Children of Flux and Anchor (Soul Rider Book 5)
Do you understand me? Those people that you see are Flux people. They usually live in the Flux, except when they have business here, although some of them are permanent residents of the aprons, dealing in goods and services for stringers like me. Just in case you never heard the term before, they are called duggers. Duggers are one kind of group that lives in the Flux. In fact, a lot of stuff that keeps the Anchors going comes from Fluxlands.
They have a very high death rate. There are still a lot of folks out there who live to ripe old ages, and some who live so long they seem almost immortal. Children are bom in the Flux, too, but the infant mortality rate is very high, and the odds are against somebody growing to adulthood there. Well, forget it.
In fact, if you want to stay alive, forget every single bit of science or logic that you were ever taught. All that applies only to Anchors-In fact, that is the real difference between Anchor and Flux. You drop a stone, it falls at a specific rate to the ground thanks to gravity. In the Flux, there are no natural laws-None. You will not go floating into the air. You will be able to breathe it, and the temperature is rather warm although usually extremely dry.
But these are all defaults, not fixed conditions. They are subject to change. You can take nothing for granted in the Flux. Well, the fact is, the Flux is as you see it over there. A big nothing. When you put a match to oil in a lamp you let out the energy in the oil. When you were in the city, though, you saw electric lights and powered gadgets. That caught some of them off balance. Those who had been able to follow things so far tried to figure out his last comment and fit it in, the others just stood there trying to look like they understood it all.
Solid things. They really do have the power of gods in the Flux, and they run tilings. Watch out for them. They, say, turn you into a bird. Watch out for the false wizards. He looked them over, then allowed a half-smile to conie over his face. This lecture would come in handy when they saw the reality of Fluxlands. It might be possible for somebody to escape.
Front and center! From the direction of the tents came two creatures that probably were human once. One of them, Jomo, must have weighed a hundred and fifty kilos or more, but that was not what struck anyone who looked at him. His face was a mottled, misshapen mass with the standard features barely recognizable in it.
His hands were massive, claw-Page He wore only a skirt-like rag fastened by a crude belt-Kolada was even worse. It was hard to tell if the creature was male or female. It was tall and humanoid, but its entire body was covered by tremendously thick brown hair including the face, from which gaped an animallike mouth with two fangs rising up from the lower jaw and a pair of blood-red eyes that seemed to shine with an inhuman fury-Its arms were so long that they just about reached the ground, terminating in two huge paw-like hands.
Both, at different times, escaped from stringer trains into the Flux. Only stringers and wizards know their position in the Flux, and we make certain that nobody else ever finds out how we do it. No dugger can do it, and they try all the time. Jomo has a little of the real Flux power, you see, but no control. Sometimes he looks worse, occasionally better. Kolada, on the other hand, ran into somebody with real power in the Flux, somebody who was very, very dangerous.
In a story far too long to go into here, that person changed a nice, normal Anchor woman into the creature you see here. In the Flux, most people more or less belong to other people, because whoever has the most power over the Flux can control everybody below them. Duggers belong to no one except themselves. These people work for me and they get paid for it. Get some food over there at the big tent and come back here to eat. They went in orderly silence. The whole place was a terrible, crawling creep show. Most had little appetite when they returned to their grassy spot.
They nodded agreement, but most managed to get something down nonetheless. They talked about their long drugged march, and compared aches, pains, and bruises, as well as leg muscles which were pretty outstanding, even on the girls. Finally, it was Nadya who noticed. They all looked around. Sure enough, there was no sign of the first group, the one that was to go with the other stringer.
They well into Flux now. The void, Matson had called it. The Page After a while they snapped out of it and attention turned to the future, although it was mixed with a little caution. Jomo had accomplished his main purpose of letting them know that they were being overheard. Suzl opined. Nadya looked worried. I wonder, though, if they can change your mind like they can change your looks? I mean, if it was just in Flux, then these people would change back to their old selves here in Anchor, right?
