Meta-Noemics

By Pete Ingham

A short story collection of sci-fi works.

A mixture of action, drama and thriller stories predominantly within a cyberpunk world, think Neuromancer, Blade Runner, that kind of setting.

The usage of ‘Meta-Noemics’ in relation to the subject matter in this collection of science fiction shorts, while not always the central theme, is certainly a dynamic that niggles under the surface. So the title,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pete Ingham
• Release date: Aug 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465756886

Pete Ingham

I'm a writer/sage/word-smith/linguistic architect. I completed my degree in 2009 achieving a BA 1st (Hons) in Computer Games Design: Story Development and since then I have worked as a Production Assistant, researcher, freelance writer/designer and for SEGA in research and development. The work and projects I have been involved in has covered numerous areas in media such as film, TV, animation and games. I have a passion for contemporary Fantasy and Cyberpunk which has manifested itself into several Screenplays and Novels now in different stages of development. Thanks peteingham.com

Book preview

Meta-Noemics

Pete Ingham

Meta-Noemics

Pete Ingham

Copyright © Peter Ingham 2011

Published at Smashwords

To my family and friends.

Contents

Preface

Medium of Exchange

More Human than Human

Economical Cross-Pollinisation

Digital Bath

Autoscopy

MachiNation

Preface

Meta-

(Combining form)

1. Denoting a change of position or condition

- Metamorphosis

- Metathesis

2. Denoting position behind, after, or beyond

(Merriam Webster)

Noemics

1. The science of the understanding; intellectual science

(Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary.)

Nobody ever reads these—correction, I never read these, or skim over them at best, and now, writing one it feels somewhat ironic. The thought of filling two pages with ‘Lorem Ipsum’ filler text did cross my mind, but I reminded myself that not everyone might be as ungrateful. In penance, I went back to some of my favourite books and read the pages, and I must say, there was some interesting stuff in there. Anyway...

The usage of ‘Meta-Noemics’ in relation to the subject matter in this collection of science fiction shorts, while not always the central theme, is certainly a dynamic that niggles under the surface. So the title, not for the sake of having something that, for lack of a better word, sounded ‘pretty’, actually relates to the themes contained within these e-pages.

The purpose behind writing the book was primarily for the fun that goes with working on a piece of prose, generating ideas, observing them as they come to fruition and finally, editing and reediting the piece.

Also, because I have mental floodgate in place that breaks whenever I start to write short fiction, this being due to fact that I’ve always had a difficult time in trimming an idea and story down that can be digested in several thousand words. For some reason my brain works like a mad dog left off a leash, always attempting break out of its cage and go on some huge adventure.

Meta-Noemics was an attempt to improve on certain factors in my work, but also to create several pieces in a sub-genre that I rarely see out on the bookshelves. The sub-genre to science fiction being predominantly ‘Cyberpunk’, though some of the stories contained in here drift between more traditional sci-fi and fiction that is more contemporary.

Though there may be some discrepancy with ‘time’ they still align in some way to the central thematic explained above which was always going to be a driving point in the ethos of each story.

The ideas for each of the stories came from a myriad of sources, some by the thought of how ‘near future’ technology might be utilised, how AI affects a subjects’ notion of self and how our morals can become numbed by exposure to manmade elements.

Several different subjects are tackled, though it is ultimately up to the reader how these are interpreted, and what message, if any, they take from it. Primarily, I wanted to create a piece of writing that was entertaining, the naval gazing aspects included, more of a commentary on characters’ motivations throughout them.

There were various pitfalls in the writing process, writers block is the usual problem however as mentioned above, it was difficult to try and restrain what I was attempting to write and not let it grow out of control like a vicious ‘mind weed’.

Research influenced utilisation of technology in the work, but there is also aspects of artistic licensing throughout and consists of mostly of guesswork in the ways that certain technologies and advancements might be handled and disseminated.

There were also influences from current affairs work, advertising in particular and the use of the online medium for distributing advertisements and creating appeal and buzz in their work. Television also, in particular regards to their impressions of the market and how they are struggling, to some degree, to ‘pull in’ their respective demographics.

Most, if not all of the research was undertaken online, and without it, I feel that the genesis of ideas would have been stunted. This would have occurred because of my limited knowledge on subjects like nanotechnology and even more trivial understanding of subjects like property. There were too many sites to name unfortunately, but I would like to extend my thanks to sites such as Wikipedia, TVTropes, FutureForAll and CyberpunkReview, which were all instrumental in the writing process. I also must thank family and friends for their input and thoughts, which I am very appreciative of. There, I managed to roll everything in there with relative ease, and if you made it this far, I’m impressed and also grateful.

That’s about it.

Thanks.

Pete Ingham

Medium of Exchange

He awoke to the sound of a squawking handheld, knocked over a cheap bottle of whiskey, kick like a disgruntled mule, dregs spilling on the floor.

