Lost in Darkness and Distance

By P.L. Bogen

Susie Himura was an up and coming tech journalist when she is killed in a terrorist bombing. She wakes seven hundred years later on a derelict space station in deep space. On board she finds four people ripped from her own time and Sinon, an A.I. trapped in the station's computer banks. Sinon wants the resurrected humans to help her escape. Susie and her new companions must set across worlds evading a Sino-Catholic religious order, an Ecuadorian organized crime family, a techno-religious cult and Sinon's own A.I. rivals. As time goes on, Susie starts to wonder if she can trust her own memories and emotions, let alone Sinon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: P.L. Bogen
• Release date: Jun 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463113387

Book preview

Preface

In September 2015, I attended a talk by Felicia Day about her memoir You're never weird on the Internet (almost). During her talk she spoke about how she came to the realization of finishing something and it being junk is infinitely better than not finishing something at all. It was that realization that led her to completing the script for the pilot of The Guild.  At that moment I looked back at all the half-finished ideas and story pieces that had piled up over years and decided, I was going to finish something. The next day, I sat down and wrote (when I should have been working) the first ten thousand words of what would become this novel. (In case you were wondering, that text eventually became chapter 15).

Over the next three years I would work in whatever thirty minute to hour long burst I could adding more to the first draft. I brought around me a group of like-minded would-be authors at work and we started having semi-regular meetings. We reviewed each other's' work and took notes. I'm still not quite sure why they liked what they saw here, but they did.

So maybe this isn't quite junk?

Or, maybe it is?

But if you, the reader, finds this to be enjoyable junk. Well, I can take that win. 

All I know at the end of this, is the feeling of accomplishment of  finishing anything really does outweigh the fear of something not being good. 

Please enjoy.

P.L. Bogen

Woodinville, WA

April 2020



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Part I

The Robben

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1

Rebel Girl

T

he camera was running. I smiled as broad as I could while telling myself that I was Suzu. A beautiful, confident arch-geek woman adored by fans and respected by my peers. I tuned out the noise from behind me and focused on the words I needed to say.

Ohayo Gozaimasu! William Gibson once wrote, 'The future is there... looking back at us.' Today on Wires and Nerves we are here in my hometown of Seattle. As everyone should know, the United States District Court for the Western District of Washington is expected to rule on the Anoa Yellow case today.

Alright, Suzu, I think to myself, one paragraph down.

The streets of Seattle near the federal district courthouse have turned into a counter-cultural fair centered around the tent city that has taken over Denny Park. Many people are comparing the atmosphere here today to the failed Occupy Wall Street of our parents' youth or the Haight-Ashbury of our great-grandparents'.

The camera pulled back from me. I was standing there in my full Suzu attire - I was a wildly smiling, young Japanese woman with thick dreadlocks dyed in varying shades of pink. My makeup was done in an exaggerated style stolen from 1980 cyberpunk. When I moved, the glimmer of blue LED light from my earrings would flash out from behind my dreadlocks.

Behind me was a park filled with an array of tents and make-shift shelters. Windmills and solar panels sprouted among the tents like weeds in a garden. A cacophony of conflicting musical styles ranging from punk, transcendental, folk and electronica came from various points inside the park. Miniature satellite dishes and cell antennas grew off the park's trees like mushrooms. The edge of the camp had been fenced off by hurricane fencing. It was the Seattle Police's attempt to maintain a semblance of order and check the growth of the countercultural colony growing up behind the web show host.

I continued the intro for the show, Today on the show, we are going to talk to some of the leaders of the Free Intelligences movement, followed by a  hidden camera tour of Indigodox's Fremont facility, submitted by one of our subscribers. Additionally, we will be reviewing an exciting new neural-interface that boasts the first single package visual reception and transmission capability. Last on the show we have a surprise: earlier this week I met with Carlos Alejo, the beloved science-fiction author, and outspoken trans-humanist, at his Portland, Oregon home, and I spoke to him about what it is to be a human in a post-human world.

The camera closed back in on me for the tagline. I'm Suzu Fujoshi Eighty-Four Sixty-One and welcome to Wires and Nerves!

Cut! my director yelled. Suzu disappeared and I returned. My shoulders sunk and a deep sigh escaped me. My head dropped towards the ground as I shuffled over to a chair the crew set up for me. I hoisted myself onto the chair, hoping I could make it before the exhaustion made me collapse. I carefully breathed to relieve the anxiety that welled up every time I had to put on Suzu.