Anything they did to us in Anchor can be changed around in Flux, but anything done to you in Flux is permanent. In a way, it just might be a more direct, more honest and open version of the world from which they had come. It took quite some time to form the stringer train, and it was an impressive affair. There were twenty mules, all loaded down with things in large packs, as well as two horse-drawn wagons driven by duggers. Between the mules and the wagons Matson placed his human cargo, four abreast in familiar pattern, and linked together with common thin rope of the sort used on farms for Page He had expertly reformed and sized them so that the shortest were in front and would thus set the pace.
The lines were then tied off to the last pair of mules ahead of them. None of the lines were intended to keep anyone captive, it was pointed out to them, but merely to give some logical distribution to the train and set a logical pace. It was also their lifeline, Matson added, for it was very, very easy to get lost in the Flux, and with a train this size, even with a dozen or more duggers managing it, it would not be possible to keep an eye on all parts of it at once.
All the duggers were mounted on horses except the impressive Jomo, who preferred being on foot, the better to get wherever he needed in the mule train. They noticed that Matson and all the duggers had small bugles or some similar instrument on their saddles or in their belts. These, it turned out, were the means of communication along the train, and each stringer had his own private codes so that none could easily trick him with false signals. Matson rode slowly all the way down it from front to back on one side, then back up to the front on the other, stopping occasionally, shouting orders to adjust or fix this or that, positioning and repositioning people and things.
This went on for some time until he was completely satisfied and then rode quickly up to the front and stopped. He undipped his bugle from his saddle, raised it to his lips, and, turning back, blew a series of sharp notes of differing length and pitch, repeating the same pattern three times. The duggers on the wagons to the rear returned a slightly different signal twice, and they saw the hairy creature called Kolada suddenly ride forward and vanish into the Flux at full gallop.
They waited then another minute or two, then Matson gave one last, long blast on his horn which was returned by all of the other duggers. Dar and Ivon were both big men. They began to walk towards that huge, shimmering wall. First Matson vanished into the stuff, followed by Jomo and his mules. As the great Flux region came ever closer, they all felt themselves stiffen, felt an urge to break and run, but duggers on both sides kept shouting and growling curses at them and they slowed and staggered a bit but went on.
Cassie and the others felt that way now, which is why even the roughest and most boisterous of them were meek and quiet through this experience. The effect of suddenly entering the Flux was too much for some who had endured so much. There was a sensation of dry heat, like being in an oven that had not yet quite warmed up to intolerable temperatures. The raw Flux was around them all now, producing an odd, slightly tingling sensation that was more eerie-feeling than uncomfortable. There was also a terrible absence of sensation. It was dead quiet in a way that simply could not exist in Anchor, the only sounds those of the train itself, and even those beyond the immediate people in front and back seemed curiously damped or muffled.
The air, too, was perfectly still and had none of the odors that were always present in normal air. No scent of grass, or the very subtle fragrances of things you never even knew were there until they were gone. The effect was to heighten the sense of smell of everyone in the group, but the only source for that was the now very pungent body odor that was already hard to take even back on the apron. Nor had Matson been exaggerating when he warned them that they would have no sense of direction in the Flux.
Every direction looked exactly like every other direction, and there were no landmarks, no markers of any sort. Even the ground was more sensed than seen; it felt slightly soft and spongy, and visually, they and the train walked as spirits through empty air on a surface that was totally invisible and indistinguishable from the air around them-It was extremely disorienting, and Page The duggers on either side of the train dropped back in alternation, checking on the marching lines.
They seemed somehow different now, far less deformed if no less mad, and they seemed to radiate an air of comfortable confidence. This was their element, and they were comfortable with it. Some of them still slobbered and drooled and made bizarre, often animallike sounds, but they never seemed to look the same way twice. For a while Cassie thought they might be different people. She soon made a sort of game of it, something to occupy her mind in the midst of the terrible nothingness, watching the one nearest her on her side as best she could.
The dugger seemed almost hunchbacked one time, then ramrod straight the next. The creature went from fat to thin, almost but not quite while you were looking at it. One time she was sure she saw a beard on the dugger, yet the next time it went by it seemed clean-shaven and even had rather formidable breasts. The clothes, too, so tattered and filthy on the apron, seemed to undergo changes in color, design, and newness.
