Feed aggregator

2,119 miles away from Elmwood

The right leg hurt, the left arm hurt, everything fucking hurt. There was alien slime dripping from his armor, and it stank like yesterday’s vomit.

The gate loomed in front of him. Elias McFeron stepped through it.

Blue sky. Finally. 

He took a deep breath and tasted home. That first gulp of Earth’s air. There was nothing like it.

Behind him the rest of the assault team staggered out. He’d force-marched them for the last two days, all the way from the anchor chamber. It was a hard pace even for the top Talents, and it took longer than expected because the markers they had placed to guide their way through the swamp had sunk.

The first responders dashed toward him with the stretcher. Elias let them get in position, lifted Damion Bonilla off his shoulders, and carefully deposited him onto the stretcher. The pulsecarver’s blood-smeared face was a mask of pain.

“Thank you, Guildmaster. I’m sorry.”

Elias nodded. “Nothing to be sorry about. Rest. You’ve earned it.”

The first responders carried Bonilla off. His legs were bloody mush below the knees, but he would walk again. The healers would fix him. They fixed anything except dead if you got to them in time.

This was the last time. Elias had promised himself that every time he went into the breach, but this time he meant it. He would strip off the armor, take a long shower in his hotel, board the guild jet with the rest of his team, and go home. He would eat well, sleep in his own bed, and then in the morning he would put on a suit, go into his office, and do paperwork like a normal fucking human being. That’s where he belonged. Running the guild, which had plenty of blade wardens without him.

The medics swarmed the assault team. A young kid with a healer’s white caduceus on his jacket ran up to him. Elias waved him off and squinted at the familiar orderly chaos in front of the gate, looking for the mining crew. He’d sent a scout ahead with the orders to wrap it up. The miners were on the left, stowing their gear. He counted them out of habit. 15 and 8 escorts. Good. Everyone was out.

A familiar tall, lean figure in a black Tom Ford suit tugged at his attention. Leo Martinez, who seemed to be born to wear elegant suits and be the public face of a guild, the only man standing still in the flurry of activity. His XO, who should’ve been back at HQ, 2,000 miles away. Something had happened.

Leo started toward him.

Elias made himself walk forward. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to deal with it but avoiding it would make things worse.

A sharp sound cut through the human clamor, like the noise of a thousand paper sheets being ripped at once magnified through concert level speakers. The gate collapsed.

Leo reached him. “Cutting it a little close, sir.”

“Happens.” Elias headed for the familiar black SUV. The back hatch rose as he approached, and he began stripping his armor and tossing it into the plastic-lined vehicle. “What is it?”

Leo kept his voice low. “We had a fatal event.”

He’d figured that. “Where?”

“Elmwood Gate. The assault team is presumed dead. We lost nine of twelve miners, four of the escorts, a K9 and handler, and a DeBRA.”

Elias stopped for a moment. Twenty-eight people. Good people. He’d approved the line up himself. It was a solid team that should’ve been more than adequate for the deep yellow gate. He’d personally trained them, he’d gone into breaches with them, and now they were dead. Half of them under the age of thirty. He’d sent kids to their deaths again.

This wasn’t a fatal event, this was a catastrophe. What the hell went wrong over there?

Leo’s face was carefully neutral. “The DeBRA is—”

“Adaline Moore.” The best DeBRA in the Eastern US died in their gate dive.

“Yes, sir. I’ve got the mining foreman, the surviving miners, and London under lockdown.”

“London made it out?”

The crisp line of Leo’s jaw got sharper. “Yes, sir.”

“Hm.”

“I’ve reported to the DDC,” Leo continued. “Cora Ward owes me a favor, so she will sit on it for as long as she can, but sooner or later this will get out and when it does, both the Hermetic Alliance and the Guardian Guild will scream bloody murder. The Guardians, in particular, have been vocal about our share of the gates.”

Adaline Moore had been in high demand. DeBRAs of her caliber were rare and monopolized by the DDC. Elias liked to know who he was working with, so he kept tabs on the assessors. Adaline was divorced, with an absentee ex-husband, two children, a cat, and her life revolved around work and family. The very definition of a noncombatant. Her children were now orphans.

Leo was right, the fallout from this would hit them like a hammer, but the political mess and the PR nightmare wasn’t important right now. He would deal with that later. “What does London say happened?”

“Humanoid combatants. Highest red level.”

“What kind of combatants?”

A slight edge slipped into Leo’s voice. “He doesn’t know.”

Perfect.

“His entire crew and the DeBRA are dead, and he doesn’t know. Did he see the DeBRA die?”

“He says he did. The mining foreman backs up his story.”

The foreman made it out, too. “What about the other miners?”

“In shock. They aren’t talking.”

Elias deposited the last bit of gear into the SUV and slapped it shut. The vehicle rocked. The control got away from him a hair.

Leo got behind the wheel, Elias climbed into the passenger seat, and they drove out, past the police barricade and the onlookers onto I-205, heading north, toward the airport, where the guild jet waited.

“From what London described, we will need the primary team,” Leo said. “Kovalenko is on loan to Texas’ Lone Star Guild and Krista is on vacation in the Caribbean. Jackson is in Japan.”

And they would have to wait for Jackson because they would need their best healer.

“Jackson has the longest travel but should make it within 48 hours. The real problem is the tank,” Leo said. “Both Karen and Amir are inside the gates right now, and both went in less than twenty-four hours ago. We can substitute Geneva, but she lacks experience…”

“No need,” Elias said. “I’ll take them in myself. Tell Krista I authorized triple rates. We can swing by Dallas and pick up Kovalenko. We have 28 people in that breach. We must recover the bodies so their families will have something to bury.”

If there was anything to recover. With the kind of delay they were facing, they could get there and find only bones stripped bare. Dead people became meat, and meat didn’t last long in a breach. He would shower and sleep on the plane. The office would have to wait.

“Are we pulling them to HQ or straight to Elmwood?” Leo asked.

“Straight to Elmwood. Nobody goes into that gate until I get there.”

“Understood.”

Elias looked at the city soaking in the dreary rain of the Pacific Northwest outside the window and glanced back at his XO. “Was London injured?”

A hint of bright electric lightning flared in Leo’s eyes, turning them an unnatural silver white. He pronounced words with crisp exactness. “Not a scratch, sir.”

“Hm.”

He had to get to Elmwood. The sooner, the better.

The post The Inheritance: Chapter 4 Part 1 first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

Cover for The Star Pit by Tony Roberts
Cover for Tango Charlie and Foxtrot Romeo by David Lee Anderson

Originally published in January 1989, the fourth Tor Double included John Varley’s Tango Charlie and Foxtrot Romeo and Samuel R. Delany’s The Star Pit. Printed in the a tête-bêche format, David Lee Anderson provided the cover by Tango Charlie and Foxtrot Romeo and Tony Roberts was the artist for The Star Pit.

The Star Pit was originally published in Worlds of Tomorrow in February, 1967. It was nominated for the Hugo Award. It lost to Philip José Farmer’s “Riders of the Purple Wage” and Anne McCaffrey’s “Weyr Search,” which tied each other. Coincidentally, McCaffrey and Delany share a birthday.

Vyme, a mechanic at the titular Star Pit, serves as Delany’s narrator. Rather than start with the present day action, however, Vyme opens his narration with memories of his own childhood and his life from several years earlier. Born on the backwater Earth in New York, he talks about his childhood and the ant farm he had as a child, which would eventually break.

He also talks about his life after leaving earth participating in a procreation group, a futuristic group marriage which was meant to make child rearing easier for both parents and children. Mostly talking about his kid-boy Antoni, who had an ecologarium, a sort of ant farm on a larger scale, it is clear that at best, Vyme is an absentee father, using the structure of the procreation group to allow himself to travel off world to take jobs as a mechanic and nursing his alcoholism, which eventually leads to him abandoning his group marriage.

Eventually, Vyme sobers up, but not before he can no longer return to his group family. Instead, he is on a Star Pit, a way station in space which is used to dock and repair spaceships. He is aided in this by Sandy and a young prodigy, Ratlit, who at thirteen has written a novel despite being functionally illiterate. Ratlit also helps out Alegra, a drug-addicted girl two years older than he is.

Vyme, Ratlit, Sandy, and Alegra are living their lives on the Star Pit in a world which has significant space travel, but in order for it to happen, people need to be identified as “the golden,” individuals who can pilot starships and are the only ones who can travel beyond the galactic plane without going insane, although their sanity is in question in any event.

According the Vyme, the golden are stupid and mean and the details of his interactions with them certainly bear that out, as well as a certain pettiness and a parallel society which normal humans can only watch and not fully understand. When one golden kills another in Vyme’s shop, Vyme and Sandy take it in stride. The surviving golden claims ownership of the dead golden’s ship and, not wanting it, hands it over to Sandy.

The plot of The Star Pit, such as it is, is secondary to the characters and their relationships with each other. Despite Vyme’s paternal tendencies toward Ratlit and his mentoring of Sandy, or Ratlit taking care of Alegra and making sure she is being treated for her illnesses, none of the characters seem to particularly like each other. They have been thrown together by circumstances and deal with each other as best that can.

While Vyme presents his background at the beginning of the novella, the other characters’ stories are only slowly revealed, and, while Vyme is not necessarily an unreliable narrator, the explanation for Sandy, Ratlit, Alegra, and, eventually the young golden Androcles, are all viewed through Vyme’s point of view. When Androcles show sup looking for a job, it is clear that Vyme sees him, at least in part, as a surrogate for his own long lost son, Antoni.

There is a certain disjointedness to The Star Pit, perhaps representing the fact that Vyme is not entirely comfortable with his own position and the difficult relationships he has with Sandy and Ratlit, one of whom appears to represent his own failures and the other of whom represents the possibilities a young Vyme drank away and squandered.

The Star Pit postulates a galaxy in which humans have spread, but its tight focus makes the galaxy feel like a very small place. While the golden have the ability to travel, most humans are limited as to where they can go, which is a response and reaction to all the stories of galactic empires and humanity expanding throughout the galaxy and universe.

Rich Horton discussed The Star Pit in the essay “An Evocation of the Science Fiction Dream of Exploration: ‘The Star Pit’ by Samuel R. Delany” in Black Gate in December 2020.

Worlds of Tomorrow 2/67 cover by Gray Morrow
Blue Champaign cover by Todd Cameron Hamilton

Tango Charlie and Foxtrot Romeo was originally published in the John Varley collection Blue Champagne by Dark Harvest Press in January, 1986. It won the Seiun Award in 1992.

Tango Charlie and Foxtrot Romeo was originally published in the John Varley collection Blue Champagne by Dark Harvest Press in January, 1986. It won the Seiun Award in 1992.

Like The Star Pit, Tango Charlie and Foxtrot Romeo takes place on an outpost, although it isn’t as distant as the one in Delany’s story. Instead, Varley’s focus is on a space station in orbit around Earth’s moon and the story opens with the remains of a dead dog being expelled through the station’s airlock, which is noted by a satellite which in stationed to track anything that comes out of the space station.

It turns out that the space station had been struck by a virus, Neuro X, thirty years earlier and quarantined. The expulsion of the dog is the first indication the Lunarians have that there is anything still alive on the space station. Varley story follows Anna-Louise Bach, a recruit/apprentice at the New Dresden Police Department on the moon and Charlie, a young girl who is living alone on the space station in the company of dozens of dogs.

The first half of the story deals with an assessment of the situation, Bach trying to figure out how to make contact with whoever might still be living on the space station and Charlie living her life surrounded by dogs and the station’s computer Tik-Tok, and becoming aware that someone is trying to contact her from the outside world. Eventually, contact is made and a resolution to the situation must be found. That resolution is made more difficult by information that Varley slowly reveals.

In the space of the novella, Varley creates three different societies to various degrees. The most obvious ones are the simple society that surrounds Charlie on the space station, with her interactions with the dogs, the chores that she must do, and the way she comes to terms with growing up. The second is the Lunarian society, which is clearly separate from that of Earth, beginning with fashion, but continuing to attitudes. Finally, Terrestrial culture is represented by Bach’s acquaintance Megan Galloway. Galloway is a celebrity on Earth who has a history that involves Bach. They don’t like each other, but find the can use each other to achieve their ends.

The nature of the story, following Charlie and her dogs and switching to follow Bach, means that Varley is essentially writing two intertwined stories. Charlie’s story is one of someone living on an abandoned space station, content and understanding of her world, until outside forces intrude and try to force their way of thinking on her. In many ways, Charlie is an alien race that the humans of Luna are attempting to colonize, although they wouldn’t see it that way.

The humans on Luna see themselves trying to understand the fate of a failed human colony on the Tango Charlie space station. The know that the disease that eradicated the station’s population could cause a deadly pandemic on the moon or Earth if it were released. At the same time, they have discovered that Charlie (and the dogs) have somehow managed to survive it and could offer hope for humanity if they could be studied. Unfortunately, the security system in place to make sure no contaminants escape the space station make it difficult to explore those possibilities.

As the novella progresses, Varley hints that something about Charlie may provide clues to either immortality or the impeding of aging. He also offers information about the nature of the Neuro X virus and the future of Tango Charlie, the space station upon which Charlie is resident. Some of the ideas Varley offers up in the story are seen to fruition while others are abandoned, leaving the story feeling a little unresolved, even as Varley does offer a resolution to most of his plot points. This also means that Tango Charlie and Foxtrot Romeo feels like it is part of a larger world.

Steven H Silver is a twenty-time Hugo Award nominee and was the publisher of the Hugo-nominated fanzine Argentus as well as the editor and publisher of ISFiC Press for eight years. He has also edited books for DAW, NESFA Press, and ZNB. His most recent anthology is Alternate Peace and his novel After Hastings was published in 2020. Steven has chaired the first Midwest Construction, Windycon three times, and the SFWA Nebula Conference numerous times. He was programming chair for Chicon 2000 and Vice Chair of Chicon 7.

