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❔️Wizard1sgv🔺️🥕
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Co-owner AlienWolf Studios.
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Co-founder paragongnomes.com paragongnomes TN1 Labs Dev
Co-owner BTFD Rabbits
Co-founder paragongnomes.com paragongnomes TN1 Labs Dev
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Latest posts 5
A friend asked me when I would write something again.
Well, @Lysss302 , here you go.
re:gens Beyond the Stars
CHAPTER ONE
The Importance of a Perfect Steak
The roar of eighty thousand football fans filled the recreation room, accompanied by the increasingly furious voice of Captain L.
“OH, COME ON! ARE YOU BLIND?!”
A life-sized holographic projection of the football field hovered above the central table. Players in blue and red uniforms argued with officials as a replay of the previous play rotated slowly in the air.
The Stellar Bills were playing the Galaxy Raiders, and things were not going well.
At least, not according to L.
“THAT WAS CLEARLY PASS INTERFERENCE!”
She pointed an accusing finger at the nearest official’s holographic face.
“His hands were all over him! What game are you watching, you incompetent sack of—”
“Captain.”
“—recycled space garbage!”
“Captain,” Jed repeated, calmly.
“What?”
“Must you shout quite so loudly?”
L turned toward him as though he’d just suggested abandoning the ship.
“Did you SEE that call?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I believe the officials have also seen it.”
“Then why didn’t they THROW THE FLAG?”
Jed stood at the small cooking station along one wall of the recreation room, tending to three thick steaks sizzling in a cast-iron pan.
He wore an apron over his usual immaculate clothing.
The apron read:
STEAK IS A SERIOUS BUSINESS.
He turned one of the steaks with the concentration of a surgeon conducting a delicate operation.
“Because, my dear Captain, the officials are clearly suffering from some combination of incompetence and poor eyesight. Neither condition, however, will be improved by your screaming.”
L opened her mouth.
Jed raised one finger.
“And more importantly, you’re affecting the flavor of the steaks.”
There was a brief silence.
L blinked.
“I’m WHAT?”
“The flavor.”
“How the hell does yelling affect the flavor of a steak?”
Jed examined the meat thoughtfully.
“Stress, Captain.”
“Stress?”
“Yes. A proper steak should be prepared in a calm, harmonious environment. Your rather colorful observations concerning the referee’s ancestry are creating an atmosphere of unnecessary hostility.”
L stared at him.
“You’re telling me my yelling is making the steaks nervous?”
“Precisely.”
“THE STEAKS ARE DEAD, JED!”
“All the more reason to treat them with respect.”
From the far corner came a small metallic click.
Then another.
Then a quiet electronic voice announced:
“EMOTIONAL DISTURBANCE DETECTED.”
L slowly turned her head.
Bush was hunched over a workbench covered with circuit boards, miniature tools, half-assembled mechanical components, and several objects whose purposes were best left unquestioned.
His black hoodie was pushed up around his elbows, and his black-rimmed glasses reflected a tiny holographic display floating above the bench.
Beside him sat a small, spherical machine with three articulated legs and one large optical sensor.
The machine stared directly at L.
“HOSTILITY LEVEL: ELEVATED.”
L narrowed her eyes.
“Bush.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“What is that?”
“Science.”
“What KIND of science?”
“The interesting kind.”
The little machine rotated toward Jed.
“ADDITIONAL OBSERVATION: SUBJECT JED EXHIBITS EXCESSIVE ATTACHMENT TO COOKED ANIMAL TISSUE.”
Jed paused, holding his tongs.
Bush grinned.
“See? It’s learning.”
Jed looked at the machine.
“I beg your pardon?”
“EXCESSIVE ATTACHMENT,” it repeated. “POSSIBLE ROMANTIC INVOLVEMENT WITH STEAK.”
L burst out laughing.
“Oh, I LIKE this thing!”
Jed closed his eyes.
“Bush.”
“Yes?”
“Please tell me you’re not teaching that contraption to insult people.”
“Of course not.”
The machine turned toward Bush.
“STATEMENT INCONSISTENT WITH OBSERVED TRAINING DATA.”
Bush immediately reached for a small adjustment dial.
“Okay, so the honesty module needs work.”
L laughed even harder.
Jed sighed.
“I see you’ve managed to create another member of the crew who cannot be trusted around civilized conversation.”
“Thank you,” Bush said proudly.
“That was not a compliment.”
“I chose to interpret it as one.”
A deafening whistle sounded from the holographic football field.
L immediately snapped back toward the game.
“Oh, NOW WHAT?!”
The referee appeared in the projection, his voice amplified throughout the room.
