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This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form by any meanselectronic, mechanical,
photocopying, or otherwisewithout prior written permission of the publisher, except
as provided by the United States of America copyright law.
Ridan and its logo are copyrighted and trademarked by Ridan Publishing. All rights
reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the
authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons,organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
A Ridan Publication
www.ridanpublishing.com
www.riyria.com
Copyright 2012 by Michael J. SullivanCover Art 2012 by Michael J. Sullivan
Formatting by Robin Sullivan
Release Date: June 2012
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Holding his breath, Dan Sturges depressed the red button of his time machine.
The jolt was instantaneous, and he nearly lost his grip on the flag-wrapped bible in hislap. Together they comprised the only two things he couldnt live without. His body
lurched but the nylon belts of the leather seat held him tightboth transplants from
his 2010 Porsche 911. It felt like hed hooked up the car batteries directly to his nuts.
He may have screamed but couldnt be sure, his mind preoccupied, processing too
much data. A whine ratcheted up to a shriek, an audible indication of his brain
overloading as it chugged an ocean of information before vomiting. Everything went
white. The sound halted, and for a moment all his senses ceased to register. The
sensation was similar to free falling, but in this case it was Dan who remained still,
while the rest of the universe flew by. He might have passed out; it was difficult to
tell. The human brain wasnt designed for what hed just gone through, if he had,
indeed, succeeded. It was entirely possible he had just electrocuted himself in the
privacy of his own garage. He imagined his wife coming home, smelling something
akin to cooked hot dogs, and finding him strapped in the cube like Ted Bundy in the
electric chair at Raiford Prison.
Michael J. Foxs stainless steel DeLorean was inarguably slicker than Dans
milk crate special, even with its Porsche seat. He had always been concerned that the
containers, which created the insulating walls and made his time machine look like a
giant Rubiks Cube, might melt. If they did, Carol would find a puddle of plastic
resembling a melted pack of giant Crayola crayons with her husband, or what was left
of him, in the middle strapped to a disembodied sports car seat. At least Dan would go
out in style; like James Dean hed ride a Porsche seat into oblivion.
Even if he succeeded Carol would hate him. In her mind there was no
difference between going out for a pack of cigarettes, or pressing that red button and
sending the combined wattage of eighteen car batteries into the metal and plastic cage.
The result was the samehe left her.
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She wouldnt appreciate that he managed to be the first human to time travel.
Nor would his wife care that the cancer eating his pancreas would cause his departure
in a few months anyway. That it was possibleno matter how unlikelyto find a
cure in the future wouldnt justify his actions, so she would hate him. He didnt blame
her. If the situation was reversed, hed hate him too. After being married for forty
years, you got used to the other person being around. He could never convince Carol
that dying in a hospital bed was the worst thing he could imagine. Worse even than
frying in a homemade Rubiks Cube oven. He did feel bad about the mess hed leave,
although Carol would likely just sell the house as is and let the new owners deal
with it.
Dan either woke or his mind finally caught up to his brain. The white brilliance
faded like the aftermath of a cameras flash. Being sixty, Dan remembered flashbulbs
and also Kodak film, typewriters, Ma Bell, Gunsmoke, and human decency. Theyd
all gone the way of vinyl records and the gold standard. Democracy was on its way
out as well. The world suffered from its own cancers: terrorism, socialism, atheism,
and all those other isms. It made pressing the button easier and saved him from
watching the withering of a great nation. Dan hoped that if he went far enough a
corner might be turned. Good old American optimism was the only ism worth
believing in.
It took about a minute for Dans eyes to adjust and the colors to register. Green.
Blue. Nice colors. The world hadnt been reduced to a barren, irradiated hellscape at
least. His milk crate time machine wasnt as sophisticated as Doc Browns. He didnthave a flux capacitor or a chronometer with years, months, and days. His destination
was controlled by the number of batteries and the slider bar of the iMusic app of a
modified iPad. How far he would travel, or more precisely how long he would
manage to remain stationary while the universe moved ahead without him, was little
more than a calculated guess. Eighteen car batteries wouldnt send him millions of
years, but he was hoping for at least a thousand.
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There was no telling what would actually happen after pressing the button. He
might die before he could do his Buzz Armstrong imitation ofthis is one small step
for an old man, one giant leap for milk crates, Porsches, and iPads. But Dan didnt
feel dead. He could make out shapes: fuzzy, green blobs. They were moving; Dan
wasnt. He sat perfectly still in his bucket seat. His sixty-year-old heart pounded, and
he hoped that whatever the blobs were they didnt know he was there. Dan figured
that wasnt likely since the shriek had probably been some sort of sonic boom caused
by leaving and re-entering the time field. Anything with eardrums would have noticed
him exploding into the future.
