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Works by Michael A. Goodrich
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Satisficing Revisited.Michael A. Goodrich, Wynn C. Stirling & Erwin R. Boer - 2000 - Minds and Machines 10 (1):79-109.details
In the debate between simple inference heuristics and complex decision mechanisms, we take a position squarely in the middle. A decision making process that extends to both naturalistic and novel settings should extend beyond the confines of this debate; both simple heuristics and complex mechanisms are cognitive skills adapted to and appropriate for some circumstances but not for others. Rather than ask `Which skill is better?'' it is often more important to ask `When is a skill justified?'' The selection and (...) application of an appropriate cognitive skill for a particular problem has both costs and benefits, and therefore requires the resolution of a tradeoff. In revisiting satisficing, we observe that the essence of satisficing is tradeoff. Unlike heuristics, which derive their justification from empirical phenomena, and unlike optimal solutions, which derive their justification by an evaluation of alternatives, satisficing decision-making derives its justification by an evaluation of consequences. We formulate and present a satisficing decision paradigm that has its motivation in Herbert Simon''s work on bounded rationality. We characterize satisficing using a cost–benefit tradeoff, and generate a decision rule applicable to both designing intelligent machines as well as describing human behavior. (shrink)
Decision Theory in Philosophy of Action
Maximizing and Satisficing Consequentialism in Normative Ethics
Philosophy of Artificial Intelligence in Philosophy of Cognitive Science
Towards Using Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAVs) in Wilderness Search and Rescue: Lessons From Field Trials.Michael A. Goodrich, Bryan S. Morse, Cameron Engh, Joseph L. Cooper & Julie A. Adams - 2009 - Interaction Studies 10 (3):453-478.details
Wilderness in Applied Ethics
Towards Using Unmanned Aerial Vehicles in Wilderness Search and Rescue: Lessons From Field Trials.Michael A. Goodrich, Bryan S. Morse, Cameron Engh, Joseph L. Cooper & Julie A. Adams - 2009 - Interaction Studies: Social Behaviour and Communication in Biological and Artificial Systems 10 (3):453-478.details
Towards Using Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAVs) in Wilderness Search and Rescue.Michael A. Goodrich, Bryan S. Morse, Cameron Engh, Joseph L. Cooper & Julie A. Adams - 2009 - Interaction Studies. Social Behaviour and Communication in Biological and Artificial Systemsinteraction Studies / Social Behaviour and Communication in Biological and Artificial Systemsinteraction Studies 10 (3):453-478.details
Wilderness Search and Rescue is the process of finding and assisting persons who are lost in remote wilderness areas. Because such areas are often rugged or relatively inaccessible, searching for missing persons can take huge amounts of time and resources. Camera-equipped mini-Unmanned Aerial Vehicles have the potential for speeding up the search process by enabling searchers to view aerial video of an area of interest while closely coordinating with nearby ground searchers. In this paper, we report on lessons learned by (...) trying to use UAVs to support WiSAR. Our research methodology has relied heavily on field trials involving searches conducted under the direction of practicing search and rescue personnel but using simulated missing persons. Lessons from these field trials include the immediate importance of seeing things well in the video, the field need for defining and supporting various roles in the search team, role-specific needs like supporting systematic search by providing a visualization tool to represent the quality of the search, and the on-going need to better support interactions between ground and video searchers. Surprisingly to us, sophisticated autonomous search patterns were less critical than we anticipated, though advances in video enhancement and visualizing search progress, as well as ongoing work to model the likely location of a missing person, open up the possibility of closing the loop between UAV path-planning, search quality, and the likely location of a moving missing person. Keywords: Unmanned Aerial Vehicles, Wilderness Search and Rescue, Human–Robot Interaction, Human Factors, Field Robotics, Graphical User Interfaces. (shrink)


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Lawrence Richard "Larry" Walters (19 de abril de 1949 - 10 de octubre de 1993) fue un camionero estadounidense que, en julio de 1982, ató cuarenta y cinco globos meteorológicos inflados con helio a una silla de jardín y voló sobre Long Beach, California, alcanzando una altura de más de 4.600 metros, y siendo multado posteriormente por atravesar el espacio aéreo sin autorización. Su hazaña tuvo gran repercusión a nivel mundial y fue apodado como "Larry Silla de Jardín".

Biografía
Walters a menudo había soñado con volar, pero fue incapaz de convertirse en un piloto de la Fuerza Aérea de los Estados Unidos a causa de su mala vista (padecía miopía). La primera vez que pensó en utilizar globos meteorológicos para volar fue entre los 13 y 14 años, después de verlos que colgaban del techo de una tienda de artículos militares. Veinte años más tarde, en julio de 1982, decidió llevar a cabo su meta. Su intención era la de colocar un par de globos llenos de helio a su silla de jardín, cortar el ancla, y luego flotar por encima del patio trasero de la casa de su novia, a una altura de unos 9 metros por varias horas. Planeó además utilizar una pistola de perdigones para reventar los globos y así poder descender.

Preparación y puesta en marcha

A mediados de 1982, Walters y su novia de ese entonces, Carol Van Deusen, compraron unos 45 globos meteorológicos de ocho pies y tanques de helio.  Walters unió los globos a su silla de jardín, los llenó con helio, se puso un paracaídas y se ató a la silla en el patio trasero de la casa de su novia en San Pedro, California. Walters tomó su pistola de aire comprimido, una radio, bocadillos, una cerveza y una cámara fotográfica. Cuando sus amigos cortaron la cuerda que ataba su silla a un Jeep que estaba estacionado, la silla se elevó rápidamente hasta una altura de unos 4.600 metros. En un primer momento, Walters no se atrevió a disparar a los globos, temiendo que pudiera desequilibrar la carga y causar una caída que lo llevara hacia a una muerte segura. La silla viajó lentamente sobre Long Beach y cruzó el pasillo aéreo del aeropuerto de Long Beach.

Él estaba en contacto con personas en tierra, a través de una radio de banda ciudadana, que grabó la siguiente conversación:

 Entrevistador: ¿Qué información desea que le diga [al aeropuerto] en este momento en cuanto a su ubicación y su dificultad?
Larry: Ah, la dificultad es, ah, esto fue un lanzamiento de globos no autorizado, y, uh, sé que estoy en un espacio aéreo federal, y, uh, estoy seguro de que mi equipo de tierra ha alertado a la autoridad apropiada. Pero, eh, sólo quiero llamarlos y decirles que estoy bien.

Después de 45 minutos en el aire, le disparó a varios globos, y luego dejó caer accidentalmente su escopeta de perdigones por la borda. Descendió lentamente, hasta que los globos quedaron atrapados en una línea de alta tensión, causando un apagón de 20 minutos en un barrio de Long Beach. Walters fue capaz de pisar tierra sin ningún problema.

Arresto y notoriedad
Walters fue detenido inmediatamente por los miembros del Departamento de Policía de Long Beach. Se informó al inspector de seguridad regional Neal Savoy, el cual dijo: "Sabemos que se violó por algún lado la Ley Federal de Aviación, y tan pronto como sepamos qué parte es, algún tipo de cargo será presentado. Si tenía una licencia de piloto, tendríamos que suspendérsela. Pero no la tiene". Walters inicialmente recibió una multa de $ 4,000 USD por violaciones en virtud del Reglamento Federal de Aviación de Estados Unidos, entre ellos por operar una aeronave dentro de una zona de tránsito del aeropuerto, "sin establecer y mantener una comunicación bidireccional con la torre de control". Walters recurrió y la multa se redujo a $ 1,500 USD.

Justo después del aterrizaje, Walters habló con la prensa, diciendo:

Era algo que tenía que hacer. Tuve este sueño durante veinte años, y si no lo hubiera hecho, creo que hubiera terminado en un hospital psiquiátrico.

Últimos años
Después de su vuelo, Walters fue brevemente orador motivacional, y renunció a su trabajo como conductor de camiones. Apareció en un anuncio impreso de Timex a principios de 1990, pero nunca ganó mucho dinero a costa de su fama, adquirida mayormente por realizar su viaje con su "aeronave" casera. Años más tarde, Walters subió a la Sierra de San Gabriel y realizó trabajos voluntarios para el Servicio Forestal de los Estados Unidos. Más tarde rompió con su novia de 15 años y sólo pudo encontrar trabajo esporádicamente como guardia de seguridad. El 6 de octubre de 1993, a la edad de 44 años, Walters se suicidó pegándose un tiro en el corazón en el Bosque nacional de Ángeles.

Véase también
 Matías Pérez (aeronauta)
 Up
 Bartolomeu Lourenço de Gusmão
 Aviación

Referencias

Enlaces externos

Nacidos en Los Ángeles
Fallecidos en Los Ángeles
Historia de la aviación
Suicidas de Estados Unidos
Suicidas por arma de fuego

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Caught behind: climate change, extreme heat and the Boxing Day Test
The Melbourne Boxing Day Test may have to be played at night or moved away from Christmas to November or March as the number of extreme heat days rises over coming decades, a new report says. The analysis
Monash Climate Change Communication Research Hub
Economic value of protected areas via visitor mental health

We evaluate methods to calculate the economic value of protected areas derived from the improved mental health of visitors. <a href="http://www.indiaenvironmentportal.org.in/files/file/protected-area-mental-health-visitor.pdf"
Severe weather in a changing climate
This report examines current and future climate change impacts on the Australian climate and weather extremes that produce significant property, personal and economic damage and hardship. The level of
Australian Government drought response, resilience and preparedness plan
Drought is not a natural disaster and must be accepted as an enduring feature of the Australian landscape which climate change is only going to make worse, the drought coordinator has reported, warning
New elevation data triple estimates of global vulnerability to sea-level rise and coastal flooding

Most estimates of global mean sea-level rise this century fall below 2 m. This quantity is comparable to the positive vertical bias of the principle digital elevation model (DEM) used to assess
This is what climate change looks like
The word "unprecedented" has been in regular use lately. As predictions about climate change increasingly become observations, are witnessing firsthand the impacts of more frequent and severe weather events.
Climate Council
Global SO2 emission hotspot database: ranking the world's worst sources of SO2 pollution

India is the world's largest emitter of sulphur dioxide contributing more than 15% of the global anthropogenic SO2 emissions from the point sources tracked by NASA. The major SO2 emission hotspots in India are Singrauli (Madhya Pradesh) Neyveli and Chennai (Tamil Nadu), Talcher and Jharsuguda (Odisha), Korba (Chhattisgarh) , Kutch (Gujarat), Ramagundam (Telangana) and Chandrapur and Koradi (Maharashtra) shows the Greenpeace study based on NASA data.

