Matthew S. Cox's Blog, page 26

Divergent Fate #41

Chopsticks slid from Risa’s hand, clattering into the plastic bowl. A teaspoon’s worth of broth at the bottom swirled; flecks of seaweed chased grains of exotic pepper. Her black silk robe, patterned with a metallic gold dragon on the back and sleeves, did little to stall the chill in the air. Tamashī insisted she take it, the girl had far too many of them. Her meal was an exercise of routine rather than desire, a mechanical activity devoid of pleasure. She stared through steam-fogged sliding glass doors at the ominous silhouette of the distant military complex. Every so often, the glow of ion thrusters, in pairs or quartets, emerged from behind the dark mass and streaked into the sky. The hazy weather obscured the form of the vessels.

Risa had watched luminous orbs ascending into the grey for over an hour; her disinterest in the food prolonged the meal. Was General Harris on one of those ships? Tamashī said he should be at this facility, working a nice, comfortable desk job.

Fading daylight would soon give way to night. Violent gusts came at random, flinging water at the hotel room patio. The name of whoever figured out how to make it rain on Mars escaped her. Normal children absorbed factoids such as that in normal school. Her education had been more… tailored. Garrison did what he could, but wanted men who had to stay underground could only teach so much.

Demolitions, how to handle firearms, hand-to-hand combat, infiltration, everything a little girl needed to learn. Everything except how not to feel guilty at killing.

A heavy rumble rattled the patio door; another ship went skyward, this one with six blue-violet thrust cones. Whatever it was, it had enough size to appear as a dark smear in the mist. Transport, probably. Maybe a cargo vessel. Infiltrating the military base, especially one attached to Arcadia City, was far more difficult than anything she’d ever attempted.

Risa got up and went to the bathroom. The face in the mirror resembled a Class 1 doll. Skin-brushed paint created the appearance of gaps, lines at the corners of her mouth where a machine-jaw had to move. Planting Walsh’s bugs had been easier than she’d imagined. She already had the glowing violet eyes. A long session of pondering how to hide them gave her the epiphany of using them as part of a disguise. No one suspected the housecleaning doll was really a live woman.

I’ve been called robotic before. She scowled down at herself and let the robe fall around her feet, basking in shame from the illusion of robotic joints painted on her wrists, knees, fingers, and elbows. Her thumb rubbed the underside of her left wrist, feeling smooth skin instead of the metal and struts that appeared to run beneath. I’m turning into a machine, aren’t I?

The thought triggered a diagnostic process within her Neural Interface Unit. Cybernetic eyes exploded in an array of graphical and text readouts for each component: NIU self-test, M3 port, Nishihama Oracle artificial eyes, AuraCorp augmented audio, Mishiro reflex booster, NSK Senpū speedware, StarPoint Industries Nano claws, Teradyne Corp Toxin filter, Kurotai Corporation CamNano Mk II, Lexcon Industries chip board, and a Spatial Sensor. That component was the most expensive of the lot, the one which let her live in total darkness. Garrison still owed someone for that. Risa never wanted it, but he had been so proud of her. The thought of him in debt for a gift she hated having filled her with guilt. She looked away as tests ran on the wirepaths in her arms and legs.

Sixteen years ago, I was human. What am I now?

She rushed into the autoshower, scrubbing at her arms and face. Dark smears of grey and black ran in rivulets over snow-white skin. Risa took handfuls of sprayed soap; feverishly working it over anywhere covered with paint. Desperation, as though she could wash the machine out of her, took hold. Moments later, she knelt at the bottom of the tube in a puddle of murk, feeling like an unwanted paintbrush left in a glass of water.

Maybe it wasn’t the disguise that fooled Governor Almden’s guards. Maybe she was a machine-maid. Too convincing. Risa burst into laughter. She’d been a maid for years, but instead of cleaning up actual trash, she cleaned up political garbage. Get a hold of yourself, Risa. She stood. What’s with all the self-pity lately? The once-photorealistic paint had reduced to smears of dark. I can wash it out… It would just take money. She hit the button to run the wash cycle again. I was okay with this life until… She shot a plaintive stare through her reflection while daydreaming of her first meeting with Pavo. How did meeting that idiot change me? He’s so clumsy. She remembered the clank of his head hitting the pipe on their way to meet with Denmark.

He didn’t seem interested. More like an older brother.

Eyes closed, she stood still and let the autoshower do its job, holding her arms to the side so the water had access. Medical technology could regenerate her natural eyes, albeit at a cost that made her military-grade artificial ones seem cheap. She daydreamed of how to go about it. She smiled at the thought of Pavo holding a Medtech at gunpoint, forcing them to make her human again. Rotating water jets became his hands, caressing everywhere.

The dream went south, ending in a bloodbath. Reduced to the capabilities of a normal person, all she could do was struggle helplessly in the grip of an MDF officer while they killed Pavo. She covered her face with her hands, leaning back and twisting through the spray of soap foam.

Shiro. She slipped into another brief fantasy, this one of marrying him. His wedding gift, a two-day stay at a clinic and a return to humanity, paid for, legal. After a moment of imagining white-sand beaches and real eyes, a blast of hot air knocked her back to reality. He could afford that, but then I’d be no use to him. Without my augmentation, what would I be? The tube clicked and opened. Risa held onto the handrail for several minutes, paralyzed by an internal argument. She had gotten used to feeling superhuman. As much as she hated her slow conversion from living woman to robotic tool, she feared being ordinary.

