Ryk E. Spoor
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All-Patron Reward: Demons, Early Draft Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2018-10-10 01:46:08 +0000 UTC As discussed in prior posts, unlike many of my works Demons of the Past went through a lot of drafts and revisions, more than any other story of mine.One of the largest changes overall was in just where the story STARTED. The first section of Demons of the Past: REVELATION, the first volume, is titled "Baptism of Fire"... but that was not where the book originally started, for the first section was then called Born of Ice.
Well, technically, that's not true. The very original version, then just called Psionic!, began with a much less appealing Sasham Varan as an officer aboard a ship from an even nastier Empire -- one that was more overtly bad. Varan was a product of that Empire and it took a jolt to start him seeing what was wrong. That draft, for good or bad, is as far as I know vanished forever; I am pretty sure it was in one of the boxes of my stuff that got destroyed in a flood.
But Born of Ice does still exist... and might be amusing to look at. Here's the first chapter!
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BORN OF ICE
i.
The little ship quivered as another tornadic gust struck. Naval transport shuttles don't have much soundproofing; the shrieking howl of the blizzard cut throught the rumble of the landing jets. All I could see through the scratched glasteel ports was unrelieved gray-white blur.
The shaking slackened with the wind, and I caught a glimpse of black, smooth-edged shapes rising from the swirling snow. I gripped the armrests tightly as the ship bucked again and whiteness erased the Imperial base. "Torline's Swords!" I snarled involuntarily as the armrest jabbed me. That would ordinarily have gotten a snicker from my Marine cabinmates, but they weren't laughing now. I saw that most were sweating, probably wondering if the launch could even land in this weather. I wanted to laugh in their faces; this weather wasn't any worse than mine back home on Borealis.
As the ship staggered drunkenly sideways, I amended my opinion. O.K., maybe a little worse. But sweating wasn't going to do them any good if we crashed. I closed my eyes, began the "White Vision" meditation of Tor.
I opened my eyes as the howl suddenly faded; just as abruptly there was a last jolt, and the vibration of wind and jets ceased. Outside the window, eddies of snow were dying away as the hangar doors rolled shut. I unstrapped, grabbed my bag, and - after a quick uniform check - bulled my way into the line.
Just in time to spot the drillmaster in charge of my squad. A Marine. Wonderful. It's not enough that most - all, I corrected myself after a surreptitious glance around - of my classmates were Marines; I had to get a Marine for a drillmaster. Navy and Marine get along just slightly better than psionics and Monitors. I should've listened to my old drillmaster and taken Survival last instead of first.
He glanced over the squad, his iron-gray eyes taking us all in with one lightning-fast glance. "I am Green Sargeant Helkoth." he said. "Most of you were my squad in Basic a few weeks ago. For those of you who weren't, welcome to the coldest damn base in the Empire. 'Tenn-HUT!"
My back snapped me upright reflexively.
"Fall in! By the letters, gentlemen, let's not have a mob like pigs at a trough... by the Seven Towers, can't you people remember your alphabet?"
"I don't know everyone's name, sir." one of the larger Marines said.
Helkoth directed a glance at him that could have killed a windwailer in mid-screech. "You were in the same squad with most of these men for ten weeks, Nievas, and you don't know their names?"
He flushed. "Well, sir, I don't know his name."
Of course he was pointing at me. "Ahh, yes." said Helkoth, smiling with a very false joviality. "Our Naval recruit. What's your name, Ensign?"
"Sasham Varan, 8901252112, Imperial Navy, SIR! " I bellowed in my best parade-ground voice.
"Well, Varan, at least you're near the back of the line where you belong... UNLIKE you, Canta!"
The Marine behind me jumped as though he'd been shot. "Sir!"
Helkoth shook his head as if in despair. "I give up. Line up! In order... Ablan! Ballar! Bormun! Canta!..."
Having ordered the squad to his satisfaction, Helkoth headed us at a brisk doubletime down a corridor, through a set of double doors, and into a large briefing room. There were fifty-one chairs around the oval table. The Sergeant sat and gestured for us to do likewise.
I tried to comply; the Marines had other ideas. Just as I reached a chair, one of those muscle-mad morons cut in front of me. I changed direction, trying to get to the next one, but Canta beat me to it. This pleasant little routine continued all the way around the table, until I had to circle behind Helkoth to reach the last open seat. He wasn't smiling. I could feel my face flushing as I sat down. The little grins of my classmates didn't help.
