Sci-Fi has always been a setting, pretending to be a genre. Ideas that exist today but are taboo to talk about. Ideas that we never considered until we saw them. Trendlines that exist with an unknown destination.
That’s Sci-Fi. The problems of today wrapped up in the setting of tomorrow.
What problems? What trendline? Half the fun is in finding it. I’ll be sending snippets from the book for you to read and see if it’s your cup of tea. If so, pre orders for the kindle version are live now, release data, August 1.
If the internet is under complete control, how do people access a free and open one? They use old tech, obviously. Wires and infrastructure, no longer used because wireless is so easy, is now used in the faraday cage inside the city that the wiring has created.
Since the internet is so new and fast, everything runs slow and only has ads. So they go back, to gopherNet… a 1980s technology on 1980s hardware to solve 2074 needs. Or is it 2017, 1994? There’s a reason you don’t know the date, but that’s for another email. Just something simple, like catching a cab, and he can’t escape ads, a phone that’s more desperate for connection than him, and immigrant labor that makes his life hell.
Enjoy
Conceptual HardcoverWelcome to GopherSpace
The street was damp from the drizzling rain. The smell of stagnant steam invaded Jakov’s senses. He was getting used to the stench, associating it with the stim fix he got after smelling it. Light from small, mushroom-shaped bulbs spread out every which way. Lights and shadows. Such a contrast to the full shadow-free lighting of the wireless. It was quiet. No ads or warnings playing on loudspeakers. Jakov could hear his heart beat as he got closer to the wireless. It beat faster as he approached.
Jake thought to himself, If that had been Cindy threatening me, I would apologize and accept a fine, and pull up an AI generated vid to help me sleep that night.
He continued pondering why this time felt so visceral, almost enjoyable. In New Kowloon, where only violence, or the threat of it, could solve problems or make new ones. In the wireless, he would have been put in Fem-Law Penitentiary for daring to defend himself, and that was on top of probably breaking his hand on their thick skulls, if he could muster the courage to swing.
Fight or flight. He hated both options, but at least they were options.
Looks like it takes more than stims to keep you from gazing into your abyss.
Damnit. The doctors assured him that his Ghost wouldn’t come back. He was right though. Jakov’s head lagged. His oculars which constantly adjusted from the contrast of the lights and shadows finally relaxed in the evenly lit courtyard. Once out of New Kowloon, Huawei vibrated from its own stims: reconnection to the Wireless. He took it out of his pocket.
The battery was hot. Nearly too hot to touch. He opened Rideshare and swiped for a jockey. Jakov felt the warm blanket of overbearing safety. His stimmed up heart took it like water to oil. It was an abusive father and a helicopter mom, but it was a known misery, which made him feel better. He read the screen:
Notifications: 15
Warnings: 4
Messages: 7
His peripheral vision caught his attention before he was able to view what he was told to. Across the street was a man laying on the road. He wore the yellow uniform of an Amazon tech. Not the same one Jakov wore, something higher, a director maybe? Was he sick? Hurt? An AWS van pulled up and blocked Jakov’s view. It was damned odd. The phone pinged: NOTICE ME!
Parvinder will be arriving in a Tesla X7. Please be reminded, in accordance with our TOS, to affirm your adherence to Fem-Law upon entering their vehicle. An automatic 25% inclusion gratuity has already been transferred to his account. Have a good day, xir.
Jakov skimmed the rest of the notifications. The Tesla rolled up a minute or two later than Rideshare predicted. Parvinder, a small Indian man with the thin stringy hair combed to resemble a full head, glared at Jakov before unlocking the passenger door. Before Jakov could enter, the screen on the window displayed an ad.
Eames. Because a real man likes to sit down in style.
