This story originally appeared in the October/November 2008 Asimov's Science Fiction (in the US) and the UPC Science Fiction collection (in Europe). It was winner of the UPC science fiction award, and was the last short story Brandon wrote before he sold Elantris to Tor.
The story was first named honorable mention in a Writers of the Future contest in early 2003. (Brandon got the phone call from an editor buying Elantris in April 2003.) A few years later, he did a couple of serious revisions of the story and then submitted it to the UPC award in Spain. It won first place, and subsequently sold in the US to Asimov's Science Fiction—which was Brandon's first (and so far only) fiction appearance in a major print magazine. It was given an honorable mention in Gardner Dozois's The Year's Best Science Fiction anthology for 2008.
We present it here as a Holiday 2009 thank you to Brandon's friends. This version here hasn't been copyedited (Brandon's electronic copy did not reflect editing changes) so there will be typos. But Brandon feels this is the finest short story he's written to date, so hopefully you will enjoy it. Happy holidays, and thank you for reading!
An audio version of this novelette is also available on episode 339 of StarShipSofa.
The woman thrashed and spasmed in the hospital bed. Her dark hair was matted to her head with sweat, and her uncontrolled motions seemed almost epileptic. Her eyes, however, did not have the wildness of the insane—instead they were focused. Determined. She was not mad; she just couldn't control her muscles. She kept waving her hands in front of her with awkward movements, movements that seemed strangely familiar to Jason.
And she did it all in silence, never uttering a word.
Jason switched off the holovid, then leaned back in his chair. He had watched the vid a dozen times, but it still confused him. However, he couldn't do anything until he arrived at Evensong. Until then, he would simply have to bide his time.
Jason Write had always felt an empathy for the Outer Platforms. There was something about the way they hung alone in space, claimed by neither planet nor star. They weren't lonely—they were . . . solitary. Autonomous.
Jason sat beside the shuttle's port window, looking at Evensong as it approached. The platform resembled others of its kind—a flat sheet of metal fifty miles long, with buildings sprouting from both its top and bottom. It wasn't a ship, or even a space station—it was nothing more than a collection of random buildings surrounded by a bubble of air.
Of all the Outer Platforms, Evensong was the most remote. It hung between the orbits of Saturn and Uranus, the farthest deep-space human outpost. In a way, it was like an Old West border town, marking the edge of civilization. Except in this case—no matter what humankind liked to think—civilization lay outside the border, not within it.
As the shuttle approached, Jason could Sense the city's separate skyrises and towers, many of them linked by walkways. He sat with his eyes turned to the window, though the position was redundant. He had been legally blind since he'd turned sixteen. It had been years since he could even make out shadows or light. Fortunately, he had other methods of seeing.
He could Sense lights shining from windows and streets. To him, their white light was a quiet buzz in his mind. He could also Sense the line of buildings rising in a way that was almost reminiscent of an old Earth city skyline. Of course, there wasn't really a sky or a horizon. Just the blackness of space.
Blackness. Voices laughed in the back of his mind. Memories. He pushed them away.
The shuttle slid into Evensong's atmospheric envelope—the platform had no sphere or force field, like some of the older space stations employed. Element-specific gravity generators had eliminated the need for such things, and had opened space for mankind. ESG, along with fusion generators, meant that humankind could toss an inert piece of metal into space, then populate it with millions of individuals.
Jason sat back as the shuttle made its final approach. He had a private cabin, of course. It was well furnished and comfortable—a necessity for such a long trip. The room smelled faintly of his dinner—steak—and otherwise had a sterile, well-cleaned scent to it. Jason approved—if he had owned a home, he would have kept it in a similar way.
I suppose it is time for the vacation to end, Jason thought. Silently bidding farewell to his relaxed solitude, Jason reached up to tap the small control disk attached to the skin behind his right ear. A sound clicked in his ear—the acknowledgment that his call was being relayed across the void to Earth so far away. Faster-than-light communication—a gift given to Earth as a reward for mankind's most embarrassing political faux pas of all time.
"You called," a perky feminine voice sounded in his ear.
Jason sighed. "Lanna?" he asked.
"I don't suppose anyone else is there?" Jason asked.
This is going to be a long assignment, Jason thought.
A quiet sound buzzed in the room—an indication that docking had finished. Jason rose, fetched his single bag of luggage, slid on his sunglasses, and left his quarters. He knew the glasses would look odd, but his sightless eyes tended to put people on edge. Especially when they discovered that he was obviously able to see despite his unfocused pupils.
"So, how was the trip?" Lanna asked.
"Fine," Jason said tersely, walking down the shuttle's hallway and nodding toward the captain. The man ran a good crew—in Jason's opinion, any crew that left him alone was a good one.
"Come on," Lanna prodded in his ear. "It had to be more than just 'fine.' What kind of food did they serve? Did you have any problems with the . . ." She droned on, but Jason stopped paying attention. He was focused on something else—a slight warble in Lanna's voice. It sounded for only a brief second, but Jason immediately knew what it meant. The line was being tapped.
Lanna had undoubtedly heard it as well—she was loquacious, but not incompetent—but she continued as if nothing had happened. She would wait for Jason's signal.
"How are the kids?" Jason asked.
The younger one was sick. That meant the tap was on Jason's end, not hers. Interesting, he thought. Someone had managed to get close enough to scan his control disk without him noticing.
Lanna fell silent. She was preparing a tap block, but would only act if Jason ordered it. He didn't.
Instead, he stepped out of the shuttle and walked down the short ramp to the arrival station. Before him spread a line of scanning arches, meant to search for weaponry. Jason strode through them without concern—there wasn't a scanner in human space that could discover his weapons. He nodded with a smile as he passed a guard; the man smelled faintly of tobacco and was wearing a blue uniform that registered as a pulsing rhythm in Jason's mind. The guard frowned as he saw the silver PC pin on Jason's lapel, then turned a suspicious eye on his scanners.
Jason stepped aside as the other passengers formed a line at the registration counter, ostensibly searching for his ID. He watched them with his Sense, however, his useless eyes turned downward. Most of the people wore the soft rhythm of navy, the roar of white, or the still silence of black. None of them stood out, but he memorized the patterns of their faces. The person who had tapped his line must have been on the shuttle.
After they had all passed, Jason pretended to find his ID—one of the old plastic ones, rather than a new holovid card. A tired security man, his breath smelling of coffee, accepted the ID and began processing Jason's papers. The guard was a young man, and his skin was tinted blue after one of the newer fashion trends. The man worked slowly, and Jason's eyes drifted to a holovid playing on the back counter. It displayed a news program.
". . . found murdered in an incineration building," the anchor said.
"I know," Jason said, accepting his ID back and dashing out of the customs station and onto the street.
Captain Orson Ansed, Evensong PD, hustled through Topside's slums. It still surprised him that Evensong had slums. All of the platform's buildings were built of rich telanium, a super-light, silvery metal that didn't corrode or fall apart. In fact, most of the buildings had been prefabricated with the platform, and were an extension of its sheet-like hull. The buildings were spacious, well constructed, and sleek.
And still there were slums. It didn't matter that Evensong's poor lived in homes that many wealthy Earthsiders couldn't afford. By comparison, they were still poor. Somehow, their dwellings reflected that. There was a sense of despair to the area. Shiny, modern buildings were hung with ragged drapes and drying clothing. Aircars were rare, pedestrians common.
"Over here, captain," one of his men said, motioning toward a building. It was long and squat—though like all buildings on the platform, it had other structures built on top of it. The officer, a new kid named Ken Harris, led Orson inside, and Orson was immediately struck by a pungent smoky scent. The building was a burning station, where organic materials were recycled.
Officers moved about in the darkened room. Like most buildings on Evensong, this one was poorly lit. Evensong's distance from the sun kept it in a perpetual state of twilight, and the platform's inhabitants had grown accustomed to having less light. Many of them kept the lights dim even indoors. The tendency had bothered Orson at first, but he rarely even noticed it anymore.
"Come and look, sir," Harris said, weaving through some equipment toward the back of the room.
Orson followed; eventually they stopped beside a massive cylindrical burner. Its metallic face was dark and flat. One of the bottom reservoir doors was open, revealing the dust below. Mixed with the dirt and ash was a large section of carapace, its shell stained black from the heat.
"That is what we assume, sir," Harris said.
Great, Orson thought with a sigh. The Varvax had been asking about their ambassador since its disappearance two weeks before.
"What do we know?" Orson asked.
"Does the media know about this?" Orson asked hopefully.
He trailed off. A figure was silhouetted in the building's open door—a figure not wearing a police uniform. Orson swore quietly, standing. The officers outside were supposed to keep the press out.
The man ignored him. He was tall and thin, with a triangular face and short-cropped black hair. He wore a simple black suit, a little outdated but otherwise indistinctive, and a pair of dark glasses. He brushed past Orson with an air of indifference.
Orson reached out to grab the insolent stranger, but froze. There was a gleaming pin on the man's lapel—a small silver bell.
What! Orson thought with amazement. When did a PC operative get here? How did he know? The questions didn't really matter—regardless of their answers, one thing was certain. Orson's jurisdiction had come to an end.
The Phone Company had arrived.
It had finally happened a hundred and forty years before, in the year 2071. Oddly enough, the ones who had made first contact had been an outdated, nearly bankrupt phone company.
Northern Bell Incorporated had been on the losing side of technological progress. While its competitors had been researching and incorporating holovid technology, Northern Bell had tried something a little more daring: cybernetic-based telepathic linking.
Cyto, as it was dubbed, had turned out to be a failure. Holovid technology was not only cheaper and more stable, it also worked. Cyto had not worked—at least not as Northern Bell had hoped. In the last days before its impending bankruptcy, the company had finally managed to get a few squeaks of sound through the system. Those squeaks, while unimpressive to their human monitors, were also inadvertently projected through space to a group of beings known as the Tenasi. The Tenasi reply had been the first interspecies contact Earth had ever known.
Second contact had been made by the United Governments Military when they accidentally shot down a Tenasi ambassadorial vessel. But that, of course, was an entirely different story.
"He's been missing for two weeks?" Jason asked, kneeling beside the burned carapace. It was silent in his mind—a foreboding indication of its black color.
"Yes, sir," the officer said.
"Yup," Lanna said at almost the same time.
"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Jason asked.
The police officer looked confused for a moment before realizing that Jason wasn't talking to him. Earlinks were a common, if confusing, part of modern life.
Jason grunted, standing. She was right—he should have looked into local news stories during his trip. It was too late now.
The officer regarded Jason with hard eyes. Jason could read the man's emotions easily. Not through the use of his Cyto Senses—it was a common misconception that psionics were telepathic. No, Jason could read the man's emotions because he was accustomed to dealing with local law enforcement. The officer would be annoyed at Jason for interfering with his investigation. But at the same time, the officer would be relieved. Local men always felt overwhelmed when it came to dealing with other species. Aliens were to be handled by the Phone Company. The PC had made first contact; the PC had negotiated Earth out of danger following the Tenasi incident. The PC had brought FTL communication to humankind.
"Jason?" Lanna's voice sounded in his ear.
Jason snapped to, muscles twitching, memories fading. He still knelt beside the burner. The officer still stood staring at him, the room still smelled overpoweringly of smoke, and he could still hear the reporters arguing with officers outside.
"I'm all right," Jason whispered.
He stood, dusting off his suit, listening to the reporters. They, like the policemen, would probably assume that Jason had come to Evensong to investigate the Ambassador's death. It didn't matter that Jason's shuttle had left for Evensong over a month before the murder. An alien had died, and a PC operative had arrived. That would be enough for them.
"I shouldn't have come to the scene," he mumbled.
The officer looked surprised. But, apparently uncertain what else to do, he saluted Jason. Jason nodded, then turned to leave.
There was a moment of shocked silence as the reporters realized who he was. They stood in a ring around several beleaguered police, and the commotion was attracting a crowd of curious onlookers. Then the reporters exploded with questions. Jason ignored them, pushing his way through the crowd. He had his head bowed, his hand raised to forestall questions. However, in his mind he was looking.
