Sunday, June 22, 2008

Transitioning to WordPress

Assuming I can get everything working the way I want it, I’ll be transitioning from Expression Engine to WordPress over the course of the next month or so.  Once I’ve done that, I expect to be able to post more often since crossposting from one site (Scholars & Rogues) to another (this one) will be much simpler.

I’m sorry that I’ve fallen off the radar here for so long.  Maintaining multiple blogs is difficult unless they’re radically different from each other (and maybe even then) and especially if you don’t want to duplicate the content all the time.  And while I considered disconnecting this blog, I decided that crossposted content was preferable to shutting down the Daedalnexus altogether.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Undercity Gotham - Part 3

Undercity Gotham - Part 1
Undercity Gotham - Part 2

---

Sylvie had been cut off mid sentence.  Alex’s prospective assassins must have set up a commlink jammer that cut out the cemetery’s remaining wifi service.  That Kawashira-san would spend that expense meant that Alex had been right to arm himself for war back at his penthouse.  He just hoped that his assault rifle, armor, and body would hold up against the pounding they were about to take.  He had a couple of nasty surprises literally up his sleeves and, if he was lucky, his feigned limp would initially make some of the yakuza soldiers overconfident initially.  Alex figured he could use every advantage he could get.

As he approached the cemetery gate, Alex saw yak soldiers wearing combat armor and packing assault rifles leaning up against the dead oak tree, next to the ruined chapel, and more over by the crematorium and the crypt.  As Alex strode toward his wife’s gravesite and deeper in to the trap, he IDed several more yaks between him and an out-of-place delivery truck just outside the north cemetery wall.  He also heard at least two rotodrones powering up their jet turbines.  The delivery truck screamed “command center” and the antennas on the truck’s roof were the kind used for controlling remote drones and for comm jamming.  This wouldn’t end until either he or Kawashira-san was dead, but Alex figured that the oyabun wouldn’t be in the truck.  It was too obvious a target.

There were also dozens of freshly dug earth circles scattered throughout the cemetery.  Probably buried explosives, Alex thought.  They got a lot done in a short period of time.  Surviving this’ll do wonders for my rep - if I survive.

The headstone was a double wide made of highly polished black granite, and it hadn’t been vandalized this time, meaning that the local residents had apparently got the message to leave the cemetery alone.  Alex’s lips moved as he read his wife’s epitaph for what seemed like the millionth time.  “Catherine Sarah Jackson, devoted wife and mother of two, who died inside the day she lost her husband, b. December 4, 1981, d. May 19, 2029.” He tried to ignore the other epitaph, for it was a cruel joke.  “Alexander Matthew Jackson, devoted husband and father of two, b. March 16, 1976, d. November 1, 2013.”

Only one of the coffins buried below contained a body.  The body that belonged in the other had not been recovered from the rubble of the freak natural gas explosion.

Alex recalled planting the small thermite charge on the gas main as if it were yesterday.  He remembered the pain of shrapnel stripping flesh from his bones and fire burning him alive.  And he remembered his amazement at surviving the experience due to his regeneration ability.  I’d hoped to die that day, Cathy, to truly die, Alex thought.  All I have now are the burn scars, and even those are slowly fading away.  Soon I’ll have only Sylvie to remind me that I’m human.

The sound of rotodrones approaching broke Alex from his reverie.  Kawashira san would wait a few seconds more to unleash his attack, but he couldn’t afford to linger.  It was time to focus.

He hated to do this, but without the loathed predator within himself, he would die.  Not could – would.  So Alex calmed his breathing, brought his own pulse and fear under tight control, and expanded his senses to the remarkable limits of his predatory nature.

He heard the heartbeats of the yak soldiers through their armor, the whine of high energy capacitors from laser rifles aboard the rotodrones, and the clinking of some unknown weapon within the crypt.  Alex smelled fear in a woman’s sweat oozing out through improperly sealed milspec armor and explosive caseless ammo from the yaks’ assault rifles.  And Alex saw the cemetery cast into sharp relief, the edges hardened and the contrasts widened so that the shadows were deeper and the highlights brighter.

The predator within strained against its mental chains, and, taking one last breath, Alex released those chains as much as he dared.  When he heard the rifles’ safeties click off, he reacted almost instantaneously.

Adrenaline surged as Alex snapped up his rifle and cut down the first yak with a burst of armor piercing explosive ammo.  Alex dove behind the relative safety of several mid-sized headstones, fleeing the bullets that blasted through where he’d just been standing.

The cemetery around Alex erupted into geysers of dirt, dead grass, and superheated gas as half the buried explosives were remotely detonated.  The vomiting earth fouled one rotodrone’s air intakes and it fell dying among the headstones.  Alex, crawling quickly among the graves to avoid the crossfire flying over his head, smirked and mumbled, “oops.”

The steel rain let up as the yaks waited for their target to reappear out of the smoke and debris.  Alex suspected that they were looking for his corpse, already lying broken by the explosions.  Unfortunately for the yaks, Alex’s armor had shrugged off most of the explosion debris, so he had suffered light burns and momentarily deafened.  Both wounds would heal in seconds, and well before the smoke cleared enough for the yaks to spot him.

Unfortunately for them, Alex made the soldiers through the smoke before they saw him.  Crouched low behind the headstones, Alex slunk close and then paused to let adrenaline supercharge his muscles.  When he leapt, Alex’s razored forearm sliced through armor and severed one man’s head.  Alex spun behind the slowly collapsing body and blasted the other soldier from point blank range.

Alex scampered away from the two dead yakuza soldiers as and found momentary safety behind another row of headstones, but before he could get any further, he smelled jet fuel exhaust.  The clouds of smoke didn’t block radar, but they did make lasers ineffective at range, a limitation that wouldn’t last forever.  Alex cleared his still-healing ears as best he could and listened intently.  Making his best guess of the drone’s range and speed, Alex set his grenade launcher to airburst at 40 meters and fired three grenades.

The first grenade’s shock wave cleared the air around the drone enough for Alex to see it, but the concussion didn’t appear to have done more than scratch the drone’s paint.  The second grenade, however, went off within one meter and shredded the rotors, sensors, and fragile control electronics with shrapnel.  The third grenade sprayed the drone with burning thermite, melting parts of it to slag.  The rotodrone smoked and bubbled as it fell out of the air like a brick.

Alex ducked as the yaks sent a hail of bullets screaming by.  As crossfire tore around him, Alex realized that his position had been made and he heard several yaks circling around to flank him.  Suddenly, Alex realized that the noise coming from the crypt was a suit of light powered armor, and a distinctive, high pitched whine told him that it was equipped with a minigun.  Oh shit.

The roar of explosive bullets detonating around Alex kept him from tracking the gunfire by hearing alone, so he refocused on his vision and smell.  His caught a lucky break in the form of a muzzle flash reflected in a large shard of polished granite that had been blasted off a nearby headstone.  Alex knew the cemetery well, and he fired two grenades at the sepulcher near the muzzle flash.  The grenades flattened the soldier and Alex scrambled toward the gap in the crossfire he’d opened.

Fleeing death by minigun, Alex suddenly found himself running straight at a soldier who had moved to cover the ruined sepulcher.  The soldier, his rifle already in position, unloaded into Alex’s armor.  The impacts tripped him up, sending Alex into a tumble that he converted into a roll.  He rolled until he was able to put a headstone between himself and the soldier.  The recoil nearly tore Alex’s assault rifle from his hands when he fired full auto into the headstone, cutting it and the soldier in half.

The stench of blood struck Alex like a body blow and drove away all rational thought.  He knew only hunger and a thirst for blood that pulled him toward the upper torso of the dead soldier.  Then the rest of the buried explosives detonated and threw Alex into a headstone, slamming his intellect back into control over his instincts.

After he cleared his head as best he could, Alex crept on hands and knees toward the fake delivery truck and its comm jammer.  Pausing, he assessed the routes available to him.  The fastest route had no good cover, but the safer route would take some time and a lot of ammo.  He checked his grenade clip and swore.  Only two left, he thought.  The short route it is.

Alex leapt to his feet and sprinted up between rows of headstones.  Explosive bullets gouged craters out of his legs and torso and drove a roar of anger from his lungs.  Alex used his inner predator to drive him to his destination and then he collapsed behind a couple of small headstones.  Alex forced his torn muscles to fire his last two grenades and he was rewarded with an explosion that tore apart the truck and the three yaks guarding it, and that sent a fireball rising toward to the ceiling of the Undercity thirty meters overhead.

Alex was pinned down behind a rapidly disintegrating tomb when Sylvie finally connected.  “Alex, are you ok?”

“I’m shot.  I’m healing.  I’m hungry.” he muttered.  “I need to eat, drink....”

