The Story Behind the Story with Mandie Dufour of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

We have another new guest this week.

Mandie will be part of the 4^th GMRD Book Fair this Spring. 

The novel - Devour - is gaining lots of attention.

Read on, my friends.

  

Mandie Dufour is a sci-fi, fantasy and horror writer. They have a love of stories in all forms, going on to graduate with a degree in English literature from Saint Thomas in 2015. A love for people and a fascination with biology led them to receive valedictorian in their massage therapy program in 2018. The writing community both on and offline have provided them with joy and motivation. The Canadian Maritimes where they live with their wife and two ferrets serve as a source of great inspiration. They also draw from their experience as a Norse pagan as well as observations on life and human nature.

 

Title: “Devour” 

 Synopsis:

Valya is holding tight to a dying planet. When a mysterious organic ship appears outside the Sigurd System’s asteroid belt, she seizes an opportunity to join The Saegammr’s crew on a mission to recover technology that could save her planet.

What begins as a salvage operation quickly turns into a battle of wills and a test of survival as they face horror beyond their wildest imaginations.

Valya must discover what it means to make impossible choices when fate is cast in stone, and only the present moment is moveable.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

The initial spark for Devour came from a conversation I had with my wife about the wraith ships in Stargate Atlantis. For those unaware, the ships are organic and I thought it would be super creepy if there was an organic spaceship that also ate people, sort of like a pitcher plant.

I am actually terrified of space, so as a horror enthusiast, I thought why not write about something that scares the pants off me? I’ve always found the sheer concept of space to carry so much existential dread that I wanted to harness that in the story.

As a Norse pagan, I found representation to be lacking outside of the stereotypical depictions of Vikings that often end up being quite inaccurate. Often, when paganism is in a fantasy setting, it ends up exaggerated and leaned on for magic-systems.  Instead, I wanted to show it as a grounded aspect of the characters' lives and how they move through the world rather than be the fantasy center of the novel. Additionally, as I wrote, I thought it was interesting to explore how Norse paganism would develop on planets that aren’t earth. As a nature based religion, many of the concepts come from natural phenomena we encounter everyday, so it would end up developing quite differently on planets that look nothing like ours.

At the time, I was active on Wattpad where there’s a popular competition called the Open Novella Contest, or the ONC, where writers get to choose a prompt and have three months to write between 20,000 - 40, 000 word novellas. I used this as an opportunity to get started on Devour and ended up moving through the rounds where it eventually got shortlisted and made honourable mention.

The Devour that is out today has been expanded to include much more of the world and Valya’s space adventure.

 

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Mandie: 

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Mandie: Margarette Atwood is my favorite author, however, “Watership Down” by Richard Adams is my favorite novel.

An Excerpt from : Devour - Chapter Twenty-One “Hallucinations”

While the others bickered on what to do, Valya approached the wall of the ship to see if she could find the door. Her eyes scoured the slimy surface for a clue; a seam, a rip, a wrinkle, anything. Her heart throbbed in her throat, pounding blood into her ears... then there was something else... a murmuring cut through the incessant whooshing of her own pulse.

She extended her hand and touched it to the wall, surprised to find it was warm. Thick, slimy mucus stuck to her palm.

The murmuring grew louder.

A hundred people all talking at once, clambering over each other in desperation... crying, screaming... Valya put her ear to the wall to try to make out any words.

Straining to listen, she pressed in closer. Her ear stung. She pulled away from the wall. Mucus sucked her back in. Shock pinched her chest into a vice. Stuck flesh ripped itself raw as she yanked herself free. The skin on her ear, and side of her face burned. She touched her cheek, wincing.

"Valya!" Amira called.

Valya jumped and turned to look at the crew. They stared at her.

"Are you alright?" Amira placed a hand on her shoulder. "We called your name and you wouldn't answer." Getting a closer look at Valya in the light of her staff, she scrunched her brow in concern. "Your skin, it's scraped raw! What happened?"

"I - I dunno," she mumbled. "I heard these voices in the wall and I wanted to hear what they were saying."

"We didn't hear anything," said Ivan. "Are you sure?"

Valya nodded. "Pretty certain. I think the ship's wall burned me - or - or something."

