Opt-In Glombies

So There I Was

Rocket-launcher low on ammo, oxygen running short and the killer AI-driven robots on the asteroid that they'd conquered were massing for a final assault -

     Which is when I woke up as the voice of Jeff Tracy intoned "Thunderbirds are go!" dinning out from my themed alarm-clock.

     Now, twelve hours later I have a list of three possible options for this Intro.  Art!

One for the ladies

     Thanks to my copious annotations, I had material on the Ruffian economy and how bad it's getting.  This would have led with the CEO of the Ruffian Central Bank, Elvira Nabuillina, and might have descended into a title "Elvira, Mistress Of The Mark" when we know that the Teutons have gone over to the Euro, and neither currency is native to Barad-Duh.  Poetic licence, dude, poetic licence.  Art!

More clever than cleavage

     

I wouldn't dare lead with this picture.

     Then, I was musing in the kitchen earlier and realised that we've talked a lot about robot probes to other nearby star systems, normally powered by a fusion engine, yet we've not resorted to any of the spaceships from "The Expanse".  Conrad distinctly recalls the author James Corey mentioning that everyday life in the twenty-second century was so dependent on cheap fusion energy that it had become taken for granted.  Art!

     This is the 'Rocinante', post-weapons upgrade when they installed a rail-gun.  The actual breakdown and analysis of their fusion engine takes place in th

     ANYWAY as you may have realised, Conrad went with "Plant Terror" because it seems to be a bit hit-and-miss as regards the hideous infection that spreads across whichever part of South Canada it's set in.  Texas? I believe.  Art!

      Here we see the patently ineffectual cage that was used to restrain three 'specimens', who had no problem physically breaking out of the pen.  

    Now, you might expect that three rampaging homicidal infectious glombies - we'll get to that in a minute - on the loose might be cause for concern.  Certainly not!  You'll notice that there are lots of minions present, because nobody thought to possibly arrange a search party.  

     ARE THEY UNFAMILIAR WITH A LOGARITHMIC CURVE?

    Those 3 glombies will go out and kill another 3 victims, which then 6 glombies will go out and kill another 6 victims, which 12 glombies will go out and kill another 12 victims, which 24 glombies will go out and kill another 24 victims, which 48 glombies will go out and kill another 48 victims, which 96 glombies will go out and kill another 96 victims, which 192 glombies will go out and kill another 192 victims, which 384 glombies will go out and kill another 382 victims, which 768 glombies have now overspilled into the next county.  Art!

     Gas masks and strange personal digital breathing equipment?  Clearly all is not well here.  Matey seems more concerned about this kit than the three escaped glombies.  Whatever could it mean?  Art!

     This is the aftermath of a face-hideous-chemical-effluent interface, and you can see part of the development of my new word - this unfortunate is coming apart like white glue.  Whatever this green gas is, you don't want any of it getting anywhere near anywhere near you, or - glue.  Art!

     Apologies if you were about to eat.  This is one of the glombie victims, who doesn't actually reveal what attacked and bit him, thank you scriptwriter and editor.  Conrad can guess that it was one of those three escaped 'specimens', which had probably already dined hugely on other victims and so only stopped for a bite.
     The doctor in attendance remarks that, normally, he'd be dealing with all the attendent blood loss - except that there's no bleeding.  Plus, he assays the injury and the amount of infection, which can only have taken place fourteen days ago.  Not an hour or two.  Well, we know what the doctor doesn't, don't we pilgrims!  Art!

     Less than 20 minutes later, here is Arm Bite Guy, who had been blithely requesting that the doctors salt his injury with Bactine and sew it up.  Not only has his arm been surgically removed to prevent a fatal transmission of Necrotising Fasciitis, he has surgically removed the surgeon's innards and has now set his suppurating eyes upon the trespassing doctor.  Whatever this disease is, the safest way to deal with it would be with a tactical nuclear weapon.

     And that's all he wrote!  Be sure to tune in to the same Rat Channel, same Rat Cavern, where Adam East will continue his unequal battle against the murderous metallic minions of Slynet.
     Or - was it Shynet?

