The Muse Vs. The Ambition Monster

I recently came upon a difficult decision in my writing career. A conundrum totally of my own making, because I make stupid decisions sometimes.

Well, that’s not true. I make decisions fueled by my desire to write specific stories at specific times. It’s just the outcome that is stupid and avoidable.

So here’s what I did.

I can never have just one writing project at a time. My fluttery Gemini brain just doesn’t work that way. And I do try to let my projects rest between drafts. So, when I was writing Woven, I started another series. One you might be familiar with.

Station 86.

Well, I finished Woven before I finished Station 86, no surprise. And so I started working on other projects.

I actually wrote an entire science fiction novella. It’s done, but I’m not ready to write the sequel so I don’t know what to do with it.

I wrote a whole novel based on the world of Woven. Again, it’s done and sitting there because I don’t have the time or space to write the second book in the series yet.

The problem is that before I did either one of those things, I wrote the first season of a podcast. And that one I went ahead and produced, then put out in the world before I was ready to work on season two.

Then people liked season one, so I had to write season two.

But I was already working on another book, which ended up being Quiet Apocalypse. And that one I went ahead and published because it was a standalone story.

But then I had to rush, because I was now producing two series that had people waiting for the next book or season. So what did I do?

I caved during Nanowrimo and started a rough draft of a new novel, because FOMO.

If you’re keeping track, that means I now have two novels gathering dust, one novel that I’ve written the rough and second draft of, and two active series that have people waiting for the next installment. If you are one of those people who was waiting way too long for Nova or season two of AA, I am really sorry.

But I wasn’t ready to tell those stories yet.

This is when being an artist and being a content creator are at odds with each other. As an artist, I wanted to write something fresh and new. I was struck by inspiration and went with it. And if I was just writing for myself, that would be more than fine.

But I’m not just writing for myself. I’m also writing for the people who like my stories. I’m writing to hopefully grow an audience of people who like what I do. I’m writing to create art, and then share that art with the world.

And I’m trying not to be a dick about that. I’m trying not to be a George R.R. Martin about that. I want to produce work that people are excited to read, but I also need to be excited to write it. It feels very much like serving two masters. If you’ve ever seen the show Human Resources, I find it to be a useful analogy. I have a muse whispering in one ear, telling me all about the gorgeous new world we could create together. The stories, the very important stories we can tell! All I have to do is take her hand, crack open a notebook, and start this new love affair.

We all know how alluring that can be, don’t we?

But I’ve also got an ambition monster. And she is screaming at me that my fan base is going to dry up and blow away if I let more than a year pass between books/seasons. That bitch is loud, her heels are fabulous, and she has my best interests at heart.

The muse also has my best interests at heart, though.

If this has all been confusing, I understand. It’s a confusing situation. And if you’re working on a series, or maybe just one novel, you might well have felt like this before. It is almost impossible to decide which to listen to, the muse or the ambition monster.

So here is what I’ve done. I don’t know if it’s going to work, but it’s what I’m trying for now. I’m bringing both the Muse and Ambition Monster to the table, and letting them both have a say.

Here’s what they’ve said to me so far.

From the Ambition Monster

You only like the new project because it’s new. And as soon as you start on that new project, it’s not going to be new anymore. So you’ll start on something else. Then you’ll get bored with that, because it’s not new anymore. And if you keep doing that, you’ll end up with a bunch of half-finished stories that you’ll never show anybody. Is that what you want? A bunch of book one’s that never have their book two’s?

Fan guilt is crushing. And you know there are people waiting for that next book. Aren’t you currently irritated that several authors you like don’t have new books out? How long have you been waiting for a new Tamora Pierce book?

Just because no one is reading your story now doesn’t mean they never will. Lots of people wait for a couple of books to come out in a series before they start, so they don’t have to wait years and years for the answer to a cliffhanger. You’ve got to get a couple of books out in a series before you start getting a real following. Focus on that.

From the Muse

You will not write the same book now as you will in a year. You won’t even write the same short story now as you will in a year. You are always learning, always growing. You’re reading new things, and having new experiences. So if you need to wait to write that next book in your series, it might be better for the time away.

You will write a better book if you are passionate about it. That passion is what you need to get through the countless drafts and revisions. Discipline is great, but it can only take you so far without passion to back it up. Besides, if you sit down and write words every day just because you’ve disciplined yourself to do it, they’re not going to be good words. Not words anyone wants to read.

If you force yourself to keep working on a series when you’re not passionate about it, you’re going to burn out. There’s a good chance you’ll never finish it at all. Isn’t that worse than a delay between books? How many shows and book series have broken your heart because you never got a satisfying ending?

So, which of them is right? Both, if I’m being honest. The trick is to balance the two. For me, that looks like working on the next Station 86 book and setting AA aside for now until I feel more inspired to work on it. And it looks like having the self-control to not start another damn series until I have finished with at least one of these.

What the answer to this difficult question looks like for you will depend on your passion, your priorities, and where you are in your career. The only real advice I have is this. Invite both the Muse and your Ambition Monster to the table. They both have important things to tell you.

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Writing Crazy

I love a good crazy character. They’re some of the best characters in fiction. What sort of person do I mean, exactly? Harley Quinn, of course. But also Dolores Roach, Azula, Jack from The Shining, The Narrator from Fight Club, Patrick Bateman, Dexter, and The Trashcan Man. And, of course, Annie Wilks.

Kathy Bates, if you ever read this, you are my queen.

Crazy characters are fun because they are wild and unpredictable. When a crazy character is written well, they stick with you for the rest of your life. They make you laugh and check to make sure your door is locked. They’re the class clown who might at any moment shove a pencil through someone’s ribs. Even if they’re the good guys.

When a crazy character is written poorly, though, it’s usually because the writer was trying too hard to write zany, wacky, or unrealistic character traits. Listen, your character cannot just staple a peanut butter sandwich to someone’s forehead and be a memorable crazy character. I mean, they can do that. But there has to be more to it than that.

So today I want to discuss five ways to write a crazy character that will both delight and terrify your audience.

First, though, a disclaimer. This post has nothing at all to do with mental illness, nor is it in any way meant to vilify or objectify people who have mental illnesses. Perfectly sane people commit horrible atrocities and people with mental illnesses get up and go to work without hurting anyone every single day. I have a mental illness, and I’m safe to be around unless you’re a wasp or a lantern fly. We are not pointing and laughing at the crazy person who can’t get help. We are admiring the varied characters in fiction and aspiring to write them in more realistic ways.

No one thinks it’s cool when your character just does weird stuff for no reason

One of the laziest ways someone can write a ‘crazy’ character is to have them do weird things for absolutely no reason. I don’t mean weird things that don’t make sense to the people around them. I mean things that don’t even make sense to the characters themselves. Just in the same way it’s not funny to yell banana hammock for no reason, it’s not fun to see a character doing random stuff that doesn’t tell us anything about their character, their emotions, or move the plot forward in any meaningful way.

No one ever thinks they’re the crazy one

Harley never thinks she’s crazy. She thinks she fell in love and ran away to the circus. She broke out of her life and finally felt free.

