Frances Reed

CHAPTER ONE If she’d blinked, she would have missed it – an ancient signboard, half hidden in the trees twenty feet below her transport lane, its faded letters almost unreadable. But what caught seventeen-year-old Clea Fletcher’s eye, as she rode by on her air-chair, was a newer banner pasted at a bold angle across the original sign. ILLUSION CENTER GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE. Clea hadn’t known any of the old centers still existed. Oh, she’d heard about them from Anton, her stepdad, but he’d told her the last ones closed eons ago. Two specks past the sign, curiosity, and vivid memories of Anton’s stories from her childhood, got the better of her. She turned her air-chair around and headed back, smiling at her foolishness for she’d no money to speak of; she was hungry and cold and there were other priorities far more important. That morning, when she’d been urgently called home, she’d torn out of her new place without even a jacket and was now paying for her oversight. The season seemed to have changed from high summer to the first cool days of autumn without her noticing, and even though the sun still shone, the wind-chill twenty feet above the pines was brutal. Clea pulled out of the transit lanes and landed her air-chair on what looked like an abandoned land road, with weeds pushing through cracks in the tarmac. Once set down, Clea hugged herself, rubbing her arms against the chill. The impatient wind swirled around her, reminding her she was cold, and had another eight-hours hard travel ahead. The faint grumble of traffic from the transit lanes above her nagged at her to keep going. She had to get home. Clea hesitated. She really ought to be on her way. But I’ll be quick. On the sign, in the lower corner, an arrow pointed to the right. Shrugging off a feeling of guilt—for she’d few spare ciphers to spend on illusions, old or new—Clea revved her air-chair, followed the arrow and skimmed eight feet off the ground above a track leading to a tumbledown cottage surrounded by weeds. She slowed her chair to a hover. An ancient sign above the door announced this was HAPPY ENDINGS ILLUSIONS. Underneath that, a name so worn she couldn’t make it out, followed by the words, Purveyor of Anything You Want. At first, discouraged by the weeds and the building’s air of abandonment, she thought that the little store must have closed years ago and was about to go on her way when the door scraped open, and an elderly man in a faded blue shirt tucked into matching blue jeans limped out and stood looking up at her. His eyes, bright and merry, set in a face like old parchment folded too many times, crinkled at the corners as if he’d spent much of his life laughing. He was smiling now, and Clea watched in delight as his eyes disappeared into his wrinkles. "You come to buy some illusions, Missy? Best you hurry; today’s my last day of business, and then I'm done. Come on in. I'll give you a good deal on anything you like.” He peered up at her. “Well, don't just float above me, gawking, girl! Park yourself— take a look around. This store’s likely the last old illusion center you’ll ever see.” After a brief hesitation, Clea landed her chair, clicked off the controls, and on legs made clumsy from exposure, stumbled up the steps after the old man. Blowing on her fingers, grateful to be out of the wind, Clea looked around the space and then promptly forgot how chilled she was. The late-afternoon sun, pouring in through a small side window illuminated dust motes dancing in the last golden light of the day, creating a magical ambiance in the otherwise dimly lit interior. As her vision became accustomed to the gloom, she saw, lining the walls, cobwebby shelves with many open fronted boxes, each once painted a bright color now faded to softness; many of them empty or less than half-filled, and each marked with a different symbol. The cobblestone fireplace in the corner stood dark and empty, but unlike the outside, the room was warm, its air thick with the musty smell of old buildings and a lingering odor of long-dead fires. The old man chatted on, "Once was, I'd get loads of people out here to buy illusions, but nowadays, everyone wants government holograms—much fancier stuff than mine. But let me tell you, the old illusions are the best. Kids today don't know what they're missing." He paused to smile at her again. "You wanting anything in particular?" Taking his time, he looked her over, and Clea was amused when he volunteered, "You're pretty enough with those big greeny-brown eyes, but a few improvements never hurt. How about an Appearance illusion? I still got some of 'em left. They used to be real popular. Or how about one for your air-chair? Make everyone think you’re flying on something new and fancy, instead of that poor excuse for transport. The great thing about these old illusions is they don't show up on scanners. No one will suspect your air-chair’s decrepit.” He pulled two brown packets out of the boxes behind him and laid them on the counter. Clea smiled, not in the least offended by his remarks about her AR transport. Lacking the sleek curves of the newer air-chaises and woefully slow, she was used to the comments on it. "Decrepit” was far kinder than “Broke-down kitchen seating,” or “Pile of trash.” "Sorry, I’m not wanting any visual illusions. I don't have much time or money to spare, but I’m cold. I’m hoping you