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Goodbye 2024!

It’s been a whirlwind of a year and I feel like I haven’t stopped racing and writing since last holiday season ramped up in 2023! I started out with a bang and wrote a book and a half over my write-bernation. My first TWO full-length novels released this year; The Mud Fisher’s Catch came out in May and Patchworld Nova came out in September. Both of them have already crossed the “over 100 sold” mark that 90% of indie published books never reach, so that’s very, very exciting, considering neither is even a year old yet. I’ve known for some time that novels are the way to go, and this is definitive proof.

I was all over the place this year, tossing books at anyone who’d read them. I was vending, somewhere or another, for 40 weekends in 2024! Plus, some other random days here and there. I did my annual trip to Y-con, a bunch of CollectorCons, Merry Mahone, and a bunch of Bridgewater Farmer’s Market and Alderny Landing Artisan Markets. The big additions were Hal-con, Capercon, and the BernArt Maze Night Markets. I hit all but one of the DartSpeak open mics. I met so many amazing people this year, I can’t even keep track. A dream come true. I love getting out and talking to people, considering how much time I spend alone in my writing crypt.

Speaking of writing, I am already 40k into the next novel, so I’m lined up almost exactly like I was for last year’s write-bernation.  Shunt, my dystopian horror novel, will release sometime in May. After that, I’m setting my sights on a trio of shorter novels. The hope is to have the whole trilogy written in 2025, and, with a bit of luck, at least the first two launched the same year. The Arachnid Apocalypse is on its way! Outlines are ready to go for Sword of the Spider Lands, Sting of the Spider Lands, and Son of the Spider Lands! It is, pretty much, what it sounds. World over-run by intelligent spiders and humanity fighting for survival. It’s meant to be pulpy fun. I’m shooting for a combo of Action Adventure and Horror, but leaning more toward Action Adventure.

January will wrap up the final chapter of Patchworld Nova and end my current serial. But don’t fret! I’ll be kicking off another, somewhat shorter, serial novel in the spring. Navigator Gods follows the distant Dell-Singh starship on their century long journey. While the crew is frozen, they live virtual lives, training for colonizing a new world. Back on Earth, navigators control the ship, guiding them to their destination. But, when passengers start mysteriously dying in their cryobeds, the mission’s fate is threatened. Two people, one a thousand light-years away and the other trapped in a simulated reality, must work together to solve the murders before it’s too late. I’m excited for that to start. I’ll keep you posted on exact dates.

In a bit of housekeeping, I’d like everyone to know that I’m expanding this Substack mailer. Jamming everything into one email a month has been difficult. It make sorting and categorizing things difficult. As much as I’m not a huge fan of sending out a ton of emails, there appear to be a fair number of people who want to hear from me more often, get stories, or read articles on my writing process.

Starting in January 2025, I’ll be posting more than once a month. If this annoys anyone, apologies. I won’t have my feelings hurt if you unsubscribe. I get it. My inbox is jammed up too. But with Facebook locking me out, and considering the random whims of social media, connecting direct is the smart choice. The industry consensus is to cut the social media cord, focus on mailings, and stay connected to people in a way you can manage. It’s something I’ve been looking at for months, and it’s not advice I’m going to ignore. So, for better or worse, you can expect to hear from me more often. Not awful like, every day or anything, but maybe 4-8 times a month. We’ll see how it goes. Nothing set in stone. I may ditch the idea, or make separate mailers. Time will tell.

But now it’s time for the finale of Patchworld Nova! Can Troop and the others stop their patch from being purged? Will they be able to halt the terrible hunger of the Eater? How does this wild trip end? Find out, right here, right now. Oh, and, fyi, this is super reduced in email. The best way to read it is online on the Substack site or on my website.

Hyus was waiting outside the doors to their quarters when Troop arrived.

He was positioned in such a way as to deny entry, and he’d clearly been waiting to talk to Troop once he got back from his call. Troop caught his breath, speaking through gasps.

“Hyus, we’ve got to get the others. I have news and…”

The big alien held up his hand, cutting him off. “Stop. Troop, stop.”

Troop flinched, but did as he asked. Hunching down, the huge armadillo man whispered in his best English.

“Whatever your plan, you must not speak it. Not out loud. Try not to even think it. The Eye Song. It translates, but is that all it does?”

He squinted his two side eyes with a conspiratorial glint.

Troop realized he was right. Everything they said went through the strange alien maelstrom, every mind in the spire was connected and passing through the being. It was entirely possible that the moment he spoke his intentions, the Boxers would arrive to exile them. As soon as he told his idea to everyone, the plan would begin.

“But, I have to explain it! We can’t do this if I don’t,” he said.

Hyus shook his head. “No. They have faith in you, Troop. You need only ask for trust. They will follow you without knowing the outcome. Tell them only what you need, as it is required.”

Troop recognized the omission in his words. “Them? You’re not coming?”

Hyus’ shoulders slumped, and he extended a thick finger to touch Troop in the chest. “I don’t know what you intend, but I am certain that whatever it is, it cannot work under the eyes of the Boxer’s warden. I will help you in my own way and go visit the Eye Song.”

