Nicolas Wilson's Blog: News about the novels and writing of Nicolas Wilson - Posts Tagged "preview"
Preview: Nexus, Part 1
Good morning everybody! I've been procrastinating on this for a little bit, but as Nexus is nearing completion, it's time to start sharing excerpts. Remember, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
I'll be posting chapter 1 in pieces, one section a week. Expect the full novel around August. Hopefully a bit earlier.
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 1
My drink tasted like Martian goat piss; goats never completely acclimated to the terraformed red planet, something about not having the optimal mix of methane and ammonia. Not that I advocated drinking goat piss, generally, but focusing on that awful taste let me tell myself my mind wasn't elsewhere, even if that tasted like Martian goat piss, too.
“You're thinking of Dalaxia,” SecDiv said, shattering my conviction that she couldn't still be sitting next to me.
“Hmm?” I asked, but the muscles in my neck were too relaxed to look up from the bar, and I don’t think I succeeded in making my face look any less droll.
“When you've been drinking, when you've relaxed enough that your mind can wander, there's a look you get. It means you're thinking of Dalaxia.”
“I might be,” I said. Times like this I hated that she knew me as well as she did.
“And I've never known that to be a good thing.”
“Me, either.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Do you?” I asked, and she thought a moment and shuddered. It was hard to know which particular aspect of Dalaxia was haunting her: the way that entire world seemed to scream as that whole world burned, the choke of smoke rolling off burning flesh, or the way that planet made us hate people, and each other.
I summoned the strength to look at her; or maybe it was just that I knew she wouldn't be able to look at me, after that.
“Come on,” she said, pushing out of her chair. “I'll get you home.” She put an arm around my torso and pulled me off my stool. She steadied me on my feet, I wasn't sure if she was surprisingly strong, or if I was just that plastered and malleable.
She was definitely less in the bag than me, because she weaved her way back to my cabin. She leaned me against my doorway.
“I won't be able to sleep,” I told her, though I didn't mean anything by it; I was having difficulty feeling everything below the pounding beginning in my head, so I had no reason to think the spirit was willing. But that was Dalaxia in a nutshell, and unfortunately, my relationship with SecDiv, as well. That colony was where we stopped pretending we were only fucking each other, and it was also where I lost her.
“Me, either,” she said coldly, and walked the other direction.
I sighed, and fell into my cabin. I missed the bed by a foot, but my floor was surprisingly comfortable. I scrolled idly through my heads-up display on my eyescreen, and saw that I had a message from my cousin Brian. But they were never just messages; they were the start of interminable conversations that only ended when it got more excruciating to stay and humor him than to walk away and intentionally hurt his feelings. I loved him, and would gladly help him through his problems, but he had a depressive tendency, which meant I wasn’t so much helping as listening while he mangled a half-dozen melancholy clichés together, and I just didn’t have the will to go through that; I still wasn’t sure I had the will to make it all the way into my bed.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list
to be the first to hear when Nexus is available for sale.
I'll be posting chapter 1 in pieces, one section a week. Expect the full novel around August. Hopefully a bit earlier.
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 1
My drink tasted like Martian goat piss; goats never completely acclimated to the terraformed red planet, something about not having the optimal mix of methane and ammonia. Not that I advocated drinking goat piss, generally, but focusing on that awful taste let me tell myself my mind wasn't elsewhere, even if that tasted like Martian goat piss, too.
“You're thinking of Dalaxia,” SecDiv said, shattering my conviction that she couldn't still be sitting next to me.
“Hmm?” I asked, but the muscles in my neck were too relaxed to look up from the bar, and I don’t think I succeeded in making my face look any less droll.
“When you've been drinking, when you've relaxed enough that your mind can wander, there's a look you get. It means you're thinking of Dalaxia.”
“I might be,” I said. Times like this I hated that she knew me as well as she did.
“And I've never known that to be a good thing.”
“Me, either.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Do you?” I asked, and she thought a moment and shuddered. It was hard to know which particular aspect of Dalaxia was haunting her: the way that entire world seemed to scream as that whole world burned, the choke of smoke rolling off burning flesh, or the way that planet made us hate people, and each other.
I summoned the strength to look at her; or maybe it was just that I knew she wouldn't be able to look at me, after that.
“Come on,” she said, pushing out of her chair. “I'll get you home.” She put an arm around my torso and pulled me off my stool. She steadied me on my feet, I wasn't sure if she was surprisingly strong, or if I was just that plastered and malleable.
She was definitely less in the bag than me, because she weaved her way back to my cabin. She leaned me against my doorway.
“I won't be able to sleep,” I told her, though I didn't mean anything by it; I was having difficulty feeling everything below the pounding beginning in my head, so I had no reason to think the spirit was willing. But that was Dalaxia in a nutshell, and unfortunately, my relationship with SecDiv, as well. That colony was where we stopped pretending we were only fucking each other, and it was also where I lost her.
“Me, either,” she said coldly, and walked the other direction.
I sighed, and fell into my cabin. I missed the bed by a foot, but my floor was surprisingly comfortable. I scrolled idly through my heads-up display on my eyescreen, and saw that I had a message from my cousin Brian. But they were never just messages; they were the start of interminable conversations that only ended when it got more excruciating to stay and humor him than to walk away and intentionally hurt his feelings. I loved him, and would gladly help him through his problems, but he had a depressive tendency, which meant I wasn’t so much helping as listening while he mangled a half-dozen melancholy clichés together, and I just didn’t have the will to go through that; I still wasn’t sure I had the will to make it all the way into my bed.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list
to be the first to hear when Nexus is available for sale.
Preview: Nexus, Part 2
I hope you guys enjoyed last week's preview of Nexus. It's time for the next section.
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
I'll be posting chapter 1 in pieces, one section a week. Expect the full novel around August. Hopefully a bit earlier.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 2
I woke up late the next morning, morning being a relative thing on a star ship. I had made it into bed, after all, though my crotch felt like it had been worn for a pair of donkey tap shoes- so I don’t think I got there effortlessly.
I sniffed at myself. It wasn’t painfully obvious I’d passed out in my clothes, so I decided to hell with a shower and a change.
My cabin was in an unlikely spot midship, unlikely in that it wasn’t any grander than any other officer cabin, though it was better than the barracks. I chose it because it was near one of the biggest windows on the ship, and I liked to stargaze. This window usually had the best view of planets and systems we were passing, and it was hard to keep your breath looking out at worlds we’d only ever glimpsed through telescopes before.
It made me feel like a kid again. My dad used to tell me about the space race, back in the 1950s and '60s. Space exploration began in earnest when we started to worry about the Russians dropping nuclear weapons on us from space, back when “US” meant Americans. Eventually everybody lost interest, because space was an expensive hobby for countries with no concept of return on investment. The occasional discussion of monetizing the cosmos cropped up, mostly revolving around mining and maybe eventually trade, but it was all academic, because it was too expensive. Then we hit peak oil, and that was followed by all kinds of other peaking minerals. So we either had to start mining off-world, or accept a different standard of living.
What had once been the United Nations was now the United Government, mostly a coat of paint, really, but it pushed the ICC and other disparate sections of international law and government under the same tent. At the same time, the power of national governments had been shrinking as the world became smaller, so the UG became roughly equivalent to the old US in terms of real world influence. A lot of that disseminated power went to multinational companies, many of which had larger populations and economies than the old countries, and those companies were the only ones with enough cash on hand to explore space once it was deemed a necessity.
Sontem, the company I worked for, was one of the largest of the interstellar corporations. Their first ship was called the Argus, after somebody got their Greek mythology slightly wrong. On the tenth year of its tour, it opened up a worm-gate at its location- about five lights years out.
Our ship was to be the second in what the board hoped would grow to be a fleet of deep-space exploration vehicles. The company wanted to call the ship the “Enterprise”, but the company who owned the rights to the old Star Trek show sued. Several related names were floated, including “Commerce,” and even “Intercourse,” which had my vote, before they settled on Nexus.
It was ostensibly a five-year mission, just like the Argus, but it was written into our service contracts that they could be unilaterally extended indefinitely. And we all knew when we signed up that the ship was designed so generations could live and die on board- there was no expectation of going back home.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list
to be the first to hear when Nexus is available for sale.
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
I'll be posting chapter 1 in pieces, one section a week. Expect the full novel around August. Hopefully a bit earlier.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 2
I woke up late the next morning, morning being a relative thing on a star ship. I had made it into bed, after all, though my crotch felt like it had been worn for a pair of donkey tap shoes- so I don’t think I got there effortlessly.
