Transference Ian Patterson Publication date: October 1st 2024 Genres: Adult, Dystopian, Science Fiction
Nicholas Fiveboroughs is a Sicko, someone that takes on others’ illnesses. In a city where diseases can be transferred, the rich buy longer lives without pain, and the poor get a short life of constant sickness. Maybe it was fate, or maybe someone is looking out for him, but after Nicholas barely survives his latest affliction, he gets the chance to try and change things. To finally stop the whole disease transfer network.
Tensions escalate as Nicholas infiltrates a higher society he doesn’t understand, and starts to fall for the very person he needs to manipulate to be successful. And between run-ins with a talking animal and genetically modified humans, the world around him just keeps getting stranger. Can Nicholas tear down the disease transfer architecture? And can he do it without losing his own humanity along the way?
The Disease Transfer Machine, or the Box as we call it down here, was invented some time before the city. It’s always existed here, the primary thing shaping our lives. It sounds noble at first, the elimination of disease, until you realize it only works that way if you can afford it. For those of us in the lower levels, it’s the thing killing us. It’s the only job we can find. It’s the poison that we can’t stop eating.
Do I know how it works? Not a fucking clue. One person sits on each side of the giant metal box, various tubes extend from it and connect to each of them. There’s a giver’s seat and a receiver’s seat, and no one else in the room when they turn the thing on. It’s a strangely intimate thing, sitting across the room from your destroyer. There’s a feeling of great suction all over your body, and then the misery sets in. The symptoms start like a bucket of ice water dumped on your shoulders. I’ve always wondered what a great relief it must feel like on the other side.
The backbone of our economy is built on it. The very rich trade their diseases to the very poor for appropriate compensation agreed on by both parties. But realistically, when you’re poor enough you’re too constrained to know what appropriate compensation is. Some people have tried to create laws around it, establishing contractual requirements and base pay for different diseases. They don’t mean much though, there was always someone willing to go under the base pay, there was always someone that needed the money badly enough to take the risk. Laws just give the illusion that what’s happening is fair. Of course, it’s not.
This new caste of people, the perpetually ill, were lovingly nicknamed Sickos. The working poor hated them for the ease they got their money, the middle class decried the horrors of rampant capitalism they represented, and everyone tried to buy their services when their own bill came due.
Author Bio:
Ian Patterson is many things. Importantly here, he’s the author of Transference, Book One of the Narrator Cycle. He’s also an engineer, cyclist, foodie, coffee lover, cat dad, human dad, and reader of books. Preferably, thick books that deal with strange things and big ideas. He’s dreamed of being an author for decades, but finally began the journey with the birth of his first daughter. This is an objectively terrible time to start work that requires quiet concentration, and he knows it, but he loves the chaos nonetheless. He lives in Colorado with his wonderful family.
Welcome to the book tour for YA dystopian novel, Path of Totality by Heather Kreke. Read on for more details!
Path of Totality
Publication Date: November 8th, 2022
Genre: YA Dystopian
Jadzia Mills never wanted to become a killer, but when World War III comes to American soil, Jadzia is torn from her family. Forced to join the military, she fights alongside her best friend. When he is killed by a Zealot, Jadzia disappears to reunite with her mother and brother.
Alone, she embarks on a perilous cross-country journey trying to stay ahead of those desperately trying to find her.
Help comes in an unexpected way when she meets Ryker and his group of survivors. When Ryker insists upon helping her, Jadzia’s mixed feelings toward him only complicate her goals.
Can they work together despite the odds between them when sacrifice seems the only way to survive?
Heather Kreke is a young adult dystopian fiction author, Blog Manager for the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference, and a Coordinator for the Blue Ridge Readers Connection. In her spare time, she teaches writing classes at her church, has written for numerous blogs, and has completed coursework through the former Christian Writers Guild. Married since 2004, Heather has three daughters and is passionate about showing teens and young adults they can find hope in God’s plan for their lives – even through the darkest times.
Life on Mars is no fairy tale for Morgan, a scrappy adventurer who plunders Earth’s carcass in search of loot—and evidence of an elusive scientist. She hopes he can cure her father’s dementia, but instead he kidnaps her father and flees into the deceptive dreamlands of Mars. During her frantic search to locate them, Morgan begins experiencing strange hallucinations that make her think she’s losing her mind.
Meanwhile, Nil, a tormented killer struggling to repress his humanity, thinks his hallucinations are a flaw in his system. Soon his pesky emotions roar back to life, throwing a dagger into the whole “cold-blooded assassin” thing. While he pursues his next mark, a witty hacker trying to save Nil’s other victims, he battles with his disorienting visions and burgeoning emotions.
What he doesn’t realize is that he’s falling in love for the first time—and the hacker he’s falling for is also the scientist who kidnapped Morgan’s father.
