Tag: ebook

More Reviews Are In!

Whiskey_Delta

Hi folks. As the title suggests, more reviews have come in for Whiskey Delta and the sale figures are going up! Unfortunately, that’s where the good news ends. Of those buyers who chose to offer opinions about my book, the same combination of “good story, but needs some serious editing” was apparent in their comments.

Here’s what the latest reviewers had to say (note the first review has been shortened due to it being very wordy!):

An exciting and well told story (4.0 out of 5 stars):
This is a great book – exciting storyline driven by gripping and well laid out plot lines that keep the reader ‘on the edge of their seats’ right to the end. Even better is the superb characterization of the two main characters and also the driver Whitman, however, considering the small number of characters in the book, I thought the author could have spent a bit of extra ‘fleshing’ out of some of the others a bit more.

The reason the book was a four star not a five star, was that it had simply the worst editing I have come across on Kindle and I am not someone who cares that much about the odd misspelling or use of ‘their’ when you mean ‘there’ and so on as I am usually so lost in the story I barely notice… I must say though, that I am very happy that I did overcome my ‘scruples’ and bought the book in the end as the story was completely riveting from start to finish and the writing itself – aside from typos and little slip ups are all forgotten when caught up in the thrilling ride the author takes you on. Highly recommend it.

Not bad huh? The full length comment contained traces of displeasure about the lack of editing, but the overall feeling is that I wrote something pretty good. Well get a load of what this guy had to say:

Not a grammar Nazi but…, (2.0 out of 5 stars)
By Heuchler:
Thought it was a decent story, but the editing or the lack thereof killed it for me. Ever dozen pages seems to have a spelling or grammar mistake. Even basic things that could be caught with spell-check are there, which leaves me wondering how they were not caught.

Again, not to be petty, but the “not grammar Nazi” made some typos of his own there. And I know I’m going to hell for saying this, but with a name like Heuchler, that last thing you want to make is a Nazi reference!

Still, after reading these, it tore it for me. Whiskey Delta needs to be cleaned up and re-released! The public is speaking with one voice on this, and those who are giving it low marks are starting to bring down the overall rating. As it stands, WD is ranked 3.0 stars out of 5 and that’s just not acceptable. For any indie looking to establish a reputation and garner sales, a 3.5 or higher seems like the desirable place to be in.

What’s more, three copies have been returned after purchase. I can only assume they started reading and were deterred by the errors. And though this represents a mere 1% margin, it doesn’t seem too acceptable to me at this juncture. Barring accidental purchases, every copy sold should stay sold, in my opinion.

Lucky for me, I won’t have to take it down to fix it up, but it will mean the updated version will be clearer and (hopefully) polished whereas the ones that are currently selling will not. I can live with that, and hope the market won’t really notice much. Right now, the sales and positive reviews have me highly jazzed about prepping and releasing the second installment and working on the third. But for that to work, I need the first installment to be as good as it can be and get better reviews.

Next Big Thing Blog Hop

inspirationGood morning people! Today, I will be participating in the NBTBH, thanks to my good friend and fellow author Melanie Edmonds who was nice enough to invite me to participate. As some of you may know, Mel and I are members of the Writer’s Worth group, an indie writer organization that is dedicated to the betterment and promotion of new and aspiring authors.

In addition, she’s one of the people taking part in the Yuva anthology and one of its chief contributors. Look for her story Swan Song in the collection just as soon as it’s available. And you also click the following link to learn more about her work: http://writer.apocalypseblog.com

So, what is this blog hop thing all about? Well basically, its a thing where I and my fellow authors, in their respective blogs, offer people a sneak peak at our works-in-progress by answering ten questions about it.  We’ve also included some behind-the-scenes information about how and why we write what we write: the characters, inspirations, plotting and other choices we make. I hope you enjoy it!

Please feel free to comment and share your thoughts and questions. Here is my Next Big Thing!

1. What is the working title of your book?

Well, there are a few. But in this case, I’d have to go with Whiskey Delta, my first attempt at zombie apocalypse literature.

