#my intake manifold is giving an error

[cute-girls-from-vns-anime-manga]

Of course my timing belt on my car has to fucking start going right now, I can't keep up with this shit why can't I just have a fucking break already!!!!

[lovehugsandcandy]

Criminal Activity  (Colt x MC, N*FW)

A/N: This one-shot is completely unedited and the only reason I got this out in time for RoDAW Epilogue was thanks to Desiree’s encouragement (Ren, I am definitely in the middle of the Venn diagram). (Apparently, I like what I like, what can I say? Am I getting soft? CRAP AM I SOFT? What HAPPENED TO ME?!?!)

Also, I am wicked behind on reading and commenting and writing back to people who said the nicest thing to me and I am so sorry. I love you all and I have LOVED reading everything so much and I am overwhelmed by your talent.

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: 2580 words

Rating: N*FW

Summary: Ellie’s a girl who knows what she wants and Colt’s just along for the ride.

“Would you just stop?”

“What?” Ellie froze and glanced at him, guilty eyes watching him.

Colt dropped his wrench. “You’ve been drumming your fingers on the floor since you sat down.” 

“But…”

“You sat down like five minutes ago and you haven’t stopped fidgeting once.” He looked up at his engine, trying to calculate how long it would take to replace the intake manifold. “I really want to fix this damn acceleration problem.”

She slid to the ground to sit next to his head. “I have something I want to show you.”

“Okay…” He looked at her, expectantly.

“Not here, Colt.”

He paused, looking at her. “Is it something you want to show me because I’m really going to like it? Or something you want to show me because I’m really not going to like it?”

“I hope the first one?” He watched the smile bloom across her face. He loved Ellie in all her moods but devious Ellie? Smiling at him like she had a secret she was just dying to whisper in his ear in the dead of night? Looking like she was every one of his deepest desires come to life? This Ellie was the stuff of dreams.

“Alright.” He sat up so his face was inches from hers. “But if I don’t like it, I’m going to come back here and finish this.”