Her head snapped up; dry hair brushed her back. How long was I standing there? Ignoring the robe, she walked into the main room and stood in view of a full-length mirror. She cringed as the wall touched her back, and flattened her body against the frigid surface. Risa locked eyes with her reflection, stark white against the Mars-red wall. As though the room devoured her, color spread through her skin and hair. Within thirty seconds, her figure was indiscernible from the room. In the mirror, it looked as though two dots of violet light floated in front of the wall.

The door chirped.

Risa closed her eyes. Someone rushed in, a man by the sound of his weight. Motion went to the bathroom, then right past her to the patio.

“Risa?” yelled a familiar male voice.

“Pavo?” She looked at him and took a step closer. “What are you doing here?”

When the wall came to life and moved, he let out a cry of startlement. His pistol was half out from under his arm by the time he realized what he saw. Pavo slouched to his knees, holding his chest, panting. “I got the weirdest text message saying you were in danger. Are you trying to stop my heart?”

“Sorry. It’s been so long since I used this thing I wanted to make sure it worked.”

“Let me confirm that.” He shoved the gun away and stood.

She stepped away from the wall, letting the unnatural colors in her skin fade to normal. “Who sent you a message to come save me?”

The face he made, unable to meet her gaze, answered her.

Dammit Raziel. Why do you not want me doing this? Just talk to me!

Pavo draped her robe over her from behind. “My turn. What are you doing here?”

A devilish grin bared her teeth. “Planning something very stupid.”

Exacting Essence | James Wymore

Greetings all! I’m pleased to announce the release of Exacting Essence by friend and fellow CQ Author James Wymore!

He is hosting a Facebook release party this Saturday, all are welcome to join:

https://www.facebook.com/events/561039640679339/?ref_dashboard_filter=upcoming

Remember waking up late in the night after a nightmare? Your mother holding you tight and whispering it’s all just a dream and everything would be all right?

She lied.

Evil clowns haunted Megan’s dreams for years. Even though nobody ever said she was crazy, she knew they were all thinking it. With her life falling apart, she turns suicidal until a new therapist suggests the impossible: dreams are real. Nightmares are living, breathing predators, feeding on dreamers’ fears by Exacting Essence.

Most, of course, forget theirs as soon as they wake up. Megan is not so lucky. She’s also not so powerless.

But is even a power nurtured within her dreams enough to fight off the horrors lurking just beyond the veil of sleep?

 

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Exacting-Essence-Shroud-Immortal-Nightmare-ebook/dp/B00KXIVKDA

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/exacting-essence-james-wymore/1115403501?ean=2940149447145

Goodreads Giveaway: https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/96437-exacting-essence

Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRpKngD0MIU

 

About the Author:

On a lifelong search for fantastic worlds hiding just out of sight, James Wymore writes to explore.  With three books and six short stories in print after just one year, he continues to push the boundaries of imagination.  Journey with him at http://jameswymore.wordpress.com/

Cover Reveal | Caller 107

June 10th is here, and I’m thrilled to be able to reveal the cover to my upcoming young adult, contemporary paranormal novel, Caller 107 by Polina Sapershteyn. The release date is coming up fast, July 22!

Click here for the book page.

Caller 107 Blog Tour Signup

Curiosity Quills is looking for bloggers and book reviewers willing to participate in a tour to support the release of my upcoming contemporary paranormal YA – Caller 107.

We’re interested in finding hosts for interviews, reviews, excerpt posts and book spotlight posts.

All tour/ cover reveal participants will be provided with a press kit containing the cover, blurb, relevant links, and a bio. Those wishing to review the title will also be provided with a digital copy of the book, in exchange for your honest opinion of the read. The ebook would come in one of the following formats: .epub, .mobi, .pdf.

The cover reveal is scheduled for June 10, 2014, with the book being released on July 22, 2014.

The tour is scheduled to run July 21 – August 1, excluding weekends.

Interested?

Sign up here:  https://docs.google.com/a/curiosityquills.com/forms/d/1SBwxet2BRWGfWroU6d-f7PagLEeOB5Wu712XxrkHSmQ/viewform

Divergent Fate #40

Archive (Start at the beginning)

Risa sat cross-legged on the silk-covered Comforgel Pad, arms draped in her lap. Tamashī  had slipped into an oversized white T-shirt bearing a chibi-ized likeness of Koemi, the anthropomorphism of Shōrishima, an artificial island east of Japan. Whoever designed the shirt put the oversized eyes in just the right place to appear bulging when worn by a woman. For all Risa knew, Tamashī could’ve been older than her, or as young as she looked―and acted. Granted, it was unlikely the hacker was under eighteen; even in Japan, one had to be of age to have cybernetics.

The woman’s mannerisms made her feel like she’d slipped through some reality-altering wormhole and landed in a sleepover party where body-hugging armor and laser pistols were expected. At some point over the past several minutes, Tamashī’s unending chatter had devolved within Risa’s mind from words to an oscillating tonal flux that swallowed time. The haunting nostalgia the scene created let daydreams of what might have been render her mute. Risa wanted to yell at her to stop chattering and get on with it, but could not bring herself to break the illusion.

