Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[bucket]

There's a novel that's been brewing in my head for the better part of 20 years. Lately I've had the urge to get it out finally. This work of fiction is about a future Earth, where interplanetary travel is commonplace. Not to get too spoilery - but an anomaly is passing through the solar system, and the story concerns a group of people who are most closely affected by it. Chapter 1 below is a flashback/prologue. The rest of the book takes place years later. As of right now I'm in the "get all this crap out of my head" phase; no polishing or major rewrites have been done yet.

I'm concerned that maybe this is too early to put it out there... but I feel it's smarter to get all the input I can.

1.1 The End

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

   A young girl, barely nine and small for her age, stuck her head through the door - the room was empty. No one in the adjacent rooms... the entire level was silent except for the hissing sound of escaping air and the occasional thud of buckling walls. Emergency lighting cast a faint red glow across the ceiling. She snuck through a maze of cubicles, keeping her head low to stay in the shadows. Her bare feet helped quiet her movements, as long as she could avoid kicking the papers and random items littering the floor. She fought her shuddering fear, aggravated by the drafty cold, and stifled her breath with every ounce of strength and restraint she had.
        Everyone had left in a hurry. Only hours ago there was screaming... a horrible moaning sound that reverberated in the floor, muffled gunfire elsewhere in the building… she’d dove into a supply closet and tugged on the doorknob as hard as she could, keeping herself inside, until her muscles gave out. She regretted getting out of bed. She’d only come up to the labs to see what her father was working on. She could be in a warm bed right now… she could be somewhere safe with him.
        The girl opened the next door slowly… finally, the main corridor. Stripes of red emergency light broke up the long stretch of pitch black in either direction. To the right, her path was blocked by a collapsed ceiling, not a single crevice to squeeze through. To her left, the hallway split off. It was lit by something swaying around. A lamp, a flashlight...? She heard someone - something - making a clangor around the corner. Boxes tumbling, glass breaking. She couldn’t tell if it was coming or going. She looked ahead - four feet away, only a steel door was between her and the way out. It was probably locked. She remembered the code: Dad’s birthday. I can’t sit here - it’s time to go, right now. She shoved her fear as far away as she could, and leapt across the hallway.
9513
        The security pad buzzed, the sound ripping through the silent tomb of a hallway. The racket stopped. Her heart stopped.
9513
        It buzzed again. The door behind her clacked shut. That’s it; they’re coming. She yanked at her hair and felt death crawling up her spine.
9513 9513 9513 9513 9513
        Work damn it! Why why why why won’t it work? Her thoughts fell apart - could she run? Where could she run to? A shadow appeared at the end of the hall, and the light went out. Her face tightened up and the tears started pouring - suddenly it popped into her head: maybe he wrote the date differently…?
5913
        The light turned green, the bars inside the door shifted, and with a swish, the door slowly slid aside. Too slowly; she pushed herself in the room and pounded on the DOOR CLOSE button. She yanked on the frame - close, you piece of shit!
        The door clicked, there was silence again, but the girl was far from feeling safe. She dove behind a toppled file cabinet… and stayed there several minutes to compose herself.

---
   
        The transmission began. The image was grainy and dark - save for a man with sharp features, thinly lit by a sidelong red glow. He whispered harshly, in broken sentences:
        “This is a priority message to Proto Central Offices on Ganymede…. I am Doctor Kurt Metzger, Director of Biotechnical Studies, Triton Research Center. We have an emergency situation… this station seems to be under attack. The attackers are as yet unidentified. I haven’t been able to get a visual. That is - I can’t describe their appearance. It’s some kind of camouflage…? I saw something with... some kind of suit that... absorbs light. At least I think… as, as I said, I can’t really describe what I’ve seen. What’s more, they seem to… affect our surveillance equipment. And the way they move - it doesn’t seem human. I wish, I wish I had a rational explanation. There is none. I don’t know who they are. What... they are.
        “First there was an explosion - near the cluster. That took out our main systems. We’re on emergency power. Things are quiet for now. We’ve lost many people… it’s hard to get an assessment… many parts of the base have lost structural integrity. Doctors Green and Levin are unaccounted for. The security detachment seems to have been wiped out. Most of my staff is missing. So many people… including my… including our volunteer subjects. Oh, God…”
   The man in the fuzzy video wept quietly for a moment, then inhaling rigidly, regained his composure.
   “I’ve managed to evacuate a small group to the launch area. Unfortunately, our ships are not fully charged and won’t make the trip to the nearest planet. We will try to use the comm station here to establish contact with the other departments. If we’re overrun, or if life support gives out, we’ll launch and establish orbit. We should have about a month of provisions. Please… send help as soon as possible.”

---

   Something like an hour had passed. Maybe a few hours.
Her shirt collar was pulled up around her nose as she kneeled in the fetal position. The boiling adrenalin had given away to aching, frayed nerves - and her pajamas couldn’t shield her from the waning warmth. The moderate draft had given away to bitter cold. With her arms tucked into her shirt, she breathed heavily into her clasped hands. It helped… a little. After a while, she worked up the nerve to poke her head up and take in her surroundings. She was in a laboratory; the ceilings were low, most of the lights were out, those that remained couldn’t reach the walls. The modular room curved slowly to the left, farther than she could see. There was a partition every ten meters or so. The entire base was a labyrinth of circles within circles.
   There was near silence, save for the familiar hum of life support… and the tide of blood pushing against her eardrums. It was strangely and vaguely relaxing. Finally, there was enough clarity to plan.
   Where would he be waiting for me? The dock is in… somewhere in that general direction. The habitat’s underground. But the explosion was underground too - at least, that’s what everyone was yelling. He was up here, in the offices. Would he go down there? That’s not really what he would do, I don’t think. He would probably want me to wait… at the ship?
   The uncertainty ate at her but she started the trek toward the launch pad, a kilometer or two, until she could think of something better. At first darting along the walls from one shadow to the next, then jogging at the light’s edge. She was happy to concentrate on her exertion rather than isolation, hypothermia, being murdered, crushed, possibly asphyxiated… she concentrated harder. Her eye sockets burned. It was… how many hours since bedtime? A lot.
   She was near the central hub. Down a thin hallway, there was a giant door, ten centimeters thick. They gave a quick tour when she arrived: the computer cluster was behind there, three stories down, in an insulated clean room. There was no reason to open that door, it’s off limits to everyone but senior engineers - who were off-planet anyway.
   But it was open, just slightly. Maybe enough to...
   She paused to weigh her priorities. This was the worst possible time to submit to curiosity. Maybe if the door’s open, he could be down there checking the damage. Probably not. But the heat…! The heat melted the gritty frost out of her muscles, her shoulders drooped in utter relief. There was soft light through the crack, yellow and life-giving like the Sun back home. She hadn’t laid in a green field in weeks. The anxiety rose out of her like steam, along with most of her resolve.
   I can just sit for a minute… or a second… then I have to go.
   She sat, legs splayed out, and her head sank into the corner by the doorframe. She blinked slowly, unable to focus…

