HE WANTED TO ESCAPE HIS PROBLEMS. HE WANTED TO SEE THE FUTURE. HE NEVER CONSIDERED WHAT THE FUTURE WANTED.

Confronted with suffering a painful death from cancer, Dan Sturges, a retired Fords engineer, foregoes treatments to try an idea of his own. After reading a theoretical article in Scientific American on time displacement, Dan builds a time machine in his garage. With nothing to lose but a few months of pain, Dan pins his hopes on a future where cancer might have been cured, or at least a quicker death by electrocution. How could he have known that what happens after he presses the button is more shocking than the eighteen car batteries he connected himself to? Greener Grass is a science fiction short story of 5,600 words by Michael J. Sullivan, author of the fantasy series The Riyria Revelations.

This book and parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any meanselectronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwisewithout prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law. Ridan and its logo are copyrighted and trademarked by Ridan Publishing. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental. A Ridan Publication www.ridanpublishing.com www.riyria.com Copyright 2012 by Michael J. Sullivan Cover Art 2012 by Michael J. Sullivan Formatting by Robin Sullivan Release Date: June 2012

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Holding his breath, Dan Sturges depressed the red button of his time machine. The jolt was instantaneous, and he nearly lost his grip on the flag-wrapped bible in his lap. Together they comprised the only two things he couldnt live without. His body lurched but the nylon belts of the leather seat held him tightboth transplants from his 2010 Porsche 911. It felt like hed hooked up the car batteries directly to his nuts. He may have screamed but couldnt be sure, his mind preoccupied, processing too much data. A whine ratcheted up to a shriek, an audible indication of his brain overloading as it chugged an ocean of information before vomiting. Everything went white. The sound halted, and for a moment all his senses ceased to register. The sensation was similar to free falling, but in this case it was Dan who remained still, while the rest of the universe flew by. He might have passed out; it was difficult to tell. The human brain wasnt designed for what hed just gone through, if he had, indeed, succeeded. It was entirely possible he had just electrocuted himself in the privacy of his own garage. He imagined his wife coming home, smelling something akin to cooked hot dogs, and finding him strapped in the cube like Ted Bundy in the electric chair at Raiford Prison. Michael J. Foxs stainless steel DeLorean was inarguably slicker than Dans milk crate special, even with its Porsche seat. He had always been concerned that the containers, which created the insulating walls and made his time machine look like a giant Rubiks Cube, might melt. If they did, Carol would find a puddle of plastic resembling a melted pack of giant Crayola crayons with her husband, or what was left of him, in the middle strapped to a disembodied sports car seat. At least Dan would go out in style; like James Dean hed ride a Porsche seat into oblivion. Even if he succeeded Carol would hate him. In her mind there was no difference between going out for a pack of cigarettes, or pressing that red button and sending the combined wattage of eighteen car batteries into the metal and plastic cage. The result was the samehe left her.