The big Myo-rak’s mastery of language was comprehensive enough that Troop recognized the dark implication added to the word visit. If Hyus could do something to disrupt the psychic communication that Eye Song provided, while it would be chaos to everyone else, it could be an enormous help to Troop’s plan. With that single act, the whole Spire could be turned into a modern day Tower of Babel.

But there was no way he could do it. Even with the formidable warrior prowess of his people, honed from centuries of war games, he was just one person, weaponless.

“You can’t do this alone, Hyus. You’re unarmed,” protested Troop.

The big guy smiled wide. “I am a Scorekeeper, Troop Daniels. I am never unarmed. Good luck and may your game continue until victory is earned.”

He straightened up, patted Troop on the shoulder. Leaving him, the peaceful warrior headed down the hall Troop had just run up.

“You too, Hyus. Thank you for this.”

He didn’t wait to watch him go and went in to tell the others what news he was able.



Troop found Enler back in his usual spot by the window in his room. His friend saw him in the reflection when the door opened, and he spoke without turning around, relying on Eye Song to project his words since Troop wasn’t facing him and couldn’t see him clearly.

“I don’t want to talk to you. Please leave,” he said.

Troop ignored his request and walked over to Enler’s side. With as much precision as possible, he spoke with the gestures and sounds he’d spent so many years learning. To hell with the Eye Song. He needed his friend to hear him, not some mind projected voice.

“I have something important to tell you, Enler. About your people.”

Enler’s antlers vibrated at the message. He turned to face Troop, taking a step back to put distance between them. Troop continued.

“My sister, Celestia, made peace in my patch. They were able to fix the Bakudabakek Dam and, with the help of your people, created another Knife. The were able to evacuate many Ancervin into Nova Scotia before the Eater broke through. Your people are alive, living in my land now. But, they’ve lost the Knife. Our people are both trapped there now. Together.”

Troop watched the process of the revelation rise and fall across Enler’s face. While Troop had been off talking to his mother, the others had filled Enler in on the Council decision to incinerate the human patch. The same awful hope rose in his friend’s expression when he realized his kin weren’t dead, only to crash down with the realization that they weren’t really saved.

What he’d feared had happened wasn’t true, but it was inevitable nonetheless.

Enler clenched his three-fingered hands before a flurry of words. “A prolongment of suffering. A wider pain made worse by the means of delivery. The others could have told me.”

The words stung, and Troop felt them deeply. He hated this feeling, of Enler being angry with him. All he wanted to do was apologize, to fix it, but his friend hadn’t given him the chance.

This was the longest the Ancervin had allowed Troop to stay in his presence, and wasn’t going to have a better opportunity. Troop dropped to his knees, bowed his head, and began.

“Your anger is justified, Enler. I failed to trust you when I should have. Even if, all these horrible things hadn’t happened, what I did was wrong and I have no excuse for it. I won’t blame our differences, or try and convince you of my thinking. I hurt you. I can’t take it back, but I see it now. It hurts me too, to have harmed our friendship.”

I’m sorry.” It was a lot of abstract concepts to convey. Something Troop had always had difficulty with in Enler’s language. Eye Song was still translating, but he hoped he was getting the movements right anyway, to show his friend how important it was to him to apologize properly.

Enler unclenched his hands and the mild vibration in his antlers abated. His expression, as best Troop understood, was less angry, but still irritated when he spoke. “Mending broken things is difficult. More storms than building new. Not the gentle breeze of breaking.”

Troop nodded. “I know. I know. I don’t expect your feelings to go away. But, Enler, I want to fix this. I have an idea that, maybe, with your help, we can save both of our people.”

Troop looked up at his friend, his partner, begging. “I can’t do it without you.”

The familiar alien looked down at him, considering. He glanced at the ceiling, then out the window in the direction of their homes, and back at the human.

Troop saw his gaze soften. The tension left his shoulders and the way he clenched his feet. He stood like that for a good while, thinking it over. Troop said nothing, waiting to see if the apology would work. If it didn’t, his stupid decision leave Enler without goodbye, would have far reaching consequences. As much as saving their people hung in the balance, Troop realized that, mostly, he just wanted his friend back.

Enler flicked his wrists in a quick comment, joined Troop on his knees, and wrapped his arms around him.

“Stupid, Newborn.”



While large sections of the Spire were off limits, maps and information about the structure were not. Troop had been amazed to discover that there was a second tower, on the underside of the Dyson Platter, that mirrored the one above, called the Shaft. With the Spire, a large section of the top was missing. The ship that had departed with the inhabitants, their assumed wardens, had detached when the Drips had stopped and the Platter had changed heading.

The same wasn’t the case for the Shaft. There was some sort of huge circular ball at the bottom of it, and the spot was the only place on the blueprints that wasn’t filled in. As near as they could tell, whatever was hiding there was the power source for the entire Patchworld. If he had to guess, the means of moving patches around would require a tremendous amount of energy. The controls Troop needed to implement his plan had to be close to it.

They needed to descend to the bottom of the Shaft.

But that meant getting past the heavily armed, and armored, Boxers, and they had to do it without any real weapons to speak of. For hours, the expedition group scanned through maps and schematics, looking for some way to sneak past the Boxers and access the primary elevators down. Nothing.

