Blog Tour Kick Off: A Garden On Top Of The World by Virginia Aronson #YA #ecofiction

A GARDEN ON TOP OF THE WORLD
Veronica Aronson
* YA Ecofiction *

Title: A Garden on Top of the World
Author: Virginia Aronson
Publisher: Dixi Books
Pages: 112
Genre: YA Ecofiction

The year is 2066 and life in Greenland is much warmer and more crowded, and lacking in fresh food. Sixteen-year-old Jonnie lives in the Relocation city of Shamed, where hundred-story high rises house extended families from American coastal cities relocated after the Sixth Sea Rise. Work and school are conducted from overcrowded apartments, while the homeless camp out on the streets below. Jonnie is intersex and identifies as she, although her family pressures her to identify as he.
Jonnie’s parents run a high-tech call center out of their apartment. Her older siblings work there, and Jonnie must share a bedroom with two much older nieces. For quiet and privacy, Jonnie often retreats to the empty rooftop.

Red is a homeless man who takes up temporary residence in a pigeon coop on the roof. After Red talks about the seeds in the birds’ droppings, Jonnie gets interested in heirloom seeds. Jonnie knows little about how food grows because meals come in packages ordered online and delivered by drone. Armed with a new understanding of old-fashioned garden-grown food, Jonnie is determined to create her own garden on the roof of her high rise. Along the way, she meets a former cryosphere scientist, a botanist with an urban indoor garden, and twins her own age, one of whom is intersex.

A GARDEN ON TOP OF THE WORLD is environmental fiction for ages 12 and up. Jonnie’s search for who she is and what she might be able to offer the world is one that will resonate with readers of all ages. The information she learns about healthy food, sustainable agriculture, and urban gardens may inspire readers to start their own gardens.

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2XvMlrd

 
 

______________________

Introduction

"This is the way the world is fed."

Just think about how our world might change in the near future. With the increase in global temperatures, polar ice caps will have experienced significant melting, causing significant rises in sea levels. Coastal cities will be threatened and, unless adequate precautions have been taken, vulnerable areas of the world may have to be evacuated. Food and land will become more scarce, feeding the world much more difficult.

Right now less than a hundred thousand people live in Greenland because most of the country is snow and ice, permafrost. But if our earth grows much warmer, less hospitable areas of the world like Greenland could become more populated as cities facing massive water intrusion relocate residents.

How many people might be homeless if the global situation becomes dire? How many will be unemployed? With advancements in automation, how many will be unable to find work?

In the coming decades, what will the world look like? Where will we live? What will we eat? Will people be different than they are today?

Medical experts have cited an increase in births of intersex babies. Human sexuality is changing, becoming more fluid and less defined. In the future, as the global population advances to 10 billion, such developments could be seen as adaptation, a desirable evolutionary change.

What about sexual (and racial and ethnic) equality? What about pollution? What kind of technological changes will there be in 30, 40, 50 years?

Now imagine that you are a young person living in the year 2066.

And now, meet Jonnie.

Chapter One

Once I finish my schoolwork, I have nothing to do until dinner. Everyone else at my house is working. When I remove my headgear, I can hear them. Talking, talking, talking. The sound is a deep, bone-rattling drone, interrupted by occasional bursts of laughter or yelling.

So annoying.

My family is in the call center business. This means they don't do anything; instead, they talk for a living. Talk, talk, talk. And the work is international. This means they talk all day long and right through the night. You would think they would want some peace and quiet when they're not working, but this is not the case. Even off-duty, my family is always talking. Always gossiping and laughing, shouting and arguing, blathering on and on.

I'm the youngest and there are a lot of them and only one of me, so I rarely get to speak. Not that I want to yack all the time. I prefer quiet. A serene, calm, peaceful quiet. So I've had to adapt. Most of the time I tune them out.

But sometimes I can't block out the noise. That's when I sneak out. I wish I could do something, like hit the streets and explore, but this is not allowed. They think I'm still too young to be out alone where there's poverty and crime. So instead, I go up to the roof. It's not much and there's nothing to do, but it is quiet up there.