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She wouldnt appreciate that he managed to be the first human to time travel. Nor would his wife care that the cancer eating his pancreas would cause his departure in a few months anyway. That it was possibleno matter how unlikelyto find a cure in the future wouldnt justify his actions, so she would hate him. He didnt blame her. If the situation was reversed, hed hate him too. After being married for forty years, you got used to the other person being around. He could never convince Carol that dying in a hospital bed was the worst thing he could imagine. Worse even than frying in a homemade Rubiks Cube oven. He did feel bad about the mess hed leave, although Carol would likely just sell the house as is and let the new owners deal with it. Dan either woke or his mind finally caught up to his brain. The white brilliance faded like the aftermath of a cameras flash. Being sixty, Dan remembered flashbulbs and also Kodak film, typewriters, Ma Bell, Gunsmoke, and human decency. Theyd all gone the way of vinyl records and the gold standard. Democracy was on its way out as well. The world suffered from its own cancers: terrorism, socialism, atheism, and all those other isms. It made pressing the button easier and saved him from watching the withering of a great nation. Dan hoped that if he went far enough a corner might be turned. Good old American optimism was the only ism worth believing in. It took about a minute for Dans eyes to adjust and the colors to register. Green. Blue. Nice colors. The world hadnt been reduced to a barren, irradiated hellscape at least. His milk crate time machine wasnt as sophisticated as Doc Browns. He didnt have a flux capacitor or a chronometer with years, months, and days. His destination was controlled by the number of batteries and the slider bar of the iMusic app of a modified iPad. How far he would travel, or more precisely how long he would manage to remain stationary while the universe moved ahead without him, was little more than a calculated guess. Eighteen car batteries wouldnt send him millions of years, but he was hoping for at least a thousand.
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There was no telling what would actually happen after pressing the button. He might die before he could do his Buzz Armstrong imitation ofthis is one small step for an old man, one giant leap for milk crates, Porsches, and iPads. But Dan didnt feel dead. He could make out shapes: fuzzy, green blobs. They were moving; Dan wasnt. He sat perfectly still in his bucket seat. His sixty-year-old heart pounded, and he hoped that whatever the blobs were they didnt know he was there. Dan figured that wasnt likely since the shriek had probably been some sort of sonic boom caused by leaving and re-entering the time field. Anything with eardrums would have noticed him exploding into the future. His vision cleared and the blurry shapes became recognizable. Trees. Lots of them. A dazzling blue sky above. The colors were more vibrant than anything he had ever seen, as if retouched in Photoshop by an artist who cranked up the saturation. He didnt like it; everything looked artificial. Looking through the milk crates, some of which had indeed melted, Dan realized he sat in the middle of a lush field. Technically he hadnt moved, or shouldnt have, but this didnt look like the suburbs of Detroit. His garage and house were missing. Maybe archaeologists could dig down and find his stash of Deer Park water bottles, the pottery shards of the twenty-first century. He started to pull the latch of the safety belt and found it too hot to touch. So he sat a moment, and in that instant the realization dawned on him. Ive done it! Well, maybe. Nothing is proven yet. He might have just teleported to a nearby field, which would be almost as cool. He could be dead, but he didnt think his departing spirit would still be belted into the 911s seat. In any case, hed managed to do somethingsomething amazing. Birds, a flock of small dark ones, fluttered overhead in a shifting pattern. He had no idea what kind they were, sparrows perhaps, but they could just as easily be a whole new species. Dan was no expert when it came to birds. In high school he had been a gearhead and spent his time tinkering with an old Mustang Fastback. An
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engineering degree had landed him a job at the Big Three. That was back when that title had been held by American car companies, and Dan had considered James Dean a little too rebellious for dying in a German sports car. He had spent his life reading Scientific American and Popular Mechanics, not Bird Watchers Digest. Still, birds meant life on the planet. Assuming he hadnt shifted position, he must have traveled more than a century. His house, his whole neighborhood for that matter, had disappeared. Stuff like that didnt happen overnight. The buckle cooled enough to pop off, and he climbed out of the seat, punching his way clear of the crates. The destruction didnt trouble him. Milk Crate One had been designed for a one-way trip. The Scientific American article showed time travel to be possible in just one directionforward. Making one trip was a miracle, two would be asking too much. Dan stood and stretched. The air smelled odd like his old car freshener or Christmas, only this was the real dealhe could almost taste resin in the air. The wind brushed the grass, also artificially vibrant. Suburban Detroit was certainly different. Besides the missing buildings, the most notable change was the noise, or lack thereof. Dan had lived his whole life with the rush, roar, and honk of traffic. Its absence was eerie. Its quiet, too quiet, he said, nervously smiling to himself. He wanted to hear something even if it that something was just his own voice. Dan, and what remained of his milk crate cube, was surrounded by knee-high grass speckled with blue, white, and yellow wildflowers. Looking closer he found some were being worked by bumble bees. You made it too, eh? Survived the so-called global warming, I see. Dan wondered if he would make a habit of talking to himself. Isnt that what all post-apocalyptic survivors do? He imagined himself as a shorter, potbellied Charleston Heston in Planet of the Apes or The Omega Man. Although he could just as easily be Tom Hanks in that
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movie about the guy trapped on a desert island who talked to a soccer ball called Wilson. Dan wondered how long before he went nuts and started talking to He reached into the cube and picked up the King James still wrapped in Old Glory. Hed set it to the side when climbing out and didnt want to forget it. Talking to a soccer ball would be insane. Dan couldnt get over how strange his surroundings seemed, like a national park due to the size of the trees. The pines were giants and the oaks fatter than the before picture of a Jenny Craig spokeswoman. Come to think of it, the bees looked bigger too. The flowers bent noticeably under their weight. Dan tried to verify his location. His neighborhood had been in West Bloomfield, and on a clear day, after a heavy rain, he could sometimes make out the hazy shapes of the RenCen and some of the other tall Detroit buildings. The city was downhill from his house, and orienting himself in that direction, he had no problem seeing the sheen of the river. No buildings. No sign of civilization at all. No telephone poles, no roads, no trails. What happened to the world? Is anyone still alive? Right then Dan realized the seriousness of his situation. He had some supplies strapped behind the seat, but they wouldnt last long. He had expected to pop into the middle of a huge cityscape like George Lucass Coruscant or wind up dead, with dead being the more likely of the two. Now he realized that his expectation of death might just be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Dan wanted to explore a bit but wasnt going too far, so he took just a bottle of water and the flag-wrapped bible. He checked his shoelaces and started walking in the direction of what should have been downtown Detroit, mainly because it was downhill. Dan wasnt used to exercising. His wife had bought him one of those stationary bikes with the LED panels that indicated simulated hills and valleys. She had it in the bedroom, right in front of the TV, and tried to get him to ride while watching Fox News in the morning. Her plan might have worked if shed found a way
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to rig the wheels rotation to power the cable box. Since she hadnt, Dans only exercise came from climbing the stairs to the bedroom, and that wasnt even daily as he often fell asleep on the couch. When he came upon a stream, Dan was grateful for an excuse to stop. He didnt know its name, but speculated it was part of the upper Rouge River tributaries. The same river that was famous for catching fire in 1969. The streams up in West Bloomfield should be cleaner, but a lot of pollution came from residential sewage runoff rather than industrial sources, and there were plenty of residents in West Bloomfieldor at least there had been. Looking at the water Dan was stunned. Not only could he see all the way to the bottom, but there were also fish. Dan had pressed the red button at noon on April 12th. The weather in 2012 had been gray, wet, and unseasonably cold. As a result, Dan was dressed in jeans, a long sleeved shirt, and a knit sweater. By the time hed reached the river, he was sweating. He pulled out his water. What he wanted was an ice cold Budweiser in a tall-neck bottle. Dan stopped buying cans ever since they replaced the disposable pull-tabs with the pop-top. That was just one of the many examples of the countrys downward spiral, when Earth Day liberals crippled the country with seat belts and emission standards. He drained his water bottle, which was less than satisfying given its temperature. The stream looked perfectly clearcreepily clear even, but Dan was reluctant to touch it. This was the Rouge Riveror part of itand he wouldnt trust that source even after a thousand years. He finally settled for scooping some to rub over his face and neck. The water was cold and he had to admit, it felt wonderful. Dan sat down and considered taking his shoes off to wade when he spotted the first indication of intelligent life. On the other side of the stream was a pole about twelve feet tall, painted with yellow and white stripes and sporting a blue light like the ones undercover detectives slapped to the roofs of their cars. Next to it was what looked like a phone booth. This

