Taven Moore's Blog, page 9

Dead Heat, Part 11

“Pansy! Shut. Up.” Rose spat out through gritted teeth.

“You can’t talk to me like that, Big!” Pansy’s purple glow flitted down to occupy the space just in front of Rose’s face, sword drawn. “It’s LORD Pansy to the likes of you!”

“Act like an undisciplined child and I’ll treat you like one,” she said.

His tiny body quivered with rage, the pale wisps of his aura fluctuating from red to black.

A voice — his Queen’s, unless she missed her guess — shouted for him to stop, but Rose didn’t think he heard her. He locked his toothpick-sized sword in at his waist and zoomed toward her unprotected eyes with shocking speed.

Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t noticed that while Rose was baiting him, she was also snagging Thelma from the easy-access pocket on the side of her carryall. The blast of pepper spray took him by surprise, sending him sailing to the ground in a choking, gasping haze.

Rose knew what it felt like. It may have been nonlethal, but her mother made sure both she and her brother knew what it felt like, so they’d never use it on anyone unless they absolutely needed to. It burned, but the worst of it would be getting a lungful. It felt like dying, gasping and unable to draw a breath.

Instantly, a swarm of angrily buzzing lights lifted from the grass and surrounded Rose in a swirl of glittering fury.

It might even have been beautiful had it not been for the aura of sharp menace rising from each individual light. An acrid scent, like burned rubber, billowed off of them to create a roiling cloud. The cloud spun around her in a way that made her try very hard not to think the word ‘tornado’.

Rose dropped Thelma, stomach churning and a tight knot of fear closing her throat. Her fingers scrabble for Louise, palms sweating. That was a lot of fairies. Suddenly, toothpick-sized swords didn’t seem so funny.

The wine-haired Queen rose to hover in front of Rose, her petal gown seeming none the worse for wear after being drenched in vinegar.

“This is not how we express our gratitude.”

She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t sound angry or irritated. Didn’t so much as lift an eyebrow.

As if a switch had been thrown, each fairy paused in midair, wings flickering madly. (Well, most of them. The ones that blundered into the fairy in front of them seemed quite abashed, so Rose tried not to notice).

“Please accept my most sincere apologies for this double insult you have been dealt, especially in the face of your bravery and generosity.”

Midair, the queen curtseyed to Rose and she had to fight a ridiculous urge to curtsey back, uncomfortably aware of her stained and ripped hose. Rose realized she was clutching her can of bear mace against her chest, finger slippery against the trigger.

Rose tried to speak and found she had to clear her throat. “Your majesty,” she began, only to be interrupted by a choking, wheezing Pansy.

“YOUR. ROYAL. HIGHNESS!”

Before Rose could even consider how infuriating his investigation was, the Queen rose from her curtsey. Iridescent dragonfly wings whirring softly, the fairy moved so that she was within

Rose’s reach and extended an arm with an effortless grace that Rose knew to the bottom of her heart she would never be able to echo.

“Please,” the Queen said softly, “do me the honor of calling me Orchid.”

“Rose,” she replied, awkwardly raising her own hand towards the fairy. Queen Orchid moved forward to grip Rose’s outstretched pointer finger as if it were an orchestrated move and smiled with an open pleasure that Rose couldn’t believe was feigned.

“An auspicious name, Lady Rose.”

Rose blushed. “Just Rose, please.” She meant it. Being named Lady by this ethereal being felt more joke than honor, though she was sure the fairy meant it.

Pansy rose, lavender aura stuttering. “You are royalty! You cannot–”

“Lord Pansy,” Orchid interrupted with a tone that was at once disappointed and regretful, “you have been a loyal and devout attendant.”

That was all she said, but it was enough to draw a collective gasp from all of the fairies present. Pansy’s glow faded to a shocked pale purple, so withdrawn it might have been white. He lurched backwards as though she’d delivered a killing blow …

… and a muscular, green-tinged arm shot out from the shadow of the bridge to clutch him in a fist the size of Rose’s head.

“Squish Bug.”

Orchid whispered, her voice more an unintentional exhale than an exclamation, “No!”

The Cobbler

This Adam Sandler movie has been on my to-watch list for a while now. It’s finally on Netflix, so I was thrilled to get to see it.

Note: I didn’t look anything up on this movie before watching it. I saw the cover. Loved the title. Loved the tagline “Saving the neighborhood, one sole at a time” (and here we see a pun in the wild!). It’s marked as a comedy, what could possibly go wrong?

*pats the seat next to her* Let’s get started.

Comedy

It’s not a comedy.

I mean, sure, it’s got a few funny moments and premises, but the overall FEEL of the movie is not a comedy. It’s … kind of a drama? But not really. I suppose I can’t blame them for calling it a comedy, but … well, to keep things spoiler-free, I’ll just say there weren’t many things to laugh at. Don’t expect “Comedy”.

Tagline

Next up, “saving the neighborhood” … sure, by the END of the movie. Maybe the last quarter. There were some breadcrumbs of neighborhood saving stuff in the first 3/4 of the movie, but it was REALLY slow in picking up the actual plot.

This, by the way? Is a good thing to recognize in writing, too. If you’re a writer who people keep telling you that you take too long to get into your story, watch this. It’s got a FANTASTIC premise and a lot of top-notch acting? But that tagline is barely related to the bulk of the movie.

