Scratch marks

claudeb @ 2026-04-22T07:27:00

2026-04-22T04:27:39Z

My dream machine is working well again after a long while. Last night I had the kind of dream where you're watching a movie but you're also sort of there. It was a very loose adaptation of Starship Troopers, except written more like a classic war story. A rag-tag band of soldiers gels into an elite fighting force and goes on to make a difference. Due to budget constraints, most of the action took place at night, and power armor got limited screen time. It was supposed to look xenomorph-like, except angular and metallic. I think not everyone was supposed to have it, either.

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Some code from a computer science pioneer

2026-03-18T14:45:02Z

This is mostly of interest to computer history nerds.

Nils Aals Barricelli was an early computer scientist. Among other accomplishments, he pioneered what we now call genetic algorithms. I've learned about him from my friend sandwolf5, who uses a fictional version of his work as the origin story of L.A.I.R.A., from the eponymous trilogy of novels (and the epic saga it spawned).

Now for the fun part: Barricelli's page on the chess programming wiki (turns out he also pioneered computer chess) lists this algorithm for "symbiogenetic" reproduction. It looks more like a cellular automaton to me, but whatever:

integer array this generation, next generation [1 :512];
begin
 loop: for i : = 1 step 1 until 512 do 
       begin 
       n := j := this generation[i];
reproduce: if j = 0 then goto next i;
       k := modulo 512 of (i) plus: (j);
       if next generation[k] > 0 then 
       goto mutation else 
       next generation[k] := n;
       j := this generation[k];
       goto reproduce;
  mutation:
  next i: end;

  copy next generation into this generation;

  print this generation;

  goto loop;
end;

The description is fairly incomplete. For one thing, it says this is Algol code. Um, which version? I'll assume Algol 60, the ancestor of Pascal. It also doesn't state the range of integers (10-bit?) or what the next generation array is initialized to. So my C++ port makes some assumptions:

// C++ port of the symbiogenetic algorithm by Nils Aals Barricelli.
// Source: https://www.chessprogramming.org/Nils_Barricelli

#include <cstdlib>
#include <ctime>
#include <cstdio>

int this_gen[512];
int next_gen[512];

int main() {
	std::srand(std::time(0));

	// Guess at the absent init code from the original page.
	for (size_t i = 0; i < 512; i++) {
		// Turns out it only works with very small numbers.
		this_gen[i] = std::rand() % 3 - 1;
		// Not sure if this is needed or correct here.
		next_gen[i] = 0;
	}

	do {
		for (size_t i = 0; i < 512; i++) {
			printf("%3d ", this_gen[i]);
			if (i % 16 == 15)
				printf("\n");
		}

		for (size_t i = 0; i < 512; i++) {
			int j = this_gen[i];
			int n = j;
			while (j != 0) {
				int k = (i + j) % 512;
				if (next_gen[k] > 0)
					break;
				else
					next_gen[k] = n;
				j = this_gen[k];
			}
		}
		for (size_t i = 0; i < 512; i++)
			this_gen[i] = next_gen[i];
		puts("Press Ctrl-C to stop or Enter for next gen:");
	} while (std::getchar() != EOF);
}

(I picked C++ due to its ubiquity; most people who will read this far are likely to have a compiler installed. And yes, identifiers in Algol 68 at least could have spaces in them.)

Well, it kinda works for a couple of generations, on some runs. Maybe I'm doing something wrong. In any event I don't see any pattern in the numbers of anything. Maybe someone more informed can enlighten me? But it's good practice.

Edit: this page says you're supposed to start with integers from -1 to +1, but now it doesn't seem to work at all anymore, not even by chance. I remain baffled.

Edit 2: Just in case, I also made a version of the code that reproduces the original tangle of goto statements. It still doesn't work.

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claudeb @ 2026-01-02T11:12:00

2026-01-02T09:12:25Z

I was hoping to make this post in December, but there were too many distractions. Let it be my first journal of 2026.

Best thing I can say about last year is, I survived! That's a good energy to bring into the new one, because things are going to get worse before they get better.

Second best thing (almost forgot) was starting a paper journal, with a good old-fashioned fountain pen. Makes me feel more alive than in a long time.

My biggest regret in 2025 was failing to complete even one work of fiction. The furthest I went was 5K words into a new novelette, that looked extremely promising before it fizzled out. Wrote a lot of worldbuilding material for The Dream though, and made a lot of art as well. Some of the art fell flat. It can't be helped.

On the plus side I did a lot of web design, and grew my site network considerably. Changed my homepage to reflect that, too, but otherwise it meant largely neglecting it.

Last but not least, over the holidays I learned a new old thing. Resolving to learn even more in 2026, then use it all to make more cool stuff.

Enough talk. Let's get this party started.

P.S. Check out Dreamwidth's own small web community. It rocks!