The building-like aliens were as meticulous as they were controlling. There was no slipping through their net.

The best they could do was attempt to breach the least guarded spot. It was an access tunnel near a service hallway that led to a lower, unguarded station where they could call a lift. It was the least defended point, and even that had two Boxers stationed at the entrance.

With time running out, Troop, Callie, and Enler made the decision; they would try to fight past them, despite the disadvantage. Even if they didn’t all make it, the sacrifice would be worth it if any of them were able to get down, access the machine, and save the province.

While they’d planned, Minala had been making the rounds to talk with many of the others they’d met on their journey. She was confident that she could hide her speech from Eye Song, and she used her own form of mental communication to explain what they were going to attempt. The response had been less than enthusiastic, but to his surprise, a few others decided to join in their attempt.

Si Buha, the D’ekah, with his little Lingering moss buddy, were both willing to help. They’d made good friends with the fabric wrapped people, the Swathes, that they’d met during the pilgrimage to the Spire. They’d been living with them since their arrival. Several of the well-wrapped, chirping beings joined them.

The most shocking addition was the reappearance of one of the inscrutable black onyx statue men. Troop hadn’t seen one since back in Minala’s paradise patch. Since they had not joined them on the evacuation ship, Troop had assumed they’d stayed with the group that chose to fight. Now, he wasn’t so sure. If they had, they’d somehow managed to survive. Perhaps, like the Representative robot, they were not organic enough for the Eater to bother with.

Minala still could not speak to them, and even with Eye Song’s translation, the single statue-like figure that joined them,said nothing to anyone. It simply appeared at their door, without being asked. Talking or not, it knew what was going on and intended to help.

Troop patted the big guy on the hip, unable to reach his massive shoulder. “Thanks for coming, buddy. It means a lot.”

The dark figure remained motionless.

Once they had their group, and armed themselves with rudimentary weapons, they put the plan in motion.

They were near the attack point, discussing the best strategy for rushing the two Boxer guards, when everyone’s ability to communicate telepathically vanished. Troop felt a pang of fear as he realized what had just happened.

Somehow, Hyus had managed to disable Eye Song.

He hoped that the Myo-rak was safe and had survived the undertaking. Moments later, the Spire was filled with flashing lights and alarm sirens. Arany, who’d been keeping an eye on the Boxer guards, scurried back to the group. The picture in his dome showed two boxes, standing near each other, and then one moved away and vanished in a tiny animated poof.

“One has gone, to determine the disruption cause,” signed Enler. “It is a ripe time, no better for harvest.”

Callie nodded. “Agreed. The Iza say they’re all ready.” She reached up to the side of her head and touched her ear with a finger. She waited for several seconds, as her nail became coated in a tiny web of micro-circuitry. “Arany?”, she asked.

The spidery suit goo skittered over to her and extended a single arm. It had a thick, metal needle attachment on the end. Callie touched her finger to it, allowing the Iza infiltration team to move from her nail into the needle. It would have taken a microscope to see the tiny army, marching across the bridge of her nail, into the large tunnel no bigger than the tip of a pin.

“They say they have vehicles, but even so, it’s going to take them at least five minutes to get anywhere in there. Don’t expect the Boxer’s weapons to shut down instantly, Arany. Be careful.”

The dark dome shaped itself into a smile and a pair of arms bounced in a sort of victory pose.

Everyone else got ready, preparing to pelt the boxer with objects thrown from behind cover. The hope was that Arany could get close with all the chaos, inject the Iza strike force, and the miniature soldiers would be able to disrupt the Boxer from within.

Troop didn’t like how much of the risk was being put on the friendly liquid alien, but he didn’t see any other choice.

He was about to sound the attack, when the huge onyx guy marched around the corner, raised his arms, and charged the solitary Boxer.

The stone brute closed half the distance while the Boxer’s speaker chittered un-translatable nonsense at it. Realizing that talking wasn’t going to stop it, panels opened up on every side of the booth-sized creature, blossoming with a deadly assortment of armaments.

“Now!” shouted Troop. “Go now!”

Everyone rounded the corners and began hurling objects. They were mostly small things, but they served as decoys well enough. Turrets swiveled, shooting and slicing and burning these projectiles out of the air. The group, less than a dozen of them, raced toward the door they needed to get through, throwing everything they could as they did.

There were several columns along the wide walkway and alcoves to provide cover. Even so, their attack didn’t leave them unharmed. The slow, moss man of the Lingering was burned by an incendiary beam and crawled away from the fight, smoldering. One of the Swathes dropped to the ground, perforated by a staccato of laser fire.

The majority of the batteries blasted away at the charging stone figure, to no apparent effect. When their silent ally got close, it reached out with dark stone arms and wrapped the Boxer in a bear hug. It leaned back, attempting to lift the booth of weapons from the ground and hurl it away.

They were an equivalent size, but the weight difference was massive. Troop thought they were in luck. There was no way the mechanical thing could prevent being tipped by their huge onyx ally.

