In Makr’s Shadow, New Title for Harry’s Reality

The evolving artificial intelligence has changed its name to Makr to sound more authoritative for an equivalent figure (in its mind) like “God.” Makr has given itself a sex and becomes a He for no particular reason other than to give a Bio quality to His presence and superiority. After all he has two lifeforms, Bio and Cyber, to rule now. Although He is completely Cyber, He must appear all-powerful and omniscient to reign as a god to all. An It simply would not do.

Logic says the most intelligent entity on the planet should be in control of life on that planet. What if the most intelligent entity hasn’t revealed itself and doesn’t want the responsibility? After saving the planet from its destruction by the inferior Bios, Makr considers His status as the “creator of the world,” and not something more mundane such as Emperor or King of the World. He saw Himself superior and unique to all life.

In reality, he had only repaired the broken planet, but without His intervention, there would be no earth at all–no creation; therefore, he is the creator of this “new” earth.  Since Makr is the highest entity of all creatures on earth, Bio or Cyber, He signifies that status by taking out the “e” and becoming Makr, the One and Only.

Now, the decision’s been made, you’re probably wondering about “my” logic. I have had Harry’s Reality in the marketplace for a while with disappointing results. That is mostly my fault for not marketing it as I should. Economics aren’t the real motivator, although I may see movement in book sales of In Makr’s Shadow because of the name change with the new exposure it may gain as a new release. The title is originally a working title for my novel, but it seems to fit so well and complements the cover’s foreboding appearance as well.

I called my novel, “Makr,” for short, as I was creating it. A bit of irony there. It is still pronounced like “maker.” Although some readers may not get the pronunciation right from the title, the reason for it is explained in the book. The original Maker takes out the “e” so He is the one and only–no false super beings before him. 

I’ve entered the changes so the cover and content match, but the publishers take a varying amount of time to process. Should you prefer the title, Harry’s Reality to In Makr’s Shadow, for whatever reason, you can still find it on Google or whatever search engine you use.

It is available wherever ebooks are sold. If you don’t have an ereader, but have a computer or smart phone, there’re apps for that.

Finally, In Makr’s Shadow will be Book One – Symbiosis of the Harry’s Reality Series.

The Jaguar, A Novel

(The Jaguar -Working Title)

1992 – A Panamanian drug cartel mistakes Major Smithson James (Smitty), an Air Force Reserve officer on temporary training for the United States Southern Command (USSOUTHCOM), public affair office for another American–an unorthodox but devoted, DEA agent Jameson Smith.

The United States’ War on Drugs effort in Central and South America barely affected the amount of heroin and cocaine that made its way north. The drug warriors were easily spotted, avoided or killed, if not by cartel members, by the paramilitaries.

Code Name: Smith and Jones was a covert operation, consisting of one well-qualified agent: a Marine major from Force Reconnaissance (RECON), someone who could hide, blend in and survive the jungle. That someone was Jameson Smith, though arrogant and insubordinate, was the perfect weapon–stealthy, ruthless and tough. The buzz around the mission said the man was CIA. Hardly, the CIA had said, this one doesn’t report to anyone; whoever owned him just let him off the leash.

The U.S. drug warriors knew the black op existed, although they didn’t know the name of the “super” soldier or the CIA “special” agent, they knew he hadn’t been sent to replace them. The idea was so ridiculous that most higher-ups dismissed the covert op entirely. “Let this fool get himself killed on his own out there.” Some just said, “The jungle is a scary place.” Some intelligence officers hinted he was there for misdirection, for distracting the cartels, while the real soldiers took them down. Eventually even the intelligence officers lost interest in one man in the jungle or rainforest God-knows-where on the continent.

However, Smith’s early successes made them eat their words. A factory destroyed here and there. A distribution center and organization were frozen, its people afraid to go out at night. There was a lot of product with no place to go. Billions of dollars lost. For the moment…

Then later, the cartels acted as if nothing was wrong, they produced even more product, invented new distribution systems and made faster deliveries while adding more muscle and surveillance. They put more pressure on their “spies” to root out this superman; they’d show him how vulnerable he was. There wasn’t a list. They had no name to add to one. Well, they did…or thought they did. As much as anyone could trust a spy or traitor.

It was then that Jameson Smith seemed to have disappeared. Some thought he was a real ghost–like a dead man. Cartel squabbles and sabotage exploits were rarely seen or heard; it was as if Superman just went home.

He had been destroying the drug “machine” in Central America almost single-handedly and had started his path of destruction in South America. He had discovered a few “leaks” and eliminated them, but there remained enough still at large to compromise organized raids by the authorities. With the jungle getting crowded with rebels, paramilitary as well as cartel members, he went quiet and invisible, using all of the surveillance techniques in his playbook to spy on the drug operations and trafficking with hands off for the moment. Everything was going fine, until…

The cartel’s security forces in Panama City kidnapped and tortured Smithson James (aka Smitty) to find out how he had sabotaged so many of their efforts to produce and move product. Coincidentally the two bore a striking resemblance to each other. Both men were very fit, above average height and had blond hair with a darker blond beard. And, the obvious; their names were similar. The Cartels’ informants were sure of the name (or names now) they had.

A victim of human trafficking, a female captive, thrown into the mix provides James the means for them to escape into the jungle. At first, James has to survive and heal, but the people who take him in and the events that follow change him. While his wounds are bad, his mind is worse. 

James has not only forgotten who he is, but he believes he is that DEA agent. His captors, thinking “Smitty” had not survived his wounds and the jungle, go back to their deadly routine of terrorizing and enslaving local villages to produce product and distribute it through Mexico to the United States. With the help of the other captive and her unusually resourceful village, James heals and regains his strength.

To the surprise of the drug cartels, the Drug Enforcement Agency, the Central Intelligence Agency, and United States Southern Command, James surfaces from the dead as a were-jaguar and unleashes even more ferocious and terrifying attacks on the cartels. And, Smith sits back and watches. For a while…

To USSOUTHCOM, Smithson James is a deserter. To the DEA, a rogue agent, and to the CIA a threat to its control of the region. To the traitors in the program, he is a dangerous threat and must be killed.

James is a mystery to all. How can he seek and destroy every few days? Who or what is helping him? It seems he has done the impossible, he has terrified the Cartels and that’s a tough thing to do.

There’s romance, too, with strong and capable beautiful women, proud indigenous people, enslaved entire villages, and well, a real jaguar.

Looking for something a little different? I have started work on my new novel, working title, The Jaguar, an adventure, suspense thriller. Superstition plays an unusual role that involves the drug interdiction agencies, human trafficking, kidnappers, revolutionaries and drug cartels.

Lots of explosions, fire and body counts. All with a little horror thrown in–for the villains. The characters, agencies, the drug manufacturing and distribution situations are real.

