Household Hazardous Waste Disposal City of San Antonio

free hazardous waste drop off near me

free hazardous waste drop off near me - win

My ultra hardcore recycling guide for our house

Hi all,
I've been putting together info for how to recycle in Tucson while leveraging all the recycling options that are open to me: curbside, the city's upcoming glass drop-off, local and mail-in corporate-sponsored, and TerraCycle (a paid option). I aim to reuse or recycle every last bit of waste coming out of our house, no matter how crazy it may seem. Partly I just want to see how difficult it is; I recognize that my process isn't practical for most people.
Anyway, here's what I've gathered so far.

General principles

​
  1. COMPOST: If it can be composted, compost it! (More on this below.)
  2. REUSE: If it can't be composted, reuse it! Reuse is always the most environmentally-friendly option.
  3. DONATE: If it can't be reused by you, donate it if it's something worth donating that someone else could use. https://tucsoncleanandbeautiful.org/ has a great directory for places that will accept various materials. Cero is a Tucson store that also accepts lots of stuff for donation and reuse. Donation usually involves transportation and some kind of carbon emissions, but it's still better than recycling. Don't donate junk! Donations aren't a free trash can.
  4. MUNICIPAL RECYCLING: If it can't be donated, recycle it locally using municipal recycling (curbside or drop-off). Recycle Coach has all the info you need on what municipal recycling can or can't recycle. ESGD's page on residential recycling also has some important guidelines. Recycling uses energy and involves carbon-emitting transport, plus not everything in a recycling waste stream actually gets recycled, so try to reuse first.
  5. LOCAL STORE DROP-OFF: If it can't be recycled using municipal recycling, recycle it at a local store for free. Earth911 has a search page that finds these stores and breaks them down by type, and TerraCycle's corporate-sponsored programs page also has some local programs. These programs typically ship their waste to a recycling partner, often TerraCycle in New Jersey, which adds to the environmental footprint of the process, so try to recycle municipally first.
  6. FREE MAIL-IN: If it can't be recycled at a local store, use one of TerraCycle's free corporate-sponsored mail-in programs. These programs end up sending waste TerraCycle, just like the local store drop-offs, but are arguably less efficient than sending a big communal batch of stuff, so try to use the local store drop-offs first.
  7. TERRACYCLE (PAID): If it can't be recycled using a mail-in program, use a paid all-in-one box to have TerraCycle recycle it if it's small and light. This is effectively the same as using one of the mail-in options above except that you have to pay, so try to use a mail-in program first.
  8. REGIONAL DROP-OFF: If it's a big bulky waste that can't be donated, see if it can be recycled outside of Tucson (e.g., save up Styrofoam for the next time I drive to Phoenix, where they do have the appropriate facilities). TerraCycle accepts almost anything, but their all-in-one boxes are pricey, so it may make more sense to save up big hard-to-recycle stuff like packaging for Phoenix or another big city, if you think you'll drive there at some point. Don't make unnecessary trips just to drop off waste!
  9. TRASH: If it can't be composted, reused, donated or recycled, throw it away and make sure that you follow the guidelines for hazardous waste disposal.
  10. GOLDEN RULE #1: Make sure that the material is clean. Clean waste streams are more valuable to recyclers, which helps keep costs down. Don't use too much water cleaning up stuff, but don't feel too guilty about using water, either! Dishwater usage is a tiny sliver of household water consumption, not to mention that industry and agriculture generally use much more water than homes.
  11. GOLDEN RULE #2: The goal of recycling is to break down your waste into "primary materials" (e.g., plastic, metal, paper, glass) that can be used by industry to make new products. The more mixed your materials, the more you need to research how to recycle it. Knowing the basics goes a long way. For example, I know that metal cans get melted down, so a paper or plastic label attached to the can doesn't worry me because I know that it will get burned off. But what about a milk carton, which is paper fused with plastic? Or the circuitry inside the plastic base of a CFL bulb? If you can't intuitively explain how the thing is going to get broken down into its primary materials, that's your cue that you need to do some research.
  12. GOLDEN RULE #3: Knowing the basics of how recycling centers work goes a long way. For example, if you know that you can't recycle plastic grocery bags curbside because they get stuck in the machines, that's a hint that you shouldn't try to recycle your plastic food wrap, either. Or if you know that plastic bottle caps fall through the holes of a separator, that's a hint that you need to research whether your beer bottle caps are recyclable (even though they're metal).
​

Reuse and recycling guide for my home

This is not a comprehensive list of every recycling resource in Tucson, this is just for my house my household's needs. I've found that there's no one-size-fits-all solution if you want to reach close to 100% recycling/reuse, you end up having to come up with a list that's customized for your home, which requires research. I'm providing my list as a potential template as well as for inspiration.
Legend:
​
​

How do I sort all this?

Right now, I'm using a makeshift system of lots and lots of bags to keep everything separate. My idea is to do a monthly "recycling day" and drop off everything that needs to be dropped off as well as mail in everything that needs to be mailed in. I haven't had to do this yet since I started this project.
I hope to build a sorting station in my house once I understand my needs a bit better.
​

Notes on TerraCycle and partner programs

A lot of the corporate-sponsored/mail-in/drop-off programs are done through TerraCycle, a New Jersey-based recycler that specializes in recycling hard-to-recycle things (e.g., potato chip bags, toothbrushes). They make lots of their money through large corporations, which essentially pay them to process unprofitable waste in order to burnish their environmental stewardship bona fides. They also offer paid recycling pouches and boxes to the general public. You mail in these pouches/boxes (they come with a shipping label) after filling them up with recyclable waste.
TerraCycle will recycle almost anything and everything. However, anything that gets recycled through them or one of their corporate programs is shipped to New Jersey for processing, so it's preferable to reuse or recycle locally. They're also not as transparent as I wish they would be. I'm not certain, for example, how much of each waste stream actually gets recycled. They have a customer support contact form that's been very good for getting my questions answered, but beware that they take about 2-3 days to get back to you per request.
I bought the large "all-in-one" box from their site and found a coupon code online to bring the cost down to around $350. I read a review elsewhere from someone who got a medium box (about 50% the size) who said that it lasted her six months. My idea is to use this box as "recycling of last resort" and rely on drop-off programs as much as possible to keep costs down. On the other hand, this makes my life more complicated in terms of sorting different waste streams, so you could simplify by putting waste destined for various drop-off points into a single TerraCycle all-in-one box.
You need to register for free on their website to use their mail-in programs. Many of their mail-in programs unfortunately have wait lists. Of the ~15 programs for which I signed up around two weeks ago, about 8 had wait lists, and I got off the wait list for about 5 of them. So they seem to go through the list pretty regularly. Once you're in, you can print off a free UPS label from the "my profile" section of the site after logging in.
If I had to take a wild guess, I would assume that TerraCycle has a higher rate of recycling than municipal programs, but this must be balanced against the financial and environmental cost of shipping waste to their facilities.
​

Composting

The Achilles' heel in my recycling and reuse plan is organic matter. The City of Tucson has a composting program but it's only open to businesses.
There are a few volunteer-run programs here and there that accept compostable waste. I managed to sign up for one, UA's Compost Cats, and will be meeting them tomorrow to pick up my sealed composting bucket and go over the program rules. I know that they have limited capacity, so you have to email them. They took about a week to get back to me.
​

Am I insane?

Maybe a little 🙃.
​

Shout outs

​
submitted by Low_Walrus to Tucson [link] [comments]