Premise

And most surprising of all, it’s a freaking MAGICAL movie.

That’s right. The premise is that any shoe this guy fixes on his dad’s old stitching machine? When he wears the shoe, he LOOKS like the person who owns the shoe.

It’s a GREAT premise. Watching him try out all these “people-suits” allowed him to be a kid on a playground, a trans woman, a black gangster … heck, even a rotting corpse.

It is SUCH a fantastic idea, and it’s so … well, FUN, that I’m shocked it’s not advertised as such.

The only reason I can think they didn’t do it is because so many “magic” movies are for kids, and this one just isn’t. On many levels, there’s very little in here for children to enjoy.

The Last Scene

The last thing I’ll mention is that the final … oh, fifteen minutes or so? Is the best lead up to a tv show I NEED IN MY LIFE that I have ever seen. I almost turned this movie off three times when it got slow and emotion-y, but those last minutes were air-punchingly awesome and I NEED MORE. They were FUN and WHIMSICAL and everything that was missing from 80% of the rest of the movie.

In Conclusion

I am really glad I not only watched this, but that I stuck with it.

But it was a hella weird ride and I honestly feel like it suffered from a GREAT premise with a tacked-on plot. Common among a lot of novice fantasy storytelling efforts.

Anyone else seen the movie and have any comments?

7. Spider

guess your source wasn’t quite as good as you’d hoped,” Hank said nonchalantly, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning back against the bars of the cell.

Miss Silver Spoon cocked her head to the side and clucked her tongue at him like an old woman. “No lies, Daniel.”

Hank scowled. He couldn’t imagine what had possessed Bones, telling her his real name. It was more than a nuisance, it was dangerous. “Why don’t you try calling me Hank?” he suggested.

“Why don’t you try calling me Miss Price?” she countered.

“Fine.” She peered up at him, waiting. He threw up his hands before dropping into a mocking bow. “I would be most pleased to call you Miss Price.”

She nodded and smiled approvingly, as if he were a puppy performing a particularly clever trick. He gritted his teeth. “Thank you, Hank. Now that we have that squared away, why weren’t you on my list?”

Hank glanced at Bones. The ticker merely crossed his hands over his chest. He was leaving this one up to Hank. Great. Should he tell this total stranger how he managed to sneak in and out of port without getting caught by the authorities, endangering his entire operation, or should he refuse to answer and thus possibly lose whatever shadow of a chance she represented to get his ship back? Roith’delat, what a choice.

Still, he didn’t get where he was without gambling. Granted, where he was now was in jail, but he tried not to dwell on that fact too much. Bones obviously wanted to bet on this girl as their savior—he would throw his lot in with his first mate and hope they hit the jackpot.

He shrugged. “As you said, the HH has a standing capture-kill order on it. I can’t very well fly into harbor with the whole ship. She can float as well as she can soar. I send the hawk ships away and sail in with the nest alone. Authorities spend most of their time monitoring air traffic. They don’t watch the floaters as closely, and they surely aren’t looking for the nest by itself. As far as the port authority is concerned, my ship’s just a junker with too little sail, barely able to make seaberth.” He couldn’t hide the note of pride in his voice.

“Clever.” She nodded, smiling. “I like that,” she said, then turned her attention to the device in her hand. Miffed, he snapped his mouth shut. It was more than just clever. It was genius, and had kept them safe ever since he first stole the old bird.

She turned the key in the spider’s back several times, then gently placed the pendant on the floor, the slim chain pooling like copper rope beside it.

She removed the key and moved to the corner of the room. “This . . . uh . . . doesn’t always work. You might want to stand back a bit.”

Alarmed, Hank’s gaze darted from the pendant on the floor to her. “What do you mean, it doesn’t always work?”

Her eyes remained fixed on the spider-pendant. “Sometimes they just explode.” She looked up and gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I think this one’s going to work.” A pause. “Even if it didn’t, it’s not really big enough to kill us.”

“How comforting.” He moved to the far side of the cell from the thing, back against the bars. How, exactly, had he found himself in this situation? Surely, there must be a place where a pirate could make a dishonest living and have nothing more to worry about than authorities and guards and prisons. Half-mad gentry girls and their bizarre and dangerous hobbies should never enter the equation!

A sound from the pendant drew his attention to where it rested at the back of the cell. The little spider shuddered, teardrop earrings on its back pinging slightly as they rattled against the body. A brief whirring sound filled the cell, punctuated by a sharp grinding and a puff of black smoke, then the pendant began to move.

Each of the spider legs unfolded, tapping against the stone floor as the little machine stood. It dipped crazily to the left, then overcompensated and teetered dangerously to the right as it gained its balance.

Finally standing, it paused, trembling and spewing tiny plumes of foul-smelling steam from its motor. For a moment, Hank felt certain that was going to be the end of it. It would detonate into tiny metal shrapnel, which, the way his life had been going lately, would no doubt end up killing him. “Handsome” Hank McCoy, pirate scourge, slain in a prison cell by a tiny mechanical spider crafted by a madwoman.

