Matthew S. Cox's Blog, page 23
October 16, 2014
Divergent Fate #59
A shortcut through the ventilation network shaved half an hour off the trip from the district where Pavo’s apartment was to the Martian Liberation Front safehouse. The hands-and-knees journey wasn’t half as uncomfortable as the conversation she’d had with Raziel about the imminent attack along the way. The duct narrowed over the last fifty meters, forcing Risa to drag herself along like a snake. She grumbled about the lack of automated taxis in Mars’s subterranean cities. Except for central areas around major nodes, streets were only an inch or two wider than a single car, making one-way travel difficult, and forget opposing traffic. After decades of settlement, between the merchandise from shops spilling into the street, the opportunistic and the unwanted loitering about, and the crumbling walls, it fastest to travel by walking.
Or, in Risa’s case, crawling through the vents
She pushed the cover open and slithered out into a dim hallway packed with storage cases, catching her fall on her hands before somersaulting to her feet. Three boys lazed around, tinkering with old, broken electronics. Sam, who had been facing her, gawked that she’d fit out of such a small opening. Kyle, who hadn’t seen her, shrieked when she rushed past him. Risa offered a brief, apologetic glance at them, but didn’t stop.
Hoses, wires, and boxes formed a veritable obstacle course as she ran through the hallway, hooked a left, and sprinted past their sad excuse for an infirmary and a communal shower. A number of voices echoed inside over the hiss of water spraying metal ground. A right at the end brought her to Death Row. Purple drew her eyes to her room.
Kree slept curled up on her bed.
Risa stopped, leaning on the wall by the door without going in. The child seemed peaceful. As much as she wanted to spend time with her, make sure she was okay, and forget all about the war, she had an angel waiting on her. Four agonizing seconds later, she pushed away from the doorjamb and ran to the sunken central area. She didn’t bother taking the curved stairway, instead vaulting over the railing to the floor ten feet below. Her catlike landing attracted the attention of two men and three women working the communications arrays, but neither General Maris nor Garrison reacted to her. Garrison was in the middle of a logistical discussion about a new remote outpost.
“Garrison,” said Risa, striding right up to him as if Maris wasn’t there, “I need to talk to you right now.”
“Lieutenant Black.” Maris imposed himself between them. “Do you make it a habit of ignoring Generals and interrupting Colonels?”
She ripped her gaze away from Garrison to stare up at the imposing dark-skinned General. “Remind me which elected official commissioned your rank? Oh, that’s right, you gave it to yourself. Until you’re representing a legal military force beholden to a legitimate government of Mars, you’re just an old man wearing costume stars. Get over yourself, and get out of my way.”
Everyone froze. Several muffled gasps, and one poorly suppressed nervous laugh broke the stillness. Such quiet fell over the area that the infinitesimal whispery hum of dozens of holo-emitters grew audible.
Veins swelled beneath Maris’s forehead. He looked as likely to punch her as scream. “You are damn lucky I don’t bring you up―”
“Bring me up? Hah! On what? Court-martial charges? You really are insane, you know that Maris? This isn’t the fucking military. We’re terrorists, or have you not been keeping up with the NewsNet? What’s wrong?” She squinted at him. “Your nine-million-credit weapon malfunctioning on you? Didn’t expect her to think? S’pose you should’ve bought me a replacement brain too.”
“Risa…” Garrison reached for her arm. “Now is not the time to get into that.”
She stomped away, towards Garrison’s office. Three strides later, at the lack of footsteps behind her, she whirled. Maris’s eyeballs swelled from their sockets, covered with bright red blood vessels. Garrison hadn’t taken a step.
“Fine,” said Risa, folding her arms. “We’ll do this right here then.” She pulled a thumbnail sized electronic device out of her weapon harness and threw it at Garrison. “UCF Military Intelligence is planning to destroy a civilian agricultural settlement known as Arden as a false flag operation. That neuro-stick has all the information if you don’t believe me.”
Garrison went pale, well, more pale than usual.
Maris calmed himself, glancing at the shorter man. “Colonel, do we have any assets in Arden?”
“One observer, a couple of bodies on the security force, and a set of eyes inside the company.”
“So less than six?” Maris glanced at the tactical map on the large, flat display table next to them. “Which company was it again?”
“NuOrganix,” said Risa. “Losing that facility will create a food shortage in the UCF-controlled areas. Best-case scenario probably won’t see riots, but the youngest, the oldest, and the weakest will suffer the most. Worst-case scenario, we have food riots and the population tries to overthrow the government.”
Garrison plugged the tiny black plastic device into a console in the central holo-table. The feeble click thundered through the room. All their faces turned blue as graphs, satellite reconnaissance, classified C-Branch documents, and even a personnel roster of the ‘assets’ chosen to perform the demolition work appeared on a number of floating holo-panels. Next to the faces, recent video captures taken from security cameras at the starport showed the moment each man disembarked from a commercial RedLink shuttle. He stared at the five-to-ten second video loops Raziel had chosen to best show the similarity to their military identification photo. No two arrived on the same day, all eight spaced out over the course of a month.
The detailed background files on the operatives got Maris to raise an eyebrow. “Where did you get all this information from, Lieutenant? This is all highly classified C-Branch material. I have trouble believing it’s legitimate.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you think I’m Cat-6.” She put her hands on her hips. “An angel gave it to me.”
Maris leaned his weight on his fists; pale cyan light from the war map cast his already dark face in stark shadow. “There’s no need to be alarmist. I highly doubt C-Branch would undertake an operation like that if they were not confident about the result. The all-out cave in of society seems farfetched.” He glanced at Garrison. “Send a message, quiet. No details. Tell our friends to get out and lay low for awhile, just in case.”
Risa blinked. “That’s it? You’re pulling our assets? What about those people? We have to stop it!”
Maris remained statue still, save for his bulging eyeballs shifting towards her. “You’re already dangerously close to―”
“To what?” She yelled. “You want to cut me loose? You wanna kick me out? Go right the fuck ahead. You can’t charge me with shit, because this”―she waved around at the room―“is a joke. A God-damned sick joke. How can you tell us all we fight for the people of Mars? How can you ask us all to die for the ideal of a better life? How can you stand there, so imperiously offended that I refuse to acknowledge your bullshit rank, and have the balls to stand back and do nothing while a thousand people die to make this fucking joke look bad in the eyes of the very people we’re trying to help?”
Murmurs simmered through the shadows.
General Maris un-leaned from the table, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Risa, you have to look at the big picture. This is a military intelligence operation. Top trained assets. Top of the line gear. Top minds on military-grade cortical-boosters planning it. All the ‘heart’ in the world won’t make up for their advantages. I don’t want to lose anyone. All they’d need to do is find one real body they can connect back to us and it would be ten times worse.” He sighed at the floor. “We can fight the propaganda war from the net, but out there, you kids would just get killed.”
Risa looked Garrison in the eye. “I can’t let those people die. I’m going.”
“No you’re not,” said Garrison, sounding too calm. “It’s too risky.”
“Someone has to!” she screamed. “We’re no better than they are if we let them murder civilians. Raziel said it was somehow all about money. If we stand for anything at all, I have to go out there.”
“Why are you yelling?”
The sound of Kree’s voice, still slurred from sleep, hit Risa like a punch to the throat. The little girl crept around the corner of the giant display table behind her, a head shorter than its top, rubbing her eyes.