It was both frightening and confusing. The horse, though, seemed solidly real. He was all business and he had no patience with anyone or anything that was out of step. Maybe nobody else knew where they were. It was strange, though, that gallop, and those of the dugger horses. The horse was making no sound as its hooves struck invisible ground, although you could hear the great beast breathing hard and the sounds of saddle and rider. Suddenly, in the row in front of her, one girl stepped in some mule droppings, slipped, and fell.
There was the yell, the bugles, the very efficient stop, and here came Matson. He stopped and looked down at the fallen girl in disgust. Matson spat, gave a disgusted sigh, and made a casual gesture in her direction with his hand. Energy flew from that hand in a pencil-thin line, striking the girl in the head, and she screamed in terrible agony. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the beam was gone, and the victim almost collapsed in relief.
The gallant tough guy standing up for the little lady. How chivalrous. Trouble with chivalry, boy, is that then you got to make good on it. Cassie found it hard to turn around and see properly without twisting the line, but she managed, as did most of them forward of the incident. Energy flashed and coalesced around him, but only for a few seconds, and then vanished. His hands went up and felt along his neck and head, and you could feel the horror in his body movements. With that he raised his bugle, gave his command notes, and the train started forward once more through the void.
Matson was all the way forward again before he allowed himself a self-satisfied grin. The challenge had come very early this time, and he was glad of it. The earlier you acted, and the earlier you used your little bag of parlor tricks, the less trouble you had later on.
That mule-head alone would hold them for a while. Like most stringers he was a false wizard, a weaver of totally convincing illusions, but they were good enough for kids like this. He liked to imagine what it would be like to be a real wizard, but he always had doubts. After a while, the monotony of the void replaced any sense of fear or awe in their minds over the Flux.
One of the wagons in the rear had a sort of minikitchen in it, and while the meals were not very tasty nor varied they were nutritious and filling, and everyone, Matson included, ate the same thing. The other wagon contained an enormous quantity of hay in small bales which were apportioned out to the mules by the ever-doting Jomo. There was little trouble with the group after the initial episodes with Matson.
That means we might have hair again, for example, and those poor girls with the body tattoos might one day look as good as they ever did. Maybe better. These duggers, the mule head, that sort of thing. Maybe our new masters, whoever and whatever they are, just want us as raw material for animals or something.
Matson, remember, said some of his mules were once human. Good or bad, I want to just get it over with. A day or two more of this and I might turn into one of those drooling slobberers myself. Time seemed to have lost its meaning for them all, although Matson, who carried an elaborate pocket watch, seemed to know exactly when as well as where they were.
They were proceeding normally after a meal break when suddenly a horse and rider appeared ahead of them and closed on Matson. He ordered the train to a halt and waited as the rider neared and stopped. It was the animallike Kolada. All strings on mules and people were suddenly dropped, and the mules themselves were led into a circular pattern with the wagons at opposite ends closing each circle.
Cinches were loosened, so that the packs formed a crude outer barrier around the mules. The duggers took out their weapons and checked them. The human cargo was loosed inside the circle and told just to sit. Jomo took charge of the entire party, moving very fast for a huge man and giving orders in a combination of words and gestures to the other duggers. Matson took one of the duggers with him, leaving ten mounted and one afoot to guard the train, and the three of them went off at full gallop in the direction from which Kolada had just come.
None of the duggers would pay any attention to the fifty-four confused and frightened young people unless they got out of line, in which case the offender was rudely struck with fist or rifle butt. Now they were completely at the mercy of these animalistic creatures. They spent a nervous hour or more sitting there, talking low and speculating a lot, until there was a sudden shout from one of the duggers ahead and they heard bolts slide into place and the whole crew tense up-It was Matson, though, and they relaxed.
His face looked almost dead white, and, if anything, he looked twenty years older,. Rapidly, the train was reassembled in a loose manner, with the duggers spacing themselves out and keeping guns at the ready. Although they ran the strings back along the mules, they only ran one string on each side back from the mules to the wagons, leaving the young people free inside this makeshift boundary.