As if to prove him wrong, the spider finally resumed its motion, spinning in a careful circle as though getting its bearings. Circle complete, it skittered toward the window, metal legs tapping audibly against the stone as it clattered across the floor and up the side of the wall, chain dragging behind it like a bridal train. It darted through the bars and into the sunlight, then did another slow circle. With a sharp grinding noise and another puff of noxious black smoke, the earrings on its back began to spin, lifting the little spider off of the ledge. It tucked all of its legs around the phial of water on its belly and zoomed off, chain dangling behind it.

“That went well,” said Remora, pleased, removing her spectacles and folding them carefully.

“Roith’delat, I’m getting too old for this,” Hank muttered, running a hand through his hair. “So now what?” he said. “Your creepy little spiderbot’s gone. What happens now?”

“Now,” she said, moving to the window and depositing the glasses in the black velvet and rolling it back up, “we wait.”

“That’s your big plan? We wait?”

She nodded and tucked the velvet container into her pocket. She walked to the tiny cot against the far wall and sat, drawing her legs up and circling them with her arms. She leveled a chiding glance at him. “Really, you’ll make yourself sick if you don’t learn how to relax a little, Hank.” She cocked her head to the side, thinking. “I believe I shall call you McCoy. I like that rather better than Hank.”

He threw up his hands. “You can call me the Marquis of the Armaethean Skycity, if it gets us out of this jail cell.”

She laughed, peals of true mirth that utterly transformed her somewhat plain face. She might even have been pretty, if she hadn’t been so irritating. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, McCoy. He’s so much older than you. Furthermore, he has a mustache and smells of peppermint tobacco. You’re nothing like him at all, I couldn’t possibly call you that.”

She’d actually met the Marquis of the Armaethean Skycity? Just which branch of the Price family did she come from? Surely not from one of the inland merchants, not if she rubbed elbows with Skycity gentry.

Turning to ask her, he realized she was asleep, head on her knees.

(No story-related poll followed this installment)

The Devil is a Part-Timer

I’m not entirely sure why I like anime.

Most anime I watch (or try and swiftly reject) is not up to my standards. The oversexualization of almost every female character, the ridiculously over-the-top chibi scenes, the frequently-doesn’t-actually-make-sense plotlines … often I’m sent reeling in horror.

I blame Brad-O, really. If it weren’t for him loaning me Trigun when we worked together, I probably never would have gotten hooked.

However? There have been some really stand-out animes in my life.

Name-Dropping

The aforementioned Trigun got surprisingly deep (especially considering the goofiness of the first episode). The first season of Berserk, though bloody as hell, was super interesting.

Many Miyazaki films are dear to my heart. Spirited Away most of all, but I also loved Princess Mononoke, Howl’s Moving Castle, and The Secret World of Arietty. (Avoid Grave of the Fireflies like you would a horde of zombie squirrels, though. SO DEPRESSING)

Mushi-shi is such a weird, slow, haunting series that I’m not sure why I like it so much, but I do.

Heck, even Madoka Magica had a lot going for it, and Steven loved both Naruto (I strongly recommend this show at least through the Chuunin Exams) and Gundam Wing.

Back to the Actual Post

But even I couldn’t have predicted that I’d like The Devil is a Part-Timer.

The entire first episode is spoken in a language that doesn’t exist. With no subtitles. *makes wah-wah noise*

There’s a war. Demons vs humans in this other realm, and a portal rips open, sending the Devil and one of his henchmen into a version of our world, but they have almost no magic left.

They have no contacts, no powers, no nothing. (yawn city)

… so the Devil gets a job as a part-timer working at a McRonald’s. (oh yes, I spelled that correctly).

From episode 2 onward, the series is about the Devil SUCCEEDING AGAINST ALL ODDS at being a burger flipper, and his henchman complaining about how difficult finances are.

Oh, sure, there are serious moments afterward, when the Devil’s nemesis shows up (and also has to get a job) and there’s a lot of good back-and-forth about how when he DOES have powers, he’s using them to save people and is he really evil, etc, etc.

But the best stuff is about him trying to win the McRonald’s competition for selling the most black pepper fries, or when he is relentlessly cheerful about getting a raise or helping customers in line.

It’s completely insane, but I was incredibly disappointed when I reached the end of the episodes on Netflix.

I should not have even liked this series, and it’s now one of my top animes. *shakes head* Not sure if that’s a great thing or a super pathetic thing. *grin*

Your Turn

Recommend animes or discuss some of the ones that sent you running, whatever you feel like talking about! Anyone else tried Devil is a Part-Timer and can help weigh in on why I’m so fascinated with it?

6. A Simple Question

Convenient? Just what sort of Ardel-tongued remark was that? Roith’delat, she was easily the most unfath­omable and maddening female he’d ever encountered.

She nodded, repeating the baffling statement. “Convenient indeed. Well, I think I’ve seen enough,” she said, ripping off the top button of her coveralls.

Hank blinked. She finds out that her cellmates are pirates and her reaction is to begin taking off her clothes? Nothing this girl did made any sense.

Copper glinted briefly against her newly exposed throat as she moved to the back of the cell and placed the button on the sill of the barred window. Reaching behind her neck, she unfastened a slim chain and removed a necklace with an oddly shaped pendant.

Hank squinted to get a closer look. If anything, it looked like a curled spider with a keyhole in its back. What could she be up to? She didn’t think he’d be able to convince Ratchet to take that hideous thing in trade for his ship, did she? It wasn’t even gold!

