prophecies of Dune, part 2
The syncretism of religions, Catholicism and Islam and Buddhism, that I remember off the top of my head, in the series had import, I feel, too. But I may leave that for a part three of this blog series.
Herbert also had a keen interest in the ecology of the earth. He studied the sand dunes on the Oregon coast and how scientists battled with nature; against the slow creep of the sand dunes in the early part of the 20th century which nearly took over a town on the Oregon coast. They planted European beach grass was planted to halt the progression of the sand dunes which was engulfing roads, the cars and homes. It is interesting how in such cases sand dunes can continue to take over the land until there is nothing but desert. This phenomenon has happened in other lands around the world, like certain parts of Africa and the Middle East. I’ve heard that the Saharan desert, aeons ago, was significantly smaller than it is today and that many areas in the Middle East, places that encompassed ancient Biblical lands, were once garden-like and green, flowing with water. The desert has overtaken these places today. The role of water scarcity and ecology were important themes in the Dune series, as well as religion and politics. As they are today and even more-so than in the past. A.I. will become a major problem for us all in regards to access to clean, drinkable water, because the type of chips that were pursued use enormous amounts of energy and need fresh water to keep the massive data centers they inhabit from over heating.
(Spoiler alert!) Then, there is the question of the role of Woman. I speak of the frightening concept of the civilization of Ix. There is the mystery of the axlotl tanks throughout the series. The axlotl tanks of Ix and recurrent views on women’s roles in society among some internet communities seem similar in a certain way. The resurgence in primitive attitudes towards women in certain internet communities - the idea that all a woman is good for is having babies has roots in other things that I can write about in another post - one about fear of the future and the decay of a major civilization, which is a cycle the human family repeats throughout time. But, I digress.
That She, Woman, has no other value to her man or to society other than to give birth. And in the most primitive, give birth to sons. We can see the results if this attitude in China today. Too many young Chinese men cannot find a mate. While one can say that they can find other women outside the culture, and that has been done throughout time, that over time, radically changes culture which can create other issues that natalists don’t talk about. Or at least I don’t see them talking about them. That issue is people who grow up existing in two cultures and some may not align themselves with the father’s culture. They may choose to identify with the mother instead.
While I have traditional views on quite a few things this is not true on everything. One thing I will never support, as a woman, is this idea that I have no value beyond my womb. God would never have gifted me or other women with intelligent minds if this was the case. He would have approved of the idea of females simply being turned into axlotl tanks to simply breed, nothing but machine and flesh, a womb and a vagina that has no sentience nor even a mind. It reminds me of the Ixian civilization where the males have turned the females into breeding tanks, quite literally, machined tanks waiting to be inseminated. While this is not literally happening to woman today the idea that what you think or what is on your mind has no importance to a man was always ever present in every culture. The constant question of motherhood, or lack thereof brings attention to this theme in Herbert’s work. The attitude that women should love and take care of their families is Godly, a fine thing. It respects the traditional ideal of Womanhood. But the idea that all we are good for is to stay in the home and remain pregnant is ignorant. It’s the attitude behind the idea that can be the problem. Such disrespectful attitudes towards women in a culture usually signals that that culture is moving backwards, not towards traditional values but towards ignorance and darkness. Womankind was created as a helper by God for Man. Not a mule. When Adam first saw Eve he exclaimed his delight in poetry. At Genesis 2:23 he said:
Then the man said:
“This is at last bone of my bones.
And flesh of my flesh.
This one will be called Woman,
Because from man she was taken.”
Of course, things fell apart afterwards, but that’s gristle for another post. I would add that the Apostle Paul made it clear that one could find blessings from either marriage (and children) or singleness and this was true for both men and women. Woman has a purpose in God’s family, and birthing children is but one of those paths - not the only path.
This subject also reminds me of what happens in a society when machines are allowed to have too much influence over daily life. People are no longer human but numbers or objects. There seems to be a correlation here. The Ixian males saw one half of their planet’s population as nothing more than machine wombs, there to give birth and nothing more. They had no personhood, so they turned their females into grotesque, unsentient baby-making machines. Ixian females no longer had heads, chests, arms or legs, only abdomens, thighs and the necessary reproductive organs. The realization of it, when I first read it as a girl, was frightening. And it has always stayed with me. I don’t think this was shown in any of the films made about the series over the years, not even the latest ones. I think I understand. Such a thing would have been too much for people. But it’s something to ponder, as we all sit on the edge and watch the fall of Western Civilization.
Check out my Red World trilogy, very much inspired by the Dune series. An audiobook version is in the works.
Happy reading!
The Prophecies of frank herbert and Dune
My favorite cover!
It may seem like I’m over stating my opinion. And Frank Herbert wasn’t trying to be a prophet. He, like any writer, was writing what was in his heart and on his mind. But I really have the belief that quite a few of the science fiction authors of old were secular prophets, and in my opinion, Frank Herbert was one of the foremost “prophets”. In fact, one of the “major” prophets of science fiction, like a Jeremiah, an Ezekiel or a Daniel.
