Hazardous Waste Disposal in Saco, ME

hazardous waste disposal near me

hazardous waste disposal near me - win

My ultra hardcore recycling guide for our house

Hi all,
I've been putting together info for how to recycle in Tucson while leveraging all the recycling options that are open to me: curbside, the city's upcoming glass drop-off, local and mail-in corporate-sponsored, and TerraCycle (a paid option). I aim to reuse or recycle every last bit of waste coming out of our house, no matter how crazy it may seem. Partly I just want to see how difficult it is; I recognize that my process isn't practical for most people.
Anyway, here's what I've gathered so far.

General principles

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  1. COMPOST: If it can be composted, compost it! (More on this below.)
  2. REUSE: If it can't be composted, reuse it! Reuse is always the most environmentally-friendly option.
  3. DONATE: If it can't be reused by you, donate it if it's something worth donating that someone else could use. https://tucsoncleanandbeautiful.org/ has a great directory for places that will accept various materials. Cero is a Tucson store that also accepts lots of stuff for donation and reuse. Donation usually involves transportation and some kind of carbon emissions, but it's still better than recycling. Don't donate junk! Donations aren't a free trash can.
  4. MUNICIPAL RECYCLING: If it can't be donated, recycle it locally using municipal recycling (curbside or drop-off). Recycle Coach has all the info you need on what municipal recycling can or can't recycle. ESGD's page on residential recycling also has some important guidelines. Recycling uses energy and involves carbon-emitting transport, plus not everything in a recycling waste stream actually gets recycled, so try to reuse first.
  5. LOCAL STORE DROP-OFF: If it can't be recycled using municipal recycling, recycle it at a local store for free. Earth911 has a search page that finds these stores and breaks them down by type, and TerraCycle's corporate-sponsored programs page also has some local programs. These programs typically ship their waste to a recycling partner, often TerraCycle in New Jersey, which adds to the environmental footprint of the process, so try to recycle municipally first.
  6. FREE MAIL-IN: If it can't be recycled at a local store, use one of TerraCycle's free corporate-sponsored mail-in programs. These programs end up sending waste TerraCycle, just like the local store drop-offs, but are arguably less efficient than sending a big communal batch of stuff, so try to use the local store drop-offs first.
  7. TERRACYCLE (PAID): If it can't be recycled using a mail-in program, use a paid all-in-one box to have TerraCycle recycle it if it's small and light. This is effectively the same as using one of the mail-in options above except that you have to pay, so try to use a mail-in program first.
  8. REGIONAL DROP-OFF: If it's a big bulky waste that can't be donated, see if it can be recycled outside of Tucson (e.g., save up Styrofoam for the next time I drive to Phoenix, where they do have the appropriate facilities). TerraCycle accepts almost anything, but their all-in-one boxes are pricey, so it may make more sense to save up big hard-to-recycle stuff like packaging for Phoenix or another big city, if you think you'll drive there at some point. Don't make unnecessary trips just to drop off waste!
  9. TRASH: If it can't be composted, reused, donated or recycled, throw it away and make sure that you follow the guidelines for hazardous waste disposal.
  10. GOLDEN RULE #1: Make sure that the material is clean. Clean waste streams are more valuable to recyclers, which helps keep costs down. Don't use too much water cleaning up stuff, but don't feel too guilty about using water, either! Dishwater usage is a tiny sliver of household water consumption, not to mention that industry and agriculture generally use much more water than homes.
  11. GOLDEN RULE #2: The goal of recycling is to break down your waste into "primary materials" (e.g., plastic, metal, paper, glass) that can be used by industry to make new products. The more mixed your materials, the more you need to research how to recycle it. Knowing the basics goes a long way. For example, I know that metal cans get melted down, so a paper or plastic label attached to the can doesn't worry me because I know that it will get burned off. But what about a milk carton, which is paper fused with plastic? Or the circuitry inside the plastic base of a CFL bulb? If you can't intuitively explain how the thing is going to get broken down into its primary materials, that's your cue that you need to do some research.
  12. GOLDEN RULE #3: Knowing the basics of how recycling centers work goes a long way. For example, if you know that you can't recycle plastic grocery bags curbside because they get stuck in the machines, that's a hint that you shouldn't try to recycle your plastic food wrap, either. Or if you know that plastic bottle caps fall through the holes of a separator, that's a hint that you need to research whether your beer bottle caps are recyclable (even though they're metal).
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Reuse and recycling guide for my home

This is not a comprehensive list of every recycling resource in Tucson, this is just for my house my household's needs. I've found that there's no one-size-fits-all solution if you want to reach close to 100% recycling/reuse, you end up having to come up with a list that's customized for your home, which requires research. I'm providing my list as a potential template as well as for inspiration.
Legend:
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How do I sort all this?

Right now, I'm using a makeshift system of lots and lots of bags to keep everything separate. My idea is to do a monthly "recycling day" and drop off everything that needs to be dropped off as well as mail in everything that needs to be mailed in. I haven't had to do this yet since I started this project.
I hope to build a sorting station in my house once I understand my needs a bit better.
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Notes on TerraCycle and partner programs

A lot of the corporate-sponsored/mail-in/drop-off programs are done through TerraCycle, a New Jersey-based recycler that specializes in recycling hard-to-recycle things (e.g., potato chip bags, toothbrushes). They make lots of their money through large corporations, which essentially pay them to process unprofitable waste in order to burnish their environmental stewardship bona fides. They also offer paid recycling pouches and boxes to the general public. You mail in these pouches/boxes (they come with a shipping label) after filling them up with recyclable waste.
TerraCycle will recycle almost anything and everything. However, anything that gets recycled through them or one of their corporate programs is shipped to New Jersey for processing, so it's preferable to reuse or recycle locally. They're also not as transparent as I wish they would be. I'm not certain, for example, how much of each waste stream actually gets recycled. They have a customer support contact form that's been very good for getting my questions answered, but beware that they take about 2-3 days to get back to you per request.
I bought the large "all-in-one" box from their site and found a coupon code online to bring the cost down to around $350. I read a review elsewhere from someone who got a medium box (about 50% the size) who said that it lasted her six months. My idea is to use this box as "recycling of last resort" and rely on drop-off programs as much as possible to keep costs down. On the other hand, this makes my life more complicated in terms of sorting different waste streams, so you could simplify by putting waste destined for various drop-off points into a single TerraCycle all-in-one box.
You need to register for free on their website to use their mail-in programs. Many of their mail-in programs unfortunately have wait lists. Of the ~15 programs for which I signed up around two weeks ago, about 8 had wait lists, and I got off the wait list for about 5 of them. So they seem to go through the list pretty regularly. Once you're in, you can print off a free UPS label from the "my profile" section of the site after logging in.
If I had to take a wild guess, I would assume that TerraCycle has a higher rate of recycling than municipal programs, but this must be balanced against the financial and environmental cost of shipping waste to their facilities.
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Composting

The Achilles' heel in my recycling and reuse plan is organic matter. The City of Tucson has a composting program but it's only open to businesses.
There are a few volunteer-run programs here and there that accept compostable waste. I managed to sign up for one, UA's Compost Cats, and will be meeting them tomorrow to pick up my sealed composting bucket and go over the program rules. I know that they have limited capacity, so you have to email them. They took about a week to get back to me.
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Am I insane?

Maybe a little 🙃.
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Shout outs

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submitted by Low_Walrus to Tucson [link] [comments]

