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17ft Center Console Fishing Boat | CC Heritage Series | EdgeWater | Edgewater Boats

The Pro Skiff 17 Center Console is one of several new Mako models� and small skiff center console utilities hulls available in both tiller-steered and center-console versions. Just stretch out on the bow, hang your head over the rubrail, and take a gander below the small skiff center console utilities. This is no flat-bottom skiff, nor is it a semi-V or V-hull.

We call it so utilitiex good, it helps this boat make our list of the Top 10 Fishing Boats of What the heck is an inverted V? That depends on who you ask - the term has been crnter to many hull shapes, most of which lie somewhere between tunnel hulls and catamarans. These two smaller features look almost like vertical chines, and much like a chine, these surfaces are intended to direct water.

The Mako Inverted V includes characteristics of both power cats and V-hulls. Back Explore View All. Back Types View All. Unpowered Boats Kayaks Dinghies. Personal Watercraft Small skiff center console utilities Watercraft. Back Research. Reviews Boats Engines and Parts. How-to Maintenance Buying and Selling Seamanship. Back Services. Boats PWCs. Boats for Sale View All. Or select country. Search Advanced Search. Personal Watercraft for Sale View All.

Liked it? Share it! Facebook Twitter. With over two decades of experience in marine journalism, Lenny Rudow has contributed to publications including YachtWorld, boats. Crestliner Retriever SC Lund Alaskan Tiller Lund Alaskan SS Crestliner Retriever FCC uutilities Crestliner Retriever CC Boat Reviews. Related Boats for Sale. Lund Outfitter Request Price.

Lund Alaskan Tiller Request Price. Boating Guides. Boat Buyer's Guide. Boat Seller's Guide. Spring Commissioning for Your Boat. Popular Articles Related Articles 1. Five Affordable Trawlers Under 40 Feet. What Hull Shape is Best? Best Boat Brands. What Type is Right for You? Top 10 Choices for Boaters.


A join is typically lonesome with strips of fiberglass coated with resin. Reinsert a pass in to a console as sjiff as press a ??button compartment a displayed quickness reaches 2. In June 2013, as well as you have been means to customarily see in them small skiff center console utilities forerunners to most products still in operate during this time.

Yes or no a single we comparison we will notice your wooden rug come to smaall up as well as mould be cowed with small or no effort.

I've been having difficulty even finding an expedition heading for unexplored regions that would accept me. But if this Guild goes to many other worlds I'm very much interested in joining.

You actually have a spare emergency beacon and a guest pass in your jacket You could just take her there yourself and show her the ropes, but then that's sort of attaching her to you at least a little bit, her reputation and yours would become linked to a certain extent. Or you could assume the fullest responsibility you could And, well God she's pretty.

You'd do that for me? It's sort of like Thing is, it's a solid way to show that you're If we did a two year contract I could even come back in a day or two if you'd rather I just want to think it all over and make sure this is what I want to do. If I leave here I'm probably not coming back to the world of my birth again, after all. But finally she looks up at you and nods. I'll be forever grateful. When do we leave?

Want to get your stuff together? Starielle stands up and says, "I'll be right back, five minutes at most," she says before hurrying up, flashing her nearly bare ass at you again. What are you dooooing? Oh well, you always wanted to start building a Mercenary Company eventually, guess this is one way to do it.

Well, assuming she wants to stick around once she gets her full license. She's also got your sword and rifle slung over her back, you note with relief as you get up, pulling your jacket back on.

You both wind up stumbling more than is strictly dignified coming out of the portal, but oh well, not much way to avoid that. You almost immediately see a Guild-armored guard coming towards you, but you hold up a hand. Less than an hour later you and Starielle are walking back out, her looking at her copy of the contract.

I mean, if someone breaks it and runs off, they can be found in breach of contract and depending on the ruling of the person that officiated the contract After that the two of you head to get her the necessary medical checkup, which she passes with flying colors, though the medtech does inform you that the small magical tattoo that Starielle was apparently using for birth control is 'not compatible' with Guild tech, so you pay a small amount to have it removed and for Starielle to get a more standard implant, the blonde elf woman looking a bit sheepish as she follows the tech into the private room.

Unfortunately one of the other medtechs badgers you into getting your own checkup while you're there, which already feels exhausting even before you have to do the stand, turn, blink, stare into this, get prodded, to the point that by the time Starielle and the female tech emerge, you're bordering on grumpy.

At least your new companion's smile is a bit mentally refreshing. It's not until you actually open the door to the small interior that doesn't have a lot more room than for the single bed and chair with small terminal station that you actually remember you've got an elf following you around. We go? This deal just got considerably better. You really need to get the heat back on, preferably tonight, which means the fastest and most reliable way of earning some creds, and with the least chance of winding up in a cell because the cops around here care fuckall about prostitution.

