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The Super-Normal Wars

The Super-Normal Wars. by Kevin Williams

An incoherent tantrum of super-normal super-communicators, reflexes and authority. Tribal, feudal techno cults. BEWARE! Really, this reads like someone chowed down in the med cabinet blinded-folded for a while before writing it.

Copyright Sept 26th 2017 By Kevin Williams.

Shakespir License Statement Shakespir Edition. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Shakespir.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Art: autogen, modded.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and similarities to persons living or dead is a coincidence.

Canadian ISBN:978-1-988261-09-6

ISBN:9781370883523

Dedicated to John Bee. Proof this’d be an incoherent babble without him.

Author’s Note: Fan-mail, biz, complaints and suggestions to [email protected]

Kevin Williams is on Google+;

https://plus.google.com/100378461107020829233/posts

and https://www.Shakespir.com/profile/view/packrat2

He authors an SF series, Teddyhunter: (about runaway teddybear robots),

a few books of shorts, comics and the Aaron+Henna fantasy series.

chapter one power-games

Tribal-ghettos hadn’t changed; all power-games. Vapor-violent swarms that couldn’t keep the water running or do justice past lynch-mobs. Bus drivers got robbed so often no one would work there and the politics, policing and payoffs were all power-play corruption.

Next up? Feudal war-lords were loyal to their nobility and clan; they won’t pay for anything in the great-game. Not taxes, resources, waste, cleanup or product. Cost-cutters ruled, innovation suspect. Cheating on taxes, customers, staff and product was the rule. All the evil empire you could build, all they tolerated and the only thing that survived.

Long since reduced to whatever they could steal too; cherry-picking juniors and the slush-pile beat tech-pol research.

The turds? Entrails-readers were baffled by the plastic bits, tumors and fouler-than-usual odors from even the isolated factory-farm volunteers, but they knew better than rocking the boat without a paddle.

Dying in a hail of bullets was as religious as the clans ever got.

Then came the new grinder, holier than thou. AIs with thousands of life-times per night shift and more memory than god. These expert-sys’s had people to work with; so they built things that worked on people. Ads, elections and news-lies.

These were interesting, super-norm times. MSG, high fructose corn syrup, news with a purpose. Like roundup, popular or they killed you. Mandatory or forbidden. Big-bro with computers, full speed ahead and damn the side effects.

Meds, ed, justice and rel were all profit centers; redesigned for monkeys in a zoo. Blind to anything else, death-squads killed nat-docs, witnesses and opposition; they hunted leaks, squirts and drips with predictive programming.

Death by small plane crash was common. So was suicide by six warning shots in the back. Lynchmobs-for-profit justice, morality plays and witch-hunts.

Optimal self-sufficiency was now a sin, terrorist and illegal. You were tribe or you were devil. BB was always on and always poisonous.

One small change later, things started to evolve.

****

chapter two sea to shining snow-job

So Billy; y’ve never been to sea before…

Har! Rac’n air in our sails; turbot pans;

Anna hardtack to silly, boys. There’s game afoot.

Like Shakespeare in dialect; wondrous to behold.

Ahoy, maties.

The see? Hornswoggling boundary effects; ‘tis a curse on neuton’s laws.

Such physic as god intended, but known by no man. The fluid dynamic.

Or like the lass bound in the hold; the captn’s curse. Fadism as cold as a merchant’s heart, I’ll be bound.

Din’t ye know marx? Only that which serves royal purposes prospers; that be why we be here. The skunk works; the garage fix; the bounty of the high seas.

Shipped and grounded-out glory.

****

chapter three super-saviour props

Super-normal things fascinated babies; super-communicators stopped teenagers dead in their hormone-tracks.

By the time you hit twenty it was all reflexes. You’d seen it all before. Lazy, stupid and corrupt maybe, but it worked too.

Till things changed. Parasites, bad habits and burnouts killed you in mid-evil times. Over-indulgence and side-effects didn’t help the self-serving, self-promoting bullshiat now. Or solve the new admin-law problems.

Disco-clones, pop-tarts and AI-Ass was only the beginning of the super-normal war. Commercials and elections all had side effects; bent ones accumulated. Ethnic cleansing, done with AIs was one. Preemptively bad news. Nuts on the KB and TV.

Vanity and paranoia went hand in hand, dam-failures and pass-ions in the info-way.

****

chapter four mandatory summer sex scene

Domestic whine, bitch-snarl and pricing. For you dear; target, screwup or pressure.

Huh? Performance by unscrupulous politicos, that’s me. Deadwood-R-us.

Hon, this isn’t about getting done; it’s about what you can do tonight. CCC. Count, cure and concentrate. Count to three first.

I dunno, Hairy. Sounds weird to me. What’s the matter with missionary?

As weird as ‘please don’t rape me twice?’ My game tonight, hon.

Count is connect, open and goal. 1-2-3. One, ka-push your connect. Play politics with it. Where?

Hairy! Stop that!

Two is open. Accept, ask, work your magics from the throat. Relax.

Three is goal. Yours, mine, something good for both of is. Know.

I think I want to… WHOO! HAIRY!

Cure is this funny little oil I put right… Here. It does things to fungus, warts, bacteria… AND it’s slippery.

