Whenever the topic is raised in popular media about porting a codebase written in an ‘antiquated’ programming language like Fortran or COBOL, very few people tend to object to this notion. After all, what could be better than ditching decades of crusty old code in a language that only your grandparents can remember as being relevant? Surely a clean and fresh rewrite in a modern language like Java, Rust, Python, Zig, or NodeJS will fix all ailments and make future maintenance a snap?

For anyone who has ever had to actually port large codebases or dealt with ‘legacy’ systems, their reflexive response to such announcements most likely ranges from a shaking of one’s head to mad cackling as traumatic memories come flooding back. The old idiom of “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”, purportedly coined in 1977 by Bert Lance, is a feeling that has been shared by countless individuals over millennia. Even worse, how can you ‘fix’ something if you do not even fully understand the problem?

In the case of languages like COBOL this is doubly true, as it is a domain specific language (DSL). This is a very different category from general purpose system programming languages like the aforementioned ‘replacements’. The suggestion of porting the DSL codebase is thus to effectively reimplement all of COBOL’s functionality, which should seem like a very poorly thought out idea to any rational mind.

Sticking To A Domain

The term ‘domain specific language’ is pretty much what it says it is, and there are many of such DSLs around, ranging from PostScript and SQL to the shader language GLSL. Although it is definitely possible to push DSLs into doing things which they were never designed for, the primary point of a DSL is to explicitly limit its functionality to that one specific domain. GLSL, for example, is based on C and could be considered to be a very restricted version of that language, which raises the question of why one should not just write shaders in C?

Similarly, Fortran (Formula translating system) was designed as a DSL targeting scientific and high-performance computation. First used in 1957, it still ranks in the top 10 of the TIOBE index, and just about any code that has to do with high-performance computation (HPC) in science and engineering will be written in Fortran or strongly relies on libraries written in Fortran. The reason for this is simple: from the beginning Fortran was designed to make such computations as easy as possible, with subsequent updates to the language standard adding updates where needed.

Fortran’s latest standard update was published in November 2023, joining the COBOL 2023 standard as two DSLs which are both still very much alive and very current today.

The strength of a DSL is often underestimated, as the whole point of a DSL is that you can teach this simpler, focused language to someone who can then become fluent in it, without requiring them to become fluent in a generic programming language and all the libraries and other luggage that entails. For those of us who already speak C, C++, or Java, it may seem appealing to write everything in that language, but not to those who have no interest in learning a whole generic language.

There are effectively two major reasons why a DSL is the better choice for said domain:

• Easy to learn and teach, because it’s a much smaller language
• Far fewer edge cases and simpler tooling

In the case of COBOL and Fortran this means only a fraction of the keywords (‘verbs’ for COBOL) to learn, and a language that’s streamlined for a specific task, whether it’s to allow a physicist to do some fluid-dynamic modelling, or a staff member at a bank or the social security offices to write a data processing application that churns through database data in order to create a nicely formatted report. Surely one could force both of these people to learn C++, Java, Rust or NodeJS, but this may backfire in many ways, the resulting code quality being one of them.

Tangentially, this is also one of the amazing things in the hardware design language (HDL) domain, where rather than using (System)Verilog or VHDL, there’s an amazing growth of alternative HDLs, many of them implemented in generic scripting and programming languages. That this prohibits any kind of skill and code sharing, and repeatedly, and often poorly, reinvents the wheel seems to be of little concern to many.

Non-Broken Code

A very nice aspect of these existing COBOL codebases is that they generally have been around for decades, during which time they have been carefully pruned, trimmed and debugged, requiring only minimal maintenance and updates while they happily keep purring along on mainframes as they process banking and government data.

One argument that has been made in favor of porting from COBOL to a generic programming language is ‘ease of maintenance’, pointing out that COBOL is supposedly very hard to read and write and thus maintaining it would be far too cumbersome.

Since it’s easy to philosophize about such matters from a position of ignorance and/or conviction, I recently decided to take up some COBOL programming from the position of both a COBOL newbie as well as an experienced C++ (and other language) developer. Cue the ‘Hello Business’ playground project.

For the tooling I used the GnuCOBOL transpiler, which converts the COBOL code to C before compiling it to a binary, but in a few weeks the GCC 15.1 release will bring a brand new COBOL frontend (gcobol) that I’m dying to try out. As language reference I used a combination of the Wikipedia entry for COBOL, the IBM ILE COBOL language reference (PDF) and the IBM COBOL Report Writer Programmer’s Manual (PDF).

My goal for this ‘Hello Business’ project was to create something that did actual practical work. I took the FileHandling.cob example from the COBOL tutorial by Armin Afazeli as starting point, which I modified and extended to read in records from a file, employees.dat, before using the standard Report Writer feature to create a report file in which the employees with their salaries are listed, with page numbering and totaling the total salary value in a report footing entry.

My impression was that although it takes a moment to learn the various divisions that the variables, files, I/O, and procedures are put into, it’s all extremely orderly and predictable. The compiler also will helpfully tell you if you did anything out of order or forgot something. While data level numbering to indicate data associations is somewhat quaint, after a while I didn’t mind at all, especially since this provides a whole range of meta information that other languages do not have.

The lack of semi-colons everywhere is nice, with only a single period indicating the end of a scope, even if it concerns an entire loop (perform). I used the modern free style form of COBOL, which removes the need to use specific columns for parts of the code, which no doubt made things a lot easier. In total it only took me a few hours to create a semi-useful COBOL application.

Would I opt to write a more extensive business application in C++ if I got put on a tight deadline? I don’t think so. If I had to do COBOL-like things in C++, I would be hunting for various libraries, get stuck up to my gills in complex configurations and be scrambling to find replacements for things like Report Writer, or be forced to write my own. Meanwhile in COBOL everything is there already, because it’s what that DSL is designed for. Replacing C++ with Java or the like wouldn’t help either, as you end up doing so much boilerplate work and dependencies wrangling.