Bateman certainly doesn’t think he’s crazy. He thinks this is how one has to act to get by in the high-powered world he’s put himself in.

This is one of the reasons it’s fun to write a character like this. You have to imagine that you see the world in this way. You have to crawl into an unstable mind and stay there for a little while. See the view from those eyes. And those eyes don’t think there’s anything wrong with what they’re doing most of the time. They think they’re the sane ones.

Focusing on their thoughts

One of the reasons why the first season of Dolores Roach worked is that a lot of focus was on how she was feeling and what she was thinking. This worked for Dexter as well. Though I would consider him more of a ‘straight man’ killer.

Much of the fun of these characters is in the novelty of their experiences. Most of us are fairly sane, after all. Most of us would never think to strangle someone, tape them to a table and cut them open, or trap someone in our guest bedroom and break their ankle when they try to escape.

I hope.

So it’s fascinating to see how that sort of mind works. This might take some research into psychology, which I think we as writers should have at least a surface-level understanding of anyway. So much of creating art is seeing the world not just from our limited perspective, but from as many perspectives as we can. Even when we don’t agree with them. Especially when we don’t agree with them.

The trick is to show as much of how that different person sees the world as you can. This not only makes for a more entertaining story but gives more humanity to your character as well. And in doing so, maybe you can help people understand them a little better.

Moments of lucidity

I think every person has had these moments in their lives. Maybe when we’re mad, or scared, or burned out. We realize we are in the middle of doing something or saying something or talking about something that is just bonkers. And we stop, and we either in our minds or out loud ask, “What in the hell am I doing? Why am I doing this? I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Dolores Roach is full of those moments. Largely because we didn’t start that show with a mentally unstable woman. We watched her descend into madness.

I highly suggest giving your characters those moments. There are three ways this can be incredibly useful. If your character, like Dolores, is going mad this can be a great gauge of that. As she gets deeper and deeper into her madness, these moments of lucid self-reflection get further and further apart.

If your character, like one I’m writing right now, is already mad, and they suddenly have a moment of sanity, it might be a sign that your hero can reach them. Can bring them around, can help them come back to the side of goodness. We see this with Harley often. There is one beautiful, heart-wrenching moment in some comic or another when Harley realizes the woman she’s fighting, Black Canary, is pregnant. Harley refuses to continue the fight. She tells Black Canary, who until this point has been an enemy, that she has a daughter. She gave the baby to her sister, to protect her from the Joker. And for a few minutes, Harley seems as sane as you or me. She’s sharing her grief and connecting with another woman on a very personal level. And this does eventually lead to Harley becoming a hero.

As she should have been all along.

Of course, it could be a misdirection as well. Your character might have that moment of lucidity, then sink right back down into her madness. I think the best example of this is Azula from Avatar the Last Airbender. There are many moments in the series when we see someone almost reach her. Aang tries. Zuko tries. Uncle Iro certainly tries. Even Katara tries, and she would have liked to snap that bitch’s neck. And we see her almost come back from her madness.

Then, she doesn’t. And her defeat is so much sadder because of it. It’s clear that Azula is too far gone, but that she almost wasn’t. It’s heartbreaking, and it stays with you. Honestly, I considered the defeat of the Fire Lord anti-climatic after seeing Azula screaming and crying with rage because someone had finally beaten her.

Make them memorable

And that leads me to the most important advice. If you’re going to write a crazy character, don’t half-ass it. Put your whole ass into it. Do not hold back, no one likes a polite crazy character. Give them traits and verbal habits that make them stand out.

You can’t write Harley, The Trashcan Man, or Dexter because they’ve already been written. But you can write someone completely new. Someone that will be on someone else’s list in years to come.

This, honestly can apply to any character you’re writing. Make them their own person, not just one thing. No one is just crazy, or just a hero, or just a love interest. Why is your character who they are? Figure that out, and the character will stand out to your readers and stand the test of time.

In short, your crazy character is going to work best if they’re a fully-rounded person. Not just a prop to occasionally do Wild Card things and then fade back into the background. Just like any character, they have to have character.

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Why The Hacienda Works

Been a while since we’ve done a Why It Works, hasn’t it? Well, I’ve got a good one for you today.

Released in May of 2022 and written by Isabel Canas, The Hacienda first caught my eye for one simple reason. It was compared favorably to Mexican Gothic. And I loved Mexican Gothic.

And yes, they do have a similar vibe. A lot of good things I have to say about Mexican Gothic can also be said about The Haçienda and vice versa. With one big difference that I will get to shortly.

Of course, the fact that one of the characters is a Catholic priest and a witch didn’t hurt.

So let’s break down why The Hacienda works. Hopefully, we’ll learn something useful for our WIPs.

The characters. It’s always the characters

For me, it always is the characters. And Beatriz is a fantastic main character. She’s ballsy, she’s brave, she’s kind. But she also puts herself in shitty situations because she tries to make situations with bad people work. She refuses to stand up for herself before it’s too late because she’s afraid of losing this home she found for herself.

For me, Beatriz works as well because she’s taken what most of us might find a selfish action but done for reasonable reasons.

After her father is taken from their home and executed, she and her mother end up living with relatives who do not like them, but take them in out of familial guilt. They are not wanted, they are not loved, and this is not a home for them. Beatriz doesn’t live in a world where she can pull a Cher. She can’t become a rich man, she has to marry one. So she does, not for power or wealth. But for a thing we all want, a safe home where we can feel like we belong and are wanted.

Then there’s Padre Andres. And maybe I’m biased, being a Christian Witch, but I thought the Witch Priest concept was fantastic.

Andres is a person still trying to figure out how he fits into the world, but he knows what’s important to him. The Lord, and the people he’s been tasked from birth to protect as their healer and now their priest. He may be confused about a lot, but not about that.

The descriptions

Oh, the descriptions in this book were amazing. They were rich and lush. Reading this book, I could smell the hot air of the desert.

This was done in subtle ways. But the best thing that Canas does with this is to give us two main characters who see the Hacienda in very different ways. So we as readers can experience it in these different ways.

Beatriz comes to the Hacienda having never seen it before, but already in love with it as a concept. In this way, we can see the house, as she describes it. It doesn’t feel like an info dump when she walks through the house, because she is experiencing it for the first time. It makes sense that she would take note of the smells, the tiles, the furniture, or the lack thereof.

When Andres arrives, it’s equally logical that he would notice everything different from when he was a child in this house. He would notice darkness where there was once light.

This made all the descriptions make more sense, and also feel more meaningful.

The magic

Now, I’m a witch. But I’m a Western PA witch, not a Mexican one. So it was fascinating to see how magic is different there than it is here. And yet, the actions and rituals felt similar.

I would burn cedar, not copal. But I am familiar with writing sigils for protection, burning herbs to chase away something that feels dark, and lighting candles to keep out the shadows. The magic in The Hacienda felt both familiar and completely new to me, like a dish I’ve made a hundred times crafted by someone else who is accustomed to cooking with different spices.

So while the hauntings and magic in the book are, of course, fictional, they feel just real enough.

Just the right things left unsaid

Finally, this was I think the best thing about this book. And it’s the part that Mexican Gothic, fantastic as it was, didn’t quite manage.

