Shadows of Forgotten Memory: Interim

By C.C. Bradley

TranSend Universal, the most powerful corporation in the known universe, has developed a technology making instantaneous travel between any two locations, regardless of distance, an everyday reality. During the journey, the traveler’s consciousness is stored in an articial world, known as Interim, in which he or she can experience anything imaginable. But, there’s a problem in Interim. Not everyone is returning, at least not alive. Evan Drake and Danielle Akins, two of the government’s top agents, are struggling to reconcile the feelings that have been growing between them since Evan’s wife died three years ago. When they find themselves thrust into the middle of the Interim investigation, and the power struggle that it heralds, what they discover is beyond what either of them could have imagined, and TranSend will do anything to silence them. What’s worse, something inside Interim wants them dead too, something that isn’t human. When the investigation leads Evan to a distant world, he finds himself trapped with no way to return home and an assassin waiting to kill him. If he and Danielle are to survive, he must rely on a strange woman who contacts him only inside Interim, a woman who claims to be his dead wife.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.C. Bradley
• Release date: Jun 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9780982279021

Book preview

Chapter One

What a great day, Paul thought to himself as he strode into the Manhattan transit terminal. He was wearing a charcoal grey pin-striped suit, perfectly fitted to his athletic form. He glanced down at his watch. 8:32 a.m. That would be 2:32 p.m. on Geddes Alta, leaving him just under twenty eight minutes to get there for his meeting with the trade council. Plenty of time for a ski week in the Alps. Paul smiled and let the thought linger for a satisfying moment, his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

The sprawling terminal was abuzz with the energy of scores of impatient holiday travelers. Commuters, vacationers, businessmen and families all clustered around the numerous booking kiosks like bees in a flower garden. High above, a kaleidoscope of holographic images spewed a mixture of travel information and advertisements. Paul was accustomed to the chaos of the terminal. His cheerful mood was impervious to the hustle and bustle around him. It was, after all, nearly Christmas.

Welcome to TranSend Universal’s Manhattan Terminal, echoed a synthetic female voice. The voice was smooth and measured, as if intentionally designed to counter the cacophony of sounds permeating the terminal. Please proceed to a booking kiosk to input your travel information. If you have already booked your travel, please proceed directly to your designated departure terminal. After a brief pause, the message repeated in a loop.

Paul approached a vacant kiosk and set his black leather briefcase down beside it. A three dimensional image of the TranSend Universal corporate logo - a simple letter T intertwined by a somewhat stylized S floating within a pulsing blue sphere - hovered just above the kiosk's input screen. The simplicity of the TranSend logo belied the incredible scope and power of the corporation itself. While most conglomerates were ensnared in the arms race of ever more elaborate holo-animated logos, each attempting to create for themselves a more enticing symbol of brand identification and thereby enhance brand loyalty, TranSend required no such psychological gamesmanship. The corporation's irrefutable monopoly over humanity's means of travel, shipping and communication was a far more effective means of imprinting TranSend into the psyche of every man, woman and child on Earth and every other inhabited planet than any abstract symbol could ever be.

As Paul's hand rose to the edge of the kiosk, the logo quickly morphed into the image of a woman's face. Light brown hair. Olive skin. Vaguely sharp features. She was attractive, but not distractingly so. Welcome to TranSend Universal, the woman greeted Paul. She smiled broadly at him, replicating an almost human warmth. Local or off-world travel? Paul touched the icon for off-world travel on the kiosk’s screen. Then he scrolled through a list of destinations until he reached Geddes Alta.

Off-world destination: Geddes Alta, the holo-woman confirmed his selection. Interim layover: 4 days, 6 hours and 22 minutes. Please select an Interim destination. The woman's visage was replaced by the holographic image of a tropical beach resort on a planet with two suns. Paul shook his head almost imperceptibly and waived his hand across the image. It was immediately replaced by the image of a luxurious spa resort built into the side of what appeared to be an active volcano overlooking an enormous waterfall. Paul's lips rose into a devilish grin as if he were reflecting on a pleasant and perhaps very private memory. After a brief moment, his eyes squinted reproachfully. Be good! He shook his head again and waived his hand across the image. It was replaced by the image of an Alpine ski resort. Paul nodded affirmatively as he tapped the screen.

Destination: Snow Dusk ski resort. Please confirm your selections and payment. Paul pressed his thumb against the screen. Imprint confirmed. Thank you for traveling with TranSend Universal, Mr. Anderson. Please proceed to departure terminal B. Paul picked up his briefcase and walked leisurely away from the kiosk.