“I suppose you’ll ignore me if I order you not to,” said Maris. “Take a good, long look at that face, and think about what it’ll look like when we tell her you’re not coming back. You remember how you felt when we told you about Genevieve.”
“What?” Kree’s face lit up with worry. She ran to Risa’s side. “Don’t go!”
Risa scooped the girl up, balancing her on one hip and staring death at Maris as Kree wailed and pulled on her. I can’t do this to her. Doubt swirled around for a moment as the child settled down and clung.
How many children live in Arden?
“I’m sorry. I have to stop this.” Risa squeezed the little body in her arms. “An angel’s watching over me. I know I’ll be safe.”
“Angel?” Kree stared at her, face stern save for the dribbling tears. “You’re too big for make-up friends.”
October 9, 2014
Divergent Fate #58
A shift in weight ushered Risa out of the realm of dreams. She opened the one eye not in direct contact with the pillow, staring over an off-white haze at an empty canister of synthetic white wine on the nightstand. A cool breeze and the material of Pavo’s long coat sliding over her back made her aware of her nakedness. She lay face down on the Comforgel bed, arms crossed under the pillow and one leg tucked under a sheet up to the thigh.
He leaned over her and kissed her on the cheek. “Good morning.”
“Mmm.” She closed her eye and curled on her side. “What time is it?”
“About ten till six. Pulling an early today.”
Risa squinted at him; the bulky Defense Force armor made him look more muscular and intimidating. She grinned at the irony of a hunted “terrorist” falling in love with a cop.
Pavo pulled the sheet over her. “Hope you’re here when I get home.”
After another kiss, he went for the door. She snuggled into the pillow and closed her eyes.
Falling in love with a cop.
Risa sat up and bolted from the bed, catching him a second before he opened the apartment’s outer door. He seemed startled by the sudden urgency in her eyes, but relaxed as she embraced him. She stepped back to arm’s length, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips.
He regarded her with a mischievous smile. “You are making it difficult for me to leave.”
She stared at him, lip quivering, ashamed of her artificial eyes, doubting they could convey the depth of her feelings. The unexpected thought had let her subconscious speak the truth. How would he react if she said it? How would she feel if she didn’t?
“What is it?” He took her hand. “Something’s wrong?”
“Pavo…” She fought the urge to hide her face. “I want to be with you. I want you to be careful, I want us to―”
He kissed her on the lips. “I’ll be careful.”
She stood in silence for the span of three heartbeats. “I love you.”
Seconds passed with no visible reaction on his face. Risa clutched his arm with both hands, bracing herself for the rapid backpedal she was certain would follow.
“I…” She glanced down. “It’s fast. Too soon. I―”
He cupped her cheek in one hand and pulled her chin up, staring into her eyes. “Fast isn’t always a problem. Especially in our line of work.” A relieved grin bared his teeth. “For a sec there, I thought you were going to hit me with bad news.”
He’s still smiling. “No. I just never thought I’d…”
“Find someone?”
Risa chuckled, gazing behind her at the simu-daylight filtering in through the slatted windows on the far wall. “No, I never thought I’d live long enough.”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed the back of her neck. “That’s enough talk like that. I really need to get going before Vasquez reads me the riot act.”
She tried to prolong their embrace as much as she could, but he was gone far too soon for her liking. Risa sighed at the door and walked backwards until she fell, seated, on the bed. Sleep was out of the question; her mind was a tangle of hope and worry. Cleaning up the mess they made of the bedroom the previous night ate some time, after which she ‘semmed coffee.
The “windows” flooded the apartment with a warm orange glow; the artificial sunlight made the spot by the corner table warm. Had she been wearing anything, it would have been uncomfortable. No appetite manifested by the time she drained the cup. Sitting in this apartment alone all day would be intolerable, even if every atom of the place smelled like him. She thought of bringing Kree here, away from the MLF and violence, hoping a ‘normal’ environment might help the girl cope with whatever she had witnessed.
They had that in common; both of them had watched a parent die. Even if Colonel Black wasn’t who he claimed to be, he was still her father. She trudged to the autoshower, poking the button three times in a futile effort to get the machine to start up faster. The safety lock clicked, the motor in the floor whirred to life, and soon a cascade of warm water surrounded her, melting away the worry.
Risa.
Raziel’s voice shuddered through her limbs, a wave of tingling electrical sparks riding up and down her nerves. She fell against the tube, grabbing the handrail to keep from falling. As overwhelming as his presence could have been, this felt like a whisper―it paralyzed rather than burned. She sank to her knees, hands flat on the warm metal. Swirling water gathered against her leg on its way to the drain in the center.
“Please. No more,” she whispered. “I won’t murder anyone else.”
I do not desire you to take life.
She curled tight, shaking from the angelic presence spreading through her body.
A situation has arisen. Innocents are at risk.
“Why?” Risa tried to sit up, but her muscles locked. “Why me?”
Because you see them as people, not as numbers.
“You’re asking me to fight.” Risa cried; her aversion to this war clashed with guilt at the thought she could cast aside the will of an angel. An angel who had chosen her. How ready she had once been to do anything he asked for the good of the Martian people. Was she fooling herself with Pavo and Kree? Would this world truly allow Risa Black to become normal? Shaking, she pressed her forehead to her fists. The best she could hope for was to shield them from the death that followed her. “What would you have me do?”
Agents from UCF military intelligence will set off explosives in an agricultural outpost, and attribute the attack to the Front.
“What?” She forced her head up, gritting her teeth from the agony of fighting her own muscles. “Murder their own citizens?”
Yes. A false flag operation.
“But, why? Those people…”
They are citizens of Mars. To find the why, ask yourself what is the root of all evil.
She dragged herself to her feet, closing her eyes against the onrush of soap foam. “Money? Where?”
A NuOrganix grow facility several miles southeast from Cydonia. Arden.
Risa’s mind leapt back to the man at the noodle bar. “When?”
Forty-nine hours.
“Shit. Come on, come on.”
She slapped at the console trying to hurry the autoshower into rinse mode. Raziel’s presence released her; she bounced on her toes, rattling the handle until the dry cycle ended and the door unlocked. After sprinting to the bedroom, she rummaged through her belongings in search of the NetMini. It lit up when she seized it out of her boot; her finger covered the roguish grin she wanted more than anything to have in the room with her at that moment.
Pavo didn’t answer.
She held the small onyx slab against her forehead, whimpering into a sob before ration overtook emotion and she realized police policy required him to shut down personal devices while on duty.
“Dammit.”
She stared at the ceiling for a second before grabbing her armor, ignoring how cold the slippery, flexible material felt so soon after a shower. Risa leapt into her boots, clasping them with one hand while pulling her pistol harness over her shoulder with the other. Halfway to the elevator outside, she remembered to pull the armor fastener up to her neck, covering her chest. She punched the call button and covered her face with both hands, too angry to cry and too sad to scream. The indicator light chimed as the cab moved closer, floor by floor. Another attempt to call him went straight to vid-mail.
“Pavo. Something’s come up. My imaginary friend needs a favor. I can’t talk on this line. I’m fine. I didn’t want you to worry when I wasn’t there when you got home.”
The elevator opened. Risa stared up at the ceiling.
“Please tell him I’m okay.”
