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I S S U E - @ ! S E P T E M B E R 2 7 , 1 9 9 4
: File !
: Intro to Issue 21
: Billy Biggs <ae687@freenet.carleton.ca>
: File @
: Square One - Part 7
: Kipp Lightburn <ah804@freenet.carleton.ca>
: File #
: Heavy Duty - Chapter 3
: C.McLean-Campbell <cmc@cs.strath.ac.uk>
: File $
: Chiba City Blues Issue 2
: Joshua Lellis <joshua@server.dmccorp.com>
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File - !
Many problems with some submissions, but this issue is now out. I may have a
phone interview with Bill Leeb of Front Line Assembly this week, also we
will be printing an edited transcript of the Deerium IRC chat session (oth
Bill and Rhys were on-line).
-Billy Biggs, editor.
***** N o T E ******
- We have been experiencing problems with our subscription list. If you
find that the following subscription instructions are not working then
e-mail me at ae687@freenet.carleton.ca and I'll see what I can do....
=-*-= Subscription Info =-*-=
o Subscriptions can be obtained by sending mail to: dodger@fubar.bk.psu.edu
With the words: Subscription LineNoiz <your address>
In the body of the letter.
o Back Issues can be recieved by sending mail to the same address with the
words BACK ISSUES in the subject.
=-*-= Submission Info =-*-=
o Please send any submissions to me: ae687@freenet.carleton.ca
o We accept Sci-Fi, opinions, reviews and anything else of interest.
o Submit! Submit! Submit! Submit! Submit! Submit! Submit! Submit! Submit!
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File - @
From: ah804@freenet.carleton.ca (Kipp Lightburn)
Square One - Pt.7
-----------------
The noises of mechanical limbs echo off of my loneliness.
She's brought me to her friend's.
I'm lying naked on a large, metal cube. It chills the skin that it
touches. I begin to feel like a corpse in a coroners office. Then the
irony giggles out loud.
This IS a coroners office. Her friend is a coroner, who makes his
living selling body parts to the bio-ware market. When she explained it to
me, I expected that the place would be tucked down some back alley, hidden
from the naive eyes of society. We didn't pull up to an alleyway though.
We drove for quite some time.
He lives in one of the suburbs, and his office is in his house.
Not in the basement where you might expect to find corpses and a shopping
mall for body parts. We walked up three flights of stairs to get here.
He and stick are in another room. I'm here with the mechanical
limbs that circle me sporadically. Blue lights scan my body as long arms
with needles syphon blood out of me. It seems that my purpose in life is
to go from lab to lab giving blood and tissue samples.
And killing.
I have embraced death as if it were a hobby. Remorse has never
occured to me and I don't feel as if it ever will. I can see every kill.
Smell. Feel. Taste. Savor. These are my memories.
The largest arm of the group swoops down from the ceiling, and on
the end of it rests a group of small pins. It moves towards me and
pushes its way into my arm painlessly. The arm begins to hum with slight
vibration.
My sight goes a little fuzzy as tiny pulses of energy find their way
into the sanctuaries between the bones, behind the muscles, and under the
tissue. Their scavenger hunt of my body is a thorough one.
A few of the moniters on the wall at my feet begin flashing, and
racing through complex patterns and diagrams.
The high pitched buzz of the moniters tangle with the low drone of
the mechanical arm's gears. The sounds grow louder as my vision dims.
I can now barely make out the arms swooping and circling above
me. Vultures.
I can feel more come down on me. One on my good leg the other to
my abdomen. These are the blood hunters. I can feel their needles
penetrate.
And as I lay on this slab the vultures continue their ravenous
feeding...
...I wake up yet again.
If nothing else, I have at least gotten plenty of rest lately.
I lie awake but my eyes stay shut. Darkness hugs me.
"Kyle?" Her.
I slowly open my eyes. The only thing warmer than darkness, is
the fire I find in her.
She and her friend stand by the moniters watching me. Observing.
Their image is framed by the vultures. The arms have folded into positions
of slumber. It's like the bastards fall asleep after a good meal.
"Kyle he's found it."
And the man steps forward. I never asked his name but I feel as
if thats probably the way he wants it. After all, he never volunteered it.
