into the tangle of buildings, pale walls flash by as she goes like lightning under checkered shadows of rooflines. The young man is skittering behind her. Dust flies up and sticks in her cowl, and she fears that they’re giving as good as a smoke signal for the falcon-shadow to follow, but estimates that flat ground is faster than going up and down the rooftops.

She’s about to turn left but reconsiders it: dips right. Hard footsteps—not her own—seem beat on her like a second heart, and she picks up speed, pushes faster.

Between them, she always had the longer endurance running, and she trusts in that now.

To her surprise, the young man is not far behind the flapping fringe of her headscarf. He’s running like he means it, which is good for him.

Behind them, but not far, screams rise.

Between the wedges of the rooflines she’s been spying black flies of rising and descending ships to the northeast, close to where they went to pick up fuel.

She feels the heat of pursuit. Suddenly she stamps the ground and leaps madly for a nearby roof ledge, which she grabs and pulls down to her hips to send herself over the roof ridge.

The crawling sprawl of a proper airfield is in sight now, and she doesn’t dare look behind. From beam to beam she zips evenly. She feels the lightness of her feet, sprung with relief to be back on solid terra.

She tumbles from the last rooftop and darts across the tarmac, aiming for a ship that’s small, black, and angled: a two seater, needing only a single person to fly.

It’s manned by two lethargic guards, restlessly kicking and pacing. They rotate and stiffen at her approach, raising their uniform weapons: blasters. Only Sadduians carry ballistic arms. She registers what they are but is too far away for close combat evasion.

“Halt right there!”

She dips behind the ship’s atmospherial wing as the blasters let loose their twisted, ballistic explosions. She jumps up and scales the molded side of the ship with her tactile gloves, breathing sharply past the burning metal sizzling hot from the choleric sun under her chin.

But the guards are hesitant to fire now that she has climbed into the ship’s sensitive parts. She drops into the cockpit and under the pilot seat as a single blast throws sparks.

“Don’t shoot!” one guard chastises the other.

From under the control panel she finds the ignition and fires up the ship—it starts immediately, purring to just the right touch.

“You’re under arrest!” one of the voices shouts from outside the ship. Another useless warning blast sails over her head and threatens to damage the interior. “In the name of our great General—”

The engines fire blue and hot and the ship hovers for liftoff. The heat is enough to throw the guards, and only hoping that this ship is similar in power and agility to those she has flown before, she guides it forward and hurtling over the tarmac.

She is empty of remorse for her theft—it’s the Match Zone, anyway.

“Hey!” A voice lifts below her. She shouldn’t be able to hear it, not over the roaring engines, but it carries to her ears alone. “That’s my fucking ship!”

She recognizes the voice, and so doesn’t stop. But her heart jolts when she sees the falcon-shadow figure as it descends on sad-eyes. She needs a pirate.

She tips the lean black ship towards the ground, where sad-eyes is desperately attempting to evade the falcon-shadow, and is succeeding by the skin of his teeth. But the falcon-shadow is stronger. The falcon-shadow raises her staff and it catches the sun.

She reaches her gloved hands outside of the cockpit, lifts herself onto the nose, sweeps her foot out as the ship dips. Her toes connect with the tip of the staff. The end of it goes flying.

Dust flies in a tornado around her and she jumps out. Sad-eyes’ is burying his face in the crook of his elbow to protect from the flying gravel and dirt. Through the cloud stirred up by the engines, she sees the falcon-shadow.

“Into the ship!” she screams at sad-eyes. He fumbles up and into the open cockpit. The ship lifts away from its dangerously-close scrape to the ground and levels out.

The dark-clad falcon-shadow appears through the dust, staff in hand.

She jumps, crashes less nimbly onto the wing, and drops into the cockpit.

“Out!” she shouts, jerking sad-eyes out of the pilot seat. “In the back!”

He does so, and she sheathes herself behind the yoke, smashes a button that looks like it probably closes the cockpit, and pulls back. The cabin pressurizes. They shoot up. She lifts a clear cap on the dashboard and pushes the lever underneath. The atmosphere-breaking boosters howl and propel them into thin air.

She can hear sad-eyes buckling himself into the harness behind her. Alarms blink—slipping stabilization, increasing G’s, steep angle—but do not sound. This ship was built for combat.