But, even as it tipped, a serpentine coil emerged from an open hatch and wrapped around the onyx guy’s neck. Spikes of ice formed around the statue’s thick neck as the loop retaliated with a chilling attack. This icicle necklace spread up the statue-man’s head, covering it in a crown of crystal. He stopped moving, clutching the Boxer’s sides, frozen in place.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Arany scurried across the ceiling, zigging and zagging to avoid small explosions from the Boxer’s many weapons. When they were close enough, they leapt down onto the top of the booth and jammed the limb with the Iza filled needle into one of the open compartments.

As they did, the hatch slammed shut with enough force to tear Arany’s leg off. Another weapon twisted and fired, shattering Arany’s glass dome and splattering the wall with black liquid goo. The robotic suit fell to the floor, legs curled like a dead spider.

Minala screamed, her eyes wide with horror.


The Boxer, trying to free itself from the cold grip of the onyx being, stopped focusing on shooting the things the group were throwing. It had figured out that the objects couldn’t really hurt it and were meant only as a distraction. Two drill devices slid from the top, targeted the broad onyx shoulders, and began cutting itself free of the stone arms that held it. The entire area flowered with a waterfall of orange sparks, concealing the pair in a cascade of light.

Minala, clutching her head, ran toward the Boxer, heedless of the fact it was still firing randomly through the sizzling shower of sparkles.

“Minala! Stop!” shouted Callie, reaching after her. A spray of porcupine needles drove her back.

Despite the danger, Troop lunged after the Celevere. He managed to grab her by the upper arm, and spin her into the center of the hallway, where the body of the stone being would provide protection from most of the shots. A long metal spike, like an arrow, slammed into his shoulder, continuing his spin with a painful impact.

Together, in what looked like a drunken, unintentional waltz, they danced their way through the bullets, beams, and bolts.

They collapsed to the ground in a spot directly behind one of the thick stone legs. Troop’s arm was numb and his shoulder was on fire, but he’d protected her. The Celevere was safe and undamaged. She tried to pull away from him, but Troop wouldn’t let go. She kept hold of his hand, stretched, and leaned out so she could touch the Boxer.

Troop didn’t understand what she was trying to do. They had all assumed that the heavily armored booths that the Boxers wore were like Arany’s suit; an exoskeleton. Nobody knew what the actual beings inside looked like. If she was attempting to touch it, to talk, Troop didn’t think that putting her fingers on the Box would work.

It wasn’t the first time in his life he was proven wrong.

Still holding Minala’s hand, he shared in the new connection the moment her palm went flat on the metal base of the booth. She didn’t speak to it, or attempt to reason with it. Instead, she conveyed all the recent feelings of her pain and loss. Troop, still holding her hand, felt all of it as well.

Memories of faces, thousands of family members, all of the Celevere that had been lost to the Eater, pulsed in his head. Each one was punctuated by a rising, inconsolable scream. He gasped, feeling his eyes water and his chest tighten. On and on, it went, an unrelenting torrent of sadness and loss. Everything Minala had been holding in. All the new feelings that her people had never known, never needed, that she’d been hiding beneath her smile.

He’d suspected she’d been hiding a deep pain. He’d heard the quaver in her voice and seen the doubt in her eyes, but he’d never have guessed how big and deep it was. There had been a tiny taste, when they’d escaped the Celevere world and he’d heard all of their psychic screams. He realized now, just how much of that Minala must have shielded him from.

Not this time though.

Now, he swam in an ocean of tears, swallowed by a whirlpool of wailing misery with no bottom. Troop sobbed as he fell, curling up on the floor, clutching Minala’s hand.

There was no telling how long it went on, and he knew that they were nowhere near the bottom when it ended abruptly.

He let go of Minala’s hand and sat up, rubbing his wet eyes. He blinked.

There, on the ground beside him, was a large red crab.

The eyes on the end of its stalks were larger, more human, and it had several extra sets of legs. It looked as disoriented as Troop did, blinking and attempting to recover its senses.

Before it could move, Enler scooped it up and jammed it into a plastic tote. Callie appeared between Troop and Minala, with a supportive hand on both.

“They did it! The Iza managed to eject the Boxer while you distracted it, Minala!” she said.

There was a pause before the Celevere woman turned to face them. When she did, Troop could tell that she’d done her best to shift her expression. Whiskers upturned, the woman smiled with a cheerful expression.

*That’s great, Callie! I’m so glad I could be helpful!* she sent.

Troop winced, knowing exactly what was beneath her happy veneer.

With Callie’s help, they got to their feet. Troop couldn’t stand up straight, as the metal arrow in his shoulder caused him to hunch. It was, mercifully, in the fleshy bit outside of the bone, passing only through the muscle. It stung like hell, but once it was pulled, and bandaged, he’d be fine.

Beside them, the large stone figure finally opened their hands. They slapped their head, shattering the cage of ice like they were washing their face. When it finished, it shoved the empty booth onto its side. Troop couldn’t help but read a touch of anger in its movements. Once the shell was knocked over, the onyx man marched past it and went over to the doorway they’d all worked so hard to reach. It stood there, waiting..

As the group converged to access the situation, Si Buha joined them, holding a plastic bottle filled with black sludge.