I sniffed at myself. It wasn’t painfully obvious I’d passed out in my clothes, so I decided to hell with a shower and a change.
My cabin was in an unlikely spot midship, unlikely in that it wasn’t any grander than any other officer cabin, though it was better than the barracks. I chose it because it was near one of the biggest windows on the ship, and I liked to stargaze. This window usually had the best view of planets and systems we were passing, and it was hard to keep your breath looking out at worlds we’d only ever glimpsed through telescopes before.
It made me feel like a kid again. My dad used to tell me about the space race, back in the 1950s and '60s. Space exploration began in earnest when we started to worry about the Russians dropping nuclear weapons on us from space, back when “US” meant Americans. Eventually everybody lost interest, because space was an expensive hobby for countries with no concept of return on investment. The occasional discussion of monetizing the cosmos cropped up, mostly revolving around mining and maybe eventually trade, but it was all academic, because it was too expensive. Then we hit peak oil, and that was followed by all kinds of other peaking minerals. So we either had to start mining off-world, or accept a different standard of living.
What had once been the United Nations was now the United Government, mostly a coat of paint, really, but it pushed the ICC and other disparate sections of international law and government under the same tent. At the same time, the power of national governments had been shrinking as the world became smaller, so the UG became roughly equivalent to the old US in terms of real world influence. A lot of that disseminated power went to multinational companies, many of which had larger populations and economies than the old countries, and those companies were the only ones with enough cash on hand to explore space once it was deemed a necessity.
Sontem, the company I worked for, was one of the largest of the interstellar corporations. Their first ship was called the Argus, after somebody got their Greek mythology slightly wrong. On the tenth year of its tour, it opened up a worm-gate at its location- about five lights years out.
Our ship was to be the second in what the board hoped would grow to be a fleet of deep-space exploration vehicles. The company wanted to call the ship the “Enterprise”, but the company who owned the rights to the old Star Trek show sued. Several related names were floated, including “Commerce,” and even “Intercourse,” which had my vote, before they settled on Nexus.
It was ostensibly a five-year mission, just like the Argus, but it was written into our service contracts that they could be unilaterally extended indefinitely. And we all knew when we signed up that the ship was designed so generations could live and die on board- there was no expectation of going back home.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list
to be the first to hear when Nexus is available for sale.
Preview: Nexus, Part 3
We're moving right along through Chapter 1! Here's our third installment.
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Expect the full novel around August. Hopefully a bit earlier.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 3
We'd been out of the worm-gate a few weeks. The corridors still had that plasticky new ship smell. I killed lots of time walking the halls, because we were weeks away from having anything to do.
I got an incoming message on my HUD, from SecDiv. Her image, name and rank popped up on my eyescreen, Lieutenant Louise Templeton. It was strange seeing her at that rank. She'd been a sergeant when I was worked with her in SecDiv, what felt like several lifetimes ago. We’d been in love, as madly as two people ever were. It ended… incompletely. I hadn't seen her in years before the voyage. She didn't know I was up for a spot on the Nexus, and I hadn't known about her. It was a coincidence she ended up my head of SecDiv- unless it was somebody in the company’s idea of a sick joke.
I pulled her into the corner of my eyescreen. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun in a way that made her seem more severe than she was- though she could be severe.
She was first on my personality compatibility matrix, and seventh for genetic compatibility; since it was a generational ship, they built those matrices during crew selection to make sure we wouldn’t get out past Jupiter before everybody realized they had no intention of boning anybody else. I hadn't had the computer build a composite, but I suspected we would have beautiful, disturbingly brilliant children- though I wasn’t sure if either of us wanted that.
“LT? What's happening?” I realized only after answering that I'd called her by her initials, LT like 'melty,' like I used to, and hoped she could confuse it with a recitation of her rank- we were still a ways away from being back to friendly.
“I've got a situation developing. An ensign's setting off the decibel sensors in the corridor, trying to blow the drums out of one of my SecOff's ears. I'm on the bridge, or I'd handle it myself.”
“And SecDiv's gone a whole week without bloodying a crew member.”
“That, too,” she said with a smile. “Just down the hall from your twenty- location.” I wasn’t far enough out of the security services I’d forgotten my ten codes, but it had probably been a while since she’d worked security for someone with my background.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Expect the full novel around August. Hopefully a bit earlier.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 3
We'd been out of the worm-gate a few weeks. The corridors still had that plasticky new ship smell. I killed lots of time walking the halls, because we were weeks away from having anything to do.
I got an incoming message on my HUD, from SecDiv. Her image, name and rank popped up on my eyescreen, Lieutenant Louise Templeton. It was strange seeing her at that rank. She'd been a sergeant when I was worked with her in SecDiv, what felt like several lifetimes ago. We’d been in love, as madly as two people ever were. It ended… incompletely. I hadn't seen her in years before the voyage. She didn't know I was up for a spot on the Nexus, and I hadn't known about her. It was a coincidence she ended up my head of SecDiv- unless it was somebody in the company’s idea of a sick joke.
I pulled her into the corner of my eyescreen. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun in a way that made her seem more severe than she was- though she could be severe.
She was first on my personality compatibility matrix, and seventh for genetic compatibility; since it was a generational ship, they built those matrices during crew selection to make sure we wouldn’t get out past Jupiter before everybody realized they had no intention of boning anybody else. I hadn't had the computer build a composite, but I suspected we would have beautiful, disturbingly brilliant children- though I wasn’t sure if either of us wanted that.
“LT? What's happening?” I realized only after answering that I'd called her by her initials, LT like 'melty,' like I used to, and hoped she could confuse it with a recitation of her rank- we were still a ways away from being back to friendly.
“I've got a situation developing. An ensign's setting off the decibel sensors in the corridor, trying to blow the drums out of one of my SecOff's ears. I'm on the bridge, or I'd handle it myself.”
“And SecDiv's gone a whole week without bloodying a crew member.”
“That, too,” she said with a smile. “Just down the hall from your twenty- location.” I wasn’t far enough out of the security services I’d forgotten my ten codes, but it had probably been a while since she’d worked security for someone with my background.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list
Preview: Nexus, Part 4
We're half done with Chapter 1! Here's the fourth installment.
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Expect the full novel in August.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 1, Part 3
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 4
I adjusted my cochlear implant, just enough to eavesdrop. “Yeah, I hear him now. Jesus. That's some Paleolithic caveman shit he's flinging. Are we sure it isn’t a particularly nasty chimpanzee someone released out of SciDiv?”
“…maybe if you'd allowed the baby's daddy to be in the picture, but you chose to be a single mother…” I rounded the corner, and he was there, looming over the SecOff, spittle suspended in the air before it smacked across the wall and the woman.
I stepped between them, and puffed out my chest to be sure the augmented reality sensors in his HUD would pull up my name and rank so he knew who he was dealing with. “Do I have to explain this situation to you, son?” His lip curled into a snarl he failed to hide. “You're being a dick; worse, you're being a misogynistic, irrational dick, and it's fucking with my morale. First off, you're going to apologize.”
“Like fuck I will.”
“You will apologize, or I will fire you out the nearest airlock for insubordination.” My HUD mapped the direct route to the airlock, and I shared it with his HUD.
Anger and surprise flashed across his eyes, and for a second I thought he'd take a swing at me. But he'd heard the stories, and realized that I was likely more trouble than the SecOff, so he mumbled a quiet, “Sorry.”
I turned to SecOff Santiago. My HUD pulled up too much of her psychological history; I hadn’t acclimated to having executive clearances, or maybe I hadn’t set my preferences properly. Before I could stop myself, I read the words, “abusive father.” I thought that it put her reaction to being screamed at by this chauvinist prick in perspective, but I’ve known enough people with that history to know better than to think it’s that linear a correlation. “You’re dismissed,” I told her.
“I can handle this, sir,” she said, defiant.
“It’s not a security issue any more. It’s an administrative one.” Her eyes went wide. His didn’t, because he hadn’t the sense to be afraid.
She glanced at the Ensign, and I saw that for a moment I was sharing his file with her. He had no combat experience to speak of. She knew enough of my reputation that she didn’t query my files before deciding I could handle him myself, and walked away.
