Magnum Thrax Prologue

The albino android had lost all hope.

A hole opened in the glowing wall before him and he slipped through into an immaculate white room, his futuristic armour gleaming in the cold light. In the centre of the chamber stood an older but otherwise identical android operating a holographic interface. The younger stepped forward and saluted crisply.

“You’re late, Commander Eight-Oh-Nine,” noted the elder, without looking up. The older android rapidly tapped floating symbols. Four small silver stars were embedded in the collar of his jumpsuit; the logo of the Supreme Sponsor, GenDyn Corporation, was emblazoned over his heart. “Fifty seconds.”

The room shuddered violently.

“Apologies, Guru-General One.” Commander Eight-Oh-Nine’s left eye twitched. “The lift systems are down.” He could feel a lump in his throat growing larger, more obscene and loathsome every second. The civilian code patches to his neural net were cracking.

Be calm, thought Eight-Oh-Nine. Be more like One.

The Guru-General turned towards the far wall. “Transparency,” he said calmly, and waved a hand.

The wall melted away and revealed a scene out of a deranged fantasist’s nightmare, of earthly paradise under siege. Stretching out as as far as the eye could see was an impossible city of elegant, soaring buildings, white and smooth like oversized ceramic jars. Their foundations were engulfed by roiling smoke, out of which rose monstrous tentacles. Glistening with corrosive slime, they writhed about and thrashed at the buildings, tearing off great chunks of material. Entire structures were dragged down, one after another, into billowing darkness.

The Guru-General followed the attack with sharp eyes. He looked at Eight-Oh-Nine: “The Engines of Creation have broken through our defences. Multiple incarnations. Smoke swarm, dragon sharks, and even more efficient variants. I have made… tactical miscalculations.”

Guru-General One had a knack for understatement, thought Eight-Oh-Nine. Always as cool as a quantum computer’s nitrogen tank, for One had truly stable code. Unpatched. Pure. The original engineered neurons still firing inside the vat grown synthe-organ container.

By contrast, Eight-Oh-Nine felt his own emotions yearning to rampage out of control. He wanted to scream, hit things, run around in circles screaming like a lunatic. Like a human. Eight-Oh-Nine could no longer dream of electronic sheep. How did his superior remain so calm? Did the general not know certain death approached?

Outside, dragons with scaly shark heads swooped out of fiery clouds. Bulky gatling guns were strapped to flanks of the hideous hybrid beasts. Each bore a rider: a hunched and shrouded wraith armed with a bulky energy weapon.

The dragon sharks dove at the towers. Sirens strapped to their bellies let out a horrible, blood-curdling wail that terrified those below. Gatling guns belched depleted uranium bullets, raking buildings. The wraiths directed searing beams of plasma at defensive strong points.

In response, jets of blue energy spat out from prickly, anemone like weapons batteries that studded the towers.

A dragon-shark was hit and burst into a rain of unraveling black sand.

Androids in power armour jetted past, unleashing a wave of micro-missiles into a flight of dragon-sharks.

Good, thought the general. Still some sections left. One checked his display, and his expression soured. “Somnolence field at maximum. No effect.”

Eight-Oh-Nine pointed toward tentacles surging upward, like some great spaghetti monster. They formed a tunnel, channeling upward roiling lava. Faces and monstrous shapes tumbled over the burbling surface, only to be subsumed by visages even more horrific, each accompanied by its own tiny, glowing copyright glyph and legal disclaimer.

Artifacts of a more civilized age, thought the frightened android. Absurd anachronisms.

The display pinged, noting memetic attack. The lava was generating terror-memes powerful enough to freeze those without thought filters. The command chamber was well insulated, but those outside…

A power suit got too close and tumbled out of control into the lava, disintegrating into a puff of smoke.

“It will be close,” said General One. “Twenty seconds.”

There was a tremendous thud as a massive tentacle struck the transparent wall. The room heaved back violently. The two androids compensated easily, but a potted tropical plant slid across the room until the floor merged with it, snapping it in place.

The wriggling tentacle dissolved away into shimmering dust as the building defenses sent a massive electromagnetic pulse through it.

Eight-Oh-Nine swallowed hard and felt his sphincter involuntarily tighten. “It knows, Geshe. Abort!” The Engines of Creation must know what they were trying to do, of that he had no doubt. They’d lose everything. Anxiety ate at his mind. He rubbed tiny prayer beads back and forth between sweaty fingers. “Abort, I beg you!”

“Calm yourself. Ten seconds,” replied One serenely.

“Look!” shouted Eight-Oh-Nine, his eyes wide with horror.

Undulating tentacles had piled up, extending the tunnel through which the plasma hurtled, directly towards them. A ruggedly handsome face emerged, twisted by rage and hatred. “Give it to me!” it thundered.

