#brakelines

[dxsole]

‘ unless they come at you with a knife, you can’t attack them! ’ (Dom to Didi lmao)

🔪 WHAT KIND OF RULE IS THAT? | Not Accepting

"That is such a bullshit rule." She snaps back— Didi is aware this isn't her best moment. Well, no, actually it is a good moment because she broke that bitch's nose.

It takes her a moment to come down from the violence-induced adrenaline high, still breathing hard from her nose and eventually having to roll her neck and shoulders to shake off some of the tension. "I appreciate you trying to take the moral high ground," She starts, for once attempting to keep her voice level for Dom's sake, "but I will not be spoken to like that, hm."

Sure, the words passed between the two women were a bit harsh, but certainly not harsh enough to warrant Didi's reaction. "I don't give a fuck if she's the head of the HOA, she starts shit with me again and I am going to take a garden hose and choke her out in front of the whole neighborhood. I will beat her to death with that cheap casserole dish she calls an heirloom, hm. I will knock her on her bony ass so hard they'll feel it in Hell."

[askvectorprime]

Dear Vector Prime, I recently saw the Super Mario Bros movie and, I couldn't help but wonder, have Transformers ever visited the Mushroom Kingdom?

Dear Mushroom Master,

Indeed they have! You may recall the Maximal starship Dianosk and its many deep-space colonization missions—here is the story of one such adventure…

Several solar cycles after departing Starbase Rugby with a fresh complement of thirty protoforms, the four-man crew of the starship Dianosk—consisting of captain Updraft, engineer Ratchet, security officer Regulator, and ensign Brakeline—arrived at a red planet somewhere on the spinward edge of the galaxy. While the planet Dykayra had been known to Cybertronian astronomers for some time, no Transformer had set foot on the planet since before the Great War, many millions of stellar cycles ago.

Although the Dianosk picked up no signs of extant intelligent life, orbital scans picked up vast forests of skyscraper-sized mushrooms, whose toxic spore clouds would choke out any organic lifeform in nanokliks. More intriguingly, their sensors detected rich veins of subterranean energon, as well as signs of extensive prior habitation—the tips of ancient, crumbling towers poked up through the red fungal canopy, while abandoned maglev lines and crumbling superhighways criss-crossed the planet. Intrigued at the prospect of discovering a lost civilization, Updraft ordered his crew to land their ship in an abandoned spaceport; to better explore the planet’s treacherous, fungus-based ecosystem, he decided to activate a protoform to assist them in their endeavors, whose native alternate mode would allow him to better explore the terrain. The scanning process yielded FunGus, a gregarious young Transformer whose unusual mycelium alternate form allowed him to easily navigate the planet’s terrain.

The five-man exploration team established a temporary command post as a beachhead for further exploration of the city. As they picked through the detritus, the team uncovered many strange clues regarding the planet’s prior inhabitants—garments they surmised to be hazard suits of some kind, and an abandoned botanical research lab where dozens of brightly colored mushrooms had long ago burst from their holding tanks—perhaps, they surmised, the source of many of the strange, colorful mushrooms that seemed to form the ecosystem’s primary basis. Before the team could report back to Updraft, however, they were attacked by dozens of strange, humanoid fungi! Although the creatures only wielded crude melee weapons fashioned from old lead pipes and rusted nails, they were numerous, and difficult to deter—worse yet, amidst the chaos, FunGus abruptly turned on his crewmates! The terrified crew dragged the wounded Brakeline to safety, even as FunGus escaped into the overgrown sewers beneath the city along with their attackers.

