Select Page

What a November!

Hal-con was obviously the highlight of my month. I sold out of all the Patchworld Nova copies I brought (paperback & hardcover) and wound up sending home over 100 books in total! I got to hang out with some other amazing authors, Emily Hurricane, Emerald Baynton, and Ellen Sutherland. I even managed to sneak in a quick game of Shadows of the Past by Antihero Games. I died, but had fun doing it! I met so many awesome people and talked until I was hoarse. Oh, and as a side note. The Nova Scotia Writer’s Federation put out a last minute call for submissions to a little chapbook for the event. My excerpt was accepted and, as a reward, I won myself a membership to the NSWF! While not as cool as the Federation of Planets, it’s still pretty awesome. I feel slightly more legitimate.

One of the things I did at the event was to run a little contest where people signed up, filled out forms, and gave me ideas for stories. The winner would get a full story, written on my vintage typewriter, based on their idea. The one-of-a-kind original typed copy would be mailed to them when it was finished. I put all the entries into a pile, shuffled well, and pulled one out. The winner was…

A weird horror story based on the prompt
– Witnessing Everything Be Lost –

We can thank Becca for the creative idea. I can’t wait to dive into that fun concept! I should have it done and in the mail by the end of the year. Congratulations! Also, after reading through them all, I had SO many that made me chuckle, I’ve decided that, while they didn’t win, I’ll turn some of them into index card sized Snippet stories and post them. So, there will be lots of winners all around.

I’m also glad to announce that, after a bit of a delay, the second trade that I wrote for The Horsemen series, by Griot Enterprises and Jiba Molei Anderson, has finally released! Mark of the Cloven #2: Heavy is the Crown is out! The book is so sharp, including three new chapters featuring solo-tales of the Horsemen. Eshu teams up with a Chicago cop on a wild hunt through the spirit world. Oya bites off more than she can chew as she races through a daring rescue. Shango looks to solve problems the only way he knows how, with terrible consequences. All this and a fully illustrated bonus interlude! This book was worth the wait. I’m beyond pleased with the results. Due to slightly longer shipping times getting these direct, I won’t likely have them in time for selling from my table this holiday season. But you can expect them to be part of my regular stock all next year.

This one is, officially, my 10th book. I gotta say, it feels good to be in the double digits! One more shuffled to the “done” pile. So many more to go.

One thing Hal-con did was get me fully prepped for the holiday market season. I’m all stocked up and ready to roll. I’ll be at the Merry Mahone Bay market tomorrow, 10-3 and Bridgewater starts its Sunday Holiday Markets now through the 15th. I’ll be at all of those. There’s a Friday Night Market at the LCLC on December 6th that I’ll be at. And, aside from tomorrow, I’m at my usual spot at the Bridgewater Market on Saturdays until the 21st. That all adds up to 9 more chances to see me before I vanish into my annual Write-bernation. After the 21st, I won’t be doing regular markets until May. Maybe one or two, it they’re tempting enough.

I’ve given this Substack a bit of a makeover. I changed the name and expanded how I’ll be using it. It’s all still free, just divided into different sections so people who don’t want everything don’t get spammed. These new sections are different areas you can subscribe to if you want to hear more from me. I made two new categories; free stories and articles (mostly on writing or my life as an indie author). If you want to see stuff more than once a month, get some free stories or writing tips, you’ll have to go in and add them. Here’s the link to do so. Supposedly this works. I dunno, I’m a creativity expert, not a techie. Adjust Your Section Subscriptions HERE.

Okay, I’m feeling like this is enough of an update. I’m probably forgetting something, but that’s okay. Only so much fits in these anyway, especially with the full Patchworld Nova chapters. Speaking of which…

It’s Patchworld Nova time! Let’s dive into the penultimate chapter before the bit climax! Troop finally makes it to the mysterious Spire at the center of the Patchworld! Will he find answers? More questions? A solution to the terrifying danger that is threatening them all? Well, read on. The answer lies below.

As always, thanks for sticking around to hear what’s going on with my strange writer’s journey! And now, onto the serial fiction!

 

Troop stood at the glass window, hundreds of stories up, and stared out at the Patchworld. It was an astounding view, strange bits of myriad worlds all sewn together, seamed with color. From here above, the false skies weren’t visible, and the illusion acted like a one way mirror. He could gaze down into most of the patches clearly. Some were filled with a soup of cloud, others looked like bowls of water, and some were dead dry rock. Most were brimming with a variety of flora, threads of river, and stony peaks. Almost all of them had a thin tube, going straight up into space, connected to a thin network of lattice; the Drips.

