CatastrophicFailure

It likes ta move it move it... But apparently this is not the engine we’re looking for. A few more tidbits in the article, but nothing groundbreaking. Except the possible groundbreaking for a landing pad at 39A.

Nothing like reality for obscure technobabble. But given my track record, especially of late, any attempt to hit an actual date would no doubt doom me to ElonTime™️. Welcome back. And things are barely even underway yet.

Paint.net or GIMP. Both free, and quite powerful editors. Learning curve is a bit shallower on Paint.net.

BEHOLD! IT COMES!

Hm, interesting...

With his coming are the dread fires born again. The hills burn, and the land turns sere. The tides of kerbs run out, and the hours dwindle. The wall is pierced, and the veil of parting raised. Storms rumble beyond the horizon, and the fires of heaven purge the world. There is no salvation without destruction, no hope this side of death. Chapter 37: Fire Scrick. Scrick-scrick. Ubuntu drove his hoe into the ground, following the furrow. Each strike sent a little puff of pale dust from the parched ground. He continued along, minding his work, as he had for as long as he had been old enough to swing a hoe. But the land gave forth no bounty. He stood up as he reached the end of the row, pausing to work a knuckle into the knot in his back. Out of habit, he drew an arm across his brow, but there was no moisture to be found there, either. Instead he shook himself, and tugged his cloak tighter against the chill in the air. His friends who had travelled across the Narrow Water, to the great cities in the green lands beyond, had sent back word of a ‘white rain’ that was called snow, which sometimes fell on days when the cold was more bitter than they could have ever imagined. It fell, and stayed on top of the ground, until at last the sun returned. Ubuntu knew his friends were having a laugh at his expense, while they labored all day in factories making products for the city-dwellers. They all swore they would return one day, and share the vast wealth they had earned with the Tribes. Yet... to this day, no one ever had. “You should keep your eyes on the land, young one. Those far away places are not dreams for you,” the Elder eyed Ubuntu thoughtfully from his place atop the almond tree, then cracked a ragged half-smile and winked. Ubuntu sighed, but returned to his work, while the Elder went back to peering at the tree, shifting his pruners from one hand to the other. Ubuntu tried not to look at the trees these days, the vast grove that stretched out beyond the hills and back to the village. It was not his place to challenge an Elder. Surely, the Elders were right. Even Ubuntu himself had seen the trees come back from looking far worse than this. And yet... “You are afraid the rains will not return, young one?” the Elder swung down to a lower branch, “that the Great Sands will swallow us up?” At first, Ubuntu opened his mouth to deny it, to claim he surely did not think such a thing. But paused. He looked over the cracked trunks and naked branches of the grove, where not a single leaf had emerged this season. He looked to the rows of the garden he had been tending, where not a single seed had sprouted. He looked to the withered scrublands spreading off across the rolling hills, where even the sungrass had grown brittle and pale. At length, he spoke, “the Tribes are hungry, Elder. The stores grow lean, and there are younglings who do not remember what it is like to bite into an orange. I am... concerned.” The Elder nodded from his place up in the tree, seeming to take the junior kerb’s words with great consideration. He returned his focus to the tree for a moment, looking at the branch this way and that, before snipping off a single twig with his pruners. He cast it a satisfied look as he spoke, “perhaps... you are not so young anymore, O budding chieftain,” his twinkling eyes flicked to Ubuntu for just a moment, “but you must not lose hope. The rains will come,” in emphasis, he held up his hands to the heavy, slate-grey clouds above. The cold did not seem to bother him, as he swung down one more branch as deftly as a spider-monkey. The heat of summer never seemed to bother him either, as he bothered with little other than a loincloth, no matter the weather. His skin was as thick and though as old leather, his hands callused like stones. To Ubuntu, even now the Elder seemed indestructible. If he could persist for so many years, and always with that mirthful twinkle in his eye, surely the trees, and the land and the People could, too. The rains would come, if the Elder said they would. As if in agreement, the heavy clouds overhead rumbled with thunder. “You see?” the Elder smiled up at them, “the rains will come. And very soon, I think.” Ubuntu nodded, but turned away and clutched his cloak tight at a cold blast of wind. His eyes turned off towards the East, towards the green lands across the Narrow Water. Another icy breeze tugged at his cloak, and he absently wondered if perhaps it might snow here, too. The clouds rumbled again in cryptic answer. But no, that was foolish. He knew that such things just did not happen this close to the Belt of the World. Another gust rustled the bare branches of the grove behind him, finding its way past the neck of his cloak. A sharp, electric chill shot down his spine, and he felt his arms speckle with gooseflesh. Every hair on his body seemed to be trying to stand on end at once. Ubuntu’s eyes grew wide. He spun around, the scream already on his lips, but too