Sunlight Through The Shadows Volume III, Issue 1 Feb 1995 Welcome........................................Joe DeRouen Editorial: Changes.............................Joe DeRouen Staff of STTS............................................. Special Survey for STTS Readers........................... >> --------------- Monthly Columns ---------------------<< STTS Mailbag.............................................. Quick Tips and Fixes...........................Joe DeRouen The Sports Page............................Thomas Van Hook ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ Advertisement-Channel 1 BBS >> --------------- Feature Articles --------------------<< Hula Hoops and Tinker Toys.................Nancy VanWormer ÿ Advertisement-Exec-PC BBS >> ------------------- Reviews -------------------------<< (Software) Heretic.............................Joe DeRouen (Software) Al Michaels Hardball III........Thomas Van Hook (Music) Out of the Silence/Yanni...........Thomas Van Hook (Music) Hell Freezes Over/The Eagles.......Thomas Van Hook (Music) We Salute You/ACDC.................Thomas Van Hook (Music) Diary Madman/Ozzy Osbourne.........Thomas Van Hook (Book) Shadow Oak King/Courtway Jones.....Thomas Van Hook (Book) The Rose Sea/Sterling & Lisle......Thomas Van Hook (Book) Fire In the Mist/Holly Lisle.......Thomas Van Hook (Book) Red Dwarf: Infinity../Naylor.......Thomas Van Hook ÿ Advertisement-T&J Software >> ------------------- Fiction -------------------------<< The Beacon..................................L. Shawn Aiken Experiment........................................Ed Davis ÿ Advertisement-Chrysalis BBS >> ------------------- Poetry --------------------------<< The Wind............................................Tamara The Human Tide.............................Daniel Sendecki Monday, 9:07 pm................................J. Guenther Wrong Side of the Bridge...................Thomas Van Hook Nevermore...................................Author Unknown >> ------------------- Humour --------------------------<< Top Ten List...................................Joe DeRouen ÿ Advertisement-The Blue Horizon Event >> --------------- Advertisements ----------------------<< Channel 1 BBS Exec-PC BBS T&J Software Chrysalis BBS The Blue Horizon Event >> ----------------- Information -----------------------<< How to get STTS Magazine.................................. ** SPECIAL OFFER!! **..................................... Submission Information & Pay Rates........................ Advertiser Information (Businesses & Personal)............ Contact Points............................................ Distribution Sites........................................ Distribution Via Networks................................. End Notes......................................Joe DeRouen Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine Vol III No. 1 Feb. 1995 ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü ³ ³ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ßÛßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßÛß ³ ³ From: ³ Dallas, TX ³ ¯¯¯ÄÄßÛÄÒÄÄÄÖÄ¿ÄÒÄÂÄÖÄ¿ÄÛßÄ> ³ ³ Joe DeRouen ³ February 14th ³ ¯¯¯ÄÄßÛĺÄÄĺijĺijÄÇÄÄÄÛßÄ> ³ ³ 3910 Farmville Dr. ³Valentine's Day³ ¯¯¯ÄÄßÛÄÐÄÙÄÓÄÙÄÓÄÙÄÓÄÙÄÛßÄ> ³ ³ Dallas, TX. 75244 ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ßÛ USA 32› Ûß ³ ³ ßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛß ³ ³ ³ ³ ³ ³ ³ ³ ³ ³ To: ³ ³ STTS Reader ³ ³ 123 Generic Ave. ³ ³ ÛßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßÛ Anytown, USA 10101 ³ ³ Û HAPPY Û ³ ³ Û VALENTINE'S DAY Û ³ ³ ÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛ ³ ³ JD ³ ³ ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ Welcome Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows magazine! In this issue, as well as in the future, STTS will strive to bring you the best in fiction, poetry, reviews, article, and other assorted reading material. STTS Magazine has no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative concepts, and the unique execution of those concepts. STTS wouldn't have been possible without the aid, support, and guidance of three women: Inez Harrison, publisher of Poetry In Motion newsletter. Her's was the first electronic magazine I ever laid eyes upon, and also the first such magazine to publish my work. She's given me advice, and, more importantly, inspiration. Lucia Chambers, publisher of Smoke & Mirrors Elec. Magazine and head of Pen & Brush Network. She gave me advice on running a magazine, encouragement, and hints as to the kind of people to look for in writers. Heather DeRouen, my wife. Listed last here, but always first in my heart. She's proofread manuscripts, inspired me, listened to me, and, most importantly, loved me. Never could I find a better woman to live life by my side, nor a better friend. Now that that's said and done... Again, welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine! I hope you enjoy it. Joe DeRouen Editorial: Changes . . . Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved In it's continuing dedication to being a reflection of the time in which it exists, STTS Magazine is going through changes. In addition to the Readroom.Toc and straight ASCII format that STTS brings to you now, we're in the process of adding a graphics/sounds version as well. We're also changing things around a little here and there, in an attempt to further streamline the magazine. We'l be adding features you've requested as well as ditching parts of the magazine that just haven't caught on. Stay tuned for further developments! Joe DeRouen The Staff and Contributing Writers of Sunlight Through The Shadows ------------------------------------------------------------------ The Staff --------- Joe DeRouen............................Publisher and Editor L. Shawn Aiken.........................Assistant Editor Heather DeRouen........................Book Reviews Bruce Diamond..........................Movie Reviews Tamara.................................House Poet Thomas Van Hook........................Poetry Editor Joe DeRouen publishes, edits, and writes for STTS magazine. He's had poetry and fiction published in several on-line magazines and a few paper publications as well. He's written exactly 1.5 novels, none of which, alas, have seen the light of publication. He attends college part-time in search of that always-elusive english degree. In his spare time, he enjoys reading, running his BBS, collecting music, playing with his five cats, singing opera, hunting pseudopods, and most importantly spending time with his beautiful wife Heather. L. Shawn Aiken dropped out of college when he realized that they couldn't teach him the two things he wanted to do; live successfully, and write. He had to find out these things all by himself on the road. Thus he became a road scholar. After spending his life hopping country to country, state to state, he now feels confident in his abilities and is working on his literary career. His main endevour is to become successful in the speculative fiction area, but he enjoys writing all forms of literary art. Heather DeRouen writes software for the healthcare industry, CoSysOps Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS, enjoys playing with her five cats, cross-stitching, and reading. Most of all, she enjoys spending time with her dapper, charming, witty, and handsome (not to mention modest) husband Joe. Heather's help towards editing and proofreading this magazine has been immeasurable. Bruce Diamond, part-time pseudopod and ruler of a small island chain off the coast of Chil‚, spends his time imitating desk lamps when he isn't watching and critiquing movies for LIGHTS OUT, his BBS movie review publication (now syndicated to over 20 boards). Recently, Bruce became the monthly movie critic for VALLEY REVIEW MAGAZINE, published out of Pennsylvania. LIGHTS OUT, now two years old, is available through the Rime or P&B Networks by dropping a note to Joe DeRouen, courtesy of Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS. The magazine will soon be available through Fido file request and Internet FTP. In the Dallas area, Bruce's distributor is Jay Gaines' BBS AMERICA (214-994-0093). Bruce is a freelance writer and video producer in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. There is very little known about Tamara, and she prefers to let it remain that way. She's a woman of mystery and prefers to remain hidden in the shadows of the BBS world. (Enigmatic, don't you think?) Thomas Van Hook resides in Dallas, where he works as a contract employee for the Federal Reserve Automation Services. Having served eight years in the USAF, he is happy to finally be free and able to pursue the dreams of his heart. At the age of 29, he is looking forward to many new adventures and experiences within the realms of the Elven kind. He enjoys reading, writing, sports of all kinds, his son Corey and the attentions of any Elven women that seem interested (not necessarily in that order). Recently divorced, he is trying to restore order and balance to his life without losing what little is left of his sanity. Contributing Writers -------------------- Ed Davis...............................Fiction Sean A. Donahue........................Poetry J. Guenther............................Poetry Daniel Sendecki........................Fiction, Poetry Nancy VanWormer........................Feature Article Author Unknown.........................Poetry Ed Davis has been scribbling seriously or has at least enjoyed the electronic equivalent, since 1981. Prior to that, his literary efforts were confined to whatever scrap paper he could find on a work bench at break or lunch time, since he was spending his working hours making chips and money in the guise of a Journeyman Machinist. Married to the same lady for 26 years and with two children still hovering uncomfortably close to the nest, Ed continues to write down his thoughts electronically. Check out the file NEWBOOK.ZIP, available from STTS BBS, for more of his work. Sean A. Donahue does not have any publishing ties whatsoever. He has written over 4,192 poems. Only 38 have seen to survive the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. The time in which normal people say is spare, he tries to use to study for school at Texas Tech University. This is Sean's first published poem and he hopes that it is not his last. He has written exactly 428 novels all starting with "It was a dark and stormy night." None ofthem have gotten past the second paragraph. In whatever time he has left, he enjoys reading, riting, and rithmatic. He has an creative writing minor, a history minor, and a Honorary Doctorate in B.S. from Bowling Green State University. He dedicates his writing to those who are without love and hope. And that's no B.S. Grant Guenther, sometimes known as J. Guenther, confesses to be from a long-lost Martian colony, but in-depth investigations reveals that he was born and raised in a small but well-to-do community called Hartland in Wisconsin. A senior, he has written several collections of poems, and won many awards from his high school literary magazine, including 1st place for poetry and short-short fiction. He is the editor-in-chief of the school newspaper and writes as a humor columnist (or at least he thinks so). Daniel Sendecki is a young, emerging, Canadian writer who lives in Burlington, Ontario. Currently, Daniel is pursuing his writing interests at home but intends to study literature at McGill University, in Montreal, Quebec. Author Unknown (oddly enough, his real name) has had several stories, poems, novels, plays, and pieces of artwork published throughout the world dating back to the dawn of man. So far, he hasn't received one red cent in royalties. STTS Survey Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Please fill out the following survey. This article is duplicated in the ZIP archive as SURVEY.TXT. If you're reading this on-line and haven't access to that file, please do a screen capture of this article and fill it out that way. If all else fails, just write your answers down (on paper or in an ASCII file) and include the question's number beside your answer. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 1. Name: _____________________________________________________________ 2. Mailing address: __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ 3. Date of birth: (Mm/Dd/YYyy) _______________________________________ 4. Sex: ______________________________________________________________ 5. Where did you read/download this copy of STTS Magazine? (Include BBS and BBS number, please) ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 6. Do you prefer to read STTS while on-line or download it to read at your own convenience? ( ) On-Line ( ) Download 7. Are you a SysOp? ( ) Yes ( ) No (if "No", skip to 10) 8. If so, what is your BBS name, number, baud rate? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 9. Do you currently carry STTS Mag? ( ) Yes ( ) No ( ) I don't carry it, but I want to I carry STTS: ( ) On-Line, ( ) For Download, ( ) or Both 10. What do you enjoy the MOST about STTS Mag? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 11. What do you enjoy LEAST about STTS Mag? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 12. Please rate the following parts of STTS on a scale of 1-10, 10 being excellent and 1 being awful. (if no opinion, X) Fiction ___ Poetry ___ Movie reviews ___ Book reviews ___ CD Reviews ___ Feature Articles ___ Software reviews --- Humour --- Top Ten List --- Question&Answers ___ Editorial ___ ANSI Coverart ___ The Sports Page --- My View --- STTS BBS News --- RIP Coverart ___ Misc. Info --- 13. What would you like to see (or see more of) in future issues of STTS Mag? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Return the survey to me via any of the following options: A) Pen & Brush Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site ->5320, in any conference. B) RIME Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site ->5320, in either the COMMON or SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE SHADOWS MAGAZINE conference. C) WME Net - A PRIVATE message to JOE DEROUEN in the NET CHAT conference. D) Internet - Send a message containing your complete survey to Joe.DeRouen@Chrysalis.org E) My BBS - (214) 629-8793 24 hrs. a day 1200-14,000 baud. Upload the file SURVEY.TXT (change the name first! Change it to something like the first eight digits of your last name (or less, if your name doesn't have eight digits) and the ext of .SUR) Immediate access is gained to my system via filling out the new user questionnaire. F) U.S. Postal Service - Send the survey either printed out or on a disk to: Joe DeRouen 3910 Farmville Dr. # 144 Addison, Tx. 75244 STTS Mailbag Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Dear Joe, I miss the Questions and Answers. Any chance of bringing that back? Shelby Morris Ontario, Canada ======================================================================== Dear STTS, Really loved Robin Aiken's "This Little Piggy." [Nov/Dec. Issue. ED] Is she related to L. Shawn Aiken? Any chance we'll see more of her fiction in the magazine? Gates Delmar Springfield, Illinois ======================================================================== QUICK TIPS AND FIXES Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved [Originally published in Feb. issue of Computer Currents Magazine] If you're having a problem you just can't seem to solve, a question you want answered, or just an inherent need to bend a lonely writer's ear, you've come to the right place. Keep those cards and letters coming, folks. Also, please include a daytime and a nighttime phone number with your question. I might have to ask you a couple of questions to get at the source of the problem or question. And, I promise, I won't write your numbers on the walls of bathroom stalls at the Infomart. Q: I read your column regularly, and thought I'd run a problem by you. I have a 486slc 50Mhz 4 Meg of RAM and a 345 Meg hard drive. Also a Omni CD-Rom drive and a soundblaster16 with terrible labtec (battery operated) speakers. Is it possible to connect my Sound Blaster card to my auxilary jack in the rear of my stereo, or am I just asking for trouble? Your advice will be greatly appreciated. Thanks, John Broadnax via Prodigy A: Thanks for writing, John! Your question is one of the easier ones I've gotten. In a word, yes, you can (and should!) hook up your Sound Blaster card to your stereo. The sound quality will improve tremendously over your labtec speakers, and you'll have better volume control as well. All you really need to do to accomplish this feat is purchase a stereo cable. The cable you're looking for should have a single plug-in jack on both ends. After you've made your purchase (the cable is under $10.00 and should be available at any Radio Shack or store that offers stereo equipment) you need simply to plug one end into the audio output jack on your sound blaster and the other end into your auxilary jack on the stereo. Viola! Your mission is accomplished. You'll have to play around with the volume control on both your stereo and your Sound Blaster to get the right static-free output, but that shouldn't take you more than a moment or two. Soon thereafter, you'll be enjoying the sounds of DOOM II and MYST through your stereo. Happy listening! Q: I'm not sure if this really fits into your column, but I'll ask anyway. What can I do to insure that the BBS I'm calling is legitimate and not some hacker teenager bent on ruining my reputation and wreaking havoc in my life? I recently logged onto (BBS name withheld) and filled out all the new user questionnaires. The BBS seemed normal enough. It didn't really have what I was looking for, though, and I never called back. I later found out that someone was logging onto other area BBS's using my name and password! It had to be this SysOp, as it started happening about 24 hours after I logged onto his board. After about a week of explaining and some long telephone conversations, I was finally able to convince the other BBS operators that it wasn't me that logged on and left nasty comments to everyone, and they let me back onto their systems with new passwords. How can I prevent this from happening in the future? Sincerely, Peggy Madison Ft. Worth, Texas A: I sympathize with you, Peggy. Something similar happened to me several years ago. First and foremost, do NOT use the same password on any BBS that you log onto. I know it's tempting to just use the same password over and over - that's what got me into trouble those several years ago - but the ease of remembering the password isn't worth the potential trouble. That's rule #1 - use a different password on every system you call. And make it a hard-to-guess one, too. Use lot's of symbols and numbers in there, and don't pick anything that'd be at all easy to guess. Your comment on the "teenage hacker bent on ruining your reputation", while understandable, really isn't fair. 99.9% of the SysOps out there, whether they run pay systems or free ones, are decent, honest people. That includes the teenage hacker types. It's that .01% that you have to watch out for, and those SysOps can come in any shape, size, race, age, or profession. Just like non-online life, most of us are "good guys" but you run into the occasional bad apple every so often. When you happen to bite into one of those sour apples, to further the analogy, just spit it out and go on looking through the orchard. You'll find even sweeter apples for the tasting and quickly forget the sour ones. Q: Joe, several weeks ago Windows 3.1 failed startup with "Error loading PROGMAN.EXE". Obviously, there is a problem loading the program manager. I have no idea what the problem is and what's causing it. I do not recall changing anything in Windows setup, etc. Maybe only moving/deleting some icons from application groups. Thanks, Philip Baughman via Internet A: Philip, It sounds to me like you might have a hard drive problem in the way of a unlocked physical defect on one of the sectors. The reason I suspect this is that the error is recurring in the same file when the stuff is reloaded. The best way to detect if this is the case is to rename the file PROGMAN.EXE to a dummy file name, then reload that file onto the hard drive. Resume your normal operations, and, if the error doesn't recur, you've solved the problem. Just leave the dummy file on the hard drive, and you won't have to worry about those sectors ever being used by another application or data file. You can also run a variety of disk doctor programs to diagnose this problem, but, in my opinion, this is the quickest and easiest way to do it. If this doesn't work, write me back, and I'll try to see if I can think of anything else that might be happening. Are you having a problem with your computer? Write to Joe at Computer Currents or via Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS at 214/620-8793. (c) 1994 Joe DeRouen. All rights reserved. The Sports Page Copyright (c) 1994, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved Welcome to yet another edition of the Sunlight Through The Shadows Sports Page! It's a strange world out there in sports, so let's all pretend to understand it, shall we? By the time you read this, it will more than likely be 1995. Do you ever wonder if there is going to be Major League Baseball in 1995? Well, you are not the only one. There are approximately 800 ball players wondering the same thing. The owners have put off implementing the salary cap for one week, in order to continue negotiations with the Players' Union. It looks like the two sides are at least starting to talk with one another. It's a good thing that some progress was being made. The prevalent rumor was that the Clinton Administration was going to ask former President Jimmy Carter to mediate if talks continued to stall. Anyway, on to the sweaty jocks in the NFL locker rooms. It's almost playoff time. Suddenly, the Dallas Cowboys don't look like the "sure thing" that they once were. It looks like the San Francisco 49ers have much more drive/hunger than the 'Boys. It's a good thing too. I, for one, was getting sick of the Buffalo Bills (already eliminated from the playoffs) and the Dallas Cowboys playing the final game of the season. However, I didn't get my wish for the playoffs. While the Oilers eliminated themselves with a poor record, my request to form a team from the centerfolds of Playboy's past was nixed by the Commissioner's office. The explanation that I was given was that the team MUST wear something besides shoulder-pads. The other night, I went to watch a basketball game at Reunion arena. The game was between the Los Angeles Lakers and the Dallas Mavericks. At this game, I saw Jesus Christ...and he was wearing a Lakers uniform. Nick Van Exel shot the lights out of the arena that night, raining three-pointers from everywhere on the floor. If you ever had doubts about the second coming of Christ, Nick Van Exel will put those doubts to rest. At the same game, Mavericks forward Roy Tarpley was suspended for arguing with coach Dick Motta. The incident was really strange. Tarpley had turned the ball over a bit too much for Motta's liking. Motta pulled Tarpley out of the game, and Roy commented that the move was "bullshit." Motta promptly told Tarpley to "sit your ass down at the end of the bench and shut up." Tarpley continued the argument in the locker room at the half, and Motta suspended him on the spot. What does this say for the Dallas Mavericks, Roy Tarpley, and Dick Motta? The Dallas Mavericks showed great poise as a team by ignoring what had happened between Motta and Tarpley, while Roy Tarpley showed us why he should never have been reinstated in the NBA. And Dick Motta proved to the Dallas Mavericks, it's fans and the media that he is the ONLY coach of the Dallas Mavericks. Bravo for Dick Motta. Boxing-On-Ice (Hockey) is still in a state of limbo. Not being a big fan of this game, I personally could care less. However, there are people out there that adore this sport. Of course, if I wanted violence in my life, I would date a Dominatrix. Speaking of violence, the word is out that the doctors have cleared Evander Holyfield to come back and fight again. Holyfield was forced to retire with a heart condition that could have killed him. While I admire Evander's drive/desire to fight again, I think this moron needs to have his brain checked out to see if he is fit enough to think. Well, here's to hoping that we can get a nationally sanctioned Female Mud Wrestling League going in the near future. The only question that I have is: What group of people should we target as a potential audience?? (grin) Till next month.... ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ 110 Nodes * 4000 Conferences * 30.0 Gigabytes * 100,000+ Archives ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÛÛßßßßßß ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßßßÛÛ ÛÛßßÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßßßßß ÛÛ ßÛÛ (R) ÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ Ü ÛÛ ßßßßßßßß ßß ßß ßß ßß ßß ßßßß ßß ßßßß ßßßßßßßß ßßßßßßß ßßßß °°°°°°°° * Winner, First Dvorak/Zoom "Best General BBS" Award °°°°°°°° * INTERNET/Usenet Access * DOS/Windows/OS2/Mac/Amiga/Unix * ILink, RIME, Smartnet * Best Files in the USA * Pen & Brush, BASnet. * 120 Online Games * QWKmail & Offline Readers * Multi-line Chat Closing Stocks, Financial News, Business/Professional Software, NewsBytes, PC-Catalog, MovieCritic, EZines, AbleData, ASP, 4DOS Huge Windows, Graphics, Music, Programming, Education Libraries ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ Channel 1 Communications(R) * Cambridge, MA * 617-354-3230 14.4 ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ °°°úfasterúbetterúless expensiveú°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° "Best Files in US" ° Hula Hoops and Tinker Toys Copyright (c) 1995, Nancy VanWormer All rights reserved Hula Hoops and Tinker Toys by Nancy VanWormer When I was small, we didn't have this problem. It wasn't available to us (mere children) and if it were, we wouldn't have had the money anyway. Then one day, in school, no less, we were introduced to them. By our teacher. Oh, the glory of them! They tried to show us that only "stupid" people played with hula hoops and tinker toys. But, in doing so, they made it most attractive. Their so-called bad boys were the cutest and most popular. The girls were the prettiest. They showed them having great fun, while nerdish (even back in those days) kids looked on disaprovingly. The nerds got good grades and listened to their parents. The hula hoop crowd, slowly disintegrated into the scum of society. What? From merely playing with hula hoops and tinker toys? How can it be so? They have already showed us the joys of playing with them. We couldn't ask our parents, because they didn't know anything about it. So we grew. And as we matured, we became more enchanted with hula hoops and tinker toys, until the day finally came when we could play with them ourselves. What a great day. These toys opened new worlds to us! We saw every day life in a whole new way. Mysteries of the universe were being unveiled to us. The funny part was that we shared them. We never stole, or killed somebody over our toys. There was always somebody willing to share with us! We were always willing to share with others. It was like a secret family. We were brothers and sisters together. As we grew our tastes grew also. We wanted more advanced toys. Toys made for adults. They were a bit more expensive, and harder to master, but we did it. We were in control. Then one day, as young adults, some of us "grew up". We realized that we could not play with our hula hoops and tinker toys forever, and that there were other things in life to do. Things that were more important maybe? So we slowly weaned ourselves from our toys, and developed. And as we did, we watched the few that decided that hula hoops and tinker toys were what they wanted most out of life. They stayed children, playing with their toys, while the rest of us went on to better things. It is funny, now, when we look at those lost children, we still see the innocence in them, but it is surrounded by an old person's body. They seemed to have aged outwardly much faster than we did. Oh, they still have the same beards and long hair, but it is peppered with grey and started to thin out. They still wear the same style clothes, I wonder where they buy them. The years of playing with hula hoops and tinker toys have taken their toll. Now we have children of our own. Our children don't want to play with our toys, they have their own, more advanced and technological versions of our toys. They have roller blades and boomboxes. The toys are different, dangerous. They were made to be dangerous. They have a power over people and are even capable of killing them. Their sole purpose is to hurt. They were made by different people than made our hula hoops and tinker toys. They were made for a different reason. The kids are different. They are not playing with their toys the same way that we did. They are very protective of them, and will do anything to get more. They lie, cheat, steal and even kill to be able to play with their roller blades and boomboxes. We are scared for our children in a way that our parents never were. We played with hula hoops and tinker toys, and we know the power that is in them. But our children, our babies, are playing with something more potent. Can they handle it? We handled it, but it was a different time, with different kids, and different toys. We have to take care not to push them towards it like we were. After all, these are not hula hoops and tinker toys, the "toys of choice" of the peace generation. These are roller blades and boomboxes!! Þ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±Ý ÞúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúÝ Þ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ 2400bps &  (414) 789-4210 Ý Þ ³ ÚÄÄÄÄÙ "The best connection your USR HST 9600 (414) 789-4337 Ý Þ ³ ³ modem will ever make!!" USR HST 14400 (414) 789-4352 Ý Þ ³ ÀÄÄÄ¿ v.32bis 14400 (414) 789-4360 Ý Þ ³ ÚÄÄÄÙ Ü Ü ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜ Compucom 9600 (414) 789-4450 Ý Þ ³ ³ ßÜß ÛÜÜÜ Û ÜÜÜ ÛÜÜÜÛ Û Hayes V-Series (414) 789-4315 Ý Þ ³ ÀÄÄÄÄ¿ Üß ßÜ ÛÜÜÜÜ ÛÜÜÜÜ Û ÛÜÜÜÜ v.FC 28800 (414) 789-4500 Ý Þ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ Ý Þ Ý Þ þ Exec-PC BBS is the largest LAN and microcomputer based BBS in the world! Ý Þ þ 280+ dedicated phone lines - NO busy signals - 24-Hour access Ý Þ þ Over 650,000 files and programs - DOS, Windows, OS/2, Mac, Unix, Amiga Ý Þ þ Lightning fast - Search 20,000 files in 2 seconds with Hyperscan feature Ý Þ þ Over 42 CD-ROM's online - Scan all of them at 1 time for keywords Ý Þ þ Special Apogee games, Moraffware games, and Adult file areas Ý Þ þ Extensive message system with QWK compatability - Also, Fidonet areas! Ý Þ þ Online Doors / Games / Job Search / PC-Catalog / Online Magazines Ý Þ þ Over 5000 callers per day can't be wrong - 35 gig of online storage! Ý Þ þ Low subscription rates: $25 for 3 months, $75 for a full year Ý ÞúúúúúúúúúúúúCallútheúBBSúforúaúFREEútrialúdemo,úandúFREEúdownloadsúúúúúúúúúúúúÝ Þ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±Ý Software Review Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Heretic Reviewed by Joe DeRouen I wanted to dislike the game. I really did. It just isn't the sort of entertainment I normally enjoy. I'm more the Return to Zork or Myst type, and I rarely play shoot-em'-up graphic violence types of games. After about fifteen minutes of playing ID Software's new shareware release Heretic, however, I was hooked. Heretic is a sequel of sorts to Doom and Doom II (also from ID) in terms of the 3D game engine and style of execution, however the setting is in another world entirely. In Doom, your avatar is a marine bent on ridding Hell of all it's demons and devils. In Heretic, you play the role of a vengeful Sidhe (pronounced "She") out to right the wrongs laid upon his race by the evil Order of the Triad. The Sidhe, offers the manual, are a race of ancient elves adept in arcane sorcery and keepers of the tomes of power. You must find your way through ruins filled with gargoyles, golems, undead warriors, and several other gruesome fiends bent on forever ending your quest. Several powerful Sidhe weapons and equipment, such as the powerful Dragon's Claw and the healing quartz flask, lie hidden in the ruins. It's up to you to find them - as well as the keys that unlock the doors to deeper levels - before the monsters find you. Your ultimate goal is to gain revenge for your race and maybe even kill D'Sparil, one of the members of the Order of the Triad, in the process. Sound convoluted? It is. The plot is summed up in about six paragraphs in the manual and is even less clear than the synopsis I just attempted. Get past the absence of a plot, however, and you'll find yourself having fun and enjoying Heretic for what it is: an excellent arcade game complete with stunning in-your-face graphics, a hauntingly brooding sound track, and spine-tingling special effects that help to make this illusion of reality complete. The fluid movement and quick reaction time of your player (not to mention that of his enemies!) provides the final touch of realism. Movement is controlled by either keyboard, mouse, or joystick. You can turn and maneuver in any direction, even staring at the ceilings or the floors. I've played Heretic for hours, always with a critical eye, and have yet to find a glitch in graphics or movement continuity. If you have access to a LAN, modem, the Internet, or the new DWANGO network, you can play in multi-player mode. You can team up with a friend or two to combat the forces of evil or pit forces against each other in Deathmatch mode. Up to four people can play Heretic via multi-player mode, and instructions on setting up such a game are explained clearly in a text file called README.TXT included with the game. A lot of people are going to view Heretic as Doom in a fantasy world. Up to a point, that's true. You shoot monsters using a variety of weapons, as you do in Doom. You search for treasures. You look for entrances to other levels of your confines. You can play multi-player. Doom has all that as well. But Heretic does it all better. ID managed to top themselves and in doing so set a new standard to be beat. The game, however, is not without it's flaws. Installation from the CD ROM (or four 3.5" floppies) requires a whopping 20 Meg of free hard drive space. When installed, though, the game only takes up 12 Meg. I had to delete several programs and files to make room for the game. If the decompression program had been different, it wouldn't have had to require more space than it actually needed. That's going to be a problem for some people and something that probably could have been prevented with a little foresight and work. Also, the very selling point about Heretic - it's realism - gives me a headache. Literally. You can get so lost in the game that you become dizzy simply following your character's descent through twisting passages and winding hallways. Finally looking up, you'll be stunned to realize that you've spent the last three hours staring at the screen pressing your keys or turning the joysticks. Just remember to take a break now and then and come back to the real world for a bit. All in all, though, Heretic is well worth the registration price of forty dollars. Thus far, I've enjoyed nearly ten hours of heart-pounding game excitement and I'm just barely past the third level of Episode One. A good gamer can look forward to literally dozens of hours of monster chasing and treasure hunting fun. Heretic requires a minimum IBM compatible 486/33 with 4 megs of RAM as well as a 100% Sound Blaster compatible sound card. Heretic is available from ID Software. You can download the shareware version on your better BBS's around the country. The shareware version includes only the first of three episodes and, while certainly playable, is more of a sampler than a main dish. To purchase the registered version ($40.00) call 1(800)ID-GAMES. Specify CD or 3.5" when ordering. (c) 1995 Joe DeRouen. All rights reserved. Software Review Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook all rights reserved Al Michael Announces Hardball III By Accolade (c) 1992 Design and Programming by Jeff Sember & Mike Benna Produced by Pam Levins Art by John Boechler Music by Alistair Hirst Sound by Mike Benna & Russel Shiffer Manual by Jeff Wagner & Richard Moran Creative Services by Lisa Marino & Shirley Sellers Tested by James Kucera & Robert Daly Most sports computer simulations use the same type of game engine. Hardball III is no exception to that rule. The game is relatively simple to use, but there are some pitfalls the user will have to overcome. Strengths: The game allows you to choose a Manage-Only mode at any time in the game. This puts you in the manager's spot, making the calls as to what type of play to run. The success of the play depends on the players that you have in the game at the time. In Player mode, you will still get to call the plays, but you will control the actions of the players on the field, thereby being ultimately responsible for the success of the play. The game also gives you a picture of every player in the game, which is quite a pleasing look for a sports simulation. While the players on the field generally all make the same movements, the speed of their movements is determined by their abilities, which is a big plus for this game. This provides some form of reality, especially since an Eddie Taubensee can run nowhere near the speed of Deion Sanders. There is also a chance that a player will "muff" any given play, providing yet another stab at reality. The season scheduler is nothing short of pure genius. I have been playing this game for nearly two months now and am only now getting past the All-Star break (81 games). The All Star game is kind of neat, in that it never chooses the same players. The game goes into the current season stats and looks for players that are playing the best at their positions. It then applies them to the All Star game in their respective leagues. I have never seen any other sports simulator do anything of this sort. Drawbacks: There are quite a few drawbacks to this game. The most glaring one is the lack of any ability to trade players from team to team in this game. I found that the only way to accomplish this feat was to write down the player's stats from his old team, find a player on the new team that is not there anymore and edit his stats accordingly. Quite time consuming to say the very least. Another glaring drawback is some of the play-calling in the game. For instance, the following situation is called for. With a runner on first, you call for a "hit and run" and opt for the batter to butn the ball. The runner takes off for second when the pitcher starts his windup, but the batter won't bunt the ball unless it is a pitched strike. In reality, a batter would do everything in his power to bunt that ball in order to protect the runner going to second. A very bad error in realism for this game. Yet another programming error lies in the manner that the computer changes pitchers. The computer will leave it's starter in the game until he tires, and only then will he substitute a relief pitcher. After this, the computer starts subbing pitchers like there is no end to the world. The only managers that I have ever seen do this were Little League coaches. Conclusion: Realism is something this game tries to emphasize highly, but fails very badly at. With a promising engine driving this game, it is not that far from being great. However, it might benefit this system to add a trading system that allows you to swap players between teams. Also, some of the programming would have to change, forcing players to make decisions at the plate that are a bit more realistic. Grade: C- Engine Grade: B Music Review Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved Out Of The Silence by Yanni Production/Copyright 1987, Private Music Track Listing 1. Sand Dance (5:10) 2. After The Sunrise (4:40) 3. Standing In Motion (5:20) 4. The Mermaid (3:46) 5. Within Attraction (4:12) 6. Street Level (4:18) 7. Secret Vows (3:55) 8. Point Of Origin (6:05) 9. Acroyali (5:05) 10. Paths On Water (3:51) Total Time: 46:22 Yanni is one of the most well-known New Age composers. His music has a quality that surpasses the level of most New Age musicians. Instead of writing songs, he vividly paints emotional, musical pictures for your mind. His 1987 release entitled "Out Of Silence" is no exception. The disc opens with five extremely good songs. "Sand Dance" races you through it's selection, giving off mental pictures of couples dancing on the beach. "After The Sunrise" is clearly the best track on the entire disc. With images of a cloudless morning embracing the listener from the very start, it's clear to see why this is one of the more popular pieces he has composed. "Standing In Motion" and "Mermaid" are not quite as strong as "After The Sunrise," but their imagery is just as good as that of "Sand Dance." "Within Attraction" is a stunning piece. I was left in awe of the imagery I received while listening to this track. After this point, Yanni's next five tunes are mere exercises of the first five. "Street Level" is clearly the most boring, offering very little in the way of imagery. "Secret Vows" starts out with a good movement, transporting the listener instantly into the imagery, but he quickly loses this feeling with some strange flourishes in the middle of the piece. "Acroyali" and "Paths On Water" are easily forgettable, making this a rather flat ending to the disc. All in all, this is a good Yanni disc. However, it is clearly not his best piece of work. If you love Yanni, you will like this disc. If you like quiet, "New-Agish" music, you will like this disc. If you are looking for a master-piece in the vein of David Arkenstone's "In The Wake Of The Wind" disc, you will be thoroughly disappointed. Overall Grade: C+ Stellar Track: After The Sunrise Lackluster Track: Acroyali Music Review Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved Hell Freezes Over by The Eagles Copyright/Production 1994 Produced by The Eagles with Elliot Scheiner and Rob Jacobs Track Listing 1. Get Over It 2. Love Will Keep Us Alive 3. The Girl From Yesterday 4. Learn To Be Still 5. Tequila Sunrise (Live) 6. Hotel California (Live) 7. Wasted Time (Live) 8. Pretty Maids All In A Row (Live) 9. I Can't Tell You Why (Live) 10. New York Minute (Live) 11. The Last Resort (Live) 12. Take It Easy (Live) 13. In The City (Live) 14. Life In The Fast Lane (Live) 15. Desperado (Live) The Eagles. Possibly the most successful rock band of the 1970s. Their music is loved and adored by millions around the world. Their style has been imitated by country-rock bands in the 1990s. In a sense, their songs define a large part of the music industry. Shortly after The Eagles had broken up, Drummer/Singer Don Henley was asked about when The Eagles would get back together again. Henley's reply was "When Hell freezes over!" His musical differences with Guitarist/Singer Glenn Frey were so great, that hatred had begun to enter into the equation. But it did make for a good album title. In reality, this disc is nothing more than a live album. With only four new tracks, it's more along the lines of an Extended Play (EP) disc. Sadly, of the four tracks, only one is really worth a damn. "Get Over It" is an angry, cynical look at the world around us. It's growled musings make for one of the best songs I have ever heard. "Love Will Keep Us Alive" reminds one of the "countrified" music the band released on it's Desperado LP. "The Girl From Yesterday" really fits no mold that the band had carved in their earlier niches, but still breaks very little new ground. "Learn To Be Still" sounds great musically, but lyrically it leaves a lot to be desired. Tracks 5 through 15 are all live versions of old Eagles' standards. They all sound great (except for a really lame version of "Hotel California"), but two really stood out from the others. "New York Minute" and "The Last Resort" sound even better live than they did in the studio. In summary, this is one of the most awaited for albums in the history of Rock and Roll. But was it worth the wait? Not in my opinion. The album's four studio track leave you wanting more original material, while the live tracks leave wanting the old Eagles back. If nothing else, the band will get exactly what they wanted out of this disc....money. Grade: C- Stellar Track: The Last Resort (Live) Lackluster Track: The Girl From Yesterday Music Review Copyright (c) 1994, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved For Those About To Rock (We Salute You) by AC/DC Copyright/Production 1981 ATCO Records 92412-2 Previously Released as Atlantic #11111 Produced by Robert John "Mutt" Lange Track Listing 1. For Those About To Rock (We Salute You) 2. Put The Finger On You 3. Let's Get It Up 4. Inject The Venom 5. Snowballed 6. Evil Walks 7. C.O.D. 8. Breaking The Rules 9. Night Of The Long Knives 10. Spellbound AC/DC are one of the most well-known bands in the Hard-Rock and Heavy Metal genre. Their success is due primarily to two albums, "Highway To Hell" and "Back In Black," which are the two albums immediately before this one in their discography. Since this album followed those two, it's easy to see why it is easily forgotten by most fans. Despite being an album that most fans forget, "For Those About To Rock" is quite a solid effort. The title song leads the album off, and provides a back-drop of one of the most memorable parts of an AC/DC concert. That's right, this is the song that has the cannon fire on it. It is followed by a showcase of very forgettable pieces by the band. To put it bluntly, "Put The Finger On You," "Let's Get It Up" and "Snowballed" would have been better off being left off the