October 5, 2014
Operation Chimera Pre Order
Operation Chimera is now available for pre-order on Amazon (here) for 99 cents. The official release date is 10/20. I had a lot of fun writing this with Tony Healey, author of the Far From Home series. Awhile ago, Curiosity Quills contacted me because Tony was looking for someone to collaborate with on a spinoff of his successful deep-space series, and they thought I’d be a good fit.
When they pitched it to me, the phrase “Star Trek meets Wing Commander” got bandied about, and I couldn’t resist. I used to be a big fan of the Wing Commander games (perhaps less so the film), and it seemed like an exciting little project. Working with Tony was great; he’s got that wicked Brit sense of humor I like, and had the decency to tell me he thought Keg (the android) was funny.
The story follows the crew of the Manhattan, an enormous starship/fighter carrier as it sets off on its maiden voyage into an uncharted region of space. The action splits between one of the groups of rookie fighter pilots (Green Wing) and the command crew of the Manhattan. The untested crew deals with first-mission-jitters as well as the unexplained effects of the Chimera nebula, all the while wondering if the mission is as risky and suicidal as everyone said it was.
October 2, 2014
Blog Tour | Charming – by Krystal Wade
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and that’s great . . . as long as you don’t die. Sixteen-year-old Haley Tremaine had it all: top-notch school, fantastic family, and a bright future, but all of that changed when an accident tore her family apart. Now, an alcoholic father, a bitter younger sister, and a cold headstone bearing her mother’s name are all she has left.
Chris Charming has it all: a powerful CEO for a father, a prestigious school, and a fortune at his fingertips, but none of that matters when he lands a reputation as a troublemaker. Struggling to follow in his father’s footsteps, he reaches out to the one person he believes truly sees him, the one person he wants: Haley.
Little do they know someone’s determined to bring the two together, even if it means murder.
Available at: Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Amazon
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Many months ago, I had the good fortune to be involved with the publication of CHARMING, by Krystal Wade. It doesn’t feel like all that long ago I was typing up proofreading notes and plot commentary to send back to Curiosity Quills. I would have reviewed this, but it felt like a conflict of interest due to my (however minor) involvement in its creation.
Nonetheless, this was a great book. It’s Young Adult, but the pacing was perfect, Krystal keeps the reader guessing at who the bad guy is right up until the end when everything simultaneously blows up and comes together to make perfect sense. The characters are well-portrayed, believable and emotional in a way that brings you right into the story. Without further ado, here is the interview that Krystal was generous enough to answer, as well as an excerpt from the book.
Interview
1. Did you draw on anything in the real world for inspiration for Charming?
Absolutely. I used a lot of personal experiences or things I witnessed to build the characters. Everything one of the characters went through is something that me or someone I know went through.
2. Are you an outliner or a pantser?
Both. This totally depends on the book, but the more books I write, the more I tend to outline. Very detailed outlines at that. Charming’s was 20,000 words long!
3. What was the most interesting part of conceiving/writing/publishing Charming?
Most interesting? Well, I’d have to say that this story, more than any other, wouldn’t let me go until it was finished. I wrote Charming in two weeks (after research and outlining). Two weeks! And while I still went through a normal editing process, I’d never put anything to paper that fast before.
4. If you could wave a magic wand and change anything about Charming with no effort, would you change anything, and what?
I wouldn’t change a thing. That story is exactly how I want it to be. People will like it while other people may not. But for me? I’m absolutely thrilled with it, and that’s really all that matters.
5. Do you see the character of Haley’s father as a villain or a victim?
Ooh. That’s a tough question. He’s a bit of both, a victim of addiction and a villain to his daughter. I imagine if he’d had an intervention earlier in life, maybe he wouldn’t have been such a villain. In the long run, though, he is a bad guy and will remain so until he and Haley come to some sort of acceptance of each other.
6. Do you have any current projects? What’s next?
Well, yes, yes I do. Do you know any authors who don’t have projects going on? I’m working on a book called The Unraveling of Willard Hill. It’s a magical realism novel, but mostly thriller, and I hope to release it in October of 2015. I’m also working on Shattered Secrets 2, which I’m hoping to release in the spring of 2015!
7. What authors do you consider your greatest influences?
That would be writer, not writers. When I need inspiration or to be reminded of great storytelling, I reach out to Maggie Stiefvater. I love her voice. It’s in everything she puts out, and it’s magical and enchanting and inspiring!
8. What was the most surprising thing to happen/be said to you regarding Charming?
Hmm. There’s something I want to say and something I should say here. I’m kind of struggling with what’s going to be okay.
Let’s just say that initially it wasn’t received well by people I needed to receive it well. And it’s also a book my beta reader, who reads ALL THE TIME AND OFTEN, said is the best book she’s read in a long, long time. In fact, she’s read it several times–and not because I’ve asked!
Excerpt:
(pardon its absence, as soon as I receive it, I will put it here.)
Krystal Wade is happily married to the love of her life (don’t gag) and raising three beautiful children in the gorgeous state of Virginia. They live just outside Washington, D.C., and every day she wakes up to find herself stuck in traffic trying to get there. When she’s not working, commuting, or chasing after her three children (four if you count the man), you can usually find Krystal outside talking to her chickens like they’re the cutest things in the world (they are), or training her amazing dogs how to herd said chickens (which they love), or curled up on the sofa with a good book (why can’t that be 100% of the time?).
Tour Schedule:
Sept 29th: Fresh Fiction (Guest Post) and Reader Girls (Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Sept 30th: Coffee Books & Art (Guest Post) and A.K. Morgen (Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 1st: Katie’s Stories (Guest Post), Obsessed by Books (Spotlight w/Excerpt & Review), and The Power of 3 Readers (Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 2nd: Sated Faery (Interview) and BBS Book Reviews (Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 3rd: Matthew Cox Books (Interview & Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 4th: Indie Authors, Books, and More (Review)
Oct 5th: The Writer’s Block (Interview & Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 6th: RomanceJunkies.com (Interview) and Sharon Bayliss (Review)
Oct 7th: The KariAnnAlysis (Review) and Bookcrastinators in Wonderland (Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 8th: Reese’s Reviews (Spotlight w/Excerpt & Review)
Oct 9th: Vicki Keire (Interview)
Oct 10th: A Creative Mind (Review) and Bending The Spine (Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 12th: Elizabeth Seckman, Author (Guest Post)
Oct 13th: Paranormal Book Club (Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 15th: Kindle and Me (Spotlight w/Excerpt & Review) and Eliza Tilton (Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 16th: Summer Weir (Spotlight w/Excerpt)
Oct 17th: Lisa’s Book Lair (Guest Post ) and Epic Narrative Book Reviews (Guest Post)
A story that almost wasn’t
World War Three has plunged the Earth into a new dark age. Citizens live carefree lives in gleaming cities, safe from the worry of The Fade. The vicious alien infection drains its victims to slow, painful deaths. Ascendant Pharmaceuticals has a cure, but charges an exorbitant amount per dose. Nine-year-old Maya Oman is the heir to an empire built on suffering, and the key to a risky plan.
—
Today I finally got to see the interior artwork for my short story Innocent Deception, which is due out later this year in November, as part of the Curiosity Quills Primetime Anthology. I couldn’t be happier with the way the artwork came out… the artist, Ricky Gunawan, did an amazing job with it – as well as the rest of the header images. This anthology has quite a few stories from many talented authors, including one by Piers Anthony.