late. KA-BOOM!!! . . . A dull ringing that drowned out the entire world dragged Ubuntu back from wherever he had been. All his muscles cramped at once, twisting him this way and that, as his lungs fought themselves for breath. Like a looming specter, a jagged, branching after-image danced in his vision no matter where his unblinking eyes moved. One questing, twitching hand closed around something hard in the sand, and he brought it up to see the skin of his palm smoking before his battered nervous system could convince him to drop the hunk of obsidian glass as black as night. He rolled himself over, still trembling, his throat unable to give up the scream before the competing urges to breathe and vomit. Confused, drifting thoughts shrouded in mist and smoke pressed against the inside of his head. His eyes finally focused on the almond tree, or what was left of it. The branches were gone, scattered around in flaming chunks, and the trunk that still stood was split down the middle like the gaping, fiery maw of some infernal beast trying to breach the land. Reaching out from it like nightmare tentacles were jagged, hooking streaks of sand fused into smoking glass. And then... he saw. Ubuntu’s feet and legs betrayed him, and so he crawled, lurching past burning hunks of wood as he tried to draw voice. “...Elder...” His throat rebelled, clamping down around dry, hacking coughs as acrid smoke besieged his lungs. “...Elder!” Ubuntu dragged himself forward, and rolled the other kerb over. Wide, glassy eyes stared up at the uncaring clouds in the heedless sky, the Elder’s final look of shock frozen on his face. “Elder!” Ubuntu pounded a fist on his chest, taut and firm like cooked meat, “Elder!” Then Ubuntu saw in horror that the Elder’s arms had been burned away to the elbows, brownish-white bone jutting out from charred black flesh. Above that, green skin was tattooed with reaching, jagged lines like the sand-glass and still lingering ghost in Ubuntu’s vision, running up over his shoulders and across his chest. A great scream began to build in Ubuntu’s chest. Yet before it could form, acrid smoke caused his lungs to seize and tighten. Fighting against the fog in his mind, he looked out, and saw the entire almond grove ablaze. Twisting yellow and orange tendrils of flame rose up to the sky like demonic fingers reaching up from the very deepest hell. The wind whipped at them, twisting them into burning cyclones, choking black smoke mixing with the clouds above. Ubuntu clapped a hand to his mouth, struggling to breathe. Beyond the grove, he watched the fire charge across the parched scrublands, consuming them like a thing alive, and reaching out over the hills towards— ...No... Smoke and shock and horror scratched at Ubuntu’s mind, pulling him toward madness, clouding his thoughts. He let the wind pull his cloak away, hefted up the Elder and laid him across his own shoulders. Then Ubuntu set off, running as fast as he could across the blazing sands. He dodged flaming debris, snaked around burning sagebrush that seemed to reach out to him and call his name. His feet sank into sand that pulled at him and tried to drag him down below. At some point, he didn’t know where, he lost the Elder. After an eternity crawling forth on hands and knees as his skin began to sear, he crested the last hill, and beheld the Village... ...and it was already too late. *** “Ms. Lolli? Ms. Lolli, please, we have to go now.” Lolli Kerman pressed the mask tighter to her face, squinting against the grit in the raging wind, but did not move yet. She had to see She had to see it for herself. Already, a dull orange glow flared beyond the ridgeline, lighting up the black, scudding clouds overhead like an infernal sunrise. Clouds, but no rain. It hadn’t rained in two years. It was little consequence to her, of course. She could afford the skyrocketing water bills. But her staff... “Ms. Lolli, please...” the steward tugged at her arm. It hadn’t rained in two years. And yet, for most of that time, the hills stubbornly sent up life, in that peculiar way of deserts and scrublands. They were covered in agave and cholla, creosote and bur sage, mesquite and palo verde and Joshua trees. But even these had now dried to tinder. And then... the storm came. Not lightning, or thunder, or the much-needed rains, only a maelstrom of anger. People who, at any other time, would be working together, playing together, were casting stones at one another in the streets. When the stones ran out they used knives, and when the knives were not enough they used— With her other hand, Lolli tugged her coat tighter against the chill borne by frigid wind, even as the sky beyond the hills grew brighter, and little flecks of ash began to fall like poison snow. Call the fire department! The fire department had fled, unwilling to brave the crowds of madmen, and wisely so. Call the police! The police had not stayed long, and now protected whoever could still pay them. Send in the army! The army was gone, vaporized in an instant, the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. And now that the many needed the few, the few were no more than ash like this raining down. Across the hills, half of the city was burning from an errant flaming bottle while brother killed brother, each so convinced that his champion was in the right. But the fire did not care. It did not care if you thought this one or that one belonged in the Beige House. The fire had claimed the Beige House long ago. The fire did not care if you were young or old, rich or poor. Upon the