I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me TODAY (Feb 15) for a virtual event with YANIS VAROUFAKIS, and on MONDAY (Feb 17) for an event at KEPLER'S in MENLO PARK with CHARLIE JANE ANDERS. More tour dates here.
It's Saturday and I'm on a book tour, and the world is in chaos, and there are more links to write about than I could fit in to this week's newsletter, so time for a cubic linkdump, the 27th such:
https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/
Let's start with the best thing I saw all week: a 3D-printed, spring-loaded, clockwork chess pawn that uses a magnet to sense when it has reached the end of the board and SPROING! turns into a queen:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSOnnle3zbA
The whole video is a fascinating account of the design process, from idea to prototype to finished item, but if you're impatient and want to skip right to the eyeball kick, it's at 12:27-12:35. And if you want to print your own, the files are $12 (cheap!):
Regrettably, not every tech project is a good one. This week, Google abandoned its AI ethics pledge. Unlike most AI ethics pledge, which are full of nonsense about not accidentally creating a vengeful god that turns the human race into paperclips, Google's AI pledge was actually very important, in that the company promised not to make AI that violates human rights, international law, or privacy. There comes a point where harping on Google's abandoned "don't be evil" motto can feel a little hacky, but in this case, I'll make an exception. My EFF colleague Matthew Guariglia tears Google a much-deserved new AIhole over this latest heel turn:
Not all bad technology is evil. Some of it is merely very, very stupid. How stupid? Check out Thom Dunn's Wirecutter review of The Heatbit Trio, a space-heater that uses Bitcoin-mining GPUs to generate some of its heat, very slightly offsetting the cost of warming your room – but at a rate that would take decades to recoup the $700 price-tag. Thom got some spicy quotes from Molly White for this one – possibly the first time she's been cited in a home appliance review:
Staying with crypto freaks for a moment here, Adam Levitin dissects the cryptocurrency "industry"'s latest chorus of aggrieved whining over "debanking":
As Levitin writes, banks aren't kicking cryptocurrency "companies" off their books because the government wants to punish them. Banks have a very good reason to want to avoid doing business with high-dollar scams that have highly correlated implosions, which is to say, times when everyone wants their money back from the cryptocurrency "company" the bank is handling charges for. For a longer explanation that gets into the nitty gritty of bank supervision, check out Patio11's excellent, detailed explainer:
As all the real heads know, "crypto means cryptography," and cryptographers continue to contrive privacy marvels. This week, Kagi – the best search engine, a million times better than Google – released a Privacy Pass authentication plugin, which lets you login to Kagi and run searches without Kagi being able to connect any of the searches you make with your account:
https://blog.kagi.com/kagi-privacy-pass
As an sf/crime writer who sometimes (often) searches for information on committing ghastly crimes and 'orrible murders, the fact that my favorite search engine will be technically incapable of tying those searches to my identity is quite a relief. Read my review of Kagi here:
If you're one of those marvel-contriving hackers, cryptographers, security researchers or tinkerers, you should really consider attending this summer's Hackers on Planet Earth (HOPE), 2600 Magazine's (now) annual (formerly biennial) hacker con. They've just posted their CFP – get those submission in!
https://www.hope.net/cfp-talks.html
Well, I have to post this and get ready for this morning's virtual book tour event with Yanis Varoufakis:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkIDep7Z4LM
But before I go, one more link: Kevin Steele's 2005 essay on Hypercard, "When Multimedia Was Black & White," an absolute classic, and a beautiful meditation on the art and promise of early hypertext:
I've known Kevin for most of my life, long before he helped found Mackerel, the pioneering Toronto multimedia company. Long after Mackerel, Kevin went on making wonderful things. In 2023, he published a monumental act of portraiture – a "sequential art" time-series of panoramas of Toronto's hip, ever-changing Queen Street West strip:
Comparing Kevin's more recent work with that lovely old essay reveals deep correspondences and the progress of a unique and creative soul.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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'Tears stream down your face … When you lose something you cannot replace …' - Coldplay (Fix You)
John's hands were shaking as he turned the screws.
His eyes were blurry. He wiped the tears away in frustration. He needed to focus. Push down this feeling. This despair.
His hands were furiously working to put the pieces back together.
To put all the pieces in their right place …
Did he even have all the pieces?