Alliance Chapter 12

Sorry for the late post, I haven't really felt like writing lately, but then I finally had an idea! Please let me know what you think, and y'all stay safe out there.
Previous
First
​
The Canirii had a name that neither humans nor Z’lask could pronounce, and that could be only loosely rendered in either of their far more concrete tongues. It was thinking of calling itself Ra—both languages should be able to cope with that.
It was illustrative of the vast gap in understanding between the allies and the Canirii. The humans and the Z’lask might think of each other as the epitome of otherness—their military propagandists had encouraged it—but they were actually quite similar, galactic cousins even. To them, the Canirii were infinitely more alien.
Case in point—Ra wouldn’t have had the faintest idea where to start on the military mission its two new friends had gone charging off on, but they hadn’t the faintest idea of the diplomatic possibilities of the situation.
They would both be very surprised to learn what could be accomplished just by talking.
Oh, the humans had spies, but spies could be frustrated, especially with the physiological barriers to infiltration in interstellar politics. Honesty, desire for peace, and good faith had won the Canirii their network, and that network had given the Canirii knowledge and tools that no one else, not even the intelligent Lappa, possessed.
Tools the Canirii were using now.
It had been a difficult task to accept the humans as their galactic broodmates, but they had done it. They had upheld their philosophy, schooled their minds, opened their hearts, seen the deservingness for tolerance weaving through the bedeviling human dichotomy, and accepted the young species.
Now, the young—so young!—race was facing an Elder. The Canirii had suspected their patronage of the Lappa, though they could barely believe it. The Elders had a number of pacts designed to keep them from meddling in the affairs of younger species, much the same way that the Council forbade interference with pre-FTL races. The Canirii knew that the best way to solve this crisis was the way the humans and the Z’lask, in their eagerness to fight, had blown straight past: diplomacy.
The only thing that could stand up to an Elder was another Elder, and the Canirii knew that, should they convince the race with whom they were currently in contact that the humans were a worthy Council member, that species would be…displeased, with the Lappa’s patron.
The only trouble was, the humans were as different from this species as a protostar was from a red supergiant. The Canirii had already compiled records of the United Nations’ humanitarian assistance, selected individual examples of devotion to duty and care for fellow living things, presented facts that showed a species of astonishingly rapid development, possessing an equally astonishing nature. What remained was to communicate the humans’ humanity.
For the Z’lask, the feat had been accomplished with music, evoking for them human emotion, proving to them that they felt the same as the toothed mammals they had feared as so inalienably different.
However, this Elder species was deaf.
They’d never needed to hear the way the humans and Z’lask and Lappa and Canirii themselves had, their evolution was so different music would be utterly meaningless to them. But, they did read, and so the Canirii had found written music for them.
Poetry.
Itself a fine example of human duality. Some humans scorned poetry as soft, frivolous, silly. Others would be moved to weep or sing or even to die by its words. Ra had made an effort neither the humans, with their intimate attachment to self-provoked suffering, nor the Z’lask, with their fixation upon honor, could understand to ensure that the Elder would understand humanity.
That was what it meant to be Canirii.
To show that reconciliation after war was possible, Ra had selected:
So, when the Summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain:
Under the sod and dew,
Waiting the judgement-day,
Wet with the rain, the Blue,
Wet with the rain, the Gray
​
No more shall the war cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever
When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Under the sod and dew,
Waiting the judgement-day….
​
To show the human pursuit of passion, their love for an endeavor or an entity that was not itself human, it had chosen:
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
Human love for one another had been overwhelming, there were so many expressions. Human laments had been equally overwhelming in its inverse. All that remained was to find some sort of summary, something to circumscribe the human experience. The poem Ra had found was a risky decision, it knew, since its primary imagery was auditory, focusing on the sound of different varieties of a single human instrument.
Ra had a feeling that the understanding of auditory imagery—an alien sensation—would mirror the understanding of an alien nature. It hoped that peace would prevail.
Hear the sledge with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
The next stanza moved on to golden wedding bells, sounding their delight, telling their hope for the future. Then to bronze alarm bells—too much horrified to speak, they could only shriek. Finally to solemn iron bells, whose tolling, tolling, tolling felt a glory in the rolling on the human heart a stone. And the people, ah the people—they that dwelt up in the steeple—they were neither man nor woman, they were neither brute nor human, they were Ghouls.
And that idea of Ghoulishness symbolized the Canirii’s hope for humanity. The humans knew they caused their own suffering, but they did not believe such impulses to be an inseparable or insuperable part of their nature. One day they would overcome them, the same way that a Ghoulish King could, as in their fairy tales, be overthrown. It was a spark of faith, and it was what Ra most desired to show the Elder.
It hoped they would understand.
The humans would have to meet them halfway, and they would have to continue to “make progress,” as both they and the Canirii called it. Ra had faith in the human ability to fight, and in the belief that all living things naturally wished to be good. It knew that many humans did not share that conviction, instead believing that an individual was born a blank slate, that could choose to do good or do evil. They called that ability “free will,” the state of its exercise “freedom,” and would not shut up about either.
Ra sealed its signature to the dispatch, watched the lights on its display flash to indicate its transmission to the Elders. It didn’t know when the Elders would respond, they did things on their own timescale, though they probably realized that if they wanted to prevent their peer from behaving rashly they would needed to act quickly by the standards of the Council.
Though Ra had no way of knowing it, in the orbit of a dying star, the crew of the Courage of Z’raa was decrypting and deciphering the contents of their captured data drives, while the crew of the Yorktown fed their prisoners and eavesdropped on their unsuspecting conversation. The two ships had drifted silently through the eerie ocher light for hours, and several watches into their dusky dim vigil the Z’lask struck gold, and found evidence of collusion between an Elder species and the Lappa.
Ra could not hear the messages that flew between the two hiding ships, any more than the individuals who intercepted them could.
COURAGE OF Z’RAA: HAVE SUFFICIENT EVIDENCE FOR COUNCIL. SUGGEST WE DEPART BEFORE PATRON RETURNS AS CONFRONTATION WOULD LIKELY BE COUNTERPRODUCTIVE
YORKTOWN: CONCUR. BRINGING MY DRIVES ONLINE NOW
Ra could not watch the two ships jump together into hyperspace, nor could it observe the tension of both crews, the strain of every individual as though they were physically running their race.
Ra did not hear the alarms on the Courage of Z’raa’s bridge, alerting them to the return of their shadow, and the observers could not hear them either. Ra did not hear the cursing in both ships, nor did it know of the ideas running through both captains’ minds, of the suggestions of their crews. It was unaware of the ponderous startup sequence of the Z’lask interdiction equipment, the stopwatches started by human and Z’lask to count down the four hours to their self-defense.
Ra was unaware of the human captain’s instinct that the shadow would come within range of harm before then, and though the observers could not hear her order to prepare a maneuver that horrified them, they watched her crew setting to with determination.
Ra was unaware of the Z’lask captain’s nearly desperate desire to outrun the shadow long enough to not depend on the humans, both from pride, and from a foreboding that, while those humans certainly were able to do things, there were some things they just couldn’t do, any more than they could shed their skins.
The observers saw all of this, saw the human treatment of their prisoners, the Z’lask cooperation with their new brothers. They saw a Lappa ship moving several times faster than any such vessel should be able to. They evaluated a data transmission from another young species, one they liked. They looked with the slow interest of those accustomed to having enough time, on this race between ships.
With five hours left in transit to the Council, and two hours left before the interdiction equipment would be operational, the human ship slowed to cover her companion. In the Z’lask captain’s opinion, human ships were overengineered—they tried to do too many things at once, much like the humans themselves. Now, he was grateful for their archaic insistence on plate armor, as fusion-smelted duratitanium stood up unflinchingly to shots designed to scramble energy shields.
The humans took the fire for fifteen minutes, much of the time consumed in the shots’ flight through hyperspace, in terrified incredulity that the enemy could fire what they thought of as plasmabolts—their closest frame of reference—faster than light. They gathered themselves and fired back, but their shadow had learned from their last encounter.
The observers were interested to see this: the ultimate human weapons were still quaint devices called nukes. What would happen when the humans saw those weapons were useless?
What happened was the humans tried again.
An hour, an endless hour closer to salvation, was whittled away trading ineffective fire. The human captain was beginning to take heart that though they could not damage their opponent, their opponent also could not damage them. Then came something new.
The observers could not hear the whooping damage alarms on the human ship, nor could they hear the screams of the wounded or the yells of panic. They could hear none of the frantic orders or muttered appeals to God. They saw damage control parties fighting to seal venting compartments, and corpsmen fighting to save the burned or vacuum-exposed or crushed who had been standing close to the impact.
They saw the hurried and harried struggle against hostile space, and the enemy who made its hazards worse, and watched on.
They could intercept communications between the two warships.
COURAGE OF Z’RAA: STATUS
YORKTOWN: STILL SPACEWORTHY
COURAGE OF Z’RAA: ONE HOUR NOW
YORKTOWN: SHADOW STILL GAINING
COURAGE OF Z’RAA: CAN YOU INCREASE SPEED
YORKTOWN: NEGATIVE
They could see the anguish—surprised anguish—on the Z’lask ship as her crew feared for their former enemies, could see the frantic planning and frustration as they wracked their brains for a way to protect the aliens protecting them. They saw and watched on.
YORKTOWN: HAVE A MANEUVER WE CAN TRY
COURAGE OF Z’RAA: INTERROGATIVE
YORKTOWN: THEY CAN DEFEND AGAINST OBJECTS IN HYPERSPACE. PERHAPS NOT LOOKING FOR DANGER IN REALSPACE
COURAGE OF Z’RAA: INTERROGATIVE
YORKTOWN: SHADOW LIKELY KNOWS WE HAVE INCRIMINATING MATERIAL. SHADOW WILL PURSUE SHIP EN ROUTE TO COUCIL TO EXCLUSION OF OTHER. THEREFORE WE KNOW THEIR COURSE AND SPEED. WITH SUCH ADVANTAGE WE WILL DROP TO REALSPACE, PLANT OBJECT IN THEIR PATH, AND JUMP AWAY. THEY WILL BE DESTROYED ON FIFTH-DIMENSIONAL CONTACT WITH OBJECT
COURAGE OF Z’RAA: THEIR SENSORS WILL DETECT ANY MASS ANOMALY LARGE ENOUGH TO ACHIEVE THAT
YORKTOWN: THE MASS WON’T BE WHAT DOES IT. THE WARHEAD WILL
The observers could see the human crew’s reactions. They could see bared teeth from those who were angry, furious at their tormentors and ready to do anything, so long as it was something, to fight back. They could see staring eyes and shaking hands from those who were so dreadfully afraid. They could see clenched fists or jaws from those trying to focus on the task at hand. They could see individuals performing well and individuals performing poorly. They could see someone—sometimes the same person—demonstrating every strength and weakness of the human race.
They could see, though they could not hear, extortions to move faster, to hang on, to fucking work, to come on. They could see but not hear the captain’s orders, could see, and be interested in, an old fear—the taught fear of trauma. An old fear of being left behind. An old fear of being aboard a ship that could no longer jump.
And they watched the humans go anyway.
They watched yet another set of stopwatches spring to remorseless life on both bridges, ticking down the five minutes the humans would have in realspace. The cliché that came to mind was “mad scramble”—the humans had to prepare their device for launch. Their navigator—eyes wide but sitting still and silently—had to redo a calculation because the ship, venting atmosphere, had slewed off its predetermined position. They saw the captain biting her cheek, and realized it was to repress the urge to scream. They device had to be loaded—fired! Finally, was exclaimed by nearly everyone on board, and though the watchers could not hear it they appreciated the unified feeling.
They watched the weapon fly toward its predetermined rendezvous point, as the wounded heavy cruiser that had fired it powered its drives for the jump back to FTL.
They could feel how each person felt like they were pushing their ship, pushing her to jump, pushing her not to let them down. They could see a distraught engineer, terrorized by the damage in her once-pristine engine room, begging the drives out loud not to fail, though they could not hear the words.
And they were interested that they felt relief when the ship finally charged forward in the leaping motion that for the humans constituted a literal jump to hyperspace.
They saw the Z’lask were ecstatic at their companion’s return to the dimension so many sentients would never enter, though they could not hear the claw-tapping or the barked triumph as the Z’lask saw the humans were still ahead of their shadow.
COURAGE OF Z’RAA: CUTTING IT FINE
YORKTOWN: THAT WILL TEACH THEM
The observers saw, though no one could hear and no one else see, the detonation of a surprisingly efficient fission-fusion device. Though it was not antimatter, it was still powerful enough to cause a limited amount of fifth-dimensional contact that the “shadow,” as the allies were calling it, was inadequately shielded for, believing that they had learned all the humans’ tricks.
Of course, it did not work so well as the humans hoped. The shadow staggered but remained in hyperspace, charging on. Nevertheless, there were gasps the observers could not hear, accompanying clenched fists and waving tails, as the estimated time-to-range at last exceeded the time remaining to prepare the interdiction equipment.
COURAGE OF Z’RAA: YOU MUST SPEED UP TO GET OUT OF RANGE
YORKTOWN: WILL DO MY BEST
Removing safeguards, overriding computers, recalculating coolant flows, overpressurizing feed lines, disabling alarms so that temperatures could rise above normal. Yorktown had to go faster.
And Courage of Z’raa had to go slower. The Z’lask tried to find an optimal way to let the humans pass ahead of them without coming in range of the shadow themselves too early. Exhausted and frightened people struggled to focus on calculations, to force themselves to think through the problem at hand as though nothing rode upon their success or failure.
Of course it didn’t work as well as they wanted it to.
Nothing ever did seem to, the observers thought, and were surprised to find themselves thinking in sympathy.
They watched the two fleeing allies draw level with thirty minutes left until the Z’lask could interdict. Their captains had argued, then given up, cursing the other for a stubborn son of a bitch and a mudsnake, respectively.
The shadow opened fire again.
Courage of Z’raa staggered bodily under the impact, compartments vented atmosphere and debris and what had recently been people. Yorktown, drawing ahead, had time to observe her companion’s damage, to wince and wish that they would be all right, before being hit herself. A few people, seeking encouragement in a way neither the Z’lask nor observers could hear, but that would have made both laugh, murmured: “for what we are about to receive….”
Yorktown was drawing ahead, Reactor 2 beginning to overheat under the strain. The engineers attended their engines with terror that they would fail, or worse, that they would do something to make the engines fail. On the bridge, an individual so stressed she thought her heart might burst—it happened sometimes—was torturing herself to come up with as many different ways of targeting torpedoes as she could. She wished the captain would quit shooting.
Yorktown drew out of range of interdiction with ten minutes left before the Courage of Z’raa could attack. The captain found herself thinking involuntarily of how far she could run in ten minutes, how ten minutes was really such a short time, and brought herself up sharply to give orders to cease fire and shut down weapons systems, relieving the engines of some of their power draw. The nervous individual sat down and shivered.
Courage of Z’raa took her punishment for another ten minutes—two more salvos were fired, a total of four “plasmabolts,” as the humans thought of them. One missed wide, one destroyed itself accelerating too quickly, one slashed along the dreadnought’s port side, making the shielding flare blindingly white. One smashed directly into the already-damaged stern, overwhelming the feeble shields racing engineers had recently managed to reestablish. More compartments vented to vacuum and more people were swept to a physically horrific death as they “fell” out of the hyperspace through which their ship still charged. All most of the crew could think was: thank dear Z’aa, who watches over homeworld Z’laya, the reactors are still online.
The observers could not hear, though they could now feel, the noise made by both crews when Courage of Z’raa successfully interdicted their shadow.
They could not hear, but felt, the jubilation of both as the dreadnought accelerated to catch up with her sister. It seemed they both would live to tell their tale.
And the observers made their decision.
The allies would arrive at the Council—if their damage control continued to be effective—in three hours. Their shadow would not recover from the Z’lask’s savagely-executed interdiction for six. That left the observers just enough time to make themselves presentable.
They had not been to the Council in a long time.
​
The poems are The Blue and The Gray, by Francis Miles Finch, An Irish Airman Foresees His Death, by William Butler Yeats, and The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe. What do y'all think of them? And what do you think of our new friends? How will the Lappa react? As always, any criticism is deeply appreciated!
submitted by PuzzleheadedCharge4 to HFY [link] [comments]

Debris [Part 53]