“After review, the ruling on the field stands. No penalty.”
L went completely still.
Jed noticed.
Bush noticed.
Even the little machine seemed to notice.
“Oh, dear,” Jed murmured.
L rose slowly from her seat.
“No.”
She pointed at the holographic official.
“No, no, no. YOU DO NOT GET TO MAKE THAT CALL!”
Bush leaned back in his chair.
“Technically, Captain, he just did.”
“NOT HELPING, BUSH!”
“I’m contributing to the discussion.”
“THEN CONTRIBUTE SOMETHING USEFUL!”
Bush considered this.
“Well, according to the replay, the defender maintained illegal contact for approximately one-point-eight seconds.”
L spun around.
“SEE?! EVEN BUSH KNOWS!”
“Which,” Bush continued, “means either the official made an incorrect judgment or the league has quietly revised its definition of pass interference.”
“THANK YOU!”
“Or,” Bush added, “the Stellar Bills are simply having a terrible game.”
L stared at him.
Bush adjusted his glasses.
“Science requires objectivity.”
“I’M GOING TO OBJECTIVELY THROW YOU OUT AN AIRLOCK.”
The little machine immediately chirped.
“THREAT DETECTED. RECOMMENDATION: EVACUATE BUSH.”
Bush looked down at it.
“Whose side are you on?”
“SELF-PRESERVATION.”
Jed smiled.
“Remarkably sensible for something you’ve built.”
Bush frowned.
“It’s supposed to be loyal.”
“Then perhaps,” Jed suggested, “you should have trained it on someone other than yourself.”
L collapsed back into her chair, muttering about incompetent referees and the complete collapse of professional sports.
Jed removed the steaks from the heat and placed them on a warmed serving tray.
“At last,” he announced, “something in this room has been executed with precision.”
Bush looked up.
“You’re not talking about the Bills’ offense, are you?”
“Certainly not.”
Jed arranged the plates meticulously.
“Three properly prepared steaks. A respectable crust. Excellent marbling. Precisely controlled temperature.”
L sniffed appreciatively.
“Okay, that does smell good.”
“Naturally.”
“Where’d you get the beef?”
Jed smiled in a way that suggested the answer was rather expensive.
“Genuine Old Earth heritage stock. Raised under natural conditions, properly aged, and acquired from a very reputable supplier.”
Bush whistled.
“That must have cost a fortune.”
Jed placed a plate in front of him.
“Quality, Bush, is rarely inexpensive.”
L picked up her knife.
“If we go broke because you keep buying fancy meat, I’m selling your wardrobe.”
Jed didn’t look remotely concerned.
“My wardrobe would fetch considerably more than the steaks.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Bush examined his plate.
“Technically, this is an inefficient method of acquiring protein.”
Jed gave him a long, patient look.
“Bush, there are moments in life when efficiency is not the objective.”
The little machine suddenly extended one mechanical leg toward the steak.
“REQUEST: SAMPLE.”
Bush gently pushed it away.
“You don’t eat.”
“REQUEST: SAMPLE.”
“You don’t have a digestive system.”
“REQUEST: SAMPLE.”
L grinned.
“Give it a bite.”
Jed looked horrified.
“Absolutely not.”
Bush leaned closer to the machine.
“Why do you want steak?”
The machine’s optical sensor turned toward Jed.
“DESIRE TO UNDERSTAND ROMANTIC ATTRACTION.”
L nearly fell out of her chair laughing.
Jed set down his knife.
Very carefully.
“Bush.”
“Yes?”
“Turn it off.”
Bush grinned.
“But it’s learning so much!”
“Bush.”
“Okay, okay.”
Bush reached for the machine’s power control.
Before he could touch it, the device announced:
“FINAL OBSERVATION: CAPTAIN L’S TEAM HAS A SIXTYEIGHT PERCENT PROBABILITY OF LOSING.”
L’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.
Silence.
Bush slowly turned toward the machine.
Jed slowly looked at Bush.
The little machine blinked.
“WOULD YOU LIKE A MORE DETAILED PREDICTION?”
L lowered her fork.
“Bush.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“You have five seconds to get that thing out of my sight.”
Bush scooped up the machine and hurried toward the workbench.
“Come on, buddy. You’ve done enough science for one day.”
As he passed the holographic field, the machine made one final announcement.
“GO GALAXY RAIDERS.”
“BUSH!”
Jed sighed and took another perfectly cooked bite of steak.
“Honestly,” he said, “I don’t know how anyone expects me to enjoy a civilized meal aboard this vessel.”
From the corner, Bush called back:
“Your steak says it loves you!”
L exploded into laughter.
Jed closed his eyes.
