Edward Willett's Blog, page 44

Not enough readers, not enough time: the end of my regular science column (for real, this time)

All right, this time it’s for real: I’m pulling the plug on my weekly science column (I haven’t written one for about a month anyway).

And it’s all MailChimp’s fault.

MailChimp is actually a great way to send out nicely formatted HTML newsletters, and I’m very glad to use it for that purpose. However, MailChimp also allows you to track how many of your nicely formatted HTML newsletters are opened by your putative subscribers, and in the case of the science column, it’s not pretty.

I currently have 457 subscribers to my science column. When I was sending out the column as just an ordinary email, I could justify spending the time on it fairly regularly because, after all, that was more than 400 people who were enjoying it and possibly also reading the writing news that sometimes accompanies it. Some of them might buy books. It made sense, I thought, as at least a minor marketing tool.

But thanks to MailChimp, I discover that, on average, only about 60 people who receive the column actually even open it: and I’m sorry, but spending three or four hours a week sending something out that only 60 people open simply is not worth it.

This isn’t the first time I’ve pulled the plug on the column, I know, and maybe something will change that will cause me to take it up again (like finding a paying home for it in a publication…anyone interested?), but really. Sixty people?

The column has had a good run. It began when I was communications officer for the Saskatchewan Science Centre, and originally I would tie it closely to exhibits at the Science Centre: it was a marketing tool for the then-fledgling establishment.

During that time, both the Regina Sun and a number of weekly newspapers took the column.

When I became a fulltime freelancer in 1993, I offered to continue the column on a freelance basis for those weekly newspapers. None of them were willing to pay for it (not even my old paper, the Weyburn Review, where I was a reporter and then news editor for most of the 1980s). The free-circulation Regina Sun, published by the Regina Leader-Post, continued to publish it, paying me the whopping amount of $15 a column.

However, I was also doing a weekly version of the column for CBC Radio’s Afternoon Edition, hosted by Colin Grewar, and that made it worthwhile. (For a couple of years in there I was also a regular science guest on What on Earth, a CBC TV program that aired nationally.)

The radio version of the column went away a few years ago, after a 17-year-run. But the column continued in the Regina Leader Post (where it had moved from the Sun) and the Red Deer Advocate. (For a while it also ran in the St. John’s Evening Telegram in Newfoundland.)

But then the Leader Post canned the column, because apparently cutting out the $25 a week they were paying me (for a 750-word column) was going to save CanWest, which then owned the paper, from bankruptcy. As I pointed out, the “killer app” in the Internet age for newspapers is local stuff, so dumping a popular column written locally seemed like an act of foolishness, but they did it anyway. (It was at the same time, not at all by coincidence, that I cancelled my digital subscription to the LP.)

The Red Deer Advocate was still running it on a somewhat irregular basis and paying me a pittance, so I kept it going. I had also built up a bit of an email subscriber list, to which the column went by email.

I stopped it once, then re-started it, the only effect being that I quit getting even the pittance from the Red Deer Advocate. At that point, I could only justify continue to write the column because it provided content for my website, and theoretically drove traffic there, and because, well, almost 500 people were reading it and that wasn’t bed.

Except now, thanks to MailChimp, I find that I’m lucky if 60 people even open the email.

And so that’s it: I’m pulling the plug on the regular science column.

I might still write something very much like a science column from time to time. I’ll keep the email list going as long as subscribers hang on and send out writing news occasionally. But I’m done even trying to maintain a regular schedule for the column (which has gotten increasingly irregular over the past while anyway).

My writing time is best spent on other things. Because, really. Sixty people?

I love each and every one of those sixty (assuming they’re the same people every time), but enough is enough.

Aging my heroine, fulfilling my pledges

As I noted last week when I made my excuses for not blogging very much, one of the tasks keeping me occupied was rewriting Masks, the first book in my upcoming trilogy for DAW (under the pseudonym of E.C. Blake).

This was an interesting pass through the manuscript, because its main purpose was to change the age of the central character, Mara, from thirteen to fifteen.

In addition, I completely rewrote the beginning of the book, adding quite a few new scenes from Mara’s childhood that hopefully will set up the story’s situation better and develop the character more fully in the minds of the (no doubt millions…millions!) of readers.

The “aging” process went very well: I didn’t have to change much at all except for direct references to her age. That reflects, I think, the fact that I had already written her as a bit older than thirteen: the decision to change her to fifteen was really just a recognition of that fact.

I’d made her thirteen to begin with because the book was originally conceived as a YA or even middle-grade fantasy, a much, much simpler tale than it has now become, and because I didn’t originally think of it as being one of my DAW novels: I thought it might go to a completely different publisher. But once DAW bought it, I quit thinking of it as a YA book and more as just a fantasy novel with a young protagonist. And as the story got more complex—and especially after I wrote the first draft of the second book in the trilogy, Shadows, I realized Mara really needed to be a couple of years older to make some of the situations and character interactions work.

Writing the new scenes at the beginning of the book was interesting in a different way. I’m on the board of The Golden Apple Theatre (bear with me, that isn’t the complete non sequitur it appears), a new professional theatre company here in Regina which, just before Christmas, put on a fundraising evening of song and comedy called Christmas Crackers. (That’s me as an elf in the photo at left, in case you missed it last time I posted it. Not the Legolas kind of elf, alas.) One way we raised funds that evening was with a silent auction, for which I donated several novels…and the opportunity for the bidder to have his or her name used for a character in my next book.

The successful bidder was a young man named Mayson, and so as I wrote the new material for the start of Masks, I incorporated a new childhood friend of Mara’s named Mayson. (I was fortunate he had a name that didn’t need to be “fantastisized” too much. The first time I auctioned off a character-name cameo was for my Lee Arthur Chane fantasy Magebane. A fellow named Ron Ferguson won: he became Ronal Ferkisson, Lord Mayor of Elkbone.)

The thing is, the character of Mayson is interesting enough in his own right that he’s going to be back in either Shadows or the third book of the series, Faces. I don’t know exactly when or how, but he will.

Now that Masks has been sent off, revisions complete, I’ll be turning my attention to the revisions of Shadows, and then writing Faces.

Oh, and also rewriting Right to Know, my science fiction novel being published by Bundoran Press.

Oh, and writing a short book on digital careers for Rosen Publishing.

Oh, and narrating portions of a textbook for Iambik Audiobooks.

Oh, and, today only, working on a PowerPoint presentation on the history of science fiction art for the Mackenzie Art Gallery volunteers, to whom I’m speaking tomorrow.

Oh, and writing a guide to buying farm trucks for a local magazine.

Oh, and…

Well, you get the idea.

What lies beyond overcommitted? Supercommitted? Hypercommitted?

Some days, I think I should just BE committed…

Except, of course, I’m too busy to go.

Free Novel Saturday: Star Song, Chapter 14 & 15

Every Saturday I post a chapter or two of my young adult science fiction novel Star Song . Coming in in the middle? The whole thing starts here with Chapter 1 and an explanation.

Enjoy!

Star Song

By Edward Willett

Chapter 14

Andru crossed to her at once. Beside him the old woman looked almost doll-like, but Andru bowed his head with great respect. “Captain Nicora.”

Her lined face remained stern as she nodded back. “Andru.”

“Please sit down.” He indicated a table near the bar, and she glided toward it in stately fashion, her long red robes whispering across the floor. Her guards moved with her and stood a step behind her, on either side, as she sat, folding her thin hands on the table.

“I agreed to this Council for your sake, Andru,” she said. “I did not ask for your reasons, but now I must. Without explanation, this Council cannot proceed.”

“My reasons will be made clear in due course,” Andru countered. “But first I need more information.” He pointed to Kriss. “How has this boy offended the Family?”

“I’ll tell you!” Rigel cried from across the room. He pushed his way through the older members of the Family and into the light. “My sister was almost killed because of him!”

“Sit down, Rigel.” The Captain spoke quietly, but the young man clamped his mouth shut and sat at the nearest table, fists clenched. Nicora turned her gaze back to Andru. “Though he speaks out of turn, Rigel’s summary is essentially accurate.”

“I would prefer a little more detail,” Andru said dryly.

Kriss had had enough. “You know what I did!” he shouted. “I told you myself! So get it over with! Take the touchlyre and do whatever it is you plan to do to me!”

Andru rounded on him. “Be quiet, or I’ll have Rigel gag you!”

Kriss folded his arms and stayed put. His last hope of freedom was gone. Those he thought were his friends had betrayed him. But a core of stubbornness inside wouldn’t crumble. “I’ll be quiet—for now. But you’d better keep that gag handy.”

The innkeeper turned toward the Captain again. “Pardon the interruption.”

Nicora shrugged slightly. “If I provide this specific information you have requested, will you then explain why you called this Council?”

“I will.”

She inclined her silvered head. “Very well.” She paused for a moment, as though gathering her thoughts. “Kriss first contacted Tevera in this inn. Her brother, Rigel, and cousin, Yverras, kept that contact appropriately brief. But he contacted her a second time the next day, near the port. Tevera, understandably curious about the boy’s musical talent, agreed to talk to him privately that night, though she knew it violated Family regulations. When they met again, he tried to enlist her help in gaining him a berth on a starship. She refused, and he grew angry. She fled, but became entangled in a violent encounter between Kriss and men we now know worked for Anton Salazar and Carl Vorlick.”

Kriss looked from face to face in the darkened room. Some of the gathered Family wouldn’t meet his eyes; others looked back stoically; and some, like Rigel, glared at him. Nowhere did he see sympathy. It was almost a relief to look back at the stern, chiseled features of Nicora.

“Simply by being near Kriss, Tevera was in danger,” the Captain continued. “Then, as near as we can gather, he compounded the offense by threatening to reveal their secret meeting if she did not use the Thaylia’s computers to find out what she could about his parents. Because she rightly feared punishment, she agreed.

“She gave him the information he requested at a second private meeting.” Kriss remembered Tevera’s warm hand, her kiss, the beating of her heart as he held her, and his soul ached. She alone had not betrayed him. “Rigel saw them together, and ordered them apart, and that should have been the end of it.” Nicora turned her wintry green eyes on Kriss for the first time. “But Salazar had already connected Tevera with Kriss, and in an attempt to obtain the boy’s peculiar musical artifact, he kidnapped her. Thus, Kriss again endangered her life. He redeemed himself somewhat by helping us rescue her, but he was then warned most sternly to stay away from the Family.”

“So why is he here?” Rigel cried.

