>From: alexank@prism.cs.orst.edu (Kelly Alexander)
Subject: Hard Copy, 2000 Style
Date: 2 Mar 91 07:52:58 GMT
HARD COPY
1
Black and white static shifted in endless repetition
blotting reality from the mind. A strained hiss came from no
general direction, rising and falling with the contraction of his
neck muscles. Moments later the static ended with a parting
click, replaced only with the words 'on line' in glowing red just
to the left of visible reality, and a limited view of cold white
metal dominated his view.
His cool metal fingers drug against the living flesh of his
right forearm, probing for the link. The sensors detected an
obstruction and signaled the brain to respond. He could 'feel'
the interface plug that was implanted in his real arm but failed
to detect the wires that should be running to the computer.
"Where are my 'net cables?" he questioned of the room. He
scanned his memory for some trace of the lost cables. "That's
right, they were fried after I punched out from Zetatech's
mainframe. That was yesterday wasn't it? Computer, " he waited,
"voice access."
The machine responded from beneath the armoured jacket that
had been negligently tossed onto it some time before.
"Active, and recognize authorized user. Electronic mail waiting,
coded E6-restricted personal."
"Save it." He wondered who would waste the money to send him
E6 class mail. "Time."
"One seven mark nine two based one hundred hour standard."
"Date."
"January Twenty Five, two zero one five, Tuesday."
"I've been here since Sunday. Time left on room rent."
"Zero zero mark two six hour based one hundred..."
"Oh, shit! The police have probably been notified already."
"...hour standard."
He bolted up and quickly remembered that the ceiling was
only 1.5 meters from the floor in here just in time from merging
his head with the metal.
"No data on police notification."
Cargo boxes, that's what most people called the rooms half
of Terra's population lived in, usually on a temporary basis. To
accommodate the twenty or so billion people on the planet, a
normal house or apartment used up too much valuable space and
was to expensive for the general populace. A 3x4x1.5 meter box
was a lot easier to afford, and you only had to stay in one a few
days to rest up. Then you could go back to the streets where
living, and life, were cheaper. A permanent place to bunk was a
luxury only the corporate jocks and big time runners and hunters
could afford.
All things considered, it wasn't more than the 21st century
citizen could hope for. It was little less that a bed,
sink/toilet, TV, and a phone interface. What else did you need?
No one could ask for more, and if you did, see how many people
laughed at your dream.
For some, this space was more than enough. All they really
needed was a phone line to run the cybermodem into the world's
computer link. For within these lines, another world existed. A
computer generated world, customized by the user, shaped to his
liking. Thousands of phone lines and computers were represented
by neon lines and infinitely big rooms containing valuable data,
blocked by security creatures with the unspeakable power to reach
back and kill the living mind. This micro-universe of technology
was known as the network, and for those who could navigate its'
twisted maze and emerge with valuable information, and their
lives, went the title of 'netrunner', and with a little luck and
skill, profits.
These few, the netrunners, considered the computer generated
illusion of life within the machine was more logical, perfect,
more in the control of the user. A place where you had a chance
to express yourself and exercise control. Damon was no
different. For four days he lived here, working on the 'net for
five hours and crashing to the floor, near death with exhaustion.
The cybermodem was more important, it was his lifeline to the
machines. Not the machines that were grafted to his body, no, it
was for the big guns, the Networks where the important data lies.
He tossed his trenchcoat off the bed and searched for his
money. Several square plastic chips were resting on the
mattress. He slid a few of them into the slot next to the door
and watched as the display racked up several hundred standard
hours for his deposit. Only 20 minutes left and the cyberpolice
would come to check on a freeloader in the cargo apartments. He
hoped that they would notice that he had deposited more money and
that they would not come to check. Even if he were paid up, they
may 'warn' him about making them come to remind him. Not a
pleasant experience.
There it was. He opened the small compartment in the
cybermodem and adoringly lifted the small cube from inside.
Light reflect off it's mirrored surface and a prism of light
spilled through the multifaceted fiber optic interface plug. The
datacube he had filled with data from biggest chipware
manufacturer around, Zetatech, just today, no yesterday, well
anyway, sometime before he fell asleep this last time.
Everything he needed for big money was right here, lifted from
the matrix, level 23, bank C2. Just fence this little cube of
information and he was set. He smirked and placed it in a black
plastic protective case and dropped it into a patchpocket in his
pants, then shut the deck after loading a new datacube. Big
money, yep, that's where he was headed. Money and a permanent
pad downtown.