Unsuited as they were to trekking through the dangerous fungal jungle, it took several more solar cycles before the rest of the team could locate their escaped ensign; when they did find him, it was in a series of abandoned catacombs, where a network of glowing tendrils connected him and hundreds of other fungus-creatures to an enormous, building sized fungus. As one, the aliens moved in on the Cybertronian explorers… but, before the encounter could descend into violence, FunGus announced that Queen Mycellium, ruler of their collective, had chosen him to serve as her mouthpiece. Millennia ago, she explained, their race began as parasites: a freak lab accident created a race of aggressive spore-based lifeforms who reproduced through unwilling hosts, until they and their progeny had choked out everything else on the planet, including the original civilization responsible for creating them. In the intervening years, however, they had attempted to move past their ignoble beginnings, and her collective hopefully marked the beginning of a new era of peace and understanding. She and her minions had mistaken FunGus for a wayward member of her own tribe, and attempted to “liberate” him from what she perceived to be alien captors; their unique form of spore-based communication had accidentally driven FunGus into a frenzy.

Fortunately for all involved, Updraft was able to settle the matter agreeably, and the planetary monarch graciously accepted his request to establish a research base and Energon mining outpost on the planetary surface. When Updraft and his crew left for their next adventure, FunGus remained behind to further map the planet and act as a kind of ambassador between the two species, ready to welcome further waves of Cybertronian colonists to this unique planet.

[itwoodbeprefect]

undefined

[foreverfalling21]

Life (tax season) is so unfair. Why do good people (me) have to suffer (pay more taxes instead of getting a refund)?

[jeffery-sinotruk]

Weichai Diesel Engine Assembly for Sale #Engine #weichai #dieselengine #motor #gearbox #transmission #dashboard #filters #fuelfilter #airfilter #fuelpump #brakeliners #lamps #spring #brakedrums #truckparts #busparts #truckengine #busengine https://www.instagram.com/p/CkAIMYsOlmT/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[noellevanious]

so my little faggot car is down for the count (itd cost $1000 to fix its brakeline and the auto guy said even if they did it'd still probably not last another year). so i'm gonna have to buy/finance a used car from an auto lot. Any basic tips. I really just want to get a car that can Go

[themummersfolly]

Fuck it. Octoboss content

In the Wasteland, you went by what other people called you; that was your name. What did it matter what his mother had called him? She’d been dead almost as long as he’d been alive.

He figured he was almost twenty when he killed his first rival boss and took over his gang. When he killed his eighth, his men started calling him the Octoboss, having gotten the idea from one of the History Man’s wordburgers. He didn’t argue, and it stuck.

“Always searching the heavens,” the old man had said when they had known each other about a year. Perhaps he was. He had seen flying machines when he was young, heard stories of men who did air war like he did road war. He’d seen the old wrecks in the desert and knew they had once been as beautiful and dangerous as motorbikes, maybe even more so. He’d sat at the feet of the History Man and listened to words like “paragliding” and “Bernoulli’s Law.” And when trade with the Underdune had brought him vast amounts of parachute silk, he’d taken himself and his crew to the skies again.

So it wasn’t really a surprise that he was the first one to see it.

“Whatcha see, Boss- hey, what’sat?”

Any notion that there was something wrong with his eyes vanished. It was high up, higher than any of his gliders could go, and definitely not a bird. As they watched, it got either bigger or- no, no it was definitely getting lower. Over the course of a half-hour they watched it move across the sky, maneuvering westward and then coming back around in a broad, slow spiral. Its shape became clearer: a sturdy open frame, tan wings and tail fins. Fixed-wing aircraft. He couldn’t remember the rest of the wordburger. Finally it vanished, soundlessly, behind the ridge.

“Wanna go after it, Boss?”

It hadn’t made a sound; that was what puzzled him. Fixed-wings needed either a tow or an engine of their own to get in the air. He decided they’d claim it intact, and he’d have a good long look at it before his men stripped it for parts. The roar of a half-dozen motorbikes would have anyone in it hightailing, if they hadn’t died in the landing. If they hadn’t died in the wreck and they didn’t die in the desert, well, he’d have some questions for them.

The aircraft had scraped a ling, shallow furrow in the desert, not quite parallel to the ridge. To his surprise, the lone figure beside it stayed crouched in the open, apparently unperturbed by the approach of a raiding party of the Great Biker Horde. Only when he and his men stopped less than twenty yards away and trained their weapons on them did they rise, wiping grimy hands on equally grimy coveralls.

