Prologue: The Crisis

A teenage technician's mission to harness mantra-powered technology ends in disaster, annihilating Blue Ash City and leaving a haunting legacy 20 years later.

Blue Ash Crisis

Prologue: The Crisis

Beneath a shopping center's clatter, a vast chamber throbbed with machines. Dark cables, like veins, snaked across the frigid concrete, pulsing with electric current. The air was thick with the sharp scent of ozone and the bitter aroma of overheated electronics. Chino could taste the acrid bite of coolant in the air.

Ghostly light from data screens flickered across her face. It cast eerie shadows. In the silence, static occasionally crackled. Her fingers, with practiced precision, tapped the keyboard. Each keystroke echoed like a heartbeat through the cavernous chamber. The screen emitted a menacing glow that displayed the mission objectives. It lit up her youthful features with an otherworldly glow.

The screen's red flash sent a wave of panic through Chino, leaving a copper tang in her mouth. Her thoughts fled to the serene rice ponds. The memory of sweet rice water soothed her racing heart. But dread lingered on her tongue, refusing to let her escape. The rich, loamy smell of earth and the delicate scent of green stalks surrounded her. A hint of fermented rice wine wafted in the breeze. She adjusted her microphone. With resolve and concern, she said, "Let's run the Mantra-Tech systems check, Falcon One." Her grandmother had whispered it often: the Tokoma name was a vow of service, a burden of honor. Each key she pressed felt like a promise she had to keep. Her family’s honor was on the line - but so was the safety of everyone above. One slip, and the entire city might pay the price.

No one understood how quantum computing merged with ancient mantra chants. The results were undeniable and possibly catastrophic. Mantra-Tech was to bring a new age of energy and wealth. But it might tear reality apart first. This both fascinated and terrified Chino. The room was large, with a high ceiling and cold, concrete floors. The chill made the metal chair's edge press into her back through her uniform. Hidden far below the city, the secret facility hummed with life. To Chino, it sometimes felt like gazing into deep space - yet this was no ordinary vacuum. It was the void conjured by the Mantra Device, a frontier of unknown energy rather than the stars above. The swirling blackness flickered with streaks of violet whenever a stray spark of energy arced across its surface.

Even with her mastery of the systems, Chino felt the gnawing anxiety of what they might unleash. "This could change everything, but at what cost? What if we're not ready for what we find?" Her excitement mingled with dread of the unknown. A fear of the unknown in the void tempered the thrill of finding something new. But she felt a strong curiosity. It urged her to see what secrets the Mantra-Tech system might reveal. Still, something gnawed in her stomach. A dread that the military's actions could unleash uncontrollable forces.

"Roger, the engines are running smoothly. Awaiting your call," came through. The voice was almost lost in the crackling static that filled the comms. The noise made every word a struggle. The entire mission hinged on Falcon One’s checks. Should he fail to calibrate the void stabilizers, they would be left wide open to a breach.

With a sigh, Chino's fingers danced over the switches. A tremor ran through her fingers. No matter how steady she tried to appear, she could never silence the voice telling her she was a child. The cool metal countered her warm, tense hands as she stabilized power levels. Her mind, however, was split between the mission and the distant, mundane world above. Crowds wove through slums dotted with peeling old event flyers. 

Chino's urgent keystrokes beckoned. Above, the city glimmered under the flicker of dim neon signs for half-working karaoke bars. The rain pattered against the windows. The distant drone of traffic was a sharp counterpoint to the quiet intensity below. Inside the control room, Chino saw her co-workers in white and gray suits. They were managing many switchboards like hers. Holographic displays above their stations glowed with vibrant colors. But, from Chino's angle, they appeared as mere lines of light. As they searched the data, the lines twisted and changed. Their glow playing across their faces.

And like that, the screen before her went from green to orange to red. "Not now, damn it!" Chino's voice echoed in the chamber. Her fists clenched. The heat of her palms was stark against the chill air. The screen went black. "Stay with me," she urged the system, her hands a blur over the switches until the light steadied once more. "Please, don't fail me now," her mind raced, the fear of failure pressing down on her.