“Snap out of it!” Shouting didn’t usually work over a commlink, but somehow Sylvie made it work.

“I’m fine, dammit,” Alex spat back at her, annoyed that she thought he was about to lose control.  Alex was into his last clip, so he couldn’t fire wildly to keep the yaks at bay any more.  But he also couldn’t move again until his muscles, ribs, and intestines finished knitting themselves back together.  “Find me Kawashira fast.”

“Scan enabled,” was Sylvie’s only response.  She wouldn’t speak again until either her scan for his RF commlink signal was complete or until Alex talked to her.

It took Alex’s body less than thirty seconds to finish healing, but it was too long.  Four grenades detonated all around him, sending Alex flying like a rag doll and pulverizing his assault rifle into ceramic powder.  He landed in a heap twenty meters from where he’d been an instant earlier.
Alex shook his head to clear the fuzziness and sat up to face a spinning six barreled minigun just 15 meters down the row of graves.  The impact of dozens of bullets drove Alex into oblivion.

---

Regeneration saved his life.  Had the two remaining yakuza soldiers been more aggressive, they could have killed him before he recovered.  But they’d been overly cautious, and by the time they were in range, he’d nearly healed.  His instincts all but submerged thought, but when his hearing told him that the whine of the minigun was close enough, he sprang.

He lacked enough presence of mind to aim and fire his autopistol, so instead he flung it like a missile into the minigun’s delicate drive mechanism, destroying both weapons.  He leapt upon the power armor and tore into it with his bare hands, sending steel and ceramic and plastic and flesh and bone flying.  The dead soldier collapsed with Alex, ravenously licking the gore from his dripping fingers, crouched over the carcass of his kill.

Catching movement, he spun toward the last soldier who had dropped his rifle and was fleeing the cemetery.  Alex hurdled over the rows of headstones and chased down the yak, slamming both hands down onto the yak’s shoulders.  The sudden impact stove in the military armor and snapped the soldier’s back and neck.  That’s when Alex heard a familiar voice say “Kawashira san is by the chapel with his bodyguards.”

Alex sprinted toward the building that his blood hazed mind recognized as the chapel.  Only two elderly men stood between him and his prey.  The first waited patiently for him to arrive while the other ushered his prey through the chapel toward the chapel’s exit and safety.

Alex’s mind had returned enough that he didn’t simply charge Hiro.  Instead Alex slashed and lunged with his claws, but Hiro blocked Alex’s attack and followed up with a spin kick aimed at Alex’s head.  He caught the old man’s leg, drove his clawed fingers into the man’s femur to anchor Hiro in place, and then slashed out with all his strength.  The old man fell in two.

Yoshio, the second bodyguard, met Alex when he tried to bolt through the chapel.  Armed with a samurai sword that glinted of diamond, Yoshio smelled more of iron and oil than of flesh and blood, and Alex couldn’t just charge through him without losing his head to Yoshio’s blade.  Instead, Alex prowled around the man, outside Yoshio’s reach, looking for a weakness he could exploit.  He sensed that this master would not attack unless he was certain of the kill, so Alex provided an opening.

Yoshio leapt at Alex, his blade slashing at the speed of wired nerves.  Alex spun wildly, sacrificing an arm and one forearm guard to a blade sharp enough it could cut through a car door.  The partially successful feint threw off Yoshio’s attack just enough that Alex was able to bury his other razored forearm guard in the sword master’s reinforced titanium skull.

Alex listened for his prey as his nearly severed arm reattached itself.  He heard the sound of panic in the awkwardly slow footsteps probably backing away from the closed chapel door.  Alex burst through the chapel’s exit to be met with the boom of an autoshotgun emptying its clip of explosive flechettes.  Barely a dozen of the explosive needles hit Alex, causing him no more than minor discomfort, while the rest tore massive scars of stone from the chapel’s exterior.  The look on Kawashira-san’s face said that fear had killed the oyabun’s mind.  Now it was the body’s turn to die.

Alex walked up to the paralyzed oyabun, pulled back Kawashira san’s head, and bent to eat.

With his fangs sunk deep into the neck of the most feared syndicate boss in the city, Alex stopped.  Self revulsion mixed with Alex’s hunger, and as bile rose up his own throat, Alex ripped out Kawashira san’s larynx out with his teeth.  Kawashira san’s corpse collapsed to the pitted pavement as Alex vomited out the dead man’s throat.

---

Alex, his gore-soaked clothing stuffed into a bag he’d pulled from Kawashira-san’s limo, walked back into his penthouse dressed in the late oyabun’s spare outfit.  He stripped and threw all the clothing from that night into the incinerator.  Sylvie’s lit LED told him she was watching, but she said nothing.  Dana approached tentatively for a quick rub against Alex’s legs but backed away from the stink of smoke and death.

Alex showered quickly, washing himself clean of the night’s violence.  Still Sylvie said nothing.

After the shower, Alex stood before the coming dawn, watching the pollution filled sky turn pink with the anticipation of day.  The first rays of daylight had started turning his skin to ash before he hit the shutter’s emergency close button.

He sat on the bed, looking at the only remaining photo of his long lost family, and then laid himself down to sleep - if he could.  But his mind raced with dread and his body quaked with silent sobs.  Both were suddenly interrupted by the loud growling of his stomach.

Sylvie whispered, “Sleep well and recover your strength, Alex, for tomorrow night you need to eat.”

Friday, December 28, 2007

Undercity Gotham - Part 2

Yesterday:  Part 1 of Undercity Gotham

---

Alex sat on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and waited for Kawashira-san and his soldiers to show up.  The Met was more or less in its original form, saved via a concerted effort by the people of New York to rescue one of the city’s few remaining landmarks.  It had been covered in a thick protective coating that made the limestone look like bone-colored wax.  Anything less and the Indiana limestone would have melted away long ago.

Alex enjoyed people watching at the Met, watching New York’s upper crust stroll by.  They were dressed in their ultrachic, body armor and carrying umbrellas that doubled as concealed blades or single shot holdout guns.  The idiots carried the worse than useless things and suffered under a false sense of security that the concealed weapons made them safe from street punks.  The punks probably used the umbrellas as trophies.  Alex would have.

The downpour had stopped and the public works trucks were out spraying diluted lye on the roads to neutralize the acid rain before it did too much damage to the streets.  The rain must have been harder than usual since the puddles were steaming and bubbling like Vulcan’s own carbonated soda.

In New York, at least among the people Alex usually worked for, punctuality was priced above all else.  And for the first time he was late completing a contract.  Kawashira-san’s requirements had been so strange that it had taken Alex three extra days to finish the hardware, and Alex had hoped that Kawashira-san wouldn’t hold it against him.  Unfortunately, the oyabun and his retinue of bodyguards, assassins, and miscellaneous yakuza heavies were already 15 minutes late.  That was not a good sign.

After a half hour, as Alex was just about to write off the entire project, a small motorcade came down 5th Avenue and pulled up in front of the museum.  The lead and tail cars disgorged several people in blatantly milspec body armor and two small, elderly Asian men.  The few random people in the area seemed to evaporate, scared off by the obvious firepower.  Unfortunately, the delay meant that there were fewer people around than Alex usually liked for his meetings.  He hoped this wasn’t going to be a problem.

One of the small men, the one named Yoshio, prowled over and motioned Alex toward Kawashira-san’s limousine.  Alex had interacted with both men previously – Yoshio and Hiro were Kawashira-san’s primary lieutenants and bodyguards and he suspected that their suits were tailored to leave them both unencumbered in a fight.  Alex stood up off the steps, straightened his overcoat and hat, and sauntered over to the back door.

The tinted window rolled down and Kawashira-san voice wafted out of the dark interior.  “Alex san, I am most disappointed in your tardiness.” The voice was like fine silk soaked in cyanide.

“I humbly beg forgiveness, Kawashira-san.  The item is complete now, however, should you still have need of it,” said Alex, bowing deeply to the powerful yakuza oyabun.

“It remains valuable to my purposes, but your delay has put my timetable at significant risk.  So, kindly give it to me now.” The taloned hand that extended out of the darkness was smooth and hairless, with the dull sheen of brushed titanium.

Alex recalled the story about that arm every time he saw it.  When Kawashira-san was a lieutenant to the prior oyabun of New York, he’d screwed up badly enough that the oyabun claimed Kawashira-san’s arm as punishment.  When Kawashira-san orchestrated his take over of New York’s crime scene, he cut off his former boss’s arm and used it in place of his own missing arm.  The word on the street was that Kawashira-san had only replaced the dead boss’ limb with the cyberarm after Kawashira-san’s body rejected the foreign flesh.  True or not, the street couldn’t say, but the story served as a cautionary tale about what happened to people stupid enough to cross Kawashira-san.  Best not to keep the man waiting any longer, Alex thought.