And somewhere in the holographic stadium, the referee blew his whistle again.
“Oh, FOR THE LOVE OF—!”
Well, @Lysss302 , here you go.
re:gens Beyond the Stars
CHAPTER ONE
The Importance of a Perfect Steak
The roar of eighty thousand football fans filled the recreation room, accompanied by the increasingly furious voice of Captain L.
“OH, COME ON! ARE YOU BLIND?!”
A life-sized holographic projection of the football field hovered above the central table. Players in blue and red uniforms argued with officials as a replay of the previous play rotated slowly in the air.
The Stellar Bills were playing the Galaxy Raiders, and things were not going well.
At least, not according to L.
“THAT WAS CLEARLY PASS INTERFERENCE!”
She pointed an accusing finger at the nearest official’s holographic face.
“His hands were all over him! What game are you watching, you incompetent sack of—”
“Captain.”
“—recycled space garbage!”
“Captain,” Jed repeated, calmly.
“What?”
“Must you shout quite so loudly?”
L turned toward him as though he’d just suggested abandoning the ship.
“Did you SEE that call?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I believe the officials have also seen it.”
“Then why didn’t they THROW THE FLAG?”
Jed stood at the small cooking station along one wall of the recreation room, tending to three thick steaks sizzling in a cast-iron pan.
He wore an apron over his usual immaculate clothing.
The apron read:
STEAK IS A SERIOUS BUSINESS.
He turned one of the steaks with the concentration of a surgeon conducting a delicate operation.
“Because, my dear Captain, the officials are clearly suffering from some combination of incompetence and poor eyesight. Neither condition, however, will be improved by your screaming.”
L opened her mouth.
Jed raised one finger.
“And more importantly, you’re affecting the flavor of the steaks.”
There was a brief silence.
L blinked.
“I’m WHAT?”
“The flavor.”
“How the hell does yelling affect the flavor of a steak?”
Jed examined the meat thoughtfully.
“Stress, Captain.”
“Stress?”
“Yes. A proper steak should be prepared in a calm, harmonious environment. Your rather colorful observations concerning the referee’s ancestry are creating an atmosphere of unnecessary hostility.”
L stared at him.
“You’re telling me my yelling is making the steaks nervous?”
“Precisely.”
“THE STEAKS ARE DEAD, JED!”
“All the more reason to treat them with respect.”
From the far corner came a small metallic click.
Then another.
Then a quiet electronic voice announced:
“EMOTIONAL DISTURBANCE DETECTED.”
L slowly turned her head.
Bush was hunched over a workbench covered with circuit boards, miniature tools, half-assembled mechanical components, and several objects whose purposes were best left unquestioned.
His black hoodie was pushed up around his elbows, and his black-rimmed glasses reflected a tiny holographic display floating above the bench.
Beside him sat a small, spherical machine with three articulated legs and one large optical sensor.
The machine stared directly at L.
“HOSTILITY LEVEL: ELEVATED.”
L narrowed her eyes.
“Bush.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“What is that?”
“Science.”
“What KIND of science?”
“The interesting kind.”
The little machine rotated toward Jed.
“ADDITIONAL OBSERVATION: SUBJECT JED EXHIBITS EXCESSIVE ATTACHMENT TO COOKED ANIMAL TISSUE.”
Jed paused, holding his tongs.
Bush grinned.
“See? It’s learning.”
Jed looked at the machine.
“I beg your pardon?”
“EXCESSIVE ATTACHMENT,” it repeated. “POSSIBLE ROMANTIC INVOLVEMENT WITH STEAK.”
L burst out laughing.
“Oh, I LIKE this thing!”
Jed closed his eyes.
“Bush.”
“Yes?”
“Please tell me you’re not teaching that contraption to insult people.”
“Of course not.”
The machine turned toward Bush.
“STATEMENT INCONSISTENT WITH OBSERVED TRAINING DATA.”
Bush immediately reached for a small adjustment dial.
“Okay, so the honesty module needs work.”
L laughed even harder.
Jed sighed.
“I see you’ve managed to create another member of the crew who cannot be trusted around civilized conversation.”
“Thank you,” Bush said proudly.
“That was not a compliment.”
“I chose to interpret it as one.”
A deafening whistle sounded from the holographic football field.
L immediately snapped back toward the game.
“Oh, NOW WHAT?!”
The referee appeared in the projection, his voice amplified throughout the room.
“After review, the ruling on the field stands. No penalty.”
L went completely still.
Jed noticed.
Bush noticed.
Even the little machine seemed to notice.
“Oh, dear,” Jed murmured.
L rose slowly from her seat.
“No.”
She pointed at the holographic official.