wicked and the righteous it fell with equal disinterest, and cared only for more. “Please, we have to go!” She had to see. Needed to see. To behold this beast with her own two eyes. Lolli Kerman did not have long to wait. The glow in the sky flared brighter. Little orange and yellow streaks like fingers rising up from the ground reached above the ridgeline. And then, it came. All along the crest it swelled, and broke as a nightmare tide upon the land. It raced down the hillside with terrible speed, squirming and writhing like a living thing, devouring everything in its path. She watched as it washed over the iconic IVYLOG sign, scouring it away in moments, surging down toward the houses below. “Ms. Lolli, please...” the steward tugged at her arm again. With more effort than she would admit, Lolli Kerman pulled her eyes away from the horror descending down the mountainside. “Right!” she turned on her heel, stalking back toward the waiting airstair but letting the steward board first before bounding after him, “head count, Charlie!” “Twelve, Ms. Lolli.” “Rosie?” “I count twelve, Ms. Lolli.” She turned to the pilots, “punch it!” “Don’t have to tell me twice,” one of them said, muffled behind his oxygen mask, as he rammed the throttles forward. The VTOL shuddered, but leapt from the rooftop as if even it were eager to be anywhere else. Lolli reached over and hit the switch, followed soon by the muted thump-thump as the hatch rose closed and locks slid home. She tossed away her mask, turned back to the pilots... ...And instantly launched into a fit of coughing, forgetting that even these expensive air handlers would take a few minutes to make the cabin breathable again. The copilot offered her a spare oxygen mask, but she waved it away, clasping her own to her face again. She had smelled wildfires before, they were a regular part of life here, but nothing... nothing at all like this. The smoke burned at her gums, clawed at her throat. It stabbed into her lungs like thousands of tiny, white-hot needles and left her mouth dry as desert sand. And then... there was the smell. No hint of wood to it, despite the fields of sage and mesquite being consumed. Only the acrid tang of rubber, the reek of plastic, and a gagging mix of brimstone and chemicals like putrid fruit. And... something else, as well. Buried beneath all the other stinks. Subtle, scratching at the edges of her mind, as if her mind knew better than to acknowledge it. A smell that brought memories of pleasant summer evenings, now twisted and nightmarish, a smell like burning m— A sudden drop hurled Lolli’s stomach into her throat. At least, that’s what she told herself. The craft wobbled in the turbulence of a legion, joining other VTOLS, helicopters, and anything else that could fly in a mass aerial exodus. The armada stretched nearly to the horizon, hundreds or even thousands of shapes jostling for a little space of air like affluent rats from a foundering ship. She took a bottle at random from the wetbar next to galley, discarding her mask and downing a few gulps in hopes of clearing the stench, or at least numbing her throat to it. With a shiver, and a shake of her head, she poked her head into the cockpit. “Jool’s moons, would’ja look at that?” one of the pilots said as he peered out the window. Below the flying armada, the streets were strangely empty. Even on any normal day, it was a surreal land of swimming pools and movie stars Lolli had somehow come to call home. Only now, the swimming pools were all dry, drained in the too-little, too-late effort to delay the inevitable, and the movie stars fled not long after. The land grew darker still, and inky black clouds replaced the scudding grey. For a moment, streetlights twinkled, but as she watched they winked out in great cascading blocks. Flickering in the pitch black below, wind-born embers were already taking root. Lolli squeezed her eyes shut, and gave her head another shake. She looked off to the horizon, where a thin band of light still beckoned safe har— An engine, and then a wing and a tail filled the windscreen. The pilots let loose a string of curses, and the ceiling became the floor as they jammed forward on the controls. Lolli slammed up against something, people screamed as they were flung about like chaff in the thresher. Her stomach jumped again, then the floor rose up to meet her and something in her wrist went pop. She looked up to find a blur of buildings rushing past at an eye-watering angle that sent her already confused stomach reeling in ways she didn’t know it could. After what seemed like an eternity, down resumed its proper direction, and Lolli was able to pick herself up, clutching her hand to chest. She looked back to the chaos in the cabin, “is everyone alright?” Twelve weak affirmations answered, shaken and bruised but uninjured. Twelve. Her own staff, who had refused to leave when she told them to. And... from the next estate over, owned by people she refused to call neighbors. They had found room in their enormous SUV for all sorts of priceless trinkets, but had absconded in the night and left their own servants behind. The pilot nudged her, “you ok?” She mumbled something, waved him away, and glared out the window. “Those fools are gonna get someone killed out here,” the copilot said, “who the flarp was that, anyway?!” Lolli frowned at the gaudy, iridescent-painted VTOL with gold trim climbing away ahead, “the Kerdashians, of course,” she spat. “Figures,” said the pilot. Just as she opened her mouth to curse more, alarm buzzers began to