From this vantage, he could see hundreds of worlds. Taking a guess based on the portion that he saw, Troop figured that the Dyson Platter must have held at least a thousand patches. Maybe more.

The earthen, lifeless stain of the Eater destroyed biomes looked like a twisted root, branching out from a central point, spreading over more than sixty habitations. The longest tendril culminated at the feet of the Spire. While it had been terrifying from below, it looked smaller from such a height. Almost manageable. It had barely infected 5% of the patches Troop gazed down on.

But he knew the truth, that it was just getting started. He no longer thought of it as a ‘they’. In reality, they weren’t plural. There was only one. One insatiable Eater that, as long as it kept finding life, would be able to consume the energy required to continue breaking through the force-fields, sending out appendages of bio-nanite fog shaped into mindless minions. It wasn’t going to stop destroying things, one patch at at time, until someone forced it to.

Troop was waiting for the daily meeting to start. He wanted to tell everyone what he’d learned about the enemy and the insight he’d been granted by the Representative. If the aliens that made up the Council knew the truth, that the only patch the Eater could be harmed in was their original home, then maybe they could do something about it. Certainly an attack on one patch would be an easier goal than trying to exterminate the entire swath of infection.

He worried if Council would even listen to him, a single human. He wished Enler were going to help him, but knew he wouldn’t. While the others were seated around the room, passing the time in a variety of ways, Enler was alone in his tiny sleeping quarters.

Things had changed since Troop had arrived at the Spire.

Once on the other side of the white wall, the trio had found themselves in a place of green grass, warm breezes, and a wide starry sky. The conditions had been a welcome relief. It only took a moment for Troop to realize that there was no projected illusion above them. No false moons or sun. The Spire itself replaced the sun, providing light to the ground below. Behind the shining tower, the span of the universe arched overhead. There was something about having a real view of the heavens that Troop felt in his core. Something honest and real. Whoever these people were, they didn’t live inside an simulation, like their captives did. This vessel was their truth, no need for fancy veneers. He still had no idea who they were, or why they’d taken them, but he enjoyed the feeling the place provided.

Circling, they found the trampled terminus of the caravan. It led from from a shattered force-field of jade, several hills back. The pristine grass around the Spire had been stomped flat, and a clumpy dirt path had naturally formed, ground into existence by thousands of fleeing feet, tentacles, and stalks. The three followed it to the entrance of the Spire.

A great sort of shantytown had been constructed near the building’s base. Aliens of every shape and sort were gathered in a ramshackle collection of housing. Much of it appeared to be constructed from metal sheets and scraps taken from different places they’d passed through on their journey. These diverse components were stretched over with plastic, fabric, plant meshes, and dirt. Some stacked up while others dug down. It was a lumpy, disorganized mess, with no obvious streets or pathways.

There was a gap, between this refugee-town and a row of tall, slender stalls. It looked, in a lot of ways, like a line of highway toll-booths: each were a couple meters wide and twice as tall. Many of these had obvious weapons aimed at the collection of huts and tents. Guns, radar dishes, and a variety of unrecognizable – but threatening – devices kept the refugees away from the doors of the Spire.

There was a break in this wall of armaments, and a long procession of creatures forming a line toward the obvious checkpoint. There, several of the booths were organizing the stream of refugees through a screening and registration process. Troop and the others got in line, just like everyone else.

It took Troop a while, but as he watched, he realized that the booths were not, in fact, small buildings. They were actual beings. Tall and boxy, the structures would shift and move, changing position. Windows and hatches would open, to pass small items out and use scanning devices on applicants. These beings, whoever they were, were acting as gatekeepers to the Spire. As Troop watched, they handled the line efficiently, either rejecting people and directing them back to the shanty-town, or allowing them entry. The admittance rate was about half-and-half.

On more than one occasion, a denied applicant would get angry at the result. Such reactions were dealt with swiftly. As a unified group, the administration booths would open from the top, blossoming into an array of weapons, like their counterparts that made up the wall.

It was a sufficient deterrent. The disgruntled would slink away without a fight. The ground nearby was black and stained with blast burns. Troop could tell that not everyone had given up on entry so easily. There were no bodies, but their fates were clear enough.

Several hours of slogging in line, and they approached their booth.

To everyone’s surprise, they were able to understand the strange clicking sounds coming from the relay speaker. The being inside introduced themselves as one of The Boxers and said that they’d be helping them today.

The creature, only a low outline through the frosted glass window, explained that there was room for the willing, and the Spire was capable of providing all manner of food, medical attention, and more. After all, this place was the source of every supply tube and Drip on the entire Platter. There was more than enough to meet everyone’s needs.