The woman- it was a woman- wore a flier’s cap and a pair of goggles over a wind-toughened face. A coat and gloves were cast aside over a strut. She was broad-shouldered and strong-looking; “well-fed” some people might say, and others, “great tits.” She eyed the raiding party warily but without fear.

Out front, Sketch and Brakeline looked back at him for direction. He looked down the length of the aircraft, the horns on his helmet exaggerating the movement and signaling his interest. Brakeline turned back to the woman and leaned on his handlebars.

“Whatcha got there?”

“A plane.” She had an accent he couldn’t place. Her hands hung at her sides, relaxed, ready. Ready to pick up the nearest weapon and bash someone’s head in with it.

“Why ain’t it in the air?”

“Gasket blew. You got a repair kit? Then I’ll be on my way.”

Sketch grinned. “You ain’t on your way anywhere now, sweetheart.” His hand was on the hilt of his bowie knife. Any reasonable person in the Wastelands would be petrified with fear by now; the woman just looked at Sketch like a water-seller might look at a preteen making piss jokes.

The two point-riders dismounted and started toward the woman. They had taken exactly one step when she moved, quick as a snake, and brought a derringer to bear not on Sketch or Brakeline, but between them, on the Octoboss himself. They froze.

There was a clatter behind him as Tyro, VW, and Huxley brought their own weapons up, but the way they were spread out it would have been hard to shoot at the woman without hitting their comrades. She kept her eyes on their leader, the little double-barreled pistol pointed between his eyes.

Smart bitch.

Not breaking eye contact, he put down his kickstand and tossed back his mesh sandscreen, then lifted the faceplate of his helmet. Neither the woman’s aim nor her expression changed.

“Where you from?” he asked.

“Couple days north, by air. Dunno how long it takes on the ground.” The fact that she was surrounded by Wasteland bikers with nothing to hand but a derringer did not appear to faze her. He put his hands up where she could see they were empty, dismounted, and took a few slow steps forward, until he was close enough to reach out and touch one wing.

“You build this?”

“Nah. Just fly it.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Me pa.”

“He know you have it?”

“Hope so. He’s dead but he said I could have it.”

The frame of the little machine looked like hollow aluminum rods; the wings were covered in canvas. A propeller was mounted behind the wings, forward of the tail fins, and appeared to be powered by a twin-cylinder engine. Ahead of this was a seat, and ahead of that a bundle of gear was strapped to the very front of the frame. The whole thing couldn’t have weighed more than his bike.

A subtle motion of his head, back the way they had come.

“Dig in, boys. We’re camping in the rocks tonight.” He took a step back, hands still visible, a slight smirk on his face. The woman blinked, then, hesitantly, lifted her derringer away from him.

“What we gonna do with her?” Sketch had been itching to have some fun with the woman. A shrug of the Octoboss’s shoulders put those notions to rest.

“Nothing.” He took a few backward steps toward his bike and directed his next words to her. “You can join our fire if you want. Tell us about you plane.”

[blueskyscribeupdates]

I am once again pecking away at "Life in Glass Houses" like a songbird confronted with a pastry that is seemingly too large for it.

As a thanks to all my wonderful readers, I decided to share a scene from the next chapter. :) Truly, thank you all!

The wind whirled through deeply trenched streets and around the steel towers, pulling at the curtain domed over the balcony.  Knockdown's hand kept it in place, gauze loosely gripped in his slender fingers as he gazed down at the city.  His eyes moved from one familiar haunt to another: the park where he had learned to fly as a clumsy newspark, the creche where he had been taught his letters and had his wings measured twice weekly, the medical school where his destiny had been set for him, and the hospital where he had fulfilled it.  There was the bar where the interns complained about the senior staff, and the cafe where the senior staff complained about the interns. Midways up a steel-strutted building was the first modest apartment that had been all his own, and many stories higher was the luxurious one that came later.  

