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In the dark ages of man, (some seven years ago), I had a vision for a series of novels -- science fiction, fantasy, comedy, and more. The ideas within are not entirely new; in fact, my work is as much a celebration of the things I love as much as it is a labor of my personal creativity. I hammered out a few short stories -- now long gone, lost on an old hard drive -- and showed them to friends. We collaborated on comic ideas, even worked on some animated shorts, but like many internet projects it was dropped and forgotten by all, except myself. To deal with my father's passing and to occupy myself as I grew increasingly withdrawn, I decided to put fingers to keyboard and get the ideas down, beginning to end, regardless of how long it took. I currently have a little over six books worth of material written, and snippets of other stories and miscellaneous details in various places, on various hard drives and notebooks. I'm going to post my work piecemeal, both to find the (many) weaknesses of my writing and to encourage me to one day finish my series and, hopefully, do something with it other than wonder what I've been doing with the majority of my free time for the past four or so years. I will begin with the first and, in my view, the weakest of my work: Power Trip: Rise of Dr. Skullhead I hope you enjoy it, and I thank everyone in advance for your critiques and opinions!
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Power Trip: Rise of Dr. Skullhead By Screaming Idiot Prologue: Infinity and you. Infinity: a concept alien to the humanoid mind. That we use such a simple word -- four syllables, eight letters -- to describe something so completely unfathomable, so unimaginably vast is another example of the failing of our language. When one thinks upon the concept of infinity, one imagines space in all its vastness and mystery -- stars twinkling in the blackness, planets hanging peacefully in the never-ending night. Yet most do not realize these celestial bodies are not what truly embody infinity; it is the darkness between. The cold darkness of space is as close to infinity as can be imagined -- and it is growing. As matter uses up its potential energy, the amount of free energy in the universe dwindles, with matter becoming inert. After the span of countless millennia, the universe shall run out of free energy and everything shall become dark, and lifeless. In this way the universe shall truly die. It is a big thing to think of, infinity. No amount of thought can add to its meaning, but it can -- at the very least -- reveal how miniscule we truly are in our creator's grand design. It is a humbling thought. -- From the private musings of Thomas "Covenant" Arc Chapter 1: Make something of yourself! The Central Union: a massive, sprawling collection of worlds spread across multiple dimensions, every one an altered mirror of Earth. Some worlds are advanced, replete with shining cities of chrome and neon. Others are primitive, steeped in tradition and superstition. Humanity is similarly changed, for every world held its own conditions with the only constant being humanity’s affinity for adaptation and alteration. Some changes are minor; differing norms, philosophical and cultural deviations. Other changes are more drastic; despite being considered human by the standards of Central Union law, there are some races who hold only the faintest ties to humanity -- men and women more machine than flesh, those more animal than human, and others too alien, too bizarre to describe. Stranger still, the more things changed the more they remained the same. Cybrid beastmen argue with Harkuzzi insectoids in Halstadi farmer’s markets over the price of genetically optimized grain while Cthul pisceans get drunk on saltwater and laugh at ’Droid performers as they whoop and holler and clank. The capital of the Central Union, planet Central itself, is a cosmopolitan world that epitomizes the wealth, comfort, and stability of the Central Union while retaining a comfortably anachronistic culture. Yet all is not well with the Central Union -- a sickness festers within and without, silently claiming worlds and their denizens. A sickness that cannot be healed, or cleansed, or even purged with atomic fire. A sickness that defies explanation and meaning, that is beyond the scope of human thought, and yet -- at its very core -- utterly human. A great darkness comes for the Union, and indeed, all worlds. It festers, it hungers, it gnaws, and most insidious of all… it waits. A harsh buzzer signaled the end of a night's rest and the beginning of a new day. The young man -- awake exactly five minutes before the alarm went off -- calmly reset it before getting out of bed. He quickly remade his bed with a few deft movements and went to the bathroom to begin his morning ritual. Bathroom. Toilet. Shower. Shave. Comb. He looked at himself in the mirror and gave a little nod, satisfied if not exactly pleased with his appearance. Freshly combed, his medium-length brown hair already began to look mussed and unruly as his forelock dangled above his forehead in an array of lax spikes, obscuring his thin, stark-black eyebrows. His eyes were a cool, harsh blue, their coldness and aloof rigidity a stark contrast to his soft, slightly wavy hair. His lips were a calm line, seemingly void of emotion save for the slight downward curve of the left corner of his lip. The young man disliked the disparity of his features; he saw it as a weakness on his part, a lack of discipline. Another part of him disliked his rigidity. That was also a weakness, he felt. He dressed in his usual outfit -- dark blue denim-style pants, a white shirt ringed with blue, a blue vest with darker blue edging, white socks, and a pair of white sneakers with more blue edging and blue shoelaces. The young man smiled to himself at his choice of clothing -- the colors felt clean to him, clean and orderly, and if one were to check his wardrobe they would see it consisted of several sets of nearly identical outfits save for his school uniforms and formal attire. Boring to some, he reasoned, but it helped to clear uncertainty over what to wear in the mornings. Finally, he put on his glasses: titanium wire frames, clear refracta-crys lenses with modular holographic heads-up displays synchronized with his smartwatch and PCT. They constantly slid down the bridge of his nose, giving him a calculating, aloof appearance. The appearance agreed with him, yet it also bothered him enough that he was constantly pushing the frames back up his nose whenever his thoughts wandered; another disparity the young man disliked about himself. He went into the kitchenette afterwards to make himself a frugal breakfast of dry wheat toast, corn flakes with skim milk (with just a touch of sugar), a glass of orange juice, and half a small grapefruit. He sat at his table and ate mechanically, seeming to not to taste his breakfast -- save for the grapefruit which elicited a wince; the young man hated grapefruit, but he ate it regardless. He tried not to imagine bacon and eggs; his father used to make bacon and eggs, and he hated thinking of his father when he was pressed for time. After washing and putting away the dishes and after the table was wiped free of crumbs, the young man headed back to the bathroom to brush and floss his teeth -- he preferred to brush after eating rather than before, as it never made sense the other way around. The young man preferred to be logical about the way he did things. The young man checked his watch and smiled again, once more satisfied with his timing: 7:15am, forty-five minutes until class begun. He picked up his backpack and carried it on his left shoulder -- he always carried it on his left shoulder -- out the door and walks to the bus stop. The morning was gray, with breaks in the clouds at random intervals where shafts of sunlight shine through. The young man found this lovelier than if the sky had been blue. Blue skies with puffy clouds were pretty, he thought, but generic. Everyone liked blue skies -- few people saw the real beauty of a gray sky. Gray skies mean rain, the young man thought to himself as he flashed his card to the bus's autoreader, the 'Droid driver smiling and nodding him through. Rain means life. Plants are refreshed, the climate becomes cool and clean and pleasant. Nobody thanks the gray skies, even when blue skies don't always mean good things. The young man could afford to think like that during the bus rides to school, he believed. The rides home are better spent reflecting on the day, how best to do his homework, how to organize the rest of the evening in preparation for the next day. Friday afternoon bus rides were much the same despite preceding the weekend; weekends were usually spent practicing what he'd learned in school, self-guided studying, or trips to the local indoor pool for a few hours of swimming. There was no socializing; the young man had few acquaintances, and no friends. "How ya doin' Arc?" the 'Droid bus driver said, turning to look at the young man with a grin. "How's yer project goin'?" The young man gave the driver a wan smile, mildly irritated at having his thoughts interrupted. "It's done. Thank you for asking." "It's done? Hey, that's great! You'll hafta tell me how it goes over with the rest of the class," the driver said with a hearty chuckle. "Y'know, I wish I was could pass that sapience exam