A Modern DSL

Perhaps the funniest thing about COBOL is that since version 2002 it got a whole range of features that push it closer to generic languages like Java. Features that include object-oriented programming, bit and boolean types, heap-based memory allocation, method overloading and asynchronous messaging. Meanwhile the simple English, case-insensitive, syntax – with allowance for various spellings and acronyms – means that you can rapidly type code without adding symbol soup, and reading it is obvious even as a beginner, as the code literally does what it says it does.

True, the syntax and naming feels a bit quaint at first, but that is easily explained by the fact that when COBOL appeared on the scene, ALGOL was still highly relevant and the C programming language wasn’t even a glimmer in Dennis Ritchie’s eyes yet. If anything, COBOL has proven itself – much like Fortran and others – to be a time-tested DSL that is truly a testament to Grace Hopper and everyone else involved in its creation.

The General Instruments AY-3-8910 was a quite popular Programmable Sound Generator (PSG) that saw itself used in a wide variety of systems, including Apple II soundcards such as the Mockingboard and various arcade systems. In addition to the Yamaha variants (e.g. YM2149), two cut-down were created by GI: these being the AY-3-8912 and the AY-3-8913, which should have been differentiated only by the number of GPIO banks broken out in the IC package (one or zero, respectively). However, research by [fenarinarsa] and others have shown that the AY-3-8913 variant has some actual hardware issues as a PSG.

With only 24 pins, the AY-3-8913 is significantly easier to integrate than the 40-pin AY-3-8910, at the cost of the (rarely used) GPIO functionality, but as it turns out with a few gotchas in terms of timing and register access. Although the Mockingboard originally used the AY-3-8910, latter revisions would use two AY-3-8913 instead, including the MS revision that was the Mac version of the Mindscape Music Board for IBM PCs.

The first hint that something was off with the AY-3-8913 came when [fenarinarsa] was experimenting with effect composition on an Apple II and noticed very poor sound quality, as demonstrated in an example comparison video (also embedded below). The issue was very pronounced in bass envelopes, with an oscilloscope capture showing a very distorted output compared to a YM2149. As for why this was not noticed decades ago can likely be explained by that the current chiptune scene is pushing the hardware in very different ways than back then.

As for potential solutions, the [French Touch] project has created an adapter to allow an AY-3-8910 (or YM2149) to be used in place of an AY-3-8913.

Top image: Revision D PCB of Mockingboard with GI AY-3-8913 PSGs.

A major bottleneck with high-frequency wireless communications is the conversion from radio frequencies to optical signals and vice versa. This is performed by an electro-optic modulator (EOM), which generally are limited to GHz-level signals. To reach THz speeds, a new approach was needed, which researchers at ETH Zurich in Switzerland claim to have found in the form of a plasmonic phase modulator.

Although sounding like something from a Star Trek episode, plasmonics is a very real field, which involves the interaction between optical frequencies along metal-dielectric interfaces. The original 2015 paper by [Yannick Salamin] et al. as published in Nano Letters provides the foundations of the achievement, with the recent paper in Optica by [Yannik Horst] et al. covering the THz plasmonic EOM demonstration.

The demonstrated prototype can achieve 1.14 THz, though signal degradation begins to occur around 1 THz. This is achieved by using plasmons (quanta of electron oscillators) generated on the gold surface, who affect the optical beam as it passes small slots in the gold surface that contain a nonlinear organic electro optic material that ‘writes’ the original wireless signal onto the optical beam.

An unavoidable part of old home computer systems and kin like the Commodore PET is that due to the age of their components they will develop issues that go far beyond what was covered in the official repair manual, not to mention require unconventional repairs. A case in point is the 2001 series Commodore PET that [Ken Shirriff] recently repaired.

The initial diagnosis was quite straightforward: it did turn on, but only displayed random symbols on the CRT, so obviously the ICs weren’t entirely happy, but at least the power supply and the basic display routines seemed to be more or less functional. Surely this meant that only a few bad ICs and maybe a few capacitors had to be replaced, and everything would be fully functional again.

Initially two bad MOS MPS6540 ROM chips had to be replaced with 2716 EPROMs using an adapter, but this did not fix the original symptom. After a logic analyzer session three bad RAM ICs were identified, which mostly fixed the display issue, aside from a quaint 2×2 checkerboard pattern and completely bizarre behavior upon running BASIC programs.

Using the logic analyzer capture the 6502 MPU was identified as writing to the wrong addresses. Ironically, this turned out to be due to a wrong byte in one of the replacement 2716 EPROMs as the used programmer wasn’t quite capable of hitting the right programming voltage. Using a better programmer fixed this, but on the next boot another RAM IC turned out to have failed, upping the total of failed silicon to four RAM & two ROM ICs, as pictured above, and teaching the important lesson to test replacement ROMs before you stick them into a system.

Whilst recently perusing the fine wares for sale at the Vintage Computer Festival East, [Action Retro] ended up adopting a 1995 ProStar laptop. Unlike most laptops of the era, however, this one didn’t just have the typical trackpad and clicky mouse buttons, but also a D-pad and four suspiciously game controller looking buttons. This makes it rather like the 2002 Sony VAIO PCG-U subnotebook, or the 2018 GPD Win 2, except that inexplicably the manufacturer has opted to put these (serial-connected) game controls on the laptop’s palm rest.

Though branded ProStar, this laptop was manufactured by Clevo, who to this day produces generic laptops that are rebranded by everyone & their dog. This particular laptop is your typical (120 MHz) Pentium-based unit, with two additional PCBs for the D-pad and buttons wired into the mainboard.