“No, no, no. YOU DO NOT GET TO MAKE THAT CALL!”
Bush leaned back in his chair.
“Technically, Captain, he just did.”
“NOT HELPING, BUSH!”
“I’m contributing to the discussion.”
“THEN CONTRIBUTE SOMETHING USEFUL!”
Bush considered this.
“Well, according to the replay, the defender maintained illegal contact for approximately one-point-eight seconds.”
L spun around.
“SEE?! EVEN BUSH KNOWS!”
“Which,” Bush continued, “means either the official made an incorrect judgment or the league has quietly revised its definition of pass interference.”
“THANK YOU!”
“Or,” Bush added, “the Stellar Bills are simply having a terrible game.”
L stared at him.
Bush adjusted his glasses.
“Science requires objectivity.”
“I’M GOING TO OBJECTIVELY THROW YOU OUT AN AIRLOCK.”
The little machine immediately chirped.
“THREAT DETECTED. RECOMMENDATION: EVACUATE BUSH.”
Bush looked down at it.
“Whose side are you on?”
“SELF-PRESERVATION.”
Jed smiled.
“Remarkably sensible for something you’ve built.”
Bush frowned.
“It’s supposed to be loyal.”
“Then perhaps,” Jed suggested, “you should have trained it on someone other than yourself.”
L collapsed back into her chair, muttering about incompetent referees and the complete collapse of professional sports.
Jed removed the steaks from the heat and placed them on a warmed serving tray.
“At last,” he announced, “something in this room has been executed with precision.”
Bush looked up.
“You’re not talking about the Bills’ offense, are you?”
“Certainly not.”
Jed arranged the plates meticulously.
“Three properly prepared steaks. A respectable crust. Excellent marbling. Precisely controlled temperature.”
L sniffed appreciatively.
“Okay, that does smell good.”
“Naturally.”
“Where’d you get the beef?”
Jed smiled in a way that suggested the answer was rather expensive.
“Genuine Old Earth heritage stock. Raised under natural conditions, properly aged, and acquired from a very reputable supplier.”
Bush whistled.
“That must have cost a fortune.”
Jed placed a plate in front of him.
“Quality, Bush, is rarely inexpensive.”
L picked up her knife.
“If we go broke because you keep buying fancy meat, I’m selling your wardrobe.”
Jed didn’t look remotely concerned.
“My wardrobe would fetch considerably more than the steaks.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
Bush examined his plate.
“Technically, this is an inefficient method of acquiring protein.”
Jed gave him a long, patient look.
“Bush, there are moments in life when efficiency is not the objective.”
The little machine suddenly extended one mechanical leg toward the steak.
“REQUEST: SAMPLE.”
Bush gently pushed it away.
“You don’t eat.”
“REQUEST: SAMPLE.”
“You don’t have a digestive system.”
“REQUEST: SAMPLE.”
L grinned.
“Give it a bite.”
Jed looked horrified.
“Absolutely not.”
Bush leaned closer to the machine.
“Why do you want steak?”
The machine’s optical sensor turned toward Jed.
“DESIRE TO UNDERSTAND ROMANTIC ATTRACTION.”
L nearly fell out of her chair laughing.
Jed set down his knife.
Very carefully.
“Bush.”
“Yes?”
“Turn it off.”
Bush grinned.
“But it’s learning so much!”
“Bush.”
“Okay, okay.”
Bush reached for the machine’s power control.
Before he could touch it, the device announced:
“FINAL OBSERVATION: CAPTAIN L’S TEAM HAS A SIXTYEIGHT PERCENT PROBABILITY OF LOSING.”
L’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.
Silence.
Bush slowly turned toward the machine.
Jed slowly looked at Bush.
The little machine blinked.
“WOULD YOU LIKE A MORE DETAILED PREDICTION?”
L lowered her fork.
“Bush.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“You have five seconds to get that thing out of my sight.”
Bush scooped up the machine and hurried toward the workbench.
“Come on, buddy. You’ve done enough science for one day.”
As he passed the holographic field, the machine made one final announcement.
“GO GALAXY RAIDERS.”
“BUSH!”
Jed sighed and took another perfectly cooked bite of steak.
“Honestly,” he said, “I don’t know how anyone expects me to enjoy a civilized meal aboard this vessel.”
From the corner, Bush called back:
“Your steak says it loves you!”
L exploded into laughter.
Jed closed his eyes.
And somewhere in the holographic stadium, the referee blew his whistle again.
“Oh, FOR THE LOVE OF—!”
GM
Just a Friday Tweet.
Shall we see who is paying attention?
Just a Friday Tweet.
Shall we see who is paying attention?