---

        There was an ungodly low wail from the outer ring, like rusty metal machinery. It reverberated in her chest and sent stinging shockwaves to her limbs. Her eyelids wrenched wide, not really sure if she really heard it, or if she just jolted awake.
        How long was I…? All she could do was watch the hall, unblinking.
        There was an echoed sifting sound. Quiet, but getting more distinct. Something came around the corner, near the floor. Two arms, or feelers… sliding along the floor… she could barely discern the deep black of the figure from the almost-black of the adjacent hall. All the same, she was frozen in abject terror. She tried not to breathe.
        The feelers dragged the rest of the dark creature into the hallway - a horribly shaped mass, it lurched forward, and lifted its back end up - and it towered above the terrified girl. A twisted humanoid, pulled along like a corpse on puppet strings, limbs all swishing and bent the wrong way. She couldn’t see its face. It had no face, or no features at all… the light swirled around it, sucked into the dark surface of the thing, like a monster made of a black hole.
        The girl was frozen as the creature lumbered toward the door. The warbled moaning surrounded her, filled her head. The hallway bowed inward; the very air seemed to draw her toward the thing. Her brain was scrambling for escape but there was no way out. She couldn’t remember how much the door was open, maybe she would fit, all she had to do was tilt her head to look… but there was absolutely no chance she would move, not a micron, not a twitch. Her lungs burned for air, transfixed eyes watered, clenched jaw creaked, her body screamed at her to run.
        The contorting humanoid mass stopped right before her. The tiny, exhausted girl could only stare at what she thought was Death Himself, come to take her to oblivion. The sobbing shook her, knotted up her stomach, and she whimpered out all the breath she had in her lungs. In her short life she never thought about what the end would be like, never a moment’s thought about the nightmare of eternal nothing, but here it was.
        She heard her mother’s voice… which was impossible. In that dark vortex she saw familiar eyes and a familiar expression. There was a far away muttering, no words she could understand, but a voice that loved her and wrapped her in safety. It was sad… or remorseful… or encouraging. All of those things, maybe. It was inviting her to come, she thought. She heaved a few long breaths to expel the grief… and was pulled to her feet.
        Soon everything around her was gold, and the hot breeze flowed upward, lifting her arms, lifting her head… it felt like walking and falling at the same time. There was something whipping around her, like sprites or leaves, bright and flitting and crackling. Her disembodied guide walked ahead, to enter a flowing and undulating pool. The girl’s mind was swirling with images of Earth, of all the places she’d ever been. They all felt like one place. Everywhere felt like home.
        The child reached out into the giant floating glob of liquid; it was fresh and beautiful, like being outside. More than that - like she was underwater her whole life, in a dark and sheltered womb, and about to be born into a greater world. There was tingling all over, a lightness in her heart, and she smiled wide through the crumbling shell of despair. As she reached her hands in, they felt like they were miles away. Her head, her body were all sucked in and shed away, nothing left but a floating consciousness, a comet in a glittering sky, each light new and familiar at the same time.

---

   Metzger was hoarse from shouting her name. The tattered lab coat hung off him like it weighed a ton, his tie was long gone, his entire outfit was creased and faded. He didn’t smell filthy, just… stale. He dialed his phone non-stop as the emergency crews were shuffling through room after room of wreckage.
   Hours later, he had checked under every desk, in every closet in half the base. He’d already been mourning her for the past week, and there just wasn’t enough hope left by now to be crushed. Now that there was little question, he planned the next few weeks. His father had died the year before, his mother three years before that. He was well versed - but this was a different pain altogether. This is not the natural order of things. He righted a chair and collapsed onto it, defeated. An officer in red hazard gear took off his helmet and approached him.
   “Doctor, it seems like we’ve found everyone there is to find. The offices have been compromised. The habitat wing is completely collapsed and has probably been exposed to space for days now. It’s regrettable that we couldn’t -”
   The phone in Metzger’s hand went off. He quickly snapped upright and put it on speaker. “Yes?”
   “Doc, this is Warren from Team 3. We’re in the center ring, just above the cluster. There’s still life support in here. One of my team says - she found someone.” His voice broke up as he exerted himself. There was a crash of metal debris.
   “What’s that? Warren! You said you found someone?” Metzger jumped up and was already on his way.
   “Yeah, it looks like we have a matching descrip… oh, God. Oh, sweet Jesus.” He yelled away from the phone. “Get some guys from Medical over here, right the fuck now!”
   Metzger was outside the cluster in minutes. The medical team was already there, working with the cleanup crew to pull a litter through snarled beams and panels. He walked up to the busy crowd - an EMT put a hand on his chest.
   “Sir, it’s probably best if you -”
   Metzger threw the man aside, not acknowledging him. As they set the bed down and checked for vital signs with blood-caked gloves, he stepped forward to see what he’d been dreading for days. He dropped to his knees, opened his mouth to scream, but all he could manage was a cracked and soft plaintive howl.
   There was his life’s treasure, his future, his beloved stepdaughter.
        Broken, burned and ripped to pieces.

1.2 Matriarchs
1.3 Palisade

[bucket]

Due to the overwhelming response, I've decided to post chapter two. This chapter establishes a bit of history that frames the zeitgeist of the main story.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

2160

This week on Time Travelogue, we commemorate the 25th anniversary of the Jacksonville Incursion: one of the first conflicts of World War 3 and the first battle fought on American soil in centuries. We’ll hear firsthand accounts from survivors of the attack, and explore the events and circumstances leading up to what many call the beginning of the end of the American Empire. I’m Pete Rasler, and you’re watching Time Travelogue.

