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Sunlight Through The Shadows
Volume III, Issue 1 Feb 1995
Welcome........................................Joe DeRouen
Editorial: Changes.............................Joe DeRouen
Staff of STTS.............................................
Special Survey for STTS Readers...........................
>> --------------- Monthly Columns ---------------------<<
STTS Mailbag..............................................
Quick Tips and Fixes...........................Joe DeRouen
The Sports Page............................Thomas Van Hook
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> Advertisement-Channel 1 BBS
>> --------------- Feature Articles --------------------<<
Hula Hoops and Tinker Toys.................Nancy VanWormer
<20> Advertisement-Exec-PC BBS
>> ------------------- Reviews -------------------------<<
(Software) Heretic.............................Joe DeRouen
(Software) Al Michaels Hardball III........Thomas Van Hook
(Music) Out of the Silence/Yanni...........Thomas Van Hook
(Music) Hell Freezes Over/The Eagles.......Thomas Van Hook
(Music) We Salute You/ACDC.................Thomas Van Hook
(Music) Diary Madman/Ozzy Osbourne.........Thomas Van Hook
(Book) Shadow Oak King/Courtway Jones.....Thomas Van Hook
(Book) The Rose Sea/Sterling & Lisle......Thomas Van Hook
(Book) Fire In the Mist/Holly Lisle.......Thomas Van Hook
(Book) Red Dwarf: Infinity../Naylor.......Thomas Van Hook
<20> Advertisement-T&J Software
>> ------------------- Fiction -------------------------<<
The Beacon..................................L. Shawn Aiken
Experiment........................................Ed Davis
<20> Advertisement-Chrysalis BBS
>> ------------------- Poetry --------------------------<<
The Wind............................................Tamara
The Human Tide.............................Daniel Sendecki
Monday, 9:07 pm................................J. Guenther
Wrong Side of the Bridge...................Thomas Van Hook
Nevermore...................................Author Unknown
>> ------------------- Humour --------------------------<<
Top Ten List...................................Joe DeRouen
<20> Advertisement-The Blue Horizon Event
>> --------------- Advertisements ----------------------<<
Channel 1 BBS
Exec-PC BBS
T&J Software
Chrysalis BBS
The Blue Horizon Event
>> ----------------- Information -----------------------<<
How to get STTS Magazine..................................
** SPECIAL OFFER!! **.....................................
Submission Information & Pay Rates........................
Advertiser Information (Businesses & Personal)............
Contact Points............................................
Distribution Sites........................................
Distribution Via Networks.................................
End Notes......................................Joe DeRouen
Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine Vol III No. 1 Feb. 1995
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ
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<20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>
<20> From: <20> Dallas, TX <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ<EFBFBD><C4BF><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ<EFBFBD><C4BF><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>> <20>
<20> Joe DeRouen <20> February 14th <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>ĺ<EFBFBD><C4BA>ĺijĺij<C4BA><C4B3><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>> <20>
<20> 3910 Farmville Dr. <20>Valentine's Day<61> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>> <20>
<20> Dallas, TX. 75244 <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> USA 32<33> <20><> <20>
<20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>
<20> <20>
<20> <20>
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<20> To: <20>
<20> STTS Reader <20>
<20> 123 Generic Ave. <20>
<20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> Anytown, USA 10101 <20>
<20> <20> HAPPY <20> <20>
<20> <20> VALENTINE'S DAY <20> <20>
<20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>
<20> JD <20>
<20> <20>
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Welcome
Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows magazine! In this issue, as well
as in the future, STTS will strive to bring you the best in fiction,
poetry, reviews, article, and other assorted reading material.
STTS Magazine has no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative
concepts, and the unique execution of those concepts.
STTS wouldn't have been possible without the aid, support, and guidance
of three women:
Inez Harrison, publisher of Poetry In Motion newsletter. Her's was the
first electronic magazine I ever laid eyes upon, and also the first such
magazine to publish my work. She's given me advice, and, more
importantly, inspiration.
Lucia Chambers, publisher of Smoke & Mirrors Elec. Magazine and head of
Pen & Brush Network. She gave me advice on running a magazine,
encouragement, and hints as to the kind of people to look for in
writers.
Heather DeRouen, my wife. Listed last here, but always first in my
heart. She's proofread manuscripts, inspired me, listened to me, and,
most importantly, loved me. Never could I find a better woman to live
life by my side, nor a better friend.
Now that that's said and done... Again, welcome to Sunlight Through The
Shadows Magazine! I hope you enjoy it.
Joe DeRouen
Editorial: Changes . . .
Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
In it's continuing dedication to being a reflection of the time in which
it exists, STTS Magazine is going through changes. In addition to the
Readroom.Toc and straight ASCII format that STTS brings to you now,
we're in the process of adding a graphics/sounds version as well.
We're also changing things around a little here and there, in an attempt
to further streamline the magazine. We'l be adding features you've
requested as well as ditching parts of the magazine that just haven't
caught on.
Stay tuned for further developments!
Joe DeRouen
The Staff and Contributing Writers of Sunlight Through The Shadows
------------------------------------------------------------------
The Staff
---------
Joe DeRouen............................Publisher and Editor
L. Shawn Aiken.........................Assistant Editor
Heather DeRouen........................Book Reviews
Bruce Diamond..........................Movie Reviews
Tamara.................................House Poet
Thomas Van Hook........................Poetry Editor
Joe DeRouen publishes, edits, and writes for STTS magazine. He's had
poetry and fiction published in several on-line magazines and a few
paper publications as well. He's written exactly 1.5 novels, none of
which, alas, have seen the light of publication. He attends college
part-time in search of that always-elusive english degree. In his
spare time, he enjoys reading, running his BBS, collecting music,
playing with his five cats, singing opera, hunting pseudopods, and
most importantly spending time with his beautiful wife Heather.
L. Shawn Aiken dropped out of college when he realized that they
couldn't teach him the two things he wanted to do; live successfully,
and write. He had to find out these things all by himself on the
road. Thus he became a road scholar. After spending his life hopping
country to country, state to state, he now feels confident in his
abilities and is working on his literary career. His main endevour is
to become successful in the speculative fiction area, but he enjoys
writing all forms of literary art.
Heather DeRouen writes software for the healthcare industry, CoSysOps
Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS, enjoys playing with her five cats,
cross-stitching, and reading. Most of all, she enjoys spending time
with her dapper, charming, witty, and handsome (not to mention modest)
husband Joe. Heather's help towards editing and proofreading this
magazine has been immeasurable.
Bruce Diamond, part-time pseudopod and ruler of a small island chain
off the coast of Chil<69>, spends his time imitating desk lamps when he
isn't watching and critiquing movies for LIGHTS OUT, his BBS movie
review publication (now syndicated to over 20 boards). Recently,
Bruce became the monthly movie critic for VALLEY REVIEW MAGAZINE,
published out of Pennsylvania. LIGHTS OUT, now two years old, is
available through the Rime or P&B Networks by dropping a note to
Joe DeRouen, courtesy of Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS. The
magazine will soon be available through Fido file request and
Internet FTP. In the Dallas area, Bruce's distributor is Jay
Gaines' BBS AMERICA (214-994-0093). Bruce is a freelance writer
and video producer in the Dallas/Fort Worth area.
There is very little known about Tamara, and she prefers to let it
remain that way. She's a woman of mystery and prefers to remain hidden
in the shadows of the BBS world. (Enigmatic, don't you think?)
Thomas Van Hook resides in Dallas, where he works as a contract
employee for the Federal Reserve Automation Services. Having served
eight years in the USAF, he is happy to finally be free and able to
pursue the dreams of his heart. At the age of 29, he is looking
forward to many new adventures and experiences within the realms of
the Elven kind. He enjoys reading, writing, sports of all kinds, his
son Corey and the attentions of any Elven women that seem interested
(not necessarily in that order). Recently divorced, he is trying to
restore order and balance to his life without losing what little is
left of his sanity.
Contributing Writers
--------------------
Ed Davis...............................Fiction
Sean A. Donahue........................Poetry
J. Guenther............................Poetry
Daniel Sendecki........................Fiction, Poetry
Nancy VanWormer........................Feature Article
Author Unknown.........................Poetry
Ed Davis has been scribbling seriously or has at least enjoyed the
electronic equivalent, since 1981. Prior to that, his literary efforts
were confined to whatever scrap paper he could find on a work bench at
break or lunch time, since he was spending his working hours making
chips and money in the guise of a Journeyman Machinist. Married to
the same lady for 26 years and with two children still hovering
uncomfortably close to the nest, Ed continues to write down his
thoughts electronically. Check out the file NEWBOOK.ZIP, available
from STTS BBS, for more of his work.
Sean A. Donahue does not have any publishing ties whatsoever. He has
written over 4,192 poems. Only 38 have seen to survive the Mighty
Morphin Power Rangers. The time in which normal people say is spare,
he tries to use to study for school at Texas Tech University. This is
Sean's first published poem and he hopes that it is not his last. He
has written exactly 428 novels all starting with "It was a dark and
stormy night." None ofthem have gotten past the second paragraph. In
whatever time he has left, he enjoys reading, riting, and rithmatic.
He has an creative writing minor, a history minor, and a Honorary
Doctorate in B.S. from Bowling Green State University. He dedicates
his writing to those who are without love and hope. And that's no
B.S.
Grant Guenther, sometimes known as J. Guenther, confesses to be from a
long-lost Martian colony, but in-depth investigations reveals that he
was born and raised in a small but well-to-do community called
Hartland in Wisconsin. A senior, he has written several collections
of poems, and won many awards from his high school literary magazine,
including 1st place for poetry and short-short fiction. He is the
editor-in-chief of the school newspaper and writes as a humor
columnist (or at least he thinks so).
Daniel Sendecki is a young, emerging, Canadian writer who lives
in Burlington, Ontario. Currently, Daniel is pursuing his writing
interests at home but intends to study literature at McGill
University, in Montreal, Quebec.
Author Unknown (oddly enough, his real name) has had several stories,
poems, novels, plays, and pieces of artwork published throughout the
world dating back to the dawn of man. So far, he hasn't received one
red cent in royalties.
STTS Survey
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Please fill out the following survey. This article is duplicated in the
ZIP archive as SURVEY.TXT. If you're reading this on-line and haven't
access to that file, please do a screen capture of this article and
fill it out that way. If all else fails, just write your answers down
(on paper or in an ASCII file) and include the question's number beside
your answer.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
1. Name: _____________________________________________________________
2. Mailing address: __________________________________________________
__________________________________________________
__________________________________________________
__________________________________________________
3. Date of birth: (Mm/Dd/YYyy) _______________________________________
4. Sex: ______________________________________________________________
5. Where did you read/download this copy of STTS Magazine? (Include BBS
and BBS number, please)
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
6. Do you prefer to read STTS while on-line or download it to read
at your own convenience? ( ) On-Line ( ) Download
7. Are you a SysOp? ( ) Yes ( ) No (if "No", skip to 10)
8. If so, what is your BBS name, number, baud rate?
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
9. Do you currently carry STTS Mag?
( ) Yes ( ) No ( ) I don't carry it, but I want to
I carry STTS: ( ) On-Line, ( ) For Download, ( ) or Both
10. What do you enjoy the MOST about STTS Mag?
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
11. What do you enjoy LEAST about STTS Mag?
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
12. Please rate the following parts of STTS on a scale of 1-10, 10 being
excellent and 1 being awful. (if no opinion, X)
Fiction ___ Poetry ___ Movie reviews ___
Book reviews ___ CD Reviews ___ Feature Articles ___
Software reviews --- Humour --- Top Ten List ---
Question&Answers ___ Editorial ___ ANSI Coverart ___
The Sports Page --- My View --- STTS BBS News ---
RIP Coverart ___ Misc. Info ---
13. What would you like to see (or see more of) in future issues
of STTS Mag?
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
___________________________________________________________________
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Return the survey to me via any of the following options:
A) Pen & Brush Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site
->5320, in any conference.
B) RIME Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site ->5320,
in either the COMMON or SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE SHADOWS MAGAZINE
conference.
C) WME Net - A PRIVATE message to JOE DEROUEN in the NET CHAT
conference.
D) Internet - Send a message containing your complete survey to
Joe.DeRouen@Chrysalis.org
E) My BBS - (214) 629-8793 24 hrs. a day 1200-14,000 baud. Upload the
file SURVEY.TXT (change the name first! Change it to something like
the first eight digits of your last name (or less, if your name
doesn't have eight digits) and the ext of .SUR) Immediate access is
gained to my system via filling out the new user questionnaire.
F) U.S. Postal Service - Send the survey either printed out or on a disk
to: Joe DeRouen
3910 Farmville Dr. # 144
Addison, Tx. 75244
STTS Mailbag
Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Dear Joe,
I miss the Questions and Answers. Any chance of bringing that back?
Shelby Morris
Ontario, Canada
========================================================================
Dear STTS,
Really loved Robin Aiken's "This Little Piggy." [Nov/Dec. Issue. ED]
Is she related to L. Shawn Aiken? Any chance we'll see more of her
fiction in the magazine?
Gates Delmar
Springfield, Illinois
<Indeed, they are related. Robin is Shawn's sister. Hopefully we will
be seeing more of her work in the month's to come. Stay tuned! JD>
========================================================================
QUICK TIPS AND FIXES
Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
[Originally published in Feb. issue of Computer Currents Magazine]
If you're having a problem you just can't seem to solve, a question you
want answered, or just an inherent need to bend a lonely writer's ear,
you've come to the right place. Keep those cards and letters coming,
folks. Also, please include a daytime and a nighttime phone number with
your question. I might have to ask you a couple of questions to get at
the source of the problem or question. And, I promise, I won't write
your numbers on the walls of bathroom stalls at the Infomart.
Q: I read your column regularly, and thought I'd run a problem by you.
I have a 486slc 50Mhz 4 Meg of RAM and a 345 Meg hard drive. Also
a Omni CD-Rom drive and a soundblaster16 with terrible labtec
(battery operated) speakers. Is it possible to connect my Sound
Blaster card to my auxilary jack in the rear of my stereo, or am I
just asking for trouble? Your advice will be greatly appreciated.
Thanks,
John Broadnax
via Prodigy
A: Thanks for writing, John! Your question is one of the easier ones
I've gotten. In a word, yes, you can (and should!) hook up your
Sound Blaster card to your stereo. The sound quality will improve
tremendously over your labtec speakers, and you'll have better
volume control as well.
All you really need to do to accomplish this feat is purchase a
stereo cable. The cable you're looking for should have a single
plug-in jack on both ends. After you've made your purchase
(the cable is under $10.00 and should be available at any Radio
Shack or store that offers stereo equipment) you need simply to
plug one end into the audio output jack on your sound blaster
and the other end into your auxilary jack on the stereo.
Viola! Your mission is accomplished. You'll have to play around
with the volume control on both your stereo and your Sound Blaster
to get the right static-free output, but that shouldn't take you more
than a moment or two. Soon thereafter, you'll be enjoying the sounds
of DOOM II and MYST through your stereo. Happy listening!
Q: I'm not sure if this really fits into your column, but I'll ask
anyway. What can I do to insure that the BBS I'm calling is
legitimate and not some hacker teenager bent on ruining my
reputation and wreaking havoc in my life? I recently logged onto
(BBS name withheld) and filled out all the new user questionnaires.
The BBS seemed normal enough. It didn't really have what I was
looking for, though, and I never called back. I later found out that
someone was logging onto other area BBS's using my name and password!
It had to be this SysOp, as it started happening about 24 hours after
I logged onto his board. After about a week of explaining and some
long telephone conversations, I was finally able to convince the
other BBS operators that it wasn't me that logged on and left nasty
comments to everyone, and they let me back onto their systems with
new passwords. How can I prevent this from happening in the future?
Sincerely,
Peggy Madison
Ft. Worth, Texas
A: I sympathize with you, Peggy. Something similar happened to me
several years ago. First and foremost, do NOT use the same password
on any BBS that you log onto. I know it's tempting to just use the
same password over and over - that's what got me into trouble those
several years ago - but the ease of remembering the password isn't
worth the potential trouble. That's rule #1 - use a different
password on every system you call. And make it a hard-to-guess one,
too. Use lot's of symbols and numbers in there, and don't pick
anything that'd be at all easy to guess.
Your comment on the "teenage hacker bent on ruining your reputation",
while understandable, really isn't fair. 99.9% of the SysOps out
there, whether they run pay systems or free ones, are decent, honest
people. That includes the teenage hacker types. It's that .01% that
you have to watch out for, and those SysOps can come in any shape,
size, race, age, or profession. Just like non-online life, most
of us are "good guys" but you run into the occasional bad apple
every so often. When you happen to bite into one of those sour
apples, to further the analogy, just spit it out and go on looking
through the orchard. You'll find even sweeter apples for the
tasting and quickly forget the sour ones.
Q: Joe, several weeks ago Windows 3.1 failed startup with "Error
loading PROGMAN.EXE". Obviously, there is a problem loading
the program manager. I have no idea what the problem is and
what's causing it. I do not recall changing anything in Windows
setup, etc. Maybe only moving/deleting some icons from
application groups.
Thanks,
Philip Baughman
via Internet
A: Philip, It sounds to me like you might have a hard drive problem in
the way of a unlocked physical defect on one of the sectors. The
reason I suspect this is that the error is recurring in the same file
when the stuff is reloaded. The best way to detect if this is the
case is to rename the file PROGMAN.EXE to a dummy file name, then
reload that file onto the hard drive. Resume your normal operations,
and, if the error doesn't recur, you've solved the problem. Just
leave the dummy file on the hard drive, and you won't have to worry
about those sectors ever being used by another application or data
file.
You can also run a variety of disk doctor programs to diagnose this
problem, but, in my opinion, this is the quickest and easiest way to
do it.
If this doesn't work, write me back, and I'll try to see if I can
think of anything else that might be happening.
Are you having a problem with your computer? Write to Joe at Computer
Currents or via Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS at 214/620-8793.
(c) 1994 Joe DeRouen. All rights reserved.
The Sports Page
Copyright (c) 1994, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
Welcome to yet another edition of the Sunlight Through The
Shadows Sports Page! It's a strange world out there in sports,
so let's all pretend to understand it, shall we?
By the time you read this, it will more than likely be 1995. Do
you ever wonder if there is going to be Major League Baseball in
1995? Well, you are not the only one. There are approximately
800 ball players wondering the same thing. The owners have put
off implementing the salary cap for one week, in order to
continue negotiations with the Players' Union. It looks like the
two sides are at least starting to talk with one another. It's a
good thing that some progress was being made. The prevalent
rumor was that the Clinton Administration was going to ask former
President Jimmy Carter to mediate if talks continued to stall.
Anyway, on to the sweaty jocks in the NFL locker rooms.