From Townsville to Tuvalu: health and climate change in Australia and the Asia Pacific region
Climate change is "absolutely" already causing deaths, according to a new report on the health impacts of the climate crisis, which also predicts climate-related stunting, malnutrition and lower IQ in
Vaccination rate for Australian children hits record high: data
Data released by the Australian government for the first quarter this year on Sunday revealed that 94.78 percent of all Australian five-year-olds have been immunized, up from 94.67 percent in the last
Fossil fuel exports make Australia one of the worst contributors to climate crisis
Australia is on a path to being one of the worst contributors to the climate emergency if the pollution from its fossil fuel exports are factored in Australia could be contributing as much as 17% of global

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


When the New England Patriots build up their "High Hopes" with Panic at the Disco, magic happens.
Are you hyped up yet?
What a run it's been for Tom Brady and his talented crew. First the Chargers, then the Chiefs and now onto Superbowl LIII against the L.A. Rams. The big game will take place on Sunday, February 3 at the impressively stunning Mercedes-Benz Stadium in Atlanta, Georgia (home of the Atlanta Falcons, remember those fellas?).
With one game away from the ultimate championship, there's only one way to amp up the energy and get hyped and that's with the 2018 AFC Championship anthem constructed by yours truly. Enjoy!


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Categories > Cartoons > X-Men: Evolution > Between Life and Death
by slickboy444 0 reviews
A mission gone horribly wrong leads Scott Summers to make the ultimate sacrifice to save his friends. But is he really dead? Or something more sinsiter going on? Scott/Jean, Kurt/Kitty, minor hints...
Category: X-Men: Evolution - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Romance - Characters: Cyclops, Gambit, Iceman, Jean, Magneto, Mystique, Nightcrawler, Rogue, Shadowcat - Published: 2005-08-27 - Updated: 2005-08-27 - 5929 words
❮ Story Index1. The Mission2. The Tragedy3. The Loss4. Intentions5. Erasing The Past6. Expecting The Unexpected7. Secrets Within8. Awakening9. Learning and Coping10. Rebuilding What Was Lost11. Gaining Trust12. Bayville High13. Passing Daze14. Gaining The Upper Hand15. Confrontation16. Hardships17. Familiarity and Confusion18. Round Two19. Preparations20. The Long Road21. Clash22. Ending Where it Began23. What Dreams May Come ❯
Between Life and Death
Chapter 8: Awakening
He was in a state that felt like dreaming and reality at the same time. Everything around him was completely dark. He was dazed, dizzy, and confused. He didn't know how he had gotten here, who he was, or even where he had come from. What was this place anyways? Was this death? Was this some kind of prison we're there's no difference between the tangible and the abstract? No matter how many questions he asked, no answers came.
The only sound that could be heard was the slow, rhythmic thumping of his heart and the short, anxious gasps of his breathing. He tried moving in one direction, but nothing happened...It was all the same. He tried moving in another...But it only delivered the same result. There were no walls, no ceiling, nothing...This place seemed to have no meaningful form. The ubiquitous blackness began to close in on him as he tried to find something...Anything that would give him some answers. His mind was going a mile a minute, but no answers were coming.
"Hello?" he spoke in deep voice that he didn't even recognize even though it came directly from him, "Is anybody there?"
His voice didn't even echo in the darkness. It was as if it was swallowed and consumed by the void he was stuck in.
"Where am I? Who am I? What's going on here?" he asked aloud, but nobody was listening...No answers were coming.
He couldn't remember his name, his life, or even what had led him into this strange, ambiguous place. There were no hints, dreams, or flashes to go on...Only nothingness. Closing his eyes, he grasped his head and tried to probe deep into the recesses of his consciousness to find the answers to the seemingly simple questions that were driving him mad.
"Somebody?" he said again, "Anybody?!"
His anxiety only grew as the darkness began to feel like a cage. He tried running in one direction, but there wasn't anything to run towards. Everything was the same...There was no escape. As he grew increasingly frustrated by this endless darkness, he let out a loud, angry yell at the top of his lungs...But the darkness only absorbed it like it had everything else. Nothing was changed and nothing was giving him any answers. But the questions just kept lingering...Pestering him like a red hot mark in the depths of his brain.
"Please...Somebody! WHO AM I?"
While the rest of the Acolytes rested and recovered throughout the next day after the battle with Mr. Sinister and the Nasty Boys, Magneto and Mystique stayed awake and kept a constant watch on their new guest that they had extracted from Sinister's laboratory. The young man known only as Blake Hellstrom to them remained in a deep state of unconsciousness, yet his body was slowly yet surly healing itself back to the real world.
He had been moved into a spare bedroom so he would wake up in more comfortable surroundings rather than a cold, sterile hospital bed. There, he had been closely monitored for any signs of change or disturbance since the scans of his body had turned up some very unexpected readings. They didn't know how his mind would function or to what extent his powers would be, but they hoped to get these answers soon enough. If he was indeed Sinister's only test subject then they had succeeded in stopping the mad scientist from carrying out his insane dream and delayed him indefinitely. But even if this was a victory for them, Sinister was still out there and he would let something like this stand in his way. As long as they had this young man, they would have what they needed to keep him at bay...For now.
"Any change?" said Mystique as she entered the main monitoring room that watched over Blake's condition via surveillance camera.
"I'm afraid not..." replied Magneto, "His body is still healing at a slow, constant rate. But so far I think my estimates are on track and he should awaken within the next 12 hours."
"Any ideas on how to handle him once he does wake up?" asked Mystique, feeling that simply watching over him was the easy part and dealing with him in a confused state would be the real challenge.
"That...I still haven't been able to surmise," admitted Magneto, much to his dismay, for even a man of his intellect couldn't even begin to ascertain how he would go about ensuring this young man's stability both mentally and physically, "Maybe you would be better at it than me. After all, you were principal of a high school at one point. You should have at least some knowledge on dealing with confused young men."
"Well with all do respect Eric," argued the shape shifter in response, "This isn't some nerdy, insecure misfit or some undisciplined troublemaker...This is a guy who's had his mind wiped out by a madman and had his entire body structure messed up and reorganized. And need I remind you...I wasn't even that liked as a principal, so don't think that's anything to go by."
"But you'd still probably be better at it than me," said Magneto he looked back at the image of the unmoving young man on the monitor screen, "The most experience I've ever had was with Wanda and Pietro and look what that led to."
The master of magnetism's mood shifted into a more sour demeanor as he mentioned his estranged children. Not long after he had been freed from Apocalypse's control, he told Wanda the truth about what he had done to her as a little girl and how he threw her away into an insane asylum because she was too angry and unmanageable. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done and naturally...Wanda didn't react to it very well. The screaming and yelling that ensued still hung strong in his mind to this day, but she deserved to know the truth, even if it meant once again losing his daughter to his own personal stupidity. However, even after he had told her and he didn't flee or fight her wrath...She did not kill him like he thought she so desperately wanted to. She ended up simply hexing him away and simply collapsed in a wave of tears...And he had not seen her since.
Mystique, however, had watched over her and Pietro dutifully ever since her freedom from Apocalypse as well. She often reported to him how she and Pietro were doing and over the past few months, she had given him hopeful reports that they were on the road to recovery. Pietro, after a lot of hexing and coaxing on his part, had managed to slowly rebuild a relationship with his sister after Magneto said that he had nothing to do with what he did to her and he forced him to follow his plans. But it still didn't mend the rift in their familial relationship. Magneto tried to remain hopeful...But with his war against Sinister taking up a great deal of his time and energy, the rebuilding of their relationship would have to wait.
"I guess we'll just have to worry about it when the time comes," said Mystique, finally breaking the awkward silence that had ensued after the mention of Wanda and Pietro, "The best we can do now is play it by ear and hope we don't screw up."
"Very eloquently put Raven..." said Eric with a slight laugh, but still not seeing how to go about dealing with this young man, "But if all else fails...I guess that would leave only Xavier to turn to."
"Let's keep that as a last resort Eric," said Mystique, still not wanting to get her kids caught up in this complicated affair, "You know how I feel about that."
"Indeed I do," said Magneto as he turned away from the monitor and kept it on stand by for now.
"Where are you going now?" asked the shape shifter.
"To get some rest," replied Magneto, "I would urge you to do the same. It's going to be a long day tomorrow and need I remind you that neither of us has slept much in three days."
"Well with all do respect Eric, I'm quite use to sleepless nights," quipped Mystique as she remained near the console, not feeling ready to turn in yet.
"As am I...But keep in mind the situation here Raven," said Magneto as he opened the door and prepared to retire to his quarters, "We're going to have to deal with a dazed and confused young man with a great deal of power. Trust me...We'll all need our rest."
Raven Darkholme took that under consideration as she watched the master of magnetism leave. Now it meant she was probably the only one up at this point given the late hour of the night. But for some reason or another, she found herself standing watch over the monitor. Blake was still a ways from regaining consciousness, but he would eventually and he would require a great deal of help. But for both her and her associate, it was unclear whether or not they could provide such help given their track record in dealing with confused, mutant adolescence. While she was no poster girl for understanding troubled youths, she was no stranger to hardship.
Ever since her experience with Apocalypse, she had been very different in terms of personality. For the first time in a long while, she wasn't working to cause or prevent some great destruction be it against humans or mutants. She even returned to the Brotherhood for a brief while, working to fix up the house and get them back into school with her influences. It was a quiet, peaceful existence...And it was the first time in a long while she had experienced it. But upon learning about Sinister from Magneto and hearing the kind of things he would bring from Destiny, she once again found herself in a struggle.
Compared to Xavier, Sinister was a far more difficult opponent with a far harsher agenda. Now that she looked back on it, fighting Xavier almost made her just like that mad man...Angry, twisted, and full of hate. Fighting Sinister was almost like fighting everything she hated about herself, but even if they did eventually kill him...How would that change her?
For many months now she had been contemplating this and many other questions about her path in life. Destiny had always warned her about the dark person she was becoming, but she never listened...She only worried about where she would end up and not how she got there. She had already alienated her children forever and now she doubted they even acknowledged her existence anymore. That day in Egypt where they rejected her hurt more than she ever could have imagined. But like it or not...They were still her kids.
Returning to the Brotherhood had been nothing short of therapeutic for her and even Destiny agreed that being less a boss and more a guardian to them was really helping her cope with what she had been going through. She remembered how Eric once commented on her being less Mystique and more Raven Darkholme. Even the Brotherhood boys were becoming more fond of her and she had actually developed somewhat of a friendship with Wanda after she learned the truth. But still...She yearned for that same kind of feeling with her own kids. It may have seemed like an impossible task...But still, she could always dream.
"Raven...Raven, wake up!" said an urgent voice as Mystique felt someone gently shaking her from her unconscious state.
The shape shifter found herself groggily awakened from her current position on the table where she had fallen asleep.
"Eric...What is it?" she groaned, still tried from over three days of sleep deprivation.
"It's Blake...He's waking up sooner than I had anticipated," said Eric, now shifting to a more serious tone, "Come on...We have go. He could grow unstable from confusion if we're not there."
Upon hearing this, Mystique proceeded to shake off her sleepiness, rise to her feet. She followed Eric down the hall and towards the room where the young man had resided since they moved his body over a day ago. Even though he only appeared to have no memories, both mutants were prepared for anything unexpected, given that this was Mr. Sinister they were dealing with. It was still unclear exactly what he had done to him and the effects it had were still in question.
As they opened the door into a darkened room, Raven turned on the dim lights...Keeping the room from being to overwhelming once he woke up. As soon as they both entered, they noticed him stirring. He didn't look as though he was in any physical pain, but there was no telling how quickly that would change once he became more aware.
"I thought you said he wasn't going to wake up for another 12 hours," Mystique whispered to Eric as they stood anxiously over the young man's bed.
"It's been six hours Mystique...Remember, you fell asleep," reminded Eric.
"Oh...Right," replied the shape shifter sheepishly.
"His body simply must have healed faster," surmised the master of magnetism, "He must have wanted to wake up..."
"Wanted to?" questioned Raven, "I thought he was in a coma?"
"He was..." said Eric, "But strange things can happen to people when they are at death's door. And given that Sinister was involved with this...Don't rule anything out."
Suddenly, a low groan came from depths of the young man's body as he began to stir more. Both Mystique and Magneto stood ready for anything, but chose to take a more subtle approach in dealing with something like this.
"Blake...Blake can you hear me?" said Magneto, keeping his distance and giving the young man as much space as possible.
The young man that was stirring from a coma he had been stuck in for days now could barely make out the sound of his voice as he struggled to collect his jumbled mess of thoughts. He struggled to open his eyes in his weakened state, the effects of the coma still hanging strong over him. While his body still hadn't completely healed from it, his mind was working faster and had fought through the darkness back to the world of the living. His vision was very blurred, yet he could sense two presences near his side. He tried turning to face them, but he found it very difficult given that his head felt like it weighed fifty pounds.
"Blake?" repeated Magneto upon seeing his eyes open to the world for the first time after an undetermined amount of time.
Even as his hearing cleared up, he didn't recognize that name. Who was Blake? Was that who he was? But if it was, why didn't it feel like him? He tried to say something, but he couldn't get anything out. It was almost as if he had never used his voice before, but he knew how to speak. He tried to sit up, but his body was still somewhat under the effects of the coma.
As his vision cleared, the two figures before him became clearer...But he still didn't recognize either of them. The white haired man in a cape and the blue skinned woman with yellow eyes didn't spark any kind of reaction in him. They were two strangers in a strange place that he had never been. He tried to remember how he had gotten here or who these people even were...But there was nothing in his head by darkness. He tried to remember his name and who he was...But he couldn't even remember that.
He tried not to panic and determine just what the hell was going on here, but he could draw nothing from his mind other than a total blank. There wasn't even a hint of familiarity with anything...It was as if he had just come into the world with absolutely no memory to begin with. Upon feeling his strength return to him, he finally managed to speak in a deep, raspy voice.
"Where...Am I?" he said.
Even his own voice didn't sound familiar. It was as if somebody else had just talked and not him. It only added to his confusion as he tried to probe deep into his mind for any hint of understanding or clarity, but nothing was there.
"You're in my lair," answered Magneto, "Don't worry...You're safe now."
This only added to his confusion as he slowly brought a hand to rub the sore temples of his head.
"Safe? Safe from what?" he asked, desperate for any answers.
"Safe from Sinister...Don't you remember?" asked Magneto, even though he felt he already knew what his response would be.
The young man tried to think...But he couldn't even remember Sinister. There were no hints, dreams, or any images to help him...Just emptiness and many unanswered questions.