But, the attendant explained that entry came with conditions. Not everyone was allowed in.

These Boxers had formed a council, comprised of all the different beings who’d made it into the Spire so far. They’d been the first to arrive, and they had been organizing things ever since. The shed-like aliens had lived in a patch adjacent to the Spire for centuries.

Long before the people controlling the Dyson Platter actually left, the Boxers had possessed the means of passing through the protective fields. They had only been holding off on account of the message they’d all received through their Obelisks: don’t cross the barriers.

When their ‘hosts’ had departed, and the ship changed course, they’d been quick to act. The Boxers cut through to the Spire immediately. They’d been doing all they could to study the facility for decades, even with the opaque barrier. They knew a great many things about it, even before entering.

Not long after their arrival, other species had begun showing up as well, concerned about the dysfunctional Drips. Even before the Eater had started its attack, they’d come, concerned with the changes. The Boxers claimed the leadership role of the Dyson Platter for themselves, right from the start.

They had some rules.

First and foremost, no weapons. Anything that could be used to cause harm, would be confiscated and only returned upon departure. There were no exceptions. Some species, deemed “living weapons”, were automatically declined, based on the physical capabilities of their bodies. Fortunately, neither the humans of the Myo-rak qualified as such. They were a bedraggled, weaponless bunch. If they wanted to enter, the only thing they’d need to surrender was Troop’s Knife.

He didn’t like the thought of that.

But, for all the importance it had held and everything it represented, it held little use, now that they’d arrived. The Boxers assured him, should he wish to leave, they’d return it.

Troop waited to hear the rest of the terms before making his decision.

The Boxer explained that a single being, called Eye Song, was what allowed them all to communicate and understand each other. The being was capable of psychically connecting everyone, allowing for a form of subconscious translation between all different types of people. Everyone spoke as they normally would, and the listeners would be able to understand any type of speech through a subconscious telepathic conveyance.

Eye Song refused to mingle with the unwilling though. It wouldn’t connect with those who didn’t consent to its mental tethering. Allowing it mental access, so everyone could talk to one another, was another prerequisites for admittance.

The newly formed Spire Council, led by the Boxers, had made the decision to exclude anyone they couldn’t easily communicate with. The rationale was that things were too dire, with their missing captors and the threat of invasion, to be struggling with basic dialogue. The reasoning was that anyone who refused this essential cooperative tool was unlikely to be useful in solving the problems they faced. The reasons for non-compliance didn’t matter. The unwilling were always turned away.

They also had conditions on where people were allowed to go within the Spire. Much of it was still unexplored, and a great deal of what they had ventured through remained a mystery in function. To prevent accidents, and for the safety of everyone, the majority of the building was sealed, locked, and under guard.

But it wasn’t all an enigma to them. In their time within, the new occupants had figured out some of how the Spire worked. They’d sorted a means of communicating with specific patches through use of the Obelisks. Messages required permission and scheduling to access, and the waiting queue was significant, but it was possible.

Other sections, they’d determined their function, but not how to use them yet. They knew the controls for the vast machinery that had abducted everyone were on the underside of the Dyson Platter, but had forbidden all entry. Guidance for the ship itself, near the top of the Spire, had been easy to find, but it was still a puzzle how it worked. While they were getting closer to understanding how to change the speed and heading, they had not risked any course alterations.

The food system for the Drip was, for some bizarre reason, tied into the force-field systems, and despite the whole Patchworld waiting for sustenance. The solution to that was nowhere close to being solved. They’d had more luck with the energy network though and were hoping to run some tests to restore power soon.

These known systems were fiercely guarded, and only people who were on the research teams were allowed into them. All applicants for entry to the Spire had to agree, before that they were allowed in, to accepting immediate and lethal force as a response to any unsanctioned attempts at entry to any restricted sector. There was no judicial system.

This newly elected body met daily to discuss their numerous problems. Each species was allowed a handful of representatives to participate. As Troop and the others went through intake, they were informed that he, along with Callie, were the first humans to arrive. As such, they were allowed to attend gatherings and represent their patch in discussions. The same went for Hyus, as the first Myo-rak. Callie, disclosing her dual species status, had to pick one. She chose to represent the Iza within her. Troop was surprised when he heard them speak for themselves, communicating directly with the Boxer via the mental connection Eye Song provided.

Their three new species were added to the Council roster. They were informed that votes were weighed based on seniority, technology level, and population at the Spire. It was clear, their voice would be only a tiny fraction, and the majority of the power was tilted in favor of the Boxers. The whole system was more than a little rigged, but Troop didn’t care. Getting in and possibly finding the others was the most important thing.

