4/19/2013
I am about to complete the second volume in my series of novels about Homo Evolutis. Its working title is Evolutis Rising. This trailer presents the basis for the stories. I am updating The first novel, Deadly Awakenings, along with an extended version of Onset (please see below.)
I am excited about this novel. A publisher has asked for the complete manuscript and as soon as I get permission, I will post a sample.
This is one of the best presentations about epigenetics I've encountered. He speaks fast at times, but delivers an excellent overview.
OnSet/ReSet - a new, richer story in development that begins with the award winning novela, Onset.
OnSet/Reset completes Chloe's awakenings by an in-depth examination of how she became the first Cohort to discover the true purpose of Homo Evolutis.
I am about to complete the second volume in my series of novels about Homo Evolutis. Its working title is Evolutis Rising. This trailer presents the basis for the stories. I am updating The first novel, Deadly Awakenings, along with an extended version of Onset (please see below.)
I am excited about this novel. A publisher has asked for the complete manuscript and as soon as I get permission, I will post a sample.
This is one of the best presentations about epigenetics I've encountered. He speaks fast at times, but delivers an excellent overview.
OnSet/ReSet - a new, richer story in development that begins with the award winning novela, Onset.
OnSet/Reset completes Chloe's awakenings by an in-depth examination of how she became the first Cohort to discover the true purpose of Homo Evolutis.
Here is a special preview. I hope you enjoy it. Remember?
"Reality is that which, when
you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away."
Philip K. Dick, author
Part II ReSet
Chapter 27 ~ Penetration
A brilliant flash of light flooded
the waiting room to be followed instantly by a crash of thunder that shook the
windows. “That one hit the O’Quinn tower!” squealed an excited high school
girl. The half-dozen students, assembled for the next campus admissions tour
remained glued to the window watching the Rice University students below who
scrambling off the open quad from the approaching storm. Lightening filled the
sky above the tall medical center buildings across Main Street. Small pellets
of hail peppered the window at a strange 90-degree angle. A hopeful co-ed
laughed. “There goes a run-away umbrella!”
While the rest of the group hung
together exchanging banalities, twelve-year old Kyle Henderson sat stiffly
alone in the center of the many leather chairs provided by Rice Admissions
Office. Bored watching the slow moving fish in the tank by the trophy case and
disdainful of the giggling gaggle of girls by the window, he focused his
attention on a clear plastic ball powered by an enclosed Mongolian gerbil. He
assessed the rodent’s skill at avoiding table legs and floor lamps as it
rapidly completed its fourteenth circuit of the comfortable wood paneled
waiting room. Observing the
frantic scamper within the plastic sphere, wondered if it was trying to escape
and didn’t know there wasn’t an escape hatch.
Uncomfortable in his fake school
uniform, Kyle alternately tugged at his gray shorts and then his sagging knee
socks. He felt silly wearing the tie and cap that came with the uniform and
didn’t understand why they were important to his mission.
After they dropped him off at the
entrance to the campus, he barely waited for the limo to drive out of sight
before he yanked his tie lose and tossed his cap in a near-by trashcan. As he
walked toward the quad, he removed a shiny black yo-yo from his blazer pocket
and carefully rubbed it between his hands. It felt surprisingly warm to his
touch.
“Do you see the sign to the
Admissions Office?” said the voice in his ear.
“Yes.” He carefully replaced the
black yo-yo in his pocket. “Odd, you chose that shape.”
Watching the girls lean on the wide
windowsill, he placed a finger in his right ear and spoke quietly in his throat
like a trained ventriloquist. “This is stupid. Why don’t I just walk in?”
“Follow the plan.”
Cursing to himself, he frowned at
the giggling girls stealing glances at him. When they caught him watching, they
turned away to whisper and laugh. They smelled of too much perfume, he thought.
He caught a buxom redheaded girl
staring boldly at him as he brushed his silky white-blond hair out of his eyes.
He felt her round green eyes studying him as he had studied the gerbil. When
she refused to break eye contact, Kyle angrily glared until she turned away. No
one outlasted the penetrating stare of his icy blue eyes.
A flash of lightening and blast of
thunder sent the fish in the nearby aquarium darting for cover. He watched
their futile attempt at concealment behind the plastic rocks and greenery and
thought, do fish understand or even know
about the existence of water? Is it beyond their perception?
