Fred Saberhagen boasts not only an exceptionally cool authorial moniker but also stands as a luminary in science fiction, chiefly owing to his creation of one of the genre’s most mysterious, notorious, and impactful adversaries—The Berserkers.
A prolific American science fiction and fantasy writer, Fred Saberhagen (1930-2007) left an indelible mark on the genre. His notable contributions include the renowned “Berserker” series, featuring self-replicating robotic warships with a singular mission to annihilate all life in the cosmos. Additionally, Saberhagen reimagined the classic vampire archetype in a contemporary context with his “Dracula” series, introducing the iconic character of Dracula. Renowned for his imaginative storytelling and inventive approaches to traditional science fiction and fantasy themes, Saberhagen’s legacy endures.
In the scorching desert heat, a spirited delivery man ventures into the vast emptiness, unaware of the horrifying fate that awaits him. With his present cargo tightly secured, he has no inkling that within its confines lay a mystery too gruesome to comprehend. And then, as the cargo is unveiled, a ghastly truth is revealed – a man-eating beast, more sinister than any nightmare, lurks behind those timber slates. The desert becomes an arena of terror, where life and death hang in the balance.
Left trapped in a bone-chilling dilemma, his every move determines his own survival. The stakes had never been higher, and the desert bears witness to a harrowing battle for survival, as the hunter becomes the hunted, and fear carves its path amidst the arid wasteland.
This horror sci-fi story is part one of the series, The Sell Outs, based on the short story.
Devious16 wondered why time existed…. if time existed at all.
He attached the power pack to the modified rotary assault rifle. He switched it on, pressed the trigger and the disk above the weapon hissed, spinning at two thousand and a half meters per second. He saw intense yellows and reds swirling across his blurred vision. He saw blues and greens turn to grey.
Book covers are an essential element in the marketing of a book. They need to capture the reader’s attention and convey the essence of the story. With the advancements in technology, designers have access to various tools to create eye-catching covers.
The Deep Dream Generator is a computer program that uses neural networks to generate images based on an initial image. It is an exciting technology that has been used in various applications, including art, design, and entertainment. In this case, the book cover utilized images from Pexels and fed them into the Deep Dream Generator to achieve the final results.
The process involves selecting images from Pexels, a website that provides free stock photos. The designer selects images that relate to the book’s theme and message. These images are then fed into the Deep Dream Generator, which generates a series of images based on the original images.
The designer selects the most suitable images and combines them to create the final book cover. The result is a unique and visually appealing cover that captures the essence of the book. The use of the Deep Dream Generator adds a layer of complexity and creativity to the design process, resulting in a cover that stands out from the crowd.
The use of the Deep Dream Generator in book cover design is a fascinating and innovative approach that is becoming increasingly popular. It provides designers with a tool to create unique and visually appealing covers that capture the essence of the book. With the continued advancements in technology, we can expect to see more exciting applications of the Deep Dream Generator in the future.
Here I am, facing the nadir of my existence, and I have the need to go to work. A specialist recommended I do so. I don’t think that the psychiatrist had any inkling of who I am, or how volatile I had become, but I take the advice. Learning to live again, and going back to work is the first step.
So here I am, putting up with the hordes of commuters, the likes of whom I’ve spent a decade learning how to ignore. Somehow, I have lost this capacity. These few inconsiderate… that one per cent of self-absorbed twats simply don’t get the fact that nobody wants to be alerted of their presence. My brain inadvertently zeroes in on these annoying, meaningless one-way conversations, those beeping fucking games, and the high-pitched sibilance hissing from tiny loudspeakers stuffed inside their ear canals.
I put my mind to work, driven by guilt, perusing through all the useless apps I’ve accumulated since buying this now outdated phone. For a person of my generation who missed the technology boat completely, this is normal. Ignorance is bliss until the technology becomes a requirement. There was no legitimate excuse for not keeping up to date, I just didn’t.
Stubbornness, call it old-school mentality, I didn’t see the need to compete with machines. In an age where nobody has to think anymore, my enthusiasm for technology peaked as a kid, with the TV watch and ended just after the advent of the pocket electronic organiser. I barely got used to using word processors and mobile phones, now all of a sudden there’s clouds, social networks, an internet of things, apps… If it weren’t for my work conditioning me to use these things, I’d be the most isolated human on the planet.