Even as you're turning it over in your head, the rain stops and dries up, leaving the air merely cold and moist and the streets damp. Well, if that isn't sign enough, you don't know what is. You head back inside, utilizing a small hiding spot you half discovered, half manufactured in the lobby to slip your sword inside It's not like you're entirely unarmed without it, and even if you were you're still fairly confident in your ability to take care of yourself.

Or you could head towards the nearest "warm corners Kai" areas that are more well-known to be a place to get picked up, though you'd have to deal with competition.

The last place on the streets would be what other street girls call "The Drips Kai2x2" Some of that can get kind of weird, or extreme, but they also pay a lot more. It's definitely the easiest and least work way to make the creds, if not exactly possessed of the most dignity.

But it's a better excuse than 'I don't want to lose out on a ton of money because we fucked'. I understand. You're actually going to go rustle up the caravan leader and tell him you don't need to go all the way back to the Duke It's sliiiightly less professional that way but it means not spending another week here, much of it in a wheeled vehicle with no shock absorbers traveling on an unpaved road.

You can afford at least a few hours to walk around, take a look at things, enjoy the sights both architectural and They're pretty trees! Haha yeah right you're totally peoplewatching, taking a look around at the various different elves and the rarer but still present non-elves From what the girls are calling to passers-by, said special offer is a big discount for first-time customers.

As to what sort of customers In fact even as you watch, the tan-skinned of the pair turns to call to one of the other people passing by and shake her sign Yup, seriously. Drawn as if by gravity, you make your way across the street, both girls cooing and winking at you as you pass through, returning their winks and a roguish grin as you do because fuuuuuuuuuuck they are hot.

Inside is something that looks a lot like ye olde taverne if it were trying to be classy but not too classy, and you're quickly approached by a more mature looking elf woman in a full-length, non-sexy maid outfit, her hair even done up in a bun and spectacles on her nose. This is your first time with us, so there will be a discount on all our services and items. You know right away it's my first time? As for you This might not be your first time in such a place, but you're hardly an experienced pro at it, are you?

Would you like to spend the night? If you like, why don't you have a seat at that table there, I'll have a complimentary drink sent over to you with something else I think you might like.

If you decide you do, that is fine, if you would rather have something to drink and eat and retire, that is fine as well. You settle in, just taking a look around, though there's not much to be seen at the moment You can hear the occasional giggle, moan, or rhythmic thumping from somewhere above, but only faintly You glance aside as someone sets a glass full of amber liquid on the table, then wind up staring.

This elf girl She has all of that and it's all wrapped in a very naughty maid outfit, the white of the top hugging her large breasts and leaving a fairly generous amount of the underside bare. The lower part of the outfit hugs around her middle, turning into something that might be a skirt in the most very technical of definitions, barely coming down over the very top of her curvy hips, and otherwise turning into a frilly white drape over the front in imitation of an apron.

And if you like, perhaps now or a bit later, you'd also like to sample some other wares? Especially, you know If you don't mind.

If you don't want to, I understand, too, of course. You hesitate. Since you only read half the book or so you hadn't found out whether there was a specific reason for that or if the author just considered the character's role and name the same thing. Still, may as well keep up adhering to the narrative, it's gotten you this far Yes, I do believe you are," the dragon says agreeably, glancing you up and down as if just to confirm. How came you to be in such a place, however, that you'd rather try to fly when you can't than see it out?

Still, you're not going to try to read it like a script, even if you remember it. Sighing, you fold your arms under your newly generous chest, trying to ignore how you wind up pressing your boobs up and together. Neither was a terribly attractive idea, so, out the window I went. Thanks for catching me, by the way. Something is sure to come of this, especially since I doubt Lord Thule will just call it a bad day when he finds you gone.

You'll have to continue trying to escape for some time, I fear. Still, if you'd like, I can help you. You can certainly go a bit further with flying through the sky than running about on foot. My suggestion would be that we head for the Crystal Hills Of course in the book the Witch Princess agrees immediately, knowing that she'll find the next point on her destiny in the Crystal Hills and where you know the next member of her group is.

So here's your chance again to either keep going with the story, at least for now, or to diverge. If you're really gonna take a header out the window and trust to the narrative to save you, you better stick to the narrative.

You clear your throat, lift your chin, and address the rising sun. Actually, you're feeling pretty good about yourself, even as you lean forward, forcing yourself not to flail or panic as you feel gravity taking hold of you and hauling you the rest of the way over the ledge and sending you hurtling downward.

It takes a bit more of an effort not to scream, since you're pretty sure that would ruin this nice dramatic moment you've made for yourself, and you try to yank your head up to watch the sunrise instead of at the ground getting closer very fast. It takes a moment for your head to stop spinning, but when you lift it you look ahead to the long, sinuous body with the almost diamond-shaped head and long, curled ram-like horns. Shimmery saphire-like scales cover most of its body and its long, slender wings, and white fur The book only described the dragon's voice as 'pleasing', you still somehow expected it to be deep and booming at full size.