As though announced by the sound of
thunder, an assistant admissions director entered and introduced an energetic
young co-ed as the tour guide to the girls. He smiled at Kyle and told him he
was in a separate group and his tour guide would be there in a moment.
Although his face remained blank,
relief swept through Kyle that he wouldn’t have to walk with the immature
girls. They quickly left the waiting room, hesitating long enough to sneak a
parting glance at him and the fish while avoiding contact with the perpetual
motion machine at their feet. He caught a few throwing one last appraising
glance his way. Although he knew
there was something odd about him, he feigned indifference. He didn’t like that
they stared at him.
After the last girl closed the door
behind her, Kyle wandered over to the window and looked down on the quad to see
what had held the girls’ attention moments before. The wind continued
threatened the storm’s arrival with dust and flying debris dancing in
disjointed rhythm. A few remaining students scampered for cover.
The door behind him opened and a
tall skinny student in jeans and a black tee shirt that read “I’d kill for a
Nobel Peace Prize,” entered and leaned on the windowsill next to him. “So, I hear you qualified for a special,
very early admission.” He didn’t look at Kyle, but waved below to a running
co-ed. “Real early, I’ll bet. How old are you?”
Kyle knew they had put fifteen on
his application, but casually said, “Twelve.”
The tour guide looked at him and
folded his arms. “No shit man, really? What are your scores?”
“800s.”
“In the writing section too?”
“Yes.”
“Damn. Well, your card says you’re
interested in genetics. The director told me to get you into the special
session in the Molecular Bio Lecture Hall today. Still want to go?”
Duh!
What did he think! Kyle couldn’t imagine why the tour guy couldn’t just
stick to the schedule.
“Yes. That’s all I want to see.”
“So you don’t mind if we skip the
library?”
“Right,” he said, with returned
sarcasm. “Take me to Dr. Stosak’s lecture.”
“Hey, you know about Dr. Stosak?
She’s a Rice grad who’s a Nobel –”
“Yes, yes. I know.” he said,
dutifully following the guide. Glancing at the noise of plastic on the hardwood
floor, Kyle saw the plastic ball slip between him and the closing door and
thought, free at last and kicked the
rotating rodent down the hallway.
It started to rain and the guide
took off yelling over his shoulder, “Hurry, or you’ll get soaked.”
Kyle quickly caught the lanky guide
and passed him and several others rushing toward the lecture hall’s entrance.
Extra security measures had taken up most of the lobby’s space, thereby
creating a bottleneck and delayed entry into the building. An impatient
collection of wet students, faculty, and guests jammed the entrance. Twisting
his shoulders and pressing against the hoard, Kyle managed to thread his way
through the crowd to finally stand at the end of one of the three long lines waiting
for a security check. His tour guide caught up only because he flashed his ID
and said he was with a child.
Kyle looked around at the growing
crowd and asked him. “Do you have to get checked like this for all your
classes?”
“No way, man. Today’s a big event.
We’ve got some VIPs.”
When they entered the final leg of
their checkpoint queue, an agent asked them to step aside. Both were scanned
and searched. The tour guide tried to joke with the agents saying something
about dwarf assassins, and was immediately
whisked away to a side room by two agents. A third agent told Kyle he had to
wait.
His ear bud crackled. Get into the lecture hall and make contact
before it starts.
He didn’t reply. The voice in his
ear could hear, and probably see everything. Kyle approached a security agent
and mustering up as much angst as he could plaster on his face said, “How long
will you keep my guide? I have to pee. Is there a men’s room nearby?”
An agent pointed to an adjacent
hallway beyond the other two security lines. “There’s a small office john at
the end of that hall, kid. Use that.”
Kyle, acting as though he had an
urgent need, immediately jogged toward it. He heard another agent bark, “Hey,
Parker! You know you need to keep the kid in sight. They said to watch everyone that gets this close.”
The agent put his scanner down and
began to work his way through the crowded lines of people toward the bathroom.
The storm had driven the people to push their way inside and the area outside
the lecture hall had grown crowded beyond capacity. Agent Parker was barely
able to push his way through the last line in time to see the boy enter the
office area’s small men’s room at the end of the hallway.