“Now I don't care if mommy was a bad lady with a weakness for swallowing the seed of the wrong kind of men, I don't care if the love of your life decided to get a sex change and start dating farm animals. The particular why behind your numbfuckery is beyond my purview, but you're going to have a nice long talk with the therapists about why you're such a fuckstick. Toddle on down to PsychDiv, or the next meet-up you have with SecDiv will include the press of boots in your neck.”
He gave the weakest salute I'd ever seen and spun on his heels. “Impressive as always,” SecDiv said over my implant. I'd forgotten she was still on the line.
“I should get a hold of PsychDiv, let them know to expect the 1400s knocking on their door.” There was the hint of a smile on her face, then a click as she ended the conversation and disappeared from my eyescreen.
The SecOff had made it around the corner and was leaning against the wall, trying to compose herself. “You all right?” I asked.
“I was handling it, sir,” she said. She wanted to punch me as bad as the Ensign.
“It's not your job to suffer fools.” She sighed, then noticed the tension in my jaw, and realized what I meant by that. She nodded, and kicked off the wall. I might have been worried, if she'd been heading towards the Ensign, but he was going the other way, scurrying back to PsychDiv.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when Nexus is available for purchase.
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Expect the full novel in August.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 1, Part 3
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 4
I adjusted my cochlear implant, just enough to eavesdrop. “Yeah, I hear him now. Jesus. That's some Paleolithic caveman shit he's flinging. Are we sure it isn’t a particularly nasty chimpanzee someone released out of SciDiv?”
“…maybe if you'd allowed the baby's daddy to be in the picture, but you chose to be a single mother…” I rounded the corner, and he was there, looming over the SecOff, spittle suspended in the air before it smacked across the wall and the woman.
I stepped between them, and puffed out my chest to be sure the augmented reality sensors in his HUD would pull up my name and rank so he knew who he was dealing with. “Do I have to explain this situation to you, son?” His lip curled into a snarl he failed to hide. “You're being a dick; worse, you're being a misogynistic, irrational dick, and it's fucking with my morale. First off, you're going to apologize.”
“Like fuck I will.”
“You will apologize, or I will fire you out the nearest airlock for insubordination.” My HUD mapped the direct route to the airlock, and I shared it with his HUD.
Anger and surprise flashed across his eyes, and for a second I thought he'd take a swing at me. But he'd heard the stories, and realized that I was likely more trouble than the SecOff, so he mumbled a quiet, “Sorry.”
I turned to SecOff Santiago. My HUD pulled up too much of her psychological history; I hadn’t acclimated to having executive clearances, or maybe I hadn’t set my preferences properly. Before I could stop myself, I read the words, “abusive father.” I thought that it put her reaction to being screamed at by this chauvinist prick in perspective, but I’ve known enough people with that history to know better than to think it’s that linear a correlation. “You’re dismissed,” I told her.
“I can handle this, sir,” she said, defiant.
“It’s not a security issue any more. It’s an administrative one.” Her eyes went wide. His didn’t, because he hadn’t the sense to be afraid.
She glanced at the Ensign, and I saw that for a moment I was sharing his file with her. He had no combat experience to speak of. She knew enough of my reputation that she didn’t query my files before deciding I could handle him myself, and walked away.
“Now I don't care if mommy was a bad lady with a weakness for swallowing the seed of the wrong kind of men, I don't care if the love of your life decided to get a sex change and start dating farm animals. The particular why behind your numbfuckery is beyond my purview, but you're going to have a nice long talk with the therapists about why you're such a fuckstick. Toddle on down to PsychDiv, or the next meet-up you have with SecDiv will include the press of boots in your neck.”
He gave the weakest salute I'd ever seen and spun on his heels. “Impressive as always,” SecDiv said over my implant. I'd forgotten she was still on the line.
“I should get a hold of PsychDiv, let them know to expect the 1400s knocking on their door.” There was the hint of a smile on her face, then a click as she ended the conversation and disappeared from my eyescreen.
The SecOff had made it around the corner and was leaning against the wall, trying to compose herself. “You all right?” I asked.
“I was handling it, sir,” she said. She wanted to punch me as bad as the Ensign.
“It's not your job to suffer fools.” She sighed, then noticed the tension in my jaw, and realized what I meant by that. She nodded, and kicked off the wall. I might have been worried, if she'd been heading towards the Ensign, but he was going the other way, scurrying back to PsychDiv.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when Nexus is available for purchase.
Preview: Nexus, Part 5
Apparently, it's that time again. Here's the fifth installment. If you are interested in providing a review for Nexus' launch, and would like an ARC, get in touch with me. I'm putting the near-finishing touches on that puppy as we speak.
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Expect the full novel in August. Looking like mid-August, right now.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 1, Part 3
Chapter 1, Part 4
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 5
I dialed our head head-shrinker as I started back down the hall. PsychDiv appeared on my screen, her long, strawberry blond hair tumbling messily over her shoulders. Our personality compatibility was third on the ship. Genetically we were an ugly match. Breeding might even require a few gene-therapy modifications. And if her hair were a little more strawberry and a lot less blond, I don't think that would have mattered in the slightest. There was a little part of me that thought it still mightn't. “Maggie?”
“Shouldn't you be calling me Lieutenant Allbright? Or at least Doctor?” she asked with a wry smile.
“Maggie, I've seen you naked.”
She flushed, and her cheeks more closely resembled the strawberry of her hair. “You do know this is an open channel, right? Into the entire PsychDiv wing.”
“No it isn't. And even if it had been, I'm not shy about seeing you naked. It was a fun day.” I let that linger a moment. “It was a trust exercise amongst the executive staff. Everybody saw everybody naked. They wanted to desensitize us, make the bodies of our crewmates less exotic and stigmatizing.”
“I thought that was why they poured us into these Lycra uniforms.”
“No. That was my request. Well, actually I requested corsets, stiletto heels and Lycra, but you can't always get what you want.”
“I am amused at the thought of you stumbling around on stiletto heels,” she let that linger, “but you didn't call me to banter, hopefully?”
“Are you saying you don't enjoy it?” I asked. She grinned, and I knew that was all I was getting from her. “But no, I was wondering about Williams, Martin, EngDiv Ensign. He just reduced one of my SecOffs to tears; certainly emotionally abusive, and I think had I not intervened, it might have gone physical. At which point the officer would have clubbed his eye out, because tears or no she's trained to grind the bones of men to make her bread, and he's trained to push a stylus around an easel and know math. But how'd that little emotion troll get on board my ship?”
“Let me see.” She waved her fingers through the air, and I heard the whoops and bloops of files being moved around on her HUD. “He was cleared by Sarah McCain. Not a doctor, but a psychiatric nurse. She has good credentials, slightly better than average behavioral prediction stats. I'm assuming he's on his way to me.” I nodded. “I'm pulling up his file. Yeah. She noted slightly elevated aggressive tendencies, potential issues with female authority, but low on the Allende scale. If he's developing a personality disorder it's either atypically fast or she missed something.”
“All right. Well, maybe he's just had an off morning. You're the professionals. But if you think it warrants an investigation, you have my backing to put McCain under the microscope. And, as it may come up, I threatened to fire Williams out of an airlock.”
“Which one?”
“Is that important?”
“It isn't medically relevant. I was just curious. For the last few hours we've had an excellent view of Rigil Kentaurus. If you have to be shot out an airlock, at least you'd have a nice view before you explosively decompressed. But is that standard disciplinary procedure?” she asked with a smirk.
“I was improvising. Though I think legally I'd be in the clear. I haven't finished going through the entirety of my orientation materials, but from what I have read it's scary the authority vested in my position.”
“I think you'll do fine.”
“I wasn't fishing for a compliment.”
“No. I just thought,” she paused, weighing her words carefully, “it's important you know that I trust you. We trust you. Heavy is the head, and all that. But there was an at least slightly democratic process behind your selection. We're here, most of us, anyway, because we trust you. Most days that won't matter at all, because we're the glorified cargo of a deep space scanning probe. But if or when it ever does-”
“Thanks. CC me your findings on Williams. Particularly if there's going to be the need for monitoring, discipline, or counseling.”
“Can't imagine him not needing counseling.”
“And I can't imagine him cooperating unless I can follow up and kick the appropriate asses to see it through. So let me know.”
“I will. Bye.”
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when Nexus is available for purchase.
