2021.10.16 16:49 xxraexx66 [F23] day started off rough I’m in need of some compliments
|submitted by xxraexx66 to amihot [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 love_fu HiCity V4.5
2021.10.16 16:49 FatAssInquisitor Getting out of the bath and forgetting to wash the soap/shampoo from a part of your body.
Having already dried almost every other part of your body deciding whether to get back in or be lazy, scoop some water out and get the bathroom piss wet through.
Is this just me? It's usually under my arms. Tut.
submitted by FatAssInquisitor to britishproblems [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:49 JonTravis03 How do you make an automaton think?
I love steampunk and I want to write a little in the genre. There’s a little problem with writing automatons though.
How do they work? How do you make them think without a computer? How do you make them navigate their surroundings without any cameras? How do you make an automaton speak without a speaker?
Basically, how do you make automatons work without electronics?
submitted by JonTravis03 to steampunk [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:49 Boundless_Chaos Dual cultivation
2021.10.16 16:49 marvel1110 do someone know where the sources doc is of the videos?
2021.10.16 16:49 BuffysFunnySlippers Polka Party & Greenbacks Award sets plus the set to breed both up for grabs. Send FC. FC: 37MY7
|submitted by BuffysFunnySlippers to Pocketfrogs [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 ack1308 [OC] Walker (Part 9: Fly Ball)
[First] [Previous] [Next]
“Tugboat One calling Outfield One, come in. Wake up, Janssen, got a call coming in from the brass.”
Pete Janssen grunted with irritation. It was part of the job to regularly spend time enduring two-gee loads or more, but only a confirmed masochist would actually confess to liking it. He lifted his hand to toggle the radio switch on his (currently not in use) control column. “Outfield One here. Patch me through, Boris.”
This was the part of the mission he’d been looking forward to the least; being hauled out to the turnaround point like a piece of space debris, under tow by someone else. The Light he was going to be flying for the rescue mission had been stripped of every possible nonessential item, including the deep-space antenna that would’ve allowed Orbital Rescue to talk to him directly.
A Heavy could pull two and a half gees unencumbered, so it only took two of them to get all the way to two gees while towing the single modified Light. They were going to be burning at two gees on the slowdown, too. A lot of number-crunching had gone into calculating the ideal point they could bring the Light to a dead halt, cast off the tow, and still have enough delta-vee to make it home on the slow and steady route.
“Lieutenant, this is Commander Kenworth. We’ve managed to clean up the signal and get a usable image of the grazer with orbital telescopes. Sending both through to you now, over.”
A moment later, two files dropped into the computer’s inbox. “Copy that, sir. Both files received, over.”
Several seconds passed before Kenworth responded. The lightspeed delay was definitely a thing out here. “I copy, files received. Godspeed, Lieutenant. Kenworth, out.”
The comms dropped a second later, and Janssen frowned as he accessed the first file, which was the recording of the radio signal. It started playing and he listened intently.
“This is Mik Wallace. I am in distress. Please help. Mik Wallace calling Earth. Please help me. I am in need of assistance. Is anyone out there? Please help.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “It sounds like a kid.” The extreme speed of the oncoming craft had the potential to cause a Doppler effect and raise the pitch of a person’s voice, but not that much. If he had to guess, he’d put her at somewhere between fourteen and seventeen.
After listening to it again and trying to tune out the desperate pleading note—he had to stay focused and professional—he called up the other file. It looked like an amalgam of several images, which was probably exactly what it was. The craft ...! He spent the next few seconds swearing at it. A circular framework with two seats bolted onto the top, side by side. Not an escape capsule as he’d suggested, not even a pressurised cabin. Just a frame with seats. Underneath, he guessed, were the rocket engine and tanks.
And strapped into the seats were two people. Someone in a size small vacuum suit, and a dead girl.
Whoa, hold back there.
Why had he immediately assumed she was dead? It was a fundamental aspect of any rescue organisation anywhere to assume rescuees were alive until proven otherwise.
He examined the image again. It had been taken at the extreme edge of the capability of the various orbital telescopes and amalgamated into one view, which meant a lot of the details were down to computerised guesswork. Extremely educated guesswork, but guesswork all the same.
The suit was an older model. Despite the blurred sections here and there, he recognised it as a type that had been used in orbital construction some years ago. The protective visor was down over the faceplate, making it impossible to see inside. Still, it would be about the right size to hold a kid. This was almost certainly where the radio messages were coming from.
Unless they set it up to repeat a recording over and over, before they ran out of air. If that’s the case, this is gonna suck.
On the other hand, the people back at Orbital Rescue would’ve let him know if the message was a looped recording. So he was going to go with the assumption that there was someone to save, until proven otherwise.
So, about the other one.
