Hubilub's Pinecorn Porn

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Hubilub's Pinecorn Porn

Post by Salarian Spy on Fri Mar 25, 2011 9:58 pm

You have no one but Hubilub to blame for this.
Write about the limitless potential in turning pine cones into energy. Then debate whether or not it is worth the risk of having them turn on us and ruling the world
Possibly start a discussion on the beauty of inter-pinecone porn. Could be great things
Hubilub - 2:42 pm (UTC -5)

Bullets spat fountains of dirt around my feet as I sprinted over the crest of the cliff, pinwheeled briefly for equilibrium, and fell straight down. The fall was nasty, but short. I fell a good ten or twelve meters before slamming spine-first into the loose dirt below. Dust covered me, and I couldn't cover my cough in time. "God damned Pines. I knew I should've joined the damned union."

I heard the telltale clink of a grenade's pin, and threw myself up and out of the trench. It was a hard jump, but I cleared the chest-high mount of dirt as something vaguely dark and round bounced erratically off of my helmet. I heard a heavy thump as something hit the floor of the trench, and I threw myself forward. The floor slammed into me with too much force, and I felt as much as I heard a meaty thump from beneath me. Dirt and worse spewed out of the hole, rocks, chips, and slag hot metal rained down around me. I curled up, and wished I was in a better place. Looked like the bastards were going to kill me out here. Damn it all.

When I was a kid, we used pinecones for fire kindling. They weren't intelligent, and they definitely weren't soldiers. They were pinecones. However, something unique to pinecones was the construction of their Microgametophytes. Between those, and the overall micropyle structure, energy could be stored and released in higher percentages instantly, rather than burned out over the course of several hours. The technical specifications weren't really all that difficult, just precise. When combined with just a few grams of cyclotrimethylene trinitramine and a small vial, nor more than a quart, of a 70-30 compound of kerosene-petroleum would produce a low flash-point, high yield explosive. Unlike the traditional use of cyclotrine, C4, the output was much more consistent with petroleum output of heat. This energy conversion, about 31% mass to energy conversion, was more efficient than traditional gasoline by a factor of 10, and much more space efficient as well.

However, experimentation with further compounds produced something altogether less tame than high-yield explosives. It produced sentience. Not in the traditional way, but it enables the pinecone to take active roles in avoiding danger. With enough experimentation, the pinecone even managed to gain appendages, which it used to avoid drops of acid. The scientific community went nuts with speculation.

Before any more experiments could be undergone, the UN intervened. Like all great political machines, nothing happened for a long time. Without constant medical supervision, the pinecones managed to replicate in small ways. Although the resulting trees weren't full-grown, their pinecones had evolved into distinct creatures from their lesser cousins. The worst part is despite their vague sentience, and active safeguards to avoid danger, their yield was even greater than that of nonsentience. The sentient pinecones produced roughly 40% of mass-to-energy conversion. To illustrate, two such pinecones could power a fully-loaded standard UN Humvee from Portugal to Denmark and back. Roughly 5,800 kilometers.

The world had no follies with murdering plants for power. Who would? Given hunting practices and even vegans unable to claim moral high-ground, it took less than a month for the practice to go from a scientific anomaly to universal practice. However, Darwin's theories held something infinitely more sinister for the future of the scientifically altered pinecones. What the world never saw coming was the pinecone that fought back.

The biology of the pinecone wasn't sufficient to threaten the human, but it managed to escape the fuel canister. With fewer options, and the likelihood of termination improbably high in human society, the pinecone fled. By that time, ~1% of the scientifically modified product had somehow escaped its captivity and managed to breed in the wild. The result was a pine forest appearing somewhere in France. Each successive generation had further improvements. Little things that would encourage self-sufficience within the pinecones. The wild pinecones had managed to create an improvised society in the forests of France.

The humans didn't realize the problem until six decades later, when a representative from Pine appeared at the UN doorstep seeking independence and recognition on the world's stage. The representative was all wooden, vaguely humanoid, but stout. It spoke French, but the sounds weren't quite right, as if the machinations in place were speaking through a wall. Without any sort of guard, however, the each country's top scientists immediately made plans to ambush the emissary. Russia ended up actually capturing the creature, cutting it apart and dissecting it's body for explanation of sentience, speech, and intelligence.

What the Russians discovered was even more improvement. The internals of the creature had further refined the compound. Including more complex amino acid and hydrocarbon chains, the product yield was a staggering 48% mass-to-energy. However, further experimentation proved that the flash point had gone from a relatively stable 60°C down to a nearly room temperature 21°C. Worse still, the auto-ignition temperature was only 30°C. With such a high mass-to-energy conversion rate, and the weight of the emissary, any accidental detonation would produce an explosion the size of small cities. Ground zero would have a detonation velocity of 19,821 m/s.

