#brass terminal blocks

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[elmex309]

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[delphi-shield]

connection buffering . . . ↺

di!leon x reader - long-distance relationship - part 2

previous part

you weren't bluffing.

you'd made the sign. wrote his name in big block letters, too confident in how you wrote the first half of his name. the 'EDY' crowds together at the end. 'E' shoves 'D' close to the end, 'Y' drawn paper thin and cocked to the side, threatening to topple off the edge of the paper. leon finds he's not too tired to laugh.

he had the whole goddamn flight to figure out what to say to you, but when he sees you standing there with that sign in your hand, scanning the crowd for a man you expect to be two inches taller, it all flushes out of him to make room for the queasy feeling in his gut. when you finally spot him (thank god; the words had gotten lodged in his throat, your name running around his mind again, again, again, lodged so deep in the crevices that he couldn't pry it free and force it out his mouth) your smile nearly blinds him. he shields his eyes with a hand, watches you bounce on the balls of your feet.

he flicks your sign with a finger. the only words that make it past the lump in his throat are, "messed up the kerning, huh?"

you tip your head, puppy-dog cute. more adorable in person. "the what?"

"kerning." silence. you shake your head a little, blank look in your eye. leon tries to swallow, feels barbs jab into his throat. ten minutes on the ground and he's fucking up already. his gut turns. he tries to blame it on airplane peanuts. "the space between the letters."

he should get back on the plane. if he flashes his badge and declares it official business they have to let him on, right? brass wouldn't be happy with him, but what are they going to do? he's leon fucking kenn--

you laugh and his thoughts screech to a halt, plane crash on the concourse. footsteps pound past him - or maybe that's his heartbeat in his ears. your laugh is prettier in person, too.

"okay, all right." your face lights up, eyes squished to make room for your smile. "why do you know that?"

mentally, he flips through a rolodex of excuses. he moonlighted as a graphic designer (false), he was really into fonts (no strong opinions, really), it's classified (outright lie). he settles for the truth, shrugging.

"late night wikipedia dive."

you laugh again. his heart is a bird, fluttering in his chest, battering itself against his ribs to get to you. what the hell is wrong with him? he hadn't felt like this in years, thought he wasn't supposed to feel like this anymore. when you were an adult you grew out of this sort of giddiness. he'd choked it down every time he'd checked his phone under the table at an intelligence meeting, dismissed it as heartburn. he's supposed to want. it's supposed to be a blaze that swallows him up. confident and bold and all-consuming. not fidgety and desperate.

he's not anxious. he's a grown man. he's met presidents, plural. he doesn't get nervous meeting people, even if they're stunning, even if his hands twitch to hold theirs.

does he hug you? kiss you? slip his hand into your back pocket and guide you out of the terminal, lead you blindly to a car that isn't his, take you to an apartment he's only ever seen portions of on a 15 inch screen, ask what he can make you for dinner in your own home? that's what he wants. skip over all of this and slide right into familiarity, fly right past all the work it takes to get there. you've done the leg work, right? you know how you feel about each other. he's here. that says enough, doesn't it?

he's eternally grateful that you reach through his thoughts and pull him into a hug. your face stuffs into his shoulder, words muffled. "i'm so glad you're here."

you inhale deeply and he swears his heart does a backflip. jesus, he needs to get a physical. this can't be normal.

it's you who loops your arm with his, you who tugs him into motion. you rattle off questions that he answers as best he can. it feels like drowning, like he can barely keep his head above water. his flight was fine, thanks for asking. no, he didn't get any sleep. he never sleeps on planes. it's a long story. he didn't need a nap, but yeah, he could go for a coffee.

you know this great place, you reassure him. really low-key. he treads water in the parking garage while you dig for your keys. you drop them - twice - and he wonders if you're struggling to stay at the surface, too.

as a last act before sinking into the passenger seat, he rescues your sign from the trash, folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.

he looks up from buckling his seat belt, beckoned by the way you call his name. he's still smiling when you cup his cheeks and kiss him.

by day two, he's decided you need a new apartment. he hasn't told you that yet, figures it comes off too pushy, but he would fly back down to help you move if you wanted. (if he thinks it hard enough, won't you ask him to?)

don't misunderstand - he likes what you've done with the place. honest to god, you're a miracle worker with decor. you could really shape his place up.

it's just that your front door is less than secure. your locks are ran through. it would take him less than a minute to break in. he doesn't even want to think about your windows. other than being drafty, they're just another completely unsecured access point.

you'd invited him to sleep in your bed the first night, and he had every intention of doing so. he'd just passed out on the couch before he had the chance. leon had woken with a pillow stuffed under his head, thick, handmade blanket tucked over him. it was sweet. really.

but it wasn't the same as sleeping next to you.

leon has every intention of sleeping in your bed that night. you'd filled the day with a tour of your city, pointing out your favorite and least favorite spots, telling stories that let him imagine the streets as a stage, you as the star, top billing as far as he's concerned. everything had been optional, as you'd feverishly reassured him after every stop. he could change the itinerary with one word. the only mandatory stop had been lunch with your friends. a good sign, he thinks. if you're confident enough to introduce him to the people in your life, then you see this going somewhere, right?

by the time you hit your last stop, it feels like he's emerged from a war zone. leon would know. he's been run ragged on back to back operations before, but this - the pressure of trying to be right for you, to show you who he is, waiting on pins and needles for you to sour on him and push back from the closeness he craves - this is truly exhausting.

you must feel it too, offering to pick up dinner on your way home in lieu of cooking. he waves away apologies, reaches past you to hand the cashier at taco bell his card when you try to pay. the food is gone by the time you pull your car into the parking lot.

both of you have the same idea. you're just as worn out as he is (makes him wonder if you're doing the same thing, all anxious energy, making sure to put your best foot forward, always stumbling and falling into a better impression than the one you set out to make) and bed comes naturally to mind. he slips into the side closest to the door and you stop him immediately, voice teasing.

"uh, that's my side." you poke at his ribs. the awkwardness had melted over the course of the day together. you were playful, eyes bright and laugh loud. touch came easy between you now, both playful and lingering. the comfort that had been stirred up and tossed into disarray by physical proximity had settled back in.

leon's eyes flit to the door over your shoulder. it's not a big deal, he tells himself. the odds of something happening were astronomically low.

but he knows his luck with astronomically low odds. one in a million is too risky. he's got to be closer to the door, won't be able to sleep if he's not. his hands wrap around your waist, urging you on top of him. he doesn't miss the way you stiffen, the momentary hitch of your breath, but you let yourself get swept along all the same, drape yourself over him as he guides you to.

"just sleep like this." leon shifts lower to make more space for you. he presses a kiss to your head.

it takes longer than he expected for you to relax. slowly, when his hands still at your back and his breathing evens out, your limbs loosen. your weight thickens atop him, pressing him further into the mattress. it's all he can do to remind himself that he's tired, that starting something now would lead nowhere fast.

leon stays awake until he's certain you're out cold. the door remains unbreached, your home still safe. he can't bring himself to regret his caution.

when he's finally able to sleep, he sleeps hard. he wakes to your fingers carding through his hair, his cheek cushioned against your chest, completely flipped around during the night. it's the best night he's had in years.

on day three, leon wonders if he should be more obvious.

he's been putting out all the signs, carefully curated his touch to be lingering, to make you burn for more, but each time you settle against him and offer up a contented "this is nice."

does there need to be a neon sign draped around his neck that says "take me for a spin", arrow blinking down toward his crotch? you'd let him press against your back during an afternoon nap, knee wedged between your legs, arm curled around your stomach to keep you next to him. he woke from dreams where he was bolder, where he wasn't afraid of losing you with that lingering confidence, pressed kisses to the back of your neck until that gauzy empowerment lifted.

hell, he'd woken up that morning laying half on top of you, his head nestled in the valley of your chest. you'd pet his hair til he woke from nuzzling your tits in his sleep.

he abandons subtlety during the credit crawl of eight-legged freaks, a 'classic' you had insisted on making him watch. (you'd laughed when he had commented he could keep you safe in the event of giant spiders. he hadn't been joking, but he still hasn't grown tired of hearing you laugh.)

"hey," he asks, hand curling around your thigh. his thumb smooths an arc across your skin, traces the path again and again. "do you wanna..?"

smooth, kennedy.

you look over at him with that same puppy-dog confusion that he's growing familiar with. instead of moving his hand, you draw your legs up and lay them over his lap. how the fuck is he supposed to interpret that?

"do i wanna..?" you parrot back, drawing the words out into the form of a question.

leon hates himself. he wishes he could back out of this. he clears his throat. how the hell do people broach this topic smoothly? he searches for the words, the silence stretching a little too long for comfort. finally, he says the first thing he can.