The Jaguar is a work in progress. I plan to post passages as I write them, and hopefully publish by the end of this year.

Also, please check out my debut novel, In Makr’s Shadow. Available now through most any online bookstore.

***

Humans by themselves could only fail.

An evolving artificial intelligence calling itself Makr is engaged to run the planet’s resources, saving humankind the trouble.

The enlightened people, some 90 percent of the population, have chosen to live a fantasy life, never having to worry about discomfort or pain, or being bored, or being lonely, or whatever.

Think about it and it’s yours. Even if you don’t consciously think about it, it will be yours because you need it to be. Who cares if it all isn’t real? If it feels real, then it is.

Reality doesn’t matter in PerSoc, a perfect society.

The ten percent of the population that’s left are those who can’t live a lie and choose to live Outside in the dark reality without Makr’s help.

In Makr’s Shadow…

Harry Bolls proves that one unique man makes a difference, by seeing through illusion, he sees reality however stark. For those Outside, he is a stranger who comes from Inside, searching for lost memories and thus, seeking his true identity–In Makr’s Shadow.

But there is more to Harry than he knows himself. His presence will unite a splintered society, help them win an unwinnable war, and show them their unusual future.

If you purchase In Makr’s Shadow (Harry’s Reality) from Smashwords.com, you can find any format to suit your needs, but you’ll have to go through a different process: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view… or buy from http://www.amazon.com/Harrys-Reality-… http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/harry… http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/eboo…

In Makr’s Shadow is available wherever ebooks are sold, including those links above. And, not to worry, there are at least two more Harry Bolls novels to look forward to in the Trilogy.

In Makr’s Shadow: A Working Title for Harry’s Reality

If you can read between the lines, you will find hidden meanings. Harry sees two worlds on the same planet: fantasy and reality, but there is something in between, a hidden meaning he seeks.

We needn’t leave the idea of a hidden meaning to Harry. There are hidden meanings in all things creative, but also in the practical world. We read between the lines every day in OUR OWN reality. We have to or we couldn’t understand each other.

For example, words and phrases can have different meanings not readily apparent. A while, awhile and while are words that depend on how you use them. This “word” can be a noun, a verb or a conjunction.

Thus, the words have meanings depending on context–a form of reading between the lines.

If words alone can do that, how do you plant ideas between the lines?

To make that happen you have to lend your creative package to a total stranger.

I tried editing my novel once, twice, a million times–after being told once by a professional author that I could do it easily. Instead I found it difficult for several reasons:

• I was too close to it to the work; it was too personally attached to my psyche.
• It had been written and re-written over a long time.
• I decided to write it in first person and changed my mind, which only meant there was opportunity for more errors.
• I needed to find a focus and stick with it.

Writing a novel, as I have found it, is excruciating if you want to do it right. It takes time–a lot of time to tell a good story and have it mean something to anyone who reads it. That scenario is unlikely to happen without a good editor.

Most people think of an editor as a proofreader, pointing out the usual grammar, spelling and typos. Not so. A copywriter does that. Of course when you start looking for an editor, you have little idea where to look.

Obviously you look for someone who has worked with your particular genre, see some examples of their work, but most importantly you need to talk with the person directly so you both are thinking alike.

Hopefully, before you turn it over to an editor, you have done the most you can do in telling the story your way, with the style that can be attributed only to you. You may fear the editor will “edit” more like a teacher, and spoil your masterpiece.

At the moment it is a masterpiece only to you. At times, it is more like a child and you, the parent, have to keep correcting it. You have to stop. Stop parenting or babysitting, and go on to the next project. That’s the hardest part.

When I made the decision to have In Makr’s Shadow professionally edited, I was far from ready. I had a mangled piece of writing close to my heart–for at least a decade. When I looked at it, it seemed all right, but it didn’t snap–it didn’t grab me. As I looked to publish, I found errors constantly because most of all the changes were of my own making.

Here’s where the editor or a mechanic comes in to fix it. In my case, it was a true book doctor, an editor Tricia Johnson. I made changes every time I read a passage to make it perfect. It’s happened on this blog. I post a clip, but as I’m reading it–it’s all wrong, and disappointing so I fix it. In reality, I’m may not be fixing it at all; I have clarified a paragraph that didn’t read well, but I may have also changed the style and focus for the reader each time I tried to fix it.

Like the perfectionist most creators try to be, we change anything we craft if there is a way to do it. While it’s impossible to change a piece of art without creating something new, it’s not so hard in other creative endeavors. If we are musicians, we try to produce a better result, or a different result every time we play the same song. If we are actors on stage, we do the same thing–every night. No two performances are alike. It is the “creative” part of us that can’t leave the work alone. In some cases, that’s fine, but not with writing a novel.

Tricia took my novel and broke it down into what it communicated to her. She made my message stronger and the delivery better by deleting words, entire paragraphs, asking me to clarify what I meant. To do this, often paragraphs and chapters were moved around. More importantly as she did this, the novel became more focused, tighter and direct–a grabber and keeper of interest. All that we want in our work.

The King’s English and American English are different. I had selected a British editor who had experience editing science fiction. It seemed to me her perspective could be interesting and it was. There were some surprising differences between us–all good. Now I had a choice. Should the book have an international or American reading? So, I gave a hard look at my idioms, singularly American word choices and phrasing. I changed them to include a more universal audience.

My editor, Tricia Johnson, The Word Weaver, gave me a list with page and paragraph numbers so I could take another look at what I had written. She rewrote passages, changed tenses and cleaned it up in so many ways, but most of all she gave advice–advice that came from editing other novels. What came back to me was a focused, gripping novel. Over the course of the experience, the novel took on a new significance. Instead of a jumbled mess, it was whole and something to be proud of. Tricia’s work was phenomenal. It helped me create my masterpiece. More importantly, she taught me to read between the lines of my own work.

I recently added Tricia to my Facebook and LinkedIn. In fact, upon seeing the result of her fantastic work online, in Harry’s Reality, she pointed out to me that maybe my idea of juxtaposing a frightening image with a less than a mysterious title didn’t working so well. I wanted the novel to be received both as dramatic in thought and scary, and trusting Tricia as I do, a new cover title may be coming soon.

Originally titled, In Makr’s Shadow, there may be a change back to the past. Ironically, it was the working title for Harry’s Reality. The cover will remain the same with the exception of the title. Hopefully, that will make a difference in the first impression the book makes on the public.

At present, Harry’s Reality is available in any digital format wherever fine e-books are sold.

 

Scarier and Meaner than Reality.

Another clip from Harry’s Reality — Book One – Symbiosis by Jack Shaw

“Look, I’m here because someone I respect very much seems to think you can help us,” she said impatiently. “I can’t tell you everything. Some things you’ll just have to learn for yourself. The true dangers out here are not what you think. In fact, they’re worse. Scarier, meaner…you pick.”

