Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Introduction to 31st Century corporate warfare
SF fans everywhere know the future, though sometimes brighter may also be bleak. In the 31st century, "small government" has included reform bills to make it so that economic competition does not consume the resources of the government. One major change put into place is that businesses are allowed competitive rights that include "bald face" warfare. It is only due to this public policy that Kiel Bronson sees a niche for them as mercenaries. Gezka is naive on this point.
Monday, July 19, 2010
The Children of Loki series waxes philosophical
Gezka FaucMerz and Kiel Bronson are meant to co-star in a series of SF novels. I sometimes wonder about how this means they exist. I mean, obviously they are only imaginary characters and yet I have always felt as if they will more reality if I get them published in a novel series than they have now.
Have you heard stoeis about 'unborn children in the spirit world, looking for their parents'? I have. Sometimes I think novels are like that.
I first 'created' Gezka and soon thereafter Kiel when I was 19 - Gezka was older; she's 23 at the beginning of the first novel. Kiel is a lot older; he's 52 at the beginning of the first novel. Not until I was well over 30 years old myself did I even see that the age difference between Kiel and Gezka is the same as the age difference between my father and I in real life.
Have you heard stoeis about 'unborn children in the spirit world, looking for their parents'? I have. Sometimes I think novels are like that.
I first 'created' Gezka and soon thereafter Kiel when I was 19 - Gezka was older; she's 23 at the beginning of the first novel. Kiel is a lot older; he's 52 at the beginning of the first novel. Not until I was well over 30 years old myself did I even see that the age difference between Kiel and Gezka is the same as the age difference between my father and I in real life.
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Future of Engineering
The Future of Engineering
By Miriam Pia
1995 / 2010
Disruption struck the engineering laboratory of an English university. Computer screens crackled and went dark. Testers and timers scratched; fuses burst in those bundles of electronic parts. Graduate students gasped and cursed. Students looked away from their projects to their comrades. “Did you just lose power?” they asked each other.
Office doors swung wide. The advanced students and those with the prestige of office space squinted up to the glowing neon lights and cursed in a variety of languages. None of them were British.
“It’s the storm,” suggested an undergraduate working on her final project.
A German man glowered. “Storm? There is no storm.”
“Have you been outside recently?” the young woman replied. “Have you even been near a window leading to the outside world?”
The young German man with the office without windows frowned. “No, I haven’t.”
“Me neither,” the young woman shrugged. “Just seems probable that a storm would have caused it.”
The German shook his head briefly, confused. Before he mustered a response several professors burst into the laboratory with flapping ties. “Who did it?!” one of them shouted.
“Obviously wasn’t you,” the middle aged mustached man said to the German. His thinking was simple: Germans never do anything wrong. They work hard; they’re perfectly well behaved and he had recruited them all himself - innocence guaranteed.
The group of them gazed around the room. An old, recently divorced for his third time, overweight professor suddenly declared, “It’s that Czech woman! Where is she?” He felt a huge sense of validation at finding out that there was a woman at the source of the problem.
“She’s not in,” said her Australian aboriginal office mate. “I haven’t seen her since half eleven.”
One of the electrical engineers that vaguely recalled how he’d unsuccessfully tried to chat her up the previous weekend spoke up. “She’s been seen with strange people lately,” he began, his mind thick with the latest conspiracy theories. “I’ve seen her with two physicists, a robotics man and one of those philosophy people.”
“Well,” said one of the other supervisors as he patted his tie back into place, “who else is missing?”
“The Austrian!” declared the German.
“Not in my laboratories, not at this university,” the most tenured professor shrieked nervously. Since the turn of the 23rd century there had been what he felt to be an insane devotion to wildly unlikely experimentation in the department. The EU, pushed along by what the North Americans kept calling ‘the New Enlightenment’, had succumbed to a massive influx of investment from private sources. No one understood it, as far as he was concerned.
The Age of Fossil Fuels was over. Lunar and Martian colonization were booming. The global and extra-global economies were very changed. The young were euphoric with optimism. Options for travel and adventure grew like wildfire - on and off world. Interplanetary transport and growth were political mandates. The Futurists had gone green and the Greens had gone Futurist. This political and cultural combination made it an era of playful creation and exuberance.
Two of the doctoral students ran off to check the main circuitry. Three of the other students furrowed their brows and decided to pore over the computers, thoroughly covering every nook and cranny in search of the problem’s cause.