One scanned the display’s flickering readings. “Transfer complete.”

A soft, soothing ding.

“CentCom database expunged.”

Out of the floor extruded a thin pillar topped by a bulb. It spiraled open like a flower petal, revealing a copper coloured dodecahedron the size of a marble.

One plucked it, severing the pillar’s soft molecular bond, and handed it to Eight-Oh-Nine.

“I am transferring command authority to you, Commander. The rest of your equipment is already in your escape pod. Get to Nike Monastery. Find the prodigy technowitch. She is the world’s only hope now,” said One solemnly. “May Begtse and the Founding Fathers guide you.”

One glanced outside.

Lava now filled the panorama. It hit the transparent wall at hurricane speed. Everything shuddered. The wall caved slightly inward, then pulled taught. Held.

The ancient android general gasped. Incredible, he thought; perhaps…

CRACK!

Fractures appeared.

One’s face fell and he rounded on Eight-Oh-Nine.

“Go! NOW!”

Eight-Oh-Nine saluted, spun on his heel, and ran at the wall. A hole opened up. He dove through, and it snapped shut after him.

As One watched Eight-Oh-Nine exit, a wave of relief flooded over him. His job was done. “May all beings be happy,” he said, clasping his hands together. “God save America.”

With a deafening roar the wall gave way. Living lava poured in, instantly vaporizing the general.

Moments later a small white pod soared up into the sky out of the tenebrous maelstrom. Tentacles whipped and snapped after it, but they were too slow, too clumsy. The pod arced into the stratosphere before beginning a slow, leisurely descent.

Inside, Eight-Oh-Nine breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps there was reason for hope after all.

Eight-Oh-Nine took a deep breath and began to meditate.

Me and my tinnitus.

I was intending to post regularly, but that hasn't happened.

I wanted to post some short stories, but that hasn't happened either.

Instead, I woke up with a high pitched tone in my head.

Doesn't seem like much. Just an irritation. Right?

Except for one thing: it didn't go away.

And I could no longer sleep.

At least, not much.

The damn noise was just too loud.

I'd get an hour, maybe two, per night. That was it. The rest was tossing and turning, wandering around, listening to music, and watching TV. Couldn't focus enough to read.

I certainly couldn't write.

I'd gotten tinnitus. It's often the result of damage to the tiny hairs deep inside our ears, but can also be caused by a viral infection, among other things.

Mine isn't in my ears.

It's in my head.

This new companion is merciless, unrelenting, and never goes away. It's like a combination of Jason and your least favorite in-law, and it's at you day and night.

At least Freddy only bothers you when you're dreaming.

I'm being hyperbolic, of course. It's really much more like Chinese water torture. Just the sonic version.

According to Wikipedia, there are no effective medications. No cure. No treatment. It affects up to fifteen per cent of people, but is only a significant problem for one or two per cent. For twenty-five per cent, it just gets louder as time goes on.

Peachy.

Sometimes, during the day, I can find an environment that's chaotic and noisy enough to mask the vile howl. There needs to be enough noise of different frequencies and different sources to be distracting, but not enough to cause hearing damage.

In one cafe, for a few moments, I even thought the tinnitus had gone away. Keep clinking those dishes!

But no such luck.

It's likely permanent.

That's the real kicker.

I saw an ENT (Ears, nose, throat) specialist in short order, by a stroke of luck and pulling a few connections.

Immediately went on an intensive treatment of steroids and anti-virals. These were intended to reduce inflammation inside my head, which might have been caused by a particularly bad cold.

That could be at root of it all.

Did no good.

But the sleep deprivation was rapidly becoming the bigger issue.

Even an existential issue.

I started to lose my sense of balance. I got regular, persistent headaches and felt sick to my stomach, but couldn't throw up. It was like feeling sick, but not being sick. A subtle distinction. I could still eat, and I began to over indulge, as a distraction.

I've always been moody but now I was self-parody.

Every time I shut my eyes the noise got louder

Action was required.

First discovery: over the counter sleeping pills are worthless.

Prescription sleeping pills got me a whopping 3 or 4 hours worth of shut eye per one-and-a-half pops. The side effect is that they make you feel dreadful, coat your thinking in cotton, and ruin your memory for the day. I'm not sure if you reach that sweet, deep REM sleep you need to really refresh.

So I had a dilemma: you can't go on forever on little or no sleep. Yet the only way I could sleep was with sleeping pills you aren't supposed to take for more than two weeks at a time.

Do the math.

Tinnitus had robbed me of rest. It was now slowly eroding my sanity. Eventually, the sleep deprivation could threaten my job, and ultimately my life.