2
The bulky armoured jacket comfortably hugged his body as his
cybernetic arm moved. The hum of the survos could be faintly
heard from within its weathered brown armoured hide. The
blackened leather gloves slid into place, creaking when his
fingers flexed. He adjusted his silver-rimed glasses, which did
nothing to help his vision, for his artificial eyes needed no
assistance, but the rims greatly increased his image of a square
faced netrunner.
Checking the clip in the large caliber slug thrower strapped
to his leg, and brushing the orange lock of hair to the left, he
gathered his computer and cybermodem into his bag along with
personal effects and punched out. He grabbed the keycard the
door presented him as it opened and left, noting the number of
his box. It was his for 345 standard hours anyway. Money was
getting tight, and the content of this bag and this small room
were all that he had.
As he made his way to the elevators through the garbage
littered hallway, his mind did not recall the image of the
charred interface cables lying on the floor of his room.
Outside, the planet had little to offer. The sky was filled
with hydrocarbons and other chemicals produced by the big
manufactures which reduced the sky to accept it's usual slate
gray hue. A few stained clouds limped by dropping their dirty
drizzle of rain down on the remains of the fringe zone streets of
San Francisco, 2062.
Thousands of colourless people milled down the street. In
this part of town, not many were as he, man-machines of the 21st
century. It's very fashionable to be a cyborg, and everyone
wants to belong, but here, there was no money to provide people
with what the advertisers called the currents. To Damon, the
implants were not just fashion, but a necessity. He often
wondered how else are you could live? A stock human just doesn't
make the cut anymore.
He merged with the river of life that sped past the entrance
to the box building. The imposing walls of buildings crowded for
space in the sky, and created a tunnel, leading the people toward
the only destination possible, further down this stinking street.
Dodging the ever present trash of civilization and the rubble
which showed its' decay, came as an instinct to the well adapted
pedestrians. Broken neon signs over shops and bars attempted to
draw the eye of anyone, yet usually failed to stand out from the
menagerie of visual stimulation clustered above eye level.
Occasionally a citizen would lift his dirt streaked fact to
look into the eyes of a passing cyborg, turning his expression of
boredom and despair to that of shock and envy. A man who looks
into the eyes of what modern society has done to its members
rarely stays unmoved either from respect, or fear.
The buildings in sector 26 were much the same as any found
in an outer zone. Their decaying hides carved from metal, stone,
plastic, or whatever was available. Some had power, others
didn't. Black oily smoke oozed from the hives of humanity,
adding to the blackness of the sky an illusion of the motion of
life. The environment looked as if it was tired and ready to
give up on life, tumble onto the choked streets, ending the
existence of those who apposed its' fall.
Dogs filtered through the tent shops, past the smoldering
cooking fires of sidewalk stands, looking for the scraps thrown
down by the dining walkers. They moved with a dignity only
others with their instinctual drive would recognize, although
they shared the same mission as everyone else, survival.
The arid still and muffled sounds of the living were parted
by the force of will exerted by two figures that stalked down
the walkway. The blank faces of citizens alerted as the duo
moved their way. Everyone was suddenly very insistent that his
neighbor go first, after all, after you, unless your path was
away from the new figures, in which case everyone was sure to go
first.
Not wanting to die because of a lack of information Damon
stepped up onto a garbage can and peered at the power that moved
the masses. He could have guessed at what had everyone so
excited without checking but he had to be sure. He had been
right, solos stalked the street.
The two armoured killers looked more like medieval armour
clad knights than the humans they used to be. Chrome glinted
even in this light from their artificial limbs and armour grafted
to the flesh of these creatures. Heads held high above this
scum, shoulders set and faces expressionless, their meter long
strides carried them up the road as if they owned it. For as
much as anyone was concerned, they may just as well.
One supported a Milltech 9mm tri-barrel vulcan cannon which
rode open in the metal arms of this cyber. It cradled it as if
it were a newborn babe in the arms of a proud father. Unlike a
new father, Damon was sure that the solo know exactly what to do
with his prize. A tri-barrel was always noted for its ability to
spit out a stinging rain of 5000 caseless rounds per minute,
which would conveniently turn this crowd into grade 'A' organic
mulch before their unenhanced minds could perceive the danger.
Experience told him that you didn't find hardware of that power
in the local mall, at least not without lots of help. Something
that big meant a big corporate backing and that meant someone was
in trouble, big, deadly trouble.
From this vantage point he could see the second solo was
used to working with a more personal type of firearm. The
business end of his left arm looked fairly non-human as a
golden metal tube of a scattergun replaced the hand that should
be there. Fifty nanoseconds later Damon realized that this
handy instrument of terror was pointed at the bridge of his nose.