[melodramatic theme music]

JACKSONVILLE: 25 YEARS LATER

[exterior of small house]

Giovanni and Kimberly Accosi have been living in their house in Englewood, New Jersey for over twenty years. Giovanni manages his family’s restaurant while Kim balances her time between tutoring and mothering. Their three children, sons Dominic and Tony, daughter Rudy, attended charter school in the Palisades. On weekends they would cross George Washington Bridge into New York. They would perhaps catch some Broadway theater, visit relatives in Harlem, or spend the day visiting the shops along Central Park. The children are all adults now, living their lives while Giovanni and Kimberly spend their semi-retirement with their grandchildren.

[panning shot of family pictures]

But there was a time when such an idyllic lifestyle was cast in doubt. In the pre-dawn of June 2nd, 2135, newlyweds Giovanni and Kimberly were in their two-bedroom apartment in Jacksonville, Florida. Middle child Tony, then only months old, was stirring in the crib in their bedroom. Kimberly woke up to settle him.

[dramatization of events]

Kimberly: “It was maybe four in the morning. I remember there were no sirens, no warning at all. When we went to bed the night before, we’d heard there were ships in the North Atlantic… we never would’ve dreamt they would come here. I looked out of the window in the hallway - you could just see the shoreline on the horizon - and just over that faint layer of morning light, the sky was covered in something that looked and sounded like a plague of insects.”

Kimberly describes the landing of the newly-formed United Asian Coalition. A drone army, controlled remotely by satellite, swarmed the lower eastern seaboard of the former United States - spearheaded at Jacksonville. They dropped incendiary bombs and tear gas to neutralize the populace. According to intelligence reports at the time, a fleet of carriers rounded the tip of South Africa on a vector to New England. While US forces fortified the north, a detachment of ships housing thousands of weaponized drones lagged behind the attacking force and covertly launched the initial attack.

Jacksonville was not the first volley in what would become World War 3, but it was the beginning of full-scale war. For a decade, the US revived its efforts to have a ubiquitous military presence, and rising tensions were commonplace across the planet. Some believe that Jacksonville was a response to an altercation in Muscat, Oman, where gunfire was traded between a UAC platoon and a US occupying force. Two dozen civilians were caught in the crossfire, and an Omani councilman was among the casualties. While a US outpost was located outside Saham, it’s unclear what the soldiers were doing there. Years on, the official government account is suspiciously light on information.

We’ll continue our special report on Jacksonville after this word from our sponsors.

---

And now, Time Travelogue continues with “Jacksonville: 25 Years Later”.

The Jacksonville Incursion has left many lingering questions, even after so much time. How, in this post-terrorism age of social stability, was it possible for a land war to break out in North America? And how, with so few barriers to access the world’s information, was the second largest army in the world capable of undertaking such a surreptitious gambit? Historian Marie Redmond explains.

Marie: “The USA was in a precarious position for the first half of the 22nd century. A secessionist party had amassed considerable popular support. Talks began to restructure the continent into three sovereign territories. The Third Space Race saw humanity creating settlements and attempting to terraform other planets in the solar system; for whatever reason the United States Congress saw fit to make it mainly a military operation. This created schisms within many multinational organizations. Eastern European countries were dropping out of NATO, the US had left the United Nations. Ambassador Ed Yorke at the time famously rebuked the UN for abandoning its mission of unification, even as he had one foot out of the door. For a country that imposed its influence in every territory on the planet, its military might had literally been spread too thin. It was a chink in the armor of the American Empire.”

As it happens, it was enough to break through the armor. Armed forces didn’t have enough domestic presence to defend all two thousand miles of the Atlantic shoreline. Southern states who had clamored for independence for years now found themselves in need of a concerted response. But even if the north obliged, more than half of the US military was conducting offworld operations - including establishing a large presence on Mars and several moons of Saturn. Jupiter was mostly the domain of Europe and Britain, while Earth’s moon, Luna, remained a grand experiment for the world’s largest multinational corporations. All told, the full strength of the US was months away - a gaping opening that the UAC had long awaited.

[re-enactment continues]

Kimberly: “I remember we were packing frantically. We knew we had to get out of there. Dom was paralyzed with fear and I think Tony could sense something was wrong. When Johnny and I finished packing the wagon, we could see the apartment at the end of our block had caught fire. You never know how fast a building can burn up until you see it first-hand. Driving was a nightmare. Smoke everywhere, you couldn’t see the sky, the fog lights did nothing. You couldn’t get your bearings. We had to use GPS because we might as well have been driving through pitch black. There were some soft lights in the distance, from burning buildings or emergency vehicles. It was like a warzone, except no gunfire or explosions. Besides the drones buzzing around, all you could hear was screaming and choking. There were pile-ups, people running faster than traffic… we were stopped by two men with bats. They yelled at us to get out of the car. One guy came around to my window while the other one stood in front. We couldn’t back away, so Johnny hit the gas… he fell onto our hood and Johnny swerved onto someone’s lawn. The guy rolled off and hit a tree… I don’t know what happened to him. I can’t really say I feel bad about it.”

When the family finally reached the city limits, they retreated to the northwest. Wisely, they stuck to smaller highways to beat the chaos of the interstate freeways. Even so, they found themselves subject to military checkpoints and searches. They were aliens in their own country - the first world had become the third world. Still, as they’d escaped with most of their precious belongings to the safety of family in New York, they fared better than most. Retired Navy captain Justin Ormand describes life during Asian occupation:

[stock photo collage of vagrants and leveled towns]

Justin: “The Asians were entrenched pretty early on. There were conflicts as they tried to expand their territory but refugees were more or less free to leave. Civilians caught in the crossfire were mercifully few - but it was horrifying all the same. There would be weekly exchanges of Americans uprooted from their homes... done at sea, because there was no way they were getting across the front line. We subjected these people to further humiliation, people who’d lost everything, we had to take every precaution that the Asians weren’t feeding us spies. We filled stadiums and warehouses, made 21st century shantytowns, of these people who couldn’t... we networked with the Coast Guard to get these people up north, and get them in touch with their loved ones. You know, if that was at all possible. Just as often, their families were still behind the lines and never made it out for all anyone knew. Other than that, I can say it was one of the more civil occupations I’ve been witness to. I have to wonder if the Asians set out to prove their brand of imperialism was more civilized than ours.”

