Aura Overload 1.59 - Epilogue (Patreon)

Good morning! I have today's chapter (it's short, but don't forget you got a long bonus one yesterday!) and some revisions to chapter 1.58. Thank you for all the helpful feedback--you folks are earning your beta reader badges with this story! I'll post the changes to 1.58 first with a brief explanation for each major change:

The Sass invitation: I think I was suffering from something that happens to writers while I was crafting this scene--in my head, I've built up a kind of backstory and possible future arcs involving Sass, but I haven't shown all that to the reader yet. The result was that the connection between Hector and Sass is bigger to me than it is to you all. I've decided to dial back this invitation.

The more I thought about the idea of "getting Sass on the team" the more I realized I was making a huge chapter commitment to that little arc, and I'm not sure that's the right move. As you might have guessed, I need to do some plotting and outlining for book 2 before I get started writing. So, here's the dialed back dialogue:

At the thought, he looked at Lemon and asked, “Have you ever been to Kessler’s Reach?”

“Hmm?” Lemon looked at Sass, who shrugged.

Hector said, “I’ve got to go there for the next month or so—prepare for a rift run.”

Sass clenched her chrome-knuckled plasteel hands tight enough for the joints to click. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Well, I’m not gonna sit around in Helio twiddling my thumbs.”

Hector arched an eyebrow. “I’m not in charge of you.”

Sass nodded. “Well, I’m gonna follow—”

Hector held up a hand, interrupting her. “I expected that. You can help me train.”

Sass heaved out a sigh, nodding slowly as she sank back in the booth, at least partially mollified.

Just a bit more clarity on Hector's feelings about Royals:

That had been another topic that kept him awake; he liked the idea of the opportunity the Games represented, but something didn’t feel right working for a man like Grover Sparling. He reeked of Empire, and after what had happened to the Contis—to him—Hector had had his fill of Royals. It was a hypocritical thought, maybe, considering his past life, but maybe that was the point. Maybe he was seeing things from the outside-in for the first time, and it wasn’t leaving such a good taste in his mouth.

Just changed the wording here a little to make it clear that Lemon sees Hector's gift as a loan:

“…really don’t know how I can repay you, but I swear, I’m going to try! I was dreading reporting to the grow house today—thought I was going to die!” Lemon was leaning forward, staring earnestly into his face, and Hector had to smile, realizing he’d been spacing out. He really needed to eat. “I, um—are you sure we should come with you, though? I mean, I can probably earn better in Helio—”

Hector shook his head. “No. I’m going to tell Grando you’re working for me now. It’s the only way I get you out from under his thumb. He needs me, and if I say I need you, he’ll let your debt slide.” He nodded toward Kit. “Besides, you don’t want him hanging around with that crowd.”

Aside from those little revisions, I also found about a dozen typos and/or word changes, so I've re-uploaded the chapter to Patreon with all the fixes.

Now, on to the Epilogue. One sentiment after yesterday's chapter was that it felt like a "happy" ending and that it might not fit the tone I set out for with this series. Well, as of right now, I'm planning 5 books, and there will be dark moments, and an overall grim tone, but I want you all to consider that this is me, Plum Parrot, and I like seeing good people do good things in dreary settings. I'm not saying all the books will have guaranteed happy endings, but there will be some positive vibes mixed in with the tragedy.I think this Epilogue does a good job of resetting the tone at the end of the book. Let me know what you think!

Thanks!

Plum

59 – Epilogue

Grover Sparling sat at his desk, his gaze focused out the enormous diamond-glass window overlooking the pit—a terraced wound in the Martian surface, its spiraling roads crawling with haulers no bigger than ants at that distance. It was the result of his company’s decades-long labor. Of course, it hadn’t always been his company, but the lion’s share of that digging had been done under his watch. It was a genuine marvel, and the view was breathtaking. Well, not anymore, not to him, but that was what people were meant to say, wasn’t it?

Still, he was tired of the mine. He’d carved his life out of it—alliances, leverage, buried enemies—and now it felt like a cage that had grown too small to contain him. It was almost time to make his move. “Almost…” he whispered.