For a few minutes, she wasn’t an agent of the MLF in the middle of a Syndicate hotel talking to a mercenary cyberspace thief. For one tiny slice of the disaster of her life, Risa felt like a teen hanging out in some other girl’s bedroom, failing to keep up with a conversation that shifted topics at the rate of two per ten seconds. Alas, Tamashī’s infectious energy could not sustain her dazed detachment forever.

Risa looked from the woman’s pink-painted toenails to the net deck on the table at the side of the room, one corner protruding from beneath a pair of panties and a jacket and a small fortress of empty soda canisters. The unending warble stopped, the silence more noticeable than any word the girl had spoken over the past ten minutes.

“Hello? Mars to Risa…” Tamashī waved. “Did you get any of that? Are you high?”

“No. I’m not entirely sure who those men were. I thought they were special forces or mercenaries hired by a corporation looking to collect on me. Sorry that got out of control.”

“Whoever they were, they were damn good. I didn’t even notice I got snooped on the net. Good thing you’ve got like ESP or something.” Tamashī giggled. “I’ve been through worse. Ever get trapped naked on the catwalk around the needle at the Apex Marti?”

“Camnano?” When Risa looked up, Tamashī was a hollow shirt. Maybe I am closer to an assassin than I think. I’d rather kill someone than strip to stay hidden. “Yeah. Got one of those too. Not a big favorite. I hate the way it tingles.”

“You have one too?” Skin and hair faded from the exact color of the wall and sheets back into the Japanese woman. “It was so damn cold… but they never found me. Tingles? Oh, you haven’t used it much then… it stops eventually.”

At Risa’s mental command, her skin turned dark brown and white ran through her hair from root to end. A basic tweak to ethnicity was a mere fraction of what the image processor could handle, but it was enough to play the girl’s game. Before she thought about it, Risa was laughing along with her. The whole thing felt surreal, like playing dress up with a million and a half credits worth of cyberware. This tiny woman acting like a preteen in the midst of a discussion involving breaking into government facilities left Risa feeling more secure about her own sanity. She disabled the effect and hundreds of thousands of nanobots dissolved the cell-by-cell pigmentation of her skin. She clenched her jaw to hide her reaction to the pins and needles.

“Have you ever been shot?” Tamashī bent forward until her elbows touched the bed between her knees.

“Yeah. Couple of times. I don’t recommend it.”

Tamashī stuck one leg out, poking Risa in the belly with a toe. “That stuff won’t stop lasers, right? Everyone on Mars has lasers. Why do you bother?”

“Any armor that can stop lasers is too stiff for me to move in, and it doesn’t fit in the shafts. Ballistics are cheap enough that they still see a lot of use.”

“Ooo,” said Tamashī, “you go in vents too?”

“Once or twice.” Risa shifted. “Look, Walsh didn’t exactly give me all night.”

“Oh…” The girl made a raspberry noise. “I’ll talk to him.”

Risa buried her face in her hands as the small woman flew from the bed to a VidPhone on the wall and whined at Walsh like a girl asking her father to let a friend stay the night. And people think I’m Cat-6? This girl has some damage. She chuckled low enough to keep it to herself. Maybe she’s just using her size to manipulate people.

The call ended, Tamashī bounced back to the bed and raised both arms. “You can stay!”

Then again, maybe she’s just nuts. Her exuberance was at least a little contagious. Who isn’t?

“How’d you wind up with Walsh anyway?” Risa leaned back, hands squished into the silk-covered gel slab.

“Oh… I did a job for Kuroshi Pharma, pinched design specs outta Amaranth Industries… some new cybernetic implant that can keep you awake for days without sleep.” Tamashī showed off ten white cartoon cat-faces painted on her nails. “You’d think they wanted to give it away, their security was so weak.”

“So Amaranth came after you?”

“No, they paid the Syndicate to kill me.” Tamashī giggled again.

Okay, now that is creepy. “Which, naturally explains why you’re their prisoner now.”

“Oh… yeah, well. They got all handcuffy and chloroformy at first… but I offered to work for them instead. Couple more jobs and they’ll call it even.” She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, then pounced on her, whispering, “Would you believe I convinced them I was only thirteen?”

“No way.” Risa held back the sarcastic face. And now you’re stuck that way because they’re watching you. Maybe not so crazy?  “I’m looking for information. You’re the best deck jockey I know of.”

“What’s the nab?” She scrambled off the bed again, rummaging through one of the drawers along the frame.

“My father was killed somewhere between fifteen and seventeen years ago… I want to know who ordered it.”

“Pocky?” Tamashi held up a narrow stick covered in chocolate with a spiral of darker chocolate around that. She had a half-dozen more in her other hand. “You don’t remember exactly?”

“Uhh… sure.” Risa took the offering. “I know I was eight that night. I’m not sure how old I am now.”

“Okay.” She bounced up, jogged to the table, and returned with her deck, munching. “Are my hosts covering the fee?”

“I’m doing a favor for Walsh, so yeah.” Risa bit the end of the treat, finding it not unpleasant.

“What do you know? I need a place to start.”

“His name was Colonel Black, UCF Marine Corps. We lived in Secundus City at the time. The attack was a military operation, and I don’t think they were expecting me there.”

“Okay.” The girl held one of the stick-cookies in her lips, nibbling it into oblivion as she extended a wire from the back of the deck. “Wish me luck. Once I finish this, you wanna play Outer Rim Assault IV?”