(The one he was standing in.  A moment of doubt, of vertigo almost, rolled through his circuits, but after a moment the ripples smoothed out. To hang back, to watch himself from afar, what was so odd about that?)

Other familiar sights were tucked between the silvery bars of the skyscrapers and apartment towers.  The plaza where open-air concerts played in the summer.  The clinic in the Dredges, where he volunteered in the rainy season. Dancers from a dozen incongruous festivals paraded through the streets.  Even from this height, he caught the thin echos of joyous shouts and familiar songs.  The skies were filled with Seekers swooping and laughing.

Knockdown pulled back from the balcony's edge and let the curtain fall. He didn't turn around, but he was not startled when a hand settled on his shoulder, enormous and smelling of crude oil.  A huge thumb rubbed over the flat of his wing.  He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

"Whatcha looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"  The deep voice held a gentle reproach.

Knockdown opened his eyes. He half expected to see a smoke-wreathed battlefield or a small blue planet through a warship's window, but the view was the same: the city of Vos stretching exuberantly skyward, made misty by the curtain.  A flock of young jets tore past playing a rowdy game of air-tag, followed by trines moving in deliberate patterns.  Wingtip to wingtip, they arched and rolled in perfect synchronicity, the silky, wide ribbons behind them twining in loops and braids.

"What are they doing?"

"Courting. It's the Festival of Diamonds." Knockdown turned towards Brakeline, resting his cheek against his broad chest. It was as warm as he remembered.  "You should go."

"Why?" The hands fit comfortably around his waist.

"Because that's what happens." Knockdown swallowed, waiting until he was sure his vocalizer wouldn't glitch.  "Anyway, you don't belong here."

"And you do?" A huge hand cupped his chin, tilted it up.

This won't fix anything. It's not real.

Knockdown surged onto the tips of his pedes to meet Brakeline's kiss.  His spark hammered. The ice within him cracked, melt, before the heat of his longing.  Behind him the wind whipped the draperies and the trines roared in their flight.

"I love you," Brakeline said breathlessly when they broke apart.  "I'll never leave you."

"No?" Knockdown sombered. He turned away, his hands catching the curtains, leaning into them for support.  "And yet I'm alone."

"What do you mean? I'm right here."

"Only in my dreams."  

For a moment Brakeline was silent.  Then, quietly: "Do you miss me?"

The white gauze billowed around Knockdown's fist.  His vision blurred; tears, perhaps, or a creeping frost.  "You dare ask me that?"

No answer came.  

"Brakeline?" Knockdown turned around to face the replica of his old apartment: just as he remembered it, perfect in every detail.  And perfectly empty. 

He woke up.

[cosplayinamerica]

Mothra & Godzilla from @btanselanoican’s gijinka D&D/fantasy kaiju series // Cosplayers: @strangecatcosplay & @Fooprawn // photos: Ejen Chuang

My Mom is a skilled sewist and used to make Halloween costumes for my sisters and I when we were young. My sister was born on Halloween so we always had costumes and fun celebrations. That started my fascination with dressing up in costume and I always had fun doing it. 

As I got older, my Mom taught me how to sew. In 2010 I saw Alice in Wonderland, and fell in love with the costume designs Colleen Atwood brought to the screen. 

My Mom helped me a lot with making an Alice cosplay, and I went to my first anime convention. I had never been to one, and after that I wanted to go to more. I fell in love with the fun process of making cosplays and have been doing it since. It's a huge part of my life now, and I met both of my partners through cosplay.

Godzilla movies have a special place in my heart. I always loved sci-fi and fantasy, monsters and crazy costumes. Mothra and Battra are my favorites, so when I saw the designs by btanselanoican, I was inspired. It brought back a sense of nostalgia and happiness while making parts of the cosplays. I still have more details that I want to add and fix, but my Mothra cosplay is one of my favorite projects I have worked on in a long time.

