Codex Transportica

A Slow Year

admin — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 10:52:56 +0000

We are still here.

We thank Deozaan for informing us about the broken links. All should be working again now.

Comments are still locked – due to spam levels.

See you in 2011 – probably.

Marangoni Soap Bubble Car

admin — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 22:59:49 +0000

(aka The Clean Machine)

Bringing a whole new meaning to the term “cleaner emissions”, the Soap Bubble Car was the brainchild of wealthy research chemist (with an obsessive compulsive disorder for cleanliness) Serge Marangoni. His discovery of complex chemical compounds resulted in fluids with astonishingly high surface tension, easily strong enough to support the weight of a man. (In fact it was widely reported that one of his assistants remains trapped in a large soap bubble to this day. Dead, but very, very clean).

Here we see Marangoni himself, in his trademark trilby hat and raincoat, test driving an early prototype bubble car. Locomotion and steering is achieved by cunning deployment of airstreams into the four drive “wheels”, which cause them to rotate (for forward / reverse) and change size (to cause turning left or right).

Useful side-effects of bubble technology include the fact that the entire vehicle acts as an airbag in the event of a collision, and that it never needs to be washed.

Hydrogen-Assisted Lunar Facade (half-moon)

admin — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 22:59:53 +0000

Rightly or wrongly, many people blame the New Columbians for a lot of the world’s ills, but there can be no denying the enormity of the mistake (or ‘miscalculation’ as they put it) of continued and repeated tests of their new Positron bomb (an antimatter weapon with enormous destructive power (more later)) using the Earth’s Moon as a target.

Unfortunately, the final test was also the final straw, and the Moon collapsed into a cloud of antimatter which girdled the Earth for several weeks, ruining all astronomical observations and causing psychosis in wolves across the world, who had nothing to howl at.

Amazingly, the accident was successfully kept under wraps for many years afterward, thanks to the HALF project. From remote locations across the planet, small hydrogen balloons were launched every night into the hazy atmosphere, to provide a facsimile of the Moon.

As can be seen from the illustration, the phases of the moon are easily controlled by the Segmented Human Assisted Mask Mechanism (or SHAMM) with the controller (also known as the Lunar Tick due to his insect-like upper atmosphere protection garb) simply pulling on the appropriate control line.

The imitation was actually surprisingly good, and it was only due to one of the balloons exploding (those Lunar Ticks were mad enough to smoke while on duty) that the pretence was finally exposed.

Van der Graaff Perambulator

admin — Sun, 24 May 2009 22:59:27 +0000

The concept of “modern medicine” in the tiny country of Ruckwartigesland (a minute principality buried deep in the so-called Eastern Bloc) was a strange combination of outre concepts coupled with the outcome of horrific experimental vivisection. Most of the population is able to trace its ancestry back to a certain Luigi Galvani, a scientist convinced that electricity could bring the recently-deceased back to life. Years of obsessive research down through the generations brought this concept ever-closer to fruition.

Is there anything more devastating than the grief of a parent who has lost an infant? It was this very thing that drove Professor Vaso Incrinato to his greatest-ever creation: the Van der Graaff Perambulator. When his newborn baby son was discovered lifeless in his cot just a few days after birth, Incrinato became consumed by the desire to reanimate the child.

The corpse was frozen, and for the next 37 years the professor became a recluse in his laboratory, working with corpses obtained from the local mortuary. The authorities soon stopped this practice, but it simply drove him underground, paying large sums to local criminals who were able to “find” suitable bodies for his continued studies.

We see a grieving professor moving the perambulator into position in anticipation of a large electrical storm. Note the huge discharge electrodes set at a 45 degree angle to the main hyper-conductive infant containment unit (ICU).

Shortly after this image was created, a massive bolt of lightning struck the ICU as planned. Unfortunately, the stroke was conducted through the entire apparatus, and Incrinato was killed immediately. His child was discovered shortly thereafter, alive and perfectly healthy.

For a time, the young Ahren Incrinato became a messianic superstar – his resurrection was considered by many to be the Second Coming. But, as he matured he developed an all consuming guilt complex; believing himself to be the cause of his father’s death.

Around the time of his 37th birthday, Ahren vanished along with the original Van der Graaff Perambulator and, coincidently, his father’s grave was also exhumed by suspected robbers – the pram was found abandoned soon after but the corpse never retrieved.

Psychischer Todesgeck’s Trichairatops

admin — Sun, 17 May 2009 22:59:54 +0000

Taking its cue from the dragsters of the late 20th and early 21st century, the visually stunning Trichairatops was seen by many as the acme of chopper evolution, and represented a new vogue in the fusion of power, style and, of course, huge difficulty of operation. A renegade from “Die Totungirrtotungen” biker gang, Psychischer Todesgeck and his sidekick Fetter Klumpen were renowned for their outre designs and eclectic use of design cues.