She bit her lip, eyes lighting up. “I think you’re gonna like it.”

~~~~~

“Ok.” Colt shut the door to his room. “So…?”

“Soooo…..” Ellie was ruffling around her bag, finally breaking into a grin when she saw what she wanted. “I stole something from my dad.”

“What. You what?!?” She turned to him, hands behind her back, mischievous smile across her face. Damn, she took his breath away when she had a bad idea; there was something about the gleam in her eye, the tilt of her lips. When she had a plan, she was breathtaking.

Finally, she revealed her prize with a bite of her lip.

“Handcuffs?” Colt could feel his eyebrows climbing up his face.

“Yeah.” She stepped closer. “I wanna try them. On you.”

He swallowed as she edged closer, predatory. He couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued; by the tightening of his pants, certain parts of him were very intrigued in this idea.

“You stole handcuffs from your dad?!?”

“Yeah. Please?” She blinked up at him, slow, the pout of her lips begging to be kissed.

He tilted his head at her, considering. Of course, he didn’t need to consider long. “Ok.” He held out his wrists. “How do you want me, Officer?”

“Oh my God.”

He stepped closer. “Did you catch me in the middle of criminal activity?” He lowered his lips to whisper in her ear, smirking at the shiver down her spine. “Gonna teach me the errors of my ways?” 

“I feel like you are always in the middle of criminal activity.” 

He shrugged. “Fair.”

“Get on the bed.” The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable and Colt had to bite his lips to keep the words at bay, words he had thought countless times but still wasn’t ready to give voice to.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes as she clambered onto the bed after him, straddling his hips with a few superfluous circles that had him thrusting to meet her. “Hands up. Come on.”

She leaned over him, hair falling in delicate curls over his face and shoulders, fiddling with the metal. Colt grinned; if she didn’t want him to use his hands, she definitely should not have gotten so close without making sure he was restrained. Not wasting a second, he slid his hand behind her neck and pulled, bringing his lips to hers, swallowing the ohhh from her lungs as he made sure she thoroughly, fully, deliciously regretted getting distracted.

Finally, she pulled back. “Not fair.”

“I don’t play fair, Officer.”

“Jesus….Come on.” She had the handcuffs open and was biting her lip, concentrating on pulling them through a slat in his headboard. “Give me your hands.”

“Uhh….do you want me to take my shirt off? Or are you going to rip it off me later? …Officer.”

She eyed him, pulling him forward with a finger under his chin. “The fact that you can think that through only means I’m doing it wrong.”

“Baby, you’re doing everything right.” He could feel his gaze soften as he studied her up close. Fuck, he loved this girl. 

She smirked. “Shirt off.”

He couldn’t comply fast enough and, the second the shirt was on the floor, she pushed him onto his back, still hovering over him, too far away, a mirage he needed to grasp but couldn’t reach.

Snap. 

He tilted his head back to stare at the new bracelet. “Never had one of these before.”

“Really?”

“They haven’t caught me yet. You did. Officer.” 

She smirked. “If you call me that again, I swear to God.”

“Are you gonna throw the book at me?”

“If you say something about the long arm of the law…”

He licked his lips. “Oh, not the long arm, baby.”

She looked to the sky, as if summoning all her patience, and pushed his other wrist through the cuff and locked him in. “This ok?”

He moved his hands, slowly twisting his wrists, testing the hold. “They feel ok.”

“Good.” She sat back down on his lap, sliding over him so her face was over his. “Hi.”

“Hi.” The metal bit into his skin as he flexed. “Ok, this is weird. I wanna touch you.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “Do you want me to…”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just…” He tested the cuffs again and they held firm. “Weird.”

She trailed her lips down his neck, barely a tickle of contact that edged over his shoulder and down his chest. “Good weird?”

“Definitely getting better weird.”

His stomach twitched as she chuckled, puff of air warm on his abs, hands tracing over his skin, flesh and muscle seemingly designed to respond to her touch. His cock was straining against his jeans but he couldn’t do anything about it. “Do you know why I wanted to do this?”

“Huh?” She popped the button of his pants and slowly, teasingly, slid the zipper down; there was not enough blood in his brain to understand the question.

“Do you know why I wanted to handcuff you?”

“Most inexperienced thieves-ah-most of them commit crimes of opportunity.” She was sliding the pants down his legs and he was having a hard time thinking, let alone breathing. “You-oh-you saw cuffs so you took them.”

“Mmmm….” She threw his pants over the side of his bed, watching him appraisingly. He was hard as hell and could feel the cool air of the room settling over his naked skin. “That’s not the right answer.”

“Ok, well, can you please just come back?” The metal of the cuffs clinked as he tried and failed to reach for her.

She slid over him; he would prefer to have her naked skin on his but at least she was warm, clothes dusting over his skin and hands sliding up his sides as her lips spoke into his hip. “I wanted to take care of you for once.”

“What?”

She shrugged, suddenly shy. “You always take care of me.”

“That’s not true.” He craned his head to look at her. “I threatened to leave you at In-and-Out when you insulted my order.”

“Not what I meant, asshole.” 

“Tomatoes do not belong on burgers, they are an abomination to both fruit and vegetable and-holy shit.” She ran her tongue up the vein of his cock and his head fell back against the bed. “Ok, you’re right, whatever you want, baby please.”

Ellie slid her mouth over his cock and he keened, loud in the room, an embarrassing noise that he immediately regretted and, when Ellie took him deeper, immediately made again. He couldn’t function, the wet suction so tight and warm around him that he swore he saw stars. 

“Ellie, fuck, baby….” She pulled back to look at him, devilish smile in her eyes, before ducking his head. 

“What were you saying? Something about a burger?”

He grimaced as the metal dug into his wrists. “Baby, please, I want to touch you, please.”

“Let me take care of you.” She sucked on the head of his dick and it took all he had not to thrust.

“Fuuuuck…..” He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only contort his hands into fists and squeeze his eyes shut as she took him in her mouth, over and over again until he was going to snap, muscles taut and shaking underneath her expert touch. “Please, baby, I love you, please please please.” There was no relief, no break, only heat and pleasure and fuck he had to get his hands on her. “Ellie, get me out of these fucking things.” 