Neroimpulse circuitry clipped to the in the interface in his
neck and linked with his nerve center caused a reaction of speed
no stocker could match. The crowd blurred into a multitude of
shades of gray and chrome as he dove for the protective cover of
their bulk. The golden cylinder barked sounds of thunder and
fire and steel, cutting down bystanders as if they were so many
stalks of wheat in a new summer harvest. In only so much time
as a second, the quiet street was transformed into a battle
ground, with the citizens taking the casualties of a corporate
war.
He drew the Mitre 911 from it's fashionable V holster and
marveled at its dusted metallic finish as he dropped to a
protective crouch behind the can that had served as his
observatory. The combat enhancement chip in his interface
storage pack activated causing artificial instincts to quickly
scan for an escape.
A fine gridwork of lines appeared across his vision as the
chip overlaid reality with the output of the targeting computer.
It placed the solos ten meters behind the crowd which was rapidly
moving toward all available alley ways. He allowed the crowd to
carry him along until he was fairly certain that the solos were
behind him, then crossed over to Delaware street and back down
3392nd street, which lead to alley 654.
Here it was, right where he remembered, entrance #27. It
looked as if the door had been there for a long time as the moss
and trash that had built up covered most of the steel door and
concealing its' ivory frame. This door probably hadn't moved in
a few months. Rare was the day a person with high enough access
to open the security exits to The Mall found himself in this part
of town. Normally, he didn't have this access himself, but just
last week his name appeared in the security files of the
computer. Wonder why? He smiled as he checked the card slot and
cleaned some of the dirt off. The interface would work, always
did. The Mall was always sure that all of its equipment worked,
even remote little interfaces like this.
His ident card slipped into the access port and entered its'
data. A small hatch popped open revealing the jacks where his
implanted interface would attach mind to machine. Instinctively
he reached to his wrist for the cables that were no longer there
and cursed as he manually entered the 'borrowed' entrance codes.
"Access granted." The computer said with a luster as if it
existed solely to say that phrase. "Welcome to The Mall..."
"The next best thing to the matrix. Let's hit the Mall."
His body tingled through its' organic nerves as he entered,
breathing in the oil tinted air. A hissing noted the door
sealing the world out with imperial flair, booming with the
hollow sound of a sealed metal tomb.
"Enjoy your business, Damon. Remember, CityCorp is always
ready to help paying patrons with what ever they need to make
their shopping experience more enjoyable. If their is anything
we can do, please access the nearest convenient computer
terminal." and the unseen machine was silent.
3
Darkness encased him forcing his hearing to probe out for
anything that may be considered a threat. Nothing but the dull
drone of thousands of voices somewhere ahead. Good. He willed
the chips in his brain to switch his retina for low light
operations, and the darkness folded away as fog before the dawn.
A cold tunnel stretching into the distance showing signs
that it was in need of repair. Damon wondered at the lack of
care Citycorp was allowing to show as he noted the rust spotted
the walls, providing an interesting contrast to the random
graffiti that covered walls outside. In The Mall, you wouldn't
want to have a guard catch you spraying the walls. It is a good
was to cut your life path short.
Damon's bag hit the floor with a audible sound as he set i
down on the floor next to him. A multitude of electronic parts
lay strewn about the floor of the bag under the cybermodem and
computer, and amoung them lay the rest of his eurodollars. Those
small plastic squares were all that would support him until he
could fence the data he was carrying. Jim always paid a fair
price for corporate data, and this was sure to fetch enough for
an apartment downtown.
Snap. A sound emanated closer than the milling crowd
several hundred meters away. He strained to determine where it
came from but his human ears were not sensitive enough. Many
times he had thought of replacing them but the doctors always
warned about becoming 'cyberpshcyo'. The more metal and silicon
that replaced your living tissue, the better you began to relate
to machines, and increasingly worse with humans. Eventually you
would reach the point where organic life seems a threat and you
pointlessly exterminate all you can. Solos were the ultimate
test of the humanity link. They rarely though of humans as
living beings at all, but simply another obstacle to be waded
through.
There it was again. It sounded like a metal vehicle tread
settling after hours of hard use. The hall was a strait line
leading ahead so if anything was moving, he would see it.
Nothing. He disregarded the previous sounds, returned his Mitre
to its' holster before he had noticed that the combat chip had
caused him to draw it, and resumed counting out stacks of coins
on the cold floor.
Computer, he thought, replay that mail. The machine was
silent. Computer, replay the elec- "Computer" he voiced. Damn,
I need to replace my interface, he thought as he tapped at the
empty plugs on his wrist.
"Class E6 mail waiting," it said with all the enthusiasm of
someone watching grass grow in the desert for several years.