album. "Inject The Venom" has a bit more flair than most AC/DC songs, with quite an inventive opening for a guitar solo by Angus Young. "Evil Walks" and "C.O.D" provide some really different lyrics for the band. Both songs espouse the darker side of the world around us, which seems to be something that the band is reluctant to do since the death of original vocalist Bon Scott. "Night Of The Long Knives" brings us once more to some really boring material for the band. "Spellbound" closes the album with some very rhythmic material. This song has never been played in their live sets after this album's release. That's a shame, since it provides some really tasty chops with some hard-hitting rhythm. If you are an AC/DC fan, you should already have this album. However, for those of you that are looking for good, hard-driving rock and roll, this is not the album for you. Grade: C+ Stellar Track: Evil Walks, C.O.D. (tie) Lackluster Track: Snowballed, Night of the Long Knives (tie) Music Review Copyright (c) 1994, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved Diary Of A Madman by Ozzy Osbourne Jet Records ZK 37492 Copyright/Production 1981 Track Listing 1. Over The Mountain 2. Flying High Again 3. You Can't Kill Rock And Roll 4. Believer 5. Little Dolls 6. Tonight 7. S.A.T.O. 8. Diary Of A Madman This will sound kind of scary, but I really identify with John "Ozzy" Osbourne. No, I don't want to run around snacking on the heads of small animals, nor do I want to shave all the hair off of my head (been there, done that, got the T-Shirt). I identify with the angry, bitter lyrics that he wrote during his early Black Sabbath days, and during the early part of his solo career. This album, his second, is easily considered a classic among the Heavy Metal crowd. To me, it is easily the one album that accurately described my life during that period: confused, angry, and scared. The album opens with "Over The Mountain," which is one of the most over-looked and under-played songs in the Ozzy repertoire. It's got a quick, catchy beat that has you wondering how far the talent of the late-Randy Rhoads could have gone. "Flying High Again" is a bit overplayed on the radio, but it is one of the very best pieces of work Ozzy has ever done. Following these two is the Metal anthem, "You Can't Kill Rock And Roll." It's lyrics approach the level of Robert Conrad daring you to knock the Everyready battery off his shoulder. Sadly, the music is written close to the level of a ballad, which deflates the power of the lyrics greatly. "Believer" is one of the many songs that Ozzy has written to attack the people that attack him. It is angry and sarcastic in nature, but is not helped by the "funky" bass grove that Rudy Sarzo lays down in it's support. Randy Rhoads pulls off one of the most incredible solos I have ever heard on this song. "Little Dolls" is a play on the concept of Voo-doo and comes off a bit "cheesy" in a lyrical manner. The music for it, however, is tight and extremely well done. "S.A.T.O." is one of the weirdest songs that he has ever put on a recording. You need to borrow a De-Ciphering Specialist from the Army just to understand the lyrics. The music comes off weak, despite another stellar guitar solo by Rhoads. "Diary Of A Madman" is the clinching track on the recording. It's look inside the sick and twisted mind of a madman makes an erie ending to the album. The lyrics are some of the best I have EVER read. In short, this song is a masterpiece. Granted, I see you reading this and wondering, how can he speak so lovingly of this album in the beginning and then proceed to trash all but three of the songs? Easily. This album, in 1981, was one of the best I have ever heard. However, it has not withstood the acid-test of time. Grade: B- Book Review Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved In The Shadow Of The Oak King by Courtway Jones Copyright 1991, Baen Books 1st Printing May 1992 ISBN 0-671-73404-0 340 Pages The story and tales behind the legend of Britain's King Arthur are numerous and well-known. With the exception of Marion Zimmer Bradley's "The Mists of Avalon," most stories told from this storyline are bland and repetitive. This is not the scenario concerning Courtway Jones first installment in his Dragon's Heirs trilogy. Mr. Jones paints one of the most vivid and captivating pieces of work with this novel. It portrays the early years of King Arthur as told through the eyes of his Pictish half-brother Pelleas. What Jones offers to the reader is a compelling page-turning novel. Jones gives Pelleas the task of providing insight to Arthur's nature within the story. This proves to be interesting and extremely entertaining. Pelleas' comments are sometimes much too priceless. I found myself wiping tears from my eyes while I was laughing. Pelleas' insight to the lovely (and stupid) Gueneviere is strange since it portrays her as nothing more than a piece of art for Arthur's side. With Pelleas' as the main character, the story does not follow Arthur once Camelot is built, but it does look into what the rest of the kingdom is like during his (Pelleas') travels. The jousting tournaments is where Pelleas starts his travels, beating all the knights including the handsome Lancelot. This makes Lancelot and Pelleas enemies from the beginning of their initial meeting, although the young lady known as Nithe provides even more reason for the rivalry to heat up. From the tournaments, Pelleas' travels find all the Picts adoring him for what he has done. Eventually, he ascends (reluctantly) into the position of being their King. If you are looking for a very enjoyable read, and you love the mystery of old England, then you must acquire this book and devour it. It's depictions will have you laughing, crying, and smiling at Pelleas, Nithe, Arthur, Myrrdin (Merlin), Lancelot and a host of others. Overall Grade: A- Book Review Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved The Rose Sea by S.M. Stirling and Holly Lisle Copyright 1994, Baen Books ISBN 0-671-87620-1 1st Printing, September 1994 Pages: 412 While I have never heard of S.M. Stirling before, Holly Lisle is a well-known writer to me. With her introduction to readers through the infamous Mercedes Lackey, Miss Lisle has lived up to all expectations. Her previous three novels, along with a combined effort with Miss Lackey, have shown a steady progress of in-depth character creation. "The Rose Sea" is no exception to this rule. Stirling and Lisle bring us to a world that is ruled in two halves. The northern half is controlled by a race of peoples known as Tykissians. They resemble Roman legionnaires within the Army, while the common citizens are not much different than most Americans. The southern half is controlled by the Tseldenes, who are ruled by a centuries-old wizard named Darkist. This society seems to be modeled after a tyrannical theocracy. The two halves are at war with one another, both vying for control of the known world. Our main characters enter into the story within the Tykissian realm. They are "pressed" into the service of the army, where they learn to get along with one another, and how to be a soldier. After their training is semi-completed, they are sent south across the sea to help invade the Tseldene empire. And thus the adventure begins. The characters are given identities that are set in stone from the first word on the page. However, they are allowed to grow and change as most individuals do throughout their lives. In this manner, the reader develops a very strong bond to the characters as the story continues. The story's twists and turns are handled magnificently, while some really strong political intrigue is thrown in for a very ironic twist. The shipwreck scenes are written in a very realistic manner, as is the "pressing" of the characters into the military and the training that they receive. In short, the story-telling for this novel is nothing short of magnificent. If you have been reading most of my book reviews, you already know that I don't like to give away plots or endings to the novels I review. This is because I want you the reader to judge the quality of it for yourself. After all, this is only my opinion. This review will be no different. But the ending to "The Rose Sea" is so stirring and emotional, if you don't feel the pull at your heart-strings, you are already dead. Grade: A+ Book Review Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved Fire In The Mist by Holly Lisle Baen Books, Copyright 1992 ISBN 0-671-72132-1 1st Printing, August 1992 Cover Art by Stephen Hickman Map by Ellen Kostyk Pages: 291 Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have some latent magickal power suddenly awaken within you? Have you ever thought how hard it would be to control such a power without adequate training? Obviously Holly Lisle has, since this is part of the opening premise of the novel "Fire In The Mist." Mercedes "Misty" Lackey (my favorite writer) described Holly Lisle as "one of the hottest writers I've come across in a long time." I figured that if Miss Lackey had lumped such heavy praise on Miss Lisle, that I had better check out her first offering as soon as I could. It was not a disappointing excursion to say the very least. As a matter of fact, I came away from the book having felt every single emotion there was....and then some that I never even realize existed! Miss Lisle's characters in this book are very well-written. The reader starts off with a shell of what the character is about and then gets to fill in the missing pieces through the character's actions throughout the book. This gets the reader very involved in the characters and really adds to the enjoyment of the story. This simple manner of "evolving" her characters is woven around an exquisite plot that will have you thinking on several levels at once. She really works some magick with this novel. I highly recommend this novel. At times, the story-line plods along, but for the most part it hurls you through the action at break-neck speed. Be sure that you keep your hands inside the cart during this ride. Grade: A- Book Review Copyright (c) 1995, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved Red Dwarf: Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers by Grant-Naylor ROC Books, (c) 1989 1st ROC Printing, September 1992 ISBN 0-451-45201-1 Pages: 298 Take today's society. Allow for two hundred years or more of the inevitable moral decay that comes with civilization. Focus on an ore-mining ship called "Red Dwarf." Add a degenerate punk with an attitude problem. Mix in an insecure, power-hungry buffoon. Stir generously with an on-board nuclear disaster, and allow to sit for 3,000 years. Top it off with a ship's computer that has an IQ of 600 or more, and sprinkle gingerly over the first erect- species of Feline. What do you get? The hilarious BBC-TV comedy called "Red Dwarf." While the book goes into a lot more detail than the TV show, I found it lacking the constant hilarity on the show. This does not, however, take anything away from the book, which is one of the most enjoyable books I have ever read. The situations that this cast of misfits gets into border on the totally insane. I found myself constantly trying to put this book down, and failing to do so. The characters of David Lister (the last surviving human being), Arnold Rimmer (the totally obnoxious Hologram), Cat (the very self-centered and lazy Feline Erectus), and Holly (the sarcastic ship's computer) will have you on the floor begging for more between the tears of laughter. The banter between the characters is lost a bit in the book (the TV show does a much more vivid job of depicting their constant sniping), but nonetheless it is VERY amusing. If you liked "Hitch-hiker's Guide To The Galaxy," you will really find this book to be a great treat. Don't miss it. A word of caution though: I had an extremely hard time finding a copy of this book. I located it at a local Comic Book shop (Lone Star Comics). I was lucky enough to find it in the second store that I checked for it. You might not have as much luck though. Keep searching for it, simply because it is very well worth your time and effort. Grade: A+ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ "Bringing our software to your home" ÄÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÜÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ ßßßßßßÛÛßßßßßßßÛßßßßßßßßßÛÛßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß ÍÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍßÛÛÛßÍÍÍÜÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ ÛÛ Û ÛÛÜÜÛÛ (717)325-9481 14.4 ßÛ ßÛÛÛÛß 2 NODES ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜ Ü Ü ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛ ÜÛ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÜ ÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ ÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÄÄßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÛÛÛÛÜÄÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÜÜÄÛÛÄÄÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÄÄÛÛÛÛÛÛÄÄÄÛÛÛÜÄÄÄÄÄ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÜ ÛÛ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÜÛÛÜÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÜ ÛÛÜÜÜÜ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ßÛÛÛÛÛß ßÛ ßÛ ßÛÛÛÛß ßÛ ßÛ ßÛ ßÛ ßÛÛÛÛß Prize Vault Lemonade Scramble Dollarmania ANSI Voting Booth Studs! Studette BadUser Convince! OnLine! GoodUser T&J Lotto T&JStat TJTop30 Environmental QT Video Poker Announce Bordello! Money Market Bordello T&J Raffle RIP Lemonade AgeCheck Strip Poker RIP Voting Booth ...and more coming! Beacons of Light Copyright (c) 1995, L. Shawn Aiken All rights reserved Beacons of Light by L. Shawn Aiken The ebon craft burst forth from nowhere, literally, but did not disturb the velvety curtain of stars draped behind it. From its womb sprang seven silvery children that plunged toward the bright orb swirling nearby. One hesitated briefly, rejecting the ever present tendrils of force. Instead, it fell forever around the planet, carefully watching the other six as they began to sparkle with ions. The ebon craft lurched and drug itself out of the gravity well, then vanished, returning to the nothingness which had spawned it. * * * Brenn watched the star-like sparks dance above the biomass reactor as if somehow they were the real stars with their proper motions advanced a million-fold. The simple arrangement of stone and wood was far from efficient, but at least it warmed half of his cloaked body. Regretfully, his backside was frozen in the crisp night air. Beyond the fire sat his wife, suckling their bald child while her deep green eyes watched him like a cat. *She is too young,* Brenn thought, *her skin too soft, her mind too new. Slypha does not deserve to be away from her family, up here, with the beasts. And me.* Her large green eyes caught his, and she smiled. Brenn sighed and smiled back. "The beasts are quiet," he said. Her smiled faded. "Perhaps they think the storm will miss us," she removed the child from her breast and snuggled him tightly. "It's late. It's been so long. I feel ready. Let's go to bed." Brenn stood up and stretched his legs. The flickering fire light caught the grey streaks in his beard. "Let me check on the boy first. I think he's asleep." Slypha walked to him and kissed him on the cheek, her eyes sparkling. "Must you call him a boy still? Phenris has gone through the change." "Men do not sleep while watching beasts." They smiled in unison, for they both knew Brenn had his surrendered his watch many times to the sandman. He turned and stepped into the dark of night. *I am too old,* he sighed to himself. *My joints creak. My hair has shifted from my head to inappropriate parts of my body. I am too old to be with her.* The forest gave way to clearing and the rumbling of snoring beasts. Brenn was sure one of the snores belonged to Phenris, but sound alone could not distinguish them. Then another sound came. An old sound. One that he had not heard in three decades, and not hoped to hear again. A beeping. He glanced at the culprit, the chronometer strapped to his wrist. The signal. Brenn glanced up at the heavens. Bright lights shone down. Foreign constellation made familiar over thirty-six years, girdled by two shadows. The eastern shadows were the spiky teeth of the Ramphast Mountains. The west was more nebulous, a thin line over the flat lands. The coming storm. Between the two a fiery streak, followed by another, and another. Six in all. They did not fade like falling stars, but stayed bright as they disappeared behind the clouds. Brenn slumped to the ground. Why had they taken so long? And why now? Wouldn't some earlier time have done? When his bones did not creak and his hair was still stable? Why had they not come when he had been ready? * * * The lightning crackled down like a witch's hand, briefly illuminating the humanoid figure running quietly through the rain-soaked streets. It's strides were long. It's leaps longer. But no one was awake to see. No one oohed and ahed. No one bowed down to the power of Akhenaton. He broke a sweat in the confines of the suit, away from the chilly air, as he bounded across the Square of Freedom to the presidential palace. One guard had time to widen his eyes before the meter long razor slaughtered the lot. But the splatter of blood failed to stain Akhenaton, for he crashed ten meters up into a third story window. A figure cowered in the silk sheets of the canopied bed, amidst the finely carved bas-reliefs on the walls and the cherubs looking down from the vaulted ceiling. Akhenaton opened a link to the satellite floating above and stepped toward the trembling figure. "President Cambridge of the Free World of Charadri, I bring you a gift from the Emperors of the Triad," his voiced boomed out of the metal and ceramic suit of armor. "You may broadcast a word to those you offended with treason." The figure stopped shaking and sat up. A wise-looking man, but confused. "You have no right . . ." Electric sparks bluer than sapphires shot from Akhenaton's arm, striking the president full force in the chest. He erupted into flames, squealing. "Just one word, dear President," Akhenaton said as he cut the link. Movement. His sensors detected movement. A woman by the door, paralyzed with fear. A burst of blue light reduced the president's wife to ashes. Noise. Beyond the door. In the hall. He jumped into it. A short person. A child. In bootied blue pajamas. Clutching a stuffed creature from beyond the Human Zone. The offspring of Cambridge. Akhenaton aimed and fired. * * * Brenn looked back through the veil of rain and waited for Slypha to catch up. She sloshed through the mud, the baby's pannier strapped to her back and a useless umbrella sticking up through the wooden frame. He reached his hand out to help her, but she brushed past him roughly. "Sylph!" he sucked his boots out of the mud. His son whined at him from her back. "Why?" Slyph hissed as her head spun toward him. He blinked to force the rain from his eyes. *She's too young to go through this,* he thought as he examined the way her wet hair hung to her face in swirls. "It is not a thing to talk about. Just believe that it is necessary," he coughed up the words. "What about Phenris?" she asked. "He's too young to herd the beasts by himself!" He sighed, remembering how, months ago, she had argued that her nephew was old enough to follow them into the hills. "He'll be okay. I have to get you back to the village." "Why?" she yelled over the thunder. "Why must you leave?" "Look!" he pointed to a strange metal scaffolding looming above the trees. "The microwave tower. We are almost there. Let's get you too your mother's before it get's dark!" He knew they would make it to the village of Psittac long before night fall, but he wanted to be well away from there before anything might happen. They continued to slosh through the mud, their boots slurping and sucking, and the baby randomly wailing. The rain had died down, only dribbling from the sky, as they entered the wooden village, biomass reactors churning dark smoke through chimneys into the sky. Brenn did not stay long at the Dowager's home, only taking time to change his clothes and give his wife a brief farewell. He wanted to stay longer, but knew that Slyph would probably find some way of coaxing him into staying the night. He did not leave rustic Psittac immediately. Through the mist he trudged up the hill to the microwave station to see Slyph's sister. With a few bangs on the metal door, Neridia opened the door and a blast of electrically heated air greeted him. "Thank God you are here," she said, pulling him into the room full of lights and banks of switches. She was older than Slyph by a few years, but with golden hair and brown eyes - a product of the Dowager's first marriage. She sat him down at the console and nervously poured him a steaming cup of bark juice. "What is going on?" Brenn asked, tapping several consoles in hopes that their numbers would change. They did not. "It's a blackout," she nervously fretted over the consoles, readjusting what he had touched. "At least that's what Eshan at the Black River relay said just before he went off. Eshan also said to initiate the civil defense plan. I've looked through the manuals. There is nothing about a plan like that. He also said there was an attack on the capital. Interstellar missiles, he said he heard. You were a warrior. What does it mean?" Her brow knotted and she looked at him, until she realized he was not looking at her. Somewhere else. Somewhere but nowhere. She took a deep breath and stood in front of him. "Brenn?" she said. "They are not missiles, they are people," he looked up at her and gulped his juice. "The Beacons. They are here." He stood up and set down his drink. "Inside of drop pods." "An invasion." she said. "Sort of." he replied, and went to the door. "Wait!" she ran after him, "What about the defense plan? You were a warrior. You know what to do. Please help us." "I'll do what I can," he opened the metal door and rain splashed at his foot. "But I can't do it here." "But what do *we* do?" she asked. "There is nothing you can do. Not against the Beacons, anyway." Brenn slammed the door behind him and crept down the hill, wrapping his cloak around his tired bones. * * * A different microwave tower, this one much taller, loomed far above on the top of the craggy peak of Mount Ptilogon. *I shouldn't have looked at it,* Brenn thought as he stumbled and fell off the path. He clambered back on it, careful not to catch a glimpse at the green valley below, and continued through the mud. A muscle between his rib cage and his shoulder throbbed. Thirty-six years ago he could have pulled himself up the cliff with no problem. But then again, thirty-six years ago he wouldn't have stumbled. The path widened out. It was a eerie sight, even to one who had seen it before. All of those toad trees with their green, knobby bark. And the way they swayed back and forth. Springy. Totally unlike real trees. They were, by definition, alien. Brenn began to walk through the toad tree grove, toward a boulder. It was a large boulder, about the size of a man. He lifted it. The fiberglass shell lifted easily, exposing a parabolic dish spinning slowly about a base. He crouched down, his knees popping, and removed a panel. Data flashed across the screen and he sighed. Everything checked out. They had come. With several button punches the dish stopped spinning and zeroed in on the tower. Blackness. Nothing. No transmission. He leaned back and sat in the mud. The eastern continent beyond the mountains was under blackout as well. His backside was no longer just cold, but wet. And muddy. A cold wind whisked up his cloak as he stood up. His knees popped. His shoulder ached. Brenn swore he could feel his arteries hardening. *I'm too old for this. If they would have only come later. When I am dead and buried. Then I would be prepared.