 

Five Gifts for the Blacksmith's Wifeby Lyonne Riley
What is it about:When her village faces a winter of starvation, Sita draws the shortest straw. Now she’s to be given to the orcs across the river in exchange for food and supplies so her family can survive. Given the chance to choose her own husband from among the eligible orc bachelors, she selects Gurrek, the reluctant blacksmith, who clearly doesn’t want her. He’s the safest option.
Gurrek has always wanted a wife of his own, but not like this. Now he’s saddled with a human woman who needs new shoes, new clothes, and can’t even speak his language. He wants nothing to do with her, and yet her sweet, strong personality draws him in closer with every passing day.
As Sita and Gurrek try to find a place to fit within each other’s lives, attraction begins to bloom between them. But Gurrek refuses to touch a woman who never wanted to be his in the first place. Can Sita break through the blacksmith’s high walls to become his true wife, mind, body, and soul?
This is a sweet, cozy, steamy orc romance that features an arranged marriage, a grumpy/sunshine dynamic, a slow burn, a virgin sexual encounter, and a winter holiday vibe. Please check the content warnings on the author's website.
What did Voodoo Bride think of it:I read a Romance with Orcs that turned out to be Urban Fantasy, and although I really liked it, I wanted to read a Fantasy Romance with Orcs. So I tracked this one down, as I love the grumpy/sunshine trope.
And this turned out to be a nice read.
I really loved Gurrek and rooted for him to get a Happily Ever After. I had a bit more trouble with Sita. At times she felt... too young. I mean: she's adult in years of course, but in her behavior she sometimes felt like a child to me. Maybe it's me and I'm getting old, but because of how she felt to me I had a hard time believing in their romance.
Still, the writing was nice, Gurrek a grumpy sweetheart, and I enjoyed the read.
I might try another one of Riley's books.
Why should you read it:Grumpy Orc! 

Haunted Halloween ’86 from Spirit Halloween

The only thing I like better than blowing a whole day playing video games, is playing retro video games. Of course I love movie-quality HD graphics, but little pixelated Lego-people give me a case of the warm fuzzies. I did some digging and discovered I’m far from alone. The global retro gaming market has experienced significant growth in recent years. For instance, the NES Classic Edition sold 2.3 million units in less than a year, and the SNES Classic Edition surpassed 5 million units globally. The Sega Genesis Mini also exceeded 1 million units sold worldwide in its first year. Additionally, the arcade gaming sector, closely tied to retro gaming, was valued at $19.0 billion in 2023.

But when I think of one of my favorite retailers crossing over into retro-gaming, I most definitely get the fan girl squees.

Spirit Halloween, the annual haunt-headquarters that pops up every fall in the unused strip mall space near you, has just announced Haunted: Halloween ’86 – Spirit Edition, a pixelated plunge into Halloween nostalgia brought to you by Retrotainment Games.

Set in the cursed town of Possum Hollow, Haunted: Halloween ’86 is the lovechild of old-school beat-’em-ups and platforming games. You’ll tag-team as Donny and Tami, two tweens armed with fists, feet, and some serious determination to save their town from ghoulish doom. The Spirit Edition adds an additional storyline that brings the action from 1986 into 2025. Two modern-day characters don costumes at Spirit Halloween and are magically transported to 1986 by none other than Jack the Reaper himself.

Yes indeed, it is as delightfully weird as it sounds.

For $59.99, the Spirit Edition comes with a custom NES cartridge, a retro-style game box, and a user manual (because no one remembers how to work an NES anymore).

Not rocking an NES? No problem. Haunted: Halloween ’86 is also available digitally on the Nintendo Switch, Xbox One, and Steam. These versions deliver the same 8-bit thrills without the struggle of blowing dust out of your console.

Haunted Halloween ’86

Call me naive, but I honestly believe this isn’t just a nostalgic cash grab. Retrotainment Games built Haunted: Halloween ’86 using authentic 6502 Assembly language, sticking to NES hardware specs. The game serves up modern mechanics like combo moves, upgradeable power-ups, and physics-based momentum. Add seven sprawling levels and some gnarly bosses, and you’ve got a treat worth trading all your Halloween candy for. Digital formats are coming this summer, with no specific release date announced as of now. But if you’re after the collectable cartridges those come directly from Spirit at their website and they literally sold out in a couple of hours. Restocks are coming, but no date on that yet either.

Looks like we all really love the retro experience.

Like to read? Like to knit? Like socks? Like fantasy?

Then this is the Kickstarter project for you.

Here, in a nutshell, is what it is:

Socks & Sorcery will have four themed collector’s boxes, each delivered three times over the course of a year. Every box contains:

•  A Surprise fantasy novel in the format of your choice (ebook, paperback or audiobook)
•  100g skein of exclusively dyed fingering weight yarn inspired by something from the book
• A 20g contrasting mini skein perfect for crafting heels and toes
• Delightful surprises to enhance your reading and crafting journey. 

Mix and match any of the four themes—Dragons, Familiars, Witches and Vampires, or Faeries—or get them all for a box delivered each month for a year!

There are lots of great writers contributing books to this project including T. Thorn Coyle, Anthea Sharp, Leslie Claire Walker, and Thomas K. Carpenter. The first book in my Fey series, Sacrifice, is also a part of the project.

This project is a lot of fun, and I’m pleased to take part in it. I hope you join us!

 

Official Author WebsitePre-order Only A Grave Will Do over HEREAdd Only A Grave Will Do on Goodreads
Today we have super thrilled to be part of the cover reveal for the last book of the Malitu trilogy by James Lloyd Dulin, 
Feast your eyes on the gorgeous cover for ONLY A GRAVE WILL DO by artist Martin Mottet, the book released on June 24th 2025 and you can checkout the blurb below:

OFFICIAL BLURB: On the march towards war, blood is both a promise and a gamble.

Newly dubbed the Hero of Anilace, Kaylo is thrust into leading a rebellion against insurmountable odds. His people are dying, if not in labor camps, in occupied cities as everything that makes them Ennean is stripped away. In two generations, the Great Spirits will be legends and Ennea will be yet another conquered territory. People look to Kaylo and the myth growing around him to stem the rising tide.

Sixteen years later, a trivial rebellion, a reclusive nation, and a vast empire march towards a battle to decide the fate of Ennea and her people. The actions of the small folk go unseen. Those who want to serve; those who have given up; those imprisoned; those who will fight at any cost; and those who will protect the people they love with every breath will tip the scales. Ennea is not done fighting.

Isn't it gorgeous?

There will also be a blog tour for the book release and you can check out all the details in the graphic below

What if you could have one last meal with someone you’ve loved, someone you’ve lost?…

The post Spotlight on Gourmet “Aftertaste” by Daria Lavelle appeared first on LitStack.

 

Illuminationsby T. Kingfisher
Rosa Mandolini knows in her heart that her family are the greatest painters of magical illuminations in the city. But the eccentric Studio Mandolini has fallen on hard times and the future is no longer certain.
While trying to help her family, Rosa discovers a strange magical box protected by a painted crow. But when she finds a way to open the box, she accidentally releases the Scarling, a vicious monster determined to destroy the Mandolini family at any cost.
With the aid of her former best friend and a painted crow named Payne, it’s up to Rosa to stop the Scarling before it unmakes the magical paintings that keep the city running, and hopefully save her family in the process!

Prologue I

From: Leo Morningstar: A Critical Analysis. Baen Historical Press. Daybreak. Year 307.

Given his importance to the events of the critical period that reshaped the Daybreak Republic/Empire in a manner few beyond all hope of repair, it is perhaps not surprising that generations of historians, psychologists, and revisionists have visited and revisited the early years of a man who was both a catalyst for change and, at the same time, an earnest fighter for a conservative system that had not always been very kind to him. There is no shortage of commentary and analysis on his early career, ranging from detailed military histories to personality assessments that veer between the reasonable to the outrageous. Leo Morningstar has been branded a hero, a villain, and everything in-between. Indeed, it is a curious take on his life and career that he was both a great hero and a villain.

There is little doubt about the outline of his early life. His father was a war hero who died in action, leaving him under the care of his mother and the patronage of Captain – later Grand Senator – Grand Senator (Admiral) Sullivan. Although of common birth, at least as far as Daybreak was concerned, the combination of parentage and patronage ensured that Leo Morningstar would not only attend the Naval Academy but also survive a fight with then-Senior Cadet Francis Blackthrone that would otherwise have seen in expelled. The relationship between Leo and Francis Blackthrone would not end there, and their rivalry would cast a long shadow over the events of the following decade.

Seemingly having learned his lessons, Leo threw himself into training and graduated at the top of his class three years out of four, barely missing the chance to claim the Marty Sue Prize For Extreme Cleverness through a percentage point. A bright future beckoned for the young man, only to be swept away when it was discovered that he was having an affair with Fleur O’Hara, the wife of Commandant O’Hara. Unwilling to allow Leo to take part in the graduation ceremony, unable to find a way to demote him for bringing the Academy into dispute, Deputy Commandant Horace Valerian engineered an early promotion for Leo that came with a sting in the tail. On one hand, he would be put in effective command of RSS Waterhen, an outdated destroyer whose captain had effectively abandoned his post shortly after his assignment. On the other, he would be expected to take his new ship to the Yangtze Sector – hundreds of light years from Daybreak – and go into de facto exile.

It was not the first time that Leo’s libido had gotten him into trouble. It would not be the last.

His enemies thought they had engineered his effective destruction. They severely underestimated their target. Leo threw himself into doing his duty, escorting convoys, hunting down pirates, and eventually uncovering a plot to separate the sector from Daybreak and either demand better treatment or outright independence. Despite some missteps, including allowing himself to start a relationship with a young woman who later turned out to be one of the masterminds of the rebel plot, Leo successfully defended Daybreak’s presence in the sector and convinced his superiors to send reinforcements.

This may not have worked in his favour. The reinforcement squadron was commanded by Commodore Alexander Blackthrone, an uncle to Lieutenant-Commander Francis Blackthrone, and he wasted no time putting Leo in his place. His nephew was put in command of RSS Waterhen and Leo himself was expected to serve as his rival’s XO. The deployment did not go smoothly. Francis Blackthrone was ill-prepared for command, and made a handful of mistakes that eventually resulted in the near-destruction of the ship. Waterhen was only saved by Leo’s quick thinking.

One might expect this to win some plaudits and respect from a commanding officer. Instead, Francis Blackthrone assigned Leo to serve as naval liaison officer on Boulogne, a planet on the verge of civil war. Leo rapidly found himself on the front lines of a war when one side took advantage of Daybreak’s distraction to try to renegotiate the peace agreement that had been forced on them at gunpoint. Facing the near-total destruction of Daybreak’s allies, Leo devised a plan to turn the war around and decapitate the enemy forces. This plan was successful … but, in the meantime, Waterhen had been hijacked by rebel forces. Leo was forced to gamble everything on returning to his former ship, defeating the rebels, and returning to report to his superiors.

This victory did bring him some respect from Commodore Blackthrone. Leo’s command of Waterhen was confirmed (Francis, severely injured, was transferred to medical facilities on Yangtze). However, the ship was severely damaged by the final engagement and her crew – including Leo himself – were allowed a few weeks of leave before returning to their vessel. It should have been a time to relax. For Leo, a man of action, it was deeply boring. He was chaffing at the bit within a week.

Thankfully, unknown to him, he was about to meet a man who would be of singular importance in his future career… and embark on a mission that would change his life forever.

Prologue II

Gayle burned.

It was hard, very hard, to keep the rage and frustration from showing on her face as the shuttle neared her destination. She’d spent nearly a decade, since her father had brought her into the fold, working to undermine Daybreak’s control of the Yangtze Sector and ensure a better deal for locals who would otherwise be ruthlessly exploited by the most expansionist empire in human history, only to see the whole edifice come crashing down through the determination of a lone starship captain. Not even a real captain, to add insult to injury. Gayle didn’t pretend to understand the politics that had put a young man, barely out of his teens, in command of a warship, but she had to admit Daybreak had made a good call. Leo Morningstar had exposed the plot, destroyed several rebel warships, killed her father and forced Gayle herself to flee. And to think …

She ground her teeth, feeling the anger gnawing at her. She’d worked hard to present herself in a manner that would appeal to his prejudices, to make him want to like her and try to save her, and it had all come crashing down. She had known it was a gamble, when the rebels had taken Leo Morningstar into custody, but she’d thought she had it all under control. He hadn’t realised she was more than just a pretty face, not until it was too late, and she’d hoped their relationship would convince him to join her. The plot had always been risky – and they’d known they could easily lose right from the start – and the open support of the ranking officer in the sector could have made the difference between success and failure. And she’d failed. Her world remained in Daybreak’s clutches, her father was dead and the family corporation under new management … and she was on the run. She didn’t know if Daybreak knew she’d survived, but they hadn’t found a body. They’d be wise to assume she was still alive.

Not that there’d be much to recover from an exploding starship, she thought, the anger giving way to bitterness. Her father had died on the outdated heavy cruiser, his body vaporised. They’d done what they could to convince investigators every named figure in the plot had been on that ship, but the story was just a little too convenient. And they know there’s a growing rebellion even if they don’t know everyone involved.

It would be easy to give up, she reflected. She was a young woman with plenty of useful skills … skills she’d been careful to hide from Leo Morningstar, at least until the masks were off and they saw each other clearly for the first time. Her papers marked her out as a qualified technician and starship engineer, ensuring she could make a living almost anywhere. She could even find a homestead on a stage-one colony world, running a farm and raising a small army of children and stepping out of history once and for all. She wasn’t tempted. She knew how much her father had sacrificed, and the rest of his allies, in a desperate bid to save the sector from the empire. If they had been able to secure their position, and ask for membership as an autonomous world …

Bad rolls of the dice are inevitable, she thought, sourly. Leo had said that once, when he’d talked about his exile from Daybreak. An exile to glory, more like. If Leo wasn’t the most famous young man of his generation, it was a reflection on the enemy’s media rather than the young man himself. You just have to pick yourself up, learn from the experience, and move on.

She let out a breath as the shuttle docked, the gravity field shivering slightly. She wasn’t one to give up. Daybreak knew they existed now, true, but they wouldn’t change their approach to the sector just because some locals objected to being annexed. There was even a theory going round the underground arguing that Daybreak had deliberately baited the rebels into striking, in order to expose and destroy them. It might well be true. Leo hadn’t known anything of it, Gayle was sure, but he was hardly the most subtle thinker. His superiors might have had more in mind when they sent him into exile than just getting rid of him. Even if they hadn’t … it had paid off for them.

The hatch hissed open. A masked figure appeared, beckoning for her to stand and follow him. Gayle unbuckled herself and stood, feeling the deck shifting slightly below her feet … a slightly lower than normal gravity field, unusual beyond the edge of civilised space. It frustrated her, sometimes, that she had no idea who their backers truly were, but she understood the importance of secrecy. Daybreak wouldn’t hesitate to drop a hammer – or a flurry of kinetic projectiles – on any world that backed the rebels, and very few autonomous worlds could stand up to the Daybreak Navy for long. Their backers had to remain unknown, even to her. What she didn’t know she couldn’t be made to tell.