This book leaves a lot unsaid. I don’t want to ruin the ending for you, but there are lots of questions with only implied answers.

But in the most wonderful way.

There is a lesson that visual artists learn early. That the spots left blank on a canvas are just as important as the ones you paint. Musicians learn this as well, and a properly timed moment of silence in a song can bring you to tears.

I don’t think that we as writers pay as much attention to that. I know that I tend to over-explain. In reviewing my work, I am sometimes reminded of episodes of Bojack when he tells a joke and then asks the audience if they got it. I’m working on not doing that, but it is a challenge.

In The Hacienda, that isn’t a struggle. We don’t get every answer, every detail, every story because we can consider them ourselves. And those questions had me thinking of this book long after I finished it.

Hell, I’m still thinking about it.

So if you haven’t read The Hacienda, read it. It was a dark, wonderful tale that I truly enjoyed. And if there’s a book, show or movie you’d like to see me break down to tell you why it works, let me know in the comments below.

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Stick your ending

If you’ve been following along with my reviews on Haunted MTL, then you know I’ve been obsessed with the podcast Dolores Roach. After watching the first season of the show on Amazon over the summer, I was so excited to dig into the podcast.

And I was hooked for every single episode. Until the very last. And that last episode was horrible enough that I will never recommend this podcast to anybody I care about.

There are countless examples of great stories that end up with terrible endings. Firefly, Dollhouse, Eurika, Dexter. Podcast examples include Lime Town, The Black Tapes, and now Dolores Roach. Even books don’t always get it right, like in The Daughter of Dr. Moreau or even the last book in the Dexter series.

How did that one franchise manage to burn me three times?

The point is that endings are hard. Especially when you’re writing a series. And I get it. Nova, the Station 86 book I’m in the middle of publishing, was never supposed to exist. That story was a series of flashbacks in the final book, which I wrote and decided wasn’t a fitting ending for a series I’ve been working on since 2016.

So I threw the whole thing out, wrote a whole-ass extra book, and am now rewriting the final Station 86 book. Because that’s how important that ending is.

Hopefully, you won’t have to throw away a whole completed manuscript, but it’s important to get these endings right. That is if you ever want someone to read anything you’ve written ever again.

Having experienced so many bad endings in so many formats, I have at least experienced what not to do. So that’s what I’m going to share with you today. Hopefully, it will help you stick your landing and deliver an ending that doesn’t make someone want to throw their tablet at the wall.

Remember genre expectations

While you can certainly write whatever your heart desires, genre fans have certain expectations. And if those expectations aren’t met, a genre fan is going to be frustrated. Many of these expectations do have to do with the ending.

Horror fans expect a twist ending. Romance fans want a happy ever after. Science fiction fans want some sort of hope for the future. If you don’t deliver on these expectations, you’re going to deny a reader what they’re expecting.

Now, there are examples of great works doing exactly the opposite of this. Holly didn’t have what I’d call a twist ending. But that was written by Stephen King. Carrie had a twist ending. The Stand had a twist ending. The Green Mile had a twist ending. So even Stephen King didn’t get away with not adhering to genre expectations until he was the Stephen King who’d already written a ton of best sellers.

I am not even at the Carrie part of my career. So my horror had better have a twist at the end, my adventure fantasy had better have a happy ever after and my science fiction had better have a hopeful ending.

Answer all the questions you set up

A good story works because it has you asking questions. What happens next? Will Dexter ever be caught? Who killed Laura Palmer? Why are people dying alone in their homes on Station 86? What happened to the sugar bowl?

You should be giving your reader those questions. But you should also be answering those questions. And while many of them will be a slow burn, you should have all of your questions answered by the end of the story.

Some of the questions might have ambiguous answers. Some might have answers the reader has to consider. But if this is it, the big finale, you should be answering all of your questions.

Give satisfaction

We all know there are moments in a story that give us deep feelings of satisfaction. The love interests finally kiss. The asshole character gets punched in the face. The gun on the mantle goes off, the chandelier comes crashing down on stage.

Your ending should have several of these juicy, satisfying scenes. All the final ones to wrap up all your subplots. Your reader should be whispering ‘yes’ or ‘finally’!

Remember, delayed satisfaction is great. But you do eventually have to get to the satisfaction part!

Don’t rush things

I’m going to admit something that’s going to be bad news for fans of AA. The next season is going to be a while. Like, probably another year or two. There are many reasons for this, most of them being that making a podcast is hard and time-consuming and aside from my wonderful actors, I am doing the whole project myself.

But the big issue holding AA up right now is that I’m just not sure where the story is going. And I don’t want to rush it.

Serenity, the internationally despised Firefly movie, felt like a rushed project. The last episode of Dolores Roach felt rushed.

Yes, sometimes this means that a story is going to take longer to get out. Like Stranger Things, for example. There is time between those seasons. And while I don’t think anyone is thrilled with that, I also think everyone would be way more angry if the story was rushed. If Lime Town suddenly came out with a season three, I would listen to it. And if the ending didn’t feel rushed, if it was a satisfying ending that answered all my questions and scratched all the itches left by the first two seasons, then I’d consider it worth the wait.

So please, take your time.

Make sure you end your story

That brings me to my final suggestion. If you are writing a story, if at all possible, please finish it!

Yes, I understand that sometimes cliffhangers happen. If you’re writing for TV, you might not have the chance to write the final season you want, because the show might get canceled. Podcasts and traditionally published books have that same concern.

I don’t feel like Dolores Roach had that same concern. If I’m wrong, I’d love for someone to tell me.

Firefly had that concern. I feel like they could have addressed it better. George R.R. Martin could publish his next shitty dragon porn book at any time, but he hasn’t.

Writing a series takes dedication. It takes commitment. It takes time, sometimes a decade’s worth of time. Seriously, by the time the last Station 86 book comes out, I will have been with this series and these characters for a decade of my life. And the first four aren’t even fully novels.

I’m not saying this to scare you away from writing a series if that’s what’s in your heart to do. I am saying this because it’s something I wish I’d understood when I started writing a series. Especially before I started writing two series at the same time, then decided to add in a podcast series for good measure. Writing a series takes time, and it takes away your time to start other projects. So if you’re starting a series, please do so with a passion that is going to carry you through a significant amount of time.

Also, please have an ending planned.

This is one thing I did right from the start. With Woven, Station 86, and AA, I knew the ending before I started writing. I don’t know the whole path, but I do know where I’m heading.

And I get that some of you might be pantsers. Probably not a lot, though, as I’ve been fairly clear this is not a safe space for pantsers. Write an outline, thank me later. But even if you are going to pants your way through your entire novel or series, please at least know what your ending is going to be! That way you’re not staring down the end of your story with no idea what it looks like. Or worse, having no idea when or where it should end at all.

In conclusion, you’re going to put a lot of time into your story. And your fans are going to put a lot of time into consuming it. Don’t cheat them or yourself out of the satisfying ending that you all deserve.

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My experience with GetCovers

This is not a sponsored post. I’m not getting anything from this, no discounts free products, or anything like that. I just want to share my experience with this company with all of you.

