Exhack
We Won't Build The Plane!
- Location
- Montreal, Canada
De la terre elle monte au Ciel; & puis en terre,
Du Ciel elle deſcend, Recevant peu à peu,
Les vertus de tous deux qu'en ſon ventre elle enſerre
Contemplative of the words, Solana Cosmos runs her fingers along the lettering engraved over the cockpit hatch, touching the smoothed serifs of that particular spacian font. The prototype machine shows many flourishes that will likely be abandoned if (and when) war comes to space, the loving dedications to families of the engineering teams at Therymscri bonded into the identifying tint of the armor with photoadditive fabrication. The white angel on its left shoulder, set against a red sun and orbiting a white Earth too will also suffer the indignities of wartime austerity, reduced to another 5mm engraving into the shoulder with so much as a dab of color. Solana can easily imagine this unit in drab brown or the blue-white split of horizon camo and reflexively dislikes it.
The hangar bay of the Bildensturm is quiet, permitting such idle thoughts. All other hands involved catching last-minute sleep or slinking off to their own corners of the old Seraph cruiser. Freefloating as the ship rolls to its intended descent over the Med, with only one magnetized boot on a railing, she feels her body rest without the great weight of gravity on her back and shoulders, breathing easier. She reflexively dislikes planetary gravity as well. She was not born to live in it, and her own home cluster never had more than half a full Gravity from rotation.
Her throughts are interrupted by a pair of mechanics gliding through the bay, their minds pleasantly dulled by karmotrine and mitragynine, coming to gawk at the new machine. She feels them reflexively sober at her presence, landing on either side of her.
"Wow, didn't think we'd find you here too." Jura and Nura Serpico slink up with bemusement, the elder of the twins giving Solana a pat on the back. The two barely resemble eachother as a result of embryonic division, with different colored hair and eyes and features as different as any two natural-born siblings might have. The older one, Jura is a silk blonde with green eyes, her face responding to even mild ultraviolet light by growing an archipelago of small facial moles. In contrast Nura's hair is almost brown and her eyes blue like an Earthian coast, with a lighter and fainter scattering of marks.
"Don't you ever sleep?" Nura offers the flask the two have been sharing. Her finger scratches her temple, over a black spot where she's had a beauty mark tattooed to resemble her sister.
Solana shakes her head, holding her hand up to turn back the drink. "About three hours every two days."
"Bouncers! You're a mad bunch." Jura laughs and grabs the flask from her sibling. "What did your ancestors give up for that, you reckon?"
"C'mon sis, it's a pretty common Seraph genotype. We went over this at the polytechnique." Nura puffs up a bit, as if slightly insecure along the other two women. "Nightly dreams and the sweet joys of stimulant use."
"Kind of." Solana shrugs, shifting her weight to put her other boot to the rail to anchor to steady herself in conversation. "Not totally true, my LD50 for most stimultants is just your line's LD25. I also only ever have REM sleep."
"Every two days?" The question from Jura comes like an accusation.
Solana sighs. "I can sleep whenever I want to."
"You sound like an addict." Nura laughs. "But circadian control, right?"
"Yeah." Solana responds but does not elaborate.
The two settle down and turn their attention back towards the Series-1, with Solana only sensing the contours of the conversation. Their thoughts fire back and forth in familial heuristic, more sport than language, with incomprehensible semiotes that she can only grasp bits of because they come from the same mass culture. It takes a moment for her to recognize the thought-object of hand signals and realizes they're playing rock-paper-scissors, with her company as the prize.
"You're both bad at flirting." Solana cuts in, breaking the private conversation.
"Aw." "Aw."
Jura's impish smile creeps back up, instantly regaining her elan. "We just popped in for last-minute checks, and saw you in the hangar cam. Figured you could use some company! It's weird to have our unit test pilot sulking around by herself."
Solana crosses her arms, lifting herself with a heavy breath. "I'm fine. Great even."
"How about congratulations?" Nura insists. "Surviving Belem, double-promotions to test pilot and our lead unit's Index-4."
"Loretta Stoner made Index-4 when she was 20 and she's still the only Type-2 pilot to be shot down by both ZOLON and AnIscar." The only response Solana can make is a loud guffaw. Truthfully, she's a bit proud and trying not to be.
She can feel the two recognize that and gang up on her. Nura gives her a familial pat on her shoulder, just as her sister had earlier. "And that was an incredible acheivement! Just take the compliment, you shamefast nepo baby."
"It's true. Stoner's still kicking around. Runs a bakery with her kids on Solo Deia." The elder sister adds. "Ejecting should be easier this time around too."
Feeling the conversation get away from her Solana pouts, then smiles, her cheeks warming a little with mirth. Like the Series-1 looming over the antique Type-2 Gal Grails, standing two heads taller than either twin doesn't make her feel like she has an advantage here. "You're both ridiculous. I'm not... I'm not going to let the prototype unit get shot down or. Whatever. I earned my stripes here."
"Good. Because familial connections or not, that machine is worth more than almost any of us in here." Jura says.
Nura leans in, flashing another grin. "Until they build thirty more."