I'm going to head up there right now.

First I put on my niece Kamara's soft blubber boots and my dad's dog-fur coat. I slide thick white Dura-Soy socks onto my hands to keep them warm. Nobody at my house owns gloves. My mother says there's no need to go outside in the bad weather. We have everything we need right here, in our home.

I'm not so sure this is true for me. Being stuck inside, studying and hanging out all day, is so boring. Only when I'm reading or researching or doing interesting schoolwork am I content. When my mind is engaged, it goes elsewhere. Zoom! But escape is only temporarily. I always come back here, to a crowded apartment in a crowded building in a crowded city.

I want to go new places. I want to do amazing things.

Right now, however, I have to complete high school. I'm a year ahead, a junior at sixteen. I like being challenged, but digiworld education is pretty easy. However, I love environmental history class and nature science. I love looking at how the world around us used to be, the early people and their simple lives, the wild animals and their natural homes. Everything was so different back then. Nothing looks like it did in back in 2000, 2025, even as recently as 2050. There's been so much rapid environmental change and so many social adjustments, it's a whole new world.

I glide through the living room without disturbing anyone. They rarely notice me anyway, tucked in their tiny cubicles, encapsulated in their surround-sound head screens. I don't walk past my parents, though. Those two have eyes in the back of their heads and they could snatch me by the hoodie and hold me here. Maybe even assign some useless chores. Or, even worse, try to make me do some call work.

No thanks.

But I'm invisible, so out the door I slip and up the stairwell I go. Up, up, up, jogging two stairs at a time, eventually slowing to a brisk step-up walk. My breath comes out in frosty spurts. The stairway is cement and holds the winter chill.

It's a good run up the stairs to the top, so I use it as exercise. I want to be fit and strong so I can go on adventures. Explore other parts of Greenland, then explore the rest of the world. But I'm sort of huffing as I power up the flights. Sitting inside all day is not good training.

At the ninety-ninth floor, I stop for a moment to admire my lucky talisman. An abandoned spider web, which has been here as long as I've been coming up from the second floor. Dusty and wispy, it hangs in the corner off the rough gray wall. The web is perfect, an incredible design still intact. I wish a spider lived in it. I would love to see a real live insect, observe one in its natural habitat.

I remove the sock from my hand and reach up, gently feeling the soft silk. Impressive how a female spider can create such gossamer material inside her own body. I'm not sure what I will create inside mine because I am intersex. That means I am part male and part female. I may have eggs, I may not. Whatever is in store for me, I will never be able to weave beautiful webs, that is certain.

I drag myself up the final flight and lean against the door to the roof. The heavy steel is especially difficult to push open today, which indicates it's extra windy outside. I shove the door with all my strength and, with an aggressive grunt, manage to open it wide enough that I can slide through. I'm small and thin, making it easy for me to fit into some of the places I wish to go. Only I want to go everywhere. Travel the world. Visit the moon. Take up residence at one of the space hotels, and jump on the shuttle to Mars.

Yet here I am, stuck in the sad city of Shamed with my loud telemarketing family.

The wind is biting, it chews at my face and neck. I pull up my hood, feeling sorry I didn't borrow my niece Kamara's seal headdress. That kooky thing makes me look like I have a pile of blubber on my head, but it keeps my ears warm.

I hurry across the vast expanse of the empty roof to my spot. A small bench sits between the solar heating units. The afternoon sun is still bright and, tucked here out of the wind, I am soon warm and cozy.

I drop the hood and turn my face to the sun. Winter all over the globe is mild and brief these days, but here in Greenland it used to be brutal. Back then, nobody could sit outside in March, their face to the winter sun.

Warmed enough now, I pull out my dad's World War Three binoculars and stare at the activity on the streets below. Most working people are inside, at home, probably on their headgear. Those hanging around outside are homeless. Too many Shamed residents are unemployed, and lots of families lose their apartments and end up on the streets. My family is lucky to be employed.