[First] [Previous] [Next]
-----
"I swear, sudoku was invented by the Japanese to make people hate numbers." said Sam, staring in abject confusion at a puzzle booklet.
"The French." corrected Kay inbetween bites of a cafeteria burger.
"Huh?"
"Sudoku's French. It only became sudoku after a Japanese company renamed it that for a newspaper."
"... Huh... Fuck the French."
Kay's laugh was interrupted when she shot ketchup out of her nose.
"Who punched you?" asked Percy jokingly, coming up to the table with tray in hand.
"The French." Kay replied as she wiped her face clean with a napkin. "Get bent, Sam."
"Bend me yourself, coward." he snarked.
They exchanged platonic middle fingers.
"What's the go, Perce?" asked Kay, tossing the napkin Sam's way.
"Not much to say. 'Till we get more funding, all we can do is pile up blueprints and hope one of them sticks when we get the chance to chuck 'em at the wall." He sat down at the table. "The most interesting thing I can say is that we're considering adopting nilina for external plating."
"But I keep telling 'em that it's too unstable for anything external; you'd be safer strapping nukes to the hull." cut in Richard, taking a seat.
"Speaking of nukes, I've got a bomb idea for Christmas this year." said Kay.
"That wasn't clever."
"Quiet. I'm heading up to California to meet my folks, and I usually stay at their place while I'm there. But this year, I'm treating myself to a room in the Catamaran, and I was hoping to invite all you guys! My treat, of course." She wore a broad and hopeful smile.
Sam almost choked on his water. "A-are you insane?! That's a few thousand bucks per person just for rooms!"
"I'm frugal where it counts, I can cover it, no problem."
Sam stammered. "N-no shit, I wanna go!"
"Count me in." said Richard plainly.
Percy felt the weights of expectation and temptation bear down on him, but he had to remain strong. "Sorry, I can't join you. I already arranged to meet up with Finn and Marge for Christmas." he said regretfully.
"Oh, okay. Well, say hi to them for me, okay?" asked Kay.
"Will do." said Percy with a smile.
"Finn... Isn't that Mark's boy?" asked Richard.
"Yeah. Made the House this year. He's the up-and-comer calling for more funding."
Richard thought for a moment. "Middling height? White-blonde hair? Face like a model on an off day?" He gave appropriate gestures.
"Sounds like him."
"So he was the guy on the news this morning."
Percy stared. "... What was he on the news for?"
"Said he was already working with his team and other Representatives in putting a bill together. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it involves that funding you mentioned."
"God damn, that kid works fast!" exclaimed Percy. "Too bad he won't be in office 'till January, that'd be one hell of a Christmas present."
Everybody at the table had the sense to let the conversation end there. Percy couldn't help but wonder how the holiday would have turned out if Mark were there. Thinking about it, he realized that plans wouldn't change at all: He, Jaali, and Angavu would still drive up to Jacksonville to meet up with Finn and Marge, and they all would head out for a day of fun at the local amusement parks. The rest of the holiday would be spent with good, home cooked meals and exchanging presents. The events would still be the same, but Mark's absence would change everything. He still looked forward to the festivities, but for the first time in decades, his anticipation felt numbed.
~~~
'I should've been planning for Christmas by now.' thought Mark.
Julu soup bubbled on the stovetop, filling the room with a gamey smell that took Mark back to the days where rabbit stew was on the menu. 'That's what I should be eating.' Mark thought. 'A nice, hearty rabbit stew with my family. Not chunks of featherless stab-birds, with only convicts for company.' He absentmindedly lifted a dumbbell as he cooked; it was the least he could do to keep up with his slow deterioration. His grip threatened to sink into its bar. 'That's not fair. They're convicts to the letter of the law, not the spirit. They're not criminals, not really. They're quite nice, really.' He deflated, saving the metal in his palm from an impromptu reshaping.
The doorbell rang. Mark let Arnd and Jan'u in.
<"Aren't you angry?"> asked Arnd.
<"No point."> replied Jan'u. <"Unless that anger can make a positive change, it's just wasted energy. Morning, Mark.">
"Jan'u. Arnd."
<"Hey, Tiny."> said Arnd inattentively. <"But don't you want to get out of here?">
<" I do, but I don't see why I should kick up a fuss about it when it'll change nothing. Julu soup?">
"Got it in one." replied Mark. "Look, guys, I'm sorry about all this. I'll try to make it up to you."
<"I'll live."> said Jan'u nonchalantly. <"Besides, it'll let me keep an eye on this one.">
Arnd held up a finger. <"Jump on it.">
Jan'u was unfamiliar with the gesture. <"Mark, what have you been teaching her?>
"Nothing she doesn't need to know." He began ladling soup into bowls. "On that topic: it's 'bullshit', not 'buhsit'."
<"Bullshit, got it."> Arnd's eyes followed the bowl being laid on the table, and caught a glimpse of Mark's hand. <"Whoa, what happened to your hand?">
"Therapy." Mark said curtly.
Arnd's eyes narrowed. <"It had better be the last of it. I don't want to have to step around a tissue replicator again, thank you very much.">
"Trust me, this is the last of it. It isn't pleasant at the best of times, let alone when you've got the whole world watching you. Good thing they stock gloves in the wardrobes here." He began eating, and with gusto. "Afraid I can't stay for long. I'm starting my workout in a 'lo, then I gotta head out for some fresh clothes."
<"You'd better ask for a lift, then."> said Arnd, deciding the reason for the lift wasn't worth asking about.
Mark paused for a moment, then sighed. "Alright Arnd, look. I'm trying to become a citizen, y'know, make my life simpler while I have to stay here, get outta your fur, all that. My public perception - which I don't doubt is part of why I'm not a citizen right now - is bad enough, so what do you think people will say if I get chauffeured around the city in a limousine owned by a government official? As tempting as it is, I've gotta stick to public transit."
Arnd opened her mouth to argue, but stopped herself short. <"Fine."> she said apprehensively. <"Just, stay safe, alright?">
"That's the plan."
The trio ate silently, communicating in nothing more than occasional glances. Those glances were more than enough to communicate that all three were in agreement: this was a horrible idea.
​
The store's doors opened. Apparel for all occasions hung on racks arranged neatly around the floor. Soft, rhythmic humming played through wall mounted speakers hung next to scrolls depicting various models dressed in trendy clothing. Mark adjusted the gym bag on his shoulder, took a breath of the comparatively warm air, and felt safe.
<"Mister Stevens!"> said an elderly voice from across the store.
"I told you, Ch'yn, just Mark is fine!"
<"Nonsense! You make as much use of my work as you do, you lose the right to casualness."> A balding woman - and the store's namesake - whose age brought her down to Mark's height, walked out from behind a rack, a bundle of coats in her hand. <"So, what's the occasion?"> she asked.
"I need some new clothes. Something smart."
A glint appeared in the woman's eye. <"Ooh, moving up in the world, are we?">
"Not exactly." said Mark coyly. "I just need something for an event I'm attending in a week."
<"That shouldn't be a problem at all. Anything specific in mind?">
"Actually, yes. I was wondering if you'd like to tackle human fashion."
Ch'yn's ears perked up, and she spun around to look at Mark with surprising speed. <"Yes!"> she said excitedly.
Mark recovered from the shock. "In that case, I have a few diagrams here."
He handed the woman his data pad. She studied the images for a while, her face a portrait of concentration.
<"It's certainly interesting, Mister Stevens. Humans must not like showing their arms much."> she observed.
"Cold aside, you'd be surprised." said Mark vaguely.
After a moment, Ch'yn smiled. <"Alright, let's see what we can do here.">
Mark transferred the diagrams to Ch'yn's device, and the woman got to work. Mark split the time between checking the news and watching Ch'yn work her magic. Rumours flowed out of X'oland claiming that the military's efforts in quelling extremist activity were too little, too late, with entire towns being overrun before military patrols arrives; the government, when pressured on the matter, continued their radio silence in order to stay true to their anti-extremist strategy. Meanwhile, scattered reports stated that arguments relating to Mark's presence in the city were breaking out city-wide, in some cases, escalating into physical violence. Police claimed that they were looking into methods of stemming the violence. Reading this, Mark couldn't help but feel responsible, and hoped that the searches along the Men-te Jump Line finished soon, with conclusive results.
He was pulled out of this sullen mindset when Ch'yn called from her workroom. Mark entered a room that looked for all purposes like a fabric storeroom with sewing machines and mannequins hastily added. It gave off a feeling of silky possibility.
<"Mister Stevens! Right here, son. What do you think of this?"> said Ch'yn.
Laying on a table nearby one of the many sewing machines was the same diagram blown up to life-size, upon which laid a number of fabric squares. Mark ran his hand over each, enjoying the smooth sensation against his palm.
"That's basically perfect. But do you think you could find something a tad more rugged for the tie? The red piece."
<"Got something just for it."> replied the tailor, quickly pulling a square of red fabric off a rack.
Mark rubbed it between his fingers and thumb. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff."
<"Excellent. I'll begin right away!"> said Ch'yn confidently.
"Don't you wanna-" Mark began, stopping short when he looked back to the diagram on the table. "You saved my measurements, didn't you?"
<"You're a high profile customer. No businesswoman in her right mind would throw information like that away. Now unless you want to watch, I suggest you head along, son."> Her words only wore the skin of a request.
"Okay. See you when it's done, Ch'yn." He waved her goodbye, then left the store.
Mark forgone taking a bus back to X'rtani House, feeling that a nice winter's stroll would do him some good. Experimental, jazzy tunes from a popular X'etish group filled his ears as he sauntered down city streets.
He didn't hear the siren.
​
Se'te's Forge was a popular gym, and it was in full swing. People stood at every machine, each in the pursuit of fitness, or at least any number of ends that rippling muscles could help them meet. Many ignored the doors opening, such was their dedication to exercise, but those who did got to see a rare sight.
Steam billowed off Mark as he weakly shuffled through the doors, brushing snow off himself and his bag. His movements were lethargic, and hampered by intense shivering. His face was paler than usual, almost stark white, and his breaths were heavy and ragged. He plodded up to the front counter. "How much for a shower?" he breathed.
The clerk stared at the frozen human. <"I-it's free.">
"Okay. Thank you." Mark shuffled across the gym floor, past machines and gym-goers, to the showers. When he left sight, most simply returned to their workouts, but one patron in particular stared at the empty doorway, hardly believing her eyes.
'Four minutes.' Mark thought as hot water breathed life back into his body. He was angry, angry at the world for stranding him here, angry at the people for leaving him out there to face it alone, and angry at himself for allowing everything to happen. Right back at the beginning, back on Earth. If he had been that little bit faster... He exhaled. As much as he wished it was, here was not the place for painful reminiscing.
​
In a few minutes, Mark once again emerged to the gym floor, bag in tow. Soon, he picked out a spot, and began his warmup routine.
<"Spaceman?"> said a familiar voice in the direction of the cable crossover machine.
"Wrench?" asked Mark, looking up from his bag.
Sure enough, Uns'la met his gaze, and a smile split her face. <"What in Se'te's name are you doing here?!">
"I could ask the same of you." The two clasped hands, Uns'la trying in vain to overpower Mark. She stopped when his smug smirk lasted for an uncomfortable amount of time.
Uns'la spoke quickly, trying to recover from her embarrassment. <"Yeah, um... I'm ex-military. I joined after the War, just did basic and a deployment to Neresh. I only took home two things from that: money, and a rockin' bod. The money ran out, but I thought: 'Might as well make something last from all of this'. So I just, kept working out. But why are you here? You essentially have a private gym back at the House!">
"I just come here for the atmosphere and to have a more relaxed day once a week." Mark said plainly.
<"Yeah, you came in looking like you needed it. On that topic: WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?!">
​
Arnd sat at the cafeteria, scrolling as she ate lunch. It didn't take long for her to find the videos. The sound of her utensil clattering on the floor didn't register to her ears.
​
"Not here, Uns'la." said Mark quietly.
As eager as she was to know exactly what was going through Mark's head for him to do what he did, she abstained. <"Well, are you okay, at least?"> she asked.
"I'll live."
The casualness with which he said it was enough for Uns'la. She had gotten a more than sufficient feel for how hardy the man was. With a mutual understanding, they split off, and went about their workouts.
​
Uns'la's truck drew closer to X'rtani House. Mark asked that she take a side road so as to avoid the main square, and sure enough,the sound of the exact reason why drifted into the street running along the sheer cliff facing the city.
Uns'la leaned back in the driver's seat so Mark could hear her easier. <"I can hear those bastards from here.">
"Yup." said Mark, deadpan.
<"You want me to drop you off here?">
"Yeah, there's a side entrance not too far from here." explained Mark, grabbing his bag from beside him.
Uns'la brought the vehicle to a stop in a parking space just barely within view of the anti-Mark crowd. They paid them no mind, not noticing Mark exiting the truck.
"Well, I'll see you when I see you, Wrench." said Mark.
<"'Till next time, Spaceman."> Uns'la waved him off, then pulled away.
To the tune of a crowd chanting <"We are not alone! We are not alone!">, Mark soon slipped into the porte cochère to the left of the main entrance to X'rtani House, greeting the guard stationed at the door as he entered. He hadn't quite realized how common a presence he had become in X'rtani House, because when people began staring at him en-masse again, he once more felt uneasy, exposed.
He walked up to the cafeteria, and Arnd walked up to him.
<"Are you hurt?!"> she asked frantically.
"Uh, not really. Unless you count a post-workout strain." Mark said in a soothing tone.
Arnd's expression grew deadpan. <"Mark, I know you're tough, but if you think I'll buy you walking out of Se'te's Breath unscathed, you're a fucking idiot.">
That phrase was the last thing he wanted to hear. He remembered the chill like it never left him.
​
Mark was focused on walking, letting the music carry him along. He didn't notice that the streets had become bare of pedestrians until he had rounded two corners. The siren still blared, and it suddenly hit him; he knew what that siren meant. His eyes swiveled back and forth as he ran, looking for any open door, any safe haven he could find in what little time remained. People looked at him through car and store windows. Some debated whether to let him in, others wouldn't risk trying, others still were too far for him to hear them over the siren.
Then the siren changed.
The rhythm it chimed in, alongside it's steadily rising pitch, told Mark all it needed to.
  1. Mark dashed to the nearest storefront.
  2. Its doors were shut.
  3. Mark waved frantically for help.
  4. He and the owner's eyes met.
  5. Hate stared down at him.
  6. Mark stood staring in disbelief.
  7. The last cars on the street shut off.
  8. Mark seethed.
  9. Mark turned away.
  10. Mark braced.
The air grew sharp, turning Mark's breath to ice. No amount of safety videos could have prepared him for its sheer immensity. He saw it coming for him, blanketing his view in an ever-growing curtain of white, eating the city an entire block at a time. Trees ahead of him were stripped bare. Cars either slid or rolled as it barreled into them. Mark closed his eyes.
Se'te's Breath struck.
Mark was slammed backward by a city-sized hammer made of ice. Learning forward to fight the gale, Mark's feet slid out from beneath him, leaving him scrabbling for an inch as he was swept along the street. Reaching out, he caught hold of a road sign, and gripped like his life depended on it. Every sucking breath felt like inhaling knives, and the ice made every desperate twitch of his muscles burn. He got his second hand on the pole and began to slowly right himself, only for it to finally snap against his weight, and for him to tumble backward, smashing his back against his bag's contents.
His stamina had been sapped, and his entire body wracked with agony. In desperation, he curled up, hiding every exposed inch, and prayed to every god both human and x'erren that it would end soon.
It did end eventually, but all Mark could do for a solid minute was lay in a fetal position, shivering against the cold that still wracked his body. Slowly, he stood up, snow falling off him in clumps as he rose. He quickly realized he had stopped in a gutter with his back to the sidewalk. Feeling like he had just experienced every winter nightmare scenario in one, all he could think to do is warm up.
'I saw showers last time I was there. I'm headed there anyway. Just keep going, your image keeps you safe.' he thought unsteadily as he found his feet.
With glacial steps, he plodded along to Se'te's Forge.
​
With effort, Mark shook the memory.
"Look..." he said placatingly. "Yeah, I took a few lumps, but I got right back on my feet, warmed myself up, and I'm perfectly fine."
Arnd knitted her brow. <"Bag down. Now.">
Mark knew better than to argue, laying his gym bag down gingerly. "Okay."
Before he could finish talking, Arnd had vanished, and the back of his shirt had been peeled off. <"Bullshit you're perfectly fine!"> Arnd bellowed.
"I can't even feel it!" said Mark desperately. Arnd slapped the blue, bar-shaped bruise on Mark's back. Mark yowled. "Argh, mother fu-! You bitch! What was that for?!"
<"Reminding you that you're mortal! You'd be surprised how many don't realize that, you included, apparently."> She pulled out her device and scrolled to the comment section of the video she watched of the incident. Though worded in near uncountable ways, the general mood was succinctly captured with the highest rated message:
This thing is fucking unkillable.
Mark allowed the unearned sense of pride he received from that comment pass. "In my defense, I was locked outside with nothing to hide behind that wouldn't careen into me."
<"So fucking what if you put a dent in some rando's cruiser? Compared to facing Se'te's Breath head on, I'd turn that thing into scrap metal with my bare hands if it kept me safe!">
"The last thing I want to deal with right now is someone suing me for property damage, I already have enough on my plate." He readjusted his bag's strap and walked past Arnd. At this point, all he wanted was to sit down and watch that one sci-fi movie that came out a week ago.
Arnd stammered. <"T-that's it?! You're just gon-">
Mark spun around, momentarily stunning the x'erren. "Look, Arnd. If you want to continue berating me, then come along and do it in private; people were staring before, now they're leering."
Arnd didn't need to look around to know that Mark was right.
​
Without sunlight being able to pierce the thick snow bank on the window, Mark's room was almost pitch black until he turned the light on. He laid his bag down beside the sofa and turned to face Arnd. "Alright, fire away." he said.
<"You're going to get yourself killed, you idiot."> Arnd said strongly. <"I know you like being helpful and you have an image to maintain and all that, but none of it will matter if you end up dead.">
"This coming from the woman who chose to fight rather than hand me over to pirates?"
<"They would've killed us anyway."> she snapped. <"We just got lucky in picking you up instead of one of our own. I'm sorry for imposing that on you.">
Mark remembered the doors to the Star Chaser's prison hold opening, and the near-paralyzing fear he felt. He sighed, both in exasperation and because he realized he was holding his breath. "Looking back, I would've fought either way. Nothing much else to do in that scenario." Arnd silently agreed.
"Anyway, I gotta go put something on this thing, I can still feel your hand on it."
<"There should be numbing cream and ice pads in the cabinet above the basin."> Arnd muttered to herself, making for the bathroom.
"Arnd, I can-"
<"Sit down, Stevens."> she commanded. Fired though she was, she still had all the qualities that made her captain, voice included.
Mark sat down in the sofa and waited. It wasn't long until Arnd returned. She placed the ice pads on the lounge room table, and squeezed some lime green cream from a small tube onto her fingers. <"Alright, shirt off.">
"Arnd, I can-"
<"Can you?"> she retorted sharply. <"Alright. Show me.">
Mark stared at her for a moment, then put some cream on his own fingers. He reached up under his shirt, and paused halfway through, wincing. After a second to adjust to the pain, he put his fingers to the contusion.
It took half a minute for the pain to subside, and for him to uncurl. Blushing, he removed his shirt.
<"Thought so."> said Arnd smugly.
Her hands were silk over Mark's injury, with the cream cooling him as Arnd spread it over the long blue patch on his back. Looking at it felt like a miracle to Arnd, like she was staring at something that shouldn't exist. She had seen people unfortunate enough to be caught outside during a Breath before, and bruises were the least distressing thing they made it out with, if she could even see them on the mangled mess that was once a body. To see someone not only survive, but walk away with little more than a blue mark on their back - despite the stone-hard proof of such being in her very palm - was impossible to believe.
<"Believe it or not, I don't like seeing you hurt."> said Arnd quietly. <"I don't like seeing any of my friends hurt."> Her hands slowed as she thought. <"I want you to promise me that you'll think more about yourself.">
"Why? I-"
<"Promise me, or I slap you.">
Mark couldn't help but chuckle. "Oh, heavens save me from the might of Arn-" He felt her press into his back. "Okay, okay! I promise to be a bit more selfish, okay?!"
<"... Better."> She continued applying cream. She swore it had grown a tiny bit since she began treating him.
While Arnd was busy spreading balm on his back, Mark picked up the television remote. If he was going to be stuck there while being tended to, he might as well take the half-minute it took to set the film up while he had nothing better to do.
Arnd spared a glance at the screen. <"I've been meaning to see that; I've been doing a marathon of that director's films. Hand please. Other hand."> She scooped up the remaining cream on Mark's fingers.
"Huh. Is his work good?"
<"I'd say so. His action cinematography could do with some work, though.">
"It did look a bit shaky in the preview." Mark agreed.
Arnd leaned over to grab the ice pads. She paused halfway through. <"Well?">
"Well what?"
<"You looking for an invitation? Start the movie!"> she insisted.
Mark chuckled silently, and started the movie.
​
It was fun. Basic, and with hard-to-follow action, but fun. The ice pads certainly helped in Mark's enjoyment. That, and the running commentary by the woman that applied them.
<"I liked it."> said Arnd, sipping a mug of ramut.
"You did nothing but throw jabs at it! I don't think you said one positive thing the entire movie." replied Mark as he tended to rukwa pieces in a pan.
<"I was quiet during the good bits.">
Mark considered the lengthy silences between criticisms. "Fair enough."
<"There really was too much camera shake during the action scenes, though.">
"Agreed."
Mark served up the rukwa wraps. Arnd dug in immediately, while Mark was distracted by his device buzzing. 'F'ejen?' he thought. 'F'ejen!' he thought happily.
Are you sure, Mark?
​
I'm sure. There's nothing else on the planet that I can think of that'll work.
​
Alright. I'll see what I can do. Do you need anything else?
​
A mirror and a stylist.
<"Who're you texting?"> asked Arnd.
"F'ejen."
<"Why? Is something wrong? You getting your back checked out?">
"No, my back will be fine. I'm thinking of getting a haircut."
Arnd thought a moment about the scenario presented to her. <"Tidying yourself up a bit? Even it all out?">
"You could say that. I'm going short again."
<"You're always sho- wait, like how you got here?">
"Yup."
<"You sure that's a good idea?">
"I've got an event on in a week, and I've gotta look nice."
<"Yeah, but, short? Couldn't you make this look work?"> she gestured to the human's scraggly beard and nearly shoulder-length hair.
"I prefer it short. Simple."
Arnd deflated a bit. <"Ah. That's a shame."> The pair continued eating for a minute before Arnd asked: <"What's the event?">
Mark smiled cheekily. "It's a surprise."
Arnd pouted, and left it at that. <'That event had better be worth it.'> she thought. <'Long fur really does suit him.'>
~~~
Drivers were still sorting themselves out post-Breath when Du'fra arrived at the town house, briefcase in tow. Police aided in restoring order nearby, but Du'fra knew why they were there in the first place. He was heartened with the knowledge that soon, underhanded tactics such as had been employed would be obsolete. Once the woman was in office, Du'fra could wash his hands of the whole ordeal and let fate take its course. He knew from the beginning that this plan would only work with widespread public support, so if there was enough support to get a woman elected, there would be enough support from the anti-Mark crowd to get the attention of investigators.
<"Bora, you're going too far!"> said a woman around the corner. Du'fra paused at the doors to the house to listen.
<"How? We've got to do something about it before it strikes!"> responded a brash-sounding young man.
<"What's he even done?! Defended himself from pirates, stopped a runaway cruiser, and took a jab at people spreading hate speech!">
<"Hate spe-?!">
<"The worst thing he's done is butcher a bit of X'rtan!">
<"Are you seriously fucking defending it?!">
<"From the man who attacked him? Yes!">
The snow seemed to freeze in the air during the silence, not daring to disturb the moment. The young man turned the corner, briefly meeting Du'fra's gaze. Du'fra averted his eyes when he noticed that the youth had a rifle slung over his shoulder. Completely legal as it was, the fuming look on the boy's face told Du'fra that he wasn't afraid to use it. <'So long as Vuk'li is taken down, it'll all be worth it.'> he reminded himself, and entered the building.
The room briefly fell silent when video of Mark surviving Se'te's Breath was projected on the far wall. Then, predictably, came a vitriolic uproar. Many stated and restated that the monster was too dangerous to be left to its own devices; calls for banishment eked their way out of the periphery. Du'fra could finally hear them clearly, hate-fueled demands that he hoped were just a figment of his imagination, but we're now too loud to ignore: some in the crowd wanted Mark dead. Du'fra had little to worry about on that front, given the human's durability, but the sentiment alone was enough to shake him. <'Just get this cunt onto the city council, and you can disappear. It'll sort itself out from there, and you'll be in the clear.'> he thought.
[Continued in comments]
submitted by TheAusNerd to HFY [link] [comments]