I first read Dune many years ago , when I was in high school. It was my second trans-formative experience as a young writer. The first was The Lord of the Rings. Like the Lord of the Rings, this book was foundational in my desire to become a writer. After I’d read it, I wanted more stories in this world. Thankfully, Herbert had written five more books in his dazzling desert world and a few earlier tangential books that later influenced the series. Unfortunately, he died before he could finish the series.
But, that’s not what this post is about. This is about his prescience in what could happen to human civilization when it relies too heavily on machines. It’s moral decay, its decline in knowledge and education within the population towards a primitive way of life. It’s a warning and a theme that can be seen in the Terminator films, but addressed in a very different way; it creates the making of a dystopian, bleak future. One is also reminded of the first Matrix film.
When men become too dependent on machines to think for them they cease being humans. They become slaves or worst, unthinking beasts, as Reverend Mother Mohaim in Dune, might put it. Today, many years after the author’s death, we have become that very corrupted, decaying society. We have lost our gods, our heroes, our vision of a bright future, our cultural roots and the belief in the good of our society, but, we have our “new” god - The Machine, or as some might put it, the god in the machine. You even have those who truly believe in this new, fey religion; that the human mind and consciousness can be downloaded into the “machine” and exist there and they work feverishly to achieve this for humanity whether the rest of us want to come along or not. This worship of the Machine is a transcendental belief that has stripped off the moss and the bark of the old religions but has retained the idea of customs, rituals and vestigial appendages of the times of old, without the roots, the foundation and the archetypes that made religions what they were - and still are. And what is religion? It is the system of knowledge that necessarily wrestles with and does its best to answer the big questions of: Why? It is the entity that embraces and incorporates philosophy, the ecstatic experience, the mystery of the Supernatural, the spiritual, the holy ritual and it binds humans together within a culture like glue to create and maintain strong families, a strong society and therefore a strong civilization.
What does the Machine do? When not put in its proper place, like anything, and when under the control of those with strange and dark desires, it becomes destructive. We have become so dependent upon machines that often society ceases to function properly when things break apart or go down temporarily. Artificial Intelligence has taken this problem a step further. So many have become so disconnected to reality in the cyber world that they interact with A.I. as if it is a sentient intelligence instead of a thinking tool, which is what it really is. Many young people coming out of primary school and college see A.I. as an all free pass out of work and learning. They don’t want to learn anything because A.I. will do it for them. Why bother with the work of becoming educated when you don’t have to? I’m afraid to say, some years down the line these same young people are going to feel the harsh belt of reality when they can’t think or perform and are relegated to poverty and serfdom because they chose not to be educated. I know this is not true of all of them and the ones wise enough to understand that they need to be able to think critically, be curious about the world, read and use their brains will come out on top.
A.I. is not true intelligence, not in the way that humans understand intelligence. Honestly, we still don’t even know how to define intelligence well or explain where it comes from. We haven’t even been able to create life out of nothing. So, to enslave the human race to what is, in essence, a machine, to put us under the yoke of something we ourselves don’t fully understand how to use responsibly is anathema to human wisdom and survival. Those who are responsible for this problem have made sure they are still in control but they may not understand how precarious their own position is. This is always the way, if one reads history. Life has a habit of turning the tables on the greedy and powerful. This too happens in Dune. A scripture comes to my mind about these very kinds of people. Revelation 6:15-17. Read it sometime. It is a very interesting scripture in light of what is happening today. After all, there are reports that these tech geniuses and captains of new industry are the same ones building underground cities and lavish survival bunkers. What in the world are you doing building such things if the future is so bold and bright, as they try to tell us, if they aren’t gloating about how A.I. will eventually destroy humanity ( and oh, by the way, they’ve made billions of dollars because of it)? Because the one they are building isn’t bright. They are ushering in a new Dark Age and they know it. One where most of the population will be reduced once again, to peasantry, serfdom and slavery. And I have news for them; if the dirty, unwashed masses go, so will you. You don’t get to rid the planet of most of humanity and think that it will go well with you. It won’t. Those underground bunkers are simply fancy tombs. I’m sure Herbert is turning over in his grave over what society has become.
Look for part two if this series next. Also, you can check out my Red World trilogy, very much inspired by the Dune series. An audiobook version is in the works.
Happy reading.
The Sound Of Stories
Explore great new audiobooks!
I am participating in a new audiobook promotion. This is my first audiobook, ever and along with my own there are many awesome audiobooks to choose from in this promotion. Check them out! Add them to your TBR pile today! Click the link below to explore great audiobooks!
Books On Google! (And Amazon!)
I am finally getting my books on the Google Play store. Putting books on Google always seemed un-intuitive and difficult. But, it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be.
My first audiobook Message At The Deep is live, as of today. For whatever reason, when I try to add the link for people to use to get there, it comes up as blocked. So you may have to actually go there and type the title in the search bar under audiobooks. The ebooks are not there, yet. Look for them later this year. The end of the year is fast approaching! I can’t believe it’s fall already. It seems like it was just yesterday that I had the air- conditioner blowing all night long!