It's almost playoff time. Suddenly, the Dallas Cowboys don't
look like the "sure thing" that they once were. It looks like
the San Francisco 49ers have much more drive/hunger than the
'Boys. It's a good thing too. I, for one, was getting sick of
the Buffalo Bills (already eliminated from the playoffs) and the
Dallas Cowboys playing the final game of the season. However, I
didn't get my wish for the playoffs. While the Oilers eliminated
themselves with a poor record, my request to form a team from the
centerfolds of Playboy's past was nixed by the Commissioner's
office. The explanation that I was given was that the team MUST
wear something besides shoulder-pads.
The other night, I went to watch a basketball game at Reunion
arena. The game was between the Los Angeles Lakers and the
Dallas Mavericks. At this game, I saw Jesus Christ...and he was
wearing a Lakers uniform. Nick Van Exel shot the lights out of
the arena that night, raining three-pointers from everywhere on
the floor. If you ever had doubts about the second coming of
Christ, Nick Van Exel will put those doubts to rest. At the same
game, Mavericks forward Roy Tarpley was suspended for arguing
with coach Dick Motta. The incident was really strange. Tarpley
had turned the ball over a bit too much for Motta's liking.
Motta pulled Tarpley out of the game, and Roy commented that the
move was "bullshit." Motta promptly told Tarpley to "sit your
ass down at the end of the bench and shut up." Tarpley continued
the argument in the locker room at the half, and Motta suspended
him on the spot. What does this say for the Dallas Mavericks,
Roy Tarpley, and Dick Motta? The Dallas Mavericks showed great
poise as a team by ignoring what had happened between Motta and
Tarpley, while Roy Tarpley showed us why he should never have
been reinstated in the NBA. And Dick Motta proved to the Dallas
Mavericks, it's fans and the media that he is the ONLY coach of
the Dallas Mavericks. Bravo for Dick Motta.
Boxing-On-Ice (Hockey) is still in a state of limbo. Not being a
big fan of this game, I personally could care less. However,
there are people out there that adore this sport. Of course, if
I wanted violence in my life, I would date a Dominatrix.
Speaking of violence, the word is out that the doctors have
cleared Evander Holyfield to come back and fight again.
Holyfield was forced to retire with a heart condition that could
have killed him. While I admire Evander's drive/desire to fight
again, I think this moron needs to have his brain checked out to
see if he is fit enough to think.
Well, here's to hoping that we can get a nationally sanctioned
Female Mud Wrestling League going in the near future. The only
question that I have is: What group of people should we target
as a potential audience?? (grin)
Till next month....
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Hula Hoops and Tinker Toys
Copyright (c) 1995, Nancy VanWormer
All rights reserved
Hula Hoops and Tinker Toys
by Nancy VanWormer
When I was small, we didn't have this problem. It wasn't
available to us (mere children) and if it were, we wouldn't
have had the money anyway. Then one day, in school, no less,
we were introduced to them. By our teacher.
Oh, the glory of them! They tried to show us that only
"stupid" people played with hula hoops and tinker toys. But,
in doing so, they made it most attractive. Their so-called
bad boys were the cutest and most popular. The girls were the
prettiest. They showed them having great fun, while nerdish
(even back in those days) kids looked on disaprovingly.
The nerds got good grades and listened to their parents.
The hula hoop crowd, slowly disintegrated into the scum of
society.
What? From merely playing with hula hoops and tinker toys?
How can it be so? They have already showed us the joys of
playing with them. We couldn't ask our parents, because they
didn't know anything about it.
So we grew. And as we matured, we became more enchanted with
hula hoops and tinker toys, until the day finally came when
we could play with them ourselves.
What a great day. These toys opened new worlds to us! We saw
every day life in a whole new way. Mysteries of the universe
were being unveiled to us.
The funny part was that we shared them. We never stole, or
killed somebody over our toys. There was always somebody
willing to share with us! We were always willing to share
with others. It was like a secret family. We were brothers
and sisters together.
As we grew our tastes grew also. We wanted more advanced
toys. Toys made for adults. They were a bit more expensive,
and harder to master, but we did it. We were in control.
Then one day, as young adults, some of us "grew up". We
realized that we could not play with our hula hoops and
tinker toys forever, and that there were other things in life
to do. Things that were more important maybe? So we slowly
weaned ourselves from our toys, and developed.
And as we did, we watched the few that decided that hula
hoops and tinker toys were what they wanted most out of life.
They stayed children, playing with their toys, while the rest
of us went on to better things. It is funny, now, when we
look at those lost children, we still see the innocence in
them, but it is surrounded by an old person's body. They
seemed to have aged outwardly much faster than we did. Oh,
they still have the same beards and long hair, but it is
peppered with grey and started to thin out. They still wear
the same style clothes, I wonder where they buy them. The
years of playing with hula hoops and tinker toys have taken
their toll.
Now we have children of our own. Our children don't want to
play with our toys, they have their own, more advanced and
technological versions of our toys. They have roller blades
and boomboxes.
The toys are different, dangerous. They were made to be
dangerous. They have a power over people and are even
capable of killing them. Their sole purpose is to hurt.
They were made by different people than made our hula hoops
and tinker toys. They were made for a different reason.
The kids are different. They are not playing with their toys
the same way that we did. They are very protective of them,
and will do anything to get more. They lie, cheat, steal and
even kill to be able to play with their roller blades and
boomboxes.
We are scared for our children in a way that our parents
never were. We played with hula hoops and tinker toys, and we
know the power that is in them. But our children, our babies,
are playing with something more potent. Can they handle it?
We handled it, but it was a different time, with different
kids, and different toys.
We have to take care not to push them towards it like we
were. After all, these are not hula hoops and tinker toys,
the "toys of choice" of the peace generation. These are
roller blades and boomboxes!!
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Software Review
Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Heretic Reviewed
by Joe DeRouen
I wanted to dislike the game. I really did. It just isn't the sort of
entertainment I normally enjoy. I'm more the Return to Zork or Myst
type, and I rarely play shoot-em'-up graphic violence types of games.
After about fifteen minutes of playing ID Software's new shareware
release Heretic, however, I was hooked.
Heretic is a sequel of sorts to Doom and Doom II (also from ID) in terms
of the 3D game engine and style of execution, however the setting is in
another world entirely. In Doom, your avatar is a marine bent on
ridding Hell of all it's demons and devils. In Heretic, you play the
role of a vengeful Sidhe (pronounced "She") out to right the wrongs laid
upon his race by the evil Order of the Triad. The Sidhe, offers the
manual, are a race of ancient elves adept in arcane sorcery and keepers
of the tomes of power. You must find your way through ruins filled with
gargoyles, golems, undead warriors, and several other gruesome fiends
bent on forever ending your quest. Several powerful Sidhe weapons and
equipment, such as the powerful Dragon's Claw and the healing quartz
flask, lie hidden in the ruins. It's up to you to find them - as well
as the keys that unlock the doors to deeper levels - before the monsters
find you. Your ultimate goal is to gain revenge for your race and maybe
even kill D'Sparil, one of the members of the Order of the Triad, in the
process.
Sound convoluted? It is. The plot is summed up in about six paragraphs
in the manual and is even less clear than the synopsis I just attempted.
Get past the absence of a plot, however, and you'll find yourself having
fun and enjoying Heretic for what it is: an excellent arcade game
complete with stunning in-your-face graphics, a hauntingly brooding
sound track, and spine-tingling special effects that help to make this
illusion of reality complete.
The fluid movement and quick reaction time of your player (not to
mention that of his enemies!) provides the final touch of realism.
Movement is controlled by either keyboard, mouse, or joystick. You can
turn and maneuver in any direction, even staring at the ceilings or the
floors. I've played Heretic for hours, always with a critical eye, and
have yet to find a glitch in graphics or movement continuity.
If you have access to a LAN, modem, the Internet, or the new DWANGO
network, you can play in multi-player mode. You can team up with a
friend or two to combat the forces of evil or pit forces against each
other in Deathmatch mode. Up to four people can play Heretic via
multi-player mode, and instructions on setting up such a game are
explained clearly in a text file called README.TXT included with the
game.
A lot of people are going to view Heretic as Doom in a fantasy world.
Up to a point, that's true. You shoot monsters using a variety of
weapons, as you do in Doom. You search for treasures. You look for
entrances to other levels of your confines. You can play multi-player.
Doom has all that as well. But Heretic does it all better. ID managed
to top themselves and in doing so set a new standard to be beat.
The game, however, is not without it's flaws. Installation from the CD
ROM (or four 3.5" floppies) requires a whopping 20 Meg of free hard
drive space. When installed, though, the game only takes up 12 Meg. I
had to delete several programs and files to make room for the game. If
the decompression program had been different, it wouldn't have had to
require more space than it actually needed. That's going to be a
problem for some people and something that probably could have been
prevented with a little foresight and work.
Also, the very selling point about Heretic - it's realism - gives me a
headache. Literally. You can get so lost in the game that you become
dizzy simply following your character's descent through twisting
passages and winding hallways. Finally looking up, you'll be stunned
to realize that you've spent the last three hours staring at the screen
pressing your keys or turning the joysticks. Just remember to take a
break now and then and come back to the real world for a bit.
All in all, though, Heretic is well worth the registration price of
forty dollars. Thus far, I've enjoyed nearly ten hours of
heart-pounding game excitement and I'm just barely past the third level
of Episode One. A good gamer can look forward to literally dozens of
hours of monster chasing and treasure hunting fun.
Heretic requires a minimum IBM compatible 486/33 with 4 megs of RAM as
well as a 100% Sound Blaster compatible sound card.
Heretic is available from ID Software. You can download the shareware
version on your better BBS's around the country. The shareware version
includes only the first of three episodes and, while certainly playable,
is more of a sampler than a main dish. To purchase the registered
version ($40.00) call 1(800)ID-GAMES. Specify CD or 3.5" when ordering.
(c) 1995 Joe DeRouen. All rights reserved.
Software Review
Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook
all rights reserved
Al Michael Announces Hardball III
By Accolade (c) 1992
Design and Programming by Jeff Sember & Mike Benna
Produced by Pam Levins
Art by John Boechler
Music by Alistair Hirst
Sound by Mike Benna & Russel Shiffer
Manual by Jeff Wagner & Richard Moran
Creative Services by Lisa Marino & Shirley Sellers
Tested by James Kucera & Robert Daly
Most sports computer simulations use the same type of game
engine. Hardball III is no exception to that rule. The game is
relatively simple to use, but there are some pitfalls the user
will have to overcome.
Strengths: The game allows you to choose a Manage-Only mode at
any time in the game. This puts you in the manager's spot,
making the calls as to what type of play to run. The success of
the play depends on the players that you have in the game at the
time. In Player mode, you will still get to call the plays, but
you will control the actions of the players on the field, thereby
being ultimately responsible for the success of the play. The
game also gives you a picture of every player in the game, which
is quite a pleasing look for a sports simulation. While the
players on the field generally all make the same movements, the
speed of their movements is determined by their abilities, which
is a big plus for this game. This provides some form of reality,
especially since an Eddie Taubensee can run nowhere near the
speed of Deion Sanders. There is also a chance that a player
will "muff" any given play, providing yet another stab at
reality. The season scheduler is nothing short of pure genius.
I have been playing this game for nearly two months now and am
only now getting past the All-Star break (81 games). The All
Star game is kind of neat, in that it never chooses the same
players. The game goes into the current season stats and looks
for players that are playing the best at their positions. It
then applies them to the All Star game in their respective
leagues. I have never seen any other sports simulator do
anything of this sort.
Drawbacks: There are quite a few drawbacks to this game. The
most glaring one is the lack of any ability to trade players from
team to team in this game. I found that the only way to
accomplish this feat was to write down the player's stats from
his old team, find a player on the new team that is not there
anymore and edit his stats accordingly. Quite time consuming to
say the very least. Another glaring drawback is some of the
play-calling in the game. For instance, the following situation
is called for. With a runner on first, you call for a "hit and
run" and opt for the batter to butn the ball. The runner takes
off for second when the pitcher starts his windup, but the batter
won't bunt the ball unless it is a pitched strike. In reality, a
batter would do everything in his power to bunt that ball in
order to protect the runner going to second. A very bad error in
realism for this game. Yet another programming error lies in the
manner that the computer changes pitchers. The computer will
leave it's starter in the game until he tires, and only then will
he substitute a relief pitcher. After this, the computer starts
subbing pitchers like there is no end to the world. The only
managers that I have ever seen do this were Little League
coaches.
Conclusion: Realism is something this game tries to emphasize
highly, but fails very badly at. With a promising engine driving
this game, it is not that far from being great. However, it
might benefit this system to add a trading system that allows you
to swap players between teams. Also, some of the programming
would have to change, forcing players to make decisions at the
plate that are a bit more realistic.
Grade: C-
Engine Grade: B
Music Review
Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
Out Of The Silence by Yanni
Production/Copyright 1987, Private Music
Track Listing
1. Sand Dance (5:10)
2. After The Sunrise (4:40)
3. Standing In Motion (5:20)
4. The Mermaid (3:46)
5. Within Attraction (4:12)
6. Street Level (4:18)
7. Secret Vows (3:55)
8. Point Of Origin (6:05)
9. Acroyali (5:05)
10. Paths On Water (3:51)
Total Time: 46:22
Yanni is one of the most well-known New Age composers. His
music has a quality that surpasses the level of most New Age
musicians. Instead of writing songs, he vividly paints
emotional, musical pictures for your mind. His 1987 release
entitled "Out Of Silence" is no exception.
The disc opens with five extremely good songs. "Sand Dance"
races you through it's selection, giving off mental pictures of
couples dancing on the beach. "After The Sunrise" is clearly the
best track on the entire disc. With images of a cloudless
morning embracing the listener from the very start, it's clear to
see why this is one of the more popular pieces he has composed.
"Standing In Motion" and "Mermaid" are not quite as strong as
"After The Sunrise," but their imagery is just as good as that of
"Sand Dance." "Within Attraction" is a stunning piece. I was
left in awe of the imagery I received while listening to this
track. After this point, Yanni's next five tunes are mere
exercises of the first five. "Street Level" is clearly the most
boring, offering very little in the way of imagery. "Secret
Vows" starts out with a good movement, transporting the listener
instantly into the imagery, but he quickly loses this feeling
with some strange flourishes in the middle of the piece.
"Acroyali" and "Paths On Water" are easily forgettable, making
this a rather flat ending to the disc.
All in all, this is a good Yanni disc. However, it is
clearly not his best piece of work. If you love Yanni, you will
like this disc. If you like quiet, "New-Agish" music, you will
like this disc. If you are looking for a master-piece in the
vein of David Arkenstone's "In The Wake Of The Wind" disc, you
will be thoroughly disappointed.
Overall Grade: C+
Stellar Track: After The Sunrise
Lackluster Track: Acroyali
Music Review
Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
Hell Freezes Over by The Eagles
Copyright/Production 1994
Produced by The Eagles with Elliot Scheiner and Rob Jacobs
Track Listing
1. Get Over It
2. Love Will Keep Us Alive
3. The Girl From Yesterday
4. Learn To Be Still
5. Tequila Sunrise (Live)
6. Hotel California (Live)
7. Wasted Time (Live)
8. Pretty Maids All In A Row (Live)
9. I Can't Tell You Why (Live)
10. New York Minute (Live)
11. The Last Resort (Live)
12. Take It Easy (Live)
13. In The City (Live)
14. Life In The Fast Lane (Live)
15. Desperado (Live)
The Eagles. Possibly the most successful rock band of the 1970s.
Their music is loved and adored by millions around the world.
Their style has been imitated by country-rock bands in the 1990s.
In a sense, their songs define a large part of the music
industry.
Shortly after The Eagles had broken up, Drummer/Singer Don Henley
was asked about when The Eagles would get back together again.
Henley's reply was "When Hell freezes over!" His musical
differences with Guitarist/Singer Glenn Frey were so great, that
hatred had begun to enter into the equation. But it did make for
a good album title.
In reality, this disc is nothing more than a live album. With
only four new tracks, it's more along the lines of an Extended
Play (EP) disc. Sadly, of the four tracks, only one is really
worth a damn. "Get Over It" is an angry, cynical look at the
world around us. It's growled musings make for one of the best
songs I have ever heard. "Love Will Keep Us Alive" reminds one
of the "countrified" music the band released on it's Desperado
LP. "The Girl From Yesterday" really fits no mold that the band
had carved in their earlier niches, but still breaks very little
new ground. "Learn To Be Still" sounds great musically, but
lyrically it leaves a lot to be desired.
Tracks 5 through 15 are all live versions of old Eagles'
standards. They all sound great (except for a really lame
version of "Hotel California"), but two really stood out from the
others. "New York Minute" and "The Last Resort" sound even
better live than they did in the studio.
In summary, this is one of the most awaited for albums in the
history of Rock and Roll. But was it worth the wait? Not in my
opinion. The album's four studio track leave you wanting more
original material, while the live tracks leave wanting the old
Eagles back. If nothing else, the band will get exactly what
they wanted out of this disc....money.
Grade: C-
Stellar Track: The Last Resort (Live)
Lackluster Track: The Girl From Yesterday
Music Review
Copyright (c) 1994, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
For Those About To Rock (We Salute You) by AC/DC
Copyright/Production 1981
ATCO Records 92412-2
Previously Released as Atlantic #11111
Produced by Robert John "Mutt" Lange
Track Listing
1. For Those About To Rock (We Salute You)
2. Put The Finger On You
3. Let's Get It Up
4. Inject The Venom
5. Snowballed
6. Evil Walks
7. C.O.D.
8. Breaking The Rules
9. Night Of The Long Knives
10. Spellbound
AC/DC are one of the most well-known bands in the Hard-Rock and
Heavy Metal genre. Their success is due primarily to two albums,
"Highway To Hell" and "Back In Black," which are the two albums
immediately before this one in their discography. Since this
album followed those two, it's easy to see why it is easily
forgotten by most fans.
Despite being an album that most fans forget, "For Those About To
Rock" is quite a solid effort. The title song leads the album
off, and provides a back-drop of one of the most memorable parts
of an AC/DC concert. That's right, this is the song that has the
cannon fire on it. It is followed by a showcase of very
forgettable pieces by the band. To put it bluntly, "Put The
Finger On You," "Let's Get It Up" and "Snowballed" would have
been better off being left off the album. "Inject The Venom" has
a bit more flair than most AC/DC songs, with quite an inventive
opening for a guitar solo by Angus Young. "Evil Walks" and
"C.O.D" provide some really different lyrics for the band. Both
songs espouse the darker side of the world around us, which seems
to be something that the band is reluctant to do since the death
of original vocalist Bon Scott. "Night Of The Long Knives"
brings us once more to some really boring material for the band.
"Spellbound" closes the album with some very rhythmic material.
This song has never been played in their live sets after this
album's release. That's a shame, since it provides some really
tasty chops with some hard-hitting rhythm.
If you are an AC/DC fan, you should already have this album.
However, for those of you that are looking for good, hard-driving
rock and roll, this is not the album for you.
