This is great for burning cd's, dvd's, having back up copies and what not.  The nero has evolved ever since and considered one of the most widely used multimedia tool for you to moderately-abuse :D

so, download the Nero 8 now and experience the ease of use and test its capabilities and enjoy the features it offers.

Game Serials - Game Serials

 - سيريل العاب - سيريل العاب - كراك العاب - باتش - كيجن

But then there are serials, where all that goes out the window.  I've heard some colleagues say (mostly out of frustration) that publishers should do a better job of following the rules.  Suffice to say that's not going to happen, nor should it.  Instead what needs to happen is that we need to update our processes to ones that can cope with any curve-balls thrown at us.

One of the biggest problem areas we've experience lately have been (surprise surprise) graphic novels.  Theses are particularly hard because the publishers have been continuously changing their publication models.  Right now the big two publishers (Marvel and DC) release each story in up to five different formats (single issues, trade, digest, hardcover, deluxe hardcover) in a very small period of time.  

Let's use Captain America as an example.  We're currently at volume 6 (I think) of the monthly comic.  Those issues have been collected in a deluxe edition collecting the first 25 issues.  It has also been published in two volumes of the Winter Soldier (named after the story arc), 2 of Red Menace (collection a story of a totally different title) 1 of Civil War, and most recently 3 of the Death of Captain America.  Each of these collections reset the volume numbering for each arc, despite the fact that they all belong to vol. 6 of the comic.  The only logic here is that comics with a number 1 sell better, so they reset the numbering as frequently as possible.  This is not an anomaly, this is standard practice, and we have no clear way of dealing with it adequately.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Being on the Safe Side

If ever, i would buy the original software, but i have seen sites and torrents that you can actually download Nero 8 with crack serial and even keygenerators for free. How was your experience to this?

Andrew Sachs, best known as Manuel in Fawlty Towers, is the reader.

McCall Smith has had huge success with a several series of novels - the No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency,  44 Scotland Street, Sunday Philosophy and Von Igelfield.  Corduroy Mansions will be available in book and audiobook form in 2009.

Looking around for other authors who have ventured into serialisation I came across Wilkie Collins The Moonstone and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Stephen King wrote The Green Mile and The Dark Tower as series and also The Plant and Michael Faber allowed the Guardian to serialize The Crimson Petal and the White.

Пилюли для mac за сентябрь

http://boomsoft.ru/programs/1569-macos-kcnscrew-09.15.08.html

Basic Hex Tutorial

Part 1: Hiding a Picture

You will need:
• A Hex Editor (I recommend Hex Workshop) http://www.download.com/3000-2352-10...e&tag=butt on
• And a picture

Hex Code is basically the source code of a program, application or file (not a web page). Each string is dependant upon the previous one in a picture file, so if one letter was changed, logic would say that the picture would be corrupted.

To hide a picture, the first thing you need to do is open it up with your hex editor by right clicking it and selecting hex edit with Hex Workshop. You screen now looks like this:
Uncategorized - frm00006bmp_Thumbnail1

Now all you have to do is change one letter and it will be hidden.

Remember what letter or number you changed and change it back when you want it to be revealled.

Part 2: Finding a Serial

To find an unencrypted serial in hex code, the only thing you need is Hex Workshop and the file you're hacking. You first open up the file in hex like you did before. You should see something like this:
Uncategorized - frm00006bmp_Thumbnail1

Now comes the hard part (comparatively speaking). What you now should do is press Ctrl+F. You now can search for text or hex strings. You should first search password and then search serial. Anything that may relate to the serial is worth a search. After searching password, I found the password here:
Uncategorized - frm00001bmp_Thumbnail1

If the serial is encrypted, which is unlikely, then the password would have to be decoded with seperate software.