Two raggedy men sit side by side on the icy sidewalk, waiting for donations. I watch an elderly man stop to give them something, but I can't tell what it is. It's flat, kind of square, so it looks like an old book. But books are exceedingly rare, so I doubt anyone here would donate one. After the guy shuffles off, the two beggars argue over the donation. I watch them fighting over their prize until I'm bored.

The streets are harsh today. Gusts of cold wind rip off seal hats and shake solar lamp posts. Kids dressed in layers of oversized clothing huddle in doorways. I feel sorry for them. If you have no place to live and no screens, you have nothing to do. You can't even go to school.

I check the sky, looking for birds. But I don't see any. Usually I don't. There are so few trees in the city that birds are as rare as books.

As I scan the neighboring buildings, I peek in the uncurtained windows. I'm imagining what the residents' lives are like in the apartments that surround ours. Sometimes I can see people moving around their rooms, and I create stories about them in my mind. The women care for others like my mother does. The men have interesting work that keeps them from being bored with the limits of city life.

Two kids who look around my age live in the building just south of ours. A girl and a boy, I think. It's hard to tell because so many kids are intersex. They might be twins, they sure look a lot alike except one has like an afro and the other has long straighter hair. They study and eat together, often huddling to talk. They nudge each other, make funny faces, laugh. Watching them makes me feel both happy and sad. I wish I had someone like that in my life. My siblings are much older than I am. Even my two nieces are in their twenties. My mother told me my birth was a bit of a surprise. Had to be, she was over eighty when I was born. My parents have great-grandkids who are around my age. So my grandnieces and grandnephews are teenagers too.

Confusing, right?

There's no sign of the twins today, and nothing much to see in the other windows. The frosty wind whistles in the distance as I look across a seemingly endless vista of rooftops. Rooftop after rooftop, stark gray and lifeless. No people, no furnishings, no swimming pools or pretty tile patios like in the historic photos of old city buildings in places like New York and Miami, Paris and Shanghai. Here in Shamed, the city skyline looks like an empty parking lot, just gravel and asphalt that stretches as far as you can see. In the early part of the millennium, lots of cities had restaurants and observation decks on building rooftops. How cosmic that must have been! Dining close to the stars! Looking out at the brilliant blue sky, the green vista below with flowering trees and pretty parks. Birds flying by, settling in the treetops. And singing!

When my parents were kids, they lived in an alive world. Such a different world than mine. I feel ripped off. Still staring though my spy glasses, I sigh heavily.

"Feeling grumpy, are we?"

I jump off the bench, my binoculars bouncing against my chest, then whacking my chin. I can feel my heart racing faster than it did when I jogged up the stairs. I've never seen anyone out here on the roof. Nobody comes up here but me.

An old man with reddish gray hair stands a few feet away, his arms outstretched. A smirk escapes from beneath his bushy beard. After a few seconds of us just staring at one another, a large blue-gray pigeon suddenly appears and lands on his right hand.

I startle and step back, but he grins. "Wait. There's more," he says.

Another pigeon, a pudgy brown one this time, lands on his left shoulder. He rolls his eyes and that makes me laugh. I can't help it, he looks crazy!

"There," he says, his grin widening when a white dove plops down on the crown of his head. "That's better."

 

Virginia Aronson, RD, MS, is the author of more than forty books. She is the Director of Food and Nutrition Resources Foundation, a non-profit corporation that supports individuals, organizations, and communities actively seeking to improve access to healthy food, nutrition education, sustainable and regenerative agriculture, and a socially just food system. She is the author of two books of ecofiction: A Garden on Top of the World (Dixi Books, 2019) and Mottainai: A Journey in Search of the Zero Waste Life.

Website Address: https://fnrfoundation.org/

 

Blog Tour Kick Off: The Wolf Queen by Cerece Rennie Murphy @cerecermurphy #YA #fantasy

THE WOLF QUEEN
Cerece Rennie Murphy
* YA Fantasy *

Title: THE WOLF QUEEN: THE HOPE OF AFERI (Book 1)
Author: Cerese Rennie Murphy
Publisher: LionSky Publishing
Pages: 242
Genre: YA Fantasy

Once great and powerful sorcerers, the Amasiti were hunted to the brink of extinction by the Hir and his followers. For four hundred years, their legacy faded from memory waiting for the hope of Aferi to be renewed…

In the Land of Yet

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest

A young woman lives alone.