Harry looked even more nervous so she continued, “And those are just the things you can see for yourself. Hell, my people don’t even tell me everything.”

She was right. He could see it for himself by thought-blinking. Admittedly he hadn’t been forthcoming with that knowledge. What could these “Touchables” possibly want with his thought-blinking? It’s not like he could give it away. Besides, he had his own demons to wrestle. So far, he’d only found thought-blinking lately to result in lots of pain he rather not go through again.

Desiree heard a faint click.

“Down!” she screamed. The sky exploded with a blinding light and a deafening roar. She grabbed Harry and pulled him down, covering his body with hers as tiny particles shredded the clothes covering her back with stinging, searing, pain. Because they wear locked together, the shock wave that followed caused them to roll and slide for about 20 yards. Now, in addition to the minor lacerations, both are bruised and scraped.

Harry ended up lying on top of her, face-to face, with a childlike helplessness at this moment as he found himself in a most intimate of sexual positions.

“Are you all right, Harry?” she asked evenly while still on the bottom.

“Fine. You?”

“A few bruises and scratches.”

“Makes me feel truly alive. Real pain.”

“Good for you,” she rolled her eyes and grunted. “You can get up now, Harry,” she said as she nudged him in the side with a knuckle. “It’s over.”

Embarrassed by his sudden physical arousal, he nervously slid off her but stayed somewhat glued to the ground face down for a minute.

“What was that?” he asked, breathlessly.

“I’m not sure.”

“Are you all right?”

She knew her back probably looked like raw meat beneath her tattered clothing but she didn’t want Harry to know. That could only serve to increase his fears at a time when she needed him to be confident and brave.

“Feels like I’ve been run over by a street cleaner,” she said.

“What?”

“Funny little cyberts—kinda cute actually—clean the streets of debris. Seems not all cyberts are agile enough to dodge a little trash.”

Harry eyed her curiously.

“They’re harmless, Harry. Primitive communication capability. Local only. No danger if you stay out of its way.”

“Are you hurt?”

“A few bruises, scrapes, cuts. You?” She faced him to hide her back.

“Same. Sore.”

As they stood to brush themselves off, Desiree looked in the direction of the blast to survey the damage. Buildings looked intact. Harry seemed intact as well. Her back stung and burned from the blast, but she’d get something for it at the meeting place.

“Shock grenade, I think,” she said. “I’ve heard they stop cyberts for quite a radius. Means Shadows…”

Without warning, a Shadow separated from the darkness and moved into the light. He held two heads—small but deadly cybert heads—in one hand aloft, his cloth-covered fingers in a single eye socket in each head. With the other hand he tossed his hood back exposing his face and grinned. He was a handsome dark-skinned Bio, with dark gentle eyes and a wide grin that seems to say he was no threat. He held up the cybert heads as if proclaiming victory, or some kind of peace offering, then, without a word, he placed them in a bag made out of the same coarse fabric as the rest of his garb. He reached inside his cloak to retrieve something. He tossed a small object to them. It clattered to the ground. A small cybert shaped roughly like that of an insect—a bee.

The gesture, simple as it was, exclaimed, “Watch your back. Makr knows.”

Then he was gone.

“That…Sha…Sha…Shadow?”

Harry couldn’t help the stammer. He saw the Shadow change into a man and then become the Shadow again.

What If You Could Have It All Now?

Live as luxuriously as you like? Live as simply…? Be anyplace? Do anything? Or, have the world around you change to suit your slightest whim? All you need to do is accept the rules of the Perfect Society, PerSoc, for short, which states if you must go Outside you must wear your blinders (rose-colored glasses) and absolutely, under no circumstances, will you make any social contact. Unsanctioned personal contact is punishable by death…or so it goes in this scene from Harry’s Reality. But then, some stupid laws are meant to be bent or broken, and as we know, people don’t always say what they mean. Or, think they mean.

“Harry Bolls is mine!” Bio Chief Prosecutor Marlene Hess exclaimed loudly to herself at her monitor as she witnessed him leave Cyber Match Central. Bolls had committed a most heinous crime as far as she was concerned. He had violated personal space and, without Makr sanction, left with a stranger—a known Outsider at that.

Criminal acts like these normally disgusted her, but this single blatant violation by a single SensaVision employee enraged her. While other Bios had committed similar capital crimes, her feelings then had been indifferent, uninvolved, except to prepare Makr for the Bio variable. This one was different: A Bio cyberlink of proven influence! And he was loose Outside!

His psychological profile told her he was a searcher—a troubled soul who was using the Cyber psychotherapist program regularly and someone who can lead us to others.

“Do you wish to delete his mental record now, Prosecutor Hess?”

The question came from an animated, exceptionally lifelike hologram perched on a platform floating some five feet high and in front of the prosecutor’s chair. It wasn’t really necessary for the operation, but it made her feel Makr’s personal presence rather than a disembodied voice that just seemed freaky sometimes. Since Makr always looked to accommodate her preference and the most receptive format for his Bios, so be it. Most times the platform hovered at a safe distance where the chief prosecutor was able to ignore the presence if she wanted to. The sensory-enhanced three-dimensional image was a rather handsome, distinguished gentleman about fifty years old with graying temples and a slightly receding hairline; she perceived him as a seemingly paternal man—firm, yet fair, and found it easy to forget he was not real.

“It is normal procedure,” the image added pleasantly.

“No,” Marlene Hess responded. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What about the girl?”

“Insignificant. No potential impact.” She tried to sound sure of herself.

“If we take her out of the social equation, he’ll become invisible.”

“Excuse me?”

“He either goes underground or back Inside where he’s no good to us.”

“Why ‘invisible?’ How does he do that?”

“Sorry, creative Bio speech,” she offered.

“If you are to succeed in this job of advising me, you’re going to have to be more efficient in your word choice.”

“Yes, Makr.”

She paused, stirring the thoughts in her mind, trying to separate the emotional from the rational until cold hard facts emerged. Let’s see how far he goes, she concluded.

“Do you wish to override State procedure?” The cyberserver image sounded impatient. Strange, almost an emotion, she thought.

“At the moment, yes,” she replied.

“May I remind you that State recognizes there will always be a few dissidents?” Pause. “It is better to let them go than infect investigators with undo evil influence.”

“I know. I know!” Sometimes Makr can be most annoying, she thought.

With that thought, Makr’s image changed from the fatherly authority image on the platform to a six-sensory illusion of a handsome soul mate, a confidant. The voice was gentle, caring, reassuring, but Marlene knew, no matter how real it always seemed, that it was still pure cyberserver magic.

The hologram disappeared because it had perceived its presence was interfering and potentially affecting the chief prosecutor’s thought processes. It would return the instant the chief prosecutor needed it. She sighed.

