#Rappelling Techniques

[2t2r]

Une araignée chasse de façon géniale [vidéo]

Nouvel article publié sur https://www.2tout2rien.fr/une-araignee-chasse-de-facon-geniale-video/

Une araignée chasse de façon géniale [vidéo]

[old-powwow-days]

The first major solo museum presentation of fourth-generation Navajo weaver Melissa Cody (b. 1983, No Water Mesa, Arizona) spans the last decade of her practice, showcasing over 30 weavings and a major new work produced for the exhibition. Using long-established weaving techniques and incorporating new digital technologies, Cody assembles and reimagines popular patterns into sophisticated geometric overlays, incorporating atypical dyes and fibers. Her tapestries carry forward the methods of Navajo Germantown weaving, which developed out of the wool and blankets that were made in Germantown, Pennsylvania and supplied by the US government to the Navajo people during the forced expulsion from their territories in the mid-1800s. During this period, the rationed blankets were taken apart and the yarn was used to make new textiles, a practice of reclamation which became the source of the movement. While acknowledging this history and working on a traditional Navajo loom, Cody’s masterful works exercise experimental palettes and patterns that animate through reinvention, reframing traditions as cycles of evolution. Melissa Cody is a Navajo/Diné textile artist and enrolled member of the Navajo/Diné nation. Cody grew up on a Navajo Reservation in Leupp, Arizona and received a Bachelor’s degree in Studio Arts and Museum Studies from Institute of American Indian Arts, Santa Fe. Her work has been featured in The Barnes Foundation, Philadelphia (2022); Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, Bentonville, AR (2021); National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa (2019–2020); Museum of Northern Arizona, Flagstaff (2019); SITE Santa Fe (2018–19); Ingham Chapman Gallery, University of New Mexico, Albuquerque (2018); Navajo Nation Museum, Window Rock (2018); and the Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, Institute of American Indian Arts, Santa Fe (2017–18). Cody’s works are in the collections of the Stark Museum of Art, Orange, Texas; the Minneapolis Institute of Arts; and The Autry National Center, Los Angeles. In 2020, she earned the Brandford/Elliott Award for Excellence in Fiber Art.

Melissa Cody: Webbed Skies currently on exhibition at MoMA PS1 through September 9nth, 2024

IDs Under the cut

Top to Bottom, Left to Right: White Out. 2012. 3-ply aniline dyed wool. 17 × 24″ (43.2 × 61 cm)

Deep Brain Stimulation. 2011. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 40 x 30 3/4 in. (101.6 x 78.1 cm)

World Traveler. 2014. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 90 x 48 7/8 in. (228.6 x 124.1 cm)

Into the Depths, She Rappels. 2023. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 87 x 51 9/16 in. (221 x 131 cm)

Lightning Storm. 2012. 3-ply aniline dyed wool. 14 × 20″ (35.6 × 50.8 cm)

Pocketful of Rainbows. 2019. Wool warp, weft, selvedge cords, and aniline dyes. 19 x 10 3/4 in. (48.3 x 27.3 cm)

Path of the Snake. 2013. 3-ply aniline dyed wool. 36 × 24″ (91.4 × 61 cm)

[wheresmypencil]

Hi there!

Well, I've been a bit away from the social media lately, and for good reason, I've got a lot of not-so-happy stuff going on in my life right now. Still, I wanted to do a little visual recap of this year, to remind myself that despite these chaotic last few months, it was still a great year artistically speaking. I've had the opportunity to draw lots of things I like, to develop my style even further, to have fun testing out lots of new techniques, and the chance to see more and more of you supporting my work. Because when times are tough, your encouragement and kind words are my beacon in the night, and remind me that I'm lucky enough to have realized my childhood dream of making a living from my art, and that means so much to me. So, as always, a big thank you!💖

Coucou vous !

Bon, j’ai été un peu absente des réseaux ces derniers temps, et pour cause, il se passe pleins de trucs pas très joyeux dans ma vie en ce moment. Je tenais quand même à faire un petit recap visuel de cette année, pour me rappeler que malgré ces derniers mois chaotiques, c’était quand même une chouette année artistiquement parlant. J’ai eu l’occasion de dessiner plein de choses que j’aime, de développer encore plus mon style, de m’amuser en testant plein de nouvelles techniques, et la chance de vous voir de plus en plus nombreux à soutenir mon travail. Parce que quand les temps sont durs, vos encouragement et vos petits mots doux sont mon phare dans la nuit, et me rappellent que j’ai la chance d’avoir réalisé mon rêve d’enfant, celui de vivre de mon art, et ça c’est pas rien. Alors comme toujours, un grand merci.💖

[snowfea]

Pour mes camarades francophones qui s'intéressent aux enjeux liés à l'urbanisme, à la biodiversité ou simplement aux champignons, j'arrive avec une recommandation d'un ouvrage que je viens à peine de commencer : l'Atlas français des champignons du sol.

Il rassemble des cartes nationales sur divers sujets, de la distribution des communautés de champignons des sols aux taxons de champignons identifiés dans les sols en passant par les grands habitats des champignons des sols.

Le sujet peut effrayer, mais les auteurs précisent que "l'ouvrage est destiné aux chercheurs, étudiants, agriculteurs, tout usager des sols, décideurs, industriels, parties prenantes, politiques, bureaux d'études et lecteurs du grand public". Cette volonté de s'adresser à toutes les catégories de lecteurs se retrouve dans le sommaire : le premier chapitre, pour citer à nouveau l'Atlas, "rappelle et vulgarise les grandes généralités scientifiques et techniques nécessaires à la bonne compréhension des parties suivantes de l'ouvrage". La lecture en est en effet aisée - et c'est dit par quelqu'un dont le cerveau s'éteint immédiatement lorsqu'il commence à lire un truc un peu scientifique par peur de ne pas réussir à comprendre.

Il coûte 35€, ce qui peut être une somme - peut-être qu'une bibliothèque locale accepterait une suggestion d'ouvrage -, et vient compléter un autre atlas sorti lui en 2018 si ma mémoire est bonne, l'Atlas français des bactéries du sol.

[kilfeur]

Un chapitre très intéressant sur comment la guerre a laissé des traces que ce soit envers les vétérans ou ceux qui ont attendu que leurs maris ou leurs pères reviennent et peu d'entre eux sont revenus. Millie a perdu son père et a du mal à rester travailler dans cette charité. Alors qu'elle est culpabilisé par les gens de la haute société pour dire qu'elle met sa souffrance en avant négligeant celle des autres. J'ai bien aimé l'intervention de Yor car elle est aussi victime de la guerre mais a décidé de devenir plus forte pour son frère car personne d'autre pouvait veiller sur elle et Yuri. Et j'aime bien le fait qu'on voit Melinda de manière plus positive, dans le sens oui elle a ses responsabilités en tant qu'épouse de Donovan mais elle a aussi sa famille. Ce qui la rend un peu plus nuancée après j'espère qu'on aura des moments entre elle et ses fils, je pense que c'est important pour elle mais aussi pour eux. D'ailleurs techniquement Loid est un vétéran lui aussi, je me demande si il va y aller ou pas car ça risque de lui rappeler de mauvais souvenirs.

A very interesting chapter on how the war left its mark, whether on veterans or those who waited for their husbands or fathers to return, and not many did. Millie has lost her father and finds it hard to stay working in this charity. At the same time, she is blamed by the upper classes for putting her own suffering first and neglecting that of others. I liked Yor's intervention because she too is a victim of war, but she decided to become stronger for her brother because no one else could look after her and Yuri. And I like the fact that we see Melinda in a more positive light, in the sense that yes, she has her responsibilities as Donovan's wife, but she also has her family. Which makes her a little more nuanced, and I hope we'll get some moments between her and her sons, because I think it's important for her, but also for them. Besides, technically Loid is a veteran too, so I wonder whether he'll go or not, as it might bring back some bad memories.

[konohagakurekakashi]

Favorite ninja weapon

It depends on the situation, really.

Different weapons work best in different circumstances, so I like to be well versed in the use of most of them, since you never know when you might need to pick up a certain weapon or skill as a shinobi.

A bow and arrows : It's quiet and its projectiles can be used over and over again - if you're not against plucking it out of your dead target and cleaning it up a bit. It's also good for catching a meal when you're out on a long term mission and your rations are starting to dwindle.

Kusarigama : There are three types of this weapon and all of them can be used to entangle an opponent's spear, sword, or other weapon. It can also be used to immobilize arms or legs. Having an opponent immobilized makes it easier to cast a close range Ninjutsu like Chidori or to strike the opponent down with the sickle end of the weapon. Also it looks cool.

Ninja Wire / Chains : Probably some of the most versatile items on the list. Wire string is light, lengthy and durable, with a variety of useful functions. It can be applied to traps, used to bind an opponent or to restrict their movements. It can cut through flesh and bone when tightened. And like chains you can use it to manipulate weapons and channel chakra; not to mention rappelling. Did I mention makeshift laundry line! Since you can use it to hang your flackjacket on to dry after an unexpected downpour.

Tantō : A short sword used for piercing and stabbing. Easy to carry and conceal. The Hatake clan tantō could also absord, channel and release chakra with a practices swipe.