The professors continued to snarl, wince and bicker. They were rather overworked and tended to be combative, always on the look out for how someone else’s students were mucking up the entire department. Unbeknownst to most of the students, they were having union problems and were under severe pressures from the administration to radically alter the syllabi for courses in all manner of engineering sciences. The university was also facing waves of interdisciplinary interests from potential students, which was complicating the amazing supply of financial backing from private industry. This made their lives very difficult and the strain showed.
“It’s that blasted ‘Philosophy of Discovery’ module!” one of the professors complained. It was part of a course that criticized, reviewed and proposed alternative methodologies in research. “Do you know, I’ve actually received an application from a terrifyingly well funded M.Sc. In Philosophy - of all the bloody subjects, to do some psychopathic experiment in telepathic navigational systems for the lunar shuttle?!”
“Good God,” retorted another fellow, “who could possibly supervise such a thing?”
“That’s just it,” the man continued, “the application came with an ominous letter from Boeing, offering $350,000 to pay to find and retain both a supervisor and external examiner if necessary. The student suggested a former CIA agent from a section of that Agency which is only rumored to exist!”
“You think that’s bad,” another, younger professor of engineering said. “I got an application from someone currently at MIT who is absolutely desperate to follow a traditional British program - except that she needs enough laboratory space to work with fission due to some little projects the ESA has her on. Worse still, she sent some form that apparently says that a uranium license can be obtained. I don’t know about the rest of you, but do you know what will happen to my insurance rates if I have to tell my physician that I work with 7 kg of uranium?”
“This cannot happen,” the eldest of them said. “It is not possible. Do you understand; such a thing is not possible. It will not occur - not at this university.” His blood pressure had risen dramatically over the preceding 2 years. His problem was that impossible things happened in his university with increasing frequency.
Meanwhile, in the student bar, the Czech woman sat with her office mate, who had found her after leaving the lab and the frustrated supervisors. “You want to what?” he asked. Although he did not tend towards either paranoia or conspiracy, he was quite skeptical.
“Amplify your mind and get a few readings, “ she told him through her accent. “It shouldn’t be difficult and certainly not painful.”
He thought it sounded like the worst chat up line in history. He couldn’t understand why she might not say so, even if she wanted him. It was the 23rd century after all. “Why,” he said flatly.
“I just need to run some tests,” she answered, oblivious to his imaginings of a come-on line. It wasn’t that she found him ugly, but she had more interesting things on her mind. “I know it sounds stupid, but it just might be that annoying little variable which is messing up my equipment. If not, I won’t have wasted much time, and if so - well, then I’ll have to discuss a change in materials with my supervisor.”
She was drinking half a pint of stout. The two of them had been sharing an office for several weeks. Before he showed up, her equipment ran perfectly. Since his arrival one peculiar little bug had repetitiously shown up in her systems. She had tried correcting her software and all the other ordinary solutions already. She had concluded that the problem was simply - him.
There was a strange humming sound, a scuffling noise and a loud cry of triumph from just behind the door of an electron microscopy lab. The two office mates rose and went to look. The lab was directly across the hall from the on campus pub. From the mechanical laboratory down the hall, the other group rushed to the scene of the ruckus. Splayed out on his front side, lab coat opening out beside and behind him like a pair of angel wings was the German doctoral student. “Caught the little bastard,” he growled, trying to decide whether or not to squeeze it to death. It was in fact, a mouse.
“Kind of an old fashioned solution to this particular problem,” noticed the young researchers.
“Yes,” said the oldest professor. “Let us keep this in mind - not to let our imaginations get the better of us in the future.”
The German’s recruiter grinned with relief. “Well done!” he proclaimed, jostling his tie.
The young woman who had suggested a storm might be the cause brought a rubbish bin and helped to escort the student and the rodent out of the building. Of course she knew better than to kill it. They both did.
The young German was literally blinded by the natural daylight.
By Miriam Pia
1995 / 2010
Disruption struck the engineering laboratory of an English university. Computer screens crackled and went dark. Testers and timers scratched; fuses burst in those bundles of electronic parts. Graduate students gasped and cursed. Students looked away from their projects to their comrades. “Did you just lose power?” they asked each other.
Office doors swung wide. The advanced students and those with the prestige of office space squinted up to the glowing neon lights and cursed in a variety of languages. None of them were British.
“It’s the storm,” suggested an undergraduate working on her final project.
A German man glowered. “Storm? There is no storm.”
“Have you been outside recently?” the young woman replied. “Have you even been near a window leading to the outside world?”
