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Narrative

Connecting

Payton Shaw was just finishing his latest report to Colonel Hearne when a familiar voice called his name. Payton looked up to see Spruance Del Curtin leaning over the back of the sofa. “What brings you here?”

“I need a little help.” Sprue gave a quick look around, lowered his voice. “You’ve heard about the guy over at Schirrasburg who’s supposed to have caught the diablovirus?”

“Mostly because the whole settlement’s closed down and Colonel Hearne had to completely redo our flight roster to isolate the pilots who’d been there right before the guy turned up sick. Sure, we’re following strict quarantine procedures and pilots are no longer allowed to go inside the settlements they’re visiting, but there’s still a certain limited amount of contact.”

Sprue’s lips quirked up a little, not a full-out Smilin’ Al grin, but definitely mark him down as pleased with the situation. “So here’s the problem. There are a bunch of rumors going around now. Some of them say the guy’s recovered and may never have had the diablovirus in the first place. The rest are claiming he died but NASA’s covering it up to prevent panic, since nobody’s sure where he got it from.”

“That’s pretty heavy stuff, Sprue.” Payton considered just how deep he wanted to get into this mess. especially since he had no idea where Sprue had gotten his information. For all Payton knew, he’d gone and poked his nose into some place he shouldn’t again. “And you know the big boss really doesn’t want people passing rumors.”

“I know what Captain Waite’s said. We had a talk about it a while back.” Sprue sounded a little exasperated. “Anyway, I’m not passing rumors. I’m trying to find out whether there’s any substance to them. After all, isn’t the whole point of Shepardsport Pirate Radio trying to get the truth out so that people aren’t stuck having to sift through masses of contradictory rumors?”

“You really have a talent at putting me in a rough place, Sprue. I’m not going to promise anything, but I’ll see what I can find out.”

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Paying the Bills

In the world we know, Nikola Tesla’s Wardencliffe experiment proved a costly failure and was ultimately torn down for scrap. But what if things had gone differently and he pressed his work to completion?

In a world similar to but unlike our own, Tesla completes his transmission tower. But when he turns it on, he discovers his calculations were incomplete. Some unknown factor has created a connection with another world with physical laws unlike our own. The commingling of curved and angular space has led to catastrophe.

Now his greatest rival, Thomas Alva Edison, compels him to repair the damage. To do so, Tesla must make his way through a ruined city to the locus of the damage. And through his mind echoes the baying of unseen hounds.

A short story originally published in the anthology Steampunk Cthulhu.

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Narrative

Other Means of Validating Data

When Ursula Doorne first started advanced studies in astronomy, digital imaging technologies were really starting to come into their own in optical astronomy. Although she’d already specialized in radio astronomy, she had to work with the optical astronomers on a regular basis, and a lot of them were still very much of the glass photographic plate school. To them, there was no way a microchip could possibly compare with silver halide emulsion in capturing images.

By that time she already had enough background in electrical engineering to have a grasp of all the benefits of digital imaging. However, most of the most adamant members of the faculty were also very senior, and not exactly someone a student wanted to get crosswise with. Although given her specialty, it was unlikely they would be on her committee, there were other ways for someone of their stature to ruin a career before it even got started.

So she’d kept her head down and avoided them as much as possible. Which was probably why she’d spent almost as much time with the electrical engineering people as even the radio astronomers. At least there she didn’t have to watch her step quite so much, because the EE people weren’t going to be talking over coffee with the very people who most irritated her.

And that was probably why she often felt as comfortable down here in IT as she did in the Astronomy department offices. Especially when she needed to talk signals processing and data, these were her people. Of course Steffi Roderick was more of an AI specialist, but given how data-driven most AI was, especially when it involved autonomous robots like deep-space probes, she had a solid grounding in ways to deal with suspect data.

“We can certainly take a look at it. Just having more eyes looking at data helps catch anything that’s out of kilter. But there are a few things we can do that would be able to catch some of the less common instrumentation errors. Not perfect, but better than nothing while we’re waiting to get something else in position. By the way, you haven’t released any of this?”

“Only to the space weather people, as a precaution, and with a very clear caveat that it is not for general distribution. If we’re majorly wrong about some aspect of the Sun’s function, they need to know so they can adjust their forecasting accordingly.”

“That’s good to know. If we do find evidence of errors, it’s much easier if we don’t have to worry about retracting any pre-prints or poster sessions.”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten the AXIL fiasco.” Ursula paused, looked directly at Steffi. “Were you at JPL yet when that happened?”