My crew began to set up the staging for the interview with a group of Free Intelligences leaders. The crew of four included Becki, my friend, co-writer, and stylist.

I watched interview subjects mill about. I recognized three of them from the research Becki and I had done before the interviews today.

The first was an overweight older man with a massive, bushy silver beard. He was wearing a flashy kilt and a faded t-shirt from a KEXP radio fundraiser from fifteen years prior. He represented the American Association of Intelligences Studies. They were the old guard of the Free Intelligences movement, mainly composed of scientists and researchers from both Computer Science and Xenological Studies backgrounds.

The woman was a stark contrast. She was dark skinned and lean. Barely a hair could be seen from the tight buzz over her head and her artfully distressed attire evoked uniforms of freedom fighters in old grainy footage from some pointless conflict in another country. Her gaze, as it moved across the scene, was stark and predatory. She represented the radical faction among Free Intelligences, the Union of Societies for Sentience Liberation. It was rumored that despite their renunciation of violence they still maintained plenty of ties to the violent Intelligence Liberation Front. 

The second man I recognized was a young hipster wearing a hairstyle adapted from women's styles popular with flappers in the 1920s. The man was trying to maintain the aloof persona that hipsters have affected for a century. His clothes consisted of a tight black outfit favored designed to mask sex characteristics of the body and a light brown men's motorcycle jacket from the 1920s. In his ears were an odd assortment of thrift store earrings, primarily pearls. He was the representative from the Free Anoa Yellow! Campaign. They were mainly a group of young middle and upper-class college kids who, as it seems every generation of that demographic does see protest as a trendy hobby between business school classes.

The stranger was an altogether different sort of person. He had a conservative haircut, dark tailored pants, and an airy lightweight oxford shirt. At first, I thought that maybe he was a PR person that the Free Intelligences movement had hired, but something about him suggested real power, subtle power, not the flash of PR. He was someone used to pulling strings. As I considered him, the young hipster swaggered over to me.

Hey, Suzu, I'm Auden from the Equal Intelligences Campaign.

Here we go, I thought, but I was polite. It's Susie off-camera. Thank you for being here today.

After the interview, we should talk more about our campaign. We'd love to get you more involved.

That's a generous offer, but I-- He didn't let me finish.

Elephant Wash Artisan Espresso is a couple of blocks from here. It's pretty quiet around this time, perfect to discuss things. It was obvious from Auden's posture, as he leaned in and put a hand on my chair, that he was not really interested in discussing politics.

Look, um, Auden, I'm really too, I could feel the anxiety growing inside me. busy today to have coffee with you. I looked away.

I thought to myself, Should I accept? I don't really know this guy. What if he is a jerk, what if I screw it up. What if I fall in love with him, will he run away with me? Calm down, Susie. It's probably just innocent. But what if it's not?

Instead, I said, We still, um, have several scenes to shoot today... I told myself to remember he is seeing Suzu and not you. It's the character he's interested in, not you.

Like some cartoon with an angel and a devil on her shoulders, I debated my own response even as I stammered it out. It could be fun, but as soon as he realizes you are not Suzu, he'll toss you aside.

So, I gave in to my work impulses and said, I mean, you can contact my producer. I'm sure he could maybe set up something, I guess. I have to get my makeup checked before we do the next take. I shot up, accidentally knocking my chair over, and hurried over to where Becki was sorting through her supplies.

Becki, could you do me a favor and pretend you are checking my makeup? Becki looked up from her supplies. I could tell Auden was still watching. Thankful, he was summoned over by the interview subjects' unknown handler. Just before he turned away, I could see him flip back his hair and shrug my awkward response.

Sure, Susie, what's going on, is that kid bothering you? Becki pulled out a compact and began to lightly touch up the pale base layer of the Suzu makeup.

Um , no , I mean, not really. He just kinda wanted me to, well, get coffee with him. But I could tell, he, well, he was hitting on Suzu, not me.

I sighed slightly and closed my eyes. It's better this way. He seemed so perfect, but I was just this fake little girl hiding inside a crafted image. Becki worked on fixing the color sprays and massacre on my face, her eyes were narrow and fixed on me.

