New Man New Whorld

Alan Jannister

Description

Wizzo is your archetypal computer nerd. Something of a misfit and lacking in the finer social skills, he spends most of his life in the comfort of his room hacking into the World Wide Web looking for secrets that interest him. His only other passion is Sara, who appears disinterested. So when Sara asks him for help, Wizzo feels duty bound to protect her from what he feels certain is an internet predator.All is not what it seems as Wizzo's life is turned upside-down when he finds himself drawn into a world where the most ambitious scientific project imaginable is underway. When Wizzo is invited to join the organisation running the project, he's about to learn one of the world's biggest secrets and one he could never have ever imagined. However will Wizzo's determination to help Sara jeopardise everything?

Sujets

• Science fiction

Informations

• Publié par: 2QT Limited (Publishing
• Date de parution: 30 janvier 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781910077443
• Langue: English

Extrait

New Man
New Whorld


An Alternative Future




Alan Jannister









2QT Limited (Publishing)



First ebook Edition published 2015 by
2QT Limited (Publishing)
Settle, North Yorkshire, United Kingdom BD24 9RH
ISBN 9781910077443
Copyright © Alan Jannister 2014
The right of Alan Jannister to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988


All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that no part of this book is to be reproduced, in any shape or form. Or by way of trade, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser, without prior permission of the copyright holder.




Cover Design by
Dale Rennard

Illustrations supplied by
Shutterstock.com


A CIP catalogue record for the paperback version of this book is available
from the British Library
ISBN 9781910077351













This is my first attempt at writing. The learning curve was almost vertical and I owe a deep debt of gratitude to my wife, Joanne, for her patience when reading it, and all her valuable suggestions that made the text more like English.

I would also like to thank Tim and Trudy whose generosity provided me with the small notebook computer that enabled me to be creative as the mood took me.






INTRODUCTION

Like so many other young lads in the Sixties my two best friends, Alan, Peter and I spent a lot of time discussing topics, ranging from life after death to space travel and ESP. It was a time when the world thought of new beginnings, particularly in the light of the pending Apollo Moon landing. These thoughts were sometimes overshadowed by the threat of imminent doom, mainly because of the Cold War and a possible nuclear holocaust.
As we stumbled into the Seventies, often fuelled by copious amounts of beer, particularly on my part, these debates became more lively and adventurous. One phrase which kept cropping up was a favourite of Peter’s and I suspect that he used it to put everything into perspective. He would say, ‘We’re not here really,’ and I would often think that, if he was right, then how futile our day-to-day lives were. Peter’s phrase was almost prophetic and could have been the foundation stone of the Matrix ; but if we are not here then where are we? This thought, along, with others, would rumble on in my mind and would be further stimulated by advances in science and technology.
In these early years of the 21 st century, more and more voice is being given to the inevitability that there is life out there beyond our solar system. Our problem is how to go and pay it a visit. Our nearest neighbouring star, Proxima Centauri (part of the Alpha Centauri system), is 4.24 light years away, or to put it in terrestrial distance 4.24x186000x60x60x24x365 miles. (I have ignored an adjustment for the leap year and hope I will not offend the purist who might demand an exact calculation.) Imagine how long that would take with today’s propulsion systems. Even with ion propulsion systems, which could give us speeds of 100,000 miles per hour (67 times the speed of Concorde), we are looking at a journey time of nearly 30,000 years. There’s no doubt that, without the possibility of warp drives or wormholes to help us, there is little chance of mankind travelling so far. If he did, it is likely he would have nothing to come back to. He could even find his journey was pointless because Proxima Centauri had died long before his departure in the first place.
One suggestion has been the idea of Space Arks, something like a living, self-sufficient colony which breeds successive generations on board that will ultimately become the colonists of the new world. But who do you select to go on this epic voyage? Will those left behind accept their fate?
There are few things that we can take for granted. Our own mortality is one, and our scientists are speaking more often about the inevitable demise of our solar system. Our sun has a finite life and if we stay here, our future is governed by its longevity. That is without the very possible collision event, where one of the hitherto unknown rocks coursing through the cosmos happens to be in the same place at the same time as us.
If we accept that man cannot physically go the distance to another world, perhaps we will have to consider other solutions to the problem of our continuance.
This story could be one such solution.