“No, I was still finishing up my degree, but we heard about it. One of my professors discussed the sensor issues in class, since he had been one of the designers of the AXIL sensor system. Interesting days.”

“Yes, interesting days indeed.”

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Narrative

Indecision

Spruance Del Curtin looked at his phone, trying to decide what to do. So Drew wanted him to get answers about the situation in Schirrasburg, right when he was getting told that Command was taking notice of his curiosity, and not in a good way.

Should he contact Autumn Belfontaine, express interest in taking her up on that offer to put him on the news team? Except he really didn’t like the idea of having to give up being a DJ.

Who else could he talk to? A lot of times he’d ask Brenda, but she was Drew’s wife and Ken Redmond’s daughter, and Sprue wouldn’t be surprised if she told both of them that he’d asked her. Drew might be amused at having his own question come full circle, but Sprue was pretty sure that Ken was the one that sent Lou Corlin to make those passive-aggressive remarks last night.

However, Sprue did have a reasonably good rapport with Chandler Armitage. Not close, given that they were both Sheps and there was always a certain edge of competitiveness in any interaction between them. But if Sprue played his cards right, Chandler might just take the question as a challenge and plunge right into the search for the answer with all the determination of a terrier digging out its prey.

On the other hand, did he really want to discuss it over an insecure channel like SMS when it was clear that very senior people were taking an interest in his activities, and not in a good way? In normal times he might’ve found an excuse to go down to Flight Ops and see if Chandler was in his office. When you had lineage rights, there were plenty of ways to make the connection without catching flack about it.

Maybe sent a carefully worded text, to avoid making it too clear why he wanted to talk, and see if Chandler was at least in town. In the meantime, he had studying to do, and at least the latest lesson packet in his statistical analysis class would keep his mind too busy to fret.

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A Much-Welcome Connection

Brenda Redmond had just gotten to the dining commons and was looking for a table for herself and her children when her phone chimed a text alert. She reached for her phone, then checked herself. No, right now she needed to get the children settled in for their meal. The last thing she needed was for them to get bored while she was looking at her phone and go running all over the place.

Tonight seemed to be unusually busy. Some days she’d welcome sitting with friends, but right now she really wanted to find a table where she and the kids were by themselves. Especially if that text were important, she wanted to be able to take care of it right away.

Technically, you weren’t supposed to be texting in the dining hall unless it was an emergency. But right now there was a lot more gray area around the definition of “emergency,” and people tended to assume you were following the rules unless you were being an ass about it.

And the beginning of the text would come up on the lock screen when she woke it to scan the QR code at her seat to sign in. Which meant she was more than a little surprised to see that it had come from Drew. Wanting to know if she knew about something, from what she could see.

As soon as she had the kids settled in at their places and there was nothing to do but wait for the serverbot to deliver their meals, she pulled the text up.

Wondering if you’ve heard anything new about the situation at Schirrasburg. We’ve got rumors going around here that either the guy recovered and never had the diablovirus at all, or that he died but it’s being kept secret to prevent panic.

Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I haven’t heard much of anything. Command and senior staff’s really been stepping on gossip hard lately, and to be honest, I can’t blame them. Especially how young this community trends, we can’t let people’s fears run wild.

Understood. I was just hoping you might’ve come across some information at the station.

The news department’s been a lot more careful about information of late. Autumn’s told all the reporters that they are to watch their mouths, and what they read in the newsroom is suppose to stay in the newsroom unless she gives them the go-ahead.

Probably a wise idea. But it’d help if you could keep an eye out and let me know if you see anything about it.

I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.

Brenda would’ve said more, but the serverbot had just arrived, and it was time to eat and free up the seats for someone else.

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Narrative

Considerations

All through his air shift, Spruance Del Curtin’s thoughts kept going back to Autumn’s offer. Did he want to formally become a reporter? He liked being a DJ, and he doubted that they’d let him do both.

But it wasn’t really possible to have a conversation about the subject right now, since even a long set wouldn’t necessarily be enough to cover this sort of discussion. And once he handed it over to the Tea Time crew, he needed to get straight to the classroom for his teaching responsibility. It wasn’t quite as bad as when he had a basic geology class right before his air shift, but it still made things cramped and put dinner later than he would’ve liked.

As it turned out, it wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t had somewhere he needed to get to. Autumn had already left for the day and the newsroom was dark.