She rips off her scarves and replaces them with a headset hanging nearby. It hacks and hisses at her until she tunes it into the second one in the cockpit. Sad-eyes is already wearing it.

“Who was that?” he shouts. “Who was that!”

She can hear him breathing, pffting hard through his nose.

“I don’t want to be on a ship with you. I don’t want to be involved in this. Put me down on the next inhabitable planet.”

“No,” she says, though her heart is beating in the back of her own throat, and she’s glad he can’t see her face from where he’s sitting.

“What do you mean no?” he cries.

“I need you to get me through Saddu,” she says coolly.

He’s gasping now, wetly with anger, as though his brush with the dark-clad woman is becoming clearer to him.

“Whatever reason you have to be in Saddu, I do not want to have any part in it,” he says.

“You already have a part in it,” she says. “Or why did she go after you back there instead of me?”

That sobers him. He quiets, settles. She can still hear him breathing, and smell the dank sweat and dirt emanating from him.

“Now where should I cross the border?” she says.

“The border,” he echoes.

She finally harnesses herself in, pulling the straps tight over her shoulders, chest, and hips. “Are you the true navigator, or not?” She shifts in her seat and tries to glance over her shoulder at him. “Do you know Saddu, or not?”

She was nine when she was taught that maps of Saddu do not exist: a fact she and her people are now all balefully aware of. It’s a feat of unbelievable proportions and loyalty. She’s known that Saddu outlawed the making or keeping of Sadduian maps, which is why only a select number of pirates and smugglers who have been in, around, and out of Saddu can get outsiders to where they want to go, at such a high price. It’s a dangerous thing to go flying through unnavigable territory, dotted randomly with black holes, planets, gravitational fields, and other waiting deadfalls.

Saddu can only be found in mind and memory.

“Yes,” sad-eyes finally says, like an empty gust of air, standing down. She can see the clear white of his eyes in her periphery, filling in around his earnest brown irises and flitting lashes. “I know Saddu.”

“I am too conspicuous to be let across the border, yes?” she says. She glances in a mirror she spotted in the corner of the cockpit, angled at the backseat. “Yes?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “You don’t look Sadduian or pirate.”

She handles the controls—alive and breathing, pushing back against her, trying to stray, like a wild animal—and pushes them further into the steep, unending darkness, pock-marked with white exit wounds and needle-holes. “Where can I find a weak spot in the border patrol? New hires, a spread in the grid where the checkpoints are few and far between, something.”

“You don’t need to.”

She tilts her head to listen more closely, her brows pulled together in confusion.

“Whoever that was…” he starts, his voice tight with contempt. “Whoever’s ship it was that we stole…she had to be something special to fly this.” He runs his hand along the panels by his head. “This is a specialty military ship. Made for cruise and combat. I have no doubt it’s installed with a level-1 clearance beacon.”

Like a priority beacon? She wonders.

“Tell me about level-1,” she says.

“Some Sadduian ships are installed with clearance beacons that emit certain radar signals and information, based on their use and who’s flying them. Mostly military. They have special air and space privileges. Level-1 is allotted to high-ranking officials only. They have clearance at every border and against all security measures. No stops. No questions asked…”

His voice fades reverently.

“How much would a ship with level-1 clearance sell on the market for? In the Match Zone?” she asks.

The corners of his lips threaten to curve upwards. “No one knows. One has never been hijacked before.”

She tightens her hands around the grips. It’d seemed easy, earlier. She considers why her pursuer would have been traveling alone, what she would have been doing in the Match Zone, on that dusty, pointless planet.

“My guess…” he says a few minutes later, “it’d be priceless.”

That stirs and settles silently between them. Her thoughts tunnel so deeply she thinks their echoes must be audible in the cockpit, like more alarms blaring. War, war, war, she thinks. The war feels far away when you’re no longer being fired at. It feels far away in enemy territory. She feels unsettlingly like a timer has just been set.

She unguards a switch enabling a separate panel of what appear to be countermeasures, though the symbols are unlike any written language she’s yet seen, but for a few samples of writing collected from Saddu’s old days.

The ship’s true alienness is in its modernity. She’d been trained in a sampling of many spacecraft, but she’d always been outfitted with the best of what was available out-of-exercise.

This had the novelty of invention, sleek and secretive, as exclusive and precious as virginity.