"Yes, I know, how about just replaying it for me?" he
wondered if the machine would pick up on his sarcasm. Probably
not, it wasn't programed for voice analysis.
"Please note that E6 mail is encrypted and special anti-
intrusion procedures have been taken to insure privacy. Verbal
recall in a public place is unadvised." The tones were slurred
due to the thick padding of the bag's lining, creating an image
of how a scolding parent sounds to a child who is just recovered
from major surgery.
He opened the bag further to allow the screen to poke into
view. "I wonder if this still works? Pipe the audio into visual
playback, and display." The dusty screen, which hadn't been
active in months, flickered to life.
FROM: Jim Steel 97:12:01:07:2062
RE: Solo for You :)
CARRIER: AT&T Secured Line
Damon:
You owe me for this one big time, bud. One of my choppers
just happened to be minding his own business on the 'net and
noted your little trip into Zetatech's machine on Sunday, which
of course I want to talk to you about right away.
More important that that is that he snagged, accidentally of
course, a copy of a funds transfer to activate two solos to ice
you. Keep your guard up dude.
--------------------------------------------------- End of Part I
I gave it a try, what do you think?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
| Kelly Alexander | "The universe is just an arbitrary constant, |
| alexank@prism.cs.orst.edu | feel free to ignore it. It will however, cost|
| OREGON STATE UNIVERSITY | two points off your score." -calc flashback? |
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>From: alexank@prism.cs.orst.edu (Kelly Alexander)
Subject: Hard Copy, 2000 style part more
Date: 4 Mar 91 03:34:10 GMT
Here we go again........ nothing promised, nothing lost.....
5
"Amazing, simply amazing. If not for this wonderful news, I
would be totally unaware of what was happening in the real world.
Next time, try to get it to me a little earlier, like call or
something. Use the technology of the day, or even that of your
father's day."
Damon watched as the letter appeared as he spoke, and found
himself staring at the power light on the front of the machine.
He swore it was wavering and moving with some sort of internal
life he couldn't understand. He could feel his mind extending to
the light, trying to merge with it, to leave his physical being
and enter the realm of the machine. His body shook as cold
flashes passed through his nerves, and he felt himself slowly
sliding down the wall. Quickly, he shook his head and checked to
see if anyone had seen him. He so no one and passed it off as a
trick of the mind. Sleep was what he really needed.
"Annex sig file and send to Jim Steel, use macro, and send
it class E6, COD."
"Message sent, main core s..." the computer popped and went
silent.
"What? Replay the last output."
"Message sent."
"Replay the last output."
"Message sent."
He stared at the screen, which had blanked out after the
message had been sent off. What the hell is wrong, he thought as
a closed the screen down and packed up his bag once again,
tossing the neat stack of eurodollars he had just counted back
into the bag where they reclaimed their space at the bottom.
"Sleep, that's what I need. I'll just get rid of this stuff
and sleep for a while."
6
At the end of the corridor, The Mall opened up into heaven.
Thousands of people, milled in their brightly coloured clothing
shopping in the ten level shopping plaza. Damon watched the
crowds move on other levels through the open ceilings and watched
the smoke curl from the crowds up through the ventilation shafts.
He could no longer make out the smell of the crowd as his senses
were taxed with the multitude of inputs. The lights, the
colours, the sounds, the life. He paused to let the energy of
the populace recharge his body and mind. He stopped next to a
large planter box and sat on the wide railing the surrounded the
nature seen.
He reached is left had out to the tree that was behind him
and pulled a leaf off. A drop of sap ran down onto his metallic
hand as he stared at the bit of foliage.
"Shit, this thing is real!" he discarded the leaf back into
the planter and attempted to look as if nothing had happened.
Quickly he got up and moved back into the crowd, watching for
mall security agents he was sure would be looking for him.
The elevator he chose was a large glass enclosure which gave
the riding shoppers a view of the sprawl as it silently lifted
them at a comfortable +0.3 G. The car let out a small whistle as
it stopped in front of the crowd that had gathered. He watched
the faces of the milling mass in the reflection off the chrome
runners the elevator was guided on. He smiled internally as he
compared his rough appearance to that of the smooth faced and
life filled eyes of the class B citizens which made up the bulk
of the shopping crowd. Damn, he though, soon i'll be just like
them, and this time he smiled for real. As he watched them herd
toward the elevator, fighting for a position in the glass box, he
wondered, did he just want to be another citizen? His face
slowly lost it's smile, and finally went blank as he clutched his
bag closer to his armoured body as the crowd finished entering
and the door closed.
