#carbon dioxide meter

[river-taxbird]

I really like my CO2 meter and I want to tell you about it!

It's a little gadget that measures the amount of carbon dioxide in the air. Did you know your body at rest burns about 100 grams of food/fat an hour? This means you're constantly breathing out carbon dioxide at a rate of about 100 grams an hour. This can rise by quite a lot of you're exercising, and it's less when you're sleeping. This means if you usually keep your doors and windows closed, as I usually do in winter since I live in a cold climate, it can build up fast. You can even breathe directly on the meter and watch the number rise rapidly.

I've had this meter on my desk for many years. It's basically a clock so you can notice the air quality at a glance and it's always on and doesn't produce light. (Note the black tape over the power LED on the left because my autistic ass can NOT sleep with an LED in the room.) It cost about £90 when it was new so it's not the cheapest thing in the world but it's built to last and it's been worth it. This isn't an ad and I'm not saying go for this brand, it's just a gadget that I think improves my life. It's always a good reminder of when I should open the windows.

I'm not 100% sure how well supported this is, but I've seen it said online that a carbon dioxide level of over 1000ppm can lower a person's cognitive function by about 25%. It can be an issue with classrooms with a lot of people. Normal outdoor levels are about 300-400ppm. Whether you believe that is up to you, but I do think fresh air makes people feel better and this serves as a good reminder to let it in. People like to make carbon monoxide jokes on this website, but sometimes high CO2 can be an issue around his you generally feel. It can also build up faster than you'd think if you have multiple people about and no windows open.

Time to open the window! (Apologies for the photo quality, the reflective LCD is not the easiest thing in the world to photograph without shadows or huge reflections.)

[reasonsforhope]

"Marginal improvements to agricultural soils around the world would store enough carbon to keep the world within 1.5C of global heating, new research suggests.

Farming techniques that improve long-term fertility and yields can also help to store more carbon in soils but are often ignored in favor of intensive techniques using large amounts of artificial fertilizer, much of it wasted, that can increase greenhouse gas emissions.

Using better farming techniques to store 1 percent more carbon in about half of the world’s agricultural soils would be enough to absorb about 31 gigatons of carbon dioxide a year, according to new data. That amount is not far off the 32 gigaton gap between current planned emissions reduction globally per year and the amount of carbon that must be cut by 2030 to stay within 1.5C.

The estimates were carried out by Jacqueline McGlade, the former chief scientist at the UN environment program and former executive director of the European Environment Agency. She found that storing more carbon in the top 30 centimeters of agricultural soils would be feasible in many regions where soils are currently degraded.

McGlade now leads a commercial organization that sells soil data to farmers. Downforce Technologies uses publicly available global data, satellite images, and lidar to assess in detail how much carbon is stored in soils, which can now be done down to the level of individual fields.

“Outside the farming sector, people do not understand how important soils are to the climate,” said McGlade. “Changing farming could make soils carbon negative, making them absorb carbon, and reducing the cost of farming.”

She said farmers could face a short-term cost while they changed their methods, away from the overuse of artificial fertilizer, but after a transition period of two to three years their yields would improve and their soils would be much healthier...

Arable farmers could sequester more carbon within their soils by changing their crop rotation, planting cover crops such as clover, or using direct drilling, which allows crops to be planted without the need for ploughing. Livestock farmers could improve their soils by growing more native grasses.

Hedgerows also help to sequester carbon in the soil, because they have large underground networks of mycorrhizal fungi and microbes that can extend meters into the field. Farmers have spent decades removing hedgerows to make intensive farming easier, but restoring them, and maintaining existing hedgerows, would improve biodiversity, reduce the erosion of topsoil, and help to stop harmful agricultural runoff, which is a key polluter of rivers."

-via The Grist, July 8, 2023

[mutant-distraction]

Some facts about bamboo:

1.Fast Growth: Bamboo is the fastest-growing plant in the world. It has been recorded at growing 47.6 inches in 24 hours. Some species can even grow over a meter per day under optimal conditions. A new bamboo shoot reaches its full height in less than a year.

2. Oxygen Release: A grove of bamboo releases 35% more oxygen than any other tree out there.

3. Carbon Dioxide Absorption: Bamboo absorbs carbon dioxide at a rate of 17 tons per hectare every year. It can act as a valuable carbon sink given how fast the plant grows.

4. No Fertilizer Required: Bamboo doesn’t need fertilizer to grow. It can self-mulch by dropping its leaves and use the nutrients to grow.

5. Drought Resistance: Bamboos are drought-tolerant plants. They can grow in the desert.

6. Wood Replacement: Bamboos can be harvested in 3-5 years compared to the 20-30 years of most softwood trees.

7. Building Material: Bamboo is incredibly strong and sturdy. It has been used as support for concrete as well as scaffolding, bridges, and houses.

8. Soil Stability: Bamboo has a wide network of underground roots and rhizomes that prevent soil erosion.

9. Natural Air Conditioner: Bamboo cools the air surrounding it by up to 8 degrees in the summer.

10. Invasiveness: Some species of bamboo, especially ‘running’ bamboos, can be invasive due to their extensive root systems, which allow them to spread rapidly. However, not all species are invasive, and with proper management, the environmental impact can be minimized.

source: Anomalous club

📸 Organizer Bamboo Nursery

[severedfromthesource]

Weightless

No gravity and no heartbeat. M rescuer, M resus, suffocation, chest compressions, AED

Cohl fumbled to grab the straps on Yui’s suit. They were just out of reach. His body kicked like he was swimming, but he knew he was doing nothing but expending energy. They both tilted weightless through the station as debris floated between them. He couldn’t get enough leverage to reach him as his internal systems sounded an alarm, the visor of his helmet blinking red with warning. One of his life support systems was failing. Cheap fucking equipment, he spit internally. They’d scavved both suits from a small military post that had been pelted apart by a meteorite swarm. Both men figured the military would have half decent space suits. They were wrong.

Yui weakly clapped against his chest and throat, his body convulsing in the air with the overwhelming need to breathe. He could only stare helpless at the two red goose eggs on his HUD. Oxygen reserves: 0.0 percent. He looked to Cohl in a panic. The other man was trying to push himself closer in suspension, but he was moving so slowly, and there was nothing to help him gain leverage. Yui would pass out before he reached him. And even if he did, what then? The romantic idea that he would share his oxygen reserves was sweet, and more or less keeping with Cohl’s chivalrous swashbuckler persona. But if he stopped breathing, flooding his helmet with oxygen wouldn’t do much. His lungs would stop working before Cohl made it over, he was almost sure of that. Already blackness crept in around the edge of his vision and Cohl’s stricken expression and his useless wading through empty space were growing darker.

“Yui, don’t pass out,” he shouted over the comms. The jerky movements were getting fewer and farther between. Cohl was beginning to panic himself. His own helmet was throwing out warnings to slow his breathing, but he couldn’t. He racked his brain for some solution. He couldn’t just keep floating like a jackass and watch him asphyxiate. He scrambled to pull up his remote ship controls. He could see their vessel through the huge windows circling around the abandoned station, haloed by a distant sun. The cockpit was empty, he’d told the ship to hover and wait for their return while they harpooned the station and reeled themselves in. Now he woke its systems, and began manually operating it. He swiped at the controls and urged the little ship to ram the nearest support pillar braced against the outside of the station. Their Hawk was hardly a match for the size of the huge spinning top they found themselves aboard, but maybe. Maybe it could make a difference. Otherwise… he didn’t want to think of otherwise.

The station groaned as the Hawk rammed against it and the room they found themselves in lurched. Cohl found himself being shoved to the side and smashed his ribs against a wall that rushed up to him, but finally, solid ground. He looked up to see Yui poised above him, and his heart lurched when he saw he had stopped fighting. His hands weakly flexed against the seal of his helm. “No, no, hold on,” he murmured under his breath, voice distorted by his helm.

Yui watched Cohl maneuver his legs underneath himself and kick out like a gold medal swimmer in the 100 meter. His lungs wouldn’t fill. His throat worked and his brain urged him to breathe, but there was nothing left. The last shallow pull of stale carbon dioxide made it down his throat and then nothing. His lashes fluttered. Pins and needles prickled in his limbs. Through hooded eyes he watched Cohl shoot towards him, dimly aware that he had tackled him and now grappled him around the waist.

“Got you,” he heard his voice exclaim over comms, though his mind was going dim, and he was starting to hear less and less. “Pretty sure I snapped off the Hawk’s beak, don’t be mad.” Arms encircled him as Cohl, his captain, his plucky rogue who earned every story about himself, shifted him so Yui’s back pressed against his front.

He kept him pinned there as he fumbled to disconnect Yui’s useless oxygen system. “You really made me look like an idiot back there, treading water like that,” he laughed shakily, unclipping one of his own oxygen tubes from his suit. It hissed and sputtered little clouds in the dark station and he attached it to the other valve, tightening it. He heard the click and then the hum as Yui’s suit once more flooded with air. He cupped his hand over his chest. “There we go, good as new.”

But Yui didn’t respond. His arms hung limply in the absence of gravity, his head rocked forward. Cohl felt his skin tighten in goosebumps. “Yui,” he said with some urgency, rapping a finger against his helmet, “Breathe in, bud. Come on, take a breath.” The terminal on his wrist blinked and he snatched his arm, lifting it to see what other god damn warning his suit was issuing this time.

CRITICAL CONDITION- RESPIRATORY ARREST DETECTED

He grabbed the collar of Yui’s helmet and turned it towards himself, urgently thumping his sternum with his palm. He called his name again and again, clutching at the second skin material of his suit as he turned to face him. He didn’t respond. Behind the glass, his face was slack, his eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. Blue was creeping into his lips. Cohl fumbled with his limp body as they tilted in the air. The stupid thing was supposed to have a failsafe for this, but it wasn’t triggering. He swore as he punched in the controls on the wrist terminal and the helm slid open. The light of the distant sun shone on Yui’s pale face. He probed his hand in around the edges of the helmet until he found the little nozzle tucked away to the side. He grabbed it, hooking a thumb over the bottom row of his second in command’s teeth and tongue with his other hand. He plunged the rebreather into his mouth and it latched, making a seal in his airway. Cohl once more wrapped his arm around the smaller man’s chest and felt his ribs flex as the thing breathed for him.

He looked at the readout again as his oxygen levels began to climb back up slowly. Too slowly. The fluttering little line of his heartbeat was quivering, hardly making spikes. Cohl closed his helmet again and wrapped both arms around him, braced against his midriff and across his chest. “Yui,” he pleaded again and shook him once, hard enough his helmet clinked off Cohl’s own. He made a fist and scrubbed his knuckles hard against his sternum, between the lithe muscles of his pectoral. The mechanical breathing swelled against his hand as the rebreather filled his lungs with the oxygen provided by Cohl’s life support systems. It forced his chest to expand and he heard a sigh crackling over their comms, expelling each breath given to him, his chest deflating in Cohl’s hands.

