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    A Singular Encounter
    A Singular Encounter
    A Singular Encounter
    Ebook75 pages1 hour

    A Singular Encounter

    By Victor Storiguard

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The "Singularity" is that moment when machines, or machine-human hybrids, become far more intelligent than ordinary people. Futurists say it is only a matter of time ...

    But what happens after that? What happens to the men and women who are left behind?

    In these fascinating and chilling stories, Victor Storiguards answers that question.

    Here are three encounters with the "Transhuman"…three tales of ordinary people meeting creatures who as evolved beyond us as we are beyond insects…

    "A Singular Encounter" —Dr. Peersa was a hunted woman. What her enemies didn't know was that she had friends in very high places.

    "Deal Breaker" — Professor Dewsmith thought she had the world all figured out. But then...she found out that she was clueless in a Posthuman age.

    "Jellies" — Valter Chena knew that a mysterious technology from a Transhuman past could destroy the world. Could he save it, and the woman he loved?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBelfort & Bastion
    Release dateDec 21, 2018
    ISBN9781386768586
    A Singular Encounter
    Author

    Victor Storiguard

    Victor Storiguard is a writer and editor whose career stretches back for over a quarter of a century. Originally a journalist writing about computers, he has now moved on to science fiction. Much of his work deals with "transhumanism" and "posthumanism." Critics have said that his tales combine hard technology with the appeal of fairy tales and myth.

    Read more from Victor Storiguard

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      Book preview

      A Singular Encounter - Victor Storiguard

      A Singular Encounter

      1.

      Professor Suzette L. Pierce ...Ph.D., Ed.D., D.P.S....was not having a good day. In fact, truth be told, it was one of the worst days she'd had in her professional life.

      It had started off well enough. She'd been asked to deliver a paper on her current work at a conference on contemporary history co-sponsored by none other the Board of Atonement itself. You couldn't get much more prestigious than that. And besides, it was being held in Bahastan...which was just a little city, these days, but once it had been a great and ancient capital, and that meant it was an exciting place if you were an historian or an archeologist, and she was both.

      At first, everything had been fine. She'd driven east from Emerst, her little car bumping along the old Peikroad, and, it had been picturesque and sunny. It was December, but there hadn't been any heavy snows yet, so there was still a late Autumn feeling to everything, even though the trees were bare of leaves.

      And, when she got to into the city, the hotel had proved to be more than adequate, and just a short a walk from the University where the conference was being held. Admittedly, there had been a few glitches checking in. At first they couldn't find her registration. But, then, the history department at Meriwether was notorious for its mixture of incompetence and pomposity. But, Meriwether was the host, and besides, it was well-connected with the Atonement, so, she just gritted her teeth and tried to ignore them.

      After she'd finally gotten her conference badge, she'd gone to the keynote and a couple of the paper presentations. She'd enjoyed several of those. Her favorite had been come from little chap who gave a talk about the origins of the Republic. Strange to think, she'd thought at the time. Our government is hardly two hundred years old, and yet we have so many questions about its early history.

      Her own talk had come after the lunch break, at 1300 o'clock. She was part of a panel on the archeology of Newingland. There had been a couple of papers presented before hers—one quite good one from a graduate student doing work on the ruins of tel-Lowell, and a rather awful one from a cocksure young professor from Meriwether on the vanished train systems of antebellum Merika.

      Then, it had been her turn. She'd collected her notes and presented her paper, A Recent Examination Of The Remains of Early Atonement Salem, Massachusetts. It had gone well and there'd been a round of polite applause afterwards. There were two more papers, and then everyone went out into the hallway for a coffee or tea before the next session.

      And then...everything got weird.

      First, the director of conference had tracked her down and said, Oh, Sorry, there had been a little mistake with the printer and her paper wasn't going to be included in the conference proceedings. Then, one of the volunteers had said that there was a phone call for her at the history department office and she found herself talking to her department head back in Emerst. Over the popping and buzzing of the long distance line, she heard him say that her most recent grant had been withdrawn. They didn’t give us any explanation, the man stammered out, obviously flustered.

      But the most frightening thing happened after the conference. At 1700, she'd gone back to her hotel...and discovered that the door of her room had been broken open. She'd dashed down to the front desk and come back with a muscular bellboy and a desk clerk. When they entered the room, she found a complete mess. Her clothes and possessions were scattered around the room. Worse, all of her notes were gone.

      The police, when they finally showed up an hour later, didn't seem much to care. So, somebody stole some paper, the patrolman in his black uniform said with a shrug. So big deal.

      To top it all off, the hotel had decided it might be best if she were to leave. We don't want to make you feel uncomfortable... was the way the manager had had put it. But we just don't feel that, given circumstances, we want you here.

      So, now, here she was, driving her little Asphaltor triwheel on a winter night, kiloms and kiloms away from anything, hoping that she wouldn't run out of ethanol before she found a station.

      And...she realized...it was starting to snow.

      Damn.

      2.

      This was not good. The Asphaltor didn't do well on snow. Her mechanic had told her once that it was because the machine was just too light. And her tires weren't the greatest in the world. She'd been meaning to get new ones for ages, but, well, who can afford rubber? If the roads got slick...

      As if on cue, the little car began to fishtail. With a panicked jerk, she fought the powered rear wheel back into the line behind the two front. Oh, hell. Oh, hell. Oh, hell.

      Determined, she plowed on ahead as best. Then, about a kilom further on, she saw lights ahead of her. A town? A hotel? Anywhere she could get shelter for the night? She hoped so.

      She came to a

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