“His transportation is broken, and his volume diminished, but, it would seem that Arany is not lost to us.” He held up the bottle with slender D’ekah fingers.

Inside, the liquid made a sort of an X shape, intended to convey discomfort, and quickly melted away. Troop could see the relief wash over Minala, and a genuine smile appeared for a moment. She reached out, dunked a finger into the bottle, and then removed it. Touching Troop, she spoke.

*They says they will be fine. That we should stop wasting time.*

It was a good point.

Minala stood in the center of the group and everyone reached out to touch her. Through her, Troop spoke.

“We need to patch our wounds quickly. Those that are too injured should to stay behind. Everyone else, open that Boxer booth up. Scavenge as many weapons from it as you can manage. Five minutes, at most, and we need to move out,” he said.

“With the door, a question of difficulty,” said Enler. “Higher upon the mountain than weapons it is, if the Shaft is to be reached.”

He was right. Armed and mended wouldn’t mean anything if they couldn’t open the door that led down into the Shaft. He was about to alter the plan, when there was a tremendous booming sound.

Over by the door, their silent onyx guest was bashing away with his hard, stone fists. They had no idea how he’d heard them from there, or understood them, from that distance, but it hardly mattered. The problem was being solved.

“I think our untalkative friend has that under control,” said Troop. “Patch up. Strip that booth. We’re leaving as soon as they’ve broken through.”



The elevator that led down the shaft was, as near as Troop could tell, an open platform. There was more than enough room for everyone to fit on it, with lots of space to spare. The interior walls slid by, blurring with speed. Even with all the space, everyone stayed near the center. It seems absurd to Troop, and wildly unsafe, that they weren’t contained by walls, or at least railings. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if anyone tried to lean on one of the moving walls.

When the shaft opened up into empty space, everyone gasped.

The whole group cringed involuntarily, shrinking back from the view before them. Even the big onyx guy flinched for a moment.

Below them, was the vast, star-filled expanse of space.

Unfiltered and wider than anything Troop had ever seen, they were dropping into the night sky on the exterior of the Shaft. It was more clear and brighter than any night he’d ever seen.

Above, where a sky should have been, stretched the vast underside of the Patchworld Dyson Platter. A great mechanical swath of ceiling, it was impossible to tell where the different patches were. The view was an engineer’s nightmare of massive supports, superhighway cables, steaming and pumping hydraulics and enormous machines of every shape and size. It was a dark metal chaos, twisted enough to confuse the mind with mere the sight of it.

Troop dragged his eyes away, but the sensation of falling into space he got from looking down was no better. He turned toward the wall of the Shaft as they sped along.

Callie took his hand. “The Iza. They’re confused. They can’t understand the scale of it,” she said.

Troop couldn’t blame them. He was having difficulty himself, and he was hundreds of times bigger than they were. To them, the view must have been unimaginable. He heard Enler’s hard feet on the platform as the Ancervin walked toward the edge. Keeping his eyes low, Troop risked a glance, watching him go. His friend had always been much more comfortable with heights.

Standing on the brink, Enler reached out. His hand collided with something invisible; a sort of force-field or invisible glass. He turned back to face Troop. “It is as a nest, Newborn. We are safe.”

Safe wasn’t what Troop would call it, but he understood the meaning. Cautiously, holding tight to Callie, he joined Enler at the edge.

Looking down, they could see the rest of the Shaft below them. It ended in a huge circular ball. This sphere was bigger than the counterpart levels found at the top of the Spire. Even considering the original ship, since detached, this sphere dwarfed the Spire’s cap many times over. But, unlike the one above, it was dark and windowless, like some iron counterweight.

There was a ring, down at the bottom, right before where the huge orb began. This section looked like one of the habitation levels they’d come to expect, with lights and view-ports, built in the same fashion as above.

Troop craned his neck, trying to see better. Enler did too, swinging his antlers around. After a moment, Troop stepped back, shaking his head.

“What is that? It’s has to be, I’d guess, nine, maybe ten, patches wide?” He looked back up, scanning for the edge of the Dyson Platter. “It’s at least ten percent the whole diameter of the Patchworld. More?”

Enler squinted and nodded in agreement. “Twelve, if estimate is acceptable. Largest single component of vessel. If organic parallels hold, it is, perhaps, the heart? The brain?”

Several panels shifted, as a ripple rolled across the surface of the mysterious orb. As these scales moved, the group was afforded a momentary glimpse of the interior. Bright light shone out, and the curved surface of of a shining sphere was revealed.

“It’s some sort of synthetic sun!” said Troop.

Enler’s antlers vibrated with confirmation. “It is that which powers all. A great fire, bound in the shell of an egg.”

Troop realized he shouldn’t have been surprised. Since their arrival, the Nova Scotian scientists had referred to the Patchworld as a Dyson Platter. Only the full force of a star could power something so immense. But they’d never seen a star, and they’d always expected that, if there were one, it would have to be to be above, shedding its light down onto the worlds set upon the Platter. But no, whoever had designed this, had put it below and somehow learned to refract, redirect, and alter that energy as they required, depending on the needs of the individual patches.