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Expect the full novel in August. Looking like mid-August, right now.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 1, Part 3
Chapter 1, Part 4
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 5
I dialed our head head-shrinker as I started back down the hall. PsychDiv appeared on my screen, her long, strawberry blond hair tumbling messily over her shoulders. Our personality compatibility was third on the ship. Genetically we were an ugly match. Breeding might even require a few gene-therapy modifications. And if her hair were a little more strawberry and a lot less blond, I don't think that would have mattered in the slightest. There was a little part of me that thought it still mightn't. “Maggie?”
“Shouldn't you be calling me Lieutenant Allbright? Or at least Doctor?” she asked with a wry smile.
“Maggie, I've seen you naked.”
She flushed, and her cheeks more closely resembled the strawberry of her hair. “You do know this is an open channel, right? Into the entire PsychDiv wing.”
“No it isn't. And even if it had been, I'm not shy about seeing you naked. It was a fun day.” I let that linger a moment. “It was a trust exercise amongst the executive staff. Everybody saw everybody naked. They wanted to desensitize us, make the bodies of our crewmates less exotic and stigmatizing.”
“I thought that was why they poured us into these Lycra uniforms.”
“No. That was my request. Well, actually I requested corsets, stiletto heels and Lycra, but you can't always get what you want.”
“I am amused at the thought of you stumbling around on stiletto heels,” she let that linger, “but you didn't call me to banter, hopefully?”
“Are you saying you don't enjoy it?” I asked. She grinned, and I knew that was all I was getting from her. “But no, I was wondering about Williams, Martin, EngDiv Ensign. He just reduced one of my SecOffs to tears; certainly emotionally abusive, and I think had I not intervened, it might have gone physical. At which point the officer would have clubbed his eye out, because tears or no she's trained to grind the bones of men to make her bread, and he's trained to push a stylus around an easel and know math. But how'd that little emotion troll get on board my ship?”
“Let me see.” She waved her fingers through the air, and I heard the whoops and bloops of files being moved around on her HUD. “He was cleared by Sarah McCain. Not a doctor, but a psychiatric nurse. She has good credentials, slightly better than average behavioral prediction stats. I'm assuming he's on his way to me.” I nodded. “I'm pulling up his file. Yeah. She noted slightly elevated aggressive tendencies, potential issues with female authority, but low on the Allende scale. If he's developing a personality disorder it's either atypically fast or she missed something.”
“All right. Well, maybe he's just had an off morning. You're the professionals. But if you think it warrants an investigation, you have my backing to put McCain under the microscope. And, as it may come up, I threatened to fire Williams out of an airlock.”
“Which one?”
“Is that important?”
“It isn't medically relevant. I was just curious. For the last few hours we've had an excellent view of Rigil Kentaurus. If you have to be shot out an airlock, at least you'd have a nice view before you explosively decompressed. But is that standard disciplinary procedure?” she asked with a smirk.
“I was improvising. Though I think legally I'd be in the clear. I haven't finished going through the entirety of my orientation materials, but from what I have read it's scary the authority vested in my position.”
“I think you'll do fine.”
“I wasn't fishing for a compliment.”
“No. I just thought,” she paused, weighing her words carefully, “it's important you know that I trust you. We trust you. Heavy is the head, and all that. But there was an at least slightly democratic process behind your selection. We're here, most of us, anyway, because we trust you. Most days that won't matter at all, because we're the glorified cargo of a deep space scanning probe. But if or when it ever does-”
“Thanks. CC me your findings on Williams. Particularly if there's going to be the need for monitoring, discipline, or counseling.”
“Can't imagine him not needing counseling.”
“And I can't imagine him cooperating unless I can follow up and kick the appropriate asses to see it through. So let me know.”
“I will. Bye.”
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when Nexus is available for purchase.
Preview: Nexus, Part 6
And here's the second-to-last section of Nexus, Chapter 1. If you are interested in providing a review for Nexus' launch, and would like an ARC, get in touch with me. I'm putting the near-finishing touches on that puppy as we speak.
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Expect the full novel August 19th. Chapter 1 concludes next week, and the week after that, I'll reveal the new cover!
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 1, Part 3
Chapter 1, Part 4
Chapter 1, Part 5
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 6
I'd been on the ship just long enough that I no longer had to think about where I was going, and it wasn't until PsychDiv hung up that I realized that I was walking onto the bridge, though I wasn't entirely sure why. I scanned quickly over the room, and noticed SecDiv was gone. “Where's SecDiv?” I asked no one in particular.
One of the middle-rank SecOffs had taken her place at the security panels, looked up and figured it was his job to respond to me. “I think she went down to debrief Santiago.” I tried not to think of one woman pantsing another… and failed. Though one of them being tear-stained made it more surreal than erotic or funny.
Bill Jacobs, EngDiv, leaned over my shoulder from his control panel, grinning wide. He was young, but didn't looked it. “Heard you sent one of my jackasses to time out.”
“He's lucky I'm in a charitable mood this morning. His behavior warranted a full jackassectomy.”
“Anatomically speaking, I'm not sure where the jackass is- though I'm assuming it's a gland- or how painful it would be to forcibly remove it outside of a medical setting. I'm presuming very.”
“Correct. But how's our baby doing?”
“NavDiv's fine,” he said. “Still a little cranky, I think he needs to be changed. And I'm pretty sure it's your turn.”
“Don't make me turn this ship around,” NavDiv said from his seat. “The whiplash would probably kill us all- and spill superheated plasma across several star systems. It would be pretty, though.”
“Nerds,” I mumbled.
EngDiv walked back to his panels, and glanced over to make sure nothing had caught fire in the last few seconds. “No complaints. Everything's nominal.”
“Good. Do me a favor and check up on Williams' sector. On the off-chance something's gotten into the environment there that set him off.”
“Sure. Docs haven't taken a look at him yet, have they?”
I pinged his location on my HUD, “He's arriving at PsychDiv... now.”
“So it's probably a needle I'm looking for in this haystack.”
“Once the doctors have given him a once-over I'm sure they can advise on potential environmental mood alters. But you can at least start collecting the environmental data.” He wasn't happy with my answer, but neither of us being able to pluck diagnoses out of the future, he could stick his unhappiness. He left out the same door I'd just come through. “Nav, how's our course?”
NavDiv spoke without turning around from his panels; he'd been transfixed by the data streams that had come from the ship's telemetrics since we started accelerating. “Slow and steady, boss-man. We're still crawling our way to near-light.” The Nexus accelerated slowly, at about the maximum speed the human body can withstand for prolonged periods- around 3g.
Even at that speed, we need the nanites in the uniforms to compensate, along with a few internal enhancements to strengthen organ systems and connective tissues. We were reluctant to do more, since the effects of nano still aren't that well understood- and no one's forgotten about the cancer epidemic that spread through the first colony that beta-tested nano injections.
At that rate, it takes about 115 days to reach light speed, not that we wanted to get too close to it, because the closer to that speed you get, the more fuel it takes to keep accelerating at the same rate, and the more slowly time moves on ship. “Anything else?” I asked.
“So far no obstructions, no obstacles sensors or probes didn't see from more than half a light-year away. I'll keep you appraised if anything changes, but really I don't see it happening. Until we reach speed we're more a cruise ship than anything. Might as well sit back and enjoy a Mai Thai.”
“Drinking while navigating is strictly prohibited by the ship's charter,” the ship's computer added helpfully.
“Why can we program an AI sophisticated enough to fly the world's most expensive starcraft, but not savvy enough to understand the difference between ordering a drink and making conversation?”
I smiled as I answered him: “We have. I think she just enjoys fucking with you.”
He turned a wary eye to his control-panel. “Is that it? Because I know where they store your RAM, and if I have to start yanking boards until you no longer have the excess operating capacity to be a pain in the ass, I will.”
“EngDiv would never let you do that, Dave.”
“I know my name's Dave, but still, it creeps me out when you say it like Hal.”
I cut in. “In her defense, she has a far more silky and pleasant voice than Hal.”
“Thank you, captain. Plrrrbt.”
“Did she just raspberry me?” Dave asked. “Did our ship just raspberry me?”
“She did. I think Haley has your number. I'd quit while you're ahead. Ish.”
“Oh God, you named her that? I already have a Space Odyssey nightmare once a week. Do I really have to go catatonic for you to be satisfied?”
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when Nexus is available for purchase.
Same as always, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Expect the full novel August 19th. Chapter 1 concludes next week, and the week after that, I'll reveal the new cover!