Even more than keeping the Knife he’d created with Enler and Callie.

After seeing the detail and efficiency that these controlling, unseen Boxers were registering them with, Troop had some questions of his own. He asked if they’d taken in an Ancervin named Enler, or a Celevere named Minala. He didn’t know Arany’s real name, or species, to ask after them.

The Boxer took their time, not in any rush to do their registration quickly, and eventually got them an answer.

Yes, they had all made it in safely after agreeing to the terms of entry. If Troop wanted, they could be housed in the same area.

They agreed to all the terms.

Troop had a significant tinge of hesitation as he passed the Knife over. It had taken them so far. Opened so many doors. But this world had been the last one. If the solution wasn’t here, he wasn’t going to find it anywhere else. As much as he didn’t want to part with it, he knew it was a key he’d already turned. Holding onto it would only serve to bar them entry now. He let it go and went to see his friends.

Troop had his second reunion in two days.

This one didn’t go nearly as well as the first.

While most of the others were glad to see them, Enler had turned and walked away at the sight of Troop. It was Minala who, after a long embrace, told him the news.

*The Ancervin world. Enler’s home. It has passed on. Their energy was consumed by the Hunger,* she’d sent. *Since you left, he’s been distant. Lost. When he learned the news of his people, he was alone, swallowed by his grief.*

Enler hadn’t spoken to him since he’d returned, refusing to see him.

Troop stared down at the dead patch that was the Ancervin home, feeling helpless. The memories of the place, however brief, were seared into his mind. It was the first alien world he’d visited. The surreal beauty of the windswept landscape, washed in grass that never stopped swaying, trees that never ceased their dancing, was gone. Much of it had been so fierce and beautiful, a tenacious testament to survival, expressed in the gale-resistant life. To think of it now, empty, drained of every living thing and reduced to something like the barren world of boulders he’d just gone through, was terrible.

His heart ached at the thought of it. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Enler was feeling. All he wanted to do was talk to him, but he didn’t know what to do, or what to say. He wasn’t even certain about why Enler was so mad at him for it. He wasn’t responsible for the Eater’s actions.

A part of him wanted to respect Enler’s distance, and give him the time to deal with the loss. But time was short. The same threat that had destroyed his friend’s land, now threatened his own world. The Eaters were there, at the walls of Nova Scotia, slowly chewing through the barrier. He needed his friend to join him, and add his voice to the Council meeting.

Whatever Enler’s feelings were, Troop needed to talk to him.

He entered his room without knocking and found Enler doing the same he’d been, staring down at his lost home. He frowned at the intrusion.

Enler. I don’t know why you’re so mad at me, but we need to talk,” he said.

The Ancervin cut him off with a wave of his arms. When he spoke, he didn’t bother to sign slowly, like he usually did, trusting that the psychic translation of Eye Song would be sufficient. He waved his hands in rushed movements, clicking and coughing. Troop couldn’t follow the gestures, but he heard the words in his mind.

“Together, from your birth, Newborn, we share this walk. Share in future plan, share in heart talk, share in joy and danger. Together, across bodies. There is respect. Respect you splinter.”

Enler’s antlers angled back in a way that Troop had never seen before, bending in their sockets further than he thought possible. They tilted so far that his horns scraped his back. It looked wrong and painful.

“In solitude I cross the horizon we sought together. My people die while I watch. Bond broken. Abandoned.” He pointed at Troop in a too human gesture.

“You are the broken shards.”

Troop opened his mouth to explain, but Enler didn’t wait to hear it. He shouldered past and into the hallway. Troop was about to follow him, when Minala took his hand.

*Peace, Troop,* she thought. *Leave room for peace.*

Troop watched his friend march around a corner, antlers angled in anger.

It was a shock, realizing why Enler was upset.

They’d always been close, but bonded? It wasn’t how he’d thought of it. They were as close as brothers, sure, but Troop always felt their differences. A slight distance.

He shared his thoughts with Enler all the time, almost without thinking. It had always been that way. Even when his mother had dragged him around the province on her study of the barriers, they’d taken time for Troop to visit Enler. When he was child, they couldn’t understand each other, but Troop had always liked seeing him. He’d build little castles and forts out of sticks and stones on his side of the barrier, jabbering and talking away. Enler would do the same on his side, moving items around with exaggerated gestures. Troop sometimes wondered how much of that had helped him learn their symbol-based language system.

They’d grown even closer, after the disaster of his first attempt to breach the barrier. When Troop had gotten out of jail, he’d moved close, to be with his only lifetime friend. Enler had always empathized deeply with his desire to escape. He was one of the few people Troop knew who was just as driven as he was to find answers in this place. To get out. Even more than Callie had been.

