Lake Geneva #2 Table of Contents

Pages 2-3: Table of Contents

Page 4: Strength in Our Differences (Pablo M.A Vazquez)

Pages 5-6: Letters of Comment

Pages 7-9: “Quis ut Deus: An Interview with Warren Spector” (James T.M Griffin)

Pages 11-13: “Gloriosus Regina: An Interview with Caroline Spector” (Pablo M.A Vazquez III)

Page 15: “LiFi: A Review” (Christopher Garcia)

Page 15: Recommendations from Lake Geneva

Pages 17-26: “Nandi: A Steamfunk Tale” (Balogun Ojetade)

Pages 27-28: “Experiencing Video Games Post-Mass Effect, or How I Arrived Late to the Party” (Devin Baumann)

Lake Geneva Commune/Normandy Officers on Deck: Pablo M.A Vazquez III James T.M Griffin Ashley F. Cano Lauren Laslo

Art: Cover/Page 10 “Sira/N.A Tribe: Electric Kids” by James Eugene (http://jameseugene.com/)

Page 29“Studying Dok”Art by Alexa“Dok”Smothers (http://dok-alexa.deviantart.com)

Thanks for reading and enjoy! Strength in Our Differences

Dear Readers:

First off, let me start off by saying that it is an absolute honor to have received such a positive reception from fandom at large. This is a labor of love for all involved, including the contributors and the artists, so from all of us at Lake Geneva, this mad SF/F commune we have here in deep in the heart of Texas, we'd like to say thank you and stick around, we've got so much more to show you, especially in this issue!

Issue #2 is double the size of Issue #1 and I'm quite happy with everything on these pages! Amazing interviews, a fantastic short story, reviews, articles and all that fine jazz. However, what makes this issue a bit different from the first one surrounds an important conversation that we've been having in greater fandom for years now. If SF/F fandom is supposed to encompass all of Science-Fiction and Fantasy the world over, why is there a certain elitism based simply on literature and, even then, why is there further an elitism there of white male dominance? Where do the rest of us fit in?

Lake Geneva's members are diverse and so are our interests, as can be seen through the pages of this issue, our first one, and all future issues. We make the attempt to show that we shouldn't narrow our view of this wonderful genre, but instead expand it, show all the beauty, masterpieces, flops/jokes, adventures and stories that we all have to offer one another. I take inspiration here from the least inspirational of sources, The American Dollar: E Pluribus Unum, “Out of Many, One”. We are not our own islands, but the greater parts of a whole.

What's this all mean? Well, Lake Geneva will always publish anything relating to SF/F, the fandoms, and all surrounding it. However, we will maintain what Chris Garcia once fantastically called a “literary lens” by which we will view all of SF/F. Basically, just as we view books critically and intellectually, so will we view everything else and there's no reason not to. That's what attracts folks like me to this specific part of greater fandom and it's something we need to remember before it's too late and we've gone off the deep end.

Anyways, enough of my preaching to what is most likely the choir. Enjoy this issue, which you can clearly see has arrived pretty much a month late. Apologies! We'll be doing our best to throw these out to you the fastest we can without sacrificing quality and content (and our free time to actually enjoy the varied mediums of Science-Fiction and Fantasy). Just remember, even if you're not a fan of some of the mediums/sub-genres you see on these pages, keep an open mind, explore, and you just might be. Strength in our differences, after all, and a damn good time.

With Deepest Regards and Wishing You an Entertaining Read, Pablo M.A Vazquez Lake Geneva's Philosopher-King/Editor Letters of Comment

Wish to contact Lake Geneva?

No? You want to throw us into a raging supernova? Fine, but at least tell us why with an email to [email protected]!

Hey, if you're chosen, you'll grace the pages of our next issue and be able to brag about it to all of your friends!

Cassie Clarke writes: “I wanted to write a quick note telling you how much I enjoyed reading through the first issue of Lake Geneva. It's funny, because I've also always been interested in fanzines despite being quite a bit younger than most of fanzine fandom, and attending WorldCon this year (and hearing all the chatter about the Best Fanzine category) was enough to get me started on a fanzine of my own. Reading your welcome letter was a bit surreal in how closely it mirrored my own experience. Is that creepy to admit? Probably. I'm sorry. As if that weren't enough of a coincidence, you mentioned 2046 on your rec list -- 2046 is easily one of my favorite movies of all time! AND you mentioned Janelle Monae, who I have been listening to lately. So there was a lot for me to get excited about in this issue. I'm really looking forward to the next one!”

Lake Geneva responds: “Why thank you! It's always fantastic to hear from fellow enthusiastic young fen, especially when there's so much in common between our editors and yourself. Perhaps we'll see a Cassie Clarke review/article in one of our future issues? :-)”

Earl Kemp writes: “Okay, guys...I think you did an excellent job for a #1 issue. Thanks for sharing and keep up the good work.”

Lake Geneva responds: “Why thank you, sir! We hope to continue being excellent in your eyes!”

Christopher Garcia writes: “Great to see it in full color! Good read, too! And now, I make some brief comments! First off, that's a cover! There's a sense of disquiet to it that I think Mary Shelley would have quite understood, and probably enjoyed!

Hey, it was great to meet ya at LSC! I had a really good time, though I did fail in my curatorial role at the Convention, but I had an incredibly good time, though I'm not sure how I didn't put together the name Post- Modern Jukebox with the so enjoyable YouTube videos I've been watching! I wish I had gone to see 'em!

Cordwainer Smith, or more accurately Paul Linebarger, may be the most interesting man of the last century. From all of his Diplomatic activities to the writing to the fact that he was associated with some of the most incredible individuals of the last century. To me, there's no question that his work Scanners Live in Vain is one of the finest works of Science Fiction, and I wish I'd have read The Dead Lady of Clown Town. His rediscovery was somewhat shocking in another aspect: his wife, I believe, had arranged to publish one of his unpublished stories to Harlan Ellison for Last Dangerous Visions. That NESFA compilation published that story and Harlan FLIPPED! Though, I understand that he just tends to do that.

I have a softspot for Blizzard. I'm working on an exhibit for the Computer History Museum on World of Warcraft, which I've never played, but I have played StarCraft, which is a great game, especially in the Story Mode. On the other hand, I usually don't go towards the books based on any video game. I've read a couple, one of which was a Warcraft novel, and it seems to take too much pre-existing knowledge of their universes. Hell, I don't even have that great a knowledge of OUR Universe!

That Seance image is damn creepy!

That's an interesting little story. It's got a vibe to it that reminds me a little of Vance or Brunner. I do like Detroit, even if the GIants beat 'em last year and the As are going forward on 'em right now!

Recommendations. I've recently discovered Janelle Monae, and she's good stuff. Her videos are very interesting, and there's one, I can't remember which, which reminds me of a gender-swapped version of Outkast's Hey Ya. I might have to get her album. Wait, do people buy albums these days? I do have everything Parliament ever recorded. I really hope they'll put George Clinton and P-Funk'll get into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame some day.

I love Aliette's writing, but could never get too much into Nalo. I've not read McNeill, so I may have to go and find it! I did forget to mention that The Substitute is available on Netflix. Not streaming, but on DVD!

Hey, good stuff! Can't wait to see the next issue!”

Lake Geneva responds: “Thanks for the extra commentary there, very awesome stuff. We're sad you missed out on PMJ, but Pablo has plans for them on the convention circuit yet. As to Ms. Monae, were you perhaps thinking of “Many Moons” or “Dance Apocalyptic”? “Many Moons” features Big Boi of Outkast in the video, so that may be the one you're thinking of. As to P-Funk, is there a petition we can start to get them in the SF Hall of Fame? We're definitely glad you enjoyed our first issue, Mr. Hugo Winner! That's a big compliment! Could it also have something to do that you're in that one and this one as well? ;-)”

Lloyd Penney writes: “Thank you so much for the first Lake Geneva! And, thank you for delving into an old fan activity we like so much, fanzines. I promise I will try my best to write up a letter of comment for you to possibly put in your letter column next issue. This seems to be what I do these days, but I am still having fun.

Angry and disdainful? Well, fanzine fandom hasn’t always been that friendly to newcomers, but I won’t follow in those footsteps. I’m pleased whenever there is a new title, for within are new attitudes and ideas. I’ve been to quite a number of Worldcons, but as prices increase, we can’t get to as many as we’d like. In fact, if our finances don’t improve, I don’t expect to ever get to another one. But, there are always other things to do, and for me, responding to fanzines is my biggest fannish activity. My wife Yvonne and I retired from running conventions a couple of years ago, and we’d been on the committee for a lot of them, since the early 80s.

The stories of Cordwainer Smith/Paul Linebarger are regularly leafed through and enjoyed here. How many people have named their cat C’Mell? Lots, I’ll bet. While it’s a great story, it is told in an epic style as a lost history text, or even a saga or legend. A very entertaining tale to be told.

While I really have no interest in gaming, my interests are gravitating towards steampunk these days. This steampunk story is just a little gory, but otherwise, this short story is what I like. I am not a gamer or an anime fan; I’m not into comics or LARPs or Doctor Who, or many of the currently popular interests most fans have these days, so I might not be interested or qualified enough to offer comments, but I will where I can. And, I think I have done so for right now. A good first issue, please do keep them coming, and possibly I’ll be able to write some more.”

Lake Geneva responds: “Fanzines, we feel, are still crucial to any fandom, along with any sort of “by the fans, for the fans” activity. Lake Geneva encourages all fen to get involved in whatever way they can and engage your fellow fans! We thank you greatly for your comments and we hope you'll continue to be a reader of Lake Geneva in the future!”