The emptiness of departure terminal B was a welcome respite after the clamor of the central terminal. The walls of the terminal were lined with a series of sequentially numbered doorways. Pod 1… Pod 2… Pod 3… Paul could hear a soundtrack of classical music that was previously lost in the din. He took a moment to listen. Rachmaninoff, he thought, Paganini. He closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. Perfect!

Paul glanced over at the Information and Travelers’ Services Booth in the center of the terminal. A man in a grey flannel business suit was having a heated conversation with the holo-woman behind the counter. The woman looked vaguely similar to the woman projected by the booking kiosk. Her voice was measured and calm even as the businessman's voice continued to rise, his face displaying ever deeper shades of red. Paul couldn’t imagine what could cause someone to become so worked up on such a beautiful morning. He smiled to himself and let the music soothe him for another moment before approaching the cluster of kiosks near the terminal entry.

A family of four had planted themselves at the front most kiosk, their luggage partially blocking the other two kiosks. The two children, a young boy and girl, were fighting over some kind of portable game device. Their mother was struggling to separate them. She looked up at Paul and gave him an embarrassed smile as she attempted to move some of the luggage out of his way. Paul waived her off.

I’m not in a hurry, he said, smiling at her. You seem to have your hands full already. She gave Paul an appreciative look and turned back to the children. Paul glanced down at his watch. 8:45 a.m. Fifteen minutes until the meeting, plenty of time.

The father placed his thumb on the kiosk screen. Good morning, Mr. Jennings, the kiosk’s voice responded. Please proceed to travel pod 16. Thank you. The father picked up the luggage and helped his wife herd the children toward the doorway labeled Pod 16. A display above the doorway read Ready in green letters. Paul watched as the family entered the travel pod – a small room with four comfortable looking chairs and a storage rack for luggage. The door slid closed behind them and the display above the doorway changed to In Transit in red letters. A moment later the display returned to green Ready and the door slid back open. The family was gone.

Paul returned his attention to the kiosk. He pressed his thumb against the screen then proceeded to his designated travel pod.

Paul slid off the chair lift and skied around to the edge of the mountain face. He scanned down the slope to the chalet that was barely discernable in the distance below. The snow was luminescent under the midnight black sky, a glowing tricolored tapestry - green for Earth normal gravity, blue for lite gravity and magenta for near zero gravity.

Fresh powder all the way, he thought as he traced a path through the frozen rainbow. God, I love my job! He planted his poles in the snow and pushed himself over the edge. A rush of exhilaration surged through his body.

The icy wind cut into Paul’s exposed cheeks as he carved his way down the mountain. First through the green, kicking up as much powder as he possibly could. He shifted his weight from one side to the other, building up speed and launching himself off a mogul into the blue. He could feel the pull of gravity diminish as he soared into the sky. It was intoxicating. He braced himself as he crossed back into the green, centering his weight effortlessly over his skis to absorb the impact as they sank back into the snow.

Moving ever faster, Paul arced toward magenta. He was nearly weightless as he tucked and rolled himself end over end then spread his skis into an inverted helicopter. His giddy laugher echoed into the distance.

By the time he reached the ski lodge, Paul had lost the last bit of sensation in his face. He curved his skis perpendicular to the mountain and dug in the edges, leaving an enormous rooster tail of powder in his wake as he came to an abrupt stop. His permafrost smile beamed as he clicked out of his skis. The particles of snow from his hockey stop still lingered in the frosty air. Paul nodded approvingly. Time for a little warmth, he thought, heading toward the lodge.

Paul could feel the welcoming heat melt his frozen skin as he pushed through the inner door of the ski lodge. His boots clattered against the stone floor. He allowed his body a moment to adjust to the warmer temperature as he scanned the lavish lodge for points of interest. An enormous stone fireplace filled the center of the room, surrounded by comfortable looking chairs and sofas in various seating arrangements. The outer walls were lined with oversized bay windows overlooking the slopes. Paul watched a pair of skiers racing one another down the mountain until one of them missed an edge and went tumbling end over end. Ouch, he thought. He could feel the impact tense his shoulders. He shrugged it off and turned his attention back to one of the tables abutting the inside of a nearby window and, more specifically, the attractive woman sitting at the table sipping hot chocolate.