2. Where did the idea come from for the book?

Actually, interesting story, it came from two place. I began working on an idea for a near-future story about a militarized border between the US and Mexico, as part of a Climate Change-fueled dystopian scenario. But at some point, with all the talk of fencelines, borders, military units, and blockades, I became convinced it would be cooler with zombies. And an idea was born!

3. What genre does your book come under?

Tricky, but I’d say horror since zombie lit tends to end up in this category. Post-apocalyptic would be an equally appropriate category too, since the greatest theme of the work is how disaster of such proportions turns people against each other and forces us to put survival ahead of all else.

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

I’d say Adam Beach or Lou Diamond Phillips as Sergeant Dezba, Stark Sands as Lieutenant Braun, either Anne Hathaway or Jennifer Lawrence as Corporal Saunders, and

5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

In the sun-baked lands of New Mexico, the Rattlesnakes live by a singular philosophy: “Leave none undead!”

6. Is your book self-published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency?

Self-published, like all my works thus far. However, that may change with time and a little promotion. We shall see!

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Roughly six months. But then again, once you got a working idea, zombie lit pretty much writes itself!

8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I would have to say World War Z, since the focus is on the zombie apocalypse, though more concerned with the aftermath than the way it happened. And of course, the graphic novel of The Walking Dead and 28 Days Later, which were big inspirations for me.

9. Who or what inspired you to write this book?

Watching Generation Kill was a big boost, as it gave me a really good feel for the kinds of antics, military lingo and problems faced by today’s grunts. Studying up on various zombie franchises, from 28 Days Later and Shaun of the Dead, to Dawn of the Dead and The Walking Dead, were also a big push. My own passion for military history also played a role, as it helped me to understand things like grand strategies, unit tactics, and the way wars are planned and carried out. And of course, playing lots of Modern Warfare also helped to get me in the shoot-em-up, blow-em-up, action-packed mood to write all the action scenes.

10. What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

Plenty of speculation as to how a zombie virus (the Ambulus Mortus strain, in my story) would work, where it would come from, and the effects it would have on the infected. I explore a good deal of the long-term effects in my story, and the race to find a vaccine and/or a cure is central to the ongoing series which I have planned.

Who’s next on the NEXT BIG THING BLOG HOP?
So glad you asked! Below you will find authors who will be joining me by blog, next Wednesday. Do be sure to bookmark and add them to your calendars for updates on Works in Progress and New Releases! Happy writing and reading!

  1. Rami Ungar: Without a doubt, he’s my first nominee. He has several irons in the fire, some of which I have had the honor of reading, and I know he’s hard at work and would like the chance to share about his process.
  2. Khaalidah Mohammed-Ali: My second-in-command over at Yuva and an indie writer in her own right with An Unproductive Woman. I know she too deserves to share her writing and anything I can do to bring it to a wider audience, I will.
  3. Goran Zidar: Another major contributor to Yuva and an indie writer of renown. I’ve been reading his material for some time and very much enjoy his techno-savy, grit, and realism. I know for a fact he’s got works in the works, so I say let’s hear about em!

Pappa Zulu Complete!

zombie_goreAnd it’s done! The second installment of my zombie apocalypse is finally complete, and I’m set for a break! My thanks to those who’ve been following the story for lo’ these many months, and my hopes that you will be available when it comes time to start work on the third and (presumably) final chapter. But we’ll see how that goes. Could be this series is more of a “trilogy in four parts” kind of thing. You never know 😉

Anyway, onto the business of this novel. This one was even longer than the last! At 305 typed pages and 109,442 words, compared to Whiskey Delta which weighed in at 261 pages and 93,746 words. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America guidelines specify that a novel is any book with 40,000 words or more. At what point does a book become a tomb?