Quis ut Deus: An Interview with Warren Spector

Warren Spector, “The Gaming God”, is the closest thing modern gaming has to a renaissance man. Having pioneered the field of merging elements of role-playing video games and first-person shooters, he is the force behind such science-fiction masterpieces in video gaming like Deus Ex, System Shock, and Thief. Married to author Caroline Spector and an Austin resident, Lake Geneva assigned James T.M Griffin to journey into Mr. Spector's mind.

JG: To start us off, Mr. Spector, Lake Geneva is chiefly a fanzine for readers of fantasy and science fiction. Could you briefly tell us about some of your favorite books growing up, or which have proven a great influence in your work?

WS: I grew up as a reader, big-time. I fell in love with science fiction early, starting with the Tom Corbett: Space Cadet books and Heinlein juveniles. A little later on, in elementary school, I discovered When Worlds Collide and After Worlds Collide by Wyle and Baum, which seemed very adult to me. Loved them. Then it was The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, around sixth grade. I was done with the mundane world at that point. A goner. Lovecraft in high school… and the rest of Heinlein and Asimov and all.

JG: Are there any books you’re reading right now, or have recently read that you’d recommend to us?

WS: Books people should read that they might not otherwise read? Definitely read everything by Jack Finney (especially Time and Again) and Walter Tevis (especially Queen’s Gambit). Finney’s the master of time travel stories and Tevis just an amazing writer who can turn things like pool and chess into dynamic, visual adventures. Recent books worth reading are Alif the Unseen by G. Willow Wilson and Every Day by David Levithan. I also recently reread Tuf Voyaging by George R.R. Martin and remembered how swell a book it was. If you like George’s Wildcards or Ice and Fire books, try some of his other work. Oh, and if you haven’t read anything by Haruki Murakami, start with his recent 1Q84. Freakin’ amazing book!

JG: The members of Lake Geneva got their start in the sci-fi/fantasy community by establishing San Antonio’s first neo-Victorian and steampunk society. It’s fortuitous that the first game under your hat which I had the pleasure of experiencing was Thief: The Dark Project. Thief was one of the first, if not the first, video games to explore a fantasy world in the midst of an industrial revolution, where magic and steam technology permeate the City side-by-side. Did you ever anticipate that the steampunk setting would ever grow to be as popular as it is now? (what with titles like Fable III, Dishonored, and the upcoming The Order: 1886)

WS: I’ve always been fascinated by Victoriana. Just ask my wife about our shared Victorian book collection! I even did a game back in 1990 called Martian Dreams set in the year 1893. I’ve always been into that stuff. It was a time so much like our own in some ways – new tech everywhere (telegraph, phonograph, movies, cars, telephones, etc.)… new businesses and business models everywhere… extreme wealth and extreme poverty… I never much cared if it became a Big Thing, but I’m glad it has. Surprised? Sure. But pleased!

JG: As a lifelong gamer, I can vividly recall the first time I discovered the genre-shattering Deus Ex, back when I was a mere 7th grade student. Entire tomes can be compiled on what’s already been said about the innovations Deus Ex brought to the gaming medium, but what stood out to me as a kid was the game’s drawing from real- world literature. From clippings from Shakespeare’s Richard III and G.K. Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday to endgame quotations from Milton’s Paradise Lost, Deus Ex reminded us that its story belonged to our world, and challenged us to think about its themes in relation to those treated in great works of the past (ambition, betrayal, anarchy, transhuman modification likened to the flight of Daedalus and Icarus, among others). Can you tell us about any of the literary influences behind the game?

WS: Well, first things first, I can take a little of the credit for the “intelligence” of Deus Ex and for the literary references but a lot of the credit goes to lead designer, Harvey Smith, and even more to ace writer, Sheldon Pacotti. Sheldon was the one who brought that literary quality to the game in support of the overall themes developed through play. Deus Ex was such a team effort – don’t fall into the trap of crediting me or any one person with the stuff that worked!

JG: With big-budget titles growing ever more expensive and publishers wanting to market to the broadest audiences possible, is there still a place in the industry for games that appeal to the intellectual player?

WS: As far as intellectual players go, I think there are still some mainstream games that try to address Big Ideas. The BioShock games come to mind. But to get a real intellectual thrill, I think you have to go to the indie game scene. You’ll find plenty of intellectual stimulation there.

JG: Another of Deus Ex’s, as well as Thief’s, unique characteristics was the possibility to avoid violence altogether; I’m sure I’m not the only one who obsessively strived finish a playthrough with zero kills. But since Deus Ex’s release in 2000, I can count the number of Teen or Mature-rated games I’ve played which offer a comparably nonlethal approach on one hand. You’ve observed in other interviews that every successive E3 seems to put on yet another gala of ultra-violence. For my own part, I have to confess that there are some games I enjoy, but would be embarrassed to show off to my non-gamer friends or relatives because of over-the- top violence, objectification of women, and all the other things concerned parental organizations like to point out. Have video games failed to mature with their audiences… or is it the other way ‘round, that the industry is simply giving their customers what they want? What can we, as players, do about it?

WS: To some extent, the industry is giving people what they want, but only to some extent… The fact that most games fail in the marketplace says we still have a lot to learn about pleasing our audience!

What is clear to me is that the mainstream console gaming world isn’t all that interested in stretching beyond what it’s always done. No surprise, really, given how expensive and risky that kind of development is nowadays. Still, risky or not, it’d be nice to see more varied content in console gaming – and less content we’re ALL ashamed to show to non-gamers.

JG: I know that you’re a graduate of UT and that you’re involved in the creation of the Denius-Sams Gaming Academy, an upcoming, industry-driven program for postbaccalaureate students to develop the skills they need to lead the next generation of game development studios. How are things shaping up so far, and what would you suggest to any of our readers who might be interested in applying for the program?

WS: Things are beginning to shape up nicely, but it’s still relatively early days. We haven’t even begun public discussion on admission requirements, curriculum, faculty, etc. Patience. Patience…

JG: Finally, Mr. Spector, I understand that your wife, Caroline, is an author of fantasy fiction. If you could turn any one of her stories into a video game, what would it be?

WS: The answer’s a little bit of a cheat, but years ago Caroline and I came up with a concept for a series of comic books that I always thought I’d turn into a game some day. It was a fantasy game of political intrigue and warfare and the return of magic and dragons to a world that had rid itself of them hundreds and hundreds of years earlier.

A substantially revised version of that concept eventually became “Sleeping Giants,” a game concept I pitched several years ago. I got a couple of deals out of that and took it to prototype stage – the Junction Point team was ready to go into full on development, in fact, but that was when the studio was acquired by Disney and the project got backburnered. Maybe Caroline and I will get back to that some day – as a comic series, a novel or two, a game... I still love that concept. I don’t know, though, these days some guy named George R.R. Martin kind of has a corner on fantasies in which dragons return to a wartorn, politicized fantasy world, right?

Thank you, Mr. Spector, on behalf of Lake Geneva! We're big fans and look forward to your future work with great anticipation!

Regina Gloriosa: An Interview with Caroline Spector

You know how they say that behind every great man, there's some even greater woman behind him? Well, if Warren Spector is a Gaming God, Caroline Spector is definitely way more than just the multi-talented goddess behind him. Known to many lovingly as the “Queen of Snark”, Caroline has seemingly had her hand in everything ranging from Shadowrun to Wildcards to Marvel Superheroes. On behalf of Lake Geneva, Pablo M.A Vazquez III is proud to present this interview with Her Majesty. PV: In contrast to your husband, who seem to be most well-known for his works in pioneering Cyberpunk and Steampunk gaming, you've made a name for yourself instead in the fantasy genre. What drew you to it? What about fantasy makes it the playground you most seem to prefer?

CS: Hmmm, I don’t really see myself as only a fantasy writer. (Unless we agree that all fiction writing is, at its core, fantasy.) But when I started, I took jobs where I could write fiction, get paid for it, and be published. When I began writing, the pulps had pretty much disappeared. Thanks to D&D, role-playing games were becoming more mainstream. Back then, game writing was where a fair amount of people cut their teeth. We also wore turnips on our belts because that was the fashion. As to why I like fantasy, in some ways I feel as if it’s easier to write than hard sci-fi. Even though you have to do a lot of world building (or play in someone else’s sandbox) I think you have more control over the background. With hard sci-fi, you will be busted in a heartbeat if you don’t know your science. Also, though there are many scientific subjects I like (hello, viral epidemics) the usual stuff of hard sci-fi, yeah, I just don’t have that skill set.

PV: Are there any books that you can point to in particular that led to your love of fantasy fiction? Are you reading any good works right now that you'd like to recommend to our readers?

CS: When I was a child, I was a huge Wizard of Oz fan. I still am. Every birthday and Christmas, my mother would give me a new Oz book. One year I was so excited to get the new Oz book, I snuck downstairs, unwrapped the book, read it, rewrapped it and then went back to bed. Later, I pretended to be amazed at the present and read it again.

I remember reading THE HOBBIT several times. I read Madeleine L’Engle’s A WRINKLE IN TIME and the rest of the books in that series. I reread those several times. (Yes, there’s a pattern, if I really liked a book I would reread it. This probably prevented me from reading other books.) My parents had a copy of THE ILLUSTRATED MAN and after reading that, I read as much Bradbury as I could lay my hands on. My school librarian introduced me to the Half-Magic series. And the CHRONICLES OF PRYDAIN series – you know, THE BLACK CAULDRON - was also a favorite. And HARRIETT THE SPY, of course.