New Books!
Not only have I been busy writing and editing my own book but I bought some new books this month to read.
First up is The Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius (which I have also read). Here’s the thing - I have Folio Society taste with dime store money! I love the look and feel of Folio Society but I don’t always have the money. I found this beautiful edition of The Consolation of Philosophy on Ebay. It also comes in a red slip cover. Not only is it full of wisdom but it also works as a small coffee table book. Call me a snob but I don’t believe in buying coffee table books that you haven’t read. Buy it, if it appeals to you but don’t be phony; read it too. That’s what books are for. This YT channel, Pontus Presents, is where I first encountered this edition and decided that I had to have it! The main character in the current series I’m writing, Jonas Johnson, reads philosophy from time to time and he takes comfort, later in the series, from Boethius’s work.
I’m too lazy to flip my own photo! Sorry!
The other book I bought this month I found in a tiny basement level vintage shop. I was in Hood River and ready to leave for home when I happened to be walking down the street and I found the shop and decided to explore it. I went down, inside and looked around, finding quite a few things that I wanted (and didn’t need) and then I came across this vintage beauty. Analog magazine. Vintage science fiction magazines. I love it. In fact, they had quite a few of them but after all of the other things I bought I could only afford one. I paid $6.00 for it. It’s interesting because the original price printed right on the front cover was $1.25. I love vintage science fiction and fantasy and some of my work is very much inspired by it. It will always be inspirational for me.
Another book I’m planning to buy is a version of Beowulf. I’m just trying to find which I prefer. of course, I will buy Tolkien’s version because it’s Tolkien but I may also buy Shippey’s version or a much older one. We will see. I have a major post coming up this week on the themes I will be exploring in my new series. Also, don’t forget, the first book is out now!
Happy reading!
New release!
The first book in my new series that I’ve been blabbing about all year is finally here! I’ll go ahead and put the blurb right here. I have to say, the blurb sometimes is more difficult to write than the actual book. I labored over it more than I labored over the novel. Crazy.
Anyway, it is available here on my own shop and it is already available on Amazon, Apple, B&N and Smashwords. It is still in the process of being published on other platforms. Look for the audiobook version on October 31st!
Message At The Deep (A Jonas Johnson novel)
From the depths of space, an unknown darkness comes.
Jonas Johnson is a lost soul in a world he doesn’t fit in. His recurring nightmare foretells that something dangerous is coming but he has no idea what it means. Depressed, alone and disaffected, he has lost his purpose in life. He does his best to eke out a living as an under licensed private investigator, staying just beneath the radar of the law.
A distraught young woman comes to him begging for help when a beloved family friend is missing. Not a shock - missing persons are the bread and butter of his business and he’s usually able to find them. But no one is interested in investigating this particular man’s disappearance, especially not the police. Taking on the case, Jonas soon finds that other people don’t want him investigating this case either. Unearthing strange and ominous details surrounding the man’s disappearance, his investigation puts him on the radar of dangerous people he’d rather stay hidden from. Most of all, this young woman is connected to his past in a surprising way and events push him onto a perilous path toward a conflict between dangerous forces that threaten to engulf human society.
First book in the Jonas Johnson series
Tikitty-Boo. . .
Things are going tikitty-boo. They are coming along. editing an audio book actually helps get every last mistake out of the manuscript. I took a break today and went to the Hood River Fall Festival. Things are almost done! I’m excited for this new series and I’m excited for the stories I want to tell in this series! I hope readers do enjoy the Jonas Johnson series. I think it’s going to be a hell of a ride! I would say it is a mix of science fiction and science fantasy. Anyway, look for the release of Message At The Deep in two weeks! I’m hoping the ebook and the audio book can be released on the same day but if not, the ebook will definitely be out on the week of October 22, 2025!
Message At The Deep (First Chapter)
ONE
The ravens chased away the sun. Seizing Dusk by its corners, they pulled it down and with cruel beaks pierced the night until they had put all the stars out.
He came to with an abrupt start; a nascent migraine was settling in his right temple again. He had nodded off, the only thing having saved him from falling into true sleep was the noise of the long-range lens of his old night vision scope banging against the dashboard. His eyes climbed up the dash to find an unusually large crow sitting on the hood of the vehicle. Was it a crow or was it a raven? He had a hard time telling the difference and he didn’t much care for either one.
The creature was Stygian black and it fixed its tiny eyes, glittering like wet onyx stones, upon him. He slowly reached for his thermos. The creature cocked its head to the side, tracking the movement of his hand. Slowly, Jonas unscrewed the top and took a sip of coffee, ignoring the crow. He kept his eye on the chosen location; the last door of the condo to the left of his windshield.
Still hot. No, it wouldn’t do, he thought. Not for the headache massing at his temple. The com-link in his coat pocket vibrated and chimed the distinctive tone he’d set for new clientele messages. Glancing at his face in the rear-view mirror, he winced as the com-plug in his ear burst with blue light in response.