The terminal chimed and threw up holographic words. CRITICAL CONDITION- VENTRICULAR FIBRILLATION DETECTED. He knew it to be true. His heart was quivering into Cohl’s palm, shaking and uncoordinated, too fast to properly push blood through his body. He felt the nervous bird flitting against the cage of his ribs. He cursed softly and gripped him by the shoulder, spinning Yui around. There were four circular ports, two over the right side of the heart, near the shoulder, and two tucked up beside his ribs on the opposite side. He flipped the little latch beside these ports and the suit sucked closer to the skin, pressing itself especially firm in these spots. He watched as the little ports began to hum and glow brighter and brighter in the center of their circular, metal frames.

“Automatic external defibrillator engaged,” came a robotic voice from the terminal, “Select charge.”

If these things were worth anything, let them be worth this. Cohl tapped the 200j option blinking at Yui’s wrist. “Charging,” said the voice, the device whining. Yui’s muscles convulsed. Cohl had to grip him tightly by the arm to keep him from drifting away as the defibrillator discharged into his fluttering heart, making his whole body jolt. His head snapped back, his shoulders shrugging, back crooking. “Shock delivered. Analyzing rhythm, stand clear of patient.”

“Not gonna happen,” he murmured to himself, cupping the other man’s helmet to tip his head back towards himself. He only just looked over at the projected monitor when the voice piped up, “No pulse detected. Begin CPR.”

A flatline cut through the darkness of the lonely station. “No, you’re kidding me,” he hissed, cupping a hand over the center of his breast. Nothing. Weren’t these stupid things supposed to fix a fibrillating heart? They weren’t supposed to kill the person, right? His mind spun. CPR. CPR? How the hell was he supposed to do that? He couldn’t put any weight behind the compressions, definitely not enough to shove his heart against his spine. He gripped his shoulder with one hand and shoved the heel of his palm against his heart. He only succeeded in nearly shoving his body away from him entirely. He looped an arm around his shoulders and tried again; again, there was no way to get enough leverage for an effective compression. His eyes roved over Yui from head to toe, then their surroundings.

“Hang on,” he huffed, resituating himself behind him again. He slid both arms around him from behind, bracing a balled fist against his unbeating heart. Settling his chin against his shoulder, he thrust in against his ribcage, forcing it to bow in towards his spine. He’d never had to actually use the scarce first aid lessons he’d been forced to sit through, ironically at Yui’s insistence.

Something told him this was harder than normal compressions. He couldn’t put his weight behind it, or rely on the ground to help squeeze blood from his motionless heart. It relied entirely on the strength in his arms; those felt like they were ready to fall off with how hard his own pulse thundered through his limbs. He kept it up anyway. Yui’s ribcage shifted under his skin, bowing with each hard thrust and expanding with each breath. “C’mon,” Cohl grunted, “We’ve been through worse than this, huh? Huh? You’re gonna let-hngh- this shitty station- ungh- be where you die? Cause of a dumb suit malfunction?”

Again, Yui’s heart began to quiver in his chest, shaking the space between his ribs. “Shock advised. Stand clear of patient.” “Yeah, no, I’m good here.” Again, the ports whined and began to glow. The display showed the shaky line of his heart struggling to beat, beneath that the line marking the device as it charged to 250. Cohl instinctively wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. His breath was noisy in his helmet. “Come on, come on, come on…”

Yui’s body bucked, knocking against Cohl’s chest as his limbs seized in the current. His muscles tensed and loosened, his helmet clanging hard off Cohl’s own. “Shock delivered-“ “I know the stupid thing delivered the stupid shock,” he growled, pressing his palm flat against Yui’s heart. “Is he alive or dead?” “No pulse detected. Begin CPR.” “Fucking hell-“

He started the compressions anew, harder this time, if he could even do them any harder. He beat his second in against his chest, sweat tickling his brow and neck. His entire focus, his entire being, was centered on the man dead- not dead, no, he couldn’t be dead. He was destined to die in some awesome, awe inspiring way on a distant planet. Crushed in a salt avalanche, fucked to death by some charismatic mantis alien, shot in a card game with interstellar pirates. This was undeserving of him. This was how rookies died. They weren’t rookies. Cohl and Yui were wanted criminals, their faces graced holo posters in three different systems. Haruki Yui was not suffocating in an abandoned research base. He was not dying while Cohl still had breath.

As he shoved against his sternum, listening to the quiet “Huff, hff, haa, hff” as he forced synthetic air from his still lungs, he wasn’t paying attention to their surroundings. The quiet atrium might as well be a distant star. He didn’t notice the wall the two of them were floating towards until his back bounced off hard metal. Cohl kept bending his battered ribcage and craned his neck to look; his eyes widened. Gravity engine- the OFF button burned red in the dark. Life support systems- OFF.

“Jesus, yes, yes,” he gasped and flicked both switches on at once. The station groaned in protest as ancient motors whirred to life and air began to sigh once more through her vents. Cohl hardly had time to roll in midair and brace Yui in his arms before they were once more leashed by artificial gravity. It sucked them to the ground, slamming them both to the metal grating of a small platform. Something in his side cracked and the air squeezed out of Cohl’s lungs. He soundlessly wheezed, arms in a vice around his second.

His body hurt even worse with gravity weighing him down once more. His arms and legs were jelly. His muscles ached. It took him a moment, and he cursed every second of that moment, to roll Yui’s body off and push himself up on his hands and knees at his side. He tore off both their helmets, drawing in as deep a breath as he could manage. Stale air stuck to the sweat on his skin and he’d never been more grateful for it. “Okay, we can do this. C’mon…”

He descended on Yui’s chest, stacking his hands as he began to pound against creaking bone. At this angle, it was easier to feel the fractures he’d split through his second’s sternum, bone rubbing against bone. His head rocked, each compression causing a tide to roll from his shoulders to his fingertips, his feet. His belly bulged against the tight skin of his suit, snapping up as Cohl snapped down against his heart. Was he too late? Hell, had he even been doing any good before? These compressions felt more violent, going much deeper, and he couldn’t stop the little voice nagging that Yui was gone. Would he already be back if he’d found the damn switch earlier?

His hands sunk into the center of Yui’s heart again and again. He might have been saying something, but he wasn’t even sure. He was getting light headed from the rush of air and exertion. Even so, his entire body jerked as the robotic voice once more spoke, “Shock advised. Stand clear of patient.”

This time, despite how badly he wanted to just scoop him up into his arms, he sat back, staring down at his second’s moon white face. The suit’s oxygen system forced his chest to rise at regular intervals, even if the breath left his lungs, unable to stick.

“Charging,” it announced. The display flashed 360j. It emitted a few rapid beeps as it reached the end of its charge. Yui’s chest was pulled into into the air with a sharp jerk, his head snapping to the side, arms convulsing from the shoulder and then falling limp again. “Shock delivered. Analyzing-“

Yui’s throat came unstoppered and he drew in a rattling breath, loosing a moaning exhale. Cohl was at his throat in an instant, hooking his finger between his teeth. He took hold of the rebreather and it slid back, coming loose from his trachea with a wet gurgle.

“There he is,” Cohl almost shouted, cradling his neck, “There we go, deep breaths! Christ alive…”

Yui croaked something that might have been, “Captain.”

Cohl pressed his forehead to the other man’s temple, nose pressed to his cheek, stuck between laughing like a maniac and breaking down in sobs. Instead of doing either he huffed, “This scavver shit isn’t for us.”

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 21: bonfire

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

It was strange that you attended school trips as a child, and you didn’t expect that to change in university. However, when your group suggested the idea of going to Prince William Forest Park to camp, you thought it would be fun.

In particular, because you had insisted that one of your classmates come along, eager to share more time with him than just the hours you spent at university. The guy was a complete nerd and, for some people, socially awkward, but the truth was that you found him quite pleasant. He was always willing to help you, and there was something about his shyness that you really liked. He was exactly your type.

The leader of your group had arranged to get a cabin in the park so that you could store some of your things, refrigerate food, have a restroom, and access basic services in case of an emergency, but the main condition was that you had to set up tents outdoors.

You had no problem with that; after all, you had spent a large part of your childhood doing that kind of activity, but your classmate Spencer didn’t seem very excited about the idea.

“You know that 20% of people are especially attractive to mosquitoes due to a combination of factors like the chemical composition of their skin, the levels of carbon dioxide they emit, and their body temperature, right?” the boy said while you were setting up your tent.

You were side by side because you had suggested it that way, and he was happy to oblige.

“No. I didn’t know that,” you laughed.

“Unfortunately, I think I’m part of that percentage. I’ve read that they can locate you from up to 50 meters away.”

“So, you hate camping because of the mosquitoes?”

“It’s not that I hate it, but there are definitely some downsides. Besides mosquitoes, there’s the possibility of encountering ticks that carry diseases like Lyme disease. I don’t know if you knew, but Virginia is an area where it’s relatively common. That’s why I always carry DEET repellent and a small first aid kit in case of bites.”

You chuckled softly as you watched your classmate open his backpack, revealing various items that would be useful in the hypothetical event of a disaster.

“Wow, what else do you have?”

“A high-performance flashlight, just in case we have to move around at night. Although this is a protected park, darkness in the woods can be dangerous if you’re not prepared; the chances of getting disoriented are high. I also bring clothes that can help keep me dry and avoid hypothermia, even if the weather doesn’t seem that cold. It’s better to be safe. Oh, and I always carry a thermal blanket. They might seem a bit excessive, but in an emergency... well, it never hurts to be prepared.”

“And is that all?”

“I also bring a book because, well, there’s always a moment when you need a distraction from the bugs and possible raccoon attacks.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the enthusiasm with which he had prepared for the occasion, and he looked somewhat shy in response.

“It’s good to know you’re so prepared. If something happens to me, I’ll know who to turn to,” you teased. He had already finished setting up his tent a while ago, and seeing you struggle with the task, he decided to help you.

Most of the group was setting up the area, and soon you found the perfect spot. You had left a circle in the middle, where you were sure you would gather once night fell and the classic campfire began.

It happened that several of the more muscular guys took charge of gathering firewood, probably to impress your female classmates and get something going with them that night.

There were beers (quite a few), some snacks, potatoes to stuff with cheese, bacon, sour cream, and green onions, some pizzas that you bought in town, and items to prepare skewers over the campfire. And of course, several bags of marshmallows for dessert were a must.

You grabbed a beer from the coolers around and then offered one to your classmate, who accepted it only out of obligation. There were a ton of people around, and you all laughed at the conversations taking place—some about school, gossip, others on sexual topics, and even a game of Never Have I Ever. It wasn’t so surprising when you found out that Spencer still hadn’t had sex with anyone, but it was a piece of information that distracted you for a moment.