With a few quick bugle blasts, the train began to move. It was a good hour or more before they reached the spot, but this was a different sort of march, tinged with danger and excitement. Many of the young people actually welcomed the diversion, but Cassie, along with many others, did not.
It was like approaching an accident on the main highway from a distance. You wanted to see what was going on but you knew that when you got there you would find nothing good. The scene was one of almost inconceivable carnage, the most horrible sight any of them had ever seen. Clearly the mess, spread out almost as far as the eye could see, had once been a stringer train not unlike their own, but one that had been hit with a deadly ferocity by some overwhelming force.
There was blood all over, human blood mixing with that of animals, and dead bodies strewn all over the landscape. Now you see it. I told you this was a rough place, and now you see how rough it can get. You will know or recognize some of those bodies. Some gasps, chokes, and sobs began from various parts of the group at this news. Also, whoever did this is still around. This happened only a matter of hours ago at best, from the state of the remains-We have to act fairly quickly, because the Flux tends to break down dead organic matter pretty quickly.
I need to keep the Page All of the remaining packs had been thoroughly ransacked, with the unwanted part of their contents just strewn about haphazardly. It was a stomachchurning chore to gather up all those bodies and lay them out so they could be potentially identified and counted. Several times members of the party suddenly felt sick; a few threw up, a few more finally ran back to the rest, but were quickly replaced by others whose curiosity or consciences now prodded them.
Most of the victims had been shot, some several times, but others were run through with arrows or spears. Some who had obviously been only wounded when the train was overrun had been put to death, most often by beheading but occasionally by slow dismemberment, the horror still on their faces-Many of bodies had been chewed, with huge chunks of flesh just ripped from them, but it was unclear just what had done the chewing. These, too, had been treated just as harshly as the others, but they were clearly from some different place entirely.
For one thing, they resembled duggers but had some regularity to their dehumanizing aspects. They were mostly very tall, chunky females reminiscent The shortest hair length was below the waist.
Spirits of Flux and Anchor (Soul Rider, Book 1)
Their fingers seemed unnaturally long, too, and terminated in very long, thick, sharp claws. Perhaps the most striking thing was their faces, though, with bushy, oddly upturned brows, and pink animallike noses over mouths that seemed abnormally wide and which contained oversized, slightly protruding canines. Looks like they got a fair number, too. Matson had been curiously more cold and withdrawn since they began, but there was no trace of meanness, authoritarianism, or any other emotional mannerism.
He was either holding something in very deeply or forced upon himself a remarkable detachment for the scene. He nodded. A place where they can live and feed themselves. A real tiny little worldlet. This one is a lot more than that, though. It would take an army to do this much damage to one of her trains, and she had the biggest, Page Any cult big enough and smart enough to take her is big or smart enough to take a Fluxland.
Something smells here. Smells bad. That last was said with such sudden force and emotion that she stepped back from him. Inside him, not too far from that totally businesslike surface, was an explosion she would not like to see directed at her, even unthinkingly. She went over to where the bodies were being laid out. It was almost complete now, but she had to force herself to look at them. It was a sight that no church vision of Hell could equal. More than they were outside? If so, could they or their kind have ripped out those pieces of flesh with their jaws?
It was horrible to Jack L. He came over to her and frowned, the effect producing hundreds of ripples in his broad hairless forehead. Most of the body was a bloody mess. Suddenly she understood, and felt foolish. If Jomo was right, and he had no reason to lie, then Matson right now was at his most dangerous, and that could be as fearsome as these cult members.
Maybe enough time for us, maybe not, but if you start now you should be able to avoid them. They might have a sentry or two just up the string, though, so be careful. The dugger grinned, a sight that was in itself pretty gruesome to behold, and lifted his rifle. I want you in Persellus even if you have to kill your horse to do it, and you give the first important official you can meet the whole story.