Her escort led her through two airlocks and into a space station. The bulkheads were bare, scoured of anything that might identify the station’s designers. It was probably pointless – most ships and stations in the region had passed through several pairs of hands before reaching their final destination – but it was better to be careful. Daybreak’s investigators had uncovered a handful of assets Gayle, and her father, had thought well-hidden. If they got a solid ID on a ship or a station, they might just be able to trace it back to the buyer.

The conference room was as bare as the rest of the station, a simple metal table flanked by two metal chairs. A tray sat on the table, holding a jug of water and a pair of simple plastic glasses, but there were no other comforts. There wasn’t even a holographic projector. Gayle’s lips twitched as she took her seat. The Cognoscenti – it was the only name she’d ever been given – were taking paranoia a little too far. If the space station was uncovered, and the crew failed to destroy it, the barren compartment would be the least of their worries.

She took a moment to calm herself, then looked up as the other hatch hissed open. A figure stepped into the chamber, wearing a mask and robes that made it impossible to get any idea of everything from their gender to their figure. They could be a heavy-worlder with a genetically-engineered body, making the outfit very tight, or they could be a tiny space-dweller wearing garb that looked and felt like a tent. There were no markings on the outfit, nothing to suggest their homeworld. It crossed her mind to wonder if she were dealing with aliens. There were no intelligent races in the known universe – save for humanity, and humanity’s intelligence was often in question – but it wasn’t impossible. Dozens of worlds had given birth to higher-order animal life forms. Why not an intelligent race?

Not impossible, she told herself. Just very unlikely.

“Greetings,” the representative said. She’d expected a toneless voice, but the figure spoke with a very definite Daybreak accent. That little detail would put the cat amongst the pigeons, if she were captured and forced to talk. The accent was probably designed to taunt the investigators. It was a little too stereotypical to be wholly real. “I am Cognoscenti.”

“Greetings,” Gayle said, as the figure glided over and sat facing her. The voice was masculine, suggesting she was dealing with a man. Or a woman with altered vocal cords or a simple voice changer. Either was possible. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“We have supplied ships and repair services to your forces,” Cognoscenti said, without any further pleasantries. “You have lost several vessels in engagements with Daybreak. Worse, Daybreak is now aware that someone is funding your operations. Why should we continue to support you?”

Gayle took a moment to calm herself before answering. The tone was flat, rather than accusatory, but somehow that made it worse. She hated the thought of being dependent on anyone, let alone a mysterious group hiding behind a strange name, yet there was little choice. Yangtze had barely started to rebuild her space-based industry when Daybreak arrived and she’d been one of the most advanced planets in the sector. There was an entire underground economy, true, but there were limits to how much it could provide. Gayle wouldn’t care to trust a vessel produced in a secret yard, even assuming the yard managed to put a starship together in the first place. They needed their supporters, despite the risks.

“We lost a battle,” she conceded, without allowing a hint of her angry and frustration into her voice. “There’s no point in denying it. However, the war is not lost and the ultimate cause of the war remains unaddressed. If we do not fight, this sector will be annexed completely and you, whoever you are, will remain under their thumb. Forever.”

She waited, studying Cognoscenti. His mask hid his reaction and yet … he had to be worried. No autonomous world truly believed they would be allowed to remain autonomous forever, no matter the terms of their annexation into the empire. Daybreak had spent decades pushing its military and economic power into every last incorporated sector, ensuring its corporations had the edge over their local counterparts, and it was just a matter of time before they started doing the same to the autonomous worlds. They had to be tempting targets. Planets like New Washington and Edo were extremely wealthy, by interstellar standards. And they didn’t have the military power to defend themselves if Daybreak wanted the wealth for themselves.

“We still have a large reserve of manpower,” she added. “The United Front has been recruiting aggressively. We have thousands of motivated starship crewmen and soldiers, ready and willing to fight for the cause; they just needed to be trained, armed, and supplied with ships they can use to take the fight to the enemy. If you support us, we can liberate ourselves.”

Or ensure a constant running sore that’ll keep Daybreak from bullying you while they’re dealing with us, she added, in the privacy of her own mind. She wasn’t blind to the simple reality the Cognoscenti wouldn’t be funding the United Front if they didn’t stand to gain from their victory. Or even a prolonged and ultimately inconclusive conflict. If we buy time for you, you can make best use of it while our mutual enemy is distracted.

“Every ship we send does raise the spectre of the vessel being tracked back to its point of origin,” Cognoscenti pointed out. “Can you ensure it doesn’t happen?”

“The ships have passed through so many hands that tracing them is a difficult and ultimately impossible task,” Gayle pointed out. “Quite frankly, if that was a concern you wouldn’t have supplied us with any ships.”

She winced, inwardly. Her father and his allies had created a network of shell corporations and other measures to obtain some ships, passing the vessels through several hands to obscure their origins as much as possible. It wasn’t clear how well they’d covered their tracks. It was clear that many of those vessels had been outdated, dangerously vulnerable to modern warships. They’d refitted the starships as best they could, but still … Daybreak had the edge. That had to change.

Cognoscenti spoke with a quiet intensity. “It is vitally important that you move to destabilise the sector as much as possible, and for that we will increase our efforts to supply you. Daybreak must be distracted.”

Gayle allowed herself a tight smile. “If you continue your support, Daybreak will be more than just distracted,” she promised. The plan was risky, but what wasn’t? And if it allowed her to get a little personal revenge into the bargain …  “I have a plan.”

“Very good,” Cognoscenti said. “Do not fail us.”

Chapter One

Leo hated to admit it, but he was bored.

Two weeks of shore leave felt like agony, and he was only halfway through. There was little to do on Yangtze that didn’t bring back memories of Gayle, and just how much of a fool he’d made of himself when he’d thought her a sweet young lady unfairly held back by her society, and in truth he would sooner be throwing himself into Waterhen’s refit than sitting in the bar nursing a glass of beer and feeling sorry for himself. He had no idea if Commodore Blackthrone was genuinely trying to punish Leo by insisting he took leave, or if he were genuinely trying to help, but it didn’t matter. He was bored and lonely and just plain desperate for something – anything – to happen.

He sighed as he sat back in his seat, allowing his eyes to wander the bar. It was a spacer’s bar: the air heavy with tobacco smoke, the drinks high in price and low in quality, spacer rotgut competing with local beer and a handful of dubious-looking bottles of wine. Leo had never heard of any of the brands, particularly the bottles marked Caballus Eniru, but none looked worth half the price. The barmaids didn’t look worth it either. Spacers going on leave after weeks in interstellar space developed new standards of beauty, but there were limits. Not that it would matter to a merchant spacer, he supposed. The spaceport strip was meant to separate the spacer from his money as quick and pleasantly as possible, and it did it very well. It just wasn’t suitable for him.

You’re being an ass, he told himself, curtly. Stop it.

His mood darkened. There was little to do. He didn’t fancy the brothel, or the entertainment complex, or even going for a wander around Yangtze City. It had expanded rapidly in the last six months, so quickly that Leo had wondered if he’d landed in the wrong place when he disembarked from the shuttle, but it still served largely as a transhipment point rather than a settlement in its own right. The new colonists were being farmed out as quickly as possible, rather than being allowed to remain in the city. It would be decades, at best, before the planet started developing real cities. Some planets never did.

Two men started shouting, loudly. Leo looked up, half-expecting a fight. He’d been in enough bar fights during his misspent youth and … he shook his head, cursing under his breath. He really was too bored. The days in which he could trade blows with a merchant spacer, spend the night in the clink and be released the following day to face a stern lecture from his instructors were over. He was Commander Morningstar now. He had to set a good example for everyone else.

Sure, his thoughts mocked. You can set an example of what not to do.

The brief conflict died away as the barmaids hurried over, breaking up the fighters before they could do more than shout at each other and separating them with practiced skill. Leo was mildly impressed. The barmaids back home generally hid behind the bar and called the Shore Patrol, who could be relied upon to stun first and ask questions later. But then, Yangtze was nowhere near as developed as Daybreak and there were still relatively few spacers passing through. It would change in the next few decades, he was sure. The sector had a great deal of potential. A little investment and technological help and it would be well on the way to success.

“Leo Morningstar?”

Leo flinched, one hand dropping to the pistol at his belt. The newcomer had snuck up on him while he was fighting … Boothroyd would make fun of him, respectfully of course, if he ever heard about it. The Sergeant Major was on a forced march with the new recruits, drilling them ruthlessly; Leo wished, suddenly, that he’d asked to accompany them. The march would be many things, but it wouldn’t be boring.

“Yes,” he said, looking up. “What can I do for you?”

The newcomer smiled and sat facing Leo. He was a middle-aged man, appearing to be in his late forties. The streak of grey in his brown hair leant him an air of simple dignity, as well as marking him as a Daybreaker. It was possible to use cosmetic surgery to turn yourself into the most breathtakingly attractive person in the world, but such vanity was frowned upon on Daybreak. His tunic was Daybreaker too, so plain Leo knew it was part of a deliberate attempt to present himself in a certain way. The only adornment was a service pin, pinned to his collar, that proved he’d done his service and earned citizenship. It could be anything from front-line combat to cleaning the sewers, Leo reflected, but it deserved respect all the same.

“I am Senator Tiberius Quinton,” the newcomer said. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Leo blinked, then straightened automatically. He’d never been that keen on memorising the names and faces of citizens who ran for elected office, particularly the ones who’d done their service and retired rather than keeping their skin in the game, but even he had heard of Tiberius Quinton. He was not just a ‘new man,’ a man whose family had never entered politics before him; he was one of the very few senators who’d campaigned without support from the long-established families and patronage networks. His victory had been one hell of an impressive achievement. It had to have rankled some of the older families the wrong way.

“Likewise,” he managed. Quinton would have had military experience, then. His opponent would not have failed to make a song and dance about Quinton lacking moral fibre, if he hadn’t put his own ass in the line of fire once or twice. “I had no idea you were coming.”

“I’m travelling incognito,” Quinton said. “You’d better check my ID before we go any further.”

Leo felt himself flush as he took the badge of office and pressed it against his wristcom. It had been months since he’d seen a news report with Quinton’s face and it was just possible he was dealing with an imposter … the answer came back a moment later, the military datanet confirming Quinton’s true identity. Leo returned the badge and sat back in his chair, feeling oddly unsure of himself. Normally, there would be a ceremony for a senatorial visitor. The fact Quinton had apparently refused one was … interesting.

“You appear to be you,” he said. It wasn’t that uncommon for senators to brush shoulders with their constituents on Daybreak, but that was hundreds of light years away. “Why didn’t you announce your arrival?”

“I’m on a fact-finding mission, and it’s sometimes easier to learn what’s really going on if you don’t arrive as dramatically as possible,” Quinton said. He had a personable air that made Leo want to like him. “It’s very easy to find someone willing to tell me what they think I want to hear, harder to get the truth.”

“And many people can’t handle the truth,” Leo said. Commodore Blackthrone had not been pleased by Leo’s report covering his nephew’s many failings, although he’d been man enough not to punish Leo for imprudence. Unless the shore leave was punishment … “What sort of truth do you want to hear?”

Quinton reached into his pocket, produced a privacy generator, and placed it on the table. Leo felt a faintly uncomfortable sensation brushing against his eardrums as the generator activated, creating a faint haze of visual and electromagnetic distortion that should make it impossible for anyone to overhear them. Even lip-reading was supposed to be impossible. Leo reminded himself not to place too much faith in the device. The security and intelligence services of a dozen planets would be trying to find ways to beat the field, if they hadn’t already succeeded. They wouldn’t gloat about it if they had. They’d keep it to themselves as long as possible.

“Tell me,” Quinton said. “What do you think of this sector? Politically speaking?”

Leo kept his face under tight control. Daybreakers were taught to be direct … and Quinton had clearly taken those lessons to heart. And he’d opened with a tricky subject … Leo could easily get in trouble for answering honestly, although he had an excellent defence. It was a major crime to refuse to answer questions from a senator, if he posed them. He’d be fined heavily at the very least, and given he had enemies back home the consequences would likely be a great deal more severe.

“It’s hard to say,” Leo said, after a moment. “Some locals have accepted the annexation and are trying to work with us, to ensure the process is beneficial to both sides. Others resent the loss of their independence, fear what we might do to them, or … simply don’t like us. Most governments, from what I’ve seen, aren’t very pleased even if they benefit from our presence. Their people rarely support us.”

Quinton cocked his head. “How many demands do we make of them?”

“Obedience,” Leo said. “The sector doesn’t have that much to offer, not yet, but we demand they follow our rules and … I imagine it rankles, even if there are good reasons behind the rules. We push them around a lot, imposing our laws and demanding that they grant our people and corporations extraterritorial rights.”

“I don’t think you need to imagine at all,” Quinton said.

Leo sucked in his breath. Quinton was perceptive.

“No,” he said. “I know it for a fact.”

He sighed, inwardly. It was easy to understand what had driven Gayle and her father to take such desperate measures, gambling everything on a plot to force a better deal from the all-powerful empire forcing its way into their sector. He was a loyal Daybreaker, and he understood the reasoning behind the creation of a de facto empire, but he couldn’t help feeling they were storing up trouble for themselves. Daybreak had brought some benefits to the sector, from saving failing colonies to hunting down pirates, yet it had also brought severe disadvantages. And the benefits and disadvantages had not been spread evenly.

“No,” Quinton agreed. “Do you think there’s anything we can do about it?”

“No,” Leo said. He shook his head. “I mean … we could stop being us, but …”

He shrugged, helplessly. The Great Interstellar War had taught the human race a very important lesson. Political disunity could not be allowed, and while many worlds could handle their own internal affairs without interference they couldn’t be permitted to do things that would cause interstellar incidents, perhaps even a second war that would bring humanity to the brink of extinction once again. Sure, there were small changes that could be made, but … it would be difficult to convince Daybreak to change course. Too much money and political power was tied up in keeping matters just the way they were.

“We could keep from giving our corporations protection as they force their way into local markets,” he mused. “But will they go along with it?”

“They may have to,” Quinton said. “The current situation is unsustainable.”

Leo blinked. He’d heard it before, from rebels and dissidents, but to hear it from a Daybreaker was shocking. Quinton wouldn’t have completed his service, let alone run for office and won, if he hadn’t been deeply committed to making the system work. And yet, he was calling the existence of the entire system into question?

“The autonomous worlds are increasingly resentful,” Quinton said, quietly. “We tax them, we supervise them, we ensure they labour under the burden of unequal treaties … and yet, they have no say in our government. We strip them of their best and brightest, leaving them with the dregs as our society benefits from skilled, capable and determined immigrants. And when they dare complain about it, we send the military to give them a spanking. Why should they not hate and resent us?”