Iris cleared her throat—a nervous tick? He shifted his gaze from the window to his daughter, sitting before his desk, hands clasped in her lap. She looked like a teen, but he knew better. Could he blame her? Hadn’t he done the same thing, too many times to count? Didn’t he look like a hearty middle-aged man, while in reality, his foundation was already planning a gala for his hundred-and-fiftieth birthday? He shifted his gaze away from her polite smile to the man sitting beside her: Roy Janus.

Something about Roy’s perfect mustache always irritated Grover. He spends too much time on his looks, that one does. He’s actually worse as he ages. The thought prompted Grover to focus on his corporate mail icon, scroll to his head of HR, and recommend an intervention with Janus—time for him to undergo a rejuvenation treatment. That done, he looked into the man’s eyes and said, “I’m listening.”

Janus had been waiting for permission to speak for nearly ten minutes, and he coughed in surprise, licking his lips before saying, “Well, unfortunately, we lost track of our new asset—”

“He means the peacekeeper, Father—Logan,” Iris said, clarifying for Janus.

The man nodded. “Yes, correct. We lost track of him mid-morning. He seems to have gone dark on purpose. We haven’t been able to find any trace. Unfortunately, he left his drone on the charging station, and his bike doesn’t have any record of his—”

“There must be something,” Grover said.

“There is,” Iris affirmed.

Janus glanced at her, careful to smooth his expression before speaking. “Well, we do have traffic cams showing him driving north out of the downtown area. His bike returns without him less than an hour later.”

“So.” Grover smiled, drumming his fingers. “He got greedy—wanted to remove our other potential asset, and learned a hard lesson. That’s going to cost us.”

“You think he killed a peacekeeper?” Iris asked, failing to mask her incredulity.

Grover glared at her, and she snapped her mouth closed. “Why not? He made short work of Tacitianus and his protectors, didn’t he? Empire! It’s good to have that thorn out of my heel!” Grinning, he turned back to Janus. “So, we’re down a magistrate candidate. What about the other peacekeepers in town?”

“I’ve got two who will be willing to play our game.”

“Good. Choose the best one. I’ll authorize the usual incentives.” Grover picked up his fidget spinner and began thumbing the top-most gear, letting the faint mechanical hum bleed the tension from his fingers. “And the fighter?”

Iris was quick to answer. “As you predicted—first train out.”

“And?”

“I confirmed what your agent found: he’s registered with a corporate team out of Kessler’s Reach to raid the rift there.”

Grover nodded to his daughter, smiling. “I want you there before he arrives. I’m not sure how he earned a spot on a rift team so quickly, but it doesn’t surprise me. Remember what I said: you need to make it clear that you’re not there for him. You’re there to scout talent for the Games.”

Iris nodded. “Understood.”

Grover slammed his palm on the desk, startling her so she nearly jumped out of her seat. “I mean it, dammit! I don’t want him to feel like we’re monitoring him. You have to be convincing!”

Her eyes blazed. “I will be.”

As their stare-down dragged on, Janus looked from father to daughter, then shook his head and made a brave attempt to break the tension. “Do you really think he has a chance in the games? Our tournament—”

“Is nothing, I know.” Grover relented, looking away from Iris to glare at Janus. “Come on, man, we’ve been over this. There’s more to that fighter than meets the eye. Maybe you didn’t see it, but to an aficionado, it’s clear that he’s more than just a tough son of a bitch. His style—there’s a certain efficiency to it. Have you ever seen a Praetorian duel?”

Janus stiffened. “I am an aficionado, Mr. Sparling. Wasn’t it I who told you about the kid?”

“Then you should recognize it, too. Hector Valerius fights like the Invicti, and he’s too damn young to have mastered those movements. No, Janus… there’s someone else in that body—that or he’s much older than he seems.” He nodded to his daughter as a case in point. “However you look at it, his Imperial ID doesn’t add up. We need to figure out who he is—and how we can use him.”