First Contact - Chapter 325

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Herod opened his eyes, groaned, and rolled onto his side. He got his faceplate open fast enough to avoid spraying it with vomit when his internals suddenly convulsed.
Clear fluid mixed with digital code that was suspended in the thick viscous fluid.
He hacked and choked a minute more, than slowly pushed himself into a sitting position.
"Took you long enough," a woman's voice said.
Herod nearly screamed. He'd forgotten about the human woman. He slapped his faceplate closed and looked over to where she'd sat down on the floor, her back against the wall.
She was staring at him, her head cocked to the right slightly, one eyebrow raised, looking concerned but slightly amused. Herod noticed that the way she sat, with her legs open, seemed almost deliberately and lewdly provocative.
"So what did you eat that left behind garbled computer code?" she asked.
"Don't know. Things are a little confused," Herod said. He took a pull off of his water, ignoring the taste of lilacs, swished his mouth out and swallowed.
"You aren't human, are you?" she asked. She closed her legs, pulled her knees up to her chest, laced her fingers over her knees, and put her chin on her knees.
Herod shook his head. "No. I'm a digital sentience."
"So, a robot?" she asked.
Herod frowned. "No."
"Like... an android?"
"God, no. Those guys are complete assholes and kill anyone they come across. Be glad I'm not an android," Herod said.
"Wait, like a Terminator? Only instead of hunting Sarah Connor you're a maintenance man?" she asked, smiling slowly. "Or are you just some kind of jumped up disc defragger walking around in an Erector set?"
Herod understood exactly zero of the references except the defrag part.
"No."
"So, an artificial intelligence in a heavy repair body," she guessed.
"That's insulting," he snapped. "I don't call you a meat bag or a fleshy."
She shrugged. "It has no cultural connotations to me, feel free. Words only have the meaning society proscribes to them and only as much power over an individual as that individual gives them."
"I'm a digital sentience," Herod said. He stood up and looked down at Wally, who blinked at him. "We have work to do."
The human woman stood up smoothly, shrugging as she did so. "If you say so."
"We need to get you a hazardous environment suit. It's dangerous out there," Herod said. He moved up to the door and turned the handle, feeling the complex latch system inside the door move as smooth as butter.
"Sure," the human said.
Herod moved out to the control room, looking it over, committing it to memory.
"Are we it? Are we the entire repair team?" the human asked.
"Yes," Herod said. He moved over to the emergency supply room, opening the door and looking in inside.
He jerked back with a scream as a pair of dessicated bodies fell out, still holding onto each other. Their faces and necks were ragged and torn, their mouths still open in silent screams. Two flickering transparent version of the two combatants surged out of the room, through Herod, leaving him shuddering and shivering, down on his knees with Wally patting him on the back.
The human woman moved over and knelt down, staring at the two.
"Evidence of cerebral trauma, dentation matches wounds on opposite, dried blood around fingers and on hands," she said, kneeling down. She put her hands between the two bodies and pulled them away from each other.
"Phasic Energy Section," she read off the nametags. "Red stripes on one's legs, black on the other," she turned over their hands. "No calluses common to martial artists or those who have lived a martial life, no tool calluses. Computer workers or secretarial pool," she stood up, slapping her hands together. "An event caused a mass psychosis due to neural trauma and cognitive disruption. They each victimized the other even as they were victimized by some outside force. Doubtful it was a bioweapon or even a chemical weapon, as I didn't see any sores around the mouth or nose or eyes, no discoloration of the skin, and no smells that match known chemical weapons."
Herod looked up at her.
"Stand up, Pinocchio," she laughed. "I get that it was scary."
Herod got up, putting one hand against the wall, staring at her. "Didn't you see them?"
The human woman looked down at the bodies. "Yes. I just analyzed for them. Pay attention, Speedy, I don't want you to get Prime Law conflicts here."
"No, the temporal shades," Herod said. He coughed for a minute, trying to ease the ache in his chest.
"Didn't see anything," she mused. "Maybe I didn't observe in the right time?"
"Huh," Herod grunted. He stood up. *Sam*
No answer.
Luckily, Sam had given him the route and map to the mag-lev that would take them to the damaged section.
The human woman was already looking at the hazardous environment armor and Herod moved into the room.
"Try this one," he said, taking one down that was still in the packaging. He opened the package, handing it to her. "It's unisex, but has waste disposal systems, you should be able to wear it."
She nodded, taking the hazard suit and looking at it closely.
She only paused a second before putting it on.
"All right, do a quick self-test, sometimes these things fry out if they've been sitting too long," Herod said.
"How long has it been sitting here?" the human asked. "How long have I been gone?"
"We're not sure. There's temporal stability issues in this place," Herod said. He looked down at Wally. "If I had to estimate, it's about eight thousand years old."
"Humans look much different? Seems like every day there was a new news article about how fucked up humans would look in a hundred years, much less almost ten thousand," the human woman said, her hands moving. She grimaced. "I would have figured someone would have invented better plumbing attachments."
"Do a test," he said, tapping his own wrist.
Something about her bothered him.
She flipped up the wrist and followed Herod's directions. He corrected her twice and then did it himself, making sure he quickly connected to the suit's network and frying some firmware.
"Two red lights. Bad suit?" She asked, smiling at him.
"Bad suit," Herod said. "It happens. The power from the first test shorts something out after it registers as green," he turned and got a suit.
He missed the calculating look in her eyes as she narrowed them slightly. By the time he was turned around with another suit she was smiling again.
She dressed quickly. Herod looked then shrugged. "Have you ever trained in extreme hazardous environment armor?"
The human shook her head. "No."
"We don't have time to teach you. There's a lot of work to be done. There's a lot of damage control repair autonomous systems that need brought back online to fix a lot of systems," Herod told her.
She stretched, then bent down and touched her toes, then twisted at the waist first one way then the other.
"There, fitted," she said. She looked at him. "So what do I call you, instead of HAL or Speedy?"
"Herod," the DS said.
"Roman King of Judea, circa First Century B.C.," the Terran said. "Interesting name. Did you choose it yourself or was it chosen for you?"
"I chose it when I left the digital creche I grew up in," Herod said. He motioned. "We've got to take a mag-lev train. It's about a three hour ride."
"You grew up, weren't programmed fully formed?" she asked.
"I told you, I'm a digital sentience, not an AI," he snapped.
"Core life coding, then exposed to digital experiences and stimulus to form a unique being. Less artificial intelligence or digital intelligence and more pure energy being that can only exist in a dedicated electronic ecosystem," she mused.
"Pure energy beings are different," Herod said, frowning slightly as they wound their way out of the mat-trans facility.
"Like those Temporal Shades you mentioned. Those are pure energy beings. What kind of energy?" she asked.
"Phasic energy residue," Herod said.
"Caused by massive psychological trauma," she said. She was quiet for a second. "Phasic... phasic energy is psychic energy, isn't it?"
Herod nodded. "Yes."
"Psychic powers are an illusion. The amount of energy it would take to simply move a matchstick across a table with mental powers would require more bio-electric energy than the human body could store or handle, much less the human brain," the woman said. "Phasic energy is what psychic powers use?"
Herod sighed. "Yes," he stood there, waiting for the door to rise. "Phasic energy exists between two sub-quantum particle layers. Humans have a part in their brains that allows them to direct the energy."
"Sounds like bullshit to me," the woman said. "You'd find phasic channeling fibers in the brain and body of anyone able to use it."
"Like in Mantid bladearms and upper caste Mantid neural tissue," Herod said, dredging up a memory from school.
"So why didn't humans run around blasting each other with psychic powers for all of history?" the woman asked. "Seems like being able to melt each other's brains with psychic powers would have slowed down technological progression. No need to make a bow or a gun if you can just mind blast the other guy, Herod."
"Humans suppress and disrupt psychic powers in others around them. We found that out during the Terra/Mantid War," Herod said. He paused. "Did you work here?"
She shook her head. "No. I worked in a high security facility. My work is classified."
"We're inside a Dyson sphere, that's inside another Dyson sphere, that's wrapped around another Dyson sphere," he said. "It's called a Matrioshka brain and used for systems where sheer computing power is preferable to signal propagation."
"How big?" She asked. Herod noticed her eyes were particularly intent.
"The one we're on is roughly five hundred sixty two million mile radius," Herod said.
She narrowed her eyes again, then smiled. "That's big. How long did it take to make?"
"That doesn't really have a meaning here," Herod said. "It used self-replicating robotic systems to build each shell."
"What happened to the robots when the shell was completed? An orgy of destruction with the last one shoving the rest into a trash compactor and jumping in?" the human woman asked.
"We don't know," Herod admitted.
"Might want to find out," she smiled. "So, I'm warned, I'll be looking at something outside of my experience, and there will be a roof over my head. How far from me?"
"There will be one or more suns, moving through magnetic fields that will polarize to simulate night time. Those will be exactly ninety-five million miles from both this inside layer and the outside layer of the sphere inward from us," he warned.
"So, alien landscape. Got it," she smiled. She held up her hands. "I guess we better get going. Maybe I can help you repair things."
"Doubt it," Herod said, stepping outside. "This is pretty high tech stuff."
He missed the flicker of pure rage on the human woman's face.
When he turned around, she was looking up into the sky, her eyes narrowed. He watched her eyes moving rapidly, scanning the whole sky. She then slowly moved in circles, looking around her, and he frowned behind his polarized visor as he noticed she was only looking down a minute amount each time.
"How did you beat the magnetic issues for a mag-lev?" she asked at one point, mid-turn, pointing at a far off train that was slowly (to his perception) moving by.
"Monopole magnets and superconductors," Herod said.
"Hm," she said.
Herod sighed, waiting until she was done. That was one thing he hated about working with fleshys, they took forever to do anything that required mental exercise.
"The mag-lev is only a mile away. We'll take the travolator," Herod said, walking toward the entry station for the moving sidewalk.
"Be faster to walk," she said, looking around her as they moved toward the entry area. "Lots of dead bodies."
Herod stepped carefully around a trio of corpses, watching closely for any of the translucent apparitions. "The Glassing drove them mad."
The woman kicked a pair of desiccated corpses out of the way as she just moved forward, making Herod frown. She didn't seem to care about the dead.
"Don't do that," he said.
"What, they're dead," she smiled.
"Yes. Don't do that. Don't disturb them," he said.
"Fine," she said, walking around a corpse. "Better?"
"Thank you," the DS said.
"Funny that you'd say that, Herod, seeing as you're not human and you probably don't usually have a body. Is mortality a thing for you?" she asked.
"Yes. Eventually my core life strings will be too fragmented and I'll suffer core software failure," he said. "And no, I can't just be restored from an earlier backup, that's not how we work."
"Sloppy engineering," she muttered. She skirted around the weaving queue area while Herod walked back and forth along the line. "So what made them all go batshit insane?"
"The Great Glassing," Herod repeated.
"You said that, Herod. Why would aliens attacking Earth make everyone go crazy?" she asked.
Herod stepped onto the moving sidewalk, wishing she would be quiet. "The Mantid pushed the death experiences of everyone through SolNet and the SoulNet, every survivor had to withstand the death of billions," he told her as she stepped onto the moving sidewalk and then walked up to stand next to him. "Roughly half of the survivors went catatonic and never woke up. Two thirds of the remaining half became the Screaming Ones, attacking everyone around them in their agony."
He ended up explaining SoulNet, SolNet, and the SUDS system to her, staring off into the distance at the strange buildings and structures they passed. Once they got away from the Mat-Trans area the system smoothly put them on a high speed walk, moving them at close to a hundred miles an hour.
The whole time she listened, asking pertinent questions.
She seemed really interested in the SUDS system.
Together they got on the mag-lev train, sitting down after Herod punched in the transit code number. He looked at the ETA and looked at the human woman.
"It's going to take nine hours to get there. Sleep if you can," he said.
"I'm starting to get hungry," she smiled. She opened her faceplate and lit a cigarette. "These help, but I'm going to need food soon."
"I'll find some when I wake up," he said. He checked the mag-seal on his toolkit then looked at Wally. "I'm going to defrag. Wake me if anything bad happens."
Wally made a beeping tune and nodded, blinking his eye shields.
Herod closed his eyes.
------------------
"Herod, don't move, just move your awareness up," Sam's voice said.
Herod just brought his awareness almost fully up, leaving himself disconnected from his body. "What's going on, Sam?"
"What did you learn about our newest member?" Sam asked.
Herod thought, then quickly ran through his memories. He was surprised. He knew almost nothing ab out her.
"She said she worked in a secure location, on classified work. She got in the mat-trans, there was a stuttering, and she arrived here. She didn't know about the Great Glassing, I don't think anyway, but she knows Confederate Standard. She seems really interested in the mat-trans and SUDS systems," Herod said.
"So, we don't know anything," Sam sighed. "I checked her visual appearance against what little records are left. She didn't come up as a match."
Herod avoided smiling. "I've got good news for you. I left you a DNA sample in the mat-trans facility."
"Really? How?" Sam asked.
"I had her put in the catheter in one of the suits, shorted out the suits radio and beacon, and had her change suits," Herod said. "That'll give you DNA."
There was silence for a minute. "That was a good idea. Give me a few to check on it. I'll have to send in a bot."
"What's she doing now?" Herod asked.
Sam paused. "According to the cameras, she explored the train, busted open a vending machine, and gorged on the food inside. She's currently sitting across and down from you, looking out the window and smoking a cigarette."
"Oh, she said she was hungry."
"That's... weird..." Sam said.
"What's weird?" Herod asked.
"Her cigarette brand. I've got the inventory of the types and brands of cigarettes available here for the Treana'ad workers and some humans. Hell, apparently adult Pubvians viewed cigarettes as.. ahem... martial aid stimulants due to the cardio-vascular effects," Sam said. He giggled, and Herod began talking to him, just talking about their work together in the Black Box under Legion, trying to ground the younger DS as he screamed and raved.
"Sorry. It's getting easier, but I feel like I'm bleeding inside somehow," Sam said. He sobbed, but managed to control himself. "Where was I?"
"Her cigarettes," Herod said.
"Yeah. I can't find the brand. You know Treana'ad, they absolutely love Terran cigarettes, they're a luxury item. 'Terran Grown and Sown!' you know?" Sam said. "And her lighter."
"What about it? I've seen a few Treana'ad with that kind of lighter," Herod said.
"It's stamped on the bottom, look," Sam said, giving Herod the image.
ZIPPO MFG. CO. BRADFORD, PA
ZIPPO
PAT. NUMBER 2032695 MADE IN THE U.S.A.
"Is that..." Herod asked, feeling a chill at the three letter abbreviation.
"Yeah. The acronym for the Hamburger Kingdom. PA is the two letter code for the state region," Sam said softly.
"That would make that thing like eight or nine thousand years old," Herod said. "Except, I've seen her use it. It works."
"It's not a modern one, watch," Sam said. He passed the image to Herod.
She flicked open the top, put her thumb on the ridged wheel, and spun it by applying pressure. Sparks flew out, the ones hitting the twisted fiber wick bringing up a blue and yellow flame.
"That's flint and steel. That fiber, that's cotton according to the sensor systems. Not synth-cotton, real cotton. That's a steel casing, I can see the imperfections in it from here," Sam said.
"Give me a spectrograph of it if you can," Herod said. "I know enough about materials to get information."
It took a minute, then a little longer while Herod waited for Sam to deal with some lost children. Sam tossed him the spectrographic image of the lighter along with other scans.
Herod was not only able to identify the metal as 'stainless steel', but that it had enough impurities to prove it was mined metals.
When Sam came back he sighed. "I got the robot to the suit. You were right, there's DNA. Looks like she nicked herself a little with the catheter tube, there was a tiny smear of blood as well as fleshy fluids. Ew," Sam said.
Herod chuckled.
"Running a DNA comparison against everyone who worked here, who had authorization to work here. It's millions of records, so it'll take a few minutes," Sam said.
"That lighter? It wasn't made with a creation engine," Herod said.
"They were in their infancy back during The Glassing," Sam said.
"It was hard manufacturing, inside a gravity well and a magnetic field. If I had to guess, I'd say it was actually manufactured on Earth," Herod said.
"Look at the cigarette pack," Herod said. "American Favorite. By the Digital Omnimessiah, those are actual relics, not forgeries."
"You need to be careful, Herod," Sam said, somewhat unnecessarily to Herod's thoughts on the matter. He paused. "Um. Oh, wow."
"What?" Herod asked.
"Her DNA. Holy shit. Um, look," he said, and tossed Herod the image.
Herod took one look at it and did the digital sentience equivalent of shake his head. "I'm not Legion, this is meaningless to me."
"Here it is compared to modern human DNA," Sam offered.
"Sam, I'm in a hazardous environment frame, I'm not using the network, just tell me. All you did was throw two plates of pasta at my brain."
"OK, they're wildly different," Sam said. "Even compared to Glassing human DNA, like the people around here, hers is really really different."
"Define... different," Herod said.
"No genetic prothesis or overlays, I can see where the Glassing DNA and the modern DNA have been modified through time, genetic drift, evolution, or genetic manipulation, but wow, her DNA is damn near off the charts. Lots of bad DNA in it, it's... it's really weird."
Herod felt a kick against his foot and heard from far away. "Hey, we're here. You said this stuff needs repaired, Speedy. First Law and all that."
"What is she referring to?" Sam asked.
"I have no idea. Maybe the Four Laws of Robotics?" Herod suggested, opening his eyes. He switched from talking on the digital frequency to his vocal cords. He looked around, the mag-lev train sitting in the station.
"Hang on, let me talk to the facility VI," Herod said, standing up.
The human woman nodded, folding her arms, exhaling smoke out of her nose.
"How bad is the damage to the phasic array automatic repair system?" he asked.
"Bad," Sam answered, obviously (to Herod) running his voice through a synthesizer.
"It isn't going to get fixed if we just stand here. Besides, I'm eager to see technology used in application of something that I was informed was make belief, confirmation bias, and attention seeking," the woman said.
"Ask her her name," Sam said.
"What am I supposed to call you? I keep forgetting to ask," Herod said.
"Miss Nee, my middle name is Tay," the human woman said, her smile getting wider. "But you can call me Dee."
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submitted by Ralts_Bloodthorne to HFY [link] [comments]

If you see a creature coming down your chimney, you need to read this as a matter of life and death.

