I suppose in an attempt to show I'm not a one trick pony, I've decided to yet again venture out and show you some of my "other" novels. These, too, are science fiction. But like many ideas in this genre--it's influenced by the real world, and it predicts things that will most likely at some point come to pass one way or another.

So, without much further adieu, here's some excrepts from "Neural Feed" and "A Child's Death." And just like my other two novels, these two correlate together.

At this point, I'm more focused with my other two novels...so these two here have yet to really be fleshed out as much.

Hope you like.

G|M

Chapter 01

It happened somewhere between Cuba finally becoming a democratic capitalist state and North Korea accepting Samsung into its heart. Fiber optics and networks creating nearly free phone calls to the most remote parts of Antarctica; the world connected and flattened out by data streams, criss-crossing into a mesh; a bit-torrent globalization.

Nations warmed up to and pioneered the idea of hydrogen as an alternative fuel source. Western Civilization gave in to this idea and began mandating the technology. A greater mass pushing for a level playing field sought freedom from government. Disenfranchised Nintendo Generation youth grew up to call the shots, ratifying the union of Canada and the United States to stave off fear of the rising Euro.

The first, and so far, the last woman figure head was elected into office. Under her guidance and consultation from others, Parts of the United States and Canada consolidated their two branches and created departments mirroring what a giant corporation might have. Research and Development, Public Relations, Security, and Citizen Resources. Other States and Provinces still observed the ideas of there ancestors, while still others joined together to create smaller unions or struck it out on their own creating free territories.

Under this new re-construction the political climate had changed drastically. Many things once left up to the governments was privatized and if needed, subsidized. Citizens no longer wanted to worry about feeding a monolithic machine. Terrorist Protection Fee and a small percentage of income was now the only nation-related tax; more taxes and local laws applied. And now capitalism and democracy had matured into a new beast, creating a world that made Andrew Carnegie and his ilk seem childish at best.

Information, patents, and intellectual property is the only long term, low-risk stock now. And between the walls of Neo-Western Civilization lives refuse that occupy the shacks in the forest of modernization. Either by choice or by will, the ghosts living outside the protection of today's society on their own volition tend to play to the beat of monetary gain. Selling their services to corporations and keeping the international super economic powers some-what at pace with each other; this has created a co-dependant niche not truly seen anywhere.

Sometimes one of the phantoms bites off more than they can chew. When this occurs the corporation it has offended is not afraid (and many government doctrines give it the OK) to send out the exterminator and kill some cockroaches...

The plug slid out of its connection from behind his left ear lobe making a slight disagreement with his senses. His eyes were forced back into focus to view his baron living quarters; it had a fold-down bed that came out from the wall, an entertainment section where he could download vids and shows, check sites on the mesh, and get a vid-call. A bathroom nook was hidden away behind a small door, and a one-pan electric stove top sat under a large microwave. The pantry to the left was a freezer, and the kitchen sink was fit to do a few dishes at a time if the small dishwasher blew.

He rubbed his lobes and sat up from his chair to cross his apartment and look out the window. Chemical glaze sunset skyline upon the foreground of concrete, steel, and glass. The city below was fast becoming ever more dark, the cars passed by most letting out little-to-no smog. The move to a “hydrogen economy” was practically in full force.

As the sunlight died, he captured a glimpse of his reflection giving him a shit-eating grin. The rip he just pulled was major. His cred accounts were full up, and he had the money to go and get a serious chrome-job.

Hack was anything he wanted to be at any given time in cyberspace. He grew up in a middle class family in the 'burbs watching news feeds as the world around him changed. Governments the world over began to collapse and multi-national corporations seeded in capitalist countries began to haphazardly assert their power.

In this world Hack thrived. He honed his computer skills and learned his way around a board. At the age of fifteen he talked his parents into getting him an opticaljack, wet-wired hardware inserted into the brain to allow it to communicate with various computer devices. He cited that “this is how it will be,” and that if he ever wanted a well paying job in the field of computer security this would be the only way.

And now he commits every computer-related crime on the books. He's a cracker-for-hire, surfing the networks with the skill of a swordsmen, dispatching security mesures with key presses and programs he built from the ground up for specific reasons.

Tonight was cause for celebration, and the Stars End sounded like a good destination. Hack slid on his jacket and grabbed his board before opening his apartment door and leaving it behind. As the door closed the all-seeing-god in his walls made its check microseconds later and seeing that no one was home turned off his lights.

His steps were light footed as he walked through the hallway which was so sparse it made the waiting room for CEOs look like an art gallery. Hack, and most residents of Balley Condo Estates liked this feature. Once inside the maglift his senses were awaken by the pop song of the hour blaring over digitally amplified speakers invisible in the walls.

The ding came and with utmost quiet slid open the doors in the lobby of his estate. He sauntered out into the parking garage and found his Ford Thundera, a beater that he was too attached to and he was far from selling it. At least it was hydro-electric, he thought. The car automatically sensed its owner aproaching and its security system shut off and the door unlocked and became slightly ajar. He swung open the cars red wing, (as it was only a two seater) and sat down.

The door closed and he made sure he was comfortable. “Turn on,” he commanded the car. It retorted with a remark he had heard before. “Error: voice not recognized.”

He growled, not liking the outcome of this situation. He punched in a code in the dash where the radio and air conditioner controls would be in older car models. The car beeped in a rather annoying tone to tell him the code was wrong. “God dammit Lisa, just turn on!”

The engine started. “Welcome Hack, how are you this evening?”

Hack strapped on his seat belt and put the car in reverse to back out. “I'm great. When are you going to fix yourself?” The car responded by turning on the radio. The speakers in his car began to resound with chatter of a hacker nature: the best pirate channel beamed down to him in divine digital purity from some satellite now under the command of a DJ who went by Pro-K.