"like, sex."

real mature, kennedy, he thinks. he wishes he could backpedal, take it all back. he's certain your face warms. before he can issue a take down for his words, (maybe cut out his stupid goddamn vocal cords, if he has the time) you fumble out, "oh. like- right now? uh, i mean, do you want to?"

continuing with the maturity, he turns it back on you.

"i asked you first."

"i don't not want to."

leon shakes his head. his hand cups your ankle. "i really only take 'yeah' or 'hell yeah'."

"i just didn't think giant spiders got you in the mood."

"hey, the more legs the better."

leon knows deflection when he hears it. he's the reigning champ, after all, could play this game with you all day. but he has mercy; he chuckles, lets you get away with it and grabs the remote, declaring it's his turn to pick another movie since your choice was a mood killer.

later that night, curled up in bed with a video playing mindlessly from your tablet, you turn around to face him. he widens his arms to accommodate the movement, circles them tighter once you settle in.

"you're not mad?" you ask, pressing your face into his chest, already hiding from the answer.

"about what?"

"y'know."

"spell it out for me, sweetheart."

he can feel your breath puff against his chest, an exasperated huff. people have done this same thing to him time and time again. he always hated it, being forced to be forthcoming and earnest. (vulnerable, some people call it, but that always made him feel like a wounded bird.) now that he's on the other side, he sort of sees the appeal.

"'cause i don't wanna have sex yet."

there's a 'yet'. that's promising. he saves that little victory for later. his hand rubs slowly, reverently across the planes of your back.

he knows what he's got to say. he knows that he means it. putting the words to it is different. he needs you to understand, has to do this right.

"i didn't come all this way just to hook up."

you hum. "but you still want to."

christ, he's got to man up and say it.

"of course i do." you burrow closer to him, hands fisting against his side. he taps your back firmly. "hey. i'm not finished. i'm attracted to you, okay? like, really attracted to you. it's not- it's not just physical. i want to see if we can make this work. if what we had on the phone was real."

"is it?"

"yeah. i think so."

"sex isn't important to you?"

"it is. it's just not more important to me than you."

you pull your face from his chest, look up at him with big wet eyes. he brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek tenderly, afraid you'll splinter and those tears will cascade down if he's anything but gentle.

"i think so, too."

you curl back into him, your touch melting from desperate to serene. leon can't help but feel accomplished - as though he's threaded the needle perfectly, cut the right wire just before the clock hit zero. gradually, his breathing falls into step with yours.

"besides," he murmurs, half-asleep. he drops a kiss against the top of your head. "your walls are thin. i don't want you catching a noise complaint."

day four is a glimpse of the life he could have, but it makes him realize what he needs to do to obtain it. the sickly feeling pools in his stomach, leaves him picking at the dinner you made. it's good, he swears. then the lie - just all the travel catching up to him.

he knows by day five that he's got to tell you everything. it's no longer a want - he needs you in his life. he's resolved to come clean.

he nearly does it over breakfast. you set his coffee in front of him, muss his hair before you take your own seat, and it almost comes spilling out onto the table.

i work in national security. i'm a federal agent. there's so much i can't tell you, but it's dangerous. god, it's dangerous. there's so much blood on my hands. it doesn't scrub off but i'm worried it will stain your skin. i think i could love you, if you'll let me. please don't say it back.

"plans today?" he says instead, sipping his coffee.

maybe tomorrow.

day six leaves him melancholy.

you'd insisted that today was for him. whatever he wanted, you would accommodate.

leon worries that his answer is boring. he wants a day in with you. an imitation of what it could be like to come home to this. the idle sounds of you milling about the house could lull him to sleep if it weren't for the words lodged in his throat.

you were doing the laundry. not yours, not his, but the, the definite article that's never felt intimate until that very moment. it silenced him to hear you refer to it that way. he's so tired of reading into every word you say, clinging onto every nuance. he'd forgotten how exhausting this stage of a relationship is. you couldn't send him home with dirty clothes, you explained, and he had no argument against that. his eyes traced after you as you puttered around, busying yourself with tidying. you're so at home. of course you are. it's your apartment. but he wants that. he wants to lift you from this place and into his own home, to watch you make yourself at home and busy yourself with the mundane.

he's got to tell you today. he can't do it over text. it's wrong.

when you finally settle down next to him on the couch, drawing a blanket into your lap, you breach the topic gently, give him a chance to do it himself. leon doesn't realize how obvious he is when he gets that look on his face, all forlorn as if he'd collapsed onto a fainting couch, hand over the back of his forehead. drama queen.

"what's up?" you ask, sitting close - but infuriatingly distant, not quite touching him yet.

"nothing. just looking at you."

bless you for trying to make it easy on him. it's always been like pulling teeth to get him to talk. he's trained to resist torture and coercion, should know better than to melt under a gentle hand or the way your body fits against his side.

you hum softly, disbelieving. so that's it, then. the silence, the 'i'm respecting your distance until you break' tactics. damn, you're good. leon takes a deep breath, chest aching with the weight of what he has to say. now or never.

"look- i'm not who you think i am."

you don't miss a beat. "in what way?"

he has to force the words out. he's acutely aware that this could ruin everything. you could kick him out. block his number, never speak to him again. good. it was safer that way. you deserved a normal life.

"i lied to you. about my work."

"yeah, i know."

"i work in security. national security."

"leon. i know."

his brain reels back a few steps, trying to process your words.

"you know?" he repeats, almost offended. how could you know? was this a set up?

you pull your phone from your pocket, tapping a quick query in. you turn the phone to him. article after article, a few interviews pinned to the top. every link is purple, clicked on and read through. the one that draws his eye is tucked at the bottom of the screen, makes his skin crawl to remember.

KENNEDY, HARPER CLEARED OF CHARGES

"i googled you." you set your phone down on the coffee table.

"and you still let me into your house?" he was serious, but you laugh. leon's brow pinches. "how long?"

you shrug, as if this conversation is about the laundry. "a couple months. ever since you told me your last name."

"months? why didn't you say anything?"

"i was hoping you'd tell me yourself. and you did, sort of."

his mind is still reeling. the drama of it all had his wound up tight. where does he put that energy?

he must look as thrown-off as he feels, because you chuckle, sweep the hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"i get why you don't tell people upfront. just don't hide stuff like that from me again, okay? seriously. i'll be mad."

it's more grace than he deserves. your acceptance churns his stomach. is there another meaning behind your words, a resentment coiling in the pit of your stomach?

you crack open your book and lean against his side. he settles his arm around you, moving slow, scared to frighten you away. only one chapter in, you pass him your phone, a take-out app order, asking what he wants. if you're mad, you hide it well.

day seven is a funerary procession. you help him scour your apartment for things he may have left behind, packing them neatly in his suitcase-shaped coffin. it's amazing how his things had flooded into your apartment during the short course of his visit. he had spread out, made himself comfortable. part of it had been testing how his belongings felt next to yours, how it all fit - the final test he had constructed in his mind. you'd passed that with flying colors, clearly. he's lost track of a shirt somewhere along the way, but he isn't concerned about it. he'll be back. he can look for it another time.

both of you linger at your front door. excuses are myriad, flowing from both sides. reasons to double back, reasons to keep his hand on your waist, your fingers in his hair, your lips on his.

but eventually the time becomes too urgent, the threat of missing his flight too real. he'd joked in the car that if he didn't turn up for work they might just send a helicopter to pick him up instead, expecting a laugh. you only smile, a wry twist of your lips that fades too quickly. you reach for your sunglasses and shove them on. the air is tense by the time you pull into the parking garage, cherry scented car freshener cloying.

“you gonna cry?” he teases.

you sniffle.

“oh my god.” he is such a jackass. “don't cry. i'm sorry, sweetheart. it's okay. jesus.”

“i just don't want you to go,” you squeak. your hands fist the steering wheel tight, knuckles turning white.

leon leans over the center console, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. he shrugs you closer to him, hushing you gently.

"let's plan another trip, okay?" he murmurs against your head, placing apologetic kisses there over and over. "c'mon. it's not forever. it's okay. i'm gonna call you when i land. we'll text, like we always do. it's my turn to pick the movie, so-"

fuck. his voice cracks. he clears his throat, blinks quickly to keep his composure.

"so, i'll pick a good one. wednesday night, okay? you, me, and a really good movie."

steadily, his promises slow your tears. the pressure of time detaches you from his hold. you're with him as far as you can go, waving him off to his gate. his heart sinks like a stone. he hates flights, never gets comfortable on them, but the way home feels longer than usual.

made it home he texts the second he's through the door. you're probably asleep. he hopes you are, at least. it's late for you, and--

yay

before he can bother telling you to go to bed, another message pushes through. his house felt empty before, but your message only deepens the feeling, hollows out the hallways and leaves his bed feeling too big, too cold.

i miss you already. call me tomorrow if you can.

leon squints at the screen.