Grade: C+
Stellar Track: Evil Walks, C.O.D. (tie)
Lackluster Track: Snowballed, Night of the Long Knives (tie)
Music Review
Copyright (c) 1994, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
Diary Of A Madman by Ozzy Osbourne
Jet Records ZK 37492
Copyright/Production 1981
Track Listing
1. Over The Mountain
2. Flying High Again
3. You Can't Kill Rock And Roll
4. Believer
5. Little Dolls
6. Tonight
7. S.A.T.O.
8. Diary Of A Madman
This will sound kind of scary, but I really identify with John
"Ozzy" Osbourne. No, I don't want to run around snacking on the
heads of small animals, nor do I want to shave all the hair off
of my head (been there, done that, got the T-Shirt). I identify
with the angry, bitter lyrics that he wrote during his early
Black Sabbath days, and during the early part of his solo career.
This album, his second, is easily considered a classic among the
Heavy Metal crowd. To me, it is easily the one album that
accurately described my life during that period: confused,
angry, and scared.
The album opens with "Over The Mountain," which is one of the
most over-looked and under-played songs in the Ozzy repertoire.
It's got a quick, catchy beat that has you wondering how far the
talent of the late-Randy Rhoads could have gone. "Flying High
Again" is a bit overplayed on the radio, but it is one of the
very best pieces of work Ozzy has ever done. Following these two
is the Metal anthem, "You Can't Kill Rock And Roll." It's lyrics
approach the level of Robert Conrad daring you to knock the
Everyready battery off his shoulder. Sadly, the music is written
close to the level of a ballad, which deflates the power of the
lyrics greatly. "Believer" is one of the many songs that Ozzy
has written to attack the people that attack him. It is angry
and sarcastic in nature, but is not helped by the "funky" bass
grove that Rudy Sarzo lays down in it's support. Randy Rhoads
pulls off one of the most incredible solos I have ever heard on
this song. "Little Dolls" is a play on the concept of Voo-doo
and comes off a bit "cheesy" in a lyrical manner. The music for
it, however, is tight and extremely well done. "S.A.T.O." is one
of the weirdest songs that he has ever put on a recording. You
need to borrow a De-Ciphering Specialist from the Army just to
understand the lyrics. The music comes off weak, despite another
stellar guitar solo by Rhoads. "Diary Of A Madman" is the
clinching track on the recording. It's look inside the sick and
twisted mind of a madman makes an erie ending to the album. The
lyrics are some of the best I have EVER read. In short, this
song is a masterpiece.
Granted, I see you reading this and wondering, how can he speak
so lovingly of this album in the beginning and then proceed to
trash all but three of the songs? Easily. This album, in 1981,
was one of the best I have ever heard. However, it has not
withstood the acid-test of time.
Grade: B-
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
In The Shadow Of The Oak King by Courtway Jones
Copyright 1991, Baen Books
1st Printing May 1992
ISBN 0-671-73404-0
340 Pages
The story and tales behind the legend of Britain's King Arthur
are numerous and well-known. With the exception of Marion Zimmer
Bradley's "The Mists of Avalon," most stories told from this
storyline are bland and repetitive. This is not the scenario
concerning Courtway Jones first installment in his Dragon's Heirs
trilogy.
Mr. Jones paints one of the most vivid and captivating pieces of
work with this novel. It portrays the early years of King Arthur
as told through the eyes of his Pictish half-brother Pelleas.
What Jones offers to the reader is a compelling page-turning
novel. Jones gives Pelleas the task of providing insight to
Arthur's nature within the story. This proves to be interesting
and extremely entertaining. Pelleas' comments are sometimes much
too priceless. I found myself wiping tears from my eyes while I
was laughing. Pelleas' insight to the lovely (and stupid)
Gueneviere is strange since it portrays her as nothing more than
a piece of art for Arthur's side.
With Pelleas' as the main character, the story does not follow
Arthur once Camelot is built, but it does look into what the rest
of the kingdom is like during his (Pelleas') travels. The
jousting tournaments is where Pelleas starts his travels, beating
all the knights including the handsome Lancelot. This makes
Lancelot and Pelleas enemies from the beginning of their initial
meeting, although the young lady known as Nithe provides even
more reason for the rivalry to heat up. From the tournaments,
Pelleas' travels find all the Picts adoring him for what he has
done. Eventually, he ascends (reluctantly) into the position of
being their King.
If you are looking for a very enjoyable read, and you love the
mystery of old England, then you must acquire this book and
devour it. It's depictions will have you laughing, crying, and
smiling at Pelleas, Nithe, Arthur, Myrrdin (Merlin), Lancelot and
a host of others.
Overall Grade: A-
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
The Rose Sea by S.M. Stirling and Holly Lisle
Copyright 1994, Baen Books
ISBN 0-671-87620-1
1st Printing, September 1994
Pages: 412
While I have never heard of S.M. Stirling before, Holly Lisle is
a well-known writer to me. With her introduction to readers
through the infamous Mercedes Lackey, Miss Lisle has lived up to
all expectations. Her previous three novels, along with a
combined effort with Miss Lackey, have shown a steady progress of
in-depth character creation. "The Rose Sea" is no exception to
this rule.
Stirling and Lisle bring us to a world that is ruled in two
halves. The northern half is controlled by a race of peoples
known as Tykissians. They resemble Roman legionnaires within the
Army, while the common citizens are not much different than most
Americans. The southern half is controlled by the Tseldenes, who
are ruled by a centuries-old wizard named Darkist. This society
seems to be modeled after a tyrannical theocracy. The two halves
are at war with one another, both vying for control of the known
world. Our main characters enter into the story within the
Tykissian realm. They are "pressed" into the service of the
army, where they learn to get along with one another, and how to
be a soldier. After their training is semi-completed, they are
sent south across the sea to help invade the Tseldene empire.
And thus the adventure begins.
The characters are given identities that are set in stone from
the first word on the page. However, they are allowed to grow
and change as most individuals do throughout their lives. In
this manner, the reader develops a very strong bond to the
characters as the story continues. The story's twists and turns
are handled magnificently, while some really strong political
intrigue is thrown in for a very ironic twist. The shipwreck
scenes are written in a very realistic manner, as is the
"pressing" of the characters into the military and the training
that they receive. In short, the story-telling for this novel is
nothing short of magnificent.
If you have been reading most of my book reviews, you already
know that I don't like to give away plots or endings to the
novels I review. This is because I want you the reader to judge
the quality of it for yourself. After all, this is only my
opinion. This review will be no different. But the ending to
"The Rose Sea" is so stirring and emotional, if you don't feel
the pull at your heart-strings, you are already dead.
Grade: A+
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
Fire In The Mist by Holly Lisle
Baen Books, Copyright 1992
ISBN 0-671-72132-1
1st Printing, August 1992
Cover Art by Stephen Hickman
Map by Ellen Kostyk
Pages: 291
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have some latent
magickal power suddenly awaken within you? Have you ever thought
how hard it would be to control such a power without adequate
training? Obviously Holly Lisle has, since this is part of the
opening premise of the novel "Fire In The Mist."
Mercedes "Misty" Lackey (my favorite writer) described Holly
Lisle as "one of the hottest writers I've come across in a long
time." I figured that if Miss Lackey had lumped such heavy
praise on Miss Lisle, that I had better check out her first
offering as soon as I could. It was not a disappointing
excursion to say the very least. As a matter of fact, I came
away from the book having felt every single emotion there
was....and then some that I never even realize existed!
Miss Lisle's characters in this book are very well-written. The
reader starts off with a shell of what the character is about and
then gets to fill in the missing pieces through the character's
actions throughout the book. This gets the reader very involved
in the characters and really adds to the enjoyment of the story.
This simple manner of "evolving" her characters is woven around
an exquisite plot that will have you thinking on several levels
at once. She really works some magick with this novel.
I highly recommend this novel. At times, the story-line plods
along, but for the most part it hurls you through the action at
break-neck speed. Be sure that you keep your hands inside the
cart during this ride.
Grade: A-
Book Review
Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
Red Dwarf: Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers by Grant-Naylor
ROC Books, (c) 1989
1st ROC Printing, September 1992
ISBN 0-451-45201-1
Pages: 298
Take today's society. Allow for two hundred years or more of the
inevitable moral decay that comes with civilization. Focus on an
ore-mining ship called "Red Dwarf." Add a degenerate punk with
an attitude problem. Mix in an insecure, power-hungry buffoon.
Stir generously with an on-board nuclear disaster, and allow to
sit for 3,000 years. Top it off with a ship's computer that has
an IQ of 600 or more, and sprinkle gingerly over the first erect-
species of Feline. What do you get? The hilarious BBC-TV comedy
called "Red Dwarf."
While the book goes into a lot more detail than the TV show, I
found it lacking the constant hilarity on the show. This does
not, however, take anything away from the book, which is one of
the most enjoyable books I have ever read. The situations that
this cast of misfits gets into border on the totally insane. I
found myself constantly trying to put this book down, and failing
to do so. The characters of David Lister (the last surviving
human being), Arnold Rimmer (the totally obnoxious Hologram), Cat
(the very self-centered and lazy Feline Erectus), and Holly (the
sarcastic ship's computer) will have you on the floor begging for
more between the tears of laughter. The banter between the
characters is lost a bit in the book (the TV show does a much
more vivid job of depicting their constant sniping), but
nonetheless it is VERY amusing.
If you liked "Hitch-hiker's Guide To The Galaxy," you will really
find this book to be a great treat. Don't miss it. A word of
caution though: I had an extremely hard time finding a copy of
this book. I located it at a local Comic Book shop (Lone Star
Comics). I was lucky enough to find it in the second store that
I checked for it. You might not have as much luck though. Keep
searching for it, simply because it is very well worth your time
and effort.
Grade: A+
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Beacons of Light
Copyright (c) 1995, L. Shawn Aiken
All rights reserved
Beacons of Light
by L. Shawn Aiken
The ebon craft burst forth from nowhere, literally, but did not
disturb the velvety curtain of stars draped behind it. From its
womb sprang seven silvery children that plunged toward the bright
orb swirling nearby.
One hesitated briefly, rejecting the ever present tendrils of
force. Instead, it fell forever around the planet, carefully
watching the other six as they began to sparkle with ions.
The ebon craft lurched and drug itself out of the gravity well,
then vanished, returning to the nothingness which had spawned it.
* * *
Brenn watched the star-like sparks dance above the biomass
reactor as if somehow they were the real stars with their proper
motions advanced a million-fold. The simple arrangement of stone
and wood was far from efficient, but at least it warmed half of his
cloaked body. Regretfully, his backside was frozen in the crisp
night air.
Beyond the fire sat his wife, suckling their bald child while
her deep green eyes watched him like a cat. *She is too young,*
Brenn thought, *her skin too soft, her mind too new. Slypha does
not deserve to be away from her family, up here, with the beasts.
And me.*
Her large green eyes caught his, and she smiled. Brenn sighed
and smiled back.
"The beasts are quiet," he said. Her smiled faded.
"Perhaps they think the storm will miss us," she removed the
child from her breast and snuggled him tightly. "It's late. It's
been so long. I feel ready. Let's go to bed."
Brenn stood up and stretched his legs. The flickering fire
light caught the grey streaks in his beard. "Let me check on the
boy first. I think he's asleep."
Slypha walked to him and kissed him on the cheek, her eyes
sparkling. "Must you call him a boy still? Phenris has gone
through the change."
"Men do not sleep while watching beasts." They smiled in unison,
for they both knew Brenn had his surrendered his watch many times to
the sandman.
He turned and stepped into the dark of night. *I am too old,*
he sighed to himself. *My joints creak. My hair has shifted from
my head to inappropriate parts of my body. I am too old to be with
her.*
The forest gave way to clearing and the rumbling of snoring
beasts. Brenn was sure one of the snores belonged to Phenris, but
sound alone could not distinguish them. Then another sound came.
An old sound. One that he had not heard in three decades, and not
hoped to hear again. A beeping.
He glanced at the culprit, the chronometer strapped to his
wrist. The signal. Brenn glanced up at the heavens. Bright lights
shone down. Foreign constellation made familiar over thirty-six
years, girdled by two shadows. The eastern shadows were the spiky
teeth of the Ramphast Mountains. The west was more nebulous, a thin
line over the flat lands. The coming storm.
Between the two a fiery streak, followed by another, and
another. Six in all. They did not fade like falling stars, but
stayed bright as they disappeared behind the clouds.
Brenn slumped to the ground. Why had they taken so long? And
why now? Wouldn't some earlier time have done? When his bones did
not creak and his hair was still stable? Why had they not come when
he had been ready?
* * *
The lightning crackled down like a witch's hand, briefly
illuminating the humanoid figure running quietly through the
rain-soaked streets. It's strides were long. It's leaps longer.
But no one was awake to see. No one oohed and ahed. No one bowed
down to the power of Akhenaton.
He broke a sweat in the confines of the suit, away from the
chilly air, as he bounded across the Square of Freedom to the
presidential palace. One guard had time to widen his eyes before
the meter long razor slaughtered the lot. But the splatter of blood
failed to stain Akhenaton, for he crashed ten meters up into a third
story window.
A figure cowered in the silk sheets of the canopied bed, amidst
the finely carved bas-reliefs on the walls and the cherubs looking
down from the vaulted ceiling. Akhenaton opened a link to the
satellite floating above and stepped toward the trembling figure.
"President Cambridge of the Free World of Charadri, I bring you
a gift from the Emperors of the Triad," his voiced boomed out of the
metal and ceramic suit of armor. "You may broadcast a word to those
you offended with treason."
The figure stopped shaking and sat up. A wise-looking man, but
confused. "You have no right . . ."
Electric sparks bluer than sapphires shot from Akhenaton's arm,
striking the president full force in the chest. He erupted into
flames, squealing.
"Just one word, dear President," Akhenaton said as he cut the
link. Movement. His sensors detected movement. A woman by the
door, paralyzed with fear.
A burst of blue light reduced the president's wife to ashes.
Noise. Beyond the door. In the hall. He jumped into it.
A short person. A child. In bootied blue pajamas. Clutching a
stuffed creature from beyond the Human Zone. The offspring of
Cambridge. Akhenaton aimed and fired.
* * *
Brenn looked back through the veil of rain and waited for Slypha
to catch up. She sloshed through the mud, the baby's pannier
strapped to her back and a useless umbrella sticking up through the
wooden frame.
He reached his hand out to help her, but she brushed past him
roughly.
"Sylph!" he sucked his boots out of the mud. His son whined at
him from her back.
"Why?" Slyph hissed as her head spun toward him. He blinked to
force the rain from his eyes. *She's too young to go through this,*
he thought as he examined the way her wet hair hung to her face in
swirls.
"It is not a thing to talk about. Just believe that it is
necessary," he coughed up the words.
"What about Phenris?" she asked. "He's too young to herd the
beasts by himself!"
He sighed, remembering how, months ago, she had argued that her
nephew was old enough to follow them into the hills. "He'll be
okay. I have to get you back to the village."
"Why?" she yelled over the thunder. "Why must you leave?"
"Look!" he pointed to a strange metal scaffolding looming above
the trees. "The microwave tower. We are almost there. Let's get
you too your mother's before it get's dark!"
He knew they would make it to the village of Psittac long before
night fall, but he wanted to be well away from there before anything
might happen. They continued to slosh through the mud, their boots
slurping and sucking, and the baby randomly wailing.
The rain had died down, only dribbling from the sky, as they
entered the wooden village, biomass reactors churning dark smoke
through chimneys into the sky.
Brenn did not stay long at the Dowager's home, only taking time
to change his clothes and give his wife a brief farewell. He wanted
to stay longer, but knew that Slyph would probably find some way of
coaxing him into staying the night.
He did not leave rustic Psittac immediately. Through the mist
he trudged up the hill to the microwave station to see Slyph's
sister. With a few bangs on the metal door, Neridia opened the door
and a blast of electrically heated air greeted him.
"Thank God you are here," she said, pulling him into the room
full of lights and banks of switches. She was older than Slyph by a
few years, but with golden hair and brown eyes - a product of the
Dowager's first marriage. She sat him down at the console and
nervously poured him a steaming cup of bark juice.
"What is going on?" Brenn asked, tapping several consoles in
hopes that their numbers would change. They did not.
"It's a blackout," she nervously fretted over the consoles,
readjusting what he had touched. "At least that's what Eshan at the
Black River relay said just before he went off. Eshan also said to
initiate the civil defense plan. I've looked through the manuals.
There is nothing about a plan like that. He also said there was an
attack on the capital. Interstellar missiles, he said he heard.
You were a warrior. What does it mean?" Her brow knotted and she
looked at him, until she realized he was not looking at her.
Somewhere else. Somewhere but nowhere. She took a deep breath and
stood in front of him.
"Brenn?" she said.
"They are not missiles, they are people," he looked up at her
and gulped his juice. "The Beacons. They are here." He stood up
and set down his drink. "Inside of drop pods."
"An invasion." she said.
"Sort of." he replied, and went to the door.
"Wait!" she ran after him, "What about the defense plan? You
were a warrior. You know what to do. Please help us."
"I'll do what I can," he opened the metal door and rain splashed
at his foot. "But I can't do it here."
"But what do *we* do?" she asked.
"There is nothing you can do. Not against the Beacons, anyway."
Brenn slammed the door behind him and crept down the hill, wrapping
his cloak around his tired bones.
* * *
A different microwave tower, this one much taller, loomed far
above on the top of the craggy peak of Mount Ptilogon. *I shouldn't
have looked at it,* Brenn thought as he stumbled and fell off the
path. He clambered back on it, careful not to catch a glimpse at
the green valley below, and continued through the mud.
A muscle between his rib cage and his shoulder throbbed.
Thirty-six years ago he could have pulled himself up the cliff with
no problem. But then again, thirty-six years ago he wouldn't have
stumbled.
The path widened out. It was a eerie sight, even to one who had
seen it before. All of those toad trees with their green, knobby
bark. And the way they swayed back and forth. Springy. Totally
unlike real trees. They were, by definition, alien.
Brenn began to walk through the toad tree grove, toward a
boulder. It was a large boulder, about the size of a man. He
lifted it. The fiberglass shell lifted easily, exposing a parabolic
dish spinning slowly about a base.
He crouched down, his knees popping, and removed a panel. Data
flashed across the screen and he sighed. Everything checked out.
They had come. With several button punches the dish stopped
spinning and zeroed in on the tower.
Blackness. Nothing. No transmission. He leaned back and sat
in the mud. The eastern continent beyond the mountains was under
blackout as well.
His backside was no longer just cold, but wet. And muddy. A
cold wind whisked up his cloak as he stood up. His knees popped.
His shoulder ached. Brenn swore he could feel his arteries
hardening. *I'm too old for this. If they would have only come
later. When I am dead and buried. Then I would be prepared.*
Slyph's round face flashed before him. She was still a baby.