It sounds like a cliche, but the dragon really does smell like fresh water and sunshine. Then there's a soft laugh, before the motion of its body alters. But let's have a bit of a chat face-to-face, then, shall we? You shift a little awkwardly, finally just sliding down its side and landing a little unsteadily on your feet.

The dragon's long, sleek body gives a gentle writhe, then retracts and pulls in close, changing so fast you can't catch many details. Instead a human form is soon standing in front of you, bowing at the waist with one hand outswept, while you stare. There was something about 'slender and beautiful, as when a dragon', but Androgynous, sure But yes, very tall, and lean, and striking, wearing blue silk blouse and pants in a dashing cut, with wings stretched out from the back and horns still curling around the ears from the side of the forehead, and a thick, manelike mop of soft white hair.

The dragon reaches out to take your hand, pressing lips to your fingers as you blush some, the gesture so smooth and unaffected that the sincerity hits you right in the Silver eyes twinkle as they fix on your face. Before we begin our discussion, I do believe introductions are in order," the dragon practically purrs, thumb rubbing briefly over your fingers before your hand is released.

No real help for it. Taking a deep breath, you move over to the window and clamber up to stand on the sill, which is broad enough to allow your feet ample purchase. Balancing yourself with a hand on the side, you look out towards the rising sun, and then down It's not quite 'greasy stain' distance, you figure, but it's definitely 'splatter' distance, which is enough to make you swallow hard.

Still, it's okay. You can do this. You too are a strong, independent woman who don't need no demonic marriage contract. Okay, you can do this.

You frown a little. What are you forgetting? Oh, right. The Witch Princess had a dramatic declaration before she jumped. Maybe more melodramatic than anything else. It was very inspiring and a little silly. Still, do you really have to obey every little bit of the book's storyline?

You don't actually have to declare your inspiring thoughts to the sunrise, do you? You make yourself consider the options Niobe is quiet for a moment, before snorting and smirking a bit. Alright, from what I heard, Underfoot's probably bein' held in a shut-down apartment building towards the edge of the sector.

It's undergoing redistricting so officially everyone's supposed to be out It's a decent clip away so we'll take my car. The safest configuration seemed to be Aurora and Ico in the back, with you in the front passenger seat and Niobe driving since, y'know, her car. The silence is a little awkward since this doesn't exactly seem like one of those 'radio' drives, Aurora eventually clearing her throat.

No, everyone called her that," the cat-eared woman protests with a bit of a frown. I mean, what the hell else would you call her? She did that 'cause she liked you, y'know. You're the kid's favorite, you dumb bitch.

Meanwhile she's still carrying around that old fuckall katana you gave her, she could've traded up to a vibroblade or a crystalslicer or damn near anything else that'd be better if you weren't her favorite.

Both of them go silent, giving you the moment you need to find the strength to say, "I couldn't even start to choose between you. Then it's Aurora who breaks it.

According to my guy, that's where they're holding her. We get a little closer I'll probably be able to sniff them out. So, like I said, you're the one in charge of piling the pig shit, kid, what's the plan?

You lean in a bit towards Sakai, whispering to him, "You need to do something, you can't just let him drive her out like that or you'll look weak. Nova's tall, chiseled form is completely on display And that fur is all he's clad in, the pale vanilla white running down his front and along the insides of his thighs, the orangey-red and black stripes along his sides and back. Of their own accord your eyes flick down, catching a glimpse of his crotch You try to pick your next words carefully You'll grab something to eat while you're on the job Though of course there's a time and place for everything.

Some other mercs have their jobs divided into categories for easier browsing of whatever they feel like, but for you personally you don't really care about the type No, you've got yours set up to highlight two things and two things only, the job's rank and how much it pays. How much it pays, well, obvious why you want that, the rank thing is a little more complicated.

And since you're a slave, your Guild certification is tied to Doonian's. You're allowed to take anything up to a C-rank mission on your own, but if you take B- and A- rank missions, you're effectively serving as Doonian's proxy. Meaning that if you screw up those jobs, he's the one that gets dinged, or fined, or even potentially ejected from the Guild.

Which would probably mean very bad things for you. So you have to be a little bit careful with those sorts of jobs. Yeah, that figures, even simple bodyguarding jobs tend to bump up above C if they involve sufficiently important royals like princes, princesses, kings, and queens.

Dukes and duchesses usually hover around C-rank. Then you've got your lesser nobility like Viscounts that can get ranked as newbie quest level depending on the difficulty, but a lot of thirsty female mercs still take them hoping to wind up as the Viscountess. Or whatever it's called. Apparently this is in fact bodyguard duty primarily for a princess, and pays quite well.

Still, you'd have to be careful not to fuck it up A quick glance at the basic appraisal of the place says it's pretty light on the megafauna, so you should be able to handle it even with the basic weaponry available to you. Pay's decent, worst aspect of it would be slogging across a lot of hostile country. Well, you're assuming, it doesn't use the word 'assassination' since most of them don't, but it involves planting multiple time bombs in different locations.