He slowly drove out of the garage and onto the street where he was instantly bombarded with neon screams, beaming messages into his retinas and invading his already tired, desensitized mind. “New!, Nuevo!, and BRAND NEW!!!” were nothing more than states of product half-life. Today a shining star, tomorrow a burnt out candle of consumer neglect.

Driving used to be such a joy, but night time anywhere in South FreeCal was one large tourist trap.

Pro-K spewed out disgust about and at various corporations and spoke of dubious undertakings by shadow players. “The citizens without identities are playing them all for fools,” Pro-K proclaimed. “And all y'all who gets made gets mad recog from me. Ya know who you are, pullin' off the big rips in the mesh!” Then came blaring thrash-metal-electronica.

Electric light cocktail of logos, now swirling into a meaningless diatribe. Hack's car rolled to a stop in the parking lot of the Stars End. “Engine off,” he commanded the car. Lisa's engine went dead. “Thanks for working this time, bitch.” As a retort the car opened up the door for Hack. He unbuckled his belt, grabbed his gear, and stepped out. As soon as he exited the car the door closed. But not with the usual warranty-approved slight touch close, instead a polymer-on-polymer sound thudded as Lisa slammed the door shut. Hack shrugged his shoulders, what kind of car had a personality enough to resent being called a bad name?

Into the Stars End he walked, hoping to win praise and kinship with some of the patrons who always seemed to think they out classed his hacker talents.

Chapter 01

A neon strobe of light glimmered behind Robert's eyes. Shooting open like that of a disturbed animal awakened by a noise, the lower left eye of his vision was obstructed by a retina clock stating the time as 06:45 , Pacific Standard, to be exact.

Like a script burned into ROM, bootstrapping even the less sophisticated of toasters, Robert began his morning rituals as he had since he was hand picked to lead a team of various specialists in the interest of keeping the North American Union data streams running like water. The pipes sometimes became rusty: various virus outbreaks, half a decade old back doors being discovered by some hair-brained scriptie; there were many threats at large. Both within the NAU domain and outside of it. His job was to track down those threats and eliminate them—or get them eliminated.

As he headed out the front door grabbing a steaming cup of soykaf (no cream, three sugars,) his partner-in-crime-prevention was waiting for him outside in their Fed-issued Ford Lincoln Hydro. It was big, black, and fast. Not as loud as cars of old, no, but could boogie like it was 1970s at the race track.

“Hi Jones,” Robert said as the car door's gull wings opened automatically upon his approach. He sat down and braced for the five point harness to extend out from the seat and wrap around him, then loosen comfortably. His car still had the normal two point harness, and he wasn't so sure he liked having his body enveloped in so much straps.

“You're never going to get used to the seat harnesses in these cars are you Ballard?” Jones looked over towards Robert-come-Ballard with a smile behind his silver-insets of insect-like eyes.

Ballard grinned at his partner only as an aging father can towards a late twenty something partner. “I get used to the easy stuff—your crazy eyes, for instance. But if I want to be strapped down like this I'll go to a Dominatrix.”

Jones seemed disheveled at such a notion of his Fed-paid high grade optics to be anything but crazy. “Hey, these help me do my job. I can record things from multiple angles!”

“Yeah, I understand. I remember when you had to have three cameras for three different angles. Sometimes I look at my kids Rice Puffties and wonder if one of the imperfections on a grain isn't some secret Chinese spy camera.” Ballard brought up a display embedded in the passenger side of the car windshield and began grabbing the latest messages from his personal, private, and business addresses. While the headlines could be seen from the screen, the actual messages were Blue'd from the car's computer to his right retina and left ear.

“You know Ballard sometimes I wonder how they don't clock your paranoia at our yearly health exam,” Jones quipped as he began going through the last news headlines in the same fashion on his side. The car it's self drove safely, at a respectively safe speed to all obstacles around it as it bounded towards HQ.

“Oh, they have. But its all about what else you have and don't have. Just because I can be paranoid doesn't make me overly paranoid, and after the statistics get crunched they factor in how great of a guy I am to have on the force and forget about it.” Queuing up a message from his daughter sent ten minutes ago, he watched her beautiful smile form in front of his right eye.

“Have a great day Daddy,” she said, “and don't forget about my play tonight at school!” Ballard smiled as the message ended. He had seen her rehearse a couple of nights before, and hoped that some day she'd make it to the major meshworks playing a part on some interactive program.

“I take it back,” Jones said. “You're a pretty scary guy either way.” Jones concentrated on a few news articles at a time. Three came up interesting: a hostage situation at a defunct military installation, the launching of a meshwork attack from that location, and the fact the stand off had been going on for only 15 minutes. The attack was spreading quicker than viral marketing, although to classify it as an attack would be some-what incorrect. The pattern of data flow seemed heavy and capable of becoming a drain clog at the very least, the actual makeup of what was being transmitted was quantacrypted, which meant it was going to take awhile to figure out its contents.

The Lincoln Hydro pulled into their designated slot and its gull wing doors open in concert to the five point harness releasing its grip. Making short order of exiting the vehicle Jones and Ballard walked quickly through the parking structure to the maglift down. “Be prepared for DNA testing,” an ominous female voice said on their 2 second journey down into the bowels of the Fed building where they worked. Minute lasers scanned over their bodies quicker than the eye could register in most instances. By the time the maglift had halted at their destination the testing had been completed. “Good morning Detective Jones and Sargent Ballard, please proceed to the nearest open work terminal.” The doors slid open effortlessly and silently giving way to a view of at least fifty people at various desks working on computers working fervently on keeping the Grid clear.

“Report,” Ballard said as he stood at the front of the corridor full of terminals like a teacher in a class room.

Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States