1st 5 Pages October Wokshop - Bryan Revision 2

Name: Patrick J. Bryan
Genre: Middle Grade: Speculative Fiction/Adventure
Title: The Brothers Kincaid and the Quantum Crystal



Pitch


The Brothers Kincaid and the Quantum Crystal is a completed middle-grade adventure running approximately 67k words in length. The story could be described as having a Spiderwick meets Star Trek feel. I believe this book would find a place in the libraries of readers who enjoy The Sisters Grimm, The Mysterious Benedict Society, and Artemis Fowl.

Nathan Kincaid stands transfixed at the edge of an empty field. A sphere of blazing light rips through the air in front of him. He watches as a group of ghostly figures materialize. His younger brother Hank prepares to help Nathan answer the one question that nags at him most. Is he crazy or is there something extraordinary going on in his mind?

Treated as an outcast for as long as he can remember, Nathan hopes that once his family moves to the eccentric town of Faraday Falls he can leave behind his branding as a spacey misfit find the answers he seeks. But instead of support from the tech-savvy community, Nathan finds a madman, Hugo Helsingborg, who wants to exploit Nathan's unique ability in his personal quest to collect powerful objects from throughout the galaxy.

Working with their new friend, genius inventor Addelaide Grace at their side, the brothers Kincaid use their wits and nerve to unravel the mysteries of the Helsingborg’s Quantum Crystal while evading hordes of crocodogs, armies of mandroids, and giant sand-vipers.




Second Revision


A spark of blue light caught Nathan’s attention. It started small as it always did. The light flared and demanded his focus. He stopped walking; it became difficult to move when part of his world vanished. Everything but the light melted away and the sphere of dazzling color expanded before him like a supernova until it stopped and the world beyond came slowly into focus.

“Are you seeing it now,” asked Hank, Nathan’s younger brother.

Nathan tilted his head, his body rigid and his stare fixed. He stood at the edge of the dirt lot that was the Kincaid family backyard. Weeds of varying heights spotted the landscape. When they were flowering, they almost seemed pretty. Though Nathan wasn’t here to look at weeds. He was staring far out into the treeless landscape. A wasteland that was once farm. Now there was nothing for anyone to see but weeds and dirt. Anyone except Nathan Kincaid.

“There is something. It’s almost in focus.” Nathan remained frozen, spellbound, staring into what seemed empty space, but not to him.

“Are the ghosts back?” Hank glanced at the empty lot and back to his brother. Nathan didn’t turn to look at him, he continued to lock his gaze somewhere toward the middle of the field.

“There are people now. At least I think they’re people,” Nathan replied.

“Nate?” Hank’s voice trailed off to a whisper. “When you see these other places, and the people, do you ever see mom?” Nathan dropped his head before he spoke. He tried not to snap at Hank. While he was nearly as tall as Nathan and acted fairly mature for a nine-year-old, he was after all just a kid. Nathan pictured tears welling up in his little brother’s eyes.

“I’ve told you Hank, they're not ghosts,” said Nathan with a hint of frustration.

“I know,” said Hank with an affirming nod. “I just wish...” There was silence between the brothers as Nathan gazed through the tear in space hovering before him. Hank sniffled then pulled the sketch pad out of his pack and flopped down into the dirt.

“So these people, what are they doing?  Do you think they can see you? Tell me everything, I’m ready to sketch,” said Hank.

“You mean doodle,” said Nathan with a smile.

“Hey, my drawings are better than yours.” Hank kicked dust in Nathan’s direction.

About twenty feet from where he stood a sphere of blue light cut through Nathan’s field of vision. It hovered just above the ground; a hole about as large as a movie screen. The edges were so bright he couldn’t look directly at them.  Then bit by bit people appeared in the center of this hole in space.

“It’s almost in focus now. When it’s all clear, I need you to help me with the spectral camera.”

“I have it here but I don’t know if it’s gonna work,” said Hank. He pulled a jumbled mess of wires soldered to tiny circuit boards, harvested from old computers and digital cameras, from his pack. A massive camera lens stuck out from one side of the wiry bird nest.

“Just hand it to me when I tell you. Ok?”

Nathan let out a deep breath and tugged the ends of his blue scarf. It was once his mother’s. The three crescent moons embroidered at one end were part of story she used to read.  As he played with the scarf in his fingers he remained spellbound on the specters in front of him.

“You know what this thing looks like Nate? I think if a computer and a telescope had a baby, and the baby had a dirty diaper, this is what the diaper would look like.”

Nathan threw a weak punch in Hank’s general direction.

