Ginger Smith's Blog

Rod Serling of Twilight Zone fame is one of my all-time favorite writers. I can immediately pick out his turn of phrase and razor-sharp diction from all the other writers in the world, and it’s what has made this show some of my favorite TV ever.  He touched on so many universal themes in his tiny morality tales.  Even though the show will be 62 years-old this year, it’s still as timely today as it was then, which is quite a feat in our world where news changes minute by minute and technology keeps a similar pace. 

The Twilight Zone has inspired many great reboots of itself as well as other shows like Black Mirror, so I thought it might be worthwhile to look at some of my favorite episodes of the Zone to try and find out what made them so powerful.

“It’s a Good Life”  This great little episode was based on a story originally written by Jerome Bixby.  It’s the story of a monstrous little boy with the power to do anything he wants with his mind. When he doesn’t get his way, horrible things happen.  You may know of Bixby’s work from Star Trek: The Original Series – he’s the man we have to thank for the mirror universe!  Serling wrote the teleplay based on Bixby’s story.  While it has an unconventional introduction, I’ve always found it incredibly compelling, mostly due to the fear of the parents and fellow community members of Peaksville when dealing with Anthony.  While it’s not full of blood and gore, the threat and menace of a whole community held hostage by a child is compelling. The story is just as good if not even more frightening.

“A Stop at Willoughby” Rod Serling himself wrote this tale of an overworked, overstressed executive named Gart Williams.  Williams has been pushed to his limit when he tells off his boss and walks to his office.  His secretary asks if he needs anything, and he says he needs a “sharp razor and a chart of human anatomy showing where all the arteries are.” Classic Rod Serling line.  If you’ve ever worked a stressful job, you might know the feeling of William’s desperation.  The pressure and strain of Williams’ life lead him to falling asleep on the train home and dreaming of a provincial 1888 town called Willoughby.  He wakes up back in his anxiety-ridden life and the threads of his hope are stretched thin by dealing with his shrewish wife who criticizes his dream of a more serene life. At a moment of desperation, she turns her back on him, and he’s only left with one fateful choice.  I don’t want to give away the ending, but like many TZ’s it’s got a fabulous twist.

“Walking Distance” This is the fifth episode of the Twilight Zone and another Serling story.  Martin Sloan is another overworked executive who is looking to escape his stressful present, a repeated theme of Serling’s.  Stranded when his car breaks down, Sloan walks back to his hometown and realizes it’s not his hometown of the present – it’s his hometown of the past.  As he walks the streets until late evening, Sloan decides “to put a claim in on his past.” Like Gart Williams, he’s desperate to find some shred of peace.  His father, however, tells him he has to go back: there’s only one summer to a customer and this is young Martin’s.  Something about the father’s speech there, twists me up inside every time I watch it.  Go-check it out for yourself. Unlike Gart Williams, Sloan finds his happiness by looking ahead instead of looking behind him.  All in all it’s a wistful, hopeful episode that has become one of my favorites as I get older.

“Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?”  This one is one of the more lighthearted Rod Serling written TZ’s, and like many of my favorites, there’s a twist at the end.  Six passengers on a bus stop at a roadside café about the same time reports of an alien spaceship crash come in.  Police investigate and find out there are seven people in the café, not six. One is an alien; the challenge is to figure out who it is before the time runs out. This one is just plain fun and keeps you guessing, from the crazy old man at the counter to the voluptuous but aging dancer that catches the bus driver’s eye.  Rewatches are fun too because you look for the subtle hints dropped to clue you into the identity of the alien visitor.

“I Am the Night, Color Me Black” This is probably the most serious episode of the bunch.  A man named Jagger is to be hanged in a small unnamed midwestern town for a self-defense killing of a racist man.  He is convicted due to a corrupt system and good people not taking a stand.  The pitch-black sky above the town makes a silent comment on the day’s execution; the sun refuses to shine in the village.  The execution continues anyway, and it is heard that places all over the world – from Vietnam to Dallas – are being smothered by the same darkness of hate. 

This is a very special episode when you know the context.  Rod Serling wrote this just a few months after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Some have criticized this episode as being heavy-handed with its themes, but that’s far from the case.  This is a man telling a story that tries to grapple with the hate in the world.  Vietnam, Dallas, Birmingham and all the other places mentioned were hot spots of the time period; places where hate seemed to be winning.  It’s just amazing to me how this issue is just as relevant today as it was over fifty years ago, and it’s a great example of why this enduring show is still so loved today.

So there they are, my five favorite episodes of The Twilight Zone. Of course, they’re subject to change at any time because I love them all dearly.  Let me know which ones are your favorites below!

I began tabletop roleplaying when I was seventeen. Being a sci-fi and fantasy geek, it was something I fell into naturally. I kept playing into my 20’s, eventually being the only girl who played D&D, Rifts, Vampire, Werewolf and Call of Cthulu in our group of guys. We had a great time together.

Eventually, the group talked me into running my own game. I hesitantly stepped up from the role of player to gamemaster, but actually found that I really liked it and wasn’t half bad at setting up a story to run my players through. In those early days, I was somehow able to keep the attention of a group of guys playing a pack of chaos-loving vampires roaming San Francisco by night. This was my prelude to becoming a writer.

In my experience, gamers really are a whole lot like readers. Gaming is a continuum. At one end you have role-players. These gamers are into character development. For them, the journey of the character is the most important. As a gamemaster, your job is to make sure that the journey challenges your characters. It should be a crucible of sorts – what comes out the other side is a wiser, more experienced player character. In this case, the storyteller is an alchemist, turning lead into gold.

At the other end of the gaming spectrum are the roll-players. For them, winning the game is all. Screw character development; they just want to power-game their way through a dungeon like a badass, disarm all the traps, kill the lich and get their treasure identified to add up the points. These are the ones who call a sword of berserking a great magic item with a slight drawback. (So what if it makes you kill a few friends – that‘s life, right?) These are the players that die and then erase the name at the top of their barbarian character sheet and say they’re now playing Barg’s the barbarian’s brother, Warg the barbarian. They have fun, as long as the action is constantly challenging them to win or lose, live or die.  Here the storyteller functions as an opponent, providing a challenging experience where the player is not always sure they’re going to make it.

When I started writing The Rush’s Edge, I kept these ideas in the back of my mind. Every reader is somewhere on the continuum of action and characterization. Too much time spent on characterization could make the story slow to develop and boring. But equally too much action without investment in the characters is just not compelling.

I wanted to tell a story that struck the right balance; a story with the perpetual motion of action fueling the character development, which in turn fuels the action. A continuous cycle. Hal Cullen, the main character of my novel, is a genetically and technology-enhanced super-solider called a “vat.” He has been the embodiment of action his whole life. He’s been modified to be able to use his adrenaline rush to fight harder and react faster than a natural born. Hal is doing what soldiers are supposed to do:  follow orders and try to win the game. In the beginning, he is a character for roll-players.

However, when he is released from service, he has to find out who he is in an unfamiliar civilian world.  He travels the Edge with his former CO Tyce Bernon, salvaging crashed ships and trying to keep out of the trouble that seems to lead other vats like him to a bad end. Then a woman – a natural-born named Vivi – joins their crew, and Hal begins to see that maybe, just maybe, he can be more than just a bolt-catcher looking for the next rush. This is where our man-of-action begins to develop and grow, transforming his focus to satisfy the role-player in all of us.

As the story continues, the salvage crew finds an alien artifact that could determine the fate of nats and vats across the galaxy. Our heroes grow closer as a crew, facing shadowy government agencies, vat assassins, ship battles and alien presences. Survival is not promised; death waits at every turn and just when things slow down, they speed up again, keeping the action rolling.

This balance of action and characterization formed the underpinnings of my story, making the times with my gaming group utterly invaluable. Like a gamemaster, I constantly balanced the actors in my story with the obstacles facing them. And, just like my gaming group, I hope my readers enjoy the ride. 

Music helps me write.  Whether or not I have my noise cancelling headphones on while I work, or whether I’m alone and can blast it, I usually have something playing in the background somewhere. 

I’m always fascinated by the idea that a book could have a certain “playlist.”  Certain songs, old or new come to mind and become the anthem of different characters.  Many of the songs I picked for this book were more current than vintage, which is unusual for me.  As I wrote The Rush’s Edge, specific songs became attached to the characters for me.  Here’s a list of them.

Hal was my favorite character of the book.  His whole life he’s been programmed to fight the enemy and protect the natural borns in his care.  So naturally, these songs found their way onto my playlist. 

“Gladiator” by Zade Wolf was a natural choice and discovered early on in my crafting of Hal’s character and background.  It had a strong beat the very start that made it a “Hal’s on the rush” sort of song.  The chorus says it all, “Picked a fight with the gods, I’m the giant slayer.  Boneshaker, dominator, Freight train, wrecking ball, I’m the gladiator.” If anyone’s a wrecking ball, it’s Hal.“Seven Nation Army” by the White Stripes is a great one for obvious reasons.  When Hal makes up his mind on something, no one is going to change it.  Except maybe Ty and Vivi.Another “Hal’s on the rush song” was “Start a Riot” by Duckwrth and Shaboozey from the Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse soundtrack.  “What’s Up Danger” from that same soundtrack wasn’t a bad Hal song either. I listened to both of those a lot, especially when writing a fight scene.“Run Wild” by Thutmose & NoMBe was another great one.  If this isn’t a Hal song, I don’t know what is.“Veteran of the Psychic Wars” by Blue Oyster Cult was another one that seemed to fit Hal and probably Ty as well.  They’ve certainly been through some things at the hands of the ACAS.

Ty was a little harder to pin down.  I think I’m still putting his character together every time I write him.

“Heavy and Rolling” by Mark Ronson is a song about a guy and his car, but I think it could just as easily be about Ty and the Loshad.  I think, for Ty, the Loshad is about him being free from allowing anyone decide how his life (and Hal’s) is going to go.  I imagine when Ty left the ACAS, found Hal again and they started salvaging, he was pretty weary of life in general.  The freedom of being with his best friend and having the Edge at their feet had to be “a way to move his weary soul” to quote the song.“Everything is Broken” by Bob Dylan is another Ty song.  From his point of view, the Coalition is a broken thing.  All those dreams he had when he was younger to be a part of the ACAS and have his service mean something have been broken.  It’s not that Ty is a pessimist, but he’s seen what the universe can do to vats and everyone else and it’s not good.  He’s determined to protect the family he’s got from whatever shit the universe is going to throw at them, and in that way, he and Hal are amazingly alike.“Things Have Changed” by Bob Dylan also exemplifies Ty’s attitude.  He’s seen a lot in his time in the ACAS and by taking Hal with him on the Loshad, he’s decided to get what peace he can for the two of them.

Vivi’s songs are a little more complex because her character is more that meets the eye at first.  Vivi’s been pretty sheltered her whole life in the Inner Spiral, but she learns a lot about life through her experiences with Ty and Hal.  While Hal is on his own journey to be a hero and fully realize his own potential, Vivi’s got to shake off her sheltered upbringing and painful past to realize what she can be.  So the book is about Vivi’s journey as well as Hal’s.  The very fact that she’s able to open up and trust Hal after her history says a lot about her inner strength.

“I Can’t Lose” by Mark Ronson is a song that became Vivi’s from the first. On this one, I just can’t explain why, except that maybe it’s connected to her love for Hal and how it makes her feel to be around him.“Summer’s Gone” by Thutmose and NoMBe.  This song is Vivi’s because it’s all the things she hopes to show Hal in the brief time they’re going to have together.  The reason I think they’re such a great couple is that Hal is innocent about what it means to love someone, and Vivi, through her experience, has the knowledge to bring him along and open up a deeper world of feelings to him. Hal doesn’t understand love, but Vivi’s determined to show him what it means to love and be loved in the time they have together. If you listen to the song, you’ll see what I mean.“Who Wants to Live Forever?” by Queen.  The reason why is obvious if you’ve read the book. 

Other groups/songs inspired me as well.  It’s no surprise that the amazing group Rush is on the list.  Here are a few:

“Busted and Blue” Gorillaz“Tomorrow Comes Today” Gorillaz“Demolition Man” The Police“Too Much Information” The Police“Under the Milky Way” The Church“Underground” Men at Work“Dreamline” Rush“Superconductor” Rush“Working Man” Rush“Show Don’t Tell” Rush“Force Ten” Rush“Don’t Stop Me Now” Queen“I Want it All” Queen

Tyce Bernon checked the address on his handheld, then knocked on the door of the dingy hab unit. He got no answer. Apartments in the lower levels of the station had no doornote, so Ty knocked harder in case Hal was asleep. The scents of frying food and musty ventilation clung to the walls and floor of the block reminding Ty of the hab units he’d lived in for the first few months on his own before he’d joined the Armed Forces of the Coalition of Allied Systems (ACAS). Back then, he’d just been a kid working a shit job, trying to make a living. Eventually, he’d given it up to join the military, figuring it was at least something to do.

When no one answered the door, he concluded Hal was probably out for the night. It was the end of the work week. Upon reaching the station, he’d found out that his friend’s comm number had been deleted, which probably meant the big lug had forgotten to pay the bill and it had been shut off. Ty only had the address he’d been given a few months back, the last time he’d been in contact with Hal. If this wasn’t Hal’s place, and he had moved, Ty knew he might have quite the search in front of him. Rubbing the back of his neck and adjusting his duffle, he turned to see one of the neighbors: a skinny blond woman with a tiny girl child peeking around her legs. The toddler was sucking on her fist, watching him with large blue eyes.

“Lookin’ for Hal?” The woman asked, examining him with interest.