Ninjatō : Sword shorter than a katana, but used in the same way. The shorter lenght allows for fast draw techniques centered around drawing the sword and cutting at the same time to create a simultaneous defensive, parying and attacking action. Used by many Anbu agents.

Shiruken : Long ranged weapon, mainly used to mislead or distract your opponent from your actual attack. This is one of the first, fundamental lessons taught at the academy.

Kunai : The most basic shinobi weapon, but also one of the most useful (and very likely the favourite). Can be used as a foothold or hold in rock / wall climbing. Can be used in hand-to-hand combat to block and deflect attacks and also to stab and slice through enemies, their attacks, or any barriers. It can serve as a projectile and is sturdy enough to be used in conjunction with other tools and shinobi arts, like Fūinjutsu, to expand on its function. A prime example being an explosive tag, which is just a kunai with an explosive seal tagged at its hilt.

Scrolls : Not typically something you would add to a list of weapons, but can be weaponized easily through sealing techniques and a little bit of chakra infused ink or blood.

So, did I answer the question? No? What a shame. Lesson over, I must be going now. I have plants to water.

[aurevoirmonty]

Les [civilisations modernes] donnent le vertige par leur fièvre de mouvement et de conquête de l'espace, génératrice d'un arsenal inépuisable de moyens mécaniques capables de réduire toutes les distances, de raccourcir tout intervalle, de contenir dans une sensation d'ubiquité tout ce qui est épars dans la multitude des lieux. Orgasme d'un désir de possession ; angoisse obscure devant tout ce qui est détaché, isolé, profond ou lointain ; impulsion à l'expansion, à la circulation, à l'association, désir de se retrouver en tous lieux - mais jamais en soi-même. La science et la technique, favorisées par cette impulsion existentielle irrationnelle, la renforcent à leur tour, la nourrissent, l'exaspèrent : échanges, communications, vitesses par delà le mur du son, radio, télévision, standardisation, cosmopolitisme, internationalisme, production illimitée, esprit américain, esprit « moderne ». Rapidement le réseau s'étend, se renforce, se perfectionne. L'espace terrestre n'offre pratiquement plus de mystères. Les voies du sol, de l'eau, de l'éther sont ouvertes. Le regard humain a sondé les cieux les plus éloignés, l'infiniment grand et l'infiniment petit. On ne parle déjà plus d'autres terres, mais d'autres planètes. Sur notre ordre, l'action se produit, foudroyante, où nous voulons. Tumulte confus de mille voix qui se fondent peu à peu dans un rythme uniforme, atonal, impersonnel. Ce sont les derniers effets de ce qu'on a appelé la vocation « faustienne » de l'Occident, laquelle n'échappe pas au mythe révolutionnaire sous ses différents aspects, y compris l'aspect technocratique formulé dans le cadre d'un messianisme dégradé. A l'inverse, les civilisations traditionnelles donnent le vertige par leur stabilité, leur identité, leur fermeté intangible et immuable au milieu du courant du temps et de l'histoire : si bien qu'elles furent capables d'exprimer jusqu'en des formes sensibles et tangibles comme un symbole de l'éternité. Elles furent des files, des éclairs dans le temps ; en elles agirent des forces qui consumaient le temps et l'histoire. De par ce caractère qui leur est propre, il est inexact de dire qu'elles « furent » - on devrait dire, plus justement et plus simplement, qu'elles sont. Si elles semblent reculer et s'évanouir dans les lointains d'un passé qui a même parfois des traits mythiques, cela n'est que l'effet du mirage auquel succombe nécessairement celui qui est transporté par un courant irrésistible l'éloigne toujours plus des lieux de la stabilité spirituelle. Du reste, cette image correspond exactement à l'image de la « double perspective » donnée par un vieil enseignement traditionnel : les « terres immobiles » fuient et se meuvent pour celui qui est entraîné par les eaux, les eaux remuent et fuient pour celui qui est fermement ancré dans les « terres immobiles ». Il faut enfin rappeler quelle fut, dans les civilisations traditionnelles, la conception du temps : non pas une conception linéaire, irréversible, mais une conception cyclique, à périodes. D'un ensemble de coutumes, de rites et d'institutions propres soit aux civilisations supérieures, soit aux traces de celles-ci chez certains peuples dits « primitifs », apparaît l'intention constante de ramener le temps aux origines (d'où le cycle), dans le sens d'une destruction de ce qui, en lui, est simple devenir, de le freiner, de lui faire exprimer ou refléter des structures supra-historiques, sacrées ou métaphysiques, souvent liées au mythe. De la sorte, et non comme « histoire », le temps - tel une « image mobile de l'éternité » - acquit valeur et sens. Retourner aux origines voulait dire se rénover, boire à la source de l'éternelle jeunesse, confirmer la stabilité spirituelle, contre la temporalité. Les grands cycles de la nature suggéraient cette attitude. La « conscience historique » , inséparable de la situation des civilisations « modernes », ne scelle que la fracture, la chute de l'homme dans la temporalité. Mais elle est présentée comme une conquête de l'homme actuel, c'est-à-dire de l'homme crépusculaire.

Julius Evola, L'Arc et la Massue

[cestdanslatete]

bof : j'ai découvert des punaises de lit chez moi. vraiment un moove pas top. je ne recommande pas.

bof : tous les jours, je pense au fait que mon mec a (une fois encore) tordu ma confiance dans tous les sens. je ne suis pas encore prête à retirer mes oeillères.

bien : je me suis ré-enfoncée dans "panic station" de muse. c'est un son qui m'agite comme plein de bulles qui éclatent. une mélodie qui donne envie de se remuer avec le son à fond, une basse qui me fait rêver à plein de scénarios qui donnent chaud.

un peu bof : j'ai tenté une technique d'approche qui n'a pas marché, mais "panic station" me rappelle au moins nos nuits de travail passées ensemble. des fous rires insensés, des coups de fils dignes de gamins qui s'ennuient, des escapades sur les toits ou dans les sous-sols, des visites de bureaux à la recherche de conneries à réaliser (la chaussure dans le micro-ondes, peut-être la chose qui m'aura le plus fait marrer), les zappings à regarder sur les sièges 3x8… On aura bien rigolé.

[d-awn-of-hope]

Dawn of Hope

Montagnes rocheuses, Colorado, USA. L’Université de Delmont vient d’annoncer l’ouverture à la rentrée prochaine d’une formation internationale pour les ExtraOrdinaires (EO, ou Exordes) de faible potentiel, provoquant une véritable onde de choc dans la population.

En effet, beaucoup craignent l’affluence d’autant d’EO dans un endroit et la menace que pourrait représenter un groupe ainsi constitué. Si la révélation au monde de personnes avec des pouvoirs date des années 60, seules les plus dangereuses étaient vraiment encadrées par l’Etat. Accompagner les Exordes de seconde zone dans la maîtrise de leur pouvoir revient pour de nombreux civils à amorcer une menace plus importante pour les prochaines années.

La direction de l’Université se veut rassurante, en rappelant que la formation n’est jamais un tort et que les ExtraOrdinaires ont besoin d’encadrement et d’outils pour s’intégrer au mieux dans la société et être moteurs pour les enjeux de demain.

Note d’intention

Forum avatars réels se déroulant à Delmont (fictif), Colorado, USA.

A contrepied des super-héros accomplis et badass, propose d’explorer l’évolution des pouvoirs et les pouvoirs de seconde zone moins conventionnels. Manipuler le feu ou la glace sans pouvoir former des tourbillons incendiaires ou geler une ville entière, c'est cool. Faire de la fumée, changer sa peau en papier ou parler aux animaux, c’est cool aussi.

Se détache des univers établis de super-héros.

Possibilité de jouer des ExtraOrdinaires en formation, des enseignants, des étudiants civils, des civils, des membres du FBI détachés pour assurer la sécurité ou toute autre personne qui a un motif pour vivre dans un bled comme Delmont.

Forum évolutif. Le système exact est encore à définir, mais présence de missions et d’enquêtes (avec possibilités d’être gravement blessé ou tué signalé avant inscription à ces dernières), PNJ du Staff capable d’intervenir dans certains RP, évolution du forum en fonction des RPs en plus des intrigues, etc.

Système facultatif de secrets. Le Staff s’engage à vous aider à les exploiter.

Volonté de limiter les annexes et les systèmes de jeu complexes.

De nombreux mystères à lever au fil des intrigues. Les apparences sont parfois trompeuses, et beaucoup se joue en dessous de la surface.

Inspiration Hero Corp (série française, pour l’aspect pouvoirs de seconde zone, dégénérescence et progression des pouvoirs), Community College Hero (nouvelle interactive en anglais, pour le cadre universitaire et les pouvoirs de seconde zone), Masks (jeu de rôle, pour l’importance des pouvoirs dans la construction / redécouverte de soi)

Informations diverses

Deux cursus sont ouverts pour les ExtraOrdinaires en cette première année : un cursus « Défense », visant à former les pouvoirs les plus pertinents ou les plus hauts potentiels de la promotion au combat et au renseignement, et un cursus « Société », visant à permettre aux Exordes de s’intégrer au mieux au monde civil. Ces cursus seront présentés dans une annexe.

