[an error occurred while processing this directive] ZEPHYR Magazine
                              T H E
  
                           Z E P H Y R
  
                  __     M A G A Z I N E
                 {__]++++++++++++++++++++++++++[] 
                 Issue #22                7-22-86
 
            A weekly electronic magazine for users of 
                        THE ZEPHYR II BBS 
                    (Mesa, AZ - 602-894-6526)
                owned and operated by T. H. Smith
 
                    Editor - Gene B. Williams 
 
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                            (c) 1986
  
THIS ISSUE:

   The popularity of cloning as a topic of discussion has 
diminished in the past few years, but there was a time when 
rumors abounded. Rumors such as the successful cloning of 
rabbits, monkeys and even humans. One rumor even claimed that 
scientists were cross-cloning humans and apes, to create a race 
of powerful, but relatively stupid, laborers. All these rumors 
persisted despite the claims of prominent scientists that such a 
thing was presently impossible.
   This denial was dismissed as the efforts on the part of these 
scientists to simply hide the truth.


       YOU'RE IN THE ARMY NOW . . . AND NOW . . . AND NOW

   Gleason Farley lay on his small cot and stared at the ceiling. 
Tomorrow, his best friend was being discharged, and Gleason was 
to be transferred to duty at some remote spot called Westenville.
   No friends. Nothing! Just some desert installation where he 
was to watch the gray-green radar screen for 8 hours every day. 
And what the hell would be flying over Westenville?
   Another damn-typical military job with no sense behind it. 
Routine. Day in and day out. Routine. Damned, bullin' routine 
nothingness!
   At the top of his list of complaints was that he'd have to 
leave Sheila behind. With her looks, it wouldn't be long before 
another guy would make his move on her . . . and she'd be gone 
forever from the little world of Gleason Farley.
   He could picture the scene. After six months of steadily 
dwindling letters, he'd receive a quiet, unperfumed letter, which 
would begin with a formal, "Dear Gleason, . . . I hope you can 
understand this . . . " and it would be over.
   Sure, Sheila would be lonely. But what kind of girls could he 
expect to find in Westenville? Probably full of Zeldas and 
Gertrudes (although Gleason had known one terrific lookin' Zelda 
back in high school), and all in uniform.
   He remembered a friend of his, consigned to a station 
somewhere in Panama. Every letter Richard had sent him was filled 
with depression brought on by simple boredom - and of course the 
nearly total lack of female companionship.
   Gleason envisioned his own letters home. 
   "Dear Mom;  Hope you're all well. Everything here is the same. 
Today we had some unusual excitement when a non-GI fly landed in 
the Colonel's soup and boiled away to a nondescript mass of 
protein. Bon apetite. But the real excitement came when the 
screen showed a blip. A bird flew over. At least we know that the 
radar is working."
   Damn! What a life. And still a whole 'nother year to go.
   "Gleason, let's celebrate tonight."
   "Oh, hi, Ben. What's up?"
   "My time is up! Let's hit town tonight and raise some hell. 
I'm leavin' tomorrow, and I just gotta say goodbye to this place 
in style."
   "I don't know, Ben. I don't feel much like celebrating."
   Ben sat on the edge of the cot and gave Gleason a semi-painful 
punch. C'mon, Gleas. It's not that bad."
   "Oh, sure. You're going home tomorrow. I'll be stuck in . .  . 
Westenville . . . for a year."
   "Aw, you'll make it okay. I'll keep in touch."
   " . . . and tell me how much fun you're having, right?"
   "Hell, Gleas. You're about as cheery as a dead dog."
   "I'm sorry, Ben. The whole damn situation is a bummer. You're 
off to home and good times. I'm off to some weird place no one 
has ever heard of, while Sheila gets picked up on by some 
officer, no doubt." He paused, then suddenly jumped from the cot. 
"Well, to hell with all of 'em. Let's go to town."