He paused, letting his words hang in the air. “And those worlds have at least some degree of freedom. What about the colonies and settlements that have no freedom at all?”

Leo felt disorientated, as if the discussion had taken a turn in a very unexpected direction. It was … part of him wanted to stand up and leave, fearing that Quinton was leading him into very dangerous waters, and part of him knew he had to listen. The whole affair was so strange he felt as though he’d walked through the looking glass into a world where up was down, white was black, and two plus two equalled banana. The Navy was comparatively understandable, if only because he’d been in uniform for the last five years. This …

He sucked in his breath. “Should you be talking to me about this?”

“Interesting question,” Quinton said. “You were the ranking officer in this sector. You’re a loyalist, and no one can suggest otherwise, but you’re also young enough not to be wedded to the way things are. And you’re clear-eyed enough to see the trouble we’re storing up for ourselves.”

Leo shivered. He’d had the exact same thought.

Quinton smiled, a brief sharp expression crossing his face before fading again. “And I am a Senator, with the right to ask questions of whomever I please,” he added. “Who can argue otherwise?”

“True,” Leo conceded. “But I am only one man.”

“And a hero, back home,” Quinton said. “Your word could influence the debates, when they take place.”

“If they do,” Leo said.

“I’m going to put my hat in the ring for Consul, in the next few years,” Quinton said. “It will be an interesting election season, to be sure. If I win, or one of the few who agree with me wins in my place, the matter will be raised. I suspect the vast majority of Daybreakers don’t understand how bad things are getting, even a mere few light years from home, and the debates will make the problem clear to them. Your voice will help influence matters, when the final vote is taken.”

My patron may have something to say about that, Leo thought. Where does he stand on the matter?

It wasn’t a question he could ask. Not openly.

“If you do, I’ll be happy to testify,” he said, instead. The Senate could compel testimony. There was no point in trying to resist. “However …”

“We will be going up against some very vested interests,” Quinton said, interrupting. “I won’t deny it. There are a great many politicians and military officers who benefit greatly from the current situation. But the constitution is not a suicide pact. We work to unite the human race to prevent another catastrophic war and laying the seeds for future conflict will eventually undermine our project beyond the point of return. We dare not fight a civil war. Even if we win, we lose.”

Leo nodded, slowly. The Daybreak Navy was powerful enough to take on every other navy in the known galaxy and win, but the cost would be high and there’d be little left of humanity’s former unity when the dust settled. He couldn’t even begin to work out how such a war would progress, or what would happen when – if – the combatants started using planet-killing weapons. Again. There were worlds that had been destroyed during the last war, their populations slaughtered ruthlessly, and few had recovered to the point they could be resettled. And planet-killing weapons were a hell of a lot more destructive now.

“Someone is already playing games,” he mused. “We still don’t know who is backing the rebels.”

“I could give you a list of suspects,” Quinton said. “If Intelligence has narrowed it down any, they haven’t told me.”

Leo made a face. Intelligence would have told Quinton, if they had a solid idea of just who had sold warships and weapons to the rebels. They would have been relieved to prove their worth after successive failures, too. But if they didn’t know … whoever was behind the operation had covered their tracks very well. There would be a breakthrough eventually, Leo was sure, but when? He had no idea.

“That has to be stopped,” Quinton added. “Our hard-liners are already using it as an excuse to avoid granting more latitude to incorporated worlds, and if we don’t hunt the rebels down and identify their backers they’re only going to get worse. The citizens won’t listen to pleas for mercy and understanding if they’re mourning their dead and counting the cost. Why should they?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t mean to place all this on you,” he added. “And I don’t expect you to take a stand against your patron, if he chooses to do so. But if there is anything you can do to help defuse this ticking time bomb before it’s too late, please do. We have no idea when the bomb is going to explode, but it will.”

Leo nodded, his insides churning. “I understand.”

“Glad you do.” Quinton picked up the generator and pocketed it, then stood. “It was nice to meet you, Commander, and I hope I can count on your vote when the time comes.”

He strode away before Leo could answer, walking out of the bar. Leo stared after him, unsure what had just happened. He’d missed something, he was sure, but what? The whole conversation had left him on edge, as if he knew he was in trouble without being entirely sure for what. It was just … strange, and yet … he finished his drink and stood himself, brushing down his tunic. He’d go back to Naval HQ, read the news reports, and then wait for the call to duty.

But he couldn’t help feeling unsure, as he made his way into the open air, if he’d dodged a bullet …

Or stepped right into the line of fire.

In reply to Alicia W..

Yes, you can (slightly) increase essentia capacity through conditioning and strength training. But it’s usually not as much as people would like, and you eventually hit a point of diminishing returns where you can’t realistically push it any higher.

In reply to Kevin.

Good spot on your part. Yes, and you’ll find out the details this autumn when Book #3 comes out.

In reply to Skeeve.

There are some methods, though they’re pretty esoteric and aren’t in common use.

Emily Maguire’s new novel, Rapture, takes as its inspiration the legend of Pope Joan, reworking key elements of the myth to create a brilliant work of great power and beauty.

The story starts in 9th-century Mainz, Germany, where Agnes lives with her father, an English priest. Although his vows include celibacy, Agnes’s father has slept with a local Saxon woman, but her death in childbirth has left him with the responsibility of raising his daughter. Unusually for that time, Agnes is given an education, listening to the intellectual debates at her father’s dinner table. At one of these dinners, she meets Brother Randulf, a monk from Fulda Abbey, and thus begins their relationship. After her father’s untimely death, Randulf agrees to help Agnes disguise herself as a man to become a Benedictine monk. As Brother John, Agnes starts down the path that will lead her to becoming the head of the Roman Catholic church.

There is so much that is compelling about this novel. The writing is absolutely beautiful and often poetic in its intensity. Characterisation is intimate and believable, and Agnes’s perspective gives us a close insight into her views and feelings. The power of the novel lies in this range: Agnes is a person of huge intellect, but it is also her journey to womanhood, something that she initially represses, that becomes a key focus – with tragic consequences. The novel always bears its research lightly; we see the often-conflicted world of the monasteries, alongside the disintegration of the Carolingian dynasty after the death of Charlemagne and the terrible consequences of the ensuing civil war. Maguire depicts some horrific moments with artistic sensitivity and, as much as violence is a part of this world, its inclusion is never gratuitous.

This is a fabulous book for any serious reader of literary historical fiction. Very highly recommended.

The post Rapture appeared first on Historical Novel Society.

Singapore, 1963. What can you say about a young woman, Siew Li, who walked away, without warning, from her twin children and husband? Jeremy Tiang says a lot as he weaves an always gripping and mostly grim story of people caught up in the long conflict between the forces of the right and left.

That the right won and steered Singapore through a rapid and rare transformation from third world to first is well-known. The story of the communist insurgence in Singapore and Malaysia has faded from public memory, despite works such as Anthony Burgess’s Malayan Trilogy and Yeng Pway Ngon’s Unrest. State of Emergency is a rich addition to this meagre literature.

Told from multiple viewpoints, linked stories connect small, human acts and place them against a larger narrative of ordinary people trapped in times when torture, murder, and massacre are condoned. From the opening scene, the historical MacDonald House bombing, to a fictional end in which Siew Li’s son gets as close to her as he ever will, this is a remarkable blend of the sweep of history and the minutiae of people’s lives.

There is a version of history which peddles the idea that the American invasion of Vietnam could have learned much from the more successful British-led intervention in Malaya. The survivors of Batang Kali (one of whom becomes a narrator for a while) would, of course, disagree. This novel gives them – and the dead – a voice.

I was left wanting to know much more about Siew Li than the author has revealed, even though she tells the story for some stints. There are surprising bloopers about the time zone in Thailand and a jungle being silent at night. On the balance, these are immaterial defects in this great work of historical fiction.

The post State of Emergency appeared first on Historical Novel Society.

I’m a little bit late on this. It’s been a very hectic month, and I just finished my taxes (Canadian taxes are due on the 30th of April). My mother very helpfully suggested that I could get them done early and then I wouldn’t been in this crush–but I pointed out that it will take 3 days no matter when I start, and it’s not like I haven’t had a ton of other emergency deadlines >.< So, this is the first two chapters of Heir of Light, one because I try to post a chapter a month before the book is out, and the second because I was late. I am sorry to be so behind in everything, and I mean … Continue reading →

Thank you so very much to all of this year’s guests for the excellent essays that made April 2025 another amazing Women in SF&F Month! And thank you to everyone who shared their posts and helped spread the word about this year’s series. It is always very much appreciated! This year’s series has ended, but I wanted to make sure there was a way to find all of the guest posts from 2025. This was the fourteenth annual Women in […]

The post Women in SF&F Month 2025: Thank You and Links first appeared on Fantasy Cafe.

I do most of my business writing on Patreon these days, but roughly once per month, I’ll put a post for free on this website. This post initially went live on my Patreon page on March 30, 2025.  If you go to Patreon, you’ll find other posts like this one.

Putting Yourself Out There

I’m gearing back up to return to the university in the fall. After a heck of a couple of years, I’m resuming my very slow attempt to get a few extra college degrees. Mostly, it’s an excuse to listen to people much younger than myself learn cool stuff, and an excuse to listen to people somewhat younger than myself share their expertise.

I get inspired by all of that.

I’m searching class schedules and realizing that my Spanish has gotten rusty again, so there is probably a summertime online refresher in the complicated tenses on the horizon. Even though, really, using the proper tense is not my problem so much as finding the correct vocabulary word. As in any word that might suit in that circumstance. The vocabulary was the first thing to flee my brain in the hiatus.

The thing that fascinates me the most, though, is watching the theater kids, particularly those who are (at 18, 19, or 20) convinced they’re going to be Actors! (and yes, the exclamation point is there for a reason). Most won’t be, not because they’re not good enough, but because they don’t listen well and they already think they’re God’s gift to the profession.

Mostly, I watch the ones who are insecurely secure in their dreams. These kids know exactly what they want in their lives, but they’re not sure they’re good enough to get there, so they work extra hard to figure out where they should be.

Sometimes it is not where they expect to be. In the theater department in particular, they have to take courses in all aspects of theater, and they sometimes learn that they love a part of theater that they hadn’t expected to like at all.

Surprisingly enough to my younger self, the one who didn’t have the courage to follow her musical abilities into a music degree or to even walk into the theater department at the University of Wisconsin, there are a lot of introverts in theater. Some of those introverts are writers, yes, but many go onstage and perform. Most, in fact, because they like being someone else in front of a group. It’s safer for them.

I get safe. It makes sense. I also get the fear of doing something revealing in front of a crowd. Mostly, that fear is gone for me now. Years of public speaking and talking on panels at sf conventions eased my mind.

Still, I was pretty shocked when I learned that a lot of actors and musicians suffer severe stage fright—people you’ve all heard of. If they have to go onstage, they sit in the dressing room and shake, or, in some cases, puke, because they’re so scared.

Had I known that…well, I doubt I would have done it, because puking is not something I voluntarily do, even for art…but it certainly would have eased my mind about what for me is relatively minor stage fright (in comparison to what these folks have).

Really, though, it’s what they are willing to do for their dreams and their art. They put themselves out there. More importantly, they figure out how to put themselves out there.

Every year, I have a conversation with at least one of my writing students who is terrified for some reason I never probe of putting their work in front of an audience. It always boils down to the fact that they’re afraid of being seen.

Sidebar from a nearly 65-year-old person who has worked in the arts her entire life: You are never seen. Not in your entirety. You may reveal all of your secrets and no one will care. Or they’ll comment on the portrayal of something minor, like the cat, and kvetch about that. It’s disappointing…and freeing.

 

However, the fear of being seen is a real and crippling fear, stopping a lot of prose writers and poets from following their dreams. Writers, unlike actors and musicians, can hide from the world. You can use a pen name, set up a legal entity that doesn’t use your real name (in an obvious manner), and never let your picture out into the world.

You can hide and publish your work. That’s the great thing about being a writer.

Usually when a writer figures out their own personal workaround, they put their work on the market, whatever it means for them.

I had one of those discussions this past week with a couple of different writers, some in person, one online, and when I photo-bombed the Writers’ Block webinar on Wednesday.

After that moment on the webinar, I spent a few hours thinking about how universal that fear is among writers. I’ve been in this business almost fifty years now, and I’ve seen it every year.

Then Dean and I watched a little bit of The Voice. We often watch something to rest our poor brains, usually at dinner. We’ve moved away from news (since there’s no way that will relax anyone), and gone to documentaries and The Voice.

We usually watch a segment or two and then go back to whatever we were doing. It will take us days to watch an entire 2-hour episode.

So that Wednesday night, we watched two members of Michael Bublé’s team duet on a song he wrote, called “Home.” Most of you know it as a super hit for Blake Shelton, but Bublé wrote the song and released it first.

Before the battle, Bublé talked a bit about writing the song. I can’t find the clip for that (mostly because I’m lazy, but also because it’s not that relevant), but I did find the one that caught my attention.

It got me thinking, and I went up to my office and made a list.

Most people who work in the arts realize that their work has to be put out into the world.

• People who write music must perform that music to sell that song/sonata/whatever. They may be terrible singers. They might be shy as hell. But they need to make, at minimum, a demo tape.

Often they perform their own work, in some kind of concert, and it is that work that ends up catapulting them into whatever level of fame they will reach.

And then, partly because of the vagaries of the (exceedingly complex) music copyright laws, they may hear someone else cover their song. They might be like John Legend, who has said on The Voice that he cannot listen to a cover of one of his songs fairly. Or they might be like Bublé who not only assigned the song, but was honored by the way the singers performed it.

• People who write plays write them with production in mind. What is the point of writing a play if it’s just going to languish on your desk? The problem, though, with writing a play is that when it is performed, there will be an area that the performers cannot do or cannot say.

In early drafts of a play, the playwright will have to be nearby to do some kind of work to smooth out that section. Sometimes it’s because the star is a doofus and can’t say a word with more than two syllables, but mostly it’s because that section of the show, when performed in previews, did not work. Neil Simon deals with this a lot in his autobiography Rewrites.

• People who write screenplays know that they’re writing something that will be performed as well. I had a very famous writer friend who wrote the wordiest damn screenplays ever and had, in his contract, a clause that said not a word could be touched.

After his early years in Hollywood (when he didn’t have enough clout to have that stupid contract), he rarely sold a screenplay and when he did, it was a charity sale from a friend who would buy the screenplay so that the writer could retain his Writers Guild membership. (And then the charity friend would do a shooting script.)