He was pretty sure she was a girl, from the general shape and the clothing. Tank top and bike shorts were not exactly vacuum-approved protective wear. The mohawk was a little odd, but he knew nothing about Martian fads, so that was a null data point.
She had a breathing mask on, but the best guess of the computers had outlined a pony bottle attached to it. Good for five minutes of air, or ten if the person was an expert at conserving their energy. Not an hour, not twelve hours, and definitely not the five or six days they’d guesstimated it had taken this thing to cross the distance from Mars. Even the air tank he could see fastened between the seats—also an older model—wouldn’t have lasted a person that distance.
That wouldn’t work for the kid in the suit either … unless they had more, and they tossed them overboard when the tanks ran empty.
The seat was a light-coloured material, and her skin … wasn’t. Vacuum exposure did weird things to human flesh, as did constant sunlight in vacuum. People didn’t just pop like balloons when they hit zero pressure; that wasn’t something they showed even in the stupidest space dramas these days. Most casualties of vacuum just swelled up a little, which she hadn’t, but it didn’t look as though she’d been heavily built to begin with. Or maybe she’d been exposed so long her body had outgassed everything volatile, her clothing had pulled the skin back into shape, and then the resultant vacuum mummy had burned black with exposure?
It was a theory, anyway. One he was going to be finding out the truth of, once he got next to the ridiculously inadequate craft and had a chat with its live passenger. Including why the girl had thought it was even remotely survivable to travel that way.
The creepy thing was that the girl looked almost alive, limbs not set in odd or uncomfortable positions as dead people tended to do. The suit was the one with arms akimbo, but that probably meant the kid inside wasn’t used to moving in zero gee. Or they were injured; that was always a grim possibility.
But no suit and no air meant no chance. If there was a survivor on that flimsy makeshift life-raft, it had to be the kid in the vacuum suit. And while there was a chance of survival, Orbital Rescue was there to make a difference.
Hang tight. We’re on the way.
He was going through the voice recording one more time when Boris got on the ship-to-ship comms again. “Tugboat One to Outfield One. Beginning turnover. Hold onto your panties, Janssen.”
“Outfield One to Tug One, I copy turnover,” he replied. “Don’t screw this up, Boris.”
“Tugboat One to Outfield One. I should be saying that to you. Out.”
They’d given him four hours of rack time, of which he’d slept approximately two. That didn’t matter; the closer it came to crunch time, the more alert and alive he felt. Two hours of burning hard in the direction of the incoming grazer, followed by a turnover and two more hours of deceleration. That would put him approximately four hours and two million klicks out of Earth system. Right where he wanted to be.
Once he cast off from Tugboat One and Tugboat Two, he’d light off his engines and start heading back in, leaving his comrades far behind. Holding steady at two gees, or perhaps a little over, he would have another four-hour run back to the Earth system while he pushed the tiny rescue ship to the highest velocity any of them had ever achieved.
If all went well, he’d be passing back through the Earth-Moon section of space when Mik Wallace hammered on through. Only, he’d have eighty percent of her speed already under his belt. It would take him another one and a quarter million klicks just to match her speed, and a tad bit more than that to overhaul her and get alongside. His vacuum suit was stocked up with caff tabs, and by the end of this he suspected he was going to need them.
The next two hours were just as painfully boring as the first two. The turnover had been achieved with minimal fuss—Kenworth had picked the best Heavy pilots for this mission, and a third was running Sunward in case he needed assistance after he slowed down—but all he could do was sit there and endure, without anything to do.
When the fourth hour finally ticked over, he could’ve cheered, but he didn’t. Celebration came at the end of a mission, not at any point during it. Tugboats One and Two ceased thrust, and all three ships hung apparently motionless in the void. The cables connecting them curved slightly as they drifted a little closer to each other.
“Tugboat One to Outfield One, casting off now.” There was a series of clack-clack noises from the outer hull as the tow-cables released from their attachment points. The cables writhed oddly as they were reeled in toward their respective ships. “Good luck. Kick ass. Bring that kid home safe, over.”
There was a time for banter and smartass comments, but this wasn’t it. Boris’ voice was sincere, and Pete heard what wasn’t said—and come home safe yourself—as easily as the rest of it.
He keyed his mic. “You know it. Outfield One, out.”
There was nothing more to be said. Tugboats One and Two—their current designations would last until they got back to Orbital Rescue, but their part in this was done—turned and moved away on a course that would take them far away from the projected trajectory of Mik Wallace’s craft. This had been calculated to a fare-thee-well, using up-to-date information about every possible gravitational influence within the Earth-Moon system. In the end, this came down to two objects; the Earth and the Moon.
The sheer speed of the oncoming craft would be helpful in this regard. At that velocity, the combined gravity of the Earth and the Moon wouldn’t register even as a speed-bump as it passed them by. Even though it was going to technically pass within Earth’s Hill Sphere—the zone within which objects would normally enter orbit—it would exit again within seconds.