   Ben went his way. Gleason went his, and Sheila went hers. 
After a few months at Westenville, even Sheila's predicted letter 
had little effect other than to serve as at least some kind of 
change in the tedium.
   Westenville turned out to be worse than he had imagined. In 
point of fact, it didn't really exist. Westenville might have had 
real, live people in it some hundred years ago, but those few had 
left the area long before, leaving an area only a hermit could 
love.  
   The post was a simple four building set-up . . . one barracks 
for the seven enlisted men, one for the three officers, one which 
was aptly called "The Mess" (and bore a faded sign across the 
equally faded door to prove it), and one to house the useless 
radar equipment, which was there, apparently, to make someone's 
brother-in-law a little richer for the sale of equipment to the 
government.
   Or so it seemed to Gleason.
   Other than an occasional hazy blip of a flock of birds, 
nothing appeared on the screen.
   The nearest town was 65 miles distant, and that sparsely 
populated berg was declared off-limits due to the "Top Secret" 
status of the post. 
   The asphalt patched concrete ribbon, jokingly called a 
highway, bore the weight of perhaps three cars per day. Once each 
month that road and the 5 mile stretch of dirt path between the 
post and the road, strained under the unaccustomed weight of the 
supply truck. Between deliveries - nothing. To avoid the problem 
of daily mail delivery, the post office readily agreed to accept 
the Top Secret title for the installation. The mail came once 
each month, with the supply truck. And that was screened.
   All this, for an outpost which seeminly served no useful 
purpose other than to test the frustration and boredom capacity, 
and the patience, of the few soldiers assigned to it.
   And yet, somewhere in that vast expanse of the military was 
someone with a heart. A microprocessor had been installed, and 
was interconnected through a network to a master library located 
in D.C.  Once the special access code had been fed into the 
system, the operator would have access to virtually anything ever 
put into print.
   It wasn't long before Gleason learned the machine's language, 
and then learned how to ask questions. It became a game - a 
contest to see who on the post could find the most outrageous, 
most useless bit of information.
   "Sex Life of a Paramecium."
   "Three Militarily Approved Methods for Performing a Bowel 
Movement."
   "A History of Buttons - 1906-1908, Vol. 7."
   "Raising Worms for Cookies & Fun."
   "Installing a 3J765-8a Light Bulb in a 916Y-2 Socket."
   "Four Noted Authorities Speak Out on Smoking Lettuce."
   The access code contained 248 numerals and letters, and was 
fed into the system through an automatic memory circuit. At first 
Gleason merely keyed up the memory and let it do the work. One 
day he stumbled across a written copy of the code and began to 
punch it in directly.
   On the last digit, instead of a "3" he missed and keyed in a 
"W," but then twitched slightly and ended up with a "WW."  Before 
he could reach the control to erase the command and try again, 
the screen went blank and then suddenly began to display a long 
list which moved by too quickly for Gleason to detect what it 
was.
   He sat, amazed, staring at the screen. In the upper left 
corner he noticed the words, "DALLAS, TX" holding steady. The 
named changed periodically, each time to the name of another 
city, intent on going through the entire alphabet of cities until 
Gleason hit the control and stopped it.
   "Phone numbers! Well, I'll be damned, I'm getting phone 
books."
   He keyed the terminal back to "READY," and punched out the 
code, with the same error at the end. Again the list of names, 
addresses and phone numbers sped by.
   "Well, this won't win me any prizes," he thought, "but . . ."
and again he brought the computer back to "READY."
   This time, he changed a digit in the middle of the code, being 
careful to note which change he had made on a piece of scratch 
paper.
   The letters, "AP" appeared in the upper left. The center of 
the screen displayed a continuous flow of bits of news from all 
over the world, each headed by the name of some city.
   READY
   Another deliberate error was followed by a comendium of 
government documents, ranging from bills still locked on the 
floor to bits of law taken out of context and in quotation marks, 
followed by varying lengths of comment written by some 
disembodied Congressman, or judge, or agent, or . . . (There was 
no way to tell which, as the only identifying marks were code 
numbers.