He never thought of Enler as an alien. He was family.

As he stood there, separated from that relationship for the first time in his life, he realized that was probably part of the problem. Enler wasn’t a brother. He wasn’t human. The bond they’d created must have meant something very different to Enler than it did to Troop. Something deeper.

Realizing this, he knew Enler was right to be mad. Troop should never have left without talking to him first. For all Enler had known, Troop could have been lost, hurt, or any number of awful fates.

He didn’t have a good excuse for why he hadn’t told him, other than he knew his friend would have wanted to come along with him. One of them had to make it to the Spire. At least, that’s how he’d rationalized it. He’d convinced himself that Enler wouldn’t understand, and he’d want to join Troop. Insist on it.

But, he knew now, he’d been wrong. His friend would have gone with him, but he’d also have let him go. It would have filled the Ancervin with worry, but he’d have allowed Troop walk his own path. Enler always had. He would have carried on to the Spire without him, if only Troop had asked. If he’d been open, and had shared his plans.

But he hadn’t. Troop hadn’t trusted Enler to make the choice. He’d left him alone, just in time to watch the dark fog of the Eater scour his world. To watch his people die. All by himself.

Troop didn’t know how to fix it.

A chime sounded, indicting the summons to the daily meeting.

Troop squeezed Minala’s hand. “Can you look after him, for me?”

She nodded. *I will share the feelings my memories of tranquility and family produce. Perhaps that will help ease his sorrow.*

Thanks, Min.”

He let her go and went to join the others, leaving his dark thoughts behind.

Human, Iza, and Myo-rak, together. It would have to be enough. They’d prepared what they were going to say. To tell the Council that it was only the heart of the Eater that mattered. To get them to focus their attack plans on that single patch.

Arany, who turned out to be a species called the Viscuellei, came along as their rep, but had no intention of talking. It turned out that they preferred action to dialogue. Even with Eye Song’s ability to translate their speech, Arany still communicated primarily through amusing pictures in their glass dome.

The meeting chamber was not designed for the multitude of variety it contained. There were no organized rows of seating or tables to fit the different species. Hundreds of aliens, of every shape and size, filled the room. The area reminded Troop of a small stadium, open with a high ceiling, but no bleachers. Odd looking podiums had been set up at different heights all over the room and the various beings clustered around them, based on their preferences. The tops of these stations were clustered with colored crystals.

A reptilian quadruped, lumpy with fungal tumors, led them to an unclaimed spot and explained how it worked in a series of hisses.

“Blue for yes, red for no, on votes. Abstain is yellow. Purple to request to speak. If green lights up when you do, you’re allowed. Hold it and all will hear you. Orange is to express displeasure. Pink, approval.”

Even through Eye Song’s translation, they could hear the boredom in the creature’s voice, tired of repeating the instructions for everyone. It slunk away, unwilling to answer any questions they might have had.

They’d barely begun to orient themselves, when a beam of light from above, shone down on one of the podiums, indicating the start of the meeting. It was focused on a Boxer, near the center of the room, and two others. The species next to them – one covered with leaf-like hair and the other a sort of long-legged toad thing with a chrome helmet – held up their arms, requesting silence.

This trio, the top three council representatives, were positioned in front of a huge glass cylinder the size of a water tower. This contained a swirling tornado of red and purple mist. Hundreds of bright eyeballs, bigger than melons, spun within the washing machine churn. In the heart of this colorful spiral, Troop could vaguely make out a bone column, with a knob of soft tissue at the top, like a sort of spinal palm tree.

Nobody had to tell him that this being was Eye Song, the telepathic entity that was facilitating all their mental communication.

“Friends,” said the Boxer. “We gather on a momentous day, and a dark day. Two things rise to the fore of our consideration. Developments for us to reflect upon. One favorable. One frightful.” A drawer opened in its side and a mechanical arm with a vice hand pointed to the toad-like being.

Its throat swelled up as it spoke. “The scourge of the Black Fog’s army remains intent on our border. Our efforts to distract it, by opening up a hole in an adjacent patch, and attacking it, have failed to lure it away from its assault on the wall protecting the Spire. While it would appear we have done significant harm to the dark fog, it replenishes, remains on task, and refuses to divert, despite our opening an alternate target.”

This announcement drew gasps and chirps, braying and barking, from the audience. The light in the room shifted to orange as everyone activated their crystals for disapproval. A panel slid up in the Boxer’s side, and a speaker emerged, blaring out a series of sharp, high-pitched blasts. The room quieted and the toad continued.