“Yeah.” Ty turned more fully toward her. “I’m a friend of his from the service.”

The thin woman looked him up and down as if weighing the truthfulness of his words. Finally, she decided he was worth telling. “Tonight, he’s either at the fights or at Arlena’s.”

“The fights?”

“Yeah. They have vat fights on the weekend at some of the bars on level 98. Hal works at Arlena’s sometimes when he’s not fighting.”

Ty’s brow furrowed. Hal had done some fighting in the ACAS; it was one way for vats to burn off the incredible energy they’d been engineered for, but vat club fighting was another thing altogether. In most club fights, the two combatants fought until one was unconscious. But sometimes, it was to the death. Omicron, with a large ACAS presence, would most likely not allow fights to the death as they did on some planets like Dela Prime. There were two reasons Hal would be club fighting. One: he needed the scrill, or two: the rush had driven him to seek out danger and excitement the only way he could. Knowing Hal, it was probably a combination of both.

“What’s Arlena’s?” Ty asked.

“You know, a knock shop. He’s a bouncer there. Makes sure the girls get treated civilly.”

A brothel, Ty thought. He was familiar with the term knock-shop from being in the ACAS so long. It was the first place new recruits or vats visited upon their first liberty. “How do you know Hal?” he asked.

She shrugged with a knowing smile. “Everybody knows Hal.”

“Yeah. Do you know what time he usually gets back?”

“It’ll be late, I’m sure. Want me to tell him you stopped by?”

“Yeah. Tell him Ty’s looking for him.”

“You bet.”

“Thank you for your help.” He shouldered his bag again and headed out onto the avenue.

Halvor Cullen had been pegged an elite vat in the service, and really come into his own once he’d posted to Ty’s company. Before that, Hal’s record had been rough. High-strung, with the usual chip on his shoulder, most of his infractions had been for fighting with other vats or mouthing off to superiors. When Hal felt he had a better idea than a CO, he wasn’t quiet about it, so he often came off impertinent when he was trying to help. In combat, however, Hal had been a loyal solider. If you had his respect, he would obey any command. He had an intuitive understanding of tactics and was able to predict what his opponents would do, even better than nat officers who had been through officer training school. And Hal had an ability to get a job done no matter what – he just had this force of will that couldn’t be stopped. Once Hal had settled in, Ty had been able to leverage his personal rapport with him into helping him improve his attitude and choices to allow his skills to really shine. With Tyce directing his focus, Hal had become a leader who could be depended upon and someone Ty trusted with his life.

Maybe being out on his own hadn’t changed Hal. Vats worked well under the discipline of the ACAS, but once released to a life of freedom on the Edge, they often lost focus by chasing the rush that they were bred to crave. Falling victim to the drugs and violence of life at the furthest reaches of the galaxy had been the death of many a released vat. He hoped that he could save Hal from such a fate.

During their service together, he and Hal had become more than just CO and sergeant; he considered Hal family, although he was well aware that Hal might not be able to understand that. Vats didn’t have family – they were taught that they were just tools of the ACAS until the ACAS was done with them.

As the lift doors opened, Ty picked his bag back up and made his way to the nearest place to rent a cube for the night. He paid the grimy looking clerk and followed the hallway back to the tiny room, tossing his bag on the bed. Pulling his handheld out, he began to scan through for the bars on level 98. After a few more searches, he saw Arlena’s was on level 93. He’d check there first, then continue his search.

Ty left the cube and about thirty minutes, two lift rides and a short subtrans ride later, he found himself on level 93.

Omicron never slept. There was a large amount of foot traffic on the station, even this late. Ty wove his way through the people until he reached the large establishment called Arlena’s, which was making a half-hearted attempt to camouflage itself as a strip club. Ty stepped inside, paid the cover charge, and found out from a bouncer that Hal was not working; he was probably fighting down at a club called Bay Triple 0.

Bay Triple 0 was a cesspool that gave new meaning to the word dive. Ty paid the cover charge and entered the front room/dance floor. A bar ran along one side of the room, and the dance floor covered the other side. Not that vats normally did much in the way of dancing besides slamming into each other as hard as possible. He had to yell over the blaring hypnohaze music to order a whiskey at the bar.

“You got fights here?” He called as the cute little blue-haired bartender brought back his glass.

“What?” she asked, leaning in.

“Vat fights?”

“In the back,” she screamed back, pointing.

“Thanks.” He lifted the glass in acknowledgment and sipped at the liquid passing itself off as whiskey. It wasn’t. Grimacing, he polished it off before setting the glass down and heading in the direction she’d pointed him.

He pushed his way through the crowd into the fight area. There was a ring, enclosed by carbon fiber chain link, and people crowded around as close as they could get, watching the fight in the elevated area.

A female vat was fighting a nat twice her size. Ty watched them go at it a moment, then shifted his eyes to the crowd. There was another bar along the back wall, where drinkers were turned watching what they could see of the fight. While making his way over, he saw a doorway and a familiar face watching the fight.

“Hal!” he called.

Hal didn’t see him for a moment. Ty worked his way nearer and called again – this time his former sergeant looked toward him immediately and grinned. “What the hell? Ty?”

They met a few steps from the door. Hal hesitated, obviously unsure as to what he was supposed to do. Ty could tell he wanted to salute, but held back, realizing that neither of them were in uniform. Ty settled Hal’s indecision by shaking his hand and pulling him in for a one-armed hug.

It wasn’t until he pulled back that he saw Hal was on a strong rush. His friend’s eyes were black due to his enlarged pupils and his body was unable to keep still. Had he fought already tonight? Ty didn’t see any wounds or bruising on him.

“When did you get here, sir?” Hal asked.

“Hey, you can cut the sir. I’m out of the ACAS. For good. I just got here a couple of hours ago. What the hell happened to your comm?”

“Uh… I had to let it go for a while.” Hal said. “I’ll pick it back up when I get the scrill. I can’t believe you came to Omicron.”

“I told you what my plans were last time I talked to you.” Ty said as he looked around again. The vat in the ring had apparently defeated her big opponent while they’d talked, and they were readying the cage for the next fight.

“Come on back here. It’s quieter,” Hal gestured, leading Ty into the locker room. “I’m next up, but we’ve got about ten minutes before.”

Ty sat on one of the benches and Hal sat across from him. He was jittery, leg bouncing up and down. A vague stirring of unease tiptoed down Ty’s spine as he watched it. “How long have you been club fighting?” he asked.

“Couple months.” Hal said, turning his head toward the door at a sudden increase of noise from the crowd.

“Hal, look at me.” Hal’s eyes focused on Ty immediately at the note of command in his voice, and Ty had to remind himself not to use Hal’s trained responses against him. “You all good?”

“Yeah, Cap. It’s just the amp.”

Amp was a combat drug used in the ACAS to focus a vat and increase their stamina and abilities past a regular rush. They would give the soldiers amp when the combat was particularly dangerous or hard. With amp an injured vat could keep going past the limits of normal human endurance, which was probably why they were using it for the fight. He’d never seen it make Hal jumpy like this, however.

“I think it’s a bit more than just amp.” Ty said. “Look. I can loan you some scrill. You don’t have to do this tonight.”

“Yeah. I do. Signed a contract to help this guy Tarshan out of a bind.”

“Who’s Tarshan?”

“Vat from the 14th. He got in trouble with a couple of legbreakers and to get him out of it, I sort of agreed to do a couple of fights for him. His girlfriend lives in a hab unit near mine. It’s no big deal. I was fighting before I got the job at Arlena’s.”

Ty raised an eyebrow, wanting to order Hal not to fight. He had to remember though, that they weren’t in the ACAS anymore, and he had no right to force Hal to do anything. “Why doesn’t the guy do his own fighting?”

“He lost his leg, and he’s messed up pretty bad on null sometimes. I had to help him or these dudes will do something to the girlfriend and her kids.” Hal shrugged, raking a trembling hand through his hair. It was obvious the adrenaline was fully taking effect. The more Ty found out about this whole set up, the less he liked it. It said a lot about Hal that he wanted to help someone who sounded like they were in pretty bad shape, but this whole thing left a bad taste in Ty’s mouth. “I gotta do this one and another next week, then the guy’s square.”

“Cullen!” There was a call from the door. “Get your ass out here.”

Hal stood up. “Gotta go. You’ll be here?”

“Of course. You sure you’re good to fight?”

“Good to go.” Hal tugged off his shirt. He’d already removed his boots but wore a pair of loose cargos instead of fight shorts. It was what he’d always fought in when he’d been in the ACAS. He headed to the door but stopped when he reached it. “Glad you came, Cap. You sure you’re not gonna take off?”

“I’m not leaving.” Ty promised. “I’ll be here when you’re finished.”

Hal gave him a nod, then exited to some yelling from the crowd. Ty followed him, watched him enter the ring and tried not to worry.

“I’m fine. I can’t even feel it.”

“Stop twitching.” Ty frowned as he removed the towel from Hal’s lip and watched the blood begin to ooze out once more. “You need wound glue…maybe even a couple of stitches.” Besides the injury to his lip and the blows to the ribs, Hal had taken a headshot that had sent him to the mat for the better part of a ten count. He was still on a rush, though, and feeling no pain.

“Hey, Cullen. Neutralizer.” The same man who had called Hal out before threw an autoinjector at him. Hal caught it easily with his amped up reflexes. “See you in a few days.”

“Yeah.”

Ty took the injector and examined it. It was unmarked and therefore suspect. If a vat on amp didn’t get the neutralizer, they would suffer horrible muscle spasms, but Hal had a while before all that began to happen. “You’re not taking this until I know what’s in it,” Ty muttered, shoving it in his pocket and reaching for Hal’s shirt. “We’re going to a medcenter.”

“I feel fine,” Hal said, tugging the tee over his head.

“Yeah. That’s what worries me.” Ty pulled Hal’s boots from the locker and handed them to him. “Get these on and let’s go.”

The nearest place open at this time of night was a vat clinic near Ty’s cube. The information forms were minimal and after watching several go in ahead of them, Ty and Hal were led to a medbed.

The medic who came over was an older woman, with short reddish-brown hair. She eyed Ty, her gaze dropping to his wrist to check for a vat tattoo, before making her way to the patient. “Hi. I’m Medic McCabe,” she introduced herself. Hal was still holding pressure on the cut on his lip. “You must be…Halvor Cullen?” she asked as she checked the datapad.

“Hal,” he replied against the bar towel.

“Good to meet you. Can you or your friend tell me what’s wrong?” she asked as she applied a few sensors and retrieved a medscanner.

“He fought in one of the bars down on 98. They dosed him with amp, but I think someone slipped something else in there.” Ty said.

“We’ll take a blood sample and see,” the medic said. “Let me get a look under that towel, kid,” she asked as she leaned in.

Hal let it drop, and she hummed to herself as she examined him. “Okay. Let’s get this bleeding stopped first, then we’ll deal with everything else.” She cleaned the wound and applied a coagulant. “Try to keep still for me, sweetheart,” she urged. “I’m going to use a wound glue to seal the cut instead of stitching it.”

“I’ll try.” Hal said, “I just feel kinda jumpy.”

She nodded and worked on his lip for a moment. “Okay, you need to let this alone for one or two days. No fighting, solider.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Were you ACAS?” Ty asked.

She smiled at his question but kept her eyes on her work. “Yeah. Did my full time and got out. I need a blood sample.” She pressed the medscanner to Hal’s arm, then set it to analyze. “Did they give you the neutralizer too?”

“Yeah.” Hal glanced to Ty, his pupils still wide.

Ty dug in his pocket for it. “It’s not marked, so I told him not to take it,” he handed her the medjet. “You can give him the neutralizer here right? I’ve got the scrilla to pay.”

“Oh yeah. No problem.” McCabe narrowed her eyes as she examined the medjet. “I’ll test this too. Be right back.” She carried the medscanner and medjet out of the curtained bay.

“She reminds me of that medic that took care of you on Bel-Prime,” Hal said.

“Yeah-”

There was a sudden scream outside the bay, the sound of clattering and running feet.

“You motherfuckers—let me go!”

“Grab him…Shit! Watch out!”

Hal was on his feet in a moment, his senses hyped as he stepped outside the bay. If not for Ty’s restraining hand, he might have gotten involved in the disturbance outside, but there was no need. Three orderlies were restraining the irate vat, and McCabe came running with a medjet. She injected the vat three times and slowly, he sank to his knees and passed out. “Strap him, in case he wakes up again,” she instructed the orderlies.

“C’mon. Lie back down.” Ty could feel Hal shuddering with adrenaline. “They got it under control. Some guy with a bad reaction to something, I’m sure.”

“Yeah.” Hal let himself be led back to the medbed. He had begun to look pale. “Ty, I…I’m not feeling all that great. My heart’s pounding like a plasma cannon and my head’s about to burst.”

Ty sat beside the bed, providing a steady hand on Hal’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. She’ll be back in a moment.” If she’s not, I’ll find her, he thought.

But McCabe returned a few moments later, looking unruffled from the earlier disturbance. “Okay. Got the results back. Hal, they gave you amp and boost-a street drug. Bet that combination had you feeling invincible, huh?”

“Yeah,” Hal said.

She checked each pupil, then read his heartrate on the medscanner. “You’re coming down a little, but that disturbance out there didn’t help, did it?”

He shook his head.

“Let me give you something to allow you to be more comfortable while the drugs in your system wear off.” She readied a couple of medjets. “You’ll have to sleep here a little, for observation, okay?”

“That’s fine,” Ty answered for him.

She smiled at Ty, then gave Hal two injections. Immediately the vat’s eyes became heavy.