He scanned the crowd, pushing through the humming and pulsing colors. He looked over each face, comparing them to the ones in his memory. A smile crept to his lips as he found what he was looking for. The media let him leave—they were used to the PC ignoring their questions. Behind him, Jason could hear their on-the-spot vidcasts. They had all the facts wrong, of course. There was fear in their voices—a fear of what they didn't understand, a fear of the retribution that might come. In their world, retribution was assumed. In their world, you hurt that which was weaker than you.
Jason continued to walk with his head bowed. Behind him, a man broke free from the group of onlookers and wandered in Jason's direction, obviously trying to look casual.
"I wish there were more flowers," Jason said.
Jason continued to stroll forward. His shadow followed—the man moved with the skill of one who had been well trained, but he made the mistakes of one who was inexperienced. There was no change to his step—he probably hadn't noticed the switchover. At that moment, he would be listening to a fabricated conversation between Lanna and Jason. For some reason, Jason suspected he didn't want to know what kind of silly things Lanna's replicated version of his voice was saying.
"Is he buying it?" Lanna asked.
"I'm not sure yet." Jason turned, taking the steps down into an airtrain station. The man followed.
"Maybe," Jason said, strolling into an underground cafe. It smelled of dirt, mold, and coffee. His follower waited for a few moments outside, then walked in and took a table a discrete distance from Jason.
Jason ordered a cup of coffee.
"I'm not old," Jason mumbled as the waitress brought his coffee. It smelled of cream, though he had ordered it black. He turned his ineffectual eyes on a newspaper someone else had left on the table, but his mind studied his follower. The man was indeed young—in his early twenties. He wore softly humming grays and browns.
Jason paused. "No," he finally said, taking a sip of his coffee. It had far too much cream in it—probably an attempt to obscure its poor flavor.
Coln Abrams sipped his coffee—it didn't have enough cream. He had to keep telling himself not to look at his target. Coln didn't actually need to watch the man to monitor the conversation, he just had to stay within range.
What are you doing here, Write? Coln wondered with frustration. How did you know the ambassador would be killed? What does this all have to do with your plans?
Coln shook his head. Jason Write, head operative for Northern Bell Phone Company, one of the most enigmatic people in the Solar System. What was he doing on Evensong? The United Intelligence Bureau knew a lot about the man, but for every known fact there seemed to be two more missing.
Take, for instance, the Tenasi Agreement. Coln had read the document itself a hundred times, and had watched the holovids, commentaries, and old newscasts relating to the Tenasi incident over and over. The United Governments military had accidentally shot down a Tenasi diplomatic vessel—thereby initiating a rather embarrassing first contact. Earth had been thrown into a chaos of confusion and worry. Were they being invaded? Would they be invaded now that they had made such a horrible mistake?
Then the PC had stepped in. Somehow—using means they had yet to explain—they had contacted the Tenasi. The PC had brought peace to Earth. But in exchange, the company had demanded a steep price. From that moment on, the PC had become completely autonomous—untaxable, unquestionable, and completely above the law. In addition, the PC had secured sole rights to the aliens' FTL communication technology. And, with those two concessions, the PC had become the most powerful, most arrogant force in the system.
Coln gripped his mug tightly, barely noticing as the waitress brought his sandwich. He was still listening to the conversation between Write and his Base Support Operative—they were discussing what color roses they liked best.
Coln froze. The conversation in his ear had stopped mid-sentence. For a panicked moment, Coln feared that Write had slipped out of the restaurant and out of range.
Coln's eyes darted across the room. He was relieved to find Write sitting in his booth, sipping quietly at his coffee. It had simply been a lull in the conversation.
"What do you think he'll do when he realizes his cover is blown?" the Base Support Operative, Lanna, said in Coln's ear.
Write looked up, his sunglassed eyes looking directly at Coln's face. Horror rose in Coln's chest, an emotion quickly followed by shame. He'd been discovered.
"Come here, boy," Write ordered in Coln's ear.
"If you leave," Write said, "then you will never discover why I am on Evensong." His voice was sharp and businesslike.
Coln regarded the man indecisively. What should he do? Why hadn't any of his classes covered situations like this one? When an agent was discovered, he was supposed to pull out. But what if his target seemed willing to talk to him?
Slowly, Coln rose and crossed the cafe's dirty floor. Write's sunglasses watched him quietly. Coln stood for a moment beside Write's table, then sat stiffly.
"You are young for a UIB agent," Write said.
Inwardly, Coln sighed. He already knows. What have I gotten myself—and the Bureau—into?
He doesn't know! Coln realized with surprise. He thinks I'm here officially.
"A clever man would realize that my insults contain the most useful information you'll likely receive," Write said.
Coln snorted, rising from the chair. Write had just invited him over to gloat, and Coln had ruined his own career for nothing. He had been so certain that he could tail Write, that he could figure out what the man was doing, discover truth behind the Tenasi Agreement. . . .
"You may accompany me," Write said, finishing his coffee.
"Hush," Write said suddenly, holding up a hand.
Coln frowned. Write wasn't looking at him, however. He was staring straight ahead, his face confused.
Something was wrong. Jason ran his mind around the room, trying to Sense what was bothering him. The cafe had about a dozen other occupants, all eating quietly. Most of them were in workers' clothing—flannels and denim that pulsed an irregular symphony in Jason's mind. He studied their faces, and recognized none of them. What was bothering him?
A line of bullets blasted through the window just beside Jason. They came far too fast for his body to react or dodge, moving with the incredible speed of modern weaponry.
As fast as the bullets were, however, Jason's mind was faster. He whipped out, a dozen invisible mindblades slashing through the air. The force of his attack slapped the bullets backward as well as sliced each one in two. There was a series of audible clicks as the pieces bounced back off the window, then fell to the cafe floor. All was silent.
The UIB kid plopped into his seat, his face horrified as he stared at the window and its holes.
"Someone shot at you?" Lanna asked with concern.
The cafe's patrons were running about in fear, some calling out, others hiding beneath benches. The UIB kid was looking down at himself with surprise, as if he couldn't believe that he was still alive. "They all missed," the boy whispered with amazement.
Jason frowned. Why would someone try to kill a UIB agent? Why not focus on Jason? The PC was a far more dangerous threat.
"How did you let him sneak up on you like that?" Lanna asked.
"I'm not certain," Jason said. He ran his Sense over the room one last time, memorizing faces. As he did so, he noticed something. While most of the people were hiding or quivering in fear, one didn't seem to be concerned at all. A solitary form sat quietly at the back of the cafe. He was a nondescript man with a long nose and a firm body. He watched Jason with interested eyes—eyes that seemed slightly unfocused. Almost as if . . .
Impossible! Jason thought. Then, without bothering to see if the UIB kid followed him, he left the cafe.
"You must take the apologies of us," Sonn urged. The Varvax Foreign Minister's words were delivered by a translation program, of course—the Varvax language consisted of clicks and snaps mitigated by hand gestures. The figure on the holovid screen was large and boxy, and its skin shone with quartz and granite. That was, of course, only the exoskeleton—the Varvax were actually small creatures that floated in a nutrient bath sealed within their inorganic shells.
Jason smiled to himself. Comments like that one that earned the Varvax, and most other alien races, humankind's disgust. It didn't matter that the comments were true—in fact, the truth of such statements only enraged humankind more.
"We will return what is left of the body as soon as possible, Minister Sonn," Jason promised.
"It will take some time yet, Minister Sonn," Jason said.
"You are an interesting people, Jason of the Phone Company," Sonn said, his claws held before him in a gesture of supplication.
"We will speak again," Jason said, shutting off the holovid. He sat for a moment, Sensing the room around him. He couldn't just relax completely anymore—he missed that. If he let his concentration lapse, the darkness would come upon him.
"They certainly are confident, aren't they?" Lanna asked in his ear.
Jason didn't reply—he didn't know the answer.
"I looked up the kid for you," Lanna offered.
"It isn't exactly a prime vacation spot," Jason noted, strolling over to the window and trying to imagine what the city would look like to normal eyes. It would be dark, he decided—most of it didn't vibrate very much to him. Dark and tall, like a city constructed entirely of alleyways. Lights were sparse and insufficient, and the air always smelled musty. It always seemed to be a few degrees below standard temperature too—as if the vacuum of space were closer, more ominous, than it really was.
"No," Jason said, turning from the window. He put on his suit coat and slid on his dark glasses.
The image was blurred and poorly exposed. Unfortunately, it was the best he had. Coln walked around the large holoimage, studying it as he had hundreds of times before. The answer was before him; he could feel it. The image held a secret. Yet Coln, like thousands of others, was unable to determine just what that secret might be.
The image had been taken by the only spy to infiltrate the PC's central headquarters. It was a picture of a simple white room with an apparatus lining the back wall. That apparatus, whatever it was, powered all of humankind's FTL communications.
It was the greatest secret of the modern age. Humankind had been trying for nearly two centuries to break the PC's monopoly on FTL communication. Unfortunately, no amount of research had been able to duplicate the PC's strange technology—and until someone did, humankind would be indebted to a tyrant.
It has to be here! Coln thought, staring at the unyielding image. He walked around it to look at several angles. If only it weren't so blurry. He looked closely at the holoimage. A security guard sat against the right side of the room, staring in the photographer's direction. There seemed to be several cylindrical outcroppings on the far wall—relays of some kind? One was larger than the others, and dark in color. Was it the answer?
Coln sighed. Men far more technologically savvy than he had tried to dissect the image, but none had been able to draw any decisive conclusions. The picture was just too fuzzy to be of much use. He had spent the entire morning trying to decide why someone would try to kill him. He had only been able to come to one decision—that for some reason, Write had ordered him assassinated. The PC agent had been the one who had coerced Coln over to sit beside him, in the place where the assassin had shot. The PC was behind it somehow. Except the assassin missed, Coln thought. He must have done so on purpose. Write wanted to scare me off. He acted like he didn't care if I followed him, then he tried to frighten me away. Coln nodded. It made sense, in a twisted PC sort of way. And if Write didn't want him along, then Coln had to make certain he stayed.
"Wake up, kid," Lanna's voice crackled suddenly in his ear.
"I'm awake," Coln said, bristling at the reference to his age—twenty-three was hardly young enough to earn him the title of "kid." At least the other two had stopped feeding him dummy conversations—when they didn't want him to listen, they simply shut him out completely.
Coln cursed, throwing on his jacket.
Coln flushed. How much did they know?
He dashed out into the hallway just in time to see Write's black-suited form turn a corner. Coln padded across the floor, catching up to the operative. Write barely acknowledged him. They walked in silence to the end of the hallway, then took the private lift down to the lobby. The lush carpets and wealthy furnishings hinted that they were far indeed from the previous day's slums.
"So, what is it?" Coln asked as they stepped out onto the silver telanium street. The street, as always, was dimly lit—though hundreds of lights shone from windows and signs. Evensong was dark, but it did not sleep.
"What is what?" Write asked as an aircab—obviously chartered—pulled up in front of the hotel.
Coln raised an eyebrow in skepticism.
"Then why are you here?" Coln asked.
Coln frowned at the comment, searching through his memory. He paid attention to anything the Bureau learned about the PC. He recalled something about the scientist's disappearance, but it hadn't seemed very important.
"Well, at least someone pays attention to current events," Lanna said.
"So . . ." Coln said.
Jason strode into the hospital, the depressed Coln tagging along behind. The kid kept asking questions, convinced that Jason's actions had some greater purpose in the PC's "master plans." Jason was beginning to regret bringing him along—the last thing he needed was another person jabbering at him.
The nurse at the front desk looked up with surprise when he entered, her eyes flickering toward his silver lapel pin.
The nurse nodded, leaving the desk to another attendant and waving Jason to follow. She wore white—a roaring, blatant color. To others, White was neutral, but to Jason it was by far the most garish choice. Better the subtle hum of gray. The walls were white as well, and the hallways smelled of cleaning fluids.
Why do they do that? Jason wondered, shaking his head slightly. Do they think that it will make their patients feel at home? Lifeless sterility and monochrome white? Perhaps all these people need to regain their sanity is a little bit of color.
The nurse led them to a simple room with a locked door—ostensibly for the patient's safety.