"is that my shirt?"

you stop mid-sentence. caught red-handed - or, rather, grey-shirted.

it's your movie night since he made it back home. you're curled up in bed, your popcorn off to the side. he can fill in the gaps of your room now, knows what extends beyond the screen - and he knows that shirt. an old work tee of his that had mysteriously gone missing after you did the laundry. well-worn and soft. his name stamped on the back in big, block letters. possessive pride stirs in his chest to imagine you wearing his name.

sheepish, you promise, "i'll bring it back to you. how about next month?"

leon shakes his head. he pulls open his calendar, skimming through the busy weeks to clear the time for you.

"keep it. wear it to the airport for me so i know who to look for."

"you're not gonna make me a sign?"

"the shirt is the sign, sweetheart."

"are you gonna wear a matching one with my name on it?"

"i might." he opens another tab, googling how to make custom t-shirts. "you'll have to get here and find out."

connection restored -`♡´-

dividers from @/adornedwithlight

[catdotjpeg]

#NYPDUnveiled – Today on the 7th anniversary of Trump’s Muslim Ban in 2017 we raised the call to Flood JFK For Gaza, the same airport where nationwide protests against Trump’s executive order began, which then spread across the country in the days following January 27th. In 2017, when Port Authority sought to block protestors from reaching JFK’s Terminal 4 by shutting down AirTrain service, then Governor Andrew Cuomo personally intervened, ordering Port Authority to reverse its decision and resume service. In a statement Cuomo declared that “The people of New York will have their voices heard.” Seven years later, now that the target of our protest is all those who are complicit in the ongoing genocide in Gaza, and not Trump, elected officials and NYPD top brass have a very different message. Yesterday, JFK Airport released a statement, needless to say Governor Hochul is not going to intervene to defend our right to protest. Yesterday, just hours before WOL’s Chair & Founder Nerdeen Kiswani was targeted and arrested at a protest in Manhattan, and one day after Within Our Lifetime published a 60-page report on police repression of the Palestine movement in NYC, NYPD Assistant Commissioner Kaz Daughtry posted the following to try and intimidate New Yorkers planning to join our Flood JFK For Gaza protest today. In response to Daughtry’s post, NYPD Chief of Patrol John Chell then posted the tweet above. It should be noted that in 2008 Chell murdered 25-year-old Ortanzso Bovell in cold blood when he shot him in the back, later claiming it was an accident. To this day Chell has never been charged or held accountable for killing Bovell. We know that we have the right to protest at JFK, as we took part in the historic protests outside Terminal 4 in 2017. And we know that the current attempts by NYPD and elected officials’ attempt to intimidate, criminalize and silence us will not succeed.

-- From Within Our Lifetime, 27 Jan 2024

[wrestlingcheese]

Week 24 - Security

All the doors on this floor have a smaller hatch in the bottom like a large car flap, for security dogs to pass through as they please. Each room has a tannoy system in the ceiling, as well as a pair of security cameras with large, visible microphones. A low, warbling electronic tone sounds from every working tannoy, like the looping feedback of an old brass gramophone at the end of its recording.

Signage on the walls warns staff to bathe regularly to reduce their odour. None of the strip lights appear to be working, despite being visibly fine, due to an electrical fault.

11/07 Monorail terminal 1

The room is freezing; the doorway to the monorail outside open, the door blown off its hinges. Snow billows in from outside, and the entire room is covered in a fine sheen of ice. On the platform outside, the monorail carriage is absent, but several figures wait, hunched over and frozen solid.

The ladder hatch from repair turntable is stiff with ice, but useable, shielded from the worst of the cold by the short corridor leading to the main room. There is a large double doorway leading to the Habitation block.

Aside from the passageway to the monorail, the room resembles a front desk office for a conventional police station. The staff that once crewed it are dead, their frozen corpses still slumped forwards over their desks.

[Firearms] The staff appear to have been shot in the backs of the head, execution style, their corpses left to freeze. The door to the next room is frozen shut and appears to have been electronically locked at one point, but the power is out now to unlock it.

[rashtriyametal]

Explore a diverse selection of brass products, including brass terminal blocks, brass sheets, and customized brass materials. Crafted with optimal brass metal composition, our products ensure excellent durability, strength, and corrosion resistance, making them ideal for various industrial applications.

[documentary-surrealist]

via: Details toydb (grandoldtoys.com)

Ask Me Another "The Electric Wizard" manufactured by Marx (1929-30) Toy consists of large die cut man's head wearing a red turban decorated with a crescent moon and star printed on thick, heavy cardboard. The figure's hands extend upwards in either side of the face. Each palm has 12 brass lined holes uniformly spaced between the second and fourth fingers. Two cloth covered wires with metal terminals coil out from the back of the toy to the front. 12 pairs of die cut cards, resembling right and left hands, precisely fit over the figures hands. The left side are questions. The right are answers. Match them up by inserting the wire terminals into the correct hold and a light bulb in the center of the toy lights up. A large rectangular green wooden block riveted to the back of the toy holds a single D-cell battery.

[rpmtrish]

All-New SQR Performance Product Line Brings Affordable Quality Ignition Products to Automotive Market

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[saratogaroadwrites]

Per Aspera Ad Astra (9/18)

Per Aspera Ad Astra | saratogaroad | banner art credit Rating: T Wordcount: 183k Characters: John 117, Cortana, Thomas Lasky, Sarah Palmer, Fireteam Osiris, The Warden Eternal, The Didact, The Librarian, ensemble of other Halo characters Relationships: John-117 & Cortana Other Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, fix-it, Male/Female Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence Warnings:  War imagery, seizures, graphic description of injury

Snatched from the jaws of death, Cortana and John find themselves adrift in a galaxy that has long since moved on. As they attempt to find their place in this strange new world, they find that the fight is not as over as they thought. Chasing a signal across the galaxy in desperate hope, they come to a stark conclusion: the Reclamation has begun, and they are helpless to stop it.

=

"The Captain didn't tell you why he wanted us to meet him here?"

"No," Cortana frowned, fingers tapping her biceps as she paced back and forth along the length of the Captain's office. She'd spun off a process to debrief the Captain on the Janus Key as soon as Roland had pinged her that he'd entered his office, but before it could even start he'd asked her and the Chief to head up and wait for him inside. He had one last call to make, he said, and he'd be with them shortly. He'd looked like he'd been up for three days straight so she hadn't fought or questioned him on it, a fact she was kicking herself for now. "Maybe he wants this debrief in person."

John hummed quietly, obviously not sure that was it. She watched him from the corner of her eye. His parade rest stance was absolutely perfect: hands behind his back, feet shoulder width apart. No one looking at him could have ever detected that anything was off and for the moment, nothing was. He'd been released from Medical with a clean bill of health by the frustrated and confused Dr. Delgado less than half an hour ago and she was keeping a close watch on his bio-readings. They were stable, but how much of that was because of the nap and not because the problem had somehow miraculously fixed itself?

Given their luck, she wasn't about to start believing in miracles anytime soon.

Abruptly, the door slid open. Captain Lasky, now looking even more exhausted than before, stepped inside. A shadow walked in behind him, Locke still in his techsuit a pace behind the Captain. John reacted instantly, moving to block Cortana from Locke's sight. The Captain was too distracted to notice, rubbing the back of his neck as he went, but Locke definitely had. He arched an eyebrow, glancing past John to Cortana. She tilted her head slightly, watching him in return. What was he doing here? Something big had to be up for them to both be here. She reached out to Roland's nearest process, but he was unsure as she was. All he knew for sure was that Lasky had been making highly classified, highly secured calls to the brass, FLEETCOM, and Lord Hood for several hours. Locke had taken part in some of those calls, but what had been said was an unknown.

This didn't look good.

"Roland, lock us down."

"Aye, sir," Roland replied, not even bothering to manifest his avatar on the nearby terminal. The locks on the door hit home with heavy metal thunks, the anti-intrusion program shimmering across the door in a sheen of blue. All digital transmissions were now blocked from either entering or leaving, including all of Cortana's UNSC-tech connections. A chill ran down her spine as the Forerunner code settled in a little heavier, her connection to the Domain gaining strength. Ocean waves sounded at the edge of her hearing, a faint hissing putting her even more on edge. They were really pulling out all the stops for this. She inched a little closer to John's back, needing his warmth to anchor herself on, and eyed the Captain warily.

"Sir?"

The Captain shook his head. "Roland?"

"Recorders are off, Captain, and the room's airtight." His voice was grim. "I can remain on station or leave, sir. It's your call."

For a moment, Lasky said nothing. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose and held it, then slowly let it all go. "No. Keep processing the Key data Cortana gave you and advise if we get company. Dismissed."

"Aye, sir."

Silence fell over the room. Shifting his position, John stepped up a half step in front of her, firmly planting himself between her and Locke standing at parade rest beside the desk. "Captain?" He asked, his tone dark with uncertainty and concern. Lasky opened his eyes.