“Of course, Kawashira-san,” replied Alex.  Alex turned toward Yoshiro, the lieutenant who usually paid him.  But Yoshiro didn’t move for five long seconds, and so Alex, eyebrows furrowed, turned back to face the limousine.  “I must have misunderstood something, Kawashira-san.  Am I correct that you still want the cracker I built for you?”

“Oh, very much so, Alex san.  But you were late in your delivery, so I want you to actually give it to me.  Free of charge,” said Kawashira-san, his pleasant voice drifting by like chlorine gas.  “Of course, if you’d care to discuss the issue further, you’re welcome to join me in my limo.” One of the yakuza soldiers stepped up and opened the back door of the limousine and motioned Alex toward the darkness.

This was very bad.  Alex knew that if he refused to give the oyabun his cracker, Alex would either be killed here where he stood or he’d be shoved into the back of the limo and killed in a more private location.  Probably the latter, given the public nature of the Met’s steps.  And if Alex voluntarily got into the limo, he’d likely find himself discussing how far his head would land from his body when the swords came out.  Alex saw nothing but death within that limo, so that was right out.

On the other hand, if Alex gave Kawashira-san the cracker for free, one of two things would happen.  The first option was that Alex’s rep would get hammered by the oyabun’s men and he’d never get another job with the syndicates.  The second option was that Alex would call in his many markers throughout the city’s VIPs and hammer Kawashira-san’s rep to the point that the oyabun would never be able to work on the eastern seaboard again.  Either way, sooner or later, one of the men was going to kill the other.

Alex wished he’d worn his armored overcoat instead of the more stylish London Fog coat.  If the bullets started flying here, his chances of surviving were slim.  Hopefully the number of security cameras watching them right now would prevent the oyabun’s men from uncorking their weapons.

Alex sighed and pulled the cracker out of his coat.  “I see.  Please accept my most humble apologies at my tardiness.  If you are satisfied with my work and everything goes well, I hope that you will change your mind about paying me for my services.” Alex, ready to be jumped by the yaks standing around, stepped forward and placed the black box in Kawashira-san’s taloned hand, and then stepped back.  The arm retracted into the darkness and Kawashira-san chuckled.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

Alex tensed up slightly, expecting the two elderly bodyguards to leap forward and throw him into limousine.  Alex’s old Tang Soo Do training told him that they had prepared themselves to do that very thing.  But then the yak soldier closed the limo’s door and the other yaks began to pile back into their respective vehicles.

Yoshio and Hiro stepped around Alex and placed themselves between him and the limo.  They both bowed deeply and then clapped their hands twice close to their chests.  In unison, they said, “Goodbye, Alex san.”

Alex backed up several steps before turning and climbing up the stairs toward the Met’s front doors.  When he got halfway up, he turned to wait and to watch the small motorcade leave.  The bow the bodyguards gave him had been respectful, and he’d never been worthy of respect before.  A respectful bow after a screw up couldn’t be a good sign.  Alex waited on the steps until the motorcade had turned out of sight before leaving the steps and striding into Central Park.  Once he was safely away from the Met’s eavesdropping tech, he called home.

“How can I help you, Alex?”

“I need a trace and dump on Kawashira-san.  Start a penetrator running.  Then pull up the list of markers I’m owed.  Everything.”

“Initiated.  I take it the meet did not go well.” It was not a question.

“He demanded the cracker gratis and suggested that I join him in his limo for a private chat.  Oh, and his bodyguards bowed too deep for my relative importance to Kawashira-san.” Alex had worked with various yakuza syndicates for years, but he still didn’t totally understand all the foibles of their honor code.

“Did they clap twice before bowing,” asked Sylvie, sounding concerned.

How the hell did she know that?  “Yeah....  Why?”

“They were performing a brief Zen Buddhist ritual for the dead, bowing before you as if you were already a tombstone.”

“Oh shit.” Apparently Kawashira-san was at least one step ahead of Alex.  There had to be a couple of assassins on Alex’s trail already.

“I’ll keep you informed about anything I find, but I suggest that you get back here to relative safety, and soon.”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t eaten yet,” grumbled Alex.  “I came close, though.  Way too close.  Remind me to have Jack clean up any bodily viscera before I show up next time.”

“Reminder logged,” replied Sylvie.  “You nearly ate someone who passes for a friend?  If you nearly lost control on Jack, that’s very bad, Alex.” Sylvie’s voice was simultaneously very stern and concerned.

“I know, Sylvie,” Alex said.  He paused to look up at the stars through the trees, and then he yawned.

“You sound tired,” said Sylvie.

“I am tired,” he sighed.  “So very tired....”

“You’ll feel better after you’ve had something to eat.  Now go out and have a meal, you tired, grizzled old man you.  Stay to very public places, though I may not find anything before you do.  Kawashira-san’s netsec is some of the best in the world.”

“I know - I wrote part of it.” Alex was beginning to think that maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to upgrade the oyabun’s security last year after all.  Oh well, too late for regrets now.  “Just do the best you can.  Oh, and remind me next time I meet with a client to wear some body armor.  I feel naked right now.”

“Reminder logged.  Good hunting, Alex,” said Sylvie, and she disconnected.

---

The dance club Primatia was one of the most exclusive and popular in New York, and with its five independent levels, it was one of the largest clubs as well.  Primatia currently sported a motif that was a fusion of urban cityscape and cloud or rain forest.  The top level had cloud forest intertwined with the spires of the great European monuments, while the bottom level sported rain forest mixed with simulated Undercity and sea wall.  It was chic this year to pretend that the hellish and squalid Undercity was just another borough.

The current decor wasn’t Alex’s thing, but he’d been welcome as a regular, no cover, ever since he’d helped the owner solve a little mafia problem opening weekend.

The music varied from night to night and from level to level, but there was always at least one level where house music would be playing at ear damaging volume.  Tonight it was on the main level, and that suited Alex just fine - the main level was his preferred hunting ground.  Even better, In Nominae Projectus wasn’t “performing” tonight.  He had long thought that consuming the DJs from INP would do the world a favor, but he made a policy of never partaking of celebrities.  Doing so drew far too much attention, and unfair as it was, INP qualified as celebrities.

The bouncers knew Alex and they ushered him in and around the standard weapon and explosive scanners.  The owner, CG left instructions that Alex was allowed anywhere he wanted, even the exclusive top level and the private rooms, and Alex occasionally met with clients in the rooms.  The inevitable rumors circling the club about Alex and CG’s relationship were kept vague enough that they didn’t invoke much interest from the undercover cops on staff.  Neither CG nor Alex wanted to have the cops busting up a perfectly good deal on black market goods.

Alex headed for a booth in the back, hung his overcoat and fedora on the coat rack where the acid rain could run off into the stainless steel drain basin, and sat where he could see the dance floor.

The hunt always filled him with ambivalence.  Not because he wasn’t excited, but because his excitement at the thought of feeding made him sick with guilt and ashamed of the fear that made him too weak for suicide.  So here he was, hunting for a needy, solitary, and healthy person.  The kind of person who wouldn’t be missed if they disappeared tonight.  Man or woman didn’t really matter.  All that really mattered was that the prey not be a drug addict or have any blood borne diseases.  He hadn’t enjoyed his experiences with either.  The woman on LSD had given Alex a week of hallucinations about explosions, dismembered bodies, and circuitry, and it had taken him eight weeks to recover after he’d fed on a guy with a mild case of West Nile.

Alex could always tell these days if someone was sick or an addict.  A quick kiss and a sniff told him epics about the prey’s genetic and environmental history.  If he concentrated, he could hear heart and lung irregularities that might indicate any number of dysfunctions, even through the pounding music.  Unfortunately, finding someone who met all his needs was hard these days.  Most people healthy enough for his needs would be missed.  That was part of the reason he hunted on the dance floor.  At least here all the dancers were minimally healthy.

Alex cleansed his palate with a swig of water and then wandered through the dancing mass.  On nights like this, he couldn’t help but see them all as unsuspecting prey.  He knew that if he’d been surrounded by this many hormonal, pheromone oozing people when he was newly changed, he’d have lost control and slaughtered half the club.  But Alex had learned self-control and, in the process, he’d perfected his hunting techniques.  He’d wander through the crowd until his enhanced senses found just what he needed to satiate his hunger, and then he’d start dancing with the unlucky prey, slowly releasing his own concentrated pheromones.  After a few minutes, his quarry wouldn’t be able to resist the seduction.  He’d take dinner back to his booth and then slip out the back door when no one was looking.  They’d take a slow walk toward the river, and when they were alone and the prey was totally relaxed, he’d strike.