Your friend gave you tips on the specific amount of time it took for your marshmallows to be perfectly golden and crispy on the outside but soft and melted on the inside. It was lucky to have that walking encyclopedia by your side.

“Why did you bring your own tent, Reid? I thought she’d be happy to host you in hers.”

“Shut up,” you said hostilely to one of your classmates. He could sense the tension between you and kept reminding you of it.

“If you don’t want him, Lacy is dying to host him. If you know what I mean,” the guy said, winking in your friend’s direction.

“I don’t... um... I don’t know.”

“Leave him alone,” you pleaded, rolling your eyes but blushing at the idea of another girl having her eyes on Spencer.

There were only a few people left around you since it was quite late, and most were looking to do precisely what your classmate had suggested. There would be too many condoms lying around in the morning.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” you murmured to Spencer. “He’s just joking.”

“Yeah, I know. I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. In university, everyone is horny and fuck with whoever, it’s never been a secret.”

The boy nodded slightly, and you thought the topic wasn’t to his liking. After all, Spencer might not like thinking about those things, and you weren’t sure yet if his sexual orientation was one where he felt attracted to women or maybe one where he wasn’t attracted to anyone at all.

You both fell silent for a moment, watching the flames flicker in the air, and then you realized that the last couple of people had already left the logs where you were sitting. You wanted to say something to break the tension in the air, but nothing came to mind.

“Did you know that in the Middle Ages, large bonfires were made with bones during festivals or to dispose of animal remains after ceremonies? That’s where we get the name from,”

“Really?” you expressed, surprised. You were grateful he had a subject to keep the conversation going.

“Uh-huh. It’s quite curious. Also, in ancient times, fire was used to disinfect tools and wounds since heat can kill bacteria and germs. Today, heat sterilization techniques are still used in medicine.”

“How do you know so much?” you murmured, glancing his way with a slightly enchanted look. He was wearing a white polo shirt, and you wondered if he was feeling cold.

“I don’t know. It’s just stuff I read.”

“You’re very smart,” you complimented him, smiling. “You always know what to say.”

“Not always,” he chuckled. “I’m really bad at socializing with people. No book teaches you how to do that.”

“What you need to do is relax. You don’t need a book for that,” you murmured kindly. “I like you just the way you are. And I think Lacy does too.”

The last huff sounded like a reproach, and he scratched the back of his neck nervously, analyzing the subtext of what you had just said. Silence fell again.

“I don’t like Lacy. I don’t even know why she likes me.”

“Anyone with two brain cells could see you’re handsome. Well, apparently anyone except you.”

“Do I look like that to you?” he murmured, almost confused.

“You have your charms,” you exclaimed flirtatiously, nudging him with your shoulder.

Spencer looked at you attentively, trying to decipher the lie on your face. But there was none; it seemed you were being honest.

The fire crackled in front of you, and you saw one of the logs burning down, a sign that it would soon go out.

“Maybe we should go to sleep.”

“Spencer, can I ask you something? It’s okay if you say no.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Why are you still a virgin? Is it a personal choice, or has the situation just... never come up?”

You saw the man turn the color of the fire, and for a moment, you thought you had crossed the line of trust.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. But there hasn’t been someone who... you know, wants to do it.”

You nodded in understanding, carefully considering the words you were about to say.

“Do you want to sleep in my tent? No sexual connotation, I swear,” you clarified, to avoid any misunderstanding. “It’s just that it’s colder than I expected, and you have that useful thermal blanket, so... huh, I thought it would be a good idea. If you want to, of course.”

“Okay,” he hurriedly said, as if he feared you would change your mind. You were so close to each other that you swore he would kiss you.

The fire had just burned out when you both got up to go to the tent, and once inside, you did what you had promised: just talk. As you went to sleep, you ended up in each other's arms, and a whirlwind of emotions developed in his stomach, while you felt your heart racing completely.

After that, he asked you out on a date, and then he realized how much he could be loved by someone.

And of course, the ideal situation soon presented itself between you. Spencer couldn't imagine a better scenario or a better person to share his first time with.

[beautifulmars]

On Thick Ice

In this fascinating image, we see fractured mounds on thick carbon dioxide ice that may be diapirs or deflation over subglacial topography. The pits may show signs of ongoing collapse. A diapir is a relatively mobile mass that intrudes into preexisting rocks. Diapirs commonly intrude vertically through more dense rocks. (First image cutout is less than 5 km across; the second cutout is less than 700 meters across.)

ID: ESP_075399_0920 date: 27 August 2022 altitude: 246 km

NASA/JPL-Caltech/University of Arizona

[probablyasocialecologist]

Operating an SY [Superyacht] is expensive and ecologically damaging. On average, an SY over 71 meters/233 feet uses 500 liters/132 gallons of gasoline an hour, and annual fuel costs for an average SY are around $400,000. From available data, we estimated that an average (71 meter) SY uses about 107,000 gallons gasoline/year and produces 2.1 million pounds of carbon dioxide emissions annually. Thus, the fleet of 300 SY produces approximately 627 million pounds of carbon dioxide emissions a year. That very large figure needs to be placed in context. To do so, we compare the carbon and gasoline footprint of Sys owned by the wealthy to the average vehicle—a more affordable mode of transportation for the average person operated in the United States. An average new car gets 25.5 miles per gallon (mpg) in the United States. According to the U.S. Department of Transportation, an average person drives about 13,476 miles, using 528.5 gallons of gas, and generates 10,358.6 pounds of CO2 pollution annually. Thus, one average SY produces as much CO2 pollution as 202 average cars, and, annually, the SY fleet (N = 300) uses as much gasoline as 60,600 cars that get 25.5 mpg. Another way to illustrate the annual ecological harm caused by SY is to compare the CO2 emissions from the 300 largest SY to the CO2 emissions of entire nations. The SY fleet carbon emissions (nearly 630 million pounds), for example, is similar to the emissions of the 10.6 million inhabitants of Burundi (654.02 million pounds), and 5.7 times larger than the carbon footprint (111,556,039 pounds) of the small (36,157 inhabitants) developed nation of Liechtenstein. Thus, the carbon footprint of the global SY fleet of the wealthy produces as much ecological disorganization as entire nations of people.

Measuring the Ecological Impact of the Wealthy: Excessive Consumption, Ecological Disorganization, Green Crime, and Justice

[ultimateinferno]

If Vasher is in fact the one who made Gavilar's anti-Light then this man has invented 2 completely unrelated weapons of mass destruction.

Walk with me.

Anti-Light is very clearly the investiture equivalent of antimatter. Like antimatter, which has the same "mass" as regular just opposite charge, anti-Light has the same energy (wavelength) as Light, but opposite amplitude. When combined, they're completely eradicated as they're transformed into energy (explosion). This applies to antimatter and—as seen in Rhythm of War—anti-Light. Not only can this create a bomb, but it can perhaps create the bomb.

The issue with most conventional weapons (and any source of fuel, really) is that their conversion into energy is imperfect. There's numbers floating around out there about the percentage of energy actually put out per source from wood to gasoline to plutonium. The big thing about all of them is that they create some byproduct besides the energy. Methane combustion for instance always puts out carbon dioxide and water.

In Einstein's famous equation, E = mc^2, we are given a "perfect conversion" between mass and energy. You can X kilos of matter from Y Joules of energy and vice versa, assuming you don't lose anything to byproducts. This is a shit load of energy. That c in the equation isn't a variable like E and m are. It's the speed of light. 299,792,458 meters per second.

By and large, tapping into this energy is really super hard. As I mentioned, there's always byproducts. Even ignoring the issue of entropy and diffusion of energy into an environment, most of it is preserved by the aforementioned material byproducts that come out of chemical reactions. The most efficient reactions we have in the modern day is all nuclear in nature, be it fission like decaying atoms in nuclear reactors or fusion like within the sun. But even then, for all the energy they release, you will still come up with matter in the end.

That is unless you have antimatter.

The amount of energy you will release from a kilograms worth of an antimatter bomb is 1000 times stronger than that released from Fat Man dropped on Nagasaki. Half of that of the largest nuclear bomb ever tested, the Tsar Bomba. 90 petaJoules of energy.

If Harmonium/Trellium was the Invested equivalent of a nuke (hi, this is a Cosmere post, remember?) then antiLight is far and away worse, and it's been invented on two separate occasions, once by Navani (#girlboss), and—if theories turn out to be correct—Vasher, who's given us other hits like the God Killing Sword.

[mysticstronomy]

DID LIFE EXIST ON VENUS??

Blog#429

Wednesday, August 21st 2024.

Welcome back,

The hellish planet Venus may have had a perfectly habitable environment for 2 to 3 billion years after the planet formed, suggesting life would have had ample time to emerge there, according to a new study.

In 1978, NASA's Pioneer Venus spacecraft found evidence that the planet may have once had shallow oceans on its surface. Since then, several missions have investigated the planet's surface and atmosphere, revealing new details on how it transitioned from an "Earth-like" planet to the hot, hellish place it is today.

It's believed that Venus may have been a temperate planet hosting liquid water for 2 to 3 billion years before a massive resurfacing event about 700 million years ago triggered a runaway greenhouse effect, which caused the planet's atmosphere to become incredibly dense and hot.

Researchers from NASA's Goddard Institute for Space Studies shared a series of five simulations that show what Venus' environment would be like based on different levels of water coverage.

All five of the simulations suggest Venus may have been able to maintain stable temperatures, ranging from a low of 68 degrees Fahrenheit (20 degrees Celsius) to a high of 122 degrees Fahrenheit (50 degrees Celsius), for about 3 billion years, according to a statement from the Europlanet Society.

"Our hypothesis is that Venus may have had a stable climate for billions of years," Michael Way, one of the study researchers, said in the statement. "It is possible that the near-global resurfacing event is responsible for its transformation from an Earth-like climate to the hellish hot-house we see today."

Under stable climate conditions, Venus would have been able to support liquid water and, in turn, possibly allow life to emerge. In fact, if the planet hadn't experienced the resurfacing event, it might have remained habitable today, the researchers said.

However, the resurfacing event triggered a series of incidents that caused a release, or outgassing, of carbon dioxide stored in the rocks of the planet. As a result, Venus' atmosphere became too dense and hot for life to survive.

Creating the different simulations involved adapting a 3D general-circulation model, which accounted for atmospheric compositions as they were 4.2 billion years ago and 715 million years ago, and as they are today. The model also accounts for the gradual increase in solar radiation, as the sun gets warmer over the course of its lifetime.

In addition, three of the five scenarios assumed the topography of Venus was similar to what it is today. In these scenarios, the ocean ranged from a shallow depth of about 30 feet (10 meters) to about 1,000 feet (310 m), with a small amount of water locked in the soil.

Originally published on https://www.space.com

COMING UP!!

(Saturday, August 24th, 2024)

"HOW POWERFUL IS DARK ENERGY??"