Paul brushed the powdered snow from his legs and headed to the hot chocolate dispenser. He grabbed one of the mugs stacked next to the dispenser and began to fill it. Paul closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet aroma of warm chocolate. He let out a satisfied sigh then turned his attention back to the woman at the window. She was what Paul would readily have described as exactly his type. Thick flowing brown hair, an easy and unassuming smile and bold blue eyes with a twinkle of mischief. Not to mention the skin tight ski suit that clung to her near perfect figure. Definitely not fluff, he thought to himself. She was much too inattentive for that, absorbed in her own private world. Fluff would certainly have noticed him by now. She hadn't even given him a glance. A challenge, he smiled to himself. With the mug cupped in his hands for added warmth, he headed for his target.

Mind if I join you? Paul asked playfully as he reached the woman sipping hot chocolate. He motioned his mug of hot chocolate toward her to confirm they were kindred spirits. She laughed, amused by his approach.

Not at all, she replied, motioning him to sit.

I’m Paul, he said, lowering his mug to hers as if to toast, Paul Anderson.

That was quite an arrival, the woman replied, motioning her head toward the window in the direction of Paul's now dissipated rooster tail. Paul smiled sheepishly, momentarily breaking eye contact. So, she had noticed him.

Sara Jensen, she continued with an amused laugh. Nice to meet you. She tapped her mug against his.

Paul's smile broadened as he settled into the chair opposite hers. How long are you here? He inquired.

Another couple of days, she responded. Heading home for the holidays. Funny, this part of the trip always seems to be the best part. Sara began to laugh again. Not that I don’t enjoy seeing my family, she added, rolling her eyes playfully. How about you?

Four days, he replied. "Business trip. And this is definitely the best part. If things go well, I’ll be home in time for Christmas Eve. He flashed her a quick conspiratorial smile. And I definitely know what you mean about family." They both laughed.

What do you do that has you planet hopping during the holidays?

I’m a diplomat, Paul replied.

Then you must be a pretty good skier, she quipped, shooting him a playfully reproachful look.

Paul smiled. She had him pegged. "Yeah, I’ve probably spent more time in here than anywhere else over the last few years. I blink therefore I am."

Really? Is that how you define yourself? She replied trying to hold back her grin. I would have thought something else.

Paul could feel the warmth in his face as it turned several shades of red. He broke eye contact again. He hadn't anticipated the innuendo, but he couldn't help feeling more intrigued with her. Hard to believe I get paid for this, he replied, trying to regain some control over the conversation.

Our tax dollars at work, she continued to tease him coyly.

He couldn't deny it. She had him hooked.

What do you say I buy you dinner tonight and give back some of those tax dollars?

Ha. Ha. She replied pretending to be angry. Everything in here is free!

Pick you up at seven then? Paul’s grin was irrepressible.

The smile returned to Sara’s face. She’d enjoyed the banter as well. Seven would be great.

Paul stood up from the table. Then I’ll see you at seven, Sara Jensen. He bowed to her in mock chivalry, then headed back to the slopes.

The snow covering the street was just deep enough to squish pleasantly under Paul’s feet, but not so deep as to make the trek to Sara’s lodge treacherous. He walked down the street whistling to himself. Sara Jensen. He liked the sound of that name, or maybe he just liked the image of her it conjured in his mind. He stopped for a moment to watch the sun glistening off the snow covered mountains as it slowly sank beneath the horizon. One should never miss an opportunity to enjoy a good sunset, he thought to himself. What better preparation could there be for an evening with Sara Jensen?

Several feet behind Paul, a thick black fluid began to percolate up from beneath the damp white snow forming an inky puddle in the middle of the street. The snow exhaled a heavy steam-like haze as the puddle absorbed it. Tendrils of the black fluid bubbled upward like the plasma of a lava lamp slowly warming to life. The tendrils clung to the air, supported by some unseen force. As they reached higher their pace quickened, becoming more frenetic, their purpose more definite, more urgent. Bone, muscle, sinew congealed around one another. Something vaguely human, yet inarguably inhuman, began to emerge. Taller than a man. Nearly seven feet. Two arms, two legs, a torso and head. Finely detailed muscle covered by a thin layer of mucous membrane. A face that was hardly more than an oversized human skull. A small ripple where the nose should have been. A slit stretched horizontally across the front, as if someone had run a razor from one edge to the other. It opened, just barely, revealing jagged black teeth, the kind made for tearing leather or flesh, and a wet black tongue that glistened in the moonlight. But most notable were its eyes. Lidless black orbs about the size of peach pits. They were the one part of the shadowy creature that did not seem to reflect any light. Like two black holes, they seemed to draw the light inward.