She looked at him, concerned. “Do you really want me to get you out?”

“No? I just want….” He couldn’t articulate what he wanted. He wanted her to stop, he never wanted her to stop, he wanted to cum, he wanted to see her face slacken in pleasure and scream his name. He wanted everything. 

She smiled, somehow understanding, and quickly undressed over him, his eyes glued to every single sliver of skin he saw and couldn’t reach out to grab.

“Please…” The word fell from his lips as she got the last of her clothes off, laying down so he could finally feel every inch of skin-to-skin contact, her body draped over him so he could feel every curve, every dip of movement. He rolled his hips, slowly, on the verge of death without the friction of her body to soothe him.

“Uh huh.” She draped her palm over his cheek so she could deliver the sweetest of kisses to his lips before sitting up. “I’m gonna take care of you.” And with that, she shifted, a slight move of her hips that had his cock sliding up and then in in in and he had to growl as she slowly edged down until she was fully seated with a low moan.

His head fell back, eyes screwed shut, an involuntary reaction as the slick heat engulfed him. Fuck, he was never going to get used to this, the way her body welcomed him as if he were coming home, making space for him in the tightest fit possible.

She moved over him, slowly at first, an agonizing slide that made him bite his cheek so hard he tasted iron, but then worked up into a rhythm that had him panting, her hands braced on his chest, unbearably close. The handcuffs clanged as he struggled, again.

“Ellie, I want to touch you.” He wanted to lace their fingers together, he wanted to leave his hand prints on her hips, he wanted and wanted and wanted. Her teeth were clenched as his cock slid inside of her, guttural moan when he hit the spot that made her legs quiver. He knew it wasn’t enough. He wanted nothing more than to work his fingers just how she liked and watch her as she took her pleasure from his body. He wanted everything.

“Ellie, please, I want to see you come, please, let me.”

Her eyelids fluttered open. “I want to take care of you.”

“Ellie…” His breath left his lungs as he watched her hand trace down his chest to the spot where their bodies met. “Holy fuck.” He was enthralled, couldn’t look away if he tried, as her fingers slid to where they were joined in a sensuous dance only made sexier by her fingers flying over her clit as she chased her own orgasm.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe as she rode him, entranced by the sway of her breasts and the rhythm of her hand and the feel of her body surrounding his. He could feel her, tightening around him as she got closer, tremors that made his toes curl and water leak from his eyes as he desperately tried to hang on in the face of the hypnotizing vision in front of him.

“Ellie…please…” It was begging, it was prayer, it was desperation as he couldn’t get his hands from these damn cuffs and he just wanted her to fall apart in the best of ways.

And she did. The yelp, the holy fuck Colt was music to his ears, but the feel, the feel of her walls clenching and squeezing him, the fluttering, delicate and rough and all-encompassing, the feel of her coming around his cock was enough to pull him over the edge, only needing to thrust just once before his eyes screwed shut and pleasure invaded every cell of his body until it felt like his very essence was being rewritten solely as a devotion to her.

Finally, when her body had stopped shaking and his heart had slowed its staccato pace, she moved so she could curve around his side and lay her head on his chest. He watched her hair, wild on his chest, rising and falling with every breath, and licked the salt from his lip.

“Ellie? Can I get out now?”

She sighed and looked up to face him, content smile playing on her lips as she ran a finger down his bicep. “You love me.”

He stopped short. He did, he knew he did, but he never said it. “Uhh…”

“You said it when I was going down on you.”

Apparently he did say it, when she was sucking pleasure from him so thoroughly that he could hardly be held responsible for the words rolling off his tongue. “I don’t think that-”

“I love you too.”

He blinked at her. “Hell of a time to tell a man that, when he’s incapacitated and can’t get his hands on you.”

She rolled off the bed. “Fine fine.”

He watched the sway of her hips until she was out of his field of vision and then he just lay there, intoxicated smile on his face, body relaxing into the bliss. Fuck, he was a lucky bastard.

“Uh oh.” She had been looking in her bag for a while; he lost track of time just floating in the afterglow, but it was long enough that he knew what that sound meant.

“Ellie, I’m gonna kill-”

“They were right here!”

He twisted his hands around, but quickly gave up. They were too tight; he wasn’t getting out of these without a jigsaw that could cut steel. “Ellie, I swear I’m going to kill you!”

Finally, she looked up with a smirk. “Just kidding!” She brandished the keys in her hand before walking over to turn them in the lock.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

“Hmm…” She slid the key into the other cuff. “Really?”

And he sprung, jumping up to throw his arms around her and drag her into the bed. “Really. Because it’s my turn to take care of you. And I don’t play fair.”

He never wanted her to stop laughing as he tickled her sensitive sides. “But you love me. You love meeeee!!!”

And the only thing he could think as the touches turned to caresses and the laughter turned to kisses and he took her apart to put her together and take her apart again, the only thing he could think was Dear God he did.

Tags:  @deimosensblog @alegria1580  @choicesarehard@thefarrari @client-327 @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @hazah@flowerpowell@poeticscolt@brightpinkpeppercorn @zaira-oh-zaira@desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @maxwellsquidsuit@liamzigmichael4ever @octobereighth @omgjasminesimone @waytooattuned

[theoriginalkidwithapen]

Principia – De Motu Corporum X

CW:  foul language, colonialism, references to the Troubles and the Vietnam War

“Every body, that by a radius drawn to the centre of another body, how soever moved, describes areas about that centre proportional to the times, is urged by a force compounded out of the centripetal force tending to that other body, and of all the accelerative force by which that other body is impelled.”

– Sir Isaac Newton, “Philosophae Naturalis Principia Mathematica”