A Little Local News

I know that there are readers who devour - or, perhaps, nibble - the blog from far afield, so what follows is very much 'Small tremor in Hesmondthwaite, a few bricks dislodged' kind of stuff.  Art!

     The Coliseum is very literally in the heart of Oldham, a five-minute walk from the bus station will get you there.  Royton itself is a five-minute drive from Oldham, so this is definitely local news.

     I live in Royton, for those unfamiliar with BOOJUM! and who came here expecting the collected works of Lewis Carroll.

Conrad has been there several times himself, which he cannot say for the Hollywood Bowl or the Sydney Opera House.  Art!

     The theatre has now secured funding for a £10 million overhaul, which utterly trumps the proposed far, far smaller new venue that was looking at £24 million to complete.  They are looking to open anew at Christmas 2025 with a panto.  Conrad hates panto with a burning thermonuclear passion only slightly less than he hates musicals, but will definitely consider buying a ticket*.

"City In The Sky"

Things are  not going well for the evillllll alien Lithoi, whom have discovered that crossing a Gallifreyan after he delivers an ultimatum is a Very Bad Thing.

     ‘That’s – that’s the emergency warning,’ babbled Orskan, causing the Doctor to realise that a slow metabolism was not necessarily bad, if the possessor came to the right conclusions.

     ‘ “Deadly pathogen on the loose?” he tried, sarcastically.

     Orskan nodded.  One gesture that the Lithoi and humans had in common.

     ‘Yes.  The level and inter-corridor seals will be preventing further transmission.’  Gulping, he looked at the walls.  ‘We are trapped in here.’

     ‘I think – NOT!’ burbled the Doctor, all idiot bonhomie.  He unscrewed the cap on his jar of thermite, then spilled grains in a three metre circle across the floor.  What remained went across the floor and got piled up in a corner.  ‘Come and stand in the circle.’

     The Lithoi did, not without a fair sense of foreboding.  He witnessed that strange sonic weapon applied to the circle of pellets, which promptly flared up, glowing white-hot in less time than it took to tell.

     Suddenly the floor gave way, and Orskan found himself walloped against the floor of the next level below them – Stores.  They had fallen a level, into a deserted corridor decorated only by a big blue box.  Even as they dusted off sparklets of iron, the corridor lighting began to dim.

     ‘Come on!’ shouted the Doctor.  ‘Into the TARDIS!’

     Anyone mentioning that record will be Remote Nuclear Detonated.

The Next Generation Ships

Ha!  I got you there, because no, this is not really about "Star Trek".  Quite the opposite, in fact, because in ST they go tripping merrily all o'er the galaxy, rather disobeying the rules of physics (despite what Scotty is moaning about this week).

     Well, what if you're constrained by the laws of physics and cannot accelerate a starship up to more than a fraction of the speed of light?  Art!

     Imagine you have the middle ground, and a fission engine that will propel you at 4% of the speed of light.  It's still going to take you a century to reach the target star.  Nor do you have Miraculous Unaging Sleep Technology that allows Snow White to sleep for 90 years, unscathed by the ravages of time.  

     So!  You set up your vessel to be a 'Generation' ship, one where the original crew will be long dead by the time their descendants arrive in orbit, survived by perhaps three successive generations of crew.

     I think one of the first such iterations of same in sci-fi was Robert Helnlein's "Orphans Of The Sky", which is a belting read.

     We will come back to this, O yes I guess Rudolph Hess.

I'm Waiting.  I'M WAITING.

Conrad, as we all know, is a man person creature of infinite patience, yet even he can he taunted too far and too often.  Art!

     I remember this coming out whilst I was working at Sainsbo's, and being quite moderately excited about it.  Only 'moderately' because I had learned the hard way that what is promised often fails to arrive.  Take note of that date.  Art!

     Here we are five years later and still we are absent Old Stony Face.

     I promise you, the Remote Nuclear Detonator is going to get a workout this week.  And then some.  You might want to lay in some iodine tablets and oxygen masks.

Finally -

There is a sad tale to tell about the Zharkoe.  Flags at half-mast, please.

*  And not going.