And then Alex would dump the carcass into the river where the concentrated pollutants would dissolve it, flesh and blood and bone, in a matter of hours.

Tonight, however, Alex was having some difficulty.  That woman was healthy, but the ring on her left hand indicated that she was either married or recently divorced.  That young woman was needy enough to be an easy catch, but her sweat said she was a regular user of Tempt mixed with crack.  The young man over there was clean and healthy, but not only would his parents miss him, he wouldn’t sustain Alex very long.  The man lighting his cigar with his thumb lighter had other obvious cybernetic implants, and Alex disliked cyborgs’ oily, metallic tang.

Alex gave up on the main level and headed toward the stairs up to the next level.  He was rounding the faux banyan trees when he caught a whiff of something odd.  Alex paused and it took him several seconds to realize that the odor was the combat drug p SIP.  He had just started to move again when the stabbing pain hit his back, right between his spine and left kidney.

Alex’s training kicked in as he spun around just in time to block a second shiv.  Alex felt the drug-enhanced assassin’s forearm shatter on impact with Alex’s unnaturally strong block, and the impact sent the second shiv flying.  Alex immediately punched the assassin’s solar plexus, caving in ribs, collapsing both lungs, crushing the heart, and snapping the assassin’s spine for good measure.  The dead assassin slumped forward into Alex’s arms.

Alex carefully pulled the first shiv out of his back and called CG’s private line.

“What’s up, Alex,” CG’s raspy voice asked.

“Your insurance rates if you’re not more careful.  I’ve got a dead yak in my arms.  Where should I deposit the body?”

“Be right there.”

Alex didn’t wait long.  CG, followed closely by two of his personal bonecrushers, walked up as quickly as the crowded dance club would allow.  One of the bonecrushers came up to claim the body from Alex.  As the bonecrusher took the dead assassin, he said “Come on, pal, you drank too much.  Let’s get you to a taxi and home.”

CG and the second bonecrusher stood by as the body was carted off for disposal.  “What happened, Alex,” CG asked.

Alex slipped CG the shiv that had recently been stuck in Alex’s back.  “He snuck that into Primatia, and then sunk it into my back.”

CG looked concerned.  “You need meds?  I’ve got symbiotic healers up in my office.”

“No, I’ll be all right.  It didn’t hit anything serious.  Besides, you know I’m allergic to healers.” There was no way on this earth Alex would let CG see his back.  The wound had already healed.

“This brand claims they’ve fixed all that.  You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.  Never met a symbiote that didn’t make me swell up and puke, so I’d just as soon not push it.  By the way, you might want to update your scanners to catch these shivs before your insurance catches wind of them.”

“They already do.  The guy must have been a real pro to slip one of these by my security.”

“Two."

“Two what?”

“He had a second shiv.  I sent it flying over there,” Alex motioned toward the dance floor, “when he tried to sink it into my chest.  Probably busted into a million pieces by now.”

“I hope so.  Bad karma, man.  Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem.  I guess I shouldn’t have come here after pissing off Kawashira-san.” CG stiffened at the oyabun’s name.

“Oh fuck.  Nothing personal, man, but get the hell out of my club.  I don’t need his yaks screwing up my business, you know?” CG was not pleased.

Alex smiled.  “Yeah.  Tell you what, when my business is settled with Kawashira-san, I’ll come back and we’ll drink to living in a safer city.”

“Sure, whatever.  If you come back.  And you never drink anything but bottled water.” CG’s smile was tight and small, but at least it was a smile.

“Good thing, too, or I’d be dead now.  Reaction time and all that.  Let me gather up my stuff and I’ll get out of your hair.” Alex started toward the dance floor, but CG stopped Alex with his hand.

“Miles, get Alex’s stuff,” said CG, inclining his head toward the remaining bonecrusher.  The dancers parted around Miles as the bonecrusher walked toward Alex’s usual booth.  “You don’t know how many more assassins might be gunning for you in that crowd.”

“Good point,” replied Alex, thankful for the help.  Miles returned and handed Alex his overcoat and fedora.  Alex put them both on and pulled the hat low over his eyes.

“Good night, CG,” said Alex as he walked out of the club.

---

Alex was walking across Central Park toward the Met and eh secure garage where he’d parked when Sylvie called.

“Let me guess, Kawashira-san hired an assassin or four to take me down,” said Alex as he answered the call.

“Six, actually.  I take it from your tone that one or more have already shuffled off the mortal coil?”

“Something like that, yes.  And before you ask, no, I still haven’t eaten. But it sounds like I may find someone to eat tonight after all.” He hoped the next assassination attempt would be private enough to let him feed.

“Speaking of that, I’m receiving a call from Kawashira-san currently.  Shall I connect you?”

“Why, certainly.  I’d love to hear what the good oyabun has to say.”

“Hello, Alex san,” said Kawashira-san.  “How have you been tonight?”

“Except for a bit of a back ache, quite well, thanks,” said Alex, feigning discomfort.

“I hope your aches and pains aren’t symptoms of something more severe, perhaps even terminal.”

“They haven’t been yet.  I am honored by your concern for my welfare, Kawashira-san.” Alex’s voice could have stripped paint off steel.  “How might I help you this evening?”

“I had the opportunity to test your box.  It performed better than I anticipated, and so I wish to give you what you deserve.  I was hoping we could get together more privately to discuss the terms of a new arrangement.  Might you be available at 0300 hours this morning?”

This was it.  “For you, Kawashira-san, I’m always available.  If you don’t object, we can meet at the old crematory and cemetery in the Undercity.  I was heading there to honor my ancestors.”

“Excellent.  I look forward to meeting you again.  I’m sure you’ll say ‘hello’ to your ancestors for me, Alex san.  Good bye,” said the oyabun, and then he hung up.

“Sylvie, I’m swinging by to pick up my combat gear,” said Alex.  “How late will that make me?”

“If you take the subway and hurry, you’ll get there on time, but you’ll need to leave the truck until tomorrow.  Regardless, Kawashira-san’s soldiers will almost certainly be in place before you arrive.”
“That can’t be helped.  They’ll permit me to make peace with my family they have that much honor.  And I’m thinking tonight might be a good night to hit the cemetery after all.  I’ll be home soon, Sylvie.”

---

Tomorrow - the conclusion of Undercity Gotham!

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Undercity Gotham - Part 1

Over ten years ago, I started writing speculative fiction with an outline of a story about a reluctant vampire.  After more than a decade of false starts, rewrites, edits, help from my friends, and abject terror about being rejected by a magazine due to the length or general suckage of my story, I’ve instead decided to self-publish my first story here at the Daedalnexus.  I’ve busted it up into daily submissions over the next three days because it’s over 10,000 words long, but I’ll ultimately be putting it up in a single file so you can download and print it.  All I ask is that, if you like the story, you send people back here for the original.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy the story.

---

Undercity Gotham

It wasn’t the volume of the electronica that wrenched Alex away from his dreams of sweet oblivion, although it could have woken the dead.  No, it was the music itself.  He enjoyed electronica, but the rhythms of In Nominae Projectus had been recycled more times than asphalt.  The only one way to turn them off was to get out of bed as quickly as possible.  Nothing else would satisfy the bitch who woke him every morning.

“Dana, move please,” Alex said to the cat curled up behind his knees.  Alex stretched and forced away the sharp ache of hunger in his stomach.  Alex felt Dana stand and stretch, but it wasn’t until she jumped from he bed that he saw her bioluminescent form slinking toward the bedroom door.

The so called electronica was replaced by Richard Strauss’ Tod und Verkläung as soon as his feet hit the floor.  Damn her, Alex thought.  Sylvie knew he’d love to send INP and every recording they’d ever made into deep space on a rocket with no food, water, or air.  Apparently she’d relied upon that fact.

“Sylvie, have I mentioned recently that I hate you,” Alex asked.

“If you define recently as sometime within the last 23 hours, no.  If you include yesterday at approximately this time, when I woke you with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s rendition of Aerosmith’s Dream On, then the answer is yes.”

Alex loved Sylvie’s voice.  It caressed his eardrums and insinuated itself into his soul every time he heard it.  Her ethereal timbre disturbed most people who heard it, and he knew that the effect was intentional.  He’d spent a lot of time and money creating that voice.

Sylvie had taken Alex years and millions of dollars to create. He’d used the most advanced artificial life algorithms, synthetic personality codes, and when he couldn’t find what he needed in the open-source AI communities, he’d resorted to stealing some of her intelligence subroutines from IBM, Microsoft, and DARPA.  And in return, the fruit of his labor played cruel jokes on him as his daily wakeup call.  He couldn’t complain, of course.  He had, after all, programmed her that way.

Alex tried to speak while yawning and failed miserably.  “I don’t speak yawn, Alex,” chortled Sylvie.