The problem with recommending fiction is that I don’t read much fiction when I’m working. I worry about accidentally picking up another writer’s voice. That said, I do like Steven King and I just finished JOYLAND and DOCTOR SLEEP and both were terrific. My go-to book when I just want to remind myself what great writing is, is THE QUEEN’S GAMBIT by Walter Tevis. It’s a splendid example of tight, economical prose that creates such a vivid world and characterizations it just stuns me every time I read it. (No, it isn’t genre, but I’m a big believer in reading out of genre.) Anything written by Bradley Denton is compelling and he recently had a wonderful novella called The Adakian Eagle in the anthology DOWN THESE STRANGE STREETS.

I just started reading James Gunn’s new book, TRANSENDENTAL, and so far, it’s been a fascinating read. What I’m reading besides the Gunn book: biographies about Maria Theresa, Marie Antoinette’s daughter, one on Anne Boleyn, and one about the Czarina Alexandra. (I know, cheerful stuff.) A book about the 1918 influenza epidemic, a book about viruses, and a book about police corruption in New York around the turn of the last century. I’m also reading APOLLO’S ANGELS a history of ballet.

Yeah, I might have a focus problem.

PV: I actually own one of your Shadowrun books, Worlds Without End, and I've noticed that you also have written two more books in that line, not mention writing modules for Marvel Superheroes. Being a huge fan of Shadowrun myself and definitely a Tabletop Roleplayer, I'm curious as to what your favorite Tabletop RPG is. What did you find most enthralling about the Earthdawn/Shadowrun universe? Do you have a memorable character from your roleplaying days that you'd like to tell us about? I also noticed that you were at one time (and might still be) one of those venerable legion of poor saps who lost far too much time to World of Warcraft! Have you been playing any PC RPGs as of late?

CS: Ah ha, so you’re the one who bought it.

Yes, I did write a Marvel Superheroes module with Warren. We set it in the Texas Hill Country and I was thrilled to get to write the Sentinels. I’m a sucker for alternate timelines and that was one I really liked in the comic books. The roleplaying games I’ve found to be the most fun are Paranoia, Toon – The Cartoon Roleplaying Game, and house variations on D&D. I liked the concepts in Shadowrun and Earthdawn, one of things that appealed to me most was getting to write books where the scope wasn’t that large. I like writing stories that are character-driven more than plot-driven. Sam Lewis and the rest of the folks at FASA were very generous in allowing me to do that. Earthdawn is a great world. I particularly liked the background of the kaers and Blood Wood that the denizens created to survive a great cataclysm and how those differing groups chose to survive.

The favorite character I created for a game was Ruby Lovejoy. She was a Victorian era woman who carried a revolver in her purse – as any sensible adventurer would. Though she was prim and proper, she was an excellent shot. And she could kick ass.

Oh dear, I guess it’s confession time. Yes, I still play WoW. Partly because I like playing with my friend, Bud, but also because I really don’t need to sucked into yet another game. What I do these days is watch Warren play various games. This is a twofer as seeing the game play is cool and world designs are fun and I don’t get sucked in. And watching Warren play games is hi-larious.

PV: Now, I'm a huge ASoIaF (A Song of Ice & Fire) fan and recently had the jovial pleasure of being able to meet and spend time chatting (and drinking) with George R.R Martin himself. When we first chatted about this interview, you had mentioned heading out soon to continue your fantastic Wild Cards contributions and brainstorm with the Great Bearded Glacier himself and the rest of the mysteriously-great Wild Cards gang. What came from this secretive meeting? Are there any spoilers you can give us about your own storylines? How would you describe working in a shared universe as venerable as Wild Cards? Can it be difficult restraining your own imagination to fit in the context of already established text?

CS: Well, since it already ended up on Facebook, I went up for a plotting session for the next braided mosaic novel in Wild Cards. This is my second braided novel and since I’d already been through that trial by fire, this one was far easier. I can’t give any spoilers because things often change in these books as you go along. And I’m totally not spilling any of the surprises in my story. That’s why they’re called surprises.

CS: I’ve been working in other people’s sandboxes for so long, it wasn’t that difficult to figure how things worked in Wild Cards. Also, when Wild Cards started, a lot of the people I knew wrote for it. So, I heard loads about it at the time. And I did read the books. I’m also fortunate that George is very kind and likes the way I write one of his characters, so that’s huge. I got yeoman’s support from John Jos Miller who knows more about Wild Cards than just about anyone. He’s a terrific writer and is very generous with his knowledge, time, and feedback. (Bud was a lot of help, too.) The Amazing Bubbles is fun to write. As with almost everyone in the series, we all have one character serving as our avatar. I have several characters, but Bubbles is my avatar. Oh, and I’m the only person who was written as a character in the books and then became one of the writers.

PV: Despite the grief we give George about his "flexible" deadlines, we the fans love his work and his contributions to Game of Thrones. Seeing how explorations of these topics and more is counted as part of our goal behind the creation of Lake Geneva, I recently read your essay, "Power and Feminism in Westeros", which was included in "Beyond the Wall: Exploring George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire", but I also read a fascinating blog post about how you seemed "apologetic" and "defensive" at a panel you were on in regards to the rampant fantasy-world sexism seen in both the text and even more so in the TV show. What do you think can be done to address these issues even further? Do you think female fantasy authors do a better job at addressing these issues? What sort of advice would you give to those not of the feminine persuasion in creating ideal female characters and settings for them to shine in?

CS: I think it depends on the skill of the individual writer, male or female. The key is to stop treating female characters as if they were a different species. At our core, we do all the same things men do. We’re all people. Male writers can deal with that as well as women can. Women love, we laugh, we cry. We’re passionate about things, we’re assholes, we’re wonderful, we fart -- we’re just people. Does that mean men and women are exactly alike? No. But if you understand that basic idea, you’ll be well on your way. (Hey, it took me years before I would write a male character because I was worried about screwing it up.) As I created Bubbles, I realized she was gay. Now I’m pretty darned straight, and I was very nervous about writing her. But I decided that her sexuality was just part of her. And I wanted to write her in many ways the same way I’d write a “straight” character. Her sexuality was certainly a part of her, but it wasn’t everything about who she was. And her relationships were as messy as all relationships can be, but she isn’t tortured by her sexuality, and she isn’t just waiting for some guy to come along and finally fulfill her. One of best compliments I’ve received was from a reader who’s gay and said I wrote a convincing lesbian character. I couldn’t have been more thrilled.

PV: Even before Lake Geneva set up its base of operations here in Austin, I noticed more and more that this seemingly was the South's top cultural mecca. However, one thing I didn't know is Central Texas (San Antonio- San Marcos-Austin and its surrounding fiefdoms) was the home of so many luminaries from the various fields of SF/F such as artist John Picacio, you and your "Gaming God" husband Warren Spector, author Bradley Denton, "Gaming God #2" Steve Jackson, and the list goes on and on. What is it about Central Texas that attracts all of us SF/F weirdos? Would you say Austin is more of a Science-Fiction city or a Fantasy realm? Is it both and should we expect cybernetically-enhanced magical bats popping out of the Congress Bridge sometime soon?

CS: There was a convergence of talent in Austin and Central Texas in the 70s. Chad Oliver was teaching at The University of Texas at Austin and writing SF. Bruce Sterling went to UT. He started Cheap Truth and wrote numerous books here in Austin. Steve Utley was part of that burgeoning crowd, as was Bud Simons. (There are plenty more writers, but I lose track of them all.) The original Turkey City was started by Tom Reamy, Steve Utley, Howard Waldrop, Joe Pumilia, and Bill Wallace. I believe it moved to Austin about the third meeting. There was a thriving fan and writing group at Texas A&M. Howard Waldrop live in the venerable Monkey House in College Station – where Steve Gould also lived for a while.

Also, for a long damn time, it was cheap to live in Austin. And it became a sort of Mecca in a state not known for its diversity or love of weird sub-cultures. (Except for Willie Nelson.) Then the 80s came around and Steve Jackson Games became a thing and, later, computer game companies, thanks in no small part to Richard Garriott and Origin. In addition to the writers and artists and game folks, there were all sorts of amazing people who loved books, and movies, and various outré stuff. And those people were smart -- really, really smart. It was a wonderful soup of creativity and passion. Texas Fandom is wild and diverse, much like the state. It isn’t just one thing. There’s room for everyone.

PV: Now, I know James asked which one of your stories Warren would want to turn into a video game. That's all well and good, but I'm curious as which of Warren's games do you think you could write an amazing novel about? Have his games inspired your writing and imagination or have all the fanboys who read far too much into the Chesterton excerpts in Deus Ex driven you insane yet? Would you like to go on the record and accuse him of stealing all of his best ideas from you? We won't tell him (until he reads this, of course).

CS: I think Martian Dreams is the game world that would fit best with my writing style. I’ve done a lot of research on the late Victorian era. I love the period. And I’d get to write Warren as a character since he’s in the game. Win-win. I don’t think he’s ever stolen an idea from me. Sometimes, I read design docs and his essays, but he’s really good at his job. Occasionally, I have a moment of insight, but I doubt he’s waiting for that with baited breath. We did start Junction Point on a comic proposal we did back in the Paleocene. He got the book rights back for me before he left Disney, so if I want to write something set there, I can.

PV: O, Queen of Snark, hear our humble plea! Would you grace our readers with your Snark of the Day ?

CS: Oh, goodness. I don’t snark on demand. I can in a post, but on-the-fly snarking takes wit and timing. And being cranky. Oh, and a softball pitch from some sucker. And, I’d argue you’re already perfectly fine at it yourself. How about I quote one of the great snarks of all time – Dorothy Parker. I bow down to her superior wit. “This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force.” I’m also fond of “First thing in the morning I brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue.”