Our retrospective of the Jacksonville Incursion concludes after these messages.

---

The exodus was a constant in the war. Almost two million people would be displaced over the next two years. A quarter million scattered to the winds, never to be heard from again. Eleven thousand dead. The remaining twenty million Floridians were prisoners in their own homes. The UAC invasion spread just into Georgia and Alabama, and a number of lesser Gulf islands. There wasn’t much ground to be gained, but it served its purpose of prying open the US border - and given the quagmire of many fronts and strained alliances, it was a gap that couldn’t easily be filled. While US forces scrambled to the southeast, UAC ships and planes gathered on the Pacific coast. It would be two years before the US managed to drive the enemy from its territory, but the damage had been done. The impregnable walls of the American bastion had been breached.

[portrait of President Behr]

In Washington DC, there was every bit as much conflict. An already-divided Congress had been battling over exploring the nuclear option. Refugee numbers would arrive - reducing the collateral damage and making the prospect more attractive by the day. As was the status quo on Capitol Hill for two hundred years, jingoist conservatives rallied in a tight group, meeting little resistance against diverse and unorganized progressives. The greatest support was behind Independent House Representative Ani Lowell, who warned that Florida would forever be “scorched and salted earth”. That opposition could barely slow the war machine - but fortunately, the option was off the table before anything could be done. US armed forces were too scattered to begin with. The United States stood down, for fear that it would lose all off-world territory. The empire crumbled so that the land of liberty could survive - and it did, more or less, as smaller allied countries. For his role in provoking a conflict the USA could never win, Alistair Behr was impeached and resigned in disgrace.

Today, Jacksonville is unrecognizable as the bustling harbor city it once was. The blown-out skyscrapers have all been razed and modest suburban communities have replaced countless acres of rubble. At a glance, one might think memorial parks outnumber the buildings. Few native Jaxons have decided to take up residence again; like Giovanni and Kimberly they’ve put down new roots elsewhere, far from the ashes of the past.

World War 3 might be the most significant era in American history, more so than its inception... a cataclysmic turn of events for a world with tranquil borders, coasting on hundreds of years of inertia. During the 21st century, the US had had its fill of instability. It suffered for 100 years under a vicious cycle of protracted recession and limp recovery. For 100 years, it fought a perpetual war against terrorism, against an idea, against armies with no king to capture. When Alistair Behr took the oath of office in 2129, he inherited an America that was only just shedding its scar tissue. In his inaugural speech, he envisioned a country that would once again assert itself on the world stage. Sadly, that greedy vision became the country’s downfall.

[collage of protesters, images of conflict]

Is the American Dream dead and gone? Perhaps not. The spirit of trailblazing pilgrims is alive and well in the off-world colonies across the Sol system. Humankind learns from its past. We no longer have our heads in the clouds… we walk above them. The new America chants, No More Empires. The continent thrives as smaller parts of a whole. We may finally be living in a post-world war world. Be sure to tune in next week, when we explore the beginnings of Mars colonization. I’m Pete Rasler and you’ve been watching Time Travelogue.

[theme and credits]

[Darkmere]

Okay, I'll take a shot at it. First, textwalls are pretty intimidating, and doubly so when they're not broken up by dialog of any kind. Looking through both posts they look like huge infodumps, so they need to be broken up somehow or trimmed way down. Onward to the first post:

First paragraph:

I have no idea where we are, who the girl is what happened, or what she's doing. I'm guessing it's somewhere in space from the red lights and rushing air? It's also very wordy and restates the same ideas multiple times in purple prose. You could make it less intimidating by trimming out most of the dscription and making each word count.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

A nine year old girl peered past the closet door into the empty room beyond. She was met by the hiss of air escaping and the random thud of collapsing bulkheads. After a sharp breath failed to steady her nerves, she padded on bare feet through the red glow of emergency lights and into the shadows of a maze of cubicles. Office clutter and sheets of paper littered the floor, but she avoided them as best she could while calming her breathing and trying not to shiver in the chilly air.

The second paragraph jump back is really jarring, as is the transmission interlude. It's tough to find something to hold on to to get emotionally into the story. I also find her philosophical musings on death and asphyxiation way too complicated for a kid that young. I also think her direct thoughts detract from the pacing and distract from the story, so they can go.

HOWEVER... the pre-murder euphoria sequence is fantastic and I hope on edit you make it even more stream-of-consciousness and she gets killed or soul-stolen or whatever.

Also, holy crap what's the heaven blob alien torso thing?

Stepdad at the end is pretty brutal, but the way you isolate the last sentence to drive the point home is golden. I must know more.

If I had to pick out two things that need work: your over-reliance on descriptors and passive voice. An awesome verb is worth much more than a decent adverb and a verb that's "close enough", and generally describing what a scene is like without the characters interacting with it is a little slow to read. Have them go poke at stuff.

That said, I'm definitely interested and will be back to read the second part tomorrow.

[bucket]

Hey, thanks for making the effort. I know my writing can be dense. A short story, this is not. The tiny spoiler text probably doesn't help. I have other people proofreading as well - so I'm still trying to find that balance between word diarrhea and being too sesquipedalian. It seems I also have trouble balancing between dialogue and descriptive paragraphs. Other than that... I understand that the prologue kind of dumps you in an unfamiliar setting, and there may be a few things I can do to better establish the setting, but for the most part the mystery is intentional. Also, why does my indentation get screwed up when I paste here??