Drawn together by their common target, Morgan and Nil harness their mysterious visions to find each other amidst holographic recreations of Oz, Wonderland, Neverland, Atlantis, and Camelot. Before she loses her father forever, Morgan must work with a killer and kidnapper to discover the sinister truth behind her father’s illness and her bond with Nil. And Nil is forced to decide between protecting the man he loves and helping the girl he’s inexplicably linked to.
Because they share more than disorienting hallucinations—and what they share will change everything they thought they knew about themselves.
I don’t know why I kill. I’m ordered to, true, and it’s all I’ve been trained to do. I’m good at it.
But that doesn’t mean I like it.
Lately, I’ve been losing my touch. Each time I suffer an emotional episode, my handler remedies it by sending me in for reconditioning. The guilt goes away, my efficiency improves, and the nightmares stop.
But the guilt always returns. And so do the nightmares.
Up to the point I awoke at the Guild’s headquarters, all I remembered was a dim, murky muddle of nonexistence. My eyes opened to a roomful of shadows. Vague shapes hovered over me, surrounding me in a nebulous circle. My vision remained hazy, my awareness cloudy—I mistook what would be my first memory for a chilling dream.
“Good morning, my son,” a cold but cajoling voice said. Lilith. My handler. “Your slate has been wiped clean. Let’s see if you do better this time.”
I was floating. But when I moved my arms, I displaced something thicker than air: water. My bare, pale limbs drifted in the translucent pool. Reflecting on it now, it was my birth. And the darkness delivered me.
Which makes Lilith the closest thing I have to a mother.
Tonight, she’s ordered me to slip into the Emerald City, Oz’s entertainment subdistrict. The buildings are green and glittery, disorienting like the rest of Mars’s vast and vacuous districts. Citizens stumble along a yellow brick road nestled between fields of red and pink poppies. A tiny dog frolics through the field alongside his mistress, an adolescent girl in a gingham dress and silver slippers. She darts in front of me, but I walk right through her. The image shimmers, light particles interrupted by my mass, until she reassembles and skips off without a sound.
None of it is real. It’s a projection, both literally and metaphorically, an idealized vision of our world according to the minds who invented it. A fantasy brought to life. All I’d have to do to destroy it is smash the lenses installed on the construction’s framework, strip the taciturn gray structures of all their glimmering emerald, and reveal the ordinary bricks beneath the yellow. Dorothy and Toto would disappear. The poppy fields would vanish, expose barren cayenne clay and ashen rock.
At least shadows are real. Honest. I slink into them, darting between hologram-cloaked buildings and grappling to the rooftops. Ads promising the improbable—the cure for any ailment, all at the low cost of submitting yourself to the Pantheon’s experiments—glint and glitch at the skyline’s zenith. I set up a zipline to the adjacent roof and grapple from rooftop to rooftop, leaving as many lines as I can in my wake. Haste isn’t necessary when entering the target zone, but a speedy exit is crucial.
As I traverse the rooftops, I scan for thermal signatures beneath and behind me. No one’s noticed me. Good. Though I pass several Bouncers patrolling below me on the street, they’re all underneath the Guild’s thumb and therefore instructed to ignore us. Even if a civilian sees me, they’d never see my face again—or see it at all. I use a different shroud on every job, but I sometimes leave them turned off in lieu of the full black bodysuit, which means I resemble some subverted superhero creeping and swinging through the night, mask and all. Not the most outlandish sight on Mars, believe it or not.
I send Isabeau off to survey the area around the soaring spires of the Emerald Castle, my target’s last known location. The synthetic falcon launches from my shoulder, wings shimmering as she slices through light beams shining in the air. I close an eye and perceive what she sees, one camera transmitting an image to another. This eye isn’t mine; it’s a replacement implanted with a chip. I don’t recall how I lost mine, but Lilith says it had something to do with the traumatic incident that sabotaged my memories.
I’m not sure I believe her, but I can’t question the woman who controls my life—unless I want to risk losing it.
Isabeau perches on a ledge outside the building. She monitors the area through a faux stained-glass window, her viewpoint displaying in my cybernetically enhanced eye. Inside the Emerald Castle, writhing clubgoers surround my mark.
I activate my shroud and shimmy down the side of the building with my grappling hook. The regulator installed in my chest controls the speed my heart beats at, keeping my pulse and temperature low at all times. Makes it tougher for thermal imaging and pulse readers to pick up on my signal. There shouldn’t be many people around with tech that can outdo mine, but a few paranoid denizens carry them as a precaution.
Not everyone trusts the Pantheon. With good reason.
I glance into a compact mirror to ensure my shroud works, then stow my gear and waltz into the street, blending with the crowd. The music inside the club vibrates beneath my feet as I approach the front doors, so I prepare my ears for the decibel assault. I nod at the Bouncer, make eye contact, press my palm into the scanner. It approves my print and accepts my false identity with a beep.
Knowledge-seeking animal-lover, supporter of diversity, and OG Floridian. Lifelong gamer who grew up drawing Disney characters, whales, and dinosaurs. Proud INTJ (which I share with the likes of Hannibal Lecter, Batman, and Ellen Ripley).