Thank you, Mrs. Spector, on behalf of Lake Geneva! We can't wait to read the next adventures of the Amazing Bubbles and any of your other absolutely fantastic writings! LiFi: A Review by Christopher Garcia

In the old days, there was a movie called Real Genius. It's Val Kilmer, and really, it's a sorta half-step between the early 1980s science comedy (think a less slick, slightly smarter Weird Science) and a Superstar Hero teen flick (think Ferris Bueller's Day Off). What's funny is that trying to capture that in a bottle today is both a lot harder (the influence of the Stoner comedy with Dude, Where's My Car? and Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle) and easier (shows like The Big Bang Theory have helped to introduce these character types much wider.

LiFi plays well in that arena.

So, there's a group of researchers who are trying to solve food problems through SCIENCE! They run out of Apples, and then they go to meat, hamburgers, and it turns out that it works. Too well. They go along the line of discovery, in their garage, and they start to bump up against the knowledge that they can duplicate life from dead material, and eventually life from life. That makes for strange problems, but as they're just guys with great power, in their garage changing the world, they may or may not be able to handle the great power that comes with great discoveries. The characters themselves ask if Humanity is ready for this power, if this sort of immortality is a good idea to present to a world where Ke$ha is a legitimate form of entertainment. The way this is presented is so intelligent, it's process shown without much commentary on the development. That's often what happens in films like this, where they spend a lot of time dealing with the ideas surrounding innovation, or worse, simply presenting innovation without placing that innovation within a context that makes sense. That doesn't happen here, and that is refreshing.

This short raises some very interesting questions, the first being why did the filmmakers feel the need to go on for 19 minutes when it would have been a MASSIVE hit at maybe ten. The bigger, and more interesting questions that it tackles include how does science intersect with our emotional needs. What are our responsibilities to ourselves and to our emotions? And perhaps the biggest one: what would you do if you were faced with certain powerful knowledge that you knew could change your personal world, but had no idea what the external consequences would be?

The way the story plays out, our characters are presented with situation where they have an answer, perhaps, to a problem that over-laps their research. Everything they've discovered on the way has shown them that they may be able to solve this for themselves, but it might have unforeseen consequences, not only for the world, but for themselves. They are fighting against these ideas, and are found lacking. Or are they? And what's worse, we don't know if they can actually solve the problem. The film ends with no answer, none at all, and perhaps the most cliched of all ends: the pressing of a button to start the process that answers all our questions, but leading only to black screen, credits. That said, it does a great job with what it gives us, even if it takes its time.

Lake Geneva Recommends

Lake Geneva wants you to know the best of what's out there in the fields of Science-Fiction and Fantasy. Lake Geneva also tends to spend much of its time delving into those fields. Lake Geneva enjoys the third-person and you should too.

Music: This issues musical recommendations are for the brutal! Metal is what reigns as winter approaches in the Lake Geneva commune. Agalloch is perfect atomospheric “Viking Lost From His Raiding Party During Fimbulwinter” music. James for some reason can't stop listening to awesome yet cheesy Dragonforce, so there's that, and there's always Dream Theater, a favorite of Pablo and Lauren.

 Agalloch  Dragonforce  Dream Theater

Authors: Ashley, after seeing the film and having not read it before, is catching up on the Ender series, while Pablo is engrossed in Cory Doctorow's fantastic “Pirate Cinema. Everyone at Lake Geneva, however, recommends that you read or re-read Andrzej Sapkowski's “The Witcher” as your winter book of choice.

 Orson Scott Card's "Ender's Game"  Cory Doctorow's "Pirate Cinema"  Andrzej Sapkowski's "The Witcher"

Films/Television: Pablo has been watching really cheesy fantasy television lately, especially American Horror Story: Coven which he doesn't exactly fully recommend, but still encourages you to watch his guilty pleasure. Ashley, who like Pablo is obsessed with Star Trek, is currently on her first watch of TOS Season 3 , which Pablo swears up and down is the worst season of Star Trek “barring whatever Enterprise was”. Lake Geneva is however enjoying the hell out of Mortal Kombat: Legacy II on YouTube.

 American Horror Story: Covern  Star Trek: The Original Series  Mortal Kombat: Legacy II

Video Games: Lake Geneva has been playing Assassin's Creed III in order to prepare ourselves for ACIV: Black Flag. If you haven't played any of the AC games, prepare yourselves for the weirdest sci-fi plot ever developed. Everyone has also started playing Batman: Arkham Origins and we implore you to ignore the reviews. “If it ain't broke, don't fix it”, after all, and the game is still a crazy amount of caped crusader fun. Pablo has been enjoying The Darkness II, which is what he calls “Dark Urban Mafia Fantasy”. Who wouldn't want to play that?

 Assassin's Creed III  Batman: Arkham Origins  The Darkness II NANDI A Steamfunk Tale By Balogun Ojetade

