Diary 2050
January 5, 2050
Continued
Had to discontinue writing. The BDCI (Bureau for the Dissemination of Correct Information) agents had arrived looking for a Newscribe.
With the takeover by the GPSES, what was left of Cyber communication remained firmly in their hands for the next thirty years.
Then, in 2037, small pockets of what, according to my parents, were once called "Hackers" started forming in the outlying areas, beyond the PSS (Public Safety and Security) encampments.
These little groups of four or five became known to the GPS (General Population of Survivors) as "Newscribes." The GPSES called them terrorists.
These "Newscribes" found ways to use old technology, that they found among the ruins of former cities, to "hack" into the GPSES networks. There main purpose was to gather information that would enable them to survive beyond the reach of GPSES control.
The Newscribes also move through the general population, sharing their information and recruiting new members.
It is rumored that, in some cases, groups of Newscribes have gathered together and formed small communities in the outlands, beyond GPSES territory. It is said that these communities are combining old tribal forms of spirituality with aspects of what was once known as "Modern Technology," in an effort to create a lifestyle that is more in harmony with what's left of the natural environment.
Some laugh at this idea, and the Newscribes that have come through here, refuse to confirm or deny the rumors.
I think there is something to the stories, because the Newscribes that I've seen, look well nourished. Besides, sometimes they show up with food! Food like I've never imagined! One had a thing he called a "Tomayto." Did my parents tell me about "Tomaytos?" I don't remember. He gave it to one of the starving children. The expression on her face was like she had just been given a gift from an angel.
Anyway, the Newscribes never stay long or say much. They pass on whatever information they think will be helpful to us, give what food and water they have, and move on quickly. I admire their courage and hope that they succeed in all their endeavors. I only wish I could go with them but I must stay here and do what I can for the sick and dying.
Enough for now. The light is going and I've got to find a hiding place for this, in case the BDCI agents return.
One last thing. The Newscribes sometimes bring us pencils and paper. They say that they find them buried deep under city ruins. Before they died, my parents taught me how to write and how to read what they wrote. That's how I'm able to write this. But, except for the Newcribes, no one here can read or write. They're more concerned with staying alive than reading or writing.
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