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Making art, making sites

2025-11-18T17:23:08Z

When I first created my website on Neocities, it didn't yet have a clear purpose, hence the somewhat generic name. Since then, the name in question has become a personal brand used on several websites. Which in turn muddled things because my site was named one thing and showed another.

As my other sites developed their own personality, this one remained the odd one out. In the end, the fix was to add a landing page distinct from my profile. It will serve as an anchor point, plus it helps the site look better and navigate better. You might even recognize some of my art from last year. Have some more, by the way:

The site still isn't perfect, of course, but I'm a lot happier about it now. Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

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On the warpath

2025-09-09T16:00:03Z

Two months ago when I posted the previous entry in my concept art series, there were actually two planned scenes. The second one was meant for the cover of volume six (which is finally out) but as you can see plans have changed, and I'm now free to use it here:

It's a space opera story of grand-scale conflict that ties together previous installments, and moves the setting to a new stage by the end. There are more stories coming, too, so hopefully that means more art to go with it. But not just yet.

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claudeb @ 2025-08-28T08:38:00

2025-08-28T05:38:35Z

Last night I dreamed about visiting a friend in a foreign country. She lived in an isolated mountain town, albeit a modern one with Communist architecture. At some point people were swept up in a mass psychosis of sorts. Something to do with treating each other as products. We took refuge in an empty storefront, but had no supplies. So my friend handed me a few bills and sent me to the supermarket. I said, wait, I'm not familiar with the money here, why don't we go together. She didn't like that. I went alone. Lost my way, but ran into a group of people I'd met there. We went back to tell my friend, but couldn't find the storefront anymore. So we headed to the supermarket anyway. It was crowded, and a brawl started in which people were sticking labels with discounted prices on each other. Turns out it was all a marketing stunt or something? Either way that was waking up time.

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Battle of the Space Submarines

2025-07-01T07:28:47Z

It's been a busy spring, with all the work on the next two Dream books. (Volume five is out now!) Now that we're done with that, I was finally able to work more on my concept art series. This time with a piece that sends back to the tense encounter early on in kantuck's novel Shadowing the Dream:

There's a new model and a refurbished model. You'll see the former again on the cover of upcoming volumes, too. But first to rest a bit and make another poster like these, because it's so satisfying.

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Community and involvement

2025-03-28T06:53:00Z

We have an old tradition in SpinDizzy Muck: every year sometime in February or March we elect a mayor. It's a purely ceremonial position, yet it makes a big difference. Trust me, we tried going without. It sucked.

When I first got there (fifteen years ago, yikes!) it was right in the middle of the electoral campaign. My first instinct was to stay out because I was a newcomer. But Jaxen, one of the candidates, told me: "you're here now; it matters to you, too". So I read up on everyone who was running, and their platforms, and cast my vote. We do instant-runoff in SpinDizzy, by the way. That rules.

And you know what? My first or second choice actually won, and they were a fine mayor (Jaxen also won a term later). But as time went on, I became less involved, and one year I was too depressed to vote at all. Can you guess what happened? The candidate I was kind of rooting for lost by one vote.

Granted, we're a small community, but it's that much more important. Community is what we make it, all of us together and each in their own corner. And communities need a focus, or beacon. Not necessarily a leader, but someone who represents them. Someone to rally around.

There's "politics" of the kind that rhymes with "blech", and politics as in the fabric of social life. And someone has to weave the latter, too, because it doesn't happen by itself.

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Passing the winter

2025-03-04T08:15:06Z

The past two months have been a blur. I've been staying busy, trying to pass the winter, both in the digital realm and outside in the sun. Bought new notebooks and started using them; even borrowed a fountain pen to try and keep a journal on paper (so far, so good). Work on the next Dream book continues apace, too. Luckily my friends are still feeling creative, because lately I didn't have much inspiration for art or fiction. But now spring is here! That should help with everyone's mood, including mine.

Elsewhere, I've been working on a new site. Joined a small web community, too. It's a good reminder not to stop posting here; it would be a shame to do that just as blogs are coming back into fashion. Last but not least, another notable thing I did since last time was upload a couple of short stories (one of them originally posted right here) to my website.

Now to go and have some good dreams again, because last night's were no fun at all. Got to air the bedroom or something.

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claudeb @ 2025-01-05T11:05:00

2025-01-05T09:05:40Z

Last night's dream involved a grand palace of old. Part of it had modern amenities; it seemed to be a store selling books and stationery. I was there for an event, but the presenter was a jerk, so I wandered off. Turned out the place was much bigger than it seemed initially; at some point I ran into a young couple, men and woman, dressed in 17th century garb (both male). They seemed to know me as someone else. She spoke English and he spoke French, even among themselves, so it was dizzying to try and follow. But they wanted me to go assist someone else with an ambitious scientific experiment at another location, so that was cool.

