Cli-Fi
John J. Falco
Below is the first 2ish pages of Israel Falls a dystopian scifi saga about a time travelling society that some of you know I have been working on for the larger part of a decade and this month I have finally figured out the beginning after a very grueling process and many false starts. I've been showing the first five pages to people and it has received good feedback.
Going forward I have thousands of pages of notes such as timelines that stretch through different time periods as well as the histories of the family bloodlines, that I need to go through to put this all together into an easily digestible narrative format but I think below is a good start that is a a tad bit more down to earth than any such earlier attempts at writing this.
It's pretty rich in mythology and most of the concepts/themes introduced here will be expanded upon throughout the novel. As it's a big multiverse certain items, technology, and letters are in the novel throughout I hope to have a finished manuscript by the end of the summer and then will shop it to agents and/or hollywood people after that. Even though I have many ideas for this society and have written a couple of shorts that take place in this world. At this point I'm thinking a trilogy is the best way to introduce people to it, but it could stay stand-alone.
The first 12 and more action packed pages to come are available upon request... And I could post them here if there's enough interest. I hope you enjoy and thanks for all the hep over the years. You have no idea how much Chrons has helped me get to this point and I'm grateful for that and pleased with this so far.
Chapter One: The Trouble with Bob
An arrow with a big “W” etched on the side was launched from the top floor of Buckingham Palace, and within moments glided on top a glistening river between The Grand Canyon with ease, nicked a drowning polar bear in the neck, and whizzed past a Pharaoh’s face before finding its way smack into the desk leg belonging to the famous anti-time travel activist Robert Carpenter. He fumbled through the pages gathered on top of it as he wacked the arrow out of the way without even turning around. Blood trickled down from his back thigh as it bounced behind him, and splinters sprang up all over. Even though it had caused a mark, he was not exactly impressed with this latest assassination attempt. “They’re gonna have to try harder than that,” he mumbled to himself. Unnerved by his would-be attackers, he lit the hemp in a peculiar-looking bald eagle shaped pipe to steady what little anxiety that might have risen in his system subconsciously.
A large blue digital calendar suddenly appeared to float just inches above his desk which included various documents of particular note in the grand scheme of things. Those being various letters from disgruntled employees, the mythical Time Map, as well as a very old but big guidebook entitled The 8 Simple Rules of Time Travel by Henry Wilson Published Circa January 3, 3003. Simple being more of a suggestion. The past-date 7/14/1835 appeared in the right hand corner of the desk. He picked up one of the many assortment of quill pens scattered about. Dipping the pen in blue glowy multi-dimensional ink, he made a notch on the calendar which had twenty-three such other notches and a few question marks. He threw the pen to the side, and waved his hand over the calendar until it disappeared a moment later.
The activist breathed in as the smoke filled his lungs and for a moment he was enjoying the soothing experience. He also momentarily forgot about any more threats that might be lurking around the corner. They had been through quite the journey together and to soil the occasion with 19th century crap weed seemed a waste. He spoke to it like it was his pet, “What’s so important about you anyway,” cursing the inanimate object he almost died for on multiple occasions. It never once dawned on him that it wouldn’t be good for business if the world’s top anti-time travel activist was caught in the upstairs parlor of a saloon in the old west where he had hidden out for the past month, but some sense of moral ambiguity did nag at him, which he couldn’t quite place.
He exhaled and then chuckled manically. The clarity from some long ago genetic programming returned as a smirk appeared on his face. His hazel brown eyes danced crazily as he was hypnotized by the stream of smoke rising up from the eagle’s beak. When it reached the brim of his cowboy hat and swirled around the top of his head, he snorted and choked as it tickled at the remaining bloody stub of what was once his right ear. Though most people knew not to use multi-dimensional objects, especially for their smoking habits, Robert Carpenter wasn’t like most people.
He smiled and was pleased with himself as he continued reading his notes by candlelight. In his rough calloused hands was a notice from the future he couldn’t possibly believe. It had detailed the harrowing account of his construction firm, The Carpenter Group, which in his absence had become obsessed with the newest mixed reality technology. “Fancy word for time manipulation device,” he growled to himself as the bald eagle dangled from his lips, his moment of contentment quickly fleeting.
He sat there pouting and pondered the future while various live photographs in horseshoe frames that hung the walls swam by in the fog as he scanned his dimly lit room. The picture which he was proudest of soon came into focus. It showed an eleven-year-old girl waving at him. She was dressed in a pink dress and pigtails. The little girl’s black bangs danced across her eyebrows as she cheerfully dangled her legs in the air. He could almost feel the controls again as his future counterpart operated the connected crane. Like the proud papa he was he remembered moving the last piece of steel beam in place like it was yesterday. Although it actually hadn’t happened yet. The picture was taken four hundred years in the future.