Anyway... this is the third chapter, where we finally get to meet some major characters.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Matriarchs

        “Mother, this is what happens when you don’t take your medication.”
   Nothing.
   “Mother, you need to take these...”
   Ashlyn’s eyes slowly drifted toward Morgan.
   Morgan started again. “Mother… this is what happens -”
   “I heard you.”
   “Did you...?” Morgan lifted herself up in her chair. She already didn’t like repeating herself. She didn’t want this to happen - not now.
   Ashlyn sighed. “I’ve been fine for months now. The doctors say that I’ve never been in better condition.”
   “That’s why you have to keep on your treatment. This isn’t the sort of thing that goes away.” Morgan knew she knew that. “Obviously... so… just because you’re doing better, doesn’t mean you are better. It means the meds are working.”
   “I know that.”
   “I know you know that.”
   God, these conversations… did I say that out loud? This is the part I hate. I mean, I don’t hate it. It’s just difficult. She’s losing it. She probably knows she’s losing it. It’s just... talking to her is like pulling teeth. I should’ve known the other day.
   Ashlyn picked up the cup of pills. Morgan backed down and looked around the room. There was a poster by the door. “WELCOME TO TYCHO PSYCHIATRIC WELLNESS CENTER. PLEASE READ THE BELOW GUIDELINES TO ENSURE A PLEASANT STAY.”
Morgan was reminded of the loony bin her mother was forced to stay in back in Portland until a few years ago. Actually, it was best she didn’t think about that. Morgan stood and picked up the book by her mother’s bed. She was pretty sure the bookmark hadn’t moved. Most of the other books were untouched, it seems. The vintage music player, the Pod, the board games… it had been a few months now, and hardly anything was out of place. Mother needs to keep sharp. She can’t let things slide like this. Is she allowing this to happen?
        Ashlyn mumbled… something. It wasn’t quite a word.
        Morgan felt that familiar weight. It started as a piercing pressure right in the middle of her, like a heel on her sternum. She rested her elbows on the high windowsill and braced herself. Her breaths became deliberate. The shuddering, sucking weight was rising up her throat, out her arms, into her stomach - she locked her knees to prop herself up. No, not now. She was in control. She wasn’t upset. She was fine. There’s nothing to cry about. This is just how it is. She stepped outside herself, unclenched, and let the ague of distress wash through her.
        Ashlyn watched her daughter for a moment - and felt compelled to speak. “You know, this new boy nurse started just the other day. He’s handsome.”
        Morgan snapped out of it. She turned around, slightly amused. “Really, mother?”
“I just wanted to mention it. His name is -” Ashlyn blanked. She looked down as if she were trying to remember. Maybe she was trying to think of what to say next. Maybe she was struggling just to form words. Long seconds passed. “Well, he’s around here. You should introduce yourself.”
        Morgan squatted beside the recliner she’d slept in to pick up some blankets. She spotted her mother’s journal under the side table; a chewed pen was sticking out of the middle, and half the book was puffed up with scratched pages. Morgan could picture her nervously gnawing and scribbling - the medication did that. At least something was being used.
        Maybe one day I’ll have the nerve to read it.

---

        Outside the room, Morgan hugged herself while the resident physician brought her up to speed.
        “Yes, I’m afraid that’s the case. It looks like your mother is headed into another catatonic episode. It’s unavoidable at this rate.”
        “I keep thinking we’re past all this.”
        “Unfortunately, we’ll never fully be past it. We can minimize her episodes with a strict regimen, but this is something your mother will struggle with for the rest of her life.”
        “I know that.”
        “I know you know that.” The doctor fell back on reassurance. “But the treatment is successful, and she’s doing well from day to day. It’s been a good while since the last one. She has friends and a good routine here. We were going to schedule some outdoor activities for her, though it seems those will have to wait. Obviously, she’ll be getting less responsive over the next day or two, so if you have any instructions you’ll have to leave them at the nurses’ station. Will we be seeing you again next weekend?”
        “No, I’m heading back home after this.”
        So then came the wordy, formal farewells. We hope you’ve had a pleasant whatever and all that. “Best of luck on your trip - the queues seem to be getting longer every year. Well. If you’ll excuse me…”
        “Sure.”
        Morgan leaned against a window. The atrium dome towered above, under which green patches were scattered across the grey wasteland. Tiny flora twitched in the aerator currents; frail vines and fungi meandered far up the framework, free to reach away from the light gravity of Luna. Outdoor activities...? She could vaguely remember her mother gardening. Maybe she could grow peat moss.
        Past the faint blue summit of the dome, blinking satellites and terraforming drones drifted by in every direction. An Earth transit ship was looming over the neighboring dome… two, three miles away…? In the quiet hallway, Morgan could just barely hear the massive engines humming beneath it. There was also the faint clanking of the docking towers. How loud must that be, that I can hear it even through miles of almost non-existent atmosphere? I’ll probably be on the next one. I hope it’s one of the newer centripetal models, not that old boxy turd. I really don’t feel like floating home.
        Looking behind her, Morgan saw her mother on the other side of the door, staring at nothing. She wondered if it was even worth trying to exchange goodbyes.

---

   “It was wonderful catching up with you, love. I’m sorry to hear about your mother; I’m certain she’ll be well again before you know it. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to speak to my son.”
   Barclay peeked his head into the edge of the monitor and sat down.
        Morgan lightly waved goodbye to Mrs. Barclay. “Bye, Callie. And thanks for the upgrade!”
        Barclay’s mother put on a regal smile. “Of course, dear… take care now.”
   Morgan sidled to the far wall of the booth and looked over the flight bulletins, paying little attention to the conversation. Barclay and his mother are talking about his recently deceased grandmother. I don’t believe his mother cared for her - or any of her in-laws, really - still, 70 is too young.
   “So your father expects you back as soon as is humanly possible. I know you were looking forward to your internship at that terraforming company, but he’s already spoken to the executives and the position will be made available when you’re finished here… next year, or so.”
   Barclay sat forward and glowered. “Next year. You’ve got to be shitting me.”
   Callie wound up for her barrage of stipulations. “I am not ‘shitting’ you, and I would appreciate a little more sensitivity considering the situation. This is a tough time for your father and it’s not too much to ask for you to be present. You’ve been named in the will, did you know that? There are also those other business matters you’ve been putting off, and it would be much more convenient if you took care of them, now, in person. All you have to do is get on the transport, and everything will be laid out for you. Your father has taken care of everything.”
   Barclay sat back in a power position and made a poor effort to hide his indignance, while his mother dictated the next big chunk of his life. Of course Dad took care of everything. That’s what he does. It must be fun to be able to move Heaven and Earth, even if it’s not for completely self-serving reasons. Hell, the reasons are besides the point. Just wielding that kind of influence makes it self-serving. Barclay knew he wouldn’t be working for a terraforming company, not this year or ever.
Morgan was still elsewhere. “There will be extemporaneous maintenance performed on outgoing flights due to an unforeseen satellite collision. The debris field may cause damage to sensors and navigation systems,” et cetera. All this means is that I’ll be spending an extra six hours in a barely furnished cabin while they make some god-awful noise reinforcing the hull, and my Tuesday is ruined. It’s the 22nd century already; where’s my fucking teleporter? She nudged Barclay and pointed at the bulletin.
   “So we’ll be expecting you in about two months?”
   Barclay stammered, his attention divided. “I’d say... that’s… optimistic. I’ll have to make that stopover.”
   “That’s fine. The meeting can wait until you arrive.”
   “Oh, can it?” We’re on my time, then. The illusion of power.
   Callie ignored her son’s spiteful sarcasm. “Take care. I love you.”
   “I love you, bye.”

