BEGIN LINE_NOIZ.21 I S S U E - @ ! S E P T E M B E R 2 7 , 1 9 9 4 >LiNE NOiZ<<< >>>LiNE NOiZ< L * N -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- i * o -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- n * i E * Z CYbERPUNk I N f O R M A t i 0 N E - Z i N E <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< L I N E N O i Z >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 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 : File @ : Square One - Part 7 : Kipp Lightburn : File # : Heavy Duty - Chapter 3 : C.McLean-Campbell : File $ : Chiba City Blues Issue 2 : Joshua Lellis ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ --<----<----<----<----L - i - N - e ----- N - o - i - Z ---->---->---->---->-- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 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 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! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ --<----<----<----<----L - i - N - e ----- N - o - i - Z ---->---->---->---->-- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 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. -- ---------------------------------------------------------------- |/ | [ email at ] ------------- |\IPP |_IGHTBURN [ ah804@freenet.carleton.ca ] ------------- ------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------L - i - N - E ----- N - o - i - Z ---------------------- File - # From: C.McLean-Campbell 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." =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= L - I = N - e =-=-= N - o = i - Z =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 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. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ --<----<----<----<----L - I - N - e ----- N - o - i - Z ---->---->---->---->-- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ >> 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