In the case of the Trichairatops the design was so impossible to ride without computer assistance that a small parabolic steering guide (see diagram) had to be added after several near-fatal collisions.

Note the Midi-sized iReactor Nuclear PowerCubette situated in the centre of the vehicle. Despite its name, this unit is hugely powerful – and hugely illegal (the birth defect statistics alone are staggering). This small atomic reaction chamber can be seen feeding a sub-miniature bi-axial differential with anti-hysterisis gerotor pump, which is able to put around 8000 bhp to the drive wheels.

The careful observer will also notice the wiring loom running from the driver’s seat. Although intended only as a throttle control to the power unit, a minor design flaw created a feedback loop back through the wiring. High voltages were pumped directly back to the driver, and as a testament to the massive power running through the vehicle, supercharged plasma effects (St Elmo’s fire) would arc from the driver’s horned helmet in a visually stunning lightning storm around his head.

Unfortunately this effect did in fact fry most of Psychischer’s neurons, and he became little more than a mindless passenger of his own vehicle. Eventually his partner took advantage of this, and it is now possible to book “The Psychischer Todesgeck’s Trichairatops Experience” for children’s parties, weddings and birthdays.

Related Post:
Fuhrertotungirrtotung Fred

Fuhrertotungirrtotung Fred’s Hi-Wheel

admin — Sun, 10 May 2009 22:59:03 +0000

(aka “the Velocibleed”)

With an ironic tip of the spiked helmet to the old “penny farthing” bicycles of yore, the outlaw biker gang “Die Totungirrtotungen” (literally “kill madman, kill!”) harken back to days of a better class of criminal.

Scrupulously polite, well-educated, witty and utterly deadly, it was a matter of utmost honour to this gang to maximise robbery, violence and death whilst “keeping it classy”. Bank heists were often accompanied by a small chamber orchestra. Gang slayings took the form of a traditional pheasant shoot, with beaters flushing out rival gang members from hiding, where they would run across the path of the gang’s myriad projectile weapons. Tea would then be served.

Indeed, victims could expire happily, secure in the knowledge that this was the truly urbane death experience: from the tip of the pearl-handled AK-47’s spitting out bespoke hand-engraved “bullettes” all the way up to the highly-polished depleted uranium spike of the Pickelhauben.

Here, Fuhrertotungirrtotung Fred, the gang leader, can be seen in classic pose aboard his Hi-Wheel. Note the complex control mechanisms whereby the vehicle is actually controlled by synaptic couplings in the rider’s helmet, using direct psi-transmission to the small Quidnac Motorrad-class vehicle controller (with safety override overridden). The handlebars are purely vestigial, in place mainly for cosmetic or traditional reasons.

Clearly irritated, or possibly bored, by the inhabitants of the crushed vehicle in his wake, Fred has simply accelerated over the entire car. Closer inspection of his front tyre explains all: it appears that the Velocibleed’s enormous wheel has, horrifically, squeezed the driver out through the windshield. Using one’s cell-phone whilst driving is both bad-mannered and dangerous to others. Actions guaranteed to offend a paid-up member of the Totungirrtotungen.

From out of the horizon

admin — Mon, 04 May 2009 20:26:23 +0000

There will be a new post very soon. Regular updates are then expected to follow afterwards. Thank you for being patient – your dedication is noted. We have studied hard to bring you further revelations from the Transportica.

New Horizon

admin — Sun, 22 Feb 2009 22:59:57 +0000

The following diary extract becomes illegible towards the end – as does the remainder of the Codex Transportica pages.

This will not be the final translation from the book but it will be the last of the current weekly updates. As we manage to decipher the scribble we’ll post our new findings here.

We thank you for your patience.
Mr. Pearson & Mr. Smith

I was staring out towards the horizon. Something was burning, something close. I tried to find the smoke; I could smell it, but I could not see where it was coming from. Then I was indoors; sitting or standing. I could now feel the heat from the fire. The smell of the smoke was becoming unbearable. I began to panic, where are the flames? I could hear the spits and crackles – it was close, immediate and impossibly close.

I shook my head, opened my eyes wide and then stared into each corner of the room; pausing, staring, eyes straining, looking for a small flicker, trying to perceive a slight distortion in the background. The flames were obviously invisible but the heat coming from the fire would cause the light passing through it to bend just like a lens. I saw nothing.

This was very odd. My senses said I was in danger, but from something that was not there. Then I realised, this would not happen in the real world – I had to be asleep. No matter then, I wriggled and stretched the whole of my dream body; this would break through the cocoon of my sleeping outer self and I’d awake – safe and away from the invisible fire.

Instantly, I was back in the real world. Sitting in the armchair and almost upon the hearth as the fire inside it threatened to lash out at my shins. I kicked the gate shut, forcing the fire to die but not without almost burning the end of my slipper. I must have fell asleep, not thinking of how close I was to the fireplace – obviously it wasn’t my intention to burn to death during my cosy slumber. I felt angry at my own stupidity, but I’d avoided an accident and that is all that counts.