Private Misa, her fellow technician, directed, "Falcon One, let's begin the core check.""

"Roger, checking now. Cores one to four are stable," crackled the technician's voice through the static.

"Clear that line," the Commander of the operation, Honda, bellowed. Chino slumped into her chair, the rigid metal digging into her back. Military life was not something she had grown more comfortable with. She was barely sixteen - just three years out of the academy.

Her co-worker's hand enveloped hers with comforting warmth. Chino turned, her eyes wide with fear, meeting Misa's gaze. "It'll be fine, we've got this," Misa reassured her, her voice steady from experience.

A sharp click crossed the communication line. It punctuated the technician's voice. "Roger, my cable was loose; my bad." The sound resonated through the equipment. The silence gave Chino a moment to notice her own rapid heartbeat. "Core 6 is stable, finally," he sighed with relief. A brief smile broke his tense features. "Everything's working; I'm fine - broadcasting levels now." In the world above, a broken streetlight flickered to life, under a thunderclap. It beckoned rain from the gray skies.

“Everything looks fine on our end, Falcon one; let’s begin the Particle Engine Check.” On a large display in the middle of the room, they finally had an image. In the dark, blue wisps danced like fireflies. Chino admired them through the screen's hazy image.

“Roger, checking engines,” the technician grunted, the sound of a plastic board snapping over the radio. “Engines one and two stable. Checking three - static's bad out here!” His voice was sharp over the crackling radio

After confirming energy levels are stable, Chino began her final check. She opened a few more screens and took a deep breath. "HQ clears you to engage the Mantra Drive, Falcon One." A gentle thrust propelled him to the satellite's edge, where he steadied himself. He quickly tethered to a ladder rung and seized the control switch, twisting it with a metallic groan. The rods lit up red, activated.

A private further down, nearer to the large screen, stood up looking towards Honda. "Commander, we've detected an unknown object east of the gate," Dagan said over the machine's hum. His voice sparked urgency.

Misa’s eyes widened, mirroring Chino’s dread. Neither spoke for a moment, their mutual fear filling the silent air. "Not another unknown? There isn’t supposed to be anything out there!" The system targeted the anomaly. "Falcon One, look at three o'clock. Can you see that object?" Her voice was tight, her hands gripping the cold console.

A distant twinkle caught Falcon One's eye, a green box framing it on his HUD with numbers racing down. "I see it; it's coming fast," he replied, urgency cutting through his drawl.

"Falcon One, can you get a read on that object?" Commander Honda's voice was strong, yet the tremor of concern was palpable. The distant twinkle grew brighter, its approach marked by an alarming speed increase. Suddenly, it morphed into an explosive flash, blinding and all-encompassing. The cameras went black, swallowing the room in sudden darkness. The deafening crash vibrated the concrete, shattering the speakers. A cacophony of noise followed. Debris rained down, each piece crashing with a sharp note. It added to the screams and shattering glass. Dust and grit filled the air. It mixed with the choking, burnt odor of charred metal and concrete.

"Falcon One, do you copy?" the commander's voice shook with worry. "Falcon One, respond! We've lost the signal. What's your status?"

~ 20 Years Later ~

"Today is the twentieth anniversary of the explosion that destroyed Blue Ash City. It killed over two million people and turned everything to dust." For three days, smoke veiled the sun. It stands as the darkest chapter in modern history. From its ashes rose New Ash City, a symbol of human resilience and technological prowess. We remember..." The news anchor's image flickered before vanishing into the television's dark screen.

"We've heard this story too many times," a young college student, Apricot, whispered. Looking out her window, she scanned the tranquil streets of New Ash City.

Reviews

[JayG]

First, when posting on almost any site, if you use leading spaces or a tab to indent it will be stripped out. For this site, and when submitting a manuscript to a publisher, indent via the word processor's top ruler (though for a publisher there's a lot more to do).

• Now I feel my writer's spirit is well enough to endeavor into the possibility of bleeding it for a living.