"What we're about to tell you does not leave this room," He commanded firmly, "There's a lot of moving parts involved, and I won't see either of you get caught up in them."

They shared another sidelong glance. Leaning half a degree forward, Cortana looked to Commander Locke and tilted her head, wondering if what he'd been going to tell her in D-9 had anything to do with this. He inclined his head towards the Captain in response; he was waiting for their reply and it wouldn't do to keep him waiting for long. Glancing up at John, she shrugged. She knew nothing of what this was really about, so they were flying blind. He nodded in understanding and then nodded more firmly to the Captain.

"Sir," he and Cortana both said in unison, "Yes sir."

The Captain returned their nod. Walking around towards the seat of his desk, he tapped at the reactive holo-top until what he was looking for appeared on screen. A video player and an audio player waited for his go ahead, blank deep blue masking his expression.

"When the scan-drones picked up the Librarian's signal, they also picked up a few other things of interest to FLEETCOM. Some Promethean signals, but also a lot of Covenant chatter." He looked up through the screens at them. "The most interesting thing they found was that Jul 'Mdama was on station." Before Cortana could point out that they'd already figured that much out he continued, "The Admirals declared the information need to know and tasked a fireteam with his elimination."

"A single fireteam, sir?" Cortana asked confusedly. A single Elite was no match for a fireteam, but given that 'Mdama was being called the second coming of the Prophets in some xeno-studies circles, he'd be surrounded by heavily armed forces. Putting a single fireteam against all of that sounded like too high a risk to her. "Why not inform the battalion and designate him primary target?"

"FLEETCOM decided that would garner too much attention and invite risk. They didn't want to chance him getting away." Lasky sighed heavily, a hand reaching upwards to rake through his hair before he caught himself and lowered it back down. "A single fireteam was viewed as the most likely to get in, eliminate him, and get out. The rest of us could mop up his army after he was dead."

Or deal with his second taking command and turning him into a martyr. What was FLEETCOM thinking taking that kind of risk? It would only bolster the Covenant, turn them even more fanatical than before! Which Admiral had decided that was a good idea and why had the rest gone along with it? Something told her that if she asked Lasky those questions, he'd be unable to answer. John shifted his weight beside her, their arms brushing. A topic for another time.

"I'm assuming the mission is still ongoing, sir?"

"It is." Locke said when Lasky nodded. "We discovered 'Mdama's location before the attack on Infinity yesterday, but we also found something else."

Stepping up to the desk at the Captain's gesture of command, Locke tapped two fingers to the holotop. Accepting his bio-access codes the system brought up a list of dated and timestamped video files. Helmet-cam footage, Cortana noted, and watched as Locke selected the second most recent one. The vid-screen opened, expanding and turning around so they could more clearly watch as Osiris made their way through a thick jungle. Spartans had never been built for stealth, but Osiris had done an admirable job of keeping quiet and low as they made their way forward through the jungle towards their target. The Forerunner platform had been built in a clearing overlooking a waterfall and had lines of sight in all directions. Elites with plasma rifles in hand patrolled the edge, keeping watch for intruders and keeping watch over a device much like the one that had taken root in D-9. Huh. She'd been right about him being behind the trap after all. A curl of smug pride wound around her core as she wondered idly what the platform itself had been built for. Tanaka passed up ahead on Locke's right, only to stop dead in her tracks and go low a half second later. She gestured downwards with one hand, calling for her teammates to stop and go flat. She'd spotted something up ahead but—oh.

Oh.

At the back of the platform was a screen and a terminal, not too unlike a comms terminal aboard the Infinity, and an Elite in decorated armor bent on one knee before it. Seeing one of the normally proud aliens on his knees would have been disconcerting enough, but when paired with who was on that screen—she could hear John's fists creaking.

"The Didact." He said. Visual confirmation paired with what they already knew should have added a hefty dose of vindication to his tone, but it was nowhere to be found as he asked, "Was the signal traced, sir?"

"It was," Captain Lasky said with a quiet sigh, the only moment of weakness he allowed himself. John's reaction was confirmation enough for him, it seemed. "Our techs were able to trace the signal as coming from Vestige II, a planet on the outer edges of human space. Commander Locke and I informed Lord Hood about this and he had the River Bend head out to scout the area." He looked to Cortana, then to John. "I don't have to ask, do I."

"No sir," they said in unison. There would be no keeping either of them here, not now that Infinity was free of the slipspace anchor and they had confirmation of the Didact's survival. She turned to John, ready with a half dozen plans, but he didn't look back at her. "Sir, if he's still there, it's going to take more than a single ship to take him down. Will the Infinity be tasked with joining us?"

"Only after there's full confirmation he's on site, Chief." Captain Lasky pressed the pads of his fingers to his eyes, "Some of the admirals weren't convinced that this is actually the Didact and not some other force using his image to manipulate 'Mdama. We're to remain on station until he's taken out or a bigger threat emerges that needs our attention."

Well that changed a few things. Pausing to adjust her plans, Cortana tilted her head.

"So it's a scouting run. Go to Vestige, get eyes, and call home for back-up." She glanced at her partner, who quirked one corner of his mouth in a flicker of a there-and-gone smile. "I think we can manage a little stealth if we try. The question is how are we going to get there without taking months."

"You can't just use the Domain?" Locke asked.

Cortana shook her head. "So long as there's a node out by Vestige I could, but I'd have to go alone. Organic matter doesn't transfer through the Domain." All it did was make Prometheans. Her eyes darted to John and she shivered faintly. "Or at least, it can't go in and then come back out again. It'd be something like being Composed, I think."

"So not an option," Lasky said with a nod. He tapped at his desk a few more times, banishing the vid and audio players and coming up with a manifest of all space worthy vessels aboard Infinity. The frigates were out, too big for a crew of two, and the Pelicans didn't have a slipspace drive to get all the way to Vestige. There was, however, one small craft that did have a slipspace drive. He tapped on the listing, bringing up the schematics and display of a Condor. "Take the Condor. Get to Vestige and link up with the River Bend." He looked between them again. "I'm clearing you both to operate at your own discretion. Chief, you have tactical command of this operation."

"Yes sir," John said firmly. A worried line formed on Lasky's brow and he glanced at his desk. John shifted, uncomfortable with the display of concern. "Sir, Cortana's status…"

"R&D was able to glean a few things from the data that's been given to them, and they've gotten some…inspiration from seeing you walking around," the Captain said with the barest hint of a smile at Cortana. She beamed for a split second as he continued, "Some of them have started work on mobile platforms for AI to use. If anyone asks, this op was chosen as a test run for a mobile platform and the rest is classified. I'd advise you to keep your helmet on and stay close to the Chief."

As if that needed to be said. "Yes sir," Cortana replied, though the worry hadn't faded from the Captain's eyes. "Captain, we'll be fine. We know what we're dealing with and we're not half dead this time. We can handle one ancient Forerunner until the cavalry shows up."

A rueful smile flickered across Lasky's face. That wasn't what he'd been worried about? No. No, he was worried about something else. Locke shifted his weight from one foot to the other and the Captain lifted his head.

"That wasn't the only thing you two need to be aware of," He said, "Fireteam Osiris' mission was the capture or elimination of 'Mdama. Commander Locke had another mission of his own to handle."

Slowly, the two of them turned to look at Locke. His face was calm, but there was a darkness in his eyes that she didn't like. It spoke of guilt, of an internal battle he was still fighting. What ghosts was he wrestling with, she wondered, then set the thought aside.

"Commander?"

"Before I joined the Spartan IV program, I worked for ONI Section III as an Acquisitions Specialist." He said in a voice that was as calm and even as his expression. Focusing her sensors on him, she could detect the minute twitches and flinches as he fought to keep that even expression, the micro-pauses in his speech. Each word was clawing its way out of him, things he had fought not to say and now had to battle to say. The air in the room grew tight and thick with tension; John shifted his weight, putting more of himself between her and Locke. "Part of my job was the monitoring of high value targets for capture or elimination. It's why Osiris was assigned to Mdama."

"But you had a second target," Cortana filled in the blanks, "You were tasked with keeping an eye on someone else at the same time, weren't you?"

A nod and then, "Three months ago, I was assigned with the monitoring of Spartan John-117 and UNSC AI Cortana, to ensure that they remained no threat to the UNSC, ONI, or humanity at large." He said, heedless of how his words struck her like bullets. Someone hadn't trusted them. Someone—an admiral—had thought them a threat. Cortana rocked back, stunned, but Locke wasn't finished. "In the event that they became one, I was tasked with eliminating them no matter the cost."

Assassination. She had half a second to realize Locke was talking in the past tense before John took a step forward. They were the same height out of armor, but John loomed over the other man all the same. Two point zero eight meters of protective, singularly driven instinct pressed into Locke's space. Any sane man would have retreated, but Locke was a Spartan and gave no ground. Cortana took a hurried step after her partner.

