Trademark Bugs: A Legal History

Trademark Bugs: A Legal History

Adam Roberts

5. Legal Implications of Combat

It is hard to assess the long-term impact of the financial success of Trademark Bugs, and is beyond the scope of the present paper. The purpose of this final section is to consider the potential consequence of on-going litigation pertaining to the Bangladeshi Conflict (This section as a whole, and this sentence inn particular, does note carry the unanimous imprimatur of the authors. “Bangladeshi Conflict” was agreed by a narrow majority over “Asian Continental War” and “First Asian Continental War”, both of which are in common online usage.) The high casualty figures of this conflict (АПУ scholars wanted this clause replaced with « Casualties have been sustained, but precise figures have not been agreed ». In the Russian and Ukrainian translation of this paper the АПУ phrasing has been preferred, and the RPSL phrasing relegated to a footnote), as much as the central role played by Pharma company, render it a test-case for the on-going development of Trademark Bugs in the future of international relations (The original draft included the parenthesis “… (such that some have dubbed the war commercial completion pursued via military means, see Gharrai 2099)…” Citing it in a footnote was the compromise agreed upon,, with the added consideration that this footnote not be cited by any third party as indicative of the official conclusion of this paper.) What is clear is that conflict represents basis of civic and legal management of Trademark Bugs, up to and including a complete restatement of the Porter Rules for their commercial exploitation.

Trademark Bugs: A Legal History, Photo by Elena

Despite being officially termed the “Bangladeshi War”, the conflict has spread across a much larger area than the Bay of Bengal. At the same time it is also true that the Battle for the port of Chattagrama – in Bangladesh – has been one of the biggest of the war so far. The whole region has suffered much more markedly from climate change than other areas on the globe, and economic growth of an averagely consistent 3% per 5 years has been diluted by outstripping population increases. The whole area shares with central Mexico the destination of the world’s highest rates of untreated Trademark Bug infections. At the same time, the Big Three have directed in excess of Euros 5 billion humanitarian aid, including euros 220 million worth of free antiseptic soap, dispersed in the area since 2091.

The mai antagonists in the war (despite the use of nation-state shell identities) are generally agreed as being Bayer on the one hand, and on the other an alliance of smaller, ambitious and emergent pharmaceutical companies, led by the Myanmar Pharmaceutical Manufacturers Union (MPMU). The latter brought together troops from Myanmar, Malasya and India; the former deployed armies from Russian Federation and EU states. The specific flashpoints – control of the lucrative industrial centres positioned along the Karnaphuil River – are less relevant to our present discussion than the way the war has been prosecuted.

Science Fiction and Fantasy 2015, edited by Rich Horton, Prime Books, 2015.

The Instructive Tale of the Archaeologist and His Wife

The Instructive Tale of the Archaeologist and His Wife

Alexander Jablokov

Relative Dating

Most of the remains of the technological age were toxic or radioactive. Researchers into that era tended to have short lifespans. Shaky and despairing, with haunted eyes, they rarely achieved high academic standing.

So when the archeologist got a letter from a colleague in technological age studies who said he had come across some information relfecting on the Akaskids, he was at first dismissive.

Still, the man had a reputation for some brilliance, albeit levened with hostility and paranoia, and when the archeologist visited a nearby city for an academic conference a few years later, he arranged to stop by and see wht the man had.

By that point, the man had lost even the minor academic post he’d had when he wrote to the archeologist, and all of his research materials were now crammed into a basement storage unit, poorly lit and subject to floods and infestations of rodents.

As the man, shaking and mumbling, dug through mildewed remnants of printed books and fabrics, the archeologist tried not to get too close. It was clear the man had lost whatever trace of sanity he had once had.

The Instructive Tale of the Archaeologist and His Wife, Image by Elena

Just as the archaeologist was about to turn to leave, the man reached in and, with a triumphant grunt, pulled out a yellow porcelain cup, almost complete. It gleamed like sunlight in the dank storage unit. The archaeologist instantly recognized it as a piece of Akaskid ceremonial tableware, suitable for a dinner with the gods.

It ad turned up in a late technological age stratum. A museum?

No. Not a museum. Instead, some kind of manufacturing facility, with the remains of heating and annealing chambers. There had actually been a lot of other ceramic fragments there. This was the only one in recognizable shape. Then he tossed the cup to the archeologist, who caught it clumsily, almost dropping it. He responded with rage, maybe going too far because of the man’s low status. Later, he would regret this, though the researcher showed no signs of offense at the time.

Instead he explained to the archaeologist how the late technological age had seemed devoted to destroying every sign of themselves. Their remains were infested with bacteria that dissolved various materials such as plastic, metal, and cloth. He’d lost a lot of his own equipment to some still-living colonies of these. He hypothesized that they had also released small devices with long-lived power sources that had crawled endlessly through late technological strata, grinding every piece of evidence with comminuting teech, until nothing was left but indistinguishable powder,. He’d never found one of these mechanical rotifers, but was sure they had existed.

Fift & Shiria

Fift & Shiria

By Benjamin Rosenbaum

Father Frill cocked his head to one side, and narrowed his eyes, searching the feed. “Hmm. He’s been fighting – your friend. He’s a little old for that. At your age Bails should be learning to keep their fights on the mats.” He shook his head. “That’s not good for ratings.”

The hairs on the backs of Fift’s nechs stood up. “What would happen, if they take Shria away? Away to where?”

Frill shrugged. “He’s not too old to be trained as a Midwife. They live at the pole – “he gestured vaguely southwards. “It’s a great honor.”

Fift could see her own faces over the feed. She looked horrified: one day she’d come to class and Shria would be gone, taken from his cohort, forbidden to talk to his parents, off to the pole to become a Midwife forever. How many mor fights would it take? Could Umlish cause this all by herself, with her words? Fift struggled to compose her expressions into mildness, like Grobbard’.