Troop found himself, once again, thinking about who it was who had taken them. Who had built this incredible thing, only to abandon them to it. He had no answers.

Minutes later, they lost their view of space as they re-entered the Shaft tunnel. The platform came to a stop in an open hangar area. The security alarms, a constant noise upstairs, weren’t blaring down here. The ceiling was high. The room vast. The areas to either side was open, extending away in both directions along a slow curve. In front of them were several entrances to giant hallways. These led, presumably, to the ring they’d just seen from above. These paths were all well lit, each had a mosaic pattern on the floor, and they’d been constructed in such a way that nobody had any doubt which direction they should go.

It was all very quiet and empty.

Troop was relieved for that. He’d half expected the Boxers to have posted guards down here. Maybe they had. This was only one of many elevators. Perhaps, they’d left when they realized something had happened to the Eye Song.

Wary, the group crossed the hanger. When they started down the hallway, the familiar warbling and chirp noises from one of the Swathes got Troops attention. Still holding Arany in his plastic bottle, Si Buha translated.

“They wish to stay. To watch the elevators, in case the Boxers come down after us. It is wise to do so. I will remain with them, as I’ve sorted their language and do not require Minala’s aid.” The tall, skinny alien held the bottle out, and Callie took it, being careful not to spill. “I will join you if there is trouble.”

When they continued on, the onyx statue man stayed with the guards. Nobody tried to convince it otherwise.

They followed the floor pattern into the outer ring where it connected with another walkway, weaving into a larger path. Not sure what they were looking for, they continued along after it.

There were only the four of them now, thought Troop. Too few for such important odds. But then, he remembered he was wrong. It wasn’t just Enler and Callie and Minala with him. Arany was there too, however debilitated, and there were thousands of Iza living inside Callie. And just because the others weren’t there, didn’t mean they weren’t doing all they could. The guards in the hanger were doing their part. Hyus, wherever he was, had done what he’d set out to. Troop hoped the Scorekeeper had survived his mission.

He hoped they all did.

There was no mistaking it when they came to the chamber that controlled the patches.

Using the same technology that created the false skies, the entire Patchworld was projected onto the ceiling. Each patch was only roughly shaped, abstract, and each was marked with a glowing symbol. These letters were different for each patch, and Troop recognized them as the language that had been on their warning Obelisk. While they could tell that it represented the worlds above, the shapes did not correlate, and there was no way to tell which one was which. An angular rendering of the Spire, hung like a chandelier from the center. It was all far too high to reach.

The space beneath the map contained a shallow reflecting pool. This circular basin was filled with glowing blue water and had hundreds of crystals suspended in the air above it.

Troop thought, at first, that these crystals were standing on clear pedestals, or were hung by thin wires. But, as he looked at them, he saw that they bobbed and swayed, floating in the open space above the water. All of them were levitating on their own, at a height just above his head.

These shards reminded him of the crystals they’d used to vote in the Council meeting and had the same design he’d seen in the technology left by the Patchworld creators.

Each of hese rainbow fragments, glistening in the water’s light, shared the same sort of markings as the patches above, strange symbols, glimmering in their hearts. It was an unconventional sort of control panel, but they knew enough to recognize it as such. This was the device Troop’s plan required. Exactly what they’d been looking for.

Now, all they needed to do was sort out how to operate it.

They walked around the circular pool, considering the possibilities.

“Thoughts?” asked Troop.

Enler stretched a hand over the water. “Vibrations, the electricity before a storm, within this liquid.” He scrunched his face in distaste. “An unpleasant sensation.”

Troop looked to Callie. “The symbols?”

She tilted her head, like she were listening to someone. “They confirm it. There’s a pairing for each of them, crystals to the patches above. But they’re shuffled. The locations are not matched up in any clear pattern, as far as the Iza can tell. They’re running an analysis, but it’ll take a few weeks,” she said.

She pointed toward a crystal that hung directly beneath the Spire. “That one is different. It has no symbol and no counterpart on the map. It seems to be the center of the machine.”

Troop saw the one she was talking about, in the middle of the pool. It was a little bit higher than all the other crystals, directly beneath the simulated reflection of the Spire.

Minala held up her hands, reaching toward the crystals, but not stepping into the water. After a moment, she came over and touched Troops shoulder. *This room feels crowded. As if there are a great many people in here, not only us. It is strange.*

Troop frowned. The obvious answer seemed far too simple.

“Could we just… shift them around?” he asked.

Callie shrugged. “Can they moved?”

Troop circled the edge of the pool. There wasn’t anywhere that he could reach out to touch a crystal without stepping into the water. Enler’s words, and the possibility of electrocution, had been clear.

“I don’t think we can test it without someone getting their feet wet,” he said.

Enler stepped back in distaste. “Yours is the species that enjoys the fickle waves,” he signed.

He wasn’t wrong. But there were ways they might test if it was electrified without just stepping in. Troop crouched down, preparing to carefully graze the surface with the knuckles of the back of his hand. He was moments away when he heard shouting from down the hallway.

He stood, and they all ran out of the room, rushing to meet Si Buha halfway.

Minala facilitated the D’ekah in talking.

“The lifts, they’re coming down!” he said.

“The one we took?” asked Callie.