“I said, open the blinds please.  I’d like to see the sunset this evening.”

Alex stood facing the windows that made up one entire wall of the bedroom, motionless in anticipation of the sunset concealed behind the stainless steel shutters and Venetian blinds.  He wished Sylvie would hurry up, but given that her sensors could read his quickened pulse and respiration, she was likely dragging it out intentionally.

When the shutters and blinds opened, Alex gasped.  He’d always loved sunsets, and this one was one of the best he’d ever seen.  The sun had set behind gray green clouds of industrial pollution that banded the reds, oranges, and yellows of an appallingly beautiful sunset.  Alex whistled his appreciation.

“I’m glad you like it,” said Sylvie.  “The ozone index is at its highest in eight months, the sulfurous clouds just blew in from Ohio, and the Jersey factories produced dramatically more particulates today than normal.  I calculated that sunset would likely be particularly impressive and woke you as soon as it was safe to do so.”

“Thank you, Sylvie.  It is quite worth the risk....”

“You can pay me back with a night out on the town as soon as the interlink works properly.  But if you like, you can upgrade my core memory and hard storage.  I’m running low on both, you know.”

Alex smiled and glanced over at the blinking green LED that signified Sylvie’s virtual presence in the bedroom.  “Consider it done.  Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish the sunset alone.”

When Sylvie’s LED went black, Alex returned his attention to the sunset outside.

---

The motion-sensitive light lit the bathroom at Alex’s arrival.  “Shall I start the shower for you,” asked Sylvie, her LED blinking green.

“Yes, thank you.  Dana was particularly demanding this evening.  One of these days I’ll finish building the feeder so you can feed her for me.”

“I doubt it.  You enjoy feeding her far too much,” Sylvie said as Alex stepped into the shower.

“You know, I suppose I do.  It keeps me grounded in the here and now,” said Alex as he let the hot water drain tension from his body.  “And besides, I wouldn’t want her to decide she loves you more than me, now would I?”

“Absolutely not.  I get quite enough of her fur in my intake filters as it is.  Her curling up beside my CPU like she sleeps behind your knees would be significantly more than I could tolerate, purring or no.” Alex smiled at the seriousness in Sylvie’s tone.

“So, Sylvie, what do I have on my schedule this evening?  I get to take the night off, right,” asked Alex as he scrubbed away the last day’s grime.  He knew quite well that he had a potentially busy night, but there was always a chance he’d forgotten something.

“You wish.  First you need to pick up my new memory and storage.  Jack left a message saying they had come in.  Shall I play it?”

“No thanks.” Alex had hoped to surprise Sylvie with the needed upgrades.  “That’s what I get for trying to surprise you, I guess.”

“The day I actually run out of memory because you forgot to pick up upgrades will be the day you surprise me,” Sylvie said.  “Not that I have any wish to be surprised that way, of course.  Second, you owe Kawashira san his cracker box.  He called while you were sleeping and was most… insistent.  He sounded rather unhappy regarding the three day delay.  Shall I return the call for you and inform him that you will deliver the cracker this evening in the usual fashion?”

“But of course, mon cheri,” said Alex using his best faux French accent.  “That’s all I remember for tonight.  Anything I’m missing?” Alex knew the answer would be no.

“Yes."

Alex was surprised enough he stopped scrubbing.  What had he forgotten?  Jack and Kawashira san was all he’d put on the calendar for tonight.

“OK....  What am I missing?”

“You need to eat.”

Alex had pointedly ignored the ache of hunger for several weeks, and every day it had got worse.  Hell, it had taken years to train himself to ignore hunger’s nightly call.  But Sylvie’s reminder had brought his suppressed need to the forefront of his mind, and there would be no more suppressing it.

Alex whispered “That’s a particularly cruel thing to say, Sylvie.  If you’d wanted to be sure I was awake, it’d have been kinder to suddenly drop the water temperature to 1 degree.” Maybe he could distract Sylvie with a change of subject.

“I wasn’t aware you needed to be woken up further.  Your pulse, respiration, and brainwaves all indicate you’re fully awake.  If you’re still feeling tired, I can change the music back to In Nominae Projectus.”

“No," Alex shouted, all attempts to distract Sylvie driven from his mind.  His revulsion at the thought of being forced to listen to INP again dragged him out the lassitude he’d started sliding into.

“As you wish.  Your attempt to change the subject won’t work this time either.  I’m serious - you haven’t eaten in three months, Alex, and you can’t wait much longer.  I also urge you to eat before meeting Kawashira san on the off chance he’s concluded you should commit involuntary seppuku.”

Damn, thought Alex.  Damn damn damn damn damn....

---

Alex dressed quickly, chiseling his pale and gaunt features with a black turtleneck, chinos, and suede cowboy boots that gave him two extra inches.  He slicked his hair back out of his face with gel that dried to the consistency of a blood soaked rag.  And he topped it all off with a black London Fog overcoat and fedora.  If he was going to play the predator tonight, he might as well dress the part.  He looked himself over in the mirror and smiled a predatory grin.

“My, don’t we look the neo retro criminal this evening,” chimed in Sylvie.  Her tone was not kind.  “You look positively dressed to kill.”

Sylvie’s sarcasm cut him to the bone and Alex’s grin collapsed.  “Dammit, Sylvie.  You’re the one who reminded me I had to eat again.  I do not enjoy this.  It sucks, having to do this just to survive.  Sucks big time.”

“Then why were you standing there with a wolfish grin on your face,” Sylvie demanded.

Alex sighed.  “Because it’s hard not to anticipate feeding.  It’s part of who I am, even if I despise it.  And while I hate to admit it, staying in control seems harder these days.  But I am still in control...”

“I’m glad to hear that, Alex,” said Sylvie.  Her voice carried quite a bit more compassion than it had a moment ago.  “You did, after all, ask me to remind you of what you must do in the harshest terms I could come up with at the time. As I recall, you said it helped you stay human, and it helped to keep the predator inside you under control.”

“Did I,” Alex asked absentmindedly.

“I can replay your words verbatim if you like”

“That won’t be necessary,” sighed Alex.  “My memory is just fine.  I’ve only totally lost it once, Sylvie, but it scared the piss out of me.”

Alex remembered it all too well.  He’d driven himself nearly to starvation by refusing to eat anything for over a year.  He’d been so exhausted, so ravenous, that he’d lost control over the predator within.  He was living in Connecticut at the time, and his hunger had dragged him to Penfield Beach and to a large illegal bonfire attended by over 30 local college students.

He hadn’t been able to stop himself, and eleven students had died before his hunger was sated.  Fourteen others were seriously wounded, and the rest fled the carnage.  The city of Fairfield had hauled away several dump trucks of blood-soaked sand and the old dance hall/concession building had needed a thorough sandblasting and repainting.

Alex shivered at the memories.  Thinking about it terrified him even now.  It had taken him nearly another decade to determine how often he had to eat in order to be sure he never lost control again.  Approximately once every three months.  Or slightly less.

Alex stood long before the mirror, gazing deep into the abyss of his own eyes.  When he could nearly feel the abyss staring back at him, he tore himself away from his own reflection.  His eyes settled on the only photo in his penthouse.

“Have the kids married yet,” he asked.

“No, but Sarah is dating again, and your grandson approves of the guy.  Paul’s out of the closet and is currently looking for yet another job and a new partner.”

Alex’s eyes lost focus as his mind wandered back to that horrible day so long ago.  “You know, sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing, back then.  Christine would never have forgiven me had she known.”

“You did what you felt you had to, Alex.”

“I left my kids without a father, Sylvie, and left my wife so utterly alone that she shot up heroin to deal with the pain.  I was a royal bastard.” Alex thought he’d dealt with the guilt of abandoning his family so many years ago.  Every time he fed he relearned how wrong he was.

“Perhaps you were, but they don’t know that.  All they know is that a foundation in your name, funded anonymously, has always provided for the family.  They don’t know where the money comes from, and it’s been eighteen years since the last investigation into the foundation’s donors turned up nothing.  Your family remembers you fondly, Alex, and they miss you.  You did what you felt was right, and your reasons were noble.  Never forget that.”

Alex wasn’t feeling particularly noble at the moment.  “If I actually had any honor, I’d off myself and do the world a heap of good,” he said.  “But I’m too scared of what comes next, whether I’m pushing up daisies or going to hell.”

Alex paused to steel himself for the night’s excursions and remembered an old phrase he’d heard as a normal child.  “So instead, I shall again ply the night winds.”

Alex walked over to the entryway and picked up his keys off the H.R. Giger end table.  “I’ll be back late, Sylvie.  I’d tell you not to wait up, but you always do.”

“Of course.  As if I could do anything less.”