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: electric eel

Prepare to be jolted this Wet Beast Wednesday as we dive into the shocking world of electric eels. The fist thing to know about electric eels is that the name is a lie. Not the electric part, that's true, but the eel part. Despite appearances, electric eels are actually knifefish, a group of freshwater fish that are more closely related to catfish and piranha than to true eels.

(Image: three electric eels swimming in an aquarium. One in front is seen in profile. It is an elongates, slender, brown fish with tiny pectoral fins and a long anal fin that runs under most of the body. End ID)

There are three species of electric eel, though they are so similar to each other that they were previously classified as one species. The species are Electrophorus electricus, Electrophorus voltai, and Electrophorus varii. The main difference between the species are in the shape of the skull. All electric eels are elongated fish that are cylindrical at the front and flattened vertically at the tail. They have no pelvic or dorsal fins and the tail fin is small and fused with the anal fin, which runs across most of the body. The anal fin is the primary means of locomotion for the eels. By undulating the fin in a wavelike motion, the eel can swim forward, backward, or hover in place. The body of the eel is scaleless, instead bing covered in muddy brown skin. Electric eels grow throughout their entire lives and grow new vertebrae as they get longer. The largest species, E. electricus, can reach 2 meters (6.6 ft) long and weighs up to 20 kg (44 lbs). They are obligate air-breathers, being incapable of obtaining enough oxygen through their gills to survive. Instead, they must surface every two to ten minutes to breathe. The inside of the mouth is wrinkly and heavily vascularized, resulting in a high surface area that can absorb oxygen as long is it stay wet. The floor of the mouth can flex to draw air in and then it is forced out through the gills. Carbon dioxide is excreted through the skin. Electric eels have poor eyesight, but have electroreception and very good hearing thanks to Webers apparatus, a set of tiny bones that connect the inner ear to the swim bladder. The apparatus amplifies sounds that the ear would not be able to detect on its own.

(Image: a close-up of an electric eel's head. It is round and brown, reminiscent of a potato in texture. The mouth is located on the frond and is closes, with no visible teeth. Tje eye is very small and pale blue. Across the head are sensory pits that look like small holes. End ID)

All of the vital organs of the eels are packed into the first fifth of its body length. The rest of the body contains the electric organs. Keeping the vital organs in the front of the body isolates them from the electric organs, preventing the fish from damaging their organs while generating electricity. The electric organs take up so much more space because they need to generate very powerful electric shocks. Most fish that hunt with electricity are saltwater species as salt water conducts electricity much better than freshwater. Because electric eels are freshwater fish, they need to generate much more powerful shocks to effectively hunt other animals. E. voltai can produce a maximum recorded 860 volts of electricity, the highest of any animal. Electric eels are electroreceptive, able to sense electric fields in their surroundings. Electroreception is divided into passive (animal senses electric fields of others) and active (animal generates its own electric field and can sense distortion in that field caused by other objects or animals). Electric eels are active electroreceptors. They sense changes in their electric field using sensory pits on the head that are derived from the lateral line system that all fish have. Electric eels have three electric organs: the main organ, Sach's organ, and Hunter's organ. The main organ sits in from of the Sach's organs while the Hunter's organ sits beneath both. The organs are derived from muscles and consist of stacks of structures call electrocytes, which are made up of specialized cells. When the brain sends a signal to the electric organs to produce a shock, special ion channels pump sodium ions into the cells while different channels pump potassium out. This creates a sudden difference in electric potential, which is what generates the shock. Producing electricity is a costly process and the eels need rest and nourishment between multiple successive shocks. The main organ generates the powerful shocks used to stun prey while the Sach's organ creates weaker shocks used for active electroreception. Hunter's organ appears to support the other two.

(Image: an artistic depiction of a cross-section of an electric eels, showing the structure of the main electric organ. From there, the image is zoomed in on multiple times, showing the the structure of the electrophytes, the protein channels, and the structure of the proteins involved in generating electricity. End ID. Art by Daniel Zukowski)

Electric eels are found in northern South America and the ranges of the three species generally do not overlap. They prefer muddy bottoms or swampy areas. The terrain of their territory changes quite a bit through the year. In the wet season, water levels rise, flooding sections of forest and grassland and connecting streams and ponds. In the dry season, water levels drop and many streams and ponds are isolated. These isolated bodies of water become warm, low-oxygen areas where fish that rely on gills are at a disadvantage while air-breathing fish like the electric eels can thrive. Electric eels are nocturnal predators that detect and stun prey through their electric abilities. Their diet consists mostly of fish, but they will take just abut anything. While mostly solitary, E. varaii have been observed coordinating with each other to hunt schools of tetras. When the electric field generated by Sach's organ is disturbed by another animal, the eel will use the main organ to produce a strong shock to stun the prey. Stunning can be done from a distance, but is more effective if the eel makes contact with the other animal. An initial shock may be used to temporarily immobilize prey long enough for the eel to contact it and release a second shock. Some sources propose that the eel can use its shock to forcibly contract muscles in other animals, either immobilizing prey or forcing prey to move, making them easier to sense. Where or not this is something the eels can actually do is up for debate. Electric eels also use their shocks to deter potential predators. When feeling threatened by something on land, the eel can leap out of the water to make contact with the threat and shock it. Very few animals prey on electric eels, but known predators include caiman, alligators, and piranha.

(Image: six frames showing na electric eel in captivity responding to a perceived threat (a fake caiman head) by partially leaping out of the water and contacting the head to shock it, before returning to the water. End ID)

Electric eels breed in the dry season. Males will use their saliva to glue together mud and sand into nests where the females lay their eggs. The male then fertilizes the eggs by releasing sperm onto them. The females may lay eggs multiple times during the breeding season and can lay up to 1200 at a time. The male stays by the nest to guard the eggs and hatchlings for up to four months. The lifespan of electric eels is in question, but captive specimens can live for up to 20 years.

(Image: an electric eel resting on a pile of wood next to some rocks. End ID)

All species of electric eel are classified as least concern by the IUCN, meaning they are not at threat of extinction. Threats to them mostly consist of pollution and habitat loss. Studies of the electric properties of the eels have lead to multiple discoveries and inventions. In particular, Luigi Galvani was inspired by studies on the eels when he invented the battery. Electric eels are also important in the study of the voltage-gated sodium channel. These channels are used to generate electricity, but are also used to trigger the contraction of muscle cells in many species, including humans. It is hard to study the channels in muscle cells because they are found in very small amounts. The electric organs of the electric eel have much higher quantities of these channels, making it much easier to study them. Better understanding of voltage-gated sodium channels could lead to improvements in prostheses and medical implants.

(Image: a cartoon showing an electric eel swimming with a black cloud emerging from its tail. Threee other eels watch from the side, one commenting "Ew... I can't believe he's still running on fossil fuels". End ID. Source)

[mindblowingscience]

The tiny Caribbean island of Dominica is creating the world's first marine protected area for one of earth's largest animals: the endangered sperm whale. Nearly 300 square miles (800 square kilometers) of royal blue waters on the western side of the island nation that serve as key nursing and feeding grounds will be designated as a reserve, the government announced Monday. "We want to ensure these majestic and highly intelligent animals are safe from harm and continue keeping our waters and our climate healthy," Dominica Prime Minister Roosevelt Skerrit said in a statement. Scientists say the reserve not only will protect the animals, but it will also help fight climate change. Sperm whales defecate near the surface because they shut down non-vital functions when they dive to depths of up to 10,000 feet (3,000 meters). As a result, nutrient-rich poop remains along the ocean surface and creates plankton blooms, which capture carbon dioxide in the atmosphere and drag it to the ocean floor when they die. And sperm whales in Dominica are believed to defecate more than whales elsewhere, said Shane Gero, a whale biologist and founder of the Dominica Sperm Whale Project, a research program focused on sperm whales in the eastern Caribbean.

Continue Reading.

[carionto]

"It's perfect" a Human said about a Deathworld

Continuing with this trio

Gieverne exclaimed upon reading the latest report on the atmospheric and soil and vegetation conditions of a new batch of surveyed planets. One particular planet read: 43% oxygen, 56% nitrogen, 0.03 carbon dioxide, and lesser traces of other gasses. Lows of 16 and highs of 33 degrees C at mid-latitudes, plus/minus 4 at the equator/poles.

From pictures taken by a survey drone, it was completely covered in kilometers high verdant green ferns and trees. Even the few oceans, or, more appropriately - land-locked seas, also had a greenish-purple algae coating still half a meter thick furthest from any coastline. Indications of extensive microbial lifeforms, but no traces of any macroscopic creatures.

He quickly rushed to his colleagues, and upon hearing the news, Everie was ecstatic, while Henrietta pondered something:

"It's a good start, but we'll first have to introduce smaller herbivores better suited to digesting such dense plants. I'll call up the girls on the Bountiful Kaleidoscope, I suspect the gliding mammals they're working with would serve as better initial prey animals, and all we introduce will have to be tree climbers and nest builders or the lack of sunlight on the ground will just kill them."

There was a short discussion about the best starting species and locations, when Everie suddenly looked as if he had experience a Eureka:

"What if we cleared a spot from orbit first, see how fast it regrows? If it's slow enough, we'll have more options and the ecosystem could better adapt to their new friends without killing them."

The other two thought for a second, then enthusiastically nodded in agreement. After a few more short discussions and consultations with other relevant groups of scientists and natural disaster response experts, they adjourned, with Gieverne concluding the meeting:

"Then it's decided, I'll file the necessary paperwork, and this station should be on its way to our new orbital home by the end of the month."

[reasonsforhope]

The 1987 Montreal Protocol, which phased out the production and use of chemicals that were depleting the ozone layer, has long been considered one of the most successful environmental treaties in history. New research finds that the global pact achieved another unforeseen benefit: delaying the melting of Arctic sea ice.

In a study published Monday in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, researchers from the University of Exeter and Columbia University found that the implementation of the Montreal Protocol is delaying the first ice-free Arctic summer by up to 15 years. That’s because the chemicals banned under the agreement are also potent greenhouse gases.

“Our results show that the climate benefits from the Montreal Protocol are not in some faraway future: the protocol is delaying the melting of Arctic sea ice at this very moment,” Lorenzo Polvani, one of the study’s authors, said in a press release. 

The study authors ran a series of climate models based on two different scenarios: one that included levels of ozone-depleting substances that would be expected if the Montreal Protocol never existed, and another accounting for the global treaty. The researchers concluded that the protocol is postponing the first ice-free Arctic summer by a decade or more, and entirely due to the phasedown of ozone-depleting chemicals. 

The Montreal Protocol was created to address a hole in the stratospheric ozone layer over the Antarctic. The ozone layer protects the Earth from harmful ultraviolet radiation that causes skin cancer and cataracts in humans. The treaty phased out almost 100 chemicals — including aerosols used in hair spray and other products, refrigerants, and solvents — that were found to be responsible for destroying stratospheric ozone.