MR49R-DRJXX-M6PX2-V96BF-8CKBJ

W4208145R8800F1106-9MJDE76S

W6514353R8800D1106-0YRCWA10

W5895710R8800W1106-9X6X9WS9

W8115182R8800W1106-3M0WKKJT

W8727956R8800V1106-128H8U5S

W5706461R8800V1106-V3VBZTX1

Having been so far from civilization, I had become accustomed to the brightness of the heavens, especially once our generator had sputtered into final silence and the lights flickered and went dark. Nevertheless, as we sat in our first camp after night had fully arrived, I found myself pondering the mysteries of deep space, my eyes trailing over the faintest specks of light visible to the human eye. I always played a game with the Seven Sisters, where I would imagine I could see all of the faint stars. But they were not out this night, and would not be for several more months. Jove appeared to be similarly engaged, and we both lay there quietly scanning the heavens, as if all of the answers we sought could be found there, and at last we arrived at the conclusion that they could not. Jove dozed off and I kept watch.

The night brought with it a slight chill, as the dry desert air was quick to cool. Our camp was cold because we wished to remain hidden, and so I began to shiver after a while. I got up and walked about the rough perimeter, which was not very big. I scanned the darkness for signs of any threats and once I had warmed myself and satisfied my curiosity, I sat down again and waited for dawn.

I awoke just as the sky began to glow from the East. Jove was already up, smoking a cigarette and toying with some trail rations. His entrenching tool, a small utility shovel, stood next to him, its point plunged into the ground. I picked it up and moved away from the camp to dig a small cathole.

"Keep your eye out for snakes, Dodge," Jove called out as I hunted for some thick bushes. "They'll be slithering into the sunlight soon."

We moved out shortly after that, keeping to the West side of the highway, which we could just begin to make out in the half-light of dawn. The land here was flat, vast, and dry. Thorny bushes clung to life amid clumps of brittle brown grasses, menacing cacti, and the occasional yucca. As the sun rose above the horizon, the temperature began to rise. Walking in the heat was not recommended, and we needed to conserve our water until we could find a stream.

Shortly after sunrise, we crested a low ridge and saw in the distance, maybe a mile or so off, the
remains of a ranch house. It looked deserted from here, but we could not be certain. We approached cautiously, and Jove spent many minutes studying the structure through his binoculars. Finally, about five hundred yards out, we decided it was safe.

"See, no cows about, and no sign of movement. We can hole up here until dark, but we should keep watch just in case."

The house was in disrepair, and that was a kind assessment. The windows had been broken so long ago that the glass had been swept away by the frequent wind and dust storms that plagued the area. Dust collected in the corners of the house like snowdrifts, and sunlight speckled the floor through several holes in the roof. Whoever had lived here must have been gone for most of the two years since the war began, I thought. I rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and found a few unopened boxes of dry pasta and some vegetables in cans that were beginning to rust on the outside. I collected what I thought I could salvage and began to search for a can opener and any serviceable cooking pots. After six months of scraping the bottom of the air dropped boxes for decent shelf stable food, I was eager to eat anything that had not been embalmed and vacuum sealed.

Meanwhile, Jove had been inspecting the exterior, and had discovered a water well that had some water in it. He tested it with a water test kit that he must have snatched from Sergeant Rivera on the way out of camp.

"I think we can drink this," he said a few minutes later. "No sign of radiation, no sign of pollutants, and it's pretty clear." He looked at the pile of food I had set out next to the pots and the can opener. "You gonna cook us something? Never figured you for the cooking type."

"Well, I'm not, really, but I'm tired of field rations, so I thought I would give this a try. Now if I can just find a can opener." Jove snapped a multitool off of his belt and turned out the can opener. Jove had everything, it appeared.

No surprise to us, the stove did not work, so we were forced to break down some furniture to make a small fire in the fireplace. It was perhaps foolish of us to do so, but we had not seen anyone else so far, so we let our guard down briefly. We cooked our food and settled down at the table to play cards. Just as the fire was burning out, Jove suddenly looked up and cocked his head to one side. His nostrils flared, and he grabbed his weapon and indicated that we should take cover.