His vision cleared and the blurry shapes became recognizable. Trees. Lots of
them. A dazzling blue sky above. The colors were more vibrant than anything he had
ever seen, as if retouched in Photoshop by an artist who cranked up the saturation. He
didnt like it; everything looked artificial. Looking through the milk crates, some of
which had indeed melted, Dan realized he sat in the middle of a lush field.
Technically he hadnt moved, or shouldnt have, but this didnt look like the suburbs
of Detroit. His garage and house were missing. Maybe archaeologists could dig down
and find his stash of Deer Park water bottles, the pottery shards of the twenty-first
century.
He started to pull the latch of the safety belt and found it too hot to touch. So he
sat a moment, and in that instant the realization dawned on him.
Ive done it! Well, maybe. Nothing is proven yet.
He might have just teleported to a nearby field, which would be almost as cool.He could be dead, but he didnt think his departing spirit would still be belted into the
911s seat. In any case, hed managed to do somethingsomething amazing.
Birds, a flock of small dark ones, fluttered overhead in a shifting pattern. He
had no idea what kind they were, sparrows perhaps, but they could just as easily be a
whole new species. Dan was no expert when it came to birds. In high school he had
been a gearhead and spent his time tinkering with an old Mustang Fastback. An
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engineering degree had landed him a job at the Big Three. That was back when that
title had been held by American car companies, and Dan had considered James Dean
a little too rebellious for dying in a German sports car. He had spent his life
reading Scientific American and Popular Mechanics, not Bird Watchers Digest. Still,
birds meant life on the planet. Assuming he hadnt shifted position, he must have
traveled more than a century. His house, his whole neighborhood for that matter, had
disappeared. Stuff like that didnt happen overnight.
The buckle cooled enough to pop off, and he climbed out of the seat, punching
his way clear of the crates. The destruction didnt trouble him. Milk Crate One had
been designed for a one-way trip. The Scientific American article showed time travel
to be possible in just one directionforward. Making one trip was a miracle, two
would be asking too much.
Dan stood and stretched. The air smelled odd like his old car freshener or
Christmas, only this was the real dealhe could almost taste resin in the air. The
wind brushed the grass, also artificially vibrant. Suburban Detroit was certainly
different. Besides the missing buildings, the most notable change was the noise, or
lack thereof. Dan had lived his whole life with the rush, roar, and honk of traffic. Its
absence was eerie.
Its quiet, too quiet, he said, nervously smiling to himself. He wanted to hear
something even if it that something was just his own voice.
Dan, and what remained of his milk crate cube, was surrounded by knee-high
grass speckled with blue, white, and yellow wildflowers. Looking closer he foundsome were being worked by bumble bees.
You made it too, eh? Survived the so-called global warming, I see. Dan
wondered if he would make a habit of talking to himself.
Isnt that what all post-apocalyptic survivors do?
He imagined himself as a shorter, potbellied Charleston Heston in Planet of the
Apes or The Omega Man. Although he could just as easily be Tom Hanks in that
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movie about the guy trapped on a desert island who talked to a soccer ball called
Wilson. Dan wondered how long before he went nuts and started talking to
He reached into the cube and picked up the King James still wrapped in Old
Glory. Hed set it to the side when climbing out and didnt want to forget it. Talking
to a soccer ball would be insane.
Dan couldnt get over how strange his surroundings seemed, like a national
park due to the size of the trees. The pines were giants and the oaks fatter than the
before picture of a Jenny Craig spokeswoman. Come to think of it, the bees looked
bigger too. The flowers bent noticeably under their weight.
Dan tried to verify his location. His neighborhood had been in West
Bloomfield, and on a clear day, after a heavy rain, he could sometimes make out the
hazy shapes of the RenCen and some of the other tall Detroit buildings. The city was
downhill from his house, and orienting himself in that direction, he had no problem
seeing the sheen of the river. No buildings. No sign of civilization at all. No telephone
poles, no roads, no trails.
What happened to the world? Is anyone still alive?