I need to talk. Like, I really need to talk.
The trouble is, I don’t have anybody I can talk to. My family’s estranged, my friends are all gone, and the authorities think I’m a lunatic.
It's just five days from Christmas, and I’m alone. Isolated. If I don’t get this off my chest though, I’m afraid it’s going to start festering in my mind like a decaying carcass; I’m afraid it’s going to sink its teeth in.
So I’ll talk to you. All of you. It’s not perfect, but it will do.
My name's Terrance Sims. I’m sitting in my rocking chair, rifle draped across my lap, in bloodstained pyjamas that still reek with last night’s piss. I haven’t slept in two days, and I might not sleep for two more. Last night something came down my chimney, and I think it’s coming back.
I’m getting ahead of myself, so let me paint you a picture. I live alone, up in the mountains where the pine trees are draped in snow, and the rivers are an icy blue. I could be a bit more specific, but I don’t think it’s warranted. Besides that, I like my privacy.
All of this to say, where I am isn’t important. What matters is what I have to say.
I’m a researcher. Or at least, I was once upon a time. My funding has long been cut, and my job along with it, but I've stayed out here because I believed in the research my team was undertaking. It was revolutionary. It meant the possibility of bridging worlds, of seeing new forms of life.
Now I’m terrified that research has found me.
You’ve probably heard of monsters, or urban legends, of things that claw at our imaginations and lurk in the dark recesses of our minds. Perhaps you’ve even felt one. They wait there sometimes, prowling just beyond our vision, tearing at the fabric that holds our realities together. Desperate. Hungry.
My job was to study these beings. I was tasked with developing an understanding of not only what they wanted from us but how to gain access to their world: the place Beyond the Veil.
Needless to say, I wasn’t successful. The organization I worked for, the Facility, poured millions into my ideas and wasn’t forgiving of my failures. When my theories came up short, they cut ties with me -- he cut ties with me.
‘It’s unfortunate, but it’s business,” Mr. Reid had said, feet on his desk, long hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Your failures reflect on me, Terrance, and they’ve become an accounting nightmare.”
I had begged him. Groveled. It didn’t matter. I was terminated along with my research, and when you’re studying the kind of things I am, they don’t want that information leaking out into the world. It’s what they call a liability.
So I was blacklisted. Facility teams picked away at my reputation, whispering in the back corners of universities and at the water coolers of laboratories. My name became synonymous with paranoia and madness. I was a laughing stock among my peers. A joke.
It was the end of my life.
Only one person cared to associate with me afterwards, a junior colleague and a brilliant young man named Alexi Azimov. He believed in the research nearly as much as I did, and luckily for him, his name wasn’t attached to the project.
When the Facility pulled the plug and dragged my name through the dirt, they simply moved him to a new department, and that was that. Despite it, he spent his vacation days returning to the mountain, assisting me with further study whenever he could.
Until last year, when even he abandoned me too.
But now I’ve shown all of them. I’ve proven they were wrong -- dead wrong. It’s here. He’s here. I always suspected he lived among these mountains, or at least that his Bridge was located within them, but I had given up hope for so long. It had been years, after all -- damn near a decade. They called me absurd. Insane.
Then, last night everything changed.
I was lying in bed, winding down after logging the readings on the temporal measurement equipment, when the cabin shook. At first, I thought an avalanche had struck it, but then I heard it: a clatter of hooves upon the roof.
I shot out of bed, my breath trapped in my chest and my body cold with sweat. I sprinted to the closet and pulled out my hunting rifle. Outside, a blizzard howled, but all I heard was the voice, a menagerie of tone and emotion, high and low, guttural and smooth. It rang out from above me.
Ho ho hO.
My first thought was to contact the Facility, but my satellite internet wasn’t functioning in the storm. Even if it were, I knew better. I was too far. Too isolated for help.
The mountains I study in are remote, and the cabin even more so. It was chosen for its seclusion as a means of observing the being known as the Sleigh Father, but the circumstances were meant to be different.
Much different.
Above me, the ceiling creaked, and dust drifted down from the rafters. Boots crunched upon the snow-caked roof. You always think you’ll know what to do when the moment comes, that your training will kick in, and you’ll just go through the motions like some kind of pre-programmed robot. I wish that were true. I really do.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.
I’d spent the better part of my career chasing that monster, and now that it’d found me, I was lost. My fingers played against the trigger of my rifle, my mouth dry, and my eyes latched open. Inside of me, my body thrummed with terror. My fight or flight response oscillated between cowardice and impulsive foolishness. I was paralyzed. Alone.
A chorus of chattering pierced the screaming wind. It came fast and jittery, like a ticking clock marking time in microseconds. I knew what it was before the hoofbeats followed. It was them, the creatures the Sleigh Father commissioned in the First Days when people still feared the night and all the horrors within. Eight abominations, stitched together by the innards of mutilated children.
Their agony acted as his gateway -- his Bridge between worlds. The souls of the children lived on in the beasts, while their vacant spirits stalked the earth, lost and hopeless, seeking the missing piece that would finally grant them rest. Their tortured existence was his Link to our reality. The sleigh the abominations drew, his Bridge.
The thought shook me from my trance. I’d spent years waiting for this—a chance to see the other side, to see other worlds.
I had to act, so I lurched forward, moving through the lonely cabin while the Sleigh Father’s footsteps creaked above me. HO hO ho. He lumbered toward the chimney while I shivered down the cold hallway, rifle trembling in my skinny arms.
It took me only a few moments to reach the living area, and when I did, I settled there, just behind the corner of the wall. I kept my gun levelled at the fireplace, and my eyes plastered open. A crackling blaze danced in the hearth. It cast the sparse furnishings in an orange glow, throwing shadows across the loveseat and the messy desks.
The night became still.
The snowstorm quieted. The hoofbeats vanished. There was no sound of boots, no sound of laughter, only the snapping flames and my heart pounding blood through my skull. My mouth moved, and words spilled out. Affirmations. Come on, I muttered. Slide down the chimney, you beast. The fire’s waiting for you.
I knew better. Of course I did. I’d spent years researching the Sleigh Father, consumed tireless hours reading into his history. Of all the monsters the Facility had dealt with, the terrors that haunted old email chains and the urban legends that spread through panicked breaths, he was the anomaly. He was celebrated.
Santa Claus, they called him.
It was an error I traced back to centuries ago when a young girl witnessed her abusive father taken by the Sleigh Father. The creature devoured him and left the man’s skull as a parting gift, having taken what he came for: a human soul. To the girl, the beast was a saviour.
A saint.
The words she spoke in the following weeks, months, and years became immortalized. They became history, and then they became legend. A jolly being, laughing and hungry, coming down the chimney and leaving gifts in its wake. It was as tantalizing a tale as they come, especially to young children, eager to be appeased in their search for comfort and joy.
Now he was here with me, looking for another soul to add to his collection.
Seconds stretched into minutes as I waited, tucked quietly behind the corner of the wall, rifle in my arms, elbow steadied upon my knee. Once, we had contingencies for this. Plans in place that provided the means to incapacitate the Sleigh Father should he pay us a visit, but those plans involved government agents no longer in my employ. They involved expensive technology and complex spells. They were a last resort.
A clump of snow fell down the chimney, and the fire responded with a hiss of steam. Its flame retreated for a moment, flickering, before lashing back in anger. Something heavy shuffled above—the Sleigh Father.
Emotions swam inside of me. Regret. Anger. Fear. Why had I stayed out here? How could I have been so stubborn, so goddamn arrogant?
The answer was obvious: my old boss, Donovan Reid. His mockery, his wanton destruction of my life. It left me with no other option. Either I remained on this mountain, burning through my life’s savings and hunting wayward game, or I returned home. One meant a chance at redemption, the other guaranteed humiliation and disgrace.
I hated Mr. Reid more than words could say. Alexi had seen it. He’d seen how much my loathing distracted me, and so he recommended methods to help get the snake off my mind. A list, he’d said in an email last month. Write a list of all the ways you want to hurt him. Write a list of all the horrible things you want to happen to him. I think it could help you get him out of your head and free up your attention.
It helped—a little.
hO ho HO.
The laugh came high and low, husky and slick. A crunch followed it, like something digging into brick, and panic found its way into my bones. Dust and debris fell into the flames. The Sleigh Father's legend was explicit in his form of entry: if possible, it was always the chimney.
A grunt came down the flue, followed by more pebbles and stones. Then, the cabin shook. It was as if something heavy had jumped from the roof -- and what comes up must come down.
A pulverizing cacophony filled the night like cannon fire. Rubble tumbled into the blazing hearth while the bricks of the chimney bulged outwards, crumbling as something massive shot down it. I barely brought my rifle on aim before a figure crashed into the flames.
Burning logs shattered with a thunderous crack, plunging the cabin into inky darkness. Wooden splinters ricocheted around the room like blazing shrapnel, their slivers slashing at my face and tracing my skin in searing agony. I swung back behind the protection of the hallway wall, rifle clutched to my chest.
My thoughts raced. This couldn’t be happening, I said to myself. It couldn’t. I slammed my eyes shut, trying to get my out-of-control breathing back in line. I was hyperventilating. Panicking. I had to calm down because if I didn’t, I would start making impulsive decisions, and impulsive decisions were a good way to die.
I opened my eyes.
The fire was gone. I could barely see a thing. A short distance away, boots groaned against hardwood, kicking past broken logs in the hearth. My finger quivered against the cold steel of the rifle’s trigger, and I desperately wanted to pull it, but I knew that if I did, then it was over. Either the Sleigh Father would die, or I would. The odds, I decided, were not in my favour.
So I waited.
A piece of me, infinitesimally small, wanted to see him, wanted to flick on a light or blindly fire into the darkness. I wanted to witness the monster that possessed my life for so long -- if only for a second. But I didn’t. It’s not worth it, I told myself. It’s not worth it.
The footsteps stalked to the window, dragging something heavy behind them. Against the faint light of the moon, I made out the Sleigh Father’s silhouette. He was tall, inhumanly so. His neck craned forward, pressed against the top of the high cabin ceiling. A cloak was draped across his broad shoulders, and from his head slumped the pom of a stocking cap. Beside him sat a large sack.
“NaUghty oR niCe?” his voice hummed, in discordant melody.
I didn’t reply. It seemed impossible, but a part of me held onto the belief that maybe he wasn’t speaking to me. Maybe he didn’t know I was there. It was just a monologue, perhaps—words for the night.
I raised the rifle, aiming it toward his massive figure. I could do it now, I reasoned. I could pull the trigger and hopefully make this nightmare disappear.
Ho HO hO.
The silhouette turned, its face masked in shadow, save for a single glint of bobbing light. “CaReFuL wiTh tHaT,” it said.
A cold breeze swept across me, and suddenly my fingers burned with agonizing frostbite. My rifle clattered to the floor while my hands trembled in pain. “YoU’ll TaKe yOur eYe OuT.”
“W-what do you want?” I stuttered, stumbling backward. My feet croaked on the floorboards as I came up against the back of the hallway. My heart hammered. Tears filled my visions as I cradled my cold hands against my stomach. “Please,” I whimpered.
“NaUgHty?” he sang. “Or NiCe?”
“N-nice,” I said. “I’m a good man. I just wanted to l-learn about you.” The words stumbled out of my mouth like lemmings falling to their death. “I don’t mean any harm. I swear--”
The footsteps creaked closer, and as they did, the silhouette vanished from the window's moonlight. All that remained of it now was sounds it made. I listened intently to the burdensome echoes of boots on hardwood and the heavy scratching of coarse fabric being dragged across the floor.
ho Ho hO.
He was close. So close. I slammed my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable, waiting to die. Warm piss spilled down my leg, and my face screwed up as I fell to my knees, bawling on the floor. “Please,” I begged. “I'm a good man! I told you -- please!”
The rumble of footfalls stopped, and in their place came the sound of rustling fabric, like somebody opening a sack.
“NiCe, yOu sAy?”
A dim light formed, radiating out of a burlap bag some five feet away. Behind its glow, I could make out a white, singed beard hanging over a red suit. The Sleigh Father’s face was otherwise indiscernible amidst the suffocating shadow, save for one dancing speck of light.
“WoULd yOu LiKe a GiFt?” he asked.
My mind raced. Was there anything in the mythology that warned against accepting gifts? I couldn’t recall. “Yes,” I hazarded, in a small voice. "Yes, please." It seemed unwise to refuse the creature.
hO ho Ho.
A massive, red-jacketed arm reached into the burlap sack. My eyes widened in horror as I realized the sack was moving. Kicking. Like there was something alive inside of it. Muffled screams followed, and the great arm pulled back, clutching a man by his long, blonde hair. The man thrashed and whimpered. Tears soaked his pale face.
Our eyes connected, mine and the man’s, and something ran through me. It was a feeling I’d never experienced before, a mixture of dark excitement and absolute loathing.
“You,” I said slowly.
The light from the sack was dim, but to the man, it was all he had known. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the heavy darkness of the cabin, and as they did, he peered toward me, eyelids pinched together to discern the voice speaking to him.
“Who’s there?” he whimpered.
I gazed forward in stunned silence. Was this real? There was no way. He dangled in the Sleigh Father's grasp like the finest Christmas present I'd ever seen.
“Hello?” his voice called. “Please, I have resources -- more than you could imagine! I’m a powerful man in government! Just get me the hell out of here, and I’ll give you whatever you want.” His voice turned weak, broken. “Please… please get me out of here. I have a family.”
I opened my mouth, but if words were there, I didn’t speak them. No. It seemed wasteful, at this moment, to reply so thoughtlessly. This moment necessitated careful words and a measured tone. It required my best.
“NauGhtY,” the Sleigh Father hummed. “So, sO NaUgHty.”
I found myself nodding along. Yes, the man was naughty. The worst. He was an abomination, fit for disposal. He’d doubted me -- made a mockery of me, and torn apart the life I’d so carefully built.
“Donovan,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice level. “Donovan Reid, isn't it?”
The light was faint. So faint. In spite of it though, I could see Mr. Reid had finally realized who I was, whether because his eyes had adjusted or he recognized my voice. Perhaps a combination of the two. His expression fell.
“That voice…You used to work for me,” he choked out. “Didn’t you?”
I gazed at him, something horrible growing inside of me. It ate up all of my fear, my regret, my rage and it left only hunger in their wake—a desperate desire for retribution.
“I did.”
​
[X.X]
TCC
submitted by Born-Beach to nosleep [link] [comments]

[EVENT] 91st Congress passes major environmental legislation

No witchcraft, no enemy action had silenced the rebirth of new life in this stricken world. The people had done it themselves.
Rachel Carson, Silent Spring
 
The land ethic simply enlarges the boundaries of the community to include soils, waters, plants, and animals; or collectively: the land.
This sounds simple: do we not already sing our love for and obligation to the land of the free and the home of the brave? Yes, but just what and whom do we love? Certainly not the soil, which we are sending helter-skelter downriver. Certainly not the waters, which we assume have no function except to turn turbines, float barges, and carry off sewage. Certainly not the plants, of which we exterminate whole communities without batting an eye. Certainly not the animals, of which we have already extirpated many of the largest and most beautiful species. A land ethic of course cannot prevent the alteration, management, and use of these 'resources,' but it does affirm their right to continued existence, and, at least in spots, their continued existence in a natural state.
In short, a land ethic changes the role of Homo sapiens from conqueror of the land-community to plain member and citizen of it. It implies respect for his fellow-members, and also respect for the community as such.
Aldo Leopold, The Land Ethic
 

The National Environmental Policy Act of 1969

 

Purpose

The purposes of this Act are: To declare a national policy which will encourage productive and enjoyable harmony between man and his environment; to promote efforts which will prevent or eliminate damage to the environment and biosphere and stimulate the health and welfare of man; to enrich the understanding of the ecological systems and natural resources important to the Nation; and to establish a Council on Environmental Quality.
 

Title I: Declaration of National Environmental Policy

The Congress, recognizing the profound impact of man's activity on the interrelations of all components of the natural environment and recognizing further the critical importance of restoring and maintaining environmental quality to the overall welfare and development of man, declares that it is the continuing policy of the Federal Government, in cooperation with State and local governments, and other concerned public and private organizations, to use all practicable means and measures, including financial and technical assistance, in a manner calculated to foster and promote the general welfare, to create and maintain conditions under which man and nature can exist in productive harmony, and fulfill the social, economic, and other requirements of present and future generations of Americans. Furthermore, The Congress recognizes that each person should enjoy a healthful environment and that each person has a responsibility to contribute to the preservation and enhancement of the environment.
In order to carry out the policy set forth in this Act, it is the continuing responsibility of the Federal Government to use all practicable means, consistent with other essential considerations of national policy, to improve and coordinate Federal plans, functions, programs, and resources to the end that the Nation may:
 
The Congress authorizes and directs that, to the fullest Administration extent possible, all agencies of the Federal Government shall:
 

Title II: Council on Environmental Quality

The President shall transmit to the Congress annually beginning July 1, 1970, an Environmental Quality Report (hereinafter referred to as the "report") which shall set forth
There is created in the Executive Office of the President a Council on Environmental Quality (hereinafter referred to as the "Council"). The Council shall be composed of three members who shall be appointed by the President to serve at his pleasure, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate. It shall be the duty and function of the Council to:
There are authorized to be appropriated to carry out the provisions of this Act not to exceed $300,000 for fiscal year 1970, $700,000 for fiscal year 1971, and $1,000,000 for each fiscal year thereafter.
 
 
Let's put our heads together and start a new country up / Our father's father's father tried, erased the parts he didn't like / Let's try to fill it in, bank the quarry river, swim / We knee-skinned it you and me, we knee-skinned that river red
...
Cuyahoga / Cuyahoga, gone
 

The Clean Water Act of 1970

Title I: Research and Related Programs

The objective of this Act is to restore and maintain the chemical, physicalj and biological integrity of the Nation's waters. In order to achieve this objective it is hereby declared that, consistent with the provisions of this Act:
  • it is the national goal that the discharge of pollutants into the navigable waters be eliminated by 1985;
  • it is the national policy that the discharge of toxic pollutants in toxic amounts be prohibited;
  • it is the national policy that Federal financial assistance be provided to construct publicly owned waste treatment works;
  • it is the national policy that waste treatment management planning processes be developed and implemented to assure adequate control of sources of pollutants;
  • it is the national policy that a major research and demonstration effort be made to develop technology necessary to eliminate the discharge of pollutants into waters.
 