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claudeb @ 2024-12-11T06:27:00

2024-12-11T04:27:33Z

Dreamed I was at some sort of oceanic research facility where they were trying to make humans partially aquatic and/or give aquatic mammals human intelligence, all so we could communicate with some water-dwelling aliens. There was a huge pool, of course, but also an underground train station that could double as a bicycle track. Guess they didn't want humans forgetting how to live on land. The on-site living quarters were interesting too. They had 1960s-style wood paneling but came with automatic doors and lights.

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New season, new art

2024-11-10T07:46:27Z

Oh no, has it been three months again?! Right on time to post my latest work:

It's made with a fun little tool called Goxel (picked because it's in the Debian repositories), and doesn't mean anything special. Just a thing I felt like making. A new medium always takes some figuring out. Hope you like it!

Edit: added even more art, because once you start it's hard to stop:

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Space opera dreams

2024-08-23T17:09:51Z

It's been over a year since I last posted any concept art for the Dream. Things have been moving since: we have four books out, and two more novels are in the works. So it was time for more cover art concepts:

I made the 3D models in spring, then ran out of steam (ha ha) and took until now to do a POV-Ray conversion then put it all together. Ought to practice a lot more: I'm nowhere near as happy with this one. Good thing it's not intended as a finished work. Enjoy anyway, and thank you for reading.

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Watching Galax

2024-06-09T07:56:50Z

I just spent half a morning to watch Galax, a Romanian sci-fi movie from 1984 that basically tells the viewer from the start how it's not about robots in the least but rather about the masks we wear. Here we are in the distant future of 2024. We take young people, pump their brains full of knowledge, then treat them like machines, and wonder why they want to die.

"Study hard! Being smart is the most important thing in life!"

"LOL, not like that, nerd!"

Ultimately, we're all amazing beings. It's amazing that we exist at all, and can accomplish as much as we do. But instead of being happy with that, we keep demanding more and more of ourselves and others alike. Yet we're not even allowed to express ourselves except from behind a mask.

Speaking of distant futures, can we agree now that engineers need poetry more than anyone?

P.S. Bonus points for a wooden puppet animated in stop motion that somehow looks better than Sonny from the I, Robot movie. Hint: it's the artist.

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Something like March

2024-03-12T13:55:45Z

It's been over three months since I last posted anything here. Again. My fault, really, for making this a blog mostly about writing, or sometimes art, and not doing much of either in a long time. Ought to take more photos at least, as weather improves. Yup. Sounds like a plan.

What I did lately: picked up some projects started three years ago then set aside. Brought them back, made them whole and applied a little polish for good measure. That's a trick I learned long ago: it's a lot easier to pick up a thing and dust it off than start from scratch. So what if it sat in a drawer for a while.

Three years was a bit much though, even for me. Blame the times we live in.

So yeah. More news when there are any. Until then, this blog will remain mostly quiet. Probably. Better that way than fill it with nonsense. It's really not my thing at all.

Oh, right. Just noticed the links in my sidebar are in need of updating. BRB.

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claudeb @ 2023-12-10T08:05:00

2023-12-10T06:07:52Z

Last night I dreamed of watching a movie (but of course by the end I was there). It was supposed to be a Dune story, except with a good dose of The 5th Element; that kind of aesthetic. Mechanical planets, moving platforms in orbit with huge windows, stuff like that. Someone important, apparently, was using one of those computer consoles from later books to place a video call. At the other end was an exotic singer with heavy jewelry. The sound was muddled, and there was no subtitling, so I wasn't sure what they were saying, but apparently it was about letting someone travel with the show undercover for some reason. That was the whole dream, but it was memorable enough.

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Invader

2023-10-23T15:36:28Z

I wrote this story in the spring of 2016, when the migrant crisis in Europe was still new. Seven years and a half later, you'd think we'd have gotten our act together, but instead we just made things worse. And for some reason I never posted it here before, so might as well.

It was a beautiful day at the beach, with not a cloud in the sky and just enough wind to temper the burning sun, the piercing cries of seagulls breaking up the heartbeat of waves washing up on hot sand. The meteor shower was just a bonus; nothing like that had been announced, but still they came, strings of silver sparks streaking across the sky. People pointed, watched with binoculars, filmed with their phones, shouts of excitement punctuating the bigger fireballs. But none of them ever came closer than the horizon. For a while, the show seemed to have ended. Then the wind picked up, bringing with it small dark clouds that churned furiously as they raced low over the water. People began to panic, swimmers racing each other ashore while those sunning themselves grabbed their towels and ran. A couple fell off their jet skis, narrowly avoiding one of the clouds that swept close to the shore. For a moment its shape suggested a bird of prey as it hovered above a hastily deserted jetty made slick and wet by the spray. Then it lifted off and sped back out over the water, leaving someone who struggled to stand in the same place.

Among the upturned parasols, three young people, no older than twenty, sat and gaped.

"Was that a twister?" one of the girls asked, bewildered.

"It didn't look like one at all," answered the other one matter-of-factly.