As he was making his way to Miskatonic Sector and the classroom where his students and senior instructor were waiting for him, his cell phone chimed incoming text.

Dang, what was it this time? Dr. Courland knew that he was coming straight off his air shift, and it took time to get between the station offices and the classrooms.

Sprue pulled out his phone to discover a message from Drew Reinholt: Have you heard anything solid about the situation down in Schirrasburg? We’re getting conflicting information. Some people say the guy’s recovered and never had the diablovirus in the first place, and other people are saying that he died and NASA’s covering it up to prevent panic.

Not something I’ve heard about right now. I’m on my way to a class I teach right now, but I could ask Autumn tomorrow. Or maybe you can ask her yourself.

As soon as he hit send, Sprue realized that might not be the best tone to take with a pilot-astronaut, especially not the husband of one of his colleagues at the station. But it was too late to recall it now, and probably Drew would understand that people get short when they’re being interrupted on the way to something they need to get to.

On the other hand, maybe it would be profitable to sound out Dr. Courland. Maybe he’d heard something through a different channel than the one the pilots used. After all, scientists had to communicate their findings to one another, and it was likely they’d talk about other stuff too.

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Narrative

No News Might Be Good News

Drew Reinholt was working his way through a new set of technical documents when he heard voices just outside his office door. He couldn’t make out words, but the tone and rhythms suggested distress, albeit carefully reined in. No doubt if he had been able to actually hear the words, he’d be too focused upon them to pick up that nuance.

Strictly speaking, even paying enough attention to notice the tension in the voices was a breach of privacy. Up here on the Moon, everyone was living in such tight quarters that it was liveable only if everyone studiosly avoided overhearing conversations that were not meant for them — although nobody would ever know if you did listen in as long as you never revealed it.

On the other hand, there were lots of ways of revealing information you weren’t supposed to have. Even so much as failing to show surprise at something could reveal that you must’ve come about knowledge in an illegitimate manner.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Back on Earth, he would’ve had to get up to open the door, but here he could just lean back and pull the door open. As long as it wasn’t a superior, his failure to rise to greet the person wasn’t a major breach of courtesy.

“Come on in.”

He was a little surprised to find Peter Caudell there. At least Captain Caudell wasn’t in his direct line of command, but the man was sufficiently senior in the list of astronaut selection groups that a certain amount of due deference was typically expected.

On the other hand, Caudell was also a clone of a Mercury astronaut, and familiar with the Shepard temperament. No, he wasn’t going to make an Issue of it.

Instead, he just leaned against the doorpost, taking an equally casual pose. “Say, Drew, have you heard any news about the situation down in Schirrasburg?”

“Not really. With their spaceport closed, I haven’t been keeping up that closely. I’ve got enough to do between studying for my latest training sequence,” he gestured to the documents on his computer, “and preparing for upcoming missions. Especially since they keep sending me down to Coopersville all the time.” Better stop there. It wouldn’t do to sound openly resentful about being unable to visit his family when Caudell’s wife and daughter lived here in the Roosa Barracks.

If Caudell picked up anything, he made no remark on it. “I’ve just heard some rumors. Some people claim the guy’s recovering and whatever he had, they’re pretty sure it wasn’t the diablovirus. Other people are saying he died but they’re covering it up to prevent panic.”

And you thought that Brenda being a DJ over at Shepardsport Pirate Radio would have her plugged into the information networks well enough that she’d know. Except there was no way to actually say that without being rude. “Unfortunately, I haven’t heard anything more authoritative, and with the current situation, I’ve been trying to keep my nose out of trouble.”

“Understood. But if you do come across something, let me know. I’m trying to reassure some people that we’re still safe, but the lack of solid information is only making them more likely to believe the worst rumors.”

“Will do.” With the conversation closed, Drew pointedly returned his attention to the material he needed to get absorbed before his next training session. After class, he’d consider whether he should contact Brenda and find out what she might know.

Or maybe he ought to contact one of his clone-brothers who happened to be one of Brenda’s colleagues at the station. That kid had a real nose for trouble, especially when he thought someone was hiding information from him.

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Paying the Bills

AFTER THE WORLD ENDS, THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

A Deadly Virus… A Civilization in Chaos… And One Man Looking for His Daughter in a World Blasted by Plague…

On a warm summer night in New York City, a monstrous plot to eradicate the human race is set into motion. 

Within days, the deadly Medusa virus is burning across the globe like a wildfire, leaving behind a handful of terrified survivors in a world unlike any they have ever known. 