• Artists know that their paintings or photographs will be displayed or used on covers or put on t-shirts and prints and everything else.

Even the lowest of the low, graffiti “artists,” the ones who deface buildings, understand that their art needs to be seen. (I’m grumpy about graffiti these days since Vegas has a lot of wall murals all over the city—and the freakin’ graffiti “artists” will deface them. Grrr. I hate people who deface other people’s art.)

• Even young poets these days understand that they might have to get up in front of a crowd at a poetry slam and declaim their poem.
• And let’s not talk about comedians, who are also writers, who get in front of a crowd, and risk bombing night after night after night. Dean and I saw one of George Carlin’s shows in his last years, and Carlin was testing material so new that he was holding paper torn from a notepad.

Some of it was funny. Much of it was not.

Fiction writers—people who write novels and short stories—are the only artists I know who expect someone else to publish their work. Fiction writers, particularly those who are traditionally published, believe that all they have to do is write it, and everyone will flock to their feet.

That’s an ingrained attitude, and a hard one to fight. Heck, a lot of these writers are worried when they decide to give a copy of their manuscript to an editor at a book publishing house or (worse) an agent.

Writers do not expect to have their work in the public view, and often fear it.

I’m not sure why this is. I think it’s just part of the culture.

There are movies that show writers at work, and someone else dragging that “brilliant” manuscript off the writer’s desk. Or the writer “gets discovered” in an English class (never happened when I was in school). Or someone else mailed off their manuscript.

That myth goes hand in hand with the idea that writing should be hard and writers should suffer while doing it. That myth also goes with the idea that anything written fast is terrible and anything labored over is brilliant. And that myth goes with the idea that being prolific is a sin. (Tell that to Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare.)

Indie writers have a similar problem, but it’s couched in other terms. I don’t want to learn how to publish. That’s going to be hard. It’ll take too much money or I can’t do covers or…or…

Okay, I want to reply, whatever roadblocks you want to set up for your work, go ahead.

But real artists—be they musicians or painters or (yes) writers—need to have their work seen. They need to figure out how to get on that stage despite their stage fright and put their art in front of an audience.

Otherwise the art will be destroyed when they die, tossed out with the trash or deleted off their computers.

Oh…and let’s talk “covers” for a minute. Blake Shelton’s version of “Home” is very different from Bublé’s version, which is different from the duet that aired on The Voice this past week.

If you’re lucky as a writer, and if you put yourself out there, at some point, someone will want to do make another piece of art using yours as inspiration. Maybe a movie, maybe a TV show, maybe a dramatic reading or an audio book.

That’s a “cover” for lack of a better term. (It really is a derivative work, and it does fall in a different place in the copyright law, but go with me on this for a minute.) Instead of being all protective and saying that you must control all things, say yes…if the contract terms are good.

That’s all.

A singer doesn’t have to get permission to cover a song. I can sing “Home” badly in front of an audience if I want to, but if I get paid for it, I need to let the songwriter know that I’m going to be covering the song. The songwriter cannot say no.

It gets complicated after that. (Okay, it’s already complicated.) But implied in all of this is that the music needs to get in front of an audience. The play will be performed. The screenplay will become the basis for a movie. The painting will hang on a gallery wall.

What makes writer-artists any different? Why should we fight so hard to create something and then be afraid to put it in front of an audience. Particularly since we’ll never see that audience. We don’t have to hear from them either, if we keep our email private and don’t go on social media and don’t read reviews.

What makes fiction writers so dang delicate? Every artist has fears. All of us do. If we want to make a living at our art, we learn to overcome the fear.

It may take a dozen workarounds. It might mean the writing equivalent of puking in the bathroom before stepping on the stage. But if you value your own work and your own dreams, you learn how to get past whatever is stopping you.

Just like other performers do.

“Putting Yourself Out There,” copyright © 2025 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch. Picture of Gavin is there because, despite appearances, he’s terrified of putting himself out there.

 

While House Andrews is away (hopefully somewhere gorgeous, where the only monsters are overloaded breakfast waffles), you’re left with me. Mwahahaha.

As always, the result is chaos! Fluffy, nerdy, deeply chalant chaos. Some of you are still trying to marry London though sheer force of headcanon – because would a guy with such good jawline really be capable of betrayal? And who among us hasn’t at one time suggested impromptu post-mortem thumb fingerprint extraction surgery in a toxic monster-infested cave trap? Long live Team Facts Be Damned, you’ve taught me all I know!

The comments have also been busy trying to figure out which Talent would serve us best beyond the gate.

I see you. I hear you. I have made you a thing: The Inheritance Talent Sorting Quiz.

Tried to write it as a ‘choose your own adventure’ story. That’s technically the tank-repairing grandma of LitRPG, so it should work. There are 6 possible results: assessor, tank, blade warden, scout, healer and mining foreman. Sorry chat, you can’t aim for the InBearitance. If we can’t all be Bear, no one can be Bear. It’s only fair.

Gentle note:

This is just for fun. Every Talent plays a vital part in helping humanity survive. If you think getting a particular result might ruin your afternoon, it’s perfectly fine to skip the quiz. Bear still loves you.

Also: the newsletter doesn’t like the quiz plugin and sends it out in code. If you read this in email form and want to take the test, click here to come directly to the website.

Long may you survive the breach, BDH! Preferably with all your thumbs.

6668

The Inheritance Talent Quiz

When the first gate tore and monsters came out, everything went sideways. Humans freaked out. A few—not me, I’m a dog—woke up with powers no one could explain. Talents. Some became walking shields. Some turned into stabby-happy blade machines. Some just got very good at finding shinies.
The war is still going. It's time to find your place in the breach. Take the quiz. Get sorted. Don’t die. And bring dog biscuits.

— Bear, Winner of the "Best Girl" Guild Award, 3 years running

 

1 / 10

You step through the gate. The mist clings to your boots and the air smells like copper and rain. Ahead, alien darkness stretches, waiting.

Before you challenge it, you reach for your talisman. Every diver has one. Something to hold, remember, and ward off the worst. What do you carry?

A dog tag from someone who didn’t make it. You wear it so no one forgets. A coin you flip before each gate run. It doesn't matter what you call—it’s not about the outcome, it’s about the toss. A nugget of rusty breach ore. Worth nothing. Kept it anyway. It hums sometimes. A loop of thread, torn off from your oldest guild coveralls. It’s frayed. So are you. Still works. A polished citrine crystal. Your mother said it brings prosperity. You mostly use it as a fidget spinner. Just a ritual. You whisper your name once, then leave it behind. In the breach, no one can hold you, even by your shadow.

2 / 10

The first thing you encounter is a grove of bioluminescent fungi, stretching as far as the eye can see. Some pulse with variegated light; others twitch when the air moves. Do you…

Immediately start cataloguing. Potential resource, possible danger—both matter. Could it work as potential escape cover for later? Who knows what will be chasing you on your way out. Clear a path through it—gently, if possible, forcefully if not. Look for signs of medicinal properties. Even breach-nature heals if you know where to look. Check whether it grows over something more valuable. You're in this for the income as much as the outcome. Investigate the wider area while everyone is focused on the mushrooms. Someone has to.

3 / 10

At the other end of the mushroom field, the ground starts to shake underfoot. Debris cascades down the cave walls. Ahead, a narrow tunnel splits left, and a spindly stone bridge stretches right across a deep chasm. Neither path looks safe. Make your choice.

A "gut instinct" is your experience and perception telling you something before the brain has had the chance to formulate rational thought. You pick the path your intuition dictates. Not all of you will be able to fit through the narrow tunnel. You test the bridge’s strength with your full weight. If it breaks, better it’s you than the others. You guard the crossing until everyone else makes it through. Survival is a priority, but resources are the whole reason the team is here. Which path leads to fewer regrets? Bah. Rocks. You know rocks. Rocks fall, nobody died. They're overreacting. Make sure everyone’s stable before committing to either direction.

4 / 10

Good news: your whole team made it across the narrow stone bridge. Bad news: the air here crackles with static. Something hums in your teeth. Only one step into the eerie cold and your comm unit sputters and dies. HQ is gone. Radio silence. What do you do?

Fall into leadership mode. Contact or no contact, someone needs to take responsibility for the team. You have no authority here. You can only hope procedure will be maintained. Mutter a curse and keep working. If it's important, they’ll find you. Rally the team, keep panic from spreading. Hold position and fortify your location until a new plan forms. Double-time it to higher ground to assess the new area. Sooner or later, the order will be to move.

5 / 10

You hear a faint tapping behind a collapsed wall in the new cavern. Comms are still down, so it could be someone from the assault team, trapped. How do you handle it?

Leave the team to their work and go investigate from a side tunnel. Clear the rubble with brute strength—there's no time to lose! Weapon at the ready. Chances are it's foe, not friend. Have your supplies at hand. You hope it's not too late for whoever's out there. Use tools to clear rubble efficiently, like you were trained to do. Evaluate the surroundings and probabilities before you even touch this new problem.

6 / 10

An ambush! There's monster fire as soon as you clear the suspicious tapping wall. Your instincts scream. You react with:

Shield up, block as much of the damage as possible. Fall back, analyzing the cavern for counterattack or escape options. Find cover and prepare to deal with the inevitable. Stealthily drop a grenade on the enemy from above. Play deadly games, win deadly prizes. Rush the enemy, cutting your way out. If it's heavy enough, it's a weapon. I'm not going down today.

7 / 10

You've escaped the monster ambush, but one of your teammates is down—bad leg wound, bleeding fast. What do you do?

Assess the wound and try to stop the bleeding immediately. Carry them without slowing down. Clear a path for evacuation, with force if necessary. Look around for that one lichen that acts as a painkiller. They must be in agony. Find the fastest way back to the gate. Time matters. Rig a makeshift stretcher out of whatever you have. You'll take turns getting them through this.

8 / 10

You've been in the breach for a day now and it's taking its toll. You find a mostly intact supply crate dropped by the assault team. What's the first thing you grab?

The fresh pair of socks. Work conditions are hard and trench foot is harder! A new can of high-vis spray paint. This breach is loaded! Med supplies, the severe limb injury is draining ours. Emergency rations. I need my strength. Check for any weapons. Even with the safety protocols, we don't want them to fall in enemy hands. The portable beacon. Escape routes matter more than loot.

9 / 10

You’ve reached the anchor chamber. It’s pulsing at critical mass. Once it ruptures, monsters will flood Earth. But this is also the first chamber you've come across any high-value ore. You have minutes. What do you do?

Collapse the anchor. We'll find good ore in other breaches. Slash at anything that comes from the anchor while others mine. We're in a blue threat-level breach, we can take these monsters. Block the entrance. If creature wants to go through, it won't make it past you. Get your team out alive. Nothing is worth dying for. Move out. No looking back. Secure the ore—fast. After all that, you’re not leaving empty-handed.

10 / 10

As you stumble through the collapsing gate, bloodied and exhausted, one thought burns brightest in your mind. What was most important to you inside the breach?

Giving the fight my all. Understanding the breach so humanity can make the most out of it. Protecting my team. Always. Getting everyone out on their own feet. Having something to show for it. Glory is good, but bonuses feed my kids better. Outmaneuvering every threat the breach threw at me. LinkedIn Facebook Twitter VKontakte