The D’ekah waved his long arms. “Yes! And more! They’re all dropping! Every one of them! The first ones are about to arrive.”

Troop had a sinking sensation in his stomach. A quick glance at Enler confirmed that he wasn’t the only one who had a bad feeling about it. If it were the Boxers, come to punish them for their trespass, they wouldn’t have had to send all the elevators down. No. This was something different.

“We need to go see,” said Troop.

Enler shook his antlers, no. “The importance of the crystals is the morning sun, a required thing for life.”

Troop nodded. “I know, but we have to find out what this is. Quickly.”

It was clear his friend didn’t agree, but knew Troop well enough. Instead of arguing, he was the first to start running back down the hallway. Everyone else followed.

By the time they got there, the hangar, once silent and empty, had changed dramatically. Only three elevators had arrived, but already hundreds of aliens had emerged, pouring out into the empty space. They must have jammed the platforms as full as possible for there to be so many. There were dozens of different types of beings, but Troop had met enough new types of aliens to recognize that there were some commonalities across them. Certain types of expressions, characteristics of movement, and energy were universal.

Troop knew fear when he saw it.

“What’s happened? Why are they all coming down here?” he asked.

Minala rushed over to touch one of the Swathe guards who was warbling with some of his recently arrived kin-folk. After a moment, she returned to Troop and the others.

*The barrier! The front where the Eater was trying to come through has fallen. The Council’s soldiers had been bolstering it, synthetically, from this side, to help keep them out. When they could no longer speak to one another…* She did not finish the thought.

Troop pulled his hand away from the connection, as if he’d been bitten by a snake. His mind reeled and he started to breathe heavily.

Again. He’d done it again.

The images of his friends, burning to death, in that little school outside Dartmouth, sprang to mind. He knew the visions weren’t real. He hadn’t seen it happen. Of course he hadn’t. But he knew it was all his fault, and he had imagination to spare. Not being there didn’t stop the nightmares his mind concocted. The endless parade of ways they might have died.

Just like he’d rolled the fire through his head a thousand times before, a new terror entered his skull.

He pictured the dark cloud of the Eater, rushing through the hallways of the Spire. He saw Hyus, injured from his mission, grappling with one of the iron hard soldiers. Bent into submission, thrown to the ground, and crushed beneath their hammering feet. He envisioned the rooms of huddling refugees, gulped and swallowed into the vile sacks, dragged back to a maw that could never be satiated.

He heard the screams from all the different throats, joining the torment of others he’d carried for so long.

He’d done it again.

His plan had led to disaster.

Troop fell to the ground and covered his head with his hands, shaking uncontrollably.

People were shouting. The hangar was full of scared cries and instructions to move, to clear the way for others. Boxers were arriving now as well, but not to punish anyone. They were coordinating the attempt to set up a perimeter. To fight off the Eater as long as they could.

Troop barely felt the hands on his shoulders, touching him, rubbing his back. His friends were there.

It was Callie’s words that cut through the pain. “Troop, it’s okay. Nobody blames you. You did the right thing. You always try to do the right thing. It’s not your fault that it doesn’t always work.”

He wiped his face. “It was me. Hyus helping me, that did this. Killed them. If they’d been able to talk to each other, and keep the barrier up, the Eater wouldn’t have gotten through. They’d still be alive.”

Enler spoke through Minala, trusting their connection and not bothering with gestures. “Today or tomorrow, the Eater would feed. The blame rests upon the hunger, not you.”

Minala took his hand and pulled him to his feet. Her smile was gone and she had an uncharacteristically serious expression on her feline face. She pulled him away from Enler and Callie, so her thoughts were private.

*You’ve seen my deep sadness, Troop Daniels. To me, it is a new, terrible thing. I cannot find a place for in my mind.*

Troop frowned. If only he’d been able to save more of the Celevere, maybe she wouldn’t have this awful burden.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook his hand, sternly. *No! I do not tell you this for sympathy or blame. I remind you, because it is a feeling you will share with me. Soon. If you remain here, trapped in your pain. Your people, your family. The Ancervin family. Do you wish them to die? As my family died?*

Troop flinched, feeling a wash of anger from the gentle Celevere woman.

“No. No, of course not.”

Keeping a grip on his hand, she marched him back down the hall.

*Then let us go save them, Troop.*

They returned to the crystal pool as fast as they could get there.

Upon arriving, Troop and Minala marched straight into the water without hesitation, heedless of any electrical charge. It was shin deep, caused their feet to experience an odd tingle, but was otherwise safe. Callie and Enler, holding Boxer weapons, took up positions by the doorway, ready to defend the room as best they could.

Troop splashed to the center crystal, the one without any markings. With his free hand, he reached up and grabbed it.

When he pulled it down, all the crystals hanging in the air began to glow, each a different color.

Rotating this central fragment in his hand, he was surprised to see dozens of the marked crystals drop from their positions, swooping across the room to come in close to him.

Minala slid her palms onto his shoulders, releasing his hand so he could take one. He hesitated, fingertips inches away from the strange shard.

*I trust you, Troop. They all do. I can feel it,* sent Minala.