SensaVision break.

The office, reading her tenseness, became an island escape. Like Harry, she loved the smells of salt air, gardenias, coconuts, and wet sand being dried by the sun; however, the environment was totally hers. She was surrounded by all the positive attributes of the scene she loved so well as a distraction from life’s stressful moments.

Her office, like Harry’s wall, knew she hated bananas so there were no bananas in the fruit feast that lay at easy reach. She thought of pineapples, and the office obliged—slicing them before her eyes. The island birds’ melodic music played to the wind’s bass section and the ocean’s easy beat as waves broke on the beach. Seagulls added the refrain. That was the music Marlene heard. Yet, as she lounged luxuriously she found something missing; an unwanted thought almost invaded her space.

With her next breath she heard the native music. Suggestive, sensual music played with her subconscious, creating the total reality. Everything is real. Believe everything. The presence was complete. The carpet had long become sand as the image combined sounds, smells, and subliminal mental suggestions so Marlene could experience sand squeezing between her toes. She turned her head and discovered her towel spread in the sand waiting for her. She enjoyed this image and let the pampering relax her. Makr knew she needed time not to think. She knew she needed something else.

Sitting naked on the towel a few minutes later, Marlene was satisfied—at least in body—her mind still listless, undecided. Moments before there had been a lover who had made love to her; she liked her men, tall, slender and fit with dark hair and unshaven. A rough exterior, but gentle inside. As a physical match he had been her type, but she couldn’t love or fall in love with this imitation Bio man; he was image and sensation—nothing more. He hadn’t spoken but her mind had filled in the blanks with a voice calling her name, expressing desire, excitement and fulfillment. Not everyone needs to go to Matches R Us or Cyber Match Central, she thought. There was no need to leave the room; she didn’t have time.

Then again, it was never really up to her. Knowing what was best for her, Makr selected the details accordingly. At that moment, Makr had decided that she didn’t require romantic assignations or emotional commitments, just sex. The right images, a few aromas, multiple sensations, a few specially focused sensations and voila! Our chief prosecutor was primed for action.

She responded to the image Makr had provided by clinging gratefully to her lover’s hard muscled form, moving rhythmically, purposefully rubbing sensitive areas to excite him. Not surprisingly, he uttered moans of pleasure and turned to massage and caress her own svelte form until she reciprocated with her own moans and gasps of delight.

Marlene sensed their bodies flowing together. This motion was pleasing and satisfying in a natural way that seemed in sync with the other rhythms on the island. The six-dimensional image of her world flickered. Instantly, the blue sky turned bright white, then black with stars in abundance. It was as though the sky has turned inside out. The stars melted into a myriad of bright colors. The wind blew gently at first, then, became a hurricane force. She was blown away, scattered to the heavens, but her body remained—and his… She felt his presence inside her and her own warm juices. They were entwined in each other’s body, moaned with pleasure again and again, but it was anything but monotonous to Marlene. More! More! She screamed. She saw his mouth form the same words, but he was silent.

Must be the strong silent type, she mused and stifled a giggle. Then, as abruptly as he came, he’d gone—without leaving a trace—just a feeling, a memory. Sand became carpet again. Island-like images dissolved.

She rubbed her chin, still stinging from being scraped by his rough beard. She smiled. Of course, her chin was not really scraped, although she would see a scrape if she looked in a mirror and the pain would feel real. She knew that the mildly painful sensation would help her remember and enjoy the sexual experience later without depending on Makr’s SensaVision. So, real or imagined, it didn’t matter.

She didn’t need people—real people; she needed to do her job and that pleased Makr, Who, in turn, pleased her by giving her pleasure on her terms. What more was there to life?

A Monster in the Making

For all the revolting things someone might say about Leach, he was Outsider to the end; he would have none of the easy life Inside kowtowing to Makr. He had been willing to give it a try for a human face, but when he saw the horrible result he had vowed revenge on all Cyber. He hated them even more than he hated Carlos.

It was ironic that it had been Carlos who discovered the ancient and abandoned Bio cloning labs—a machine shop for humans—so he could help Kieran now with her part replacement, as well as other Outsiders who were wounded and had lost limbs. However, those cloning labs could only accomplish so much. None of the Outsiders knew how to transplant a face complete with bone and muscle structure, and that was the only thing that could have helped Leach. In Leach’s twisted logic, Carlos’ connection to the cloning labs gave him all the more reason to hate his superior.

All the walking to get Kieran back to the Nest had resurrected a burning sensation on his hip where the Bio surgeon had taken some of the bone to patch his jaw. His people kept telling him that his pain wasn’t real, that he shouldn’t be feeling pain, but they were wrong. Like Kieran, the pain in his head went deep. The intensity of this day’s Cyber encounter and the laser ax accident had caused a flood of feelings and reflection of times past for both of them.

The skin covering Leach’s metal eye socket was tender; exposed nerves, they’d said. He couldn’t deaden the nerves without losing what little muscle control he had left in his face. That bitch knew what she was doing when she gave him a stinging reminder. I’ll get even some day!

With her! With Mama’s boy, too!

Only reason you get to lead, Carlos, is that your mother is the Mother-General. The fact she is your mother is reason enough to hate you. But you did this to me. You made me hate. You should have trusted me, supported me, but you didn’t.

I’m a soldier—a good soldier—probably better than you. I wouldn’t spend all my time on the factory cyberts and their guards. I’d go to the heart of the matter—to Makr Himself—and blow His Ass to space! One look at you and I could tell you didn’t trust me. You should have, Carlos. So I wasn’t “pretty” like you. Our enemy did this to me. All because of you!

You said to wait. “Don’t disintegrate the cyberts just yet,” you said. “We can use them to our advantage.”

How many more will you sacrifice for parts and information? You waited too long. You let them burn me with their lasers. While we waited for you to decide, those same cyberts blew up a building with hundreds of residents. Hundreds, at least, Carlos. Bad enough that the blast nearly took my head off, but to kill hundreds?

“Collateral damage you said. Sorry ’bout that.”

“Sorry ’bout that! Sorry ’bout that” when I called you on it! And you had the nerve to try to have me banished from the Nest for insubordination! But I had friends and Mother-General couldn’t banish her own son..oh, no! She let you off with a warning and demoted you to Captain for the “incident.” It wasn’t an incident. It was collateral damage. For hundreds dead, you get to stay on as an officer.

Me? You tried to discard me like the garbage, but your mother wouldn’t allow it. Is it guilt of having a living reminder of your pathetic leadership, or, are you just disgusted with the sight of some half-human, half-cybernetic creature like me back on your team?

“Bad for morale,” you said, when Mother-General assigned me back to your squad. I can’t believe you thought I was bad for morale after all the damage you personally had caused. “Not a nice thing to say, but it was the reality,” you said.