div#ays-quiz-container-10 * { box-sizing: border-box; } /* Styles for Internet Explorer start */ #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 { } /* Styles for Quiz container */ #ays-quiz-container-10{ min-height: 350px; width:400px; background-color:#fff; background-position:center center;border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;box-shadow: 0px 0px 15px 1px rgba(0,0,0,0.4);border: none;} /* Styles for Navigation bar */ #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-10 { width: 100%;border-radius:0px 0px 0px 0px;box-shadow: 0px 0px 15px 1px rgba(0,0,0,0.4);border: none;} #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-10 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item a.ays_questions_nav_question { color: #000; border-color: #000; background-color: #fff; } #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-10 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item.ays-quiz-questions-nav-item-active a.ays_questions_nav_question { box-shadow: inset 0 0 5px #000, 0 0 5px #000; } #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-10 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item.ays-quiz-questions-nav-item-answered a.ays_questions_nav_question { color: #fff; border-color: #fff; background-color: #000; } #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-10 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item a.ays_questions_nav_question.ays_quiz_correct_answer { color: rgba(39, 174, 96, 1); border-color: rgba(39, 174, 96, 1); background-color: rgba(39, 174, 96, 0.4); } #ays-quiz-questions-nav-wrap-10 .ays-quiz-questions-nav-content .ays-quiz-questions-nav-item a.ays_questions_nav_question.ays_quiz_wrong_answer { color: rgba(243, 134, 129, 1); border-color: rgba(243, 134, 129, 1); background-color: rgba(243, 134, 129, 0.4); } /* Styles for questions */ #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 div.step { min-height: 350px; } /* Styles for text inside quiz container */ #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-start-page *:not(input), #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays_question_hint, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container label[for^="ays-answer-"], #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container p, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-fs-title, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-fs-subtitle, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .logged_in_message, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-quiz-limitation-count-of-takers, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays-quiz-limitation-count-of-takers *, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays_score_message, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container .ays-questions-container .ays_message{ color: #000; outline: none; } /* Quiz title / transformation */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-fs-title{ text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 21px; text-align: center; text-shadow: none; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-quiz-password-message-box, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-quiz-question-note-message-box, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_question, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_question *:not([class^='enlighter']) { color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 textarea, #ays-quiz-container-10 input::first-letter, #ays-quiz-container-10 select::first-letter, #ays-quiz-container-10 option::first-letter { color: initial !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 p::first-letter:not(.ays_no_questions_message) { color: #000 !important; background-color: transparent !important; font-size: inherit !important; font-weight: inherit !important; float: none !important; line-height: inherit !important; margin: 0 !important; padding: 0 !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-container, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field * { font-size: 15px !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-fs-subtitle p { text-align: center ; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_question p { font-size: 16px; text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_question { text-align: center ; margin-bottom: 10px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_question pre { max-width: 100%; white-space: break-spaces; } div#ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-questions-container .ays-field, div#ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-questions-container .ays-field input~label[for^='ays-answer-'], div#ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-questions-container .ays-modern-dark-question *, div#ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-questions-container .ays_quiz_question, div#ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-questions-container .ays_quiz_question *{ word-break: break-word; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-quiz-timer p { font-size: 16px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 section.ays_quiz_redirection_timer_container hr, #ays-quiz-container-10 section.ays_quiz_timer_container hr { margin: 0; } #ays-quiz-container-10 section.ays_quiz_timer_container.ays_quiz_timer_red_warning .ays-quiz-timer { color: red; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_thank_you_fs p { text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form input[type='text'], #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form input[type='url'], #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form input[type='number'], #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form input[type='email'], #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form input[type='tel'], #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form textarea, #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form select, #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form option { color: initial !important; outline: none; margin-left: 0; background-image: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form input[type='checkbox'] { margin: 0 10px; outline: initial; -webkit-appearance: auto; -moz-appearance: auto; position: initial; width: initial; height: initial; border: initial; background: initial; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .information_form input[type='checkbox']::after { content: none; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .wrong_answer_text{ color:#ff4d4d; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .right_answer_text{ color:#33cc33; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .right_answer_text p { font-size:16px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .wrong_answer_text p { font-size:16px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_questtion_explanation p { font-size:16px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_cb_and_a, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_cb_and_a * { color: rgb(0,0,0); text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-10 iframe { /*min-height: 350px;*/ } #ays-quiz-container-10 label.ays_for_checkbox, #ays-quiz-container-10 span.ays_checkbox_for_span { color: initial !important; display: block; } /* Quiz textarea height */ #ays-quiz-container-10 textarea { height: 100px; min-height: 100px; } /* Quiz rate and passed users count */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quizn_ancnoxneri_qanak, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_rete_avg{ color:#fff; background-color:#000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-questions-container > .ays_quizn_ancnoxneri_qanak { padding: 5px 20px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 div.for_quiz_rate.ui.star.rating .icon { color: rgba(0,0,0,0.35); } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_rete_avg div.for_quiz_rate_avg.ui.star.rating .icon { color: rgba(255,255,255,0.5); } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_rete .ays-quiz-rate-link-box .ays-quiz-rate-link { color: #000; } /* Loaders */ #ays-quiz-container-10 div.lds-spinner, #ays-quiz-container-10 div.lds-spinner2 { color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 div.lds-spinner div:after, #ays-quiz-container-10 div.lds-spinner2 div:after { background-color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .lds-circle, #ays-quiz-container-10 .lds-facebook div, #ays-quiz-container-10 .lds-ellipsis div{ background: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .lds-ripple div{ border-color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .lds-dual-ring::after, #ays-quiz-container-10 .lds-hourglass::after{ border-color: #000 transparent #000 transparent; } /* Stars */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ui.rating .icon, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ui.rating .icon:before { font-family: Rating !important; } /* Progress bars */ #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .ays-progress { border-color: rgba(0,0,0,0.8); } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .ays-progress-bg { background-color: rgba(0,0,0,0.3); } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-progress-value { color: #000; text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-progress-bar { background-color: #27AE60; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-question-counter .ays-live-bar-wrap { direction:ltr !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-live-bar-fill{ color: #000; border-bottom: 2px solid rgba(0,0,0,0.8); text-shadow: 0px 0px 5px #fff; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-live-bar-fill.ays-live-fourth, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-live-bar-fill.ays-live-third, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-live-bar-fill.ays-live-second { text-shadow: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-live-bar-percent{ display:none; } /* Music, Sound */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_music_sound { color:rgb(0,0,0); } /* Dropdown questions scroll bar */ #ays-quiz-container-10 blockquote { border-left-color: #000 !important; } /* Quiz Password */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-start-page > input[id^='ays_quiz_password_val_'], #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-quiz-password-toggle-visibility-box { width: 100%; margin: 0 auto; } /* Question hint */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_question_hint_container .ays_question_hint_text { background-color:#fff; box-shadow: 0 0 15px 3px rgba(0,0,0,0.6); max-width: 270px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_question_hint_container .ays_question_hint_text p { max-width: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_questions_hint_max_width_class { max-width: 80%; } /* Information form */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-form-title{ color:rgb(0,0,0); } /* Quiz timer */ #ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays-quiz-redirection-timer, #ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays-quiz-timer{ color: #000; text-align: center; } #ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays-quiz-timer.ays-quiz-message-before-timer:before { font-weight: 500; } /* Quiz buttons */ #ays-quiz-container-10 input#ays-submit, #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button, div#ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button.ays_restart_button { background-color: #27AE60; color:#333; font-size: 17px; padding: 10px 20px; border-radius: 3px; white-space: nowrap; letter-spacing: 0; box-shadow: unset; white-space: normal; word-break: break-word; } #ays-quiz-container-10 input#ays-submit, #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 input.action-button { } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 a[class~=ajax_add_to_cart]{ background-color: #fff; color:#333; padding: 10px 5px; font-size: 14px; border-radius: 3px; white-space: nowrap; border: 1px solid #333; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button.ays_check_answer { padding: 5px 10px; font-size: 17px !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button.ays_download_certificate { white-space: nowrap; padding: 5px 10px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button.ays_arrow { color:#333!important; white-space: nowrap; padding: 5px 10px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 input#ays-submit:hover, #ays-quiz-container-10 input#ays-submit:focus, #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button:hover, #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button:focus { box-shadow: 0 0 0 2px #333; background-color: #27AE60; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_restart_button { color: #333; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_restart_button_p { display: flex; justify-content: center; flex-wrap: wrap; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_buttons_div { justify-content: center; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .step:first-of-type .ays_buttons_div { justify-content: center !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 input[type='button'], #ays-quiz-container-10 input[type='submit'] { color: #333 !important; outline: none; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 i.ays_early_finish.action-button[disabled]:hover, #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 i.ays_early_finish.action-button[disabled]:focus, #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 i.ays_early_finish.action-button[disabled], #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 i.ays_arrow.action-button[disabled]:hover, #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 i.ays_arrow.action-button[disabled]:focus, #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 i.ays_arrow.action-button[disabled] { color: #aaa !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_finish.action-button{ margin: 10px 5px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-share-btn.ays-share-btn-branded { color: #fff; } /* Question answers */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field { border-color: #444; border-style: solid; border-width: 1px; box-shadow: none;flex-direction: row-reverse; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-quiz-answers .ays-field:hover{ opacity: 1; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .ays-field label.ays_answer_caption[for^='ays-answer-'] { z-index: 1; position:initial;bottom:0;} #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .ays-field input~label[for^='ays-answer-'] { padding: 5px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .ays-field { margin-bottom: 10px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .ays-field.ays_grid_view_item { width: calc(50% - 5px); } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .ays-field.ays_grid_view_item:nth-child(odd) { margin-right: 5px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .ays-field input:checked+label:before { border-color: #27AE60; background: #27AE60; background-clip: content-box; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-quiz-answers div.ays-text-right-answer { color: #000; } /* Answer maximum length of a text field */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_question_text_message{ color: #000; text-align: left; font-size: 12px; } div#ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays_quiz_question_text_error_message { color: #ff0000; } /* Questions answer image */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-answer-image { width:15em; height:150px; object-fit: cover; } /* Questions answer right/wrong icons */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field input~label.answered.correct:after{ content: url('http://ilona-andrews.com/wp-content/plugins/quiz-maker/public/images/correct.png'); } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field input~label.answered.wrong:after{ content: url('http://ilona-andrews.com/wp-content/plugins/quiz-maker/public/images/wrong.png'); } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field label.answered:last-of-type:after{ height: auto; left: 10px;top: 10px;} /* Dropdown questions */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-container--default .select2-search--dropdown .select2-search__field:focus, #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-container--default .select2-search--dropdown .select2-search__field { outline: unset; padding: 0.75rem; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single { border-bottom: 2px solid #27AE60; background-color: #27AE60; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__rendered, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__placeholder, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__arrow { color: #d8519f; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__rendered, #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-container--default .select2-results__option--highlighted[aria-selected] { background-color: #27AE60; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .selection, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .dropdown-wrapper, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__rendered, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__rendered .select2-selection__placeholder, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__arrow, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field .select2-container--default .select2-selection--single .select2-selection__arrow b[role='presentation'] { font-size: 16px !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-container--default .select2-results__option { padding: 6px; } /* Dropdown questions scroll bar */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-results__options::-webkit-scrollbar { width: 7px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-results__options::-webkit-scrollbar-track { background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0.35); } #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-results__options::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb { transition: .3s ease-in-out; background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0.55); } #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-results__options::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb:hover { transition: .3s ease-in-out; background-color: rgba(255,255,255,0.85); } /* WooCommerce product */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-woo-block { background-color: rgba(39,174,96,0.8); } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-woo-product-block h4.ays-woo-product-title > a { color: #000; } /* Audio / Video */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .mejs-container .mejs-time{ box-sizing: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .mejs-container .mejs-time-rail { padding-top: 15px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .mejs-container .mejs-mediaelement video { margin: 0; } /* Limitation */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-quiz-limitation-count-of-takers { padding: 50px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block span.ays-show-res-toggle.ays-res-toggle-show, #ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block span.ays-show-res-toggle.ays-res-toggle-hide{ color: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle { border: 1px solid #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle { border: 1px solid #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle:after{ background: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_elegant_dark div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle:after, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_rect_dark div.ays-quiz-results-toggle-block input:checked + label.ays_switch_toggle:after{ background: #000; } /* Hestia theme (Version: 3.0.16) | Start */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .mejs-container .mejs-inner .mejs-controls .mejs-button > button:hover, #ays-quiz-container-10 .mejs-container .mejs-inner .mejs-controls .mejs-button > button { box-shadow: unset; background-color: transparent; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .mejs-container .mejs-inner .mejs-controls .mejs-button > button { margin: 10px 6px; } /* Hestia theme (Version: 3.0.16) | End */ /* Go theme (Version: 1.4.3) | Start */ #ays-quiz-container-10 label[for^='ays-answer']:before, #ays-quiz-container-10 label[for^='ays-answer']:before { -webkit-mask-image: unset; mask-image: unset; } #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-field input:checked+label.answered:before, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_dark .ays-field input:checked+label.answered:before { background-color: #27AE60 !