second life

Here is the most recent copy of a story I've finished here on vacation.  It's still in an early draft form, but it's further along than most things I post here.  It's approaching 5000 words, so pace yourself, but it's a short story and it goes from start to finish here.  I'm mostly interested in general responses, but I have put a couple of more specific questions on the bottom of the post.  Bon appetit!

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Second Life

I hadn't seen Evan since graduation, and although we'd written on each other's Facebook walls a time or two, I was surprised when he wanted to come by for a visit. We caught up a little, remembering old professors and good times, but finally I asked him what brought him here.

“I'm on my way off the internet,” he explained. He pointed out the triviality his life had increasingly seemed to take on as he had become more and more connected online. His last girlfriend had even left him because she thought he was always paying more attention to his phone than to her. He couldn't write, he couldn't even read a long piece of text anymore without getting that twitch to google something new and interesting. “I finally decided enough was enough, and now I'm headed to my family's cabin where I can live like a human being again.”

When I pointed out that cutting yourself off from humanity didn't seem like the same thing as living like a human, he shrugged. “When you're an alcoholic, you have to stop drinking before you can rebuild your life. I'm thinking of it as internet rehab, my own private Walden Pond where I can reconnect with myself and with nature. And besides, maybe I'll finally finish my novel!” He said with some excitement.

“I don't know that anyone can really live without the internet,” I said with a smile, “but I hope you're successful.” The cabin was only a few hours from my place, so I promised to visit every couple of months or so, and we said goodbye.

Time passed, and to be honest, I didn't think much about Evan. One sleepy summer Sunday afternoon, I wrote him a letter in pen and ink (in solidarity with his analog pipe-dream) asking how things were going and if I should plan on heading up to see him. I didn't get a response for some time, so I wondered if I had got the address wrong on the envelope. But a few weeks later I got an email response, in which Evan described his more-or-less successful attempts at living off the grid:

At first, I was fired up and it was easy to keep myself on task, gardening, hiking, reading off a printed page, and writing my novel. But after I submitted the novel to my first publisher, I suddenly had all sorts of nervous energy. Without daily interaction with some sort of society, I lost the motivation to write to anyone. But since most of the people I wanted to talk with were scattered across the country, and since I had grown to like my little cabin lifestyle so much, I decided the only thing to do was to get back online. It was only when I went into town to get a satellite dish installed on the cabin that I got your letter.

A little social media was all it took to get the literary juices flowing again. I'm beginning a series of essays while I wait to hear back from the publisher, but I think I'm on to something for my next novel, anyway. And I started a blog, so we'll see where all that goes. I'd like to show you around my mountain when you get the chance, although I see your Facebook status just changed to 'in a relationship.' Don't you know that women are only trouble for the creative mind? You'll never write anything now until you dump her—you won't have the time, let alone the concentration.

Of course, Evan was talking more about his own problems with women than mine, but the rest of his letter was pretty peppy and I thought he must be doing pretty well.

Later that summer, I did take my girlfriend, Hana, up to visit. He showed us his garden, which was fairly formidably covered in tomatoes, squash, potatoes, and other useful vegetables, considering he'd never raised a living thing in his life. There were a good few weeds growing up as well, which he explained with a shrug. “I don't find as much time to keep it up as I used to, now that I blog most days, but I can still eat off of it, so that's success, right?” As for the other necessities of life, he had made a deal with his grocery clerk to haul them up the mountain in his pickup once every two weeks, so practically speaking, Evan was a more steady occupant of his little cabin than Thoreau was at Walden.

He mentioned that friends would drop by from time to time, and when he saw hikers coming, he invited them in for some water, so he wasn't completely alone, but he had all the time he needed to write his masterwork of a novel. “It's the novel of the age!” he said enthusiastically. “It's a declaration of independence from technology, a return to our real roots as the greatest animals on the face of the earth!” I laughed. He smiled and shrugged. “We are what we are. I am proud to claim the title of animal, a living, thinking, breathing animal that writes novels and grows his own food. I don't need anyone or anything but me!”

Evan's bombastic enthusiasm was more obnoxious than ever, but probably that's good for a writer. He couldn't stop talking about how frustrating it was to try to work with editors—he had been asked to write a guest column in a tech magazine due to the success of his blog, and had already pulled his novel from one publisher because the editor wanted him to change too much. Mostly, he just talked a lot. A life of written words seems to have created a deficit of spoken conversation for him, but otherwise he seemed happy and well.

We had a pretty good time, and to Hana's credit, she put up with Evan's outsized vocabulary and tendency to show off his literacy in a broad range of subjects. She even out-maneuvered him in a discussion about the futility of language and forced him to admit several deficiencies in his theory of a future “literary internet.” When we were saying our goodbyes, he winked at me and whispered, “Listen, I think it's only fair to warn you that if you don't hurry and marry that woman, I will.”

“You snooze, you loose, my friend,” I said, genuinely pleased at his back-handed praise. We promised to visit again towards the fall and drove away from that little refuge back to real life.

I did ask Hana to marry me that fall, and between wedding plans and work, we never made it back to Evan's cabin. I kept pretty good track of him, though, as it seemed he spent all his time online. His blog on the intersection of life online and the natural world got picked up by one of those big magazines in New York in an attempt to be more relevant to the modern reader. His novel was finally published and jumped to the top 30 e-books, and stayed there for months. I bought the hardback version, and it was pretty good for a first novel, but then I bought a tablet and I kind of wished I had it electronically. He would send me short emails with anecdotes from conversations he'd been having with internet literati, or more often copy-and-pasted emails and chats with amusing results. I told him about getting married, about how it wasn't as hard as I'd feared to keep my soul while working in corporate America, and the day-to-day living that he seemed to be missing with his fast-paced online life.

Our emails grew less frequent over time, though, and eventually they stopped. Hana quit her job to get ready for our new baby, and we moved to a little house outside the city. The focus of our lives changed. I found that family demands meant I spent more time off the computer than I had in the past, and I didn't notice his two Twitter accounts or that his blog had morphed into a meditation about virtual life on the internet in a higher-profile magazine. In fact, it wasn't until I was browsing the stacks in my local bookstore's going-out-of-business sale that I read all that on the jacket of his second book, collected of essays on digital life. Enjoying the irony, I bought the hardback version and didn't regret it a bit.