Unlike the sleek and elegant VAIO PCG-U and successors, this Clevo laptop is a veritable brick, as was typical for the era, which makes the ergonomics of the game controls truly questionable. Although the controls totally work, as demonstrated in the video, you won’t be holding the laptop, meaning that using the D-pad with your thumb is basically impossible unless you perch the laptop on a stand.

We’re not sure what the Clevo designers were thinking when they dreamed up this beauty, but it definitely makes this laptop stand out from the crowd. As would you, if you were using this as a portable gaming system back in the late 90s.

Our own [Adam Fabio] was at VCF East this year as well, and was impressed by an expansive exhibit dedicated to Windows 95.

Have you ever felt the urge to make your own private binary format for use in Linux? Perhaps you have looked at creating the smallest possible binary when compiling a project, and felt disgusted with how bloated the ELF format is? If you are like [Brian Raiter], then this has led you down many rabbit holes, with the conclusion being that flat binary formats are the way to go if you want sleek, streamlined binaries. These are formats like COM, which many know from MS-DOS, but which was already around in the CP/M days. Here ‘flat’ means that the entire binary is loaded into RAM without any fuss or foreplay.

Although Linux does not (yet) support this binary format, the good news is that you can learn how to write kernel modules by implementing COM support for the Linux kernel. In the article [Brian] takes us down this COM rabbit hole, which involves setting up a kernel module development environment and exploring how to implement a binary file format. This leads us past familiar paths for those who have looked at e.g. how the Linux kernel handles the shebang (#!) and ‘misc’ formats.

On Windows, the kernel identifies the COM file by its extension, after which it gives it 640 kB & an interrupt table to play with. The kernel module does pretty much the same, which still involves a lot of code.

Of course, this particular rabbit hole wasn’t deep enough yet, so the COM format was extended into the .♚ (Unicode U+265A) format, because this is 2025 and we have to use all those Unicode glyphs for something. This format extension allows for amazing things like automatically exiting after finishing execution (like crashing).

At the end of all these efforts we have not only learned how to write kernel modules and add new binary file formats to Linux, we have also learned to embrace the freedom of accepting the richness of the Unicode glyph space, rather than remain confined by ASCII. All of which is perfectly fine.

Top image: Illustration of [Brian Raiter] surveying the fruits of his labor by [Bomberanian]

Recently [Dillan Stock] over at The Stock Pot YouTube channel bought a $17 ‘mushroom’ lamp from his local Kmart that listed ‘USB-C rechargeable’ as one of its features, the only problem being that although this is technically true, there’s a major asterisk. This Inaya-branded lamp namely comes with a USB-C cable with a rather prominent label attached to it that tells you that this lamp requires that specific cable. After trying with a regular USB-C cable, [Dillan] indeed confirmed that the lamp does not charge from a standard USB-C cable. So he did what any reasonable person would do: he bought a second unit and set about to hacking it.

[Dillan] also dug more into what’s so unusual about this cable and the connector inside the lamp. As it turns out, while GND & Vcc are connected as normal, the two data lines (D+, D-) are also connected to Vcc. Presumably on the lamp side this is the expected configuration, while using a regular USB-C cable causes issues. Vice versa, this cable’s configuration may actually be harmful to compliant USB-C devices, though [Dillan] did not try this.

With the second unit in hand, he then started hacking it, with the full plans and schematic available on his website.

The changes include a regular USB-C port for charging, an ESP32 board with integrated battery charger for the 18650 Li-ion cell of the lamp, and an N-channel MOSFET to switch the power to the lamp’s LED. With all of the raw power from the ESP32 available, the two lamps got integrated into the Home Assistant network which enables features such as turning the lamps on when the alarm goes off in the morning. All of this took about $7 in parts and a few hours of work.

Although we can commend [Dillan] on this creative hack rather than returning the item, it’s worrying that apparently there’s now a flood of ‘USB C-powered’ devices out there that come with non-compliant cables that are somehow worse than ‘power-only’ USB cables. It brings back fond memories of hunting down proprietary charging cables, which was the issue that USB power was supposed to fix.

One of the delights in Bash, zsh, or whichever shell tickles your fancy in your OSS distribution of choice, is the ease of which you can use scripts. These can be shell scripts, or use the Perl, Python or another interpreter, as defined by the shebang (#!) at the beginning of the script. This signature is followed by the path to the interpreter, which can be /bin/sh for maximum compatibility across OSes, but how does this actually work? As [Bruno Croci] found while digging into this question, it is not the shell that interprets the shebang, but the kernel.

It’s easy enough to find out the basic execution sequence using strace after you run an executable shell script with said shebang in place. The first point is in execve, a syscall that gets one straight into the Linux kernel (fs/exec.c). Here the ‘binary program’ is analyzed for its executable format, which for the shell script gets us to binfmt_script.c. Incidentally the binfmt_misc.c source file provides an interesting detour as it concerns magic byte sequences to do something similar as a shebang.

As a bonus [Bruno] also digs into the difference between executing a script with shebang or running it in a shell (e.g. sh script.sh), before wrapping up with a look at where the execute permission on a shebang-ed shell script is checked.

Human biology is very much like that of other mammals, and yet so very different in areas where it matters. One of these being human neurology, with aspects like the human brain and the somatosensory pathways (i.e. touch etc.) being not only hard to study in non-human animal analogs, but also (genetically) different enough that a human test subject is required. Over the past years the use of human organoids have come into use, which are (parts of) organs grown from human pluripotent stem cells and thus allow for ethical human experimentation.

For studying aspects like the somatosensory pathways, multiple of such organoids must be combined, with recently [Ji-il Kim] et al. as published in Nature demonstrating the creation of a so-called assembloid. This four-part assembloid contains somatosensory, spinal, thalamic and cortical organoids, covering the entirety of such a pathway from e.g. one’s skin to the brain’s cortex where the sensory information is received.