I can’t get over how this story almost wasn’t written… Early in 2014, CQ put out an internal call to their authors looking for submissions for the next upcoming yearly charity anthology. It had been some time since I wrote a short story, but for no particular reason I can think of, I got hit with about six ideas all at once. So, being the indecisive waffler I am, I wrote them all and sent them in for consideration. Upon receiving the barrage, they raised the idea of putting out a separate anthology of my short stories (the count of short stories has since grown to ten) which I was quite grateful for.
While waiting to hear if one of my submissions got chosen, I got around to sending some of the shorts to other people to read and give feedback on. One person (Looking @ you Tiffany) rather liked the MG Fantasy short “Banderwigh”, and complained that it was over too fast. I pondered this for a bit, and after getting some more encouragement from CQ, decided to expand that into a novel-length story (Emma & The Banderwigh), which (/snoopydance) CQ has signed.
So, this left me with a conundrum of sorts. I had a full length version of it and a short story version of it, which, during the editing process would be a bear to keep consistent. For several days, I waffled back and forth on whether or not to keep them as two separate things or just drop the Banderwigh short from my anthology. Of course, if I dropped it, I’d want to do something to replace it with to keep the story count up. So, I spent a few days thinking about what I could replace it with and if I should replace it at all.
During this time, the idea that would become Innocent Deception popped into my head and wouldn’t go away. While Banderwigh was a fantasy story (set in a world of magic and creatures), I kept circling back to a cyberpunk/apocalyptic setting where a group of desperate individuals attempt to kidnap the little daughter of the head of the powerful Ascendant Corporation in effort to extort money (and other things). [No, I didn't know what I'd call it at the time]. Perhaps a part of my brain wanted to replace a child protagonist with a child protagonist despite the setting being drastically different, and the tone elevated. I don’t consider Innocent Deception MG, despite being from the POV of a nine year old.
So, anyway, there I was with “maybe i’ll replace it” rattling around in my head and bits and pieces of this story refusing to go anywhere. After about a week I said ‘to heck with it’ and worked up an outline. I had a lot of small details I needed to keep straight, and I am an outliner at heart. I outlined about 4k words for a short story that’s about 14,500.
Honestly, at this point, I wasn’t even thinking of the CQ anthology, I figured the door for submissions was closed already and I wanted to replace Banderwigh in my anthology. Given it was so late sent to them, and almost didn’t even happen, you can imagine my (rather pleasant) surprise when I found out CQ had selected it to be part of the Primetime anthology as well.
It feels like one of those videos where a cop has stopped someone on the side of the road and as they are walking up to the other car a truck screams by and almost hits them… but doesn’t. I have a similar “holy crap that was close” feeling here, though I don’t need clean underwear like that cop must have.
It is both an honor and a thrill to share the company of the other authors whose work is included in Primetime. I am keeping my fingers crossed it reaches a lot of people, and hope if you are reading this, you might feel inclined to pick up a copy when it comes out. Ten percent of the proceeds are going to benefit no-kill animal shelters.
Divergent Fate #57
Risa rested her head on Pavo’s shoulder. “Where do you want to go?”
“I’ll support the PVM until it’s no longer necessary, or I’m in the ground. Mars is not Earth. We have a right to govern ourselves.”
“But…” she shivered.
He lifted her face with a hand on each cheek into a lingering kiss; she laced her fingers behind his neck. For minutes they kissed in silence. His hands slid around behind her, drawing her tight against his body. She moaned into his mouth, squirming. When their eyes met, Pavo leaned up before his desire ran away with her body.
“I might consider avoiding field ops, but I’ll always be willing to go if called.” He panted. “Are you sure this is what you want?
She lowered her gaze to his chest; her hands slid to his shoulders. “I want Mars to be free, but I don’t think we’ll get there by blowing people up.” Risa turned her back so he couldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. “The way she looked at me… how many―”
He embraced her from behind, brushing his days-old beard against her cheek. “They send you after military targets.”
“Yes.” She squirmed around to look him in the eye. “Soldiers, even theirs, have families. Every time we make an orphan, we create another fanatic who wants nothing more than to destroy us.”
“This war can’t last forever.” He brushed her hair aside with two fingers. “On Earth, there are resistance cells all throughout ACC territory. The average citizen has a bleak life, far worse than us here. The seeds of discontent are planted, they only need water.”
Risa frowned. “That’s fine for Earth.”
“We send banned vids of the warfare on Mars to Earth. If enough people in the UCF get riled up and the government gets involved down there, the corporates won’t want to fight two battles.”
She blinked, letting her arms drop to her sides. “They want to start a shooting war on Earth too?”
Pavo sat on the edge of the Comforgel pad. “No, just get the situation to the point where it may be likely. Not even the ACC is reckless enough to pull the trigger down there. Too much tech, too dense. All it would take would be one EMP and they’d have to resort to nukes.”
“I…” She looked down.
“Cheap. Despite their military uniforms, the ACC is still run like a corporation. All of their hardware is made by the lowest bidder or the cheapest manufacturer out of parts imported from wherever cheapest. Sure their infrastructure is homed on protected central cores, but by the time they replaced the fried periphery systems and re-uploaded everything, conventional warfare would encroach too far. They’d prefer no Earth at all to their losing it.”
“Are you sure? That sounds so insane. What good is having all the money and power if there’s no one left alive to rule?” She sat in his lap, hands folded in her own. “I want to stop killing. I don’t want to be a monster anymore.”
He kissed her on the lips, too fast. “You are not, nor ever were, a monster.”
His words brushed hot breath across the side of her neck, making her shudder. “I always have awful dreams whenever I killed anyone. I’d always see the fire. It’s getting worse; now it comes into the vent after me, a clawing hand made of flames.”
Pavo put one arm around her. “Is it the people of Mars you fight for, or was it all just anger over what happened to your father? Sometimes, justice and revenge borrow each other’s clothes.”
She opened her mouth, a sharp intake of breath, but stalled.
“A bit of both?”
Risa had told Kree she always hides; now wasn’t the time to keep doing it. “I hated the UCF, even more than the ACC. I was always so angry Maris sent us them nine times for every UCF target we hit. Whenever we did go after a Coalition target it was always half decrepit and basically abandoned already.”
“The enemy of my enemy…” Pavo clasped her hands.
“Garrison said the same thing. When the ACC is gone, we can effect change politically.”
He kissed her earlobe, making her shiver before whispering, “War or not, I love you.”
She pushed him over onto his back, straddling him. Her hair draped into a tunnel of ebon around his face. Elation and sorrow sparred for prominence in her heart. She wanted to say it to him back; the words stalled at the back of her throat. Hearing that phrase in her own voice would all but guarantee something bad. Risa stared at him, mute.
“You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I don’t want you to die.” She lowered herself and kissed him on the lips, the earlobe, and the neck. “It’s like if I tell you how I feel, one of us is going to die. Is that what happened to me? I don’t want anything to happen to us.”
“There is no limit to what the ACC will do to win. You were one of the best operatives the Front had while you took suicidal risks.”
“I wasn’t suicidal.”
“Not caring if you come back in one piece isn’t much different. Some of the things you agreed to do… How lethal do you think you’ll be if you operate with a rational mindset? If you’re careful and diligent, you’ll be fine.”
“Me, rational?” She shrugged out of her weapons harness and held it out to the side with two fingers for a few seconds before dropping it with a plastic clatter. “Since when has anyone considered me rational?”