But the fact that it was going to enter Earth orbit, however briefly, made this a job for Orbital Rescue.
He checked over his instruments one last time, making sure everything was in the green and that he had a straight board. McPherson had outdone himself this time, and Pete made a mental note to have a bottle of genuine Scottish whiskey shipped up. The crusty engineer may never have set foot in his ancestral lands, but he did like his booze.
The timer ticked over to zero, and he hit the switch to ignite the rockets. One after another they kicked in, smoothly accelerating the rescue craft forward. He felt himself pressing back into the gee-couch as the familiar weight settled over him again. He’d already endured four hours of this, and another five or six beckoned, but that was fine. Now he was in charge of his own destiny. That made all the difference.
Checking to make sure his small antenna was angled rearward, he keyed his mic. “Orbital Rescue calling Mik Wallace. Orbital Rescue calling Mik Wallace. Come in, Mik Wallace …”
Mik came out of a fitful doze with a tinny voice in her ear, but when she tried to concentrate on it, it was gone. She thought the sun looked bigger, but that was what she thought each time she saw it. How long have I been out here? There was no way of telling for sure, without an actual clock readout. Seven days, maybe eight?
She’d never gone so long without actual food before. The pseudo-photosynthesis afforded by her unique dermis was designed to allow her to go without food for quite some time, and her body systems recycled water with a very low percentage of loss. But ‘quite some time’ was not ‘forever’, and no system was totally loss-free. She suspected she was drifting in and out of consciousness, despite the fact that the extra sunlight was ensuring she didn’t have to breathe. That part, at least, was working as planned.
“… calling Mik Wallace. Come in, Mik Wallace. This is Orbital Rescue. Can you hear me?”
The voice in her ear, emerging from a cloud of static, startled her. It was scratchy and faint, but definitely understandable. She sat upright in the seat, ignoring the stab of pain from her injured shoulder.
“This is Mik Wallace,” she replied, then took a breath from the pony bottle to give her more air to speak. “Come in, Orbital Rescue, I hear you one by three. Mik Wallace calling Orbital Rescue, how copy?”
Rescue protocols had been drilled into Mik from the very beginning. Radio signals were rated on volume and clarity; ‘loud and clear’. The clarity was better than the volume, but at least she could hear him.
“This is Orbital Rescue. I copy you one by two, Mik Wallace.” She fancied the voice was a shade stronger this time. “State current situation. How many souls on board, and do you have any braking capability, over?”
“Mik Wallace to Orbital Rescue. Current situation is zero fuel, repeat zero fuel. No manoeuvring capability at all. One soul on board. I say again, one soul. Do you copy?”
Something that may have been a sigh travelled down the line. “I copy, one soul and zero fuel. What was your plan for stopping, over?”
She took another breath from the pony bottle, more for morale than anything else. “I planned on keeping some fuel in reserve, but I passed out due to acceleration. How fast am I going, over?”
The answer froze her blood. “In the region of three hundred sixty klicks per second. That’s three six zero kilo papa sierra. I might have to cite you for a speeding ticket, over.”
Involuntarily, she let out something between a sob and a chuckle. “I think you’d have to catch me first to do that, over.”
“That’s the plan. So talk to me, kiddo. How old are you, anyway? Over.”
“Sixteen,” she said automatically, as hope surged within her.
Communication had been established. Someone knows I’m here. They’re going to help me.
The next stage, of course, would be to save Dani from Cyberon. It wasn’t going to be easy or quick, but she had faith in herself.
They think they’re something?
I am Mik Wallace, Martian Walker.
They ain’t seen nothing yet.
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submitted by ack1308 to HFY [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:49 elec12345 7357 8214 6162 XP and gifts
2021.10.16 16:49 goblin_welder Wheelie on public road
|submitted by goblin_welder to IdiotsOnBikes [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 ScGamer56 I beat the game and I was going the wrong way in the space type area
|submitted by ScGamer56 to EnterTheGungeon [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 angelestangel These 3 underdogs parlayed are a lock! Riiiiiight? Am I missing something here?
|submitted by angelestangel to sportsbetting [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 ami_nil1987 Lucky Tokens (LUT) are the lifeblood of the Bitgame ecosystem
BitGame is centered around entertainment and prizes. As this concept continues to expand, BitGame will be positioned perfectly to leverage the increased exposure from people around the world and allow them to take part in the platform’s profit-sharing and collective growth.