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was harder to see as most of the structure was built from see-through glass or maybe plastic. Dan forgot about wading. Humans exist! He crossed the stream by jumping stones, realizing just as he reached the other side how conveniently they were spaced, and approached the pole and booth. The pole looked to be made of some sort of polymer. The booth, however, wasnt a booth at all. What Dan found was a seven-foot-tall by four-foot-wide rectangle that lacked any depth, just a singular plane like a picture frame or a paper thin doorway. As he circled it, the blue light on the pole began to flash. Dan took a step back, not that he was standing overly close to begin with. Soon the flashing light was accompanied by a pinging sound. And then he heard: Stand back, portal in use. Stand back, portal in use. The message was clearly automated, a feminine voice. Seconds later the frame lit up and two people emerged. The first thing Dan noticed was that they were completely naked. He had trouble registering this because the second thing he noticed was that neither had any identifiable genitalia. The two were hairless with light brown skin that made Dan think they might be Hispanic or perhaps from India. They might even be light-skinned African Americans, but without any body hair, it was difficult to determine. They stood before him unashamed and unsurprised. Hello, the closest said. The two looked exactly aliketwo twenty-something twins. This thought was immediately pushed out by the revelation that they spoke English, but then again so had the portal. Hello! Dan said. What is your name? The man asked. Dan pronounced them men since they lacked breasts, curves, and appeared a bit too muscular for the fairer sex.
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DanDan Sturges. He didnt extend his hand. Normally Dan was a friendly sort, but the prospect of touching these naked Ken dolls bothered him. Hello, Dan, Im Hex, and this is my partner Ban. Partner? That used to be a code word for gay lover. Dans eyes glanced down again just to be sure, nothing there at all. Still he didnt like the term and the voices pitch was decidedly feminine. Hex held out his hand. Damn. Dan grimaced slightly, trying to make it appear like a smile, and shook. The mans hand was soft, the grip weak. Before realizing how stupid it was to blurt out, Dan asked, What year is it? Neither Hex nor Ban appeared the slightest bit surprised. Four thousand eighty-five. Four thousand eighty-five! Not only did it work, but I managed to go a full two thousand years and change! What year are you from, Dan? There was something about how Hex used his name that rubbed him wrong. It sounded placating, like a politician. Doctors and sales people did that too. They were taught to use first names to show they were friendly, paid attention, and that whoever they were addressing was somehow special. Two thousand fourteen, he said, wondering if he was being stupid. Maybe he ought to be less forthcoming with information. He had no idea who Tweedledee and Tweedledum were, and he didnt like that they were so unconcerned by what should have been an outlandish claim. Go Tigers, Ban said with a wide grin and a fist pump. Dans mouth dropped open. Tigers was the name of a sports team, right? Ban asked. Dan nodded. Baseball. Bans smile grew. Right, baseball.
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Ban is a historian of sorts. I specialize in Information Age Research. Dan nodded. I was an engineer for Forda car company. You still have cars? They both smiled as if Dan had just drooled on himself. No, Dan, and as you can see, there are no roads either, Ban said. Dan was disappointed. He had hoped to see some amazing advancements like rocket engines or nuclear powered muscle machines. Yeah, I noticed thatgot a whole lot of nothing really. The surface of the Earth is no longer used for production or living space. It has taken many centuries to repair the scars. Even now there are sections we are still working to restore. So everything is used for farming? Again the condescending smiles. No, Dan. There is no need to grow food, Hex said. If memory serves, Ban said, you used to subsist on salt, fat, and sugar. Is that right? Both of them looked at his beer belly, and Dan decided to change the subject. What do you use the surface of Earth for then? Enjoyment. Serenity. So the whole planet is one big nature park now? Hex looked at Ban who said, Yes, you could say that. The surface is sacred. A place of spirituality. Spirituality? What kind? Kind? Hex glanced at Ban. Christianity, Catholicism, Protestantismyou know, Jesus Christ? Even as he spoke Dan was concerned. More than two thousand years had passed and he could