The boy who was with them kept quiet, eyeing the person on the jetty suspiciously. He looked about the same age as the trio, with darker skin, wearing only cargo shorts and sandals, and carrying a satchel. The young man calmly walked up to them as if nothing had happened, carefully picking his way among wind-swept litter.

"May I sit down?" he asked politely.

"Sure!" said the first girl, trying to get the hair out of her eyes for a better look. The other girl echoed her.

"Where did you come from?" asked the boy as the newcomer let himself drop onto the sand. "And don't tell me you survived that thing by hiding among the rocks."

"Be nice, Marcel," his companions admonished.

"No no, you're right," smiled the stranger, flashing perfect white teeth. "I didn't."

"OK," said the more serious girl. "where from, then?"

The young man pointed at the sky, still smiling.

"Are you saying you're from outer space?" the first girl asked again.

Marcel displayed an incredulous grin. "We're supposed to believe that?"

He was answered with a shrug. "You saw me arrive."

"But you look completely human," pointed out the serious one.

"I am completely human," the newcomer said just as seriously. "We have the ability to construct a fully-grown person from scratch, and imprint an existing personality onto them."

"Cool," breathed the first girl, looking at him with big eyes. "So, what's your name? I'm Jeni, this is Veronica. And the jerk over there is Marcel."

"Guess!" the stranger said playfully.

"Vlad?"

"Eugene?"

"Theodore?"

"Silvio? Ahmed? Raj?" added Veronica when the young man hesitated.

"Theodore it is," he replied at length. It had been Jeni's suggestion.

"Cool," she said again, leaning closer to him. "What brings you here, Theodore?"

He winked at her. "The company, of course. It's the first planet with people on it we've encountered in... a long time, really."

"How come you picked us for a first contact?" asked Marcel, with barely contained sarcasm.

"You didn't run away."

Marcel looked around. Stragglers were only now beginning to come back from wherever the earlier wind had chased them off to. In the distance, the strange vortexes still roamed up and down the beach.

"Fair enough," he admitted. "So... fully grown? Does that mean you can make babies, too?"

"Unless I have a manufacturing defect. We didn't test that feature before launch."

"But can you love?" asked Jeni, stretching the last word.

"Oh, definitely!" Theodore livened up. "I've been fitted with the capacity to love anyone."

He was nearly touching Marcel as he said it, smooth skin glistening with perfectly formed drops of sweat, the heat of summer radiating from his body.

"Hey!" exclaimed Marcel, and scurried away. The girls laughed.

"An alien visitation doesn't make sense though," Veronica pointed out. "An interstellar trip would take ages. Literally. By the time you can return home..."

"We don't have a home anymore."

That killed the conversation for a while. A little kid ran past, intent on raising a big kite — or maybe it was the other way around. A balloon vendor wandered in the opposite direction, holding their straw hat with one hand while wrestling the colorful merchandise with the other.

"Where are my manners?" asked Veronica. She offered a big pack of crackers around. "Want some?"

Theodore accepted a handful and munched gingerly. Jeni poured soda into plastic cups and passed them around.

"So the alien bums are coming to steal our food," Marcel said snarkily, sipping from his. The girls cast him angry looks.

"Maybe I can do something for you in return?" pleaded Theodore. "I don't have any money, but I can work."

"For a glass of soda?" chided Jeni. "Don't be silly. Not that I'd mind someone to come and straighten up my room."

"Of course."

"I was joking."

"Too bad there aren't more of you, Theodore," joked Veronica, elbowing Marcel.

"Ow! I'll clean up my place. One of these days, promise."

"But there are more of us," Theodore said, pointing along the beach. The last of the blurry whirlwinds were dropping off their human-shaped payloads before speeding back out to sea.

Veronica's jaw fell. "You've got to be kidding me. I thought you were kidding. This is some complicated hoax, right? It has to be."

Jeni was looking at him wide-eyed. "Theodore? How many of you are there?"

He shrugged. "How many beaches line the world's oceans?"

Marcel narrowed his eyes. "This is happening all over the world? Right now?"

"Naturally. We don't want to be a burden."

"This isn't a visitation, it's an invasion!" Marcel accused, standing up halfway to point a finger at Theodore. "What do you even have in there, a raygun? Are you going to disintegrate us?"

Theodore looked hurt, the most feeling he'd shown since his arrival. "See for yourself," he said, proffering the satchel to nobody in particular. Jeni accepted it with an apologetic look. She gently unpacked its contents on her blanket: a shirt, a towel, a change of underwear and a journal with two pens. The journal turned out to be blank. None of her friends commented when she started putting it all back in. Theodore knelt to help, and then Marcel was rushing him, fists flying.

He never made it far enough. Blinding light filled his sight, dazzling him, and he landed heavily in the sand. All of a sudden, Theodore was standing just out of reach. They hadn't seen him move. Marcel groaned.

"How did he do that?"

"He didn't," Veronica informed him. "Must have been a kid with a mirror."