"Chief, don't!"

"Chief, stand down!" Lasky ordered, but he didn't stand down. He loomed, expression grim.

"Did you report this?" He asked, voice grave. Cortana tried to step out in front of him but he held her back, arm an iron bar across her collar. Locke glanced at her and John pushed her back out of sight. He didn't repeat himself, but Locke recognized the danger he was in and slowly shook his head.

"No." He said, "I was granted operational discretion for this mission. When and how I acted to eliminate the threat would be my choice." Carefully, he tilted his head. "I still haven't seen any threats."

"Lord Hood overruled the orders, Chief. Stand down."

John said nothing. Cortana laid both hands on his arm and when he looked back at her she shook her head. She understood exactly how he was feeling and if it were up to her there would be a dozen heads rolling on the ground by chowtime, but Locke's wouldn't be one of them. He was following orders and was clearly not a threat to them now. He could stand down. They were safe. Everything was okay.

She didn't have to say any of that. One look at her face told John all he needed to know, and though a deep furrow lingered between his brows, he stepped back. Locke sighed quietly, shoulders dropping out of their tense stance. Cortana kept a hand on John's arm and looked to the Commander.

"Why tell us this?" She asked, "Beyond what I'm sure was a need to know gag order, telling us accomplishes nothing. Why even bring it up?"

"Because you both have a right to know who's gunning for you," he replied. There was respect in his eyes, his expression softening just a touch as he went on, "And because I watched you throw yourself between your crew and harm even when it could have gotten you killed. No one who did that would turn on her crew or her people. You're one of us, Cortana. I don't turn on my shipmates."

Oh. Her throat closed up and she had to blink rapidly even though she couldn't cry. John nudged her arm and she nodded, steadying herself. Locke's expression returned to the all-business calm he'd displayed moments earlier.

"Lord Hood overruled Admiral Osman's orders, but she isn't the kind of person to have only one iron in the fire. There could be others out there with the same or similar orders," He said, answering Cortana's unasked question of who had it out for them, "ONI has a very long reach."

"Which is another reason to get you two off the ship," the Captain added, "Lord Hood and the rest of FLEETCOM will handle the Admiral, but once she finds out that they know, there's a good chance she'll retaliate. If she's targeting you for any reason beyond caution, you can't be here to be caught." One corner of his mouth turned up. "Stay here and clash with ONI, or go out there and possibly encounter the Didact. I'm not sure which is worse."

ONI, Cortana thought. To some extent they knew the Didact and could at least keep him busy in combat. ONI? That was an entire branch of the UNSC! Forget that John wouldn't be able to bring himself to fight humans again, there were just too many of them. And if the Infinity and her crew moved to their defense, it would turn into a coup, or worse, an all out civil war! Humanity had already had enough of those in recent years. They couldn't afford another one. No, the Captain was right. They couldn't be here to be found. John's expression had turned to stone when she looked up at his face, his attention turning partially inward to process what he'd been told. She made a note to try and get him to talk about it later.

"Neither's a good option, sir, but one's a lot more pressing than the other," She said, "We should get moving before whatever made that call vanishes."

"Understood. The Condor will be loaded and ready for full combat pursuit for you," Lasky took one last long look at the two of them before he snapped out a sharp salute of his own. "Dismissed."

"Sir," the pair snapped out salutes in return. The blue shimmer dissipated from the door, anti-intrusion protocols released so they could leave. John still kept himself between her and Locke as they headed for the door.

"Try not to disappear for another five years this time," the Captain said, stopping them both mid-stride. They turned to look over their shoulders at his rueful smile, his eyes dark with worry. "Roland would be inconsolable if you went missing again."

"Just Roland, sir?"

"He'd be the most vocal about it," Lasky replied before he looked at them seriously. "Be careful. I want you both back on this ship in one piece when this is over."

There was no guarantee of that, Cortana thought. The Didact was a formidable foe, one they hadn't managed to take down before. The odds of him making this easy were so low they were practically in the negatives, and with ONI operatives potentially coming after them as well…well. She didn't really want to contemplate those odds. Even if she'd convinced the Warden to help out, they weren't good numbers to be running on. Still…

"We'll be back, sir," John replied, his voice firm and level. For a moment, all doubt between them disappeared. This was the Master Chief, that voice said, the man who'd gotten through hundreds upon hundreds of battles with terrible odds and come out alive on the other side, the man who'd saved the galaxy time and again. There was no need to doubt him. When he made a promise, he kept it. Heart swelling with love, Cortana watched as he added, "We'll bring you a souvenir if we find anything decent."

Lasky chuckled. "I look forward to it. Good hunting."

With a final sir, the two of them walked out of the room and didn't look back.

The trip to Vestige from Requiem would take roughly two days in slipspace. Built on the frame of the new standard Pelican, the inclusion of a slipspace drive meant that the Condor had less room for cargo and personnel. It had been included with Infinity's load in case the command staff had to be evacuated in a hurry and there were no other slipspace capable ships available, but Lasky never would have taken it. He was the kind of Captain who would go down with his ship rather than flee, so he hadn't hesitated to give the little craft to them.

John still hated the flying part, even with Cortana at the controls. They'd kept busy the first day and a half by playing a lot of holo-chess and going over combat scenarios in case the Didact was still on station, but there were only so many ways to fill forty hours of downtime. She insisted he take a catnap before they arrive, though he pretended he hadn't heard that.

He'd left her alone in the dark of space for too long already. He wouldn't do that again, not even for an hour. He'd never leave her alone and drifting ever again. He knew she understood that when her expression had softened and she'd let him win that game of chess. He won the next one, too, though that had been by crushing her strategy instead of being handed a win. Her competitive nature clashing with his turned the next few rounds into a free for all, but they'd set the game aside as they approached the final fifteen minutes of the voyage. The board was set aside and she'd gone into the cockpit as he prepared his weapons in the troop bay.

"Do we have any intel on Vestige?"

"Not much. Outer colony world glassed in '46. Most of the population was killed in the glassing, but some of the survivors apparently came back in '54. Something about reclaiming their homes from the glass," Cortana said with a distracted frown, tapping at the monitors and displays in front of her. She moved a dial, making a few modifications as she spoke. "I don't know why the Didact would bother coming to a backwater like this. Survey scans pre-dating colonization didn't find anything remotely Forerunner on-world."

"He came here for a reason," the Chief replied, racking the slide of his rifle for final checks. Everything clicked together in a well-oiled, well maintained group of clicks and clatters. He didn't lock it to his mag-locks just yet, knowing they would be dropping out of slipspace soon. He'd rather be doing that in the pilot's seat than in the bay. Mission parameters put them joining up with the River Bend first anyway. So long as they didn't need to come out shooting, there would be time to lock and load before they entered combat. He hoped. "Does the Key have any more intel on the location?"

"Nothing it's willing to give me without a fight. Vestige is marked as having Forerunner technology, but the glyphs are…" She looked up with a frown. "Well, I think my translation software's bugging out. Supposedly they read Guardian, but there's a couple hundred of those same glyphs scattered across the Orion Arm. I don't know what the hell they actually are beyond massive."

"We'll handle it."

"That's hardly the point now is it?" She turned to give him a look from the co-pilot's seat. He was saved from having to respond by a beep from the center console. Locking his rifle into the weapons rack, he made his way forward to the cockpit. She'd dismissed her project by the time he got there, hands flying across the console. Flickers of blue and purple light danced across the canopy as they prepared to drop out of slipspace.

"Approaching coordinates now," She announced. He dropped into his seat and put both hands on the controls. "Dropping out of slipspace in three, two, one—mark."

Between one moment and the next, they dropped out of slipspace. The black of the void gave way to a sky full of stars and chunks of space rock. Too many chunks—they'd dropped straight into an asteroid field! Proximity alarms started screaming, red lights flaring through the cockpit. The Condor banked sharply to port, Cortana's process taking instant control to fly them around a rock right in front of them. In the next second, the Chief took command.

"I have control," He said, banking them away from another large and shining asteroid dead ahead, "Plot a route out of this."

"It's on nav," Cortana said calmly, data flying across her screen. She'd switched back to program-level control, opening a second window and scanning the area around them. He couldn't take his eyes off the viewscreen, the navpoint in his HUD constantly updating directions for him to follow. He followed them to the letter without hesitating, turning the Condor almost onto its wing to slip between two even larger asteroids. He grit his teeth, focus razor-sharp. "This doesn't make any sense! There's not supposed to be asteroid field in this system!"

"One thing at a time," the Chief replied. They were nearing the rim of the field. When a clear path emerged ahead he punched the thrusters and flew them clear, banking into a turn to face what they had just flown through. It was absolutely massive, at least two hundred thousand kilometers of space filled with pieces of broken down stone, glass, and metal. Hitting the adjustment thrusters to keep them relatively in place, the Chief forced himself to exhale. His racing heartbeat began to steady out. "Did we drop out too early?"