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have missed the rapture. What if he was like the unicorns that never got on the ark because they were off playing silly games. Jesus Christ? Hex looked to Ban. Ban shrugged. You dont know about Jesus? Is that a computer game? Ban asked. I heard those were very popular in your time. No, Christ is not a game! Jesus is the son of God, who created everything. He died to wash away the sins of the world. They stared a moment longer then Ban grinned. OhJesus is one of those gods that used to be worshiped. Religion. You are speaking about religion? Yes! Oh, religion went out of fashion thousands of years ago, Hex said. Well, that is not entirely correct, Ban said. There was that sect only a few hundred years ago. I read an articlejust do a search on Ellis Worshipers. Hex stared off blankly for a moment. Then he blinked and said, Oh, right. That is fascinating. What do you mean by out of fashion? Dan asked. All the cults have died out. Christianity is not a cult! Oh no, of course not, Dan. My apologies, Ban offered but Dan wasnt buying. He was starting to think hed made a terrible mistake. What kind of future doesnt have God? Even in those sci-fi movies they always worshiped something. In one of the Planet of the Apes sequels it had been a nuclear missile, which was at least something. Maybe he had missed the rapture. Maybe this was Hell, which made him think of something else.
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Where does everyone live? The questions, Hex said to Ban with a slight roll of his eyes. Ban said, Dan, I understand you are curious about a lot of things, but we have a schedule so would you mind if we traveled while we spoke? The trip will help answer many of your questions. That depends. Where are we going? The Hollow, Hex said. Whats that? It is like a city, Ban explained. We can provide you with a place to live there. Really? Just like that? You seem like you were expecting me. There have been others. Weve learned to detect the time displacement signature. Hex and I were on duty when you popped up. Really? I sort of thought I was the only one. Hex looked puzzled at Ban who shrugged and asked, You dont know of others who used a time machine? No. Ban showed a set of raised, hairless eyebrows to Hex. Is it possible he was the first? What did you say your last name was? Sturges, Dan Sturges. Hex looked at Ban smiling. It was very courageous of you to jump so far on a maiden voyage. I had a reason. This got both of their attentions. I have a sicknessnothing contagiousits cancer. Do you know what that is? I was hoping there might be a cure for it by now. Oh, I see! Well, you are correct, cancer has been wiped out, Hex said.
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Really? Yes, all diseases have. At least Dan had gotten that part right. Carol believed there would never be a cure. She insisted cancer wasnt like Polio. Of course, she hadnt believed time travel was possible, either. Carol would be long dead and buried, and he might live another thirty years, perhaps even indefinitely now that all disease was gone. But in what kind of world? A place of too prefect trees and godless people? Eternity without God, isnt that the definition of hell? How bad is your condition? Are you in pain right now? Hex asked. Not at the moment. I took my medication before I left. I still have a bottle in my pocket. They both shook their heads slowly with concerned news anchormen expressions. We should get you back right away. Get you taken care of, Hex said. I doubt the twenty-first century money I brought will be enough, but I also have some gold coins I can go get. At face-value they wont be worth much, but maybe as historical artifacts? Where can I find a coin collector? Ban laughed. We do not use money. Dan became concerned. I dont have anything else. Hex said, I do not understand. What are you two talking about. Where Dan is from, they traded for everything, Ban explained to Hex. Travel, energy, shelter, food was paid for with money, which they obtained by servitude and labor. Hex didnt look any less confused. Its pretty complicated, Ban said. What if you were unable to perform a task? Or what if you had no? Money. Right, money. What if you had none to trade? Ban shrugged and looked at Dan. I guess you would die, then. Is that right?
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No, we had social programssafety nets. But most people had jobs and took responsibility for themselves. People who took without giving were considered lazy. Huh, Hex uttered. Interesting. So, you have socialized medicine, is that it? Again Hex looked at Ban who squinted, trying to think. Ah, hes talking about a political and financial program used to cover the high cost of obtaining medical treatments. Is that what you are referring to? Yes. Then no, Hex said. We dont have that. But Ill need more medicine, and probably a procedure to cure the cancer. Wont I? We have no need for medicine, Ban explained. Well, that is not completely true, Hex corrected. Ban sighed. Well technically, you are right, Hex. Yes, we still have medical procedures for accidents, but that is not the same as what Dan is talking about. In his time everyone eventually died, but before they did, there were all kinds of treatments and processes they went through to try to live as long as they could. Dan gaped. What are you saying? People dont die anymore? They both shook their heads. That one is always the big surprise, Hex said. Come. Lets walk while that piece of information settles in. Shall we? Sure, Dan said. No death? Hex was right; He would be processing that one for a very long time. Now, just watch Ban, Hex said. Ban walked into the portal. The light went on again, a second later it went off, and Ban was gone. Now you. Hex gestured toward the rectangle.

