Hullo to all and welcome to another stop in OWS Cycon’s spiffy Blog Hop! Here we are highlighting awesome Sci Fi tech for other indie authors. Find a full list of participating authors and topics for this hop on the OWS Cycon website.
Before you tell us about your gadget, what is Turning the Hourglass about?
The novel is set in the 23rd Century after a world war that has killed billions and wiped out entire countries, cultures, and historical records. New time-travelling technology now means historians can visit the past to research and record ancient events, trying to rebuild records and restore a clearer picture of the world’s history. Dyrne Samson – one of these historians – is the protagonist and it soon becomes clear he’s using his time-travelling privileges for ulterior motives.
So what sorts of goodly mechanical machinations will you be telling our readers about today?
The ‘pods’ in my novel are the machines that allow the historians to visit the past. They’re spheres that people can step inside while images from the past are projected onto the interior walls or shell. The historians aren’t technically ‘travelling’ anywhere. The pods use giant telescopes to beam scenes from the past into the pods. The historians can then ‘walk’ around almost like they’re in a giant spherical treadmill, letting them explore the images they’re seeing. However, there’s an inexplicable two-way effect to the pods. This side effect means that sometimes images of the historians are beamed back into the past. So people hundreds of years ago end up seeing blurry silhouettes and figures. This is what ghosts really are.
‘Dyrne stepped toward the pod. A section of railing had unlocked itself, and the neat door slid open, inviting him in. He climbed the stone stairs to the platform and crossed the threshold, stepping inside the enveloping orb. It supported his weight without budging. He touched its pearly smoothness with both hands.
[…] The sheath door glided into place behind him. Click. The pod chamber sounds beyond the sphere became muted as if he’d been submerged underwater. Static shivered in his ears. Then the familiar shuddering overhead. The groan and whirr of gargantuan machinery shifting, compressing all its power into this little egg. He swallowed a throatful of sand. The rosiness of the surrounding shell began to swirl and melt, like ink dropped in water. The pink twirled into brown, black, navy, green, lime. Then the smoothness of the concave pod morphed and melded into angular shapes and lines and edges. Objects. Furniture. Walls. Shelves. A flat ceiling. Carpet. The light settled into mustard. Dyrne stepped forward and felt the now-invisible pod move under him. The surrounding images of the dull room shifted with him.’