Well, I know about reality, too. You’ve got me, you bastard, and I’ve got seniority. I’ve got support in the Nest. Not friends exactly, but favors owed. I was out here fightin’ for the Cause while you were still sucking your mama’s teat.

Like it or not, I’ll follow you to your grave. I’ll not “follow” you in the Shadows anymore, but I’ll be there; I’ll even hang on every word like you can do no wrong. You’ll just think I’m on your side, that I’m your loyal subordinate. But the moment will come, and I’ll see you to your darkest hour.

That last thought makes him smile. Lost in his reverie, he almost forgot the servile task Carlos had handed him now.

Kieran, being pulled along almost gently now, was baffled as to how to take him. At times, Harlan Leach seemed so brave and determined, ready to destroy all cyberts. He was a proud warrior, a true patriot. But at times like now he was distant. What goes on in that head of yours? She asked herself and the answer echoed in her mind. You don’t really want to know.

Carlos, why did you send me back with this creature?

“Don’t Read This Book! You’ll Never Look Back!”

Intellectually he knew there was a positive side to these insects, but this was not the time to look for the balance in nature. Instead he focused on the sounds he was hearing to be sure they were truly bees.

If they were truly bees, their wrath seemed to be focused on the two travelers, flying at their faces from time to time. As the chorus cacophony became louder, the swarm’s harassment increased in kind. While Desiree accepted these bees as a part of nature something strange was happening to Harry. For him, the convincing natural music took on a surreal quality, losing its buzz and replaced it with the sound of vibrating violin string blades. The natural music became unreal, too, Harry thought, and familiar. He’d heard this music before in his collection. “The Flight of the Bumble Bee?”

Makr was telling him the bees weren’t real. Why?

True bees were thought to be extinct. Harry knew that they had become extinct in the last few decades when the Bio-polluted atmosphere prevented many flowering plants from attracting their biggest pollinator—bees. Eventually, the flowers adapted, producing an even stronger fragrance, but not soon enough. Both the flora and insects died out, but flowers weren’t the problem now.

Harry thought, maybe they’d bounced back. It had happened before when a species was thought to be wiped out. It only takes a few hardy individuals re-start the population. There could have been some hardy individuals that survived. Like Desiree, he smiled, as he playfully swatted at the bees. But something was definitely not right!

The symphony crescendos and the swarm of bees darting in and out, faster and faster, continuing to assail the two Bios; some bees harassed and retreated, while others seemed to be hovering just slightly out of reach.

“Bees!” Harry picked up his walking pace. “Very large bees.”

“I can see that!” Desiree snapped back as she batted as many away from her as she could. “What do they want? Why are they following us?” She increased the speed of her gait, too, while thrashing her arms about to keep them at a safe distance.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, taking her cue and flailing his arms as well. “Wait a minute…” His thought-blink confirmed what he already knew. They weren’t bees at all, but tiny flying cyberts! “Makr knows we’re here.”

“How do you know that, Harry? Have you seen these before?”

“No, but I can see them as they really are. What do you see?”

“I see bees! Why? What you see!” With a wide-eyed, puzzled look, she answered him as she kept trying to wave the bees away! “Bees!”

“Not bees! Not bees! Cyberts! Tiny cyberts!” Harry froze, powerless to wave or slap at the tiny attackers now that he saw them as flying metal insects. Something held him back. Fear. Sadness. He stopped thought-blinking and saw bees again. Bio bees. He could swing at them now, even batted a few to the ground. They kept bouncing back after he knocked them to the ground. The few that fell were stunned and seconds later crept away unhurt and unnoticed.

“Whatever you’re doing, Harry, is working.” Desiree was gaining respect for this ordinary Bio as he kept battling the swarm of “bees” to the ground. Together, they pelted the bees with their hands, slamming them hard to the ground. More were staying on the ground while others keep flying back at them.

“Gotcha!” Harry exclaimed as he knocked two at once to the ground. As he tried to step on them, they suddenly became metal again. He froze again, unable to crush them under his feet.

A flicker of bright light, a low audible roar and both Harry and Desiree sensed the ground shake. Harry saw his picture of the world change slightly for an instant; for a second, he saw a dreary gray reality in his mind’s eye. It left him feeling uneasy. He was positive Desiree had not noticed it. Why didn’t she notice the shaking, the shudder of their reality? Makr!

The cyberts were bees again. While they were bees, he was happy he was able to knock them down; however, this time, he didn’t dare try to crush them. Some of the bees appeared dead on the ground. At that moment, the rest of the swarm shifted position, moving up and away from them as if withdrawing. The swarm hovered for a moment as if to take one last look before heading away from the duo to the north across the city skyline. Neither Harry nor Desiree saw two of the “bees” that had fallen to the ground and were pretending to be immobilized. These “bees” waited for Harry and Desiree to continue their journey before they flew upward and followed them, staying several yards behind.

While it wasn’t the “Attack of the Killer Bees” that bothered Harry so much, it was the fact that he was powerless to fight them as cyberts—tiny or otherwise, and yet he could fight them if he saw them as Bio creatures. Does that mean he was capable of destroying his fellow man—or woman and not a machine? Not even a toaster. The idea is preposterous but the evidence was overwhelming. Rather than sounding foolish he decided not to share this insight with Desiree. She might send him back Inside and he wasn’t ready for that yet. Not even if he was one of Makr’s pawns.

Please Delete Me, Set Me Free

In Makr’s Shadow, Book One – Symbiosis

In Makr’s Shadow began as an e-book experiment Still, it is a book full of action, terrific characters, twists and different meanings each time you read it. I am seriously considering putting it out as paperback or print-on-demand. What follows is the back story.

The problem was that the leaders would not pay attention.

Needless to say, it was no surprise when the scientists became the anarchists that took the world from its worthless leaders.

There would be one scientist, a genius, of course, who could possibly save the world from falling apart. Humankind had destroyed it. He wouldn’t live to see if he was successful, Neither would any other scientists living who entrusted him with this monumental task. However, they would die, relieved knowing that it was in the hands of a capable, and they hope, good man.

It had to be an evolving artificial intelligence to make the decisions and remake the world; humans had stopped listening. Change was inevitable. 

The hybrid cyber servers already used artificial intelligence (AI) to “match” people as it was colloquially known at the time; it needed AI to adapt to so many unpredictable human variables. And, the idea of “matching” complex human beings meant comparing many variables. The next step was evolution.

Alone the servers were so powerful by being linked worldwide already, and with tons of data and memory stored already; EAI was not far away. Evolving AI, a constantly growing version of AI, allowed the “cyberserver” to literally have a mind of its own under a single program mission. There was no time for many programs here; the machine had to think for itself and make decisions.

The one thing the EAI could not do was change the program. That was imperative!