   READY

   Gleason keyed in still another combination.
   Blank screen - then - 

   SECURITY BANK - REQUIRES DC-7a CLEARANCE"

   - then blank - 
   - then a repeat of the same message.
   He tried again, with the same results. The next time he keyed 
in a random series of numbers.

   ILLEGAL ENTRY - - - - SECURITY - - - ILLEGAL ENTRY - - - SEC

   Another random series.

   ILLEGAL ENTRY - - - - SECUR

   Another.

   ILLEGAL ENTRY - -

   Another

   ILLEG

   Gleason brought the computer back to READY and tried various 
combinations of the access code. Some led to various news lines, 
others to lists of various things, and a few to more guarded 
security codes. Several hours later the only thing he knew which 
he hadn't at the start of the day, was that the network contained 
an incredible amount of information, most of which either made no 
sense or was useless except to those few people who could 
understand the symbols in the read-out. He also knew one more 
thing. Something had become available to relieve the boredom.
   The next day he began again, trying more and more combinations 
- receiving more and more useless information, and a few more 
security locked systems.

   READY. 
   SECRET - - - - CLASS 2 CLEARANCE

   Gleason keyed his driver's license number.

   CODE - - - - 1. BASIC (CLASS 2)   2. DETAIL (CLASS 1)      SEE 
SUPPLEMENTAL 327G

   Program - 327G

   LISTINGS - - - HIGH SECURITY PROJECTS - - - USAF, USN, USMC, 
USA, SAC, CIA, FLO, & GSR PROJECTS 18976-23471
   SEE CODE SPECIFICS FOR EACH PROJECT
   ILLEGAL ENTRY PUNISHABLE - USE SECURITY ACCESS CODE 
IMMEDIATELY
   327G OUTMODES ALL PREVIOUS MODES
   USE SECURITY ACCESS CODE IMMEDIATELY
   >

   "Now what the hell have I stumbled onto?" muttered Gleason. He 
picked 18976, the first project listed, and followed it again 
with his driver's license number.

   PROJECT 18976 - USAF, USMC & GSR-3576f
RE:  LASER RECON VIA ORBITING STATION
PURPOSE:  STANDARD ATMOSPHERIC AND GEOLOGICAL SURVEY FOR      
PREDICTION OF WEATHER CONDITIONS
RESEARCH TEAM:  Robert H. Smith, H63421T; Donald R. Johanssen,      
PT39714; Col. Stanley R. Murray, AF79135; Col. Benjamin B.      
Hartley, MC67545
DETERMINATION:  Feasible
FILE: 18976 - - - CROSS 4578-G - - - CLASS 2

   Realizing that to try to break into every code would take more 
time than he had, Gleason began keying numbers at random.

   PROJECT 12373 - USAF, USN, USMC, USAC, SAC, GSR-8934
RE: BIOLOGICAL STUDIES
PURPOSE:  CLONING - WARM - - SYSTEM 536c
RESEARCH TEAM:  CLASSIFIED
DETERMINATION:  CLASSIFIED
FILE:  21373 - - - CROSS 9878 - - - -
CLASSIFIED TOP TOP SECRET - - - CLASSIFIED TOP TOP SECRET - - -

   Gleason tried the cross reference file, but his license 
number, apparently, did not have sufficient clout to break the 
heavy security. On a hunch, he tried something different - the 
number behind one of the names listed as a member of a research 
team in another biological project.