The Administrator shall establish national programs for the prevention, reduction, and elimination of pollution and as part of such programs shall:
  • in cooperation with other Federal, State, and local agencies, conduct and promote the coordination and acceleration of, research, investigations, experiments, training, demonstrations, surveys, and studies relating to the causes, effects, extent, prevention, reduction, and elimination of pollution;
  • initiate and promote the coordination and acceleration of Report to conresearch designed to develop the most effective practicable tools and techniques for measuring the social and economic costs and benefits of activities which are subject to regulation under this Act; and shall transmit a report on the results of such research to the Congress not later than January 1, 1974.
In carrying out the provisions this section the Administrator is authorized to:
  • collect and make available information pertaining to research and other activities;
  • cooperate with other Federal departments and agencies, State water pollution control agencies, interstate agencies, other public and private agencies, institutions, organizations, industries involved, and individuals, in the preparation and conduct of such research and other activities.
  • make grants to State water pollution control agencies, interstate agencies, other public or nonprofit private agencies, institutions, organizations, and individuals, for purposes stated in this section;
  • contract with public or private agencies, institutions, organizations, and individuals;
  • establish and maintain research fellowships at public or nonprofit private educational institutions or research organizations;
  • develop effective and practical processes, methods, and prototype devices for the prevention, reduction, and elimination of pollution.
 
  • The Administrator shall, after consultation with appropriate local, State, and Federal agencies, public and private organizations, and interested individuals, develop and issue to the States for the purpose of carrying out this Act the latest scientific knowledge available in indicating the kind and extent of effects on health and welfare which may be expected from the presence of pesticides in the water in varying quantities. He shall revise and add to such information whenever necessary to reflect developing scientific knowledge.
  • The Administrator shall, in an effort to prevent degradation of the environment from the disposal of waste oil, conduct a study of the generation of used engine, machine, cooling, and similar waste oil, the long-term, chronic biological effects of the disposal of such waste oil, and the potential market for such oils, including the economic and legal factors relating to the sale of products made from such oils, the level of subsidy, if any, needed to encourage the purchase by public and private nonprofit agencies of products from such oil, and the practicability of Federal procurement, on a priority basis, of products made from such oil. In conducting such study, the Administrator shall consult with affected industries and other persons.
  • The Administrator shall conduct research and investigations on devices, systems, incentives, pricing policy, and other methods of reducing the total flow of sewage, including, but not limited to, unnecessary water consumption in order to reduce the requirements for, and the costs of, sewage and waste treatment services. Such research and investigations shall be directed to develop devices, systems, policies, and methods capable of achieving the maximum reduction of unnecessary water consumption.
The Administrator shall report the preliminary results of such studies and investigations to the Congress as soon as practicable but not later than January 1, 1973.
 

Title II: Standards and Enforcement

  • The discharge of any pollutant by any person shall be unlawful.
In order to carry out the objective of this Act there shall be achieved:
  • not later than July 1, 1977, effluent limitations for point sources which shall require the application of the best practicable control technology currently available as defined by the Administrator;
  • not later than July 1,1977, any more stringent limitation, including those necessary to meet water quality standards, treatment standards, or schedules of compliance;
The Administrator shall promulgate any revised or new standard under this paragraph not later than ninety days after he publishes such proposed standards, unless prior to such promulgation, such State has adopted a revised or new water quality standard which the Administrator determines to be in accordance with this Act.
  • Each State shall establish for the waters, and in accordance with the priority ranking, the total maximum daily load, for those pollutants defined by the Administrator as suitable for such calculation.
  • Each State shall estimate for the waters the total maximum daily thermal load required to assure protection and propagation of a balanced, indigenous population of shellfish, fish and wildlife.
Whenever required to carry out the objective of this Act:
  • the Administrator shall require the owner or operator of any point source to establish and maintain records, make reports, install, use, and maintain monitoring equipment or methods, sample effluents, and provide such other information as he may reasonably require.
  • the Administrator or his authorized representative, upon presentation of his credentials shall have a right of entry to, upon, or through any premises in which an effluent source is located or in which any records are located, and may at reasonable times have access to and copy any records, inspect any monitoring equipment or method, and sample any effluents which the owner or operator of such source is required to sample under such clause.
 

Title III: General Provisions

  • The Administrator is authorized to prescribe such regulations as are necessary to carry out his functions under this Act.
  • The Administrator, with the consent of the head of any other agency of the United States, may utilize such officers and employees of such agency as may be found necessary to assist in carrying out the purposes of this Act.
  • Notwithstanding any other provision of this Act, the Administrator upon receipt of evidence that a pollution source or combination of sources is presenting an imminent and substantial endangerment to the health or welfare of persons may bring suit on behalf of the United States to immediately restrain any person causing or contributing to the alleged pollution to stop the discharge of pollutants causing or contributing to such pollution or to take such other action as may be necessary.
  • Any citizen may commence a civil action on his own behalf against any person, including the United States and any other governmental instrumentality or agency to the extent permitted by the eleventh amendment to the Constitution, who is alleged to be in violation of an effluent standard or limitation under this Act or an order issued by the Administrator or a State with respect to such a standard or limitation, or against the Administrator where there is alleged a failure of the Administrator to perform any act or duty under this Act which is not discretionary with the Administrator.
  • No Federal agency may enter into any contract with any person, who has been convicted of any offense under this Act.
There are authorized to be appropriated to carry out the provisions of this Act not to exceed $650,000,000 for fiscal year 1970, $800,000,000 for fiscal year 1971, and $1,000,000,000 for each fiscal year thereafter.
 
 
There's the progress we have found (when the rain) / A way to talk around the problem (when the children reign) / Building towered foresight (keep your conscience in the dark) / Isn't anything at all (melt the statues in the park) / Buy the sky and sell the sky and bleed the sky and tell the sky
Don't fall on me (what is it up in the air for?) (it's gonna fall) / Fall on me (if it's there for long) (it's gonna fall) / Fall on me (it's over, it's over me) (it's gonna fall)
 

The Clean Air Amendments of 1970

Title I: Ambient Air Quality and Emissions Standards

For the purpose of establishing national primary and secondary ambient air quality standards, the Administrator shall within 30 days after the date of enactment of the Clean Air Amendments of 1970 publish, and shall from time to time thereafter revise, a list which includes each air pollutant:
  • which in his judgment has an adverse effect on public health or welfare;
  • the presence of which in the ambient air results from numerous or diverse mobile or stationary sources;
  • for which air quality criteria had not been issued before the date of enactment of the Clean Air Amendments of 1970, but for which he plans to issue air quality criteria under this section.
The Administrator shall issue air quality criteria for an air pollutant within 12 months after he has included such pollutant in said list. The criteria for an air pollutant, to the extent practicable, shall include information on:
  • those variable factors (including atmospheric conditions) which of themselves or in combination with other factors may alter the effects on public health or welfare of such air pollutant;
  • the types of air pollutants which, when present in the atmosphere, may interact with such pollutant to produce an adverse effect on public health or welfare;
  • any known or anticipated adverse effects on welfare.
The Administrator within 30 days after the date of enactment of the Clean Air Amendments of 1970, shall publish proposed regulations prescribing a national primary ambient air quality standard and a national secondary ambient air quality standard for each air pollutant for which air quality criteria have been issued prior to such date of enactment.
 

Title II: Hazardous Air Pollutant Standards

The Administrator shall, within 90 days after the date of enactment of the Clean Air Amendments of 1970, publish (and shall from time to time thereafter revise) a list which includes each hazardous air pollutant for which he intends to establish an emission standard under this section.
After the effective date of any emission standard under this section, no person may construct any new source or modify any existing source which, in the Administrator's judgment, will emit an air pollutant to which such standard applies unless the Administrator finds that such source if properly operated will not cause emissions in violation of such standard.
 

Title III: Enforcement

For the purpose of developing or assisting in the development of any implementation plan, any standard of performance, or any emission standard, or of determining whether any person is in violation of any such standard or any requirement of such a plan:
  • the Administrator may require the owner or operator of any emission source to establish and maintain records, make reports, install, use, and maintain monitoring equipment or methods, sample emissions, and provide such other information as he may reasonably require;
  • the Administrator or his authorized representative, upon presentation of his credentials shall have a right of entry to, upon, or through any premises in which an emission source is located or in which any records required to be maintained under this section are located, and may at reasonable times have access to and copy, any records, inspect any monitoring equipment or method, and sample any emissions which the owner or operator of such source is required to sample.
 

Title IV: Motor Vehicle Emission Standards

The Administrator shall by regulation prescribe (and from time to time revise) in accordance with the provisions of this section, standards applicable to the emission of any air pollutant from any class or classes of new motor vehicles or new motor vehicle engines, which in his judgment causes or contributes to, or is likely to cause or to contribute to, air pollution which endangers the public health or welfare. Such standards shall be applicable to such vehicles and engines for their useful life.
  • The regulations applicable to emissions of carbon monoxide and hydrocarbons from light duty vehicles and engines manufactured during or after model year 1975 shall contain standards which require a reduction of at least 90 per centum from emissions of carbon monoxide and hydrocarbons allowable under the standards under this section applicable to light duty vehicles and engines manufactured in model year 1970.
  • The regulations applicable to emissions of oxides of nitrogen from light duty vehicles and engines manufactured during or after model year 1976 shall contain standards which require a reduction of at least 90 per centum from the average of emissions of oxides of nitrogen actually measured from light duty vehicles manufactured during model year 1971.
 
  • It is unlawful for a manufacturer of new motor vehicles or new motor engines to engage in the distribution in commerce, the sale, or the offering for sale, or the introduction, or delivery for introduction, into commerce, or (in the case of any person, except as provided by regulation of the Administrator), the importation into the United States, of any new motor vehicle or new motor vehicle engine, manufactured after the effective date of regulations, which does not comply with the standards set out by the Administrator.
  • It is unlawful for any manufacturer or dealer knowingly to remove or render inoperative any pollution control device or similar element of design before or after such sale and delivery to the ultimate purchaser.
 

Title V: Emission Standards for Aircraft

Within 90 days after the date of enactment of the Clean Air Amendments of 1970, the Administrator shall commence a study and investigation of emissions of air pollutants from aircraft in order to determine the extent to which such emissions affect air quality in air quality control regions throughout the United States, and the technological feasibility of controlling such emissions.
Within 180 days after commencing such study and investigation, the Administrator shall publish a report of such study and investigation and shall issue proposed emission standards applicable to emissions of any air pollutant from any class or classes of aircraft or aircraft engines which in his judgment cause or contribute to or are likely to cause or contribute to air pollution which endangers the public health or welfare.
 

Title VI: Regulation of Fuels

The Administrator may by regulation designate any fuel or fuel additive and, after such date or dates as may be prescribed by him, no manufacturer or processor of any such fuel or additive may sell, offer for sale, or introduce into commerce such fuel or additive unless the Administrator has registered such fuel or additive. For the purpose of registration of fuels and fuel additives, the Administrator shall require:
  • the manufacturer of any fuel to notify him as to the commercial identifying name and manufacturer of any additive contained in such fuel; the range of concentration of any additive in the fuel; and the purpose-in-use of any such additive;
  • the manufacturer of any additive to notify him as to the chemical composition of such additive;
  • the manufacturer of any fuel or fuel additive to conduct tests to determine potential public health effects of such fuel or additive (including, but not limited to, carcinogenic, teratogenic, or mutagenic effects), and to furnish the description of any analytical technique that can be used to detect and measure any additive in such fuel, the recommended range of concentration of such additive, and the recommended purpose-in-use of such additive.
 
The Administrator may, from time to time on the basis of information obtained under this section or other nformation available to him, by regulation, control or prohibit the manufacture, introduction into commerce, offering for sale, or sale of any fuel or fuel additive for use in a motor vehicle or motor vehicle engine if any emission products of such fuel or fuel additive will endanger the public health or welfare, or if emission products of such fuel or fuel additive will impair to a significant degree the performance of any emission control device or system which is in general use.
 
  • The regulations applicable to emissions of lead from motor fuels shall contain standards which require a complete elimination of lead from motor fuels, applicable not later than January 1st, 1971.
 

Title VII: Noise Pollution

The Administrator shall establish within the Environmental Protection Agency an Office of Noise Abatement and Control, and shall carry out through such Office a full and complete investigation and study of noise and its effect on the public health and welfare in order to identify and classify causes and sources of noise, and determine:
  • effects at various levels;
  • projected growth of noise levels in urban areas through the year 2000;
  • the psychological and physiological effect on humans;
  • effects of sporadic extreme noise (such as jet noise near airports) as compared with constant noise;
  • effect on wildlife and property (including values);
  • effect of sonic booms on property (including values);
  • such other matters as may be of interest in the public welfare.
In conducting such investigation, the Administrator shall hold public hearings, conduct research, experiments, demonstrations, and studies. The Administrator shall report the results of such investigation and study, together with his recommendations for legislation or other action, to the President and the Congress not later than one year after the date of enactment of this title.
 