He reached for the black canister under the seat beside him for the electrolyte mix. It was one of the rare things that worked to chase away migraines, if he caught it in time. He hated going to the doctor or using prescript drugs. It was a great difficulty to get an appointment as an independent patient, for the Health Authority wanted patients as monthly subscribers belonging to a health management company, not patients with their own coverage. Once a person was registered with an approved health management company (and therefore on the radar of the system) they interfered in every aspect of their life until that person died. Sometimes at their hands.
He gulped the cool liquid down, feeling the satisfaction of his thirst slaked, his cells replenished. Or at least he imagined this last part. He sighed in relief as the growing cluster in his head slowly subsided.
The monstrous ghoul, finding no reaction nor any food offerings from Jonas, hopped a few steps along the hood and then with a sharp flap of his wings, flew off. And with it, Jonas’s distracted mind. He shivered involuntarily, shook himself and willed his mind to focus again, the one thing Jonas prided himself on. Lately, he’d been losing sleep and losing his focus. It was an effort to do simple things now. Everything annoyed him and everything disturbed his sleep. And the nightmares were back.
One thing that he’d lost no sleep over was the fallout over the last case. Normally, a case ended with him finding a client’s cheating spouse, stolen goods, a runaway teen or some other minor resolution and him getting paid and going on his way.
This time it ended with the client’s own cheating husband murdering her for exposing his predilection for the very young, and Jonas hunting him down and killing him for murdering his client. He’d lost no sleep over that, which surprised him. What did cause him to lose sleep was that this man was a very wealthy, influential tech CEO who had friends and associates in high places with similar predilections. Sooner or later Jonas knew that he would be on the radar of some very dangerous people. Until then, he would continue as he was.
The two marks finally emerged from their poorly chosen love nest. A cheating wife and her paramour. When they walked out to the front porch of the condo, partially hidden by a few blood-good Japanese maples, Jonas lifted his night vision scope, adjusted the illuminator lens focus and took several shots. Then he recorded the two as they embraced and kissed, oblivious to the rest of the world. He felt grim satisfaction. That kiss would pay his living expenses for the next month. Often, he preferred boots-on-the-ground investigation over sitting on his computer using software to track and spy on people. A good, old-fashioned long focus-lens camera, a laser-gun in his holster and a stake-out vehicle was the perfect job for him. No computer consoles, no fancy tech like invisi-shields, which always had to be calibrated just right unless one enjoyed feeling nauseated. He smiled to himself. Sometimes he felt like a hypocrite. Spying on others was his job, yet he hated the pervasive spying of the government and its myriad satellite corporations. As a private investigator, once he got what he needed, enough was enough. They, on the other hand, could never get enough.
Pulling out his com-link device he sent a message to his current client that the marks had been observed, evidence taken and ready to be sent. Then he sent an invoice for payment. When he got home he would make the obligatory copies for a special file for himself. Insurance for lawsuits that he would keep for five years before getting rid of them. As he was sending the message the device pinged with a familiar sound. It was his druggist.
The new sleeping pills Ralston made for him were ready. Stronger, more potent. Able to block out dreams. Another hypocrisy. He didn’t like prescript drugs, but he was no longer opposed to illicit desiderata, if they were effective in helping him with his work or helping him get to sleep.
Ralston was a chemistry major and he was good at engineering imaginative drugs. Drugs that were of the purest, cleanest substances or drugs mixed in the right way to boost performance, drugs that could suppress hunger and help the mind do amazing things, if one didn’t over do it. There were times that Jonas could stay awake, alert and function at a high level for nearly a week, due to Ralston’s product. He preferred the term druggist rather than dealer when it came to Ralston.
Ralston also made all sorts of concoctions with mushrooms and mold. Jonas had started calling him The Alchemist. Ralston was something of a genius in his mind. Jonas would pick up his new batch later.
It was still twilight, the sun not yet seen but the midnight black sky had turned dark blue. A thin streak of pale rose color signaling the coming dawn shot across the horizon. He loved being planet-side and enjoyed any work he could get on Earth, just for the sunrises and sunsets. His soul hungered for it. Grrrrwhrrjuut. His stomach gurgled and growled for something else. It was time for some breakfast.
He glanced at the fingers on his right hand, making sure the fingerprint skinpad adhesive was still bonded to his actual fingers. He touched the ignition fingerprint scan and as the vehicle lept to life he turned up the heat, enjoying the warmth as it coursed through the seats and the steering gear. He spent much of his time feeling cold these days. Warmth was a luxury whenever he could get it.
“Manuel steering,” he commanded the General Use Program.
“Manual steering is less ideal for this make and model. You must opt in for this feature,” came the response. I have to opt in to steer the vehicle? This was different. Not a good difference. Jonas was insistent.