“Although Rigel again speaks out of turn,” Nicora said, with just enough edge to her voice that Tevera’s brother subsided once more, “his question is the one I, too, must ask. Why is Kriss here?”

Kriss had finally begun to wonder the same thing. He’d thought the Family wanted the touchlyre, like Salazar and Vorlick, but none of this seemed to have anything to do with the artifact.

“One moment,” Andru said. He glanced at Kriss. “Is the Captain’s account accurate?”

Now, he thought. Now he could justify himself, explain what had happened…at least his account might get back to Tevera and serve as his apology…

No. No, he would not whine or beg. He stood a little straighter. “Yes.”

The innkeeper nodded slowly. “I see.” He looked back at the Captain. “What is Tevera’s punishment? Surely she is as much to blame as the boy—perhaps more so, since she knew the rules she was breaking, and he did not.”

“She is confined to the ship, and has been assigned extra duty. Certain privileges have been temporarily suspended.”

“But she is still part of the Family.”

“She’s my sister! She’s the Captain’s great-granddaughter! Of course she’s part of the Family!” Rigel exploded. “Get to the point!”

Andru kept his eyes on Nicora. “The point is this: if Kriss were Family, his punishment would be no more severe than Tevera’s. Certainly he would not be left at the mercy of enemies like Salazar and Vorlick.”

“Of course not.” The old woman spread her hands. “But he is not Family.”

“Refresh my memory, Captain,” Andru said softly. “Once part of the Family, always part of the Family, correct?”

“You know that.” Impatience had crept into her voice.

“But there is an exception, isn’t there?” Andru said. “As I recall it, the pertinent regulation goes on to state that, ‘However, a Family member may give up his or her rights voluntarily, transferring them to an outsider, who thenceforth is recognized as Family,’”

Nicora’s eyes widened. “That rule has never been used in my lifetime!”

“You will not be able to say that after today.”

Kriss stared at Andru, startled by the strain in his voice. Nicora’s face had paled. A murmur swept through the Family. Rigel slowly rose, staring at the innkeeper.

“You are my witnesses!” Andru shouted above the rising din. He turned toward Kriss. “Give me your hand.”

Bewildered, uncertain, he stretched it out. Andru’s rough fingers gripped his. The hubbub trailed away into horrified silence as the big man’s voice boomed out. “I, Andru, once of the Family of the starship Thaylia, hereby relinquish all rights and privileges to this boy, Kriss Lemarc of Earth and Farr’s World. I call on the Family to welcome him to the fellowship of the stars!” He squeezed Kriss’s hand so hard it hurt, then released it and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Kriss clenched his tingling hand, staring at it. His heart pounded, his knees trembled, and the room faded away, lost in the whirling of his thoughts.

He remembered the terrible things of which he had accused Andru and Zendra. Yet the innkeeper—once of the starship Thaylia!—had still done this for him. How could he live up to a friendship like that?

The uproar around him seemed distant; it seemed to him he and Andru stood alone in some secluded place. “Andru…” he began, but his throat closed on the words.

The big, work-roughened hand rested on his shoulder again, but this time gently. “You’ve been through hell,” Andru said gruffly. “I understand…I’ve been there myself.”

“I’m sorry, Andru. I’m sorry!” Kriss flung his arms around the big man, who awkwardly returned the hug; then he pulled back as the realization of what had just happened began to seep in. He was Family. Family! He would go into space—and with Tevera—

But abruptly the chaos died. Andru stared past him, and he turned to see the Captain rising from her chair, the scarlet robes swirling around her thing form. Her face had gone from white to red and her eyes blazed.

“I do not accept this!” she said, voice as harsh and high as an over-tightened violin string.  “I will not have this boy thrust into my Family against my will. This Council is at an end.”

She turned and stalked toward the door, her black-garbed guards following, and all Kriss’s new-born hopes crashed to destruction behind her.

#

Chapter 15

But before Nicora reached the door it opened in a rush of wind and rain that swirled around her robes, and Tevera charged in, her blue crewsuit black with water and her brown hair plastered close to her head above her flashing eyes.

The Captain glared at her. “Tevera! You were ordered to stay on the ship!”

The girl strode forward to face her great-grandmother squarely. “I overheard someone talking about this Council. Now I know why Kriss disappeared last night. My brother,” and Rigel’s face flushed at the tone she used, “threatened him and told him to stay behind—after he’d risked his life to save me!”

“He risked your life from the moment he laid eyes on you!” Rigel snarled.

She turned on him. “He didn’t force me to meet him, or help him! He didn’t make me do anything, whatever he may have thought.” She crossed to Kriss and took his hand defiantly. “I chose to help! I heard him play, I felt what he felt, and I chose to do what I did. He didn’t have a family, but he wanted one so badly it shames those of us who claim to hold family so dear. He deserved whatever help I could give him!”

“Enough!” the Captain snapped. “Eskar, Telvik, escort Tevera back to the ship.”

Kriss thrust Tevera behind him as the black-uniformed guards stepped forward. “No!”

“Stop!” Andru’s shout rattled glasses.

Nicora glared at him. “You defy me?”

“You are not on the Thaylia, Captain Nicora. You are in my inn, and by Family and planetary law, I am master here. The boy and girl are under my protection.”

The guards looked to Nicora for guidance. Thin-lipped, she nodded, and the pair retreated, but their eyes never left Kriss.

Andru pointed at Tevera. “This girl was unlawfully excluded from Council. This matter concerns her closely.”

The Captain said nothing, but watched, eyes narrowed, as Andru told Tevera how he had given his place in the Family to Kriss. Her face lit up…until Andru added, “But your Captain has denied this right to Kriss.”

Her smile vanished. “Tevera, wait…” Kriss began, but she ignored him, turning on Nicora.

“You dare lecture me about obeying Family Law?”

The Family officers stood as if turned to stone. Even Rigel looked shocked. Nicora’s face remained calm, but anger spun a harsh thread through her cracked voice, and made each word clipped and precise. “My concern is the well-being of the Family and the ship. This boy does not belong on the Thaylia. And you are traveling a dangerous course.”

“I don’t care!” Tevera took Kriss’s hand again, and held it up, her white fingers entwined with his. Even with her hair and clothes bedraggled and storm-swept, she looked magnificent to Kriss. “I choose this ‘worldhugger’ and this world over the kind of Family you’ve shown yourselves to be!”

Nicora’s guards moved forward again, and Kriss tensed, but, “Hold!” the Captain commanded, and they stopped. Then the Captain herself stepped forward, between the guards and Kriss. She looked at him, hand in hand with Tevera, for a long moment. “I must think,” she said finally, in a low voice. “Andru, a room to myself.”

The innkeeper nodded once and escorted her to his office, closing the door behind her and standing in front of it, arms folded. Her guards, shut out, stationed themselves on either side of him, stone-faced. He ignored them.

A low murmur of conversation swept through the gathered officers, who glanced repeatedly at Kriss and Tevera. He looked from their hostile gazes to her warm eyes, but didn’t know what to say to her. Instead, driven by impulse, he pulled her to him and hugged her, hard, his cheek against her wet hair, her body warm and soft against his.

“Let go of her, worldhugger!” someone shouted. Kriss’s head jerked up and he released Tevera just as Rigel crashed into him. Tevera screamed as both of them sprawled backward against a table and crashed to the floor,  Kriss on the bottom.

Rigel straddled him, fist raised. “If the Captain won’t protect my sister, I will!”

But before the blow could fall, Tevera grabbed her brother’s arm and twisted it behind him. He grimaced in pain as she hauled him upright. “Let go!” He tried to pull free and failed. Kriss, back aching where it had slammed into the table, rolled over and scrambled up. Andru was approaching, looming like a storm cloud.

“Let him go, Tevera! Andru, stay out of this!” Kriss snapped. He owed Rigel for a lot of things.

But at that moment Nicora’s harsh voice, cold and hard and brooking no disobedience, cut through the room. “Tevera, release your brother. Rigel, move away, or I will be forced to expel you from this Council.”

Tevera released Rigel. Breathing hard, he shoved past Kriss, who bristled but obeyed the restraining hand Tevera laid on his arm.

Nicora continued in that same ice-cold tone. Her withered face displayed no emotion. “Tevera spoke the truth. I allowed anger to influence my decision.”

Tevera moved closer to Kriss, who wondered what was coming.

“The question before me is, does this boy belong in the Family?” Nicora said. Rigel drew a sharp breath, but did not speak. Nicora’s eyes flicked toward him nonetheless. “His previous actions have no bearing, since he acted out of ignorance.” Her gaze shifted to Andru. “Yet we cannot allow someone into the Family without knowing more of his motives. We are a special people, calling no planet home. We have no family but the Family. Deep space is the cradle of our kind. Is this boy suited to that life? That is the important question.”

“Let him tell you!” Tevera said.

Kriss stared at her. How? No matter what the Captain said, he knew his past actions would weigh against him. Nothing he could say could possibly convince them…

Tevera gripped his hand. “Don’t try to use words,” she whispered fiercely. “Use your music! Use the touchlyre!”

“No…” Kriss remembered Salazar’s face going slack as the power of the touchlyre struck him. “I can’t!”

“You have to!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“But you don’t…”

She turned from him impatiently and faced the Captain. “There’s only one way you can understand. Have him play his instrument for you!”

Rigel stepped forward. “Captain, no! That thing is alien—dangerous!”

“Tevera, your brother’s right,” Kriss said, earning a startled look from Rigel. “The last time I played it—I almost killed someone!”

“Captain, the decision is yours,” Tevera said firmly. “But I know this instrument will tell you exactly what Kriss feels. As for being dangerous…” She looked at Andru. “He’s been playing here for over two weeks. Any problems?”

“Business has never been better,” the innkeeper said.

Nicora inclined her head. “I will hear him play.”

Unwillingly, Kriss picked up the touchlyre from where he had set it on the bar. Already he thought he could feel the artifact’s ghostly fingers in his mind, and when he unwrapped it its strings vibrated faintly, though he had yet to touch the control plates.

Feelings warred inside him as he gazed at the touchlyre, gleaming in the yellow light. He knew Tevera was right—if he played it, they would understand him—maybe better than he understood himself—and they would accept him. They’d have to.

But now he knew it was far more than just a musical instrument. It was a deadly alien artifact, with power he didn’t understand and was no longer sure he could control.

Last time, it had controlled him.

He thought of Nicora’s ancient, lined face going blank of memory or feeling, like Salazar’s; then pictured the same thing happening to Andru, or—terror scraped at his throat—Tevera.

