Article: 2617 of alt.zines

Article: 2617 of alt.zines
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Date: Wed, 19 Jan 1994 23:27:00 UTC
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\ ______ __ __ ______ ______ \
\ \ _ \ \ \ \ \ \ _ \ \ \ ---------------------- \__
\ \ \\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \\ \ \ ===_ \ This diskmag is \ \/\
\ \ -__] \ \ \ \ \ -_ L \ \ \ underground- please\ \/\
\ \ \ \ \_\ \ \ \\ \ \ ===_ \ be dishonest! \ \/\
\ \__] \_____] \__]\_] \_____] ---------------------- \/\
\ ______ _____ __ __ _____ _____ ___ __ ______ \/\
\ \ _ \ \ _ \ \ \ \ \ \ _ \ \ __\ \ \\ \ \ ] \/\
\ \ \\ \ \ \\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \\ \ \ \ \ \\ \ \ ===_ \/\
\ \ -_ L \ \\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \\ \ \ \ \ -_ L \ \ \/\
\ \ \\ \ \ \\ \ \ \___ \ \___ \ \\ \ \ \ \ \\ \ -=== \ \/\
\ \ - ] \ - ] \ ] \ ] \ - ] \ ---\ \ \\ \ \ ] \/\
\ ----- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----- --- -- ----- \/\
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/---\ I\ I I --I-- I\ I I----
I I * I \ I * I * I * I \ I * I----
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-------------------------------------------------------
V O L U M E * 1 0 6
-------------------------------------------------------

Released 19th Jan 1994

=================================================================

The opinions expressed by some of the writers are not necessarily those of all
the PURE BOLLOCKS editorial team. The individual writers retain their own
copyrights. This magazine may be freely spread for non-profit purposes only.
We're not to be held responsible for how people use or mis-use the information
in this magazine.

* NOTE * IF YOU CAN'T STAND THE ODD SWEARWORD, THEN YOU CAN (AHEM) GO FORTH
AND MULTIPLY AS FAR AS WE'RE CONCERNED.

== I---- I---\ --I-- --I-- /---\ I---\ --I-- /---\ I ======================
== I--- I I I I I I I---< I I---I I ======================
== I____ I___/ __I__ I \___/ I I __I__ I I I____ ======================

Oh ho! We're becoming noticed! At least, we must be, because someone has
attempted to flame us! In PB Online <104>, we published a "radio discussion"
script which was constructed using messages from a flame-war in Fidonet during
summmer 1992, between some Atari users and an Amiga user who eventually
admitted that he was just doing it as a wind-up. I thought it was quite
entertaining, but someone, with less-than-subtle references to PC compatibles
in his tagline, felt fit to declare:

"Please. What is so cyberpunk about tired old Amiga/Atari flamewars. Join
the rest of the world in the 1990s."

This message was preceded by a quote from the script, explaining the basis of
the flame-war. This quote was then "translated" into a grotesque parody of US
teen-speak- in block capitals and badly spelled. In fact, it was completely
different in tone and meaning to the original quote, and indeed the rest of the
original "script" in PBO <104>. One might wonder what purpose this deliberate
twisting of words serves, but given that I was referred to as "Beavis" I have
my supsicions.

Resisting any temptation to call the flamer a "Butthead", I would like to point
that if anyone should "join the rest of the world in the 1990s" (An erroneous
jibe, given that the flame-war had taken place in 1992.), it should be this
person, given his obvious ignorance of any underground computer scene outside
his cosy little Internet world.

Contrary to popular prejudices from users of various "serious" computers,
(Which includes the PC and it's rapidly expanding games market.) Atari and
Amiga computers are not just games machines for juveniles. They have their own
underground scenes, including stunning showcases of graphics and sound,
("Demos", which we shall talk more of in future) and diskmags, like our own on
the ST/Falcon. The idea of a magazine on a tape or disk actually has existed
since 8-bit computers (When cyberpunk was just a page in William Gibson's old
typewriter!). As we said in PBO <101>, diskmags have a similar content to
"zines", but the presentation is way ahead of anything on the Internet.
(Imagine smooth [50 Hz] slick text displayers with music playing, and you're
halfway there.)

Secondly, why is a "flamewar" suddenly *not* cyberpunk? It's part of the
Internet language, it's unique to the world of networks, and that's because it
*couldn't happen without networking technology*. If anything, we think that
flame messages will become an *integral* part of cyberpunk culture. Just look
at all the flames on alt.cyberpunk. Such as the one we got!

<Genie!>

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== I I I I \ I I I--- I \ I I I--- I \ I I ---\ =======
== \___/ \___/ I \I I I____ I \I I I____ I \I I \___/ =======

01 - EGBSS' GUIDE TO CLICHED SLAGGING - EGB's Smelly Sox analyses the
various ways to have a good old slagging war!
02 - UK PORTABLE PHONE FREQS - Who needs MI5, when you have 6025!
03 - KLADERN THE HERO - Mr Orb's nice gory old campfire story!
04 - COMPLETE TRASH FROM NETWORK TRASH CHAPTER 6 - Are our heroes
experiencing reality as we know it?