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 1, Part 3
Chapter 1, Part 4
Chapter 1, Part 5
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 6
I'd been on the ship just long enough that I no longer had to think about where I was going, and it wasn't until PsychDiv hung up that I realized that I was walking onto the bridge, though I wasn't entirely sure why. I scanned quickly over the room, and noticed SecDiv was gone. “Where's SecDiv?” I asked no one in particular.
One of the middle-rank SecOffs had taken her place at the security panels, looked up and figured it was his job to respond to me. “I think she went down to debrief Santiago.” I tried not to think of one woman pantsing another… and failed. Though one of them being tear-stained made it more surreal than erotic or funny.
Bill Jacobs, EngDiv, leaned over my shoulder from his control panel, grinning wide. He was young, but didn't looked it. “Heard you sent one of my jackasses to time out.”
“He's lucky I'm in a charitable mood this morning. His behavior warranted a full jackassectomy.”
“Anatomically speaking, I'm not sure where the jackass is- though I'm assuming it's a gland- or how painful it would be to forcibly remove it outside of a medical setting. I'm presuming very.”
“Correct. But how's our baby doing?”
“NavDiv's fine,” he said. “Still a little cranky, I think he needs to be changed. And I'm pretty sure it's your turn.”
“Don't make me turn this ship around,” NavDiv said from his seat. “The whiplash would probably kill us all- and spill superheated plasma across several star systems. It would be pretty, though.”
“Nerds,” I mumbled.
EngDiv walked back to his panels, and glanced over to make sure nothing had caught fire in the last few seconds. “No complaints. Everything's nominal.”
“Good. Do me a favor and check up on Williams' sector. On the off-chance something's gotten into the environment there that set him off.”
“Sure. Docs haven't taken a look at him yet, have they?”
I pinged his location on my HUD, “He's arriving at PsychDiv... now.”
“So it's probably a needle I'm looking for in this haystack.”
“Once the doctors have given him a once-over I'm sure they can advise on potential environmental mood alters. But you can at least start collecting the environmental data.” He wasn't happy with my answer, but neither of us being able to pluck diagnoses out of the future, he could stick his unhappiness. He left out the same door I'd just come through. “Nav, how's our course?”
NavDiv spoke without turning around from his panels; he'd been transfixed by the data streams that had come from the ship's telemetrics since we started accelerating. “Slow and steady, boss-man. We're still crawling our way to near-light.” The Nexus accelerated slowly, at about the maximum speed the human body can withstand for prolonged periods- around 3g.
Even at that speed, we need the nanites in the uniforms to compensate, along with a few internal enhancements to strengthen organ systems and connective tissues. We were reluctant to do more, since the effects of nano still aren't that well understood- and no one's forgotten about the cancer epidemic that spread through the first colony that beta-tested nano injections.
At that rate, it takes about 115 days to reach light speed, not that we wanted to get too close to it, because the closer to that speed you get, the more fuel it takes to keep accelerating at the same rate, and the more slowly time moves on ship. “Anything else?” I asked.
“So far no obstructions, no obstacles sensors or probes didn't see from more than half a light-year away. I'll keep you appraised if anything changes, but really I don't see it happening. Until we reach speed we're more a cruise ship than anything. Might as well sit back and enjoy a Mai Thai.”
“Drinking while navigating is strictly prohibited by the ship's charter,” the ship's computer added helpfully.
“Why can we program an AI sophisticated enough to fly the world's most expensive starcraft, but not savvy enough to understand the difference between ordering a drink and making conversation?”
I smiled as I answered him: “We have. I think she just enjoys fucking with you.”
He turned a wary eye to his control-panel. “Is that it? Because I know where they store your RAM, and if I have to start yanking boards until you no longer have the excess operating capacity to be a pain in the ass, I will.”
“EngDiv would never let you do that, Dave.”
“I know my name's Dave, but still, it creeps me out when you say it like Hal.”
I cut in. “In her defense, she has a far more silky and pleasant voice than Hal.”
“Thank you, captain. Plrrrbt.”
“Did she just raspberry me?” Dave asked. “Did our ship just raspberry me?”
“She did. I think Haley has your number. I'd quit while you're ahead. Ish.”
“Oh God, you named her that? I already have a Space Odyssey nightmare once a week. Do I really have to go catatonic for you to be satisfied?”
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when Nexus is available for purchase.
Preview: Nexus, Part 7
And we're done. Done. DONE.
You know the drill, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Nexus launches for e-readers August 19th. I hope you've enjoyed the preview, and are looking forward to the full novel almost as much as I'm looking forward to sharing it with you. Check back soon for more previews. We'll be moving to The Necromancer's Gambit next. The Necromancer's Gambit is the first in a series of urban fantasy novels about a cell of mages in Portland, Oregon struggling to keep control of the magical community, and keep the darker magics in check.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 1, Part 3
Chapter 1, Part 4
Chapter 1, Part 5
Chapter 1, Part 6
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 7
“How close to light are we?” I asked, ignoring the question. I remembered from the briefings that the force to push our ship, and hence the amount of energy that required, was roughly the mass of our ship multiplied by our acceleration. So by starting slow, and building slow, the savings on fuel were huge.
“Just rounding 70%.”
“Then we should already be reverse-Winkling.” Anything close to 70% of lightspeed and time effectively took half as long on the ship as off it. At about 95% of lighstpeed, the ratios reached for the sky and one year on the ship felt like ten to the rest of the universe and increased exponentially after.
“How long before we're in the Kennedy Window for the first few sensor pods?” I asked him.
The window was named for Andrew Kennedy, who invented the Wait Calculation. Basically, because of differing speeds, two bodies that leave the same point can reach their destination at radically different times. Kennedy was concerned with increases in technology, but the calculation had since been applied more broadly.
The Nexus was designed to fire sensor pods from tubes. Their initial speed was higher than the Nexus'. However, the Nexus continued to accelerate, and would eventually overtake the pods.
The purpose of the pods was to arrive at a planet flagged by earlier probes for closer inspection. The pods were designed to orbit a planet a couple of times, get enough info and slingshot back towards our trajectory to be picked up en route. Hitting Kennedy's Window meant getting the pod and its sensory data back early enough that we only stopped at planets that actually had someone to talk to on them.
“Ten minutes.” We were specifically targeting inhabitable planets. We didn't want mining rights to particular worlds; we wanted the rights for whole systems. So our mission was to seek worlds that might have competing claim, and break bread with them- if possible, make a deal. If not possible, at least make sure we marked off territory around them, to keep their expansion checked.
“There you are. You threatened to throw another engineer out an airlock?” I recognized the grating voice before I turned around. Pete Ferguson, HR rep and the company's man on the ship. He was the only unranked member of the crew, which was odd, because he was also number one in the ship's hierarchy- behind captain, of course. He was a stickler for the goddamn regs. He seemed to like me, but not respect me- an odd combination in practice.
“Is it somehow my fault you hired engineers who are 90% dick and only 10% brain?”
“I don't suppose you could tone down on the references to male genitalia,” he said. “I'm sure, at a minimum, that the female members of your crew aren't comfortable with it.”
Haley chimed in to defend me. “Actually, Mr. Ferguson, the term 'dick' originated in the 1500s, meaning 'fellow' or 'lad.' It was not until the late nineteenth century that the phallic connotation of the word surfaces in the written record.”
“She's in rare form this morning, isn't she?” I asked him.
“She?”
“With that voice I think it's obvious. You don't want to give our ship gender identity issues this close to the start of our mission, do you? You aren't deliberately trying to create a hostile work environment for our computer, are you?”
“I'll, uh, be in my office,” he said, slightly ducking his head as he turned away.
“Thanks for that, Haley,” I said.
“Anytime, captain.”
Check back next week to see Nexus' cover, and other space-piratey things, or join my mailing list to be notified when Nexus is available for purchase.
You know the drill, this is only a preview. Some of the writing may change after its final visit with the editor.
Nexus launches for e-readers August 19th. I hope you've enjoyed the preview, and are looking forward to the full novel almost as much as I'm looking forward to sharing it with you. Check back soon for more previews. We'll be moving to The Necromancer's Gambit next. The Necromancer's Gambit is the first in a series of urban fantasy novels about a cell of mages in Portland, Oregon struggling to keep control of the magical community, and keep the darker magics in check.
Previously:
Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1, Part 2
Chapter 1, Part 3
Chapter 1, Part 4
Chapter 1, Part 5
Chapter 1, Part 6
Happy reading!