This news reached the world at the same time as the Pine army. Soldiers carrying crude crossbows and cutlery began attacking cities in droves. By the time military personnel was deployed, casualties were already enormous. Worst still was each confirmed kill. If a bullet pierced the core of any Pine soldier, there was a 20% chance of detonation. Although the compound was more percussive than heat, it was still enough damage to destroy entire cities. Within the next decade, pockets of human resistance were the only thing preventing the entire world from being under Pine dictatorships.

I shook my head, and pulled myself to my feet. My sidearm was armed with hollowpoint ammunition, which was a very low-risk ammunition against the Pine. The trick was to kill each opponent with nervous shock, rather than internal damage. I rolled into a firing stance, aimed high, and placed two rounds down range. The soldier twitched twice as my rounds ripped into his face. The soldier was massive, at least 2,500 kilograms, and nearly five meters in height. The Pine themselves were more or less humanoid, though much more dense than tall. Foliage sprouted at odd angles on their bark-flesh, and made acquiring good angles of attack difficult. I steadied my breathing, fired three more shots, and turned to run.

The desert was the worst environment for the Pine, so it's where I had decided to set up shop. Although they gained energy from sunlight, they couldn't wage campaigns without a significant amount of water. My bunker was made of concrete, and had towers specifically for this sort of defense. Although I couldn't have light machine guns or major ordinance, I could stash multiple assault weapons on my perimeter towers. The Pine returned fire with traditional armor piercing rounds, but I had designed my tower with that approach in mind. Interlinked galvanized steel and concrete chips absorbed hundreds of rounds before breaking. I stayed low to the too-warm, sun bleached stone, and fired in quick, chattering bursts.

Headshots were both the safest and most effective methods. Their heads were wide and squat, but despite being larger targets than human heads, the foliage made target acquisition sketchy at best. I emptied a 90-round magazine, quickly reloaded, chambering another round, and resumed firing. Bullets whistled by my ears as I ducked my head reflexively lower. It was already getting dark, and their sight was actually worse than humans by nightfall. They began retreating, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I spoke a big game, and had plenty of practice fighting, but every gunfight represented a very high likelihood of me dying.

I ejected my magazine, set it in the pouch I carried at my hip, and went into my bunker proper. The smooth concrete was sanded down to be perfectly rounded. Each successive stairwell got me lower and deeper into the bunker, where it went from military installation to my home. I opened the door, and greeted my wife. She smiled when she saw me, as always and her foliage shuffled gently as she bounded toward me.

That's right, foliage. My wife is also a Pine. Yeah, yeah. I've heard the lectures already... Spare me. Here's the thing people don't seem to understand about the Pine. Their history, their dystopian assaults on our cities. Those are the works of tyrants, definitely, but not those of a species. Like humans, the worst of the worst isn't simply narrowed down to a certain race or religion. Evil exists in individuals, not groups. Every single Pine I killed was someone worthy of my scorn as a person. As a people, the Pine were no different than humans. At least, not ethically. And above all, there were individuals in the Pine camp who were more humane than a majority of humanity.

To point, I was once my wife's pet. Her human plaything. I convinced her to defect, and we both live to stave off the onslaught of tyrants, be them human, pine, canine, whatever... She was also gorgeous naked.

What? I'm a guy, don't look at me like that.

My muscles ached, I was sore, tired, and afraid that my hunts tomorrow were going to earn me another long gunfight that lasted until twilight. It was certainly no way to live, and I was at the end of an increasingly short rope. However, as I felt leaf-filled fingers massage my neck and shoulders, I was alive and loved. It was enough for now.

That is, until her wife came home. The second Pine who lived in my bunker was considerably thinner, infinitely more shapely, and reminded me of my ex-wife before the Pine overtook my town. For the rest of the night, I got to watch lesbian Pine sex. Like I said, enough for now.

Tomorrow, it was looking pretty likely that I was going to get killed in another shootout. Until then, I dreamed about joining the damned union...


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Re: Hubilub's Pinecorn Porn

Post by Pararaptor on Fri Mar 25, 2011 11:31 pm

So when's the full novel coming?
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Re: Hubilub's Pinecorn Porn

Post by Salarian Spy on Sat Mar 26, 2011 4:48 am

Pararaptor wrote:So when's the full novel coming?

Likely never. I'm bad enough about never finishing short stories, much less novel-length works.

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Re: Hubilub's Pinecorn Porn

Post by Pararaptor on Sat Mar 26, 2011 4:56 am

A pity. Good stuff.
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Re: Hubilub's Pinecorn Porn

Post by Hubilub on Sat Mar 26, 2011 9:37 am

*steals idea for movie pitch*

Getting rich and famous

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Re: Hubilub's Pinecorn Porn

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