This is why they call me, The Caveman.
With a name like Nathan Caves, I became an easy target. I should have known better when I changed it from my ancestral Cavettes. Today, family and friends all know me by this nickname. I can never live it down. I don’t bother trying, it is what it is. I prefer the outdoors, the wilderness, the solitude, I’m a Neanderthal who’d rather the sun, sea and wind than the ceaseless dabble with modern-day distractions, abhorrent replacements for human abilities. A rebel, who would rather talk face to face with a person than via a mask of convoluted, complex software.
This was me.
Of all the apps, the Neechat icon caught my attention. With fifty alerts waiting, I instinctively tap the icon without thinking.
Julian used this app. All the kids were on it. The guilt and pain intensify as I mentally utter my son’s name. He had uploaded Neechat to my phone in case I decide to modernize and join the real world. I tried it a few times but it never stuck. I had let him down. I let him down a thousand ways and this was one of them.
One cannot stop these damn things once the program starts booting up so I wait it out. It nearly freezes up the old phone. I muster the courage to click onto Julian’s profile and discover it had been converted into a memorial page. I guess it’s a feature within the app.
How did it know to do so? My mind covets the answer while my eyes scroll down the comments posted by random strangers.
“There are no words to express the sadness in my heart.” ~Geraldine_T
“I wish you could see how much everybody cares.” ~Kelley_Kiemvic
There are over 328 posts and comments.
Tributes from total strangers. I don’t know any of these people. Neither did Julian. These mawkish outpourings of grief are a part of what’s wrong with this world. How do these people feel good about themselves with these disingenuous posts?
Then, I spot a post that twists my universe apart.
“What do you call a news article about a TR2 driver? An obituary.” ~silvertroll
It struck a note. Julian bought the Caprio TR2 with his own money. I was never happy about his choice because I knew what style of driving these kids were into. Shit, I drove one of these things in my day, mostly sideways. A white one. I was a speed demon, hence my apprehension.
This Silvertroll doesn’t let up.
“Apparently he snores so loudly that it scares everyone in the car he’s driving.” ~silvertroll
“Don’t drink while driving – you will spill the beer.” ~silvertroll
43 minutes ago.
My response is automatic. No thought goes into it.
“Is this really necassary?” ~Nathan_Caves
I post it and quickly realise I spelt ‘necessary’ wrong.
Within seconds a new post pops into existence. This time, a picture of a car wreck, its chassis bent into a curve.
Fucking prick. Who is this dickhead? Rage from deep within my gut works its way up. My thumbs pound the glass, at letters, any letters, trying to get words up that expressed my anger.
“To all you trolls, fuck off, you lowlife pieces of shit.” ~Tim_Saturday
I decide to add…
“Have you no shame, you prick?” ~Nathan_Caves
“Suck a dick all u grief tourists.” ~silvertroll
I react, unable to resist.
“Get a life, asshole.” ~Nathan_Caves
“Stop feedn dis troll.” ~infin8reaper
I just can’t help myself.
“There was no alcohol involved.” ~Nathan_Caves
“Maybe he be masturbating.” ~silvertroll
I look at the screen, numb and powerless.
“Maybe he get blowjob????? BANG!!! OOOOPS!” ~silvertroll
“From the slut passenger :}” ~silvertroll
“FUCK YOU YOU FUCK!!!!!” ~Nathan_Caves
I’m sure the commuters around can hear me mumbling, “Exclamation mark, exclamation mark, exclamation fucking mark… ” The heartless prick had attacked Heather, the other life upturned that fateful night.
I look up and see the station platform sign whizzing by outside and surmise the obvious.
Any punter can act bravely when faced with imminent death. Even the foolish among warriors can be willing to die for the most hopeless of causes.
Necroface knew this. He also knew that such fearlessness could potentially undermine a good, well-fought victory. So he decided to ramp proceedings up a notch. “Now we get to bounce this fucker,” he said from behind his infamous monochromatic skull mask.
One of the Scorpion grunts, known as Burnfish22, shot him a questioning frown. The goon wore no facemask, only the formal attire typical of the definitive bankster.
Stupid foreigner.
