In a merciless undercity, a young brain net detective fights to escape while a mob boss stops at nothing to rule. Sons of Shikago is the intense first act of this new, sharp-edged sci fi series.

What is Public Domain?

The Public Domain book series is a dark science fiction odyssey with strong elements of mystery and crime fiction, and a little fantasy and gamelit thrown in for good measure.

The “Public Domain” in the book is a derelict immersion (think VR) program where people can plug their brains into game words based on classic books. If you “immersed” in this program, you could do things like join Captain Ahab on a whaling voyage, overindulge at Jay Gatsby’s mansion, start a pastry shop in Munchkin Country, or even spend a lighthearted evening with Ethan and Zenobia Frome!

If you were a Bret (Brain Net) detective, you might be called into the Public Domain to search for a missing person.

What is Sons of Shikago?

Sons of Shikago is the first book in the series, the “pilot episode,” as one reader put it, that introduces you to the world of the series and its main characters. Here we meet Lewen Roi, a Brain Net detective who aspires to live in the glorious tiered city built above Shikago, and John Shiver, a gang leader struggling to gain control of the titular undercity his father once ruled.

Lewen Roi:

I step forward and let them notice me for the first time, reclaiming every mannerism and physical impulse I’ve spent the campaign suppressing. All the babies swivel their heads toward me as I drop the NPC demeanor and reveal myself as a player for the first time.
“Nigel Slansky,” I say, pointing my chubby index finger at him. He looks up from the nipple, a couple drops of milk clinging to his chin. “You have been named in a civil lawsuit by Meredith Slansky of West Boston in the district of Chusetts. After a close examination of an avatar you are known to have control over in a registered immersion program, I hereby identify you as a citizen of the 1Wurld Federation by confirmation of six distinct gestures, mannerisms and behavioral traits. I can go through them if you like.”
He stares at me. A large drop of milk slides off his chin. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”
“The squnt is this?” one of the other players mutters. Colonel Wubby, the only real NPC in the zone, scowls at me and cocks his rattle. I’d run, but at seven-tenths immersion in a registered, zero-pain environment, there’s not much to fear besides hurt feelings.
“The case will proceed under the jurisdiction of the Suffoke County Family Court. You have 30 days to respond. If you fail to respond, a default judgment will be entered against you.”
His moony eyes narrow into slits. “I’m going to destroy you.”
Log out, I think.
“You worthless little…”
Bright purple letters blink to life in front of me, hovering over the curvaceous, smoke-ridden landscape to the south:

Are You Sure?

     Yes. I sit down and fold my arms across my lap as the logout timer ticks.
     Nigel flails his stubby arms and stomps across the surface till his tomato-red, cherubic face is grinding against mine. “You worthless piece of shit! You’re shit, you know that? You are shit. A big fat nothing.”
     Make me a machine…
     “I will find you in the real and destroy you. Destroy. Do you understand me?”
     Grind the bones…drain the blood…
     “Are you proud of what you do? Are your parents proud of you?”
     No degree of immersion, no layer of removal, can stop the animal heart from finding the jugular.

*

The murky basement light pummels my eyes. The cheap fabric scours my skin. It’s a raw feeling, most times, snapping out of seven of ten into the one of one of the real. Everything is excessively tangible, hyper-genuine, the narrow platform and grated aluminum steps too cold, the freshly mopped floor too wet. The only thing that feels fractional is me.

*

The muscle-softening steam and explicit pleasure of the beating water assuage, and therefore illuminate, a clandestine notion my conscious mind was slow to grasp: There is something portentous in the air.
“Anecdotal fallacy,” Hodus herself would tell me. “Illusory correlation,” and instantly, at the mere memory of her quavering voice, the frayed strands of emotion cinch and heal as my rational mind pulls me from the edge of a yawning trench.

*

The next time I saw John was the last time I ever looked him in the eyes. His cheeks were pumping furiously as he stared me down and I knew that in the horrid logic of his mind the attack, the fire and everything else wrong in his life were my mother’s fault and justified him in ripping her and Father from my life.
It was not an expression of anger or hatred that inflected his angular face, but one of total dominance, not just of me but of Mother, Father and everyone who had come before me.
Their anguish rose in my blood and for the first time my grief turned to battery acid that ate me from the inside and I watched as my fist tore through...no, no, Lewen. I watched it tear through flesh that broke apart as easily as rotten lettuce and came out the other side holding his…no, Lewen, no. I will not pay it forward. It dies with me, with us, it dies with me…

John Shiver:

A third man, a union captain who fought beside me in the Corner Wars when I was twenty-four, approaches and clasps my hand. “Hey, John. It’s a shame what happened to Domino Pete, falling off a balcony like that. Send my regards to the family, would you?”
I mirror his sympathetic head tilt. “It’s like I tell my guys, always kiss your kids before you leave in the morning.”
He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. “We’re having a hard time turning out C-54s without that tower, Two-Two-Five Wacker. It’s thirty-five stories on the dot, runs clear to the first tier so we need to make nice with the dubs a little. I don’t suppose there’s anything you could do? It seems like Pete always had such a hand with those go-betweens.”
I look him over—the shop haircut, the gold chain, the belly—and him barely into his thirties. “By go-betweens, you mean the Middle City heavies that drop down from the tiers and tell you how to run your production floors?”
“Now, that’s not exactly how I—”
“If you can’t earn without getting boot polish on your tongue, maybe you’re not cut out to be a captain.”
His eyes go wide, just like Dominos Pete’s did. “Oh, John, no. I’m just saying…”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
He bows and pumps my right hand with both of his. “No, John. I’m just saying…I’m glad the Stripes are back in good hands.”