He had no right to marry her. *Things are all backward here, on
this planet a thousand light years from nowhere.*
He looked started again through the mud and quickly came to the
cave. It was still there after all of these years. A big gaping
maw cut in solid rock by the trickling of water. He could feel the
water in his boot and on his backside. Bits of him were being
eroded too.
A cool draft of air fluttered about him in the darkness. He dug
through his pockets and flicked on the retrieved torch. Glistening
sparkles danced before him. Some from water dripping off
stalactites. Some from the fools' gold that infested Mount
Ptilogon.
He stepped deeper into the pit, down a natural staircase
lovingly caressed for millennia by water trickling from above.
There was a flutter of something that the bioengineers had meant to
eradicate, but couldn't. Just like the herd beasts. Whatever it
was would probably have been good eating, but his mind was not on
food. He had to get past the balcony in one piece.
It dropped off before him, into the darkness below. It seemed
to Brenn that it had changed. It was more slippery. Smoother. And
there was less of a ledge. Three decades of trickle had eaten away
the footholds leading down to the floor, perhaps some twenty meters
below. And the torch refused to light up what was below.
He knelt and banged the torch against the floor. The beam
wavered, but refused to spit out more light. Geological processes
had cut him off from his buried treasure. But something fell loose
in his mind. It rattled about, then he remembered.
The rope! It had to be around somewhere. He began looking
around at the boulders on the stone balcony. How many years ago had
he fastened it? Too many. But he had. Around a boulder. On top
of the balcony. But where?
There! He saw it and grabbed it up. It crumbled into his hand.
Dust. Clogging up the torches beam. *Damn surplus. Hemp? He said
it was plastiweave. Bastard.*
Brenn made a mental note to demand a refund from the weasely
trader. But he crumpled up the note and threw it away. The trader
was probably dead by now and his sons were cheating other, younger
customers.
"If the emperor can't go to the sun, bring the sun to the
emperor," Brenn muttered to himself. Could it hear him? Would it
still respond?
"Tighra!" he yelled into the darkness as he perched on the edge.
"Tighra! Activate!"
Amidst the echoes he though he heard something. Something down
below. A muffled hum?
"Turn on your God damned lights, Tighra!"
The immense cavern burst with light, blinding him.
"Down down down, tone it down!" He carefully unshielded his eyes
with his arm.
There it was, glowing it all it's glory. A bulky humanoid
figure, twenty meters below, forty out. Black stripes played about
on it's glowing apricot skin.
"Tighra unit on," a voice boomed. "One point one nine to the
ninth power second since last activation, Commander Brenn Ortiz, CTM
7789-007."
"Brenn Kschted, actually. I got married."
"Congratulations, Commander," boomed the emotionless voice.
Brenn started to tell it he wasn't a Commander anymore, but who knew
how the software would respond then.
"Diagnostic?"
"Urgent repairs needed. Priority level. Suggest going to
nearest shipyard for repairs."
"I know that!" Brenn yelled. "I knew that three god damned
decades ago. Can you move?"
The suit paused for a moment. "Diagnostic reports fifty percent
chance of movement capabilities, with a plus or minus fifty percent
error."
Brenn shook his head. One day he would find the technician who
wrote diagnostic programs and . . . *That's odd,* he thought.
*It's been a while since I imagined hurting anyone.*
Images flashed before him. Beautiful orange explosions searing
flesh and bone. Horrified faces screaming for mercy. The darkness
of space and dehumidified, crumbling corpses who turned to dust just
like the rope.
"Move your leg!" he yelled down to it. Tighra, a machine that
cost more than the entire planet was worth, completed the first step
of the hokey-pokey flawlessly.
"Good. Now get the weapons pack. Attach it to your chest.
Then jump up here and let me take a look at you."
Tighra lurched forward. Dust spilled off from its head and
shoulders. It quickly found a metallic case and slapped it to its
chest. It hung there immovable with a magnetic seal.
Then suddenly the machine bounded up the cliff, but not quite.
It missed the top and hurtled downward, barely catching itself,
hanging on with two fingers of one hand.
"Jesus," Brenn muttered as it slowly pulled itself up and
crawled toward him. "Stand up, Tighra, and turn off your skin
lights. Just the top will do."
The cavern dimmed appreciable and he looked over the mechanical
entity. Under the patchy layer of dust he could see the blast
marks, the twisted bits of metal, and the ruined left hand.
"Servo mechanisms in the left leg failed," it commented. "Test
leap indicated seventy percent of systems operating at forty
percent. Unit is beyond repair. Suggest entire Tighra unit be sent
to the nearest military scrap heap and disposed of by qualified
personnel."
"That's a pretty high regard you have for yourself," Brenn
detached the case and set it down on the ground. "Is the grenade
launcher still working?"
"Shall I test it?"
"No," his eyes widened. Not in here. You'd bring the whole
cave down. Just a diagnostic."
There was a brief pause. He opened the case. Wrapped in foam
were five grenade, as well as some spare parts and a radio. Four of
the grenades had red bands around them, one with green. He
carefully pulled it out.
"Launcher unit seventy percent reliable, plus or minus ten
percent."
"Can you handle this? I picked it up long after I stashed you
in here. After the war," he held the green tear-shaped object
before its sensor.
"Affirmative. But caution, Tighra unit is not reliable.
Entering combat is not suggested."
"I know how you feel," Brenn popped open the tube connected to
the left forearm. The grenade clip was still half full. Just like
that day long ago. He carefully slipped the green grenade at the
bottom of the clip. Two reds, and a green. He slammed the lid
down.
"Okay, I want you to pop your head open so I can crawl in. And
Tighra, I order you not to do a med scan of me. I *order* you."
* * *
"You are fatigued, Commander Kschted," the suit chimed. Brenn's
lungs were burning. Spasms raced up and down his spine. And he had
just walked a little under a kilometer.
"I *told* you no med scan!" he hissed between clenched teeth.
Armor wasn't as easy as everyone thought. A warrior couldn't just
sit in it and have it walk around for you. The legs still moved.
The arms still moved. And the suit, left to its own, would pop the
wearer's limbs out of joint. One *had* to move with it.
"Request initiation of muscle relaxant injection," it said.
"No!" he hissed. "Not yet. I'll be needing all of it for
later." His eyes swirled, but not only from the pain. The
heads-up-display was driving him mad. He was not used to the three
hundred and sixty degree display. It seemed everything was in front
of him - including the bits that were receding behind him.
"Gimme a shot," Brenn finally broke down as he passed a ridge.
"A little one. Analgesic or something." He felt the pressure at the
base of his neck as the drug was injected. "Hey, Tighra, what's the
shelf life of analgesic? I mean, does it break down into any other
chemical components? Like some kind of neurotoxin?"
"That information is not available in my databanks."
Brenn took a deep breath. Perhaps it would be all over now.
Done in by his own suit. Then it hit.
"Ah," he gurgled. Thirty-six years without so much as an
aspirin. He felt good. Almost high. The aches had drifted away
like the dust falling off of the suit. But then he remembered.
Everything felt ten times worse after the drugs wore off.
"No more med scans unless it's an emergency," he told the
machine.
"Your body is eliciting danger signs right now," the suit said.
"I mean, don't poke around with my body unless I'm unconscious
or my arm is ripped off. Okay?"
"Okay, Commander Kschted."
Brenn huffed and puffed away from the mountain. His popping
joints were outmatched by the squeaks and groans coming from the
suit. *We should both be retired, living on some zero-gee station
somewhere. Me and Tighra floating around a breakfast table, sipping
tea from little baggies. Or he could sip silicon gel. Or
whatever.* Brenn stopped thinking a moment, and came up with the
conclusion that it wasn't just ordinary aspirin coursing through his
veins.
"You suck," he said a they stumbled into the green valley.
"I said, you suck." Then he remembered. Suits weren't designed
to respond to insults. Something the technicians thought up. It
was suppose to keep the warriors out of trouble. But there was a
way around it.
"You suck, do you hear? You suck."
"I hear you." Brenn smiled and they began going up the far side
of the valley. As the drug began to wear off, they clambered up a
hill and took up position.
Brenn adjusted the HUD to small field magnification and zoomed
in on a nearby mountain. It's peak was taller than Mount Ptilogon,
put with a more gentle slope. Snow sparkled at it's summit, and he
zoomed in on it.
IR was useless, so he changed to visual. There it was. The
chalet. Or what was left of it. His mind drifted back to when he
had first arrived . . .
* * *
"Christ it's hot. Tig, dehumidifier on full," Brenn had always
hated the fact that while in a suit you couldn't just wipe the sweat
from your forehead.
"Cancel that," a voice crackled in his ear. He turned to
Akhenaton, trailing him several paced.
"Sir, if I'm going to do point, I should at least be able to
see," he waved his arms about. Akhenaton stopped, along with the
four other Beacons behind him.
"Thermals must remain low. Your power plant is almost visible,"
Akhenaton replied calmly.
"I'm sweating like a swine. Can't I just open my visor. There
is snow all over the place. Can't I just pour a handful of snow on
my face?"
"Unexceptable, Commander." Akhenaton signalled with his hands to
end the conversation. Brenn opened his mouth, then shut it. They
continued on up the mountain towards the chalet.
Of course they weren't supposed to be anywhere near mountains.
They were supposed to be near the shore, bolstering the ground
troops. Four years of fighting and the Corian Triad was actually on
the defensive. Triad troops were being slaughtered left and right
by farm girls and back water bureaucrats. The real problem was that
the same thing was happening on seventeen planets in this sector
alone. Something had to be done.
So it was, or rather, it was not done. The fly boys up in
darkie-darkie land miscalculated and sent the Beacons of Light, the
most skilled and heavily equipped Corian foot soldiers, straight
into a mountain, a thousand klicks away from where they could do any
good. And with the EMP satellites in orbit, no one could get a
message through and have the fly boys executed.
So they had to walk. But for some reason the commander wanted
to walk straight up a mountain to investigate a chalet they had seen
some kilometers back. *Of all the stupid, idiotic things . . .*
Brenn grumbled in thought, because the Akhenaton could hear
everything he said.
* * *
"You know, Tighra, we didn't even know if we were in hostile
territory or not," Brenn scanned the chalet closely. From what he
could tell, the roof had caved in. At least half of the supports
had collapsed. Time had taken it's toll on the building. Just like
Tighra. Just like him.
"Energy surge directly ahead," the machine's cold voice informed
him.
"What?"
A blue arc of light gracefully flew from the mountain, across
the valley, and incinerate a pine tree two meters away.
"Jesus Christ! Fire!" Brenn yelled.
"Please be specific," The suit replied. "Nothing is within
degraded weapons range."
"I see you," a voice crackled in his ear. It was Akhenaton.
Brenn's eyes widened.
"Thermals, Tig, thermals! Drop 'em!" Brenn cried, and began to
run.
"Please be more specific."
Another blue arc lashed out, ripping in two the tree that he had
been diving for. He hit the ground with his shoulder and bright
sparks dashed before his eyes.
Brenn shook his head to clear it. He was lying face to the
ground next to a burning tree.
"Thermals! Don't exhaust the heat, Tig!" he moaned.
"Ports sealed." Brenn did not argue as he felt pressure on his
neck.
"What was that blue streak? A particle beam?"
"That information is not in my data banks," Tighra told him. Of
course. They must have improved the suits and invented new weapons.
What in the hell was he up against? And there were six of them!
"I knew you'd come back, Tighra," the voice crackled it his ear.
For a moment Brenn wondered why Akhenaton was talking to his suit.
Then he remembered. Call names. In Akhenaton's eyes, or rather, in
Captain Harmsworth's, he was still called by his suit's name.
"I knew you would too . . ." he cut himself off, almost saying
'sir'.
"Teredo is here as well. We have some unfinished business."
"Hey Tighra, it's me," an asian voice said. "It's time, you
know. Meet us at the site and we can finish this."
* * *
"I swear it looks like a ski lodge, boss," Teredo accented voice
hissed into Brenn's ear as he peeked over the snow bank.
"I'm picking up about ten people all moving around on the upper floor,"
Brenn sunk back down and turned to the squatting Beacons. "What's a
ski lodge?"
"I thought you were from Switzerland, Tig," Teredo said.
"I was born there, but I went to school at Ishtar South. What's
a ski lodge?"
"Cut the chatter," Ahkhenaton ordered. "That building may be an
enemy outpost."
"A ski lodge is where you strap plastic panels to your feet and
slide down the side of a snowy mountain." Teredo continued.
"Sounds pretty stupid to me," Brenn chuckled. "Besides,
Switzerland hasn't had snow in two centuries."
"Will you two shut up?" Ahkhenaton yelled. "Tighra, do a scan
under it. See if it has any lower levels."
"Yes sir," Brenn stood up. It would take the sensors two
minutes to pierce all of that granite. He looked at the chalet as
sweat poured down his face. Snow in Switzerland? Ha. That was
like saying it rained in Central America. Ludicrous proposition.
"Sir," Brenn spoke with his back to the commander, "I take it we
are going to kill everyone and secure the building?"
"Yes."
"After that can we toss Teredo off the mountain strapped to a
piece of plastic?"
Before Akhenaton could get everyone to quit laughing, Brenn
spotted somthing on the corner of his screen.
"Uh, sir, something's coming. It's hugging the terrain at 100
meters."
"What is it?"
"Uh, Tig says it's a L-53 troop transport. No markings. No
ident signal." Brenn saw the white speck grow on his monitor.
"Looks to be headed this way. Oh. It's armed."
"Who the hell could it be?" Teredo voiced.
"No respectable pilot would strip Triad symbolds off a vehicle,"
the commander said. "It's got to be those bastard rebels. We're in
luck, men and women, we've stumbled across the enemy."
"Lemme shoot it, boss," Teredo said.
"No, Tighra can have that honor."
"Thanks," Brenn charged up his left arm and let loose with a
particle beam. It was a direct hit, sending the flaming transport
hurtling into the valley floor.
* * *
"Tighra," Teredo's voice echoed Brenn's ear canal. It was
getting hot. His heat throbbed. His shoulder ached. And his groin
was hurting in places it hadn't hurt since Slyph had been able to
have sex.
"Tighra. You can't hide. The boss still has your ident signal.
Don't you remeber?"
Christ, Brenn screamed at himself, staring up at the cloudy sky.
*I would have been safer leaving the suit where it was. They might
have never found me.*
He started to tell Tighra to get up, but closed his mouth. It
would be stupid to let Akhenaton listen in on everything was doing,
so he stretched his neck out and poked several pressure sensors with
his chin. The suit slowly stood up and his eyes flooded with tears.
"Why the site?" he gasped as another squirt of pain killers
flooded his system.
"Everything must be coordinated properly," Akhenaton said
coldly. It was that same statement that had initialized the
massacre of the embryos on Brakor. Two thousand vat babies
destroyed. The memory jarred something in him. Had he really
killed them? For thirty six years he thought he had remembered.
But now it seemed he had only remebered the concept, not the deed
itself. But now he remebered.
He remembered the melting of plastic, the tidal flood of
embryonic fluid, the fire. The screams of an entire planet blasting
through his speakers. And he remembered laughing. Laughing.
The suit was moving but he didn't realize it, walking onward
toward the site. The other two must have been on the other side of
the valley, making the same journey.
His baby's pudgy face flashed before his eyes. Baby Brenn.
Slyph wanted to name him after his great father. She was so
innocent. How could she know? How could she comprehend what he had
done?
It was almost impossible for him, but the dulling drugs seemed
to unravel the strings tieing up the ancient memories. The
slaughter of countless people on countless worlds. How could she
comprehend what he was?
He became aware of the muscles knotted up in his stomach, but
could not feel the pain. It must have been horrific. Brenn gulped
and headed along the gradient. The trees gave way and it came into
view.
Nothing. Flat land. A little stream. Scrub. Mud must have
covered up the debris, just like the garbage in his mind had covered
up the attrocities. *I havn't changed. I've just buried it. I'm
the same person. I can't feel. I can't pity. I'm just like them.*
But as he entered the clearing he saw something that hadn't been
there that day. Something that had been added later. He walked
over to it. A slab of granite. A marker. With words.
"What's that?" Teredo suprised him. They both were standing on
the other side of the clearing upon a sloping rise. Kings of the
hill. Their suits were shinning in all of their glory, a bright sun
on Akhenaton's chest, while Teredo's skin glowed white all over like
luminesent puss.
"Where are the others?" Brenn asked.
"Others?" Teredo laughed. "You killed Sirrocco and Yoicks right
over there," he stretched his arm out to the stream. "Don't you
remeber, Tig?"
Brenn looked and nodded, even though they didn't see it.
Akhenaton spoke up. "And Gyrfalc died honorable on Brakor."
"No he didn't. We all made it off," Brenn stepped away from the
stone.
"There was another insurrection. The planet had to be
eliminated."
"The planet?"
"And Tesla bought it in the Weisa`cker vortex of Beta Pictoris.
A minor revolt that turned into a major one," Teredo chuckled.
"But I saw four others?" Brenn motioned to the sky.
"Stupid boy," Akhenaton said. "Are you so all important to
think that we are irreplaceable. We are just cogs. This business
does not require their presence."
Alarm bells rung in the back of his head. Something was wrong.
Why would he feel that something was wrong? Here he was, ready to
be slaughtered, and suddenly something Akhenaton had said was wrong?
"Why?" his knee began to tremble. "Why not them?" Beacons
rarely split up. They hung together as if they were magnetized.
"Well, you see," Teredo started, "The boss here kinda told
everybody you were dead. Summarily executed."
"Shut up!" Akhenaton barked. "That oversight will soon be
rectifed. Teredo, I give you the honor of killing him."
"Great," Teredo said, begining to walk toward him. "Where do
you want it, Tig, By the rock, in the stream, or in your back?"
"Uh," his heart began to pound. Stimulants screeched into his
neck. The suit knew he was about to die. Why was he having a hard
time beleiving it?
"Uh, waitaminute," Brenn said. "How have the gathagene
treatments worked?"
"What?" Teredo stopped.
"Do you still look young? I mean, I only got one treatment.
Open your visor and let me see."
Teredo started again. "Gosh, Tig, can't you think of anything
original. That's how you got Sirrocco."
* * *
The heat was building and his lips were chapping. After the
vehicle went down, nothing had happened at the chalet. No gun
turrets rose from the ground. No missile raced toward the sky and
rained down on them, so Akhenaton set the priority to investigating
the crash site.
They were getting close. A few trees were smoldering. There
was charred bits of things all over. Blackened arms and legs hung
from trees like bizarre fruit. Brenn stumbled over a trunk and came
into the clearing.
Chunks of everything were scattered around. Seat stuffing blew
about, mixing orange into the white snow. Part of a langing strut
was wrapped, like a piece of string, around a tree. And he heard
something. Something moved.
"Sir," he said to Akhenaton, trailing behind. "A person over
there."
"Okay. Teredo, go find the black box. Maybe we can trace this
to the rebel's base. Gyrfalc and Tesla, you come with me to find
what's left of the weapons stores. And Sirrocco and Yoicks, you mop
up the survivors with Tighra.