The world famous Carpenter Bridge would have been seen as technological wonder by the people here in the 1800s. Even when he was from circa the mid-23rd century, people told him it couldn’t be done, and the only one who really believed in him was the little lady on the steel beam in that photograph, his daughter Juliet. Of course father and daughter had proved them wrong. The connection to Alaska and Russia proved a lucrative trade route between both countries and he managed to do it without time travel or The Wilson Family! That was a rare occasion these days he thought to himself, remembering teaching Juliet all the dangers of time travel. He finished smoking, emptied the bald eagle, and slipped it into the deep pockets of his chaps for safe keeping.
He stared at the reports or smaller internal memos from still loyal employees, which seemed to confirm his greatest fears. What’s worse is that these reports seem to indicate that Juliet was changing her tune even faster than anybody realized. Extreme changes on construction and building policies and how even the inter-office was quickly adapting to using time manipulation devices to fill out paperwork! It was simply outrageous! Robert thought to himself as he read multiple accounts of employees complaining about harsh age discrimination brought on by fears of too much radiation from time travel experience. How that worked he never quite understood as it seemed counterintuitive, but he chalked it up to the illogicality of modern-future politics.
A train whistle screaming in the distance reminded him that he was on a deadline and had a limited window in which to read over his reports before he had to get moving again. He breathed out unhappily as dried bloody flakes fell from what was left of his ears. He brushed the notes off like that was a completely painless and normal occurrence. Perhaps it will be one day, he smiled to himself. An alert on his Timex calculator watch went off at the same time he simultaneously remembered the importance of this past-date. Despite his daughter’s betrayal he knew all he had to do to stop her was to simply walk through a portal, go back to the future at a point in time where she was most vulnerable to pro-time travel messages! That was easy enough right, but the tricky part was causing or finding a distraction big enough to keep the Temporal Consortium’s authorities busy in order to avoid detection. Luckily he had one.
Somehow the promise to a friend to retrieve that peculiar bald eagle had kept him distracted from the sweeping changes going on inside the Carpenter Group as well as the fate of the future. Racing across the old west and hiding from Indians would make anybody lose track of time, but now anti-time travel activists needed their leader back more than ever...
Going forward I have thousands of pages of notes such as timelines that stretch through different time periods as well as the histories of the family bloodlines, that I need to go through to put this all together into an easily digestible narrative format but I think below is a good start that is a a tad bit more down to earth than any such earlier attempts at writing this.
It's pretty rich in mythology and most of the concepts/themes introduced here will be expanded upon throughout the novel. As it's a big multiverse certain items, technology, and letters are in the novel throughout I hope to have a finished manuscript by the end of the summer and then will shop it to agents and/or hollywood people after that. Even though I have many ideas for this society and have written a couple of shorts that take place in this world. At this point I'm thinking a trilogy is the best way to introduce people to it, but it could stay stand-alone.
The first 12 and more action packed pages to come are available upon request... And I could post them here if there's enough interest. I hope you enjoy and thanks for all the hep over the years. You have no idea how much Chrons has helped me get to this point and I'm grateful for that and pleased with this so far.
Chapter One: The Trouble with Bob
An arrow with a big “W” etched on the side was launched from the top floor of Buckingham Palace, and within moments glided on top a glistening river between The Grand Canyon with ease, nicked a drowning polar bear in the neck, and whizzed past a Pharaoh’s face before finding its way smack into the desk leg belonging to the famous anti-time travel activist Robert Carpenter. He fumbled through the pages gathered on top of it as he wacked the arrow out of the way without even turning around. Blood trickled down from his back thigh as it bounced behind him, and splinters sprang up all over. Even though it had caused a mark, he was not exactly impressed with this latest assassination attempt. “They’re gonna have to try harder than that,” he mumbled to himself. Unnerved by his would-be attackers, he lit the hemp in a peculiar-looking bald eagle shaped pipe to steady what little anxiety that might have risen in his system subconsciously.
A large blue digital calendar suddenly appeared to float just inches above his desk which included various documents of particular note in the grand scheme of things. Those being various letters from disgruntled employees, the mythical Time Map, as well as a very old but big guidebook entitled The 8 Simple Rules of Time Travel by Henry Wilson Published Circa January 3, 3003. Simple being more of a suggestion. The past-date 7/14/1835 appeared in the right hand corner of the desk. He picked up one of the many assortment of quill pens scattered about. Dipping the pen in blue glowy multi-dimensional ink, he made a notch on the calendar which had twenty-three such other notches and a few question marks. He threw the pen to the side, and waved his hand over the calendar until it disappeared a moment later.