"Now that we're all settled," Helkoth began, with a glance at me that renewed the flush, "I'll repeat what you may have been told, but probably weren't, before you came here. This is NOT a game. In the end, you will have no help, not a single thing to rely on but yourself. I've lost an average of one recruit per class for the past fourteen years, and my record's as good or better than that of any instructor here. The odds are that one of you will see Atlantis before the month is out. If you listen real close and do as you're taught, chances are it won't be you." He pressed a button and two spheres the size of the Sergeant's shaved head grew and hung in the air before us.
"You know that this is Arctic Survival, but most of you probably don't know anything about the world that the Empire chose for this course.
"The larger, blue-tinted world is Borealis, our Naval friend Varan's homeworld. The second, which is either a companion planet or large moon of Borealis depending on your tastes in definitions, is the one under your butts: Wyllas. Both planets are iceworlds, with temperatures rarely rising above freezing even at the equator. Borealis, however, has a large ocean area, a considerable amount of low-level geothermal activity, and an atmosphere thick enough to retain a large amount of heat." Now Borealis faded and Wyllas grew to a sphere I could barely have held in both arms.
Helkoth pointed at the floating globe. "Wyllas, on the other hand, has wide but shallow oceans, a thinner atmosphere, and much more violent geologic activity. Storms here are more sudden, more powerful, and far less predictable than on its sister world. Whatever life exists here is alive due to an ability to eat almost anything except rock. The warmest I've ever seen it get here was two degrees above freezing. The average is forty below, and at night the temperature drops - very quickly, I'll add - by another thirty to fifty degrees. That causes the only constants of Wyllas' weather; the temperature difference drives the infernal winds and the cold of the night side drastically lowers the moisture-capacity of the air, so there are always gales and it usually blizzards from early evening 'til around midnight... with other storms at unannounced times. That's quite a bit worse than Borealis, and far, far worse than most of you have even dreamed." He suddenly glared at the private that had started my impromptu round of musical chairs. "Private Jearsen! Perhaps you can tell me the most important thing to do if you get lost out there?"
Jearsen wasn't ruffled by his glare. "Keep moving, sir."
Sergeant Helkoth smiled. "Thank you, private. That's just what I thought you'd say." The smile vanished, and he bellowed, "And it's completely WRONG! Ensign Varan, " he said, looking at me, "what would you say the most important thing is?"
I answered, though I really didn't want to; the Marines weren't going to like some know-it-all Naval ensign showing them up. "Actually, sir, it's two things. Get sheltered, and stay dry. We've got a saying on Borealis: 'Cold sweat is cold death.'"
"I've heard that saying before, Varan, and it's true." He surveyed the table. "Jearsen's suggestion wasn't actually that bad, for ordinary winter conditions; but out there," he gestured at the walls, " it'd be suicide. Remember 30-30-30: at minus thirty degrees in a thirty kilometer wind, human flesh freezes solid in thirty seconds. Any moisture hastens the freezing process, and makes whatever clothing you wear ineffective. So dig into the snowbanks and stay dry!" Helkoth stood, and we scrambled to follow. "That's enough of an introduction for today. Cabin assignments are posted in the hall, and you'd best get to know who you're rooming with; he'll be your partner for most of the training." As we all started out, he held up a hand. "A lot of this is independent study, and I have other duties; I'm an advisor, not a nursemaid. If I'm not available, ask Ensign Varan."
Oh no! I was new, Navy, and I'd embarrassed one of them already. Now I was instructor surrogate? This was not going to be a good day.
I was following the rest of the squad out - no point in turning my back on them - when a touch on my shoulder halted me. "Ensign."
The Sergeant was there. "Being Navy in a Marine class isn't easy; you've already had a taste of that, and being the official class brain will likely make it tougher. But I won't let anything go to waste. You're the only iceworld native in the class. Twenty-nine of them never saw snow until they landed here. I hope they'll listen, at least a little, to someone who's been there." He looked sharply at me. "But don't think this excuses you from participation, Varan; I catch you slacking and you'll be doing calisthenics mother-naked in a blizzard. And for Torline's sake don't be stupid and pretend you know something if you don't; ask me." He turned. "Dis-missed!"