She trailed off as Jason turned toward her. After losing his eyesight, he had eventually learned that a look of discontent could be accomplished as much with one's bearing as with one's eyes. As he stared sightlessly at the nurse, her resolve weakened, and the punitive tone left her voice.
"That is enough," Jason said simply.
"Yes, sir," the nurse mumbled, shooting him a spiteful look as she unlocked the door.
Jason walked into the small, unadorned room. Denise sat beside a desk—the room's only furniture beside a bed and a dresser. She regarded Jason with wide eyes. She looked much as in his holovid—she was thin, her short dark hair in curls, and she wore a simple skirt and blouse.
Jason had met her several times before—Denise had shown an affinity for Cyto, and had been midway through her training. She had once been a straightforward and calculating woman. Now she looked like a young squirrel that hadn't yet learned to fear predators.
Jason looked toward the nurse.
Denise demonstrated such, rising slowly to her feet. She wobbled slightly as she walked forward, but she managed to remain on her feet.
The kid looked up with surprise. Jason didn't give him time to complain—instead, Jason turned and strode from the room. Abrams cursed quietly, but did as he ordered, giving the confused Denise a helpful arm as they walked from the hospital.
They were nearly out when Jason noticed something. He never would have seen it without his Sense—the man hid behind a door, barely peeking out. The Sense was far more discerning than normal eyes, however, and Jason recognized the face even through the door's small slit. It was one of the men from the cafe—not the strange man who had sat at the booth, but one of the ordinary workers.
So, they've been watching her, Jason thought as he left the building, the kid and Denise following. Did they expect her to reveal something, or did they know that I would come for her?
"I do not know what this means," Denise said, staring at the menu with her wide eyes. She looked up, confused.
"You can't read?" Jason asked.
"Here, let me help," Abrams offered, reading down the list of items.
Jason sat back, allowing himself a slight smile. The kid was showing an almost chivalrous devotion to the amnesiac woman. She was passably attractive, in a sickeningly innocent sort of way. Abrams was just betraying the inherent predisposition of a young human male; he had seen a woman in need and was trying to help her.
"None of the words sound familiar?" Jason asked, leaning forward with interest.
Jason cringed. "Call me Jason," he mumbled as Abrams asked the girl what kind of food she liked. She, of course, didn't know.
She should have remembered more. Most amnesiacs remembered something—if only fragments. "What do you think?" Jason whispered.
Abrams ordered for the girl and himself—choosing, Jason noticed, two of the most expensive items on the menu. He knew that Jason would be paying. At least the kid had style.
As he sat, Jason thought back to the strange man in the cafe. The man couldn't have access to Cyto—in a hundred and fifty years, no one had discovered the ability besides the PC. But what if someone had? What if they had learned about Denise, and had captured her to try and learn what she knew? What had they done to her to get at her knowledge?
His ponderings led him nowhere. Eventually the food came, and Jason began to eat. He preferred simple meals with little mess, so he had ordered a tossed pasta dish with a very light sauce. He ate quietly, thoughtful as he watched a man a short distance away haggle over his bill with the waiter.
He shouldn't have been worried about the ambassador's death. The police would probably find that the murder had been preformed by some xenophobic activist group. They were prevalent. There were those who hated other species because of assumed superiority, those who hated them because they thought the aliens were too arrogant, and those who hated them simply because they were different. The student-sponsorship program, where human children would be sent to other planets to learn of other species, had been defeated three times in the United Senate.
The ambassador's death probably wasn't related to Denise. Jason should leave—there were too many things that demanded his attention for him to waste time chasing false leads. This trip had taken far too long already.
Jason paused. Denise had turned and was staring at the man who was arguing about his bill. He raised his fist at the waiter, uttering a few epithets, then finally slapped down some money and stalked out of the building.
"Describe the taste to me," Jason said. Something was tickling at the back of his mind—a connection he should have made.
Jason reached for the saltshaker, then sprinkled some salt on his hand. "Taste this," he ordered.
Jason sat back, ignoring the kid. Then he turned to his food and continued to eat in silence.
Jason nodded to himself. He stood on his balcony, leaning against the railing as he listened to Lanna's voice in his ear.
Jason didn't reply. He Sensed Evensong before him, feeling its massive metallic buildings and numerous walkways. Sometimes, he tried to remember what it had been like to see. He tried to imagine colors as images, rather than as Cytonic vibrations, but he had trouble. It had been so long, and his eyes hadn't been very good in the first place.
Evensong was in motion around him—aircars flew, people moved on the walkways, lights flickered on and off. It was beautiful, in a way. It was beautiful that humankind had expanded this far, that it had found a way to thrive even here, in the middle of space, where the sun was barely more than another star.
"You're not coming back yet, are you?" Lanna asked quietly.
"About the murder?" she asked.
Lanna didn't respond immediately. "I'm not certain what to tell you," she finally said.
Jason sighed, shaking his head. He didn't really understand what he meant either. He stood quietly for a moment, watching the flow of people on a walkway a short distance away. Something was wrong—he couldn't decide what it was, but he knew what he feared. For over a century, the PC had maintained a monopoly on Cyto. He didn't expect psychic ability to remain confined to the PC—in fact, it was his ultimate goal that it not be. The very thing he was working toward was what he feared.
Jason stood quietly beside the balcony, listening to the sound of children running on the walkway below. Children, laughing . . .
"And we failed that test," Lanna said.
"And so you play watchdog," Lanna said.
Jason fell silent. He didn't know how to reply, so he didn't. He simply stood, Sensing the paradise above and Evensong below.
Coln rifled through the in-room bar, searching for something to drink. He wasn't normally prone to drinking, but normally he wasn't facing the loss of his job and probable imprisonment. Eventually, he poured himself a small glass of scotch and made his way out onto the balcony.
He paused halfway out the door. Jason Write stood leaning on his own balcony just a short distance away. The man didn't look over, but Coln still felt as if he were being watched.
Don't let him intimidate you, Coln told himself. He turned away from Write indifferently and leaned against his own balcony railing.
Coming after Write had seemed like such a good idea at first. Coln had been frustrated at the Bureau's lack of information. They knew the PC was hiding technology from them, but they had no clue what it was. They knew Write had something integral to do with the PC's operations, but they weren't sure why. They wanted to keep trailing him, but they'd made too many promises. The Bureau had been ready to just leave Write alone.
Coln sighed, taking a sip of his drink. He'd picked the wrong mission. Write planned to leave within the day, taking the unfortunate scientist with him. And then Coln would be left by himself, a fugitive and a fool.
"That kid is a fool," Lanna said.
"Call it what you will," Jason said, Sensing the young UIB agent standing a short distance away.
Lanna continued to speak, but Jason's mind drifted. His thoughts kept coming back to Denise. Who had taken her, and what had they done?
She doesn't understand violence, Jason thought. She didn't understand violence, and she hadn't ever tasted salt. She spoke oddly, in a way that was almost familiar. She couldn't walk or use her muscles. It was almost . . .
Jason took in a sharp, surprised breath.
Almost as if she's accustomed to another body.
"Denise Carlson is dead," he said.
Jason was silent for a moment.
Jason ignored her, turning and walking back into his room. He strode out into his hallway, then made his way to the room beside his own—not Coln's, but the one on the other side. He threw open the door, not bothering to knock.
Denise sat up with surprise, but relaxed when she realized who he was. Jason strode past her without saying a word, walking to her room's control panel. He entered a few commands, and the light in the room grew far brighter, the bulbs turning slightly red in color.
"How is that?" he asked, turning to her.
Jason nodded once. The light was bright enough that most people would find it very uncomfortable—in Jason's mind it was a virtual roar.
"Please," Denise said, holding her hands forward. "Tell to me what you are doing." Her hands held forward—forward in the Varvax gesture of supplication. He should have seen it sooner.
"Jason, you're freaking me out," Lanna said in his ear.
"This isn't Denise Carlson," Jason said quietly.
"Its name is Vahnn," Jason explained.
Suddenly, Coln pushed his way into the room. He immediately shielded his eyes from the light—light that imitated a harsh, hot sun, one that required a strong crystalline carapace to provide protection.
Coln turned harsh eyes toward Jason. Then he paused, frowning.
"Why are you looking at me like that, Write?" Coln demanded.
Jason reached unconsciously for his face, feeling for sunglasses that weren't there. He had forgotten he wasn't wearing them. He turned from the room in shame, rushing out into the hallway.
I mustn't let him see—mustn't let him know. He'll mock me. He'll laugh. . . .
Coln stayed behind, watching with confusion as he knelt beside the creature that had the body of a woman and the mind of an alien.
"It's not possible," Lanna said.
"They said that about psionics years ago," Jason said, striding down a walkway outside the hotel.
"The Varvax are the most developed Cytonics in the galaxy," Jason said, speaking quietly as he passed people on Evensong's dark streets.
"She speaks English," Lanna pointed out.
"You'll see." Jason continued on his way for a short distance until he came to the mental hospital. He strode in, and the same nurse sat behind the desk. She raised an eyebrow at him, confused and a little disapproving.
Jason ignored her, striding into the facility itself.
"Sir!" she called. "You can't go in there! Sir, you don't have . . ." her voice trailed off, but soon she began calling for security.
Orderlies, nurses, and even some patients began to look into the hallway. He'd better be here, Jason thought. Just after the thought occurred to him, he sensed a familiar face peeking out of one of the rooms.
Jason smiled, then spun and burst into the room. Several orderlies jumped back in surprise at Jason's entrance—the buzzing white room was some kind of employee lounge. The orderly, the one Jason had seen at the cafe, immediately turned to run. Jason jumped forward and snatched the man in one hand, then spun him around.
The man struggled, but knee to the groin stopped that. Jason pulled off his glasses, then grabbed the man's head with both hands and turned it toward him.
"Who sent you?" Jason asked, staring at the man with his sightless eyes.
The man stared back defiantly.
Jason released the surprised man's head.
"What's the point?" Lanna asked.
"Be patient," Jason chided, holding up his hands as security guards entered the hallway. "I was just leaving," he said, then pushed past them and left the hospital.
Back at the hotel, Jason gathered Denise and Coln in his room. One regarded him with customary wide-eyed confusion, the other with equally customary hostility. Jason removed his pin and handed it to Coln.
"What about you, Write?" Coln asked suspiciously.
Coln frowned. Jason could sense the apprehension in his face. He didn't want to accept the PC's help, but he also didn't want to face the Bureau's justice. Hopefully, he would see to Denise's safety.
Jason paused. "You're asking the wrong question," he finally said.
Denise didn't move. She slumped in her chair, eyes closed.
"Denise!" Coln said urgently, kneeling beside her. She appeared to be breathing, but . . .
Jason began to feel light-headed, and he noticed a faint scent in the air. He cursed quietly, turning to dash across the room. He stumbled halfway to the door, losing his balance. He barely even felt himself hit the ground.
They work fast. Must have already been prepared to gas us. . . .
Jason awoke to blackness. Pure, horrifying blackness. There was no sight, no Sense, no feelings at all. The darkness had returned.
Jason began to shake. No! It can't be! Where is my Sense! He curled up, barely feeling the cold metallic floor below him. The blackness swallowed him—it was more than just darkness, it was a nothingness. A lack of sensation. It was the one true terror in Jason's life. And it had returned.
He whimpered despite himself, memories flooding in.
It had started with his night vision, as visual diseases often did. He remembered the nights spent in bed as a child, the darkness seeming to grow more and more oppressive. And then, it had started to come during the day. First his peripheral vision—it had been like the darkness was following him, enveloping him. Each morning when he awoke, it had seemed that the darkness was closer. It had crouched like a beast in the corner of his vision.
Terror. The doctors had been able to do nothing. Jason had been forced to try and live his life as normal, the darkness seeming to grow closer every moment. He had lived in perpetual fear of what must come.
And then there had been the children. The other children, who hadn't understood. He had tried to go on as normal, tried to live his life as if nothing were wrong. He should have admitted it to them. As it was, they only saw a stumbling fool. They had laughed. Oh, how they had laughed.
Jason screamed, as if yelling could push back the darkness. Where was his Sense? What was wrong? He flailed in the darkness, his fingers brushing a wall. He pulled back into a corner, frightened and confused.
"How did you do it?" a voice asked from above.
Jason looked up, but didn't see, or Sense, anything.
Jason didn't respond. The darkness. The blackness.
I did this on purpose, a piece of Jason's mind thought. I baited them. I wanted to get their attention, so they would bring me to them. They did. This is what I wanted.
