The Tower

By Victor Storiguard

Into the Posthuman future...

Once more, Victor Storiguard takes us into his unique vision of the world after the Singularity...the moment when machines or machine/human hybrids obtain superintelligence, and leave the rest of us behind...

These stories explore all the wonderful and terrible possibilities of that, including:

The Tower, The Hunger— Professor Littelvert used a weapon from the distant past to destroy her enemies. But she never dreamed the price she'd pay..

Canapé —Hugh McCracken. Ph.D. and Department Head, was certain that the world adored him. It never occurred to him that the beautiful woman might love him for his brains alone...what there were of them.

The Hate Buyer — They were a nearly perfect species, but somewhere they'd gone wrong. Now they needed to buy their strongest emotions, like hatred, from those who didn't need them any more.

The Compass And The Rose — Jason Xavier Newton knew that humanity was about to leap upward in power and intelligence. He also knew that the Powers That Be would do everything they could to stop it from doing so. But, the Powers That Be didn't know how determined a man Dr. Newton could be.

Hydra — Rachel Moreau's life was in ruins. Her company had been acquired in a hostile takeover, her marriage was over, and her future was bleak. But then she met...the Hydra.

The Day Of The Mule — it was the far future, and humanity was dying out. But, the Scholar Kleon thought he had an answer. He just didn't know how little the men and women of the elite cared whether the race went extinct. In fact...

So don't miss these tales from the master of transhuman fiction, Victor Storiguard!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belfort & Bastion
• Release date: Dec 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386588566

Victor Storiguard

Victor Storiguard is a writer and editor whose career stretches back for over a quarter of a century. Originally a journalist writing about computers, he has now moved on to science fiction. Much of his work deals with "transhumanism" and "posthumanism." Critics have said that his tales combine hard technology with the appeal of fairy tales and myth.

Book preview

The Tower, The Hunger

1.

Professor Jenee Littelvert sat in the conference room and wondered what strange gift it was that the curious young man was going to bring them. The whole affair could only be described as odd. Indeed, odd beyond words.

She looked around her. At least she could take comfort in the man and the two women who sat at the table with her. It was good to know that she had the support and friendship of such solid colleagues in this troubled time, so soon after the disquieting death of old Graystock. To her left was Dean Pencilo Koifisch, a titan in his field, specialist in the Early Days of the Atonement Theocracy. He'd been in the department since time immoral. Everyone respected him. Well, everyone who mattered, anyway. If, on occasion, an outsider referred to him as a pompous ass with a god-complex, that was only envy at work.

And to her right, the two newcomers, the young Turks in the department, Professors Ivy Rizanker and Eva Flemgonze. They were young, daring, always ready and eager for a fight. She admired them. They would be great additions to the faculty. Rizanker's first book, Enamels: The Role of Female Centered Advertising Posters In The Promotion Of Dental Flossing Technology In The 25th Century, had been extremely well reviewed in all the journals. Meanwhile, Flemgonze's Ph.D. dissertation on Race, Class, and Gender as a factor in the manufacture of hemorrhoid preparations in the late 2200s was extremely promising. And both the young women had graduated from Merica University in Nyork. In fact, they were members of the Academic Sisterhood Program (ASP), an organization of young academics that was all the rage at the big Coastal colleges.

And....and!...they had social standing. They were from upper class families. Indeed, they had names that could be traced to the Archducal lines. Admittedly, they were bar sinister links, but a Duke is a Duke.

The two women were whispering together. She wondered vaguely what they were talking about. Not that it really mattered. They were, technically, her subordinates. She was the acting chair of the department since Graystock had been put on administrative leave. But, she found it easiest to let them do as they pleased. Truth be told, she'd transferred more and more responsibility to the young duo. She let them do much that was actually her job. But, it was easiest, and they were willing.

There was a knock at the door of the conference room. Well, she thought, we begin.

At her signal, the graduate student they were using as an aide opened the door. Outside, standing stiffly, almost at attention, was Lashar Fithaga, old Graystock's former graduate assistant. He was unsmiling, ramrod straight, dressed as somberly as an undertaker in a suit and four-in-hand. Under one arm, he carried an ornate wooden box.

She watched him enter. She didn't care for him, really. Though she couldn't say why. There was just something unsettling about him. He seemed cold, somehow. Even a little reptilian. She realized that she'd never seen him smile.

Besides, what kind of a name was Fithaga? Probably something immigrant. And therefore suspect.

Koifisch, as committee chair, inclined his head, thus giving Fithaga permission to seat himself on the other side of the table. He did so, stiffly, putting the box in front and to one side of him. Its lid and sides were covered with complex carvings and images. 

What's on it? She peered across the distance between them. The images swam before her, then... Dragons, that's it! The box was covered with carved dragons, plus horned demons, claw-fingered ogres, giant worms with great teeth, and other monsters.

Koifisch began the proceedings. Your purpose here, Sir?

Fithaga nodded courteously and then spoke, "Dean Koifisch ...Chair Littelvert...professors...thank you for seeing me. It was kind of you to take the time. Particularly given the difficulties regarding my late...mentor."

Littelvert stiffened. That was a bit close to the bone. Graystock hadn't been their dearest friend, no. In fact, his death...the heart attack...had probably saved him from dismissal, if not criminal proceedings. But it was hardly good form to say so. That is not pertinent to this conversation, she said, rebuking him.

Fithaga seemed not to hear her. However, it is my final duty to Professor Graystock to deal with his effects. I have elected to present them to you. He opened the box beside him and from its depths extracted a tattered notebook and a metal object of some sort. Again, she couldn't see it clearly enough to tell what it was. This is all that remains of the Professor's work.

Everyone on the panel stared. Finally, Littelvert spoke. All of it?

Sadly, yes. Before his death, the Professor directed that his notes, papers, and unpublished manuscripts be destroyed.

You could almost hear the collective intake of breath around the room. All of his notes? Every bit of it? Years of labor gone? All the research he'd done in the ruins of Kambritche and Mitt? He had become the pariah of the department, yes, but still, all that work...gone?

Fithaga's cold eyes sought them out, each in turn. Yes. All gone. I, myself, fed them to the fire in his study. That was his command.

She sighed. What vandalism!

I should confess, Fithaga continued, it was the Professor's intention that these also be destroyed. He indicated the notebook and the device. However, he did not specifically say so. He merely assumed that I would include them in his general instructions.

Again, he looked at them. Littelvert felt a chill when his eyes were on her. This was a rare error on his part. I am bound, you see, only by the most explicit directions. Such is my make up. You might say that it's just the way I was built.

Koifisch gaped at him in stunned silence. Flemgonze and Rizanker engaged in another bout of frenzied whispers. Finally, it was Littelvert who spoke. Why...are you giving them to us?

For the first time in her life, she saw him smile. Because, he answered, I think you, more than anyone, deserve them. He passed the notebook and the piece of machinery to the graduate student. Please give this to the panel, he said. The student carried them gingerly to Koifisch.

Both these, Fithaga continued, relate to Professor Graystock's excavations in the area of the old city of Kambritche, along the banks of the Riva Sharles. Another inexplicable smile. "Ahluv thoss mudee wahturs."

Pardon me? she asked, confused.

"Sorry. It is a line from an ancient song. Pre-Collapse English.