The fuzzy, pink dice danced erratically against the brass handlebars of the monowheel as Nandi peeled out of her driveway. “Time for a little riding music.” Nandi slipped a small, brown wax cylinder into the phonograph that lay mounted between the handlebars. Two brass horns protruded from the phonograph, out of which a smooth, baritone voice slid – butter-slick – up Nandi’s spine to her eagerly awaiting ears. She sighed and then began to sing along – “I’d rather be with you-hoo, yeah.” Nandi flexed her right wrist backward, revving the monowheel’s engine. She released the clutch, which was built into the left handlebar and shifted the monowheel into fourth gear with her left foot. The engine hissed; the stack that protruded from it belched a cloud of steam and then the monowheel jetted forward. Cold wind smacked Nandi’s body, pinning her soft, white cotton jumpsuit to her tall, sinewy frame. The large, triangular lapels of the jumpsuit fluttered against Nandi’s smooth, hazelnut-toned face. Nandi reached up with her delicate fingers and patted her big afro back to its perfectly round shape. Nandi cranked up the volume on the phonograph. “I’d rather be with you until I’m through, Oh, yes, I do. I’d rather be with you until that day I fly away.” Nandi zipped through her bustling neighborhood in the heart of the Songhai District. She pounded her chest in reverence as she rode past the bronze statue of Chief Sidi Khanga, founder of their great nation, Ki-Khanga – ‘The Land of Khanga’. Every time she laid eyes upon the statue, she thought of her grandfather, Dr. Bomani Abike, who – like Chief Khanga – was a pioneer. In 1933, Dr. Abike created the steam engine and began what he called the ‘Industrial Revolution’. In 1958, the genius inventor journeyed to Africa to bring Steam Technology to their homeland. And in 1963, he – and a contingent of Chinese Ki-Khangans from Kun-Lun District – travelled to Beijing and Shanghai to give them the gift of Steam Technology as well. Now, eleven years later, the whole world has benefitted from her grandfather’s creation and Ki-Khanga has become the wealthiest colony on Earth. Unfortunately, just as Chief Khanga did one hundred years before him, Dr. Abike went missing while exploring the Green Lands beyond The Great Wall of Ki-Khanga. The First Nation inhabitants of Ki-Khanga warned him that the creatures in the Green Lands – monstrous offspring of the indigenous spirits and the dark spirits summoned by the Anglo-Witches who once lived beyond The Wall – were too dangerous…even for his Steam Tech weapons, First Nation divine magic and the newly developed Chinese Aether-Tech combined. Dr. Abike did not heed the warning and had not been seen since 1966. Nandi quickly closed upon a towering, brass skeleton clock that loomed in the distance. The aether torch at the apex of the clock – affectionately called ‘Shiny Bones’ by the inhabitants of the province of Center Gate – glowed with an intense, white light. Shiny Bones also served as the lighthouse for the airships that patrolled the skies over Middle District. Nandi darted into the Center Gate Constabulary’s parking lot, speeding past the fleet of steam-powered, horseless carriages into the section marked ‘Gatekeepers’. Nandi slid into her parking space – lot number 010 – and then leapt from her seat. Her platform shoes struck the pavement with a dull thud. “Hey, Gatekeeper…what it is, what it was and what it will be?” Nandi turned toward the source of the rich tenor voice. “Constable Kojoe! Nothing shakin’, sugar. How are you?” Constable Kojoe’s lips curled upward into a broad grin. His brilliant, white teeth were in stark contrast to his nearly black skin. “I’m better, now that I’m laying eyes upon you.” Nandi rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You better keep those peepers on Liu Fong, there, dig?” The handcuffed giant standing at Constable Kojoe’s left flank leered at Nandi. “No worries, Gatekeeper; I’m a kinder…gentler man, now that I’m married and all.” “You just broke your father-in-law’s jaw, four ribs and his right femur,” Constable Kojoe said, yanking on Liu Fong’s handcuffs. “I didn’t kill him,” Liu Fong replied. “But I will kill you, if you yank on those cuffs again.” “I am so afraid,” Constable Kojoe snickered, yanking the cuffs a bit harder. Liu Fong snarled and clinched his fists. His massive forearms flexed, expanding his thick wrists. The handcuffs snapped open and fell to the ground. The giant hammered his elbow into the back of the constable’s head. Constable Kojoe collapsed to the ground. Liu Fong turned and darted across the parking lot. Nandi gave chase; her long, wiry legs propelling her toward the giant – a lone lioness running down a rhinoceros. She exploded upward, pouncing onto Liu Fong’s massive back. The giant tried to shake her loose, but Nandi already had her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs clamped about his waist, holding him in a boa constrictor-like grip. Nandi squeezed hard with her arms, compressing Liu Fong’s neck to half its girth. The giant’s scowling face went slack and then he collapsed to his knees. Nandi released his neck and the giant fell, face down, onto the pavement. “Sleep tight, Sugar,” Nandi said, patting Liu Fong on the top of his bald head. She then sprinted over to Constable Kojoe, who was pulling himself to his knees as he gently massaged the lump on the back of his head. “Did you get him?” Constable Kojoe asked. “He’s out like a baby after breastfeedin’, dig?” Nandi replied. “Solid!” Kojoe exclaimed. Nandi helped the constable to his feet. “Go get him before he wakes up, Sugar.” Constable Kojoe sprinted toward the unconscious giant. He paused for a second and called out to Nandi. “Let me repay you for this…how about dinner…tomorrow?” Nandi blushed. “I usually eat dinner around seven.” “I’ll pick you up at six,” the constable replied. “Solid!” Nandi said, stepping through the Constabulary Station’s brass double doors. Nandi sauntered toward the elevator. She reached into the breast pocket of her jumpsuit and withdrew a copper key. Nandi slipped the key into a hole in the elevator door and turned it counter clockwise. The door slid open. Nandi hopped into the elevator. The door slid shut behind her. She slipped the key into the hole on the interior side of the door and turned the key clockwise. A hissing sound followed and the elevator began to rise. The elevator came to a halt. The door slid open and Nandi stepped off and into a long corridor. Facing her was a door marked ‘Chief Constable’. Nandi pushed the door open and stepped inside of the capacious office. Sitting before her was Chief Constable Magaska Hota. Sweat rolled down the furrows in his forehead and his reddish-brown skin had gone a bit pale. Nandi raised her right fingertips to the corner of her brow in salute. The Chief Constable returned the salute and then pointed toward a chair that sat in front of his desk. “Take a seat, Nandi.” Nandi lowered herself into the chair. “I got your message, Chief Constable. Is there a breach of The Wall?” “We don’t know,” the Chief Constable sighed. “But Shi Yan Bo was found dead this morning.” Nandi sat bolt upright, as if someone had struck her. “What? Since you called me in on this, it must be murder and the Council of Elders must think it’s related to the Green Lands.” “He was most definitely murdered,” Chief Constable Magaska Hota replied. “And the Council wants to cover all the bases. I mean, damn…a monk…the father of Aether Tech…murdered? Wakantanka, help us all…Kun-Lun District is going to be up in arms.” “When do you want me to go to Kun-Lun?” “Yesterday,” the Chief replied. Nandi rose from her seat. “I’m on it, Chief!” She pushed the door open and prepared to leave. “Gotta pick up a few things from my locker first.” “And, Nandi,” The Chief Constable called. “Yeah, Chief?” Nandi said, peering over her shoulder. “Try not to kill too many people or blow up too much stuff on this one.” “You’re asking a lot, Chief,” Nandi replied. “But, I’ll try.” She flashed the Chief a brilliant smile, waved and stepped into the lobby. Nandi turned to her left; just past the Chief Constable’s office was another door. She withdrew a small, silver key from her breast pocket and used it to unlock the door. She opened it and stepped into a room illuminated by aether light. The walls of the room were lined with large, bronze lockers, each six feet in height and four feet wide. On the face of each locker was a brass plate with six tiny, bronze levers protruding from it. Using the tip of her well- manicured index finger, Nandi pushed the first lever to her left down; she pushed the second one up; the third up; and so on, until she had completed the combination. A whirring noise came from inside the locker and then the door opened a crack. Nandi pushed the door open and stepped inside the locker. The door shut behind her and she found herself in a pristine white room that seemed to run on forever. Before her were endless rows of weapons, armor and strange looking devices. “Corset…shotgun…engram iconoscope,” she shouted. A few minutes later, something in the distance sped toward her. As the speeding object drew close, a shiny, silver table came into view. Atop the table was a silver cage and inside the cage were a few items. The table came to a smooth stop a yard from Nandi. Nandi approached the table and inspected the items in the cage. Satisfied, she removed them and the table sped off, disappearing into the alabaster distance. Nandi wrapped the crimson, leather corset around her torso. The corset tightened around her body and then molded itself to fit her frame. Nandi loved it. Not because of how it enhanced her sensuality – which it most certainly did – but because it had protected her from many a bullet, claw and stinger. She picked up the shotgun and admired it. The weapon – customized to her specifications half a decade ago – was as beautiful as it was deadly…like Nandi, which is why she named it “Junior”. The steam-powered, semi- automatic weapon was a masterwork of iron, bronze and brass. Nandi slipped a bronze ammunition drum into the weapon and then slapped it to lock it into place. Nandi then picked up a copper box by its handle and walked toward the exit. The door flung open. She stepped out of the locker and the door slammed shut behind her. Nandi exited the locker room and walked back to the elevator. After entering it, she slipped her key into the door and turned it clockwise. The elevator rose higher. When the elevator stopped, Nandi removed her key and the door slid open. Nandi stepped out of the elevator onto the roof, where two dirigibles sat. One, with ‘Center Gate Constabulary’ – in brass plating – embossed on the mahogany frame of its carriage; the other, smaller dirigible, with ‘Gatekeeper One’ engraved into its bronze-framed carriage. Sitting in a booth near the airships were a woman and two men. Their crisp, indigo uniforms and the trio of gold stripes on their sleeve cuffs informed their positions as airship pilots. One of the men approached Nandi, raising his hand in salute. “Good afternoon, Gatekeeper Abike.” “Good afternoon, sugar,” Nandi replied. I need to take the Ghetto Bird up…heading to Kun-Lun. “I can take you, but I don’t speak Mandarin and Constable Yip is off today.” The pilot said. “I speak enough Mandarin for the both of us, sugar,” Nandi replied. “Now, let’s roll.” “I’m Constable Haokah,” the pilot said as he unlocked the door to the airship’s carriage. “Wiyuskingyang wangchingyangke le,” Nandi said – “Pleased to meet you!” “Your Lakota is excellent!” Constable Haokah said. “Lila pilamalaye,” Nandi replied – “Thank you, very much.” Nandi hopped up into the airship. Constable Haokah followed her, locking the door behind him. “Have a seat and we’ll be on our way,” the pilot said. Nandi placed her weapon and the engram iconoscope on the second bench and then took a seat in the first bench. The oxblood leather felt cool, soft and relaxing. She leaned back, resting her head on the plush cushion and slipped into sleep as the airship took to the skies.

****

“We will arrive in Kun-Lun in ten minutes, Gatekeeper,” Constable Haokah said. Nandi stretched and then moved to the bench behind her to retrieve her belongings. “I will be landing atop the Kun-Lun District constabulary station,” the constable said. “From there, a rickshaw will take you to the crime scene. It will also bring you back when you’re done.” “Solid, sugar,” Nandi replied. She peeked out of the portcullis and admired the view. Kun-Lun was a marvel of grand architecture. Residential towers, pagodas and watchtowers of crimson brick and black tiled roofs dotted the district. The imposing Elder House – the complex in which the two Elders from Kun-Lun, and their families, resided – sported roofs constructed of yellow tiles. Kun-Lun was a place of great beauty and many secrets. While the residents of Kun-Lun, of which ninety-nine percent of them were Chinese, were loyal to Ki-Khanga – after all, the unified African contingent that bought the African slaves out of bondage in America had also purchased the freedom of the Chinese from indentured servitude – they were still very close-knit and tight- lipped about the goings on in Kun-Lun. Constable Haokah landed the dirigible upon the roof of the constabulary station. He then walked to the door and slid it open. “See you soon,” he said, giving Nandi a crisp salute. Nandi returned the salute. “See you in a couple of hours, sugar.” She exited the airship and ran toward the elevator. Nandi took the elevator down to street level and then exited the constabulary station into its parking lot, where a rickshaw awaited her. “Afternoon, Gatekeeper,” the rickshaw driver said, tilting his top-hat. His long, black hair fell over his youthful face. “Wuan, sugar,” Nandi replied, stepping up into the single passenger, cycle rickshaw. “Ni hao ma?” – “Good afternoon, sugar. How are you?” “Wo hen hao, ni ne?” –“I am fine, and you?”– The teenager replied. “Wo hen hao, xie xie,” Nandi said –“I am fine, thank you.” The rickshaw driver’s powerful legs moved like pistons on the pedals of the rickshaws front wheel and the rickshaw went sailing through traffic, passing other rickshaws, bicycles – and the occasional horse-drawn carriage – on the road. A half hour later, the rickshaw passed through the red, wooden gates of the Lan Su Garden. Nandi had visited this beautiful garden many times, but never on such terrible terms. She had even shared tea at the Penjing exhibit with Shi Yan Bo once, when her grandfather took her along on one of his many meetings with the monk. The encounter was peaceful…serene. And now, very surreal, for Shi Yan Bo was now dead in nearly the same spot where they shared Long Jing tea. The rickshaw driver stopped at the Penjing exhibit.“The world landscape in miniature”, Shi Yan Bo called it. And so it was – rocks, moss, plants, small figurines made of mud, boats, tiny rivers and miniscule buildings, or a tiny forest – all in one clay pot. Lying face down amongst the tiny trees was Shi Yan Bo. His yellow, cotton robe was torn on the right side. Nandi inspected the area closer and found a large, black bruise on the monk’s right side. She pressed her fingers on the spot and the bruise sank in about an inch. “Broken ribs,” someone said from behind her. “Four of them.” Nandi peered over her shoulder. Standing behind her was a tall woman, dressed in a silk, royal blue tunic and matching trousers. Her skin was smooth and well-tanned and her straight, black hair was pulled back and braided in a single ponytail that fell to the middle of her back. A light breeze blew the woman’s clothes against her body, revealing a well-toned body. “You’re a Gatekeeper,” Nandi said. “Yes,” the woman replied. “My name is Pei-Pei Ming.” “You’re new,” Nandi said. “I’m Nandi Abike.” “I know,” Pei said. “Your exploits are quite…celebrated.” “Welcome aboard, Gatekeeper,” Nandi said, standing and giving Pei a warm hug. “Hell of a first case you got, sugar.” “Indeed,” Pei said nodding. “Any witnesses?” “Four,” Pei answered. “I took the liberty of escorting them all to the teahouse.” “Good work,” Nandi said, slipping her shotgun into the sheath on her back with one hand, while grabbing the engram iconoscope with the other. “Lead the way!” Nandi followed Pei a short distance along a road that led to a stone bridge, which arched over a large pond filled with coy.