   READY
   GSR-1-N417-3   MD697 - - - - ? - - - - 21373/9878

   The screen blanked for a moment, then -

   21373/9878 - - - AUTHORIZED   GSR-1-N417-3  MD697
   CLONING
   COMMENTS:  DUE TO PUBLIC PRESSURE, MILITARY STAFF AND 
PERSONNEL MUST BE CUT. VOLUNTEER BASIS SUGGESTED, OUTMODING 
SELECTIVE SERVICE SYSTEM.
   SUPPLEMENTAL:  VOLUNTEER BASIS DOES NOT PRODUCE SUFFICIENT 
NUMBERS TO CONTINUE NECESSARY LEVELS.
   PROBLEM:  SUFFICIENT MILITARY FORCE, WITHOUT ENDANGERING 
PUBLIC OPINION OF POLITICAL ELECTEES AND OTHER GOVERNMENTAL 
AGENCIES.
   SUGGESTED SOLUTION:  INCREASE MANPOWER ARTIFICIALLY, VIA 
CLONING OF EXISTING MILITARY PERSONNEL. 
   PREDICTED RESULT IF SUCCESSFUL:  UNLIMITED MANPOWER
   PREDICTED ADVERSE EFFECTS:  PROJECT MUST RECEIVE MAXIMUM 
SECURITY CLASSIFICATION TO PREVENT PURPOSEFUL OR ACCIDENTAL 
DISCLOSURE OF PROJECT. DONORS TO BE TAPPED DURING NORMAL PHYSICAL 
EXAMS W/O KNOWLEDGE OF PURPOSE.
   RE:  SUCCESS WOULD CAUSE PR PROBLEMS POSSIBLY LEADING TO MORAL 
HYSTERIA; UNSUCCESS WOULD LEAD TO POSSIBLE MORAL HYSTERIA AT 
ATTEMPTS, PLUS PROBABLY POLITICAL POWER WEAKENING.
   FINAL:  PROJECT 21373 - CROSS REF. 9878 - AWARDED 16 MARCH 
1975.   FILE ACCESS LIMITED TO PERSONNEL OF CLASS 1c CLEARANCE OR 
HIGHER. RESULTS CLASSIFIED UNDER 9878 CROSS REF 17 MARCH 1975.  
ALL PREVIOUS FILES KEY LOCKED TO 9878/1c MIN.

   HIGHLIGHTS:
     EX. 1-17 (REVISED) UNSUCCESSFUL
     EX. 18-37 (REVISED) SUCCESSFUL CLONE OF WARM BLOODED MAMMAL 
(IE 1-50 KG)  13 DEATHS (9 PRE - 4 POST)
     EX. 38-147 (REVISED) SUCCESSFUL CLONE OF PRIMATES. 9 DEATHS 
(9 PRE - 1 POST)
     EX. 38-148 - HUMAN - - - DONOR: UNKNOWN.  RESULTS: DEATH
     EX. 38-150 - HUMAN - - - DONOR: HERMAN MELSHINE.  RESULTS: 
DEATH
     EX. 38-151 - HUMAN - - - DONOR: UNKNOWN.  RESULTS: DEATH 
AFTER 6 MONTHS
     EX. 38-152 - HUMAN - - - DONOR: UNKNOWN.  RESULTS: CLONE 
STILL LIVING - MENTAL RETARDATION, UNDER PROTECTIVE CUSTODY. 
SUGGEST TERMINATION AND DISPOSAL (PENDING)
     EX. 38-153 - HUMAN - - - DONOR:  T. GREGORY HORTMAN.  
RESULTS:  STILL LIVING - INTERNAL ORGAN MALFUNCTION. SUGGEST 
TERMINATION AND DISPOSAL.  (CARRIED OUT)
     EX. 38-154 - HUMAN - - - DONOR: T. GREGORY HORTMAN.  
RESULTS:  SUCCESS. ALL FUNCTIONS NORMAL. TERMINATED
     EX. 179-134 - HUMAN - - - DONORS:  VARIOUS (MULTIPLE - CROSS 
REF. 9878a)  RESULTS: TOTAL SUCCESS. ALL SUBJECTS STILL LIVING 
AND IN CUSTODY.
     EX. 250-537 - HUMAN - - - DONORS:  VARIOUS (MULTIPLE - CROSS 
REF. 9878b, c, d)  RESULTS:  ACCELERATED GROWTH COMPLETE. 9 
DISPOSED; 256 FUNCTIONAL. MEAN AGE OF ACCELERATED PHASE - 19 
(CROSS REF. 9878/1,m)
     NOTE:  SEE OTHER 250-SERIES AND 251-SERIES EXPERIMENTS
     CONCLUSION: BASED UPON RESULTS, PROCESS IS NOW CONSIDERED 
FEASIBLE AS A PRACTICAL ALTERNATIVE. TRAINING SHOWN TO PROVIDE 
SUBJECTS WITH ARTIFICIAL PAST. IMPLANT TO TRIGGER TERMINATION IF 
NEEDED IN ALL SUBJECTS.
     SELECTIVE SERVICE CAN NOW BE OUTMODED. SUGGEST CONTINUED 
PUBLIC REGISTRATION TO PROTECT PROJECT.
     ALL FUTURE REFERENCE FILES KEYED TO . . . . . 
     ILLEGAL ENTRY - - - ILLEGAL ENTRY - - - TRACE