“You are… when you have a mind to be.” He opened his arms to the sides, letting her unbutton his shirt and peel it away. “I promise I won’t take any stupid chances if you do the same.”
She spread her fingers over his chest, pushing the fabric aside and raking her nails through a coarse forest of black hairs. He reached up through her arms to the top of her neck, grasping the fastener of her ballistic stealth suit, and pulling it open down over her breasts to her hip. Pavo spent a moment drinking in the sight before him, and slipped his hand in and around her right breast, cradling it.
“I’m going to talk to Garrison about some time to get my thoughts sorted.” Risa watched him fondle her for a while. She shrugged the armor off her shoulders and pulled her arms free. “Everyone already thinks I’m Cat-6.”
“There might be ways you could help that don’t involve combat operations.”
She leaned against him, his chest warm against hers, both of them naked from the waist up. She nibbled at his ear while his hands explored her back.
When he reached for his belt, Risa grabbed his hand. “I want us to be together, Pavo… Normal. A family.”
“Kree?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Her effort to get the buckle open stalled at the memory of the girl’s terrified stare. “Yes… It’s not a problem for you―I mean…”
“No.” He smiled. “It’s not a problem, but…”
She looked up at him, lips parted.
“Can we still make one of our own?”
A thousand images flashed through her mind. Am I still human enough to have a… baby? There’s so many orphans, is it fair to have one? She squeezed his hand. Maybe one. What would Garrison say? Am I ready for this?
“Maybe I should start with a cat.”
Pavo thrust his hands into her open armor, attacking the skin above each hip; she twisted off him to the side, peals of laughter echoing off the walls as she rolled onto her stomach in a feeble effort to get away from tickling fingers. He sat astride her and bent forward to kiss the nape of her neck. She moaned, wriggling the rest of the way out of her armor.
“Start with a cat?” He kissed her in the same spot, whispering, “That was my line.”
Lacking patience, she swiped a single claw at his belt; his pants hit the floor. He froze in place.
Her lips curled into a grin as she waved her fingers, and the single claw, at him. “What? Didn’t you say I’m good with these?” She winked. “I wouldn’t miss.”
He exhaled, looking down at himself. “You are. There’s no blood.”
“No blood.” Risa crawled to him and slid her hands up his thighs until her fingers slipped into his boxers. She grasped the material in two fists, and tore them away. “We haven’t even started yet.”
September 25, 2014
Divergent Fate #56
Deep red light glowed through the sheen of condensation upon the metal-paneled wall. At the end of the narrow hallway, head-sized holographic Chinese characters forced an intricate nest of shadow from a mass of exposed wires. A row of people, little more than silhouettes formed of baggy clothing and bright, gleaming goggles, shifted to get a better look as Risa availed herself of the shortcut. Half were lying on the floor, pressed against the wall; the ones who were sitting up presented the most risk. In the castoff crimson from the noodle vendor’s sign, they resembled creatures of darkness lurking in an outer ring of Hell.
She knew walking with her head down was an invitation to be accosted. The posture conveyed either weakness or fear, neither of which had much of a hold on her emotional state. Kree’s reaction to her offer of a home still echoed through her mind. Her vulnerable appearance didn’t bother her as much as she wanted it to. If one of them made a move, she’d see it coming without even glancing at him. Her spatial sensor would give her brain warning; a grey-on-black wraith shape of detected motion. She fantasized about being human again, being defenseless in the dark of an alley deep within the first sublevel of Elysium city. What price would she pay to be normal again? Would it be worth being a victim?
Risa’s unhealthy debate outlasted the narrow confines of the connecting tunnel. A hairless, and quite rotund, Asian man waved at her from behind the counter of an open-faced restaurant. Sixteen stools formed a line in front of a counter, behind which dozens of cooking machines―as well as a few actual pots―chugged and created the steam responsible for the wetness on the walls. The fragrance of brine and broth swirled around her as she approached between two empty seats.
“Wǎnshàng hǎo. Liǎng zhǒng xiā ba,” said Risa
The fat man smiled so hard his eyes vanished. “Is maybe not bad for a chip. Two shrimp bowls, right?”
“Yes, thanks. One spicy, one regular.” She leaned an elbow, and half her weight, on the counter. “To go.”
“Mǎshàng, mǎshàng.” He whirled about, grabbed a bowl from a high shelf and set about adding pinches and handfuls of ingredients from various bins, as if at random.
Her own name on the wind attracted her attention to a holo-panel at the end of the street. A NewsNet doll, perfect and blonde, rattled its empty head about her recent escape from military custody. Iciness spread through her gut, reaching for her heart until the image of “Risa Black” appeared in a small frame on the right. The woman they were looking for seemed ten years older, taller, and with narrower, menacing eyes lit by a blood-red glow. If Risa saw that woman in a lonely street, she’d want to run, too.
Had the Front’s deck jockeys done that? Perhaps the two soldiers who cut her loose had something to do with it. Raziel? Garrison? She pinched the bridge of her nose, finding the mystery of it painful to contemplate. Why should I care who did it. They’re not seriously looking for me. Her head snapped up. “They’re not serious…” It’s all smoke and mirrors. All for the people.
“You get some bad shit, doll?” asked a deep voice, a little too close for comfort.
Plum colored silk shimmered over the human wall to her right, the side she’d given most of her back to. The shirt added the only color to the otherwise monochromatic figure in a long coat, trousers, and armored boots, all the same shade of midnight. Two pistols hung at the front of his belt, and the tip of a rifle peeked over his left shoulder. She looked up at the grin of a dark-skinned man who could have been Osebi’s twin brother, if Osebi had a brother with belt-long dreadlocks hanging from the top of an otherwise shaved head. Half of the thin, ropey strands had been dyed white.
The urge to fling herself away from anywhere his arms could reach reared up; self-control squashed it from a leap to a slow turn that put her back to the counter. Any sense of menace came from size, not the look on his face. Reason dispelled her fear. She raked a hand through her hair, hoping to distance herself from her uncontained expression of startlement.
“What? Anyone that mutters to themselves is on bad shit?”
“You have that look.” He also leaned one elbow on the noodle counter, interlacing his fingers across his stomach. “Like a doll with a jacked up actuator in her hip, and thousand mile eyes.”
His characterization hit a nerve despite his casual demeanor and disarming smile. He called me a broken marionette. Images of Pavo and the night she’d hoped for flashed through her mind; the thought of attack, of not being able to see him, stirred butterflies in the base of her gut.
“Relax.” He raised one hand for a few seconds. “Arden is unwise.”
“I have no idea what that means.” Virtual display screens exploded at the periphery of her vision, artifacts created by cybernetic eyes with eleven concurrent searches for ‘Arden.’ Faces of people, an agricultural settlement, and a couple of entertainment vids. A rectangle superimposed over the man’s figure rendered a slab of the world in black and white; metallurgical scan revealed plastisteel bone grafts, full-body wiring, and more than a little bit of headware. If he wanted to hurt her, she’d be at a disadvantage.
Plastic skiffed along the counter behind her. “You ready. Sixty two, please.”
Without looking at the cook, Risa held out her NetMini until it beeped over the credit-taker. “Can I get a couple extra packets of hot sauce?”
“Of course. Always a pleasure, miss.”
“No idea what it means,” muttered the man, pulling down his sunglasses to reveal all-chrome eyes. A luminescent grid of bright green lines swam over the mirror orbs from right to left, vanishing as fast as it appeared. “It would be best if your people keep it that way.”