END - Where we're at- literally! If you want to contact us, get the ST/Falcon
version of PB Diskmag and/or the ASCII version, then you could do worse
than read this bit.

== /---\ /I =============================================================
== I I I =============================================================
== \___/ __I__ =============================================================

NOTE- Yes I know it might seem smallish beer to some of the professional
flamers on USENET, but the important thing here is that we're taking a
good look at how slagging off messages are done! <Genie!>

EGBSS' Opinion Section presents....

===============================================================================
ALL THOSE WHO SLAG OFF OTHER PEOPLE IN THE SCENE ARE A BUNCH OF LAME CODE
RIPPERS WHO LOOK LIKE THEY CRAWLED OUT OF A RUBBISH HEAP!
===============================================================================

Heh heh! I thought that title would make you sit up and take notice! Yes, this
DOC is all about all this slagging that goes on between rival groups and
coders. If it's well done, it can extremely funny to read, and if it's for a
genuine reason, it can be very effective. It's also fuckin' excellent if you
want fill up diskamgs and scrollers! So I always look out for any good ol'
slagging going on, and.... well... most of it is a heap of shit. Yes, most
people can't slag to save themselves, they just trot out the usual bullshit.

Well, I've had enough of that. I can't stand seeing tired old cliched slagging
off that obviously took people ages to work out.... So if you want to use old
cliches then, read on!

== EGBSS' GUIDE TO CLICHED SLAGGING ==

Pick someone who's not too bad, but writes scrolltext that makes them look like
a complete sadcase eg "Wait da man yo yo there is where it's at boiz, running
tings..." or "We are the best one cracker no coder one swapper crew in
Slough.." If they've write loads of crap in their scrollers, they'll respond
to slagging!

There are 3 main levels of slagging.

== DEFCON 3- Responding to what they say in scrolltexts or diskmags. ==

For scrolltexts, real classic to start with is "Why didn't you greet us
then?", which you can always follow up with "Are you lot too good to be seen
greeting us?". The reason you say this rather than "Are WE too good...." is
that the other lot will invariably reply something like "Yes, we've never
heard of you.." or even "yes, 'cause you're a bunch of lamers", in which the
slagging has already switched to DefCon 2! You can do a similar thing with
diskmag articles, like if a group talks about their demo, then you can always
say "We haven't seen your demo yet, it's not very well spread!" In fact you
can really infuriate people by pointing out spelling or grammar mistakes, that
really pisses them off!

== DEFCON 2 - Slagging off the code. ==

This is always a popular way to slag people off. You can start with "It looks
very nice but I think the 8 precalculated screens are a bit of a cheat", then
up the pressure a bit with a line like "The 3D's a bit far off in the distance
isn't it?". If you get a response to this then you can start the offensive
proper- starting using phrases like "lamer precalculated" and "crap 3D routs".
Now you can do stuff like pick out any little shortcomings of a program (eg
"The sector counter stays still! How lame! There's enough processor time for a
gigadistorter!" or "in the other crack of Street Fighter 2 by *******, there's
a RAM disk!") and then draw similarities between their program and someone
elses, so that you can call them a lame ripper next time you slag them! Don't
dwell too much on technical details of someone's code- you could be accused of
being a ripper yourself. Of course, be on the lookout for someone else doing it
though! (If you think this is a bit one-sided, then don't worry- if you've
picked your target correctly, then they'll be doing exactly the same things as
you!)

== DEFCON 1 - Slagging off the person. ==

You can carefully slip into DefCon 1 by calling your target something like a
"lame wanker". Now you can slag off their taste in music (eg "You only listen
to techno, because your brain would explode if you listened to music that
made any intellectual demands."), their clothes ("Your clothes are so out of
date that even Queen Victoria wouldn't dance with you.") and their appearance.
("We hear there's an oilslick near your area. Is this because you washed your
hair? Wooah! Don't burst that spot! You'll drown thousands!") And of course,
all slagging wars eventually get to the point of people questioning each
others sex life (eg "You're girl's a dog"), and, in particular, sexual
orientation. (ie calling the other coder a "poof"- doesn't matter if he really
is gay or not, since everyone knows it's just another word for lamer!) This is
about as far as remote slagging off can go, but you can always go further.
For example, I hear of a well known slagging war going to the point of
actually phoning each other and pouring torrents of abuse down the phone line!