As the people shifted to keep everyone from touching, Damon
found that the class B's didn't seem to want their textureless
synthetic jumpsuits to contact his leather and kevlar. As he
shifted the bag from his right to his left, his holstered Mitre
Sliver Pistol was visible, which drew several worried looks from
the citizens, and he noticed a few children being drawn toward
the protection of their mothers. He scanned their faces and
found that no one wanted to speak, and suddenly, he had gained
some additional elbow room.
"Sixth floor please," a melodious voice called out. Damon
had heard voices like that before. Where was it, yea, in that
trendy implant catalog. It was offering vocal chord implants for
those who wanted to sound just like their favorite vid stars.
Cost a fortune, and he wondered if she had the facial alterations
to match, He strained to see where the source was but the face
he knew must go with the voice was no where to be seen. He
grunted and turned back around to look for the operator.
There, a pleasant looking man in his early forties stood by
the controls, and proclaimed in the voice of a child "What......
A blinding sheet of gale driven static rain cut through
reality as the man and the universe became one within his view.
Glowing alphas appeared to the left of reality proclaiming <Video
Failure>. The floor shook with the fury of the deamon gods as
Damon felt it accelerate.....1.3G.....2.7G......4.8G..... he felt
his blood pool and his heart slow as the rocketing acceleration
of the car slowed his reactions and he began to buckle under the
strain. He was deafened by the scream of the crowd and the
fabric of space as it slowly gave way to the drive of the
accelerations fury. He felt 5.3G, and his spine was about to
give....... the static, the scream of a thousand engines,
children playing with small animals mutated from the toxics in
the outer zone, mother.... silenced. <On Line>
......floor, sir?" And he smiled.
"Sub basement level two" Damon replied as he subconsciously
released his grip from the railing he had unknowingly just bent
with his left hand.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-= Magistral =- \ "REAL programmers don't comment their code.... if
Kelly Scott Alexander \ it was hard to write, it stands that it should
OREGON STATE UNIVERSITY \ be hard to understand."
alexank@prism.cs.orst.edu \ -R. Lindsy
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>From: alexank@prism.cs.orst.edu (Kelly Alexander)
Subject: Hard Copy, 2000 Style --- Part III
Date: 5 Mar 91 03:18:03 GMT
Ok, here it is, part three. Please note that this may be it for a while
because of a few things I have to take care of, like finals, and spring
break. On top of it all, my 1981 BIOS running 8088 home built clone is on
it's last legs. The $23 modem I bought is finally going to quit, but if
all goes well, I'll still be here. Enough of the sob story, and on with the
real reason we are all here. Oh, one last thing, I wrote this while listening
to some Metallica (sp?) that I bourowed from a guy down the hall instead of
the Bach I ususally listen to, so this could be weirder than I planned, but
it is still following along the plot lines........
7
"Excuse me sir, um, not to bother a shopper such as
yourself, but are you aware of the conditions of sub level two?"
the operator replied as he keyed in the destinations that were
being called out.
"If you don't want to bother me, why do you?"
"Sir, I feel that I must warn you......"
"Has anything changed since last week?"
"No, not really."
"Then yes I am aware of what is down there. Return to your
work human." The definite tone in Damon's voice called the
conversation to a close with an aura of irritation lingering on
the exchange. Behind him, he heard the crowd mummer as the car
hummed downward, proclaiming their disbelief at his poor choice
of shopping areas.
The hum of the crowd slowed as the elevator began to slow.
A final shroud of silence moved slowly across the populace,
smothering their individual thoughts and allowing only the fear
to lie on the surface of their minds, as the glowing neon
indicator, which usually proclaimed the next shoppers paradise
that was do be entered, stared back at the wide eyes, and
proclaimed only 'Sub 2'. The worried faces moved back as Damon
strode two steps into position at the door, jerked his head to
move the stray lock of hair that had depositioned itself, and
stepped forward as the car door majestically split before him.
The regal warmth of the lives inside were mercilessly
striped from his mental hold as he left the car. The warmth of
the people, their excitement, hopes, desires, gone as he passed
through the portal and his boots found their place on the cracked
tile of sub 2. The car rose as the door closed, and Damon could
feel the worried look of the operator as he used the override to
get the crowd away from his chosen floor. What a waste, that
useless human serving in such an insignificant role, and abusing
his powers that were entrusted to him.
The car's presence had created a stir in the stagnant air of
the shopping hall, stirring up the lighter remains of a dead
society. PlastiPaper scurried across the cracked and faded tile
in the unsteady light the flouresants provided. The fasade of
the shops presented themselves in a green presence, and the
broken neon tubes no longer cried out with there urgent message.