Brenn looked down at the seat near him. A person was stil
strapped to it. Charred over most of it's body. What looked like a
male. Fifteen or so years old. Brenn had entered the military at
fifteen. They must have been shiping new recruits somewhere.
He leveled his arm and fired the laser. The head popped,
splattering spongy chunks all over. Another semi-intact survivor
behind a panel. Another shot. Another survivor. Another shot.
Sweat was getting ito his eyes.
"Sir," Brenn called out. "The fires around here will cloak us,
won't they? I mean, can't I turn on the air conditioning?" There
was a brief pause.
"Negatory. It will waste power. If anyone is hot, just open
your visors."
Five 'thank gods' jammed the transmission frequency. Brenn slid
the opaque shield from his face and breathed the cold air deeply.
And he choked.
"Crap," said Sirrocco next to him. "This stinks. Why can't
people burn clean."
"Bastard rebels stinking up the place," Brenn fired at another
body near a clump of long plastic shards. He made his way slowly
through the mess until he could register no more life. Then he
walked toward Teredo.
He was leaning up against a three meter tall hydrogen cannister
that had somehow survived the crash. Next to him was an orange
cylinder with wires leading toward Teredo's helmet. Akhenaton was
with him.
"Sir, I've accessed the navcom. Looks like they were way off
course."
"Why?"
"Well, we are 900 klicks from any rebel territory that we last
heard about. Dunno why they would penatrate Triad territory this
far. Hold on. I'm patching into the database. Ah. Security
sealed. Lemee break it. There."
"Can you tell the registration?" Akhenaton asked.
"It's owned by the Proconsul Whydt."
"What?" Sirrocco walked up to them.
"It's government property," Teredo looked up at them and smiled.
"Well, it ain't he first time we've accidentally brought down one of
our own."
"What was it's flight path. It's manifest. I've seen no heavy
weapons," Akhenaton said.
"Fuck!" Teredo ripped the wires away and jumped up. "Fuck!" he
walked away from the flight box. "Fuck!"
"What?"
"It was full of kids, headed for the chalet. For a skiing
trip.
"So?"
"They were being evacuated from the capital. The Proconsul
himself chartered the trip. It had his son on board."
Ahkenaton suddenly straightened up.
"Holy shit," Sirrocco said. "Are we in trouble?"
Ahkenaton turned to face them. "We aren't in trouble."
* * *
Power surge, Tigrah's monitor read as Brenn watched Teredo point
his arm toward him.
"Stop! Wait!" Brenn yelled, waving his arm. "My laser is
busted. It won't be a fair fight!"
"So?"
"Uh, well . . . don't I deserve a chance? I mean, let's go at
it, hand-to-hand."
"No," he laughed.
Brenn pointed his arm and squeezed, launching the green-stripped
grenade. It elongated as it flew, slapped into Teredo's arm and
wrapped around the particle beam nozzle. Teredo fired, igniting the
explosive.
There was a burst of light and his arm sailed off.
Brenn turned and ran, the radio frequency filled with screaming.
He raced up the incline. His joints were on fire. Unknown liquids
were being pumped into his spine.
*Warning,* read Tighra's display, *you are severely fatigued.
Rest is suggested.*
"No Tig, no! We've got to get back to the cave! Keep running,
even if you break my legs! Keep running!"
* * *
Akhenaton watched from on high as Tighra raced up the side of
the valley and into the trees. *He's still got spunk,* he thought,
*even if he is an idiot.*
The eternally young warrior with articficial nanobots coursing
through his arteries walked down the hill toward his fallen
companion. Teredo was twitching a bit. The explosion had done just
enough damage to rip off the arm, not sear the wound. Red blood
pumped out into the muddy earth.
Akhenaton knelt down and slid open Teredo's visor. His eyes
were wide open and his mouth was gasping.
"Sear it, boss, sear it,"
"Sorry," Akhenaton aimed his arm and fired. Teredo's suit
sparked like a metal fork in a microwave oven. Sparks, smoke, and a
final twitch. *At last that mouth will be silent. But there is
still another.*
"No Tig, no! We've got to get back to the cave! Keep running,
even if you break my legs! Keep running!" came through on his
speakers.
*A man who holds some of the highest honors in the Triad, forced
to live in a cave,* Akhenaton shook his head.
But then he though. *No. He is not one to run home from
battle. It's a trap. The cave must be a trap. He intends to lure
me there. He must have enough explosives to bring down the whole
cave and entrap me.* Akhenaton laughed. *He's still up to his old
tricks.*
He started his suit at a mild gait until he picked up the IR
trail. *The idiot is venting all of his heat. Of course, he wants
me to follow it. Right into his cave. The fool will be suprised,
though.* He increased his speed.
The trail wound across the hills, back through the valley, and
up the slopes of an impressive mountain. Strange trees bobed up and
down in a strange rhythm, and then he saw it. The mouth of the
cave. But in front of it was Tighra.
He was on his hands and knees, crawling, grasping, desperately
trying to reach the cave. Akhenaton fired over his head.
"Stand and fight like a man," he yelled. Tighra stopped and
collapsed.
"Why? Why kill me?" Akhenaton heard wheezing sounds. The boy
was in pretty bad shape.
"You killed the Proconsul's son. You are a traitor,"
"But you gave the order," Tighra slowly turned over on his back.
"You forget War Law. You can't blame your sins on me."
"But you are responsible. You gave the order."
"And no one must know that. Such news would have scrapped the
Beacon Project. Loosing this planet almost did that anyway. But we
were succssessful elsewhere and now there are twenty Beacon units
from Persei to Saggittarii. We couldn't loose that merely because I
made a mistake."
With a verbal grunt, Tighra stood up. Ahkenaton powered up his
particle beam.
"I'm an old man. Spare me. I won't tell," he gasped.
"Sorry," Akhenaton fired and the blue arc raced towards Tighra's
chest and struck. It collapsed and shrapnel burst forth from
behind. The scream of a lungless man echoed in Akhenaton's ears,and
the body collapsed.
It was done. Akhenaton turned his weapon's power off. *He's
dead. They are all dead. I am safe.*
Just then came a beeping. From a strange looking boulder. *A
bomb!* He did a scan. Not a bomb. A chonometer. On top of the
boulder. He walked over to it and picked it it with the suits
stubby fingers. Tighra's service piece. With a message blinking.
"Sorry," it read, "couldn't get the message to you sooner. You
see, the watch has been on record. And patched into the satellite
dish under the boulder. What you just said went up to your
superiors. Sorry."
Akhenaton's eyes flashed open wide. "No!" His scream echoed
amongst the stars.
* * *
The birds sang merrily in the abnormally warm weather, but he
just didn't feel their joy. He had been betrayed by his own
friends. Now he was stuck on this planet forever. If he dared
venture off, he would be executed by the Triad.
But that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to him was
Slyph and Brenn Jr. And they were on this planet. But would he
ever see them again.
He shuffled thorugh the mud on his jury-rigged crutches.
Nothing was really borken, but Tighra had told him there were
microscopic cracks all throughout his legs. Poor Tighra. Honorable
to the end. He couldn't even give in a proper burial. A half ton
of high density alloys was just impossible to move.
First he had though of luring Akhenaton into the cave and
blowing it and him up. But that was a stupid thing to do. He had
to see Slyph again. Pain shot through his legs and he coughed
blood. The last of Tighra's pain shots were wearing off. He
moaned, but continued along the trail.
Akhenaton had been furious. From where Brenn was hiding in the
cave, he could have sworn he saw the man was frothing at the mouth.
Of course he had blasted the boulder and dish to tiny bits, but
Brenn didn't need it anyway.
He peered up into the sky above the trees. It wasn't there.
The microwave tower was gone. He increased the pace. The pain was
mind numbing.
The village spread before him. Smoke came from the hill. The
tower was gone. A huge shuttle was in the town square and had
collapsed several buildings in his way. His ears began to burn and
he coughed blood again.
People were screaming. He hobbled down the street.
A huge suit stood before him. It's back was to him. Villagers
were being crowded into the center of the square. Four Beacons were
roughly shoving them. Several houses had been set on fire and a
pile of laser rifles was forming at the other end of the square.
They had found the Dowager's secret stash!
She was there, amongst the screaming people, trying to calm them
down. But where was Slyph? There was a pile of bodies. Men,
mostly. A few women. His stomach turned.
"Move it, peon," a Beacon kicked a boy in the back. There was
an audible crack as his spine snaped. His father ran at the soldier
and burst into flames. Where was Slyph?
An unarmored soldier dashed out of the shuttle and ran to the
Beacon in front of Brenn.
"Sir, his suit has been found on the side of a mountain," Brenn
heart pounded. They knew about him! Where was Slyph?
"Crazy bastard," a laugh came from the suit. "We should have
known he would have run. After that speech he gave to the
satellite."
Brenn gasped. It was Akhenaton! They were looing for him! He
stumbled toward the Beacon and a hand latched around his throat.
"What is it, old man?" the Beacon asked as he lifted him in the
air by his neck. Brenn gurgled and coughed, then fell to the
ground.
"Sir," he gasped. "I have just journeyed over the mountains. I
saw an officer. With no suit. Headed east. There is an abandoned
chalet to the east."
"Hot damn," the Beacon laughed. "All right!" he sceeched, "Load
up the shuttle and let's pick up Ahk. Then we can get off of this
God forsaken rock!"
* * *
Within minutes they were gone in a blast of dirt. Brenn layed
in the mud, looking at the shuttle drift away. Where was Slyph?
"You look like a corpse," Nerida said as she and the Dowager ran
up to him.
"Where is Slyph? The baby?" he groaned and tried to sit up.
"Stop your whining," The Dowager turned her cracked face down at
him. "What did you say to that goon?"
"Nothing. Where is Slyph?" tears welled up in his eyes.
"I'm right here. Baby too," Slyph came out from the crowd and
knelt next to him. His eyes widened and he grasped her tightly too
him. The images of horror and war flooded into his mind. Dead men,
dead mothers, dead babies. And he remembered that his long years in
exile had tought him to learn how to make life and love it.
"I'm not too old," he sobbed into her ear.
"Of course you are," she said. "You're as old as the hills.
But I love you anyway."
The End
Experiment
Copyright (c) 1993, Ed Davis
All rights reserved
EXPERIMENT
The speeding vehicle, built to resemble an elongated rain drop,
raced across the plains, rushing toward the mountains ahead. Safely
and comfortably nestled inside, seventeen young people napped, chatted,
or watched the video monitors built into the overhead. Their journey
was nearly over, another two hours and they would step out of their
metallic cocoon and bask in the sunny radiance of the western beaches.
The excitement ahead was too much on their minds to allow the sameness
of the passing scenery to attract their notice.
Their slim bodies, with cleanly formed limbs and torsos, were store
houses. Store houses of untainted genetic messengers. They were,
along with seventeen other youngsters making the same trip on the
northern route, unique in their society. Most people were tainted with
mutated genes, a side effect of the massive, cumulative effects of
chemical contamination. The thirty four young people were the pampered
objects of a massive government effort. Success would restore genetic
sanity to a world no longer polluted but gravely damaged. Scientists
were talking hopefully about gene transplants, to restore normal
procreation. The hopes of the nation rode in two silvered cocoons.
As is always the case, one passenger was different. One black
haired man was turned away from the hectic entertainment filling the
video screen. Since his was the only single seat in the two rows of
twined bucket seats, he was not involved in conversation with anyone.
Instead, his face was plastered against the two inch thick glass of the
small window. His eyes darted from one passing landmark to another, as
the sleek train slashed across the dusty landscape. Surface travel, at
nearly three hundred miles per hour was swift but not scenic. To a
young man, however, the newness of the experience was excuse enough to
keep him glued to the view port.
Matthew Brogan, still clenched tightly in his deeply molded chair by
the twin shoulder harness and single lap strap, was the first to notice
the vibration. His inexperience with the newly encountered mode of
travel caused him to hesitate before saying anything to his fellow
passengers. His sixty second delay carried the seventeen youths
twenty-six thousand feet further toward their destination and saved
them the foreknowledge of their impending crash. He, however, was not
spared the visual impact of watching the ground vanish below his view,
as the vehicle levitated and left the single track guiding its
direction. Vibration was gone and the sudden lack of the soft hum of
the track alerted all the young people that a change was taking place.
The next change was drastic and terrifying. Pivoting on its axis,
the train twirled slowly. The plush interior changed suddenly, from
the friendly clutter of people traveling a long distance, into a
turning collage of cups, papers, clothing and disoriented bodies.
Suddenly heads bumped, arms twisted and legs kicked in futile attempts
at balance.
The sleek tear drop fell gradually to earth again, its speed slowed
below two hundred miles per hour. The grasses of the prairie could do
little to cushion the fall and the soil beneath became a two mile long
strip of sand paper. The titanium skin of the right side abraded away
quickly with a small shower of sparks. The skeleton of aluminum struts
lasted but a few seconds longer, giving off no sparks. The speeding
projectile was traveling at less than one third of its peak speed when
the interior wall abraded through. Seats vanished in a gut wrenching
scream of torn metal. Four people strapped in their seats vanished
into the speeding earth instantly and four more screamed into oblivion
before the still moving train gouged into a small hill and stopped
abruptly. The remaining passengers, not strapped in or fortunate
enough to have become wedged between seats, were smashed into
unrecognizable oblivion.
The only sound in the destroyed vehicle was the soft clump of sandy
soil falling from the remains of the fuselage's left hand section and
the ragged breathing of the four survivors still buckled in their
seats. None of the four were aware of their survival, they were safely
wrapped in the protection of unconsciousness. Small beams of light
penetrated the settling dust and awaited the young people's return to
the world.
Matthew felt something prying at the clasp on his safety harness and
struggled to maintain his only chance of surviving the crash he did not
remember. He opened his eyes and saw a female form attacking his waist
in a renewed effort to loosen the stubborn clasp.
"Quit. I'll do it." His own voice sounded alien, distant. He was
confused.
"Well, hurry. Everyone else is outside. We're worried about an
explosion, like on the videos." The form withdrew, limping painfully.
Matthew speeded up his efforts and was soon startled to find himself
falling nearly ten feet to the earthen wall below his right shoulder.
Nothing was right. The floor was a wall and the wall, with its
accompanying row of seats was missing. In its place was a solid dirt
surface, barely visible but eminently touchable, sprinkled liberally
with large, sharp edged stones. He brushed his arm, then his hip, and
struggled to find the exit the female form had used. The pain in his
stomach, a seat belt abrasion he would later discover, and the
stiffness in his neck were his sole discomfort. He was grateful and
surprised.
The cave like interior was barely illuminated and the opening to the
outside was small. Finally, he spotted a brighter area ahead and
crawled toward the expected opening.
Shocking brilliance greeted the last escapee. The fiery ball of the
setting sun passed behind a thin strip of clouds and created a
temporary, reddened Saturn. The newly formed planet lost its shape
quickly as the lowering sun rushed behind the horizon. Matthew could
see little except the brilliant redness. Knowing that he had hung
there in the opening while the sun set, he was nevertheless unable to
restore his sense of timing. Minutes slipped past in an instant.
Darkness fell like a wetted blanket. Blackness ate the remaining
light in another misadjusted time interval, hiding the other survivors
from the last man out of the shattered train.
"Over here!" Three voices called from the darkness.
Voices seemed to come from everywhere. Matthew's bewilderment was
total.
"Where are you? I can't see you."
"Stay there, I'll come get you." A small feminine voice called from
the cloying darkness. Without the accustomed comfort of air
conditioning, the air passing over his body seemed to have tentacle
like appendages, which clutched at his skin and caused his flesh to
crawl.
The touch of the young woman was another irritation until he
recognized that she was there to lead him away from the destroyed
train. He reached for her arm, his fear more evident than he liked.
"Thank you." His voice carried a tremor which passed unnoticed in
the clatter of his descent down the side of the train's smooth carcass.
Matthew kept the feminine hand clutched tightly in his own.
Starlight helped little as the lonely prairie waited for the moon's
arrival. Without light there were no shadows. The invisible earth
beneath their feet was covered with dry, crackling grasses.
Suddenly they were confronted with two blacker forms in the darkness
of the night. The survivors were all together.
"They will send help..." The second small voice, feminine and
trembling in the darkness, was more a question than a statement. None
of the stranded foursome had any idea where they were or what they
could expect.
Time passed slowly and the young people soon huddled together,
gathering what little comfort they could from the presence of the
others. The deep darkness of sleep finally wrapped them in its folds.
The alarm bell clanged loudly for a full second before the robot
manager silenced it with an electronic command. The same command
passed through the computer forming the robot's brain and sent another
alarm coursing along the slender glass fibers connecting the train
command center with the transportation center, three hundred miles
away.
The man working the console watched the panel of lights blinking, as
the different transportation systems performed their ritual like
movements. Nothing ever happened. The robots managed the repetitive
tasks of switching, routing, and flow control, without a single glitch.
Jason Malcom was bored. His only consolation was that his mundane
job was scheduled for replacement with one of the new computers. Great
strides had been made recently in Mechanical Intelligence, and the new
machines were said to be wonders of logic. The newest, his
replacement, was capable of creative thought and was therefore a
suitable manager for the complexities of the West Coast Transportation
System. Two more months, Jason mused, as a new light came to life.
The red lens over the glowing lamp radiated more than light; there
was danger and probable disaster beaming out from the control panel.
Jason pushed the reset button for the light, asking the robot on the
other end of the circuit to recheck the alarm. The light lost its glow
for almost fifteen seconds and then renewed its gleaming alarm status.
"Damn!"
Jason swiveled his chair and reached for the microphone resting on
the counter. He hesitated before pressing the switch. He knew the
words he would speak would cause a fury. The train had carried a
precious cargo and the chances that there was a minor derailment were
slim. At three hundred miles per hour, any loss of rail contact was
certain to be disastrous. He also knew how limited the response would
be, rescue from the vastness of the central prairie was a major
undertaking. Once filled with life, the area was now a place of
dangers and difficulties. Thousands of square miles of grass and
rolling earth made searching nearly impossible. The broiling sun
scorched everything, with no trees to provide shelter from the hammer
blows of the heat. Most dangerous of all were the creatures of the
area. He was glad he would not be one of those chosen to venture into
the area. He grasped the microphone and keyed the transmitter to life.
"Communication Center, this is Jason at Transportation. Come in
please."
Seconds ticked away while the man on the other end of the radio link
awoke and realized that something had happened.
"This is Comm Center, Morton here. Go ahead."
"I have an derailment signal from the Prairie Bullet. The initial
alert has been confirmed. All communications with the Bullet are out
and all indications point to a major crash."
Jason listened to the hiss of static and could almost hear the
"Damn" originating on the other end of the radio link.
"Roger, I understand. I'll contact the Governor and the Coastal
Guard. Out."
"This is Transportation, out."
