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Line Noiz Issue 13
From ae687@FreeNet.Carleton.CA Tue Apr 5 19:27:07 EDT 1994
Article: 3253 of alt.zines
Newsgroups: alt.cyberspace,alt.zines
Path: news.cic.net!magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu!math.ohio-state.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!torn!nott!cunews!freenet.carleton.ca!FreeNet.Carleton.CA!ae687
From: ae687@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Billy Biggs)
Subject: Line Noiz issue 13 - March 31
Message-ID: <Cnt6Iy.3s4@freenet.carleton.ca>
Sender: news@freenet.carleton.ca
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Organization: The National Capital FreeNet
Date: Tue, 5 Apr 1994 22:59:21 GMT
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BEGIN LINE_NOIZ.13
I S S U E - ! # M A R C H 3 1 , 1 9 9 4
>LiNE NOiZ< >LiNE NOiZ<
[] ( { { /\/\/\ : : /~~\ = ! @ # $ %
][ ) {{ { \ ;; ; | | + &
[] ( { { { /\/ : : : | | = *
][ ) { {{ \ ; ;; | | + (
[][][] ( { { /\/\/\ : : \__/ = ) _ + / *
CYbERPUNk I N f O R M A t i O N E - Z i N E
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*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^* L i N E N O i Z *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
I S S U E - ! # M A R C H 3 1 , 1 9 9 4
: File !
: Intro to Issue 13
: Billy Biggs <ae687@freenet.carleton.ca>
: File @
: Square One - Part Three
: ah804@freenet.carleton.ca (Kipp Lightburn)
: File #
: Tales of the Book Of Dreamscapes - Part 1
: Vidar Hokstad <ppack@oslohd.no>
: File $
: Where Am I? - Parts 1, 2 & 3
: Sayl <anonymous>
: File %
: Nibbles of Information
: Billy Biggs <ae687@freenet.carleton.ca>
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File - !
This issue has evolved into an almost purely science-fiction content. I'm
looking for more articles on current issues, please submit more opinions.
Happy easter to all!
-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 =-*-=
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.
Back Issues can be recieved by sending mail to the same address with the
words BACK ISSUES in the subject.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
File - @
From: ah804@freenet.carleton.ca (Kipp Lightburn)
Square One - Part Three
The beating siren and the rattle of medical supplies drowns
out the sound of the paramedic's neck snapping. I cradle his weight
and lower him onto the bloodied stretcher that nestled me.
I can't go back. I know nothing about myself. My past isn't a
blur, because there isn't an image to tamper with. There's nothing.
The ambulance takes a sharp turn. I have to steady myself on
my one good leg as I drag towards the rear. The driver, drowns in
his own ignorance. My sporadic breathing plays with my rib cage as if
it were a razor edged, tuning fork.
The doors lend me leaning sanctuary. Out the back windows,
the sight of morning spilling onto the city, looms. And traffic.
We're riding down the spine of an eight lane highway. The ambulance
is a white metal coffin immersed in the transom of morning rush hour.
Ambulance.
Hospital. The reason for the paramedic's death. I tell
myself it wasn't instinct. It wasn't a programmed response to the
smell of my own blood. I force myself to believe it was self
defense. He was one of the couriers delivering the package of my
flesh. I agree with myself.
There's one more. Adrenaline overrides thought. Body
controls mind. Instinct rules over logic. One of the guard rails
is torn from the stretcher as the driver falls into view. I clutch
my new weapon with a dazed grin. My body ignores my conscience.
The sound of my leg dragging along the floor pulls him from
his submerged bliss. He sees me. Sees my weapon of choice for this
kill. Confusion, fear, and horror, etch themselves elaborately into
his body language. Blood. I memorize the sight. Blood. The feel.
Blood. The emotion. Blood. The exhilaration.
I crave memories.
The ambulance begins to sway. This chariot's guiding angel
is dead, and the horses that pull it can smell the killing of fear.
