A Thousand Needles

By Christopher Rantala

Landing a job as a production assistant at the prestigious SynPhonica corporation should have been a dream come true for Chase Normand. But in meeting genetically-engineered idol Voca Lyssa, that dream is forever turned upside-down. Through the internal and external journeys of a lifetime, he will come to realize little is as it seems, least of all the reality which he has called home his entire life. Set in a world where mag-lifts are the norm and natural wood is a rarity, this dream sequence of past and present, beauty and horror, love, loss, and betrayal will follow Chase as he comes to terms with the past, survives the present, and fights for a future safe for his inamorata.

I should have made the preview one sequence longer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Rantala
• Release date: Jun 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476133263

Christopher Rantala

Christopher Rantala is young author and university student battling a neurodegenerative health condition. He lives in Toronto, Ontario.

Book preview

A Thousand Needles

By Christopher Rantala

Copyright 2012 Christopher Rantala

Smashwords Edition

For Heather

AUTHOR’S NOTE

SEQ (01/19): Aspiration

SEQ (02/19): Awe

SEQ (03/19): Doubt, Certainty

SEQ (04/19): Ascent, Descent

SEQ (05/19): Reverie

SEQ (06/19): Narcotics

SEQ (08/19) 71%: Flower

SEQ (09/19): Secret

SEQ (11/19): Bliss

SEQ (12/19): Enlightenment

SEQ (End)

Awake

Lying Awake

Home

AFTERWORD

Appendix A – Glossary (contains some spoilers)

Soft Science Fiction/Psychological/Romance

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I’ve heard that there’s a great distance between setting out to write a novel and actually seeing the finished product, let alone the published product. Let me start by saying that A Thousand Needles is a book I wrote as a hobby. The first book I have ever written. The first draft’s popularity as a free product, however, exceeded my wildest dreams. I was then advised by an editor that submission as-is to a literary agency or self-publication would be good ideas and I received an offer for a professional short film adaptation, but due to a few certain circumstances, the short film is no longer too likely(though not impossible) at least this year.

A Thousand Needles was a story that ached to be told. It was crawling around my subconscious and conscious minds for over two years prior to completion. There have been several previous attempts at writing it, none of which made it past the first page and few of which made it past the first paragraph. Many iterations have passed through my hands, all with a similar plot shell and a similar cast of characters. In fact, few characters’ names have even changed since the first iteration. The setting has remained virtually untouched as well. The main defining characteristic of each iteration has been the attitude of the protagonist. At one point, I thought I was simply filling him with too much of myself, my hatred for conformity, my hatred for following the rules set by authority. And it was true, my protagonist needed a serious attitude adjustment. I toned down my protagonist’s anger, cynicism, and sarcasm by about tenfold and voila, the story got off the ground.

If the story is not immediately satisfying I urge you, Dear Reader, to keep reading. You will be rewarded quickly(psst, by sequence 04). Making use of the glossary may help to make the story less confusing in any area you find has been insufficiently elucidated. Enjoy!

- Christopher Rantala, Author’s note revised May 30, 2012

My mind reels and my body dissolves. My world is gone. I am in N-space.

SEQ (01/19): Aspiration

‘…and, as such, they shall be ceded all the rights and freedoms accorded to genuine citizens, first-class. No longer must the synthiant answer to their antecedent calls(though should they wish to do so, they may), and, as detailed in section 5.4, they will be granted a bureaucratic pension respective to their prior station.’

Excerpt from the bureaucratic Synthiant Binding Codes, 5th revision, 2891 AD

The high-pitched whine of the pneumatic blinds is loud enough to interrupt the deepest of dreams. They’ve provided my trusted wake-up call for years. Today however, this sound couldn’t be more unwelcome. Considering my apprehension, managing to fall asleep in the first place was quite an accomplishment. Everyone gets nervous when they’re starting a new job, but a job at a place like the SynPhonica Central Production Branch can’t exactly be taken lightly.

The netcon wall radio blares a bureaucracy-sanctioned SynPhonica number; accompanying video on my main monitor. I wrench my neck in the direction of the sound. Looks like they’ve got their new genetically engineered singing puppet in action. She’s taking herself way too seriously for the computer-generated environment she’s singing in. A love confession amidst falling autumn leaves? If you ask me, they should’ve stuck to holographic idols. I wonder just how substantial a bribe would have to be to persuade the bureaucrats to amend genetic engineering laws and produce a travesty like this.

Acting as my alarm clock failsafe, a song this bad is guaranteed to get me out of bed. I need to have at least a vague impression of the music I’m going to assist in producing, anyway. Maybe I’ll even get to turn sanctioned music into something that remotely resembles the term. Before any of that can come to pass, however, I need to get up. The same bed that was a rock last night has become a majestic cloud. The easiest way to escape the enticing comfort of a cloud, I decide, is to fall right off. A combo of gravity and the solid metal floor does the trick. Welcome to consciousness, motherfucker. Consciousness hurts, motherfucker.

Fear of being late to the job that will determine my life’s course is about the only thing that can make me take a shower in five minutes, and so it does. I carefully arrange a semblance of professional clothes on my body and take a look in the mirror. After the cleanest shave of my life, I grab my persocom and make my way to the front door. 8:05. I have enough time to catch breakfast at Zoe’s. The scanner accepts my cryptographic icon, the Japanese kanji for ‘dream’, and sends the shut and lock signal to my door. A quick look around tells me that no one else on my floor is awake. It must be nice to live without ambition. It’s not likely my floormates have anything worth waking up for, though. I know I wouldn’t want to wake up if I had to eat at a rations dispensary. The elevator door closes and floors begin flying by at a ridiculous speed. After a hiss and a substantial increase in g-force, the elevator announces Ground level in its habitual monotone. Delivered directly outside, I follow the arrows on the rubberized path through the parkette. The refreshing autumn air is unusually crisp this morning. Courtesy of a newly