Gravitas: China's answer to the QUAD

China has announced the Global Security Initiative as an answer to the QUAD. Beijing says the new initiative will promote a peaceful world based on sovereignty, cooperation & dialogue. Palki Sharma exposes China’s real intentions.

#Gravitas #Chin #QUAD

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  1. Aren’t they at least going to try?” D-Caf pressed. “I mean, in this old movie they landed on the comet, I mean I think maybe it was a comet, and they were drilling holes down into it and putting nuclear bombs and —”

  2. Palki, if possible leave your biased tone! I subscribed here because I thought it is a neutral news source.


  4. When the multi reactor carrier comes on line. All navy's will cower in fear. And everything else. Will be obsolete.

  5. Mo’Steel was hooked onto a semi-enclosed chairlift that moved about five times faster than the usual ski lift. But then this wasn’t a ski lift. This wasn’t skiing. No snow in sight at this altitude, though there was a nice snowcap higher up. The lift was just a sort of hook, really, a bare little seat and a steel ring to hold him in place and a plastic bubble to trap oxygen and a bit of warmth. His feet hung free. Fifty-foot-tall trees reached up practically to brush the wheels of Mo’Steel’s skates as he skimmed along above them. The birds were all down there, flitting white and gray and russet shapes. He was above the birds. He twisted in the lift to look back at distant Denver, smoggy and sprawled out at the foot of the mountains. He pitied those people down there. Pitied them because all they were doing was grinding along, stuck on slow, while he was on the edge of the ultimate. He turned away from the city and peered down through the trees again. Here and there he saw sections of The Pipe. The Six Flags over Colorado Skateboggan was the official name, which was just pitiful. They should have known everyone would be calling it The Pipe. Capital T, capital P. The Pipe was an eight-foot-diameter tube, all blast-glass, Teflon, and neon inside, dull brown-painted aluminum outside. It ran from near the top of Mount Cisco Systems all the way to the bottom: an eleven-thousand-foot drop. But not just a drop, oh no. The Pipe split into four intertwining, interlocking branches, zooming back and forth down the mountain’s face, so that the eleven-thousand-twenty-foot vertical actually ended up being closer to twenty thousand linear feet. Twenty thousand feet: three-point-eight miles, give o

  6. He slapped the helmet down on his head, made sure it was seated properly. He spun the little wheels set in the edge of his gloves. He kicked his skates together, testing the feel of them. Knee pads, on. Elbow pads, on. Mo’Steel was not a big jock. He was never going to play professional basketball or football — he was too small for either. Not small small, just normal size, and normal size was death in pro sports. He had broad shoulders and somewhat bowed legs and a concave belly. His face was defined by a wide, smiling mouth and eyes set too far apart for classic good looks. There was a reptilian quality to him, but a nice reptile: a happy lizard with quick movements and sudden grins and long brown hair that bounced every time he yelled. Which was fairly often since Mo’Steel’s normal mode of conversation was a goofy, wild-eyed yell. He was over the snow now, the almost year-round snow. The wind whipped up seriously, whistling over the mountain’s peak, and pushed freezing tendrils through the chairlift’s heatglow. They said the inside of The Pipe was warm. And plenty of air, too. That was good because he didn’t want to do this all numb and wheezing. The point was to feel. The chair cleared a rock ledge and there it was, all at once: The Sink. There could be no other name for it, although the Six Flags people i

  7. It was The Sink. Capital T, capital S. It was sixty feet across, a rounded out, perfectly smooth dimple in the top of the mountain, carved into living rock. In the bottom of The Sink was a drain. That drain was the opening of The Pipe. The chair rose, circled, jerked on its cable as it dropped lower. Time to take the test. “Lock and load,” Mo’Steel said.

  8. He opened the safety belt and dropped the three feet to the gently sloped upper sink. He could still chicken out if he wanted. He could skate out of The Sink and wait to catch the next downward chair. Yeah. Right. Mo’Steel had never b

  9. Mo’Steel had never bunnied out. He had broken five major bones — four of them so badly that they’d been replaced with either composites or regrown-bone-over-titanium. His left humerus, right clavicle, right tibia, and fibula were artificial. He was proud of the damage. He’d traded his birth name of Romeo Gonzalez for the name Mo’Steel — either for Man Of Steel or More Steel, he couldn’t quite recall which — right after the spectacularly gross (and painful) tibia-fibula break. Breaking body parts was acceptable. Going all bunny rabbit was not.

  10. Mo’Steel changed his angle of attack and dropped down, turned, caught a cool centrifugal, then cut down and all at once, no time for second thoughts now, he was in The Pipe.