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Dan looked hesitantly at the frame. Having already ridden eighteen car batteries two thousand years into the future that day, how bad could the portal be? He took a deep breath and walked through. He felt absolutely nothing except perhaps a minor change in pressure signaled by his eardrums. Swallowing hard a few times fixed that and Dan found himself in a massive interior space, reminiscent of an airport terminal. Unlike an airport, however, there were few people. Less than twenty walked through the space, but all moved with a purpose. Ban gestured for him to step forward and a moment later Hex joined them. A ceiling at least ten stories high was supported by thin pillars that spread out like trees near the top. They appeared to be inside a dome that for some reason had been invisible to Dan when they were outside. I thought wed be going underground. Dan said We are, Hex replied. Right now you are a little over a mile below the surface. We can control the climate here, so weather is not a problem. We used to have some issues with tectonic shifts, but that is mostly a thing of the past. But the windows Dan pointed. Oh no, those are projections. Real time images focused on the location directly above. Nice. Dan said. I guess it prevents feeling claustrophobic. Hex looked at Ban who shrugged. All the other people passing by took no notice of them. They all appeared identical to Hex and Ban. Is everyone here a clone? Clone? No, Hex replied. We just share the same design. Youre robotsandroids or whatever? They both chuckled. No, we are not machines. Although Hex can act like one sometimes, Ban said playfully.