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-field input:checked+label.answered.correct:before, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_dark .ays-field input:checked+label.answered.correct:before { background-color: #27ae60 !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-field input:checked+label.answered.wrong:before, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_dark .ays-field input:checked+label.answered.wrong:before { background-color: #cc3700 !important; } /* Go theme (Version: 1.4.3) | End */ #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_results fieldset.ays_fieldset .ays_quiz_question .wp-video { width: 100% !important; max-width: 100%; } /* Classic Dark / Classic Light */ /* Dropdown questions right/wrong styles */ #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_dark .correct_div, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_light .correct_div{ border-color: green !important; opacity: 1 !important; background-color: rgba(39,174,96,0.4) !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_dark .correct_div .selected-field, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_light .correct_div .selected-field { padding: 0px 10px 0px 10px; color: green !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_dark .wrong_div, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_light .wrong_div{ border-color: red !important; opacity: 1 !important; background-color: rgba(243,134,129,0.4) !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_dark .ays-field.checked_answer_div.wrong_div input:checked~label, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-field.checked_answer_div.wrong_div input:checked~label { background-color: rgba(243,134,129,0.4) !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_question_result .ays-field .ays_quiz_hide_correct_answer:after{ content: '' !important; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-quiz-close-full-screen { fill: #000; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-quiz-open-full-screen { fill: #000; } @media screen and (max-width: 768px){ #ays-quiz-container-10{ max-width: 100%; } div#ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_modern_light .step, div#ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_modern_dark .step { padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important; } div#ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_modern_light div.step[data-question-id], div#ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_modern_dark div.step[data-question-id] { background-size: cover !important; background-position: center center !important; } div#ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_modern_light .ays-abs-fs:not(.ays-start-page):not(.ays-end-page), div#ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_modern_dark .ays-abs-fs:not(.ays-start-page):not(.ays-end-page) { width: 100%; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays_quiz_question p { font-size: 16px; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .select2-container, #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field * { font-size: 15px !important; } div#ays-quiz-container-10 input#ays-submit, div#ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button, div#ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button.ays_restart_button { font-size: 17px; } div#ays-quiz-container-10 div.ays-questions-container div.ays-woo-block { width: 100%; } /* Quiz title / mobile font size */ div#ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-fs-title { font-size: 21px; } } /* Custom css styles */ /* RTL direction styles */ #ays-quiz-container-10 p { margin: 0.625em; } #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field.checked_answer_div input:checked~label { background-color: rgba(39,174,96,0.6); } #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_light .enable_correction .ays-field.checked_answer_div input:checked+label, #ays-quiz-container-10.ays_quiz_classic_dark .enable_correction .ays-field.checked_answer_div input:checked+label { background-color: transparent; } #ays-quiz-container-10.ays-quiz-container.ays_quiz_classic_light .ays-questions-container .ays-field:hover label[for^='ays-answer-'], #ays-quiz-container-10 .ays-field:hover{ background: rgba(39,174,96,0.8); color: #fff; transition: all .3s; } #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button:hover, #ays-quiz-container-10 #ays_finish_quiz_10 .action-button:focus { box-shadow: 0 0 0 2px rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.5), 0 0 0 3px #333; background: #27AE60; } if(typeof aysQuizOptions === 'undefined'){ var aysQuizOptions = []; } aysQuizOptions['10'] = '{"quiz_version":"8.7.4","core_version":"6.8","php_version":"8.2.28","color":"#27AE60","bg_color":"#fff","text_color":"#000","height":350,"width":400,"enable_logged_users":"off","information_form":"disable","form_name":"off","form_email":"off","form_phone":"off","image_width":"","image_height":"","enable_correction":"off","enable_progress_bar":"off","enable_questions_result":"off","randomize_questions":"off","randomize_answers":"off","enable_questions_counter":"on","enable_restriction_pass":"off","enable_restriction_pass_users":"off","restriction_pass_message":"","restriction_pass_users_message":"","user_role":[],"ays_users_search":[],"custom_css":"","limit_users":"off","limitation_message":"","redirect_url":"","redirection_delay":0,"answers_view":"list","enable_rtl_direction":"off","enable_logged_users_message":"","questions_count":"","enable_question_bank":"off","enable_live_progress_bar":"off","enable_percent_view":"off","enable_average_statistical":"off","enable_next_button":"off","enable_previous_button":"off","enable_arrows":"off","timer_text":"","quiz_theme":"classic_light","enable_social_buttons":"on","final_result_text":"","enable_pass_count":"on","hide_score":"on","rate_form_title":"","box_shadow_color":"#000","quiz_border_radius":"0","quiz_bg_image":"","quiz_border_width":"1","quiz_border_style":"solid","quiz_border_color":"#000","quiz_loader":"default","quest_animation":"shake","enable_bg_music":"off","quiz_bg_music":"","answers_font_size":15,"show_create_date":"off","show_author":"off","enable_early_finish":"off","answers_rw_texts":"disable","disable_store_data":"off","enable_background_gradient":"off","background_gradient_color_1":"#000","background_gradient_color_2":"#fff","quiz_gradient_direction":"vertical","redirect_after_submit":"off","submit_redirect_url":"","submit_redirect_delay":"0","progress_bar_style":"first","enable_exit_button":"off","exit_redirect_url":"","image_sizing":"cover","quiz_bg_image_position":"center center","custom_class":"","enable_social_links":"off","social_links":{"linkedin_link":"","facebook_link":"","twitter_link":"","vkontakte_link":"","instagram_link":"","youtube_link":""},"show_quiz_title":"on","show_quiz_desc":"on","show_login_form":"off","mobile_max_width":"","limit_users_by":"ip","explanation_time":"4","enable_clear_answer":"off","show_category":"off","show_question_category":"off","answers_padding":"5","answers_border":"on","answers_border_width":"1","answers_border_style":"solid","answers_border_color":"#444","ans_img_height":"150","ans_img_caption_style":"outside","ans_img_caption_position":"bottom","answers_box_shadow":"off","answers_box_shadow_color":"#000","show_answers_caption":"on","answers_margin":10,"ans_right_wrong_icon":"default","display_score":"by_points","enable_rw_asnwers_sounds":"off","quiz_bg_img_in_finish_page":"off","finish_after_wrong_answer":"off","after_timer_text":"","enable_enter_key":"on","show_rate_after_rate":"on","buttons_text_color":"#333","buttons_position":"center","buttons_size":"medium","buttons_font_size":"17","buttons_width":"","buttons_left_right_padding":"20","buttons_top_bottom_padding":"10","buttons_border_radius":"3","enable_audio_autoplay":"off","enable_leave_page":"on","show_only_wrong_answer":"off","pass_score":0,"pass_score_message":"<h4 style=\"text-align: center;\">Congratulations!<\/h4>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">You passed the quiz!<\/p>","fail_score_message":"<h4 style=\"text-align: center;\">Oops!<\/h4>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">You have not passed the quiz!\r\nTry again!<\/p>","answers_object_fit":"cover","quiz_max_pass_count":1,"question_font_size":16,"quiz_width_by_percentage_px":"pixels","questions_hint_icon_or_text":"hide","questions_hint_value":"","enable_early_finsh_comfirm_box":"on","hide_correct_answers":"off","quiz_loader_text_value":"","show_information_form":"on","show_questions_explanation":"disable","enable_questions_ordering_by_cat":"off","enable_send_mail_to_user_by_pass_score":"off","enable_send_mail_to_admin_by_pass_score":"off","show_questions_numbering":"none","show_answers_numbering":"none","quiz_loader_custom_gif":"","disable_hover_effect":"off","quiz_loader_custom_gif_width":100,"quiz_title_transformation":"uppercase","quiz_image_width_by_percentage_px":"pixels","quiz_image_height":"","quiz_bg_img_on_start_page":"off","quiz_box_shadow_x_offset":0,"quiz_box_shadow_y_offset":0,"quiz_box_shadow_z_offset":15,"quiz_question_text_alignment":"center","quiz_arrow_type":"default","quiz_show_wrong_answers_first":"off","quiz_display_all_questions":"off","quiz_timer_red_warning":"off","quiz_schedule_timezone":"UTC-6","questions_hint_button_value":"","quiz_tackers_message":"This quiz is expired!","quiz_enable_linkedin_share_button":"on","quiz_enable_facebook_share_button":"on","quiz_enable_twitter_share_button":"on","quiz_enable_vkontakte_share_button":"on","quiz_make_responses_anonymous":"off","quiz_make_all_review_link":"off","quiz_message_before_timer":"","quiz_password_message":"","enable_see_result_confirm_box":"off","display_fields_labels":"off","quiz_enable_password_visibility":"off","question_mobile_font_size":16,"answers_mobile_font_size":15,"social_buttons_heading":"","social_links_heading":"","quiz_enable_question_category_description":"off","quiz_message_before_redirect_timer":"","buttons_mobile_font_size":17,"quiz_answer_box_shadow_x_offset":0,"quiz_answer_box_shadow_y_offset":0,"quiz_answer_box_shadow_z_offset":10,"quiz_enable_title_text_shadow":"off","quiz_title_text_shadow_color":"#333","right_answers_font_size":16,"wrong_answers_font_size":16,"quest_explanation_font_size":16,"quiz_waiting_time":"off","quiz_title_text_shadow_x_offset":2,"quiz_title_text_shadow_y_offset":2,"quiz_title_text_shadow_z_offset":2,"quiz_show_only_wrong_answers":"off","quiz_title_font_size":21,"quiz_title_mobile_font_size":21,"quiz_password_width":"","quiz_review_placeholder_text":"","quiz_make_review_required":"off","quiz_enable_results_toggle":"off","question_count_per_page":null,"question_count_per_page_number":"","mail_message":"","enable_certificate":"off","enable_certificate_without_send":"off","certificate_pass":"0","form_title":"","certificate_title":"<span style=\"font-size: 50px; font-weight: bold;\">Certificate of Completion<\/span>","certificate_body":"<span style=\"font-size: 25px;\"><i>This is to certify that<\/i><\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 30px;\"><b>%%user_name%%<\/b><\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 25px;\"><i>has completed the quiz<\/i><\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 30px;\">\"%%quiz_name%%\"<\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 20px;\">with a score of <b>%%score%%<\/b><\/span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 25px;\"><i>dated<\/i><\/span>\r\n<span style=\"font-size: 30px;\">%%current_date%%<\/span>","mailchimp_list":"","enable_mailchimp":"off","enable_double_opt_in":"off","active_date_check":"off","activeInterval":"2025-04-30 08:35:11","deactiveInterval":"2025-04-30 08:35:11","active_date_message":"The quiz has expired!","active_date_pre_start_message":"The quiz will be available soon!","checkbox_score_by":"on","calculate_score":"by_correctness","send_results_user":"off","send_interval_msg":"off","question_bank_type":"general","questions_bank_cat_count":{"1":""},"enable_tackers_count":"off","tackers_count":"","send_results_admin":"on","send_interval_msg_to_admin":"off","show_interval_message":"on","allow_collecting_logged_in_users_data":"off","quiz_pass_score":"0","send_certificate_to_admin":"off","certificate_image":"","certificate_frame":"default","certificate_orientation":"l","make_questions_required":"off","enable_password":"off","password_quiz":"","mail_message_admin":"","send_mail_to_site_admin":"on","generate_password":"general","generated_passwords":{"created_passwords":[],"active_passwords":[],"used_passwords":[]},"display_score_by":"by_keywords","show_schedule_timer":"off","show_timer_type":"countdown","progress_live_bar_style":"default","enable_full_screen_mode":"off","enable_navigation_bar":"off","hide_limit_attempts_notice":"off","turn_on_extra_security_check":"on","enable_top_keywords":"off","assign_keywords":[{"assign_top_keyword":"A","assign_top_keyword_text":""},{"assign_top_keyword":"B","assign_top_keyword_text":""},{"assign_top_keyword":"C","assign_top_keyword_text":""},{"assign_top_keyword":"D","assign_top_keyword_text":""}],"quiz_enable_coupon":"off","quiz_coupons_array":{"quiz_active_coupons":[],"quiz_inactive_coupons":[]},"apply_points_to_keywords":"off","limit_attempts_count_by_user_role":"","enable_autostart":"off","paypal_amount":null,"paypal_currency":null,"paypal_message":"","enable_stripe":"off","stripe_amount":"","stripe_currency":"","stripe_message":"You need to pay to pass this quiz.","payment_type":"prepay","enable_monitor":"off","monitor_list":"","active_camp_list":"","enable_slack":"off","slack_conversation":"","active_camp_automation":"","enable_active_camp":"off","enable_zapier":"off","enable_google_sheets":"off","spreadsheet_id":"","google_sheet_custom_fields":[],"quiz_attributes":null,"quiz_attributes_active_order":null,"quiz_attributes_passive_order":["ays_form_name","ays_form_email","ays_form_phone"],"required_fields":null,"enable_timer":"off","timer":100,"enable_quiz_rate":"off","enable_rate_avg":"off","enable_box_shadow":"on","enable_border":"off","quiz_timer_in_title":"off","enable_rate_comments":"off","enable_restart_button":"off","autofill_user_data":"off","enable_copy_protection":"off","enable_paypal":"off","ays_enable_restriction_pass":"off","ays_enable_restriction_pass_users":"off","result_text":null,"enable_result":"off","enable_mad_mimi":"off","mad_mimi_list":"","enable_convertKit":"off","convertKit_form_id":"","enable_getResponse":"off","getResponse_list":"","submit_redirect_after":"","rw_answers_sounds":false,"id":"10","title":"The Inheritance Talent Quiz","description":"When the first gate tore and monsters came out, everything went sideways. Humans freaked out. A few\u2014not me, I\u2019m a dog\u2014woke up with powers no one could explain. Talents. Some became walking shields. Some turned into stabby-happy blade machines. Some just got very good at finding shinies.\r\nThe war is still going. It's time to find your place in the breach. Take the quiz. Get sorted. Don\u2019t die. And bring dog biscuits.\r\n\r\n\u2014 Bear, Winner of the \"Best Girl\" Guild Award, 3 years running\r\n\r\n&nbsp;","quiz_image":"https:\/\/ilona-andrews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/Portal.jpg","quiz_category_id":"1","question_ids":"87,84,85,83,82,80,79,81,86,78","ordering":"10","published":"1","intervals":"[{\"interval_min\":\"0\",\"interval_max\":\"25\",\"interval_text\":\"Congratulations, you are an Assessor!\\r\\n\\r\\nOr your official title, Dimension Breach Resource Assessor. Your Talent scans and evaluates, detecting all the resources in your environment, be they organic or inorganic.\\r\\nWithout you, the breach would just create danger and withhold its wealth. Humanity\\u2019s resources and chances would be diminished. \\r\\nYou\\u2019re so valuable to Earth\\u2019s survival, the Guilds can\\u2019t hire you for all the adamantite in the world. And boy, have they tried!\\r\\n\\r\\nBear says: \\\"Smart human. Sniff first.\\\"\\r\\n\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/04\\\/1_Bl0jbKc5FUZTaPxJPfop_Q.gif\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"A\"},{\"interval_min\":\"26\",\"interval_max\":\"50\",\"interval_text\":\"Congratulations, you are a Blade Warden!\\r\\n\\r\\nPrecision, protection, lethal grace\\u2014you hold all the cards! You can dish out lethal damage with your weapon AND make yourself invulnerable in your own protective forcefield. No that anyone\\u2019s counting, but if they were, you\\u2019d be a winner in the Talent lottery. \\r\\nThat usually means you\\u2019re given the important roles, and that no one dies while you still stand. People follow you into danger because they trust you to carve the way out. Even the government tasks you to protect their own. \\r\\n\\r\\nBear says: \\\"Strong. Bite back harder.\\\"\\r\\n\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/04\\\/force-shield-escudo-de-forca.gif\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"B\"},{\"interval_min\":\"51\",\"interval_max\":\"75\",\"interval_text\":\"Congratulations, you are a Tank!\\r\\n\\r\\nYou are the mountain that moves. Literally strong enough to benchpress a car. The meat shield that doesn't crack, always putting yourself between your team and danger. Your amour and shield alone weigh more than some of your team mates.\\r\\nWhen the breach bares its fangs, you take the hit, hold the line, and endure. Everyone is your priority, but you are no one\\u2019s. That\\u2019s a heavy sacrifice you don\\u2019t bear for glory \\u2014you do it because somebody has to. \\r\\n\\r\\nBear says: \\\"Big. Brave. Carries all, even dog biscuit.\\\"\\r\\n\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/04\\\/ca2b365919138f12b807f29931eeb98b.gif\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"C\"},{\"interval_min\":\"76\",\"interval_max\":\"100\",\"interval_text\":\"Congratulations, you are a Healer!\\r\\n\\r\\nYou are the reason the heroes walk away alive. If they get to you in time, there\\u2019s nothing you can\\u2019t fix except death.\\r\\nYou don\\u2019t head out into the breach with every team, because you\\u2019re too valuable to endanger. But when you do, you bring hope in the midst of death and madness. \\r\\nAnd when the other Talents come out of the gate, a mass of blood and pain, carrying their casualties, your work is merely beginning.\\r\\nEvery scar tells a story\\u2014and because of you, those stories keep going.\\r\\n\\r\\nBear says: \\\"Fix. Then fix again. Ouchies never stop.\\\"\\r\\n\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/04\\\/healing-charmed.gif\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"D\"},{\"interval_min\":\"\",\"interval_max\":\"\",\"interval_text\":\"Congratulations, you are a Scout!\\r\\n\\r\\nYou move faster, see sharper, hear better and think quicker than anyone else. If you concentrate, you can sense mushrooms being toxic three tunnels away.\\r\\nIt\\u2019s not just about survival when you head out in front of everyone in the breach. You have to outsmart, outmaneuver, and outrun danger, and come back to bring first warning. You read every shadow and sound beyond the gate like a map, and make sure the rest of your team don\\u2019t get caught unaware.\\r\\n\\r\\nBear says: \\\"Light paws. Smart paws. Ears up, eyes open!\\\"\\r\\n\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/04\\\/kuzco-emperor-1.gif\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"E\"},{\"interval_min\":\"\",\"interval_max\":\"\",\"interval_text\":\"Congratulations, you are a Mining Foreman!\\r\\n\\r\\nSurvival isn't just about killing monsters\\u2014it\\u2019s about building something afterward. Others heroically swing blades and dodge monster claws, but who is making all that possible? You are!\\r\\n\\u201cPlaying around with pretty rocks\\u201d ensures humanity gets the precious metals to reinforce armour and forge the weapons. No wonder you get paid the big bucks!\\r\\nMiners are strong, adaptable, pragmatic and not above smacking a monster with a rock drill if it comes to that. You're the bedrock everyone else builds on.\\r\\n\\r\\nBear says:\\\" Shiny rocks good. Shiny rocks mean bacon.\\\"\\r\\n\",\"interval_image\":\"https:\\\/\\\/ilona-andrews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2025\\\/04\\\/TSBEvolution-All-Blocks.gif\",\"interval_redirect_url\":\"\",\"interval_redirect_delay\":\"\",\"interval_wproduct\":\"\",\"interval_keyword\":\"F\"}]","author_id":"4477","post_id":null,"create_date":"2025-04-29 14:38:45","quiz_url":"","is_user_logged_in":false,"quiz_animation_top":100,"quiz_enable_animation_top":"on","store_all_not_finished_results":false}';

