Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Sensual Sabotage...Futuristic First Person WIP
I stumbled onto this cool cowboy pic the other day, which fits with my WIP, Wild Card Woman.
Summer howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.
Here’s hoping your summer is going well. I’m grateful the heat has abated on the tame prairie, at least temporarily. High heat and humanity, yeah, no fun and so draining.
The other day, while trekking back from the mailbox, I saw the most beautiful large butterfly with leopard spots on the upper part of the wing. Then, a cardinal girl was a few feet away from me when I looked out my west-facing window. She was perched in my young peach tree...which did have a few peaches start growing this year, but apparently they weren’t strong enough to withstand the Spring rainstorms. Oh, and at the end of my drive I saw two young rabbits, probably about four months old. They’re adorable, of course. And not to forget the cutest little toad, who was sitting on my window sill during the recent nice rains we had...thank goodness, we needed that rain, and we need more.
Okay then, while waiting on WAITING FOR A FILLY GIRL’s cover art, I’ve started a futuristic erotic romance. The heroine’s POV is being written in first person. Likely, I’ll do the hero’s POV in third person.
Hope springs eternal that this story will be novella sized. That is, assuming I continue. I’ve got such a huge WIP backup. Also, I’ve done some work on my WIP, Wild Card Woman [tentative title]. This is my heroine, who unexpectedly time travels, and her six cowboys, who live in the future.
Just for grins, here’s the raw unedited first chapter of my latest WIP, tentatively titled: Sensual Sabotage.
Earth Colony Seven Nautilus
Earth Year Calendar, 2072
"The exodus," I mutter to myself, and roll my eyes. Hardly a surprise, given last night's blatant manipulation of the central voting computer.
Yeah, you had to be deaf, dumb, blind, and aerosol-drugged to the gills to believe the final count wasn't rigged, and rigged bigtime. Meet the new tyranny same as the old tyranny. Only worse.
The flashing numbers on the monster screen still beat against the back of my sleep-deprived eyeballs. Ouch.
I squint, hoping the image will fade. Half-turning, I pretend to casually glance at the line of people forming behind me.
All of us wait our turn to step inside the neighborhood's transport kiosk. Good thing, I made travel reservations early. Less suspicion about *my activities*, and I'd been able to prove to the centralist guard at my apartment that my digital papers were in perfect order.
"Abandoning ship?" the man in front of me, a senior business type, tersely whispers.
I nod, a mere tilt of my chin. He immediately faces forward again, intent on not gaining the attention of the local brownshirts. Interrogations have become commonplace. Some never return.
Why did I trust him? The extreme panic flickering in the depths of his eyes.
Besides, there’s a vibe. A decent soul has a shine, a burst of energy from the eyes that cannot be replicated if you’ve sold your soul to the corporate rulers.
Only ten ahead of me now. Before I can enter the transport that will beam me into the intergalactic spaceport. With each step forward, I tamp down my elation.
Too much emotion will register on the handhelds, and the brownshirts will appear slavering like they’ve been awarded a side of bacon.
Clutching my simple travel bag more tightly to my chest, I peek over my shoulder. No end to the line that I can see. That bodes trouble.
As I concentrate on relieving the tension in my stomach, I hear the telltale whoop-whoop-whoop of the pod air-cars from Central Control. Obviously, they’ve been alerted to the growing exodus.
Careful to remain calm enough, I silently practice what I’ll say if pulled out of line. I envision, then mentally live the scenario I want them to believe. Or, the basics for fooling their brainwave-reading devices.
Around me, I sense the fear, like tidal waves flowing up and down the line. Out of habit, I send a frequency of serenity over the crowd. Who knows how much it will help...I can only hope.
The Control officers buzz us, their six air-cars skimming mere feet above our heads. Yeah, yay, for intimidation.
Okay, eight people ahead of me now, and the Control pods are landing near the back of the line—likely where the most *we’ve got to escape the planet now* brainwaves have been detected.
Since the transport kiosk isn’t shut down—not yet—the line keeps moving. One by one, we the designated cattle stay on course, saving ourselves. Sadly, we ignore those being targeted by the big-brother predators. But, after all, herd survival is in play.
Often—when in a no-brain surveillance zone—I’ve asked myself what it would be like to live in a society where we’re free to care about each other...free to demand justice for each other.
Five ahead of me now. I catch myself nervously fingering the strap on my bag. I stop immediately.
Don’t look back...don’t look back. How I wish I could help those being singled out. But freaking hell, I can barely help myself.
I blank my mind, moving on robotic-like legs toward salvation. I hope.
Finally, the business man in front of me enters the kiosk. I swear, I feel his relief blanket me.
Time stretches like a malfunctioning warp engine. Still, I don’t fidget.
My heart hammers as the brass-colored door slides open. I can’t help it.
Already eyeing the selection panel, soaring with elation—the hand clamping hold of my shoulder before I can get inside rocks my little world. My instinct is to spin and attack, then jump inside the kiosk.
That would mean instant death. I’ve worked hard on this 3-D, human flesh body of mine. I like it.
I still have a lot of living to do in the material realm.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, careful to keep my tone on the cheerful side. I turn slowly, even as I’m pulled, none too gently, out of line.
“I recognize you.” Yeah, no pleasantries with this one. But he does let go of me. “City Hall, right?” he demands.
At least seven foot tall, barrel chested, and with overblown muscles, the officer pins me to the pavement with his stare. A permanent scowl seems to be etched on his face. Oh, goody.
“Yes, officer, I am employed at City Hall. Would you like to review my travel permit?” I hover my hand over my bag. My only goal right now. Look cooperative.
“Don’t you work beneath Commissioner Gadsen?” He holds his hand out for my permit.
“I do, officer. “ After briefly fishing in my bag, I give him the digital card.
“This isn’t the time of year for staff vacations. I know. The Commissioner is a friend.”
I say nothing, but keep a pleasant expression pasted on my face as he slides the card into his handheld. This is going to be an ordeal. I can tell by how thoroughly he’s checking every detail.
Certainly, I don’t remember ever seeing this typical, fat-butt, enforcement brute around the graphic design offices. You know, we make the city, and city events, look good image-wise. That’s my profession, advertise the city to planetary businesses.
My 3-D picture pops up, the small version. Mr. Officer with no badge identity like the officers used to have, takes his sweet time eyeing me. Several times, in fact.
“Everything looks in order,” he finally grunts, even as my internal clock is now beating against my breastbone, reminding me I could miss my flight.
“If you check the records, you’ll find I usually visit my sister this time of year.” I smile as if we’re good acquaintances. Yeah, any damn move to facilitate leaving.
He does just that, the hulking butthead. Moments later, the furrows between his eyebrows crease more. “Checks out, Ms. Wyzex.”
Gawd, I wish he hadn’t said my last name. The sound of his voice absolutely grates on my nerves, and does my name no service at all. Yuck.
“Is there anything else you require?” I say through compressed lips. That, or verbally assault him.
“When you return, why don’t we meet for a drink?” He tops it off with a smarmy smile, as if he knows I’m attracted to him.
Wishing you romance on the wild side…
Kisses, Savanna Kougar