It was a long process, and involved many different materials. For Mothra, I started with the wig. It involved a lot of cotton batting and white felt to build up the shape without adding a lot of weight, then shaping the wig fibers over that. I made the antennae out of wire and painted felt. The earrings are made of cut brass and painted beads. For the dress, it was a lot of patterning by pinning fabrics to my dressform, making a first draft, then using that to cut the actual fabric. I made a corset and skirt, and then the robe/dress piece that wraps over that. The skirt started out white, but was then dyed to the right colors. The sleeves were the hardest part to figure out. They were dyed and painted by hand, before being sewn to the dress. There are also a lot of appliqued gold fabric pieces on the dress. I made the belt, and all the shiny belt petals are also hand-cut brass pieces.

The wings are made of wire and old tights, that I then stitched, painted, and shaped to fit along my back.

The staff is made from a PVC pipe and foam base, then I added the electronics. There are green LEDs, and a small 10rpm motor that makes the moth wings move. I covered everything with foam strips, making them look like wood and vines. There are compartments made of foam and magnets, that way I can get to the battery pack or motor if I need to. I then added the paint and flowers. The moths are made of foam, pipe cleaners, painted posterboard, and faux fur. The moth wings are attached to the motor via some old ukulele strings. The monofilament keeps its shape and is light, but also strong. It's fed through old metal brakeline tubing that goes through the staff.

For Godzilla, it was a lot of use of canvas cotton. We found these huge canvas dropcloths at the hardware store, and they were surprisingly soft, but sturdy, after washing them. They have a thick woven texture and take fabric dye really well. We used that for making Godzilla's pants and shirt. The cape was made of thick cotton, cut, weathered, and painted. The spine has LEDs in it that go up into the hood. His chest and hip armor is all actual leather, patterned by hand and stitched together. The chainmail on the hip armor is hand made as well. His arm and leg armor is more canvas and layers of thick fabric. His shoes are leather and layered canvas and cotton. They are made by hand, and if you look on the bottom they have a Godzilla footprint.

All the "claws" on his hand armor and foot pieces are made of bamboo from the backyard. All of the woven rope pieces are cotton wrapped fleece, braided together for a thick and lightweight rope.

The sword is PVC and foam for a base. The lights are two different sets: a LED string light set, and a neopixel setup. The neopixels were soldered by hand, and are controlled by a command board that also controls a speaker. We set it to play Godzilla's roar with custom light animations. It has a plastazote foam to diffuse the lights, and then more EVA foam on top.

When I saw the designs I fell in love with the props, the attention to detail, and the use of color. Plus, I have always loved Dungeons and Dragons, so putting them into that universe was such a wonderful idea. I also look for fun challenges when it comes to props, and Mothra's staff was so beautiful. I couldn't resist.

Having experience in textile studies has helped me so much with my understanding of how different fabrics work with dyes. I used a lot of dye techniques for different parts of these cosplays. Godzilla's pants and shirt were dyed, Mothra's skirt was dyed two different times, the sleeves were dyed, painted with more dye, and then painted again. I don't think I would have been able to make my Mothra cosplay the way I wanted to without that prior knowledge and experience.

The best part is the magic staff. I am so proud of how it turned out and the way the moths move makes me so happy!

The only thing that I get tired of is that occasionally I run into things with the wire wings, and the long dress can make it hard to go through crowds in convention halls.

[smoqueen]

i was actually beyond drunk last night because of devilbeer (you only need 3 devilbeers) and the 1.5x music was making tekken go way too fast it was like playing tekken at 90 mph with the brakelines cut 

[hupgee123]

"Enhance Braking Performance with Premium Brake Lining Materials"

Brake Lining When a braking system is applied, the material used to create friction is referred to as the brake lining. This process slows or stops a moving object by transforming its kinetic energy into thermal energy. In many different kinds of braking systems, including those used in cars, motorbikes, trucks, trains, and industrial machinery, brake linings are generally present.

Brake linings’ main job is to consistently and dependably stop a vehicle while withstanding severe temperatures and wear. They are made to have superior frictional characteristics, which enables them to effectively produce the frictional force required to slow down or stop a vehicle.