When the agent stepped into the
restroom, he observed the boy standing at the sink next to the single stall,
carefully wiping the handle of a stiletto.
The agent put his hand on his gun
and held out his arm flashing his security ID. “I'm Special Agent Parker. Where
did you get that knife?" He wasn’t concerned and said gently, "Put it
down, kid.”
Kyle shrugged and acted nervous.
“It was just on the floor by the stall. It’s pretty.”
The agent motioned with the palm of
his free hand. “Put the knife down and step away from the sink and the stall.”
After the agent motioned for him to
stand aside, he took out his gun, and approached the bathroom’s single stall.
He pushed open its door with one hand. Seeing it empty, he holstered the weapon
and turned around.
The boy had moved behind him and
stood still, watching. His eyes blinked slowly. The voice in his ear bud said,
“Kill him, Kyle.”
He looked up at the agent facing
him standing in the doorway to the toilet, nodded and announced, “I don’t need
a knife.”
Jumping chest high, he leaped
toward the agent. His kicked his heel into the agent’s sternum, splitting it
and crushing his heart. He was dead by the time he fell into the toilet.
Kyle looked at the clean knife in
the sink.
The voice spoke, “Leave it. You
still have a security check ahead.”
He removed the black yo-yo from his
blazer and slipped it in his pant’s pocket before trashing his jacket and
button down shirt. All that remained of the school uniform were the khaki
shorts, t-shirt, and topsiders. After he turned out the light, he casually left
the men’s room and walked down the hallway toward the crowd. Seeing his tour
guide still loudly protesting his treatment at the hands of security on the far
side of the auditorium entrance, Kyle inconspicuously re-joined the closest
line and waited his turn to enter the auditorium.
Once inside, he asked a student if
the short woman at the lecture table down in the pit was Dr. Stosak.
“No, that’s Dr. O’Quinn from Johns
Hopkins. The taller woman is Dr. Elizabeth Stosak.”
He walked down the aisle toward
them thinking, I still don’t need a knife.
* * *
ReSet is the complete story about Chloe Russo. It is written to be read on its own or as a sequel to Onset.
EXTRA!
The Ghost in my iPad and named FINALIST for 2012 Global eBook Awards
ONSET Nominated for 2012 Global eBook Awards
Check them out! Click on cover.
My inspiration for this Flash story came from seeing a contest. I had no idea what the plot would be until I wrote the first line. The rest came immediately. The edits lasted three days. I had no thoughts of publishing it until I heard the reactions of my Critique Circle. They laughed and groaned at the right places. I hope you enjoy it.
Breaking News
- I have updated The Commitment. I hope you enjoy this story of one solution to finding ling-lived love.
- My wife, will co-author a series of paranormal mystery stories for tweens with me. We are working on the 'pilot' and hope to have it ready for the holidays. She has been my editor and guide for several years. This will be our first formal collaboration. The series will retain the title The Ghost in my iPad and will chronicle the adventures of a very young detective who solves crimes with the help of a ghost in his iPad. I'll post our progress.
- We have started the second story and code-named it 444. I picks up where the first story ended and will be ready by Christmas.
Featured Story
Onset can be reviewed on HarperCollins' site by clicking on the book cover in the left-hand column. The novella follows the rules of the Cohort Universe and tells the story of a young college woman, Chloe, who has taken on a summer job in a hospital that specializes in cancer treatment. She has been hired by the Human Resources department to be a patient point of contact for patients who have limited family support.
Onset
Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.
Prologue
The bike race started at the art museum and went twice
around the city reservoir, one kilometer away, before returning to the starting
point. Chloe trained for the 10k race as though it were a sprint. Close to
eighty racers had signed up but in her mind it was a two-woman race. Kelly
McGinty was always her toughest competition and today would be no different.
They were friendly enemies. That meant in Chloe’s book they were friends after
the race. She assumed Kelly felt the same way.
She smiled to herself and thought, Kelly’s going to have plenty of time to read the number pinned to the
back of my shirt today.
“Watch out for that set of twins from Pittsburgh, Chloe.” A
close friend advised. “They trained all summer in those hills.”
“Damn, and me without a rear-view mirror.” Chloe grinned at
her own trash talk and checked her chain. She rubbed a section with an oily rag
and wiped her hands. “You and I both know there’s only one other serious
cyclist here.” She spun a tire and checked its treads.