The two Gatekeepers crossed the bridge. The spicy-sweet aroma of tea licked at Nandi’s nostrils. The teahouse – an edifice constructed of black brick, with a roof of red tile – stood just before them. Nandi sauntered into the teahouse. Inside sat five people, who sipped tea and chatted quietly. Upon spotting Nandi, the teahouse fell silent. “Ni hao,” Nandi said, in greeting, to the quintet of teahouse patrons. They returned the greeting – “Ni hao.” – “Hello.” “I am Gatekeeper Nandi Abike,” Nandi said, continuing to speak to them in Mandarin Chinese. “I knew Master Bo; my grandfather – Dr. Bomani Abike – and Master Bo were friends. We have all suffered a great loss today and I will do my best to find the person who did this and bring them to justice.” “We already know who did it,” an elderly man spat. “One of your ‘blood brothers’. “You’re saying the perpetrator was an African?” “Of course,” the man replied. “Who, but an African would dress so…ridiculously gaudy?” The other witnesses nodded in agreement. Nandi closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She concentrated on the beating of her heart – as the old masters taught her years ago – and slowed it down, calming herself. “I know you are all upset right now, but please, let us not turn this into a racial issue. We have worked together for over one hundred years and Ki- Khanga is now the wealthiest and most technologically advanced country in the world because of our unity.” The faces of the witnesses shifted from scowls to masks of frustration and sorrow. Nandi sat the engram iconoscope on a table and then pressed a small button in its handle. The device opened to reveal what looked like a large crystal ball with five silver nodes dotting its surface. On one side of this “ball”, a crystal rod protruded from it. At the end of the rod were four needles. Nandi removed four small plastic baggies – each containing another set of needles – and handed them to Pei. “This is an engram iconoscope,” Nandi explained to the witnesses. “It records memories. Most people do not consciously recall all that they see, but the engram iconoscope will. All you have to do is think about the event; concentrate on it; the iconoscope will do the rest.” Nandi pointed toward the needles at the tip of the rod. “I am going to insert these needles into acupuncture points at the base of your neck and it will record exactly what you saw. Most of you are familiar with acupuncture, so you know this procedure will be painless. Do you have any questions?” “Can she do it?” A woman asked, nodding toward Gatekeeper Pei-Pei Ming. “I can,” Pei replied. “However, Gatekeeper Abike has much more experience with such things. Respect her, please.” “No, it’s fine,” Nandi said, handing the engram iconoscope to Pei. “I want you all to be comfortable.” Pei nodded and then handed the packs of needles to Nandi. She then stepped behind the woman who requested that she do the procedure and slowly inserted the needles into the base of her neck. Images swirled within the engram iconoscope’s ball, bonding to the aether within it. Slowly, the images steadied and grew clear. Shi Yan Bo knelt before a miniature tree, pruning it. From the angle, it was obvious the woman stood on the bridge watching the monk. A moment later, a person seemed to fall from the sky, landing a yard or so from Master Bo. The person appeared to be a male approximately six feet tall and weighing between one hundred-eighty and two hundred pounds. He was dressed in a candy apple red, corduroy jumpsuit, red gloves and red platform boots. A huge, red fedora – with a peacock feather protruding from it – concealed his face. Startled, the monk leapt to his feet. The man in the red “pimp suit” exploded forward, whipping his rear leg in a wide arc toward the monk’s torso. The man’s shin slammed into Shi Yan Bo’s ribcage. The monk’s robes shredded from the sheer power of the blow and he was sent tumbling sideways across the road. The old monk struggled to his feet as the man-in-the-red-pimp-suit sauntered toward him. Shi Yan Bo limped toward the bridge. His assailant leapt toward him, reaching out toward the monk with outstretched fingers. The man-in-the-red-pimp-suit thrust the fingers of one hand into Shi Yan Bo’s neck as his other hand grabbed a fistful of the monk’s long, white hair. The man shoved Shi Yan Bo’s head forward as he pulled the fingers buried in the monk’s neck toward the old man’s spine. A torrent of blood erupted from the four deep gashes in Shi Yan Bo’s neck. The monk stumbled forward a few feet and then collapsed onto his face. He shuddered once and then lay still. The man-in-the-red-pimp-suit turned away from Shi Yan Bo’s lifeless body and calmly walked off, eventually disappearing among the fir trees.

Each witness’ memory showed the same scene, but from different angles. However, none of them could see the killer’s face, so his identity – and ethnicity – remained a mystery. “Thank you all,” Nandi said, packing up the engram iconoscope. “Gatekeeper Ming will stay here with you until the constabulary arrive. “Actually, I am going with you,” Pei Ming said. “Orders from both of our Chief Constables; I received them while you were en route here. “Two Gatekeepers working a homicide?” Nandi said, shaking her head.”The Council of Elders obviously want this case closed quicker than a hot chocolate stand in the Mojave Desert, ya dig?” “I…dig,” Pei replied. “Once this gets out to the public, things between Kun-Lun and Songhai could get tense,” Nandi said. “Let’s go!” Nandi and Pei exited the teahouse. Nandi placed her hand on Pei Ming’s shoulder. “Wait; we have to call you some transport; I’m rolling in a single passenger rickshaw.” “No problem,” Pei Ming said. “Upon initiation, the Masters gifted me with a subdermal temporal-spatial displacement engine.” “Moving sideways through time, huh?”Nandi said. “That was just a theory when I went through my initiation.” “Things have changed a lot since way back then,” Pei said. “Nowadays, we have spoons and everything!” “Funny,” Nandi said, rolling her eyes. “Meet me on the roof of the constabulary station in forty-five minutes.” A luminous, purple gash in the air appeared before Gatekeeper Ming. She thrust her right leg into the tear in the world. “I’ll be there in twenty.” Pei stepped sideways into the gash, disappearing from view as it closed. “Damn…I gotta get me one of those displacement engines!” Nandi said, shaking her head. She sprinted to the rickshaw. “Let’s roll,” Nandi said, leaping into her seat. “Get me to the station in less than twenty minutes and I’ll give you a thirty-shell tip!” “What?!” The rickshaw driver gasped. “Thirty shells? Let’s go!” The rickshaw driver pedaled harder than he had ever done before. The rickshaw sped out of the garden and hit the street. “Solid, sugar! Keep up this pace and I just might double that tip!”

****

“Another one?” Nandi sighed. “Yes and this one is a child,” Chief Constable Magaska Hota replied. “What?” Nandi gasped. “Where?” “This is where it gets really bad,” the Chief Constable replied. “Her body was found in the stacks at the Sundiata Keita University Library. Witnesses say the murderer was Chinese.” “We need to get there before the students start protesting and the press gets wind of this,” Pei-Pei Ming said. “Too late,” Chief Constable Magaska Hota said. “The students started protesting about an hour ago. Several Chinese students have been attacked, as has a Dr. Doc-Fai Hung – a professor in the Chinese studies department. We have a squad of constables there keeping the situation under control, but I need you to take care of this…and fast!” Nandi and Pei Ming saluted the Chief Constable and headed out the door of his office. “We’re on it, Chief Constable,” Nandi said as she dashed out of the room. Pei-Pei Ming followed closely behind her. “It’s rush hour, so we’ll take the airship again,” Nandi said. “Unless you wanna poof us over there with your displacement engine.” “I can only transport myself,” Pei Ming said. “Myself, plus up to fifty pounds.” “The airship it is then,” Nandi said. Let’s go, Gatekeeper.”