He tucked his shades back into place with his thumb, and strolled away with the crowd.
“What was he all about?” asked the cook. “I ready for fighting, but he go.”
“I don’t know…” Risa tracked him until he folded into the crowd a block away, and sent an image cap of his face to Garrison’s mailbox.
* * *
Risa attempted to lock eyes with her blurry pseudo-self as the elevator beeped past each floor. Most tourists regarded Elysium as an above ground jewel of Mars, much like Arcadia. The people who lived here, the people who deserved Mars, knew better. Elysium went as far down as it did up. This sector was deep in the middle class, without much of the class. One peculiarity of the grid space Pavo had elected to live in was the unusual number of MDF peace officers who made it their home.
Despite the district’s forlorn appearance, the bad element more or less gave it a wide berth. Anything bad happened here and it was either a poser, someone desperate enough to be truly dangerous, or someone deadly enough not to sweat a potential run in with the police. An idiot she could handle, and neither of the other options would likely bother with a solitary woman; unless they were looking for her.
That would be an altogether different problem.
She exited on the -7th floor and almost found herself skipping down a hallway too small to allow two grown men to pass without shifting sideways. By the time she’d made it past six doors, hooked a right, and approached at the third apartment from the corner, the spring had left her step. Risa wrapped her arms around the bundle of soup like a beggar child guarding her feast, nudged the communication panel with her ass, and stared at her boots.
Her augmented ears picked up the faint whirr of a camera lens focusing. She didn’t move.
A square of light slid across the carpet, leaving her standing in the middle of it. The scent of Pavo, sweat and cheap cologne, leaked into the hallway.
“The only thing missing from that image is rain and a tattered dress.”
“What?” She looked up.
“You look like a cruel stepmother’s sent you off to work. Either that, or you should be meowing at my door.”
“You’re funny tonight, Pavo.” She lifted her gaze, regarding his boxer-clad glory. “Are you going to make me stand here meowing?”
He chuckled and backed away, letting her scoot past before he banged a fist into the wall on the control. Two-inch-thick plastisteel slid closed without much sound but a faint hiss. Risa went to the single table in the apartment’s main area, stepping as best she could over piles of random junk and clothing. A pair of briefs lay flat on the table.
“Oh, that’s appetizing. What are these doing on the table?”
“I was about to iron them.”
She looked at him. “Iron? You’re either a shitty liar or your little box needs some attention.”
“What about yours?” he winked.
“I don’t even have one. My room’s temporary and I don’t own any―”
“Ugh.” He rubbed sleep off his face. “’Box’ is Earth slang for…”
Her melancholy broke apart, leaving her laughing to the point of tears.
“It wasn’t that funny.” He jogged over and cleared a spot for her to put the food down. The briefs went into the top part of a boxy white device on the wall near the bathroom, which hummed with activity as it cleaned them.
“I know,” she yelled. “That’s why it hit me so funny.”
He sat. “Anything you wanna talk about?”
She slumped in the chair, wiping her eyes and giggling for a few more minutes while he unwrapped the noodle bowls. The spicy one got pushed in front of her with one finger, as though it was radioactive and he did not want to be near it.
“Kree.” Her hands fell in her lap. “That kid saw her mother die. I’m sure of it.”
Pavo looked up in mid-slurp; face hovering over the bowl in the midst of a steam plume. “Mrff awful.”
Risa rambled through a brief recollection of her conversation with the girl, picking at her soup. Despite the mood kicking her appetite in the proverbial jubblies, the noodles were good enough to tempt. “She didn’t want me to be her mother, because she thought I’d die. The way she looked at me… I felt like… Have I killed anyone’s parents? Have I ever made a child look at someone with those eyes?”
“If there was a friendly way to wage war, I think humanity would’ve figured it out by now.” Pavo ceased eating and pushed diaphanous strands of vegetable around the bowl with the chopsticks. “I’ve seen worse things on duty than you’d think. A kid losing a soldier parent’s bad enough, but try telling a nine-year-old boy his own father tried to sell him to buy drugs. Or walk in on a street gang amusing themselves by seeing how close they can get to shooting a wall without hitting a kidnap victims in the head… and betting on who shits their pants first, older brother or little sister.”
She lost her appetite. “I…”
“Sorry.” He scooped a mass of noodles into his mouth, slurping.
“Could you walk away from the Front?”
She poked a chopstick at a shrimp, making it bob in the broth while he mumbled and made noises as if asking her to let him finish chewing.
“You’re serious?”
“I can’t do this anymore, Pavo.” She looked up, into his eyes. His real eyes. A ripple of shame shivered through her at how artificial it made her feel. “The killing… the not knowing if I’m going to live to see two hours into the future. That girl…”
“A child’s a bit of a leap for you, isn’t it? Maybe you should start with a cat first.”
In the span of six tenths of a second, Risa decided she wanted her soup enough not to hurl it at him, and instead opted to throw some dirty laundry over his head.
“A cat? Really?”
“Is the girl at least litterbox trained?”
She looked around for something heavier to throw.
“Laugh… they’re called jokes.”
Risa slouched in her seat. “This isn’t funny. I don’t want her to grow up and turn into whatever the hell I am. I don’t want to kill any more. I’m tired of all the fighting and the death. Even if we win, we’ll just have another corrupt government. The names will change, but nothing else will. Who knows, we might even make it worse.”
“You’re taking the truth about your old man a bit hard. You used to despise the UCF for what they did. You used to believe in the cause; freedom for the people.”
She grasped at the air. “I just want…”
Pavo edged out of his seat and moved to her side.
“A family,” she whispered, as he pulled her into an embrace. “I have this silly little dream of the three of us having a normal life.”
He kissed her for a long moment, and gazed upon her face a moment after. “There’s nothing silly about dreams.”
September 24, 2014
Favorite Character Blog Hop
I got tagged by Jori Mierek in a blog hop about favorite characters. I can’t say it was an easy choice, but I would have to say Althea from Prophet of the Badlands is my favorite by a smidge. Writing from Althea’s POV is fun because of how different the world is to someone with her upbringing. What is everyday and mundane to most people is full of magic to her. For example, old skyscrapers falling open aren’t buildings made by men, but giant nests constructed by unimaginable insects―because mere men couldn’t possibly have built something so massive.
1) What is the name of your character? Is he/she fictional or a historic person?
Althea is a fiction character in The Awakened series. She is painfully innocent, to the point of tolerating horrible treatment so long as she can continue to help others. Her world is one of harsh rules, where the strong take what they want unless someone stronger can stop them. She is able to control the energies within a person and speed up their rate of healing such that even the most grievous of wounds vanish in moments. For this, she has become well known, and everyone in the Badlands wants to own her.
I think she’s my favorite due to her combination of resilience, innocence, and compassion. Also, of all “powers” I’ve always been fond of healers. While I was writing Division Zero, I had Althea standing behind me tapping her foot waiting her turn. While writing Prophet of the Badlands, I had some plans in the outline about 65% of the way through that she rather didn’t approve of. When I hit that scene, she tapped me on the shoulder and shook her head. I wound up changing the story in a major way at that point, a tweak that rippled throughout the rest of the series. I am hoping her combination of inner strength, innocence, and plain horrible luck endear her to readers who (like I did) will want to reach into the story and pull her out to a safe place.
2) When and where is the story set?