Her friend mocked her comment by making binoculars with her
hands to scan for that serious cyclist among the numerous other contestants
checking their equipment.
Chloe laughed. “Right. Funny. Like you don’t know I’m
talking about Kelly McGinty over there.”
As they walked their bikes out of the parking lot to the
staging area, her friend said, “The two of you have taken turns at first place
all season. Who’s got the gold today?”
Chloe didn’t reply. Her mind focused on the race now and
Kelly would take the back seat and eat her dust in this one. An air horn
signaled a warning that the race would start soon and the thirty-eight racers
took positions in the pack. Chloe saw Kelly and moved closer to her.
“Hey, Kelly.” She waved. “Good race, girl.”
“That’s woman to you, kid.” Kelly could trash talk too.
Chloe hooted and gave a thumbs-up. She adjusted her helmet
and fixed her eyes on a spot fifty meters down the road. Her eyes never strayed
from the target as she stretched her long body, flexed well-developed shoulder
muscles, and cracked several neck vertebras.
She commanded her legs get
there in 3 and tensed them like a jack-in-the-box just as the starting gun
sprung her lose. Her mind heard the shot after her body had completed the first
stroke. Tendons and tungsten flexed and strained with each turn of the pedals.
She flew past her 50-meter mark and exhaled for the first time. Her mind switched
to a mental map of the flat course. So
much for the Pittsburgh twins. There were no hurdles to think about other
than relentless acceleration.
After a quick kilo, the course entered the reservoir circle
with ninety-degree turn to the right. That would be her last slow down until
they left the circle after two-four kilometer loops for the final dash to the
finish.
Chloe loved to train. Each athletic workout presented an
individual challenge and each race became a competition not only for the win,
but striving for her personal best. Having the endurance to do it, she held to
her all-out-sprint strategy.
Without glancing back, she sensed Kelly was close. She once
said she always knew when Kelly was near. She felt her now and pushed on hard.
The low stonewall that surrounded the reservoir loomed ahead
and indicated the first of two right turns. Police and red traffic cones
reduced the four-lane start of the race to only two around the circle. Chloe
hated any slow down, but an ill-taken turn here could send her on a slide over
the low stonewall into the open, deep water of the city reservoir. It was a
hazard all the racers took seriously.
Several police stood near the approach. Chloe knew the line
she needed to take and stroked into it, leaning and gliding through without
sliding and without much loss of speed. Clear of the turn, she allowed a quick
glance over her right shoulder where she saw the pack well behind, preparing to
turn. She immediately selected another spot fifty meters ahead and sprinted for
it with the same concentration she would give to the finish line.
Chloe barely noticed the spectators who used the reservoir
wall as a coveted spot to watch the race up close. She was less aware of police
whistles and shouting. Something was going on but her concentration remained on
Kelly. She felt her close behind her, catching up. Kelly had closed the gap,
which was unusual and disturbing. Odd.
Kelly usually made her challenges at the end of the race, and why
was Kelly yelling?
Digging deeper, Chloe lowered her head and began to increase
her speed. From the corner of her left eye, she saw the front wheel of a
Kelly’s bike. They were almost even and Kelly was still yelling.
I don’t think so,
girl, she peddled harder, still focused on the road ahead. She felt Kelly
pull closer. They were side by side. Get
your ass back in the pack – The roar of an engine screamed in her head. She
felt a wave of heat. Something shoved her to the right. A tremendous pressure slammed from
behind, she fell, tumbling...
Blackness.
***
Two years later
Dave Westfield, an unemployed P.I.
and ex-traffic cop stood sweating in hospital scrubs on an underground parking
lot ramp. His ample body, almost hidden from view in the shadow of a small
recess, filled the tiny alcove.
The walls, covered with black tire streaks and chipped concrete, spoke
of failed attempts by drunk or stoned basketball fans racing to join the
traffic jam upstairs. His lips
smacked in cadence with his hammering heartbeat as he nervously chewed two sticks
of gum
He knew exactly where to stand so the security cameras
couldn’t see him. His instructions had been very clear about that. The voice in
his earpiece surprised him, “We are two minutes out. Do you have the package?”
“Yes.”
“Wait.”