But . . . the darkness.
Jason shuddered, pulling back against the cold telanium. The man's voice was harsh and guttural. He spoke oddly—with an accent of some sort, but not one that Jason recognized.
It's not permanent, Jason told himself. The darkness will go away. Just like it did when you developed Cyto.
Coln, Denise. They were in the room with me.
Jason didn't answer. He sat, breathing deeply, struggling to remain sane. Ever since he had developed Cyto, he had never been in darkness. His Sense worked even when there was no light.
"The link to your home base has been cut, Mr. Write," the voice said.
Jason whimpered. The darkness seemed to be growing closer—closer to devouring his mind.
A click, then silence. It seemed worse without the voice—suddenly Jason wished he had kept the man talking. He wished he had told the voice the truth, that he couldn't read minds. Anything to keep someone else there.
Now he had no one.
I can't do this! Jason thought. Anything but this. I lived this horror once. I can't do it again!
He tried to push out with mindblades, but nothing happened.
Be calm, Jason. Control yourself. The Varvax said something about this. Sonn had said it once. He had been reserved and uncomfortable—odd for a Varvax. Jason had asked if there was a way to suppress Cytonic ability. Sonn had eventually admitted there was, but had told Jason he wouldn't need it. Not yet.
The darkness . . .
No! Stay focused. You don't have time for fear. There was probably a technological aspect to the suppressant device. Many Cytonic abilities had mechanical halves—like the FTL comm feed, which wouldn't work without physical receivers. The Cytonic behind his imprisonment would be feeding part of his mental energy into a physical device, one that used electricity to amplify the effect. But because of that augmentation, Jason would never be able to break free. He would be trapped forever in the blackness.
Not forever. Just another few minutes, until they kill me. That would almost be preferable.
An image came to him. An image of humankind escaping into space. An image of human merchants trading and cheating, of human tyrants capturing the technologically inferior Varvax, Tenasi, and Hommar. Images of wars, of fighting, of a paradise destroyed.
I can't let that happen!
But, what could he do? He felt along the wall, stumbling to his feet and feeling his way around the room. It was small, perhaps two meters square. He could barely feel the seal of the door—there wasn't a handle on his side.
He couldn't contact Lanna, but . . . He reached up to his ear, tapping at the control disk. They had broken his link to the home base, but perhaps they hadn't thought of stowaways. . . .
There was no answer. Coln sighed, his rage weakening before sheer boredom. He had awakened in this room, which appeared to be some sort of storage closet, with a headache. He hadn't heard a thing outside the door since that time. Denise was there too, sitting quietly on a box.
What is Write planning? Coln thought. He had us captured, but why? It had to have something to do with the PC master plan, whatever that was.
Suddenly a sound crackled in his ear. "Coln?" The voice crackled sickly—like whispers from the lips of a dead man.
"Just do it." The link crackled off.
Coln swore quietly. What was Write planning this time? Dared he trust the man? Dared he do otherwise?
Denise watched with confusion as Coln searched through the small room, pushing aside boxes and carts. Eventually, he found a power jack on the wall. He stood for a moment, regarding it. Finally, he sighed and unloosed a piece of steel from a nearby box's constraint. Why not? It's not like I can get into more trouble than I'm already in.
Jason couldn't escape the darkness. He couldn't shut his eyes against it, he couldn't run away from it, and he couldn't ignore it. He could only huddle against the wall, feeling his resolve—and his sanity—grow weaker by the second. He heard, but didn't understand, the voice when it returned. His captors had made a grave mistake. They could make all the demands they wanted, but he was in no condition to respond to them. They could kill him. It wouldn't matter.
The voice screamed at him. Jason felt his sanity slipping. He couldn't struggle against it. He didn't want to struggle against it. Struggling would be far too difficult. Blissful unconsciousness was the only answer—a silencing of thought and perception.
At that moment, his Sense returned.
It was only a blip—a fractional waver in the power level. But it was enough. Sense flooded into Jason like drugs into an addict's veins. It immediately began to fade, the suppressor coming back on line.
Jason blasted out a thousand mindblades at once, shredding the walls around him. He shattered the telanium into chunks, the chunks to chips, and the chips to dust. The walls dissolved like tissue paper before a nuclear blast, spraying grains of metal away from him. He screamed as he let out the surge of power, a bestial yell to push back the darkness.
The suppressor immediately fell dead, its mechanisms destroyed by the blast. Jason lay huddled, his suit stained with dirt and sweat, on a bright telanium floor. He reveled in his returned Sense for a wonderful, silent moment. However, with Sense came sanity—the two were inseparable to him.
There is another Cytonic in here, and he's not going to be pleased that I've escaped.
So, taking a deep breath, Jason forced himself to stand.
Coln sat, stunned. He held a piece of rubber in his hand—the very same he had used to grip the metal as he rammed it into the power jack. He had expected a slight reaction; he hadn't expected the room next to his own to explode.
Coln blinked, dusting the silvery telanium flakes off of his clothes. What . . . ? he thought with amazement, rubbing some of the telanium grains between his fingers. What could have done this? Modern weaponry had difficulty even scarring telanium.
He looked up, and saw Jason Write standing in the direct center of the explosion. The operative's suit was torn. Coln let the telanium dust trickle from his stunned fingers as he saw Write's eyes. Like before, they were unfocused, even unresponsive. They stared dully forward, motionless, like the eyes of . . . a blind man.
"What are you?" Coln whispered.
Coln nodded, reaching for the frightened Denise's hand. At that moment, a new voice spoke—one Coln didn't recognize.
There was silence. The sound of footsteps. Coln pushed Denise behind him, turning wary eyes on the hallway outside their rooms—the hallway that was now exposed, thanks to the strange explosion.
A figure appeared in the hallway. He was nondescript save for a long nose and a thin body. He wore a sharp navy suit, and he was smiling as he strolled forward, scuffing the layer of telanium dust.
"Tell me who you are," Write said, turning to face the man with his unfocused eyes.
The room fell silent. "Why did you try to kill Coln?" Write finally asked.
The two men stood facing each other—yet neither one's eyes focused on his opponent. They remained like that for a tense few moments, and Coln frowned. He felt like something important was on the verge of happening, but it never occurred.
Jason fought for his life. Hundreds of mindblades whipped toward him, invisible blasts of pure thought. It was all he could do to keep them from shredding his flesh. He fought back, sending his own mindblades to block those of his opponent—an opponent he still didn't understand.
He vaguely remembered Edmund—though he hadn't known his face well enough that he had recognized him in the cafe. Edmund had been a man with some Cytonic potential. He had run away from the PC after just a few months of training. That had only been two years ago—how had he learned so much in such little time?
The barrage of mindblades slackened, and Edmund stepped back. He was still smiling, but there was reservation in his eyes. He hadn't expected Jason to be as good as he was.
Jason breathed deeply. Coln was watching from a short distance away, his face confused—he hadn't been able to see the insane battle Jason had just fought.
"I'm impressed again, Jason," Edmund said.
The mindblades struck again. Jason grunted, whipping out with his own blades. There was a faint ripple to his Sense when a mindblade was about to appear, and he sliced at that area with his own blade. The blasts canceled each other out, wavering in his Sense like two curves of light. He blocked hundreds of them, the air around him shining like he was in the middle of an explosion.
I can't keep this up long. Eventually a mindblade would break through. Jason had only one card to play—he would have to make it count.
Jason continued to fight, waiting for the right time. Edmund was better than Jason was. It shouldn't have been possible—Jason had been practicing Cyto longer than any other man. How could someone have overtaken him so quickly? Jason had to find out. Otherwise, all he had worked for would be lost.
The attack retreated again. Edmund was perspiring now—at least it was difficult for him.
"You learned from the Varvax well," Jason said, gambling.
I was wrong, Jason thought. But, how then . . . ?
Jason felt the air waver around him. More mindblades than he could count began to form—it was like he was being circled in a dome of pure energy. He couldn't block them all. He would die.
Jason focused on himself. He didn't raise any mindblades. Instead, he Sensed inward. He felt his own vibration in his Sense, a cool black-clothed creature. So different than the boy he had once been. The boy had been stupefied, made immobile, by his horror.
Jason was no longer that boy. With a scream, he felt the mindblades descend around him, and he threw himself willingly into the darkness.
The blackness enveloped him, the non-existence that had threatened him since childhood. Except this time he had come to it by choice. He suffocated for an eternal moment in its embrace.
Then he reappeared. As he reentered normal space, he pushed the air away, lest its molecules get trapped within his appearing body. In a similar manner, he pushed Edmund's flesh away from his hand.
The world shook, and Jason was back. He stood with arm extended directly in front of Edmund. Jason's wrist ended abruptly where it met Edmund's flesh—his hand had materialized inside of the man's chest.
Edmund's heart, gripped in Jason's fist, thumped once. Edmund's eyes stared ahead in shock. Behind, the place where Jason had been a moment earlier exploded with mindblades.
Jason squeezed once, and Edmund cried out in pain. The heart stopped beating. Edmund slid to his knees, and Jason pushed his hand slightly outside space and withdrew it.
Edmund fell backward, staring with surprised, agonized eyes. He didn't fall unconscious as he died—he was far too powerful a Cytonic for that. Instead, he just whispered.
Edmund laughed, his back arching in pain. "And you will be our escape," he said, his voice growing loud until he was practically screaming. "They've had their paradise long enough. You nearly went mad after spending just a few minutes without your Sense—imagine living your life in such a box! You see only the peace, you see only the perfect society.
Edmund's final breath hissed out, and his body fell limp.
"You lie," Jason whispered. "They are a peaceful people. We are the monsters, not them. . . ." He sat for a moment, regarding the fallen body. Coln still stood a short distance away, looking amazed—and confused.
Coln obeyed without a word. Jason put a hand on each of them, then he entered the darkness once again.
Coln recognized the room immediately. He blinked once, trying to forget about the awful sense of emptiness he had just experienced. He was in a white, curved room—the operations center of PC Headquarters. The room pictured in his fuzzy holovid. Coln had studied its image hundreds of times, and now he was actually there.
Except PC Central Operations was on Earth, months away from Evensong. Coln breathed in with surprise. Write stood a short distance away, his suit tattered, blood seeping down his arms.
"You do have FTL travel!" Coln accused.
Write shook his head, then pointed to the side. A man, the man Coln had mistaken for a security guard in the holovid, sat quietly in a chair a short distance away. The man had his eyes closed.
Coln hissed quietly in surprise.
Further questions were forestalled as the door to the room slammed open and a red-haired woman burst into the room. She immediately ran forward and grabbed Write in a powerful embrace. "What happened!" she demanded, and Coln instantly recognized Lanna's voice.
"Unfortunately," Write said. There was fondness in his voice.
"About everything," he said, his voice haunted.
Jason sat in his quarters, letting the medic bandage his arms. Lanna stood, dissatisfied, a short distance away. She was the terror of PC Central Operations—few men had the courage, or the stupidity, to incur her wrath.
Jason shook his head. Before he could reply, his holovid beeped. Jason punched the button, and Sonn's chitinous face appeared.
"You have some explaining to do, Sonn," Jason said.
"Varvax discontents?" Lanna asked with surprise.
Jason bowed his head. No. It can't be. . . .
"Peace for those who agree with you," Jason spat.
Jason sat, stunned. He was wrong. All of these years, over a century of work, and he was wrong. They had deceived him. Suddenly, he felt sick—sick, and angry.
"They're going to come for you, Sonn," Jason said, nodding thankfully to the medic as he finished the bandaging. The man was trustworthy—one of the first Cytonics Jason had recruited over a hundred years before.
"Excuse me, Jason of the Phone Company?" Sonn asked after a short pause. His hands were pulled back in the Varvax sign of confusion.
The medic left and Lanna sat down beside Jason. She watched Sonn with calculating eyes—she had never liked the Varvax. She said she didn't like people who could so easily falsify their body language.
Sonn maintained his sign of confusion, then augmented it with one of worry. Few people know that the Tenasi ambassadorial vessel that had been shot down over Earth had been one of the most advanced, most powerful ships in the galaxy. A single human missile had destroyed it. The other species had far inferior technology.
"This is disturbing," Sonn admitted.
"I know," Jason said. Then he reached over and cut the connection. Sonn's face fuzzed and disappeared.
Jason leaned back with a sigh, Sensing Lanna beside him. He'd known it was coming—he'd feared that he couldn't keep humankind out of space. He just hadn't expected heaven to fail him.
"Perhaps we can salvage something from paradise," Jason whispered.