While I love writing, and I love being an indie author, some parts of this job are A. unpleasant and B. out of my skill set. One of those things has always been cover design.

And that’s kind of important. Because yes, people do judge books by their covers.

The covers of my books have been a constant battle. When I was with my old publisher they made covers for the Woven series that, while I had a say in, I was never really thrilled with.

Station 86 has been a unique journey, as far as covers went. The first two were created by a fantastic artist, who unfortunately wasn’t available to work on the rest of the series.

So, being broke and doing my best, I created the covers for books three and four. I also did the cover for Man In the Woods and Quiet Apocalypse.

While these covers aren’t bad, they aren’t great either. I am, after all, not a graphic designer. I’m not a visual artist. I’m certainly not someone with a ton of knowledge about the market.

I write stories. That’s what I do.

So when I finished Nova, I couldn’t bring myself to create a cover by myself again. I was prepared to scrape together enough money to hire someone to do the work for me. I was prepared to do a whole Kickstarter campaign because I am broke.

Then, I watched a Jenna Moreci video, in which she discussed Getcovers.

Now, Jenna did do a sponsored video and has a coupon code. Here’s a link to her video, so you can use her code.

Even though it was a sponsored video, she made the product seem enticing. A polished, professional cover for a price I could afford. Yes, this was exactly what I needed.

And yes, the cover did turn out great. I think by now you’ve all seen the cover for Nova, but here it is in case you haven’t.

So today I thought I’d break down my experience for you in case you, like me, need a good cover for a price a broke indie author can afford.

I started on their website by making a selection for my price and services. I chose the middle option, which was $20 and included two licensed images.

After I paid, I was sent a questionnaire for the cover. These were some pretty simple questions about genre, color preferences, and comparable titles. I went to Amazon, searched for the most popular sci-fi books, and chose some covers that I thought were great.

Not long after I received an email from the artist who would be creating my cover. She asked some follow-up questions and offered some additional things like an inner cover page, which I ended up ordering as well.

After a few days, I received some mockups to look over. And they looked fantastic. The graphic wraps around the cover, which will be nice when I launch the physical version of Nova in May.

The package also included a cute little mockup image that I’ve been using in marketing.

Overall, I was pleased with the process and the result. It’s certainly inspired me to work with them again on a larger project that I’ll be talking about more later this year.

I would recommend Getcovers if you’re getting ready to publish a book. Or if you’re planning to relaunch any books. Unlike so many, many other parts of the self-publishing process this was quick, inexpensive, and successful.

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You’re not running for vice president

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you want to support the site, you can do so on Ko-fi.

Story time. Years ago, the darling husband and I were watching the news. It was in 2008, John McCain was running for president with Sarah Palin as his running mate.

Remember when she was the dumbest politician? I don’t remember which of the many foolish things she said prompted this conversation, sadly. But it was probably something to do with geography because geography isn’t my strength. Palin gave some stupid answer, and the darling husband mocked her.

And that stung. Because, as I told him, I didn’t know the answer to that question either.

“Yeah,” he said. “But you’re not running for vice president. You don’t have to know that.”

All these years later, that comment still comforts me. Because, you see, I don’t always think so much of myself, intelligence-wise. It’s easy to think you’re dumb when you’re told your whole childhood that women, God love us, just aren’t that smart. So even now, after working over ten years in a tech profession and publishing ten books, I tend to doubt myself. When I don’t know something, anything, I feel like that’s a personal failing. Even weird, obscure things that most people don’t know.

So I wanted to share some thoughts on this with you today.

You don’t need to feel stupid for not knowing things.

There are so many things to know in this world. No matter how much you think you know, there is so much more to learn that we will just not know it all.

And that’s normal. You can’t possibly know things about everything. You’re going to have things you’re really good at, and things you’re not so good at. Like I said, I’m not good with geography. Or physical dimensions. Oh, and I can’t remember dates unless someone makes a musical about it.

This doesn’t make me dumb. It just means that these are not things that I know because frankly, they don’t interest me.

But I can tell you every lyric to most songs I’ve ever heard. I know a lot about history if it interests me. I can talk on and on about the history of the horror genre, especially if it’s about George Romero. I can tell you a little bit about a lot of things. And I do not think that people who cannot answer those things are stupid. It just means that those things don’t necessarily interest them.

If you don’t know things, it never means you’re stupid. It just means you don’t know that thing.

You don’t need to know everything to expect other people to know things.

That being said, you are allowed to expect people who claim to be experts to know what they are talking about. Politicians are a good example. I don’t know how to feed and care for the homeless. I don’t know how to fix roads, lower grocery prices or increase people’s pay. I don’t have answers for those things, so I’m not a politician. But that doesn’t mean I can’t expect the politicians that I elect to have answers to these difficult questions. That’s what they’re supposed to know.

We are allowed to expect our doctors to know how to help us heal. We are allowed to expect teachers to know their subject. We are allowed to expect the local librarian to be able to help us find the books we need.

And if we’re talking about politicians, we should hold them accountable when they don’t have the answers for those things. That’s their job.

You can always learn something new.

Finally, if you find something that you don’t know, but you want to know, then you can learn it. You can always learn new things. No matter how old you are, or how young. No matter if something seems daunting, difficult, or confusing. No matter if it will take you time to learn that thing. If you want to learn it, if it gives you joy to learn, then you should put in the time for yourself.

I am 37 years old, and I recently got a violin. I haven’t held a violin since 5th grade. But I’m going to get it repaired and learn how to play it. Right now I’m a little intimidated by the whole thing. I don’t remember the cords. I cannot read sheet music.

But I am not a professional violinist. I am not expected to know. I am not stupid for not knowing. But I can learn.

I hope that you carry this with you like I do. On the days you feel dumb, when you feel like you never have the right answer. Or when something new you’re trying to learn is daunting. Remember, you’re not running for vice president. And if you do want to run for vice president, or do something else hard, you can probably learn what you need.

0

Nova, Chapter three

Wait, this isn’t the start of the story! If you need to catch up, start here.

And if you want to go all the way back to the start of Station 86, you can get book one for free here.

Michael, Earth

A military base was a great place to be in an apocalypse. Especially when it was a secret base, underground, and known to only a handful of people. The power rarely went out. It was well stocked with food, clean water, and weapons. Lots and lots of weapons.

It was a great place if one wanted to survive a war with armored monsters who just wanted to exterminate humanity and were pretty damn good at it.

It was not a great place to raise a handful of orphaned girls, as Michael was discovering.

Commander Dent, the woman in charge of the base and the leader of the IHP, had done little more than assign them a room to live in and tell Michael to keep the kids out of the way. That room was empty except for four bunk beds and the ugliest carpeting Michael had ever seen in his life. He supposed he should be grateful. Three teenagers, one little girl, and an old man weren’t of any use to Dent. He suspected that the only reason she hadn’t turned them away entirely was that there were so few humans left, it seemed vital to keep as many alive as possible.

They were the only five people in the base who weren’t members of the International Human Protection organization, a quasi-military multi-country organization that was established when things like militaries and countries still existed. They’d been established to keep the stations safe. They sure hadn’t been established to fight the Hollow Suits. Nothing had been.