The young German man with the office without windows frowned. “No, I haven’t.”
“Me neither,” the young woman shrugged. “Just seems probable that a storm would have caused it.”
The German shook his head briefly, confused. Before he mustered a response several professors burst into the laboratory with flapping ties. “Who did it?!” one of them shouted.
“Obviously wasn’t you,” the middle aged mustached man said to the German. His thinking was simple: Germans never do anything wrong. They work hard; they’re perfectly well behaved and he had recruited them all himself - innocence guaranteed.
The group of them gazed around the room. An old, recently divorced for his third time, overweight professor suddenly declared, “It’s that Czech woman! Where is she?” He felt a huge sense of validation at finding out that there was a woman at the source of the problem.
“She’s not in,” said her Australian aboriginal office mate. “I haven’t seen her since half eleven.”
One of the electrical engineers that vaguely recalled how he’d unsuccessfully tried to chat her up the previous weekend spoke up. “She’s been seen with strange people lately,” he began, his mind thick with the latest conspiracy theories. “I’ve seen her with two physicists, a robotics man and one of those philosophy people.”
“Well,” said one of the other supervisors as he patted his tie back into place, “who else is missing?”
“The Austrian!” declared the German.
“Not in my laboratories, not at this university,” the most tenured professor shrieked nervously. Since the turn of the 23rd century there had been what he felt to be an insane devotion to wildly unlikely experimentation in the department. The EU, pushed along by what the North Americans kept calling ‘the New Enlightenment’, had succumbed to a massive influx of investment from private sources. No one understood it, as far as he was concerned.
The Age of Fossil Fuels was over. Lunar and Martian colonization were booming. The global and extra-global economies were very changed. The young were euphoric with optimism. Options for travel and adventure grew like wildfire - on and off world. Interplanetary transport and growth were political mandates. The Futurists had gone green and the Greens had gone Futurist. This political and cultural combination made it an era of playful creation and exuberance.
Two of the doctoral students ran off to check the main circuitry. Three of the other students furrowed their brows and decided to pore over the computers, thoroughly covering every nook and cranny in search of the problem’s cause.
The professors continued to snarl, wince and bicker. They were rather overworked and tended to be combative, always on the look out for how someone else’s students were mucking up the entire department. Unbeknownst to most of the students, they were having union problems and were under severe pressures from the administration to radically alter the syllabi for courses in all manner of engineering sciences. The university was also facing waves of interdisciplinary interests from potential students, which was complicating the amazing supply of financial backing from private industry. This made their lives very difficult and the strain showed.
“It’s that blasted ‘Philosophy of Discovery’ module!” one of the professors complained. It was part of a course that criticized, reviewed and proposed alternative methodologies in research. “Do you know, I’ve actually received an application from a terrifyingly well funded M.Sc. In Philosophy - of all the bloody subjects, to do some psychopathic experiment in telepathic navigational systems for the lunar shuttle?!”
“Good God,” retorted another fellow, “who could possibly supervise such a thing?”
“That’s just it,” the man continued, “the application came with an ominous letter from Boeing, offering $350,000 to pay to find and retain both a supervisor and external examiner if necessary. The student suggested a former CIA agent from a section of that Agency which is only rumored to exist!”
“You think that’s bad,” another, younger professor of engineering said. “I got an application from someone currently at MIT who is absolutely desperate to follow a traditional British program - except that she needs enough laboratory space to work with fission due to some little projects the ESA has her on. Worse still, she sent some form that apparently says that a uranium license can be obtained. I don’t know about the rest of you, but do you know what will happen to my insurance rates if I have to tell my physician that I work with 7 kg of uranium?”
“This cannot happen,” the eldest of them said. “It is not possible. Do you understand; such a thing is not possible. It will not occur - not at this university.” His blood pressure had risen dramatically over the preceding 2 years. His problem was that impossible things happened in his university with increasing frequency.
Meanwhile, in the student bar, the Czech woman sat with her office mate, who had found her after leaving the lab and the frustrated supervisors. “You want to what?” he asked. Although he did not tend towards either paranoia or conspiracy, he was quite skeptical.
“Amplify your mind and get a few readings, “ she told him through her accent. “It shouldn’t be difficult and certainly not painful.”
He thought it sounded like the worst chat up line in history. He couldn’t understand why she might not say so, even if she wanted him. It was the 23rd century after all. “Why,” he said flatly.