I went home and decided I'd write Evan an email letting him know that I'd bought his second book and thought it was great, and that if I changed my mind after reading it I wouldn't tell him. Before I could finish my online banking and head to bed, he had already responded. “Hey, it's been a long time, hasn't it?” he began. At this point, it had been more than two years since I had seen him in person. I expected an update on his life, but all I got was an excuse that he'd been really busy and asked all sorts of questions about how we were doing and what it was like to be a dad. We traded emails for a few weeks, him describing a lot about his life as a writer but avoiding any mention of a personal life, until finally he wrote that he wanted to catch up in person as soon as possible up at his place.

Our new baby girl was pretty adverse to car seats at that point—and by adverse I mean she would not stop screaming until she was let out, no matter how many hours it took—so I wrote back asking if he couldn't come down and see our new place. He was oddly adamant that he couldn't leave his work for that long. “I'm practically glued to my screen these days, and if I miss a deadline, that could be the end of it for me,” he said. “It's really hard for me to find time to get out anymore, but that doesn't mean I don't miss seeing people. I'd really appreciate it if you could make it up to see me,” he finished, sounding a little desperate.

I was a little worried about him, so I took a vacation day, kissed Hana and our baby goodbye, and set out for a weekend in the woods. One of my tires went flat halfway there, so by the time I got to the cabin, it was already late and it was hard to see the driveway from the road. I parked the car and as soon as the headlights turned off, infinite stars appeared above me, thicker and brighter than I could remember for a very long time. There was no moon, no city lights, and only a faint glow from inside the cabin, so my view was marvelously unobstructed. I stood leaning on the car door for a few moments before deciding that Evan had the right idea with his little mountain retreat and heading toward the front door through the deep darkness.

Because of that darkness, though, I tripped on the undergrowth that seemed to have taken over the front of the house. Vines were climbing up the side of the house and the grass and brush had grown up to my knees. As my eyes adjusted to the dim night, I could see that the garden seemed to be just as overgrown.

I picked my way carefully to the front door and knocked loudly, hoping Evan hadn't gone to bed. It was late summer, but the mountain night was colder than I had expected and I shivered as a breeze came up. I waited, then knocked again. I tried to laugh at myself as it occurred to me that the murmur of the stream and the wind in the branches began to sound more and more like disembodied voices in the forest. I checked the time on my phone and decided that it was better to sneak in as quietly as I could and crash on the couch than to leave.

When I cracked open the door, I saw that the only light in the little cabin was a pale blue glow coming from the kitchen where Evan had set up his laptop when we had been here last. I slipped in and quietly called, “Hello?” in case he had fallen asleep at the keyboard. Not hearing a response, I tiptoed toward the kitchen and the source of light.

From the door frame, I could see Evan slumped over the small square kitchen table, apparently asleep with his face toward turned his laptop screen. Illuminated with that flickering light, Evan looked eerily emaciated. His eyes were invisible in the dimness of deep eye-sockets and his arms were almost skeletally thin as they rested futilely on the keyboard in the dark. He looked dead. I flipped the light switch, but there was no reaction—the light was apparently burned out. I tried to speak, but my voice caught in my throat and all I could do was cough weakly. I paused, then I backed out of the kitchen to the front room and the bedroom, flipping the switches. They were all burned out.

I took a deep breath and went back to the kitchen. I cleared my throat and knocked on the door frame. “Hey, Evan!” I managed, fairly loudly. My voice only cracked a little. There was no response but the flickering of a changing computer screen. It was running something, so he couldn't really be dead, right? Or at least not for very long...

I took a deep breath and used my phone to feebly light up the space in front of me. What ever happened to those phones with flashlights on the end? I got right up next to Evan's body and finally saw that he was breathing. I immediately relaxed, but he still looked dead, and he wasn't responding. I gingerly tapped him on the shoulder, but he wasn't cold or anything, so I gathered my courage and shook his shoulder. I would have spoken, but I was afraid if I tried, I might choke. Evan kind of slumped over further and I had to hold him back in his chair—which is when I saw them.

There were long, thin strands of something coming out of his arms toward the desk, like a spider web made of wires. I jumped back and shuddered as I tried to catch my breath. Evan's blank face was now staring at the ceiling.

I'll admit it crossed my mind to just walk out right then. And by “crossed my mind” I mean my muscles screamed to run away as fast as I could. The only thing that kept me from bolting was that my brain seemed incapable of computing my muscles' request. But after a moment or two, I was able to relax and overcome my shock. I came back close enough to get a good look at his arms (although I kept my distance from that death-like face), and under my phone's glow, I saw that in fact, they were wires, and they looked like they had been inserted seamlessly into Evan's skin. They went directly into the laptop, somehow. That's when I noticed what was going on the screen.

It was a chat window. Messages from Evan's account kept coming up, and they had my name on them.

Hey, Todd, look here.

I can hear you, but I can't say anything. Just look over here.

No, dude, the lights are burned out.

Yes, in the whole house.

Relax, dude, you sound like you saw a ghost. I can't talk, but just look at the screen.

Right, again, you can tap me on the shoulder, but I'm not going to be able to respond...

Be careful! Don't let me fall on the floor!

OK, this is starting to hurt my neck. Although, it did already have a crick in it...

Wait! Wait wait! I know these wires look crazy, but it's OK! Just look at the screen!

My blood ran cold again. I swallowed hard and took a step away from the computer. That's when the next message appeared.

Please wait! Please! Don't leave me here like this!

“This isn't funny, Evan,” I said, finally finding my voice. “You're sick and you need help, but this isn't funny...”

My voice faded out as more text appeared on the screen. I know I'm sick, I know, but I really can't move.

I took a step closer to the screen. “What, do you have video chat running or something? Are you just somewhere else so you can pull a prank? Because you really did have me for a minute there, what with this warm body and all.”

Yes to the video chat, but that's really me, sad as I look.

“I don't believe you,” I said, but I was starting to shake. I took another step back from the table and the grotesque body seated in front of it.

Come on, man, why in the world would I bring you up here for something idiotic like that?

Evan had never really been the prank-pulling kind of guy, so that was a good point. I hesitated.