Une annexe est en cours de finalisation pour présenter les pouvoirs. Notre but n'est pas de proposer une liste exhaustive de pouvoirs ou de mettre en place un système JdR avec des compétences, des “sorts” ou “techniques” établis, etc. Nous misons au contraire sur la fluidité RP, la créativité et le fairplay.

Certains points sont encore à définir dans la conception du forum : mise en place ou non d'un système de jeu pour soutenir les objectifs d'interactivité, mise en place des fiches, etc. Les deux annexes qui demandent le plus de travail sont en cours (dont celle traitant des pouvoirs presque finalisée).

Le graphisme du forum est encore à réaliser, et le code à finaliser.

Tous les retours sont les bienvenus et toutes les questions sont bonnes (on a même carrément besoin de ça pour faire un forum cohérent et qui vous plaise autant qu'à nous). N’hésitez pas à vous manifester si ce projet attire votre attention !

[claudehenrion]

La peste certaine, plutôt qu'un hypothétique choléra...

Il faut vraiment se donner beaucoup de mal pour arriver à trouver, dans l'Histoire de France –pourtant riche en cycles inintelligibles et en péripéties inexplicables-- un homme d'état qui se soit donné autant de mal que Emmanuel Macron pour déchirer un peuple déjà prompt à se quereller, et pour pourrir une situation déjà pas mal écornée, la transformant en écartèlement ''à quatre chevaux'' –ce supplice réservé, il y a bien longtemps, aux seuls régicides, mais apparemment devenu ''abordable par tous » », dans ce qui reste comme bribes de souvenirs de feu notre beau pays.

Force est de reconnaître que l'idée saugrenue d'une dissolution ne peut trouver de justification que dans la puérilité de sale gosse trop gâté de notre président qui a préféré casser son joujou plutôt que d'accepter qu'il ne se plie pas à tous ses caprices. Le résultat ne s'est pas fait attendre : un envol spontané de la Nation vers les cieux auxquels le pouvoir interdisait d'aller. La catastrophe lui semblant encore pire que le trouble qui lui avait donné naissance, le pouvoir a mobilisé toutes ses forces --et les techniques de la propaganda, du viol des foules et du mensonge d'état réunies-- pour transformer un processus jusque là relativement démocratique (dans les limites étroites que notre ''démocratie conditionnelle'' nous laisse) en une manipulation impudique à en être mortifère

Le résultat de ce gigantesque tripatouillage est à la hauteur des moyens mis en œuvre par un président aux abois (dont la France exaspérée aurait vraiment préféré qu'il soit... aux abonnés absents) : une catastrophe sans limites potentielles, qui risque fort de mener le pays à sa ''fin finale'', et qui, quel que soit le sens dans lequel on la retourne et le côté sous lequel on la regarde, ne peut avoir que des conséquences et des suites épouvantables. Pour en arriver à ce point-le-plus-bas, il a fallu ressortir d'immenses mensonges dans le genre de ceux qui avaient été utilisés à grande échelle lors de la farce sinistre du covid : ceux qui nous conduisent à notre perte ont découvert que plus ils mentent gros et fort, et plus ''ça passe''... et nous n'avons pas fini de payer les conséquences de cette sinistre découverte (NDLR - petit rappel, pas inutile : ''sinistre'', étymologiquement, n'a qu'un seul sens : à gauche ! Nous y sommes, en plein !).

Je ne vous cacherai pas que hier, au moment des résultats de cet étalage de mauvaise foi, de rapprochements contre nature, d'insultes à l'intelligence, de déformation du réel et de l'abolition de toute morale, j'ai eu le sentiment d'être ''KO – debout'' : pour la première fois depuis 2013, je me suis assis devant mon clavier, pour venir vers vous, à notre habitude... mais j'ai été dans l'incapacité absolue d'écrire un seul mot. La seule pensée qui occupait tout le petit espace de mon cerveau encore plus limité que d'habitude était : ''Je refuse de participer à la mise à mort de la France que j'ai tant aimée : j'arrête ce Blog''. Dites-moi ce que vous en pensez...

Pour aujourd'hui, je n'ai pas de commentaires à faire autres que ''C'est vraiment trop con''... et ''Comment une telle folie a-t-elle pu être possible ?''... Le plus vraisemblable est que le ''programme'' (le vrai mot est : ''le délire'') du soi-disant front soi-disant populaire --qui n'est qu'une més-union contre-nature des pires forces mauvaises de l'ultra-gauche et de l'islamo-gauchisme'', promues ''système de référence'' (NB : chacun est libre de son choix, bien entendu... mais est libre, aussi, de dire que ce choix-là est de très loin le plus destructeur qui ait jamais été conçu !)-- va se traduire, au début, par des éructations, des anathèmes, des mesures perverses et la présence envahissante sur nos petits écrans des trognes haineuses d'irresponsables promus ministres... mais peu ou pas des mesures suicidaires promises. En tout cas, pas tout de suite : merci De Gaulle, merci la V ème république ! Et même, à la limite et au prix de quelques nouvelles compromissions aussi puantes que celles qui viennent de nous donner cette ''Chambre honteuse'', Macron pourrait encore sortir vainqueur de cette partie de à qui perd, perd. Ce serait un comble !

Ce qui reste de bon en Europe, les marchés, le bon sens des électeurs –qui ne peuvent pas ne pas se réveiller très vite devant les conséquences de ce qu'on les a forcés (d'une certaine manière) à faire !)-- et les juges contre lesquels nous avons tant râlé, parfois, devraient nous protéger des idées autodestructrices des fous-furieux a qui nous avons bien imprudemment confié un pouvoir dont ils ne savent et ne peuvent que mal se servir, pour notre plus grand malheur...

Là où toute cette péripétie honteuse devient une menace, c'est que l'ultra-gauche maintenant au pouvoir réel –car elle contrôle la presse et donc la désinformation-- n'a qu'une seule idée fixe : changer définitivement la composition sociologique du corps électoral, de façon à ce que tout retour en arrière sur sa main-mise sur le pouvoir devienne très vite impossible... Nous sommes déjà bien lancés sur ce terrain de malheur !

Nous allons hélas avoir bien des occasions de revenir sur ces sujets, sur ces malheurs, sur les horreurs qui nous attendent. Pour aujourd'hui, je suis encore trop ''sous le choc'' pour pouvoir proposer autre chose que ma tristesse, mâtinée de honte, que ma crainte des lendemains, et que mon incompréhension devant le caractère ''Gribouille'' de mes compatriotes, décidément très enclins à lâcher la proie pour l'ombre... Pourquoi les français font-ils le bon choix dans les sondages et dans les ''premiers tours'' et TOUJOURS le mauvais, devant l'obstacle ? Car là, ils ont vraiment choisi ce qu'il y avait de pire...

H-Cl.

[repcommquotes]

Star Wars Insider N 87 - Odds

Republic Commando Odds By Karen Traviss;

Note: This story takes place 65 to 67 days after the events of the novel Star Wars Republic Commando: Triple Zero.

Everyone knows that Intel's about as reliable as a Weequay quay ball. But that doesn't mean it doesn't have its uses. Sometimes it's the lies and myths that tell you everything you need to know.

place and time: separatist droid factory. olanet. siskeen system -460 standard days after the battle of geonosis.

Atin liked a big, satisfying explosion as much as the next man. But there were better ways of putting droids out of action than turning them into shrapnel. He just didn't agree with the technical details this time.

"Ordo told me you were argumentative," said Prudii.

Atin bristled. But coming from Ordo, it might have been a compliment. "I just want to get it right."

Atin edged along the gantry above the foundry floor, feeling along the rust-crusted metal railing for a sound section that would take the weight of a rappelling line with a fully-kitted Republic commando on the end. The only illumination was the red-hot glow from the durasteel sheets feeding into the rollers; droids didn't need light to see. The night-vision filter in his visor had kicked in the moment he and Prudii entered the factory.

It was a high-value target. The factory was said to be one of the largest outside Geonosis. Again, intel seemed to have lost something in the translation.

Atin found what felt like a solid section of railing and checked the metal's integrity with his gauntlet sensor. Flakes of corroded metal fell to the gantry floor, and he brushed them carefully into a gap to hide signs of entry.

"Five per cent extra carvanium does the job." Prudii - Null ARC trooper N-5 - pulled out his belt toolkit. "Trust me. I've done a lot of these."

"I know."

"And? Did it work? It worked."

"Okay, I'm not a metallurgist."

Prudii peered over the rail as he checked his rappelling line. "Neither am i, but I knew a man who was."

Atin didn't ask about his use of the past tense. He was both an assassin and a saboteur, and at the top of his game in both fields. Until Atin got to know him as well he knew his Null brothers, Ordo and Mereel, he would err on the side of caution. Nulls were as mad as a box of Hapan chags. There were only six of them in the army, but it felt like a lot more.

Omega Squad was back at barracks again for a few days. Atin missed the rest of his team, but he'd volunteered for this mission to learn a technique. And learn he would.

I can do this. Argumentative? I just like things to be right.