======================================

Putting all of this information we have together, let's look an example of a
good slagging off! DON'T let anyone take this seriously:

"... TALKING OF LAME FUCKS, HOW ABOUT ****** ? DID YOU SEE HIS SCROLLER IN THE
INTRO TO *****? WHAT A LAME WANKER! YOU SAY THAT EVERYONE GETS YOUR DISKS-
WELL, THAT'S NO SURPRISE, BECAUSE PEOPLE WOULD RATHER HAVE YOUR DISKS THAN
TALK TO YOU. SO I RECKON THE FACT THAT EVERYONE GETS YOUR DISKS MEANS THAT YOU
ARE PRETTY UNPOPULAR, WHICH IS ABOUT JUST RIGHT! WHAT A LAME INTRO AS WELL.
JUST 8 LAMER PRECALCULATED PARALLAX SCREENS, WITH A TWISTY SCROLLER ON IT. THE
ONLY GOOD BIT WAS THE MODULE AND YOU HAD TO RIP THE CODE AND MODULE OFF
SOMEONE ELSE TO DO IT! AND DOESN'T THAT BACKGROUND LOOK A BIT LIKE THE THE
******** DEMO? YOU RIPPED IT OFF YOU DID! AND IT TAKES MORE TIME IN YOUR DEMO
TO PRECALCULATE THAN IN THEIR DEMO, SO YOU COULDN'T EVEN RIP IT OFF CORRECTLY!
IF THAT DOESN'T MAKE YOU WANT TO BE SICK, LOOK AT THE FUCKIN' SCROLLER! YOU
SAY THAT YOU'RE GONNA GO THE ************* RAVE!!! NO WONDER YOU'RE A FUCKWIT
IF YOU LISTEN TO A LOAD OF COMPUTERS FARTING! WELL, LIKE YOU SAY AT THE END
OF YOUR SCROLLTEXT, YOU 'GOTTA CRUISE'. WELL, WE DON'T WANNA KNOW HOW YOU
GET YOUR BOYFRIENDS BUT IT DOES EXPLAIN WHY THAT HOUND YOU CLAIM TO BE YOUR
GIRLFRIEND LOOKS SO PISSED OFF......"

== /---\ /---\ =============================================================
== I I ___/ =============================================================
== \___/ /____ =============================================================

+-------------------------------+ +-----------------------------+
| UK Portable Fone Phrequencies | | Published in PB #21- Jan 93 |
| compiled by 6025 +------------+ +-----------------------------+
| summer '92 +-----+
+------------+

Last week (as I write this) a call made to Princess Di was taped, plucked from
the airwaves by some ageing phreak and his wife. While there was tons of
'analysis' about how such calls could be taped in the media there weren't any
substantial details - just tons of bull about 'sophisticated equipment' and
mutterings about MI6. With this in mind I thought I'd release this file - old
hat to those with radio experience, but nice to know anyhow.

First up, some background. There are two types of portable phones in use in
the UK. Most common are simple portable ones for use in the home - with these
the hand-set can be up to a couple of hundred metres away from the base unit.
Secondly, cellular phones. These are commonly found in cars and hop around the
airwaves as the phone is moved into/out of cell zones.

Vital info: home portable phones transmit both sides of the conversation on
the base unit frequency. Cool, huh? [Oh no! You'll set Jeremy off! <Genie!>]
And by re-tuning a MW radio (So what if it's really an FM signal - this works,
OK?) you can pick up conversations for about 150m. So, go find an old radio
that covers the MW band. Good. Take the back off and tune it into a strong
station in the middle of the dial. Now, gently twiddle each tuning cap (a disc
with a groove in the top) you can see on the main board (use an insulated
screw- driver) until you find one that knocks the signal off. You may also be
able to do it by turning the main oscillator thingummy itself - these are
usually a white plastic cube about 3 cm in length.

Once you've find something that moves the signal, drop the station down about
200 KHz on the dial. It will fade out a bit. If it fades out too much - try
another cap (or another radio). Now, the top end of the dial picks up about
1800 KHz instead of 1600 thus the radio covers the range you want.

Cellular phones are a bit trickier. Each side of the call is transmitted on a
different frequency, so you would need two scanners to pick up the full call.
Each scanner will set you back a couple of hundred quid (Maplin electronics),
so this is a costly business. I heard there was a mod for old TV sets that let
them hear calls. Another problem is that in a city the cells get pretty small
so the call you're tracking could switch to a new cell pretty quick if the car
is moving. One idea would be to go out to a flyover on a motorway in the
morning traffic jam. There is a good (USA) file about this by Brian Oblivion,
in one of the newer Phracks, if you want more. I listed the frequencies here
anyway just in case.

** [UK Cordless Phone Frequencies] **

Channel Number Base Unit Transmit Freq. Handheld Unit Freq.
============== ------------------------ -------------------
1 1642.00kHz = 1.642MHz 47.45625MHz
2 1662.00kHz 47.46875MHz
3 1682.00kHz 47.48125MHz
4 1702.00kHz 47.49375MHz
5 1722.00kHz 47.50625MHz
6 1742.00kHz 47.51875MHz
7 1762.00kHz 47.53125MHz
or 47.44375MHz
8 1782.00kHz 47.54375MHz

** [UK Cellular Phone Frequencies] **

Channel Number Transmit Freq. Duplex Split Receive Freq.
============== -------------- ------------ -------------
301 897.5125MHz 45MHz 942.5125MHz
302 897.5375MHz "" 942.5375MHz
303 897.5625MHz "" 942.5625MHz
.
.
.

etc, at 25Khz spacing until:

599 904.9625MHz "" 949.9625MHz
600 904.9875MHz "" 949.9875MHz

OK - hope this was interesting to somebody, somewhere. This file was supplied
for educational use only, blah, blah, blah, I won't be held responsible for any
misuse, blah, blah, blah. Oh yeah - under the 1985 Interception of
Communications Act, it is only an offence to tape a cellular/cordless call
*accidentally*. Ho, ho, ho, etc. Have phun!