  11. The Pipe took it easy for the first three-hundred feet. Time to catch your breath, psych up, get ready. There were neon bands placed every fifty feet. The color of the neon changed depending on the slope. Here they glowed green. Later they would change to yellow. When you saw red bands flash by you were dropping nearly vertical.

  12. And then, there were the big purple streamers that would warn you of approaching intersections, and the white strobes to let you know you were coming onto an airborne. A lot to remember when your brain was screaming. 8

  13. Green, green, green,” as Mo’Steel got used to The Pipe, got used to the diameter, the unmarred smoothness. He slalomed a little, riding up and down the sides. How fast would he have to be going before he could pull a three-sixty? Then, all at once it was bye-bye, stomach, and he was blazing down through a blur of yellow. “Aaaaahhhh! Aaaaahhhh!” he yelled, an expression of purest joy.

  14. His link rang in his ear. What? He’d blocked his link, he had definitely blocked his link, and now he was crouched low, beating the air resistance, building speed, and the phone was still deedly-deedling in his ear. Faster, faster, so fast he could go airborne with a fart. Red lights ahead! “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”

  15. So fast now the wind was vibrating his cheeks, stretching his lips into an oblong “O.” Going red! The red neon was a blur. A smear of blood-light all around him. The link rang again. Distracting, to say the least, when the slightest wrong move would result in his sliding ignominiously down the entire remaining length of The Pipe. Oh, the humiliation! Deedly-deedly.

  16. humiliation! Deedly-deedly. “Argh! Link: Answer already!” he shouted in frustration. Purple streamer. Left or right? Left or right? He tried to remember the simulation he’d had to run through three times and master before he could be allowed to ride The Pipe. Left. No, right! A voice in his ear. “Mo, what’s up?” “Jobs? Aaaaaahhhhhh! Yeah! Yeah!” “Mo, what are you doing?”

  17. Left, left, left! A sudden, jerking, yellow-neon-three-gee-turn, then a sickening drop into allred territory and man, he’d only thought he was going fast before. He was falling like a rock, gravity, Mother G had him, falling faster and faster, skates barely touching the tunnel. “I’m riding The Pipe!” Mo’Steel yelled. “What? Now?”

  18. He pushed off ever so slightly, did a forward flip, and landed on his glove-wheels. Now he was rocketing along backward while standing (more or less) on his hands. It was perhaps the most deeply satisfying moment of his life. “Strobes!” Mo’Steel screamed giddily. “Hey, this is kind of important, Mo.” Ahead there was a perfect circle of sun

  19. Ahead there was a perfect circle of sunlight. Somersault. Upright and he was there before he could take a breath. There and all at once out of the pipe and flying through the air, shouting in glee, yelling, scared, wild, totally adrenal.

  20. The gap was thirty feet. Thirty feet of open, pipeless air. A flash of green and brown and a weirdly long, dream-slow view of blue sky. The opening of the next segment of pipe was flared wide to allow for windage. Mo’Steel pulled his legs up, raised his toes, spread his arms out like wings and hit the flared lip perfectly. “Jobs, you have got to do this! Aaaaahhhh! Aaaaahhhh!”

  21. Be careful China . You are in our nutruel country and we love you !!!!!! Celibrations we get a Chinese. Funeral , Family events , get Chinese . You're an honest Country China. We love Chinese food we love China .Keep to your principle Chinia . Keep moving a tiny bit forward China , towards peace unity and Justice from a nutrual country. 😃😃😃😃😀😀😀😀


  22. Mo, listen to me, man: no more broken bones. Take it slow. Something is happening. Something big. You don’t want to be in a body cast when it happens.” “Aaaaahhhhh! No, no, no yellow, no yellow, give me the red! Give me the red! Gimme RED! What’s happening, Jobs? What big thing?” “Mo, there’s an asteroid going to hit Earth. I don’t w

  23. Can’t they blow it up?” “No.” D-Caf thought about that for a moment. He trusted Mark, respected him. But at the same time he had always thought his brother lacked imagination. Mark was brilliant, no one argued with that, but he was not an imaginative person. D-Caf said, “In this old movie I saw on TV, I forget the name, something about an asteroid, anyway, they blew it up. Most of it, anyway.”

  24. anyway, they blew it up. Most of it, anyway.” “It’s too big, Hamster. If they were lucky maybe they’d knock a chunk off of it.” D-Caf bit his lip, then bit his thumbnail. “Don’t call me Hamster. My name is D-Caf, everyone calls me that. You can call me Harlin if you can’t handle D-Caf. Not Hamster.” “Whatever.” Mark returned his gaze to the monitor, gazing intently, working, worrying an idea, tapping fitfully at the keys, occasionally muttering a simple spoken command.