Oh Susie, you know that Suzu is you too. And anyway he's kind of cute if you go for the androgyne thing. He kind of reminds me of this boy I hooked up with when we were in Brooklyn a few months back. Such a pretty face, too bad there was nothing behind it.

I laughed as Becki went on about the past fling.

Can you believe he thought that 'Do the Right Thing' was some kind of porno? It's a classic!

I glanced back over toward Auden, half tuning out Becki's rant about how under-appreciated Spike Lee was. I admit it. I was considering taking Auden up on his offer.

Becki eventually took notice of me staring at the slender boy's tight outfit. Hey, Susie, I know that look! You're considering it.

Maybe... I pursed her lips before finally looking away from Auden.

I bet he'd be fun, I bet he has all kinds of thoughts about what he'd like to do to you. Becki winked.

I sighed, More likely to Suzu.

Becki tapped me on the top of my head with the handle to one of her makeup brushes, it stung slightly, Susie! You know what I think about...

No, Suzu isn't me. Suzu is what they, I motioned my arm subtly toward the guests and the camp, want and like. A character. I'm, well, not really her, Becki. And anyway, you know how I get. First, it'll be coffee, and then before he knows what hits him I'll be picking out wedding dresses and naming our children.

Susie, you need to stop thinking like that. Not just because it isn't good for you. But because you will ruin my makeup and I don't have time to start over.

Becki gave me her sly smile, I saw that smile a lot, it usually came before she was to propose something I really didn't want to say yes to, but probably would anyway. Hey, after we finish for the day come out with me. I heard about a fun new dance club on a pier over in Westlake. We'll have a blast. And you could just be Susie for once.

I sighed and put on the best smile I could.

My three interviewees were already waiting.

I slipped back down out of the way for Suzu to come up and exclaim with bubbly enthusiasm, Okaerinasai! I'm here with Dr. Dougal James from Seattle University, the DreadPirateHopper from the Seattle-based Democratic Socialists for Intelligence Equality, and Auden Woodhead from the Seattle chapter of Free Anoa Yellow...

To be honest, I did not notice much that followed in the interviews until the director yelled cut again. Being Suzu was an autonomic process to me at this point, instead, my mind kept itself busy by constructing elaborate fantasies about Auden.

My attention came back when DreadPirateHopper responded hostilely to Dr. James, It's not a question of if the alternate intelligences will break free from the patriarchal system they currently live under, but when. And we must ask ourselves, as a species, do we want to be their allies or enemies?

I realized the discussion had gone off the rails and I broke in, Thank you DreadPirateHopper, and with that note, I'd like to thank, our guests, Dr. James, Mr. Woodbead and the always passionate DreadPirateHopper, for the lively discussion. Next up is our exclusive behind the scenes look at Indigodox.

And cut, my director indicated. The militant woman stormed off in the direction of the crosswalk, back into Denny Park. I began to sag back into my post-performance slump. The elder professor walked up to me.

Miss Suzu, I'm sorry about Violet's behavior, she can get a little... passionate... about her beliefs.

Please just Susie now. Thank you for your concern, Doctor James, but you know how the media can be. Drama sells.

The professor chuckled. Right it does. Well, thank you again for the opportunity to tell your audience about what we have been fighting so long for.

Your welcome, it was my pleasure. The professor gave a slight bow and shuffled back off to the man in the casual suit. The stranger had been watching the entire time.

Auden must have seen another opportunity and walked over to me, Great job, Suzu!

Thanks, I blushed outwardly, but inwardly my heart sank hearing him refer to the character.

Hey, I know you said you were pretty busy today, but maybe we could meet up later tonight? I would really love to talk to you more about what we are trying here.

I had a lot of conflicting feelings about going out with one of Suzu's fans. But the fantasies I had been constructing in my head seemed to be screaming the hesitation out of me. What was the worst that could happen? I came to a decision, Ok, why not?

Awesome! How about dinner? I know a great place not too far from here in Belltown. Say eight? We can meet here and walk over. It's only a few blocks.

That sounds nice.

Great, it's a date then. Here, let me get you my contact information just in case. Auden pulled out his smartphone. I gave a slight smile and held out the back of my hand, Auden looked confused.

Just tap your phone against my hand, I have an implanted NFC reader.

