Upcoming Project: Expeditionary Squad

EXPEDITIONARY SQUAD:

ASSEMBLE!

by Chris Eisenlauer

• • •

1. LIN SOSA
9,508.221
Planet 1005 - Former Root Palace

“Lin Sosa. It is your sixteenth birthday. You have been pampered since birth, have been given everything you could possibly want. I will bestow upon you one final gift before you must give something in return.” The Viscain Emperor, Samhain, paused as if to take a wheezing breath. He was a monstrous hollowed gourd, four meters across, fleshy and plump, with simple carved features—triangle eyes and nose, a jagged gash of a mouth—behind which ghostly firelight glowed and flickered.

“Yes, Lord Emperor,” the girl said. Dressed in a tight, long-sleeved charcoal turtleneck and a functional pleated skirt of the same color, she was lithe and her manner pert. Though she was bowing before him in his dark chamber with its gnarled resin walls of infinite height, she said, “What is my gift, and what is my task?” Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Lord Emperor.”

The Emperor chuckled, and the chamber shook. “Your impertinence is as atrocious as ever. And, as ever, it both pleases and amuses me. You are what I have made you. A princess. An emissary. And, perhaps, hope expedited.

“All your studies have been for this purpose. You are to lead the Expeditionary Squad. You will set out with this, the Resonance Bell.”

An animate olive tendril issued from somewhere unseen behind the Emperor, bearing with it a bronze bell the size of a balled fist. The slender vine stretched out across the chamber, stopping before Lin Sosa’s forehead.

“Take it, Lin Sosa, and make it a part of you,” the Emperor said.

Lin raised her head to regard the bell, her straw-blond ponytail bobbing with the motion. She gently took the bell in both hands and showed no fear as she brought it to her chest, pressing it through fabric, through skin, muscle, and bone and into her being. The instant she and the Artifact became one was marked by a blinding flash, revealing to Lin Sosa for that fleeting instant, shapes and convolutions in the resin walls that would be the unknown source of troubling dreams for years to come.

“Very good,” the Emperor said. “You are going on a journey, Lin Sosa.”

“To where, Lord Emperor?”

“To The Place with Many Doors.”

“Where can this Place with Many Doors be found?”

Though the massive gourd did not move, the Emperor seemed to shake his head. “You must find it.”

“Can Eris come with me?”

“Of course. That is Eris Anandale’s purpose. She will sort and read the signs, the ripples and echoes that radiate out from the source, from The Place with Many Doors, and reveal the way. Also, though I know you would not say so, you would be lonely if deprived of her company. I would see that you are made as comfortable as possible on this journey.

“And as safe. You will have one more companion, but this one you shall choose. He or she must have the means to protect you. Additional means will be provided in the form of an Artifact so choose well.

“This is a secret mission. No one can know, so this person will not be given the luxury of a choice in the matter.” Another snaking vine issued forth, bearing a bronze circlet. “Take this, the Ouroboros Crown, and place it upon the head of your desired protector. It will make him or her beholden to you, unable to refuse your commands. Once you have made and secured your choice, return to me.

“Remember, Lin Sosa. You have ventured beyond these walls always in secret, with an escort, and under strict rules. There are those who would not understand what you are or approve of your existence. While you may feel and be superior to these, you mustn’t let your temperament overwhelm sense. When you go, be judicious and observe the rules.”

“Yes, Lord Emperor.”

Upcoming Project: The Pauper King

THE PAUPER KING:
FIRST EXPERIMENT

by Chris Eisenlauer

• • •

1. SOME INFORMAL CREDENTIALS

My name is Evan Stain. I was born into this world whole, knowing more or less what I know now, never having suffered a childhood, and never knowing my parents. I sometimes dream of someone who’s supposed to be my father, but I never knew him, or at least I don’t remember him. I have been described as handsome by women whose attention I’ve sought, which should be a greater source of confidence for me. Though my hair is gray, I’ve never required the use of a razor. I have no idea how old I am or if in fact I am old. Some have put my age at thirty, some at forty. My current ID says that I’m right in the middle at thirty-five. Eventually, I’ll need to forge a new one with new dates, though. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but I’m fairly convinced that I am not native to this place. Certainly I am not human like most of those I find around me. While they can die, I find that I cannot. Or I haven’t come across the means as yet. I can suffer, though, and have suffered pain enough to account for death many times over. I have no proof, no way to corroborate this, but somehow I feel that this place is a kind of hell; a living punishment to help me atone for some forgotten sin. That makes it a little easier to take, anyway, thinking that eventually something—good?—will come of my suffering.

There is injustice here, as I am sure there is everywhere, and for good or for ill—and maybe because the dreams I have of my father are really nightmares, like cheap morality plays where he is the monster teaching the object lesson—injustice is something I simply cannot abide. Likely because I am his son, I too, am a monster—I’m extremely strong and fast, among other things—but because of my intolerance, I have endeavored to become a purveyor of retribution. I am not fond of pain, but my constitution makes me particularly well-suited to such employment and I am rarely wanting for work.

Of course I don’t tell any of this to anyone. We all have our secrets. Sometimes secrets are harmful to others, but often they’re all we can lay claim to as ours, and I believe they’re worth defending.

So, here's my pitch: If you’ve lost something or someone, if you’ve been wronged or cheated in some way and the authorities can’t help, perhaps I can. Place a help-wanted ad in the Weekly Tribune, citing an infestation of rats at any open accommodations located along the waterfront with the current date. Someone will meet you at the appointed place at midnight one week from the date indicated to discuss a possible course of action. Sometimes it takes an infestation of rats to clean house or to cure disease.

Changing Gears

While I haven't been exceptionally busy with the 3rd Jav Holson book in my limited free time, I have been brainstorming, plotting, and working out some of the details. I was getting ready to start in earnest, but two people have suggested that I shelf it for a bit and work on another stand-alone project, then see how well that would fare in the hunt for an agent.

So that means a return (for me) to The Baker's Dozen. I started developing this some time ago, the initial idea in late 2002, then revisiting in 2004 and 2006. I guess it's good I've chosen an even year for my return! Before, it suffered the same undefined format problems that Skull Kaiser did, but I think I'm ready to write it now. Billy Weiss will make his stand against the Baker's Dozen!

A number of benefits to doing this:
1. The Baker's Dozen is stand-alone.
2. It's YA (still SF) which will open up the possibilities for sale.
3. I'll send a strong message to terrorist groups who dress up as bakers.
4. I can try all the agents I've already queried all over again!