"Convenient timing." He squinted at Theodore. "Go back to where you came from! This is our planet! We've been here for millions of years! You're not welcome!"

The other man just stood there, his voice distant. "If I were to embark again now, I would die of old age before the next stop. You're asking me to waste my life in the cold night of space."

"Can't you go into cold sleep or something?" asked Jeni.

He shook his head. "It doesn't work that way."

"Then how did you survive your trip so far?" questioned Veronica.

"By becoming part of the ship itself."

"And now what, you're abandoning it?" she insisted.

"It's long out of warranty. And with all the nuclear missiles pointed at it right this instant, we may not have a ship for much longer."

Jeni watched him with a mix of pity and fear. "What will you do to the world? To us?"

"Nothing much. It's our home now, too. All we want is to live out our lives here. Maybe pass on our knowledge if you let us."

She got up and walked over to him. "I believe you."

Marcel found his feet again too, brushing sand off himself in embarrassment. "I don't feel like staying on the beach anymore."

"Me either," said Veronica. She started getting dressed.

Theodore turned to leave.

"Wait!" called Jeni. "Aren't you coming with us?"

"I'd like to, but..."

"Come on. You need someone to show you around anyway. Do you even know how to cross the street?"

"In theory. It looks dangerous."

Marcel avoided looking at him while they packed. He examined the sand, the crowd milling about as if nothing had happened, the sky and sea that were so calm again.

Far out on the horizon, rocket exhaust trails climbed diagonally into the sky. Five, fifteen, too many to count. Distant thunder rolled from the clear blue above them.

They went up the stairs into town together.

THE END

8 March 2016

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On language in fantasy writing

2023-10-01T06:42:19Z

Eight years ago, in 2015, I wrote an epic rant about the use of language in fantasy. Unfortunately it was buried in a newsletter about game development, so after a while I couldn't remember where that was anymore. But what is buried always comes out again sooner or later. Here it is, still as relevant.

Let's start with faux-Shakespearean English. TVTropes has an entire article about it, but the tl;dr version is, peppering your characters' speech at random with old verbal forms misremembered from King James' Bible does not count as "medieval flavor". For one thing, the Middle Ages officially ended over two centuries before Old Will's time. (Now, if you're going for a quasi-Renaissance setting, that's different, but how many fantasy writers do that?) Second, you most likely don't know the rules of early 17th-century English, let alone older dialects, and you're making a big ridiculous mess of it.

So what is there to do? One good idea is to do nothing in particular. Just like Captain Picard speaks modern English (because most people can't begin to guess what we'll talk like in a few centuries), your medieval characters can stick to the language of their audience. Of course, you'll want to avoid ultra-modern words such as psychology, but for the most part you should be good. Another would be to read older books — but not too old; 19th century should do fine — and see how writers used to word things back then, because it's more than just a matter of vocabulary. You want to pick just enough mannerisms from times past that your readers might feel the fingers of days long gone clinging to the edge of your utterances. Just don't overdo it, because readers will mock you.

The other issue is imposing on your readers the boring cosmology of yet another Standard Fantasy Setting. How many different ways can you tell people that blah blah orcs, blah elves and dwarves, blah dragons? Don't get me wrong, exposition can be great. It's a tool in the writer's arsenal, and anyone who tells you to avoid it is a fraud. But exposition should give the reader useful information. What is unique about your setting? What does the reader need to know right now that can't be shown through a bit of action down the road?

Speaking of that, the Standard Fantasy Setting is a useful trope. It's the perfect shortcut — the reader will instantly figure out the basic rules, and you can get right on with the story. But that's yet another argument for avoiding lengthy introductions that say nothing new. On the flipside, all the weight now rests on the characters. If they fail to capture the reader's interest and sympathy, there's no sense of wonder to fall back on. Are you a good enough writer?

That is the question (still).

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Steampunk visions

2023-08-08T06:34:37Z

I've been very quiet all summer so far. In my defense, what kept me busy was working with my friends sandwolf5 and kantuck on volumes 2 and 3 of our shared setting. Part of that has been making new cover art, which hasn't been very easy after staying away from POV-Ray for so long. But at last it's here:

This won't be the cover of volume 3, but my own take on it using the same 3D models. It's also not really finished, just a quick preview in-between taking care of other things. Enjoy, and I hope to have more soon!

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claudeb @ 2023-05-17T16:37:00

2023-05-17T13:39:13Z

People often ask which writers inspired me. That's hard to say after a lifetime of reading, but I can try.

Isaac Asimov taught me about camaraderie, and the value of forgiveness. Also that people can have shared experiences across decades, and continents.

Michael Crighton taught me a different vision of computers, of a world that could have been. Better yet, to keep my humanity amidst technological challenges.

Michael Moorcock taught me that the line between fantasy and sci-fi is blurry at best. That it's all a story, and plausibility is not what makes it real.

