I wanted to share something different with you today.  It’s not Flash Fiction due to it’s length, but nor it is really a short story.  It’s something in-between.

It’s a bit of future-history from The New Universe (my own little sandbox of creative endeavors – everything I write exists in this little Universe I’ve created).  [...]]]> Happy Monday.

I wanted to share something different with you today.  It’s not Flash Fiction due to it’s length, but nor it is really a short story.  It’s something in-between.

It’s a bit of future-history from The New Universe (my own little sandbox of creative endeavors – everything I write exists in this little Universe I’ve created).  I hope you like it.

Tales from The New Universe: Gunny Homn

© 2009, Patrick Hester.  All Rights Reserved

Descent

The Slider shook violently as it sliced through the atmosphere.  The exterior glowed white hot, the heat shield pushing away the worst of it to form a long tail in its wake.  Inside, she felt none of it; her body snug in the viscous gel that kept her blood oxygenated, her body safe from the G-forces the Slider was experiencing and from the heat and friction chipping away at the surface of the craft.

Just large enough for one person, the Sliders sole purpose was to deliver someone to the surface of a planet with minimal time, effort and cost.

Someone like Gunny Homn.

*  *  *

Homn pulled the strings of her boots tight, the worked, brown leather laces wrapping around the knee-high, tan boots four times before they were short enough to be tied.  Her pants were tucked in and tied up the sides, simple cotton leggings beneath them.  Her belt was braided and made of stiffer stock, carrying two pouches, a long-blade dagger and a smaller, flat blade knife used for eating.  The tan shirt also had a second, cotton shirt beneath it that doubled as a lining and she wore a green, short cut vest and matching jacket over that.  The long, dark, oiled cloak that would complete her outfit still rested on the back of the chair next to the desk.

A quick look in the mirror and she flashes the woman reflected there a rare grin, tugging on the thick braid of hair hanging down, hugging the left side of her face.  She definitely looked the part of a heathen.  Now, she just needed to convince the Vice-Captain.

*  *  *

“Unification is the single greatest priority for the Human Race,” said the speaker on the chat, wearing a brown L’oum-suit with gold trim and a mirror-mask reflecting the gray L’oum of the interviewer.  “Between the dilution of the Blood and the Cullings, we really cannot afford to allow these lost, backward splinter worlds to continue their Unholy Evolutionary Paths unaided.”

The mirror-mask of the interviewer held a blue tint, trimmed in pale red.  “But, many within the Hierarchy of the Dome, argue that these splinter worlds, because of the divergence in their Evolution, are actually throwbacks to a baser, lesser Human existence than what we know today and will only serve to further pollute our lines if Unification is allowed.  How do you respond to them?”

“Don’t you see?  That is precisely why we must bring them back into the fold.  Because they are throwbacks, their Blood is much closer to Genetic Purity.  They haven’t experienced the Degradation as so many of us have.  For generations, dilution of the Blood has caused more and more genetic mutation and weakening.  These splinter worlds have survived in the old ways.  They have diseases, suffer from exposure to bacteria, breed through sexual reproduction – things that we have not experienced in thousands of years.  Because of this, they build up tolerances we can only dream of.  Bringing them back into the fold will only strengthen us over time and ensure the continued expression of The Message throughout the Universe.”

Homn nodded thoughtfully.  High Command agreed with this assessment.  There was a program being developed even now to try and find these splinter worlds, assess the odds of successful Unification.  They were even looking for volunteers who might be willing to act as the Forerunners.  Fingering the a’Ddah of her N’osh to align with the docking web, she wondered what that might entail, a sense of adventure beginning to take shape in her heart.

*  *  *

“These images were taken from a high orbiting o’Anah’N'ret.  A splinter world.  We believe there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of such worlds, scattered across the Universe.  Upon the Breaking, many fled the Culling of the Ute and no record was made of their journey, nor their destinations, so that the Evil may not find them.”

Homn stared at the images flashing slowly across the scried.  She was shocked to see people so naked.  Not a single one wore the Sacred L’oum or made any effort to hide their Souls from the Universe.  Many around her seemed just as disturbed as she, some turning away in disgust or fear.  As she watched, an image of a woman stunned her; she had long hair, wrapped upon itself in an intricate pattern that seemed impossible to her eye.  Never had she seen such hair, spilling from the woman’s head down one side of her naked face.  Her skin was strange, darkened with hue and color, and she wore some sort of garment that covered parts of her but could not have protected her from the Universe.  Also, it accentuated her shape in a scandalous fashion, taking away any semblance of Blessed Androgyny.

Equally, men were naked to the Universe, their faces visible, skin darkened, clothes seemingly made to somehow accentuate their differences rather than hide them as was proper.  It was as if madness had taken them.  She had heard of whole Seeqhs going mad, removing the Sacred L’oum, mixing and comingling as savages, Souls naked to the Universe.  It was the kind of thing you told in hushed tones to frighten and motivate the young newly hatched.

“They are more primitive than we could have ever imagined.  To contact them will require sacrifice and dedication above and beyond anything that has ever been asked before.  Only the strongest of us will be able to endure such trials.  No one will judge you if you choose to leave now.”