Certainly Michael, now in his sixth decade, hadn’t any idea how to fight them. Which was why he instead was looking after the children he’d managed to save while traveling from England to New York. Children that, sadly, he had not yet taught to pick up after themselves. This was why he now found himself stalking their room, shoving clothes into a basket and grumbling.

There was a gentle knock at the door frame. He looked up fast, expecting it to be one of the kids and preparing to unload on whatever unfortunate kid it was.

Instead, it was Evelyn, looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a smile that was threatening to turn into a laugh.

She was a tall woman, solidly built with dark hair cut short. An IHP captain who’d been off-planet when the Hollow Suits attacked, she didn’t normally suffer from fits of the giggles. So perhaps Michael could be forgiven for taking this personally.

“You got something to say?” he asked.

“The girls are so busy with their lessons, they can’t clean up after themselves?” she asked. Her smooth, deep British accent felt even more sophisticated compared to his twang. He was fully aware that he sounded like some outdated country bumpkin cartoon character. Nothing about the two of them matched. Evelyn looked every inch the captain that she was, in a spotless uniform and boots. He was dressed, as he usually was, in a patchy sweater and old sneakers. Not to mention his old body. Still, they had helped each other save their people, and that was enough to make them family as far as he was concerned. She was one more adopted daughter.

“These girls apparently don’t own a stitch of clothes,” he muttered. “Anytime I send one of ‘um to clean up their stuff, it always belongs to everybody else, and she can’t possibly get her stuff before everyone else gets their stuff, and not a damn thing gets picked up until I do it. I tell you, it was so much easier with Godfrey.”

“Of course it was. He was a boy, not to mention an only child,” Evelyn said. “I think you men teach us to depend on you for all these domestic things.”

“Well it ain’t like I’m doing much else,” he muttered. “The girls are basically IHP cadets at this point. They’re with Alomb, going over the new Hollow Suit intel. Ain’t nobody asked me if I want to do that.”

The clothes now collected, Michael shoved one laundry basket under his arm. Evelyn grabbed the second before he could, and the two of them headed to the laundry room together.

“Nobody’s keeping anything from you. And honestly, it isn’t much to tell.”

“Enough that the girls are having a whole lesson about it,” Michael muttered. “But all I know is that Dent was shouting at us as we came in that they were aliens from the Andromeda Galaxy like it was the greatest news ever.”

They reached the laundry room and started loading clothes into empty machines. It wasn’t a busy part of the base just then, with one dryer making a solitary hum. It smelled of the harsh chemical soap that was all the base had.

Evelyn shut the lid of the washer and started it. “It kind of felt that way, didn’t it? I mean, the whole war we haven’t known anything about the Hollow Suits at all. Just that they were big, hulking suits of metal with nothing inside we could even try to reason with.”

“Don’t feel like any of that’s changed,” Michael said. “Ain’t we still hiding from them? Has anyone managed to do any damage to them?”

“No, but we know more now. They’re not machines. They’re sentient beings, like us, the Khloe, Ma’sheed, or Toth. And we know where they’re from. Dent has this theory that if we can communicate with the Andromeda Galaxy, we can find someone there who can call the Hollow Suits back. Or at least talk to us, tell us why they’re doing this.”

“So that’s what we’re doing now? Talking to aliens that may or may not be there in literally another galaxy? We might, in fact, be the last people on Earth alive, and we’re doing what? Yelling please stop hurting us into a void that might or might not have someone in it who might or might not understand us or even give a shit?”

Evelyn leaned against the machine and crossed her arms. “I’m starting to understand why no one’s taken the time to explain all of this to you.”

Michael’s sharp retort was interrupted when a lanky, blond young man came into the laundry. He gave the two of them worried looks. “Should I come back later?” he asked.

“No, of course not, Toby,” Evelyn said. “Michael, have you met Toby yet? He’s one of our new residents.”

“You’re one of those who were healed from the nanites, right?” Michael asked, reaching out to shake his hand. “How you feelin’ after that?”

“Alright mostly,” Toby said. “Some headaches. Most of us have been getting them. But, guess that’s to be expected.”

“Sure. Little metal bugs crawled around your brain, making you act like a zombie. I’m still surprised any of you are up walking around after that.”

Toby gave Evelyn a shy smile. “Thanks to you. I mean, thanks to the cure you brought back from the stations.”

“Glad we could do it,” Evelyn said.

Michael sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs. The washing machine would take only minutes, there was no sense in going back to his room. Evelyn, to his surprise, sat down with him. “Don’t you have something important to do right now?” he asked.

“I am doing something important,” Evelyn said. “I’m checking in with you, Michael. You’re important.”

“You’re condescending,” he replied.

“No, I’m serious,” she said. “The girls depend on you. And those girls are our future. Dent was just saying the other day that the most important thing anyone in the base can be doing is taking care of those kids. If you’re right, and we are the last people on Earth, then the girls are the entirety of the next generation.”

“Oh God,” Michael muttered. “An entire generation that doesn’t know how to pick up their own clothes.”

Something crashed on the other side of the room. Toby, who’d been reaching into the wall-mounted washer for his clothes, had collapsed. Evelyn and Michael hurried over to check on him.

“I’m okay,” he said, as Evelyn helped him sit up. “Sorry, I just got a little dizzy.” He tried to stand up, but his head lolled to the side and he sat down hard again.

“Don’t try to get up just yet,” Michael said, kneeling next to the younger man. He reached out to steady him but stopped. Toby’s eyes were blood red.

“Hey, that don’t look healthy,” he said. “Evelyn, do you see this?”

Evelyn pulled a penlight from her breast pocket. She carefully used it to inspect Toby’s blood-colored eyes. “Probably a side effect of the nanites. Toby, when you’re feeling up to it, I’m going to take you to the medical ward. I want to get some scans of your head to see what’s causing this, okay?”

“Yeah,” Toby said. “I’m okay, let me just-.”

He tried to stand up and started to heave. Michael grabbed a nearby wastebasket, barely getting it in front of Toby’s face before he started puking. He looked up a few moments later, sheepishly muttering “Sorry.”

“It’s gonna happen,” Michael said, giving Toby a tentative pat on the back. “Better not to keep it in.”

Toby’s face changed, contorting with anger. He shoved Michael away. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not one of your fucking kids.”

“Woah, there’s no call for that,” Evelyn snapped.

Back over the bucket went Toby’s head for another round of heaving. When he again looked up his eyes were their normal shade of brown circled by white again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Don’t know where that even came from.”

“Heat of the moment. Don’t even think about it,” Michael said.

Evelyn helped Toby to his feet. “Come on, I think you need to lie down at the infirmary for a bit. Get a nice nap in and a good cup of tea.”

“I don’t like tea,” Toby said, even as he slung his arm around Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Ah, don’t be silly,” Evelyn replied. “Everyone likes tea,”

Copyright © 2024 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved.

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Nova, Chapter Two

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And if you need to begin at the beginning of Station 86, click here to get book one for free.

Godfrey

Sennett collapsed. She’d been pulling so hard against Godfrey and Liam that they almost fell when that pressure gave up.