"You haven't been sleeping well," said Ivan. "Are you sure you weren't -"

"Hallucinating?" Valya interrupted. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm not that tired. How could I hallucinate my skin raw?"

Banele approached her with concern. The harsh beam of his headlamp made her squint. She let him examine the right side of her face.

"This looks pretty real to me."

"They feel pretty real too.”

He rummaged around in his bag, drawing out the same short thick tube as before. Valya held still while he applied the RenewalCream to the damaged skin on her face, and ear. Pain subsided to a dull throb.

"Thank you," she said.

Amira kissed her healed forehead. "No more touching the walls, please. Stay close to me."

"We're going to search the ship for a way to contact Ren or get out, whichever comes first," said Ivan.

"I say we take the left hole," said Banele. "I got a good feeling about it."

"I don't have a good feeling about any of this," Valya muttered.

With no reason not to, they followed Banele through the left orifice. Amira led the way, her staff glowed in the dark. She tapped the sphere and it brightened, mingling with the light of their headlamps.

The hallway stretched onward in a shadowy tunnel. Valya could have sworn the walls pulsated, urging them onwards with their strange undulations.

After her previous attempt to investigate, she was hesitant to go near them again and Ivan’s accusations of hallucinations kept her from bringing up her observation.

They trudged onwards until the hallway deviated into another fork.

"Wanna take the right one this time?" Ivan suggested.

“Let’s check the floor plan.” Valya brought out her stone once more.

No… This can’t be right.

The twisting of the tunnel they were in did not match what she saw on the screen. According to the hologram, they should be able to go straight.

“We must have screwed up here somewhere,” she said.

They stopped for a moment. The floor was sticky, holding their boots in place. They lifted their feet, prying them away in sucking squelches.

What is this stuff?

“Let me see.” Ivan peered over her shoulder at the hologram.

“She’s right,” said Banele.

A cold pit settled into her stomach.

“There must be some mistake,” Amira said. “It can’t be that off.”

No matter how hard Valya looked at the floor plan, she could not reconcile it with reality.

This is the correct spot.

They should be able to continue and find themselves at an intersection further along. It also struck her how the halls and corners on the map were straight, bending at ninety-degree angles, while the hall they traversed was rounded like a hole or tunnel.

The longer they lingered, discussing the discrepancy, the harder it became to lift her feet from the sticky sludge on the ground.

“We have to keep moving,” said Valya. “Maybe we’ll figure it out as we go?”

The churning in her guts said otherwise.

What other choice do we have?

“We’ll take the right one,” Amira repeated Ivan’s previous decision.

The others agreed and they entered the hole. Rather than a continuation of the hallway, they found their way into a round chamber.

Fifty SlumberPods were arranged in five rows of ten. What Valya had first suspected to be veins extended from the walls of the ship and enveloped the pods. Their glass covers were hazy. A green film-like algae obscured their insides.

"Where did this ship come from?" Ivan gawked around the room in awe.

Valya wandered amongst the pods, taking note of the familiar technology. Panels on each pod meant to display the vitals of the occupants were cracked, or too obscured by the thin tendrils from the ship's filaments to read. The visible screens were completely blank except for the faint green light indicating they were occupied.

Five of the fifty pods flashed red.

Empty.

This ship was normal at one time… but what happened?

Amira raised her staff and smashed it against the surface of the nearest pod. It cracked but didn't break.

"Hey!" Banele cried. "What the hell are you doing?"

"We need to find out who's in here. The screens are useless." She raised her staff again.

"Busting someone out of hypersleep like that could kill them!"

Amira lowered her weapon. "Then how do we look inside?"

"You could try wiping the glass," said Ivan, already scrubbing at a pod with the sleeve of his boiler-suit.

Thick film came away easily enough. The contents became visible through the filthy glass.

They gathered around as Ivan continued to wipe. A soft yellow glow, a remnant of when the pod was still functional, illuminated what Valya assumed used to be a person.

They were certainly person shaped.

The ship's veins had infiltrated the pod and infested the occupant. Flesh, and most of the clothing, had dissolved, fusing with the foam mattress pad. It festered in a purple and black sludge. What remained of the skull leered in a grimace. A cavernous black hole where one of the eyes once was stared into Valya.
 