Homn stared, curiosity warring with fear in her heart.  She had never before found herself wavering once a decision was made, yet she had never expected this.  ‘Sacrifice and dedication’?  Watching as so many begin walking away, she remembered what had brought her to this point; the Human race needed these heathens in order to survive.

Steeling herself, she stayed where she stood.  When the last of the deserters, for that was how she thought of them in her mind, when the last of them left, there were only a handful still standing before the Captain.

Nodding to those remaining, the Captain continued the briefing.

*  *  *

Homn stared at the reflection before her.  It was her, naked to the Universe.  After weeks, it was still difficult to see and she found herself looking down or away lest the Ute feel her presence and swarm for the Culling.

Her head was covered in a thin layer of fuzz; hair.  She’d never had hair before.  It was unnerving.  Her skin had taken on a slight hue under the daily imaging doses she endured at the hands of the scientists.  They assured her that it was safe in low doses, but she’d seen Rotero’s naked skin blister and belch something green and red all at the same time.  He’d screamed, too; a horrid sound gurgling forth from his throat.  Then they took him away and she had not seen him again.

Her round mammaries looked odd to her, but they told her they were necessary and adequate for the task.  Most surprising to her had been the hair growing near her sex, and the bleeding that had begun almost as soon as her Sacred L’oum had been removed.  The scientists told her that it was normal and ancient, but she did not see how this was possible.  She was leaking fluids from inside her skin - that could not be normal!

The thought made her stomach speak – another oddity without the Sacred L’oum, and something she had never known before.  Sometimes that sound meant she had to ingest something.  With her mouth. Other times, she had to expel something from… other places.  It was all so base and degrading and very inhuman.

They said and spoke and assured her that this was how the splinter Human’s lived their lives every day.  She couldn’t fathom any of it.  It was so… brutal, savage.  The stark differences between male and female offended her.  Esah and she had been set the task of standing, face to face, speaking to each other directly.  The task was difficult; they were required to look each other in the eye while speaking, no mirror-mask to protect them.  This necessitated risking soul to soul contact without reflection. During the exercise, Esah’s sex had inexplicably engorged.  They rushed both of them to separate rooms for testing and decontamination.

She could tell that the scientists had been unnerved by the entire affair.

The Rorsah came to speak with them each day after that, despite their sins and nakedness.  It was the only comfort for her at this point, knowing that what they did had been approved by the Church, that their souls were protected even if their skin were not.  An entire F’qua had been devoted to thirty-eight hour prayer just for their squad.

Just yesterday, they had told her she would be elevated to Gunny.  She was equal parts disturbed and prideful.  She knew she had to continue on.

*  *  *

“Kneel before your God,” said the Rorsah, and Gunny Homn fell to her knees.  She pressed her face to the floor, feeling the vibration as the walls of the tank slowly receded and the room filled with light and warmth.  Her skin prickled.

You have done well, Gunny Homn, said the Human God, speaking in her mind.  Euphoria spread through her body.  Yours shall be a shining example to all Human kind.  Rise, and look upon your God so that you may take me with you in your heart and spread The Message wherever you go.

Gunny Homn rose, tears streaming down her face as the God of Humanity shone brightly before her.

* * *

“You are the only one, Homn.  The only one to persevere.  Yours shall be the example for those who come after.  Are you prepared?”

Gunny Homn looked up at her own reflection in the Vice-Captain’s mirror-mask.  She saw her own excitement there, her own pride.  She would be the first, but not the last.  Unification would begin here, now.

“I am,” she replied.  She stood above the Slider.  The Honor Guard saluted her as she was lowered inside.  The seal locked her inside and the pumps began to fill it.  She breathed deeply, letting the gel fill her, become part of her.

The only indication that the Slider had been ejected, was the slight thrumming in her ears.

*  *  *

Her senses were under assault; lungs burning, eyes flaring with pain from the colors and light, ears thrumming with the beat of her own heart, deep within her chest.  She fell to her knees, palms forward, the gritty surface cutting into the exposed flesh, digging beneath her fingernails.  Back arched, she expelled the last of the gel from her lungs, then shuddered with her first burning breath.

The air was warm but sweet; she gasped repeatedly, taking in great breaths, eyes watering.  She threw herself away from the puddle of gel, rolling over on her back, eyes staring sightlessly up at the blur she assumed to be the sky.  She clutched to the dirt now, digging her fingers deeper, afraid for the first time in her life, aware that there is no ships deck beneath her, but rather a world turning that could spin her right off.

She could feel the weight of gravity pushing her down.

Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing started to stabilize.  For the first time, she drew in a deep breath through her nose, a thousand scents assaulting her, swirling through her mind which churned trying to identify them.  Eyes beginning to clear, she saw a deep blue sky above her, the color unlike anything she had ever seen before.

The breath she’d been inhaling caught in her throat.

“…so beautiful.”

* * *

Aboard the o’Anah’N'ret, the Rorsah stood beside the Vice-Captain, watching as the Slider’s vapor trail faded beneath them.