Though he knew she wouldn’t understand, it was for her sake he reached out to the touchlyre—and wrapped it up again.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Tevera, you weren’t there when the touchlyre struck down Salazar. I can’t be sure it won’t happen again.” He left the leather-wrapped artifact on the bar and turned to Nicora. “I will not play.”

“I commanded you.” Her tone held warning.

“I’m not Family.” And now never will be, he thought miserably. “It’s too dangerous. I don’t know for sure what the touchlyre might do. Even if I were Family, and you ordered me—I would not play.”

“Does my offer mean so little to you?” Anger edged Andru’s voice.

“It means everything to me!” How could he make the innkeeper understand? “But I dare not play!”

Nicora folded her thin arms, her lips once again a tight, straight line. “So. You aren’t of the Family, so I cannot order you to play. But even if you were Family, you would refuse. I must ask myself, does such a defiant worldhugger belong in the Family? Do I want someone who presumes to judge what risks I, the Captain, may choose to take?”

“Kriss, you’re ruining everything!” Tevera gripped his arm. “Please, play!”

He shook his head.

The Captain glanced around at the assembled officers. Most watched her, but Tevera’s eyes were on Kriss, as was Andru’s glare. Rigel, too, stared at him, looking slightly bewildered but pleased.

Nicora’s gaze came back to him, and he waited for her verdict, sickly certain of what it would be.

But it never came. The front door crashed open. Borne on a storm-blast of wind-spattered rain, six men poured into the room and fanned out against the far wall, beamers ready.

In the doorway behind them, silhouetted against the grim morning light, stood Carl Vorlick.

#

The traditional “Blog post about why I’m not blogging much”

I know, I know. I post about getting a cat and then I fall silent, which can lead to only one conclusion: the cat ate my blog post.

Not quite true, although Shadowpaw (Look! Another cat photo! Because there’s such a shortage of those on the Internet!) is sitting on my lap as I type this, purring and quite insistent I pet him. (It’s actually amazing how well I can type with cat legs sprawled across the backs of my hands.)

My real reason for not blogging: I’m in a bit of a crunch trying to get another rewrite done of Masks (wearing my E.C. Blake hat) because things are moving ahead to its release this fall and, you know, publishers really like to have a final manuscript well before the actual printed book hits the shelves. They’re funny that way.

This is an interesting rewrite, with two major components. One is the addition of new material at the front end related to character development and back story: I’m dramatizing material that was being covered in flashbacks.

The second involves going through the whole manuscript to change my main character’s age from 13 to 15, which is a change I’ve been thinking about for a while…and which Sheila Gilbert at DAW, my editor, turned out to be thinking, as well.

See, Masks began life as a proposal for a short and simple stand-alone YA or even late-middle-grade fantasy, so I made my main character younger than most of my characters. But as the writing continued, the book expanded, and got more complex, and got darker, and…well, suffice it to say that a slightly older protagonist will make a number of things work better both in this book and especially in the next two books in the trilogy.

So far I’ve concentrated on the new material, brief scenes from Mara’s childhood, but this week I’ll be moving through the rest of the manuscript adding those two years to Mara’s age. It’s not something I’ve ever undertaken in a manuscript before, so it should be an interesting process. I’ll blog about it once it’s done.

Which it won’t be, if I don’t get busy!

Free Novel Saturday: Star Song, Chapters 12 & 13

Every Saturday I post a chapter or two of my young adult science fiction novel Star Song . Coming in in the middle? The whole thing starts here with Chapter 1 and an explanation.

Enjoy!

Star Song

By Edward Willett

Chapter 12

Rain poured down with shocking suddenness before Kriss reached the inn, soaking through his clothes in seconds and chilling him to the bone. But he was grateful for the dark cloak it drew across the city; even in the glare from the frequent bursts of lightning, the falling sheets of water would hide him from unfriendly eyes.

Andru’s looked as derelict as the Red Horse Inn, not a hint of light escaping around its closed door and shuttered windows. Kriss darted across the rain-pounded street and up onto the porch, seized the latch and pushed.

The door didn’t budge.

Kriss swore under his breath. He didn’t dare knock; he’d wake the whole inn and alert any watchers Salazar, Vorlick or the Family—or all three—might have nearby. As he stood there indecisively the rain suddenly slackened, and at the next flash of lightning he winced, feeling exposed.

He backed to the edge of the porch and looked up at his window, almost directly overhead. Even if he could somehow climb to it, he couldn’t get in; he’d locked it himself. Unless he could somehow pick the—

The front door swung open. Kriss squawked, stumbled back, and fell off the porch. Stunned, bruised and breathless, he stared up at Andru, who shone a flashlight down at him with one hand while holding a beamer in the other. “Are you all right?” the innkeeper asked.

Kriss wiped rain from his eyes and picked himself up, wincing. The bruises he’d just inflicted on himself throbbed in time with the renewed ache in his head, but otherwise… “Yes.”

Andru holstered the beamer. “You set off my alarms.” He held out his hand and helped Kriss back onto the porch. “You should have told me you’d be coming back late.”

His plans for a quiet escape in ruins, Kriss followed Andru into the common room, where the sullen red glow of a few embers in the fireplace seemed to only deepen the shadows in the corners. Andru turned on a single lightglobe over the bar, then cinched his dark blue robe tighter around his broad waist and sat on a bar stool, gesturing Kriss to another. “Where were you?”

Kriss remained standing. “I just came back to get the touchlyre. Then I’m leaving for good.”

Andru’s steady gaze never wavered, but one eyebrow quirked. “Why?”

“It’s not safe for me to be here.”

“Explain.”

Kriss looked away and said nothing. Too many people had already suffered because of him and the touchlyre. He wouldn’t involve Andru and Zendra, too.

But Andru rose, towering over him. He gripped Kriss’s chin with one massive hand and tilted his head back, forcing him to face Andru’s glare. “Listen, boy. If you’re mixed up in something that may cause trouble for me or my inn, you will tell me about it!”

Kriss jerked his head free. “There’s no time. I have to leave—now.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you explain,” Andru said, steel in his voice.

“All right,” Kriss said. “All right. But then I’m leaving. And I won’t let you stop me.”

Andru folded his arms. “Talk.”

Kriss told the tale as succinctly as he could. He expected Andru to rage at him for involving him in a battle between Salazar and Vorlick—but the innkeeper only looked thoughtful.

“Some of this I guessed,” he said after a long pause. “I recognized your touchlyre as alien, and therefore valuable. When I heard Vorlick had arrived, and saw him here listening to you, I suspected he might offer to buy it. But I did not know of this girl, Tevera, or Salazar’s involvement, or the way the Family treated you. I knew your dreams of leaving Farr’s World, but not all of your reasons. Now I do.” He stood abruptly and walked out of sight into the short hallway that led to the stairs. Kriss heard him knock on Zendra’s door and a quiet exchange of voices. Then he returned. “I have an errand to run. You—”

“I’ll be gone when you get back.”

“—will stay here,” Andru said as if Kriss hadn’t spoken. “Zendra will join you. You still work for me, Kriss Lemarc, and I take care of my own.” He strode toward the stairs and his own quarters.

Kriss glanced at the front door. He could run now, leaving the touchlyre behind, and vanish into the rain before Andru returned. But if he did, Andru and Zendra would be caught in the struggle between Salazar and Vorlick, and he couldn’t let that happen. Instead he waited, staring with blind eyes at the near-dead fire, hearing footsteps on the porch with every creak of the inn in the wind or crack of the wood in the fire, expecting Salazar or Vorlick or both to burst through the door at any moment, beamers in hand, to demand he hand over the touchlyre. But the door remained shut until Andru descended, opened it, and vanished into the night without another word.

Instantly Kriss leaped up and dashed toward the stairs. He almost collided with Zendra as she came out of her room, brushing her gray-streaked hair. “Where are you going?” she asked sharply.

“Only up to my room.” He slowed, taking the stairs at a leisurely pace, but the moment he reached the upper hallway he fumbled for his key, threw his room’s door open and snatched up the touchlyre. He’d left his pack back in the Red Horse courtyard, so he simply clutched the instrument to his chest and ran back down the stairs two at a time. Zendra had built up the fire and sat at a table nearby, drinking from a cup, another steaming invitingly nearby. “Come on over and let’s talk,” she called. “Andru won’t be back for a while.”

“Neither will I.” He headed for the door.

She scrambled up. “Andru said to stay here!”

“I’m not safe to have around.” He opened the door and cold rain splattered his face.

“You could be killed!”

“You could be killed if I stay,” he shot back, but still he hesitated, knowing that once he left Andru’s he’d be abandoning all his dreams—maybe forever.

He heard Zendra’s footsteps behind him. “Please!” He looked around at her, and saw tears on her dark cheeks. Her work-roughened hands twisted the heavy fabric of her white robe. “Don’t go!”

He wavered, but only for a moment. Then, “Good-bye, Zendra,” he said as steadily as he could. “Thank you for…for caring.” He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

As he hurried away from the porch darkness and rain closed around him, a comforting, concealing curtain that followed him as he ran, away from the spaceport, water splashing around his feet. After a block he slipped into an unlit side street and began zigzagging through alleys, always heading away from the city center.

Once, in a narrow, twisting lane, he thought he heard footsteps other than his own above the noise of the wind and rain. Peering back, he thought he glimpsed a dark form ducking out of sight. But though he stared for a long time, he didn’t see it again, and finally he ran on, telling himself he had imagined it. Surely no one could follow him in such a storm.

He dodged across a brightly lit thoroughfare, echoing with raucous music from an inn that didn’t keep Andru’s strict hours, and began picking his way along a garbage-strewn alley. Where did Andru go? he wondered. Surely not the police—Andru must know that Salazar owns them. Well, no matter; he’d made his decision and there was no going back now.

He didn’t stop moving until the first light of dawn forced its way through the lowering overcast. Then he paused in the shelter of a doorway on the very edge of the city. The rain had dwindled to a miserable drizzle, and Kriss savored the pleasure of being free of its icy grip, if only for a few minutes.

The house that protected him seemed deserted, as did those that surrounded it with sagging slate roofs and peeling plaster walls. Weeds pushed through the cracked cobblestones of the street. Only a few yards away the pavement ended entirely and gave way to a muddy trail that led into the rain-soaked fields beyond, dimly visible in the growing light.