I heave myself to the rear again. I toss the guard rail to the floor
and hammer the doors open.
This hurtling tomb opens and I'm slapped with the caress of
cold, polluted air. The sports car in front of me swerves out of the
lane, the driver looks at me frightened. Is that all? I'm hunted
and feared?
A car horn calls to me as a small grey convertible pulls
itself behind the ambulance, matching speed. A bald man in the
drivers seat watches me calmly, his passenger grabs the top of the
windshield and stands up. Her face meeting the wind head on. Her
face meeting the wind. Her face. Her.
Her.
The ambulance swerves nervously into a parallel lane. The calm
man in the convertible, swerves in unison, as if he'd anticipated it.
"Kyle!" Her hand motions for me to go to her. The same
hand that clutched the gun at the hospital. "Come on Kyle!"
And I stare at her. In a baffled trance I stare. I don't
hear her anymore, I don't smell the stale air, I don't feel my ribcage
contracting. I just see her calling, motioning. My mind won't let
go. My body, which was once in control, now follows my mind's every
whim.
Arm outstretched, I lean forward out the back of the
ambulance. Gravity, my master now, tugs at me. Like a sack of wet
gravel I collide with the hood of the convertible
For the first time it hits me with a scream. Pain. The
toxins which held back the side effects of my damage lift like a cage
door. Pain comes howling out of its dark cell with a vengeance. I
scream. I'm pulled off of the hood and thrown into the back seat.
I scream and scream. Her hand touches my face. Skin. Electric.
Fire. I forget pain. I only know her. Only her.
Her.
--
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|/ | [ email at ] -------------
|\IPP |_IGHTBURN [ ah804@freenet.carleton.ca ] -------------
-------------------------------------------------------------
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File - #
From: ppack@oslohd.no (Vidar Hokstad)
Tales of the Book Of Dreamscapes
" He was a computer illiterate, a visionary without sight. A lucky
strike, and an era of Cyberpunk rising. An era not yet ended..."
001 / Glimpses of a distant future
Dreamless nights in thousand came and went leaving nothing but a
light scent of progress. Whatever progress really means. The formation
of the stars had changed the night I woke from my state of euforia -
thrown into a cold, unfriendly reality I shivered slightly, but
couldn't take my eyes of the starry patterns that were my only light
those first few seconds before the lights in the room were turned on,
leaving it bathed in a weird glow much like that of a room with a TV-
set as it's only source of light.
Yes, the formations had changed for sure. I could no longer find
The big dipper, or Orion, as if I cared. Still, I did not feel at ease.
Perhaps was it the feeling that the night sky had darkened somewhat;
that the stars had became fewer while I was asleep.
- Who cares? I whispered to myself, before I drew my face away from
the window. Walking back to the ancient computer-terminal to see if the
error had yet been found, so that I could fix it, and once again return
to sleep.
I wondered what year it could be, but not even the Allmighty would
be able to enlighten me on that question. Did it still exist a single
clock at this point? Probably not. And if it did, there would be no
hope of making it work. And once again: Why should I care?
An hour, or so it felt, went by in silence, no progress were
reported.
Again I was drawn towards the window. Staring out over the
landscape I could see several wounds. At least two or three were
obviously caused by meteors. How long does it take to get the surface
of a planet like earth so scarred?
My life began long before 2000. I were one of the few to actually
have read a book of paper, one of the few which still had memories of
H.G.Wells and his fantasies on the nature of timetravel. Staring out at
a deserted plain, I thought of his visions of a future without humans.
He was not that wrong, although humanity still lived and prospered.
How could he have understood the strange ways of reality? It took
until the last decade of the second millenia before anyone as much as
suggested anything close to the truth.
The year was 1981 when I got my first computer. I was six, and the
machine was a Vic 20. As time went by, both the computers and I grew
bigger. It was not until 1993 I went online. Those first few years of
my life had passed so slowly; they did almost float by like a lazy
river on a hot summer day. The next few centuries were filled with
action and exciting adventures. It took time before I settled down. A
long time.