A sound of squealing tires fighting the continuous left-hand
turn up the long spiral announced the coming of another car below. Cars made
Dave nervous, but pickups scared the hell out of him. He struggled to press his
butt inside the shallow sanctuary and feared his gut wasn’t out of rear-view
mirror range.
“Level four?”
“Check.”
“Be ready to hand us the ear piece and the envelope.”
“You have my money?”
“When we make the exchange.”
“Check.”
Dave edged toward the curb. He removed his earpiece and slid a large yellow envelope
from under his sweaty scrub top. A black limo rose from the bottom levels and
slowed as it drew close. Unable to see through its tinted windows, he
hesitated. The rear window opened halfway to reveal a black-gloved hand waving
a small white envelope.
Recognizing the offer, he walked backwards up the ramp
trying to match the limo’s progress. He held the damp envelope and earpiece in
one hand and tried to reach into the half-open window.
The limo accelerated slightly and Dave turned sideways to
keep up. He caught the flash of reflecting sunglasses in the dark shadows of
the limo’s back seat. A gloved hand snatched his envelope, knocking the
earpiece out of his hand. He caught a glimpse of the tiny pink device rolling
down the ramp. In a split second, the limo accelerated away diverting his
attention to a white envelope spinning in its wake and falling to the center of
the oil-stained ramp.
He swore as he ran to pick up the envelope. Hah, Darkwood my ass. I got your prints now,
you bastards.
He heard the diminishing squeal of departing tires from the
ramp above. Stuffing the envelope in his thigh pocket, Dave resumed the long
climb. Out of shape and out of breath, he stopped to rest at a “No Pedestrians”
sign, where he spat out his gum and leaned on the ramp’s wall to take the
pressure off his overworked lungs.
Distracted by his labored breathing, Dave didn’t hear the
silent approach of a truck behind him. The sound of a peal-out scream of
spinning wheels came too late for him to avoid the accelerating pickup. It
slammed him into the wall and held his twisted body above the concrete walkway
until it backed away to let it slide down.
The driver jumped out of the pickup and examined the broken
body. He quickly located and
opened the white envelope to make sure it contained the money. He noticed
Dave’s arm move and grabbed it with both hands, pulling his body to the left
edge of the ramp. He wrestled it over the top of the retaining wall, letting it
drop it to the basement, four floors below.
In the limo, the woman wearing black gloves tore open the
large sweat stained envelope and carefully examined its contents. Shouldering a
phone to her ear, she said with satisfaction, “Colonel, I have them. He
obtained the x-rays, a DVD, and a message from our man inside.” She waited.
“Of course I will, Colonel.” She read it aloud. “I have
confirmed that the candidate has the special brain tissue we seek and that it
clearly has the extra anomaly. I await your instructions.”
She listened to the phone as she repackaged the items. “Yes,
the team’s in place. They are monitoring the candidate and can initiate
extraction at any time.” She took the phone in her hand. “Of course, our man
will let us know the minute they schedule the candidate for treatment.”
* * *
Chloe knew she was driving too fast… again. She would be
late for the first day of her summer job at the hospital no matter how many gas
stations she cut through to beat a traffic light. Worse, she wasn’t a hundred
percent confident she had the correct directions. They sounded simple enough,
after all, Aunt Doris had attended Rice, and the campus was just across the
street from the Medical Center.
“Go south on Montrose until you run into a circle around a
big fountain. You can’t miss it darlin’. If you do, you’re in the Zoo.”
Damn, she thought.
Missed the turn and the zoo. It’s back to
the circle to try again. She approached the fountain for the second time
and accelerated around it.
Through breaks in the dense canopy of oak limbs, she caught
glimpses of the university on the right and huge buildings on the left of Main
Street. It had to be the Medical Center. She was close. She shook her steering
wheel and said, “Crap, I’m so late I’ll be fired before I start.”
A string of red traffic lights supported her frustration but
gave her an opportunity to gawk at increasing numbers of medical personnel in
scrubs, construction workers in hard hats, and joggers in very little. It was
barely after eight thirty and it was already 87 degrees. “Ugh,” she grumbled,
“I’d rather be with the joggers than dressed up for first impressions.”
At the last red light, she called to a cop, “MD Anderson?”
“Left ahead and move it.” He yelled back, waving her on.