He slumped to the ground, back against the rough wooden door, pulled his knees to the leather-wrapped instrument he held to his chest and rested his forehead on its slick upper edge, listening to the rain beating down around him and the distant drumrolls of thunder. Even when lightning cracked the sky open overhead and the building behind him shook in the following ear-splitting crash, he didn’t stir. All that mattered for the moment was that he didn’t have to move.

Almost asleep, his mind drifted…until a boot thudded into his ribs and knocked him sprawling face-first into a filthy puddle, the touchlyre beneath him. He gagged on foul water and tried to get to his hands and knees, but another blow smashed him down again. “All right, enough,” someone growled. “Haul him up.”

Rough hands gripped his arms and jerked him to his feet. He struggled feebly, dazed. Whoever held him shook him so hard he bit his tongue, and he spat blood as his captor asked, “Where to?”

Kriss tried to focus on the one who seemed to be in charge, a man he’d never seen before, big and bald, with a crooked nose and a face slashed forehead to cheek by a vivid scar. He wore expensive-looking clothes that were torn and mud-spattered, and his right arm hung in a blood-stained sling. “Not here. People will be stirring soon.” He pointed across the street. “There’s a courtyard behind that empty building. That will do.” He bent down and picked up the touchlyre one-handed, then strode across the cobblestones. Kriss, who had yet to glimpse the man holding him, was propelled in his wake.

Shoved roughly through the archway into the courtyard, he fell, scraping his hands and knees on the sharp, wet stones. “All right, boy, now we’ll have a little talk,” the scarred man said, and suddenly Kriss recognized the voice.

He struggled to his feet and turned. The man who had held him had held him once before—the night he attacked Kriss and Tevera in the alley across from Andru’s. Kriss looked from him to the scarred man. “Salazar,” he said hoarsely. “I hoped you were dead.”

“Some of my men are,” Salazar growled.

Kriss ran his tongue over his swelling lip. “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” he said thickly.

“Don’t tempt me.” Salazar held out the touchlyre to Kriss, and when Kriss hesitated, jammed it viciously against his ribs. Kriss gasped. “Take it!”

Kriss held it tightly. “What do you want?”

“Unwrap it,” Salazar commanded, and Kriss numbly complied. The rain splattered against the polished wood, forming heavy drops that ran harmlessly away, leaving the surface dry. “Play it.”

“Here?”

“I’ve never heard it. Prove it does what I’ve been told.”

“Why should I? You’re going to kill me anyway.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just leave you for Vorlick’s man.” Salazar laughed. “You weren’t nearly as clever as you thought you were, boy. You were followed twice. We chased him off, but he could be back any minute with reinforcements. So play, or I will kill you.” He nodded to his henchman, who grinned and drew a long black knife from a sheath at his waist.

Kriss took a deep breath. He did not want to play the touchlyre—then, or ever again. It had been his dearest possession, a link with his lost parents; but now he knew it for a dangerous alien artifact, a bit of bloody space debris that had already led to more deaths than he wanted on his conscience. How could he let it invade his mind again after all the grief it had caused?

Let Salazar have it! he thought bitterly. I’ll be glad to be rid of it. He glared at the black wood, the silver strings, the copper plates, and made no effort to protect any of them from the rain. Let it rot!

“Play!”

For the last time, Kriss thought, and touched the plates.

#

Chapter 13

Kriss gave no thought to what he would play, wanting only to get it over with. Perhaps because of that lack of conscious direction, in an instant he had no control at all. The touchlyre’s invisible fingers reached into his mind, found his fear, guilt and hatred, ripped those emotions from him, funneled them through itself—and hurled them at Salazar and his henchman.

Kriss felt every muscle in his body snap as rigidly taut as though cast in steel as the power of the instrument poured through him like a purge of live steam. Salazar’s man screamed and collapsed, and Salazar’s face slackened, his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut, unconscious or dead.

Only then did the instrument’s screaming strings subside. Kriss gasped, swayed, and fell to his knees, his heart beating a ragged rhythm in his chest. The touchlyre fell from his nerveless hands to clatter against the paving stones. Kriss stared at it as though he had never seen it before.

Salazar moaned, and Kriss, overcoming a sudden overwhelming feeling of distaste, snatched up the touchlyre—unmarked by its fall against the stones, he noted distantly—and clambered to his feet. He had to escape. Salazar had said one of Vorlick’s men had followed him, too. What would Vorlick do with the power the touchlyre had just displayed?

I should destroy it, he thought, grabbing the leather covering from where Salazar had dropped it and wrapping it up again, but a surge of terror struck him like a physical blow at the thought, and he froze for a moment, feeling the touchlyre’s immaterial fingers lingering in his mind. Then Salazar’s hands twitched against the wet stones of the courtyard pavement, and Kriss dashed past his fallen enemies into the street.

A man hurried by, hunched over against the steady drizzle. He didn’t even look at Kriss. Otherwise the street remained deserted, though Kriss had thought the instrument’s screaming loud enough to bring the whole city running.

Around here they’ve probably learned to ignore things that don’t concern them, he thought. Suits me fine. No one will tell anyone they saw me.

He hurried down to where the pavement ended. As he stepped from the worn cobblestones into the mud of the waterlogged track leading into the fields, he glanced back. He was afraid he would see Salazar and his henchman emerging from the courtyard. Instead he saw Rigel and three other Family crewmen just rounding a corner into the street.

Kriss spun and plunged off the track in among the tall stalks of corn, higher than his head, but heard shouting behind him, though the words were lost in the hiss of the rain on the corn and his own gasping breath, and knew they had seen him.

Water stood inches deep on the ploughed soil, and rich black earth clung to his feet like lead shoes. He lost one boot and sock, then the other, staggered on a few more steps, and then fell, twisting awkwardly so that he splashed down on one side, touchlyre still cradled against his chest. Holding it with one arm he managed to push himself up with the other and get to his feet once more, but now he could hear sound of the Family men crashing through the corn in pursuit.

Gulping air, he ran on, the long leaves slicing his bare hands and face, but within a dozen steps he fell again, and this time as he struggled to his feet Rigel and his cohorts reached him. He spun to face them, arms wrapped around the touchlyre.

Rigel, panting, glared at him. “The Captain wants to see you. Why did you run?”

Kriss replied by lowering his head and charging. He hit Rigel in the stomach with his shoulder, sending the Family man splashing backward into the mud, kept his own feet and tried to dash back into the corn, but he was tackled from behind and fell face-first into the muck, the hard shape of the touchlyre driving the breath from his body. Someone hauled him to his feet and took the touchlyre from him while he gaped helplessly, trying to force air back into his body, and by the time he was breathing normally Rigel had seized his arms from behind and was pushing him back through the field toward the city.

Rigel released him as they reached the paved street, but with four of the Family surrounding him, and barefoot on the cobblestones, he couldn’t run. Despite his helplessness, he walked defiantly, head up, though he knew his final bid for a kind of freedom had been defeated.

Suddenly Rigel grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. “Salazar!”

Kriss jerked around to see Salazar stumbling out of the courtyard, his once-fine clothes even muddier than before. Fresh blood soaked the bandage on his arm, and ran down his face from a cut on his forehead. Kriss’s companions tensed, flicking glances at the surrounding buildings.

But Kriss watched Salazar. The scarred man’s little eyes blinked in bewilderment, as though he had misplaced something. His gaze met Kriss’s for a moment, but wandered on with no spark of recognition. He brushed past the Family group and moved uncertainly down a side street, vanishing into the rain.

Rigel stared after him, then shook his head and started forward again. “Come on, worldhugger, we’re in a hurry.”

Not having much choice, Kriss followed. “Why couldn’t you let me go?” he said bitterly. “You said you never wanted to see me again.”

“I didn’t,” Rigel snapped. “But the Captain had other ideas. Now be quiet!”

Kriss subsided. It occurred to him that the touchlyre might do to his new captors what it had done to Salazar, if he could grab it from the Family man holding it, but he pushed the thought away. However Rigel and his friends felt about him, they were Tevera’s family. If he hurt them he would hurt her. And after his encounter with Salazar, after feeling the touchlyre rip his emotions from him and forge them into a weapon, he thought he never wanted to touch it again.

They strode on through the rain-swept streets, Kriss limping as the cobblestones bruised his unprotected feet. The few people they passed, cloaked and hooded against the storm, seemed more concerned with keeping as dry and warm as possible than with five offworlders, one of them a bedraggled, muddy, barefoot boy.

At a corner where they should have gone straight to reach the spaceport, they instead veered left, startling Kriss. A few minutes later they turned another corner—onto the avenue that led to Andru’s. He stared at the inn in disbelief. “What are we doing here?”

“I wish I knew,” Rigel growled. He led the way up onto the porch and knocked. The door opened and they entered.

Kriss looked around the dim, shuttered room. A dozen Family men and women stood silently along the wall of the common room nearest the bar, half-hidden and ominous in the shadows cast by the single light over the bar and the fire in the hearth. Andru stood in front of the bar, arms folded; Zendra stirred the fire with a poker. She smiled tentatively at Kriss, but he ignored her. He pushed through his escort and crossed the hardwood floor, leaving a trail of muddy footprints, to confront Andru.

“This is how you ‘take care’ of me? Turning me over to my enemies?”

Andru, his eyes still on the door, didn’t even glance at him. “Quiet, boy.”

“Let him speak!” Rigel’s cry startled Kriss. He turned to see Tevera’s brother striding toward them. “I’d like to know what’s going on, too. This worldhugger put my sister in danger…”

“And helped rescue her,” Andru growled.

“She wouldn’t have needed rescuing if not for him! And after that I warned him to stay away from the Family. We even left a man here to make sure he didn’t try to contact Tevera again. Then suddenly you show up at the Thaylia and the next thing we know the Captain is ordering us to go and get him!”

Andru’s steel-gray brows drew together. “Are you questioning orders?”

Rigel stiffened, and almost replied; then he dropped his gaze and muttered something too soft to hear.

“Your questions will be answered in Council…but not until your Captain arrives.” The innkeeper swept the crowd with his stormy eyes as though daring anyone to take exception.

But Kriss thought he already had his answers. “The temptation was just too much, wasn’t it?” he snarled at Andru. “You’ve decided to take the touchlyre for yourself!”

Zendra gasped, and Andru raked him with blazing eyes, raised his enormous, calloused hand…then clenched it and let it drop. “Events will speak for themselves,” he said, his voice tightly controlled. “Be silent.”