Fift & Shiria. Photo by Elena

The closed and skeptical look on Shria’s face softened, as he syared at Fift. He yanked the last of the mossy sticks from the pile (in her other body, Fift yanked the log free from a knot of underbrush; there, shed could hear the sounds of the campsite through the trees. They were building the bonfire). He raised one of his thick, curling eyebrows.

“You’d better plan on being the Older Sibling, though,” Umlish said, “because Shria doesn’t want any Younger Siblings. He was glad to get rid of that little baby – weren’t you, Shria?”

Shria blinked. His nostrils flared, a long indrawn breath, his eyes still locked on Fift’s – drawing strength? Then he turned to Umlish. “Don’t spit all your poison today, Umlish,” he said. “You might run out, and then what are you going to do tomorrow?”

Umlish drew herself up, scowling. « You sluiceblocking – »

« You used « sluiceblocking » already, » Shria said. « See? You’re running out. »

« Let’s go back, Umlish, » Kimi said. « We don’t want to miss when they light it the fire – »

Fift cleared her throat. Her hearts were pulsing, unstaidishly fast.

fift_shriaIllustration by Megan Jorgensen

Science Fiction and Fantasy 2015, edited by Rich Horton, Prime Books, 2015.

The Hand is Quicker

The Hand is Quicker

By Elizabeth Bear

Everything changed at midnight.

Not my midnight, as if honoring the mystical claptrap in some dead fairy tale. But about the dinner hour, which would be midnight Greenwich Standard Time – honoring the mystical claptrap of a dead empire, instead. I suppose you have to draw the line somewhere. The world is full of the markers the remnants of the one in Arizona to the remnants of the one in Berlin.

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings.

I was thinking about that poem as I crossed Henderson – with the light : I knew somebody who jaywalked and got hit by an unskinned vehicle. The driver got jail time for manslaughteer, but that doesn’t bring bback the dead. Ot was a gorgeous October evening, the sun just setting and the trees stil full of leaves in all shades of gold and orange. I barely noticed them, or the cool breeze as I waited, rocking nervously from foot to foot on the cobblestones.

I was meeting my friend Numair at Gary’s Olympic Pizza and I was running a little late, so he was already waiting for me in our usual corner booth. He’d ordered beers and garlic bread. They waited on the table top, the beers shedding rings of moisture into paper napkins.

The Hand is Quicker. Photo by Elena

I slid onto the hard bench opposite him, trying to hide the apprehension souring my gut, The vinyl was artistically cracked and the rough edges caught on my jeans. It wasn’t Numair making me so anxious. It was finances. I shouldn’t be here, by rights – I knew I couldn’t afford even pizza and beer – but I needed to see him. If anything could clear my head, it was Numair.

One of the things I liked about Numair is how unpretentious he was. I didn’t skin heavily – not like some people, who wandered through underwater seascapes full on sentient octopuses or dressed up as dragons and pretended they kufe ub Elfland – but he was so down to earth I’d have bet his default skin looked just like him. He was a big guy, strapping and barre-bodied, witch curly dark brown hair that was going gray at the temples. And he liked his garlic bread.

Science Fiction and Fantasy 2015, edited by Rich Horton, Prime Books, 2015.

Pernicious Romance

Pernicious Romance

By Robert Reed

Case Study:

Tenured professors are allowed to purchase season tickets, though they are relegated to some famously poor locations. BB and his wife had seats high in the southwestern portion of the stadium. These were fit people but far from young, They left for the restrooms before the first half ended, and they were slowly climbing the steps when the stadium fell into darkness. Probably neither noticed the helmet and golf cart stopping in the middle of the field. BB does recall his wife hesitating in the gloom avove him. He speaks affectionately about touching her back, trying to reassure her with his presence, and then came the flash that transported him to another world where he lived and loved fore three alien days – long days which would translate to perhaps two weeks by the human count, he estimates.

To an accomplished physicist, that alternate world appeared perfectly credible.

Twenty-three minutes after the blast, BB woke to fund himself lying on top of his wife. To his horror, he realized that she had fallen hard, driven in part by his own body. Her forhead sharp struck the edge of a concrete step. BB tended to the bloody wound as best he could, and then this man in his late seventies tried to lift his wife, and failed, before screaming as loudly as he could, begging for anyone’s help.

Pernicious Romance. Photo by Elena

Sitting nearby were ù brother and sister, alert and conversing with one campus police officer. All three came to the rescue, and despite his own head wound, the brother carried the dying woman across other bodies and out into the nearest parking lot. But the medical personnel were esewhere, luicd or otherwise, and this spouse of fifty-eight years died in the back of a useless ambulance.

BB’s subsequent depression was prolongedd and useful.

Two months after the funeral, he began working on an explanation for his wife’s murder and the transforamtion of so many innocent lifes. Thos efforts let to a series of dense, harshly reasoned papers that have mostly gone unpublished. But the professional indifference hasn’t jept his conclusions from being shared by others, both within his field and far beyond.

BB clamis that what happened isn’t possible. Not according to natural laws, and according to any compilation of wild hypotheses.

Impossibility is itself a clue, says BB.

He has written nothing about his fictional love affaire, but alie world is a different subject. Throughly rendered, complete with estimates of size and mass, apparent history and harsh climate, he argues that the world was to intricate and perfect for even an expert to dream up. That means that his vision had to be the work of another mind, a much more competent and relentless mind. According to the old professor, each of us exists inside the dreams of someone greater, and what happened on that October evening was an accident, a sorry mistake.

The universe is a cosmic fiction.

Science Fiction and Fantasy 2015, edited by Rich Horton, Prime Books, 2015.