Stay Out, Stay Alive

I tell everyone that asks to embrace the motto, “Stay out, stay alive.” It is no joke; you’re tempting fate each time you wriggle into an abandoned mine, especially without proper preparation and knowledge. Trespassing charges, cave-ins, and noxious gases are all dangers you face while venturing underground, but not they’re not the worst; far from it. Many other things lurk in mines too, and I learned that the hard way. My friend and I ignored the signs, and I hope you can learn from our mistakes.
Also, please note that the images scattered throughout this story are screenshots of a video. No matter how much anyone pleads. I will never post the video online. Ever.
During our freshman year in college, my roommate, Ben, and I stupidly began exploring abandoned mines for fun, and it soon turned into a hobby. We were both new to southern Ohio, where adits and shafts dotted the forests and hills like blemishes on an unkempt face. The long-abandoned mines were easy to come across and hard to stay out of if you were curious— and dumb. Unfortunately, we were both.
We discovered the thrill entirely by accident while on a hiking trip early on in the fall semester. I’d heard from a local guy about a ghost town hidden in the national forest surrounding our campus, and I asked Ben to help me find it. He obliged, and we went out hiking one weekend in search of it.
I will not share the town’s name here, but we successfully found the small community’s remains. However, we were disappointed to see that only a few crumbled foundations were all that still stood, scattered about in a valley between two steep hills. There were no buildings left at all, nor the remnants of any roads. The forest had swallowed up the town almost entirely.
We felt let down and were about to begin the long hike back to the car when Ben stopped me and pointed out the entrance to what he thought was a small cave. It was tucked at the base of one of the hills about a hundred yards off from the nearest foundation and almost entirely obscured by the forest’s thick vegetation.
Only when we slipped inside did we realize that we had entered a crudely-sealed coal mine. While the town above had rotted away to the point of obscurity, its former lifeblood had remained remarkably well preserved. The timbering supporting the roof still bore the soot stains from the miner’s carbide lamps. A train of minecarts stood idle in the tunnel ahead of us, and we went to explore it with only cell phone flashlights. I found one of them filled with extra hardware and snagged an interesting-looking hinge that I still begrudgingly own. We only explored a bit further than the end of the mine train before deciding to head out. We agreed to come back some other time, more prepared, but I knew that wouldn’t be long. That first mine thoroughly teased my appetite for exploration, and I wanted more.
Back in my dorm, I started to read up on mine exploration. It turns out many others shared my new interest. There was a whole community, in fact. And I must admit, free information from other explorers was abundant online, and the supplies they used weren’t too expensive. I thought I could become a mine explorer also and coddled myself with vague snippets of mine safety. I naively thought collapses and blackdamp were all I had to look out for. I hadn’t given myself time to become aware of my own ignorance before I ordered oxygen detectors, hard hats, and high-power flashlights, thinking they were all we needed to go below ground safely.
I also found a public database created by the state government, a compilation of all their information on current and past mining operations. One of the database’s most convenient tools plotted the extent of every mine in the state on an easy-to-use map. Its purpose was to help homeowners determine if their properties were susceptible to subsidence, but I exploited it. The map gave precise coordinates of mine entrances and their corresponding underground maps, so I started a list of places to explore. It also kept track of which mine entries were inaccessible and which were still wide open.
Even better was most of these mines were on public land, deep in the national forest and away from people. The likelihood of getting caught by rangers out there was near zilch. The forest service had a plan for sealing abandoned mines, but with hundreds of openings to deal with, it was impossibly expensive for them to patrol them all, much less seal them. This, combined with the information that I gleaned from the internet, meant Ben and I had a backlog of locations to explore and no chance of incurring trespassing charges.
And explore we did. The thrill of it continued to grow each time we checked another mine off the list, and we soon became bolder and more foolish. We were a couple of idiots, but hunting down the mines was no more challenging than searching for a public park online. The only difficulty we had was finding the overgrown entrances. It was like the ultimate form of geocaching, and we started to have too much fun with it, entering any mine works we found open, regardless of their condition.
Then one day, towards the end of the fall semester, it all came to a head, and we unknowingly hunted down the last mine we would ever explore. This mine had a name, but I’ve decided to rename it the Peytonville Mine for this story. I don’t want anyone to discover its precise location, at least not as easily as I did. Even if someone pieced it together, they would no longer be able to enter this mine anyway, so I feel safe posting this.
According to the maps and information, there was nothing too remarkable about the Peytonville mine other than its size. It operated for the better half of a century before closing down in the mid-1950s. By then, it had accumulated a maze of tunnels over the decades from mining both iron and coal. As such, it had a much grander entrance than anything else we had explored, nearly ten feet tall and reinforced with brick, like the entrance to a fancy train tunnel.
However, a handful of monolithic concrete blocks impeded our passage into the mine. They were the kind of blocks used to construct a seawall or highway median. They looked new. A sign, warning of trespassing charges, also stood out front. It bore the US Forest Service logo and Smokey bear’s image, waving a finger, saying, “Stay out; stay alive.” The sign also looked relatively new, and we guessed that the forest service must have put them there in an attempt to seal the mine. These new signs and barriers worried me; the mine was most likely dangerous in some way. Remember, the Forest Service’s budget only allowed them to seal a few dozen each year, and I knew that they prioritized based on the condition of any given mine. Plus, this mine was far away from any roads or well-traveled trails, but we didn’t heed these warnings.
Ben pointed to a small hole between two of the blocks, about six feet off the ground. I knew that I was ignoring my gut, but I soon found myself climbing up the barricade and shimmying through the narrow opening behind him.
Once inside, I dropped back down to the floor and turned on my flashlight. This mine was nothing like any of the others we had entered; it was much more elaborate. I shined my light along the empty cart tracks and could not see the end. The miners had taken the time to line this tunnel with brick, continuing it in from the entrance to form an arched passageway that served to prevent the main haulage tunnel from collapsing. It was also reminiscent of a small train tunnel. I felt safe in here, and the tunnel’s condition seemed better than anything we’d seen before. I wondered why they took the time to try and seal this one.
https://imgur.com/g9iYmrs
https://imgur.com/QE7jtvn
https://imgur.com/lbd0RuN
We started down the empty tunnel and continued for several hundred yards. Usually, the mines would have branched out into a grid by this point, but this one continued in a straight, brick-lined passageway for as far as our lights would shine. Ben suggested that the face of the mine might be miles back after years of operation. I agreed; he was probably right.
The only deviations from the straight tunnel were small evenly-spaced setbacks that I thought once allowed miners to step out of the way of passing ore carts. They were nothing of interest until we arrived at one with some unusual graffiti. Markings left by miners to alert each other to dangers and exit routes were not uncommon to find, but this piece of graffiti was different. It was a crudely drawn outline of a humanoid figure and lacked any other features aside from two red-painted eyes and the faint outline of a set of wings. Where the outline’s chest should have been, there was a hole passing through the tunnel’s brick wall. I took a picture and then shined my light through the hole to see what lay beyond.
https://imgur.com/aesokRL
I could see that another part of the mine laid behind the wall, running off perpendicular to the main tunnel, another adit. I hypothesized that the other setbacks we walked must have also been other long-sealed adits. From what I read online, it was not uncommon for miners to seal off disused portions of their mines to improve air circulation, so this was not too weird of a find for me.
I paid little attention to the graffiti. The small hole at its center interested me more. It was similar in size to the one we squeezed through at the mine’s entrance, but someone had chiseled through the blocks to form this one. Ben started to push through before I could stop him, and I knew I had to go with him. We weren’t stupid enough to ditch the buddy system. I bit my lips and followed him into the chest of the outline.
Once through the wall, the construction of the tunnel changed entirely. No longer was the tunnel lined with brick, but instead was supported haphazardly by timbers. The ceiling was also much lower in there, and neither of us could stand up completely. This area looked much more like the other mines we had explored and much closer to caving in.
https://imgur.com/wWGmOTY
https://imgur.com/a1kxP2z
As we continued in this new direction, my trepidation increased as the ceiling quality decreased. Soon, we were walking across car-sized heaps of rock that had fallen from above.
I suggested to Ben that we head back to the other tunnel, but he brushed off my worries and still wanted to explore this new one further since we had no map of it. I continued to follow him, pleading about the mine’s condition and reminding him that a cave-in would be the end of us. I knew this was not safe, but I could not leave him alone. Getting separated was the worst possible thing to happen underground.
Eventually, we got to a point where the adit split into three different directions. Again, I told Ben we should head back. The fork was a likely indication that the adit branched out into a grid ahead of us. I didn’t want to add to my list of worries with the thought of getting lost underground. I pleaded with Ben that we were risking both a cave in and becoming lost, but he still ignored me.
I turned back and started towards the hole, hoping he wouldn’t be likely to go far without me. I waited for the sound of him scrambling to catch back up with me, but it never came. Instead, he’d trained his flashlight on something in the distance and started towards it. He beckoned me over, and I tried denying him, but he was adamant that I come to see what he had found. I shook my head in regret and started climbing over the fallen rock to catch up with him. I stood next to him and shined my light at his discovery.
https://imgur.com/90kTf2Q
https://imgur.com/ICyV4B0
For a moment, we stood there, trying to discern what our beams of light had illuminated. Something had dug out a divot into the gravel floor, forming a nest of sorts. In it laid a mess of shredded cloth, bedding I assumed. Ben thought we had found a large rat’s nest, but I disagreed. This was too large to have been made by rats, and I had no idea where the cloth would have come from; we were nearly a quarter of a mile from the mine’s entrance. This was too deep for even a rat to drag something this far. Even if someone tossed a bag of clothes right at the entrance, this was still too far. I started to feel uncomfortable.
To my dismay, Ben stuck his hand into the pile of tattered cloth and dug around. He pulled out a soft-shelled egg, almost as large as that of an ostrich, and looked up at me in horror. The egg was somewhat translucent, and as he held his light up to it, we could see something moving inside the semi-translucent shell.
My curiosity overtook me at that point as well, and I went and pulled the cloth from the nest while Ben stood inspecting his egg. As I flung the foul-smelling material from the roost, I realized that the nest contained a whole clutch of these eggs, dozens of them. All of the little creatures inside squirmed as my light hit them. I had never seen anything like this, and I stumbled backward and tripped over some of the rocks.
Ben, still holding his egg, looked over to see what I discovered. He seemed just as unsettled as I was. I don’t think either of us had any clue as to what we were looking at. As we looked worryingly at each other, we heard something rustle in the darkness in front of us.
Ben scanned around the tunnels with his light, and his beam came to rest on a pair of red, reflective eyes further back in the darkness, and he almost dropped the flashlight. Alarmed at the sight before us, I aimed my light in the same direction and was horrified to illuminate the outline of another person standing in the tunnel watching us, wearing what I thought was a trench coat.
Although humanoid in form and standing on two legs, we soon learned this creature was not another human being. What I mistook for a coat wrapped around the creature’s body unfurled into a pair of bat-like wings with a span of a dozen feet at least. They almost touched the sides of the adit.
https://imgur.com/ZbhBiMV
Both Ben and I screamed. Ben threw the egg in his hand to the floor with a loud splat and ran past me. I picked myself up and ran after him, occasionally aiming my flashlight into the darkness behind us to check where the creature was. The last I saw, it was atop its nest, seeming to inspect the clutch of eggs for damage.
An ear-piercing howl erupted through the cavernous space, and I rushed to cover my ears in response to the painful sound. It must’ve found the egg Ben threw. I couldn’t stop running; I knew my safety depended on it. I dropped my hands and continued down the tunnel. Another wail ripped through the air, and I heard something shuffle on the rocks behind me. I knew that the creature was chasing after us. I did not need to turn around for confirmation; the sounds told me it was close. I ran like hell, kicking and stumbling my way down the tunnel.
When I got to the hole, Ben was already halfway through. I could hear the creature approaching behind me, and I shoved Ben’s legs the rest of the way through the void as I followed right behind him.
I fell to the floor on the other side of the wall and scrambled back to my feet. Aiming my flashlight back at the hole, I realized what the humanoid graffiti around it meant; it was another overlooked warning. The outline represented the creature on the other side, but I had little time to ponder this as a pair of gnarled, claw-like hands started to push through the outline’s chest. The creature stumbled through the hole before shaking itself off and wailing again.
Ben and I continued down the main tunnel, towards the mine’s entrance. We ran like hell in the freedom of the larger tunnel, free of debris. Unfortunately, this freedom also applied to the creature. I heard its wings unfurl and could feel the wind as they began to flap in the enclosed space of the tunnel.
I ducked as the creature flew past me and towards Ben. He didn’t have the time to dodge but instead managed to get one good blow on the thing’s head with his flashlight as it swooped in on him. The creature fell to the floor in a heap, and its wings stopped moving. I wasted no time in jumping over the pacified beast and past my stunned roommate. I was determined to squeeze through the mine’s exit first and did not want to be the last one in the mine with that thing. I’m aware that sounds selfish, but those are the decisions you have to make when it’s life or death.
The final one hundred yards of the tunnel felt like the longest distance I had ever run. I could see the light peeking through between the cracks of the barricaded entrance, but my adrenaline slowed time to a crawl. I kept waiting for the creature to come at me from behind, but I got to the exit before that happened. I climbed up the barricade and started to squeeze through the hole, delighted to see the sunlit forest on the other side.
I squirmed the rest of the way through while Ben screamed at me to hurry. He said the creature was waking back up and started to push on my feet in an attempt to speed me up. I fell the full six feet to the ground on the other side, landing on my head. I remember lying there dazed, watching as Ben began to squeeze his way through.
Been started screaming again, this time that the creature had his feet, and I sprung back up and grabbed his arms. I pulled as hard as I could, but he wasn’t budging. I told him to start kicking, which allowed me to get some headway, but I could hear the creature wailing in the tunnel behind him, still playing a fierce game of tug of war. As I fought to free Ben, I noticed that the creature seemed to be avoiding the beams of light that made it past Ben.
After what seemed like an hour, but was likely only a minute, I won the battle and again fell back to the ground, this time with my roommate landing directly on top of me. I pushed him to the side, and we both laid there panting. We heard the monster moaning from inside the tunnel, but it didn’t try and chase after us anymore. I was almost certain that if it weren’t for the daylight, we’d be dead.
I got up and started to dust myself off and watched as Ben tried to do the same. However, as he tried to stand, he kept falling back. I looked down at his legs and yelled at him to stay on the ground. His right leg was mangled and looked broken. There was no way he could walk out on this injury inflicted by the creature.
There was little chance of getting any reception this far into the forest, but we still tried. Neither of us had a single bar. We were too far away from the highway, which was the only area in the national forest with consistent coverage. We had to formulate another plan.
I was dizzy from hitting my head but came to realize that I would have to hike out alone and bring back help. A ranger outpost was about five miles away, but I had parked the car five miles in the opposite direction. My roommate urged me to get help and leave him behind. I was apprehensive but agreed that it was our only option, gave him my pocket knife, and started towards the station. Thankfully, GPS works just fine without service, and I wasn’t worried about getting lost. I was worried that the thing from the mine would emerge and come after my roommate before I could come back with help. After all, the sunset was only a few short hours away.
The hike was grueling, and I felt disoriented, but I trusted my phone’s directions and eventually arrived at the small station almost two hours later, now with less than an hour till sunset. Luckily, I saw a ranger’s utility vehicle parked out front, and I ran to the station’s door and started banging. A young man, not much older than me, opened the door and brought me inside, introducing himself and asking why I needed help. For the sake of privacy, I’ll call him Rick.
I wasted no time telling Rick that my friend was injured and unable to hike out, but I reserved the details about entering the mine or the creature chasing us. Instead, I told him that Ben fell down a ravine nearby the mine. Rick grabbed his radio and asked if I knew my roommate’s exact location. I told him we were hiking near one of the nearby creeks, which wasn’t a complete lie, and gave him the coordinates for the mine’s entrance, hoping he wouldn’t catch on to our trip's real purpose.
Rick shook his head as he looked at the coal dust smeared across my shirt; he knew the truth. I clearly remember what he said on the radio, “This is Rick from the Athens Unit. I have an injury outside the Peytonville Mine. All armed and available personnel, please respond. Sunset in forty-five.”
Rick grabbed his rifle and some ammunition before ushering me out to his side-by-side. He loaded the gun and placed it in the back seat. I was scared shitless at this point and worried about Ben, but Rick looked me in the eyes and told me to calm down and tell him what had happened, honestly. He seemed both angry and intensely worried.
I didn’t lie about being in the mine and rambled off the story, sharing random details as I could remember them, including the nest, the outline warning, and the wings. I’ll never forget those wings. I thought my story came out entirely incoherent, but Rick started up the engine and told me, “Now, that story sounds about right.”
I wasn’t sure why he believed my crazy story, and his next question only confused me further. He asked me if I knew why the federal government had designated this land a national forest. I had no idea what the question had to do with that creature or the injury Ben sustained from it. Over the engine’s roaring and while navigating rugged trails, Rick began to give an impressive monologue, one that I’ll never forget.