And much like before, I prepared a write-up and a cover for it’s eventual release in ebook and paperback, which I want to run by people now. As you can see, the cover is a mish-mash of army colors and a scene of paratroopers on the attack, while the back sports my usual “bio” pic and a small blurb on the book itself. Here’s what it says:

“Men rise from one ambition to another: first, they seek to secure themselves against attack, and then they attack others.” -Niccolo Machiavelli

In the barren deserts of New Mexico, the war against the Whiskey Delta continues. After years of fighting, the “Mage” and his Rattlesnakes have managed to get the upper hand on the undead, while back at their base, “Doc” Cooper and his team are getting close to producing a vaccine from the Patient Zero strain. But things quickly change when a new opponent enters the arena. Ever since their encounter with rogue forces in LA, the Mage has worried that there are military forces back East, people who owe allegiance to another master and want the Patient Zero strain for themselves…

Pappa_Zulu

Now comes the next part… At this point in time, I still need to finish doing edits for a Mr. Rami Ungar who’s made it clear he wants his new book Reborn City, to make the birthday deadline of November. In addition, I’ll be busying myself with the Yuva Anthology, which has expanded in recent months to take on more authors and now comprises five full-length short stories.

And once that is all done, I think I’ll get to work on that Apocrypha tale I’ve been reminiscing about. And of course there’s the matter of keeping up with all the cool science, tech, entertainment news and book reviews from the wide, wide world of science fiction. No slowing down over here! I’m just that awesome! Yeah, not really, but I do what I can… stay tuned!

Data Miners Published!

Dataminers_3It’s finally happened. After three years of writing, editing and constant picking, I finally got around to pushing Data Miners through publication! As you can see, I decided to go with the black and green cover, which I feel highlights the lines of code best. And I also made sure there’d be print on the side. I feel there should be demarcation between the front and back covers, hope you agree.

And here is the precis I decided to go with on the back of the dust jacket. Hope it encapsulates the story without giving too much away:

“Prad is a member of the DeMarchy, an elite society of data miners dedicated to finding the patterns in chaos and exposing the lies that permeate our society. Or so he thinks. In reality, he’s a second-rate programmer working for a faceless company and obsessed with a woman he can’t possibly have. Until one day when a mysterious package arrives that plunges him into a mystery ten years in the making.  If he can crack the code, he just might be able to save his friends and himself.  If not, they’ll lose everything: their jobs, their freedom, and even their lives. Like everything else in Prad’s wireless world, the answer is out there, just waiting to be mined!“

But to give my loyal followers are more in-depth survey, the book was inspired largely by the works of William Gibson and his exploration of technology and its effects on society. But for my own purposes, I wanted some serious espionage and spy thriller stuff, the kind of things people would expect from a techno-thriller. After all, one of the cornerstones of the digital age has been fears about the loss of privacy, the dangers of government surveillance, and the threat posed by insidious people with the wrong kinds of talents!

Add to that the concept of Democratic Anarchy, a west-coast libertarian perspective, and some real history – which I shamelessly exploited for the sake of fiction – and you’ve got Data Miners. In time, I will be producing the sequel, Data Pirates, which focuses on the darker side of hacking and libertarianism, and a finale, entitled Data Moguls. But those will have to wait for my current workload to cool down a little…

In the meantime, look for Data Miners on Amazon-Kindle! It will be appearing on my author page for the ebook price of 4.99, or for free if you’ve got a Kindle Select membership. My first full length novel is out, Yaaaaaay! Follow the links below if you want a copy:

Amazon Author Page

Source, Now Available for Free until Nov.1st!

Good news everybody! At least, that’s how Professor Farnsworth would put it. My first novel, entitled Source, is now available for free through Smashwords until November 1st. As my first work of fictioni, it deals with a concept very near and dear to my heart: apocalyptic sci-fi!

In fact, the entire novel was inspired by a short story project I did with my old writer’s group – The Herscher Project – back in 2005. The theme was dark futures, and I used the opportunity to experiment with an idea that was kind of big news for the time.

If interested, go by Smashwords.com and download Source for your Kindle or ereader. Be sure to enter the coupon code: KY62K in the appropriate box, and get your copy for free! Note the old school cover, I’ve since updated that of course.

Space Anthology!

My apologies to all those expecting a post about zombies or post-apocalyptic stories. You see, my group and I are busy designing an entire world for our new anthology and we needed some mock-ups to help speed our imaginations to their goal. That’s been my obsession these last few days, that and visiting family. But alas, I have no idea how to post a PDF file to a Shaw Photo Share account, so I came here to do it instead. Behold… Our new Colony Ship!