Such assembloids are – much like organoids – extremely useful for not only studying biological and biochemical processes, but also to research diseases and disorders, including tactile deficits as previously studied in mouse models by e.g. [Lauren L. Orefice] et al. caused by certain genetic mutations in Mecp2 and other genes, as well as genes like SCN9A that can cause clinical absence of pain perception.

Using these assembloids the development of these pathways can be studied in great detail and therapies developed and tested.

Once the domain of esoteric scientific and business computing, floating point calculations are now practically everywhere. From video games to large language models and kin, it would seem that a processor without floating point capabilities is pretty much a brick at this point. Yet the truth is that integer-based approximations can be good enough to hit the required accuracy. For example, approximating floating point multiplication with integer addition, as [Malte Skarupke] recently had a poke at based on an integer addition-only LLM approach suggested by [Hongyin Luo] and [Wei Sun].

As for the way this works, it does pretty much what it says on the tin: adding the two floating point inputs as integer values, followed by adjusting the exponent. This adjustment factor is what gets you close to the answer, but as the article and comments to it illustrate, there are plenty of issues and edge cases you have to concern yourself with. These include under- and overflow, but also specific floating point inputs.

Unlike in scientific calculations where even minor inaccuracies tend to propagate and cause much larger errors down the line, graphics and LLMs do not care that much about float point precision, so the ~7.5% accuracy of the integer approach is good enough. The question is whether it’s truly more efficient as the paper suggests, rather than a fallback as seen with e.g. integer-only audio decoders for platforms without an FPU.

Since one of the nice things about FP-focused vector processors like GPUs and derivatives (tensor, ‘neural’, etc.) is that they can churn through a lot of data quite efficiently, the benefits of shifting this to the ALU of a CPU and expecting (energy) improvements seem quite optimistic.

Using USB for powering devices is wonderful, as it frees us from a tangle of incompatible barrel & TRS connectors, not to mention a veritable gaggle of proprietary power connectors. The unfortunate side-effect of this is that the obvious thing to do with power connectors is to introduce splitters, which can backfire horribly, especially since USB-C and USB Power Delivery (USB-PD) were introduced. The [Quiescent Current] channel on YouTube recently went over the ways in which these handy gadgets can literally turn your USB-powered devices into a smoldering pile of ashes.

Much like Qualcomm’s Quick Charge protocols, USB-PD negotiates higher voltages with the power supply, after which this same voltage will be provided to any device that’s tapped into the power supply lines of the USB connector. Since USB-C has now also taken over duties like analog audio jacks, this has increased the demand for splitters, but these introduce many risks. Unless you know how these splitters are wired inside, your spiffy smartphone may happily negotiate 20V that will subsequently fry a USB-powered speaker that was charging off the same splitter.

In the video only a resistor and LED were sacrificed to make the point, but in a real life scenario the damage probably would be significantly more expensive.

Everyone knows that ultrasonic cleaners are great, but not every device that’s marketed as an ultrasonic cleaner is necessarily such a device. In a recent video on the Cheap & Cheerful YouTube channel the difference is explored, starting with a teardown of a fake one. The first hint comes with the use of the description ‘Multifunction cleaner’ on the packaging, and the second in the form of it being powered by two AAA batteries.

Unsurprisingly, inside you find not the ultrasonic transducer that you’d expect to find in an actual ultrasonic cleaner, but rather a vibration motor. In the demonstration prior to the teardown you can see that although the device makes a similar annoying buzzing noise, it’s very different. Subsequently the video looks at a small ultrasonic cleaner and compares the two.

Among the obvious differences are that the ultrasonic cleaner is made out of metal and AC-powered, and does a much better job at cleaning things like rusty parts. The annoying thing is that although the cleaners with a vibration motor will also clean things, they rely on agitating the water in a far less aggressive way than the ultrasonic cleaner, so marketing them as something which they’re not is very unpleasant.

In the video the argument is also made that you do not want to clean PCBs with an ultrasonic cleaner, but we think that people here may have different views on that aspect.

On 31 March of this year we had to bid farewell to Charlotte Elizabeth “Betty” Webb (née Vine-Stevens) at the age of 101. She was one of the cryptanalysts who worked at Bletchley Park during World War 2, as well as being one of the few women who worked at Bletchley Park in this role. At the time existing societal biases held that women were not interested in ‘intellectual work’, but as manpower was short due to wartime mobilization, more and more women found themselves working at places like Bletchley Park in a wide variety of roles, shattering these preconceived notions.

Betty Webb had originally signed up with the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS), with her reasoning per a 2012 interview being that she and a couple of like-minded students felt that they ought to be serving their country, ‘rather than just making sausage rolls’. After volunteering for the ATS, she found herself being interviewed at Bletchley Park in 1941. This interview resulted in a years-long career that saw her working on German and Japanese encrypted communications, all of which had to be kept secret from then 18-year old Betty’s parents.

Until secrecy was lifted, all her environment knew was that she was a ‘secretary’ at Bletchley Park. Instead, she was fighting on the frontlines of cryptanalysis, an act which got acknowledged by both the UK and French governments years later.

Writing The Rulebook

Although encrypted communications had been a part of warfare for centuries, the level and scale was vastly different during World War 2, which spurred the development of mechanical and electronic computer systems. At Bletchley Park these were the Bombe and Colossus computers, with the former being an electro-mechanical system. Both were used for deciphering German Enigma machine encrypted messages, with the tube-based Colossus taking over starting in 1943.

After enemy messages were intercepted, it was the task of these systems and the cryptanalysis experts to decipher them as quickly as possible. With the introduction of the Enigma machine by the Axis, this had become a major challenge. Since each message was likely to relate to a current event and thus time-sensitive, any delay in decrypting it would render the resulting decrypted message less useful. Along with the hands-on decrypting work, there were many related tasks to make this process work as smoothly and securely as possible.