“Uncontrolled industry results in unforeseen consequences; that’s just a fact of human nature. So, it’s unsurprising that people mined and deforested these lands into a veritable wasteland within a couple of generations of European settlement. And this happened not just here but across the country. In response, the federal government created the Forest Service and National Park System to restore that damage and preserve our country’s natural resources for future generations.
Although, to tell the truth, that’s only part of what we do. We’ve always known that protecting the forests means more than just wildfire prevention and tree planting. There are extreme dangers here, too, things that most people don’t believe in. We prefer to handle some things in secrecy, and it’s like that around any national forest or park.
You see, there are places in this world, like here in this forest, where Hell is a bit closer to the surface. And when the mines started going deeper, they uncovered things that should have stayed buried. Supernatural might be a good word, but the point is we’ve gotta protect people from threats they don’t even know exist. What you saw today is one of the things that our rangers work hard to keep underground, all across the continent. The miners before us knew this too and did what they could to keep things calm as well. That outline on the sealed tunnel you told me about was a warning to other miners not to unleash what hid behind the wall, if I had to guess. They knew what was in there.

Us rangers are just the latest in a long line of stewards for lands like this. The miners before us, and the Native Americans before them, didn’t doubt the supernatural, and they accepted the dangers that lurked around them. Nowadays, people don’t believe in anything like this. But it’s still real, so we just do our work in secret. Beside’s, I don’t think today’s society could handle the truth anymore.”

This information stunned me, to say the least, and I was unsure how to respond. For a second, I believed that Rick was joking with me for interrupting his evening, especially since my roommate’s injury occurred in an abandoned mine that was very much off-limits.
I must have looked confused and skeptical of his story because Rick said to me, “Your story was quite fantastical too. I guess we’ll just have to believe one another.” He tapped the loaded rifle in the seat behind him, and I knew he wasn’t joking either.
As we sped through the dirt roads and trails, back towards where I had left my roommate, Rick told me more about the rangers’ additional duties. He said they’d been having problems with the Peytonville mine for years, ever since it closed and the miners stopped maintaining the walls within the mine. Creatures would break out every so often, and the Forest Service had to hunt them down before they came across the public.
Years ago, in the 1960s, Rick said one of the creatures, similar to what Ben and I saw, escaped from some mines a few states over. The beast wreaked havoc for several nights before the forest service could hunt it down and put a bullet through it. Although, enough people claimed to have seen it that the creature had become cemented in Appalachian folklore in the years since then. Rick thought I’d seen the same beast, and he didn’t want another escape to occur.
As we neared the mine entrance, Rick asked me again if I was sure that we came across a nest with eggs while we were underground. I told him I was positive and reminded him that the creature revealed itself after my roommate picked up one of its eggs and only chased us after he threw the egg. Rick bit his lip and seemed worried about this detail. He said that the creature was going to be vengeful for screwing with its nest. I looked up to the sun low in the sky, and then back to Rick, and knew we didn’t have a moment to waste.
As we came around the final curve in the trail leading to the mine, I could see Ben still lying where I had left him nearly two hours earlier. He shouted and waved his hands, screaming that I had taken too long. He said the creature had been wailing and taunting him since we left.
While Rick and I helped Ben into the bed of the utility vehicle, we heard another wail emanate from the adit, and Rick rushed for his rifle. He told us that the sun would be down soon, and they needed to solve the problem by then. He got on his radio and asked when the other rangers would arrive. I heard the garbled voices of several others reply they were only several minutes out.
With Ben lying safe in the back of the utility vehicle, Rick headed towards the mine with his rifle cocked. He shouted for me to stay back while he trained his rifle at the singular hole leading into the otherwise barricaded adit. “I’m guarding this till backup arrives.”
A couple of minutes later, one of the other rangers showed up in a four-wheeler with a crate strapped to the back. He pulled up beside Rick and quickly hopped off to rummage through the rear of the ATV, eventually producing what appeared to be several sticks of dynamite.
Rick seemed to discuss the situation for a minute with his cohort while he stood with his rifle trained on the small, dark hole. Eventually, he yelled back to us to prepare for a boom and said that they planned to collapse the entrance to seal in both the creature and its offspring. “We’ve gotta get this closed up before it gets dark. That bitch will emerge with a vengeance.”
The other ranger finished taping the sticks together and moved closer to the entrance. He looked up to the hole and then to the explosives in his hand; he seemed nervous. Rick cheered him on and yelled at him to climb up the barricade and toss it in.
The ranger slowly climbed the concrete blocks to the small hole level and reached for a lighter from his pocket. He balanced on a small ledge as he lit the explosive’s long fuse. But as he threw the bundle into the orifice of the mine, a clawed arm reached from within and grabbed ahold of the ranger’s arm. The creature’s skin started to smoke in the sunlight, but I don’t think it cared. It then pulled the ranger into the mine, lit explosives and all, with one powerful movement. The man went quietly, only having time for a slight gasp of surprise before entirely disappearing into the mine.
Rick lowered his weapon, with a stunned look on his face, and ran away from the adit entrance, taking cover behind a fallen tree. He screamed for us to duck and cover, but I couldn’t peel my eyes out.
I watched in horror as the creature’s wings pushed through the hole as it attempted to escape the bomb it just brought inside its lair. Right when its hellish face poked through, the dynamite went off and blew the fucker to bits, collapsing the mine entrance in the process. The explosion was incredible.
As the debris and dust settled, I could tell the Peytonville mine entrance was utterly obliterated, well and truly sealed. The hazard sign placed out front by the forest service still stood, but bent and tattered; its purpose now redundant. Nothing would ever get in or out of that mine ever again, or so I hoped.
Three other rangers arrived only minutes after the explosion and ran to Rick, who was still lying on the ground, clutching his rifle. One of them yelled at Rick, demanding to know what had just happened and where the missing ranger was. Rick pointed towards the collapsed adit and said, “It took him in with the dynamite.”
Ben got away with a broken leg, and I only sustained a few bruises, but dealing with the situation's trauma was much worse. The forest service never made any public announcement about the ranger killed in the blast, and they wrote it off as an accident. No one other than the rangers believed our story, and even still, they have publicly denied the events I wrote above. But, I understand their decision in a way. The public wouldn't believe them even if they told the truth, and people ridicule what they don't understand. However, I still hope some of you will believe my story and heed my warning to stay out of abandoned mines.
And just remember, there are people out there, like the forest rangers, who work in the shadows to protect us from things we can't understand. And they do it all without the expectation of glory or recognition. Try and respect everyone because you never know who the hidden heroes are.
submitted by NJ-216 to nosleep [link] [comments]