Feeling like I’d narrowly escaped a little disaster, well, a possible almighty disaster, I decided I would get a breath of fresh air – better open the doors and windows to let out the smoke too. Walking through the kitchen I picked up the glass of sherry I must have poured myself earlier and stepped out the back door into the garden.

I managed only one step forward. My trailing leg hovering between kitchen and outside. I felt the glass slip away from my grip and as it hit the concrete path I seemed to simultaneously put my foot down onto the sharp jagged remains. I wasn’t certain, but it seemed that a very pointy bit of glass was sticking through my slipper and into the sole of my foot – in a moment, I’d investigate if the perceived pain was justified.

The outside was not my outside, not the outside of my house, at least. I was in a landscape, unrecognisable and scorched. Landmarks gone, or perhaps never even there, I saw nothing familiar – even the sky looked the wrong shade of blue. Too deep, too vivid – too solid.

And then I saw something move directly in front of me, on the horizon, a black spec. Small, almost imperceptible. Perhaps I should follow it, after I’ve tended to my foot, of course. And then I realised the black spec was getting bigger. It was heading towards my house – towards me. I looked down at my slippers. They are awfully threadbare I thought to myself…

(But the soles are still good.)

Sprungtopf’s Tarantulifter

admin — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 22:59:57 +0000

With Sprungtopf trapped in his Orb at the bottom of the moat (see reference at end) it was left to the castle’s Mobile Engineering & Science Section (MESS) to try and develop a solution to the problem before he ran out of oxygen and died.

Unfortunately it was over three weeks even before the design stage for the lifter was complete, and a further six months before the lifter itself was produced; but certainly no-one was able to say that the MESS team did not do a thorough job and see it through to completion.

Experiments have revealed that spider silk is superior to high-grade steel in terms of tensile and ductile strength, and therefore an obvious choice for a lifting operation of this kind. Specially enhanced tarantulas known as Bio-Operated Robotically Improved Spiders (or BORIS) were developed, largely thanks to the king’s own research over the years. These enhanced arachnids produced thread capable of lifting several tonnes if fed on a diet of flies with a side order of depleted uranium.

The illustration here shows the completed Tarantulifter in deployment position. The tarantula can be seen in a semi-clasp position, and observant viewers will have spotted the neural implant to allow the operator to control the spider’s silk production and basic movement. In this case the implant is encased in a lead weight to allow the spider to sink through the waters of the moat.

Levers at the operator’s station allow control of silk generation, grasp and lift as well as basic forward/reverse control of the twin engines powering the drive wheels of the platform itself. Note that the platform is transported on caterpillar tracks – closer inspection reveals that these tracks are indeed made from real caterpillars, bred for flexibility and load-bearing properties.

Impressively, Sprungtopf’s Orb (by now his tomb) was indeed lifted from the moat via the Tarantulifter, and the whole operation was hailed as a complete success. The fact that the king was long dead by this time was merely an annoying detail to the Engineers of MESS.

Sprungtopf’s Orb Royale

admin — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 22:59:26 +0000

(aka the Court Circular).

The final chapter in the chronicles of King Sprungtopf reveals the story of his Orb Royale – a giant riveted platinum-clad windowless sphere, into which he would often retreat during his ever-more-frequent bouts of madness. Fitted-out comfortably with a small gyroscopic travelling throne, toilet facilities and mini-bar, the king was able to spend hours on end safely ensconced in the darkness.

Solitude and sensory deprivation gave his Majesty a unique insight into the mind of his lowest, most deprived, insect subjects (or so he assumed). How better to learn the ways of the worm and the maggot than be blind and limbless. Indeed, the King had genuine empathy for the insects he ruled over – he simply saw no reason to extend this sentiment to humans.

Locomotion was provided by a specially trained beetle (Coleoptera Regillus Pilaperigitus – literally “pusher of the King’s balls”) bred for strength and stamina, and able to move the considerable weight of the Orb Royale with surprising aplomb. Note the elegantly dressed Scarabasseur whose principal role was to guide the beetle from place to place according to the king’s shouted instructions. Fear of horrific punishment ensured that the Scarabasseur never left his post for a moment, and it was actually this that led to a series of tragic events.

Secure in his orb, the king finally crossed the line into complete dementia. Hours inside the ball turned into days as his sanity unravelled, and outside the poor Scarabasseur degenerated correspondingly: unfed, unkempt and filthy, the beetle’s handler eventually collapsed and starved to death, leaving the King trapped within the orb as the determined little beetle, without direction, rolled him slowly toward, and finally into, the moat.

Thaddeus Braxton decreed that the ball remain in place under the water, where it can still be seen to this day – a final testament to King Sprungtopf’s mad times as ruler in the Court of Mystery, on the island of Saint Eustatius.