“Computer, I, Mr. Vaugn Johnson opt in to have the manual steering option on and available at all times whenever I rent a vehicle from Travel Sense Company. Please update the terms of service agreement I signed. Manuel steering, on.” Rotting hells.
“Manuel steering, on,” the computer responded. “Terms of service automatically updated, Mr. Johnson.” Suddenly, the holoscreen near the rear-view mirror exploded on. He jumped and grimaced in irritation as advertisements always came on far too loudly, as if to make some quick imprint on the captive mind before they got shut off. How many are they going to cram in this time? he wondered.
“Try our new and improved Wubbly Bubbly cleaner! Safe to use for laundry, household cleaning, disinfecting and even as shampoo! Now, with twenty percent more solution added! Say yes and the last four digits of your personal identification number to sign up for a free sample!”
“No.” Ad number one.
“Vera Cafe Mocha Mix! Mmm-mmm, delicious! Get that Vietnamese coffee experience for next to nothing! Say your personal identification number to get yours today!”
“No.” Ad number two.
“Are you lonely? Do you have strong manly. . .urges? Looking for beautiful females who will-” Jonas finally grabbed the bottom of the screening device and punched the “off” button. Unfortunately, this abrupt shutoff prompted the General Use Program to proceed along a more invasive path in its surveillance framework.
“Hello, Mr. Johnson. I’ve noticed that you’ve turned off the holo-screen advertisements. Are you in a regular habit of turning off this content?” This line of questioning in a rented vehicle was new to him. There must have been a recent system-wide network update among rental vehicle companies.
“Umm. . . .no?” he said uncertainly.
“We’ve noticed that you’ve turned advertisement content off. Such content supports the products, services and necessities that we all use for a better, more comfortable modern life. It also keeps many people gainfully employed which helps us all. Now, Mr. Johnson, how much web, holo-vid entertainment and news content do you watch on a daily basis?”
“Ah, well. . .” Jonas wasn’t ready for this question. Some system update must of happened since the last time he was on Earth. A nosier system update.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your answer. You can say more than seventy hours per week or less than thirty-five hours per week. If less than thirty-five hours per week we can arrange to have a Robeson Entertainment tech visit and assess your dwelling for their latest entertainment packages?” Jonas rolled his eyes. Assess my dwelling. Sure.
Sometimes the true purpose of front-facing employees dealing with a customer base was spying on them for the company if said company deemed any activity or pattern of behavior suspicious. Jonas did not have an account with Robeson Entertainment.
“Never mind.”
“We have detected that you seem annoyed or disturbed about something, Mr. Johnson. Does-”
“I said never mind!” If it detected an angry expression that meant there was a camera hidden somewhere in the vehicle that needed shutting off or at least covering over. Jonas looked around in the more obvious places where he might find a camera. “Does a personal music collection or frequency or amplitude radio count for these packages?” he inquired.
“Radio is discouraged as it is antiquated and not curated by official government channels, authorities in your jurisdiction or solar system sector. From what location are you consuming unauthorized content, Mr. Johnson?” The General Use Program sounded alarmed, the pitch in its usually mellow voice noticeably lifted.
“Your anus,” he said dryly.
“Uranus. Does not compute. Let’s try again, Mr. Johnson-”
“No, let’s not! Rotting hells!” He moved to the side of the road and shut the vehicle off, then he fumbled around for one of his ad-and-voice command blocking drives and inserted it inside a drive dock hidden in a small panel under the steering wheel and started the vehicle up again. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to get away with doing this but it had always worked. His morning saved by an illegal ad-blocker, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief and continued on his way.
After charting a path to the diner Jonas took the scenic route; being the one that took him through the biggest parks and the oldest neighborhoods, the pinnacle in his mind being the beautiful, manicured grounds of Polaris Academy. Even in and around the well-kept college neighborhood before he got to the city he again noted the shattered glass of transit rail shelters here and there and hideous looking graffiti, sometimes with the prominent letters: LOC.
Some new gang in town? What does that mean? He wondered. Whoever the vandals were, they were relentless. They broke out glass or bombed out strong plasti-windows from transit shelters everywhere these days. And in every case there was the ugly, spray painted graffiti. Sometimes trash was strewn all over the shelter. It was becoming difficult for the city or corporate maintenance to respond to clean up calls. It chased more and more transit patrons away from public transportation unless they had no other way to travel.
Rounding toward the familiar area, he could see the long row of ancient oak trees that lined the street of the school’s eastern side. The actual school itself could barely be seen for the trees and the walls that surrounded it like an old fortress, a natural privacy barrier, but he liked catching glimpses just the same. It was early spring, which still felt and looked like winter. Across the street was an equally long line of cherry blossom trees, not yet in bloom. But there were a few daffodils here and there throughout the neighborhood yards announcing their sunny little faces, even in the twilight. His eyes peeled the streets from one side to the other, playing a childish mental game: how many daffodils do you see? His grandfather’s yard would explode with them every spring when he was a child. They were his favorite color back then, the color of happiness.