How unawares they have been, she thinks, uninformed of the advanced technology the enemy has been cuckolding them with. Her stomach churns with bitterness and disquiet.

She breathes sharply and switches on the weapons employment. The lights flare red in warning.

“You can use a targeted weapons system, yes?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says.

“Firing systems are online, so keep your thumbs light until we can confirm pursuit.”

It’s unlikely, though, that any ship on that planet could match this one in speed. The efficiency with which they’d left the atmosphere behind had been impressive, defying any scope of radar at this point. She continues,

“Rounds like these are similar to cannons but are faster and more slippery.” As an afterthought, she adds, looking into the mirror, “Have you ever fired a blaster?”

“No,” he grunts. “I’m not a soldier.” There’s another beat, then he adds, “And I’m not Sadduian.”

The knot in her chest loosens, barely. She takes a slow, deep, painful breath.

Sad-eyes gives her coordinates and they cruise—quickly but not conspicuously—towards Saddu’s empty canvas. The quiet and vast blackness swells like a headache.

Now she can smell the soap and skin of the woman who wore this headset before her, and can feel the oil of sweat on the earpads. A hair, not her own, tickles the back of her neck where it is stuck to the seat back.

Sad-eyes shifts haughtily behind her. “Can you turn on the air coolant?” he says.

She’s been sweating but hasn’t even realized, headachey as she is. She peers under her elbow at grids of mysteriously-labeled buttons and switches, and starts guessing at which one is right, until finally the stuffy heat of the cockpit sighs away before a gust of cool air.

Sad-eyes sniffles, still trying to be mad. But she can feel his contempt ebb away, weakening, as the tide of foreboding rises. They can both feel it climbing up to them now.

“Thank you, Lasha,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

“Will you tell me who that was?” he asks.

She blinks, hard, and nods. “Yes. Eventually.”

He nods, satisfied.

“Moyika,” he says. His voice gives with a wobble of hesitation. She hears him breathe and swallow through her headset. “That’s my name.”

In the beat of silence that follows his declaration, she recognizes the implication that she must return his gesture of goodwill. She thinks twice, but a fake name doesn’t sit well between two people in a ship this small.

“Lita,” she says, her voice steady, hiding her. “My name is Lita.”

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architecturalscantobim · 4 days ago

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Accuracy and standard compliance are necessary for a smooth workflow. Remote architects typically communicate with modeling teams through common platforms such as BIM 360 or Trimble Connect to verify progress and provide feedback.

Step 4: BIM Model Creation & Validation

This stage involves converting 3D point cloud data into BIM objects, either manually, half-automatically, or automatically, depending on the software and the level of detail (LOD). BIM technicians typically refer to the point cloud to delineate the elements, including the walls, floors, doors, windows, beams, columns, and MEP items.

Simple forms such as straight lines or round pipes are recognized by half-automated instruments, but manual selection ensures accuracy. The level of modeling depends on the LOD, ranging from basic geometry (LOD 200) to very detailed, fabrication-level models (LOD 400–500).

Step 5: Delivering the Final BIM Model

After validation, the final model is packaged and delivered as per the project deliverables. Deliverables may include native BIM files (.rvt,.ifc), federated models for coordination, 2D documentation extracted from the BIM model, and asset data for facilities management. The delivery process typically includes a knowledge transfer session so that all stakeholders can navigate and use the model efficiently for downstream processes like design development, construction planning, or facilities operations.

Success Story : 400,000 Sq.Ft. of Scan to BIM Conversion in Just 43 Days

Advantages of Point Cloud to BIM Modelling Services

Point Cloud to BIM modeling is necessary for making data-driven construction feasible in case of large, complex, tight-tolerance, or complicated geometry projects with mixed-use programming. The model provides real-time insights that inform design choices, regulatory compliance, and stakeholder communication, as well as ease downstream processes like cost estimating, procurement, and scheduling. Let’s look at the benefits in detail:

Improved Accuracy & Precision

The primary advantage of Point Cloud to BIM modeling services is that they can replicate real conditions to a millimeter level of accuracy. This precision avoids guesswork in design and reduces the likelihood of costly rework in downstream stages.