Those banned chemicals, collectively called ozone-depleting substances, or ODS, are also potent greenhouse gases, with up to tens of thousands times the global warming potential of carbon dioxide. The report authors estimate that 1 metric ton of avoided ODS emissions leads to 7,000 square meters (more than 75,000 square feet) of avoided Arctic sea loss. By way of comparison, 1 metric ton of carbon dioxide emissions results in about 3 square meters (about 32 square feet) of sea ice loss. 

Given the potency of ODSs as a greenhouse gas, the authors are not surprised at this outsize impact on Arctic sea ice levels. “Nonetheless, such a large mitigating impact of the Montreal Protocol on Arctic sea ice loss is remarkable if one keeps in mind that the protocol was aimed at preventing ozone depletion in the Antarctic stratosphere, and little was known of its effect on Arctic sea ice when the protocol was signed,” the authors noted.

According to their projections, the Montreal Protocol has already prevented more than half a million square kilometers (about 193,000 square miles) of sea ice loss. By 2030, that amount will rise to more than 1 million square kilometers, and to 2 million square kilometers of prevented Arctic sea ice loss by 2040.

-via Grist, 5/24/23

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 9

Masterpost

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: This one got away from me a bit so it's longer than usual. And I've finally started putting this on ao3, so you can also ready here.

Acronym and terminology definitions

---

November 15, mission day 9 Lunar Orbit

The crew wakes in a groggy panic to the sounds of an alarm going off in the cabin, a red warning light flashing over the console. Bucky, dressed in NASA-issue pajamas with his curls stuck up in ridiculous directions from the zero G and lack of product, struggles to unzip his floating sleeping bag, which is suspended in the middle of the Orion capsule and secured at both ends. Alex and Rosie’s seats had been stowed once they were en route to the moon in order to make more space in the capsule for sleeping, working, and generally existing without being right on top of each other, but it only helps so much. They’ve been stuck in this glorified minivan for going on 9 days now, and they are only very slightly sick and tired of each other.

As Bucky tries to drag himself over to the console, his foot catches on Curt’s arm, flipping the other astronaut upside down in his own sleeping bag. “What the fuck, Bucky,” Curt groans. With nothing within arms reach to push off of, there’s no hope of flipping himself back over, so he starts trying to free himself from where he is.

“Gotta see how we’re gonna die this time,” Bucky replies unapologetically, settling into his commander’s seat so he can see the console properly.

“What time is it?” Alex asks with a yawn.

“5:50.” Bucky silences the master alarm, bringing quiet to the cabin once again. They’re ten minutes short of their typical wake-up call.

From the other side of the capsule, Rosie rubs his eyes with one hand. “Jesus Christ, we’d be screwed in an emergency.” The unconcerned way with which they’ve reacted to this alarm is not unlike the way college students would react to their apartment building’s fire alarm going off in the middle of the night for the third time in a row. But that’s because that’s basically what this is. They’ve had a number of false alarms already in the days since leaving low earth orbit.

Bucky ignores him and switches on his coms. “Houston? How do you read?”

Benny’s voice comes back. “We read you Bucky, loud and clear.”

Curt slides into his seat as Bucky squints at the silenced alarm still flashing bright red in front of his face. CO2.

“Looks like we’re suffocating again, Benny,” Bucky informs him.

“Copy that.” There’s a pause as Benny checks with the Emergency, Environmental, and Consumables Officer. “Our readings look fine. Don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Can you confirm up there?”

Curt and Bucky glance at the carbon dioxide meters on the console, and Curt shrugs, sighing in exasperation. “Looks fine here,” Bucky agrees. “Another false alarm.” 

This is the third time the carbon dioxide alarm has gone off without cause, but at least this time it happened relatively close to their normal wake-up time. On mission day 4, the cabin pressure sensor had jolted them all awake around 2:00am GMT. They spent nearly two hours sorting that out with Helen on CAPCOM, checking every square inch of the capsule and every line of telemetry data for an explanation. Turns out it was just some bad wiring, and Houston had to walk Alex through the steps to repair it before it would stop going off.

Fortunately, Dr. Huston and Jack Kidd, as Flight Surgeon and Flight Activities Officer, found a way to work some extra sleep into their schedule that day. Unfortunately, instead of just having a faulty wire, the CO2 sensor itself is fucked.

“We’ll get those sensors checked out when you come back Earthside,” Benny promises. “Unfortunately, our electricians have not agreed to extend operations to the moon. At least, not without a hefty house call fee.”

Bucky laughs tiredly. “The audacity of some people. What has the trade industry come to?”

“I could just break the sensor,” Curt offers.

“That’s a negative, Curt,” Benny responds. “EECOM says no.”

“Maybe EECOM should try wakin’ up to this fuckin’ alarm at all hours of the night.”

Benny kindly reminds them, “EECOM is wide awake with you.” Mission Control operates on GMT, along with the crew, meaning that while it’s 5:50am mission time, it’s actually 12:50 AM in Houston. These flight controllers just started their shifts fifty minutes ago. During a mission, normal work schedules simply don’t exist for the team on the ground any more than they do for the crew in space.

Before either Bucky or Curt can say something snarky back, obnoxious pop music is blasting through the cabin from Bucky’s tablet, which is their designated alarm clock on board Orion. “There’s our wake-up call,” Bucky mutters.

“I got it,” Alex calls over to him, floating across the cabin to get the tablet, which is velcroed to the wall.

“Hey hold on!” Curt reaches his hand out. “Give it a minute!” He starts obnoxiously singing along, jamming out beside Bucky to the point that he loses his grip on his seat and starts floating away. 

“I’m a real tough kid, I can handle my shit, they said babe you gotta fake it ‘til you make it and I did.”

The other three join in despite their exhaustion, Bucky and Curt not even bothering to switch off their coms. “Lights, camera bitch, smile, even when you wanna die. He said he’d love me all his life.” Bucky is, admittedly, very pleased when he realizes he can hear many of the flight controllers singing along in the background. It’s a small thing, but their wake up music choices make everyone’s day just a little better. Alex shuts off the alarm.

“Hey Benny,” Bucky says. “Can you ask Gale if he’ll love me all his life?”

“Ask him yourself in… five to six hours.”

“But that’s too long,” Bucky whines. “I need to know now.”

“He’s asleep. Ask your wedding ring, you idiot.”

Bucky grabs at the wedding ring that’s dangling – or, rather, floating – on a chain around his neck. Astronauts often choose to wear rings on necklaces like this in space, since it’ll be easier to grab them if they float away. Bucky has only lost it once so far, which everyone is quite impressed with. He rubs his thumb over the silver band, and Curt makes a gagging noise beside him. 

“Astrofag,” he coughs.

Bucky gives him the middle finger.

With the false alarm and the morning shenanigans out of the way, Benny composes himself and gives the crew a proper morning greeting as Alex and Rosie put on their coms. “Alright, rise and shine boys, big day today!”

“We’re in space. Every day is a big day,” Rosie points out, unimpressed, before starting to fold up and stow the crew’s sleeping bags. He isn’t wrong. Every day in this space-traveling RV is something new. Every day is a little closer to something historic. Every day is something else that could kill them. But today is the day that Bucky and Curt say goodbye to their crewmates and descend to the lunar surface for a week-long all-inclusive stay. So yes, it is a big day. 

“How about a news update,” Benny offers.

“The news is too fucking depressing,” Alex complains.

Benny agrees. “How about a JSC news update, then? Let’s see…” The crew can hear him as he muffles his com and calls out to the other flight controllers in Mission Control, “Who has news?”

Then he speaks to the crew again. “Croz’s kid turned one year old yesterday. A very happy birthday to the little guy. I’m sure you’ll see pictures when you’re home, he smashed a huge piece of cake right into his face.” Bucky smiles and relays his birthday wishes. “Perhaps more importantly,” Benny continues. “Meatball turns five next week.”

“I know for a fact you don’t know Meatball’s birthday,” Bucky interjects.

“Well, the vets think he’s about five, and I just gave him a random birthday.”

“Naturally.” Bucky double checks their trajectory on the console, taking note of how long they have until Starship has to undock.

“Hey, don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same,” Benny says defensively.

“I know my dog’s birthday.”

“Not all of us are perfect pet parents, John. Some of us win our dogs gambling.”

Bucky snorts. “A great slogan for a pet food brand.”

Benny moves on. “We’re having good weather in Houston this week. Looks like we saw the last of hurricane season on launch day. Blue skies – well, not now. It’s midnight-”

Curt situates himself back in his seat and tries to rub the tiredness from his eyes. “Benny why do I give a shit what the weather is in Houston? Ain’t gonna be there for another 20 fuckin’ days.”

“Fine,” Benny says. “The weather at the lunar south pole looks… unremarkable. 24/7 sun except in the shadows. Hot as hell in the light and cold as hell in the dark. Landing conditions look as acceptable as can be expected.”

“Wait, is Hell hot or cold?” Curt asks. “You’re sendin’ me mixed messages here.”

“That’s it. No more news.”

Bucky chuckles and pushes up and away from his console, floating across the cabin to the food ration storage. “Thanks for the update, Benny.”

As usual, Benny tells them all to get some food in their systems before they reconvene to go over the day’s mission plan. Bucky pulls some silver rehydratable food packages out of storage and squints at the labels. Pickings are slim, but not all together awful. “Alright crew,” he says, holding one of the packages up. “We’ve got oatmeal, wheat chex, or scrambled eggs. Take your pick and eat up.”

—

Nassau Bay, TX

Gale wakes around 4:30am, not alone as would be expected, but instead with two cold, wet noses nudging at his face, attacking from all sides. He and Benny have once again gotten into a habit of co-parenting Pepper and Meatball so they’re not alone for too long during the chaos of Artemis 3. The dogs get to hang out together 24/7, moving from Gale’s house to Benny’s and back each day depending on who's on shift at Mission Control. With Benny on the early shift, Gale has them from about 8pm until he leaves in the morning. Benny will drop by to pick them up once he gets Gale updated on mission activities and leaves JSC. 

Nothing about human spaceflight is normal, not even for those on the ground. They work weird hours, sleep weird hours, and no one ever knows what’s about to happen at any given moment. Gale works the Red shift, from 8am CST until 4pm. This corresponds to 1pm to 9pm GMT, the time zone that the crew and Mission Control operate on. Helen then takes over and works the White shift from 4pm to 12am CST. Benny is on Blue shift from 12am to 8am. Even this is misleading, though. There’s up to an hour of overlap between each shift for one shift to get the next up to speed, resulting in a ten hour work day seven days a week.

Today, that’s all fucked up anyway. Gale has to go in two hours earlier than usual so that no shift change has to occur between Starship undocking and landing, giving the crew a constant Mission Control team through the entire process.