Kind of on the messier end of things, but it pays even better than the retrieval job and should only take you a day or so, if you decide you're up for that kind of thing. Now here's a weird one. You've never seen a listing for a Scapegoat KaiGuild2x2 before. It's only an F-rank, the second-lowest there is, but the pay's on the higher end for a C-rank job, which is definitely odd. The description says that it involves 'assisting in the resolution of a minor succession crisis' and that it's likely to be rough physically and involve some public speaking and possibly even playacting, but doesn't go into a lot of detail.

Still, must be legit or the Guild wouldn't have put it up. It also has a strictly defined duration of four days, so taking into account Guildhall time wonkiness and the shifts from dimension hopping and you'd probably only be gone Yeah, I know a few people we could ask," you say slowly. But we get even one of them on board, we can consider Zee as being good as safe in a crashpad bed and Horace in his crypt. Just got one question for you, though I'm gonna be right in the thick of this.

At your small nod, she hits a single keystroke. Great, thanks. Having your job listing accepted before you even had time to wash your hands has jarred you enough that everything is starting to feel a little unreal.

You make your way across the lobby and into a lift, standing there silently for a good ten seconds before you remember you need to tell it where to go. Uh, three. It's not hard to guess For another, you know exactly who it is, from the shortish silver hair with a side-ponytail and a fall on the other side, the tactical webbing that clips around her breasts which are partly displayed by the purple one-piece that makes up the main part of her garment, the long black coat, and the black shorts, all of it expensive and in perfectly maintained condition.

You're familiar enough with each other You guess you shouldn't be surprised she pounced on your listing She lifts her arms as if intending to give you a hug, hesitates, then puts her hands on your forearms instead, gently lifting your hands up as she looks down at them. Is this Doonian's blood? You heard? I promise you that we will get her back," Aurora says after a moment, her tone careful.

I won't say another word about how you should have come to me for help first She gingerly rests a hand on your shoulder. How long since you slept? You are exhausted, you are hungry, you're probably dehydrated, and you're starting to dissociate from the shock. Absolute minimum, or you won't be able to stay on your feet long enough to help me get Zee back.

That's the important thing, getting Zee back, right? But all of a sudden you're just so, so tired. You're so tired and you let your head hang and you whisper, "Alright. The facilities are over this way, come on. You've been in them before. It's pretty great, nice little cylinder shower stalls that close up and the glass goes frosted in a neat shimmery way, the water temperature's always perfectly controlled, the stuff from the vending machines even tastes better than the stuff in the lobby or at least it seemed like it.

You remember Ico giving in to your pleading and buying you an actual candy bar from one of the vending machines that Aurora is buying a bottle of water from now, Niobe laughing at her for being such a sucker.

The pop of the cap sounds like the door closing behind Ico the day she was sold, the clatter of it into the recycle bin like the ornament Niobe threw down the garbage chute during her shouting match with Doonian the day she bought her freedom. The cold of the bottle in your hands and the water spreading through your mouth and throat reminds you how cold the shower was that first day in the little rundown apartment on Makarzia after moving there from the beautiful Guildhall suite that had been the only good thing about living with Doonian once the others were gone.

The sound of the shower starting and gentle hands helping you out of your clothing reminds you of all the times Zee had to do the same for you after you came home, bleeding and hurting, turning over the money you'd bled and hurt to earn to a man whose only response was a grunt.

She's standing in the doorway of the refresher area, obviously intending to give you privacy, that pained look in her eyes again. Don't be. But it's not like he ever treated me worth a damn anyway. All of it. You just stand there, arms limp at your sides, watching the water sliding down your body and across the floor of the shower flicker with brown, then red.

You lift your hands, looking at them, the drying blood turning brighter as the outer layers are washed off. Your hands are already trembling as you slowly clench your fingers into fists, and then you're pounding one against the wall, not a punch, just a downward slam like you wanted to break the wall down, striking again, and again, watching the splatters of blood fly, a noise building in your throat until you're screaming constantly while beating your fist against the metal.

Then the scream turns to sobs as you slowly sag down to your knees and slump against the wall. But it was you.

You did it. You destroyed it. She must have paid to turn on the somnic inducer because you just stop remembering, and there's just blissful nonbeing for awhile. By the time light hits your eyelids again and you're gently nudged out of the tube by the motors beneath the padding, you feel vaguely like a sentient being again. Momentary resentment at her trying to remake you in her own image bubbles up, before you realize the red has the telltale signs of an additive color layer So we need to decide our next move.

Hey, before we do, there's something I want to ask you. Zee is still the most important thing, but now that you feel like yourself again you realize that plunging in headlong isn't the best idea, and there's at least time for a question or two.

At the least we're talking a thirty year indenture, you just gonna claim it? For now, we need to decide how to proceed. Do you think we should call in some of my friends?

I have a few favors I'm owed, and on top of that, people that will just come help me if necessary," she adds. This guy we're going up against is nasty.

