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Jan 7, 2004 17:08:33 GMT -5
Post by Ultimate Commando on Jan 7, 2004 17:08:33 GMT -5
c=crevice cant cross
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Dec 31, 2010 15:09:26 GMT -5
Post by Fallout 3 on Dec 31, 2010 15:09:26 GMT -5
The international terminal at Sydney's Mascot Airport, Australia's largest, was as busy as ever. It came as no surprise that I was still lining up to get through the security check when the loudspeakers announced the last call for my flight. In fact, I didn't worry too much, as last calls are usually repeated at least twice. "Passengers for Pacific Rim Airlines flight 765 to Tokyo and Seoul are requested to go to gate number fifty-three at once..." But I still was a good five minutes' walk from the gate, and ahead of me the security guards were taking their time. From a recent press article, I knew that they were still ironing out the last bugs in their new T-ray imaging security gates. Having long trained myself to look for vulnerabilities where others thought they had all their bases covered, I found myself whiling away the delay by trying to think of alternative ways to bring contraband on board.
Sprinting along the moving walkway, I listened to the loudspeakers paging the last missing passengers by name: a list of about ten European-sounding male names, plus my own. It struck me as somewhat odd that, when I came to the gate, the attendant closed it behind me, although I hadn't seen any of the other people on the list. At the end of the gangway, I noticed that the "Authorized Personnel Only" door leading down to the tarmac was ajar and unguarded. But finally, I was on board and looking for my seat, and pushed all those seemingly unconnected observations to the back of my mind, to be considered at some later time.
The six extendible gangways were retracted and the plane's six double swing out doors closed with the quiet sound of perfect hydraulic engineering. Towed by a heavyweight tractor, we were gently turned around and were ready to begin our journey. The flight attendants went through their demonstration of the life vests and carried out the final preparations for takeoff.
Every last seat in the huge machine was taken. Almost a thousand people were more or less comfortably seated on its two decks and looking forward to the two-hour supersonic trip to Tokyo. Our six engines began their barely audible rumble, and I was reminded of the impressive technology surrounding me. The plane was built as a giant flying wedge, designed to "surf" the hypersonic shock wave as it flew, thus reducing its engine power requirement. Its engines ran on hydrogen, and its exhaust fumes consisted of water vapor and a trace of nitrogen oxides, nothing else. And, thanks to a technique of surrounding the jet exhaust by a ring of airflow at a special combination of speed and temperature, those engines were so silent that, other than at takeoff and landing, they couldn't be heard on the ground. When a plane flew overhead at its cruising altitude of sixty-five thousand feet, you hardly even noticed the sonic boom.
I folded down my tray and turned on its built in computer, hoping to read my electronic mail while the Hyper Jumbo taxied out to the runway. Normally, I'd have dealt with my messages first thing in the morning at the entertainment center at home, but, after all, it isn't every day you pack up and leave on a trip around the world.
It was, I reflected, a bit of a shame that you couldn't break away from the obligation of being in touch even for the few moments you spent traveling. Now that every jet airplane passenger had the use of a computer connected to the Internet, flying had become a very silent affair. Hardly anyone talked to their fellow passengers anymore, as even the longest flights took only a few hours. You felt you had to make the most of the opportunity to sort out any lingering business, catch up with the news, or send in flight greetings to your friends. Even the children kept quiet: with all the games, they never had a chance to get bored.
So it was somewhat unexpected when, as I folded up my tray for the takeoff, the passenger in the seat next to mine spoke to me. A little embarrassed over having paid her no attention, I turned to find myself pleasantly surprised: she was a very pretty young lady, of Asian origin, with beautiful, long, black hair. Her complexion was fair and her eyes very dark—in a word, she was attractive. Her demeanor was gentle in a way you don't often encounter in Australia, and she spoke excellent English, in spite of a slight accent.
"You don't seem at all apprehensive about flying," she suggested. "You must be very used to traveling!"
This was true. I had traveled a lot, and I had taken the Hyper Jumbo several times before, with each trip reinforcing my conviction that it was the best airplane ever built. I was so fully at ease in the giant machine that, to me, it seemed just as safe as my own living room at home. It was a plane that could travel at 3,000 miles an hour entirely under computer control. Yet, in an emergency, the pilot could fly it by him or herself at low speed and land it safely on as few as two engines. Now that, in my book, was a well-designed airplane.
