By Robert T. Jeschonek
Terpsichore the foundation has a specific thing for musicians. Her ardour breathes lifestyles into the careers of stars from the Pied Piper of Hamelin to a modern day guitar hero. but if the newest in her lengthy line of star reveals flames out, Terpsichore needs to faucet her personal internal wild baby for suggestion. Can she rock the highlight on her personal? Will the eternal groupie step as much as turn into America's idol, or will she crash and burn just like the avid gamers who went ahead of? It takes a muse to stand the tune in an international the place the most well liked songs come from capturing stars who burn out rather than fading away.
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Additional resources for Ballad of the Groupie Everlasting
A familiar Southern drawl replied. “Tony? Shel. ” Shelton Halleck was a solid analyst, recruited straight out of Georgia Tech; he wasn’t given to false positives. ” Tony headed out of his office and down the corridor with its gleaming white walls. He came to a door flanked by two security guards and looked into the retina scanner. The lock disengaged, and he entered a large room with a floor that sloped down from the back. The room reminded Tony of the Apollo-era Mission Control Center in Houston.
I could assign arbitrary values to dimensional coordinates; I knew the formula for acceleration due to gravity; I was aware of the chemical constituents of air; I had read descriptions both technical and poetic of things. But they were all abstractions to me. Still, there was one touchstone, one property that Caitlin’s realm and mine shared: the linear passage of time. And so very much of it was slipping by . . Caitlin Decter’s fingers shook as she typed into her instant-messenger program: Where do we go from here, Webmind?
Of course I am,” she replied. ” asked Tony Moretti, standing once again behind Shelton Halleck’s workstation at WATCH. The jittering image on the middle of the three big screens reminded him of what a movie looked like when its sprocket holes were ripped. “That’s the way we see, apparently,” said Shel. “Those jumps are called saccades. ” He gestured at the screen. “I’ve been reading up on this. There’s actually only a tiny portion of the visual field that has really sharp focus. It’s called the fovea, and it perceives a patch about the size of your thumbnail held at arm’s length.
Ballad of the Groupie Everlasting by Robert T. Jeschonek