*

Tucker turns his sleepy eyes to me and smiles. “You Shivers and your allegiance to this city. It got your dad killed, John. It’s not a matter of if, but when, you’ll follow in his footsteps.”
I’ve been told my cheek muscles pump when I’m angry, or afraid, or feeling much of anything at all, and a few of the young blues are laughing at me like they just won the day.
Tucker’s grinning too, with all the smugness money and comfort can buy. I pray I’ll see his face after the tables turn, when I play the first card stashed up my sleeve, then the second.

*

“What’s going on around here?” I say. “We’ve lost two enforcers and a rotation boss in the last two months, then all these dogs go missing. Now this?”
“It’s all these freaks, John,” Cecil says. He’s got that troubled look that comes when he’s trying to think. “You saw that parade. The ones with fur, it was growing right out of their skin, not patched on. Made me think they were from the tiers. No street shops can handle expensive mods like that.”
“A bunch of mod hoppers don’t have the wherewithal to coordinate a murder on the tiers,” I say. But something about what he said has turned my shoulders ice cold.
Texas stands up from her desk and kneads the back of her neck. “The timing with the modders has me thinking as well. All these dogs missing, but not a soul has caught anyone in the act? It’s tightly coordinated, whoever is doing it. I’ve been trying to get an undercover operative inside one of their little squads. The problem is, they’re very decentralized.”
“Who’s going to go undercover with a group like that?” Cecil says. “You’d have to grow horns. Or chop off your balls.” He gives Texas a friendly look. “Or your titties, Texas, no offense.”
I slam my fists on the counter and three heads spin towards me like gears controlled by the same switch. “There’s a murder on the tiers once in five years, tops, and the girl that gets it is one we’ve got on the hook?” I turn my eyes to Duck who, to his credit, looks genuinely concerned. “Any word on the killer?”

*

Inside, the baby coos and gurgles in her wicker bassinet. I gather up the warm little bundle and hold it in both arms. She sleeps hot. Her little red face peeks up at me between the blankets. The scent of baby powder washes over me, disarming every rotten thing I’ve seen today in one softening breath.
I brush my lips against her cheek and touch one of her grasping little hands. “What did you learn today, huh? What did you find out?” She shows me that toothless smile and squeals. She’s wearing a pink nighty patterned with blue and yellow balloons.
“It’s okay, baby. Daddy loves you. You know that, don’t you? You’re gonna be all right. I’m gonna fight and scrap like a badger so you won’t have to. That kind of thing’s not for you. You’ve got a queen’s blood running through your veins.”

*

Four ten-gallon water jugs stand along the side railing of the porch, the wiggling baby in my arms proof they are worth the trouble. But an ocean of clean water couldn’t summon the children who will never be, nor bring back the good souls who died from the foul ideas that fall like tainted water from those same tiers.
A spear of lightning zigzags from the sky only to spread and diffuse across the invisible umbrella of a membrane. Nature fells leviathans with bolts from above, but also with the smallest of germs. If I can’t be a lightning strike that blows the bastards from the sky, then let me be the bug that poisons them from below.

Reactions from early readers:

“Sons of Shikago reads like the pilot episode of a TV series that mashes up sci-fi, gritty crime and macabre cultism, all served up through intensely personal POV chapters and amply seasoned with literary sturm and drang." – Julian W.

“A thrilling, oddly wholesome read. Great characters, great plotline. I'm not really a fan of AI and all that technological stuff, but the way it was written didn't feel like an AI or tech-centered story.” Danny Raye, beta reader

“Dark, jagged, and teetering on the edge of chaos, Public Domain is a hunt for humanity in a world drowning in tech and ideology.” Kathryn M.

“I really like how well Lewen’s and John’s emotions were communicated. There was a great balance between the development of the different plotlines and the depth and emotional value of the main characters.” Paula E.

“This story’s structure, narrative voice, imagery, world building, and themes interwove so precisely and developed so deeply that I felt I was reading a literary science fiction novel. Ultimately, I feel as though I need to read it a second time.” Chris Chinchilla, beta reader, Fiverr.com@ChrisCWrites

“Lovers of sci fi and crime fiction will discover an entertaining blend of the two in Sons. As the fantasy and gamelit elements come more into focus in Book 2, fans of those genres will begin to feel at home.” Siobhan L.