“Gonna be here when I wake up, Cap?”

“When have I not, Hal?” Ty smiled. “Go ahead and take a nap.”

“You two serve together?” McCabe asked.

“Yeah,” Ty said. “He was my sergeant. Did you give him the amp neutralizer?”

“Yes. That medjet you gave me had enough trank to take down a bihorn. Might not want him to work for those guys again. Seems a little skeezy to me.”

Ty sat back down. “I wouldn’t let him, but he’s doing it to get a friend from the 14th out of some hot water. He’s got one more bout in a week.”

McCabe leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’re seeing a lot more vats from the fights coming in on overdoses. Whoever’s cooking that stuff up doesn’t know what the hells he’s doing. That guy out there had enough jack in him to pull a CD-8 gunship down a landing platform.” She shook her head.

“Look, can you provide us with our own amp and neutralizer for his next fight? There’s no way to get him not to fight…but I can’t let them pump him up with gods knows what.”

She thought a moment. “How about if I come along? I can bring the amp and call-in station security once the fight is over – that’ll get this thing shut down without connecting it to you or your friend.”

Ty was relieved at her offer. “Sure. Look, I’m willing to pay you for your time.”

McCabe shrugged. “I’m not worried about that. You just tell me the day, time and place and I’ll be there. If it’ll save some lives, I’m happy to do it.”

Ty was jolted from his light sleep at Hal’s sudden movements. Raising his head and looking over in the dim night lighting, he saw Hal had rolled out of the bed in the cube and was in a crouch, his hand on the wall to steady himself as he looked around.

“Hal. I’m here.” Ty said from the lounger on the other side of the room. Hopefully, it would help Hal reorient himself. “Everything alright?”

“Shit.” Hal sat down heavily on the bed, head dropping into his hands. “Where is this?”

Ty got up and came over with a bottle of Clear that had been stowed in the room’s rechiller. The bottle would probably cost twenty scrills or more due to the outrageous mark up, but he didn’t care. “I brought you to my cube. You were tired after that medic helped us out, and I didn’t think I’d be able to get you all the way back to your place. Here. She said you’d be thirsty.”

Hal took the bottle and drank the electrolyte enhanced water greedily. “A medic?”

“You were drugged at that fight. We got you fixed up at the medcenter.”

“Oh, yeah.” He finally nodded, obviously putting the pieces back together. “Hey, I’m starved.”

Ty mentally cursed himself. Hal’s metabolism was probably in overdrive, trying to heal the injuries he’d suffered. He would be hungry. “Let me pull on my boots and we can grab breakfast. Then we can talk about the plan.”

“We have a plan, Cap?” Hal asked.

“Yeah, I think we do, buddy.”

The waitress placed a fourth plate of flatcakes in front of Hal and shook her head as he drowned them in syrup. She smiled kindly at them, then headed off for another table. Ty eyed Hal’s bruised face and the healing cut on his lip. It would take him two, maybe three days for a cut that deep to be completely healed.

“So,” Hal said, gesturing with his fork. “What’s the plan, Ty?”

Tyce took a sip of his coffee. “Well, I have enough scrill to put a down payment on a ship. My idea is we head out to the Border and do some private corp tech salvage. They’ve opened it up out there to independent crews, and I judge we could live pretty well on what we could earn. I need someone I can depend on to have my back, and there’s nobody I trust like you.”

Hal stopped eating and sat his fork down, regarding Ty earnestly. “Cap, you serious?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah. We might need to add a tecker and supply officer eventually, but just us two to start. What do you think?”

“Hells, yeah,” Hal said. “I gotta do that fight next Friday, and I’ll have to quit Arlena’s, but then I’m in.”

“That’s great. And I got your back on the fight. How’d you feel about that medic last night?”

“She was five by five.”

“Yeah, well we’re both gonna be there for the next one. They gave you a mix of street drugs, Hal. We’re not letting that happen again.”

Hal paused, seeming to think about that a moment. Then he spoke. “I’m glad you came back, Cap. You know I’ll do a good job for you, just like I always have.”

“I never doubted you, Hal.”

After breakfast they returned to Hal’s hab unit. He opened the door and brought up the lights. “It’s not much, but you know, it’s ok for me,” Hal said. “I’m gonna get a shower. You’ll be good out here?”

“Sure,” Ty said. He brought the feed on, and its drone covered the sound of Hal’s shower. He walked into the tiny kitchen area, about the size of the head in his quarters on the Galantra, his last ship. He opened the cabinets and found them empty. There were some ration bars, and three bottles of Clear in the rechiller, but that was it. He frowned, but reminded himself that Hal knew nothing about cooking, and would have no idea how to stock a kitchen. The only reason Ty knew anything himself about cooking was that he’d had to make do a lot as a kid after his mother died.

He made his way back to the living area, which consisted of some cheap hab-unit furniture, and a scratched display for the feeds. The dirty air filter smell he’d noticed outside was worse in here. He was glad Hal was coming with him. This was not a good place for anyone.

He checked his handheld, scanning the texts. There were his copies of the obligatory discharge paperwork from the ACAS, and a message from a used ship dealer on Dalamar. There were three ships that fell into his price range. The first two were simple pleasure yachts, without the features that would make them a working ship that could transport cargo. The third one, however, was a beauty. A J-class cargo hauler with crew quarters for four or six, a galley, and a spacious cargo bay. J-class ships were older models, but this one looked completely serviceable for its age. Maybe he could get Hal to come with him and check it out.

Hal entered the living area from his room, scrubbing a towel over his hair. “I sent a text to Arlena’s and quit. They’re putting my pay in my account this afternoon.”

“You quit already?” Ty raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, sir…I mean yeah. I wanna be ready when you need me. I still have the fight on Friday, but I’m good until then.”

It was at that moment that Ty realized Hal was all in. He’d taken the information that Ty needed him and completely cut ties with everything on Omicron. Ty realized he’d have to be careful; Hal would take everything he said as an order – he was just wired like that. Still, he felt better that Hal would be under his watchful eye. “That’s great. Actually, I might have a lead on a ship. It’d take us a few days to go check it out, but you’d be back by Friday.”

Hal turned, immediately heading back into the bedroom, “I’ll just grab my go bag.”

When they reached Dalamar, Ty and Hal rented a cube not far from the spaceport. They’d caught the early shuttle out from Omicron and having Hal with him had made the day-and-a-half flight to Dalamar a lot more interesting. They were walking to find this beachside place for dinner that Ty had called up on his handheld.

“We’ll meet with the dealer first thing tomorrow morning…” Ty said, trailing off when he noticed that Hal had stopped and was no longer keeping up. “Hal?” Ty glanced at the vat. They’d come around the corner of a street to see the ocean spread out in front of them and Hal had stopped dead.

He shook his head. “It’s…it’s big,” he managed.

“Yeah.” Ty glanced in the same direction as Hal. As he carefully observed, he began to understand. “You never got stationed anywhere to see the ocean before, huh?”

“We flew over one once, but I never got to see it like this.” Hal shook his head, glancing at Ty as if asking for leave to cross the street to the water. Ty knew from his own training that the permission-seeking was a holdover from Hal’s conditioning at the hands of the ACAS. He would have to keep reminding Hal that he could do whatever he liked. “You don’t have to ask me. Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.” Hal’s programming wasn’t being reinforced through his interface anymore, so Ty hoped the compulsion might fade a bit with time.

They crossed the street to the sand dunes beyond, Hal leading the way.

When they were at the shoreline, Hal stood silently, watching the large waves turn to smaller ones that rolled in gently to brush the sand. “Do they always do that?” he asked Ty.

“Do…do what?” Ty looked up and down the beach, unsure of what Hal was referring to.

“Come in like that. The waves. Do they always roll in like that?”

“Yeah.” Ty said with surprise. “They do.” It occurred to him that even though Hal was an amazing fighter, with a keen mind for strategy, he was in many ways so inexperienced as to be almost childlike. When Hal had been his sergeant, there had not been time for noticing these types of details. There had been a gulf between them, the separation that always existed between commander and commanded, nat and vat. It would be up to Ty to bridge the divide. He was glad to do so and would be damned sure Hal adjusted well to being out of the ACAS. Helping Hal navigate the real-world challenges he was sure to face was going to be job number one.

“I’ve seen the ocean on the vids, but…it’s different to see it for real.” Hal said, taking it in. They both watched the water for long moments. “I’m really glad you came to Omicron, Ty,” Hal said, his eyes still fixed on the horizon where the light blue sea met the sky.

“I told you I would.” Ty said, remembering the conversation they’d had on the day Hal had been released from service. “You didn’t believe me, huh?”

“I just didn’t know.” Hal shrugged, finally glancing at him. “I mean, I’m just a vat, and a pain in the ass one at that. I thought you might change your mind about us working together.”

“Hal, one thing I don’t do is change my mind about my friends or my family. You’re not my sergeant anymore. You’re more than that now.”

Hal blinked in confusion a second. “What do you mean?”

Ty smiled at him. “We’re family, Hal.”

“Vats don’t have family,” Hal said, looking thoroughly baffled, just like Ty had imagined he would.

“You do now.” He could tell Hal didn’t quite grasp what he was saying because it went counter to everything he’d been taught in the ACAS. He would just have to show Hal what he meant. “Hey, what do you say we go find this restaurant, then figure out where we’ve gotta go tomorrow to take a look at this ship?”

“Yes, si-, I mean sure.” Hal said, catching his mistake. “What’s the ship’s name?”

“The Loshad,” Ty replied.

The ship was exactly what Ty expected. The two of them toured it, saw the possibilities, and they took it for a test flight. It was practically made for them: silver hallways, spacious crew quarters, a large cargo bay and a standard easy-to-use bridge. There was even a computerized assistant.

When they returned, Ty had put down the initial payment. He’d banked most of his pay while in the ACAS and had quite a bit of scrill saved. Hal’s eyes widened when Ty transferred the money. “Cap?” he asked when the sales associate stepped outside. “That was a lot of scrill.”

“It’s fine,” Ty said. “I’ve had this planned for a long time.”

By the afternoon, they had both stowed their belongings aboard the Loshad, which had been brought to the spaceport to fuel up. “It’s late,” Ty said. “Let’s purchase some supplies, then buy dinner. We can sleep the night here, then head out in the morning.”

“You want to be awake to monitor the ship out for our first flight.”

“Yeah. Then I might feel comfortable leaving that kind of thing to the ship’s assistant.”

“Understood.”

“You decided on which quarters you want?” Ty asked.

“How about the ones near the engine room?”

“Why those?”

Hal shrugged. “I don’t know. I sleep better with some background noise, you know, like the ship’s engines.”

Ty wondered if it had something to do with the programming sessions Hal had undergone. “How is it? Not having the nightly programming?”

“It’s strange. I dream a lot about being in the field.”

Ty nodded. “Me too.”

Hal rubbed his head beside the small vertical scar on his temple. It was where the vats were implanted with interfaces as children. “Its…weird…not being in service anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

There was more, but Hal was hesitant. Ty waited patiently, but he didn’t go on. Finally Tyce said, “Give it some time. It might take a while to figure out what you want to do… it’s that way for nats too. And listen to me. If you realize later that where you want to be is not on the Loshad, that’s not a problem. I want you to decide for yourself how the rest of your life is gonna go. You don’t have to do anything to please anyone.”

“I like having a job to do, Ty. It feels good to finally be needed for something.”

Ty weighed Hal’s response, eyeing him so thoroughly that the vat slid his eyes to Ty’s left shoulder. It was a holdover from programming; in the ACAS it was considered insolent for vats to eye superior officers. Ty kicked himself – he hadn’t meant to trigger the response. “Okay. If that feeling changes, you just let me know. How about let’s go get dinner? I’m starved.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Hal said.

One thing about vats, they were always hungry, Ty thought. “Good, ‘cause I’m broke. You’re paying this time.”

They made it back to Omicron by Friday and were prepping for the fight. Hal looked up at Beryl as she injected him with her own amp, not the one he’d been given when he came in the door. Ty could tell when the rush hit, and this time Hal seemed focused and ready to fight. “Thanks, Beryl,” he said.

“You bet, soldier,” she glanced up at Ty after checking that no one else was near. “I’ll put in the call to station security after his fight.”

Ty nodded, stepping back as Hal got to his feet. “Okay, be careful out there. You know what to do, obviously.”

“Yeah. Don’t get hit.” Hal grinned, putting in a mouthguard. It was the only safety equipment allowed in the match.

“Janev. It’s you and Cullen up next,” the fight coordinator called.

Hal approached the door, then glanced around looking for his opponent. Janev came from the back of the room, a huge red-haired slab of muscle. If he wasn’t a vat, he’d been jacking himself up with some sort of growth hormone, Ty thought. He was huge, and he was glaring in Hal’s direction.

Hal stepped up, not intimidated. They locked eyes and began to draw close before the locker room manager pushed them apart. “Save it.”

“I’m gonna fuck you up.” Janev said.

“Let’s go, motherfucker,” Hal retorted.

“Hal. Halvor!” Ty grabbed Hal and pulled him back. The locker room manager sent Janev outside to prevent them fighting beforehand, and in a few moments, he called for Hal.

He stalked outside, ready to fight.

Hal was holding his own, despite the fact that Janev was an overgrown monster. Ty watched with dismay as Hal took another punch to the head, staggering back. He’d taken a hit in the first three minutes that had sent him to the mat. At least the thug he was fighting had some sense of honor and waited for Hal to get to his feet before starting to whale on him again.

“He’s gonna be fine.” Beryl said, sounding more like she was convincing herself.