* Slyph's round face flashed before him. She was still a baby. He had no right to marry her. *Things are all backward here, on this planet a thousand light years from nowhere.* He looked started again through the mud and quickly came to the cave. It was still there after all of these years. A big gaping maw cut in solid rock by the trickling of water. He could feel the water in his boot and on his backside. Bits of him were being eroded too. A cool draft of air fluttered about him in the darkness. He dug through his pockets and flicked on the retrieved torch. Glistening sparkles danced before him. Some from water dripping off stalactites. Some from the fools' gold that infested Mount Ptilogon. He stepped deeper into the pit, down a natural staircase lovingly caressed for millennia by water trickling from above. There was a flutter of something that the bioengineers had meant to eradicate, but couldn't. Just like the herd beasts. Whatever it was would probably have been good eating, but his mind was not on food. He had to get past the balcony in one piece. It dropped off before him, into the darkness below. It seemed to Brenn that it had changed. It was more slippery. Smoother. And there was less of a ledge. Three decades of trickle had eaten away the footholds leading down to the floor, perhaps some twenty meters below. And the torch refused to light up what was below. He knelt and banged the torch against the floor. The beam wavered, but refused to spit out more light. Geological processes had cut him off from his buried treasure. But something fell loose in his mind. It rattled about, then he remembered. The rope! It had to be around somewhere. He began looking around at the boulders on the stone balcony. How many years ago had he fastened it? Too many. But he had. Around a boulder. On top of the balcony. But where? There! He saw it and grabbed it up. It crumbled into his hand. Dust. Clogging up the torches beam. *Damn surplus. Hemp? He said it was plastiweave. Bastard.* Brenn made a mental note to demand a refund from the weasely trader. But he crumpled up the note and threw it away. The trader was probably dead by now and his sons were cheating other, younger customers. "If the emperor can't go to the sun, bring the sun to the emperor," Brenn muttered to himself. Could it hear him? Would it still respond? "Tighra!" he yelled into the darkness as he perched on the edge. "Tighra! Activate!" Amidst the echoes he though he heard something. Something down below. A muffled hum? "Turn on your God damned lights, Tighra!" The immense cavern burst with light, blinding him. "Down down down, tone it down!" He carefully unshielded his eyes with his arm. There it was, glowing it all it's glory. A bulky humanoid figure, twenty meters below, forty out. Black stripes played about on it's glowing apricot skin. "Tighra unit on," a voice boomed. "One point one nine to the ninth power second since last activation, Commander Brenn Ortiz, CTM 7789-007." "Brenn Kschted, actually. I got married." "Congratulations, Commander," boomed the emotionless voice. Brenn started to tell it he wasn't a Commander anymore, but who knew how the software would respond then. "Diagnostic?" "Urgent repairs needed. Priority level. Suggest going to nearest shipyard for repairs." "I know that!" Brenn yelled. "I knew that three god damned decades ago. Can you move?" The suit paused for a moment. "Diagnostic reports fifty percent chance of movement capabilities, with a plus or minus fifty percent error." Brenn shook his head. One day he would find the technician who wrote diagnostic programs and . . . *That's odd,* he thought. *It's been a while since I imagined hurting anyone.* Images flashed before him. Beautiful orange explosions searing flesh and bone. Horrified faces screaming for mercy. The darkness of space and dehumidified, crumbling corpses who turned to dust just like the rope. "Move your leg!" he yelled down to it. Tighra, a machine that cost more than the entire planet was worth, completed the first step of the hokey-pokey flawlessly. "Good. Now get the weapons pack. Attach it to your chest. Then jump up here and let me take a look at you." Tighra lurched forward. Dust spilled off from its head and shoulders. It quickly found a metallic case and slapped it to its chest. It hung there immovable with a magnetic seal. Then suddenly the machine bounded up the cliff, but not quite. It missed the top and hurtled downward, barely catching itself, hanging on with two fingers of one hand. "Jesus," Brenn muttered as it slowly pulled itself up and crawled toward him. "Stand up, Tighra, and turn off your skin lights. Just the top will do." The cavern dimmed appreciable and he looked over the mechanical entity. Under the patchy layer of dust he could see the blast marks, the twisted bits of metal, and the ruined left hand. "Servo mechanisms in the left leg failed," it commented. "Test leap indicated seventy percent of systems operating at forty percent. Unit is beyond repair. Suggest entire Tighra unit be sent to the nearest military scrap heap and disposed of by qualified personnel." "That's a pretty high regard you have for yourself," Brenn detached the case and set it down on the ground. "Is the grenade launcher still working?" "Shall I test it?" "No," his eyes widened. Not in here. You'd bring the whole cave down. Just a diagnostic." There was a brief pause. He opened the case. Wrapped in foam were five grenade, as well as some spare parts and a radio. Four of the grenades had red bands around them, one with green. He carefully pulled it out. "Launcher unit seventy percent reliable, plus or minus ten percent." "Can you handle this? I picked it up long after I stashed you in here. After the war," he held the green tear-shaped object before its sensor. "Affirmative. But caution, Tighra unit is not reliable. Entering combat is not suggested." "I know how you feel," Brenn popped open the tube connected to the left forearm. The grenade clip was still half full. Just like that day long ago. He carefully slipped the green grenade at the bottom of the clip. Two reds, and a green. He slammed the lid down. "Okay, I want you to pop your head open so I can crawl in. And Tighra, I order you not to do a med scan of me. I *order* you." * * * "You are fatigued, Commander Kschted," the suit chimed. Brenn's lungs were burning. Spasms raced up and down his spine. And he had just walked a little under a kilometer. "I *told* you no med scan!" he hissed between clenched teeth. Armor wasn't as easy as everyone thought. A warrior couldn't just sit in it and have it walk around for you. The legs still moved. The arms still moved. And the suit, left to its own, would pop the wearer's limbs out of joint. One *had* to move with it. "Request initiation of muscle relaxant injection," it said. "No!" he hissed. "Not yet. I'll be needing all of it for later." His eyes swirled, but not only from the pain. The heads-up-display was driving him mad. He was not used to the three hundred and sixty degree display. It seemed everything was in front of him - including the bits that were receding behind him. "Gimme a shot," Brenn finally broke down as he passed a ridge. "A little one. Analgesic or something." He felt the pressure at the base of his neck as the drug was injected. "Hey, Tighra, what's the shelf life of analgesic? I mean, does it break down into any other chemical components? Like some kind of neurotoxin?" "That information is not available in my databanks." Brenn took a deep breath. Perhaps it would be all over now. Done in by his own suit. Then it hit. "Ah," he gurgled. Thirty-six years without so much as an aspirin. He felt good. Almost high. The aches had drifted away like the dust falling off of the suit. But then he remembered. Everything felt ten times worse after the drugs wore off. "No more med scans unless it's an emergency," he told the machine. "Your body is eliciting danger signs right now," the suit said. "I mean, don't poke around with my body unless I'm unconscious or my arm is ripped off. Okay?" "Okay, Commander Kschted." Brenn huffed and puffed away from the mountain. His popping joints were outmatched by the squeaks and groans coming from the suit. *We should both be retired, living on some zero-gee station somewhere. Me and Tighra floating around a breakfast table, sipping tea from little baggies. Or he could sip silicon gel. Or whatever.* Brenn stopped thinking a moment, and came up with the conclusion that it wasn't just ordinary aspirin coursing through his veins. "You suck," he said a they stumbled into the green valley. "I said, you suck." Then he remembered. Suits weren't designed to respond to insults. Something the technicians thought up. It was suppose to keep the warriors out of trouble. But there was a way around it. "You suck, do you hear? You suck." "I hear you." Brenn smiled and they began going up the far side of the valley. As the drug began to wear off, they clambered up a hill and took up position. Brenn adjusted the HUD to small field magnification and zoomed in on a nearby mountain. It's peak was taller than Mount Ptilogon, put with a more gentle slope. Snow sparkled at it's summit, and he zoomed in on it. IR was useless, so he changed to visual. There it was. The chalet. Or what was left of it. His mind drifted back to when he had first arrived . . . * * * "Christ it's hot. Tig, dehumidifier on full," Brenn had always hated the fact that while in a suit you couldn't just wipe the sweat from your forehead. "Cancel that," a voice crackled in his ear. He turned to Akhenaton, trailing him several paced. "Sir, if I'm going to do point, I should at least be able to see," he waved his arms about. Akhenaton stopped, along with the four other Beacons behind him. "Thermals must remain low. Your power plant is almost visible," Akhenaton replied calmly. "I'm sweating like a swine. Can't I just open my visor. There is snow all over the place. Can't I just pour a handful of snow on my face?" "Unexceptable, Commander." Akhenaton signalled with his hands to end the conversation. Brenn opened his mouth, then shut it. They continued on up the mountain towards the chalet. Of course they weren't supposed to be anywhere near mountains. They were supposed to be near the shore, bolstering the ground troops. Four years of fighting and the Corian Triad was actually on the defensive. Triad troops were being slaughtered left and right by farm girls and back water bureaucrats. The real problem was that the same thing was happening on seventeen planets in this sector alone. Something had to be done. So it was, or rather, it was not done. The fly boys up in darkie-darkie land miscalculated and sent the Beacons of Light, the most skilled and heavily equipped Corian foot soldiers, straight into a mountain, a thousand klicks away from where they could do any good. And with the EMP satellites in orbit, no one could get a message through and have the fly boys executed. So they had to walk. But for some reason the commander wanted to walk straight up a mountain to investigate a chalet they had seen some kilometers back. *Of all the stupid, idiotic things . . .* Brenn grumbled in thought, because the Akhenaton could hear everything he said. * * * "You know, Tighra, we didn't even know if we were in hostile territory or not," Brenn scanned the chalet closely. From what he could tell, the roof had caved in. At least half of the supports had collapsed. Time had taken it's toll on the building. Just like Tighra. Just like him. "Energy surge directly ahead," the machine's cold voice informed him. "What?" A blue arc of light gracefully flew from the mountain, across the valley, and incinerate a pine tree two meters away. "Jesus Christ! Fire!" Brenn yelled. "Please be specific," The suit replied. "Nothing is within degraded weapons range." "I see you," a voice crackled in his ear. It was Akhenaton. Brenn's eyes widened. "Thermals, Tig, thermals! Drop 'em!" Brenn cried, and began to run. "Please be more specific." Another blue arc lashed out, ripping in two the tree that he had been diving for. He hit the ground with his shoulder and bright sparks dashed before his eyes. Brenn shook his head to clear it. He was lying face to the ground next to a burning tree. "Thermals! Don't exhaust the heat, Tig!" he moaned. "Ports sealed." Brenn did not argue as he felt pressure on his neck. "What was that blue streak? A particle beam?" "That information is not in my data banks," Tighra told him. Of course. They must have improved the suits and invented new weapons. What in the hell was he up against? And there were six of them! "I knew you'd come back, Tighra," the voice crackled it his ear. For a moment Brenn wondered why Akhenaton was talking to his suit. Then he remembered. Call names. In Akhenaton's eyes, or rather, in Captain Harmsworth's, he was still called by his suit's name. "I knew you would too . . ." he cut himself off, almost saying 'sir'. "Teredo is here as well. We have some unfinished business." "Hey Tighra, it's me," an asian voice said. "It's time, you know. Meet us at the site and we can finish this." * * * "I swear it looks like a ski lodge, boss," Teredo accented voice hissed into Brenn's ear as he peeked over the snow bank. "I'm picking up about ten people all moving around on the upper floor," Brenn sunk back down and turned to the squatting Beacons. "What's a ski lodge?" "I thought you were from Switzerland, Tig," Teredo said. "I was born there, but I went to school at Ishtar South. What's a ski lodge?" "Cut the chatter," Ahkhenaton ordered. "That building may be an enemy outpost." "A ski lodge is where you strap plastic panels to your feet and slide down the side of a snowy mountain." Teredo continued. "Sounds pretty stupid to me," Brenn chuckled. "Besides, Switzerland hasn't had snow in two centuries." "Will you two shut up?" Ahkhenaton yelled. "Tighra, do a scan under it. See if it has any lower levels." "Yes sir," Brenn stood up. It would take the sensors two minutes to pierce all of that granite. He looked at the chalet as sweat poured down his face. Snow in Switzerland? Ha. That was like saying it rained in Central America. Ludicrous proposition. "Sir," Brenn spoke with his back to the commander, "I take it we are going to kill everyone and secure the building?" "Yes." "After that can we toss Teredo off the mountain strapped to a piece of plastic?" Before Akhenaton could get everyone to quit laughing, Brenn spotted somthing on the corner of his screen. "Uh, sir, something's coming. It's hugging the terrain at 100 meters." "What is it?" "Uh, Tig says it's a L-53 troop transport. No markings. No ident signal." Brenn saw the white speck grow on his monitor. "Looks to be headed this way. Oh. It's armed." "Who the hell could it be?" Teredo voiced. "No respectable pilot would strip Triad symbolds off a vehicle," the commander said. "It's got to be those bastard rebels. We're in luck, men and women, we've stumbled across the enemy." "Lemme shoot it, boss," Teredo said. "No, Tighra can have that honor." "Thanks," Brenn charged up his left arm and let loose with a particle beam. It was a direct hit, sending the flaming transport hurtling into the valley floor. * * * "Tighra," Teredo's voice echoed Brenn's ear canal. It was getting hot. His heat throbbed. His shoulder ached. And his groin was hurting in places it hadn't hurt since Slyph had been able to have sex. "Tighra. You can't hide. The boss still has your ident signal. Don't you remeber?" Christ, Brenn screamed at himself, staring up at the cloudy sky. *I would have been safer leaving the suit where it was. They might have never found me.* He started to tell Tighra to get up, but closed his mouth. It would be stupid to let Akhenaton listen in on everything was doing, so he stretched his neck out and poked several pressure sensors with his chin. The suit slowly stood up and his eyes flooded with tears. "Why the site?" he gasped as another squirt of pain killers flooded his system. "Everything must be coordinated properly," Akhenaton said coldly. It was that same statement that had initialized the massacre of the embryos on Brakor. Two thousand vat babies destroyed. The memory jarred something in him. Had he really killed them? For thirty six years he thought he had remembered. But now it seemed he had only remebered the concept, not the deed itself. But now he remebered. He remembered the melting of plastic, the tidal flood of embryonic fluid, the fire. The screams of an entire planet blasting through his speakers. And he remembered laughing. Laughing. The suit was moving but he didn't realize it, walking onward toward the site. The other two must have been on the other side of the valley, making the same journey. His baby's pudgy face flashed before his eyes. Baby Brenn. Slyph wanted to name him after his great father. She was so innocent. How could she know? How could she comprehend what he had done? It was almost impossible for him, but the dulling drugs seemed to unravel the strings tieing up the ancient memories. The slaughter of countless people on countless worlds. How could she comprehend what he was? He became aware of the muscles knotted up in his stomach, but could not feel the pain. It must have been horrific. Brenn gulped and headed along the gradient. The trees gave way and it came into view. Nothing. Flat land. A little stream. Scrub. Mud must have covered up the debris, just like the garbage in his mind had covered up the attrocities. *I havn't changed. I've just buried it. I'm the same person. I can't feel. I can't pity. I'm just like them.* But as he entered the clearing he saw something that hadn't been there that day. Something that had been added later. He walked over to it. A slab of granite. A marker. With words. "What's that?" Teredo suprised him. They both were standing on the other side of the clearing upon a sloping rise. Kings of the hill. Their suits were shinning in all of their glory, a bright sun on Akhenaton's chest, while Teredo's skin glowed white all over like luminesent puss. "Where are the others?" Brenn asked. "Others?" Teredo laughed. "You killed Sirrocco and Yoicks right over there," he stretched his arm out to the stream. "Don't you remeber, Tig?" Brenn looked and nodded, even though they didn't see it. Akhenaton spoke up. "And Gyrfalc died honorable on Brakor." "No he didn't. We all made it off," Brenn stepped away from the stone. "There was another insurrection. The planet had to be eliminated." "The planet?" "And Tesla bought it in the Weisa`cker vortex of Beta Pictoris. A minor revolt that turned into a major one," Teredo chuckled. "But I saw four others?" Brenn motioned to the sky. "Stupid boy," Akhenaton said. "Are you so all important to think that we are irreplaceable. We are just cogs. This business does not require their presence." Alarm bells rung in the back of his head. Something was wrong. Why would he feel that something was wrong? Here he was, ready to be slaughtered, and suddenly something Akhenaton had said was wrong? "Why?" his knee began to tremble. "Why not them?" Beacons rarely split up. They hung together as if they were magnetized. "Well, you see," Teredo started, "The boss here kinda told everybody you were dead. Summarily executed." "Shut up!" Akhenaton barked. "That oversight will soon be rectifed. Teredo, I give you the honor of killing him." "Great," Teredo said, begining to walk toward him. "Where do you want it, Tig, By the rock, in the stream, or in your back?" "Uh," his heart began to pound. Stimulants screeched into his neck. The suit knew he was about to die. Why was he having a hard time beleiving it? "Uh, waitaminute," Brenn said. "How have the gathagene treatments worked?" "What?" Teredo stopped. "Do you still look young? I mean, I only got one treatment. Open your visor and let me see." Teredo started again. "Gosh, Tig, can't you think of anything original. That's how you got Sirrocco." * * * The heat was building and his lips were chapping. After the vehicle went down, nothing had happened at the chalet. No gun turrets rose from the ground. No missile raced toward the sky and rained down on them, so Akhenaton set the priority to investigating the crash site. They were getting close. A few trees were smoldering. There was charred bits of things all over. Blackened arms and legs hung from trees like bizarre fruit. Brenn stumbled over a trunk and came into the clearing. Chunks of everything were scattered around. Seat stuffing blew about, mixing orange into the white snow. Part of a langing strut was wrapped, like a piece of string, around a tree. And he heard something. Something moved. "Sir," he said to Akhenaton, trailing behind. "A person over there." "Okay. Teredo, go find the black box. Maybe we can trace this to the rebel's base. Gyrfalc and Tesla, you come with me to find what's left of the weapons stores. And Sirrocco and Yoicks, you mop up the survivors with Tighra. Brenn looked down at the seat near him. A person was stil strapped to it. Charred over most of it's body. What looked like a male. Fifteen or so years old. Brenn had entered the military at fifteen. They must have been shiping new recruits somewhere. He leveled his arm and fired the laser. The head popped, splattering spongy chunks all over. Another semi-intact survivor behind a panel. Another shot. Another survivor. Another shot. Sweat was getting ito his eyes. "Sir," Brenn called out. "The fires around here will cloak us, won't they? I mean, can't I turn on the air conditioning?" There was a brief pause. "Negatory. It will waste power. If anyone is hot, just open your visors." Five 'thank gods' jammed the transmission frequency. Brenn slid the opaque shield from his face and breathed the cold air deeply. And he choked. "Crap," said Sirrocco next to him. "This stinks. Why can't people burn clean." "Bastard rebels stinking up the place," Brenn fired at another body near a clump of long plastic shards. He made his way slowly through the mess until he could register no more life. Then he walked toward Teredo. He was leaning up against a three meter tall hydrogen cannister that had somehow survived the crash. Next to him was an orange cylinder with wires leading toward Teredo's helmet. Akhenaton was with him. "Sir, I've accessed the navcom. Looks like they were way off course." "Why?" "Well, we are 900 klicks from any rebel territory that we last heard about. Dunno why they would penatrate Triad territory this far. Hold on. I'm patching into the database. Ah. Security sealed. Lemee break it. There." "Can you tell the registration?" Akhenaton asked. "It's owned by the Proconsul Whydt." "What?" Sirrocco walked up to them. "It's government property," Teredo looked up at them and smiled. "Well, it ain't he first time we've accidentally brought down one of our own." "What was it's flight path. It's manifest. I've seen no heavy weapons," Akhenaton said. "Fuck!" Teredo ripped the wires away and jumped up. "Fuck!" he walked away from the flight box. "Fuck!" "What?" "It was full of kids, headed for the chalet. For a skiing trip. "So?" "They were being evacuated from the capital. The Proconsul himself chartered the trip. It had his son on board." Ahkenaton suddenly straightened up. "Holy shit," Sirrocco said. "Are we in trouble?" Ahkenaton turned to face them. "We aren't in trouble." * * * Power surge, Tigrah's monitor read as Brenn watched Teredo point his arm toward him. "Stop! Wait!" Brenn yelled, waving his arm. "My laser is busted. It won't be a fair fight!" "So?" "Uh, well . . . don't I deserve a chance? I mean, let's go at it, hand-to-hand." "No," he laughed. Brenn pointed his arm and squeezed, launching the green-stripped grenade. It elongated as it flew, slapped into Teredo's arm and wrapped around the particle beam nozzle. Teredo fired, igniting the explosive. There was a burst of light and his arm sailed off. Brenn turned and ran, the radio frequency filled with screaming. He raced up the incline. His joints were on fire. Unknown liquids were being pumped into his spine. *Warning,* read Tighra's display, *you are severely fatigued. Rest is suggested.