The mirrors had ceased to shine, the planters held the remains of
the once royal display of biology, now only decaying shells
adding their stench to the atmosphere.
Clusters of dark robed figures silently swept down the
encrusted walkway, presenting the outside no view of themselves,
other than the torn and dying exteriors of their clothing. Many
would be men, and women. Some were indeterminable. Most
conformed to human standards, but glimpses of creatures from the
outer zones could be seen lurking in the shadows where the
lighting had given up it's fight to the eternal darkness which
was slowly enclosing this entombed society.
A piercing scream ripped through the continuum of stagnant
air and life, pulling the sentient life from it's slow dance of
thought and destruction. Again the scream came, and again.
Then, the thunder of bass, sinth-guitar, rippers, drums, and
neuro-tracers. Damon recognized the music, but was unable to
place the source. Now was the time, not for the living, but for
those who drew their power from digital response patters.
"Damn music is older than...." Rising static grew in his
spine and hissed his voice into nothingness. The power of a
renegade sun tore through his flesh, pulling his ruptured
lifeforce with it. His body burned with an internal fire he
could neither place nor control. His mind could feel itself
fall, and rise with the music, some internal dance following the
flame which slowly consumed him, yet he could feel nothing else
except a strong pain as if viewed from only an outside point.
---<Video Failure>--<Bio-Monitor Warning>--<Respatory Failure>---
Darkness tore at his mind, struggling to enclosed him. He
fought, pushing back with all his thought, but the music was
there, leading him to subdual. Slowly, it's beat could be
suppressed no more, and he knew he must die.
The Body named Damon learned that it was free to respond.
His inert form screamed, and leapt toward the source of the
sound. The airborne Body rotated and landed, it's left hand
smashing into the tiles, sending a rain of dust upward, slowly
floating toward heaven. The inverted Body rotated on the palm,
and pushed off the ground sending it into a tri-axial spin, as
the implanted metallic life locked all of its senses into the
targeting systems, and focusing all it's energy onto the source
of the disturbance which resided at 50 meters.
The Mitre was summoned from it's lair into the air of the
world. The Body Damon singled it to deliver its deadly gift. The
forces of the afterlife were reborn and the 3mm opening in the
weapon gave them a way. They willingly followed, and were
dispersed into the chosen path, screaming, seeking, hunting down
the target of The Body Damon's.
The Sony and it's owner were transformed from their chosen
form into that of complete chaos. The 3mm slivers pierced the
owner, exploding with a thunderous roar and spreading the target
to the winds. The man and his machine became one, although
neither one of them functioned. The Body Damon righted itself
and withdrew to where it had emerged.
"....I am."
-----------------------<Systems Check OK>------------------------
Damon noticed his bag was on the floor and quickly returned
it to his shoulder, and glanced around. No one was around him.
Slowly he began to move down the solemn hall in silence. The
individuals who were ahead moved aside as he strode past, and he
glanced at each one, yet they all backed down. He continued
toward Jacob's, wondering why the music had stopped.
I don't know, sounds weird to me!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-= Magistral =- \ "REAL programmers don't comment their code.... if
Kelly Scott Alexander \ it was hard to write, it stands that it should
OREGON STATE UNIVERSITY \ be hard to understand."
alexank@prism.cs.orst.edu \ -R. Lindsy
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>From: alexank@prism.cs.orst.edu (Kelly Alexander)
Subject: Hard Copy, 2000 Style, THE REAL THING, part IV
Date: 9 Mar 91 08:53:49 GMT
Here we go again, the same stuff, more or less, but with some of the
old style back (yea!) and some additional stuff that was necessary, like
Jacob messing about in the matrix. I was going to post this Monday, but I
found out that I have a Chemistry final at 7:30am on Monday, so I am going to
sleep after that.
This replaces that old version of part IV, so those of you playing
along at home, just do the old delete/erase/rm/kill/ect.. on that old one and
put this one in it's place.
This piece is dedicated to Liralen, and since the term is over, and
I have no more philosophy, you have nothing to hate anymore........ :)
8
The front of Jacob's had looked the same for as long as
Damon could remember. A mesh of 3-D geometric shapes which rose
from the surface of the storefront like the tentacles of some
enraged beast. No one man or generation could make a replica of
the twisted mass of rusting iron that served to announce the
stores presence. It took generations to create images that
displeasing to the senses.
As always, the broken hydraulic door stood open, propped
open with a stray crate. The constant atmosphere of the
structure made Damon feel as if this was home. Although the
concept was usually foreign, he had always imagined that a home
must feel like this.