---

   Barclay emerged from the restroom; he and Morgan continued their long march through the spaceport.
“Is it too soon to ask about the inheritance? I’m looking to get set up.” It amused Morgan to no end that she wasn’t the least emotional person in the room as long as Barclay was around. Maybe she felt free to tease him because he never reacted in the slightest. She was stoic, but he was made of wood. That is, he was always perfectly capable of walking into a crowd and owning it - just as you’d expect someone from a family of politicians would be - but to watch him do it, you’d think he peels his skin off at the end of the day to get comfortable. Friendliest and most tactful person you would ever meet, but it was all an act. Despite all that, there was no pretense when they were together. She kicked him lightly in the pants.
   “The money is inconsequential. Grandmother never had to ask what anything cost… so neither did I. The name on the accounts doesn’t really matter.”
   “So why take the flight?”
   “You know the answer to that.”
   Probably… but knowing and understanding are two different things. After a few beats of silence, Morgan changed the subject. “I’ll probably be able to see Rudy next week. Obviously she can’t be mad at you for canceling - but I don’t think Alex will be there either. She hasn’t heard from him all summer. Neither have I, for that matter.”
   “Oh. I’m sure he’s got a good reason, and he’s not just stuck in some shithole hippie commune on Mars because he won’t swallow his pride for once and call his family for help.” Again, his sarcasm went unchallenged.
   “You and I both know his problem isn’t about money - but I’m sure he assumes that any help his dad can give him will come with some kind of ridiculous condition. He’d probably ask his brother first.”
   Barclay grimaced in disagreement. “Isn’t he even further out? Anyway, Hunter’s a respected war veteran, like their father. I love Alex to death, but he seems to have chosen this peace-and-love crowd over ever speaking to his family again. If I were him, I’d have more constructive ways to -”
Morgan smirked and bumped into him. “... Distance yourself from your warmongering legacy?”
        Barclay parried. “If you’re insinuating that my circumstances are anything like -.”
        Morgan interrupted again, louder. “Rich people problems!”
   As they went on bickering like siblings, the two strolled down the arched glass hall on the way to the spaceport, past a near-endless queue of families and workers, their clothes all ragged from travel and eyes full of desperate homesickness. Courtesy of the far-reaching influence of the Barclays they both were bumped into the fast track, digital passports pre-stamped and seats reserved. They reached the launch bays, with a dozen gates in either direction.
   “I’m this way.”
   “I think I’m right here.”
   Morgan and Barclay hugged reflexively, like they’d meet again the next day.
   “When you see Rudy, be sure to, eh… you know.”
   “I’ll talk you up, don’t worry. Not like I need to. She’s at least as eager as you are to pick things up where they left off. Lord knows why - since you weren’t man enough to seal the deal. Prude.”
   “It’s not her feelings for me I’m worried about, it’s taking the trip. And not going for that scholarship -”
   They started talking over each other. “Oh, please. Sure, she’s never been in space but she’ll get used to it like we did. Her parents will understand. She’s not going to waste the education they slaved away for. Some people actually want to make their parents proud, you know…”
   “I get it. Just tell her that -”
   Morgan grabbed two fistfuls of his jacket in mocking anger. She puffed up and growled, “It’s not all about you. She’s doing this for herself. At any rate, I said I’d take care of it!” She sighed and patted his arms. “So… bye.”
   He smiled a bit. “Later.”
   Morgan spun him around and shoved him toward the gate. She stood for a minute while he boarded the elevator. The partition came down, and he was gone. Looking up through the port windows, beyond the upstairs pavilion, she watched the platform rise into the belly of the ship. He’d be a billion miles away… for who knows how long. She hoped it wouldn’t fully register too soon.

[Darkmere]

Oh... sorry about that. I had forgotten about this one when I got deep into planning my nanowrimo novel this year. I will get back to it before Nov 1, I promise.

[Darkmere]

Hey! it's still before November 1 for me!

So... after reading this far into the story, I'm pretty confused about everything going on. The point of view has changed from the girl to her dad to the TV narrator to a family to a soldier to Morgan to Barclay... back to Morgan.

I don't know what I'm reading about, or what of it is important, more important than the rest... so I'm assuming it's ALL important and having a hard time keeping anything straight for a couple reasons: 1) the TV show is a giant, impersonal infodump covering events I am unfamiliar with. I don't have any personal connection to the events through a particular character, so I don't know if the show is accurate or propaganda, who wrote it, or what I should be taking from it. 2) I have no-one to latch onto to enter the story in Chapter 2. There's two characters that sounds very much alike feeding me information I don't have context for. Overall, I'm not a big fan of Ch. 2. If this information is directly relevant to the story, I'd much rather hear about it through present-time characters and action.

Chapter 3 is much more accessible, to the point that I'd suggest moving it to Ch. 2 and moving the documentary to an interlude later in the story, or delivering the information in it in more directly character-related ways. The biggest complaint I have about it is the complete lack of any physical description for any of the characters. The action tags spread around are great, but I have no idea what Morgan, Ashlyn, Barclay, the doctor looks like. I just... kinda threw in some generic people in my head for the scene but I'd like more concrete detail.

Also, Morgan is far from as stoic as she likes to think, so I like her as an unreliable narrator, and the fact that she gets under Barclay's skin so easily. I'm curious what anxiety attacks she's having that she's able to spontaneously fight off like she did. In short, as a character I can emotionally identify with her and feel like she finally gives me somewhere to enter the story.

[bucket]

I wasn't keen on cutting Ch2, as there's so much history to be established, but I think maybe I can sprinkle it into the story without sacrificing too much of that. It should work as a supplemental device that pops up occasionally, so... the standalone chapter should probably go. I tend to rely heavily on visualizing concepts, so I find myself coming up with things that would maybe work better in a graphic novel or TV show than a book. That said... I enjoy stories that I can put myself into, so I hesitate to describe a character's physical appearance unless it's relevant to what's happening.

