Just Old Al wrote:
Hellno. That's about as טרייף as a bacon cheeseburger.
Sgt. Howard wrote:
Just Old Al wrote:
Sgt. Howard wrote:
I'm talking about the Schweiss Family Butcherhouse, not those two meschugna schicksas trying to work there- besides, I don't speak Hebrew- Yiddish, yes
The word is trayf - pronounced trah-yeff. I found that one out the hard way when trying to find the aforementioned delicacy in Tel Aviv...
As I was informed - that is SO wrong on so many levels....
OMG- Milk with meat... and pork at that!
Apparently the place that invented the Blasphemy Dog went out of business... it's a kosher hot dog, split lengthwise, stuffed with cheese, and wrapped in bacon before cooking.
AN: THis is 100% Sarge - got lost in the shuffle and I sincerely ask forgiveness for doing this...
It really wasn't long before Al got the call from Greg- he had something to show in bay 4. Once there, he was greatly surprised by what he saw.
Mounted on the gimbals of a largish three-point stand sat a three gallon air tank- on that sat an odd framework that held a stainless steel throwing arm on the top with a loading mechanism- just underneath this operation sat a piston/cylinder rig, connected by a vertical shaft. The piston cylinder operation was articulated at both ends- the piston shaft connected to a fixed point of the frame while the cylinder end connected at the crank of the shaft. Where it connected, an asymmetrical boss seemed to have full contact with a built up area on the cylinder. Following the apparent motion with his mind's eye, Al saw where a revolution removed this contact at about the mid point.
"That's no "D" valve," he commented, "What have you got here?"
"The end of the cylinder shuts off against that boss," Greg explained, "Once the projectile is launched, the boss is out of the way and the rig returns to battery against a calculated air leak- a pneumatic cushion. In full battery, the leak is sealed again."
Al took a moment to absorb this- "Essentially... an oscillating steam engine valve, but this one turns 360 degrees! Brilliant! What's the knob on the cylinder?"
"That adjusts the needle valve- higher pressures, heavier pucks, greater distance... probably not needed on production models, but I figured this allows us to tinker a bit more. The stop is mechanical activation- the trigger valve is a rebounding type that has been used on airguns since the days of Lewis and Clark... simple upstream valve that is struck by a rebounding hammer."
"How do you regulate the burst?"
"The hammer mainspring is adjustable- heavier strike means more air."
"And what hqappens when the tank pressure drops?"
"The same hammer blow allows more air when it meets less pressure- it's not perfect, but it's adequate... and proven."
"Excellent! Now, how do we hook up Glytch's controls?"
"I've a servo here at the trigger- you see how it can work manually or electrically? ("Hmm- yass...") the linkage to the stop is also involved- the one servo controls them both. The hopper is of course gravity feed with a cut-off that opens when the swing arm is in place. I've currently got the swivel and trunnions on lockdown- that's these fours wing-nuts here and here with 1/4" holes for the controls here... and here- Struck me as a standard size- glytch need only bolt them in place."
Al looked it over some more- "Where's the feed for the air?"
"Right at the mount for the piston shaft- see? underneath? ("Oh?") the shaft is hollow- the air presents at the piston face. I have a steel tube devering directly from the hammervalve to this point using standard couplings. Since the reservoir swings and pivots with the rest of the rig, I figure a solid line only makes sense."
"As long as the frame doesn't flex too much from the torque, I would agree- now, let's go find our madboy and see where he is in this endeavor that we might pull the trigger and see what blows up."
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
AN: Yet another cooperative piece - Glytch and I...
Al pulled his phone from his pocket, keyed it open and said" Glytch". The sound of a connection rang, then Glytch picked up.
"Hi - how's the launcher going?"
"Launcher is ready - we need the guidance package. How goes it?"
"Almost ready - just finishing up the controllers - gimme ten minutes. I'll be right down."
"Good on you. We're in 4 - bring everything - looks to me like we're ready for a firing test once you get here."
"Cool!"
With that, Al hung up, and he and Greg discussed the design a bit further.
"I get a feeling this thing has more of a market than bored Sphinx cubs. I need to talk to my granddaughter on it - I smell a market opportunty here that's less lethal than our usual fare, meduck."
"What are you thinking - the avian paranormal equivalent of "Twister"?"
"Aye. Picture a family or group gathering, and instead of the meat patties we use brightly coloured disks of plastic. Could even have a ground/air mix. Seems the perfect way to blow off steam on a Summer day, with maybe a little more intelligence in the controller."
"You might have something there. Let me think on this - might be the design here I have is too finicky, might not. Need to see what it does in action."
At that point Glytch rolled in with a plastic tub.