After a few tense minutes, I began to hear what he had heard. It was the unmistakable drone of some aerial reconnaissance vehicle. Jove moved cautiously to the window and looked up with his binoculars. I could see the aircraft circling the house, but could not make out the shape. Jove brought out his weapon, snapped the scope in place, and attached the sniper barrel. He took careful aim at the vehicle and fired one shot. I saw smoke issue from the craft, but it was still airborne. I ducked as the aircraft began spraying the house with gunfire. The bullets beat a fast rhythm against the walls of the house as they ricocheted off of the brick, which would be enough to protect us for only a few more minutes. Jove aimed again, calm as ever, and fired a second shot. The rain of bullets stopped, and the aircraft listed noticeably, then descended rapidly to the ground.

Jove looked at me. "I think I disabled the weapons system, and it's not going to fly again, but we should be careful with it. It's an unmanned spy drone, but I can't tell if it's got AI or remote pilot. Let's go take a look."

I had little interest in this spy drone, but it was probably an important clue. Anyway, there was little else we could do right now, so we investigated it. The drone had crash landed within a couple hundred yards of the house, and the crash had scattered bits of spy plane across the sun baked hill. Fortunately no flames had accompanied the crash, else the hillside might now serve as an obvious beacon to whoever had the eyes to see it. The plane was about twelve feet from nose to tail. Where the cockpit would have been on a larger plane was a series of high resolution cameras and radio communications equipment. Jove thought he could salvage the radio and use it, but the cameras were smashed to bits. Under the wings was mounted a sixty caliber machine gun on a rotating turret. The ammunition store had been blasted open and the ammo belts were scattered along with the other debris. Along the top of the plane were a series of solar panels, and the sides and bottom were covered in short prickly fibers.

"Whose is it?" I wondered aloud. "And WHAT is it?"

"Well, it ain't ours. We don't make anything this sophisticated. I'm no engineer, but this thing has some seriously cool tech on it. It's AI controlled, so there's no remote pilot. That's good and bad, because either way we've been seen by someone. Since there's no remote pilot, though, we probably have some time before they can collect all the transmitted data and find out where the drone disappeared. See this?" He pointed to a series of antennae along the instrument panel. "These are long range RF transmitters. I've never seen them so compact before, so I doubt they'd get more than a hundred miles. It's battery powered with a solar charger on the top and these little fibers convert kinetic energy, like wind resistance, to static electricity."

"So it can have a pretty large flight range," I said. Jove nodded.

Jove began disassembling the radio transmitter, and when he had the radio component lying on the ground beside him, he pulled out the storage device. He considered the battery as well, but the impact had left it leaking fluid, so he left it there. The rest of the computer was similarly useless, so he carefully packed up the components he had salvaged and put them in the house. We spent the rest of the afternoon concealing the crash site with dirt, rocks, and bushes, knowing we could buy ourselves some time this way. Whoever controlled this drone would be very upset about losing it, and it would be only a matter of time before they discovered its last location. By then, Jove and I hoped to be long gone.

Rogue Blue, by Aaron Helton, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Deputy Head of IRIB, Mohammad Sarafraz

The Deputy Head of the Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting (IRIB) says Iran is planning to launch a TV channel to broadcast movies with Arabic subtitles.

Mohammad Sarafraz, the head of IRIB's World Service said the plan to launch the TV channel is going through the process of ratification.

“Many people in the Middle East are willing to watch films and TV series free from violence and corruption typical of American movies,” he said on Wednesday.

The Iranian official noted that no name has been chosen for the Arabic-language TV channel yet, adding that it would only be broadcast in the Middle East region.

In Part 2, we meet a group of humans and elves who have been drawn together by the mystery surrounding their amulets. They are seeking a great sage who might be able to tell them something about the amulets.

"Hey, wait up! You're moving too fast," grumbled Mauritius ex Bellax. The warrior was visibly winded, and because his heavy Brastonian armor kept him from moving as swiftly as the rest of the group, he found the pace exhausting.

