Uranium Fist | Page 3

and his life.
Unbeknown to him, he was used to carry a deadly virus into the heart of the global network's weakest link - JobNet. Now the virus is spreading, corrupting, destroying all the technology that kept the zeros down throughout the world.
While Mills is struggling to exist all over again, the real world is burning in civil war and he has become the focus of a desperate manhunt by Government forces. If they can find his 'kidnapped' body or his projection in AR, then they hope to destroy the virus at source. It is a desperate gambit in a desperate time.
Yet again, Mills is the victim of forces beyond his control or knowledge, but this time - if he survives - he can be a force for change. From being nothing, Mills has become everything; he can save the world. There's only one problem - he might have to destroy it first.
SILAS MORLOCK
TERAPOLIS is an urban sprawl of global proportions; its flesh and bone towers breach even the oceans' restless barriers and forever shield humanity from the light of day. The city has subsumed the great conurbations of history, absorbed whole nations, embalmed entire continents...
Here, in the neon-lit avenues and shaded alleys, the populace pursues the endless and morbid pursuit of fleshly pleasures: anything that drowns the spark of Selfhood until it can be released into the mysterious and much-craved Gestalt-state.
The chimerical technology is the gift of Silas Morlock, the enigmatic and reclusive head of MorTek. Now, as Morlock contemplates the completion of his life's work, he is disturbed to learn of the return of an ancient scourge.
Hiding in the shadows of his city, an organisation known only as the Incunabula has resurrected an ancient and powerful drug. Slowly, its malign influence is spreading like a plague - and it is literally a poison to the Gestalt.
There is hope yet in the form of Adam, one of the dealer Caxton's prime contacts. He is a misfit and a dreamer, an unlikely saviour indeed, torn between the cravings for the Gestalt and his burning addiction to Caxton's merchandise.
So Adam is destined to become a pawn played by both sides in an ancient struggle, for Caxton is more than just a dealer; he knows the true nature of the Gestalt and he knows Morlock. The two share an old enmity that transcends even life and death.
The conflict will take Adam into the heart of darkness, where he is doomed to learn the secret of the Gestalt for himself. The discovery could cost him his Soul, but if he can overcome the horror then he might just save Humanity from itself...
In the shadows at the heart of darkness, Adam must find himself... or be worse than Damned. So begins the final battle for possession of the Human Soul.
Writers of Worlds is a new UK publisher preparing to launch in the near future. Both of the above novels are under preparation to be released on the launch list. For more information, visit Tyke Writer Export, the author's literary website at
www.tykewriter.supanet.com
And now, on with...
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URANIUM FIST
"In its struggle for power the proletariat has no other weapon but organisation." Lenin "Bourgeois society faces a dilemma: either a return to socialism, or a return to barbarism." Rosa Luxemburg "A spark, that is what our movement represents - a spark that will ignite a revolutionary fire throughout the galaxy..." Karl Minsky "This, then, is our answer... When you reach out your vaunted strong hands for our palaces and purpled ease, we will show you what strength is. In roar of shell and shrapnel and in whine of machine gun will our answer be couched. We will grind you revolutionists down under our heel and we shall walk upon your faces. The world is ours, we are its Lords, and ours it shall remain." The Iron Heel, Jack London, 1907 "The Gauntlet of Class War has been thrown down to us... We must take up this Gauntlet. We must meet our ancient class enemies head on and crush them utterly." Times Editorial, 2239 "What the bourgeoisie... produce, above all, is its own gravediggers. Its fall and the victory of the proletariat are equally inevitable." The Communist Manifesto, Karl Marx & Frederick Engels
Prologue
WHEN Edward Wilton stepped out of his front door, there was nothing to show that the day would be anything but ordinary.
It was a fine summer's day. The air tasted good, with the morning's first ejaculation of pollen. The wind brought with it the heavy tang of a summer storm, of moisture laden air, but the clouds were still brooding over the distant hills that overlooked the city.
Some might take that broiling mass of highly charged air as a bad sign. Not Edward. Ever since he could remember, he loved the exhilaration of a good thunderstorm. Even now, he