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Hex gave him a smirk. We utilize the same genetic sequencing. This DNA pattern was determined to be the best several centuries ago. Some of the older patterns are still around, though. No women. I was wondering when you would ask about that, Ban said. No, there are no women, nor are there any men. The current design is genderless. Are you kidding? What about children? What about sex? All reproduction is performed by geneticists. But what about pleasure? Ban laughed. Of course we have pleasure, and I suspect it is more efficient and satisfying than anything you have experienced. Ecstasy is a simple process of stimulating specific sections of the brain. I am quite amazed by all the gyrations people of your time went through. So you dont have marriage, or children, or families? And all you do is masturbate? Thats horrible! No, no, it really has eliminated a great many problems. In your time desires led to unspeakably violent acts. How many murders were committed because of jealousy? Lives ruined because of forced sex? And what about those that never found mates? Did they not suffer from depression and loneliness? How much stress came from having children? Or from people who wanted them and were not able to conceive? Puberty brought rebellion and resentment. Your literature is filled with references of people hating their families. In your time people spent half their life building a family, and the other half tearing it apart through divorce or infidelity. Butbutthe family is everything! You have to take the good with the bad. Sure, rape is despicable and marriage requires hard work. But those are not reasons to eliminate the institution that has been with us since civilization began. The family has always been the backbone, the foundation that has kept America strong!

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Technically what you remember as the United States no longer exists, Ban said. What? Dan felt as if hed been punched in the gut. There are no countries anymore. No borders of any kind. No races, no classes, no sexes, no governments, so there is no hate or war. Jesus fucking Christ! What have you done? He stopped walking, and felt like he was going to be sick. He staggered, then bent over. The exertion from all the walking was getting the better of him. Some lousy Buzz Armstrong he turned out to bemore like Buzz Lightyear. His blood pressure must be through the roof, and his head was reeling from the changes. The world had been sanitized like Disney had done to Times Square. They had gotten rid of God, family, and country along with the graffiti. Are you all right? Hex asked. Is it the cancer? No its not the cancer! Dan snapped. The feminine pitch of their voices was beginning to grate on his nerves, like Carols used to when she yapped about stupid crap the moment he walked in the door, still exhausted from work. Its everything. This isnt the future Id expected. Even a glowing wasteland or Mad Max desolation would have been better. No God. No family. No country or patriotism. Just a bunch of Ken dolls without Barbies. The gays and their goddamn agenda won, or should I say transsexuals, or asexuals? Liberalism has run unchecked and ruined everything. You probably dont even have guns anymore, do you? Of course not, we have no weapons of any kind, Hex replied. You have to understand, Dan, that weapons to us would be as useful as a comb. He looked to Ban. Did I say that right? Ban nodded. Dan nodded too. Outlawed along with individuality and freedom, no doubt. What do you do now? Grow kids in test tubes? Or does a pair of you Kens raise them to be good little freaks?
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Ben and Hex just looked at him with their same news anchormen smiles. Everything had looked so promising when he first arrived, but Dan should have known better. The future is always dystopian. Orwell and Huxley had taught him that. Even the paradise promised by Wells had its troglodytes underground. The nineteen fifties had been the apex of civilization and everything since then been a steady decline. Hed messed upmessed up bad. He should have stayed with Carol. Death was better than living in a world this screwed up. No, there had to be a way to make this work. Maybe it wasnt completely hopeless. Once they got rid of his cancer, maybe Dan could return to the surface and live out his days up there. Hed make a log cabin. Fish for food and hunt game. Hed disappear into the wilderness like a survivalist and live on his own terms. Maybe somewhere there were still women, hiding in small pockets away from this post apocalyptic nightmare. Tiny bands of runaways, formed in opposition to the Ken doll oppression. No one could have destroyed the American spirit completelynot even after two thousand years. Hed find them; bring them a contraband Bible and rally them around his flag. Hed show them how to make weapons. Swords and bows at least, but with a little trial and error, he could probably figure out some kind of rudimentary gun. Hed made a working time machine, for Christs sake. How hard would it be to reinvent gunpowder? Then he and his rebels would take the country back. They would restore God, family, and country and establish paradise on Earth. While Dan silently formulated his plans, they had continued walking, and now stopped before another portal. Hex touched a panel in a complicated pattern and the flat surface vanished. He gestured like a New York doorman. After you, Dan. Dan passed through the portal into a small room. The ceiling was standard height, about nine or ten feet. On the floor was a beige carpet, the walls were covered in a pleasant, yet non-descript stripped wallpaper. What looked to be a comfortable bed rested in one corner while a couch, lamp, table and what could have been a television filled out the rest. There was another door that led to a tiled bathroom. To
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Dan, it seemed like he had been teleported into a Holiday Inn, except the style was outdated. The furniture had the diner chrome and naugahyde upholstery of the fifties. The television was a giant cabinet model with a tiny convex screen and large dials. On the walls were photographs of Marilyn Monroe, Eisenhower, and Elvis. Even a TV Guide on the coffee table had Jackie Gleason on the cover. Turning, he saw Hex and Ban waiting outside. Dan walked back toward the portal he had just passed through, but it did not activate. He bumped into a barrier that felt like Plexiglas. Whats going on? Is this the hospital? No, Hex said. This is your new home. What? But I need treatment. Im afraid no one has found a cure for your sickness. But you said cancer has been wiped out. It has, but it is not the cancer in your body thats the problem. And you are wrong. What you have is contagious. Hex touched the panel again and the clarity of the portal faded to the same patterned wallpaper completing the illusion of a twenty-first century hotel room. He could hear Hex and Ban talking quietly and the noise of others walking by. Dan beat his fists against the wall. You cant do this to me! There was a click and the exterior sounds were silenced, leaving Dan alone, trapped in the veneer of the fifties.