Du Ciel elle deſcend, Recevant peu à peu,
Les vertus de tous deux qu'en ſon ventre elle enſerre
Rubedo
S/RAPH INTELLIGENT ENGINEERING SYSTEM
FIRST ITERATION
SERIES - 1
Contemplative of the words, Solana Cosmos runs her fingers along the lettering engraved over the cockpit hatch, touching the smoothed serifs of that particular spacian font. The prototype machine shows many flourishes that will likely be abandoned if (and when) war comes to space, the loving dedications to families of the engineering teams at Therymscri bonded into the identifying tint of the armor with photoadditive fabrication. The white angel on its left shoulder, set against a red sun and orbiting a white Earth too will also suffer the indignities of wartime austerity, reduced to another 5mm engraving into the shoulder with so much as a dab of color. Solana can easily imagine this unit in drab brown or the blue-white split of horizon camo and reflexively dislikes it.
The hangar bay of the Bildensturm is quiet, permitting such idle thoughts. All other hands involved catching last-minute sleep or slinking off to their own corners of the old Seraph cruiser. Freefloating as the ship rolls to its intended descent over the Med, with only one magnetized boot on a railing, she feels her body rest without the great weight of gravity on her back and shoulders, breathing easier. She reflexively dislikes planetary gravity as well. She was not born to live in it, and her own home cluster never had more than half a full Gravity from rotation.
Her throughts are interrupted by a pair of mechanics gliding through the bay, their minds pleasantly dulled by karmotrine and mitragynine, coming to gawk at the new machine. She feels them reflexively sober at her presence, landing on either side of her.
"Wow, didn't think we'd find you here too." Jura and Nura Serpico slink up with bemusement, the elder of the twins giving Solana a pat on the back. The two barely resemble eachother as a result of embryonic division, with different colored hair and eyes and features as different as any two natural-born siblings might have. The older one, Jura is a silk blonde with green eyes, her face responding to even mild ultraviolet light by growing an archipelago of small facial moles. In contrast Nura's hair is almost brown and her eyes blue like an Earthian coast, with a lighter and fainter scattering of marks.
"Don't you ever sleep?" Nura offers the flask the two have been sharing. Her finger scratches her temple, over a black spot where she's had a beauty mark tattooed to resemble her sister.
Solana shakes her head, holding her hand up to turn back the drink. "About three hours every two days."
"Bouncers! You're a mad bunch." Jura laughs and grabs the flask from her sibling. "What did your ancestors give up for that, you reckon?"
"C'mon sis, it's a pretty common Seraph genotype. We went over this at the polytechnique." Nura puffs up a bit, as if slightly insecure along the other two women. "Nightly dreams and the sweet joys of stimulant use."
"Kind of." Solana shrugs, shifting her weight to put her other boot to the rail to anchor to steady herself in conversation. "Not totally true, my LD50 for most stimultants is just your line's LD25. I also only ever have REM sleep."
"Every two days?" The question from Jura comes like an accusation.
Solana sighs. "I can sleep whenever I want to."
"You sound like an addict." Nura laughs. "But circadian control, right?"
"Yeah." Solana responds but does not elaborate.
The two settle down and turn their attention back towards the Series-1, with Solana only sensing the contours of the conversation. Their thoughts fire back and forth in familial heuristic, more sport than language, with incomprehensible semiotes that she can only grasp bits of because they come from the same mass culture. It takes a moment for her to recognize the thought-object of hand signals and realizes they're playing rock-paper-scissors, with her company as the prize.
"You're both bad at flirting." Solana cuts in, breaking the private conversation.
"Aw." "Aw."
Jura's impish smile creeps back up, instantly regaining her elan. "We just popped in for last-minute checks, and saw you in the hangar cam. Figured you could use some company! It's weird to have our unit test pilot sulking around by herself."
Solana crosses her arms, lifting herself with a heavy breath. "I'm fine. Great even."
"How about congratulations?" Nura insists. "Surviving Belem, double-promotions to test pilot and our lead unit's Index-4."
"Loretta Stoner made Index-4 when she was 20 and she's still the only Type-2 pilot to be shot down by both ZOLON and AnIscar." The only response Solana can make is a loud guffaw. Truthfully, she's a bit proud and trying not to be.
She can feel the two recognize that and gang up on her. Nura gives her a familial pat on her shoulder, just as her sister had earlier. "And that was an incredible acheivement! Just take the compliment, you shamefast nepo baby."
"It's true. Stoner's still kicking around. Runs a bakery with her kids on Solo Deia." The elder sister adds. "Ejecting should be easier this time around too."
Feeling the conversation get away from her Solana pouts, then smiles, her cheeks warming a little with mirth. Like the Series-1 looming over the antique Type-2 Gal Grails, standing two heads taller than either twin doesn't make her feel like she has an advantage here. "You're both ridiculous. I'm not... I'm not going to let the prototype unit get shot down or. Whatever. I earned my stripes here."
"Good. Because familial connections or not, that machine is worth more than almost any of us in here." Jura says.
Nura leans in, flashing another grin. "Until they build thirty more."
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