"I...Can't," he struggled, grasping his head even tighter.
"Well I guess Sinister did a real number on you," said Mystique, "The reason why you can't remember is because he wiped your mind clean of any memories. He probably would have gone further if we hadn't stopped him when we did."
This was a lot for such a confused young man to take in, but at least it offered some explanation as to why he couldn't remember anything. As he managed to bring himself up to a sitting position, he got a better view of the two mutants before him. He was still dazed, but at least now there was some hope for him. If these two knew what happened that made him feel so confused, then maybe they knew the answers to the questions that were plaguing his mind.
"Just...Who are you? And why did you bring me here?" asked the still weakened young man.
Magneto chose to answer this one. So far, the young man had not shown any open hostility or any hints of Sinister controlling him. The only thing that seemed different was his memories. And if he was not an enemy, then hopefully he would prove to be an ally.
"My name is Eric Lensherr...But others know me as Magneto," he told him, "And this is my friend Raven Darkholme...Also known as Mystique. We are both mutants. We were born with special powers that allows us to do things that normal humans could never do. I have the power of creating and manipulation magnetism...Hence the name. Mystique is a shape shifter, meaning she can mold and mimic her appearance in any way she sees fit. We both have great power written in our blood...And you are no different my boy."
"You mean...I'm a mutant too?" he asked, finding all this somewhat strange to process.
"Indeed, and we have the scientific scans to back it up," added Eric, as he let the young man take all of this in.
"But...If I'm a mutant...Then what can I do?" asked the young man, now feeling as though his mind was just being bombarded with more questions.
"We're...Not exactly sure," said Magneto as he recalled the strange scans that were done earlier, "You see...While you are a mutant, you're genetic makeup is unlike anything I have ever seen in my long, illustrious life. Most mutants are classified by certain classes and levels. Most of those who actively manifest powers like myself are call alpha class mutants. The level within that class often depends on the intensity of the power, so naturally Mystique and I are at a fairly high level. You, on the other hand, possess more than a simple X-gene...You possess a completely enhanced genetic structure that does more than just give you a unique mutant ability. It also gives you enhanced body functions...Everything from brain power to healing, which would explain why you awoke from your coma earlier than I had calculated."
Hearing that he was a mutant was shocking enough...But hearing that he was something so exotic was something completely different. In his mind he struggled to comprehend the true meaning of this strange new knowledge. It was hard enough without any memories, but being some kind of freak only compounded his situation.
"So...What am I?" he asked.
Eric Lensherr was forced to pause and think about that for a moment. In all his years of studying mutation, he had never come across a case like this before. Now he found himself in a position he hadn't been in since he worked with trauma victims over two decades ago. It was at times like this he wished he had Xavier's uncanny ability to connect with those who were confused about who or what they are. Normally, he would have been more commanding when faced with a new mutant, but he was not out to create a team for world domination or to punish all humans. Apocalypse had changed his goals and his mind in many ways, but the experience had not taught him to handle something like this.
"I...Honestly can't tell you with absolute certainty," said Magneto after he considered his confused words, "The man who wiped your memories clean, Mr. Sinister, did something to your body and DNA to make you the advanced mutant you are now. You are now in a class and level that mutant science has not yet come to ascertain, but you are still a mutant none the less with your humanity still intact. That alone is something to be thankful for."
Eric had hoped to lift his spirits, but it appeared his words had the opposite effect and a look of anxiety spread across his face. He didn't seem to take any comfort in the fact that he was now a highly advanced mutant who still alive had everything that made him human. Instead, this only compounded the situation with his memories. Now part of him wasn't even sure if he wanted to know given that he was this strange, genetic anomaly.
"So I'm a freak..." he said in deep voice, "A freak with no name."
Not getting the response he had hoped for, Mystique chose to step in and try her luck. While this was not like settling a dispute with the Brotherhood boys or dealing with high school students as a principal, it was still a matter of helping someone and that's what she was going to try to do.
"You're not a freak...Hell, compared to my real appearance you're downright normal," said Mystique, trying to lighten the mood with a little humor, "And you do have a name."
The shape shifter proceeded to show him the folder she had extracted from Sinister's lab. A small look of hope actually began to show as the confused young man looked at the small, brown folder with intent on finding the answers it had to offer.
"According to these records, your name is Blake Hellstrom," said the shape shifter, "You are 19 years old and you are an orphan from New York City. Is any of this ringing a bell?"
He tried to remember, but even his name didn't sound familiar. However, it was at least one answer he had been seeking, although hearing that he was an orphan didn't raise his hopes too much in finding someone out there who knew who he was.
"Sorry...But I still can't remember," replied Blake.
"Well there isn't much else in these records other than papers from the orphanage you were at...Which I'm afraid to say is long gone now...And some old foster homes that we couldn't track down. But from the looks of it, you were somewhat of a drifter before Sinister took you...And I guess that's all we really know at this point."
They were answers...But not very hopeful answers. He had no family, no home...Nothing. Even if he could remember...Would it really be worth knowing? Blake didn't seem to respond to this new data and simply sank back into his bed, turning away from the two mutants that had saved him. He closed his eyes, wanting to simply return to his coma and not be faced with this confusion any more.
His reaction was one of surprise to Mystique, for she wanted to tell him more. But before she could, Eric placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head to dissuade her from doing so. He then proceeded to lead her out of the room, closing the door behind them and leaving the young man to digest everything that was happening to him. Raven didn't want to leave, but Eric knew from experience that it was better if he be given time to himself.
"Give him time Raven...He needs to rest," said Magneto as he saw the shape shifter look back at the closed door, "A lot has happened to him and it's definitely something that he'll need time to process. He'll need all the help he can get in getting back his memories...Although from the looks of it, there isn't much I can see worth remembering."
It was a solemn notion, knowing that he had no family or life to go back to, nor many things worth remembering in the first place. As hard as it was for him to take in what had happened to him, both mutants could help but wonder...Was it better this way if he didn't remember? Wouldn't that be less painful for him? Mystique didn't know what to think knowing she could never know how Blake truly felt. And she wondered...If she had her memories wiped clean, would she even want to recall any of the misery that her life had been? It was clear that the young man needed help, and from the looks of it only she and Eric were the ones that could give it to him.
"But still...There must be something we can do," she said, never one to give in that easily.
"You know...That sounds like something one of Xavier's student's would say," smiled the master of magnetism, hoping to lighten the mood.
This earned him a brief scorn from the shape shifter, but it wasn't too far from the truth when she thought about it. If he had said the same thing just over a year ago, she might have taken it as an insult. But after having been saved from Apocalypse by the X-men and seeing how dark and bitter she was, it didn't seem like such a bad thing anymore.
"Just don't tell the rest of the Brotherhood," said Raven, managing a smile despite the remark, "I don't want them thinking I've gone soft."
"Don't worry...If there's one thing you know I can do, it's keep a secret," said Magneto as they made their way back down the hall.
"I won't deny that," replied the shape shifter, "So what are we going to do now?"
Magneto considered their next course of action now that they had delivered a devastating blow to Sinister and one of his unfortunate victims to take care of. Since this was something he didn't have a whole lot of experience in, he was somewhat in the dark. He knew that this was more Xavier's field, but he still didn't want to bring his friend into this meaningless war. Sinister was his problem...And it was his duty to take care of him. Not to mention, he knew that Raven didn't want to put her kids in any danger. After what Sinister did to Blake, she was now probably more determined than ever to keep her children out of it, for she owed them that much after all the mistakes she had made.
"I'm not exactly sure Raven..." answered Magneto upon pondering the possibilities, "So far, we've been able to determine that Blake is not under Sinister's control and he poses no real risk. He's just a confused young man in search of answers...Something I'm sure you and I are no stranger to."
"That's putting it lightly..." commented Mystique, knowing the truth in those words.
"Indeed, which is why he must stay here," said Eric, "I'll inform the rest of the Acolytes. It's best that they know the situation."
"Good...You do that. I'll keep watching over Blake just in case something happens," said Mystique as she turned back towards the monitor room, "I think it would be best if check on him as well in order to let him know that he's in a friendly place."
As she walked off, Magneto couldn't help but laugh again as he turned back to face his shape shifting friend.
"You really have gone soft haven't you Raven?" he laughed, prompting Mystique to turn around and face him with an ill-humored grin on her face.
"Hey...I don't tease you about it so the least you can do is not tease me about it," she responded.
And with that, they both went their separate ways.
In a large, old building not far from the boundaries of New York City, Sinister and his Nasty Boys entered what appeared to be on old military laboratory. There was an array of old, rusted machinery strewn along the unkempt floor and the smell of old chemicals hung strong in the air. This area around the more shady parts of the area did not look like a great place to set up shop for the kind of advanced genetic experiments that Sinister liked to do. And if this truly was where they were going to set up shop, then it only further reinforced the notion that this man was a few beakers shy of a chemistry set.
"Ugh..." said Emma as she saw several rats scurry across the center of the room, "You can't be serious Essex! I mean...This place? It ought to be condemned!"
"Quiet Emma..." said Sinister in an annoyed tone, who was in no mood for anybody's insolence at this point, "Follow me..."
Sinister led his team of Nasty Boys through several uninhabited rooms, each as dirty and unkempt as the last. No parts of this place showed any of the qualities of a kind of laboratory that a guy like Sinister would use and Betsy and Emma both remained skeptical about what they were doing here.
After a brief trek down one of the halls, Sinister stopped in front of what looked to be an old elevator, which seemed illogical because from the looks of it the building didn't have any power.
"What are you doing now?" said an exasperated Betsy, "This place doesn't look like it has any power."
Sinister merely grinned as he pushed the button to activate the elevator and held it for several seconds until it lit up.
"Looks can be deceiving Psylocke..."
Then, as the doors opened, the Nasty Boys were surprised to see a fully lit elevator standing before them in the darkness of the building.
"Come," ordered Sinister, "Let me show you just how much I've planned for this momentous time..."
As they all followed Sinister into the elevator, a strange keypad opened up in the side of the wall and the mad scientist pushed a series of buttons, entering a code of some sorts by the look of it. Once he finished, the elevator suddenly started moving down several floors beyond the basement level and into someplace more hidden. Then, as the elevator doors opened...Both Betsy and Emma looked in shock at what they saw.
"Welcome to my secondary laboratory..." said Sinister as the glowing lights illuminated what looked the kind of high tech place that he would work at, "This is the place where I did the research that helped me construct the 'Final Step' before I formed the Nasty Boys. All the data I need to make another one is right here...Hidden from the rest of the world and from Magneto's prying eyes."
It was a strange sight seeing such an elaborate facility accessed through a seemingly abandoned building outside New York City, but then again...Strange happenings were something that Sinister had come to be known best by in all the time that they had been working for him. In seeing this new lab, Psylocke once again became more hopeful that she could somehow get her old body back, but didn't look forward to going through the same ordeal as last time.
"Sinister...Does this place have the necessary stuff to make the body for me that you promised?" she asked intently.
"But of course..." grinned Sinister, "And these servers have a cluster of backup files that include the information to clear the name of Emma Frost from the ever omnipotent Hellfire Club."
This caught Emma's attention just as much as it had Betsy's. The prospect of getting what they had worked so hard for over the past months after seeing the old facility destroyed once again bolstered their hopes...Even if it meant working for this madman once again. But in the end, they hoped it would be worth it.
"So what do you plan to do here?" asked Gorgeous George as Sinister activated several computer mainframes and brought up a detailed schematic on the screen.
Mr. Sinister was never one to take defeat lightly and Magneto had done a good job of deceiving him and delaying the completion of his ultimate dream. However, time meant nothing to the old man who did not age or deteriorate like normal mortal humans. He had worked patiently for decades on this one project and he would finish it no matter how long it took. Nothing was going to stand in his way...Not Magneto, not the Acolytes...Nothing.
"It's simple...I am going to rebuild my machine right here," he boasted, feeling all the more determined to upstage Magneto and show him just how pointless his resistance meant, "I have all the data I need and you all are going to help me. But there's one vital component that must be used and handled with great care..."
"And what might that be?" asked Vertigo.
A dark grin then spread across Sinister's face as he stood ready to rebuild that which Magneto thought he had so successfully destroyed.
"My creation...Blake Hellstrom."
AN: Strange, is it not? Magneto and Mystique don't know that Blake is Scott and now even Scott doesn't know who he is either. And Sinister has once again proven that he can be knocked down, but he can never be knocked out. It's getting complicated...But don't worry, there's plenty more to come! So what do you think of Magneto and Mystique's transformation? Part of it came from my portrayal of them in my last fic, "Extermination" and the hints dropped after the last episode. There will be more of that later on, but for now...Things just have to clear up for the most part. So what do you all think? Do you like this story thus far? Please tell me! Send me your reviews via email or post them on the fanfiction website! Thank you all for reading and I wish you all the best!
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text:
BAT Turkey sector leader in tobacco exports
British American Tobacco (BAT) Turkey has become the sector leader, generating $197.3 million in exports of tobacco and tobacco products in 2018, the company said in a press release.
BAT was granted the grand prize for becoming the export leader in its sector in "Stars of Exports Awards" ceremony, organized by the Aegean Exporters' Association.
BAT Turkey exported its products to 18 countries, according to BAT Turkey and North Africa area director Gökhan Bilgiç.
"BAT Turkey factory has a very strategic importance among the 55 factories of BAT globally. Our factory in Turkey that we positioned as an export base has the capacity to serve new markets," said Bilgiç.
The Gulf Arab Cooperation Council countries, namely the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Oman, Kuwait and Bahrain, were the main destinations for BAT Turkey's export products.
Iran was the second largest export market for the tobacco company, followed by Iraq and Libya. Lebanon was the fifth largest market, according to the press release.
British American Tobacco has been the largest buyer of tobacco grown in Turkey for more than 60 years, according to the company's website.
BAT Turkey launched its operations at its plant in the Tire district of the Aegean İzmir province in 2002. The company started exporting products in 2006. The company's investments in Turkey have amounted to $2 billion to date. It employs 3,000 people in the country.
tobacco, Turkey, Exports, 2018
German Amazon workers striking over better pay
Erdemir 'not interested' in British Steel
Auto sector manufactures 735,000 cars in first half