Risa made a clueless face. “Sure, why not.”

Tamashī pulled the hair away from her neck and held the asterisk-shaped prong over her M3 port. “Gimme a few minutes. If you see a lot of smoke and crap blowing out of these vent ports, pull the wire out fast.”

Risa nodded.

Tamashī’s eyes rolled up as she plugged in; her little body flopped backwards as though she’d been shot dead. Risa leaned forward and tugged the oversized T shirt down to cover more of the girl’s legs. For the better part of the next half hour, the only sign of life was breathing. A sudden twisting of her innocent face into a glower of determination caused a spike of anticipation in Risa, but she faded back to placidity.

Risa helped herself to another one of the candied sticks, crunching it absentmindedly while she waited another ten minutes. Tamashī ’s body shot upright and lapsed into a shiver. Risa held on to her shoulders.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Tamashī flashed an impish grin. “Fine. I know something you don’t know.”

The singsong quality of her voice grated on Risa’s nerves. “What? Tell me!”

“You’re my friend, right?”

Cat-6. Yes, definitely Cat-6. Poor thing. Risa swallowed her anger. Play along. “Yes.”

“I know a name.” The girl unplugged. “I thought the military would have better security.”

“Do you always say that?” Risa shook her by the shoulders “Who!”

“Sometimes I say that to brag, but this time it felt too easy. Like, someone breadcrumbed me through the door. Kinda scary.” Tamashī ate two pocky sticks at once. “You’re twenty five, and the name on the mission authorization was Major General Donald Harris.”

Risa stared at the wall. The name had no meaning; she’d never heard it before, but she would also never forget it. Now, at least, she had a starting point.

An explosion from behind shook the room; Risa triggered her neuralware, leaping, twisting. She yanked both Hotaru-6 from their holsters and aimed―at the enormous holo-pane. A squadron of starfighters flew through an expanding fireball on the display. Her back hit the wall, butt on the pillows.

“Ready to play Orbital Assault?” Chirped Tamashī. “What’s wrong? You look tense.”

Risa looked from her gunsights to the little woman at her right. “Yeah, a little.”

Divergent Fate #39

Risa clawed clean smears through the grime, dragging herself upright with a death grip on the heating unit. Her body twitched away the last vestiges of Raziel’s presence; she clung to the wall until her muscles were once again obedient. The scent of hours-old coffee floated on a cloud of greasy dust. She coughed, squinting, and moved into the hall. A few steps among the many sad voices, her disoriented stagger slipped into a confident stride.

This is wrong. Hands clenched to fists and released; her fingers felt no different than before she had claws in them. I could have been one of them if fate was different, if―

You are still human, Risa, whispered Raziel.

She scowled at the wall for the remainder of her walk to the lobby. Flaking gold and red wallpaper peeled away from rotting drywall, which exposed bits of bare rock here and there. The place had the ambiance of something out of Earth’s ancient history, and the Syndicate thugs sitting around with black suits, white hats, and cigar-shaped Nicohalers added to that feel.

Risa wondered if they felt as ridiculous as they looked.

They glanced at her, one indifferent, two nervous, and the last making little effort to hide how he stared at her form-fitting suit. Behind a lattice of fanciful brass whorls, an older man in a pinstriped dress shirt, silver threads on jet silk, leaned back from his desk. He was not Marsborn, though life underground had left him pale. Eerie blue-green light bathed the right half of his face from an unseen terminal pane. She halted, staring at him. His face zoomed into magnification, indicator lines traced pupil dilation, eye orientation, perspiration level, and calculated the meaning of his lip shape. A tiny computer inside her head created two wavy lines floating beside his face. The upper one peaked and danced each time he spoke. The farther apart they got, the more likely it was a lie.

In his eyes, her face reflected, porcelain pattered with the shadow of the decorative barrier. Her glance drifted to the lines, tiny simulacra of ocean waves.

“Walsh,” said Risa.

Stubby sausage fingers whitened at the joints; he gripped the desk. “You…”

Her somatic response system tagged a fear response. Anger, which often followed being called an assassin, hid below a veneer of ice. Risa set her gaze upon his chest, at a bristle of steel wool poking through the unbuttoned collar. Lack of eye contact let her hide her contempt for the Syndicate man. She hoped it unbalanced him as well. Her reliance on her Wraith implant to see motion in the dark had given her a reputation. When she looked at nothing, someone would soon die. Men who solved problems with guns and knives got on edge around a woman who could see them coming from any angle.

“I’m only visiting. This isn’t business.” She stood statue-still, no readable body language. “I need a few minutes of time with one of your guests, Tamashī.”

Springs creaked as Walsh shifted his weight. Floating indicators drifted apart to accommodate a widening smile. Estimated fear became neutrality, followed by avarice. Walsh released his grip on the desk, resting his hands on his spherical gut, drumming fingers into cloth in a rhythmic wave reminiscent of the legs of a running centipede.

“So, the Front needs another favor.”

“No, this is personal.”

The chair groaned. Walsh stood, leaning forward until his nose was a hair’s breadth from the lattice. Synthetic bourbon exuded from his pores and blasted from his nostrils. Risa didn’t flinch, not even when the system indicated lust.