****

The dirigible landed on the grass-covered courtyard, which the schools and dormitories of Sundiata Keita University encircled. Nandi leapt out of the dirigible. Pei-Pei Ming followed her. A ring of constables pushed back a seething mass of students who shouted demands of justice. Nandi and Pei pushed their way through the crowd. Recognizing Nandi, the constables parted for a moment to let them into the cordoned area outside of the library, where the girl’s body lay. Inside the library, at the top level of the stacks, Constable Kojoe stood beside the corpse. He smiled upon seeing Nandi. “What’s happenin’, Gatekeeper Abike?” “Nothing’s shakin’, sugar,” Nandi replied. “Constable Kojoe, this is my partner, Pee-pee Ming…Pee-pee, this is Constable Kojoe.” “Pee-pee?” Constable Kojoe whispered. “It’s Pei-Pei – pay…pay – not Pee-pee,” Pei Ming said, shaking her head. “Touché, partner.” Nandi flashed Pei-Pei a sly smile as she knelt down beside the corpse, which – like Shi Yan Bo – lay face down. “Who is she?” Nandi asked, as she inspected the girl’s mahogany face. “Amut Sut Hotep,” Constable Kojoe said. “Sixteen years old; second year, pre-med major; straight A-student and Secretary of the Student Union.” Amut Sut Hotep’s silk, turquoise blouse had been nearly completely torn from her body. Deep cuts were on her right forearm and her right baby finger was severed at the second joint. Carved deep into the girl’s back were three Chinese characters. “War,” Pei-Pei Ming said, reading the blood-encrusted wounds. “How many witnesses?” Nandi asked. “Three,” Constable Kojoe replied. “They’re in a meeting room downstairs.” “Let’s get this over with, then,” Nandi sighed. Like the witnesses to the murder of Shi Yan Bo, the witnesses to Amut Sut Hotep’s tragic death were interfaced with the engram iconoscope. In the witnesses’ memories of the murder, Amut was reading Indaba, My Children – a favored classic throughout Ki-Khanga – when a man in a red, traditional silk Chinese tunic and silk trousers ascended the ladder that led up to the stacks. The man’s face was concealed by a crimson mask depicting a demon with bulging, yellow eyes, ears the size of bird wings and wicked-looking fangs in a snarling, twisted maw. Spotting the man in the mask, Amut sprang to her feet and attempted to kick the man off the ladder, but he was too quick for her and leapt to the platform of the stack, landing beside her. Amut tried to backpedal away from the man, but he closed on her and slashed at her neck with what appeared to be a jade-handled straight razor. The student threw up her arm to shield against the deadly strikes. She winced as – several times – her skin opened to reveal the flesh underneath. Blood sprayed with each wound, leaving a red mist in the air. The man in the mask slammed his shoulder into Amut’s solar plexus and she collapsed to her knees as the air rushed from her lungs. The man wrapped his fingers around Amut’s neck and then slammed her face into the floor. Blood trickled from her mouth as a bicuspid rolled from between her lips and bounced along the floor of the stack. The man in the mask then mounted Amut’s back, straddling her waist with his knees and cut away her blouse with his weapon. He then proceeded to carve into her back with the razor. Amut screamed as he mercilessly ripped at her young flesh with the razor. After a minute of agony, the girl fell still. The man in the mask rose to his feet, looked around at the witnesses, waved to them and then descended the ladder. He sauntered toward the rear exit and a moment later he was gone. With the information gathered from the witnesses, Nandi and Pei-Pei left the library as Constable Kojoe gathered written statements. “Thoughts?” Nandi asked. “I think we have definite Green activity,” Pei-Pei replied. “Possibly a Skin-Walker; maybe even a Wendigo.” “A Skin-Walker? Maybe,” Nandi said. “A Wendigo? No…a Wendigo would have eaten them before their hearts stopped beating…they can’t help themselves. It might not be a Green at all, though. Center Gate hasn’t had a breach in the Wall in seven years and I put that one down with the quickness, dig?” Pei nodded. “One thing I do know is that whoever – or whatever – is committing these murders wants to set off a war between the Chinese and African communities,” Nandi said. “Who stands to gain from such a war?” Pei asked. “Two groups,” Nandi answered. “The Greens…and the First Nation community” “The First Nation? You must mean Wabli Ska?” Pei Ming said. “You think he is behind this?” “He’s the most vocal – and the most popular – separatist in Ki-Khanga,” Nandi said. “He believes the First Nation would have overcome the Europeans eventually, but when our forefathers built Ki-Khanga, they pushed the Europeans to retaliate by awakening the Old Ones from their thousand year slumber, which forced the First Nations to flee to Ki-Khanga in order to escape the Greens that invaded their lands.” “He was once a constable was he not?” Pei asked. “Yes,” Nandi replied. “And a close friend. That was a long time ago, though.” “So, when do we bring him in for questioning?” “We don’t,” Nandi answered. “Wabli Ska is the Chief Constable’s son…we don’t want to cause the Chief Constable unnecessary grief on a hunch. We’re going to Tipi Wowahwa District and interrogating him there.” More students had gathered on the yard. “Better use that displacement engine,” Nandi said. “Those students aren’t taking too kindly to Chinese faces right now.” “Alright,” Pei-Pei Ming said, stepping into the tear in the world that had already formed. “I’ll see you onboard the airship.” Pei disappeared. Nandi pushed her way past the students and jogged to the airship. She prayed that the perpetrator was, indeed, a Green. She would rather face a thousand Greens than be forced to execute someone she cared for. Before entering the dirigible, she turned her gaze skyward. The clouds were a bright pink. The sun was going down. Darkness was falling upon Ki-Khanga.

****

Nandi looked down through a porthole. A herd of wild horses galloped across the vast, green plains that comprised the Tipi Wowahwa District. The dirigible landed just outside of a small village of tipi, which were constructed of buffalo skin dyed red and indigo. “Wabli Ska and his followers live here, but so do several elders and children,” Nandi said, firing up her monowheel, which was parked at the door of the airship. “Hopefully, things won’t get violent, but if they do, try hard to keep collateral damage to a minimum.” Pei-Pei Ming peered out of the porthole next to the door. “Oh, things getting violent is highly likely.” Nandi slid open the door. About fifty yards away – sitting atop white warhorses – were several men and women. Front and center – sitting atop a jet-black horse – was Wabli Ska. “I count thirty, in addition to Wabli Ska. We should be able to take them, but expect a few bumps and bruises.” “A few bumps and bruises?” Pei Ming echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Umm…” “Do you need me to come?” Constable Haokah shouted from the pilot’s seat. “No,” Nandi replied. “A First Nation brother working for ‘The Man’ will just set these warriors off, sugar. Just keep this Ghetto Bird fired up!” Nandi revved the engine of the monowheel and exploded out of the door. Pei vanished, reappearing ten yards – her limit with each displacement – from the airship. She vanished again, reappearing after another ten yards. Pei repeated this process until she appeared beside Nandi who now stood beside her monowheel about five yards from Wabli Ska. The warhorses were decorated in war-paint. Scarlet circles were painted around the animals’ eyes and nostrils; and green hand prints were drawn upon each horse’s hip. Each horse had a small leather medicine bag weaved into its bridle and black-tipped eagle feathers braided into its forelock and tail. The warriors wore deerskin shirts and trousers. Their cheeks bore a red and crimson stripe and all but Wabli Ska wore two eagle feathers sewn into their hair. Wabli wore a bonnet made of black eagle feathers with a white tip. “What it is, what it was and what it will be, Wabli?” Nandi asked, raising her hand in greeting. “Nothin’ shakin’,” Wabli answered. “Why are you here, Nandi?” “We have two murders on our hands,” Nandi replied. “One is a Chinese monk; the other one is an African girl. The Chinese symbols for war were carved into the girl’s back.” “What has any of that got to do with me?” Wabli said. “Or you, for that matter? Since when does a monster- hunter work homicide?” “It could be a Green committing these crimes, but before we head out to the Green Lands, we need to weigh all of our options,” Nandi replied. “And I’m an option? Wabli spat. “Get your ass out of here, Nandi, before you get yourself hurt!” “We just want to talk, Wabli,” Nandi said. “You know me, sugar; you don’t want your people to die and I don’t want to hurt anyone, but if you make a move, I’ll kill you all.” “I always wanted to see if a Gatekeeper was as bad-ass as they say,” a young warrior shouted. “Let me handle this, Chief!” “Boy, shut up when grown folks is talkin’!” Wabli commanded. “I watched this woman kill two Wendigo with nothing but that damned shotgun on her back. You are not gonna fight her…” Wabli drew his tomahawk with his right hand and raised it above his head. “Weare!” Wabli threw the tomahawk at Nandi’s head. Nandi dropped to one knee, avoiding the weapon, as she drew her shotgun. Pei-Pei Ming vanished. A moment later, she appeared, sitting behind the young warrior who wanted to fight Nandi. Pei grabbed his chin with one hand and the crest of his head with the other and then twisted forcefully. The young man fell from his horse and landed on his chest. His head – now turned backward – stared up at Pei with dead eyes. Nandi fired a volley from her shotgun, blowing three warriors off their horses before they could string an arrow on their bows. She then leapt toward Wabli and struck him in the chest with the butt of the shotgun. Wabli tumbled off the horse and landed, with a thud, onto his back. He recovered quickly, however, rolling to his feet and running toward the airship. “He’s going for the airship,” Nandi shouted. “Stop him, Pei, but don’t kill him. We need to question him. I’ll clean up here.” Pei nodded as she crushed a warrior’s windpipe with a swift chop. She vanished, leaving Nandi to deal with the warriors. Nandi leapt high into the air as she fired the shotgun. A warrior’s head disappeared in a cloud of red mist. She landed – rolling to avoid a volley of arrows – and then popped to her feet, squeezing the shotgun’s trigger in rapid succession. Five more warrior’s fell. The remaining warriors turned their horses around and retreated toward the village. Nandi hopped on her monowheel and headed back to the airship. She arrived to find Wabli face down on the ground in handcuffs. “Wabli, did you kill the monk and the girl?” Nandi asked. “Yes,” Wabli confessed. Nandi was stunned. “I’ll ask again…” “No need,” Wabli said, interrupting her. “I did it.” “Wabli, your father…” “Don’t mention my father!” Wabli hissed. “Just…don’t…please.” “Okay, Wabli,” Nandi said, pulling him to his feet. Let’s go.”