Paul didn’t notice the creature forming behind him as he turned from the sunset and started walking again. It made no sound as it followed him along the street. Paul began whistling again as the street lamps hummed and flickered to life. The creature's pace quickened, almost instantly closing the distance between itself and Paul.

Paul Anderson. The creature’s voice was deep and gravelly.

Paul could feel the low rumble of the voice penetrating him. He stopped and turned toward the creature. He was startled by its unexpectedly unnatural appearance. He stared at it, unmoving, unable to comprehend. He must have forgotten to breathe because he started to feel light headed and his heart seemed to have stopped beating altogether.

Who...what are you? Paul asked. His voice cracked as he began unconsciously backing away from the creature. What do you want? The staccato of Paul’s voice betrayed his almost uncontrollable anxiety.

The creature continued to approach Paul. Its movements were fluid and surprisingly quick.

I am here for you, Paul Anderson. It's lips slowly peeled back. The wet black tongue protruded slightly and paused, as if tasting the air between them, then traced its moisture across the upper slit of a lip until it scurried back into the creature's mouth.

You know me? Paul's mouth formed the words but he could barely push them out through the constriction in his throat. He could feel himself breathing again. Quickly. Probably too quickly. His mind spun hysterically, seeking to impose some understanding, a frame of reference, on his situation. The beast before him. What was it? Its intention? Its purpose? How to respond? As a diplomat he'd been trained to protect himself. Trained in self defense. He could fight. But this didn't make any sense. This... thing couldn't be real. Someone was playing with his mind. Could he be hallucinating? Was that even possible here in Interim?

The creature's eyes were now locked on Paul's. For the first time, he noticed how deeply empty they were. He found it difficult to look away. He could feel their pull. Not a physical force. Something deeper, more primitive. He stepped back and slipped on an icy patch in the snow, but quickly regained his footing. Vertigo threatened to topple him, render him even more helpless than he already was. His heart pounded, reverberating throughout his body, as if it might leap from inside him and flee. Flee, like he wanted to. But he couldn't, he was frozen. Completely immobilized with terror.

The creature stopped directly in front of him and raised its hand toward him. Paul took one last fearful step back. The movement was involuntary. He tried to repeat the motion, but his body would not obey him. His feet sank into the deeper snow off the side of the street. He could feel the snow clamp onto his boots like a bear trap forcing its icy cold jaws into his ankles. The creature’s hand jumped like an arc of electricity, grappling Paul’s forehead. A shock wave emanated from Paul’s head at the point of contact, ripping through him like a bolt of lightning. Paul choked out an agonizing shriek, his hands instinctively moving to break the creature's grip. He pulled violently at its hand, to no avail.

The fire in Paul's head overwhelmed the cold at his feet as the creature's hand began to sink into Paul’s skull. Paul’s eyes exploded with fear and panic as he struggled wildly to free himself. The creature seemed to smile, its razor thin lips stretching tightly over the jagged black teeth. Paul froze again. His eyes still locked on those deep empty orbs. He could no longer hear his own heart beat, or the blood pulsing in his head. He could only feel the pull of those eyes. He stared, motionless, as the creature became more fluid. At the point of their connection, his own skull became more fluid, melting like a ball of chocolate under an unyieldingly hot sun. The creature’s hand sank further into his skull, then the rest of it began to flow into Paul through the hand like warm syrup through a flexi-straw. Paul could feel the emptiness invade him. He watched in horror as the creature completely disappeared into him. His vision blurred then abandoned him completely. He was blind. He managed to release one final scream, but this time the voice that came out was an amalgam of Paul’s and the creature’s. Paul’s eyes bulged from their sockets as his pupils expanded, turning his eyes entirely black, the same deep inky black as the creature. As Paul’s eyes closed, his body went limp. He fell to the ground unconscious.

The snow beneath Paul began to melt, submitting to the heat radiating from his body. As the snow liquefied, Paul’s body itself began to melt, losing its shape and seeping into the ground below. Within moments, Paul’s body was completely gone.

The Geddes Alta arrival terminal was almost identical to the departure terminal in Manhattan only quite a bit smaller. Pod doors swooshed open. Travelers gathered their belongings, stepped out and proceeded to their respective destinations. There was nothing at all extraordinary about this particular morning until, at approximately 8:53 a.m. Earth Standard Time, the door to transport pod 5 inbound from Manhattan Terminal slid open and no one stepped out. Inside the pod, Paul’s motionless body lay crumpled in his chair.