Prudii dropped down the line, his kama spreading in the air as he descended in complete silence - no mean feat for an 85-kilo man in full armour. Atin took a breath and paused before dropping down after him. If a droid detected them, the mission was over. They'd have to blow the factory - again. And then the Seps would switch production elsewhere - again. If they just churned out millions of substandard tinnies, crippled at the molecular level by a little tweak in the automation, it would save a lot of hunting.

"Nothing personal," Atin muttered, wondering what went on in their self-aware metal heads. "It's you or me, vode."

"What?" Prudii's voice filled Atin's helmet.

"Just trying not to be... organicist."

"Don't give me all that droids-have-rights osik."

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Atin.

He landed next to the Null lieutenant, and they skirted the assembly line. On the factory floor, 20 metres below ground level, the rhythm of fully automated production continued uninterrupted. Only worker-droids were around during the night shift. Durasteel sheets rumbled between the rollers, were caught by giant claws, and moved to the next assembly line for cutting. At the end of the conveyor belt, a clamshell press shaped the torso cases of battle droids around a form before dragging them through cooling vats with a hiss of steam. The whole place smelled of soot and burning.

A maintenance droid -just a box on wheels with a dozen multifunctional arms - trundled past Atin and Prudii, as blind to the electromagnetic profile of their armour as all his kind were. Atin still held his breath as it passed. But no sound escaped from his sealed helmet. He could yell his head off at Prudii and nobody else would hear a thing. The deafening noise of the assembly line would have drowned out all sound anyway.

"There it is." Prudii pointed to what looked like a run of oversize lockers on a far wall. Their hinges were as corroded as the gantry. "I hate rust. Don't they do any housework around here?"

Atin eased the cover open carefully. No, the Seps didn't inspect the automated settings very often, as long as the stateboard reported that everything was running okay. Inside, racks of data wafers fed template information to the different production lines, dictating wire gauges, alloy proportions, component ratings and the thousands of other parameters that went go into making a battle droid. Atin and Prudii had just opened up the brain of the entire factory. It was time for a little surgery.

"How many times have you done this?" asked Atin.

Prudii sucked his teeth audibly and rocked his head, counting. "Lots," he said at last.

"And they haven't noticed yet?"

"No. I'd say not." Prudii clipped bypass wires to the bays above and below the slot to isolate it. "Just so I don't trigger the safety cut-out." He inspected a substitute data wafer - apparently identical in every way to the Separatist ones - and inserted it into the slot. "This'll make sure the foundry adds too much carvanium to the durasteel, and that the quality control sampling reads it as normal levels. See?" He pointed to the readout on the panel. A cluster of figures read 0003. "Machines believe what you tell 'em. Just like people."

"You sure that's enough?"

"Any higher and it'll be too brittle to pass through the rollers. Then they'll spot the problem too soon."

"Okay..."

Prudii took a breath. He was remarkably patient for a Null. "Look, when these chakaare reach the battlefield, the overpressure from a basic ion shell will crack their cases like Naboo crystal." He removed the bypass clips and attached them to bays flanking a vertical slot further up the panel. More spiked wafers replaced genuine chips. "And just in case they get lucky and spot that little quality-control problem, this one will reduce the wire gauge just enough so that when it takes a heavy current, it'll short. I like to introduce a different batch of problems for each factory, in case they spot a pattern. How much more of this do I have to debate with you?"

"Just checking, sir."

"Drop the 'sir.' I hate it."

It was a precise calculation: just enough to render entire production runs of droids so vulnerable on the battlefield that they were almost useless, but not enough to flag the problem when the units were checked before being shipped from the factory - checked by service droids using the same falsified data.

Prudii had to be doing something right. The kill ratio had climbed from 20-to-one to 50-to-one in a matter of a few months. The tinnies still hadn't overrun the Republic, despite the claims that they could. While Prudii worked, factory droids skimmed past him, oblivious. He stepped out of 'ù their way and let them pass.

"Is it true you've tracked down General Grievous?" asked Atin. '"Cos I know that two of you were tasked to hunt him..."

"Not me. Ask Jaing. Or Kom'rk. Their job, not mine."

Atin hadn't met them yet. "If they've found him, the war's as good as over."

"You reckon? Well, it doesn't look like it's over yet."

Atin took the hint and didn't ask about Grievous again. He kept watch, DC-17 rifle ready, anxious not to use it for once. It was odd to be invisible. He wondered why the Grand Army didn't use stealth coating on all trooper armour, seeing as most of their land engagements were against droids.

There was a lot that didn't add up in this war.

"There," said Prudii, closing the panel gently. He stood back to inspect it. "We were never here."

They climbed back up to the gantry on their lines and slipped out the way they'd come. It was pitch black outside. They had an hour to get to the extraction point and transmit their coordinates to the heavily , disguised freighter waiting for them. On Olanet, that meant crossing '. kilometres of marshaling yards serving the nerf-meat industry. Atin ;' % could hear the animals lowing, but he'd still never seen a live nerf.

"This place stinks." Prudii settled behind a repulsor truck in a yard full of hundreds of others and squatted in its shadow. The harmless but nauseating stench of manure and animals penetrated his helmet's filters. "Five-seven, are you receiving?"

"With you in 10, sir. Stand by."

Prudii made no comment about the 'sir.' He took the data wafers out of his belt and attached a probe to them, one at a time. He struck Atin as a kindred spirit, a man who wouldn't let any inanimate objects get the better of him, but he was still hard work.

"Shab," Prudii muttered. He held but a wafer. "What do you make of this?"

Atin slotted it into his own wafer reader and relayed the extracted data to his HUD. The readout was just strings of numbers, the kind of data he'd need to analyze carefully. "What am I looking at? I normally blow this stuff up. I've never stopped to read it."

"Look for the code that starts zero-zero-five-alpha, 10 from the top row."

"Got it."

"That's the running total of units off the line since the wafer was inserted to start the production run. And the date."

Atin scanned from left to right, counting the line of numbers and inserting imaginary commas. "996,125. In a year."

"Correct."

"Not exactly smoking." Atin checked that he wasn't missing a row of numbers. "No, just six figures."

"Every factory we hit is producing numbers like that. Judging by the raw material freight we monitor, there're still a lot more factories out there, but I think we're talking about a few hundred million droids."

"That's reassuring. Thanks. I'll sleep well tonight."

"And so you should, ner vod." Prudii popped the seal on his collar, lifted off his helmet and wiped the palm of his gauntlet across his forehead; it came away shiny with sweat in the faint light leaking from the HUD. Somehow he looked older than Mereel and Ordo. "They say they're making quadrillions of droids." He paused. "A quadrillion has 15 zeroes. A thousand million millions, not a few hundred. Are we missing something here?"

Atin took no offence at the explanation. Anything more than three million was bad news in his book; that was how many clone troops were deployed or being raised on Kamino. "'They' say? Who're 'they'?"

"Now that's a good question."

"Anyway, it only takes one to kill you."

"But where are they all? I've bimbled around 47 planets this last year." Prudii made it sound like sightseeing. Atin had a sudden vision of him admiring the visitor attractions of Sep planets and then fragmenting them. The grip of the Verpine rifle slung across his back was well-worn. Atin had no real idea who Prudii hunted, and he was happier that way. "Seen a lot, counted a lot. But not quadrillions. They just don't seem to be able to produce anywhere near those numbers."

"But that's why we're fighting, isn't it?" Atin tried not to worry about the HoloNet news and took the political debate as something that didn't matter, because one droid or a septillion, he and his brothers were the ones who would still be in the front line. "Because the Seps are going to overrun us with droid armies if we don't stop them. So why not just reassure the public that the threat isn't that big?"

Prudii looked at him for a moment. Atin got the feeling that he felt sorry for him in some way, and he wasn't sure why. "Because it's only the likes of us that are finding this out every time we crack a Sep facility."

"You report it?"

"Of course I report it. Every time. To General Zey. Mace Windu knows. They all know."

"So why is the holonews news saying quadrillions? Where did the figure come from?"

"I heard it first from Republic Intelligence."

"Well, then..." Intel was notoriously variable in quality. "They make it up as they go along."

"Even they're not that stupid."

Prudii replaced his helmet and held his hand out to Atin for the wafer. He didn't say much after that.

Millions or quadrillions. So what? Atin, a man who enjoyed numbers, looked at the 1.2 million clone troopers deployed at that moment, added the two million men still being raised and trained, and didn't even need to place a decimal point to work out that he didn't like the odds.

But he never did. And it never stopped him from defying them.

"Want me to relay this data to HQ?" he asked.

"No," said Prudii. "Not until Kal'buir sees it. Never until he sees it."

A good Mandalorian son always obeyed his father. The Null ARCs were no different: they looked to Sergeant Kal Skirata - Kal'buir, Papa Kal - for their orders, not to the Republic. A Mando father put his sons first, after all, and they trusted him.

Skirata would always outrank everyone - captain, general-and even Supreme Chancellor.

place and time: tipoca city. kamino -461 days after the battle of Geonosis

Ko Sai was a devious piece of work.

Mereel - ARC trooper N-7 - had always thought of Kaminoans as cold, arrogant, xenophobic, and even suitable for barbecuing, but he'd never seen them as scheming - not until he began hunting their missing chief scientist, anyway. She hadn't died in the Battle of Kamino, as everyone thought. She'd defected.