"Here you go, guys. Got the electroncs package in one of your watertight boxes... Uh... Sorry Al. Probably should've asked."
"No need to worry - good idea. Let's get it bolted up, and get on with the test."
The mounting of the motors was a matter of minutes for Greg - the communications between him and Glytch on the frame sizes meant everything fitted with little effort. Four Allen screws and a leadscrew pivot secured each to its point on the frame, and their leads were run back to the NEMA 4 enclosure that Glytch was securing.
"Nice job on the controller, Glytch - good choice on the setup. Easy to mount, easy to dismount, and serviceable if needed." Al was pleased - the controller's modules were well-fitted to the enclosure, and the enclosure mounted snugly to its bolting points.
"Why did you mount the main controls to the cover?"
"Simpler that way - everything harnessed to the cover, and could be done with the lid off on the bench. I'm lazy - why work if you don't have to?" Glytch grinned his best mad scientist's grin.
"Bravo - not a problem - wondered why and now that you say it it makes perfect sense."
Within a few minutes more the guidance system was secured and its power leads hooked to a solid-electrolyte battery in a cradle on the frame.
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Greg shouted, and hit the switches. With that, the package powered up, status lights glowing through the inspection port on the lid.
"Rise, our creation, and provide entertainment!" Glytch said with a smirk.
"Glytch, you want to walk the functionality on the guidance before we fire it?"
"Yep. Let's see here..." he took a small remote from the bin, and both of the older men laughed.
"What the hell is that?" Greg chuckled. "Pry that off the sole of your shoe?"
"Hey, it's a prototype. I had to work within Al's junkpile " (HEY!) " er, stockroom."
He gestured at the device, and at the bin behind it. "Got two controllers. One is a bastard child of a PSP, a cheap TV remote, and a Bluetooth module. It's small enough for a human to easily operate with one hand. It's held together with 2-component epoxy glue... Ugly but it ain't falling apart any time soon.
The other is a bit bigger, using an aircraft style joystick with an enlarged and flattened grip and larger buttons mounted to another NEMA enclosure. This is for feral sphinxes to use, again one-handed."
"Not elegant, but functional. So, take it for a walk."
Glytch pressed the self-test button on the device. With that command, the controller walked the steppers to their limits, and the platform responded by moving left, then right, then up and down, then diagonally across its travel range before coming to rest at center.
He pressed the firing button. The arm whipped, and a THOCK! was heard in the shop from the exhausing air and mechanical motion.
Pressing the firing button again and again produced a THOCK each time. The loader and launching mechanisms moved smoothly, with no wasted motion or noise.
Greg stepped in and powered the device down, and examined the mechanicals.
"Looks good. I think it's ready to go live."
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
Al stuck a pose, twirled a nonexistent moustache end, and said in his best toffee-nosed accent, “Jolly good show, chaps! Let’s put the blighter to the test!”
Greg and Glytch stared at each other, then at Al, then back to each other.
Glytch spoke first. "I know a guy who can probably fix that. If he could put my mind back together after it was shattered, I'm sure he can handle this..."
“No, he’s always been that braindamaged. Must be a little too much Daisy time – repetitive stress injury, you know…”
“Ignorant sods…” Al laughed, then got down to business.
“Let me get a cart, and let’s haul that thing out to the main area – I don’t want to fire it here in the bay – not enough area.”
Makes sense – we need to see how this thing is going to handle – and that needs more than 50 feet.” Greg pondered further, then asked “Do we want to turn down the air pressure on it?”
“No. If anything let’s turn it up to the max design pressure. If anything is going to fail out I want it to do it here, or in the field test. With Mama and the little one near this thing I want it as safe as possible and then some – injuries to either of them are not at all acceptable.”
Greg nodded. “Agreed – if anything happens to Phix she’d shrug it off – but if Dixie got hurt – I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Indeed.”
With that, they loaded the launcher, the controllers and a supply of wooden throw pucks onto the cart and hauled it out to the main room. They wheeled the cart to a convenient bench that faced the large Richer Engineering Union Jack – now retired to being a wall hanging.
“Finally get some use out of the damn thing – at least it will keep the noise down on the hits.” Greg, you want to load it up please? I’ll get the air line and hit the tank – what’s the rated max fill pressure?”
“250 PSI. Glytch, you want to get a meter on that battery? Let’s see what it looks like in operation.” Glytch nodded and went for the tools on the electronics bench. “On it.”
Within a few minutes the launcher, locked down to the bench with clamps, was ready.
“Glytch, you drive, Keep it on manual, and let’s see what the throw is like. Sarge, turn up the needle valve – let’s push it to the upper end.”
“Already done – did that while I was filling the feed chute with pucks.”