At last the error was discovered. The errorcodes were familiar,
only a powerfailure somewhere would cause such patterns. If I had not
wanted so badly to return to my precious sleep, I should really have
proposed a patch to the Allmighty, but did an hour or two awake every
millenia or two hurt?
It was probably the same thought that had kept those before me from
fixing it before, so why should I be the one?
- Hell. It's time for going to sleep, my inner voice reminded me,
and I returned to my chamber.
---
* ppack@oslohd.no (The Powerpack)
---
BTW: I would really appreciate comments, but only by *E-MAIL* - please
do *not* assume that i read alt.cyber* 'cause I haven't got the
possibility to do so at present...
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File - $
WHERE AM I?
By Sayl
PART I
Date: Agust 2nd, 2026 Time: 24:03 ST
----------------------------------------
Link-up in process . . . . . . .
Complete
----------------------------------------
Enter External Passcode Now:
* * * - * - * *
Processing . . . . . . .
Access Approved
----------------------------------------
ComTech Internation Systems Headquarter
System Status
Ext. Locks --- ON
Int. Locks --- ON
Sys. Der --- OFF
ICS --- ON
ISR --- ON
ESR --- OFF
----------------------------------------
Name: T. J. Thomas
Interior Passcode:
* * * - * * * - * - **
Processing . . . . . . .
ACCESS DENIED
Interior Passcode:
* * * - * * * - * - **
Processing . . . . . . .
ACCESS DENIED
Interior Passcode:
* * * - * * * - * - **
ACCESS DENIED
### ICS ENGAGE ###
@#!$^ ()@&&#* __+_#()&hlia*!)ND9(@MH
Link-up Terminated
Link-up 345 Progtram . . . DELETED
Link-up 345 Backups . . . DELETED
BEGIN SYSTEM DESTRUCTION
"Damn!" Jon exclaimed as he watched in horror as the ICS's destroyed his
computer's soft and most of it's hardware. He knew it wouldn't be easy
salvaging what the ICS's left him. Pulling the plug was useless seeing as
they had allready written themselves into the perms of his hardrive. But
the fact that his computer was slowly being obliterated was not what Jon was
so mad about, he had paid good money to get that informant to talk. Infact it
had cost him nearly 11,000 credits to get the Exterior Passcode, even more to
find out the Interior. His system, now being destroyed, had some of the most
complicated Jacking Software Jon could get. Yet every now and again Jon's
programes couldn't enter into a system, forcing Jon to rely on informants,
most of which very expensive. But now that the Interior Computer Security
Virus was in he knew he could never get it out.
It was about 1:30 in the morning, an hour and a half after Jon's little
experience, when he found himself in a place he frequented called Jones'. A
run-down little bar, Jones' was considered high standard by those of lesser
inteligence. Jon ordered his usual scotch on the rox, when they showed up,
three men wearing black uniforms, Police. Could they really have found me by
now! Jon's thoughts raced through his head as the men inched their way towards
him.
"You there," one of the officers began, "are you Jon Da . . ."
The officer never finished his sentence. With a crackling blue flash Jon
impaled his phaseknife into the officer's chest and moved in for the others.
But then he felt it, the burning of his own flesh, a sharp laser blast to his
right arm, and everything went black.
PART 2
Sally disconected from the matrix, her normal vision beginning to come
back. She got up from her chair and went to the backdoor of her ground floor
pad. She unlocked verbally, allowing the sunshine to be filtered in,
temporarily blinding her. She walked out into the ally. Looking around, she
mentally checked a flower box beside her door. Dead, she thought to herself.
"HALT!"
"Oh shit..." Sally cussed under her breath, "...you've got nothing on me
copper."
She turned around slowly, her arms raised, to find the muzzle of a 9mm
RDF laser pistol staring her down.