[Standalone] Soundless Conflicts - 32

​
Navigation Destinations
« Back 32 Forward »
1-10 11-20 21-30
31-40
« Beginning End »
Note: This is a complete standalone story. It ties into larger events-- particularly how other star systems are handling a very bad invasion problem-- but the characters are "one off". This is complete by itself, without any backstory reading (although that helps!)
​
Behavioral Expectations
Aldi waited to be blasted into vacuum.
Twelve other pilots waited with him, crammed chest to back into an airlock meant for five. It was beyond claustrophobic: His chest felt cramped, lungs unable to expand enough to draw breath. Squirming was pointless; every inch of space he gained was a vacuum someone else filled with an elbow. A hip. A knee. They were packed in so tight the neck seal on the skinsuit in front of his was slowly gouging a line across his faceplate. It joined a cutting block's worth of other slashes, some so deep it was a wonder the suit held pressure at all.
His skin felt fear-slick under the suit, rank and rashy from constant terror and too little washing. Itches everywhere: The crevice of each toe, behind his knees, crook of an elbow. Chest and neck crawling with imaginary bugs. Something twitched on his cheekbone. Maybe imaginary, maybe not. He squinted anyways, rubbing hard against the faceplate. It left an oily smear. Good enough.
They waited in airless timeout, but that didn't mean it was quiet. Aldi could feel the deck vibrating beneath his boots, shocks and explosions tapping both soles with an irregular rhythm. He could hear his own breathing, mouth open in a gulping rattle of not-enough-air. Pressed helmet to helmet like this he could even hear low vibrations, transmitted through shared suit contact. Conversations from the other pilots as they said goodbye, told loved ones to hold on, begged to go back inside.
The man in front of him was chanting quietly, without the embarrassment of engaging the radio for everyone to hear. It sounded like names. He was probably going insane.
That was fine.
Every indicator light on his skinsuit suddenly lit up, then burned out with a smell like shorted electronics. Aldi wanted to feel surprised, or angry, or worried, but couldn't muster enough energy to get started. Everyone's suit was secondhand, busted, desperately patched by sleep deprived techs with next to no training. If it worked at all was a miracle. If it worked long enough to get to a ship you were blessed.
The station broadcast came on, panicked systems controllers screaming over their suit speakers to get ready get ready get ready. Well, not his speakers: They were crispy piles of melted wires along with everything else in his suit. But he borrowed the notice from others' radios, more feeling than hearing it through direct contact.
Everyone suddenly tensed, all at once in a space not big enough to handle expansion. It felt like a giant hand squeezing the air out him from every side. He had time to wheeze once in panic, lungs straining.
Then the airlock blew.
Thirteen skinsuited pilots ragdolled into space on an overpressure wave, caught in a haze of frozen vapor that obscured everything. Aldi spun wildly, screaming into the dead faceplate for an eternity until the belt tether caught, doubling him in half with an 'oof' before whipping him in an arc onto the station hull. He bounced once off the surface, scrambling for a hold, then took a boot to the neck as another pilot's tether crashed them together. The rebound gave Aldi a second chance to catch a grip, gloved fingers hooking onto a bent antenna mounting. He clutched it hard enough to feel knuckles pop, just in time to take a second hit from a flailing suit. This time he grabbed the man back, pivoting around his anchor to smash them both into the hull a second time.
It probably hurt like hell. But it gave the pilot time to grab something. An opaque faceplate looked at Aldi for a moment, perhaps thanking him over the radio. He couldn't hear it, so he waved a free arm instead. Then he looked outward, away from his one-armed grip on the station hull and nearly threw up.
Hell crawled over the station skin.
Corporate living station Price Fixing was a massive facility, thirty miles in diameter and built in two groups of circular segments like stacked plates. Their smaller top plate rested on the broader one below, creating a dropoff five decks high that eventually angled outwards again. The half mile wide difference between the two plate diameters created a shelf going all the way around, regularly studded with everything from docking bays to sensor arrays. At full capacity nearly three hundred shuttles could dock at once, carrying cargo or personnel on- and off-station in a choreographed dance.
From where Aldi floated he could see half of the Fixing's entire docking arc, outlined brilliantly against the system's primary star. It should have been a chaos of shuttles, patiently orbiting haulers and teeming autolifters. But instead of square, ugly cargo units the entire upper surface of the station swarmed with... things.
Metallic, roughly triangular and five inches thick, they spun and flipped across the station skin on whip-fast cables that snapped from each corner. Easily a hundred thousand of the foot-long machines, squirming around and over each other in a dizzying ball of motion that somehow seemed purposeful. They carpeted the top of the hull in every direction, pouring through holes in the station like maggots on rotten meat and carrying materials as they went.
Station Admin called them attack drones, in a single hurried briefing given before cramming everyone into an airlock. Aldi remembered wondering how the hell something as simple as a drone could be destroying a station as big as the Fixing. It seemed absurd. But Management was taking it deadly serious and by that point he'd already endured weeks of lockdowns and mandatory relocations. Residents doubling up, then tripling, then practically living on each other in a vacuum of official information. Station information networks crashing, or sanitized so thoroughly no one knew what was going on.
But the rumors circulated, free of Corporate information control. People talked of hostile takeovers. Invasions from incoming ships. Whole arcs of station habitation blown out into vacuum. Docks overrun. Haulers scrambling to depart as boarders claimed control, seizing vessels. Even entire warships embattled, drifting through the system while they fought an unknown enemy.
The population nearly rioted when station Management began forcefully rounding up workers into ad-hoc Security groups, posting each at far-flung access centers across the station. But anger turned to fear when only a fraction of those groups came back, bloodied and telling stories of skittering metallic beasts and scything cables in the dark between corridors. That confirmed the rumors. It was real. Something was on the station with them.
And they were losing.
Those in the know (or with connections) quietly felt out the possibility of escape. Just break worker contracts, find a ship and head out. Eat the sanctions and penalties. But they quickly found there was no way off the Price Fixing: No ships arriving, none scheduled to leave. Every single dock on the station's outward ring was a hazard zone, locked down and impossible to operate.
That was when Aldi started seriously worrying. He lived with the philosophy that things could always get worse so it was important to be thankful for what he had. It was a good way to live, he figured. Meal vouchers sanctioned? It could be worse-- some people didn't even get vouchers. Entertainment feeds cut for seditious activity? Could be worse; some living zones got regularly raided. Aldi moved through life taking position after position, always getting by or making do, finding happiness in the moments between. And there was happiness: It was there to be found. If he lowered expectations far enough.
Living on the eclectic edge naturally lent Aldi a wide spectrum of "just useful enough" certifications. If dock work became available he'd take a cargo lifter test and qualify. Work a few months there, until someone more qualified came along. Then he'd drift off, orbiting the communal recreation areas until word of a shortage came his way. That was another area where super low expectations helped: He could maintain friendships with just about anyone, without even the trivial demands acquaintances tend to place on each other.
In fact, that was how he'd become pilot certified. The rumor grapevine threw a hint his way while Aldi was between jobs. Within hours he was at the Admin area checking in for a pilot certification, looking for a temporary working contract.
The receptionist-- a middle aged type, slightly thick with hair in a bun so severe it doubled as a fetish-- hadn't been impressed. She'd looked him over from the secondhand shoes up to his fourth hand jacket, then sniffed just once like the smell of communal living was offensive. Then a cheap handheld console made an appearance on the desk for him to pick up. "Minimum score to qualify for training is ninety out of a hundred." Poor lady sounded bored and expecting less than nothing. Aldi approved. "Anything above ninety five qualifies for reduced-cost employment."
He'd nodded, took the tablet and did the entire two hundred question exam standing in front of her desk. It took nearly an hour, but that was fine. Low standards meant a lot of standing around without furniture (or laying down without it). When his score came back in the 99th percentile Aldi just handed the tablet back, smiled through her surprised doubletake and asked when she got off shift. Because he knew a good place to eat, liked interesting conversation and wanted someone to share a new position with...
Low expectations made for a lot of friendly encounters.
That was how Aldi ended up spending most of a year navigating low-speed cargo haulers around the Price Fixing's docking spaces. Two shifts a day, six hours each, doing painfully slow flights between enormous ship haulers and comparatively small station docks. Transferring hundreds of tons of dry goods or thousands of Agro animals at a time.
Some of the temporary pilots quit, frustrated or driven to distraction by endless space and walking-speed docking shuttles. Not Aldi. He never had high expectations for his time, so every task was good enough. When the contract was up he'd simply drift off to the next thing... and hopefully the next appreciative receptionist.
Which came full circle when station Security showed up in the overcrowded communal area, interviewing packed-together refugees for anyone with a pilot certification. Wrist IDs were checked, faces scanned and certifications pulled. When they got around to Aldi's little blanketed-off area the console lit up like a star, scrolling certifications completely off the screen for everything from waste processing to hauler pilot. The Management exec-- youngish and still desperately trying to grow in an authoritative goatee-- actually ran Aldi's ID twice, then took a second console off his team to confirm results independently. It didn't improve his mood at all. "Huh. Why didn't you volunteer sooner," he accused. Thin whiskers bristled angrily. "We've been calling for pilots for three days!"
Aldi put forth the opinion that the ones doing the asking would benefit from being more open minded about results (and perhaps more attractive). This earned him a shocker round to the sternum from a disgruntled Security member, dropping him onto the deck in a spastic heap. Which was unexpected. But it could have been worse: They could have forced him into contracted service.
Retroactively speaking the press-ganging afterward shouldn't have been such a surprise.
After that Aldi found himself stuffed into a briefing room too small for everyone to sit in, waiting through a hurried lecture on something called "VIP Asset Relocation". This quickly turned out to be a presentation on how to quickly exit an airlock (explosive decompression) followed by the best strategies to cross the outside of the Price Fixing's hull in the direction of some uncrewed haulers currently undocked on stationary orbits ("grab anything you can" featured prominently).
It wasn't until a harried technician in charge of the presentation reached the part about leaping off the station hull into a collision course with the orbiting haulers that Aldi decided his personal standard for bullshit had been reached. He stepped away from the wall, passed a stick of candy to the nice guy on his left and then ambled toward the hatch. Anything was better than leaping through vacuum without a safety line, hoping enough people landed on a hauler to navigate it back for an Executive evacuation.
The room was treated to several minutes of shocker rounds applied to a spasming sometimes-pilot.
When Aldi regained enough motor control to pay attention again he caught the back half of an explanation about the drones attacking the station. But he'd been out of it and in a lot of pain. Besides: No matter how bad it was, it could always be worse.
He was staring at the worst now.
In fact the entire station hull was writhing with The Worst. The Worst surrounded them, occupying every docking bay along the outer rim and eating inwards. Those forcible relocations over the last few weeks suddenly made a lot more sense-- nothing much existed beyond a mile from station center anymore: It was all undergoing intense disassembling and repurposing into new triangular drones.
Aldi would have stayed rooted in horror until the metal tide came in if someone hadn't slapped him on the shoulder. A surprised twitch nearly sent him flying directly off the hull; only a desperate snatch caught the handhold just in time. He rotated in place, heart hammering and eyes wide for an attack, but it was just the other pilot in their mismatched suit. They were urgently motioning inwards, towards the center of the station disc. At least that's what it looked like-- it was hard to see through Aldi's smeared, deeply scratched visor.
But he got the message: Move or die.
Death being one of the lowest expectations, Aldi decided moving was better. It helped that every glance behind him seemed to draw the things forward faster.
They took off together, angling randomly between a forest of antenna and equipment mounts. Aldi didn't know what half of the machinery encrusted on the station hull was for but at the moment he wished very hard for all of it to go away and give him a clear shot to the meetup point. If it wasn't for the other skinsuited pilot he would have already bounced off several pieces and floated into the void; they rescued each other half a dozen times before the halfway point. Aldi decided right there that whatever their real name was, this was now a Friendly Suit.
Meetup went badly. Aldi squinted and turned his faceplate around, counting other mobile figures and coming up a half-dozen short. He checked again, just to make sure, then held up seven fingers and threw both arms up in a 'what the hell?' emote. One of the larger skinsuits just pointed behind them, up and slightly away to where small figures drifted off into space.
That bothered Aldi. A lot. It bothered him more when the same big-suited figure pointed directly outwards at the distant cargo ships, currently powered down and waiting in stationary orbit. The nearest had to be a mile away, easy, and that was a mile of empty space. No tether, no handholds, small targets and infinite ways to miss. He was trying very hard to think of How It Could Be Worse and drawing absolute blanks.
Then the big suit reached behind himself, pulling out a shocker pistol. He pointed the weapon at the other six suited figures, then aimed at the ships drifting in the cold distance. Then he did it again: Weapon trained on them. Then the ships.
Gun Man's implication was pretty clear: Jump or die.
Ah. This was how it could be worse.
Their first try was an immediate failure. Either fear or nerves got to the man, sending the poor suited figure off-course immediately. They watched as terror took hold a second later, sending him into a spasm that spun endlessly around his center of mass. A human cannonball, less than forty feet away but already too remote to ever save.
The second person tried being smarter-- he tied his suit tether to the station, pointing to it and then to the nearest person, miming unclipping the tether. Save me if I fuck up, but unclip if it looks good. Aldi thought that was a hell of a good plan. Sensible. Worth repeating. He kept right on thinking that as Tether Man jumped off the hull, then stopped believing when his friend fucked up the unclip and hit the release far too late. Instead of sailing to victory Tether Man reached the end of his line and jerked, then spun as the line came unmoored. Rebound momentum sent him off at a slight angle away from ever finding a solid surface again for the rest of his short life.
Aldi had never been more grateful for a broken radio in his life.
Gun Man made Clip Fuckup jump next, angrily thrusting the weapon into their faceplate and counting down with his fingers. Five, four, three-
Fuckup jumped for it, arms straight up like he was diving into the void. Everyone watched his trajectory for a long minute, then silently cheered when it looked like he was on course. That was a good jump; he had a hell of a chance to make it. Whether he bounced off or not at the other end was a different story. But it was a good enough technique that the fourth person copied his strategy, crouching down and then diving outwards with hopeful arms.
Then the weapon was in Aldi's faceplate. It was very unfortunate his skinsuit recycler wasn't accepting deposits: Taking off his boots was going to be a waterfall later on.
"Okay. Shit." He crouched, staring desperately outward. His damn faceplate was a mess, he could barely see. What was the best strategy here? Should he dive? Push off hard, or soft? He had an old knee injury on the left, was it weaker? Maybe he should push off harder with that leg. "Dead stars, that hauler is smaller than my palm, how the hell can anyone hit that?!" Maybe he should try the second guy's strategy and use his suit tether-
The suit tether!
Aldi threw his arms up in a 'wait, wait!' motion, then unclipped his tether and pointed at Friendly Suit. They immediately waved a frantic 'no', trying to indicate they didn't want to be responsible for unclipping him. But Aldi didn't care. "Come here!" He made frantic motions until Friendly Suit approached, then leaned forward to touch helmets.
"Can you hear me??" He shouted hard, forcing vibrations across the helmet material.
"Use your fucking radio, idiot!" High pitched voice, so quiet Aldi could barely hear. But hey, it could be worse.
"It's broken!" He screamed back, then waved the tether clip under their combined faceplates. "Tether with me and jump!"
"Absolutely no fucking way! You'll kill me too!" Suited arms tried to push him away. Friendly Suit might be in danger of becoming Aggressive Suit.
"No, no! Look! It increases our odds!" How the hell did he explain this? Best to go simple. "Both of us don't have to land! Only one! Then pull the other person in! Shit, even if we BOTH miss the tether might hook on the ship in between us!" Then the obvious occurred to him. "Fuck, we all should have tethered into a net to begin with, caught the ship between us like a web!" Missed chances there.
Friendly stopped trying to push him away. Then Aldi picked up a weak vibration: Were they using the radio?
Question answered: Gun Man shoved them apart, then looked thoughtfully between the two before unclipped his suit tether. He looked at Aldi, who nodded and clipped his to Friendly. Gun did the same, linking them together for the attempt. Three people: Three chances to land. They all crouched, faceplates turned upwards and hands on each other's shoulders. He more felt than heard the countdown, but at the end they all pushed off as one, kicking away from safety toward the stars.
All three drifted away immediately, fear and muscle tension giving slightly different angles. But that was fine-- the tether stretched and stretched, then strained tight at a hundred feet. Aldi stared straight ahead, listening to himself scream as the three of them slowly began to orbit each other.
The hauler grew in his scarred faceplate. Palm sized. Head sized. Then bigger than his entire suit, seeming to come faster and faster until it filled nearly the whole front of his vision.
Aldi missed.
He threw an arm out, fingers straining for handholds on a battered hull less than ten inches away. The motion made him spin axially, screaming in horror the entire time. "NOOOO!" So close! So close! But vacuum didn't care-- an inch or a mile had the same result. He'd be screaming into the void until the skinsuit ran out of oxygen. It was over. He'd tried, but The Worst was here.
The tether suddenly snapped taut, arcing him into the hull in a surprised smash. Aldi's chest hit first, turning a scream of mortal terror into a surprised burp of air. An instant later he was clutching anything, everything, boots and knees and hands adhering with the intense fear of an insignificant speck trying to grasp the meaning of life. But he knew the meaning of life, now: It was nine square feet of pitted hull plating, currently sustaining a man in an extremely saturated skinsuit.
His tether tugged again, rhythmically. It took a moment for Aldi to realize that meant motion. Someone was moving, and trying to take him with them. Raising his head, he looked frantically around until he spotted the familiar figure of Friendly Suit, cautiously crossing toward him one handhold at a time.
But there was no other suit. Gun Man was gone. Aldi twisted, looking at Friendly's belt for the tether attachment. Where was...?
Friendly held up a free hand, displaying a tether hook cupped in their palm. Five inches of frayed, cut line drifted off the other end, softly waving in zero gravity.
Aldi decided he might need to watch Friendly Suit very, very carefully.
He followed Friendly around the hull, finding the airlock near midship and carefully cycling through one at a time. Inside the ship was darker than being in space; all the lights turned off and equipment powered down for long term storage. But Aldi could see the room pressure sensor next to the hatch indicating normal atmosphere. He anchored a foot, then reached up and tore off the skinsuit helmet with a violent jerk, bouncing it off the deck and screaming.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" The relief was so intense he almost melted.
A second helmet spun through the darkness, freeing a high pitched voice with it. "HOOOOOOOLY SHIIIIIT!" Then a patchwork skinsuit hit the bulkhead next to him, followed by a small hand grabbing Aldi's collar and pulling him into a hungry kiss.
It turned out Friendly Suit was actually the most attractive person he'd ever seen in his life. Low standards be damned.
She came up for air first, impatiently flicking brown hair out of her eyes. "Don't take that the wrong fucking way. Just promised myself and you're the only goddamn person who made it. What's your name?"
Swinging wildly between raw deathly terror and heavenly arousal left Aldi in a stunlock situation. "Strawberries."
"Your parents hated you." She cuffed him once, hard, brown eyes flashing. He noticed there were colored flecks in both pupils, woodgrain brown. Irregularly beautiful. Fascinating.
Then Aldi rebooted, brain engaging. "No, you taste like- nevermind. Aldi Netrische." Was it okay to grab her back? He didn't like to assume. "Do you happen to have low expectations...?"
She laughed, slightly crazy and surprised at the same time. "You have no idea, Aldi. I'm Tinker-- don't you fucking say anything about that," he wasn't going to. It sounded lovely. "And let's get this damn ship moving. People to save."
Tinker (he kind of wanted to ask, now) kicked off him once, using their momentum as a launching point for the far hatch. She caught the rim deftly, turning forward momentum into a right-hand turn into darkness. Corridor lights snapped on a few seconds later, showing a scarred set of deck plates and the heavily grease-stained wall surfaces of a commercial cargo vessel perpetually in need of cleaning.
Putting a boot down, Aldi tried to ignore the sodden squish between his toes as he kicked off, chasing her path through the long ship to the tiny bridge. It should have been a quick catchup, but apparently he wasn't as good as he thought at speeding around corridors... or perhaps Tinker was just that much better. He only met up at the bridge, floating through the hatch while she was already buckling in.
"I'm taking primary guidance. You get literally everything else. Don't fuck it up." She was all business, snapping relays and booting consoles to life.
He loved it. "I won't. Done this before, I can handle all the systems." He looked down at the console, watching her plot a short angular course to the station. "Wait, where are we going? That's not the Executive docks."
Tinker froze suddenly, hands eerily still over control surfaces. "You a Corpo?"
Well that was a first. Aldi laughed. "My standards do have bottom, although I don't hold it against anyone else if they happen to be."
She nodded sharply. "Good to hear. I was reconsidering plans for my bunk time later." Which immediately hard crashed Aldi's brain again. Tinker kept going, oblivious. "And nooooo-- we're definitely not going to any fucking Executive Extraction Plan Zulu Batshit Whatever spot. First we're going here," she tapped a bright marker point a third of the way across the station. "To pick up my partners. Then we're going to the other haulers, you're all going to take one, and we're gonna fucking evac everyone that isn't Management off this station."
"That sounds-" fantastic, wonderful, strawberries, bunk time. "Like the best thing I've ever heard."
"Glad to hear it. Strap in, it's going to be a great day. The worst is behind us."
Aldi smiled. "The Worst... is Behind Us."
submitted by Susceptive to HFY [link] [comments]