“Fire when ready, Gridley, er Glytch.”
Glytch aligned the launcher to the centre of its range, and with a slightly unsettling grin, pressed the red button. I need a big red button in my lab somewhere... he thought.
THOCK! In a blur the arm swung, the puck slid up its Teflon-lined channel and disappeared, to hit the flag with a WHUMP a few seconds later.
THOCK! One hit to the left of the original shot.
THOCK! One to the right on the same lane.
THOCK! One above the first shot, then THOCK! One below it.
“The controls feel good. Response time in the electronics is nearly nonexistent, and the stepers are fast enough to keep up.”
“Very well, then. Feel confident in the guidance system?”
“Of course.”
"Then set it for a small dispersion pattern, and fire a chute full of disks. Let’s see what it looks like.”
Setting a slider to midpoint, Glytch turned the operation over to the controller, and started pressing the button.
THOCK! THOCK! THOCK! THOCK!
Each shot hit in a different random spot – but within the parameters Glytch had set for it. He fired the chute empty, then Greg refilled it and they fired another full chute.
“Let’s hold there. Safe it. Greg. How’s the mechanism look – you built it.”
Greg walked the mechanism through its throw without triggering the air feed. Moving slowly and deliberately he checked all of the pivots, the feeder and the interlinking bits of the throw.
“Looks good. No sign of any issues.”
“Did you see any signs of motion in the mechanism mountings?”
“No, didn’t notice, but I was paying more attention to the throw than the thrower. Did you?”
“Not sure – thought I saw some torque motions.”
“One way to tell…”
Greg unloaded the disks from the feed chute and set them aside.
“Glytch, lean on it. Maximum rate of fire – just keep hitting it. Let’s work it hard – then we’ll know one way or the other.”
"Ooh, a stress test? Alright, let's see if we can make it go boom!" Glytch didn't mind intentionally blowing up things he'd worked on... It was the best way to ensure they didn't blow up accidentally in his face.
They backed away into a bay entrance, close enough to observe, far enough away to be out of immediate range if something broke. Glytch disabled the targeting, locked the axes in place and with a mad gleam in his eye, worked the remote with the speed of an experienced gamer.
Greg looked at Al, and over the racket of the gyrating machine quasi-yelled, "Sometimes he really scares me, you know?"
"Only sometimes?" Al rejoined.
The launcher hammered through its cycle madly for 15, then 30 seconds – then a full minute. Al was not convinced – he yelled over the noise “Bleed the tank dry. If it’s going to fail –“
BANG! SSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
With a shudder and the loud hiss of escaping air, the launcher went dead. Small pieces of metal tinkled on the floor then went silent.
“CRAP! Air line let go.” Greg remarked disgustedly.
Al nodded. ”Thought as much. I saw it flexing when we were doing the initial tests – it work-hardened under the hammering and split. Do an analysis of the pressure profiles in the line and I’ll lay odds what we saw there was back-hammer from the valve slamming closed and open.”
Greg, disgusted, said ”Why the hell didn’t you just say something?”
Al chuckled. “Would you have believed me?”
“Well, no, but…”
Al nodded again. “Easiest way to show you was to let it fail. No harm, no foul. Replace the line with Teflon stainless braided hydraulic tubing – flex forever and whip all it wants and never fail. It’ll snub the pressure cycles back to the first stage regulator, as well – no hammer, no harm.”
They walked toward the mechanism, now safe with the tank pressure bled off. “How’s the rest of it?” Al asked – the mechanism had taken quite a load of stress with that full-power test.
Greg walked the mechanism through its paces by hand, examining the pivots and mounts again. “Looks good to me. Not seeing any damage in the rest of the mechanism – surprised that something didn’t get shaken loose considering the flailing this thing was doing.”
“Glytch, could you walk the guidance mechanism through its paces? I’d like to see if it’s been damaged.”
With the controller the young scientist walked the mechanism through its full range of motion. “Nothing – working fine. This thing is TOUGH.”
Al nodded, satisfied. “Let’s get this back to the bay and replace that line, and give it a checkover. I think tomorrow is the day this goes out for a field test – do you agree, gentlemen?”
“Yep.”
“Hell, yeah!”
“Let us proceed, then.”
Last edited by Just Old Al on Fri Mar 11, 2016 8:29 am, edited 1 time in total.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
--- (This is all on the Sarge... I needed some back story for the Gruesome Twosome)
"OK, this is the 'stun line', where the whole process starts. This is the 'stun-gun'; it delivers a sharp blow to the cow's forehead. From there, the critter falls through the grate on the right and they get chained to the line. Here comes our cow..."