"The hell I don't..." the copped showed a small PortoCam in his hand,
"...it's all right here, BETA ZERO NINER...This is Watcom 7ty6 Over"
"Roger Watcom 7ty6 go ahead" a woman's voice answered from his wrist.
"HQ, I've got a J39-107, and possibly a HA-255, ID Request Over"
"Request approved, begin when ready Watcom 7ty6"
He replaced the PortoCam in his pocket and took out a small slad of
blackness, the only thing visible on it's surface was a glowing red dot. The
cop cautiously sqawted down and slid it to Sally's feet.
"Pick it up and place your right thumb on the red dot," Sally didn't
budge, "NOW BITCH!"
Sally slowly bent over careful to give the cop a good view of her
abundant chest, which her halter didn't quite cover modestly. She picked the
slab up.
"Now put your thumb on the RED dot"
She did so. Immediately she felt a slight pain, a needle the size of a
human hair pluged in for the DNA that would identify not only her, but worse,
her record. Now there was a new sensation, a slight tingling, as the bleeding
that would occur was stopped chemicaly.
"Ok good now slide it back gently," Sally complied and bent down once
again but while sliding it let one of the straps keeping her top up slide off
her shoulder, then on the way up the other slid in accordance. She, now bare
breasted, began to approach the cop as he stared piggishly.
"Watcom 7ty6, this is BETA ZERO NINER Id Confirmed, suspect is SALLY
DAVIDSON, AKA The Watchdog, Suspect is a known felon and was arrested for
J39-107 and HA-255 but escaped before trial, Suspect IS dangerous and to be
approached with extreme caution, Over"
"R...r...roger HQ, M...making...ar...r...rest"
Sally was now only a foot away, she brushed her flowing blond hair out of
her face and moved to kiss him. She brought her knee up and heard his testical
burst, he screamed in pain and immediatly fell to the ground. Sally grabbed
his gun and silenced him.
"Watcom 7ty6 Report, repeat Watcom 7ty6 Report, Watcom 7ty6 Do you read
me?" The comunicater's noise faded as she dashed inside her house. They'll be
here any minute! Shit, Shit, Shit! Her heart pounded as she restored her
halter's position and rapidly packed a small yet spacious backpack. Then,
grabbing her credit card off her dresser, Sally ran to the front door.
It swished open... All went dark.
PART 3
When he awoke Jon found himself in a dimly lit steel room roughly 5 feet
square, in the corner he could make out the vague figure of another preson,
but nothing else.
"Where am I" Jon said softly, his wounds still burning.
A woman's voice responded from the dark, "I know just as little as . . ."
A door opened in the wall and light flooded the room, then he saw her,
her features so beutifully defined, her abundance framed in long flowing blond
hair.
"You two come with me!" a harsh voice came from someone outside the door.
Jon and the woman stood up and walked out. He found himself standing in a
hallway lined with doors, ahead of them were stairs leading up. Waiting were
three guards, each holding a laser pistol. In less than a second
she had overpowered them all, leaving them dead on the floor.
"Come On!". Witout question Jon followed her as they dashed for the
stairs. Atop was an open door which the guards had lazzily forgotten to seal,
presumably under-estimating the occupants capabilies. The door entered into
the front office of the 5th precinct Police Sation. In a couple of seconds she
had disposed of another police officer, sergeant, maybe capitan sitting at the
front desk. She moved like a pro! As she ran for the front door Jon grabbed
her arm.
"WHAT THE HELL do you think your doing?"
Before she could reply, Jon pointed to a small side door labeled
"Evidence". With Jon in the lead they broke the lock and entered a small,
dimly lit room.
"There it is", she grabbed a backpack off a steel shelf at the back and
searched through it. Jon took the liberty to reclaim and check his wallet.
"So, what were you in for?" she questioned.
"I tried my hand at the matrix, and got caught, Damn imformant screwed
me. You?"
"Jack and Hack, but nothing destructive."
"That's what they all say." She puled the backpack over her shoulder.