See you on Friday for The Inheritance Chapter 4!

The post Horde Alone And Inheritance Quiz first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

Here are 7 Author Shoutouts for this week. Find your favorite author or discover an…

The post 7 Author Shoutouts | Authors We Love To Recommend appeared first on LitStack.

Growing up in Southern California in the 60’s and 70’s was a movie lover’s dream. Late night and weekend television in those days was almost completely given over to old movies, especially on the Los Angeles independent channels: KTLA channel 5, KHJ channel 9, KTTV channel 11, and KCOP channel 13.

The independent stations were especially prone to showing independent movies, small films that hadn’t cost much and hadn’t made much and could be acquired cheaply to occupy all the time that had to be filled until sign-off and the test pattern. Many of these movies were from the House of Corman (The Little Shop of Horrors, The Masque of the Red Death, Dementia 13), but most weren’t, and any night of the week you could watch a pulse-pounder like The Flesh Eaters, The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies, or Beast of Blood (once you had advanced — or descended — to Filipino horror movies you could consider yourself a schlock PHD.)

Most of these films were awful, of course (that’s how you wound up on channel 13 at two in the morning), but sometimes a (relative) diamond could be found among the ashes. One movie that I discovered during those years was Night Tide, an odd little indie that aimed a bit higher than the usual cheapie thriller. I was always happy when it popped up in the week’s TV Guide listings.

Made in 1960 and first screened in 1961, but not widely released until 1963 due to distribution confusion (it has a Corman connection after all, because it was released through Filmgroup, his distribution company) and directed by Curtis Harrington, it’s an offbeat film that has all of the expected deficiencies of a micro-budget independent movie along with some unexpected virtues. (It was supposedly made for $25,000, which wouldn’t even cover George Clooney’s carfare today.)

Clearly taking his inspiration from the series of nine horror films that Val Lewton produced for RKO in the 1940’s (Night Tide owes most to the first of them, 1942’s Cat People), Harrington (who wrote the script as well as directed) tells an ambiguous, poetic, melancholy story in an allusive, indirect way. Making a virtue of poverty, Harrington allows the viewer to fill in everything that is only suggested (because it would cost too much to show it), which was very much the strategy Lewton followed in making his underfinanced gems.

Night Tide is the story of a USN sailor, Johnny Drake (a twenty-five-year-old Dennis Hopper in his first lead role) and Mora (Linda Lawson), a young woman who appears as a mermaid in a boardwalk sideshow. (Most of the movie was shot just west of Los Angeles in Santa Monica.)

Strolling along a beachfront street one night, Johnny drops into a jazz club where he sees Mora sitting alone, raptly listening to the music. Struck by her dark beauty, Johnny asks if he can sit at her table to get a better view of the players. Mora agrees, but brushes aside the sailor’s attempts at conversation. While they are sitting there, a strange, black-clad, intense-looking woman comes up and speaks to Mora in a foreign language. The woman walks away, and Mora, visibly upset, rushes out of the club.

Johnny, desperate to make some kind of connection with this intriguing woman, follows Mora down the darkened street, all the while trying to persuade her to talk with him. Perhaps sensing a loneliness equal to her own and touched by his sincerity, Mora permits Johnny to walk her to her home above a carousel. She rebuffs his request to come upstairs with her, but she permits him to clumsily kiss her goodnight, and leaves him with an invitation to come back in the morning, when she will fix him breakfast.

When Johnny returns the next day, he first takes a look at the merry-go-round under Mora’s apartment, where he meets the ride’s operator and his granddaughter Ellen (Luana Anders), who both respond a little oddly when they hear that he’s there to visit the sideshow mermaid.

When Johnny goes upstairs, Mora greets him warmly and leads him through an apartment decorated with souvenirs of the sea, to a balcony overlooking the ocean, where they will have their breakfast. (Seafood, naturally.) During their conversation, the sailor and the enigmatic young woman shyly begin to get better acquainted.

Mora tells him about her job — “I wear an artificial fishtail and I lie in a tank that looks like it’s filled with water, and people pay twenty-five cents and come and look at me, and that’s how I make my living.” When Johnny asks her if she ever gets tired of it, she wistfully replies, “Sometimes — but it’s restful, anyway.”

When Mora asks Johnny to tell her something about his life, he tells her that he is alone in the world; his father left home when Johnny was just a boy, and when his mother died, he thought that the best way to get away from Denver, Colorado was to join the navy and see the world. “But I haven’t seen any of it yet.”

Then, as they are finishing their meal, an odd thing happens. A scavenging seagull swoops down on the table looking for scraps, and Mora takes it in her arms and gently strokes it and talks to it, and the wild creature seems perfectly calm and content. When Johnny asks her where she learned to do such a thing, Mora says that she doesn’t remember.

After their breakfast is done, they go down to the boardwalk and Johnny meets the man who owns the mermaid attraction and serves as its barker, Captain Samuel Murdock (Gavin Muir). He found Mora when she was a child on the Greek island of Mykonos, and brought the orphaned girl back to the United States as his ward. Murdock tells Johnny to drop by his house sometime; he will tell him some interesting things about his adoptive child.

Soon Johnny is spending every liberty with Mora, and even as they grow closer, the young sailor’s disquiet also grows, as he hears some strange things about his new girlfriend. Ellen (who is clearly attracted to Johnny) and others tell him that two young men who had grown close to Mora drowned in mysterious circumstances; the police are still investigating the deaths.

And one night on the beach, where people have gathered for a party, a curious thing occurs. A musician plays the bongo drums, and Mora begins to dance on the sand; as her movements grow wilder and more ecstatic, she looks toward the ocean and sees, standing silently there, watching her, the black-garbed woman who spoke to her in the jazz club. Johnny sees her too. Mora collapses in a swoon, and when Johnny rushes to her to see if she’s alright he looks around for the woman, but she is gone. The woman vanished n the few seconds it took him to get to Mora.

Increasingly worried, Johnny decides to visit Captain Murdock at his home in cement-canaled Venice, and as he nears the house, he sees the woman again. He pursues her, but she evades him in the maze of canals and bridges. When he arrives at the house, the captain gives him an effusive welcome, but soon adds to Johnny’s unease by telling him that he is in grave danger as long as he continues to see Mora, that the gentle-seeming girl might feel “compelled” to kill him. Before he passes out from drink, Murdock tells the disbelieving sailor that Mora is a siren, a member of the ancient race of sea people who lure men to their doom.

When Johnny tells Mora the captain’s story, she tells him that it’s true — “They are waiting for me to join them.” She believes that the strange woman who is following her is one of the sea people, “here to remind me of the time I must go to them in the sea.” Johnny’s scoffing at this absurd tale can neither shake Mora’s belief in her alien nature and her dark fate, or silence his own growing anxiety.

Mora and Johnny

Visiting Mora after she finishes work one day, Johnny falls asleep on the couch while she takes a shower. He dreams that a towel-wrapped Mora walks out and sits by him on the couch, and looking down, he sees that her legs have turned into a fish’s tail; she is truly a mermaid, a creature not fully human. She leans over and begins to kiss him, and suddenly it is not the arms of a beautiful young woman that enfold him — he is entangled in the grotesque tentacles of a huge octopus, strangling him, devouring him. (This terrifying episode is probably Night Tide’s best-remembered scene.)

When Johnny awakens from this nightmare, he calls out to Mora but receives no answer. She has disappeared. Johnny follows her wet footprints out of the apartment and down to the beach. After frantically searching he finally finds her clinging to the pilings under the pier, barely holding on as she is battered by the waves of the incoming tide. As he carries her back to her apartment, she tells him that the sea people were calling her to them.

The next morning, Mora is strangely calm and later, after telling Johnny that the tides will be perfect (because the moon is full), she urges him to go diving with her at special place that she knows. (A few days earlier Johnny had visited a boardwalk Tarot reader who made ominous hints about his future due to the placement of the Moon card.) Johnny uneasily tries to convince Mora that a dive isn’t a good idea, but, unable to dampen her puzzling enthusiasm, he finally agrees.

Taking out a small boat, they make their dive (after Mora cautions the visibly nervous sailor to stay very close to her), and when they’ve gone down to the deepest point, Mora gets behind Johnny and cuts his air hose. As he desperately fights his way back to the surface, he looks back and sees Mora swimming away into the darkness. After waiting in the boat until long after her air would have run out, Johnny takes the boat to shore and stumbles back to Mora’s apartment, where he falls into an exhausted, troubled sleep.

There he has one last dream of this strange, ill-fated young woman — he sees her as a mermaid, sitting on the rocks with the waves crashing about her, an unreadable expression on her face as she regards herself in a mirror. When Mora turns and sees him, she slips into the churning water. Johnny reaches out and takes her hand, trying to pull her back up onto land, but he is not strong enough to overcome the immense power of the ocean’s pull, and a laughing Mora finally slips away from him and vanishes beneath the surface of the sea.

Later that rainy night, he wakes from this sleep, shaken and desolate, and walks to the boardwalk. Going into the mermaid exhibit, Johnny hesitantly looks into Mora’s tank, where he is stunned to see the body of the drowned girl floating face-up in the water, her hair streaming around her. She is still beautiful, even in death.

Captain Murdock (who found Mora’s body on the beach) emerges from the shadows with a gun in his hand and accuses Johnny of killing her, which the young man denies — “But I loved her.” “You loved her! What do you know about love?” Murdock replies. “I’ve loved her ever since she was a child. You did it and you must pay for it!” Murdock fires at Johnny but misses, and the shots bring the police, who take both men into custody.

At the police station a distraught Murdock makes a confession to a detective (and to Johnny — he asked that the sailor be present). When she was still a child, he began telling Mora that she was one of the sea people in the hope that it would keep her from forming close relationships with anyone else, and so prevent her from ever leaving him. Ultimately, even that didn’t keep Mora from wanting something more, and the captain killed her two boyfriends and made his ward believe that her inhuman nature was somehow responsible for their deaths; he just couldn’t bear the thought of losing the only person in the world he loved, the only person in the world who loved him.

Murdock’s “experiment in psychology” worked only too well; Mora “couldn’t face a recurrence of what had gone before, so rather than destroy the person she loved, she decided to embrace the rapture of the depths.”

The only thing left to clear up is the identity of the mysterious woman — was she an accomplice of Murdock, someone he had paid to follow Mora to remind her of her supposed evil destiny? The broken old man has never seen such a woman, never heard of her. She was part of no plan of his.

When Murdock is led out of the detective’s office, he gently pats Johnny on the shoulder, a sad little gesture between two men who will forever be linked by the loss of the woman they both immoderately loved.

The shore patrol arrives to take Johnny back to his ship, and Ellen is waiting at the desk to express her sympathy and to say goodbye. Maybe on his next liberty, Johnny can come by and take a ride on the carousel? The sailor smiles hesitantly and says that it seems like a good idea. As he walks out of the police station, the rain has ended, and a new day is dawning.

Gavin Muir and Curtis Harrington

The film closes with the lines from Poe’s “Annabel Lee” that gave it its title: “And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side / Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, / In her sepulchre there by the sea — / In her tomb by the surrounding sea.”

So, what do we have here? Is Night Tide a brilliant achievement, a neglected masterpiece? You can judge for yourself (there’s a very nice print on YouTube, though there wasn’t several years ago when I bought my Kino Lorber Blu-ray), but it’s not necessary to go quite that far.

You don’t have to look very hard to find Night Tide’s defects. The story, as I said before (and as Harrington always acknowledged) borrows heavily from Cat People, which is a better, more original film, and even if you’re not familiar with the earlier movie, it’s not too difficult to see where the story is going (Captain Murdock’s big revelation isn’t much of a surprise); the dialogue is sometimes stilted, both in the writing and in the delivery by the actors, some of the supporting playing is erratic, and the mark of the low budget is visually evident in dozens of ways.

But many of these failings have a positive aspect, too. If you’re going to pick a model, Cat People is a strong one, and many of its virtues are evident in its successor, while the low budget compelled Harrington to stick to the commonplace in costumes and sets, giving the movie a much-needed grounding in everyday reality (while also permitting the director to concentrate on character rather than on special effects). Despite a few overtly arty touches, the black-and-white cinematography (much of which was shot at night), strongly conveys the darkness and moody ambiguity of the story. (The film’s flute-heavy jazz score by David Raskin is both a plus and a minus; sometimes it’s delicate, eerie, and just about perfect, while at other times it’s discordantly, distractingly obtrusive.)

Perhaps the film’s greatest assets are Dennis Hopper and Linda Lawson. Both were experienced television actors in 1960, but Night Tide was the first movie lead for both of them, and the awkwardness and uncertainty that are sometimes detectable in their performances actually suit their characters very well. Hopper is convincingly shy and callow (a “fair young man, innocent and searching” as the Tarot reader calls him); his yearning for human contact comes across as touchingly genuine. (At the beginning of the movie, Johnny has some pictures taken in an automated photo booth; he puts his hat on, takes it off, smiles, looks serious… and then tucks the pictures into his pocket and walks away. He has no one to give them to.)

Linda Lawson, despite not being gifted with a very expressive voice, nicely coveys a loneliness and a consciousness of being separated from “normal” people that matches Johnny’s intense desire to connect with someone; she makes the lost, doomed Mora a moving, tragic figure.

Night Tide uses its limited resources to try for something different than the usual rubber-monster-on-the-loose quickie; it’s a mood piece in which feeling and atmosphere are more important than plot, a poetic, offbeat combination of fantasy and horror and mystery, wrapped around an ill-starred, very human love story. In some ways it’s almost an amateur film, but it’s none the worse for that. (Remember that one meaning of amateur is someone who does something just for the love of it.) The movie has a unique flavor, sweet and sad, and for all of its (understandable and forgivable) deficiencies, it lingers in the mind; it gets under your skin.

You can always recognize a film that was truly important to the people who made it, and Night Tide is one of those; clearly, it wasn’t just another job to Curtis Harrington, Dennis Hopper, Linda Lawson, and the rest of the people who worked on it — it meant something to them. If you give it a chance — say late some lonely night — you might find that this old, odd little movie has come to mean something to you, too.

Thomas Parker is a native Southern Californian and a lifelong science fiction, fantasy, and mystery fan. When not corrupting the next generation as a fourth grade teacher, he collects Roger Corman movies, Silver Age comic books, Ace doubles, and despairing looks from his wife. His last article for us was The Eccentric’s Bookshelf: Michael Weldon’s Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film