"Well with the help of the data on your friends computer," He
reaches out and pushes a few buttons that sit alongside the moniter, "I
have tracked down the problem."
I shuffle to the end of the cube and dangle my feet off, kicking
them slightly. She stares at me. As if she's waiting.
Its then that I realize that I'm kicking two legs. Not a leg and
a brace.
"My leg..."
"Yes, I gave you a new one," he says carelessly, "As I was
saying. There is a change in your DNA. Very slight, but it's there."
"What is it?"
He points to some diagram on the moniter assuming that I'm someone
who understands it, "Well, when compared to the DNA records taken off of
your friends computer. The ones he had before you disappeared that is.
There is a change between your patterns now, and your patterns then."
In the time it's taking him to get to the point I could kill him
four times over.
"You're not Kyle Raimi." He says it like a scientist.
I can see the gun in her hand now.
"Could you maybe elaborate on that?"
"You are a genetic copy of Kyle Raimi. A very good copy. But a
copy nonetheless."
I look at him dead on and keep the gun in my peripheral.
"What else?"
She begins to raise the gun, "There's nothing else you need to know.
But I think you can answer some of my questions."
Her hand is shaking and her voice tells me that I was the last
person she was expecting to hold a gun to.
Danger exists and I fight my instincts as they try to react.
"Where's Kyle?" She pulls the hammer back on the gun.
"I don't know."
"Why were you made?"
"I don't know."
"What _do_ you know?" Her finger seems restless inside the trigger
guard. Her friend is making his way to the door in the far corner.
Staring down the barrel of her gun is not unlike looking into
myself.
Darkness and the promise of death.
"I don't know anything more than what I've told you."
Her weight shifts from one leg to the other. Fatigue pulls at her
expression as she grows tired of the situation.
"Well then," she uncocks the gun, "We're just going to have to get
some answers now aren't we?"
The gun retreats to her side once again.
I don't who I am, but at least I know who I'm not.
I'm not Kyle Raimi.
--
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|\IPP |_IGHTBURN [ ah804@freenet.carleton.ca ] -------------
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From: C.McLean-Campbell <cmc@cs.strath.ac.uk>
HEAVY DUTY
C.McLean-Campbell
Series Editor: Peaches
Copyright 1994 Toaster Books. All Rights Reserved.
CHAPTER THREE.
"Seasonal U.V is still high enough to penetrate the cloud layer and the European
Arctic Stratospheric Ozone Commission continues to recommend full eye protection. And
in Africa the tragedy of the former Gold Coast continues. Home news is dominated by
new directives on car emissions and a further tax incentive for horse owners."
Julia Cairney had been Dave Drooszhbah's personal assistant for more than
eighteen years. Before that she had been his mistress. But shortly after
his third marriage fizzled out, in zero eight, Drooszhbah was attacked on
the way into the New York studio by a madman, armed with an aerosol full of
a designer version of the mycobacterium leprosae. The stuff damaged both
testicles and the corpus spongiosum tissue of his penis. It also caused
gangrene in part of his thigh muscle and part of his bladder before
paramedics killed the bacterium with broad spectrum antibiotic.
Drooszhbah had plastic surgery and implants that gave him a permanent
erection, but their sexual relationship ended not long after. He'd returned
to Europe that same year, uprooted his media empire and transplanted it to
the burgeoning new city of Hacinohe II. He ignored rumours that the
Japanese government had funded the move. No one funded Drooszhbah.
Julia glanced in the large mirror in the lounge on the way to
Drooszhbah's bedroom. She'd stopped worrying about her age since she'd
turned fifty last year, but that little nervous tick on the corner of her
mouth had begun to bother her. In a more positive frame of mind she usually
subscribed to the idea that all her facial ticks were the result of nerves
damaged by amphetamine abuse during the seventies, when she was what her
mother would have called a wild teenager. Either that or the general wear
and tear of getting old. She'd had a consultation with Drooszhbah's
specialist but he had prescribed nicotinic acid and advised her that she
should lower her stress levels. She wanted to retire to her sister's place
in Colorado but her loyalty to Drooszhbah was absolute. Without her, he
couldn't get out of bed in the morning. She touched her mouth with a finger
and noticed Cynthia, the deaf maid, waiting patiently with the breakfast
tray. She tutted and moved through to the master bedroom with Cynthia
following her. She wouldn't be so upset if it wasn't for Heathcliff. There
was something suspicious about him that she didn't like. She didn't know
what it was but she didn't like it. Why Drooszhbah had anything to do with
him was a mystery to her. A complete mystery. But Julia was not the type to
listen at keyholes. That was what made her so valuable.