0000 0001

The room was typical of most teenager’s, with posters of popular bands on the wall, a few discarded clothes on the floor and a small TV hanging on a wall bracket with a mini stereo system on a shelf below. CDs, magazines and all of the other paraphernalia associated with youth completed the picture. Pride of place was awarded to a computer terminal that allowed access to all of the sites you might expect a young adolescent to surf on the Internet, although his access to it was always strictly controlled.
He reached out and clicked off the alarm clock a fraction of a second before it started to ring. He didn’t know why he needed to have an alarm since he always managed to silence it a split-second before it went off. He looked around the room absorbing every last detail, which was a routine he performed every day like a preparation for the events to come. Today, though, was going to be different; he had decided to show them he had the ability to make up his own mind about things. His life so far had not been like any other and he was not going to follow the path demanded of him any more. He was going to go where he wanted and see the places that interested him without reference to some pre-planned list.
Within minutes he was ready and heading out to the communal area. He felt uplifted and full of determination to follow through with his plan ‒ when suddenly things seemed wrong. His senses didn’t feel right and his vision started to decline. As he looked around, the images distorted and the colours merged while small square blocks appeared in front of him, some of them joining together to form bigger ones. He wondered if he was dying and, with that single thought, the situation seemed to deteriorate.
Symbols invaded his brain, some of which he recognized from mathematical equations, but others were complete nonsense to him. In the far reaches of his mind he was aware of text that looked like a coded message but written in a way he could not decipher. He liked puzzles and had been expert at unravelling things like this but this puzzle was not like anything he had encountered before. It was different and it shone like a beacon, almost beckoning him.
His last moments this time were filled with total confusion and he felt as though a voice was calling him. He had a feeling like a madness, where everything he had learned had been put into a pot and stirred. Nothing related to anything else and he was certain he was to blame because he had dared to rebel against his destiny. As his despair took hold, everything stopped. His mind simply shut down as blackness descended upon him.
***
A young female researcher sat back in her chair and cursed. This was another test that had resulted in failure. A lot more work was required before the boy could be let loose to roam as he pleased.





0000 0010

A stark white light filled the space as Philip Riley looked around the room with an air of satisfaction; this was his concept and he had followed it through to its current status. Not that there had been much opposition, apart from the departments controlling expenditure. Today would be another good test of the system’s features, which would prove to the money men that it had all been worth it.
He walked around the large, slightly curved table that dominated the floor area. There were seventeen seating positions down one side facing a wall that looked similar to the video walls so often seen in large conference facilities ‒ but this one was different. It could be divided into any number of sections to display various images, or it could project a single shot measuring six metres long by three metres high with intense clarity. This wasn’t just high definition; this was better quality than the best pair of human eyes. The term video wall was misleading; the wall was organic and could respond to the changes in an image quicker than any electronics. It had cost millions to develop and he had pushed hard to get this part of the project funded. Data feeds from all over the world were directed into this room and a number of others like it across the globe, and each one could be considered as a separate self-contained entity, or part of a whole structure and any number of subdivisions in-between.
There was a comfortable, high-backed, leather chair at each of the seating positions and a cut-glass carafe of chilled fresh water on the table in front of each place. A touch-sensitive writing pad allowed the seated person to make notes that would be recorded by the system, ready for recall at any terminal anywhere in the world which had the correct level of access. When a delegate was in attendance, their notes would appear on their own small flat-screen display and also on the wall if they wanted to use them during their turn to speak.
There was no need for anything else since the operating system recorded everything said and every