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Posted inNation
Impeachment imminent: New York Assembly gives Cuomo one week deadline as probe to end soon
by Tribune Content Agency August 5, 2021 August 5, 2021
In this image taken video provided by Office of the NY Governor, New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo makes a statement in a pre-recorded video released, Tuesday, Aug. 3, 2021, in New York. Credit: Office of the NY Governor via AP
ALBANY, N.Y. — The New York Assembly's impeachment investigation into Gov. Andrew Cuomo is "nearing completion" as lawmakers warn they will "soon consider potential articles of impeachment against" the scandal-scarred governor.
Cuomo, who has defiantly resisted calls to resign in the wake of a report outlining sexual harassment allegations against the governor, has until Aug. 13 to provide any "additional evidence," according to a letter sent to his lawyers on Thursday.
"We write to inform you that the Committee's investigation is nearing completion and the Assembly will soon consider potential articles of impeachment against your client," the letter states.
The Assembly Judiciary Committee is slated to meet Monday morning as pressure mounts against the governor.
It's not immediately clear how cooperative Cuomo has been as Davis Polk, the law firm tasked with coordinating the impeachment probe, was granted the ability to "act as a commission" in June. That means lawyers have the authority to take "testimony from witnesses under oath."
At the same time, the committee announced it was preparing to issue subpoenas.
"Counsel for the committee have previously requested that the governor produce relevant documents in his possession," Assemblyman and Judiciary Committee chairman Charles Lavine, D-Nassau, said in a statement Thursday. "A subpoena was subsequently issued for such material. The committee continues to expect full compliance from the governor."
Assembly Speaker Carl Heastie, D-Bronx, made clear earlier this week that his chamber is fast-tracking the investigation, which began in March, in the wake of Attorney General Letitia James' damning report detailing and corroborating sexual harassment allegations against the governor.
Cuomo's fellow Democrats, who control both the Assembly and the Senate, will decide his fate as the defiant third-term governor has so far refused to resign.
It could still be weeks before the Assembly concludes its investigation, which covers not only the misconduct claims, but scandalous accusations related to the Cuomo administration's handling of the COVID-19 crisis.
At least 83 of the chamber's 150 members have said publicly or told The Associated Press that they are in favor of beginning the process to oust the three-term governor if he won't step down.
A simple majority vote would kick off an impeachment trial should Cuomo refuse to resign.
Scores of Cuomo's longtime allies in politics and labor, from President Joe Biden to union leaders, have called on him to step down this week following the release of James' report.
The 63-year-old has adamantly denied any wrongdoing and cast the independent probe as biased and politically motivated.
"Politics and bias are interwoven throughout every aspect of this situation," he said in a taped video response after the report was made public.
Additionally, Cuomo could be facing potential criminal investigations over the findings presented in the report, which includes groping and touching multiple women without their consent.
District attorneys in Manhattan, Nassau, and Westchester and Albany counties have said they are reviewing the evidence presented by the attorney general and looking to speak with Cuomo's accusers.
Story by Denis Slattery, New York Daily News
Tagged: andrew cuomo
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January 29, 2021 by romance4thebeach
The Sins of the Flesh by Kate A. Knight
In this second installment of the Sins Trilogy, we find Amy finally starting to open up about her troubled past to her husband Todd. These moments of confession are even more disturbing than we could have anticipated.
Amy Koehler is among the best the Intelligence community has to offer… exactly as her father intended her to be. Today, she is the closest anyone has ever come to solving the mystery of her parents' assassination. It doesn't hurt either that she has recruited Todd Birch as her cover. He's a charismatic diplomat whose smile could charm the panties off a saint, and Amy is counting on just those winning ways to secure her place at the top, where her parents' murderers are hiding.
Falling for her mark could be the worst thing Amy has ever done, which is a tall order, because she has done some really bad things in her life. But that shouldn't be a problem… right? If anyone can fix this – falling in love with a man who doesn't love her in return – Amy can! After all, killing has always come easier than feeling, and that's just what she'll do when her attraction to her husband gets out of hand. Stop feeling. Kill all that lies between them. And find her parents' murderers so she can kill them too.
There are a few unfortunate aspects of the first novel in this series which also managed to show up in this second book. Firstly, there are some distracting grammatical issues which can remove you from the action or intensity of a given scene. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, it's poignantly challenging to connect with, or even like, either of our main protagonists. The very nature of their secretive government work means they are closed off from each other, as well as from us as the audience. Amy has been building internal walls to emotionally distance herself from others ever since the death of her parents when she was a teenager. Todd seems determined to break down her walls, and teach her how to open up to and trust in someone else again. However, just because Todd is able to insert his way into her life doesn't mean we are afforded the same luxury. We're never really given the chance to sympathize or emotionally connect with her, primarily because she herself is unable to emotionally express herself in so many scenes. She basically gives off a robotic aura in her interactions with others, as well as within her own internal musings.
A Small Window Opens
Up until this point, the main thing we know about Amy's past is that her parents were murdered when she was younger, and she has been devoted to uncovering the identity of their killer ever since that tragic night. This second novel provides us with more of a window into who Amy has become as an adult, mainly because Todd demands it of her. We discover that her desire for hard and excessively rough sex links back to a disturbingly violent event which occurred when she was a teenager. Following the death of her parents Amy closed herself off from everyone and didn't feel anything anymore. However, she admits to Todd that when she was raped by a family friend the experience caused her to "wake up" and feel something for the first time since they died. Even if it made her feel anger, disgust, and humiliated, she was grateful to feel anything after living in a fog for so long. Following this experience she continually craved extremely fierce and dominant sex that might leave her with bruises, or cause her to pass out, since it would once again make her "feel" something. So yeah…I'd classify it as a dark read that I wasn't prepared for.
Series: The Sins Trilogy, book 2.
Final Impressions: In a way, this whole book kind of felt like a distraction. We barely make any progress on Amy finding out who killed her parents, and the character of Anne that we met in book 1 was almost entirely absent. We see Amy focused on this other case that doesn't really have anything to do with the big picture. The best part of the novel was the finale, as we finally see Amy trust Todd, seeing as she spent such a large portion of this book pushing him away. They even fight together during a final mission and it was an exciting glimpse of how much more entertaining they can be when they're fighting for the same goal.
Smut Level: The sex scenes were too disturbing for me seeing how rough Amy likes it, including erotic asphyxiation, while Todd would prefer to take things more gently. Learning the background of why she enjoys it so much made it even harder to read.
Click Here: Click Here. $4.99 Kindle Price. Khaton Press. 341 Pages.
This entry was posted in Contemporary, Erotic, Military, Suspense and tagged Contemporary Romance, military romance, romance books, romance novels, romantic suspense, the sins trilogy. Bookmark the permalink.
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Кейт Фокс () — британський соціальний антрополог, співдиректор Дослідницького центру соціологічних проблем (SIRC). Авторка науково-популярних бестселерів, зокрема книжки «Спостерігаючи за англійцями», де дослідила англійський національний характер. У світі продано понад півмільйона екземплярів книжки.