There are others. Ursula K. LeGuin, and her constant urge: be true to yourself. William Gibson, and the neon poetry in his cyberpunk. Romanian writers who weren't afraid to be self-conscious, craft their work with purpose and address the reader directly.

Now my friends say I inspired them. That makes me want to go on and do better.

But then, they inspired me, too. I can do no less in return.

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A robot on Mars

2023-04-01T12:29:08Z

(You should probably read Robot 55 first.)

A wavy plain the color of rust stretched all the way to a not-so-distant horizon, dotted with rocks big and small. Farther out, low outcroppings barely cast a shadow in the tiny, pale sun; high up, the air was thick with dust.

Something foreign stood in that empty vastness: the statue of a human being, thirty meters tall and covered in shiny armor plates painted red and white, that gave it an angular figure. On its head was a helmet with hard edges and a smooth faceplate attached. A pair of eyes burned in the gap between them. The giant appeared to stare into the distance, at bright lights chasing each other in the sky. After a while, it lifted a foot and started walking.

Inside the cockpit, numbers and diagrams danced across big screens that showed a panorama of the landscape. A young man in a red and white flight suit frantically pushed virtual buttons, straining against the cushioned harness he was strapped into.

"At least I made it down in one piece," he muttered, before zooming in to better see the celestial light show. "I hope they can hold the line without me."

Right on cue, the image of a muscular young woman appeared in a window on his helmet visor, flanked by thumbs-up symbols. The digital avatar winked at him, then vanished.

"Thanks, Hikaru," the young man said belatedly. "Let's see, if I got this right, the old research outpost should be... roughly this way."

Two hundred kilometers up, five more robots faced off twice as many bone-white spheres with spiky protrusions, most of them smaller, though one or two dwarfed the humanoid machines. One of the latter, locked into a space plane configuration, darted back and forth, thrusters flaring. Bright particle beams missed it repeatedly, as two spheres almost collided trying to follow. From farther away, a short and squat robot fired two missiles. The smaller sphere was rocked by explosions and tumbled out of control towards the planet, but the second missile crashed into an invisible barrier. Its target sputtered, then resumed shooting more weakly.

Hikaru's avatar flashed inside four other cockpits, flanked by a zero and a rocket symbol. Three of the robots kept their distance, taking potshots at their mobile enemies, with little success. Only the spaceplane turned and accelerated towards the damaged sphere.

"Violet, no!" Hikaru keyed her microphone. "Robot 33, get back in formation!"

An image popped into her field of view. Violet looked the complete opposite of Hikaru, tall and thin, her delicate face now hard with determination. "Negative. We have to get in close. And I'm the fastest."

Sure enough, her robot shifted its stance and spun around, firing at close range from emplacements on all four limbs. The larger sphere sparked brightly and went dark, but two more changed direction, approaching from behind.

"Here we go," muttered Hikaru, taking aim. "I hope Roy is doing better down there."

The giant robot marched across broken terrain, its armor not so shiny anymore. Inside the cockpit, dials dipped briefly into the yellow with every step. Soon it reached a ravine. The machine bent its knees then jumped, thrusters taking over halfway up. Hydraulics groaned, and the fuel gauge went down noticeably.

"No way I'm getting back in orbit without a good pair of boosters," concluded Roy. He nailed the landing and stood for a moment, watching a meteor streak across the sky. Then he noticed the plume of dust rising from somewhere ahead, and started running.

It was a smattering of round buildings on a valley floor, some with transparent walls; solar panels stretched along the nearby hillside. Spider-like machines, reaching up to the robot's knees, milled around the compound. A couple busied themselves drilling a hole in the ground next to a tower. Two more noticed the intruder and headed his way on thick legs, shooting blobs of light. Roy crouched down, flaps on his forearm unfolding into a small shield to deflect one. The other flew over his head, giving him time to answer with a laser beam from his opposite hand that send the other machines scrambling. One left a severed leg behind.

"Mechanoids," Roy stated the obvious. "What do they want? Place is abandoned."

Skeletal scorpions approached from another direction, emitting beams of their own, and he ducked behind a pile of huge boulders.

A glancing blow made Hikaru miss, leaving the two Mechanoid spheres to pound Violet's deflector shields, while she struggled to get her bearings. Then another robot swooped in, guns blazing. Its pilot laughed, eyes and teeth gleaming.

"Yee-haw!" he shouted, before his expression turned to horror as a stray particle beam got through his defenses. "I'm hit! I'm hit!"

"Fall back, I'll cover you!" It was a middle-aged woman, with deep lines on her face. "Big guy, go."

"On it." This latest pilot had a bushy red beard, and a heavy robot. His missile struck Violet's remaining opponent, blowing it up, and she straightened into a spaceplane again before zooming away from a deadly web of light at the last moment.

"I'm running out of power," she announced. "There's just too many of them."

"Me too," confirmed Hikaru. "Everyone, pull back. All power to shields."