Jon and Misty finished recounting the details of the incident at Fasal.  Although they did their best to hide their emotions behind stoic facades, the human officers of the board could not conceal them from Jon’s non-verbal signals analysis suite – only the android��s were secreted behind that bronze mask of hers.  About half of them, including the Kerepunu colonel, were satisfied with his report and his command decisions, the others, including the Lithuanian, questioned his handling of the situation. A nearly even split.  Jon was nothing if not consistent. “Commander,” the Lithuanian asked sternly, “how would you characterize this Earther woman, Reynolds?” “Strong, tough, determined, disaffected,” Jon replied, “she’d probably be astute with the right upgrades and remedial education.  Chief Olayinka thinks she has a lot of emotional baggage that needs to be unpacked, but her low self-esteem and confidence most likely result from a lifetime living in a society that places no value on her life.  She should make a valuable addition to this commander’s team.” “But you couldn’t have known of her existence beforehand,” the Lithuanian pressed, “It sounds to me like you’re just trying to justify a poor command decision after the fact. “Besides,” he continued, “if you’re not careful with your recruitment choices, your unit could acquire a reputation as a haven for salvage jobs.” Jon and Misty bristled at his inflammatory remark, but said nothing.

“I assume that you acquired something of value to make up for this egregious error of yours?” the Lithuanian concluded with stoic mockery. Jon slapped an MSD labeled “Insurance” onto the table and slid it over to the android.  “Would this do?” he asked with feigned cluelessness. The android inspected the MSD.  “What is this?” she asked. “Intelligence acquired through sources and methods indicating that someone is secretly experimenting with advanced technology,” Jon replied, “Someone who has somehow escaped O7’s notice.” “Is that new threat attempting to copy our technology?” the android inquired. “Not unless O5 has constructed a working hyperspace propulsion drive,” Jon clarified, “I thought they were still a few decades away from perfecting the theory behind hyperspace translation.” The rest of the board stared at him in disbelief.  “That’s impossible,” another member of the board, an Ojibwe-descended major exclaimed, “O5 canceled that project last year.  Their Estimate Of The Situation concluded that higher dimensions could only exist as mathematical curiosities, and that the science had no real-world applications.” “Indeed,” the android continued, “it would take nothing less than successfully formulating a complete grand unified theory to realize it.  What you’re saying is that an agent unknown has developed superior science to our own and is experimenting with applications of that science for purposes unknown.” “That is correct, General,” Jon said, “And if this evidence is substantiated, it would represent an existential threat to Mars.” “You’ll forgive me if I don’t find your explanation compelling,” the Lithuanian countered, “Hyperspace travel?  Grand unified theory?  This is science fiction, not intelligence!” “Agreed,” a captain of Cubeo ancestry concurred, “It’s far more likely that this is part of a new disinformation campaign of Earth’s to tie up and expose Martian Intelligence assets.  I recommend that this ‘evidence’ be disregarded as irrelevant.” “The evidence will go to O7 for analysis,” the android declared, “For now, Commander Orvar, your team is on standby until further notice.  Do nothing to draw attention to yourselves and remain here on Luna. “Of course,” she appended, “you should maintain situational monitoring, in case something interesting happens your way.  Dismissed.” Jon and Misty stood up, saluted the board, and marched out of the room. “For being such an uncomplicated man,” Misty said to Jon after they were out of earshot, “you never fail to surprise me, anata.” “Maybe I’m a little more complicated than you give me credit for,” Jon joked. “I doubt it,” Misty said with a smile.

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Finchley and Nguyen returned to the Governor’s Residence to continue their investigation into the Governor’s murder.  The entire area was, if anything, even more heavily secured than it was when they left.  Twice the number of MCVs, double the garrison, sharpshooter teams on the rooftops and upper floor, and security scanners at every checkpoint – they were taking every precaution against another assassin striking at the Interim Governor-General of the Lunar Colonies. Not that any of these measures would have prevented the last murder, of course, but this security theater was deemed necessary as a show of force, to convince the Selenites that the colonial government wasn’t weakened by the attack. Poor bloody Loonies, Finchley thought to himself as a Selenite butler was pulled aside by security for questioning. Nguyen could see the pity on Finchley’s face.  “What is it, Ewan?” she asked him. “I worry about what the response will be,” Finchley mulled, “I know how the Ministry of Public Safety operate – whether through the force of their Department of Harmony, or the persuasion of their Department of Veracity, they will respond.  Either way, it will end poorly for the Selenites.” “If they’d stop complaining like spoiled children, we wouldn’t have to put them back in their place so often,” Nguyen opined, “They should be fucking grateful for everything Earth does for them.  Between the docks, the Peacekeeper bases, the factories, and the tourism, they’ve got jobs, they’ve got an economy, and they’ve got protection from the Outers and Martians.  We provide them with the supplies and equipment they need to keep their domes running.  They should be parading in the streets for all we do for them, instead they’re bitching about problems of their own making like the whiny little shits they are.” “Strange that you’d come to Amsha’s defence so passionately when you hold her people in such little regard,” Finchley noted. “Just because I didn’t like how that asshole was beating the shit out of that Loonie,” Nguyen retorted, “it doesn’t mean I think she’s innocent.  Killing the Governor with anatoxin was a political statement, make no mistake.” “The history of my people is full of events similar to what’s happened here on the Moon,” Finchley began as they finally approached the shed which contained the Residence’s life support machinery.  The shed stylized as a horse stable on the outside – its 19th century design belying its 23rd century contents. “The English colonised my home country of Ireland some 600 years ago,” Finchley continued as he led Nguyen to the clean water connection to the station’s plumbing, “and what followed was nearly 400 years of bloodshed and misery at the hands of English conquerors.  Here we are – Clean Water Intake Junction Monitoring Panel.  Computer, run diagnostic programme and report levels of cyanobacteria for the last 36 hours.”  The computer began forming its diagnostic report. “What’s your point, Ewan?” Nguyen asked impatiently. “That they probably have legitimate grievances against the colonial government,” Finchley answered, “You’ve seen how they live here – whole sectors of the city are full of jobless Selenites while most of the work goes to resettled Earthers due to the policies of the Ministries of Labour and Extraterrestrial Affairs.  