Дружина відомого британського нейрохірурга Генрі Марша.

Біографія
Народилася в родині відомого британського антрополога Робіна Фокса. У дитинстві жила у Великій Британії, США, Франції та Ірландії. Здобула ступінь бакалавра з антропології та філософії в Кембриджському університеті. 1989 року вона стала співдиректором MCM Research Ltd., і продовжує надавати консультаційні послуги. Сьогодні є співдиректором Центру досліджень соціальних проблем, що знаходиться в Оксфорді, Англія.

Авторка низки досліджень та публікації. Роботи Кейт Фокс включають дослідження, публікації, лекції з багатьох аспектів поведінки людей та суспільних відносин. Зараз працює над наступною книжкою, присвяченою нав'язливим ідеям 21-го століття, зокрема мобільним телефонам, соцмережам, онлайн-знайомствам, селебреті, комп'ютерним іграм тощо.

Українські переклади
 Спостерігаючи за англійцями / Кейт Фокс ; пер. з англ. М. Госовської. — Львів : Видавництво Старого Лева, 2018. — 608 с.

Примітки

Посилання
 Цитати із книжки Кейт Фокс «Спостерігаючи за англійцями»
 Генрі Марш та презентація книжки Кейт Фокс на 25 Book Forum

Британські антропологи
Британські жінки-соціологи
Англійські письменники XX століття
Англійські письменниці
Письменниці XX століття
Письменниці XXI століття