Because you said that, and because there are problems that are invisible to you, I thought you would want to know what they are and how to fix them. So take a deep breath...and perhaps a few sips of wine to ease the shock. 🤣

Here’s the killer: Start-to-finish this is a transcription of you being a storyteller. And that is the single most common trap that catches the hopeful writer. I see it in about 90% of what’s posted in the online writing sites.

The reason it’s invisible to you is that you cheat. When you begin reading you ALREADY have a mental image of the setting. You know what’s going to happen, and, you know the protagonist’s mindset and backstory. So you have the thing you don't give the reader: context.

More than that, as you read, you hear the emotion in the narrator’s voice—your voice. And you literally perform as you read, using gesture, facial expression, and even body language. That matters, because verbal storytelling is a performance art, where HOW you tell the story matters as much as what you say. That’s a problem, because to work, the reader needs to hear/see YOUR performance as they read. But how can they know the emotion you’d place into the words? How can they duplicate your performance.

Your wordsmith skills are excellent. But the trap has several facets. To try to make the setting seem real you’re way over-describing things, and getting into trouble because of it.

In the first and third paragraph she’s tasting things. In paragraph two you have the light from a data screen flickering on her face. But at the same time, it “it up” her features. How can it do both? More than that—and ignoring the fact that data screens aren’t showing constantly changing information—have you ever, in all your life, seen light from a data screen “flickering” on someone’s face? We have to assume that if it’s a workplace there are lights.

But more than that, who cares? You’re describing what COULD be seen, were it a film. When you say, “Ghostly light from data screens flickered across her face,” who’s watching and describing? You’re neither in the story or on the scene. And she can’t see her own face. And of more importance, were she to not taste those things, and not be flickered on, with the action change in the smallest way? No. So all that embellished description does is to sloooow the pace of the story.

In general, if it takes longer to read than to do in life, the story drags. And, when you say, “The screen's red flash sent a wave of panic through Chino, leaving a copper tang in her mouth,” you know what the "flash" means. But for the reader it's meaningless as it’s read.

Bottom line: You write well, but like most hopeful writers, you’re using the nonfiction skills we’re given in school to ready us for employment, in an attempt to write fiction. And while that works perfectly for you, were this a submission to a publisher, It would be immediately rejected. And your story deserves better.

The solution? Simple. Acquire the skills the pros take for granted—the skills that were used to create all the fiction you’ve chosen since you learned to read. That matters, because nonfiction can only inform. But the emotion-based skills of the Commercial Fiction writer that you want to be, will place the reader into the story.

Look at it this way: If we make the reader know the situation exactly as the protagonist does, in all respects—including the effect of their personality, background, resources, needs, and imperatives, then when something is said or done, the reader, learning it first, will react as the protagonist is ABOUT TO.

Then, when the protagonist’s reasoning matches that of the reader, it will seem that the protagonist is their avatar, and doing what they choose to have them do. And THAT’S where the joy of reading lies.

When reading fiction we don’t learn that the protagonist has fallen in love, WE are made to fall in love. WE live the adventure...if the author' taken the time to learn how to make us do that. E. L. Doctorow put it perfectly with, “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

Will fixing the problem involve lots of study and practice? Of course. You’ll be learning a profession. But so what? The learning is filled with, “So THAT’S how they do it!" And the practice is writing stories that are more fun to write and more to read.

Personally? I’d suggest starting with Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It's the best I've found to date at imparting and clarifying the "nuts-and-bolts" issues of creating a scene that will sing to the reader.

https://dokumen.pub/techniques-of-the-selling-writer-0806111917.html

It’s an older book (circa 1962), but the man was brilliant, and used to fill auditoriums when he took his workshops on the road. And his student list read like a who’s who of American fiction at the time.

So try a few chapters for fit.

And for what it might be worth as an overview of the traps and gotchas awaiting the hopeful writer, you might try a few of my articles and YouTube videos.

But whatever you do, hang in there and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

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“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
~ Mark Twain

“In sum, if you want to improve your chances of publication, keep your story visible on stage and yourself mum.”
~ Sol Stein

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read.”
~ Groucho Marx