Forced to fend for herself after the brutal murder of her family, Ameenah Yemini has made a life for herself as a master tanner and farmer, only venturing into the world to earn her living then return to the safety and seclusion of her home.

Until a chance encounter brings her work to the attention of the powerful Hir and her careful life begins to unravel.

Drawn to the hidden magic that lingers in everything she touches, the new Hir insists on having her for himself, using the people around her to force Ameenah into his grasp.

When she realizes that her greatest enemy may hold the key to a secret she thought lost to her forever, Ameenah is determined to reclaim her stolen past.  But, at what cost? As an ancient power waits to be unleashed, Ameenah’s choices will make the difference between awakening a new magic or delivering it into the hands of evil.

ORDER YOUR COPY:

Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/yxqrrsrz
B&N: https://tinyurl.com/y38gg5y8

 
 

______________________

I knelt before Safaro, as I swore I would never and accepted his chain.  I watched as he swelled with pride, eclipsing any possibility that he would discover my plan. Blind purpose and certain victory propelled him forward without the slightest concern for why a woman who had defied him every day of her life would have surrendered so easily.  I bowed my head and followed, prepared to betray everything I knew to preserve the hope of what we could become.

Like a slave, he brought me dutifully to his master.  We rode through the gates of Elan to the Hir who sat outside the battlefield on a tall, white horambus that was draped in blood-red velvet.  The Hir spared only a second to regard me with contempt before sending me with Safaro to the center of the battle where our right to exist would be decided. 

All around me, from every corner of our world, the people of Yet fought against the tyranny of the Hir.  Closing my eyes, I could smell their desire to live, to protect their loved ones, and see them survive past this day as if the earth itself was calling out to me. Once again I looked to Safaro for any sign of the boy I loved, but he was nowhere to be found.  He knew, as I did, that while their resolve was as hard as iron, the people of Yet were not warriors.  Worse, we’d only had months to prepare.  From the power-crazed look in his eyes as he surveyed the battle, I knew that the Hir had been planning the expansion of his Kingdom his entire life.

The final battle came to our doorstep just outside the city of Elan, where our defenses had held as fiercely as they could, but it was only a matter of time.  The people of Elan, the peoples of Yet had given no ground easily, with mounting casualties on both sides, but the Hir had too much of everything we lacked: weapons, men, strategy, and now the most powerful Amasiti at his beck and call. 

With me at the their side, they pressed forward.  The poison chain connected my will to Safaro’s, so that the power between us acted as one, except only I understood the true meaning behind the Hir’s command to create an earthquake that would swallow his enemies.  Safaro could wield my power, but only I could give it the purpose that would call it into being. 

I knew what the Hir’s soul was meant to be.  His greatest enemies were not in front of him; he was surrounded by them, masking the truth of his insanity behind greed and false adulation. 

And so, when I spread my hands wide and bellowed across the sky “I am the Sorceress of Elan, now and always,” I did what I was meant to do: create.

The boats of Elan were just out of firing range, harboring the men, women, and children who were unable to fight.  Only the strongest were allowed to keep the front. It would be difficult for them to escape, but they had a better chance than anyone who was not privy to my plan. 

I felt the fissure crack open far beneath me, then bubble up and break with a diagonal energy just 100 feet from where I stood.  The fissure would only hold for a few minutes, announcing itself as a warning of things to come, so that my people would have some time to retreat, before the fault folded back on itself and consumed everything standing.

Safaro watched with satisfaction as the people of Yet began to run.  He did not understand until he watched them forego the high ground of Elan and run into the sea.   He rushed forward just as the fissure we created together broke open into a chasm that pulled the dirt right out from under the Hir’s army.

The people of Yet scattered as the depths swallowed the Hir’s front line.  As soon as the last of my people were safe, I took it all. The land that held Elan to the shore of Yet fell away, allowing the water to rise up, pounding out new territory as it ripped through the battle field.  But it was not enough. 