So he yawns as he looks out at the dark, pre-sunrise morning, and he shoves the huskies off the bed so he can get to his feet. After stretching out the sore muscles in his back, he rubs one hand, covered by his sweatshirt sleeve, over his face and pauses to inhale the scent still barely clinging to the fabric. He can imagine John going on and on, wondering how Gale doesn’t get hot at night all bundled up like that. But right now, Gale doesn’t have his space heater of a husband to keep him warm, so he needs to make up for it somehow. He’s been sleeping in the Yankees sweatshirt nearly every night since launch, and he’s dreading the day he can’t pick out John’s scent anymore. For the moment, he smiles softly to himself, assured that it’s still there, and he gets on with his morning.

Opting not to take a jog before it’s even 5am, Gale takes himself through a quick bodyweight workout in the bedroom. Squats, push-ups, sit-ups, planks, all while fending off two massive dogs insistent on shoving into his space. Then he takes what can only be described as a military shower, in and out, before scrambling to find a clean button-down shirt and tie. After starting the coffee maker, he turns the TV onto the news story he’d recorded last night. 

“Tomorrow, The Starship Human Landing System will undock from Orion to carry John Egan and Curtis Biddick to the lunar surface.” Marge, as Artemis PAO, is sitting across from an NBC reporter, explaining the details of the Artemis 3 mission plan.

“And how long will it take the lander to reach the lunar surface?” the reporter asks.

“About half a day,” Marge replies. Then she goes on to outline the landing process. 

“Our two astronauts will perform a controlled burn that will decelerate the lander enough to fall into the moon’s gravity well. This means that they will depart from the current Orion orbit and instead descend into low lunar orbit. From low lunar orbit, they will perform another burn that will slow them down enough to fall towards the lunar surface, where they will land near Shackleton crater.”

“And the remaining crew members in Orion will stay in their current orbit?”

“Yes, Orion will remain in NRHO, a near-rectilinear halo orbit. This means that their orbit is balanced between the moon’s gravity and the Earth’s gravity. It’s an elliptical orbit, taking about six and a half days to complete, where they fly very close to the moon at one end, and very far from it at the other. This period of time will correspond to the surface mission.” A window pops up on one side of the screen showing a simulation of Orion in NRHO, complete with Starship undocking and heading for LLO. 

“So when Orion next completes its orbit, Starship will dock with it again?”

Marge nods. “Yes. They’ll meet up again in about a week.”

“And Shackleton crater. That’s at the moon’s south pole?”

The display window on the screen switches to a map of the Shackleton landing site. “Artemis operations are focused on the lunar south pole, where there’s near constant daylight for mission activities and power generation, as well as craters and valleys that are in constant or near constant shadow. So there’s parts of the surface there that have never been exposed to sunlight. Our astronauts will be performing a lot of experiments on the surface, such as studying lunar geology and searching for water ice.”

Gale pulls out his phone and texts Marge. “Look at you on TV.”

A reply shoots back immediately. “Please bring caffeine.”

Gale rolls his eyes, and then heads back into the kitchen to make up two cups of coffee, one black and one with an unhealthy amount of sugar. When he arrives at JSC, Marge greets him at his car, as is their typical routine. She greedily grabs the coffee cup he proffers and takes a desperate sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gale deadpans.

Marge glares at him. “Thank you.”

“What’s up with you?”

Marge blinks rapidly and pinches the bridge of her nose. Makeup conceals the dark circles that are starting to appear under her eyes, and Gale knows he has them, too. “This mission will be the death of me,” she declares.

Gale doesn’t press, because yes. Yes, this mission will be the death of them all. He wonders if the stress level they feel, the inconsistent sleep and the constant demand to always be at their best, is reminiscent of the Apollo days, when nothing about a single mission was standard. In many ways, Artemis is just as novel, if not more so, to the current NASA team than the later Apollo missions were. Every single person involved has trained hard; every component of this mission has been tested. And yet there’s a vague sense nestled in the back of everyone’s mind that they’re kind of out here winging it.

For what it’s worth, Mission Control is calm this morning. Flight controllers diligently monitor their designated systems, updating or reworking things as needed, an idle chatter popping up in this or that corner of the room. The new shift is filing in, getting themselves up to speed. Gale pats Marge on the shoulder as they enter, and they part ways.

“Morning,” Gale mumbles as he stops beside Benny at the CAPCOM console. “Are they ready?”

—

Low Lunar Orbit

John Egan and Curtis Biddick have landed a lot of jets in their lifetimes. They’ve landed a lot of jets in very precarious circumstances, in all manner of environments. They’ve flown them high and low, fast and slow, day and night, with and without landing gears, and sometimes on fire. They’re good pilots. Some of the best NASA has to offer, many might say.

The Starship Human Landing System is about as opposite of a jet as you can get.

Starship is nothing like the Apollo lunar module that today’s astronauts grew up dreaming about, though in their own ways they may be equally unwieldy. Instead of being small and low to the surface, the Artemis HLS is a tall and narrow vehicle, more akin to what science fiction would describe as a spaceship, with the crew seated near the top. When it was first proposed, there was concern over landing such a tall vehicle, especially with no atmosphere and little gravity to help balance it. But the engineers, the testing, and even the sims claim that it gets the job done.

Commander and pilot spent months in the simulators, learning how to handle this awkward thing of a rocket-turned-space-habitat, and neither of them have enjoyed a single moment of it. “It’s like ridin’ one of those giant unicycles,” Curt said once. He’s never been on one himself, and there’s a damn good reason for that. “It’s too fuckin’ tall.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pilot, Curt,” Benny had admonished him. “Figure it out.”

So here he is, figuring it out. “I’m an Air Force test pilot and this is what I get for it, tryin’ to land in a fuckin’ pringles can.”

“Yeah, sure that’s one way to think about landing on the moon,” Rosie rebukes from Orion, which is still in NRHO now somewhere far away from Curt and Bucky.

Bucky sighs longingly. “I could go for some pringles,”

Curt scoffs. “We got wheat chex.”

Gale: “Curt, think of it this way, only the best pilot could land a pringles can in one-sixth G.”

Curt: “Tryin’ to butter me up, Gale?”

Gale: “Whatever gets you on the ground safely.”

Bucky: “No. No buttering.”

Curt: “5,000 feet.”

Bucky: “Trajectory good.”

Curt: “It better fuckin’ be.”

Curt takes a deep breath, eyes locked on the console in front of him. He hates this. Not being able to clearly see where he’s landing, even if it’s half computer automated, which he also hates. He didn’t become a pilot or an astronaut to be a passenger princess, and he sure as hell isn’t trusting his life to a computerized landing module.

From the windows at the top of their silver tower, Bucky watches the lunar surface grow bigger and bigger beneath them, its curvature disappearing entirely as they approach their landing site at the south pole. He sings quietly to himself. “For here, am I floating in a tin can, far above the moon.” 

Gale: “Starship, be advised, you seem to be on VOX.”

VOX meaning Bucky’s coms are currently voice activated, as opposed to Push to Talk, or PTT. Every time he says something loudly enough, his coms pick it up and transmit it to Houston. It’s been a minor (major) issue for the entirety of the mission so far, but if nothing else, amusing to the flight controllers.

Bucky: “Your point?”

Gale: “Our flight controllers here in Houston would like me to tell you you have a lovely singing voice.” 

Bucky can hear the sarcasm, and seriously? From his own husband? The man who is supposed to love and support him unconditionally? Bucky can almost always make Gale laugh, no matter how moody he’s being, by singing a little off-key and pulling him into a reluctant dance. 

Bucky: “They should be so honored.”

Gale: “Houston would also like me to remind you, once again, that everything you say is being transcribed.” He relays these words, but he sounds defeated and unconvinced. He’s right to be. If Houston hasn’t convinced the crew to stop being little shits by now, it won’t happen for the rest of the mission.

Curt: “Fuck Houston.”

Gale: “Still on VOX.”

Curt: “If I were on PPT I’d still say that over coms.”

Gale: “I know, and I’m starting to think we’ll need someone to go through and redact these transcripts cause of your language. Top brass isn’t pleased.”

Curt: “I live to displease.”

Curt squints at the console in front of him, running the numbers in his head before he points out the discrepancy he’s seeing to Bucky. Bucky glances out the window.

Bucky: “Houston, we seem to be entering a roll.”

Gale: “... Come again? Didn’t quite catch that.”

Bucky switches his coms to PPT to make the transmission clearer. “A roll. We aren’t supposed to be entering a roll, are we?” He waits as Gale discusses with Bubbles, GNC, and Croz, FIDO.

Gale: “That’s a negative. We’re working on sorting out why the control software authorized that. Can you course correct?”

Curt: “I’ll try.” He fires the thrusters and manages to stop the roll. “Fuckin’ computer.”

Bucky stifles a laugh as he reads out their coordinates. 1,500 feet to go, and he can see Shackleton Crater ahead. The part of Bucky that isn’t a highly qualified professional is buzzing with ‘are we there yet’ energy, trying to keep his heart rate from spiking in anticipation.

Curt: “What are the odds of this thing tipping over on us, Gale?”

There’s a mildly concerning pause.

Gale: “We don’t have exact numbers on that. Is ‘low’ a good enough answer?”

Curt: “I’ll take it.”

Bucky: “Coming up on Shackleton. I can see the site.”

Curt: “500 feet.”

Bucky: “Jesus, that’s something, isn’t it?” The vehicle flies right over the massive crater like it’s nothing more than a pothole in the road. A pothole that’s 13 miles across. Below the rim, it’s completely consumed by darkness. 

Gale finds himself holding his breath in Mission Control, something he’s been doing a lot this mission. He hasn’t yet sorted out if he’d be doing that no matter what, or if it’s because Bucky is on that lander. He twists the wedding ring around his finger as he listens to Croz calmly relay Starship’s altitude. The thrusters lining the top of the lander fire, controlling its descent at the top of a ridge near Shackleton.

Curt: “Easy, easy babe.” 

Starship sets down on the surface, barely any harder than a bird landing on a tree branch. Everyone, in Mission Control, on the lander, and on Orion, can breathe easy again. Bucky leans his head back in his helmet and pumps a fist.

Curt: “Houston, we have touchdown at Shackleton crater.”

—

Houston, TX

Later that night, Gale leans back against the bartop at the Hundred Proof, glass of soda in hand. On the TV behind the bar, there’s another news story playing about the upcoming moonwalk. By the end of Gale’s shift today, Bucky and Curt were settled on the lunar surface, preparing for the week ahead. They would take the night to eat, rest, and do some basic housekeeping. Tomorrow they will take their first steps on the moon.