Right then Dan realized the seriousness of his situation. He had some supplies
strapped behind the seat, but they wouldnt last long. He had expected to pop into the
middle of a huge cityscape like George Lucass Coruscant or wind up dead, with dead
being the more likely of the two. Now he realized that his expectation of death might
just be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Dan wanted to explore a bit but wasnt going too far, so he took just a bottle ofwater and the flag-wrapped bible. He checked his shoelaces and started walking in the
direction of what should have been downtown Detroit, mainly because it was
downhill. Dan wasnt used to exercising. His wife had bought him one of those
stationary bikes with the LED panels that indicated simulated hills and valleys. She
had it in the bedroom, right in front of the TV, and tried to get him to ride while
watching Fox News in the morning. Her plan might have worked if shed found a way
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to rig the wheels rotation to power the cable box. Since she hadnt, Dans only
exercise came from climbing the stairs to the bedroom, and that wasnt even daily as
he often fell asleep on the couch. When he came upon a stream, Dan was grateful for
an excuse to stop. He didnt know its name, but speculated it was part of the upper
Rouge River tributaries. The same river that was famous for catching fire in 1969. The
streams up in West Bloomfield should be cleaner, but a lot of pollution came from
residential sewage runoff rather than industrial sources, and there were plenty of
residents in West Bloomfieldor at least there had been. Looking at the water Dan
was stunned. Not only could he see all the way to the bottom, but there were also fish.
Dan had pressed the red button at noon on April 12th. The weather in 2012 had
been gray, wet, and unseasonably cold. As a result, Dan was dressed in jeans, a long
sleeved shirt, and a knit sweater. By the time hed reached the river, he was sweating.
He pulled out his water. What he wanted was an ice cold Budweiser in a tall-neck
bottle. Dan stopped buying cans ever since they replaced the disposable pull-tabs with
the pop-top. That was just one of the many examples of the countrys downward
spiral, when Earth Day liberals crippled the country with seat belts and emission
standards. He drained his water bottle, which was less than satisfying given its
temperature.
The stream looked perfectly clearcreepily clear even, but Dan was reluctant
to touch it. This was the Rouge Riveror part of itand he wouldnt trust that source
even after a thousand years. He finally settled for scooping some to rub over his face
and neck. The water was cold and he had to admit, it felt wonderful. Dan sat downand considered taking his shoes off to wade when he spotted the first indication of
intelligent life.
On the other side of the stream was a pole about twelve feet tall, painted with
yellow and white stripes and sporting a blue light like the ones undercover detectives
slapped to the roofs of their cars. Next to it was what looked like a phone booth. This
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was harder to see as most of the structure was built from see-through glass or maybe
plastic.
Dan forgot about wading.
Humans exist!
He crossed the stream by jumping stones, realizing just as he reached the other
side how conveniently they were spaced, and approached the pole and booth. The pole
looked to be made of some sort of polymer. The booth, however, wasnt a booth at all.
What Dan found was a seven-foot-tall by four-foot-wide rectangle that lacked any
depth, just a singular plane like a picture frame or a paper thin doorway.
As he circled it, the blue light on the pole began to flash. Dan took a step back,
not that he was standing overly close to begin with. Soon the flashing light was
accompanied by a pinging sound. And then he heard: Stand back, portal in use. Stand
back, portal in use.
The message was clearly automated, a feminine voice. Seconds later the frame
lit up and two people emerged.
The first thing Dan noticed was that they were completely naked. He had
trouble registering this because the second thing he noticed was that neither had any
identifiable genitalia. The two were hairless with light brown skin that made Dan
think they might be Hispanic or perhaps from India. They might even be light-skinned
African Americans, but without any body hair, it was difficult to determine. They
stood before him unashamed and unsurprised.
Hello, the closest said.The two looked exactly aliketwo twenty-something twins. This thought was
immediately pushed out by the revelation that they spoke English, but then again so
had the portal.
Hello! Dan said.
What is your name? The man asked. Dan pronounced them men since they
lacked breasts, curves, and appeared a bit too muscular for the fairer sex.
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DanDan Sturges. He didnt extend his hand. Normally Dan was a friendly
sort, but the prospect of touching these naked Ken dolls bothered him.
Hello, Dan, Im Hex, and this is my partner Ban.
Partner? That used to be a code word for gay lover. Dans eyes glanced down
again just to be sure, nothing there at all. Still he didnt like the term and the voices
pitch was decidedly feminine.
Hex held out his hand.
Damn.
Dan grimaced slightly, trying to make it appear like a smile, and shook. The
mans hand was soft, the grip weak. Before realizing how stupid it was to blurt out,
Dan asked, What year is it?