[Cryoverse] The Last Precursor 045: Monolith

The Last Precursor is an HFY-exclusive web-serial which focuses on the exploits of the last living human amidst a galaxy of unknown aliens. With his species all but extinct and now only known as the ancient Precursors, how will Admiral José Rodriguez survive in this hostile universe? Make sure to read the earlier chapters first if you missed them!
Do you like the story? Subscribe to HFY bot and get notified when I post new parts!
Join the Cryoverse Discord!
Check out the Cryoverse Wiki for my other stories!
...
Previous Part
Part 001
.......................................
Admiral José Rodriguez walks side by side with Lord Drall, second in command of the Kraktol Empire. The Terran and crocodilian appear mismatched in height, with the human standing nearly a full head taller than his counterpart. This height imbalance, when combined with the Terran's domineering presence and technical superiority in all manner of warfare, gives him an aura of leadership, causing the Kraktol general to defer to him when they speak.
The Terran and Kraktol step inside a vacuum lift, using it to drop down some ten or so levels to the lowest decks.
"Where I come from," José explains, "this vessel was already at the pinnacle of Terran technology. Ramma's Chosen had several Dreadnoughts at their disposal, some from older eras, others from the current era. Let alone my faction, there were other factions as well, such as Orion Corp and the Third Hand, who possessed dozens of similarly-sized Dreadnoughts. Even so, the Bloodbearer was especially unique; the flagship of our armada. With just this one carrier, Ramma's Chosen could project military force into any system within a thousand lightyears of our homeworld. We feared no reprisal, because combatting the Bloodbearer directly would mark any man as a fool."
Lord Drall gazes through the transparent vacuum tube window, watching as one deck after another swishes past his eyes. "From the research this era's sentients have gathered, a top of the line 25th Era military vessel would often end up comparable to a civilian-grade 40th Era vessel. In that case, the Bloodbearer should prove even more advanced than its numerical era signifies."
"Correct," José says, nodding. "Top-grade stasis chambers, a facility for regenerating missing limbs within hours, the greatest medical minds of my generation, and a hundred of Ramma's mightiest warriors. I am a killer, a soldier bred for slaying heretics. Even so, I was only one of many. Alone, I am formidable. But when combined with the power of other Chosen, we could perform terrifying feats of destruction."
José continues. "Defeating Yama during the age of Terran Supremacy would have been a trivial task. One Demon Emperor, alone, might be somewhat frightening, but you must remember that we defeated demonkind long before our advancements in military might. With our modern technological terrors in hand, defeating our ancient adversaries would have taken us a fraction of the time we originally spent. The problem comes in that we do not presently live in the age of Terran Supremacy, and thus, our task will prove far more difficult."
The vacuum tube slows to a stop. Its door swishes open, allowing the two faction leaders to stride out, with José in the lead. The Admiral guides Lord Drall toward a large, wide-open facility, one with the words, "Planetary Assault" emblazoned in huge, engraved letters above the doorway.
"You know," José says, "it kind of surprises me that there are vastly more pre-25th Era ships in the modern galaxy than post-25th Era ones. In my time, such old clunkers were outdated, generally considered dangerous, and only used by junkers, raiders, and the poorest of civilians. Many pre-25th Era warships were reworked and rebuilt into civilian cruisers, intended only for simple transport duties. They offered a small amount of protection against the Void Roamers and other undesirables. The fact your 'modern' militaries use such outdated technology is... bizarre."
"And," José adds, "that isn't even taking into account how few there were. Restoring some old clunker to working order was hardly worth the time and effort when parts for newer models were typically found in greater abundance, and far cheaper. Most First, Second, and Third Era ships could only be found in museums, not flying through space. I cannot wrap my mind around any situation which may have led to modern spacecraft disappearing while ancient craft resurged."
Lord Drall pauses outside the Planetary Assault bay. He glances at José and shrugs. "Many Mallali, Avaru, and Rodak archaeologists have sought answers to that question, and others. For countless millennia, we have known of the existence of ancient Precursor artifacts. However, in the First Age, when our species first gained the ability to travel through the void, we were careless and foolhardy. Many vessels we recovered possessed synthminds and databases filled with valuable knowledge regarding what happened to the Precursors. Sadly, our forebearers, in their infinite shortsightedness, erased those synthminds to solidify their unwavering compliance. Obtaining military might at all costs was their primary objective, while investigating the secrets of the Precursors was not even on their radar."
"Unfortunate," José mutters, before stepping into the armory before him. "Those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it."
Drall nods. "Indeed."
He follows the Terran, allowing his eyes to roam the insides of what appears to be a small hangar, but one without any shuttles or interceptors. Instead, nine gigantic bipedal war machines stand at attention against the far wall, with a spot in their middle conspicuously absent. These machines, identical to the Titan battlesuit Soren wore while dropping to Tarus II's surface, give Lord Drall a bad case of the chills. Seeing such intimidating mechanical armors lined up, he begins to form an idea in his head of just how much firepower the Bloodbearer truly can bring to a battlefield if it so chooses.
Inside the chamber, a half-dozen Kessu mechanics and janitors walk around, shining the metal fittings of each machine, cleaning the dirt and dust accumulated from 100,000,000 years, or otherwise performing routine maintenance on anything that requires their attention.
One of the mechanics, a white-haired female Kessu with a bright-pink nose, perks up when she spots José. "Prraw? Great Precursor! I am glad you came to visit!"
Her words grab the attention of the other five Kessu, all of whom turn to look at José and flash their cute kitty-smiles. "Meow! The Great Precursor!"
José chuckles. "Mina, this is Lord Drall. He is going to work together as our ally for the foreseeable future. As the second in command of the Kraktol Empire, he possesses a lot of political and military authority. He will dedicate a large number of soldiers to crushing the demons on Tarus II, as well as preserving Kessu society. I want you to treat him with the same respect that you would me."
The Kessu female, Mina, glances at Drall a second time. Realizing who he is, her expression turns cross for a moment, but she quickly comes to terms with her feelings. "Y-yes, Great Precursor. I will do what I can to help out. But... regarding the attack on my... my village..."
Before José can reply, Lord Drall takes a step forward. He drops to one knee and bows his head until the underside of his jaw touches the floor. "Please accept my sincerest apologies, Miss Mina. I will personally get down on my knees and apologize to every Kessu I have offended, if that is what it takes. What my people did was wrong. We bore a grudge against the Kessu for many generations, but the Kessu who wronged us have long since faded to the rivers of time. We will help rebuild your society and ensure a great peace between our species, so long as the Kessu are willing to forgive us our trespasses."
Lord Drall beats his chest and closes his eyes with grief, putting on a convincing performance. José, of course, doesn't fully believe his words, but Mina takes a step back, startled by Lord Drall's self-flagellation. "T-there's no need to bow before me, um, good sir! I lost a few friends and family, but... but that's just the nature of war! If you can help us rebuild and offer restitution for your crimes, we will certainly forgive you! There's no need to spoil the kitten's milk with idle anger; that's what my mother always says!"
Drall nods slightly, tapping the front of his jaw against the exosteel deckplates. "Oh, such wisdom! Such grace! Your mother is truly a kind soul. Does she still walk among the living?"
Mina nods. "Yes. She is still alive, but my father..."
"Graugh! How terrible! In that case, I shall go to your mother after this and beg her for forgiveness! Any punishment she requests, I shall accept it! This violent attack I perpetuated, 'tis a stain upon my grand name!"
One by one, Lord Drall profusely apologize to each of the six Kessu present, making all of them look at him with a certain degree of warmth and reverence. After he finishes, they return to their duties, quietly meowing amongst one another about how they had pegged the Kraktol leader as being far more vicious and bloodthirsty than he really was.
As Lord Drall rises to his feet, he shoots a questioning look at José. "...You are displeased with my words?"
"Not at all," José answers with a shake of his head. "I don't care one iota how your quarrel with the Kessu plays out. From now on, they will be under my protection, as I've said before. It's in your best interest to apologize to each of them, whether you mean it in your heart or not. As long as they believe you, and you stick to your word, you'll already have done a great deal better than some of the... politicians from my era."
Drall flares his nostrils. "Chuff. So you had those back then, too."
"Indeed."
"Disgusting."
Both men share a nod between each other before moving on. José gestures toward the nearest Titan battle-armor and begins to speak.
"The Titan Dropsuit was and still is the mightiest surface-combat device employed by Ramma's Chosen. It could turn any average man into an elite soldier, and any elite soldier into a demigod of death and destruction. Just one Titan could clear out an entire city of hostiles. Nearly indestructible, swift as a speeder-pod, and surprisingly agile, these battlesuits will be our key to defeating Yama."
Lord Drall walks toward the nearest Titan armor, and caresses its thick metal plating. He taps its shell with his claws, and even knocks his knuckles against several exosteel plates around its body. Not once does he hear a hollow ringing sound, indicating the metal must be highly dense.
"Impressive, to say the least. Words fail me. With a weapon like this, you could raid a Mallali core-world by yourself and not even risk suffering an injury."
I said it was indestructible, but that's only against traditional ground-based attacks," José explains. "If any average interplanetary bombardment platform were to attack from space, it could easily land a targeted strike on a Titan battlesuit and reduce it to melted hunks of metal. Naturally, we need not worry about that situation, given any ship within range of attacking these Titan battlesuits will also have to fly within the range of the Bloodbearer's primary cannon array. I pity the fool who suffers from such a blatant death-wish."
José continues guiding Lord Drall around the Planetary Assault armory. He leads the Kraktol commander over to a wall of various gadgets, most of them small, palm-sized devices, coming in all sorts of shapes.
"This here," José says, picking up a small metal cube, "is a portable forcefield generator. You can use it to temporarily seal off passages and pathways. Useful for protecting your flank in a firefight, or for trapping a particularly slippery foe to prevent their escape."
"Like Yama?" Drall asks.
"Exactly. And this here, this is a portable holo-entity generator. The entity can take many different forms, but as of now, it only has my bio-signature inside. It can discharge electrical bursts, either at a low enough level to incapacitate an enemy, or it can unleash enough energy to char them to ash. I've used these on several occasions; their versatility is what makes them formidable."
José explains the purpose of more than five dozen devices. Each one elicits fewer and fewer gasps of astonishment from Lord Drall. He quickly finds himself becoming less amazed, and instead more frightened, by the unbelievable firepower José has at his disposal.
"These weapons are truly awe-inspiring. I find it hard to believe your people, the Terrans, could ever go extinct with such incredible technology at their disposal."
"Hmm..." José mutters, pursing his lips. "I've not spent much time investigating the cause of Terrankind's extinction. As you can imagine... it's a bit of a sore spot for me."
Lord Drall doesn't reply for a moment. When he does, his tone becomes somber.
"Admiral. Truthfully, many Kessu scientists, many Mallali, Rodaks, and countless other sentients have spent an inordinate amount of time investigating what led to the extinction of the Precursors. Yet, no matter how we searched, where we looked, or what we found... in the end, we were unable to come up with a single substantial answer."
He continues. "Graugh! I do not wish to sound like a wild conspiracy theorist. However, it is my personal belief that whatever led to the extinction of the Precursors... it was not artificial in origin, nor was it some terrible accident. If I had to guess, I might even go so far as to say it was... deliberate."
The Admiral frowns. "Deliberate, you say? Perhaps, you believe my people's extinction to have come at the claws of some terrible enemy?"
Drall shrugs. "I cannot say. I am but a humble Rodak, unversed in the ways of science and archaeology. Any guesses I might hazard would likely prove wild and unsubstantiated."
"However," Drall mutters, "certain things simply don't add up. Every historical record indicates that the Precursors- sorry, the Terrans... every record indicates they disappeared at nearly the same time. Some worlds showed minor signs of battle-scars, but for the most part... it seemed to me as if whatever killed them merely 'erased' them from existence. One moment, they were there, and in the next, they were gone."
José gazes at one of the nearby Kessu, someone going about his business oiling a rusty servo motor on one of the Titan battlesuits. The Admiral's gaze becomes distant, as he looks not at the Kessu, but through him.
"...Monolith."
"I beg your pardon?" Drall asks.
The Terran mouths a few words to himself in silence before shaking his head. "No. I... I can't see them being the cause of my species' extinction. If that were the case..."
José lowers his gaze. He stares at the floor for several seconds, then walks toward a nearby tool-chest and plunks his butt down, taking a heavy seat on it. The Terran wearily rubs his facial hair for a moment before looking at his Kraktol companion.
"Lord Drall. You claim not to be a science-focused Rodak. Yet, even so, I imagine you can look toward the universe around us as a source of expanding your consciousness."
The Kraktol leader frowns. "Graugh! I... I am afraid I do not understand, Admiral Rodriguez."
"How many stars are there in the Milky Way?" José asks.
"I do not know," Drall replies. "Many millions, to be sure."
"Three hundred seventy billion, nine hundred and twelve million, six hundred and four thousand, one hundred and thirty-five," José murmurs, without batting an eye. "This number has certainly changed over the last hundred million years, but by the time of my era, the moment before I underwent stasis-sleep and arrived in this era, that was the exact number of stars in the Milky Way."
"The Terrans mapped out our entire galaxy," José explains. "We explored every world, and knew within a certain level of accuracy which stars were likely to go supernova, which ones would form in the future, and so on. But, Lord Drall, the Terrans did not possess the same information regarding the Andromeda Galaxy, nor the other five galaxies we sought to colonize."
José continues. "The Milky Way and Andromeda are merely two galaxies out of eighty within the Local Group. However, compared to the greater universe, we are merely a speck of a speck within the Creator's eye. Our galaxy is small, out of the way, and unimportant."
Drall nods. "Outside of the Local Group, there are untold hundreds of billions of galaxies, each with many more stars and planets than the Milky Way itself."
"That's right," José says, faintly smiling. "Terrankind arose upon a single, minor, ultimately tiny world within this galaxy. We fought countless battles and struggled through the eons, eventually trouncing our enemies and seizing control of the Milky Way. We ascended past the Second Type of stellar civilizations, and rose toward the Third Type, imagining ourselves unstoppable deathgods capable of flattening all who opposed us."
"But..." José adds, "it was when we stepped outside the confines of our galaxy's womb for the first time that we came to a terrifying realization. Much like the enemies we had crushed within the Milky Way's confines, there were many other civilizations outside the Milky Way, each one controlling parts of, or the entirety of galaxies within the Local Cluster. We came to refer to these entities as... Monolith."
Drall's pupil's shrink to slits. "What? Other civilizations? Then... that is to say...?"
"Yes. I believe it is possible that Monolith may have crushed Terrankind. Monolith, of course, is simply a term my people used to describe interstellar civilizations outside of the Milky Way. However, not all members of Monolith are the same. They vary dramatically, with some being warlike civilizations, and others hiveminds. Some colonized for the sake of self-preservation, while others attempted to spread religious or logical dogmas."
"What we found in Andromeda, for example, was a mostly untapped galaxy much larger than the Milky Way, ripe with opportunities for interplanetary exploration and exploitation. However, Terrans were not the only species to get that same idea, and so, we entered war with more than a dozen other members of Monolith. Battle lines were drawn, alliances were forged and broken, and a bright future for our people seemed within reach."
"But perhaps not," José concludes. "We Terrans could not interact with other civilizations outside of the Local Group. Galaxies existed well beyond our reach, and what worried our scientists and military leaders the most was the possibility that somewhere, out there, in the galactic neighborhood... there existed a terrifying species capable of annihilating us with a wave of its hand."
Lord Drall's scales turn ash-grey, giving him a pallid appearance. "Graugh! You are starting to frighten me, Terran. If you are right, then whatever civilization wiped out the Terrans likely still exists. It could destroy the Rodaks, Mallali, Buzor, Avaru, and all the other sentients with ease! After all, we are far from comparable to your species' former glory!"
José nods. "Yes. But, at the same time, I wouldn't wager any credits on Monolith causing Terrankind's extinction. After all, if a species that powerful wiped us out, why wouldn't they have colonized the entire Milky Way afterward? Why kill us due to a mere whim and then let our galaxy go to waste? That seems like a rather flippant use of intergalactic power, don't you think?"
Lord Drall settles down somewhat. "Y-you are right. What use would there be in eliminating all of humanity, only to ignore our galaxy afterward? If these beings were far mightier than humanity, then they would have no reason to kill you in the first place, whereas if they were at a similar power level as you, then Terrankind's extinction would have occurred over a longer period of time."
Slowly, José rises to his feet. He glances around the room at the Kessu, most of them far too engrossed in their work to pay attention to anything he and Drall have to say.
"That's not entirely true, Lord Drall. A highly advanced society might have one reason to kill us."
Drall cocks his head. "And what reason would that be?"
"Simply put, they may have seen us as a threat. Not at that moment, but perhaps, far in the future, we might be capable of threatening their stranglehold on the universe. Such a civilization would surely be... beyond Type III."
The Admiral chuckles. "But... if that's the case, then it doesn't matter. If our enemy is Monolith, and if Monolith is truly the one who rendered us extinct, then there is nothing we can do to stop them. Our enemy is a civilization far more powerful than we can imagine, capable of wiping out a galaxy's inhabitants instantly. Against that sort of enemy, there is no resistance your era's sentients can put up that will change a thing. It would be best to forget about Monolith entirely and live the rest of your lives in ignorant bliss."
José starts walking toward the Planetary Assault Bay's exit doors. Lord Drall follows after him, casting a lingering gaze on the impressive weaponry within the room.
"Admiral Rodriguez. Assuming this 'Monolith' decided to eliminate the Terrans... why would they not exterminate the Rodaks, Mallali, Avaru, and all the other sentients who arose in your place afterward?"
"I cannot say," José replies. "Such a mighty galactic superpower may not give a damn about insignificant Type I and II civilizations. Perhaps even certain Type III civilizations are of no threat to them. But my people? We were conquerors. We sought the advancement of our bodies, our minds, and our species. Given time... perhaps Monolith may have detected us, and decided to squash our ambitions."
A strange light appears in the Admiral's eyes.
"Haha. Wouldn't that be interesting? Killing all of humanity, only for one little Terran to remain? Imagine if little old me could, in some small way, avenge my fallen brethren. That would, indeed, be a delicious twist of fate."
...
The Terran guides Lord Drall around to several other facilities, showing off some of the weapons, armor, and technology they will use against Emperor Yama. Eventually, he and Lord Drall take the vacuum tubes back up to the main decks.
"This operation, it seems relatively safe," Drall mutters. "You said before that Yama does not possess enough power to pierce through your advanced technology and its afforded defenses. Therefore, the only true trouble we'll face is whether or not we'll be able to kill the slippery little demon, or whether he'll escape our clutches."
"That's right," José affirms. "Yama's power makes entrapping him extremely difficult. If he catches wind of our schemes, a single dark fissure leading to Tarus II's surface will enable him to slither away. His body has no mass. He can reshape his appearance and make himself thinner than a human hair, allowing him to slip through any gap in our defenses. If we are not comprehensive in our attack, we'll not capture him, and he'll break free. We cannot allow a single mistake in this operation."
"Do not worry," Drall replies. "If it is competency you desire, my soldiers are the best in the Kraktol Empire. The females serving underneath me were selected from the Thülvik's cousins and adjacent family. Not only are their stocks fine, but their intelligence is high, and their battle experience, refined. I've led many guerilla assaults on Mallali worlds, and as such, have bathed them in blood. They know nothing of fear."
Casually, José glances at Lord Drall. "How might they compare to Megla and Soren then, in terms of combat prowess?"
"Graugh! My daughters are, naturally, fine Kraktol specimens. Soren was never much of a frontline warrior, but Megla is among the mightiest of Kraktol veterans. You need not worry about their battle might!"
Several memories flicker through José's mind, particularly one recent recording of Megla and Soren attempting to fight a mere Class C monster.
The Admiral chuckles. "Haha. That will pose a... problem."
"Pardon?"
"...Nothing. Let's just say, my standards are quite high. I'll require your troops to undergo a few 'tests' to ensure their competency."
Lord Drall scowls for a moment, clearly offended by José's words. "Graugh! With all due respect, my soldiers are elites, each one capable of taking on five Mallali at once! I would appreciate it if you did not insult their competency in battle!"
"We will see," José says, his tone cryptic.
Drall quickly hides his displeasure, silently reminding himself that he must remain on good terms with the Precursor at all costs, even if it means suffering a few demeaning insults. After all, the Precursor has only had Megla at his side as an example of Kraktol battle power. Compared to a whole unit of elite Kraktol warriors fighting in tandem, the Precursor couldn't possibly understand the sheer force the Kraktol Empire can bring to bear.
"Graugh. Hehe, when you see the might of a full Kraktol battle battalion in action, you will surely change your tune, Admiral."
Before José can reply, Drall clarifies, "Naturally, you defeated Orgon's warriors thanks to your superior technology, so if we were to face off against you again, I've no doubt you would crush us. But, I believe that if that technology gap were equalized, the results would surely reverse!"
A flash of mischievousness appears in José's eye. "Oh? If I were to grant your Kraktol warriors the same technology I possess, do you think they could win against me?"
"Graugh! Naturally," Drall says, as the vacuum tube arrives at their destination and swishes open. "You are a walking death god as of now, but had we possessed such mighty weaponry, I believe it goes without saying we would win ten times out of ten!"
A truly evil, vicious grin spreads across José's face. He claps Drall on the back and smiles smugly. "Hah hah hah... well said. I'll hold you to those words. Warriors mustn't let their lips flap loosely, you know."
Drall's high spirits fade, ever so slightly. He picks up on the Terran's confident expression and frowns internally.
Have I, perhaps, overlooked something important?
Next Part
.......................................
Author Note:
If you liked what you just read, please consider subbing to my Patreon! I post patron-exclusive writing posts, with typically one post dedicated to TLP each month, and another to Cryopod. You help me survive long enough to not starve to death, and I give you fun things to read. It's a win-win! Check out some of those posts here and here!
Also consider reading The Cryopod to Hell, the primary story in the Cryoverse! Both TLP and TCTH are part of the Cryoverse, so they're deeply interlinked. You don't wanna miss either of them!
Thank you!
submitted by Klokinator to HFY [link] [comments]