Buy the book HERE. 

Thanks for being our guest this week, Mandie. 

 

Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the story with Author Joyce Rice of Quispamsis, New Brunswick, Canada.

 Someone new to the Scribbler this week. 

I met Joyce at the GMRD book fair which took place last spring. 

She kindly accepted my invitation to be our guest this week. 

Read on, my friends

 

 

 

 

I was born and raised in the beautiful province of Newfoundland. In my early twenties, I moved to Ontario, where I spent over 25 years working as a personal support worker in long-term care, providing compassionate, hands-on care to seniors to help them maintain dignity and quality of life.

 

In 2020, the East Coast vibe called my husband and me back, and we now call Quispamsis, New Brunswick, home. We love the warmth and friendliness of the locals, the abundance of hiking trails in the area, and the breathtaking beauty of the ocean. This environment, along with my Newfoundland roots, also influences my creative writing style.

 

I’m a proud mother to my non-binary child, H, and to my son, Patrick, and a Nana to six incredible grandchildren. They continually remind me of the power of imagination, the courage to embrace one’s true self, and the strength that comes from facing life’s challenges head-on.

 

Book title: The Rise of Little Bear.

 

Synopsis: In my first book, Bray and the Adventures of Zorkon, Bray and his friends, alongside a mysterious, riddle-speaking alien named Zork, bravely face a bullying crisis at their school. In my latest release in the Zorkon series, The Rise of Little Bear, the story bursts into a fast-paced fantasy adventure that captivates both middle-grade readers and adults. Once again, Bray and his friends—joined by some intriguing new characters—embark on an epic journey filled with courage, growth, and self-discovery. This time, they confront a dangerous new threat: AI-driven scavengers intent on stealing the powerful Zorkon crystals and seizing control of the universe.

 

The Story Behind the Story: As the fifth oldest of fourteen siblings, my childhood was often shaped more by responsibility than by carefree play. Each day was a whirlwind of chores—washing endless dishes, helping with homework, and calming the chaos. However, in those rare, stolen moments of silence, usually lying in bed after my siblings had fallen asleep, I would craft magical worlds in my imagination, where I became the hero, not the misfit, in my own story.

 

In 2014, after chronic back issues forced me to leave my career, I shifted my focus to studying grief and loss and childhood trauma, with the intent of becoming a counselor. During this time, I had a revelation: What if the stories I write could have transformative power? What if they could serve as tools for healing—offering a way for people to process emotions that were too complex or overwhelming to put into words?

 

Suddenly, the quiet moments I had once stolen between chores and homework as a child took on new meaning. The worlds I had dreamt up were no longer escapes; they had become the foundation of my journey as a writer.

 

In The Rise of Little Bear, the protagonist, an adopted Métis boy, embarks on a journey to reconnect with his identity and discovers that he is part of something far greater than himself. As an Indigenous (Mi’kmaq) author who has recently come to embrace and appreciate my heritage, it felt natural to guide the main character on this path. While his journey differs from mine, it reflects the profound experience of rediscovering one’s roots and the deep connection to culture and identity that comes with it.

 

Cultural diversity and the impact of bullying are very personal issues for me. Both experiences have inspired me to create stories that go beyond simple adventure or fantasy. My narratives address the pain of bullying, celebrate the strength found in diversity, and delve into the complexities of self-identity. Through storytelling, I aim to foster emotional growth and resilience in both children and adults. My primary goal is not only to provide an escape from reality but also to offer a mirror that reflects their feelings and experiences, helping them navigate the sometimes painful, confusing journey of growing up.

 

In addition to being the author of two middle-grade books, I’m also a blogger and write 3-4 articles a year for Burns Mosa’s Roots and Wings, the church my husband and I attended while living in Ontario.

 

Facebook Author page: Please go HERE.

 

 

A question before you go, Joyce.

 

Scribbler: Who Was Your Favourite Author or Story Growing Up?