text:
From: Vol.09 N.01 – A Poetics of Rights
by Diane Glancy
The horse has a 3-acre pasture
but there is a path of matted grass from his shed
to his sweet-feed bowl in a corner of the pasture.
His horseshoes mark the bare ground where he stands to eat
like an alphabet with the letters U and C
spilled on the ground.
A woman in a headscarf walks a 2-rut road through a far pasture.
A man with a stick walks on the paved road.
The hoof prints of the horses brand the dried mud.
The horse watches the child leave on the school bus
and return in the afternoon while he waits for his sweet-feed.
His ears shaped like small teepees.
They turn to the airwaves in the wind that travel the world.
The horse picks up on the suffering.
He hears the call of geese, birds, field dogs.
At night the coyotes.
All the refugees.
While in the day a gray squirrel runs along the fence-line by his bowl.
Diane Glancy
Diane Glancy's latest books, Island of the Innocent, A Consideration of the Book of Job, and A Line of Driftwood, the Ada Blackjack Story, were published by Turtle Point Press in 2020 and 2021. A book of nonfiction, Home Is the Road, Wandering the Land, Shaping the Spirit, is forthcoming in 2022 from Broadleaf Books. Among her awards are two
National Endowment for the Arts Fellowships, an American Book Award, a Minnesota Book Award, an Oklahoma Book Award, an Expressive Arts Grant from the National Museum of the American Indian, and a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Native Writers' Circle of the Americas. Other books and awards are on her website, www.dianeglancy.com.
Glancy lives in north central Texas where many tribes camped, Apache, Comanche, Wichita, Waco, Kiowa.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