“I just need to run some tests,” she answered, oblivious to his imaginings of a come-on line. It wasn’t that she found him ugly, but she had more interesting things on her mind. “I know it sounds stupid, but it just might be that annoying little variable which is messing up my equipment. If not, I won’t have wasted much time, and if so - well, then I’ll have to discuss a change in materials with my supervisor.”
She was drinking half a pint of stout. The two of them had been sharing an office for several weeks. Before he showed up, her equipment ran perfectly. Since his arrival one peculiar little bug had repetitiously shown up in her systems. She had tried correcting her software and all the other ordinary solutions already. She had concluded that the problem was simply - him.
There was a strange humming sound, a scuffling noise and a loud cry of triumph from just behind the door of an electron microscopy lab. The two office mates rose and went to look. The lab was directly across the hall from the on campus pub. From the mechanical laboratory down the hall, the other group rushed to the scene of the ruckus. Splayed out on his front side, lab coat opening out beside and behind him like a pair of angel wings was the German doctoral student. “Caught the little bastard,” he growled, trying to decide whether or not to squeeze it to death. It was in fact, a mouse.
“Kind of an old fashioned solution to this particular problem,” noticed the young researchers.
“Yes,” said the oldest professor. “Let us keep this in mind - not to let our imaginations get the better of us in the future.”
The German’s recruiter grinned with relief. “Well done!” he proclaimed, jostling his tie.
The young woman who had suggested a storm might be the cause brought a rubbish bin and helped to escort the student and the rodent out of the building. Of course she knew better than to kill it. They both did.
The young German was literally blinded by the natural daylight.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
The Children of Loki - Gezka's Shades
Yesterday the fellow SF author Mike Williamson commented on a photo of him in sunglasses at his public or semi-public website. This reminded me of the importance of sun protection. Gezka FaucMerz also needs protection from 'solar radiation'. She also has sunglasses in the first novel. They are not ordinary eye wear since they are designed to be able to be used during heavy hand to hand combat. Well, actually they use weapons but are trained for in-close fighting as well as being able to pick off opponents from a distance. Although her main firearm has been named: the Zeitchgnaster FNL quadromatic rifle; her sunglasses have not been named.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Military Science Fiction
http://io9.com/5481380/your-military-science-fiction-isnt-really-military-science-fiction
Sunday, July 4, 2010
A Note to Readers
Thank you so much, and welcome to the blog. Feel free to share about it, whether amongst your family and friends at the beach or online through a "Facebook Like" method. I really appreciate you. The number one thing that every writer and creative story teller needs are their readers. Without people like you, writing a novel is a lot like a private day dream. In truth, even though I do want to earn a good living writing, I always wanted to make people happy with high quality tales.
There is a place for stories in the real world, as you are well aware. Thanks again, be sure to invite your other friends to join us. Let me know what you think as we go along. Your comments are welcome, whether it is one remark once, or if you enter into a long dialogue with me about a blog posting.
There is a place for stories in the real world, as you are well aware. Thanks again, be sure to invite your other friends to join us. Let me know what you think as we go along. Your comments are welcome, whether it is one remark once, or if you enter into a long dialogue with me about a blog posting.
Inconjunction & Steel Hale
Steel Hale is one of the mercenaries that Kiel and Gezka hire in The Children of Loki. He is very special in that he is one of the very few Exterior citizens that they are able to include. He has been genetically engineered for his profession as a demolitions expert. Kiel persuades Gezka to hire him even though he is a civilian using the argument that compared to her, everyone is a civilian, even most military personnel. This is true, since she believes that only genetically engineered soldiers are "real ones". In the Exterior Federation - the norm is to have engineered military forces. To Interior Federation personnel this is offensive; genetic engineering of humans is viewed as an evil of the Exteriors. The way the cultures "fate" people based upon their engineering is frowned upon.
Steel Hale is a happy Exterior. He knows he is incredibly fortunate to be able to have so much to do with one of Emperor Rejkyavik's soldiers - one of the Captains. He is content to have little to do with Captain FaucMerz since back home, he would only ever see her if she were in a parade of military personnel. They have a natural and unspoken sense of cultural unity.
Steel Hale is a happy Exterior. He knows he is incredibly fortunate to be able to have so much to do with one of Emperor Rejkyavik's soldiers - one of the Captains. He is content to have little to do with Captain FaucMerz since back home, he would only ever see her if she were in a parade of military personnel. They have a natural and unspoken sense of cultural unity.