The overall design is built around the concepts of a generation ship and a sleeper-ship, with the habitation module and the cryo-stasis bays in the center with the engine and shuttle bays at the rear and the command module at the front. And of course, for the people in the center area, the concept of an O’Neil Cylinder comes into play – a ship that utilizes a rotating section to generate gravity. And I think a long spine connecting it all together, which requires a cart since the gravity is at its lowest in the center, would also be cool.

Oh, and I should mention that we’ve selected a location for our story and done some additional mapping to give the setting a truly realistic feel. As already noted, the star system in question is Gliese 581, and the planet is 581 g, a real exoplanet that scientists believe could host life. And here is what it looks like, for our purposes anyway:

It’s called Yuva, a Turkish word which translates to “Home”. All the continents are named in honor of the scientists who helped discover Gliese 581’s planetary system. The rest, well, that’s all us baby! The polar continent, named New Gondwana, is named after the super-continent of Earth’s Precambrian period. And the vast stretches of sea are just tentative names that I thought seemed appropriate, given their position between the major landmasses. Note the color, which denotes levels of fertility, green being lush, grey being glacial, and yellow and light green being desert of savanna land.

New Cover for Crashlands!

I’m surprised I waited this long. I loooove making covers! And after the release of the first six chapters over at Story Time, I decided I should finally treat Crashland like a true writing project and give it a cover. Eventually, it’s going to be complete, and I would like to make it available to the public once it is.

To give it a quick recap, Crashland takes place in the not too distant future in the megacity of BosWash. The technological singularity – the point where advances in nanotech, biotech, artificial intelligence, quantum computing will forever change things – is fast approaching. In the midst of this, a group of unknown cyber terrorists have released a virus designed to cripple the world’s information networks.

Way I see it, in this near-future scenario, all things are networked and wireless like never before. People are able to access the future internet (known as the infobahn) remotely or through various interfaces. Just about all commerce, entertainment, social interaction and politics are conducted virtually, and all electronic systems are networked, so once the virus hits, it quickly spreads and brings it all down.

The main character, William Holden, a technological mogul, finds himself lost in the streets after the Crash takes place. Desperate to find his family, he begins combing his way through the dark and is attacked and almost killed. It’s a desperate struggle for him just to go on, but in time he finds help from some unlikely sources. Since they were in a position to witness the Crash directly, they know how and why it happened, secrets they reveal to Holden in time.

And that’s the extent of the story so far. In the coming chapters, I will reveal exactly who these strangers are, how they know what they know, and how they plan to reign in the people who are responsible. Holden, since he helped design the infobahn, is in a unique position to help. However, his intentions haven’t changed since the Crash occurred. Somewhere out there, his family still resides, and he’s determined to find them. Perhaps a trade off can be made…

Who knows? You’ll have to tune in to find out. And did I mention that since it’s a serial novel, you get to vote on what happens next? Yep, so the ending and outcome of all this will depend on what you want to see happen. And of course, there are plenty of other stories to vote on. Check er out!

Cover Art for Worlds Undone… done!

Big news from Grim5next, the writer’s group that I joined a few months back. After months of discussions, suggestions, and back and forth from all members concerned, we’ve come up with a title for our first anthology. And after much collaboration with artists and design platforms, I’ve finally finished work on our covers! Here’s what our first anthology, a collection of dystopian literature and art, will look like:

Here is what the paperback cover will look like, with artwork provided by Ashley Evans. Check out her artwork on deviantArt: cazzyae at deviantart

And here’s what the ebook cover will look like. Like all ebook icon, it’s been scaled down to a single page format. Less bells and whistles, but it gets the job done!

Stay tuned for the release of the book, which should be in a few months time. We need time to gather all the talent and condense all of it into the proper, singular format. And, case your interested, some material will be provided by yours truly, a short story titled “Hunluan”. Incidentally, it is related to “Crashlands”, the serial novel taking shape over at Story Time.