“What we do today will change us for all time.”

The Vice-Captain nodded, purple tinged mirror-mask reflecting the blue planet’s glow.  “Perhaps she will find what we seek.”

“Perhaps,” the Rorsah agreed.  “I doubt it though.  Are the other Forerunners prepared?”

“Each o’Anah’N'ret reports ready.”

“She truly believed she was the only one…,” he shook his head.  “Tell them to proceed.”

“If we find evidence of Homeworld on these first excursions, the Universe shall truly tremble.”

“The Universe should tremble, for we are returning and all that was lost shall be taken back.”

The Vice-Captain nodded at that as well.

~End

(for now)

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~P

Now, Evermist is not new. It’s not old, either. It’s something that I worked on a while [...]]]> In order to be more consistent and offer my readers a reason to come back every week, I’m launching a new, serialized piece of fiction called Evermist today. New chapters will come every Friday (for now).

Now, Evermist is not new. It’s not old, either. It’s something that I worked on a while ago and I’ve decided that it lends itself well to the serial format, so I’ve spent the last couple of weeks sprucing it up and getting it ready for prime time.

To whet your appetite, today’s post is all about Evermist.  First up, a map of the world.

Evermist - click the image to see it larger

Paerleon

Paerleon is the largest of the island nations and the only one ruled as a democracy, of sorts. Although there is a clear leader in the Magister, he or she has an advisory council consisting of a Merchant and a Land Owner – each elected from their respective guilds. When together, they are called The Triad.

The Triad makes laws, oversees the day to day running of the government, seeks treaties and negotiates tariffs with other lands and, of course, sets taxes.

The Magister is tied to the land, seeks and appoints their own successor and can live much longer than the normal human due to the power they wield. The Magister’s duty is to keep Paerleon on the right path through the centuries, be the moral center and compass of the nation and protect everyone from the dangers both within and without – including the island of Evermist itself.

The Magister lives in the Tower of Valles. Because of their presence, technology that does not function in other parts of the world do function in Valles. No one, except the Magister or perhaps the Engineers, know why this is.

Laws passed by the Triad are enforced by the local Sheriffs, who are under the direct command of the Regional Marshalls who are appointed by the Triad. Marshalls hear local cases brought to trial and oversee the day to day running of the city-states.

Paerleon has no standing army, but rather, a Militia whose primary role is to maintain a presence on the island of Evermist and also serve as guards and enforcers in ports and cities throughout Paerleon.

The Engineers oversee and maintain the walls of Evermist. They are extremely secretive and their recruiting techniques are highly effective and unknown to outsiders.

The capital city, called Paerl, disappeared in a bright flash of light three hundred years ago. In the aftermath of this mystery, the capital was moved to the port city of Valles. The land where Pearl once stood is considered to be cursed. Anyone spending time there eventually becomes ill and dies.

Brise

Brise is home to pirates and cutthroats.  Little is known about these people except for their ruthlessness.  They are quick to attack any ship straying into their waters and are not opposed to raiding neighboring islands.

Ilea

The Ilea islands are heavily forested with small populations of tight knit villages.  The people live simple lives.  Fishing is the main source of food for the villagers, who are xenophobic by nature and do not trade with others often.  They are smaller than the people of Paerleon or Brise, growing no taller than four feet at the most.

Mycea

Home to the Imperium.  Julian is the current Emperor of the land, having raised an army as a young man and, over the course of ten, bloody years, brought the Isle of Mycea to heel under his rule alone.  His brothers were killed in the war, as were his parents.

He built a castle in the port city of Wesea and renamed it, and the island itself ‘Mycea’, in memory of his mother.  Little is known of Mycea after Julian came to power.  Early in his second year as Emperor, he closed all port cities to trade and recalled his ambassadors.

Vyuk

Vyuk is the most underdeveloped of the island nations, its King and populace preferring to cling to the old ways, worshipping the Elt, oldest of races.  The men and women are considered to be among the fiercest of warriors and a small percentage of the population is almost always off somewhere fighting wars for other kings.  They are passionately devoted to the old gods and await their return to cleanse the land one day.

Evermist

Evermist is the northern most island, beyond Corracamor. The Paerleon Militia stands watch over the island.  A great wall shields the islands inner secrets from all, and a perpetual fog inside keeps those who guard it from seeing much either.  The island is dark and cold and covered in snow and ice, except for the interior that seems to radiate an unnatural heat.

Legends say that Evermist must be contained if the world it to survive…

Evermist begins today at 12:30 pm mst.

~P

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Tales from The New Universe: The Guardian

All I had to do was save the world.

Her name is Alison. I met her ten years ago. We were married eighteen months later by a Priest without a flock on a mountain with the snow falling all around us and the [...]]]> © 2009, Patrick Hester.  All Rights Reserved

Tales from The New Universe: The Guardian

All I had to do was save the world.

Her name is Alison. I met her ten years ago. We were married eighteen months later by a Priest without a flock on a mountain with the snow falling all around us and the sun hidden behind thick cloud cover. It wasn’t love at first site. We both had a lot of baggage.