The other two goons snickered raucously as they dragged a battered and bleeding Alteus into the elevator. Having both his legs crushed, a result of being rammed and pinned up against a solid concrete pylon by one of their Cargovans, Alteus had passed out moments earlier. “My mistake,” Necroface said to the bankster. “I keep forgetting that you’re not from around these parts.” A taunt more aimed at amusing his minions and vehement fans following this event. Necroface cared little for the Scorpion lieutenant, some big shot goon, sent in to train up new recruits for the local chapter. His brain laboured over more pressing concerns.
How do you hurt a formidable enemy?
Necroface reasoned that the one thing a martyr would never anticipate would be the gut-wrenching fear of knowing, irrefutably, that they are moments away from departing this meagre life. Leave any half-intelligent human being alive long enough to ponder their impending doom, let it sink in, and panic sneaks up on them no matter how brave they pretend to be.
No matter what action you take.
You’re dead.
No matter what shit comes out of your mouth; you’re still a dead sucker. The big checkmate – a lame yet fitting expression often used by his peers. He hoped this Alteus possessed enough intellect to prove his theory. If not, a good bounce would sufficiently appease feeders and leechers the world over.
The elevator surged upward, stopping occasionally to scare the shit out of potential passengers. Burnfish22 broke the silence, “I know what a bounce is. I am no fool.”
“You sound convinced,” said Necroface.
“I don’t see why we need to waste time toying around.”
“Outsiders simply don’t appreciate how difficult it is to kill one of these Frogs.” Necroface could not believe this stupid, ignorant clubber. The dumb goon had personally overseen the operation. He had even taken part in stalking Alteus ever since his arrival at the International Skyport. All day they tracked the suspected leader of Leaping Frog and his team of minders across the vast City of Cities until a suitable ambush opportunity presented itself.
The underground parking station battle itself lasted for several intense minutes and had it not been for Raw$, the only one with the foresight to bring along his grenade launcher, the assault might have ended in utter failure.
The elevator heaved them to the rooftop level and opened its doors. Necroface followed his crew out into the pale-blue sky. He took a moment to marvel at the sights around him. Almost half a kilometre high, the Ascension Centre, positioned as it was, gave him an unparalleled view of the great City of Cities. The cerulean ocean, blemished by bright, white floating habitats, rumbled eternally to the south. A mesa of office towers sprawled out to the west. Towards the north, just below, he caught a glimpse of the luscious Sovereign Park gardens. Beyond them stretched the vast sparkling waters of Cyana Bay, with its commercial regions growing like crystalline fungi on its long shore. The iconic cylindrical skyscrapers, the Triumvirates, dominated his view to the east, each hosting massive, classically fashioned statues on their rooftops. Necroface could distinguish the detailed lines on Mercury’s stoic, golden face.
#You should interrogate first.# A synthetic voice crackled from the tiny fuzedrive embedded in his earlobe.
Necroface ignored it. He rarely countered his fake’s commands, but this time around, he decided the virtual-intelligent entity had failed to grasp the concept that Leaping Frog members simply do not talk; they die. Necroface looked down at the young Frog. Severely bruised and bloodied, Alteus appeared to have regained consciousness. “Not really a good time to awaken,” said Necroface.
Alteus glared back at his captors with bloodshot eyes. The two brutes, the sleek Raw$ and his grimy accomplice Acid lifted Alteus up, each grappling one of his arms. Necroface wondered what grim thoughts burned inside the man’s head as the two bulky goons, complete with clownish ski masks, without effort, dangled him over the edge, ninety floors up off the Ascension Centre’s rooftop. Each time Alteus struggled to get free, the ruthless goons twisted his arms. Necroface could almost feel the tearing of ligaments.
“Time to check out, Alteus,” taunted Burnfish22, moving closer.
Necroface also approached and grabbed the defeated slumlord by the ear. Alteus returned them all a look so filled with contempt, it made Necroface cringe. “You seem upset,” he said.
Weak and coughing on his own blood, Alteus uttered. “Intercept the Wet Sparrow.”
To Necroface these words made no sense, “I’m under the impression I am bouncing the Wet Sparrow.”
#He is trying to communicate with Leaping Frog via your open wavecast. Kill him immediately.#
Make up your fake mind.