It’s no wonder that some of them have turned to crime or political violence.” “Diagnostic report complete,” the vaguely feminine synthetic voice of the computer announced, “No cyanobacterial contamination found.  No trace amount of anatoxin-a or anatoxin-s found.  Clean Water Intake Junction operating at nominal efficacy.” “No malfunctions here,” Nguyen reported, “Economic issues are no excuse to cause trouble.” “Say someone whose nation responded to famine caused by decades of French, Japanese, and American colonisation with armed communist revolution,” Finchley observed facetiously, “We’ll check the water reclamation unit next.” “Computer,” Nguyen ordered at the next station, “run diagnostic program and report level of cyanobacteria for the last 36 hours.  I don’t see the connection.  My ancestors fought the resistance war against American imperialism to bring about the reunification of the Vietnamese people, not to complain about our living conditions.” “But your ancestors still chose violence to end the rule by colonist fiat,” Finchley remarked, “so isn’t there a hint of hypocrisy in your position, now that you’re on the other side?” “Diagnostic report complete,” the computer reported, “No cyanobacteria contamination found.  Trace amounts of anatoxin-a detected in Main Filtration Manifold B on 22930112 from 08:17:47 to 14:39:11.  Peak concentration:  481 parts per million.  Be advised that the contaminant sensors in this unit have been reporting false positives since 22930112, 08:17:47.  Additional maintenance servicing required.” “I think I’ve got something,” Nguyen called out, “No cyanobacteria, but for 6 hours and 12 minutes, the unit recorded lethal levels of anatoxin in one of the filtration manifolds.” “Which manifold?” Finchley asked. “Main Manifold B,” Nguyen replied, “Computer, display schematic of Main Filtration Manifold B and all connected systems.” The systems monitor displayed the appropriate diagram.  Nguyen traced her finger back up the flow path to the algaculture panels of the air recycling system.  “Computer,” she dictated, “run diagnostic program on Air Recycling System Algaculture Panels.  Report cyanobacteria level for the last 36 hours.” Nguyen turned to face Finchley.  “I don’t think there’s any hypocrisy,” she continued, “the Lunar colonies are only a couple centuries old – they haven’t been around long enough to have a national identity.  Vietnamese civilization has endured for more than 5,000 years.  Even the ICP predated the first Lunar landings by nearly 30 years.  Most Loonies are only a generation or two removed from malcontents who felt that life on Earth wasn’t good enough for them.” “Diagnostic report complete,” the computer stated, “No cyanobacterial contamination found.  No trace of anatoxin-a or anatoxin-s found.  Air Recycling System Algaculture Panels operating at nominal efficacy.” “That can’t be right,” Finchley exclaimed, “Computer, confirm diagnostic report.” “Diagnostic report confirmed,” the computer replied, “No contamination or malfunctions found in the past 36 hours.” “I don’t understand how this is possible,” Nguyen puzzled, “Why would the computer show anatoxin in the filtration manifold, but not in the algaculture panels it drains from?” “Maybe it is a sensor malfunction,” Finchley said, “The computer did mention that as a possibility.” “I’d think that you’d want to do something you can to prove your pet Loonie innocent,” Nguyen remarked snidely, “Wouldn’t a sensor malfunction suggest that she was the one who poisoned the Governor?” “Good point,” Finchley agreed, “I guess there’s nothing for it but to open that panel up and take a look ourselves.” “I want to try something first,” Nguyen said, “Computer, open maintenance log.  When was the last time the access panel to Main Filtration Manifold B opened?” “22921010, 07:51:18,” the computer replied. “Three months ago,” Finchley deduced, “What about the algae panels themselves?  Computer, when was the last time the access panel to the Air Recycling System Algaculture Panels opened?” “22930112, 08:12:02,” the computer reported. “Five minutes before the manifold recorded its first anatoxin levels,” Finchley commented, “How’s that for timing?” “Sounds pretty suspicious to me,” Nguyen concurred, “Let’s get that panel off.” Together, the two pressed the buttons in the top two corners and lifted the now-unfastened panel away from its housing.  Inside the compartment was a rack of 12 panels, each composed of winding and branching transparent piping filled with a sickly green froth.  Each rack had two of these raceways, with a matrix of artificial light diodes sandwiched between them.  The churning jade effervescence was what kept the air from growing toxic – an aerated algae concoction which used photosynthesis to turn the carbon dioxide humans exhaled into the oxygen they needed to avoid suffocation.  It was not a pretty sight, but few of those things which make life possible are. Nguyen pulled out one of the panels, revealing the santorum within the pipes to be a turquoise color, rather than the lichen green of the other panels.  The corner of her mouth twitched in irritation. “This had better not be what I think it is,” Nguyen grumbled, “Computer, identify cause of crop discoloration in panel 4.” “No discoloration detected,” the computer reported, “Algaculture Panel 4 is functioning within established parameters.” “How is that possible!?” Nguyen exclaimed as she banged her palm on the rack’s housing in frustration, “I’m telling you, the crop is the wrong color!” “Please restate as a question,” the computer requested. “Oh, fuck this piece of scrap!” Nguyen roared as she gave the housing a good, hard kick before storming out of the room. Finchley pulled out his handset and placed a call.  “Yes, it’s Finchley,” he said, “I need a forensics team at the Governor’s Residence, life support building.  We’ve discovered a possible malfunction in the life support system that may be connected to the murder of Governor Najjar.”