“You are wasting your talents with that lot, girl.” He ran his fingers over the metal; were it not for the grating, he might have touched her cheek. “Even with those creepy modded eyes, you’re entrancing. I can make you rich, comfortable.”

In order to hide her disgust, she turned to the side. “I am no one’s kept woman, Walsh. Nor would I do that.”

He straightened; face pulling away from the barrier. “I’ve heard the rumors. I know how you feel about killing. You’re dead inside, aren’t you? How is entertaining the wealthy any worse than that?”

Four patterns formed in her mind. Each a different set of maneuvers to kill Walsh and his guards before any of them had a weapon drawn. Risa closed her eyes. “It’s different. It just is.”

“Oh, the old righteous indignation bit? Think you hear the voice of angels or some shit like that?” Walsh, and his men, chuckled. “Well, the only thing more dangerous than a desperate man is a religious one.” The tip of his Nicohaler glowed like a red ember. Chocolate-scented white vapor slid from his nose.

“I require only a few minutes of her time. I know she is under your protection, and out of respect for our arrangement, I am asking.”

Walsh eased himself back into his chair. Imitation leather creaked under his weight. “Personal, huh? Tell ya what. I do you a small favor and you do us one. I’ve been trying to find someone good enough to get into the office of Governor Almden. I need eyes and ears in there.”

“You’re setting me up.” Risa said it even though the lines stayed close.

Walsh made an overacted ‘who, me?’ gesture. “I’d do nothing of the sort.”

The lines flew apart.

One of the thugs jumped when her head snapped up to make eye contact with Walsh. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

“Calm down,” said Walsh “All I’m asking you to do is get in and plant a few snoopers.”

Risa let her gaze drift away. “Alright.” Almden’s a tool; I’ve no love for him.

“Stop by on your way out, hon.” Walsh gestured to his left. “Your friend is in room 4-9.”

*  *  *

The cylindrical elevator could not carry two people without a certain degree of intimacy. Had she not grown up in a claustrophobic vent system, it might have bothered her. Four levels below the city, the capsule walls parted to reveal a narrow hallway lined with doors. Chemicals leeched at the air, gun oil, cheap perfume, cleaning solution. A rickety, black, metal skeleton lifted its head in her direction. Two red spots widened, flickered, and narrowed. The fedora perched on the artificial skull almost made her laugh. It kept its glow-eyed stare locked on her while she moved to the fifth door on the right. Sublevel four, room nine.

If there’s a live brain in that thing, he’s not gonna be stable.

A light knock failed to get an answer, as did a subsequent pound. She reached up behind her head, scratching at her neck. Under cover of her hair, she tugged a standard M3 interface wire out of the collar of her ballistic stealth suit and plugged it into the socket behind her ear. The other end tugged out of her sleeve, surreptitiously finding the socket on the door panel as Risa leaned on the wall to block the cyborg sentinel’s view, while flashing an innocent smile.

She made a show of impatient eye rolling as an interface panel opened in her vision―a rendering of the door’s security system. It felt like playing a video game of sorts, hacking the electronic lock with a series of attack programs. The tiny chipboard in her head heated into an uncomfortable warmth in the back of her neck. Most people used those for neural-rom skill softs, gaining knowledge of other languages or trade skills. Few risked loading hackware, since it often resulted in catastrophic hardware failure from data overload.

Given its location, that could kill.

Fortunately her little cat-eared ninja avatar made short work of the door’s defense program and the light shifted from red to green. Risa palmed the wire, unplugging it with a subtle roll of the wrist as she slipped through the door.

Jasmine hung in the air of a modest room, lit by a hundred-inch screen projected by a holo-bar on the right. The image swam with color, filled with bouncing, singing, Japanese boys not even old enough to shave. Fortunately, the sound was off. Tamashī lay sprawled on a Comforgel pad along the left wall, among silver metallic sheets like some Renaissance nude drowning in a mercury lake. Folds and ridges in the cloth glinted in the ever-changing colors from the concert. A wire connected from a fist-sized glossy black box on the nightstand to just behind her right ear. The young woman’s head bopped left and right in near-sleep to music Risa was thankful not to hear.

Risa moved to the holo-bar, swiping her finger over the mirrored finish, a half inch from the sensor. The screen collapsed in on itself, leaving the room dark. Risa kept her back to the bed. The grey-wispy form of a human figure sat up in the blackness, motion sensed by the Wraith system.

“What are you doing in my room!” screamed Tamashī. “Get out!”

When the figure seemed to gather the sheets about its chest, Risa turned.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I need your help.”

A tendril of grey smoke slid left from the figure. After a weak electronic chirp, room lights came on. Tamashī had the bedding tight to her neck, shivering in fear. As her eyes focused, she relaxed.

“Risa?” she whispered. “You’re alive!”

A smile spread over her dark lips. “Should I not be?”

Divergent Fate #38

Neuralware dragged the men’s startled intake of breath into a low roaring noise. A thread of saliva fluttered from Pink-hair’s front teeth, lofted by an exhale. The effect of Icewhisper use rattled glassy in the throat of the man to her left. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the third man flick his thumbnail over his index finger, scraping in slowed time like an old, creaky door. All three narrowed their eyes within a tenth of a second of each other.

Here it comes.