He couldn't say for sure …
He had collected everything he could pick up and find from the pavement outside of Bart's. Searching diligently before the crowd had even begun to form. His heart had shattered as he watched Sherlock dive from the roof. A moment where it seemed like he might float and then, John closed his eyes.
He had raced to the spot. Fighting with the adrenaline surging through his veins to push everyone back, to collect everything shattered. Hoping that nothing would get kicked away, or swiped for spare parts by a petty harvester. Panic. Primal. Fear … Praying to all of the gods that he hadn't missed a screw! Or lost everything to a shattered hard drive … he couldn't even think about that yet! One of the homeless network had handed him a piece. And then another.
By the time he had made it home to 221b he was a wreck. Two more had shown up to bear him what they swore was the last part of the puzzle!
If only it was all here …
If only it was all still workable … ?
When pieced lovingly back into its right orientation …
But the thing he was dreading most … was the possibility that Moriarty had done something to wipe out the circuitry? A complete Electromagnetic Pulse to clear the system of its magnificent programming and memory … just before Sherlock had … ?
John swallowed.
He couldn’t think about that possibility. He had to hope!
His mind’s eye pictured the way Sherlock had fallen … ? Jumped? Jumped. Yes, he had jumped. It had not been a blast that knocked him off the roof. It had not been a terrified running away from the inevitable … no. He would still be in there …
If it worked …
The form before him was slowly taking shape. Beginning to look once again … like the beautiful genius he had come to know and love … over the past two years spent together.
John was a modified human as well. Many clockwork parts had been used to repair his destroyed shoulder. And his gammy leg. But Sherlock …
Sherlock had uploaded the whole of himself into an artificial body two years ago …
His mind yet young … even when his body - a remnant of ages past - had failed him. So he had built a new form … and kept himself alive inside of it.
And that was how John had met him.
In a lab.
At St. Bart’s.
The day of the upload.
(continued under the cut)
Mike had asked him to come. To witness the historic event.
And to possibly … be the new roommate to the genius.
For a genius he was! John could tell immediately.
His crystal blue eyes had lost none of their brightness. Though he had been born in the 1800’s! He had managed to keep himself alive by mechanical means through 2010?! And John was witnessing his final upgrade … A completely new body.
One that John imagined … represented the man’s own likeness in his younger days …
Handsome. Tall … and lithe. Titanium, gold and even hints of ivory had been used. But the hair! Ebony black curls. And those eyes … actual cut crystal this time! Inset into finely created irises that could shift and change to follow his moods … dark and menacing, or brilliant and gleaming … just like the human now looking at him … entrusting himself …
To his care …
John had felt the full weight of the responsibility. And he had simply nodded.
Accepting it.
Accepting fate.
Not expecting …
Love.
The tears spilled over, as he realized he had him at last put together!
But … just one more piece was missing to complete the clockworks that ran his heart? A critical piece to Sherlock functioning … Where was it?! Where could it be? … ? … ?
John dropped below the table, checking the floor. Eyes scanning everywhere! The tips of his fingers brushing along the length of his chair, the cracks in the floor … beneath the baseboards … ? Perhaps he had let it slip through his own hands in returning?
Sending the young men back out to search the pavement again! The rooftop! The bins! The hover path from St. Bart’s to Baker Street! Anywhere that a sliver of metal or chip could have fallen into! The problem was … John wasn't entirely sure what kind of piece he was looking for? He had never see inside of Sherlock's heart before …
He continued his hunt … despair seeping in.
With each returning head … shaking.
With each returning eye … avoiding his own.
No …
No …
No.
It wasn’t here.
It …
It … had to … be … here … ?
His heart told him this piece did more than just fit into a slot. It would be valuable … Precious … Unique.
… Exactly the kind of thing for a thief to pocket immediately.
… It was probably gone before he had had a chance to see it.
He climbed back onto the stool. Adjusting the light to look over Sherlock’s prone form. Lying there … lifeless … staring, glassy eyed into space …
And wanted to scream.
Would the world ever truly know? What they had lost?
Would he?
He wanted to take all of the arsenal of Baker Street - and all of the knowledge at his fingertips to raze the city to the ground if he couldn’t find it! For allowing this devastation … for allowing the loss of what could have been … For driving a genius that had done nothing but try to HELP THEM … to this desperation … this extreme …
He would no longer be a doctor or a healer … but a vengeful anathema … raining justice and wielding grief …
His hands fell uselessly to his sides. Exhausted.
