Hayden Trenholm is an award-winning editor, playwright, novelist, and short story writer. He was formerly publisher and managing editor of Bundoran Press. His first novel, A Circle of Birds, won the 3-Day Novel Writing competition. His trilogy, The Steele Chronicles, were each nominated for an Aurora Award. Stealing Home, the third book, was a finalist for the Sunburst Award. Hayden has won five Aurora Awards—thrice for short fiction and twice for editing. In 2022 he was inducted into the Canadian Science Fiction and Fantasy Association Hall of Fame. He lives with his wife and fellow writer, Liz Westbrook-Trenholm, in Ottawa. See more: www.haydentrenholm.com

The Passion of Ivan Rodriguez by Hayden Trenholm

After decades of stability, climate stresses, never far from the surface, are bringing droughts, crop failures, and massive storms. The world's end—avoided once, centuries before—seems likely to succeed the second time.

Scientist Sarah Nahanni has a possible solution, but the math is daunting and the number of mathematicians willing or even able to solve the equations is very small. With the ancient satellites failing and the roads filled with hostile armies, the path to recovery seems lost.

Far to the south, Ivan Rodriguez, an unlikely genius, is on the run from the death squads of his feudal overlords, his head full of fears for his family and mathematical dreams of a better future. He holds the key to Sarah Nahanni's problem and would help—if only he knew she existed and he could reach her in time.

CURATOR'S NOTE

Hayden Trenholm's take on post-apocalyptic sci-fi will (perhaps literally) take your breath away. Ivan is 49 and saving the world, if only he can connect with the right people in time, all told with Hayden's celebrated mastery of prose. – Marie Bilodeau

 

REVIEWS

  • ". . . a heady mix of big ideas from across multiple disciplines wrapped up in a fast-paced, thoughtful, and character-rich story."

    – Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo Award-winning author of The Oppenheimer Alternative

  • "This is a book about the future that we create every day of our lives. The Passion of Ivan Rodriguez was a fascinating read, set in a world I recognize all too well from my fears even though it has not yet come to be, with characters that took up residence in my heart and ideas that inspired my thoughts. This novel reminds us recovery and resistance are always difficult, and always possible."

    – Kate Heartfield, award-winning author of Alice Payne Rides and The Embroidered Book

  • "…speculative fiction with soul."

    – Publishers Weekly
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

Chapter 1

July 2366

Sarah Nahanni resisted the urge to punch the screen on her desk. It would be a futile gesture. The field model was virtually indestructible, and in any case, the application of force was not going to change the results for the better. It seldom does, she thought. And if she did manage to crack the screen, it might take months—even years—to get a replacement.

She scrolled up to the beginning of the output. The initial readings were precisely what her equations predicted, but within a few lines they deviated, spiking below critical levels before trailing off to zero. Energy was being produced but not at the levels required, and not sustainably. Whatever was happening in the cyclotron buried at the bottom of the old mine shaft, it was not what her math predicted: a steady flow of clean sustainable energy.

Maybe the technicians screwed up the initial conditions or maybe the thing had some design flaw that prevented the reaction from reaching its potential. Her father's voice came back to her: It's a poor hunter that blames his rifle for the failure of the hunt. Sarah's shoulders slumped. Something was wrong with her calculations, something she couldn't see. Maybe even something she couldn't understand.

"No," she said, as if voicing it aloud could make it true. "I know I'm right."

"I'm sure you are, too." David March's voice startled her. He was standing in the door to the lab. His lanky frame filled half of the opening and his bush of flame red hair brushed the lintel. Of all the scientists working in the Centre, he was the one who really believed in her project. "But our certainty isn't going to persuade the Director. Did the latest results show any progress?"

The energy spike was higher than any of the previous trials; maybe that would be enough to convince the Director—or if not her, the Board—to continue to allocate scarce resources.

"A little," she said, smiling up at him, but she suspected he saw right through it.

March held up a sheaf of filmy paper. "Maybe this will improve your day. The gang in Finland have made some progress on the alignment problem. We had a window open so I've already sent it on to Argentina. If we can find another satellite, I'll pass it on to Chongqing, as well. Maybe they can make something of it."

"Meaning I can't."

"I didn't say that, Sarah." David frowned. "In fact, I didn't even think it." He put the papers on Sarah's already crowded desk.

"You didn't mention Denver."

David flushed, bringing the freckles across his cheeks and nose into high relief. "Denver is still silent. Either Barker is having another of his spells or . . ." His voice trailed off.

Neither of them wanted to voice the alternative. Rumours of a new general taking control of the Nueva Republica Horde had been circulating for months. Denver didn't have much, but it did have water, remnants of a dam system built in the late twenty-first century; water was the one thing no one could live without, making it a prime target for the Horde.

Sarah looked out at the lake. From the third floor, the turquoise water of Yellowknife Bay was visible past the scrubby pines that clung to the side of the rocky hill that rose above it. Colourful houseboats, equipped with rooftop solar panels, were strung out along the shore, and to the right, the bay opened onto the choppy waters of Great Slave Lake, their greatest resource and staunchest bulwark against invasion. To the left, the familiar line of Latham Island led up from the old village of N'Dilo, where she had been born, past the quirky architecture of the neighbourhood called Old Town—though as far as she knew, it was not much older than the rest of the city—to the dozen or so high-rises that dominated the downtown.

The sun was high in the bright blue sky, a welcome relief from the smoke that had drifted in from the forest fires farther west the previous week. She knew that, by all accounts, they were lucky to have all they had, but it all hung on a knife's edge. We lost so much in the crash, she thought, so much information, so much science, so many good people. We've barely started to put things back together, and already, others are trying to pull it apart.

"It gets worse, Sarah," said David, still slouching in the doorframe. "We've heard nothing from High Level for thirty-six hours."

"Maybe a radio tower's gone down. The forest fires or, maybe, a lightning strike."

"Maybe. But Enterprise station says they got no response on the semaphore relay. They sent a courier but he hasn't come back."

"But if High Level is gone . . ."

"The President has already sent extra troops to Fort Resolution. And ordered our people back from the outposts."

"Everyone?"

"Henry and a few others volunteered to stay behind in Enterprise to run the relays."

Hank. Always trying to prove he was good enough. Why couldn't he just come home?