And here comes chapter 4... I mean, 3.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Palisade

   For being the last day they’d ever see each other, the weather wasn’t very accommodating. It was a grey evening, and the temperature was plummeting. Morgan regretted wearing a tee shirt under her jacket and thin pants; low, dark clouds were blowing in, biting right through her clothes. If she had taken the car instead of the Harley, she could’ve gotten her sweats out of the trunk. There was no going back for it - she was fifteen minutes late and Rudy had already spotted her pulling in to park. She opened the door to the diner.
   The place was empty, save for some regulars at the counter. The bussers and servers were cleaning up after the dinner crowd. Paq didn’t acknowledge her entering. He sat by the register and texted his wife. Morgan shivered under the air conditioner and strolled to the same back corner she’d spent most of her Sundays. Rudy bounced out of the booth to hug her, because of course she couldn’t wait for Morgan to walk the length of the room.
   “It’s so awesome you could make it. Do you know if anyone else is coming?” Rudy was still hugging.
   “I don’t know, this was your deal.”
   “I invited Lori and Ebony and Zack.”
   “Cool... I barely know them.” They sat down opposite each other. Morgan kept her jacket on. “They hardly ever come here anyway.”
   Rudy grabbed her half-full glass. “I know… I just wanted to have people here. Everybody canceled. This is probably the last time we’ll see each other, probably ever.”
   “You’re exaggerating.”
   “Alex has been off, wherever, on Mars for almost a year. Al just told me he’s not stopping at home like he said he would. You’re going to go see your dad -”
   “...Find my dad.”
   “Find your dad, wherever he is. I’m going with Al to see his family.”
He lets her call him ‘Al’? Must be serious.
   “Oh, so that’s a definite?” Morgan saw May, the waitress, coming. “How did your parents take it? You got that scholarship, you were getting a teaching degree.”
   May knew the routine. “Iced tea?”
   Morgan looked up and smiled. “Yes, thank you.”
   “It’ll be a minute, honey, it’s brewing.”
   “Sure, that’s fine.”
   Morgan slouched and tried to feign attention as Rudy went on about Barclay.

---

   She gazed out of the window and wondered if it would start raining. The clouds were high in the sky, fluffy but crowded. The last light of dusk trickled through the fissures, an orange canvas under cracked grey paint. The forecast didn’t say anything. Morgan’s mind was half-occupied on the days ahead: pack for a long trip, visit her old science professor. He and Dad go way back. If he doesn’t know where to find him, he at least knows Dad’s off the grid and would help.
Morgan’s attention turned back to Rudy... it was a tan day, apparently. She overdid colors. Her closet was like a box of crayons. She clearly enjoyed the whole fashion thing but color schemes and complements were apparently beyond her. Rudy didn’t look shoddy or anything; it was just an amusing quirk. Morgan had no room to talk; she practically lived in her gym clothes. She tucked her hands into on her jacket cuffs. The iced tea arrived and the waitress went back to ignoring them, as was standard procedure.
Morgan tried again to change the subject. “So what about that scholarship…? What did your parents say?”
Rudy’s eyes and mouth widened. “Oh! Did you see them on TV last week? They were on that history show on X band.”
“‘Time Travelogue’ on APEX. I didn’t catch it but I saw a clip. Your dad didn’t have much to say - as usual.”
Rudy giggled. “Yeah… But yeah, we’re sort of famous now! Mom got stopped twice when we were out yesterday. Actually, it’s kind of weird because I ran into one of Dom’s friends and she actually asked me what it was like when all that shit happened. It’s like, look at me. Do I look like I was alive then?”
“Right,” Morgan said in agreement. “That’s crazy. You’ve told me about that stuff before. It’s a good thing your dad had family up here.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like Nonna had room to take us in, but we did OK. Me and my brothers all shared a room until I was six.”
My brothers and I, Morgan thought.
“I actually went back and took a look at the row home the other day. Some immigrant owns it. That place has probably had immigrants in it since it was built…”
Rudy told Morgan all about her recent adventures in visiting all the old haunts, as it’d be Rudy’s last chance ever to see them. She dusted off months-old stories, of sneaking out of the house to go to Times Square (“Remember the all-nighters?”) or just trespassing in the middle of nowhere, in Englewood Cliffs (“They tore down that building we tagged.”). The conversation went on for a good while, as they often did, like old crones recalling a time no one was alive to remember.
Dinner at the diner was never just dinner - but after an hour or so, Morgan flagged May down to order food. That was Rudy’s cue to settle down; she pulled out a wrinkled paperback. After finishing her order, Morgan tilted her head to see what it was. In Search of the Living Goddess: Discovering The Matron’s Watch.
Rudy noticed and perked up. “It’s a good book! Do you want to read it? This is my third read through.”
“I’m not really into new age spirituality. One of my mom’s nurses tried to get her to read that. Mom was raised Catholic. If she needed any religion, she’s got her Bible.”
“But it’s not really a religion. It’s more like a guide to live your life.”
Morgan said somewhat mockingly, “Life advice? So the myth about some deity trapped on Earth is, what, an allegory?”
“Not exactly… you have to read it to really get it.”
“Like I said: not really into that.” Morgan tried to add some finality to her tone.
There was silence for a moment. Rudy put the book in her lap. “Speaking of mothers, how is your mom?”
Morgan told her about Ashlyn’s upcoming episode. She talked about feeling six years old again, asking her father why Mom wouldn’t look at her. Every once in a while, Morgan would lose control, yelling at her mother, sometimes hitting her, desperate for a reaction. “Mom was doing really well for a while, and now... I don’t know if I can handle this without Dad around. He’s been gone before, but this is different. It feels like everything is on me.” Morgan forced the words out, despite the dread. Talking about your problems helps, she was often told.
“If it’s all on you, then maybe you shouldn’t be leaving.”
She didn’t mean it that way, Morgan thought. She responded slowly, with consideration. “Yeah… well… I’m not ready to do this on my own. I’ve been putting off finding Dad for months for just that reason.” She sighed and said matter-of-factly, “Besides - it’s not as if Mom’s going to notice I’m not there. Not for a good while.” It hurt a bit to say that.
Rudy obliviously continued to make her case. “But aren’t you going about it all wrong? Your dad’s still paying for her stay, right…? I know someone who can follow the money-”
“No, Rudy, we’re not going to backtrace his bank activity.”
“Come on, you won’t get in any trouble.”
Morgan was stern. “Dad transferred a bunch of money into the account and left Aunt Ana to take care of everything. He knew he was leaving. He knew, and he didn’t tell me. And it’s not like Ana gives a shit; If she weren’t afraid of Dad, she’d probably blow the money in Europe. It’s not like I ever had much of a family, but now everybody’s gone for real. I can’t do this. I have to do something.”
“Hey… I’m all the family you need.”
It may have sounded like a half-hearted comment of support, but Morgan knew Rudy was fishing for something. All Rudy ever wanted to do was please people. She lived for validation and gratitude. She desperately wanted to be everything to somebody. But nobody can get everything they need from one person; people need people. Rudy wasn’t equipped to understand something like that… not in her idealized relationships, and certainly not now. More to the point, nothing Morgan could say in that moment would fix that.
“You’re my best friend. Just wish me luck.”