Title VIII: General Provisions

  • The Administrator is authorized to prescribe such regulations as are necessary to carry out his functions under this Act.
  • The Administrator, with the consent of the head of any other agency of the United States, may utilize such officers and employees of such agency as may be found necessary to assist in carrying out the purposes of this Act.
  • Notwithstanding any other provision of this Act, the Administrator upon receipt of evidence that a pollution source or combination of sources is presenting an imminent and substantial endangerment to the health or welfare of persons may bring suit on behalf of the United States to immediately restrain any person causing or contributing to the alleged pollution to stop the discharge of pollutants causing or contributing to such pollution or to take such other action as may be necessary.
  • Any citizen may commence a civil action on his own behalf against any person, including the United States and any other governmental instrumentality or agency to the extent permitted by the eleventh amendment to the Constitution, who is alleged to be in violation of an effluent standard or limitation under this Act or an order issued by the Administrator or a State with respect to such a standard or limitation, or against the Administrator where there is alleged a failure of the Administrator to perform any act or duty under this Act which is not discretionary with the Administrator.
  • No Federal agency may enter into any contract with any person, who has been convicted of any offense under this Act.
There are authorized to be appropriated to carry out the provisions of this Act not to exceed $450,000,000 for fiscal year 1970, $550,000,000 for fiscal year 1971, and $700,000,000 for each fiscal year thereafter.
[M] Like the previous policy megapost in this format, the text is almost entirely lifted from the text of various real-life bills passed around this time. In this case, I've made even fewer changes, and so the National Environmental Policy Act, Clean Water Act, and Clean Air Amendment of 1970 are basically unchanged from real life, obviously excluding the massive omissions of various overly specific provisions, implementation procedures, and legal liability clauses which have to occur in order for about 140 pages of legislation to fit within a single Reddit post. Nevertheless, I'm reasonably confident that the key provisions of each bill and their overall purpose have been communicated relatively well by my adaptation. Certain minor additions have been made; for instance, I've officially banned leaded fuel, and of course the Clean Water Act has been passed two years early. Additionally, a lot of environmental legislation from this era I'd like to do someday is missing, including the Safe Drinking Water Act, the Lead Paint Ban, the Federal Pesticide Act, and the Endangered Species Act, and will probably be addressed in the form of short paragraphs in yearly news updates.
submitted by StSeanSpicer to ColdWarPowers [link] [comments]

[OC] The Distant Gods (Part 2)

Core - Tyrant World - High Seat of Septius
Shirley Goes to the Dance
The dance was magical. Truly.
No expense was spared.
Everyone was there. Humans. Filthy Crimmies. Private Adams. Shirley. The third wheel Lieutenant Duncan Mazer. The festivities got off with a bang as Private Adams turned the corner, Shirley leading the way. Adams was prepared for the onslaught, and he hunkered down behind his shield, absorbing the thuds and concussive blasts as he slowly pushed forward. With each impact, the backside of the shield, where the grip and runes were housed, flared blue and then dimmed, growing duller. Eventually, the shield would run out of mana and Shirley would just be a hunk of metal, but for now she was the prettiest girl at the dance and she exuded a beautiful glow as her intertial dampening field caught the bullets as they whizzed toward them.
Duncan was an awkward observer to the magnificent duet playing out in front of him as he slunk along in the Tank's shadow, his orb clutched in his right hand. He was doing his part, the abyss was stormy cloud of greys and black as he caught the spells flung down the hallway in his absorption aura. He couldn't stop the inbound tech, that was Shirley's responsibility, but he could stop anything with a lick of mana that didn't originate from one of his own. Not that the Crimmie spellthrowers didn't try. They threw everything at them, the baby, the bathwater and the kitchen sink. Both sides knew the best spot to stop the Dragons was at the bottleneck leading into the room. From behind Shirley, Duncan couldn't tell who was throwing what spells or what they were, but the rapidly heating orb in his hand told him he was doing God's work.
Adams was doing the Tank slide-step shuffle, grunting as he pushed Shirley along the ground against some unseen obstruction. He pushed against the obstruction, and was unable to make progress. Adams determined that this was the opportune time to begin a song to encourage his dance partner.
I knew a lass named Shirley. Her steel was shiny and pearly. And she liked 'er men burly. So I said I'm the lad...and...erm...
Adams paused, both in his song and slammed against the obstruction again. "Shit, I forgot the rest. Something about a lad sure...or the strap--" He growled, slamming his shield forward, trying to make progress. "Asshole made me lose my tune. Whole dance is gonna be ruined now." The growl grew to a snarl and he hunkered lower and gathered himself. His runesteel armor flared a brilliant azure for a moment and then he exploded forward, sending whatever obstruction was in his way flying. A moment later, and he stepped out into the room beyond. "SURELY!" Duncan belted out.
Private Adams would likely need psychological evaluation in the near future. Unfortunately, most of the Dragons were certifiable. It was part of their charm.
Upon breaching the barrier and reaching the room beyond, the frenzy started. Fire, bullets, shit and mayhem was coming from every direction now. Shirley's protection was holding, but she was working harder to project her inertial field to protect from the increased angles of attack. She was still a pretty thing, but her alluring glow was getting dimmer by the second. Duncan wasn't faring much better. The orb was getting hot to the touch, with black streaks beginning to form in his hand and creep up his wrist. He a ways to go before a melt and a heart attack, but he was on his way.
"Let's go!" Duncan hollered, motioning forward with his other hand.
The call was answered with a loud "Whoooo-OOOOF," as three shouting Tanks lumbered in behind Duncan and into the room, sliding their shields along the ground in front of them. They fanned out, leaving physical gaps between their tower shields but made sure that their inertial dampening fields overlapped to reduce the strain on any particular shield. Private Adams took a slight step back, letting the other shield takes more of the brunt of the assault -- it wasn't fair that Shirley be the only gal who got a spin on the dance floor after all. Duncan used the opportunity to peek between them to try and get a sense of what they were up against.
Duncan couldn't see all of the Crimmies in one go, but he did get an eye on two groups of them. His immediately assessment was that they were ugly as fuck. His second was that this was the toughest knot of Crimmies yet. The two groups he did see were arranged similarly to what he had seen before -- one spellthrower with a few non-magic minions clustered around as support. The two different breeds were easy enough to tell apart from appearance alone.
The techies were huge, monstrous assholes with chitin and fangs or whatever else best suited their particular brand of fuckery. Some were tall, upwards of ten feet. Some were fat. Some stood in front and took punishment while others stood to the side and fired guns and others sat further back and shat giant globs of acid. If Corps Intel hadn't assured them the Crimmies were all from the same family tree, Duncan would have sworn there were twenty or thirty species and they all just got together and painted themselves the same shade of dog dick red before a fight.
Spellthrowers were a simple scout just because they were always floating around on their lily pads -- little contraptions that looked like a suspended cushion with a few tendrils hanging down. That's right, the alien mana vomiters rode a baby carriage into battle. Made sense too, because they were puny, wasted things all crumpled and curled up on themselves. The Brains back in command said it was because they were full bore mana conduits. They suffered from body cannibalization worse than the Human Wizards did, but had the raw power output to make up for it. Which Duncan was currently the recipient of. Now that he had a line-of-sight, he could see the flashes and explosions as the spells hit his absorption field. He'd hate to be out there right now, trying to duke it out like the zero Null platoons had to.
It was only a quick glance between the shields, but it was enough for Duncan to see the two baby buggies and their cronies on the far end. Both groups had the chitin grunts in front, their massive overgrown blobs covered in homegrown armor that gave even the Gunners' piercing rounds a helluva time. The chitin blobs were flanked by two shooter variants each. One looked like a plasma belcher, the other looked like it was slinging standard ballistics. Both groups were pretty typical, but what was unusual was that they were in here together with two other groups. The spellthrowers didn't seem to like to be around each other, so having four of them in one place raising hell was a change of pace.
It also explained why Duncan's hand was beginning to sizzle. He was top-rated Null, but you could only soak so much before an overload. He could feel the black death making its way up his bicep now. Thankfully, the load lightened considerably once the two other Nulls, both Privates, filed in behind the Gunners and extended their own absorption fields. Breaching the room and setting up had only taken a few seconds, but the intensity made every second count. They'd managed to get about twenty of the platoon in the room and behind the shields, but there wasn't enough space and shield coverage to bring in more. Still, it was enough to get the action started and they could rotate if mana ran low.
Time to return the welcome.
This was where the training kicked in. The four tanks, hunched over in front, prepared to pulse the inertial fields of their tower shields. Sergeant Idris Eze, the leader of the Tank team, linked control over the inertial fields and drew it into himself, his runesteel armor flaring brightly. "THREE! TWO! ONE! HAAA!" He screamed. In addition to his voice, a warning symbol appeared in the HUDs of all of the troops in the platoon, warning them of the impending action.
Simultaneously, the intertial fields withdrew into the shields, leaving the gaps between the physical barriers unprotected. The gaps were immediately filled with a torrent of fire from the fifteen Gunners positioned behind. Those fifteen were arranged into firing teams of three, each with a designated target among the Crimmies ahead. The coordination would be handled via the team uplink embedded into their armor HUDs and under the command of Staff Sergeant Lundgrin who would select the targets, one of the happy benefits of being the leader of the Gunner squad.
Duncan remained behind the shield, not hazarding a glance through the gaps until the intertial shields were replaced. Stay bullets happened and he would rather keep his head in tact for the time being. Instead, he listened to the sweet melody of bolters laying waste to the enemy, the satisfying sizzling build up followed by the THUMP discharge. Occasionally, a bolter would emit a higher, whining sound, an indication that the Gunner was funneling mana into the shot to give it greater penetrating power. Zzzzzz-SHEEWWW. The piercers drained the cartridges a lot faster, but they were the only thing that had the stopping power for the chitin goons. Well, the Mageblades would be able to saw through them all right, but that'd only matter if things got up close and personal. He wasn't about to have them charge the space between just to get a few more notches on their belts, not matter how much they might grumble.
"HOLLLL-UP!" Sergeant Eze yelled out. The bolter fire ceased immediately, and the intertial shields flared outward again. The brief intermission allowed the Staff Sergeant to survey the damage and assign new targets while the Gunners reloaded if necessary and re-positioned. Duncan found the entire affair deeply satisfying, and there was something darkly humorous that tactics lifted from the ancient Greeks should find their home in galaxy far far away.
A tactical readout popped up in his heads up display. The first volley had killed four techies. All ranged attackers. The blobs were still on their feet, but the chitin was smoking. It was good progress, but they were running low on orb time.
"Orb is getting saturated. Need to discharge. Get some disruption in if there's an open angle on one of the depleted Crimmie groups after the next volley," Duncan ordered on the open channel. Normally he'd try to keep the noise pollution down, but if the Phasers were going in, he wanted everyone to know about it.
This was going to be a zero casualty trip. There was no room for mistakes. Mistakes cost lives, and all of the Dragons had seen it happen. Duncan pushed that dangerous line of thought aside and refocused on the task at hand.
"THREE! TWO! ONE! HAAA!" Came Sergeant Eze.
Zzzzzz-THUNK.
Zzzzzz-THUNK.
Zzzzzz-SHEEWWW.
Zzzzzz-THUNK.
Came the response.
"HOLLLL-UP!"
One group of Crimmies was down to the baby carriage and a blob. The others still had cronies standing. Duncan flipped to the Phaser team's channel. "Buggy 1. Isolate, incapacitate, cover. GO!" said Sergeant Sarang Park. Duncan glanced down the hallway leading back to their resting spot prior to the battle just in time to see three bodies flicker and then disappear. Moments later, three large booms sounded out as the Phasers unleashed the concussive blasts stored in their blast gloves followed by a baby carriage flying across the room, richocheting off the ceiling before settling on its side, the tendrils lashing about erratically.
Duncan held his breath. None of the Phasers were double-jumpers, not yet at least. They'd be out in the open for at least ten seconds before they could jump back. There had been some outcroppings they might be able to duck behind on the other side of the room, but it depended on where they phased in.
Seconds later, all three re-appeared, though Private Volga collapsed almost immediately, his left leg spurting blood from the thigh. Duncan exhaled a curse and then turned back to the action ahead. They had a Wizard with a few heal glyphs stored up, but Volga would be on his ass for the rest of the mission.
Suddenly, the Tanks were slammed back, losing a few feet but not their footing. Looming above them were two of the enormous blobs, their giant red bodies pressed against the face of the shields. One blob swept bulbous tentacles growing out of its midsection around the farthest left Tank, a Private named Robert Lincoln, the suckers on the inside affixing themselves to the tower shield as it began to shake back and forth violently. The Tank held on to the tower shield, but was lifted off of his feet. He jerked back, trying to dislodge his shield, but removed from the ground he didn't have the leverage. Razor sharp chitin spikes tried to jab around the sides of the tower shield, trying to impale the Tank in mid air.
"Let it go," Sergeant Eze yelled out.
"It's mine," Private Lincoln screamed. The relationship between a Tank and their shield was not a simple one, as Private Adams and Shirley so aptly demonstrated, and they were not easily parted. The intimacy of the relationship was reinforced by the unspoken rule among Tanks that they should never, ever lose their shield. It was a religion with a single rule. Dishonor. Shame. Blasphemy. It was taken very seriously.
Too seriously.
A chitin spike swept around behind Private Lincoln and pinned him against his shield. A second spike quickly followed, using the leverage provided by the pin to exert pressure against Lincoln's juggernaut suit. It flared blue at the point of contact, reinforcing the structure with mana. For a moment, Duncan thought it might just be enough. But it wasn't.
The suit flared and then extinguished as the spike broke through, impaling Lincoln through the midsection as he called out weakly. He flailed a few moments, thrashing in the pin, impaling himself further before he slumped forward, his hands still intertwined with the handle of his shield.
The Gunner poured fire into the belly of the beast, but the chitin held as the blob discarded Lincoln and began to move in on the exposed flank. The Gunners tried to pull back, but there wasn't any room to navigate, they could either be smashed against the wall, sidle in to their corpsmen or dive out of the way and beyond the shield wall. Chaos erupted as the six exposed Gunners each chose a different solution. Two dove to the left, three remained where they were, pulling the trigger and piling as much mana as they could into every shot, and the sixth dove toward the hallway leading back, colliding with Duncan in the process.
Duncan was thrown off his feet, only just retaining hold of his orb but losing concentration. He could feel his absorption field blink out. He tried to push the out from under the scrambling Gunner, but was suddenly forced back down as a chitin spike slammed through the Gunner's throat and into his shoulder. His magescale provided little protection against the assault and quickly gave way. Pain flooded Duncan's senses as he lay there helpless. Through the agony, he broadcast on the general comm.
"MAGEBLA--
The chitin spike was severed before he could finish the word.
--DES!"
He pushed the fallen Gunner to his side, clearing his field of vision in time to see a Private and a Sergeant showing everyone how to truly dance. They duck and they dove around the flailing tentacles, arms, spikes and everything else the blob could swing at them, slashing and stabbing as they went. One held two short swords, Private First Class Brynhildur Gunnardóttir, who went by Bryn to save everyone the trouble. The other, Sergeant Behnam Ardehi, wielded a single scimitar. Both had their own distinct styles, with Ardehi favoring long slashing strokes to disable appendages while Bryn focused on more surgical stabs between the gaps in the chitin.
Their runed blades surged with various types of effects depending on the wielder and what was required. When Sergeant Ardehi's blade locked with the chitin, it would suddenly vibrate intensely along the blade, creating a sawing effect on that would allow Ardehi to cleave chunks of carapace off of the blob, leaving Bryn with more weaknesses to attack. Bryn would make good on those openings, jabbing her blade inward and pushing pulses of concussive force through the tip of the blade whenever one of them found a soft spot, creating great oozing wounds. The blob entered a frenzy, furiously trying to lash out at the Mageblades while chirping in the Crimmies lilting birdlike language. The disjointed flurry only worsened the blob's prospects, and Bryn eventually managed to explode something the Crimmie truly needed. It slumped over, dead.
In the interim, the others had begun to reassemble themselves. The two Gunners that had dived outside of the shield wall were down. The three that had remained and fired had managed to survive until the Mageblades had arrived. The remaining tanks had locked arms and formed a convex wall against the other blob, which was trying to use the same tactics its deceased partner had used. A third and fourth Mageblade were hacking away on the sides, preventing the tentacles from gaining purchase on the shields while the Gunners poured bolty death on the shielded cranium peeking above the shield wall.
The black death had receded back into Duncan's forearm. He tapped the secondary mana storage in his magescale and felt the infusion of mana kick his adrenaline and dopamine up a few notches. He gasped slightly and then focused his attention back on his absorption field, it sprung to life just the the two Privates began to falter. He flipped to the Null channel, "Take a break, I just juiced. Can hold for a few." The pain in his shoulder was subsiding. He didn't have the rejuvenation of the Tanks, but mana could cover up for a lot while you were riding the high.
The other two Nulls maintained their fields, but they repositioned them behind his own, letting Duncan take the heat from the remaining three Crimmie spellthrowers. Status readouts splurted by in the corner of his HUD, giving him a quick overview of the current status. Three dead. Six injured. Eight Crimmies still in action from the original fourteen.
Not good.
Fucking disaster more like it.
There were going to have to spend some non-renewable resources. Holding the Wizards back had been a mistake. "Let's go offense. I want to see shield drains on the solo buggy. Buggy four. Coordinate with the Phasers. Get it done," Duncan ordered. If they got the Crimmies down to two spellthrowers, they should be able to orb the rest of the way and clean up, particularly with the blobs down.
Still, it was going to cost them. Duncan should have known this mission was going to be a shitshow. Command kept limit testing the Crimmies and the Dragons, and it was costing lives. They'd done so much winning that they just assumed it'd keep going quick and easy. Mana fluents weren't common enough to be wasteful, and this shit was garbage disposal.
A boom sounded out. This time, the carriage was flung against the ceiling and immediately exploded into a tangle of wreckage and red pulp rather than ricochet about. That was the benefit of taking out the spellthrower's shield before a Phaser blast, but shield drains were precious commodities. The glyph was uncommon, took significant time and bodily resources to regenerate and wasn't recoverable like a Sanctuary spell. But it was worth it if it saved them another death.
Duncan could feel the tide turning now. The black steaks had slowed to a creep up his arm, and the orb was hot but not burning. The Tanks were shuffling forward as the Gunners triangulated their fire on the remaining techies still standing, trying to clear the way so the Phasers could get in and blast the buggies without interference. The Mageblades had retired back into the hallway, dragging wounded to the back lines so the Wizards could heal without exposure.
Another boom sounded out. Duncan didn't see the baby go bouncing, but the HUD ticked down one buggy.
Seconds later, another boom.
The HUD read zero Crimmies.
They'd won. And they'd lost.
Duncan opened up the general channel, "Clear the techie bodies and get a Sanctuary down, ASAP. Prep shift walls, but keep the way open for the time being. I don't know whether we want to be coming or going yet. Sergeants, I've got the real time updates, but I want details. Tell me where each of the teams are at. We've got folks down, but there's still a mission here."
Duncan surveyed the room, taking in the aftermath. Crimmie corpses were strewn everywhere, the stench of them heavy in the air. His good cheer was gone. He'd been overconfident. They were in uncharted territory and what they didn't know had come up and punched them in the throat. He walked over to one of the chitin blobs and gazed down at the corpse.
Where the fuck had the tentacles come from? He nudged the body with his foot, pushing the thick tentacle out of the way to reveal the suckers lining the inside. They'd gone against blobs before, but nothing like this. Normally they hung back and soaked. When they got close, they came in with spikes, not tentacles.
Didi came up beside him, also staring down at the corpse. "That's new."
"Mmm," Duncan replied.
"Think it's actually new?" She asked.
"Maybe. That'd be a fast adaption. Can't rule it out though." Duncan slid the now clear orb back into the holster on the inside of his right wrist and then shook his hand in the air, letting his palm air out. "Can't believe they fucking broke a Null Tank combo."
"It was a perfect setup."
"Cocky."
"Would have been fine if Lincoln had let the shield go, we--"
"Don't put it on one guy. We were all here. We all could have done something different. Done something better. He fucked up, but we weren't perfect," Duncan said. "There will be a lot of video to review." Duncan didn't see the point in raising the Gunner who took him down, they could address the lapse later. What was important was that fingers didn't start pointing back and forth. Not while they were still out on mission.
"Yes, Sir." Didi paused, "We still heading down?"
"Don't see an alternative. Gotta find out what's putting out that much mana and no one else is gonna get even as far as we have." They'd lost people, but they were still operational and lethal. Extraction wasn't an option. Best to push forward and do what they could to maximize the odds. Duncan pointed over at one of the buggies, "Have the babies drug to Hazel and drained. Then heal up, restock and let's get back on the road. Even in Sanctuary, we're burning time."
"Yes, Sir." Didi saluted and then headed over to a group of Gunners. After a few animated gestures, they began to move toward the buggies and extract the Crimmie spellthrowers so Hazel can draw the mana out of them and distill it down. Given the state of affairs, more mana was more.
After the techies had been cleared, a golden hue sprang to life in the room. The pain in his shoulder dulled and the trickle of blood subsided. He released the residual mana in his system and braced himself for the crash. Sanctuary reduced the effect, but it made the pounding headache barely manageable. He'd pushed his threshold in the first, tapping the secondary to push through. Even with his enhanced tolerance, he was flirting with disaster. Last thing the Dragons needed was burnout for a Lieutenant.
He closed his eyes, letting Sanctuary wash over him and settle his mind before turning to the next task. There wasn't a chance it would get any easier, but a few moments to get his shit together might give him the strength to carry it out with the professionalism the fallen deserved. Slowly, he opened his eyes and then turned toward the three bodies of the fallen Dragons, who had been laid out to the side of the room and given a respectful distance from the other activities. Duncan walked over to the three, looking from the enormous frame of the Tank, Private Lincoln, to the two Gunners, including the one who had fallen on top of him during the fight with the blob.
Duncan knelt down beside Lincoln, his hand on the Tank's chest. He pulled the ID Chip around his neck and then inserted it into his own armor. A small HUD prompt appeared.
[Would you like to deliver last rites to Private Robert Lincoln?]
"Confirm last rites."
[This is a permanent action and will result in the destruction of the soldier's body and associated equipment. Confirm?]
They couldn't leave the bodies behind, and they were too large to carry with them. No one wanted this outcome, but it was a part of being in the Rune Corps. Fluents and their equipment were the property of the government and they didn't want that property in anyone else's hands.
"You did your duty." Duncan thumped Lincoln's chest once and nodded toward the shield leaning against his large frame, his hand still wrapped around the handle. "And you held on to the fucking end."
He paused, as if waiting for a response. When none arrived, he whispered, "Confirm." The runes on the armor and shield flared and then began to melt. Within a few seconds, all that remained of Private Robert Lincoln was a few wisps of ash.
Duncan exhaled a long, miserable sigh.
Two to go.
And a mission to complete.
---------
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Nuclear power is often the subject of disinformation, spreading of FUD, and dismissed. This post addresses many of these points. Questions are welcome but civility required.