She set the spider pendant next to the button, then removed both earrings—flat, teardrop-shaped copper disks—and placed them on the sill as well.

She reached for the next button on her coveralls, then paused, glancing toward him as though she’d forgotten he was there.

“Don’t stop on my account. By all means, honey, do continue,” he drawled, lifting an eyebrow.

Twin patches of red blossomed on her cheeks and she lifted her nose skyward before primly turning away. Hank didn’t bother to stifle his chuckle. Not that he’d want anything to do with a shapeless stick of a girl like her anyway, he assured himself. He preferred a different kind of woman: a woman with curves; one who fluttered her eyelashes at him when he smiled. A woman who made sense.

Bones shifted, joints grinding noisily, and Hank looked up to find the ticker glaring at him, eyegleam flaring red. Scowling, Hank backed off. Fine. Let Bones have it his way this time. Appeasing a silver spoon was a small price to pay if it meant he’d get his ship back.

Not that it mattered. With her back turned to him, he couldn’t see anything, anyway.

After a moment, she added a small phial of water, a silver locket, and a black velvet package to the windowsill before re-buttoning the coveralls.

Oblivious to his thoughts, she unrolled the velvet package and laid it flat. The wan sunlight revealed an array of tiny tools, each carefully tucked into a special pocket or flap. From one pocket, she removed a set of delicately rimmed spectacles and perched them on the tip of her nose, a flick of her finger dropping two layers of magnifying lenses in front of her right eye.

Hank’s eyes narrowed. No . . . she couldn’t possibly be—

“You’re a cogsmith,” said Bones, verbally completing Hank’s thought.

Buttoning complete, she turned and smiled brightly at the ticker. “I dabble, really. I’ve never built anything larger than a small dog. I can’t imagine building something as impressive as a ship, or even a hoverracer. Mostly, I just make gadgets.”

Hank’s brows drew together. Nobody “dabbled” in cogsmithing. That would be like learning to speak dresl on a lark. Cogsmithing was complicated. And dangerous. She made it sound like a hobby—like silk painting, or collecting seashells.

Deftly, she withdrew one of the slim tools and picked up the spider pendant. She began inserting the tool into the pendant, spinning and prying. Periodically, she replaced one tool with another.

“That is how you recognized me as a ticker, then,” said Bones.

Hank smiled to himself. Ah, so the fact that she’d immediately recognized Bones as a ticker had bothered his first mate. Good to see that she unsettled Bones as much as she unsettled him.

Without lifting her eyes from the pendant, Remora took one of the earrings from the windowsill and began affixing it to the pendant. She nodded. “I’ve seen pictures of tickers before, in the Ardelan Encyclopedia. I must say, the entry went into a great deal of detail, but you’re far more impressive in real life. The article made it seem like you’d be a mindless drone.” She reached up for the second earring, and began attaching that as well. “I am quite pleased to find it proven wrong.”

Hank shifted uncomfortably. That particular conver­sa­tion needed to end, and quickly. The last thing they needed was to have someone checking into Bones’s past. Bad enough she’d recognized him as a ticker to start; pure luck that she didn’t know enough about tickers to realize just how unique he was.

“How do you know so much about airships?” he asked, hoping to distract her. “Another hobby?”

She reached for the locket, opening it and removing a scrap of red ribbon. “You could say that,” she said. “I’ve had reason to research into airships and pirates recently.”

As she put the locket back down and picked up the phial of water, he frowned. That wasn’t an answer. Why would a member of the gentry research airship pirates on a lark? Just who was she, anyway? Price was a common enough surname, even assuming it was her proper one, which he doubted. The gentry in this area were dominated by the Price family—she could be from any branch of that tree, no matter how far removed.

Before he could ask his questions, she asked one of her own. “Why were you not on my list, I wonder?” She unscrewed the lid of the phial and dropped the bit of ribbon into it.

“List?” he said, stupidly. When had they started talking about lists? And if she was cogsmithing, shouldn’t she be concentrating on what she was doing? An expert on the subject of cogsmithing he was not, but layman’s knowledge said anything touching the liquid affected the source. Wasn’t that supposed to be the difficult part?

She dropped the button she’d pulled from her coveralls into the phial as well. “I have a list of all the airship captains in port.”

He snorted, deciding to leave the cogsmithing to her. “As you noted, we’re pirates. Pirates don’t exactly sign the docking lists, darlin’.”

She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. “I said my list included all airship captains, not just the legal ones.” He unfolded the paper as she picked up the pendant and screwed the phial of water into the bottom of the spider-figure, so that it lay flat against the “belly” of the pendant.

He glanced at the paper, but the scribbles meant nothing to him. He handed it to Bones, who skimmed it briefly. “An impressive list. It does indeed seem to include even illicit airship traffic,” the ticker said.

Hank frowned. How did a gentry girl come across such a list? Why would she even want one? Everything he learned about this girl simply raised more questions.

“So,” she said, picking up a copper turn-key from the black velvet and inserting it into the hole in the spider’s back. “Why weren’t you on my list?”

She paused, one hand on the key, and glanced up at him with bright eyes.

(No story-related poll followed this installment)

Art! Kittens and Bunnies and Dinos and Ponies, Oh My!