Jason released the microphone and could imagine the furor he had
caused with his announcement. The limited resources of the Coastal
Guard and the Governor's office would soon be strained to the limit,
but the effort had to be made. The seventeen people on that train were
half of a group who represented the last hope for the country. Their
perfect genetic pool was to be the new beginning for a repopulation
effort unmatched in human history. Without them the effort was doomed
to failure.
Jason did not understand all the complications involved, but knew
that cloning and in vitro fertilization were producing mutants not
healthy babies, and that the powers of government were frantic to
reverse the situation. There had been no normal conceptions in human
memory. The thirty-four youngsters were the sole hope for a renewed
genetic pool. If the program failed, Jason knew, the country would
soon be populated with robots, androids and the wild creatures of the
wildernesses. His heart lay heavy with fear as he leaned back in his
chair and returned to watching the battery of blinking lights.
The sun was high in the eastern sky before the sleeping quartet
roused. They had tossed and turned fitfully during the early hours of
darkness after surrendering to exhaustion in the first hours of
darkness. None of them expected to be alive when the sun rose. All
the stories of the horrors waiting in the wild areas haunted the group
and made their last hours of sleep far less than restful.
Matthew was the first to open his eyes and face the fact that they
had managed to survive an entire night in the open. His grumbling
stomach was the first sound he heard. The second belonged to the other
male member of the group, echoing the thought racing through his mind.
"What do we do now?"
"We find some food, first."
"Then we better find the rail that thing was traveling on. The
rescue teams will be looking along the track first and we will have a
better chance there than here." The man's voice was strident, near the
edge of panic.
"But where is the track?" The higher pitched voice of one of the
women was also edged with hysteria, as she looked around the grassy
expanse of their new world.
"That way." Matthew thrust his thumb in the direction the train had
traveled in its airborne trip to the present resting place. "We are
probably ten to fifteen miles from the track. We were in the air for
more than a minute."
"How do you know?"
Matthew turned to face the frightened and sneering questioner, the
last female member of the group.
"I was watching out the window when we left the rail. We were
traveling very fast and flew through the air for a long time. At the
speed we were traveling we covered five miles in a minute. Walking
back will take a lot longer."
The small figure confronting Matthew lost her belligerence and
surrendered to the reality of his revelations. Her smile was weak but
sincere.
"I'm sorry. You aren't to blame for this mess. My name is
Christina, Christina Mobely. What is yours?"
"Matthew Brogan."
"Lois Benneman," the nearly hysterical woman injected.
"Martin Halvet."
The introductions were less formal than the participants were
accustomed to, but the circumstances seemed to call for informality.
The small group of chastened youngsters followed Matthew as he
returned to the demolished train. The shattered spheroid had not
exploded as they feared and was sparkling in the sunlight. From their
vantage point it looked as if it had settled gently to the earth and
rested there, half buried. They all realized that the unseen half was
spread out behind the gleaming remainder like a grotesque tail. None
of them looked in that direction, fearing they might see the remains of
their companions. All four limped down the small hill, hesitant but
hungry. While not seriously hurt, they each had twisted muscles and
darkening bruises.
Matthew stopped beside the half train and waited to see if any of
the others would enter the shattered cylinder.
The others stood, accepting Mathews's leadership and waiting for his
guidance.
"Who helped me get out last night?"
"I did," The slender red head, Christina, stepped forward,
answering softly.
"Does the help extend to getting me back inside," Matthew smiled.
"Sure, what can I do?"
"Put your hands together and give me a step up."
The young woman flinched when he put his weight on her clasped hands
but held her position despite the pain of her twisted wrist. Matthew
noticed the flinch and scrambled quickly out of the volunteered stool
and up the slope of the train's shell.
Darkness faced the reluctant explorer and he hesitated momentarily
before clenching his teeth and slipping inside.
The familiar interior was twisted ninety degrees, but was
recognizable, and Matthew went directly to the pantry compartment.
Fortunately it survived with the left half of the train. The heavy
door was twisted enough to make easy access impossible. Matthew looked
around the cluttered ground, searching for something to pry the door
open. He ignored the crumpled bodies which were piled together at the
base of the bulkhead, and concentrated his search in the less grisly
areas of the cabin.
Behind a sprung open door he located a tool box and quickly
discovered a long screwdriver. The other tools were unfamiliar, except
for a sheath knife. He tucked the knife in his belt and returned to
the reluctant door with the screwdriver.
The stubborn panel swung open with infuriating ease, when persuaded
with the leverage of the screwdriver, and revealed its treasure. Food
for seventeen people, even the two meals he found, amounted to a large
stack of envelopes, packets, and cans. Matthew was smilingly pleased
when he made his way back to the entrance and called for some help.
The slim legs sliding into the sunlit opening belonged to the red
head, Matthew recognized her white canvass shoes. The other woman wore
leather sandals. He was glad she had come, he liked her willingness to
help and her ability to control the panic she felt. She accepted his
assistance and entered the darkened interior.
The two survivors were strangers, but similar in their understanding
of what was now required to survive. Neither wished to face the
possibility of prolonged living in the wild area they had heard so many
frightening stories about. They each knew, however, that they would
face that dilemma when and if they must.
"Food. The pantry survived and there's some canned and packaged
food in it."
"A tool box, with a knife. A screwdriver too." Matthew added his
discoveries like news clips tacked to the bottom of video broadcasts.
"Great, we could use some light in here. There must be more things
we can use. A weapon would be handy if we run into some of the wild
animals that roam this area."
"Let's get the food out first."
"Here, use this pillow case and I'll find another."
The labor of the unloading and packing the food was quickly ended
with the prompt and efficient division of labor. Christina was able to
wriggle around the twisted wreckage and retrieve five hidden pillows
and several leather pouches, carried aboard the train by some of the
male passengers.
The two young people worked around the piled corpses and ignored the
issue of disposing of their dead fellow passengers. None of the
seventeen people had ever met before the train left the nation's
capitol, making the crumpled bodies less of an emotional strain than if
they had been friends.
The piled up pillow cases, articles of clothing, and the remains of
the tool box made a rather pitiful stack under the opening to the
outside. Matthew boosted Christina back through the opening and began
passing the scavenged supplies up to her waiting grasp. He heard the
scuffing sounds and the rattle of the canned goods as she let the bags
slide down the rounded skin of the train. The last load raised a loud
din and Matthew knew the tool box was on the ground. He decided to
take one last look through the demolished interior. He wanted all the
help he could get and was still looking for a weapon, something more
effective than the sheath knife still stuck in his waist band.
"Nothing, damnit." He muttered under his breath, barking his shin
on a protruding seat back. He shook his head in frustration and bent
forward to rub the tingling bump on his leg. The light from the
opening over his head fell on a squared off shaft of what appeared to
be wood.
Matthew grasped the whitish protrusion and pulled. The length of
wood moved slightly and stuck solid. Determined now not to lose his
battle with the reticent shaft. He renewed his grasp and double
gripped his left hand with his right. He set his feet firmly and
pulled with all the strength he could muster. The shaft, nearly six
feet long, pulled free slowly and finally bumped against the wall over
Matthew's head. The center of the six foot length was smoothly rounded
and fit his hand comfortably. Someone, dead now, had fashioned the
staff with loving care. The workmanship was evident even in the
darkness, the wood had the smooth feel and almost sticky grip of sanded
and waxed wood. Matthew was pleased, here was a weapon of real value.
The smile on his face lasted until he handed the staff out to the red
head, climbed out of the train, and witnessed the other two members of
the group tearing into the bags of foodstuffs and supplies. They were
stuffing the choicest morsels from each bag into their mouths and
pockets as quickly as they could manage to open a new bag.
Matthew allowed all his pent up anger and fear, accumulating since
he first detected the train moving off the rail, to burst over the pair
of greedy youths feeding below him. He fell on them with kicks, curses
and thrusts of his new weapon. The woman fell back instantly but the
man, taller and broader than Matthew by six inches, fought for the
booty he had done nothing to earn.
The struggle was short lived and the tasty morsels the larger man
had gulped down ended up on the ground, as he threw up what had been
his hastily consumed lunch.
Matthew calmed down as quickly as he had begun. The food stores
were safe, for the moment at least.
Christina chastised the wrong doers with a surprisingly sharp tongue
and left them feeling like a cross between a petty thief and a child
molester. She moved to Matthew's side and smiled her approval of his
rescue of their scanty resources.
"We'll have to watch that pair..." Matthew grunted.
"You're right, but we need to get started back toward the rail. If
we ever hope to get rescued."
"Christina, don't count too heavily on getting any help. Our
government has very little power at home and still less here. If there
was any hope of being rescued, we would have seen something by now.
Governments are terribly good at making noises, and plans too for that
matter, but they seem to fall apart when it comes to achieving
anything. I am afraid we were another grandiose plan that died."
"But what are we to do?"
"Survive."
The single word hung in the air like a strong smell, unpleasant, but
undeniable.
Sunset found the foursome stretched out single file along a quarter
mile of the dry plain. Matthew was leading, with Christina following
close behind. Her shorter legs were no match for his long strides, but
her gameness kept her close. The other couple straggled behind. Lois
was close to the lead couple and Martin was several hundred yards
further back. Each person carried a leather pouch, a pillow case, and
a slim flask of water. As Matthew watched, Martin tossed his water jug
aside, the drained container carelessly littering the prairie. Matthew
shook his head in exasperation. Would the foolish man never learn.
Martin had eaten nearly half of his share of the rations before the
first hour of the march was over. Now his water was gone as well.
Christina caught up with Matthew and followed his frown back toward
the stumbling Martin.
"He's not going to make it, he's already eaten nearly all his food."
"Yea, and he just threw his water flask away. Damn fool."
Matthew's sympathy for the greedy man was thin indeed. He despised
people who could not see the obvious, especially when their nose was
soiled with the truth.
Lois huffed and puffed up the small incline and flopped at
Christina's feet. Her smile was weak but still showed her gameness.
"Never thought I'd have to walk all the way to this new and exciting
life we were promised. You two don't think this is what they meant, do
you?"
All three young people laughed, a bitter edge touching their humor.
They had been promised a new and exciting part to play in the
restoration of man as the dominant species on the continent... Or
something like that. All the fancy speeches began running together
into a jumble of long and meaningless words. They all figured they
were to be some sort of experimental animals for the geneticists on the
west coast. Well fed and pampered, they all planned to have their
leisure hours filled with pleasure and self oriented activities.
Matthew had designs on broadening his study of history and science.
Christina was interested in botany and biology, with a smattering of
painting thrown in for leavening. Lois had planned to pursue her
interest in old literature and new theater. Martin was dedicated to
his appetites, culinary and sexual, calculating that among the pampered
and the pamperers he would find plenty to satisfy all his needs.
The four represented a strange mix of interests and experience.
None was trained for the situation they now faced. Their moment of
strained humor emphasized their desperate situation. Concern marked
their faces, especially Martin's. His struggle to cross the remaining
ground between himself and the small gathering was pitiful to watch.
Twice he started to discard the pillow case slung over his shoulder and
twice remembered the food inside. His steps, merely reluctant at
first, had become the shuffling movements of an old man. With rescue
moments away, he had voted to stay beside the shattered train. He left
only after everyone else vanished from his sight.
Matthew turned away from the struggling man and scanned the scene
before him. The gently undulating land was unmarked by trees or any
landmarks. He knew a little of the history of the area, but nothing
much about current life forms. Traditionally the vast areas of the
continent's center were the breadbasket of the nation. Pollution and a
sharp decline in the population halted the massive farm machines faster
than the energy shortages of the previous century. The carefully
tended acreages fell fallow and slowly returned to their former
wildness. The cities faded more slowly, as tax rolls emptied and
people abandoned them for the more lively coastal areas. Finally the
cities were inhabited by the few diehards and those who could not move.
Their mutated offspring became the monsters mothers threatened children
with, instead of the bogey man. The passage of time left the center of
the country in the control of those mutants. Their numbers and the
exact nature of their mutations were never recorded. Those who tried
to find out never returned.
What lay ahead for the ragged foursome looked bleak. Twenty year
old Matthew shuddered despite his conviction that he would survive this
horror. His plans for the future did not include bleaching his
fleshless bones on this barren plain.
His jaw was set in firm determination when he turned to face the
other three members of the group. He would bring all of them out, if
he could.
Three days later the sun was sliding to its nightly repose, but a
jagged line of mountains was marking the horizon instead of the
straight line of more prairie. The next few sunsets would find the
four walkers in a land of trees, water and hopefully food.
Matthew and Christina huddled together against the evenings cold and
whispered their hopes for the future.
"Will there be people, there?"
Her question served to ask a multitude of other questions. Neither
of them could answer, they were afraid of a negative answer. Their
plans were made for a future only hours away, instead of years. Their
hopes were for food, water, and the other necessities of life, not the
gentler study of this ancient custom or that.
"Whatever there is, we'll be better off than out here in this
desolation We should be able to find some shelter, or build some. And
I hope we can find some source of food. Our supplies are getting low."
The pair fell into reflective silence and finally sleep. Their
problems would have to wait for another day. The chilled air pushed
them together for comfort, their loneliness and growing affection bound
them tight.
Lying beside Lois, but terribly alone, Martin accepted his fate.
His choices were gone. His plans of hedonistic leisure were gone.
Unfair or not, he could fight or starve. His last choice was
starvation.
The day of their arrival was delayed by six. More distant than
their eyes had judged, the mountains finally surrendered their bounty
to the exhausted foursome. Rabbits, unconcerned for the arrival of the
people, fell to Matthew's thrown staff. Greens, some from the slow
moving stream and some from the lush floor of the forest, added to
their diet, as did the grains they gathered from the tall plants of the
prairie itself. Work was required, but their survival was no longer a
desperate concern. Life began to assume a new normalcy. With their
days timed to the metronome rising and setting of the sun, they each
found a way to rationalize their new existence.
Martin's first voluntary efforts were the last sign Matthew needed
to reassure him that they did indeed have a chance. The challenge was
enormous, the needed skills being gleaned like precious metal from the
surrounding mass of experience. Some lessons were painful, but the
four individuals slowly became a working team.
Their first celebration was the formalization of Matthew and
Christina's living arrangement. A fact since the first glimpse of the
mountains, they announced their happiness with each other and
celebrated with baked grain, broiled rabbit, and fresh water, their
customary meal.
Their second celebration followed Martin's fortunate killing of a
deer: he was quickly becoming their best hunter. Lois decided her
options were limited and accepted Martin as her mate.
The marriages began a time of intense work. Winter was hovering and
food would be scarce. All four young people had faced starvation, all
four wanted their larder filled.
Matthew stood at the edge of the Aspen forest and looked out across
the prairie. The sharp bite of the autumn wind pierced his rabbit
fur cloak and chilled his darkly tanned skin. He leaned on his staff
and wiped his hand down his well muscled leg. The few burrs clinging
to the hairs on his leg tumbled to the ground, scattering the parent
plant onto a wider range. Nature's plan was working.
Christina walked through the trees and wrapped her arm around
Matthew's waist.
"Seems like another lifetime ago, doesn't it?"
"Yes. We've covered a lot more than miles since we straggled up
that hill. Even Martin has changed. He and Lois seem happy enough."
"Maybe next year, after their baby comes they can make their try to
reach the coast. That would make him a lot happier."
"That will make things tougher on you, if we stay. Changed you
mind?"
"No. I'm happier than I have ever been. We'll stay. I want our
baby to be free, like we are. Not a hermit in a cave, being led by a
group of recluses.
The two fur wrapped people turned and walked back toward their dome
shaped hut. The mound of her swollen belly was their promise to each
other that there was a future. Their dreams went beyond that single
life. They were no longer the carefree youths who had agreed to the
demands of their government. They were their own government now, and
had decided that there was a better life. Their pledge to each other
would form the foundation of an entire race. Living with nature, not
trying to dominate and alter the world, was the promise. It would last
a long time.
The scientists on the two coasts had been right. Normal conception
with normal men and women produces normal children. They would
probably not approve of the way the experiment was done. But the
experiment went forward.
The hope that their plan would repopulate the continent would not be
realized for many thousands of years. But even that hope would be
fulfilled, although the originators of the plan would be long dead and
forgotten. The civilization they belonged to would be gone as well.
An unforeseen cold cycle, part of the earth's usual ups and downs,
caused a minor ice age, dropping the Arctic ice line down the west
coast, to the thin neck between the two halves of the continent. The
clones, robots and androids passed into extinction, leaving nothing but
a small, tenuous experiment in biology.
Thousands of years after the four young people began their struggle
to survive, other young people from another continent embarked in
wooden vessels and discovered the descendants of Matthew, Christina,
Martin, and Lois.
They named them Indians.
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ
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========================================================================
<PRIVATE><RECEIVED>
Number : 2913 of 3006 Date : 12/28/94 15:28
Confer : Private Electronic Mail
From : Lisa Tamara
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : January STTS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Guess what - i'm actually submitting something on time! :)
This is a recent one called Wind
The Wind
I hear the wind blowing
it's calling my name
whispering my secrets
again and again
Up thru the rafters
and down thru the vale
the thundering echo
remembers it well
One day I was crying
the next day it rained
followed soon after
by the influx of change
Death is a doorway
when the moon wanes
a transition of sorts
for those who remain
I hear the wind blowing
it's calling my name
come hither young gypsy
come hither to me
Wherever I wander
and wherever I go
my destiny takes me
where ere the wind blows.
By Tamara
Written Dec 9th, 1994 (c)
========================================================================
The Human Tide
Copyright (c) 1994, Daniel Sendecki
All rights reserved
The Human Tide
--------------
Line them up six abreast forever
drive wearied truckhorses
through tombstone whitecaps
the pearl dead
like swollen marshmallows
rise and fall
Monday, 9:07 pm
Copyright (c) 1994, J. Guenther
All rights reserved
Monday, 9:07 pm
It's just another day you're not here;
(Hell, the sexes are equal when they're blown sky high--
I believe another comic character said that in a film)
shatter * rumble * rattle
[I could have sworn I heard your ebony voice in our ivory hall]
fight the right
slamshot ramrod slang rimshot
BANG!
When I was young I thought I<>d be on top
and not a bit of blood I would ever drop;
It would seem my wrong was always to be right
and I raised my white flag high early in the fight.
The thunder calls your name in a low purr
while the sky flashes your neon name.
The clouds cry a tear for every minute I miss you.
Phantom voice images of ours tickle my ear as
spectre mirages of your reflection wade in the misty glass windows in front of me while the frustrated summer rain taps its chaotic chorus against you.
--I was not naked, or at least not now--
Wrong Side of the Bridge
Copyright (c) 1994, Tommy Van Hook
All rights reserved
Wrong Side of the Bridge
By Tommy Van Hook
5 November 1994
I wandered through a forest
Darkened and dismal it was
Certainly a frightening stroll
Not one I would usually take
...at least not in those days
I came upon a small bridge
Which crossed a small gorge
It's depth I could not see
For it went on forever
...whatever that could be
To one side of the bridge
Sat a gnarled old gnome
A scowl permanently fixed
Below his red, glowering eyes
...what lovely sight he was
"Good day toy you sir,"
I said as I crossed over
"You mean good riddance,"
Came the nasty reply.