Neither Hex nor Ban appeared the slightest bit surprised. Four thousand
eighty-five.
Four thousand eighty-five! Not only did it work, but I managed to go a full two
thousand years and change!
What year are you from, Dan? There was something about how Hex used his
name that rubbed him wrong. It sounded placating, like a politician. Doctors and sales
people did that too. They were taught to use first names to show they were friendly,
paid attention, and that whoever they were addressing was somehow special.
Two thousand fourteen, he said, wondering if he was being stupid. Maybe he
ought to be less forthcoming with information. He had no idea who Tweedledee and
Tweedledum were, and he didnt like that they were so unconcerned by what shouldhave been an outlandish claim.
Go Tigers, Ban said with a wide grin and a fist pump.
Dans mouth dropped open.
Tigers was the name of a sports team, right? Ban asked.
Dan nodded. Baseball.
Bans smile grew. Right, baseball.
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Ban is a historian of sorts.
I specialize in Information Age Research.
Dan nodded. I was an engineer for Forda car company. You still have
cars?
They both smiled as if Dan had just drooled on himself.
No, Dan, and as you can see, there are no roads either, Ban said.
Dan was disappointed. He had hoped to see some amazing advancements like
rocket engines or nuclear powered muscle machines. Yeah, I noticed thatgot a
whole lot of nothing really.
The surface of the Earth is no longer used for production or living space. It has
taken many centuries to repair the scars. Even now there are sections we are still
working to restore.
So everything is used for farming?
Again the condescending smiles. No, Dan. There is no need to grow food,
Hex said.
If memory serves, Ban said, you used to subsist on salt, fat, and sugar. Is
that right?
Both of them looked at his beer belly, and Dan decided to change the subject.
What do you use the surface of Earth for then?
Enjoyment. Serenity.
So the whole planet is one big nature park now?
Hex looked at Ban who said, Yes, you could say that. The surface is sacred. Aplace of spirituality.
Spirituality? What kind?
Kind? Hex glanced at Ban.
Christianity, Catholicism, Protestantismyou know, Jesus Christ? Even as
he spoke Dan was concerned. More than two thousand years had passed and he could
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have missed the rapture. What if he was like the unicorns that never got on the ark
because they were off playing silly games.
Jesus Christ? Hex looked to Ban.
Ban shrugged.
You dont know about Jesus?
Is that a computer game? Ban asked. I heard those were very popular in
your time.
No, Christ is not a game! Jesus is the son of God, who created everything. He
died to wash away the sins of the world.
They stared a moment longer then Ban grinned. OhJesus is one of those
gods that used to be worshiped. Religion. You are speaking about religion?
Yes!
Oh, religion went out of fashion thousands of years ago, Hex said.
Well, that is not entirely correct, Ban said. There was that sect only a few
hundred years ago. I read an articlejust do a search on Ellis Worshipers.
Hex stared off blankly for a moment. Then he blinked and said, Oh, right.
That is fascinating.
What do you mean by out of fashion? Dan asked.
All the cults have died out.
Christianity is not a cult!
Oh no, of course not, Dan. My apologies, Ban offered but Dan wasnt
buying.He was starting to think hed made a terrible mistake.
What kind of future doesnt have God?
Even in those sci-fi movies they always worshiped something. In one of
the Planet of the Apes sequels it had been a nuclear missile, which was at least
something. Maybe he had missed the rapture. Maybe this was Hell, which made him
think of something else.
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Where does everyone live?
The questions, Hex said to Ban with a slight roll of his eyes.
Ban said, Dan, I understand you are curious about a lot of things, but we have
a schedule so would you mind if we traveled while we spoke? The trip will help
answer many of your questions.
That depends. Where are we going?
The Hollow, Hex said.
Whats that?
It is like a city, Ban explained. We can provide you with a place to live
there.
Really? Just like that? You seem like you were expecting me.
There have been others. Weve learned to detect the time displacement
signature. Hex and I were on duty when you popped up.
Really? I sort of thought I was the only one.
Hex looked puzzled at Ban who shrugged and asked, You dont know of
others who used a time machine?
No.
Ban showed a set of raised, hairless eyebrows to Hex. Is it possible he was the
first?
What did you say your last name was?
Sturges, Dan Sturges.
Hex looked at Ban smiling. It was very courageous of you to jump so far on amaiden voyage.
I had a reason.
This got both of their attentions.
I have a sicknessnothing contagiousits cancer. Do you know what that
is? I was hoping there might be a cure for it by now.