The majority of contemporary brake linings are now constructed without asbestos due to the health and environmental risks connected with asbestos. Instead, a variety of materials, including organic chemicals, metallic fibres, aramid fibres, and synthetic resins, are combined to create them. In order to guarantee the best braking performance, longevity, and safety, these materials have been carefully selected.

Brake lining material The precise materials used to produce the friction required for efficient braking in various types of vehicles and machines are known as brake linings. These materials have been carefully designed to withstand high temperatures and deliver reliable performance in challenging environments. The following are a few typical kinds of brake lining materials:

Non-Asbestos Organic (NAO) Materials: NAO materials are made up of fillers and binding agents blended with organic fibres like glass, aramid, or carbon. They don’t contain asbestos, have good braking performance, low noise levels, and are environmentally friendly.

Semi-Metallic: To improve their frictional qualities, semi-metallic brake linings mix organic fibres with metal particles, usually steel or copper. Compared to NAO materials, these linings offer better heat dissipation and are more durable.

Ceramic: A combination of ceramic fibres, fillers, and binding agents are used to create ceramic brake linings. They emit very little dust, have a quiet operation, and have great braking performance. Ceramic linings are durable and have good thermal stability.

Carbon Composite: Carbon fibres, fillers, and resins are the main components of carbon composite brake linings. They are renowned for their exceptional thermal stability, low wear rate, and reliable performance even in harsh environments. Vehicles designed for racing and high performance frequently use carbon composite linings.

It’s crucial to remember that brake lining components can differ based on the precise application, vehicle type, and manufacturer. The choice of brake lining material is influenced by various elements, including the vehicle’s weight, the braking system’s layout, operating conditions, and desired performance characteristics.

To retain the best braking performance and safety, you must check that the brake lining materials you choose adhere to the safety requirements and laws relevant to your region or industry.

There are several manufacturers that specialize in producing brake lining materials.

Hup Gee Engineering Supply: Hup Gee is a leading manufacturer of brake linings and friction materials for various industries, including automotive, commercial vehicles, and industrial applications. They offer a wide range of brake lining materials designed for different operating conditions and performance requirements.

Hup Gee is a global supplier of automotive parts, including brake linings. They offer a range of brake lining materials suitable for various applications.

[bears-wolves-dragons]

Crusty rusty. Other side is fully clapped out and had fucked the brakeline connection, guess I'll be getting that fixed soon.

[faecorpspublishing]

Poetry - John Sweet

Photo by mododeolhar on Pexels.com the short version bled dry but still 106 more payments left on the mortgage still two loans outstanding and a leak in the brakeline a message from my mother says the old man’s not dead yet, but he will be says there is no such thing as a distance that can ever be completely crossed you reach out your hand to pull the plug and the future just…

[themummersfolly]

Octoboss content: chapter 2

This is posted on my AO3 under the title Highflyer, btw.

“460 cc’s, four stroke, air cooled.” The sun was down, and the woman sat cross-legged with the bikers at their campfire. “Machined up north, me pa’s design. Ain’t nobody can make an ultralight like he could.”

“How much guzzoline’s it drink?” Tyro wanted to know. Beside him, Sketch had gotten over his disappointment and leaned in, listening with interest.

“I don’t feed her straight guzzoline; mix it with oil. But she’ll drink a lot of things. I’ll pick up old cook oil from over at Bugtown, swap it for dry fish coming south and bullet lead coming north.”

“Where’s Bugtown?” VW asked, stirring the stewpot with a ladle. Tonight’s fare was made from lizards, mystery meat jerky, and the last of the crumbled up hardtack. The woman had contributed a packet of crusty-looking dried blobs; a lifetime in the Wasteland had taught the men not to question what they ate as long as it was food, and no one asked what they were. Huxley had tried one before they went in the pot and said it was sweet, that it would go well with the lizard.

“That way.” The woman pointed northeast. “About a day and a half flying. But there’s a big patch of salt between here and there. Don’t see nobody riding on it, so I don’t think you can cross it except by air.”