Risa dropped into a crouch as they fired. A deep, demonic howl emanated from overhead, followed by a spray of ash particles and burning fingers falling past her. Pink-hair’s legs changed in appearance; a subtle shift in the way pants lay over muscle told her he was dead and falling in slow motion.

Transparent blades burst from her fingertips, extending as she sprang upward into a spinning rake. They locked at full length an instant before finding the soft, unprotected skin of two throats. She continued the whirl, threads of warmth pulsed through her muscles as the electronics forced her to move faster than humans were meant to. Claws slashed each one twice more through the chest. Time resumed as the neuralware shut down. Pink-hair hit the ground, while the two remaining thugs lingered on their feet, supported by the claws speared into their chest.

Blood oozed from slits on their throats that resembled shark gills. One wheezed, one gurgled. They fell backwards through claws too sharp to support weight. She crouched in a circle formed by three pairs of boots and wiped her weapons off on their clothing.

“Street thugs… Not even amateurs.”

She left them where they fell, and moved further down the alley. A left at the end brought her through a narrow passageway rife with the stink of chemical-processed fish. Zoom fiends and a few whisp-heads had piled themselves against the wall, lost in whatever worlds their drugs had taken them to. A strip of cherry red fluttering in the downdraft of a ceiling vent caught her eye near the end, a Marsborn girl who had dyed her hair, sixteen if she was lucky. For some minutes, Risa stared at the strip of hair on the teen’s face, blood poured on snow.

That could’ve been me.

She stepped over the sleeping figure, replaying the memory of her first encounter with Garrison. She’d been about ten or so at the time, begging in a courtyard of Arcadia city. He’d caught her running a skimmer through a crowd. The machine was in bad shape, but its former owner was worse off. That was the first time she’d seen a dead person so close; the memory of still-warm blood squishing through her toes felt like it happened only hours ago. She took the strange treasure, which chirped when someone walked by. It did not take young Risa long to figure out it siphoned money from anyone she got close to. She was playing a video game, running around picking up credits.

Garrison had caught her.

She glanced back at the passage. “I’m glad he did…”

Three alleys over, she paused in sight of the rear entrance to the Orbital. A pair of enormous men in long, black coats stood guard on either side of a plain silver door with rounded corners. The Syndicate was a tenuous ally of the MLF. Shared animosity with the UCF government provided reason for them to support each other. Risa never liked dealing with them. They always looked at her like a piece of meat, which made her worry they calculated how much she’d be worth sold into slavery on a colony. Far enough away from Earth’s solar system, laws meant little.

She squinted, studying the meatheads, the rear door, and one air handler. Taking a vent into the Orbital Hotel would require heading quite a distance away and crawling through tunnels too small to sit up in. Primus’s air system was ten times as foul as Elysium’s, loaded with two centuries of nasty.

Risa spat under her breath and approached the door, walking out in the open. Contempt and anger hid beneath a false outward calm. She put one foot straight in front of the other in a sashay that got both men staring. Maybe it was a good thing I brought Kree to the MLF, if she’s ours, these bastards won’t take her. Neither option ends well; grow up and get shot a day after turning sixteen, or get grabbed off the street before she ever lives. How am I still even alive?

Her plan of walking in like she belonged failed, they leaned into her path.

“You’re overdressed,” said the one to her left.

“I was hoping you’d give me an excuse to kill you.” Risa snapped her head up, flaring her eyes. “I need to speak to Walsh.”

The guards hesitated, looking at each other. Left snarled, while his partner gazed at the violet lights.

“You two forget who I am already?”

Right patted the other man on the shoulder. “Hang on, she’s with the Front. Their assassin.”

I’m not a damn assassin. She forced a sinister smile. “I’ve been called worse.”

The aggressive one shrank away, as if realizing the snake he taunted was venomous. Risa went past them, up two steps, and through the door into a small room. Dingy light bathed everything in shades of red. A metal desk to her right was empty, as was the facing chair.

Guard station. Guess they wanted some air.

The lower level of the Orbital was the Syndicate’s brothel. One hallway led into the subterranean building, past a dozen battered doors. Soft sobs emanated from several; Risa imagined frightened women far from home. Some tethered to their beds, others bound by less tangible things―false debt and fear. Many trusted the Syndicate to get them out of the ACC, few knew what they had signed up for until it was too late.

Mercifully, none of the voices sounded too young. Even Garrison expected the Syndicate would turn on them some day. If the MLF ever won, they would become the new government. That would make them the law, and the Syndicate their enemy. Unless the new government let them do whatever they wanted.

A loud blurt of crying made her pause.

If they did, Risa’s fight wouldn’t be over. She fought for the people of Mars, not organized crime. Garrison would never allow that. I have to believe that. Raziel wouldn’t either. She gazed at a faltering LED rod in the ceiling, sputtering and flashing through its last dozen hours’ of life. Could she ask the angel to help them?

You could, whispered the voice of Raziel, weak enough not to send her to her knees.

Please… These women don’t deserve this. To hell with the Syndicate. She crept to the end of the hall.

A faint male chuckle danced through her mind. Neither do you. The answers you seek will only hurt. Turn back and I shall ensure they are freed.

Risa closed her eyes. That’s not fair. I’m twenty… four? I don’t even remember how old I really am… I have to know the name of the man who stole my life. I have to understand why my father died. How can you make me choose that or someone else’s freedom?