Betty’s first task at Bletchley was to do the registering of incoming messages, which she began with as soon as she had been subjected to the contents of the Official Secrets Act. This forbade her from disclosing even the slightest detail of what she did or had seen at Bletchley, at the risk of severe punishment.

As was typical at Bletchley Park, each member of the staff there was kept as much in the dark of the whole as possible for operational security reasons. This meant that of the thousands of incoming messages per day, each had to be carefully kept in order and marked with a date and obfuscated location. She did see a Colossus computer once when it was moved into one of the buildings, but this was not one of her tasks, and snooping around Bletchley was discouraged for obvious reasons.

Paraphrasing

Although Betty’s German language skills were pretty good thanks to her mother’s insistence that she’d be able to take care of herself whilst travelling on the continent, the requirements for the translators at Bletchley were much more strict, and thus eventually she ended up working in the Japanese section located in Block F. After decrypting and translating the enemy messages, the texts were not simply sent to military headquarters or similar, but had to be paraphrased first.

The paraphrasing task entails pretty much what it says: taking the original translated message and paraphrasing it so that the meaning is retained, but any clues about what the original message was from which it was paraphrased is erased. In the case that such a message then falls into enemy hands, via a spy at HQ, it is made much harder to determine where this particular information was intercepted.

Betty was deemed to be very good at this task, which she attributed to her mother, who encouraged her to relate stories in her own words. As she did this paraphrasing work, the looming threat of the Official Secrets Act encouraged those involved with the work to not dwell on or remember much of the texts they read.

In May of 1945 with the war in Europe winding down, Betty was transferred to the Pentagon in the USA to continue her paraphrasing work on translated Japanese messages. Here she was the sole ATS girl, but met up with a girl from Hull with whom she had to share a room, and bed, in the rundown Cairo hotel.

With the surrender of Japan the war officially came to an end, and Betty made her way back to the UK.

Secrecy’s Long Shadow

When the work at Bletchley Park was finally made public in 1975, Betty’s parents had sadly already passed away, so she was never able to tell them the truth of what she had been doing during the war. Her father had known that she was keeping a secret, but because of his own experiences during World War 1, he had shown great understanding and appreciation of his daughter’s work.

After keeping her secrets along with everyone else at Bletchley, the Pentagon and elsewhere, Betty wasn’t about to change anything about this. Her husband had never indicated any interest in talking about it either. In her eyes she had just done her duty and that was good enough, but when she got asked to talk about her experiences in 1990, this began a period in which she would not only give talks, but also write about her experiences. In 2015 Betty was appointed a Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) and in 2021 as a Chevalier de la Légion d’Honneur (Knight of the Legion of Honour) in France.

Today, as more and more voices from of those who experienced World War 2 and who were involved the heroic efforts to stop the Axis forces fall silent, it is more important than ever to recognize their sacrifices and ingenuity. Even if Betty Webb didn’t save the UK by her lonesome, it was the combined effort from thousands of individuals like her that cracked the Enigma encryption and provided a constant flow of intel to military command, saving countless lives in the process and enabling operations that may have significantly shortened the war.

Top image: A Colossus Mark 2 computer being operated by Dorothy Du Boisson (left) and Elsie Booker (right), 1943 (Credit: The National Archives, UK)

History is rather dull and unexciting to most people, which naturally invites exciting flights of fancy that can range from the innocent to outright conspiracies. Nobody truly believes that the astounding finds and (fully functioning) ancient mechanisms in the Indiana Jones & Uncharted franchises are real, with mostly intact ancient cities waiting for intrepid explorers along with whatever mystical sources of power, wealth or influence formed the civilization’s foundations before its tragic demise. Yet somehow Plato’s fictive Atlantis has taken on a life of its own, along with many other ‘lost’ civilizations, whether real or imagined.

Of course, if these aforementioned movies and video games were realistic, they would center around a big archaeological dig and thrilling finds like pot shards and cuneiform clay tablets, not ways to smite enemies and gain immortality. Nor would it involve solving complex mechanical puzzles to gain access to the big secret chamber, prior to walking out of the readily accessible backdoor. Reality is boring like that, which is why there’s a major temptation to spruce things up. With the Egyptian pyramids as well as similar structures around the world speaking to the human imagination, this has led to centuries of half-baked ideas and outright conspiracies.

Most recently, a questionable 2022 paper hinting at structures underneath the Pyramid of Khafre in Egypt was used for a fresh boost to old ideas involving pyramid power stations, underground cities and other fanciful conspiracies. Although we can all agree that the ancient pyramids in Egypt are true marvels of engineering, are we really on the cusp of discovering that the ancient Egyptians were actually provided with Forerunner technology by extraterrestrials?

The Science of Being Tragically Wrong

In defense of fanciful theories regarding the Actual Truth about Ancient Egypt and kin, archaeology as we know it today didn’t really develop until the latter half of the 20th century, with the field being mostly a hobbyist thing that people did out of curiosity as well as a desire for riches. Along the way many comical blunders were made, such as the Runamo runes in Sweden that turned out to be just random cracks in dolerite.

Less funny were attempts by colonists to erase Great Zimbabwe (11th – ~17th century CE) and the Kingdom of Zimbabwe after the ruins of the abandoned capital were discovered by European colonists and explored in earnest by the 19th century. Much like the wanton destruction of local cultures in the Americas by European colonists and explorers who considered their own culture, religion and technology to be clearly superior, the history of Great Zimbabwe was initially rewritten so that no thriving African society ever formed on its own, but was the result of outside influences.