“Today, we’ll vote on ceasing this flanking attack. Vote yes, if you wish us to re-seal the adjacent force-field, abandon the diversion attempt, and re-deploy our forces here defensively, for the imminent breach. Vote no, if you wish for us to continue our distraction efforts, keep the troops on mission, and persist in our lateral damage to the dark fog.”

The Boxer’s windows lit up. “Vote now.”

The light in the chamber shifted to blue, with only a few points of red. Troop, Callie, and Hyus, all touched the crystal, adding their own blue glow to the decision. They’d all seen what a breach was like. If the Eater wasn’t taking the bait, and surging into an alternative patch, they’d need everyone they had to defend the Spire.

The toad representative bowed low, nose almost touching the ground despite their stilt-long legs. “Your will is noted. I will issue the redeployment orders,” he said.

The Boxer retracted the vice arm into itself. As the panel closed, another opened on the opposite side and it emerged again, pointing to the leafy humanoid.

With a soft rustle, it spoke. “The science department has an update on our emergency resolution to overload the energy umbilicals in the scourge infected worlds. We have solved the issue of line bolstering, and can say with confidence, that we are capable, and ready, to purge any patch we want with a controlled burn. The estimated output for this mass incineration would consume 13.4% of the Platter’s normal power generation.”

Instantly, the room filled with a soft pink light. Troop frowned. What were they talking about? Energy overload? Burning patches?

He leaned away from his podium and waved his hand at the nearest alien; a hairless teapot shaped being with a long neck and squinted eyes. “Excuse me, we’ve just arrived. What is this resolution?”

The being seemed excited by the prospect, happily answering while waving their stubby arms. “The science division has learned how to send energy bursts along the Drips. Massive energy. Enough to kill anything in the patch. They plan on using it to destroy the infected areas.”

This answer didn’t relieve Troop’s unease. The Council had the power to simply kill an entire patch whenever they wanted? While it may have seemed like a good solution to use on the Eater, it had horrible implications otherwise.

The leafy being continued. “The vote now is to determine the extent of the cauterization. Vote yes to burn fully consumed patches and any patch that could be compromised within the next 18 hours.”

Troop frowned. “Wait, you mean to burn patches that don’t have the Eater in them?”

Squinty nodded. “Yes, but only the ones we project could become infected while the blast is prepared. Destroying them is preventative, to ensure we do not miss any of the scourge.”

Troop’s blood ran cold, realizing what they meant.

At the center podium, the leafy guy, set the terms of the Council’s choice. “A yes vote will destroy a small number of patches. Patches that may, or may not, not be breached at the time of activation. The Spire patch will be excluded, of course. Alternatively, vote no to destroy already breached patches only, and leaving open the possibility of a second burn, in the event that some adjacent are are infected between now and the first incineration.”

Hyus’ biggest eye went wide at the thought of killing whole patches just to be sure of an outcome. His pacifist ideology was horrified by the suggestion. His hand touched the red crystal before the vote even began.

The spotlight shifted off the main stage as, across the room, someone broadcast a question. “May we see the patches affected by this decision? To assist in making the choice?”

A circular knob on the Boxer twisted open like a camera lens, and a holographic projection beamed out into the room. It was a map of the affected area. The zones that the Eater had consumed were marked with a flame symbol. On the periphery, there were eight patches, blinking between red and blue. The ones being voted on.

Troop’s fear was confirmed and Callie gasped.

Nova Scotia flickered there, up in the projection, its fate in the hands of a roomful of scared aliens. On its border, the Eater clawed at their world, breaking in from the fallen Ancervin patch.

Troop’s hand slapped the purple crystal, frantically requesting the ability to speak. The Boxer responded.

“While your status in the Council is new, and your population low, since your world is one of those affected by this decision, we will allow you a moment to address the body,” it said.

A green spotlight descended onto Troop. Holding the broadcast crystal, he spoke as clearly as possible.

“This plan, to incinerate the patches, will not succeed. What you call the Black Fog isn’t actually an army. It’s an extension. Remotely manipulated tools sent out by a single being. This single creature, our enemy, resides in its original habitation and has never left that spot. Their patch has no Drip and cannot be destroyed by the means you propose. What you suggest, will kill millions and accomplish nothing!”

The room lit up with orange lights of disapproval, with a smattering of pink in the mix.

The Boxer responded with a question. “How is it you came to this conclusion?”

“I met a computer intelligence in a patch with no organics. It studied the bio-nanties that make up the Fog and shared its findings with me. I’ve also been inside it, and have seen the entities up close, to confirm it. Killing the fog will accomplish nothing. The heart of it is back in its home patch. It will just spread again. You have to destroy it there! That’s the only patch that matters!”