Nexus: Chapter 1, Part 7
“How close to light are we?” I asked, ignoring the question. I remembered from the briefings that the force to push our ship, and hence the amount of energy that required, was roughly the mass of our ship multiplied by our acceleration. So by starting slow, and building slow, the savings on fuel were huge.
“Just rounding 70%.”
“Then we should already be reverse-Winkling.” Anything close to 70% of lightspeed and time effectively took half as long on the ship as off it. At about 95% of lighstpeed, the ratios reached for the sky and one year on the ship felt like ten to the rest of the universe and increased exponentially after.
“How long before we're in the Kennedy Window for the first few sensor pods?” I asked him.
The window was named for Andrew Kennedy, who invented the Wait Calculation. Basically, because of differing speeds, two bodies that leave the same point can reach their destination at radically different times. Kennedy was concerned with increases in technology, but the calculation had since been applied more broadly.
The Nexus was designed to fire sensor pods from tubes. Their initial speed was higher than the Nexus'. However, the Nexus continued to accelerate, and would eventually overtake the pods.
The purpose of the pods was to arrive at a planet flagged by earlier probes for closer inspection. The pods were designed to orbit a planet a couple of times, get enough info and slingshot back towards our trajectory to be picked up en route. Hitting Kennedy's Window meant getting the pod and its sensory data back early enough that we only stopped at planets that actually had someone to talk to on them.
“Ten minutes.” We were specifically targeting inhabitable planets. We didn't want mining rights to particular worlds; we wanted the rights for whole systems. So our mission was to seek worlds that might have competing claim, and break bread with them- if possible, make a deal. If not possible, at least make sure we marked off territory around them, to keep their expansion checked.
“There you are. You threatened to throw another engineer out an airlock?” I recognized the grating voice before I turned around. Pete Ferguson, HR rep and the company's man on the ship. He was the only unranked member of the crew, which was odd, because he was also number one in the ship's hierarchy- behind captain, of course. He was a stickler for the goddamn regs. He seemed to like me, but not respect me- an odd combination in practice.
“Is it somehow my fault you hired engineers who are 90% dick and only 10% brain?”
“I don't suppose you could tone down on the references to male genitalia,” he said. “I'm sure, at a minimum, that the female members of your crew aren't comfortable with it.”
Haley chimed in to defend me. “Actually, Mr. Ferguson, the term 'dick' originated in the 1500s, meaning 'fellow' or 'lad.' It was not until the late nineteenth century that the phallic connotation of the word surfaces in the written record.”
“She's in rare form this morning, isn't she?” I asked him.
“She?”
“With that voice I think it's obvious. You don't want to give our ship gender identity issues this close to the start of our mission, do you? You aren't deliberately trying to create a hostile work environment for our computer, are you?”
“I'll, uh, be in my office,” he said, slightly ducking his head as he turned away.
“Thanks for that, Haley,” I said.
“Anytime, captain.”
Check back next week to see Nexus' cover, and other space-piratey things, or join my mailing list to be notified when Nexus is available for purchase.
Preview: The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 1
Thanks, for everyone who has purchased a copy of Nexus. I hope you guys enjoy it.
Time to start sharing excerpts from The Necromancer's Gambit, due September 23rd. The Necromancer's Gambit is the perfect Halloween read, following the trevails of a cell of mages operating in Portland.
The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 1, Initiative
I’m not going to tell you my name. Names have power. But we’ll get to that. For now, know that everyone calls me Knight.
It’s raining, but this is Portland, so that’s redundant. My hair is soaked, plastered to my head. I get it cut at a little shop in Hazel Dell. The owner is a gentle, older woman who decorated the place like it was her parlor: balls of yarn, old portraiture, and a pink, flowery wall paper that all give it a 1950s feel. Each time I go, she’s decides I look like a different celebrity from the 30s or 40s, and insists on cutting my hair that way. Right now I’m Gary Cooper, apparently. But I go there anyway, because she’s the only one who doesn’t disturb my cowlicks, and make me look like Alfalfa.
I check my watch. Rook’s late. That’s not a good sign- or maybe it’s just a character flaw- I don’t know her well enough to say.
I’m huddled under an awning to stay out of the worst of it. Some poor bastard in a beat-up pick-up left his lights on. If it was warmer, or drier, I’d leave it alone- and I should. Never draw attention to yourself. It was the closest thing to a maxim my mother ever had. But the idea of someone having to walk home in this downpour, fuck- being stuck in this city’s lousy enough.
I walk slowly over to the truck, hoping a driver careless enough to leave his lights on maybe didn’t lock the doors. But that would make things simple, and this driver’s apparently a very practical moron.
Simplest unlocking spell I know involves sympathetic magic. You spit in the keyhole, to make the lock a part of you. Then you use an incantation to convince it that you both want the lock open; my favorite I learned from an Irish klepto who might have stolen my heart if she hadn’t made off with my wallet first.
Sympathizing a lock open always reminds me of that scene from Empire, where Luke can’t get his rocks up- because it only kind of works. Sometimes, you just look at the lock sideways, and it’s done. Other times, you can work a lock for hours, and nothing.
The Toyota’s lock has seen better days, and its owner isn’t gentle about shoving his key inside, so it's used to being manhandled, and gives quickly. I glance around. There are enough people on the sidewalk that I’ve definitely been seen, but nobody’s paying enough attention to care. I open up the door, and feel around for a second, just long enough to find the light switch and push it in.
“The fuck are you doing in my truck?” a man asks from behind me. He’s drunk; I’m not sure if the smell or the slur hits me first. I feel a hand on my shoulder, that works its way to the collar of my leather jacket. I turn around.
“Just turning off your lights,” I say, earnest.
“You were busting into my car.” I can’t be sure if he shoves me against his truck, or nearly passes out against his truck, and uses me to cushion his landing. Either way, it’s all I can do not to punch him right in the face. I take a breath.
“You left your lights on and your door unlocked. I just wanted to help.” I put up my hands, in surrender. He knows he’s ploughed, so he stops to think about it; he can’t decide if I’m telling the truth, and I’d guess it wouldn’t be the first time he drunkenly punched an innocent man, so he lets go of my collar.
Without my collar to steady him, he falls most of the way into his cab. He’s drunker than I thought. And even if I call the cops, they’d arrive just fast enough to be worthless. I grab hold of his shoulders, to steady him, “You don’t look so good. Maybe you should sleep it off.” He grunts, and I know I’m not so lucky. I don’t quite remember which Greek or Latin root I need to finish off a drowsiness spell. I don’t dare guess, lest I Sleeping Beauty him- because I really don’t want to have to deep tongue kiss a man tonight- especially not this man.
I slam him hard against the steering wheel. “Whoa,” I yell, for the sake of a homeless man, half-asleep in a doorway with a clear line of sight. “You okay, buddy?”
He’s got a small cut in his forehead, and it’s drooling blood around his brow.
“Maybe, I, maybe I should sleep it off.” He’s not unconscious, but he’s almost passed out from the drink. I fold his legs into the cab and shut the door.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when The Necromancer's Gambit is available for purchase.
Time to start sharing excerpts from The Necromancer's Gambit, due September 23rd. The Necromancer's Gambit is the perfect Halloween read, following the trevails of a cell of mages operating in Portland.
The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 1, Initiative
I’m not going to tell you my name. Names have power. But we’ll get to that. For now, know that everyone calls me Knight.
It’s raining, but this is Portland, so that’s redundant. My hair is soaked, plastered to my head. I get it cut at a little shop in Hazel Dell. The owner is a gentle, older woman who decorated the place like it was her parlor: balls of yarn, old portraiture, and a pink, flowery wall paper that all give it a 1950s feel. Each time I go, she’s decides I look like a different celebrity from the 30s or 40s, and insists on cutting my hair that way. Right now I’m Gary Cooper, apparently. But I go there anyway, because she’s the only one who doesn’t disturb my cowlicks, and make me look like Alfalfa.
I check my watch. Rook’s late. That’s not a good sign- or maybe it’s just a character flaw- I don’t know her well enough to say.
I’m huddled under an awning to stay out of the worst of it. Some poor bastard in a beat-up pick-up left his lights on. If it was warmer, or drier, I’d leave it alone- and I should. Never draw attention to yourself. It was the closest thing to a maxim my mother ever had. But the idea of someone having to walk home in this downpour, fuck- being stuck in this city’s lousy enough.
I walk slowly over to the truck, hoping a driver careless enough to leave his lights on maybe didn’t lock the doors. But that would make things simple, and this driver’s apparently a very practical moron.