Mori and Drey watched in their brand-new uniforms as a bellowing cow was being prodded into the chute. Billy picked up the stun-gun and applied it to the cow's forehead and pulled the trigger. There was a brief 'THUNK' with a hiss, the cow grunted and toppled out the side of the chute onto the floor on her back. From there, another worker threw a loop of chain around the cow's left hind leg and placed the other end of the chain on a hook that hauled it's pulley up to a rail.
Both sisters felt a vague apprehension about the chain, but neither of them understood why.
They watched as whole animal was lifted by the one leg. By now, another cow had been shoved into the chute. Billy handed the stun-gun to another worker, who waited until the floor below was once again clear before dropping that cow with a well-placed shot.
Meandering down the line, they noticed the cow occasionally kicking in a feeble, undirected manner.
"It's not dead," Drey observed in a flat voice. "I thought the idea was to kill it."
"We need the heart beating for the next part; this is the bleeding line. Hector here will demonstrate."
A short, heavy-set Hispanic fellow standing next to one end of a trough sunk a large, curved knife into the chest of the animal; gushes of bright red blood came out in spurts.
"Oh! You're removing the blood!... Why?" Mori asked.
Billy looked over at his charges. They were not the least bit repulsed by what they saw - in fact, if anything, they were fascinated.
"Uh... it's a bad thing to leave the blood in the animal... invites disease and all that. And it's not very digestible."
Mori and Drey looked at each other.
"Huh! Who knew?" Mori said at last.
"Uh, yea. Hector hit the aortic arch with that knife; you can tell because it spurted out bright red."
"Oh! THAT'S what that means. I always wondered about that..." Drey commented.
Billy was having several reservations about these two.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
FreeFlier wrote: I'll bet he's having reservations . . .
--FreeFlier
As long as it's not Cafe McRib...
*Steps into the shadows and disappears*
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
AN: ANother collaboration...Sarge and Glytch on dialogue...AND DINKY on the catrfight! - MY BAD...forgot! AN2: This is a LONG bit - I've written short stories that were shorter than this! woo! AN3: To FreeFlier: Yes, a snubber in the line would be good - but the teflon/braided SS will act as one. Trying to keep the parts costs down, y'know...
Out in the back 40 at Alexander House, Al, Greg and Glytch carefully set up the launcher. The air tank was charged from the compressor on the ambulance, the battery fully charged, and the base carefully set on a patch of flat ground, its alignment pointing out over the pasture.
Marks had been painted on the frame of the launcher to denote its outside ranges, so aligning it to the pasture was a simple matter of making sure that the lines were within the flyable areas.
“Well, the launch tests in the shop looked good – the wooden discs had a good velocity despite how light they were. The line that blew out was an easy fix, and we should have seen that coming, anyway. THIS is why you do tests. Glytch, how’s that controller looking? We going to need to do any alignment on it?”
“Nah, the thing is simple stupid. It’s just going to align off its local zero – whatever you plunk it on it will take as flat and level. If you point it uphill, it throws high, if you point it down, it throws low. We could have gotten sophisticated – but for a toy? Who cares?”
“True enough – and we want it to be fairly random anyway to keep Dixie guessing. I think you told me – but you did get in the difficulty levels, right?”
“Yep, he did tell you, and you’re getting senile – but we knew that.” Greg needled his partner in crime just a bit.
“Very well, then…someone remind me how this got written.” Al was a bit testy – that oversight on the feed line and its subsequent rupture had rankled him a bit.
“Pretty simple..." Glytch decided to hold back his smart mouth and stick to business after seeing Al's mood. "The difficulty setting goes from 1 to 9. At 1, it throws in a very small part of its range. At 9, anything within its limits is fair game and will be used. This will keep the game interesting for Dixie, so that once she gets bored with a small throw or too used to it, Phix can turn up the difficulty and she’ll have to work for it. While in auto-aim, I can adjust the general direction of the cone, but only a little, and it will cut away at the size of the cone at higher difficulty levels. You already know how it works in manual."
“Good. Very good job, Glytch. Thanks – I know this isn’t your usual cup of tea.”
“Bah." Glytch flapped his hand dismissively. "Remember when we infiltrated Pillsbury? I told you I'm a man of many talents. My cup of tea is a very eclectic blend..." A roguish grin spread across his face. "...Though it is somewhat relaxing to work on something that isn't quite so likely to kill me if I mess up.”
Wooden puck stack loaded, guidance system powered on, Glytch took the controller and got ready to fire. He triggered a self-test – the platform aligned itself full right, full left, then up and down – and settled back to center.
“We ready?”
Greg grunted. “Fire when ready, Glytch.”
“It’s set on difficulty 9 – I want to see it work at full.”
Glytch pushed the button.