Oh, I see! Well, you are correct, cancer has been wiped out, Hex said.
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Really?
Yes, all diseases have.
At least Dan had gotten that part right. Carol believed there would never be a
cure. She insisted cancer wasnt like Polio. Of course, she hadnt believed time travel
was possible, either. Carol would be long dead and buried, and he might live another
thirty years, perhaps even indefinitely now that all disease was gone.
But in what kind of world? A place of too prefect trees and godless people?
Eternity without God, isnt that the definition of hell?
How bad is your condition? Are you in pain right now? Hex asked.
Not at the moment. I took my medication before I left. I still have a bottle in
my pocket.
They both shook their heads slowly with concerned news anchormen
expressions. We should get you back right away. Get you taken care of, Hex said.
I doubt the twenty-first century money I brought will be enough, but I also
have some gold coins I can go get. At face-value they wont be worth much, but
maybe as historical artifacts? Where can I find a coin collector?
Ban laughed. We do not use money.
Dan became concerned. I dont have anything else.
Hex said, I do not understand. What are you two talking about.
Where Dan is from, they traded for everything, Ban explained to Hex.
Travel, energy, shelter, food was paid for with money, which they obtained by
servitude and labor.Hex didnt look any less confused.
Its pretty complicated, Ban said.
What if you were unable to perform a task? Or what if you had no?
Money.
Right, money. What if you had none to trade?
Ban shrugged and looked at Dan. I guess you would die, then. Is that right?
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No, we had social programssafety nets. But most people had jobs and took
responsibility for themselves. People who took without giving were considered lazy.
Huh, Hex uttered. Interesting.
So, you have socialized medicine, is that it?
Again Hex looked at Ban who squinted, trying to think. Ah, hes talking about
a political and financial program used to cover the high cost of obtaining medical
treatments. Is that what you are referring to?
Yes.
Then no, Hex said. We dont have that.
But Ill need more medicine, and probably a procedure to cure the cancer.
Wont I?
We have no need for medicine, Ban explained.
Well, that is not completely true, Hex corrected.
Ban sighed. Well technically, you are right, Hex. Yes, we still have medical
procedures for accidents, but that is not the same as what Dan is talking about. In his
time everyone eventually died, but before they did, there were all kinds of treatments
and processes they went through to try to live as long as they could.
Dan gaped. What are you saying? People dont die anymore?
They both shook their heads.
That one is always the big surprise, Hex said. Come. Lets walk while that
piece of information settles in. Shall we?
Sure, Dan said.No death? Hex was right; He would be processing that one for a very long time.
Now, just watch Ban, Hex said.
Ban walked into the portal. The light went on again, a second later it went off,
and Ban was gone.
Now you. Hex gestured toward the rectangle.
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Dan looked hesitantly at the frame. Having already ridden eighteen car batteries
two thousand years into the future that day, how bad could the portal be? He took a
deep breath and walked through. He felt absolutely nothing except perhaps a minor
change in pressure signaled by his eardrums. Swallowing hard a few times fixed that
and Dan found himself in a massive interior space, reminiscent of an airport terminal.
Unlike an airport, however, there were few people. Less than twenty walked through
the space, but all moved with a purpose.
Ban gestured for him to step forward and a moment later Hex joined them.
A ceiling at least ten stories high was supported by thin pillars that spread out
like trees near the top. They appeared to be inside a dome that for some reason had
been invisible to Dan when they were outside.
I thought wed be going underground. Dan said
We are, Hex replied. Right now you are a little over a mile below the
surface.
We can control the climate here, so weather is not a problem. We used to have
some issues with tectonic shifts, but that is mostly a thing of the past.
But the windows Dan pointed.
Oh no, those are projections. Real time images focused on the location directly
above.
Nice. Dan said. I guess it prevents feeling claustrophobic.
Hex looked at Ban who shrugged.
All the other people passing by took no notice of them. They all appearedidentical to Hex and Ban. Is everyone here a clone?
Clone? No, Hex replied. We just share the same design.
Youre robotsandroids or whatever?
They both chuckled. No, we are not machines.
Although Hex can act like one sometimes, Ban said playfully.
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Hex gave him a smirk. We utilize the same genetic sequencing. This DNA
pattern was determined to be the best several centuries ago. Some of the older patterns
are still around, though.
No women.
I was wondering when you would ask about that, Ban said. No, there are no
women, nor are there any men. The current design is genderless.
Are you kidding? What about children? What about sex?