Unfortunately, just thinking of the bright color yellow seemed to bring a dull pounding sensation to his temple again. He rubbed it, trying to soothe himself. He looked over at the seat next to him, frantically grabbing for the drink canister. It was empty. He dug through his pockets, driving with one hand, switching to the other hand to dig in the pockets on the left side of his coat. So intent was he to find a pain pill to stave off the resurrected migraine that he swerved, nearly hitting an oncoming vehicle. The blaring horn of the other vehicle made him jump, lighting up his nervous system with painful pricks of sensation that spread throughout his body in waves. He grabbed the steering wheel with both arms as if it were a life raft. He saw a sharp flash of red, white and blue light in his rear-view mirror, and then the assertive alarm of a police drone. He had only seconds to pull over and stop. Failing to stop immediately would prompt them to shut off the vehicle remotely and if they deemed it necessary to do that, no matter what the issue was, he would face immediate arrest. Jonas, blocked by parked cars where he was on the street, simply stopped the vehicle, put it in park and kept his hands on the wheel. He turned over in his mind what would happen if they found he had several fake ID cards, what would happen if they found that he had no status assignation. His head was pounding but he was trapped. In the mirror he saw a large black drone dropping down right behind his vehicle, the emergency lights slicing through the morning. A large mech climbed out of the drone. Jonas touched his face, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. His old, plasti-flesh mask seemed to be holding up fine. But pounding heart and head made him second-guess this assumption. Jonas closed his eyes and went through the meditation chant he often went to when he was under great stress. It took him to a silent island of calm when his thoughts were stormy and chaotic. He wasn’t advanced in this technique. It only lasted for a few minutes but it was what he had.
A mech knocked on the driver’s side window. Jonas rolled it down.
“Good morning, mech-officer,” Jonas said calmly. He held the wheel tighter to stop his hands from trembling. Oh, dread god!
“Please turn your face to the left,” it said, the voice, grating and brusque as metal dragging across across granite.
He stilled himself, willing the steel of calm over his mind. He turned it head. The mech used a scanning tool attached to its arm to scan his face. Pain shot through his temple down to his eye. He wanted to cried out but remained silent.
“Is your name Vaughn Johnson?”
“Yes, mech-officer.” So far his ID passed but things could go south at any moment.
“You nearly crashed your vehicle into a parked pod while heading west on N. E. Knott Street.”
“Yes, mech-officer.”
“What was the reason that caused the near-accident?”
“I was trying to reach for my canister for something to drink,”
“What is in the canister, Mr. Johnson?”
“A hydration drink. I use it for headaches,” he said softly. His voice had grown softer as the mech’s voice had become louder. Jonas thought he might faint. The mech stared at him for a few moments as if one might stare at an insect before crushing it.
“Hand me the canister,” it said. Jonas handed the mech the canister and it used its arm to probe and scan the inside.
“No alcohol. I perceive that you are tired, Mr. Johnson.”
“Yes, mech-officer.” The mech suddenly grew quiet. Jonas hoped beyond hope that this interaction would stop. He didn’t want to answer anymore questions – no questions on his job or what he was even doing out so early in the morning. He had no set status on one of his ID cards, the real ID, the others indicated he posessed merchant status. This could be dangerous depending on the mech or officer and their motives. Everyone had a class status assigned at birth; labor, merchant, academic or the Enhanced (the wealthy). The dreaded one was free-born status. Which was actually no status. Independent. Freeborns sometimes disappeared in the system. There was no think-tank political organization or lobby machine for freeborns. But there was a growing, unspoken freeborn-to-serfdom-pipeline.
A wet warmth streamed down his mouth and chin. Jonas looked down. His nose was bleeding profusely.
“Your nose is bleeding. Do you need medical assistance?”
“No! No. . . I have migraines. I just need my medication,” he said hoping no more questions would be asked. Please, please, just go! God, universe, whoever, just let me get out of here! The mech stared at him so long it seemed his life passed before his eyes. This is what he got for trying to enjoy life, for taking the scenic route.
Just when he thought he was in true trouble the mech waved him on. It received a communication on its comlink device. It turned to look at Jonas, handing him back the canister. It’s dark cybernetic eyes oscillated between black and amber, flickering rapidly as it continued to scan him, the vehicle and the immediate area around him. Jonas forced himself to stare into those dark pools, steeling himself even more and recited the mantra silently to steady his mind and nervous system. At the same time he was quailing in fear on the inside. He felt he was on the verge of drowning.
“You may go with no fine this time, Mr. Johnson, as you have no record nor any prior accidents.” He felt relief wash down his spiked nervous system like a hard rain. He kept composed as his head exploded with pain and at the same time he wanted to shout for joy. He remained composed, wiping away the blood that ran down all over his coat. Not daring to move the vehicle until the mech got in the drone and lifted off, he pulled out a few napkins and wiped himself down and plugged his nose, holding his head back until the bleeding subsided. That took a huge cloud of tissues. After taking about five minutes to staunch the bleeding he fished in his pockets again for a stray pain pill. His eyes watered for the pain and stress. Finding one of the pain pills and holding it as if it were a found gold coin he swallowed it. He sat there looking out at the streets before him. It was still relatively quiet. He took a deep breath. His head was still pounding but the sharpness of the pain was now dulled. The ordeal over, Jonas started up the vehicle and continued on his way.