“That guy’s juiced on gods know what,” Ty growled. “I shouldn’t have let Hal up there.”

They both cringed as Hal took a body blow that probably cracked a rib. When they looked back up, though, they saw that Hal had responded with a rapid series of jabs and finished off with a blow to the temple that scrambled Janev’s interface. He stumbled back, but Hal didn’t let up; he followed with more body blows that sent Janev falling.

The vat twitched a bit on the mat, then lay still. The crowd screamed. As soon as the ref counted Janev out, Hal left the ring. “Come on, Hal. We’re getting out of here.” Ty said, walking with him back to the locker room to get his shirt and shoes.

Beryl waited outside, sending a message as Hal and Ty entered the locker room. “Hey, Cullen. Here’s your neutralizer,” the locker room manager said. “You interested in fighting next week?”

Ty took the medjet. “No, he’s done.”

“Who the hells are you?” the man sneered, leaning in to look Ty up and down.

“His manager,” Ty replied, standing his ground. Then Hal was there, pushing between them.

“Back the fuck up,” Hal growled to the locker room manager, shoving him back with both hands. Ty knew Hal was still hyped up on the amp and the rush, and so did the employee, who wisely stood down.

“Okay. Let’s go.” Ty said, pulling Hal back toward the lockers.

In just moments, Hal was dressed and they met Beryl outside. “You make the call?” Ty asked.

“Yeah.” She said, shouldering the medical bag she’d brought. “Security’s on the way now. Let’s get the hells out of here.”

They made their way back to the Loshad, where Beryl did a scan of Hal in the medbay. He had a broken rib, a sprained ankle and busted knuckles – none of which he could feel due to the rush and the amp. Beryl administered the neutralizer and it was away to bed so Hal could sleep off the rush and heal up.

“Thanks for helping us,” Ty said as he walked Beryl back to the ramp. “You sure I can’t pay you?”

“Nah,” she shook her head. “If I can cause trouble for a place like that, it makes my job at the clinic easier and might save some lives. We have enough problems with the vats that just can’t handle life on a normal level, much less the ones that get dosed while chasing the rush.” She eyed him for a beat. “Where are you two headed?”

“Salvaging metalhead tech out past the border,” Ty said. “I’ve applied for some permits with a corp called LanTech.”

“Then you’ll be back around sometime. Check in with me, Ty.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Let me know how the big guy’s doing, ok?”

“I will.” Ty nodded, watching her walk down the ramp and away.

After she left, Ty locked up the ship, then glanced around the Loshad’s bay. The ship was theirs, they had a job and the Edge was at their feet. Their prospects were good, and Ty hadn’t felt this positive in a long time. He wondered where the future would take them.

Author’s Note: The Rush’s Edge is not a novel about children, but I wrote “Sharpening” while I was working on my novel as a way to explore Hal’s training as a young rook at the hands of the ACAS. This story takes place during the second year of Hal’s training and about seven or eight years before he is transferred into Tyce’s company, the Iron Glaives.  Here, Hal’s apparent age is around 13-14 years old.  At 18, Hal “graduates” vat school and goes to boot camp and specialized training before being put into service around 19 years of apparent age. 

This story is for those of you who have supported and loved The Rush’s Edge and those of you who will in the future. Thank you.

“Twenty scrilla Cullen figures it out,” Doctor Marsh said.

“Nah, I put my bet on Bykov. He’s a tough little bastard,” Doctor Starnes scrubbed his chin as he watched the screen in front of him. Nothing was happening yet; the lights were low and all of the rooks were locked into programming mode. The Simulcaster was reinforcing their training and augmenting it with the information they would need to be successful in this mission.

“Bykov’s just a hammer,” Marsh retorted as he remotely deactivated the Simulcaster and watched the feed. “Cullen is a finely-honed blade.”

“They’re all blades.”  Dr Balen, head of the Vanguard Assault Troops training facility, narrowed his eyes as he peered at the feed over their shoulders. “Like an ancient blacksmith, we take the new vats like raw pieces of steel, heat them in the furnace of the forge, hammer them, bend them and draw them out. Then we temper and sharpen them into blades for the ACAS.”

Leave it to Balen to wax poetic. Starnes rolled his eyes where Balen couldn’t see. The old researcher was partially right, though. The vat students had gone through a barrage of tests, real-life situations and training since their “birth” from the exowombs two years ago. But of course, their training had started earlier—when they were the physical size of a one-year-old, they’d been implanted with an interface that controlled their learning and training. They “appeared” twelve-years-old with the growth enhancers and accelerated learning, but in reality, there was only about five years between fetus and young adult.

Besides accelerating their learning, the implanted nodes shaped their very thought patterns and reactions. Starnes knew today’s test would give the scientists more information to make decisions about which rooks would move on to more advanced training and which would need reprogramming; however, Balen held the last word over any recruit’s future.

“I’ll watch the test from my office,” Balen instructed the researchers as he headed for the door. “We’ll compare notes at the end.”

“Yes, boss,” Starnes nodded.

“Simulation is up and running,” Marsh said, bringing the lights up inside the ship. “Let’s watch the show.”

#

Halvor was the first awake. He was always about five minutes ahead of the others when shaking off the programming-induced sleep. He had asked Dr Leah about it one time, and the psychiatrist had told him his mind just woke up faster than the other kids. Then she’d smiled and put a hand on his shoulder and told him it was because he was smart.

Hal already knew that he was smarter than most of the vats except Ivan. He didn’t know this in an elitist way—it was just a fact. His main desire was contributing what he had to the safety and security of those in his batch. But Ivan…Ivan was a whole lot smarter. The lanky, quiet boy was better than most of them at his academic studies. The doctors had been watching Ivan a while; he was one of the special ones that got to spend extra time in Balen’s lab. Some of the rooks were jealous of that, but Hal didn’t really like Dr Balen. There was something about the doctor that caused his skin to creep when he heard the man’s voice, so he was happy with being considered second best or less. He took care not to stand out too much, especially when Balen was watching.

His mind always woke up before he was able to move his arms and legs. It took a few minutes to get to what the techs called “fully operational.”  While he waited for the rest of his body to wake up, he tried really hard to remember what he was being taught by the voices in his head. Dr Leah had told him about them one time. They are teaching you, Hal, she’d said while putting away the data pad she used to test him. She’d turned in her chair and looked up at him with her glass-gray eyes as she spoke. They are making you smarter.

Sometimes she made him look at pictures and make up stories about them. And then sometimes she let him draw his own pictures. He hated drawing. A month ago, he’d drawn something that made her cry, and he’d felt horrible. Even now, he couldn’t remember what he had drawn that had been so bad, and so he worried that he might do it again by accident. He could remember the page had a lot of red on it. Maybe she didn’t like the color red, or he was really bad at drawing. He was only allowed to draw pictures in her office, so it wasn’t like he got a lot of practice at it. He never wanted to see her cry again, though, so he didn’t draw anymore. Or if she made him do it, he would only sketch happy things, like a smiling face, or the plant she kept on her windowsill. Those were safe subjects.

Doctor Leah? What are the voices teaching me? he’d asked again that day.

Everything you need to know to survive on the battlefield. Just sleep and let it happen, okay?

She had been tense and worried, but he had not wanted to push. Yes, Ma’am, he’d replied.

Last night, he had laid in his bed, looking up at the ceiling of the facility while he waited for the implant in his head to put him to sleep, but now, as he opened his eyes and was able to look around, he saw that he wasn’t in the vat barracks on Chamn-Alpha. He was in a different room. Same types of bunkbeds, but a different space.

Now that he could move, he unhooked himself from the sleeping harness he’d been strapped into and stood up to explore his surroundings. Passing his friend Mateo’s bed, he heard the small boy groan and mutter in a voice thick with sleep, “I am the fist of the ACAS.”  Hal knew the creed by heart. The weird thing was he didn’t remember learning it. Probably learned it from the voices, he thought. He moved on, continuing until he reached a hallway near the quarters they were in.

He looked out of a small porthole and his mouth fell open in a stunned gasp. It was space—a sky of black with little stars flung out upon it like jewels. Was this real or a sim? He had no way of knowing.

He began to hear murmuring in the quarters, so he turned back. The other rooks were waking up. Before he’d reached the door, an alarm blared. “Emergency. Captain to the bridge,” a computerized voice warned. It repeated every 15 seconds.

He entered the barracks room to see the students either sitting up in bed blinking like they’d just been born or like him, investigating. Other than the noise of the alarm, there was nothing. No adults. No commanding officers or doctors in white coats. Just them.

“Get up,” he ordered them, seeing the need for someone to take control. “Come on. We have to get to the bridge.”  He glanced at Mateo, who was sitting up in bed with tears glimmering in his eyes. That was bad…crying was always bad and no one ever did it. Crying got you reprogrammed.

“Hal? What’s going on?”  Mateo sniffled.

“I don’t know. Stop bawling. We gotta get to the bridge.”

The boy nodded and wiped his face. Hal turned to the other rooks.

“Come on. Get up!”  He ordered again and pulled Mateo out of the bed by his arm. Two girls and two boys had already gathered around them and were waiting to see what he would say. Three or four more boys and a bewildered girl were looking between Hal and another kid on the other side of the room – a black-haired mountain of a boy named Bykov. He had always been the last to wake up.

Two weeks ago, Hal and Bykov had fought in the mess hall. Hal had caught the hunk of muscle trying to fold Mateo into one of the lockers in the gym area of the complex, and they’d had a shoving match; Hal had gotten the best of him by an all-out rapid attack. Several days later, Bykov had grabbed a metal lunch tray and slammed it into Hal’s head as retaliation. They’d beaten the shit out of each other with fists while the doctors and researchers stood on the sidelines and coolly watched. Finally, after an eternity of blows, some of the soldiers had come to separate them. Nothing had been settled that day, and their hatred of each other had continued to grow ever since.

“Come on!”  Hal automatically prioritized the threats and decided Bykov was not dangerous, at least in the moment. He led five of the vats with him down the hallway. “We need to turn that alarm off and find out what’s wrong!” he yelled over the blaring siren. He could feel his heart pounding with adrenaline. He was rushing–the physical response to stress that allowed vats like himself to take rapid action. Everyone’s eyes were almost entirely black; their irises had dilated to a tiny ring around their pupil as they shifted into a strong rush. As he glanced at Mateo, however, he noticed that his friend’s eyes were still normal. The small boy was wiping tears from his face miserably as Hal pulled him along. “You gotta stop crying,” Hal told him as he dragged him around a corner. It was hard not to feel frustrated with the sobbing child. Mateo wasn’t ready for this. He won’t make it. It made Hal feel sorry for him and he didn’t know what to do with that.

Prioritize, he told himself.

After two wrong turns, they found the bridge.

Hal pointed to an empty seat on the bridge. “Sit there, Mateo.”  If the boy was in the corner, he’d be less likely to get in the way. Hal looked around, naming the stations in his head. All ACAS ships were set up the same way—the Captain’s chair set above all the others. Below were the navigation, communications, weapons, and engineering stations.

He went to comms and began to look at the display. Letting himself react instead of thinking, he moved his hand to a flashing button and toggled the switch. The head-splitting siren went off. “Okay. Everyone take a station and tell me what the displays say.”

The boys and girls each went to a place and then began reporting. “Hal, it says here the engine’s in shutdown,” Talor, the boy at engineering called.

A girl named Harlow had taken the navigation station. She was one of Hal’s friends, and they were often paired up in classes. They worked well together. “The ship’s orbit is decaying. We’ve got to restart the engines, Hal.”  She turned, and her long red hair, pulled up in a high ponytail, whipped over her shoulder. She gave him a tight, worried smile, and he found himself wanting to reassure her.

“Okay, that’s good to know. Mateo, Damon and Dalla, stay here. If we get the engines restarted, you need to reestablish orbit until we can figure out what to do. Damon, see if you can raise someone on the comms.”

“You bet, Cap,” the boy replied with a salute.

Hal nodded to show his appreciation before turning back to the girl beside him. “Come on, Harlow. You’re with me. Let’s get down to engineering.”

#

Dr Starnes and Dr Marsh glanced at each other. “He figured that out pretty fast,” Starnes murmured, looking at the chronometer on his datapad. “Fifty-seven seconds faster than average.”

Dr Marsh nodded. “What’s the deal with that crying rook?”  All the kids had numbers, and Starnes saw Marsh had written the kid’s number on his datapad. “Number 12?”

“Mateo Jond. Consistently low scores. Rush index much lower than normal, despite adjustments.”

“If he’s not making gains by now, he probably won’t be. Send him for reprogramming?” Marsh asked.

“Yeah. Got it.” Starnes made a notation.

“Uh-oh, trouble ahead,” Marsh said as he watched the video feed from the hallway right outside of the bridge.

#

“Where do you think you’re going, Cullen?” Bykov asked.

Hal turned to see that his nemesis had quickly gathered the other stragglers and headed for the bridge. “Down to get the engines restarted,” Hal said flatly, widening his stance and readying himself to fight if necessary.

“I didn’t give you permission,” Bykov said.

“You’re not the captain, and I didn’t ask you. If we don’t get the engines fixed, we’re all gonna die, moron.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harlow said stepping forward. “Move out of the way.”

Bykov hit her in the face with a closed fist before Hal could react. She was on him quick, but Bykov blocked three of her punches before one of her jabs hit him in the gut. He cursed and angrily shoved her to the floor, using his size and weight to advantage.

Bykov quickly motioned to the kids behind him. “Take the two of them to the ship’s brig.”

“B-but…” one of his crew stuttered.

Bykov turned to glare at the boy.