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text:
Home News & Insights News Podcasts in Thailand: The New Kid on the Block
Podcasts in Thailand: The New Kid on the Block
Author: Akkarat Katakul
In an era where nearly all marketing technology points towards digital, it's time for agencies and clients in Thailand and the wider ASEAN region to start thinking about podcasts as a new channel to reach customers.
For anyone unfamiliar with podcasts, they are basically audio shows, usually produced in a series of episodes which listeners can access online or download for offline listening.
Podcasts provides a variety of content and topics ranging from informal education, news, entertainment to politics. The shows are usually narrated in a talk-show format with a single or multiple hosts and guests. Today, podcasts are produced in more than 100 languages worldwide, and they are all more or less unfiltered.
The advantages of podcasts over regular radio are numerous. One major advantage is that people can listen to and retrieve podcasts content on demand. They do not need to wait for specific times for given shows as we do on FM/AM radio shows. A survey from Edison Research which targeted nearly 1,000 podcast listeners, indicated that 71 percent of people cited this factor as very important – the reason why they prefer podcast over live radio shows. Fans of podcasts never need to miss a show, and as a result, can develop high levels of loyalty to shows and show hosts.
Content on podcasts typically focuses on niche audiences with specific interests. This allows podcast creators to build a community. In Thailand, podcasts are growing. Below we highlight a few that are worth considering for engagement.
1. Carpe Diem
This weekly show is created by The Momentum Podcast Network. The hosts, a well-known editor and a S.E.A. Write Award winning author, focuses on self-help stories and life experiences. This channel is the second most popular channel from The Momentum Network with more than 8,000 downloads weekly.
2. Eargasm
The Momentum Podcast Network creates this weekly show for music lovers. There is a musical guest weekly to talk about their music experience and perform live in a studio. For music lovers, particularly those who enjoy rock or pop music, this show has everything.
3. Hollywood Insider
The weekly show from The Momentum Podcast Network discusses movies and Hollywood stars. Hosted by Hollywood Reporter Magazine's editors, this show is a good companion for movie fanatics.
4. What Do You Say
This bilingual show picks up different topics regarding communicating in the English language. The hosts discuss about tips and techniques on how to use English effectively for everyone, in any situation.
5. The Money Coach
This weekly channel is an online financial assistant for anyone who wants to have a well-managed life. The hosts talk, counsel and suggest the ways to achieve financial wellness and values of efficiency. This is the most listened show from The Momentum Podcast Network generating more than 10,000 downloads weekly.
6. Dhamma Talks
This channel offers Dhamma, Lord Buddha's teaching told by Venerable Pramote Pamojjo. He is a master of mindfulness and Vipassana meditation. Among Top 10 most listened to Podcast channels in Thailand, Dhamma Talks dominates the weekly chart including the most listened episode.
7. WiTcast
This channel talks about everything related to science in sophisticated and humorous ways. The bi-weekly show is hosted by a TV personality and author, Tantai Prasertkul. The show is set in a low-key vibe with rotating guests. Distance Learning Information Technology under Ministry of Education features this podcast channel as part of its curriculum.
8. Bangkoknoi Book Review
This podcast channel criticizes Thai and translated books, both fiction and non-fiction. The review is based on content, style, and opinion of the host. This podcast channel is another medium for the bookworm community.
9. Omnivore
When two famous writers collide as podcast hosts, an enjoyable debate begins. The two hosts are friends who have different perspectives. Each week they pick a trending topic to discuss, backed up with theory and history.
10. BonPodcast
Bon Parisa Jakobson is dubbed as Thailand's first online TV personality. She currently serves as a news anchor on Workpoint TV and event emcee. In BonPodcast, she talks about self-help improvement, beauty, life tips and interviews with celebrities. Her show is also posted on her Youtube channel, Bon On Stage.
In addition, expats in Thailand are key podcast producers who talk about Thailand in many different perspectives. The topics range from life in Thailand to arts and hilarious stories. Here are some entertaining podcast shows by expats.
1. The Bangkok Podcast
This weekly podcast channel allows audience, both Thais and others, to see Thailand and its culture through local foreigners' eyes. The show is a discussion style hosted by Greg Jorgensen and Evo Terra. The latter is acclaimed as one of the experts in podcast production.
2. Brewed in Bangkok
Karsten Aichholz, a technology entrepreneur, hosts a monthly podcast show about interesting people in Thailand. He has different guests, mostly other expats, sharing experience and their time in Thailand. It is not actually related to beer and brewery as you may have assumed.
3. Poet in Bangkok
This podcast channel focuses on culture and an aesthete. Colin Cheney and Donald Quist talk over poetry, arts scene as well as the changing of arts in Thailand. They also interview people who are in the industry including film makers and theater.
As businesses turn away from traditional advertising, podcasts deserve consideration as a new way to reach people. Podcasters have unique, intimate relationships with their listeners, which makes podcasters important influencers in their own right. Podcasts are an especially viable channel for digital businesses. Any app or e-commerce platform seeking to generate leads and conversions should absolutely begin adding podcasts to their marketing mix.
Akkarat Katakul is a Brand Journalist at Vero PR. He supports the account team in content development.
5 things Myanmar journalists would love PR people to understand
Being approached by many PR professionals on daily basis, Journalists in Myanmar have become pickier than ever. It is hard to convince them of publishing a client's story because of the policies of the publication house and the cost of the publishing space. Being still in a developing process, Myanmar […]
#Public relations #Myanmar
Three Reasons Your Business Needs a Social Media Marketing Agency
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PR in the Sharing Economy
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#Public relations
10 Ways Businesses in Vietnam can Dive into the Country's Growing Green Market
Extensive research has shown that many Vietnamese consumers are environmentally aware, interested in eco-friendly products, and even willing to pay more for them. But these consumers also report that a lack of convenient green options leads them to purchase products they know to be less eco-friendly.
#Strategy #Insights #Vietnam
The importance of Indonesia for Vero in the ASEAN region
It is easy to see the appeal of Indonesia today. At a time when the ASEAN region is the best performing economic zone in the world, Indonesia, with a population of 261 million people, is among the star performers, and it is a country proactively managing its development, as evidenced […]