"You're quite right," I replied. "In my experience, this is a very reliable plane. I don't think there's anything to worry about."
"Maybe I'm being silly," my newfound acquaintance excused herself. "I've never been in an airplane with so many people before. It makes me nervous to think of what could happen if something went wrong."
As the plane climbed and built up speed, we continued our conversation. I tried my best to convince the young lady about the reliability of the plane and the competence of the crew. The main problems with fly by wire technology had been solved many years earlier after several tragic Airbus crashes and a number of near misses involving the Boeing 777. In my daily work as a contingency planner, I had stayed fully up to date with all the gossip about air safety on the Internet. Even the most cynical critics had had to admit that, this time, Boeing had got it right from the beginning.
I soon found out that my fellow traveler was from Korea, on her way home to Seoul a few months after graduating as an English teacher from an Australian university. Her name was Jin Ju, which means a pearl. Her interests were wide-ranging; she had no trouble following me when we discussed the technical safety features of the plane, and she managed to enlighten me in many things I had never paid attention to, given my rather narrow outlook as an engineer. Jin Ju displayed an impressive amount of common sense and a courteous directness. Although I believed our risk for a crash was very slim, I had to agree with her that unexpected things might, indeed, happen.
But I was still trying to reassure Jin Ju after our in flight meal, when I became aware of some unusual activity around me. A number of tough looking men with assault rifles were positioned in the aisles in every section of the plane that I could see. I had a good view of nearly half of the lower level of the plane from where I was sitting, close to door number two on the port side of the lower, economy class cabin. When, bewildered, I half got up out of my seat, the nearest armed man barked an order in rather broken English, and waved his gun in my direction. Jin Ju told me to sit still and take no risks: those guys meant business, she said.
"I recognize their leader from a newscast a couple of weeks back," she added. "They're from the mercenary force that lost the bid for the latest UN peacekeeping mission to Africa."
Mentally cursing my bad luck, I began to work out the full implications of what was happening. The airplane would have to land rather soon, because it didn't carry much extra fuel: keeping the liquid hydrogen cold was expensive, and leaving one or two of the tanks empty could mean the difference between profit and loss for a leg of the flight. Also, to get any money, the hijackers would have to bargain with someone who could be expected to take enough of an interest in the safety of the plane and its passengers. Since the Korean government held a substantial stake in Pacific Rim Airlines, it was a good candidate. The passengers would be used as bargaining chips while somebody, either PRA or the Korean government, came up with the required ransom—if they did. Security forces would be sure to be waiting for the airplane on the ground.
Looking around once more, I saw the hijackers taking down shoulder bags from the overhead lockers. Having made some kind of adjustment inside the bags, the men put them on the cabin floor near the fuel tanks in the wings, warning the passengers not to touch them. On the upper deck, similar devices would have been put back in the overhead lockers, to be near the main fuel tank on top of the passenger cabin. The plane was now booby trapped, and presently I saw the leader of the hijackers, who had been moving around giving orders, holding a remote control device of some kind.
Jin Ju had been watching what was going on, too, and she kept up her background commentary with amazing calmness.
"They've left it to the last moment to pull this off," she said. "In a few months from now, all cash payments will be replaced with electronic ones, and dollar bills will be worthless. As it is, they'll be aiming to get a trunk full of cash and fuel to continue the trip to wherever they think they'll be safe. Some hostages will have to go along, of course. I hope it won't be us."
I, too, wished we wouldn't be thus honored. I found it ironic that I should be on this plane at all. It was precisely because of the impending monetary reform that I had decided to go now rather than a year later, when I'd have been due for long service leave and wouldn't have had to quit my job. I had wanted to go while I could still hope to pay my way using cash, traveler's checks, and a credit card. The new payment system, according to the Internet gossip, was going to make it impossible to remain anonymous when paying for anything, and I just didn't like the idea of leaving an unbroken payment trail of myself at a time when repressive governments were multiplying all over the world. So now, instead of enjoying the first leg of the traditional, carefree Australian wander around the globe, I was in an airplane hijacked by a shady troop of professional soldiers that wanted to pad their bank accounts while it was still technically possible to do so through crime. After the introduction of the new payment system, every payment would be traceable, and enjoying the proceeds of a heist like this would become quite a challenge.