"Negative. These are the coordinates where we were supposed to meet up with the River Bend. Vestige II is supposed to be a hundred thousand kilometers straight ahead of us," She replied, looking down at her monitors with a frown. She looked back up a moment later. "It's supposed to be here, but…"

"There's no planet here."

Not even a planetoid. Just asteroids, rock, and space dust as far as he could see. He looked over at her screens and saw the sensors were seeing the same thing he was. Coordinates were a match but those had been wrong before. And where was the River Bend? They couldn't have been hailed while still in slipspace, but they'd been warned the Chief and Cortana were coming. They should have hailed them by now. He didn't like this.

"Scan again." He ordered, looking across his readings. "Make sure we're in the right place."

"Chief, we're in the right place," She retorted, though she ran the scan all the same. Her hands stilled. "…and those aren't asteroids. They're pieces of a planet."

A chill ran down his spine. "What?"

"Sensor scans are reporting mineral levels in line with the surface of a glassed planet," She said, voice wavering with disbelief, "The Covenant didn't glass asteroids, that's Vestige II!" She pointed out the window a the slowly drifting field. It had shattered into thousands of pieces, most no larger than the Condor itself. There was no sign of human habitation on any of the ones he could see, no buildings, escape pods, or shuttlecraft anywhere in sight. He shook his head slowly.

"That's—that can't be right. Scan again." She didn't answer. He looked at her staring wide-eyed out the viewscreen. "Cortana!"

"I already did! There's—there's no signals anywhere, distress or otherwise. It's. It's all just rock and dust, Chief." She pressed a hand to her mouth and sat back, color fading. "They're…they must have bugged out somehow—" Sitting back up she ran another scan, no doubt looking for the River Bend or signs of a slipspace jump. Her systems blared loudly a second later: one massive return detected. It was too big to have belonged to a frigate and the Infinity wasn't on station. It had to have been whatever the Janus Key had said was here. A Guardian? He looked back out the window, sick to his stomach.

Whatever had happened here, he didn't want to believe no one had escaped. The River Bend would have jumped to help with evacuations regardless of what the colonists thought of them. They had to be here somewhere.

"Scan for the River Bend. If they're on station, we're going to find them."

Without waiting for a nav-point, the Chief swung them out wide around the loose exterior of the debris field. He kept half an eye on his radar, adjusting to avoid the larger chunks of stone and glass. His stomach remained a twisted knot in his gut, the knowledge of vacuum exposure being how anyone could have gone out souring his mind. No one should have had to go out like that. The beeping of Cortana's terminal was the only sound in the cockpit for a long few minutes before she gasped, her head snapping up.

"Ten o'clock," She pointed out, "Metallic return."

But no hail or signal return, she didn't say. Her silence said enough. Banking them towards it, the Chief increased their thrusters. The River Bend's still and silent form was a black and gray scar against the backdrop of stars, a blocky slash pointed downwards towards where Vestige II had been just days prior. The running lights were off, the ship dead and drifting towards the debris field. He hit the radio.

"This is Sierra 117 of the UNSC Infinity hailing the River Bend. River Bend, how copy?"

No response. Cortana shook her head, adjusting the frequency. He tried again, getting only silence back. She threw the band wide open for him.

"River Bend, do you read?"

Nothing. His knotted stomach tightened even further.

"We need to get on board that ship."

"I'm not getting any power readings. Without power the only way in's going to be forcing our way in." She pressed her lips together. "Fly us past the bridge. If I get a clear line of sight I should be able to go inside and manually get a hangar open."

As much as he didn't like the idea of sending her into a dark derelict by herself, the Chief did as she asked. The River Bend stretched out silently in front of them, cold and dark. Tilting upwards, the Chief flew them up to the bridge. Like with most frigates it was just past the midpoint of the ship, closer to stern than bow, and raised above the rest of the hull for a better vantage point in space combat. Cortana rose from her seat as they approached.

"This won't take long. I'll be back in…" She trailed off, halfway out of her seat. They both stared out the window. "Oh no."

Bodies. There were bodies in the bridge.

The Chief activated the zoom on his HUD for a closer look. What looked like the entire command staff were still strapped in their seats, anything loose drifting upwards in the zero-g environment. The only light came from the Condor's front headlights as they swept over the macabre scene inside. Some of the officers were wearing oxygen masks attached to portable tanks, he saw. Maybe they were still alive? Cortana shook her head and he realized he'd spoken aloud.

"I'm not getting any lifesigns, Chief," She said quietly, "I can't—there's no power in the ship to connect to sensors but…" She shook her head again. "If the bridge is compromised, the whole ship is dark. No gravity, no oxygen, no life support."

"No crew." His already twisted gut lurched. "We need to get in there. Where's the closest access hatch."

"Near the missile launch station, same as on the Dawn," She set another navpoint and sat back, drained of color. "What happened here, Chief?"

"We're going to find out."

They flew back around in silence. The hyperion missile launch tubes were closed and there were no signs any of the ship's weapons had been used recently. Flying the Condor down to the hull, the Chief activated the mag-tether that would keep them in place. Cortana took a moment to input a few commands as he put the little craft into standby mode.

"There. I've got a remote piloting process on-board just in case we need to bug out in a hurry." Looking up, she shook her head. "I've got a bad feeling about this…"

"Me too." John admitted. He got up out of his seat and headed to the weapons rack. Tight quarters would necessitate closer combat than he'd have liked. He doubled up on pistol ammo and locked a Magnum to his thigh. His rifle went on his back, the soft blue glow on the walls telling him Cortana had already called on her lightrifle. She'd stay back and cover him from the rear, where she was safer. Grateful he hadn't needed to ask her to do so, he looked back at her. She nodded firmly, ready to go. All he could see through her helmet were her determined, slightly worried eyes. No fear, no hesitation.

It was time to do their jobs.

The Chief took the two strides down the shortened troop bay and to the hatch. A tiny alarm blared as the bay depressurized, but everything had been bolted down and so there was nothing to go flying past their heads. Cortana had had time to make a few adjustments to her program and walked up alongside him, unaffected by the zero-g that forced him to turn on his magboots or go lifting up off the bay floor. With one last look, he jetted forward towards the hull of the River Bend twenty meters below, scanning for targets as he went. No motion pinged his tracker, no bodies drew his eye. They were alone in the dark and for once he didn't like it.

"Clear."

Cortana appeared in a flare of blue light beside him, rifle locked to her back. They made their way forward to the nearby airlock and she pried open the small control console by the side of the hatch, shaking her head. No power, no response. He considered the airlock itself.

"We didn't see any hull breaches. Is there still pressure inside?"

"I'd bet on it." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "But so long as the interior bulkhead's holding, the depressurization should be contained to the airlock itself. We can manually repressurize that once we're inside."

It was as much permission as he needed. She stepped back out of the way and he took a step forward, jamming his fingers into the seam of the airlock door plates. Though they'd been built to withstand the rigors of space maneuvering, they'd never been built to hold against a Spartan. The servos in his suit revved up, force-multiplying circuits turning human ingenuity into so much paper. Mindful not to break anything, the Chief forced the door open. No alarms went off, no lights started to blare, and the only sign there'd been any air in there at all was the puff of white smoke that came and went in the space of a heartbeat.

No power, no light, no air. He swallowed hard and they stepped inside. She had to clamber up the emergency weapons lockers to reach the manual pressure system; at her signal, he pulled the airlock doors sealed, holding them as she went through the necessary steps to return normal atmospheric pressure to the room. A light flickered faintly, struggling to turn on, and for a split second he saw green before it went out. Perched on the top of a locker, she shook her head.

"Power's still out," She said, "But we're green. Let's go."

Wordlessly the Chief took point, not allowing himself to think about what could have happened out here. There would be time for that later, time when he wasn't prying open doors and checking corridors for an attack that wouldn't come. His headlamps swept across dark metal and shut bulkheads, each end of the corridor locked down. The ship must have gone into an automatic lockdown to prevent total loss of systems, he thought. UNSC ingenuity at its finest. A soft blue light behind him turned his attention to Cortana, the ship schematics twisting in her hands.

"Our best bet to find out what happened to the ship is to go down to Engineering and try to restore power. I can access the rest of the systems from the diagnostic terminal." She looked down the corridor in the direction of the bridge, bowing her head. "…There's nothing we can do for them now."

There was no point in asking if anyone else could have survived. For the bridge crew to have switched to using masks and tanks meant that they'd run out of air inside. The odds that there was anywhere on the ship with breathable atmosphere left weren't good, and without power there were no cryo-pods to wait for rescue in. The Chief cut off the thought before it could go any further, pulling up her navpoint to front and center.

"What do you think did this?" He asked as they walked, rifle still up. "The Guardian?"