Chaos erupted inside the Geddes Alta Transit Monitoring Station. Monitoring displays flashed red warning messages as an alarm wailed in the background. Several technicians who had previously been going through the motions of monitoring their various consoles seemed to have been suddenly frozen by the information on their displays. Apparently, this was one drill that they'd never run.

Supervisor Hendricks cupped his hands over his ears to muffle the drone of the alarms. His eyes quickly scanned the technicians, registering their current state of near catatonia. His lips involuntarily curled inward, stretching across his teeth in anger. Shut off that damn noise, he barked at one of the technicians nearest to him. The technician's eyes widened momentarily as the words penetrated him. He shook his head to regain his senses and sprung to life, tapping several icons on his display screen and the alarm fell silent.

Now what the fuck is going on? Hendricks snapped. This time his voice was directed at the lot of them. He continued to shout despite the newfound silence permeating the room.

The first technician's fingers quickly moved across his screen, tapping and sliding icons, until he found the additional information he sought. He could have answered the question immediately, but that answer wouldn't have made any sense. He'd hoped digging deeper would yield a different, more plausible answer. It didn't. He quietly cursed the location of his workstation and its proximity to where Hendricks happened to be standing at the moment the alarm went off.

We’ve got a problem with an inbound, the technician said flatly. He kept his eyes glued to his screen, not daring to make eye contact with Hendricks. Pod 5. Hendricks stood behind the technician, scanning the information on his display screen. The technician continued his report, it looks like he’s dead, Sir. Cardiac arrest. The technician tapped a few more icons. There’s been no re-integration. That must be the cause. But I’m not showing any residual Interim presence.

Hendricks suddenly looked as dumbstruck as the technicians had when the alarm first sounded. So, where the hell is he? Hendricks demanded. The technician shook his head nervously. He didn’t have an answer. Hendricks turned to another technician. He shook off his feelings of confusion and let himself fall back into his preferred state of mind, irritated and angry. Get security to arrival pod 5 immediately. Take the body out in a courtesy cart. No one sees him, he barked. Have them take him to the holding area and get a medical team in. They need to revive him. I won’t have a D.O.A.

Hendricks turned back to the first technician. Run a diagnostic. If there’s been no re-integration, then he’s still in there. Find him! They both knew that made no sense. There was no such diagnostic. And, in any event, how could he still be in Interim if his body had already arrived? But, Hendricks had no idea what else to say. And the technician didn't have the courage to correct him. So the technician began busily tapping his screen as Hendricks walked back toward his own desk.

Hendricks picked up an earpiece from the console on his desk and slipped it into his ear. He tapped a red button on the console labeled Oz.

It’s Hendricks at Geddes Alta Control, Hendricks said into the tiny microphone projecting out from the earpiece. We have a problem.

Hendricks paced anxiously as several medics worked on Paul’s motionless body, combining C.P.R. with intermittent defibrillation and shots of epinephrine. The claustrophobically small interrogation room only amplified Hendricks’ sour disposition. His ample forehead was spotted with perspiration, as were large areas of his shirt beneath each of his armpits.

Any time, boys. Hendricks made no attempt to mask his sarcasm or impatience. I need this guy alive. In spite of his attempt to convey a threatening tone, his last words sounded more like a plea.

The medics had been working on Paul's body for nearly half an hour when the heart monitor attached to Paul suddenly began to show a heartbeat. Beep... Beep... Beep. Beep. One of the medics attached a small electronic device to the center of Paul’s chest. Then he carefully slid a tube down Paul’s throat. The other end of the tube was attached to a small portable respirator. The medic turned to address Hendricks.

We’ve got a heartbeat, the medic said, but he can’t sustain it on his own. The pacemaker will keep him going for now, but he’ll need to be hooked up to the proper equipment to sustain him. There’s nothing more we can do. He’s brain dead. We can stabilize his body, but that’s about it.

The medic motioned Hendricks to approach the small metal table on which Paul’s body lay slack. There’s one more thing. The medic pulled back Paul’s eyelids revealing the completely black and empty eyes beneath. I’ve never seen anything like this. It's all wrong. There's no iris or cornea or lens. The structures that make up an eye are...missing. The medic squinted his eyes uncomfortably, as if the words sounded even more ridiculous out loud.

So, what does that mean? Hendricks growled.