   The screen went suddenly blank. Gleason tried to key the 
machine back to READY without success, and then found that he 
couldn't even get it to let go of the phone connection. The 
screen suddenly lit up again.

   ILLEGAL ENTRY TRACED - - - NETWORK ENTRY ACCESS UNIT 
35469A09D8C1. LOCATION POSITIVE. GRID 548 GRID 197A USAC 
INSTALLATION - CODE 657T9TS - - - TERMINATE - - - ILLEGAL ENTRY 
TRACED TO 

   Gleason stood and ran from the room. Where in the desert could 
he lose himself? Where could he go that the combined search 
forces wouldn't find him?
   He turned to look once again and saw the screen was continuing 
the display. His name and serial number were repeated three 
times. 
   He walked away slowly, so as not to raise suspicion, and made 
his way to the gate and out onto the desert. He knew he wouldn't 
have long to get lost, but he just might make it to the mountains 
off to the west.
   Behind him the screen displayed one final message before going 
blank.

   USAC UNIT CPL. GLEASON R. FARLEY - SUBJECT EX. 251-547 - 
TERMINATE. IMPLEMENT AUTO-DESTRUCT MODE - CODE 3 - ASSUMED 
INSANITY AND APPARENT SUICIDE.



Until Next Time

   That story was actually written some time ago, and was 
dedicated to a friend of mine who was about to entry the service. 
It was a "going away" present, of sorts.
   Just to reassure you, the story IS pure fiction. 
   Isn't it?

   Next time:
   You've probably noticed that the magazine doesn't go up every 
week the way it used to. It will still go up, but the lack of 
response and participation leads me to believe that perhaps it 
will serve the users (and readers) better if there is a longer 
span between issues. 
   The original reason to have a weekly magazine was to encourage 
the users to check into Zephyr at least once per week. Judging by 
the amount of response (or lack of it), that didn't seem to be 
working out. To be very blunt about it, knocking out a weekly 
issue just to get 5 or 6 responses isn't worthwhile.
   Consequently, the magazine will now appear approximately every 
2 weeks instead of weekly.
   If I'm wrong, and you DO want weekly issues, show it by taking 
part. This week, for example, we have a fine topic for discussion 
- namely cloning. It isn't possible to clone a human now, but one 
day it likely will be possible. What are the implications? And as 
a side issue, how about genetic engineering? The changing of the 
genetic structure to cause a lifeform to become something 
specific in design. (This is already being done on simple life 
forms. How about genetic engineering to make people invulnerable 
to a certain illness?)

   Past issues are still available in the download section. 
   So is the file called QUESTION - for which I am *still* 
waiting for even one response.
   

Zephyr Magazine is © Gene Williams. All rights reserved.