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The Dragon's Wall: Excerpt
Edits have finally begun. Should be making the rounds again by October, though if I could swing it this summer, that would be great.
Thirty-Six: The Cats
Zezili pulled back the sheet covering the body, still half-hoping the face would not be one she knew. The sheet stuck to the lips. Zezili tugged it free and saw the empty sockets of the bloodied eyes, the sharp cheekbones, the aquiline nose, the frosty face of eight hundred years of Dhorinian queens.
Zezili looked into the face of the last of them.
"He took her cat eyes," Zezili said. "Tell me you have him."
Sir Janvier stood next to her, her cropped brown curls squashed under a woolen cap. She kept her helm under one arm.
The body lay at the back of the inn's big kennel atop a makeshift table. The cold room stank of dogs and red grass.
"We picked up tracks going south," Janvier said. Her voice was raw, husky. "A dog, probably carrying two, and a set of footprints. Following them."
Janvier did not say it, and Zezili would not. Not aloud. King Nathin, whore's get of the south, had slipped a man into the queen's circle.
Nathin of Lendynd, self-styled king of savages.
Janvier shifted her feet, wiped at the blunt mash of her nose. She opened her mouth, closed it again. There was another question to be asked, and she would not ask it.
Zezili jerked the sheet back over the corpse. She palmed her own helm lying on the table. She pulled it over her head, fastened the strap at the chin.
"I'm going to Daorian," she said. She had already sent a runner, likely sent her into death, bearing news such as this, but that's what dajians were for.
"Sir," Janvier said.
"I'll ask her to give you first of the legion," Zezili said. "I'm serving her my head."
"On a platter?" Janvier said.
"Silver," Zezili said. "Is there another kind?"
Zezili went back out to where her big dog Dakar was kenneled. His shoulder was as tall as hers. She hefted the saddle from the pen bar, buckled it over Dakar's shoulders, cinched it at the chest.
Janvier still stood behind her, motionless at the kennel gate. Zezili pulled herself up onto Dakar and regarded her Second.
"Anything else?" Zezili asked.
Janvier shook her head.
"Then get out of the way," Zezili said. She kneed Dakar forward.
Daorian was a five day ride, but the snow was light, the roads clear, and way-houses Zezili stayed at were old haunts. She had failed the Queen of Dhorin. She had let the heir to Dhorin die. There was no other fate, no other path, and she went willingly. It would be a gift to take death at the hand of the Queen.
By the time Zezili reached the outer sprawl of Daorian, the city was already wreathed in red, the color of mourning. Great red banners flanked the tower gates, the spires of the distant keep. The city people had put out red kerchiefs in their windows, hung them from the snow-heavy awnings of their shops.
Zezili wound her way to the keep. She had left it over three months before with a dozen of the royal guard. She returned alone. She enjoyed the silence.
People knew her by her armor, the plaited skirt knotted with the hair of dajians and outer-islanders, the image of Rhea holding a sword over a dead dragon etched into the breastplate, outlined in flaking silver. Her helm had no plume, ended instead in a curve of metal like a snake's tail. Her dog's scars, the bulk of him, told all who she was as clearly as her dress, and the people came out to see her, muttered about her on their doorsteps, pointed. Some saw her and hid. Two old women made a ward against evil as she passed. It told Zezili something of the Queen's silent ambiguity regarding her station that they did not spit at Zezili or curse her. The Queen had yet to post judgment.
The city waited.
Zezili brought Dakar up onto the hill of the keep overlooking the harbor, the black water rimmed in dirty snow.
Zezili whistled Dakar to a halt in the courtyard. A kennel girl darted out from the warmth of the kennels, took the reins of Zezili's dog without looking Zezili in the face.
Zezili paused. She reached up a hand to Dakar's ears and rubbed at the base of them. She pressed her cheek to his. The dog licked at her face with his hot tongue. She pulled away only to find that she had gripped the hair of his collar in both hands. She slowly uncurled her fingers. She turned away, walked up the loop of the outdoor stair and into the foyer of the hold. She met with the Queen's public minister, a fat woman with the fey, beautiful face of a clean-shaven mardana man. Zezili could never remember her name.
"She's been expecting you," the minister said.
A little dajian ran ahead to announce Zezili. Zezili went to the long hall outside the queen's audience chamber.
The dajian slipped back out the door, gripped the outer handle and leaned back with all her weight so she could pull it wide.
Zezili squared her shoulders. She concentrated on the length of purple carpet, but could not help but see the willowy length of the queen at the other end of the room, two red banners framing her silver throne. The figures moving at the edges of the room were not her officials, but her cats.
The sight of them sent a prickling up Zezili's spine. The Queen's cats were as tall as Zezili's shoulder, sleek and black, with the queen's eyes; they moved the way she did. They paced the length of the cold chamber.
Zezili walked onto the carpet. The dajian closed the massive door. Zezili still did not look at the queen. She walked to within a yard of the cusp of the Queen's belled white gown, stared at the hem, and got down on both knees before her. She took off her helm, set it beside her.
The cats wound closer. A dozen, more? She imagined them chewing on her body, saw claws rent flesh.
She bowed her head forward, reached up to the tangled hair tied at the nape of her neck, brought it forward over one shoulder. She knelt with her neck bared and kept silent. One of the big cats yawned and stretched, lolled down beside her. Its tail caressed her legs, brushed the back of her head.
The Queen moved. A delicate hand alighted on the base of Zezili's neck. The fingers were cold.
"I charged you," the Queen said, her voice like a sigh.
Zezili trembled.
"The most important of my possessions," the Queen said, and her fingers dug into Zezili's hair.
"I failed," Zezili said, and the words came out garbled. But the queen did not need her words to understand.
"Yes," the Queen said. She released her hold on Zezili's hair, smoothed it back into place, petted her absently.
"And the assassin?" the Queen asked.
"Her consort. The Thordon bauble," Zezili said. "I didn't watch him well enough. It is my head. My head and those of my house, if you will take them."
"Yes," the Queen murmured. She took her hand away, walked back around Zezili to the cat lolling next to Zezili. The Queen held out her hand. The cat licked it.
"Thordon," the queen said.
One of the cats hissed.
"I tire long of Thordon." The Queen stepped up onto the dais. She stepped back into the long curve of her silver throne, the fantastic menagerie of beaten silver rods and spires twisted into the faces of Delaraan demons. The first queen had had their faces set with emerald eyes.
"You have left me one child," the Queen said. "You have left me the boy. These foolish choices are yours as well as mine." And then, lower, to herself, to the cats, "I let the boy live."
"Look at me," the Queen said.
Zezili raised her eyes from the carpet. She did not know what she expected to see in the Queen's face, but looking up she saw an unchanged visage, the face of the corpse in the kennels, unmarked by feeling; grief or fear or anger. The Queen was, as ever, a blank canvas, powdered in white, with the long, regal neck and supple form of her kind, the startling eyes.
"What are you doing this spring?" the Queen said.
Zezili could not speak. She looked for words, searched the floor, the carpet, let her gaze linger on the cats. She remembered Sir Kakolyn's letter about the purging of the Drakish camps, remembered the last time she had knelt before the Queen, swore to cut out her own heart.
"Purging Drakes," Zezili said, "if that's your will."
"I've changed my mind," the Queen said.
Zezili kept her mouth shut.
"I don't mind speaking," the Queen said. "I was to take your head, yes, as you offered it to me. I have a platter, here." She tapped the silver throne. "But my cats are not hungry."
Zezili looked at the cats lolling about the audience chamber. They stared back at her with the Queen's eyes.
"There is another use for you," the Queen said.
Zezili shook her head. "My Queen –"
"I have told you." She nodded at the cats. "They are not hungry. Another day? Until that time, I have changed my mind."
"Your mind?"
"There are Drakish camps, yes. Kakolyn and Orianlyn will clean it. I have some… insects there. They need to be purged. But after, I have a task for you, one your death will not sully."
Zezili bowed her head.
"You and Storm will go south."
Zezili brought her head back up. "South?"
"Thordon," the Queen said. "I want him. I want his country. I want it burned and routed, raped and maimed and mutilated. I want them scattered and twisted. And it is his head you will bring to me. On a platter, no less."
"Pardon, my Queen, with only two legions?"
"Three. You will have Tanasai's. I have contacted her."
Zezili took a breath. Tanasai was dead, packed in snow in the storage house of Zezili's estate. She tried to think of other things, but the Queen's gaze had become keen.
"Or will I need to?" the Queen asked.
Zezili gritted her teeth.
"No," the queen said softly, and her eyes never left Zezili. "No, perhaps I will not have to. Perhaps that time is done."
"My Queen –"
"So your bauble has gone," the Queen said, and a strange look came over her face, a turning inward. "Your bauble has committed violence and left you. Sought you out and could not find you."
Zezili shifted on her knees. She had told no one about what the night keeper of the inn had told her: some hours after her departure, a strange person had come looking for her, too thin to be a woman, the voice too deep, his face hidden in a long hood. She had given him a room. He had disappeared along with the assassin.
"There were tracks leaving the inn," Zezili said. "A dog carrying two. A third trailing."
"Then it is both of us owe Nathin something."
Zezili knitted her brows. "I don't –"
"You will look. Your wife is south," the Queen said. "And the killer. You owe Nathin something too, do you not?"
"Yes," Zezili said. She would find her wife. And Nathin. She saw something opening ahead of her, beyond the throne room. Life. Pursuit.
"There were will be mercenaries from the outer islands. Three thousand Sebastyn pike men, five hundred Alorjan archers. This will not be your campaign, of course. I am giving it to Storm. He has first of the campaign. He decides his subordinates. You understand?"
"Yes," Zezili said.
"Then we are settled."
"I await your will," Zezili said.
"Then rise," the Queen said.
Zezili stood. Her knees ached. She bowed, turned. She put her back to the cats and the Queen. Her hands were pale, trembling. Cold sweat had gathered along her spine. She had not expected she would be allowed to rise, to leave the door. She had not thought past kneeling upon the carpet.
She saw the little dajian pulling back the door, leaning into it.
"Zezili?"
The tone was light. Zezili felt fear. She pivoted on her heel, regarded the queen. The cats were uncurling from the floor, stretching, yawning.
"Perhaps there is something else," the Queen said.
Her cats crept up alongside Zezili, paced between her and the door. They circled her.
"My cats would like a token," the Queen said. "Just a bit. You will give it freely."
The cats pounced.
She did not have time to bring up her hands.
Posted by Kameron Hurley at Friday, January 27, 2006 1 comments
How To Write About Afrika!!
"The View From Africa," by Binyavanga Wainaina (abridged. See the link for the whole thing):
Some tips: sunsets and starvation are good
Never have a picture of a well-adjusted African on the cover
of your book, or in it, unless that African has won the Nobel
Prize. An AK-47, prominent ribs, naked breasts: use these. If
you must include an African, make sure you get one in Masai or
Zulu or Dogon dress.
In your text, treat Africa as if it were one country. It is
hot and dusty with rolling grasslands and huge herds of
animals and tall, thin people who are starving. Or it is hot
and steamy with very short people who eat primates. Don't get