Simplest unlocking spell I know involves sympathetic magic. You spit in the keyhole, to make the lock a part of you. Then you use an incantation to convince it that you both want the lock open; my favorite I learned from an Irish klepto who might have stolen my heart if she hadn’t made off with my wallet first.
Sympathizing a lock open always reminds me of that scene from Empire, where Luke can’t get his rocks up- because it only kind of works. Sometimes, you just look at the lock sideways, and it’s done. Other times, you can work a lock for hours, and nothing.
The Toyota’s lock has seen better days, and its owner isn’t gentle about shoving his key inside, so it's used to being manhandled, and gives quickly. I glance around. There are enough people on the sidewalk that I’ve definitely been seen, but nobody’s paying enough attention to care. I open up the door, and feel around for a second, just long enough to find the light switch and push it in.
“The fuck are you doing in my truck?” a man asks from behind me. He’s drunk; I’m not sure if the smell or the slur hits me first. I feel a hand on my shoulder, that works its way to the collar of my leather jacket. I turn around.
“Just turning off your lights,” I say, earnest.
“You were busting into my car.” I can’t be sure if he shoves me against his truck, or nearly passes out against his truck, and uses me to cushion his landing. Either way, it’s all I can do not to punch him right in the face. I take a breath.
“You left your lights on and your door unlocked. I just wanted to help.” I put up my hands, in surrender. He knows he’s ploughed, so he stops to think about it; he can’t decide if I’m telling the truth, and I’d guess it wouldn’t be the first time he drunkenly punched an innocent man, so he lets go of my collar.
Without my collar to steady him, he falls most of the way into his cab. He’s drunker than I thought. And even if I call the cops, they’d arrive just fast enough to be worthless. I grab hold of his shoulders, to steady him, “You don’t look so good. Maybe you should sleep it off.” He grunts, and I know I’m not so lucky. I don’t quite remember which Greek or Latin root I need to finish off a drowsiness spell. I don’t dare guess, lest I Sleeping Beauty him- because I really don’t want to have to deep tongue kiss a man tonight- especially not this man.
I slam him hard against the steering wheel. “Whoa,” I yell, for the sake of a homeless man, half-asleep in a doorway with a clear line of sight. “You okay, buddy?”
He’s got a small cut in his forehead, and it’s drooling blood around his brow.
“Maybe, I, maybe I should sleep it off.” He’s not unconscious, but he’s almost passed out from the drink. I fold his legs into the cab and shut the door.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when The Necromancer's Gambit is available for purchase.
Preview: The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 2
Time for another excerpt from The Necromancer's Gambit, due September 23rd. The Necromancer's Gambit is the perfect Halloween read, following the trevails of a cell of mages operating in Portland.
Previously:
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 1
The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 2, Initiative, Continued
“Got plans?” Female voice. Haughty. Not authoritative enough to be a cop- but it’s nobody I recognize.
“Excuse me?” I ask as I turn around.
“You know, if you’ve got a long night of date-rape planned, I can always come back in the morning. I’d hate to intrude on your evening.” I realize then it’s Rook.
“You’re late.”
“You must be Knight; Sister Magdalene said you were grumpy. I’m-” I grab her wrist and squeeze. If she isn’t who I think she is, this is the point I get maced, or maybe a fireball cast in my underpants.
“Don’t.” I give her a second to react, and when she doesn’t I let her go. “Never use your name with anyone if you can avoid it. Names have power.” Magic draws on connection. A name is giving someone a piece of you, and a stronger connection, one they can use to burn you from a distance. “Besides which, when the Salem Circle finally sets up its government, you’re going to be their castle, so you’ve already got a title. You’re Rook.”
“But don’t titles also have power?”
“Some. But less – for the same reason that saying goddamn the President isn’t nearly as effective as casting a diarrhea spell on Barrack Obama. Specificity is your friend- and your enemy.” I’m still awkwardly holding a coffee cup, and push it out to her. “It’s cold.”
“As in ice, or you didn’t grab one of those sleeve things?”
“As in whichever extreme I ordered it at wasn’t enough to overcome your extreme tardiness.”
“I’d retort with a witticism about your tardedness if I‘d had my coffee already.”
She grabs the cup and drinks it like a shot. There’s a sigil on the bottom of it. Not a spell in its own right, just an activator; the sugar in her coffee is transubstantiated. The spell turns it back into an artificial sweetener, one that in significant quantities acts as a laxative. She doesn’t notice the mark- didn’t even check for one- which almost makes me want to activate the spell.
But I don’t. Because I’m trying to be diplomatic, and there are probably gentler ways to teach her caution. “I’m still not 100% on why you’re riding along with me. Our Castle is friendly enough, loves to talk tradecraft, and actually has experience relevant to your new responsibilities.”
“I’m supposed to be Rook eventually. But right now I’m just another sister. Magdalene asked me to come and learn what I could about your gambit, so we could design our equivalent from a position of knowledge.”
“Magdalene? What is she, a first century prostitute?”
Her eyes flash with a memory, and I realize she knows Magdalene’s real name and wants to tell it to me, then she says “Names have power.” I know it, too; Magdalene and I have a history, but Rook doesn’t need to know that. History has power, too.
She takes another sip from her coffee, then asks, “So is this what a magical dick does? Sit around drinking old coffee? And why couldn’t you just wait for me to get here, then let me order for myself?”
“One, because this is the only block in Portland without a Starbucks on the corner, and two, because we have a case. The moment we're inside we're on the clock.”
“So that’s why you had me meet you outside the Cauldron. You didn’t strike me as a dance club kind of guy.”
“Am I that obvious?” I kneel in front of my homeless witness from before. It takes a moment for him to recognize me, and he worries for an instant that I mean to shut him up, until he sees the green of a bill in my hand. “Guy in the truck hit his head pretty hard. You want to keep an eye on him, for me?” He mumbles something that sounds like ‘sure’ and palms the twenty; we both wish it was more.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when The Necromancer's Gambit is available for purchase.
Previously:
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 1
The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 2, Initiative, Continued
“Got plans?” Female voice. Haughty. Not authoritative enough to be a cop- but it’s nobody I recognize.
“Excuse me?” I ask as I turn around.
“You know, if you’ve got a long night of date-rape planned, I can always come back in the morning. I’d hate to intrude on your evening.” I realize then it’s Rook.
“You’re late.”
“You must be Knight; Sister Magdalene said you were grumpy. I’m-” I grab her wrist and squeeze. If she isn’t who I think she is, this is the point I get maced, or maybe a fireball cast in my underpants.
“Don’t.” I give her a second to react, and when she doesn’t I let her go. “Never use your name with anyone if you can avoid it. Names have power.” Magic draws on connection. A name is giving someone a piece of you, and a stronger connection, one they can use to burn you from a distance. “Besides which, when the Salem Circle finally sets up its government, you’re going to be their castle, so you’ve already got a title. You’re Rook.”
“But don’t titles also have power?”
“Some. But less – for the same reason that saying goddamn the President isn’t nearly as effective as casting a diarrhea spell on Barrack Obama. Specificity is your friend- and your enemy.” I’m still awkwardly holding a coffee cup, and push it out to her. “It’s cold.”
“As in ice, or you didn’t grab one of those sleeve things?”
“As in whichever extreme I ordered it at wasn’t enough to overcome your extreme tardiness.”
“I’d retort with a witticism about your tardedness if I‘d had my coffee already.”
She grabs the cup and drinks it like a shot. There’s a sigil on the bottom of it. Not a spell in its own right, just an activator; the sugar in her coffee is transubstantiated. The spell turns it back into an artificial sweetener, one that in significant quantities acts as a laxative. She doesn’t notice the mark- didn’t even check for one- which almost makes me want to activate the spell.
But I don’t. Because I’m trying to be diplomatic, and there are probably gentler ways to teach her caution. “I’m still not 100% on why you’re riding along with me. Our Castle is friendly enough, loves to talk tradecraft, and actually has experience relevant to your new responsibilities.”
“I’m supposed to be Rook eventually. But right now I’m just another sister. Magdalene asked me to come and learn what I could about your gambit, so we could design our equivalent from a position of knowledge.”
“Magdalene? What is she, a first century prostitute?”
Her eyes flash with a memory, and I realize she knows Magdalene’s real name and wants to tell it to me, then she says “Names have power.” I know it, too; Magdalene and I have a history, but Rook doesn’t need to know that. History has power, too.