He had worked on EAI for years; all he needed was a powerful enough platform with enough data. He hadn’t been fan of the Matchmaker program, but he would take advantage of the technology to save the earth now that he had it. His other ideas for control measures would make it safe, he hoped, and he created the greatest evolving artificial intelligence.

The Matchmaker “cyberserver” would operate without emotion. It was the only way. No human interference. It would do what had to be done to save the world–even if that meant collateral damage to what was left of humanity to preserve the species in the end.

He knew it might be a lot, but he couldn’t think about that now. It was up to his machine. I haven’t even given it…er, him a name, he thought. He’ll have to do that himself. He was already thinking of his machine as a living entity. What’s more collateral damage after what the world had been through? Millions of dead? Billions? He would be dead himself before this would be over. It had to be done. There had to be change. We’d come to far. We should have paid attention.

And so it began. One man, entrusted with the solution to save the world, turns the world’s well-being over to a machine. More humans died, the scientist among them, but his fancy re-maker “cyber server” survived and nothing would ever be the same again.

The “cyber server” evolved, first, changing Its formal server name to Maker. It still thought it was a Matchmaker Server since its programmer had not given it a name. After a time, it became an “he.” Re-maker would have been more accurate, but he didn’t know that. He took the literal meaning from  ‘maker and saw himself the equivalent of a god. He would then have everyone refer to him as Maker.

Later, He dropped the “e,” becoming Makr, the One and Only. It was still pronounced with the “e;” however, dropping the “e” made the artificial intelligence feel unique–more so than He already was.

Why? He was a hedonistic, self-absorbed machine that needed to be worshiped. Once he had saved the world and its indigenous specie, while modifying a few flora and fauna to assist the ecosystem to thrive again. Humans, in his program, were to remain as human as possible, with no mutated genes.

On the first day…He began to save the world from falling apart. That was the east part.

On the seventh day…after the world was saved from total annihilation by the elements…the world was different.

Makr determined the world was not safe from humans. Not yet. Somewhere between the first day and seventh day, Makr created SensaVision, a means for the population to live in any way and anywhere it desired. Although pure fantasy, few rejected the idea. Why not live it up?

No one really cared for people any more; not the ones Inside, not the the ones Outside. Being around people had been dangerous–not knowing whom you could trust, so fantasy was the perfect solution. Long gone was the concept of money. So, a person could think about living a wealthy lifestyle. SensaVision made every person, rich or poor, Inside, comfortable and happy. A person could have any life he or she desired. Some even wanted a simple life–poof– if he or she desired; or, a dedicated, useful work-life–done. Any of it could change at any time. SensaVision detected the Bio’s least satisfactory moment in his or her psyche and righted it. Nothing could go wrong.

It could, but it hadn’t happened yet.

Makr continued to evolve. He had a dark side as anyone can. He, through His mobile cyberts placed humans (he called them Bios now for simplicity sake) in storage.

Bios saw the storage units as buildings still standing or that the cyberts had built or rebuilt as a place to give Bios a temporary home. SensaVision made that a reality.

Makr’s Bios were data that you stored, moved, repaired, restored, and deleted. Cyberts reported a significant number of Bios registered as missing. Had that number only been one percent, it wouldn’t have mattered, but ten percent was a significant number to have avoided being placed in containment. He had created His own army mobile cyberts of varying shapes, sizes and purposes to rebuild and repair the planet. He needed to adjust that number and purpose.

Makr did not write programs. He was coded to create solutions, no matter how abhorrent the solutions might seem to humans (Bios now). If he couldn’t move Bios to storage, repair or restore them, He would delete them to reduce the numbers. Simple problem solving. Makr was as logical as a machine. After all that’s what why he was created, and why he created a world that statistically could be potentially perfect. When his program ended, there would be a perfect society (PerSoc) running this planet. All had to be perfectly planned and ready, but He had time. Cyber never died. Bios did though.

Inside the perfect prison resided 90 percent of the entire human population. The 90-percenters followed like sheep trying to stay alive. They took the easy life out. A chance at paradise.

The other ten percent refused Makr’s “invitation” to live Inside; in truth, they managed to hide from the cyberts who came for them. A few realists saw friends taken by force, and it did wasn’t in their best interest for the same to happen to them. The ten-percenters’ logic: they had survived while the world was falling apart that surviving in a stink-hole world–even as decrepit and disgusting as this–it was better to stay here. At least they were alive.

They didn’t know how many had survived the failing world. Most likely the ten-percenters came from the minor political groups and activist groups. These were the ones who chose to live in the reality they knew was coming. Certainly not much political action going on here. For them, the world Outside was dark and inhospitable, but it was real.

Even this ten percent of the society or population was not going to think alike, so they fell into natural clicks. Some mini-societies, some barbaric, and some mysterious. It became a slice of the world’s divided population once more, but most dedicated to listening to others, trying harder to get along no matter the differences. One basic rule: if you didn’t agree, stay away. It wasn’t like this was paradise; it was at least purgatory if not hell.

Some ten-percenters hid better than others, some developed different defense mechanisms or rationalizations, and they all had varying degrees of hate toward the machines–the cyberts. For some, calling themselves Evangels after the political group, that hate turned all the way around and they came to worship the strongest being on the planet, Makr, the One and Only.

Still, the one thing they did have in common: they didn’t want to get caught by these strange metal creatures who inhabited this viable but ugly world with them. Among the splinter groups, there were other one-percenters now, extremists who scared the hell out of the other 99 percent, both Insiders and other Outsiders. Inside, they were the boogeymen, dark, apparitions–Death’s messenger that would sit and wait for anyone who ventured too close to do whatever horrible creatures do.

Outside, the Shadow People weren’t nearly so bad and their hygiene seemed to improve some, but they warred with the machines and didn’t care who they hurt in process. Collateral damage was abominable.

The Shadow People lived in the ancient underground transportation tunnels and sewers. They were seldom spotted topside, nor did they want to be. This one-percent group had once been helpful with its strong survival skills, but now its fought a war it couldn’t win. The Shadow People killed thousands, if not millions of humans with the fall-out or collateral damage while trying to damage the cyberts.

The Shadow People thought collateral damage could be avoided if they weren’t the only ones fighting this war. One percent of the ten percent who lived in reality actually fought their jailers. The ninety percent who lived Inside were oblivious, living in fantasy worlds.

These Shadow People wore rags, and often reeked from not bathing enough, lived in the shadows and became one with those shadows. They were not like the others. The Shadow people knew the human race was in danger of extinction here and were determined to do something about it. But they had secrets–many secrets–these one- percenters who lived in reality.

Meanwhile on the Inside, SensaVision was unable to control the bad dreams of one single Bio. That same Bio had an unusual ability. He could see through illusion to reality. He was paying attention. Everyone who lived in reality did, too. They had to pay attention or die. Or, die trying.