Oh, incidentally, this is my 200th post on this site. Another milestone! Weeeeeee!

Dataminers – Chapter 8

Prad’s steering wheel looked to be a tad bit dented as he pulled into the employee parking lot that morning. It might have had something to do with the fact that he was beating it with his fist for the entire drive. Caught between ecstasy and anxiety, he expressed himself by repetitively thrusting his fist against it. It was a happy beating, but it left his fist sore nonetheless. He checked the time just as he pulled in.

9:13 am. He would be fifteen minutes late by the time he got inside and to his desk. The sweat was already collecting on his brow the second he got to the front door. The weather was nice and warm, the sun shining. The welcoming concrete of the front entrance was already baking and radiating some heat up at him. Not a good combination at the moment. He forgot to apply his Speed Stick and his grimy extremities are also getting warm.

A quick run up the stairs to the second floor, where the air conditioning is running, the colours are muted greys, and the lights are fluorescent. He knows his pits will be cooling in this and will surely begin to reek in just a few minutes. But what can he do? He needs to get to his desk and act like he’s been working this whole time. Lunch will be the first opportunity he gets to take care of the smell problem. Flex hours are a thing of the past, abandoned in favour of the easier-to-monitor and regulate eight hour day. Under that ancient regimen, the hours of nine to twelve and one to five are spoken for. If he’s absent for any amount of time within those two blocks, he’ll be penalized. And he can forget about staying late, that’s overtime.

Prad takes a moment to curse the one group of assholes in management and the other in labour who created this ridiculous system between them. He hopes there’s a particular stinky corner especially reserved for them in hell (the smell that’s wafting through his shirt at that moment is what makes him think of this).

He wonders what the words in his native tongues would be for the condition. He wonders mainly because the English word is just so damned appropriate, and yet so abrupt. Like many such words, missing entirely are the long flowery descriptions that just don’t translate well.

Grime.

One can practically hear the old English usage, the Germanic roots that feel so folksy and earthy. So much meaning wrapped up in a tiny poetic statement consisting of only a few phonemes. He has learned the Thai and Filipino equivalents, but somehow, they just don’t seem to do it justice.

Magdumi… S̄kprk… Just not the same.

The endorphin rush from the mad dash he made getting to his desk seems to have triggered another episode of temporary lucidity. But right now, its swimming upstream against the Purple Haze. He hits the power button on the monitor and calls up his last task. His fingers begin to navigate code, one keystroke at a time.

“Hey,” Rohit says from behind him. “Didn’t hear you sneak in.”

“Are we married now?”

“There’s a list up on the break room wall. You should take a look.”

“What is it?” Prad asks, turning around.

“Schedule for interviews.”

“Interviews? For what?”

Rohit raises his hand from behind the cubicle, revealing a cup of coffee he had stashed there. He sips from it slowly and shakes his head, his lips formed in a tight grimace.

“You got a short memory, don’t you? I told you the other day.”

Prad looks at him cockeyed. Rohit leans in closer and whispers it to him.

“When you were bragging to me about that ‘thing’ you did?” he uses his fingers to make quotation marks. Prad’s memory kicks in. The parts that make it through the haze come back to him. Rohit was muttering something about HR and how they all have to explain why they need to keep their jobs. He remembers Rohit being pretty bitter about it, or maybe that was him. And wasn’t there something about bosses, unions and the industrialization of work time? No, that was definitely him, and that was only a few minutes ago! Damn, Prad thinks. He needs to stop getting messed up on weeknights. In any case, he considers the partial recall sufficient and nods.

“Anyway, it’s on the wall in the break room. People need to sign up and most of the good spots are taken.”

“When’s left?”

“Mainly late night, Tuesday and Friday.”

Prad jumps to his feet and runs to the break room. Sure enough, a sign up sheet is on the bulletin board with a permanent marker hanging by a string next to it. Someone is in the process of signing it. Prad joins them to get a better look, also because he feels like he has to stop them. Sure enough, and Rohit really wasn’t kidding there, just about every time slot and every day of the week have been spoken for. Tuesday, morning and afternoon, are gone, much the same is true about Friday. Some late comers have taken the later afternoon slots, lengthening their stay to after five o’clock. But as of now, Prad has to decide between an interview that will waste a Friday evening or one that will compromise his next meeting with the Society.

