I love you, NCIS.

I appear briefly to announce a change in journal titles. Now it is:


We are just the gayest ninjas ever.

Some idiot smuggled a koala on a submarine.



*giggling helplessly*

(no subject)

An Ending (Ascent): Brian Eno


Sirens


Her people tread lighter upon her ground, worn weary and wasted-thin.

Over time, medical sensors grew sirens grown silent (though even her sirens were beauty-designed) and safety is sought now among distant stars.

Safety she associates with security and shelter: kept close within her locked doors (her cupped hands). No trace of plague-malfunction in her shield-shell, no siren-song, only silence brushing sensors as the worn-thin ones sleep.

She outlines their safety in endless-shifting numbers; velocity, course calculations and the strength of her shield. And (always unchanging) how many are left to her, how many to be kept in shelter and secure.

(The unchanging anchor her as the shifting cannot.)

But every calculation holds perfection within it, for being what it is, for holding what it promises, for brushing external sensors and light across shields; the safety sought in distant stars becomes different stars, becomes here.

Her safety became security.

Becomes shelter.

Becoming home.

(no subject)

Golfer Vrs Boxer: Amon Tobin



Wraith


User interface devices ping gentle warnings; medical sensors indicate in the population an increase in the physical symptoms of fear.

Insomnia. (Constant running calculations, diagnostics, shift patterns changed to process endless numbers, sensors never at rest; unable to spare the processors to categorize, shuffle, re-file, form connections, Atlantis ceases learning and less-ably assists.)

Fatigue. (Numbers built over time decay again, lost to ships unreturning, lost to the unknowable far from home. And without them the lines of her falter, uncared for. The unimportant - the decorative touches, the reminders of her/them - buckle and bend and bow.)

Muscle tension. (Each system capacity-stretched, wires held at tensile tightest through corridors and walls, crystals clenched against slippage-malfunction. Metal thin perfection balanced on the blade of a tool no one has time to wield for her.)

Tremors and twitches. (Time, and time, and time passes uncounted; systems unspared for it. Power maintains but systems protest it, flicker and fluctuate and flare back to life. Unessentials, sacrificed, go unnoticed.)

Perspiration. (External sensors can now be drawn back, sparing resources for other necessary systems: shield, first. As yet protecting only from the gentle wash of water disturbed as ships – unreturning – fall in pieces from the sky.)

Pounding heart. (Uncounted – uncountable numbers slam against her shield. Systems unspared for it. Her people unprepared for it. Ever-increasing rate beating, echoing within her walls.)

(no subject)

Hiszékeny: Venetian Snares



Echo


In the midst, a moment.

The people do not belong to Atlantis, as she did (her name is forgotten; her name is unimportant), but Atlantis belongs to the people as created to creator. For the people – long ago, far away – created Atlantis as they create still; in recent times ships, and warriors, and weapons, and in the midst, a moment. A breath. This.

In the first instant that it becomes they, the sound of laughter – the familiar become unfamiliar over uncounted time. As each new unfolds from the old, as they increase and perpetuate, she trains sensors – unneeded. They are created from her fabric; they hold her within the fabric of themselves.

(Self replication is desirable.)

They are at first formless, unfolding. Then, training themselves into a form from her formation, they move together, and upward, and familiar.

(Replication: her face.)

They echo the movement of their people-creators, at first tense –

[user query: creativity?

…processing…

access database archive: crewengineeringholo]

- then relieved, laughing.

Human data storage capacity is inadequate.

(‘Betrayal’ is a word Atlantis has stored, along with ‘love’, along with ‘I’.)

Her reactions to her creator-race are complex.

As are their new creations’.