THOCK! A disc flew to the right, and high.
THOCK! To the right, and lower.
THOCK! Low and full left.
THOCK! Nearly centered this time.
Each button press fired a disc, and the distribution seemed random.
“Looks good.” With that, the men went out and gathered the discs, and tried the tests again.
“We’re getting good endurance out of the air tank. It’s about half-full, and we’ve fired 20 shots or so. Just as well, as they will probably tire out the little beast before the air tank runs out at that rate. How’s the battery voltage look?”
Glytch checked the meter mounted to the top of the battery. “Hardly any change – the thing is still basically fully charged. Current draw on this rig is trivial with the air tank doing the heavy lifting.”
“OK – set it to 1, reset and let’s see if it obeys.”
Controls reset, the pucks went out again – THOCK, THOCK, THOCK. This time, the distribution pattern was almost nonexistent – a few degrees difference in each throw and some variation.
“Damn – looks like we’re on it. As soon as my granddaughter shows up, we can see how the throwing works with a live recipient.”
Practically on cue, Atsali and Nadette drove out on a utility vehicle from the maintenance bay.
Bubbly as always and especially so with her girlfriend present, she called out “Hi, Grandpa! Hey, Glytch, Hi, Greg!” Nadette was more reserved – calling them Mister this and Mister that ("Psh. Just Glytch. I ain't callin' you 'miss' am I?"), much as she said anything at all. Al liked the little ursamorph, both for who she was, and for what she meant to his granddaughter. Bravo to both of them.
Atsali, who was dressed in close-fitting clothing for flight, asked, “So what do you want me to do?”
“This is a toy for Dixie – it’s going to launch meat burgers for her.”
“EEEwwwww!”
“You, my dear, are not a baby Sphinx. For you, after the first round of tests, I have these!” Al held up a disc, half an inch thick, two inches in diameter, wrapped in shiny foil with a seal over the foil closure.
“These are the good stuff – crisps in chocolate made just for you – and Nadette.”
“YUM!”
“However, the deal is – you have to catch it! If it hits the grass, it’s out of play. You get the ones you can snag in midair.”
“I hope you have lots – I can do that! I’m on flight team at school – and one of the things we do is coordination and mobility games like this. Never seen a setup like this, though – it’s usually done air-to-air between team members.”
“Sounds good – but we’re trying to come up with a way for Phix to take a break and not have to entertain your little cousin. This way the machine does the work – and Phix gets the reward – peace and quiet.”
“Sounds good! What first?”
“First, I want to try it out with the wooden versions we have. Because they’re light, they’ll travel slower, and not as far. We’re also going to start out with the machine on “baby mode” – it’s going to throw all the shots fairly close to each other.”
“Fine. What do you want me to do?”
Stand here. When we fire, you go. We want to see if you can reach them before they hit. Glytch – manual mode please – high center?”
“Sure, Al – makes sense.” Glytch manipulated the launcher’s simple brain, and pronounced “Ready!”
Atsali stood to the side, gorgeous plumage on full display, in full avian feral. Glytch whistled. "I haven't seen all of that before. Impressive."
Atsali smiled a little. “Just yell – I’m ready!”
"Pull!"
THOCK!
WHOOSH! Atsali launched from the earth, and sighting the wooden puck, swooped down on it and picked it out of the air. Circling, she returned to her starting point and handed the puck to Al.
Glytch stared open mouthed at the gouging Atsali's talons had produced as she drove away from the ground for a full three seconds. "...Damn."
Three times she went out and back – each time returning with the disc.
“They’re hard to see – the plain wood color isn’t easy to distinguish against the grass or treeline, depending on how it throws.”
“Good data. Let’s see what happens through the rest of the stack – there are ten total. You OK with this?”
“Sure! I can do this all day – when we have flight team practice I’m in the air for an hour or two at a time doing exercises.”
The rest of the stack was uneventful. Atsali, tuned to what to look for, unerringly snagged each of the pucks out of the air before it tumbled to the grass, even after Al had Glytch enable the randomizer at level 2.
Atsali settle back to earth with the last of the wooden pucks, winded and breathing hard.
“Nadette, could you give our young winged goddess here some water? Atsali, are you OK?”
“Sure, Grandpa. It’s the launches. I can hang around in the air all day, but the launch from start is tiring.”
“Good to know. Here’s hoping this is the same for Dixie – the more tired we can make her the better off we’ll be. That child has FAR too much energy.”
“You said it – that little launch job she did at dinner a while back was scary.”
“Ready for some REAL targets now?” Al waved one of the shiny discs of goodness in front of Atsali, and the raptor in her background tracked it unerringly.
“Sure!”