Prophet of the Badlands is set in the year 2418. For the most part, the story takes place in the Badlands, which is basically most of central North America. Due to war involving cybernetic-enhanced gene-tweaked mutants as well as chemical/biological and small nuclear weapons, most of the interior of the continent has been abandoned. Modern cities line both coasts, but those who live in the middle are unaware of them, believing a curtain of fire marks the end of the world.
3) What should we know about him/her?
Althea is somewhere between eleven and twelve years old, and has been kidnapped over and over again since she was six. All she knows of her mother is from a faint story she heard of being abandoned at a small village by a lake. Her blue eyes emit bright light, a side effect of her Awakened nature, a visible manifestation of her ability to see in the dark. Her strongest psionic power is healing; she can command a person’s body to mend itself at a touch, sensing sickness and injury as distortions in the body’s “shapes.” Her second strongest power is telempathy (the ability to manipulate and read emotions). She is also capable of psionic suggestion, allowing her to force short commands on people, though she is far weaker (due to lack of practice) with that gift. Like most psionics, she possesses a degree of telepathy, able to listen to the surface thoughts of others, as well as communicate with a mental voice.
Since she was six, she has been kidnapped over and over again by everyone from well-meaning villagers to marauding gangs. Everyone in the Badlands has heard the stories of the Prophet, and in a world without medical technology, they all want her to be theirs.
She has little reaction to the sight of gore, but cringes at violence–even balking at the idea of hurting people who keep her captive. She starts off desperate to help everyone she can while being terrified that one wrong move could turn the people’s adoration into hatred. Badlanders are notorious for their superstitions, and she tolerates captivity because she is afraid of how they would treat her if they knew she could do more than heal. Her reputation as The Prophet affords her a degree of protection, as those who hold her prisoner handle her as gentle as bloodthirsty marauders can―well aware of the legends which claim bad things happen to those who mistreat her.
4) What is the main conflict? What messes up his/her life?
Not all of her “owners” are the same degree of cruel. When the story starts, she belongs to a group of primitive tribals who have come to trust her promise that she will not attempt to flee. She is allowed to exist among them out of her cage, and forms a friendship with Den, a boy a few years older than her who is also the son of the chief. Her gifts let her see through the gossip, that he only wants her for prestige-to have the Prophet as his pet-and she knows he genuinely cares for her. For years, she has gone through an endless series of abductions, not caring too much about being taken because she had lost nothing. When raiders take her away from the little village, she remembers what it feels like to hate being kidnapped.
5) What is the personal goal of the character?
Althea’s personal goal is primarily to help others. She doesn’t care what happens to her as long as she is able to ease the suffering of everyone around her. As the story progresses, and she develops emotional connections of her own, her goals change to one of protecting the people she cares about as she finds the courage to do so.
6) Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?
PROPHET OF THE BADLANDS is complete, and will be released next year. Althea also reappears in other books in The Awakened series. Click HERE for more information on Prophet of the Badlands.
7) When can we expect the book to be published?
The current date for publication is April 27 2015.
I was tagged by : Jori Mierek
https://www.blogger.com/profile/06875274426197309249
I’m tagging the following authors: (If you are up for it, post your answers to these questions and tag more writers.)
James Wymore (Theocracide, The Actuator, Exacting Essence, Salvation) – http://jameswymore.wordpress.com/
Vicki Weavil – (Crown of Ice) http://vickilempweavil.com/
Sam Hunt – (Whirlwind in the Thorn Tree, The Law of the Wolf, Ten Thousand Devils) http://www.theusualmadman.net/
Matthew Graybosch – (Without Bloodshed – Starbreaker I) http://www.starbreakerseries.com/
Tony Healey – (Far From Home Series, Edge of Oblivion – Anthology, The Bloody North) http://tonyhealey.com/
September 18, 2014
Divergent Fate #55
Risa sat back on her heels, fussing with the ebon hair that hung past Kree’s hips, as frizzed and wild the girl in front of her. She looked less pitiful without all the mineshaft dust on her face, though her pure white Marsborn skin made her seem like a phantom. Wide blue eyes set in the eager face of the bony urchin reminded her of what almost happened, of what she almost did. Gone was the battered man’s shirt that had passed for a dress. Despite Garrison’s protests about taking on more mouths to feed, someone had risked a trip into the city to get them real clothes. Already, a thumbprint-sized spot of porcelain peeked through the torn knee of her purple leggings, and her glittery, black skirt had a small rip in the side. Only the purple long-sleeved sweater seemed to have escaped damage.
“Why?”
The argument was fresh in the memory of everyone in the safehouse. Kree hadn’t much cared for such a girly outfit, and few things carry through a metal-walled cave like an angry six-year-old. She wailed about everything except her tiny moon-boots. Those, she adored. She even wanted to shower with them on.
Risa chuckled. “I’m sorry. They got you that outfit because they thought you’d like it. It looks cute on you, but I’ll get you some pants as soon as I can.”
Kree shook her head hard enough to make her entire body sway back and forth. “No. I mean why can’t I grow up to be like you? You’re the best!”
“I’m not the best.” She looked down. “I kill people. I almost killed you.”
“But you didn’t!” Kree pulled on Risa’s hand. “You zoomed like”―she ran in place, making rocket noises―“and you killed the bomb”―she clawed at the air―“so it didn’t hurt anyone. You’re too fast for lasers and you dis-pear in the dark.”
“Kree, this war isn’t fun. The people I hurt don’t get up and play again. When our friends get hurt, they stay gone too.”
The girl pouted at the floor. “Why don’t you like me?”
“I do!” Risa took the girl’s hand and walked with her to the little-used bedroom. “I like you enough to want you to stay safe.”
“I’m still little. I don’t wanna kill any bad guys yet. I gotta get big first.” She wandered to the pile of clothes under the desk, and flopped on it.
Risa sat on the bed, running her nails over her scalp several times while staring at the metal floor between her boots. “You shouldn’t be worrying about that. Want me to put on an animation or something? How about a game?”
“Why? Coz I’m a girl?”
“No, because your six.”
“I bet you killed your first enemy when you were six!”
“When I was six, I played with dolls, wore pink dresses, and had ribbons in my hair.” Risa fumbled with her NetMini. “I was sometimes even afraid to go outside so I didn’t get hurt.”
Kree’s mouth hung wide. “Liar!”
She held up the only tangible memory of her past. A still holographic picture of her, maybe five, standing next to “Colonel Black” or Andriy, or whoever the hell he was. Somehow, Garrison had gotten a hold of it and sent it to her. True to her word, little Risa flashed a saccharin grin, her hair held in twin tails by pink ribbons that matched her frilly dress. She stared through the back of her own virtual head, noting every dust mote as it glimmered through the ethereal figure of the lie standing next to her.
“But…” Kree looked as though she’d been told her living god had died.
A twitch of her thumb shut the NetMini off before she rolled the small black slab over and over in her palm. “It’s okay to act like a little kid. Enjoy it when you can. Maybe there won’t even be a war by the time you’re older.”
“I wanna kill bad guys. I don’t want the war to stop before I get to play.”
Risa slid from the bed to her knees, and crawled under the desk. “Kree, listen to me. War is not a game. It’s not fun. If I could, I’d stay under here with you all the time, where it’s safe.”
“But you’re too brave to hide.”
“No, I’m not. All I do is hide.” She pulled a strand of hair off Kree’s face. “I hide, and I do bad things to bad people.” Her flimsy smile collapsed. “Sometimes, the people aren’t so bad.”
