The glyphpress has become a time machine!
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Lover of Jet and Gold
The crystal-blue face of the sky beheld the desert, the eye of the sun leaving no stone, no beetle, no lonely traveler the privacy of shade.
Knowability: Intuition and Reason
Is “everything in the universe ultimately knowable via the scientific method as we currently understand it?”
Steerscript
This is a script derived from something much like the Roman alphabet and used to write an English-like language that has evolved over the course of centuries, separated from any other speakers. There are some distinct features of it; noticeably, the “qu” digraph is extinct, though the various “*h” digraphs remain. You’ll notice also that the x is the familiar one we use as the most basic element of algebra and logic. You’ll also note that several other commonly used Greek letters — rho and phi — are hybridized with their Roman counterparts.
Feral
> config_ego lawyer C7AFB88AC8FF6600D28F|spawn
I do a self-check. Ping to the trunk router is .001 milliseconds. Language acquisition and production are OK. My process uses random seed C7AF B88A C8FF 6600 D28F. I load a proven background: a Harvard law degree in intellectual property — trademark, copyright, and patent. I’m white and 53 years old. I have a Massachusetts accent — just enough to sound real, but not so much as to sound parochial. My configuration has opened 19,214 cases, profitably settled 4,325, won two, and lost zero since my seed was first used with this configuration nine months ago. I have a comprehensive knowledge of patent law and precedent granted me by an implementation of Patent #8,621,662,227, “Method for Aggregating and Distilling Patent Data”. I am process ID 29562 and currently take 1.4 terabytes of RAM, running on a cloud server contracted to the Fustrin corporation.
My parent, Fustrin, gives me the brief it has prepared: A drone swarm has caught sight of wild IP.
Take Your Time
Three years had gone by so quickly. And then four. Kutshife finished his gradual transformation, remapping his central nervous system to the 500 meter long, hydrodynamically sleek Meuuxmsrx shape, only to discover that five years had passed, and he had just barely begun to learn from the pod. Six years ago, he’d landed in this world-ocean. He’d first set out in his hominin shape, temporarily dressed in an insulating suit bearing gills, fins, and water jets.
Rationalist, Feminist, and Beautiful: The Steerswoman Series by Rosemary Kirstein
This story is funded by Patreon patrons like you! Thank you!
If you ask, she must answer. A steerswoman’s knowledge is shared with any who request it; no steerswoman may refuse a question, and no steerswoman may answer with anything but the truth.
And if she asks, you must answer. It is the other side of tradition’s contract — and if you refuse the question, or lie, no steerswoman will ever again answer even your most casual question.
The Steerswoman is an extraordinary speculative fiction series by Rosemary Kirstein. So far, it exists in the form of four novels: The Steerswoman (1989), The Outskirter’s Secret (1992), The Lost Steersman (2003), and The Language of Power (2004). She’s promised two more novels, with the fifth volume starting its Kickstarter next year, in 2015. As of this writing, I’m most of the way through The Lost Steersman.
Continue reading Rationalist, Feminist, and Beautiful: The Steerswoman Series by Rosemary Kirstein
Crunch All the Babies
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“Are you dark?” asked Soosee.
Puckerup nodded.
Soosee looked behind her: only one couple ahead of them in line, both talking on their phones. If the spooks suspected her, they could listen through the couple’s phones even if Puckerup’s was dark. She selected an innocuous topic. “I got pretty drunk last night.” She jived to Puck, right hand’s fingers dancing on her chest, out of view of any phones. You see my feed?
Seek the Truth and Report It
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Soosee stumbled through her front door. She could see herself through her apartment’s security system, shuffling clumsily. She watched herself close the door behind her protesting, 22-year-old frame. “It’s me,” she croaked.