All reproduction is performed by geneticists.
But what about pleasure?
Ban laughed. Of course we have pleasure, and I suspect it is more efficient
and satisfying than anything you have experienced. Ecstasy is a simple process of
stimulating specific sections of the brain. I am quite amazed by all the gyrations
people of your time went through.
So you dont have marriage, or children, or families? And all you do is
masturbate? Thats horrible!
No, no, it really has eliminated a great many problems. In your time desires
led to unspeakably violent acts. How many murders were committed because of
jealousy? Lives ruined because of forced sex? And what about those that never found
mates? Did they not suffer from depression and loneliness? How much stress came
from having children? Or from people who wanted them and were not able to
conceive? Puberty brought rebellion and resentment. Your literature is filled with
references of people hating their families. In your time people spent half their lifebuilding a family, and the other half tearing it apart through divorce or infidelity.
Butbutthe family is everything! You have to take the good with the bad.
Sure, rape is despicable and marriage requires hard work. But those are not reasons to
eliminate the institution that has been with us since civilization began. The family has
always been the backbone, the foundation that has kept America strong!
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Technically what you remember as the United States no longer exists, Ban
said.
What? Dan felt as if hed been punched in the gut.
There are no countries anymore. No borders of any kind. No races, no classes,
no sexes, no governments, so there is no hate or war.
Jesus fucking Christ! What have you done? He stopped walking, and felt like
he was going to be sick. He staggered, then bent over. The exertion from all the
walking was getting the better of him. Some lousy Buzz Armstrong he turned out to
bemore like Buzz Lightyear. His blood pressure must be through the roof, and his
head was reeling from the changes. The world had been sanitized like Disney had
done to Times Square. They had gotten rid of God, family, and country along with the
graffiti.
Are you all right? Hex asked. Is it the cancer?
No its not the cancer! Dan snapped. The feminine pitch of their voices was
beginning to grate on his nerves, like Carols used to when she yapped about stupid
crap the moment he walked in the door, still exhausted from work. Its everything.
This isnt the future Id expected. Even a glowing wasteland or Mad Max desolation
would have been better. No God. No family. No country or patriotism. Just a bunch of
Ken dolls without Barbies. The gays and their goddamn agenda won, or should I say
transsexuals, or asexuals? Liberalism has run unchecked and ruined everything. You
probably dont even have guns anymore, do you?
Of course not, we have no weapons of any kind, Hex replied. You have tounderstand, Dan, that weapons to us would be as useful as a comb. He looked to Ban.
Did I say that right?
Ban nodded.
Dan nodded too. Outlawed along with individuality and freedom, no doubt.
What do you do now? Grow kids in test tubes? Or does a pair of you Kens raise them
to be good little freaks?
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Ben and Hex just looked at him with their same news anchormen smiles.
Everything had looked so promising when he first arrived, but Dan should have
known better. The future is always dystopian. Orwell and Huxley had taught him that.
Even the paradise promised by Wells had its troglodytes underground. The nineteen
fifties had been the apex of civilization and everything since then been a steady
decline. Hed messed upmessed up bad. He should have stayed with Carol. Death
was better than living in a world this screwed up.
No, there had to be a way to make this work. Maybe it wasnt completely
hopeless. Once they got rid of his cancer, maybe Dan could return to the surface and
live out his days up there. Hed make a log cabin. Fish for food and hunt game. Hed
disappear into the wilderness like a survivalist and live on his own terms. Maybe
somewhere there were still women, hiding in small pockets away from this post
apocalyptic nightmare. Tiny bands of runaways, formed in opposition to the Ken doll
oppression. No one could have destroyed the American spirit completelynot even
after two thousand years. Hed find them; bring them a contraband Bible and rally
them around his flag. Hed show them how to make weapons. Swords and bows at
least, but with a little trial and error, he could probably figure out some kind of
rudimentary gun. Hed made a working time machine, for Christs sake. How hard
would it be to reinvent gunpowder? Then he and his rebels would take the country
back. They would restore God, family, and country and establish paradise on Earth.
While Dan silently formulated his plans, they had continued walking, and now
stopped before another portal. Hex touched a panel in a complicated pattern and theflat surface vanished. He gestured like a New York doorman. After you, Dan.