text:
<?php

namespace Radvance\Repository;

use Radvance\Model\ModelInterface;

/**
 * This class provide support for legacy methods.
 */
abstract class BaseLegacyRepository extends BaseRepository
{
    /**
     * On legacy code we shouldn't get exceptions when nothing found.
     *
     * {@inheritdoc}
     */
    public function find($id)
    {
        return $this->findOneOrNullBy(array('id' => $id));
    }

    /**
     * @deprecated
     */
    public function getById($id)
    {
        // trigger_error("Method 'getById' is deprecated. Use 'find' instead.", E_USER_DEPRECATED);
        return $this->find($id);
    }

    /**
     * @deprecated
     */
    public function getAll()
    {
        // trigger_error("Method 'getAll' is deprecated. Use 'findAll' instead.", E_USER_DEPRECATED);
        return $this->findAll();
    }

    /**
     * @deprecated
     */
    public function add(ModelInterface $entity)
    {
        // trigger_error("Method 'add' is deprecated. Use 'persist' instead.", E_USER_DEPRECATED);
        return $this->persist($entity);
    }

    /**
     * @deprecated
     */
    public function update(ModelInterface $entity)
    {
        // trigger_error("Method 'update' is deprecated. Use 'persist' instead.", E_USER_DEPRECATED);
        $this->persist($entity);
    }

    public function delete(ModelInterface $entity)
    {
        // trigger_error("Method 'delete' is deprecated. Use 'remove' instead.", E_USER_DEPRECATED);
        return $this->remove($entity);
    }
}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


text:
Picayune stays unbeaten with 49-38 win over Hattiesburg
Audio replay of Picayune/Hattiesburg (Click Here)
Picayune—Austin Samples sat out last week's Picayune-Gautier game due to quarantine restrictions, thus the senior was anxious to get back in his Maroon Tide uniform against Hattiesburg. He made for lost time with four rushing touchdowns and an interception return for another score in Picayune's 49-38 win.
Samples got his first touchdown on the first possession of the game on a 1 yard plunge that was the seventh play of a 60 yard drive. Freshman Morgan Craft converted the first of seven extra points on the night for a 7-0 lead with 8:21 left in the first quarter.
Photos by Randy Brown/WRJW Sports
Austin Samples (2) looks for a seam to run in against Hattiesburg
Samples got his second touchdown with a 67 yard interception return with 3:14 to play in the second quarter and Craft's point after made it 14-0.
Hattiesburg scored on its first play after the Maroon Tide kickoff on Chanse Duckworth's 65 yard run.
After a Picayune fumble on its next possession, Duckworth scored again on a 7 yard run six plays later with 7:15 left in the second quarter for the Tigers and with Joshua Jones extra point, the game was tied at 14-14.
Picayune got their next touchdown due to a Hattiesburg miscue on special teams. Picayune got the ball at the Tiger 19 after the punter mishandled the snap and was tackled at the 19. Isaac Hickman scored from 1 yard out on the sixth play of the possession and Craft made it 21-14 with :47 left in the half with his point after.
Austin Samples (2) on his 73 yard touchdown
On the first play after the kickoff, Hattiesburg fumbled the ball and senior defensive end Andrew Willis picked up the loose ball at the Tiger 20 and ran it to the 9. Two plays later, Samples scored from 1 yard away and another Craft extra point made it 28-14 with :18 left.
The Tigers scored on the first possession of the second half on a 78 yard pass from Jordan Willis to Jemel Ford, but the missed the extra point.
Samples scored again on a 1 yard run with 2:10 left in the quarter. The drive was 11 plays covering 64 yards and used six minutes and thirty seconds off the clock for a 35-20 lead with Craft's point after.
Willis brought the Tigers back quickly with a 30 yard touchdown pass to Joshua Jones with :05 left in the quarter. The two-point attempt failed making the score 35-26.
Dorian Robinson (5) takes on a Tiger defender
On the first play after the kickoff, Samples took the pitch on the sweep from Hickman, got a great block from sophomore fullback Darnell Smith and Hickman that sprang into the secondary. Samples broke two Tiger tackle attempts on his way to a 73 yard touchdown on the first play of the fourth quarter. Craft's extra point made it 42-26.
Hattiesburg scored on another pass from Willis to Jones, this time from 20 yards with 9:27 left. Another two-point attempt failed.
Picayune scored on its next possession on junior Dawson Underwood's 7 yard run with 3:11 left.
Willis scored on a 1 yard run with 1:09 to close out the scoring.
Samples rushed for 174 yards on 20 carries and Hickman completed 3 of 5 passes for 52 yards to lead Picayune.
Picayune (6-0, 3-0) will play host to Long Beach on Friday at Lee-Triplett Stadium. Kickoff is set for 7:00pm.


text:
Khutugtu Khan (; ), born Ligdan (; ), (1588–1634) was a khagan of the Northern Yuan dynasty, reigning from 1604 to 1634. During his reign, he vigorously attempted to reunify the divided Mongol Empire, achieving moderate levels of success. However, his unpopular reign generated violent opposition due to his harsh restrictions over the Mongol tribes as he attempted to centralize the state. His alliance with the Ming dynasty, sponsorship of Tibetan Buddhism in Chakhar and the reorganization of Mongol political divisions were ineffective when the Later Jin dynasty became the major power in East Asia.

Name
His name is from Mongolian "Ligden Khutugt Khan" (Mongol script: ; Mongolian Cyrillic: Лигдэн Хутугт хаан), title Ligden Khutugt from .

His name is also written Lindan Han (Chinese: ; 1588–1634).

Life and reign
Ligden (b. 1588) was a son of Mangghus Mergen Taiji and grandson of Buyan Sechen Khan (r. 1593–1603). Because his father died early, Ligden was chosen to succeed his grandfather Buyan as khan of the Northern Yuan dynasty with the reign title Khutugtu in 1603. At the time the Khagan's appanage, Chakhar people, occupied Sira Mören valley. Ligden divided the Chakhar into right and left wings and built Chaghan city near Abaga Khara Mountain.