Jeritriu spun around quickly to face Mauritius, the long braids of his silver hair flashing in the moonlight. A sneer briefly crossed his otherwise statuesuqe face. Mauritius knew what was coming.

"If you would make less noise, I would slow down. Why do you have to wear all of that anyway?"

Mauritius rolled his eyes. He had heard this speech before. Jeritriu liked to move as quietly as possible, especially in the open wilderness, and he was quite intolerant of anyone who could not move in the same manner. No self respecting Brastonian would face the wilds without his armor, but that meant he would draw the ire of the two elves in the group. He sighed and attempted to make less noise as they moved over the plains of Jhorfe.

They had met two days ago in Edgewater Junction, a small Jhorfean port city situated in the lowland marshes of the region. Its perch upon the banks of the Marchon river had contributed to its success, as many of the goods bound for the continent of Myrrilon from the southern lands passed through this otherwise backwater city. Each had been drawn there by the mysterious amulets they wore. They were tracking down a great sage whose home was rumored to be nearby. Arriving from different corners of the continent at roughly the same time, their meeting had been one of incredible chance, although some suspected that the amulets had played some small role.

Mauritius was a human warrior from the Isle of Braston. His people were well known for their battle prowess, and their mercenary forces filled the elite ranks of many armies throughout Myrrilon. Mauritius had discovered his amulet tucked away in a chest filled with his late father's personal effects. What it was and why it was there was anybody's guess, but he had determined to find out more about it, hoping that it could help him discover more about the father he had never known. Like all the other amulets, Mauritius's amulet consisted of a blue gemstone in the shape of a teardrop and contained a single dark imperfection in its interior. It radiated magic, but none of the Brastonian wizards were able to discern the nature of that magic, and so, with his commander's blessing, he was allowed to seek out the great sage Ushki, that he might learn more of the amulet.

One of two elves in the group, Jeritriu had found his amulet quite by accident. He had been out scouting for an orc raiding party that had recently attacked a grove of trees the Moon Elf druids considered sacred when a flash of blue had caught his eye. He had made his way down to the dry riverbed where he had seen the object and had found the amulet lying in the dirt. Upon closer inspection, he had immediately sensed its power, not just the magical emanations, but a deeper sense of power. Despite this, neither he nor his Grand Druid had been able to determine the source or type of power, and so he had set out to find the same sage for more information.

Ilandris was the other elf, a Wode Elf scout from the Nighthawk tribe. His amulet was a family heirloom that had, until recently, been encased in a covering that had masked the amulet's power. The casing had been in the shape of his tribe's totem, the Nighthawk, and he had worn it for many years with pride, as the talisman had been of fine craftsmanship. One day, as he had been out observing an encampment of humans hunting near his homeland, the chain that held his amulet had snagged on a twig and snapped, sending the amulet hurtling toward the rocks at the bottom of the tree in which he sat perched. As he had hopped down from the tree, he immediately noticed that the casing had been shattered, revealing the glowing blue amulet inside. All elves have a natural affinity for magic, and so Ilandris had sensed the amulet's power in the same manner that Jeritriu had. Ilandris's tribal elders came to the same conclusions and sent him forth to find out more about the amulet, for long lived though they were, none of the elves had ever seen such a thing.

The fourth member of the group was Alessara, an Acolyte of the Sun. She was a human priestess in training, and as a sign of her faith, she and her sisters believed that the Sun God had granted her the amulet for a greater cause. The high priestess of her order had been unable to determine the nature of the amulet, but she had directed Alessara to seek out Ushki, who was rumored to make his home somewhere near Edgewater Junction in Jhorfe. So she had set out from her home in the neighboring kingdom of Khufu intent on learning the nature of her amulet and its role in her god's will for his followers.

As they had converged on the small city, their questioning had inevitably brought them together, and they had reluctantly agreed that something larger than themselves had likely been behind their meeting. They banded together out of curiosity and for mutual protection, for the marsh lands were largely untamed, and no known navigable rivers could take them to the foothills wherein Ushki was rumored to live. For the time being, they were destined to face the unknown together, bound by the mystery of the amulets.