Dan passed through the portal into a small room. The ceiling was standard
height, about nine or ten feet. On the floor was a beige carpet, the walls were covered
in a pleasant, yet non-descript stripped wallpaper. What looked to be a comfortable
bed rested in one corner while a couch, lamp, table and what could have been a
television filled out the rest. There was another door that led to a tiled bathroom. To
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Greener Grass Michael J. Sullivan
21
Dan, it seemed like he had been teleported into a Holiday Inn, except the style was
outdated. The furniture had the diner chrome and naugahyde upholstery of the fifties.
The television was a giant cabinet model with a tiny convex screen and large dials. On
the walls were photographs of Marilyn Monroe, Eisenhower, and Elvis. Even a TV
Guide on the coffee table had Jackie Gleason on the cover. Turning, he saw Hex and
Ban waiting outside.
Dan walked back toward the portal he had just passed through, but it did not
activate. He bumped into a barrier that felt like Plexiglas. Whats going on? Is this
the hospital?
No, Hex said. This is your new home.
What? But I need treatment.
Im afraid no one has found a cure for your sickness.
But you said cancer has been wiped out.
It has, but it is not the cancer in your body thats the problem. And you are
wrong. What you have is contagious.
Hex touched the panel again and the clarity of the portal faded to the same
patterned wallpaper completing the illusion of a twenty-first century hotel room. He
could hear Hex and Ban talking quietly and the noise of others walking by.
Dan beat his fists against the wall. You cant do this to me!
There was a click and the exterior sounds were silenced, leaving Dan alone,
trapped in the veneer of the fifties.
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AUTHORS AFTERWORD
Why is an epic fantasy novelist publishing a science fiction short story?
On two occasions Ive been approached by individuals from writing forums to
contribute to anthologies. The basic idea is to hold a contest for new writers, and then
the editors judge the entries placing the top ones in a published collection along with
the works of professional writers. One of these was Nila E. White who runs writing
contests on sffworld. She requested I contribute a short story for an upcoming
anthology with a post-apocalyptic theme. Im known for epic fantasies about unlikely
heroeslight, fun adventures, not post-apocalyptic disaster tales. I also write novels
not short stories, which means Im the person who always takes three suitcases on an
overnight trip and youre asking me to travel with just a backpack.
This wasnt going to be easy.
When I got the message from Nila, I didnt initially commit. Not because I
didnt want to, but I wasnt sure I could do it, but I had to admit, I liked the challenge.
I spent the weekend hammering out the story, and initial reviews were very positive.
The problem was, while I liked the story, it wasnt post-apocalypticnot really.
SoI wrote another one partially inspired by the death of Ray Bradbury and an idea
my wife had that I titled Burning Alexandria. This was much more fitting to the
anthology, and I decided to submit that one, but I was then left with no home
for Greener Grass except to publish as a short.
The theme in Greener Grass is not one of position but reflection. Depending on
your outlook, if I did my job well, the story should mean different things. It could be a
tale of hope, or a vision of despair, and possibly say more about the reader than the
story. If nothing else it should touch off a conversation, sadly book groups dont
usually read short stories, or it might be ideal.
This story only touches on many themes and ideas that would be fun to explore
in a larger work, but I dont know if I will have time to write it. I suppose a lot will
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depend on how well Greener Grass is received. I would hate to feel I am locked into a
career that demands I only write fantasy, but then again I also like to eat.
As with some of my other projects, I ask for you to provide me feedback.
Please drop me an email at michael.sullivan.dc@gmail.comor take two seconds to
answer this one question poll. It really helps to know what you all are thinking.
Michael, June 2012
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AUTHORS BIOGRAPHY
After finding a manual typewriter in the basement of a friends house, Michael
inserted a blank piece of paper and typed: It was a dark and stormy night and a shot
rang out. Well, he was just eight years old at the time, so well forgive him that
trespass. But the desire to fill the blank page and see what doors the typewriter keys
would unlock wouldnt let him go. For ten years Michael developed his craft by
studying authors such as Stephen King, Ayn Rand, and John Steinbeck...just to name
a few. During that time he wrote ten novels, and after finding no traction in
publishing, he gave up and vowed never to write creatively again.
Michael discovered that never is a very long time, and he ended his hiatus from
writing after a decade. The itch returned when he decided to create a series of books
for his then thirteen-year-old daughter, who was struggling in school due to dyslexia.
Intrigued by the idea of writing a series with an overarching story line, he created the
Riyria Revelations. Each of the six-books were written as individual episodes but also
included intertwining elements and mysteries that develop over time. Michael
describes this endeavor as something he did "just for fun with no intention of
publishing." After presenting the first manuscript to his daughter, he was chagrined
that she declared, "I cant read it like this, cant you get it published?"