He turns around and sees Rohit standing there in the doorway, coffee cup in hand.

“When did this go up? This morning?”

“Yep.” Rohit puts his cup to his mouth with an air of smug self-satisfaction. Prad sees why a second later. Rohit’s John Hancock is in the prime location, Monday morning of next week, second timeslot (which is scheduled for ten o’clock). This ensures that he can get his out of the way early but he doesn’t have to go first. It also means he can take his time getting ready for it in the morning. As time slots go, it’s almost ideal. Prad, on the other hand, is screwed no matter what slot he takes. All the remaining interviews will be held late, but not late enough that he can go home and come back. Either night, he’ll have to stay several extra hours and then have to go through the demeaning interview process. Angrily, Prad takes the marker and sacrifices a few hours out of his Friday night rather than mess with Tuesday meeting of the Society.

Yamal Pradchaphet, he writes, in the 7:00 pm slot.

He recaps the pen and flicks it away in a motion that leaves no doubt as to how little he cares for this arrangement.

“You fucker!”

“Early bird gets the worm. Besides, the time slot isn’t exactly what you should be worrying about. If I were you, I’d be working on what I’m going to tell the panel.”

“Panel? There’s a panel?”

“Yes,” Rohit says, slamming his cup down and fetching another dose of coffee. “As I’m sure I explained already.”

“Nope,” Prad says, searching his memory, which for the first time that day seems pretty clear. “Nothing about a panel. So who’s on it?”

“Your HR rep, your supervisor, some of the execs. Basically, you got five people all looking to nail you and you need to be able to tell them why they shouldn’t.”

“They can suck my ball sack. They need me!”

“Sure they do.”

“If they knew half of what I could do, they’d be begging me to stay.”

“Really?” Rohit says disbelievingly, taking another sip as nonchalantly as he can manage. Prad is now following him back to his cubicle, like a little runt dog barking after the bigger one that doesn’t want to pay attention to him. He knows a brush-off when he sees it, and it’s pissing him off.

“I’m serious man!” he says persistently. “People like me need to stay hired by companies like this, otherwise we’d be shoving viruses up their asses.”

“Right.”

They are almost to Rohit’s cubicle now. Prad is not about to follow him all the way there and bark at him while he gets back to work. It would just look so undignified. He has one final salvo to throw at Rohit, something to turn the tables on him a little, even though it’s a little used.

“You don’t believe me, huh?” he says with a forceful whisper, loud enough to get through but not to so loud the other employees can him over the din of work. “Maybe you should ask Congressman Dangle what he thinks of my skills.”

“Jeez, that again!” Rohit says with obvious annoyance. “You know, you keep bringing up that name, but we both know you’re not about to explain that one, so why not just let it go?”

“Fine,” Prad says angrily. He lowers his voice again to a forced whisper. “Then check in with the FBI. I’m sure they’ve got something on their website.”

Prad turns around before Rohit can answer. He’s sure he can feel his eyes boring into his own back. Maybe he hasn’t heard the news yet, but it’ll hit him in a few. At worst, he’s probably going back to his desk where he can Google it from. Then he’ll see!

Ah, but fuck it all. Now he’s really breached protocol with that little act of self-gratification. Protocol about the Society is, you do not talk about the Society, or what it does. You mention them as friends should they come in conversation, maybe; but never what you do with them. Only the DeePs are such dishonourable scourges as to brag openly. One may have bragging rights, but one does not use them around third parties. It’s just common sense. And in mentioning the FBI, he’s really been way too open. Why didn’t he just write Felon on his head with a big, black permanent marker? It’s a lucky coincidence for him that no one else from the Society works there. Otherwise, he’d have a lot to answer for.