Gale looks around the Hundred Proof, taking a sip of his drink. Much of Red Shift, as well as some of Benny’s Blue Shift, made the pilgrimage to the bar to decompress tonight. Croz, Bubbles, and Jack are playing pool in the back. Gale’s seen a few of his other team members milling about with drinks in hand, playing darts or watching sports on the other TVs. Even Clark has taken the time to join his team in letting a load off, laughing as Croz fails miserably to make an eight ball shot.

For just a few hours, no one would even know that these men and women have the weight of the world on their shoulders.

“It’s fuckin’ crazy, what we’re doing.” Benny joins Gale at the bar, leaning back against the counter as he sips a beer. 

“The two of us are just on the ground,” Gale replies. 

“Takes a village.” Benny crosses his arms over his chest, his beer resting against his bicep. He’s dressed in a dark lightweight sweater and jeans. Gale, on the other hand, is still wearing his button down and slacks, his tie loosened and his top button undone the way that always makes Bucky grin and grab onto the tie, dragging him in for a kiss. Bucky’s on the moon, though. And Gale’s just tired.

“It’ll be you next, anyways,” Benny adds, tilting his head to glance at Gale. “You know how jealous I am?”

Gale can’t help the way the corner of his mouth turns up in a little half smile, but he shrugs. “You were just on the station. Too soon to send you back. If you’re lucky, we’ll survive past Artemis 4 and you’ll get yourself on 5.”

Benny takes another swig of beer, and Gale mimics him, sipping his own drink. He rubs his thumb over the condensation gathered around the sides of his glass. “We’ll survive,” Benny asserts.

Gale really hopes so. Seeing Artemis end so soon would break his heart. But you never know what tomorrow will bring, and he wonders if Apollo-era astronauts felt the same way. He thinks they did. “What makes you so sure?”

“Sure is the only thing you can be around here, isn’t it?” Benny shrugs. “And if we’re not sure, we have to act like we are.”

Gale knows he’s right. If they don’t believe in a future here, then no one else will. He glances around the bar, at his coworkers and friends joking and drinking and having a good time. Every single one of them believes wholeheartedly in what they’re doing here, and every single one will fight to keep it going. Come what may.

The Hundred Proof has this transcendent, timeless quality. Classic rock plays through the speakers, and a vintage charm seeps from the walls, lined with NASA memorabilia like a time capsule over half a century old. It’s hardly changed a bit since its early days, with the exception of new televisions and perhaps new drinkware, although no one is really sure about that one. Just about every astronaut who has ever suited up for the United States space program since Apollo has walked on these floors and sat at this bar. Tonight, as it offers its comforts to weary flight controllers ahead of another history-making shift, it feels as if time has stood still. It could just as easily be 1969 or 1972 or 1995. It could just as easily be another era, another mission, and another unknown.

Gale wonders if flight controllers like him and his friends sought out this place in decades past, preparing themselves for the next shift, the next landing, the next moonwalk. If they had the same fears and the same hopes. He wonders if this place looked the exact same as it does right now, harkening back to a past that was too long ago, a hope for the future that NASA has dragged itself back to tooth and nail.

It’s possible that no space mission in this lifetime will ever compare to the way Apollo 11 captured the attention of an entire nation. Of the entire developed world. When Neil Armstrong stepped foot on the moon – “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” – nearly every household and every TV-owning establishment in the United States was tuned in. Everyone dropped what they were doing to stare at the fuzzy black and white video feed and watch a man walk on an extraterrestrial surface for the very first time. Everyone who remembers that day can tell you exactly where they were and what they were doing the moment those first footprints were pressed into the fine lunar soil. 

After that, though, moon landings were seen as routine. By the time Apollo 17 came around, the glimmer of futuristic hope and novelty was fading. Anyone who knew anything about it would tell you that there’s not a single thing that’s routine about landing on the moon. But it didn’t matter; for the public that would never be in that Mission Control room or on that space capsule, it lost its grandeur. 

The funding stopped. 

No one in power wanted to prioritize a lunar program anymore. America had made their point. They’d proved they could do it, proved their superiority in the space race. And dreams of landing on the moon were left to children with stars in their eyes and adventure in their hearts. 

Children like John Egan and Curtis Biddick. 

John Egan has wanted to be an astronaut for as long as he can remember. A little boy with unruly hair and an even more unruly spirit, climbing trees so he could be as close to the sky as the Earth would allow. He went to sleep with his ceiling covered in glow in the dark stars and built model rockets with his dad on the weekends. Almost every decision he’s ever made has been with this end goal in mind. 

He told Gale the first time they ever met that he intended to be an astronaut. He went to school for engineering even though he and mathematics didn’t get along, forcing him to forge through calculus and physics with a blind determination to get himself to where he needed to be. He joined the Air Force ROTC. He became a pilot. He took to the sky and never looked back, always more at home in the clouds than on the ground. Other than Gale Cleven, sitting in a cockpit was the only thing that could settle Bucky’s wayward energy. When the time was right, he applied to NASA, just like he always said he would. It took two tries, but they accepted him. He became an astronaut candidate. He flew on the international space station. He even did it all with Gale at his side. He did everything he’d always dreamed of doing, except one thing:

Step foot on the moon. 

But after tomorrow, he’ll have done that, too.  

Mission Control will be packed tomorrow morning; almost every flight controller on every shift will be there to watch the Artemis 3 crew leave the first footprints at the lunar south pole. Gale will be there, as a flight controller, as a NASA astronaut, and as a husband. He will watch his husband emerge from the Starship hatch and step down onto that lunar surface. He’ll be sitting in a front row seat to see the culmination of nearly two decades of watching John Egan work his ass off to accomplish his dreams. He’ll be right there, his voice guiding John through every step as his legacy is broadcast live to the entire world.

He couldn’t be more proud. Even if he has no fucking clue what will come out of John’s mouth when his boots hit the ground. He can only hope it’s nothing catastrophically embarrassing.

–

It was only weeks ago that Gale walked into their living room, Pepper trotting at his heels, to find Bucky laying on his back on the floor in front of the couch with his hands covering his eyes. A notebook and pen were haphazardly on the floor beside him. 

“What are you doing?” Gale had asked, as Pepper took over her role of protector and started licking Bucky’s face, trying to bring him back to the living.

Bucky had just groaned loudly, pulling his hands away from his face to stare up at Gale forlornly. So Gale bent down and picked up the notebook, which he wasn’t aware Bucky even owned. Flipping through pages of chicken scratch writing, he sat on the couch and tried not to laugh as he read through the brain-dump words. “Are these things to say when you land on the moon?”

Bucky sat up and crossed his legs, which Pepper took as an invitation to lay half in his lap. “Yep.”

There has been absolutely no shortage of people reminding Bucky that he will be the first person to set foot on the moon since 1972. It’s a big deal, and it will be broadcast live to the entire world. He’s been wracking his brain for things to say at such a significant moment in human history, knowing he has massive shoes to fill but not wanting to sound too cheesy, too outdated or philosophical, too… anything. How do you measure up to Neil Armstrong without sounding like you’re trying to be Neil Armstrong? Sometimes Bucky feels like nothing more than a little kid playing astronauts in the yard, pretending to be his childhood hero. 

No one ever expected him to get this far, and now the world is watching. Most of them adore him. Others hate him. If we’re lucky the fag will die up there. Planet Earth is a tumultuous place, but Bucky’s grit and determination have never faltered. He just never expected to be anyone else’s hero.

What words are there to bring a world together when every day it feels like it’s crumbling? Does it even matter what he says? Is it enough that he’s there? Do people actually care about what comes out of his mouth? Will his first words be stuck to him for the rest of his life – a legacy or a shackle? Will they print them in the history books, resound them for future generations? Or will they fade into obscurity like the words of every Apollo astronaut that came after Armstrong? Just a few more words said by another guy whose name most people won’t remember a few decades from now.

“‘With a single step, we return to the unknown for all mankind,’” Gale read from the notebook. “That’s… not bad?”

Bucky shrugged. “A little on the nose.”

“‘As we step onto the lunar surface once again, we bring with us all that we know, and all that we love, to move forward into a brighter future.’”

Bucky made a face as Pepper nudged at his hand with her wet nose. He stroked the top of her head gently, thinking that she had him trained and not the other way around. “Feels sappy.”

Gale glanced down at him. “You are sappy.”

“You’re the only one who knows that.”

Gale rolled his eyes and flipped a few more pages. Bucky closed his eyes as he waited for what was coming, knowing he’d been slowly devolving into madness. Gale choked on a laugh. “‘Hello world, I’m on the fucking moon.’ ‘To all the professors who tried to fail me, who’s laughing now.’ ‘I have the high ground.’ – God, you’re a nerd.” Bucky stuck his tongue out at him before he could continue. “‘Welcome to the shit show.’ ‘Hold on, let me take a selfie.’ ‘We’re here and we’re queer, fight me.’” Gale squinted at the page, running his thumb along some concoction of supposed letters. “I can’t read this one.”

Bucky leaned his head back against the couch so Gale could hold the notebook in front of his face, pointing to a barely legible scrawl across the top of the page. “We’re back, bitches.”

Gale nodded thoughtfully. “Alternatively, the bitch is back.”

“And then I’ll lower my visor like sunglasses,” Bucky nodded. “Stare off into the lunar sunrise. Make a moment of it.”

“Probably not the moment NASA wants,” Gale acquiesced, throwing the notebook to the couch cushion beside him. “You could sing Into the Unknown from Frozen.”

“Oh sure.” Bucky chuckled, scratching at Pepper’s ears. “I can see the headlines. ‘NASA Sends Crazy Queer to Space.’”

“We’re all mad here.”

“This ain’t Alice in Wonderland.”

“It’s true though.” Gale reached his hand down, making a grabbing motion until Bucky noticed and twined their fingers together, letting Gale tug him up onto the couch to Pepper’s dismay. Bucky settled against Gale’s side, mindlessly fiddling with Gale’s fingers like he often does. Gale smiled and leaned his head against Bucky’s, pressing his lips into soft, dark hair. “I’m a fan of welcome to the shit show.”

“Something tells me NASA won’t be.”

A few moments passed, and for those few moments, they weren’t anyone special. They were just a married couple curled up together on the couch. 

Then Gale said, “Maybe something about why it’s so important? Why we’re going back at all.”

Bucky thought for a moment, staring out the window at the night sky beyond. An entire universe that they’ve barely cracked the surface of, worlds and worlds that they may never get to explore. Both Bucky and Gale have always been endlessly fascinated by the infinite unknown. 

“We return to the moon not as a final frontier, but as a stepping stone on humanity’s expedition to explore the wider universe.”

“Mmm.” Gale tilted his head, considering. “That might be too optimistic. Don’t want to be making promises on NASA’s behalf.”

“In case we can’t get our shit together?” Bucky scoffed. Gale nodded, and Bucky had to agree. “Okay, how about, ‘this is the best fucking day of my life.’”

Gale frowned, pulling away to look at Bucky more directly. “I thought marrying me was the best day of your life.”