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AUTHORS AFTERWORD
Why is an epic fantasy novelist publishing a science fiction short story? On two occasions Ive been approached by individuals from writing forums to contribute to anthologies. The basic idea is to hold a contest for new writers, and then the editors judge the entries placing the top ones in a published collection along with the works of professional writers. One of these was Nila E. White who runs writing contests on sffworld. She requested I contribute a short story for an upcoming anthology with a post-apocalyptic theme. Im known for epic fantasies about unlikely heroeslight, fun adventures, not post-apocalyptic disaster tales. I also write novels not short stories, which means Im the person who always takes three suitcases on an overnight trip and youre asking me to travel with just a backpack. This wasnt going to be easy. When I got the message from Nila, I didnt initially commit. Not because I didnt want to, but I wasnt sure I could do it, but I had to admit, I liked the challenge. I spent the weekend hammering out the story, and initial reviews were very positive. The problem was, while I liked the story, it wasnt post-apocalypticnot really. SoI wrote another one partially inspired by the death of Ray Bradbury and an idea my wife had that I titled Burning Alexandria. This was much more fitting to the anthology, and I decided to submit that one, but I was then left with no home for Greener Grass except to publish as a short. The theme in Greener Grass is not one of position but reflection. Depending on your outlook, if I did my job well, the story should mean different things. It could be a tale of hope, or a vision of despair, and possibly say more about the reader than the story. If nothing else it should touch off a conversation, sadly book groups dont usually read short stories, or it might be ideal. This story only touches on many themes and ideas that would be fun to explore in a larger work, but I dont know if I will have time to write it. I suppose a lot will

depend on how well Greener Grass is received. I would hate to feel I am locked into a career that demands I only write fantasy, but then again I also like to eat. As with some of my other projects, I ask for you to provide me feedback. Please drop me an email at michael.sullivan.dc@gmail.com or take two seconds to answer this one question poll. It really helps to know what you all are thinking. Michael, June 2012

AUTHORS BIOGRAPHY
After finding a manual typewriter in the basement of a friends house, Michael inserted a blank piece of paper and typed: It was a dark and stormy night and a shot rang out. Well, he was just eight years old at the time, so well forgive him that trespass. But the desire to fill the blank page and see what doors the typewriter keys would unlock wouldnt let him go. For ten years Michael developed his craft by studying authors such as Stephen King, Ayn Rand, and John Steinbeck...just to name a few. During that time he wrote ten novels, and after finding no traction in publishing, he gave up and vowed never to write creatively again. Michael discovered that never is a very long time, and he ended his hiatus from writing after a decade. The itch returned when he decided to create a series of books for his then thirteen-year-old daughter, who was struggling in school due to dyslexia. Intrigued by the idea of writing a series with an overarching story line, he created the Riyria Revelations. Each of the six-books were written as individual episodes but also included intertwining elements and mysteries that develop over time. Michael describes this endeavor as something he did "just for fun with no intention of publishing." After presenting the first manuscript to his daughter, he was chagrined that she declared, "I cant read it like this, cant you get it published?" So began his second adventure on the road to publication, which included: drafting his wife to be his business manager; signing with an independent press; and later creating a small press. After two and a half years, the first five books sold more than 70,000 copies and ranked in the top twenty of multiple Amazon fantasy lists. In November 2010, he leveraged his success and received his first commercial publishing contract for three novels from Orbit Books (the fantasy imprint of Hachette Book Group, USA). In addition, Michael reached international status with twelve foreign rights contracts including: The United Kingdom, France, Spain, Russia, Germany, Russia, The Netherlands, Brazil, and Japan.