bogged down with precise descriptions. Africa is big:
fifty-four countries, 900 million people who are too busy
starving and dying and warring and emigrating to read your
book. The continent is full of deserts, jungles, highlands,
savannahs and many other things, but your reader doesn't care
about all that, so keep your descriptions romantic and
evocative and unparticular.
Taboo subjects: ordinary domestic scenes, love between
Africans (unless a death is involved), references to African
writers or intellectuals, mention of school-going children who
are not suffering from yaws or Ebola fever or female genital
mutilation.
Among your characters you must always include The Starving
African, who wanders the refugee camp nearly naked, and waits
for the benevolence of the West. Her children have flies on
their eyelids and pot bellies, and her breasts are flat and
empty. She must look utterly helpless. She can have no past,
no history; such diversions ruin the dramatic moment. Moans
are good. She must never say anything about herself in the
dialogue except to speak of her (unspeakable) suffering. Also
be sure to include a warm and motherly woman who has a rolling
laugh and who is concerned for your well-being. Just call her
Mama. Her children are all delinquent. These characters should
buzz around your main hero, making him look good. Your hero
can teach them, bathe them, feed them; he carries lots of
babies and has seen Death. Your hero is you (if reportage), or
a beautiful, tragic international celebrity/aristocrat who now
cares for animals (if fiction).
Bad Western characters may include children of Tory cabinet
ministers, Afrikaners, employees of the World Bank. When
talking about exploitation by foreigners mention the Chinese
and Indian traders. Blame the West for Africa's situation. But
do not be too specific.
Broad brushstrokes throughout are good. Avoid having the
African characters laugh, or struggle to educate their kids,
or just make do in mundane circumstances. Have them illuminate
something about Europe or America in Africa. African
characters should be colourful, exotic, larger than life—but
empty inside, with no dialogue, no conflicts or resolutions in
their stories, no depth or quirks to confuse the cause.
You'll also need a nightclub called Tropicana, where
mercenaries, evil nouveau riche Africans and prostitutes and
guerrillas and expats hang out.
Always end your book with Nelson Mandela saying something
about rainbows or renaissances. Because you care.
I Reserve Comment
SKATER girl Avril Lavigne wants to get rid of her trademark men's shirts and ties and become a fashion model.
What, was she getting hit on by too many women? I'd consider that a compliment!
I sometimes distrust it when women make the decision to "give up" on being "boyish," or wearing comfortable clothes. I agree that feminism is all about choice, and if she wants to wear make-up and run around in tight clothes, that's cool. I just question the reason why she's decided to run this flip so suddenly.
(thanks, b)
I see there's a reason I had a nightmare about my credit card balance last night.
Sweet Jesus.
Radical Militant Librarian
Get your own "Radical Militant Librarian" button.
You know you want to.
When It All Breaks Down
I went to the doctor again yesterday, this time to PP. For the last six months, I've been suffering from what I thought were recurring yeast infections. If you've had these or had a partner who's had these, you know that they make walking uncomfortable, kill most of your sex drive, and make sex uncomfortable anyway.
Two weeks before, I visited another doctor after suffering from a persistent hacking cough. I'd been choking on my own phlegm for nearly two weeks. The coughing fits were so bad that during one of the worst bouts I pulled a muscle on my right side. I had to alter my morning weights routine so I put less strain on it. Getting out of bed in the morning was painful.
The doctor sounded me out and said she had no idea what was wrong with me. She gave me some antibiotics and cough syrup and sent me home.
A few months before that, I got taken out by a major case of the flu that kept me in bed for two weeks. I lived on chicken broth and juice. That's when all the weight started coming off. I've dropped two sizes in 6 months.
When the clinician at PP weighed me in, she looked over my chart and said, "You've lost a lot of weight!"
"Yea," I said, "I have. What am I at?"
"188," she said.
I was 180 at Clarion. I've never in my life wanted to be below 175. I didn't ask my starting weight, but I'd guess I was 215-220 6 months ago.
The clinician asked me the long list of questions you get about yeast infections: are you using scented soap? Bubble bath? Do you wear a thong? You wear cotton underwear? Cut down on sugar? Alcohol? Change out your clothes after the gym?
I've been trying to handle this discomfort for six months. If I hadn't done some google homework on the issue and tried everything else, I wouldn't be here.
I told her I'd been taking massive amounts of acidophilus, using creams, and doing or avoiding all of the above things she indicated. Mostly, I felt like I was in a constant state of remission – I noticed some discomfort, but it didn't really spike except once or twice a month. It was like living in a constant state of tension, with occasional outbursts.
She looked genuinely perplexed.
She checked out my IUD and said there may be a couple of things going on:
1) my IUD may be irritating my uterus, which is why I feel better during my period, because everything's getting flushed out.
2) I overdid it with the acidophilus (and, I think, if she knew how much I took – every day – she'd likely have gone pale), and too much of a good thing can cause a lesser irritation, which is what I'd been experiencing.
So I got another dose of antibiotics to flush the extra acidophilus from my system and clear up any kind of irritated infection that the IUD may have caused.
Seventy-five dollars poorer, I headed out of PP and went home . The whole right side of my face was throbbing, and I kept a tissue handy for my dripping nose. That morning, I'd discovered I had another of my twice-yearly sinus infections. I needed to take some Sudafed.
I've been sick for the last six months. I asked my clinician when I'd first come in about a yeast infection. She said it was in July. Getting on and off the pill will do that. I had one getting on the pill, one getting off. Made sense.
But it started recurring again six weeks later – and kept recurring. Not long after that, I got the flu. Not long after that, the bronchitis-like infection in my lungs. Now the sinus infection. My sicknesses are accumulating more quickly now. And I'm dropping a staggering amount of weight.
None of the doctors I've gone to can pinpoint what exactly is wrong with me. They've got theories, but nothing concrete. They threw some drugs at me and told me to drink more juice.
At home, my room looks like a war zone. Everything's been torn off the walls. The angry ripping left behind brown patches where the paint's been stripped. I have a box of crap sitting by my bed, ready to be moved out.
Six months ago, K moved in with Jenn and me.
For six months, we've been trying to make our living situation work.
We've all been trying very hard.
Things were not good when we moved in. Things went from bad to worse. There were screaming fights. We had a long list of "house rules" that needed to be followed. No labels on things. Close the shower curtain and medicine cabinet. Keep your stuff out of public areas. Jenn and I did all the dishes. Wipe down the counters every morning. Keep to a strict cleaning schedule. Make sure you wipe down the door handle in the bathroom.
I began to believe that I had to rigidly stick by all of these rules to the letter. If I didn't, I thought, then K would be upset., and if K was upset, Jenn and K would fight.
All I wanted was to live in a happy house where everyone loved each other.
Now I know what it is to be a child of parents who are constantly fighting.
You keep thinking that if you just do this one thing, everything will be all right. If you pick up the slack – if you do more dishes, give up the TV more often, try harder to have a "relationship" with K, spend more time in your room, maybe, if you were just around the house less often, then everything would be all right.
But, of course, it's not.
I started to dread coming home at night. I didn't know what state the house would be in. Would it be a happy night? Or would there be closed doors and angry words?
We all wanted things to get better. Yet no matter how many talks we all had, no matter how many times we said, "This isn't right, we need to fix it" – it never got better. It never got fixed.
It got worse.
"It's so strange," my clinician at PP said, "I had this eight-month time period where I was getting yeast infections all the time. I did everything I could think of, and they kept coming back. Then one day they just stopped."
After months of talking about breaking off the relationship, about different living arrangements, after a week of K sleeping at other people's houses, of everyone being "unsure," after six months of sickness and tension on my part, after surviving more and more on credit cards, after my second computer in two years died, my printer went down, after having my fantasy novel rejected again, after getting stalled on my latest novel because of my dead computer and tangled plotline, after increasing stress at work, after another discussion about all of the things my partner and I were unhappy with in our own relationship, I lost it last week. I completely broke down into a screaming, sobbing mess and told Jenn I was moving out March first.
I tore everything off my walls and started packing. I returned all of the library books Jenn had loaned me. I started moving out.
When I say I'm going to do something, I do it.
I hated my house. I hated how we lived. I hated coming home at night. This was hurting me.
My body had been saying no to this situation for some time. I tried to move out as early as October, but it wasn't financially feasible. This time around, I was getting a big check for my writing contract work at the end of February, and it would give me my freedom. I'd get a shitty, cockroach infested studio apartment until I moved to NY. I'd done it before.
For months my body was telling me to get the hell out. I didn't listen. I didn't listen because every time I ran into something I thought was a problem, I'd try to rationalize it. I told myself things would get better. I told myself that stress wasn't something that affected you physically. Stress was something you just ignored or "got over." It was a weak, emotional thing. There had to be some other explanation for all of my sicknesses.
But as the third wheel in a house where two people live who are in a relationship, I had no control over that relationship. Nothing I could say or do would change any of it.
Jenn and K spoke, and K said she would move out. She's gone to spend time at friends' places until March 1st. She'll come in to get her stuff piecemeal, and head out.
On the one hand, I was upset about this. I was sad. I wanted it all to work. And if somebody was going to move out, I wanted it to be me. I didn't want K feeling like she'd been shit on. I was willing to take the hit. But Jenn and K came to their own decision about that issue, and K decided to go.
I am sad. I'm not as bad off as Jenn, of course. There's a long grieving process.
I tried hard. I tried to wish everything better.
But it wasn't my place.
In the end, all I could do was leave. Fight or flight. I needed to protect myself, because my whole life was falling apart.
I don't know how this is all going to turn out. I don't even know if me and my own partner will make it through this.
I reached the end of my rope with everyone in my life. I was so angry at one point that I never wanted to speak to Jenn again. We've known each other for nearly six years. We're Clarion buddies. For me to get to that point says a lot about how emotionally exhausted I am.
I don't know that anything can help me at this point.
"Drink this," the clinician told me.
I stared dubiously into a cup of fizzing water.
"What's this?" I asked.
"The antibiotic."
I'd never taken a drink-based antibiotic before.
It tasted all right going down, but the aftertaste was bitter.
"That will flush everything out," she said.
I hope she's right.
God's War: Excerpt
Nyx blew out of Punjai and hit the radio a couple of times with her palm, but all she got was misty blue static.