Cost & Time Efficiency

With fewer site visits and the use of high-fidelity scans, remote architects can substantially reduce travel costs and project timelines. Moreover, automated workflows and cloud collaboration facilitate decision-making and documentation.

Enhanced Design & Planning

Point cloud BIM models enable strong spatial analysis and design-informed interventions. Whether introducing new systems into an existing building or designing adaptive reuse, the model offers a reliable digital twin for design thinking.

Seamless Collaboration

The designing team, architects, contractors, and users can work effectively with the 3D model created from point-cloud images. Since the team can see the new design concurrently, it is simple to identify any bug or pitfall in the new design. The required updates can be proposed and discussed more easily and effectively. The structural, architectural, and MEPF Scan to BIM Services staff can create their own opinion, introduce the concepts and proposals to eliminate any potential risk, and design issues, and develop a sustainable and efficient design.

Restoration & Renovation

The Scan to BIM tool is widely utilized for the refurbishment or renovation of existing or old structures. Utilizing the scanned images, the 3D model of the structure with details of the structure, MEP systems, etc, is created. A preliminary impression of the existing structure helps in designing and analyzing a new structure for the project. The as-built model that is derived from Scan to BIM services has the advantage of comparing the new design and its parameters with the existing design. This as-built model is more accurate than the information acquired through manual surveying.

Enhancing Point Cloud to BIM Modeling Services with AI

As sustainability becomes a global mandate, accurate as-built models facilitate more precise energy simulation, life cycle analysis, and performance monitoring—making them imperative in forward-looking construction practices. With AI-powered Point Cloud to BIM modeling services in the USA offered by Scan To Bim.online, the AEC firms can leverage lightning-fast conversion speed and minimize human intervention. The tool guarantees 50% faster speed than any other tool, ensuring tailored and timely project deliveries.

Conclusion

As the construction and architecture industry becomes more used to hybrid and remote work patterns, tools like Point Cloud to BIM services in the USA bridge the gap between physical environments and computational design processes. For architects managing far-flung projects of greater scale, the AI-powered services offer a reliable platform to ensure efficient, reliable, and collaborative project delivery.

#Point Cloud to BIM services #Point Cloud to BIM services USA #Scan to BIM Services #architectural scan to BIM #MEPF Scan to BIM Services

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gubbicivilengineering · 8 days ago

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Why Carbon Fiber Wrapping Is the Future of Structural Strengthening

Modern infrastructure demands durable, high-performance solutions that are fast, effective, and sustainable. With growing concerns about aging buildings, increasing seismic activity, and rapid urbanization, structural strengthening is more critical than ever. One solution rapidly gaining prominence in the construction and rehabilitation sector is Carbon Fiber Wrapping In India. It is transforming how civil engineers reinforce deteriorating or underperforming concrete structures.

The Rise of Advanced Structural Reinforcement

Historically, structural reinforcement has been accomplished by techniques like as concrete or steel jacketing. These techniques add a lot of dead weight to structures and are frequently intrusive and time-consuming. A lightweight, non-intrusive substitute with remarkable tensile strength and long-lasting performance is provided by carbon fiber wrapping in India. It works especially well in urban areas where time-sensitive repair operations and limited space are commonplace.

What Is Carbon Fiber Wrapping?

Applying layers of carbon fiber-reinforced polymer (CFRP) sheets or laminates to structural elements such as beams, columns, and slabs is known as carbon fiber wrapping. These components combine to create a composite that greatly increases the original structure's load-bearing capability when bonded with specialty epoxy adhesives. For structural engineers seeking strength, durability, and efficiency, it is currently the preferred option.

Advantages of Carbon Fiber Wrapping Technology

The remarkable strength-to-weight ratio of carbon fiber wrapping is one of the strongest arguments for its preference among engineers in India. It is substantially lighter than steel and has ten times the tensile strength. This guarantees a small increase in structural loads. It is also perfect for high-humidity, industrial, and coastal settings because to its resistance to corrosion. Furthermore, the installation is quick and doesn't interfere too much with the building's current functionality.

Application in Commercial and Industrial Projects

Retrofitting solutions that don't sacrifice aesthetics or result in extended shutdowns are constantly in demand in India's commercial sector, especially in older high-rise structures. While preserving a neat appearance, carbon fiber covering offers structural integrity. This method has been used in numerous commercial projects by Gubbi Civil Engineers, a well-known brand in civil repair and retrofitting services, with demonstrated success and client satisfaction.