Eventually, we had four children together; Ben, Ashley, Naomi and Jordan. I got to name the first born, Ben, but then I was told that I lacked the imagination for naming kids as each subsequent child was born. I didn’t care as long as they were healthy, which they were. They’re gone now.

I watch her from a distance, sipping her coffee in one of those little white cups with the lids that seem to be all the craze. I’d forgotten about those. And she doesn’t know me now. We haven’t met yet. Probably never will now.  The guy across from her is her husband.  James, I think.  Never met him.  He wasn’t in the picture when we first met.

The motorcycle vibrates between my legs as I race down the highway. I need to stop watching her. That was another life, a life that won’t happen now, can’t happen.  I can’t seem to let go, though.

The cave serves two purposes; it gives me a place where I can do my work without being discovered and it reminds me of the comics I used to read as a kid. I always was a sucker for comics. No bats in this one that I’ve seen yet. I try not to think about how this cave used to be filled with hundreds of people. If I’ve done my job right, it will never have to serve as a home to so many refugees seeking shelter from the storms.

“Welcome home, sir.” Home.  Right.  The voice is pleasant enough. I based it on Alison’s because I like being tortured. Goes with the whole ‘living in a cave’ motif. So does the giant super computer with the AI running stuff for me.  Amazing what you can do with lottery winnings.

“Telemetry?” I asked as I toss my coat on the sleeper sofa. The heaters I installed a couple weeks ago kick on and start to take the chill out of the air.

“Twelve objects approaching upper atmosphere. Four are viable for reentry.”

Damn. That’s how I screwed up – I never considered debris or stellar drift in my planning or my calculations. Enough of the stuff made it to the planet’s surface to change things forever. My fault. My responsibility.  Now it’s spread out, impossible to find until it’s on target for planet fall.

“Drones?” I asked. Felt a twinge in my gut. They were coming fewer and far between now. When I first came back, they would rip me apart for hours at a time. Now, they were ‘twinges’ that went as fast as they came. Progress, I suppose.

“Armed and ready for launch. Sir? The military has been actively attempting to track our drones for some time. I do not believe they appreciate our efforts to eliminate the debris before it can be retrieved by them.”

No. Of course they don’t. Neither do any of the private contract firms who are also scrambling for more sources of this tech.  But I’m still ahead of them. Decades ahead. Perhaps more when it comes right down to it.

“Cloaking devices are still working, aren’t they?” I ask. The chair squeaks as I sit down, reminding me that I need to oil it. Soon.

“As far as we are aware, yes,” she says. “However, I do not wish to underestimate their ability to cleverly use the technology they already have to break through our countermeasures.”

“We won’t. If they take out the drones, I’ll go myself.” I turn, the suit catching the light just right. Have to admit, I’m putting it on more and more these days. Too many people have gotten their hands on the technology from the fleet, the little bits that have been slowly floating towards Earth since I carried out my plan, mined the area of their arrival and, I thought, blew the bastards to kingdom come. It was all to change the future, save the human race from near extinction.

I never counted on the debris falling to Earth and pushing technology years ahead of where it should be.

“Debris is beginning planet fall.”

“Launch drones for intercept – full countermeasures. Monitor military frequencies and chatter for a heads up on any attempts at interception.”

“Drones are away.”

I lean back, watching the telemetry on the monitor, fingers steepled before me.

“Keyword search has triggered an alert – Tokyo. News is reporting a ‘hovering weapons platform’ attacking the city, threatening to destroy it unless a ransom is paid.”

I sigh. We humans never learn. “I’m on my way.” I put the suit on, a combination of human and alien technology, something I had to build to protect me in space as I laid my trap, and had to modify to destroy alien and hybrid technologies being used back here on Earth. I point my arm and the platform locks the tires of the bike in place and flips, revealing my tethered hovercycle.

“First drone has impacted. Debris has been vaporized.”

“Update me en route.”

Where I come from, the world ended on January 14th, 2007. An invasion fleet appeared behind Mars, then attacked the Earth, killing billions and enslaving the rest. Only a few remained, refugees like me, freedom fighters waging a war to free our world. I traveled back in time, using their own technology against them, to destroy them before they could get anywhere near the Earth. Change everything. Save the world.

I destroyed them, but I failed to save the world.

Now it’s my responsibility to make it right, protect us from ourselves.

They call me ‘Guardian’ in the news.

I suppose that works.

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Tales from The New Universe: In space, nobody knows which way is up

“Four minutes of reserve oxygen remains,” said the computer voice in my ear.

Mutiny. That’s what it was – mutiny!  Do you know what they did to mutineers in the old days? Do you? [...]]]> © 2009, Patrick Hester.  All Rights Reserved

Tales from The New Universe: In space, nobody knows which way is up

“Four minutes of reserve oxygen remains,” said the computer voice in my ear.

Mutiny. That’s what it was – mutiny!  Do you know what they did to mutineers in the old days? Do you? …yeah, me either – but I’m betting it was bad and that it hurt like a sonovabitch!