Risa stared through the red-lit hallway at the junction up ahead. White light leaked in from the left, the lobby. That’s where Walsh was, the local decision-maker for the Syndicate. She’d have to ask him for permission to talk to Tamashī.

Play nice and no one gets hurt. General Maris’s response to her protest of working with the Syndicate echoed in her thoughts. What did she know? Risa was only fourteen then, and no one took her seriously. She still had real eyes.

Six steps closer to the light, she could not endure the pitiful weeping. Fine, you win. She turned, slouched like a child whose dog just died, and trudged back the way she came. The voice of Raziel thundered through her mind, knocking her to the floor before she could push the button to open the door.

Wait. He paused. When he spoke again, the paralytic intensity had vanished. I do not want you to get hurt, Risa.

Her head bowed, eyes closed. Too late. 

The Book of Bart | Ryan Hill

Fellow Curiosity Quills author, Ryan Hill, is having a release event for his debut novel, The Book of Bart. If you’re in the mood for a humorous story about demons, angels, and the kind of bad luck that can only come from a broken mirror, check it out.

 

Rejoice, for THE BOOK OF BART, Ryan Hill’s debut young adult paranormal novel, has been unleashed upon the world!

Join us on Facebook for an all day celebration including fun, fellowship, a live Q&A with Bart himself, and FREE STUFF from awesome authors, like Sharon Bayliss and A.K. Morgen!

Click here to join in the hijinks!

Find Bart on:

Amazon

Goodreads

Only one thing is so powerful, so dangerous that Heaven and Hell must work together to find it: the Shard of Gabriel.

With a mysterious Black Cloud of Death hot on the shard’s trail, a desperate Heaven enlists the help of Bart, a demon who knows more about the shard than almost anyone. Six years ago, he had it in his hands. If only he’d used it before his coup to overthrow the devil failed. Now, he’s been sprung from his eternal punishment to help Samantha, an angel in training, recover the shard before the Black Cloud of Death finds it.

If Bartholomew wants to succeed, he’ll have to fight the temptation to betray Samantha and the allure of the shard. After an existence full of evil, the only way Bart can get right with Hell is to be good.

Release | Virtual Immortality

 

May 19th is finally here! Virtual Immortality is available in ebook and hardcover. Currently, it’s up on Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/product/dp/B00KBZQEI6 – , but should be appearing on B&N and Kobo soon.

 

Nina is an idealist who gave up a life of luxury in pursuit of a noble cause and a job with the police force.

Joey is a thrill-seeking cyber cowboy ever in search for the next great adrenaline rush.

Anatoly Nemsky is a general in the Allied Corporate Council with a reputation for brutality and mass murder.

Itai Korin is a disavowed agent from the Mossad, who has arrived in West City with an unknown agenda.

With the voices of the dead returning through electronics, Joey sets off to hunt down the hacker he believes responsible.

Nina hopes beyond reason  that there is more than the life our mortal eyes can see.

Divergent Fate #37

Primus was the oldest human settlement on Mars, and smelled like it. Early colonists considered the uppermost level safe thirty meters below ground; from there, a vast network of underground tunnels and chambers extended sixteen levels deep. Shiro’s effort in scrubbing Risa’s file came in handy, allowing her to catch a commercial shuttle from Elysium in less than an hour. It had taken longer to find this particular slum.

She gathered her coat closed at her neck in a vain attempt to block out the stink. Walking in the open had certain advantages over the vents, speed and the ability to run being the most appealing. Clouds of fog belched from alcoves where cheap noodle-vendors had set up shop along a forlorn back alley. Every few doorways, a graffiti Marsborn logo peered out from beneath newer plasfilm posters and two centuries of dirt.

Grandparents she’d never met had fallen in with the first version of a group yearning for an identity separate from Earthlings. Someone got it in their head that cave dwelling creatures were pale; so when a Reinventions clinic opened in Primus, they went for a bleach job on their DNA. Paper white skin had been the display of “planetary identity.”

Risa took her hand out of her pocket and looked at her palm.

Back then, it had no more of a goal than pride. Her grandparents had probably been in university at the time, chasing the latest cause. She could not reconcile the one image she had seen of the cute elderly couple with the idea of them being reckless students. By the time her father was old enough to look for a job, the climate had changed. One had to look Marsborn to get hired. Even the ACC had allowed their citizens the cosmetic modification, a small offering upon a tiny altar of morale. The laziness of human nature had returned; newer immigrants didn’t bother with it.

She closed her fingers into a fist. It’s more than pride now.

A pink-haired man shoved off a wall away from a pair of prostitutes with whom he had been chatting, and blended into the crowd behind her. Tight gloss black material covered a narrow strip of chest between flaps of his open coat. Too thin to be armor. Risa shot a look to the map floating at the upper left corner of her field of vision. Her destination, a blinking dot at the end of a dotted line, was 187 meters away by route plot. She went to the end of the block, keeping one eye on her pink-haired escort.

A wave drew a smile from a tall black man wearing scuffed ViewPane goggles, cybernetic eyes for the squeamish. She sidestepped a small boy reaching for her lack of pockets and touched fists with the big man. The dotted line reoriented itself to compensate for her unexpected turn; the end now seventy-four meters away.

“I find this amusing,” he said. “The queen of shadows has one.”