Thank God. She
thought and pulled her van into the covered valet parking and hit the switch
that transformed the back of the van into a ramp. She unlocked her chair to
back up and turned around to roll out on the van’s ramp.
Free of traffic and the confines of the van, Chloe spun a
one-eighty, as the attendant presented the parking ticket. She hit the button
on her key chain to close the ramp and tossed him the keys.
He grinned and pulled the tip of his visor. “No problem. We
get our share here.” He pointed to her chair. “You race with that? Your wheels
tilt in.”
“Sure do but this one’s for city driving. I use the
speedster in the van for serious haulin’. Check it out.”
Chloe spun away with a few strokes of her string arms.
Coasting, she ran her fingers through her long brown hair stretching her
shoulders and thought, I found the
building, now all I have to do is to locate the Patient Services office for my
orientation meeting that started twenty-five minutes ago.
***
Dr. Deal paced behind her desk as she spoke in her cell
phone. “Yes, we’ll monitor her closely. She hasn’t made another attempt –” She
listened and waited until the caller stopped. “Yes, I know how important this
is and I assure you –” She nodded. “Trust me, Q. She’ll be fine.”
The call completed, she looked at her watch and checked her
appointment book, and it reminded her that the new girl was late, and it’s her
first day.
***
The Cohorts stories are driven by the conflicts and pressures new technologies place on individuals and society. For example, assume we suddenly discover that the life span is growing at a rapid rate. The majority of people, throughout the world, begin to live to 120 years of age and even beyond. What are the consequences to individuals? Families? Social Institutions? Governments?
Pretend you are in a college dorm and you have all night to sit with your buds (of all kinds) and kick this around. You quickly run through some of the obvious consequences, like who’s paying for social security and other entitlements? Now what? I hope my stories raise questions you may not have anticipated.
The second story, To Find a Thief, is not limited to the Cohorts Universe. It is a very short story that I wrote after hearing about Flash Fiction for the first time.
The third story, Bottoms Up is about misuse of Epigenetics. As I say on the book cover, “…don’t do it just because you can.” This story has a female character that appears in other stories. My only regret with Bottoms Up is that I didn’t title it “BottomsUp” (without the space). I use Google to see how close to the top of the list my stories are displayed. You know, marketing. They all do quite well except Bottoms Up seems to be used heavily in soft porn of all genres. Oh, well.
The fourth story, The Commitment looks at a bittersweet reaction to the death of a partner. It doesn’t come as a surprise to Alice as you can gather from the first sentence. “Alice knew it was time for Fred to die.” The story has humor. Really.
The fifth story, Sniper POV has a touch of the Twilight Zone to it. That’s all I’ll say. After all, it is another Flash Fiction, so if you read it, I’m okay having you wait another 90 seconds to know what I meant by that.
The sixth story, Critique Circle, is a example of what might happen in a writer’s critique circle. My fellow writer’s share their work and ask for feedback. I think most readers will like the humor in this Flash Fiction story.
The writer’s guild I belong to plans to publish a collection of short ghost stories. This is new territory for me and I want to learn how to write scary.
What’s the best way to do that? READ several scary books. Write a short story, share it with your Critique Circle (which could be virtual – go ahead, Skype!), then rewrite, rewrite, rewrite…
The last two stories, Onset and The Ghost in my iPad, are novellas and are works-in-progress. I hope to have both completed before the Holidays.
Onset tells the story of a young college student who is given a summer job as a Patient Advocate in a large urban Hospital. (That’s her in the wheelchair). The cover gives a hint about the story. There’s humor, romance, and with some science fiction sprinkled in. Both science and science fiction adhere to the rules in the Cohort Universe. Some of the characters appear in other stories.
The Ghost in my iPad tells the story of a young boy, still feeling the loss of an older brother and his apprehension about the presence of a serial killer in his community. He discovers that his primary vehicle for escape, his iPad, offers the possibility of companionship beyond his comprehension. There are moments of humor, fear, compassion, and revenge.
I hope you will enjoy both of these novellas.
ALERT
I urge all readers take caution when receiving unsolicited offers from any source that just seem too good to be true.
If you like to research this for yourself you might start with Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America’s site:
Science Fiction & Fantasy Writer of America
If you like to research this for yourself you might start with Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America’s site:
Science Fiction & Fantasy Writer of America