There's no way I could prove it to you, but this is why I couldn't come see you and your family. I am literally wired into the internet.

I grimaced. “What's that supposed to mean? How?”

*shrug* I don't know. Since you saw me last, I just spent more and more time on the online. One day I realized I'd been at my computer for 24 hours straight, so I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep, so I came back. I lost track of time, and the next time I looked at the computer, it had been maybe two more days. This time I really did go sleep, but I wasn't really tired, so I slept restlessly. After a night like that, I decided sleep was getting unnecessary, which is great for a blogger. I had more time to surf the web and write, and who would sleep if they didn't have to? I didn't ask questions, I just adjusted and enjoyed my new freedom.

Well, people started noticing my seemingly limitless energy on the web. I got invited to write more and more guest columns and do some ghost writing, which was great for my bank account and for my self-esteem. But it came clear pretty quickly that I had to abandon writing anything longer than about 1000 words, because my search-tic had gotten too bad to concentrate on anything longer than that, including my next novel. I was still pretty good at short essays back then, though.

That was when I discovered the stock market. I had become so quick at surfing and processing data on the internet that I could predict the market's ups and downs almost as soon as they happened. So I started spending part of every day doing that. And then I realized I could pick up news reports across the world in real time, so I did that in between trades and started a news aggregator. Between the two, I run a fairly successful page under a pseudonym. Life would be great, but now I have a problem.

I didn't realize what was happening with my body until it was too late. Somehow, these wires grew out of me into the computer while I was busy paying attention to all this other stuff. At first, I tried to pull them out, but each time I did, I noticed that my surfing speed dropped. So I stopped. My life was more online than off, so what does it matter that I can't get up away from the computer?

Well, I've been going on like this for some time, but as you can see, my body is in pretty bad shape. But I've also started noticing that I don't ever really pay attention to it.

“Well, you really should. You look like death.”

That's kind of my point. I don't think I live in my body anymore.

“Huh?” I shuddered.

I know it doesn't make much sense, but I think my body is dying, but I don't feel it dying, and my mind is as sharp as ever. I think somehow I've made the transition across the digital threshold.

“How can you tell?”

Well, my physical reactions are slow, and I can't really move more than automatically. And honestly, I haven't eaten in weeks, but I'm not hungry. I can do literally a few thousand things on the internet in the time it takes me to stick out my tongue. And soon, I might not be able to move anything at all. However it happened, I think I've transferred into a purely virtual existence.

“You've got to be pulling my leg,” I said without conviction. I glanced at the body staring at the ceiling. It certainly looked like Evan, but it was certainly on its way out of this life. I couldn't imagine he could come up with some hoax that looked so realistic... and breathed...

I don't know, but that's what I think. And that's what I really needed you to come for. I would never have been able to explain this without you standing right here. I think this body is keeping me back. I need you to release me from it.

I recoiled. “This is really sick. I'm not going to kill anyone.”

Hold on, just a second!

I paused my retreat.

Hold on, really, hear me out. That body there, it's not me. I'm the man who writes blogs, who comments on life on the internet, who runs a news website. And now I have an opportunity to become a real journalist, to investigate a life that no one has ever had before, to do real pioneering work! But I can feel this body is holding me back. I think too slow, because I have to send messages back into that brain. It's slow and it doesn't mean anything to me anymore.

“You don't need me. 'This body' of yours is dying pretty well on its own.”

No, you see, I don't actually know if I don't need this body, and I'm running out of time. I need you to cut a few of the wires and see what happens.

“And if you start dying, what am I supposed to do then?”

There will be time to handle it. I'll be paying close attention, I can promise you that. Please, Todd, I don't know how much time I have left, and if I'm wrong about needing my body, I need medical help right away.

“Seems like you could have thought of that earlier,” I mumbled, but he was right. Whatever happened before, he needed help now. “What do you need me to do?” I said with a tone of resignation.

There's a pair of scissors hanging above the sink you can use.

“I won't get electrocuted?”

They've got plastic handles, so you should be fine.

I took my phone and found the scissors and came back. I looked down at his hideous arms and the tangled web of wires that held them captive. “Now what?”

OK, just cut one or two wires and let's see what happens.

Slowly carefully, I took a single wire and placed it between the scissors. Then I cut it.

Evan's arm seemed to flinch, but there was little reaction. I turned back to the screen.

That felt all right. Let's try a a few more.

I cut three more. The body didn't flinch this time.

I think it's working. Let's see if you can fee one of the arms now.

I hesitated again. The enormity of what I was doing started to sink in. “Listen, Evan, even if you could do this, are you sure you want to? I mean...”

I know, I know. But I've thought about it a good deal. If this works, though, my body may die, but I'll live forever. However this happened, I don't know that it's reversible at this point, but there might be a way forward. We can't go back now. Go ahead, cut me loose.

What choice did I have? I cut one arm free, and then the other. Before I cut the last wire, I made sure Evan was ready. “How do you feel?”

Better than ever. I can think even more clearly than before—faster, sharper. I'm ready. Cut the wire.

I cut the wire. At first, nothing happened. “Evan?” I asked, looking from the computer screen to the sallow face of my friend and back.

The edges of panic had begun to sink in when a new message appeared on the screen.

I've done it! I've somehow become the future of humanity! Look at me, I can move from here to China and back practically at the speed of light! I will never die, for I am not tied down by your version of reality! I am immortal! I am the internet! I see all, I am all! The glory is mine!

And then, nothing. No more messages. I tried to get a response out of Evan, talking and typing up a storm, but nothing came of it. I was talking into the void, into the darkness.

Then I remembered the body, sitting there in the dark. I was alone with a living corpse.

I ran out of the house. I shouldn't have run, I know, but I did. I drove straight home and I didn't tell anyone about what I had seen, not Hana, not the police, not anyone. I couldn't sleep at night anymore with the lights off, and I couldn't touch a computer without getting goosebumps.

I would have liked to have forgotten the whole ordeal, but that's not the way things worked out. When Evan stopped writing for two weeks on end, his publishers contacted the police, who checked out the cabin. Of course they found my fingerprints on every light switch and on the scissors. Evan's body had begun decomposing and it was no longer clear how he died, so my defense lawyer didn't have much to go on. I told her exactly what happened, and she suggested the insanity defense, which I of course refused. Well, the prosecution's case was circumstantial but convincing, and the jury convicted. The judge lightened my sentence based on what he considered my unstable mental state, which I am grateful for, but I'm still appealing.