It was only then that I understood that creation and destruction are often the same thing.  As the sea claimed its prize, I opened up the foundation of Elan itself—breaking it from the bottom like an egg. 

The power of the sea did the rest, opening her arms to the island in an eternal embrace that left only the tip of the land visible, with the children I had left there clinging to the ancient trees.

Fear, terror, and isolation had burned through their innocence, but in exchange I had given them something else—a chance to survive and create something new, to evolve into sorcerers who were also warriors.

As Safaro twisted the poison chain around my neck, I imagined I could see the eyes of all those Amasiti children and hoped only for their forgiveness.

And in the burning light of my death, I ascended to the withering screams of the Hir, Safaro, and all his murderous men and was at peace.

 

Cerece Rennie Murphy fell in love with science fiction at the age of seven, watching “Empire Strikes Back” at the Uptown Theater in Washington, D.C., with her sister and mom. It’s a love affair that has grown ever since. As an ardent fan of John Donne, Alice Walker, Kurt Vonnegut and Alexander Pope from an early age, Cerece began exploring her own creative writing through poetry. She earned her master’s degrees in social work and international relations at Boston College and Johns Hopkins School for Advance International Studies, respectively, and built a rewarding 15-year career in program development, management and fundraising in the community and international development arenas – all while appreciating the stories of human connection told in science fiction through works like Octavia Butler’s “Wild Seed,” Frank Herbert’s “Dune” and “The X-Files.” In 2011, Cerece experienced her own supernatural event – a vision of her first science fiction story. Shortly after, she began developing and writing what would become the bestselling Order of the Seers trilogy.  Order of the Seers was selected as one of The Best Kindle Books of 2014 by Digital Book Today.  To date, Mrs. Murphy has published nine speculative fiction novels, short stories, and children’s books.

In addition to working on the 3rd book in the award-winning Ellis and The Magic Mirror children’s book series with her son and releasing her 5th adult novel, The Wolf Queen, Mrs. Murphy has launched NARAZU, an online platform designed to deliver the best in indie sci-fi content and comic culture to the fans who love it most. You can visit the new site at www.narazu.com.  Her current writing projects include the second book in The Wolf Queen duology and plotting a science fiction thriller set in outer space.  Mrs. Murphy lives and writes in her hometown of Washington, DC with her husband, two children and the family dog, Yoda.

Website: www.cerecerenniemurphy.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/cerecermurphy
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Cerece-Rennie-Murphy-205753729546299/

 

Blog Tour Kick Off: Views From the Cockpit by Ross Victory

VIEWS FROM THE COCKPIT
Ross Victory
* Memoir *

Title: VIEWS FROM THE COCKPIT: THE JOURNEY OF A SON
Author: Ross Victory
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 268
Genre: Memoir

Views from the Cockpit: The Journey of a Son by Ross Victory is a memoir born from pain. Intimate journal entries morph into a phenomenal dialogue of tender father-son memories, loss, strength and turbulence in a young boy’s life on his journey into manhood. When the author discovers that his father is terminally ill and a victim of elder abuse, he embarks on a journey of reflection and discovery which soars and nosedives, chapter by chapter. Decorated in airplane analogies, with writing you can feel, Views from the Cockpit serves as a catalyst for readers to take perspective of their lives from the highest point. Views is a narrative that provides emotional assurance that readers’ unique experiences of pain, love and loss cannot be recreated or erased, but can be processed in order to not lose sight of their life journeys.

★★★★★ORDER YOUR COPY★★★★★

Amazon → https://tinyurl.com/yxoywnx9

 Barnes & Noble → https://tinyurl.com/y2ydegrg

 

______________________

Dried diarrhea and urine were splotched across the carpet of the bedroom floor. Sections of bed sheets were stained in indistinguishable yellow marks and unknown fluids. The final stages of his disease were in full bloom. Bowls of half-eaten split pea soup, days-old Cream of Wheat, and withered apple cores lay abandoned throughout the room. A crusty, half-full, portable urinal with traces of blood crowded his side table. The room was stale and reeked of body odors. This is how I found him—in a crime scene of filth and neglect.