Nuclear power is often the subject of disinformation, spreading of FUD, and dismissed. This post addresses many of these points. Questions are welcome but civility required.
This post is about nuclear power. It is long. If you want to debate, that is welcome but please read this post first. It's likely I will have addressed your concern in it. There will be no tl;dr.
I've seen a fair few posts on here, and other "green" sites doing their best to discredit and undermine the science of nuclear power in lieu of glorified pipe dreams. That the world can go 100% "renewable" (with plenty of caveats tacked on the end of course, half of them unfeasible).
There are 4 main "arguments" against nuclear power. Danger, waste + storage, cost, and fuel availability. This post is to hopefully illustrate why all are red herrings designed to sew FUD and in actual fact keep us tied to a hydrocarbon-based grid.

Danger

This is a three-prong argument. The first usually invokes events such as Chernobyl, Fukushima, TMI, and other lesser incidents; the second invokes radiation safety; and the third mentions terrorism.
Starting with nuclear events, of these three I mentioned---only one is actually at all relevant and that's TMI. But mentioning it in terms of safety is the equivalent of comparing a ford model-T to a modern family saloon. Additionally, it led to the raft of safety measures we now have thus preventing it from ever happening again.
Chernobyl is a total red herring. While it wasn't a good event, it's pretty much the only event in nuclear power history that has led to any "significant" casualties, with the official death toll being 60 and numbers in the region of 6-20k cited from extended exposure. Whilst high for a single event, this makes up the vast majority of all nuclear incidents and in terms of death/TWh produced, still results in nuclear being the safest of all power sources. Plus, the RMBK reactor used on site wasn't designed for producing power, but for plutonium for nuclear bombs. As such, it was made deliberately unsafe so they could pop it open quickly to get the Pu out. It was this deliberate design choice that caused the failure. Obviously, this is not present in power-based reactors. It's also likely that the deaths are overestimated in this event due to the employment of the linear no-threshold model, which has repeatedly been shown to be flawed, and a hormetic model should instead be employed. This even gets ramped up to 11 in some countries that have radiation "spas" where you sit in a radon-filled basement in a bath-robe.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Linear_no-threshold_model
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/24298226/
And Fukushima? Yes it wasn't ideal, but literally nothing has come of it. No increased cancers. No deaths. No change in the background radiation level. Those maps bandied about showing the "flow into the ocean"? Garbage designed to spread FUD. The site fundamentally failed because a tsunami was higher than the seawall and drowned the diesel generators that were below sea-level. If the reactor hadn't shut down, it's likely it wouldn't have failed at all. Fukushima is less anti-nuclear and more anti-diesel generator.
https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/fukushima-emergency/
https://world-nuclear.org/information-library/safety-and-security/safety-of-plants/fukushima-daiichi-accident.aspx
The clean-up will cost money yes, but see the section later about why that's actually a good thing. Other events such as the Windscale fire were also caused by plutonium production.
Now lets compare those deaths with another singular event: a damn bursting in China. 230k dead. More than 10x all the nuclear incidents ever yet I don't hear many here complaining about hydro-power.
https://www.ozy.com/true-and-stories/230000-died-in-a-dam-collapse-that-china-kept-secret-for-years/91699/
In fact, comparing all the methods of power generation as deaths/terawatt-hour produced, nuclear is safest by about an order of magnitude (in other words, 10x more power can be produced for each person killed by that method of generation). How many people do you want to die to keep your lights on?
https://www.nextbigfuture.com/2011/03/deaths-per-twh-by-energy-source.html
The second of these prongs is fear of radiation. While I briefly touched on it when discussing Chernobyl, the fear runs much deeper. The main problem here is lack of scientific education, and an overzealous media. The thing about radiation is we are very good at detecting it, even at very low levels, and some units need to use very large numbers, such as atomic decays/second (Bq). Thing is, there are a lot of atoms in a small volume of anything. Avogadro's constant tells us that there are 6.022x1023 atoms in one mole of the substance. And one mole is the atomic number of the element in grams. So 92g of Uranium has 602,200,000,000,000,000,000,000 atoms (approx). And with the density of U being ~19.1g/cm3, that's 5 cubic centimetres of uranium. Or a double shot in a bar.
This sort of numbering has led to the tongue in cheek unit "banana equivalent dose".
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banana_equivalent_dose
Yes, that is the radiation dose you will get from eating a banana. In continuation, people will talk about waste being so hazardous, but without really understanding the numbers. So what are those numbers? Well, the granite worktop in your kitchen would be classed as nuclear waste under current legislation, thanks to radon in it.
Terrorism is another danger often cited. And this may even be a valid one, if there had ever been a terrorist attack on any nuclear plant across the world in the history of the human race. They're also designed to withstand a direct impact from a train or a 747, so a 9/11 attack isn't a concern. On a related vein, many conflate nuclear power with nuclear weaponry. These two implementations are about as different as can be, with the only commonality is that they both use a radioactive source. It would be like decrying a coal plant because C4 explodes as both are carbon based. Nuclear weaponry and nuclear power are fundamentally different technologies and cannot be conflated.

Waste/Storage

People don't think of granite worktops or gloves or aprons being "nuclear waste" though, they think of leaking soft steel barrels full of green liquid seeping out into waterways and turning us all into three-armed monstrosities with cancers out the wazoo. Except, none of that is true. Including the fact it's waste at all. So from now on I will call them used fuel rods, as that is what they are, The way fuel rods are disposed of is in a water bath for heat control of any short-lived elements to decay away, and then they are stored in "dry cask storage", or large concrete barrels on the reactor site.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dry_cask_storage
"But these barrels are dangerous right? You will die if you get near them?"
Well, yes. But only because the armed guards on site will shoot you as you run towards them. If you had proper clearance, you could sit and have lunch leaning up against one with negligible radiation dose.
"But these drums are piling up with nowhere to store them, It's a catastrophe".
Well... also no. As you may remember the numbers from the previous section, volumes are small. If you were to take the entire US stockpile of used fuel rods and group them together, you'd have a mass of 70k metric tonnes. Sounds a lot right? But remember the density of uranium, that gives a volume of about 3665 m3. For comparison, single football stadium (I've pulled up Samara Arena in Russia for convenience), it has a volume of 503,480 m3. So the entire volume of used nuclear fuel in the US wouldn't even fill a football stadium, and in fact wouldn't even come close. I'd say we've got room to breathe there.
"But it lives for billions of years right and is super radioactive right?"
Well, again, not quite. Think of anything, the hotter it burns, the shorter it lives. Same with nuclear fuel. The high-activity nuclides in the used fuel rods decay in days-weeks. What's left is inert filler with fresh uranium mixed through. In fact, after it's removed from the reactor, it's still about 95% fresh uranium. Which has a half life of billions of years, but consequently is also low activity. You could hold reactor rods in your hand and be fine. And in fact this is how they are installed into a reactor in the first place. Notice no lead aprons, no serious PPE. Just gloves and goggles.
Fuel Rod Assembly: U.S. Department of Energy Office of Nuclear Energy
And yet in the US that's buried underground. Why? Blame President Carter.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuclear_reprocessing
In fact, that is the only main problem with storage of used fuel rods. The US gets a disproportionate amount of air-time across the world, and it also cannot reprocess its used fuel. It'd be like a car in which most of the petrol you put in trickled out the exhaust again. You'd either improve the design, or put it through again. And that's the purpose of either recycling the fuel rods, or using what is known as a breeder reactor. And in fact these breeder reactors are grid-proven and it's literally just lack of political will preventing them being rolled out.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BN-800_reactor
If the US was the recycle all the fuel it had in storage, it wouldn't need to mine any more for the next century or so. Yes, century.