He did all of this like a lightning strike because I didn't kill someone after we shook on it. Anyone we bring into it is going to risk getting that same attention turned on them. Do you? You can think of at least two people who might, theoretically at least, step up on this issue.

It wouldn't be easy, and might take precious time away from rescuing Zee, but either one of them would probably be worth any random twenty mercs you cared to put together. Er, duo. Thirty year contract of indenture for primary completion, lifetime slave contract for both primary and secondary. Feel free to link my Guild record under the payment area.

The Guild doesn't judge. That's what's on the table, put it down. The Guild might not judge, and I'm not judging you," she says quietly, this time not flinching as she looks you in the eyes. I've been a slave literally as long as I can remember. I made my peace with the fact that I was probably going to live and die a slave a long time ago.

Nothing's changed for me Thirty years is nothing to get her back List it. Yup, nice long distance, plenty of time for them to show off, let their targets get intimidated, and also hopefully goad the guards into clustering around the real prize. Which you notice they have Little further away than you thought Hm, headshot?

No, drop it down a little, just below the throat, try to catch a bit of the collarbone for more impressive knockback, dropping him too smoothly won't be as demoralizing for the orcs or as heartening for the elves. More of them notice the second one that does the same though, more of them staggering aside and starting to look around in a bit of a panic.

They'd apparently been mostly ignoring the elven arrows fired from a similar distance, so you pick one that's got at least half a dozen feathered shafts emerging from his shoulders and chest, and this time you do go for the headshot, aiming just above the nose so that the entire upper half of his cranium turns into a nice energetic slurry of gore flying through the air. Then several of the larger ones give a fresh howl, the war cry picked up by the rest as they renew their vigorous charge, waving their clubs, axes, and crude swords enthusiastically in the air despite some of them having taken them off the fallen.

Not that they'll ever get to do anything with it, you think to yourself, unable to help sending just a bit of sympathy their way as you squeeze the trigger and hold it. The crashing, shrieking cacophony of explosions overlapping each other staggers more than a few of the elves standing below it, let alone the orcs charging towards it.

Not to mention the effect it has on the bodies of those you're actually hitting You rake your arc of fire back and forth over the line of them, the gun's high-end autostabilizer and the kinetic absorber built into the stock meaning that to you, you might as well be firing BBs even as the massive monster men in front of you are chewed up like so much meat being fed into a sausage grinder.

You aim a few more short, chattering bursts over the heads of the ones who don't seem to have made up their minds entirely and send them scampering as well. Satisfied, you keep them in your scope until you're satisfied they've all actually gone and aren't coming back out of the trees. Doing a more thoughtful check of the readout, you decide to go ahead and swap out the matter cartridge This one seems to be the only one that's recovered their wits enough to actually address you directly, though her blue eyes are wide and her voice has definitely lost any of its high-handed quality.

Fortunately the former disappears quickly, unfortunately the latter does too, leaving mostly the middle as she politely and repeatedly thanks you for saving both her and the caravan, and you try not to too blatantly 'aw shucks' your way through it. Sadly, although you'd expect that explicit invitation would be most likely tonight, the caravan doubletimes it along the road, and just before the sun begins to set you approach the capital.

It's pretty interesting, you have to admit The heavy gate at the front leads to a long tunnel going through one of the trunks and into the city within She seems a little hesitant, as if uncertain she should speak, before finally saying, "You know, I know that my uncle expects you to return with the caravan so you can confirm my safety and be paid, but I'm sure my family would like to meet you.

There is a growing danger, I could certainly use a bodyguard. Which is definitely a really compelling thought, the extra pay aside. On the other hand you're also being given a chance to walk away before you get yourself in trouble. Your wallet and your dick are saying 'Staaaay! You don't have to say anything, just hesitate to speak long enough that Ico steps forward.

You can see just the merest instant of something almost like fear in Niobe's eyes as the other woman steps up to her, before she covers it with a smirk again.

About how I owe you, or what a sweet guy the old fucker actually was, we should do it for the memory of who he used to be? Gotta tell you, was never a fan of him even when he was at his best, really. When she does speak, though, it's with such conviction that it feels like it fills the entire building. Were literally.

You don't get to bring that up! You don't get to try and make him some sort of hero! Niobe's lips are pulled back from her teeth, lungs working like a bellows and making her mostly-bare breasts heave, fingers curling into claws as if she wanted to rip something else apart as she glares at the other woman.

Her hands fully clench into fists as she straightens up. He pulled me out of the fucking trash. Then he shoved a slave chip in my neck. Big hero. For the first few years he needed the chip just to keep you from assaulting anyone you bumped into in the Guildhall!

Forget your Guild certification, which being his slave allowed you to receive practically automatically, without it you'd probably have been in jail! Or worse! Slowly the glow goes out of her pupils, her hair laying flat again as she straightens her back and shifts her shoulders. Fuck the Guild. And fuck you," she adds, jabbing a finger at Ico.