Twenty minutes later he’d arrived at The Gravy Train, his favorite breakfast spot. He quickly peeled off his plasti-flesh mask and rolled it up, stuffing it in his pocket. He stared at his face in the rear view mirror. Sometimes it took him a few seconds to get used to looking at his own face. A good plasti-flesh mask had many uses in his line of work. They also had limits. It couldn’t morph a person into something radically different from what they were but it could make one look like a would-be sibling or a cousin of the wearer. When they wore out and got too old they pilled and wrinkled in such a way that it became noticeable that one was wearing a mask. They also started to smell when they were too old. Even after washing them in disinfectant. It had to do with the senescent cells in the plasti-flesh mingling with human sweat, dead human cells and dirt for too long. Once it was too old it became harder and harder to get the smell out. He breathed a little better now. The mask tended to make the bridge of his nose a little more narrow. He was hoping this would help the headache.
- - -
He could smell the bacon and the coffee as he made his way inside. Several hoverboard riders raced by behind him, zigzagging across the street and down the block in tight formation. A recent law had made such antics illegal but Jonas usually enjoyed watching them just the same, with their boards lighting up the night and early morning with different colors. They were fun to watch but not today. He was hoping his headache would go away. They’d be chased down by drones and corralled soon enough by the police.
He looked for his favorite corner in the back of the place but upon coming inside, the diner was brimming with far more people than usual or was fire-code safe, to Jonas’s irritation. His head was still aching.
Lexia, the grand-daughter of the owners, who usually greeted him cheerily and immediately brought him coffee was distracted this morning. Her pretty face was furrowed in a frown as she took down the volley of orders coming at her on a large data-pad. It seemed that a boisterous, jovial tour group had come in for breakfast. Why they’d come here as supposed to some other place was a mystery as The Gravy Train was in a depressed area of the city and mainly served the humble, elderly patrons in the neighborhood. Jonas briefly flicked his eyes over the crowd, relieved that no one was sitting in his favorite spot. Mr. Galanis, the owner, gave him a slight wave. Jonas nodded. Mr. Galanis, looking harried, came over, bringing him a large cup of coffee.
“Thanks, Mr. Galanis. Is everything alright?” Jonas asked.
“Oh, no, no! No problem! These tour groups can be, ah, hectic,” he said, a light quaver in his voice. His hands were trembling slightly. He started massaging the muscles in his hands and then his temple again.
“I’ve never seen tour groups come in here,” Jonas said shortly. Mr. Galanis looked up at his wonderingly.
“Oh, we get them once in a blue moon. Anyway, I’ll get your order ready. Did you have a good morning?”
“I’ve made my money for the day. That’s always good. Can I get a seat, please? I’m a little tired.” mr. Galanis looked at him, frowning.
“Oh, yes, yes. I’m sorry! Here, your favorite seat, right here!” Mr. Galanis motioned over at his spot. Jonas went over to his favorite table and sat down.
Jonas had just got off a case, acquired a migraine he was trying to get rid of and almost got arrested. Nothing else was of particular concern to him at the moment but his own discomfort. The old man smiled briefly, nodded and left for the kitchen, getting caught up in the crowd as one of the men in the tour group pulled him aside. Jonas shook his head and fished for some creamer pods in the little basket on the table. He took out a small glass shaker filled with cloves from his coat pocket and dropped a few in his coffee then pulled out a small data-pad and pulled up a news feed to catch up with the news of the day then thought better of it. Screens only made headaches worse. He put it away. The dull thudding was starting to fade. Lexia had come and set a massive plate of cheesy grits, scrambled eggs and bacon on the table.
“I’m so sorry, Jonas! We’re swamped this morning!”
“No problem, Lexia. More business is always good,” he said, hoping she wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. She gave him a strained smile and whirled off quickly. Apparently, she wasn’t. Good, he thought. Before, he was in pain. Now, he was hungry. He wanted to chow down in peace. He wasn’t in the mood to chat this morning anymore. The mech incident had put him on edge.
He wondered, resting an annoyed gaze on the tour group. With the amount of food they were ordering the tour group seemed to like the food too, which further irritated him. He wondered why some people had to be obnoxious about the smallest of things. Like ordering food. He glared at the tourists, rolling his eyes. His stomach growled in protest. He wasn’t excited about new people telling all of their friends and crowding him out of his favorite restaurant. And the noise! He wished they would just shut up. Selfish? Yes. He was feeling selfish. And like with lots of other things in life, there wasn’t much he could do about it. But there was one thing he could do. Jonas dove into his breakfast.
Excuse The Mess!