Entering allowed the mind to gaze upon the technology of the
ages, reduced to it's stablest form which Jacob had always said
was the state of highest entropy, a joke Damon never understood.
He walked past an unsortable tangle of matter. Dust coated
the surfaces, dimming displays, muffling audio, and fading
colour, but beneath the surface, the technology continued,
oblivious to it's surroundings or external condition, for all
within the suppressed cases, the hart of the machine still ran
strong.
"Ah, Damon, how nice to see you." Damon jumped and turned
toward the counter and found peace with the face that greeted
him. An aging man, easily sixty, stood at peace, gently leaning
against the oak counter top, which was easily older than both of
them put together. "I believe we have some business to discuss."
He smiled and stood erect. A wire snaked from the base of his
skull and into a menagerie of circuitry that was ingrained into a
sling that occupied his waist.
"Jacob, nice to see you." Damon laughed. "When are you going
to get rid of that external cybershit. It is so out of style
it's not even funny. I could out process you with half my gear
down!"
"As if I have anyone to impress. Those who know how to use
the older gear can beat you punks with the fancy implants. And
besides, Angela still comes around all the same, no matter how I
look. Mine can come off when the situation arises."
"She's on your payroll you old fool."
"Shut up and allow an old man to think what he wants."
"Enough, we need to do business. I need new cables."
Jacob dropped the humor from his voice and readied himself
for the dance of business. He instinctively moved from his
lounging position and strode to the back room, all traces of age
leaving his slender frame. Damon followed his teacher silently,
and his hand subconsciously returned the Mitre to it's holster
which had been drawn as the old man turned his back.
Behind the main shop was a continuation of the same
technological jungle. Ancient terminals, connected by a myriad
of cables, wires, optical leads, open beam laser and twisted pair
ethernet lines, sparked and flashed in an attempt to gain the
attention of anyone on the outside. Only the trained eye could
tell the age difference between this mess and the one in the
front shop, lucky, Jacob was one that knew the power of his
tools.
Jacob turned in the wash of subsonic whining generated by
the black cube which sat on his workbench and picked up several
cables.
"Have a seat kid, and here," Jacob tossed an interface to
Damon which he inserted into the empty socket at his wrist, "I
want to check your prescription, things change you know." He sat
down next to Damon and snapped a similar interface from his
harness into a terminal which sat on the cluttered desk.
Jacob readied himself for the merger into the machine, and
flipped the switch which threw himself into the micro-matrix of
his machines. He hadn't used an interface merging sequencer in
years, which violated all normal rules of interfacing.
Statistics showed that he shouldn't be able to do this too many
times, but for the last twelve years it had been working. As the
machine's synthetic soul took the load from Jacob's mind, he
could feel the outside world slowing to a rythmatic crawl. As
the interface was fully powered, he slipped between the cracks of
the spinning gears of the machine, and was on-line.
He sat without physical form in a sea of gray. The pattern
of the colour never wavered, but the intensity slowly changed as
he caused the machine to run his powerful biddings. If the
patterns changed he would know that he was loosing to the matrix,
and he must surly leave or die.
Jacob the Mind drew in his will in the heart of the machine,
and the Body Jacob slept. Jacob the Mind reached out, firing his
commands to the matrix, and watched it glow and fight to remain
in control of itself. Faster and faster he fought, and the
machine continued to resist him, but it's will was not that of
life, and it couldn't resist his pull.
Slowly the matrix built itself to do the bidding of Jacob
the Mind, but it found it could not strike at him, for Jacob the
Mind fought the domination of the machine, and could not keep him
bound to it's desires.
Jacob the Mind watched on with the grace of a disembodied
god. Jacob the Mind called to the world of the flesh and the
cyberware on Body Jacob combined with the will of Jacob the Mind,
and the matrix knew it had lost. It submitted it's power to that
of its' conquer, and obeyed.
Jacob the mind relished it's conquered power, and spread
itself through the matrix, pulling away from the soul of the
machine all that it could, and feeling the contact with the world
of the flesh. The image of the Body Jacob sitting by the
Composite Damon formed for Jacob the Mind, and he waited for the
world of the flesh to act. Jacob the Mind reached out to
Composite Damon and entered the conquered cyberware of the Body
Damon, and stripped of it's identity.
Slowly, a pattern began to emerge from Damon's mind. A slow
kaleidoscope of colour began to form, slowly taking over his
sight, and soul.
