by Himawari (ヒマワリ) Construct type: Suraksha (Unit name: Suraksha) Individual log 2623-05-12-00-24-51:27 I was inventorying my drone kits when Meethi took me aside in the shipnet with what it tagged as important updates on crew relations. I made some sort of face, because I was tired of social interactions after two-and-a-half weeks of herding […]
See this piece’s entry on the Shousetsu Bang*Bang wiki. by Himawari (ヒマワリ) Subra-82 research expedition, Archaeological Division, Room 423Ж 2547-16-33 Dear Losna, Your data packet arrived today. Thank you for sending all of the footage of the anniversary party: dadiji-dadaji look well, and still in love after all these years. The packet uncompressed and decrypted […]
by Himawari (ヒマワリ) It’s a delight to come home to the flat and find Serhiy’s dick in Lyudmila’s mouth. I had been exhausted, coming up the stairs, but I started getting hard just hearing Serhiy’s voice groaning from the other side of the door, as I was fumbling for the door handle in the darkened hallway. […]
by beili and Himawari (ヒマワリ) illustrated by beili (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/305707.html) Once upon a time there was a young man called Grishka. He had no money, but he had a good horse, a pan for cooking, and a guitar. So he went out to find his fortune. He was tall and strong, with dark curls and […]
by Himawari (ヒマワリ) (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/303828.html) All I felt as the boat tipped was disbelief. Then there was cold water in my face and I kicked out, jack-knifing my body toward the front of the boat so that my legs could kick free. One of my feet hung up on one of the bags I’d shoved […]
by Himawari (ヒマワリ) illustrated by A.Sammich (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/300025.html) It was the beard. It usually is. I saw him at the pool, at the end of a very long conference day, the kind of day so long you don’t end up wanting anything but to get some lousy vending machine snacks and to watch something junky […]
by Himawari (ヒマワリ) illustrated by EMINA (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/296692.html) Cameron Darling figured it was high time he went out for a drink. Sixteen months and three days without Sophia, now, Cameron thought as he got into a tram car toward colony center. Sixteen months, three days, and two hours, if he was specific, and yes, he […]
Dawn over Bagram Airfield was a dull gray. A high ceiling of clouds softened the morning. Dust, that thick Afghan dust that rose from every road and covered every building, tree, and plane, was rising from the paved roads and the dirt paths between buildings. It blurred the outlines of the Hindu Kush rising up in the distance beyond the base and the town, snow-covered and angular against the growing light. Chaplain Aaron Kiko trudged from his quarters up Disney Drive toward the chapel, his booted feet stirring up more dust as he went. The chapel was his, and these were his airmen, at least for the moment.
Kiko was greeted by airmen and contractors and a few soldiers alike. Some were going for morning runs in their physical training uniforms and garish visibility belts while the road was closed off, while others hustled to or from their work shifts. Many were going to dining facilities for breakfast, or to the post exchange for toothpaste or protein powder or magazines. The steady stream of “Good morning, Chaplain,” “Hey, Chaplain,” “How’s it going, Chaplain?” broke up the trip. A few saluted, but only a few, which was just fine with him. The base hummed with activity from vehicles and the roar of planes coming and going, even at this hour. That hum never stopped.
There were still times when Kiko loved the hum and roar of the airfield, even though the din grated on everyone’s nerves most of the time. The noise was constant, with flying machines coming and going at all hours, construction all day, and motor vehicles passing constantly. The aircraft arriving and departing from the flightline were still beautiful as they banked in the air over and in front of the mountains. Sometimes it was the loud whoosh of a F-15 Strike Eagle trailing well behind the tiny outline of the craft streaking into the clouds, or the incredibly loud whine of C-5 Galaxy engines as the enormous cargo birds lumbered on and off of the airfield like mechanized bumblebees, appearing too slow and heavy to stay in the sky. Every day it was the roar of turboprops on HC-130 Combat King airborne refueling units as they took off, and the growl and thump of HH-60 Pave Hawks as they beat the air overhead. Many airmen became so immune to the flying machines around them that they no longer looked up for anything less than the mortar alarms, but Kiko still stopped to watch or listen when he could.
There wasn’t much time to stop and watch on a base of thirty-five thousand personnel. Days like this Sunday were particularly exhausting: he’d been up until almost midnight, between sitting with various soldiers after his evening meal and planning a memorial service for the next afternoon, and had fallen into bed, for once too tired to lie awake thinking about the grieving soldiers he had counseled that day. Still, he appreciated the routine of being on base. Kiko’s first tour as a war zone chaplain had been as a modern-day circuit preacher of sorts. He’d made the rounds to forward operating bases throughout the south of the country, holding services and counseling soldiers and airmen in all sorts of conditions, through all sorts of troubles, leading worship amidst rocket fire and reading meditations by the red light of his headlamp.
Security monitor log:
10183658 local time
Sun-Mars L5 Emergency Notification activated.
begin station sensor scan: …
…sensor scan complete:
searching for relevant camera footage….
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single human in possession of the best interplanetary business degree ze could get in this solar system must be in want of a startup venture.
Dynin Nkosi’s landing at Sun-Mars L5 station did not go unnoticed by the locals, especially since he was the only upside passenger today, on a ship full of mail, hydroponic clay, and grain from Mars. Many things are public on a space station of forty thousand people where each new occupant needs to be balanced by a departing occupant, so when the staffer at the station welcome desk greeted him by name, Dynin wasn’t surprised.
“Good afternoon! You must be Mr. Nkosi, here to see Acton Darling.” She smiled and floated by her stand to help him hook his carry-all to the restraining clasp on his side of the desk, then handed him a clipboard as he carefully hooked his feet into the floor anchors at the desk. “Are you all right with the weightlessness? We can expedite the process if we need to get you into a gravitic environment quickly, and do the safety briefing there.”
Dynin smiled. “Nope, turns out I’m all right, but thank you for asking. And yes, that’s who I am. Where do we start?”
The clerk, who introduced herself as Stephanie Ma, shared the full set of safety procedures with his tablet and sign a release stating he’d received them. She walked him through a full demonstration of his emergency respirator pack and shiny plastic emergency pod. “We’ve never had a rotation failure or decompression accident in the twenty years the ring habitat has been operational, and you’ll remember that space stations are one of the safest places to live,” she explained. “But a lot of people feel better having practiced for this in a weightless environment just in case they ever need it. In space, you wanna be prepared.”
“Sounds good to me,” Dynin said, hiding a yawn.