In this regard it’s interesting how many harebrained ideas about archaeological sites have now effectively flipped, with mystical and mythical properties being assigned and these ‘Ancients’ being almost worshipped. Clearly, aliens visited Earth and that led to pyramids being constructed all around the globe. These would also have been the same aliens or lost civilizations that had technology far beyond today’s cutting edge, putting Europe’s fledgling civilization to shame.

Hence people keep dogpiling on especially the pyramids of Giza and its surrounding complex, assigning mystical properties to their ventilation shafts and expecting hidden chambers with technology and treasures interspersed throughout and below the structures.

Lost Technology

The idea of ‘lost technology’ is a pervasive one, mostly buoyed by the axiom that you cannot disprove something, only find evidence for its absence. Much like the possibility of a teapot being in orbit around the Sun right now, you cannot disprove that the Ancient Egyptians did not have hyper-advanced power plants using zero point energy back around 3,600 BCE. This ties in with the idea of ‘lost civilizations‘, which really caught on around the Victorian era.

Such romanticism for a non-existent past led to the idea of Atlantis being a real, lost civilization becoming pervasive, with the 1960s seeing significant hype around the Bimini Road. This undersea rock formation in the Bahamas was said to have been part of Atlantis, but is actually a perfectly cromulent geological formation. More recently a couple of German tourists got into legal trouble while trying to prove a connection between Egypt’s pyramids to Atlantis, which is a theory that refuses to die along with the notion that Atlantis was some kind of hyper-advanced civilization and not just a fictional society that Plato concocted to illustrate the folly of man.

Admittedly there is a lot of poetry in all of this when you consider it from that angle.

People have spent decades of their life and countless sums of money on trying to find Atlantis, Shangri-La (possibly inspired by Shambhala), El Dorado and similar fictional locations. The Iram of the Pillars which featured in Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception is one of the lost cities mentioned in the Qur’an, and is incidentally another great civilization that saw itself meet a grim end through divine punishment. Iram is often said to be Ubar, which is commonly known as Atlantis of the Sands.

All of this is reminiscent of the Giant’s Causeway in Northern Ireland, and corresponding area at Fingal’s Cave on the Scottish isle of Staffa, where eons ago molten basalt cooled and contracted into basalt columns in a way that is similar to how drying mud will crack in semi-regular patterns. This particular natural formation did lead to many local myths, including how a giant built a causeway across the North Channel, hence the name.

Fortunately for this location, no ‘lost civilization’ tag became attached, and thus it remains a curious demonstration of how purely natural formations can create structures that one might assume to have required intelligence, thus providing fuel for conspiracies. So far only ‘Young Earth’ conspiracy folk have put a claim on this particular site.

What we can conclude is that much like the Victorian age that spawned countless works of fiction on the topic, many of these modern-day stories appear to be rooted in a kind of romanticism for a past that never existed, with those affected interpreting natural patterns as something more in a sure sign of confirmation bias.

Tourist Traps

One can roughly map the number of tourist visits with the likelihood of wild theories being dreamed up. These include the Egyptian pyramids, but also similar structures in what used to be the sites of the Aztec and Maya civilizations. Similarly the absolutely massive mausoleum of Qin Shi Huang in China with its world-famous Terracotta Army has led to incredible speculation on what might still be hidden inside the unexcavated tomb mound, such as entire seas and rivers of mercury that moved mechanically to simulate real bodies of water, a simulated starry sky, crossbows set to take out trespassers and incredible riches.

Many of these features were described by Sima Qian in the first century BCE, who may or may not have been truthful in his biography of Qin Shi Huang. Meanwhile, China’s authorities have wisely put further excavations on hold, as they have found that many of the recovered artefacts degrade very quickly once exposed to air. The paint on the terracotta figures began to flake off rapidly after excavation, for example, reducing them to the plain figures which we are familiar with.

Tourism can be as damaging as careless excavation. As popular as the pyramids at Giza are, centuries of tourism have taken their toll, with vandalism, graffiti and theft increasing rapidly since the 20th century. The Great Pyramid of Khufu had already been pilfered for building materials over the course of millennia by the local population, but due to tourism part of its remaining top stones were unceremoniously tipped over the side to make a larger platform where tourists could have some tea while gazing out over the the Giza Plateau, as detailed in a recent video on the History for Granite channel:

The recycling of building materials from antique structures was also the cause of the demise of the Labyrinth at the foot of the pyramid of Amenemhat III at Hawara. Once an architectural marvel, with reportedly twelve roofed courts and spanning a total of 28,000 m², today only fragments remain of its existence. This sadly is how most marvels of the Ancient World end up: looted ruins, ashes and shards, left in the sand, mud, or reclaimed by nature, from which we can piece together with a lot of patience and the occasional stroke of fortune a picture what it once may have looked like.

Pyramid Power

When in light of all this we look at the claims made about the Pyramid of Khafre and the persistent conspiracies regarding this and other pyramids hiding great secrets, we can begin to see something of a pattern. Some people have really bought into these fantasies, while for others it’s just another way to embellish a location, to attract more rubes tourists and sell more copies of their latest book on the extraterrestrial nature of pyramids and how they are actually amazing lost technologies. This latter category is called pseudoarcheology.

Pyramids, of course, have always held magical powers, but the idea that they are literal power plants seems to have been coined by one Christopher Dunn, with the publication of his pseudo-archeological book The Giza Power Plant in 1998. That there would be more structures underneath the Pyramid of Khafre is a more recent invention, however. Feeding this particular flight of fancy appears to be a 2022 paper by Filippo Biondi and Corrado Malanga, in which synthetic aperture radar (SAR) was used to examine said pyramid interior and subsurface features.