  25. D-Caf watched with what minimal patience he could summon. His brother had just announced the end of the world, and he seemed almost uninterested, distracted by the streaming number series on the monitor. “Aren’t they at least going to try?” D-Ca

  26. putting nuclear bombs and —” “Let it go, Hamster. Just let it go, all right?” Mark yelled. He slammed his hands down together on the desktop, sending a souvenir pencil holder from Ocean City crashing to the floor. He leaned over and picked it up, put the pencils back in, and returned the cup to its place. “Look,” M

  27. Mark spun back to his monitor, mad at himself for blowing up at his little brother, mad at D-Caf for making him blow up. He was more than just a big brother. He was all D-Caf had for family. Their parents had died ten years earlier when Mark was fifteen and Harlin was five. Under most circumstances the brothers would have been sent to foster homes. But Mark Melman was a resourceful kid. A prodigy in the arcane world of data flow mechanics. He was already employed by a major e-tailer while still in school, and he was able to use his income and his skill to evade the Maryland child protective services and keep his brother with him. Once he turned eighteen he sought and was granted legal custody. By then Mark Melman was employed by Oono Systems Inc., which, among other things, held major contracts with NASA.

  28. He had raised his little brother, doing a good job, mostly. But there had always been stresses and resentments. Mark hadn’t had much of a childhood himself and the weight of parenting had made him short-tempered, impatient. And D-Caf was honest enough about himself to know that he had never been an easy kid to handle. He was a daydreamer, a spacer, a person for whom ordinary life seemed dark and dull and slightly threatening. He spent his days reading, playing by himself, wandering away on long walks by the bay, watching the sailboats, forgetting homework, times, dates, duties. He would gladly have spent from sunrise to long after sunset with his face buried in a book, living a vicarious life.

  29. He was getting that way now, he could feel it, reacting to Mark’s tersely delivered, shattering news. His leg was bouncing. He was rocking back and forth. “They can’t just sit around, though. I mean, they’re trying something, right? I mean, all the technology we have, all the scientists and all.”

  30. Mark snorted derisively. “Yeah. They’re trying something all right. They’re calling it Mayflower. That’s fairly pathetic. Mayflower? They had two weeks’ notice. What do you think they’re going to do in two weeks, build themselves a brand-new ship? They’re hauling some tired old shuttle out of mothballs, tacking on every half-tested bit of quack technology they can find — I mean, solar sails, hibernation, anything lying around in somebody’s lab. They’re gonna tack it all onto this shuttle, load it up with people, and shoot them off into space.”

  31. And they’re going to blow up the asteroid?” “No, Hamster, they’re going to go floating off through space like some lost lifeboat. That’s the big plan. That’s it. That’s all they’ve got.”

  32. D-Caf considered Mark’s statement, the way he delivered it, the sense of things being left unsaid. He was practically vibrating, forehead frowning and releasing, frowning and releasing, trying to resist the cascade of tension-agitation. “Can we go?” D-Caf asked. “Can we go on the shuttle?” “Didn’t you hear what I just told you?” “Yeah. But you kind of look on the negative side of stuff, Mark.”

  33. To D-Caf’s surprise, his brother barked out a genuine laugh. “Yeah, I do, huh? But, Ham — but brother, this isn’t about positive or negative. The Rock hits, that’s it. I wasn’t going to tell you. I was just going to make it all good for you: movies every night, all the junk food you want, whatever you wanted because what does it matter anymore, right? But even if you are annoying sometimes, you’re a very smart kid, and I’ve never lied to you yet.”

  34. annoying sometimes, you’re a very smart kid, and I’ve never lied to you yet.” D-Caf looked hard at his brother’s face. There was something more, something he wasn’t telling. D-Caf had the gift of knowing people’s emotions, understanding. Empathy. He felt some hesitation, some indecision from his brother.

  35. He waited, and stared, and said nothing, and at last Mark sighed and hung his head. “We can’t go on the Mayflower because we’re not a regular, stable family. That’s what they’re looking for. They’re rounding up NASA people and NASA contractors, and yeah, maybe that’s me, but only intact families. Anyway, the whole Mayflower Project is a stupid waste of time. But I guess there’s a small but measurable chance it will succeed, and no chance with anything else.” He sucked in a deep breath and looked hard at his brother. “So, look, if you want to, we’re going.”

  36. How?” Mark leaned forward. He twined his fingers, twisting them almost painfully. “Everyone’s doomed, brother. Everyone’s death warrant is signed, sealed, and waiting to be delivered. So killing . . . I mean, it wouldn’t be like killing in a normal way. And I still have Dad’s old gun.” D-Caf blinked. He knew his brother didn’t believe his own words, but he also knew he was very serious.


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