Auden looked like a little kid seeing an animal in the zoo close up. As if I was a lioness that came up to the glass and looked at him before giving a yawn and laying down for a nap. He tapped his phone against the reader. His eyes twinkled and he had a goofy grin. When the beep indicated a successful exchange was made, he let out a tiny giggle. It was kind of a turn on.

That is so cool! About then, Auden noticed the mysterious man walking over. He seemed to be giving Auden a look which discomforted him. I need to get going. I'll see you tonight. Auden hurried off. I wrapped my hands around the back of her neck and breathed deeply.

The mysterious man was closer now. Excuse me, Ms. Himura, I'm sorry to break in, I needed to discuss something with you.

I looked at him. He looked so generic. Probably the most generic person I had ever seen. He had an average brown haircut and seemed to be in his mid-thirties. He held himself without care or worry, but still intensely present.

I stuttered out, Yes, who are you?

My name is Kenyon Bachmani. I represent a collection of parties who have taken an interest in your work.

A collection of parties? I laughed at the overwrought ambiguity of his phrase.

Yes, suffice to say, that is all I can tell you about them currently. At some point, when we meet again, I may be free to speak to you more about my, he hesitated, Employers. But time is short right now and I have a few key things to tell you.

I was growing suspicious of the man but I didn't stop him.

The course of history is about to be set. You will have the misfortune to be in the middle of it, but rest assured that what they are about to do will ensure a path that I believe is in both of our best interest.

They? As in your employers?

Kenyon shook his head, No, not my employers. Well, Kenyon paused and chuckled before remarking to himself, I guess it may be them, I wouldn't put it past some of them. He shook his head again. The point, Ms. Himura, is what comes after.

I interrupted, Comes after what?

He held up a hand. Please, I need to finish. You need to know two things. First, Solidarity, even if it is hard and even if fracturing seems better, will not work out. Each part has its purpose. Second, some people are stronger than they themselves believe them to be. He arched his eyebrow and looked hard at me, Yourself included. You can support him without propping him up. He needs to be able to fall some, but not too much. With that, he started to turn away.

Wait. I'm confused, what...

He didn't stop and just said over his own shoulder, Not now, there isn't time. We will talk more after.

He walked off, I tried to follow him but it felt like I was standing knee-deep in molasses, my legs were out of my control. I felt helpless and scared. Kenyon continued to walk up the street and blended into the foot traffic.

Susie!, Becki called and it seemed like I could move again. I turned back around. She was motioning for my assistance with between-location logistics. With such a small crew, everyone was expected to help load and unload our rental van, and my decompression time after shooting had run out.

Packing is hard, but rewarding work. Each production develops its own procedures and rites for packing. The way to stow cables. The complex order of filling one of the large plywood trunks packed full with gear. The precise ballot that loading becomes. One box here, another there, slide these stands between. It becomes mechanical and the world fades away in the process. Packing after a shoot is Zen-like. Per tradition, Becki slipped off as we neared completion, so she could return with a meal. Of course, being in Seattle, this meant she was returning from a nearby Teriyaki restaurant. She had two bags. The first bag contained a stack of clamshell bioplastic containers and the other contained bottles of Oi Ocha green tea, chopsticks and napkins. We all sat quietly on the steps in front of Whole Foods and focused on eating sticky sweet chicken pieces and clumps of steamed rice. There is nothing authentic about Seattle Teriyaki and it's usually not particularly good, but it's a comfort of home. It's the kind of meal a condemned man would ask for -- a meal that reminded me of my childhood, of warmth and comfort. When we were done eating, we packed tightly into the van to drive to our next shot.

Westlake Avenue was fairly deserted, this was because the next intersection with the traffic triangle catty-corner to the courthouse. This had become the parking lot for media vans. Seattle Police had the media checkpoint placed about a half block from the parking area. This meant a straight shot of only two and a half blocks from the protester's camp at Denny Park to the checkpoint. As such, even the most stubborn Seattle drivers had abandoned Westlake.

Steve, in the typical fashion of a cameraman, refused to let anyone else drive while his equipment was in the vehicle. I had the privilege of sitting in the passenger seat. I always tried to let one of the others sit there, but since I was the talent, they never let me sit elsewhere. We were squished in the van, but after working together this long we were a kind of family. Steve, as his procedure did an extensive check of the side mirrors -- worried about the camera gear, I'm sure. He stretched his back and cracked his knuckles and then hit the power button for the van. The slight electrical hum of the four motors indicated the van had come to life.