Somehow this got turned into claims about multiple deep vertical wells descending 648 meters along with other structures. Shared mostly via conspiracy channels, it widely extrapolates from claims made in the paper by Biondi et al., with said SAR-based claims never having been peer-reviewed or independently corroborated. On the Rational Wiki entry for these and other claims related to the Giza pyramids are savagely tossed under the category of ‘pyramidiots’.

Back in the real world, archaeologists have found a curious L-shaped area underneath a royal graveyard near Khufu’s pyramid that was apparently later filled in, but which seems to lead to a deeper structure. This is likely to be part of the graveyard, but may also have been a feature that was abandoned during construction. Currently this area is being excavated, so we’re likely to figure out more details after archaeologists have finished gently sifting through tons of sand and gravel.

There is also the ScanPyramids project, which uses non-destructive and non-invasive techniques to scan Old Kingdom-era pyramids, such as muon tomography and infrared thermography. This way the internal structure of these pyramids can be examined in-depth. One finding was that of a number of ‘voids’, which could mean any of a number of things, but most likely do not contain world-changing secrets.

To this day the most credible view is still that the pyramids of the Old Kingdom were used as tombs, though unlike the mastabas and similar tombs, there is a credible argument to be made that rather than being designed to be hidden away, these pyramids would be eternal monuments to the pharaoh. They would be open for worship of the pharaoh, hence the ease of getting inside them. Ironically this would make them more secure from graverobbers, which was a great idea until the demise of the Ancient Egyptian civilization.

This is a point that’s made succinctly on the History for Granite channel, with the conclusion being that this goal of ‘inspiring awe’ to worshippers is still effective today, simply judging by the millions of tourists each year to these monuments, and the tall tales that they’ve inspired.

Split keyboards are becoming more popular, but because they’re still relatively niche, they can be rather expensive if you want to buy one. So why not make your own? Sure, you could assemble one from a kit, but why not take a cheap mechanical keyboard, slice it in half and just waves hands connect the two halves back together? If this thought appeals to you, then [nomolk]’s literal hackjob video should not be ignored. Make sure to enable English subtitles for the Japanese-language video.

In it, the fancy (but cheap) mechanical keyboard with Full RGB functionality is purchased and tested prior to meeting its demise. Although the left side with the cable and controller still works, the right side now needs to be connected, which is where a lot of tedious wires have to be soldered to repair traces.

Naturally this will go wrong, so it’s important to take a (sushi) break and admire the sunset before hurling oneself at the tracing of faulty wiring. This process and the keyboard matrix is further detailed on the blog entry (in Japanese) for this process.

Although this was perhaps easier than the other split keyboard project involving a membrane keyboard, this tongue-in-cheek project demonstrates the limits of practicality with this approach even if it could be cleaned up more with fancier wiring.

We give it full points for going the whole way, however, and making the keyboard work again in the end.

When the AMSAT-OSCAR 7 (AO-7) amateur radio satellite was launched in 1974, its expected lifespan was about five years. The plucky little satellite made it to 1981 when a battery failure caused it to be written off as dead. Then, in 2002 it came back to life. The prevailing theory being that one of the cells in the satellites NiCd battery pack, in an extremely rare event, failed open — thus allowing the satellite to run (intermittently) off its solar panels.

In a recent video by [Ben] on the AE4JC Amateur Radio YouTube channel goes over the construction of AO-7, its operation, death and subsequent revival are covered, as well as a recent QSO (direct contact).

The solar panels covering this satellite provided a grand total of 14 watts at maximum illumination, which later dropped to 10 watts, making for a pretty small power budget. The entire satellite was assembled in a ‘clean room’ consisting of a sectioned off part of a basement, with components produced by enthusiasts associated with AMSAT around the world. Onboard are two radio transponders: Mode A at 2 meters and Mode B at 10 meters, as well as four beacons, three of which are active due to an international treaty affecting the 13 cm beacon.

Positioned in a geocentric LEO (1,447 – 1,465 km) orbit, it’s quite amazing that after 50 years it’s still mostly operational. Most of this is due to how the satellite smartly uses the Earth’s magnetic field for alignment with magnets as well as the impact of photons to maintain its spin. This passive control combined with the relatively high altitude should allow AO-7 to function pretty much indefinitely while the PV panels keep producing enough power. All because a NiCd battery failed in a very unusual way.

Over the years we have seen a lot of fake electronics, ranging from fake power saving devices that you plug into an outlet, to fake car ECU optimizers that you stick into the OBD port. These are all similar in that they fake functionality while happily lighting up a LED or two to indicate that they’re doing ‘something’. Less expected here was that we’d be seeing fake WiFi repeaters, but recently [Big Clive] got his hands on one and undertook the arduous task of reverse-engineering it.

The simple cardboard box which it comes in claims that it’s a 2.4 GHz unit that operates at 300 Mbps, which would be quite expected for the price. [Clive] obtained a real working WiFi repeater previously that did boast similar specifications and did indeed work. The dead giveaway that it is a fake are the clearly fake antennae, along with the fact that once you plug it in, no new WiFi network pops up or anything else.

Inside the case – which looks very similar to the genuine repeater – there is just a small PCB attached to the USB connector. On the PCB are a 20 Ohm resistor and a blue LED, which means that the LED is being completely overdriven as well and is likely to die quite rapidly. Considering that a WiFi repeater is supposed to require a setup procedure, it’s possible that these fake repeaters target an audience which does not quite understand what these devices are supposed to do, but they can also catch more informed buyers unaware who thought they were buying some of the cheap real ones. Caveat emptor, indeed.

It’s rarely appreciated just how much more complicated nuclear fusion is than nuclear fission. Whereas the latter involves a process that happens all around us without any human involvement, and where the main challenge is to keep the nuclear chain reaction within safe bounds, nuclear fusion means making atoms do something that goes against their very nature, outside of a star’s interior.