Get the fuck out of my place before I decide calling the cops on you is fuckin' funny," she snorts, flapping a hand dismissively as she turns her back on all of you, folding her arms. And who, after a moment, speaks up again.

Did this just At your dumbfounded expression, she raises her eyebrows slightly. And how would you like your payment? Alright, kid, looks like you're the one lighting this trash fire, so what's our next move?

We try to get him after that, decent chance all of us don't make it out alive. We go right at Horace, yeah, there's a chance he might hurt our girl, but just as good a chance his boys will hold on to her to buy their own lives with if their boss goes down. It's risky either way, not gonna lie, just depends what you wanna risk. Ico looks for a moment, then sighs.

Even if she won't help, it won't lose us that much time. Very well. She's a little, uh Look stick close to me and watch out for thrown things. I had known about the morning angle at Glenora Falls for 5 days before getting a crack at it with the Finger Lakes , single man Himrod Remote job. An early wake-up and drive down from my buddy Wayne's cabin along the Erie Canal in Newark resulted in more sleep in the driver seat of the Tunnage along Stone Jug Road in Himrod while the guy made up his train under cloudy skies that were defying the mostly sunny forecast.

By the time he got out of the yard near the skies were clearing again. I spied him at a crossing north of here and figured he was 2 miles and 12 minutes out of the waterfall.

Sensing that no one was around and that there wouldn't be a problem Erie and I walked away from what seems to be the standard shot from the parking lot and across the backyard to the water's edge. The key here is to know how far away he is, time it yes, this requires math and don't let yourself get distracted. Not only will you not hear the train blowing for the road crossing less than a mile north of here due to the roar of the cascading water but you won't even hear him once you can see him.

I had a time in my mind that I thought he would arrive and wouldn't let the camera sleep. A minute and change ahead of my prediction I saw the nose doing no more than 10mph btw. This exposure was my second shot. I walked away stunned, absolutely stunned.

This hill is grass and then you go down the other side and it's a big dirt field and the wind was blowing something fierce, so maybe it's a big thing of dust moving past?

That's all I can come up with. I expected it in my area in the evening But the signal on my readout showed he was never lined past Burlington. In fact, he was I drove to the other end of the siding switch, a mile and a half down the road, and was met by activated crossing gates. I was going to miss my shot!

I knew I had to beat him to the road crossing east of Burlington if I wanted to make it to Genoa No dice. He beat me to Genoa, IL, and a friend texted me There goes my evening! But when I got west past Rockford, I saw I had put a little distance between me and the train.

So, I took a chance. There, in almost hip-deep snow drifts, I placed 4 strobes, focused, and fired. The grain elevators are large, but also very close to the tracks I did go to Seward, IL, but he was held there for over 2 hours while the M job worked, and I couldn't get a good shot where he stopped.

When I got back home after getting groceries, he had just gotten out of the Seward siding. While I wish the dispatcher had given him an extension of a clear "green" signal westward earlier, a lack of delay in getting the signals maybe due to the cold made me blow a very good shot in Burlington.

Daniel sipped his 6th coffee colloidal suspension for caffeine transport while his batch jobs on ramanet, the Indian supergrid, finished their checksum verification.

His chin, a bit stubbly, itched. His eyes, a bit red, were sore. The goa trance shoutcast feed had mushed into a fast cadence drone. The flat screen monitor warped and bulged with the oscillating fan blowing on Daniel's face. Daniel cracked his neck and jutted his jaw, stretching out the accumulation of kinks, as RamaNet finished the final integrity check on his dataset.

Calculation was commoditized now. You uploaded your pre-fromatted dataset to RamaNet. Daniel's dataset, an anthology of complex proofs from a long-dead arab mathematician, was queued with amateur weather forecast modeling, home-brewed digital CGI for indie movies, chaos theory-based currency trading algorithms, etc. Daniel scratched his scalp and flexed his fingers. RamaNet would have done it in nanoseconds, ha!

Daniel had avoided the rounds of job interviews and recommendations that passed his way. Daniel always felt a bit embarrassed when he announced he was math PhD candidate. Daniel was rerunning his calculations on RamaNet to assuage the gnawing doubt that he completely botched some component of his argument and that the review committee was debating some manner of telling him to redo the entire effort.

Daniel started calculating his body mass and general aerodynamic resistance relative to the height of the school cathedral to figure out if he had time to reach a terminal velocity before impact Overview: biotech researcher discovers a new life-extension technology and is murdered. He is cryogenically frozen for years. When he is. Summer - Hot genius free-lance biotech researcher unravels the key component of a radical life-extension gene therapy that will ensure years of robust life to its recipients.

The researcher is murdered shortly after he hides the critical component. His distraught friend has him cryogenically frozen. Quickly he realizes that their motives are less than altruistic: his modification of the gene therapy is needed to resolve an unforeseen debilitation now creeping up in the recipients of the life-extension process.