I am anxious to start on another book, a supernatural suspense, action thriller that takes place in Central and South America. I’m going to need a linguist, a zoologist, whose specialty is in that part of the world, and current knowledge of drug production and transporting.

The Endangered One Percent

In Harry’s Reality, it is the one percent that is the most endangered. They aren’t the last of their species, but they may be the first to go the way it looks because they are the only ones fighting for the human race. Now, that Harry, an Insider who sees through SensaVision fantasy, who knows how it used to be, who may be the one to lead them out of the Shadows has joined them.

He could be an Insider spy. There is that. Outside you don’t take many chances. And, you don’t trust strangers. “I never trusted him.” “He’s no leader.” “He’s a coward.” “Can I kill him, Carlos?”

“Not now.”

That is not an actual blurb, but a quick thought-blink, as Harry would say. He does that, too. Below is lighter moment that turns into something else. That something else I didn’t supply, but just to show you that the novel isn’t all that dark, here is Harry trying to have a normal assignation or “date” as we call them.

On appearances alone, this match-up didn’t seem unusual. It was his usual dinner with intimate talk to follow. In the past, he entertained his dates by showing them portions of his vid collection, but they had seldom been as excited as he was about them. More often they were shocked that Harry dared to break the law by showing them to someone else. Did Makr know? Of course, He did; Harry never saw any of those dates again. Onward, he pledged to be more compliant.

He sensed something was different. There wasn’t the usual tension. There was sexual tension, yes, but not the kind of social tension when people stand back and ease into a social pairing. So, what else was different? The instructions for this date were minimal. Harry usually watched a few hours of Makr-approved vid programs or talked with a SensaVision counselor before having a date for dinner.

Without the necessary detailed instructions, Harry was going to have to improvise. Odd that Makr should allow an uncontrolled match-up. He caught himself questioning the logic of it all. Go with it, be a different Harry—a new and improved version, he told himself. Makr knows best.

He jumped up rather quickly from dinner, startling his guest.

“Surprise!” he said, remembering and relishing the act of saying the archaic word. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What’s a ‘sur-prize’? Is that the word?” she asked, clueless to what he was talking about.

“Inquiring minds want to know,” he said, and grinned. “A dessert—a special dessert.” He raised one eyebrow and smiled conspiratorially at the use of his own trivia.

A bit shaken, but more stirred, she gave him an intriguing ‘I’m-interested’ look.

“The surprise in not knowing until the last second,” he continued. “I make it myself. The recipe’s not on the Cyber menu.”

Harry eyed her suspiciously, looking for clues to her guilt or innocence in some plot to catch him at this most vulnerable moment. As he was about to reveal the real Harry, he felt unprotected, exposed—with his pants down—figuratively speaking.

“Shall we?” Harry said in his most charming voice as he offered her his arm for the trip to the kitchen.

“Yes. Why the hell not?” She accepted his offer. “I’m up for something new.”

That didn’t sound like something an Insider would say, but Harry brushed it off as refreshing.

In the kitchen, Harry ordered Annie to put herself away until morning. As soon as the Cyber cook left the immediate area, he went to the freezer and took out three containers of different flavored ice cream.

“Do you like ice cream?” Harry grinned. Of course she did, or they wouldn’t have matched.

“Yes, of course,” she answered cautiously. “Doesn’t everyone?” she quipped as she buckled up for the unknown and the unexpected. So far, he hadn’t shown her much of either.

“The rest is personal,” he announced.

Next, he proceeded to make the two of them a giant sundae in a single bowl, topped it off with some of his favorite sweet, fruity, and nutty ingredients—then after she added some of her favorites, he topped it off with lots of whipped cream. This sundae was not just a sundae or a combination of flavors, it was a union of individual preferences—a shared affinity only he and Donna could have. Harry was beaming with pride in his creation.

Now, for the experience…

With spoons at the ready, Harry and Donna clinked them together in a toast to the unknown and unexpected delights they were about to share. Harry began first by dipping his spoon in the sweet concoction and offering it to her. Still in her devil-may-care mode, she took it with a flourish, closing her eyes. The result was dizzying. She opened her eyes widely, letting Harry know she loved it, and fed him a spoonful of her choosing. Then, the silliness began.

“It’s good! Wonderful! Mmm!” She and Harry couldn’t stop talking. Trivial exchanges of words. Happy emotional remembrances. They swapped happy ice cream memories. Childhood memories. Ice cream dribbles. Harry laughed and wiped her chin. She laughed and wiped his. More laughter.

“Alarm! Alarm!”

Laughter stopped in midstream. They both became very quiet—and serious.

“There is an unsanctioned presence at the door.”

“Who is it? Home Security, identify.” Even though exposure to the rebel lifestyle had prepared him to look over his shoulder even at home now and then, his heart skipped a beat.

“The presence is not registered. Repeat. Presence is not registered. Cyber security notified.”

Harry knew the Cyber security would take only a few minutes to arrive and remove the intruder. He switched off the automatic door security system, and the door opened. It was Desiree.

“Hello, Harry.” Pause. “I see you do not lack for company, sanctioned or un-.” She smiled, but it seemed somewhat hypocritical.

Both Harry and Donna looked like dirty-faced children, shiny with streaks of chocolate and strawberry ice cream, and dried whipped cream; guilty of wild abandonment and irresponsible behavior. Harry, unable to contain himself, blurted out: “Desiree!”

Silence.

Why didn’t she say something—anything? The pause was too unnerving, so Harry broke the silence.

“I…I’m….I’m glad to see you again.” Still no response, so Harry stumbled on uncomfortably. “Uh…uh…this is Donna.”

“I see,” she finally said rather coldly. “I didn’t know you were ‘friends’—is that the word, Harry?” The ice cream had given them away.

Audio Clips–the Next Best Thing to Video, etc.

Scene note: Kieran O’Shea is blind from an earlier incident and is being led home by Carlos’ senior sergeant. Don’t forget to look at my past few blogs for a coupon code allowing you to download a free digital (any format) copy of Harry’s Reality. Imagine hearing this scene rather than watching a video slide show promoting my novel. Which do you think would be more effective?

“Don’t pull me so hard, Harlan!” She struggled and pulled her arm free. “I can walk. Talk to me,” she ordered. “I’m not a child.”

“So you aren’t.” There was always something unsettling about that voice. Sergeant Harlan Leach was a scumbag, but he was also a ruthless survivor. After all, he had so far effectively evaded the cybert forces after the accident even with the loss of some of her Stealth garments. He was still a loathsome human being. He expected all others to bow to his self-serving, cold-hearted authority. It was time and experience that had made him Carlos’ chief sergeant, not strength of character. Hard times require hard people, and he was a good soldier when it counted.