thing," he said wistfully. "I remember you tried to tell me a little bit about what you're studying and it dang near caused me to blow a gasket. The things they're teachin' kids these days! Good age to be livin' in, Arc!" "I suppose it is," the young man agreed. "Clean water, no pollution, no poverty, no war, and nobody goes without. We're lucky to live in such a prosperous age." It encourages laziness. People are too content. "Ha-ha! Ain't that the truth! Praise the Network!" The 'Droid driver reverently extended an index finger and drew a circle in the air, a symbol the young man remembered that the 'Droids used to represent the Central Network, the system that ran all of Centropolis. Constantly monitored for anomalies and regularly inspected by the greatest minds in computer engineering, the Central Network controlled practically every aspect of life in Centropolis city as well as the greater portion on the rest of the world. The young man privately wondered what would happen if the system was compromised, but it hadn’t happened in living memory -- the Central Network was apparently as close to infallible as could be imagined. The 'Droids certainly believed so, adopting the Central Network as a sort of deity. Androids, or simply 'Droids to most, are synthetically grown humanoids modified with cybernetics. They have their personalities and knowledge stored on the Central Network; when a 'Droid performs his duties well, he will eventually be given a better form and granted duties closer to the 'Droid's preference. It was how the Central Council rewarded 'Droids for their hard work -- the better one performs, the better one will become. However, 'Droids who show no initiative may be "demoted," given lesser bodies, lower intelligence. 'Droids who actively rebelled were usually reprogrammed, or simply erased from the Network's servers -- "cast aside from the mind of god," some of the more devout 'Droids said. The young man disliked the system. It wasn't that he felt sympathy for the 'Droids; they had rights, of course, no different from any other sapient humanoid, and the 'Droids were the ones to come up with the system in the first place. He disliked the fact the 'Droids worshiped what he felt was a false god, a silicon idol offering fraudulent salvation. He knew it would mean trouble someday; no system was infallible. "Looks like we're at the school," the driver said cheerily into the bus's intercom. "Have a good day, kids! It might be a Monday, but that just means you have five whole days to plan for the weekend! Ha-ha, have a good'un!" The younger students hopped off the bus, waving their goodbyes to the driver who waved back enthusiastically. The kids loved him, and he loved them back -- some days he'd bring cookies and other treats for the kids; he'd remember their birthdays and bring them gifts; he always made sure to give a troubled child an ear to talk to. The older students liked the driver as well, stopping to chat with him on occasion. The talks never lasted very long, of course, as the driver was just a low-class 'Droid, and none too intelligent as a result. The young man stopped to study the 'Droid driver for a moment. The driver looked like most worker 'Droids: just a hair over four feet tall, broadly built with a wide, expressive face. His upper body was clad in light blue ceramic armor, and he wore tough yellow pants. His boots were made of the same material as his chest plates, and he wore a dark blue cap over his helmet proclaiming him as an employee of the Centropolis Civil Transportation Bureau. "Hey, Arc," the driver called as the young man stepped off the bus. "Now don't forget to tell me how it goes, all right? I'll be hopin' for the best!" The young man tried not to wince -- he hated when people called him by his last name. Especially when he didn't know theirs. "Thanks. I-I'll do that." "Good! Now have a good'un!" The driver gave him a salute and closed the door before driving off. Before the young man walked into the school doors, he took a moment to examine his surroundings. The campus was large and cheery, modern architecture with its bright colors and rounded lines and bold edges contrasting charmingly with the classic, old-style buildings that, for all their age, were every bit as updated and advanced as their newer counterparts. The Central Academy was widely considered the foremost educational facility in the world, and for good reason; instructors from worlds beyond came there to teach, sharing their cultures and knowledge with the gifted students therein. The young man walked into the largest building and into a nearby elevator. Inside were several of his classmates: cheery, friendly types. The young man disliked them. "What's up, Kevin?" one of them said with a smile. "You have a good weekend, buddy?" The young man put on a friendly mask, pushing his glasses up his nose so he wouldn't look as scrutinizing as he replied. "It went as well as I could hope. I got some swimming in on Saturday and spent most of Sunday cleaning the apartment." "Swimming, huh? You oughtta come by my place next Wednesday! It's my sister's birthday, and we're having a pool party to celebrate! Besides," he added with a grin, "she won't stop talking about you. She thinks you're cute, man." A lot of women did -- even some of the younger teachers eyed him with more than casual interest. But women unnerved him, relationships terrified him. Better to stay safe, he reasoned. Better to stay lonely. "I've got a lot planned next week," the young man said as apologetically as he could, "but even if I don't go, I'll be certain to pick something up for your sister. How old will she be?" "Sweet sixteen," his classmate replied. "I'm tellin' you Kev, you really should come!" "I won't make any promises, but I'll definitely try," the young man assured him, giving him a wide, friendly smile to hide the grimace he wanted to wear when people called him "Kev." He found it more annoying than being called by his last name. "And I'll definitely be sure to get her a present worthy of such an important birthday." The rest of the way to the classroom was silent, something the young man truly appreciated. He took his seat near the front of the class -- close enough to where he could see the board, but not so close as to be the easily focused upon by the teacher. "Please enter your name and personal identification number," the terminal at his desk said as the young man sat down and placed the audio bud in his ear. KEVIN ARC 842012, the young man typed. "Login accepted. Good morning, Kevin Arc! You have three unread messages. You have one assignment due." The terminal spoke cheerfully, the soft, pleasant feminine voice comfortingly familiar. Arc highlighted the messages tab of the welcome screen and checked who sent them. "It's my sweet sixteen!" the first message read, "I hope you'll come, Kevin!" He deleted the message without reading further. He had no intention of going -- he had a routine to maintain. He could not afford distractions. "The print copy of Rise of Alexander Altaim: Enlightened Conqueror, Cruel Despot you requested has arrived at the library," said the second. "You may come pick it up after lunch." Arc smiled warmly at the news -- the librarian, a matronly woman whose cold demeanor generally kept students at bay, took a liking to the young man. Few people read physical books as digital editions were much more convenient. Arc, however, preferred his books "pulpy and palpable," as he liked to say. The librarian was happy to indulge him, ordering any book he requested on a wide range of topics. Speculative fiction, history, philosophy, politics; Arc's preferences were eclectic and varied, and it pleased the librarian to no end. The last message worried him. "Kevin Arc, your presence is requested at the headmaster's office at your earliest convenience. Please turn in any due assignments beforehand." Arc's mouth tightened into line. What could she possibly want from him? He filled out his paperwork for the year already; perhaps one of the janitorial 'Droids threw out another batch of physical files by accident again? Arc knew he wasn't being reprimanded -- his record was sterling, his grades exemplary, and he cultivated a quiet, friendly, if somewhat shy reputation with the students and teachers. Of course, Arc wasn't truly friendly, but it benefited him to put up the appearance; distant, quiet people were bothered often, but shy, pleasantly awkward, friendly people were usually ignored. "Good morning, kids." A whip-slender man with gray-touched brown hair and two-day-old stubble smiled and shrugged as he entered the room. "Sorry I’m late, the morning meeting ran a bit long -- the headmaster had a few things to share with us. Me in particular." Wells' brown eyes flicked to Arc and his expression was strange for a moment before he continued onward. "If you'll all be so kind as to upload your presentations, I'll have the computer set them up so we can review them later today." "Mr. Wells," said a chubby, red-faced fellow in the back row, "I f-forgot my PCT at home, and it had the only copy of my presentation on it! Can I bring it in tomorrow?" Instead of being irritated, as Arc would have been, Wells sat on his desk and gave a small, yet charming smile. "Jimmy, I noticed you forget a lot of work at home, especially when it involves public speaking. What's the deal? Too good to speak in front of your classmates?" Arc took no pleasure in