might be able to sell me a warmth illusion.” “I guess you do look frozen. Give me a moment––I got just what you need.” He reached into a small pot sitting on the counter and scooped up some blue powder. “Hold out your hands.” Clea did as he asked. He sprinkled the powder over her upturned palms. “Now, think about heat.” Clea obeyed; in a second, the blue dust disappeared, and her hands and feet tingled as warmth swept through them. She flexed her fingers, relishing the pleasure of being able to feel them again. “Oh––wonderful. Thank you.” “Won’t but last a few minutes––but you’ll be fine on your own by then.” “This is fabulous. My weather shield and heater on my air-chair don’t work very well. Do you also have an illusion I can buy to keep me warm while I ride?” "Sure do. There’s some warmers mixed in with other stuff in that box over there, but you gotta take the whole box. Didn’t expect a customer this far on in the day, and I need to be on my way quick. You can have 'em all for five ciphers. That's a real good deal.” She turned away, shoulders drooping. “I’m sure it’s a wonderful deal.’ She spoke with care, trying to hide her disappointment, ‘but I’ve only got one cipher I can spare. I'm sorry to waste your time." She was halfway down the steps when he called her back. "Oh, come back in. The box is yours for the cipher. Don't think anyone else is coming to buy me out." His eyes did the disappearing act again. Clea found herself smiling, too, as she ran back up the steps into the dim and dusty interior. The old man went behind his counter, picked up a cardboard box more than half-full of square brown envelopes, each about the size of a seed packet. He placed the box on the countertop. "OK, Missy, there’s a couple of warmers in here somewhere. But, before you’re on your way, you need to learn a few things. What have you heard about packet illusions?" "Not much––only stories from my Stepdad. He told me about an inventor who made packet illusions so realistic they could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Years ago, there was some kind of failed coup, using old illusions? And then I think the government took control of the entire industry. Is that right?” "You got it—only the government don’t call them illusions anymore—they’re all fancy holograms now. It was after that coup attempt everyone started carrying a scanner to check what’s real and what’s not." "I thought you said your illusions wouldn’t show up on scanners." "Yep––because mine is all old stock. Scanners once used to work on them too, but today’s ones only work on the government holograms.” He paused, as if he was looking off into the distant past, before sadly shaking his head. "Government control did my business in––people got bored with my simple stuff when the fancier holograms came out. It’s a good thing I'm ready to retire." "Sounds like you're looking forward to it." He gazed around the shop, swallowed hard, and changed the subject. “Ever used a packet illusion?" Clea shook her head. "Then, look and learn." He reached up on the shelf behind him, picking out a small brown packet with a picture stamped on it of a rabbit with long floppy ears. “What’s your name?” he asked. "Clea Fletcher." "Cleeah? Haven’t come across that name before. Well, Miss Clea Fletcher, these illusions are real easy to use, but you must pay attention to the instructions. Each one can be a bit different, so let's start with a simple one. This one here’s for a rabbit. Sold lots of these to little girls and their Poppas in early growing season."

STORY STATEMENT: What’s real and what’s and illusion? And if something looks real and feels real, does it matter if it’s real or not? DANIEL NAYERI Living in a universe where hologram illusions are on the rise and flying chairs as transport the norm, seventeen-year-old Clea wishes she was as gifted as her Adept family. Her insecurities prevent her from realizing her own unique talents until she comes across one of the last old Illusion Centers and finds herself in a race to save her world. ANTAGONIST(S) This story is a race against time involving a group of people (Pure’s) who, four days from now, plan to destroy all illusions and in doing so, in the chaos that follows, take over the Government. The main antagonists are the current second in command of the Government, David Peterson, the newly appointed Prime Two. He’s planning the coup. Twenty years previously there had been an attempt to topple the government using old style illusions and the perpetrator was never identified or caught. That perp was David Peterson. He has been biding his time to stage a second attempt – this time, one which will succeed. His motivations are power and greed, but he is “politician polished” in his public dealings. He is aided by Mara Allenby Founder of The Pure’s, and her CEO daughter, Arianne. Arianne is a driving force behind the new coup attempt. Prime Two is her father and she is determined that her family take over the Government and her father’s earlier humiliation be erased. Supremely confidant, she enjoys being in charge and is ruthless in her pursuit of her goals. Not achieving success in anything she wants to do is never a part of her thought process. Mara Allenby is fixated on Prime Two’s achieving the apex of his career. She’s proud of her daughter, less outwardly aggressive in her dealings, but equally ruthless. BREAKOUT TITLE ANAMORPHOSIS– Book 1- ILLUSIONS