He had been living for nearly six months in a home nestled in the hills of Northern California. He rented

two rooms in the home of an Iranian used-car salesman. Serene views of San Francisco Bay illuminated the backyard patio every night. The home was encircled in blooming shrub roses, in shades of yellows and ruby reds, with an overgrown tomato garden along the property border. A giant oak tree and three dusty used cars greeted visitors as they approached the large double doors. The double doors unveiled a living room with a cream-colored chaise lounge and matching love seat. Oversized Persian paintings leaned graciously against the white-washed walls. A tangerine sunset sparkled o the bay and beamed through the pane glass doors of the lavish, unused living room. The smell of Persian spices and beef kebab filled the home. Mysterious gray soup bubbled in the kitchen next to large bags of rice, plates of Chinese pan-fried pancakes, and frozen bags of what appeared to be thawing chunks of flesh-colored meat.

I walked down a narrow, dimly lit hallway that connected his room to the living room and bathroom. Shoes and blankets tumbled peacefully in the dryer. A ray of light flickered from underneath the bathroom door.

“Dad?”

      

Ross Victory is an American Marketing professional, travel enthusiast, and author of the new memoir, Views from the Cockpit: The Journey of a Son. He spent his early years collecting pens, notepads and interviewing himself in a tape recorder. With an acute awareness for his young age, he was eager to point out hypocrisies and character inconsistencies in children and adults through English assignments. He delighted in provoking a reaction from his English teachers with writing that seemed to wink and smile.
He enjoys writing non-fiction and fiction projects–stories of captivating, complex characters expressed in all their dimensions usually on a path to self-discovery through suffering. After the loss of his father, Ross has married his love for writing to create a compelling memoir to inspire the world. Ross received his B.S. in Business Administration & Marketing Management.

★WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS★

Website: http://www.rossvictory.com

Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/rossvictoryofficial

Facebook: www.facebook.com/rossvictoryofficial/

Blog Tour Kick Off: MALL by Pattie Palmer-Baker #dystopian

MALL
Pattie Palmer-Baker
* Dystopian *

Title: MALL
Author: Pattie Palmer-Baker
Publisher: Del Sol Press
Pages: 272
Genre: Dystopian

A Novel by Pattie Palmer-Baker Winner of the Del Sol Most Promising Novel, 2017
MALL is a sparkling alternate world where everyone is beautiful, employed with enough income to consume and to experience a myriad of pleasures including drugs, gambling, theater, holographic adventures. No poverty and little or no crime. A lot of sex.

But what about the Mall Code? And what happens when Sara, a 21st century woman, accidentally finds her way into this alien yet familiar world? Nona, a MALL mental health practitioner treats Sara upon her arrival and goes against the Code to help her acclimate. Sara seems to be just what she needs, an antidote to Nona’s secret and growing boredom.

At first Sara desperately wants to get home, and, as she seeks a way out as well as answers about her new reality, Nona begins to see MALL in a new light. Is abundant gratification enough?

Things aren’t all beauty and pleasure. Sara experiences dancing in a dangerous orgiastic dance club on a lower level. She attends a gambling session where people bet on living more years when their “number’s up” and a “passing ceremony,” where Mallites are supposedly resurrected into a new life.
Junkers, outsiders lurking on the fringes of MALL, have been fighting Mall Management’s control by creating increasingly dangerous disturbances. For years they have struggled to discover an exit, based on rumors of those who made it Outside and were never heard from again. Through them Sara and Nona meet someone who might help them escape. They both must make the choice that will change their lives forever.

Who will risk leaving and who will decide to stay?

MALL by Pattie Palmer-Baker was recently published by Del Sol Press and winner of the Del Sol Press Most Promising Book, 2017.
ISBN: 978-0-9998425-5-3.

