Gordon Littlejohn was late to work the morning of the fifth because of the EMP bomb that went off two blocks from his apartment. At six fifty-nine a.m., a utility truck disguised as an official State vehicle disintegrated under the pressure wave of a conventional explosive while every unhardened electrical system within a kilometer of the truck’s secondary explosion, unseen by the naked eye but well felt by everything that conducted current, had its useful properties scrambled by electromagnetic pulse. As a result of the EMP, none of the electrics in Gordon’s apartment, including his alarm clock, functioned properly anymore. Heavy sleeper that he was, the rattling of his windows was mistaken for an errant compost truck and Gordon had responded by rolling over in bed and grunting a bit. When the sun’s rays finally pierced Gordon’s cheaply veiled windows to tap dance on his eyelids, it was ten o’clock. Rockmore was definitely going to count this as an occurrence.
Source:Tor, New York, p.364 (2006)
Abstract:Repaired Alzheimer patient Robert Gu is given a second chance at life in a near future San Diego. Computers are everywhere, including clothes, and the landscape teems with mediated visions overlaying reality. It is a world where Homeland Security pervades everything in its Red Queen's race to prevent mass death technology from ending the world.
The things that can be known a priori can be named, but they can not be reduced. They are atomic concepts and the naming and defining of them are the same thing.
The room had the darkening light of dusk and incandescance mixed. The remaining conversations were relaxed and slow. It was a time for putting on of coats, and for feet on desks. The conversers had all had conciousness dawn on them gradually, and expected it to leave them gradually.
"It's happening", was the sudden exclamation of one of them, as he began swiftly removing the jacket he'd just buttoned up.
“Hello Philly, this is Neve16. I’m vid feeding from 13th street where something strange is going down. I’m not sure how to explain it, like, you’ll just have to see for yourself.”
The shaky image panned away from the face and came to rest on a man. There is something shocking and unnatural in the way he moves; the floating, billowing waves that undulate around his form with each step taken, as if the force of the ground upon the soles of his feet are sending tremors through his body. It almost looks like each tiny cell wants to fly off in its own direction, but something holds them back. A crowd of onlookers are gathered on the side of the street, all filming and talking feverishly into headsets.
Breaken the Younger rode the lift down underneath the Industrial tower alone, and silent. His mind dwelt momentarily on his sister, Maggie. He had taken her life, in a way. Tossing her like a piece of scrap meat to Diego after he had learned of her treachery, her “love“ for Jordan. Deep inside he sneered. He had felt an inkling of remorse as he walked away from his dying sister the night before, but he discarded it as vestigial emotion he no longer wanted or needed. Another Maggie could be made, Clare she would be called this time. Indeed, he himself had been grown just as she had, as had his other brothers and sisters. As had his “father” and “mother”. He had, once, contemplated the implications of his family. The same two people being grown and re-grown in perpetuity, but he had no fondness for philosophy, so implications didn’t particularly matter. What mattered was that the Breaken clan were strong, and would last until the end of time. He would make sure of that, just as his predecessors had, even if it meant destroying your own blood.
Skullhack part 3
By R.B. Clements
Detective Orleans of the PPD cursed. Not to himself. Not under his breath, but loudly, so everyone could clearly hear what he was saying. There were times when no other words will come, and this was definitely one of them.
_Skullhack part 2
By R.B. Clements
Jordan couldn’t think. The pounding in his brain was an oppressive cacophony of pain, his limbs felt alien, his body- detached and confused. He had stumbled up the dingy stairwell, dazed, and unsteady into Diego’s nightclub. He could barely see in the dim, smoky light. His senses were assaulted by the sound of heavy bass music thumping while five naked girls gyrated on stage. He had to get out of here.