Kidlet arts for some of my favorite momfriends. *lovemuffins to you both, and your awesome kids*

[Perry] Review – Armada by Ernest Cline

One of my unexpected favorite reads in recent memory was Ready Player One by Ernest Cline.

It was a story about our near future, a virtual game that’s insinuated itself into just about every aspect of human society. It was about the way people used it to escape the harsh reality of the world that was dying around them. It was about a boy and a hunt for a legendary easter egg hidden within the game that would lead to unimaginable wealth and power.

It was also absolutely chock full of 80’s pop culture references.

Was it an overload? Yes, without a doubt. But was it glorious? Also yes.

So when I heard that Cline had a new book scheduled to be released this year? I was on board. I was on board before I knew what it was about.

Then I found out what it was about, and I was even more on board than can be conveyed through text.

Then I read the book…and I had mixed feelings.

Let’s talk about why.

So what’s this book about, anyway?

Glad you asked.

The story follows Zack Lightman. High school kid with little int he way of ambition, video game junky, nerd, with a complex about his long dead father who was also addicted to video games.

One day, a spaceship from Zack’s video game flies out of the sky and recruits him. They tell him that his favorite game is a training tool to identify top pilots to recruit pilots to help defend the world from the impending alien invasion.

Zack signs up without thinking…but the more he sees of the war? The more things don’t seem to line up.

If you’re sitting there thinking that it sounds almost exactly like The Last Starfighter, that’s because it sounds almost exactly like The Last Starfighter.

So what’s good about it?

Like Ready Player One before it, Armada is basically a giant nostalgia kick if you’ve seen the movie mentioned above (and I DO recommend checking it out if you’re feeling like an 80’s movie and you don’t mind cheesy sci fi).

The story is a pretty compelling one, appealing to the geeks in the audience, as well as all the conspiracy theorists out there.

Did you enjoy the idea of The Matrix? Similar conceit here. There’s an underlying “what does it mean?” thread that runs through the story that keeps you going, just out of a desire to know how the hell things would end up.

On top of that, Zack is a pretty believable character. He’s good enough at the game to be useful as a main character for the story, but has some emotional buttons that can definitely be pushed that sends him off the deep end. And what makes it interesting, is that he’s aware of those buttons, but can’t help flying off the handle anyway.

I thought it made him solid and fun to read about.

The action scenes were fairly well done and turned the pages pretty quickly.

And it’s a short read. I ran through it pretty quickly, just out of a desire to know what happens next.

But? I feel like there’s a ‘but’.

There IS a but. And a pretty big one.

It comes in two waves.

The first half of the book felt pretty solid to me. It had a…coherence and a tightness to it that I really enjoyed and I blew through it really quickly.

Pacing, that’s the word I’m looking for. The first half had some pretty decent pacing.

The second half?

Not so much.

Things I can compare it to?

Have you ever played Xenogears? Basically the first half of the game was solid and fleshed out well…but with the second half? They started running into budget problems. So instead of exploring each of the dungeons and taking part in the story? You’re treated to…what’s essentially a montage with narration to briefly explain what happened.

That’s how this feels.

The first half of the story feels like you’re with Zack as he encounters these issues, feels these feelings, and comes to these revelations and discoveries.

The second half of the story? Feels a lot like…you’re watching Zack watch things happen and react to them, instead of him taking part in the things that are happening.

It’s exacerbated by the fact that a big chunk of the second half? Literally has this happen. Where in the climactic moments, Zack just watches other people do things, or watches bad things happen to people and feels anguish and cries out…but because he’s the character we identify with most? The fact that he’s feeling for things happening to other people instead of doing things, it feels distant.

Like a photocopy of a photocopy.

The second big thing? Is a plot twist, or the resolution of the whole conspiracy thing that happens at the very end.

I…didn’t like it. I thought it was a bit of a copout, and it feels that way.

But that’s always the way I feel when a book wraps up its big mystery in the last five or ten pages. I feel like it’s cheap. To end a story of that sort of scope with a hand waving gesture always irks me.

Whether it’s a deus ex machina device or not? It FEELS cheap, to me.

And maybe it won’t seem that way to you? But that’s my thinks on the subject.

Overall

It was a quick and easy read. The story begins as pretty promising and kind of peters out to a whimper, but the ride was pretty fun while it lasted.

The supporting characters and the ‘romance’ felt very two-dimensional…if that? But the characterization of the main character in the first half felt pretty solid.

I don’t know. I’m a little on the fence about the whole thing.

I don’t regret reading it? But I will allow that my expectations might have been a lot higher due to how much I enjoyed Ready Player One.

Your mileage may vary.

But if you felt like a bit of The Last Starfighter nostalgia with a whole crapload of geeky and pop culture references to get in a bit of a fix, you could do a lot worse than Armada.

5. Convenient

Remora opened her mouth to release yet another scathing commentary upon the parentage and manners of the dirty prisoner (stunning green eyes or no, such behavior was truly inexcusable).

“I am Bones,” said the ticker, effectively derailing her tirade before it could begin.

To ignore his introduction would be rude, so she set aside her ire to respond. She offered her hand to the ticker, palm down. He reached forward and grasped her fingers gently, metal fingers cold against her warmth. She dropped into a formal curtsy. “You may call me Remora.”