Joyce: Looking back, I realize that every twist, every challenge, and every unexpected detour has shaped the writer I have become. The hardships I faced during my early years taught me resilience, while the moments I spent escaping into magical worlds ignited my imagination. Ultimately, leaving my career in healthcare revealed that endings often disguise new beginnings and that paths we never intended to take can lead to the most extraordinary destinations. For me, that destination is the magical world of storytelling.

 

Excerpt from The Rise of Little Bear

 

A rhythmic hum whoosh, hum whoosh beats in my head like a rapper’s soundtrack as I zoom past one humming fluorescent light after another, landing on a cold, steel-ribbed tunnel floor.

 

A bird’s shadow lies next to me.

 

“You better eat your food if you know what’s good for you,” a gruff voice commands from the end of the tunnel. 

 

Cling-clang echoes off the walls, followed by fading footsteps, and then … an eerie silence. 

 

A familiar sweet scent fills my nostrils as warm air brushes against my ear.

 

“Store what you find deep inside your mind. It will be a guide for another time,” Zork whispers. 

 

I clumsily spin around, but no one’s there.

 

“That was weird and creepy,” I mutter.  

 

Zork’s fading voice replies, “I’m here to prepare you, not to scare you.”  

 

“Uh? Prepare me? For what, Zork?”  

 

“Follow the ravens’ lead, and you will surely succeed.”  

The shadow spreads its wings. Swish, swish, swish. I lift off the floor, glide down the tunnel, and then swoop back to the ground.

 

There’s that bird’s shadow again. I can’t seem to shake it. 

 

To my left, someone walks away, swinging what looks like a lantern. In front of me is a dead-end with a steel grating. I glance around. The coast is clear, so I hop closer to the grating and peer inside.  

 

“Is anyone there?” I ask in a low voice.

 

“Bray, you’ve come on the wings of my friend,” a faint voice says.

“Mya!” I gasp.

 

My heart races as I struggle to escape. I kick and punch at the soft material that wraps around me like mummy cloth. Finally, I break free into the light of day and realize the “tomb” is just my bedcovers.  

 

“Oh man, another Zork dream,” I groan, still panting from the battle beneath my blankets.

 

 “Wait! That was Mya’s voice. There’s no mistaking it. She’s alive! But … was I a raven?”

  

 

Buy the book HERE.

 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Joyce. We wish you continued success with your writing. 

 

And a HUGE thank you to all out visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

 

The Story Behind the Story with Author Christopher Sweet of New Brunswick, Canada.

 

We are beyond pleased to have Christopher return.

His dynamic novel is gathering lots of great reviews. 

It should. It’s a terrific tale. 

Mr. Sweet is no stranger to the Scribbler. If you missed his last visit, please go HERE. 

Read on, my friends.

 

 

Christopher is the author of four published works, including his newest novel of supernatural horror, The Orchid Room.

He’s worked as a freelance writer, manager, waiter, bartender, event DJ, actor, children’s entertainer, truck driver, shopkeeper, call centre operator, concierge, office assistant, barista, supply teacher, and—most recently—a campground manager.

Christopher is an avid reader and a lover of cinema. He's a nature hound who isn't above crawling through the dirt to get a closer look at a particularly interesting beast, bird, or bug.

He lives with his growing tribe of people and pets on a peaceful river in New Brunswick’s Acadian Peninsula.

Christopher’s newest novel, Encore, is set to be released in April.

 

Title: The Orchid Room 

Synopsis:

The teenagers of Maggie’s Knee have been vanishing without explanation, their disappearances blamed on everything from adolescent rebellion to “shadow people” in the woods. 

Farren Murakami, an eighteen-year-old who has suffered more than most, finds out first-hand where the youth have gone when she’s recruited to join a tribe of teens living in an abandoned camp hidden deep in the woods. It isn’t long before she learns there is more to the story than just runaway kids; a sinister presence dwelling in the forbidden buildings tucked far back in the camp seems to have handpicked her for its purposes.

In her search for answers, Farren discovers her involvement with the tribe goes farther back than she can imagine, and that whatever lives in the forbidden buildings wants much more than the fealty of some kids playing in the forest.