He’s back at his desk for less than ten minutes before the grime becomes intolerable. He needs more coffee too now that he thinks about it. But his bladder needs to be emptied before he fills it up again. Getting to his feet, he makes his way to the floor’s bathroom for a quick pee break and a touch up. Voiding his bladder, he takes his time at the sink to spruce up his facial situation. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair speaks of poor maintenance. Several handfuls of cool water feel good on his unshaven, unwashed cheeks. The quick burst of adrenaline from the sudden shock of cold is also nice, the dribbling water washing the oily, stale feeling away temporarily. He runs a few spare handfuls over his head too, just to get at the main source of discomfort. No matter how many times he washes his whiskers, grime from the top of his head seems to seep down and dirty them again. He knows this from experience. Always need to get the hair too.

Washed up, he grabs a handful of towels and runs them through his hair to partially dry it. The remaining droplets need to air dry, thus dissolving the grime and taking it away with them. It’s a practiced ritual, he’s found, the daily fight against the grime. One imagines if it can ever be truly won, or if it’s like trying to hold back a flood with a broom. How strangely enlightened a thought this seems right about now. How many lucid moments does that make for him today?

His taste of enlightenment is abruptly ended when he spots O’Malley walking into a stall behind him. Pausing to notice Prad standing there, looking into the mirror, he fires off a quick salvo.

“Forget to wash up this morning, Prad? Or did they shut off your water?” he says with a derisive laugh.

“Must have, Brad,” he replies with a fake smile. “Why else would I be washing out of a sink?”

He tries his best to say O’Malley’s name in a way that makes it sound offensive. Brad. Braaaad. Well, it sounds bad to him. Hoping to justify the hate with which Prad views him, O’Malley goes on.

“Must not be used to bathing every day where you’re from, huh?”

“That’s funny O’Malley. You fuck your mother with that mouth?”

“Asshole,” O’Malley scoffs, shoving the door shut.

“Dickhead,” Prad fires at the stall door and O’Malley’s shoes. At least he didn’t make a toilet paper joke. Then Prad would be forced to bring up O’Malley’s questionable hick ancestry. He doesn’t like that, he knows. O’Malley insists he’s from New York, umpteenth generation Irish stock. But he knows he’s a racist prick, so the inbred hillbilly references are all good.

Prad tosses the wet bundle of towels into the wastebasket and makes his way to the break room. Freshly washed cups are hard to come by in the cupboard. The sign on the front urging people to wash their own dishes apparently has not made a dent. Here too, the war on grime is being lost, the kind that invades chinaware and glass. Taking the least shmutzy one, he gives it a quick rinse, ignoring the brown line at the bottom, then fills it with coffee from the dispenser. He’s surprised that Rohit is not at his desk when he returns. He is sure that by now he’s had a looky loo on the web and found the story: the one about one asshole Senator and some photos that surfaced about him from the FBI’s own surveillance database. Lo and behold, he’s still at his desk. His back is busy typing away on his machine and he appears to be working.

Oh well, Prad thinks. Just as well, let him find out about it in time. Alternately, maybe he’ll forget Prad said anything and his little breach of protocol will never be revealed. One can always hope, but damn he wants to see the look on Rohit’s face when he realizes he’s been in the presence of a veritable cybergod for months.

Data Miners – Chapter 7

Prad pulled himself out of bed at 8:15 am. One look in the mirror confirms his worst suspicion. He looks as baked as he feels. Crunk hangover, happens when you mix weed and alcohol. Never advisable, but damn if that beer doesn’t feel so much better going down when you’re high. He has just forty-five minutes to get ready and get to work. It’s the latter part of that equation that is the greatest source of worry.

Prad has timed his morning ritual down to fifteen minutes, that’s exactly how long he needs to throw something suitable on, grab a snack bar and get to his car. He has a tube of Speed Stick in the glove compartment and his hair styles itself. He can go days without showering under this regimen. It’s just the grimy feeling that bothers him. His fine black hair requires semi-daily maintenance to avoid becoming greasy. The crotch rot is a repetitive issue as well. He can’t imagine a woman will want to come near it if even he is frightened away by the smell of his own crotch BO. In any case, he can always shower when he gets home and the office provides all the coffee he needs to amp himself up.