Hal took the distraction to launch himself at Bykov. He slammed into the bully and they both tumbled to the floor. A punch to Bykov’s solar plexus disabled him for a moment and a second one busted his nose. He kept pummeling his foe until Harlow’s voice shook Hal out of the adrenaline haze. Breathing harshly, he climbed to his feet while Bykov moaned on the floor in front of them.

“The rest of you go to the bridge and do what Damon and Dalla say.”  Hal eyed them, his irritation barely held in check, “or at the least, stay out of the damn way. C’mon.” He gestured to Harlow and they continued down the hallway.

“You okay?” He asked Harlow in a low voice when they’d put some distance between themselves and Bykov’s group.

She nodded, and Hal saw the spreading bruise developing on her face. It made him want to go back and finish Bykov for good. “I’m okay. Hardly feel it with the rush. Do you think this is a simulation, or are we really on board a ship?”

“I think it’s real,” Hal said. “But if it’s not, it doesn’t matter. Either way we have to work with the facts and take actions based on them. It’s what we’re expected to do.”

She nodded. “I’m glad…” she trailed off, biting her bottom lip.

“What?”  He stopped, turning to her.

“I’m glad it was you we were trapped with, Hal,” she said, a blush flushing her features. They continued down the hallway.

#

“Cute pair,” Starnes said. “He likes her. I’ve seen the two of them working on target practice in their free time.” 

“She’s definitely a good second officer. Give her a leader to follow and she’ll get the job done. I think I did her gene editing,”  Marsh boasted. “She’s developed exactly like I made her,” he said in the tone of a god pronouncing his creation to be good.

#

Hal and Harlow searched for the armory on their way to engineering, but found no weapons inside, so they went on to the engine room.

It was lit in red, but other than that, the ship was silent. “Okay. That’s bad,” Harlow said. “The engines are in complete shut down.”

“Yeah.”  Hal knew it as well. Last month, they’d taken a field trip to tour an ACAS ship. They hadn’t gone on a ‘ride’ but the ship had been powered up and he remembered how the thrum of the engines felt. That sound was missing now. Hal found the main panel and hit the restart.

“Engines offline.” The computer replied as the error note sounded. “Safeguard program engaged.”

“Okay.”  Hal pulled the bottom of the panel off and called to Harlow. “I need light. Can you find a…”

“Got it.”  She was coming back toward him from one of the equipment lockers. She knelt beside him and shined the hand light into the space under the panel.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his thoughts racing over the set up. He knew nothing about engineering panels – he wasn’t trained for them, but his eyes roved over the crystal disks of the computer, as well as the ports and circuits. Then in the back, he saw a crystal lying on the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Harlow asked.

“A memory disk fell out?” he said, holding it up. “It can’t be that easy.”

“Try it in one of the ports.”

He inserted the disk into backup comm control, not really expecting it to do anything. Still, who knew? It might be some sort of error that caused a cascade of other errors. “See if you can restart.”

She tapped a moment at the terminal, then shook her head. “No. It’s not working.”

“Shit.”

#

“It’s a distraction, Cullen,” Starnes said. “Come on. You can do this.”

“I’m cuing the second warning,” Marsh said.

#

Another alarm began to sound, and Harlow looked around the engine room.

“Orbit decaying. Reentry in 15 minutes,” the computer said.

“Damn.”  Hal checked all the crystal disks, verifying that they all were in contact with their ports. “Okay. Let’s reboot the engineering computer, then try a restart.”  He crossed to the engineering terminal and began to enter commands, but it was locked out.

He tried several different passcodes that came to mind, but none of them worked.

“Try Celian.”  Harlow said. “I saw it on the nameplate on the bridge.”

“That’s not gonna be it.”  Hal said, entering it anyway. “It’s not gonna be that easy.”

The terminal beeped at them, signaling an error. Hal cursed.

“There’s gotta be an override code,” Harlow said. “But I can’t…remember.” She rubbed her temple, right by her interface scar.

Hal narrowed his eyes as he glared at the computer. “The codes would all be different. I have no idea what it would be.”

“Thirteen minutes to reentry.”

“Computer, restart engines.” It was a desperate plea that he knew wouldn’t work, but he had to try something.

“Please enter or say the passcode or override code.”

Hal growled and kicked the panel in front of him in frustration. Harlow, Mateo, Damon and the others were depending on him, and he was well aware that the ACAS didn’t abide failure.  Any vat failing the test would be reprogrammed.  It made his frustration climb, and he kicked the panel again before squeezing his eyes shut, trying to quiet the noise in his head that told him to take a hammer and smash the computer to hell.

#

Marsh shook his head. “His patience is short. He’s not going to be able to access his subliminal training in that emotional state.” He made a note on his datapad. “We need to adjust his self-control programming.”

“Don’t count our boy out yet,” Starnes said.

#

“Hal…” Harlow pleaded. “We’ve got to think. They wouldn’t have put us in this situation if there weren’t a way out.”

Hal’s head was down for long moments, but finally, he calmed down enough to speak. “I went over the connectors, and the memory crystals. What am I missing?” He lifted his eyes to hers, seeing the spreading bruising on her face. She was part of his batch, and he was damn sure going to get her back to base. Maybe he’d even space Bykov before they returned. No. Don’t get distracted… he told himself. Revenge wasn’t helpful. He had to focus. Prioritize.

“Hal. Let’s see if we can find a datapad with a manual. There have to be directions and codes for how to do a restart.”

She reached above the terminal to open the cabinet, but it was locked. Hal turned, going for the tool box. “Getting a prybar,” he called.

He came back with the bar and popped open the cabinet. He and Harlow pulled out what was inside and spread it out in front of them.

Harlow opened the datapad that contained the manual, while Hal went through the pile of transparent protocol sheets. “This is taking too long,” he muttered to himself, getting frustrated and tossing them to the side.

Imagine you’re an ACAS nat, he told himself. They wouldn’t be looking this shit up either. They have bad memories, compared to vats. What would you do to ensure that you would have the passcode if you were a natural born? he asked himself.

Write it down somewhere?

No. That was too simple. Or was it? It seemed like something a nat would do. Maybe that was the answer to solving this problem. He began to look around the terminal, peering behind the display and then spying the exo-suit locker beside the terminal. Would it be in there? He grabbed the pry bar and hefted it in his hand.

#

“No!  Use the protocol sheets. Damn it, Cullen!”  Starnes said, thinking that Marsh had been right all along. The kid was going to be just another bolt catcher, not as special as they’d hoped. “It’s right godsdamn there.”

Marsh sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow. “She will find it in the datapad. Give her a second.” They both watched Hal move to the locker containing the exo-suits.

#

“It’s gotta be here. Gotta,” Hal whispered to himself as he pried the door open.

He felt a trickle of sweat run from his hairline down his face as his body temperature crested with his increased metabolism. He tried to wrap his mind around the possibility of failure, but his programming wouldn’t let him. Vats don’t accept failure—they achieve the mission. He’d heard it hundreds of times from instructors and would hear it thousands more before his training in boot camp would be completed. He gritted his teeth and fought another compulsion to kick the cabinets in front of them.

Harlow was intently tapping on the screen in her hand. Hal rifled through the exo-suits, trying to see if there was anything in the pouches, then his eyes caught something…a number on one of the gloves. He disconnected the gauntlet and turned it over.

There was an eight-digit code there—most likely the passcode written by some engineering tech that didn’t want to take the time to memorize the login code. “Harlow-” he said.

“Hells yeah!”  Harlow looked up with a grin.

“I found it,” they both said at the same time.

Hal came up and they compared their codes, which were identical.

“Read it out for the computer.”  Hal grinned.

#

“Holy shit!”  Marsh pounded the console in front of him. “Thirty fucking trials, and we never even knew that was there.”  The suit had come with the rest of the outdated ship, and they’d left everything as it was, operation ready. “How the hell did he find that?” 

“Not everything can be programmed,” Starnes said, furiously making notes on his datapad.

#

A few moments later they had gotten the engines back. Hal hit the shipwide comms. “The engines are active. Repeat, engines are active. We’re headed back to the bridge.”  Then he turned back to Harlow who threw her arms around him in a hug that made them both blush.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get back.”

On the way out of the door, Hal took the pry bar in one hand. Then he went to the tool box and rummaged around until he found a huge Jacobsen’s wrench, longer than his forearm. “Think you can swing this?” Hal asked.

Harlow took it in her hands and lifted it up to swing it experimentally. “Yeah. He won’t take me down again.”

Hal nodded, satisfied. He’d sparred with her enough to be fairly certain that she’d be able to use it in a fight to offset any advantage an opponent might have in size or weight. “Ok. Let’s go.”

Hal only half-hoped that he would find that Bykov had gone off to lick his wounds somewhere. The rush was singing in his blood and the other half of him wanted to end this for good. He got his wish. When the door slid open on the bridge, Bykov was sitting in the captain’s chair, his face still a fearsome mask of blood. Damon and the others were gone, obviously they’d been taken to the brig…or worse. It was not unheard of for rooks to kill other rooks in training. Usually not much was done when it happened. Some just had no loyalties to batch or group.

Hal judged four hostiles. There were six boys on the bridge, including Bykov, but two of them were looking rather worriedly back and forth from Bykov to Hal. He was certain he could flip them back.

“C’mon Becker…Cruz. You’re gonna pick this moron over me?”  Hal said conversationally, glancing at Harlow. “They’re stupider than I thought.” 

“Don’t listen to him. I’m the oldest here; I’m in charge. Take them down.”  Bykov waved his hand in their direction. When no one moved, he yelled, “Fucking take them down, or I’m gonna take you down!”

Hal’s eyes went around the room then centered on the bully. The rush was thrumming through him and kicking Bykov’s ass once and for all was just too attractive for him to resist.  “Let’s just do this with the two of us, Bykov. A fair fight. Unless I beat you too badly last time?”

The power in the room shifted to Hal at that moment, and all the eyes went to Bykov. The bully noticed, and his face tightened with anger. “Fuck you, Cullen.”  Bykov stood up. “Put down the pry bar and let’s go.”

Hal handed the pry bar to Harlow and spoke in a low voice as he waited for the bully to come down from the Captain’s chair. “Harlow, you’re in charge.”

“Of course.  If it’s not a fair fight, I’ll use this to make it so.”  She hefted the bar in one hand and dropped the wrench, deciding the bar felt like it would do more damage.

Bykov and Hal moved into the center of the bridge. Neither of them spoke; they both brought their guard up and got ready to hit each other until one of them was down for good. Bykov threw the first punch—Hal dodged, then hit the large boy back twice with two body blows. It was obvious Bykov was injured from earlier, but he was also angry and rushing and that made him a formidable opponent. Too busy thinking, Hal took a slug to the left eye that caused his vision to blur. He backed up, shaking his head and keeping his guard up as his rush intensified.

“I’m gonna kill you this time, Cullen!”  Bykov growled as he advanced.

Hal struck him with a spin-kick and leaped back, bouncing on his feet. “Come on, you godsdamned coward. Try it.”

They engaged in a flurry of blows, the last of which caused Hal to fall back against the captain’s chair, dazed. He pulled himself up and channeled the adrenaline flooding his system, leaping for Bykov and toppling both of them to the floor. Hal began punching him in the face, knowing he couldn’t let Bykov get the upper hand. It was now a matter of survival. Finally, he felt someone grab his arm, so he whirled and took a swing, causing the other rook to leap back. Then his name, cutting through the thudding heartbeat in his ears.

“Halvor!!”

He looked up and saw Harlow’s face above his own. “Hal, it’s okay; he’s down. You did it.” 

Hal looked down at the silent, blood-covered boy below him and rolled off. Then he looked around the room.

Every kid was watching him warily. He wanted to slump to the floor, but instead he climbed to his feet with Harlow’s help. He had to let them know who was in charge. “You, Becker. Go let my crew out of the brig,” he commanded in a low voice. “And put this one in their place.”  He gestured to Bykov.

“Yes, Captain,”  Becker said, smacking his friend Chall on the shoulder. Together, they came and got Bykov between them, dragging him down the hallway.

“Anyone else not wanting to follow my orders can leave the godsdamned bridge,” Hal said, glaring around the room.

“Sir, no sir,” The wiry kid named Cruz replied. “You have the conn,” he took a seat at navigation, glancing over the display, then over his shoulder at Hal nervously.

Hal limped over to the captain’s chair. “Good.”

A voice came over the comms.  “This test is now over.  Stand down and the ship’s controls will be taken over remotely.”

#

Dr Balen looked up from his display to see Dr Starnes at the door of his office. “Sir, did you see the end of the trial?”

Balen nodded.

“The Cullen rook. Marsh and I think he needs to be tagged as elite.” 

Dr Balen was well aware of Halvor Cullen. The boy had gotten into trouble several times for fighting and sometimes had problems being told what to do. He had not been gene-edited for elite status, but apparently, he was showing a natural propensity for leadership. As much as they tried to select talents and abilities, there was still an X factor; Cullen was proof of that.

“We’ll keep an eye on Cullen. I am not against recommending him for elite training at this point, but I want to watch him further.”

Starnes didn’t like it; however, he relented when Balen raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes, Dr Balen.”

#

When Hal stepped off the ship onto the landing pad at the Chamn-Alpha Vanguard Assault Troop Facility, he was met by a tecker and two scientists: Dr Marsh and Dr Starnes. Behind them were three soldiers. As Harlow came up beside Hal, all the rooks shifted into attention position and remained stationary – waiting for orders, as their programming had taught them.

“Cullen,” Marsh said.