Evan could help, but he doesn't. In the weeks after our little incident, a new web magazine appeared, accurately predicting market swings and attracting a big following among finance-types. Oh, it's under an assumed name, but it's him, all right. And it spends half its web space blabbing on and on about life on the web and “living virtually.” That sneaky jerk, he knows what's happening with me and he refuses to get involved. I sent him a dozen emails, and he didn't respond to a one of them.

The worst part of it is that Hana doesn't believe me, either. She filed for divorce this week, and I hear from the other inmates that the judge assigned to our case hates convicts. I just don't know if I'll ever get to see my daughter again.

Well, fine. Evan can ruin my life if he likes. I'll get out of this hole someday, and when I do, I'll find him. See, I've been working on a theory of how he did it, and it's not that hard: you just have to be dedicated enough to the internet that it claims you as its own. So the moment I'm free, I'll do the same as him, but when I get out there in the internet, I'll take him apart. He never really was the competitive type, and I know how to play the endgame. I'll figure out what makes his little media empire tick, and then I'll leak it to all his competitors. I'll drive down the prices of the stocks he owns, I'll empty out his bank account, and I'll DDS the heck out of his stupid web site. And he won't know it's me until it's too late. Sure, with neither of us embodied, it might be a long struggle, but I've got two things going for me that Evan doesn't: I'm in the right, and I've already killed him once.

I can do it again.

*   *   *
My questions are these:
1. What about the general premise?  Sure, it's been done, but I was mostly looking to finish something for a change.  Is it too boring?  Can it be improved?
2. Where is the structure weak?
3. What can I do to strengthen the emotional impact of the climactic scene?
4. What other craft observations can you make?

No matter whatever else, I am so glad to have actually finished something... ahhhhhh...  :)

A Hint of Things to come . . .

Just a little something I've been working on recently:

Magic System - Astronism

I figured I'd put the magic system (one of them at least) out here for people to look at and critique. This is astronism, the astrology based magic system.

ASTRONISM

Astronism is based on the influences of cosmic forces upon any individual’s life. At astronism’s core are the Cel-hadin, ten different constellations each of which lay in the path that both the sun and the moon appear to take in the sky. Each constellation, or ao, represents different values and concepts, and in turn, lend their influences to daily lives according to the astronists.

The concept associated with each ao is a domain that the patron rules and represents. Likewise, they also represent an attitude or emotion. The most significant time for any ao is when either the sun or the moon lays in that ao’s “house”. During that time, the specific ao is at its height, and greatest influence.

1. Dohtor the Architect of Legends – The Sky—Benevolence

2. Rayled the Chaos House - Society—Impulsiveness

3. Bajemin the Universal King - Exploration—Curiosity

4. Nilloc the Harper-Lord – The Arts—Passion

5. Tamban the Spirit-Caller – The Dead—Care/Safety

6. Maruce the Scholar - Knowledge—Open-Mindedness

7. Titan-Queen Theia - Law—Loyalty/Sacrifice

8. Minos and Sturches, the Twin Emperors – Fertility and Birth—Joy

9. Ritob the Sky-Wall - Protection—Boldness

10. Saint White - Guidance—Submissiveness

Astronist powers, the ones commonly associated with cosmic magic, are dependent on the moon for power. As the moon moves through the Cel-hadin, it enters an exits each house. This phase is divided into two parts. In residence, and in transit. In the first, the moon is wholly in that ao, and the ao’s powers are granted to the astronist. When the moon is in transit, it is found between constellations, and the astronist receives no powers. The entire passage takes about three and a half days, where three of the days are spent in residence, and half a day in transit. From there it transits to the next one on the list. The entire cycle takes one month to complete.

Astronism is both misunderstood, and incomprehensible. The power of the Cel-hadin is a living force of a kind, that seems to randomly seek out individuals. The powers always manifest on one’s Moonday, the day of their 19th birthday. The powers come swiftly and violently, like a dam bursting and blasting the surrounding countryside. This power is uncontrollable at first, and highly destructive. It is for this reason that astronists are feared in the Morrowan Pact. Generally, this initial flow of power occurs in one single burst. More bursts can follow, but these are rare and generally indicative of the strength the ao’s grant to the person. One burst is normal. Two is uncommon. Three is rare, and four is almost unheard of.

Distance Control

Distance control involves the manipulation of space . With it, the astronist can alter relative distances to and from objects.

Examples

Travel overland at high rates of speed

Trip an enemy and alter the distance they fall to several miles

Increase the distance between you and a gunman, letting their shot fall short.

Fluidity Manipulation

This manipulation involves altering of a being’s sense of movement and control. Actions they take are greatly exaggerated from normal, creating a cloud of clumsiness.

Examples

Manipulating someone’s footsteps. They’ll take too large of a step, overbalance and fall.

Manipulating a sword attack. The oppent will swing too hard and break the sword into a nearby object, or send it flying from their grasp.

Manipulating a bowshot. The afflicted will draw the bow too far and snap the string.

Gravity Control

The astronist alters the relative gravity in a region, either increasing it or nullifying it.

Examples

Pinning an opponent to the ground.

Lowering the gravity on heavy objects to carry them

Launch someone into the ceiling

Sense Manipulation

This ability, also called selective synesthesia, allows the astronist to use one sense to detect another. This means the astronist can see sounds, hear light, and see smells.

Examples

Seeing someone’s scent and tracking them

Blind fighting by seeing an attacker’s noise

Hear someone from across a field by sight alone.

Sound Control

The astronist can control sound, both dampening and creating it.

Examples

Mimicking someone’s voice

Using sound to break down a wall

Static Control

The astronist controls the force of friction, either eliminating it or increasing it.

Examples

Removing the friction on someone’s clothing, instantly causing it to fall apart.

Increase the friction on someone’s shoes, igniting them from the friction as they move.

Organic Manipulation

Also jokingly called sub-contractual bodily functions, this ability lets the astronist transfer or steal bodily functions with other persons, or multiple people.