The Octoboss had taken off his helmet and leaned one elbow on it. “What kind of mileage you get?”

“She’ll go for about four hours on one tank of fuel. I can go longer if I glide and use thermals.”

He pondered this for a moment. “That what you were doing when you landed? Why we didn’t hear no motors?”

“Yeah. Can’t fly with a blown motor. So I switched it off and glided till I found a good spot to land.”

VW gave the pot another stir and lifted a ladleful out to sniff. “Think it’s done.”

It was a custom the Octoboss had established years ago: his point riders ate first, then any sick or wounded. Then the rest of his crew got their share. He himself ate last. Tonight, he nodded his head toward their guest.

“Let the lady eat first.”

She fished a tin cup out of her pack and held it out to receive the first ladleful. The others followed in their usual order, then he took the ladle from VW and filled his own cup. The following silence was broken only by slurping and by Brakeline swearing when he burned his mouth. Finally, when they had all licked the last of the grease from their fingers, the woman reached into her gear and pulled out a small round drum.

“You like music?”

“Know any metal rocks?” Huxley leaned forward. The old songs were a favorite in the Horde, and Dementus was known to reward anyone who could play a banger about fast cars, pretty women, and good times. It was a good way to cool tempers and get everyone’s engines revving together. The woman thumped her drum thoughtfully.

“How ‘bout Paradise City?”

The song was practically sacred to the bikers of the Wasteland. The woman’s voice rose over them, backed by her hand drum and the growl of the others singing along, then Tyro, who was the only one of the crew who could carry a tune in a bucket, took over with a couple lesser-known verses. Paradise City was followed by Highway To Hell, the Immigrant Song, and Manic Mechanic; the woman’s voice rose like a kite or rumbled like wheels on a good smooth road, and she belted out the words with the confidence of a History Man. When Huxley suggested a song she didn’t know, Tyro sang a few bars to give her the beat and she accompanied him on the drum while he sang Back In Black. As they wound down, she shifted to a slower beat and two songs they’d never heard before: one about hard work and choking chemicals, the other a wistful number about dreams and visions and rain. The Octoboss stretched out his long legs to the fire, watching her, as lost in the song as she was in the singing. The fire died down to embers; the last notes of the song drifted up with the sparks. Sketch and VW were already asleep; Huxley was curled up under Tyro’s arm, and Brakeline lay on his back, gazing up at the stars. Quietly, the woman tucked her drum into her pack. She glanced once at the Octoboss, then turned toward her plane. He rose to his feet as she did.

“I’ll walk you back.”

The silence of the desert seemed almost benevolent in the wake of her singing. The moon was full tonight, and he studied her as they walked down the slope.

“You got some pipes on you. Like a bird.” They were almost to the plane. She glanced up at him, quizzical, and he fumbled a little. “Not a crow, I mean, something nicer…” Something he hadn’t heard since he was young, and had never learned the name of.

“A lark.” She caught the fumbled thought and tossed it back to him. “’Least that’s what we say back home.”

“Yeah. Lark.”

She returned his gaze, didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. The derringer was in the thigh pocket of her coveralls; she had crossed her arms, tucking her fingers into her armpits. He took as step towards her. She didn’t step back.

“That was a slick move you pulled back there.” His voice was low, appreciative.

“What, pulling a gun on you?”

“Pick the one the others look to and cap him. You knew they’d back down.”

“I figured you’d stop ‘em. Or else I’d give a good accounting of myself on the way out.”

“They’ve got my back. Or my front, as the case may be.”

“They gonna leave me alone?”

“They will. I told ‘em not to bother you.”

“You got a lot of faith in your boys.”

Something almost like a smile pulled at his mouth. “Yeah.” She was a full foot shorter than him; if they stood toe-to-toe, he could rest his chin on top of her head. He was tempted to try, just to see how far her fearlessness went. Instead he broke the moment off and turned back to his camp. “Watch out for camel spiders. They’re bad around here.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He couldn’t resist one last look over his shoulder, at the plane, at its pilot. “G’night, Lark.”