free hazardous waste drop off near me video

How a Landfill Works - YouTube - YouTube MRWMD: The MRF 2.0 Single Stream Video - YouTube Battery Recycling is Easy! A PSA from CalRecycle How To Dispose of Household Hazardous Waste - YouTube Skydiving Without Parachute - Antti Pendikainen - YouTube 10 FREE Places to RV Park Overnight - YouTube Funny Workplace Safety Training Video - YouTube The Missouri Ghost Town Poisoned By Toxic Waste - YouTube

New Drop Off ProcedureThe drive-through drop off area has moved to the south side of the building. When you arrive, drive into the roped-off lane and unload your waste onto a cart. Typical household hazardous waste is accepted from Larimer County Residents for free. All other waste, including waste from businesses, churches, landlords, local governments, non-profits, and other 1800 Wurzbach Parkway, is a seasonal drop off site open only on the first Friday and first Saturday of the month from 8am-12pm. View a list of dates here. The Household Hazardous Waste (HHW) site is free for City of San Antonio solid waste customers who pay an environmental fee; this fee appears on the CPS bill. Hazardous Waste Drop Off Near Me. If the Household hazardous waste is solid, such as batteries or fluorescent bulbs, there is usually another option through large retailers such as Home Depot and Lowe’s. Usually, these solid items are also accepted at city programs. Still, liquid household hazardous waste is not suitable for drop off at these ... Waste and environmental impact Find a local hazardous waste disposal service Certain household products may pose a risk to human health or the environment if not disposed of correctly. Additional drop off sites for properly contained needles, lancets and diabetic testing strips are available at these Volusia County's household hazardous waste facilities: Tomoka Landfill, 1990 Tomoka Farms Road, Port Orange There are four Household Hazardous Waste drop-off facilities in Alameda County. These facilities accept a wide variety of wastes and offer the most comprehensive service in the county. Alameda County residents transporting wastes they generated in the course of living in and maintaining their place of residence can drop-off materials for free. The Livermore Facility is operated by Alameda County Household Hazardous Waste. Call 1-800-606-6606 for more information. The service is free for Alameda County residents. This service is not for businesses, find information about business hazardous waste disposal. See a list of materials that the drop-off facilities accept. Easily and safely dispose of leftover paint, pesticides, cleaners, and other household hazardous waste (HHW) at the City’s Recycling Center during a regularly scheduled HHW collection event.. Many common household products contain chemicals that could easily ignite or explode if not disposed of properly.

free hazardous waste drop off near me top

[index] [7955] [7958] [1490] [1862] [7848] [1138] [9552] [8843] [2464] [8935]

How a Landfill Works - YouTube

Enjoy the videos and music you love, upload original content, and share it all with friends, family, and the world on YouTube. Go to http://curiositystream.com/austinmcconnell and use the promo code austinmcconnell when prompted to get your first 30 days of CuriosityStream FREE.The R... Space.com is where humanity’s journey to new and exciting worlds is transmitted back down to Earth. Where we vicariously explore the cosmos with astronauts, astrophysicists and enthusiasts. Here ... Small taste of the most unusual workplace safety training video ever produced.. A Reaper's Guide to OHS. This 4 min safety scene can be shown as an icebreake... The City of Carlsbad makes it easy for residents to get rid of all kinds of trash --in a way that's convenient and protects the environment. Watch this video... Ceramic Coat your Airstream / RV email: [email protected] call: 925-922-1714HARVEST HOSTS https://www.harvest-hosts.com/33G977/2CTPL/Our AMAZON St... Monterey Regional Waste Management District: The Materials Recycling Facility 2.0 Single Stream VideoThe Materials Recovery Facility (MRF) is the centerpiece... This animated video takes you on a tour of a modern landfill and how it’s constructed and managed. It's so easy to recycle your batteries! Batteries are considered hazardous because of the metals and/or other toxic or corrosive materials they contain. Batteries are potentially a valuable source ... Skydiving Without Parachute - Antti PendikainenSubscribe to our channel: http://bit.ly/1lffPl4Follow us: https://www.facebook.com/anttipendikainenofficial/?f...

free hazardous waste drop off near me

Copyright © 2024 max.bkinfo333.site