Necroface found solace in the knowledge that The Brotherhood would avenge Alteus’ doom, promptly and surely. There was no doubt in his mind that such a provocation would be enough to trigger a strong reaction. He gambled on war. Being familiar with the Brotherhood of the Leaping Frog mentality, a culture of loyalty and retribution, in which every affront is avenged and every foe is hunted down until the end of recordable history, he considered it a safe bet. Brotherhood policy; a blood oath taken the day you join, he recalled. Necroface needed to make certain he hurt them deeply enough. “What’s the status on the R40?”
#Arrrives in thirty-eight seconds.#
“I could torment you up here all day.” Necroface strove to kill the necessary seconds to make his calculations viable, “But I can’t have you miss your ride.” He gave his crew a slight nod.
Raw$, in his ultra-sleek outfit, along with the despicable Acid, swung the limp Alteus backward with enough force to build the required momentum to toss him over the edge. It pleased Necroface to see horror splash across the doomed man’s face, to see imminent death eating away at Atleus’s psyche, proving that even West Shore slumlords were not infallible and fearless as they were renowned to be. Sheer animal instinct seemed to take control of Alteus, writhing and snarling like a cornered slumcat. When they swung him forward and let go, the thrashing madman snatched Burnfish22’s arm with a tight death grip, knocking the Scorpion minion off balance, and sending him out into the void and down the same fatal plunge.
“Oh crap,” Raw$ said.
Acid chuckled like an adolescent behind his grimy mask.
Necroface leaned over to see the two bodies free-falling towards the distant street and could have sworn he witnessed Burnfish22 locked in a screaming match with his fellow death-mate. He imagined the sight of absolute hysteria in both the men’s eyes and could almost hear the hybrid hollering of streaming cool air and human vocals.
He felt the panic and terror seize him and revelled in it.
Four seconds.
For some inane reason, Necroface felt cheated, still craving an insight into Alteus’s thoughts, right up to his impact with the 10:35 autobus to Shelbourne Harbour.
“The cat,” says a familiar voice. What cat? In the darkness, you are flying. You feel motion, yet you are sitting at a table, opposite a dirty, unshaven guy pointing a burning cigarette at you. I know this person. When an angry Bruce Harvey says, “Where’s my cat, fucker?” you conclude it’s a dream. The has-been movie star is interrogating you in a grimy, run-down room surrounded by four cracked, windowless walls, but the only question running through your head is… Why this actor? Harvey karate chops you across the back of your neck. It’s not the pain that wakes you, it’s the warm light bleeding in through your eyelids. The nightmare fades, fizzling away, back into your brain’s nether regions, dying alongside discarded aspirations and forgotten memories. Drool runs down the side of your mouth, but you are unable to move. Your face feels numb, due to your cheek pressed against the cold glass. The tinnitus in your ears stops, replaced by the hum of the ute’s engine, and the friction between tyre, road and air, enters your awareness. You open your eyes, just wide enough to squint, focusing on the golden countryside sweeping past outside. For a moment; reality is a blur. You attempt to shift your head and are relieved it moves with little pain. Your arm is cramped, and your neck feels broken, but you know this is temporary. The breaking dawn illuminates the narrow, unmarked road, winding around a chain of hills. A clump of trees obscures the misty valley beyond, sending intermittent shafts of copper light to warm your face. Once the trees go by, you marvel at the spectacle, at the amber clouds cruising along the horizon, at the auburn fields, smothered with whispers of mist, rolling up and down between chestnut-coloured forests.