During his early reign, Ligden had the respect and loyalty of other Mongol tümens. Boshigo jinong of the Three Right Wing Tumens expressed his allegiance to Ligden Khan. Allied with princes of the Southern Khalkha (Baarin and Jarud), Ligden raided the Ming dynasty. However, from 1612 on, leaders of the Khorchin and the Jarud became in-laws with the rising Manchu-led Later Jin dynasty. By the early 17th century, the Khan's court had lost most of its power and was under pressure from the Manchus in the east. Hoping that he could consolidate his power over the Mongol tümens, Ligden moved the Buddhist religious center of the Mongols to Chakhar and had himself declared both religious and political leader of the Mongols by a Tibetan religious leader. Ligden revived the old Saskyapa order of Kublai's time (r. 1260–94), inviting the order's Sharba pandita, who was appointed his preceptor in 1617. Sharba installed Mahakala image in Ligden's capital Chagan. Ligden Khan also built temples at Küriye.

In 1618, Ligden signed a treaty with the Ming dynasty to protect their northern border from the Manchus in exchange for thousands of taels of  silver. He received an annual subsidy of 40,000 taels of silver in 1620. Sog Zaisai, a Southern Khalkha nobleman, prince Sanasarai of the Khorchin, and Paghwa of the Jarud attacked the Later Jin with more than 10,000–50,000 men to assist the Ming in August 1619, but they were crushed. Because the Later Jin wanted to use the Mongols against the Ming, they persuaded their leaders, including Ligden, to ally with them. Since a conflict with the Later Jin in 1619, the relations between his clan federation and the Manchu federation had continuously deteriorated. In 1620, after an exchange of contemptuous letters, Ligden and the Later Jin ruler Nurhaci (r. 1616–1626) broke off relations and most of the Eastern Tümens deserted to Nurhaci in 1622–24.

Ligden, on the other hand, by trying to assume this former power, ruled in a progressively aggressive fashion, so several Mongolian tribes opted to form a coalition with the Manchus. When the Khorchin and some formerly allied tribes bonded with the Manchus in 1624, Ligden undertook a punitive expedition and besieged the Khorchin nobleman Oba for 3 days, but retreated when Manchu relief troops arrived. When Ligden Khan called the northern Khalkhas to join him against the Manchus, only Tsogt Taij accepted his appeal.

Ligden aimed at centralizing Mongol rule. He appointed officials to rule the left and right wing tümens, and organized a special court nobility and a corps of 300 baaturs (warriors). In 1627, the other tümens were in full revolt. Princes ruling the Sunid, Uzemchin, and Abaga moved northwest and allied with the Three Right Wing Tumens against Ligden. They attacked Ligden at Zhaocheng. Ligden defeated the allies but lost 10,000 Chakhars. When the Ming court refused to pay subsidy, he raided the Ming Empire, forcing them to renew the treaty. The Ming increased his annual subsidy to 81,000 taels of silver. In 1631 Ligden passed the Khinggan Range and successfully attacked the Khorchin and the Tümed. A powerful alliance of Khorchin, Tümed, Yungshiyebu, Ordos and Abaga was formed against Ligden. They destroyed 4,000 Chahar militias in Hohhot and 3,000 soldiers who were going to take Ligden's subsidy from the Ming. In 1632, the Later Jin khan Hong Taiji and his Mongol allies undertook a campaign against Ligden who avoided a confrontation and with maybe 100,000 Chakhar fled to Kokenuur. Ligden made himself yet more unpopular by seizing the wife of Erinchin jinong and taking refuge in the Eight White Yurts of Genghis Khan in Kokenuur. Allied with the Tibetan monarchs, he opposed Dalai Lama V and Banchin Erdene IV. He died of smallpox at Sira Tala (in modern Gansu) in 1634 while marching to attack dGe-lugs-pa order (Yellow Hat sect) in Tibet.

After Ligden Khan's death, his son Ejei Khan (Erke qongγor eje) returned and was handed over to the Qing dynasty which soon after established control over Inner Mongolia.

Name

The name is borrowed from the Classical Tibetan term legs-ldan. There, the letters s and l had already become silent, g before d could be realized as  and a before n got palatalized. In Mongolian sources, the most frequent ways to write the name are Ligda/en and Linda/en, but the intermediate Lingda/en () does appear as well. a and e are not differentiated in normal Mongolian writing in this position, but a is attested in a strict transcription from Tibetan letters in the chronicle Bolur Erdeni. However, for any Mongolian reader who does not immediately perceive the name to be a loan, the letter g would (by means of consonant harmony and its interaction with vowel harmony) indicate that the word only contains front vowels. This must have been perceived in this fashion at the time of  i-breaking as well, as this phonological process took place in back-vocalic words only and would have resulted in * had it been . Today, western scholars tend to cling to the written form of the Tibetan word and write Ligdan, while Mongolian scholars will usually write Ligden, both pointing to a possible alternative with n. In Chinese, the name is written as 林丹, the standard Pinyin transcription being  Líndān.

Family
Consorts and issue:

 Primary consort (苏泰太后), Yehenara Sutai, married later Jirgalang
 Ejei Khan, first son
 Primary consort Nangnang (囊囊太后), Abaga Borjigit Namjung, married to Hong Taiji and honoured as Noble Consort Yijing
 Abunai, second son
Shuchai, first daughter (淑侪)
 Primary consort Erjei (俄尔哲依太后), married to Abatai as secondary princess consort Raoyumin of the Second Rank
 Primary consort Boqi (伯奇太后), personal name Tasina, married to Hooge
 Consort Doutumen (窦土门福晋), Abaga Borjigit Batmadzoo, married to Hong Taiji as Consort Shu and given a title of Consort Kanghuishu
 Consort Gortumen (郭尔土门福晋), married later Gunchusi Sengge (衮出斯僧格)

See also
 List of khans of the Northern Yuan dynasty

References

1588 births
1634 deaths
Northern Yuan rulers
17th-century Mongol rulers
17th-century Chinese monarchs

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


If this New Year your resolution is to finally lose that 10 pounds or to get that bikini body ready for summer, you might want to stop reading right now.
There's nothing wrong with those goals — but over the years we've learned that they tend to be false prophets, leaving people wondering what's next or why they don't feel like they thought they would when they got there.
There is something that has almost the opposite effect. Instead of leaving you unfulfilled, it gives you satisfaction. Instead of a longing for something more, it gives you a hint that there might just be more there for the taking.
That thing is strength. The only trouble is, strength training can be daunting!
You have to enter into this bizarre dungeon surrounded by mirrors and filled with Byzantine-looking apparatuses being used by people who look like they've been doing this their whole lives and are annoyed that a stranger would dare enter their space.
Magazines and pop culture are filled with misleading, incorrect, and downright confusing information. Do only this! Don't do that! Do that instead! No wait, never do that!
Which is really unfortunate because at it's core strength training doesn't have to be complicated at all. It's something that is accessible to anyone. Really all it boils down to is moving heavy things, that are just challenging enough to create growth. Oh sure, the devil is in the details when you're dealing with old injuries, or years of built-up cobwebs, but that's easy enough when you have experience, expertise, and knowledge available to you.
First: The realization that this really isn't that untouchable, and it's not for "somebody else" and that you are in fact perfectly capable of strength training. We start with the basics, so you feel comfortable with the important movements and choosing weights that will progressively strengthen you so you're not wasting time unproductively and even more importantly you're not doing too much too fast to the point you get hurt. This is the "I can do this" phase.
Second: Once you've become comfortable with the fundamentals of strength training and you start to get stronger, the feeling of capability turns into a question, "Can I do that?" You start to actually get excited about your time in the gym, not just because you're with a community of people you enjoy going through the process with, but because you get hooked on the challenge and advancement of doing things you weren't capable of just a few days or a week before.
Third: This is when the magic happens. At some point the capability your strength has given you in the gym starts to leak out of the gym, and you find yourself taking on and doing things you never thought possible before your newfound strength. It may be as simple as speaking up for yourself or as dramatic as a major career change. But we've seen it enough to know it's not a fluke, it's a side-effect. From here the sky is the limit.
All of this happens, on varying timelines of course, with mechanical certainty. All you have to do is get started.
So here's what we're challenging you to do: See what you're capable of in just 28 days of strength training.
You'll learn how to strength train, even if you've never lifted a weight before.
You'll feel at home, in one of if not the most welcoming and inclusive gym environments anywhere.
You'll find ways to improve your life you never saw coming.
Registration is open through January 1st and the 28-day challenge starts Monday, January 8th.
The cost is $199 for the entire challenge, but wait there's more.
If you and a friend sign up at the same time, you can split the cost. We do this because we know you (and your friend) are even more likely to succeed in the long term if you start with a partner so that you can hold each other accountable and support each other.
Class time is 6pm on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.