 

The Story Behind the Story:

When I was nineteen or twenty I read an instructional writing book that, very early on, rebuked any writer who dared to base a story or novel on a dream they had. Young as I was, I took this advice to heart and made sure my dreams stayed in the dream world where they belonged. Bummed me out a bit because I tend to have pretty vivid dreams. Goes without saying, whether I like it or not, my dreams have at least peripherally influenced my writing. But I never directly based anything I wrote on a dream I’d had.

Never say never, though, right?

Five or six years ago, while we were still living in Ontario, I had a dream about a girl running away from home. In the dream, she was being chased and escaped her pursuer by leaping into a pond, swimming down through a tunnel, and surfacing in a wooded clearing where a bunch of other kids lived. But since real writers don’t write about their dreams, I let it fade into memory. Several months later, I was hiking an escarpment trail and came across the ruins of an encampment set amongst some crumbled brickwork from a long-forgotten structure. Something about it triggered my memory of the dream I’d had about the girl running from home. The ideas merged and underwent the sort of transformation one can rarely deliberately orchestrate. A major element of The Orchid Room was born.

Over months, and many long walks, I mentally developed the general storyline for The Orchid Room, making notes on whatever was handy—mainly my pocket notebook and, when that wasn’t accessible, the Notes app on my phone, which is especially useful for dictating ideas while walking. I wasn’t really “looking” for another story idea at the time, which allowed the elements to come together pretty organically. Almost any time I had a relatively clear mind, the story would rise to the surface and new elements, characters, and settings would take shape.

I soon had a “world” full of places, characters, hazards, and bad guys. What I really needed was a protagonist to send into the world and fight her way through the nightmare I’d set in motion.

A couple of years earlier, in the summer of 2017, we lost my little sister when she took her own life. Lara was a strong, determined, kind-hearted girl who could and would take on any challenge. In spite of her own struggles, she put the wellbeing of others ahead of herself. Hard as she fought, she ultimately lost the battle being waged within her. Though I didn’t set out to base the character off my sister, I’d like to think the protagonist of The Orchid Room, Farren Murakami, carries the spirit of Lara with her. Both were dealt a rough hand early in life, both had their share of personal demons, and both ultimately wound up living away from home in a less-than-ideal situation for a young person.

The first draft of The Orchid Room was quite a bit different from what wound up being published. Many scenes were rewritten and more than a few characters were added and taken away. Several of them had their page time reduced while others got more backstory and wound up playing a bigger role in the story.

After a less than awesome experience with an editor I hired at a discount (lesson learned), I thought The Orchid Room was ready to be published. I’d been promoting the release date for some time by then and was on track to have the book ready to go by the promised date. With less than a month to go before the publication date, I decided to skim through the book once more, just to make sure nothing small stood out. That was both the worst and best decision I’ve ever made. I scratched out almost the entire first chapter! Anxious, I read on, red pen in hand. I significantly marked up every single chapter in the book, sometimes cutting entire paragraphs and, at other times, adding them. I was powerless to resist the violence. Finally, I was left with a ragged first printed copy of my novel, dozens of pink sticky notes protruding like square tongues from every angle. Nearly every page was soaked in red ink. And with only weeks to go until publication.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been so stressed out. Two weeks to go and dozens of hours of work ahead of me. Seeing my distress, my wife, Annie, told me to forget everything else and focus purely on the book. I’m not sure I’ve ever been given a gift so meaningful. I worked my butt off day and night, sometimes feeling like I was going insane.

With a couple of days left, I uploaded a much-improved, vastly changed version of The Orchid Room. The work was absolutely grueling but it all paid off, the end result is what the book was meant to be all along. I learned a very important lesson about giving oneself ample time for revision. I’ll never again rush a book to its deadline, at least if I can help it. 

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Chris:

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Chris: Growing up, and well into my adulthood, Stephen King was my undisputed favourite. I still remember being handed a copy of IT by one of my friend’s parents as an impressionable thirteen year old. I barely understood most of what I was reading, but that book grabbed me, as it did so many others. Tommyknockers came next, followed by nearly everything the man has written. The Dark Tower is still my favourite series.

Buy the Book HERE.

 

Thank you for being our guest once more, Chris. The Orchid Room is a great story. One I enjoyed tremendously.