Michaels work has been well received by critics and readers alike, earning him hundreds of positive reviews, interviews, and articles. He has attributed much of his success to the fantasy book blogging community. Dubbed "the little indie that could" he found his books pitted as the only independent in major competitions such as the 2010 Goodreads Choice Award Nominee for Fantasy and the 2009 Book Spot Centrals Fantasy Tournament of Books, which he won.

AWARDS AND ACCOLADES

2012 Fantasy Book Critics Top 5 Anticipated Reads for Q1 (Heir of Novron) 2012 Civilian Readers Top 5 Anticipated Releases for Jan (Heir of Novron) 2011 Barnes and Nobles Blog Best Fantasy Releases (Theft of Swords) 2011 Civilian Readers Top 6 Anticipated Releases for Dec (Rise of Empire) 2011 Library Journals Best Books for Fantasy/Sci-fi (Theft of Swords) 2011 Civilian Readers Top 5 Anticipated Releases for Nov (Theft of Swords) 2011 A Dribble of Inks Best Fantasy Read List (Theft of Swords) 2011 Graemes Fantasy Book Favorite Reads List (Theft of Swords) 2011 Drying Inks Best Epic Fantasy (Theft of Swords) 2011 Library Journals Fantasy/Scifi Debut for September (Theft of Swords) 2010 Fantasy Book Critic #1 Indie Fantasy (Wintertide & Emerald Storm) 2010 Iceberg Ink Award Best Read (Avempartha) 2010 Fantasy Book Critic Top 25 (Wintertide & Emerald Storm) 2010 Bookworm Blues Overall Best Reads of 2010 (Avempartha) 2010 Goodreads Choice Award Nominee for Fantasy (The Emerald Storm) 2010 Fantasy Book Critic Top 12 Novels as of First Quarter (The Emerald Storm) 2010 Foreword Magazine Book of the Year Finalist (Avempartha) 2010 Foreword Magazine Book of the Year Finalist (Nyphron Rising) 2010 Fantasy Book Critic Top 5 Novels of Second Half of 2010 (Wintertide) 2009 Winner of Book Spot Centrals Fantasy Tournament of Books (Avempartha) 2009 Speculative Fiction Junkies Top 5 Close Contender(The Crown Conspiracy) 2009 Top 10 Books by Dark Wolf Fantasy Reviews (The Riyria Revelations) 2009 National Indie Book Award Finalist (The Crown Conspiracy) 2008 ReaderViews Annual Literary Award Finalist (The Crown Conspiracy) 2007 Foreword Magazine Book of the Year Finalist (The Crown Conspiracy)

WORKS BY MICHAEL J. SULLIVAN

NOVELS:
Theft of Swords (Riyria Revelations #1 & #2: Orbit, Nov 2011) Rise of Empire (Riyria Revelations #3 & #4: Orbit, Dec 2011 Heir of Novron (Riyria Revelations #5 & #6: Orbit, Jan 2012)

The Crown Conspiracy (Riyria Revelations #1: AMI, Oct 2008) Avempartha (Riyria Revelations #2: Ridan, Apr 2009) Nyphron Rising (Riyria Revelations #3: Ridan, Oct 2009) The Emerald Storm (Riyria Revelations #4: Ridan, Apr 2010) Wintertide (Riyria Revelations #5: Ridan, Oct 2010) Percepliquis (Riyria Revelations #6: Ridan & Orbit, Jan 2012)

SHORT STORIES:
The Viscount and the Witch (Riyria Chronicles #1: Ridan, Oct 2008) Greener Grass (Ridan, June 2012)

CONTACTING MICHAEL J. SULLIVAN

Blog/Website | Twitter | Facebook (Riyria) | Facebook (Author) Publishers: Ridan Publishing | Orbit | Hachette Book Group michael.sullivan.dc@gmail.com