Examples

Transferring one’s breath to start breathing in a dying comrade

Stealing brain functions from surrounding people to boost one’s cognitive ability

Transferring the desire for rest, or stealing someone’s wakefulness in order to stay awake.

Speed Transference

The astronist can transfer kinetic energy from one source to another. It is dependent on 1/2mv^2, so the energy is conserved.

Examples

Stealing the energy from a speeding cart, and transferring it to an arrow, giving it powerful speed and striking power

If one was falling, the astronist could transfer the falling energy to the planet, allowing a safe landing.

Exo-sense

This ability, also known as luck manipulation ,works off the principle of possibility. If there exists the possibility that the astronist can accomplish a task, then it happens should they focus on it. A normal person can get a safe combination right the first time, but they cannot fly.

Examples

Run into a melee with swords swinging, and parry every incoming blow while striking every opponent.

Pick a lock on the first try

Great Short Story

Just read this over on Tor. Really great little piece.


Later . . .

World Building - Weapon Styles

Alright, here's some world building notes for you to feast your eyes on. That is if anyone actually reads it. I wanted to do something for fighting styles that was more than what was normally seen. Rather than follow WoT's method of naming every single technique of using a sword, I wanted to fall back into an actual style of fighting, rather than a method of moving a sword.


I used the 7 light-saber forms from Star Wars as a basis and expanded it from there. The idea is that these weapon forms are applicable with any weapon, not just a sword (although some styles work better or worse with certain weapons).

All fighting styles draw their roots from ancient Sylthanian techniques,. Through the ages, the fighting styles have altered and changed, and new forms are created to answer weaknesses or strengths in others.

The techniques of these fighting styles began once with a group of swordmasters in Aquitamar. A common trial practice was Trial by Combat, where the accused and the accuser select champions to fight for them. In Aquitamar, these fights were never to the death, but instead to first yield. Eventually small groups of fighters began to hone their dueling skills to the point that they began the de facto champions used in Trial by Combat. They gained the name Arbites, and even though most nations do not use Trial by Combat, the name has extended to anyone with sufficient skill.

The path to becoming an Arbite is a long one, and involves multiple amounts of tests, duels, and training. Only when several Arbites cast a vote to the affirmative can one join their ranks, and gain the facial tattoo of their preferred fighting form. Those caught using a fake tattoo are killed on sight.

There are five styles. Three originally were created by Sylthanians, those being Tornado, Avalanche, and Iron Shield. Celestials developed the Entropic style, and Torton invented the Zephyr style. Each is generally strong against one style and weak against another.

THE ZEPHYR STYLE
The Zephyr’s Style is the most recent style, generated in Torton roughly a century ago. It is a style of fighting designed for gentleman's dueling, as well as close range fighting in narrow quarters. It demands maneuverability and superior footwork and position, developing the Arbite's mastery of swift parries and thrusts designed to whittle an opponent down and tire them out. When it comes to sheer control of a fight, there are no better Arbites than Zephyrs.

Strong Against
The Entropic Style. The Entropic style relies on the Arbite being chaotic and aggressive yet even chaos can be predicted and outmaneuvered by a Zephyr. They use the Entropic's aggression against them, taking advantage of the lack of defense the opposing style offers.

Weak Against
The Avalanche Style -The Arbite's strength is also a weakness. it relies on maneuverability and control, and as a result, the Zephyr's attacks hold little to no momentum while the Avalanche relies on relentless assaults, pummeling aside the Zephyr's defenses.

Practitioners
Nobleman, politicians, Prelate Sargoth, Mozsha mon Altern

THE IRON SHIELD STYLE
The Iron Shield Style is one of the original forms. It relies on keeping a close guard with your weapon, concentrating on defense, while your opponent tires themselves out in their assault. Iron Shields are the epitome of patience as they observe their opponent style, and move in for the kill when weakness presents itself.

Strong Against
The Avalanche Style—The Iron Shield will calmly deflect every blow by the Avalanche as they maintain their defense. Where the Zephyr relies on cunning and manipulation to defend, the Iron Shield will use any opportunity to turn an opponent's blade away, letting them match an Avalanche's intensity.

Weak Against
The Tornado Style—The Iron Shield relies on keeping a close guard, and of letting their opponent come to them, but a Tornado uses their acrobatic styles and extended reach to bypass the Shield’s guard at a distance to penetrate their defenses.

Practitioners
Bodyguards,Those who are neither fast nor especially strong, pacifists, Alda Zacari

THE ENTROPIC STYLE
The Entropic Style was the first style invented after the original three. It was developed by Bladejudges of the Celestial Empire as a method to defeat the whirlwind Tornados that scissored through soldiers while maintaining no true weakness of their own.

The Entropic Style relies on a chaotic and frenzied attack, often divesting ones self of any defense instead creating an unstoppable attack. The Entropic believes the best defense is a good offense, and will seek to end a fight as quickly as possible.

Strong Against
The Tornado Style-The Entropic Style constantly aims assaults and attacks at the Tornado, putting them into a defensive position. They seize any opportunity to strike, depriving the agile Tornados of their maneuverability.

Weak Against
The Zephyr Style—The Zephyr was developed as a counter-measure against Entropics. While the Entropics are maddening in assault, the Zephyr uses the Entropic’s momentum against them and and unbalances them. Where no defense can be found, the Zephyr will know.

Practitioners
Speaker Eztli, Bladejudges, Cosmic mages

THE TORNADO STYLE
The Tornado Style is an original form. It was developed as a counter measure to defensive Iron Shields. The Tornado fights often in whirlwind attacks, extending their blades out to maximize reach. This leaves them vulnerable to disarms, but free from the fear of retaltion that a closer style might bring.
It is the most acrobatic of all styles, and demands dexterity and athleticism to fight properly. When done correctly, the Tornado becomes just like their namesake, a blur of spiraling motion.

Strong Against
The Iron Shield Style—The Iron Shield's close guard, and lack of counter-attacks leave them vulnerable to fighting from an extended range. The Tornado seeks to maneuver around the Iron Shield, breaking their defenses.

Weak Against
The Entropic Style—The Entropic Style's relentless assaults keep the Tornado on the defensive. Entropics use their own offense to counter the offense of the Tornado, ultimately breaking them down.