So began his second adventure on the road to publication, which included:
drafting his wife to be his business manager; signing with an independent press; and
later creating a small press. After two and a half years, the first five books sold more
than 70,000 copies and ranked in the top twenty of multiple Amazon fantasy lists. In
November 2010, he leveraged his success and received his first commercial
publishing contract for three novels from Orbit Books (the fantasy imprint of Hachette
Book Group, USA). In addition, Michael reached international status with twelve
foreign rights contracts including: The United Kingdom, France, Spain, Russia,
Germany, Russia, The Netherlands, Brazil, and Japan.
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Michaels work has been well received by critics and readers alike, earning him
hundreds of positive reviews, interviews, and articles. He has attributed much of his
success to the fantasy book blogging community. Dubbed "the little indie that could"
he found his books pitted as the only independent in major competitions such as the
2010 Goodreads Choice Award Nominee for Fantasy and the 2009 Book Spot
Centrals Fantasy Tournament of Books, which he won.
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AWARDS AND ACCOLADES
2012 Fantasy Book Critics Top 5 Anticipated Reads for Q1 (Heir of Novron)
2012 Civilian Readers Top 5 Anticipated Releases for Jan (Heir of Novron)
2011 Barnes and Nobles Blog Best Fantasy Releases (Theft of Swords)
2011 Civilian Readers Top 6 Anticipated Releases for Dec (Rise of Empire)
2011 Library Journals Best Books for Fantasy/Sci-fi (Theft of Swords)
2011 Civilian Readers Top 5 Anticipated Releases for Nov (Theft of Swords)
2011 A Dribble of Inks Best Fantasy Read List (Theft of Swords)2011 Graemes Fantasy Book Favorite Reads List (Theft of Swords)
2011 Drying Inks Best Epic Fantasy (Theft of Swords)
2011 Library Journals Fantasy/Scifi Debut for September (Theft of Swords)
2010 Fantasy Book Critic #1 Indie Fantasy (Wintertide & Emerald Storm)
2010 Iceberg Ink Award Best Read (Avempartha)
2010 Fantasy Book Critic Top 25 (Wintertide & Emerald Storm)
2010 Bookworm Blues Overall Best Reads of 2010 (Avempartha)
2010 Goodreads Choice Award Nominee for Fantasy (The Emerald Storm)
2010 Fantasy Book Critic Top 12 Novels as of First Quarter (The Emerald Storm)
2010 Foreword Magazine Book of the Year Finalist (Avempartha)
2010 Foreword Magazine Book of the Year Finalist (Nyphron Rising)
2010 Fantasy Book Critic Top 5 Novels of Second Half of 2010 (Wintertide)
2009 Winner of Book Spot Centrals Fantasy Tournament of Books (Avempartha)
2009 Speculative Fiction Junkies Top 5 Close Contender(The Crown Conspiracy)
2009 Top 10 Books by Dark Wolf Fantasy Reviews (The Riyria Revelations)
2009 National Indie Book Award Finalist (The Crown Conspiracy)
2008 ReaderViews Annual Literary Award Finalist (The Crown Conspiracy)
2007 Foreword Magazine Book of the Year Finalist (The Crown Conspiracy)
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WORKS BY MICHAEL J.SULLIVAN
NOVELS:
Theft of Swords (Riyria Revelations #1 & #2: Orbit, Nov 2011)
Rise of Empire (Riyria Revelations #3 & #4: Orbit, Dec 2011
Heir of Novron (Riyria Revelations #5 & #6: Orbit, Jan 2012)
The Crown Conspiracy (Riyria Revelations #1: AMI, Oct 2008)
Avempartha (Riyria Revelations #2: Ridan, Apr 2009)
Nyphron Rising (Riyria Revelations #3: Ridan, Oct 2009)
The Emerald Storm (Riyria Revelations #4: Ridan, Apr 2010)
Wintertide (Riyria Revelations #5: Ridan, Oct 2010)
Percepliquis (Riyria Revelations #6: Ridan & Orbit, Jan 2012)
SHORT STORIES:
The Viscount and the Witch (Riyria Chronicles #1: Ridan, Oct 2008)
Greener Grass (Ridan, June 2012)
CONTACTING MICHAEL J.SULLIVAN
Blog/Website | Twitter | Facebook (Riyria) | Facebook (Author)
Publishers: Ridan Publishing | Orbit | Hachette Book Group
michael.sullivan.dc@gmail.com
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