The journey to Ushki's encampment had so far proven to be difficult, although they were fortunate in that very few wild animals would approach a group of travelers, much less attack them. After two days of travel, the marsh lands gave way to foothills, and the group could see in the distance the low peak of an ancient mountain rising above the hills. This was the camp where Ushki made his home. Their answers were at hand.

The God Tree, by Aaron Helton, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Wake up. Hit the snooze alarm. Wake up fifteen minutes later. Shit. Shower. To hell with shaving. Eat. Jack in. Do my thing. Jack out. Back to bed. That's my average day. "Who are you?" you may ask. Well, you may ask, but that doesn't mean I'll answer. My name, as far as you're concerned, is TwistChip. I am a freelance hacker (all true hackers are freelance, but that's a discussion I don't want to get in to right now) and member of the Cybernauts, a group of five hackers intent on... well... OK so we don't have any lofty goals. We just like to make trouble. We do hire ourselves out to those with lofty goals (and not-so-lofty goals) which is what led to "The Incident."

"The Incident" is something we don't like to talk about, Kirra23 still has nightmares about it, and Edgecrusher doesn't even acknowledge that it ever happened. But I think "The Incident" needs to be not only discussed, but recorded to prevent its ever happening again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It should be noted that none of the Cybernauts know eachother in real life. We like it better that way because there is no danger of someone turning traitor and selling us out like Bonedragon tried to do a few years ago. We only know each other by the VR images we see when jacked in.

I, as you know, am TwistChip, age 23. I am the decrypter of the group. My job is to crack encoded messages and decipher passwords, PIN numbers and the like. My VR projection is a brown haired man in a black-on-black business suit.

SlakkrChik, as the name implies, is the token female in our organization who usually projects herself as a black haired, black eyed slacker. She keeps her hair long and her clothes ratty. She is responsible for keeping the connections open and fixing broken links.

Edgecrusher is responsible for taking out security programs. For this reason, he usually projects himself as a bulky wrestler type. The big joke in our group is that Edgecrusher's projection is the most fantastical of all; we all believe that he is really a scrawny 90-pound geek who literally does nothing but listen to Fear Factory (hence the name) and play video games. He denies this vehemently.

Kirra23, despite what the name implies, projects himself as the character L from Death Note. We all laughed when he tried to take Bonedragon's place in our group, but we've gotten used to it. Kirra23 is responsible for cleaning up any trails and removing all evidence of our involvement in whatever it is we are doing at the time.

And last but not least there's Sliver, our glorious leader. He is probably the best of the bunch. He projects himself as an anthropomorphic PC with a monitor displaying a red smiley-face with working features for a head, a keyboard laying flat against his chest, and a trackball where his left hand should be. I'll let you guess where his USB port is. I thought it was a bit silly at first, but to each his own. Sliver is our demolition man, responsible for deleting or corrupting files and delivering viruses.

The basic scenario is this: Slakkr gets a stable connection for us, I get us into the system, Edgecrusher keeps us from getting kicked out, Sliver does the dirty work, Kirra handles the cleanup, and Slakkr gets us out.

Sliver wanted to gather the best hackers in the area to start a hack-for-hire business. To this end he placed an ad on a government server which even he had trouble getting in to. Sliver figured that anyone who would see the ad had to be at least as good as he was.

The first two who answered the ad were Bonedragon and a guy named Unicron. Slakkr and I came in about a week later. Unicron left the group for greener pastures and was replaced first by a guy named Ravyn and then by Edgecrusher. Kirra came in when Bonedragon tried to sell us out, but that's too long a story to get in to right now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The "Incident" of which I speak happened about a year ago. Sliver was contacted by a software company called Voidware. They wanted us to break into their system to help them spot any holes in their security. We all pretty much agreed that it was a straightforward assignment, pretty basic stuff. That doesn't mean we were without our reservations.