* "No Tig, no! We've got to get back to the cave! Keep running, even if you break my legs! Keep running!" * * * Akhenaton watched from on high as Tighra raced up the side of the valley and into the trees. *He's still got spunk,* he thought, *even if he is an idiot.* The eternally young warrior with articficial nanobots coursing through his arteries walked down the hill toward his fallen companion. Teredo was twitching a bit. The explosion had done just enough damage to rip off the arm, not sear the wound. Red blood pumped out into the muddy earth. Akhenaton knelt down and slid open Teredo's visor. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was gasping. "Sear it, boss, sear it," "Sorry," Akhenaton aimed his arm and fired. Teredo's suit sparked like a metal fork in a microwave oven. Sparks, smoke, and a final twitch. *At last that mouth will be silent. But there is still another.* "No Tig, no! We've got to get back to the cave! Keep running, even if you break my legs! Keep running!" came through on his speakers. *A man who holds some of the highest honors in the Triad, forced to live in a cave,* Akhenaton shook his head. But then he though. *No. He is not one to run home from battle. It's a trap. The cave must be a trap. He intends to lure me there. He must have enough explosives to bring down the whole cave and entrap me.* Akhenaton laughed. *He's still up to his old tricks.* He started his suit at a mild gait until he picked up the IR trail. *The idiot is venting all of his heat. Of course, he wants me to follow it. Right into his cave. The fool will be suprised, though.* He increased his speed. The trail wound across the hills, back through the valley, and up the slopes of an impressive mountain. Strange trees bobed up and down in a strange rhythm, and then he saw it. The mouth of the cave. But in front of it was Tighra. He was on his hands and knees, crawling, grasping, desperately trying to reach the cave. Akhenaton fired over his head. "Stand and fight like a man," he yelled. Tighra stopped and collapsed. "Why? Why kill me?" Akhenaton heard wheezing sounds. The boy was in pretty bad shape. "You killed the Proconsul's son. You are a traitor," "But you gave the order," Tighra slowly turned over on his back. "You forget War Law. You can't blame your sins on me." "But you are responsible. You gave the order." "And no one must know that. Such news would have scrapped the Beacon Project. Loosing this planet almost did that anyway. But we were succssessful elsewhere and now there are twenty Beacon units from Persei to Saggittarii. We couldn't loose that merely because I made a mistake." With a verbal grunt, Tighra stood up. Ahkenaton powered up his particle beam. "I'm an old man. Spare me. I won't tell," he gasped. "Sorry," Akhenaton fired and the blue arc raced towards Tighra's chest and struck. It collapsed and shrapnel burst forth from behind. The scream of a lungless man echoed in Akhenaton's ears,and the body collapsed. It was done. Akhenaton turned his weapon's power off. *He's dead. They are all dead. I am safe.* Just then came a beeping. From a strange looking boulder. *A bomb!* He did a scan. Not a bomb. A chonometer. On top of the boulder. He walked over to it and picked it it with the suits stubby fingers. Tighra's service piece. With a message blinking. "Sorry," it read, "couldn't get the message to you sooner. You see, the watch has been on record. And patched into the satellite dish under the boulder. What you just said went up to your superiors. Sorry." Akhenaton's eyes flashed open wide. "No!" His scream echoed amongst the stars. * * * The birds sang merrily in the abnormally warm weather, but he just didn't feel their joy. He had been betrayed by his own friends. Now he was stuck on this planet forever. If he dared venture off, he would be executed by the Triad. But that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered to him was Slyph and Brenn Jr. And they were on this planet. But would he ever see them again. He shuffled thorugh the mud on his jury-rigged crutches. Nothing was really borken, but Tighra had told him there were microscopic cracks all throughout his legs. Poor Tighra. Honorable to the end. He couldn't even give in a proper burial. A half ton of high density alloys was just impossible to move. First he had though of luring Akhenaton into the cave and blowing it and him up. But that was a stupid thing to do. He had to see Slyph again. Pain shot through his legs and he coughed blood. The last of Tighra's pain shots were wearing off. He moaned, but continued along the trail. Akhenaton had been furious. From where Brenn was hiding in the cave, he could have sworn he saw the man was frothing at the mouth. Of course he had blasted the boulder and dish to tiny bits, but Brenn didn't need it anyway. He peered up into the sky above the trees. It wasn't there. The microwave tower was gone. He increased the pace. The pain was mind numbing. The village spread before him. Smoke came from the hill. The tower was gone. A huge shuttle was in the town square and had collapsed several buildings in his way. His ears began to burn and he coughed blood again. People were screaming. He hobbled down the street. A huge suit stood before him. It's back was to him. Villagers were being crowded into the center of the square. Four Beacons were roughly shoving them. Several houses had been set on fire and a pile of laser rifles was forming at the other end of the square. They had found the Dowager's secret stash! She was there, amongst the screaming people, trying to calm them down. But where was Slyph? There was a pile of bodies. Men, mostly. A few women. His stomach turned. "Move it, peon," a Beacon kicked a boy in the back. There was an audible crack as his spine snaped. His father ran at the soldier and burst into flames. Where was Slyph? An unarmored soldier dashed out of the shuttle and ran to the Beacon in front of Brenn. "Sir, his suit has been found on the side of a mountain," Brenn heart pounded. They knew about him! Where was Slyph? "Crazy bastard," a laugh came from the suit. "We should have known he would have run. After that speech he gave to the satellite." Brenn gasped. It was Akhenaton! They were looing for him! He stumbled toward the Beacon and a hand latched around his throat. "What is it, old man?" the Beacon asked as he lifted him in the air by his neck. Brenn gurgled and coughed, then fell to the ground. "Sir," he gasped. "I have just journeyed over the mountains. I saw an officer. With no suit. Headed east. There is an abandoned chalet to the east." "Hot damn," the Beacon laughed. "All right!" he sceeched, "Load up the shuttle and let's pick up Ahk. Then we can get off of this God forsaken rock!" * * * Within minutes they were gone in a blast of dirt. Brenn layed in the mud, looking at the shuttle drift away. Where was Slyph? "You look like a corpse," Nerida said as she and the Dowager ran up to him. "Where is Slyph? The baby?" he groaned and tried to sit up. "Stop your whining," The Dowager turned her cracked face down at him. "What did you say to that goon?" "Nothing. Where is Slyph?" tears welled up in his eyes. "I'm right here. Baby too," Slyph came out from the crowd and knelt next to him. His eyes widened and he grasped her tightly too him. The images of horror and war flooded into his mind. Dead men, dead mothers, dead babies. And he remembered that his long years in exile had tought him to learn how to make life and love it. "I'm not too old," he sobbed into her ear. "Of course you are," she said. "You're as old as the hills. But I love you anyway." The End Experiment Copyright (c) 1993, Ed Davis All rights reserved EXPERIMENT The speeding vehicle, built to resemble an elongated rain drop, raced across the plains, rushing toward the mountains ahead. Safely and comfortably nestled inside, seventeen young people napped, chatted, or watched the video monitors built into the overhead. Their journey was nearly over, another two hours and they would step out of their metallic cocoon and bask in the sunny radiance of the western beaches. The excitement ahead was too much on their minds to allow the sameness of the passing scenery to attract their notice. Their slim bodies, with cleanly formed limbs and torsos, were store houses. Store houses of untainted genetic messengers. They were, along with seventeen other youngsters making the same trip on the northern route, unique in their society. Most people were tainted with mutated genes, a side effect of the massive, cumulative effects of chemical contamination. The thirty four young people were the pampered objects of a massive government effort. Success would restore genetic sanity to a world no longer polluted but gravely damaged. Scientists were talking hopefully about gene transplants, to restore normal procreation. The hopes of the nation rode in two silvered cocoons. As is always the case, one passenger was different. One black haired man was turned away from the hectic entertainment filling the video screen. Since his was the only single seat in the two rows of twined bucket seats, he was not involved in conversation with anyone. Instead, his face was plastered against the two inch thick glass of the small window. His eyes darted from one passing landmark to another, as the sleek train slashed across the dusty landscape. Surface travel, at nearly three hundred miles per hour was swift but not scenic. To a young man, however, the newness of the experience was excuse enough to keep him glued to the view port. Matthew Brogan, still clenched tightly in his deeply molded chair by the twin shoulder harness and single lap strap, was the first to notice the vibration. His inexperience with the newly encountered mode of travel caused him to hesitate before saying anything to his fellow passengers. His sixty second delay carried the seventeen youths twenty-six thousand feet further toward their destination and saved them the foreknowledge of their impending crash. He, however, was not spared the visual impact of watching the ground vanish below his view, as the vehicle levitated and left the single track guiding its direction. Vibration was gone and the sudden lack of the soft hum of the track alerted all the young people that a change was taking place. The next change was drastic and terrifying. Pivoting on its axis, the train twirled slowly. The plush interior changed suddenly, from the friendly clutter of people traveling a long distance, into a turning collage of cups, papers, clothing and disoriented bodies. Suddenly heads bumped, arms twisted and legs kicked in futile attempts at balance. The sleek tear drop fell gradually to earth again, its speed slowed below two hundred miles per hour. The grasses of the prairie could do little to cushion the fall and the soil beneath became a two mile long strip of sand paper. The titanium skin of the right side abraded away quickly with a small shower of sparks. The skeleton of aluminum struts lasted but a few seconds longer, giving off no sparks. The speeding projectile was traveling at less than one third of its peak speed when the interior wall abraded through. Seats vanished in a gut wrenching scream of torn metal. Four people strapped in their seats vanished into the speeding earth instantly and four more screamed into oblivion before the still moving train gouged into a small hill and stopped abruptly. The remaining passengers, not strapped in or fortunate enough to have become wedged between seats, were smashed into unrecognizable oblivion. The only sound in the destroyed vehicle was the soft clump of sandy soil falling from the remains of the fuselage's left hand section and the ragged breathing of the four survivors still buckled in their seats. None of the four were aware of their survival, they were safely wrapped in the protection of unconsciousness. Small beams of light penetrated the settling dust and awaited the young people's return to the world. Matthew felt something prying at the clasp on his safety harness and struggled to maintain his only chance of surviving the crash he did not remember. He opened his eyes and saw a female form attacking his waist in a renewed effort to loosen the stubborn clasp. "Quit. I'll do it." His own voice sounded alien, distant. He was confused. "Well, hurry. Everyone else is outside. We're worried about an explosion, like on the videos." The form withdrew, limping painfully. Matthew speeded up his efforts and was soon startled to find himself falling nearly ten feet to the earthen wall below his right shoulder. Nothing was right. The floor was a wall and the wall, with its accompanying row of seats was missing. In its place was a solid dirt surface, barely visible but eminently touchable, sprinkled liberally with large, sharp edged stones. He brushed his arm, then his hip, and struggled to find the exit the female form had used. The pain in his stomach, a seat belt abrasion he would later discover, and the stiffness in his neck were his sole discomfort. He was grateful and surprised. The cave like interior was barely illuminated and the opening to the outside was small. Finally, he spotted a brighter area ahead and crawled toward the expected opening. Shocking brilliance greeted the last escapee. The fiery ball of the setting sun passed behind a thin strip of clouds and created a temporary, reddened Saturn. The newly formed planet lost its shape quickly as the lowering sun rushed behind the horizon. Matthew could see little except the brilliant redness. Knowing that he had hung there in the opening while the sun set, he was nevertheless unable to restore his sense of timing. Minutes slipped past in an instant. Darkness fell like a wetted blanket. Blackness ate the remaining light in another misadjusted time interval, hiding the other survivors from the last man out of the shattered train. "Over here!" Three voices called from the darkness. Voices seemed to come from everywhere. Matthew's bewilderment was total. "Where are you? I can't see you." "Stay there, I'll come get you." A small feminine voice called from the cloying darkness. Without the accustomed comfort of air conditioning, the air passing over his body seemed to have tentacle like appendages, which clutched at his skin and caused his flesh to crawl. The touch of the young woman was another irritation until he recognized that she was there to lead him away from the destroyed train. He reached for her arm, his fear more evident than he liked. "Thank you." His voice carried a tremor which passed unnoticed in the clatter of his descent down the side of the train's smooth carcass. Matthew kept the feminine hand clutched tightly in his own. Starlight helped little as the lonely prairie waited for the moon's arrival. Without light there were no shadows. The invisible earth beneath their feet was covered with dry, crackling grasses. Suddenly they were confronted with two blacker forms in the darkness of the night. The survivors were all together. "They will send help..." The second small voice, feminine and trembling in the darkness, was more a question than a statement. None of the stranded foursome had any idea where they were or what they could expect. Time passed slowly and the young people soon huddled together, gathering what little comfort they could from the presence of the others. The deep darkness of sleep finally wrapped them in its folds. The alarm bell clanged loudly for a full second before the robot manager silenced it with an electronic command. The same command passed through the computer forming the robot's brain and sent another alarm coursing along the slender glass fibers connecting the train command center with the transportation center, three hundred miles away. The man working the console watched the panel of lights blinking, as the different transportation systems performed their ritual like movements. Nothing ever happened. The robots managed the repetitive tasks of switching, routing, and flow control, without a single glitch. Jason Malcom was bored. His only consolation was that his mundane job was scheduled for replacement with one of the new computers. Great strides had been made recently in Mechanical Intelligence, and the new machines were said to be wonders of logic. The newest, his replacement, was capable of creative thought and was therefore a suitable manager for the complexities of the West Coast Transportation System. Two more months, Jason mused, as a new light came to life. The red lens over the glowing lamp radiated more than light; there was danger and probable disaster beaming out from the control panel. Jason pushed the reset button for the light, asking the robot on the other end of the circuit to recheck the alarm. The light lost its glow for almost fifteen seconds and then renewed its gleaming alarm status. "Damn!" Jason swiveled his chair and reached for the microphone resting on the counter. He hesitated before pressing the switch. He knew the words he would speak would cause a fury. The train had carried a precious cargo and the chances that there was a minor derailment were slim. At three hundred miles per hour, any loss of rail contact was certain to be disastrous. He also knew how limited the response would be, rescue from the vastness of the central prairie was a major undertaking. Once filled with life, the area was now a place of dangers and difficulties. Thousands of square miles of grass and rolling earth made searching nearly impossible. The broiling sun scorched everything, with no trees to provide shelter from the hammer blows of the heat. Most dangerous of all were the creatures of the area. He was glad he would not be one of those chosen to venture into the area. He grasped the microphone and keyed the transmitter to life. "Communication Center, this is Jason at Transportation. Come in please." Seconds ticked away while the man on the other end of the radio link awoke and realized that something had happened. "This is Comm Center, Morton here. Go ahead." "I have an derailment signal from the Prairie Bullet. The initial alert has been confirmed. All communications with the Bullet are out and all indications point to a major crash." Jason listened to the hiss of static and could almost hear the "Damn" originating on the other end of the radio link. "Roger, I understand. I'll contact the Governor and the Coastal Guard. Out." "This is Transportation, out." Jason released the microphone and could imagine the furor he had caused with his announcement. The limited resources of the Coastal Guard and the Governor's office would soon be strained to the limit, but the effort had to be made. The seventeen people on that train were half of a group who represented the last hope for the country. Their perfect genetic pool was to be the new beginning for a repopulation effort unmatched in human history. Without them the effort was doomed to failure. Jason did not understand all the complications involved, but knew that cloning and in vitro fertilization were producing mutants not healthy babies, and that the powers of government were frantic to reverse the situation. There had been no normal conceptions in human memory. The thirty-four youngsters were the sole hope for a renewed genetic pool. If the program failed, Jason knew, the country would soon be populated with robots, androids and the wild creatures of the wildernesses. His heart lay heavy with fear as he leaned back in his chair and returned to watching the battery of blinking lights. The sun was high in the eastern sky before the sleeping quartet roused. They had tossed and turned fitfully during the early hours of darkness after surrendering to exhaustion in the first hours of darkness. None of them expected to be alive when the sun rose. All the stories of the horrors waiting in the wild areas haunted the group and made their last hours of sleep far less than restful. Matthew was the first to open his eyes and face the fact that they had managed to survive an entire night in the open. His grumbling stomach was the first sound he heard. The second belonged to the other male member of the group, echoing the thought racing through his mind. "What do we do now?" "We find some food, first." "Then we better find the rail that thing was traveling on. The rescue teams will be looking along the track first and we will have a better chance there than here." The man's voice was strident, near the edge of panic. "But where is the track?" The higher pitched voice of one of the women was also edged with hysteria, as she looked around the grassy expanse of their new world. "That way." Matthew thrust his thumb in the direction the train had traveled in its airborne trip to the present resting place. "We are probably ten to fifteen miles from the track. We were in the air for more than a minute." "How do you know?" Matthew turned to face the frightened and sneering questioner, the last female member of the group. "I was watching out the window when we left the rail. We were traveling very fast and flew through the air for a long time. At the speed we were traveling we covered five miles in a minute. Walking