Why? What motivates her? Wealth? Not politics, that's for sure.

He knew she was still alive, because she was on the run from her Separatist paymasters, now. In the cantinas of Tatooine, he'd heard rumours of a bounty. And when you had only your rare skill in cloning to trade, in a galaxy where non-military cloning was now banned, your attempts to raise credits were hard to hide from those who knew where to look.

The world of Khomm and Arkania had really suffered from that ban. Mereel knew exactly where to look.

He stood to attention in the ranks of troopers in theTipoca training facility, a good, obedient clone as far as the Kaminoans were concerned. A perfect product. But their identification systems weren't quite as foolproof as they'd told the Republic. They certainly hadn't spotted his fake ID transponder code. The little chip cycled through randomly generated IDs and, without his distinctive kama and blue-trimmed armour, he could disappear right in front of the kaminiise. Not even the patrolling KE-8 pilots looking for defective clones could spot him.

You think you're infallible, don't you, aiwha-bait?

One of the Kaminoan technicians walked along the row of troopers and paused in front of him, blinking, gray-skinned, its long fragile neck tempting to a man trained to kill. Mereel, frozen at attention, fantasized: blaster, vibroblade or garrote? These vile things had wanted to exterminate him as a kid, and he would never forget that. He and his five brothers had been a cloning experiment the Kaminoans considered a failure: but Kal Skirata had saved them.

There was time for revenge later. Kal'buir had taught him patience.

Patience is a luxury. I'm ageing twice as fast as an ordinary man.

He needed to pass through Tipoca City and grab some data without being noticed. The Kaminoan moved on. Mereel savoured the knowledge that he knew more about chief scientist Ko Sai's whereabouts than the Kaminoans did, and they'd searched for her very, very hard.

You're going to give us back our lives, gihaal, me and all my brothers. Mereel included the Republic commandos, the poor cannon fodder meat-cans around him, and even the Alpha ARCs, who'd been ready to kill clone kids to stop the Seps from using them. An vode. They're all my brothers. Even the Alphas.

As the troopers fell out, he slipped in at the rear of a line of men to cover his progress toward the administration core of the building. One glanced at him, the slightest head movement betraying what was happening under his helmet. The man was probably well aware Mereel was a stranger from the minute telltale differences in gait or bearing, but he said nothing. No clone could possibly be a security risk.

I'm just borrowing some information, ner vod. I'm not even going to sabotage this cesspit of a city. Take no notice of me.

As the line passed a corridor leading off at 90 degrees, Mereel wheeled left and walked calmly down to the end of the passage. The heads-up display in his helmet scrolled floor plans and data before his eyes. He looked both at it and through it to focus on the systems terminal set in the wall. Since the Separatist attack on Tipoca just over a standard year ago, security had been tightened, but that was just for Seps and their droids. Amateurs and tinnies. Nobody could keep out a determined Null ARC.

"Mer'ika," said the voice in his helmet. It was quiet and concerned: Skirata rarely raised his voice to them. "Don't push your luck. I want you back in one piece."

"I hear you, Kal'buir." Mereel slipped the docking pin of his forearm plate into one of the terminal's ports. A couple of troopers looked his way from the end of the passage, but he remained unhurried. I'm just calibrating my suit. "We might not get another chance to come back here. I'm grabbing everything I can."

Along with the legitimate outgoing code that requested data from the Tipoca mainframe, a second hidden layer hitched a ride to access the root of the entire system undetected. Mereel now had Republic Treasury encryption and de-erasure keys, courtesy of an obliging Treasury agent called Besany Wennen, and they were the most advanced available. Now he could read not only Treasury data, but also find encrypted files between Tipoca and the Republic that had been hidden from his previous probes. He might also be able to recover the data that Ko Sai had stolen and deleted.

He wanted her critical research on controlling the ageing process i in humans. It might work both ways, they said. That meant it was worth a fortune. She would try to sell it.

The tree of files appeared in his HUD, a field of flickering amber and blue symbols like a garish fabric. What looked like a plain white wall to humans on Kamino was actually a riot of colour beyond their visual range. Only in the Kaminoans' digital systems did Mereel ever get a glimpse of the way their heptachromatic vision saw the world.

Lots of blue and orange and purple. Tacky. Tasteless.

If he copied just the files he knew he needed, it would take seconds.

You might never get a chance to come back again.

The mainframe held 10 petabytes of data. It would take minutes.

Boots clattered past him. Mereel concentrated on looking like a regular trooper maintaining his armour's systems, but it was hard to stretch a 30-second procedure. He could hear his breath rasping in his helmet. So could Skirata and his brother Ordo, waiting in orbit to extract him.

"You okay, son?"

"Fine, Kal'buir."

"No heroics," said Ordo's voice. "Get out now."

Mereel looked at his HUD icon: still amber, still downloading. He was pushing it, all right. But he'd pushed his luck a lot more for the Republic, and a bunch of strangers and jetiise didn't mean half as much to him as the welfare of his brothers. The amber icon flashed. More boots clattered past the end of the passage.

Come on... Come on...

It was taking too long.

His peripheral vision, enhanced by his helmet's systems, saw the Kaminoan pause and turn to walk towards him. Fierfek. That's all we need.

It was a crested male. It stood in front of him, feigning concern. He knew it only sawhim as a commodity.

"You have been downloading longer than average, trooper."

"Just checking, sir." Mereel heard a faint click on his audio feed: Skirata was edgy. "Slow data response times on my HUD."

"Then please proceed to Procurement and have them run diagnostics."

"Yes, sir!" Don't bank on it, aiwha-bait. The icon in his HUD changed to green. "Right away, sir!"

Mereel withdrew the docking pin and walked back down the passage in the general direction of Procurement. The moment the Kaminoan was out of sight, he dropped back into the ocean of whitearmoured bodies and worked his way down the wide corridors and walkways to the maze of service passages that led to lesser-known landing platforms.

Mereel knew every metre of the complex. Skirata had encouraged the Nulls to run wild as kids, much to the disgust of the Kaminoans. He looked into the cloud-locked sky and rain hammered his visor like shrapnel.

"Ready, Kal'buir," he said. "Get me out of this dar'yaim."

place and time: republic special-ops freighter tiv z766/2. cato neimoidia portal. hydian - 461 standard days after the battle of geonosis.

"This wasn't in the op order," said Atin. "We were supposed to sabotage the factory and return to base."

Prudii had ordered the traffic interdiction vessel to Neimoidian space. The pilot didn't seem worried. TIV pilots never did.

"I know," said Prudii. "But this is all about presentation."

"Even this TIV can't take on an armoured transport."

"You sound scared, ner vod. Look at me. No helmet. Would I take a risk without my suit sealed?"

Atin considered showing Prudii where he could dock his character assessment the hard way. "But it's not unreasonable to ask why you're presenting a target to the Seps just to get a few thousand droids that are probably from a spiked batch anyway." He paused for a breath. "Lieutenant."

"No need to stand on ceremony with me, vod'ika." Prudii shrugged. "We're all brothers. Even those unimaginative Alpha planks, Force bless 'em. Why am I doing this? Emphasis, ner vod. Emphasis."

A small, bright spot grew larger in the view plate and resolved into a yellow and gray transport with horizontal spars picked out in scarlet. Prudii let it draw a thousand metres behind the TIV.

"Ready torpedoes," he said.

The pilot tapped the console. "Torps ready."

"Steady..."

The transport was accelerating slowly towards the jump point.

"On my mark..."

He was calculating blast range. Atin could see it.

"Take take take."

"Torps away."

A spread of six proton torpedoes streaked from the concealed tubes in the ship's underslung drive. The TIV shuddered. Atin reminded himself that his Katarn armour and bodysuit was space-tight for 20 minutes, and then realised help would be a lot more than 20 minutes away if anything went wrong. It always was - why did they bother? But Prudii didn't have his helmet on. Either he was confident or he was mad, and being a Null meant he was probably both.

The first and second warheads punched one-two into the transport's starboard flank in a blaze of gold light. Atin didn't see the rest strike because the TIV accelerated from standstill to way too fast in a matter of seconds, heading for the jump point. It was definitely emphatic.

Stars stretched and streaked before them as the TIV went to hyperspace and left the stricken transport far behind. Prudii wasn't even waiting to confirm a kill. He smiled as the acceleration levelled out and the TIV settled steady again. The pilot yawned. Atin said nothing.

"You're going to tell me what an or'dinii I am for pulling that stunt, aren't you, ner vod?" asked Prudii.

"Pointless bravado." If he took offence, Atin was ready to swing at him. "Reckless, even."

"But it's what the GAR would do if it came across a droid transport and didn't know a lot of tinnies were already as good as useless, isn't it?" Prudii sounded as if he regarded the Grand Army as something separate and external. "I didn't bust my shebs around half the galaxy this past year so the Seps could work out that their tinnies were already sabotaged. So it's worth the risk to make it all look real. If we don't take a pop at them whenever we get the chance, they'll wonder why."