Zendra came toward Kriss from the fire. “You should get out of those wet clothes…”

He turned on her, voice half-choked. “Drop the charade! How much extra did Andru pay you to ‘mother’ me so I’d trust you both? It worked, you know—I thought you really cared!”

She went white, but he pressed on, wanting to hurt as he had been hurt. “I’d even started to think of this place as home—but at home you’re safe.” He looked around at the Family. “Safe,” he repeated bitterly.

Zendra’s hand suddenly cracked across his cheek, then she sobbed and ran into the hallway. The door to her room slammed. Kriss stared after her, his ears ringing, and raised a hand to his burning cheek.

An iron grip seized his shoulder. Andru spun him around and shoved him hard against the bar, then held him there. “Listen, boy!” Andru snarled, his dark, weathered face, twisted in anger, only inches from Kriss’s. “Everything she did for you was out of the goodness of her heart.”

But Kriss refused to feel remorse. “All I can see from here is betrayal.”

The powerful, gnarled fingers dug deeper into his flesh. Andru’s other fist clenched. Kriss waited for the blow to fall—but then cool, wet air rushed around them and Andru growled a curse, shoved Kriss away and turned around.

Kriss, rubbing his bruised shoulder, looked past the innkeeper to see a black-clad man and woman entering the inn, silver beamers drawn. They scanned the room with emotionless eyes, then stepped to each side of the door, crossing their deadly weapons over their hearts.

Behind them, moving slowly and with great dignity, came Nicora, Captain of the Thaylia.

My publisher brought me a kitten!

And now, as promised, the Saga of Shadowpaw, or how a little black kitten made the journey from Virginia to Saskatchewan through the auspices of a Hugo Award-winning science fiction editor and publisher.

Yes, fellow writers, eat your hearts out: my publisher brought me a kitten. What has yours done for you?

Here’s how it all fell out…

My wife is allergic to cats. This is a tragedy, because she loves cats, and has always wanted to have one. But we’ve never quite dared to try it for fear that we would fall in love with a cat, only to have to give it away again.

We’ve mentioned this dilemma often, and among those to whom we mentioned it were my publishers, Betsy Wollheim and Sheila Gilbert of DAW Books  (in the photo at left that’s Sheila on the left, Betsy on the right, and me in the middle, in Sheila’s office at DAW).

Well, Betsy (winner of this year’s Hugo Award for best professional editor) is also allergic…but she manages to live with cats. The secret, she told us, is a particular breed that has lower levels of the allergen to which cat-allergic people react: Siberians.

Not only that, she told me, but she was friends with an excellent breeder in Virginia, Kim Capes of Blue Ridge Siberians. If we were serious about getting a Siberian kitten, she offered to check out the current litter on her next trip down there and pick one out, based on personality.

We decided we were serious. She made the trip. Although there were a couple of options, right from the beginning her first choice was a little black charmer who was friendly and inquisitive and everything you want in a kitten.

From there, things moved rather quickly. We decided to risk it. We would buy the little black tom. The next question was, how would we get him to Saskatchewan?

I’d explored shipping options, and that could certainly be done, but it wasn’t ideal. It quickly became apparent that the best way to do it was for me to fly down to the States and bring the kitten back as carry-on luggage…not something I’d ever even really thought of the possibility of doing before that.

Betsy offered to meet Kim in Baltimore and drive the kitten back to New Jersey, where I would be waiting at the home of my editor, Sheila Gilbert. And thus it was decided, and so it was done.

While the primary purpose of the trip was to get the kitten, there was, of course, a side benefit: a trip to New York, where I haven’t been in twenty years. I’ve never had the chance to visit the DAW offices in person before (up above is a photo of a book display there that includes mine!) and I’ve never had the opportunity to do that very writerly thing and have lunch with my agent, Ethan Ellenberg (pictured at left). So I combined business with cat-fetching, and had a fabulous time: everyone at DAW is wonderful, I had several great meals, I met people who had previously only been email addresses, I saw Newsies on Broadway (hence the photo of Times Square at night–and I highly recommend the musical, by the way), I saw as much of the Metropolitan Museum of Art as can be seen in a about four hours (not nearly enough!), I got to experience the commute from New Jersey to New York (I prefer my current commute from our bedroom to my office, thanks), and I got to do that cool Canadian thing where, when everyone around you is complaining about the bitter cold (about 15 F), I’m able to shrug and say, “Oh, well, when I boarded the plane in Regina it was -20…and we don’t call that bitter cold.” This makes you seem either tough or slightly nuts. Maybe both.

The flight back was a bit of an adventure, but Shadowpaw (as my daughter Alice had already named the kitten after the style of the cats in the Warriors fantasy novels she adores) weathered close to 12 hours in the carrier (extended by a one-hour delay in the flight from Chicago to Regina) without much complaint: and almost as soon as he was let out in our house his tail popped up and he was being petted and purring. He really is as wonderful a kitten as you could ask for, and we’re all thrilled with him: and best of all, my wife, Margaret Anne, has had no allergic reaction to him at all. (Actually, I’m the one who’s been sniffling a bit, but since I’ve never had a problem with cat allergies I suspect I picked up a cold in New York.)

For those contemplating flying with a cat: different airlines have different policies, but it’s pretty straightforward. You pay a fee—I flew United, which charges $125—and the cat has to be in an approved carrier. Soft or hard-sided, it doesn’t matter, as long as it fits within specific dimensions that allow it to be placed under the seat in front of you, where it must remain throughout the flight. The scariest part was going through security, simply because I had to take Shadowpaw out of his carrier and carry him through the metal detector in my arms. He didn’t struggle, but if you had a cat that did, that could be worrisome. In Shadowpaw’s case, he was so overwhelmed by all the people and noise around security that he actually went back into his carrier with obvious relief.

As far as bringing a cat into Canada from the U.S.: no problem, as long as you have a rabies certificate. If you don’t, as I understand it, you can still bring the cat in but you have to have it vaccinated in fairly short order. But in my case, I had the certificate, so everything went smoothly.

And that’s the tail…er, tale…of our new cat: and proof (not that I needed any) that I am fortunate beyond words to be able to say I’m a DAW author.

Although apparently their new slogan is not going to be: “DAW Books: We bring our authors kittens!”

 

 

 

 

Free Novel Saturday: Star Song, Chapter 11

Every Saturday I post a chapter or two of my young adult science fiction novel Star Song . Coming in in the middle? The whole thing starts here with Chapter 1 and an explanation.

Enjoy!

Star Song

By Edward Willett

Chapter 11

Kriss expected Andru to protest or at least ask questions when he asked for the night off, but his employer, preoccupied, granted the request without even looking up from his computer terminal.

Though he wasn’t hungry, Kriss forced himself to eat a mid-day meal. Fortunately the inn was busy, so he didn’t have to face Zendra. As much as he appreciated her concern, he didn’t see how she could help, and he didn’t want to get her involved. He had brought nothing but trouble to everyone close to him—his parents, Mella, Tevera. He didn’t want Zendra to be the next to suffer.

He left half his food untouched.

The afternoon seemed to drag on for centuries; Kriss, wanting to be well-rested for whatever came that night, lay on his bed, watching the slowly creeping patch of sunlight on the wall of his room until the clouds obliterated it, but though he occasionally dozed off, he was never able to fall deeply asleep.

At last the room grew dark, and with a tightening and twisting in his stomach, Kriss sat up.

Time to go.

He pulled his knapsack out from under the bed and stuffed it with a blanket, then slipped his arms through the straps. He’d decided to leave the touchlyre locked in his room; if he didn’t escape, whoever captured him would still need him alive in order to get the artifact. But at the same time, it wouldn’t hurt to make them think he had it.

He tucked his flashlight into one of the pack’s outer pockets, then went to the door; but before going out he paused and looked around the room where he had lived for two weeks. It had gradually come to feel something like home. Now he wondered if he would ever see it again.

After a moment he turned off the light and closed and locked the door behind him.

He met Zendra as she came out of the kitchen with a food-laden tray and asked her for directions to the Red Horse Inn.

She raised one eyebrow. “The Red Horse? What do you want to go there for?”

“Just curious. It’s the only inn I haven’t seen. I must have missed it that first night.”

“But the Red Horse—” A customer called to her from across the room. “All right, all right!” She turned back to Kriss. “Straight down the street to Babus Place, left five blocks, then straight on Tailor’s Lane. Eventually you’ll come to a big courtyard. The Red Horse will be on your right. And sometime you’ll have to tell me what you really went there for.” The customer called her again, and she hurried off.

“Thanks,” Kriss said to her retreating back. “And good-bye,” he added under his breath.

Thunder rumbled in the west as he stepped outside, and a cold wind from the mountains ruffled his hair and clothes, making him shiver. No rain had fallen yet from the overcast sky, but in the last of the twilight he could see the clouds scudding furiously overhead, as though fleeing some onrushing threat. It would be very dark at the Red Horse, Kriss thought; from Zendra’s directions he knew it must be near the primitive outskirts of the city, where the streets were unlit. He checked again to make sure he had his flashlight, then jumped down from the porch and set off briskly into the teeth of the wind, dreading what was to come but anxious to get it over with.

He tried an old trick of his, putting his mind a day ahead and looking back on this night as history—but it didn’t help lessen the cold lump in the pit of his stomach. He knew he could be dead before the next day dawned, and even if he lived, Salazar or Vorlick or the Family—or all three—would be after him.

Run, a part of his mind whispered, as his legs carried him relentlessly toward the rendezvous. The woods are full of outlaws, the police said. Join them. Survive.

If it were only me involved, maybe I would, he thought. I have nothing left to lose.

But it wasn’t just him. Through his own stupid selfishness, he had also involved Tevera. Mella had been involved—and Mella had died. He wouldn’t let Tevera die for him, too!

He paused when he reached the last streetlight, just at the beginning of Tailor’s Lane, a narrow, crooked street leading off into the dark, twisted byways that rimmed Stars’ Edge. Somewhere among those black alleys and courtyards lurked Salazar, the shadowy enemy Kriss had never seen, with Tevera in his clutches. Elsewhere, Vorlick and his men would be making their way toward the Red Horse, and hidden from them all would be the Family, a law unto itself, determined to rescue one of its own. The three ingredients together made an explosive combination, a bomb that only he could detonate.

Stepping into the darkness, he lit the fuse.

Fighting the urge to keep looking over his shoulder, he walked steadily along the cobblestoned lane. The last streetlight disappeared behind him, and he had yet to see so much as the gleam of a torch in any of the buildings he passed. “Funny place to put an inn,” he muttered.