Jimmy's discomfort, and at that moment he felt anger at Wells for putting the poor boy on the spot. He wanted to speak up, to reprimand Wells for being unprofessional, but the rational, logical part of Arc quickly pushed that urge down. No need to put himself in the spotlight on behalf of someone too lazy to do his own work and turn it in on time. "What? No!" Jimmy replied, swallowing heavily. Despite the coolness of the room, Arc could see sweat beading on the husky boy's brow. "I-I just forgot it! Look, I can take the bus home at lunch, pick it up, and bring it back today! Just please, if my parents-" Wells held up a hand and shook his head. "Jimmy, I'm not going to punish you, nor am I gonna call your parents. I'm not here to do that. My job is to make sure you and the rest of the class grow as human beings. The project was for you to do a presentation on what's most important to you. It's not mandatory, it won't hurt or improve your grade, it's just a chance to let us learn a little more about you... and perhaps a chance to look a little deeper into yourself." Jimmy looked down, flushed. "I... I really did do it, Mr. Wells. But I... I'm not ready to share it yet." Wells looked about the room, then at Jimmy. "No problem, this isn't the last time we're going to do a project like this. However," his voice grew stern, "I still want you to turn it into me the earliest you can. I'm not grading this assignment, but I still want to see the effort you put into it. Can you bring it to me tomorrow, Jimmy?" "Yes sir," said Jimmy, looking greatly relieved. "Good deal, good deal. So!" He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Got a busy day today and I can't waste all of it being a jerk, so let's get down to business. After all of you have uploaded your presentations to my HD, I'd like for you to go to turn to yesterday's chapter for review..." Arc listened halfheartedly to Wells as the teacher spoke, entering replies to questions into the desk-mounted terminal automatically. The material was old to Arc -- in fact, they were discussing Alexander Altaim, simultaneously one of the most beloved and hated rulers in known history (what little there was of it), and a favored subject of Arc's. Alexander Altaim, as Arc knew, believed himself to be a logical ruler. When he took over a territory, the first thing he did was to improve it. He'd repair its infrastructure, bring in scholars and technology, and work to better the lives of those he had conquered. However, this all cost much in both coin and other resources -- things he would gain by executing the wealthiest percentage of the new territory and using their "ill-obtained riches" to fund his grand plans. He also picked and chose what aspects of their cultures the conquered would be allowed to keep. Anything he deemed illogical or detrimental to his empire was hastily excised; religion was usually the first to go. Arc respected the intent and the results, but he disliked the means. However, he could not help but admire Altaim's sheer determination to liberate the known universe from the "forces of oppression and ignorance, and to bring Enlightenment to the beleaguered masses," as Altaim's followers had put it. "Mr. Arc," Wells said, interrupting Arc's momentary reverie, "if you've already uploaded your assignment, could you save your data and go to the headmaster's office? She's expecting you -- it's rather important." "Did she tell you what she wanted me for?" Arc asked placidly. Wells grinned impishly. "Why, yes, she heard about you sneaking cameras into the women's bathrooms again, Kev. Don't you know there's a fee for that?" The classroom erupted into laughter, and the boy on Arc's right jogged his arm playfully. Arc, of course, was irked. "Oh goodness," he said pretending to go along with the joke, "looks like they caught my dastardly dealings again. I'll be right back, then, Mr. Wells." "Oh, well," said Mr. Wells, looking uncomfortable, "actually, I think it may be better if you just packed up for the day. Grab your stuff and save your data, Kevin." Arc was confused. Worried, even. Shaken, he bid a silent acknowledgement to Wells and the class, and headed toward the headmaster's office. Along the way, Arc thought of her; the headmaster was a strong woman who refused to take the gender-centered title of headmistress. "If it's good enough for a man," she was quoted as saying, "then it's good enough for me." Arc respected that -- the only thing that mattered to him was competence, and unimportant differences like religion, gender, race, species, and the like were a waste of time to dwell upon. Upon reaching the door to the headmaster's office, he heard two voices speaking back and forth. "I really wish you'd let us keep him," Arc heard the headmaster say. "He's only got a year or two left before he graduates. And even then he's got aspirations for-" "Aspirations for what, Lisa?" the second voice said with a faint, untraceable accent. It sounded faintly familiar, and Arc strained to hear him -- for the voice sounded male. "We've read the results of your tests, Ms. Honeycut -- he's one of your most intelligent students, and perhaps the best-rounded in other aspects. However, he is so focused on the small, present details that his aspirations for the future are vague, at best. We can offer him everything a regular education cannot. We can give him a life more fulfilling, more useful than anything anyone else could possibly hope to offer him." The headmaster -- Lisa -- sighed heavily. "Can't we at least let him decide?" "We'll see as soon as he finishes eavesdropping and decides to join us for our conversation," the second voice said smugly. "You can come in now Arc, I hate talking about people behind their backs when they can hear me. It‘s much more fun to do so sneakily, or to do so when they‘re in full view so I can point and laugh at the looks on their faces." Shaken to his core, he opened the heavy oak door and into the well-furnished office. Lisa Honeycut, headmaster of Central Academy, had a taste for the classical -- her office was furnished in an eighteenth-to-twentieth century European style, with her desk, sculptures, paintings, chairs, bookshelves, and the books upon them all from that period, lovingly preserved and taken care of. Any other time Arc would have loved to sit about and enjoy the classical aesthetic while thumbing through the ancient books. But not now. Arc looked to the headmaster -- an olive-skinned older woman well into her fifties, yet still every bit as lovely as she was when she was in her twenties due to a healthy lifestyle and generous amounts of rejuvenation treatments. She looked back, dark eyes full of concern. Arc turned to the other man in the room and his eyes widened in shock. Barely as tall as Arc, his dark, nut-brown face as youthful-looking. His short hair was a light, ashy gray with a few black strands, and he wore a white leather trench coat edged with black and decorated with matching buttons. Upon his hands were a pair of white gloves, and Arc could see the shine of his black leather metal-shod boots even in the low, comfortable light of the office. However, the most disconcerting feature of the man were his eyes -- they were a haunting gray-green with a brightness that drew in the gaze. Arc thought it was strange to see someone with such dark skin with such lightly colored eyes, and even stranger to see an apparent teenager with salt-and-pepper hair. "So you've finally decided to join us, Mr. Arc. I was wondering when you'd stop dawdling in Wells' class and grace us with your presence." The man's tone was mocking, though he didn't seem annoyed. Arc's worry gradually turned to anger. "I was in class," Arc replied icily, not even bothering to put up his usual facade. "And I heard what you said before I came in -- the answer's 'no' to whatever it is. You can leave now. I have a presentation to give after lunch." "Just like your father," the man said with a grin as he settled himself into one of the comfortable leather chairs in front of the headmaster's desk. "Here, sit, listen. At least hear me out, Arc. You know, for Thomas' sake." Arc's anger fled him instantly, replaced with a painful chill at the center of his heart. "Thomas? M-my father? What do you know about him? Tell me! Tell me-" "Ah-ah-ah, Arc. Sit down. I'll tell you more in good time. But first, I should introduce myself. "I am Master Administrator Naryidh Zainé, head of the Central Council. Perhaps you've heard of me?" The man grinned and leaned back into his chair, waiting for the young man's response. "Wait... the Zainé? Why would you come here? For me?" Arc's mouth was dry, but he resisted the urge to nervously swallow -- he'd already let down too much of his guard around this powerful, potentially dangerous man. "Like I said, for the sake of your father, Thomas Tesla Arc, Kevin. I promised him that when you reached the proper age, I would make sure you're taken care of." The man steepled his fingers as he sat back in his seat, gray-green eyes snaring Arc like a snake hypnotizing its prey. "I don't think I like the sound of that," Arc managed to say, summoning up every bit of willpower to do so. "'Taking care' of me could mean many things. How did you know my father, Zainé?" "Smart boy! I knew it'd take more than an appeal to the memory of your father to sway you -- you're more like him than I thought." Zainé's grin grew wider, and Arc could feel himself being appraised. "Don't waste your breath trying to praise me, just tell me what I want to know if you want me to listen to you." Arc crossed his arms. "Ha! That praise isn't as high as you'd think, but you deserve a fairly straight answer at least." Zainé reached over the headmaster's desk for a pitcher and empty glass and poured himself a glass of ice water. After taking a sip, he looked to Arc and said, "Your father belonged to an organization called Guardian, and his job was to root out corruption and evil where he found it. He saved entire worlds, Arc. If you accept my offer, perhaps I can regale you with some of the more interesting stories, hmm?" Zainé grinned and laughed softly, but there was steel hidden within his jovial tone. "What happened to him?" Arc remained steadfast. "It's classified," Zainé replied smoothly, "but if you accept my offer, I can tell you anything you want to know. Most anything, at least." Arc fought to keep the emotion out of his voice. "Make your offer then." "No!" The headmaster said suddenly. "Kevin, please, don't do it! I know you want to find out more about your father, but you have your whole life ahead of you to think of! Don't throw it aw-" "That will be quite enough Miss Honeycut," Zainé said to her without emotion. "The choice is up to Arc -- don't insult him by treating him like a child. He is but three months from seventeen and more than old enough to make his own decisions. It's up to us to let him decide." He turned back to Arc and spoke boldly, piercing gray-green eyes looking deep into Arc's. "You have limitless potential within you. With our training, you can fulfill and even exceed your father's legacy. With our aid, you can protect everything and everyone you hold dear from those who would oppress and destroy them." "And become your pawn?" Despite his bold words, Arc found it hard to resist Zainé's eyes and soothing, mocking, exotic voice. He felt his will falter. Was the Master Administrator truly that charismatic? Or was there something more at work? "Not precisely," Zainé admitted. "Guardian is outside the jurisdiction of Central bureaucracy -- it's beholden only to itself and answers to no one. The Central Union funds Guardian's activities, provides its aspirants with the proper training and tools, and grants it potential leads. However, its members are free to do as they wish." "...and if a member of this organization becomes corrupt?" Arc said, skeptical. "Isn't it obvious? Guardian's very purpose is to root out corruption, and they will not hesitate to fall upon their own should it become necessary." Zainé took a sip of water, but kept his gaze upon Arc. "Let me get this straight," Arc replied with an upraised eyebrow. "You want me to quit school to train to become some sort of government-funded shadow agent?" "I wouldn't have said it in such a juvenile fashion," said the Master Administrator, "but sure, that sounds close to the truth." Arc smirked. "Every teenager's power fantasy, right?" Zainé turned to the headmaster and grinned. "Lisa, I don't think he believes me. Educate the boy." The headmaster sighed and looked down at her desk, unwilling to look Arc in the eye. "He's telling you the truth. When you enrolled, we were instructed to keep constant tabs on you and to send the results to Zainé himself. He's watched you grow and develop your entire life, even before your father was lost. Your father, Thomas Arc, known in Guardian as simply 'Covenant,' requested that Zainé ensure you had a future. Zainé is telling you the truth about Guardian. "But you're too young! You have your whole life ahead of you, Kevin; you can't risk getting killed just because you want to be your father!" "You're right, Headmaster. I'm not my father, and it'd be stupid to risk my life just to follow in his footsteps." Arc replied. The woman breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a horrified gasp when Arc said, "However, if this Guardian organization is as legitimate as you and Zainé claim it to be, then I'd be a fool to pass up this opportunity." "You can't be serious," Lisa said, standing up, staring at Arc, her eyes wide, her voice shaking slightly. "You're just a child!" "Headmaster, maintain yourself," Zainé said coolly, setting his glass down next to a coaster on her desk. "We all agreed that Arc is fully capable of making his own decisions. I will make sure he has all the proper documentation and all the relevant information so he can make an informed choice. "When I promoted you to this position, I believed you were professional enough to do what was best for your students regardless of your personal feelings in the matter. However, after these little outbursts I'm beginning to doubt my judgment was sound." Zainé refilled his glass of water with the remainder of the pitcher and looked Headmaster Lisa in the eye. "Did I make a mistake, Miss Honeycut? Do I have to correct the mistake? Perhaps you would be of more use back in the Scraptown slums teaching rebellious 'Droids and the children of fugitives?" Headmaster Honeycut's face hardened. "Do we have to discuss this in front of Kevin?" Zainé raised his water to her in a mock toast. "You're the one who sought to break a contract nearly two decades in the making, Headmaster. It was agreed before young Arc here was even old enough to go to school that he would be given the chance to train for and eventually become a part of Guardian at the age of sixteen." "Headmaster," Arc said respectfully, "I appreciate your concern for me -- this school and the teachers in it are among the closest things I've had to a family for the past ten years. My father abandoned me when I was six, I was emancipated from state childcare at ten, and I have lived on my own ever since. "I think I can say that I've matured more quickly than most people my age," he said as he pushed his glasses up his nose, "and that I am fully capable of deciding for myself my life's course. I'm grateful that you're arguing on my behalf, but if Zainé is speaking truly then... Headmaster, I can't deny myself this opportunity! He's right -- I have no idea what I want to do with my life. Maybe this will provide the direction I need, and I might become a part of something greater, something good." "And if you die?" she asked softly, already sounding defeated. Arc could see unshed tears in her eyes. "If I die," Arc said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "then at least I will have died trying to make my life mean something." The headmaster's voice turned bitter. "It's easy to say that in the safety of this office. But when you're laying on some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere, your torso half-vaporized from a stray blast of plasma, will you feel the same way?" Zainé's expression sobered slightly as Honeycut finished speaking. The master administrator has a heart after all, Arc thought to himself. "I don't know," Arc admitted. "But I do know that if I give up the chance to become somebody, I'll never forgive myself." "You already are somebody," Honeycut replied softly. "You're Kevin Arc, a bright young man with infinite potential. Please, wait until you graduate at least. Don't jump so quickly into responsibility -- don't squander your youth." "You're more right than you could ever know about that first part," Zainé murmured to the headmaster. Then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but if he doesn't make the choice now, it will be too late. If he waits even a year too long, we'll never be able to train him properly -- he'll never reach his full potential. "So how about it, Arc?" Zainé's voice was serious despite the informal tone of his words. "Want to give it a shot? I'll send you the appropriate information for review, take you to the Central Citadel facilities for a tour, and then you can make your decision based on that." Arc sat there, silent for several moments, mulling over the possibilities. Headmaster Honeycut's words shook him deeply; she wasn't merely trying to frighten him, there was a deeper sincerity to what she said that went far beyond simple concern for Arc. Furthermore, he didn't fully trust Zainé. Something about the Master Administrator rubbed Arc the wrong way -- he was too slick, his words too smooth, and he had a way of speaking that was as persuasive and charming as it was disparaging and abrasive. Zainé’s way of talking combined the worst aspects of a politician and schoolyard bully, with a little con artist tossed in to sweeten the mix. Even as Arc's suspicions rose, he remembered one of the last things he remembered his father told him; a statement he made on Arc's first day of school. "Kevvie," he'd said, "I am not always going to be around for you. Nevertheless, I want you to know that I will always be proud of you no matter what you do. Were your mother here, she would feel the same way. Now I want you to get out there and make something of yourself!" "I'll do it," Arc said. Arc and Zainé spoke for some time after that, with the Master Administrator explaining the duties, means, and methods of Guardian; they ranged from everything as glorious as leading armies of warrior 'Droids against malevolent beings of palpable, literal evil to things as mundane as aiding squabbling gangs in negotiating peace. The Master also hinted darkly that Guardian did other things, grayer things, things that were as difficult as they were necessary. "You're not the only recruit I'm after, actually," the Master said as he and Arc walk through the hallways and out the front door or the building. "There is another, on a Terran-standard world, early twenty-first century. I've been receiving information on her for quite some time -- she's exceptional, Arc. Possibly even more so than yourself." Arc raised an eyebrow, not rising to Zainé's bait. "I'm glad to hear it." "Oh? Not curious? I'm ashamed for you, young sir; I'd heard your curiosity was insatiable." Zainé's grin was wide, teasing. The younger man ran a hand through his unruly brown hair in a vain attempt to put it in order. "If your sources were as accurate as you think them to be, you'd know that I don't care about power struggles, rivalries, or anything like that. I've got more important things to focus on." "Her name is Jessica Josephine Hope," Zainé said, much to Arc's irritation. "Or JJ Hope for short. She's apparently a master gymnast and martial artist, and she's skilled in a wide variety of fighting styles. A veritable master of melee, Mr. Arc!" "What does it have to do with me?" Arc adjusted his glasses again. "I'm no fighter. Up until this morning, I'd assumed myself an average kid -- not a prodigy eligible to join some massive government-funded shadow organization. I am reasonably intelligent, fairly fit, but I have never been in so much as a fistfight. It seems to me this Hope girl's more of what you're looking for. Not me." "Guardian isn't all soldiers," Zainé replied calmly, satisfied at getting his desired response from the boy. "Brains and willpower are as important to Guardian as muscle and battle-prowess -- maybe more so. Besides, you've a lot of training ahead of you if you join us -- you may find that you have an aptitude for combat you didn't think possible." "I seriously doubt it," Arc said, looking over his suddenly scrawny-seeming arms. "Again, I stress that you keep an open mind. And don't forget that might isn't the only deciding factor in conflict. You know about Aether, yes?" Arc smirked. "Yes. Fairytales. Stories. That's all it is." Zainé looked up into the gray skies and breathed in the cool, clean mid-morning air. "Really now? Were that the case, how did Alexander conquer so many worlds so easily? The man was sensitive to Aether and could read its currents and eddies, then manipulate them to his needs. It's said that to prove his power he would defeat entire armies single-handedly, striding before his forces and bowling over his enemies with a wave of his hand. He would gesture, they would fall, and their war-machines would shatter and burst into flames." "That's all a myth," Arc replied. "He was a cunning strategist, a charismatic leader of men, and a great warrior who understood the merits of technology and diplomacy and their place in war. Nothing more." "Don't forget mass-murderer. Remember what he did to those he believed to be oppressors, Arc? Remember how he funded his wars and other endeavors? He put the dissenting higher classes to death and distributed their wealth to those less fortunate. He was a killer, Kevin -- well-meaning, but a killer nonetheless." Zainé crossed his arms. "He was all those things. He was also an Aether-sensitive, one of the greatest. He could harness Aether -- the very power of the gods -- to smite his enemies. Alexander Altaim was nearly a god himself depending on whom you ask." "Either you're taking the myths too seriously," Arc said slowly, "or there's more to the story than is widely known." "You're correct. The myths are not myths -- they are true. There may be some exaggeration, but Alexander Altaim was every bit as powerful as the stories claim. "'Clad in armor golden, the God-Kaiser Alexander wields the power of the cosmos to smite the Oppressor, the Unbeliever, the Fool, and the Heretic,'" Zainé replied, quoting one of the old myths. "'The forces of Darkness, the Tainted Ones, burn away to purified ash in His divine light. His is the light of Dawn, driving away the Shadows and granting Sanctuary and Relief to his Chosen.'" "I remember those lines!" Arc's enthusiasm was apparent and unburied. "The 'Tainted Ones' is a reference to how he would burn down settlements of those affected by plague and sickness. He believed that illness of the body was indicative of corruption in the soul." He shook his head sadly. "For all of Alexander's high-minded ideals, many of his actual deeds were horrible and ignorant. He was as superstitious as the so-called 'heretics' he hated." "That's... half-true," Zainé said. "What if I told you that Alexander didn't really do those things? That those lines aren't describing his armies putting the torch to people too sick to defend themselves, but to people actually touched by the very essence of evil itself?" "I admire Alexander's good deeds, but I don't lose sight of his crimes against humanity," Arc said slowly. "He killed defenseless people out of fear of the plague spreading. He wasn't really battling evil." Master Zainé's lips quirked in a strange smile. "You don't sound like you want to believe that, Arc. You want to think better of him, don't you?" "It just didn't make any sense," Arc replied after a moment's thought. "The legends spoke of Alexander having the greatest minds of his era at his command. I can't imagine a plague so terrible that they refused to even describe it except by demonizing it, by turning it into some sort of boogeyman to justify their actions!" "What if they didn't demonize it, Arc? What if they were being truthful?" The gray-haired man looked around to see if anybody else was about before continuing. "The 'Taint' in the legend was absolutely real. It still is, in fact -- the Black Taint is the reason for Guardian's very existence. Evil is a very real force in the universe, Arc." Arc sneered. "Now I know you're playing with me, Zainé. ‘Evil' and 'good' are just terms, words used to describe and justify or vilify our actions. They're not universal truths." "So they aren't. But emotion is a powerful force, strong enough to affect the Aether. Evil itself may not be real, but the concept is real enough, and it's that concept that taints the Aether, and it's that tainted power that encroaches and devours. Did you hear of the disaster at the Enzer colony a few years back?" Zainé's expression grew somewhat grave, the usual snarky humor lessened, though not truly gone. "I was just a kid when it happened, but I remember hearing about it at school," the young man said. "I heard the terraforming equipment had a catastrophic failure that caused the collapse. What, are you saying gremlins made of pure evil did it?" "Close. Enzer colony found a cache from one of Alexander's old crusades -- lost technology, a wealth of historical information, and a few things that defied explanation. Rather than immediately send for assistance from Central, they decided to launch an investigation themselves. In so doing, they released something very old and very evil that began to eat them from the inside out. When it became apparent that they were helpless against the onslaught they called for our help, but it was too late -- everyone was infected with the Taint. We had to send in a team to deal with them before they could unleash it upon us." "And so the colony had to burn," Arc said, dumbfounded. The realization struck him like an icepick to the eye -- never before had he thought of Union forces attacking innocents, infection of not. "They were sick and they needed your help and... and you killed them." "Keep your voice down," Zainé said, his voice calm but firm -- like a velvet glove over a steel gauntlet. "I had no choice. By the time the team had arrived, Enzer's people were no longer men and women. They had become... something else. The men we sent are still recovering from what transpired, and the 'Droids we sent were so horrified by the experience that each and every one of them begged to have their memories wiped." "What happened?" Arc's voice held a faint tremble. "The Taint happened, Arc. First, it gets into your mind. It encourages you to be more selfish, petty, and aggressive. Then it begins to change you from the inside out, the changes becoming physical rather than mental. You get sick as your bodily fluids blacken and fester. Your organs fail one by one. Your skin becomes pale and corpselike. Cannibalism, I hear, becomes a necessity -- you must consume humanoid tissue to maintain your own flesh. "Eventually, you die. However, that death is not clean -- your body continues going, becoming darker, the flesh liquefying, melting, until all that is left is a vaguely human-shaped mass of black slurry that mindlessly chases down and absorbs whatever humanoid organic tissue it can reach. Anything that escapes becomes infected as well." Arc shook himself. Zainé sounded so sincere, but it was impossible to believe. It sounded like something from a horror movie or a video game. Yet it also sounded familiar -- he had the strangest feeling that this information wasn't new to him. "Just how do you know this isn't some sort of disease, Zainé? How do you know this isn't some horrible exotic illness? I mean, we don't know what sorts of extraterrestrial microbes exist on other worlds, or how they would react with our physiology." Arc trembled as he thought of Zainé's words. The Master Administrator was silent for some time. "I think we've spoken enough about this for the time being, Arc. You don't have to believe what I say -- if you accept my offer, you'll find out the truth for yourself in time."
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Dec 17, 2014 02:29
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I thought you were going to post a short story that was criticized by your crit group for being overly moralistic?
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Dec 17, 2014 02:49
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newtestleper posted:I thought you were going to post a short story that was criticized by your crit group for being overly moralistic? That was another guy
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Dec 17, 2014 02:54
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newtestleper posted:I thought you were going to post a short story that was criticized by your crit group for being overly moralistic? Naw, that was someone else. I'm not moralistic, just incompetent.
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Dec 17, 2014 03:07
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So I didn't get very far through this. I actually didn't mind the melodramatic epigraph, but it was followed by 280 words of pure exposition and then 788 words of getting ready for school. That's over a thousand words of boring stuff where nothing happens. Surely his breakfast routine can be cut, and surely the exposition can be drip fed to us when it actually becomes relevant?
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Dec 17, 2014 03:15
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I read more than that, I'll post a crit later tonight.
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Dec 17, 2014 03:16
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Yeah, this is definitely the weakest area. At the time I thought I needed to give the reader a heads-up with what was going on, and only recently did I realize that, hey, people do not give a poo poo about some mopey kid;s breakfast schedule. What genuinely confuses me is how I eventually go from "kid goes to school, also, it's kinda futuristic-y"  to "PSYCHIC CYBORG EVIL TWIN TEAM-UP ACTION"  . When I revise this, I'm getting to the latter more quickly -- I might even replace the first chapter entirely and start off with the antagonists doing their stuff.
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Dec 17, 2014 03:31
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I stopped reading herequote:ed to the headmaster -- an olive-skinned older woman well into her fifties, yet still every bit as lovely as she was when she was in her twenties due to a healthy lifestyle and generous amounts of rejuvenation treatments. She looked back, dark eyes full of concern. Arc turned to the other man in the room and his eyes widened in shock. This is not as bad as I had expected, but I didn't really want to keep reading because it was too slow and had too much exposition. It might seem strange that I got right up to the inciting incident and decided to give up then, but the choice there was because you had already used up my faith with over-description and some clunky mistakes. I always try to start my crits with where I stopped wanting to read; I think it's very helpful. STUFF YOU DID GOOD 1) While I said it was too slow, I think you actually have decent pacing once you chop out some of the more pointless mirror gazing and breakfast eating. Your protagonist strikes me as someone who is kind of sociopathic, and the comparisons to the historical philospher king/despot foreshadowed this, I think. You still did paint a character who is kind of believable, kind of likeable, and who I still kind of wanted to punch in the face. The likability gives the reader impetus to keep reading, and the sociopathy and other character flaws give him room to grow. I mostly write short fiction, but I've tried to write two novels. I always had the pacing too fast, and I think you actually have it about right here once you chop out some of the shittier/useless parts. Just do a scan of it, paragraph by paragraph, and ask yourself for each paragraph, "Can I delete this whole paragraph?" and you will find many that you can just cut out entirely. That is a really easy editing you can do right out of the gate before you fine-tooth comb it. 2) SOME of the worldbuilding was interesting. I liked the droids that get made better for doing well. The entire idea of the multi-world thing was kind of cool, but I'm still skeptical that it would pull me in enough as a concept to want to read five books about it. You explained that premise in pure, boring exposition, but some of the ideas sparked interest in me, which means if you can reveal these features of your world through plot and character, they stand a much larger chance of coming off as interesting and a reason to keep reading. 3) The main character comes across quickly. It's important to have this happen, and you erred on the side of heavyhanded, but it's better than having your character not have any defining attributes or reason to be your protagonist: the person the story revolves around. No one wants to read a story about some boring guy. I very quickly had a good idea what kind of person the protagonist was, and while he felt a bit like an anime Mary Sue at some points, I still felt like he was mostly a real person. Some fine tuning can probably fix most of the problems with this. You show attributes of Arc's personality quickly through how he deals with his classmates and teachers, and also how he chooses not to interfere, etc. Since you are "showing" us this, you can cut a lot of the tell where it is just like "he was very logical, he liked being logical, he liked how logical x was." Be a bit more subtle about it, because where you are actually more subtle it works, so don't 'show and tell.' 4) It seems coherent. I can tell right away that he's going to get plucked up to do something. From what I read, I feel like the plot of this book is going to be the protagonist likely learning about our world while dealing with whatever the antagonists are. That is a fairly coherent idea, assuming I am guessing right. STUFF YOU DID BAD 1) Cut all the exposition before anything happens. Throw us into the world and reveal it as you go. It's more challenging to write, but will be more rewarding for the reader. 2) Cut all the loving ''the young man" poo poo! Say his name when you introduce him, and then stick with it. This drove me up the wall and used up a lot of my 'good faith' that I mentioned earlier and is a large reason I was ready to stop reading when I stopped. You kept calling him "the young man" even after the bus driver droid said his name, and even after some students said his name. Holy poo poo! It is NOT interesting, at all, to go through why he prefers Kevin over Kev over Arc, just cut all that poo poo out and call him Arc from the first line, and then have people call him whatever the hell they call him within the dialogue. 3) You have what are called "said-bookisms" (google it) that you should replace with "said." Beyond that, you have a lot of: said tag + adverb (an example of this would be "he said angrily"). Cut this out whenever you can. It's not always bad, but it usually is. Think really really hard if you need that adverb, does it completely change the meaning? If not, you can probably lose it. 4) While the prose is mostly okay, there is some clunk. Sometimes when you are trying to be cute, you try too hard and it gets cheesy. The eavesdropping scene was almost right, but it came on a tad too strong and shattered the illusion of real people talking to each other. Again, it's good that you are erring on having each new character introduced immediately unique by doing stuff like this, but in this case I felt it was too much. Some of the scifi stuff you try for just reads as forced. Having an apostrophe before "droids" is a good example. This is a phrase that was used back 50's/60's scifi, putting an apostrophe there makes it look like you've never watched a scifi movie or read a book. Then you have people calling harddrives "HDs," and there are a few other things like this that irked me. We have harddrives and have had them for decades now as a thing everyday people talk about. We haven't started calling them "HDs" in spoken English, so it's unlikely that will ever happen. You could argue this is an alternate world or whatever, but it just came across as clunky and forced to me. Pick your battles of what you want to be unique words or phrasings, because if you just say "hard drive" it will be invisible and no one will notice, but every time you inject some non-standard word for a normal thing, people will notice; and if they had to take extra notice for something banal or pointless, they will get fatigued and not want to read more. 5) Over-description. I don't need to know what color skin and shirt and what shape everyone's eyebrows are. You need to trim down these descriptions considerably. Pick a really defining trait and drop that in there, then show the rest through how the characters moves or acts or talks. Like the lady that calls him out on eavesdropping; she is forward and cuts to the chase, and she is kind of witty and likable. I got that from how you introduced her, give her like one physical thing we can associate with her and let her actions speak for her. We don't need to know exactly what everyone looks like, our imaginations will fill in the blanks. As is, the pacing drags really bad when everyone has to be tediously introduced, and every scene needs to be laboriously described chair by chair. 6) The world, the whole premise, could be boring. Some of the stuff you had in the exposition sounded kind of interesting, but purely as a reader this idea in general doesn't grab me very much. Also, if you haven't already, read a summary of Anathem by Neal Stephenson. It's an awful, awful novel that I loving hated. The premise of that is very similar to your idea here. To your credit, your idea is actually more interesting than his and has more room for interesting stuff to happen, but I can't really get into alternate versions of Earth...it feels very muddled to me. I'd have to see what you did with it to really decide, but a contributing factor to why I stopped reading was that the world Arc was in didn't feel interesting enough, and so seeing him in our world and how he would react to it didn't feel like a very stark or interesting contrast to me. angel opportunity fucked around with this message at 04:11 on Dec 17, 2014 |
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Dec 17, 2014 04:07
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Congrats on having the courage to post your work! This is my first time critiquing another goon’s project, and quite frankly, I am not at all interested in the sci-fi genre, so keep that in mind. But I am a little put-off that you think this is your weakest? Why not post your best first, so I don’t feel like I’m beating a dead horse as I putter along? Anyways, I am only going to go over the bigger elements of the composition you’ve presented. “It is a big thing to think of, infinity.” This sentence pulled me out of the Morgan Freeman speech. It’s awkward and even saying “Infinity is a big thing to think (about)” sounds worse. Your opening paragraph seems very monotonous. I don't have anything to hook me in, especially after the prologue. Then after that, you have introduced your lead with the 'I just woke up and looked at myself in the mirror' scenario. In fact, you should just hack away at all the descriptions here because this is a looong wind-up and nothing has happened. After some quick reading through, I think that THIS is where the story should start: "Please enter your name and personal identification number," Not only are Kevin’s OCD tendencies revealed in a meaningful way, but it also lets the reader know that he is a student or in a learning environment. All the techno babble also lets us know that this is sci-fi without being so IN YOUR FACE about it (like the long, expositional paragraphs). I will say that only when I got to the very end did I become interested in the story, because there is a perceivable danger now. THAT is what you should lead up to at a faster pace, because that is where the conflict starts. I know it can be hard to take out all the world-building elements, but from what I just read, you desperately need to. Keeping them in a separate file and picking out instances where you can sprinkle them in will give the reader the opportunity to absorb the world in a moderate fashion, but also keep the text from coming off as a history book. As far as grammar and sentence structure, I think you have an excellent grasp of these things. You just need to prune away so we can get to the heart of the story that you’ve spent so long dreaming up. Feel free to ignore my crits, of course. This is just a stranger sharing her thoughts.
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Dec 17, 2014 04:21
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Thank you so much for the kind words and helpful advice! I'm pleasantly surprised at the reception I've gotten and I'm going to do my best to put your guidance to good use. I wanted to post my earliest, weakest stuff first because the problems in it are the most obvious. My later chapters show improvement -- at least they do to my biased eyes -- but their issues are more subtle. If I can fix my earliest stuff first, I can use what I learn to refine the later chapters. Anyhow, should I post the next chapter or two, or should I rework what I've already posted?
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Dec 19, 2014 02:16
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No problem! I definitely think you should post the next installment, but give it a run-through and see if any of our general crits can be applied to it beforehand. As far as the newer stuff you've done, maybe just post a snippet of what you think is the best, depending on how long it is.
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Dec 19, 2014 19:01
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Chapter 2: Coffee break. The heavenly scent of freshly baked croissants and muffins caressed her nose as she sat in her wicker chair in the outdoor café, waiting for her order to arrive. She stretched languidly, her muscles aching comfortably as she reclined after a day of heavy sparring. Emerald eyes flicked over the other guests as they sat and talked and ate and drank, and she smiled a little to herself as she wrapped a finger in a lock of her carrot-orange hair -- she loved being around people, watching them, and interacting with them, though at the moment she was content to sit and relax. "Miss, you ordered the mint-cocoa latté and a plate of chocolate strawberry muffins, right?" The waiter, a young man barely out of his teens from the look of it, gave her an interested look as he set down her order. She smiled in reply, feeling her fair, freckled cheeks blush. Though the man was not particularly handsome, flattery -- unspoken or otherwise -- always pleased her. "Yup! Ooh, these smell wonderful... want one?" She giggled and smoothed down her forest-green skirt and dark blue sweater. "I don't think they'd mind you accepting a treat for good service." Now it was the young waiter's turn to blush as he tried not to stare at the lovely woman. "N-no thanks, miss. Just doing my job!" "Well, I appreciate it!" She gave him another smile, and then playfully bopped her forehead when she remembered her question. "Oh, before I forget, can you tell me if you've seen my teacher around? You can't miss him; tall, handsome, with sideburns and an afro." "Can't say I have, but if I see him I'll be more than happy to let him know you're looking. What's his name?" He fiddled nervously with the dark green visor that matched the rest of his uniform. "Sosa," she replied. "And my name's JJ!" "Well, Miss JJ, if I see him I'll let you kno-oh, here he is now!" The man cut himself off as he spied Sosa's unmistakable figure come near. "How's it going, JJ? Having fun bothering the staff, are we?" Mirth sparkled in the newcomer's dark green eyes. He ran a slender-fingered hand through his kinky brown hair and grinned broadly. "We were just talking about you! Please, sit, have a muffin! I can't eat all of these on my own." She dipped the one she'd been munching on in her latté before taking another bite. "I know your appetite, baby." Sosa gave a short laugh. "You could eat all of them and then some. Garcon! A hot cup of coffee, sil vous plait! Black, if you don't mind." "Right away sir," replied the waiter. "Anything else? I think we've got a fresh batch of oatmeal raisin cookies ready." "Eh, why not? I'll have a couple in that case." "Very good. I'll be back in just a minute with your order, sir." The waiter stepped off while Sosa sat in the chair opposite JJ. "I wanted to compliment you today, JJ," he said as he snatched a muffin. "To say you're agile is an understatement. You don't just move, you flow. Dig? Watching you fight is like watching a dancer." JJ's cheeks burned bright crimson again. "Thank you sir! But I'm only as good as I am because of all your training..." "An artist is only as good his materials," Sosa replied after swallowing the last of his muffin and brushing the crumbs away with his hand. "And you're top-grade marble in the hands of Da Vinci as far as I'm concerned. Your parents are very proud of you, you know." "I hope so," JJ said, looking down, a note of apprehension tingeing her tone. "I rarely get to see them, and I know they miss me. I just want to be better for them, you know? I want to make all the time I've spent away from them worthwhile." "Oh JJ," Sosa said softly, "you've more than met their expectations! That you care so much shows me that you're everything they've ever wanted. Now chin up, today's a happy day! At least it will be once I get my coffee and cookies." "Oh? Did I really do that well today?" She sounded faintly confused. "Of course, but that's not quite what I meant. You see, I've finally made up my mind about which of you will get to join Guardian," he smiled fondly at her. "And you're my pick! While I have students nearing your skill and grace, none of them has your humility and heart, and those that do lack your confidence and willpower. It takes a special kind of person to become a master of the blade without the desire to shed blood. I know you'll use your talents wisely, Jessica Josephine." She pursed her lips. "Boo. You know I hate being called that, Sosa. It's JJ, nothing else!" "Bear with me for a moment, I'm being serious. Guardian is no laughing matter -- it's an important organization dedicated to the protection of all worlds from the greatest threats we have ever known. The fact that you've been chosen is a great honor, but it's also a dangerous one; you're being sent to battle things horrible beyond imagining. I may very well be sending you to your death." JJ's expression sobered and she nodded gravely. "I understand. I want to help people. I want to save lives. I've got a gift, and if I don't use it to the best of my ability then I'm wasting it." "But is that worse than wasting your