Bucky’s hair brushed against Gale’s cheek as he turned to look at him, too, letting himself drown in perfect blue eyes as he lifted his hand to cup the side of Gale’s face. “It was,” he breathed out. He kissed Gale then, with a gentle passion that carried with it a silent promise of you are my everything, you are my home. I will come back to you. When Bucky pulled away, he stroked his thumb over Gale’s jaw and let himself marvel at this life he’d made for himself. He’s doing everything he’s ever dreamed of, and he can’t ask for much more. But somewhere along the way, he’d gotten so damn lucky even on top of all of that. This man in front of Bucky, holding him in his arms with such love and warmth, has always been, and always will be, the best thing to ever happen to him. “Gale?” he whispered. 

“Yeah?” Gale’s voice came out in a puff of breath against Bucky’s cheek.

“I love you.”

–

So that’s what Gale thinks as he watches the screen at the front of Mission Control, which is showing video feed from the camera Curt is holding as he follows John to the hatch. It’s what he thinks as he watches the hatch open and John – not physically recognizable because of his bulky EVA suit and yet unequivocally John – stops at the top of the steps that are lowering to the surface. I love you. I love you I love you I love you. 

He can feel everyone in Mission Control holding their breath again. The whole world is holding their breath, crowded around TV screens and computers and phones, waiting. Waiting to see John Egan and Curtis Biddick step foot on the lunar surface. Waiting to hear what John will say to commemorate this moment.

Gale is pleasantly surprised, and admittedly relieved, to hear the words that Bucky has chosen to speak into the world. As the Artemis commander grips the side of the hatch, he looks out at the lunar surface beyond, at the untread terrain that they have the honor to explore. “It sure took us a long time, but we finally made it back,” he remarks. Then he takes a deep breath and hesitates, and Gale knows that, despite Bucky’s cocksure attitude and impulsive personality, he wants to get this right. 

“As we step foot into this beautiful unknown once again,” he says. “We do it not just for ourselves, but for the people of planet earth. We do it for everyone who dares to dream of a brighter future. Everyone who dares to step with us.”

Then he steps delicately onto the surface, and his boot sinks into the fine lunar soil below. One foot, and then the other. One step, and then another. 

He’s on the moon.

“How’s it look, John?” Gale asks.

Bucky turns slowly, open-mouthed, thinking that he feels like he’s on another world before his brain catches up and remembers that it is another world. They’re at the top of a massive ridge connecting two even more massive craters. The sun is just above the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the surface where it hits the crater rims. It’s silent. Peaceful. Like he just wants to sit right down on the ground and take it all in for a while.

“John?”

“Hi angel,” Bucky says, too in awe to realize he just called his CAPCOM “angel” on a globally televised broadcast. Neither of them will ever live it down.

But Gale only chuckles. “You okay up there?”

Curt, stepping down off the lander behind Bucky, adjusts the camera so he can record their surroundings. “I think we’re just a little in awe, Buck,” he says, since Bucky seems incapable.

But Bucky manages to find his words again as he steps further away from the lander, Curt recording him from behind as they both test out the gravity on the surface, taking a few bounding strides forward. “It’s incredible,” Bucky breathes, raising his arms out to the sides as if he can somehow absorb this experience into his mind and body. 

He motions to Curt, grabbing for the camera so he can get some airtime, too. He records as Curt bounds a few long and ungainly slow-motion steps away, trying to work out the best way to move in this new environment. Bucky follows behind clumsily.

“See that, world?” he says as he pans the camera around, giving visual of their lander stretching up to the dark sky, the beautifully foreboding crater some distance behind it, the rocky terrain on all sides streaked with long shadows, Curt dropping to his knees into the rough and sandy regolith. “You’re looking at the lunar south pole. No one has ever stepped foot on this part of the moon, but you’re seeing it right now. It’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“It sure is, Bucky,” Gale tells him, as their only link to the rest of the planet.

“Buck,” Curt interrupts as he lets a handful of the soil, fine and sharp like grains of glass, sift between his gloved fingers. “Can confirm the moon is not made of cheese.”

“Alright, Curt,” Gale replies, all too serious. “Thank you for that observation, we’ll note it down. Just please don’t taste it.”

“No promises.”

After a few more minutes of bounding around in wonder and narrating what they’re seeing, Curt and Bucky sign off from their live broadcast.

“O2 levels look good,” Gale informs them. “How’s the pressure feel?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky replies. “It’s dropped just a bit. A little easier to move. I expect it’ll keep improving as we get going here.”

A suit that decreases pressure in increments was NASA’s solution to their decompression sickness problem. When the body is too quickly exposed to low pressure environments, gases dissolved in bodily fluids, namely nitrogen, bubble out, causing a whole host of health issues called ‘the bends’ or decompression sickness. Designing a space suit that maintains the same pressure as the crew cabin – which is the same as mean sea level pressure on Earth – would result in a stiff suit that is impossible to move in. Typically, astronauts on the ISS spend many hours before an EVA pre-breathing – breathing pure oxygen to allow the body enough time to naturally purge the nitrogen – making it possible for them to safely wear EVA suits with a much lower pressure. To shorten this amount of time, astronauts may do physical activity while breathing pure O2, making the body rid itself of nitrogen even faster.

NASA wanted to reduce pre-breathing time as much as possible on Artemis. So on top of some time spent pre-breathing during exercise, the suits are equipped with oxygen regulators, which gradually decrease the suit pressure over time as the crew is out on the surface. Their suits are at a higher pressure when they first start the EVA, and as their nitrogen levels drop during the EVA, the suit pressure decreases, making it much easier to move around.

NASA didn’t come to the moon to play. They’re here for the future. To learn and to work and to push humanity to new heights. It’s a testing ground of sorts, to see how extended extraterrestrial missions may be feasible. The mission is designed for maximum productivity, and they have a lot to do here in the next week. Every single element has been designed with that in mind.

“Good to hear,” Gale says. “Now let’s get to work.”

…

…

Part 10

A3’s planned flight path for those interested:

(Image from NASA)

[fishenjoyer1]

Fish of the Day

Today's fish of the day is the giant tube worm!

The giant tube worm, known by scientific name Riftia pachyptila is a common marine invertebrate. Unlike the common ship parasite of the same name, this animal is found in the deep sea, only discovered in 1977 when exploring the hydrothermal vents off the Galapagos islands in the rift nearby. The range of the tube worm is concentrated at rifts and trenches formed by tectonic plates around the world, and although they are theorized to possibly be in other areas of the world, they have only been recorded in the Pacific and Indo-Pacific oceans.  Living anywhere from 2,564 - 2,673 Meters of depth (8,412- 8,770 feet) these animals have a life that is irreparable tied to the hydrothermal vents they concentrate around.

Due to their scarcity, hydrothermal vents are often misunderstood. These are fissure vents along the sea bed near volcanic activity that emits extremely heated water and chemicals. This supports environments of bacteria and archaea in the deep sea that previously could not have managed in the cold waters, with the trade off that the waters near them are anywhere from 60-440 degrees celcius (140-870 degrees fahrenheit). This works particularly well for the tube worms, as they prefer to live in warmer temperatures. In fact, when there were live specimens caught in 1998, the captive worms were found to enjoy living in environments around 80 degrees Fahrenheit. These hydrothermal vents also foster the bacteria that keep adult worms alive, the Campylobacterota phylum.

The giant tube worm has a life cycle similar to many others within its family, worms start life as free swimming planktonic organisms, which swim weakly and move via rows of cilia along the outer layer of their skin. Once they find a hydrothermal vent, this is when they enter a sessile stage as a juvenile, where they will begin acquiring the bacteria around the vent within themselves. These worms have no mouth, and the bacteria is an essential part of the organism, acting as their only source of sustenance in a kind of symbiosis referred to as chemoautotrophic symbiosis. Once they are stably rooted into a colony around a vent, these worms will grow quicker than any other deep sea animal, breaking the ideas in 1977 about how slow life in the deep sea was. They can grow around 1.5 meters within less than 2 years, reaching a total or 2 meters or 6.6ft total, giving them the fastest growing rate of any marine invertebrate known.

The campylobacterota takes root in the tube worms similar to an infection, through the skin. This bacteria will then bloom inside of its host, starting at what was once the mouth and esophagus in juvenile and larvae worms, before taking place in the midgut. This bacteria will then carve out an area within the worm called the Trophosome cavity, and the remainder of the digestive tract fills in. This bacteria subsists off of carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulfide, from which it can create all organic compounds needed to sustain life, releasing sulfur as a waste product. It gains energy by oxidizing the inorganic sulfur in a cycle similar to the calvin cycle used for photosynthesis.

After the worm has settled into its home along the vent and has entered the symbiotic cycle with bacteria, the worm will begin growing what is referred to as a husk or a shalth around it. This is a hard chitin shell that is used to prevent predation on the internals of the worm, along with protection for the trophosome cavity within. Then, above that is the vestimentum, which are muscle bands that can be used to pull in a gill structure above in the presence of predators, this is also where the genitals can be found, and the heart. The most striking and visible section of the worm is the branchial plume. This plume is a bright red color due to the extensive hemoglobin chains within it, despite the presence of sulfides, which usually inhibit hemoglobins. These plume gill structures are used for extending into colder water where more oxygen is available, along with bringing in carbon dioxide and hydrogen sulfides for the bacteria.

Reproduction of this animal is not reliant on a season or specific age, but rather to the volcanic tectonic plate activity around it. During a spawning event, males within the colony will release spermatozoa into the water, which will locate female tube worms, swimming within the husk structure and into the ovaries. In laboratory specimens, this process takes only 30 seconds, but in the wild it is thought to take much longer and survival of the spermatozoa to rely upon the hydrothermal vent. Once fertilized, eggs will grow within the worm for several months, and when the hydrothermal vent conditions are right, the eggs will be released into the water column, relying on deep sea currents and buoyancy to carry them to the pelagic layer. The life cycle begins all over again.

Have a wonderful day everybody!

[solarpunks]

A Liquid Tree? Scientists in Serbia Make Incredible Innovation

Dr. Ivan Spasojevic, Ph.D. in Biophysical sciences, and one of the authors on the project from the Institute for Multidisciplinary Research at the University of Belgrade, developed an innovative tool for reducing greenhouse gas emissions and improving air quality: the liquid tree. Also dubbed LIQUID 3, the novel creation is Serbia’s first urban photo-bioreactor, a solution in the fight for clean air. It contains six hundred litres of water and works by using microalgae to bind carbon dioxide and produce pure oxygen through photosynthesis.

The microalgae replace two 10-year-old trees or 200 square meters of lawn. . The advantage of microalgae is that it is 10 to 50 times more efficient than trees. 

Very interesting, especially in urban contexts that can’t support / be reconfigured to support more trees.

I imagine a Solarpunk world where each one of these is sculptural - a work of public art.