back will take a lot longer." The small figure confronting Matthew lost her belligerence and surrendered to the reality of his revelations. Her smile was weak but sincere. "I'm sorry. You aren't to blame for this mess. My name is Christina, Christina Mobely. What is yours?" "Matthew Brogan." "Lois Benneman," the nearly hysterical woman injected. "Martin Halvet." The introductions were less formal than the participants were accustomed to, but the circumstances seemed to call for informality. The small group of chastened youngsters followed Matthew as he returned to the demolished train. The shattered spheroid had not exploded as they feared and was sparkling in the sunlight. From their vantage point it looked as if it had settled gently to the earth and rested there, half buried. They all realized that the unseen half was spread out behind the gleaming remainder like a grotesque tail. None of them looked in that direction, fearing they might see the remains of their companions. All four limped down the small hill, hesitant but hungry. While not seriously hurt, they each had twisted muscles and darkening bruises. Matthew stopped beside the half train and waited to see if any of the others would enter the shattered cylinder. The others stood, accepting Mathews's leadership and waiting for his guidance. "Who helped me get out last night?" "I did," The slender red head, Christina, stepped forward, answering softly. "Does the help extend to getting me back inside," Matthew smiled. "Sure, what can I do?" "Put your hands together and give me a step up." The young woman flinched when he put his weight on her clasped hands but held her position despite the pain of her twisted wrist. Matthew noticed the flinch and scrambled quickly out of the volunteered stool and up the slope of the train's shell. Darkness faced the reluctant explorer and he hesitated momentarily before clenching his teeth and slipping inside. The familiar interior was twisted ninety degrees, but was recognizable, and Matthew went directly to the pantry compartment. Fortunately it survived with the left half of the train. The heavy door was twisted enough to make easy access impossible. Matthew looked around the cluttered ground, searching for something to pry the door open. He ignored the crumpled bodies which were piled together at the base of the bulkhead, and concentrated his search in the less grisly areas of the cabin. Behind a sprung open door he located a tool box and quickly discovered a long screwdriver. The other tools were unfamiliar, except for a sheath knife. He tucked the knife in his belt and returned to the reluctant door with the screwdriver. The stubborn panel swung open with infuriating ease, when persuaded with the leverage of the screwdriver, and revealed its treasure. Food for seventeen people, even the two meals he found, amounted to a large stack of envelopes, packets, and cans. Matthew was smilingly pleased when he made his way back to the entrance and called for some help. The slim legs sliding into the sunlit opening belonged to the red head, Matthew recognized her white canvass shoes. The other woman wore leather sandals. He was glad she had come, he liked her willingness to help and her ability to control the panic she felt. She accepted his assistance and entered the darkened interior. The two survivors were strangers, but similar in their understanding of what was now required to survive. Neither wished to face the possibility of prolonged living in the wild area they had heard so many frightening stories about. They each knew, however, that they would face that dilemma when and if they must. "Food. The pantry survived and there's some canned and packaged food in it." "A tool box, with a knife. A screwdriver too." Matthew added his discoveries like news clips tacked to the bottom of video broadcasts. "Great, we could use some light in here. There must be more things we can use. A weapon would be handy if we run into some of the wild animals that roam this area." "Let's get the food out first." "Here, use this pillow case and I'll find another." The labor of the unloading and packing the food was quickly ended with the prompt and efficient division of labor. Christina was able to wriggle around the twisted wreckage and retrieve five hidden pillows and several leather pouches, carried aboard the train by some of the male passengers. The two young people worked around the piled corpses and ignored the issue of disposing of their dead fellow passengers. None of the seventeen people had ever met before the train left the nation's capitol, making the crumpled bodies less of an emotional strain than if they had been friends. The piled up pillow cases, articles of clothing, and the remains of the tool box made a rather pitiful stack under the opening to the outside. Matthew boosted Christina back through the opening and began passing the scavenged supplies up to her waiting grasp. He heard the scuffing sounds and the rattle of the canned goods as she let the bags slide down the rounded skin of the train. The last load raised a loud din and Matthew knew the tool box was on the ground. He decided to take one last look through the demolished interior. He wanted all the help he could get and was still looking for a weapon, something more effective than the sheath knife still stuck in his waist band. "Nothing, damnit." He muttered under his breath, barking his shin on a protruding seat back. He shook his head in frustration and bent forward to rub the tingling bump on his leg. The light from the opening over his head fell on a squared off shaft of what appeared to be wood. Matthew grasped the whitish protrusion and pulled. The length of wood moved slightly and stuck solid. Determined now not to lose his battle with the reticent shaft. He renewed his grasp and double gripped his left hand with his right. He set his feet firmly and pulled with all the strength he could muster. The shaft, nearly six feet long, pulled free slowly and finally bumped against the wall over Matthew's head. The center of the six foot length was smoothly rounded and fit his hand comfortably. Someone, dead now, had fashioned the staff with loving care. The workmanship was evident even in the darkness, the wood had the smooth feel and almost sticky grip of sanded and waxed wood. Matthew was pleased, here was a weapon of real value. The smile on his face lasted until he handed the staff out to the red head, climbed out of the train, and witnessed the other two members of the group tearing into the bags of foodstuffs and supplies. They were stuffing the choicest morsels from each bag into their mouths and pockets as quickly as they could manage to open a new bag. Matthew allowed all his pent up anger and fear, accumulating since he first detected the train moving off the rail, to burst over the pair of greedy youths feeding below him. He fell on them with kicks, curses and thrusts of his new weapon. The woman fell back instantly but the man, taller and broader than Matthew by six inches, fought for the booty he had done nothing to earn. The struggle was short lived and the tasty morsels the larger man had gulped down ended up on the ground, as he threw up what had been his hastily consumed lunch. Matthew calmed down as quickly as he had begun. The food stores were safe, for the moment at least. Christina chastised the wrong doers with a surprisingly sharp tongue and left them feeling like a cross between a petty thief and a child molester. She moved to Matthew's side and smiled her approval of his rescue of their scanty resources. "We'll have to watch that pair..." Matthew grunted. "You're right, but we need to get started back toward the rail. If we ever hope to get rescued." "Christina, don't count too heavily on getting any help. Our government has very little power at home and still less here. If there was any hope of being rescued, we would have seen something by now. Governments are terribly good at making noises, and plans too for that matter, but they seem to fall apart when it comes to achieving anything. I am afraid we were another grandiose plan that died." "But what are we to do?" "Survive." The single word hung in the air like a strong smell, unpleasant, but undeniable. Sunset found the foursome stretched out single file along a quarter mile of the dry plain. Matthew was leading, with Christina following close behind. Her shorter legs were no match for his long strides, but her gameness kept her close. The other couple straggled behind. Lois was close to the lead couple and Martin was several hundred yards further back. Each person carried a leather pouch, a pillow case, and a slim flask of water. As Matthew watched, Martin tossed his water jug aside, the drained container carelessly littering the prairie. Matthew shook his head in exasperation. Would the foolish man never learn. Martin had eaten nearly half of his share of the rations before the first hour of the march was over. Now his water was gone as well. Christina caught up with Matthew and followed his frown back toward the stumbling Martin. "He's not going to make it, he's already eaten nearly all his food." "Yea, and he just threw his water flask away. Damn fool." Matthew's sympathy for the greedy man was thin indeed. He despised people who could not see the obvious, especially when their nose was soiled with the truth. Lois huffed and puffed up the small incline and flopped at Christina's feet. Her smile was weak but still showed her gameness. "Never thought I'd have to walk all the way to this new and exciting life we were promised. You two don't think this is what they meant, do you?" All three young people laughed, a bitter edge touching their humor. They had been promised a new and exciting part to play in the restoration of man as the dominant species on the continent... Or something like that. All the fancy speeches began running together into a jumble of long and meaningless words. They all figured they were to be some sort of experimental animals for the geneticists on the west coast. Well fed and pampered, they all planned to have their leisure hours filled with pleasure and self oriented activities. Matthew had designs on broadening his study of history and science. Christina was interested in botany and biology, with a smattering of painting thrown in for leavening. Lois had planned to pursue her interest in old literature and new theater. Martin was dedicated to his appetites, culinary and sexual, calculating that among the pampered and the pamperers he would find plenty to satisfy all his needs. The four represented a strange mix of interests and experience. None was trained for the situation they now faced. Their moment of strained humor emphasized their desperate situation. Concern marked their faces, especially Martin's. His struggle to cross the remaining ground between himself and the small gathering was pitiful to watch. Twice he started to discard the pillow case slung over his shoulder and twice remembered the food inside. His steps, merely reluctant at first, had become the shuffling movements of an old man. With rescue moments away, he had voted to stay beside the shattered train. He left only after everyone else vanished from his sight. Matthew turned away from the struggling man and scanned the scene before him. The gently undulating land was unmarked by trees or any landmarks. He knew a little of the history of the area, but nothing much about current life forms. Traditionally the vast areas of the continent's center were the breadbasket of the nation. Pollution and a sharp decline in the population halted the massive farm machines faster than the energy shortages of the previous century. The carefully tended acreages fell fallow and slowly returned to their former wildness. The cities faded more slowly, as tax rolls emptied and people abandoned them for the more lively coastal areas. Finally the cities were inhabited by the few diehards and those who could not move. Their mutated offspring became the monsters mothers threatened children with, instead of the bogey man. The passage of time left the center of the country in the control of those mutants. Their numbers and the exact nature of their mutations were never recorded. Those who tried to find out never returned. What lay ahead for the ragged foursome looked bleak. Twenty year old Matthew shuddered despite his conviction that he would survive this horror. His plans for the future did not include bleaching his fleshless bones on this barren plain. His jaw was set in firm determination when he turned to face the other three members of the group. He would bring all of them out, if he could. Three days later the sun was sliding to its nightly repose, but a jagged line of mountains was marking the horizon instead of the straight line of more prairie. The next few sunsets would find the four walkers in a land of trees, water and hopefully food. Matthew and Christina huddled together against the evenings cold and whispered their hopes for the future. "Will there be people, there?" Her question served to ask a multitude of other questions. Neither of them could answer, they were afraid of a negative answer. Their plans were made for a future only hours away, instead of years. Their hopes were for food, water, and the other necessities of life, not the gentler study of this ancient custom or that. "Whatever there is, we'll be better off than out here in this desolation We should be able to find some shelter, or build some. And I hope we can find some source of food. Our supplies are getting low." The pair fell into reflective silence and finally sleep. Their problems would have to wait for another day. The chilled air pushed them together for comfort, their loneliness and growing affection bound them tight. Lying beside Lois, but terribly alone, Martin accepted his fate. His choices were gone. His plans of hedonistic leisure were gone. Unfair or not, he could fight or starve. His last choice was starvation. The day of their arrival was delayed by six. More distant than their eyes had judged, the mountains finally surrendered their bounty to the exhausted foursome. Rabbits, unconcerned for the arrival of the people, fell to Matthew's thrown staff. Greens, some from the slow moving stream and some from the lush floor of the forest, added to their diet, as did the grains they gathered from the tall plants of the prairie itself. Work was required, but their survival was no longer a desperate concern. Life began to assume a new normalcy. With their days timed to the metronome rising and setting of the sun, they each found a way to rationalize their new existence. Martin's first voluntary efforts were the last sign Matthew needed to reassure him that they did indeed have a chance. The challenge was enormous, the needed skills being gleaned like precious metal from the surrounding mass of experience. Some lessons were painful, but the four individuals slowly became a working team. Their first celebration was the formalization of Matthew and Christina's living arrangement. A fact since the first glimpse of the mountains, they announced their happiness with each other and celebrated with baked grain, broiled rabbit, and fresh water, their customary meal. Their second celebration followed Martin's fortunate killing of a deer: he was quickly becoming their best hunter. Lois decided her options were limited and accepted Martin as her mate. The marriages began a time of intense work. Winter was hovering and food would be scarce. All four young people had faced starvation, all four wanted their larder filled. Matthew stood at the edge of the Aspen forest and looked out across the prairie. The sharp bite of the autumn wind pierced his rabbit fur cloak and chilled his darkly tanned skin. He leaned on his staff and wiped his hand down his well muscled leg. The few burrs clinging to the hairs on his leg tumbled to the ground, scattering the parent plant onto a wider range. Nature's plan was working. Christina walked through the trees and wrapped her arm around Matthew's waist. "Seems like another lifetime ago, doesn't it?" "Yes. We've covered a lot more than miles since we straggled up that hill. Even Martin has changed. He and Lois seem happy enough." "Maybe next year, after their baby comes they can make their try to reach the coast. That would make him a lot happier." "That will make things tougher on you, if we stay. Changed you mind?" "No. I'm happier than I have ever been. We'll stay. I want our baby to be free, like we are. Not a hermit in a cave, being led by a group of recluses. The two fur wrapped people turned and walked back toward their dome shaped hut. The mound of her swollen belly was their promise to each other that there was a future. Their dreams went beyond that single life. They were no longer the carefree youths who had agreed to the demands of their government. They were their own government now, and had decided that there was a better life. Their pledge to each other would form the foundation of an entire race. Living with nature, not trying to dominate and alter the world, was the promise. It would last a long time. The scientists on the two coasts had been right. Normal conception with normal men and women produces normal children. They would probably not approve of the way the experiment was done. But the experiment went forward. The hope that their plan would repopulate the continent would not be realized for many thousands of years. But even that hope would be fulfilled, although the originators of the plan would be long dead and forgotten. The civilization they belonged to would be gone as well. An unforeseen cold cycle, part of the earth's usual ups and downs, caused a minor ice age, dropping the Arctic ice line down the west coast, to the thin neck between the two halves of the continent. The clones, robots and androids passed into extinction, leaving nothing but a small, tenuous experiment in biology. Thousands of years after the four young people began their struggle to survive, other young people from another continent embarked in wooden vessels and discovered the descendants of Matthew, Christina, Martin, and Lois. They named them Indians. ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ÚË Ë¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ Ú» É¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ÚÉ ÚÍÑËÑÍ¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ³ ³ ³º ÃÎÍÍÍδ ³ÌÍÍËÊÙ ÀÊÑËѼ٠ÀÊÍÍÍË¿ ÃÎÍÍÍδ ³º ³º³ ÀÊÍÍÍË¿ ³ ³ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ÀÊ ÊÙ ÀÊ ÈÍÙ ÀÊÙ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ÀÊ ÊÙ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ÀÍÏÊÏÍÙ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ³ ³ Dallas/Ft Worth's First & Longest Running Multi-User BBS ³ ³ Online Since 1979 ³ ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´ ³ (214) 690-9295 Dallas (817) 540-5565 Ft. 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Worth ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ======================================================================== Number : 2913 of 3006 Date : 12/28/94 15:28 Confer : Private Electronic Mail From : Lisa Tamara To : Joe Derouen Subject : January STTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Guess what - i'm actually submitting something on time! :) This is a recent one called Wind The Wind I hear the wind blowing it's calling my name whispering my secrets again and again Up thru the rafters and down thru the vale the thundering echo remembers it well One day I was crying the next day it rained followed soon after by the influx of change Death is a doorway when the moon wanes a transition of sorts for those who remain I hear the wind blowing it's calling my name come hither young gypsy come hither to me Wherever I wander and wherever I go my destiny takes me where ere the wind blows. By Tamara Written Dec 9th, 1994 (c) ======================================================================== The Human Tide Copyright (c) 1994, Daniel Sendecki All rights reserved The Human Tide -------------- Line them up six abreast forever drive wearied truckhorses through tombstone whitecaps the pearl dead like swollen marshmallows rise and fall Monday, 9:07 pm Copyright (c) 1994, J. Guenther All rights reserved Monday, 9:07 pm It's just another day you're not here; (Hell, the sexes are equal when they're blown sky high-- I believe another comic character said that in a film) shatter * rumble * rattle [I could have sworn I heard your ebony voice in our ivory hall] fight the right slamshot ramrod slang rimshot BANG! When I was young I thought IÕd be on top and not a bit of blood I would ever drop; It would seem my wrong was always to be right and I raised my white flag high early in the fight. The thunder calls your name in a low purr while the sky flashes your neon name. The clouds cry a tear for every minute I miss you. Phantom voice images of ours tickle my ear as spectre mirages of your reflection wade in the misty glass windows in front of me while the frustrated summer rain taps its chaotic chorus against you. --I was not naked, or at least not now-- Wrong Side of the Bridge Copyright (c) 1994, Tommy Van Hook All rights reserved Wrong Side of the Bridge By Tommy Van Hook 5 November 1994 I wandered through a forest Darkened and dismal it was Certainly a frightening stroll Not one I would usually take ...at least not in those days I came upon a small bridge Which crossed a small gorge It's depth I could not see For it went on forever ...whatever that could be To one side of the bridge Sat a gnarled old gnome A scowl permanently fixed Below his red, glowering eyes ...what lovely sight he was "Good day toy you sir," I said as I crossed over "You mean good riddance," Came the nasty reply. ...Temper, temper brother dear I must apologize for the gnome On the other side of the bridge He's just sullen and angry since I woke up on the wrong side of the bridge ...I sit on the other side NEVERMORE By Author Unknown Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary, System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor, Longing for the warmth of bedsheets, Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets: Having reached the bottom line, I took a floppy from the drawer. Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command But got instead a reprimand: it read "Abort, Retry, Ignore." Was this some occult illusion? Some maniacal intrusion? These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before. Carefully, I weighed my options. These three seemed to be the top ones. Clearly, I must now adopt one: Choose Abort, Retry, Ignore. With my fingers pale and trembling, Slowly toward the keyboard bending, Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored, Praying for some guarantee Finally I pressed a key -- But on the screen what did I see? Again: "Abort, Retry, Ignore." I tried to catch the chips off-guard -- I pressed again, but twice as hard. Luck was just not in the cards. I saw what I had seen before. Now I typed in desperation Trying random combinations Still there came the incantation: Choose: Abort, Retry, Ignore. There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor. And then I saw an awful sight: A bold and blinding flash of light -- A lightning bolt had cut the night and shook me to my very core. I saw the screen collapse and die "Oh no -- my database", I cried I thought I heard a voice reply, "You'll see your data Nevermore." To this day I do not know The place to which lost data goes I bet it goes to heaven where the angels have it stored. But as for productivity, well I fear that it goes straight to hell And that's the tale I have to tell Your choice: Abort, Retry, Ignore. Top Ten List Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Top Ten Worst BBS's in the Dallas/Ft.Worth Area 10. Cavity Lovers of America, Unite! 9. Newt Gingrich's House of Fun 8. Online Coronor and Floral Design 7. Federal Witness Protection BBS (anonymous logon only!) 6. Massive Head Wound BBS 5. Caffeine BBS (24 hrs., 28.8k connection only) 4. 24 Hr. Chat BBS (1 Line Only) 3. Fresh Produce BBS - We're All About Vegetables! 2. Pog Traders Anonymous 1. 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ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ 110 Nodes * 4000 Conferences * 30.0 Gigabytes * 100,000+ Archives ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÛÛßßßßßß ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßßßÛÛ ÛÛßßÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßßßßß ÛÛ ßÛÛ (R) ÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ Ü ÛÛ ßßßßßßßß ßß ßß ßß ßß ßß ßßßß ßß ßßßß ßßßßßßßß ßßßßßßß ßßßß °°°°°°°° * Winner, First Dvorak/Zoom "Best General BBS" Award °°°°°°°° * INTERNET/Usenet Access * DOS/Windows/OS2/Mac/Amiga/Unix * ILink, RIME, Smartnet * Best Files in the USA * Pen & Brush, BASnet. * 120 Online Games * QWKmail & Offline Readers * Multi-line Chat Closing Stocks, Financial News, Business/Professional Software, NewsBytes, PC-Catalog, MovieCritic, EZines, AbleData, ASP, 4DOS Huge Windows, Graphics, Music, Programming, Education Libraries ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ Channel 1 Communications(R) * Cambridge, MA * 617-354-3230 14.4 ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ °°°úfasterúbetterúless expensiveú°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° "Best Files in US" ° Þ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±Ý ÞúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúÝ Þ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ 2400bps &  (414) 789-4210 Ý Þ ³ ÚÄÄÄÄÙ "The best connection your USR HST 9600 (414) 789-4337 Ý Þ ³ ³ modem will ever make!!" 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Ý Þ þ Low subscription rates: $25 for 3 months, $75 for a full year Ý ÞúúúúúúúúúúúúCallútheúBBSúforúaúFREEútrialúdemo,úandúFREEúdownloadsúúúúúúúúúúúúÝ Þ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±Ý ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ "Bringing our software to your home" ÄÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÜÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ ßßßßßßÛÛßßßßßßßÛßßßßßßßßßÛÛßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß ÍÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍßÛÛÛßÍÍÍÜÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ ÛÛ Û ÛÛÜÜÛÛ (717)325-9481 14.4 ßÛ ßÛÛÛÛß 2 NODES ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜ Ü Ü ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛ ÜÛ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÜ ÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ ÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÄÄßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÛÛÛÛÜÄÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÜÜÄÛÛÄÄÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÄÄÛÛÛÛÛÛÄÄÄÛÛÛÜÄÄÄÄÄ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÜ ÛÛ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÜÛÛÜÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÜ ÛÛÜÜÜÜ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ßÛÛÛÛÛß ßÛ ßÛ ßÛÛÛÛß ßÛ ßÛ ßÛ ßÛ ßÛÛÛÛß Prize Vault Lemonade Scramble Dollarmania ANSI Voting Booth Studs! Studette BadUser Convince! OnLine! GoodUser T&J Lotto T&JStat TJTop30 Environmental QT Video Poker Announce Bordello! Money Market Bordello T&J Raffle RIP Lemonade AgeCheck Strip Poker RIP Voting Booth ...and more coming! ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ÚË Ë¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ Ú» É¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ÚÉ ÚÍÑËÑÍ¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ³ ³ ³º ÃÎÍÍÍδ ³ÌÍÍËÊÙ ÀÊÑËѼ٠ÀÊÍÍÍË¿ ÃÎÍÍÍδ ³º ³º³ ÀÊÍÍÍË¿ ³ ³ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ÀÊ ÊÙ ÀÊ ÈÍÙ ÀÊÙ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ÀÊ ÊÙ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ÀÍÏÊÏÍÙ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ³ ³ Dallas/Ft Worth's First & Longest Running Multi-User BBS ³ ³ Online Since 1979 ³ ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´ ³ (214) 690-9295 Dallas (817) 540-5565 Ft. Worth ³ ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´ ³ 64 Telephone Lines ³ ³ Internet E-Mail, FTPmail, Archie, Oracle, Usenet Groups ³ ³ Over 35+ Gigabytes of Files Represented - 12 CD-Rom Drives Online ³ ³ NO File Upload or File Ratio Requirements ³ ³ Interactive Multiuser Chat Conferences ³ ³ Dozens of Interactive, Real-Time, Games of Chance & Excitement ³ ³ Text, Graphics, & ANSI Color Completely Supported ³ ³ Dozens of Special Interest Areas - Literally 1000s of Messages Online ³ ³ USA Today Online Each Business Day ³ ³ Thousands of Interesting, Intelligent, Diverse Members ³ ³ Connex (Tm) - The Biographical, Friendship, and Matchmaking Service ³ ³ Voted # 1 BBS in Texas by Boardwatch BBS Magazine ³ ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´ ³ High Speed: (214) 690-9296 Dallas (817) 540-5569 Ft. Worth ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° ²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²² ²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²² Lets go MUdding - Online Feb 15th - Call (214) 373-6732 MUD Multi-User-Dungeon Become a Wizard and build you own Zone in the MUD.  ú  ú  ú ²  ú ° ú  ððððððððð ²  ú  °°°  ú   ãõêÙäøû  ² ú  °°°°  ú  çëìíî   þþþþþþþþþþþþþ  ò󩪩êû  èèèèèè DreamTide  雜™ïØè   ððððððððð  Takes you to a future Ice Age! Text, Ansi, RIP154, RIP 2.0 The Blue Event Horizon - the "first" BBS MUD site. ²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²² ²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²² ±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±±± ÿ Enter 'EXIT' to return to PROCOMM PLUS C:\TEST> There are several different ways to get STTS magazine. SysOps: Contact me via any of the addresses listed in CONTACT POINTS listed elsewhere in this issue. Just drop me a note telling me your name, city, state, your BBS's name, it's phone number and it's baud rate, and where you'll be getting STTS from each month. If your BBS carries RIME, Pen & Brush Network, or you have access to the InterNet, I can put you on the STTS mailing list to receive the magazine free of charge each month. If you have access to FIDO, you can file request the magazine. If you don't have access to any of these services - or do but don't wish to use this option - you can call any of the BBS's listed in DISTRIBUTION SITES and download the new issue each month. In either case contact me so that I can put your BBS in the dist. site list for the next issue of the magazine. (Refer to DISTRIBUTION VIA NETWORKS for more detailed information about the nets) Users: You can download STTS each month from any of the BBS's mentioned in DISTRIBUTION SITES elsewhere in this issue. If your local BBS isn't listed, pester and cajole your SysOp to "subscribe" to STTS for you. (the subscription, of course, is free) If you haven't any other way of receiving the magazine each month, a monthly disk subscription (sent out via US Mail) is available for $ 20.00 per year. Foreign subscriptions are $ 25.00 (american dollars). Subscriptions should be mailed to: Joe DeRouen 3910 Farmville Dr. # 144 Addison, Tx. 75244 U.S.A. * Special Offer * Having trouble finding back issues of STTS Magazine? (This is only the eighth issue, but you never know..) For only $ 5.00 (count 'em - five dollars!) I'll send you all the back issues of STTS Mag as well as current issues of other magazines, and whatever other current, new shareware will fit onto a disk. Just send your $ 5.00 (money order or check please, US funds only, made payable to: Joe DeRouen) to: Joe DeRouen 3910 Farmville Dr. # 144 Addison, Tx. 75244 U.S.A. Tell me if you want a high density 5 1/4" disk or a high density 3 1/2" disk, please. (The following form is duplicated in the text file FORM.TXT, included with this archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Enclosed is a check or money order (US funds only!) for $ 5.00. Please send me the back issues of STTS, the registered version of Quote!, and whatever else you can cram onto the disk. I want: [ ] 5.25" HD disk [ ] 3.5" HD disk Send to: ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ Submission Information ---------------------- We're looking for a few good writers. Actually, we're looking for as many good writers as we can find. We're interested in fiction, poetry, reviews, feature articles (about most anything, as long as it's well-written), humour, essays, ANSI art, and RIP art. STTS is dedicated to showcasing as many talents as it can, in all forms and genres. We have no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative concepts, and unique execution of those concepts. As of January 1st 1994, we've been PAYING for accepted submissions! In a bold move, STTS has decided to offer an incentive for writers to submit their works. For each accepted submission, an honorarium fee will be paid upon publication. Premium access to STTS BBS is also given to staff and contributing writers. In addition to the monthly payments, STTS will hold a yearly "best of" contest, where the best published stories and articles in three categories will receive substantial cash prizes. These changes took effect in January of 1994, and the first yearly awards were presented in the July 1994 issue. Honorariums, yearly cash awards, award winners selection processes, and Contributor BBS access is explained below: HONORARIUM Each and every article and story accepted for publication in STTS will received a cash honorarium. The payment is small and is meant as more of a token than something to reflect the value of the submission. As the magazine grows and brings in more money, the honorariums will increase, as will the yearly award amounts. Fiction pieces pay an honorarium of $2.00 each. Poetry pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each Non-fiction* pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each You have the option of refusing your honorarium. Refused funds will be donated to the American Cancer Society. Staff members ARE eligible for honorariums. * Non-fiction includes any feature articles, humor, reviews, and anything else that doesn't fit into the fiction or poetry category. YEARLY CASH AWARD Once a year, In July, the staff of STTS magazine will meet and vote on the stories, poems, and articles that have appeared in the last six issues of the magazine. Each staff member (the publisher included) gets one vote, and can use that vote on only one entry in each category. In the unlikely event of a tie, the winners will split the cash award. Winners will be announced in the July issue of the magazine. Yearly prize amounts -------------------- Fiction $50.00 Non-fiction 25.00 Poetry 25.00 The winner in each category does have the option of refusing his cash award. In the event of such a refusal, the entire sum of the refused cash awards will be donated to the American Cancer Society. STTS BBS Staff members and contributing writers will also receive level 40 access on Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS. Such access consists of 2 hrs. a day, unlimited download bytes per day, and no download/upload ratio. A regular user receives 1 hr. a day and has an download/upload ratio of 10:1. Staff and contributing writers also receive access to a special private STTS Staff conference on the BBS. LIMITATIONS STTS will still accept previously published stories and articles for publication. However, previously published submissions do NOT qualify for contention in the yearly awards. Furthermore, previously published stories and articles will be paid at a 50% honorarium of the normal honorarium fee. RIGHTS The copyright of said material, of course, remains the sole property of the author. STTS has the right to present it once in a "showcase" format and in an annual "best of" issue. (a paper version as well as the elec. version) Acceptance of submitted material does NOT necessarily mean that it will appear in STTS. Submissions should be in 100% pure ASCII format, formatted for 80 columns. There are no limitations in terms of lengths of articles, but keep in mind it's a magazine, not a novel. Fiction and poetry will be handled on a pure submission basis, except in the case of any round-robin stories or continuing stories that might develop. Reviews will also be handled on a submission basis. If you're interested in doing a particular review medium (ie: books) on a full-time basis, let me know and we'll talk. ANSI art should be under 10k and can be about any subject as long as it's not pornographic. We'll feature ANSI art from time to time, as well as featuring a different ANSI "cover" for our magazine each month. In terms of articles, we're looking for just about anything that's of fairly general interest to the BBSing world at large. An article comparing several new high-speed modems would be appropriate, for example, whereas an article describing in detail how to build your own such modem really wouldn't be. Articles needn't be contained to the world of computing, either. Movies, politics, ecology, literature, entertainment, fiction, non-fiction, reviews - it's all fair game for STTS. Articles, again, will be handled on a submission basis. If anyone has an idea or two for a regular column, let me know. If it works, we'll incorporate it into STTS. Writers interested in contributing to Sunlight Through The Shadows can reach me through any of the following methods: Contact Points -------------- CompuServe - My E_Mail address is: 73654,1732 The Internet - My E_Mail address is: jderouen@crl.com RIME - My NODE ID is SUNLIGHT or 5320. Send all files to this address. (you'll have to ask your SysOp who's carrying RIME to send it for you) Alternately, you can simply post it in either the Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine, Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner conference to: Joe Derouen. If you put a ->5320 or ->SUNLIGHT in the top-most upper left-hand corner, it'll be routed directly to my BBS. Pen & Brush Net - Leave me a note or submission in either the Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine conference, the Poetry Corner conference, or the Writers Conference. If your P&BNet contact is using PostLink, you can route the message to me automatically via the same way as described above for RIME. In either case, address all correspondence to: Joe derouen. WME Net - Leave me a note or submission in the Net Chat conference. Address all correspondence to: Joe Derouen. My BBS - Sunlight Through The Shadows. 12/24/96/14.4k baud. (214) 620-8793. You can upload submissions to the STTS Magazine file area, comment to the SysOp, or just about any other method you choose. Address all correspondence to: Joe Derouen. US Mail - Send disks (any size, IBM format ONLY) containing submissions to: Joe DeRouen 3910 Farmville Dr. # 144 Addison, Tx. 75244 U.S.A. Advertising ----------- Currently, STTS Mag is being "officially" carried by over 90 BBS's across the United States. It's also being carried by BBS's in the United Kingdom, Canada, Portugal, and Finland. Unofficially (which means that the SysOps haven't yet notifed me that they carry it) it's popped up on literally hundreds of BBS's across the USA as well as in other countries including the UK, Canada, Portugal, Ireland, Japan, The Netherlands, Scotland, and Saudi Arabia. It's also available via Internet, FIDO, RIME, and Pen & Brush Networks. Currently, STTS has about 10,000 readers worldwide and is available to literally millions of BBSers through the internet and other networks and BBS's. If you or your company want to expose your product to a variety of people all across the world, this is your opportunity! Advertising in Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available in four different formats: 1) Personal Advertisements (NON-Business) ----------------------- Personal advertisements run $5.00 for 4 lines of advertising, with each additional line $1.00. Five lines is the minimum length. Your ad can be as little as one line, but the cost is still $5.00. Advertisements should be in ASCII and formatted for 80 columns. They should include whatever you're trying to sell (or buy) as well as a price and a method of contacting you. ANSI or RIP ads at this level will NOT be accepted. Business ads will NOT be accepted here. These ads are for non-business readers to advertise something they wish to sell or buy, or to advertise a non-profit event. BBS ads are considered business ads. 2) Regular Advertisement (Business or Personal) --------------------- We're accepting business advertisements in STTS. If you're interested in advertising in STTS, a full-page (ASCII or ASCII and ANSI) is $25.00/issue. Those interested can contact me by any of the means listed under Contact Points. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($125.00) the sixth month is free. 3) Feature Advertisement (Business or Personal) --------------------- We'll include one feature ad per issue. The feature ad will pop up right after the magazine's ANSI cover, when the user first begins to read the magazine. This ad will also appear within the body of the magazine, for further perusement by the reader. A feature ad will run $50.00 per issue, and should be created in both ANSI and ASCII formats. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($250.00) the sixth month is free. 4) BBS Advertisement (Business or Personal) ----------------- Many BBS SysOps and users call STTS BBS each month to get the current issue of STTS Magazine. These callers are from all over the USA as well as Canada, Portugal, the UK, and various other countries. Advertising is now available for the logoff screen of the BBS. The rates are $100.00 per month. Ads should be in both ASCII and ANSI format. We're accepting RIP ads as well, but only for the this advertising option. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($500.00) the sixth month is free. Advertisement Specifications ---------------------------- Ads may be in as many as three formats. They MUST be in ascii text and may also be in ANSI and/or RIP Graphics formats. Ads should be no larger than 24 lines (ie: one screen/page) and ANSI ads should not use extensive animation. If you cannot make your own ad or do not have the time to make your own ad, we can make it for you. However, there is a one-time charge of $10.00 for this service. We will create ads in ASCII and ANSI only. If you absolutely need RIP ads and cannot create your own, we'll attempt to put you into contact with someone who can. Contact Points -------------- You can contact me through any of the following addresses. Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS (214) 620-8793 12/24/96/14,400 Baud CompuServe: 73654,1732 InterNet: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org Pen & Brush Net: ->SUNLIGHT P&BNet Conferences: Sunlight Through The Shadows Conference or any other conference WME Net: Net Chat conference PcRelay/RIME: ->SUNLIGHT RIME Conferences: Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner US Mail: Joe DeRouen 3910 Farmville Dr. # 144 Addison, Tx. 75244 U.S.A. You can always find STTS Magazine on the following BBS's. BBS's have STTS available for both on-line viewing and downloading unless otherwise marked. * = On-Line Only # = Download Only United States ------------- BBS Name ........... Sunlight Through The Shadows Location ........... Addison, Texas (in the Dallas area) SysOp(s) ........... Joe and Heather DeRouen Phone ........... (214) 620-8793 (14.4k baud) (Sorted by area code, then alphabetically) BBS Name ........... ModemNews Location ........... Stamford, Connecticut SysOp(s) ........... Jeff Green Phone ........... (203) 359-2299 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Party Line, The Location ........... Birmingham, Alabama SysOp(s) ........... Anita Abney Phone ........... (205) 856-1336 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Left-Hand Path, The Location ........... Seattle, Washington SysOp(s) ........... Mark Pruitt Phone ........... (206) 783-4668 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Lobster Buoy Location ........... Bangor, Maine SysOp(s) ........... Mark Goodwin Phone ........... (207) 941-0805 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (207) 945-9346 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Northern Maine BBS Location ........... Caribou, Maine SysOp(s) ........... David Collins Phone ........... (207) 496-2391 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... File-Link BBS Location ........... Manhattan, New York SysOp(s) ........... Bill Marcy Phone ........... (212) 777-8282 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Poetry In Motion Location ........... New York, New York SysOp(s) ........... Inez Harrison Phone ........... (212) 666-6927 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Wamblyville Location ........... Los Angeles, California SysOp(s) ........... John Borowski Phone ........... (213) 380-8090 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Aaron's Beard BBS Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Troy Wade Phone ........... (214) 557-2642 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Archives On-line Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Pellecchia Phone ........... (214) 247-6512 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 406-8394 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... BBS America Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Jay Gaines Phone ........... (214) 680-3406 (9600 baud) Phone ........... (214) 680-1451 (9600 baud) BBS Name ........... Blue Banner BBS Location ........... Rowlett, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Richard Bacon Phone ........... (214) 475-8393 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Blue Moon Location ........... Plano, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Roger Koppang Phone ........... (214) 985-1453 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Bucket Bored! Location ........... Sachse, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Tim Bellomy