Fusing helium isotopes can be done on Earth fairly readily these days, but doing it in a way that’s repeatable — bombs don’t count — and in a way that makes economical sense is trickier. As covered previously, plasma stability is a problem with the popular approach of tokamak-based magnetic confinement fusion (MCF). Although this core problem has now been largely addressed, and stellarators are mostly unbothered by this particular problem, a Canadian start-up figures that they can do even better, in the form of a nuclear fusion reactors based around the principle of magnetized target fusion (MTF).

Although General Fusion’s piston-based fusion reactor has people mostly very confused, MTF is based on real physics and with GF’s current LM26 prototype having recently achieved first plasma, this seems like an excellent time to ask the question of what MTF is, and whether it can truly compete billion-dollar tokamak-based projects.

Squishing Plasma Toroids

In general, to achieve nuclear fusion, the target atoms have to be pushed past the Coulomb barrier, which is an electrostatic interaction that normally prevents atoms from approaching each other and even spontaneously fusing. In stars, the process of nucleosynthesis is enabled by the intense pressures due to the star’s mass, which overcomes this electrostatic force.

Replicating the nuclear fusion process requires a similar way to overcome the Coulomb barrier, but in lieu of even a small-sized star like our Sun, we need alternate means such as much higher temperatures, alternative ways to provide pressure and longer confinement times. The efficiency of each approach was originally captured in the Lawson criterion, which was developed by John D. Lawson in a (then classified) 1955 paper (PDF on Archive.org).

In order to achieve a self-sustaining fusion reaction, the energy losses should be less than the energy produced by the reaction. The break-even point here is expressed as having a Q (energy gain factor) of 1, where the added energy and losses within the fusion process are in balance. For sustained fusion with excess energy generation, the Q value should be higher than 1, typically around 5 for contemporary fuels and fusion technology.

In the slow march towards ignition, we have seen many reports in the popular media that turn out to be rather meaningless, such as the horrendous inefficiency demonstrated by the laser-based inertial confinement fusion (ICF) at the National Ignition Facility (NIF). This makes it rather fascinating that what General Fusion is attempting is closer to ICF, just without the lasers and artisan Hohlraum-based fuel pellets.

Instead they use a plasma injector, a type of plasma railgun called a Marshall gun, that produces hydrogen isotope plasma, which is subsequently contained in a magnetic field as a self-stable compact toroid. This toroid is then squished by a mechanical system in a matter of milliseconds, with the resulting compression induces fusion. Creating this toroid is the feat that was recently demonstrated in the current Lawson Machine 26 (LM26) prototype reactor with its first plasma in the target chamber.

Magneto-Inertial Fusion

Whereas magnetic confinement fusion does effectively what it says on the tin, magnetic target fusion is pretty much a hybrid of magnetic confinement fusion and the laser-based intertial confinement fusion. Because the magnetic containment is only there to essentially keep the plasma in a nice stable toroid, it doesn’t have nearly the same requirements as in a tokamak or stellarator. Yet rather than using complex and power-hungry lasers, MCF applies mechanical energy using an impulse driver — the liner — that rapidly compresses the low-density plasma toroid.

The juiciest parts of General Fusion’s experimental setup can be found in the Research Library on the GF website. The above graphic was copied from the LM26 poster (PDF), which provides a lot of in-depth information on the components of the device and its operation, as well as the experiments that informed its construction.

The next step will be to test the ring compressor that is designed to collapse the lithium liner around the plasma toroid, compressing it and achieving fusion.

Long Road Ahead

As promising this may sound, there is still a lot of work to do before MTF can be considered a viable option for commercial fusion. As summarized on the Wikipedia entry for General Fusion, the goal is to have a liquid liner rather than the solid lithium liner of LM26. This liquid lithium liner will both breed new tritium fuel from neutron exposure, as well as provide the liner that compresses the deuterium-tritium fuel.

This liquid liner would also provide cooling, linked with a heat exchanger or steam generator to generate electricity. Because the liquid liner would be infinitely renewable, it should allow for about 1 cycle per second. To keep the liquid liner in place on the inside of the sphere, it would need to be constantly spun, further complicating the design.

Although getting plasma in the reaction chamber where it can be squished by the ring compressor’s lithium liner is a major step, the real challenge will be in moving from a one-cycle-a-day MTF prototype to something that can integrate not only the aforementioned features, but also run one cycle per second, while being more economical to run than tokamaks, stellarators, or even regular nuclear fission plants, especially Gen IV fast neutron reactors.

That said, there is a strong argument to be made that MTF is significantly more practical for commercial power generation than ICF. And regardless, it is just really cool science and engineering.

Top image: General Fusion’s Lawson Machine 26. (Credit: General Fusion)

Every year, USB flash drives get cheaper and hold more data. Unfortunately, they don’t always get faster. The reality is, many USB 3.0 flash drives aren’t noticeably faster than their USB 2.0 cousins, as [Chase Fournier] found with the ultra-cheap specimens purchased over at his local Micro Center store.

Although these all have USB 3.0 interfaces, they transfer at less than 30 MB/s, but why exactly? After popping open a few of these drives the answer appears to be that they use the old-style Phison controller (PS2251-09-V) and NAND flash packages that you’d expect to find in a USB 2.0 drive.

Across the 32, 64, and 256 GB variants the same Phison controller is used, but the PCB has provisions for both twin TSOP packages or one BGA package. The latter package turned out to be identical to those found in the iPhone 8. Also interesting was that the two 256 GB drives [Chase] bought had different Phison chips, as in one being BGA and the other QFP. Meanwhile some flash drives use eMMC chips, which are significantly faster, as demonstrated in the video.

It would seem that you really do get what you pay for, with $3 “USB 3.0” flash drives providing the advertised storage, but you really need to budget in the extra time that you’ll be waiting for transfers.