Fuel Availability

"But it'll all run out eventually? In fact, a lot of estimates put it at only ~200 years availability? Why bother when the sun and wind are essentially limitless?"
Again, not quite. This figure comes from single-pass fuel use then storage. As I've just shown, that's incredibly inefficient and frankly a stupid way to handle it. In fact, if you combine breeder reactors, and fuel reprocessing, we have enough fissile fuel to keep our reactors happy for the next few hundred thousand years.
https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-long-will-global-uranium-deposits-last/

Cost

"But it's really expensive to build nuclear plants and takes too long."
It is expensive to build the nuclear plants yes, but the time taken to build them is largely based in legislation which itself is based in flawed science (as I mentioned earlier with the LNT statements). But when investigate it as a levelised cost of energy (LCOE), nuclear is pretty much front of the queue.
https://world-nuclear.org/information-library/economic-aspects/economics-of-nuclear-power.aspx
Plus, I'm going to take a little detour out of science here and start talking about economics. Things being expensive for a government is not the same as things being expensive for a person/business. The fundamental difference is that the latter is a user of currency, whilst the former is the issuer of currency. A common way of thinking is the out-dated gold standard, in which currency is finite and tied to gold/tax receipts/stocks/bonds. This, and consequential statements such as "we are generating debt our children must pay" hasn't been true since 1971. The government, being able to issue its own currency can never go bankrupt as it can always pay its debts. This also does not lead to inflation as it used to. If this has you scratching your head in disbelief, that's understandable. I suggest the book "The Deficit Myth" by Prof. Stephanie Kelton. Additionally, she does a really good seminar on it here and is definitely worth a watch:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1SMjeuyF-Y
So fundamentally, if the government wish to build nuclear, they have both means and motive to do so, with no detriment to the economy (unless you count people in work being a detriment).
A few conspicuous sites are also mentioned in nuclear costs. These are typically Hanford in the US, and Sellafield in the UK. Both of these sites are scheduled to take decades to clean up, and cost hundreds of billions of $/£ to do so. This sounds ominous, but it isn't. Both of these sites were built in the 40s/50s as research sites and plutonium production facilities. Neither of these are actually relevant to modern power production and are simply a legacy from a time we didn't understand nuclear materials. When discussing US decommissioning costs, Hanford makes up 80% of this budget in the US, and Sellafield making up 75% in the UK.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanford_Site
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/all/cost-taxpayers-clean-nuclear-waste-jumps-100-billion-year-n963586
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sellafield
https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/nuclear-provision-explaining-the-cost-of-cleaning-up-britains-nuclear-legacy/nuclear-provision-explaining-the-cost-of-cleaning-up-britains-nuclear-legacy

Discussion

So why am I so bothered? Why bother making this post at all? I am a scientist and it bothers me to see disinformation and anti-science get spread so freely. There is also an extremely bad-faith argument from a lot of people in this regard, as they do not discuss the waste generated in the production of renewables, nor the full LCOE and instead cherry pick good days and state it as an average. This disingenuity has led to some of the most expensive power in the US for Californians, and Germany needing to fire its coal stations back up as well as import power from nuclear powered France. Furthermore, the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) performed an interesting study, in which it collates the opinions of those educated in science versus the general public. It can be seen that when formally trained in science, the approval rating nuclear is much higher. Surely we want our path to saving the planet rooted in science instead of hubris?
https://www.pewresearch.org/science/2015/07/23/an-elaboration-of-aaas-scientists-views/
Also as I showed with the burst-dam, there are statements made about nuclear that are not made about renewables. So if I repeat the process, the waste produced for solar and wind is not discussed often enough. Both wind and solar produce huge volumes of toxic and radioactive waste. But as they are not as similarly constrained as the nuclear industry, this is both unaccounted, and just drained to the environment.
https://www.cfact.org/2019/09/15/the-solar-panel-toxic-waste-problem/
https://www.instituteforenergyresearch.org/renewable/wind/big-winds-dirty-little-secret-rare-earth-minerals/
https://e360.yale.edu/features/boom_in_mining_rare_earths_poses_mounting_toxic_risks
Neither can the panels or blades be recycled so they go to landfill, to leech out toxic elements into the soil and groundwater.
https://stopthesethings.com/2020/10/10/lingering-legacy-millions-of-toxic-solar-panels-that-cant-be-recycled-destined-for-landfills/
https://www.discovermagazine.com/environment/solar-panel-waste-the-dark-side-of-clean-energy
https://www.bloomberg.com/news/features/2020-02-05/wind-turbine-blades-can-t-be-recycled-so-they-re-piling-up-in-landfills
And if nuclear fuel availability is mentioned, then so should availability of the minerals required to produce renewables. Many of the minerals used have available supplies of less than a year, and as is in the name, they are rare to begin with.
https://www.fpri.org/article/2020/10/chinas-monopoly-on-rare-earth-elements-and-why-we-should-care/
And to address a few points unique to renewables, the first is that by their method of operation, they harness a diffuse source. As such, they need to be big. Really big. Hundreds to thousands of hectares big. To produce an amount of power that could be generated by a reactor a fraction of the size. Now some people may find vast fields of solar panels or turbines beautiful, but I'd rather see vast woodlands, prairies, swamplands. I'd rather see our land returned to nature to actually capture some of the carbon that's ready to drive our extinction. It would also have the additional benefit that it would actually give back to the environment, and allow the bugs, birds, reptiles, critters, grazers, and hunters to thrive again. They don't thrive under windmills or solar panels.
https://www.strata.org/footprints/
https://www.heraldscotland.com/news/18270734.14m-trees-cut-scotland-make-way-wind-farms/
https://theconversation.com/wind-farms-built-on-carbon-rich-peat-bogs-lose-their-ability-to-fight-climate-change-143551
"But it's cheap!"
Exactly, and that's why renewables still have a place as is shown by the "energy pyramid" attached. Every rooftop should be lined with solar panels. Domestic windmills should be used to feed back into the grid. The land is already used, so make the most of it. But don't destroy nature to build renewables, as this is often exactly what happens.
The Energy Pyramid [Eric G. Meyer, Generation Atomic]
There are further issues faced by renewables but not faced by nuclear. These are called "capacity factor" and "insertion factor", and neither permit for exponential power demands that we as a race face. The former is a simple one, wind doesn't blow all the time. Sun doesn't shine all the time. There needs to be a backup, that right now is natural gas. Super batteries will not fix this issue, and are actually more likely to render renewables obsolete as our demands will grow with our capacity. The second, insertion factor, relates to how once the "good spots" are taken, we must use less good spots, and as such need larger installations to make up for the shortfall in production. With nuclear, both of these do not apply.
But why nuclear at all? Well, fundamentally, there is just so much uranium, and it is so energy dense, that it is silly to not use it. But when I talk about energy density compared to other fuels, it is hard to envision, so this wonderful presentation gives us more of a clue.
https://youtu.be/tpUtrDvya1w
So what does that energy density look like? Well, in a nuclear fuel assembly (shown earlier), there are hundreds of fuel pellets such as shown below. Each single one of those pellets are 7g of the ceramic uranium oxide, and can power a typical household for ~4 months.
Fuel pellets in a fuel rod [nuclear.duke-energy.com]
So why would you not want to use the cleanest, safest, arguably cheapest power source on earth?

Conclusion

This post hopefully illustrates some of the common and unfortunately pervasive myths around nuclear power. And if for a moment we assume the problems are all real and genuine, we have less than 10 years to fix our planet before it starts trying, and likely succeeding, to kill us. This is not the time to be advocating anti-science or wanting to look like you care whilst doing nothing. If the waste issue was true, that gives us hundreds to thousands of years to find a problem. If the terrorism issue was true, we'd have high employment in the military to keep the sites safe. If the fuel availability issue was true, we could use it until we perfect fusion. But fundamentally, if you are about to be hit by an out-of-control bus, you do not worry about the grazed knee you get by jumping out the way.
Edit 1: S/P
Edit 2: Included the AAAS survey in the "Discussion" section.
Edit 3: Added Hanford and Sellafield to the "Costs" section.
Edit 4: Added additional references to "Discussion" section.
Edit 5: Updated data on Chernobyl death toll.
Edit 6: Added fuel rod assembly image.
submitted by Vaudane to ExtinctionRebellion [link] [comments]