Floating in the empty space between places, abandoned, left for dead and for what? I’m not such a bad captain, am I?  Sure, I push the crew hard, but no harder than any other captain looking to make a profit these days. Times are hard; Raiders hitting ships of all sizes and shapes nowadays, and the Company is cracking down on freelancers anymore – they don’t like the competition (or the independence). Translates to there being fewer and fewer jobs available and if you don’t deliver more than what you promised and twice as quick, well, there’s no guarantee you’ll get paid, let alone get the next job.

Doesn’t mean I deserve to be left in the black of space no matter what I done!

I tap the oxygen gauge on my glove but it doesn’t move out of the red. The emergency beacon next to it is still blinking, which is good. It only has a signal strong enough to be heard within a few thousand miles, which is bad. I’m glad I’m not spinning – who wants to die dizzy? Or in a helmet full of your own puke?  No, floating is bad enough, thank you very much.

Looking ‘up’, all I see is darkness. Getting cold now, too.  I hate space.  I should’ve stayed on the farm, should’ve listened to the old man.  He’d love to hear me admit that.

Dammit all to hell, she tricked me!

“Captain? We’ve got a problem with the primary booster. Reb says the panel’s come loose again.”  Cam.  Short for ‘Camille’ and she really is short – a head shorter than me and I’m easily six four.  Her voice grates on the nerves, always has.  It’s like she’s pumping it through that tiny little nose of hers – the one I’d like to break for all the crap she gives me on a daily basis.  It’s no wonder nobody tries to get in her pants – not if having to listen to her spew venom after was part of the deal.

“Dammit,” I sighed. It’d been a long few days of her bitching at me. “Can it be repaired?”

“Yes, but we only have an hour before the next scheduled burn. If that panel is loose, it could be touching the fuel line.  If it’s charged, it could ignite and blow us all to hell.”  Couldn’t be worse than where we were.

“All right, all right. Get Gem on it,” I said instead of what I was thinking.

“Gem’s in sickbay – we think he broke his arm. Dora’s cleaning the tubes and has Xy helping. I can’t go – we never patched my suit.”

“Dammit,” I sighed again. “Fine, I’ll do it. Give me twenty minutes to get suited up.”

Space walks are never fun.  When you’re in the ship, you have a nice artificial gravity field keeping your feet planted firmly on the ‘ground’.  Outside the ship, there’s no way to even know which way is ‘up’.  I hook my carabiner into the eyelet just outside the airlock door – so I don’t float away.  Everything you take for granted on the inside gets harder out here – even turning a screw to tighten up a booster panel.  Tools help a little, proper tools help a lot.  We don’t have proper tools – can’t afford em.  Yet.  Soon, hopefully, but not yet.  It’s on the famous ‘list of things we need someday’ that I have posted in the crew commons.

“Cam?” I ask into my comm.  “There’s nothing wrong with this booster panel.”  There wasn’t – it looked good.  I reached my hand up into the hole and gave it a little wiggle – tight as could be.

“Sorry about this, Cap,” came a gruff voice.  I felt a tug on my tether and turned as I was yanked away from the ship.  Gem was at the airlock door.  He’d just cut my line loose and gave it a great heave.  I reached to grab onto the booster panel but it was already out of reach.  Gem pointed something at me, some sort of compressed air gun that launched a friggin potato at me!  It hit me in the shoulder and the force of the impact pushed me further away.  I reached for the control to my ‘oh shit’ thrusters and got hit with another potato, this one in the gut.  Hurt like a sonovabitch!

“Dammit Gem!” I shouted.  I got another potato for my trouble.  I was a good fifteen yards from the ship now.  Gem was getting back into the airlock.

“You’re fired, Captain,” said Cam with a laugh.

“Bitch!” I shouted.

I hit the booster on my suit but it was too late; my ship’s engines flared to life and it shot away.  In seconds, it was a small dot in my visor, then it was gone.

“One minute of reserve oxygen remains,” said the computer.

“I haven’t lost yet, Cam.  I haven’t lost yet,” I chuckled with my last breath.

* * *

“What do you mean the computer is shutting down?  Get it back online!”

Cam was screaming at Dora, who winced at every word.  Xy looked scared beside her, his eyes wide.

“You don’t understand, Cam,” Dora said calmly.  “All the systems are going offline, everything.  We have an hour at most of air and heat left, then we’re dead.”

The crew swallowed this news poorly, erupting in a shouting match until a new voice could be heard, a familiar voice.  Everyone listened.

“If you are hearing this message, the ship has most likely been commandeered by raiders,” said the Captain through the ships intercom.  “I hate raiders, so you can all freeze in hell.  I have rigged the ship’s system to a central password and no one has entered that password in twenty-four hours which means you are dead.  Every single one of you damned raiders.  Justice for killing me and my crew.  Die in the cold of space you bastards.”

Everyone looked at Cam, who had turned a horrid shade of green.

“That asshole…” she whispered.

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Tales from The New Universe: SuperHero

The thing about being a superhero is that everyone expects you to save the day all the time, to be on your toes no matter what, to have all the answers.