Would they truly appreciate it then?
Just how much he had meant?
He put his head in his hands.
Fingers fisting into his short golden hairs … now graying … as his brain fought to come up with an idea … a solution …
The man he needed to ask … ?
Was laying right here!!!
It was torture.
Having the world in your hands.
And still being unable to see it
spin.
John stood up.
Ready to commemorate the end of an era.
He placed his hands on the sharp cheekbones, caressing. Ran his fingers through the silky strands of raven dark curls … Whispered a farewell to the wisest and bravest and best of men … the best friend he could ever have, or would ever have the privilege to know … and placed a kiss on the delicate lips …
“To the best of times, Sherlock,” he spoke to the lifeless form beneath him. As his forehead touched down to meet pale ivory … and he closed his eyes in his grief …
Just … as a hand
slipped into his waistcoat, and pulled him closer.
The lips began to kiss away his grief …
John’s eyes popped open to look into crystal blue eyes! Dilating! Reflecting his own … Adjusting to see!!!
Alive?!!
“What? How?” John breathed, smiling in response to the unclaimed feelings swirling within him!
The other arm pointed to a corner. Mycroft Holmes stepping from the shadows. Pointing to show John where he had placed the last … essential piece into place as the good doctor had been saying his goodbyes!
“Y-you? … !” he was stuttering. Anger and heat claiming his face and neck with red fury, “you - took - it?!!” His fist clenched and pounded on the table.
“I had to ensure it’s safekeeping, Doctor Watson. This is the key to Sherlock’s life! Not a token to let petty thieves sneak … “
“AS IF THE REST OF HIM WAS?!” John’s hands found Sherlock’s chest and splayed over it. Taking ownership. Possessiveness claiming him … Feeling the pulse beneath! He had never been so furious in his life … !
“I entrust it again, to your care …” Mycroft then made show of a bow. A rare and honoring gesture from the elder Holmes. John knew he would never see it again. Then he turned to go, “I can see that his trust was not misplaced after all. As … I’m afraid, today’s events had indicated?”
John rankled. Even with the apologies, and the restoration of Sherlock’s functionality …
Sherlock’s hand rubbed at his chest, soothing him. Grounding him. Bringing him back to the moment. Their eyes met and in that look, confessed how desperately they had each needed the other to keep on living!
“It was a slight miscalculation on my part.
Please, do forgive me … brother mine?”
Sherlock did not turn his head towards Mycroft. Did not disengage from the look John was giving him …
“I will forgive you, if you leave John and I alone from now on.”
John’s jaw dropped. As the elder Holmes turned away, John saw the glint of titanium as well … and realized. Both Holmes were no longer human … but something immortal …
Immune …
… or …
Sherlock was looking at him in an entirely new way … ?
A way John was very …
Very …
Very much, liking … !!
Maybe not so immune … after all?
“He really loves you, doesn’t he?” John asked. Brave enough to say it for someone else … still afraid to say it for himself …
Hoping … Sherlock knew his true meaning?
Sherlock nodded, pulling John down to whisper in his ear …
“Yes … he really does, I think.” And his hand caressed John’s warmer cheek.
John smiled. Blushing again. Pulling away only enough to bring Sherlock’s eyes into focus. To lose himself in the deep blue that would pull him under. Drowning him if he was not careful … he already felt himself tipping over the edge …
“Do you think … ?” Sherlock continued tilting his head to the side to inspect John’s response … “Does he know … ? That I love him too?” He blinked.
John’s eyes grew wide.
And his heart skipped a beat. Pounding loudly against the cage of his chest.
As Sherlock pulled him up onto the table. To lie on top of him. To feel his own steady breathing.
John rested. Held tight in Sherlock’s arms. Feeling the rise and fall of his chest. The mechanical marvel of flexible ribs and breathing lungs … John felt the small puff of air that brushed past his ear and ruffled his hair, and he wondered … ?
“Why did you make yourself with such human traits?
… to breath and to have a heartbeat … ? It serves no purpose. Practically.”
His head was resting on Sherlock’s chest, comfortable … As he listened to the steady pump and heard the soft gasp of inhaled air as Sherlock replied …
“Do you like it?”
He asked.
Honest.
Open.
Waiting …
John smiled into his chest. Humming in content.
“That’s why.”
Sherlock answered then. Snuggling John closer.
The smug tone back in his voice. As they held each other near. Detective and Doctor:
