I’ve decided to start writing my book in short snippets on this blog, instead of keeping it all so secret. There’s really no reason for my paranoia other than postponing the enevitable, or making the impossible simply more so. Without further ado, the four story arcs behind my novel, in a tasty preview.


The forgotten Thand ( with Tom and Peter )

You know that feeling when you can remember a place by it’s smell? You’re going through your grandparent’s items and you can remember the old appartment in the city, or you wake up and the first thing you know is your location by its smell?

I’ve never been here before, say the voices in your head. So I must have been here very recently. I must have woke up here? I’m just forgetting my latest memories? Or am I forgetting a long and enduring life, one that I fought to keep within memory? Have I given in, to watch that memory rewritten before my very eyes?

No, focus on right now. RIGHT NOW. Your friend, your lover, he’s here. Now.

He snapped out of his silly thoughts of conspiracy. He hated that he always had them, but it was true. He was forgetting. His memory was damaged, and he tried to recover from the past. At a loss for the present.

And his very first love was someone before he ever wrote any of it down. His very best friend, the one who woke up something within him, was sitting right here on the third door down the med bay hall.

Various medical machines hummed along in the sticky hospital. It was a busy day in the offices, you usually think of a hospital as a place that’d be raining, or at night, but this was one in the afternoon.

They held him back from the doctor. “PLEASE” he screamed, before falling back limp and pale with disbelief into his friends arms. “Please, this can’t be happening.” he said with outrage reddening his grey eyes.

“peter, there’s nothing we can do” his friend consoled him. Tom reached out with his weak hand and grabbed Peter’s. He knew it would break Peter.

The doctor with his mountain-Psi accent tried his best to explain it in another way, he know it hurt the boy, he knew what Elrant did to people, and in some way the boy must come to terms to how his life was going to change. “He’s contracted the virus, son.”

“Everything in your life is about to change.”

Peter looked at the IV pumping chemicals, he couldn’t stop looking and muttering a defiant “No. No. no no no” until he broke into sobs and rested on Tom’s chest.

I shall never again see Implisca ( with Ene Wiaii )

‘Peat Implisca’ read the sign in fancy lettering, worn by seasons at sea. This would be the last time Ene would see those docks, the floating houses, that stagnant place she used to call home, her and her little clan. It was midnight, and she grabbed the helm, thrust the eneraea-vacaea(EV) engine on her little skiff to 3/4 throttle, and left the gypsy houseboats for good.

She secured the boom line (there was little wind, she had to put the skiff under power), and tied the sandy lines together into little bundles. Everything was neat and tiddy. No, ship and shape, abord her vessel.

She went into the cabin again, and rested against the wall of the counter. She was meditating, or attempting to. What mattered wasn’t that she could clear her head, it was that she could spend time with her head, to let the thoughts play out while she was concious.

She could hear the voices in her head, the sound of the waves crashing made it easy.

From her father: “You will NEVER amount to anything, Ene, you are a member of the Wiaii family, this is who we are, what we do. you belong here, and you will never be accepted by any other people.”

From little sam: “Ene, where are you going? you coming to see my boat? I made a boat at the docks, will you come see it Ene, please? pleeeaaaaase?” she laughed to herself, he would always beg while tugging on her leg, her worn worker’s uniform all covered in grease.

She caught herself crying, and something made her change.

“who is that girl? Why does she dirty her clothes with men’s chores? It’s unnatural, unladylike. She must be a beggar. She’ll rob you if you don’t pay attention children. Now come along.”

She hardened her looks, braced her foot under the tab of the console, and engaged her skiff’s stolen semiaea (she stole it from a government warehouse) and rose out of the water.

I guess there’s always the secret projects that you have, the wonderous escapes. Where before you were only a dreamer or a writer of them, you could always surprise them one day, by vanishing forever.


The Battlefield Aeri ( with aelx )

What if the ancient imperials had been right? The people on Eon, the mother planet that begat, from an asteroid crashing into its earlier years, two moons, Thand and “Earth”.

History was aelx’s focus. Eon was the ancient culture of a people who seemed to only have found value in that planet. They had left the other planets untouched. And they had to.

Havon and Havent radiation existed heavily on all the other local systems. Humans (that’s what they were), moved to this place, and though being weak, termed themselves the center of the universe. Earth, the mother planet, and Eon, the older sister to Thand. That’s what the humans always said.

But the humans were a vicious, greedy, and scared people. Their 12th dimensional engineering to mine stars of their resources had backfired.

But maybe the imperials of earth were right. They believed in a king, in a parlament, in an antiquated and untrustworthy system. But somehow less death occured where less rights were given.

You couldn’t fight off the armies of the Republic with hand weapons. A guarentee of owning the original primitive weapons of the time does not grant you rights to the advanced decimations of the current era.

While 12DE (standard industrial designation) could be used to harness energy and items from the cores of stars, it was used by the humans, and the people they colonized, as a weapon. A terrible planetary weapon.

He decided to head out on foot, their gravity scanners wouldn’t pick him up for the next 2 minutes, so he crept up to the drainpipe. Up he went like a cat. Planetary gravitational and magnetic storms were more frequent in this age than they had been in the last one. So long as you moved when the gravity current was storming, you couldn’t be spotted by the Repant’s incesent funding on “border control”.

He had a deeply Thandian accent when he spoke. It was a beautiful culture, undisturbed by time and the world’s thirst for conquest. “The sky really does look better without all the light pollution. I can see the constelation Proteus from here, even.”

Pointing so that his gecko-like creature could see he continued, “Peat legend says their homeland is past proteus’s star, through the nebulae sigma’s gates, the city asylum, the very last standing free society”


The lights across the city began to flicker back on. The gravity sensors would soon be online and could detect the slightest movements through any wall.

“Aelx Faux, you’re talking to a lizard.”

He had just a little bit of time to sit himself in an attic window to overlook the little cottage and the little patch of farmland, the magestic snow covered volcano in the distance past the forest.

“Earth” ( with the professor and Maen Oron )

Morning. Cold. Do I smell fire? hmmm… wait, I’m awake! Maen sat up from his bed under the alcove. “Swimming? is it time to swim?” he thought, though it must certainly be cold, he knew if he could make it to the exit pipes the water would be warmer there.

Shoes. shoes. I need shoes. He trod off underfoot with his black toes against the gravel, it worked so long as the gravel was close together, along the access roads to the plant it seemed very much so.

“No better time than now” he said to himself with his hands cupped on his mouth, he did seem to hold his hands up to his face to mutter very often. almost as if it were a prayer, or to warm himself.

Looking at his tracks, I pause.

I’ve never really been able to find the man with nothing in his pockets, I’ve only been able to use my powers of deduction to trace him, to gain small bits of information about his habbits,

And today he muttered to himself half mad about deciding to take his bath from the exit pipes of the sewage treatment plant.

I can only see him through my dreams, the boy without anything in his pockets, now become a man. Maen Oron, the boy from the camps, the mental prisons they held him within.

You can imagine the horrors that one can inflict by keeping you within a stimulus. Perhaps it’s a torture chamber, perhaps it’s loss of sleep, perhaps lack of information.

An unknown phenomina in rising science (in your time, thousands of years ago), was the idea that a chemical marker was actually more effective in smaller doses, it actually leaves you worse off.

And Maen became insane by the smallest mental tortures, hardly detectable. You can’t prosecute them, you can’t make laws against them, you can hardly justify that they’re wrong in theory.

But they’re there, and they’re wrong.

Uncertainty that burns through your soul, A loss of trust in people who tell you every day that they love you,

but you don’t trust them.

I hoped you’ve enjoyed the context switching for this preview.