The ticker released her hand and gestured to the other side of the cell. “My companion is Daniel McCoy.”

“Name’s Hank,” the man corrected with a sour glare.

“You, Daniel,” she stated stiffly, “may call me Miss Price.”

His eyes narrowed. “The name is Hank,” he repeated, more forcefully.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If your name is Daniel, then Daniel it is. It is a solid, respectable name,” she pointed out sensibly.

“I know it is. That’s why folks call me Hank.” He straightened and shifted his glare to Bones. “And until I say otherwise, it’s still Captain McCoy to you.”

“Captains,” pointed out Bones with a droll voice, “have ships.”

“I have a ship!” protested McCoy.

“No. You had an HH-class ship. Now, Ratchet has an HH-class ship.”

“I’m going to get the ship back, Bones,” McCoy growled.

An HH-class ship? Remora’s heart fluttered. “Pardon me,” Remora said. “HH-class—that’s an airship, is it not?”

“And what would a pretty little thing like you know about airships?” McCoy said with a sideways grin that he no doubt thought was charming.

A flush of heat darkened her cheeks and she mentally added “condescending” to McCoy’s growing list of faults.

She tossed her head and gave an airy laugh, “Oh, I suppose I couldn’t possibly know a thing about big, important airships. Only,” she paused, as though it had only just now occurred to her, “I do know that the first HH (or, as it is properly named, Harris Hawk) class airship was commissioned by the Duke of Northington as a naval warship in 1782. Its unique conglomerated design allowed the navy to successfully hunt pirates both in the air and on the sea, cutting off all possible escape routes. This went on for almost three years before the pirates themselves got their hands on the design and began using them even more effectively than the navy. They began to engage, surround, and then escape using the mobile splinter ships, foiling all attempts to follow and bring them to justice. Such was the success of these pirates that the Duke himself ordered all of the HH destroyed if ever they entered any port controlled by the Queen’s navy.”

Sweetly, she concluded, “Is that, perchance, the airship about which you were speaking?”

She allowed herself to gloat, just a little, at the stark astonishment on Captain Daniel Hank Whatever-He-Wants-To-Call-Himself McCoy.

After a moment’s awkward silence, Bones sought her attention. “Miss Price—”

“Please, do call me Remora.”

He nodded, a motion accompanied by the faint sound of gears grinding. “Remora.” She rewarded him with a smile as he continued. “We need your help.”

“Like hell we do!” burst McCoy.

“If you have a better plan, by all means, enlighten me,” said Bones.

Remora lifted an eyebrow. After a moment of silent fuming, during which the ticker did not so much as twitch, McCoy finally gave a jerky nod.

Bones continued as though he’d never been interrupted. “We find ourselves beset by monetary adversity. A loan shark by the name of Ratchet has impounded our ship and we have no way to retrieve it. I calculate that you are wealthier than your current dress and situation might suggest. I propose a business agreement, by which you secure the note against our ship on our behalf, with our contracted promise of future repayment. With interest, of course.”

McCoy barked once in protest, but Bones ignored him, his faintly glowing eyes locked on Remora’s face.

“You’re pirates,” Remora stated. She didn’t ask. The answer was obvious. Only pirates could possibly have an HH-class ship, and only a pirate would have been in a backwater bar like the Jolly Rooster. She knew this because she herself had only been in the Jolly Rooster to find a pirate captain. Was it possible that fate itself had intervened to deliver exactly what she needed to begin her quest?

She looked at McCoy again, her gaze appraising. The corners of his lips twitched. “You got a problem with that, darlin’?”

“Miss Price,” she corrected, frowning.

The man’s ego truly boggled the mind. A pair of pretty eyes and a crooked grin might have gotten him through a few scrapes, but it did nothing to balance his rudeness.

Still, his first mate was both logical and polite. And even though the captain was a scoundrel, he had yet to threaten her with true harm. Verbal barbs and battles, she could endure. No, she decided, the man was irritating, but not dangerous.

Regardless, he was the only option she had left if she intended to begin her journey before society forced marriage upon her.

She smiled, decision made. “No, no problem at all. As a matter of fact, I find it rather convenient.”

Dead Heat, Part 10

Sobbing fairies spread out on the short grass in front of Rose, the translucent, clinging net binding them more tightly with each movement. The colorful glow of each fairy flickered dangerously, like a light bulb in a dodgy socket. She didn’t have much time.

What did she know about troll nets? They were sticky. Caused despair on its victims. Slowed them down, kept them from escaping as the trolls waited for the sun to go down. Trolls, as a rule, did not like the sunlight. They didn’t turn into stone like some stories said, but their huge eyes and too-pale skin didn’t fare well in brightness.

She knew more about trolls than she wanted to.

That sickly, rotted cotton candy smell rose again and she couldn’t quite fight the memory. First grade, her friend Janie. She’d been gone from school for a few days and nobody had seen her.

She’d known something was wrong, even if the adults didn’t tell her. They were afraid.

Rose didn’t actually remember finding the shoe. She just remembered sitting in a patch of afternoon sun, holding Janie’s shiny black shoe (she’d been so proud of them!) and wondering why it smelled like cotton candy.