“Should one of us go with them?” Liam asked, nodding his head towards Russell and Candace. “Don’t seem like a good idea leaving them alone. Aren’t they both part of the Core?”

“Couldn’t hurt to keep an eye on them,” Godfrey replied. Liam nodded and trotted after the two.

Godfrey scooped Sennett up and took her inside. Owen trailed after him.

Mason, April, and Bailey were in the living room, clearly trying to look like they hadn’t been doing their best to listen through the front door. Mason jumped when the door opened, and turned the wall screen on to a cartoon. “What happened?” he asked, as Godfrey laid Sennett on the couch. “Did Candace hit her?”

“No,” Godfrey said. “Sennett tried to attack that woman, and passed out with one of her headaches.”

“Shit,” Mason said. “I don’t guess there’s any sense in taking her to the hospital unless she doesn’t wake up soon. The only thing they did last time was hook her up to an IV. I can do that.”

“What’s the matter with her?” April asked. She picked up Bailey and held him tight. If the dog had been flesh and blood, instead of a metal terrier, she might have been constricting the poor thing.

“She just got too excited,” Godfrey said. “It’s because of those nanites that were in her brain, probably.”

“Yeah,” Mason said. He placed two fingers on Sennett’s throat. “Yeah, that’s probably it. I’ll get her down to the lab once she wakes up, do some scans. Don’t worry, April. Watch your cartoons, we’ll just let your mom rest for now.”

April curled up on an armchair, still clutching Bailey. She kept one eye on her mother and one eye on the screen. It was clear that she wasn’t as comforted by the grownups as they would have liked.

Soon, though, Sennett woke. Godfrey looked closely at her eyes as soon as she opened them and was thankful to see that they’d returned to their usual brown.

“What are you doing?” Sennett asked, sitting up and pulling her face away from his.

“Just checking,” Godfrey said.

“Can you describe how you felt back there?” Mason asked.

“How do you think I felt?” she snapped.

“I mean physically,” he replied. “Clearly how you were feeling emotionally was homicidal.”

Godfrey moved out of the way so Mason could sit next to Sennett. Mason carefully set his fingertips against her chin, moving her head up and down, before inspecting her eyes. “Any pain now?” he asked.

“Just a lingering headache,” she said. “But when the attack started, I had this real sharp pain right behind my eyes.”

Sennett glanced towards April, who appeared to be consumed by her cartoon. In a whisper, she said, “I think I really would have killed Candace if I could have reached her. I honestly think I would have just ripped her apart.”

Godfrey nodded. “It sure as hell looked like that was the plan.”

“I want you to come down to the lab so I can run some tests,” Mason said. “I don’t think those nanites are as gone as we thought they were. And I’m going to get ahold of the station you were on when you got infected and see if anyone else is continuing to have symptoms. What station was it?”

“Sixteen,” Sennett said.

Suddenly April shrieked. “Look!” She pointed at the wall screen. “Look, there’s somebody there!”

“What?” Godfrey asked. The adults all turned, but there was nothing on the screen but colorful cartoon characters dancing to some song. “What is it, Little Bit?”

“There was somebody on the screen, looking at me!” April screamed.

Mason turned the screen off. Sennett rose from the couch to kneel next to April’s chair. “Calm down, it’s okay.”

“No, no somebody was watching me. An old man,” April sobbed.

“I didn’t see anything,” Owen said.

“Me either,” Godfrey agreed. “April, it was probably just a reflection or something.”

“Come on,” Sennett said, holding her hand out. “Well go into the kitchen and get some hot chocolate. Then I think we both need a long nap.”

“But he was there!” April said.

“I know,” Sennett said. “Come on, now. The screenman can’t see you in the kitchen.”

“I mean, there is the table screen,” Owen said. Mason shoved him.

Godfrey and Mason were in the kitchen when Russell and Liam returned. Russell sat down hard at the table. Liam went to the replicator and pulled up a few beers. After passing them around, he asked, “Where are the girls?”

“Sleeping in Sennett’s room,” Godfrey said. “Owen’s taking a nap on the couch. I think I’m going to invite him to stay with me at my place when he gets up.”

“You don’t want to stay here?” Mason asked.

“Nah, you guys have enough people here as it is,” Godfrey said. “No sense adding two more when I have a perfectly fine house that’s been sitting empty.”

Mason patted Godfrey’s hand. “You don’t have to go back. It can’t be easy, with Ki gone.”

“Well, I have to get used to it,” Godfrey said. He took a long drink. “I’m a grown man. I can’t spend the rest of my life sleeping on my friend’s couch because I’m sad or lonely or whatever.”

“Have you even talked to her since she left?” Liam asked.

“No,” Godfrey said.

“Well, maybe that’s something you ought to think about,” Liam said.

Godfrey gave Liam a dark look. “Ki’s on Khloe with her family. She’s safer there than she would be here, with the Hollow Suits tearing through the stations. I’m not going to ask her to come back just to put her in danger.”

“Oh yeah,” Liam muttered, taking another drink. “Hadn’t thought about them.”

“Anyway, what happened with Candace?” Mason asked. “Did she get around to telling you whatever it was she wanted to say?”

Liam snorted. “No. She barely strung two words together on the transit down to the first level. Then, she refused to leave the station. She got a motel room and said she was going to stay right here until she could tell Sen what she came to tell her. Which is gonna be kind of hard, since she loses all her words every time she tries to talk about it.”

Russell had been silent through all of this. He hadn’t taken a drink of his beer, or done more than stare at the kitchen wall. Now, he spoke. “It’s something to do with The Core, then. It has to be. She’s come to tell Sennett something about us, and her loyalty chip activated.”

Godfrey exchanged glances with Mason and Liam. “And what in the hell is a loyalty chip?” he asked.

“Well, what does it sound like?” Russell snorted. “It’s a failsafe, in case an agent decides to betray us. Before anything can be divulged, the chip suspends the frontal lobe. If the agent keeps trying to talk, it’ll eventually kill them.”

When he realized the others were looking at him with horror, he said, “We don’t use them anymore. Candace must still have one from before she went to prison. I thought they were all deactivated. Mom-.”

He stopped and took a long drink. “Mom said she deactivated all of them.”

Mason shook his head. He started tapping on the table screen, pulling up pages of blueprints that were too complex for Godfrey to recognize. “I’ve heard of those before. I might be able to do something about it, but I’ll need to do some research.”

“Do you have any idea what it might be?” Godfrey added. “You know her, right?”

Russell shook his head. Finally, he drained his bottle. “I knew a girl when I was a boy. I don’t know who this woman is. And I can’t imagine what could make her come to Sennett for anything. Candace was so devoted to Mom, she’d have done anything for her.”

“Right,” Mason said. “Maven’s your mom. So, you probably wouldn’t tell us what she was planning.”

“If I knew of some grand plan, I’d tell you. The Hollow Suits have changed everything. Until they’re no longer a threat, we can’t waste energy worrying about the aliens.”

“The aliens aren’t anything you’ve got to worry about to start with,” Godfrey growled. “Don’t forget that my wife is Khloe. April’s half Khloe.”