PRAISE:

What a suspenseful journey Mall was—a real “page-turner”-  imaginative with firm command of psychological expression and dialogue! Pattie Palmer-Baker captures some of the sexual contradictions, insecurities, and darker motivations of her female characters, and the complex relationships between women. The “surface” allusions to sex and violence throughout the story line work well with the superficial world she describes. Sex all the time—and yet, really, not much explicit writing about actual sexual encounters—the same for violence. This tension of content and form works well for me. What gives pleasure? What gives pain? The many hallways and mirrored rooms give the setting a creepy fun-house effect and increase the sense of a closed world and claustrophobic doom. Her descriptions of the Mallites’ physical appearances and their individual choice of costume in this strange place is creative—a breath of lightness in this frank examination of our quandary about the meaning of freedom in an existential existence. What is real? I was “on the run” with Sara for the entire read! And what a turn at the end!
— Cathy Cain, Portland poet and artist

ORDER YOUR COPY AT AMAZON

 

______________________

“I want to be clear, Natalie: are you saying that you’re having sex with this man more often than the Code dictates unless pair-bonded?” Nona asked, fidgeting slightly.

Natalie nodded, red curls bobbing. “Sometimes. The sex is good, but that’s not why I seek out his company. I can’t find the words to ...”

Puzzled, Nona stopped listening. Was Natalie trying to say the sex was not good enough to pair-bond? If that were the case, any Mental Health Practitioner would know how to remedy it. If Natalie’s actions weren’t against Mall’s Code, Nona would interrupt and tell her. Surprisingly, this restriction pressed on her in an unfamiliar manner, a physical pressure in the area just above her stomach, like the sting she sometimes felt when she adminned a dart. But relief would have to wait.

Natalie’s voice dropped again to almost a whisper. “You won’t tell, will you? That we have sex secretly? Or that we meet to talk in one of our quarters?”

Nona’s interest quickened. “No, anything you say in here is protected by client/patient confidentiality. May I ask why you meet in your rooms when that also is expressly forbidden?”

“Are you sure you won’t reveal anything I say to you?”

“Yes. Please know, Natalie, that even if I wanted to, Mental Health Practitioners cannot.”

“We meet, well, to talk about what he believes is wrong with Mall.” She paused to search Nona’s face. “Okay, I’ll tell you the part that you can never tell: he’s a Junker.”

The confession stunned Nona into silence. Never before had any of her clients divulged such a shocking fact. Before she could speak, as suddenly as it had been happening so often in the last few weeks, the lights went out. “I do apologize. You probably have also experienced this annoying event too many times. Usually the lights go...” Light flooded the room at that moment. “See, no harm done, and I will add two extra minutes to your session.” Nona inched up in her chair to look more closely at Natalie. “I confess that I am taken aback by your admission that you’ve been meeting with a Junker. Of course, I will not reveal this, but I can’t understand why. We all know that Junkers are causing the disturbances occurring throughout Mall. How do you feel about pursuing this strange relationship with someone who belongs to this group?”

“I admit I find it troubling. But not so much that ... Oh I don’t know what to do!” She wrung her hands and lowered her head.

Nona was at a loss. Most of her clients wanted to revitalize all kinds of things, from virtual reality rock climbing to interactive story creation and, most often, sexual experiences. Except for Natalie, the complaint was the same for everyone: the experience lacked novelty, and the client wanted to rekindle the thrill. And strange, wasn’t it, that the boredom Nona felt when she listened to the repetitive and stale grievances was for her a symptom of the same problem? The only subject she did find interesting was clients’ fear of death, but most refused to discuss it in much detail. All she had to go on was body language—those subtle, involuntary physiological effects revealing intense discomfort. If only she could persuade them to go into detail, but that, too, would be against the Code. Never insist that someone talk about a subject that would make the speaker uncomfortable, and that even included Mental Health Practitioners. She certainly did not feel bored with Natalie. Excited and, yes, a little scared. Not only did Natalie know a Junker, she had a relationship with him. What should she do? She wished she could discuss with her colleague and former pair-bond, Royce.

!2

Suddenly, the entry gong sounded, startling her out of her train of thoughts. Natalie gasped, rising from her chair. “God of Reincarnation, am I in trouble?” She fell back into her chair when the door slid open and a black-and-silver uniformed man strode in.