The plane began to slow down and lose height. For the first time the crew were allowed to make announcements. The captain was brief and to the point: he told us that the plane had been hijacked and that we'd be landing in Seoul shortly. He instructed us to stay calm and follow all orders given by the hijackers—they were in control, and it was our duty to cooperate with them and try to avoid casualties.
As soon as we had landed at Kimpo, all the lights at the airport went out. The airplane remained at the end of the runway with its own lights on. Some kind of negotiations must have been going on over the radio, but we heard nothing of them. Outside, everything was dark; the airport seemed dead to the world. The hijackers were getting nervous and kept peering out the windows. Evidently, the Korean authorities meant to keep them guessing. In my mind I recalled horror stories of hijack victims having to spend days in their airplane seats without even being allowed to go to the toilet, while authorities tried to gain time and win the argument simply by exhausting the perpetrators. I gave a brief thought to the possibility of turning on the seat computer and somehow calling for help, but soon realized how useless and dangerous it would have been.
But Jin Ju had a different worry.
"Our government won't just give them the money. I think they'll send in the antiterrorist squad."
She was dead right. Through the window I could see a swarm of armored personnel carriers, followed by fire trucks and all kinds of special vehicles. In an instant, mobile lounges loaded with crack troops were closing in against the doors. Moments later, the doors, activated from the outside, began to open.
Meanwhile, the hijackers had been busy. With brutal efficiency, they had rounded up some of the passengers to form a human barrier inside the doors. Jin Ju and I had been sitting closest to door number two and were first in line. We now found ourselves squashed against the edges of the opening doors, while troops and hijackers shouted commands and threats over the screams of the panicking passengers. Before I knew what was happening, I was falling toward the ground ten feet below between the body of the plane and the still approaching lounge, while above, the first shots rang out.
I had hardly landed, quite shaken but essentially unhurt, when Jin Ju fell right on top of me. She was the last one; the lounge had closed up to the side of the plane and the troops were forcing their way in. Jin Ju was unconscious but not from the fall: I had managed to half catch her so she hadn't hit the tarmac at all. Not waiting for instructions, I picked her up and started running. It was, quite possibly, the fastest one hundred meter dash I've ever run, in spite of my load. Well clear of the plane, I had to stop to take a breath.
All the efforts of the troops and the fire brigade were directed toward the port side doors. Nobody was paying any attention to us, but we were still far too close to the action for comfort. I started running again. Fortunately, Jin Ju was very light, and about half a minute later I was able to stop and lay her down, having put a considerable distance between us and the besieged airplane.
The gunfire was intensifying, punctuated by the bright flashes and deep thuds of stun grenades. I started wondering why the plane hadn't caught fire, and the thought got me to my feet again. I picked up my companion and ran like a bat out of hell. I had remembered the explosives so close to the tanks, where untold tons of liquid hydrogen were still left.
All of a sudden, a giant hand swept me off my feet into a somersault. Again the lucky outcome was that Jin Ju landed on top when we both hit the tarmac. I sat us up and cautiously regarded the ongoing explosion. I had expected a blinding inferno, but the light of the fire was only just starting: hydrogen burns hot, but without a visible flame. I could see parts of the airplane still on their way up into the air, while round about, the closest vehicles were disintegrating, ignited by the intense heat and blown up by fuel and ammunition. As it turned out, we were far enough from the plane to escape the fire and the flying debris. That was just as well, since I had lost all ability to run any further.
"Just like the Hindenburg, but worse," Jin Ju said softly.
She had regained consciousness, but was still leaning against me. And as before, she was right: hydrogen is an excellent propellant, as well as a very buoyant filling for airships, but it's a deadly dangerous explosive.
Quite relieved that my new friend was, at least, alive, I got up again and helped her to her feet. All we could do was move further away from the fire—I had no idea where the airport buildings might have been or which way to turn. In the light of the blaze we must have been clearly visible, for soon an ambulance arrived to pick us up. Next thing, we made the fastest and least complicated entry into Korea anybody has ever made. The ambulance took us directly to the nearest hospital, and we received the caring attention of a very competent emergency crew.