No Absolution
Tears form in the corners of your eyes, but the chill dries them before they could sully your reputation. You look ahead, out to where the road straightens out into the broadening valley, cutting through open farmland. Aside from the old twin cab ute, no other traffic traverses the road. “Check out the valley,” says a voice. Without moving your head too much, you look at the driver. With the angle of the sun low, the dirty windscreen is saturated with sunlight. Trevor seems content, almost happy. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he says. He looks over at you, with that nauseating smile, “Don’t you think, Phil? Take a look.” You move your head and look outside, squinting at the dawn sunlight bathing the road ahead. “What am I looking at?” “You’re looking at an artistic masterpiece painted by the Creator. This is God’s way of nourishing the souls of men. Good and bad. Look at how He baths the Earth, washing away all its troubles with one single brushstroke.” You remain quiet, nothing he says antagonizes you anymore. “I’m sorry,” Trevor says, “I keep forgetting you’re not a religious man.” “No, I’m not,” You shut your eyes and try to snooze, feeling you still have some sleep left in you. “I get a little overzealous sometimes,” says Trevor. You refuse to react to his words, hoping to avert a discussion. But, Trevor, on the other hand, is a cannonball. “I can’t help myself. Just ignore me when I start waffling on.” Fucken aye, you think as you try harder to ignore him. “Phil?” You don’t respond, praying to the same dumb-ass God for some respite. “Phil? Fat chance. You reluctantly open your eyes. Trevor waits for you to look at him. “Can I stop for a few minutes?” “Why?” “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Man, I gotta take a shot of this. I won’t even be five minutes.” “No,” is your reply. “Why not?” “Because your five minutes turn into one of my hours. You’re gonna wanna set up this, wait for that, wait for this. Whole buncha bullshit later, there goes the hour, my hour, never to return. Bye-bye hour. Nice knowing ya.” “Man, you’ve got me driving through the night. Do you know how dangerous this is? Especially the predawn. I need to rest my eyes?” You spend a moment contemplating the gravity of his words and attitude. Pulling out the folded country map, the one you had ripped out from the dog-eared copy of the 55th Edition Mappex, you flip it around until you find the road you are traversing. “Pull over at the next truck stop.” “How far is that?” “I think it’s less than an hour.” You observe Trevor’s grip on the steering wheel tighten. Trevor says, “Just five minutes, man.” You say nothing. You don’t want to risk an argument or feed any ill feelings. Nor do you want this prick wasting time, your time. So, you step out of the equation and let the man decide. You knew from the outset that executing such a scheme would require patience, above all else. A shrug from you is all he needs. Trevor slows and steers the ute onto the gravel. You continue to say nothing, sitting in the worn faux leather seat, allowing him to stop, climb out, get his camera bag, and begin setting up. Your hands tremble. You start wringing them to ease away the agitation. The mere act of waiting causes your nerves to flare up, which, if left untended, endangered the plan. Your last devious gambit. If you pull it off, it would unlock a new life. If not, all is lost. The question of whether you are capable of killing a man in cold blood doesn’t haunt you anymore. The last thing you want, though, is to allow the guilt in the pit of your stomach to churn up excuses to force you to chicken out. Patience is a virtue, you remind yourself as you watch Trevor do his thing. By the time Trevor is ready to adjust the focal length of his lens, the layers of mist have dissipated, and the sun’s light has lost its golden lustre.
“I’m gonna feed you to the dogs,” said Fred Greenway brandishing a cleaver. He brought it down and cut into the young punk’s thigh.
Doctor Gus flinched even though he’d seen this a hundred times. Having taken a Lava pill, his brain perceived the high-def images on the screen as real. The narco-psychotic was formulated to assist with augmented reality training. Mindject users take the drug to help them form neurological pathways inside their heads so they can perceive artificial imagery or sound. Ingested without a mindjector, Lava forced visceral emotions to merge with one’s logic. The end result is exhilarating for some users, and terrifying for others.
It is likely that the future will see the emergence of multiple internet protocol platforms. The current internet has already evolved significantly since its inception, and we can expect further advancements and diversification in the way of new internets with protocols that are developed unilaterally and implemented.
As demand for better security and functionality grows, new internet platforms will continue to evolve, ias different protocols and infrastructure will compete to address specific needs or cater to different use cases. This diversity could lead to a more adaptable and resilient internet infrastructure, offering enhanced security, performance, and functionality for various applications and devices.
THE COBWEB
This old internet that we are currently using is a dysfunctional mess that has been held together by various patches and updates over the years. Despite being a vital part of our daily lives, it is plagued by numerous issues such as slow loading times, security vulnerabilities, and rampant misinformation. Since its inception in the twentieth century, this outdated and clunky internet still exists, but it will be viewed as an antiquated relic of the past. No one in their right mind would choose to use it when faster, safer, and more efficient alternatives are readily available.