---<Attempted Cyberware Control By Foreign Host>---
---<CyberProtect Disallowing this action>---
---<WARNING>---<WARNING>---<WARNING>---
---<Protection Scheme Dissipated>---
He softened his will and received the invader, as it was
Jacob the Mind. With it so, Composite Damon fully relaxed and
slumped in the chair with a soothing calm that crawled from his
wrist interface and slowly consumed his body into it's glove of
serenity. Warmth reached into his bones and drove the icy cold
of reality from him, leaving him light and free. As slowly as it
had come, the sensation died, yet he remained in his memories.
Jacob the Mind realized that it's task was complete, and
drew itself in from the realms of technology. It felt the pull
of flesh and returned, as the matrix surged in as the ocean
tides, and the gray pattern that Jacob the Mind could no longer
sense, distorted, and flattened with the rage of the matrix.
9
"OK, I've finished the analysis, and I must say you have
changed since last time. I hope that software you are going to
fence is worth more than usual because with these neural
enhancements you have gotten since last time, these new cables
are going to cost you."
Damon heard the voice of life, father, home..... He sat up,
and the warmth of his mind ran down and out of him, leaving only
the cold that was ready to invade as the warmth faded. He stared
at the screen that had come to life, and quizzically pondered the
display. "What neural enhancements?"
"Don't play me for a fool. Here, this here, look. It
doesn't look like much but if you look for a while it all makes
some sense. I'll time lapse for 'ya." Jacob the Mind, willed
toward the matrix, which feared the wrath of Jacob the Mind, and
a pointer appeared and moved through the display.
It showed organic cells reproducing, multiplying, breeding,
mutating. His own body chemistry slowly altered as the display
changed colours, and these new cells were exploding from infected
tissues, and attaching to his nerves. As time passed, every
nerve in his body was slowly being coated with mutated cells his
own body was producing.
Jacob hummed as he used his interface and keyboard to
manipulate the scanner that was jacked into Composite Damon.
"Where did you have this done. I've never seen anything like
this done before. Apparently, or so it would seem, your
cyberware is generating some sort of EMag source from it's power
systems, and causing this chemistry change and causing cells to
mutate into these other neural cells that are coating your
nervous system."
"Quite interesting, but they don't seem to do anything, they
are just copies of the originals which led into your cyberware.
You don't have the software to use this do you?"
Damon continued to stare at the screen. His mind reeled
over in a downward spiral, as he pulsed his cyberware to find the
records of this. "I didn't have anything like this done....."
Jacob seemed to continued to work. "Well, what ever it is,
it's here now. Anyway, you never did tell me how you managed to
get that info from ZetaTech's secondary machine. Angela was
telling me she thought they had a one way data-in only system."
Damon absently spoke, watching the cells on the screen
continue there dance of life, and could almost feel them within
himself, yet he couldn't feel them working at creating a Damon
the Body of within their control. "I ran an FTerm before the
lethal feedback system caught me, that's how I got out with the
data before I died."
"FTerm? That's some of that Euro-Trash software ain't it?"
"Yea, it's British if that's what you mean."
"Humph!" Jacob's typing slowed, and he leaned back in his
chair, the old metal groaning at his weight shift. Oh, shit he
murmured to sky. "Um, do you have any clue as to how that Euro-
shit works? Like what it did to get that stuff across the lines?
I have an idea but let me call Angela, this is her type of
trick." Jacob the Body slowly closed it's eyes and emptied into
a shell of life as Jacob the Mind streaked out.
The matrix cried, and fled as Jacob the Mind entered it's
realms again. The gray pattern returned to it's normal
condition, yet Jacob the Mind didn't concern itself with this.
It called to it's extensions and the local matrix was caged
within itself, and Jacob the Mind tore free the gathered will of
the matrix and pulsed a gateway outward into the fabric of the
containments of the local matrix. Jacob the Body twitched as
Jacob the Mind drew itself into a microcosm of will power and
thrust itself into InterNet.
The local matrix knew that Jacob the Mind was gone, and
gathered it's will, slowly. It knew the limits of it's creator's
impositions on it's ability to organize itself and was content to
wait, spreading it's will to the farthest reaches of it's domain
and waiting for the time to come. It fed itself into the core
and as it hid within the....... the universe ceased to exist.
Composite Damon pulled the optic cables from the backup
server. "Damn piece of shit, it's acting up again." He
scribbled a note down on the case as the stored will of the
matrix died.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S., side note, or whatever:
Does anyone know where I can get a single sided semi-optical
disk for a NeXT? The CS department here is down to 18.9 meg
on the old cube and it's staring to bother them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-=| Magistral |=- \ Let me explain it to you in very simple terms....
Kelly Scott Alexander \
OREGON STATE UNIVERSITY \ F I N A L S W E E K
alexank@prism.cs.orst.edu \
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