That night, Grampa taught Rose about bridge trolls. About tributes and bridges. They’re territorial, he said. Vicious, crafty, jealous of the prettier fae. Avoid them if you can but never ever disrespect them.

That night, mom taught her brother how to defeat a troll in battle, and the lesson held an edge of desperation to it that made Rose glad she hadn’t displayed any aptitude for swordwork.

Rose fought a wave of helplessness. Her brother would have been able to dispatch the troll. He didn’t need to know about proper gifts and politics or any of that stuff.

The voices of the fairies swelled and Rose thrust away memories and wishful thinking. She didn’t need to fight the troll. She wasn’t here to fight anything. She was saving some fairies from a net, and she needed vinegar.

Rose dug into her bag and pulled out a palm-sized bottle of clean white vinegar, pure as she could find it. She kept it to neutralize odors — on the chance something came out too cloying, she could dab a bit of vinegar to dissolve the oil and kill the smell. Sure, then she smelled like vinegar for a short while, but it beat having an overwhelming cloud of tea rose flaring out and assaulting nearby strangers.

Vinegar was a good start. That would help with the sticky, but she needed something uplifting to go with it. Something to counteract the emotional effects of the net. A thin tendril of molasses hit her nose and without thinking, she grabbed the lime oil and dumped half of the little vial into the vinegar container.

A brief pause, and she added orange oil and a bit of lemon as well. Just in case the lime wasn’t strong enough to cut through.

A tonic, she thought. Her hands moved toward the lavender, then paused. No, not lavender. Something else, something bracing rather than soothing.

Cinnamon. That would play nicely against the citrus and keep it from getting too acidic. And a hint of basil to combat the depression.

Her fingers flew, obeying the recipe she concocted in her mind.

She reached forward with vial to use it, then paused and drew back. It wasn’t done. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. It needed something else, something cleansing. Something to help her apply the oil without getting stuck.

She snapped her fingers. “Burdock! Poppy! I need your help!”

The weeping fairy wailed at her, though he had been smart enough to avoid getting snagged by the net when Pansy had flown forward. “Doomed! Failure! My Queen, I have failed you! I shall prostrate myself upon–”

“POPPY!” Rose shouted.

The fairy’s weeping cut off in surprise and she snapped her fingers at him. “Mourn later. Find me some burdock leaves! I’ll need one leaf per fairy, so hurry up. It should be around here somewhere. Fields, woods. It’ll grow with wide leaves and thick stems near the ground.”

“I know what Burdock looks like!” Poppy sniffed, clearly offended that she’d felt the need to describe it.

“Then get me some.” Poppy looked to Pansy and his queen.

“Go!” whispered the Queen.

By the time she looked back, Poppy was gone. Rose gently swirled the vinegar concoction, closing her eyes and willing it to work. It had to work.

Poppy was back within seconds, two leaves larger than himself trailing heavily behind him and causing his flight pattern to spin erratically.

He dropped the leaves without comment and went off for more.

Rose picked up a leaf and doused it with the … well, by now, it was more of a vinaigrette than a potion, but it’d have to do.

She leaned forward and very delicately wrapped the leaf around the fairy Queen, careful both to avoid the letting the sticky net tendrils touch her own skin, and to not hurt the tiny fae.

The moment the oil touched the net, the tendrils hissed and sprang backward, its movements oddly alive in a way that Rose tried not to think about too much.

The tiny fae queen blinked up at her. Rose spoke quickly and quietly. “Try to spread it out on yourself as much as you can. The leaf is a little serrated, it should help to sort of scrub off anything left behind.”

The Queen’s arms lifted and wrapped the leaf more tightly around herself, as if it were an awkward bath towel. Rose nodded, then applied the oil to the other leaf Poppy had brought, wrapping it around Pansy.

“Try to get it over as much of the net as poss–” she started.

“I’m no idiot, Big!” he shouted at her. His natural floral scent burst over the molasses, and she couldn’t help but feel more relief than ire.

Poppy must have returned while her back was turned, and the next moments were a blur of leaves and oil and fae. Rescued fae dotted the grass around her knees. Pansy refused to rest, taking anointed leaves from her without a word to help the fairies outside of her reach.

Finally, the net lay inert and empty on the manicured lawn of the clearing. Rose sat back, careful not to squash anyone, and took a deep breath. The molasses scent was completely gone, though the sickly cotton candy odor remained. Her heart thumped in her chest, and it wasn’t until that moment that she realized just how afraid she’d been.

They could have died, all of them. Would have, if she hadn’t come.

She closed her eyes, feeling the barest brush of a cool breeze from beneath the nearby bridge chill the lines of sweat running down her nose.

“What right has this human to steal the prisoners?” The voice growled low and full of menace.

She opened her eyes and stared into the shadows beneath the bridge. A pair of eyes, yellow as a Fool’s moon and big as dinner plates gleamed from the darkness.

She’d been right, but felt no joy in the knowldge. Of course the troll was awake. Nothing else would do today of all days.

“The bugs must be punished.” A second pair of eyes opened. Smaller than the first, but with slitted pupils like a cat.

Two trolls. Fantastic. Rose felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in her chest, but she fought it down. Never, ever laugh at the fae. That was one of the rules her Grampa had been very serious about.