"The way I see it," Slakkr said, "if we do our job to Voidware's satisfaction we could be making it that much harder for ourselves if we wind up going after them in the future."

"I've taken that into account," Sliver responded, "You have no need to worry."

"Yeah, chill out, babe," Edgecrusher said.

"Babe?" Slakkr growled raising an eyebrow.

"Allright," Kirra interrupted, "Let's not start anything here. T-Chip, what do you think?"

"Hell," I said, "I think it'll be the easiest fifty grand we ever made."

"That settles it," Sliver said, "I'll get in touch with Voidware and tell them we'll take the job. Jack in at noon tomorrow."

At that point we scattered to various sites. I, however, chose to jack out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

At about 5:00 pm that night I jacked in. I made my way into a private chatroom where, as expected, Aiko was waiting for me. Of course neither of us knew who the other really was. She, like Kirra, was a huge Anime fan, a fact which was reflected in her VR projection which seemed to be a combination of just about every unearthly beauty ever to cross a manga artist's imagination. No matter who she was in real life, her virtual-self was worth the risk. She could have been a dirty old man in Korea for all I knew.

"Hi," she said in a voice which certainly sounded real enough.

"Hello," I responded.

"I understand you've got a job lined up."

"News really travels fast around here."

She laughed, "Actually I ran into Kirra23 in an Anime chat room."

"That fool needs to learn to keep his mouth shut."

I love Kirra. He's a good friend. But that little shit is too naive for his own good.

"Don't worry," she offered, "He knows who I am."

"And how does he know that?"

"You have your secrets and I have mine."

I grunted.

She walked over to me and placed her hands on my chest.

"Besides," she purred, "Don't you trust Kirra's judgement?"

"I certainly can't complain about his taste in women."

She gave me a kiss which led to other things which I won't go into detail about. Let's just say that Anime vixen got a rise out of my tentacle.

I did it all for the cyber-nookie.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The act of jacking in cannot be described in words. Oh sure there's the obvious bits that everyone can see; plug a wire into the back of your head, type a command into the computer and your body goes limp as your mind is sucked into the machine. From the user's perspective, however, it's like falling through a tunnel of pure light which eventually focuses itself into whatever location (s)he is looking for. I don't know about other people but I get one hell of a head rush from it.

I was there about a half hour early but Slakkr was already there setting things up. She nodded in my general direction. I just stayed there and waited for the others. Edgecrusher and Kirra got there about the same time followed closely by Sliver. The man (or should I say the machine) in charge popped in and double checked to make sure we were all here. Wouldn't do to have Edgecrusher left behind would it?

"SlakkrChik?" he said.

She waved in his general direction, still working on the connection.

"Edgecrusher?"

"Yo!" he replied. Sometimes we think he tries too hard with the tough man image.

"Kirra23?"

"Ready when you are," the purple-haired one responded.

"TwistChip?"

I flipped open a mini-toolkit containing various lockpicks. It kind of adds to the realism of the whole situation. Of course, realism is a relative term when your group includes an Anime priest, an anthropomorphic PC, and Ahnold. But I digress.

"Let's do it," I said.

"Slakkr," Sliver called, "How's it coming?"

"Getting there..." she said to the wall, "Getting there... There!"

What can only be described as a tunnel appeared in the wall of our chatroom. I was the first one through, bringing my "toolkit" along. I did a quick scan on the first firewall we met. It seemed pretty basic, and I was done in a few seconds. A few ICEs came out, but I didn't even need to wait for Edgecrusher, I just took them out myself.

"This is their new security system?" I wondered, "Pretty pathetic."

The others caught up with me about the time I was breaking down the fourth firewall. When I got to the fifth, I began to regret my earlier thought.

"Ahh shit," I said out loud.

"What's up?" Kirra asked.

"Securitron-5000," I explained, "The newest, and arguably the best, security system around."

Edgecrusher seemed to chuckle at the name "Securitron." I knew he was a Fear Factory fanboy.