"I have a place that the cops don't know about, under a different name,
and, well, your welcome to come if you want, and besi- did you say you
were a pro or amature jacker?"
"I didn't, but pro why?"
"Well I need a good jacker, to try a new progr-"
"Hey we can talk when we get to wherever your taking me, right now we
have to get the hell out of here."
"Let's go then."
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File - %
... n i b b l e s of information /by billy biggs
o Internet site spot : Neato stuff to check out
------------------
LambdaMOO
^^^^^^^^^^^
Telnet: lambda.parc.xerox.com 8888
Description: A nice big huge MUD (MOO). It's like a text-based virtual
reality, actually it IS a text based virtual reality. One could spend
hours exploring, and if you can get permission, hours and hours of
building. An amazing place.
------------------
o The Music Review Corner : Reviews of stuff, old and new, bad and good...
------------------
Artist: Front 242 Date: 1993
Album: 06:21:03:11 Up Evil Length:
Review: A definate change for Front, Up Evil mixes traditional 242 electronic
body music sounds with a more heavy metal feel. The addition of many
electric guitar sounds (more annoying than musical) adds another depth
to Front's sound. Up Evil is very busy with action, the sound cluttered
with noise, music and vocals. Jean-Luc De Meyer's vocals range from
loud screaming to a quiet roar, yet are always part of the music and not
overshadowing it. Front 242 retains very instrumental qualities in their
music showing off fancy computer tricks and experimenting with MIDI. The
single from Up Evil, Religion, in my opinion is not an outstanding song.
It's more experimental for Front, loud guitar samples, distorted vocals
and a driving drum beat from hell. The album itself is a masterpiece in
technology, variety and atmosphere. It can be listened to while one is busy
doing something. The songs that stand out are Crapage, Skin, Motion and
Melt.
Erland Rating: + 2
------------------
From: jkettune@cs.joensuu.fi (Juha Kettunen)
Artist: Advanced Art Date: 1994
Album: FORCE Length: 9 tracks, 38 min
Review: Too short. It's the only thing that's wrong with it. I want
more!
Description: Advanced Art are back with a "not-a-full-price" CD. It
consists of three parts: 'Update' brings us 5 new excellent tracks,
'Live' represents 2 live versions of 'PRODUCT' (the previous album)
tracks, and 'Retro' gives us a hint of the history of Advanced Art,
as it features 2 '94 mixes of their '87 and '86 demos which people
have requested. So why are there so few new tracks? Are the boys
losing their inspiration? _God_ I hope not. 'Update' is the usual
Advanced Art, with even more aggressive rhythms and metallic sounds.
The lyrics are as dark and pessimistic as those in 'PRODUCT'. One
of them actually deals with cyberpunk, a future man who feds up with
virtual sex in cyberspace and ends up a hospitalized pervert who
wants FLESH. Other themes are the wickedness of human mind, the
unwillingness of people to face today's greatest problems, the
strange drive of wanting to hurt the ones you love, and the
attempted coup d'etat in Russia. The 'Live' versions are nice, but
one gets the feeling that they're just stuffing of the otherwise so
short CD. 'Retro' combines rough hardcore rhythms with strong synth
melodies and 'real' singing. The lyrics are typical Advanced Art,
pretended love and discontent of life in today's society. In short,
'FORCE' gives you the taste of the usual excellent Advanced Art
music, but doesn't satisfy you in full. I hope it's just meant to
be something that makes the waiting of the the next full-length
album easier!! On the scale from 1 to 3, I'd give 'PRODUCT' a 3
while 'FORCE' would score a 3-.
-Juha.
------------------
[ You think you can write a review too, then do so! ]
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>> ALWAYS LOOKING FOR SUBMISSIONS
<<
>> PLEASE DISTRIBUTE THIS
<<
>> TiLL ISSUE 14
END LINE_NOIZ.13
--
Billy Biggs Ottawa, Canada "When all else fails,
ae687@Freenet.carleton.ca read the instructions"