---

   Rudy rubbed her eyes before she walked into the house. She’d cried during the drive home - not out of sadness or despair, just one of those passing emotional “everything is going to be different” moments. She got a chill as she came in from the damp night. Mom and Dad were on the couch watching TV, right where she’d left them.
   “I’m home.” She kicked her shoes off in the foyer.
   Kimberly leaned over the side of the couch towards her. “Hey baby. Did you have fun with your friends?”
“It was just me and Morgan.”
“Oh, that’s nice. There were some messages while you were out.”
Rudy would normally insist on more conversation but this was more important. She hurried upstairs to her monitor, pulled some clothes off of the bed, and changed while she watched. First, a message from her school - which she swiped past, because she knew Barclay was next. Barclay was mumbling to someone off-screen, then leaned back to look at her. He turned on his smile.
“Hello Rudy. I figure you’re about to go see Morgan for that get-together at your favorite place. I apologize for being unable to make an appearance. I’m currently in transit to see my family for my grandmother’s funeral. I’d hoped to put it off for a few months so that we might take the trip together but you can’t exactly schedule this sort of thing.”
He paused for a moment of attempted sincerity. “You know I have trouble putting certain things into words. You’ve been patient and I appreciate that. I can’t shake the suspicion that you’re only making this trip to be with me… which is flattering, but I’d feel as if I were keeping you from your full potential unless you had a real commitment to the professional side of this trip. I’m not sure if that properly conveys how I feel. At any rate, I’ve had to prioritize family business, meaning you and I should be spending more time together than I’d originally planned - so we have that to look forward to.”
Barclay signed off with the usual congenialities - being three words shorter than Rudy had hoped. She sat, not feeling any less anxious than before. Why focus on being professional, but get my hopes up about spending more time together? Did he completely cancel his other job, or just put it off until later? Whatever the answers were, she wasn’t going to get them tonight. She had to occupy herself somehow. She strolled downstairs - her parents were watching “Time Travelogue”… again.

The Jacksonville Incursion has left many lingering questions, even after so much time. How, in this post-terrorism age of social stability, was it possible for a land war to break out in North America? And how, with so few barriers to access the world’s information, was the second largest army in the world capable of undertaking such a surreptitious gambit? Historian Marie Redmond explains.

Marie: “The USA was in a precarious position for the first half of the 22nd century. A secessionist party had amassed considerable popular support. Talks began to restructure the continent into three sovereign territories. The Third Space Race saw humanity creating settlements and attempting to terraform other planets in the solar system; for whatever reason the United States Congress saw fit to make it mainly a military operation. This created schisms within many multinational organizations. Eastern European countries were dropping out of NATO, the US had left the United Nations. Ambassador Ed Yorke at the time famously rebuked the UN for abandoning its mission of unification, even as he had one foot out of the door. For a country that imposed its influence in every territory on the planet, its military might had literally been spread too thin. It was a chink in the armor of the American Empire.”

As it happens, it was enough to break through the armor. Even in alliance, none of the North American armed forces had enough domestic presence to defend all two thousand miles of the Atlantic shoreline. Southern states who had clamored for independence for years now found themselves in need of a concerted response. But even if the north obliged, more than half of the US military was conducting offworld operations - including establishing a large presence on Mars and several moons of Saturn. Jupiter was mostly the domain of Europe and Britain, while Earth’s moon, Luna, remained a grand experiment for the world’s largest multinational corporations. All told, the full strength of the US was months away - a tactical opening that the United Asian Coalition had long awaited.

Kimberly: “I remember we were packing frantically. We knew we had to get out of there. Dom was paralyzed with fear and I think Tony could sense something was wrong. When Johnny and I finished packing the wagon, we could see the apartment at the end of our block had caught fire. You never know how fast a building can burn up until you see it first-hand. Driving was a nightmare. Smoke everywhere, you couldn’t see the sky, the fog lights did nothing. You couldn’t get your bearings. We had to use GPS because we might as well have been driving through pitch black. There were some soft lights in the distance, from burning buildings or emergency vehicles. It was like a warzone, except no gunfire or explosions. Besides the drones buzzing around, all you could hear was screaming and choking. There were pile-ups, people running faster than traffic... we were stopped by two men with bats. They yelled at us to get out of the car. One guy came around to my window while the other one stood in front. We couldn’t back away, so Johnny hit the gas... he fell onto our hood and Johnny swerved onto someone’s lawn. The guy rolled off and hit a tree... I don’t know what happened to him. I can’t really say I feel bad about it.”

   Like the last dozen viewings, Kim sat enthralled as if she were hearing the story for the first time. Rudy looked over and smiled, resigned in amusement at her mother reveling in her fifteen minutes of fame. Kim mouthed the words as they were spoken, anticipating her own dramatic gestures.
   “How many times did they make you rehearse that?”
   Kim faced her with a wry grin and turned her nose up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I happen to be very good at telling stories. You ought to remember that from kindergarten.”
   Rudy laughed. “You probably made them re-shoot it until you got it right!”
   Giovanni, who had been sitting quietly, guffawed.
   “Ohh, Dad gave you away!”
   Kim snatched at Rudy’s feet. Rudy squealed and kicked. Soon enough the headaches of the day were gone. Rudy drifted away on the sofa as her mother gabbed and her father nodded and grunted in response.