== /---\ /---\ =============================================================
== I I ---< =============================================================
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PB Online Fictional Rumblings present.....

Klarden The Hero
----------------

A Simple To Read Fantasy Novel
By Mr. Orb

Written in a very short space of time, so don't expect miracles.

(c) Mr Orb 1993 (Originally appeared in Pure Bollocks #23)

With a twinge of vertigo Klarden looked down from his precarious resting
place.
The sheer wall of rock was daunting. A few hours ago this seemed a simple
task for him. But now sword arm bleeding from a vicious gash almost severing a
tendon, and a large bite on his shoulder it was no longer an interesting
physical challenge, it was a fight for life.
The bandage he had improvised with his shirt was filthy, soaked in thick
visceral blood and dirt. It had dried solid an hour ago, his arm was an agony
and the tell tale signs of blood poisoning were slowly radiating from the pus
ridden open wound.
He had started on this journey several weeks ago, fleeing from Gertis Keep
after a violent argument with his ex-employer Svend the barrel maker. Svend
wanted to teach a rival a few lessons about un-friendly competition and had
approached Klarden whom he hoped was stupid enough to take the job.
Stupid, perhaps. Idiotic, maybe. But Klarden was not insane. He knew
Evlock, and Evlock knew him. They both had the mis-shapen nose and slightly
concave forehead obtained from years of illegal brawling.
They toasted each other that night and staggered the dark and violent
streets of Gertis Keep for a place to sleep.
During the night as Klarden slept through the excesses of ale Evlock found
Svend's shop and performed some re-constructive surgery with an axe.

An angry Svend kicked the sleeping warrior awake.
'Arrghhh! whose that ?'
'Tis I, a very, very pissed off I. We had an agreement.'

Klarden, hung over, considered the alternatives. He could apologise, and
remain in this man's servitude for a few years as compensation, He could steal
the money and pay him back. An alternative suddenly sprung to mind.
'Give me a minute to gather my senses.'
'Certainly' said Svend, still kicking.
Klarden stood, and waited for his head to clear. Finally he spoke.
'Kick me again, you shit and you'll regret it!' in a threatening tone
'You owe me a lot of money, worthless scum'
'NO ONE CALLS ME SCUM!' he roared.
His fist flew through the air making solid contact with Svend's stomach.
The man fell to ground, gasping for air and begging for mercy. Klarden gently
held the man's head.
'When I was a child, my father showed me a trick to scare the shit out of
people, and make them respect you.'
Svend, suddenly silenced, paid attention as Klarden's massive arms locked
themselves around his head.
'Have you ever seen a pimple or spot burst, my friend ?' he asked.
'Squeeze hard enough and the insides all fly out.'
It took Svend a few moments to realise the implication of that statement.
He screamed, and screamed.
'Oh, do be quiet.' He said stuffing a rag into Svend's mouth.
'Now in a moment I'll start squeezing. Softly at first. In a few minutes
you'll be hearing a slight cracking sound. Nothing to worry about. That'll just
be your skull breaking, and then it's spot time. Your brains will cover that
wall'
Klarden spoke gently and slowly, almost soothingly. His arm tightened. The
pressure increased slowly until Klarden could feel the blood throbbing in
Svend's temple.
'Of course my father told me to take time, to take pleasure in releasing
another soul. My father was a very strange man you know, he thought that pain
was a gift from heaven. Just as pleasure tells a man that he has eaten well, or
made love to a beautiful woman pain tells a man that his leg is broken, or he
is ill. My father loved pain, loved to inflict it. 'To pass on God's gift' he
would say.'
'But you my friend are lucky, as I do not believe in pain. I cannot kill
another man.'
Klarden removed the man's gag, and gently pulled him to his feet.
'You shit!, I'll have you hung for this!.' Svend screamed
'Before you do that. I've got something to tell you.'
'What!' yelled Svend
'I'm a terrible liar'
Klarden crushed the man's skull with a steel grip. Just as he promised, the
man's brain burst out of the skull leaving a huge grey mural on the back wall.
Klarden took a few deep breaths and searched the man's pockets. Enough
money to leave town.....