Practitioners
Short people, agile people, Fists, Celestial Tayshi Tenoch, Joshi Fitaru Jazalai

THE AVALANCHE STYLE
The Avalanche’s style is misnamed. The word avalanche bestows thoughts of rough and ragged and uncontrolled. To see an avalanche in combat is to see the innate beauty of a storm. They fight in an assault of brute force attacks combined with single-minded determination, pummeling their opponents.
The Avalanche is best at overpowering an individual through sheer tenacity, and Avalanches are renown for for their relentless assaults.

Strong Against
The Zephyr’s Style - The Zephyr relies on grace and precision to turn an opponent’s attacks away. The Avalanches overpowers the Zephyr, by constantly hammering at their defense, maintaining powerful kinetic blows that unbalance the Zephyr.

Weak Against
The Iron Shield—The Iron Shield’s techniques are the answer to the Zephyrs' Weakness. While the Zephyr seeks to redirect the motions of a Avalanche, the Iron Shield seeks to block them. The Shield’s own methods rely on more fully engaging the Avalanche, and keeping up momentum.

Practitioners
Strong people, high constitution/endurance people, Haylo Qaanir

Descent of the High Families of Greater Amar

Ok, so this is mostly to prove (to myself?) that, contrary to popular belief, I have been working on stuff. Now, the work I've been doing is all worldbuilding, but thats ok, cause I enjoy it :)

So, this is a (as yet incomplete) genealogy showing how most of the main characters in my fantasy story can ultimately trace their family lines back to a common ancestor.

95% of the nobility in Amar claim descent through some branch of this family tree . . . whether or not the claim is true or not.

More will come during the week.

Later . . .

Ky claims this has nothing to do with Science Fiction, but . . .

It's freaking sweet anyways.

Another Sci-Fi Link

Ok, so here's another Hard-SF link. Orion's Arm is a collaborative world-building group that has built a huge universe that tries as hard as possible to be scientifically accurate (as far as we understand the physics and such at the moment).

This link is to their encyclopedia area where you can browse around. I like it, cause if you're ever wondering how an antimatter drive would work, you can look it up here with fairly high confidence that the explanation you'll get is accurate.


Enjoy!

Later . . . .

Three if by Air

Alright, here is the next piece I'm working on turning in for Writers of the Futre. I wish that I had gotten it on here more recently, but I've been sort of busy and kep forgetting. Well here it is. Some of you might already have it, and some of you might not. Either way, here is the first bit of it, so let me know. I'm not looking for any sort of specific feedback, just overall thoughts, typos, plot holes, etc.

Three if by Air

One if by land, two if by sea, three if by air. I repeated the mantra until it became a meaningless drone in my head. There was nothing special about this litany, yet the words danced across my mind like a catchy tavern tune. My eyes darted from the North Church, to the HMAS Somerset moored above Boston Harbor, to the deserted streets of Boston itself. The only illumination originated from the airship’s deck lamps where sentries watched from their lofty perch for the few brave souls who dared to break General Gage’s curfew.

Brave or foolhardy. Paul Revere claimed his signal would occur the moment he had an answer. I doubted his plan would proceed that simply. Light the lanterns, and cross the bay, Madeline. We’ll be out before the lobsters know what’s happening. A daring sentiment considering Gage’s standing order to shoot anyone suspected of running messages out of the city. I remained wary all the same. My job was just to hold the iron horse while he crossed. Doctor Warren’s orders on behalf of the Committee of Public Safety. Paul was the more reliable rider, so he got the hard work. Me? I got paid either way.

I glanced to the silent machine. It looked as much like a horse as a doll looked like a baby. The legs, head and body held a similar position and orientation, but regular horses weren’t filled with steel joints, hydraulic pistons, and covered in exhaust vents protruding from every angle. The animal—the machine—was still as a statue, not similar to a real horse in the slightest.

A dog in Boston barked, and I flinched, my eyes flickering towards the church. No signal. What’s taking so long? By the time on my chronometer, the Regulars should have begun their march fifteen minutes ago. Paul’s contacts in the Regulars were reliable enough to confirm that information. General Gage had given orders to leave Boston tonight. They intended on heading to Lexington, most likely to arrest the Patriot leaders there.

Most had since fled the city. If the gossip was to be believed, John Hancock, my former employer, as well as fiery Samuel Adams hid somewhere nearby to coordinate resistance, but I couldn’t confirm that rumor. No one ever told me anything. War is not a woman’s business. How many other women have risen to helmsman on a merchant ship? Fought in a duel with three men at once and won? Not damn many.

The HMAS Somerset lit up, interrupting my diatribe. The decklights on the airship created a new star in the night. Men called to each other, each an unintelligible vocalization coming from far above. My eyes went to the church. Nothing. Did they see Paul? His crossing might not go unnoticed.
I shifted uncomfortably where I stood at the edge of Charleston. A person out at night with an iron horse, an illegal piece of machinery, would raise eyebrows. A woman out an night with an iron horse demanded an explanation. I stilled my breathing to listen as the lights and voices dulled away. No, just the changing of the guard. I sighed in relief.

One if by land, two if by sea, three if by air. The mantra relaxed me for some reason. Any of those choices were likely. The Regulars might take the land route, or they might cross the harbor. Either meant Lion Knights. The great mechanical-armored Regulars would be slow moving, but would have the momentum of a runaway wagon. Nothing would stop them.

But if the Regulars traveled by air, they’d arrive at their destination and meet no resistance, having left the ground bound militia behind. The iron horses were there in that event. They ate fuel like a Hessian at dinnertime, but when comparing their speed to a dirigible’s, the dirigible might as well be at a standstill.

Revere’s signal occurred with such subtlety, that in my focused state I almost missed it. A light in the tower. Another. Then a third. The lights lasted half a heartbeat. The Regulars would move by air. That left me waiting for Paul. His favor, owed to him from a year back.
I paced back and forth, trying to busy my mind and stop worrying. Other riders would already be leaving from the city. William Dawes, Paul’s partner in crime had no doubt left from southern Boston. He was but one of several insurance policies against the Regular’s intervening in our warnings. The signal from the tower was a beacon to several other riders in nearby villages to begin the warning. They already must be well on their way out.