****

“I am so sorry, Chief Constable,” Nandi said, taking a seat in front of Chief Constable Magaska Hota’s desk. “I know how close you and Wabli are.” “Yes, it saddens me,” the Chief Constable said. “But I am also happy the murderer has been brought to justice.” Pei-Pei Ming handed Chief Constable Magaska Hota a form and a pen. “We just need you to sign the Writ of Execution and we will carry out the sentence.” The Chief Constable took the pen in his left hand and signed the form. “Please, make it quick. I don’t want my son to suffer.” “You misunderstand, Chief,” Nandi said. “Please read the name on the Writ of Execution carefully.” The Chief Constable perused the form. “Is this a joke?” “No joke, sir,” Nandi replied. “Why is my name on this Writ?” The Chief Constable inquired. “Because you are the murderer,” Nandi replied. “Shi Yan Bo suffered rib fractures to his right side, indicating a powerful left-legged strike. The damage on the left side of his neck came as the result of an attack from behind, with the assailant’sleft hand.” Nandi stood up. “The girl suffered defensive wounds on her right forearm, caused by a razor attack with the assailant’s left hand…and just now, you signed the Writ with your left hand, but when Wabli attacked me, he threw the tomahawk with his right hand.” “You have a good son, former Chief Constable,” Pei-Pei Ming said. “He would rather die than see it happen to his father.” “Oh, please,” Magaska Hota hissed, staring down at his desk. “He just wants to be a martyr. The fool thinks it will further his cause.” Nandi drew her shotgun. “If you move your head one inch, you’ll lose it.” Magaska Hota laughed gleefully and clapped his hand. “Oh, you are a smart one, aren’t you? You know what I am. Very good.” “Yeah, sugar,” Nandi said. “You’re a Two-Face. Nandi did not take her eyes – or her weapon – off of the monster as she addressed Pei Ming. “Pei-Pei, the gaze of a Two-Face paralyzes so it can drain its victims’ blood without them putting up a fight. They also like to cause war and strife…easier for them to hunt during the chaos.” “Bingo!” Magaska Hota chuckled. “What I don’t know is how you took possession of the Chief without breaching the Wall.” “I have been with Magaska Hota since his family brought him here when he was twelve,” the creature replied. “I – of course – had to lay dormant in my host for quite a while before I could take over. During that time, the boy got married and conceived a son. Wabli and Magaska Hota were very close by the time I took over and Wabli noticed the change. I guess he hoped that his death would shock Magaska Hota into waking up and casting me out, but it’s too late. Magaska Hota’s soul is dead.” Nandi pulled the trigger. “That’s all I needed to know.” The Two-Face’s head was blown from its shoulders. A greenish-black ichor spewed from the creature’s neck. Its headless body shuddered and then collapsed onto the floor. “He is going to cry,” Pei Ming sighed. “Wabli Ska?” Nandi asked. Pei shook her head. “No…the janitor when he sees this mess he has to clean up.”

****

Nandi dipped her pounded yam into the egusi stew and slid the mixture into her mouth. “Mm, this is delicious, sugar.” Constable Kojoe smiled. “I told you, this is the best African restaurant in all of Ki-Khanga. “You might just be right, but there is this place in North Gate that’ll make you…” “Excuse the interruption.” Nandi looked over her shoulder. “Pei-Pei! Have you come to join us?” “I wish that were the case,” Pei answered. “But a Stone Coat has breached the Wall.” “A Stone-Coat? I haven’t fought one of those in years!” Nandi said, rising from her chair. “This should be fun; the last one took out forty constables and a Gatekeeper before I could put it down.” “Count me in!” Constable Conger said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief. “Then let’s roll, sugar,” Nandi said, heading for the restaurant’s exit. “We got monsters to kill!”

Experiencing Video Games Post-Mass Effect, or How I Arrived Late to the Party by Devin Baumann

I’ve admittedly been experiencing a sort of mourning period since I finished the Mass Effect trilogy, and every new game I’ve played has been a desperate attempt to fill in a void left by finishing something that I put roughly ninety hours of my life into. These were not new games when I came around to playing them, so I avoided being swept up by the immediate hype that they caused in the gaming community. However, even while evading their peak of popularity, I became so infatuated with these games that I went through multiple bouts of refusing to leave my room, even to eat. I had never experienced a gaming experience such as this, and I’m still attempting to find another one that recreates this euphoria. So far, I’ve had no success. Mass Effect might have set the bar too high.

The first Mass Effect was released in 2007 under Bioware, making it somewhat “old” in the community in relation to the plethora of annual releases. Outside of some comparatively clunky gameplay and graphics, the first release has yet to feel dated, even while playing it in 2013. Though they are few and far between, any feelings of age outside of some aesthetic nitpicking feel intentionally placed and everlasting, in the same way that Blade Runner has yet to feel passé despite its 1982 release (an appropriate comparison, as Bioware clearly took a great deal of inspiration from Blade Runner when developing Mass Effect). The classical elements of the game (i.e. the romance of space exploration and the persistence of the human identity even while light-years from Earth) keep the more individual aspects of the game (i.e. mass effect technology, the different alien species) grounded, thus perfectly synthesizing 1980s sci-fi homage with original material. In my own humble opinion, as soon as I finished the first game and began to hear the first chords of Faunts’ song “M4, Part II,” I could have thrown out an armful of games I’ve owned for years. Why? Because they don’t even compare and should be ashamed of themselves, that’s why. Also, I’ll vaguely state that turians have changed me forever. Immediately after finishing the first game, I began to play Mass Effect 2. Yes, it was four in the morning and sleep is all well and good, but priorities. I knew what it was like to complete one of these games, and I had a physical need to let the second game offer another “hit,” if you will. Many Mass Effect fans did not get this same opportunity that I did, as they had to wait a whopping three years before the second installation was available. I imagine it would be similar to the agony of being forced to wait for Return of the Jedi after the conclusion of the masterfully done Empire Strikes Back, so this was an advantage in jumping on the bandwagon a few years late. I stumbled a bit at the beginning, feeling some frustration at how the RPG system had been streamlined into shooter territory, and discomfort over the loss of Wrex as a party character in favor of characters such as Miranda (a.k.a. pure, boring fanservice). Despite the lack of a challenge that Mass Effect 2 gave me in comparison to the first, I was won over by the side missions, the amount of detail now given to worldbuilding (a flaw of the first game was that just about every minor planet looked indistinguishable from the other), and the character interactions. The way that Shepard interacts with his/her teammates is brilliantly done, and you feel like the squad members that you already adored from the first installation are even more worthy of your favor now, most notably with the fact that they have more humor in their dialogue and they’re no longer “ambassadors” that serve as a means to acquaint yourself with other species. With this emotional connection, it is mortifying to think that they can be lost in the final suicide mission, not because they didn’t adequately prepare, but because you didn’t. You’re the commander of the Normandy, and you can lose or keep everyone depending on how much work and thought you’re willing to put into this game. I had never encountered something like the final run through the Omega 4 Relay: everyone around you can die, and it’s not a case of the game stopping for you to bring back a fallen teammate, or a character dying for the duration of combat. Short of loading your game and fixing your mistakes, that character is dead for the remainder of the trilogy. Maybe you’ve played a ton of games like this, maybe you haven’t. I hadn’t, and it blew my damn mind.

I didn’t play Mass Effect until this year, but even I hadn’t been able to avoid the shitstorm that was the Mass Effect 3 release. Even being on the fringes of the gaming community, I was skeptical that the infamous ending could be the source of so much rage. I saw bliss at the release day of the game morph into fury at the conclusion of the series, and I’ll admit that this hindered me from picking up the trilogy sooner. I kept telling myself that I would rather not experience the game at all if the ending couldn’t deliver, but I obviously buckled down and bought the collection. I started Mass Effect 3 favorably, having kept all my teammates during the suicide mission from the second game, and I was again in love. The RPG system had returned and improved from that of the first game, the soundtrack was a great kick in the feels (particularly with the track “Leaving Earth”), and the moral dilemmas that Shepard faced were unprecedented. The Genophage and the conflicts with the Geth finally reached a close (mind you, I did take the paragon route to a “happy” ending), the entirety of the game is spent preparing for the last ditch effort to take Earth back and destroy the Reapers, and I kept insisting that there was no way that this game could go wrong. How could it? It was phenomenal, and I put some thirty hours into it in practically three sittings. Bioware had consistently delivered, and I was about as emotional as I had ever been in a playthrough when Shepard and the crew of the Normandy were reflecting on their slim chances in the London end run. I won’t go too much into detail, but after Harbinger’s beam, everything went to hell. I sat dumbfounded in front of my TV, wondering how something like this could have possibly happened. I had done everything right, so why did I feel so empty? Why the hell did Bioware go with this?

Take this all as a gamer that simultaneously regrets and appreciates taking so long to finally play this trilogy. I regret that I didn’t come across this series sooner to have basked in its true novelty, but I also had it lucky: I had the chance to get an improved ending. All my sympathies go out to those who played the original ending, thinking that was all that there was to it. If I had finished on that note, I can’t say for sure that I would even be writing this, as the damage might have been irreversible. However, despite the feelings of anguish I had over having been trapped in an ending for a video game that seemed to forget what it was, I adored the rest of it so much that I was able to disregard the ending after mulling it all over (though that’s not to say I excused it). It might be late for me to say it, but I can’t help but continue to sing this game’s praises. It’s the kind of admiration that has me submitting papers on Mass Effect to academic conferences, and I’ve successfully convinced one of my professors to pick up the series with the sentiment that, “Devin, you won’t shut up about this game, so I need to see what the hype is.” It has me playing the widely acclaimed Bioshock Infinite, and thinking, “Meh, Mass Effect was better.” I don’t see myself ever loving a game as much as I continue to love this one, and that’s okay. There is life after Mass Effect; there are just higher expectations. To quote a friend (you know who you are) [Editor's Note: Yes I do!], “The Mass Effect trilogy is undoubtedly the greatest space opera of our generation,” and holy hell, it holds up wonderfully.