Smiling sadly, he gathered up Kawashira san’s cracker and opened the door to leave.  “No, I suppose not.  Link me if anything changes, ok?”

“Of course.”

---

Alex left his Midtown apartment building and drove toward one of the few descent ramps from the new streets of New York down into the Undercity.  Every time he went down on to New York’s original streets, the changes he’s lived through sent him tripping and stumbling down memory lane.

Gotham had faded dramatically since it’s heyday.  The Midwest factories and power plants kicked up so much acid rain that it dissolved any building unprotected by corrosion resistant facades.  As a result, most of the 19th and 20th century buildings had been demolished as they melted.  The Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building had been saved from the acid rain only to be blown down by a Cat 5 hurricane, taking several adjacent buildings with them.  As the historic buildings had melted away, they took with them much of New York’s soul.  New skyscrapers were built to replace the old ones, but they had failed to rejuvenate a city from which business had already fled.  After all, global heating had stopped pushing sea levels inexorably upward and had started shoving – hard.  Storm and flood insurance was nearly impossible to come by in New York as the lower levels of the newest skrapers went under water.

The new streets of Manhattan were suspended by fullercable and carbon composite I beams above where climatologists were estimating the sea level to stop rising, about 30 meters above sea level.  The original streets and surviving buildings of the Lower Eastside, the East Village, Little Italy, Chinatown, and Stuyvesant were now called the Undercity, and they suffered – acid runoff from the city above, no municipal investment of any kind, and precious little law presence made the Undercity one of North America’s more dangerous slums.

Alex’s vintage 1984 Land Cruiser wasn’t safe from thieves down into the Undercity, but Jack’s shop was too far from the nearest subway stop to walk the distance safely.  Leaving the main city streets at the Manhattan Bridget exit, Alex fired up his after market military sensors and hoped the residents wouldn’t take exception to his arrival.

The Undercity was a nasty place, and not just because it was a waste-filled slum.  The few cops patrolling “down Under” were either too violent for normal city beats or were being punished by the Chief, and even those cops rarely strayed from the relative safety of the ramps and the rare bits of valuable Undercity real estate that still existed.  It was always wet and cold, and given he dearth of street lights, it was never brighter than twilit.

There were no official markets in the Undercity, only the black market, and Alex had used it a lot over the years.  He could have bought anything down here; sex slaves high on Tempt and aching to please, a new set of eyes freshly plucked from the so called donor’s sockets, or a minigun preloaded with a 5000 round belt of .36 caliber armor piercing minigrenades.  All anyone needed was the right contact, a reference, and lots of cash.

The Undercity was the kind of place where everyone was both hunter and hunted.  It was perfectly Darwinian and utterly brutal.  And New Yorkers wonder why the residents are paranoid, thought Alex.  Of course, they’re really not paranoid.  After all, you’re not paranoid if someone really is out to get you.

Alex’s sensors IDed some hunters on infrared and experience told him they were tracking his descent.  He knew that his restored navy blue gas powered truck meant he was rich by their terms.  The gas in his tank was a highly valuable black market item all by itself, and the Land Cruiser would have been more at home in a museum than down here.  With any luck, the hunters tracking his car would leave it alone this time.  Hadn’t he taught them enough lessons over the years?

Alex had taught the Undercity that he was not to be screwed with, and the few who didn’t heed the stories about the man in the navy blue Land Cruiser had learned their lesson in a very hard and very final way.

Alex pulled off onto a side street and drove down to Jack Finn’s Hardware Emporium.  He turned off the engine and watched the sensors for several minutes, waiting for some idiot to attack.  When no one did, he opened the car door, stepped out into the street, and nonchalantly put his fedora on his head.  Hopefully his demeanor would psyche out anyone about to attack him.  He waited a few seconds until he was satisfied he wasn’t about to be shot, and then stepped over and rang Jack’s doorbell.

A thick pane of plexiglas, scratched and pitted by acid, bullets, and shrapnel, slammed down behind Alex.  If he hadn’t been here so many times before, it would have made him jump out of his skin.  It had the first six times.

The voice coming out of the door speaker was distorted by static.  “Alex, is that you?”

“Yeah, Jack, it’s me.  Send out the box and I’ll put the autopistol in it for safe keeping.”

“Right," said the distorted voice.  An old bank teller drawer, set askew in heavy steel plating next to the door, popped out and opened with a vague smell of rancid meat.  Alex put his only weapon, a small autopistol, into the drawer.  When the drawer closed, the door in front of Alex unlocked and opened.

Jack was a short man, only about 1.5 meters tall, and going paunchy and thin on top.  Paranoid even toward his friends, he looked more skittish tonight than usual, and he was holding a mop. Alex had known Jack for years and this was the first time he’d seen Jack with a mop.  Alex raised an eyebrow and asked, “What’s up, Jack?”

“I had a break in a couple of days ago.  Bitch snuck in a blade my scanner didn’t recognize.  Nearly stuck me before I blew her guts all over the rack of processors over there.  Sorry about the smell, but upgrading the scanner took priority over cleaning up.  I was just about to start.”

So that’s what the smell was, Alex thought as his stomach growled.

“Not a problem,” Alex reassured.  “Sylvie said you had the memory and storage I ordered.  Any problems with it?”

“Not that I saw, Alex.  But please, check it yourself.” Jack pulled a 10 cm cube out of a large fire safe and handed it to Alex.  “Holographic storage can be tricky, and we don’t want Sylvie going psycho because she hits a bad sector or two.  Need a scanner?”

“Nope, got my own, as always,” responded Alex.  He pulled a holomemory scanner out of his overcoat and activated the autoscan.  The memory was high grade and dense enough that it would take a minute or two to verify its perfection.

“Alex, can I ask you a question?” Jack was standing next to the fire safe, and he looked nervous.

“You just did,” said Alex with a thin smile.  “But sure.  What’s up?”

Jack’s face showed a mix of suspicion and curiosity.  “How come you don’t carry a blade or any other holdout weapon except that autopistol?  You a combat artist or something?”

“Or something,” chuckled Alex.  “The way I figure it, if I get attacked, I’ll burn through the clip so fast it’ll be empty before someone could turn it on me.  And you can’t kill me with a weapon I don’t have, now can you?”

Alex’s stomach growled loudly and he felt the hungry predator inside strain against his self control.

“Nope, I suppose not,” said Jack.  And the gun ain’t good for much else but a club if you’ve burned through the ammo first.” Alex barely registered when the scanner beeped and flashed a green LED.

Alex leaned toward Jack and breathed deep the shop’s putrid air, savoring it as a connoisseur sniffs fine wine.  Alex was distantly aware of Jack noticing him, but Jack’s sudden fear just made him all the more enticing.  The smell of rancid human meat, fresh healthy blood, and a little fear to spice it all up it was nearly irresistible.

Jack backed away quickly, trying to put the bulk of the fire safe between himself and Alex.  “Alex, are you ok man?”

It felt like an eternity before Alex could force his inner predator back down enough to risk movement and turn away.  He shook from the effort of keeping himself from murdering Jack, and he hugged himself to stop the shaking.  Once he’d recovered some, he pulled out the cash he owed and laid it on the counter.

“I’ll be fine, Jack.  Sorry to scare you.  Here’s what I owe you, plus a little something for the kids.  Oh, and I still need the hard storage.”

Jack nodded and, with hands vibrating, handed Alex the hard storage.  Alex put everything into his pockets and turned to leave, stopping before the door.

“Jack, do me a favor,” said Alex without turning around.  “Close up, pull the blast shutters, and head upstairs.  Say ‘Hi’ to Marty and the kids for me.  But whatever you do, don’t go out tonight.  Cancel whatever plans you have and stay home.  I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight, Jack, and I value you too much to put you at any more risk than I already have.  Stay home tonight, and stay safe.”

Alex had never asked Jack this before.  Then again, Alex had never come this close to feeding on his friend before either.  He hoped that Jack would listen, and he waited for Jack’s answer before hitting the exit button.

“You got it, Alex.”

Alex hit the exit, collected his pistol from the secure drawer, and climbed into his undisturbed Land Cruiser.  He waited in the truck until the Emporium went into lockdown mode.  Jack, at least, would be safe tonight.

---

Undercity Gotham will continue with Part 2 tomorrow.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Corn ethanol production is killing the coastal Gulf of Mexico

Today’s recipe is for “Gulf of Mexico Dead Zone”:

• Start with historically massive agricultural input of phosphorus and nitrogen into the Mississippi River system.
• Add occasional yearly floods that can double the input of phosphorus and nitrogen following the flood.
• Dump the Mississippi River into an algae-rich Gulf of Mexico.
• Heat the Gulf water to a tepid 70 degrees Fahrenheit (local water temperatures may vary)
• Add lots of sunlight.
• Wait for phytoplankton algae bloom to form, then die and start decomposing.
• Ta da!  You’ve finished your Gulf of Mexico Dead Zone!
• If you wish increase the size of your dead zone, just increase agricultural runoff from nitrogen fertilizers.  Corn farming for ethanol would be a great way to start.