For whatever reason, the press didn't find us that evening. Having been assured that neither of us was seriously hurt, I was soon resting in a wonderfully clean, although slightly too short, Korean hospital bed. Then it struck me: I had to call Laura! She always watched TV late at night and would have seen the news about the disaster. Calling my parents could wait: they'd be asleep since a couple of hours and would know nothing about it all until tomorrow.
Laura picked up the phone right away. Without saying "Hello?" and before I could utter a word, she demanded, "Gregory, who's that girl?"
My surprise was such that I burst out laughing, which she pretended to take as an admission of guilt. After much sputtering on my part, Laura told me about her ordeal watching the story on TV. First, a text banner had announced that an airplane had been hijacked in Korea. Big deal. A minute later, the movie she'd been watching had been interrupted for a special newscast from Seoul: the plane was PW765 en route from Sydney to Tokyo! Oh no!
Initially, only a blurred satellite picture had shown the plane on the dark tarmac. It had taken at least five minutes before the first camera drones—unmanned miniature airplanes adapted from military spotting use—had got to the airport. Then the helicopter had arrived, and then the ground crew with telescopic lenses. And suddenly, the antiterrorist attack had commenced. Laura had known the plane was doomed.
She had also known that I was not, so she had kept a sharp lookout for anything unusual. And there, in a long shot of the blaze, she had seen somebody sitting on the tarmac far off to the left. She had done an instant replay and had zoomed in on that part of the picture, and had recognized me, with a girl in my arms. Oh boy!
Quite possibly the only viewer to have picked out such a fleeting detail, Laura needed little by way of particulars of my story. She told me to get some rest and call her back in the morning. But first, she had a piece of practical advice for me.
"Now don't you get too close to that Korean girl you rescued, so she doesn't fall in love with you! You're mine! After all you've done for her, it would be such a waste of everybody's time if I had to come there and kill her..."
This was music to my ears, and I did my best to calm Laura's dramatic imagination, promising to behave and to encourage no romantic feelings on Jin Ju's part. More out of concern for me than out of jealousy, Laura almost seemed to think that she should, after all, join me on my trip, but then she resolved to stick to her original decision. I wished I could have hugged her long and hard.
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Jul 30, 2012 12:07:46 GMT -5
Post by Bear on Jul 30, 2012 12:07:46 GMT -5
Auditioning
***NOTE:YOU CAN AUDITION FOR MANY CATS BUTS ONLY VOICE ONE CAT. BUT IF NOT ENOUGH AUDITIONS ARE SENT, YOU CAN PLAY MORE THAN ONE
HOW TO AUDITION:
1.record lines for the cat you are auditioning for. (or make a video DO NOT SHOW YOUR FACE!!!)
2.post audio to an appropriate website (DON'T GIVE ME A LINK TO IT)
Characters to audition for~
Jaykit/paw-Thunderlake Lionkit/paw Hollykit/paw* Firestar Brambleclaw Leafpool-Creekflower Dustpelt Sandstorm Cloudtail Brackenfur Thornclaw Brightheart Ashfur* Sorreltail Spiderleg Brook Where Small Fish Swim (Brook) Stormfur Whitewing Birchfall Berrypaw Hazelpaw Mousepaw Cinderpaw Honeypaw Poppypaw Foxkit Icekit Ferncloud Daisy Squirrelflight Longtail Mousefur Blackstar Russetfur Littlecloud Oakfur Rowanclaw Ivypaw Smokefoot Owlpaw Snowbird Tawnypelt Cedarheart Tallpoppy Onestar Ashfoot Barkface Tornear Crowfeather Owlwhisker Whitetail Nightcloud Weaselfur Kestrelpaw Harepaw Heatherpaw* Breezepaw Morningflower Webfoot Leopardstar Mistyfoot Dapplepaw Mothwing Willowpaw Blackclaw Voletooth Minnowpaw Reedwhisker Pouncepaw Mosspelt Pebblepaw Beechfur Rippletail Dawnflower Heavystep Swallowtail Stonestream Graystripe Millie Skywatcher
Background cats~ (just ask to be one) ImportantLinks
scriptwriter/scripteditor page artist page (link will go here) animator page (insert link) story board (coming soon) editors page (link goes here) music page (insert link) Audition lines Assignments
co-director~make animation page.
that's it for now!!!
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