Alfred Bester is a tall man, well over six foot and waif thin. He has a full head of brown hair with a prominent widow’s peak, greying somewhat but less than one would expect for someone in such a powerful … Continue reading Anvil. Part 18.
“In truth, I never consider the audience for whom I’m writing. I just write what I want to write.” J.K Rowling. “You have to follow your own voice. You have to be yourself when you write. In effect, you have … Continue reading Finding My Voice
Kanji sprawls in her hovering portachair, its suspensors struggling under her weight. Her spiked durasteel right arm dwarfs the other, whose musculature is networked with ridged veins. “So, boss”, she says. “How long until Chao gets here?” Johnston stands at … Continue reading Anvil. Part 17.
Like the new logo? I put a fair bit of work into it – Steve 🙂 Hansen’s airborne troop carrier hovers at the entrance to the ruined hangar. Shi-Cho taps his foot impatiently on some rubble as the side hatch … Continue reading Anvil. Part 16.
The distant sound of automatic gunfire and plasma rounds echo from within the skeletal remains of the Chao Triad building. In the interceptor, Olsin’s finger pauses over the tether recall button. She notes two murky shapes in the dirty haze … Continue reading Anvil. Part 15.
“Get to the interceptor,” says the Anvil, gritting her teeth. As Chun, Jimmy and Olsin exit stage left, she flexes her fingers and tenses. Autonomic sensors and variable defence pattern assessments are whirling around her brain. Her HUD is flashing … Continue reading Anvil. Part 14.
Sweat on brow, an incessant reminder. Heat that censures from deep within, the cloying depths of double-shotted anxiety. Wait, breathe, wait, all analgesic flutter. Harder to escape, these walls abound and heighten further with every calamitous thought. Relax, they say, … Continue reading Anxious Thoughts. A poem.
Olsin leads the motley crew of escapees through gleaming corridors towards one of the many tower hangars. As they approach a corner she places a hand on the Anvil’s groin and whispers “Wait, sugar.” Her hand lingers for an uncomfortably … Continue reading Anvil. Part 13.
Granny Chun is led sedately to a cell opposite the Anvil’s. She catches a glimpse of the big male skull behind the tiny transteel window as she is pushed gently into her cell by two armoured guards. Prison guard Olsin … Continue reading Anvil. Part 12.
The Anvil struggles groggily to her feet. The room is silent. “What did I miss?” she says. Lady Chao and Granny Chun are still kissing. “Somebody want to fill me in on this development?” says the Anvil. Violet runs over … Continue reading Anvil. Part 11.
Lady Chao’s headquarters is just as ruinous as the other buildings surrounding it. Rusted metal supports play peek-a-boo through holey concrete walls. The lower levels are salt-sutured steel and raggedy plate glass. Only the top four levels are decently attired: … Continue reading Anvil. Part 10.
A sonic boom cracks the sky beneath the floating city. Tossing to and fro in the wild surf below, the little inflatable raft seems little more than a speck on the ocean’s roiling back. The aging interceptor slows and pulls … Continue reading Anvil. Part 9.
The tall old woman is angry. She throws her cup of shoujiu across the room where it shatters against the wall. “They took my interceptor?” Her eyes are narrow slits, her crow’s feet now a delta fanning both sides of … Continue reading Anvil. Part 8.
It’s six hours out and Granny Chun vomits into the bucket for the seventh time. She groans and spits bile into the foul, bitter broth meandering at the bottom of the pail. Violet is out of her capsule, sleeping restfully, … Continue reading Anvil. Part 7.
They tramp down five flights in faulty glowglobe dimness, skirting sleeping derelicts and the occasional Verso dealer. They are given wide berth by the occupants; Granny Chun’s pumpgun speaks volumes without ever needing to bark. Eventually they reach a level … Continue reading Anvil. Part 6.
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