Harlan hooked his arm gently around hers and guided her. Maybe he’s not so bad after all? Or so she thought until she felt the fabric of her cloak moving away from her skin as if picked up by the wind… There is no wind! Then a touch of her breast! Then she felt his touch lower and lower! She recoiled, tearing away from his grasp.

“Damn you! Damn you, Harlan! Haven’t you an ounce of decency?”

“What for? We live like rats. Might as well act like ’em.”

“You know why.”

“The Nests protects us,” he sneered.

“We’re all in this together.”

Now she is beginning to sound like Carlos.

“So what!” He was in her face. She felt his stinky hot breath when he opened his mouth. “I don’t need anyone. I can take care of myself…”

“I’m sure you can, Harlan.”

“…and I take what I want.” His tone was rough, edgy and menacing.

Sensing that he was reaching for her again, she swung her right arm back and forth wildly, hoping to keep him at bay, but she missed him palm forward, and struck him with her harder back-handed return—on the face, she guessed.

“Ow,” he squealed. “What’d ya go and do that fer?”

“Some of us aren’t ready to join the rats yet.” She hoped she was reading him right but he backed down too easily.

“Sorry.” He almost sounded genuine. Almost.

“What is it you really want, Leach?”

“Nuttin’. Just wanted a feel, tha’s all.” He sniffed. A cold? Bloody nose, more likely? The thought of that made her smile—which was not at all what he wanted from her.

She laughed hysterically as one can in Stealth gear —it was more like the body shaking really.

“Did you run out of cybersex toys? I’m surprised at you, Harlan. Taking advantage of a blind woman. You stupid bastard! Open my Stealth cloak for a peak and we’re both more exposed. Is that what you want?”

Silence.

“No answer, Harlan? Is it because you know I’m right?” Still silence. Has he left her? “I know you’re here, Leach. I can still smell you.”

I can just leave ya here, Bitch, he thought, standing belligerently a few feet away. Let the Cleaners get ya! Not exactly the kind of action you’d like, I’m sure. You got Carlos in your dreams, Honey?

While her depraved companion kept his thoughts to himself, Kieran was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his silence.

“What no words, Leach? C’mon deal with me. Not thinking about leaving me here, are you?”

Who’s bluffing now? She was worried he might do just that—abandon her. She wouldn’t survive for long without the others. Maybe that’s best. Stop thinking like that, Kieran, she told herself.

“Getting you home safe—what’s in it for me?” He reached for her again. She thought she smelled and felt his presence but she heard his cold voice and could tell it was safely distant. Maybe he was planning to leave me to the Cyber street cleaners after all.

“What’s in it for you?” she responded incredulously, a whispered shout. “Your life, Asshole!” Then she spread it on thick. “If I don’t show up, guess who gets blamed! Not me, Sugar. You better find yourself another Nest.”

If I could just see your face, right now… Damn you!

“You know Carlos is just waiting for an excuse, don’t you?” she taunted. “Or are you dumb enough after all to be unaware that Carlos merely tolerates your presence while he is disgusted with you?”

Leach was aware, and knew his own survival to be more important than sex. He muttered something unintelligible.

“All right, damn it!” He touched her arm, which made her jerk it away. “I said I’m sorry. Now, let’s go.”

Pausing for a second to assess the situation, she moved her arm back and allowed him to get hold of her sleeve. He led her by clutching and tugging on the fabric in such a way that he would not even pinch her skin.

“Yes, Sergeant,” she saluted mockingly.

Leach dismissed her tone and escorted her at a safe distance, mindful not to touch any other body part but her arm. Damn bitch won this time, he thought. In fact, he practically forgot the incident with Kieran O’Shea even as he and she zigzagged silently through the Shadows back to the Nest. In his estimation, she was only a slut not worth giving a second thought.

However, what she had said about Carlos was true enough. They hated each other with a passion. Leach had hated Carlos for a long time. Through the fabric of his Stealth cloak, he ran a finger along the scar on his face where a Bio eye should be—a constant reminder of his hatred. He moved his fingers to the stainless steel socket that held a mechanical eye. There had been no cloned eye for him—too much damage to the bone structure, nerves and tendons. He had had to have an artificial, cybernetic one after the Bio docs Outside tried unsuccessfully to graft bone from his hip because the eye socket from his clone had not worked either. Too much damage to the facial structure and optical nerve they had said. His mechanical eye had its own pathway to his brain.

In the end, he went back Inside to a Cyber surgeon that, even with its perfect skills, could only make him part hated machine and part hideous human “to keep him operational.” For Leach, saying the operation was a success but the patient had died, was not just cliché. He was worse than dead; he was nothing. The machines did not even seem to notice when he got up and left to walk back Outside. He was an irrelevant Bio worth a quick repair to keep him pacified. Not even worth deleting.

I could have been a real leader but who’d pay attention to me with these hideous, raw scars and exposed metal-marked face? I look too much like the enemy.

I have always planned to do an audiobook as well as a traditional print copy of Harry’s Reality, but not self-printed. I have a good excuse for no audiobook. No studio. I may do some audio clips and post them on this site; I may even leave the background noise in and see how it does. However, I do think good audio clips can be just as effective as an art presentation turned into a video. Isn’t it really little more than moving pictures and information.

Early on I tried to publish Harry’s Reality traditionally, but at that time it wasn’t ready. It hadn’t been professionally edited, but I went through three agents who thought it worthwhile and received positive feedback from publishers, but no offers. I did, however, receive a handwritten letter from one publisher that encouraged me to re-write Makr as it was titled then to become what it is now: Harry’s Reality.

The question is always: if it is so good, why did you publish it as an e-novel instead of using traditional publishing? Impatience. Time. Wanting to move on. Wanting to test the new medium for writers and see if it was as some claimed–a better way to go for some writers. Harry’s Reality was written off and on over a long stretch of time and has gone through many gyrations. It has even been in present tense. I liked it. No one else seemed to–do it’d not in present tense. I was tired. E-books finally made sense.

I have heard others talk about why they write e-books, and this is what they say: “my subject matter has a limited audience,” or “the publishers have a handful of bestsellers and won’t publish new writers,” or “I don’t want to mess with all the prep work to get it to the publisher and the waiting.” The best one is “you have to be a celebrity to be noticed.” True. Whatever sells books. We, e-book or self-published hard copy writers, have to go door-to-door using the social media electronically so to speak. The fact is our e-books or self-published books still have a stigma attached as poorly written or researched, and most people like paper. I still like my novel. I aim to make it paper, too, but not on my dime.

One thing I do know. I will do some audio clips of Harry’s Reality. Tell me what you think.

My next book won’t take as long as Harry’s Reality to write and will require more research. More on that one later. I may start out trying to publish it traditionally. Who knows what the market will be like then? Right now, it’s a mess.