----------------------
I'm sorry it's so gory
I Just got back from
watching Hellraiser 3

------------
Mr. Orb

----------------------

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****************************************************************************
* This file originally appeared in PURE BOLLOCKS #21, by permission of the *
* authors. This may be spread, but not published for profit. *
****************************************************************************

NOTE - Apart from the members of Network Trash, all the other names (including
"real" names) are so-called "made-uppies" ie fictional stuff. Also,
though some of the events may be inspired by real-life incidents,
they're still fictional made-uppy events here, so there.

== Complete Trash from Network Trash ==

== Chapter 6 ==

(Things get -really- strange.)

STORY SO FAR: The Trashers, having inadvertadely set off a time/space
server, are finding their surroundings in an increasing
state of flux. The Jynx has been hypnotised by a mysterious
screensaver on a Mac, Satan has just experienced an
interesting relativistic ride on a pole, before falling off
it and landing on the roof of the Boyd Orr building.
Meanwhile, inside the building, Niei, the network
controller, has been pasted into a Mac system clipboard,
and Walrock's actions of switching off a computer very
quickly has accidentely created a space/time-worm causing a
massive paradox, and endangering the entire space/time
continuum! Now read on...

The next thing that happened was a sudden change to Helvetica. [The font, in
case you "real" cyberpunks, have never used Word 4 on a Mac before.] An eerie
voice boomed out across the entire multi-dimensional infinity time-space
continuum of the Boyd Orr.
"There's more servers than this!"
"Of course there's more fucking servers than this!" shouted Satan (Who had
just walked into the room after landing rather hard on the roof of the Boyd
Orr, and so was consequently extremely angry). He paused. "Er.. what fucking
servers?"
Oh shit, thought Genie, he should have remembered.
"Oh it's OK guys, while NT was dealing a blow for the ANS, I was also
installing NT elsewhere in the universe during that mutli-dimensional time-
space paradox that Warlock caused."
"And how's it still here if it's a time-space paradox?"
Genie could feel a 1950's crappy mad scientest movie-style explanation
taking form. "Look Jim." The room according melted into a science lab thanks to
a helpful freak wormhole emanating from BO201. "Do you know about the power
locked in the element Uranium?"
"No." said Revlis
"Good" said Genie, switching on Mac SE/30 disguised as a rather large
sparky machine that didn't really do anything other than making spectacular
sparks, large buzzing noises, and generally wasting electricity. "That would
have confused things a little.There are many possible time-strands that were
brought into being by this event. Errrm... at least
326575725678567825625325720894 different quantum universes I estimate."
"Oh I get it John" said Torg holding up a test tube which was bubbling and
shaking, though it could have been a 1.4 meg disk for all he knew. "The
universes which were created by that time paradox worm have come back to haunt
us."
"Yes." said Genie smugly. "Errr.. because we are in a state of constant
flux between time and space inside the Boyd Orr." he added, further padding the
plot. "Some scientests believe that the strange paradoxes of our situation can
be explained by superstring theory. I however am not a scientest, I am a 1950s
movie actor. And I believe that the aliens in the UFO you have described have
possibly come from a civilisation starved by water from the planet Mars, and
are stopping on this planet in order to conquer us before moving onto the
planet Venus for their water supplies."
"Uh-oh, we'd better exit this setup pretty quickly." said Nun Fucker.
"I'm, still here!" re-iterated the eerie voice.
"Yes we know that. Shut the fuck up." shouted everyone else.
"Anyway, you have a backup copy of NT on another server?" inquired Torg.
"Gaaaaarrrrrgggghhh! It's an alien!" answered Genie.
A 6 foot tall dark green rubbery thing slobbered into view. It started go
toward the large sparky Mac SE/30. "Where's that test tube gone?" Warlock
shouted. "There must be somewhere on that ginormus spark plug that we can put
the test tube!"
"It's er.. in my test tube holder." said Torg. Dear oh dear, he thought,
putting test tubes into giant sparky machines indeed. What next? Niei changing
the password?
"Here it is!" said Warlock, swiping the tube, and throwing it into the
only remotely test-tube sized hole on the machine, just as the large rubbery
dark green alien rose up toward the machine....
The machine stopped sparking and chimed once. At this point the aliens
rather pathetic dark green rubber covering decided to trip him up. Out he
popped, bounced briefly against the machine, knocking him out, and fell back
across his costume.
"Gaaaaarrrrrgggghhh! It's Niei!" shouted Genie.