Voices came again from the Somerset. In the darkness, I spied movement on the airship’s railing. Another changing of the guard? Fear crept up like a lion stalking its prey. The Somerset’s foglights still lay unmanned, but there was movement on deck. Hand-held blue gas lamps shifted from position to position marking the movement of the watchmen.

Hurry it up, Paul. I watched the opposite shore for any signs of the man. The glows still moved about the deck above me, but I couldn’t make out their activities. Another voice called out, the wind carrying it to my ears as an incomprehensible whisper.

I heard a splash, too powerful to be a wave, too light to be unintentional. I locked onto the opposite shoreline. Another splash. A tiny brown shape slowly manifested into a lone figure riding low in a boat. Paul Revere. He sat alone in the small boat, accompanied by nothing else but the wind and the silence of the night.

From my vantage point his direction of travel suggested a landing a half-mile to the north. I grabbed the dangling harness of the iron horse and pulled. It fell into step behind me with slave-like obedience.

Anxiety fluttered inside me like a bee inside a jar. I’d misjudged Paul’s landing. The current was pulling Paul farther north. Right towards the Somerset. His flurried attempts to correct his course showed he wasn’t oblivious to the danger. He plunged his oars in, each stroke pushing him farther from the imposing airship.

The foglights on the Somerset exploded into life. If the earlier lights were a new star, this was a new sun. The cascades of illumination began to scope out the bay, highlighting every part of the harbor. Relax; they might be just performing a random sweep in the bay for smugglers. I knew this wasn’t the case. Just a little further. They hadn’t spotted Paul yet.

Despite his efforts, Paul drifted closer and closer to the shadow of the airship. The spotlights roamed the water, each a predator looking for prey. Revere stilled and dropped into the boat, freezing as the lights crept closer. I held my breath. The lights slinked by fewer than ten feet from where Paul sat.

Then they were gone, off to explore other parts of the bay. Paul dipped the oars into the murky water. I looked at the iron horse, and missed what happened next. One minute he was rowing across the bay and the next, he floundered about in the water next to his capsized boat.

Before I could move, the foglights were back, each an eye from heaven glaring down at Paul, now within fifteen feet of the shoreline. Their intent was clear. The rata-tat of the repeating rifles mounted on the deck of the Somerset drowned out Paul’s frantic attempts to stay afloat. I bolted for the water’s edge, abandoning the iron horse.

The lights spotted me as well, but I welcomed their gaze. Each glow brightened my path to the shore and Paul. The guns continued to howl out terrifying bursts that rocketed both water and dirt into the air, splattering me with both. I arrived just as Paul floundered onto shore, looking more like a drowned jester than a drowned rat. He collapsed but my arms shot out, grabbing him to stop his fall. Without waiting for him to speak, I gripped him under the shoulders, and dragged him to the woods. The strength to pull him came surprisingly easy, no doubt due to the adrenaline coursing through my body. Bullets continued to spray around us, yet by some miracle, none hit us. As I came into the canopy, the shots tapered off, leaving the sounds of shouting from the Somerset to fill the air.

As I dragged, I laughed aloud, as I couldn’t help but think of what my father would say. Grabbing a man and dragging him into the woods? That wasn’t how he had raised his only daughter. I’d been the mistress to the Marquis Caulaincourt a decade ago, and was now on British controlled colonies, working with the Colonials. He’d die of heart failure when he heard.
The thought of my blustery old father collapsing was humorous, but the mirth faded as I considered my situation. Ground troops would arrive any moment and mirth would be the last emotion on their mind.

I gently set Paul down next to several red maples. He groaned as I patted him down and my hands came away red. I wiped them across the trees, while I thought. Shot, at least twice. For all my various skills, I did not count medicine or surgery among them. Charleston had a doctor. But I can’t take him there. That’s the first place the Regulars would look. They’d find him immediately, and haul him back to jail for questioning. If he survives the night.

“Madeline…” Paul gasped.

“Stay silent, you’ll be fine,” I said.

“You’re a lousy liar. I can’t finish this now. You take the horse.”

“Nonsense. You need a doctor, man.”

I tore off a section of his shirt, and wrapped it around the bullet wound in his lower torso. I knew I needed to bandage his wounds, but beyond that, I was unsure what needed to be done.

“Damn it, girl. You can’t do anything for me now. Every minute you waste—” his words cut short as he coughed like a plague victim.

“Fine, I’ll do it, just stay still and—“

He cleared his throat. “Get out of here. I’m calling in another favor. Everything is counting on you. You’ll find help in Lexington. Look for a large double story gray-green house with nine windows on the front. I’ll be fine.”

I began to speak, but he let out another cacophony of coughs, and then went still. I sat for a moment, shocked. I looked to my yet again bloodstained fingers and wiped them on a nearby tree. Just like that he was dead. I stood, still looking down at him. He was alive and then he wasn’t, as easy as blinking your eyes. I knew what I needed to do. I always paid my debts and kept my promises. Paul lay peacefully, uncaring of the world around me. Promises to a dead man. I turned and didn’t look back.

Several moments passed before I found the abandoned iron horse. With such an odd framework, you’d think it would be easy to find, but a motionless machine at the edge of the forest in the middle of night is hard to spot.

I jumped to the saddle and slid my hands into the saunters. My arms and wrists hung loosely inside the oversized controls, obviously meant for larger hands. I de-activated the automatic-slave; the setting that told it to follow harness tugs, and took manual control.

The machine shifted with the motion of my arms and stumbled several steps. Only internal balance systems kept it from falling to the ground. I hadn’t used one in years, not since me and Johann Hammer were together. I recalled us both astride stolen iron horses, running across the countryside of northern Europe.

I, the eager young student, and he the wise teacher, showing me how to sing, fight, and think. He changed my life over three years, but our relationship didn’t last, and he remained in Europe, while I left for the colonies. Like him or not, the gruff Hessian mercenary certainly changed Monsieur Dautier’s daughter.

I leaned my shoulders forward and the machine took several steps in response. I leaned even more and it sped up. The memories of using the iron horse slowly came back to me, as if I had ridden just yesterday. I leaned into the saunters and the machine shot away, quickening to an intense speed that threatened to steal my breath. Given its state of ill-repair, it moved with surprising ease, racing at least four times as fast as the quickest horse.