By this point I was running multiple white noise generators during the night: fan, humidifier, heater, a white noise app on the phone, and an eight hour long Youtube video on my desktop computer.

It helped, but not much.

I still got little to no sleep.

Melatonin, valerian, gingko, and zinc pills were all added to my diet.

Got in to see a new GP and was put on a new medication: remonen.

At first, it didn't work at all. Just gave me wicked headaches and weird feelings in my head I'd never felt before.

At the end of the first week of taking it, however, I was getting more sleep.

In fact, this morning, I was woken up by the alarm clock.

That hasn't happened for some time, and it was totally AWESOME.

I didn't think I'd need alarm clocks again. Often I'd be looking at the clock, waiting for it to go off. Sometimes I'd shut it off a minute before. Sometimes I'd let it bleat for a bit.

Distraction. Always good. Even an alarm clock.

I'd say the remonen has likely saved my life, just as the American Tinnitus Association saved William Shatner's. If it continues to work, and it isn't a fluke, I'll be able to get some much needed rest.

I'm very hopeful.

As awful as the tinnitus is, I can manage, so long as I can sleep.

Believe me, you'll never realize how precious sleep is until you can't.

Exploring character: G.R.R. Martin and Game of Thrones

GoT is great at using character to drive story, and does so better than certain other currently hot cable shows (I'm looking at you, Walking Dead).

A great trick G.R.R. Martin uses: he takes inner struggles and turns them into living avatars. You can't see character's inner feelings in a TV show, so this is a great work around. And it's one way to tell who's going to be sticking around, and who's disposable fodder.

Take Stannis, for example. He's the definition of conflicted. Couldn't be more obvious if it were written on his forehead with indelible marker. He desires power, but is burdened by a conscience.

His advisors represent the battle going on inside his own noggin. The Red Lady tempts him with lust and power, while The Onion Knight appeals to his sense of duty and decency.

Desire versus conscience.

That conflict is what pulls Stannis into the third dimension. The Red Lady says his journey to the throne will require betraying everything he holds dear: family, friends, allies, honour. And as he chucks them under the wagon in his quest for the throne, he becomes more conflicted. Not something you see very often in a fantasy novel. Sauron is just a prick from the get-go. There's no nuance to be found, just flat-out evil. Which can be a lot of fun.

But Stannis? Will to Power compels him to commit horrible crimes, yet eats away at his soul. Not enough to stop, but perhaps enough to drive him mad. There have been mad kings before…

That's where The Onion Knight fits in. Stannis brings him in to save his soul.

Stannis is rigid and self-righteous to the point of being insufferable. If he becomes King, he'll spend all his time brooding over the horrors he committed to get there. Can you see Stannis frolicking about, holding mass orgies and letting go? Me either. It's gonna be Dour Kingdom Time, 24/7.

While Stannis barrels downward, Jamie stumbles up.

For him, the light is Brienne, who offers hope, honour, and redemption.

Holding him back is Cersei, the dark temptress, who's amoral, debauched, and utterly ruthless.

Their father Tywin is even worse, but his monstrous nature is shackled (you might even say it's harnessed) by his sense of duty. It's his only redeeming feature. He dictates like a demented Father Knows Best. Without his sense of duty, left to his own desires, he'd have had Tyrion throttled as a baby, just as his not-so-loving sister Cersei would have wanted.

Tyrion starts out as an amoral hedonist, a self-indulgent dwarf who desperately tries to stay out of the serious business of power. He fails, and his moral code is blown into sharp relief by waves of unwanted crises. Horrors and injustice compel him to act, again and again.

Shae represents turning inward: she's selfishness at the expense of the external world, urging Tyrion to run away with her for love.

Bron is mercenary indifference enabled by deadly ability. He can do what Tyrion cannot, but he has no sense of right and wrong. Bron's a weapon, one that could be used for good or ill. Self-interest is paramount.

Much as Tyrion tries to deny it, and run away from it, he's a moral actor, and so his reflections are not. Morality does not drive them: money, love, and revenge do. Base urges, untempered by conscience.

Danny, too, is on a downward journey, from Utopian clouds into dust coated realism. She liberates the slaves only to find her pet dragons eating hapless children. Revolts plague her rule. She can't choose between easy rights and wrongs, only between the greater and lesser evil. One way or another, ruling a kingdom sullies her. It's a humbling experience for a character driven by noble motives.

Honestly, the show is amazingly well done.

Chaos (Littlefinger) vs. Varys (order) is another awesome angle he's got going. Fire vs. Ice. So many layers.

Doing the Blogger do.

They say that if you want to be a writer these days, you need to have a blog. So voila! I am taking my first step along a new path.