Hal stepped forward. The scientist was looking at the damage to his face. His eye was nearly swollen shut. “You did well up there,” Marsh said.

“I did what was expected, sir.” 

“We have some questions we would like to ask you, after you go through medical,” Starnes said.

Hal nodded. “Yes, sir. You should know that Bykov’s in the brig. He’s going to need medical too.”

“Lots of medical, sir,”  Harlow said from behind Hal. He could hear the grin in her voice.

Starnes seemed a little flustered at that. “Uh…very well. We’ll handle it. Both of you report to medical yourselves, then my office for debriefing.” 

“Sir, yes sir.”  Hal and Harlow began to walk toward the main building, but they paused as they saw two ACAS officers step up to Mateo.

“Come with us, rook,” one said to Mateo.

The boy’s dark eyes widened. “No. I didn’t do anything…”

“Shut up. No talking.”  The ACAS officer put his hand on Mateo’s shoulder and pushed him toward another door, away from Hal and Harlow, who exchanged uneasy glances. Everyone realized where Mateo was going. He’d failed the test and would be reprogrammed.

“Come on,” she said in a whisper, pulling him toward her. “There’s nothing you can do for him. You have to watch out for yourself.”

“Yeah,” Hal said unhappily. He’d protected Mateo and tried to help him for the better part of a year so far, but now there was nothing he could do. Harlow’s desperate blue eyes were enough to keep him from turning around to see Mateo’s wretched sobs. When they couldn’t hear the unfortunate boy anymore, they went inside the cool, clean hallways, following orders and stowing the experience away as a grim lesson in the consequences of failure.

Note: Lane Tyner and Orin Neen are two supporting characters from The Rush’s Edge who met some years before the events of that book. This story details how they met in the ACAS before they were released from service. This story is a little more military sci-fi than my typical writing. It was fun to step outside my comfort zone.

“The Last Aurora”

By Ginger M. Smith

“Tyner.” Cap was motioning for her, so Lane came over, keeping her head down. The squad was crouched between the hulk of a steelshield armored hover transport and the wall of a building as Lane slid the backpack containing the comm unit off her back. “Get me the ship. I need to talk to Telar,” the captain ordered.

Lane set it up and handed the comm mic over to Captain Walsh. The captain wiped sweat from her eyes and spoke: “Colonel Telar, this situation is worse than we thought. The insurgents have fortified hab units and buildings all over the city. We will have to clear it house by house. We’re going to need a lot more troops down here than we first thought.”

Lane wiped her own brow and pushed strands of her sweat-damp black hair away from her face as Cap was talking to the brass. The planet Stendal was a fucking furnace; as a vat would say, it was hot as balls. Lane and her fellow vat troopers sat with their backs against the wall, while several others stood sentinel. All had their weapons in hand and were constantly scanning for threats. The higher-ups had definitely underestimated the insurgent population on Stendal. They were in full-fledged revolt against the Coalition. At first, the ACAS had only sent in the Aurora Company of the 1st Strike Regiment. They’d felt certain Aurora would mop up the problem quickly. However, when the ACAS stopped receiving a feed from the soldiers and couldn’t raise anyone on the comm, they’d assumed the worst and sent more soldiers from the 1st.

“I really wanna get my hands on these fuckers,” a trooper named Myles said. “Payback for Aurora.”

“Hells yeah,” several others muttered.

Aurora Company had been decimated by the insurgents. Their nat leader, a bastard named Bracken, had gathered the natural-born officers and the few vats remaining alive and reported they were attempting a retreat to their transport. It had been the last transmission they had sent. Lane’s company had found the transport’s engine and comm wrecked and the crew dead—left hanging from a nearby tree. So much for local hospitality. She could still see the blood-red eyes and strangled faces of the crew, their feet swaying in the breeze.

Once the ACAS had lost contact with Aurora, they’d sent Dagger and Ion Companies from the 1st Strike Regiment to squash this so-called rebellion. In Lane’s opinion, the rebels were morons for even considering going up against the Coalition and its vats. Vat troops were grown for the ACAS and there was an endless supply. Lane knew they would funnel troops into this hotbed, until the fire was put out and insurgents were dead.

She could hear the sound of blaster fire as the other squads moved their way through the city. Lane knew her squad would see action soon. The physiological reaction to danger which they called the rush allowed vats to think faster, see farther and work harder than their natural-born officers, and Lane’s blood was running hot with it. It was a common saying in the Armed services of the Coalition of Allied Systems that the officers were the brain and the vats were the fist. Together they both fulfilled the wishes of the ACAS, and she couldn’t wait to get started.

A nearby explosion shook the ground.

“Someone wants us to know they have a big slingshot,” one of the vats muttered. The rest of them chuckled softly, but they all realized the danger.

Lane waited, her ears intent on every sound around them.

Cap handed the comm back to Lane and called them all together. “We’re pulling back to the command post and waiting for reinforcements,” Captain Walsh said. “A shitstorm’s about to happen in there.”

The vats were disappointed. “Cap, we can get in there,” Myles said.

Lane saw Walsh shake her head. “We’re pulling back, but I promise you, when we have enough support, I’ll make sure the first crew in will be Dagger Company. Let’s get back to the CP.”

Myles nodded. “Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

Lane respected Walsh. She was a good commander who was intelligent and did her best for the soldiers under her command. It made them extremely loyal. No matter how much they wanted to see action, if Walsh said no, then it was no. Even though the lack of action was frustrating, disobeying a direct order was unthinkable due to their programming. As good a commander as Walsh was, she would have allowed no disobedience anyway.

  The vats moved as one. Lane could feel the hum of excitement running through them as they flowed into an alley that would lead back toward the command post. The dust of destroyed walls and buildings and the scent of sweat from the soldiers around them mixed in the heavy air. The humidity on Stendal sucked; trickles of sweat ran down between Lane’s shoulder blades. She had just reached up to wipe the sweat from her eyes when the zap of a blaster bolt sounded.

Myles, who had taken point, staggered from a shot to the chest and the whole patrol dropped to a crouch at the end of the alley. Lincoln, who had been programmed with medical training, low-crawled up and immediately pulled his medpouch and began treating Myles. He gave Myles several medications, which Lane knew would include an extra dose of amp, a combat drug that helped vats focus and would dull the pain. Most of them had gotten the first dose on the transport down, but a second dose would obliterate the pain so Myles would be able to keep up with them on the way back to the CP, where he could get better treatment.

For the rest of the group, a flurry of hand signs went back and forth between the vats. Apparently, the shot had come from a sniper in one of the windows across the street. Millian, their demolitions specialist, peered above the skip bin they were taking cover behind. A blaster bolt sizzled when it hit the metal, and she dropped back down. Sniper across avenue – 2nd floor, she signed.

Jacen stepped up with his modified blasrifle. Angling himself in the small space between the skip bin and the wall, he lined up to take a shot. His first one missed, but when his target exposed himself to get a better look, Jacen felled him with a shot between the eyes. “Fucker,” Lane heard him curse. Then they’d moved out – Myles sticking close to Lincoln. They made their way back toward the CP, weaving their way in the direction of the outskirts of the city.

They found the source of the explosions they’d heard earlier: burning transports on the avenue. As soon as they got close, small projectiles began pinging off the vehicles. Lane hid behind one, first determining the source of the rounds, then maneuvering to take a shot at the insurgents who were firing at her from inside a nearby hab unit. She could see the remains of vats from Aurora lying behind where she’d taken cover. A vat on the avenue near her was staring up at Stendal’s suns with a caul of dust on her unblinking blue eyes. The thought of ending up the same way throbbed in Lane’s head like an abscessed tooth. That wasn’t going to happen, she thought as she clenched her jaw and looked back over the rear of the transport.

It was then that one of the insurgents decided to make his stand. He stepped out of a shadowed doorway and began peppering the vehicle with projectiles. As she hid, Lane realized the Captain had come up beside her. She signed 3…2…1 and they moved as one to liquidate the threat. Their shots brought the rebel to his knees. He fell forward, his blood spattering the hot alumicrete avenue. He was wearing the mark of the insurgents—an infinity symbol plastered in red paint on the back his black shirt. It made Lane’s blood boil with programmed hatred. She was gripping her gun tightly when Cap put her hand on Lane’s arm.

“Tyner. Focus.” Cap’s green eyes swept over her, and at the command, Lane felt the rush steady.

The fighting had sounded as if it were only a few blocks over, and that appeared to be the case. They pulled back from that direction, taking several side streets. A few insurgent snipers tried their hand at a shot, but no one else was hit as they reached the outskirts of town. They were about two klicks from the CP, and they began to move along the road, spreading out in a skirmish formation. They passed Aurora’s landing zone and several of the vats paused in front of the transport shuttle out of respect while the Cap went on with Miles and Lincoln. Dagger had cut down the dead soldiers earlier that morning on the way in.

Lane went to a new vat named Kalani who was standing alone, fists clenched. “Hey, you good?”

Kalani was grinding his teeth. “Yeah, I just want to get these guys. Make ‘em pay. Let ‘em know they can’t fuck with the ACAS like this.”

“Oorah.” She nodded, casting her eyes around at the dead. A large bronze-skinned vat was lying in the middle of the alumicrete near them. Blood flies were crawling over him as well as  hovering over the pool of sticky red that had spread out underneath him. She could tell he’d been there a while. There was even a blood trail along the road where he’d dragged himself. Poor bastard, she thought. Dying on the hot street in the middle of this city…it was a bad end that made her stomach churn.

Then the dead man moved. She saw his fingertips twitch as if searching the ground in front of him. “Fuck—that guy’s alive,” she called, running to him.

Millian used their short-range comm to call everyone. Lincoln reported that Walsh was taking Myles on to CP with a few others but said he himself would circle back.

Slowly, the rest of the vats drew near. Lane turned the injured soldier over. They all grimaced when they saw the damage. He had taken three shots – brutal wounds, but none of them were fatal. The body shots weren’t what drew their eye, however. It was the damage to his face. Someone had taken a knife to his interface. They could see the skin hanging open, and the small silver gleam of his implant shining against his white skull, where it wasn’t covered with dried blood. Lane glanced at the others. She had the same first aid skills as they did, but she hadn’t been prepped for this.

“Holy fuck. They tried to dig out his implant,” Jacen said in a low voice from behind her. Hatred of the rebel nats caused them all to grimace. They could see where the implant leads had been pried at, and the gleam of the coppery metal strands that connected to the poor vat’s brain were visible as well. One lead looked as if it had been tugged on, but it wasn’t completely removed. When the rebels had gotten bored with him, it appeared they’d carved down the side of his face and left him to die.

The man’s dark brown eyes opened and found Lane’s. He must have been out here at least two days, she thought. His skin was blistered from the heat of the road, and his lips were dry and cracked–he had to be thirsty. She tugged her canteen off her belt and tried to help him drink, but he couldn’t manage it and most of it just trickled down his chin. “We’re gonna get you some help, okay big guy? Just stay with us.”

He looked at her blankly, then cast his eyes to the left when Lincoln, who had just arrived,  dosed him with Meliox. His eyes closed in relief and his breathing slowed as the pain medication took effect.

“Might be better off to just mega-dose him and be done with it,” Jacen said as he scanned the buildings around them. He had less of a heart than the rest of them. Lane suspected he’d been double-dosed with Blue Rendal during his initial training. Docs liked to give you “the Blue” if you were too soft. She’d seen it before. Vats that had a heart before the medication would come back colder than the ice planet Batleek.

“Fuck off. If it was you, we’d drag your sorry ass back,” Lane spat. “Lincoln, come on.”

Together, they carried the large man between them back toward the camp. Seeing that Lane needed assistance, Millian came to help her, taking his other leg. “He might not make it, Sergeant,” she said.

“Yeah, but he’s not gonna cook to death on this pavement on my watch,” Lane swore. “Fuck, I wouldn’t let Jacen stay out there, and I hate his sorry ass.”

Jacen blew a kiss at Lane as he scanned the buildings on the right side of them. Even though he was a smart ass, Lane knew he would do his job and do it well.

Lane thought that it was very likely medics would scrub the soldier once they got him to the medbay. The ACAS didn’t keep dead weight around. After twenty minutes they arrived at the command post, where support personnel were already setting up a mobile aid station. Lane found a cot and they arranged the big man on it. There were several more casualties  – mostly blaster wounds and head injuries. Myles sat on a cot, too tough to lay down.

“I’ll get the medic,” Lincoln said.

“Cap already left to do that,” Myles growled. It was obvious the pain was getting to him.

Lane knelt beside Aurora’s sole survivor as he began to stir and groan wordlessly. “Okay. Stay calm, big guy,” she said, trying to meet his eyes. He fixed on her for a moment before he let out a wordless cry and his eyes rolled back into his head. He began seizing.

“Godsdamn it, shit!” She reached out with an arm across his chest, trying to keep him from tumbling off the cot. “Millian—get someone.”

Captain Walsh ran in behind the medic.  The damaged soldier’s seizures faded into tremors and then stopped. “I heard you found one of Aurora still alive,” Walsh said. “This is him, huh?”

Lane nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

The medic was examining the head wound. “Captain. His implant’s been damaged. I think this one is completely screwed.”

Lane’s forehead creased in anxiety. “Ma’am. This soldier was awake and conscious earlier. He’s…the only one of Aurora left.” Lane faced Captain Walsh, her eyes on Cap’s left shoulder in that gesture of respect programmed into all vat soldiers. “He…he had dragged himself a long way to get back to Aurora’s LZ.” Lane didn’t want to appear to be begging, but she’d seen so many dead vats that day it had begun to weigh heavily on her. Not another one on her watch, she swore. Vats didn’t believe in deities—yet here she was praying. But to whom? The universe? The scales of what was right and fair, always counterbalanced with what was usual and customary?