ILLUSIONS (this is what I have been calling it) COMPARABLES This one is hard as this is a YA Fantasy, and YA fantasy right now is dominated by Romantasy and somewhat dystopian stories, involving myths, legends, fairy stories and lots of Fae. ILLUSIONS is a pure fast paced fantasy adventure and takes place over only four days. Closest comps: Brandon Sanderson’s SKYWARD series – he writes terrific fast paced adventures. His stories are not romances although they may touch on that. He is light years ahead of me – but the feeling of his stories is similar. The world illusion creation of Ursula K Le Guin's WIZARD OF EARTHSEA, And - I can’t ignore the Holodeck on the Starship USS Enterprise in STARTREK. HOOK LINE In a land where reality blurs with dazzling holograms, an introverted teen precipitates a race against time to thwart a zealot’s planned coup, and discovers she is far more capable than she ever dreamed. CONFLICT PRIMARY – The protagonist(s) must stop a fanatic from destroying all illusions and taking over their country. They have very little time, only four days, and must rely on their own abilities to stop the coup from happening. SECONDARY – Rivalry between Zach and his clone Chance INTERPERSONAL Main protagonists are Clea Fletcher, Zach Owens and his clone Chance CLEA: There are many groups of people with special talents in this world but the only one we deal with here are Adepts and Illusion Creators. Clea is part of a family of gifted Adepts, but her talent is Memory Walking which is considered only a minor ability. Her mother, Marguerite, is an Empath and although she loves her daughter, she was disappointed that Clea was not a Foreseer and Clea knows this. She feels overshadowed by her family’s talents and sometimes overwhelmed by her mother’s extreme extraverted personality. Her mother can be exhausting. Her father died when Clea was eight and her brother Naran who is a Time Linker, twelve. She has a stepfather she loves – Anton, a Mind Thrower. Clea lacks confidence in her abilities as she always compares herself to her family and feels inferior. ZACH/CHANCE Zach is the grandson of a Master Illusion Creator and has inherited his talent. He sees in Clea how bright she is, and he encourages her participation and input. He is also attracted to her. He is the accidental creator of Chance who is his clone, so Chance has the same feelings for Clea as Zach does – this causes conflict between them. They both have the same memories, habits etc. Only when Chance is created do their life experiences start to. differ. SETTING Set on a world very similar to ours but in someways more advanced. People no longer use roads as primary transport but travel in air transport lanes – stacked by speed and cost, transport is always some kind of seating. Sofas and couches for families, air chaises for most people, recliners and fauteuils for the rich. For poorer students like Clea, an old kitchen chair works fine. Above her, the family transit lanes, an hour ago full of plump couches carrying moms and kids on their wayhome from various activities, were down to the occasional flying sofa. Her lane, twenty feet above tree level, was reserved for the slower air-chairs––the ones not in good working order, nor pleasing to look at­‑- old chrome kitchen chairs with their green padded seats, elderly wooden rockers, and salvaged bar stools––a lane reserved for students, like Clea, counting their every cipher, and transient workers, old folks, and the eccentric. Clea felt right at home there, riding her old duct-taped chair, which barely got her from one place to the next. Every transport has an invisible weather shield, heat and cooling. Its energy comes from an apple sized power pack hidden under the seat base. Controls on newer transport are holograms. Older models like Clea’s have steering rods and instrument displays. Some work better than others! What sets this world apart though is the use of hologram illusions, all controlled by the government. Here, for a monthly fee, you can rent your illusions of choice from the government’s Automated Illusion Provider’s (AIP’s) found on every street corner and in most shops and eating places. You can choose anything on your wish list. Good looks? Weight loss? Secret fantasy? All yours, if you keep up the payments. Before AIP’s, privately owned Illusion Centers dominated the industry, but that was eons ago before the government regulated the market for safety, national security, and profit. There are two kinds of illusions. Modern holograms and the old packet illusions which were sold in actual packets by illusion type. Unlike holograms which last as long as you pay the rent for them, packet illusions have a finite life – most only a few days, although there are a few expensive ones that can last for years. There is growing concern however that holograms are beginning to take over from what is real – more than 50% of government revenue is now from holograms. People carry around small scanners so they can check if what they see is real or is an illusion. The scanner disrupts a hologram, just long enough to know. Modern scanners don’t work on packet illusions because those illusions are considered obsolete. Communications is mostly through wrist-coms although a user can activate a ‘hook’ which will bring a hologram of the recipient to wherever the call originates, so they can see and participate in what is happening .