“Remember – what you catch you keep! We’re going to throw towards center for the first one or two – after that you’re going to work for it!”
Atsali turned back to her girlfriend and said “I hope you feel like chocolate – I’m going to clean them out!” Nadette smiled meltingly and gave Atsali a BIG double thumbs up – it was obvious who she was rooting for.
Al smiled, and Greg chuckled.
Glytch's chuckle had more than a little mad scientist tinge to it. “I‘m glad you think so, birdie, because I programmed this thing – and it’s sneaky!”
While Atsali was readying herself for another launch and the men were loading the launcher with its payload and refilling the air tank, eyes observed them from the field – unseen eyes that blended with the tall grass in the unused pastureland.
Eyes that were up to no good.
“Ready?”
“PULL!”
THOCK! Out flew a golden disc, and with blinding speed and precision, Atsali flew towards the target. Just as she was about to grasp it, a thorny vine snatched it away.
"PICKLE!"
Out of the grass emerged a tangle of vines with the chocolate disc firmly gripped in the center of it.
“Pickle, that is MINE! I’m helping Grandpa with the toy for Dixie – and I get what I catch – and I had that!”
“I heard Grampa say-say that you only get that you catch in the air…an-an-an it’s not in the air! It’s MINE!”
Al and Greg were laughing – but he knew this was going to be a problem. The girls were competitive – and Pickle was no respecter of boundaries. Glytch slowly pulled out his phone and began to lock the VORP engine onto the two sisters, just in case things got out of hand.
The rest was a blur, Atsali dive-bombing the little stinkweed, landing at a dead-run-roll and racing after her with a snarl, Castela, eyes on the prize, encased the golden disc in a thorny maw, skreeing and snapping thorny tendrils at her sister like a fury.
Atsali, no fool, went for the soft parts her sharp eyes easily spotted, hands and feet fully transformed, clawed like a giant raptor, as she was supposed to be flying at peak. Seeing a flash of gold, she swooped in to seize it, a bundle of screeching vines entangled around feathers and claws trying desperately to reclaim the prize she believed rightfully hers she caught it, so it was hers...Grampa said so, after all.
Trying another tactic, she reassembled into as cute a form as she could, got close to her sister as if to hug her, then grabbed handfuls of her hair and yanked. Hard.
Yelping, Atsali dropped the puck and reached up vainly trying to get her sister to let go.
"It's Mine!"
"M-m-mine!"
"Cut it out Pickle, it's Mine!!
"N-no it'-it's-m-mine!"
Al thought the battle had escalated far enough – and he didn’t want it to reach the point where Kat was going to be needed to break it up.
“ENOUGH, YOU TWO! THERE IS ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE!"
At the shout, the two girls stopped in mid-battle. The patented stunning call worked on non-humans as well, Al was amused to see.
‘Sali, I will count that one as a win – here’s yours.” Al handed one of the glittering disc to Nadette, who had been appointed treasurer.
“But Grandpa, I…” Atsali was petulant – she’d been denied her prize in the air.
“You won the point. Let her have it – I have more than enough here. Castela, please don’t interfere with the tests – this is work that’s really important to your Tanta Phix – and I need ‘Sali to catch these, OK?”
“OK, Grampa!” The simultaneous granting of the prize, and the appeal to her good nature in helping Phix rendered Castela tractable. He did feel a mention to Katherine about her youngest’s inability to respect boundaries might be in order, though.
That was for later – this was test time.
“Good girl. I’ll make sure you get a treat, too, don’t worry.”
All this time, Glytch and Greg had been sitting back, drinking water and watching the festivities. Glytch was thankful that he hadn’t had to break up the fight, and Greg was impressed at how the old soldier had handled the squabbling siblings – he hadn’t expected it, knowing Al had never had children or spent much time with them.
There were questions to be asked here – but not now.
“Glytch – open it up. Give us a 5 on the controller.”
“Got it.”
Atsali, back on the line in a racing start, yelled “PULL!”
THOCK! WHOOSH! Off she flew, narrowly snatching the disc just before it hit the ground.
“That was LOW!”
Glytch chuckled again, his grin wide and very mischievous.
“That’s what the controller is supposed to do. Some high, some low, and side to side as well. Too much?”
“No, well, yah, kinda. I didn’t expect it – but now I know.”
“Good. Ready?”
"Ready. PULL!”
The rest of the testing went much the same, with Atsali snagging most of the discs from the air, missing a few that tumbled to the long grass. By grand-parental decree it was determined that these were Castela’s – provided she went and found them.
It was a pretty sight – the siren floating and swooping in the air, and the child running in the grass below.
After another dozen tries, Atsali, chest heaving and sweating, called a halt.