The glow of orange increased, as the crowd disagreed with Troop’s claims. From all around him, even without the benefit of broadcasting, he heard shouts and cries.

“Evidence! Where’s the proof? He’s just trying to save his home! Lies!”

Again, the Boxer’s speaker let out a series of squeals, quieting the audience. The green spotlight on Troop vanished.

“The vote on incineration has already been cast. It will happen, regardless of this new information. If, in fact, your words are true, we will be able to confirm it, after the fact. For now, we vote only on which patches are to be affected by the purge. Your information has been noted and will be considered.”

The leafy creature raised their arms, indicating it was time to vote.

This time, the wave of blue and red were split. As the lights flicked on, Troop thought for a moment that the red no votes would win, but his hope was short lived.

Light by light, it became clear by the azure tint of the room, that the yes vote had won.

Eighteen hours.

It was all the time they had before his home was turned to ashes.

________________________________

When they’d arrived at the Spire, Troop and Callie had put in a request to use the communication system to send a message to Nova Scotia. The queue was long and they’d been told it would be weeks before they were allowed access.

In light of the vote going the way it had, Troop’s request had been fast-tracked. It was surprising, considering what the Council was planning. An empty gesture, for sure, but one he appreciated. Not everyone had voted yes. Perhaps, someone who’ agreed with him was allowing a call in the hope he could warn his people.

He’d been escorted straight from the meeting to the broadcast hub. Several reed-thin aliens with white dandelion heads and fragile two-fingered hands, calibrated the machine for him and explained how it worked.

The first portion was a slender crystal, shaped like a miniature version of the Citadel Hill Obelisk. It would pick up his voice and broadcast it as text, altering the message displayed on the surface. The second machine was an odd device made of brass rings and glass tubes. It was a ramshackle mix of parts and had obviously been an addition to the room. It utilized a series of long range sensors to pick up any sound and images in the immediate vicinity of the Obelisk and project them onto a curved lens.

Sitting at the console, Troop wasn’t sure what to say. How to tell them, what was coming. He started with the basics.

“Hello. This is Troop Daniels. I’m contacting you from the Spire. If you approach and speak, I’ll be able to hear you and respond with words on the Obelisk. We can talk.”

The strange runes, symbols that had been on the surface of the Obelisk for his entire life, the ones that had changed so much for him, melted away, replaced with his own. The large English letters looked so strange, there on the monument. He waited a few moments, to see if anyone came into view. When they didn’t, he continued.

“I finally made it here, with Callie. I’m sorry it’s taken so long. We’re the only ones who survived. It’s been a difficult trip. We’ve learned a lot.”

Again, Troop paused as the words appeared. It was unusual, that there wasn’t anyone around the Obelisk. The old hilltop fort had staff and it was a common destination for schools and people visiting Halifax. It was never really busy, but there were always a few people milling about. He wondered where everyone was.

If nobody showed up to see it, his message would do them no good.

“I don’t know if you’re getting this, but I have some important things to tell you. I know, when I left, there were problems. But, I’m hoping you resolved them, managed to work together, and followed the instructions Enler and I left you to make another Knife. Because, you need it. You need it now.”

Still, there was nothing. No one. Maybe they’d already done it? Was it possible an evacuation had already happened? He hoped it had. That would explain why the place was deserted. He wondered if there was a way to find out. Could the device that was monitoring the Obelisk be moved, to look around? To see if there were any people left in Halifax? Before he was able to ask, a lone figure appeared on the screen.

His mother.

“My Trooper! You made it! I knew you would,” she said.

Troop flinched at the sight of her. At the sound of the endearment he hated so much. He hadn’t had time to think about it, but in the back of his mind, he’d known that whoever he spoke with would have probably run off to fetch his mother. Her arrival had been inevitable.

He just didn’t think she’d be there first.

He took a deep breath and spoke, grateful that the words on the Obelisk didn’t convey the shaking in his voice. “Mom, you all have to evacuate. As soon as you can. Did you manage to patch things up with the Abidance? Fix the dam and make another Knife?”

She looked at him apologetically before shaking her head, no. “We did. Well, your sister did. Celestia managed to broker peace, and even lead a team that managed to create another Knife. But it’s gone now. We lost it in the Ancervin evacuation.”

Troop’s eyes went wide. “Ancervin evacution?”

His mother nodded. “We were able to re-home around sixty percent of them, Troop. Your friends, they’re here, in Nova Scotia. Even though we can barely feed ourselves. It’s been a huge burden. There’s been no time to sort it out, and the Outbreak chose our wall next. It’s nice to see you, really, but there’s no time left. They’ll make it through soon now. Everyone with any sense is gone. Run as far away from here as possible, up at Hawksend Causeway, ready to make a stand.”