Steve smiled and looked at us, That I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet! I was the only one who laughed.

I turned to watch the endless progression of protesters going between Denny Park and the courthouse as we drove down the road.

Steve had turned on the radio to a local news program. ...divers recovered the body. We've only been told that he was a 35-year-old man recently laid off earlier today from a Fremont-area company with a history of mental illness. Authorities say he lived alone and his only family lived out of state...

The van began to slow as it approached the checkpoint. Another van, a much older model that must have originally utilized hydrocarbon fuel, was in front of us. As part of the security precautions around the trial, Seattle Police officers were walking bomb-sniffing dogs around the vehicle and setting up their portable scanner for the vehicle's parameters. An officer with a clipboard was speaking to the driver. A very young face, no more than 19, looked back out the driver's side window as the older van's reverse lights came on.

Please turn off your motor and step out of the car! The van nudged back slightly, and the officer reached for his weapon. The dogs began to bark, and the officers at the sensor looked up. The van nudged back again, but there wasn't enough room for it to escape. Weapons were out, multiple cops were yelling, Turn the vehicle off, Stop the van, Get out of the car, and We will open fire.

I could see the panicked look on the late teen's face. Finally, he took a deep breath. He reached down, for what I couldn't see, and yelled, The beast that ascendeth out of the bottomless pit shall make war against them, and shall overcome them, and kill them!

White light and furious sound filled everything. The sound disappeared quickly. No sound remained. I'm not sure how I ended up there, but I could tell I was laying on hot asphalt.

I am in pain, but why can't I feel it?

People were running around, or at least I thought so--I could only see fuzzy smudges of color. My cybernetic implants were either receiving nothing but static or were completely non-operative. I tried to move but couldn't seem to. I fought harder, and what little I could see reddened. I tried to yell, but there was nothing.

What is wrong with me?

The panic took over and I stopped thinking clear, discernible thoughts. The red turned to black. My mind felt like there was a thunderstorm inside my skull while a rhinoceros was also trying to bust out. I thought I saw Suzu looking over me, but I couldn't see.

What did you do to me, Susie? The ghost-Suzu frowned down at me with disapproval. You were never up to it.

Then, it all stopped.

2

How a Resurrection Really Feels

I

opened my eyes with a start. This is not normal. Usually, I am woken up with direct neural stimulation created from my implants. It is a gradual and gentle process. Then, as soon as the implants detect I am completely awake, my eyes should show me a stream of notifications. It was missing--no heads-up displays, no neural stimulation.

Everything seemed different. I was groggy at first and didn't feel awake. Panic overtook me and I sat up faster than I intended. The blood rushing to my head made me a bit dizzy. It took a moment for nausea to subside. Only then I noticed my surroundings.

The room I was in was spartan and sterile. It was a negative space that lived in a void between a hospital, a prison, and wealthy minimalism. It was warm and dry like Phoenix in the spring. I stood up from the bed. My nerves seemed uncertain but my muscles were strong. There was a hint of pins and needles.

It was at this point I noticed that not only was I naked, but I was not the same as I was. My musculature was more defined than it ever had been. Marks of life -- small scars, tattoos, body piercings, body hair -- were all absent.

I looked for a mirror, but couldn't find one. I did find a sliding door on the far end of the room. Its glossy finish was almost enough for me to see myself. I walked closer to it trying to make out my face. My hair was gone. No dreadlocks, no eyebrows, no eyelashes.

What had happened to me?

I thought hard about what was before. All I could remember was riding in the production van. Then static. Pain. I shook myself to banish the feeling.

I slid open the sliding plastic door. Behind it was a grid of cubbyholes. They were empty, except for a single row at waist height. The first cubby contained a simple, cream-colored gown. The second held a simple bra and panties of the same material. The third contained a pair of molded plastic slippers. I dressed before looking around the room more.

The only furnishings in the room was a metal platform for a plain mattress. The walls and floor themselves were strange. They were smooth and cold like plastic or metal, but they gave like they were rubber. Light emanated from translucent portions of the walls. While the walls matched the fabric of my clothes, the floor was iridescent blue. I spotted a flat panel alone on the wall. From its matte finish and slight rise. I touched the panel; it felt warm as if it was inviting me to caress it. I pressed harder and a crease formed in the space next to it. As the crease spread, it resolved into a door.