Abruptly he emerged into a large, echoing courtyard. The faint skyglow, the light of the city’s heart reflecting off the clouds, silhouetted the hulking shapes of dark buildings, crouched like huge sleeping animals all around the open space. Several streets met in the courtyard, spots of deeper blackness like gaping mouths. But where was the inn?

Kriss pulled his tiny flash out of the backpack pocket and switched it on. Its small circle of light showed him nothing but blank windows, sagging roofs and peeling plaster. Then something creaked off to his right, and he spun.

In front of a boarded-up wooden building with a toppled chimney and sway-backed roof hung a lopsided sign, swinging from a tall pole in the strengthening wind. Kriss walked closer and stilled it with one hand. His light shone on a red horse prancing across a green background. Faded gold letters spelled out, “Red Horse Inn.” He stared at it. No wonder Zendra had been puzzled by his interest.

“Not very lively, is it?” a shout rang across the courtyard, and in the same instant a brilliant light pinned him to the pavement. He turned toward it, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the painful glare. He could see nothing else.

“Who are you?” he shouted back.

“The one you came to see.” Echoes chased around the ring of deserted buildings.

“Salazar?”

“Who else?”

Kriss wondered if Vorlick would reply to that, but if the other man was nearby he wasn’t revealing himself yet.

“You have the artifact?” Salazar continued.

“Do you have Tevera?” Kriss countered.

“Of course.”

“Let me see her!”

The spotlight swung down, out of his eyes, so that he stood in a long oval pool of light, and for the first time he could see a shadowy group of figures standing behind it. Someone switched on a flashlight, and there stood Tevera, held at gunpoint by a grim-faced man. Kriss’s heart kicked once, painfully, at the sight. “Tevera? Are you—”

“I’m all right,” she called. “They haven’t hurt me.”

“And I’ll have no reason to, if you’ve brought me the artifact,” Salazar interjected. “So. I’ve shown you your girl.” The spotlight swung up, blinding Kriss once more. “Now show me the artifact.”

Rigel, where are you? Slowly Kriss slipped out of the backpack’s straps and held it up. “It’s in here.”

“Open it.”

The remembered image of Tevera at gunpoint froze Kriss in place. His stomach churned. I’ve ruined everything by trying to protect myself. The Family isn’t there, Vorlick isn’t here, and as soon as Salazar sees I haven’t really brought the touchlyre, he’ll kill Tevera…

Acid burned the back of his throat. He felt like throwing up. He didn’t move…couldn’t move.

“I’m out of patience!” Salazar snapped.

But then another voice rang out from a dark alley by the inn, behind Kriss and off to his right. “So am I,” said the cold voice of Carl Vorlick. “How interesting to meet you here, Salazar. How unfortunate you have gone to all this effort for nothing. The artifact is mine.”

“Vorlick?” Salazar sounded incredulous, then angry. “I made a deal with the boy!”

“So did I. I wonder how he intends to keep both? Well, Kriss?”

Despite the chill wind, Kriss felt a single drop of sweat roll down his face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vorlick. Salazar kidnapped a friend of mine. He said if I didn’t give him the touchlyre—”

“The threat is real, boy. Give me the artifact or the girl dies in front of you.” The spotlight angled down again, showing him Tevera. The man guarding her now had his brawny forearm across her neck and the gun pointed at her left temple.

“Kill her and you’ll never get it!” Kriss ripped open the backpack and turned it over, dumping the blanket out on the ground. “It’s still hidden, Salazar!”

“Hidden? Hidden in Andru’s! Do you really think the locks of a second-rate inn can keep me out? You had your chance, boy. Now your girl dies, and you die, and I’ll still have the artifact!”

“Is that true, Mr. Vorlick?” Kriss yelled in the direction of that other voice. “Are you going to let him have your prize?”

“Don’t look for help from him, boy,” Salazar shouted. “He’s already killed your parents!”

The words hit Kriss like a punch to the stomach. Vorlick? Vorlick killed my parents?

He wanted to deny it, but it made sense…such horrible, horrible sense. His parents’ mysterious, wealthy patron could as easily have been Vorlick as Salazar—more easily, since Vorlick had wealth and power even Salazar couldn’t match, according to Captain Nicora. If they had found out what kind of man Vorlick really was and tried to run…

But even if Vorlick had killed his parents, Salazar… “You murdered Mella!”

“She had a heart attack. My men were ordered not to hurt her.”

“Liar!”

“That’s right, Kriss, he’s lying!” Vorlick shouted. “He killed your parents and your guardian. Promise me the artifact and I’ll get you and the girl away safely!”

“Would you trust your parents’ murderer?” Salazar bellowed.

A blast of icy wind howled through the eaves of the derelict inn, and a sudden, matching blast of red-hot fury roared up in Kriss. “I hope you both rot in hell!” he screamed.

Instantly a flaming bolt of red energy seared the air, and he jerked involuntarily. But the beam wasn’t aimed at him. It came from the darkness somewhere between Salazar and Vorlick, and ripped into the spotlight, which exploded. Glass shards skittered across the cobblestones and electricity arced through the wreckage. The man holding Tevera released her and staggered back, swinging his gun wildly, looking for enemies; and in the flickering light of the burning wreckage, Kriss, with astonishment followed by fierce pride, saw Tevera turn and, with a swift kick and two sharp blows of her hands, send the gun rattling away and the man sagging to his knees. Then she ran, and Kriss’s heart swelled, because she didn’t run for cover—she ran toward him.

She collided with him so hard she almost knocked him over, hugging him so tight he could hardly breathe, while new beams zipped across the courtyard, coming from Salazar’s men and aimed at the spot where Vorlick’s voice had originated. Two bolts tore into the walls of the Red Horse, and its rotting wooden beams exploded into brilliant flame.

Beams from Vorlick’s location answered Salazar’s attack, every searing flash leaving an afterimage in Kriss’s eyes, until it seemed the whole night burned. He stared at the battle until Tevera tugged at his arm. “Run!” she screamed.

He just looked at her, shocked to still be alive; then a beam from Salazar’s direction streaked by so close it seared his arm, and his paralysis vanished. He grabbed Tevera’s hand and ran back into Tailor’s Lane as a ray slashed through the place where they had stood. At the entrance to the street he glanced back, and in the bloody light of the burning inn he saw a smoking body sprawled on the cobblestones near the blasted light. Another beam flashed and a man screamed hoarsely.

Then they were out of the courtyard, though the shouts and screams could still be heard and smoke hung in the air. Together they ran toward the lights of the city, but before they had gone a hundred yards people leaped out of the shadows and surrounded them.

Tevera gasped, then suddenly released Kriss’s arm. “Yverras!” she cried, and hugged someone tightly.

Kriss barely had time to realize the strangers were Family before someone clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him into a side street. “Listen, worldhugger,” a voice whispered—Rigel’s. “You did your part, and we got Tevera back. I suppose I should thank you for that. But you will not be permitted to see her again. Understand?”

Kriss nodded.

“Good. Now, I’m going to let you go. But don’t follow us. Tevera is my responsibility. If you cause her any more grief…” He shook Kriss once, hard, then released him and hurried back into the lane.

Kriss leaned miserably against the wall, listening, as Tevera, sounding suddenly worried, called, “Kriss? Kriss?”

“Quiet!” Rigel snapped. “Let’s get back to the ship.” But Kriss heard his name from Tevera once more as the Family hurried away.

He stayed put until the faint noises of battle from the courtyard ended. He hoped both Salazar and Vorlick were dead, but didn’t really believe it. At least one of them would have survived, probably both, and would be after him, with resources he couldn’t hope to match and reputations to uphold—reputations, he thought, that were probably more important to them now than even the supposedly immense value of the touchlyre. What he had done tonight had made two of the most powerful men in the Commonwealth his bitter enemies—and shattered what little remained unbroken of his dreams.

Now, cut off from the stars forever, he had no choice; to survive, he had to flee into the wilderness—but he had to have some provisions first, or he’d just be saving his enemies the trouble of killing him. And he had to retrieve the touchlyre. Anywhere he left it he would also be leaving trouble.

He started running back toward the city’s center, and Andru’s—just the beginning, he thought bitterly, of a lifetime of running.

It consoled him very little that that lifetime probably wouldn’t be long.

Look! A kitten!

My lack of posts in the past week is directly related to the appearance in my life of this little fellow (and yes, I realize this means I have now broken my record of being possibly the last person on the Internet to have never posted a picture of a cat). I will provide details anon. In the meantime…all together now…

Awwww. Isn’t he CUTE?

Free Novel Saturday: Star Song, Chapters 9 & 10

Every Saturday I post a chapter or two of my young adult science fiction novel Star Song . Coming in in the middle? The whole thing starts here with Chapter 1 and an explanation.

Enjoy!

Star Song

By Edward Willett

Chapter 9

A thick mist shrouded the street outside Andru’s. It glowed faintly with the refracted radiance of hidden streetlights, and within seconds it soaked through Kriss’s clothes. He shivered.

A black shape materialized within the swirling fog. “A short ten minutes,” said the soft voice. Faceless, it sounded cold and emotionless, computer-like. “Shall we go?”

With some difficulty, Kriss found his own voice. “Where?”

“Only a little way, into a side street.” Faint amusement touched the cold tones. “Sound carries in a fog. I don’t want to be overheard.”

“All right.” Kriss followed the stranger uneasily across the street, into the same alley where he and Tevera had twice met and talked. No light filtered into the narrow passage, and Kriss trailed his icy fingers against the wet stone on his right to keep from walking into the wall. Only the clicking of his companion’s boots on the cobblestones indicated he wasn’t alone.

The footsteps stopped, and so did Kriss. He stood silently waiting for the stranger to speak, wondering who else might be lurking in the darkness. I was a fool to come out here!

“My name is Carl Vorlick,” the man said abruptly.

“I know,” said Kriss, though he hadn’t been certain until that moment.

“If you know that, you also know that I am one of the wealthiest men in the Commonwealth,” said Vorlick. “I tell you that not as a boast, but so that you know my promises are good.”

“What promises?”

Vorlick did not answer directly. “My interests are far-ranging, and include certain properties in Stars’ Edge. Recently one of my employees here informed me that a young boy had appeared from nowhere with a peculiar alien instrument.”

That startled Kriss. “Alien?”

“Of course. You surely must realize that no planet in the Commonwealth has such technology.”

Kriss’s wistful vision of his father carving the touchlyre by firelight vanished forever.

