One of my customers has been ignoring my emails today, which is very out of character. It's not anything particularly urgent, but I decided to follow up with a phone call
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And suddenly it's head-canon for me that there's a major Starfleet Engineering convention that takes place every five years somewhere on the Canadian prairie. No one who isn't invited is ever told quite where, and tracking devices are disabled with extreme malice. Students who hear rumours of it are told that it is full of gravitas and great advancements in the field and maybe one day they'll be badass brilliant enough to snag an invite but NOT THIS DAY. No one's even sure if it's a real thing.
In reality, of course, it involves programming beer robots and lie-boasting and complaining at length about how no other department understands their GENIUS, omg. Starfleet Command has in fact attempted to stamp out this meeting several times, out of entirely justified fear that they'll blow up the Earth one day in the middle of one of their drunken bets and attempts to bend physics to the breaking point. Unfortunately, engineers appear to find the whole thing even more fun when it's on the thin edge of illegal.
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In reality, of course, it involves programming beer robots and lie-boasting and complaining at length about how no other department understands their GENIUS, omg. Starfleet Command has in fact attempted to stamp out this meeting several times, out of entirely justified fear that they'll blow up the Earth one day in the middle of one of their drunken bets and attempts to bend physics to the breaking point. Unfortunately, engineers appear to find the whole thing even more fun when it's on the thin edge of illegal.
Fucking redshirts.
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