Risa allowed a faint smile. “He thinks I haven’t noticed him. What do you think, Aon? Parts, cash, or ass?”

Tiny spots, two at each corner of the scuffed metal plate over his eyes lit up. “Da man not strike me as a Borrower. ‘E doubtful knows ‘ow much ware you got. My guess, da way he holds his eyes, he lookin’ for ass.”

“About what I figured. His two friends have been following me for almost a hundred meters.”

“What’cha need, Lady Black?” Aon flashed a blinding smile; his dark hand engulfed her colorless fingers, lifting her arm up to kiss her knuckles. “I got you covered for Chems. Got a new stock of Sylph-9, maybe some Twitch? Or, do you need some hardware? Got a line on a plasma pistol as well, only slightly used. Won’t be but a thing to clean it up.”

Risa looked down, chuckling. “I got plenty of chems left. I’m jumpy enough as it is. Info. Is my package still where I left it?”

“So it be.” He took a hit off a Nicohaler. The essence of imitation berry forced its way into her senses. “The Synners be keepin’ her in seclusion.”

She flipped her hand over, holding a credstick that seemed to come out of nowhere. “Thanks.”

He made taking it appear to be a handshake. “For you, anything.”

“Keep an eye, going to find an empty alley first.”

Aon raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to do the deed?”

“Not the deed they’re hoping for.”

Risa winked and flowed into the crowd, bypassing the dot. The range counter ticked upward. She swiveled her shoulders to avoid a bumping pickpocket, spinning around him out of reflex.

The voice of Raziel came on like thunder, knocking her confident stride into an inebriated stumble. She swooned left, crashing into stone covered in decades of paint and plasfilm adverts for local bands, illicit events, and merc work. Several punks to her right laughed. Her head whipped up, finding her hands upon the breasts of a spray-painted nude on the stone wall of a brothel.

Risa, said Raziel. The timbre of his speech vibrated through every bone. The Pink one seeks to claim a bounty. A foreign agent has infiltrated the subculture of Primus, Lars Staanek. You should leave the city.

She shuddered, unable to resist the urge to collapse into a squatting position. The idiots to her right made fun of where her face wound up in relation to graffiti girl’s anatomy. A woman among the gangers howled at her from a perched atop a stack of boxes. Her hair turned from blue to white and loose-fitting pants swished as she spread her legs and rested one boot on the head of a stoned man sitting on the ground next to her. She grabbed one breast through a thin mesh top and blew a kiss at Risa.

“Hey honey, bring that tongue over here.” The woman patted herself between the legs. “I taste better than a wall.”

With a snarl, Risa pushed herself upright.

I can handle these idiots.

Can you handle what you wish to know? His voice weakened, no longer washing through her with paralytic force. You should go back the way you came.

“You got some bad shit, sweetness?” The seated ganger shoved the woman’s foot away. “I got some stuff’ll take the edge.”

The gang girl’s hair washed to deep violet as she smirked, and kicked into the man’s shoulder. He grabbed her leg again, and an argument started.

Risa paid them no attention, stumbling back into the crowd. A block later, she had walked off the last overwhelming presence of the angel. I’ve gone too long without asking. I’m not sure if you’re even still listening, but I need to know.

A comfortable lie or a painful truth.

She halted, propping herself up against the corner of a noodle bar. A short, fat, Chinese man smiled at her. Eyebrows like two electrocuted mice crawled together.

“Special today. Synshrimp, six credits.”

I have to know, Raziel. I’m humbled you have chosen me, but I need this. She took a seat on a rickety aluminum chair that threatened to collapse at even her mild weight. I haven’t eaten in… “Okay.”

Raziel did not reply.

Risa swiped her NetMini, paying for a meal that she took her time eating. The heat was cathartic and the flavor surprising in its quality. Her shadows waited behind her, one leaning on the wall less than ten meters away while the other two ducked into offshoot tunnels and peeked around corners.

“Xièxiè, Tāng shì hěn hǎo de.” Risa pushed the bowl away, leaving the chopsticks in it.

“You are welcome,” said the man. “I am glad you enjoyed it.”

They exchanged grins. She slid to her feet, acting as though she did not notice the three people following her. Into the crowd, she moved with the gait of a casual tourist. Tunnel after tunnel passed on either side, most with a handful of locals loitering or rummaging for treasure, booze, weapons, or drugs, in shin-deep trash. The sixth passage on the left appeared empty. Risa stood for a moment staring a blank NetMini, acting like a lost outsider studying a map, and took the corner.

Her speedware kicked on as soon as she broke line of sight. A twenty-meter run lofted trash into a whirlwind behind her as she raced behind a metal crate in the blink of an eye. She changed her vision mode to spatial sense; motion became visible as wispy grey forms floating in a black void. The three men following her moved closer, eerie wraiths in the dark.

“Shit,” whispered a voice.

The chirp of laser pistols arming echoed, the faint noise loud by comparison to her breath.

One advanced. “Where the hell did she go?”

“Cloaked?” asked another.

“Moron, she didn’t strip and turn that shit on in a second and a half.” Boots crunched over plastic. “She’s here somewhere.”

“Here, kitty, kitty,” rasped the third man. “We won’t hurt ‘cha.”

When they passed her hiding place, she leapt among them, adopting the posture of a broken doll. “Hello, boys.”

The trio spun inward; three laser pistols pointed at her head.