“Among other pursuits, I collect and trade in alien artifacts,” Vorlick continued. “When I heard of your instrument, I decided to investigate it myself. None of my people here have the knowledge to properly evaluate it.” He paused. “How old are you?”

“Why?”

“I’d like to know where your instrument came from, which of the ancient alien civilizations it belonged to. I keep track of all major extraterrestrial archaeological investigations; I may be able to link it to one of them if I know where and when you obtained it.”

It sounded reasonable. “I’m about sixteen, standard.”

“Just about right,” Vorlick said thoughtfully. “You’ve had the instrument all that time?”

“My guardian gave it to me when I was ten. It belonged to my parents.”

“And where are they?”

“They’re dead.”

“Ah.”

Kriss wished he could see Vorlick’s face. He sensed an unsettling undercurrent to the conversation, as though the offworlder knew more than he was telling.

“I heard you play,” Vorlick said, abruptly changing course. “It was…remarkable. You actually seemed to project your emotions along with sound.”

Whether I want to or not, Kriss thought, remembering the almost frightening intensity with which the touchlyre had taken hold of him that evening. “The touchlyre is…special.”

“Touchlyre.” The offworlder seemed to be savoring the word. “An interesting name. How does it work?”

“I don’t know,” Kriss said. I wish I did. Especially after tonight.

There was another long pause. All Kriss could hear was his own breathing and heartbeat, and the slow drip of water: when Vorlick wasn’t speaking, nothing betrayed his presence. It was like talking with a ghost.

“You want to leave Farr’s World, don’t you?”

The sudden question startled Kriss, but he answered truthfully, “Yes.”

“Your music made that clear. Your touchlyre is, as you say, special. Your listeners felt your emotions as their own. You made hardened spacers weep. Few entertainers can do that.” Vorlick paused again. “Your touchlyre could be your ticket off this planet.”

“Ticket, sure,” Kriss said bitterly. “I could sell it or earn enough playing it to buy passage. But I want more than a ticket. If you really felt what I feel, you know that. I want to belong—and I can’t. I’m not Family or Union, and I can never be either.”

“You’ve seen my ship,” Vorlick said quietly.

Kriss stiffened. He’d decided Vorlick would try to buy the touchlyre, and had already made up his mind to turn him down. But just what was the offworlder about to offer?

“I can get you into the Union. All I ask is the touchlyre. Give it to me, and I’ll add you to my crew and sponsor you in the Union: and at our next planetfall, if you wish, you’ll be free to take any berth you can find, on any ship going anywhere in the Commonwealth.” His voice lowered almost seductively. “Your dream can be a reality, Kriss. You value the stars, I value your instrument. A fair exchange.”

A fair exchange. Kriss swallowed, his throat tight.

The touchlyre had always been his link with the galaxy and his parents, his key to the world where he truly belonged.

But now he knew what world that was—Earth. And the instrument couldn’t take him there.

Vorlick could. Such a powerful man would have access to Earth, could even get him to the surface of the home world, help him find his parents’ families.

But could he be trusted? Kriss felt a surge of anger at himself for letting Vorlick direct the conversation. “You’ve already tried to get the touchlyre, haven’t you?” He hurled the accusation like a stone through a window. “Someone broke into Andru’s the first night I was there. The next night he attacked me. He was your man, wasn’t he?”

Vorlick did not answer at once. When he finally answered, his tone was far colder than the mist shrouding them both. “I’m a businessman, making a business proposal. That’s all. If I had anything to do with those incidents, why would I bother making this offer wno?”

“You admitted you have employees here…”

“And so I do. You were not only attacked, you were rescued. The rescuer was my man.”

Kriss blinked. “I didn’t mention—”

“Exactly.”

“Then who did attack me?”

Kriss sensed rather than saw his shrug. “I have competitors. One of them is based on this planet, and is particularly ruthless—a man named Anton Salazar.”

The man who tried to buy out Andru? “I’ve heard of him.”

“Then perhaps you know what kind of man he is. I’m afraid he has recently suffered severe economic reversals due to my business decisions. I bought up certain valuable properties here in Stars’ Edge which he greatly desired, and then under-bid him for some very lucrative space station construction contracts in the Estercarth system. He also recently attempted, and failed—expensively–to take over a mining operation in the Feldsparian asteroids in which I have controlling interest.

“Salazar knows of my interest in alien artifacts, and while he does not share my scientific curiosity about them, he fully understands their potential monetary worth. He has been known to strip-mine valuable archaeological sites, destroying their scientific value, so he could sell the artifacts to private collectors. Obviously he has also learned of your instrument. He would have wanted it the moment he heard of it, not only for the price he could get for it, but because by possessing it he would be able exact a measure of revenge against me. If I had not learned of the touchlyre, he would have stolen it and then made sure I knew he had it. Now that I have learned of it, and he undoubtedly knows it…I warn you, Kriss, he’ll stop at nothing to get it.”

Stop at nothing…in the news story about his parents’ disappearance, Kriss remembered, there had been a reference to a mysterious patron. What if that had been Salazar? What if Salazar had used Kriss’s parents to find a valuable artifact, the touchlyre—but then they had found out what kind of man he was and fled with it.

Did he follow them here? Did he kill them to get it?

If he had, he’d been too late: by then it had already been hidden, along with their infant son, in the care of Mella. No wonder she raised me in the back of beyond!

But somehow, after all those years, word had filtered back to Salazar of a strange offworld boy in a backwoods village. He had sent his men to investigate. By pure luck, he hadn’t been home. Protecting him to the last, Mella must have convinced them he wasn’t coming back to the cottage. If she hadn’t, they would have been waiting for him that night, and the touchlyre would already be in Salazar’s hands, while he—

He shivered. If not for Mella, I might be dead. In truth, he was lucky he wasn’t dead several times over, having walked right into Salazar’s hands by not only coming to Stars’ Edge, but playing the touchlyre in public. Zendra had even said Salazar owned the police, or enough of them that he could do what he wanted. Elcar himself might be Salazar’s man, he thought sickly. No wonder he closed Mella’s case so quickly!

“You’re in great danger,” Vorlick continued. “I’m very much afraid of what Salazar might do if you don’t accept my offer.”

Kriss took a deep breath. The rush of understanding had left him with a clear decision. “I accept.”

“Excellent!” Excitement tinged the cold voice. “Do you have the touchlyre with you?”

“No, it’s locked away in Andru’s.”

“Good. You can bring it to the ship with you. How soon can you be ready to leave?”

Ready to leave. The words were music. “I’ll have to give Andru a little notice…”

“Even Andru’s is not safe from Salazar,” Vorlick warned. “Don’t delay any longer than absolutely necessary.”

Why put it off? Kriss reasoned. He had made Andru no promises. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow night,” Vorlick corrected. “After dark. We don’t want unfriendly eyes to see you. I’ll leave a port pass at the gate closest to my ship.”

“All right.”

“I’ll see you back to Andru’s.” Kriss heard him move down the alley, and after a moment he followed.

All his logic told him he had made the right decision. I’m well-rid of the touchlyre, he thought. It’s too powerful. It’s alien. It could be dangerous. Who knows what it’s doing to me as I play it…or to my listeners?

But something deeper than logic, some animal instinct, sounded a warning, a warning related to the eerie, non-human sound of Vorlick’s voice in the mist. How could he trust a man who sounded like that?

Everything he said made sense, Kriss told himself firmly as they stepped into the street. The fog had thinned enough that he could see Vorlick in the blurred light of the streetlamps. Despite the mist, not a hair was out of place. “Until tomorrow,” the offworlder said, and strode toward the port.

Kriss took two steps toward Andru’s, then stopped. His misgivings wouldn’t go away. He had to try to check on Vorlick some way, and the fog gave him the perfect opportunity to follow the offworlder. If he were lying, he would surely meet one of his people to tell him of his plans, and if that employee proved to be the man who had attacked Kriss…

Vorlick’s quick, clicking footsteps were fading fast. Kriss turned from the inviting light and warmth of the inn and followed him into the misty darkness.

 

Chapter 10

A light wind began to blow the fog in slithering tatters through the streets, enabling Kriss to keep Vorlick in sight while staying a safe distance behind him. But a moment after the offworlder crossed the ring road a heavy transport rumbled past, preventing Kriss from following, and when it was gone Vorlick had vanished.

Kriss dashed across the road, mentally swearing at the late-working driver, then stopped, listening. He heard nothing but the fading sound of the vehicle and the whisper of the breeze through the wire mesh fence.

He stood in a pool of darkness caused by the failure of one of the lights set on tall poles at regular intervals around the fence. Trusting to the night to hide him, Kriss gripped the mesh and peered through it at the golden ship, glittering with the reflected lights of the spaceport and city like a rare jewel in a box lined with black velvet. For a moment he forgot his doubts. Within days he would ride this beautiful ship to the stars, just as he had dreamed of for years. No more dreams, he promised himself fiercely. This time it will be real!

Then he heard footsteps again and stared around, confused by echoes off the surrounding buildings, until he spotted Vorlick approaching the base of his ship. The hatch opened, and blue-white light flooded down the ramp that slowly extended to the ground. The ramp licked Vorlick up into the ship, the hatch closed, and all fell silent again.

Kriss turned away and leaned back against the cold metal of the fence. He hadn’t learned anything, but he tried to put his doubts aside. He wanted to believe Vorlick had told the truth, because otherwise his last chance of fulfilling his dream was gone, imprisoned with Tevera in the Thaylia.

He looked back across the port. The fog had thinned to little more than a haze that cast a soft glow around the silvery skin of the Family starship, near the center of the landing field. Kriss gazed at it, wishing by some miracle he might see Tevera coming down from it and crossing the field to him. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to tell her his dream was coming true after all, and he wanted desperately to say good-bye to her.

Or rather, he wanted desperately to not have to say good-bye to her.

His throat felt tight and his eyes burned. The Family had torn them apart, and when he left with Vorlick the whole galaxy would be between them forever. Whatever might have been—whatever could have come from that achingly sweet kiss—would be lost.

At that moment he would have chosen to stay with Tevera on Farr’s World over going into space without her; but there was no one to make the offer.

He turned and stepped away from the fence—then paused. From somewhere on the landing apron came the shuffle of feet. “…fog’s lifted,” a man’s deep, rasping voice said. “We could be seen now.”

“Who’s to see?” said a second voice, smoother and higher-pitched. “There’s nothing over here but warehouses. And we took out that fence light.”

“I don’t like it. It’s too easy.”