Atin dealt in the measurable and the solid, things he could deconstruct to find out how they worked, and things that he could build. He was trained in camouflage and feint attacks. But the world that the Nulls moved in, the arena of black ops, was a nebulous haze of bluff and counter-bluff. Just when he thought he had the hang of it, they'd do something that was obvious in hindsight but that hadn't occurred to him at the time.

"You think they're that smart?"

"I never underestimate the enemy," said Prudii. "Especially when I'm not sure who the enemy is." He tapped the pilot's shoulder. "Drall RV point, my good man, and make it snappy."

"You Null boys are my favourite fares," said the pilot, and yawned again. "Never a dull moment."

place and time: republic special-ops shuttle. uncoded. en route from kamino to drall RV point corellian space - 461 standard days after the battle of Geonosis.

Mereel swung through the hatch into the crew bay, and Skirata gave him a playful tap on the ear with the flat of his hand.

"Don't do that again," said Skirata. "If those gray freaks had caught you, they'd have reconditioned you."

"They might have tried." Mereel caught Ordo narrowing his eyes in disapproval: Kal'buir was not to be distressed, ever. "Anyway, this could well be worth it."

Safe from detection even by the Republic, they sat in the crew cabin of the unmarked shuttle and pored over the data from Mereel's haul while they waited for Atin and Prudii to rendezvous. They watched the files play out on Ordo's datapad like the latest holovids while the Treasury software from oh-so-helpful Agent Wennen flagged the most heavily encrypted files and those that had been subject to secure erasure.

Mereel was almost joking when he keyed in the search parameter "Palpatine." It was always worth seeing if there was data about key politicians in any files he sliced, just in case, but he didn't expect to find anything.

But he got it.

"Osik," he cursed.

"Problem?" Ordo nudged him.

"Maybe." Mereel stared at a triple-encrypted file that yielded to the Treasury software. But it wasn't a message or a data file; it was a copy of a holotransmission.

He hit the key. It was a frozen holo of Lama Su. Fierfek, it was the Kaminoan Prime Minister, and he appeared to be talking to Chancellor Palpatine.

Skirata swallowed audibly. "Now this is where life gets a bit dangerous."

But they watched, transfixed, as the shimmering blue image of Lama Su sprang to life from the datapad emitter.

"If you require more clones beyond the current order, then you must authorize us to begin further production immediately. An initial payment of one billion credits...."

There was a crackling pause: Palpatine's response wasn't recorded, but it was clear he had interrupted. Lama Su's head bobbed in annoyance.

"We must make it clear that the current Kamino contracts terminate in two years. Apart from the special facilities you ask us to set up on Coruscant, Chancellor, you will have no further clone production beyond the current three million unless you commission more now..."

There was nothing more. It appeared to be all that Lama Su had filed, probably as some kind of personal insurance. If the date was correct, the conversation had taken place some months before.

"Shab," Skirata hissed. "What are they playing at?"

Ordo slowly raised his hand to his mouth. Mereel, who thought he'd seen it all, revised his grasp of political subterfuge on the spot.

"So is the Republic going bust and not paying its bills?" asked Ordo. "Or are we seeing something else?"

"Cloning facilities on Coruscant? General Zey never mentioned that."

"Maybe he doesn't know. There's a lot Zey doesn't know, after all... lots about us, for a start."

"How's the Chancellor going to pull that off?"

Skirata interrupted. "See what else you can find." He'd started chewing ruik root again and Mereel gauged his anxiety by the speed of his jaw. He was going like a machine now. "I don't like this at all."

"If this is all the army we've got for the foreseeable future," said Ordo, "then we'll be overrun in two years."

"Unless Prudii's patent droid remover saves the day," said Mereel, stomach churning.

Why didn't I pick this up earlier?

All Nulls were adept spies, used to knowing more about the Republic's inner workings than the Senate itself. Mereel could even find out the smallest and most private details if he needed to, maybe even how many times Palpatine used the 'freshers each day. He'd thought that no information escaped him. So being surprised by totally unexpected information left him uneasy and ashamed.

"How did I miss this, Kal'buir?" he said, feeling he had let him down.

"You didn't, son," said Skirata. "You found it."

place and time: RV point. drall space. corellia sector - 462 standard days after the battle of geonosis.

Prudii obviously hadn't seen Skirata in a long time. Atin watched, fascinated, as he turned instantly from glib cynic to adoring son, hugging Skirata with a clash of armour plates. He stood back, and Skirata patted his cheek, an indulgent grin spreading across his face.

"I have some interesting data for you, Kal'buir." The two ships hung linked together by a docking tube, a long way from Republic scrutiny as well as the Separatists. They gathered in the crew bay of the smaller TIV. It was a tight fit. "We're still not finding droid numbers like Intel claimed. We have to reassess the nature of the Sep threat."

Atin thought Prudii just meant numbers. It was now obvious that the droid numbers were flawed to say the least. Atin would have been happy to just write that off as Republic Intelligence being di'kute - nobody with any sense expected intel to be accurate anyway - but it seemed to bother all three Nulls a great deal. Ordo and Mereel, their helmets stacked side by side on the deck like two decapitated heads, wore matching frowns of concern.

"Come on, this is supposed to be good news," said Atin.

Ordo shrugged. "Depends where the original estimate came from."

"But what if it turns out to be right?"

Mereel looked mildly exasperated. "If they had even one quadrillion droids, or a tenth of that, we'd know all about it - because they'd use them, and they'd invade Coruscant." He glanced at Skirata, as though waiting for permission to go on. Skirata shook his head. "Anyway, a factory processing more droids than that needs a lotofdurasteeland parts, and we'd notice the traffic. We're not seeing quadrillion-ton shipments of ore, metal or components."

"Then it's just Sep propaganda. Everyone talks up their troop strengths."

Atin simply couldn't see why it mattered. They had a better handle on the Sep droid numbers now, and a good strategy, for the time being, for making sure that the millions didn't count for anything like that number on the battlefield. He settled back into an alcove in the port bulkhead and inserted his test probes into the wafer's terminals. He just wanted to see the data for himself, or as much as he understood of it.

"We're fighting small fires all the time, all over the place," said Skirata. "Zey might think these numbers are good news, but it's like saying we're drowning in three metres of water instead of a hundred."

Atin hadn't been raised by Skirata like the rest of Omega Squad, but he knew the man well enough now to read his reactions. He was completely transparent with clones; he didn't seem to be able to deceive them, or even want to. "There's something you're not telling me, Sarge."

Skirata put his comlink on standby. "Yes, son, there is."

"So it is Grievous, then? Because if it is..."

"It's messy politics." Skirata - a contract killer, an accomplished thief, a man who diverted Republic resources whenever he felt like it - would never lie to his boys. He promised them that. "If you know about it, it might endangeryou."

Atin wondered what might be more dangerous than being a Republic commando. It wasn't exactly a steady desk job. But he trusted Skirata completely, even if his curiosity was devouring him. "Okay, Sarge. Orders?"

"Get back to HQ with the TIV pilot and do a bit of skills transfer. Teach the rest of the lads how to make nice crumbly droids."

Ordo cut in. "And thank Besany Wennen for me, will you?"

Atin worked out that Prudii wasn't going back with him. "You're telling me to get lost, aren't you?"

"For your own good," said Skirata.

It had to be Grievous. Fora moment Atin wondered if they didn't think he was good enough to go after the Separatist general with them, and then he started worrying for Skirata. Even with a bunch of Nulls, the old di'kut would be insane to try to tackle him. And Atin had no intention of walking away if that was on the agenda.

"Straight question, Sarge."

"Don't put me on the spot, At'ika."

"Are you going after Grievous? 'Cos if you are, I'm not leaving."

"No, we're not going after Grievous."

Atin scrutinized his face. "Okay, Sarge. Be careful, anyway. Whatever it is."

He climbed back through the hatch to rejoin the TIV pilot. Most of the time, he really didn't need or even want to know what the Nulls got up to. Or Skirata, for that matter. He just didn't want to lose any more brothers.

And even if he worked out what was going on, it wouldn't change his job one bit.

place and time: rv point. drall space - 462 standard days after the battle of geonosis.

"Okay, what's your assessment?" Skirata prepped the secure link to General Zey back at headquarters. "What are we going to tell him?"

Ordo shrugged. "Nothing about the holorecording - yet."

"We'd be failing in our duty if we didn't advise him to change tactics, though," said Mereel. "Again."

"You know it's not his decision."

"But it's still our duty."

Skirata frowned and opened the secure link. The Jedi general seemed to have been caught on the hop - the holoimage showed him in his undershirt, hair disheveled.

"Another confirmation of droid production numbers, General," said Skirata. "Same as before. Worst scenario, maybe a few hundred million right now."

"That's better than we thought. I needed some good news.

Successfully neutralized?"

"My lads are completely reliable."

"I know."

"We think... look, it's pretty clear from what we're seeing that we're facing small-scale conflicts in waves. If we concentrated all our forces on completely overwhelming them a sector at a time, instead of scattering our troops across a thousand fronts, we could break the Seps a lot faster."

Zey chewed his lip. "I hear what you say."

"A big push. Consolidate our forces and hit 'em hard, then move on when they're crushed and hit the next sector. This piecemeal approach is just damping down fires temporarily."