 Best of luck and we wish you continued success with your writing.

 Thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Feel free to leave a comment below.

We’d love to hear from you.

The Story Behind the Story with author Andrew Butters of Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada.

 

Let’s welcome a new author to the Scribbler.

I met Andrew through a mutual friend a few years ago. He has kindly agreed to our invitation to be our guest this week.

Read on, my friends.

  

Andrew is a multi-genre writer who also creates content, eats snacks, blogs, freelances, toils over his next novel, sucks at golf, enjoys science, supports equality, and always uses the Oxford comma. He sometimes lets his love of attention override common sense. You can find evidence of this pretty much anywhere you can find Andrew.

 

Title: Known Order Girls

 

Synopsis:

As new technology develops, allowing people to share consciousness, global wars erupt over how to control it and who should be at the helm. A scientist with thirty generations of knowledge fears that those in charge cannot be trusted with what he knows and takes the secrets to his grave. That doesn’t stop The Association from harnessing the power of the AI behind the advanced tech and using it against the citizens in what is now called the Known Order. 

Life in the Known Order is predictable and sanitized. Every action is tracked, and every outcome is known, but when Katherine Webb uncovers vestiges of the old world, it creates a spark. With the help of a small group of trusted friends and confidants, Katherine decides that if anything is going to change, she needs to stop asking for permission and have no interest in forgiveness. Through small acts of subversion, Katherine and the Girls begin a movement hoping to restore freedom, individuality, and choice to a society that's gone without for generations. 

The Story Behind the Story:

The idea for this book came to me while watching my children play in the lobby of the Great Wolf Lodge in Niagara, Ontario. Fitbits were all the rage then. As I checked my steps, I heard a staff member start barking orders to people so they could make room for children to sit in front of the creepy animatronic tree and woodland creatures for story time. My daughter, Avery, who was four years older than her brother, AJ, explained to him what was going on. “Should we do what he says?” he asked her. “No, we’re not in the way. We can keep coloring.”

This was long before AI started growing like mold on society, and by the time I put pen to paper, it was only used on the periphery and hadn’t taken hold yet. In November of 2023, I finished the final draft of the book, and less than a year later, Generative AI was a ubiquitous juggernaut of amorality, misinformation, and theft.  

My hope when I wrote it was to prove a point by viewing society through a highly exaggerated lens. It turns out it wasn’t a lens after all. It was a mirror.  

Katherine and Chadwick’s personalities were modeled (at least a bit) on my daughter and son, to whom this book is dedicated. Katherine Webb’s name is a combination of Katherine Johnson (NASA mathematician) and James Webb (NASA administrator for whom the telescope is named), and Chadwick’s character got his name from the late actor Chadwick Boseman. 

 

 

Website: Please go HERE.

A question before you go, Andrew.

Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?

Andrew: In elementary school, I read the usual assortment of Dr. Seuss and other children’s books. A big favourite of mine was Alligator Pie by Dennis Lee. A collection of silly and nonsensical poems that are still a joy to read as an adult.

In middle school, I gravitated to The Great Brain series by John D. Fitzgerald, as well as Beverly Cleary’s Ralph Mouse trilogy: The Mouse and the Motorcycle, Runaway Ralph, and Ralph S. Mouse. Of course, the Choose Your Own Adventure books were always on my bookshelf.

I started high school feeding on a steady diet of sports biographies, with Ken Dryden’s The Game and Vladislav Tretiak’s Tretiak: The Legend, instant favourites. After I discovered Rush’s album 2112, a stolen copy of Ayn Rand’s novella, Anthem, remained in my backpack for a good year. In fact, a few elements of that album and the book are found within the pages of Known Order Girls. However, over my last two years of high school, I read more Stephen King books than any other author. Tommyknockers was my first, followed by Pet Sematary, IT, Misery, and Needful Things. Today, I keep a copy of On Writing on a shelf in my desk.

An Excerpt from Known Order Girls:

“Whereas the short-term impact of AI depends on who controls it, the long-term impact depends on whether it can be controlled at all.”