Inconjunction & a Witch
http://www.shellyheskettharris.com/. I found this link "irresistible" because the lady who wrote the book says it has a witch, a gnome and a widow in it. It has something to do with real life and the worlds of the imagination where magic exists.
Meanwhile, I have attended Inconjunction XXX, an SF & F gamer convention in The Circle City. If you don't understand the Midwest then you might not realize that the Circle City is Indianapolis. I don't want to delve too deeply into what happened, but I saw more Utilikilts outside of Seattle than I have ever seen before. I met and interacted with a number of fellow professional writers and authors, and gamed. My son had a good time to. The good news should be a safe assumption: no unwanted sexual contact. The bad news may not surprize you either: there was no wanted sexual contact. I did meet a few people I'd say Yes to, amongst a lot of Thank God No's. I believe no one was injured.
Meanwhile, I have attended Inconjunction XXX, an SF & F gamer convention in The Circle City. If you don't understand the Midwest then you might not realize that the Circle City is Indianapolis. I don't want to delve too deeply into what happened, but I saw more Utilikilts outside of Seattle than I have ever seen before. I met and interacted with a number of fellow professional writers and authors, and gamed. My son had a good time to. The good news should be a safe assumption: no unwanted sexual contact. The bad news may not surprize you either: there was no wanted sexual contact. I did meet a few people I'd say Yes to, amongst a lot of Thank God No's. I believe no one was injured.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Science Fiction - Science Fact
http://www.airforce.com/?m=EACON&pl=UGO&cr=Bolt
Here is where the line between our ability as humans for invention meets our wild imaginations. The creativity of our science fiction often meets the real world through advancing technological developments, and social ones. At times the changes are small, in other cases they are major. Some new technologies snow ball and others don't. Some grow cheaper and more accessible, some doesn't. Some things creep forth from science fiction only to go back after a brief sojourn. Those items that go back to the realm of make believe are normally laughed at after their 15 minutes of fame. The 8 track cassette and radioactive dashboard lighting are examples that spring to mind.
Here is where the line between our ability as humans for invention meets our wild imaginations. The creativity of our science fiction often meets the real world through advancing technological developments, and social ones. At times the changes are small, in other cases they are major. Some new technologies snow ball and others don't. Some grow cheaper and more accessible, some doesn't. Some things creep forth from science fiction only to go back after a brief sojourn. Those items that go back to the realm of make believe are normally laughed at after their 15 minutes of fame. The 8 track cassette and radioactive dashboard lighting are examples that spring to mind.
Illusionists & Cyber punk
http://luxor.com/entertainment/entertainment_believe.aspx. That link takes you to a venue where Criss Angel is having shows. If you have seen Criss you realize that in many ways he is just some nice American 30 year old man. If you watch an entire show you realize that he is a bit of a daredevil, or something. His official title is professional illusionist. I strongly agree with a remark found in his book MindFreak, which I have actually bought and read, that there is something real about every illusion/magic trick. Being an avid long-term D&D player, Criss's work inspired me to try playing powerful illlusionists for a campaign. It isn't the same as playing a magic user with arcane knowledge. In real life the difference is that between Criss Angel and people like Aleister Crowley and the village sorcerer's in African tribal locations in the world today. Some are evil, some are good. They do come in male and in female - but not usually the same ones - unless we're getting into the transgendered here...In Science Fiction, I think illusionists are Cyber Punk.
How to Buy An Adventure in Indianapolis
Right now, buy at: http://uranianfiction.webs.com/apps/webstore/. You can also find it in various formats by typing in the title.
Who is Father Zachary? He's a young man for a Father. He's a blonde, white man from an insignificant birthplace. What makes him most astonishing is that God makes Holy Water that heals on contact through Zach consistently.
Shortly after being transferred to Indianapolis by the Church, he befriended the Sheriff who has the odd name of Master Johnson. The Sheriff is African-American. Their association ran rather deep and as a consequence, God seemed to have Father Zach sent off on adventures now and then where he could be the hands of God while doubling as the Sheriff's extra set of eyes.
Who is Father Zachary? He's a young man for a Father. He's a blonde, white man from an insignificant birthplace. What makes him most astonishing is that God makes Holy Water that heals on contact through Zach consistently.
Shortly after being transferred to Indianapolis by the Church, he befriended the Sheriff who has the odd name of Master Johnson. The Sheriff is African-American. Their association ran rather deep and as a consequence, God seemed to have Father Zach sent off on adventures now and then where he could be the hands of God while doubling as the Sheriff's extra set of eyes.
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