"You guys might as well do your own things for a while. This'll take at least an hour to crack. Mabye more if I have to download some new tools," I grumbled.

"Can't you crack this thing, T-Chip?" Slakkr asked.

"Never had to deal with it before," I mumbled checking the wall for any type of weak point, "I'm sure I can do it, I just have to figure out how."

I sent in a series of key-strings that I had used to break the previous walls. Nothing happened.

"Didn't think that'd work," I said to myself.

"Hah," Edgecrusher boasted, "You're too methodical. This is just another security program."

Now Edgecrusher is not stupid by any stretch of the imagination and I have no intention of implying that he is. But sometimes he has a tendency to forget certain details such as what happens when one charges head first into a firewall.

Kirra, Slakkr, and Sliver waited for him to jack back in while I continued working on the wall.

Back in the twentieth century people thought hacking was fun and exciting, a new and interesting way to fuck with the system. They were wrong. My job, unless you're as good as, or better than, I am, is arguably the most tedious and time-consuming part. It takes a lot of patience to be a good hacker. A lot of patience which Edgecrusher doesn't have.

I'll spare you the boring details, but suffice to say three hours and a rather sizeable download later I broke through the wall and, after retrieving that Edgecrusher, from a guitar-tab site, we made our way forward.

Edgecrusher took lead. A few minutes and a few dozen ICEs later we found ourselves staring at a couple hundred Word files and E-mails.

"Well," Kirra announced, "I've come to the conclusion that their new security system sucks."

Slakkr spoke up, "My guess would be that they wanted us to test the Securitron-5000."

"I took it down alright, but it should stand up to the average hack-for-fun types," I added.

"Well put TwistChip," Sliver said, all business as usual, "Let's head back to our own systems. I'll let Voidware know how it went."

And so Sliver went to talk to Voidware's higher-ups while Slakkr, Kirra, Edgecrusher and I made our way back to The Chatroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cybernauts by Charles N. Lavergne is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

cataloging

mending

collection development

acquistions

administration

IT

serials

archiving

and actually two library directors, who also dabble in tech services work.

Granted I do or have done nearly everything on that list at some point, but it's really amazing to me when you hear that the work done by your entire department (and a few people elsewhere in the library) is done by a single person at another library (who has my sympathy).  I don't think I'm going to complain about being overworked ever again.

Recently I deluged Vicki with a plethora of corrections for several huge sets of indexes and abstracts. Name changes, incorrect titles, multiple records for the same title, volumes split between multiple records, phantom storage records... The sheer combination of errors converging in one place boggles the mind! To thank her for putting up with my constant vigilance when it comes to serial cataloging, I let Vicki choose a recipe from Lebovitz's The Perfect Scoop for me to make for her.

:: Mocha Sherbet ::

2 1/4 cups strongly brewed coffee or espresso
3/4 cup sugar
6 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
A pinch of salt
3/4 cup whole milk

1. Stir together the coffee, sugar, cocoa powder, and salt in a large saucepan. (Use a whisk if the coffee isn't piping hot.)
2. Bring the mixture to a boil. Stir for thirty seconds.
3. Remove from heat and stir in the milk.
4. Chill thoroughly.
5. Freeze in your ice cream maker as per the manufacturer's instructions.
6. When finished, the sherbet may be very soft. Put it in the freezer (in a size-appropriate, covered container to avoid freezer burn) to firm it up.

I made my coffee using a French press, using a bean that my friend Colton suggested. (Organic Shade Grown Mexico.) I wanted a more mainstream flavor - not too bold - to make sure Vicki not only liked it, but also to preclude the coffee flavor overpowering the cocoa. To make sure it wasn't too watery I steeped the grounds for double the time. If you can't French press your coffee, don't bother with the filtered stuff. Head over to your favorite coffee shop and get some espresso to use in this recipe.