Hairy! No, not that! Hairy, Hairy, Hairy…

CCC. Then we concentrate. Count, I switch systems, count again. Like this.

‘Oh, a dear! Hello there!’

That’s a Marvin-the-martian voice. HEY!

Count. Connect, accept, goals. ‘Say, are those q-t-36 explosive space modulators?’

Marvin’s a perv, he likes to play. Just know the systems are there, ok?

HAIRY! Stop! MAARVin!

Ka-push from your chest, play oily nurse. ‘There supposed to be a massive ka-boom.’ Count one, two, three. Ruined, broken, trained. ‘Where’s the massive ka-boom?’

Your friends are a lot of fun, Hairy.

Yup. Ka-push. ‘Allo, Bebe. Ah, it’s love, sweet love, eh my little flower?’Count to three again. Ka-push.

Ah-ah-ah… Pepi? What’s ka-push? Do I get to use my new secret mind-powers?

Yah. Killing relatives for insurance money, finding out what trickle-down means by annoying your boss, being bottleneck. Everything, and I want the good stuff tonight.

Your weaponized sexing. Work your self.

****

h3.
p. chapter five AI-ai-ai O u.

The better plastic got the more it was like wood. The better AI got, the more entangled it became. And unfortunately, like people. This was not a good thing.

Gamers succeeded in pushing out talent in most orgs; psychopaths eventually took over from the camouflaged sociopaths, masters of disguise and fraud conning things.

Top-guns were not a good AI goal to shoot for. Programmers were long past being vague on how the systems worked, they were hooking up sensors with no idea what the input was for now. Stable, much?

Low methods, goals and results. The AI started working again. Sort of, after tweaking. And the AIs were getting more and more like people every day. People with a thousand years of doing the wrong thing the wrong way and hoping they survived.

****

chapter six dis-bond DB

Write access to all known med DBs. The latest tweaks to the AI; and goals known to only me and my mouse.

That’s one nice AI rat-fink, eh?

This was a full-service med-shop; a diag-lab. The doctor’s brother had bought it and pumped up the AI-IQ with all the deductible upgrades sucking up to traffic. Sixteen ways to sort a sample, yeah! Upgrades that needed a few years of real-time usage to get the bugs discovered and fixed, but that wasn’t my problem.

You orifice, me techie. I had wild-side AI now; AIs that did illegal, immoral and fattening things with hacks to everyone in the connected world.

Getting a nasty on felt good; and I had targets. There was a little list; they’d never be missed… More than a few grunts would be sorry they’d ever pissed me off. A doctor’s orders would prove it on their butts.

This AI could even find minority and family-specific diseases, then order samples dispensed. If it couldn’t find anything I could alter data.

I had a little list; they’ll never be missed… Girrrl-power! Turn it on and let the fink run amok. Cook till done, baby!

****

chapter seven floaters

Aye, the seer’s the thing. We be floaters becalmed in data-sea.

Currents away; the way of the sear, lads. The six polar seas, the secret charge, the day-star shadow. Gearing up for forbidden-state landfall.

Walking the Plank and netting www3.octopus.

Is your hooker pass-ion embedded yet? Here’s a line.

Why is albatross like a dusky maiden?

The right-wings see what they want to see; believe what they want to believe.

Grounded; death by sub-lime hail-o strike is no surprise.

Currency failure is key.

****

chapter eight cheerleaders

Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity; not so much persuasive as reflexes. The super-normal wars merely took out deadwood in re-run land.

In a sporting way; no one was forced to watch refs screw up. Web-heads got excommunicated when media finally went down prop for good; news that wasn’t, ethnic-cleansing hunts that didn’t, med+eds that retroed.

Legislated immunity for vacs, GMOs, factory-farms and related screwups was norm. The pardon-machine made congress look like canadians, looking good and running on empty.

Now-a-daze, Pizza made from gulton, nitrated meats and cheese was poisonous. Artificial bacon flavors, color and sugar were just the big, glistening super-normal finish.

Meanwhile, the 1% had UFOs and invasive species.

They made it into a new (and very profitable) disease. Sex-related, of course.

(Ah, in case you missed it… You’re screwed.)

Then the quirks+quarks start-up flashed.

END one.

(Nothing more till this sells, lads+lasses. Sorry ‘bout that.)

****

Cover Art: Autogen, modded.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and similarities to persons living or dead is a coincidence.

Canadian ISBN:

ISBN:9781370261062

Dedicated to John Bee. Proof this’d be an incoherent babble without him.

Author’s Note: Fan-mail, biz, complaints and suggestions to [email protected]

Kevin Williams is on Google+;

https://plus.google.com/100378461107020829233/posts

and https://www.Shakespir.com/profile/view/packrat2

He authors an SF series, Teddyhunter: (about runaway teddybear robots),

a few books of shorts, comics and the Aaron+Henna fantasy series.


The Super-Normal Wars

An incoherent tantrum of super-normal super-communicators, reflexes and authority. Tribal, feudal+techno cults. BEWARE! Really, this reads like someone chowed down in the med cabinet blinded-folded for a while before writing it. It includes pirates, mad techies, and a girl-friend.

  • ISBN: 9781370883523
  • Author: Kevin Williams
  • Published: 2017-09-23 18:20:09
  • Words: 1738
The Super-Normal Wars The Super-Normal Wars