sound. “Got it,” the copilot flicked off the MASTER CAUTION switch. The pilot hit a few buttons, “igniters on, SCE to AUX and hit the fuel pumps, too.” “Roger that,” the copilot flicked another switch. “Now what is it?” Lolli leaned in. “It’s all the ash,” the copilot waved out the windscreen, “its messing with the engines. We should be fine as long as–“ The buzzing returned, sound twice as loud as before. Another alarm bell rang with it. “Crap!” the pilot cried out, “climb! Climb! Need to get above this mess!” The two of them yanked back on the sticks, Lolli wobbled and felt herself get heavy. All at once, the horrendous scene below disappeared into a new horror, one of unbroken inky blackness leaving the craft lit only by the dull red glow of the instruments. Lolli’s stomach jumped again, more screams came as her feet briefly left the floor. The wall slammed her from one side, then the other, and she yelped as her bad arm caught the third blow. “You might wanna have a—“ another round of klaxons cut the pilot off. “Flameout on number two!” the copilot called. “Ok, set bleed air bypass to full on, just keep it turning we’ll restart on top,” the pilot shoved the throttles ahead. The copilot hit a switch “right!” Lolli strained to keep upright with one hand as the plane was tossed back and forth in the midnight abyss. The structure shuddered, shifted around in a way it hadn’t before. Beyond the windows, orange and yellow light flared in the darkness. “Aw, you gotta be kidding me!” the copilot voice seemed taught and thin. The constant, muffled whine of the engines dropped away for a moment, returned, warbled back and forth at random. The pilot struggled against his controls, “what now?!” “Number four is surging, complete compressor stall, it must’ve eaten part of number two.” “Just keep it running,” his hands moved over the panels in a practiced, mindless dance, trimming this, switching that. A low shuddering began to build in the floorboards. “Watch your yaw,” the copilot made his own dance, “ITTs rising on one and three.” Something went bang, Lolli felt the craft wobble one way and then the other. “Come on you piece of crap, hold together!” A metallic ripping noise somewhere in the back answered. Lolli turned sideways in the narrow passage, braced herself against the far wall with her feet and good hand as best she could, and steeled herself for the blast of icy wind and embrace of darkness as the aircraft came apart. Then, as they they trembled in the hadean darkness and noise built toward a final crescendo, for a moment the darkness beyond seemed... less black. She stared ahead through the windscreen, and watched as the darkness first lightened to dismal grey, then lighter still, and finally became a brilliant, blinding white that chased the shadows from inside. Lolli had to squint against it, but in another moment they broke through through into warm sunshine above alabaster clouds like rising to gates of Paradise itself. All at once the turbulence died away. The two pilots stared ahead, dumbfounded, then at each other with the same unbelieving look. “N1 is coming back up on number two, looks like we’ve got stable burn again,” the copilot barely whispered. The pilot roused himself, “what about number four?” The copilot scowled, shook his head, “readings are all over the place. Oil pressure is holding but quantity is down 37%.” “Just shut it down, we can make it on three. We’ll need to find a runway.” “Copy that.” With one final look over his instruments, the pilot laid his head back against the rest, closed his eyes, and let out a long, relieved breath. This looked far too appealing to Lolli after everything, so she did the same, collapsing back in the little cubby of the closed airstair and taking a moment to just breathe. Her wrist was throbbing. She tried moving it, and let out a yelp as she felt bones grind together. The flight must have a first aid kit, she turned to the cockpit... ...and saw a flash of gold, and gaudy paint. An engine, and then a wing and a tail filled the windscreen. There was a horrendous ripping like a monster’s wail, and icy wind bit into her face with a thousand burning teeth. For an instant there was screaming all around before the air was torn from her lungs. A gruesome vision of bodies and twisted metal cast across the blue sky assaulted her eyes, and the screech of a roaring jet engine slammed into her ears. Something crushed her hard against the airstair, the sun flashing across her sight faster and faster. The pressure built ever higher, the engine screamed louder, the sun melted into a strobing flicker as she was spun around. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, closed in, narrowed to a point... and Lolli Kerman was given over to the darkness. *** Darkness... darkness was split by a blinding light, somewhere a world away, on the razor’s edge between Above and Below. Ancient, rusted hinges shrieked in protest. Something crumpled on the floor quivered, drew back from the light. It huddled in clothing torn and ragged, stained with blood and filth. The light dimmed as a figure appeared in it, a ghostly silhouette of pitch black, broken only by a hungry grin. Down on the floor, a tongue like old leather slid over cracked lips as dry as desert sand, and a bare creak of voice trembled back up, “p... please... I already told you everything...” The specter’s grin only widened, “Ah know. That ain’t why Ah’m heah.” There, in that place between light and darkness, cold steel glinted. Katya Kermanov no longer had the strength to scream.