"If that's what was actually down there, yes," She said with a deep furrow between her brows, "What I don't understand is how it destroyed the planet…glassed planets aren't known for tectonic stability but to just crack one apart like that…"

"Nova Bomb."

"Maybe." She shook her head. "But I don't want to think about the Didact having access to anything on that level. He's threatening enough as it is."

He was. But they'd deal with him when they had to, no sooner. A sharp-edged silence fell between the two of them as they made their way down the silent ship. The Chief kept his focus forward, trusting her to warn him if she saw anything he needed to be aware of, but the further they walked the more it seemed there was simply no one aboard any longer. At least, no one alive. They passed a safe room on the Engineering deck and Cortana shook her head. No lifesigns, no motion, no change.

No survivors.

John's chest grew tight. They'd had no chance, had they? No way to fight back or defend themselves. And then when it had happened—whatever had happened—they'd been unable to fix it. The crew had no doubt gone down swinging, but they'd still gone down. If they didn't figure this out, would that be what happened to other crews? To the Infinity? He couldn't let it happen to them, or to her. Locking his rifle onto his rear mag-lock, the Chief pried open the final door between them and Engineering with a little more force than strictly necessary. Cortana lay a hand on his side as she walked past him, anchoring him in the now.

One thing at a time, said the gesture. One step at a time.

They stepped into Engineering and stopped. Beyond the reach of his headlamps the deck was dark, all machinery shut down. Several bodies floated in the zero-g, tethered to various catwalks or safety rails that would have allowed them to reach whatever needed hands on it. Manual rebreather masks covered their faces, the bulky filters scrubbing carbon dioxide to make it breathable again, but even those had their limits. At that size…an hour, maybe two.

Desperately fighting to save their ship and their crew, these people had fought until the bitter end. The tightness in John's chest squeezed even tighter, iron bands around his ribs, and he had to remind himself to breathe. He still could.

"These people…" Cortana's voice was thick with sadness, tears hovering around its edges. "They had to have known there was nothing they could do, but they kept fighting…"

"They were soldiers." He said, his own voice thickened. She looked back at him and he said, "They were human. They'd fight until they couldn't fight any more."

Like her. Like a Spartan. He took a deep breath of recycled air and closed his eyes. He'd known none of these soldiers and their IFFs had gone dark in whatever killed the ship, but each and every one of them was a hero in his books. To go down fighting…it was the most any of them could hope for. He opened his eyes.

"See what you can get," He said, and Cortana's eyes narrowed in understanding. "We have to radio the Infinity and let them know what happened."

"Right."

With one last look at the floating bodies, Cortana made her way to a terminal bolted to the wall. It was as dark and lifeless as everything else in the room. He wasn't sure how she intended to get anything from it, and for a moment it seemed she wasn't either. Then, tentatively, she reached out and lay a hand on the side of the terminal, closing her eyes. A soft electric hum filled the space around them. He watched her, her glow strengthening to the point where it escaped her armor, before there was a soft click from the terminal. Fans began to whir, the sound too loud in the near silent room.

"Cortana?"

"Hard-light is just energy," She explained, "Layers upon layers of energy arranged in particular molecular structure. If you change that…" Her glow faded back down to nominal levels, shaking herself like a dog coming out of water. "Power. For a couple of small systems, at least."

Not enough for lights, gravity, or life support. All remained steadfastly off as the screen flickered on, blue and white light reflecting off her armor. He made his way to her side, watching her tab through menus. Mechanical data had been recorded, readings in the green. As far as he could tell, the ship had been running smoothly up until everything just. Stopped.

Everything but the shield generation a few seconds before. He reached out and tapped the display.

"There. Someone gave the order to boost shields before all power went out."

"Meaning they saw an attack coming." She said pensively. "I wonder…"

The Chief wondered, too. He took another look around the deck as Cortana made her way through the files, narrowing his eyes. Bornstellar's memories were faint, disjointed. Blurry glimpses of time that made his head hurt if he looked for too long. But even in what he could make out, there had been nothing like this. The Forerunner's presence was quiet, brooding. He knew something, but putting it into a concept that John's still human mind could understand was going to take time. The sharp ache above his eye throbbed warningly and he had to retreat.

"Got it."

He turned back. Cortana had found the footage from the external bow camera units and brought it on screen. She frowned deeply at it.

"No audio, but the image is clear enough we can figure out what happened here."

"Play it."

She hummed softly, stepping to the side to allow him a cleaner view. The timestamp on the footage was thirty six hours prior, likely not long after the River Bend had arrived in system. The bow was pointed at Vestige II, all sensors directed at the glassy marble hanging in space dead ahead of them. Nothing seemed wrong with it, or the surrounding area, so what had happened? Cortana hummed again when he asked.

"Sensors were detecting some pretty heavy tectonic activity. Colonists reported earthquakes that had leveled most of the settlement. Fast burst comms between the planet and the ship were full of offers to evacuate, send engineers and medics to pull people out of the rubble. The connection goes dark before the footage ends, though."

The video shifted. Even from the distance Vestige II was from the River Bend's position the Chief could see glowing orange lines shoot across the planet's surface. They weren't the angular Forerunner power distribution lines but something much more organic. Tectonic activity…volcanic activity? The Chief watched silently.

"Shields go to full power. Sensor data's reading intense energy on par with super-volcanic eruptions, tectonic activity strong enough to shake the planet itself to pieces." Her frown darkened. "And there's something else, too, something they're not sure how to parse. It's metallic, big, but that's all they got."

"Something? Or someone?"

She didn't answer. She'd closed her eyes, expression grim. The Chief kept his eyes on the footage as it continued to play. The lines that had cracked the planet continued to spread, their glow growing in strength with each passing moment, and just when it seemed that they could glow no brighter—the planet broke.

There was no audio on the footage, but he could feel that crack in his bones, feel it in how Cortana jumped, flinching. They both watched helplessly as the force of whatever had just happened sent the pieces of what had once been Vestige II flying. Without atmosphere to protect it everything human-constructed was sent flying off into space, wildly untethered.

"The bays are scrambled to go search for survivors. Radar station picked up an unrecognized return in all the mess but it's not human." She said quietly, "It's Forerunner."

The Guardian. They both watched, already knowing how this would end, as a massive column erupted from what was left of the planet. It wasn't molten material reaching for the stars but a huge construct of its own, molten stone drifting off a spine column as two equally huge wings spread into the stars. When they spread to their full width, the Chief stopped breathing.

He knew that shape. He'd seen it in so many of his dreams, seen it emblazoned across Cortana's back so many times since she'd woken him on the Dawn. Bornstellar's presence in the back of his mind surged forward in disbelief, a morass of feelings and memories. That shouldn't have happened, he seemed to shout, no Guardian should have ever done such a thing!

"That's the Guardian," He said, sure of it. The footage paused as Cortana looked at him. "The marker on the Janus Key…it's not a mistranslation. That's the—a Guardian."

And it was a. There were hundreds more just like it, maybe even thousands. It was impossible to know how many had survived the fall of the Empire but there was no doubt in his mind there were more. He shook his head, Bornstellar retreating to a dark cloud of dread and disbelief in the back of his mind. He swallowed hard and met Cortana's eyes; worry had turned them dark, but she nodded slowly.

"Okay," She said, not doubting him, "That means we know what to look for."

But they hadn't learned the whole story of what had happened here, not yet. She resumed the footage.

"Shields are still up. Scans are still going but they're not finding anything. Weapons are being brought online." On screen, the Guardian turned towards the River Bend, eyes glowing a stark orange that had nothing to do with the molten material it had just been birthed through. The Chief could feel those eyes on him even through the recording. "Weapons are at fifty percent charge."

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Deep blue energy began to pulse on the Guardian's chestplate, concentric rings of power flowing in. The glow strengthened, its wings closing in on its skeletal column.

"All non-essential power is routed to the shields. A general distress order is given and non-combatants are ordered to safe rooms."

It was too late. The Guardian spread its wings. The energy it had just taken in exploded outwards in a barely visible shockwave, one that took only seconds to slam into the River Bend. The footage stopped, camera destroyed. If it hadn't been constantly writing to the storage server…

"That's it." Cortana said, shaking her head. "That pulse was an EMP orders of magnitude larger than anything humanity has ever encountered before. It knocked out the entire ship, and…well, we know how that ended."

They did. The Chief took another slow look around Engineering, lights sliding across the floating, fallen forms of his fellow soldiers. Just one of those things had taken out a planet and an entire frigate. If there really were more of them, the Didact could not be allowed to get hold of them. There was nothing they could do here, but they could—had to—stop this from happening again. He looked back at her and met her resolved stare. They were of the same mind and purpose once again.

"Did you save the signal you got when I tracked the Didact on Requiem?" He asked, and didn't need to explain further. With a snap of her fingers, the Milky Way appeared in front of them, the Janus Key data overlaid on top.