Yeah? He answered, checked the caller ID.

Get dressed Mr Finn, your services are required.

You got the wrong number pal. He chucked the handheld back on the bedside table, clinked against a battered lamp.

The phone didn’t let up, having an attention tantrum, illuminated blue stuttering, throwing light to the far reaches of the cramped bedroom. Denying the call, he switched it off, pulling the sheet back over his head.

Several minutes passed, body on the cusp of sleep once more, a shuffle of metal from the hallway stole respite away, jolt sent through his heart, hand going for the gun in the drawer. He crept over to the door, drawing it open with the barrel of the berretta, sights trained on the entrance, waiting for them to enter, determined not to be swayed by a show of force.

It gave way seconds later, splutter of sparks as the lock fell to the floor with a resounding clunk. A man in a finely tailored suit entered, two friends with him, the kind of friends that needed to turn sideways to enter a door.

First the wrong number and now the wrong address, not your day. Gun focused between the intruders temple.

It certainly isn’t Mr Finn. His friends reaching into their suits, fabric so tight against their skin it was almost like Lycra.

You should go.

I’m afraid I cannot, not until I’ve spoken to you.

The gun wavered in his hand, tempted to just unload the barrel, only way he was gonna get any sleep tonight.

Finn thumbed the hammer, bringing it back up and flicking the safety on. Headed back to the bedroom, motioning for them to follow, grabbing a robe off the wall and throwing it on, didn’t feel like talking in just his shorts, could get chilly.

Anchoring himself on the corner of the bed, hand reaching in the dark for the bottle he’d knocked over, clutching at air until the guy flicked the light on.

He drained it, burnt the back of his throat, but jumpstarted his internal clock.

What does the SKB want from me then? Haven’t been on their books for years.

There has been an incident. The man began; eyes roving round the room in indifference, like appraising an item of indeterminable value

That’s what you boys are for; they weren’t so keen on outsourcing when I was there.

No. He said, finger jabbing a bobble head doll on a desk, little object shivering dust as it rocked back and forth. But the Board took a vote, apparently my expertise does not extend as far as yours once did.

Finn chuckled, jabbing a cigarette between the creases of his upturned lips, That’s what they get for bringin’ them in from overseas; don’t know the lay of the land.

Quite.

Why’d the Board make the decision for this, why not the old man?

Mr Yosuro is unfortunately... not in a position to make decisions.

Finn pulled the lighter away from his smoke, eyebrow raised.

He’s dead, Mr Finn.

I got that. So what, the board makin’ you go round to ex-employees and tell’em?

We’re trying to keep it quiet, and like you said, I’m not... as familiar to this city as I would have hoped. So we require your services.

I’m not that guy anymore.

You are private, clients pay you to do a job for them, think of this as nothing more.

No. He dropped the cigarette into the whisky bottle, hissed when it found a recess of liquid. "I’m not that guy for the SKB, and that means I’m not the guy for you."

I’m afraid Mr Finn, as you well know, Finger gathering grime as it traced along a dresser, We never ask. Do the job, make some easy money, hire a maid.

Sounds like you’re tellin’.

I’m simply helping you come to a prompt decision.

He stepped out into the street, golden neon sign above projected through a distorted lens on the puddles below, must have been raining while he was sleeping. Pulling his jacket closer as a strong gust of wind funnelled in from the side street he felt the butt of the berretta jab into his rib, he was thankful for the protection, or at least, the illusion of it.

One of the heavies held the door of the sedan open, looking more than capable of ripping the hinge off and coldcocking him if he didn’t jump in double-time. Inside, shivering as his body adjusted to the sauna-like conditions of the vehicle, he lit up.

When’d he die? Finn started, the man opposite prodded one of the electric windows down on his side, allowing the smoke to escape.

Couple of hours ago.

You boy’s work fast.

"Indeed. We received a call from the proprietor of the Lilac Dream—"

He still into dead-heads then? Finn nodded, scribbling notes onto an electronic notepad, one part of the screen searching for the GPS coordinates.

He was, Mr Finn, and as it turned out, it was the death of him.

You don’t shit where you sleep.

Indeed. As I was saying, we received a call from a Mr Gant saying that he has found Yosuro-sama dead, in one of the rooms, appearing to have been throttled by one of the androids.

Finn pulled the cig from his mouth as if it had just set it on fire, Killed by one of them? Bullshit.

It certainly wasn’t... ‘bullshit’ Mr Finn, I have seen it myself.

Since when do dead-heads learn a trick like that?

He shook his head, "Trust me Mr Finn—they do—and it did."

So you’re still lookin’ for it, what about the tracer?

They were not included on installation.

Finn opened his own window, flicked the butt out, Not your day is it?

"It is not, that is why we wish