The medic shook his head. I don’t know.

Then close the lids and shut up! Hendricks snapped, scowling disapprovingly at the medic. He then turned toward the door. Get him to Oz, Hendricks directed the security guard at the door. No one finds out about this, do you understand?

But, sir. The security guard paused for a moment trying to gauge how poorly Hendricks might react to the information he was about to convey. He held himself at attention, steeling himself to the anticipated response. Sir, this man is a diplomat. Apparently he was scheduled to meet with the trade council this morning. They’ve already contacted us about him. He paused for a quick, nervous breath, his eyes looking straight ahead but not at Hendricks. They already know he's here.

That was more than Hendricks was equipped to handle. He felt his head burst into a million tiny, irretrievable pieces. What idiot told them? He could hear his own voice raging into the empty space that had once been his head. But it no longer mattered, the situation was already beyond his control and he knew the consequences. He spat the only word left in his vocabulary: Fuck! Hendricks stormed out of the room as the medic and the security guard exchanged an awkward glance.

Chapter Two

Evan's eyes flicked open. He focused them lazily on the ceiling, tracing the soft shadows that slowly stretched across it as the dawning sun filtered through the trees outside his bedroom window. The cold morning air stung his cheeks, his nose, his eyes. His feet were cold too. He raised his head slightly from the pillow to inspect them. One was half wrapped in a sock, the other was bare, neither was covered by the blanket draped diagonally across his body. His head dropped back into the pillow.

The shadows on the ceiling formed shapes like a Rorschach test: a panting dog, an

Reviews for Shadows of Forgotten Memory

[mikerobbins-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Imagine you no longer need to fly. We know, now, how to create a wormhole between two fixed points; we’ve cracked the secrets of time and bent it to our will. Step into a pod, the doors close and open almost instantaneously at your destination, even if it is a remote, outlying planet.

Except that it’s not quite that simple. Early attempts succeeded in transporting inanimate objects, but not living things; lab rats were dead on arrival. Then the discovery: The consciousness must be removed and stored during the journey, and reimplanted upon arrival (“reintegration”). In transit, it’ll be in Interim. This is a virtual place of your choosing – a beach resort, a ski lodge – and you’ll perceive your stay there as hours, maybe days, depending on how far you are travelling. Even though, in real space and time, your arrival is instantaneous. That’s the premise of C.C. Bradley’s intriguing sci-fi, Shadows of Forgotten Memory: Interim.

Interim begins strongly, with a diplomat on his way to a meeting on a distant planet. On the way, his consciousness is in a ski resort for several days. But something goes wrong in Interim. When he arrives, he is brain-dead. The incident is an excuse for the authorities to confront the operator, TranSend, which has a monopoly and has acquired a sinister power. Two intelligence agents, Evan and Danielle, are assigned to find out what has happened and get the dirt on TranSend. But they fall in love.

This is where the story slows rather. The love story of the two agents takes up too much space and is not really that interesting. The characterisation is also uneven. Sometimes it’s great; there is a hatchet-man for TranSend who comes across well, and there is also a pasty-faced, overweight nerd called Jimmy who discovers how to store consciousness by accident in the lab one night after too much beer and pizza. But several major characters – including the two agents – never really come alive; their love story is clichéd, and so is some of the dialogue in the book. The world of future Los Angeles is far too like the present – for example, a world in which we could build wormholes wouldn’t be one in which we used cars that sound a lot like today’s. Last but not least, the ending is a bit messy (though this is in part because there is a sequel).

On the other hand, the scientific premise behind TranSend and Interim is very well done and believable. Some of the action scenes are great – in particular, when TransSend’s enforcer tries to kill Evan. Moreover, Interim is a classic battle between good and evil, and that can make for one hell of a storyline. Without giving too much away, a late scene inside Interim itself sees good, in the form of the decent dead, confront evil in a way that is oddly moving.

Books that are clearly good or bad are easy to rate. When they’re very good in some places but weak in others, it’s more difficult. Does Bradley’s strong imagination on the science side outweigh the uninspiring main characters etc.? For me, it didn’t quite; I enjoyed bits of the book a lot, but I doubt if I’ll read the sequel. The committed sci-fi reader, however, will attach relatively more weight to Bradley’s scientific construct than they do to well-rounded characters. I’ve given Interim three stars but they’d probably give it four or five, and they’d be as right as I am. Books are a personal thing and sometimes there’s no “correct” verdict.

The author kindly supplied an e-book for review.