Importance in Seismic Strengthening

One of the most important uses for carbon fiber wrapping in India is seismic retrofitting. Building owners and developers are increasingly choosing CFRP wrapping to assure safety and compliance with the most recent seismic norms because of the subcontinent's susceptibility to earthquakes. Carbon fiber's elasticity reduces damage and collapse risk by enabling structures to disperse energy more effectively during seismic events.

Carbon Wrapping For Columns

Carbon Wrapping for Columns is one typical use for this technology. In order to recover or even surpass their initial load-bearing capacity, weak or damaged columns are wrapped. It's a common solution in public buildings and older industrial facilities that need to adhere to modern load and safety standards. By improving axial strength, shear resistance, and ductility, carbon wrapping makes columns more robust to lateral and vertical loads.

Carbon Wrapping For Beams

Particularly in parking garages, basements, and commercial structures, beams frequently experience cracking, bending, or shear failure. Without replacing the entire beam, carbon wrapping for beams can improve flexural capacity and restore integrity. Depending on the load requirements and structural analysis, the wrap can be placed in full-coverage systems or strips, guaranteeing precise and economical reinforcement.

Carbon Wrapping For Slabs

Slabs may droop or crack over time as a result of overloading or subpar construction techniques. An effective strengthening method for both above and floor slabs is carbon wrapping for slabs. This is particularly helpful in multistory buildings, malls, and warehouses where company continuity may be impacted by repair downtime. Wrapping removes the requirement for bulky steel-based retrofitting and restores load distribution capacity.

Minimal Disruption and Quick Installation

The simplicity of installation is another factor contributing to the growing popularity of carbon fiber wrapping in India. CFRP systems require less surface preparation for installation than steel jacketing or concrete encasement. Long curing durations or large machinery are not required. This makes it perfect for continuous operations, including those in manufacturing facilities, data centers, or hospitals that cannot afford long shutdowns for structural repair.

Ideal for Space-Constrained Environments

The problem with urban infrastructure is that there isn't much room for growth or structural change. CFRP wrapping preserves important square footage because it is only a few millimeters thick. Gubbi Civil Engineers has effectively installed CFRP systems in utility tunnels, elevator shafts, and narrow service corridors where space constraints made traditional reinforcing techniques impracticable.

Durability and Long-Term Performance

Wraps made of carbon fiber are chemically inert and resistant to the majority of aggressive substances, including sulfates, chlorides, and contaminants found in the environment. They are therefore perfect for coastal areas and industrial places. Structures encased in carbon fiber have a lifespan of more than 50 years when installed correctly. Over time, they are quite cost-effective because they require little upkeep.

Role in Sustainable Construction Practices

The need for sustainable materials is rising as India moves toward greener construction methods. By cutting down on construction waste, limiting carbon emissions from large machinery, and lowering the demand for resources like steel and cement, CFRP helps. In keeping with the environmental objectives of modern infrastructure projects, the lightweight design significantly lowers transportation energy.

Certified Application and Quality Control

Purchasing supplies from a reputable carbon wrapping manufacturer in India and making sure the application is certified are crucial for the best results. Delamination or inadequate bonding may result from improper installation. Gubbi Civil Engineers ensures long-lasting and code-compliant outcomes in all kinds of structural applications by using premium carbon fiber materials that meet international standards and adhering to a stringent quality control procedure.

Use Cases Across Sectors

Carbon fiber wrapping has a wide range of uses in India, from industrial retrofits and heritage preservation to public infrastructure and private high-rises. Bridges, parking decks, metro stations, water tanks, and even apartment buildings can use it. It is a future-ready option because of its versatility across different structural components, which guarantees that it can be customized for any project size or complexity.

The future of structural strengthening in India is Carbon Fiber Wrapping, thanks to the increased focus on efficiency, sustainability, and safety. It is a vital tool for engineers and developers since it can improve performance without changing the structural form or function. With seasoned experts like Gubbi Civil Engineers spearheading its implementation, India's building industry is set for a more robust and intelligent transition.

#Carbon Fiber Wrapping in India #Best Carbon Fiber Wrapping in India #structural repair #structure repair services #structural strengthening #carbon fibre wrapping services in india #structural work.

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