The activist breathed in as the smoke filled his lungs and for a moment he was enjoying the soothing experience. He also momentarily forgot about any more threats that might be lurking around the corner. They had been through quite the journey together and to soil the occasion with 19th century crap weed seemed a waste. He spoke to it like it was his pet, “What’s so important about you anyway,” cursing the inanimate object he almost died for on multiple occasions. It never once dawned on him that it wouldn’t be good for business if the world’s top anti-time travel activist was caught in the upstairs parlor of a saloon in the old west where he had hidden out for the past month, but some sense of moral ambiguity did nag at him, which he couldn’t quite place.
He exhaled and then chuckled manically. The clarity from some long ago genetic programming returned as a smirk appeared on his face. His hazel brown eyes danced crazily as he was hypnotized by the stream of smoke rising up from the eagle’s beak. When it reached the brim of his cowboy hat and swirled around the top of his head, he snorted and choked as it tickled at the remaining bloody stub of what was once his right ear. Though most people knew not to use multi-dimensional objects, especially for their smoking habits, Robert Carpenter wasn’t like most people.
He smiled and was pleased with himself as he continued reading his notes by candlelight. In his rough calloused hands was a notice from the future he couldn’t possibly believe. It had detailed the harrowing account of his construction firm, The Carpenter Group, which in his absence had become obsessed with the newest mixed reality technology. “Fancy word for time manipulation device,” he growled to himself as the bald eagle dangled from his lips, his moment of contentment quickly fleeting.
He sat there pouting and pondered the future while various live photographs in horseshoe frames that hung the walls swam by in the fog as he scanned his dimly lit room. The picture which he was proudest of soon came into focus. It showed an eleven-year-old girl waving at him. She was dressed in a pink dress and pigtails. The little girl’s black bangs danced across her eyebrows as she cheerfully dangled her legs in the air. He could almost feel the controls again as his future counterpart operated the connected crane. Like the proud papa he was he remembered moving the last piece of steel beam in place like it was yesterday. Although it actually hadn’t happened yet. The picture was taken four hundred years in the future.
The world famous Carpenter Bridge would have been seen as technological wonder by the people here in the 1800s. Even when he was from circa the mid-23rd century, people told him it couldn’t be done, and the only one who really believed in him was the little lady on the steel beam in that photograph, his daughter Juliet. Of course father and daughter had proved them wrong. The connection to Alaska and Russia proved a lucrative trade route between both countries and he managed to do it without time travel or The Wilson Family! That was a rare occasion these days he thought to himself, remembering teaching Juliet all the dangers of time travel. He finished smoking, emptied the bald eagle, and slipped it into the deep pockets of his chaps for safe keeping.
He stared at the reports or smaller internal memos from still loyal employees, which seemed to confirm his greatest fears. What’s worse is that these reports seem to indicate that Juliet was changing her tune even faster than anybody realized. Extreme changes on construction and building policies and how even the inter-office was quickly adapting to using time manipulation devices to fill out paperwork! It was simply outrageous! Robert thought to himself as he read multiple accounts of employees complaining about harsh age discrimination brought on by fears of too much radiation from time travel experience. How that worked he never quite understood as it seemed counterintuitive, but he chalked it up to the illogicality of modern-future politics.
A train whistle screaming in the distance reminded him that he was on a deadline and had a limited window in which to read over his reports before he had to get moving again. He breathed out unhappily as dried bloody flakes fell from what was left of his ears. He brushed the notes off like that was a completely painless and normal occurrence. Perhaps it will be one day, he smiled to himself. An alert on his Timex calculator watch went off at the same time he simultaneously remembered the importance of this past-date. Despite his daughter’s betrayal he knew all he had to do to stop her was to simply walk through a portal, go back to the future at a point in time where she was most vulnerable to pro-time travel messages! That was easy enough right, but the tricky part was causing or finding a distraction big enough to keep the Temporal Consortium’s authorities busy in order to avoid detection. Luckily he had one.
Somehow the promise to a friend to retrieve that peculiar bald eagle had kept him distracted from the sweeping changes going on inside the Carpenter Group as well as the fate of the future. Racing across the old west and hiding from Indians would make anybody lose track of time, but now anti-time travel activists needed their leader back more than ever...