“You’d rather have it hard? Look, the crew trusted to spaceport security. They forgot they’re on Farr’s World.”

Both of them laughed, and at that moment were briefly silhouetted against the distant lights: two big men carrying a long, sagging bundle between them. Murder? Kriss thought in horror. He stayed still, afraid if he moved he would attract their attention.

“Heavy,” the deeper-voiced man complained.

“You’re just fat and lazy. Now shut up. We’re getting close to the road.”

Kriss crouched, trying to make himself invisible, as they reached the fence and set their bundle on the ground. He heard a low moan. So it wasn’t murder—yet. What had he stumbled on?

One of the men produced a short rod that gleamed in the faint light, then came to glowing red life. He touched it to the fence, and the mesh parted with a flash that revealed a face Kriss knew all too well—the man who had attacked him and Tevera in the alley.

In seconds the man had cut an opening in the fence the size of a door, and the two men picked up their victim, who groaned and doubled up as though in pain. As they came out on Kriss’s side of the fence, the lead man shifted his grip and turned to get a better hold—and the prisoner’s feet suddenly drove into his captor’s stomach.

The man’s breath whooshed out. He dropped the victim and staggered back. The prisoner twisted out of the other’s grip, hit the ground hard and began to struggle. The wrapping fell away, and a girl screamed, “Help! Someone…” before being muffled by a heavy hand.

But those two words were enough for Kriss.

Tevera!

He leaped forward, driving his shoulder into the back of the man who held her, and all of them tumbled to the ground. Tevera jumped up and tried to run, but the cloth tangled her feet and she fell again, her breath coming in sobbing gasps.

Kriss scrambled toward her on hands and knees, but suddenly the man he had tackled stood between them, a pillar of darker black in the night. His heavy boot cracked into Kriss’s jaw, lifting his whole body and hurling him back to crash against the duracrete. Tevera screamed, but the sound seemed to come from a great distance.

Kriss lay where he had fallen, his head filled with a vast pain and roaring, through which words reached him faintly.

“Who was that?” gasped the one Tevera had winded.

“Just some idiot bystander who thought he’d be a hero. Let’s get out of here.”

“What about him?”

“I think he’s dead. Anyway, he can’t identify us.”

“But Salazar—”

“I’ll worry about Salazar. Come on, move it!”

Salazar! Kriss managed to roll over, and tried desperately to get to his hands and knees. Salazar’s got Tevera! he thought in agony. He tried to shout her name, but only a whisper came out.

On his belly, he wriggled to the fence and pulled himself painfully upright, gripping the mesh. Tevera’s captors had long since vanished. Kriss clung to the fence for a long time, until some measure of strength returned to him; then he began the nightmarish journey to Andru’s.

Every step sent pain crashing into his skull; the ring road seemed a mile wide. He crept up the street, clinging to the wall for support, but it wasn’t enough; he kept falling, picking himself up and staggering on a few more feet, then falling again. Twice he vomited into the shadows. The second time nothing came up but sour-tasting bile.

Finally he lay still, spent; conscious, but too exhausted and pain-filled to be fully aware of his surroundings.

Sometime later brilliant light speared him to the pavement, stabbing his head with daggers of pain. “All right, boy, you can’t sleep there.” Strong, rough hands hauled him to his feet, and he gasped in agony. “Bit young to handle liquor, eh?”

Kriss blinked bleary eyes at the tall, uniformed man who held him. “Police?” he said confusedly.

“That’s right. Constable Piltzer. Now, where do you live, young man?”

“Black Rock…”

“Eh?”

Kriss tried to think. “No…no, Andru’s.”

“Ah. That’s more like it. Come on, then, let’s get you home.”

An hour later Kriss lay in his own bed, Zendra fussing over him. “Why you should want to take a walk in the middle of the night is beyond me,” she muttered as she applied a cold compress to his jaw. “And then to get mixed up with people smuggling something out of the spaceport—what could it have been, I wonder?”

The ice wrapped around his head kept him from replying, even if he had wanted to, and with his head clearer, he wished he’d never even told her that much. He couldn’t tell Andru and Zendra or the police that Salazar had Tevera. The man had killed his parents already; how little would it take for him to kill Tevera?

Andru came into the room and gave him a piercing gaze that made him uncomfortable. “You have a penchant for attracting trouble.”

“Now, Andru, this doesn’t have anything to do with the break-in,” Zendra said firmly. “It was just bad luck.”

“Maybe.” Andru stared at Kriss a moment longer, then turned and went out.

Zendra followed Andru to the door, pausing there to glance back. “You may still have a bit of a headache tomorrow, but I think you’ll be able to navigate. Nothing’s broken.” She winked. “It’s that hard head of yours saved you.” She stepped out, closing the door behind her.

“A bit of a headache” turned out to be a considerable understatement; Kriss woke in the morning with a terrible pounding inside his skull that made thinking difficult. But he had to think, and he couldn’t stay in bed: not when Salazar had Tevera. Somehow he had to help her. Feeling as though he were moving through thick mud, he dressed and descended the stairs, frowning as he tried to make his shaken brain consider his options.

Tell Andru everything? Salazar might kill Tevera. And Andru had some secret of his own concerning the Family; he might take no action at all, or the wrong one.

Tell the police? Even worse—the police were on Salazar’s payroll.

Tell Vorlick? No. Something inside him still didn’t trust the businessman. Vorlick cared nothing for him or Tevera; Kriss remembered what Zendra had said about Vorlick buying and selling whole planets, with no concern for their inhabitants’ homes, families or futures. Vorlick’s sole interest was the touchlyre. He thought he had a deal with Kriss to get it—but Kriss was about to break their agreement; he had to, now that Salazar had Tevera. The touchlyre was the only bargaining chip he held.

“Well, you’re walking on your own, at least,” Zendra said cheerfully as he entered the common room. “That’s better than last night. Sit down, and I’ll bring breakfast.”

Kriss sat by the window as usual and looked gloomily out into the sunlit street until Zendra brought him a tray with hot cereal and cold juice. “Here you are.” She winked. “Nothing that takes much chewing. Oh, yes, and you have a couple of messages…dropped off this morning.” She placed two sealed envelopes by the platter and went whistling back to the kitchen.

Kriss stared at the envelopes as if they might bite, then slowly reached out and picked one up. His fingers trembled as he opened it. The message inside was short and to the point. Give me what I want or lose what I have. The Red Horse Inn. Midnight. S.

He squeezed his eyes briefly shut. He’d known it was coming, but…

The second note puzzled him. Vorlick couldn’t know what had happened yet, could he? So who…?

The message was written in silver ink on black paper. My sister was taken because of you. You will help us get her back. Come to us at once. Rigel.

Kriss let the note drop to the table. The Family. Salazar must have notified them, as well—and with that, the matter had been taken out of his hands. He really had no choice: he had to go to the Family.

They’re right, he thought, his heart stabbed by a pain worse than the throbbing in his skull. It’s my fault. If he had never met Tevera, never tried to use her for his own ends, she would be safe.

But he had met her, and tried to use her, and thus put her in danger. He had to help the Family get her back—and as he made that decision, the shameful thought rose inside him that maybe if he helped them, they would take him into space and…

Angry and disgusted with himself, Kriss pushed away from the table without touching the breakfast Zendra had brought him, went to the door—and headed for the Family.

Test Drive: Ford Escape Titanium 4WD

I’ve driven quite a few Fords now since I started this series of car posts, and I have to say that the Ford Escape Titanium 4WD is pretty much my favorite of the lot (always excepting the Mustang convertible, but this time of year I’d much rather be navigating our icy, snow-choked streets in the Escape than in the Mustang.)

As I’ve noted before, I’m not a big-vehicle guy: I’ve found things like the Explorer (and the F150) just too humongous for my taste. This one, though an SUV, hits the sweet spot in size. I felt like I was driving a car, but a car that had the advantages of a roomy interior and a higher driver line-of-sight. It had plenty of power, so I never felt like I was struggling to get up to speed, handled well and kept me feeling secure despite the treacherous roads (thanks 4WD)…just a pleasure to drive.

Both my wife and I found the seats quite comfortable, which hasn’t always been the case with these test-drive cars (we drive a Volvo S60 normally, and we’ve never found a car with seats we like as much as those). The interior was black and silver, with leather seats, and it boasted all the amenities Ford can cram into their higher-end vehicles, including the computer-assisted parallel parking system and, of course, Microsoft Sync, which offers all kinds of voice commands and a central display screen with more options than I had time to play with.

This latest version of Sync worked better than earlier versions for me, though it’s still not the intuitive Star Trek-like voice-commanded computer I’m looking for. It’s most annoying feature is reeling of the phone number for support and a website address whenever you try to guess what commands you can say and get it wrong. It took me a while to figure out you could kill the voice just by pressing the voice control button again. (Manual? I don’t read no stinkin’ manual…)

It’d probably take more than the five days I had the car to become fully conversant with everything Sync has to offer, but by the end of my time with the vehicle I was beginning to get used to it. I think over a bit more time I’d pretty much feel it was indispensable.

Like other Fords I’ve driven recently, this one featured the rear-view camera for backing up: I love that. And the collision warnings that tell you when you’re closer to something than you’d like.

And then there’s that parallel parking system. I tried it twice in front of our house, where there are both ridges of snow and icy bits. The first time, it failed: it turned the wheels sharply to park, and was betrayed by the ice–couldn’t get traction to complete the parking maneuver. But when I moved up to the next available spot, it slipped us in smooth as silk. All you have to do is follow the onscreen prompts and keep your clumsy hands off the wheel (which nets you a snarky message about parking being cancelled because of “user input.”)

It’s still one of the freakiest things I’ve ever experienced in a car. My daughter Alice would agree. She kept saysing, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh…” as the car took control and twirled the steering wheel on its own. Makes you wonder how we’ll all react to the completely self-driving cars that are on the horizon.

I didn’t get a chance to escape with the Escape onto the highway, so I can’t speak to its comforts over long distances, but based on what we experienced on the rough, rutted, snowy and icy streets of Regina, I think it’d be a pleasure to travel in.,

All in all, the Escape is a real winner, at least in the all-the-bells-and-whistles configuration of the Titanium version I drove. We’re not looking for a new car…but if we were, I’d be ready to buy after five days with the Escape. And that’s the highest praise I can offer.

P.S. I did toy with writing a short story featuring the vehicle, but I didn’t want to be accused of writing nothing more than Escape literature.

P.P.S. Ba-DUM-dum.