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Despite being the first day on a new job, especially one that involved a lot of heavy lifting and on-the-job training, Sara felt it was a good day.  She had worked just hard enough to feel the satisfaction of a day’s manual labor, and she was surprised to discover that she liked it. Admittedly, she found it a little difficult to fit in with the others – all of them were Selenites, and most of them were Aboriginals like Tahlia.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to assimilate, but rather that they had such a different way of doing things – their own social cues, nicknames, their penchant for laughing and making jokes, their own way of speaking that she could barely follow – it was a lot for her to adjust to all at once. “Gee, I’m dry,” a Cockney woman about Sara’s age who she learned was called Rosie Leah sighed as she removed her helmet, “Who wants to go get charged up after shift?” “Gorn den, auntie girl,” an Aboriginal man called Charles goaded playfully, “You get deadly cheeky every time you have a sip.  Shame job ay, blackfullas?” “Ay, tidda,” another Aboriginal man about Sara’s age called out, “I’m tonguing for a drink myself.  Gotta lend, captain?” “Nah, on me off week,” Rosie answered as she peeled her pressure suit off, revealing functional underwear beneath, “‘Sides, you’re such a cadja, Dennis!” Charles stripped his suit off, and wearing nothing but his long briefs placed it in the laundry hamper.  “You’re always on your off week, Rosie,” he chastised her jocularly, “It’s like you sign a form every fortnight and you’re just gammon here.  Rosie, you make me weak!” “Ay, don’t try to be a blackman now,” Rosie said as she pulled on her coverall, “You wanna get slapped up, buddah boy?” “Come at me, sista!” Charles challenged, and Rosie pounced on him.  Sara watched them playfully grapple distantly, their physical separation from her dwarfed by the social gap between them.  She wished that she could join in in their fun and camaraderie, but she didn’t know how, or if she’d even be welcome among them. Tahlia clapped her hand on Sara’s back and sat down next to her on the bench.  “Minding some sorry business, darlen?” she asked, “You’re a deadly serious one, ay?” “No…  auntie?” Sara replied, subdued and trying out some of the Aboriginal slang she heard used on the docks all day, “I…  I’m not sure how I’m supposed to fit in here.  I mean, today’s been great… deadly? great, and this place is better than anywhere I’ve ever worked at, but you…  fullas…  do things so differently around here, and I don’t know how, or if, I can be a part of that.” “Ayy, darlen,” Tahlia said sympathetically, “you’re no fringe dweller, no need to get low.  Tell you what – my mob here’s gonna knock about at a hospitality district in the southeast corridor.  You wanna party up with us, auntie girl?” “I don’t have any cash,” Sara said. “You can fix me up later,” Tahlia dismissed, “Let’s get you outta that suit and cleaned up, then we’ll hump it to my unc’s – he’s got a steakhouse down that way.  The meat may be fake, but he makes a deadly chicken fried steak dinner.” Tahlia stood up, then climbed atop the bench so that she stood above the rest.  “Listen up now, fullas!” she called out, “Me and this one are gonna party up at my uncle’s.  You lot comin’ or what?” “Ay, look out, big shot now,” Dennis retorted loudly, “Tahlia’s flashin’ black for the Earthfulla girl, true?” “You got jelly beans there, baby cousin,” Tahlia taunted, “at the end of the day, we’re all just blackfullas, true?” “True that!” the rest of the room shouted.  Tahlia brushed her hands together in a specific way, and the others began to file out of the locker room as they finished dressing. Sara stopped for a moment after putting her suit into the hamper.  “Tahlia,” she said, “‘deadly’ means ‘good,’ right?” Tahlia smiled.  “We’ll make a goodfulla outta you yet, sistagirl,” she asserted.

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Finchley had lost count of the number of cups of coffee he’d poured while waiting for the forensics team to finish going over the Residence’s life support system with a fine-toothed comb.  However many he had had, it was enough to make the cheap shit LSS normally stocked in their offices almost palatable.

Of course, the stuff would probably give him cancer in 10 years, but Finchley never had any illusions that he would live a long, full life.  In fact, he always imagined that he’d wind up face down in some dark tunnel somewhere, far from home.

The forensics officer exited the life support building, their LSS windbreaker more of an affectation than a practical uniform in an environment without weather of any kind.  Even now, centuries after widespread acceptance of genders other than male and female, Finchley still reflexively thought of them as “she,” but caught himself before that line of thought continued.

The officer could be described as mostly gynetypical – they had a feminine pointed jaw and narrow shoulders, and their flat bust and square hips lent them a boyish figure; they almost looked too young to be in that uniform.

“LSS forensics specialist Tomomi Maeda, they/them/theirs,” the officer reported, “Here’s the report you asked for.”

Finchley took the tablet they offered as Officer Maeda continued.  “In summary,” they said, “Panel 4 of the air recycling system has a severe case of cyanobacteria contamination, species Planktothrix Agardhii, caused by an uncontrolled algal bloom.  Judging by the unusual spread of the contamination as well as its concentration, it would appear that it was placed there deliberately through the secondary pressure release valve.”

“Why didn’t the sensors pick it up?” Finchley asked.

“Someone had altered the sensor config file to report false readings,” Maeda answered, “We discovered this when the diagnostic report indicated anomalously high levels of dihydroanatoxin-a and epoxyanatoxin-a, which are non-toxic products of the photodegradation of anatoxin-a.”

“How was this accomplished?” Finchley asked.

“As you can imagine,” Maeda explained, “It’s not as simple a matter of sending a false system patch from a remote location.  In order to update the config file, it has to be installed on a secure MSD dongle.”

“Who has the ability to do something like this?” Finchley inquired.

“Well,” Maeda professed, “the MSDs used for systems like this are write-once encrypted units manufactured to be incompatible with standard MSD formats – your average logic jockey couldn’t have done this.  Apart from the manufacturer and the life support utility company, it’s nearly impossible to acquire one, let alone the 15 needed to hide an algal bloom like this one.”

“Fifteen?” Finchley exclaimed, “So the file wasn’t simply copied to all the other systems?”

“No,” Maeda answered, “Each module has its own dedicated diagnostic and reporting computer, with its own bank of config dongles.  The only people who would have both the skills and the access privileges would be CELSS engineers and LSU technicians.”

“There was an LSU technician who serviced the system just hours before the Governor was killed,” Finchley mused, “This is a lead that could be worth pursuing.  Is there any reason why Main Manifold B wasn’t affected?”

“It wasn’t on the inspection ticket,” Maeda replied, “Besides, the manifold itself is laborious to service – in order to get to the MSD bank, the entire manifold would have to be removed, which requires the closure of 18 separate green water valves and the disconnection of 23 pipes and conduit.  That would be an unexplained gap 20 minutes long, which would arouse suspicion.”

“Thanks,” Finchley said as he handed back the tablet.  He choked down the last of his coffee, set his cup down, and went over to the front gate where Nguyen was fuming.

“When you feel like working,” Finchley admonished, “it looks like LSU might have something to do with this.”

“LSU is a union contractor,” Nguyen began, “affiliated with the Lunar Labor League.  The LLT has discreet ties with the Selenite Liberation Front–”