Pansy rose a few feet off the ground, pointed his sword at them, and began to laugh mockingly.

4. Rusty

Hank slouched against the bars of his cell, smirking.

She should be coming down the hallway any minute now—that silver spoon from the bar. He’d told the officers that she was his sister. With no one else in the bar able to identify her, they’d believed him. Family privileges meant that as soon as they prodded her from the miserable cot in that windowless cell they called a “Recovery Room,” she’d be delivered directly to his cell.

He examined his fingernails as his smirk deepened. Naturally, she’d be overcome with surprise and gratitude upon seeing him—he had, after all, saved her from Chesterfield. And, wonder of wonders, here he was again to rescue her from the shame and horror of being imprisoned.

Of course, he’d make sure there was some kind of reward involved. Enough to cover the usual bribe to grease the release papers for himself, Bones, and Miss Silver Spoon, and then some. It wouldn’t be enough to pay off his debt to Ratchet, but it might be enough to appease the greedy fool until he could find paying work for his ship.

“She’s coming,” said Bones, voice blank.

Hank spared his companion a quick glance. The ticker stood stiffly in the back corner of the cell, taking advantage of what shadows there were to obscure his appearance. He’d been in a black mood ever since they’d gotten arrested. Hank ignored him. Let him sulk if he wanted. Hank’s plan was bulletproof. He had yet to meet the woman he couldn’t charm.

Sure enough, his eyes finally confirmed what Bones had already noticed—his meal ticket, escorted by a female guard. Quickly, he ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair and prepared to crank up the charisma.

The guard opened the door and removed the girl’s handcuffs in silence. Hank choked back a laugh. Here, in the full light of the cell, her outfit looked even more ridiculous than it had in the smoky bar. The girl seemed impossibly frail—short, with thin wrists and sharp cheekbones. Her skin was startlingly pale, yet not a single freckle dotted her nose. Obviously at least three sizes too large, her coveralls completely obscured any curves she might have had. Topping it off, her leather cap perched on her head with all the grace of a dead fish.

Just about the only thing she had going for her was her eyes—wide and brown. She turned them on him curiously as the guard walked away, and he saw they actually had little flecks of gold embedded in the rich chocolate color.

Pretty eyes or no, she was his best chance to get out of this prison and he wasn’t about to lose it.

He turned up the wattage on his smile and gave her a half-lidded, interested glance from his own vivid green eyes.

Her eyes met his and he held contact. Just a moment more, and she’d blush, and then he could—

Her eyes drifted right past his own and landed on Bones. Her expression brightened.

“Are you . . . my goodness, you’re really a ticker, aren’t you?” she exclaimed.

Hank straightened, smile hitching. What, exactly, just happened? She’d barely even glanced at him!

“No,” he said, just as Bones also replied, “Yes.”

He shot his first mate a glare. It wasn’t safe for people to know Bones was a ticker. What could be going on in that metal head of his?

“That’s incredible!” she breathed, then took a step closer, brown eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed.

Hank frowned. That was the look he was supposed to be getting, not that bucket of bolts. He needed to rectify this situation before it got out of hand.

He stepped forward, smoothly inserting himself between the girl and Bones. A small line appeared between her brows as she looked up to his face. Good, he had her attention, now all he had to do was—

“Excuse me,” she said, “but you’re in the way. Kindly take a step back, please?”

It wasn’t a request. Baffled, he took a step back.

Bones gave a metallic snort.

Was that . . . laughter? No. Bones didn’t believe in humor. He must have imagined it.

The girl stepped forward and peered interestedly at Bones’s face. “Oh!” she said, blushing and dropping her eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to stare. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Your apology is unnecessary,” said Bones. “Your curiosity does not bother me.”

Hank’s eyebrows lifted. Oh, really? He’d once seen Bones throw a man through a wall for doing the same thing.

She lifted a hand toward Bones’s face, then paused halfway. “May I?” she asked.

“Yes,” replied Bones.

At that, had Hank’s eyebrows been birds, they might well have taken flight.

What was so special about this girl that Bones was being so accommodating? Bones didn’t let anyone touch him. Ever.

She reached up, then stood on tiptoes for the palm of her hand to touch the smooth panel of metal that curved to make the lower half of the ticker’s face.

“Oh! You’re rusty!”

Here, those gold-flecked eyes finally turned to meet Hank’s gaze, but instead of being filled with adoration, there was nothing but outrage. “How could you let him get rusty?”

“Me?” Hank straightened. “Me! How exactly am I supposed to polish him, when that two-faced waste of metal won’t let anyone near him?”

She flounced. She actually flounced. He’d never seen anyone do it before, but it wasn’t the sort of gesture that could be easily mistaken for any other.

“What a preposterous statement to make, as he allowed me permission to touch him not a moment ago. Besides which, one could hardly blame him for being picky if that’s the way you talk about him. I can’t imagine you have many friends at all with behavior like that!”

What had just happened? One minute he’d been smiling at her and the next her brown eyes sparked at him as though he’d personally insulted her.

This was not the plan. As a matter of fact, it could be argued that it was the exact opposite of the plan. Their window of opportunity for getting out of prison and getting their ship out of Ratchet’s slimy hands was dwindling rapidly, and his first mate seemed to find the whole situation amusing.

How could he possibly salvage this situation?