Then Niei disappeared. And so did the BO 201 lab. They were back in the
fifth floor. The large sparky machine had exploded and re-arranged itself into
a Mac SE/30. The Jynx was sitting in front of it, watching a system disk
loading. "By Roy Willow's Wig, that was a close one..."
"Yep, I thought that test-tube was a system disk." said Warlock.
"What was a close one, Jynx?" asked Revlis.
"Oh I guess I was hypnotised by a mysterious Mmire pattern on the
SE/30..."
Hang on, thought Genie. If everything had been represented as a 1950s
science fiction movie....
"...and then after I had a brief dream of being the switch on a giant
sparky machine in a 1950s mad scientest movie, a disembodied 1.4 meg disk
appeared from another dimension through a freak wormhole and started the system
going..."
"Where's Niei? Is he still on the clipboard?" said Torg.
"Even if he is, how could he still try and hypnotise The Jynx?" added
Genie.
"It's me again!" shouted the (by now irratable) eerie voice.
"He's still on the NT clipboard" noted Torg after a minutes examination.
"But then it could be the NT clipboard from another universe that is
simaltaneously present within this locale." Genie sagely observed.
"That's not fair! Why can't I get any good adverbs like that?" brilliantly
exposulstated Revlis.
"Right, that's your lot." shouted Genie. "Errrr... what was I talking
about?"
"You were talking about me you stupid bastards!" blared the eerie voice.
"No we weren't." shouted everyone else. "We were talking about the other
servers."
"Errrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmm uuuuuummmmmmmm...... " added Genie, causing all
eyes in the entire multi universal Boyd-Orr-sphere to focus on him.
There was a rather uneasy infinity of silence during which at least
65726578356785665785678563275692756370167897891751917358927358957258 quantum
universes formed.
"Well, err, maybe not...."
"Oh no! You haven't fucking left him in charge have you?" inquired Satan.
"No, not exactly, but I've had some trouble from him in a previous space-
time continuum, and he's obviously been let loose in one of them, which
unfortunately has impinged upon our area. Go on, introduce yourself you fuck-
pig."
"Hello everbody, I am Raodhogg, and you lot are a bunch of sad bastards
who have persecution complexes and no sex live unlike mine, eh girls?"
That was what he said, though a text transcript of his words, which
simultaneously appeared on a Sun machine just for the hell of it, had glaring
spelling mistakes in the words "complexes", "mine", and "a" (which somewhat
mysteriously had a "Q" before it.)
"He's not Roadhogg." said Roadhogg, mysteriously appearing from another
dimension. "But you're a bunch of sad bastards anyway." he added, disappearing
back to his dimension.
"I know! I am RAODHOGG!!!" boomed the voice, still trying to command
everybodys attention.
"And I'm 6025!" said another person, just entering the room.
Revlis looked up once.
"No, you're just the same age as us."
Genie scolded him on his obviously incomplete knowledge on Relativistic
theory. Why, he argued, this person might have just come back from an
intersteller starship travelling near the speed of light for only 3 seconds,
and the universe aged six thousand and twenty-five years during this flight,
and that's a fact!
"No you stupid bastard, that's my name. As in a well known song '6025
guitars' from the Dead Kennedys."
"Oh yes. And I'm 'Heedaw Screedaw' from a well-known song by the Cocteau
Twins called 'Frou-Frou Fotzpolitic In Midsummer Lazy Pinky Orangey Echoey
Fluffy Tufts.'" said Torg.
"And I'm 'Splat Splat Splat' from a well-known song called 'Road Pizza'
which is of course by Spit." added Genie, wishing to show his almost
encyclopaedic knowledge of not-really-very-well-known music.
"Look, do you want a fucking copy of NT off the other server or not?"
shouted 6025.
"You've got a copy already. In this locale my server was linked up to the
Computing Science department 4000 years ago." shouted the eerie voice.
"Four thousand years ago? Are you sure your not taking the piss slightly?"
asked Torg. "That means that the computers here are over 4003 years out of
date!"
"Ah well, I shouldn't have invented tachyons then." said a familiar voice
sailing through the door.
"It's Albert fucking Einstein!" shouted Satan. "I want to get the
bastard!"
"No, it's not!" shouted Genie. "It's... Ron Irvine!".
"Yes, yes." smiled Ron non-commitally. "So called because my first name is
Ron and my last name is Irvine." he observed.
"Don't tell us it was you that invented tachyons in this space-time!"
bawled Revlis. "Hey that was good, 'bawled'." he added.
"Er yes I er..." Rons smile faltered slightly. "Er not exactly tachyons...
er what are these tachyons? I don't think they appear in your projects yet.
Sorry, I don't seem to know what I am talking about...."
"We'd better see how Zogs getting on" said Torg.
"Yes." said Ron, not quite understanding what was going on. "You might
jolly well want to do that."