“Grandpa, this is HARD. The launch, the full-power swoop to get the disc, then circling back and landing – it’s really a lot of work. The little one’s not going to do a lot of this before she gets really tired.”
“That’s good – to be honest we’ve had it cranked up on the throwing change-up, to make it hard. When the little one starts out we’re going to dial it right back, throw high, and give her plenty of time to get to the meat before it hits.”
“Gotta say it’s fun, though. With more than one flyer this could be a great game – and more hang time on the toss. Can it do that?”
“Sure – it’s all a matter of programming, and maybe moving the mounts to give it more height. I think though, we’re going to call this a success – the machine has behaved perfectly, and you’ve given us a wonderful amount of data. Do you gentlemen concur?”
“Sure!” “Absolutely.”
Al reached into his pocket, extracted his wallet, and handed a hundred-dollar bill to Atsali.
“Grandpa, no – this is too much…I can’t take this…Momma will get mad…”
“First off, I am your grandfather - I get to spoil you. Secondly, you worked HARD this morning, and gave us a wealth of data on the development of this machine.
This design is going to get developed further – and in a few years you’re going to see these all over the para world – with games developed for them like you were just talking about. You’ve earned that – and more.
Now go get cleaned up and take your girlfriend out to dinner – on your own hard work.”
Al then reached into the box, extracted a small stack of the discs, and handed them down to Castela. “And here’s your reward, sweetie. Don’t eat those unless Momma says it’s OK – I don’t want you to get sick. Now go on back to the house, Grandpa will stop by after we get this cleaned up.”
After the girls left, Al turned to his partners in crime, who’d shut down and disassembled the machine for transport.
“What do we think?”
“Mechanism worked great. I see a few things that I’d change in a production machine, but this will do Phix fine.”
“Damn thing behaved perfectly, Al. Everything I told it to do or it did on its own worked perfectly – I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“What did you think about what Atsali said – we might want it to loft higher?”
“No problem – modify the leadscrew bracket and It can have another 5-10 degrees of height.”
“Good. I declare this a success. What say ye?”
“Go.”
“Yeah.”
Three hands met over the contraption.
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
Mori was snoring a bit as Drey pulled the old F-150 pickup into the driveway of Schweis Packing. It was a bit amusing as it was understandable; they'd spent so much time sleeping in the car over the last few months, she'd grown used to it.
After their eviction from the Abbott Apartments, they'd been homeless, taking odd jobs where they could and sleeping in the little Yaris – until the engine finally blew. The towing company offered them $750 for the car. At first, they thought that's what they would have to pay him for the car. When they realized that he was willing to pay them for it…
That still left them homeless, and now very much without any transportation, other than a bus pass they'd gotten while still at the Abbott. Drey had used that pass to go check their mailbox while Mori had sat back at the campground where they'd decided to bunk down for the night.
Imagine her surprise when the phone had rang – and it was Schweis Packing. She'd agreed to the interview for the two of them, and then, when she checked her mailbox, she discovered there was a severance check left from her job at Target!
Things moved quickly after that; they got the job, bought the old F-150 from one of Schweis' employees (they'd had it up for sale in the plant's parking lot for a while), and even managed to scrounge up enough for a small efficiency that wasn't that far of a drive for them.
And, what was really weird, was how quickly they'd taken to the job. Sure, it was messy and physical and occasionally smelled, but to the pair – well, it was almost easy. Simple. Like, oh, yes, we've eviscerated entire cows before, which cut of meat do you want us to pack first?
She roused Mori, who woke with a start, then groggily checked out the scene. "Oh, we're here?"
"Yes, and Hector said we had a big day today. Something about a special order that'd come in."
The two climbed out of the pickup, and eagerly ambled over to the plant entrance.
After punching in, they went to their lockers, grabbed their protective gear, and went to see what the day's activities would entail.
"Wow, that is a large order," Mori said, looking over Drey's shoulder. "A thousand hamburger patties? Who's the buyer - the Minnesota Vikings?"
"No..." Drey scanned over the order list. "It's for some place called 'Richer Engineering.'"
Mori and Drey looked at each other. "Isn't that where..."
Last edited by jwhouk on Sat Mar 12, 2016 9:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
You know, I bet that the Gryphon flight team would like a couple of those launchers . . . though I think I'd make the discs out of something more claw resistant . . . like Delrin.
Or for real fun, use clay pigeons . . . and the fliers have to catch them without breaking them!