Lane watched Walsh consider it a moment. The Captain eyed the dirt, blood and worn patches on the stricken man’s uniform without giving a clue to her decision. Lane knew it was a long shot – it was normal to give the word to the medic in such cases and the solider would be euthanized. It was standard operating procedure if the solider was so damaged they couldn’t be of use in one of the reserve or support regiments. Yet, she hoped Walsh would show this guy some mercy. He deserved every chance at survival.

“Fine. Treat him. If he doesn’t show improvement in 48 hours, shut him down,” Walsh put a hand on Lane’s shoulder. “Good job today, Sergeant. Hit the rack…tomorrow’s gonna be a long one.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back,” the medic said. “He’ll need fluids while we get him transported up top.”

Up top meant they were taking him up to the ship that had transported them, the Vetra. There would be better facilities where they could possibly repair the damage to his interface. Lane took the big man’s hand in her own. “Good luck,” she whispered.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

The next day was just as hot as the previous one. Towering black thunderheads glared over the East side of the city. Stress built in the vats like a portent of disaster.

Lane felt the oppressive atmosphere screwing with her vision as she and the rest of Dagger Company began clearing the hab units located in the mid-city. They were broken into groups of four while they made their sweep through each building. She and Jacen, along with Millian and another rook named Reg were making entry into a hab building. She was secluded, offering cover fire as Millian made her way across an avenue with only one source of cover in the middle: a wheeled civilian transport that had obviously broken down on the enemy.

A couple of snipers on their team were providing overwatch from a nearby, already cleared high-rise. The rest of the teams were beginning to set up a CP there.  She knew it was a hotel, but being a vat, she had never been in one before.

Jacen signed for Lane to begin her crossing as he and Millian laid down cover fire. She ran just as Reg threw a smoke grenade. As she advanced, she heard the zip of suppressive fire into the obscuring cloud of smoke. “Shit,” she cursed to herself, crouching behind the transport. As she made her way across the next bare patch of ground, an explosion in her right hip sent her sprawling. When she hit, her right wrist cracked, and then the whole world was pain, smoke and noise.

Jacen pulled her inside the building, so she didn’t get shot by the sniper. Just as they reached cover, there was the distinctive the thump and whine of a grenade launcher. The back of the transport exploded into shrapnel, but they were already safe inside. Jacen eased her down in the front hallway.

Lane slid the pack off her shoulders and then used her good hand to rummage around until she found a vial of amp. She dosed herself; her hip pain settled down to about a five and her wrist was a two. She laid her rifle across her lap, clenching her teeth so her jaw wouldn’t tremble.

Go, she signed. She narrowed her eyes at Jacen, and he read her orders in her gaze. Go and make sure to bring my team back ok. Go kill these motherfuckers and do your job well.

Jacen nodded, and he and the other three headed to the stairwell. Lane settled the blasrifle into her left side and waited, cursing herself for being too fucking slow. If they didn’t make it…well she would know who to blame.

As her soldiers cleared the building above, Stendal’s noncombatant citizens came down the lift and the stairwells. A mother and two dark-haired girls arrived in the lobby and saw Lane with her rifle up and pointed at them. They froze.

“Please,” the woman whispered, pulling her daughters to her. “Don’t hurt us.”

Lane watched her emotionlessly. Then she abruptly jerked her head to the door that led to the basement level. “Go. Stay down there until it’s safe.”

The woman ran, taking her children with her.

The number of people increased as her team sent the innocent down. Some of them ran for the door to take their chances outside, others chose the basement like the mother and her girls.

Blaster fire began to zip through the building; there were screams, and people were beginning to panic.

“Basement,” Lane ordered them, noticing that it was becoming impossible to keep the pain out of her voice. She closed her eyes, feeling nauseated.

When she opened them, she didn’t know how much time had passed. There was a rusty taste in her mouth and her vision was blurry.

She felt dizzy and helpless, her thoughts sluggish. She’d just have to hope that Jacen and the others would be on their way back down soon. Barring a miracle, she would probably die here—even with the double dose of Amp running through her veins, she wasn’t going to be able to walk back to CP. She fell back and closed her eyes.

The rumble of thunder outside jolted her back awake. Jacen was kneeling beside her while the rest of her team watched for threats. His face was covered in bloody splatter. “Sergeant? You still with us?”

“Yeah…” she tried to open her eyes wider and sit up. “Yeah.”

He handed her a canteen, and she drank greedily.

“Okay. We called it in Lane. They told us to get you back to CP.”

She shook her head. “It’s too far.”

“Fuck too far,” Jacen said. “Reg. We’re gonna carry her between us. Millian, you’re taking point. It’s not ideal, there’s no one to cover our six, but it is what it is.”

“Wait—”

“I’m running the squad now, so with all due respect, you can shut the fuck up, ma’am,” Jacen said. He looked at Reg, who nodded. Millian held out her hand for his rifle, to take advantage of its advanced optics.

Lane had time to think that maybe she was wrong about Jacen when he and Reg got her up between them. Both of them carried blaspistols in their free hands.

Most of what Lane remembered from the trip was pain. The uneven ground under them sent spikes of agony through her bad hip, and it began to rain. The rain chilled her, despite the earlier oppressive temperatures. Once, they came under fire, and she’d groaned and cursed as they’d pulled her into the protective shadow of an alleyway between two tall buildings. Millian and Ren took out the snipers while Jacen gave her a medjet of Meliox.

They continued on. The rest of the trip was a mix of rain and misery. By the time they entered the hotel where the CP was located, she was shivering so badly she couldn’t speak. Her team brought her into the spacious lobby, which had been set up as a field hospital to stabilize patients before they flew them up top. They settled her near the fireplace. Most of the power had been cut and they were using the hearth for warmth and light in the dark drafty building.

Lane felt the fire’s temperature begin to warm her. It got even better when Jacen returned with a blanket for her. “You’re gonna be okay. Reg’s getting the medic.”

She tried to talk but her teeth were chattering too badly.

Her team stayed with her until the captain arrived. The medic had just finished his examination, splinted her hand and wrapped her wounds, when Captain Walsh appeared. Walsh looked clean and rested, she’d obviously had time to pull herself together. Cap spoke to the medic before she came over to clap a hand on Jacen’s shoulder. “You did a good job achieving the objective and getting your sergeant back here. I got this. Go get some chow in the ballroom, all of you,” she ordered Lane’s squad.

Jacen reached to offer Lane his hand. His palm was warm and rough against hers. “You heal up and get your ass back down here, ma’am. We need you.”

Lane nodded, fighting the sudden watery sheen of her vision. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to see Jacen again.

Captain Walsh gave Lane a minute to pull herself together, then went on. “We’re going to take care of you, Lane. The next transport to the Vetra leaves at 2100, and you’ll be on it.”

“Yes, ma’am. This wasn’t supposed to go like this,” she said through gritted teeth. Her shattered hip was still screaming with pain, and she wondered if she was going to be able to walk again. Would they shut her down? “Captain, how…how bad is it? Did the medic say…” Lane couldn’t help her sudden irrational fear. They were taking her up to the Vetra, where it would be easier to get rid of her if she was of no more worth to the ACAS. The Vetra was Fleet Admiral Quillon’s flagship and the Admiral didn’t suffer weakness in anyone.

She wondered if the member of Aurora they’d found had made it? Probably not, she thought with a cold chill. Would she end up the same way, or would she be fit enough for duty again in one of the civil engineering reserve units? The ACAS cut dead weight loose, but it wasn’t wasteful. If an injured vat could still be of use, they would be transferred to a non-combat unit. She would have to hope for that.

Walsh knelt down to her cot. “Lane. You’re going to be fine. The medic said so.”

“Yes ma’am,” she said, not knowing what she could believe.

“Give them a couple of hours. I’ll come see you in the medbay when this is all over.”

She left Lane lying on the cot, watching the flames of the fire throw shadows on the walls.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

She awoke in one of the cargo areas of the Vetra. Fleet Admiral Quillon’s ship was enormous, and Lane knew there were many other cargo areas like this that must have been converted into field hospitals. She could feel the padding of bandages at her hip and realized they’d patched her up after all. She might be damaged goods, but apparently the ACAS had seen something worth saving.

She glanced up at the nutrient solution dripping into her vein. She didn’t feel any pain, just the fuzzy calm of pain meds. As she woke again, she looked at the patients on the medbeds around her and saw the large bronze-skinned man lying on a bed one row over and a few beds in front of her.

It made her grin as she laid back against the pillow. He was still alive. It seemed like a good sign. If he could make it, she would too.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

The next time she woke, she lifted her head to see the medic who had treated her on the surface. Her hip was howling with pain again.

“How are you feeling, Tyner?” he asked.

“Like I got run down by a transport,” she groaned. “Fuck.”

“Lemme see,” he tapped up her chart on a datapad. “They forgot your last round of pain meds.” He patted her shoulder gently. “They’ve been a bit overcome with all the wounded. I’ll get your medication and be right back.”

She nodded and sighed heavily as she fell back against her pillow. Her eyes traveled to the bedmate across the aisle and she saw the big man had been moved beside her. His head was on the pillow and his brown eyes were watching her.

“Hi,” she said softly. “How are you making it?” His face was no longer laid open down to the bone; a line of blue stitches, bright against the dark shade of his skin, traced a line up the side of his face. It had been a deep wound that wound glue wouldn’t work on.

His lips moved experimentally, but no words came out. He shook his head uselessly and made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

After a moment, she realized he couldn’t talk. “It’s okay,” she nodded, wincing with pain as she tried to adjust herself in bed to face him.

When he saw that, he reached out for her hand across the narrow aisle. She gave it. “Nice to meet you,” she said, with a gentle smile. He nodded at her, squeezing her hand, but letting it go when the medic returned.

“I see you’ve made a friend,” the medic said, readying a syringe to add to her IV.

“My unit found him on the planet. He’s…he’s the last surviving member of the First’s Aurora Company,” Lane said. “I think the insurgents tried to…pry out his interface,” she continued in a lower voice.

“Yeah. You don’t have to whisper. The damage ruined his hearing as well as his ability to speak. We’ve mostly been using signal code with him.”

“What?”

“He can’t speak or hear. We’re unsure as to how much of his mental capacity is left, but he seems to understand us. He certainly is a fighter,” the medic looked over his shoulder at the large man who was watching them quietly.

“It’s time for another nap, now,” he said as he injected the pain medicine into her IV. “It was a pretty involved surgery to rebuild your hip. Your enhanced healing will have you up soon, though.”

“What about him?” she asked, her gaze drifting to the sleepy eyes of the soldier beside her.

“Not as sure. He didn’t come in under my watch, but word is one of the Captains wanted him taken care of, like you. That’s why we have the two of you together. Just relax,” he said. Lane felt her eyelids growing heavy. “Heal up, Tyner. The ACAS can wait until you get better.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

When she opened her eyes again, she had no idea how long she’d been sleeping. It could have been a day or a week. Glancing over, she realized the member of Aurora was sitting up on his bed, watching her.

“Hi, handsome,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer but began to type on a data pad. Someone had obviously gotten it for him so that he could communicate better. It still took a long time. When he held it up it said, Can’t speak sorry.

She nodded slowly then made the sign for “Okay.”

He held up the pad. Name?

She said, “Lane Tyner.” She watched as his lips tried to make the words. She motioned for his data pad; she typed her name and gave it back to him. When he nodded, she pointed to him, raising an eyebrow.

He meticulously typed Orin Neen.

She nodded, then he went to typing again. It took him a long time to get the right words. He seemed to be making mistakes and fixing them. Finally, he held up the data pad again. You saved me?

She nodded again.

He placed a hand over his heart, which spoke more than any words could. She found her eyes suddenly full of tears, and she had to blink them away rapidly because vats didn’t cry. Without making any comment, he reached out for her hand again. They stayed that way, holding hands across the narrow aisle, for a long time.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

The next day Lane was up and walking. It was painful, but Orin was there every step of the way, supporting her on one side as she trailed her hand down the corridor on the other. When they returned, he eased her down on her bed, and sat across from her.

Lane wiped the sweat off her brow, as she watched him type on his datapad. Did good today, he typed.

“Thank you,” she mouthed. She’d found that he could tell what she was saying if it was a short phrase and she did it slowly. She held out her hand for the datapad, and he gave it to her. She searched the feeds, then found the information she was looking for. Motioning Orin over to her, she showed him what she had found. On the screen a woman was making a gesture in Haleian Sign Language.

His brown eyes met hers. He pointed at himself in an obvious question, Me?

She nodded, then moved her hand between the both of them. “Us,” she said softly. “We’ll learn together.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

A few months later, Lane and Orin found themselves on a transport headed to the planet Palan. Apparently, some monster hurricane had come along and flattened not only two of the most populous cities but also destroyed the bridges that linked major islands to the mainland. They were going to distribute aid and rebuild infrastructure that had been damaged during the planet’s volatile typhoon season.

Orin turned as soon as Lane entered the mostly empty barracks. She had tried to sneak up on him, but he turned as she crossed to his bunk and grinned. I knew it was you, he signed.

How? she signed back.

Right foot drags, he replied. Only a little, though.

She nodded. Her hip had completely healed, but she’d picked up a limp. Orin had been assigned to engineering as her assistant. She was the go-between, making communication possible for Orin and passing on orders to him. As far as she knew, Captain Walsh must have pulled some strings to get them stationed together. Lane knew they were lucky. How many hundreds of wounded vats from Stendal and other battlefronts had been simply discarded by the ACAS like so much damaged equipment?