It was going to be a long ride.
She spent the night in the bakkie after making good time, about halfway to Mushtallah. She kept as far off the road as she dared and was up before dawn and back on the road, out past Mushtallah and the central cities. She landed another night on the road, then climbed over the low mountains that divided the coast from the interior.
As she came up over the other side, the terrain began to change. Sandy scrub gave way to rocky soil. The desert bled away and turned into long-needled pine trees, then tall oak hybrids with leaves the size of Nyx's head, low ferns with thorns, tangles of wild roses, snake maples, amber ticklers, patches of low-spring wildflowers.
Nyx found it all pretty claustrophobic. The trees were so big they blocked the big sky, the sun. She couldn't see beyond the turns of the road. That made her nervous. She started checking her mirrors more often.
She came out of the mountains and onto the rolling veldt of red-tipped wheat, the broad pastureland that kept the big, hairy, shoulder-high omnivores they called pigs. Farmsteads dotted the landscape. Swarms of locusts, red flies, and ladybirds mobbed the fields, tailored to devour the less friendly bugs and fungi that ruined the staples.
Nyx found a motel that night at a crossroads. She parked her bakkie out front alongside flatbeds and rickshaws and a cart hitched to the front end of a converted bakkie.
She splurged on good food and a bath. The only upside to coming out to the coast was all the water. Sweet, sweet, water. All the water you could soak in.
Nyx lingered in the bath, rubbing at old wounds that had started biting and aching again. It got colder on the coast, and the cold would only make the aching worse.
She missed the desert.
When she crawled into bed, her sheets weren't full of sand. The floor was made of wood, and swept clean.
She couldn't sleep.
Nyx grabbed her pillow and moved to the floor, spent long hours staring at the roaches scuttling along the ceiling. A couple took flight, landed on her head, her arms. She flicked them away.
There was a call box downstairs, but she had no one to call. If she called Kine, it was likely her sister would tell her not to come. If she called the Keg, she could make small talk with Taite or Anneke about defense, but she'd be repeating herself, and they'd see through it.
Nyx got up and went to the bar.
The motel had an "honor" bar, the kind with liquor bottles affixed to the wall upside down and a little book to record how many shots you'd pulled so they could bill you for it later.
Nyx took out her dagger and pried a bottle of whiskey from the wall and went out and sat on the front porch. The sky was big, and the stars were the clearest she'd seen since she was a kid. She drank, leaned back in the chair, and tried reading the constellations. Tej had been good at that.
A noise from the parking lot drew her attention. She went still. The night was clear, but the big bloody moons were at the far end of their orbit, meaning they looked about as big as her thumbnail in the night sky. A year from now, they would look about three times the size of the sun.
But that didn't help her out much now.
The figure was dawdling next to Nyx's bakkie. She'd parked close to the motel so she could keep an eye on it. The figure crouched for a long while, then rose and moved off. As Nyx watched, the figure shrank, dwindled. She heard a sneeze, and then a white bird was flapping off toward the road.
Nyx swore. She took a last pull from the bottle, returned it to the bar, and held out the rest of the night in her room with the door bolted. She slept in front of it.
The next morning, an inspection of the bakkie turned up an ignition burst and a cut brake line. It looked like Rasheeda had tried to cut open the main hose connecting the pedal mechanisms to the engine as well, but only nicked it. Some dead beetles and organic fluid had pooled beneath the bakkie.
Nyx disarmed the ignition burst. She opened up the trunk and took out one of the toolkits. She patched the leak, replaced the brake hose, and got back onto the road.
This time, she kept an eye on the road behind her the whole way.
She stopped at a dusty station just past a couple of farmsteads at the foot of the coastal hills and filled up on bug juice.
The woman who popped open her tank was a soft, fleshy, coastal type with big dark eyes and a plump mouth.
"You come in from the desert?" she asked.
Nyx wondered where else there was to come in from. As the woman pumped the feed into the tank, Nyx gazed out at the road. She saw a bakkie crawling along around a bend in the road, coming in from the direction of the motel. Following her?
She turned her face away, but noted the movement of the car in the station windows. The car slowed as it passed the station, then sped up again. Nyx saw three figures. She slumped in her seat, wondered if they'd open fire.
But the bakkie sped on. She looked after it.
"Friends of yours?" the attendant asked. She capped the tank.
"I hope not," Nyx said. She leaned over, opened her pack and rolled a couple of bursts onto the passenger seat. Just in case.
She paid the woman and got back onto the road.
Three kilometers on, she saw the bakkie parked at the side of the road.
Waiting.
She switched pedals, kicked the bakkie a little faster. The other bakkie turned out onto the road after her.
Nyx didn't know the country well, and unlike the cities, the place was all wide-open, no cover. About all the cover she had were the hills, and some woods, if she could find them. She switched pedals again, reached for the clutch. She hadn't had to use the clutch in a long time. She wondered if it still worked.
The dark bakkie kept just within her rearview mirror view. They knew they'd been seen. Either they didn't know where she was going and wanted to pin her there, or they were waiting for a good turn in the road to take her out.
She sped up. They sped up.
She watched the image of the dark car grow bigger in the mirror.
She fucked with the clutch. It made a nasty grinding sound.
"Come on, you fucker," she said.
It flipped.
She switched pedals. The bakkie shuddered. The speedometer climbed. She saw a turnoff on her left that went up into the hills. Nyx did a neat break, twisted the wheel, and hit the speed as she came out of the turn.
The bakkie screamed under her. She caught the smell of burning bugs, death on the road. She glanced back and saw smoke and dead beetles roiling out from the exhaust. The way was narrow and twisted, and as she climbed, the grasslands turned to a forest of oak hybrids. She took the turns too fast.
Nyx kept checking the mirror. She spent a moment too long looking and nearly lost herself on a narrow turn. She'd seen the other bakkie.
They were still behind her.
She kept a sharp eye out for turns off the main road. She didn't want gravel tracks or logging roads. The bakkie would get stuck, and she'd be for shit.
The black bakkie was right behind her. She could just see their faces now. The big woman in the driver's seat was definitely Dahab. Not a doubt in her mind. Dahab had a new team with her, not bel dames, from the look of them.
Nyx twisted around another curve. Raine had taught her to drive when she was nineteen. It wasn't a skill magicians taught to boxers. Raine had gone to boxing gyms for years to recruit young blood from the front. She'd started out like all of his crew – as a driver.
Nyx heard a shot, and ducked. Checked the mirror again. The woman riding shotgun with Dahab was doing what people riding shotgun did.
Nyx dared not take her hands off the wheel. Even if she could clip off a couple shots with her pistol, the odds of her hitting anything in that bakkie were slim.
She hit a crossroads. Right was back up into the hills. Left was down into the coastal valley. Down meant she would have to put a lot of faith in her repair of the breakline.
Fuck it.
She veered left and barreled down the hill. She disengaged the clutch.
Heard another shot.
Something exploded against her back window.
That wasn't good. Organics. A fever burst? Or something worse?
She grabbed at one of the bursts on the seat next to her and lobbed it out the window. Heard a satisfying pop as it exploded on the road.
The bakkie squeezed around another narrow turn. The cover of the woods was thinning out. She saw a house set back away from the road. If she couldn't lose them, she had to fight them.
Fight Dahab.
Nyx ignored the house and kept on down the road.
She came down a long stretch and turned. The road abruptly changed from pavement to gravel. Logging road.
The bakkie skidded on the sudden raw stretch. Nyx hit the far left and far right pedals, and all four wheels twisted sharply, got her some traction.
She looked back. Missed a turn. She spun the wheel and tried to recover, but she was trying to recover on a graveled road.
The car slid clean off the road.
For a long, hopeful moment, she thought she'd be all right. But as she braked and twisted the wheel, she saw she wasn't going to avoid the big tree in front of her.
The bakkie smashed into the hybrid oak with a loud crunch. Bugs exploded from the hood. A rain of leaves dropped onto the windshield. Nyx's torso thumped into the steering wheel, knocked the breath from her.
The sound of hissing beetles filled her ears.
Adrenaline flooded her body. She pushed at the door, couldn't find the handle for some reason. She leaned over and reach for one of the bursts on the floor.
The barrel of a very big gun pointed in at her through the passenger side window.
"Don't fucking move," Dahab said.
"Ten ways you know you're reading a story of mine"
1) It opens with something like: "The Heroes took wing from a dark, raw field the color of blood." And you know exactly what you're in for. This isn't going to be a "happy" story.
2) Somebody loses something - an eye, a finger, a limb, a head, a womb - at some point
3) Big women with commitment issues go around killing things and trying not to care about people.
4)Skinny men - usually described as looking like or acting like dancers (hey, I used to have a thing for a dancer) - act as the loyal sidekick to above strong woman.
5)There are a lot of bugs
6) Wars are going on and shit is blowing up
7) Somebody's carrying around a big gun that shoots acid.
8) The traditional "one man, one woman," happy hetero pairing is very sweet – and you're not reading about it.
9) Getting pregnant isn't a good idea. And if the women are going around having sex (and oh yes, they are), you'll get an explanation as to why she ain't pregnant.
10) The civil war's just the subplot
Weird Habits For La Gringa
Five weird habits:
1) I talk to myself. I picked up this habit while living by myself in Alaska, and South Africa. It's a pretty constant streaming narrative of what's going on in my head ("I need to do this, then this. Fuck. I forgot that thing. That's lame."). So when I'm alone in the house I turn on movies and music. I used to constantly run a DVD in my computer in South Africa when I was home so I didn't feel so lonely. I've been doing it this last week, as well, as K is out of the house and Jenn doesn't come home until after I'm in bed.
2) When I don't write for about three or four days, I get emotionally weird. This is because I channel my emotions into my writing. It enables me to keep up a calm façade out in the real world. When the writing doesn't happen, the emotion tends to build up, and explosions over small issues happen more regularly.
More writing: less craziness!
3) I'm claustrophobic. I can put up with small spaces if I have to, but if it's for prolonged periods or I'm not 100% mentally or physically well to begin with, I'll start to lose it and wack out.
This is probably why I need to have moving air in my room when I go to sleep. Preferably, I've got a fan going all the time, but if one's not available, I need to have an open window. I won't die without it, but it's something I do automatically if I'm in a hotel by myself – I try to open the windows. This also means I have more trouble going to bed when I'm too warm than when I'm too cold. Lord knows how I managed to live in Durban.
4) I often put on perfume before bed. I have no idea why I do this, since 98% of the time, I go to bed alone anyway.
5) I drink whiskey straight. A lot of it. That may not sound weird to some people, but I've gotten startled looks when I tell people to serve me my hard liquor straight. Whiskey is my preferred "I want to get drunk now" beverage. In fact, that sounds like something I'll indulge in tonight.