I’m in the middle of a construction zone (hehe). The Mission series is up on the shop now. The Red World trilogy will be up some time in September. As the Jonas Johnson series is written and published you will find those in the shop as well. In 2026 I will have physical books available on the shop and later this year in the fall, I will also have audio books available.
Carta Fantastica
Here is the “first chapter” of my most recent short story, Carta Fantastica. My favorite thing about it is that - it has cats! If you want the entire story, subscribe to the mailing list!
Carta Fantastica
To my most Excellent Lord William Burley,
My crew has recently arrived into port. It is to you that I write this letter, as I can trust none of my fellows, the captains of the Capricorn Merchant Company, those fiends who conspired together and had my last ship, the Red Mermaid, burned down over these rogues bearing false witness of it carrying plague; a rotten chest of black humors and pox-infected rats, all of them!
My most merry and good-hearted friend, as I trust only you to relate to Her Most Uncanny and Beloved Majesty of this Blessed Realm my adventurous undertakings and the work I do for Herself, my latest mission has just ended, and with the greatest of success. I carry a thing that needs the greatest protection from thieves! Mine ears have heard dark things! That enemies wish to rob me of something precious! I know that you can help me with protection. Last night it was told to me that rogues had crawled aboard the Star Treader while I was away at an inn, looking for something peculiar. The crew was away, save for one, my trusty companion Archibald, who informed me that they did not take anything of value onboard as they seemed to be looking for a certain something in particular. I well know what it is they desire and who sent them. It would not be the first time I have discovered such scheming. Archibald once espied Lord Frost employing the services of the witch of Moonlit Barrow to put a curse on me! Intercede for me, please, to Herself* to have my fellows of the company protected, me and my crew and my goods, I beg of you. May a thousand and one good dreams come your way, for I am much obliged for your support at court of my explorations of shores known and unknown; of journeys not yet in our wake as there are more dangers unknown that must be conquered, described and explained in great detail for Her Majesty’s records and continued patronage, and also for your bestiary.
To my accomplishments I place great store by my own wit and bravery; and also of my crew of brave and valiant men, and the sharp mind of my intrepid Archibald, whom no explorer should do without, one of the grandest gifts I have received in my travails through the Land of Winter and he spoke most well of you over the matter of the commissioning of Her Majesty’s moonstone sceptre, made with the great moonstone gifted to me from the Winter King many months past, for my intrepid odyssey through his land, defeating the king’s enemies and slaying various monsters.
To give you a small account of my most recent voyage, once again we sailed the Sapphire Sea and went even further than we did before to meet with the Lord of the Sea of Darkness who dwells in the East. I made a wager with him and gambled with him and to win one of his fairy daughters for my bride. I, being of the finest blood of old, of the progenitors of the Mushki, was desirous of such an excellent wife and knew with the blessing of the gods that I had been chosen for this very thing! We chose the youngest as Archibald had judged that she was the fairest. Hers was hair thick, dark and subtle in its colours; in her strands shone the muted, changeable colours of the sea illuminated by lightening in a night storm, her wings multi-faceted and delicate as stained glass. I have sent her by escort to the castle gifted to me by our Good Queen Mab. It was when we were away from home one day that a different stripe of luck struck the Star Treader that we came to the greatest gift!
Taken from the Lord of the Deep himself, that great kraken of the Sapphire Sea, he roused himself from the depths and appeared before us. I kept my godly charm close to my bosom, clasped in hand, with prayer on lip and we prayed for Old Proteus to have mercy upon us and our voyage and he did indeed hear our cries and gave us great mercy by straightening out the sea and rousing the beast out of his watery and luxurious caves to go off hunting while we hid under the mighty shadow of the hand of Proteus. Archibald dove in first to acquire the rare and marvelous star pearls the kraken hides as carefully as a dragon hides his golden hoard. Others of my crew who are skilled at diving followed Archibald and up and down they all went, grabbing as many pearls as could be snatched and filling their bags with them. It was then that an ominous thunder-crack sounded over the sea as a warning that the kraken was on his return and I urged the men to stop diving for I surmised we’d collected enough pearls and urged them back into the ship! Too late did we take our leave, one of our men was swallowed alive by the kraken. A regrettable sacrifice. It thrashed and swelled up the waves something fierce, trying to take down my ship! We escaped by the luck of Old Proteus and now I have sent these exquisite star pearls on as a great gift to Herself. A handful of them are worth one palace! Do you not marvel at the lustre? How they shimmer gently in the sun with pale and varied colors, and gleam in the moonlight like diamonds that twinkle with the color of the stars? I write to you, most excellent friend, as I fear my rivals will once again try to destroy my good reputation amongst my peers in the company and at court and will try to destroy all that I have built!
Most Truly,
Captain Sadko
PS I have tried mightily to cast about for further explorations from my usual investors and have suddenly come upon some trouble getting support. May I never lose the patronage of Her Majesty, she who brings good dreams! If you please, lend a word on my good name in these matters! I would remind you of our friendship and that I need your help against my enemies, whom I feel are mounting some new mischief against me.