"Alright…this was where the Didact last was…" She twisted her hands, zooming into Vestige II. There was no longer a Janus Key marker on that location, the Chief noted with a frown. Real time tracking actually worked, it seemed. "So if we take that signal and try to scan for it…"

She made a complicated gesture with her hands. Each of the spheres lit up for a half second, then faded in transparency and turned red to mark that nothing had been found. He watched the wave of red spread across the Orion Arm with steadily growing dread as each system ticked by without sign of him, only to stop at a single marker that glowed a brighter white than before.

"There." Consulting the map of the galaxy, Cortana frowned. "…That's a human colony. Meridian."

"Is there something there?"

"According to the map, yes. There's another Guardian on that planet." She leaned back with a deepening frown. "And another one here, on Hestia, and here on Bygone—they're all over human space!"

With another twist of her hands she called up every marker that was a Guardian. A hundred—no, closer to two hundred—of the spheres lit up, casting a stark white glow across the hall. Scattered across both human and Covenant space, each of the massive markers pulsed in tune with one another, slower than his racing heartbeat. If each of those did the same thing to those worlds as they did to Vestige—

"How many of those worlds are inhabited?"

"Ninety percent of them. Last known total population puts the count at." She stopped, shook herself off, then said: "Eight million people. If he's activating these things and they all do the same thing then—"

Two hundred worlds would become asteroid fields. There had to be a way to stop it. They'd make a way!

"There's no way to evacuate eight million people in time," the Chief said tightly, "We have to stop him. How far is Meridian?"

"Not far—we can make it in six hours." With another snap of her fingers Cortana banished both maps. "Come on! I'll call the Infinity and let them know what happened on the way!"

Without stopping to look back, the two hurried from Engineering and left the River Bend far behind.

[helloemergencyservices]

How to install new shower faucets

Installing the frame

Before you install the pipes, you need to attach the faucet to the framework, so you can properly install the pipes. The block should be installed with the side facing the shower, not the edge. When setting the block, take into account the thickness of the wall cladding, including the shim. The distance between the block and the front of the wall is usually specified in the installation instructions of the valve. You will also need trim for the shower head and tub spout fixtures.

Installing the plumbing

You will need to run 1.8 cm thick cold and hot water pipes to the valve, which you should best tie into a 2 cm thick main pipe as close to the water heater as possible. The fittings you need to connect the supply lines to the valves depend on the valve, which usually has female threaded connections into which you screw a threaded adapter reinforced with tape. Then dry fit the pipes, and when you are sure everything fits, solder all the connections. To avoid banging in the pipes when you turn on the faucet, you should install a water hammer protector near the valve in each of the hot and cold water pipes.

Connecting the shower head

Regardless of what type of faucet you have, it should have a threaded connection at the top for the pipe that leads to the shower head. If the faucet also controls a tub spout, there will be a thread underneath as well. From these outlets, run a 1.8 cm copper pipe to where the shower head and spout are located, and terminate these pipes with a 1.8 cm brass threaded elbow. This connector has ears so that you can screw it to the lock. The final step of this part of the installation is to screw a 1.8 cm galvanized or brass pipe into each elbow to keep dirt out of the pipes.

Finishing

Once the valve is attached, turn on the water and check for leaks. Then you can cover the wall, leaving gaps of about 1.8 cm around the valve and nipples. These gaps are covered by the trim supplied with the faucet, which includes a trim for the valve and a shield for the shower arm - the tub spout usually doesn't need a trim. Unscrew the nipples, then wrap the shower arm and spout nipple with tape and screw them in. After installing the trim and the tub spout, it is advisable to seal them with silicone to prevent moisture from entering the wall.

Call the Emergency Plumber in Darlington. We are available around the clock. Call us now, 01325776591.

[brasselectricalcomponents]

Top-Quality Brass Electrical Parts Manufacturers in Jamnagar India

GK Metals is a leading manufacturer of premium quality brass electrical parts and components in Jamnagar, India. Our durable and precisely crafted brass plug pins, brass terminal blocks, brass neutral links ensures reliable performance in various electrical applications.

[elmex309]

Manufacturing Process Of Brass Terminals

When it comes to the manufacturing process of brass terminals, it requires expertise, precision, and experience to deliver high-quality products that meet the needs of customers.  Brass terminals are widely used in electrical and electronic applications because of their excellent conductivity, durability, and corrosion resistance.  Therefore, it is essential to choose the best brass terminal manufacturer in India to ensure that you get the best products at a reasonable price.

The manufacturing process of brass terminals involves several steps, and each step requires careful attention to detail to produce a finished product that meets the exact specifications of the customers.  Here is an overview of the manufacturing process of brass terminals: 

Raw Material Selection: 

The first step in the manufacturing process is to select the best quality brass raw material. The raw material should be of high purity, and its composition should be according to the required specifications. Therefore, it is crucial to choose the best brass terminal manufacturer in India to ensure that you get the best products at a reasonable price. 

Cutting and Shaping: 

After selecting the raw material, it is cut and shaped into the desired size and shape using precision tools and equipment. 

Machining: 

The next step is machining, which involves drilling, tapping, and turning the brass terminal to create the required features and dimensions. 

Surface Treatment: 

Once the machining is done, the brass terminal is cleaned and treated with a surface finish to enhance its appearance and provide protection against corrosion. 

Quality Control: 

The final step is quality control, which involves testing the brass terminal for its conductivity, durability, and other parameters to ensure that it meets the required standards. 

If you are looking for the best brass terminal manufacturer in India, then you should choose a company that has a proven track record of delivering high-quality products and excellent customer service.  A good manufacturer will have a well-equipped manufacturing facility, experienced and skilled workforce, and a robust quality control system to ensure that their products meet the highest standards. 

At Excel Electricals, we are committed to providing our customers with the best quality brass terminals at a reasonable price.  We have been in the business for over three decades, and our experience and expertise have made us one of the leading brass terminal manufacturers in India. We use the latest technology and equipment to manufacture our products and ensure that they meet the exact specifications of our customers. 

In conclusion, the manufacturing process of brass terminals requires expertise, precision, and experience to deliver high-quality products that meet the needs of customers.  Therefore, it is crucial to choose the best brass terminal manufacturer in India to ensure that you get the best products at a reasonable price.  At Excel Electricals, we strive to deliver the best products and services to our customers and help them achieve their goals.

[electronic-spices]

Specification

Current rating: 8A

Rated voltage: 300V

Connector: Terminal

Number of pins: 2

Contact material: brass

Spatial orientation: angled 90°

Type of connector: PCB terminal block

Rs. 29.00(Incl. Tax)

XY118-5.0mm 2 Pin PCB Mount Terminal Blocks Pack of 5

The PCB Mount Terminal Blocks by Electric Works are a quality component that will provide years of service and support in any electrical project. The terminal blocks have the capability to be mounted in a variety of positions and sizes to fit your needs. They are also easy to use and are available in many different configurations. The PCB Mount Terminal Blocks is designed to provide a durable and secure solution for your electrical needs. The Terminal Blocks are designed to be mounted to a PCB, so you can use them in any of your electrical projects. PCB Mount Terminal Blocks are a common power distribution method. They are also used to manage high current distribution and provide a neat and tidy way of wiring. They are also very useful for mounting on panels or on to wooden blocks.

Features

Highly insulated for protection against short circuits.

They are sturdy and very light.

Easy current flow

The body is made of Nylon 66, which is durable and strong

[greenport]

Oil & Gas

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Actuators, Batteries and Power Supplies, Chromatograph, Communication Cable & Connectors, Control Valves – Butterfly, Globe etc, Controllers, Emerson Controls, Explosion Proof Enclosures, Gauges – Pressure & Temperature, Gauging – Tank, Instrumentation Cable, Kimray Controls, Level Switches, Meters, Murphy Controls, PLC's ,PC's, PAC's, & PID's, Pneumatic, Hydraulic & Electric Controls, Pressure Reliefs, Recorders, Recording Gauges, RTD's, Sensors, Solar Panels & Controllers, Thermocouples, Thermometers, Thermowells, Timers, Touch Screen Interfaces, Transmiters, Tubing fittings, Instrumentation, Valve, Needle (Instrumentation), Valve, Relief ( Pressure / Vacuum), Vertical & Horizontal Separators, VFD's, Wireless Controls, Wireless Instrumentation

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All types of Valves & Spares, Ball Valves, Butterfly Valves, Check Valves, Chokes, Gate Valves, Globe Valves, IBOP Valves, Kelly Valves, Manifolds, Needle Valves, Plug Valves, Relief Valves, Reset Relief Valves

Wellhead Equipment & Accessories

Blowout Preventers, Heads / Spools / Adapters / Bonnets, Seals / Slips / Hangers, Wellhead Fittings, Wellhead Spares

[terminalblocks123-blog]