We need protection to get in, even if I speed it up, and we better get this pest hole and eliminate it before they get strong enough and bold enough to make a try on Persellus. He looked that last group over, then frowned and walked up and down between the bodies, nodding and mumbling to himself, then looked up and saw Cassie.
I lost somebody close to me here, too. Now, how many boys were in that Paring Rite shit? It was obvious that, no matter what happened to her later, right now Matson needed a relatively sane human to talk to and she had more or less elected herself. His hatred of the church is so absolute that his mission in life is the capture, submission, and humiliation of women. I can see why his attack was particularly savage, though. Matson turned and called in the duggers. Cut loose all but totally essential cargo, and get the rest into the wagons. Toss what you have to. Spare rations only.
I want two on each mule. Jomo is already cutting them loose and rigging basic bridles. In a week the Flux will have absorbed them, and in a month the rest will be gone, too. She did. Four of the twenty mules still had to carry supplies, so that left sixteen available.
She went back, not really explaining anything, and started making choices. She wanted the largest people on the mules, to make more room in the wagons, so most of the boys were paired up, and that took eleven of the mules. Reserving one for herself and, she decided, Nadya, she assigned the Jack L. That still left twenty-two people to fit someplace, and some food and hay had to remain in the wagons. The driver, a hulking, hunched creature with bulging, mismatched eyes and a tongue hanging out of its mouth, giggled and snorted at him and seemed to be having a good time sensing his discomfort.
Matson placed one wagon, the hay wagon, at the head of this new train, and the other in the rear. It Page Jomo had improvised a four-across bridle and rein combination for the four remaining pack mules, and managed them while somehow perched in front of the pack on one of them. Cassie smiled. Finally Matson called a halt, and they got down, many feeling terrible pain from muscles they had seldom used. They were not allowed to rest just yet, though. The mules had to be tended First, and this time individually, and the stringer and his duggers arranged a security line, or as much of one as they could with most of the packs and hay left behind.
The mules would be their primary fortress, although the remaining hay bales were hauled out and spaced around the encampment as firing positions. Only then were they allowed to eat the hard bread and cold beans that was all that was saved, and get drinks of water themselves.
When they were finished, Matson walked over to the group. There was no response. All save the border guards and the police were forbidden any access to firearms in Anchor Logh. I want at least two of you up with each dugger at each gun position, and I want a few more on watch in the gaps.
It may bore the hell out of you but you just remember your friends back there and what hap Jack L. If you see anything, and I mean anything out there, or even if you just imagine you do, you sing out. The first one that goes to sleep on duty gets to be another of my mules. Cass, you pick your guards for each period, then get some sleep. She was amazed.
She was no more amazed and awe-struck by the sudden promotion than the rest of them, some of whom looked a little resentful. Well, so what? It sure beat some of the alternatives. The attack began slowly, with a cautious sounding out. Two duggers, looking battered and bleeding, reeled into view and began half walking, half crawling towards the circle-The alarm was sounded almost immediately, and in an instant everyone was awake and tensely at what positions they could take.
They were all around us…. The air was suddenly alive with shapes; terrible, nameless, gibbering monsters who were all hating eyes and gaping, tooth-filled mouths, the dark monsters of nightmare and madness, dripping blood and screaming foully at them. Matson and his duggers opened up on them, ignoring the flying things and at all times shooting low.
From the mass of the monstrous attackers came occasional screams of agony as bullets and shot found their mark in the sea of terrible illusion. But there was one hell of a lot of them. Matson took a moment to concentrate, and his head snapped back, then forward again with his eyes suddenly burning with power and concentration. The monsters, so huge and thick that they completely shielded the train, started roaring back at the attacking shapes and then slowly advanced outward.
The attacking cult had only limited power on its own, and that concentrated in its leader, but it, used illusion with great skill and cunning, creating for their prey what they themselves feared most and sending it forth in the hopes that those nightmares might equally terrify others. But there were wizards in the Flux as well as illusionists; wizards who had the power to create out of the void a true and living demon army. Matson and his duggers knew that everything sent against them now was illusion, but the attackers could have no such assurance that the reverse was also true.