She opened the door and took the tray from Cynthia. The guard on the
door watched them all the way down the hall, but didn't move out of
position. He wasn't allowed to touch the door unless there was a security
threat. The maid followed her in and stood while she roused Drooszhbah.
" Good morning David. Have you slept well?" She placed the tray on
the huge expanse of bed and adjusted a pillow as he opened his eyes.
Drooszhbah was a light sleeper. At seventy eight years old he
reckoned he should sleep as light and as little as he possibly could. After
all, he might not wake up one of these mornings. He looked about forty
years old thanks to a second heart lung operation, a great deal of surgical
intervention and a number of very expensive retro-virus that he took. He
rubbed his thick hair out of his face and sat up as Julia worked the
controls on the bed that elevated the headrest. She handed the other
handset to Cynthia who opened the curtains. Drooszhbah was very specific
about house systems. He didn't like them and wouldn't let them through the
door. Everything in the Drooszhbah penthouse was manual. After the attack,
his personality had changed. He'd become more suspicious of things, but
technology in particular. He relied on technology to protect him but he
didn't trust it.
"I wish I hadn't gone to the ambassador's dinner last night, I must
have eaten something that's affected me, I feel strange." He rubbed his
temples with both hands.
" Sinuses playing up again honey?" She took his pulse and handed him
a nasal spray. " You know you really have to keep away from all that
passive cigarette smoke. You know that it plays havoc with your sinuses."
She marked his pulse on a sheet beside the bed and put the pen down.
Drooszhbah frowned at her, " Julia, you can be as old fashioned as
tea sometimes. How often do I have to tell you that these people are
smoking Californians. They don't contain tobacco."
"Well, whatever they contain, it isn't good for you. Look at the
condition you're in." She lifted the breakfast tray across and stirred some
cream into his coffee. "He's outside in the hall," she said, quietly,
hoping he wouldn't hear it. Drooszhbah lifted the tray up quickly and
handed it to her to move it out of his way. He checked that Cynthia wasn't
in a position to lip read.
"Heathcliff?" he asked.
Julia nodded.
"Jesus Christ Julia. Why didn't you tell me right away? Is the man on
the door sitting looking at him? He'll be really pissed. You're entitled to
dislike him all you want, but you mustn't piss him off. Ever." He pulled on
a silk robe. Julia helped him with one hand. He shooed her away. " Go and
bring him in."
Julia frowned at him and signed for Cynthia to take the tray away.
"What's so special about him then?" she asked.
"Never mind," Drooszhbah replied tersely. "Get the security out of
sight and then show him in. Better still, take him in through the bathroom
suite. Then move George into the lounge."
Julia sighed. "You have the holo technicians in forty minutes and
make-up in half an hour. And GM have filed chapter eleven this morning so
all the scripts are being re-written. They need you for the script
conference after that." she closed the door behind her. The bathroom suite
door opened.
"I let myself in," said Heathcliff. "I hope you don't mind, I had to
take care of your doorman."
"You haven't harmed him, have you?" Drooszhbah tightened the cord on
his gown and flicked on the monitor beside his bed.
"Not at all Dave San. Quite the opposite in fact." Heathcliff sat
down on the end of the bed and selected some toast from the breakfast tray,
tasted it and made a face. He put the slice back on the plate and spat the
unchewed bite into the napkin. " You should buy Puritan bread, Dave, this
can't be good for you."
"How can you possibly tell?" asked Drooszbah without looking up.
"I can tell," Heathcliff responded.
On the monitor, Drooszhbah saw the slumped figure of his security guard.
" He's having a rather pleasant dream about Jennie Tang." said
Heathcliff.
"So what's up? Where's the stuff?" Drooszhbah found himself
unconsciously looking for a cigarette. He'd stopped smoking twenty years
ago. Heathcliff produced a small glass phial from his pocket and threw it
across to him. "It's fresh, better take it now," he said and added as an
afterthought, "Lainey's vanished. Possibly dead."
