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Geoffrey could hardly believe it'd only been fifty years. Surely, it would take longer than that, the ending of an Empire. Shouldn't it? His meandering thoughts were ended by the high shrill lunch whistle overhead.
And as if by magic, telepathic cue or simple practice, the halls were flooded with a thousand and one executives. Young, or young looking anyways, and full of eager zeal to prove their own worth to the Company. Geoffrey was, of course, ignored. Unseen as he moved from hall to hall, mopping. Shiny white suit, the Triple Triangle of Morgan Industries on his breast, a sign of the conquered.
"I'm telling you, Reg, if you miss out on this invasion, you'll regret it. The Market indicates that there won't be another major weapon advance for another twenty years and I doubt that Yang's drones will wait that long."
"That may be, that very well may be. But, until I see some sign of there being some 'decided' profit in risking my ass and pension, I'll have to sit this one out."
The two Executives decked out in suits made from silksteel derived polyblends continued on their walk past the former Professor without pausing.
Profit. The end all, be all of Morgan and the Morganites existance. The instinctive hatred rose and was immediately squashed by a sudden dose of endorphins, the bio-mechanical node kicking into action to kill any thought of violent response. Even still, Geoff squeezed the mop handle with feeling. For about two seconds before he resumed mopping.
He could still remember the last days of the University. The troops sent out, shining new weapons, state of the art technology to defend their homes and schools. The passionate speeches made by the Provost, rousing them with the ideals of free thought and transcendent joy of pure 'learning'. Those same weapons were turned against their shining towers and defenses, stolen by powerful nearly-aware programs wielded by shadowy figures in the darkness of the Badlands that separated the Morgan cities from the University's Empire.
The Provost had sought him out personally to oversee the Hunter Seeker Project. A wonderous idea, a program that could instinctively react to hostile actions, overwhelming the attackers with lethal feedback attacks that came at the speed of light. Literally. Optical computers were a major source of the Seeker's threat. And it had been a 'long' arduous creation. The constant upgrades, the psychotic beta program versions, the neurotic paranoid versions that fought deletion to the bitter end. Until, at the last, a stable program had been created, born. Conscious of what it was, what it was made for and to whom it owed its loyalty.
Lab Three had never seen such a party, though it would see many more spectacular ones in the past decades. Lavish pointless events celebrating their 100,00th citizen, the surpassing of a pre-decided error of unit failure in the Supply Crawler production process. No, this had been a celebration of 'birth' The Seeker was mere hours from being released to spread to every computer within the Node network and even the Provost was on hand to cheer it on.
The explosion of the housing Node was simultaneous with the destruction of the nearby Recreation Commons. The Holo-net crashed almost immediately and nearly thirty thousand malcontents spilled out onto the streets to demand the return of their "Earth:The Return" hologame. Futile efforts were made, but the masses swept into the schools and burned. The Seeker died in its womb, frantically trying to find a conduit to a secondary storage facility. Without it, Lab Three was lost, the garrison bought out by large bribes from Morgan himself. It was the beginning of the end, and it was only three short decades before University itself was lost.
Geoffrey was one of the lucky ones. He had survived the purges and was released to do menial tasks once he'd had the proper attitude adjustments made to ensure he wouldn't 'agitate'. The Provost was said to still be tormented, his brain picked and used to further Morgan's technological lead on the Hive's drone Scientists.
Another surge of hatred hit him then, and was pushed back down, diluted by his own body's flow of 'feel good'. The former Professor merely sighed and dipped his mop into the bucket as the halls emptied of the well-dressed conquerors.
~I~
And as if by magic, telepathic cue or simple practice, the halls were flooded with a thousand and one executives. Young, or young looking anyways, and full of eager zeal to prove their own worth to the Company. Geoffrey was, of course, ignored. Unseen as he moved from hall to hall, mopping. Shiny white suit, the Triple Triangle of Morgan Industries on his breast, a sign of the conquered.
"I'm telling you, Reg, if you miss out on this invasion, you'll regret it. The Market indicates that there won't be another major weapon advance for another twenty years and I doubt that Yang's drones will wait that long."
"That may be, that very well may be. But, until I see some sign of there being some 'decided' profit in risking my ass and pension, I'll have to sit this one out."
The two Executives decked out in suits made from silksteel derived polyblends continued on their walk past the former Professor without pausing.
Profit. The end all, be all of Morgan and the Morganites existance. The instinctive hatred rose and was immediately squashed by a sudden dose of endorphins, the bio-mechanical node kicking into action to kill any thought of violent response. Even still, Geoff squeezed the mop handle with feeling. For about two seconds before he resumed mopping.
He could still remember the last days of the University. The troops sent out, shining new weapons, state of the art technology to defend their homes and schools. The passionate speeches made by the Provost, rousing them with the ideals of free thought and transcendent joy of pure 'learning'. Those same weapons were turned against their shining towers and defenses, stolen by powerful nearly-aware programs wielded by shadowy figures in the darkness of the Badlands that separated the Morgan cities from the University's Empire.
The Provost had sought him out personally to oversee the Hunter Seeker Project. A wonderous idea, a program that could instinctively react to hostile actions, overwhelming the attackers with lethal feedback attacks that came at the speed of light. Literally. Optical computers were a major source of the Seeker's threat. And it had been a 'long' arduous creation. The constant upgrades, the psychotic beta program versions, the neurotic paranoid versions that fought deletion to the bitter end. Until, at the last, a stable program had been created, born. Conscious of what it was, what it was made for and to whom it owed its loyalty.
Lab Three had never seen such a party, though it would see many more spectacular ones in the past decades. Lavish pointless events celebrating their 100,00th citizen, the surpassing of a pre-decided error of unit failure in the Supply Crawler production process. No, this had been a celebration of 'birth' The Seeker was mere hours from being released to spread to every computer within the Node network and even the Provost was on hand to cheer it on.
The explosion of the housing Node was simultaneous with the destruction of the nearby Recreation Commons. The Holo-net crashed almost immediately and nearly thirty thousand malcontents spilled out onto the streets to demand the return of their "Earth:The Return" hologame. Futile efforts were made, but the masses swept into the schools and burned. The Seeker died in its womb, frantically trying to find a conduit to a secondary storage facility. Without it, Lab Three was lost, the garrison bought out by large bribes from Morgan himself. It was the beginning of the end, and it was only three short decades before University itself was lost.
Geoffrey was one of the lucky ones. He had survived the purges and was released to do menial tasks once he'd had the proper attitude adjustments made to ensure he wouldn't 'agitate'. The Provost was said to still be tormented, his brain picked and used to further Morgan's technological lead on the Hive's drone Scientists.
Another surge of hatred hit him then, and was pushed back down, diluted by his own body's flow of 'feel good'. The former Professor merely sighed and dipped his mop into the bucket as the halls emptied of the well-dressed conquerors.
~I~
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