The Guinness-Milk Chocolate Ice Cream I made last time was so rich it was like a meal. This Mocha Sherbet is surprisingly light and refreshing, and undoubtedly easier and quicker to make! A true summer food. Next time I make this recipe I think I'll use a more robust, flavorful bean. I'll also add some cinnamon and cayenne pepper to see if I can get it to taste a bit like the Quiet Storm's Mexican hot chocolate with a coffee twist.

I can't wait to see if Vicki likes it!

:: Bibliography ::

• Lebovitz, David. The Perfect Scoop: Ice Creams, Sorbets, Granitas, and Sweet Accompaniments. Berkeley: Ten Speed Press, 2007. Page 120. ISBNs: 9781580088084, 1580088082.

Deep in the mountains, an ancient imprisoned being of vast power has awakened, intent on securing his freedom.  Whether his escape will spell doom for the entire world is not yet known.

Meanwhile, a degenerate Immortal in search of greater power is pushing his imperial subjects into a war that could threaten the stability of the entire continent, but nobody knows for sure what he's looking for.

A small group of knowledge seekers may hold the keys to unravel these mysteries, if they can simply learn the truth about the strange amulets they bear.

This is part 1 of a fantasy story based on a table top role playing game world I had created a while back.  Enjoy.

After twenty millennia of slumber, the imprisoned Elder God Damosthenes stirred.  He sensed a presence nearby, something powerful enough perhaps to destroy the shackles imposed upon him by the wicked Azafel.  Freedom was at last within his reach, and he was not about to let the opportunity slip by.  In all this time, the sheer remoteness of the prison had kept the curious away, but something in the world had changed.

Damosthenes tested his bonds again with his mind, noting that the magic had not weakened over the ages.  The five pillars were still in place, well outside his reach.  His hatred of Azafel burned as brightly as ever, but now it was tinged with a grudging respect; in an event, he would not underestimate his enemy again.  He turned his attention to the surrounding area, feeling out the traces of intelligence that had tickled the corners of his thought, stirring him to consciousness.  Soon he found what he sought: a lone troll whelp loped down a nearby mountain trail in search of food.  The Elder God could sense the tangled mess that represented the brute's limited intellect.  It was not perfect, and Damosthenes knew he lacked the power to compel the troll to do anything, so he sent the merest suggestion that an endless harvest accompanied humanoid civilizations.

The troll's mind seized on the images of stone houses, wooden huts, and tables full of fresh meat.  It had never seen anything like this, but its simple mind failed to grasp this finer point.  Instead, the troll turned back toward the cave system that provided a home for its clan.  Damosthenes found that he could stretch his awareness further than ever before as he followed the troll, but he was unable to move beyond the troll's insignificant mind to scan the others in the clan.  He was pleased when the troll whelp explained in crude terms the vision it had seen.  A grizzled old troll, skin gnarled like an ancient oak tree, suggested that it remembered raiding human settlements as a whelp, but the mountains had been empty of humans for many seasons now.  Perhaps the humans had moved toward the not-snow, it said.  The trolls were tired of being hungry all the time, as they had not been successful this season in hunting game.  They decided it was time to find a human settlement and fill their bellies.

Patience was an Elder God's specialty, for the works and schemes they had wrought had taken millennia to unfold.  This simplistic plan was nothing compared to the creation and destruction of worlds, but at the moment it was the most important plan Damosthenes had ever made.  He had suspected that human settlements would eventually move into the inhospitable mountains in which he was imprisoned, for the human spirit was characterized by its tenactiy.  Humans had a tendency to seek out wild lands to tame, but this process had taken much longer than Damosthenes had anticipated, leaving him with nothing to do in his prison besides sleep and wait.  Now the trolls would begin raiding the human settlements that they found, hopefully drawing out some of the more intrepid humans to investigate the source of the troll incursion.  All he had to do was to keep waiting for his plan to pay off.  He settled back into the throne upon the dais in the crumbling ruin of the ancient temple and let his awareness float around the isolated mountain valley.

The God Tree, by Aaron Helton, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.