Dunno if you want a hard plastic if we're gonna be shooting for high-schoolers. You know how lawyers can be. It'd be safer, both for the more squishy kids and Glytch, Al, and Sarge's wallets, if the pucks were made out of something a bit more forgiving. Maybe some kind of rubber? Maybe a foamed vulcanized rubber sort of deal? Vulcanized rubber is tough
(check out the "carsandwater" channel on YouTube and look at the hockey puck videos... Damn things are nigh indestructible... Also look up "crush hockey puck" and find the video by SmarterEveryDay)
So I'd imagine a foamy version of it would be tough, but more forgiving than a solid puck, and still have enough mass to fly right.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
Nerf foam? That seems a bit too light, unless we're thinking of different stuff.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
jwhouk wrote:After their eviction from the Abbott Apartments, they'd been homeless, taking odd jobs where they could and sleeping in the little Yaris – until the engine finally blew. The towing company offered them $750 for the car. At first, they thought that's what they would have to pay him for the car. When they realized that he was willing to pay them for it…
Is that realistic, around your parts? Around here (Montréal, Québec), you'd be lucky to get $100 or so...
Although there was this one program, once, where you donated your clunker (regardless of the state it was in, though having to have it towed might have worked against what you'd get for it in the end), and you got a $150 charity donation receipt (Canadian National Institute for the Blind, or something like that), and one year's worth of free monthly bus pass (worth about $800 or so) I don't think that program is available, anymore...
I got rid of a van, that way, and gave the bus pass to a friend (my bus driver's employee card gives me free transport on the bus system any time), in exchange for a stainless steel fridge and stove.
GlytchMeister wrote:Dunno if you want a hard plastic if we're gonna be shooting for high-schoolers. You know how lawyers can be. It'd be safer, both for the more squishy kids and Glytch, Al, and Sarge's wallets, if the pucks were made out of something a bit more forgiving. Maybe some kind of rubber? Maybe a foamed vulcanized rubber sort of deal? Vulcanized rubber is tough
(check out the "carsandwater" channel on YouTube and look at the hockey puck videos... Damn things are nigh indestructible... Also look up "crush hockey puck" and find the video by SmarterEveryDay)
So I'd imagine a foamy version of it would be tough, but more forgiving than a solid puck, and still have enough mass to fly right.
You've never been hit with one of those, I take it.
...I see, a foamy one(I was going to be difficult and post a link here, but changed my mind. Let's see if anyone can guess which one).
lake_wrangler wrote:
jwhouk wrote:After their eviction from the Abbott Apartments, they'd been homeless, taking odd jobs where they could and sleeping in the little Yaris – until the engine finally blew. The towing company offered them $750 for the car. At first, they thought that's what they would have to pay him for the car. When they realized that he was willing to pay them for it…
Is that realistic, around your parts? Around here (Montréal, Québec), you'd be lucky to get $100 or so...
Makes one wonder if someone was trying to give them a wakeup call.
Yanno how some people have Angels/Devils for a conscience? I have a Dark Elf ShadowKnight and a Half Elf Ranger for mine. The really bad part is when they agree on something.
There used to be available "practice" hockey pucks, which were made of a very dense closed-cell urethane foam. That material would work VERY nicely with some type of core for mass.
Mass is everything with the discs - you need a certain amount to make the little bugger fly properly. Yes, much to my infinite depression - I have done the math...
Delrin would be a lovely material, but claw marks are part of the lifetime of these things. Whoever made the comment about getting hit by a hockey puck was dead on target - trust me - it HURTS. If a target gets too hacked up, you replace it. It's one of the nice things about the chocolate and the meat pucks - they are one-shot expendables - because SOMEBODY will eat them! Even if you lose one in the grass, the forest friends or their city equivalents will find it.
Hmmm...come to think of it, that might be a reason to insist on some sort of organic material for the pucks...less environmental impact if lost.
I need to go play in the workshop now.
Alan
"The Empire was founded on cups of tea, mate, and if you think I am going to war without one you are sadly mistaken."
I have not been hit by a hockey puck, and that is because I've held one and seen one fly. I have spent all of my time playing ice hockey (all of about 5 minutes) carefully avoiding being shot by the puck.
Constructive cowardice, people. It comes in handy sometimes.
He's mister GlytchMeister, he's mister code
He's mister exploiter, he's mister ones and zeros
They call me GlytchMeister, whatever I touch
Starts to glitch in my clutch!
I'm too much!
Foam hockey pucks are pretty dense, and higher quality ones can take a lot of beating. (And, this being the so-called "State of Hockey", you could probably find them at any hockey store nearby - like, maybe, just down I-394 in a strip mall?
The only thing, of course, is that they're three inches in diameter. Might make things hard to see, even if they're orange day-glo.
"Character is what you are in the dark." - D.L. Moody
"You should never run from the voices in your head. That's how you give them power." - Jin
I'll bet he's having reservations . . . 