No one warned me before all of this started that it would be like [...]]]> © 2009, Patrick Hester.  All Rights Reserved

Tales from The New Universe: SuperHero

The thing about being a superhero is that everyone expects you to save the day all the time, to be on your toes no matter what, to have all the answers.

No one warned me before all of this started that it would be like that.  I thought it would be a lark; saving pretty (grateful) women from the bad guys and always coming through in the nick of time to save the city, people cheering me on, giving me keys to the city, having days named after me so kids could get out of school to come see parades in my honor.  That sort of thing.

I thought it would be easy.  Stupid, right?

I did get the key to the city early on.  God, fifteen years ago?  Has it really been that long?  The years start to blur after a while, bleeding into each other and overlapping so I don’t always remember things in the right order any more.  I wonder if any of the others feel that way?  There’s a couple dozen of us now, not like in the old days when there were just two or three at most.

Anyway, the rest of it?  Got tired real quick.  There are only so many women you can save before they all start looking the same.  It becomes old hat.  I can’t even count how many times the city’s been in danger and I had to save it with only a couple seconds left on a timer – the bad guys?  They love their timers.  It’s like some bad piece of pulp fiction.

Week after week, the same stuff happening with a new twist and I have to keep up with it and roll with the punches.  It’s exhausting.  Have you ever tried crisscrossing a city ten times in a night because all the loonies were out in full force and pulling crap at the same time?  Believe me – it’s not easy and it’s not fun.

Forget having any semblance of a real life with the secret identity thing.  It’s worse than being married to a cop or soldier.  Every time you go out the door it’s not just people with guns and knives threatening your life, oh no, it’s freaks with frost guns and magic powers and lasers that shoot out their eyes – FRIGGIN LASERS!  Who could sit at home and handle that kind of worry and stress every day?  Not my Martha, that’s for sure.  Left right after the first major threat to the city I faced, when old ColdFront brought the temperature down to ten below and kept it there for a week, demanding ten million dollars before he’d turn his machine off.  Finally found him in the old sewers, the ones they condemned and built right on top of decades ago.  I got pretty beat up taking him down, spent days laid up in bed, covered in bruises, delirious with fever and suffering from exposure.  Lucky I didn’t lose something to frostbite.  That’s when she called it quits.  Left a note as soon as I was up and around again and could fend for myself.

I don’t blame her.  Still hurts, though.

Seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day – that’s what this gig is all about.  No vacation days, no HMO plan, no 401K; just a constant, steady beating on your body and your mind, slowly wearing you down until you have a ‘bad’ day and some freak gets lucky because you’re too slow or too tired or just too damned old.  Then it’s ‘game over’ and the city moves onto the next hero to show up and save them from the bad guys.

They have a ‘Fallen Heroes’ museum, you know?  It’s downtown.  Full of pictures, videos and mementos of all the heroes who got sloppy and kicked it – ain’t no such thing as ‘retirement’ for us.  It’s closed three days a week now due to budget cuts and lack of interest.  They used to take kids there on school field trips, but the neighborhood has gone down hill so they don’t take the kids there anymore.  Too dangerous.

If they don’t close their doors, my costume will probably be in there one day soon.  Can feel it in my bones.  They’ll rip the mask off my broken body and everybody will stare at my face and say that I look like anybody else, nothing remarkable about me at all – except for the scars.  Then they’ll figure out who I was pretty quick.  Someone will write up an expose, maybe interview Martha and give her her fifteen minutes of fame.  And for a week or two I’ll be the biggest piece of news on the wire.  They’ll add me to that museum, probably use my spare costume on a mannequin once they search my place and find it, build a nice little glass encased memorial full of the crap I keep in the basement; my souvenirs.  The culmination of my entire crime fighting career reduced to trinkets and knickknacks arranged behind a slab of glass.

It won’t be long until some kid comes along to take my name and run with it, same as happened with the Star Kid when he died two years ago in that embassy bombing.  What a mess that was.  God.

The costume will be different yet close enough that people will recognize him and think he’s me, but it won’t be.  It’ll just be some dumb kid in a mask who never got told what this life would be like if he got into this mess.  He’ll do it because it’s fun when you start, because people will look up to him, and because he’ll think he’s making a difference.

Same as me.

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#1 Sam Kane

Synopsis: Sam Kane is a detective with the Denver PD – it’s her first week as a Detective and she’s already screwed up. Her partner’s in [...]]]> I decided an update was in order on my various writing projects.  Woot, right?  I know you were really curious what’s been going on so here it is.

#1 Sam Kane

Synopsis: Sam Kane is a detective with the Denver PD – it’s her first week as a Detective and she’s already screwed up. Her partner’s in intensive care and her Captain is about to rip her a new ass when in walks Jack Mayfair, a mysterious man with transfer papers that will change her life forever…

Learning that you are a latent Wizard is one thing, beginning your training and being tossed head first into a world of supernatural surprises like vampires and werewolves is something altogether different. Sam has to cope with who she thought she was, who she’s becoming, and what’s just around the next corner.