"Which way is back? I can't... sensor damage!" The transmission was cut short.

"Away from them!" replied the big guy. His on-screen avatar froze and turned blurry.

From her cockpit, Hikaru watched in horror. "That's it. All hands, abort the mission."

"Wait." Violet turned to point at a region of space that twisted in on itself. A large saucer-shaped vessel burst out from the vortex, spraying beams and missiles. "It's the Orion!"

One moment, mechanical arachnids fired beam after beam, keeping Roy pinned behind cover. The next, they slumped to the ground and stopped moving. Time passed, then his radio crackled to life.

"Robot 55, this is robot 22, what's your status?"

"This is robot 55," he answered. "All clear, I repeat, all clear."

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Jobs and lies

2023-03-23T06:46:31Z

The world received a big shakeout over the past three years. Two different kinds of fallout drifted down from it. And the first one was the so-called "great resignation", which 1) isn't new and 2) it's just boss-speak for, "oh noes, workers are waking up". Well, there has been a more specific form of worker shortage in the UK (due to Brexit) and the US (due to anti-immigration policies).

I was talking to a friend just the other day (hi, Borris), who told me about the lack of certain medication from pharmacies in parts of the US. He blamed it on not enough truck drivers... while in the same breath telling me about a friend of his who can't seem to find work as a truck driver. Supposedly the governor of California introduced a law to only allow union workers into jobs like these.

Maybe it's even true, I haven't checked. But to me that sounds fishy as hell, for two reasons:

it sounds way too much like the systematic union fearmongering we've been hearing for even longer now;
I know for a fact that other US states introduced laws to bring the hiring age for truck drivers as low as 16.

My dear friend, I told him, you've been lied to.

Even so, I wouldn't have bothered writing this rant, but look what crossed my Mastodon feed this morning. Turns out the supposed worker shortage may have been fabricated by abusive employers keeping up job postings despite the lack of any actual openings, as a way to pressure their existing (and already overworked) employees.

Just like the supposed energy crisis turned out to be pure price speculation, using ongoing world events as a pretext. Go figure.

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Power Punk

2023-02-11T07:04:06Z

Downtown traffic was picking up with the growing light. Sunrays bounced between tall glass facades, scattering reflections. Rubber rustled on the pavement as a small delivery van rolled ponderously among scooters and bicycles. Bells mixed with voices and the flapping of pigeon wings, drifting into the bright sky above. Somewhere nearby, heads turned to watch a minor commotion.

It was two kids, in colorful jumpsuits with little capes and domino masks, dodging trees and street vendors while they chased each through the foot traffic. The van braked abruptly as one of them dashed across the road. Startled, the girl jumped high into the air, and never came down again, instead hovering at second-floor height, hands on her hips. Her friend followed a moment later, only to be met with a bright energy beam. He took it on his chest, seeming unfazed, then rushed his playmate so hard they both flew into the windows of a nearby office tower. The reflective surface rippled like water, splitting up long enough to admit them, then reformed.

Inside, countless columns lined a vast gloomy space. Loose pieces of construction materials littered the bare floor. Little feet echoed, punctuated with shrieks of delight; now and then, the air crackled with energy beams that didn't seem to cause much damage apart from leaving pockmarks where they hit.

After a while, someone came up the stairs. Someone two meters tall, with glowing eyes and metallic skin.

"Hey, kids!" he shouted. "How many times do I have to tell you, this isn't your playground. You could get hurt!"

"Sorry, mister!" they both answered at the same time, and ran outside past the uniformed guard at near-supersonic speeds.

A good way from there, towards the periphery, was a sleepy side street with little gray apartment buildings on one side and houses along the other, some new, some old. The doors of a garage stood half open; voices could be heard arguing inside the bay.

It was a small group around a workbench, on which a high-tech suit of armor sat partly opened. Curious devices pointed at it from the ceiling, and wires led to a nearby console, on which a screen showed animated graphs. The woman fussing over it all had a kind of racing suit on, and streamlined goggles with little lights dancing on them.

"I'm telling you, boss, it doesn't work. There's no way it could. That's his power, he makes it work anyway."

The man she addressed came closer, opening his longcoat to reveal a black jumpsuit with a compact utility belt.

"Are you telling me his power is, what, making machines break the laws of physics?"

"Pretty much, if these readings are correct. We're wasting our time here."

Her boss leaned over the workbench. "Why don't you let me decide how to use the time I'm paying you for!" They stared each other in the eye for a moment, while the other mechanics backed away nervously.

"You should listen, Drake." A shadow covered the already narrowed entrance. "The lady knows her stuff."

Another man walked in, wearing a skeletal version of the suit on the table. Drake turned towards him defensively, backed by most of the others.

"What are you doing here, George? You abandoned it in the wreckage of that truck. Finders, keepers."

"I was literally a hundred meters away giving statements! Now hand it over."