SATNET
Meganat‘s private internet, which was designed and deployed by Jim Dochersky, is a revolutionary service that utilises low-earth-orbit satellites to connect paying customers. This technology allows for unprecedented speed and reliability, making it an ideal solution for individuals and businesses that require high-speed internet access in remote areas or regions with limited infrastructure.
Unlike traditional internet providers, Meganat’s private internet is not dependent on terrestrial infrastructure, which can often be costly and difficult to maintain. Instead, the service uses a network of satellites to deliver high-speed internet directly to customers’ homes or offices. This means that even those living in rural areas or regions with limited infrastructure can enjoy fast and reliable internet access, making it easier to work, study, and stay connected with friends and family.
The low-earth-orbit satellites used by Meganat’s private internet are positioned much closer to the earth than traditional satellites, which makes them faster and more efficient. This means that customers can enjoy faster download and upload speeds, as well as a more stable connection, even during peak usage times. Meganat’s private internet is a game-changer for those who require high-speed internet access in remote areas or regions with limited infrastructure. With its innovative use of low-earth-orbit satellites, the service provides fast and reliable internet access that is unmatched by traditional providers.
AMBERCAST
This closed Wide-Area Network (WAN) is a highly secure and private internet network that is exclusively used by governments and corporations for their internal communication needs. This network is designed to provide a high level of security and privacy to ensure that sensitive information and data are not leaked or compromised in any way. One of the key features of a closed WAN is that it is a closed system that is not connected to any public internet and every user is authenticated. This means that it is not accessible to the general public, and only authorized personnel within the government or corporation or domestic premises can access it. This ensures that the network is not vulnerable to external threats such as cyber-attacks, which are becoming increasingly common in today’s quantum age.
Ambercast is also designed to be highly scalable, meaning that it can handle large volumes of data traffic with ease. This is essential for governments and corporations that need to transfer large amounts of data quickly and efficiently. A closed private WAN is an essential tool for any government or corporation that needs to communicate sensitive information and data securely and privately. It is the first line of defence against external threats and provides a reliable and efficient means of communication within the organization.
EPISOFT
A peer-to-peer, NearMe-Area-Network is a cutting-edge technology that enables seamless communication between devices in close proximity. This open internet technology utilizes handsets that act as relay mesh stations for communication traffic, allowing for the creation of a highly efficient network that can transmit data at lightning-fast speeds. The beauty of this technology lies in its ability to harness the power of nearby devices to enhance network coverage and speed. The more devices in the vicinity, the faster and deeper the coverage, making it an ideal solution for densely populated areas such as cities.
This technology is particularly useful in situations where traditional network infrastructure is unavailable or unreliable. For example, in the aftermath of a natural disaster or during a large-scale event, communication networks may become overwhelmed or even fail completely. In these situations, a peer-to-peer, NearMe-Area-Network can provide a reliable means of communication, allowing people to stay connected even when traditional networks are down.
One of the greatest benefits of this technology is that it is highly scalable. As more devices are added to the network, the coverage and speed of communication increase proportionally. This makes it an ideal solution for businesses or organizations that require a flexible and adaptable communication system. Episoft represents a significant step forward in the world of communication technology. Its ability to provide reliable, high-speed communication in even the most challenging environments makes it a valuable tool for anyone looking to stay connected in an increasingly connected world.
ANGRY TREE
This skilled hacker has a unique way of navigating the internet. They have mastered the art of using internet funnels, which allows them to navigate through existing communication networks seamlessly. By employing a sophisticated dryware system, they are able to create multiple branches between different communication networks, making it easier for them to access the information they need.
The use of dryware technology is crucial to this hacker’s success. It allows them to create a virtual web of connections that can quickly and efficiently link different networks together. This technology is also highly secure, ensuring that the hacker’s identity and location remain hidden at all times. The branches created by hackers between different communication networks establish connections between disparate systems, allowing them to access information that would otherwise be difficult to obtain. This is particularly useful when the hacker is trying to gain access to sensitive information, such as financial data or classified government documents.
Despite the challenges posed by the ever-evolving landscape of cybersecurity, The Agree Tree remains at the forefront of pirate and free access to information. Their ability to create complex networks of communication channels and navigate through them with ease is truly remarkable. With the continued development of dryware technology and other advanced tools, hackers are sure to remain a force to be reckoned with in the world of cybersecurity.