She couldn’t think about that now. As she looked at Orin, she remembered the way he’d watched over her in the medbay while she healed up and began to walk again. Every time she’d thanked him for it, he brushed it off, signing you saved me. As if that explained it all. It seemed like her rescue had made a lasting impression on him.

Need us in engineering, she signed. This old tin can’s got coolant leaks they need to lock down. The reserves got all the older ships, some of which were not in great shape. She and Orin had spent more time repairing the ship than anything else.

You’re the boss, he signed, standing up to his full six-foot six height. She looked him over for a moment, from the twisted line of scar tracing up to the gentle brown eyes she was growing all too fond of. He smiled at her and signed, What?

She shrugged, unable to explain. It’s nothing. Come on, let’s go show these guys how it’s done.

Click on the links below to read stories set in the universe of The Rush’s Edge! There may be more to come…

“The Last Aurora”-Here is Lane and Orin’s full backstory.

“Sharpening”-What is life like for vat rooks being trained for the field? This story is about Hal as a young rook on Chamn-Alpha.

“Crossing the Divide”-After their time in the ACAS, Ty comes to save Hal from an uncertain future.

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Music helps me write.  Whether or not I have my noise cancelling headphones on while I work, or whether I’m alone and can blast it, I usually have something playing in the background somewhere. 

I’m always fascinated by the idea that a book could have a certain “playlist.”  Certain songs, old or new come to mind and become the anthem of different characters.  Many of the songs I picked for this book were more current than vintage, which is unusual for me.  As I wrote The Rush’s Edge, specific songs became attached to the characters for me.  Here’s a list of them.

Hal was my favorite character of the book.  His whole life he’s been programmed to fight the enemy and protect the natural borns in his care.  So naturally, these songs found their way onto my playlist. 

“Gladiator” by Zade Wolf was a natural choice and discovered early on in my crafting of Hal’s character and background.  It had a strong beat the very start that made it a “Hal’s on the rush” sort of song.  The chorus says it all, “Picked a fight with the gods, I’m the giant slayer.  Boneshaker, dominator, Freight train, wrecking ball, I’m the gladiator.” If anyone’s a wrecking ball, it’s Hal.“Seven Nation Army” by the White Stripes for obvious reasons.  When Hal makes up his mind on something, no one is going to change it.  Except maybe Ty and Vivi.Another “Hal’s on the rush song” was “Start a Riot” by Duckwrth and Shaboozey from the Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse soundtrack.  “What’s Up Danger” from that same soundtrack wasn’t a bad Hal song either. I listened to both of those a lot, especially when writing a fight scene.“Run Wild” by Thutmose & NoMBe was another great one.  If this isn’t a Hal song, I don’t know what is.“Veteran of the Psychic Wars” by Blue Oyster Cult was another one that seemed to fit Hal and probably Ty as well.  They’ve certainly been through some things at the hands of the ACAS.

Ty was a little harder to pin down.  I think I’m still putting his character together every time I write him.

“Heavy and Rolling” by Mark Ronson is a song about a guy and his car, but I think it could just as easily be about Ty and the Loshad.  I think, for Ty, the Loshad is about him being free from allowing anyone decide how his life (and Hal’s) is going to go.  I imagine when Ty left the ACAS, found Hal again and they started salvaging, he was pretty weary of life in general.  The freedom of being with his best friend and having the Edge at their feet had to be “a way to move his weary soul” to quote the song.“Everything is Broken” by Bob Dylan is another Ty song.  From his point of view, the Coalition is a broken thing.  All those dreams he had when he was younger to be a part of the ACAS and have his service mean something have been broken.  It’s not that Ty is a pessimist, but he’s seen what the universe can do to vats and everyone else and it’s not good.  He’s determined to protect the family he’s got from whatever shit the universe is going to throw at them, and in that way, he and Hal are amazingly alike.“Things Have Changed” by Bob Dylan also exemplifies Ty’s attitude.  He’s seen a lot in his time in the ACAS and by taking Hal with him on the Loshad, he’s decided to get what peace he can for the two of them.

Vivi’s songs are a little more complex because her character is more that meets the eye at first.  Vivi’s been pretty sheltered her whole life in the Inner Spiral, but she learns a lot about life through her experiences with Ty and Hal.  While Hal is on his own journey to be a hero and fully realize his own potential, Vivi’s got to shake off her sheltered upbringing and painful past to realize what she can be.  So the book is about Vivi’s journey as well as Hal’s.  The very fact that she’s able to open up and trust Hal after her history says a lot about her inner strength.

“I Can’t Lose” by Mark Ronson is a song that became Vivi’s from the first. On this one, I just can’t explain why, except that maybe it’s connected to her love for Hal and how it makes her feel to be around him.“Summer’s Gone” by Thutmose and NoMBe.  This song is Vivi’s because it’s all the things she hopes to show Hal in the brief time they’re going to have together.  The reason I think they’re such a great couple is that Hal is innocent about what it means to love someone, and Vivi, through her experience, has the knowledge to bring him along and open up a deeper world of feelings to him. Hal doesn’t understand love, but Vivi’s determined to show him what it means to love and be loved in the time they have together. If you listen to the song, you’ll see what I mean.“Who Wants to Live Forever?” by Queen.  The reason why is obvious if you’ve read the book. 

Other groups/songs inspired me as well.  It’s no surprise that the amazing group Rush is on the list.  Here are a few:

“Busted and Blue” Gorillaz“Tomorrow Comes Today” Gorillaz“Demolition Man” The Police“Too Much Information” The Police“Under the Milky Way” The Church“Underground” Men at Work“Dreamline” Rush“Superconductor” Rush“Working Man” Rush“Show Don’t Tell” Rush“Force Ten” Rush“Don’t Stop Me Now” Queen“I Want it All” Queen

Rod Serling of Twilight Zone fame is one of my all-time favorite writers. I can immediately pick out his turn of phrase and razor-sharp diction from all the other writers in the world, and it’s what has made this show some of my favorite TV ever.  He touched on so many universal themes in his tiny morality tales.  Even though the show will be 62 years-old this year, it’s still as timely today as it was then, which is quite a feat in our world where news changes minute by minute and technology keeps a similar pace. 

The Twilight Zone has inspired many great reboots of itself as well as other shows like Black Mirror, so I thought it might be worthwhile to look at some of my favorite episodes of the Zone to try and find out what made them so powerful.

“It’s a Good Life”  This great little episode was based on a story originally written by Jerome Bixby.  It’s the story of a monstrous little boy with the power to do anything he wants with his mind. When he doesn’t get his way, horrible things happen.  You may know of Bixby’s work from Star Trek: The Original Series – he’s the man we have to thank for the mirror universe!  Serling wrote the teleplay based on Bixby’s story.  While it has an unconventional introduction, I’ve always found it incredibly compelling, mostly due to the fear of the parents and fellow community members of Peaksville when dealing with Anthony.  While it’s not full of blood and gore, the threat and menace of a whole community held hostage by a child is compelling. The story is just as good if not even more frightening.

“A Stop at Willoughby” Rod Serling himself wrote this tale of an overworked, overstressed executive named Gart Williams.  Williams has been pushed to his limit when he tells off his boss and walks to his office.  His secretary asks if he needs anything, and he says he needs a “sharp razor and a chart of human anatomy showing where all the arteries are.” Classic Rod Serling line.  If you’ve ever worked a stressful job, you might know the feeling of William’s desperation.  The pressure and strain of Williams’ life lead him to falling asleep on the train home and dreaming of a provincial 1888 town called Willoughby.  He wakes up back in his anxiety-ridden life and the threads of his hope are stretched thin by dealing with his shrewish wife who criticizes his dream of a more serene life. At a moment of desperation, she turns her back on him, and he’s only left with one fateful choice.  I don’t want to give away the ending, but like many TZ’s it’s got a fabulous twist.

“Walking Distance” This is the fifth episode of the Twilight Zone and another Serling story.  Martin Sloan is another overworked executive who is looking to escape his stressful present, a repeated theme of Serling’s.  Stranded when his car breaks down, Sloan walks back to his hometown and realizes it’s not his hometown of the present – it’s his hometown of the past.  As he walks the streets until late evening, Sloan decides “to put a claim in on his past.” Like Gart Williams, he’s desperate to find some shred of peace.  His father, however, tells him he has to go back: there’s only one summer to a customer and this is young Martin’s.  Something about the father’s speech there, twists me up inside every time I watch it.  Go-check it out for yourself. Unlike Gart Williams, Sloan finds his happiness by looking ahead instead of looking behind him.  All in all it’s a wistful, hopeful episode that has become one of my favorites as I get older.

“Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up?”  This one is one of the more lighthearted Rod Serling written TZ’s, and like many of my favorites, there’s a twist at the end.  Six passengers on a bus stop at a roadside café about the same time reports of an alien spaceship crash come in.  Police investigate and find out there are seven people in the café, not six. One is an alien; the challenge is to figure out who it is before the time runs out. This one is just plain fun and keeps you guessing, from the crazy old man at the counter to the voluptuous but aging dancer that catches the bus driver’s eye.  Rewatches are fun too because you look for the subtle hints dropped to clue you into the identity of the alien visitor.

“I Am the Night, Color Me Black” This is probably the most serious episode of the bunch.  A man named Jagger is to be hanged in a small unnamed midwestern town for a self-defense killing of a racist man.  He is convicted due to a corrupt system and good people not taking a stand.  The pitch-black sky above the town makes a silent comment on the day’s execution; the sun refuses to shine in the village.  The execution continues anyway, and it is heard that places all over the world – from Vietnam to Dallas – are being smothered by the same darkness of hate. 

This is a very special episode when you know the context.  Rod Serling wrote this just a few months after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Some have criticized this episode as being heavy-handed with its themes, but that’s far from the case.  This is a man telling a story that tries to grapple with the hate in the world.  Vietnam, Dallas, Birmingham and all the other places mentioned were hot spots of the time period; places where hate seemed to be winning.  It’s just amazing to me how this issue is just as relevant today as it was over fifty years ago, and it’s a great example of why this enduring show is still so loved today.

So there they are, my five favorite episodes of The Twilight Zone. Of course, they’re subject to change at any time because I love them all dearly.  Let me know which ones are your favorites below!

I began tabletop roleplaying when I was seventeen. Being a sci-fi and fantasy geek, it was something I fell into naturally. I kept playing into my 20’s, eventually being the only girl who played D&D, Rifts, Vampire, Werewolf and Call of Cthulu in our group of guys. We had a great time together.

Eventually, the group talked me into running my own game. I hesitantly stepped up from the role of player to gamemaster, but actually found that I really liked it and wasn’t half bad at setting up a story to run my players through. In those early days, I was somehow able to keep the attention of a group of guys playing a pack of chaos-loving vampires roaming San Francisco by night. This was my prelude to becoming a writer.

In my experience, gamers really are a whole lot like readers. Gaming is a continuum. At one end you have role-players. These gamers are into character development. For them, the journey of the character is the most important. As a gamemaster, your job is to make sure that the journey challenges your characters. It should be a crucible of sorts – what comes out the other side is a wiser, more experienced player character. In this case, the storyteller is an alchemist, turning lead into gold.

At the other end of the gaming spectrum are the roll-players. For them, winning the game is all. Screw character development; they just want to power-game their way through a dungeon like a badass, disarm all the traps, kill the lich and get their treasure identified to add up the points. These are the ones who call a sword of berserking a great magic item with a slight drawback. (So what if it makes you kill a few friends – that‘s life, right?) These are the players that die and then erase the name at the top of their barbarian character sheet and say they’re now playing Barg’s the barbarian’s brother, Warg the barbarian. They have fun, as long as the action is constantly challenging them to win or lose, live or die.  Here the storyteller functions as an opponent, providing a challenging experience where the player is not always sure they’re going to make it.

When I started writing The Rush’s Edge, I kept these ideas in the back of my mind. Every reader is somewhere on the continuum of action and characterization. Too much time spent on characterization could make the story slow to develop and boring. But equally too much action without investment in the characters is just not compelling.

I wanted to tell a story that struck the right balance; a story with the perpetual motion of action fueling the character development, which in turn fuels the action. A continuous cycle. Hal Cullen, the main character of my novel, is a genetically and technology-enhanced super-solider called a “vat.” He has been the embodiment of action his whole life. He’s been modified to be able to use his adrenaline rush to fight harder and react faster than a natural born. Hal is doing what soldiers are supposed to do:  follow orders and try to win the game. In the beginning, he is a character for roll-players.

However, when he is released from service, he has to find out who he is in an unfamiliar civilian world.  He travels the Edge with his former CO Tyce Bernon, salvaging crashed ships and trying to keep out of the trouble that seems to lead other vats like him to a bad end. Then a woman – a natural-born named Vivi – joins their crew, and Hal begins to see that maybe, just maybe, he can be more than just a bolt-catcher looking for the next rush. This is where our man-of-action begins to develop and grow, transforming his focus to satisfy the role-player in all of us.

As the story continues, the salvage crew finds an alien artifact that could determine the fate of nats and vats across the galaxy. Our heroes grow closer as a crew, facing shadowy government agencies, vat assassins, ship battles and alien presences. Survival is not promised; death waits at every turn and just when things slow down, they speed up again, keeping the action rolling.

This balance of action and characterization formed the underpinnings of my story, making the times with my gaming group utterly invaluable. Like a gamemaster, I constantly balanced the actors in my story with the obstacles facing them. And, just like my gaming group, I hope my readers enjoy the ride.