George advanced menacingly. His rival hesitated, then took a couple of steps back, hiding behind his crew. "Stop him!"

They obeyed, pulling little blob-shaped rayguns. Laser beams lanced towards the armored man. He dodged some of them while catching others on mirror-like armguards. Pipes along the ceiling sprung leaks, flooding the room with steam. He took advantage to get out of the way and launch a swarm of micro-missiles in response. Most of them found a target, and Drake's henchmen fell down, electrical arcs all over their bodies.

"All right, all right!" Drake ran a gloved hand through his shock of blond hair. "Take it. No harm, no foul. I'll even waive the salvage fee."

"How generous." George exchanged a meaningful look with the woman across the table while he pressed a release inside his other suit. It folded neatly into a futuristic backpack. "See you around."

Nobody tried to stop him while he walked out with his haul then jumped into the air, vanishing over the block in an instant.

Even farther out, along a road heading into the countryside. Half a dozen fire engines raced towards a plume of smoke in the distance, leaving behind the jagged, gleaming skyline of the city. In the middle of an industrial area sprawled a warehouse, itself dwarfed by the parking lot in front. Open flame burst from every skylight and loading bay, causing a draft of storm-like proportions as the firefighters spread out, dodging the last stragglers as the latter ran away in their cars.

"Holy mother of...!" exclaimed one of the firefighters.

"How did it overwhelm the meta-structure so quickly?!" asked another. He looked younger than most of his teammates.

Instead of answering, another pointed at the rising flames as they took on a humanoid shape struggling to emerge from the building. It turned what passed for a head to look at the firefighters, and roared. They backed off, then something else approached: a small twister, following the same road they had. It touched ground in the middle of the parking lot, and shrank down to the proportions of a mountain man in leather and furs, who wielded a great sword made of lightning.

"Let me," he said, and marched towards the fire.

"What do we do, chief?" asked the young firefighter as they took cover behind their engines.

The chief pointed a hand over his shoulder. "Raise dispatch on the radio. Tell them to send the other kind of firefighter. Things are about to get heated."

Downtown, a little old lady still ranted loudly about kids today, but nobody cared. It was an ordinary day in Energrad.

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A little self-promotion

2022-12-21T14:52:34Z

Oops, haven't posted anything here for two months again. In my defense, I've been writing a novella. And not just any novella!

You see, a while ago me and a few friends created a new setting, and we've been working on it ever since. There's a lot! You can read more on my website, but in short it's basically Star Trek meets Jules Verne, with many other inspirations on the side.

What's more, earlier this autumn we released Volume One. Just look at this beauty! But now we have to make another book, and some of us are very busy. So I had to pick up the slack. In all honesty, it was time.

It will be a while until we can get another volume out, with my new story in it. Until then, enjoy what's already there. And let me know what you think!

(Cover art by ARCR-CRic.)

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But who's the enemy?

2022-10-26T16:49:37Z

Considering how hard George Lucas worked to make the Galactic Empire into a bunch of cartoon Nazis, a surprising number of Star Wars fans never got the message. I mean, between literal Stormtroopers, officer uniforms, and the use of superweapons to commit genocide, it should be obvious, right? But it never is.

It's even harder to notice the problem with those other guys in the story, whom we're supposed to root for. And it's almost always guys. You know, those who:

preserve ancient traditions and turn their noses at the present;
live an ascetic lifestyle that they flaunt as a point of pride;
claim to be emotionless, yet take pride in their martial prowess.

At least Sith Lords just want to rule. Jedi want to tell you how to think.

It gets worse.

In the original series of Star Trek, Scotty is fat and has a drinking problem, Spock is permanently conflicted over his emotions, while Bones is a religious man from the US South. All that is portrayed as normal and part of life. Fast forward to The Next Generation, everyone is fit, trim, and in shape. Moreover, everyone is well-balanced. (Well, apart from Barclay, and doesn't that one episode leave you with a bitter taste?) Counselor Troy is mostly there to tell Picard that other people they meet have, wait for it, feelings.

Worse, no-one is ever angry, except when they want to make a point, and everyone is an atheist. Except for "backwards" aliens like Worf, who follows Klingon religious rituals, and even his best friend Riker struggles to show him respect.

Also, everyone is tall and beautiful in TNG, and everyone has perfect teeth. Except for the Ferengi, who are short and have crooked fangs. They're also greedy, cowardly, duplicitous and they own every business. Sounds familiar?

We've banned Nazi flags and other symbols after WW2, driving them underground, and patted ourselves on the back for a job well done. Yet a few decades later Hollywood was gleefully promoting their views, from antisemitism to eugenics. Guess they couldn't have done that while war veterans like Gene Roddenberry were still around to smack sense into them.

Wanna venture a guess as to how Watto managed to slip through the entire production pipeline of a big-budget movie? This doesn't happen by accident.

But sure, we're the good guys. All the best intentions here. We can do no wrong.

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