There were times, when just the sound of his mother’s voice was enough to cause his brain to glitch. To react in sudden waves of involuntary emotion that were so overwhelming it took moments to process what she’d just said. Usually, this was due to the passive aggressive barbs she laced their interactions with. Sometimes, it was her tendency to barrage people with succinct information.

Today, it was both.

He’d known the Eater was there. That wasn’t news. But the fact that so many of Enler’s people had survived, and were now safe in the province, was amazing. His mind only had the briefest moment of joy before realizing just how horrible it was.

Without a Knife, or any other means out of the patch, they would all be dead in less than a day. Even if, by some miracle, Troop was able to call another vote and stop the Drip incineration, there wasn’t enough time to protect them from the Eater.

His hands began to shake. He clutched them together, trying to stop it, but the tremble moved up his chest, into his chin. He put his knuckles to his mouth and tried to hold it together. Tried not to have a breakdown in front of the weird skinny dandelion guys. His voice was a ghost of a whisper.

“I’m sorry.”

The words appeared on the Obelisk.

His mother looked at them and frowned. “Sorry? What’re you sorry for? Oh Troop, you idiot.”

There were several benches, not too far off, for people to sit and view the Obelisk. She moved over to one and sat. Her image was a bit smaller on the lens. Her voice more quiet. But he could hear her.

“All you’ve ever wanted was to be free. There’s nothing wrong with that. But, nobody let you. I never let you, that’s for sure. Tried shaping you into my image, and then I punished you when you refused. No. I never let you go until I was forced to. Until it was too late. I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I should have ignored that bullshit message and let you keep bangin’ away at the wall. Whoever’s running the show left anyway, and none of those people would have gotten hurt if you hadn’t been working in secret. You’d have cracked that nut sooner. Maybe things would be different.”

Troop wiped his face and took a deep breath. The words were good. He was glad for them. But this wasn’t how his mother talked. So open. Even with death scratching at their door, years of experience told him there was more to it.

“Why are you there alone, Mom? Why aren’t you at the Causeway?”

She shrugged. “I’m monitoring the wall from here. Getting what data a can.”

He knew enough to read the lie. “Mom, why aren’t you with Celestia? With Grandpa, or Dean?”

Her lips flattened as she scowled. He could see her weighing it; to commit to the lie or give in. The end of things pushed it the direction he wouldn’t have guessed.

“I… I messed it up. With Celestia. Worse than with you. I had people shooting each other for a while. People dying. Dean left me. Even Paul stopped talking to me. I lost my position and got myself put on house arrest. I’ve been watching everything from my window for months. When they all left, I wasn’t invited to the party.”

She took a deep breath and got back to her feet. “At least now I’ve got the place to myself,” she joked.

He hated her for so many reasons, but Troop couldn’t help but feel for the woman, discarded as she was, alone at the end of things.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

She laughed at the repeated words on the Obelisk.

“This again? For what? You’re not the one rampaging across the Platter, killing everyone. You didn’t trap us here. You didn’t scoop us up from the face of the Earth and stick us onto this mish-mash thing, did you?” She swung her arm as she spoke, like a digger, lifting something and shoving it somewhere else. She snorted in derision as she plopped the imaginary province down.

The dismissive noise. The expressive gesture. The exact sliding of her arm. Troop was certain that it was all absolutely unintentional, but she’d just done it anyway.

His mother had ‘spoken’ a word in Ancervin.

Lift.

Transport.

To raise from the ground and move.

A spark of an idea flickered in his mind. Could they? There was so little time. But, it had to mean something, didn’t it? That word, right now, appearing to him in the way it did.

He had to try. If it were even remotely possible, he’d need all of his friend’s help. Every one of them.

“Mom, hang in there. I have an idea,” he said.

She smiled up at the words on the Obelisk. “Of course you do, my little Trooper.”

But Troop didn’t hear her. He was already off and running.

All my books, social media, and other fun stuff all in one handy link at:https://linktr.ee/judemire Sign up for my monthly mailer! https://judemire.substack.com/

I’ve been adding to my online shop lately. If you want a Story Card or Signed Book in the mail, you can find them here:https://ko-fi.com/judemire/shop Some other ways you can help with putting strange stories into the world and supporting my writing…

1. Buy my books. For yourself or as gifts for the unsuspecting. It’s all on Amazon.

2. Rate and review my books on Amazon or Goodreads. This one is HUGE and wildly appreciated.

3. If you’re enjoying Patchworld Nova, send it off to someone else you think would like it as well.