Cyberpunk Blues – Part 4

I am living a cliche today.

I kid you not, I am sitting in a bistro, drinking coffee, talking and laughing about my writing as I work through the second part of Temple.  So far, part one has gotten one purchase, and zero Kindle reads.  I discussed this before, but as bad as it may have been for me to basically wipe-out on my first release, it just lets me know that the absolutely most horrible thing that could happen, has happened.  From here, going forward, there is literally nowhere to go but up.  It’s a little bit of gallows optimism, but I’ll take optimism in any form.

The week continues to see startling improvements in both my mood and temperament.  I suppose that it’s hard to believe such changes are possible in such a short time period.  But I believe that compounded with my conditions was an overarching, soul-crushing tiredness which permeated every aspect of my life.  Operating under such conditions for an extended period of time had a host of consequences, and I’m only now beginning to get some of them under my thumb.

It’s very empowering to take charge of your health like this.  So many of us, for one reason or another, let these things snowball until all sense of control or hope has left us under the suffocating weight of our afflictions.  To climb out from under such a burden, to breathe deeply for the first time in what feels like forever, has been a been blessing of unimaginable magnitude.  My wife is the one who provided the ‘startling’ descriptor above.

As far as Cyberpunk Blues is concerned, I LOVE THIS FREAKIN STORY.  I love worlds like this.  I love digging in deep into the Shadowfire realm of magic and technology merging, and rooting around for all I’m worth.  Previously, I had done another iteration of cyberpunk, but without the magical delving.  Not so this time around.  I really want to keep running with this for as long as I can.  Stay with me my lovelies, we are all in for a fantastic journey.

Without further fanboy ravings…

Cyberpunk Blues – Part 4 

I sat there, staring at my father, jaw agape, with Betty’s whispered words ringing in my ears.  Your dad is crazy.  

“Dad, you expect me to believe that magic exists?  I came to you for help you pedantic, arrogant ass!  And you feed me this kind of nonsense?!  If you don’t know what happened, have the guts to say so instead of lying to me.  Jerk.”

I stood up in a huff, Betty trilling in alarm as I jostled about so quickly without warning her and undid some of the more delicate netjack repairs.  She huffed noisily once she had secured the remaining wires and circuitry against the interior of my skull.  I was almost to the door when by dad unloaded with both barrels.

“Chase, when have I ever lied to you?”  The words pinned me against the door, projected with force and a surety born of absolute truth and decades of unwavering command.  I couldn’t have moved an inch if I tried.  That sactimonious bastard!  I knew I was only angry because he was right, but I still seethed.

Not once, ever, in my entire life had my dad lied to me.  Or to anyone, that I had ever heard about.  Given that we worked in the same circles, that was a lot of people.  Dad had always said that a threat was as good as the word of the person delivering it.  My dad sharpened his honesty to a razor’s edge, and he wielded his veracity with surgical precision.  He had cut me to the quick with nine syllables.

I let go of the door, once more conceding defeat to my despicable, loathsome, underhanded father.  Why I loved him after all he had done to me and still does to me is a matter that Betty found endlessly fascinating.  I just… what could I say?  He had a gaze that could penetrate your soul, and an honestness second to none, regardless of his unsavory business nature.  If he could help me, he could help.  If he said there was magic…

“Fine” I harumphed as I sat back down in the chair.  “Magic exists.  Now what does that have to do with me almost dying and having to deal with Betty’s whispered remonstrances as she fixes my netjack?”  My father sat down as well, looking troubled that he’d needed to use his nuke so quickly in our conversation.  He hardly ever had to use it, and we were clearly both rattled by it.

“I wish I were lying my sweet.  Magic has cost me my wife, and any chance of a healthy relationship with you.  I know you hate what I do with my power and authority, but I promise you, it was not what I wanted to do with it either.”

He looked old then.  Well, he was in his sixties, and had iron gray hair.  But he never looked old.  He hadn’t looked a day over forty when I walked in the door.  Now?  Lines caressed his face like my mother once must’ve done.  Like I had once done.  For some reason, it made it easier to love him in that moment.  His normal face was merely a facade, and for the first time I was getting to see through the mask to what really lay underneath.  Care, worry, stress, all leaping off his face as though I were a gypsy reading his palm.  

“Keeping the Wheels from finding out what made Genesis tick has been a nightmare.  Magic is real my sweet, and the mages abandoned the rest of humanity.  We few who are left try to maintain the engines which power each Wheel, but it gets harder with each passing generation.  Soon we won’t even be able to do that.  And if the public caught wind of this?  We’d justifiably have a riot, then we would all be dead even sooner.”

I sat, numb, as he continued to describe the awful doom a few million warlocks had condemned the rest of humanity to.

To be continued…

Warlockfully,
Justin