The world around me became a blur of passing trees, and the road melded into a gray stream flowing beneath me. I focused onto the road and only the road. If my concentration wavered for a brief moment, I’d run into a tree. I was unfortunate enough to witness the result of such an incident and it was an outcome I wished to avoid.

The wind on my face was exhilarating and I embraced the flow, relishing the speed. I suddenly realized I was ignoring my original purpose. There was a promise to keep. The road on which I traveled curved to the north, passing by several unfamiliar villages before shifting south to join the main road towards Lexington.

Already up ahead, I saw a village coming into view around the leaves and branches of the forest. I brought the iron horse down to q slower speed, worried I might send the villages into a panic when I stormed through their town like a thunderbolt.

I stopped into the square and the iron horse fell silent as it awaited my next command. I switched it into automatic-slave setting and dismounted, looking about my surroundings. Large buildings of new construction rose around me, each belching smoke into the sky as their furnaces burned coal for the inhabitants. Their nearness to Boston meant cheap goods, as shown by the coal furnaces, the gas lamps, and various other technologies.

As expected, my arrival did not go unnoticed, and I had scarcely taken four steps before blue glows were flickering on inside the village.

I first thought to knock on a door, but I knew that if I just waited, the locals would come to me. Warnings regarding possible Regular movements against the Colonists already permeated the countryside and the villages only needed a catalyst—myself—to dispatch the militia. As I waited, I became aware of a low rumbling. I looked to the sky, imagining a storm on the move, but the air was empty save for the bright stars.

I looked back towards Boston, hoping to spot the airships. Nothing sat in the sky. No imposing shapes or amorphous airships hovered in the sky. I almost looked away when I saw a star eclipse behind a shape.Intently I watched the spot, and another vanished. There. Two airships. Easily a mile up if not more. They were so high, I couldn’t even hear the low drone of their engines, and their shapes were illusive shadows that one would miss unless they already knew where to look.
“Regulars are on the move,” said a voice behind me. I nearly jumped, but part of me kept my nerve and I faced my guest.

Book Review: A Deepness in the Sky

Ok, so I have been more than absent on the blog over the last few months . . . end of school and even more importantly, getting the house ready for our new little baby. Walter Jack Burgener was born on June 1st and has been keeping mom and dad busy ever since. But, over the next few days I'll try and gear up to start  writing again. Anyways, to kind of get the writing juices flowing I thought I'd do a quick review of a book I just finished reading (credit to Jesse for getting me hooked on this series in the first place). So, on to the review:
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This book is fantastic.

Vernor Vinge is probably most well known for an earlier hard science fiction novel A Fire Upon the Deep, a galaxy-spanning tale of super-bright AI gods who interact with "regular" men and women via mortal avatars. A Deepness in the Sky is a pseudo-prequel that details the earlier adventures of one of these avatars, a man named Pham Nuwen, who in AFUD (hehe, great acronym) was used almost like a puppet by a super-bright AI. A Deepness in the Sky takes place thousands of years earlier on the other side of the galaxy and deep within the "Slow Zone" where futuristic technologies like faster-than-light travel and nanomachines are an impossibility.



At the start of the story, Pham Nuwen is an old man who has been trying--across dozens of start systems and several relative millenia--to create an enduring human empire out of the Queng Ho, space-faring traders who visit nearly every corner of human space.

A Queng Ho fleet picks Pham up from an out-of-the-way star system where he'd been marooned and heads for one of the last great mysteries in human space--the On-Off star, a variable sun with a single orbiting planet. For centuries humanity has monitored this enigmatic system and the radio signals that stream from the planet. It is the first evidence of a technologically advanced alien species ever found, and the Queng Ho race towards the distant world with dreams of unimaginable discoveries . . . and equally unimaginable profits stemming from those discoveries.

Too bad they're not the only kids on the block. They arrive at the On-Off system at nearly the same time as a second human fleet shows up--the militaristic Emergents are a relatively new civilization, and at first the two fleets feign friendship and attempt to work together; however, a sneak attack by the Emergents leaves both fleets crippled and only a handful of both communities alive. Their only hope of survival is to wait year after year in the coldness of space while the aliens on the planet below develop an industrial civilization capable of rebuilding the human ships.

Ok, thats enough of spoilers . . . the rest of the book takes off from that point and doesn't let up until the final page.

True to Vinge's style, the aliens, or "Spiders" as the humans call them, are amazingly rendered. We see the Spiders both from their own point of view, and from the human's point of view, which allows the reader to experience the aliens as true extraterrestrials, and as normal beings living normal lives on their normal planet. This juxtaposition is only heightened towards then end of the book when the two species finally make contact.

Like AFUD, A Deepness in the Sky is short on true military action, but nevertheless includes a lot of action sequences that leave you breathless, especially towards the end. In fact, this story probably has more action than AFUD, though a lot of it is the type of fighting that we'd be more familiar with--the Spider nations go through several warring periods, beginning with a global war reminiscent of both WWI and WWII, a decidedly Cold War and then a final war that could have come straight from a Tom Clancy novel . . . something that our world, thankfully, has managed to avoid so far.

There are dozens of characters with their own story arcs--both human and Spider, but Pham Nuwen was definitely my favorite. I don't think I've ever met a character who was so good and yet had such terrible plans for humanity. His actions and machinations really drive the whole story.

Now, I don't wanna give the whole story away, but there are a few things that Vinge nailed that I gotta mention:

1. Keeping the science real . . . Vinge has created a compelling story with lots of action and excitement without breaking any of the rules of physics (as we know them, of course)
2. Alien aliens . . . the Spiders are weird, and perhaps weirder by the end of the book because at first they don't seem all that weird. Heh, how many times can I use the word weird?
3. Timelessness . . . . Vinge creates a world full of amazing technology, but manages to be just vague enough about specific machines and functions that the story isn't dated like so many old classic sci-fi stories.

Anyways, I'll end this little post by giving A Deepness in the Sky ten thumbs way way up (yeah, thats how many thumbs your average Spider would have). In fact, this story is so good I would actually recommend reading it before A Fire Upon the Deep. In my opinion that'd make both stories more enjoyable.

Later . . .