The mad shapes attacking the train shimmered, winked in and out, and seemed to lose much of their steam as their creator hesitated in the face of the counterattack. Automatic rifles on wide spray had a devastating effect, even in the void; in the midst of a fading scenario of Hell, bullets found mark after mark, causing odd shapes to cry out and fall back, some dropping in their tracks and laying there in pools of their own blood. Matson halted his own shooting routine and concentrated once more. Although the Anchor people could just crouch down and wonder, the duggers understood immediately what the problem was and ceased firing, taking the time to shift positions and thus not be where they would be expected-Matson stuck the stump of an unlit cigar in his mouth and peered out at the void, which was suddenly deathly quiet and still once more.
Patti Kinlock | Whimsical Words
At that moment explosions went off all around them, the concussions knocking several of them back, and from all sides huge, lizard-shaped creatures reared up and hissed defiance. He made a series of sweeping gestures with his hand and went around in a nearly three hundred and sixty degree circle as the duggers continued their shooting. Cass continued to supervise the reloading, so that all of the ones who could shoot had an almost continuous supply of firepower. She saw Dar come up to her operation, near Matson, and look at the rifles and then Matson.
She frowned. They killed all the boys last time! He looked at her strangely. Before she could reply he launched himself at her. Dar recovered first, and, in his crazed mental state, struck Cass hard on the jaw with his fist, knocking her cold. In the recovery and follow-up shooting to the concussions, nobody really noticed him pick up her limp body and sprint for a weak spot in the line to the rear of Matson. The giant lizard-things, frozen for a moment in the shock of the explosions, did not deter him one bit, for he did not believe in them.
By the time an alarm was shouted and his rifle readjusted, Dar, carrying the unconscious Cass like a sack of potatoes, was behind the monsters and out of sight of the train. Cass awoke to a scene out of nightmare. All around her was the void, yet she was not in it any more.
The slab was angled slightly upward, so she had a view of what was in front of her. It was in fact an eerie and impossible scene, an outcrop of reddish rock rising up perhaps fifty meters over which spilled a small waterfall whose effluent landed in a pool below but did not seem to either drain to a creek or flood. There was a cave in back of the waterfall, but it was impossible to tell who or what might be inside. Around the pool were a number of palm trees and small bushes, and there seemed to be a few trees and bushes growing here and there all around the place.
She was not alone. It seemed that there were an endless number of slabs set back from the pool area in an eerie sort of amphitheater, and while it was difficult to see much at that level she was certain that each slab held someone, similarly bound as she was. She was far enough away and at a bad angle so that at first she could not identify them, but suddenly she knew what they were. They were women, very much like those bodies at the massacre site. Primitive, part animal, some scampering about with animallike motions, others crouched down and eating or gnawing on something.
They looked like the visions of Hell painted by the church in sermon after sermon. In fact, except for the eerie warm light the whole scene resembled a painting of Hell that hung in the temple at Anchor Logh. For a moment her upbringing broke through her skepticism. Have I died? But no, she decided at last.
Those were real savages who attacked, and so were these-She wondered, though, if Dar had gone on to kill Matson and thus allow the second train to be overrun as well-She could hear, but not see, the noises of mules off to her right. Suddenly the savage women near the pool stopped what they were doing and scattered, making agitated noises. From the cave behind the small waterfall emerged a group of four of the women carrying on their shoulders a body seemingly strapped to a cross-like structure made of wood-They walked through the waterfall and down a small path to the right side of it, then around the pool, finally approaching Cass and the others on the slabs.
It swayed a moment, but then settled and held firm. Cass gasped as she finally recognized the figure on the cross. He looked dazed and only semi-conscious, but in some pain. He seemed to be bound with tight metal clamps around his wrists and by strong rope through the neck and waist rings. It held him secure and helpless, but hardly comfortably. A large figure now emerged from the cave and walked slowly down the path, around the pool, and up to the hapless man on the cross.
