Monthly Archives: March 2013
In the opening scenes of my science fiction romance, Passages, the hero, Quinn has no idea the woman he thinks is his grandmother is actually an electorg. Eve, the heroine, is the unlucky one to discover the masquerade, and tell Quinn.
I slid a fingernail under one crusty end and lifted. The scab moved, exposing—“Wires. Why didn’t you say she’s an electorg?”
My tight shoulders relaxed. This wasn’t the tenuous life of an endangered native we were dealing with. I slipped a vial from my bag, probed my finger into the shallow cavity and collected a spark of her power to identify her from the Corps files. “Since she’s a ‘torg, this changes everything. I suspect a loose or damaged—”
“What are you talking about?”
His hostile emotions hit me before I saw his strangely boyish look of confusion and defensiveness. This had all the signs of a ‘torg raising an orphaned native—years ago, judging by Quinn’s mature physique—but without explaining how we electorgs were altered. She probably had strong mothering instincts from her organic years. Instincts, urges and compulsions all against Docga policies here on G47, though following them served the mission. I wasn’t going to be the one to point a finger at her.
I drew a breath. “Circuitry is subcutaneous, so shutting down to prevent further electrical short-out isn’t unusual. Let’s get her back to—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quinn growled.
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Hello and welcome to my SFR contribution, a snippet from my novel Passages. Just as in real life, some science fiction machinery never works like you think it ought to, which my hero Quinn discovers in this excerpt:
I passed the packed shelves and glanced at the book bindings. Some titles stood out. A few seemed to glow, and then fade.
An uneasy feeling came over me. Something told me I should stop, but I kept on reading the titles, searching for another with that brightened lettering…
“Mirror of Her Dreams,” I whispered and in uttering the words, I knew. I’d done this before. Flashes of déjà vu were my friends. Graen always said follow the lead and by doing so I’d brought back skills I’d had before. Skills like quick analysis. Mechanical and electrical aptitude. Accessing Lacuna. Altering a system like the Conducer. And the cross-leap.
I walked a few paces, looking for the next glowing title. “Roadmarks.”
Another old Earth book. The memory became clearer. Reading these titles would turn the key—no, not quite right. Open the door. Lead me to…what? I shuffled forward.
“Journey to the Center of the Earth.”
How did I control this phenomenon?
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In this installment from my science fiction romance Passages, the hero Quinn receives a surprise from one of his newly converted guards.
I cracked the door. Noise came from below. Palming my knife, I crept down the stairs. A peek through the kitchen door revealed a stranger. The small blond woman was measuring water into a pot, an innocent enough activity, but… I decided to get Eve.
“Don’t even think of messing with our cook.”
I whirled but a shoulder lock trapped me. My knife clattered to the floor.
“Right-o!” boomed Evard. “Self-defense never felt so good. If only I could meet that measly Liege Orton now.”
A squeak sounded in the kitchen. “Mister Evard? Is that you?”
“Yes, Mylta, have no fear, my fair nymph. I’m just working up an appetite for one of your delicious breakfasts.”
I forced my automatic defenses to relax. Neither Evard’s tone or phrasing was that of a hostile attacker. “Do you mind?”
He released me. “Ah, my man Quinn! How’d you like that move? Did I surprise you?”
The newly converted Level 1 Minister’s Bodyguard was playing?
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Welcome to my website and my science fiction romance snippet.
Several readers commented on my electorgs—thank you!—so I thought I’d give another peek into those electronic bodies. Here’s a piece from Eve’s point of view.
“Then you know your way around from here?” Quinn’s voice resonated right behind me, deeper, steadier than before. His heat poured over me. My thoughts jumped like my heart and abruptly my body tuned to his. From under the burnt smell of something I should remember but didn’t, his musk flowed —the scent of a forest of drying leaves on a fall day—and the unmistakable assurance of a man in charge.
I had my answer. “You remember your past.”
“Some. Enough. Are you feeling better?”
“Fine. I think we better leave. That guard is bound to report us and the missing dog.”
“We can’t leave yet.” His hand brushed my shoulder and his fingers fluttered at my neck.
Oh, Blessed—I should have known this would happen, keeping company with an E-run. I heaved a sigh, a mental one, for a ‘torg couldn’t move while a minister activated one’s keypad. He accessed the files of my electronic components. Sequences of images, procedures, rules, and more, shuffled like a deck of playing cards. Quinn selected a function program, and it fell into my database. Three seconds later an internal click indicated he’d completed the process.
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