“Pardon me, may I ask why you are here?” Nona asked, stepping back. She seldom encountered a Finance Policeman.

“Your presence is required soon at a Mall Management meeting,” he announced in a deep, authoritarian voice.

“Please excuse me. I am confused—why me? Mental Health Practitioners never attend those meetings.”

“They do not inform me about the subject of their meetings. Even if I did know, I would not divulge it.”

“Yes, of course,” she hastened to reassure him. “I have never been to Level 100, so please, can you tell me when and where to go?”

“Not necessary. I will return and accompany you at the appointed time.” He spun around and out the door.

Natalie sighed audibly. “Oh, God of Reincarnation, I thought somehow you had alerted the Finance Police about my code violation.”

“No, as I said, I would not and cannot. Please continue.”

“I wonder what the meeting will be about.” Natalie looked over at the door. “I’m afraid for my friend ...”

Nona interrupted. “Please excuse me for cutting in. You said friend. Do you have a heart- friend contract with him?”

“No—I would, but he refuses because…I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore.”

Nona quashed the desire to try to persuade her. “Do you have anything else to discuss? Our meeting is drawing to a close.”

“Sort of. At work, Delta stole one of my ideas. I planned on letting Stan know because I earned the extra credit …”

Again Nona’s attention veered away. What was this meeting she was summoned to? Was it about the disturbances? Just the other day her office went dark twice, both times during sessions, and one of the blackouts lasted a half hour. The next words out of Natalie’s mouth snagged her attention.

“Delta must have heard or seen him enter my quarters. She red-mailed me into keeping silent about her creative theft in trade for her not revealing that Code violation. To make it worse, she overheard him tell me before entering my room the date for the Junker’s next meeting. He wanted me to attend.”

Nona shifted in her seat. What should she do? How could she help her? “I, as your Mental Health Practitioner, would not want you to take such a risk. If you are experiencing curiosity, I can prescribe something that will eliminate that undesirable feeling—have you heard of the new pharm, Freedomfrum?” Before she could stop herself, Nona asked, “Did your friend tell you where the meeting would be?”

“Thank you for the offer of the pharm prescription. I really don’t need it. It’s not exactly curiosity. I just can’t explain it. I do have an idea where they’ll meet: somewhere on one of the lower Levels.” She raised her head abruptly. “Why do you want to know?”

Why was a good question. Was it because she wanted to be a proper Mallite and report this meeting? No, that wasn’t it. She couldn’t, anyway. Did she want to meet a Junker? Was that what she really wanted? No one knew who they were or where they met. What was this unusual tenseness she was feeling? Strangely, it was not unpleasant. The chance to talk with a Junker excited her—that was it—a feeling she had not experienced for a very long time.       

Before Nona could answer, an alert gong sounded, followed by a loud voice announcing, “Mall Emergency! You are the MHP on call. Guards will contact you in thirty seconds.” Nona stood abruptly and said, “Please excuse me, Natalie; it would be best if you left at once. We can schedule another appointment later.”

“Oh, God of Reincarnation, a Mall Emergency! I’ll leave immediately,” Natalie said, voice shaking. She scurried to the opening door and hurried out.

 

Pattie Palmer-Baker is a recognized award-winning artist and poet. Her artwork has been exhibited in galleries throughout the Pacific Northwest. Locally and nationally she has won numerous awards for her art and poetry.

An accomplished poet, Pattie had been nominated for the Pushcart Poetry Prize. Her work has appeared in many journals including Calyx, Voicecatcher, Military Experience the Arts, Minerva Rising and Phantom Drift. In 2017 she earned first prize in the Write to Publish contest, and in 2019 she won first, second, and the Bivona prize in the Ageless Poetry contest.  She has served as the poetry co-editor for VoiceCatcher: a journal of women’s voices and visions.

Del Sol Press awarded MALL first prize for the most promising first novel in 2017.

Pattie lives in Portland, Oregon with her beloved husband and rescued dachshund.

Her website is www.pattiepalmerbaker.com/.

You can follow her at Facebook at https://tinyurl.com/yykrz36e.