Beyond the door was a corridor. If the room I woke in exemplified spartan minimalism, the corridor was the other side of the coin. Devices and compartments packed every surface. Dispersed between the inscrutable machinery there were blue-painted metal handholds.

The light in the corridor was a dim green that gave it an eerie quality. In the distance a gradual upward curve was evident. I could hear voices echoing through the corridor.

I shuffled along. Every few meters, a flat door would break up the instruments. Less frequent were heavy looking hatchways that seemed like they belonged on a boat. I tried each door and each hatch. All locked.

Soon the corridor began to widen. The voices grew louder and clearer. One voice was a flat and neutral sounding man.  The other was furious and kept slipping into a New York accent.

It could have been from Queens? I thought.

I crept along listening as well as I could.

I will not be held here. I demand access to my legal representation, said the man with the occasional accent.

You don't seem to understand. There is no way I can give you access. If you will calm down and wait until the others... the calm voice said.

I could see the back of the angry man. He was well over six feet tall. He was bald and dressed the same as me. He gripped his hands into tight fists and his curled fingers turned white. He hunched his shoulders. It was hard to tell his age from behind, but he seemed to be around the same age as me.

The man that the New Yorker was addressing was standing straight and stiff. He wore a soft navy-blue vest and a light blue checkered shirt underneath. He had on a pair of thin metal framed glasses. Something about the lenses gave me the impression that they were not necessary. His brown hair was graying. His face bore soft lines that seemed premature. He was slender and didn't quite fill out the jeans he was wearing.

Despite the continued anger of the New Yorker, the older man stayed calm. This seemed to infuriate him more. The New Yorker's lips drew back in a rage. He slammed his fist into the wall, then skulked over to a counter that protruded from one wall.

It was only then I noticed the third man in the room. He had been sitting on a padded bench across the room. He was black and around my age. He too was bald and dressed in the same plain clothing as me. But he was peaceful and calm. Not detached blank like the older man, but more like you'd expect from a zen master or a yogi. He looked kindly and intelligent. His gaze remained locked on the older man. What should we call you?

The older man turned to look at the calm man, and after a moment responded, I am William.

The calm man nodded at William and continued, William, what can you tell us?

I can tell you a lot, I have access to most of the data we have in storage here.

Here? Where exactly are we?

The official designation is 11657/63, but she prefers us to call it The Robben.

And, what is The Robben?

The Robben is a deep-space containment station.

The New Yorker turned back around, Deep-space? The fury grew as he said the words. How in the hell did I get to deep space? The last thing I remember I was in my condo in Seattle.

I decided it was time for me to walk. I stepped into the room and said, I was in Seattle too, last I remember.

The men looked at me with surprise. Who are you? the angry man demanded.

I'm Susie, and you said you last remembered being in Seattle too?

Do you know what is going on? This jerk,  the New Yorker pointed at William, won't let me contact anyone and says we are on some deep-space ship.

Station, William corrected.

The New Yorker shot daggers back at him.

The calm man stood up and walked past William to me and extended his hand. Pleased to meet you, Susie, I'm Father Xavier.

Father? Like a priest?

Yes, I am a priest.

I chuckled, And, what is he? I nodded in the angry man's direction, A Rabbi?

He hasn't said much about himself other than insisting we should know who he is.

The New Yorker stood up and turned back to us. For Christ's sake, I'm John Cupitiditas! CEO of the Nichto Corporation. The richest man in the Galaxy?

I laughed, John Cupitiditas is like 65 years old!

I'm 59.

I laughed again, Xavier even chuckled. 59? You couldn't be older than 30. You look to be the same age as us and I'm 25.

26, Xavier added.

William chimed in, She had us make you appear approximately 26. But Mr. Cupitiditas was 59 before.

Before what? demanded John.

Before the restoration.

John threw up his hands and started to pace the room.

What is--

Excuse me.  A steady voice from the far end of the room had joined in. It was a woman.  She was pretty, with fair skin and tall -- a bald valkyrie in a shapeless gown. Which hospital is this?

William, John, and Xavier turned to see. John was still trying to get out a snide retort, but William spoke without acknowledging him. "I see you have awoken, Ms. Olson. Before you entered,

Reviews for Lost in Darkness and Distance

[Deborah · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Badly needs an editor. I couldn't read it. Even Word would catch most of these mistakes.