His Miata is waiting for him. The cover is up, so when he gets in he’s hit by the smell of contained atmosphere. The interior has lost that new car smell and now smells like fried meat and gandja smoke. But it’s cleaner, due to Tuesday nights little tantrum – if it could be described that way. Really, all he did was clean off the seats of errant wrappers and remove the CD cases that had burn marks. He was somehow unimpressed with himself that they were all still there. And he has to admit, it’s nice to get into a clean car. His Smart phone is plugged into the outlet, and he’s off from the garage by 8:32. He’ll be pulling into work at roughly 9:02, barring any serious traffic delays or tire mishaps.

This estimate is thrown into disarray when he notices the fuel gauge. He has less than an eighth of a tank left, and that might not be enough to get to the office. He could risk it, but if he runs out on the highway, he’s right fucked and will have to wait for an AAA truck. And he’s not sure if he’s paid up on his dues. Can they leave him at the side of the road if he’s behind on his payments? Surely not. Better not take the risk.

Prior to getting onto the highway that borders the Empire State’s property line, he pulls into one of the two gas stations that flank it. A quick consult of the sign lets him know that the current gas woes aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. He can remember when he was a teenager and how people feared the price would be up to four bucks a gallon in the near future. Four bucks a gallon! How trivial that sounds now!

Prepay takes a few painful seconds, then the task of pumping begins. The digital readout and the beating rhythm of the pump remind Prad that time’s against him and he’s rapidly losing this race. He’s already flirted with the idea of filling the tank only half-way and has abandoned it. Might as well expend the extra half-minute and have a full tank of gas. At this rate, he’s going to be late as it is, and thirty seconds is not going to prevent him from getting laid off.

The radio is running as he lets the tank fill. Relaxed rock and morning news, the right kind of thing to start his day off. He’s tried hip/hop and hard rock and they just don’t seem to set the mood for a day of boredom and forced professionalism.

The pump is still going, like a thirsty fucker, the car is still drinking. And all the while, the counter is still rising.

Blub, blub, blub, blub! Ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching!

The sound of petrol dollars burning up in a Faustian process known as internal combustion fragment. His mind is inventing some rather interesting imagery this morning, which is probably because of the purple haze he’s got clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice right away when the glugging stops because the little motor that powers the pump is still humming. It’s soothing vibrations reminds Prad of his bed, where he wishes he still was.

He tells the machine not to bother printing the receipt. Paper is for knuckleheads who can’t remember the passwords to their online records. Now finished, he retracts the hose, seals the cap, hops back into the front seat. His key is in standby, keeping the radio running. He turns it over just as a new story comes after a musical break.

“Congressman Dangle today was the subject of some controversy when a number of photographs surfaced showing him receiving financial contributions from white supremacists…”

“Oh, fuck me!” Prad turns up the volume and forgets about work for a moment. His every bit of attention is devoted to the radio and the report spewing from it.

“The photos surfaced from a number of anonymous sources who claimed that they retrieved the photographs from the FBI’s website. The FBI could not be reached for comment, but already there are a number of online groups calling for a full-fledged investigation into the Congressman’s alleged activities. These include financial ties to the Aryan Union and possible affiliations with the Reverend Fred Johnson, a man notorious with the families of soldiers who died in Iraq. But most damning of all, according to some sources, is the photograph of the Congressman frequenting an adult entertainment shop. No one has come forward to claim responsibility, but a number of people are wondering where these photographs came from, and whether or not the FBI was really in possession of them…”

“FUCKING FINALLY, MAN!”

A loud honk from behind him. Prad sees a big red shiny pick-up making a fuss. That’s when he realizes he’s blocking the pump and is even later for work. He waves apologetically and puts his Miata in gear and heads for the highway. A quick check of the clock causes him to curse his distractibility and makes his foot all the more heavy. His rush to work is hasty but the cloud of elation he’s floating on keeps him light and lively. No need for coffee anymore, he’s got the morning news to get him wired. He just hopes Rohit and, wherever they are right now, the Society are listening in. Contrary to what he feared, he’s looking forward to their next meeting now.