“...And by extension,” Finchley finished, “the Organisation.”

[itsworn]

HOT ROD Rescue: Dodge Ram Combustion-Chamber Meltdown Fix

Owner Brian Ferguson says, “I use my 1997 5.9L Dodge Ram truck as an off-road toy and to tow a trailer with my dirt bikes. I wanted more low-end power—and reliability.”

The Combo When the 5.9L (360ci) Magnum EFI engine in Brian Ferguson’s 1997 Dodge Ram 1500 Sport 4×4 truck reached the end of its tether at 130,000 miles, it was completely rebuilt. The upper end was enhanced with Hughes Engine parts, including its EQ iron Ram HD Magnum heads with bronze guides, a hydraulic-roller RV cam (0.523/0.533-inch valve lift with 1.6:1 rockers, 208/214 degrees duration at 0.050, 114-degree lobe-separation angle), and a single-plane EFI intake manifold. “I wanted more power without sacrificing 100,000-mile reliability,” Ferguson says. “It’s a toy, used to play off-road and tow my dirt bikes.”

There’s a motor in there somewhere. This photo depicts the new, fresh 410 Brandes-built motor in its post-rescue configuration, nearly ready to head out to California, Ferguson’s new home base.

The Problem “I had about 2,000 miles on the new engine,” Ferguson continues. “When I lost compression on cylinder No. 1, I took the heads over to Hughes for inspection. The valveguides were blown out. I hadn’t even towed anything yet. The engine had never run hot on the gauge or boiled over.”

The Diagnosis “They didn’t hear any detonation, so they figured everything was OK!” — Norm Brandes

The ECU went “lean,” melting down the valveguides. Norm Brandes (shown), Dave Hughes, and Dale Matthews sleuthed out the problems.

Longtime Mopar specialist Dave Hughes had never seen such a failure in such a short time on an engine with such low miles. No one wanted a repeat, so HOT ROD and Westech Automotive—our go-to Chicago-area rescue shop—got involved to science-out the root causes of the perplexing problem.

The wrong speedo gear messed up the ECU: It thought the truck was traveling much faster than it was. It responded by leaning out the fuel curve and advancing the spark. This caused heat buildup in the combustion chamber, melting the valveguides. Hughes replaced the guides gratis (normally a $150–$200 job).

As Brandes tells it, “Hughes told me the valveguides had literally melted, oblonged, and lost valve control. Hughes repaired the heads, but making sure it wouldn’t happen again was my bailiwick. We’d never seen so much heat in the head. We looked at the exhaust (the header flanges were blued), the cooling, fuel and ignition curves, and so on.

The stock long-runner “keg”-style intake on Ferguson’s original engine works best in the 1,800–2,000-rpm range—but then runs out of breath.

Ferguson had replaced it with a Hughes F1 single-plane, whose under-plenum air gap is said to cool the charge as much as 30 degrees. It also has revised injector angles that aim the spray closer to the back of the intake valve for better fuel atomization. But with runner lengths just half that of the keg, Brandes says, at least on Ferguson’s 360, it traded off low-end torque for midrange and top-end gains.

“We found the two air temp sensors were flaky and replaced them with new ones. The speedometer was reading high, which we traced to a wrong speedometer gear. At 40 mph, the ECU [electronic control unit] thought we were really doing 50. This caused the ECU to prematurely lock up the A518 overdrive automatic’s torque converter at only 1,400 rpm. Ferguson had swapped out the original long-runner Dodge factory ‘keg’ EFI intake for a short-runner single-plane. He was driving the truck in town at 35 to 40 mph. Combined with the early converter lockup, around town Ferguson was constantly lugging the engine. He was still running the original factory computer programming, so the confused ECU also leaned out the fuel mixture.

Direct cause of the failure-chain: The 30-tooth speedo driven gear wasn’t right for the 4.56:1 axle ratio and 35-inch tires, confusing the ECU.

“It gets worse. The factory-style oval-dish pistons were about 0.060-inch down in the hole at TDC. The high-swirl factory Magnum heads couldn’t generate good mixture motion with such a low piston deck height. At only about 8.7:1, the static compression ratio was way too low anyway. Brian’s single-plane intake may have compounded the problem because it trades off low-end performance for midrange and high-rpm gains.

“Put all this together and we had a lazy, slow-burning air/fuel charge that caused the chamber to retain too much heat. We might have been able to bandage the combo with some careful tuning and just changing the speedo gear, but we decided to really make this combo all it should be with a piston swap to raise the compression ratio as well as generate some mixture motion.”

ECU tuning plus a speedo gear swap were only a partial answer. The full big-torque fix ultimately involved building a 4-inch stroker motor.

The Fix: Short-Block A piston change meant boring the already 0.030-inch over block another 0.010-inch (0.040-over an original 360’s 4.0-inch bore size). On his own, Ferguson decided since the engine needed pistons anyway, why not step up to a 4-inch Scat cast stroker crank for 410.2 cubes? With less than 2,000 miles on the previous build, Brandes could even reuse the existing, undamaged main and rod bearings.

Scat’s affordable ($382 at Amazon) cast 4-inch stroke crank plus a 4.040-inch bore yields 410.2 ci—plus massive torque potential. The crank can be neutral-balanced (it may take some Mallory), but Brandes elected to balance it for the stock unbalanced harmonic damper and torque converter. Amazon.com

Stroker crank in hand, Brandes selected a matching piston. He went with a UEM KB Pistons hypereutectic step-dish KB416 profile. “The step-dish gives you essentially a quench area on the open-chamber Magnum cylinder head,” he explains. “It forces the air/fuel charge toward the valve and spark plug. This generates mixture motion and speeds up the burn. It made up for the fact the piston was still 0.050-inch down in the hole. The static compression ratio went up to 9.4:1.”

The stock flat-top pistons (left) make for a lazy, slow burn that kept too much heat in the open-chamber Magnum heads. The KB416 piston for 4-inch stroker cranks and Magnum heads (right) has a step dish that creates quench by pushing the air/fuel charge toward the valves. A similar quench-head piston (KB356) generates mixture motion in older LA small-block heads. Marlan Davis

Brandes special-ordered the hypereutectic pistons with KB’s new Line2Line abradable skirt coating that reduces piston rock as well as friction. It wear-mates to the cylinder, safely achieving zero piston-to-wall clearance. But with a hypereutectic’s already-tight 0.0010–0.0015 piston-to-wall clearance spec, KB recommends carefully inserting the piston into the cylinder and gently twisting the piston back and forth.