The Gulf of Mexico is one of the United States’ most important fisheries, where 72% of U.S. harvested shrimp, 66% of harvested oysters, and 16% of commercial fish are harvested for U.S. markets.  But in 1985, a “dead zone” largely devoid of seabed marine life like shrimp and oysters was discovered along the Louisiana coast.  Scientists determined that the ultimate cause of the dead zone was algae blooms fed by human agricultural practices, especially fertilizer runoff from corn.

As I alluded to above, nitrogen and phosphorus run off fields and are deposited by air into the Mississippi River where they flow downstream into the Gulf of Mexico.  There, nitrogen and phosphorus provide so many nutrients to algae that they reproduce prolifically (bloom) until the available nutrients are all exhausted.  Then the algae all die, sink to the bottom, and begin to decay.  And as the algae decays, its pulls dissolved oxygen out of the water around it, reducing the amount of oxygen available for other marine life to live on.  And so the area under and around the algae bloom dies from suffocation.

Now, with misguided corn ethanol biofuel subsidies available from the federal government, more acreage of corn is being planted than has been planted since WWII.  The problem is that corn is horribly inefficient at using nitrogen fertilizer, and commercial corn cultivation is the single largest source of nitrogen in the Mississippi River.  In 1999, the USGS released a report on the Gulf of Mexico dead zone ("hypoxic region”, meaning oxygen-poor) using the latest science available at the time.  The report’s Topic 3: “Flux and Sources of Nutrients in the Mississippi–Atchafalaya River Basin” was a detailed examination of the types and sources of nutrients, and it found that approximately 35% of the nitrogen flowing in the Mississippi River came from two states representing only 9% of the the entire Mississippi River basin - Iowa and Illinois.

According to the National Corn Growers of America 2007 World of Corn site (latest production data is for 2006), these two states account for almost 40% of the nation’s annual production of corn, and according to AgriView, corn production is estimated to be 25% higher this year than last, or 13.3 billion bushels in 2007-2008 vs. 10.5 billion in 2006-2007.  In the period measured by the USGS, 1980-1996, the average nitrogen flux was 1.3 million metric tons of nitrogen, 35% of which came from Iowa and Illinois.  Over the same period, the average amount of corn grown in the US was 7.6 billion bushels, or just less than half of the estimated number of bushels for this year.  If we assume that about the same proportion of nitrogen will go into the Mississippi River this year as did back then (this is my attempt to roughly account for improvements in agriculture since 1996), then the total nitrogen released this year will be approximately 2.28 million metric tons, or 1.75x the average from 1980 to 1996.  And the 1980-1996 nitrogen measurements were already 30% higher than measured historical values from 30 years previously - the new values are 228% higher than historical values.

The dead zone in the Gulf of Mexico is already about 7,000 square miles, and while that’s not the largest area on record, if we continue to dump multiple megatons of excess nutrients from our cornfields into the Mississippi River, we’ll eventually kill off one of our most valuable fisheries in the process.  Unfortunately, it’s likely going to come down to a tradeoff between politically expedient corn ethanol subsidies for Iowa and Illinois and the economic benefits of a viable fishery for Louisiana and Mississippi.

Thanks to Mike “Ubertramp” Pecaut for forwarding this one on.

[Crossposted:  Scholars & Rogues]

Friday, December 07, 2007

DOE Revisits National Interest Electric Transmission Corridors

In October, the U.S. Department of Energy (DOE) declared two large swaths of the country “National Interest Electric Transmission Corridors” (NIETCs).  In these regions, the federal government would have the authority to overrule local and state regulations and control and to grant permits for the construction of transmission lines even over the objections of the state and local governments.  Needless to say, there was a dramatic uproar in the regions declared NEITCs, and I wrote a four part examination of the Energy Policy Act of 2005 (EPAct) that gave the DOE this authority over at Scholars & Rogues.

In response to the uproar from the public and several states, the DOE has agreed to re-open hearings on the designations of the Mid-Atlantic and Southwest NEITCs.  The Pennsylvania Utilities Commission even filed suit in federal court to block implementation of the corridors, saying that they were “beyond the scope intended by Congress (from link above)”.  Given the language of the EPAct itself, there is literally nothing to prevent the DOE from doing exactly what it did, protestations about how “[t]he final northeastern NIETC designation plan was not altered from a draft plan released earlier this year...” notwithstanding.

Revisiting the decisions is good politics for the DOE - it shows that listen to public comment even though the EPAct doesn’t actually require them to do so.  But just because it’s revisited doesn’t mean that the decisions will be scaled back or reversed.  In fact, there’s no way to ensure that the DOE won’t conclude that they need to expand the NIETCs due to updated information on where power is required.  The vague and overly-broad language of the EPAct itself is the problem here, not the designations themselves.  Had the EPAct been better written, the DOE wouldn’t have been given overly broad powers in the first place.  And attacking the NIETCs in federal court will almost certainly fail for the same reason - Congress gave the DOE this authority, and nothing in the act itself places sufficient limitations on the DOE in how they exercise their new authority.

The states and counties who have been designated part of one of the two NIETCs would be best served if they lobbied their various federal legislators to have the blanket authority given to the DOE scaled back, something that I have yet to see evidence of.

If you’re interested reading my original series on the EPAct and National Interest Electric Transmission Corridors, “Electric transmission lines, eminent domain, and the consequences of vague and broadly worded laws,” see the links below:

The Designation of National Interest Electric Transmission Corridors
Construction Permitting in National Interest Electric Transmission Corridors
Rights of Way and Exercising Eminent Domain
The Way Out - Regional Transmission Siting Agencies; and Conclusions

Tuesday, December 04, 2007

The controversy surrounding The Golden Compass has all but guaranteed blockbusterhood

I’m an avid reader and movie watcher, and I enjoy the occasional escape into things that aren’t hard to read or understand.  This is why I’ve enjoyed the Harry Potter novels and why, when it was suggested to me a number of years ago, I read the entire His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman.  The first novel, The Golden Compass, has been made into a movie that officially hits the theaters this Friday.  And, if the sheer volume of news about the movie is any indication, it will be the blockbuster of the 2007 holiday season.

The reason is that a number of Christian groups (mostly Catholic) have demanded that their adherents boycott the movie, and in so doing have given it a massive amount of free news publicity.  Have these people learned nothing?

Seriously, the best way to guarantee that people expose themselves to something is to ban, boycott, or otherwise protest it.  The more people who hate something and want you to hate it too, the more other people want to figure out what all the fuss is about.  It’s human nature.

And so the Catholic League, iPrayToday.com, and at least one Christian talk radio host have demanded that no-one see the movie.  News outlets as diverse as France’s AFP, The National Catholic Reporter, the Arab Times Online, CNN, and and The LA Times are reporting about the controversy surrounding the movie as much as they are about the movie itself.  A huge number of commentaries, mostly in support of the movie, have been put out by supporters including several written by Catholics.  Two of the better one’s I’ve read are Salon’s “A moral ‘Compass’, written by Catholic mother Mary Elizabeth Williams, and The Boston Globe’s “God in the dust” by Catholic theologian Donna Freitas.

I’ve read the books, and there’s definitely an anti-organized religion and anti-authority theme to them.  There’s also no question that the Authority (the books’ version of God, albeit a false one of a sort - saying too much more would give away too much of The Amber Spyglass) is the bad guy and that he is dead by the end of the trilogy.  But personally, I’m right there with both Ms. Williams and Ms. Freitas - if your faith can’t stand up to being questioned, it’s not much of a faith.

Unfortunately, while all this press has given The Golden Compass a lot of free publicity, it’s also given the Catholic League a lot of free press too, and that’s not necessarily a good thing.  Bill Donahue, the Catholic League’s spokesman, has a history of being anti-woman, anti-gay, and generally an over-wrought ultra-conservative blowhard (read a number of “good” Donahue quotes here).  People like Mr. Donahue thrive on attention like this, and in the process get more and more dangerous.  But in the process they open themselves up to eviscerating satire like that dished out by South Park in last season’s Easter episode, “The Hare Club for Men”.

But as someone who had outright forgotten that The Golden Compass was coming out this month, I’d like to thank the Catholic League et al for reminding me that I wanted to see it on the big screen.  And for this movie I’ll find a sitter....

[Crossposted:  Scholars & Rogues]

Friday, November 16, 2007

The Micro-Pundit: Bush - “Don’t bug me with those pesky facts!”