...Temper, temper brother dear
I must apologize for the gnome
On the other side of the bridge
He's just sullen and angry since
I woke up on the wrong side of the bridge
...I sit on the other side
NEVERMORE
By Author Unknown
Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bedsheets,
Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets:
Having reached the bottom line,
I took a floppy from the drawer.
Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command
But got instead a reprimand: it read "Abort, Retry, Ignore."
Was this some occult illusion? Some maniacal intrusion?
These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before.
Carefully, I weighed my options.
These three seemed to be the top ones.
Clearly, I must now adopt one:
Choose Abort, Retry, Ignore.
With my fingers pale and trembling,
Slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee
Finally I pressed a key --
But on the screen what did I see?
Again: "Abort, Retry, Ignore."
I tried to catch the chips off-guard --
I pressed again, but twice as hard.
Luck was just not in the cards.
I saw what I had seen before.
Now I typed in desperation
Trying random combinations
Still there came the incantation:
Choose: Abort, Retry, Ignore.
There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted
Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw an awful sight:
A bold and blinding flash of light --
A lightning bolt had cut the night and shook me to my very core.
I saw the screen collapse and die
"Oh no -- my database", I cried
I thought I heard a voice reply,
"You'll see your data Nevermore."
To this day I do not know
The place to which lost data goes
I bet it goes to heaven where the angels have it stored.
But as for productivity, well
I fear that it goes straight to hell
And that's the tale I have to tell
Your choice: Abort, Retry, Ignore.
Top Ten List
Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Top Ten Worst BBS's in the Dallas/Ft.Worth Area
10. Cavity Lovers of America, Unite!
9. Newt Gingrich's House of Fun
8. Online Coronor and Floral Design
7. Federal Witness Protection BBS (anonymous logon only!)
6. Massive Head Wound BBS
5. Caffeine BBS (24 hrs., 28.8k connection only)
4. 24 Hr. Chat BBS (1 Line Only)
3. Fresh Produce BBS - We're All About Vegetables!
2. Pog Traders Anonymous
1. Rush Limbaugh GIFs Unlimited
(c) 1994 Joe DeRouen. All rights reserved.
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<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD> <20><>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
Prize Vault Lemonade Scramble Dollarmania ANSI Voting Booth
Studs! Studette BadUser Convince! OnLine!
GoodUser T&J Lotto T&JStat TJTop30 Environmental QT
Video Poker Announce Bordello! Money Market Bordello
T&J Raffle RIP Lemonade AgeCheck Strip Poker RIP Voting Booth
...and more coming!
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ
<EFBFBD> 110 Nodes * 4000 Conferences * 30.0 Gigabytes * 100,000+ Archives <20>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD> (R)
<20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20> <20><> <20><> <20> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><>
<20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20> <20><> <20><> <20> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20> <20><>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> * Winner, First Dvorak/Zoom "Best General BBS" Award <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
* INTERNET/Usenet Access * DOS/Windows/OS2/Mac/Amiga/Unix
* ILink, RIME, Smartnet * Best Files in the USA
* Pen & Brush, BASnet. * 120 Online Games
* QWKmail & Offline Readers * Multi-line Chat
Closing Stocks, Financial News, Business/Professional Software,
NewsBytes, PC-Catalog, MovieCritic, EZines, AbleData, ASP, 4DOS
Huge Windows, Graphics, Music, Programming, Education Libraries
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ
<EFBFBD> Channel 1 Communications(R) * Cambridge, MA * 617-354-3230 14.4 <20>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>faster<EFBFBD>better<EFBFBD>less expensive<76><65><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> "Best Files in US" <20>
ް<EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ 2400bps &  (414) 789-4210 <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> "The best connection your USR HST 9600 (414) 789-4337 <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> <20> modem will ever make!!" USR HST 14400 (414) 789-4352 <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> <20><><EFBFBD>Ŀ v.32bis 14400 (414) 789-4360 <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> Compucom 9600 (414) 789-4450 <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> <20> <20><><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20><><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> Hayes V-Series (414) 789-4315 <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> v.FC 28800 (414) 789-4500 <20>
<EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>
<EFBFBD> <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> Exec-PC BBS is the largest LAN and microcomputer based BBS in the world! <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> 280+ dedicated phone lines - NO busy signals - 24-Hour access <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> Over 650,000 files and programs - DOS, Windows, OS/2, Mac, Unix, Amiga <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> Lightning fast - Search 20,000 files in 2 seconds with Hyperscan feature <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> Over 42 CD-ROM's online - Scan all of them at 1 time for keywords <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> Special Apogee games, Moraffware games, and Adult file areas <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> Extensive message system with QWK compatability - Also, Fidonet areas! <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> Online Doors / Games / Job Search / PC-Catalog / Online Magazines <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> Over 5000 callers per day can't be wrong - 35 gig of online storage! <20>
<EFBFBD> <20> Low subscription rates: $25 for 3 months, $75 for a full year <20>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Call<EFBFBD>the<EFBFBD>BBS<EFBFBD>for<EFBFBD>a<EFBFBD>FREE<EFBFBD>trial<EFBFBD>demo,<2C>and<6E>FREE<45>downloads<64><73><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
ް<EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> "Bringing our software to your home"
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> (717)325-9481 14.4
<20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> 2 NODES
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20> <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD> <20><>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
Prize Vault Lemonade Scramble Dollarmania ANSI Voting Booth
Studs! Studette BadUser Convince! OnLine!
GoodUser T&J Lotto T&JStat TJTop30 Environmental QT
Video Poker Announce Bordello! Money Market Bordello
T&J Raffle RIP Lemonade AgeCheck Strip Poker RIP Voting Booth
...and more coming!
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<EFBFBD>
Enter 'EXIT' to return to PROCOMM PLUS
C:\TEST>
There are several different ways to get STTS magazine.
SysOps:
Contact me via any of the addresses listed in CONTACT POINTS listed
elsewhere in this issue. Just drop me a note telling me your name,
city, state, your BBS's name, it's phone number and it's baud rate, and
where you'll be getting STTS from each month. If your BBS carries RIME,
Pen & Brush Network, or you have access to the InterNet, I can put you
on the STTS mailing list to receive the magazine free of charge each
month. If you have access to FIDO, you can file request the magazine.
If you don't have access to any of these services - or do but don't
wish to use this option - you can call any of the BBS's listed in
DISTRIBUTION SITES and download the new issue each month. In either
case contact me so that I can put your BBS in the dist. site list for
the next issue of the magazine.
(Refer to DISTRIBUTION VIA NETWORKS for more detailed information about
the nets)
Users:
You can download STTS each month from any of the BBS's mentioned in
DISTRIBUTION SITES elsewhere in this issue. If your local BBS isn't
listed, pester and cajole your SysOp to "subscribe" to STTS for you.
(the subscription, of course, is free)
If you haven't any other way of receiving the magazine each month, a
monthly disk subscription (sent out via US Mail) is available for
$ 20.00 per year. Foreign subscriptions are $ 25.00 (american dollars).
Subscriptions should be mailed to:
Joe DeRouen
3910 Farmville Dr. # 144
Addison, Tx. 75244
U.S.A.
* Special Offer *
Having trouble finding back issues of STTS Magazine? (This is only the
eighth issue, but you never know..)
For only $ 5.00 (count 'em - five dollars!) I'll send you all the back
issues of STTS Mag as well as current issues of other magazines, and
whatever other current, new shareware will fit onto a disk.
Just send your $ 5.00 (money order or check please, US funds only, made
payable to: Joe DeRouen) to:
Joe DeRouen
3910 Farmville Dr. # 144
Addison, Tx. 75244
U.S.A.
Tell me if you want a high density 5 1/4" disk or a high density 3 1/2"
disk, please.
(The following form is duplicated in the text file FORM.TXT, included
with this archive)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Enclosed is a check or money order (US funds only!) for $ 5.00. Please
send me the back issues of STTS, the registered version of Quote!, and
whatever else you can cram onto the disk.
I want: [ ] 5.25" HD disk [ ] 3.5" HD disk
Send to:
________________________________________
________________________________________
________________________________________
________________________________________
Submission Information
----------------------
We're looking for a few good writers.
Actually, we're looking for as many good writers as we can find. We're
interested in fiction, poetry, reviews, feature articles (about most
anything, as long as it's well-written), humour, essays, ANSI art,
and RIP art.
STTS is dedicated to showcasing as many talents as it can, in all forms
and genres. We have no general "theme" aside from good writing,
innovative concepts, and unique execution of those concepts.
As of January 1st 1994, we've been PAYING for accepted submissions!
In a bold move, STTS has decided to offer an incentive for writers to
submit their works. For each accepted submission, an honorarium fee
will be paid upon publication. Premium access to STTS BBS is also
given to staff and contributing writers.
In addition to the monthly payments, STTS will hold a yearly "best of"
contest, where the best published stories and articles in three
categories will receive substantial cash prizes.
These changes took effect in January of 1994, and the first yearly
awards were presented in the July 1994 issue.
Honorariums, yearly cash awards, award winners selection processes, and
Contributor BBS access is explained below:
HONORARIUM
Each and every article and story accepted for publication in STTS will
received a cash honorarium. The payment is small and is meant as more
of a token than something to reflect the value of the submission.
As the magazine grows and brings in more money, the honorariums will
increase, as will the yearly award amounts.
Fiction pieces pay an honorarium of $2.00 each.
Poetry pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each
Non-fiction* pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each
You have the option of refusing your honorarium. Refused funds will be
donated to the American Cancer Society.
Staff members ARE eligible for honorariums.
* Non-fiction includes any feature articles, humor, reviews, and
anything else that doesn't fit into the fiction or poetry category.
YEARLY CASH AWARD
Once a year, In July, the staff of STTS magazine will meet and vote on
the stories, poems, and articles that have appeared in the last six
issues of the magazine. Each staff member (the publisher included) gets
one vote, and can use that vote on only one entry in each category.
In the unlikely event of a tie, the winners will split the cash award.
Winners will be announced in the July issue of the magazine.
Yearly prize amounts
--------------------
Fiction $50.00
Non-fiction 25.00
Poetry 25.00
The winner in each category does have the option of refusing his cash
award. In the event of such a refusal, the entire sum of the refused
cash awards will be donated to the American Cancer Society.
STTS BBS
Staff members and contributing writers will also receive level 40
access on Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS. Such access consists of 2
hrs. a day, unlimited download bytes per day, and no download/upload
ratio. A regular user receives 1 hr. a day and has an download/upload
ratio of 10:1.
Staff and contributing writers also receive access to a special
private STTS Staff conference on the BBS.
LIMITATIONS
STTS will still accept previously published stories and articles for
publication. However, previously published submissions do NOT qualify
for contention in the yearly awards.
Furthermore, previously published stories and articles will be paid at
a 50% honorarium of the normal honorarium fee.
RIGHTS
The copyright of said material, of course, remains the sole property
of the author. STTS has the right to present it once in a "showcase"
format and in an annual "best of" issue. (a paper version as well
as the elec. version)
Acceptance of submitted material does NOT necessarily mean that it
will appear in STTS.
Submissions should be in 100% pure ASCII format, formatted for 80
columns. There are no limitations in terms of lengths of articles, but
keep in mind it's a magazine, not a novel. <Grin>
Fiction and poetry will be handled on a pure submission basis, except
in the case of any round-robin stories or continuing stories that might
develop.
Reviews will also be handled on a submission basis. If you're
interested in doing a particular review medium (ie: books) on a
full-time basis, let me know and we'll talk.
ANSI art should be under 10k and can be about any subject as long as
it's not pornographic. We'll feature ANSI art from time to time,
as well as featuring a different ANSI "cover" for our magazine each
month.
In terms of articles, we're looking for just about anything that's
of fairly general interest to the BBSing world at large. An article
comparing several new high-speed modems would be appropriate, for
example, whereas an article describing in detail how to build your
own such modem really wouldn't be.
Articles needn't be contained to the world of computing, either.
Movies, politics, ecology, literature, entertainment, fiction,
non-fiction, reviews - it's all fair game for STTS.
Articles, again, will be handled on a submission basis. If anyone has
an idea or two for a regular column, let me know. If it works, we'll
incorporate it into STTS.
Writers interested in contributing to Sunlight Through The Shadows can
reach me through any of the following methods:
Contact Points
--------------
CompuServe - My E_Mail address is: 73654,1732
The Internet - My E_Mail address is: jderouen@crl.com
RIME - My NODE ID is SUNLIGHT or 5320. Send all files to
this address. (you'll have to ask your SysOp who's
carrying RIME to send it for you) Alternately, you
can simply post it in either the Sunlight Through
The Shadows Magazine, Common, Writers, or Poetry
Corner conference to: Joe Derouen. If you put a
->5320 or ->SUNLIGHT in the top-most upper left-hand
corner, it'll be routed directly to my BBS.
Pen & Brush Net - Leave me a note or submission in either the Sunlight
Through The Shadows Magazine conference, the Poetry
Corner conference, or the Writers Conference. If
your P&BNet contact is using PostLink, you can route
the message to me automatically via the same way as
described above for RIME. In either case, address
all correspondence to: Joe derouen.
WME Net - Leave me a note or submission in the Net Chat
conference. Address all correspondence to:
Joe Derouen.
My BBS - Sunlight Through The Shadows. 12/24/96/14.4k baud.
(214) 620-8793. You can upload submissions to the
STTS Magazine file area, comment to the SysOp, or
just about any other method you choose. Address all
correspondence to: Joe Derouen.
US Mail - Send disks (any size, IBM format ONLY) containing
submissions to:
Joe DeRouen
3910 Farmville Dr. # 144
Addison, Tx. 75244
U.S.A.
Advertising
-----------
Currently, STTS Mag is being "officially" carried by over 90 BBS's
across the United States. It's also being carried by BBS's in the
United Kingdom, Canada, Portugal, and Finland.
Unofficially (which means that the SysOps haven't yet notifed me that
they carry it) it's popped up on literally hundreds of BBS's across the
USA as well as in other countries including the UK, Canada, Portugal,
Ireland, Japan, The Netherlands, Scotland, and Saudi Arabia.
It's also available via Internet, FIDO, RIME, and
Pen & Brush Networks.
Currently, STTS has about 10,000 readers worldwide and is available
to literally millions of BBSers through the internet and other
networks and BBS's.
If you or your company want to expose your product to a variety of
people all across the world, this is your opportunity!
Advertising in Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available
in four different formats:
1) Personal Advertisements (NON-Business)
-----------------------
Personal advertisements run $5.00 for 4 lines of advertising, with each
additional line $1.00. Five lines is the minimum length. Your ad can be
as little as one line, but the cost is still $5.00.
Advertisements should be in ASCII and formatted for 80 columns. They
should include whatever you're trying to sell (or buy) as well as a
price and a method of contacting you.
ANSI or RIP ads at this level will NOT be accepted.
Business ads will NOT be accepted here. These ads are for non-business
readers to advertise something they wish to sell or buy, or to
advertise a non-profit event.
BBS ads are considered business ads.
2) Regular Advertisement (Business or Personal)
---------------------
We're accepting business advertisements in STTS. If you're interested
in advertising in STTS, a full-page (ASCII or ASCII and ANSI) is
$25.00/issue. Those interested can contact me by any of the means
listed under Contact Points.
If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($125.00) the sixth month is
free.
3) Feature Advertisement (Business or Personal)
---------------------
We'll include one feature ad per issue. The feature ad will pop up
right after the magazine's ANSI cover, when the user first begins to
read the magazine. This ad will also appear within the body of the
magazine, for further perusement by the reader.
A feature ad will run $50.00 per issue, and should be created in
both ANSI and ASCII formats.
If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($250.00) the sixth month is
free.
4) BBS Advertisement (Business or Personal)
-----------------
Many BBS SysOps and users call STTS BBS each month to get the current
issue of STTS Magazine. These callers are from all over the USA as well
as Canada, Portugal, the UK, and various other countries.
Advertising is now available for the logoff screen of the BBS. The
rates are $100.00 per month. Ads should be in both ASCII and ANSI
format. We're accepting RIP ads as well, but only for the this
advertising option.
If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($500.00) the sixth month is
free.
Advertisement Specifications
----------------------------
Ads may be in as many as three formats. They MUST be in ascii text and
may also be in ANSI and/or RIP Graphics formats.
Ads should be no larger than 24 lines (ie: one screen/page) and ANSI
ads should not use extensive animation.
If you cannot make your own ad or do not have the time to make your
own ad, we can make it for you. However, there is a one-time charge of
$10.00 for this service. We will create ads in ASCII and ANSI only. If
you absolutely need RIP ads and cannot create your own, we'll attempt
to put you into contact with someone who can.
Contact Points
--------------
You can contact me through any of the following addresses.
Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS
(214) 620-8793 12/24/96/14,400 Baud
CompuServe: 73654,1732
InterNet: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org
Pen & Brush Net: ->SUNLIGHT
P&BNet Conferences: Sunlight Through The Shadows Conference
or any other conference
WME Net: Net Chat conference
PcRelay/RIME: ->SUNLIGHT
RIME Conferences: Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner
US Mail: Joe DeRouen
3910 Farmville Dr. # 144
Addison, Tx. 75244
U.S.A.
You can always find STTS Magazine on the following BBS's.
BBS's have STTS available for both on-line viewing and
downloading unless otherwise marked.
* = On-Line Only
# = Download Only
United States
-------------
BBS Name ........... Sunlight Through The Shadows
Location ........... Addison, Texas (in the Dallas area)
SysOp(s) ........... Joe and Heather DeRouen
Phone ........... (214) 620-8793 (14.4k baud)
(Sorted by area code, then alphabetically)
BBS Name ........... ModemNews
Location ........... Stamford, Connecticut
SysOp(s) ........... Jeff Green
Phone ........... (203) 359-2299 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Party Line, The
Location ........... Birmingham, Alabama
SysOp(s) ........... Anita Abney
Phone ........... (205) 856-1336 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Left-Hand Path, The
Location ........... Seattle, Washington
SysOp(s) ........... Mark Pruitt
Phone ........... (206) 783-4668 (14.4k baud)
# BBS Name ........... Lobster Buoy
Location ........... Bangor, Maine
SysOp(s) ........... Mark Goodwin
Phone ........... (207) 941-0805 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (207) 945-9346 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Northern Maine BBS
Location ........... Caribou, Maine
SysOp(s) ........... David Collins
Phone ........... (207) 496-2391 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... File-Link BBS
Location ........... Manhattan, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Bill Marcy
Phone ........... (212) 777-8282 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Poetry In Motion
Location ........... New York, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Inez Harrison
Phone ........... (212) 666-6927 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Wamblyville
Location ........... Los Angeles, California
SysOp(s) ........... John Borowski
Phone ........... (213) 380-8090 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Aaron's Beard BBS
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Troy Wade
Phone ........... (214) 557-2642 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Archives On-line
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... David Pellecchia
Phone ........... (214) 247-6512 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (214) 406-8394 (14.4k baud)
# BBS Name ........... BBS America
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Jay Gaines
Phone ........... (214) 680-3406 (9600 baud)
Phone ........... (214) 680-1451 (9600 baud)
BBS Name ........... Blue Banner BBS
Location ........... Rowlett, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Richard Bacon
Phone ........... (214) 475-8393 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Blue Moon
Location ........... Plano, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Roger Koppang
Phone ........... (214) 985-1453 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Bucket Bored!