Zog was getting a bit uneasy. For about 5 minutes, a strange hooded figure
was typing away at a Sun terminal on the opposite side of the room to him,
alternately cursing and silently cheering. Zog was beginning to form the
impression that perhaps this hooded figure was trying to hack into the system.
He would have gone over and asked the hooded figure if he had found out the
password yet, but there was the fact that he looked so much like Satan's name-
sake... Even though it was rather obvious that this hooded figure was wearing a
garish shell-suit under his cloak, it was still... well, he wasn't entirely
sure that this wasn't what your average Prince of Darkness was wearing
nowadays. Certainly, in fashion terms, it could be considered by some as
hell....
A red icon "TorgServer" began flashing on his MAC SE/30 desktop, next to
the clipboard where a trapped Niei was writing sarcastic messages about what
happens to people who unlock his priveledges and stick him in a MAC SE/30
clipboard. Zog double-clicked it, and was surprised to find that it was a
video-link to the other side of the Boyd-Orr-sphere.
"Hey wow! Colour on an SE/30!" said Zog.
"Are you getting any trouble with Niei there by any chance, Zog old
buddy...." inquired Torg, who thought it best not to worry Zog with any Niei
Disguised As Green Aliens type stories.
"Nope, he's still in the clipboard, but we do appear to have the Grim
Reaper dressed in a shell suit, hacking into the system over here."
"Shit!" shouted the Grim Reaper in a shell suit.
"That's OK. Look around for the Res-priveleges of any staff members that
might be around. And try and get the password off that Reaper person if
possible."
"Fine. Oh by the way, how did you find this video-phone thing?"
"Er, I don't know. They appear to have a video-phone thingy in this plane
of reality. Strangely enough, I was hoping that they would." And with that, he
shut down "TorgServer".
Zog was a bit annoyed. He was wanting to say that he thought he heard the
sound of a dog barking somewhere outside.

"Anyone hear a dog barking?" said Satan.
"What like a slightly stifled bark?" asked Revlis.
"Yes!"
"Nope."
"That was funny." observed Torg. "Here I am wishing that there was a
video-connection to other Macs, and I stumble onto it first time."
"Maybe it's not so funny." said Genie in such a significant manner that
Torg immediately asked him what he meant, and after about five minutes of
argument, Genie finally admitted that he didn't know what he was talking about.
Meanwhile in the other end of the room, The Jynx, Nun Fucker, and 6025 has
set about the task of locating the server in an alternate universe with the
right backup copy of Network Trash. It in fact proved to be ludicrously easy,
almost suspiciously easy, despite the continued presence of Ron Irvine, who
seemed intent on providing a running commentary for dimwits.
"Ah yes, an Apple Macintosh computer...." he said.
"Ah yes, Appleshare, which allows one access to other servers across the
network..." he said.
"Ah yes, a server, which is another computer on the network...." he said.
"Ah yes, an alternate universe...." he said.
"Ah yes, a Network Trash server....." he said.
"I've always wanted to try this..." he continually said after every
sentence.
The other three were consistently wishing that he would say this after
seeing a leaflet from EXIT.
After a slight rustle, a paper floated down and hit Nun Fucker in the
face. He looked at it for about a second, then stashed it away in his pocket.
"And that's it copied across... I think." said 6025 after about two
minutes.
"That's it?" said The Jynx after a slight pause.
"Yes, yes, computers are so easy to use." said Ron breezily.
"I could have done it in one minute." mumbled Raodhogg uneasily.
"Hey wow! it's back on!" shouted Torg from the other side of the room.
"It was just too easy." said 6025 to himself. Nun Fucker wasn't saying
anything.
"Is that the time paradox finally fucked then?" said Satan happily.
"Er, no I don't think so." said Genie. "The original event hasn't been
erased yet."
"Ah yes, a time paradox." continued Ron Irvine, smiling across the room.
"So called because in practice, it's a paradoxical situation in time. I've
always wanted to see what one was like..."
"He's doing my nut in." observed Revlis. "How do we stop him?"
"Er, I haven't got my ResEdit with me. I'll call Zog again." said Torg.

At this time, Zog had summoned up enough courage to go within 2 metres of
the Grim Reaper in a shell suit, when he suddenly drew back.
This Grim Reaper was pretty angry.
"Shit! Bastard! Damn my protection in another universe!!"
It occured to Zog that this was a pretty strange thing for a Grim Reaper
to be saying. Well, maybe not. A Grim Reaper in one universe, a computer
protection expert in another... No, this was just too ridiculous. He had to
find out what was going on.
"Errrr, what protection?" he meekly ventured.
"My own bloody protection!" the Grim Reaper shouted. "Er, oops." he added
sheepishly. "I'd better introduce myself. My name is ... er, did you hear a dog
just then?"
There was a moment of confusion for Zog as he initially believed that the
ex-Grim Reaper had given him his user name. He reeled for a moment, thinking
that 'Er Did You Hear A Dog Just Then' was without doubt the most stupid
username that anyone could think up.
The moment of confusion evaporated in the sound of a slightly muffled bark
from somewhere inside the Boyd-Orr-sphere, like a dog with a gag.
"Wow! There is a dog in the building."
"Thank fuck for that, I thought that the hacking was affecting me too much
there. Oh yes, my name, it's Hotknife."