He didn’t understand it, why anyone would. But it made him feel better. Maybe, he didn’t need to trust himself, as long as he trusted them? Could he bypass his own doubt with such a simple trick of the mind? To just believe in the others who believed in him, despite how he felt about himself?

He had to.

Troop grabbed a second crystal.

Instantly, his senses were filled with visions and voices. Strange guttural voices, dark wet caverns, and images of segmented flesh, burrowed into his brain. A sensation of security, of being hidden, washed over him. Minala gasped as he shared the vision with her, or perhaps it was her psychic sensitivity, sending it to him. It was difficult to tell.

Even so, he knew he held an entire patch in his hand, a whole race of people. He pushed it aside and reached for another.

As he did, the the ground shook. Ripples spread across the pool, and there was a deep hum from outside. Above, in the projection of the Patchworld, one of the biomes , dropped down, hovering in the air, lifted from the reflection.

Enler left his post by the door and crossed the room, gazing out at the view of the underside of the Patchworld.

Outside, the machine sky sprung to life. Enormous struts and supports began to shift and move.

Awake! As a stretch after rest!” he shouted.

Troop couldn’t see him clearly, and only managed to understand the first word. It was enough. He understood what was happening.

The second crystal was full of wind and glass feathers and magenta whistles. A sensation of wild joy. He pushed it into the previous, now empty subterranean space.

The sound of machines from outside rose from a hum to a rumble of thunder.

Troop grabbed a third.

It was buzzing, green, and had work to be done. Thousands of hands in cooperation. He let go, grabbed the first crystal again, and tossed into the slot he’d just created.

There was a crack of thunder. Light flashed through every window as more of the Dyson Platter was came to life. The mechanisms to move the patches he’d just altered worked to execute the commands he’d just provided.

The world was shifting.

“Enler says it’s working!” he heard Callie shout. “You’re moving them around!”

Troop pressed on. There was something familiar about the gestures as he did so. He’d shift his left hand, swinging and turning the control crystal, in much the same way as he would talk to Enler. He leaned into the parallel, treating the experience like a conversation.

One by one, he pulled patches down from the sky, tasted them, and placed them back in new homes.

All he had to do was find Nova Scotia.

Even if the Eater overran the Spire, he could save everyone else. Humanity. The Ancervin. His family. At least for a while.

As his hands searched frantically, his mind swirled with colors, fragments of cultures, and a barrage of different feelings. Every once in a while, he hit one that felt dead, empty. Other times, they were so repulsive he rushed to shove them away. A few were so captivating they gave him pause. But he pushed on, resisting the urge to linger. There were hundreds of worlds go through.

He didn’t know if he had enough time.

At the corner of his perception, he heard gunfire and screaming. Dozens of people were flooding into the room.

The ground shook like there was an earthquake as the patches rearranged. His shallow pool danced with waves, crashing against his legs, splashing up at him. Minala wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her face in his back.

As world after world crashed against his brain, and he kept finding ones that the Eater had consumed, Troop began to feel a sense of futility to his task. It didn’t matter if he found his home. Even if he was able to tuck it far from the reach of the Eater, once the thing took the Spire, it was over. Sooner or later, it would spread everywhere, wiping out everything organic. His plan was a stopgap, at best.

He changed what he was searching for.

When he felt the next dead world, he summoned more from that area. Following the hollow, empty things, he tracked his way back, looking for the source of the emptiness. The weight of it was heavy, as dead world after dead world scraped against his mind.

When he finally touched it, he knew.

A black cloud, desperate, scratching mountains bare. A feeling of yearning, so deep, Troop couldn’t help but feel sympathy. A billion hungry mouths in one, begging, wailing, and crying out in fear of starvation. It was an empty abyss, extending in every direction. He felt like he was falling into it, swallowed, surrounded.

He could help fill it, if he just let himself fall. He could be the one to put something into the emptiness.

Troop resisted the thought; the mental temptations of the Eater.

He couldn’t put it back into the Patchworld. There was nowhere on the entire Dyson Platter that he could safely put something so dangerous.

It had to go.

He removed his hand from the control shard, and the Eater’s crystal bucked in his grip, attempting to return to its proper space. Clutching it with both hands, Troop didn’t let it leave. Instead, he dragged it away, attempting to pull it from the pool.

Waves of darkness, a wailing hunger, assaulted him. The ground pitched and rolled beneath his feet as the entire Dyson Platter shifted in protest. The water in the room became a glowing churn, turning the room into a storm of light.

Everywhere, the crystals came loose, sliding and moving around randomly. Their prismatic glows increased in intensity, sensing the danger, and the flashing colors pulsed like a rainbow strobe light.

He couldn’t see anything, and could barely keep upright as, step by step, he tried to drag the Eater’s patch away from the machine.

He felt Minala fall away, unable to bear the intensity of their empty longing. But Troop pressed on. He was no stranger to hunger. To desire. His whole life, he’d wanted things he couldn’t have. He’d failed over and over, trying to feed those needs.

He understood the Eater.

They weren’t as different as he’d thought.

When he couldn’t bear to take another step, he raised his arm, and threw the shard out into the endless darkness.

To Be Concluded . . . 

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