Mereel waited for Zey's reaction. The Jedi looked tired. It was hard to find anyone in the Grand Army who didn't look in need of a week's sleep.

Zey dropped his voice to a near-whisper. "I agree, militarily. General Windu reminds the Chancellor of this proposal whenever he can. The answer's always the same. Palpatine thinks it'll be seen as excessive force and might alienate the neutral worlds."

Mereel had no patience with politics. "Tell him we're feeling pretty alienated right now, too."

"I understand your frustration, Lieutenant."

"What does he say about the droid numbers, then?"

Zey shrugged. "He believes that underplaying the threat might be foolhardy."

"Always easier to get the voters to foot the bill for a war if they think the enemy's about to invade, eh? Is that why Republic Intel came up with the quadrillions figure?"

"You're a cynical man, Sergeant."

"Yeah. I was a mere for too long."

"I never said you were wrong."

"Okay, General," said Skirata. He managed to sound irritated. Zey knew the game by now; the two of them conducted a coded conversation, both knowing what the other really felt. Mereel admired their pragmatism. "We've not found the hub of the Seps' droid production. I assume you'll want us to carry on looking."

Zey sounded older these days. "The Chancellor is most insistent."

"Understood, General."

Skirata closed the link and stared through Mereel for a moment. Then he focused on him again. "Palpatine doesn't want to talk about the real numbers. Clone production on Kamino looks like it might stop dead in a couple of years. I say the objective of this war isn't the one we're being told it is."

"You sound like you expect politicians to tell the truth, Kal'buir."

"Nah, I'm not that senile yet." Skirata gestured to Ordo for his datapad, fingers beckoning. "We're bringing the plan forward a little, lads. I'm marking a date on my calendar just under two years from now, and making sure we're ready to take care of our own by then. You understand me?"

"Understood," said Mereel. Skirata had what he called an exit strategy: his plan for the end of the war, not just for himself, but for the Nulls... and maybe any clone who found himself out of a job. "Okay, everybody looks for Ko Sai now."

"What about Grievous?"

Ordo handed the datapad to Skirata. "Last time Kom'rk got a fix on him it was leaked information. Someone wants us to find him. Until we work out who and why, we keep a little distance."

"Works for me," said Mereel.

Wars often didn't make sense. He'd read plenty of history, and he'd absorbed Kal'buir's lessons; politicians often made decisions that flew in the face of professional military advice. Whatever the Republic was up to, a long-running war of skirmishes suited Palpatine's purpose.

But it didn't suit Mereel. And it didn't do the mounting numbers of clone casualties any good either. He felt no guilt whatsoever about using the taxpayers' credit to get the best outcome for himself and his brothers, both those in the field now and those to come.

Three million against... how many? Hundreds of millions. They were bad odds, but they weren't impossible, not with the Nulls and a few thousand commandos around. But working out odds meant being clear who the enemy was, and the more Mereel learned, the less certain he became.

"Cheer up," said Prudii, "Average kill rates are going up all the time. I reckon we can shoot for at least 200-to-one." He took a hand-size slab of metal out of his pack and held it up with a grin. Then he smacked it down hard on the edge of the console. It crazed and broke into pieces. "Those tinnies just can't take the strain like we can."

No, those weren't impossible odds. Bad, maybe; but not impossible. Mereel sat back in the co-pilot's seat, took out his datapad, and began combing through the hidden data of Kamino's clonemaster. Ko Sai had the whole galaxy in which to hide, but she was hiding from men she had personally engineered to be the very best.

The odds weren't in her favour.

glossary

carvanium - metal used in alloys

vode - (Mando'a) brothers

osik-(Mando'a) equivalent of "poodoo"

chakaare - (Mando'a) term of abuse (lit. thief, petty criminal, "grave-robber")

ner vod - (Mando'a) my brother

kaminiise - (Mando'a) Kaminoans

aiwha-bait - insulting Mandalorian term for Kaminoans

an vode - (Mando'a) "brothers all."

jetiise - (Mando'a) Jedi (plural) also means Republic

fierfek - Huttese curse

vod'ika - (Mando'a) affectionate diminutive form of "brother"

Mer'ika - (Mando'a) affectionate diminutive form ofMereel

shebs - (Mando'a) backside

di'kute - (Mando'a) idiots, morons

merc - short for mercenary

chags - small, unpredicable, highly excitable Hapan amphibians

heptochromatic - able to see in six colours including ultraviolet

petabyte - a quadrillion bytes of data

dar'yaim - (Mando'a) a place you want to forget, a hell

TIV - Traffic Interdiction Vessel (disguised vessel used for boardings by GAR special forces)

or'dinii - (Mando'a) "complete lunatic"

[wacknotes]

La 5G au Sénégal : les consommateurs en pure perte du signal

Dans un paysage où l'attente est palpable, l'annonce par certains opérateurs de télécommunications de la disponibilité ainsi que la commercialisation de la 5G au Sénégal suscite un mélange d'enthousiasme et d'interrogations légitimes si on se réfère aux prérequis obligatoires impliqués dans son déploiement. En effet, il est crucial de rappeler que la technologie 5G se déploie à pas mesurés, entre complexités techniques et impératifs de performance. Décortiquons ensemble les nuances de cette avancée.

D'un côté, la 5G NSA (Non-Standalone) s'appuie sur les infrastructures existantes pour offrir une connectivité améliorée, mais ses performances pourraient être en deçà de la 5G SA (Standalone) qui exige une infrastructure dédiée, offrant des performances optimales et de nouvelles fonctionnalités. C'est là un choix crucial pour les opérateurs, entre rapidité de déploiement et potentiel accru.

Comparativement, la 4G offre un débit de 1 Gbit/s par cellule, partagé entre les habitants couverts par cette cellule, ce qui équivaut à environ 30 Mbit/s par utilisateur. Ainsi, la 5G NSA ou SA propose une vitesse environ 100 fois supérieure à celle de la 4G, avec une latence réduite d'environ 10 fois et une densité pouvant accueillir environ 100 fois plus d'appareils connectés simultanément. De plus, la consommation d'énergie de la 5G est estimée à 90 % inférieure à celle de la 4G, ce qui la rend plus efficace sur le plan énergétique.

En somme, l’argumentation technique précédente explique pourquoi la 5G est souvent comparée à la fibre optique sans fil, car elle apporte des changements significatifs. En effet, elle offre un débit théorique estimé à 1 Tbit/s par km2, bien que ce chiffre puisse varier selon différents facteurs tels que la densité de la population et la congestion du réseau. Typiquement, la 5G assure un débit d'environ 100 Mbit/s par utilisateur, mais ce chiffre peut fluctuer en fonction des conditions du réseau.

En outre, quel que soit le type de technologie 5G choisi, le déploiement nécessite plusieurs prérequis obligatoires. En premier lieu, l’obtention d’un spectre de fréquences adapté. Ainsi, les opérateurs doivent d’abord installer des antennes dans des bandes de fréquences spécifiques, telles que la bande des 3,5 GHz (3,4 - 3,8 GHz), cœur de la 5G, pour assurer une meilleure couverture et une bonne pénétration à l'intérieur des bâtiments. Cette bande de fréquences permet d'avoir les meilleurs débits en 5G mais à faible latence tout en ayant une bonne longueur d'ondes qui permet des transferts de données très rapides. Cependant, elles ont une portée moyenne de 400 mètres en zone urbaine et 1,2 km en zone rurale.

En second lieu, ils doivent installer d’autres antennes (ou upgrader leurs antennes 4G) dans la bande de fréquences basses des 700 MHz (694 - 790 MHz) qui est également cruciale et octroie une grande portée de 2 km en zone urbaine et 8 km en zone rurale. En revanche, la bande des 700 MHz n'est pas celle qui permet de délivrer les meilleurs débits, d’où l’intérêt d’être dans ces deux tranches de fréquence qui sont nécessaires à la 5G et qui offrent le très haut débit, la grande portée. Cependant, il est recommandé de déployer environ 70 % d'antennes à basse fréquence et 30 % à moyenne fréquence pour la 5G NSA, et environ 80 % d'antennes à basse fréquence et 20 % à moyenne fréquence pour la 5G SA.

Enfin, pour répondre à l'explosion de la consommation de data, les opérateurs doivent également installer des antennes dans la bande des 26 GHz (24,25 - 27,5 GHz), qui offre un très large spectre mais aussi des débits comparables à ceux de la fibre Optique. Cependant, elle offre une portée limitée, de l'ordre de 150 mètres en zone urbaine, ce qui nécessitera le déploiement d'un grand nombre d'antennes.

Par conséquent, malgré cette perspective prometteuse des opérateurs, des zones d'ombres persistent. En effet, le choix de la technologie NSA par les opérateurs de la place nécessite une mise à niveau du cœur de leurs réseaux et équipements actifs ainsi que des antennes 4G en sus du déploiement de nouvelles antennes de relais spécifiques à la 5G. Cependant, il est préoccupant de constater l'absence remarquée d'antennes de relais dans les bandes des 3,5 GHz et 26 GHz dans les villes et sur les toits des bâtiments. Alors que, ces antennes sont essentielles pour garantir une couverture optimale en 5G, quelle que soit la technologie choisie (NSA ou SA). Ces interrogations suscitent des inquiétudes légitimes quant à la qualité et à la fiabilité du déploiement de la 5G, surtout dans les zones urbaines.