"It's taking ages to get through. They should have had an alarm bell on
it." mumbled Torg irritably.
Nun fucker showed The Jynx the piece of paper he had just picked up. Jynx
didn't need to read any of it, since just one word in large bold letters said
it all.
"EXIT." breathed The Jynx. That was the word.
"Hello there Torg!" shouted Zog through the TorgServer. "You didn't need
to put that bloody alarm on so loud! It hit us two like a ton of bricks!"
"Er, alarm? You two?" said Torg in utter confusion.
"Oh yes, let me introduce to you, one of the most notorious hackers on 16
bit machines, Mr Hotknife!" Zog shouted happily, as another face loomed in the
TorgServer window.
"Hotknife a hacker?" shouted Satan. The name was familiar to him- the
reason he couldn't copy a lot of his disks was because they contained
protection routines by this person.
"Oh yes, I realise that in other universe, I turned legit, and made a
fortune formatting other peoples disks and putting daft protections on them,
but I haven't yet done that here. Except that my protections from other
universes still turn up."
"Aaaahhh yes, formatting disks...." breezed Ron Irvine.
The Jynx showed the EXIT leaflet to Genie.
"What's that leaflet?" boomed Raodhogg.
"Never you mind." said Genie. "Torg, a quick word please."
Torg left, and Satan took over the TorgServer.
"Ron." he started. "Would you by any chance know how to get past that
bastard of a double outside Hotcode encryption of yours in Jetset Jamjar 2?"
"Errrrrmmmm....." said Hotknife. "I might just be able to do that..."
"Oh by the way, what's this ANS you were talking about?" asked Torg.
"The Anti Niei Society? Oh yes, it was to do with a lawsuit in another
universe." answered Genie.
"Er. Right, what's this quick word you were looking for?"
Actually, I lied. It's two medium sized words." said Genie, and typed them
into a Mac Plus running Word 4
Everybody (except Satan and Ron Irvine) crowded round the Mac Plus to see
the two medium sized words Genie had typed.
"PARTICIPATORY UNREALITY".

Pioufgh was zooming around the server, trying to work out what reality
system it was best to go by.
"Wff, wff..."
It was quite intresting to watch the traffic on the TorgServer, even if it
was now a lesson on How To Crack Jetset Jamjar 2.
"Wff, wff, wff, wff...."
Though it must be admitted that the fact that their reality system was
constantly changing didn't exactly serve as a guide to work out which universe
to stop at.
"Wff! Wff, wff, wff. Wff! Wff-wff! ..."
Something on the fifth floor was making a noise like a dog with a gag in
it's mouth. Pioufgh started monitoring the 4000 year old video cameras which
had been installed in this particular reality.
"Wff! Wff! Wffwffwff,wff...."
A strange sight greeted Pioufgh's eyes. A computer generated hologram was
off it's leash and running about outside the lifts. A quick investigation with
'Who's there?' revealed the user name to be "Mishka". Could this be in any way
related to a Ms Muffy Thomas' dog?

"Right, get off the bloody server, Satan." shouted Torg. "Zog, any news on
any of the staff?"
"Oh er I haven't looked." Zog said nervously. "Hold on, I've got
Multifinder running." After a minute of seeing Zog and Hotknife look at various
windows outside TorgServer, they looked squarely at at the screen again and Zog
said. "You appear to have Ron Irvine in your immediate vicinity."
"Ah yes, vicinity, so called because it is near where one might be...."
said a voice from behind.
"Yes." moaned Torg. "We know. Can you make him invisible- please!"
"Okey-dokey." said Zog. And zeroed Ron Irvines inivisble/visible file bit.
"Ah yes." continued Ron. "Invisible, which means in practice, to not
remain..." There was a slight ping, and Ron did not remain visible any longer.
"Thank fuck for that!" said Revlis. "I don't think even Warlock would want
to be his son."
"Oh my god!" shouted Zog through the TorgServer. "There appears to be a
Niei wandering around!!"
"Quick! Make him visible!" shouted Torg.
After a slight ping, the image of a Niei with a slight bruise to the
temple came lunging at him. Torg jumped out of his chair, and let Niei fall
gracelessly into it.
"You want me to delete him?" asked Zog, in a matter-of-fact sort of way.
"Bloody hell, yes!"
"Right then."
Niei clambered up onto the bench and clutched the mouse, and aimed the
pointer at the TorgServer icon.
"Oh shit, it's locked." Zog reported.
The TorgServer icon was dragging its way to the Wastebasket.
Suddenly there was a ping and Niei wiped himself out of existance.
"Yeeeaaaah! That should be him gone forever." Zog said triumphantly.
"Errr, where is Warlock anyway?" said Revlis.
At that moment a new icon appeared on the desktop, accompained by a loud
ringing noise.
It was named 'NieiServer'.
Torg double clicked it, and a familiar face filled a window. It was
grinning.
"Hello everyone, this is Niei. I hope you like the results of my new
backup system, because I've backed myself up a good few times. So now you can't
stop me and now I'll start deleting your bloody Network Trash off the server."
"Wow!" shouted everybody. "What a cunning bastard!"

<Genie!>
20/1/92.

** STAY TUNED NEXT WEEK FOR ANOTHER INSTALLMENT IN THE SAGA! **

== I---- I\ I I---\ ======================================================
== I--- I \ I I I ======================================================
== I____ I \I I___/ ======================================================

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