Phone ........... (214) 414-6913 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Chrysalis BBS Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Garry Grosse Phone ........... (214) 690-9295 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (214) 783-5477 (9600 baud) # BBS Name ........... Collector's Edition Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Len Hult Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Foreplay Online Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Sean Goldsberry Phone ........... (214) 306-7493 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... New Age Visions Location ........... Grand Prairie, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Larry Joe Reynolds Phone ........... BBS Name ........... Old Poop's World Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Sonny Grissom Phone ........... (214) 613-6900 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Online Syndication Services BBS Location ........... Plano, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Don Lokke Phone ........... (214) 424-8425 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Opa's Mini-BBS (open 11pm-7am CST) Location ........... Plano, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Marshall Phone ........... (214) 424-0153 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Texas Talk Location ........... Richardson, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Sunnie Blair Phone ........... (214) 497-9100 (2400 baud) # BBS Name ........... User-2-User Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... William Pendergast and Kevin Carr Phone ........... (214) 393-4768 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 393-4736 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Deep 13 - MST3K Location ........... Levittown, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... Mike Slusher Phone ........... (215) 943-9526 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Beta Connection, The Location ........... Elkhart, Indiana SysOp(s) ........... David Reynolds Phone ........... (219) 293-6465 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Bill & Hilary's BBS Location ........... Elkhart, Indiana SysOp(s) ........... Nancy VanWormer Phone ........... (219) 295-6206 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... FTB's Passport BBS Location ........... Frederick, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Karina Wright Phone ........... (301) 662-9134 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... The "us" Project Location ........... Wilmington, Delaware SysOp(s) ........... Walt Mateja, PhD Phone ........... (302) 529-1650 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Hole In the Wall, The Location ........... Parker, Colorado SysOp(s) ........... Mike Fergione Phone ........... (303) 841-5515 (16.8k baud) BBS Name ........... Right Angle BBS Location ........... Aurora, Colorado SysOp(s) ........... Bill Roark Phone ........... (303) 337-0219 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Ruby's Joint Location ........... Miami, Florida SysOp(s) ........... David and Del Freeman Phone ........... (305) 856-4897 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... PUB Desktop Publishing BBS, The Location ........... Chicago, Illinois SysOp(s) ........... Steve Gjondla Phone ........... (312) 767-5787 (9600 baud) BBS Name ........... O & E Online Location ........... Livoign, Michigan SysOp(s) ........... Greg Day Phone ........... (313) 591-0903 (14.4 k baud) BBS Name ........... Family Connection, The Location ........... St. Louis, Missouri SysOp(s) ........... John Askew Phone ........... (314) 544-4628 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... PsychoBABBLE BBS Location ........... Massena, New York SysOp(s) ........... Doug LaGarry Phone ........... (315) 764-719 (28.8k baud) BBS Name ........... Pegasus BBS Location ........... Owensboro, Kentucky SysOp(s) ........... Raymond Clements Phone ........... (317) 651-0234 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Puma Wildcat BBS Location ........... Alexandria, Louisiana SysOp(s) ........... Chuck McMillin Phone ........... (318) 443-1065 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Badger's "BYTE", The Location ........... Valentine, Nebraska SysOp(s) ........... Dick Roosa Phone ........... (402) 376-3120 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Megabyte Mansion, The Location ........... Omaha, Nebraska SysOp(s) ........... Todd Robbins Phone ........... (402) 551-8681 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... College Board, The Location ........... West Palm Beach, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Charles Bell Phone ........... (407) 731-1675 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Treasures Location ........... Longwood, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Jim Daly Phone ........... (407) 831-9130 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Flying Dutchman, The Location ........... San Jose, California SysOp(s) ........... Chris Von Motz Phone ........... (408) 294-3065 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Matrix Online Service Location ........... San Jose, California SysOp(s) ........... Daryl Perry Phone ........... (408) 265-4660 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Aries Knowledge Systems Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Waddell Robey Phone ........... (410) 625-0109 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Doppler Base BBS Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Dan Myers Phone ........... (410) 922-1352 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Port EINSTEIN Location ........... Catonsville, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... John P. Lynch Phone ........... (410) 744-4692 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Puffin's Nest, The Location ........... Pasadena, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Dave Bealer Phone ........... (410) 437-3463 (16.8k baud) BBS Name ........... Robin's Nest BBS Location ........... Glen Burnie, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Robin Kirkey Phone ........... (410) 766-9756 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Chatterbox Lounge and Hotel, The Location ........... Penn Hills, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... James Robert Lunsford Phone ........... (412) 795-4454 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Signal Hill BBS Location ........... Springfield, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Edwin Thompson Phone ........... (413) 782-2158 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Exec-PC Location ........... Elm Grove, Wisconsin SysOp(s) ........... Bob Mahoney Phone ........... (414) 789-4210 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (414) 789-4315 (9600 baud) Phone ........... (414) 789-4360 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... First Step BBS, The Location ........... Green Bay, Wisconsin SysOp(s) ........... Mark Phillips Phone ........... (414) 499-6646 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Lincoln's Cabin BBS Location ........... San Francisco, California SysOp(s) ........... Steve Pomerantz Phone ........... (415) 752-4490 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Uncle "D"s Discovery Location ........... Redwood City, California SysOp(s) ........... Dave Spensley Phone ........... (415) 364-3001 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... File Cabinet BBS, The Location ........... White Hall, Arkansas SysOp(s) ........... Bob Harmon Phone ........... (501) 247-1141 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Starting Gate, The Location ........... Louisville, Kentucky SysOp(s) ........... Ed Clifford Phone ........... (502) 423-9629 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Darkside BBS, The Location ........... Independence, Oregon SysOp(s) ........... Seth Able Robinson Phone ........... (503) 838-6171 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Last Byte, The Location ........... Alamogordo, New Mexico SysOp(s) ........... Robert Sheffield Phone ........... (505) 437-0060 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Leisure Time BBS Location ........... Alamogordo, New Mexico SysOp(s) ........... Bob Riddell Phone ........... (505) 434-6940 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Base Line BBS Location ........... Peabody, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Steve Keith Phone ........... (508) 535-0446 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... High Society BBS Location ........... Beverly, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Chuck Frieser Phone ........... (508) 927-3757 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... High Water Mark, The Location ........... Wareham, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Joseph Leggett Phone ........... (508) 295-6557 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... PandA's Den BBS Location ........... Danvers, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Patrick Rosenheim Phone ........... (508) 750-0250 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... SoftWare Creations Location ........... Clinton, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Dan Linton Phone ........... (508) 368-7036 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Extreme OnLine Location ........... Spokane, Washington SysOp(s) ........... Jim Holderman Phone ........... (509) 487-5303 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Silicon Garden, The Location ........... Selden, New York SysOp(s) ........... Andy Keeves Phone ........... (516) 736-6662 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Appomattox BBS, The Location ........... New Lebanon, New York SysOp(s) ........... Dan Everette Phone ........... (518) 766-5144 (14.4k baud dual standard) BBS Name ........... Integrity Online Location ........... Schenectady, New York SysOp(s) ........... Dan Ginsburg, Jordan Feinman, Dave Garvey Phone ........... (518) 370-8758 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (518) 370-8756 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Tidal Wave BBS Location ........... Altamont, New York SysOp(s) ........... Josh Perfetto Phone ........... (518) 861-6645 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Mission Control BBS Location ........... Flagstaff, Arizona SysOp(s) ........... Kevin Echstenkamper Phone ........... (602) 527-1854 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (602) 527-1863 (28.8k baud) BBS Name ........... Chopping Block, The Location ........... Claremont, New Hampshire SysOp(s) ........... Dana Richmond Phone ........... (603) 543-0865 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Casino Bulletin Board, The Location ........... Atlantic City, New Jersey SysOp(s) ........... Dave Schubert Phone ........... (609) 561-3377 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Princessland BBS Location ........... Wenonah, New Jersey SysOp(s) ........... Pamela & Rick Forsythe Phone ........... (609) 464-1421 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Revision Systems Location ........... Lawrenceville, New Jersey SysOp(s) ........... Paul Lauda Phone ........... (609) 896-3256 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Hangar 18 Location ........... Columbus, Ohio SysOp(s) ........... Bob Dunlap Phone ........... (614) 488-2314 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Channel 1 Location ........... Cambridge, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Brian Miller Phone ........... (617) 354-3230 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (617) 354-3137 (16.8k HST) # BBS Name ........... Arts Place BBS, The Location ........... Arlington, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Ron Fitzherbert Phone ........... (703) 528-8467 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Bubba Systems One Location ........... Manassas, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Mark Mosko Phone ........... (703) 335-1253 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Market Hotline, The Location ........... Rodford, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Steve Mintun Phone ........... (703) 633-2178 (28.8k baud) BBS Name ........... Pen and Brush BBS Location ........... Burke, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Lucia and John Chambers Phone ........... (703) 644-6730 (300-12.0k baud) Phone ........... (703) 644-5196 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Sidewayz BBS Location ........... Fairfax, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Paul Cutrona Phone ........... (703) 352-5412 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Virginia Connection, The Location ........... Washington, District of Columbia SysOp(s) ........... Tony McClenny Phone ........... (703) 648-1841 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Vivid Images Press Syndicate Location ........... Wise, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... David Allio Phone ........... (703) 328-6915 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Imperial Palace, The Location ........... Augusta, Georiga SysOp(s) ........... Michael Deutsch Phone ........... (706) 592-1344 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Zarno Board Location ........... Martinez, Georiga SysOp(s) ........... Tim Saari Phone ........... (706) 860-7927 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Anathema Downs Location ........... Sonoma County, California SysOp(s) ........... Sadie Jane Phone ........... (707) 792-1555 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Happy Trails Location ........... Orange, California SysOp(s) ........... Don Inglehart Phone ........... (714) 547-0719 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... InfoMat BBS Location ........... San Clemente, California SysOp(s) ........... Michael Gibbs Phone ........... (714) 492-8727 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Cool Baby BBS Location ........... York, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... Mark Krieg Phone ........... (717) 751-0855 (19.2k baud) BBS Name ........... T&J Software BBS Location ........... Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... Tom Wildoner Phone ........... (717) 325-9481 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Ice Box BBS, The Location ........... Kew Gardens Hills, New York SysOp(s) ........... Darren Klein Phone ........... (718) 793-8548 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Systemic BBS Location ........... Bronx, New York SysOp(s) ........... Mufutau Towobola Phone ........... (718) 716-6198 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (718) 716-6341 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Paradise City BBS Location ........... St. George, Utah SysOp(s) ........... Steve & Marva Cutler Phone ........... (801) 628-4212 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Regulator, The Location ........... Charleston, South Carolina SysOp(s) ........... Steve Coker Phone ........... (803) 571-1100 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Straight Board, The Location ........... Virginia Beach, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Ray Sulich Phone ........... (804) 468-6454 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (804) 468-6528 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... TDOR#2 Location ........... Charlottesville, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... David Short Phone ........... (804) 973-5639 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Valley BBS, The Location ........... Myakka City, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Larry Daymon Phone ........... (813) 322-2589 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Syllables Location ........... Fort Myers, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Jackie Jones Phone ........... (813) 482-5276 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Nightline I & II Location ........... Crystal Lake, Illinois SysOp(s) ........... Ron Pena Phone ........... (815) 356-7061 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (815) 356-7062 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Renaissance BBS Location ........... Arlington, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Pollard Phone ........... (817) 467-7322 (9600 baud) # BBS Name ........... Second Sanctum Location ........... Arlington, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Mark Robbins Phone ........... (817) 784-1178 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (817) 784-1179 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Dream Land BBS Location ........... Destin, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Ron James Phone ........... (904) 837-2567 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Hurry No Mo BBS Location ........... Citra, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Roy Fralick Phone ........... (904) 595-5057 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Star Fire Location ........... Jacksonville, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Bruce Allan Phone ........... (904) 260-8825 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Tree BBS, The Location ........... Ocala, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Frank Fowler Phone ........... (904) 732-0866 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (904) 732-8273 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Outlands, The Location ........... Ketchikan, Alaska SysOp(s) ........... Mike Gates Phone ........... (907) 225-1219 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (907) 225-1220 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (907) 247-4733 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Moonbase Alpha BBS Location ........... Bahama, North Carolina SysOp(s) ........... Steven Wright Phone ........... (919) 471-4547 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Outlands, The Location ........... Ketchikan, Alaska SysOp(s) ........... Mike Gates Phone ........... (907) 247-4733 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (907) 225-1219 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (907) 225-1220 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Legend Graphics OnLine Location ........... Riverside, California SysOp(s) ........... Joe Marquez Phone ........... (909) 689-9229 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Locksoft BBS Location ........... San Jacinto, California SysOp(s) ........... Carl Curling Phone ........... (909) 654-LOCK (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Image Center, The Location ........... Ardsley, New York SysOp(s) ........... Larry Clive Phone ........... (914) 693-9100 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... SB Online, Inc. Location ........... Larchmont, New York SysOp(s) ........... Eric Speer Phone ........... (914) 723-4010 (14.4k baud) Canada ------ BBS Name ........... Canada Remote Systems Online Location ........... Toronto Ontario, Canada SysOp(s) ........... Rick Munro Phone ........... (416) 213-6002 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Source-Online Location ........... British Columbia, Canada SysOp(s) ........... Chris Barrett Phone ........... (604) 758-4643 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Encode Online Location ........... Orillia Ontario, Canada SysOp(s) ........... Peter Ellis Phone ........... (705) 327-7629 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Beasley's Den Location ........... Mississauga Ontario, Canada SysOp(s) ........... Keith Gulik Phone ........... (905) 949-1587 (9600 baud) United Kingdom -------------- BBS Name ........... Hangar BBS, The Location ........... Avon, England, United Kingdom SysOp(s) ........... Jason Hyland Phone ........... +44-934-511751 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Pandora's Box BBS Location ........... Brookmans Park, England, United Kingdom SysOp(s) ........... Dorothy Gibbs Phone ........... +44-707-664778 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Almac BBS Location ........... Grangemouth, Scotland, United Kingdom SysOp(s) ........... Alastair McIntyre Phone ........... +44-324-665371 (14.4k baud) Finland ------- BBS Name ........... Niflheim BBS Location ........... Mariehamn, Aaland Islands, Finland SysOp(s) ........... Kurtis Lindqvist Phone ........... +358-28-17924 (16.8k baud) Phone ........... +358-28-17424 (14.4k baud) Portugal -------- BBS Name .......... Intriga Internacional Location .......... Queluz, Portugal SysOp(s) .......... Afonso Vicente Phone .......... +351-1-4352629 (16.8k baud) BBS Name .......... B-Link BBS Location .......... Lisbon, Portugal SysOp(s) .......... Antonio Jorge Phone .......... +351-1-4919755 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Mailhouse Location ........... Loures, Portugal SysOp(s) ........... Carlos Santos Phone ........... +351-1-9890140 (14.4k baud) South America ------------- BBS Name ........... Message Centre, The (Open 18:00 - 06:00 local) Location ........... Itaugua, Paraguay SysOp(s) ........... Prof. Michael Slater Phone ........... +011-595-28-2154 (2400 baud) Saudi Arabia ------------ BBS Name ........... Sahara BBS Location ........... Dammam City SysOp(s) ........... Kais Al-Essa Phone ........... +966-3-833-2082 (16.8k baud) SysOp: To have *your* BBS listed here, write me via one of the many ways listed under CONTACT POINTS elsewhere in this issue. STTS Net Report Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available through FIDO, INTERNET, RIME, and PEN & BRUSH NET. Check below for information on how to request the current issue of the magazine or be put on the monthly mailing list. FIDO To get the newest issue of the magazine via FIDO, you'll need to do a file request from Fido Node 1:124/8010 using the "magic" name of SUNLIGHT. INTERNET To get on the STTS mailing list, do the following: Send internet mail message to: JDeRouen@CRL.COM And ask to be put on the list. RIME To request the magazine via RIME, ask your RIME SysOp to do a file request from node # 5320 for the current issue (eg: sun9502.ZIP, or whatever month you happen to be in) Better yet, ask your SysOp to request to be put on the monthly mailing list and receive STTS automatically. PEN & BRUSH NET To request via P&BNet, follow the instructions for RIME above. They're both ran on Postlink and operate exactly the same way in terms of file requests and transfers. End Notes Copyright (c) 1995, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Be sure to write us and let us know what you think of this issue. Right now is a very influential time for STTS. What you say counts. Let us know what you like and what you don't like. STTS is for *You* after all, dear reader. Thanks, Joe DeRouen, Publisher Feb. 10th, 1995