How does one say “SCE to AUX” in Russian?

Interesting... if I'm plugging it in right, I'm probably SOL for a number of reasons, but my wife is down in Phoenix right now and she might have a chance.

Always wondered this myself...

It came all assembled in my case, judging by the picture on the website I was expecting something the size of a PCI card or some such. Technology is awesome. I still remember when I had a couple of lunchbox-sized ESDI drives sitting on the floor for a lousy 150MB.

I got one of these on my new rig earlier this year, had never heard of them before. It’s just so tiny!

Maybe they’re trying a new level of efficiency... You see, Ivan, when deorbit Old space station on top of new module, is save on launch cost!

Isn’t it already like a decade overdue?

Didn’t Musk say they were gonna do exactly this tho? But yeah, did not expect the whole chunk to just go sailing off like that. Hopefully future launches will have a shot where they’re not in blinding sunlight. Like @tater said, simple is better. Who needs a payload rack? The payload is the rack!

Well that kinda answers my question. Was hoping I might get to see them tonight, it’s just past sunset here and the satwatching hours are beginning. Any updates on a real-time orbit track?

I write about little green men, eldritch abominations from beyond reality, and unexplained bludgeoning rolling pins turning up whenever. At some point, I asked my readers to just smile and nod and oddly enough, it still works. And yet, I’ve also been called “hard scifi,” which amuses me to no end. Welcome to ‘Who’s Kraken is it anyway?’ Where everything but the rocket science is made up and the jokes don’t matter! I’ll give a nod to Wikipedia for quick research, too. Taken, of course, like everything else on the interwebz, with a boulder-sized grain of salt. But it’s enough to make you at least sound like you know what you’re talking about, it’s taught me nuclear physics, Russian history, basic genetics, mathematical derivations for obnoxiously catchy pop songs, and FOOF. But bide your time... it’s all to easy to get sucked into Wikiland and discover your designated writing block has up and vanished like flatulence in a rocket exhaust. Or is flatulence actually rocket exhaust? BRB, need to check the wiki...

Given how long they live, it could even be the same turtles. But it needs to be done right this time. They’ll need four tiny elephants a piece, and some discs... That would explain a lot...

And lest we forget...

Throw a little (cleaned) regolith in and it becomes real value. people drink mezcal with a worm in it, after all...

Current weather conditions: minor tweetstorm incoming. ... Soooo... looks like even figuring for ElonTime we should have VacRaps and something recognizable for Superheavy by the end of the year. Storm continues:

Yeah but I can pretty much guarantee no one will ever use mine. Also: For comparison, the largest Diesel engine in the world, powering a container ship, is about 109,000hp...

Yay! Eek.

*cough* Space Force...

How about a rapid planned server crash? That would be quite an event.