She takes another sip from her coffee, then asks, “So is this what a magical dick does? Sit around drinking old coffee? And why couldn’t you just wait for me to get here, then let me order for myself?”
“One, because this is the only block in Portland without a Starbucks on the corner, and two, because we have a case. The moment we're inside we're on the clock.”
“So that’s why you had me meet you outside the Cauldron. You didn’t strike me as a dance club kind of guy.”
“Am I that obvious?” I kneel in front of my homeless witness from before. It takes a moment for him to recognize me, and he worries for an instant that I mean to shut him up, until he sees the green of a bill in my hand. “Guy in the truck hit his head pretty hard. You want to keep an eye on him, for me?” He mumbles something that sounds like ‘sure’ and palms the twenty; we both wish it was more.
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when The Necromancer's Gambit is available for purchase.
Preview: The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 3
I know we're moving fast, but with the release date coming up fast, why not? Here's part 3 of your intro to The Necromancer's Gambit, due September 23rd. The Necromancer's Gambit follows the trevails of a cell of mages operating in Portland.
Previously:
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 1
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 2
The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 3, The Investigation
Rook follows me to the entrance of the Cauldron. I can already feel the oppressive bass pounding from inside, and the heavy stink of sweat and smoke on the air. I hand our cover fee to a woman in her mid-thirties trying too hard to cling to her late twenties. “Hand stamp?” she asks, and I shake my head. “You’re supposed to get a hand stamp,” she says, bored but annoyed.
I peel a Hamilton and set it on top of the cover. She shrugs and waves us in.
Rook gives me a look. “You don’t trust the ink?” Her tone is skeptical. Exactly how green are the witches out of Salem these days?
“Psychography- spirit writers.” I’m having to talk louder than I like to overcome the music, but the crowd in the Cauldron is 60% mage; it takes more than a dry discussion of magic to turn heads in here.
“I thought that was mostly the ideomotor effect-” she yells back, “like dowsing, or using a Ouija board.”
“Adepts can transcribe otherworldly communication- but that’s only half the craft. They use apothecary inks- magic distilled in liquid form.” Generally, the covens like their magic fresh- fresh ingredients, fresh rituals- some bullshit about it being closer to the natural way of things, and more pure. Elixirs like apothecary inks never really caught on with them, especially in an isolated Circle like hers. “You ever been spirit-written? I don’t recommend it.”
I pull out my phone to send a text, tell Pawn that we’re here. “It helps if you claim to have OCD? Like how vampires tell people they have porphyria. Helps explain away the little eccentricities- keeps people from getting too curious about things they wouldn’t understand.”
Pawn sticks out as he pushes his way through the crowd. He’s in his late forties, early fifties, buzzed, thinning hair, short, stocky build. And he only sticks out more because he doesn’t recognize he’s at least fifteen years too old for this crowd. “Body’s in the champagne room,” he says, and spends a moment too long looking at Rook.
“Body?” she asks, pretending as a courtesy not to notice him leering.
Pawn leads us past a bouncer, into the backroom. There’s a corpse in the middle of the floor. The body’s charred, and mangled, in an unnatural pose; I’ve seen similar, from falls- particularly somebody who fell without trying to catch themselves.
Pawn stalks around Rook, seeing if she’ll respond to his assertion of dominance. When she doesn’t he figures she’s just a piece of meat. “So this is the rookie, huh? Gotta say, she’s a sight prettier than you when I trained you.”
“Yet you just keep getting uglier and fatter, as the years pack on,” I say. He grunts; from her look, I can tell Rook feels bad for him, but only because she doesn’t know him. “It’s burnt to hell. You have a vamp sniff it out?”
“Was a vamp that brought it to me, one of my CIs.”
“And I had my money on you pocketing the informant stipend.”
There’s a hint of pain in his expression before he buries it- he doesn’t appreciate being shamed in front of the new girl, but plays it off. “I take my cut, but the informant’s good. Never had a problem with him before.”
“Bring him in. I’ll want to know what he does. Witnesses?”
“Just the vamp.”
“The bouncer?”
“Tim. He was outside. Heard a crack, then the thump. Presumably the port, then the landing. Room was empty at the time. But he got the vamp to check it out.”
“You like the bouncer for it?”
“Nah. He’s a solid citizen. Worked here for better of a decade. Never thrown me out on my ass- which is something. Always pays his taxes. Besides which, bartender corroborates him being outside when she heard the sounds, then him fetching my CI.”
I’m not so sure. “Still, grabbing the vamp-”
“Cauldron’s been a hangout for most of his tenure. This ain’t his first dog and pony.”
Pawn’s being uncharacteristically thorough, tonight, but for some reason that puts me more on edge. “Get him in here anyway.”
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when The Necromancer's Gambit is available for purchase.
Previously:
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 1
The Necromancer's Gambit, part 2
The Necromancer's Gambit, Part 3, The Investigation
Rook follows me to the entrance of the Cauldron. I can already feel the oppressive bass pounding from inside, and the heavy stink of sweat and smoke on the air. I hand our cover fee to a woman in her mid-thirties trying too hard to cling to her late twenties. “Hand stamp?” she asks, and I shake my head. “You’re supposed to get a hand stamp,” she says, bored but annoyed.
I peel a Hamilton and set it on top of the cover. She shrugs and waves us in.
Rook gives me a look. “You don’t trust the ink?” Her tone is skeptical. Exactly how green are the witches out of Salem these days?
“Psychography- spirit writers.” I’m having to talk louder than I like to overcome the music, but the crowd in the Cauldron is 60% mage; it takes more than a dry discussion of magic to turn heads in here.
“I thought that was mostly the ideomotor effect-” she yells back, “like dowsing, or using a Ouija board.”
“Adepts can transcribe otherworldly communication- but that’s only half the craft. They use apothecary inks- magic distilled in liquid form.” Generally, the covens like their magic fresh- fresh ingredients, fresh rituals- some bullshit about it being closer to the natural way of things, and more pure. Elixirs like apothecary inks never really caught on with them, especially in an isolated Circle like hers. “You ever been spirit-written? I don’t recommend it.”
I pull out my phone to send a text, tell Pawn that we’re here. “It helps if you claim to have OCD? Like how vampires tell people they have porphyria. Helps explain away the little eccentricities- keeps people from getting too curious about things they wouldn’t understand.”
Pawn sticks out as he pushes his way through the crowd. He’s in his late forties, early fifties, buzzed, thinning hair, short, stocky build. And he only sticks out more because he doesn’t recognize he’s at least fifteen years too old for this crowd. “Body’s in the champagne room,” he says, and spends a moment too long looking at Rook.
“Body?” she asks, pretending as a courtesy not to notice him leering.
Pawn leads us past a bouncer, into the backroom. There’s a corpse in the middle of the floor. The body’s charred, and mangled, in an unnatural pose; I’ve seen similar, from falls- particularly somebody who fell without trying to catch themselves.
Pawn stalks around Rook, seeing if she’ll respond to his assertion of dominance. When she doesn’t he figures she’s just a piece of meat. “So this is the rookie, huh? Gotta say, she’s a sight prettier than you when I trained you.”
“Yet you just keep getting uglier and fatter, as the years pack on,” I say. He grunts; from her look, I can tell Rook feels bad for him, but only because she doesn’t know him. “It’s burnt to hell. You have a vamp sniff it out?”
“Was a vamp that brought it to me, one of my CIs.”
“And I had my money on you pocketing the informant stipend.”
There’s a hint of pain in his expression before he buries it- he doesn’t appreciate being shamed in front of the new girl, but plays it off. “I take my cut, but the informant’s good. Never had a problem with him before.”
“Bring him in. I’ll want to know what he does. Witnesses?”
“Just the vamp.”
“The bouncer?”
“Tim. He was outside. Heard a crack, then the thump. Presumably the port, then the landing. Room was empty at the time. But he got the vamp to check it out.”
“You like the bouncer for it?”
“Nah. He’s a solid citizen. Worked here for better of a decade. Never thrown me out on my ass- which is something. Always pays his taxes. Besides which, bartender corroborates him being outside when she heard the sounds, then him fetching my CI.”
I’m not so sure. “Still, grabbing the vamp-”
“Cauldron’s been a hangout for most of his tenure. This ain’t his first dog and pony.”
Pawn’s being uncharacteristically thorough, tonight, but for some reason that puts me more on edge. “Get him in here anyway.”
Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when The Necromancer's Gambit is available for purchase.
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