“Yeah,” Russell said. “But she’s half human, too. Anyway, I need to talk to Mom about this. Whatever she’s planning, we don’t have time for it. Once I get word to her, The Core will turn its attention to the Hollow Suits.”

Liam looked like he had something to say to that. But instead, he gave Russell a large smile, that showed every one of his teeth and didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “I think I need another beer. Anyone else want one?”

Godfrey hadn’t been in his own house in over a month. He lived a level below Sennett, in a not-as-wealthy but still nice neighborhood. There weren’t any false lawns here like Sennett had. No space between the houses. There were modest homes and walkways, with a park near the transit station. With the orange glow overhead, it almost felt like a suburb back on Earth.

Godfrey’s little two-bedroom house, wedged between others just like it, was much smaller than Sennett’s. And yet it felt immense. It was cold, and he couldn’t smell anything. The house hadn’t smelled so much like anything since the day he’d moved in.

He’d been alone then, too. Just a cook, brand new to the station. But the most beautiful woman had grinned at him when he made her traditional Earth food, as she called it. So maybe he wasn’t going to regret this move like his dad kept insisting he would.

Godfrey shook his head. That line of thinking wasn’t going to get him anywhere he wanted to be.

Owen yawned. “Even with that nap at Sennett’s place, I’m exhausted,” he said.

“We don’t have a spare guest room,” Godfrey said. “My wife used it for a home office, so there’s no bed or anything. But the living room couch pulls out.”

“Thanks,” Owen said. He sat down hard on the couch. “This wasn’t exactly the welcome I thought we’d get here. What with that crazy woman and all.”

“It’s always something here,” Godfrey said.

Owen shrugged. Then he laid down on the couch without bothering with the pull-out feature. “It’s always something everywhere.”

Soon enough, he was fast asleep.

Godfrey was so tired that he ached. But he wasn’t ready yet to go into his bedroom. Instead, he went to the kitchen. The simulator battery was fresh, having been purchased sometime before Ki left and he’d gone on an extended sleepover. He made himself a cup of coffee. Then, he began simulating yeast, flour, and salt. When in doubt, bake. It was a motto that had served him well so far, and it didn’t seem like the time to abandon it now.

When he took his wrist pad off to protect it from the dough, he glanced at the screen for the first time since they’d arrived home.

Godfrey had never regretted moving to Station 86. He had, however, regretted running for a seat on the council. Even though he’d retired, no one seemed to have taken notice. Especially Howard and Joy, who were supposed to now be the only council members.

He had no intention of responding to any messages from Joy or Howard, no matter how much help they were asking for. But there were no messages for him to smugly ignore. He was almost disappointed.

While the dough was proofing, Godfrey sat at the kitchen table and drank his coffee. Out of habit, he pulled up the news on the table screen. He scrolled through headlines, not reading the articles attached.

Hollow Suit sighting on Level Four proven to be a hoax

Simulator energy shortage continues, people urged to ration use

Protest on Level One turns violent, five injured

Police Commissioner Schultz urges patience from citizens

Godfrey closed the news feed. The people of Station 86 weren’t taking the news of the Hollow Suits well. Of course, he understood. The station had lived through political assassinations, terrorist attacks, AI dogs harvesting them for their organs, and an abrupt change in their governing structure, all in the past year. He, Godfrey, hadn’t been the only one to lose a spouse. Sennett hadn’t been the only one to lose a loved one, though not many had seen their mother blown up in front of the whole damn station. The whole population was likely feeling exactly how he was feeling. Exhausted, on a razor’s edge, and scared. So of course people were reporting false Hollow Suit sightings. Of course, protests were getting out of control. And of course, Commissioner Schultz, Sennett’s serene and level-headed boss, was urging everyone to just calm the hell down.

Godfrey sighed. If he could do something to help, he probably should. He tapped on the table screen again and called Howard.

The line rang for longer than normal, but at last, he saw Howard’s face. He was a thin man, with a neat beard and nearly always wore a politician’s smile. That smile looked genuine though, when Howard saw Godfrey. “Hey, man, what’s up? When did you get back?”

“Just a couple hours ago,” Godfrey said. “Surprised you didn’t know.”

“Well, somebody’s watching the incoming ships, but it’s not me,” Howard chuckled.

Godfrey nodded. “Yeah, looks like you and Joy must be busy enough.”

“We’ve been hopping, that’s for sure,” Howard agreed. “Speaking of which, I can’t really talk right now. But let’s get together in a couple of days. I know Joy and I are gonna need to hear about what went down on Station Central first hand.”

“Yeah, it was like a war zone,” Godfrey said.

“No doubt, no doubt,” Howard said. “But listen, I’d better let you go for now. You get some rest, and we’ll talk in a few days.”

“Oh,” Godfrey said. “Alright.”

“I’m glad to see you home, Godfrey. I was a little worried you weren’t coming back from this one. See you soon.”

And before Godfrey could even respond, Howard had closed the video.

Godfrey sat back in his chair and picked up his coffee cup. Having been dismissed so abruptly, he had nothing to distract him from his worries except for rising bread dough.

Copyright © 2004 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved.

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Nova, Chapter One

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To begin at the start of Station 86, click here to get book one for free.

Sennett

Station 86, six years before our story takes place.

Sennett expected Lo to be annoyed with her, but instead, he laughed. “I thought you said you wanted frozen yogurt. Isn’t that the whole reason we came down here?” He was holding two dishes in his hands, his lovely crystal-like hands. She didn’t take one.

The overhead lights on the station were dimming, it must be after six. Some people who’d been to Earth said it looked like something they called twilight. The colors shifted from yellow-white to blues and purples. Lo looked so beautiful in that light. His broad, strong shoulders shook as he laughed at her disdain. His rose-pink complexion was somehow a richer hue when he laughed. His wide nose wrinkled, and he seemed to almost glow.

“Yeah, but I wanted it from Harlequin’s frozen yogurt,” she said. “They’re the only ones that don’t have that weird aftertaste.”

Lo’s face fell. “Harlequin’s is on the other side of the level,” he said. “It’s the farthest one from the transit station.”

Sennett put a hand on her growing belly. “I cannot control these cravings,” she said. “Your child has a discerning pallet already.”

“Honey, it’s been such a long day,” he said.

She sighed and took one of the paper bowls from him. “Alright, maybe this will hold them over.”

Lo put his arm over her shoulder, and they started walking toward the transit. The market level was as busy as it ever was in the evening. People stopped by after work for things that just couldn’t wait. Shops were closing down, and the people who worked in them were heading in the same direction as Lo and Sennett. People were coming the opposite way to start evening shifts at overnight shops.

Sennett ate a spoonful of her yogurt, then leaned against Lo. “What do Khloe crave when they’re pregnant?”

“That’s not how things work with Khloe,” he said. “We don’t really do the whole pregnancy thing.”

“Guess that’s why you were so confused when I was trying to explain it to you,” Sennett said.

He laughed again, and it made her smile. His laugh was another reason to love him. It was deep and loud and vibrated through his whole body.

“That was a surprise. But, you are always full of surprises,” he said.

The crowd around them thinned as they drew closer to the transit station. A train was just pulling away, taking those who had already been waiting. So the two of them had the platform to themselves.