Location ........... Sachse, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Tim Bellomy
Phone ........... (214) 414-6913 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Chrysalis BBS
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Garry Grosse
Phone ........... (214) 690-9295 (2400 baud)
Phone ........... (214) 783-5477 (9600 baud)
# BBS Name ........... Collector's Edition
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Len Hult
Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Foreplay Online
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Sean Goldsberry
Phone ........... (214) 306-7493 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... New Age Visions
Location ........... Grand Prairie, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Larry Joe Reynolds
Phone ........... <Temporarily Down>
BBS Name ........... Old Poop's World
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Sonny Grissom
Phone ........... (214) 613-6900 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Online Syndication Services BBS
Location ........... Plano, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Don Lokke
Phone ........... (214) 424-8425 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Opa's Mini-BBS (open 11pm-7am CST)
Location ........... Plano, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... David Marshall
Phone ........... (214) 424-0153 (2400 baud)
BBS Name ........... Texas Talk
Location ........... Richardson, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Sunnie Blair
Phone ........... (214) 497-9100 (2400 baud)
# BBS Name ........... User-2-User
Location ........... Dallas, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... William Pendergast and Kevin Carr
Phone ........... (214) 393-4768 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (214) 393-4736 (2400 baud)
BBS Name ........... Deep 13 - MST3K
Location ........... Levittown, Pennsylvania
SysOp(s) ........... Mike Slusher
Phone ........... (215) 943-9526 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Beta Connection, The
Location ........... Elkhart, Indiana
SysOp(s) ........... David Reynolds
Phone ........... (219) 293-6465 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Bill & Hilary's BBS
Location ........... Elkhart, Indiana
SysOp(s) ........... Nancy VanWormer
Phone ........... (219) 295-6206 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... FTB's Passport BBS
Location ........... Frederick, Maryland
SysOp(s) ........... Karina Wright
Phone ........... (301) 662-9134 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... The "us" Project
Location ........... Wilmington, Delaware
SysOp(s) ........... Walt Mateja, PhD
Phone ........... (302) 529-1650 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Hole In the Wall, The
Location ........... Parker, Colorado
SysOp(s) ........... Mike Fergione
Phone ........... (303) 841-5515 (16.8k baud)
BBS Name ........... Right Angle BBS
Location ........... Aurora, Colorado
SysOp(s) ........... Bill Roark
Phone ........... (303) 337-0219 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Ruby's Joint
Location ........... Miami, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... David and Del Freeman
Phone ........... (305) 856-4897 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... PUB Desktop Publishing BBS, The
Location ........... Chicago, Illinois
SysOp(s) ........... Steve Gjondla
Phone ........... (312) 767-5787 (9600 baud)
BBS Name ........... O & E Online
Location ........... Livoign, Michigan
SysOp(s) ........... Greg Day
Phone ........... (313) 591-0903 (14.4 k baud)
BBS Name ........... Family Connection, The
Location ........... St. Louis, Missouri
SysOp(s) ........... John Askew
Phone ........... (314) 544-4628 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... PsychoBABBLE BBS
Location ........... Massena, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Doug LaGarry
Phone ........... (315) 764-719 (28.8k baud)
BBS Name ........... Pegasus BBS
Location ........... Owensboro, Kentucky
SysOp(s) ........... Raymond Clements
Phone ........... (317) 651-0234 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Puma Wildcat BBS
Location ........... Alexandria, Louisiana
SysOp(s) ........... Chuck McMillin
Phone ........... (318) 443-1065 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Badger's "BYTE", The
Location ........... Valentine, Nebraska
SysOp(s) ........... Dick Roosa
Phone ........... (402) 376-3120 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Megabyte Mansion, The
Location ........... Omaha, Nebraska
SysOp(s) ........... Todd Robbins
Phone ........... (402) 551-8681 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... College Board, The
Location ........... West Palm Beach, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Charles Bell
Phone ........... (407) 731-1675 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Treasures
Location ........... Longwood, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Jim Daly
Phone ........... (407) 831-9130 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Flying Dutchman, The
Location ........... San Jose, California
SysOp(s) ........... Chris Von Motz
Phone ........... (408) 294-3065 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Matrix Online Service
Location ........... San Jose, California
SysOp(s) ........... Daryl Perry
Phone ........... (408) 265-4660 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Aries Knowledge Systems
Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland
SysOp(s) ........... Waddell Robey
Phone ........... (410) 625-0109 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Doppler Base BBS
Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland
SysOp(s) ........... Dan Myers
Phone ........... (410) 922-1352 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Port EINSTEIN
Location ........... Catonsville, Maryland
SysOp(s) ........... John P. Lynch
Phone ........... (410) 744-4692 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Puffin's Nest, The
Location ........... Pasadena, Maryland
SysOp(s) ........... Dave Bealer
Phone ........... (410) 437-3463 (16.8k baud)
BBS Name ........... Robin's Nest BBS
Location ........... Glen Burnie, Maryland
SysOp(s) ........... Robin Kirkey
Phone ........... (410) 766-9756 (2400 baud)
BBS Name ........... Chatterbox Lounge and Hotel, The
Location ........... Penn Hills, Pennsylvania
SysOp(s) ........... James Robert Lunsford
Phone ........... (412) 795-4454 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Signal Hill BBS
Location ........... Springfield, Massachusettes
SysOp(s) ........... Edwin Thompson
Phone ........... (413) 782-2158 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Exec-PC
Location ........... Elm Grove, Wisconsin
SysOp(s) ........... Bob Mahoney
Phone ........... (414) 789-4210 (2400 baud)
Phone ........... (414) 789-4315 (9600 baud)
Phone ........... (414) 789-4360 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... First Step BBS, The
Location ........... Green Bay, Wisconsin
SysOp(s) ........... Mark Phillips
Phone ........... (414) 499-6646 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Lincoln's Cabin BBS
Location ........... San Francisco, California
SysOp(s) ........... Steve Pomerantz
Phone ........... (415) 752-4490 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Uncle "D"s Discovery
Location ........... Redwood City, California
SysOp(s) ........... Dave Spensley
Phone ........... (415) 364-3001 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... File Cabinet BBS, The
Location ........... White Hall, Arkansas
SysOp(s) ........... Bob Harmon
Phone ........... (501) 247-1141 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Starting Gate, The
Location ........... Louisville, Kentucky
SysOp(s) ........... Ed Clifford
Phone ........... (502) 423-9629 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Darkside BBS, The
Location ........... Independence, Oregon
SysOp(s) ........... Seth Able Robinson
Phone ........... (503) 838-6171 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Last Byte, The
Location ........... Alamogordo, New Mexico
SysOp(s) ........... Robert Sheffield
Phone ........... (505) 437-0060 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Leisure Time BBS
Location ........... Alamogordo, New Mexico
SysOp(s) ........... Bob Riddell
Phone ........... (505) 434-6940 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Base Line BBS
Location ........... Peabody, Massachusettes
SysOp(s) ........... Steve Keith
Phone ........... (508) 535-0446 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... High Society BBS
Location ........... Beverly, Massachusettes
SysOp(s) ........... Chuck Frieser
Phone ........... (508) 927-3757 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... High Water Mark, The
Location ........... Wareham, Massachusettes
SysOp(s) ........... Joseph Leggett
Phone ........... (508) 295-6557 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... PandA's Den BBS
Location ........... Danvers, Massachusettes
SysOp(s) ........... Patrick Rosenheim
Phone ........... (508) 750-0250 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... SoftWare Creations
Location ........... Clinton, Massachusettes
SysOp(s) ........... Dan Linton
Phone ........... (508) 368-7036 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Extreme OnLine
Location ........... Spokane, Washington
SysOp(s) ........... Jim Holderman
Phone ........... (509) 487-5303 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Silicon Garden, The
Location ........... Selden, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Andy Keeves
Phone ........... (516) 736-6662 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Appomattox BBS, The
Location ........... New Lebanon, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Dan Everette
Phone ........... (518) 766-5144 (14.4k baud dual standard)
BBS Name ........... Integrity Online
Location ........... Schenectady, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Dan Ginsburg, Jordan Feinman, Dave Garvey
Phone ........... (518) 370-8758 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (518) 370-8756 (2400 baud)
BBS Name ........... Tidal Wave BBS
Location ........... Altamont, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Josh Perfetto
Phone ........... (518) 861-6645 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Mission Control BBS
Location ........... Flagstaff, Arizona
SysOp(s) ........... Kevin Echstenkamper
Phone ........... (602) 527-1854 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (602) 527-1863 (28.8k baud)
BBS Name ........... Chopping Block, The
Location ........... Claremont, New Hampshire
SysOp(s) ........... Dana Richmond
Phone ........... (603) 543-0865 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Casino Bulletin Board, The
Location ........... Atlantic City, New Jersey
SysOp(s) ........... Dave Schubert
Phone ........... (609) 561-3377 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Princessland BBS
Location ........... Wenonah, New Jersey
SysOp(s) ........... Pamela & Rick Forsythe
Phone ........... (609) 464-1421 (2400 baud)
BBS Name ........... Revision Systems
Location ........... Lawrenceville, New Jersey
SysOp(s) ........... Paul Lauda
Phone ........... (609) 896-3256 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Hangar 18
Location ........... Columbus, Ohio
SysOp(s) ........... Bob Dunlap
Phone ........... (614) 488-2314 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Channel 1
Location ........... Cambridge, Massachusettes
SysOp(s) ........... Brian Miller
Phone ........... (617) 354-3230 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (617) 354-3137 (16.8k HST)
# BBS Name ........... Arts Place BBS, The
Location ........... Arlington, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... Ron Fitzherbert
Phone ........... (703) 528-8467 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Bubba Systems One
Location ........... Manassas, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... Mark Mosko
Phone ........... (703) 335-1253 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Market Hotline, The
Location ........... Rodford, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... Steve Mintun
Phone ........... (703) 633-2178 (28.8k baud)
BBS Name ........... Pen and Brush BBS
Location ........... Burke, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... Lucia and John Chambers
Phone ........... (703) 644-6730 (300-12.0k baud)
Phone ........... (703) 644-5196 (14.4k baud)
# BBS Name ........... Sidewayz BBS
Location ........... Fairfax, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... Paul Cutrona
Phone ........... (703) 352-5412 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Virginia Connection, The
Location ........... Washington, District of Columbia
SysOp(s) ........... Tony McClenny
Phone ........... (703) 648-1841 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Vivid Images Press Syndicate
Location ........... Wise, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... David Allio
Phone ........... (703) 328-6915 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Imperial Palace, The
Location ........... Augusta, Georiga
SysOp(s) ........... Michael Deutsch
Phone ........... (706) 592-1344 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Zarno Board
Location ........... Martinez, Georiga
SysOp(s) ........... Tim Saari
Phone ........... (706) 860-7927 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Anathema Downs
Location ........... Sonoma County, California
SysOp(s) ........... Sadie Jane
Phone ........... (707) 792-1555 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Happy Trails
Location ........... Orange, California
SysOp(s) ........... Don Inglehart
Phone ........... (714) 547-0719 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... InfoMat BBS
Location ........... San Clemente, California
SysOp(s) ........... Michael Gibbs
Phone ........... (714) 492-8727 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Cool Baby BBS
Location ........... York, Pennsylvania
SysOp(s) ........... Mark Krieg
Phone ........... (717) 751-0855 (19.2k baud)
BBS Name ........... T&J Software BBS
Location ........... Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania
SysOp(s) ........... Tom Wildoner
Phone ........... (717) 325-9481 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Ice Box BBS, The
Location ........... Kew Gardens Hills, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Darren Klein
Phone ........... (718) 793-8548 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Systemic BBS
Location ........... Bronx, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Mufutau Towobola
Phone ........... (718) 716-6198 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (718) 716-6341 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Paradise City BBS
Location ........... St. George, Utah
SysOp(s) ........... Steve & Marva Cutler
Phone ........... (801) 628-4212 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Regulator, The
Location ........... Charleston, South Carolina
SysOp(s) ........... Steve Coker
Phone ........... (803) 571-1100 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Straight Board, The
Location ........... Virginia Beach, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... Ray Sulich
Phone ........... (804) 468-6454 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (804) 468-6528 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... TDOR#2
Location ........... Charlottesville, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... David Short
Phone ........... (804) 973-5639 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Valley BBS, The
Location ........... Myakka City, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Larry Daymon
Phone ........... (813) 322-2589 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Syllables
Location ........... Fort Myers, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Jackie Jones
Phone ........... (813) 482-5276 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Nightline I & II
Location ........... Crystal Lake, Illinois
SysOp(s) ........... Ron Pena
Phone ........... (815) 356-7061 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (815) 356-7062 (14.4k baud)
# BBS Name ........... Renaissance BBS
Location ........... Arlington, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... David Pollard
Phone ........... (817) 467-7322 (9600 baud)
# BBS Name ........... Second Sanctum
Location ........... Arlington, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Mark Robbins
Phone ........... (817) 784-1178 (2400 baud)
Phone ........... (817) 784-1179 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Dream Land BBS
Location ........... Destin, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Ron James
Phone ........... (904) 837-2567 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Hurry No Mo BBS
Location ........... Citra, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Roy Fralick
Phone ........... (904) 595-5057 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Star Fire
Location ........... Jacksonville, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Bruce Allan
Phone ........... (904) 260-8825 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Tree BBS, The
Location ........... Ocala, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Frank Fowler
Phone ........... (904) 732-0866 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (904) 732-8273 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Outlands, The
Location ........... Ketchikan, Alaska
SysOp(s) ........... Mike Gates
Phone ........... (907) 225-1219 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (907) 225-1220 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (907) 247-4733 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Moonbase Alpha BBS
Location ........... Bahama, North Carolina
SysOp(s) ........... Steven Wright
Phone ........... (919) 471-4547 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Outlands, The
Location ........... Ketchikan, Alaska
SysOp(s) ........... Mike Gates
Phone ........... (907) 247-4733 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (907) 225-1219 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (907) 225-1220 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Legend Graphics OnLine
Location ........... Riverside, California
SysOp(s) ........... Joe Marquez
Phone ........... (909) 689-9229 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Locksoft BBS
Location ........... San Jacinto, California
SysOp(s) ........... Carl Curling
Phone ........... (909) 654-LOCK (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Image Center, The
Location ........... Ardsley, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Larry Clive
Phone ........... (914) 693-9100 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... SB Online, Inc.
Location ........... Larchmont, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Eric Speer
Phone ........... (914) 723-4010 (14.4k baud)
Canada
------
BBS Name ........... Canada Remote Systems Online
Location ........... Toronto Ontario, Canada
SysOp(s) ........... Rick Munro
Phone ........... (416) 213-6002 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Source-Online
Location ........... British Columbia, Canada
SysOp(s) ........... Chris Barrett
Phone ........... (604) 758-4643 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Encode Online
Location ........... Orillia Ontario, Canada
SysOp(s) ........... Peter Ellis
Phone ........... (705) 327-7629 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Beasley's Den
Location ........... Mississauga Ontario, Canada
SysOp(s) ........... Keith Gulik
Phone ........... (905) 949-1587 (9600 baud)
United Kingdom
--------------
BBS Name ........... Hangar BBS, The
Location ........... Avon, England, United Kingdom
SysOp(s) ........... Jason Hyland
Phone ........... +44-934-511751 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Pandora's Box BBS
Location ........... Brookmans Park, England, United Kingdom
SysOp(s) ........... Dorothy Gibbs
Phone ........... +44-707-664778 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Almac BBS
Location ........... Grangemouth, Scotland, United Kingdom
SysOp(s) ........... Alastair McIntyre
Phone ........... +44-324-665371 (14.4k baud)
Finland
-------
BBS Name ........... Niflheim BBS
Location ........... Mariehamn, Aaland Islands, Finland
SysOp(s) ........... Kurtis Lindqvist
Phone ........... +358-28-17924 (16.8k baud)
Phone ........... +358-28-17424 (14.4k baud)
Portugal
--------
BBS Name .......... Intriga Internacional
Location .......... Queluz, Portugal
SysOp(s) .......... Afonso Vicente
Phone .......... +351-1-4352629 (16.8k baud)
BBS Name .......... B-Link BBS
Location .......... Lisbon, Portugal
SysOp(s) .......... Antonio Jorge
Phone .......... +351-1-4919755 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Mailhouse
Location ........... Loures, Portugal
SysOp(s) ........... Carlos Santos
Phone ........... +351-1-9890140 (14.4k baud)
South America
-------------
BBS Name ........... Message Centre, The (Open 18:00 - 06:00 local)
Location ........... Itaugua, Paraguay
SysOp(s) ........... Prof. Michael Slater
Phone ........... +011-595-28-2154 (2400 baud)
Saudi Arabia
------------
BBS Name ........... Sahara BBS
Location ........... Dammam City
SysOp(s) ........... Kais Al-Essa
Phone ........... +966-3-833-2082 (16.8k baud)
SysOp: To have *your* BBS listed here, write me via one of the
many ways listed under CONTACT POINTS elsewhere in this
issue.
STTS Net Report
Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available through FIDO,
INTERNET, RIME, and PEN & BRUSH NET. Check below for information on how
to request the current issue of the magazine or be put on the monthly
mailing list.
FIDO
To get the newest issue of the magazine via FIDO, you'll need to
do a file request from Fido Node 1:124/8010 using the "magic" name
of SUNLIGHT.
INTERNET
To get on the STTS mailing list, do the following:
Send internet mail message to:
JDeRouen@CRL.COM
And ask to be put on the list.
RIME
To request the magazine via RIME, ask your RIME SysOp to do a file
request from node # 5320 for the current issue (eg: sun9502.ZIP, or
whatever month you happen to be in) Better yet, ask your SysOp to
request to be put on the monthly mailing list and receive STTS
automatically.
PEN & BRUSH NET
To request via P&BNet, follow the instructions for RIME above. They're
both ran on Postlink and operate exactly the same way in terms of file
requests and transfers.
End Notes
Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Be sure to write us and let us know what you think of this issue. Right
now is a very influential time for STTS. What you say counts. Let us
know what you like and what you don't like. STTS is for *You* after
all, dear reader.
Thanks,
Joe DeRouen, Publisher
Feb. 10th, 1995
Reference in New Issue Copy Permalink