Well, if you follow the blog or the podcast, you know that I finished up the rough draft of ‘Sam Kane’ a while ago.  Since then, I’ve been slowly going through and editing.  I should probably emphasize slowly.

It’s a little shy of 110k words right now, and I need to cut it down to 100k.  That was always my goal with this book and I want to stick to that number.  With that in mind, I’ve been doing a lot of tweaking to the book.  There were some very weak points that I knew were weak when I wrote them that I am either changing, rewriting or deleting altogether.  Has to be done.

There is also a couple of chapters that need to be totally ditched.  I wrote them, I felt good about them, but now in hindsight – it’s just too much.  Too long, too much crap, too much talking – it all has to go.  Sounding cryptic, aren’t I?  Okay – let me try to explain and I know it’s hard given that only one person other than me has actually read the entire piece front to back.  Still, I’ll try.

I’ve a character that I wanted to do more with, so I did more.  I wrote several chapters where it’s him basically telling a story – a long story (keep in mind that my chapters themselves aren’t very long).  I wanted to build him up as a stronger supporting character and I did that, but now I am realizing that it just doesn’t work.  The story he tells is too long.  The book itself is very fast paced and then you hit this section where this old man talks and talks and talks…  It doesn’t work.  I see that now.  So, the whole thing needs to be redone.

My intention with this book was to have it, despite being 100k words, feel like it goes by so fast (and the one person who has read it cover to cover said that it is very fast paced).  Everything happens rapidly over the course of a week (then it became two weeks and I need to get it back to being a single week).  I need to stick to that, which means I need to make changes and those are slow in coming.  My goal is to have the changes done and the manuscript’s 2nd draft/version ‘complete’  by late September.

Fingers crossed!

#2 Flash Fiction

I wanted to bring a new piece of Flash Fiction to the blog every week either on Tuesdays or Thursdays – I still haven’t made up my mind on that yet.  As you can probably tell, that hasn’t happened.  It’s not for lack of trying.

I’ve written a dozen or more pieces and few of them have found their way onto the blog.  The rest, I struggle with them.  I read them and I know I can do better, so I don’t publish them.  Which is probably stupid.  I should just put them out there for folks to read and get some feedback, but I tend to be a bit OCD on the subject.  It has to be worth your time!  It has to be perfect!

My favorite piece to date has been ‘Welcome to Solar City’.  If you haven’t read that yet, please click the link and check it out.

I’ve tried to explain it before and sometimes I do a decent job and sometimes I don’t, but I’ve always had this notion in my head of ‘The New Universe’.  This is the place where my stories take place.  There is a past, a present and a future to this universe.  Most of it is still in my head, but it’s really clear in my head if that makes a difference.  The different things I write, they fit into the grand scheme of things.  ‘Welcome to Solar City’ is part of the future.  I hope to visit there often (I have ideas..).  Lots of tales to tell in that city (Oh, yes, I have ideas…).

#3 Short Stories

I’ve found that when I get an idea, I have to put it down on paper (electronic paper).  Too many times, I’ve had a fantastic idea that I didn’t write down and then lost it because other things came up and it got pushed out of my brain, which frustrates me to no end.

I have two such ideas at the moment and I’ve put both down on paper, as it were.  The first is something with a working title of ‘Stargazing’.  It’s set on a world from that future I mentioned above and could be considered a prequel to a novel I have planned at some point.

The second has a working title of ‘Witchcraft & Satrys’.  It’s…different.   I like my comedy and this has some in it.  This is further along than the first idea mentioned above.

The third are my boys, ‘Malachi and Madrighan’.  They are almost always my comic relief, sort of a throwback to the old sword and sorcery movies of the 80′s that were just so terrible you had to watch them.  They are brothers born of different fathers who have been assured by their mother that they are, in fact, twins.  They are better than fair with a sword so they travel the world getting into trouble, selling their swords to whoever can pay which rarely ever works out well for them.  But they’re together and having fun, which is all that really matters to them.  Well, that and getting paid.  And eating.

This story, with a working title of ‘The Business with the Troll’, is the closest to being ready for publication here on the blog.

Any of the short stories that get published will most likely be serialized.  Keep an eye out on twitter or here cuz I hope to be publishing ‘The Business with the Troll’ in a week or two.

#4 Podcast

I know, I know – haven’t done one in a couple weeks.  Truth told, I’m still pissed at PodBean.  I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.  As soon as I know, you’ll know.

Well – that’s it for this little update.  Hope it whet your appetite for some new fiction coming down the pipe soonish…

~P

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Tales from The New Universe: Solar City

“Welcome to Solar City” says the card in large, bright blue letters. It depicts your classic suburban dream complete with a row of large houses each with neatly trimmed yards and white picket fences all lined up nice and proper the way [...]]]> © 2009, Patrick Hester.  All Rights Reserved

Tales from The New Universe: Solar City

“Welcome to Solar City” says the card in large, bright blue letters. It depicts your classic suburban dream complete with a row of large houses each with neatly trimmed yards and white picket fences all lined up nice and proper the way they can only ever manage in a piece of cheesy art. Each home has a large tree in the yard with a swing made of rope and wood hanging from an extra thick branch that just happens to be the perfect length and height for such a thing, as if it were grown for that purpose and that purpose alone. The sky above is blue and pristine, utterly devoid of clouds and the bright yellow and orange sun with its pointed halo has a smile on its face and sunglasses shading its eyes.