Drooszhbah hesitated for a second then pushed his sleeve up. He
tipped the contents of the phial onto his arm and spread it across the skin
with his fingers. Within a few seconds it had disappeared. He sighed. "What
do you mean, vanished?" he asked. "How can he have vanished?"
Heathcliff stirred a bowl of peaches and kiwi fruit mixed with low
fat yogurt. Made of translucent Japanese china, the bowl was decorated with
the ideograph for 'joy' on one side. He tasted the fruit, paused and seemed
satisfied that it was fit to eat. " Excellent," he said, scooping the
contents into his mouth. Heathcliff didn't speak until he had finished.
" That analogue lasts for a month," he said, dabbing at the corner of
his mouth with a napkin," and you shouldn't eat any kind of cheese."
Drooszhbah eyed him impatiently. But Heathcliff didn't even look up.
"Oh yes, Lainey..." he continued. "Vanished. Disappeared. He's
cunning, but he has his finger in a lot of pies. It's hard to decide
whether he vanished deliberately or if someone assisted him. Probably the
latter. His girlfriend's dead though, murdered." He watched Drooszhbah
raise an eyebrow. "I wanted to reassure myself that you weren't connected?"
Drooszhbah's face flushed angrily. " Me?" he said, spitting the words
out. " Me? What kind of double cross would that involve?"
"It's alright. No need to worry. But I like to consider every
eventuality. You know Dave San, it isn't good for your karma to contain
negative feelings about anything. I like to have all that out in the
nothing. Especially where you're concerned." Heathcliff allowed a gentle
mocking smile to grow across his face.
"So what happens now?" asked Drooszhbah, deciding to ignore the
implication. Heathcliff sat up a little as he replied, changed his posture
and changed his tone of voice. He was like two different people, always
playing cat and mouse with Drooszhbah. "We still have the partner. Lainey
would have used him any way. He just needs a little convincing."
"I don't like the sound of that," said Drooszhbah, who found it
difficult to assert himself with Heathcliff. The mediastar was a big man,
but Heathcliff had an impressively tall and broad shouldered figure. "You
know I don't like that sort of thing," he continued. "When you first came
to me it was all going to be a lot simpler than this. You aren't exactly
inspiring confidence at the moment."
"No problem. Dave San. If you've changed your mind about analogue
seven, I'll just forget all about it, shall I?" Heathcliff rose off the bed
so quickly that the contents of the tray clattered against each other.
Drooszhbah looked at his arm, where the analogue six had passed into his
tissues and felt a wave of panic. Heathcliff was halfway to the door before
Drooszhbah spoke.
" No, stop. Okay, I apologise. I apologise. Come on, all this fucking
with me, it's perverse, unnecessary. You need me as much as I need you.
Okay? I just don't like this bad trip of yours and I don't need to."
"My bad trip?" Heathcliff asked. "Agritechno is not my bad trip
Drooszie San." He stopped and sat down on an antique chair. He stared into
space for a few seconds then spoke again. "Pride is a sap. He's messed up
inside, in his head. He'll try to trick us but I have something he wants,
something he'll do anything to get." Drooszhbah was about to say something,
but Heathcliff shook his head. "No, you don't need to know about it. As for
Lainey, that's just unfortunate, we simply can't model the super matrix
quickly enough, nor can we be sure that he hasn't been made aware of its
predictions. There are big players involved in this and they have greater
resources."
There was a knock on the bedroom door. Heathcliff glanced at the
handle. "It's okay, she won't come in," said Drooszhbah.
"If your woman sees my face again....." Heathcliff nodded to him to
get the door. The Ukrainian had witnessed Heathcliff's ruthless obsession
with his privacy. Drooszbah opened the door a crack and shooed Julia away.
He turned back to Heathcliff.
"So what's the present ETA on analogue seven?" he asked trying,
without success, to look Heathcliff straight in the eye.
" ETA?" Heathcliff almost sneered. "You're surrounded by Harvard
Business School assholes, Drooszie. They're beginning to affect your mind.
What we're involved in can't be stuck into some net present value
spreadsheet. This is like a huge jigsaw and all the pieces have to fall
into place precisely. One after the other. It's a work of art, a symphony.
