It's Been Cut

The past few weeks I've been adjusting to a new computer system: transferring files, adding new programs, and so on. I did a little culling, too, and found some passages from my books that had been cut from the final versions. Here's one from Dead Heroes, and I cut it because it seemed way too cerebral for a prologue. I didn't want to lose readers by page two!

The character, Edgar Jahn, is instrumental to the whole story, and is present in the revised prologue. But in this version, there are too many unknown quantities--things that need explaining--terms and descriptions that could put off a reader. The final prologue has much more action and a scene readers can relate to, with just a few anomalies. But Science Fiction readers expect a bit of "strange;" that's what makes books interesting and fun.

Dead Heroes - Cut Prologue

Edgar Jahn sat in the lounge of his dimly lit room. Shelves and cabinets were filled with his sculptures. Most were abstract forms in a variety of mediums--his own private language. The room was slowly cooling. He doubted it would cause concern, he had done this before—practicing for the trip he knew he would make. This was sooner than he expected, but he was ready.

Clues that Tyus Derkson was going to eliminate him had become blatant three weeks ago. First came Edgar's dismissal from the Science Corps, then a cessation of teaching duties. Now he had been restricted to his suite. During the twenty-eight years he had lived on Yiven, his suite had always been monitored; but since his "arrest" psi sensors had been added. He didn't let on that he knew. Rumor was he suffered an illness. Messages of goodwill had come from many. Only his beloved Marta Tovich knew the truth; Edgar had spoken with her on the night of his arrest.

He wished he could visit Marta before he left. He knew where she was, could think himself to the location. But the psi sensors would detect that, just as they had when he went back to speak with Gerren after his arrest. His mental visit had been detected, and Derkson himself had stormed in and broken the contact, confirming that psi sensors were in place in Gerren's suite, too.

Marta and their daughter, and Gerren were all he would miss from these decades of strange captivity. Years in the stasis of a timehold chamber. Gerren had also been kept in one. But Derkson revived Edgar first, needing his scientific knowledge. He threatened to kill Gerren if Edgar didn't cooperate; Edgar had been compliant, always hoping to devise away to get Gerren back home. Many years later, Gerren was revived—a six-year-old thrust into uncertainty. Now at age ten, it was evident that Gerren would be a promising scholar, an astute linguist and mathematician; his interests were unbounded.

What is Derkson planning for the boy—or more importantly, Gerren the man? Gerren would be in his thirties when Tal began encroaching on this star system. New Esrii would be particularly vulnerable at that time. Edgar was certain Derkson intended some sort of attack—revenge for bygone crimes—and would use Gerren in his plans.

He drew a long breath. Don’t think on it. Do this. Go back. Warn New Esrii what will probably happen.

He had hoped to defer this trip for several years--investigate further what Derkson was up to, but the sudden change in his status convinced him he had to leave now--before Derkson incapacitated his mind in some way and rendered Edgar’s plan useless. He returned his concentration to the sculptures. He had the information memorized, yet he scrutinized the codes he had written--his notes on strellogy--reminders of what he had to do to get back to his home world of New Esrii. He wondered how far strellic research had proceeded there.

"Too many variables," one associate had argued decades ago.

"No consistency--no controls," was the consensus of the Seminary Board where he had been a leading scholar with a mental achievement ranking that broke records.

But he now had control and consistency. He had enhanced his abilities and tested them many times before the psi sensors had been placed on this suite. Through quiet exercise and meditation, Edgar had determined which physical demands gave him the strongest mental focus; he had prepared his mind to function in the cold that was slowly increasing around him. He would think of his home world and be there, leaving behind this husk—this body. No time involved, no flight constraints. It would just happen.

Although many of his former colleagues--now aged—would probably have government influence by now, Edgar wasn't certain he could trust them. The arguments and debates about genera had consumed much of the politics, shaped too many points of history. No. He would go to Gerren's remaining parent. His name had come to him a few days ago: Ricostam Deece--he would be receptive to him.

He flexed his fingers, felt his limbs grow numb. Slowly he walked to a large disk-shaped sculpture that set on a cluttered shelf. Caressing it, his fingers traced out the thin lines--the geographic coordinates for his destination. Not that the scientific information would get him there, but it provided his focus. He took the small piece with him and sat on the lounge. He could picture the land, the layout of buildings and streets. He set the lounge controls for the reclining angle he knew was best, and added color to his thoughts--orange soil, blue-black structures, the mauve and purples of the trees.

Almost time. He remembered the park by the Fundament--a quiet, sweet-smelling place with an abundance of song birds. He forced away a moment of exhilaration—couldn't allow that—and drew a long breath as he uncluttered his mind—retained the focus he had built. Except for his fingers on the coordinates, he felt no physical stimulation. Yet unwittingly, a latent thought went to Marta. He saw her in a dining room. I am going. He sensed her sudden shock. His last thought to her: Timaht give us courage to endure.