Greener Grass - Michael J. Sullivan

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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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Greener Grass Michael J. Sullivan

4

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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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 [email protected] 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

[email protected]

Documents

Greener Grass - Michael J. Sullivan