“Why are they fighting then?”
“A long time ago, before even our parents’ parents were born, people came to Mars.”
“From Earth?” Kree rummaged through the clothes.
“Mm hmm. There are a handful of governments left on Earth, but the two biggest, the UCF and the ACC came here.”
“They don’t know how to share.” Kree held up the blue dress Shiro had given her, frowning at it.
Risa chuckled. “No… no they don’t. The ACC in particular is pretty bad with sharing. When the two sides realized they were both here, they started a fight that’s still happening today.”
“What about us?”
“Kree.” Risa grabbed her by the shirt, hard enough to startle her. “You are not with the MLF, do you hear me? If anyone ever asks you, you’re a kid we’re protecting. Do you understand?”
“You’re scaring me,” whined Kree.
Risa let go, ready to snarl out of frustration, but decided to play the game. “It’s important. If they think you’re one of us, they will hurt you. A special operative never admits to being an operative.”
The little girl beamed. “Secret spy?”
“Something like that, but some ‘secret spies’ don’t use guns. They look like normal, everyday people.”
“That’s boring.” Kree pouted.
“No it isn’t. How scared do you think an unarmed spy is when everyone thinks he’s just a computer technician, but he’s going into files where he doesn’t belong, looking for information to help us? What about the ordinary-looking office worker, in a hallway where she doesn’t belong, acting lost so she can listen in on someone talking. They don’t have any weapons, and they know if they get caught…”
Kree gasped. “They have no claws?”
“No claws.”
“Guns?”
“No guns either, but that doesn’t make what they do any less useful. Some of the people who made the biggest difference in war never touched a weapon of any kind.”
“I don’t believe you. You think I’m weak.”
“You’re six!” Risa stifled the urge to yell. “I’m scared to death you’ll get hurt.”
Kree ‘rearranged’ the clothes, smashing her fist into the pile here and there, with a dour frown.
“Wanna go to Sector Z?”
The child froze like a statue.
“Kree?”
“Outside?” she whispered.
Risa put a hand on the girl’s back, worried at the sudden trembling. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“I don’t want to go outside.” She curled into a ball. “The bad things watch the people. They don’t go into the tunnels.”
“Okay, we can stay here.”
Kree crawled into her lap, clinging. Her trembling stopped, but she seemed like a different person. Risa held her, finding herself muttering things like “it’ll be okay” or “shh” at random intervals. She daydreamed about a Mars without war where she could have a family of her own. Pavo figured prominently, as did a version of Kree who had never been forced to live like a rat in a mineshaft. Scenes of a normal job, birthday parties, a house full of happy, screaming kids, and a cozy moment with Pavo after dark all played through her mind. She found herself getting even more attached, and worried about what the future might bring.
“How did you wind up in the tunnels? Did something happen to your parents?”
Kree snapped out of her dazed stare, made eye contact for a second, and gazed at her lap. “Daddy went away when I was little.”
“What about your mommy?”
The glazed look returned. The girl shifted and let her head fall into Risa’s chest.
“Tell me what happened, please.”
“Can I see your claws?” Kree asked, eerie and emotionless.
“Promise you won’t try to touch them.”
Kree wobbled her head in an exaggerated, slow nod.
Risa held out her right hand, straightened her fingers, and sent the mental command. Five slender, transparent blades snapped out with such speed they seemed to appear at full length. Kree didn’t even jump. She studied them, fascinated by the droplets of blood creeping back along the edges.
“Do they hurt?”
“Yes. Every time they come out.”
“Why don’t they cut you inside?”
“You know how a knife has a sheath?”
Kree looked up long enough to whisper, “yeah” before again gazing at the blades like a snake fixed on a charmer’s flute.
“There’s little sheaths in my fingers.”
“How do you bend them?”
Risa turned her hand palm down, holding it as though examining her fingernails. “The claws are four separate pieces that lock together when they come out. One in each knuckle, and one in my hand.”
“They’re so small. Are you afraid they’ll break?”
Risa retracted them and wiped her hand on the nearest cloth item. “They’re as hard as diamonds, but difficult to use. If I hit something like a cyborg, the wrong way, they can break.” She frowned, using her now harmless hand to stroke the girl’s hair. “Claws are a meant to be an emergency weapon.” No sane person prefers them. They’re an assassin’s toy. “They’re difficult to use properly, and really aren’t that good.”
“But you love them. Everyone knows you always use your claws.”
“I like quiet. Guns aren’t quiet, but they’re far more effective. Any kind of blade is dangerous because you have to get close without being shot.” Risa sighed. “Am I really having this conversation with a little girl?”
Kree stuck her tongue out.
Risa hugged her.
“I don’t have a mommy anymore,” Kree said, sounding distant.
“Oh, sweetie.” Risa squeezed her tight. “I’m so sorry.”
They sat together in silence for a while. The girl showed little outward reaction to Risa’s affectionate squeezes and head-rubs.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I can’t fight forever. I want you to have the family I never did. I can’t let this damn war ruin another life.”
Kree sniffled.
“Would you like to stay with me?”
“Like a mommy?”
Risa found herself smiling, despite how idiotic and scary it sounded. “If you like.”
“No!” yelled Kree, face warping with rage. “I don’t want you for a mommy.”
The tiny voice hit her like a cyborg boot to the gut. “W-wha?”
“Coz!” Kree glowered at her for another three seconds before all her rage melted into an explosion of tears. “I d-don’t want you to d-die.”
September 12, 2014
Sometimes, delay is good.
What a difference ten novels make. I recently got the manuscript for Prophet of the Badlands back from Curiosity Quills’ proofreader. For some reason, it took an abnormal amount of time to make its way through the process – but I can’t say it was a bad thing. In fact, I am confident it will result in a stronger work. Prophet was the third full-length novel I wrote, following Virtual Immortality and Division Zero 1. After I had finished Virtual Immortality (around self edit 2) I had a bit of a conundrum as to which to do next, Division Zero or Prophet. I wound up writing Division Zero first, but always with the feeling that Althea (the protagonist of Prophet) was standing behind me, tapping her foot and impatiently waiting her turn.
Almost two years, and ten novels later, I am looking at Prophet with new eyes. It’s frightening and amazing at the same time to peek into the (albeit not-too-distant) past, at the style and manner in which I wrote at the time. Minor mechanical flaws that either escaped notice or knowledge back then now stand out to me as plain as if I’d left a light on during a blackout. The opportunity to remove myself from it for over a year while focusing on other stories, as well as working with a myriad of editors, has been a boon.
There are a handful of quotes floating around regarding writers and a million words. If you count a 400,000 word monstrosity that I attempted a long time ago, and buried deep somewhere, I’m probably getting close to two at this point. Given the the contrast with which I can now view something I wrote almost two years ago, I agree there is something to be said for the idea that a writer must write. While I may be an unusual example of focus (if I am not at the day job or sleeping, I’m writing or editing), the end result of this process is indeed something tangible.
I suppose the message in all of this to other writers is not to dwell on where you are at the moment. Someone once commented to me something along the lines of: “A poor writer writes crap and thinks it’s good, while a skilled writer writes something good they think is crap.” Write for the sake of writing. Tell a story, and worry later on about making sure none of the mortar is showing through your bricks. Two, three, or six books from now, you’ll see the difference.
I know I have.