This newcomer was dressed entirely in black robes without adornment of any kind, although he wore a large golden medal on a chain around his neck. The dark one threw back his hood to reveal a round, distinguished looking face with a carefully cropped goatee and short hair, black once but now tinged with gray. He looked over at the savage women and made a gesture, and they prostrated themselves and virtually grovelled at him. He smiled and turned to the ones on the slabs.
Children of Flux & Anchor (Soul Rider #5)
I shall be most happy to explain it all to you. There were a few sounds at this, but no great outcry. Most of them had expected as much, if nothing else, from the familiar scenario. No, you are not dead, nor are you dreaming. You have instead received a signal honor. You have Page It is not far from here, and while it is guarded by a different sort we can take it, given sufficient personnel, at the time and convenience of our own choosing. And that, of course, is what you are doing here.
- Black Mercury (The Drifting Isle Chronicles Book 2)?
- Spirits of Flux & Anchor: Soul Rider, Book 1 (Unabridged)!
- MAMA MILLERS FAMILY CHRISTMAS (MAMA MILLER SERIES Book 1)?
Chalker's hobbies included esoteric audio, travel, and working on science-fiction convention committees. He also had a great interest in ferryboats ; at his fiancee's suggestion, their marriage was performed on the Roaring Bull boat, part of the Millersburg Ferry , in the middle of the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania. Chalker joined the Washington Science Fiction Association during , and during he and two friends founded the Baltimore Science Fiction Society.
Chalker attended every World Science Fiction Convention , except one, from until He published an amateur SF journal, Mirage , from to a Hugo nominee during for Best Fanzine ,  producing ten issues. Another journal, Interjection , was published — in association with the Fantasy Amateur Press Association. Chalker also initiated a publishing house, Mirage Press, Ltd.
He was a nominee for the John W.
Campbell Award twice and for the Hugo Award twice. Chalker was also the co-author with Mark Owings  of The Science Fantasy Publishers third edition during , updated annually , published by Mirage Press , Ltd,  a bibliographic guide to genre small press publishers which was a Hugo Award nominee during Chalker Young Writers Contest" effective April 8, Chalker is best known for his Well World series of novels, but he also wrote many other novels most, but not all, part of a series, or large novels which were split into 'series' by the publishers , and at least nine short stories.
Many of Chalker's works involve some physical transformation of the main characters. For instance, in the Well World novels, immigrants to the Well World are transformed from their original form to become a member of one of the 1, sentient species that inhabit that artificial planet. Tosari rated it it was amazing Mar 27, Neville Christensen rated it liked it May 07, Dottie Miller rated it really liked it Jan 08, Elizabeth rated it did not like it Jul 26, Gramma rated it really liked it Feb 18, Sonja Johnson rated it it was amazing Apr 14, Dave Denenberg rated it it was amazing May 17, Jim Hayes rated it it was amazing Jun 01, Cary rated it really liked it Jan 01, Ian rated it liked it Jun 13, Wayne rated it really liked it Nov 19, Robert rated it it was amazing Jul 17, Steve rated it liked it Sep 04, Hereford rated it it was ok Sep 18, Brian rated it really liked it Apr 05, Will Hartzo rated it really liked it Apr 18, Beth rated it really liked it Jul 12, Ken Chapman rated it liked it May 03, Daniel Borochovitz rated it it was amazing Dec 20, Dan rated it really liked it Apr 22, Don rated it it was amazing Jul 19, There are no discussion topics on this book yet.
Readers also enjoyed. Science Fiction. Science Fiction Fantasy. About Jack L. Jack L. Some of his books said that he was born in Norfolk, Virginia although he later claimed that was a mistake. He attended all but one of the World Science Fiction Conventions from until Chalker was married in and had two sons. His stated hobbies included esoteric audio, travel, and working on science-fiction convention committees.
He had a great interest in ferryboats, and, at his wife's suggestion, their marriage was performed on the Roaring Bull Ferry. He was a nominee for the John W. Campbell Award twice and for the Hugo Award twice. On September 18, , during Hurricane Isabel, Chalker passed out and was rushed to the hospital with a diagnosis of a heart attack.