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#Bitgame #LUT #Bitgame_bounty #BTC #Crypto #Sports
submitted by ami_nil1987 to airdropalertcom [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:49 eliteprephistory Coco and the case of the missing foot
|submitted by eliteprephistory to illegallysmolbirbs [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 CaptainStriker02 Chargers deal mr. Got burnt for a younger/faster corner and draft pick
2022 5th round pick
submitted by CaptainStriker02 to maddenzone [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:49 Rackbaw Crumb - Ghostride
|submitted by Rackbaw to fakealbumcovers [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 Professional_East201 FlokiElonPuppy 🐶| Launched 4 days ago! Nft marketplace launching soon! 100x from now easily | Buy 1 BnB token or more and get same value token for free | From Elon Team? | 6% Rewards In Doge BEP20
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2021.10.16 16:49 dogperson1202 Small red patch between two teeth
2021.10.16 16:49 TakeItLyte GOOD DAY TO LOUNGE AROUND!
|submitted by TakeItLyte to SarahScholl [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 morfeus1106 Found this little gem today
|submitted by morfeus1106 to Bakugan [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 ArtisticStreet2034 Need a better 1 Mile Tune
|submitted by ArtisticStreet2034 to PixelCarRacer [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 Rosatos_Hotel Huge icicle, Upstate NY. 1977-ish.
|submitted by Rosatos_Hotel to TheWayWeWere [link] [comments]|
2021.10.16 16:49 TheApolloZ 21M, looking for long-term friendships.
Hello, I hope you're having a good time! I'm looking for long-term friends specifically but if you want to have a short conversation, that's okay as well. Who knows if we get along well and end up being in touch for years? I post here very often, because I barely receive any messages or people just ghost after a day or two. And most aren't looking for long-term friends, I get it. I believe there are always people to talk to so I'm not gonna stop.
Kindly read the post entirely before you decide to send a chat request or message. It will only take a minute or less depending on your reading speed.
A bit about me:
I'm interested in all types of visual and aural arts. Writing, drawing, listening and composing music, watching movies and photography (I'm an amateur though) are my interests and hobbies. I'm broke so I'm not a gamer. I do have a fairly powerful PC but with a low-end graphics card I play older games on. Nothing online though.
Speaking of music, I'm mostly interested in Jazz, Funk, Hip-Hop, R&B/Soul (both classic and modern). I like listening to The Weeknd, Prince, Michael Jackson, Bruno Mars, Daniel Caesar, Aaliyah, Sade and various artists from the 70s to late 2000s generally. I'm a movie buff so I can recommend you movies too. And yeah, I LOVE MEMES! Keep sending them all day and I won't complain!
I'm an ambivert (more of an introvert though). My MBTI is INFP-T, if that matters. I'm looking for people who are willing to share the events which occur in everyday life, joy and sorrow, secrets, deepest fears and build a genuine connection over the course of time. I'll be there for you throughout the good and bad times; I expect the same from you too. I am active on most social media platforms. We can move on to other platforms once you feel comfortable with me.
Now here's the important stuff:
I would appreciate it if you don't just message me a "Hi/Hello/Hey." Introduce yourself; the longer, the better. Makes room for a questions. Instead of simply stating that you like movies/music, mention what genres you prefer. That makes the conversation more interesting. Please put effort in maintaining the conversation. Ask plenty of questions. I feel like an interviewer if the conversation is one-sided. If you want to leave, don't ghost me without stating a reason. Just tell me that we can't get along if the you think the conversation isn't going anywhere.
Your age, gender, race, sexuality and time zone you are in doesn't matter at all, but tell me your age and gender just so that I know who I am talking to and follow social etiquettes. I love lengthy messages; I don't feel overwhelmed by them. So bonus points if you're capable of typing lengthy messages. I'm a person who would spend an hour typing a well-thought lengthy message rather than having a small talk. I type as if I'm writing a letter.
Please don't message me if you're just looking for people to kill your boredom and later abandon them. No, I'm not being rude. I have had enough. Those one word or one sentence responses lead nowhere. Please don't ask to join your Discord servers either, I won't join them. Also, if you're someone who wishes to stay anonymous forever even after talking for a considerable amount of time, I'm not the person you're looking for. I hate anonymity as it acts as a barrier in friendship. I have talked to a lot of people who wished to stay anonymous. I had conversations with them for months, but they always considered me as a stranger and eventually left. What's the point of having a friend without a name and a face? I have no reason to trust someone who doesn't trust me.
If you're still reading this, it just means you are a good listener and reader. Message me if we have similar interests or if we have same ideals and can be potential friends. It doesn't really matter whether we have similar interests or not though, I would love to have you as a friend. Thank you for spending your precious time to read this post. What are you waiting for? Text me right now!
Have a nice day/night! I hope you find some good people to form a strong bond with.
submitted by TheApolloZ to MakeNewFriendsHere [link] [comments]
2021.10.16 16:49 TeddyZilla_ Overkill
2021.10.16 16:49 Lolbit723 Make characters do spells and acts they arent supposed to know?