Just let those pieces fall in the right place and we have it." He picked up
a small art deco vase and tossed it across the room to Drooszhbah.
Drooszhbah's eyes followed the expensive ceramic as it sailed through the
air towards him. He fumbled the catch, almost dropped it, but managed to
flick it on to the bed. Heathcliff laughed.
"One day you'll have to realise that no matter how hard you push,
Dave, you'll never get a camel through the eye of a needle," he said with a
sneer.
" Did you come just to be awkward or is there anything else?" asked
Drooszhbah, taking the vase from amongst the duvet and returning it to it's
position.
" Put pressure on Pride. We need to keep him confused, limit his
options. See your friends at the EPA. Do whatever it is that you powerful
men do with their connections."
"And what about you? What will you be doing?"
Heathcliff stood up and turned the handle on the bathroom door. "I'll be
doing all the dirty things that rich and famous men can't afford to be seen
doing. But look on the bright side. I can't do it without you and you can't
do it without me." He let a short lived grin flicker across his face and
opened the door. Then he stopped, remembering something, and turned back.
"And one last thing Dave San."
"Yes," said Drooszhbah anxiously.
"Remember, don't eat any cheese. It would be rather inconvenient if
you were to drop dead."
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File - $
From: joshua@server.dmccorp.com (Joshua Lellis)
CHIBA CITY BLUES
By Joshua Lellis
----------------------- Well....
| \ |/|/\/\/ | It finally happened.
| |\\//////-- | I've finished writing _The_Alaskan_. 220+k. Good
| /\ /\ | reviews on it. Lots of friendly encouragement. I
| | (o)^(o) | | printed it out on old Betsy over there, the HP
| | | | deskjet printer I've got sitting next to the
| | | | | monitor. Anyhow, the special thanks page was
| | ) ( | | an entire page. I thanked lots of people, various
| | \ / | | patrons of the cyberpunk community on the internet.
| \ --- / | ACC. Alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo.
| \ / | Anyhow the main point in this CCB, as managing
| \ / | editor of CCB, I'm going
| \---/ | to be asking all the ACCers to help out in this
| | year's first annual....
| |
| |
----------------------- CHIBA CITY BLUES
Joshua "Ascii" Lellis ACC READER'S SURVEY
That's right... You too can participate in this ACC survey. All you need:
brain,
computer,
alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo.
So if you've read ACC for the last month or so, or the last year, or the
last two years, or forever, you can participate in this survey...
So, during this first survey, you will let your voice be heard. The
results of the poll will be posted in CCB in mid-October.
WE WILL BE TAKING RESULTS UP TO THE FIFTEENTH OF OCTOBER.
That should give you plenty of time to tell us here at CCB what you liked.
And so...
all you have to do is...
fill out this form:
CCB ACC READER'S POLL
Your Name:
Your Email Address:
Best Short Story:
1.
2.
3.
Best Poem:
1.
2.
3.
Best Short Series (1-5 chapters):
1.
2.
3.
Best Novel (5+ Chapters):
1.
2.
3.
Best Writer:
1.
2.
3.
Most Original Plot Line:
1.
2.
3.
Author Most Likely To Publish Successfully:
1.
2.
3.
Favorite Character (Male):
1.
2.
3.
Favorite Character (Female):
1.
2.
3.
Favorite Villain (Male/Female/It/or Them):
1.
2.
3.
Fill out the form and send it to:
joshua@server.dmccorp.com
and
jlellis@igate.dmccorp.com
one of the addresses should work. I will be doing the vote counting on my
honor.
Cheers.
---------
_The_Alaskan_ is available via a request to joshua@server.dmccorp.com.
Don't be shy, I'll send it.
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>> Scheduled 4 upcomming issues: <<
<< >>
>> Interview: Bill Leeb of Front Line Assembly, Delerium, Intermix etc >>
>> Sci-Fi : Continuation of Heavy Duty <<
END LINE_NOIZ.21
--
+ Billy Biggs Ottawa, Canada | =itwouldbetheultimatetriumphofhumanreason=
+ ae687@Freenet.carleton.ca | =forthenwewouldknowthemindofGOD= S.Hawking