Dans ce contexte, le besoin de transparence et de surveillance accru se fait sentir. Les consommateurs aspirent à une assurance quant à la qualité des services et au respect des normes établies. C'est là que l'intervention des autorités de régulation devient primordiale, avec des audits réguliers pour garantir un déploiement transparent et conforme de la 5G. Par ailleurs, la 5G représente bien plus qu'une simple évolution technologique. Elle incarne l'avenir connecté du pays, avec des promesses de débits vertigineux et de latences réduites. Mais pour que ces promesses deviennent réalité, il est essentiel que les opérateurs répondent aux attentes des clients et que les autorités veillent au respect des normes et à la qualité des services. Ainsi, nous pourrons tous embrasser pleinement les opportunités offertes par cette révolution numérique.

[kilfeur]

J'ai pu poster mon two shot FE sur AO3, enfin techniquement c'est plus un two shot en vrai. Mais bon, je me rappelle que j'avais voulu changer de genre dans mon écriture et je pense m'en être bien sorti :

[indigo-sys]

Le post date un peu mais je trouvais intéressant de le repartager ici.

Il a été écrit et dessiné par Ame (un de nos alters)

Petit rappel : un alter fictif est un alter où le cerveau s'est inspiré d'un personnage ou d'une oeuvre de fiction pour le créer.

Texte sur les images:

Manquer quelqu'un qui n'existe pas

(Content warning: parle de l'attachement et du manque d'une personne que l'on ne pourra plus revoir)

Je pense que la première chose à dire c'est que 50% de mes souvenirs sont faux, c'est simplement le cerveau qui a pris les évènements d'une oeuvre fictive pour me donner une consistance.

Et même si je sais que techniquement toute cette mémoire je ne l'ai jamais vécue, je me souviens de chaque personnes, de mon liens avec elles, de nos moments ensemble.

Par exemple, je me souviens de l'euphorie que je ressentais en jouant du piano, alors que je n'ai jamais joué de piano.

Mais ce qui me manque le plus, c'est une personne qui m'était incroyablement chère malgré une relation tumultueuse.

Je pense à cette personne tous les jours et souvent, le manque est extrêmement fort au point de me faire pleurer.

Lorsque je vais au front, je passes mon temps à parler de lui, à regarder des fanarts et écouter des musiques qui parlent de lui.

Le plus déroutant, c'est que dans les faits je n'ai jamais rencontré cette personne. Et je ne la rencontrerai jamais. Car cette personne n'existe pas.

[llzrabin]

The Kills, jeu dévoué

La série de photographies intitulée Dogs Chasing My Car in the Desert, réalisée entre 1996 et 1998 par l'artiste américain John Divola, capture l'instant pendant lequel des chiens poursuivent sa voiture lancée à pleine vitesse sur une route désertique de la Californie du Sud. Toute la puissance existentielle de cette série tient précisément dans la fugacité du moment saisi, celui où le chien atteint la fenêtre du conducteur pour capter son regard, dans l'espoir vain de rattraper la voiture. À propos de ces photographies, John Divola déclare : « Contempler un chien poursuivant une voiture invite à de nombreuses métaphores et juxtapositions : la culture et la nature, le domestique et le sauvage, l'amour et la haine, la joie et la peur, l'héroïsme et l'idiotie. Ici, nous avons deux vecteurs et deux vitesses, celle d'un chien et celle d'une voiture et, étant donné qu'un appareil photo ne capturera jamais la réalité et qu'un chien n'attrapera jamais une voiture, c'est la preuve d'une dévotion à une entreprise sans espoir. »

John Divola, D05F23 de la série Dogs Chasing My Car in the Desert, 1996-1998.

John Divola, D10F15 de la série Dogs Chasing My Car in the Desert, 1996-1998.

The Kills ont toujours fonctionné en double et en antagonisme. Alison Mosshart et Jamie Hince sont les deux faces d'une même pièce. C'est la tension entre l'isolement et le désir qui est leur moteur de création. La juxtaposition des opposés – domestique et sauvage, héroïsme et idiotie, joie et peur – est manifeste jusque sur la pochette de God Games, où matador et taureau s'affrontent.

À l'écoute de ce disque, le temps passe à une vitesse folle. C'est le temps d'un regard à 130 km/h derrière soi pour y apercevoir un animal à bout de souffle. Non pas parce que ses chansons sont courtes, mais parce qu'il n'y a rien d'aussi immédiatement obsédant que dans Keep On Your Mean Side, No Wow, Midnight Boom, ou même Blood Pressures et Ash & Ice (qui s'essoufflait déjà parfois). Bien sûr, les premiers morceaux des Kills visaient plus juste par leur proximité avec l'ethos DIY, un beat rustique sur une boîte à rythmes bâtarde, un riff à la manière d'un bluesman aveugle, des paroles crachées avec droiture et l'urgence punk dans la voix. Écouter Keep On Your Mean Side, c'est comme lire un fanzine trouvé à prix libre dans une cave où joue un concert de garage rock en 1997 : Xerox ou 4-pistes, même combat.

L'album God Games, lui, fait plutôt l'effet de séquences de films contemplatifs, se voulant artistiques et en marge des tendances, mais avec un très bon budget alloué au montage. Ce qu'il y gagne en production, il le perd en expressivité personnelle et en saleté sincère. Dans un paradoxe un peu fâcheux, les premiers singles révélés cet été, New York, LA Hex et 103, distillaient jusqu'au gimmick toute la substance de leur univers garage et indie rock, sans produire cet effet accrocheur des anciens tubes. Il y a ici de bonnes idées et quelques fulgurances mais, à rebours du récit promotionnel vendu par le label et le groupe lui-même dans les nombreuses interviews récemment données à la presse, qui promet un changement de son, une liberté absolue et une approche expérimentale de la composition, il est intéressant de constater que les meilleurs morceaux de l'album – j'entends par là, les plus réussis soniquement, ceux dans lesquels on entend l'aisance technique, la facilité de l'habitude – sont ceux qui sonnent comme leurs précédents morceaux.

En cela, la deuxième partie de l'album, de Wasterpiece à Better Days, se réécoute avec plaisir, rappelant les beaux jours de Ash & Ice. Et les chœurs gospel de LA Hex sont une réminiscence des chœurs de Satellite. Mais les synthés, les orgues et le mellotron, ce clavier polyphonique vintage, étaient aussi déjà en usage dans Blood Pressures. Quant aux paroles d'amour-haine, poèmes haletants où tendresse et violence se confondent, histoires d'amours et d'errances qui puent l'essence, elles ont toujours été la pulsation de leur son. Difficile de comprendre en toute bonne foi où se situe le potentiel infini de possibilités musicales dans le processus d'écriture de ce nouvel album, dont le duo parlent pourtant régulièrement. Et la ligne entre référence et paresse de se troubler progressivement. L'adage des Kills, incandescents, qui est de ne jamais regarder en arrière, sonne faux.

Il est des groupes qui mettent des années à trouver leur son, ou bien des artistes dont la signature est justement l'identité caméléon, toujours en mouvement. The Kills, quant à eux, ont trouvé leur signature sonore dès leur rencontre en 2001, scellée par le pacte de ne plus jamais se quitter et de se consumer ensemble par la musique.

Je n'ose pas parler de confort, pourtant il y a toujours eu un peu de cela dans leur musique. C'est d'ailleurs bien ce qui a contribué à créer la formule magique du duo : le confort musical de ce « vieux couple marié » (ce sont les mots de Jamie Hince), c'est la complicité évidente, totale et fusionnelle dès les débuts, alors qu'Alison et Jamie se connaissaient à peine.

Alors, maintenant, quoi ?

Dans la langue anglaise, le proverbe 'to be like a dog that caught the car' désigne quelqu'un ayant atteint son but et ne sachant pas quoi faire de cette victoire. C'est une course vide de sens : le chien n'est pas censé rattraper la voiture. Cette « dévotion à une entreprise sans espoir » dont parle John Divola, c'est peut-être ce qui constitue le moteur créatif des musicien.ne.s, ce point de fuite imaginaire destiné à aider un groupe à construire son œuvre en perspective. Pour mieux s'en affranchir ensuite.

Il me semble que la musique des Kills en 2003 contenait infiniment plus de matière expérimentale et de liberté de création que celle de 2023 engluée dans sa narration de fausse naïveté magique. Comme s'il n'y avait plus rien à raconter au monde. Que faire quand on a déjà atteint la voiture vingt ans plus tôt ? Admettre de ne pas avoir su se renouveler n'est pas gage d'agonie, ce n'est même pas une faute. The Kills peuvent bien poursuivre leurs aventures de rock crade-classe, d'élégance musclée et arty bien à eux (d'aucuns parlent de posture, je ne suis pas de ceux-là, je crois leurs origines punk sincères), leur avenir y est faste. Il n'est pas besoin de maquiller ses intentions, ses faiblesses ou sa constance derrière une légende marketée quand la musique leur colle autant à l'âme.

Originally written for Dans Ta Face B, November 2023.