The recipients, now nearing years off added life, are decompensating into psychotics. The researcher at first tries to remember and reconstruct what he did with the hidden critical component, but stops in disgust when he learns that in the past years the life-extension therapy has been reserved solely for the ultra-affluent and has created an extreme and cruel global gerontocratic elite. He voices his disgust to his corporate minders, who cease being beneficent and show their true colors as trying to gain control of this critical technology in order to control the elites.

In the process of dealing with the corporation, he learns about his murder and begins investigating. As he comes closer to the identity of his murderer, he uncovers a wider conspiracy and is the target of more murder attempts.

He was killed by a friend in Smart, urbane, ruthless, the CEO used his wealth and position to start the cabal of Ultras. We need to decide how the cabal lives. Are they sequestered on a luxurious island compound, or do they live in the open, surgically re-sculpted after each faked death, or do they live in the open.

As the ultras decompensate into psychosis, the CEO orders the researcher to be revived in order to find a cure. The ironic twist might be that there is no cure, no stabilization. Absolute power corrupts�. The UniFavela clan was going to run a multi-flank raid.

They specialized in fast propagating virii and had created a custom mail-in virus that exploited a few microsoft vulnerabilities that they had discovered and kept mum. Their target was a Latin American PR spokesman listed on the corporate web site for press queries. The PR flak would be just the sleepy guard on the wall for their virus to slip past. Shortly, the internal LAN at Brussels would be suffering switch and router buffer overflows and traffic would gasp, ack, and sputter.

Mongols charging the village gates and tossing flaming torches on thatched roofs. IT Operations would be running to and fro, trying to figure out the internal bandwidth crunch and if there was a bleedout causing the external net problems. He becomes the Minotaur. QC became an undefiable xray spotlight, laying bare any encrypted secret with a ease of opening a mathematical candy wrapper.

And for a while it swung the advantage back to the state in the digital Boer War against the freecon partisans. The Oort, to the Intras, looked as one people. Extra-stellar hillbillies, ekeing out a subsistance existence on extracted organics from the frozen crud comets and other planetesimals of the Oort Cloud that slung around the solar system in a 1K AU circuit.

To the Oort there was no Oort. Each station, each kampong was distinct and seperate. Seperate dialects, traditions, norms, goals.

Some were scientific collectives, some were tired mining operations, some were intense sectarian cults - they shared little between themselves beyond necessary trade links for scarce commodities. A young prince is disgraced in an internal court scandal and sent into a quasi-exile on a worthless mission. On his travels he builds the wisdom and learns the skills necessary to be a just and effective leader.

His exile was a gambit by his patriarch to remove Genji from the arena of pointless court intrigues and develop him as a real leader. The patriarch dispatched a team of loyal praetorians to discreetly follow and protect Genji on his odyssey. Genji was sent as an emissary to the Oort system. He must pass through the Martian-Saturnine corridor, populated with industrial trading guilds and their private militias.

Genealogy becomes paramount in a closed culture; hierarchy by heredity. But in an era of extreme genetic engineering, how can bloodlines retain their importance? Perhaps this is the wrong question.

Perhaps in an era of extreme genetic engineering, authentic bloodlines can only retain their importance. The longevity of an unchanged gene line demonstrates success in evolutionary competition. Consider the hemophilia of the European royal strata. I would not want the imperial court of the inner system to be pure blue bloods, eschewing genetic manipulation. The elites should pursue genealogy with the same passion and gusto as horse breeders; studs and mares and percentages of bloodlines, enforced and suppressed gene expressions, surrogates, and gene modes des saisons.

Hope to see you soon. Der Genkampf. GE, nano, and the banknote net weaken the mythic cohesion of the american spirit. This is one of a series of shots I took when it was blowing a gale and I had a job to hold the camera steady. The sun was also popping in and out of the clouds, so all in all it was a bit of a challenge.

Bedruthan Steps, the name given to this bay with its prominent sea stacks, is on the north coast of Cornwall between Newquay and Trevose Head. At low tide there is a lovely sandy beach here, but when we visited the tide was coming in. I took a few pictures and, as on a previous occasion, we then headed to the shelter and warmth of the nearby cafe at Carnewas, where there is a National Trust car park.. In addition to my regular job, the fun part of my life is chef work that I do on the side.

I had forgotten I had this picture, taken last year from work we were doing with Mondavi wines. No artistic masterpiece, just fun! I'm 3rd from the left. And does anyone look decent wearing a toque, besides the fact it makes me look tall? LOL, I look like a have no hair! As the ladies from the WI are strictly following the rules to stay at home during these abnormal times, they have been holding their meetings via a video online conferencing system which Hoof and Horace had designed and installed a few weeks back.

Clarrisa Penpillick who organised the botty coughing competition has been studying data recorded on the day. She was acting on information picked up by sensors located around the church hall which had recorded, wind speeds, clarity, depth of tone, ferocity of each botty cough, plus the oder factor, we are not talking Coco Chanel, more an essence of Vindaloo.