“There, I can see it all now. Hand me the spectral camera.” Nathan set the nest of wires on his head and pulled the camera lens over one eye. He flipped a small red toggle switch on the side of the lens and a high pitched whirring sound radiated from the gadget.

Having these visions scared him. They scared him because sometimes he saw terrible images; creatures and nightmarish landscapes. But what scared him more was not knowing if he was sick, if he was insane, or if these visions were real. If he could capture an image he would know it was real. And if it was real he would know he wasn’t going nuts.

“You better get out some colorful pens, Hank. These guys are like human-sized birds with long cloaks. And I think they’re gardening.”

At first glance Nathan recoiled, unprepared to see the bare scaly legs that bent in the wrong direction.  He gradually became enchanted by their peaceful movement and flashes of plumage. The long robes of the birdmen hid most of their features. Yet as they moved, flashes of a leg or arm became visible; an arm covered in short colorful feathers. The curve of a beak stuck out from under their straw hats; as wide as umbrellas. Yet their faces were hidden.

“These guys are amazing Hank. But what they're doing is odd. They have these cutting tools and are shaping tall bushes, like sculptures.  The shapes are incredible.”

“What kind of shapes? Do any look like animals? I want them to make one that looks like a whale.” Hank screwed up his face for a moment and continued. “But not the ones with teeth, they seem mean. The ones with those big filters for catching shrimp.”

“You mean the baleen whales?”

“Yeah, baleen. What a weird word. Are they making baleen whale shapes?”

“No. The sculptures curve and spiral, they point in weird directions. You know what they remind me of? Bowers. Do you remember that nature show we watched with the birds building fancy houses of sticks to attract their mates? They decorated them with colored flower petals, shells, and trash. That’s what these guys could be. But sort of strange human-like alien birdmen instead of actual birds.”

“Cool,” said Hank as he scribbled feverishly in his vision journal. Whenever Nathan would let him in on what he saw during a vision, which wasn't that often, Hank would turn it into art and record the details Nathan would narrate. Today Nathan hoped to capture an image of his own, one that would prove he wasn’t crazy.

“You have to tell me more about the Bowerbird-men. All the particulars,” said Hank. He liked saying particulars and mimicked a British accent whenever he spoke the word.  Nathan fixated on the image that only he could see. His eyes darted around, tracking the activity. Hank watched Nathan and glanced to the empty field between scribbles, hoping for something interesting to appear.

“Whoa. There’s something new. Animals,” said Nathan.

“Animal sculptures?” asked Hank.

“No, these are actual animals. Their bodies are like tigers but they have pointed tails, pointed like spears. And they’re massive. Bigger than the Bowerbird-men. I’m not sure if they’re pets or guards. They seem different than the Bowers, darker, threatening.”

“I wish I could see them too,” said Hank.  Nathan’s face contorted.  His expression soured and he shut his eyes.  He slouched forward and shook his head from side to side.

“Why do you say that Hank? You know how everyone treats me. You don’t want that do you?”

Hank stopped drawing feathers and looked up at Nathan, then back to his book. He thought of the taunts Nathan endured. People who saw him staring at nothing, sometimes shouting in fear or trying to speak to people who weren't there. Freaky Nate, is what they called him.

“No, I guess not. But what you see sounds so amazing sometimes and this place is, well, not.”

Nathan tuned his attention back to the otherworld. While he adjusted the camera lens an electronic beep pierced his focus. The memory card was almost full, he thought. Altering his focus back to the Bowerbird-men, he found them working with a rhythm.  Their garden structures were separated by tens of feet, yet the men moved in synchrony, as if they were dancing.  Nathan imagined they were hearing music and trimming the shrubbery to the beat of a tune. Watching their movements, he could almost hear the rhythm of the song.  It calmed him. He continued to narrate the image to Hank who began adding red spotted mushrooms to his sketch and a twisted wood arch extending over one bower structure.

A final long beep came from the camera. “The memory card is full. Here, rewind and take a look. Tell me what you see.” Nathan was hopeful. He removed the nest of wires and camera parts from his head and handed it to Hank. Hank set down his pad and focused on the small screen attached to the side of the home-made camera helmet. He frowned.

“Well?” asked Nathan.

“Sorry Nate. It’s just the field. Dead grass and sky. Nothing.” Hank tugged his right ear; a sure sign he was upset. He believed in his brother and wanted to be like him, even if it meant being a freak too.

Nathan let out two forceful sighs before he ignored the failed equipment and continued describing the vision to Hank as if he wasn’t completely devastated.