[Cryoverse] The Last Precursor 045: Monolith

The Last Precursor is an HFY-exclusive web-serial which focuses on the exploits of the last living human amidst a galaxy of unknown aliens. With his species all but extinct and now only known as the ancient Precursors, how will Admiral José Rodriguez survive in this hostile universe? Make sure to read the earlier chapters first if you missed them!
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Previous Part
Part 001
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Admiral José Rodriguez walks side by side with Lord Drall, second in command of the Kraktol Empire. The Terran and crocodilian appear mismatched in height, with the human standing nearly a full head taller than his counterpart. This height imbalance, when combined with the Terran's domineering presence and technical superiority in all manner of warfare, gives him an aura of leadership, causing the Kraktol general to defer to him when they speak.
The Terran and Kraktol step inside a vacuum lift, using it to drop down some ten or so levels to the lowest decks.
"Where I come from," José explains, "this vessel was already at the pinnacle of Terran technology. Ramma's Chosen had several Dreadnoughts at their disposal, some from older eras, others from the current era. Let alone my faction, there were other factions as well, such as Orion Corp and the Third Hand, who possessed dozens of similarly-sized Dreadnoughts. Even so, the Bloodbearer was especially unique; the flagship of our armada. With just this one carrier, Ramma's Chosen could project military force into any system within a thousand lightyears of our homeworld. We feared no reprisal, because combatting the Bloodbearer directly would mark any man as a fool."
Lord Drall gazes through the transparent vacuum tube window, watching as one deck after another swishes past his eyes. "From the research this era's sentients have gathered, a top of the line 25th Era military vessel would often end up comparable to a civilian-grade 40th Era vessel. In that case, the Bloodbearer should prove even more advanced than its numerical era signifies."
"Correct," José says, nodding. "Top-grade stasis chambers, a facility for regenerating missing limbs within hours, the greatest medical minds of my generation, and a hundred of Ramma's mightiest warriors. I am a killer, a soldier bred for slaying heretics. Even so, I was only one of many. Alone, I am formidable. But when combined with the power of other Chosen, we could perform terrifying feats of destruction."
José continues. "Defeating Yama during the age of Terran Supremacy would have been a trivial task. One Demon Emperor, alone, might be somewhat frightening, but you must remember that we defeated demonkind long before our advancements in military might. With our modern technological terrors in hand, defeating our ancient adversaries would have taken us a fraction of the time we originally spent. The problem comes in that we do not presently live in the age of Terran Supremacy, and thus, our task will prove far more difficult."
The vacuum tube slows to a stop. Its door swishes open, allowing the two faction leaders to stride out, with José in the lead. The Admiral guides Lord Drall toward a large, wide-open facility, one with the words, "Planetary Assault" emblazoned in huge, engraved letters above the doorway.
"You know," José says, "it kind of surprises me that there are vastly more pre-25th Era ships in the modern galaxy than post-25th Era ones. In my time, such old clunkers were outdated, generally considered dangerous, and only used by junkers, raiders, and the poorest of civilians. Many pre-25th Era warships were reworked and rebuilt into civilian cruisers, intended only for simple transport duties. They offered a small amount of protection against the Void Roamers and other undesirables. The fact your 'modern' militaries use such outdated technology is... bizarre."
"And," José adds, "that isn't even taking into account how few there were. Restoring some old clunker to working order was hardly worth the time and effort when parts for newer models were typically found in greater abundance, and far cheaper. Most First, Second, and Third Era ships could only be found in museums, not flying through space. I cannot wrap my mind around any situation which may have led to modern spacecraft disappearing while ancient craft resurged."
Lord Drall pauses outside the Planetary Assault bay. He glances at José and shrugs. "Many Mallali, Avaru, and Rodak archaeologists have sought answers to that question, and others. For countless millennia, we have known of the existence of ancient Precursor artifacts. However, in the First Age, when our species first gained the ability to travel through the void, we were careless and foolhardy. Many vessels we recovered possessed synthminds and databases filled with valuable knowledge regarding what happened to the Precursors. Sadly, our forebearers, in their infinite shortsightedness, erased those synthminds to solidify their unwavering compliance. Obtaining military might at all costs was their primary objective, while investigating the secrets of the Precursors was not even on their radar."
"Unfortunate," José mutters, before stepping into the armory before him. "Those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it."
Drall nods. "Indeed."
He follows the Terran, allowing his eyes to roam the insides of what appears to be a small hangar, but one without any shuttles or interceptors. Instead, nine gigantic bipedal war machines stand at attention against the far wall, with a spot in their middle conspicuously absent. These machines, identical to the Titan battlesuit Soren wore while dropping to Tarus II's surface, give Lord Drall a bad case of the chills. Seeing such intimidating mechanical armors lined up, he begins to form an idea in his head of just how much firepower the Bloodbearer truly can bring to a battlefield if it so chooses.
Inside the chamber, a half-dozen Kessu mechanics and janitors walk around, shining the metal fittings of each machine, cleaning the dirt and dust accumulated from 100,000,000 years, or otherwise performing routine maintenance on anything that requires their attention.
One of the mechanics, a white-haired female Kessu with a bright-pink nose, perks up when she spots José. "Prraw? Great Precursor! I am glad you came to visit!"
Her words grab the attention of the other five Kessu, all of whom turn to look at José and flash their cute kitty-smiles. "Meow! The Great Precursor!"
José chuckles. "Mina, this is Lord Drall. He is going to work together as our ally for the foreseeable future. As the second in command of the Kraktol Empire, he possesses a lot of political and military authority. He will dedicate a large number of soldiers to crushing the demons on Tarus II, as well as preserving Kessu society. I want you to treat him with the same respect that you would me."
The Kessu female, Mina, glances at Drall a second time. Realizing who he is, her expression turns cross for a moment, but she quickly comes to terms with her feelings. "Y-yes, Great Precursor. I will do what I can to help out. But... regarding the attack on my... my village..."
Before José can reply, Lord Drall takes a step forward. He drops to one knee and bows his head until the underside of his jaw touches the floor. "Please accept my sincerest apologies, Miss Mina. I will personally get down on my knees and apologize to every Kessu I have offended, if that is what it takes. What my people did was wrong. We bore a grudge against the Kessu for many generations, but the Kessu who wronged us have long since faded to the rivers of time. We will help rebuild your society and ensure a great peace between our species, so long as the Kessu are willing to forgive us our trespasses."
Lord Drall beats his chest and closes his eyes with grief, putting on a convincing performance. José, of course, doesn't fully believe his words, but Mina takes a step back, startled by Lord Drall's self-flagellation. "T-there's no need to bow before me, um, good sir! I lost a few friends and family, but... but that's just the nature of war! If you can help us rebuild and offer restitution for your crimes, we will certainly forgive you! There's no need to spoil the kitten's milk with idle anger; that's what my mother always says!"
Drall nods slightly, tapping the front of his jaw against the exosteel deckplates. "Oh, such wisdom! Such grace! Your mother is truly a kind soul. Does she still walk among the living?"
Mina nods. "Yes. She is still alive, but my father..."
"Graugh! How terrible! In that case, I shall go to your mother after this and beg her for forgiveness! Any punishment she requests, I shall accept it! This violent attack I perpetuated, 'tis a stain upon my grand name!"
One by one, Lord Drall profusely apologize to each of the six Kessu present, making all of them look at him with a certain degree of warmth and reverence. After he finishes, they return to their duties, quietly meowing amongst one another about how they had pegged the Kraktol leader as being far more vicious and bloodthirsty than he really was.
As Lord Drall rises to his feet, he shoots a questioning look at José. "...You are displeased with my words?"
"Not at all," José answers with a shake of his head. "I don't care one iota how your quarrel with the Kessu plays out. From now on, they will be under my protection, as I've said before. It's in your best interest to apologize to each of them, whether you mean it in your heart or not. As long as they believe you, and you stick to your word, you'll already have done a great deal better than some of the... politicians from my era."
Drall flares his nostrils. "Chuff. So you had those back then, too."
"Indeed."
"Disgusting."
Both men share a nod between each other before moving on. José gestures toward the nearest Titan battle-armor and begins to speak.
"The Titan Dropsuit was and still is the mightiest surface-combat device employed by Ramma's Chosen. It could turn any average man into an elite soldier, and any elite soldier into a demigod of death and destruction. Just one Titan could clear out an entire city of hostiles. Nearly indestructible, swift as a speeder-pod, and surprisingly agile, these battlesuits will be our key to defeating Yama."
Lord Drall walks toward the nearest Titan armor, and caresses its thick metal plating. He taps its shell with his claws, and even knocks his knuckles against several exosteel plates around its body. Not once does he hear a hollow ringing sound, indicating the metal must be highly dense.
"Impressive, to say the least. Words fail me. With a weapon like this, you could raid a Mallali core-world by yourself and not even risk suffering an injury."
I said it was indestructible, but that's only against traditional ground-based attacks," José explains. "If any average interplanetary bombardment platform were to attack from space, it could easily land a targeted strike on a Titan battlesuit and reduce it to melted hunks of metal. Naturally, we need not worry about that situation, given any ship within range of attacking these Titan battlesuits will also have to fly within the range of the Bloodbearer's primary cannon array. I pity the fool who suffers from such a blatant death-wish."
José continues guiding Lord Drall around the Planetary Assault armory. He leads the Kraktol commander over to a wall of various gadgets, most of them small, palm-sized devices, coming in all sorts of shapes.
"This here," José says, picking up a small metal cube, "is a portable forcefield generator. You can use it to temporarily seal off passages and pathways. Useful for protecting your flank in a firefight, or for trapping a particularly slippery foe to prevent their escape."
"Like Yama?" Drall asks.
"Exactly. And this here, this is a portable holo-entity generator. The entity can take many different forms, but as of now, it only has my bio-signature inside. It can discharge electrical bursts, either at a low enough level to incapacitate an enemy, or it can unleash enough energy to char them to ash. I've used these on several occasions; their versatility is what makes them formidable."
José explains the purpose of more than five dozen devices. Each one elicits fewer and fewer gasps of astonishment from Lord Drall. He quickly finds himself becoming less amazed, and instead more frightened, by the unbelievable firepower José has at his disposal.
"These weapons are truly awe-inspiring. I find it hard to believe your people, the Terrans, could ever go extinct with such incredible technology at their disposal."
"Hmm..." José mutters, pursing his lips. "I've not spent much time investigating the cause of Terrankind's extinction. As you can imagine... it's a bit of a sore spot for me."
Lord Drall doesn't reply for a moment. When he does, his tone becomes somber.
"Admiral. Truthfully, many Kessu scientists, many Mallali, Rodaks, and countless other sentients have spent an inordinate amount of time investigating what led to the extinction of the Precursors. Yet, no matter how we searched, where we looked, or what we found... in the end, we were unable to come up with a single substantial answer."
He continues. "Graugh! I do not wish to sound like a wild conspiracy theorist. However, it is my personal belief that whatever led to the extinction of the Precursors... it was not artificial in origin, nor was it some terrible accident. If I had to guess, I might even go so far as to say it was... deliberate."
The Admiral frowns. "Deliberate, you say? Perhaps, you believe my people's extinction to have come at the claws of some terrible enemy?"
Drall shrugs. "I cannot say. I am but a humble Rodak, unversed in the ways of science and archaeology. Any guesses I might hazard would likely prove wild and unsubstantiated."
"However," Drall mutters, "certain things simply don't add up. Every historical record indicates that the Precursors- sorry, the Terrans... every record indicates they disappeared at nearly the same time. Some worlds showed minor signs of battle-scars, but for the most part... it seemed to me as if whatever killed them merely 'erased' them from existence. One moment, they were there, and in the next, they were gone."
José gazes at one of the nearby Kessu, someone going about his business oiling a rusty servo motor on one of the Titan battlesuits. The Admiral's gaze becomes distant, as he looks not at the Kessu, but through him.
"...Monolith."
"I beg your pardon?" Drall asks.
The Terran mouths a few words to himself in silence before shaking his head. "No. I... I can't see them being the cause of my species' extinction. If that were the case..."
José lowers his gaze. He stares at the floor for several seconds, then walks toward a nearby tool-chest and plunks his butt down, taking a heavy seat on it. The Terran wearily rubs his facial hair for a moment before looking at his Kraktol companion.
"Lord Drall. You claim not to be a science-focused Rodak. Yet, even so, I imagine you can look toward the universe around us as a source of expanding your consciousness."
The Kraktol leader frowns. "Graugh! I... I am afraid I do not understand, Admiral Rodriguez."
"How many stars are there in the Milky Way?" José asks.
"I do not know," Drall replies. "Many millions, to be sure."
"Three hundred seventy billion, nine hundred and twelve million, six hundred and four thousand, one hundred and thirty-five," José murmurs, without batting an eye. "This number has certainly changed over the last hundred million years, but by the time of my era, the moment before I underwent stasis-sleep and arrived in this era, that was the exact number of stars in the Milky Way."
"The Terrans mapped out our entire galaxy," José explains. "We explored every world, and knew within a certain level of accuracy which stars were likely to go supernova, which ones would form in the future, and so on. But, Lord Drall, the Terrans did not possess the same information regarding the Andromeda Galaxy, nor the other five galaxies we sought to colonize."
José continues. "The Milky Way and Andromeda are merely two galaxies out of eighty within the Local Group. However, compared to the greater universe, we are merely a speck of a speck within the Creator's eye. Our galaxy is small, out of the way, and unimportant."
Drall nods. "Outside of the Local Group, there are untold hundreds of billions of galaxies, each with many more stars and planets than the Milky Way itself."
"That's right," José says, faintly smiling. "Terrankind arose upon a single, minor, ultimately tiny world within this galaxy. We fought countless battles and struggled through the eons, eventually trouncing our enemies and seizing control of the Milky Way. We ascended past the Second Type of stellar civilizations, and rose toward the Third Type, imagining ourselves unstoppable deathgods capable of flattening all who opposed us."
"But..." José adds, "it was when we stepped outside the confines of our galaxy's womb for the first time that we came to a terrifying realization. Much like the enemies we had crushed within the Milky Way's confines, there were many other civilizations outside the Milky Way, each one controlling parts of, or the entirety of galaxies within the Local Cluster. We came to refer to these entities as... Monolith."
Drall's pupil's shrink to slits. "What? Other civilizations? Then... that is to say...?"
"Yes. I believe it is possible that Monolith may have crushed Terrankind. Monolith, of course, is simply a term my people used to describe interstellar civilizations outside of the Milky Way. However, not all members of Monolith are the same. They vary dramatically, with some being warlike civilizations, and others hiveminds. Some colonized for the sake of self-preservation, while others attempted to spread religious or logical dogmas."
"What we found in Andromeda, for example, was a mostly untapped galaxy much larger than the Milky Way, ripe with opportunities for interplanetary exploration and exploitation. However, Terrans were not the only species to get that same idea, and so, we entered war with more than a dozen other members of Monolith. Battle lines were drawn, alliances were forged and broken, and a bright future for our people seemed within reach."
"But perhaps not," José concludes. "We Terrans could not interact with other civilizations outside of the Local Group. Galaxies existed well beyond our reach, and what worried our scientists and military leaders the most was the possibility that somewhere, out there, in the galactic neighborhood... there existed a terrifying species capable of annihilating us with a wave of its hand."
Lord Drall's scales turn ash-grey, giving him a pallid appearance. "Graugh! You are starting to frighten me, Terran. If you are right, then whatever civilization wiped out the Terrans likely still exists. It could destroy the Rodaks, Mallali, Buzor, Avaru, and all the other sentients with ease! After all, we are far from comparable to your species' former glory!"
José nods. "Yes. But, at the same time, I wouldn't wager any credits on Monolith causing Terrankind's extinction. After all, if a species that powerful wiped us out, why wouldn't they have colonized the entire Milky Way afterward? Why kill us due to a mere whim and then let our galaxy go to waste? That seems like a rather flippant use of intergalactic power, don't you think?"
Lord Drall settles down somewhat. "Y-you are right. What use would there be in eliminating all of humanity, only to ignore our galaxy afterward? If these beings were far mightier than humanity, then they would have no reason to kill you in the first place, whereas if they were at a similar power level as you, then Terrankind's extinction would have occurred over a longer period of time."
Slowly, José rises to his feet. He glances around the room at the Kessu, most of them far too engrossed in their work to pay attention to anything he and Drall have to say.
"That's not entirely true, Lord Drall. A highly advanced society might have one reason to kill us."
Drall cocks his head. "And what reason would that be?"
"Simply put, they may have seen us as a threat. Not at that moment, but perhaps, far in the future, we might be capable of threatening their stranglehold on the universe. Such a civilization would surely be... beyond Type III."
The Admiral chuckles. "But... if that's the case, then it doesn't matter. If our enemy is Monolith, and if Monolith is truly the one who rendered us extinct, then there is nothing we can do to stop them. Our enemy is a civilization far more powerful than we can imagine, capable of wiping out a galaxy's inhabitants instantly. Against that sort of enemy, there is no resistance your era's sentients can put up that will change a thing. It would be best to forget about Monolith entirely and live the rest of your lives in ignorant bliss."
José starts walking toward the Planetary Assault Bay's exit doors. Lord Drall follows after him, casting a lingering gaze on the impressive weaponry within the room.
"Admiral Rodriguez. Assuming this 'Monolith' decided to eliminate the Terrans... why would they not exterminate the Rodaks, Mallali, Avaru, and all the other sentients who arose in your place afterward?"
"I cannot say," José replies. "Such a mighty galactic superpower may not give a damn about insignificant Type I and II civilizations. Perhaps even certain Type III civilizations are of no threat to them. But my people? We were conquerors. We sought the advancement of our bodies, our minds, and our species. Given time... perhaps Monolith may have detected us, and decided to squash our ambitions."
A strange light appears in the Admiral's eyes.
"Haha. Wouldn't that be interesting? Killing all of humanity, only for one little Terran to remain? Imagine if little old me could, in some small way, avenge my fallen brethren. That would, indeed, be a delicious twist of fate."
...
The Terran guides Lord Drall around to several other facilities, showing off some of the weapons, armor, and technology they will use against Emperor Yama. Eventually, he and Lord Drall take the vacuum tubes back up to the main decks.
"This operation, it seems relatively safe," Drall mutters. "You said before that Yama does not possess enough power to pierce through your advanced technology and its afforded defenses. Therefore, the only true trouble we'll face is whether or not we'll be able to kill the slippery little demon, or whether he'll escape our clutches."
"That's right," José affirms. "Yama's power makes entrapping him extremely difficult. If he catches wind of our schemes, a single dark fissure leading to Tarus II's surface will enable him to slither away. His body has no mass. He can reshape his appearance and make himself thinner than a human hair, allowing him to slip through any gap in our defenses. If we are not comprehensive in our attack, we'll not capture him, and he'll break free. We cannot allow a single mistake in this operation."
"Do not worry," Drall replies. "If it is competency you desire, my soldiers are the best in the Kraktol Empire. The females serving underneath me were selected from the Thülvik's cousins and adjacent family. Not only are their stocks fine, but their intelligence is high, and their battle experience, refined. I've led many guerilla assaults on Mallali worlds, and as such, have bathed them in blood. They know nothing of fear."
Casually, José glances at Lord Drall. "How might they compare to Megla and Soren then, in terms of combat prowess?"
"Graugh! My daughters are, naturally, fine Kraktol specimens. Soren was never much of a frontline warrior, but Megla is among the mightiest of Kraktol veterans. You need not worry about their battle might!"
Several memories flicker through José's mind, particularly one recent recording of Megla and Soren attempting to fight a mere Class C monster.
The Admiral chuckles. "Haha. That will pose a... problem."
"Pardon?"
"...Nothing. Let's just say, my standards are quite high. I'll require your troops to undergo a few 'tests' to ensure their competency."
Lord Drall scowls for a moment, clearly offended by José's words. "Graugh! With all due respect, my soldiers are elites, each one capable of taking on five Mallali at once! I would appreciate it if you did not insult their competency in battle!"
"We will see," José says, his tone cryptic.
Drall quickly hides his displeasure, silently reminding himself that he must remain on good terms with the Precursor at all costs, even if it means suffering a few demeaning insults. After all, the Precursor has only had Megla at his side as an example of Kraktol battle power. Compared to a whole unit of elite Kraktol warriors fighting in tandem, the Precursor couldn't possibly understand the sheer force the Kraktol Empire can bring to bear.
"Graugh. Hehe, when you see the might of a full Kraktol battle battalion in action, you will surely change your tune, Admiral."
Before José can reply, Drall clarifies, "Naturally, you defeated Orgon's warriors thanks to your superior technology, so if we were to face off against you again, I've no doubt you would crush us. But, I believe that if that technology gap were equalized, the results would surely reverse!"
A flash of mischievousness appears in José's eye. "Oh? If I were to grant your Kraktol warriors the same technology I possess, do you think they could win against me?"
"Graugh! Naturally," Drall says, as the vacuum tube arrives at their destination and swishes open. "You are a walking death god as of now, but had we possessed such mighty weaponry, I believe it goes without saying we would win ten times out of ten!"
A truly evil, vicious grin spreads across José's face. He claps Drall on the back and smiles smugly. "Hah hah hah... well said. I'll hold you to those words. Warriors mustn't let their lips flap loosely, you know."
Drall's high spirits fade, ever so slightly. He picks up on the Terran's confident expression and frowns internally.
Have I, perhaps, overlooked something important?
Next Part
.......................................
Author Note:
If you liked what you just read, please consider subbing to my Patreon! I post patron-exclusive writing posts, with typically one post dedicated to TLP each month, and another to Cryopod. You help me survive long enough to not starve to death, and I give you fun things to read. It's a win-win! Check out some of those posts here and here!
Also consider reading The Cryopod to Hell, the primary story in the Cryoverse! Both TLP and TCTH are part of the Cryoverse, so they're deeply interlinked. You don't wanna miss either of them!
Thank you!
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