The whole thing makes you want to be there, want to live on that street, have barbecues with the neighbors on cool summer nights when the air feels crisp and the fireflies compete with the local stars to see which can be the better source of amusement and delight for all the little kids you’ll have with your plump wife in the frilly apron and the perfect hair that falls just below her shoulders. It’s all a dream concocted by some corporate stooge who lives in a shimmering glass fortress with an iron skeleton billions of miles away on the edge of an ancient city that can’t even remember what a tree looks like or how grass feels on a cool night between naked toes weary of their cotton and leather day prisons.

The reverse of the card shows a name and an address, neither of which are located in Solar City. Just another wide-eyed dreamer come to make their fortune and thrive in the Utopian splendor of the new frontier, a suburban paradise where work is easy to come by, the pay’s great and there’s two women to every man so your chances of getting laid are spectacular. A genetically engineered chicken in every pot and a house for everyone willing to put in some extra effort, roll up their sleeves and help build a community in the farthest reaches of the universe where such things are not commonplace.

The card doesn’t mention the hundred and thirty degree days because this rock is too close to the sun and the terraforming is still underway, or the fact that water is an expensive commodity and there isn’t enough to keep the average person hydrated let alone to waste on watering a lawn. It doesn’t show you that the jobs are all in the mines where at least it’s cooler by ten degrees if you don’t mind your lungs filling with dust and burning from the gasses or the back breaking labor because the company is too cheap to pay for anything other than hand tools and dynamite and ‘worker safety’ is a myth whispered about in the dead of night like sweet nothings in the ear of your lover. Or how, if you’re a woman, most likely you’ll be spending the majority of your time flat on your back with your legs in the air because the company knows that men who get laid are less likely to revolt and rise up to kill their corporate masters for treating them like a disposable commodity.

The sky isn’t even blue here; it’s a hazy red when it isn’t covered in dark clouds from the great machines pumping gasses into the atmosphere in an attempt to make it all the barest of habitable environments for the human animals thrust upon its surface like so much kindling tossed into the fire.  The whole thing is a lie, a cosmic joke, the endless cosmic joke, perpetuated on every fresh faced virgin stumbling straight off the transport with their eyes still full of the wonder and excitement at the thrill of new adventure and the prospect of a better life. None expected what they received, none were ready for it, ready for the kind stranger who offered to guide them or show them a place to stay til they got on their feet or simply said ‘hello’ to them in passing. They didn’t know that he or she intended to murder them; steal that wonder and excitement from them along with their very life while leaving them to bake in the sweltering heat of an unforgiving sun on a god forsaken hellhole.

Nothing else was taken, just their lives; as if that weren’t enough. They still had what little money they’d begged, borrowed or stole for the trip out to the rim; pittance really, and hardly enough to buy a meal here, let alone start a life. Each still had a suitcase or a satchel or a duffel full of their worldly possessions clutched in their hands or lying nearby, wholly untouched and undisturbed, not that they would’ve been worth much, but here, anything that is worth something is worth stealing if it means the difference between eating and not eating. No sign of rape, no sign of anything at all on the bodies except for the smashed in skull, always from behind, always looking like someone lost a fight with a burning rage and pounded the poor soul to death like a miner pounds on a rock until it yields the treasure locked within or crumbles to useless dust carted out like so much offal.

Then there’s the card. The little postcard, four and a quarter by five and a quarter, sold in the giftshop out at the port and a hundred others exactly like it spread out all across the galaxy like cookie-cuttered boxes that could be inserted into prime real estate without any fuss.  Printed by the Company in mass quantities, impossible to trace and always right there where we can see it, never a speck of blood or gore or anything on it, not even genetic material that the sniffers could sniff out and track. Addressed to the victim but printed not hand written with no return address and a counterfeit payment barcode that somehow, never, ever raised any flags with anybody when it was scanned by the geniuses at the postal service. Placed for us to find right there in the open. Taunting us. Daring us.  Saying ‘look at what I’ve done’.

Seventeen so far. All virgins to this place, to this hell we have to call home because not a one of us can afford to escape it. We eat, we sleep, we fuck – someone else if we can afford it; we find dead bodies on the row. Rinse and repeat with genetically engineered meatloaf on Thursdays.  None of them are the same, except they are virgins; different ages, different sexes, colors, height, weight – all seemingly random and all across the board without any pattern.  Left for dead.  Left for me to find.  Left for me to clean up.  One after another.  An endless, nightmarish stream of broken dreams and bodies baking in the sun.

My job is to find out who’s responsible, bring them to justice, make hell safe again for the virgins, keep the flow of workers to the mines consistent and steady.  A Company man through and through, as if I ever had a choice.  Yay for me.

Yeah. Like the card says, “Welcome to Solar City”.

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