Survivor Adam Fisher discovers that his estranged daughter Rachel may share his rare immunity to the virus, sending him on a quest through a post-apocalyptic America to find her. 

To find Rachel, Adam will risk everything — and come face to face with the horrifying truth about the plague that destroyed humanity.

Author’s Note – This edition contains all four Immune installments, including Unraveling, Void, Evergreen, and Citadel.

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Narrative

Shadows of the Past

Sometimes it was amazing to see what kinds of rumors cropped up on various places on the Internet. Some of them were new, but every now and then old nuggets would pop back up, including wild claims of having seen deceased individuals very much alive. Elvis of course, but also individuals of a more unsavory sort, the dark side of fame.

Autumn Belfontaine was never sure how much credence to give any of them. On one hand, a susceptible mind could spin a chance resemblance into an encounter with an incognito historical figure. On the other hand, the existence of human cloning raised the possibility that someone had in fact seen a clone who had gotten missed during the Expulsions, especially if that clone were about the age the individual in question had been during the period of their fame or notoriety.

All the same, she considered such reports useful mostly as filler, “news of the weird” items that would inject a little levity in news reports that were becoming ever more depressing. People needed something to lighten their moods, but right now the usual forms of humor felt more like mocking matters that ought to be treated with the utmost respect.

A movement at the edge of her field of vision caught her attention. She turned to see Spruance Del Curtin slouching his way down the corridor, looking as if he really wanted to avoid being seen.

What is he up to now?

She cleared her throat to catch his attention. “Aren’t you here early?”

Was that a hint of a flinch? “Just made better time getting down here than I’d expected.”

No, that did not sound the first bit believable. But if she openly called him on the lie, he’d just clam up on her.

“Sprue, if there’s something you want to talk about, we are family.”

Sprue came over to lean against the doorpost, although he didn’t actually enter the newsroom. “Just getting tired of feeling like I’m being watched all the time.”

Autumn considered how to respond to that one. “You do realize that there’s a lot going on right now, and not all of it is for public dissemination. There’s been some concern about just how much you’ve been trying to find out things, especially with you having access to broadcast media.”

Yes, that got his back to stiffen. “Hey, it’s not like I’m going to go blabbing it all over my air shift. But you’ve gotta admit that knowing that there’s information out there but I can’t get at it is something of a challenge.”

“True. Every good reporter has that newshound’s nose. But you’re not on the news team.” Should she make it into a directive to stay in his own lane, or would it be better to extend the offer to let him join? Sprue could be difficult, and she wasn’t sure how she’d handle dealing with him that closely.

It didn’t matter, because the program director picked that moment to come out and want to talk to Sprue about something. Still, Autumn continued to ponder the question as she went back to her own work.

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Watch Yourself

Ever since Lou Corlin had delivered his little warning (presumably from Ken Redmond), Spruance Del Curtin had been feeling on edge. Not just that fluttery feeling of unease before an important exam, or the uncertainty of dealing with a situation that could go either way. Instead, he was feeling very much as if he were being watched.

He’d tried to tell himself not to be paranoid. Of course there were cameras and microphones in all the public areas. That was pretty much a given in a lunar settlement, just like it was on a spacecraft or in a space station. There were procedures for accessing the recordings, which ensured that they couldn’t be used for inappropriate purposes, whether that be idle curiosity on the part of neighbors or vindictive spite on the part of authority figures.

But it wasn’t just knowing that the public areas of the settlement were monitored. No, he was struggling with a feeling that he was being watched by people, not just the ever-present machines. That someone, or more likely several someones, were monitoring his activities because someone in authority had decided that he’d crossed a line that couldn’t be ignored.

It would be so much easier if it had been just an issue of hitting on girls. Say, he’d paid a little too much attention to someone whose parents objected, whether because they thought he was too old for their daughter or because they just didn’t like Sheps in general. But he was getting a real feeling that it was a whole lot bigger than that, especially since he really had been too busy lately to spend much time on what would often be one of his favorite pastimes.

Lou’s comment might well have been oblique, but it strongly suggested that someone was not pleased about his interest in something. But what would be the subject that they were so determined to shut him out of that they’d be sending one of his colleagues from the station to warn him off in such vague ways that it verged on the passive-aggressive?

All the way to the station offices, Sprue mulled over those thoughts. Who could he even approach to try to figure out what was such a closely guarded line of inquiry that his curiosity was so unwelcome?