—Stephen Hawking

00000000 [Zero]

Carlton Sedgwick paced in front of the desk in his lab and quizzed his lab assistant and closest confidant, Isaac Valderrama, on the procedure.

“Do you understand what you’re supposed to do?” Carlton ran his hands through his thinning gray hair.

“Completely.”

“There can’t be any deviations.”

“There won’t be.” Isaac clenched his teeth and swallowed.

“Recite it back to me.” Carlton leaned against his desk and folded his arms.

“You lie down on the stretcher at the side of the plastic tub in the containment chamber. I’ll

hook the IV into the PICC line you’ve already got in your arm. Once you give me the word, I’ll inject the general anesthetic.”

Isaac paced back and forth in front of Carlton.

“Once you’re unconscious, I give you the diazepam-digoxin-morphine sulfate-amitriptyline cocktail. I confirm death, put on my chemical protective suit, and slowly slide you into the tub filled with concentrated sodium hydroxide, keeping the rubber stretcher between me and the chemical bath. Then I exit the chamber, close the door behind me, take off the suit, and wait. Once you are sufficiently—”

His voice hitched, and he inhaled to collect himself. 

“Once you are sufficiently dissolved, I push the green button to start the timer and press the red button to release the aluminum tubes. Once the last tube is in the tub, I turn on the gas by your workbench and exit the lab, leaving the door unlocked. I walk home via the exact route you specified.”

He sat down on a lab stool and folded his hands into his lap, making eye contact with his mentor.

“When I hear the explosion and the sirens, I do not pick up the phone to make a call. I wait for it to ring. When it does, I sound surprised. When the authorities come, I act inconsolable.”

“Good. They’re going to question you after this. They may even arrest you.”

“I’m prepared. The answer to every question is ‘no’ or ‘I don’t know.’ Aside from what happens here, now, it’s not a lie. I don’t know anything. In fact, I know less than they do about your work.”

Carlton stood up and put his hands on Isaac’s shoulders. “They won’t believe you. For thirty generations, we’ve protected this and only provided enough wisdom to outside influences to move humanity forward, albeit slowly. We’ve gone to great lengths to ensure a single chain of humans is involved, and no computer has spent so much as a millisecond connected to the internet. They will not accept that it’s all lost forever.”

Isaac pulled his friend into an embrace. “I want to know more.”

“You can’t. It’s not safe for you or for humanity.”

“You’re being hyperbolic.”

Carlton broke from Isaac’s hug and stood ramrod straight.

“I’m not. You don’t realize how special you are. You’re one of a thousand people in the world, if that, whose brains are clean. Since Shared Intellect and Inherited Consciousness was created thirty Carlton Sedgwicks ago, only a few people have opted out. You come from the longest known line of those who have. It’s why I chose you.”

Isaac shook his head.

“Once scientists understood dark matter, dark energy, and quantized gravity to build the Grand Unified Theory, there was nothing left to discover. There are no more unanswerable questions. We live as part of The Known Order. What of The Association? Surely, they have the Commander computer and countless humans working around the clock to fill in the gaps you and all your predecessors intentionally left.”

“You are aware of the differences between information, knowledge, and wisdom, yes? All you need to know is Commander X-15 possesses all worldly information, and The Association all knowledge. I, and I alone, thanks to my twenty-nine former physical hosts, possess the wisdom. No one can be trusted with it. No one can, not anymore, and certainly not The Association. It must die with me.”

“I understand.”

Carlton met his assistant’s eyes.

“Do you?”

Isaac nodded.

“Good. It’s time.”

Carlton stripped off his clothes and entered the clear acrylic containment chamber. It took some doing to find six seven-foot-by-seven-foot sheets, discreetly acquire them, and get them into the lab, but he’d made more than a few friends over the years, and he got it done. Room- darkening fabric with thermal-image-blocking capabilities adorned the windows. Eavesdropping-proof devices sat every few feet around the perimeter of the room. With everything in place, he lay face up on the stretcher, being careful not to touch the inside of the tub.

Isaac attached the IV to his PICC line.

“Goodbye, Isaac.”

“Goodbye, Doctor Sedgwick, all thirty versions of you.”

Carlton Sedgwick lost consciousness and died before his smile faded.

 

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