life? I know your mind's already set, but I want you to be absolutely sure about what you're doing." Sosa laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, his deep, dark green eyes looking into her bright emerald ones. "Sosa," she said with a soft, sad smile, "I'm glad you care, really I am, but if you worry this much over every student you send out then before long you'll have to retire." Sosa smirked. "I suppose you're right. However, there's still the matter of your parents' involvement. They don't understand the extent of your training, nor do they understand its purpose. And there's also the matter of your involvement with Guardian -- this world isn't yet ready to learn of the greater picture, and we can't let anyone know about it until the Master Administrator gives his permission. Including your mother and father, unfortunately for you." "They already know I won't be able to come and see them for a long time," she said softly. "As far as they know, I'm continuing my education abroad." Sosa smirked wryly. "Well, if that eases your conscience at all, it's the truth -- in a manner of speaking." "Not especially," she sighed. "But I have to do what must be done. Simple as that." "Excuse me sir," the waiter said as he returned, steaming paper cup of coffee and plate of cookies on his tray. "I've got your order right here. Is there anything else I can do for you two?" "Yeah," Sosa replied. "Could I get a bag for these cookies? I've got a few things to take care of and I can't stay any longer." After the waiter returned with a bag, the two paid for their orders (along with a handsome tip) and left to make the proper arrangements. "So young JJ still wishes to join Guardian, does she?" Master Zainé reclined in his seat, holding his hands over his chest as he spoke through the monitor to Sosa. "That's good news. I think she'll make a fine partner for Kevin." "Are you sure? From the reports you sent me, the boy's nowhere near as gifted as his father, and has had absolutely no combat training. He'd make a better office manager than a champion of good," Sosa replied, his dark brown skin looking greenish from the light of the monitor in the darkened room. "He will be trained, have no doubts about that," Zainé replied, unfazed. "Besides, that's precisely why we want miss Hope to be with him. He's very meticulous, very cautious, while she's more active and spontaneous. He's logical and cool-headed, while she's more empathetic and eager." "I'd just rather not see JJ get hurt or worse because she has to keep an eye on him," Sosa said, mild irritation touching his words. He paced before the monitor, thumbs hitched in his pockets. "In fact, I don't see why you want them so young, Zainé. Their lives haven't even started yet." "This is the best age to train them, you know that. Old enough to take it seriously and young enough to not be set in their ways. And it's not as if we're throwing them into the fire just yet," Zainé said with a wave of his hand. "They'll be given some light missions to perform during their training. Nothing too dangerous, and certainly nothing to do with the Taint. And even after their initial training it will be some time before they take on Darklings." Sosa shivered as Zainé mentioned the Taint. "The thought of those kids fighting Darklings frightens the hell out of me." "As well it should," Zainé said sternly. "But from what our tests have thus far revealed, they're immune to the Black Taint. JJ from her extensive time in the Pure Lands, and Kevin from his father's heritage as well as his prenatal modifications." "The tests have been wrong in the past," Sosa said with forced casualness. "We underestimated the capacity for darkness in those we've tested," Zainé said. "No test can truly be perfect, but we're as sure as we can possibly be with these two." "I hope you're right, Zainé. I don't know about Arc, but I shudder to think of the horrible things Hope could do were she to become darkened." Sosa paced nervously. "She won't succumb," Zainé assured him. "She's too pure of heart -- there isn't a malicious bone in her body. For what it's worth I regret that such a good person is to be given such a dire purpose, yet I realize that only one as good-hearted as her could do what we need her to do." "The Taint feeds on the darkness of one's soul," replied Sosa as he chewed on his lip. "But it's possible that her work may turn her in time." Zainé let out a deep sigh. "Should that happen... no. I don't even want to speak of it. These children are much too important for us to even consider the possibility of failure." "Children," Sosa repeated with a hollow laugh. "At least you admit that. They may almost be fully grown, but as far as we're concerned they're barely out of diapers." Zainé's posture changed subtly as he sat in his large, cushioned seat, his body language becoming more sympathetic, as did the tone of his voice. "I know it doesn't seem as though I care a lot of the time, old friend, but I'm not unmoved by their sacrifice. Remember I made a similar sacrifice so many years ago, as did you. As did Al-" "Zainé," Sosa interrupted, "don't mention him to me. Not right now. I still haven't forgiven him and right now my patience has worn itself too thin to bear thoughts of him and his crimes. Dig?" "Sosa, you of all people should realize the necessity of his actions, just as you should realize the necessity for us to bring Arc and Hope into the fold. The Taint must be fought, the darkness must be contained, and the Doombringers must be eradicated." Zainé said with growing firmness in his voice, his gray eyes hard. "I know, I know! But I don't have to like it, you little bastard!" Sosa shouted, pointing at the screen where Zainé's image was displayed. Zainé's lips twitched into a small grin. "Even after all this time you still refer to me as a child, eh?" Sosa sighed. "You'll always be some uppity know-it-all kid to me, Naryidh. I'd just hoped you'd have figured out better ways to do things by now." "As did I, Sosa. But even I have my flaws, it seems," Zainé admitted reluctantly before abruptly cutting out. Sosa was left shaking his head before he turned away from the wall-mounted flat-screen monitor, moving over to pour himself a tall glass of wine. "Jessi," Sosa muttered before he took a deep drink, draining the first of what would be many glasses, "I hope you know what you're doing. But more than that, I hope Zainé knows what he's doing."
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Dec 20, 2014 04:52
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Here's the second chapter. It's much shorter than the first, and primarily concerned with introducing the second protagonist JJ. I did a little editing already, but I think foreshadowing I put at the end might have come too early in the story. I try to make every detail relevant, but it's usually much later in the story. For example, the fact that Arc hates grapefruit becomes slightly relevant later, and much, much later in the series it turns into a metaphor -- when Arc meets JJ for the first time, she swipes his grapefruit and eats it, absolving Arc of the "responsibility" it represents. Later on, she does something Arc can't bring himself to do because she felt it had to be done -- she absolves him of a bitter responsibility. I mean, this all sounds better in my head, but I'm learning just how bad I am at realizing my ideas.
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Dec 20, 2014 05:00
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You know Thomas Covenant is the main character in a popular fantasy series called The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, yes?
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Dec 31, 2014 10:20
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I was actually hoping someone would get the reference! I was really into the Chronicles of Thomas Covenant in high school, and even though I grew out of it in later years --- mostly due to my growind discomcort with how women were treated in the novels -- Donaldson's style and hints at religious mysticism still impress me. I also enjoyed how he made Thomas Covenant intensely unlikeable but compelling. Thomas Arc Jr., codenamed the Covenant, was meant to evoke a similar sense of hostility from the reader when he finally makes his appearance within the narrative -- he's a hard man, passionate but outwardly cold and emotionless. The main character of the story is his son Kevin Arc -- a double reference, referencing Kevin Landwaster and, bizarrely enough, the main character from Captain N -- a boy who grew up idolizing his absent father, who worked hard to emulate him, who eventually learns just how flawed his father truly was. I hope it doesn't seem as gauche after I explained it -- I like referencing the works I enjoy, both as a way of connecting with the reader and as a way of subverting expectations. Edit: Forgive the typos -- phonepostin' sucks. Screaming Idiot fucked around with this message at 11:32 on Dec 31, 2014 |
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Dec 31, 2014 11:28
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I've got my document broken up into smaller chunks that I'm eventually going to refine into readable novels, but I'm also going to upload the unedited, unaltered main document to googledocs in case anyone wants to look at it. Just shoot me a message or post in the thread if you're interested.
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Apr 20, 2015 07:18
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