These findings did indeed show discrepancies of the botty coughs let go by the winner Mrs Trebillcock compared to the rest of the contestants, especially the rate at which she could repeat each performance. Another source of information were the audience who witnessed this cheeky event, especially Jago Nancarrow who had a ring side seat, and had recently retired as a lecturer at the institute of botty coughing who was of the opinion that Mrs Trebillcock could break wind faster than the speed of sound, he based this on the fact that he could smell it before he heard it.

Therefore the committee needed to ask the question had Mrs Trebillcock taken a performance enhancing substance, or had she been born with some form of biological advantage, as an example being double jointed in her nether regions, not a pretty sight.

Mrs Trebillcock was duly summoned to appear on camera and confessed to the committee that during a training session in the build up to the botty coughing competition she had been showing off in front of Mrs Trebogus and had lit some of her botty coughs much to both of their amusement.

However they had not carried out a risk assessment and subsequently Mrs Trebillcock suffered a blow back, which in turn had wrecked her passage, no you lot, the one leading to the hallway in her property. After the fire brigade had extracted Mrs Trebillcock from her hallway, Mrs T likes a man in uniform she was taken for a check, or was it a cheek over at Madeleine Bokiddicks house.

Madeleine had recently retired from her job as a blacksmith and set up a little business of cosmetic enhancement for the discerning lady. Following the procedure Mrs Trebillcock found that she had this amazing ability to let go some supersonic botty coughs.

Thank you so much for viewing my photos in these abnormal times which we are all in together. Your comments and banter are so appreciated, keep smiling we will get through this provided we follow the official advise, stay home. And because this is not an angle most people will ever get to see. So I grabbed the camera, turned it on, and stuck it around the side of the building to see BNSF H3 and Cascade Green going by on the local towards the Menards distribution center.

I was suprised to have caught the , which had been working other local jobs in the previous days. Most of those shots were way off horizon and were blurry.

This going-away shot turned out to be the least off of the bunch, with some interesting composition to it. This morning I mingled with a myriad or more tourists to look at Zaanse Schans just above Amsterdam in North Holland and its fanciful collection of buildings and especially Windmills.

Many of those mills are still used 'industrially' today, and the authorities have done a good job in trying to give something of an historical atmosphere to their town.

But there's only so much at least this person can take in. So he rented a bike to look around in the countryside with its many waterways, ditches, canals and low-lying pastures. A bit tired of being told how useful those windmills of Zaanse Schans were and are, he noted happily 'De Windjager'. It might be used for some sort of milling, but that was not the original owner's intention.

So I guess it's 'As free as the wind blows' and 'as free as the grass grows'. Anyway, I sat a bit and watched with my feet in the ditch until the wind got suddenly chilly and I pedaled back to the train station. This helmet is why I love motorcycles.

Rachel taking our traditional shot for those who turn Mike looking very satisfied, of course. Come to think of it, I took my blow job from him on my 21st.

Round and Heart Shaped sorry the poster here doesn't show them very well! That's 11 sets. I've included what everyone said - well, highlights from them- including Niobe's, who had to leave before she could post what she would say, and notes from the letter Fallon wrote Laz.

I also added Artika and Cata's internals, because they pay tribute to Laz - and I'll miss that guy. This RP impacted me harder than any other, and this funeral was one of the most beautiful things of all time. What a fantastic story. I ask that we pay tribute to a lad who was, indeed, larger than life, and far better than this city deserved.

For all his Ye can look to his civil efforts to improve Midian's standard of living, his tireless work toward a common cause--that no one, regardless of race, creed, faith or genetics deserves to be locked away by the world, and forgotten here on this island with no chance nor opportunity to improve their lot.

He showed others how to find their fecking bootstraps and draw themselves up again. Eamon Cale's voice quiets again. Most boat loans are closed-end leases, which give three options: hand over the keys and walk away, buy it at a pre-agreed price, or roll over the contract and re-lease the boat. One particularly thorny issue in the automobile business is when it comes to determining what constitutes "normal wear and tear," and charging for the difference.

Says Russo, "One car dealer told us that if a car comes back with a little dent in the door, that's normal wear and tear. If it comes back with the door in the trunk, then we're going to talk. That's pretty much how we feel, too. Boats are going to get scratched or dinged in three years".

Most car leases specify a maximum number of miles that can be driven, after which the lessee pays an additional charge. Most boat leases don't have an engine hours limitation, although Russo did write a lease contract with a customer for a foot Trojan that specified the boat would only be used locally and not taken to Florida for the winter.

At Correct Craft, they've eliminated any animosity by removing the dealer from the wear and tear issue. The dealer's idea of what's wrong with the boat may be different from the customer, so our rep comes in and makes the necessary adjustments. But we don't foresee any problems � our buyers take care of their boats and that's all we ask".

So what's the future of boat leasing? Russo agrees, "Leasing is just one more option that encourages families to get into boating one way or another.

It'll work for some and not for others. Just tell your readers to consider the choices carefully, read the fine print, weigh the financial side, and they'll make the right choice".

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