Sennett sat down on a bench and applied herself to her yogurt. Lo stood just at the safety line, watching down the tube for the train to arrive. “You in a rush to get home?” Sennett asked.

He turned towards her, about to answer.

Then there was a sound that didn’t belong on the platform. Didn’t belong anywhere anymore. It was a sound from another time. Sennett didn’t recognize it, had never heard anything like it before. It was loud, so immensely loud, and sharp. Sennett’s ears rang. She dropped the paper cup on the ground to cover them. Then she looked back at Lo.

He didn’t have part of his face anymore. What remained was ragged, bloody, almost as though something had reached out and ripped half of it away. He fell backward, onto the transit track.

Someone was running away. Sennett saw a woman in a denim jacket with brown hair. She didn’t have time to do anything about that. Instead, she went to the edge of the platform. There wasn’t any way for her to get down to where Lo was lying. He wasn’t moving. His glow was gone. “Help!” she screamed. “Someone, help!”

Sennett didn’t find out until later that the sound she’d heard was a gunshot.

Now

The brown hair Sennett remembered was longer. It was pulled back in a dirty bun. The denim jacket had been replaced with an oversized grey sweater that looked like she’d slept in. The woman standing in front of her was a mess. Of course that wasn’t enough for her to mistake Candace sitting on her front step, with a beat-up backpack next to her.

Candace stood up when she saw Sennett, eyes downcast. “Um,” she said.

Sennett froze, still as glass. If she’d been alone, maybe she’d have killed the woman who had no business being here, not at her house and not on this station. But she wasn’t alone. Her family, the people she cared about were around her. Her brothers were there, Mason and Russell. She and Russell share the same dark complexion, though his hair was lighter than her black braids. Mason, her adopted brother, was paler than normal. Godfrey was there, almost as good as a brother, his dark brown curls completely unmanaged after their escape from Station Central. Liam was there. He was tall enough to see above all of them, with reddish-blond hair. And Sennett didn’t want Candace anywhere near this man she was only starting to love.

Finally, April was there. April, the baby who’d been nestled under Sennett’s heart while this woman killed her father in cold blood. For no other reason but that he was a Khloe and she, Candace, had been ordered to do it. April, who had the same pink complexion as her father, with wild hair that she got from Sennett.

“Mason,” Sennett said, “take April inside through the back door.”

“Mommy, what’s going on?” April asked.

“Come on,” Mason said. He picked the child up and hurried past Candace, not even looking at her. April’s AI terrier Bailey trotted after them.

Sennett was still too frozen to speak, but her brother Russell wasn’t. “Candace, what in God’s name are you doing here?” Russell asked.

Of course, he knew her. They’d been raised in the same terrorist group, The Core. He probably knew Candace better than he knew Sennett.

“I, um,” Candace said. “I tried to message you, Sennett. I didn’t get any answer.”

“That’s because I didn’t send one,” Sennett snapped.

“Wait, this is Candace?” Godfrey asked. He put a hand on Sennett’s shoulder. Whether it was to give his best friend comfort or to hold her back was unclear.

“Sorry, who’s this?” Owen asked. It was maybe the longest sentence he’d spoken since Station Central, his home, had been destroyed.

“Someone who really shouldn’t be here,” Godfrey said.

“If you’re here to offer some sort of apology, you can shove it up your ass,” Sennett said. “I don’t want to hear it, and you don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“No,” Candace said. “I mean, you deserve an apology. You deserve a lot more than that.”

“She deserves to live the rest of her life without having to think about you,” Liam said. “So why don’t you take off now.”

“I, I will,” Candace said. “But Sennett, I have to tell you something. It’s important, or I wouldn’t be here. Everyone here in Station 86 is in danger. I came to warn you.”

“Us being in danger isn’t exactly new,” Godfrey said. “Is this about the Hollow Suits? We know about them already.”

“The what?” Candace asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is. But this is-.”

She stopped. She put a hand to her head, as her eyes glazed over. Then, she sat down again on the step, hard.

Pain engulfed Sennett’s head. She thought she might fall like Candace had, but instead, she lunged for the other woman. Liam and Godfrey together barely held her back as she reached, screaming and clawing for Candace. She needed to get her, to grab her and rip into her flesh with nails and teeth.

Russell yanked Candace up, and shook her, hard. Candace’s head flopped around until she seemed to come back to the present. When she saw Sennett reaching for her, she pulled away as though she’d seen a monster. “What’s the matter with your eyes!” she cried.

“Maybe you should get the hell out of here!” Liam yelled. “You’re making it worse, not better.”

Sennett didn’t see Russell hustle Candace off. She only saw red, until she only saw black.

Copyright © 2024 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

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Nova, Prolog

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There was a yellow handprint on Maven’s desk, just at the left corner. Many years ago a little hand had reached up covered in paint and made the print before Maven could prevent it. It had been a bright hour between meetings of a darker nature, finger painting with her son. Smears of rainbow-colored paint on pages that were supposed to be cats and ships. All hung up for everyone to admire when they dried. None so precious as the smile on Russell’s face also smeared with paint.

She hadn’t washed the handprint off. Even when Russell was a little boy, she’d known that moment would be something she never wanted to forget.

Maven stared at the screen in front of her. She saw a few ships, small ones, flying away from Station Central. They were too few and too small to hold everyone who’d been on the vacation station.

Was Russell on one of them? Was Sennett?

She put her hands over her eyes. Unwilling to turn the screen off, but unable to watch.

To lose Sennett was to lose a dream. She’d been stolen from Maven when she was so young, no more than a baby. By the time they’d found her on that nothing little station that no one had even heard of before it became the station of First Contact, she was nearly a grown woman. Maven never stopped hoping they could be reunited. She dreamed of placing her hands on her daughter’s face and telling her that she loved her. That she loved her from afar and prayed for her every day. Now, that was never going to happen.

To lose Russell, well that was something else.

That was losing the moments when she made him place his hand, now bigger than hers, over the yellow handprint to measure how much it had grown. It was losing dinners spent watching him argue with his father. It was losing the quiet moments when she could just quietly admire the strong, brilliant young man she’d raised. It was losing any chance of him finding happiness, and bringing children of his own into the world. To lose Russell was to lose the brightest part of her life. Maybe the only bright part she’d ever had.

Maven shook her head. This wasn’t helping, this mourning. It couldn’t be the face she showed her generals, and they would be arriving soon. She took a deep breath. “Put it away,” she whispered. She pictured herself taking all of her rage, all of her anger, all of her sorrow, and putting it into a box like one might shove outgrown clothes to be dealt with at a later time. She pulled out a mirror to fix her makeup. Her generals would be arriving soon, and there was much to discuss. There wasn’t any reason to hold back from attacking Station 86 now. Especially since their defenses were lowered.

She had just a few moments to start typing notes for the meeting. With steady hands and dry eyes, she typed.

We must secure the existence of our people and a future for Earth’s children.

When we last left our heroes, all hell had broken loose.

When we last left our heroes, it was the beginning of the end.

Copyright © 2024 by Nicole C. Luttrell

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

If you love the story and want to support Paper Beats World, you can do so on Ko-fi.

32

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