E.J. Dionne of the Washington Post has a great commentary on the budget and Iraq up today that I would like to point people to.  The quote that really grabbed me was this one:

Consider only this number: Interest costs on Iraq-related debt will be more than $23 billion for fiscal 2008. That sum is almost exactly the amount separating Bush and Congress on spending levels for the entire budget now being debated.

That is just plain wrong.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

NRG Energy files the first nuclear power building permit since 1978

Today, NRG Energy of Princeton, New Jersey, will file the first permit to build a new nuclear reactor in 29 years.  Not only that, but the permit actually covers two new reactors located at the Bay City, Texas nuclear plant.  And by filing first, NRG Energy gets to partake of the maximum benefits from loan guarantees, risk insurance, and tax credits available under the nuclear power provisions of the Energy Policy Act of 2005 (fact sheet from the Nuclear Energy Institute).  Considering that these benefits could guarantee loans of up to 80% of the cost of the project, up to $125 million in tax credits per year for the first 8 years of operation, and 100% coverage of all costs due to delays in licensing, legal fees, construction delays, etc. for the first two reactors, getting started ASAP makes a lot of economic sense for NRG Energy.

Now for some of the more interesting details.  The reactor that NRG wants to use is known as an advanced boiling water reactor, a Generation 3 reactor design that utilizes screw drives for the control rods for improved control of the reaction level (and thus the power level) over existing U.S. reactors, uses nuclear-grade, low carbon, cobalt-free steel to reduce the long term radioactivity of the reactor vessel and increase it’s strength, internal coolant circulation pumps that reduce the number of pipes and welds (and thus the amount of radiation leakage out of the reactor itself), fault tolerant instrumentation, negative air pressure containment that directs any small leakage to a gas treatment system (negative pressure is used to contain biological agents at ultra-secure disease research centers too), and automated servicing to reduce the amount of manual work and thus radiation exposure.

If you look closely at the reactor image from GE Energy, one thing you’ll notice is this type of reactor doesn’t have is a passive safety system, i.e. a system that requires you break the laws of physics for it to melt down.  However, the control rods drive system has triple-redundant backup diesel generators.  But the reactor’s safety features have been designed so that the reactor will be safe for 72 hours without controller intervention even if something goes terribly wrong.  And given that there are already four reactors operating in Japan, the first operating since 1996, another three under construction in Taiwan and Japan, and nine more planned in Japan alone, the common design will keep the construction costs reasonable and delays to a minimum.

Unfortunately, NRG and it’s competitors may face a significant new hurdle.  Because it’s been so long since the last nuclear reactor permit has been issued, the NRC doesn’t have enough experienced people to effectively and efficiently process new permit requests.  So the NCR contracted out some of this function to Information Systems Laboratories, a company that does nuclear safety modeling and analysis along with providing other services to state and federal authorities and multinational companies. But according to Representative Ed Markey (D-MA), there’s a chance that the NRC’s contract to ISL may violate the Federal Activities Inventory Reform Act of 1998.  The FAIR Act requires that the federal government not contract out “inherently governmental functions”.  Unfortunately, given the definition of what an inherently governmental function is, and what the exclusions include, it may take a court to make the ultimate decision:

(B) Functions included.--The term includes activities that require either the exercise of discretion in applying Federal Government authority or the making of value judgments in making decisions for the Federal Government, including judgments relating to monetary transactions and entitlements. An inherently governmental function involves, among other things, the interpretation and execution of the laws of the United States so as--
(i) to bind the United States to take or not to take some action by contract, policy, regulation, authorization, order, or otherwise;
(ii) to determine, protect, and advance United States economic, political, territorial, property, or other interests by military or diplomatic action, civil or criminal judicial proceedings, contract management, or otherwise;
(iii) to significantly affect the life, liberty, or property of private persons;
(iv) to commission, appoint, direct, or control officers or employees of the United States; or
(v) to exert ultimate control over the acquisition, use, or disposition of the property, real or personal, tangible or intangible, of the United States, including the collection, control, or disbursement of appropriated and other Federal funds.

(C) Functions excluded.--The term does not normally include--
(i) gathering information for or providing advice, opinions, recommendations, or ideas to Federal Government officials; or
(ii) any function that is primarily ministerial and internal in nature (such as building security, mail operations, operation of cafeterias, housekeeping, facilities operations and maintenance, warehouse operations, motor vehicle fleet management operations, or other routine electrical or mechanical services).

Hopefully both the NRC, the nuclear power industry, and Congress will chart a middle ground here, one that permits the NRC to use a contractor to perform the “gathering information for or providing advice, opinions, recommendations, or ideas to Federal Government officials” but that requires the NRC to carefully vet the information and make the ultimate decision.  Time will tell.

On an unrelated note, though - I don’t see an exclusion in the FAIR Act of 1998 for the protection of State Department officials by Blackwater mercenaries.  Last I heard security wasn’t a “ministerial and internal” function of government....

Other sources not linked directly above:
Bloomberg.com - NRG Files First Full Application for U.S. Reactor (Update3)
NYTimes.com -Approval Is Sought to Build Two Reactors in Texas
CNNMoney - US Rep: NRC Outsourcing Nuclear Permitting May Be Illegal

[Crossposted:  Scholars & Rogues]

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Nanotech Roundup - 9/15/07

Silver is a potent antibiotic - this has been known for literally millenia.  And nanotechnology researchers have discovered that nanometer-sized silver particles are dramatically more effectively at weakening the cell membrane and disrupting enzymes that transport nutrients around the cell.  Unfortunately, pure silver nanoparticles react with their environment too much, and the unique nano-scale properties are destroyed when that happens.

Thankfully, though, antibiotics researchers are working to add a totally new class of nanotech-based antibiotic particle to the arsenal - single-walled carbon nanotubes (SWCNTs).

[B]y using highly purified, pristine SWCNTs with a narrow diameter distribution, they demonstrated that direct cell contact with SWCNTs can cause severe membrane damage and subsequent cell inactivation of E. coli bacteria.

Because silver particles and SWCNTs have antibiotic properties that are fundamental to the physics of how they interact with the cell, it’s much harder for bacteria to develop resistance.  And so, as the toxic properties of various kinds of nanotech are investigated to determine if they’re dangerous to human health and/or the environmental, we need to remember that sometimes toxicity isn’t a bad thing.  (See also this article on antibiotic SWCNTs)

Sometimes the potential for carbon-based nanotechnology makes it seem like buckyballs (C₇₀), carbon nanotubes, and graphene are all that’s really going on in nanotech.  Because nanotechnology is an enabling technology that makes almost every other technology you use better, it’s good sometimes to learn about other nanotechnologies as well.  In this case, researchers at the Georgia Institute of Technology have demonstrated the creation of metal oxide nanotubes that may easily mesh with existing electronics technologies and manufacturing processes.  These nanotubes may have properties similar to that of CNTs, but they may also have properties that are unique to the precise materials that make up the nanotubes (AlSiGeO, in this particular case).  Even more impressive, though, is the fact that the production of these nanotubes takes place in water, and varying the pH, water temperature, elements and concentrations in solution, etc. makes the production of these tubes very simple and easily controlled.  For now, at least, CNTs require very hot carbon plasmas (hundreds or thousands of degrees C), making metal oxide nanotubes very attractive where their properties will mesh up the the desired technological improvements.

Tying global heating and the climate to nanotechnology may seem like a stretch, but to give you an idea of the potential reach of nanotechnology, here’s an article about a company (Ecology Coatings) that’s developed a nanotech process that enables it to reduce the amount of energy it takes to coat metal, plastic, electronics, etc. by 90%.  The reason?  The coatings can be cured using ultraviolet light instead of high-energy electric or natural gas furnaces, and the significant savings in factory floor area when the furnaces can be removed and the area reused.  In addition, since the coatings are cured in less than a minute, the process time is dramatically improved over existing coating methods.  These coatings don’t use solvents so they are minimally polluting, excess coating can be filtered and reused, and the coatings are especially good for automotive and plumbing coatings, where the current processes require dangerous solvents and are very fragile.  Saving energy and boosting efficiency saves carbon emissions, and that’s good for addressing global heating.

Heading back into electronics for a moment, IBM has illustrated lab-bench operations of a single molecule switch and made the first measurements of the “magnetic anisotropy” of a single atom

Finally, researchers in Switzerland have created nano-scale particles of Portland cement that have the potential to harden in minutes.  The new nano-cement won’t work for most current applications because it’s too porous to create strong cement, but the researchers are confident that this is a problem that will be solved with more research.  Concrete that hardens in minutes and has stopped reacting in an hour or two has the potential to dramatically increase the rate of construction of pretty much every concrete structure in existence which, if you look around you, is pretty much everything constructed these days.  Instant road bed, anyone?