A slight force increase will reveal the location of any Line2Line coating high spots. Carefully Scotch-Brite those small areas before final installation.

The pistons were ordered as a piston-and-ring kit that includes iron moly compression rings. Also ordered was an optional add-on to the basic piston: KB’s newly available Line2Line abradable skirt coating. It’s sprayed onto the piston skirt, adding thickness to develop zero piston-to-wall clearance for reduced piston rock and quieter operation. While it benefits even tight clearance hypereutectic pistons, the coating really comes into its own with forged pistons (like UEM’s Icon piston line) that require higher initial skirt clearances. During initial engine run-in, the coating wear-mates to the cylinder, developing microscopic high/low spots that actually retain additional oil for reduced friction.

The stock Magnum rod’s small end must be ground to clear the bottom of KB’s stroker piston. To find out how much to shave off the rod, insert two pins (one through each piston pin-hole) until they nearly touch, leaving just enough gap for a dial-indicator stem (A). Measure from the bottom of the piston pin to the piston underside (B).Slide the caliper and pins back and forth as needed to find the lowest value (0.4705-inch, C). Subtract that number from the sum of the piston pin OD (0.9892 inch) and rod pin hole’s outer material thickness (0.4085, D), then add about a 0.050-inch safety margin: 0.9892 + 0.4085 − 0.4705 + 0.050 = 0.9772, the amount to remove. The values vary slightly, so be sure to check each piston/rod pair.

Next, it’s over to the grinding wheel to carefully clearance the rods’ pin ends.

Most material was removed from the formerly square pin-end corners.

The Fix: Distributor Gear Walk Before buttoning up the motor, Brandes added Hughes’ $5 adjustable slip collar to prevent the distributor from walking up and down in the block as it meshes with the helical cam drive gear. Gear-walk causes timing variations and can degrade sequential injector timing.

Adjust collar-to-gear clearance to 0.020-inch while pushing down on the distributor

Finally, tighten the set screw.

The Fix: VSS Error

Chrysler speedo-driven gears come in both long- and short-stem versions. Both styles fit in the same-size trans-case hole. The long stem configuration has a 3-inch shaft length and fits cable-driven speedos. The short stem’s 1.5-inch shaft is for late-models like the Ram truck that require a VSS.

The speedometer and the ECU in late-model vehicles rely on electrical pulses from a vehicle speed sensor (VSS). In the 1997 Dakota, the VSS is a hybrid device that mounts into the side of the trans like an old-school speedo cable, but instead of connecting to a cable, the gear outputs to the VSS. Ferguson’s nonstock, 35-inch-tall, off-road tires and 4.56:1 rear gears had totally confused the speedo and ECU—easily corrected by installing a driven gear with additional teeth.

The short-stem version is designed to mate with a slip-in VSS and its electrical connector (arrow).

Replacing the Ram’s existing yellow 30-tooth short-stem gear with a 37-tooth short-stem white gear corrected Ferguson’s “fast” speedo and cleared up the perplexed ECU’s vehicle-speed confusion.

The Fix: ECU With mechanical issues cured, the ECU was reprogrammed to work with the single-plane intake, higher compression, and added displacement. Chrysler “Jetronic” computers require a separate flash programmer for serious recalibration. SCT’s X3 DCX Power Flash unit (PN 3200) is the preferred solution. It plugs into the vehicle’s diagnostic port to transfer custom tunes. The device can store up to three separate custom tunes, retain the original factory tune in case it’s ever needed, read and clear trouble codes, and even data-log during a test drive. Although the X3 DCX isn’t prominently featured on SCT’s website, it’s still available new, targeted to hard-core custom tuner shops. As of early 2018, Summit Racing has them in stock.

SCT’s X3 DCX Power Flash programmer was used to dial-in the Ram’s 410ci engine. Geared toward hard-core tuners, it comes with no preloaded tunes, but there are lots of predefined tunes you can download—or construct or modify any tune on a PC, transfer it to the X3, then use the X3 to reflash the ECU via the vehicle diagnostic plug.

Chrysler tuner Dale Matthews was brought in to work his magic on the X3. According to Matthews, “I raised the idle speed from 600 to 720 rpm, then advanced the base timing to 16 degrees BTDC to hold a smoother and better burning cylinder at idle. To adjust for the added cubic inches, in the main spark table, I added from 3 to 7 degrees of timing to certain areas of the map, mostly in the higher rpm/load range. I set the max advance at WOT [wide-open throttle] to 36 degrees. The added cubic inches require more fuel. The oxygen sensor controls the air/fuel ratio in closed loop below 3,000 rpm; once that threshold has been crossed, the Speed Density–based system defines the air/fuel ratio from the table. Targeting the WOT A/F ratio to 12.5–12.8:1, I ended up adding an additional 15-percent fuel over the stock table.” Flowing 21.1 lb/hr at 43.5 psi, the Ram’s existing fuel injectors proved up to the task.

The Results

After final tweaks on Westech’s chassis dyno, Ferguson immediately drove the truck from Illinois to California across the Rocky Mountains.

Last Thanksgiving, literally seconds after some final tweaks on Westech’s chassis dyno, Ferguson hopped in the truck, left southern Wisconsin, and drove cross-country to his new home in San Bruno, California—about a 2,300-mile drive. He went through Denver and the Rockies on I-70, climbing as high as 10,000 feet. Did we mention he was towing a 500-pound trailer—and running 87-octane gas? “I’m super happy!” Ferguson says. “It’s just got so much more effective power everywhere. I’ve had no major problems since.”

Lessons Learned

A good ECU program and the right speedo gear weren’t enough! Ferguson’s original goal was more downstairs torque. But the engine’s top-end mods helped mainly midrange and higher rpm performance, so Brandes turned the 360 into a 410. Fel-Pro standard replacement gaskets and torque-to-yield head and intake manifold bolts helped button up the motor.

You could say the wrong speedo/VSS driven gear was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but without higher compression and good mixture motion, the existing truck would still have remained lazy on the bottom end. This points out the need for totally matching your desired end goals and usage when planning your rebuilt engine combination.

Need Junk Fixed? If your car has a gremlin that just won’t quit, you could be chosen for Hot Rod to the Rescue. Email us at pitstop@HotRod.com and put “Rescue” in the subject line. Include a description of your problem, a photo, your location, and a daytime phone number.

The post HOT ROD Rescue: Dodge Ram Combustion-Chamber Meltdown Fix appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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